diff --git a/appendix-generative-adversarial-networks/.emoji.zip.icloud b/appendix_Generative_Adversarial_Networks/.emoji.zip.icloud similarity index 100% rename from appendix-generative-adversarial-networks/.emoji.zip.icloud rename to appendix_Generative_Adversarial_Networks/.emoji.zip.icloud diff --git a/appendix-generative-adversarial-networks/GAN Framework.jpeg b/appendix_Generative_Adversarial_Networks/GAN Framework.jpeg similarity index 100% rename from appendix-generative-adversarial-networks/GAN Framework.jpeg rename to appendix_Generative_Adversarial_Networks/GAN Framework.jpeg diff --git a/appendix-generative-adversarial-networks/GAN Overview.jpeg b/appendix_Generative_Adversarial_Networks/GAN Overview.jpeg similarity index 100% rename from appendix-generative-adversarial-networks/GAN Overview.jpeg rename to appendix_Generative_Adversarial_Networks/GAN Overview.jpeg diff --git a/appendix-generative-adversarial-networks/LS_DS_443_Generative_Adversarial_Networks.ipynb b/appendix_Generative_Adversarial_Networks/LS_DS_443_Generative_Adversarial_Networks.ipynb similarity index 100% rename from appendix-generative-adversarial-networks/LS_DS_443_Generative_Adversarial_Networks.ipynb rename to appendix_Generative_Adversarial_Networks/LS_DS_443_Generative_Adversarial_Networks.ipynb diff --git a/appendix-generative-adversarial-networks/gan_generated_image_epoch_1.png b/appendix_Generative_Adversarial_Networks/gan_generated_image_epoch_1.png similarity index 100% rename from appendix-generative-adversarial-networks/gan_generated_image_epoch_1.png rename to appendix_Generative_Adversarial_Networks/gan_generated_image_epoch_1.png diff --git a/appendix-generative-adversarial-networks/gan_generated_image_epoch_20.png b/appendix_Generative_Adversarial_Networks/gan_generated_image_epoch_20.png similarity index 100% rename from appendix-generative-adversarial-networks/gan_generated_image_epoch_20.png rename to appendix_Generative_Adversarial_Networks/gan_generated_image_epoch_20.png diff --git a/appendix-generative-adversarial-networks/gan_generated_image_epoch_40.png b/appendix_Generative_Adversarial_Networks/gan_generated_image_epoch_40.png similarity index 100% rename from appendix-generative-adversarial-networks/gan_generated_image_epoch_40.png rename to appendix_Generative_Adversarial_Networks/gan_generated_image_epoch_40.png diff --git a/module1-rnn-and-lstm/LS_DS_431_RNN_and_LSTM_Assignment.ipynb b/module1-rnn-and-lstm/LS_DS_431_RNN_and_LSTM_Assignment.ipynb deleted file mode 100644 index a49e3827..00000000 --- a/module1-rnn-and-lstm/LS_DS_431_RNN_and_LSTM_Assignment.ipynb +++ /dev/null @@ -1,263 +0,0 @@ -{ - "cells": [ - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "source": [ - "\n", - "

\n", - "

\n", - "\n", - "## *Data Science Unit 4 Sprint 3 Assignment 1*\n", - "\n", - "# Recurrent Neural Networks and Long Short Term Memory (LSTM)\n", - "\n", - "![Monkey at a typewriter](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/3c/Chimpanzee_seated_at_typewriter.jpg/603px-Chimpanzee_seated_at_typewriter.jpg)\n", - "\n", - "It is said that [infinite monkeys typing for an infinite amount of time](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Infinite_monkey_theorem) will eventually type, among other things, the complete works of Wiliam Shakespeare. Let's see if we can get there a bit faster, with the power of Recurrent Neural Networks and LSTM.\n", - "\n", - "This text file contains the complete works of Shakespeare: https://www.gutenberg.org/files/100/100-0.txt\n", - "\n", - "Use it as training data for an RNN - you can keep it simple and train character level, and that is suggested as an initial approach.\n", - "\n", - "Then, use that trained RNN to generate Shakespearean-ish text. Your goal - a function that can take, as an argument, the size of text (e.g. number of characters or lines) to generate, and returns generated text of that size.\n", - "\n", - "Note - Shakespeare wrote an awful lot. It's OK, especially initially, to sample/use smaller data and parameters, so you can have a tighter feedback loop when you're trying to get things running. Then, once you've got a proof of concept - start pushing it more!" - ], - "metadata": {} - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "source": [ - "import requests\n", - "import pandas as pd" - ], - "outputs": [], - "execution_count": 1, - "metadata": { - "execution": { - "iopub.status.busy": "2020-06-15T18:18:20.442Z", - "iopub.execute_input": "2020-06-15T18:18:20.453Z", - "iopub.status.idle": "2020-06-15T18:18:20.513Z", - "shell.execute_reply": "2020-06-15T18:18:20.523Z" - } - } - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "source": [ - "url = \"https://www.gutenberg.org/files/100/100-0.txt\"\n", - "\n", - "r = requests.get(url)\n", - "r.encoding = r.apparent_encoding\n", - "data = r.text\n", - "data = data.split('\\r\\n')\n", - "toc = [l.strip() for l in data[44:130:2]]\n", - "# Skip the Table of Contents\n", - "data = data[135:]\n", - "\n", - "# Fixing Titles\n", - "toc[9] = 'THE LIFE OF KING HENRY V'\n", - "toc[18] = 'MACBETH'\n", - "toc[24] = 'OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE'\n", - "toc[34] = 'TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL'\n", - "\n", - "locations = {id_:{'title':title, 'start':-99} for id_,title in enumerate(toc)}\n", - "\n", - "# Start \n", - "for e,i in enumerate(data):\n", - " for t,title in enumerate(toc):\n", - " if title in i:\n", - " locations[t].update({'start':e})\n", - " \n", - "\n", - "df_toc = pd.DataFrame.from_dict(locations, orient='index')\n", - "df_toc['end'] = df_toc['start'].shift(-1).apply(lambda x: x-1)\n", - "df_toc.loc[42, 'end'] = len(data)\n", - "df_toc['end'] = df_toc['end'].astype('int')\n", - "\n", - "df_toc['text'] = df_toc.apply(lambda x: '\\r\\n'.join(data[ x['start'] : int(x['end']) ]), axis=1)" - ], - "outputs": [], - "execution_count": 23, - "metadata": { - "execution": { - "iopub.status.busy": "2020-06-15T18:25:49.778Z", - "iopub.execute_input": "2020-06-15T18:25:49.781Z", - "iopub.status.idle": "2020-06-15T18:25:51.467Z", - "shell.execute_reply": "2020-06-15T18:25:51.469Z" - } - } - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "source": [ - "#Shakespeare Data Parsed by Play\n", - "df_toc.head()" - ], - "outputs": [ - { - "output_type": "execute_result", - "execution_count": 24, - "data": { - "text/plain": [ - " title start end \\\n", - "0 ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 2777 7738 \n", - "1 THE TRAGEDY OF ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 7739 11840 \n", - "2 AS YOU LIKE IT 11841 14631 \n", - "3 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 14632 17832 \n", - "4 THE TRAGEDY OF CORIOLANUS 17833 27806 \n", - "\n", - " text \n", - "0 ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nConte... \n", - "1 THE TRAGEDY OF ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA\\r\\n\\r\\nDRA... \n", - "2 AS YOU LIKE IT\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE.\\r\\n\\r... \n", - "3 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r... \n", - "4 THE TRAGEDY OF CORIOLANUS\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Pers... " - ], - "text/html": [ - "
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0ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL27777738ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nConte...
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" - ] - }, - "metadata": {} - } - ], - "execution_count": 24, - "metadata": { - "collapsed": true, - "jupyter": { - "source_hidden": false, - "outputs_hidden": false - }, - "nteract": { - "transient": { - "deleting": false - } - }, - "execution": { - "iopub.status.busy": "2020-06-15T18:26:12.630Z", - "iopub.execute_input": "2020-06-15T18:26:12.637Z", - "iopub.status.idle": "2020-06-15T18:26:12.643Z", - "shell.execute_reply": "2020-06-15T18:26:12.647Z" - } - } - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "source": [ - "# Resources and Stretch Goals" - ], - "metadata": { - "colab_type": "text", - "id": "zE4a4O7Bp5x1" - } - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "source": [ - "## Stretch goals:\n", - "- Refine the training and generation of text to be able to ask for different genres/styles of Shakespearean text (e.g. plays versus sonnets)\n", - "- Train a classification model that takes text and returns which work of Shakespeare it is most likely to be from\n", - "- Make it more performant! Many possible routes here - lean on Keras, optimize the code, and/or use more resources (AWS, etc.)\n", - "- Revisit the news example from class, and improve it - use categories or tags to refine the model/generation, or train a news classifier\n", - "- Run on bigger, better data\n", - "\n", - "## Resources:\n", - "- [The Unreasonable Effectiveness of Recurrent Neural Networks](https://karpathy.github.io/2015/05/21/rnn-effectiveness/) - a seminal writeup demonstrating a simple but effective character-level NLP RNN\n", - "- [Simple NumPy implementation of RNN](https://github.com/JY-Yoon/RNN-Implementation-using-NumPy/blob/master/RNN%20Implementation%20using%20NumPy.ipynb) - Python 3 version of the code from \"Unreasonable Effectiveness\"\n", - "- [TensorFlow RNN Tutorial](https://github.com/tensorflow/models/tree/master/tutorials/rnn) - code for training a RNN on the Penn Tree Bank language dataset\n", - "- [4 part tutorial on RNN](http://www.wildml.com/2015/09/recurrent-neural-networks-tutorial-part-1-introduction-to-rnns/) - relates RNN to the vanishing gradient problem, and provides example implementation\n", - "- [RNN training tips and tricks](https://github.com/karpathy/char-rnn#tips-and-tricks) - some rules of thumb for parameterizing and training your RNN" - ], - "metadata": { - "colab_type": "text", - "id": "uT3UV3gap9H6" - } - } - ], - "metadata": { - "kernelspec": { - "display_name": "U4-S3-MNA-DS11", - "language": "python", - "name": "u4-s3-mna-ds11" - }, - "language_info": { - "name": "python", - "version": "3.7.0", - "mimetype": "text/x-python", - "codemirror_mode": { - "name": "ipython", - "version": 3 - }, - "pygments_lexer": "ipython3", - "nbconvert_exporter": "python", - "file_extension": ".py" - }, - "nteract": { - "version": "0.23.3" - } - }, - "nbformat": 4, - "nbformat_minor": 4 -} diff --git a/module1_RNN_and_LSTM/LS_DS_431_RNN_and_LSTM_Assignment.ipynb b/module1_RNN_and_LSTM/LS_DS_431_RNN_and_LSTM_Assignment.ipynb new file mode 100644 index 00000000..03706239 --- /dev/null +++ b/module1_RNN_and_LSTM/LS_DS_431_RNN_and_LSTM_Assignment.ipynb @@ -0,0 +1,1759 @@ +{ + "cells": [ + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": {}, + "source": [ + "\n", + "

\n", + "

\n", + "\n", + "## *Data Science Unit 4 Sprint 3 Assignment 1*\n", + "\n", + "# Recurrent Neural Networks and Long Short Term Memory (LSTM)\n", + "\n", + "![Monkey at a typewriter](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/3c/Chimpanzee_seated_at_typewriter.jpg/603px-Chimpanzee_seated_at_typewriter.jpg)\n", + "\n", + "It is said that [infinite monkeys typing for an infinite amount of time](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Infinite_monkey_theorem) will eventually type, among other things, the complete works of Wiliam Shakespeare. Let's see if we can get there a bit faster, with the power of Recurrent Neural Networks and LSTM.\n", + "\n", + "This text file contains the complete works of Shakespeare: https://www.gutenberg.org/files/100/100-0.txt\n", + "\n", + "Use it as training data for an RNN - you can keep it simple and train character level, and that is suggested as an initial approach.\n", + "\n", + "Then, use that trained RNN to generate Shakespearean-ish text. Your goal - a function that can take, as an argument, the size of text (e.g. number of characters or lines) to generate, and returns generated text of that size.\n", + "\n", + "Note - Shakespeare wrote an awful lot. It's OK, especially initially, to sample/use smaller data and parameters, so you can have a tighter feedback loop when you're trying to get things running. Then, once you've got a proof of concept - start pushing it more!" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 1, + "metadata": { + "execution": { + "iopub.execute_input": "2020-06-15T18:18:20.453Z", + "iopub.status.busy": "2020-06-15T18:18:20.442Z", + "iopub.status.idle": "2020-06-15T18:18:20.513Z", + "shell.execute_reply": "2020-06-15T18:18:20.523Z" + } + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "import requests\n", + "import pandas as pd\n", + "import numpy\n", + "\n", + "import sys" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 2, + "metadata": { + "execution": { + "iopub.execute_input": "2020-06-15T18:25:49.781Z", + "iopub.status.busy": "2020-06-15T18:25:49.778Z", + "iopub.status.idle": "2020-06-15T18:25:51.467Z", + "shell.execute_reply": "2020-06-15T18:25:51.469Z" + } + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "url = \"https://www.gutenberg.org/files/100/100-0.txt\"\n", + "\n", + "r = requests.get(url)\n", + "r.encoding = r.apparent_encoding\n", + "data = r.text\n", + "data = data.split('\\r\\n')\n", + "toc = [l.strip() for l in data[44:130:2]]\n", + "# Skip the Table of Contents\n", + "data = data[135:]\n", + "\n", + "# Fixing Titles\n", + "toc[9] = 'THE LIFE OF KING HENRY V'\n", + "toc[18] = 'MACBETH'\n", + "toc[24] = 'OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE'\n", + "toc[34] = 'TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL'\n", + "\n", + "locations = {id_:{'title':title, 'start':-99} for id_,title in enumerate(toc)}\n", + "\n", + "# Start \n", + "for e,i in enumerate(data):\n", + " for t,title in enumerate(toc):\n", + " if title in i:\n", + " locations[t].update({'start':e})\n", + " \n", + "\n", + "df_toc = pd.DataFrame.from_dict(locations, orient='index')\n", + "# Convert to Dataframe\n", + "df_toc['end'] = df_toc['start'].shift(-1).apply(lambda x: x-1)\n", + "df_toc.loc[42, 'end'] = len(data)\n", + "df_toc['end'] = df_toc['end'].astype('int')\n", + "\n", + "df_toc['text'] = df_toc.apply(lambda x: '\\r\\n'.join(data[ x['start'] : int(x['end']) ]), axis=1)" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 3, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [ + { + "data": { + "text/html": [ + "
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0THE TRAGEDY OF ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA-9914379
1AS YOU LIKE IT1438017171AS YOU LIKE IT\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE.\\r...
2THE COMEDY OF ERRORS1717220372THE COMEDY OF ERRORS\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r...
3THE TRAGEDY OF CORIOLANUS2037330346THE TRAGEDY OF CORIOLANUS\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Pers...
4CYMBELINE3034730364CYMBELINE.\\r\\nLaud we the gods;\\r\\nAnd let our...
5THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK3036537051THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK\\r\\n\\r...
6THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH3705241767THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH\\r\\n\\r\\...
7THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH41768-100THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH\\r\\n\\r...
8THE LIFE OF KING HENRY THE FIFTH-9945176
9THE LIFE OF KING HENRY V4517753383THE LIFE OF KING HENRY V\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nConten...
10THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH5338456871THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH\\r\\n\\r\\...
11THE THIRD PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH5687260257THE THIRD PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH\\r\\n\\r\\n...
12KING HENRY THE EIGHTH6025866710KING HENRY THE EIGHTH\\r\\n\\r\\n...
13KING JOHN6671166783KING JOHN. O cousin, thou art come to set mi...
14THE TRAGEDY OF JULIUS CAESAR6678471427THE TRAGEDY OF JULIUS CAESAR\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nCo...
15THE TRAGEDY OF KING LEAR7142877463THE TRAGEDY OF KING LEAR\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nConten...
16LOVE’S LABOUR’S LOST77464-100LOVE’S LABOUR’S LOST\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personae....
17THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH-9984427
18MACBETH8442887527MACBETH.\\r\\nI will not yield,\\r\\nTo kiss the g...
19THE MERCHANT OF VENICE8752891695THE MERCHANT OF VENICE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents...
20THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR9169694654THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Per...
21A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM9465598114A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nConte...
22MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING98115-100MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContent...
23THE TRAGEDY OF OTHELLO, MOOR OF VENICE-99103826
24OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE103827114239OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nCon...
25KING RICHARD THE SECOND114240117332KING RICHARD THE SECOND\\r\\n JOHN OF GAUNT, ...
26KING RICHARD THE THIRD117333121740KING RICHARD THE THIRD\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Persona...
27THE TRAGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET121741126996THE TRAGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\...
28THE TAMING OF THE SHREW126997131870THE TAMING OF THE SHREW\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContent...
29THE TEMPEST131871135693THE TEMPEST\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT...
30THE LIFE OF TIMON OF ATHENS135694138409THE LIFE OF TIMON OF ATHENS\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PE...
31THE TRAGEDY OF TITUS ANDRONICUS138410141285THE TRAGEDY OF TITUS ANDRONICUS\\r\\n\\r\\nDramati...
32THE HISTORY OF TROILUS AND CRESSIDA141286-100THE HISTORY OF TROILUS AND CRESSIDA\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\...
33TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL-99147448
34TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL147449154343TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r...
35THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN154344159531THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN:\\r\\n\\r\\nPresented at the...
36THE WINTER’S TALE159532164546THE WINTER’S TALE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\...
37A LOVER’S COMPLAINT164547164929A LOVER’S COMPLAINT\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nFrom off a ...
38THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM164930165169THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM\\r\\n\\r\\nI.\\r\\n\\r\\nDid no...
39THE PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE165170165263THE PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nLet ...
40THE RAPE OF LUCRECE165264167482THE RAPE OF LUCRECE\\r\\n\\r\\n ...
41VENUS AND ADONIS167483169306VENUS AND ADONIS\\r\\n\\r\\nEven as the sun with ...
42169307169308
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0THE TRAGEDY OF ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA-9914379
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14THE TRAGEDY OF JULIUS CAESAR6678471427THE TRAGEDY OF JULIUS CAESAR\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nCo...
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" + ] + }, + "execution_count": 5, + "metadata": {}, + "output_type": "execute_result" + } + ], + "source": [ + "# Find Hamlet\n", + "df_toc[df_toc['title'].str.match('THE TRAGEDY OF JULIUS CAESAR')]" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 6, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [ + { + "data": { + "text/plain": [ + "{'title': 'THE TRAGEDY OF JULIUS CAESAR', 'start': 66784}" + ] + }, + "execution_count": 6, + "metadata": {}, + "output_type": "execute_result" + } + ], + "source": [ + "locations[14]" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 7, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [ + { + "data": { + "text/plain": [ + "121284" + ] + }, + "execution_count": 7, + "metadata": {}, + "output_type": "execute_result" + } + ], + "source": [ + "TRAGEDY = df_toc['text'][14]\n", + "len(TRAGEDY)" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 8, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "The Tragedy corpus contains 72 unique characters.\n" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "chars = list(set(TRAGEDY))\n", + "\n", + "char_int = {c:i for i,c in enumerate(chars)}\n", + "int_char = {i:c for i,c in enumerate(chars)}\n", + "\n", + "print(f\"The Tragedy corpus contains {len(chars)} unique characters.\")" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 9, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "sequences: 121134\n" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "# Create the Sequence Data\n", + "\n", + "maxlen = 150\n", + "step = 1\n", + "\n", + "encoded = [char_int[c] for c in TRAGEDY]\n", + "\n", + "sequences = [] # Each element is 40 characters long\n", + "next_chars = [] # One element for each sequence\n", + "\n", + "for i in range(0, len(encoded) - maxlen, step):\n", + " sequences.append(encoded[i : i + maxlen])\n", + " next_chars.append(encoded[i + maxlen])\n", + " \n", + "print('sequences:', len(sequences))" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 10, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "# Specify x & y\n", + "\n", + "x = np.zeros((len(sequences), maxlen, len(chars)), dtype=np.bool)\n", + "y = np.zeros((len(sequences), len(chars)), dtype=np.bool)\n", + "\n", + "for i, sequence in enumerate(sequences):\n", + " for t, char in enumerate(sequence):\n", + " x[i,t,char] = 1\n", + " \n", + " y[i, next_chars[i]] = 1" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 11, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [ + { + "data": { + "text/plain": [ + "((121134, 150, 72), (121134, 72))" + ] + }, + "execution_count": 11, + "metadata": {}, + "output_type": "execute_result" + } + ], + "source": [ + "x.shape, y.shape" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 12, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stderr", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "/home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorflow/python/framework/dtypes.py:516: FutureWarning: Passing (type, 1) or '1type' as a synonym of type is deprecated; in a future version of numpy, it will be understood as (type, (1,)) / '(1,)type'.\n", + " _np_qint8 = np.dtype([(\"qint8\", np.int8, 1)])\n", + "/home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorflow/python/framework/dtypes.py:517: FutureWarning: Passing (type, 1) or '1type' as a synonym of type is deprecated; in a future version of numpy, it will be understood as (type, (1,)) / '(1,)type'.\n", + " _np_quint8 = np.dtype([(\"quint8\", np.uint8, 1)])\n", + "/home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorflow/python/framework/dtypes.py:518: FutureWarning: Passing (type, 1) or '1type' as a synonym of type is deprecated; in a future version of numpy, it will be understood as (type, (1,)) / '(1,)type'.\n", + " _np_qint16 = np.dtype([(\"qint16\", np.int16, 1)])\n", + "/home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorflow/python/framework/dtypes.py:519: FutureWarning: Passing (type, 1) or '1type' as a synonym of type is deprecated; in a future version of numpy, it will be understood as (type, (1,)) / '(1,)type'.\n", + " _np_quint16 = np.dtype([(\"quint16\", np.uint16, 1)])\n", + "/home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorflow/python/framework/dtypes.py:520: FutureWarning: Passing (type, 1) or '1type' as a synonym of type is deprecated; in a future version of numpy, it will be understood as (type, (1,)) / '(1,)type'.\n", + " _np_qint32 = np.dtype([(\"qint32\", np.int32, 1)])\n", + "/home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorflow/python/framework/dtypes.py:525: FutureWarning: Passing (type, 1) or '1type' as a synonym of type is deprecated; in a future version of numpy, it will be understood as (type, (1,)) / '(1,)type'.\n", + " np_resource = np.dtype([(\"resource\", np.ubyte, 1)])\n", + "/home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorboard/compat/tensorflow_stub/dtypes.py:541: FutureWarning: Passing (type, 1) or '1type' as a synonym of type is deprecated; in a future version of numpy, it will be understood as (type, (1,)) / '(1,)type'.\n", + " _np_qint8 = np.dtype([(\"qint8\", np.int8, 1)])\n", + "/home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorboard/compat/tensorflow_stub/dtypes.py:542: FutureWarning: Passing (type, 1) or '1type' as a synonym of type is deprecated; in a future version of numpy, it will be understood as (type, (1,)) / '(1,)type'.\n", + " _np_quint8 = np.dtype([(\"quint8\", np.uint8, 1)])\n", + "/home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorboard/compat/tensorflow_stub/dtypes.py:543: FutureWarning: Passing (type, 1) or '1type' as a synonym of type is deprecated; in a future version of numpy, it will be understood as (type, (1,)) / '(1,)type'.\n", + " _np_qint16 = np.dtype([(\"qint16\", np.int16, 1)])\n", + "/home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorboard/compat/tensorflow_stub/dtypes.py:544: FutureWarning: Passing (type, 1) or '1type' as a synonym of type is deprecated; in a future version of numpy, it will be understood as (type, (1,)) / '(1,)type'.\n", + " _np_quint16 = np.dtype([(\"quint16\", np.uint16, 1)])\n", + "/home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorboard/compat/tensorflow_stub/dtypes.py:545: FutureWarning: Passing (type, 1) or '1type' as a synonym of type is deprecated; in a future version of numpy, it will be understood as (type, (1,)) / '(1,)type'.\n", + " _np_qint32 = np.dtype([(\"qint32\", np.int32, 1)])\n", + "/home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorboard/compat/tensorflow_stub/dtypes.py:550: FutureWarning: Passing (type, 1) or '1type' as a synonym of type is deprecated; in a future version of numpy, it will be understood as (type, (1,)) / '(1,)type'.\n", + " np_resource = np.dtype([(\"resource\", np.ubyte, 1)])\n" + ] + }, + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "WARNING:tensorflow:Entity could not be transformed and will be executed as-is. Please report this to the AutoGraph team. When filing the bug, set the verbosity to 10 (on Linux, `export AUTOGRAPH_VERBOSITY=10`) and attach the full output. Cause: converting : AttributeError: module 'gast' has no attribute 'Index'\n", + "WARNING: Entity could not be transformed and will be executed as-is. Please report this to the AutoGraph team. When filing the bug, set the verbosity to 10 (on Linux, `export AUTOGRAPH_VERBOSITY=10`) and attach the full output. Cause: converting : AttributeError: module 'gast' has no attribute 'Index'\n", + "WARNING:tensorflow:Entity could not be transformed and will be executed as-is. Please report this to the AutoGraph team. When filing the bug, set the verbosity to 10 (on Linux, `export AUTOGRAPH_VERBOSITY=10`) and attach the full output. Cause: converting : AttributeError: module 'gast' has no attribute 'Index'\n", + "WARNING: Entity could not be transformed and will be executed as-is. Please report this to the AutoGraph team. When filing the bug, set the verbosity to 10 (on Linux, `export AUTOGRAPH_VERBOSITY=10`) and attach the full output. Cause: converting : AttributeError: module 'gast' has no attribute 'Index'\n" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "# build the model: a single LSTM layer\n", + "from tensorflow.keras.models import Sequential\n", + "from tensorflow.keras.layers import Dense, LSTM\n", + "\n", + "model = Sequential()\n", + "model.add(LSTM(256, input_shape=(maxlen, len(chars)), dropout=0.2))\n", + "model.add(Dense(len(chars), activation='softmax'))\n", + "\n", + "model.compile(loss='categorical_crossentropy', optimizer='nadam')" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 13, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "Model: \"sequential\"\n", + "_________________________________________________________________\n", + "Layer (type) Output Shape Param # \n", + "=================================================================\n", + "lstm (LSTM) (None, 256) 336896 \n", + "_________________________________________________________________\n", + "dense (Dense) (None, 72) 18504 \n", + "=================================================================\n", + "Total params: 355,400\n", + "Trainable params: 355,400\n", + "Non-trainable params: 0\n", + "_________________________________________________________________\n" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "model.summary()" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 14, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "def sample(preds):\n", + " \"\"\"helper function to sample an index from a probability array\"\"\"\n", + " \n", + " preds = np.asarray(preds).astype('float64')\n", + " preds = np.log(preds) / 1\n", + " exp_preds = np.exp(preds)\n", + " preds = exp_preds / np.sum(exp_preds)\n", + " probas = np.random.multinomial(1, preds, 1)\n", + " return np.argmax(probas)" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 15, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "from tensorflow.keras.callbacks import LambdaCallback\n", + "import random\n", + "\n", + "def on_epoch_end(epoch, _):\n", + " \"\"\"Function invoked at end of each epoch. Prints generated text\"\"\"\n", + " \n", + " print()\n", + " print('----- Generating text after Epoch: %d' % epoch)\n", + " \n", + " start_index = random.randint(0, len(TRAGEDY) - maxlen - 1)\n", + " \n", + " generated = ''\n", + " \n", + " sentence = TRAGEDY[start_index: start_index + maxlen]\n", + " generated += sentence\n", + " \n", + " print('----- Generating with seed: ----- \\n')\n", + " sys.stdout.write(generated)\n", + " \n", + " print('\\n\\n\\n-----New text: -----')\n", + "\n", + " for i in range(400):\n", + " x_pred = np.zeros((1, maxlen, len(chars)))\n", + " for t, char in enumerate(sentence):\n", + " x_pred[0, t, char_int[char]] = 1\n", + " \n", + " preds = model.predict(x_pred, verbose=0)[0]\n", + " next_index = sample(preds)\n", + " next_char = int_char[next_index]\n", + " \n", + " sentence = sentence[1:] + next_char\n", + " \n", + " sys.stdout.write(next_char)\n", + " print()\n", + " sys.stdout.flush()\n", + " print('\\n\\n')\n", + " \n", + " \n", + "print_callback = LambdaCallback(on_epoch_end=on_epoch_end)" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 20, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "Train on 102963 samples, validate on 18171 samples\n", + "Epoch 1/20\n", + " 32/102963 [..............................] - ETA: 18:40 - loss: 1.5362WARNING:tensorflow:Method (on_train_batch_end) is slow compared to the batch update (0.675467). Check your callbacks.\n", + "102944/102963 [============================>.] - ETA: 0s - loss: 1.8971\n", + "----- Generating text after Epoch: 0\n", + "----- Generating with seed: ----- \n", + "\n", + "Check’d like a bondman; all his faults observ’d,\n", + "Set in a note-book, learn’d and conn’d by rote,\n", + "To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep\n", + "My spirit f\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "-----New text: -----\n", + "or me with that ahenggnest Thas is Brutus, Foj, awat I wish have\n", + "And you door, and no w’t mengedies; I\n", + "llot’ poreect he ivang.\n", + "\n", + "BRUTUS.\n", + "Fa, I wis our ees.\n", + "\n", + "CASSIUS.\n", + "Poero, bist wit fert merts of motirn,\n", + "Yell spond sinbered-ov?\n", + "\n", + "SORVASCILIZENS\n", + "What. Eve amas sill, Mark Antenye, with then, gean.\n", + "\n", + "CASSIUS.\n", + "Wuce owith mart Lhes Fo mack of thes, so have nothor have manty.\n", + "\n", + "BRUTUS.\n", + "Ye\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "102963/102963 [==============================] - 1043s 10ms/sample - loss: 1.8970 - val_loss: 1.7259\n", + "Epoch 2/20\n", + "102944/102963 [============================>.] - ETA: 0s - loss: 1.8071\n", + "----- Generating text after Epoch: 1\n", + "----- Generating with seed: ----- \n", + "\n", + "it. And then he\n", + "offered it the third time; he put it the third time by; and still, as\n", + "he refus’d it, the rabblement hooted, and clapp’d their chopt \n", + "\n", + "\n", + "-----New text: -----\n", + "it on you \n", + "Bucius, Casian are all for thit paperert;\n", + "I would I so caipe mar, as comes, werl, my noge; and bust thou knowhy urst\n", + "O, Cascius, Casca, beto goll by uphimg this.\n", + "\n", + "DRUTUS.\n", + "Cascius; Deatetu and let up be hou ibed.\n", + "You Imonelf has herre yot lord. IIshall becw live it.\n", + "And to shensulielsts! Woon the ren lick’dowat,;\n", + "And vo hur that there is arn the higg men.\n", + "WeCancerohel oul just \n", + "\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "102963/102963 [==============================] - 1027s 10ms/sample - loss: 1.8070 - val_loss: 1.6595\n", + "Epoch 3/20\n", + "102944/102963 [============================>.] - ETA: 0s - loss: 1.7365\n", + "----- Generating text after Epoch: 2\n", + "----- Generating with seed: ----- \n", + "\n", + "ir infants quartered with the hands of war;\n", + "All pity chok’d with custom of fell deeds:\n", + "And Caesar’s spirit, ranging for revenge,\n", + "With Ate by his si\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "-----New text: -----\n", + "mbrdsant not drang\n", + "I’ll then dratgatith ong if bur benver\n", + "\n", + "PUBLIUS.\n", + "What;, racy, LLEtUs, Tontone!\n", + "\n", + "AETONY.\n", + "You say Mark Antoyy\n", + "\n", + "CASSIUS.\n", + "Detius! I will net thue preseiers scember.\n", + "\n", + " [_Aseunt._]\n", + "\n", + "That seck the Capitol;\n", + "Th tones ’tlighs now dracs, have it lake af\n", + "Down toou your thVs.\n", + "\n", + "CAESAR.\n", + "Trat nights the partors’thing not commencops nare ablird\n", + "Shall this fillow him s way’d t\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "102963/102963 [==============================] - 1036s 10ms/sample - loss: 1.7365 - val_loss: 1.6148\n", + "Epoch 4/20\n", + "102944/102963 [============================>.] - ETA: 0s - loss: 1.6828\n", + "----- Generating text after Epoch: 3\n", + "----- Generating with seed: ----- \n", + "\n", + "\n", + "BRUTUS.\n", + "Are yet two Romans living such as these?\n", + "The last of all the Romans, fare thee well!\n", + "It is impossible that ever Rome\n", + "Should breed thy fel\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "-----New text: -----\n", + "lteds of your thom?\n", + "He grath wishouls all the puet bs stake,\n", + "Yon, zs it that melsat a wastigs\n", + "That conice that parsshyon placisica,\n", + "To ppeas matter, and for them\n", + "What frion aprsy; and will fow ante\n", + "So dowh; Toom ana your hand?\n", + "To my noty: bug natsing toodivessefl;\n", + "Woin, those stawn you and groat, Ant not,\n", + "When whese as ag mind Phecimiess\n", + "My giad in that praanen, I ward:\n", + "As stray to dil\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "102963/102963 [==============================] - 1050s 10ms/sample - loss: 1.6827 - val_loss: 1.5839\n", + "Epoch 5/20\n", + "102944/102963 [============================>.] - ETA: 0s - loss: 1.6331\n", + "----- Generating text after Epoch: 4\n", + "----- Generating with seed: ----- \n", + "\n", + "\n", + "What trade, thou knave? Thou naughty knave, what trade?\n", + "\n", + "COBBLER.\n", + "Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me; yet, if you be out, sir, I\n", + "can men\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "-----New text: -----\n", + " it oul hender.\n", + "\n", + "AARULLUS.\n", + "I hids not ear, hile duth that\n", + "To crutcen lives.schather it what\n", + "Id hame zent ence met bot, and wishou coled,\n", + "Thicg sot on the cultorsesut of tais;\n", + "And Inek. I ar mane thee thve thiug\n", + "The Caliqowacal, will doulded walke our “ppeser;\n", + "Thing wild friend, sich domy friends, and conserd,\n", + "You hovd of the utch seaters cobare fill rome;\n", + "Br hus glod prome my bet mess, \n", + "\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "102963/102963 [==============================] - 1029s 10ms/sample - loss: 1.6330 - val_loss: 1.5568\n", + "Epoch 6/20\n", + "102944/102963 [============================>.] - ETA: 0s - loss: 1.5963\n", + "----- Generating text after Epoch: 5\n", + "----- Generating with seed: ----- \n", + "\n", + "ay.\n", + "Brutus shall lead; and we will grace his heels\n", + "With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome.\n", + "\n", + " Enter a Servant.\n", + "\n", + "BRUTUS.\n", + "Soft, who comes h\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "-----New text: -----\n", + "e rad to theep it is not,\n", + "That in hos hand, it now, fery, Cassaus, Brutus, \n", + "We’sly unkerman he rets’t yown Phalappus world utone all me,\n", + "And smal’d prawion ur seut on whie thoughty leath.\n", + "I dorr he mead tike Romans dencuse\n", + "Which must your knobleds come bid rone.\n", + ". bndor mears were bothe may If live my Caesar .\n", + "Saie I sge, That I do break his mov’d, they. We coved thous bady. If you have see\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "102963/102963 [==============================] - 1030s 10ms/sample - loss: 1.5963 - val_loss: 1.5416\n", + "Epoch 7/20\n", + "102944/102963 [============================>.] - ETA: 0s - loss: 1.5664\n", + "----- Generating text after Epoch: 6\n", + "----- Generating with seed: ----- \n", + "\n", + "efore he fell down, when he perceived the common herd was glad\n", + "he refused the crown, he pluck’d me ope his doublet, and offer’d them\n", + "his throat to c\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "-----New text: -----\n", + "hupdilimg, for him staes,\n", + "Is ittinst. peaking disinius foll\n", + "Ho; shall I seeal of Caesar’s busch’d,\n", + "Do I for; hid neke a bervait mordstofth\n", + "Shill incentids and aboutedyst.\n", + "\n", + " CLupinge._]\n", + "\n", + "CAESAR.\n", + "Iste whire did sokh; let Lend him rears\n", + "Tut of so sees.\n", + "\n", + "CASCA.\n", + "Come to it. Ples me all them do atoman,\n", + "In his sick dith Cassius orom antonius.\n", + "Detching in ow ’dme;\n", + "Friects to the hindors en\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "102963/102963 [==============================] - 1028s 10ms/sample - loss: 1.5663 - val_loss: 1.5290\n", + "Epoch 8/20\n", + "102944/102963 [============================>.] - ETA: 0s - loss: 1.5310\n", + "----- Generating text after Epoch: 7\n", + "----- Generating with seed: ----- \n", + "\n", + "evying powers; we must straight make head.\n", + "Therefore let our alliance be combin’d,\n", + "Our best friends made, our means stretch’d;\n", + "And let us presently\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "-----New text: -----\n", + " master maat.\n", + "Weal me were disy add lige give nords ablew\n", + "Wouth drved, sir for my soites you haed you.\n", + "\n", + "SheVDHIIDRRTT:\n", + "All, Messeld.\n", + "\n", + "THIRD CITIZEN.\n", + "Tear io good Brutus! With thes spetcted?\n", + "\n", + "CAECAR.\n", + "Nothin any, heave!\n", + "\n", + "BRUTUS.\n", + "Come, Brutus, a feat godl, Caesar!\n", + "\n", + "CASCA.\n", + "Mortlight; Cassius, Cassius asly, to. I bask Sow\n", + "\n", + "Is Caesar; Caesar care the Gonn raby to\n", + "The teils . Brutus to \n", + "\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "102963/102963 [==============================] - 1029s 10ms/sample - loss: 1.5310 - val_loss: 1.5298\n", + "Epoch 9/20\n", + "102944/102963 [============================>.] - ETA: 0s - loss: 1.5055\n", + "----- Generating text after Epoch: 8\n", + "----- Generating with seed: ----- \n", + "\n", + "p a-nights:\n", + "Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look;\n", + "He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.\n", + "\n", + "ANTONY.\n", + "Fear him not, Caesar; he’s not dangerou\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "-----New text: -----\n", + ",\n", + "Mearan towhath dascer to me. A faine is gods,\n", + "And by was vill’d a knaves’spind at him,\n", + "That secius grow defpor in have, the carrods,\n", + "Tull tgis uscyour undraten taenads brozes\n", + "Unie thus rodaydus; and Luciuny for Mere it on hangrd\n", + "To can do a pornins; murt leave tou rid not, go to Caesar!” \n", + "nf, podayor mo an?\n", + "Portia swey-fambinem dadnatines, take t noth\n", + "Letome, should he dose to Denius bef\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "102963/102963 [==============================] - 1030s 10ms/sample - loss: 1.5055 - val_loss: 1.5126\n", + "Epoch 10/20\n", + "102944/102963 [============================>.] - ETA: 0s - loss: 1.4830\n", + "----- Generating text after Epoch: 9\n", + "----- Generating with seed: ----- \n", + "\n", + "e ground?\n", + "\n", + "TITINIUS.\n", + "He lies not like the living. O my heart!\n", + "\n", + "MESSALA.\n", + "Is not that he?\n", + "\n", + "TITINIUS.\n", + "No, this was he, Messala,\n", + "But Cassius is \n", + "\n", + "\n", + "-----New text: -----\n", + "in the tepitousing?\n", + "\n", + "LECIUS.\n", + "They nomat to can of hen offieden quayity,\n", + "And poesely sterts of Hear of man,\n", + "Which are great is, stands doschtmoved or?\n", + "\n", + "BRUTUS.\n", + "You shall stand goey hone, toow he cound\n", + "Who be astafltsess, Ormap their oncercas.\n", + "\n", + "CAESAR.\n", + "POBRIUS,\n" + ] + }, + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "Shepe hade, within the Goes for Cinnar to me:\n", + "I rearothe, told, for we apon the mare tell aw.\n", + "\n", + "TCARUA.\n", + "No, I will cut till \n", + "\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "102963/102963 [==============================] - 1030s 10ms/sample - loss: 1.4830 - val_loss: 1.5118\n", + "Epoch 11/20\n", + "102944/102963 [============================>.] - ETA: 0s - loss: 1.4555\n", + "----- Generating text after Epoch: 10\n", + "----- Generating with seed: ----- \n", + "\n", + "NS.\n", + "Revenge,—about,—seek,—burn,—fire,—kill,—slay,—let not a traitor live!\n", + "\n", + "ANTONY.\n", + "Stay, countrymen.\n", + "\n", + "FIRST CITIZEN.\n", + "Peace there! Hear the nobl\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "-----New text: -----\n", + "e Cassius; he was much?\n", + "\n", + "CINNA.\n", + "What is yet feir’d conest\n", + "I hear your bleeds if me pleete yourself\n", + "You should be tledlt our Cacsius?\n", + "I have hear to steatethick in choses;\n", + "Quitiis at what brost the moutus on moways\n", + "To hand, and hath tomone ploces of Brutus.\n", + "Cair that hath Rome iscoutience, how he,\n", + "Heve it be suther: and med. And when I seend you for his walls.\n", + "\n", + "CASSIUS.\n", + "But he do me; n\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "102963/102963 [==============================] - 1021s 10ms/sample - loss: 1.4555 - val_loss: 1.5306\n", + "Epoch 12/20\n", + "102944/102963 [============================>.] - ETA: 0s - loss: 1.4331\n", + "----- Generating text after Epoch: 11\n", + "----- Generating with seed: ----- \n", + "\n", + "o resolved,\n", + "I can o’ersway him, for he loves to hear\n", + "That unicorns may be betray’d with trees,\n", + "And bears with glasses, elephants with holes,\n", + "Lions\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "-----New text: -----\n", + " abe incioftle sld end right on,\n", + "Fife that world mign’ees to knee.\n", + "\n", + "BRUTUS.\n", + "kend tooobleak then. ] y tell them sombory,\n", + "I have every your Claudeusicluace,\n", + "And walls in mighty take, and such haphes,\n", + "Have me humbitoon, knice not.\n", + "\n", + "BRUTUS.\n", + "I mighty Marc Angony.\n", + "\n", + "BRUTUS.\n", + "Cieaius Marrap, hou shall I wound awake?\n", + "Muselfus Cimber, go to PorteeniCies:\n", + "That yiu gove their Cicero. For Caesar\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "102963/102963 [==============================] - 1041s 10ms/sample - loss: 1.4331 - val_loss: 1.5127\n", + "Epoch 13/20\n", + " 3936/102963 [>.............................] - ETA: 17:12 - loss: 1.3855" + ] + }, + { + "ename": "KeyboardInterrupt", + "evalue": "", + "output_type": "error", + "traceback": [ + "\u001b[0;31m---------------------------------------------------------------------------\u001b[0m", + "\u001b[0;31mKeyboardInterrupt\u001b[0m Traceback (most recent call last)", + "\u001b[0;32m\u001b[0m in \u001b[0;36m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 12\u001b[0m callbacks=[print_callback, \n\u001b[1;32m 13\u001b[0m \u001b[0;31m#EarlyStopping(min_delta=.02, monitor='val_loss', patience=10),\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0;32m---> 14\u001b[0;31m tensorboard_callback])\n\u001b[0m", + "\u001b[0;32m~/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorflow/python/keras/engine/training.py\u001b[0m in \u001b[0;36mfit\u001b[0;34m(self, x, y, batch_size, epochs, verbose, callbacks, validation_split, validation_data, shuffle, class_weight, sample_weight, initial_epoch, steps_per_epoch, validation_steps, validation_freq, max_queue_size, workers, use_multiprocessing, **kwargs)\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 641\u001b[0m \u001b[0mmax_queue_size\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m\u001b[0mmax_queue_size\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 642\u001b[0m \u001b[0mworkers\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m\u001b[0mworkers\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0;32m--> 643\u001b[0;31m use_multiprocessing=use_multiprocessing)\n\u001b[0m\u001b[1;32m 644\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 645\u001b[0m def evaluate(self,\n", + "\u001b[0;32m~/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorflow/python/keras/engine/training_arrays.py\u001b[0m in \u001b[0;36mfit\u001b[0;34m(self, model, x, y, batch_size, epochs, verbose, callbacks, validation_split, validation_data, shuffle, class_weight, sample_weight, initial_epoch, steps_per_epoch, validation_steps, validation_freq, **kwargs)\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 662\u001b[0m \u001b[0mvalidation_steps\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m\u001b[0mvalidation_steps\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 663\u001b[0m \u001b[0mvalidation_freq\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m\u001b[0mvalidation_freq\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0;32m--> 664\u001b[0;31m steps_name='steps_per_epoch')\n\u001b[0m\u001b[1;32m 665\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 666\u001b[0m def evaluate(self,\n", + "\u001b[0;32m~/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorflow/python/keras/engine/training_arrays.py\u001b[0m in \u001b[0;36mmodel_iteration\u001b[0;34m(model, inputs, targets, sample_weights, batch_size, epochs, verbose, callbacks, val_inputs, val_targets, val_sample_weights, shuffle, initial_epoch, steps_per_epoch, validation_steps, validation_freq, mode, validation_in_fit, prepared_feed_values_from_dataset, steps_name, **kwargs)\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 381\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 382\u001b[0m \u001b[0;31m# Get outputs.\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0;32m--> 383\u001b[0;31m \u001b[0mbatch_outs\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m \u001b[0mf\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0mins_batch\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0m\u001b[1;32m 384\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mif\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mnot\u001b[0m \u001b[0misinstance\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0mbatch_outs\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m \u001b[0mlist\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m:\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 385\u001b[0m \u001b[0mbatch_outs\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m[\u001b[0m\u001b[0mbatch_outs\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m]\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n", + "\u001b[0;32m~/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorflow/python/keras/backend.py\u001b[0m in \u001b[0;36m__call__\u001b[0;34m(self, inputs)\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 3508\u001b[0m \u001b[0mvalue\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m \u001b[0mmath_ops\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mcast\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0mvalue\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m \u001b[0mtensor\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mdtype\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 3509\u001b[0m \u001b[0mconverted_inputs\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mappend\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0mvalue\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0;32m-> 3510\u001b[0;31m \u001b[0moutputs\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m \u001b[0mself\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0m_graph_fn\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m*\u001b[0m\u001b[0mconverted_inputs\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0m\u001b[1;32m 3511\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 3512\u001b[0m \u001b[0;31m# EagerTensor.numpy() will often make a copy to ensure memory safety.\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n", + "\u001b[0;32m~/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorflow/python/eager/function.py\u001b[0m in \u001b[0;36m__call__\u001b[0;34m(self, *args, **kwargs)\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 570\u001b[0m raise TypeError(\"Keyword arguments {} unknown. Expected {}.\".format(\n\u001b[1;32m 571\u001b[0m list(kwargs.keys()), list(self._arg_keywords)))\n\u001b[0;32m--> 572\u001b[0;31m \u001b[0;32mreturn\u001b[0m \u001b[0mself\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0m_call_flat\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0margs\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0m\u001b[1;32m 573\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 574\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mdef\u001b[0m \u001b[0m_filtered_call\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0mself\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m \u001b[0margs\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m \u001b[0mkwargs\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m:\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n", + "\u001b[0;32m~/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorflow/python/eager/function.py\u001b[0m in \u001b[0;36m_call_flat\u001b[0;34m(self, args)\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 669\u001b[0m \u001b[0;31m# Only need to override the gradient in graph mode and when we have outputs.\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 670\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mif\u001b[0m \u001b[0mcontext\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mexecuting_eagerly\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mor\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mnot\u001b[0m \u001b[0mself\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0moutputs\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m:\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0;32m--> 671\u001b[0;31m \u001b[0moutputs\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m \u001b[0mself\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0m_inference_function\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mcall\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0mctx\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m \u001b[0margs\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0m\u001b[1;32m 672\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32melse\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m:\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 673\u001b[0m \u001b[0mself\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0m_register_gradient\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n", + "\u001b[0;32m~/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorflow/python/eager/function.py\u001b[0m in \u001b[0;36mcall\u001b[0;34m(self, ctx, args)\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 443\u001b[0m attrs=(\"executor_type\", executor_type,\n\u001b[1;32m 444\u001b[0m \"config_proto\", config),\n\u001b[0;32m--> 445\u001b[0;31m ctx=ctx)\n\u001b[0m\u001b[1;32m 446\u001b[0m \u001b[0;31m# Replace empty list with None\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 447\u001b[0m \u001b[0moutputs\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m \u001b[0moutputs\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mor\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mNone\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n", + "\u001b[0;32m~/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorflow/python/eager/execute.py\u001b[0m in \u001b[0;36mquick_execute\u001b[0;34m(op_name, num_outputs, inputs, attrs, ctx, name)\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 59\u001b[0m tensors = pywrap_tensorflow.TFE_Py_Execute(ctx._handle, device_name,\n\u001b[1;32m 60\u001b[0m \u001b[0mop_name\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m \u001b[0minputs\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m \u001b[0mattrs\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0;32m---> 61\u001b[0;31m num_outputs)\n\u001b[0m\u001b[1;32m 62\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mexcept\u001b[0m \u001b[0mcore\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0m_NotOkStatusException\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mas\u001b[0m \u001b[0me\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m:\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 63\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mif\u001b[0m \u001b[0mname\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mis\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mnot\u001b[0m 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"cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [], + "source": [] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": {}, + "source": [ + "In what way can you apply the full df['text'] data as training data. What does that look like?" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 6, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [ + { + "data": { + "text/plain": [ + "array(['',\n", + " 'AS YOU LIKE IT\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE.\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE, living in exile\\r\\n FREDERICK, his brother, and usurper of his dominions\\r\\n AMIENS, lord attending on the banished Duke\\r\\n JAQUES, \" \" \" \" \" \"\\r\\n LE BEAU, a courtier attending upon Frederick\\r\\n CHARLES, wrestler to Frederick\\r\\n OLIVER, son of Sir Rowland de Boys\\r\\n JAQUES, \" \" \" \" \" \"\\r\\n ORLANDO, \" \" \" \" \" \"\\r\\n ADAM, servant to Oliver\\r\\n DENNIS, \" \" \"\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE, the court jester\\r\\n SIR OLIVER MARTEXT, a vicar\\r\\n CORIN, shepherd\\r\\n SILVIUS, \"\\r\\n WILLIAM, a country fellow, in love with Audrey\\r\\n A person representing HYMEN\\r\\n\\r\\n ROSALIND, daughter to the banished Duke\\r\\n CELIA, daughter to Frederick\\r\\n PHEBE, a shepherdes\\r\\n AUDREY, a country wench\\r\\n\\r\\n Lords, Pages, Foresters, and Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: OLIVER\\'S house; FREDERICK\\'S court; and the Forest of Arden\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. Orchard of OLIVER\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ORLANDO and ADAM\\r\\n\\r\\n ORLANDO. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed me\\r\\n by will but poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou say\\'st, charged my\\r\\n brother, on his blessing, to breed me well; and there begins my\\r\\n sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks\\r\\n goldenly of his profit. For my part, he keeps me rustically at home,\\r\\n or, to speak more properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call\\r\\n you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth that differs not from\\r\\n the stalling of an ox? His horses are bred better; for, besides that\\r\\n they are fair with their feeding, they are taught their manage, and\\r\\n to that end riders dearly hir\\'d; but I, his brother, gain nothing\\r\\n under him but growth; for the which his animals on his dunghills are\\r\\n as much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so\\r\\n plentifully gives me, the something that nature gave me his\\r\\n countenance seems to take from me. He lets me feed with his hinds,\\r\\n bars me the place of a brother, and as much as in him lies, mines my\\r\\n gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and\\r\\n the spirit of my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny\\r\\n against this servitude. I will no longer endure it, though yet I know\\r\\n no wise remedy how to avoid it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter OLIVER\\r\\n\\r\\n ADAM. Yonder comes my master, your brother.\\r\\n ORLANDO. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me\\r\\n up. [ADAM retires]\\r\\n OLIVER. Now, sir! what make you here?\\r\\n ORLANDO. Nothing; I am not taught to make any thing.\\r\\n OLIVER. What mar you then, sir?\\r\\n ORLANDO. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a\\r\\n poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness.\\r\\n OLIVER. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be nought awhile.\\r\\n ORLANDO. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them? What\\r\\n prodigal portion have I spent that I should come to such penury?\\r\\n OLIVER. Know you where you are, sir?\\r\\n ORLANDO. O, sir, very well; here in your orchard.\\r\\n OLIVER. Know you before whom, sir?\\r\\n ORLANDO. Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know you are\\r\\n my eldest brother; and in the gentle condition of blood, you\\r\\n should so know me. The courtesy of nations allows you my better\\r\\n in that you are the first-born; but the same tradition takes not\\r\\n away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us. I have as\\r\\n much of my father in me as you, albeit I confess your coming\\r\\n before me is nearer to his reverence.\\r\\n OLIVER. What, boy! [Strikes him]\\r\\n ORLANDO. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.\\r\\n OLIVER. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?\\r\\n ORLANDO. I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de\\r\\n Boys. He was my father; and he is thrice a villain that says such\\r\\n a father begot villains. Wert thou not my brother, I would not\\r\\n take this hand from thy throat till this other had pull\\'d out thy\\r\\n tongue for saying so. Thou has rail\\'d on thyself.\\r\\n ADAM. [Coming forward] Sweet masters, be patient; for your father\\'s\\r\\n remembrance, be at accord.\\r\\n OLIVER. Let me go, I say.\\r\\n ORLANDO. I will not, till I please; you shall hear me. My father\\r\\n charg\\'d you in his will to give me good education: you have\\r\\n train\\'d me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all\\r\\n gentleman-like qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong in\\r\\n me, and I will no longer endure it; therefore allow me such\\r\\n exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor\\r\\n allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will go buy\\r\\n my fortunes.\\r\\n OLIVER. And what wilt thou do? Beg, when that is spent? Well, sir,\\r\\n get you in. I will not long be troubled with you; you shall have\\r\\n some part of your will. I pray you leave me.\\r\\n ORLANDO. I no further offend you than becomes me for my good.\\r\\n OLIVER. Get you with him, you old dog.\\r\\n ADAM. Is \\'old dog\\' my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth in\\r\\n your service. God be with my old master! He would not have spoke\\r\\n such a word.\\r\\n Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM\\r\\n OLIVER. Is it even so? Begin you to grow upon me? I will physic\\r\\n your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Holla,\\r\\n Dennis!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DENNIS\\r\\n\\r\\n DENNIS. Calls your worship?\\r\\n OLIVER. not Charles, the Duke\\'s wrestler, here to speak with me?\\r\\n DENNIS. So please you, he is here at the door and importunes access\\r\\n to you.\\r\\n OLIVER. Call him in. [Exit DENNIS] \\'Twill be a good way; and\\r\\n to-morrow the wrestling is.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CHARLES\\r\\n\\r\\n CHARLES. Good morrow to your worship.\\r\\n OLIVER. Good Monsieur Charles! What\\'s the new news at the new\\r\\n court?\\r\\n CHARLES. There\\'s no news at the court, sir, but the old news; that\\r\\n is, the old Duke is banished by his younger brother the new Duke;\\r\\n and three or four loving lords have put themselves into voluntary\\r\\n exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new Duke;\\r\\n therefore he gives them good leave to wander.\\r\\n OLIVER. Can you tell if Rosalind, the Duke\\'s daughter, be banished\\r\\n with her father?\\r\\n CHARLES. O, no; for the Duke\\'s daughter, her cousin, so loves her,\\r\\n being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have\\r\\n followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at\\r\\n the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own\\r\\n daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do.\\r\\n OLIVER. Where will the old Duke live?\\r\\n CHARLES. They say he is already in the Forest of Arden, and a many\\r\\n merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood\\r\\n of England. They say many young gentlemen flock to him every day,\\r\\n and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world.\\r\\n OLIVER. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new Duke?\\r\\n CHARLES. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a\\r\\n matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand that your younger\\r\\n brother, Orlando, hath a disposition to come in disguis\\'d against\\r\\n me to try a fall. To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he\\r\\n that escapes me without some broken limb shall acquit him well.\\r\\n Your brother is but young and tender; and, for your love, I would\\r\\n be loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honour, if he come\\r\\n in; therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint\\r\\n you withal, that either you might stay him from his intendment,\\r\\n or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into, in that it is\\r\\n thing of his own search and altogether against my will.\\r\\n OLIVER. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt\\r\\n find I will most kindly requite. I had myself notice of my\\r\\n brother\\'s purpose herein, and have by underhand means laboured to\\r\\n dissuade him from it; but he is resolute. I\\'ll tell thee,\\r\\n Charles, it is the stubbornest young fellow of France; full of\\r\\n ambition, an envious emulator of every man\\'s good parts, a secret\\r\\n and villainous contriver against me his natural brother.\\r\\n Therefore use thy discretion: I had as lief thou didst break his\\r\\n neck as his finger. And thou wert best look to\\'t; for if thou\\r\\n dost him any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace\\r\\n himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap\\r\\n thee by some treacherous device, and never leave thee till he\\r\\n hath ta\\'en thy life by some indirect means or other; for, I\\r\\n assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there is not one\\r\\n so young and so villainous this day living. I speak but brotherly\\r\\n of him; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush\\r\\n and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder.\\r\\n CHARLES. I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come\\r\\n to-morrow I\\'ll give him his payment. If ever he go alone again,\\r\\n I\\'ll never wrestle for prize more. And so, God keep your worship!\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n OLIVER. Farewell, good Charles. Now will I stir this gamester. I\\r\\n hope I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why,\\r\\n hates nothing more than he. Yet he\\'s gentle; never school\\'d and\\r\\n yet learned; full of noble device; of all sorts enchantingly\\r\\n beloved; and, indeed, so much in the heart of the world, and\\r\\n especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am\\r\\n altogether misprised. But it shall not be so long; this wrestler\\r\\n shall clear all. Nothing remains but that I kindle the boy\\r\\n thither, which now I\\'ll go about. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A lawn before the DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ROSALIND and CELIA\\r\\n\\r\\n CELIA. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; and\\r\\n would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget\\r\\n a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any\\r\\n extraordinary pleasure.\\r\\n CELIA. Herein I see thou lov\\'st me not with the full weight that I\\r\\n love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy\\r\\n uncle, the Duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me, I\\r\\n could have taught my love to take thy father for mine; so wouldst\\r\\n thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously temper\\'d\\r\\n as mine is to thee.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to\\r\\n rejoice in yours.\\r\\n CELIA. You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to\\r\\n have; and, truly, when he dies thou shalt be his heir; for what\\r\\n he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee\\r\\n again in affection. By mine honour, I will; and when I break that\\r\\n oath, let me turn monster; therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear\\r\\n Rose, be merry.\\r\\n ROSALIND. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports.\\r\\n Let me see; what think you of falling in love?\\r\\n CELIA. Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal; but love no man\\r\\n in good earnest, nor no further in sport neither than with safety\\r\\n of a pure blush thou mayst in honour come off again.\\r\\n ROSALIND. What shall be our sport, then?\\r\\n CELIA. Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from her\\r\\n wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.\\r\\n ROSALIND. I would we could do so; for her benefits are mightily\\r\\n misplaced; and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her\\r\\n gifts to women.\\r\\n CELIA. \\'Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce makes\\r\\n honest; and those that she makes honest she makes very\\r\\n ill-favouredly.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Nay; now thou goest from Fortune\\'s office to Nature\\'s:\\r\\n Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of\\r\\n Nature.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TOUCHSTONE\\r\\n\\r\\n CELIA. No; when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by\\r\\n Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature hath given us wit to\\r\\n flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune sent in this fool to cut off\\r\\n the argument?\\r\\n ROSALIND. Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when\\r\\n Fortune makes Nature\\'s natural the cutter-off of Nature\\'s wit.\\r\\n CELIA. Peradventure this is not Fortune\\'s work neither, but\\r\\n Nature\\'s, who perceiveth our natural wits too dull to reason of\\r\\n such goddesses, and hath sent this natural for our whetstone; for\\r\\n always the dullness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits. How\\r\\n now, wit! Whither wander you?\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Mistress, you must come away to your father.\\r\\n CELIA. Were you made the messenger?\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Where learned you that oath, fool?\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they were\\r\\n good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was naught.\\r\\n Now I\\'ll stand to it, the pancakes were naught and the mustard\\r\\n was good, and yet was not the knight forsworn.\\r\\n CELIA. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge?\\r\\n ROSALIND. Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear\\r\\n by your beards that I am a knave.\\r\\n CELIA. By our beards, if we had them, thou art.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were. But if you\\r\\n swear by that that not, you are not forsworn; no more was this\\r\\n knight, swearing by his honour, for he never had any; or if he\\r\\n had, he had sworn it away before ever he saw those pancackes or\\r\\n that mustard.\\r\\n CELIA. Prithee, who is\\'t that thou mean\\'st?\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. One that old Frederick, your father, loves.\\r\\n CELIA. My father\\'s love is enough to honour him. Enough, speak no\\r\\n more of him; you\\'ll be whipt for taxation one of these days.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. The more pity that fools may not speak wisely what wise\\r\\n men do foolishly.\\r\\n CELIA. By my troth, thou sayest true; for since the little wit that\\r\\n fools have was silenced, the little foolery that wise men have\\r\\n makes a great show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LE BEAU\\r\\n\\r\\n ROSALIND. With his mouth full of news.\\r\\n CELIA. Which he will put on us as pigeons feed their young.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Then shall we be news-cramm\\'d.\\r\\n CELIA. All the better; we shall be the more marketable. Bon jour,\\r\\n Monsieur Le Beau. What\\'s the news?\\r\\n LE BEAU. Fair Princess, you have lost much good sport.\\r\\n CELIA. Sport! of what colour?\\r\\n LE BEAU. What colour, madam? How shall I answer you?\\r\\n ROSALIND. As wit and fortune will.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Or as the Destinies decrees.\\r\\n CELIA. Well said; that was laid on with a trowel.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Nay, if I keep not my rank-\\r\\n ROSALIND. Thou losest thy old smell.\\r\\n LE BEAU. You amaze me, ladies. I would have told you of good\\r\\n wrestling, which you have lost the sight of.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling.\\r\\n LE BEAU. I will tell you the beginning, and, if it please your\\r\\n ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is yet to do; and\\r\\n here, where you are, they are coming to perform it.\\r\\n CELIA. Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried.\\r\\n LE BEAU. There comes an old man and his three sons-\\r\\n CELIA. I could match this beginning with an old tale.\\r\\n LE BEAU. Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence.\\r\\n ROSALIND. With bills on their necks: \\'Be it known unto all men by\\r\\n these presents\\'-\\r\\n LE BEAU. The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the Duke\\'s\\r\\n wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him, and broke three of\\r\\n his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him. So he serv\\'d\\r\\n the second, and so the third. Yonder they lie; the poor old man,\\r\\n their father, making such pitiful dole over them that all the\\r\\n beholders take his part with weeping.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Alas!\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have\\r\\n lost?\\r\\n LE BEAU. Why, this that I speak of.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Thus men may grow wiser every day. It is the first time\\r\\n that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies.\\r\\n CELIA. Or I, I promise thee.\\r\\n ROSALIND. But is there any else longs to see this broken music in\\r\\n his sides? Is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking? Shall we\\r\\n see this wrestling, cousin?\\r\\n LE BEAU. You must, if you stay here; for here is the place\\r\\n appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it.\\r\\n CELIA. Yonder, sure, they are coming. Let us now stay and see it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, LORDS, ORLANDO,\\r\\n CHARLES, and ATTENDANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n FREDERICK. Come on; since the youth will not be entreated, his own\\r\\n peril on his forwardness.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Is yonder the man?\\r\\n LE BEAU. Even he, madam.\\r\\n CELIA. Alas, he is too young; yet he looks successfully.\\r\\n FREDERICK. How now, daughter and cousin! Are you crept hither to\\r\\n see the wrestling?\\r\\n ROSALIND. Ay, my liege; so please you give us leave.\\r\\n FREDERICK. You will take little delight in it, I can tell you,\\r\\n there is such odds in the man. In pity of the challenger\\'s youth\\r\\n I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated. Speak to\\r\\n him, ladies; see if you can move him.\\r\\n CELIA. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau.\\r\\n FREDERICK. Do so; I\\'ll not be by.\\r\\n [DUKE FREDERICK goes apart]\\r\\n LE BEAU. Monsieur the Challenger, the Princess calls for you.\\r\\n ORLANDO. I attend them with all respect and duty.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Young man, have you challeng\\'d Charles the wrestler?\\r\\n ORLANDO. No, fair Princess; he is the general challenger. I come\\r\\n but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth.\\r\\n CELIA. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years.\\r\\n You have seen cruel proof of this man\\'s strength; if you saw\\r\\n yourself with your eyes, or knew yourself with your judgment, the\\r\\n fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal\\r\\n enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own\\r\\n safety and give over this attempt.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore be\\r\\n misprised: we will make it our suit to the Duke that the\\r\\n wrestling might not go forward.\\r\\n ORLANDO. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts,\\r\\n wherein I confess me much guilty to deny so fair and excellent\\r\\n ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go\\r\\n with me to my trial; wherein if I be foil\\'d there is but one\\r\\n sham\\'d that was never gracious; if kill\\'d, but one dead that is\\r\\n willing to be so. I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none\\r\\n to lament me; the world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only\\r\\n in the world I fill up a place, which may be better supplied when\\r\\n I have made it empty.\\r\\n ROSALIND. The little strength that I have, I would it were with\\r\\n you.\\r\\n CELIA. And mine to eke out hers.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Fare you well. Pray heaven I be deceiv\\'d in you!\\r\\n CELIA. Your heart\\'s desires be with you!\\r\\n CHARLES. Come, where is this young gallant that is so desirous to\\r\\n lie with his mother earth?\\r\\n ORLANDO. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working.\\r\\n FREDERICK. You shall try but one fall.\\r\\n CHARLES. No, I warrant your Grace, you shall not entreat him to a\\r\\n second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first.\\r\\n ORLANDO. You mean to mock me after; you should not have mock\\'d me\\r\\n before; but come your ways.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man!\\r\\n CELIA. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the\\r\\n leg. [They wrestle]\\r\\n ROSALIND. O excellent young man!\\r\\n CELIA. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should\\r\\n down.\\r\\n [CHARLES is thrown. Shout]\\r\\n FREDERICK. No more, no more.\\r\\n ORLANDO. Yes, I beseech your Grace; I am not yet well breath\\'d.\\r\\n FREDERICK. How dost thou, Charles?\\r\\n LE BEAU. He cannot speak, my lord.\\r\\n FREDERICK. Bear him away. What is thy name, young man?\\r\\n ORLANDO. Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of Sir Rowland de\\r\\n Boys.\\r\\n FREDERICK. I would thou hadst been son to some man else.\\r\\n The world esteem\\'d thy father honourable,\\r\\n But I did find him still mine enemy.\\r\\n Thou shouldst have better pleas\\'d me with this deed,\\r\\n Hadst thou descended from another house.\\r\\n But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth;\\r\\n I would thou hadst told me of another father.\\r\\n Exeunt DUKE, train, and LE BEAU\\r\\n CELIA. Were I my father, coz, would I do this?\\r\\n ORLANDO. I am more proud to be Sir Rowland\\'s son,\\r\\n His youngest son- and would not change that calling\\r\\n To be adopted heir to Frederick.\\r\\n ROSALIND. My father lov\\'d Sir Rowland as his soul,\\r\\n And all the world was of my father\\'s mind;\\r\\n Had I before known this young man his son,\\r\\n I should have given him tears unto entreaties\\r\\n Ere he should thus have ventur\\'d.\\r\\n CELIA. Gentle cousin,\\r\\n Let us go thank him, and encourage him;\\r\\n My father\\'s rough and envious disposition\\r\\n Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deserv\\'d;\\r\\n If you do keep your promises in love\\r\\n But justly as you have exceeded all promise,\\r\\n Your mistress shall be happy.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Gentleman, [Giving him a chain from her neck]\\r\\n Wear this for me; one out of suits with fortune,\\r\\n That could give more, but that her hand lacks means.\\r\\n Shall we go, coz?\\r\\n CELIA. Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman.\\r\\n ORLANDO. Can I not say \\'I thank you\\'? My better parts\\r\\n Are all thrown down; and that which here stands up\\r\\n Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block.\\r\\n ROSALIND. He calls us back. My pride fell with my fortunes;\\r\\n I\\'ll ask him what he would. Did you call, sir?\\r\\n Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown\\r\\n More than your enemies.\\r\\n CELIA. Will you go, coz?\\r\\n ROSALIND. Have with you. Fare you well.\\r\\n Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA\\r\\n ORLANDO. What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue?\\r\\n I cannot speak to her, yet she urg\\'d conference.\\r\\n O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown!\\r\\n Or Charles or something weaker masters thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter LE BEAU\\r\\n\\r\\n LE BEAU. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you\\r\\n To leave this place. Albeit you have deserv\\'d\\r\\n High commendation, true applause, and love,\\r\\n Yet such is now the Duke\\'s condition\\r\\n That he misconstrues all that you have done.\\r\\n The Duke is humorous; what he is, indeed,\\r\\n More suits you to conceive than I to speak of.\\r\\n ORLANDO. I thank you, sir; and pray you tell me this:\\r\\n Which of the two was daughter of the Duke\\r\\n That here was at the wrestling?\\r\\n LE BEAU. Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners;\\r\\n But yet, indeed, the smaller is his daughter;\\r\\n The other is daughter to the banish\\'d Duke,\\r\\n And here detain\\'d by her usurping uncle,\\r\\n To keep his daughter company; whose loves\\r\\n Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters.\\r\\n But I can tell you that of late this Duke\\r\\n Hath ta\\'en displeasure \\'gainst his gentle niece,\\r\\n Grounded upon no other argument\\r\\n But that the people praise her for her virtues\\r\\n And pity her for her good father\\'s sake;\\r\\n And, on my life, his malice \\'gainst the lady\\r\\n Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well.\\r\\n Hereafter, in a better world than this,\\r\\n I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.\\r\\n ORLANDO. I rest much bounden to you; fare you well.\\r\\n Exit LE BEAU\\r\\n Thus must I from the smoke into the smother;\\r\\n From tyrant Duke unto a tyrant brother.\\r\\n But heavenly Rosalind! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The DUKE\\'s palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter CELIA and ROSALIND\\r\\n\\r\\n CELIA. Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy!\\r\\n Not a word?\\r\\n ROSALIND. Not one to throw at a dog.\\r\\n CELIA. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs;\\r\\n throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Then there were two cousins laid up, when the one should\\r\\n be lam\\'d with reasons and the other mad without any.\\r\\n CELIA. But is all this for your father?\\r\\n ROSALIND. No, some of it is for my child\\'s father. O, how full of\\r\\n briers is this working-day world!\\r\\n CELIA. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday\\r\\n foolery; if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats\\r\\n will catch them.\\r\\n ROSALIND. I could shake them off my coat: these burs are in my\\r\\n heart.\\r\\n CELIA. Hem them away.\\r\\n ROSALIND. I would try, if I could cry \\'hem\\' and have him.\\r\\n CELIA. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.\\r\\n ROSALIND. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself.\\r\\n CELIA. O, a good wish upon you! You will try in time, in despite of\\r\\n a fall. But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in\\r\\n good earnest. Is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall\\r\\n into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland\\'s youngest son?\\r\\n ROSALIND. The Duke my father lov\\'d his father dearly.\\r\\n CELIA. Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son dearly?\\r\\n By this kind of chase I should hate him, for my father hated his\\r\\n father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando.\\r\\n ROSALIND. No, faith, hate him not, for my sake.\\r\\n CELIA. Why should I not? Doth he not deserve well?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n ROSALIND. Let me love him for that; and do you love him because I\\r\\n do. Look, here comes the Duke.\\r\\n CELIA. With his eyes full of anger.\\r\\n FREDERICK. Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste,\\r\\n And get you from our court.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Me, uncle?\\r\\n FREDERICK. You, cousin.\\r\\n Within these ten days if that thou beest found\\r\\n So near our public court as twenty miles,\\r\\n Thou diest for it.\\r\\n ROSALIND. I do beseech your Grace,\\r\\n Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me.\\r\\n If with myself I hold intelligence,\\r\\n Or have acquaintance with mine own desires;\\r\\n If that I do not dream, or be not frantic-\\r\\n As I do trust I am not- then, dear uncle,\\r\\n Never so much as in a thought unborn\\r\\n Did I offend your Highness.\\r\\n FREDERICK. Thus do all traitors;\\r\\n If their purgation did consist in words,\\r\\n They are as innocent as grace itself.\\r\\n Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor.\\r\\n Tell me whereon the likelihood depends.\\r\\n FREDERICK. Thou art thy father\\'s daughter; there\\'s enough.\\r\\n ROSALIND. SO was I when your Highness took his dukedom;\\r\\n So was I when your Highness banish\\'d him.\\r\\n Treason is not inherited, my lord;\\r\\n Or, if we did derive it from our friends,\\r\\n What\\'s that to me? My father was no traitor.\\r\\n Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much\\r\\n To think my poverty is treacherous.\\r\\n CELIA. Dear sovereign, hear me speak.\\r\\n FREDERICK. Ay, Celia; we stay\\'d her for your sake,\\r\\n Else had she with her father rang\\'d along.\\r\\n CELIA. I did not then entreat to have her stay;\\r\\n It was your pleasure, and your own remorse;\\r\\n I was too young that time to value her,\\r\\n But now I know her. If she be a traitor,\\r\\n Why so am I: we still have slept together,\\r\\n Rose at an instant, learn\\'d, play\\'d, eat together;\\r\\n And wheresoe\\'er we went, like Juno\\'s swans,\\r\\n Still we went coupled and inseparable.\\r\\n FREDERICK. She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness,\\r\\n Her very silence and her patience,\\r\\n Speak to the people, and they pity her.\\r\\n Thou art a fool. She robs thee of thy name;\\r\\n And thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous\\r\\n When she is gone. Then open not thy lips.\\r\\n Firm and irrevocable is my doom\\r\\n Which I have pass\\'d upon her; she is banish\\'d.\\r\\n CELIA. Pronounce that sentence, then, on me, my liege;\\r\\n I cannot live out of her company.\\r\\n FREDERICK. You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself.\\r\\n If you outstay the time, upon mine honour,\\r\\n And in the greatness of my word, you die.\\r\\n Exeunt DUKE and LORDS\\r\\n CELIA. O my poor Rosalind! Whither wilt thou go?\\r\\n Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine.\\r\\n I charge thee be not thou more griev\\'d than I am.\\r\\n ROSALIND. I have more cause.\\r\\n CELIA. Thou hast not, cousin.\\r\\n Prithee be cheerful. Know\\'st thou not the Duke\\r\\n Hath banish\\'d me, his daughter?\\r\\n ROSALIND. That he hath not.\\r\\n CELIA. No, hath not? Rosalind lacks, then, the love\\r\\n Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one.\\r\\n Shall we be sund\\'red? Shall we part, sweet girl?\\r\\n No; let my father seek another heir.\\r\\n Therefore devise with me how we may fly,\\r\\n Whither to go, and what to bear with us;\\r\\n And do not seek to take your charge upon you,\\r\\n To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out;\\r\\n For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,\\r\\n Say what thou canst, I\\'ll go along with thee.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Why, whither shall we go?\\r\\n CELIA. To seek my uncle in the Forest of Arden.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Alas, what danger will it be to us,\\r\\n Maids as we are, to travel forth so far!\\r\\n Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.\\r\\n CELIA. I\\'ll put myself in poor and mean attire,\\r\\n And with a kind of umber smirch my face;\\r\\n The like do you; so shall we pass along,\\r\\n And never stir assailants.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Were it not better,\\r\\n Because that I am more than common tall,\\r\\n That I did suit me all points like a man?\\r\\n A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh,\\r\\n A boar spear in my hand; and- in my heart\\r\\n Lie there what hidden woman\\'s fear there will-\\r\\n We\\'ll have a swashing and a martial outside,\\r\\n As many other mannish cowards have\\r\\n That do outface it with their semblances.\\r\\n CELIA. What shall I call thee when thou art a man?\\r\\n ROSALIND. I\\'ll have no worse a name than Jove\\'s own page,\\r\\n And therefore look you call me Ganymede.\\r\\n But what will you be call\\'d?\\r\\n CELIA. Something that hath a reference to my state:\\r\\n No longer Celia, but Aliena.\\r\\n ROSALIND. But, cousin, what if we assay\\'d to steal\\r\\n The clownish fool out of your father\\'s court?\\r\\n Would he not be a comfort to our travel?\\r\\n CELIA. He\\'ll go along o\\'er the wide world with me;\\r\\n Leave me alone to woo him. Let\\'s away,\\r\\n And get our jewels and our wealth together;\\r\\n Devise the fittest time and safest way\\r\\n To hide us from pursuit that will be made\\r\\n After my flight. Now go we in content\\r\\n To liberty, and not to banishment. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. The Forest of Arden\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and two or three LORDS, like foresters\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,\\r\\n Hath not old custom made this life more sweet\\r\\n Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods\\r\\n More free from peril than the envious court?\\r\\n Here feel we not the penalty of Adam,\\r\\n The seasons\\' difference; as the icy fang\\r\\n And churlish chiding of the winter\\'s wind,\\r\\n Which when it bites and blows upon my body,\\r\\n Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say\\r\\n \\'This is no flattery; these are counsellors\\r\\n That feelingly persuade me what I am.\\'\\r\\n Sweet are the uses of adversity,\\r\\n Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,\\r\\n Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;\\r\\n And this our life, exempt from public haunt,\\r\\n Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,\\r\\n Sermons in stones, and good in everything.\\r\\n I would not change it.\\r\\n AMIENS. Happy is your Grace,\\r\\n That can translate the stubbornness of fortune\\r\\n Into so quiet and so sweet a style.\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. Come, shall we go and kill us venison?\\r\\n And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools,\\r\\n Being native burghers of this desert city,\\r\\n Should, in their own confines, with forked heads\\r\\n Have their round haunches gor\\'d.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Indeed, my lord,\\r\\n The melancholy Jaques grieves at that;\\r\\n And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp\\r\\n Than doth your brother that hath banish\\'d you.\\r\\n To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself\\r\\n Did steal behind him as he lay along\\r\\n Under an oak whose antique root peeps out\\r\\n Upon the brook that brawls along this wood!\\r\\n To the which place a poor sequest\\'red stag,\\r\\n That from the hunter\\'s aim had ta\\'en a hurt,\\r\\n Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord,\\r\\n The wretched animal heav\\'d forth such groans\\r\\n That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat\\r\\n Almost to bursting; and the big round tears\\r\\n Cours\\'d one another down his innocent nose\\r\\n In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool,\\r\\n Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,\\r\\n Stood on th\\' extremest verge of the swift brook,\\r\\n Augmenting it with tears.\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. But what said Jaques?\\r\\n Did he not moralize this spectacle?\\r\\n FIRST LORD. O, yes, into a thousand similes.\\r\\n First, for his weeping into the needless stream:\\r\\n \\'Poor deer,\\' quoth he \\'thou mak\\'st a testament\\r\\n As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more\\r\\n To that which had too much.\\' Then, being there alone,\\r\\n Left and abandoned of his velvet friends:\\r\\n \\'\\'Tis right\\'; quoth he \\'thus misery doth part\\r\\n The flux of company.\\' Anon, a careless herd,\\r\\n Full of the pasture, jumps along by him\\r\\n And never stays to greet him. \\'Ay,\\' quoth Jaques\\r\\n \\'Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;\\r\\n \\'Tis just the fashion. Wherefore do you look\\r\\n Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?\\'\\r\\n Thus most invectively he pierceth through\\r\\n The body of the country, city, court,\\r\\n Yea, and of this our life; swearing that we\\r\\n Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what\\'s worse,\\r\\n To fright the animals, and to kill them up\\r\\n In their assign\\'d and native dwelling-place.\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. And did you leave him in this contemplation?\\r\\n SECOND LORD. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting\\r\\n Upon the sobbing deer.\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. Show me the place;\\r\\n I love to cope him in these sullen fits,\\r\\n For then he\\'s full of matter.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. I\\'ll bring you to him straight. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE FREDERICK, with LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n FREDERICK. Can it be possible that no man saw them?\\r\\n It cannot be; some villains of my court\\r\\n Are of consent and sufferance in this.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. I cannot hear of any that did see her.\\r\\n The ladies, her attendants of her chamber,\\r\\n Saw her abed, and in the morning early\\r\\n They found the bed untreasur\\'d of their mistress.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft\\r\\n Your Grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.\\r\\n Hisperia, the Princess\\' gentlewoman,\\r\\n Confesses that she secretly o\\'erheard\\r\\n Your daughter and her cousin much commend\\r\\n The parts and graces of the wrestler\\r\\n That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles;\\r\\n And she believes, wherever they are gone,\\r\\n That youth is surely in their company.\\r\\n FREDERICK. Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither.\\r\\n If he be absent, bring his brother to me;\\r\\n I\\'ll make him find him. Do this suddenly;\\r\\n And let not search and inquisition quail\\r\\n To bring again these foolish runaways. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Before OLIVER\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting\\r\\n\\r\\n ORLANDO. Who\\'s there?\\r\\n ADAM. What, my young master? O my gentle master!\\r\\n O my sweet master! O you memory\\r\\n Of old Sir Rowland! Why, what make you here?\\r\\n Why are you virtuous? Why do people love you?\\r\\n And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant?\\r\\n Why would you be so fond to overcome\\r\\n The bonny prizer of the humorous Duke?\\r\\n Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.\\r\\n Know you not, master, to some kind of men\\r\\n Their graces serve them but as enemies?\\r\\n No more do yours. Your virtues, gentle master,\\r\\n Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.\\r\\n O, what a world is this, when what is comely\\r\\n Envenoms him that bears it!\\r\\n ORLANDO. Why, what\\'s the matter?\\r\\n ADAM. O unhappy youth!\\r\\n Come not within these doors; within this roof\\r\\n The enemy of all your graces lives.\\r\\n Your brother- no, no brother; yet the son-\\r\\n Yet not the son; I will not call him son\\r\\n Of him I was about to call his father-\\r\\n Hath heard your praises; and this night he means\\r\\n To burn the lodging where you use to lie,\\r\\n And you within it. If he fail of that,\\r\\n He will have other means to cut you off;\\r\\n I overheard him and his practices.\\r\\n This is no place; this house is but a butchery;\\r\\n Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.\\r\\n ORLANDO. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?\\r\\n ADAM. No matter whither, so you come not here.\\r\\n ORLANDO. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food,\\r\\n Or with a base and boist\\'rous sword enforce\\r\\n A thievish living on the common road?\\r\\n This I must do, or know not what to do;\\r\\n Yet this I will not do, do how I can.\\r\\n I rather will subject me to the malice\\r\\n Of a diverted blood and bloody brother.\\r\\n ADAM. But do not so. I have five hundred crowns,\\r\\n The thrifty hire I sav\\'d under your father,\\r\\n Which I did store to be my foster-nurse,\\r\\n When service should in my old limbs lie lame,\\r\\n And unregarded age in corners thrown.\\r\\n Take that, and He that doth the ravens feed,\\r\\n Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,\\r\\n Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold;\\r\\n All this I give you. Let me be your servant;\\r\\n Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty;\\r\\n For in my youth I never did apply\\r\\n Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood,\\r\\n Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo\\r\\n The means of weakness and debility;\\r\\n Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,\\r\\n Frosty, but kindly. Let me go with you;\\r\\n I\\'ll do the service of a younger man\\r\\n In all your business and necessities.\\r\\n ORLANDO. O good old man, how well in thee appears\\r\\n The constant service of the antique world,\\r\\n When service sweat for duty, not for meed!\\r\\n Thou art not for the fashion of these times,\\r\\n Where none will sweat but for promotion,\\r\\n And having that do choke their service up\\r\\n Even with the having; it is not so with thee.\\r\\n But, poor old man, thou prun\\'st a rotten tree\\r\\n That cannot so much as a blossom yield\\r\\n In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry.\\r\\n But come thy ways, we\\'ll go along together,\\r\\n And ere we have thy youthful wages spent\\r\\n We\\'ll light upon some settled low content.\\r\\n ADAM. Master, go on; and I will follow the\\r\\n To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.\\r\\n From seventeen years till now almost four-score\\r\\n Here lived I, but now live here no more.\\r\\n At seventeen years many their fortunes seek,\\r\\n But at fourscore it is too late a week;\\r\\n Yet fortune cannot recompense me better\\r\\n Than to die well and not my master\\'s debtor. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The Forest of Arden\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ROSALIND for GANYMEDE, CELIA for ALIENA, and CLOWN alias\\r\\nTOUCHSTONE\\r\\n\\r\\n ROSALIND. O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits!\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. I Care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.\\r\\n ROSALIND. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man\\'s apparel,\\r\\n and to cry like a woman; but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as\\r\\n doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat;\\r\\n therefore, courage, good Aliena.\\r\\n CELIA. I pray you bear with me; I cannot go no further.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear you;\\r\\n yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you; for I think you\\r\\n have no money in your purse.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Well,. this is the Forest of Arden.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when I was at\\r\\n home I was in a better place; but travellers must be content.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CORIN and SILVIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n ROSALIND. Ay, be so, good Touchstone. Look you, who comes here, a\\r\\n young man and an old in solemn talk.\\r\\n CORIN. That is the way to make her scorn you still.\\r\\n SILVIUS. O Corin, that thou knew\\'st how I do love her!\\r\\n CORIN. I partly guess; for I have lov\\'d ere now.\\r\\n SILVIUS. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess,\\r\\n Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover\\r\\n As ever sigh\\'d upon a midnight pillow.\\r\\n But if thy love were ever like to mine,\\r\\n As sure I think did never man love so,\\r\\n How many actions most ridiculous\\r\\n Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?\\r\\n CORIN. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.\\r\\n SILVIUS. O, thou didst then never love so heartily!\\r\\n If thou rememb\\'rest not the slightest folly\\r\\n That ever love did make thee run into,\\r\\n Thou hast not lov\\'d;\\r\\n Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,\\r\\n Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress\\' praise,\\r\\n Thou hast not lov\\'d;\\r\\n Or if thou hast not broke from company\\r\\n Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,\\r\\n Thou hast not lov\\'d.\\r\\n O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe! Exit Silvius\\r\\n ROSALIND. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound,\\r\\n I have by hard adventure found mine own.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. And I mine. I remember, when I was in love, I broke my\\r\\n sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming a-night to\\r\\n Jane Smile; and I remember the kissing of her batler, and the\\r\\n cow\\'s dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milk\\'d; and I remember\\r\\n the wooing of peascod instead of her; from whom I took two cods,\\r\\n and giving her them again, said with weeping tears \\'Wear these\\r\\n for my sake.\\' We that are true lovers run into strange capers;\\r\\n but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal\\r\\n in folly.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Thou speak\\'st wiser than thou art ware of.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Nay, I shall ne\\'er be ware of mine own wit till I break\\r\\n my shins against it.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Jove, Jove! this shepherd\\'s passion\\r\\n Is much upon my fashion.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. And mine; but it grows something stale with me.\\r\\n CELIA. I pray you, one of you question yond man\\r\\n If he for gold will give us any food;\\r\\n I faint almost to death.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Holla, you clown!\\r\\n ROSALIND. Peace, fool; he\\'s not thy Ensman.\\r\\n CORIN. Who calls?\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Your betters, sir.\\r\\n CORIN. Else are they very wretched.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend.\\r\\n CORIN. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.\\r\\n ROSALIND. I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold\\r\\n Can in this desert place buy entertainment,\\r\\n Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed.\\r\\n Here\\'s a young maid with travel much oppress\\'d,\\r\\n And faints for succour.\\r\\n CORIN. Fair sir, I pity her,\\r\\n And wish, for her sake more than for mine own,\\r\\n My fortunes were more able to relieve her;\\r\\n But I am shepherd to another man,\\r\\n And do not shear the fleeces that I graze.\\r\\n My master is of churlish disposition,\\r\\n And little recks to find the way to heaven\\r\\n By doing deeds of hospitality.\\r\\n Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed,\\r\\n Are now on sale; and at our sheepcote now,\\r\\n By reason of his absence, there is nothing\\r\\n That you will feed on; but what is, come see,\\r\\n And in my voice most welcome shall you be.\\r\\n ROSALIND. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?\\r\\n CORIN. That young swain that you saw here but erewhile,\\r\\n That little cares for buying any thing.\\r\\n ROSALIND. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,\\r\\n Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock,\\r\\n And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.\\r\\n CELIA. And we will mend thy wages. I like this place,\\r\\n And willingly could waste my time in it.\\r\\n CORIN. Assuredly the thing is to be sold.\\r\\n Go with me; if you like upon report\\r\\n The soil, the profit, and this kind of life,\\r\\n I will your very faithful feeder be,\\r\\n And buy it with your gold right suddenly. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Another part of the forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter AMIENS, JAQUES, and OTHERS\\r\\n\\r\\n SONG\\r\\n AMIENS. Under the greenwood tree\\r\\n Who loves to lie with me,\\r\\n And turn his merry note\\r\\n Unto the sweet bird\\'s throat,\\r\\n Come hither, come hither, come hither.\\r\\n Here shall he see\\r\\n No enemy\\r\\n But winter and rough weather.\\r\\n\\r\\n JAQUES. More, more, I prithee, more.\\r\\n AMIENS. It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.\\r\\n JAQUES. I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy\\r\\n out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more.\\r\\n AMIENS. My voice is ragged; I know I cannot please you.\\r\\n JAQUES. I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing.\\r\\n Come, more; another stanzo. Call you \\'em stanzos?\\r\\n AMIENS. What you will, Monsieur Jaques.\\r\\n JAQUES. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. Will\\r\\n you sing?\\r\\n AMIENS. More at your request than to please myself.\\r\\n JAQUES. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I\\'ll thank you; but\\r\\n that they call compliment is like th\\' encounter of two dog-apes;\\r\\n and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks have given him a\\r\\n penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you\\r\\n that will not, hold your tongues.\\r\\n AMIENS. Well, I\\'ll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the Duke\\r\\n will drink under this tree. He hath been all this day to look\\r\\n you.\\r\\n JAQUES. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is to\\r\\n disputable for my company. I think of as many matters as he; but\\r\\n I give heaven thanks, and make no boast of them. Come, warble,\\r\\n come.\\r\\n\\r\\n SONG\\r\\n [All together here]\\r\\n\\r\\n Who doth ambition shun,\\r\\n And loves to live i\\' th\\' sun,\\r\\n Seeking the food he eats,\\r\\n And pleas\\'d with what he gets,\\r\\n Come hither, come hither, come hither.\\r\\n Here shall he see\\r\\n No enemy\\r\\n But winter and rough weather.\\r\\n\\r\\n JAQUES. I\\'ll give you a verse to this note that I made yesterday in\\r\\n despite of my invention.\\r\\n AMIENS. And I\\'ll sing it.\\r\\n JAQUES. Thus it goes:\\r\\n\\r\\n If it do come to pass\\r\\n That any man turn ass,\\r\\n Leaving his wealth and ease\\r\\n A stubborn will to please,\\r\\n Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame;\\r\\n Here shall he see\\r\\n Gross fools as he,\\r\\n An if he will come to me.\\r\\n\\r\\n AMIENS. What\\'s that \\'ducdame\\'?\\r\\n JAQUES. \\'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I\\'ll\\r\\n go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I\\'ll rail against all the\\r\\n first-born of Egypt.\\r\\n AMIENS. And I\\'ll go seek the Duke; his banquet is prepar\\'d.\\r\\n Exeunt severally\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. The forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ORLANDO and ADAM\\r\\n\\r\\n ADAM. Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food! Here lie\\r\\n I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master.\\r\\n ORLANDO. Why, how now, Adam! No greater heart in thee? Live a\\r\\n little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth\\r\\n forest yield anything savage, I will either be food for it or\\r\\n bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy\\r\\n powers. For my sake be comfortable; hold death awhile at the\\r\\n arm\\'s end. I will here be with the presently; and if I bring thee\\r\\n not something to eat, I will give thee leave to die; but if thou\\r\\n diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said!\\r\\n thou look\\'st cheerly; and I\\'ll be with thee quickly. Yet thou\\r\\n liest in the bleak air. Come, I will bear thee to some shelter;\\r\\n and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live\\r\\n anything in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. The forest\\r\\n\\r\\nA table set out. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and LORDS, like outlaws\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. I think he be transform\\'d into a beast;\\r\\n For I can nowhere find him like a man.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. My lord, he is but even now gone hence;\\r\\n Here was he merry, hearing of a song.\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. If he, compact of jars, grow musical,\\r\\n We shall have shortly discord in the spheres.\\r\\n Go seek him; tell him I would speak with him.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter JAQUES\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST LORD. He saves my labour by his own approach.\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this,\\r\\n That your poor friends must woo your company?\\r\\n What, you look merrily!\\r\\n JAQUES. A fool, a fool! I met a fool i\\' th\\' forest,\\r\\n A motley fool. A miserable world!\\r\\n As I do live by food, I met a fool,\\r\\n Who laid him down and bask\\'d him in the sun,\\r\\n And rail\\'d on Lady Fortune in good terms,\\r\\n In good set terms- and yet a motley fool.\\r\\n \\'Good morrow, fool,\\' quoth I; \\'No, sir,\\' quoth he,\\r\\n \\'Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune.\\'\\r\\n And then he drew a dial from his poke,\\r\\n And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye,\\r\\n Says very wisely, \\'It is ten o\\'clock;\\r\\n Thus we may see,\\' quoth he, \\'how the world wags;\\r\\n \\'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine;\\r\\n And after one hour more \\'twill be eleven;\\r\\n And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,\\r\\n And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot;\\r\\n And thereby hangs a tale.\\' When I did hear\\r\\n The motley fool thus moral on the time,\\r\\n My lungs began to crow like chanticleer\\r\\n That fools should be so deep contemplative;\\r\\n And I did laugh sans intermission\\r\\n An hour by his dial. O noble fool!\\r\\n A worthy fool! Motley\\'s the only wear.\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. What fool is this?\\r\\n JAQUES. O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier,\\r\\n And says, if ladies be but young and fair,\\r\\n They have the gift to know it; and in his brain,\\r\\n Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit\\r\\n After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm\\'d\\r\\n With observation, the which he vents\\r\\n In mangled forms. O that I were a fool!\\r\\n I am ambitious for a motley coat.\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. Thou shalt have one.\\r\\n JAQUES. It is my only suit,\\r\\n Provided that you weed your better judgments\\r\\n Of all opinion that grows rank in them\\r\\n That I am wise. I must have liberty\\r\\n Withal, as large a charter as the wind,\\r\\n To blow on whom I please, for so fools have;\\r\\n And they that are most galled with my folly,\\r\\n They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so?\\r\\n The why is plain as way to parish church:\\r\\n He that a fool doth very wisely hit\\r\\n Doth very foolishly, although he smart,\\r\\n Not to seem senseless of the bob; if not,\\r\\n The wise man\\'s folly is anatomiz\\'d\\r\\n Even by the squand\\'ring glances of the fool.\\r\\n Invest me in my motley; give me leave\\r\\n To speak my mind, and I will through and through\\r\\n Cleanse the foul body of th\\' infected world,\\r\\n If they will patiently receive my medicine.\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do.\\r\\n JAQUES. What, for a counter, would I do but good?\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. Most Mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin;\\r\\n For thou thyself hast been a libertine,\\r\\n As sensual as the brutish sting itself;\\r\\n And all th\\' embossed sores and headed evils\\r\\n That thou with license of free foot hast caught\\r\\n Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.\\r\\n JAQUES. Why, who cries out on pride\\r\\n That can therein tax any private party?\\r\\n Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,\\r\\n Till that the wearer\\'s very means do ebb?\\r\\n What woman in the city do I name\\r\\n When that I say the city-woman bears\\r\\n The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders?\\r\\n Who can come in and say that I mean her,\\r\\n When such a one as she such is her neighbour?\\r\\n Or what is he of basest function\\r\\n That says his bravery is not on my cost,\\r\\n Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits\\r\\n His folly to the mettle of my speech?\\r\\n There then! how then? what then? Let me see wherein\\r\\n My tongue hath wrong\\'d him: if it do him right,\\r\\n Then he hath wrong\\'d himself; if he be free,\\r\\n Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies,\\r\\n Unclaim\\'d of any man. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ORLANDO with his sword drawn\\r\\n\\r\\n ORLANDO. Forbear, and eat no more.\\r\\n JAQUES. Why, I have eat none yet.\\r\\n ORLANDO. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv\\'d.\\r\\n JAQUES. Of what kind should this cock come of?\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. Art thou thus bolden\\'d, man, by thy distress?\\r\\n Or else a rude despiser of good manners,\\r\\n That in civility thou seem\\'st so empty?\\r\\n ORLANDO. You touch\\'d my vein at first: the thorny point\\r\\n Of bare distress hath ta\\'en from me the show\\r\\n Of smooth civility; yet arn I inland bred,\\r\\n And know some nurture. But forbear, I say;\\r\\n He dies that touches any of this fruit\\r\\n Till I and my affairs are answered.\\r\\n JAQUES. An you will not be answer\\'d with reason, I must die.\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. What would you have? Your gentleness shall force\\r\\n More than your force move us to gentleness.\\r\\n ORLANDO. I almost die for food, and let me have it.\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.\\r\\n ORLANDO. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you;\\r\\n I thought that all things had been savage here,\\r\\n And therefore put I on the countenance\\r\\n Of stern commandment. But whate\\'er you are\\r\\n That in this desert inaccessible,\\r\\n Under the shade of melancholy boughs,\\r\\n Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time;\\r\\n If ever you have look\\'d on better days,\\r\\n If ever been where bells have knoll\\'d to church,\\r\\n If ever sat at any good man\\'s feast,\\r\\n If ever from your eyelids wip\\'d a tear,\\r\\n And know what \\'tis to pity and be pitied,\\r\\n Let gentleness my strong enforcement be;\\r\\n In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. True is it that we have seen better days,\\r\\n And have with holy bell been knoll\\'d to church,\\r\\n And sat at good men\\'s feasts, and wip\\'d our eyes\\r\\n Of drops that sacred pity hath engend\\'red;\\r\\n And therefore sit you down in gentleness,\\r\\n And take upon command what help we have\\r\\n That to your wanting may be minist\\'red.\\r\\n ORLANDO. Then but forbear your food a little while,\\r\\n Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn,\\r\\n And give it food. There is an old poor man\\r\\n Who after me hath many a weary step\\r\\n Limp\\'d in pure love; till he be first suffic\\'d,\\r\\n Oppress\\'d with two weak evils, age and hunger,\\r\\n I will not touch a bit.\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. Go find him out.\\r\\n And we will nothing waste till you return.\\r\\n ORLANDO. I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort!\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:\\r\\n This wide and universal theatre\\r\\n Presents more woeful pageants than the scene\\r\\n Wherein we play in.\\r\\n JAQUES. All the world\\'s a stage,\\r\\n And all the men and women merely players;\\r\\n They have their exits and their entrances;\\r\\n And one man in his time plays many parts,\\r\\n His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,\\r\\n Mewling and puking in the nurse\\'s arms;\\r\\n Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel\\r\\n And shining morning face, creeping like snail\\r\\n Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,\\r\\n Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad\\r\\n Made to his mistress\\' eyebrow. Then a soldier,\\r\\n Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,\\r\\n Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,\\r\\n Seeking the bubble reputation\\r\\n Even in the cannon\\'s mouth. And then the justice,\\r\\n In fair round belly with good capon lin\\'d,\\r\\n With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,\\r\\n Full of wise saws and modern instances;\\r\\n And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts\\r\\n Into the lean and slipper\\'d pantaloon,\\r\\n With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,\\r\\n His youthful hose, well sav\\'d, a world too wide\\r\\n For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,\\r\\n Turning again toward childish treble, pipes\\r\\n And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,\\r\\n That ends this strange eventful history,\\r\\n Is second childishness and mere oblivion;\\r\\n Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter ORLANDO with ADAM\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. Welcome. Set down your venerable burden.\\r\\n And let him feed.\\r\\n ORLANDO. I thank you most for him.\\r\\n ADAM. So had you need;\\r\\n I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. Welcome; fall to. I will not trouble you\\r\\n As yet to question you about your fortunes.\\r\\n Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing.\\r\\n\\r\\n SONG\\r\\n Blow, blow, thou winter wind,\\r\\n Thou art not so unkind\\r\\n As man\\'s ingratitude;\\r\\n Thy tooth is not so keen,\\r\\n Because thou art not seen,\\r\\n Although thy breath be rude.\\r\\n Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! unto the green holly.\\r\\n Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.\\r\\n Then, heigh-ho, the holly!\\r\\n This life is most jolly.\\r\\n\\r\\n Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,\\r\\n That dost not bite so nigh\\r\\n As benefits forgot;\\r\\n Though thou the waters warp,\\r\\n Thy sting is not so sharp\\r\\n As friend rememb\\'red not.\\r\\n Heigh-ho! sing, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. If that you were the good Sir Rowland\\'s son,\\r\\n As you have whisper\\'d faithfully you were,\\r\\n And as mine eye doth his effigies witness\\r\\n Most truly limn\\'d and living in your face,\\r\\n Be truly welcome hither. I am the Duke\\r\\n That lov\\'d your father. The residue of your fortune,\\r\\n Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man,\\r\\n Thou art right welcome as thy master is.\\r\\n Support him by the arm. Give me your hand,\\r\\n And let me all your fortunes understand. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE FREDERICK, OLIVER, and LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n FREDERICK. Not see him since! Sir, sir, that cannot be.\\r\\n But were I not the better part made mercy,\\r\\n I should not seek an absent argument\\r\\n Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it:\\r\\n Find out thy brother wheresoe\\'er he is;\\r\\n Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living\\r\\n Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more\\r\\n To seek a living in our territory.\\r\\n Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine\\r\\n Worth seizure do we seize into our hands,\\r\\n Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother\\'s mouth\\r\\n Of what we think against thee.\\r\\n OLIVER. O that your Highness knew my heart in this!\\r\\n I never lov\\'d my brother in my life.\\r\\n FREDERICK. More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors;\\r\\n And let my officers of such a nature\\r\\n Make an extent upon his house and lands.\\r\\n Do this expediently, and turn him going. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ORLANDO, with a paper\\r\\n\\r\\n ORLANDO. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love;\\r\\n And thou, thrice-crowned Queen of Night, survey\\r\\n With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,\\r\\n Thy huntress\\' name that my full life doth sway.\\r\\n O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books,\\r\\n And in their barks my thoughts I\\'ll character,\\r\\n That every eye which in this forest looks\\r\\n Shall see thy virtue witness\\'d every where.\\r\\n Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree,\\r\\n The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE\\r\\n\\r\\n CORIN. And how like you this shepherd\\'s life, Master Touchstone?\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good\\r\\n life; but in respect that it is a shepherd\\'s life, it is nought.\\r\\n In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in\\r\\n respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in\\r\\n respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect\\r\\n it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life,\\r\\n look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty\\r\\n in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in\\r\\n thee, shepherd?\\r\\n CORIN. No more but that I know the more one sickens the worse at\\r\\n ease he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content, is\\r\\n without three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet,\\r\\n and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep; and that a\\r\\n great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath\\r\\n learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good breeding,\\r\\n or comes of a very dull kindred.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in\\r\\n court, shepherd?\\r\\n CORIN. No, truly.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Then thou art damn\\'d.\\r\\n CORIN. Nay, I hope.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Truly, thou art damn\\'d, like an ill-roasted egg, all on\\r\\n one side.\\r\\n CORIN. For not being at court? Your reason.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Why, if thou never wast at court thou never saw\\'st good\\r\\n manners; if thou never saw\\'st good manners, then thy manners must\\r\\n be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art\\r\\n in a parlous state, shepherd.\\r\\n CORIN. Not a whit, Touchstone. Those that are good manners at the\\r\\n court are as ridiculous in the country as the behaviour of the\\r\\n country is most mockable at the court. You told me you salute not\\r\\n at the court, but you kiss your hands; that courtesy would be\\r\\n uncleanly if courtiers were shepherds.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Instance, briefly; come, instance.\\r\\n CORIN. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fells, you\\r\\n know, are greasy.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Why, do not your courtier\\'s hands sweat? And is not the\\r\\n grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow,\\r\\n shallow. A better instance, I say; come.\\r\\n CORIN. Besides, our hands are hard.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again. A\\r\\n more sounder instance; come.\\r\\n CORIN. And they are often tarr\\'d over with the surgery of our\\r\\n sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier\\'s hands are\\r\\n perfum\\'d with civet.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Most shallow man! thou worm\\'s meat in respect of a good\\r\\n piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is\\r\\n of a baser birth than tar- the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend\\r\\n the instance, shepherd.\\r\\n CORIN. You have too courtly a wit for me; I\\'ll rest.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Wilt thou rest damn\\'d? God help thee, shallow man! God\\r\\n make incision in thee! thou art raw.\\r\\n CORIN. Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that I\\r\\n wear; owe no man hate, envy no man\\'s happiness; glad of other\\r\\n men\\'s good, content with my harm; and the greatest of my pride is\\r\\n to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. That is another simple sin in you: to bring the ewes\\r\\n and the rams together, and to offer to get your living by the\\r\\n copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to betray\\r\\n a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram,\\r\\n out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not damn\\'d for this,\\r\\n the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how\\r\\n thou shouldst scape.\\r\\n CORIN. Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress\\'s brother.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ROSALIND, reading a paper\\r\\n\\r\\n ROSALIND. \\'From the east to western Inde,\\r\\n No jewel is like Rosalinde.\\r\\n Her worth, being mounted on the wind,\\r\\n Through all the world bears Rosalinde.\\r\\n All the pictures fairest lin\\'d\\r\\n Are but black to Rosalinde.\\r\\n Let no face be kept in mind\\r\\n But the fair of Rosalinde.\\'\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. I\\'ll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners, and\\r\\n suppers, and sleeping hours, excepted. It is the right\\r\\n butter-women\\'s rank to market.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Out, fool!\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. For a taste:\\r\\n If a hart do lack a hind,\\r\\n Let him seek out Rosalinde.\\r\\n If the cat will after kind,\\r\\n So be sure will Rosalinde.\\r\\n Winter garments must be lin\\'d,\\r\\n So must slender Rosalinde.\\r\\n They that reap must sheaf and bind,\\r\\n Then to cart with Rosalinde.\\r\\n Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,\\r\\n Such a nut is Rosalinde.\\r\\n He that sweetest rose will find\\r\\n Must find love\\'s prick and Rosalinde.\\r\\n This is the very false gallop of verses; why do you infect\\r\\n yourself with them?\\r\\n ROSALIND. Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.\\r\\n ROSALIND. I\\'ll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a\\r\\n medlar. Then it will be the earliest fruit i\\' th\\' country; for\\r\\n you\\'ll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that\\'s the right\\r\\n virtue of the medlar.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest\\r\\n judge.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CELIA, with a writing\\r\\n\\r\\n ROSALIND. Peace!\\r\\n Here comes my sister, reading; stand aside.\\r\\n CELIA. \\'Why should this a desert be?\\r\\n For it is unpeopled? No;\\r\\n Tongues I\\'ll hang on every tree\\r\\n That shall civil sayings show.\\r\\n Some, how brief the life of man\\r\\n Runs his erring pilgrimage,\\r\\n That the streching of a span\\r\\n Buckles in his sum of age;\\r\\n Some, of violated vows\\r\\n \\'Twixt the souls of friend and friend;\\r\\n But upon the fairest boughs,\\r\\n Or at every sentence end,\\r\\n Will I Rosalinda write,\\r\\n Teaching all that read to know\\r\\n The quintessence of every sprite\\r\\n Heaven would in little show.\\r\\n Therefore heaven Nature charg\\'d\\r\\n That one body should be fill\\'d\\r\\n With all graces wide-enlarg\\'d.\\r\\n Nature presently distill\\'d\\r\\n Helen\\'s cheek, but not her heart,\\r\\n Cleopatra\\'s majesty,\\r\\n Atalanta\\'s better part,\\r\\n Sad Lucretia\\'s modesty.\\r\\n Thus Rosalinde of many parts\\r\\n By heavenly synod was devis\\'d,\\r\\n Of many faces, eyes, and hearts,\\r\\n To have the touches dearest priz\\'d.\\r\\n Heaven would that she these gifts should have,\\r\\n And I to live and die her slave.\\'\\r\\n ROSALIND. O most gentle pulpiter! What tedious homily of love have\\r\\n you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried \\'Have\\r\\n patience, good people.\\'\\r\\n CELIA. How now! Back, friends; shepherd, go off a little; go with\\r\\n him, sirrah.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat;\\r\\n though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.\\r\\n Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE\\r\\n CELIA. Didst thou hear these verses?\\r\\n ROSALIND. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of them\\r\\n had in them more feet than the verses would bear.\\r\\n CELIA. That\\'s no matter; the feet might bear the verses.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves\\r\\n without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse.\\r\\n CELIA. But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be\\r\\n hang\\'d and carved upon these trees?\\r\\n ROSALIND. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you\\r\\n came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree. I was never so\\r\\n berhym\\'d since Pythagoras\\' time that I was an Irish rat, which I\\r\\n can hardly remember.\\r\\n CELIA. Trow you who hath done this?\\r\\n ROSALIND. Is it a man?\\r\\n CELIA. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck.\\r\\n Change you colour?\\r\\n ROSALIND. I prithee, who?\\r\\n CELIA. O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but\\r\\n mountains may be remov\\'d with earthquakes, and so encounter.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Nay, but who is it?\\r\\n CELIA. Is it possible?\\r\\n ROSALIND. Nay, I prithee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell\\r\\n me who it is.\\r\\n CELIA. O wonderful, wonderful, most wonderful wonderful, and yet\\r\\n again wonderful, and after that, out of all whooping!\\r\\n ROSALIND. Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am\\r\\n caparison\\'d like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my\\r\\n disposition? One inch of delay more is a South Sea of discovery.\\r\\n I prithee tell me who is it quickly, and speak apace. I would\\r\\n thou could\\'st stammer, that thou mightst pour this conceal\\'d man\\r\\n out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of narrow-mouth\\'d bottle-\\r\\n either too much at once or none at all. I prithee take the cork\\r\\n out of thy mouth that I may drink thy tidings.\\r\\n CELIA. So you may put a man in your belly.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Is he of God\\'s making? What manner of man?\\r\\n Is his head worth a hat or his chin worth a beard?\\r\\n CELIA. Nay, he hath but a little beard.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Why, God will send more if the man will be thankful. Let\\r\\n me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the\\r\\n knowledge of his chin.\\r\\n CELIA. It is young Orlando, that tripp\\'d up the wrestler\\'s heels\\r\\n and your heart both in an instant.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Nay, but the devil take mocking! Speak sad brow and true\\r\\n maid.\\r\\n CELIA. I\\' faith, coz, \\'tis he.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Orlando?\\r\\n CELIA. Orlando.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose?\\r\\n What did he when thou saw\\'st him? What said he? How look\\'d he?\\r\\n Wherein went he? What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where\\r\\n remains he? How parted he with thee? And when shalt thou see him\\r\\n again? Answer me in one word.\\r\\n CELIA. You must borrow me Gargantua\\'s mouth first; \\'tis a word too\\r\\n great for any mouth of this age\\'s size. To say ay and no to these\\r\\n particulars is more than to answer in a catechism.\\r\\n ROSALIND. But doth he know that I am in this forest, and in man\\'s\\r\\n apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled?\\r\\n CELIA. It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the\\r\\n propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my finding him, and\\r\\n relish it with good observance. I found him under a tree, like a\\r\\n dropp\\'d acorn.\\r\\n ROSALIND. It may well be call\\'d Jove\\'s tree, when it drops forth\\r\\n such fruit.\\r\\n CELIA. Give me audience, good madam.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Proceed.\\r\\n CELIA. There lay he, stretch\\'d along like a wounded knight.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes\\r\\n the ground.\\r\\n CELIA. Cry \\'Holla\\' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets\\r\\n unseasonably. He was furnish\\'d like a hunter.\\r\\n ROSALIND. O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.\\r\\n CELIA. I would sing my song without a burden; thou bring\\'st me out\\r\\n of tune.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Do you not know I am a woman? When I think, I must speak.\\r\\n Sweet, say on.\\r\\n CELIA. You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES\\r\\n\\r\\n ROSALIND. \\'Tis he; slink by, and note him. JAQUES. I thank you for\\r\\n your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone.\\r\\n ORLANDO. And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too for\\r\\n your society. JAQUES. God buy you; let\\'s meet as little as we can.\\r\\n ORLANDO. I do desire we may be better strangers. JAQUES. I pray you\\r\\n mar no more trees with writing love songs in their barks. ORLANDO. I\\r\\n pray you mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly.\\r\\n JAQUES. Rosalind is your love\\'s name? ORLANDO. Yes, just. JAQUES. I\\r\\n do not like her name. ORLANDO. There was no thought of pleasing you\\r\\n when she was christen\\'d. JAQUES. What stature is she of? ORLANDO.\\r\\n Just as high as my heart. JAQUES. You are full of pretty answers.\\r\\n Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths\\' wives, and conn\\'d them\\r\\n out of rings? ORLANDO. Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth,\\r\\n from whence you have studied your questions. JAQUES. You have a\\r\\n nimble wit; I think \\'twas made of Atalanta\\'s heels. Will you sit down\\r\\n with me? and we two will rail against our mistress the world, and all\\r\\n our misery. ORLANDO. I will chide no breather in the world but\\r\\n myself, against whom I know most faults. JAQUES. The worst fault you\\r\\n have is to be in love. ORLANDO. \\'Tis a fault I will not change for\\r\\n your best virtue. I am weary of you. JAQUES. By my troth, I was\\r\\n seeking for a fool when I found you. ORLANDO. He is drown\\'d in the\\r\\n brook; look but in, and you shall see him. JAQUES. There I shall see\\r\\n mine own figure. ORLANDO. Which I take to be either a fool or a\\r\\n cipher. JAQUES. I\\'ll tarry no longer with you; farewell, good Signior\\r\\n Love. ORLANDO. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good Monsieur\\r\\n Melancholy. Exit JAQUES ROSALIND. [Aside to CELIA] I will speak to\\r\\n him like a saucy lackey, and under that habit play the knave with\\r\\n him.- Do you hear, forester? ORLANDO. Very well; what would you?\\r\\n ROSALIND. I pray you, what is\\'t o\\'clock? ORLANDO. You should ask me\\r\\n what time o\\' day; there\\'s no clock in the forest. ROSALIND. Then\\r\\n there is no true lover in the forest, else sighing every minute and\\r\\n groaning every hour would detect the lazy foot of Time as well as a\\r\\n clock. ORLANDO. And why not the swift foot of Time? Had not that been\\r\\n as proper? ROSALIND. By no means, sir. Time travels in divers paces\\r\\n with divers persons. I\\'ll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time\\r\\n trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still\\r\\n withal. ORLANDO. I prithee, who doth he trot withal? ROSALIND. Marry,\\r\\n he trots hard with a young maid between the contract of her marriage\\r\\n and the day it is solemniz\\'d; if the interim be but a se\\'nnight,\\r\\n Time\\'s pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven year.\\r\\n ORLANDO. Who ambles Time withal? ROSALIND. With a priest that lacks\\r\\n Latin and a rich man that hath not the gout; for the one sleeps\\r\\n easily because he cannot study, and the other lives merrily because\\r\\n he feels no pain; the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful\\r\\n learning, the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury. These\\r\\n Time ambles withal. ORLANDO. Who doth he gallop withal? ROSALIND.\\r\\n With a thief to the gallows; for though he go as softly as foot can\\r\\n fall, he thinks himself too soon there. ORLANDO. Who stays it still\\r\\n withal? ROSALIND. With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep\\r\\n between term and term, and then they perceive not how Time moves.\\r\\n ORLANDO. Where dwell you, pretty youth? ROSALIND. With this\\r\\n shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe\\r\\n upon a petticoat. ORLANDO. Are you native of this place? ROSALIND. As\\r\\n the coney that you see dwell where she is kindled. ORLANDO. Your\\r\\n accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a\\r\\n dwelling. ROSALIND. I have been told so of many; but indeed an old\\r\\n religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an\\r\\n inland man; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in\\r\\n love. I have heard him read many lectures against it; and I thank God\\r\\n I am not a woman, to be touch\\'d with so many giddy offences as he\\r\\n hath generally tax\\'d their whole sex withal. ORLANDO. Can you\\r\\n remember any of the principal evils that he laid to the charge of\\r\\n women? ROSALIND. There were none principal; they were all like one\\r\\n another as halfpence are; every one fault seeming monstrous till his\\r\\n fellow-fault came to match it. ORLANDO. I prithee recount some of\\r\\n them. ROSALIND. No; I will not cast away my physic but on those that\\r\\n are sick. There is a man haunts the forest that abuses our young\\r\\n plants with carving \\'Rosalind\\' on their barks; hangs odes upon\\r\\n hawthorns and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the name\\r\\n of Rosalind. If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some\\r\\n good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him.\\r\\n ORLANDO. I am he that is so love-shak\\'d; I pray you tell me your\\r\\n remedy. ROSALIND. There is none of my uncle\\'s marks upon you; he\\r\\n taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes I am\\r\\n sure you are not prisoner. ORLANDO. What were his marks? ROSALIND. A\\r\\n lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye and sunken, which you have\\r\\n not; an unquestionable spirit, which you have not; a beard neglected,\\r\\n which you have not; but I pardon you for that, for simply your having\\r\\n in beard is a younger brother\\'s revenue. Then your hose should be\\r\\n ungarter\\'d, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbutton\\'d, your shoe\\r\\n untied, and every thing about you demonstrating a careless\\r\\n desolation. But you are no such man; you are rather point-device in\\r\\n your accoutrements, as loving yourself than seeming the lover of any\\r\\n other. ORLANDO. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Me believe it! You may as soon make her that you love\\r\\n believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do than to confess she\\r\\n does. That is one of the points in the which women still give the lie\\r\\n to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the\\r\\n verses on the trees wherein Rosalind is so admired? ORLANDO. I swear\\r\\n to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that\\r\\n unfortunate he. ROSALIND. But are you so much in love as your rhymes\\r\\n speak? ORLANDO. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well\\r\\n a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not\\r\\n so punish\\'d and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the\\r\\n whippers are in love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel.\\r\\n ORLANDO. Did you ever cure any so? ROSALIND. Yes, one; and in this\\r\\n manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress; and I set him\\r\\n every day to woo me; at which time would I, being but a moonish\\r\\n youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing and liking, proud,\\r\\n fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of\\r\\n smiles; for every passion something and for no passion truly\\r\\n anything, as boys and women are for the most part cattle of this\\r\\n colour; would now like him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then\\r\\n forswear him; now weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my\\r\\n suitor from his mad humour of love to a living humour of madness;\\r\\n which was, to forswear the full stream of the world and to live in a\\r\\n nook merely monastic. And thus I cur\\'d him; and this way will I take\\r\\n upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep\\'s heart, that\\r\\n there shall not be one spot of love in \\'t. ORLANDO. I would not be\\r\\n cured, youth. ROSALIND. I would cure you, if you would but call me\\r\\n Rosalind, and come every day to my cote and woo me. ORLANDO. Now, by\\r\\n the faith of my love, I will. Tell me where it is. ROSALIND. Go with\\r\\n me to it, and I\\'ll show it you; and, by the way, you shall tell me\\r\\n where in the forest you live. Will you go? ORLANDO. With all my\\r\\n heart, good youth. ROSALIND. Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come,\\r\\n sister, will you go?\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind\\r\\n\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Come apace, good Audrey; I will fetch up your goats,\\r\\n Audrey. And how, Audrey, am I the man yet? Doth my simple feature\\r\\n content you?\\r\\n AUDREY. Your features! Lord warrant us! What features?\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most\\r\\n capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.\\r\\n JAQUES. [Aside] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in a\\r\\n thatch\\'d house!\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. When a man\\'s verses cannot be understood, nor a man\\'s\\r\\n good wit seconded with the forward child understanding, it\\r\\n strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room.\\r\\n Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical.\\r\\n AUDREY. I do not know what \\'poetical\\' is. Is it honest in deed and\\r\\n word? Is it a true thing?\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning,\\r\\n and lovers are given to poetry; and what they swear in poetry may\\r\\n be said as lovers they do feign.\\r\\n AUDREY. Do you wish, then, that the gods had made me poetical?\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. I do, truly, for thou swear\\'st to me thou art honest;\\r\\n now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst\\r\\n feign.\\r\\n AUDREY. Would you not have me honest?\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favour\\'d; for honesty\\r\\n coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar.\\r\\n JAQUES. [Aside] A material fool!\\r\\n AUDREY. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me\\r\\n honest.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut were\\r\\n to put good meat into an unclean dish.\\r\\n AUDREY. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness;\\r\\n sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will\\r\\n marry thee; and to that end I have been with Sir Oliver Martext,\\r\\n the vicar of the next village, who hath promis\\'d to meet me in\\r\\n this place of the forest, and to couple us.\\r\\n JAQUES. [Aside] I would fain see this meeting.\\r\\n AUDREY. Well, the gods give us joy!\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger\\r\\n in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no\\r\\n assembly but horn-beasts. But what though? Courage! As horns are\\r\\n odious, they are necessary. It is said: \\'Many a man knows no end\\r\\n of his goods.\\' Right! Many a man has good horns and knows no end\\r\\n of them. Well, that is the dowry of his wife; \\'tis none of his\\r\\n own getting. Horns? Even so. Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest\\r\\n deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore\\r\\n blessed? No; as a wall\\'d town is more worthier than a village, so\\r\\n is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the bare\\r\\n brow of a bachelor; and by how much defence is better than no\\r\\n skill, by so much is horn more precious than to want. Here comes\\r\\n Sir Oliver.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT\\r\\n\\r\\n Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met. Will you dispatch us here\\r\\n under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel?\\r\\n MARTEXT. Is there none here to give the woman?\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. I will not take her on gift of any man.\\r\\n MARTEXT. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.\\r\\n JAQUES. [Discovering himself] Proceed, proceed; I\\'ll give her.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Good even, good Master What-ye-call\\'t; how do you, sir?\\r\\n You are very well met. Goddild you for your last company. I am\\r\\n very glad to see you. Even a toy in hand here, sir. Nay; pray be\\r\\n cover\\'d.\\r\\n JAQUES. Will you be married, motley?\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb, and\\r\\n the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons\\r\\n bill, so wedlock would be nibbling.\\r\\n JAQUES. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married\\r\\n under a bush, like a beggar? Get you to church and have a good\\r\\n priest that can tell you what marriage is; this fellow will but\\r\\n join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will\\r\\n prove a shrunk panel, and like green timber warp, warp.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. [Aside] I am not in the mind but I were better to be\\r\\n married of him than of another; for he is not like to marry me\\r\\n well; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me\\r\\n hereafter to leave my wife.\\r\\n JAQUES. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Come, sweet Audrey;\\r\\n We must be married or we must live in bawdry.\\r\\n Farewell, good Master Oliver. Not-\\r\\n O sweet Oliver,\\r\\n O brave Oliver,\\r\\n Leave me not behind thee.\\r\\n But-\\r\\n Wind away,\\r\\n Begone, I say,\\r\\n I will not to wedding with thee.\\r\\n Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE, and AUDREY\\r\\n MARTEXT. \\'Tis no matter; ne\\'er a fantastical knave of them all\\r\\n shall flout me out of my calling. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ROSALIND and CELIA\\r\\n\\r\\n ROSALIND. Never talk to me; I will weep.\\r\\n CELIA. Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider that tears\\r\\n do not become a man.\\r\\n ROSALIND. But have I not cause to weep?\\r\\n CELIA. As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep.\\r\\n ROSALIND. His very hair is of the dissembling colour.\\r\\n CELIA. Something browner than Judas\\'s.\\r\\n Marry, his kisses are Judas\\'s own children.\\r\\n ROSALIND. I\\' faith, his hair is of a good colour.\\r\\n CELIA. An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour.\\r\\n ROSALIND. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of\\r\\n holy bread.\\r\\n CELIA. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana. A nun of\\r\\n winter\\'s sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of\\r\\n chastity is in them.\\r\\n ROSALIND. But why did he swear he would come this morning, and\\r\\n comes not?\\r\\n CELIA. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Do you think so?\\r\\n CELIA. Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-stealer; but\\r\\n for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as covered\\r\\n goblet or a worm-eaten nut.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Not true in love?\\r\\n CELIA. Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in.\\r\\n ROSALIND. You have heard him swear downright he was.\\r\\n CELIA. \\'Was\\' is not \\'is\\'; besides, the oath of a lover is no\\r\\n stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the confirmer\\r\\n of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest on the Duke,\\r\\n your father.\\r\\n ROSALIND. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much question with him.\\r\\n He asked me of what parentage I was; I told him, of as good as\\r\\n he; so he laugh\\'d and let me go. But what talk we of fathers when\\r\\n there is such a man as Orlando?\\r\\n CELIA. O, that\\'s a brave man! He writes brave verses, speaks brave\\r\\n words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite\\r\\n traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puny tilter, that\\r\\n spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble\\r\\n goose. But all\\'s brave that youth mounts and folly guides. Who\\r\\n comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CORIN\\r\\n\\r\\n CORIN. Mistress and master, you have oft enquired\\r\\n After the shepherd that complain\\'d of love,\\r\\n Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,\\r\\n Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess\\r\\n That was his mistress.\\r\\n CELIA. Well, and what of him?\\r\\n CORIN. If you will see a pageant truly play\\'d\\r\\n Between the pale complexion of true love\\r\\n And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,\\r\\n Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you,\\r\\n If you will mark it.\\r\\n ROSALIND. O, come, let us remove!\\r\\n The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.\\r\\n Bring us to this sight, and you shall say\\r\\n I\\'ll prove a busy actor in their play. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Another part of the forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SILVIUS and PHEBE\\r\\n\\r\\n SILVIUS. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe.\\r\\n Say that you love me not; but say not so\\r\\n In bitterness. The common executioner,\\r\\n Whose heart th\\' accustom\\'d sight of death makes hard,\\r\\n Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck\\r\\n But first begs pardon. Will you sterner be\\r\\n Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, at a distance\\r\\n\\r\\n PHEBE. I would not be thy executioner;\\r\\n I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.\\r\\n Thou tell\\'st me there is murder in mine eye.\\r\\n \\'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,\\r\\n That eyes, that are the frail\\'st and softest things,\\r\\n Who shut their coward gates on atomies,\\r\\n Should be call\\'d tyrants, butchers, murderers!\\r\\n Now I do frown on thee with all my heart;\\r\\n And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee.\\r\\n Now counterfeit to swoon; why, now fall down;\\r\\n Or, if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,\\r\\n Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers.\\r\\n Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee.\\r\\n Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains\\r\\n Some scar of it; lean upon a rush,\\r\\n The cicatrice and capable impressure\\r\\n Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes,\\r\\n Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not;\\r\\n Nor, I am sure, there is not force in eyes\\r\\n That can do hurt.\\r\\n SILVIUS. O dear Phebe,\\r\\n If ever- as that ever may be near-\\r\\n You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,\\r\\n Then shall you know the wounds invisible\\r\\n That love\\'s keen arrows make.\\r\\n PHEBE. But till that time\\r\\n Come not thou near me; and when that time comes,\\r\\n Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;\\r\\n As till that time I shall not pity thee.\\r\\n ROSALIND. [Advancing] And why, I pray you? Who might be your\\r\\n mother,\\r\\n That you insult, exult, and all at once,\\r\\n Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty-\\r\\n As, by my faith, I see no more in you\\r\\n Than without candle may go dark to bed-\\r\\n Must you be therefore proud and pitiless?\\r\\n Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?\\r\\n I see no more in you than in the ordinary\\r\\n Of nature\\'s sale-work. \\'Od\\'s my little life,\\r\\n I think she means to tangle my eyes too!\\r\\n No faith, proud mistress, hope not after it;\\r\\n \\'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,\\r\\n Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream,\\r\\n That can entame my spirits to your worship.\\r\\n You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,\\r\\n Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain?\\r\\n You are a thousand times a properer man\\r\\n Than she a woman. \\'Tis such fools as you\\r\\n That makes the world full of ill-favour\\'d children.\\r\\n \\'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her;\\r\\n And out of you she sees herself more proper\\r\\n Than any of her lineaments can show her.\\r\\n But, mistress, know yourself. Down on your knees,\\r\\n And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man\\'s love;\\r\\n For I must tell you friendly in your ear:\\r\\n Sell when you can; you are not for all markets.\\r\\n Cry the man mercy, love him, take his offer;\\r\\n Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.\\r\\n So take her to thee, shepherd. Fare you well.\\r\\n PHEBE. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together;\\r\\n I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.\\r\\n ROSALIND. He\\'s fall\\'n in love with your foulness, and she\\'ll fall\\r\\n in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee\\r\\n with frowning looks, I\\'ll sauce her with bitter words. Why look\\r\\n you so upon me?\\r\\n PHEBE. For no ill will I bear you.\\r\\n ROSALIND. I pray you do not fall in love with me,\\r\\n For I am falser than vows made in wine;\\r\\n Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house,\\r\\n \\'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by.\\r\\n Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard.\\r\\n Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better,\\r\\n And be not proud; though all the world could see,\\r\\n None could be so abus\\'d in sight as he.\\r\\n Come, to our flock. Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN\\r\\n PHEBE. Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might:\\r\\n \\'Who ever lov\\'d that lov\\'d not at first sight?\\'\\r\\n SILVIUS. Sweet Phebe.\\r\\n PHEBE. Ha! what say\\'st thou, Silvius?\\r\\n SILVIUS. Sweet Phebe, pity me.\\r\\n PHEBE. Why, I arn sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.\\r\\n SILVIUS. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be.\\r\\n If you do sorrow at my grief in love,\\r\\n By giving love, your sorrow and my grief\\r\\n Were both extermin\\'d.\\r\\n PHEBE. Thou hast my love; is not that neighbourly?\\r\\n SILVIUS. I would have you.\\r\\n PHEBE. Why, that were covetousness.\\r\\n Silvius, the time was that I hated thee;\\r\\n And yet it is not that I bear thee love;\\r\\n But since that thou canst talk of love so well,\\r\\n Thy company, which erst was irksome to me,\\r\\n I will endure; and I\\'ll employ thee too.\\r\\n But do not look for further recompense\\r\\n Than thine own gladness that thou art employ\\'d.\\r\\n SILVIUS. So holy and so perfect is my love,\\r\\n And I in such a poverty of grace,\\r\\n That I shall think it a most plenteous crop\\r\\n To glean the broken ears after the man\\r\\n That the main harvest reaps; loose now and then\\r\\n A scatt\\'red smile, and that I\\'ll live upon.\\r\\n PHEBE. Know\\'st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile?\\r\\n SILVIUS. Not very well; but I have met him oft;\\r\\n And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds\\r\\n That the old carlot once was master of.\\r\\n PHEBE. Think not I love him, though I ask for him;\\r\\n \\'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well.\\r\\n But what care I for words? Yet words do well\\r\\n When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.\\r\\n It is a pretty youth- not very pretty;\\r\\n But, sure, he\\'s proud; and yet his pride becomes him.\\r\\n He\\'ll make a proper man. The best thing in him\\r\\n Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue\\r\\n Did make offence, his eye did heal it up.\\r\\n He is not very tall; yet for his years he\\'s tall;\\r\\n His leg is but so-so; and yet \\'tis well.\\r\\n There was a pretty redness in his lip,\\r\\n A little riper and more lusty red\\r\\n Than that mix\\'d in his cheek; \\'twas just the difference\\r\\n Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask.\\r\\n There be some women, Silvius, had they mark\\'d him\\r\\n In parcels as I did, would have gone near\\r\\n To fall in love with him; but, for my part,\\r\\n I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet\\r\\n I have more cause to hate him than to love him;\\r\\n For what had he to do to chide at me?\\r\\n He said mine eyes were black, and my hair black,\\r\\n And, now I am rememb\\'red, scorn\\'d at me.\\r\\n I marvel why I answer\\'d not again;\\r\\n But that\\'s all one: omittance is no quittance.\\r\\n I\\'ll write to him a very taunting letter,\\r\\n And thou shalt bear it; wilt thou, Silvius?\\r\\n SILVIUS. Phebe, with all my heart.\\r\\n PHEBE. I\\'ll write it straight;\\r\\n The matter\\'s in my head and in my heart;\\r\\n I will be bitter with him and passing short.\\r\\n Go with me, Silvius. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I. The forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES\\r\\n\\r\\n JAQUES. I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with\\r\\n thee.\\r\\n ROSALIND. They say you are a melancholy fellow.\\r\\n JAQUES. I am so; I do love it better than laughing.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Those that are in extremity of either are abominable\\r\\n fellows, and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than\\r\\n drunkards.\\r\\n JAQUES. Why, \\'tis good to be sad and say nothing.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Why then, \\'tis good to be a post.\\r\\n JAQUES. I have neither the scholar\\'s melancholy, which is\\r\\n emulation; nor the musician\\'s, which is fantastical; nor the\\r\\n courtier\\'s, which is proud; nor the soldier\\'s, which is\\r\\n ambitious; nor the lawyer\\'s, which is politic; nor the lady\\'s,\\r\\n which is nice; nor the lover\\'s, which is all these; but it is a\\r\\n melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted\\r\\n from many objects, and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my\\r\\n travels; in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous\\r\\n sadness.\\r\\n ROSALIND. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be\\r\\n sad. I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men\\'s; then\\r\\n to have seen much and to have nothing is to have rich eyes and\\r\\n poor hands.\\r\\n JAQUES. Yes, I have gain\\'d my experience.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ORLANDO\\r\\n\\r\\n ROSALIND. And your experience makes you sad. I had rather have a\\r\\n fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad- and to\\r\\n travel for it too.\\r\\n ORLANDO. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind!\\r\\n JAQUES. Nay, then, God buy you, an you talk in blank verse.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller; look you lisp and wear\\r\\n strange suits, disable all the benefits of your own country, be\\r\\n out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making\\r\\n you that countenance you are; or I will scarce think you have\\r\\n swam in a gondola. [Exit JAQUES] Why, how now, Orlando! where\\r\\n have you been all this while? You a lover! An you serve me such\\r\\n another trick, never come in my sight more.\\r\\n ORLANDO. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Break an hour\\'s promise in love! He that will divide a\\r\\n minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of the\\r\\n thousand part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said\\r\\n of him that Cupid hath clapp\\'d him o\\' th\\' shoulder, but I\\'ll\\r\\n warrant him heart-whole.\\r\\n ORLANDO. Pardon me, dear Rosalind.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight. I had\\r\\n as lief be woo\\'d of a snail.\\r\\n ORLANDO. Of a snail!\\r\\n ROSALIND. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries\\r\\n his house on his head- a better jointure, I think, than you make\\r\\n a woman; besides, he brings his destiny with him.\\r\\n ORLANDO. What\\'s that?\\r\\n ROSALIND. Why, horns; which such as you are fain to be beholding to\\r\\n your wives for; but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents\\r\\n the slander of his wife.\\r\\n ORLANDO. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.\\r\\n ROSALIND. And I am your Rosalind.\\r\\n CELIA. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a\\r\\n better leer than you.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour,\\r\\n and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, an I\\r\\n were your very very Rosalind?\\r\\n ORLANDO. I would kiss before I spoke.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Nay, you were better speak first; and when you were\\r\\n gravell\\'d for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss.\\r\\n Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for\\r\\n lovers lacking- God warn us!- matter, the cleanliest shift is to\\r\\n kiss.\\r\\n ORLANDO. How if the kiss be denied?\\r\\n ROSALIND. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new\\r\\n matter.\\r\\n ORLANDO. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?\\r\\n ROSALIND. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress; or I\\r\\n should think my honesty ranker than my wit.\\r\\n ORLANDO. What, of my suit?\\r\\n ROSALIND. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit.\\r\\n Am not I your Rosalind?\\r\\n ORLANDO. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking\\r\\n of her.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Well, in her person, I say I will not have you.\\r\\n ORLANDO. Then, in mine own person, I die.\\r\\n ROSALIND. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six\\r\\n thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man\\r\\n died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had\\r\\n his brains dash\\'d out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he\\r\\n could to die before, and he is one of the patterns of love.\\r\\n Leander, he would have liv\\'d many a fair year, though Hero had\\r\\n turn\\'d nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night; for,\\r\\n good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and,\\r\\n being taken with the cramp, was drown\\'d; and the foolish\\r\\n chroniclers of that age found it was- Hero of Sestos. But these\\r\\n are all lies: men have died from time to time, and worms have\\r\\n eaten them, but not for love.\\r\\n ORLANDO. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind; for, I\\r\\n protest, her frown might kill me.\\r\\n ROSALIND. By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now I\\r\\n will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition; and ask me\\r\\n what you will, I will grant it.\\r\\n ORLANDO. Then love me, Rosalind.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays, and all.\\r\\n ORLANDO. And wilt thou have me?\\r\\n ROSALIND. Ay, and twenty such.\\r\\n ORLANDO. What sayest thou?\\r\\n ROSALIND. Are you not good?\\r\\n ORLANDO. I hope so.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? Come,\\r\\n sister, you shall be the priest, and marry us. Give me your hand,\\r\\n Orlando. What do you say, sister?\\r\\n ORLANDO. Pray thee, marry us.\\r\\n CELIA. I cannot say the words.\\r\\n ROSALIND. You must begin \\'Will you, Orlando\\'-\\r\\n CELIA. Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind?\\r\\n ORLANDO. I will.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Ay, but when?\\r\\n ORLANDO. Why, now; as fast as she can marry us.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Then you must say \\'I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.\\'\\r\\n ORLANDO. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.\\r\\n ROSALIND. I might ask you for your commission; but- I do take thee,\\r\\n Orlando, for my husband. There\\'s a girl goes before the priest;\\r\\n and, certainly, a woman\\'s thought runs before her actions.\\r\\n ORLANDO. So do all thoughts; they are wing\\'d.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Now tell me how long you would have her, after you have\\r\\n possess\\'d her.\\r\\n ORLANDO. For ever and a day.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Say \\'a day\\' without the \\'ever.\\' No, no, Orlando; men are\\r\\n April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when\\r\\n they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I will\\r\\n be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen,\\r\\n more clamorous than a parrot against rain, more new-fangled than\\r\\n an ape, more giddy in my desires than a monkey. I will weep for\\r\\n nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you\\r\\n are dispos\\'d to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when\\r\\n thou are inclin\\'d to sleep.\\r\\n ORLANDO. But will my Rosalind do so?\\r\\n ROSALIND. By my life, she will do as I do.\\r\\n ORLANDO. O, but she is wise.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Or else she could not have the wit to do this. The wiser,\\r\\n the waywarder. Make the doors upon a woman\\'s wit, and it will out\\r\\n at the casement; shut that, and \\'twill out at the key-hole; stop\\r\\n that, \\'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney.\\r\\n ORLANDO. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say \\'Wit,\\r\\n whither wilt?\\' ROSALIND. Nay, you might keep that check for it,\\r\\n till you met your\\r\\n wife\\'s wit going to your neighbour\\'s bed.\\r\\n ORLANDO. And what wit could wit have to excuse that?\\r\\n ROSALIND. Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You shall never\\r\\n take her without her answer, unless you take her without her\\r\\n tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her husband\\'s\\r\\n occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will\\r\\n breed it like a fool!\\r\\n ORLANDO. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours!\\r\\n ORLANDO. I must attend the Duke at dinner; by two o\\'clock I will be\\r\\n with thee again.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Ay, go your ways, go your ways. I knew what you would\\r\\n prove; my friends told me as much, and I thought no less. That\\r\\n flattering tongue of yours won me. \\'Tis but one cast away, and\\r\\n so, come death! Two o\\'clock is your hour?\\r\\n ORLANDO. Ay, sweet Rosalind.\\r\\n ROSALIND. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and\\r\\n by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot\\r\\n of your promise, or come one minute behind your hour, I will\\r\\n think you the most pathetical break-promise, and the most hollow\\r\\n lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind, that may\\r\\n be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful. Therefore\\r\\n beware my censure, and keep your promise.\\r\\n ORLANDO. With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my\\r\\n Rosalind; so, adieu.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such\\r\\n offenders, and let Time try. Adieu. Exit ORLANDO\\r\\n CELIA. You have simply misus\\'d our sex in your love-prate. We must\\r\\n have your doublet and hose pluck\\'d over your head, and show the\\r\\n world what the bird hath done to her own nest.\\r\\n ROSALIND. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst\\r\\n know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded;\\r\\n my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal.\\r\\n CELIA. Or rather, bottomless; that as fast as you pour affection\\r\\n in, it runs out.\\r\\n ROSALIND. No; that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of\\r\\n thought, conceiv\\'d of spleen, and born of madness; that blind\\r\\n rascally boy, that abuses every one\\'s eyes, because his own are\\r\\n out- let him be judge how deep I am in love. I\\'ll tell thee,\\r\\n Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando. I\\'ll go find a\\r\\n shadow, and sigh till he come.\\r\\n CELIA. And I\\'ll sleep. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The forest\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter JAQUES and LORDS, in the habit of foresters\\r\\n\\r\\n JAQUES. Which is he that killed the deer?\\r\\n LORD. Sir, it was I.\\r\\n JAQUES. Let\\'s present him to the Duke, like a Roman conqueror; and\\r\\n it would do well to set the deer\\'s horns upon his head for a\\r\\n branch of victory. Have you no song, forester, for this purpose?\\r\\n LORD. Yes, sir.\\r\\n JAQUES. Sing it; \\'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise\\r\\n enough.\\r\\n\\r\\n SONG.\\r\\n\\r\\n What shall he have that kill\\'d the deer?\\r\\n His leather skin and horns to wear.\\r\\n [The rest shall hear this burden:]\\r\\n Then sing him home.\\r\\n\\r\\n Take thou no scorn to wear the horn;\\r\\n It was a crest ere thou wast born.\\r\\n Thy father\\'s father wore it;\\r\\n And thy father bore it.\\r\\n The horn, the horn, the lusty horn,\\r\\n Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ROSALIND and CELIA\\r\\n\\r\\n ROSALIND. How say you now? Is it not past two o\\'clock?\\r\\n And here much Orlando!\\r\\n CELIA. I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he hath\\r\\n ta\\'en his bow and arrows, and is gone forth- to sleep. Look, who\\r\\n comes here.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n SILVIUS. My errand is to you, fair youth;\\r\\n My gentle Phebe did bid me give you this.\\r\\n I know not the contents; but, as I guess\\r\\n By the stern brow and waspish action\\r\\n Which she did use as she was writing of it,\\r\\n It bears an angry tenour. Pardon me,\\r\\n I am but as a guiltless messenger.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Patience herself would startle at this letter,\\r\\n And play the swaggerer. Bear this, bear all.\\r\\n She says I am not fair, that I lack manners;\\r\\n She calls me proud, and that she could not love me,\\r\\n Were man as rare as Phoenix. \\'Od\\'s my will!\\r\\n Her love is not the hare that I do hunt;\\r\\n Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well,\\r\\n This is a letter of your own device.\\r\\n SILVIUS. No, I protest, I know not the contents;\\r\\n Phebe did write it.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Come, come, you are a fool,\\r\\n And turn\\'d into the extremity of love.\\r\\n I saw her hand; she has a leathern hand,\\r\\n A freestone-colour\\'d hand; I verily did think\\r\\n That her old gloves were on, but \\'twas her hands;\\r\\n She has a huswife\\'s hand- but that\\'s no matter.\\r\\n I say she never did invent this letter:\\r\\n This is a man\\'s invention, and his hand.\\r\\n SILVIUS. Sure, it is hers.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Why, \\'tis a boisterous and a cruel style;\\r\\n A style for challengers. Why, she defies me,\\r\\n Like Turk to Christian. Women\\'s gentle brain\\r\\n Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention,\\r\\n Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect\\r\\n Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter?\\r\\n SILVIUS. So please you, for I never heard it yet;\\r\\n Yet heard too much of Phebe\\'s cruelty.\\r\\n ROSALIND. She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes.\\r\\n [Reads]\\r\\n\\r\\n \\'Art thou god to shepherd turn\\'d,\\r\\n That a maiden\\'s heart hath burn\\'d?\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n Can a woman rail thus?\\r\\n SILVIUS. Call you this railing?\\r\\n ROSALIND. \\'Why, thy godhead laid apart,\\r\\n Warr\\'st thou with a woman\\'s heart?\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n Did you ever hear such railing?\\r\\n\\r\\n \\'Whiles the eye of man did woo me,\\r\\n That could do no vengeance to me.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n Meaning me a beast.\\r\\n\\r\\n \\'If the scorn of your bright eyne\\r\\n Have power to raise such love in mine,\\r\\n Alack, in me what strange effect\\r\\n Would they work in mild aspect!\\r\\n Whiles you chid me, I did love;\\r\\n How then might your prayers move!\\r\\n He that brings this love to the\\r\\n Little knows this love in me;\\r\\n And by him seal up thy mind,\\r\\n Whether that thy youth and kind\\r\\n Will the faithful offer take\\r\\n Of me and all that I can make;\\r\\n Or else by him my love deny,\\r\\n And then I\\'ll study how to die.\\'\\r\\n SILVIUS. Call you this chiding?\\r\\n CELIA. Alas, poor shepherd!\\r\\n ROSALIND. Do you pity him? No, he deserves no pity. Wilt thou love\\r\\n such a woman? What, to make thee an instrument, and play false\\r\\n strains upon thee! Not to be endur\\'d! Well, go your way to her,\\r\\n for I see love hath made thee tame snake, and say this to her-\\r\\n that if she love me, I charge her to love thee; if she will not,\\r\\n I will never have her unless thou entreat for her. If you be a\\r\\n true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more company.\\r\\n Exit SILVIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter OLIVER\\r\\n\\r\\n OLIVER. Good morrow, fair ones; pray you, if you know,\\r\\n Where in the purlieus of this forest stands\\r\\n A sheep-cote fenc\\'d about with olive trees?\\r\\n CELIA. West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom.\\r\\n The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream\\r\\n Left on your right hand brings you to the place.\\r\\n But at this hour the house doth keep itself;\\r\\n There\\'s none within.\\r\\n OLIVER. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,\\r\\n Then should I know you by description-\\r\\n Such garments, and such years: \\'The boy is fair,\\r\\n Of female favour, and bestows himself\\r\\n Like a ripe sister; the woman low,\\r\\n And browner than her brother.\\' Are not you\\r\\n The owner of the house I did inquire for?\\r\\n CELIA. It is no boast, being ask\\'d, to say we are.\\r\\n OLIVER. Orlando doth commend him to you both;\\r\\n And to that youth he calls his Rosalind\\r\\n He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he?\\r\\n ROSALIND. I am. What must we understand by this?\\r\\n OLIVER. Some of my shame; if you will know of me\\r\\n What man I am, and how, and why, and where,\\r\\n This handkercher was stain\\'d.\\r\\n CELIA. I pray you, tell it.\\r\\n OLIVER. When last the young Orlando parted from you,\\r\\n He left a promise to return again\\r\\n Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest,\\r\\n Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy,\\r\\n Lo, what befell! He threw his eye aside,\\r\\n And mark what object did present itself.\\r\\n Under an oak, whose boughs were moss\\'d with age,\\r\\n And high top bald with dry antiquity,\\r\\n A wretched ragged man, o\\'ergrown with hair,\\r\\n Lay sleeping on his back. About his neck\\r\\n A green and gilded snake had wreath\\'d itself,\\r\\n Who with her head nimble in threats approach\\'d\\r\\n The opening of his mouth; but suddenly,\\r\\n Seeing Orlando, it unlink\\'d itself,\\r\\n And with indented glides did slip away\\r\\n Into a bush; under which bush\\'s shade\\r\\n A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,\\r\\n Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch,\\r\\n When that the sleeping man should stir; for \\'tis\\r\\n The royal disposition of that beast\\r\\n To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead.\\r\\n This seen, Orlando did approach the man,\\r\\n And found it was his brother, his elder brother.\\r\\n CELIA. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother;\\r\\n And he did render him the most unnatural\\r\\n That liv\\'d amongst men.\\r\\n OLIVER. And well he might so do,\\r\\n For well I know he was unnatural.\\r\\n ROSALIND. But, to Orlando: did he leave him there,\\r\\n Food to the suck\\'d and hungry lioness?\\r\\n OLIVER. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos\\'d so;\\r\\n But kindness, nobler ever than revenge,\\r\\n And nature, stronger than his just occasion,\\r\\n Made him give battle to the lioness,\\r\\n Who quickly fell before him; in which hurtling\\r\\n From miserable slumber I awak\\'d.\\r\\n CELIA. Are you his brother?\\r\\n ROSALIND. Was\\'t you he rescu\\'d?\\r\\n CELIA. Was\\'t you that did so oft contrive to kill him?\\r\\n OLIVER. \\'Twas I; but \\'tis not I. I do not shame\\r\\n To tell you what I was, since my conversion\\r\\n So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am.\\r\\n ROSALIND. But for the bloody napkin?\\r\\n OLIVER. By and by.\\r\\n When from the first to last, betwixt us two,\\r\\n Tears our recountments had most kindly bath\\'d,\\r\\n As how I came into that desert place-\\r\\n In brief, he led me to the gentle Duke,\\r\\n Who gave me fresh array and entertainment,\\r\\n Committing me unto my brother\\'s love;\\r\\n Who led me instantly unto his cave,\\r\\n There stripp\\'d himself, and here upon his arm\\r\\n The lioness had torn some flesh away,\\r\\n Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted,\\r\\n And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind.\\r\\n Brief, I recover\\'d him, bound up his wound,\\r\\n And, after some small space, being strong at heart,\\r\\n He sent me hither, stranger as I am,\\r\\n To tell this story, that you might excuse\\r\\n His broken promise, and to give this napkin,\\r\\n Dy\\'d in his blood, unto the shepherd youth\\r\\n That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.\\r\\n [ROSALIND swoons]\\r\\n CELIA. Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede!\\r\\n OLIVER. Many will swoon when they do look on blood.\\r\\n CELIA. There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede!\\r\\n OLIVER. Look, he recovers.\\r\\n ROSALIND. I would I were at home.\\r\\n CELIA. We\\'ll lead you thither.\\r\\n I pray you, will you take him by the arm?\\r\\n OLIVER. Be of good cheer, youth. You a man!\\r\\n You lack a man\\'s heart.\\r\\n ROSALIND. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would think\\r\\n this was well counterfeited. I pray you tell your brother how\\r\\n well I counterfeited. Heigh-ho!\\r\\n OLIVER. This was not counterfeit; there is too great testimony in\\r\\n your complexion that it was a passion of earnest.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Counterfeit, I assure you.\\r\\n OLIVER. Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a man.\\r\\n ROSALIND. So I do; but, i\\' faith, I should have been a woman by\\r\\n right.\\r\\n CELIA. Come, you look paler and paler; pray you draw homewards.\\r\\n Good sir, go with us.\\r\\n OLIVER. That will I, for I must bear answer back\\r\\n How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.\\r\\n ROSALIND. I shall devise something; but, I pray you, commend my\\r\\n counterfeiting to him. Will you go? Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. The forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY\\r\\n\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey.\\r\\n AUDREY. Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old\\r\\n gentleman\\'s saying.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Martext.\\r\\n But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to\\r\\n you.\\r\\n AUDREY. Ay, I know who \\'tis; he hath no interest in me in the\\r\\n world; here comes the man you mean.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter WILLIAM\\r\\n\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown. By my troth,\\r\\n we that have good wits have much to answer for: we shall be\\r\\n flouting; we cannot hold.\\r\\n WILLIAM. Good ev\\'n, Audrey.\\r\\n AUDREY. God ye good ev\\'n, William.\\r\\n WILLIAM. And good ev\\'n to you, sir.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Good ev\\'n, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy\\r\\n head; nay, prithee be cover\\'d. How old are you, friend?\\r\\n WILLIAM. Five and twenty, sir.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. A ripe age. Is thy name William?\\r\\n WILLIAM. William, sir.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. A fair name. Wast born i\\' th\\' forest here?\\r\\n WILLIAM. Ay, sir, I thank God.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. \\'Thank God.\\' A good answer.\\r\\n Art rich?\\r\\n WILLIAM. Faith, sir, so so.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. \\'So so\\' is good, very good, very excellent good; and\\r\\n yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise?\\r\\n WILLIAM. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Why, thou say\\'st well. I do now remember a saying: \\'The\\r\\n fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be\\r\\n a fool.\\' The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a\\r\\n grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth; meaning\\r\\n thereby that grapes were made to eat and lips to open. You do\\r\\n love this maid?\\r\\n WILLIAM. I do, sir.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Give me your hand. Art thou learned?\\r\\n WILLIAM. No, sir.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Then learn this of me: to have is to have; for it is a\\r\\n figure in rhetoric that drink, being pour\\'d out of cup into a\\r\\n glass, by filling the one doth empty the other; for all your\\r\\n writers do consent that ipse is he; now, you are not ipse, for I\\r\\n am he.\\r\\n WILLIAM. Which he, sir?\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you\\r\\n clown, abandon- which is in the vulgar leave- the society- which\\r\\n in the boorish is company- of this female- which in the common is\\r\\n woman- which together is: abandon the society of this female; or,\\r\\n clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest;\\r\\n or, to wit, I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into\\r\\n death, thy liberty into bondage. I will deal in poison with thee,\\r\\n or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy with thee in faction;\\r\\n will o\\'er-run thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and\\r\\n fifty ways; therefore tremble and depart.\\r\\n AUDREY. Do, good William.\\r\\n WILLIAM. God rest you merry, sir. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CORIN\\r\\n\\r\\n CORIN. Our master and mistress seeks you; come away, away.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey. I attend, I attend.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ORLANDO and OLIVER\\r\\n\\r\\n ORLANDO. Is\\'t possible that on so little acquaintance you should\\r\\n like her? that but seeing you should love her? and loving woo?\\r\\n and, wooing, she should grant? and will you persever to enjoy\\r\\n her?\\r\\n OLIVER. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty\\r\\n of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her sudden\\r\\n consenting; but say with me, I love Aliena; say with her that she\\r\\n loves me; consent with both that we may enjoy each other. It\\r\\n shall be to your good; for my father\\'s house and all the revenue\\r\\n that was old Sir Rowland\\'s will I estate upon you, and here live\\r\\n and die a shepherd.\\r\\n ORLANDO. You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow.\\r\\n Thither will I invite the Duke and all\\'s contented followers. Go\\r\\n you and prepare Aliena; for, look you, here comes my Rosalind.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ROSALIND\\r\\n\\r\\n ROSALIND. God save you, brother.\\r\\n OLIVER. And you, fair sister. Exit\\r\\n ROSALIND. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear\\r\\n thy heart in a scarf!\\r\\n ORLANDO. It is my arm.\\r\\n ROSALIND. I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a\\r\\n lion.\\r\\n ORLANDO. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon\\r\\n when he show\\'d me your handkercher?\\r\\n ORLANDO. Ay, and greater wonders than that.\\r\\n ROSALIND. O, I know where you are. Nay, \\'tis true. There was never\\r\\n any thing so sudden but the fight of two rams and Caesar\\'s\\r\\n thrasonical brag of \\'I came, saw, and overcame.\\' For your brother\\r\\n and my sister no sooner met but they look\\'d; no sooner look\\'d but\\r\\n they lov\\'d; no sooner lov\\'d but they sigh\\'d; no sooner sigh\\'d but\\r\\n they ask\\'d one another the reason; no sooner knew the reason but\\r\\n they sought the remedy- and in these degrees have they made pair\\r\\n of stairs to marriage, which they will climb incontinent, or else\\r\\n be incontinent before marriage. They are in the very wrath of\\r\\n love, and they will together. Clubs cannot part them.\\r\\n ORLANDO. They shall be married to-morrow; and I will bid the Duke\\r\\n to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it is to look into\\r\\n happiness through another man\\'s eyes! By so much the more shall I\\r\\n to-morrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I\\r\\n shall think my brother happy in having what he wishes for.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Why, then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for\\r\\n Rosalind?\\r\\n ORLANDO. I can live no longer by thinking.\\r\\n ROSALIND. I will weary you, then, no longer with idle talking. Know\\r\\n of me then- for now I speak to some purpose- that I know you are\\r\\n a gentleman of good conceit. I speak not this that you should\\r\\n bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch I say I know you\\r\\n are; neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in some\\r\\n little measure draw a belief from you, to do yourself good, and\\r\\n not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do\\r\\n strange things. I have, since I was three year old, convers\\'d\\r\\n with a magician, most profound in his art and yet not damnable.\\r\\n If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries\\r\\n it out, when your brother marries Aliena shall you marry her. I\\r\\n know into what straits of fortune she is driven; and it is not\\r\\n impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, to set\\r\\n her before your eyes to-morrow, human as she is, and without any\\r\\n danger.\\r\\n ORLANDO. Speak\\'st thou in sober meanings?\\r\\n ROSALIND. By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though I say I\\r\\n am a magician. Therefore put you in your best array, bid your\\r\\n friends; for if you will be married to-morrow, you shall; and to\\r\\n Rosalind, if you will.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE\\r\\n\\r\\n Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers.\\r\\n PHEBE. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness\\r\\n To show the letter that I writ to you.\\r\\n ROSALIND. I care not if I have. It is my study\\r\\n To seem despiteful and ungentle to you.\\r\\n You are there follow\\'d by a faithful shepherd;\\r\\n Look upon him, love him; he worships you.\\r\\n PHEBE. Good shepherd, tell this youth what \\'tis to love.\\r\\n SILVIUS. It is to be all made of sighs and tears;\\r\\n And so am I for Phebe.\\r\\n PHEBE. And I for Ganymede.\\r\\n ORLANDO. And I for Rosalind.\\r\\n ROSALIND. And I for no woman.\\r\\n SILVIUS. It is to be all made of faith and service;\\r\\n And so am I for Phebe.\\r\\n PHEBE. And I for Ganymede.\\r\\n ORLANDO. And I for Rosalind.\\r\\n ROSALIND. And I for no woman.\\r\\n SILVIUS. It is to be all made of fantasy,\\r\\n All made of passion, and all made of wishes;\\r\\n All adoration, duty, and observance,\\r\\n All humbleness, all patience, and impatience,\\r\\n All purity, all trial, all obedience;\\r\\n And so am I for Phebe.\\r\\n PHEBE. And so am I for Ganymede.\\r\\n ORLANDO. And so am I for Rosalind.\\r\\n ROSALIND. And so am I for no woman.\\r\\n PHEBE. If this be so, why blame you me to love you?\\r\\n SILVIUS. If this be so, why blame you me to love you?\\r\\n ORLANDO. If this be so, why blame you me to love you?\\r\\n ROSALIND. Why do you speak too, \\'Why blame you me to love you?\\'\\r\\n ORLANDO. To her that is not here, nor doth not hear.\\r\\n ROSALIND. Pray you, no more of this; \\'tis like the howling of Irish\\r\\n wolves against the moon. [To SILVIUS] I will help you if I can.\\r\\n [To PHEBE] I would love you if I could.- To-morrow meet me all\\r\\n together. [ To PHEBE ] I will marry you if ever I marry woman,\\r\\n and I\\'ll be married to-morrow. [To ORLANDO] I will satisfy you if\\r\\n ever I satisfied man, and you shall be married to-morrow. [To\\r\\n Silvius] I will content you if what pleases you contents you, and\\r\\n you shall be married to-morrow. [To ORLANDO] As you love\\r\\n Rosalind, meet. [To SILVIUS] As you love Phebe, meet;- and as I\\r\\n love no woman, I\\'ll meet. So, fare you well; I have left you\\r\\n commands.\\r\\n SILVIUS. I\\'ll not fail, if I live.\\r\\n PHEBE. Nor I.\\r\\n ORLANDO. Nor I. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY\\r\\n\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audre\\'y; to-morrow will we\\r\\n be married.\\r\\n AUDREY. I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is no\\r\\n dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the world. Here come\\r\\n two of the banish\\'d Duke\\'s pages.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two PAGES\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST PAGE. Well met, honest gentleman.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. By my troth, well met. Come sit, sit, and a song.\\r\\n SECOND PAGE. We are for you; sit i\\' th\\' middle.\\r\\n FIRST PAGE. Shall we clap into\\'t roundly, without hawking, or\\r\\n spitting, or saying we are hoarse, which are the only prologues\\r\\n to a bad voice?\\r\\n SECOND PAGE. I\\'faith, i\\'faith; and both in a tune, like two gipsies\\r\\n on a horse.\\r\\n\\r\\n SONG.\\r\\n It was a lover and his lass,\\r\\n With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,\\r\\n That o\\'er the green corn-field did pass\\r\\n In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,\\r\\n When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding.\\r\\n Sweet lovers love the spring.\\r\\n\\r\\n Between the acres of the rye,\\r\\n With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,\\r\\n These pretty country folks would lie,\\r\\n In the spring time, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\n This carol they began that hour,\\r\\n With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,\\r\\n How that a life was but a flower,\\r\\n In the spring time, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\n And therefore take the present time,\\r\\n With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,\\r\\n For love is crowned with the prime,\\r\\n In the spring time, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great\\r\\n matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untuneable.\\r\\n FIRST PAGE. YOU are deceiv\\'d, sir; we kept time, we lost not our\\r\\n time.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear such\\r\\n a foolish song. God buy you; and God mend your voices. Come,\\r\\n Audrey. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, JAQUES, ORLANDO, OLIVER, and CELIA\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy\\r\\n Can do all this that he hath promised?\\r\\n ORLANDO. I sometimes do believe and sometimes do not:\\r\\n As those that fear they hope, and know they fear.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE\\r\\n\\r\\n ROSALIND. Patience once more, whiles our compact is urg\\'d:\\r\\n You say, if I bring in your Rosalind,\\r\\n You will bestow her on Orlando here?\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.\\r\\n ROSALIND. And you say you will have her when I bring her?\\r\\n ORLANDO. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king.\\r\\n ROSALIND. You say you\\'ll marry me, if I be willing?\\r\\n PHEBE. That will I, should I die the hour after.\\r\\n ROSALIND. But if you do refuse to marry me,\\r\\n You\\'ll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd?\\r\\n PHEBE. So is the bargain.\\r\\n ROSALIND. You say that you\\'ll have Phebe, if she will?\\r\\n SILVIUS. Though to have her and death were both one thing.\\r\\n ROSALIND. I have promis\\'d to make all this matter even.\\r\\n Keep you your word, O Duke, to give your daughter;\\r\\n You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter;\\r\\n Keep your word, Phebe, that you\\'ll marry me,\\r\\n Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd;\\r\\n Keep your word, Silvius, that you\\'ll marry her\\r\\n If she refuse me; and from hence I go,\\r\\n To make these doubts all even.\\r\\n Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. I do remember in this shepherd boy\\r\\n Some lively touches of my daughter\\'s favour.\\r\\n ORLANDO. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him\\r\\n Methought he was a brother to your daughter.\\r\\n But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born,\\r\\n And hath been tutor\\'d in the rudiments\\r\\n Of many desperate studies by his uncle,\\r\\n Whom he reports to be a great magician,\\r\\n Obscured in the circle of this forest.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY\\r\\n\\r\\n JAQUES. There is, sure, another flood toward, and these couples are\\r\\n coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of very strange beasts which\\r\\n in all tongues are call\\'d fools.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Salutation and greeting to you all!\\r\\n JAQUES. Good my lord, bid him welcome. This is the motley-minded\\r\\n gentleman that I have so often met in the forest. He hath been a\\r\\n courtier, he swears.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation.\\r\\n I have trod a measure; I have flatt\\'red a lady; I have been\\r\\n politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy; I have undone\\r\\n three tailors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought\\r\\n one.\\r\\n JAQUES. And how was that ta\\'en up?\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the\\r\\n seventh cause.\\r\\n JAQUES. How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this fellow.\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. I like him very well.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. God \\'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I press in\\r\\n here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives, to swear\\r\\n and to forswear, according as marriage binds and blood breaks. A\\r\\n poor virgin, sir, an ill-favour\\'d thing, sir, but mine own; a\\r\\n poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that man else will. Rich\\r\\n honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor house; as your pearl\\r\\n in your foul oyster.\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. According to the fool\\'s bolt, sir, and such dulcet\\r\\n diseases.\\r\\n JAQUES. But, for the seventh cause: how did you find the quarrel on\\r\\n the seventh cause?\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. Upon a lie seven times removed- bear your body more\\r\\n seeming, Audrey- as thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain\\r\\n courtier\\'s beard; he sent me word, if I said his beard was not\\r\\n cut well, he was in the mind it was. This is call\\'d the Retort\\r\\n Courteous. If I sent him word again it was not well cut, he would\\r\\n send me word he cut it to please himself. This is call\\'d the Quip\\r\\n Modest. If again it was not well cut, he disabled my judgment.\\r\\n This is call\\'d the Reply Churlish. If again it was not well cut,\\r\\n he would answer I spake not true. This is call\\'d the Reproof\\r\\n Valiant. If again it was not well cut, he would say I lie. This\\r\\n is call\\'d the Countercheck Quarrelsome. And so to the Lie\\r\\n Circumstantial and the Lie Direct.\\r\\n JAQUES. And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut?\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial, nor\\r\\n he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we measur\\'d swords\\r\\n and parted.\\r\\n JAQUES. Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie?\\r\\n TOUCHSTONE. O, sir, we quarrel in print by the book, as you have\\r\\n books for good manners. I will name you the degrees. The first,\\r\\n the Retort Courteous; the second, the Quip Modest; the third, the\\r\\n Reply Churlish; the fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the\\r\\n Countercheck Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with Circumstance;\\r\\n the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you may avoid but the Lie\\r\\n Direct; and you may avoid that too with an If. I knew when seven\\r\\n justices could not take up a quarrel; but when the parties were\\r\\n met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as: \\'If you\\r\\n said so, then I said so.\\' And they shook hands, and swore\\r\\n brothers. Your If is the only peace-maker; much virtue in If.\\r\\n JAQUES. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord?\\r\\n He\\'s as good at any thing, and yet a fool.\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the\\r\\n presentation of that he shoots his wit:\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA. Still MUSIC\\r\\n\\r\\n HYMEN. Then is there mirth in heaven,\\r\\n When earthly things made even\\r\\n Atone together.\\r\\n Good Duke, receive thy daughter;\\r\\n Hymen from heaven brought her,\\r\\n Yea, brought her hither,\\r\\n That thou mightst join her hand with his,\\r\\n Whose heart within his bosom is.\\r\\n ROSALIND. [To DUKE] To you I give myself, for I am yours.\\r\\n [To ORLANDO] To you I give myself, for I am yours.\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter.\\r\\n ORLANDO. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind.\\r\\n PHEBE. If sight and shape be true,\\r\\n Why then, my love adieu!\\r\\n ROSALIND. I\\'ll have no father, if you be not he;\\r\\n I\\'ll have no husband, if you be not he;\\r\\n Nor ne\\'er wed woman, if you be not she.\\r\\n HYMEN. Peace, ho! I bar confusion;\\r\\n \\'Tis I must make conclusion\\r\\n Of these most strange events.\\r\\n Here\\'s eight that must take hands\\r\\n To join in Hymen\\'s bands,\\r\\n If truth holds true contents.\\r\\n You and you no cross shall part;\\r\\n You and you are heart in heart;\\r\\n You to his love must accord,\\r\\n Or have a woman to your lord;\\r\\n You and you are sure together,\\r\\n As the winter to foul weather.\\r\\n Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing,\\r\\n Feed yourselves with questioning,\\r\\n That reason wonder may diminish,\\r\\n How thus we met, and these things finish.\\r\\n\\r\\n SONG\\r\\n Wedding is great Juno\\'s crown;\\r\\n O blessed bond of board and bed!\\r\\n \\'Tis Hymen peoples every town;\\r\\n High wedlock then be honoured.\\r\\n Honour, high honour, and renown,\\r\\n To Hymen, god of every town!\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me!\\r\\n Even daughter, welcome in no less degree.\\r\\n PHEBE. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine;\\r\\n Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter JAQUES de BOYS\\r\\n\\r\\n JAQUES de BOYS. Let me have audience for a word or two.\\r\\n I am the second son of old Sir Rowland,\\r\\n That bring these tidings to this fair assembly.\\r\\n Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day\\r\\n Men of great worth resorted to this forest,\\r\\n Address\\'d a mighty power; which were on foot,\\r\\n In his own conduct, purposely to take\\r\\n His brother here, and put him to the sword;\\r\\n And to the skirts of this wild wood he came,\\r\\n Where, meeting with an old religious man,\\r\\n After some question with him, was converted\\r\\n Both from his enterprise and from the world;\\r\\n His crown bequeathing to his banish\\'d brother,\\r\\n And all their lands restor\\'d to them again\\r\\n That were with him exil\\'d. This to be true\\r\\n I do engage my life.\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. Welcome, young man.\\r\\n Thou offer\\'st fairly to thy brothers\\' wedding:\\r\\n To one, his lands withheld; and to the other,\\r\\n A land itself at large, a potent dukedom.\\r\\n First, in this forest let us do those ends\\r\\n That here were well begun and well begot;\\r\\n And after, every of this happy number,\\r\\n That have endur\\'d shrewd days and nights with us,\\r\\n Shall share the good of our returned fortune,\\r\\n According to the measure of their states.\\r\\n Meantime, forget this new-fall\\'n dignity,\\r\\n And fall into our rustic revelry.\\r\\n Play, music; and you brides and bridegrooms all,\\r\\n With measure heap\\'d in joy, to th\\' measures fall.\\r\\n JAQUES. Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly,\\r\\n The Duke hath put on a religious life,\\r\\n And thrown into neglect the pompous court.\\r\\n JAQUES DE BOYS. He hath.\\r\\n JAQUES. To him will I. Out of these convertites\\r\\n There is much matter to be heard and learn\\'d.\\r\\n [To DUKE] You to your former honour I bequeath;\\r\\n Your patience and your virtue well deserves it.\\r\\n [To ORLANDO] You to a love that your true faith doth merit;\\r\\n [To OLIVER] You to your land, and love, and great allies\\r\\n [To SILVIUS] You to a long and well-deserved bed;\\r\\n [To TOUCHSTONE] And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage\\r\\n Is but for two months victuall\\'d.- So to your pleasures;\\r\\n I am for other than for dancing measures.\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. Stay, Jaques, stay.\\r\\n JAQUES. To see no pastime I. What you would have\\r\\n I\\'ll stay to know at your abandon\\'d cave. Exit\\r\\n DUKE SENIOR. Proceed, proceed. We will begin these rites,\\r\\n As we do trust they\\'ll end, in true delights. [A dance] Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nEPILOGUE\\r\\n EPILOGUE.\\r\\n ROSALIND. It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue; but\\r\\n it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue. If it\\r\\n be true that good wine needs no bush, \\'tis true that a good play\\r\\n needs no epilogue. Yet to good wine they do use good bushes; and\\r\\n good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a\\r\\n case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot\\r\\n insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play! I am not\\r\\n furnish\\'d like a beggar; therefore to beg will not become me. My\\r\\n way is to conjure you; and I\\'ll begin with the women. I charge\\r\\n you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of\\r\\n this play as please you; and I charge you, O men, for the love\\r\\n you bear to women- as I perceive by your simp\\'ring none of you\\r\\n hates them- that between you and the women the play may please.\\r\\n If I were a woman, I would kiss as many of you as had beards that\\r\\n pleas\\'d me, complexions that lik\\'d me, and breaths that I defied\\r\\n not; and, I am sure, as many as have good beards, or good faces,\\r\\n or sweet breaths, will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy,\\r\\n bid me farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n',\n", + " 'THE COMEDY OF ERRORS\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. A hall in the Duke’s palace.\\r\\nScene II. A public place.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. A public place.\\r\\nScene II. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. The same.\\r\\nScene II. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. The same.\\r\\nScene II. The same.\\r\\nScene III. The same.\\r\\nScene IV. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLINUS, Duke of Ephesus.\\r\\nEGEON, a Merchant of Syracuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, Twin brothers and sons to Egeon and\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE, Emilia, but unknown to each other.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS, Twin brothers, and attendants on\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE, the two Antipholuses.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR, a Merchant.\\r\\nANGELO, a Goldsmith.\\r\\nA MERCHANT, friend to Antipholus of Syracuse.\\r\\nPINCH, a Schoolmaster and a Conjurer.\\r\\nEMILIA, Wife to Egeon, an Abbess at Ephesus.\\r\\nADRIANA, Wife to Antipholus of Ephesus.\\r\\nLUCIANA, her Sister.\\r\\nLUCE, her Servant.\\r\\nA COURTESAN\\r\\nMessenger, Jailer, Officers, Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Ephesus\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A hall in the Duke’s palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Duke, Egeon, Jailer, Officers and other Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEON.\\r\\nProceed, Solinus, to procure my fall,\\r\\nAnd by the doom of death end woes and all.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nMerchant of Syracusa, plead no more.\\r\\nI am not partial to infringe our laws.\\r\\nThe enmity and discord which of late\\r\\nSprung from the rancorous outrage of your Duke\\r\\nTo merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,\\r\\nWho, wanting guilders to redeem their lives,\\r\\nHave seal’d his rigorous statutes with their bloods,\\r\\nExcludes all pity from our threat’ning looks.\\r\\nFor since the mortal and intestine jars\\r\\n’Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,\\r\\nIt hath in solemn synods been decreed,\\r\\nBoth by the Syracusians and ourselves,\\r\\nTo admit no traffic to our adverse towns;\\r\\nNay more, if any born at Ephesus\\r\\nBe seen at Syracusian marts and fairs;\\r\\nAgain, if any Syracusian born\\r\\nCome to the bay of Ephesus, he dies,\\r\\nHis goods confiscate to the Duke’s dispose,\\r\\nUnless a thousand marks be levied\\r\\nTo quit the penalty and to ransom him.\\r\\nThy substance, valued at the highest rate,\\r\\nCannot amount unto a hundred marks;\\r\\nTherefore by law thou art condemn’d to die.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEON.\\r\\nYet this my comfort; when your words are done,\\r\\nMy woes end likewise with the evening sun.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWell, Syracusian, say in brief the cause\\r\\nWhy thou departedst from thy native home,\\r\\nAnd for what cause thou cam’st to Ephesus.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEON.\\r\\nA heavier task could not have been impos’d\\r\\nThan I to speak my griefs unspeakable;\\r\\nYet, that the world may witness that my end\\r\\nWas wrought by nature, not by vile offence,\\r\\nI’ll utter what my sorrow gives me leave.\\r\\nIn Syracusa was I born, and wed\\r\\nUnto a woman happy but for me,\\r\\nAnd by me, had not our hap been bad.\\r\\nWith her I liv’d in joy; our wealth increas’d\\r\\nBy prosperous voyages I often made\\r\\nTo Epidamnum, till my factor’s death,\\r\\nAnd the great care of goods at random left,\\r\\nDrew me from kind embracements of my spouse;\\r\\nFrom whom my absence was not six months old\\r\\nBefore herself (almost at fainting under\\r\\nThe pleasing punishment that women bear)\\r\\nHad made provision for her following me,\\r\\nAnd soon and safe arrived where I was.\\r\\nThere had she not been long but she became\\r\\nA joyful mother of two goodly sons,\\r\\nAnd, which was strange, the one so like the other\\r\\nAs could not be distinguish’d but by names.\\r\\nThat very hour, and in the self-same inn,\\r\\nA mean woman was delivered\\r\\nOf such a burden, male twins, both alike.\\r\\nThose, for their parents were exceeding poor,\\r\\nI bought, and brought up to attend my sons.\\r\\nMy wife, not meanly proud of two such boys,\\r\\nMade daily motions for our home return.\\r\\nUnwilling I agreed; alas, too soon\\r\\nWe came aboard.\\r\\nA league from Epidamnum had we sail’d\\r\\nBefore the always-wind-obeying deep\\r\\nGave any tragic instance of our harm;\\r\\nBut longer did we not retain much hope;\\r\\nFor what obscured light the heavens did grant\\r\\nDid but convey unto our fearful minds\\r\\nA doubtful warrant of immediate death,\\r\\nWhich though myself would gladly have embrac’d,\\r\\nYet the incessant weepings of my wife,\\r\\nWeeping before for what she saw must come,\\r\\nAnd piteous plainings of the pretty babes,\\r\\nThat mourn’d for fashion, ignorant what to fear,\\r\\nForc’d me to seek delays for them and me.\\r\\nAnd this it was (for other means was none).\\r\\nThe sailors sought for safety by our boat,\\r\\nAnd left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us.\\r\\nMy wife, more careful for the latter-born,\\r\\nHad fast’ned him unto a small spare mast,\\r\\nSuch as sea-faring men provide for storms.\\r\\nTo him one of the other twins was bound,\\r\\nWhilst I had been like heedful of the other.\\r\\nThe children thus dispos’d, my wife and I,\\r\\nFixing our eyes on whom our care was fix’d,\\r\\nFast’ned ourselves at either end the mast,\\r\\nAnd, floating straight, obedient to the stream,\\r\\nWas carried towards Corinth, as we thought.\\r\\nAt length the sun, gazing upon the earth,\\r\\nDispers’d those vapours that offended us,\\r\\nAnd by the benefit of his wished light\\r\\nThe seas wax’d calm, and we discovered\\r\\nTwo ships from far, making amain to us,\\r\\nOf Corinth that, of Epidaurus this.\\r\\nBut ere they came—O, let me say no more!\\r\\nGather the sequel by that went before.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nNay, forward, old man, do not break off so,\\r\\nFor we may pity, though not pardon thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEON.\\r\\nO, had the gods done so, I had not now\\r\\nWorthily term’d them merciless to us.\\r\\nFor, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues,\\r\\nWe were encountered by a mighty rock,\\r\\nWhich being violently borne upon,\\r\\nOur helpful ship was splitted in the midst;\\r\\nSo that, in this unjust divorce of us,\\r\\nFortune had left to both of us alike\\r\\nWhat to delight in, what to sorrow for.\\r\\nHer part, poor soul, seeming as burdened\\r\\nWith lesser weight, but not with lesser woe,\\r\\nWas carried with more speed before the wind,\\r\\nAnd in our sight they three were taken up\\r\\nBy fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.\\r\\nAt length another ship had seiz’d on us;\\r\\nAnd, knowing whom it was their hap to save,\\r\\nGave healthful welcome to their ship-wrack’d guests,\\r\\nAnd would have reft the fishers of their prey,\\r\\nHad not their bark been very slow of sail;\\r\\nAnd therefore homeward did they bend their course.\\r\\nThus have you heard me sever’d from my bliss,\\r\\nThat by misfortunes was my life prolong’d\\r\\nTo tell sad stories of my own mishaps.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAnd for the sake of them thou sorrowest for,\\r\\nDo me the favour to dilate at full\\r\\nWhat have befall’n of them and thee till now.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEON.\\r\\nMy youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,\\r\\nAt eighteen years became inquisitive\\r\\nAfter his brother, and importun’d me\\r\\nThat his attendant, so his case was like,\\r\\nReft of his brother, but retain’d his name,\\r\\nMight bear him company in the quest of him;\\r\\nWhom whilst I laboured of a love to see,\\r\\nI hazarded the loss of whom I lov’d.\\r\\nFive summers have I spent in farthest Greece,\\r\\nRoaming clean through the bounds of Asia,\\r\\nAnd, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus,\\r\\nHopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought\\r\\nOr that or any place that harbours men.\\r\\nBut here must end the story of my life;\\r\\nAnd happy were I in my timely death,\\r\\nCould all my travels warrant me they live.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHapless Egeon, whom the fates have mark’d\\r\\nTo bear the extremity of dire mishap;\\r\\nNow, trust me, were it not against our laws,\\r\\nAgainst my crown, my oath, my dignity,\\r\\nWhich princes, would they, may not disannul,\\r\\nMy soul should sue as advocate for thee.\\r\\nBut though thou art adjudged to the death,\\r\\nAnd passed sentence may not be recall’d\\r\\nBut to our honour’s great disparagement,\\r\\nYet will I favour thee in what I can.\\r\\nTherefore, merchant, I’ll limit thee this day\\r\\nTo seek thy health by beneficial help.\\r\\nTry all the friends thou hast in Ephesus;\\r\\nBeg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,\\r\\nAnd live; if no, then thou art doom’d to die.\\r\\nJailer, take him to thy custody.\\r\\n\\r\\nJAILER.\\r\\nI will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEON.\\r\\nHopeless and helpless doth Egeon wend,\\r\\nBut to procrastinate his lifeless end.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A public place.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Syracuse and a Merchant.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCHANT.\\r\\nTherefore give out you are of Epidamnum,\\r\\nLest that your goods too soon be confiscate.\\r\\nThis very day a Syracusian merchant\\r\\nIs apprehended for arrival here,\\r\\nAnd, not being able to buy out his life,\\r\\nAccording to the statute of the town\\r\\nDies ere the weary sun set in the west.\\r\\nThere is your money that I had to keep.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nGo bear it to the Centaur, where we host,\\r\\nAnd stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee.\\r\\nWithin this hour it will be dinnertime;\\r\\nTill that, I’ll view the manners of the town,\\r\\nPeruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings,\\r\\nAnd then return and sleep within mine inn,\\r\\nFor with long travel I am stiff and weary.\\r\\nGet thee away.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nMany a man would take you at your word,\\r\\nAnd go indeed, having so good a mean.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Dromio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nA trusty villain, sir, that very oft,\\r\\nWhen I am dull with care and melancholy,\\r\\nLightens my humour with his merry jests.\\r\\nWhat, will you walk with me about the town,\\r\\nAnd then go to my inn and dine with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCHANT.\\r\\nI am invited, sir, to certain merchants,\\r\\nOf whom I hope to make much benefit.\\r\\nI crave your pardon. Soon, at five o’clock,\\r\\nPlease you, I’ll meet with you upon the mart,\\r\\nAnd afterward consort you till bedtime.\\r\\nMy present business calls me from you now.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nFarewell till then: I will go lose myself,\\r\\nAnd wander up and down to view the city.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCHANT.\\r\\nSir, I commend you to your own content.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Merchant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nHe that commends me to mine own content\\r\\nCommends me to the thing I cannot get.\\r\\nI to the world am like a drop of water\\r\\nThat in the ocean seeks another drop,\\r\\nWho, failing there to find his fellow forth,\\r\\nUnseen, inquisitive, confounds himself.\\r\\nSo I, to find a mother and a brother,\\r\\nIn quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Dromio of Ephesus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes the almanac of my true date.\\r\\nWhat now? How chance thou art return’d so soon?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nReturn’d so soon? rather approach’d too late.\\r\\nThe capon burns, the pig falls from the spit;\\r\\nThe clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell;\\r\\nMy mistress made it one upon my cheek.\\r\\nShe is so hot because the meat is cold;\\r\\nThe meat is cold because you come not home;\\r\\nYou come not home because you have no stomach;\\r\\nYou have no stomach, having broke your fast;\\r\\nBut we that know what ’tis to fast and pray,\\r\\nAre penitent for your default today.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nStop in your wind, sir, tell me this, I pray:\\r\\nWhere have you left the money that I gave you?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nO, sixpence that I had o’ Wednesday last\\r\\nTo pay the saddler for my mistress’ crupper:\\r\\nThe saddler had it, sir, I kept it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nI am not in a sportive humour now.\\r\\nTell me, and dally not, where is the money?\\r\\nWe being strangers here, how dar’st thou trust\\r\\nSo great a charge from thine own custody?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nI pray you jest, sir, as you sit at dinner:\\r\\nI from my mistress come to you in post;\\r\\nIf I return, I shall be post indeed,\\r\\nFor she will score your fault upon my pate.\\r\\nMethinks your maw, like mine, should be your clock,\\r\\nAnd strike you home without a messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nCome, Dromio, come, these jests are out of season,\\r\\nReserve them till a merrier hour than this.\\r\\nWhere is the gold I gave in charge to thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nTo me, sir? why, you gave no gold to me!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nCome on, sir knave, have done your foolishness,\\r\\nAnd tell me how thou hast dispos’d thy charge.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nMy charge was but to fetch you from the mart\\r\\nHome to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner.\\r\\nMy mistress and her sister stay for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nNow, as I am a Christian, answer me\\r\\nIn what safe place you have bestow’d my money,\\r\\nOr I shall break that merry sconce of yours\\r\\nThat stands on tricks when I am undispos’d;\\r\\nWhere is the thousand marks thou hadst of me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nI have some marks of yours upon my pate,\\r\\nSome of my mistress’ marks upon my shoulders,\\r\\nBut not a thousand marks between you both.\\r\\nIf I should pay your worship those again,\\r\\nPerchance you will not bear them patiently.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nThy mistress’ marks? what mistress, slave, hast thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nYour worship’s wife, my mistress at the Phoenix;\\r\\nShe that doth fast till you come home to dinner,\\r\\nAnd prays that you will hie you home to dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhat, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face,\\r\\nBeing forbid? There, take you that, sir knave.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nWhat mean you, sir? for God’s sake hold your hands.\\r\\nNay, an you will not, sir, I’ll take my heels.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Dromio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nUpon my life, by some device or other\\r\\nThe villain is o’er-raught of all my money.\\r\\nThey say this town is full of cozenage,\\r\\nAs nimble jugglers that deceive the eye,\\r\\nDark-working sorcerers that change the mind,\\r\\nSoul-killing witches that deform the body,\\r\\nDisguised cheaters, prating mountebanks,\\r\\nAnd many such-like liberties of sin:\\r\\nIf it prove so, I will be gone the sooner.\\r\\nI’ll to the Centaur to go seek this slave.\\r\\nI greatly fear my money is not safe.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A public place.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Adriana, wife to Antipholus (of Ephesus) with Luciana her\\r\\n sister.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nNeither my husband nor the slave return’d\\r\\nThat in such haste I sent to seek his master?\\r\\nSure, Luciana, it is two o’clock.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nPerhaps some merchant hath invited him,\\r\\nAnd from the mart he’s somewhere gone to dinner.\\r\\nGood sister, let us dine, and never fret;\\r\\nA man is master of his liberty;\\r\\nTime is their master, and when they see time,\\r\\nThey’ll go or come. If so, be patient, sister.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nWhy should their liberty than ours be more?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nBecause their business still lies out o’ door.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nLook when I serve him so, he takes it ill.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nO, know he is the bridle of your will.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nThere’s none but asses will be bridled so.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nWhy, headstrong liberty is lash’d with woe.\\r\\nThere’s nothing situate under heaven’s eye\\r\\nBut hath his bound in earth, in sea, in sky.\\r\\nThe beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls\\r\\nAre their males’ subjects, and at their controls.\\r\\nMan, more divine, the masters of all these,\\r\\nLord of the wide world and wild wat’ry seas,\\r\\nIndued with intellectual sense and souls,\\r\\nOf more pre-eminence than fish and fowls,\\r\\nAre masters to their females, and their lords:\\r\\nThen let your will attend on their accords.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nThis servitude makes you to keep unwed.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nNot this, but troubles of the marriage-bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nBut, were you wedded, you would bear some sway.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nEre I learn love, I’ll practise to obey.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nHow if your husband start some other where?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nTill he come home again, I would forbear.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nPatience unmov’d! No marvel though she pause;\\r\\nThey can be meek that have no other cause.\\r\\nA wretched soul bruis’d with adversity,\\r\\nWe bid be quiet when we hear it cry;\\r\\nBut were we burd’ned with like weight of pain,\\r\\nAs much, or more, we should ourselves complain:\\r\\nSo thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee,\\r\\nWith urging helpless patience would relieve me:\\r\\nBut if thou live to see like right bereft,\\r\\nThis fool-begg’d patience in thee will be left.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nWell, I will marry one day, but to try.\\r\\nHere comes your man, now is your husband nigh.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Dromio of Ephesus.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nSay, is your tardy master now at hand?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nNay, he’s at two hands with me, and that my two ears can witness.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nSay, didst thou speak with him? know’st thou his mind?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nAy, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear.\\r\\nBeshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nSpake he so doubtfully thou couldst not feel his meaning?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nNay, he struck so plainly I could too well feel his blows; and withal\\r\\nso doubtfully that I could scarce understand them.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nBut say, I prithee, is he coming home?\\r\\nIt seems he hath great care to please his wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nWhy, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nHorn-mad, thou villain?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nI mean not cuckold-mad,\\r\\nBut sure he’s stark mad.\\r\\nWhen I desir’d him to come home to dinner,\\r\\nHe ask’d me for a thousand marks in gold.\\r\\n“’Tis dinner time,” quoth I. “My gold,” quoth he.\\r\\n“Your meat doth burn” quoth I. “My gold,” quoth he.\\r\\n“Will you come home?” quoth I. “My gold,” quoth he.\\r\\n“Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain?”\\r\\n“The pig” quoth I “is burn’d”. “My gold,” quoth he.\\r\\n“My mistress, sir,” quoth I. “Hang up thy mistress;\\r\\nI know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress!”\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nQuoth who?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nQuoth my master.\\r\\n“I know,” quoth he, “no house, no wife, no mistress.”\\r\\nSo that my errand, due unto my tongue,\\r\\nI thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders;\\r\\nFor, in conclusion, he did beat me there.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nGo back again, thou slave, and fetch him home.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nGo back again, and be new beaten home?\\r\\nFor God’s sake, send some other messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nBack slave, or I will break thy pate across.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nAnd he will bless that cross with other beating.\\r\\nBetween you I shall have a holy head.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nHence, prating peasant. Fetch thy master home.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nAm I so round with you, as you with me,\\r\\nThat like a football you do spurn me thus?\\r\\nYou spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither.\\r\\nIf I last in this service, you must case me in leather.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nFie, how impatience loureth in your face.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nHis company must do his minions grace,\\r\\nWhilst I at home starve for a merry look.\\r\\nHath homely age th’ alluring beauty took\\r\\nFrom my poor cheek? then he hath wasted it.\\r\\nAre my discourses dull? barren my wit?\\r\\nIf voluble and sharp discourse be marr’d,\\r\\nUnkindness blunts it more than marble hard.\\r\\nDo their gay vestments his affections bait?\\r\\nThat’s not my fault; he’s master of my state.\\r\\nWhat ruins are in me that can be found\\r\\nBy him not ruin’d? Then is he the ground\\r\\nOf my defeatures. My decayed fair\\r\\nA sunny look of his would soon repair;\\r\\nBut, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale\\r\\nAnd feeds from home; poor I am but his stale.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nSelf-harming jealousy! fie, beat it hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nUnfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense.\\r\\nI know his eye doth homage otherwhere,\\r\\nOr else what lets it but he would be here?\\r\\nSister, you know he promis’d me a chain;\\r\\nWould that alone, a love he would detain,\\r\\nSo he would keep fair quarter with his bed.\\r\\nI see the jewel best enamelled\\r\\nWill lose his beauty; yet the gold bides still\\r\\nThat others touch, yet often touching will\\r\\nWear gold; and no man that hath a name\\r\\nBy falsehood and corruption doth it shame.\\r\\nSince that my beauty cannot please his eye,\\r\\nI’ll weep what’s left away, and weeping die.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nHow many fond fools serve mad jealousy!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antipholus of Syracuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nThe gold I gave to Dromio is laid up\\r\\nSafe at the Centaur, and the heedful slave\\r\\nIs wander’d forth in care to seek me out.\\r\\nBy computation and mine host’s report.\\r\\nI could not speak with Dromio since at first\\r\\nI sent him from the mart. See, here he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Dromio of Syracuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, sir! is your merry humour alter’d?\\r\\nAs you love strokes, so jest with me again.\\r\\nYou know no Centaur? you receiv’d no gold?\\r\\nYour mistress sent to have me home to dinner?\\r\\nMy house was at the Phoenix? Wast thou mad,\\r\\nThat thus so madly thou didst answer me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhat answer, sir? when spake I such a word?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nEven now, even here, not half an hour since.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nI did not see you since you sent me hence,\\r\\nHome to the Centaur with the gold you gave me.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nVillain, thou didst deny the gold’s receipt,\\r\\nAnd told’st me of a mistress and a dinner,\\r\\nFor which I hope thou felt’st I was displeas’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nI am glad to see you in this merry vein.\\r\\nWhat means this jest, I pray you, master, tell me?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nYea, dost thou jeer and flout me in the teeth?\\r\\nThink’st thou I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Beats Dromio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nHold, sir, for God’s sake, now your jest is earnest.\\r\\nUpon what bargain do you give it me?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nBecause that I familiarly sometimes\\r\\nDo use you for my fool, and chat with you,\\r\\nYour sauciness will jest upon my love,\\r\\nAnd make a common of my serious hours.\\r\\nWhen the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport,\\r\\nBut creep in crannies when he hides his beams.\\r\\nIf you will jest with me, know my aspect,\\r\\nAnd fashion your demeanour to my looks,\\r\\nOr I will beat this method in your sconce.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nSconce, call you it? so you would leave battering, I had rather have it\\r\\na head. And you use these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head,\\r\\nand ensconce it too, or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders. But I\\r\\npray, sir, why am I beaten?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nDost thou not know?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nNothing, sir, but that I am beaten.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nShall I tell you why?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nAy, sir, and wherefore; for they say, every why hath a wherefore.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhy, first, for flouting me; and then wherefore,\\r\\nFor urging it the second time to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWas there ever any man thus beaten out of season,\\r\\nWhen in the why and the wherefore is neither rhyme nor reason?\\r\\nWell, sir, I thank you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nThank me, sir, for what?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nMarry, sir, for this something that you gave me for nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nI’ll make you amends next, to give you nothing for something.\\r\\nBut say, sir, is it dinner-time?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nNo, sir; I think the meat wants that I have.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nIn good time, sir, what’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nBasting.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWell, sir, then ’twill be dry.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nIf it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nYour reason?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nLest it make you choleric, and purchase me another dry basting.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWell, sir, learn to jest in good time.\\r\\nThere’s a time for all things.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nI durst have denied that before you were so choleric.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nBy what rule, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nMarry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain bald pate of Father Time\\r\\nhimself.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nLet’s hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nThere’s no time for a man to recover his hair that grows bald by\\r\\nnature.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nMay he not do it by fine and recovery?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nYes, to pay a fine for a periwig, and recover the lost hair of another\\r\\nman.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhy is Time such a niggard of hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an\\r\\nexcrement?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nBecause it is a blessing that he bestows on beasts, and what he hath\\r\\nscanted men in hair he hath given them in wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhy, but there’s many a man hath more hair than wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nNot a man of those but he hath the wit to lose his hair.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhy, thou didst conclude hairy men plain dealers without wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nThe plainer dealer, the sooner lost. Yet he loseth it in a kind of\\r\\njollity.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nFor what reason?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nFor two, and sound ones too.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nNay, not sound, I pray you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nSure ones, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nNay, not sure, in a thing falsing.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nCertain ones, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nName them.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nThe one, to save the money that he spends in tiring; the other, that at\\r\\ndinner they should not drop in his porridge.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nYou would all this time have proved there is no time for all things.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nMarry, and did, sir; namely, e’en no time to recover hair lost by\\r\\nnature.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nBut your reason was not substantial why there is no time to recover.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nThus I mend it: Time himself is bald, and therefore, to the world’s end\\r\\nwill have bald followers.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nI knew ’twould be a bald conclusion.\\r\\nBut soft! who wafts us yonder?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Adriana and Luciana.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nAy, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown,\\r\\nSome other mistress hath thy sweet aspects.\\r\\nI am not Adriana, nor thy wife.\\r\\nThe time was once when thou unurg’d wouldst vow\\r\\nThat never words were music to thine ear,\\r\\nThat never object pleasing in thine eye,\\r\\nThat never touch well welcome to thy hand,\\r\\nThat never meat sweet-savour’d in thy taste,\\r\\nUnless I spake, or look’d, or touch’d, or carv’d to thee.\\r\\nHow comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it,\\r\\nThat thou art then estranged from thyself?\\r\\nThyself I call it, being strange to me,\\r\\nThat, undividable, incorporate,\\r\\nAm better than thy dear self’s better part.\\r\\nAh, do not tear away thyself from me;\\r\\nFor know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall\\r\\nA drop of water in the breaking gulf,\\r\\nAnd take unmingled thence that drop again\\r\\nWithout addition or diminishing,\\r\\nAs take from me thyself, and not me too.\\r\\nHow dearly would it touch thee to the quick,\\r\\nShould’st thou but hear I were licentious?\\r\\nAnd that this body, consecrate to thee,\\r\\nBy ruffian lust should be contaminate?\\r\\nWouldst thou not spit at me, and spurn at me,\\r\\nAnd hurl the name of husband in my face,\\r\\nAnd tear the stain’d skin off my harlot brow,\\r\\nAnd from my false hand cut the wedding-ring,\\r\\nAnd break it with a deep-divorcing vow?\\r\\nI know thou canst; and therefore, see thou do it.\\r\\nI am possess’d with an adulterate blot;\\r\\nMy blood is mingled with the crime of lust;\\r\\nFor if we two be one, and thou play false,\\r\\nI do digest the poison of thy flesh,\\r\\nBeing strumpeted by thy contagion.\\r\\nKeep then fair league and truce with thy true bed,\\r\\nI live distain’d, thou undishonoured.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nPlead you to me, fair dame? I know you not.\\r\\nIn Ephesus I am but two hours old,\\r\\nAs strange unto your town as to your talk,\\r\\nWho, every word by all my wit being scann’d,\\r\\nWants wit in all one word to understand.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nFie, brother, how the world is chang’d with you.\\r\\nWhen were you wont to use my sister thus?\\r\\nShe sent for you by Dromio home to dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nBy Dromio?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nBy me?\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nBy thee; and this thou didst return from him,\\r\\nThat he did buffet thee, and in his blows\\r\\nDenied my house for his, me for his wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nDid you converse, sir, with this gentlewoman?\\r\\nWhat is the course and drift of your compact?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nI, sir? I never saw her till this time.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nVillain, thou liest, for even her very words\\r\\nDidst thou deliver to me on the mart.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nI never spake with her in all my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nHow can she thus, then, call us by our names?\\r\\nUnless it be by inspiration.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nHow ill agrees it with your gravity\\r\\nTo counterfeit thus grossly with your slave,\\r\\nAbetting him to thwart me in my mood;\\r\\nBe it my wrong, you are from me exempt,\\r\\nBut wrong not that wrong with a more contempt.\\r\\nCome, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine.\\r\\nThou art an elm, my husband, I a vine,\\r\\nWhose weakness, married to thy stronger state,\\r\\nMakes me with thy strength to communicate:\\r\\nIf aught possess thee from me, it is dross,\\r\\nUsurping ivy, brier, or idle moss,\\r\\nWho all, for want of pruning, with intrusion\\r\\nInfect thy sap, and live on thy confusion.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nTo me she speaks; she moves me for her theme.\\r\\nWhat, was I married to her in my dream?\\r\\nOr sleep I now, and think I hear all this?\\r\\nWhat error drives our eyes and ears amiss?\\r\\nUntil I know this sure uncertainty\\r\\nI’ll entertain the offer’d fallacy.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nDromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nO, for my beads! I cross me for a sinner.\\r\\nThis is the fairy land; O spite of spites!\\r\\nWe talk with goblins, owls, and sprites;\\r\\nIf we obey them not, this will ensue:\\r\\nThey’ll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nWhy prat’st thou to thyself, and answer’st not?\\r\\nDromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nI am transformed, master, am I not?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nI think thou art in mind, and so am I.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nNay, master, both in mind and in my shape.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nThou hast thine own form.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nNo, I am an ape.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nIf thou art chang’d to aught, ’tis to an ass.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\n’Tis true; she rides me, and I long for grass.\\r\\n’Tis so, I am an ass; else it could never be\\r\\nBut I should know her as well as she knows me.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nCome, come, no longer will I be a fool,\\r\\nTo put the finger in the eye and weep\\r\\nWhilst man and master laughs my woes to scorn.\\r\\nCome, sir, to dinner; Dromio, keep the gate.\\r\\nHusband, I’ll dine above with you today,\\r\\nAnd shrive you of a thousand idle pranks.\\r\\nSirrah, if any ask you for your master,\\r\\nSay he dines forth, and let no creature enter.\\r\\nCome, sister; Dromio, play the porter well.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nAm I in earth, in heaven, or in hell?\\r\\nSleeping or waking, mad, or well-advis’d?\\r\\nKnown unto these, and to myself disguis’d!\\r\\nI’ll say as they say, and persever so,\\r\\nAnd in this mist at all adventures go.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nMaster, shall I be porter at the gate?\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nAy; and let none enter, lest I break your pate.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nCome, come, Antipholus, we dine too late.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, his man Dromio of Ephesus, Angelo the\\r\\n goldsmith and Balthasar the merchant.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nGood Signior Angelo, you must excuse us all,\\r\\nMy wife is shrewish when I keep not hours.\\r\\nSay that I linger’d with you at your shop\\r\\nTo see the making of her carcanet,\\r\\nAnd that tomorrow you will bring it home.\\r\\nBut here’s a villain that would face me down.\\r\\nHe met me on the mart, and that I beat him,\\r\\nAnd charg’d him with a thousand marks in gold,\\r\\nAnd that I did deny my wife and house.\\r\\nThou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nSay what you will, sir, but I know what I know.\\r\\nThat you beat me at the mart I have your hand to show;\\r\\nIf the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave were ink,\\r\\nYour own handwriting would tell you what I think.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nI think thou art an ass.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nMarry, so it doth appear\\r\\nBy the wrongs I suffer and the blows I bear.\\r\\nI should kick, being kick’d; and being at that pass,\\r\\nYou would keep from my heels, and beware of an ass.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nYou’re sad, Signior Balthasar; pray God our cheer\\r\\nMay answer my good will and your good welcome here.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nI hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome dear.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nO, Signior Balthasar, either at flesh or fish\\r\\nA table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nGood meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nAnd welcome more common, for that’s nothing but words.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR\\r\\nSmall cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nAy, to a niggardly host and more sparing guest.\\r\\nBut though my cates be mean, take them in good part;\\r\\nBetter cheer may you have, but not with better heart.\\r\\nBut soft; my door is lock’d. Go bid them let us in.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nMaud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, Ginn!\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\n[_Within._] Mome, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb, idiot, patch!\\r\\nEither get thee from the door or sit down at the hatch:\\r\\nDost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call’st for such store\\r\\nWhen one is one too many? Go, get thee from the door.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nWhat patch is made our porter? My master stays in the street.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nLet him walk from whence he came, lest he catch cold on’s feet.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nWho talks within there? Ho, open the door.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nRight, sir, I’ll tell you when an you’ll tell me wherefore.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nWherefore? For my dinner. I have not dined today.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nNor today here you must not; come again when you may.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nWhat art thou that keep’st me out from the house I owe?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nThe porter for this time, sir, and my name is Dromio.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nO villain, thou hast stolen both mine office and my name;\\r\\nThe one ne’er got me credit, the other mickle blame.\\r\\nIf thou hadst been Dromio today in my place,\\r\\nThou wouldst have chang’d thy face for a name, or thy name for an ass.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Luce concealed from Antipholus of Ephesus and his companions.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCE.\\r\\n[_Within._] What a coil is there, Dromio, who are those at the gate?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nLet my master in, Luce.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCE.\\r\\nFaith, no, he comes too late,\\r\\nAnd so tell your master.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nO Lord, I must laugh;\\r\\nHave at you with a proverb:—Shall I set in my staff?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCE.\\r\\nHave at you with another: that’s—When? can you tell?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nIf thy name be called Luce,—Luce, thou hast answer’d him well.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nDo you hear, you minion? you’ll let us in, I hope?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCE.\\r\\nI thought to have ask’d you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nAnd you said no.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nSo, come, help. Well struck, there was blow for blow.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nThou baggage, let me in.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCE.\\r\\nCan you tell for whose sake?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nMaster, knock the door hard.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCE.\\r\\nLet him knock till it ache.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nYou’ll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCE.\\r\\nWhat needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Adriana concealed from Antipholus of Ephesus and his companions.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\n[_Within._] Who is that at the door that keeps all this noise?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nBy my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nAre you there, wife? you might have come before.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nYour wife, sir knave? go, get you from the door.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nIf you went in pain, master, this knave would go sore.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nHere is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome. We would fain have either.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nIn debating which was best, we shall part with neither.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nThey stand at the door, master; bid them welcome hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nThere is something in the wind, that we cannot get in.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nYou would say so, master, if your garments were thin.\\r\\nYour cake here is warm within; you stand here in the cold.\\r\\nIt would make a man mad as a buck to be so bought and sold.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nGo, fetch me something, I’ll break ope the gate.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nBreak any breaking here, and I’ll break your knave’s pate.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nA man may break a word with you, sir, and words are but wind;\\r\\nAy, and break it in your face, so he break it not behind.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nIt seems thou want’st breaking; out upon thee, hind!\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nHere’s too much “out upon thee”; I pray thee, let me in.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nAy, when fowls have no feathers and fish have no fin.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nWell, I’ll break in; go, borrow me a crow.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nA crow without feather; master, mean you so?\\r\\nFor a fish without a fin, there’s a fowl without a feather.\\r\\nIf a crow help us in, sirrah, we’ll pluck a crow together.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nGo, get thee gone; fetch me an iron crow.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nHave patience, sir. O, let it not be so:\\r\\nHerein you war against your reputation,\\r\\nAnd draw within the compass of suspect\\r\\nThe unviolated honour of your wife.\\r\\nOnce this,—your long experience of her wisdom,\\r\\nHer sober virtue, years, and modesty,\\r\\nPlead on her part some cause to you unknown;\\r\\nAnd doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse\\r\\nWhy at this time the doors are made against you.\\r\\nBe rul’d by me; depart in patience,\\r\\nAnd let us to the Tiger all to dinner,\\r\\nAnd about evening, come yourself alone\\r\\nTo know the reason of this strange restraint.\\r\\nIf by strong hand you offer to break in\\r\\nNow in the stirring passage of the day,\\r\\nA vulgar comment will be made of it;\\r\\nAnd that supposed by the common rout\\r\\nAgainst your yet ungalled estimation\\r\\nThat may with foul intrusion enter in,\\r\\nAnd dwell upon your grave when you are dead;\\r\\nFor slander lives upon succession,\\r\\nFor ever hous’d where it gets possession.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nYou have prevail’d. I will depart in quiet,\\r\\nAnd, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry.\\r\\nI know a wench of excellent discourse,\\r\\nPretty and witty; wild, and yet, too, gentle;\\r\\nThere will we dine. This woman that I mean,\\r\\nMy wife (but, I protest, without desert)\\r\\nHath oftentimes upbraided me withal;\\r\\nTo her will we to dinner.—Get you home\\r\\nAnd fetch the chain, by this I know ’tis made.\\r\\nBring it, I pray you, to the Porpentine,\\r\\nFor there’s the house. That chain will I bestow\\r\\n(Be it for nothing but to spite my wife)\\r\\nUpon mine hostess there. Good sir, make haste.\\r\\nSince mine own doors refuse to entertain me,\\r\\nI’ll knock elsewhere, to see if they’ll disdain me.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nI’ll meet you at that place some hour hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nDo so; this jest shall cost me some expense.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Luciana with Antipholus of Syracuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nAnd may it be that you have quite forgot\\r\\nA husband’s office? Shall, Antipholus,\\r\\nEven in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot?\\r\\nShall love, in building, grow so ruinous?\\r\\nIf you did wed my sister for her wealth,\\r\\nThen for her wealth’s sake use her with more kindness;\\r\\nOr if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth,\\r\\nMuffle your false love with some show of blindness.\\r\\nLet not my sister read it in your eye;\\r\\nBe not thy tongue thy own shame’s orator;\\r\\nLook sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty;\\r\\nApparel vice like virtue’s harbinger;\\r\\nBear a fair presence though your heart be tainted;\\r\\nTeach sin the carriage of a holy saint,\\r\\nBe secret-false. What need she be acquainted?\\r\\nWhat simple thief brags of his own attaint?\\r\\n’Tis double wrong to truant with your bed\\r\\nAnd let her read it in thy looks at board.\\r\\nShame hath a bastard fame, well managed;\\r\\nIll deeds is doubled with an evil word.\\r\\nAlas, poor women, make us but believe,\\r\\nBeing compact of credit, that you love us.\\r\\nThough others have the arm, show us the sleeve;\\r\\nWe in your motion turn, and you may move us.\\r\\nThen, gentle brother, get you in again;\\r\\nComfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife.\\r\\n’Tis holy sport to be a little vain\\r\\nWhen the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nSweet mistress, what your name is else, I know not,\\r\\nNor by what wonder you do hit on mine;\\r\\nLess in your knowledge and your grace you show not\\r\\nThan our earth’s wonder, more than earth divine.\\r\\nTeach me, dear creature, how to think and speak;\\r\\nLay open to my earthy gross conceit,\\r\\nSmother’d in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,\\r\\nThe folded meaning of your words’ deceit.\\r\\nAgainst my soul’s pure truth why labour you\\r\\nTo make it wander in an unknown field?\\r\\nAre you a god? would you create me new?\\r\\nTransform me, then, and to your power I’ll yield.\\r\\nBut if that I am I, then well I know\\r\\nYour weeping sister is no wife of mine,\\r\\nNor to her bed no homage do I owe.\\r\\nFar more, far more, to you do I decline.\\r\\nO, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note\\r\\nTo drown me in thy sister’s flood of tears.\\r\\nSing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote;\\r\\nSpread o’er the silver waves thy golden hairs,\\r\\nAnd as a bed I’ll take thee, and there lie,\\r\\nAnd, in that glorious supposition think\\r\\nHe gains by death that hath such means to die.\\r\\nLet love, being light, be drowned if she sink!\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nWhat, are you mad, that you do reason so?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nNot mad, but mated; how, I do not know.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nIt is a fault that springeth from your eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nFor gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nGaze where you should, and that will clear your sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nAs good to wink, sweet love, as look on night.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nWhy call you me love? Call my sister so.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nThy sister’s sister.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nThat’s my sister.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nNo,\\r\\nIt is thyself, mine own self’s better part,\\r\\nMine eye’s clear eye, my dear heart’s dearer heart,\\r\\nMy food, my fortune, and my sweet hope’s aim,\\r\\nMy sole earth’s heaven, and my heaven’s claim.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nAll this my sister is, or else should be.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nCall thyself sister, sweet, for I aim thee;\\r\\nThee will I love, and with thee lead my life;\\r\\nThou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife.\\r\\nGive me thy hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nO, soft, sir, hold you still;\\r\\nI’ll fetch my sister to get her goodwill.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Luciana._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Dromio of Syracuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhy, how now, Dromio? where runn’st thou so fast?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nDo you know me, sir? Am I Dromio? Am I your man? Am I myself?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nThou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thyself.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nI am an ass, I am a woman’s man, and besides myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhat woman’s man? and how besides thyself?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nMarry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a woman, one that claims me,\\r\\none that haunts me, one that will have me.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhat claim lays she to thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nMarry, sir, such claim as you would lay to your horse, and she would\\r\\nhave me as a beast; not that I being a beast she would have me, but\\r\\nthat she being a very beastly creature lays claim to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhat is she?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nA very reverent body; ay, such a one as a man may not speak of without\\r\\nhe say “sir-reverence”. I have but lean luck in the match, and yet is\\r\\nshe a wondrous fat marriage.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nHow dost thou mean a “fat marriage”?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nMarry, sir, she’s the kitchen wench, and all grease, and I know not\\r\\nwhat use to put her to but to make a lamp of her and run from her by\\r\\nher own light. I warrant her rags and the tallow in them will burn a\\r\\nPoland winter. If she lives till doomsday, she’ll burn a week longer\\r\\nthan the whole world.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhat complexion is she of?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nSwart like my shoe, but her face nothing like so clean kept. For why?\\r\\nshe sweats, a man may go overshoes in the grime of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nThat’s a fault that water will mend.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nNo, sir, ’tis in grain; Noah’s flood could not do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhat’s her name?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nNell, sir; but her name and three quarters, that’s an ell and three\\r\\nquarters, will not measure her from hip to hip.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nThen she bears some breadth?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nNo longer from head to foot than from hip to hip. She is spherical,\\r\\nlike a globe. I could find out countries in her.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nIn what part of her body stands Ireland?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nMarry, sir, in her buttocks; I found it out by the bogs.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhere Scotland?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nI found it by the barrenness, hard in the palm of the hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhere France?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nIn her forehead; armed and reverted, making war against her hair.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhere England?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nI looked for the chalky cliffs, but I could find no whiteness in them.\\r\\nBut I guess it stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between\\r\\nFrance and it.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhere Spain?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nFaith, I saw it not; but I felt it hot in her breath.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhere America, the Indies?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nO, sir, upon her nose, all o’er-embellished with rubies, carbuncles,\\r\\nsapphires, declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain, who\\r\\nsent whole armadoes of carracks to be ballast at her nose.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhere stood Belgia, the Netherlands?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nO, sir, I did not look so low. To conclude: this drudge or diviner laid\\r\\nclaim to me, called me Dromio, swore I was assured to her, told me what\\r\\nprivy marks I had about me, as the mark of my shoulder, the mole in my\\r\\nneck, the great wart on my left arm, that I, amazed, ran from her as a\\r\\nwitch. And, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith, and my\\r\\nheart of steel, she had transformed me to a curtal dog, and made me\\r\\nturn i’ the wheel.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nGo, hie thee presently, post to the road;\\r\\nAnd if the wind blow any way from shore,\\r\\nI will not harbour in this town tonight.\\r\\nIf any bark put forth, come to the mart,\\r\\nWhere I will walk till thou return to me.\\r\\nIf everyone knows us, and we know none,\\r\\n’Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack and be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nAs from a bear a man would run for life,\\r\\nSo fly I from her that would be my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nThere’s none but witches do inhabit here,\\r\\nAnd therefore ’tis high time that I were hence.\\r\\nShe that doth call me husband, even my soul\\r\\nDoth for a wife abhor. But her fair sister,\\r\\nPossess’d with such a gentle sovereign grace,\\r\\nOf such enchanting presence and discourse,\\r\\nHath almost made me traitor to myself.\\r\\nBut lest myself be guilty to self-wrong,\\r\\nI’ll stop mine ears against the mermaid’s song.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Angelo with the chain.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nMaster Antipholus.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nAy, that’s my name.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nI know it well, sir. Lo, here is the chain;\\r\\nI thought to have ta’en you at the Porpentine,\\r\\nThe chain unfinish’d made me stay thus long.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhat is your will that I shall do with this?\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nWhat please yourself, sir; I have made it for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nMade it for me, sir! I bespoke it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nNot once, nor twice, but twenty times you have.\\r\\nGo home with it, and please your wife withal,\\r\\nAnd soon at supper-time I’ll visit you,\\r\\nAnd then receive my money for the chain.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nI pray you, sir, receive the money now,\\r\\nFor fear you ne’er see chain nor money more.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nYou are a merry man, sir; fare you well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhat I should think of this I cannot tell,\\r\\nBut this I think, there’s no man is so vain\\r\\nThat would refuse so fair an offer’d chain.\\r\\nI see a man here needs not live by shifts,\\r\\nWhen in the streets he meets such golden gifts.\\r\\nI’ll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay;\\r\\nIf any ship put out, then straight away.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Merchant, Angelo and an Officer.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCHANT.\\r\\nYou know since Pentecost the sum is due,\\r\\nAnd since I have not much importun’d you,\\r\\nNor now I had not, but that I am bound\\r\\nTo Persia, and want guilders for my voyage;\\r\\nTherefore make present satisfaction,\\r\\nOr I’ll attach you by this officer.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nEven just the sum that I do owe to you\\r\\nIs growing to me by Antipholus,\\r\\nAnd in the instant that I met with you\\r\\nHe had of me a chain; at five o’clock\\r\\nI shall receive the money for the same.\\r\\nPleaseth you walk with me down to his house,\\r\\nI will discharge my bond, and thank you too.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antipholus of Ephesus and Dromio of Ephesus from the\\r\\n Courtesan’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nThat labour may you save. See where he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nWhile I go to the goldsmith’s house, go thou\\r\\nAnd buy a rope’s end; that will I bestow\\r\\nAmong my wife and her confederates\\r\\nFor locking me out of my doors by day.\\r\\nBut soft, I see the goldsmith; get thee gone;\\r\\nBuy thou a rope, and bring it home to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nI buy a thousand pound a year! I buy a rope!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Dromio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nA man is well holp up that trusts to you,\\r\\nI promised your presence and the chain,\\r\\nBut neither chain nor goldsmith came to me.\\r\\nBelike you thought our love would last too long\\r\\nIf it were chain’d together, and therefore came not.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nSaving your merry humour, here’s the note\\r\\nHow much your chain weighs to the utmost carat,\\r\\nThe fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion,\\r\\nWhich doth amount to three odd ducats more\\r\\nThan I stand debted to this gentleman.\\r\\nI pray you, see him presently discharg’d,\\r\\nFor he is bound to sea, and stays but for it.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nI am not furnished with the present money;\\r\\nBesides, I have some business in the town.\\r\\nGood signior, take the stranger to my house,\\r\\nAnd with you take the chain, and bid my wife\\r\\nDisburse the sum on the receipt thereof;\\r\\nPerchance I will be there as soon as you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nThen you will bring the chain to her yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nNo, bear it with you, lest I come not time enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nWell, sir, I will. Have you the chain about you?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nAnd if I have not, sir, I hope you have,\\r\\nOr else you may return without your money.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nNay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain;\\r\\nBoth wind and tide stays for this gentleman,\\r\\nAnd I, to blame, have held him here too long.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nGood Lord, you use this dalliance to excuse\\r\\nYour breach of promise to the Porpentine.\\r\\nI should have chid you for not bringing it,\\r\\nBut, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCHANT.\\r\\nThe hour steals on; I pray you, sir, dispatch.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nYou hear how he importunes me. The chain!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nWhy, give it to my wife, and fetch your money.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nCome, come, you know I gave it you even now.\\r\\nEither send the chain or send by me some token.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nFie, now you run this humour out of breath.\\r\\nCome, where’s the chain? I pray you, let me see it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCHANT.\\r\\nMy business cannot brook this dalliance.\\r\\nGood sir, say whe’er you’ll answer me or no;\\r\\nIf not, I’ll leave him to the officer.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nI answer you? What should I answer you?\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nThe money that you owe me for the chain.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nI owe you none till I receive the chain.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nYou know I gave it you half an hour since.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nYou gave me none. You wrong me much to say so.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nYou wrong me more, sir, in denying it.\\r\\nConsider how it stands upon my credit.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCHANT.\\r\\nWell, officer, arrest him at my suit.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nI do, and charge you in the duke’s name to obey me.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nThis touches me in reputation.\\r\\nEither consent to pay this sum for me,\\r\\nOr I attach you by this officer.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nConsent to pay thee that I never had?\\r\\nArrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar’st.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nHere is thy fee; arrest him, officer.\\r\\nI would not spare my brother in this case\\r\\nIf he should scorn me so apparently.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nI do arrest you, sir. You hear the suit.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nI do obey thee till I give thee bail.\\r\\nBut, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear\\r\\nAs all the metal in your shop will answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nSir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus,\\r\\nTo your notorious shame, I doubt it not.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Dromio of Syracuse from the bay.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nMaster, there’s a bark of Epidamnum\\r\\nThat stays but till her owner comes aboard,\\r\\nAnd then, sir, bears away. Our fraughtage, sir,\\r\\nI have convey’d aboard, and I have bought\\r\\nThe oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vitae.\\r\\nThe ship is in her trim; the merry wind\\r\\nBlows fair from land; they stay for nought at all\\r\\nBut for their owner, master, and yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nHow now? a madman? Why, thou peevish sheep,\\r\\nWhat ship of Epidamnum stays for me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nA ship you sent me to, to hire waftage.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nThou drunken slave, I sent thee for a rope,\\r\\nAnd told thee to what purpose and what end.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nYou sent me for a rope’s end as soon.\\r\\nYou sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nI will debate this matter at more leisure,\\r\\nAnd teach your ears to list me with more heed.\\r\\nTo Adriana, villain, hie thee straight:\\r\\nGive her this key, and tell her in the desk\\r\\nThat’s cover’d o’er with Turkish tapestry\\r\\nThere is a purse of ducats; let her send it.\\r\\nTell her I am arrested in the street,\\r\\nAnd that shall bail me. Hie thee, slave; be gone.\\r\\nOn, officer, to prison till it come.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Merchant, Angelo, Officer and Antipholus of Ephesus._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nTo Adriana, that is where we din’d,\\r\\nWhere Dowsabel did claim me for her husband.\\r\\nShe is too big, I hope, for me to compass.\\r\\nThither I must, although against my will,\\r\\nFor servants must their masters’ minds fulfil.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Adriana and Luciana.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nAh, Luciana, did he tempt thee so?\\r\\nMight’st thou perceive austerely in his eye\\r\\nThat he did plead in earnest, yea or no?\\r\\nLook’d he or red or pale, or sad or merrily?\\r\\nWhat observation mad’st thou in this case\\r\\nOf his heart’s meteors tilting in his face?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nFirst he denied you had in him no right.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nHe meant he did me none; the more my spite.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nThen swore he that he was a stranger here.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nAnd true he swore, though yet forsworn he were.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nThen pleaded I for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nAnd what said he?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nThat love I begg’d for you he begg’d of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nWith what persuasion did he tempt thy love?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nWith words that in an honest suit might move.\\r\\nFirst he did praise my beauty, then my speech.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nDid’st speak him fair?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nHave patience, I beseech.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nI cannot, nor I will not hold me still.\\r\\nMy tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.\\r\\nHe is deformed, crooked, old, and sere,\\r\\nIll-fac’d, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere;\\r\\nVicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind,\\r\\nStigmatical in making, worse in mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nWho would be jealous then of such a one?\\r\\nNo evil lost is wail’d when it is gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nAh, but I think him better than I say,\\r\\nAnd yet would herein others’ eyes were worse:\\r\\nFar from her nest the lapwing cries away;\\r\\nMy heart prays for him, though my tongue do curse.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Dromio of Syracuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nHere, go; the desk, the purse, sweet now, make haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nHow hast thou lost thy breath?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nBy running fast.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nWhere is thy master, Dromio? is he well?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nNo, he’s in Tartar limbo, worse than hell.\\r\\nA devil in an everlasting garment hath him,\\r\\nOne whose hard heart is button’d up with steel;\\r\\nA fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough;\\r\\nA wolf, nay worse, a fellow all in buff;\\r\\nA back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that countermands\\r\\nThe passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands;\\r\\nA hound that runs counter, and yet draws dryfoot well,\\r\\nOne that, before the judgment, carries poor souls to hell.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nWhy, man, what is the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nI do not know the matter. He is ’rested on the case.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nWhat, is he arrested? Tell me at whose suit?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nI know not at whose suit he is arrested, well;\\r\\nBut he’s in a suit of buff which ’rested him, that can I tell.\\r\\nWill you send him, mistress, redemption, the money in his desk?\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nGo fetch it, sister. This I wonder at,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Luciana._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThus he unknown to me should be in debt.\\r\\nTell me, was he arrested on a band?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nNot on a band, but on a stronger thing;\\r\\nA chain, a chain. Do you not hear it ring?\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nWhat, the chain?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nNo, no, the bell, ’tis time that I were gone.\\r\\nIt was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes one.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nThe hours come back! That did I never hear.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nO yes, if any hour meet a sergeant, ’a turns back for very fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nAs if time were in debt. How fondly dost thou reason!\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nTime is a very bankrupt, and owes more than he’s worth to season.\\r\\nNay, he’s a thief too. Have you not heard men say\\r\\nThat time comes stealing on by night and day?\\r\\nIf he be in debt and theft, and a sergeant in the way,\\r\\nHath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Luciana.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nGo, Dromio, there’s the money, bear it straight,\\r\\nAnd bring thy master home immediately.\\r\\nCome, sister, I am press’d down with conceit;\\r\\nConceit, my comfort and my injury.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antipholus of Syracuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nThere’s not a man I meet but doth salute me\\r\\nAs if I were their well-acquainted friend,\\r\\nAnd everyone doth call me by my name.\\r\\nSome tender money to me, some invite me;\\r\\nSome other give me thanks for kindnesses;\\r\\nSome offer me commodities to buy.\\r\\nEven now a tailor call’d me in his shop,\\r\\nAnd show’d me silks that he had bought for me,\\r\\nAnd therewithal took measure of my body.\\r\\nSure, these are but imaginary wiles,\\r\\nAnd Lapland sorcerers inhabit here.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Dromio of Syracuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nMaster, here’s the gold you sent me for.\\r\\nWhat, have you got the picture of old Adam new apparelled?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhat gold is this? What Adam dost thou mean?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nNot that Adam that kept the paradise, but that Adam that keeps the\\r\\nprison; he that goes in the calf’s skin that was killed for the\\r\\nProdigal; he that came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you\\r\\nforsake your liberty.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nI understand thee not.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nNo? Why, ’tis a plain case: he that went like a bass-viol in a case of\\r\\nleather; the man, sir, that, when gentlemen are tired, gives them a\\r\\nsob, and ’rests them; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed men and gives\\r\\nthem suits of durance; he that sets up his rest to do more exploits\\r\\nwith his mace than a morris-pike.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhat! thou mean’st an officer?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nAy, sir, the sergeant of the band; he that brings any man to answer it\\r\\nthat breaks his band; one that thinks a man always going to bed, and\\r\\nsays, “God give you good rest.”\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWell, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is there any ship puts forth\\r\\ntonight? may we be gone?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhy, sir, I brought you word an hour since that the bark _Expedition_\\r\\nput forth tonight, and then were you hindered by the sergeant to tarry\\r\\nfor the hoy _Delay_. Here are the angels that you sent for to deliver\\r\\nyou.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nThe fellow is distract, and so am I,\\r\\nAnd here we wander in illusions.\\r\\nSome blessed power deliver us from hence!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Courtesan.\\r\\n\\r\\nCOURTESAN.\\r\\nWell met, well met, Master Antipholus.\\r\\nI see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now.\\r\\nIs that the chain you promis’d me today?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nSatan, avoid! I charge thee, tempt me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nMaster, is this Mistress Satan?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nIt is the devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nNay, she is worse, she is the devil’s dam; and here she comes in the\\r\\nhabit of a light wench, and thereof comes that the wenches say “God\\r\\ndamn me”, that’s as much to say, “God make me a light wench.” It is\\r\\nwritten they appear to men like angels of light. Light is an effect of\\r\\nfire, and fire will burn; ergo, light wenches will burn. Come not near\\r\\nher.\\r\\n\\r\\nCOURTESAN.\\r\\nYour man and you are marvellous merry, sir.\\r\\nWill you go with me? We’ll mend our dinner here.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nMaster, if you do, expect spoon-meat, or bespeak a long spoon.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWhy, Dromio?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nMarry, he must have a long spoon that must eat with the devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nAvoid then, fiend! What tell’st thou me of supping?\\r\\nThou art, as you are all, a sorceress.\\r\\nI conjure thee to leave me and be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nCOURTESAN.\\r\\nGive me the ring of mine you had at dinner,\\r\\nOr, for my diamond, the chain you promis’d,\\r\\nAnd I’ll be gone, sir, and not trouble you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nSome devils ask but the paring of one’s nail,\\r\\nA rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin,\\r\\nA nut, a cherry-stone; but she, more covetous,\\r\\nWould have a chain.\\r\\nMaster, be wise; and if you give it her,\\r\\nThe devil will shake her chain and fright us with it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCOURTESAN.\\r\\nI pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain;\\r\\nI hope you do not mean to cheat me so.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nAvaunt, thou witch! Come, Dromio, let us go.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nFly pride, says the peacock. Mistress, that you know.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio of Syracuse._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCOURTESAN.\\r\\nNow, out of doubt Antipholus is mad,\\r\\nElse would he never so demean himself.\\r\\nA ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats,\\r\\nAnd for the same he promis’d me a chain;\\r\\nBoth one and other he denies me now.\\r\\nThe reason that I gather he is mad,\\r\\nBesides this present instance of his rage,\\r\\nIs a mad tale he told today at dinner\\r\\nOf his own doors being shut against his entrance.\\r\\nBelike his wife, acquainted with his fits,\\r\\nOn purpose shut the doors against his way.\\r\\nMy way is now to hie home to his house,\\r\\nAnd tell his wife that, being lunatic,\\r\\nHe rush’d into my house and took perforce\\r\\nMy ring away. This course I fittest choose,\\r\\nFor forty ducats is too much to lose.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antipholus of Ephesus with an Officer.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nFear me not, man, I will not break away:\\r\\nI’ll give thee ere I leave thee so much money,\\r\\nTo warrant thee, as I am ’rested for.\\r\\nMy wife is in a wayward mood today,\\r\\nAnd will not lightly trust the messenger\\r\\nThat I should be attach’d in Ephesus;\\r\\nI tell you ’twill sound harshly in her ears.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Dromio of Ephesus with a rope’s end.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes my man. I think he brings the money.\\r\\nHow now, sir! have you that I sent you for?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nHere’s that, I warrant you, will pay them all.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nBut where’s the money?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nWhy, sir, I gave the money for the rope.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nFive hundred ducats, villain, for a rope?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nI’ll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nTo what end did I bid thee hie thee home?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nTo a rope’s end, sir; and to that end am I return’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nAnd to that end, sir, I will welcome you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Beating him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nGood sir, be patient.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nNay, ’tis for me to be patient. I am in adversity.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nGood now, hold thy tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nNay, rather persuade him to hold his hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nThou whoreson, senseless villain.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nI would I were senseless, sir, that I might not feel your blows.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nThou art sensible in nothing but blows, and so is an ass.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nI am an ass indeed; you may prove it by my long ears. I have served him\\r\\nfrom the hour of my nativity to this instant, and have nothing at his\\r\\nhands for my service but blows. When I am cold, he heats me with\\r\\nbeating; when I am warm he cools me with beating. I am waked with it\\r\\nwhen I sleep, raised with it when I sit, driven out of doors with it\\r\\nwhen I go from home, welcomed home with it when I return. Nay, I bear\\r\\nit on my shoulders as a beggar wont her brat; and I think when he hath\\r\\nlamed me, I shall beg with it from door to door.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Adriana, Luciana, Courtesan and a Schoolmaster called Pinch.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nCome, go along, my wife is coming yonder.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nMistress, _respice finem_, respect your end, or rather, the prophesy\\r\\nlike the parrot, “Beware the rope’s end.”\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nWilt thou still talk?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Beats him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCOURTESAN.\\r\\nHow say you now? Is not your husband mad?\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nHis incivility confirms no less.\\r\\nGood Doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer;\\r\\nEstablish him in his true sense again,\\r\\nAnd I will please you what you will demand.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nAlas, how fiery and how sharp he looks!\\r\\n\\r\\nCOURTESAN.\\r\\nMark how he trembles in his ecstasy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPINCH.\\r\\nGive me your hand, and let me feel your pulse.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nThere is my hand, and let it feel your ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nPINCH.\\r\\nI charge thee, Satan, hous’d within this man,\\r\\nTo yield possession to my holy prayers,\\r\\nAnd to thy state of darkness hie thee straight.\\r\\nI conjure thee by all the saints in heaven.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nPeace, doting wizard, peace; I am not mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nO, that thou wert not, poor distressed soul!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nYou minion, you, are these your customers?\\r\\nDid this companion with the saffron face\\r\\nRevel and feast it at my house today,\\r\\nWhilst upon me the guilty doors were shut,\\r\\nAnd I denied to enter in my house?\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nO husband, God doth know you din’d at home,\\r\\nWhere would you had remain’d until this time,\\r\\nFree from these slanders and this open shame.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nDin’d at home? Thou villain, what sayest thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nSir, sooth to say, you did not dine at home.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nWere not my doors lock’d up and I shut out?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nPerdy, your doors were lock’d, and you shut out.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nAnd did not she herself revile me there?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nSans fable, she herself revil’d you there.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nDid not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and scorn me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nCertes, she did, the kitchen-vestal scorn’d you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nAnd did not I in rage depart from thence?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nIn verity, you did; my bones bear witness,\\r\\nThat since have felt the vigour of his rage.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nIs’t good to soothe him in these contraries?\\r\\n\\r\\nPINCH.\\r\\nIt is no shame; the fellow finds his vein,\\r\\nAnd yielding to him, humours well his frenzy.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nThou hast suborn’d the goldsmith to arrest me.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nAlas! I sent you money to redeem you\\r\\nBy Dromio here, who came in haste for it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nMoney by me? Heart and goodwill you might,\\r\\nBut surely, master, not a rag of money.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nWent’st not thou to her for a purse of ducats?\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nHe came to me, and I deliver’d it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nAnd I am witness with her that she did.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nGod and the rope-maker bear me witness\\r\\nThat I was sent for nothing but a rope.\\r\\n\\r\\nPINCH.\\r\\nMistress, both man and master is possess’d,\\r\\nI know it by their pale and deadly looks.\\r\\nThey must be bound and laid in some dark room.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nSay, wherefore didst thou lock me forth today,\\r\\nAnd why dost thou deny the bag of gold?\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nI did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nAnd gentle master, I receiv’d no gold;\\r\\nBut I confess, sir, that we were lock’d out.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nDissembling villain, thou speak’st false in both.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nDissembling harlot, thou art false in all,\\r\\nAnd art confederate with a damned pack\\r\\nTo make a loathsome abject scorn of me.\\r\\nBut with these nails I’ll pluck out these false eyes\\r\\nThat would behold in me this shameful sport.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Enter three or four, and offer to bind him. He strives. _]\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nO, bind him, bind him; let him not come near me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPINCH.\\r\\nMore company; the fiend is strong within him.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nAy me, poor man, how pale and wan he looks!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nWhat, will you murder me? Thou jailer, thou,\\r\\nI am thy prisoner. Wilt thou suffer them\\r\\nTo make a rescue?\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nMasters, let him go.\\r\\nHe is my prisoner, and you shall not have him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPINCH.\\r\\nGo, bind this man, for he is frantic too.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nWhat wilt thou do, thou peevish officer?\\r\\nHast thou delight to see a wretched man\\r\\nDo outrage and displeasure to himself?\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nHe is my prisoner. If I let him go,\\r\\nThe debt he owes will be requir’d of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nI will discharge thee ere I go from thee;\\r\\nBear me forthwith unto his creditor,\\r\\nAnd knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it.\\r\\nGood master doctor, see him safe convey’d\\r\\nHome to my house. O most unhappy day!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nO most unhappy strumpet!\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nMaster, I am here enter’d in bond for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nOut on thee, villain! wherefore dost thou mad me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nWill you be bound for nothing? Be mad, good master; cry, “the devil”.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nGod help, poor souls, how idly do they talk!\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nGo bear him hence. Sister, go you with me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Pinch and Assistants, with Antipholus of Ephesus and Dromio\\r\\n of Ephesus._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSay now, whose suit is he arrested at?\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nOne Angelo, a goldsmith; do you know him?\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nI know the man. What is the sum he owes?\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nTwo hundred ducats.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nSay, how grows it due?\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nDue for a chain your husband had of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nHe did bespeak a chain for me, but had it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nCOURTESAN.\\r\\nWhen as your husband, all in rage, today\\r\\nCame to my house and took away my ring,\\r\\nThe ring I saw upon his finger now,\\r\\nStraight after did I meet him with a chain.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nIt may be so, but I did never see it.\\r\\nCome, jailer, bring me where the goldsmith is,\\r\\nI long to know the truth hereof at large.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antipholus of Syracuse with his rapier drawn, and Dromio of\\r\\n Syracuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nGod, for thy mercy, they are loose again!\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nAnd come with naked swords. Let’s call more help\\r\\nTo have them bound again.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nAway, they’ll kill us.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt, as fast as may be, frighted._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nI see these witches are afraid of swords.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nShe that would be your wife now ran from you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nCome to the Centaur, fetch our stuff from thence.\\r\\nI long that we were safe and sound aboard.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nFaith, stay here this night, they will surely do us no harm; you saw\\r\\nthey speak us fair, give us gold. Methinks they are such a gentle\\r\\nnation that, but for the mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage of\\r\\nme, I could find in my heart to stay here still and turn witch.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nI will not stay tonight for all the town;\\r\\nTherefore away, to get our stuff aboard.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Merchant and Angelo.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nI am sorry, sir, that I have hinder’d you,\\r\\nBut I protest he had the chain of me,\\r\\nThough most dishonestly he doth deny it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCHANT.\\r\\nHow is the man esteem’d here in the city?\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nOf very reverend reputation, sir,\\r\\nOf credit infinite, highly belov’d,\\r\\nSecond to none that lives here in the city.\\r\\nHis word might bear my wealth at any time.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCHANT.\\r\\nSpeak softly. Yonder, as I think, he walks.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio of Syracuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\n’Tis so; and that self chain about his neck\\r\\nWhich he forswore most monstrously to have.\\r\\nGood sir, draw near to me, I’ll speak to him.\\r\\nSignior Antipholus, I wonder much\\r\\nThat you would put me to this shame and trouble,\\r\\nAnd not without some scandal to yourself,\\r\\nWith circumstance and oaths so to deny\\r\\nThis chain, which now you wear so openly.\\r\\nBeside the charge, the shame, imprisonment,\\r\\nYou have done wrong to this my honest friend,\\r\\nWho, but for staying on our controversy,\\r\\nHad hoisted sail and put to sea today.\\r\\nThis chain you had of me, can you deny it?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nI think I had: I never did deny it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCHANT.\\r\\nYes, that you did, sir, and forswore it too.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWho heard me to deny it or forswear it?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCHANT.\\r\\nThese ears of mine, thou know’st, did hear thee.\\r\\nFie on thee, wretch. ’Tis pity that thou liv’st\\r\\nTo walk where any honest men resort.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nThou art a villain to impeach me thus;\\r\\nI’ll prove mine honour and mine honesty\\r\\nAgainst thee presently, if thou dar’st stand.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCHANT.\\r\\nI dare, and do defy thee for a villain.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They draw._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Adriana, Luciana, Courtesan and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nHold, hurt him not, for God’s sake, he is mad.\\r\\nSome get within him, take his sword away.\\r\\nBind Dromio too, and bear them to my house.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nRun, master, run, for God’s sake, take a house.\\r\\nThis is some priory; in, or we are spoil’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio of Syracuse to the\\r\\n priory._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Abbess.\\r\\n\\r\\nABBESS.\\r\\nBe quiet, people. Wherefore throng you hither?\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nTo fetch my poor distracted husband hence.\\r\\nLet us come in, that we may bind him fast\\r\\nAnd bear him home for his recovery.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nI knew he was not in his perfect wits.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCHANT.\\r\\nI am sorry now that I did draw on him.\\r\\n\\r\\nABBESS.\\r\\nHow long hath this possession held the man?\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nThis week he hath been heavy, sour, sad,\\r\\nAnd much different from the man he was.\\r\\nBut till this afternoon his passion\\r\\nNe’er brake into extremity of rage.\\r\\n\\r\\nABBESS.\\r\\nHath he not lost much wealth by wreck of sea?\\r\\nBuried some dear friend? Hath not else his eye\\r\\nStray’d his affection in unlawful love?\\r\\nA sin prevailing much in youthful men\\r\\nWho give their eyes the liberty of gazing?\\r\\nWhich of these sorrows is he subject to?\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nTo none of these, except it be the last,\\r\\nNamely, some love that drew him oft from home.\\r\\n\\r\\nABBESS.\\r\\nYou should for that have reprehended him.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nWhy, so I did.\\r\\n\\r\\nABBESS.\\r\\nAy, but not rough enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nAs roughly as my modesty would let me.\\r\\n\\r\\nABBESS.\\r\\nHaply in private.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nAnd in assemblies too.\\r\\n\\r\\nABBESS.\\r\\nAy, but not enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nIt was the copy of our conference.\\r\\nIn bed he slept not for my urging it;\\r\\nAt board he fed not for my urging it;\\r\\nAlone, it was the subject of my theme;\\r\\nIn company I often glanced it;\\r\\nStill did I tell him it was vile and bad.\\r\\n\\r\\nABBESS.\\r\\nAnd thereof came it that the man was mad.\\r\\nThe venom clamours of a jealous woman\\r\\nPoisons more deadly than a mad dog’s tooth.\\r\\nIt seems his sleeps were hindered by thy railing,\\r\\nAnd thereof comes it that his head is light.\\r\\nThou say’st his meat was sauc’d with thy upbraidings.\\r\\nUnquiet meals make ill digestions;\\r\\nThereof the raging fire of fever bred,\\r\\nAnd what’s a fever but a fit of madness?\\r\\nThou say’st his sports were hinder’d by thy brawls.\\r\\nSweet recreation barr’d, what doth ensue\\r\\nBut moody and dull melancholy,\\r\\nKinsman to grim and comfortless despair,\\r\\nAnd at her heels a huge infectious troop\\r\\nOf pale distemperatures and foes to life?\\r\\nIn food, in sport, and life-preserving rest\\r\\nTo be disturb’d would mad or man or beast.\\r\\nThe consequence is, then, thy jealous fits\\r\\nHath scar’d thy husband from the use of’s wits.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nShe never reprehended him but mildly,\\r\\nWhen he demean’d himself rough, rude, and wildly.\\r\\nWhy bear you these rebukes and answer not?\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nShe did betray me to my own reproof.\\r\\nGood people, enter and lay hold on him.\\r\\n\\r\\nABBESS.\\r\\nNo, not a creature enters in my house.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nThen let your servants bring my husband forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nABBESS.\\r\\nNeither. He took this place for sanctuary,\\r\\nAnd it shall privilege him from your hands\\r\\nTill I have brought him to his wits again,\\r\\nOr lose my labour in assaying it.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nI will attend my husband, be his nurse,\\r\\nDiet his sickness, for it is my office,\\r\\nAnd will have no attorney but myself;\\r\\nAnd therefore let me have him home with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nABBESS.\\r\\nBe patient, for I will not let him stir\\r\\nTill I have used the approved means I have,\\r\\nWith wholesome syrups, drugs, and holy prayers,\\r\\nTo make of him a formal man again.\\r\\nIt is a branch and parcel of mine oath,\\r\\nA charitable duty of my order;\\r\\nTherefore depart, and leave him here with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nI will not hence and leave my husband here;\\r\\nAnd ill it doth beseem your holiness\\r\\nTo separate the husband and the wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nABBESS.\\r\\nBe quiet and depart. Thou shalt not have him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Abbess._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nComplain unto the duke of this indignity.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nCome, go. I will fall prostrate at his feet,\\r\\nAnd never rise until my tears and prayers\\r\\nHave won his grace to come in person hither\\r\\nAnd take perforce my husband from the abbess.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCHANT.\\r\\nBy this, I think, the dial points at five.\\r\\nAnon, I’m sure, the Duke himself in person\\r\\nComes this way to the melancholy vale,\\r\\nThe place of death and sorry execution\\r\\nBehind the ditches of the abbey here.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nUpon what cause?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCHANT.\\r\\nTo see a reverend Syracusian merchant,\\r\\nWho put unluckily into this bay\\r\\nAgainst the laws and statutes of this town,\\r\\nBeheaded publicly for his offence.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nSee where they come. We will behold his death.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nKneel to the Duke before he pass the abbey.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the Duke, attended; Egeon, bareheaded; with the Headsman and\\r\\n other Officers.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nYet once again proclaim it publicly,\\r\\nIf any friend will pay the sum for him,\\r\\nHe shall not die; so much we tender him.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nJustice, most sacred duke, against the abbess!\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nShe is a virtuous and a reverend lady,\\r\\nIt cannot be that she hath done thee wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nMay it please your grace, Antipholus, my husband,\\r\\nWho I made lord of me and all I had\\r\\nAt your important letters, this ill day\\r\\nA most outrageous fit of madness took him;\\r\\nThat desp’rately he hurried through the street,\\r\\nWith him his bondman all as mad as he,\\r\\nDoing displeasure to the citizens\\r\\nBy rushing in their houses, bearing thence\\r\\nRings, jewels, anything his rage did like.\\r\\nOnce did I get him bound and sent him home,\\r\\nWhilst to take order for the wrongs I went,\\r\\nThat here and there his fury had committed.\\r\\nAnon, I wot not by what strong escape,\\r\\nHe broke from those that had the guard of him,\\r\\nAnd with his mad attendant and himself,\\r\\nEach one with ireful passion, with drawn swords,\\r\\nMet us again, and, madly bent on us,\\r\\nChased us away; till raising of more aid,\\r\\nWe came again to bind them. Then they fled\\r\\nInto this abbey, whither we pursued them.\\r\\nAnd here the abbess shuts the gates on us,\\r\\nAnd will not suffer us to fetch him out,\\r\\nNor send him forth that we may bear him hence.\\r\\nTherefore, most gracious duke, with thy command\\r\\nLet him be brought forth and borne hence for help.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nLong since thy husband serv’d me in my wars,\\r\\nAnd I to thee engag’d a prince’s word,\\r\\nWhen thou didst make him master of thy bed,\\r\\nTo do him all the grace and good I could.\\r\\nGo, some of you, knock at the abbey gate,\\r\\nAnd bid the lady abbess come to me.\\r\\nI will determine this before I stir.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nO mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself.\\r\\nMy master and his man are both broke loose,\\r\\nBeaten the maids a-row, and bound the doctor,\\r\\nWhose beard they have singed off with brands of fire,\\r\\nAnd ever as it blazed they threw on him\\r\\nGreat pails of puddled mire to quench the hair.\\r\\nMy master preaches patience to him, and the while\\r\\nHis man with scissors nicks him like a fool;\\r\\nAnd sure (unless you send some present help)\\r\\nBetween them they will kill the conjurer.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nPeace, fool, thy master and his man are here,\\r\\nAnd that is false thou dost report to us.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nMistress, upon my life, I tell you true.\\r\\nI have not breath’d almost since I did see it.\\r\\nHe cries for you, and vows, if he can take you,\\r\\nTo scorch your face and to disfigure you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Cry within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHark, hark, I hear him, mistress. Fly, be gone!\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nCome, stand by me, fear nothing. Guard with halberds.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nAy me, it is my husband. Witness you\\r\\nThat he is borne about invisible.\\r\\nEven now we hous’d him in the abbey here,\\r\\nAnd now he’s there, past thought of human reason.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Ephesus.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nJustice, most gracious duke; O, grant me justice!\\r\\nEven for the service that long since I did thee\\r\\nWhen I bestrid thee in the wars, and took\\r\\nDeep scars to save thy life; even for the blood\\r\\nThat then I lost for thee, now grant me justice.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEON.\\r\\nUnless the fear of death doth make me dote,\\r\\nI see my son Antipholus and Dromio.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nJustice, sweet prince, against that woman there.\\r\\nShe whom thou gav’st to me to be my wife;\\r\\nThat hath abused and dishonour’d me\\r\\nEven in the strength and height of injury.\\r\\nBeyond imagination is the wrong\\r\\nThat she this day hath shameless thrown on me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nDiscover how, and thou shalt find me just.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nThis day, great duke, she shut the doors upon me\\r\\nWhile she with harlots feasted in my house.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nA grievous fault. Say, woman, didst thou so?\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nNo, my good lord. Myself, he, and my sister\\r\\nToday did dine together. So befall my soul\\r\\nAs this is false he burdens me withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANA.\\r\\nNe’er may I look on day nor sleep on night\\r\\nBut she tells to your highness simple truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nO perjur’d woman! They are both forsworn.\\r\\nIn this the madman justly chargeth them.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nMy liege, I am advised what I say,\\r\\nNeither disturb’d with the effect of wine,\\r\\nNor heady-rash, provok’d with raging ire,\\r\\nAlbeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad.\\r\\nThis woman lock’d me out this day from dinner.\\r\\nThat goldsmith there, were he not pack’d with her,\\r\\nCould witness it, for he was with me then,\\r\\nWho parted with me to go fetch a chain,\\r\\nPromising to bring it to the Porpentine,\\r\\nWhere Balthasar and I did dine together.\\r\\nOur dinner done, and he not coming thither,\\r\\nI went to seek him. In the street I met him,\\r\\nAnd in his company that gentleman.\\r\\nThere did this perjur’d goldsmith swear me down\\r\\nThat I this day of him receiv’d the chain,\\r\\nWhich, God he knows, I saw not. For the which\\r\\nHe did arrest me with an officer.\\r\\nI did obey, and sent my peasant home\\r\\nFor certain ducats. He with none return’d.\\r\\nThen fairly I bespoke the officer\\r\\nTo go in person with me to my house.\\r\\nBy th’ way we met\\r\\nMy wife, her sister, and a rabble more\\r\\nOf vile confederates. Along with them\\r\\nThey brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-faced villain,\\r\\nA mere anatomy, a mountebank,\\r\\nA threadbare juggler, and a fortune-teller;\\r\\nA needy, hollow-ey’d, sharp-looking wretch;\\r\\nA living dead man. This pernicious slave,\\r\\nForsooth, took on him as a conjurer,\\r\\nAnd gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse,\\r\\nAnd with no face (as ’twere) outfacing me,\\r\\nCries out, I was possess’d. Then altogether\\r\\nThey fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence,\\r\\nAnd in a dark and dankish vault at home\\r\\nThere left me and my man, both bound together,\\r\\nTill gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder,\\r\\nI gain’d my freedom and immediately\\r\\nRan hither to your Grace, whom I beseech\\r\\nTo give me ample satisfaction\\r\\nFor these deep shames and great indignities.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nMy lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him,\\r\\nThat he din’d not at home, but was lock’d out.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBut had he such a chain of thee, or no?\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nHe had, my lord, and when he ran in here\\r\\nThese people saw the chain about his neck.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCHANT.\\r\\nBesides, I will be sworn these ears of mine\\r\\nHeard you confess you had the chain of him,\\r\\nAfter you first forswore it on the mart,\\r\\nAnd thereupon I drew my sword on you;\\r\\nAnd then you fled into this abbey here,\\r\\nFrom whence I think you are come by miracle.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nI never came within these abbey walls,\\r\\nNor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me.\\r\\nI never saw the chain, so help me heaven;\\r\\nAnd this is false you burden me withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhy, what an intricate impeach is this!\\r\\nI think you all have drunk of Circe’s cup.\\r\\nIf here you hous’d him, here he would have been.\\r\\nIf he were mad, he would not plead so coldly.\\r\\nYou say he din’d at home, the goldsmith here\\r\\nDenies that saying. Sirrah, what say you?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nSir, he dined with her there, at the Porpentine.\\r\\n\\r\\nCOURTESAN.\\r\\nHe did, and from my finger snatch’d that ring.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\n’Tis true, my liege, this ring I had of her.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nSaw’st thou him enter at the abbey here?\\r\\n\\r\\nCOURTESAN.\\r\\nAs sure, my liege, as I do see your grace.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhy, this is strange. Go call the abbess hither.\\r\\nI think you are all mated, or stark mad.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit one to the Abbess._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEON.\\r\\nMost mighty Duke, vouchsafe me speak a word;\\r\\nHaply I see a friend will save my life\\r\\nAnd pay the sum that may deliver me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nSpeak freely, Syracusian, what thou wilt.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEON.\\r\\nIs not your name, sir, call’d Antipholus?\\r\\nAnd is not that your bondman Dromio?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nWithin this hour I was his bondman, sir,\\r\\nBut he, I thank him, gnaw’d in two my cords.\\r\\nNow am I Dromio, and his man, unbound.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEON.\\r\\nI am sure you both of you remember me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nOurselves we do remember, sir, by you.\\r\\nFor lately we were bound as you are now.\\r\\nYou are not Pinch’s patient, are you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEON.\\r\\nWhy look you strange on me? you know me well.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nI never saw you in my life till now.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEON.\\r\\nO! grief hath chang’d me since you saw me last,\\r\\nAnd careful hours with time’s deformed hand,\\r\\nHave written strange defeatures in my face.\\r\\nBut tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nNeither.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEON.\\r\\nDromio, nor thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nNo, trust me, sir, nor I.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEON.\\r\\nI am sure thou dost.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nAy, sir, but I am sure I do not, and whatsoever a man denies, you are\\r\\nnow bound to believe him.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEON.\\r\\nNot know my voice! O time’s extremity,\\r\\nHast thou so crack’d and splitted my poor tongue\\r\\nIn seven short years that here my only son\\r\\nKnows not my feeble key of untun’d cares?\\r\\nThough now this grained face of mine be hid\\r\\nIn sap-consuming winter’s drizzled snow,\\r\\nAnd all the conduits of my blood froze up,\\r\\nYet hath my night of life some memory,\\r\\nMy wasting lamps some fading glimmer left,\\r\\nMy dull deaf ears a little use to hear.\\r\\nAll these old witnesses, I cannot err,\\r\\nTell me thou art my son Antipholus.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nI never saw my father in my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEON.\\r\\nBut seven years since, in Syracusa, boy,\\r\\nThou know’st we parted; but perhaps, my son,\\r\\nThou sham’st to acknowledge me in misery.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nThe duke and all that know me in the city,\\r\\nCan witness with me that it is not so.\\r\\nI ne’er saw Syracusa in my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI tell thee, Syracusian, twenty years\\r\\nHave I been patron to Antipholus,\\r\\nDuring which time he ne’er saw Syracusa.\\r\\nI see thy age and dangers make thee dote.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the Abbess with Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio of Syracuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nABBESS.\\r\\nMost mighty duke, behold a man much wrong’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_All gather to see them._]\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nI see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nOne of these men is _genius_ to the other;\\r\\nAnd so of these, which is the natural man,\\r\\nAnd which the spirit? Who deciphers them?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nI, sir, am Dromio, command him away.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nI, sir, am Dromio, pray let me stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nEgeon, art thou not? or else his ghost?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nO, my old master, who hath bound him here?\\r\\n\\r\\nABBESS.\\r\\nWhoever bound him, I will loose his bonds,\\r\\nAnd gain a husband by his liberty.\\r\\nSpeak, old Egeon, if thou be’st the man\\r\\nThat hadst a wife once called Emilia,\\r\\nThat bore thee at a burden two fair sons.\\r\\nO, if thou be’st the same Egeon, speak,\\r\\nAnd speak unto the same Emilia!\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhy, here begins his morning story right:\\r\\nThese two Antipholus’, these two so like,\\r\\nAnd these two Dromios, one in semblance,\\r\\nBesides her urging of her wreck at sea.\\r\\nThese are the parents to these children,\\r\\nWhich accidentally are met together.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEON.\\r\\nIf I dream not, thou art Emilia.\\r\\nIf thou art she, tell me where is that son\\r\\nThat floated with thee on the fatal raft?\\r\\n\\r\\nABBESS.\\r\\nBy men of Epidamnum, he and I\\r\\nAnd the twin Dromio, all were taken up;\\r\\nBut, by and by, rude fishermen of Corinth\\r\\nBy force took Dromio and my son from them,\\r\\nAnd me they left with those of Epidamnum.\\r\\nWhat then became of them I cannot tell;\\r\\nI to this fortune that you see me in.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAntipholus, thou cam’st from Corinth first?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nNo, sir, not I, I came from Syracuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nStay, stand apart, I know not which is which.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nI came from Corinth, my most gracious lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nAnd I with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nBrought to this town by that most famous warrior,\\r\\nDuke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nWhich of you two did dine with me today?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nI, gentle mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nAnd are not you my husband?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nNo, I say nay to that.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nAnd so do I, yet did she call me so;\\r\\nAnd this fair gentlewoman, her sister here,\\r\\nDid call me brother. What I told you then,\\r\\nI hope I shall have leisure to make good,\\r\\nIf this be not a dream I see and hear.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nThat is the chain, sir, which you had of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nI think it be, sir. I deny it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nAnd you, sir, for this chain arrested me.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGELO.\\r\\nI think I did, sir. I deny it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIANA.\\r\\nI sent you money, sir, to be your bail\\r\\nBy Dromio, but I think he brought it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nNo, none by me.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nThis purse of ducats I receiv’d from you,\\r\\nAnd Dromio my man did bring them me.\\r\\nI see we still did meet each other’s man,\\r\\nAnd I was ta’en for him, and he for me,\\r\\nAnd thereupon these errors are arose.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nThese ducats pawn I for my father here.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nIt shall not need, thy father hath his life.\\r\\n\\r\\nCOURTESAN.\\r\\nSir, I must have that diamond from you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nThere, take it, and much thanks for my good cheer.\\r\\n\\r\\nABBESS.\\r\\nRenowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains\\r\\nTo go with us into the abbey here,\\r\\nAnd hear at large discoursed all our fortunes;\\r\\nAnd all that are assembled in this place,\\r\\nThat by this sympathised one day’s error\\r\\nHave suffer’d wrong, go, keep us company,\\r\\nAnd we shall make full satisfaction.\\r\\nThirty-three years have I but gone in travail\\r\\nOf you, my sons, and till this present hour\\r\\nMy heavy burden ne’er delivered.\\r\\nThe duke, my husband, and my children both,\\r\\nAnd you, the calendars of their nativity,\\r\\nGo to a gossips’ feast, and go with me.\\r\\nAfter so long grief, such nativity.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWith all my heart, I’ll gossip at this feast.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt except the two Dromios and two Brothers._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nMaster, shall I fetch your stuff from shipboard?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nDromio, what stuff of mine hast thou embark’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nYour goods that lay at host, sir, in the Centaur.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nHe speaks to me; I am your master, Dromio.\\r\\nCome, go with us. We’ll look to that anon.\\r\\nEmbrace thy brother there, rejoice with him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Antipholus of Syracuse and Antipholus of Ephesus._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nThere is a fat friend at your master’s house,\\r\\nThat kitchen’d me for you today at dinner.\\r\\nShe now shall be my sister, not my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nMethinks you are my glass, and not my brother.\\r\\nI see by you I am a sweet-faced youth.\\r\\nWill you walk in to see their gossiping?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nNot I, sir, you are my elder.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nThat’s a question, how shall we try it?\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF SYRACUSE.\\r\\nWe’ll draw cuts for the senior. Till then, lead thou first.\\r\\n\\r\\nDROMIO OF EPHESUS.\\r\\nNay, then, thus:\\r\\nWe came into the world like brother and brother,\\r\\nAnd now let’s go hand in hand, not one before another.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n',\n", + " \"THE TRAGEDY OF CORIOLANUS\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personae\\r\\n\\r\\n CAIUS MARCIUS, afterwards CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS\\r\\n\\r\\n Generals against the Volscians\\r\\n TITUS LARTIUS\\r\\n COMINIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n MENENIUS AGRIPPA, friend to Coriolanus\\r\\n\\r\\n Tribunes of the People\\r\\n SICINIUS VELUTUS\\r\\n JUNIUS BRUTUS\\r\\n\\r\\n YOUNG MARCIUS, son to Coriolanus\\r\\n A ROMAN HERALD\\r\\n NICANOR, a Roman\\r\\n TULLUS AUFIDIUS, General of the Volscians\\r\\n LIEUTENANT, to Aufidius\\r\\n CONSPIRATORS, With Aufidius\\r\\n ADRIAN, a Volscian\\r\\n A CITIZEN of Antium\\r\\n TWO VOLSCIAN GUARDS\\r\\n\\r\\n VOLUMNIA, mother to Coriolanus\\r\\n VIRGILIA, wife to Coriolanus\\r\\n VALERIA, friend to Virgilia\\r\\n GENTLEWOMAN attending on Virgilia\\r\\n\\r\\n Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians, Aediles, Lictors,\\r\\n Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, Servants to Aufidius, and other\\r\\n Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Rome and the neighbourhood; Corioli and the neighbourhood;\\r\\nAntium\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. Rome. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a company of mutinous citizens, with staves, clubs, and other\\r\\nweapons\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Before we proceed any further, hear me speak.\\r\\n ALL. Speak, speak.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. YOU are all resolv'd rather to die than to famish?\\r\\n ALL. Resolv'd, resolv'd.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. First, you know Caius Marcius is chief enemy to the\\r\\n people.\\r\\n ALL. We know't, we know't.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Let us kill him, and we'll have corn at our own\\r\\n price. Is't a verdict?\\r\\n ALL. No more talking on't; let it be done. Away, away!\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. One word, good citizens.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. We are accounted poor citizens, the patricians good.\\r\\n What authority surfeits on would relieve us; if they would yield\\r\\n us but the superfluity while it were wholesome, we might guess\\r\\n they relieved us humanely; but they think we are too dear. The\\r\\n leanness that afflicts us, the object of our misery, is as an\\r\\n inventory to particularize their abundance; our sufferance is a\\r\\n gain to them. Let us revenge this with our pikes ere we become\\r\\n rakes; for the gods know I speak this in hunger for bread, not in\\r\\n thirst for revenge.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Would you proceed especially against Caius Marcius?\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Against him first; he's a very dog to the\\r\\n commonalty.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Consider you what services he has done for his\\r\\n country?\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Very well, and could be content to give him good\\r\\n report for't but that he pays himself with being proud.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Nay, but speak not maliciously.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. I say unto you, what he hath done famously he did it\\r\\n to that end; though soft-conscienc'd men can be content to say it\\r\\n was for his country, he did it to please his mother and to be\\r\\n partly proud, which he is, even to the altitude of his virtue.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. What he cannot help in his nature you account a\\r\\n vice in him. You must in no way say he is covetous.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. If I must not, I need not be barren of accusations;\\r\\n he hath faults, with surplus, to tire in repetition. [Shouts\\r\\n within] What shouts are these? The other side o' th' city is\\r\\n risen. Why stay we prating here? To th' Capitol!\\r\\n ALL. Come, come.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Soft! who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MENENIUS AGRIPPA\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Worthy Menenius Agrippa; one that hath always lov'd\\r\\n the people.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. He's one honest enough; would all the rest were so!\\r\\n MENENIUS. What work's, my countrymen, in hand? Where go you\\r\\n With bats and clubs? The matter? Speak, I pray you.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Our business is not unknown to th' Senate; they have\\r\\n had inkling this fortnight what we intend to do, which now we'll\\r\\n show 'em in deeds. They say poor suitors have strong breaths;\\r\\n they shall know we have strong arms too.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Why, masters, my good friends, mine honest neighbours,\\r\\n Will you undo yourselves?\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. We cannot, sir; we are undone already.\\r\\n MENENIUS. I tell you, friends, most charitable care\\r\\n Have the patricians of you. For your wants,\\r\\n Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well\\r\\n Strike at the heaven with your staves as lift them\\r\\n Against the Roman state; whose course will on\\r\\n The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs\\r\\n Of more strong link asunder than can ever\\r\\n Appear in your impediment. For the dearth,\\r\\n The gods, not the patricians, make it, and\\r\\n Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack,\\r\\n You are transported by calamity\\r\\n Thither where more attends you; and you slander\\r\\n The helms o' th' state, who care for you like fathers,\\r\\n When you curse them as enemies.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Care for us! True, indeed! They ne'er car'd for us\\r\\n yet. Suffer us to famish, and their storehouses cramm'd with\\r\\n grain; make edicts for usury, to support usurers; repeal daily\\r\\n any wholesome act established against the rich, and provide more\\r\\n piercing statutes daily to chain up and restrain the poor. If the\\r\\n wars eat us not up, they will; and there's all the love they bear\\r\\n us.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Either you must\\r\\n Confess yourselves wondrous malicious,\\r\\n Or be accus'd of folly. I shall tell you\\r\\n A pretty tale. It may be you have heard it;\\r\\n But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture\\r\\n To stale't a little more.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Well, I'll hear it, sir; yet you must not think to\\r\\n fob off our disgrace with a tale. But, an't please you, deliver.\\r\\n MENENIUS. There was a time when all the body's members\\r\\n Rebell'd against the belly; thus accus'd it:\\r\\n That only like a gulf it did remain\\r\\n I' th' midst o' th' body, idle and unactive,\\r\\n Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing\\r\\n Like labour with the rest; where th' other instruments\\r\\n Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel,\\r\\n And, mutually participate, did minister\\r\\n Unto the appetite and affection common\\r\\n Of the whole body. The belly answer'd-\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Well, sir, what answer made the belly?\\r\\n MENENIUS. Sir, I shall tell you. With a kind of smile,\\r\\n Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even thus-\\r\\n For look you, I may make the belly smile\\r\\n As well as speak- it tauntingly replied\\r\\n To th' discontented members, the mutinous parts\\r\\n That envied his receipt; even so most fitly\\r\\n As you malign our senators for that\\r\\n They are not such as you.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Your belly's answer- What?\\r\\n The kingly crowned head, the vigilant eye,\\r\\n The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier,\\r\\n Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter,\\r\\n With other muniments and petty helps\\r\\n Is this our fabric, if that they-\\r\\n MENENIUS. What then?\\r\\n Fore me, this fellow speaks! What then? What then?\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Should by the cormorant belly be restrain'd,\\r\\n Who is the sink o' th' body-\\r\\n MENENIUS. Well, what then?\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. The former agents, if they did complain,\\r\\n What could the belly answer?\\r\\n MENENIUS. I will tell you;\\r\\n If you'll bestow a small- of what you have little-\\r\\n Patience awhile, you'st hear the belly's answer.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Y'are long about it.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Note me this, good friend:\\r\\n Your most grave belly was deliberate,\\r\\n Not rash like his accusers, and thus answered.\\r\\n 'True is it, my incorporate friends,' quoth he\\r\\n 'That I receive the general food at first\\r\\n Which you do live upon; and fit it is,\\r\\n Because I am the storehouse and the shop\\r\\n Of the whole body. But, if you do remember,\\r\\n I send it through the rivers of your blood,\\r\\n Even to the court, the heart, to th' seat o' th' brain;\\r\\n And, through the cranks and offices of man,\\r\\n The strongest nerves and small inferior veins\\r\\n From me receive that natural competency\\r\\n Whereby they live. And though that all at once\\r\\n You, my good friends'- this says the belly; mark me.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Ay, sir; well, well.\\r\\n MENENIUS. 'Though all at once cannot\\r\\n See what I do deliver out to each,\\r\\n Yet I can make my audit up, that all\\r\\n From me do back receive the flour of all,\\r\\n And leave me but the bran.' What say you to' t?\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. It was an answer. How apply you this?\\r\\n MENENIUS. The senators of Rome are this good belly,\\r\\n And you the mutinous members; for, examine\\r\\n Their counsels and their cares, digest things rightly\\r\\n Touching the weal o' th' common, you shall find\\r\\n No public benefit which you receive\\r\\n But it proceeds or comes from them to you,\\r\\n And no way from yourselves. What do you think,\\r\\n You, the great toe of this assembly?\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. I the great toe? Why the great toe?\\r\\n MENENIUS. For that, being one o' th' lowest, basest, poorest,\\r\\n Of this most wise rebellion, thou goest foremost.\\r\\n Thou rascal, that art worst in blood to run,\\r\\n Lead'st first to win some vantage.\\r\\n But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs.\\r\\n Rome and her rats are at the point of battle;\\r\\n The one side must have bale.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CAIUS MARCIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n Hail, noble Marcius!\\r\\n MARCIUS. Thanks. What's the matter, you dissentious rogues\\r\\n That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion,\\r\\n Make yourselves scabs?\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. We have ever your good word.\\r\\n MARCIUS. He that will give good words to thee will flatter\\r\\n Beneath abhorring. What would you have, you curs,\\r\\n That like nor peace nor war? The one affrights you,\\r\\n The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you,\\r\\n Where he should find you lions, finds you hares;\\r\\n Where foxes, geese; you are no surer, no,\\r\\n Than is the coal of fire upon the ice\\r\\n Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is\\r\\n To make him worthy whose offence subdues him,\\r\\n And curse that justice did it. Who deserves greatness\\r\\n Deserves your hate; and your affections are\\r\\n A sick man's appetite, who desires most that\\r\\n Which would increase his evil. He that depends\\r\\n Upon your favours swims with fins of lead,\\r\\n And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust ye?\\r\\n With every minute you do change a mind\\r\\n And call him noble that was now your hate,\\r\\n Him vile that was your garland. What's the matter\\r\\n That in these several places of the city\\r\\n You cry against the noble Senate, who,\\r\\n Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else\\r\\n Would feed on one another? What's their seeking?\\r\\n MENENIUS. For corn at their own rates, whereof they say\\r\\n The city is well stor'd.\\r\\n MARCIUS. Hang 'em! They say!\\r\\n They'll sit by th' fire and presume to know\\r\\n What's done i' th' Capitol, who's like to rise,\\r\\n Who thrives and who declines; side factions, and give out\\r\\n Conjectural marriages, making parties strong,\\r\\n And feebling such as stand not in their liking\\r\\n Below their cobbled shoes. They say there's grain enough!\\r\\n Would the nobility lay aside their ruth\\r\\n And let me use my sword, I'd make a quarry\\r\\n With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high\\r\\n As I could pick my lance.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Nay, these are almost thoroughly persuaded;\\r\\n For though abundantly they lack discretion,\\r\\n Yet are they passing cowardly. But, I beseech you,\\r\\n What says the other troop?\\r\\n MARCIUS. They are dissolv'd. Hang 'em!\\r\\n They said they were an-hungry; sigh'd forth proverbs-\\r\\n That hunger broke stone walls, that dogs must eat,\\r\\n That meat was made for mouths, that the gods sent not\\r\\n Corn for the rich men only. With these shreds\\r\\n They vented their complainings; which being answer'd,\\r\\n And a petition granted them- a strange one,\\r\\n To break the heart of generosity\\r\\n And make bold power look pale- they threw their caps\\r\\n As they would hang them on the horns o' th' moon,\\r\\n Shouting their emulation.\\r\\n MENENIUS. What is granted them?\\r\\n MARCIUS. Five tribunes, to defend their vulgar wisdoms,\\r\\n Of their own choice. One's Junius Brutus-\\r\\n Sicinius Velutus, and I know not. 'Sdeath!\\r\\n The rabble should have first unroof'd the city\\r\\n Ere so prevail'd with me; it will in time\\r\\n Win upon power and throw forth greater themes\\r\\n For insurrection's arguing.\\r\\n MENENIUS. This is strange.\\r\\n MARCIUS. Go get you home, you fragments.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER, hastily\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. Where's Caius Marcius?\\r\\n MARCIUS. Here. What's the matter?\\r\\n MESSENGER. The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms.\\r\\n MARCIUS. I am glad on't; then we shall ha' means to vent\\r\\n Our musty superfluity. See, our best elders.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter COMINIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, with other SENATORS;\\r\\n JUNIUS BRUTUS and SICINIUS VELUTUS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Marcius, 'tis true that you have lately told us:\\r\\n The Volsces are in arms.\\r\\n MARCIUS. They have a leader,\\r\\n Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to't.\\r\\n I sin in envying his nobility;\\r\\n And were I anything but what I am,\\r\\n I would wish me only he.\\r\\n COMINIUS. You have fought together?\\r\\n MARCIUS. Were half to half the world by th' ears, and he\\r\\n Upon my party, I'd revolt, to make\\r\\n Only my wars with him. He is a lion\\r\\n That I am proud to hunt.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Then, worthy Marcius,\\r\\n Attend upon Cominius to these wars.\\r\\n COMINIUS. It is your former promise.\\r\\n MARCIUS. Sir, it is;\\r\\n And I am constant. Titus Lartius, thou\\r\\n Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face.\\r\\n What, art thou stiff? Stand'st out?\\r\\n LARTIUS. No, Caius Marcius;\\r\\n I'll lean upon one crutch and fight with t'other\\r\\n Ere stay behind this business.\\r\\n MENENIUS. O, true bred!\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Your company to th' Capitol; where, I know,\\r\\n Our greatest friends attend us.\\r\\n LARTIUS. [To COMINIUS] Lead you on.\\r\\n [To MARCIUS] Follow Cominius; we must follow you;\\r\\n Right worthy you priority.\\r\\n COMINIUS. Noble Marcius!\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. [To the Citizens] Hence to your homes; be gone.\\r\\n MARCIUS. Nay, let them follow.\\r\\n The Volsces have much corn: take these rats thither\\r\\n To gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutineers,\\r\\n Your valour puts well forth; pray follow.\\r\\n Ciitzens steal away. Exeunt all but SICINIUS and BRUTUS\\r\\n SICINIUS. Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius?\\r\\n BRUTUS. He has no equal.\\r\\n SICINIUS. When we were chosen tribunes for the people-\\r\\n BRUTUS. Mark'd you his lip and eyes?\\r\\n SICINIUS. Nay, but his taunts!\\r\\n BRUTUS. Being mov'd, he will not spare to gird the gods.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Bemock the modest moon.\\r\\n BRUTUS. The present wars devour him! He is grown\\r\\n Too proud to be so valiant.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Such a nature,\\r\\n Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow\\r\\n Which he treads on at noon. But I do wonder\\r\\n His insolence can brook to be commanded\\r\\n Under Cominius.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Fame, at the which he aims-\\r\\n In whom already he is well grac'd- cannot\\r\\n Better be held nor more attain'd than by\\r\\n A place below the first; for what miscarries\\r\\n Shall be the general's fault, though he perform\\r\\n To th' utmost of a man, and giddy censure\\r\\n Will then cry out of Marcius 'O, if he\\r\\n Had borne the business!'\\r\\n SICINIUS. Besides, if things go well,\\r\\n Opinion, that so sticks on Marcius, shall\\r\\n Of his demerits rob Cominius.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Come.\\r\\n Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius,\\r\\n Though Marcius earn'd them not; and all his faults\\r\\n To Marcius shall be honours, though indeed\\r\\n In aught he merit not.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Let's hence and hear\\r\\n How the dispatch is made, and in what fashion,\\r\\n More than his singularity, he goes\\r\\n Upon this present action.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Let's along. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Corioli. The Senate House.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TULLUS AUFIDIUS with SENATORS of Corioli\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. So, your opinion is, Aufidius,\\r\\n That they of Rome are ent'red in our counsels\\r\\n And know how we proceed.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. Is it not yours?\\r\\n What ever have been thought on in this state\\r\\n That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome\\r\\n Had circumvention? 'Tis not four days gone\\r\\n Since I heard thence; these are the words- I think\\r\\n I have the letter here;.yes, here it is:\\r\\n [Reads] 'They have press'd a power, but it is not known\\r\\n Whether for east or west. The dearth is great;\\r\\n The people mutinous; and it is rumour'd,\\r\\n Cominius, Marcius your old enemy,\\r\\n Who is of Rome worse hated than of you,\\r\\n And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman,\\r\\n These three lead on this preparation\\r\\n Whither 'tis bent. Most likely 'tis for you;\\r\\n Consider of it.'\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Our army's in the field;\\r\\n We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready\\r\\n To answer us.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. Nor did you think it folly\\r\\n To keep your great pretences veil'd till when\\r\\n They needs must show themselves; which in the hatching,\\r\\n It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery\\r\\n We shall be short'ned in our aim, which was\\r\\n To take in many towns ere almost Rome\\r\\n Should know we were afoot.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. Noble Aufidius,\\r\\n Take your commission; hie you to your bands;\\r\\n Let us alone to guard Corioli.\\r\\n If they set down before's, for the remove\\r\\n Bring up your army; but I think you'll find\\r\\n Th' have not prepar'd for us.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. O, doubt not that!\\r\\n I speak from certainties. Nay more,\\r\\n Some parcels of their power are forth already,\\r\\n And only hitherward. I leave your honours.\\r\\n If we and Caius Marcius chance to meet,\\r\\n 'Tis sworn between us we shall ever strike\\r\\n Till one can do no more.\\r\\n ALL. The gods assist you!\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. And keep your honours safe!\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Farewell.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. Farewell.\\r\\n ALL. Farewell. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Rome. MARCIUS' house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA, mother and wife to MARCIUS; they set them\\r\\ndown on two low stools and sew\\r\\n\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. I pray you, daughter, sing, or express yourself in a more\\r\\n comfortable sort. If my son were my husband, I should freelier\\r\\n rejoice in that absence wherein he won honour than in the\\r\\n embracements of his bed where he would show most love. When yet\\r\\n he was but tender-bodied, and the only son of my womb; when youth\\r\\n with comeliness pluck'd all gaze his way; when, for a day of\\r\\n kings' entreaties, a mother should not sell him an hour from her\\r\\n beholding; I, considering how honour would become such a person-\\r\\n that it was no better than picture-like to hang by th' wall, if\\r\\n renown made it not stir- was pleas'd to let him seek danger where\\r\\n he was to find fame. To a cruel war I sent him, from whence he\\r\\n return'd his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter, I\\r\\n sprang not more in joy at first hearing he was a man-child than\\r\\n now in first seeing he had proved himself a man.\\r\\n VIRGILIA. But had he died in the business, madam, how then?\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Then his good report should have been my son; I therein\\r\\n would have found issue. Hear me profess sincerely: had I a dozen\\r\\n sons, each in my love alike, and none less dear than thine and my\\r\\n good Marcius, I had rather had eleven die nobly for their country\\r\\n than one voluptuously surfeit out of action.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a GENTLEWOMAN\\r\\n\\r\\n GENTLEWOMAN. Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to visit you.\\r\\n VIRGILIA. Beseech you give me leave to retire myself.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Indeed you shall not.\\r\\n Methinks I hear hither your husband's drum;\\r\\n See him pluck Aufidius down by th' hair;\\r\\n As children from a bear, the Volsces shunning him.\\r\\n Methinks I see him stamp thus, and call thus:\\r\\n 'Come on, you cowards! You were got in fear,\\r\\n Though you were born in Rome.' His bloody brow\\r\\n With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes,\\r\\n Like to a harvest-man that's task'd to mow\\r\\n Or all or lose his hire.\\r\\n VIRGILIA. His bloody brow? O Jupiter, no blood!\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Away, you fool! It more becomes a man\\r\\n Than gilt his trophy. The breasts of Hecuba,\\r\\n When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier\\r\\n Than Hector's forehead when it spit forth blood\\r\\n At Grecian sword, contemning. Tell Valeria\\r\\n We are fit to bid her welcome. Exit GENTLEWOMAN\\r\\n VIRGILIA. Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius!\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. He'll beat Aufidius' head below his knee\\r\\n And tread upon his neck.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter GENTLEWOMAN, With VALERIA and an usher\\r\\n\\r\\n VALERIA. My ladies both, good day to you.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Sweet madam!\\r\\n VIRGILIA. I am glad to see your ladyship.\\r\\n VALERIA. How do you both? You are manifest housekeepers. What are\\r\\n you sewing here? A fine spot, in good faith. How does your little\\r\\n son?\\r\\n VIRGILIA. I thank your ladyship; well, good madam.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. He had rather see the swords and hear a drum than look\\r\\n upon his schoolmaster.\\r\\n VALERIA. O' my word, the father's son! I'll swear 'tis a very\\r\\n pretty boy. O' my troth, I look'd upon him a Wednesday half an\\r\\n hour together; has such a confirm'd countenance! I saw him run\\r\\n after a gilded butterfly; and when he caught it he let it go\\r\\n again, and after it again, and over and over he comes, and up\\r\\n again, catch'd it again; or whether his fall enrag'd him, or how\\r\\n 'twas, he did so set his teeth and tear it. O, I warrant, how he\\r\\n mammock'd it!\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. One on's father's moods.\\r\\n VALERIA. Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child.\\r\\n VIRGILIA. A crack, madam.\\r\\n VALERIA. Come, lay aside your stitchery; I must have you play the\\r\\n idle huswife with me this afternoon.\\r\\n VIRGILIA. No, good madam; I will not out of doors.\\r\\n VALERIA. Not out of doors!\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. She shall, she shall.\\r\\n VIRGILIA. Indeed, no, by your patience; I'll not over the threshold\\r\\n till my lord return from the wars.\\r\\n VALERIA. Fie, you confine yourself most unreasonably; come, you\\r\\n must go visit the good lady that lies in.\\r\\n VIRGILIA. I will wish her speedy strength, and visit her with my\\r\\n prayers; but I cannot go thither.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Why, I pray you?\\r\\n VIRGILIA. 'Tis not to save labour, nor that I want love.\\r\\n VALERIA. You would be another Penelope; yet they say all the yarn\\r\\n she spun in Ulysses' absence did but fill Ithaca full of moths.\\r\\n Come, I would your cambric were sensible as your finger, that you\\r\\n might leave pricking it for pity. Come, you shall go with us.\\r\\n VIRGILIA. No, good madam, pardon me; indeed I will not forth.\\r\\n VALERIA. In truth, la, go with me; and I'll tell you excellent news\\r\\n of your husband.\\r\\n VIRGILIA. O, good madam, there can be none yet.\\r\\n VALERIA. Verily, I do not jest with you; there came news from him\\r\\n last night.\\r\\n VIRGILIA. Indeed, madam?\\r\\n VALERIA. In earnest, it's true; I heard a senator speak it. Thus it\\r\\n is: the Volsces have an army forth; against whom Cominius the\\r\\n general is gone, with one part of our Roman power. Your lord and\\r\\n Titus Lartius are set down before their city Corioli; they\\r\\n nothing doubt prevailing and to make it brief wars. This is true,\\r\\n on mine honour; and so, I pray, go with us.\\r\\n VIRGILIA. Give me excuse, good madam; I will obey you in everything\\r\\n hereafter.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Let her alone, lady; as she is now, she will but disease\\r\\n our better mirth.\\r\\n VALERIA. In troth, I think she would. Fare you well, then. Come,\\r\\n good sweet lady. Prithee, Virgilia, turn thy solemness out o'\\r\\n door and go along with us.\\r\\n VIRGILIA. No, at a word, madam; indeed I must not. I wish you much\\r\\n mirth.\\r\\n VALERIA. Well then, farewell. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Before Corioli\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MARCIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, with drum and colours, with CAPTAINS and\\r\\nsoldiers. To them a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCIUS. Yonder comes news; a wager- they have met.\\r\\n LARTIUS. My horse to yours- no.\\r\\n MARCIUS. 'Tis done.\\r\\n LARTIUS. Agreed.\\r\\n MARCIUS. Say, has our general met the enemy?\\r\\n MESSENGER. They lie in view, but have not spoke as yet.\\r\\n LARTIUS. So, the good horse is mine.\\r\\n MARCIUS. I'll buy him of you.\\r\\n LARTIUS. No, I'll nor sell nor give him; lend you him I will\\r\\n For half a hundred years. Summon the town.\\r\\n MARCIUS. How far off lie these armies?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Within this mile and half.\\r\\n MARCIUS. Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they ours.\\r\\n Now, Mars, I prithee, make us quick in work,\\r\\n That we with smoking swords may march from hence\\r\\n To help our fielded friends! Come, blow thy blast.\\r\\n\\r\\n They sound a parley. Enter two SENATORS with others,\\r\\n on the walls of Corioli\\r\\n\\r\\n Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls?\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. No, nor a man that fears you less than he:\\r\\n That's lesser than a little. [Drum afar off] Hark, our drums\\r\\n Are bringing forth our youth. We'll break our walls\\r\\n Rather than they shall pound us up; our gates,\\r\\n Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with rushes;\\r\\n They'll open of themselves. [Alarum far off] Hark you far off!\\r\\n There is Aufidius. List what work he makes\\r\\n Amongst your cloven army.\\r\\n MARCIUS. O, they are at it!\\r\\n LARTIUS. Their noise be our instruction. Ladders, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the army of the Volsces\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCIUS. They fear us not, but issue forth their city.\\r\\n Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight\\r\\n With hearts more proof than shields. Advance, brave Titus.\\r\\n They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts,\\r\\n Which makes me sweat with wrath. Come on, my fellows.\\r\\n He that retires, I'll take him for a Volsce,\\r\\n And he shall feel mine edge.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. The Romans are beat back to their trenches.\\r\\n Re-enter MARCIUS, cursing\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCIUS. All the contagion of the south light on you,\\r\\n You shames of Rome! you herd of- Boils and plagues\\r\\n Plaster you o'er, that you may be abhorr'd\\r\\n Farther than seen, and one infect another\\r\\n Against the wind a mile! You souls of geese\\r\\n That bear the shapes of men, how have you run\\r\\n From slaves that apes would beat! Pluto and hell!\\r\\n All hurt behind! Backs red, and faces pale\\r\\n With flight and agued fear! Mend and charge home,\\r\\n Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave the foe\\r\\n And make my wars on you. Look to't. Come on;\\r\\n If you'll stand fast we'll beat them to their wives,\\r\\n As they us to our trenches. Follow me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Another alarum. The Volsces fly, and MARCIUS follows\\r\\n them to the gates\\r\\n\\r\\n So, now the gates are ope; now prove good seconds;\\r\\n 'Tis for the followers fortune widens them,\\r\\n Not for the fliers. Mark me, and do the like.\\r\\n\\r\\n [MARCIUS enters the gates]\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SOLDIER. Fool-hardiness; not I.\\r\\n SECOND SOLDIER. Not I. [MARCIUS is shut in]\\r\\n FIRST SOLDIER. See, they have shut him in.\\r\\n ALL. To th' pot, I warrant him. [Alarum continues]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter TITUS LARTIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n LARTIUS. What is become of Marcius?\\r\\n ALL. Slain, sir, doubtless.\\r\\n FIRST SOLDIER. Following the fliers at the very heels,\\r\\n With them he enters; who, upon the sudden,\\r\\n Clapp'd to their gates. He is himself alone,\\r\\n To answer all the city.\\r\\n LARTIUS. O noble fellow!\\r\\n Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword,\\r\\n And when it bows stand'st up. Thou art left, Marcius;\\r\\n A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art,\\r\\n Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier\\r\\n Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible\\r\\n Only in strokes; but with thy grim looks and\\r\\n The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds\\r\\n Thou mad'st thine enemies shake, as if the world\\r\\n Were feverous and did tremble.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter MARCIUS, bleeding, assaulted by the enemy\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SOLDIER. Look, sir.\\r\\n LARTIUS. O, 'tis Marcius!\\r\\n Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike.\\r\\n [They fight, and all enter the city]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Within Corioli. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter certain Romans, with spoils\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST ROMAN. This will I carry to Rome.\\r\\n SECOND ROMAN. And I this.\\r\\n THIRD ROMAN. A murrain on 't! I took this for silver.\\r\\n [Alarum continues still afar off]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MARCIUS and TITUS LARTIUS With a trumpeter\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCIUS. See here these movers that do prize their hours\\r\\n At a crack'd drachma! Cushions, leaden spoons,\\r\\n Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would\\r\\n Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves,\\r\\n Ere yet the fight be done, pack up. Down with them!\\r\\n Exeunt pillagers\\r\\n And hark, what noise the general makes! To him!\\r\\n There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius,\\r\\n Piercing our Romans; then, valiant Titus, take\\r\\n Convenient numbers to make good the city;\\r\\n Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste\\r\\n To help Cominius.\\r\\n LARTIUS. Worthy sir, thou bleed'st;\\r\\n Thy exercise hath been too violent\\r\\n For a second course of fight.\\r\\n MARCIUS. Sir, praise me not;\\r\\n My work hath yet not warm'd me. Fare you well;\\r\\n The blood I drop is rather physical\\r\\n Than dangerous to me. To Aufidius thus\\r\\n I will appear, and fight.\\r\\n LARTIUS. Now the fair goddess, Fortune,\\r\\n Fall deep in love with thee, and her great charms\\r\\n Misguide thy opposers' swords! Bold gentleman,\\r\\n Prosperity be thy page!\\r\\n MARCIUS. Thy friend no less\\r\\n Than those she placeth highest! So farewell.\\r\\n LARTIUS. Thou worthiest Marcius! Exit MARCIUS\\r\\n Go sound thy trumpet in the market-place;\\r\\n Call thither all the officers o' th' town,\\r\\n Where they shall know our mind. Away! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Near the camp of COMINIUS\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter COMINIUS, as it were in retire, with soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n COMINIUS. Breathe you, my friends. Well fought; we are come off\\r\\n Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands\\r\\n Nor cowardly in retire. Believe me, sirs,\\r\\n We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have struck,\\r\\n By interims and conveying gusts we have heard\\r\\n The charges of our friends. The Roman gods,\\r\\n Lead their successes as we wish our own,\\r\\n That both our powers, with smiling fronts encount'ring,\\r\\n May give you thankful sacrifice!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter A MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n Thy news?\\r\\n MESSENGER. The citizens of Corioli have issued\\r\\n And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle;\\r\\n I saw our party to their trenches driven,\\r\\n And then I came away.\\r\\n COMINIUS. Though thou speak'st truth,\\r\\n Methinks thou speak'st not well. How long is't since?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Above an hour, my lord.\\r\\n COMINIUS. 'Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their drums.\\r\\n How couldst thou in a mile confound an hour,\\r\\n And bring thy news so late?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Spies of the Volsces\\r\\n Held me in chase, that I was forc'd to wheel\\r\\n Three or four miles about; else had I, sir,\\r\\n Half an hour since brought my report.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MARCIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n COMINIUS. Who's yonder\\r\\n That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods!\\r\\n He has the stamp of Marcius, and I have\\r\\n Before-time seen him thus.\\r\\n MARCIUS. Come I too late?\\r\\n COMINIUS. The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabor\\r\\n More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue\\r\\n From every meaner man.\\r\\n MARCIUS. Come I too late?\\r\\n COMINIUS. Ay, if you come not in the blood of others,\\r\\n But mantled in your own.\\r\\n MARCIUS. O! let me clip ye\\r\\n In arms as sound as when I woo'd, in heart\\r\\n As merry as when our nuptial day was done,\\r\\n And tapers burn'd to bedward.\\r\\n COMINIUS. Flower of warriors,\\r\\n How is't with Titus Lartius?\\r\\n MARCIUS. As with a man busied about decrees:\\r\\n Condemning some to death and some to exile;\\r\\n Ransoming him or pitying, threat'ning th' other;\\r\\n Holding Corioli in the name of Rome\\r\\n Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash,\\r\\n To let him slip at will.\\r\\n COMINIUS. Where is that slave\\r\\n Which told me they had beat you to your trenches?\\r\\n Where is he? Call him hither.\\r\\n MARCIUS. Let him alone;\\r\\n He did inform the truth. But for our gentlemen,\\r\\n The common file- a plague! tribunes for them!\\r\\n The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat as they did budge\\r\\n From rascals worse than they.\\r\\n COMINIUS. But how prevail'd you?\\r\\n MARCIUS. Will the time serve to tell? I do not think.\\r\\n Where is the enemy? Are you lords o' th' field?\\r\\n If not, why cease you till you are so?\\r\\n COMINIUS. Marcius,\\r\\n We have at disadvantage fought, and did\\r\\n Retire to win our purpose.\\r\\n MARCIUS. How lies their battle? Know you on which side\\r\\n They have plac'd their men of trust?\\r\\n COMINIUS. As I guess, Marcius,\\r\\n Their bands i' th' vaward are the Antiates,\\r\\n Of their best trust; o'er them Aufidius,\\r\\n Their very heart of hope.\\r\\n MARCIUS. I do beseech you,\\r\\n By all the battles wherein we have fought,\\r\\n By th' blood we have shed together, by th' vows\\r\\n We have made to endure friends, that you directly\\r\\n Set me against Aufidius and his Antiates;\\r\\n And that you not delay the present, but,\\r\\n Filling the air with swords advanc'd and darts,\\r\\n We prove this very hour.\\r\\n COMINIUS. Though I could wish\\r\\n You were conducted to a gentle bath\\r\\n And balms applied to you, yet dare I never\\r\\n Deny your asking: take your choice of those\\r\\n That best can aid your action.\\r\\n MARCIUS. Those are they\\r\\n That most are willing. If any such be here-\\r\\n As it were sin to doubt- that love this painting\\r\\n Wherein you see me smear'd; if any fear\\r\\n Lesser his person than an ill report;\\r\\n If any think brave death outweighs bad life\\r\\n And that his country's dearer than himself;\\r\\n Let him alone, or so many so minded,\\r\\n Wave thus to express his disposition,\\r\\n And follow Marcius. [They all shout and wave their\\r\\n swords, take him up in their arms and cast up their caps]\\r\\n O, me alone! Make you a sword of me?\\r\\n If these shows be not outward, which of you\\r\\n But is four Volsces? None of you but is\\r\\n Able to bear against the great Aufidius\\r\\n A shield as hard as his. A certain number,\\r\\n Though thanks to all, must I select from all; the rest\\r\\n Shall bear the business in some other fight,\\r\\n As cause will be obey'd. Please you to march;\\r\\n And four shall quickly draw out my command,\\r\\n Which men are best inclin'd.\\r\\n COMINIUS. March on, my fellows;\\r\\n Make good this ostentation, and you shall\\r\\n Divide in all with us. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. The gates of Corioli\\r\\n\\r\\nTITUS LARTIUS, having set a guard upon Corioli, going with drum and\\r\\ntrumpet toward COMINIUS and CAIUS MARCIUS, enters with a LIEUTENANT,\\r\\nother soldiers, and a scout\\r\\n\\r\\n LARTIUS. So, let the ports be guarded; keep your duties\\r\\n As I have set them down. If I do send, dispatch\\r\\n Those centuries to our aid; the rest will serve\\r\\n For a short holding. If we lose the field\\r\\n We cannot keep the town.\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. Fear not our care, sir.\\r\\n LARTIUS. Hence, and shut your gates upon's.\\r\\n Our guider, come; to th' Roman camp conduct us. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VIII. A field of battle between the Roman and the Volscian camps\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum, as in battle. Enter MARCIUS and AUFIDIUS at several doors\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCIUS. I'll fight with none but thee, for I do hate thee\\r\\n Worse than a promise-breaker.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. We hate alike:\\r\\n Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor\\r\\n More than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot.\\r\\n MARCIUS. Let the first budger die the other's slave,\\r\\n And the gods doom him after!\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. If I fly, Marcius,\\r\\n Halloa me like a hare.\\r\\n MARCIUS. Within these three hours, Tullus,\\r\\n Alone I fought in your Corioli walls,\\r\\n And made what work I pleas'd. 'Tis not my blood\\r\\n Wherein thou seest me mask'd. For thy revenge\\r\\n Wrench up thy power to th' highest.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. Wert thou the Hector\\r\\n That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny,\\r\\n Thou shouldst not scape me here.\\r\\n\\r\\n Here they fight, and certain Volsces come in the aid\\r\\n of AUFIDIUS. MARCIUS fights till they be driven in\\r\\n breathless\\r\\n\\r\\n Officious, and not valiant, you have sham'd me\\r\\n In your condemned seconds. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IX. The Roman camp\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Enter, at one door,\\r\\nCOMINIUS with the Romans; at another door, MARCIUS, with his arm in a\\r\\nscarf\\r\\n\\r\\n COMINIUS. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work,\\r\\n Thou't not believe thy deeds; but I'll report it\\r\\n Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles;\\r\\n Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug,\\r\\n I' th' end admire; where ladies shall be frighted\\r\\n And, gladly quak'd, hear more; where the dull tribunes,\\r\\n That with the fusty plebeians hate thine honours,\\r\\n Shall say against their hearts 'We thank the gods\\r\\n Our Rome hath such a soldier.'\\r\\n Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast,\\r\\n Having fully din'd before.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TITUS LARTIUS, with his power, from the pursuit\\r\\n\\r\\n LARTIUS. O General,\\r\\n Here is the steed, we the caparison.\\r\\n Hadst thou beheld-\\r\\n MARCIUS. Pray now, no more; my mother,\\r\\n Who has a charter to extol her blood,\\r\\n When she does praise me grieves me. I have done\\r\\n As you have done- that's what I can; induc'd\\r\\n As you have been- that's for my country.\\r\\n He that has but effected his good will\\r\\n Hath overta'en mine act.\\r\\n COMINIUS. You shall not be\\r\\n The grave of your deserving; Rome must know\\r\\n The value of her own. 'Twere a concealment\\r\\n Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement,\\r\\n To hide your doings and to silence that\\r\\n Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd,\\r\\n Would seem but modest. Therefore, I beseech you,\\r\\n In sign of what you are, not to reward\\r\\n What you have done, before our army hear me.\\r\\n MARCIUS. I have some wounds upon me, and they smart\\r\\n To hear themselves rememb'red.\\r\\n COMINIUS. Should they not,\\r\\n Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude\\r\\n And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses-\\r\\n Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store- of all\\r\\n The treasure in this field achiev'd and city,\\r\\n We render you the tenth; to be ta'en forth\\r\\n Before the common distribution at\\r\\n Your only choice.\\r\\n MARCIUS. I thank you, General,\\r\\n But cannot make my heart consent to take\\r\\n A bribe to pay my sword. I do refuse it,\\r\\n And stand upon my common part with those\\r\\n That have beheld the doing.\\r\\n\\r\\n A long flourish. They all cry 'Marcius, Marcius!'\\r\\n cast up their caps and lances. COMINIUS and LARTIUS stand bare\\r\\n\\r\\n May these same instruments which you profane\\r\\n Never sound more! When drums and trumpets shall\\r\\n I' th' field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be\\r\\n Made all of false-fac'd soothing. When steel grows\\r\\n Soft as the parasite's silk, let him be made\\r\\n An overture for th' wars. No more, I say.\\r\\n For that I have not wash'd my nose that bled,\\r\\n Or foil'd some debile wretch, which without note\\r\\n Here's many else have done, you shout me forth\\r\\n In acclamations hyperbolical,\\r\\n As if I lov'd my little should be dieted\\r\\n In praises sauc'd with lies.\\r\\n COMINIUS. Too modest are you;\\r\\n More cruel to your good report than grateful\\r\\n To us that give you truly. By your patience,\\r\\n If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we'll put you-\\r\\n Like one that means his proper harm- in manacles,\\r\\n Then reason safely with you. Therefore be it known,\\r\\n As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius\\r\\n Wears this war's garland; in token of the which,\\r\\n My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him,\\r\\n With all his trim belonging; and from this time,\\r\\n For what he did before Corioli, can him\\r\\n With all th' applause-and clamour of the host,\\r\\n Caius Marcius Coriolanus.\\r\\n Bear th' addition nobly ever!\\r\\n [Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums]\\r\\n ALL. Caius Marcius Coriolanus!\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. I will go wash;\\r\\n And when my face is fair you shall perceive\\r\\n Whether I blush or no. Howbeit, I thank you;\\r\\n I mean to stride your steed, and at all times\\r\\n To undercrest your good addition\\r\\n To th' fairness of my power.\\r\\n COMINIUS. So, to our tent;\\r\\n Where, ere we do repose us, we will write\\r\\n To Rome of our success. You, Titus Lartius,\\r\\n Must to Corioli back. Send us to Rome\\r\\n The best, with whom we may articulate\\r\\n For their own good and ours.\\r\\n LARTIUS. I shall, my lord.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. The gods begin to mock me. I, that now\\r\\n Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg\\r\\n Of my Lord General.\\r\\n COMINIUS. Take't- 'tis yours; what is't?\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. I sometime lay here in Corioli\\r\\n At a poor man's house; he us'd me kindly.\\r\\n He cried to me; I saw him prisoner;\\r\\n But then Aufidius was within my view,\\r\\n And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity. I request you\\r\\n To give my poor host freedom.\\r\\n COMINIUS. O, well begg'd!\\r\\n Were he the butcher of my son, he should\\r\\n Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.\\r\\n LARTIUS. Marcius, his name?\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. By Jupiter, forgot!\\r\\n I am weary; yea, my memory is tir'd.\\r\\n Have we no wine here?\\r\\n COMINIUS. Go we to our tent.\\r\\n The blood upon your visage dries; 'tis time\\r\\n It should be look'd to. Come. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE X. The camp of the Volsces\\r\\n\\r\\nA flourish. Cornets. Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS bloody, with two or three\\r\\nsoldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. The town is ta'en.\\r\\n FIRST SOLDIER. 'Twill be deliver'd back on good condition.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. Condition!\\r\\n I would I were a Roman; for I cannot,\\r\\n Being a Volsce, be that I am. Condition?\\r\\n What good condition can a treaty find\\r\\n I' th' part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius,\\r\\n I have fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me;\\r\\n And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter\\r\\n As often as we eat. By th' elements,\\r\\n If e'er again I meet him beard to beard,\\r\\n He's mine or I am his. Mine emulation\\r\\n Hath not that honour in't it had; for where\\r\\n I thought to crush him in an equal force,\\r\\n True sword to sword, I'll potch at him some way,\\r\\n Or wrath or craft may get him.\\r\\n FIRST SOLDIER. He's the devil.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour's poison'd\\r\\n With only suff'ring stain by him; for him\\r\\n Shall fly out of itself. Nor sleep nor sanctuary,\\r\\n Being naked, sick, nor fane nor Capitol,\\r\\n The prayers of priests nor times of sacrifice,\\r\\n Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up\\r\\n Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst\\r\\n My hate to Marcius. Where I find him, were it\\r\\n At home, upon my brother's guard, even there,\\r\\n Against the hospitable canon, would I\\r\\n Wash my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to th' city;\\r\\n Learn how 'tis held, and what they are that must\\r\\n Be hostages for Rome.\\r\\n FIRST SOLDIER. Will not you go?\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. I am attended at the cypress grove; I pray you-\\r\\n 'Tis south the city mills- bring me word thither\\r\\n How the world goes, that to the pace of it\\r\\n I may spur on my journey.\\r\\n FIRST SOLDIER. I shall, sir. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. Rome. A public place\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MENENIUS, with the two Tribunes of the people, SICINIUS and\\r\\nBRUTUS\\r\\n\\r\\n MENENIUS. The augurer tells me we shall have news tonight.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Good or bad?\\r\\n MENENIUS. Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love\\r\\n not Marcius.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Pray you, who does the wolf love?\\r\\n SICINIUS. The lamb.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Ay, to devour him, as the hungry plebeians would the\\r\\n noble Marcius.\\r\\n BRUTUS. He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear.\\r\\n MENENIUS. He's a bear indeed, that lives fike a lamb. You two are\\r\\n old men; tell me one thing that I shall ask you.\\r\\n BOTH TRIBUNES. Well, sir.\\r\\n MENENIUS. In what enormity is Marcius poor in that you two have not\\r\\n in abundance?\\r\\n BRUTUS. He's poor in no one fault, but stor'd with all.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Especially in pride.\\r\\n BRUTUS. And topping all others in boasting.\\r\\n MENENIUS. This is strange now. Do you two know how you are censured\\r\\n here in the city- I mean of us o' th' right-hand file? Do you?\\r\\n BOTH TRIBUNES. Why, how are we censur'd?\\r\\n MENENIUS. Because you talk of pride now- will you not be angry?\\r\\n BOTH TRIBUNES. Well, well, sir, well.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of\\r\\n occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience. Give your\\r\\n dispositions the reins, and be angry at your pleasures- at the\\r\\n least, if you take it as a pleasure to you in being so. You blame\\r\\n Marcius for being proud?\\r\\n BRUTUS. We do it not alone, sir.\\r\\n MENENIUS. I know you can do very little alone; for your helps are\\r\\n many, or else your actions would grow wondrous single: your\\r\\n abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone. You talk of\\r\\n pride. O that you could turn your eyes toward the napes of your\\r\\n necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves! O\\r\\n that you could!\\r\\n BOTH TRIBUNES. What then, sir?\\r\\n MENENIUS. Why, then you should discover a brace of unmeriting,\\r\\n proud, violent, testy magistrates-alias fools- as any in Rome.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Menenius, you are known well enough too.\\r\\n MENENIUS. I am known to be a humorous patrician, and one that loves\\r\\n a cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in't; said to\\r\\n be something imperfect in favouring the first complaint, hasty\\r\\n and tinder-like upon too trivial motion; one that converses more\\r\\n with the buttock of the night than with the forehead of the\\r\\n morning. What I think I utter, and spend my malice in my breath.\\r\\n Meeting two such wealsmen as you are- I cannot call you\\r\\n Lycurguses- if the drink you give me touch my palate adversely, I\\r\\n make a crooked face at it. I cannot say your worships have\\r\\n deliver'd the matter well, when I find the ass in compound with\\r\\n the major part of your syllables; and though I must be content to\\r\\n bear with those that say you are reverend grave men, yet they lie\\r\\n deadly that tell you you have good faces. If you see this in the\\r\\n map of my microcosm, follows it that I am known well enough too?\\r\\n What harm can your bisson conspectuities glean out of this\\r\\n character, if I be known well enough too?\\r\\n BRUTUS. Come, sir, come, we know you well enough.\\r\\n MENENIUS. You know neither me, yourselves, nor any thing. You are\\r\\n ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs; you wear out a good\\r\\n wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange-wife and\\r\\n a fosset-seller, and then rejourn the controversy of threepence\\r\\n to a second day of audience. When you are hearing a matter\\r\\n between party and party, if you chance to be pinch'd with the\\r\\n colic, you make faces like mummers, set up the bloody flag\\r\\n against all patience, and, in roaring for a chamber-pot, dismiss\\r\\n the controversy bleeding, the more entangled by your hearing. All\\r\\n the peace you make in their cause is calling both the parties\\r\\n knaves. You are a pair of strange ones.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Come, come, you are well understood to be a perfecter giber\\r\\n for the table than a necessary bencher in the Capitol.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Our very priests must become mockers, if they shall\\r\\n encounter such ridiculous subjects as you are. When you speak\\r\\n best unto the purpose, it is not worth the wagging of your\\r\\n beards; and your beards deserve not so honourable a grave as to\\r\\n stuff a botcher's cushion or to be entomb'd in an ass's\\r\\n pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying Marcius is proud; who, in a\\r\\n cheap estimation, is worth all your predecessors since Deucalion;\\r\\n though peradventure some of the best of 'em were hereditary\\r\\n hangmen. God-den to your worships. More of your conversation\\r\\n would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly\\r\\n plebeians. I will be bold to take my leave of you.\\r\\n [BRUTUS and SICINIUS go aside]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and VALERIA\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, my as fair as noble ladies- and the moon, were she\\r\\n earthly, no nobler- whither do you follow your eyes so fast?\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius approaches; for the\\r\\n love of Juno, let's go.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Ha! Marcius coming home?\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Ay, worthy Menenius, and with most prosperous\\r\\n approbation.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee. Hoo!\\r\\n Marcius coming home!\\r\\n VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA. Nay, 'tis true.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Look, here's a letter from him; the state hath another,\\r\\n his wife another; and I think there's one at home for you.\\r\\n MENENIUS. I will make my very house reel to-night. A letter for me?\\r\\n VIRGILIA. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; I saw't.\\r\\n MENENIUS. A letter for me! It gives me an estate of seven years'\\r\\n health; in which time I will make a lip at the physician. The\\r\\n most sovereign prescription in Galen is but empiricutic and, to\\r\\n this preservative, of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he\\r\\n not wounded? He was wont to come home wounded.\\r\\n VIRGILIA. O, no, no, no.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. O, he is wounded, I thank the gods for't.\\r\\n MENENIUS. So do I too, if it be not too much. Brings a victory in\\r\\n his pocket? The wounds become him.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. On's brows, Menenius, he comes the third time home with\\r\\n the oaken garland.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Has he disciplin'd Aufidius soundly?\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Titus Lartius writes they fought together, but Aufidius\\r\\n got off.\\r\\n MENENIUS. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant him that; an he\\r\\n had stay'd by him, I would not have been so fidius'd for all the\\r\\n chests in Corioli and the gold that's in them. Is the Senate\\r\\n possess'd of this?\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Good ladies, let's go. Yes, yes, yes: the Senate has\\r\\n letters from the general, wherein he gives my son the whole name\\r\\n of the war; he hath in this action outdone his former deeds\\r\\n doubly.\\r\\n VALERIA. In troth, there's wondrous things spoke of him.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Wondrous! Ay, I warrant you, and not without his true\\r\\n purchasing.\\r\\n VIRGILIA. The gods grant them true!\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. True! pow, waw.\\r\\n MENENIUS. True! I'll be sworn they are true. Where is he wounded?\\r\\n [To the TRIBUNES] God save your good worships! Marcius is coming\\r\\n home; he has more cause to be proud. Where is he wounded?\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. I' th' shoulder and i' th' left arm; there will be large\\r\\n cicatrices to show the people when he shall stand for his place.\\r\\n He received in the repulse of Tarquin seven hurts i' th' body.\\r\\n MENENIUS. One i' th' neck and two i' th' thigh- there's nine that I\\r\\n know.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. He had before this last expedition twenty-five wounds\\r\\n upon him.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Now it's twenty-seven; every gash was an enemy's grave.\\r\\n [A shout and flourish] Hark! the trumpets.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. These are the ushers of Marcius. Before him he carries\\r\\n noise, and behind him he leaves tears;\\r\\n Death, that dark spirit, in's nervy arm doth lie,\\r\\n Which, being advanc'd, declines, and then men die.\\r\\n\\r\\n A sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter COMINIUS the\\r\\n GENERAL, and TITUS LARTIUS; between them,\\r\\n CORIOLANUS, crown'd with an oaken garland; with\\r\\n CAPTAINS and soldiers and a HERALD\\r\\n\\r\\n HERALD. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight\\r\\n Within Corioli gates, where he hath won,\\r\\n With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these\\r\\n In honour follows Coriolanus.\\r\\n Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! [Flourish]\\r\\n ALL. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus!\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. No more of this, it does offend my heart.\\r\\n Pray now, no more.\\r\\n COMINIUS. Look, sir, your mother!\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. O,\\r\\n You have, I know, petition'd all the gods\\r\\n For my prosperity! [Kneels]\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Nay, my good soldier, up;\\r\\n My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and\\r\\n By deed-achieving honour newly nam'd-\\r\\n What is it? Coriolanus must I can thee?\\r\\n But, O, thy wife!\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. My gracious silence, hail!\\r\\n Wouldst thou have laugh'd had I come coffin'd home,\\r\\n That weep'st to see me triumph? Ah, my dear,\\r\\n Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear,\\r\\n And mothers that lack sons.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Now the gods crown thee!\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. And live you yet? [To VALERIA] O my sweet lady,\\r\\n pardon.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. I know not where to turn.\\r\\n O, welcome home! And welcome, General.\\r\\n And y'are welcome all.\\r\\n MENENIUS. A hundred thousand welcomes. I could weep\\r\\n And I could laugh; I am light and heavy. Welcome!\\r\\n A curse begin at very root on's heart\\r\\n That is not glad to see thee! You are three\\r\\n That Rome should dote on; yet, by the faith of men,\\r\\n We have some old crab trees here at home that will not\\r\\n Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriors.\\r\\n We call a nettle but a nettle, and\\r\\n The faults of fools but folly.\\r\\n COMINIUS. Ever right.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Menenius ever, ever.\\r\\n HERALD. Give way there, and go on.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. [To his wife and mother] Your hand, and yours.\\r\\n Ere in our own house I do shade my head,\\r\\n The good patricians must be visited;\\r\\n From whom I have receiv'd not only greetings,\\r\\n But with them change of honours.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. I have lived\\r\\n To see inherited my very wishes,\\r\\n And the buildings of my fancy; only\\r\\n There's one thing wanting, which I doubt not but\\r\\n Our Rome will cast upon thee.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Know, good mother,\\r\\n I had rather be their servant in my way\\r\\n Than sway with them in theirs.\\r\\n COMINIUS. On, to the Capitol.\\r\\n [Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as before]\\r\\n\\r\\n BRUTUS and SICINIUS come forward\\r\\n\\r\\n BRUTUS. All tongues speak of him and the bleared sights\\r\\n Are spectacled to see him. Your prattling nurse\\r\\n Into a rapture lets her baby cry\\r\\n While she chats him; the kitchen malkin pins\\r\\n Her richest lockram 'bout her reechy neck,\\r\\n Clamb'ring the walls to eye him; stalls, bulks, windows,\\r\\n Are smother'd up, leads fill'd and ridges hors'd\\r\\n With variable complexions, all agreeing\\r\\n In earnestness to see him. Seld-shown flamens\\r\\n Do press among the popular throngs and puff\\r\\n To win a vulgar station; our veil'd dames\\r\\n Commit the war of white and damask in\\r\\n Their nicely gawded cheeks to th' wanton spoil\\r\\n Of Phoebus' burning kisses. Such a pother,\\r\\n As if that whatsoever god who leads him\\r\\n Were slily crept into his human powers,\\r\\n And gave him graceful posture.\\r\\n SICINIUS. On the sudden\\r\\n I warrant him consul.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Then our office may\\r\\n During his power go sleep.\\r\\n SICINIUS. He cannot temp'rately transport his honours\\r\\n From where he should begin and end, but will\\r\\n Lose those he hath won.\\r\\n BRUTUS. In that there's comfort.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Doubt not\\r\\n The commoners, for whom we stand, but they\\r\\n Upon their ancient malice will forget\\r\\n With the least cause these his new honours; which\\r\\n That he will give them make I as little question\\r\\n As he is proud to do't.\\r\\n BRUTUS. I heard him swear,\\r\\n Were he to stand for consul, never would he\\r\\n Appear i' th' market-place, nor on him put\\r\\n The napless vesture of humility;\\r\\n Nor, showing, as the manner is, his wounds\\r\\n To th' people, beg their stinking breaths.\\r\\n SICINIUS. 'Tis right.\\r\\n BRUTUS. It was his word. O, he would miss it rather\\r\\n Than carry it but by the suit of the gentry to him\\r\\n And the desire of the nobles.\\r\\n SICINIUS. I wish no better\\r\\n Than have him hold that purpose, and to put it\\r\\n In execution.\\r\\n BRUTUS. 'Tis most like he will.\\r\\n SICINIUS. It shall be to him then as our good wills:\\r\\n A sure destruction.\\r\\n BRUTUS. So it must fall out\\r\\n To him or our authorities. For an end,\\r\\n We must suggest the people in what hatred\\r\\n He still hath held them; that to's power he would\\r\\n Have made them mules, silenc'd their pleaders, and\\r\\n Dispropertied their freedoms; holding them\\r\\n In human action and capacity\\r\\n Of no more soul nor fitness for the world\\r\\n Than camels in their war, who have their provand\\r\\n Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows\\r\\n For sinking under them.\\r\\n SICINIUS. This, as you say, suggested\\r\\n At some time when his soaring insolence\\r\\n Shall touch the people- which time shall not want,\\r\\n If he be put upon't, and that's as easy\\r\\n As to set dogs on sheep- will be his fire\\r\\n To kindle their dry stubble; and their blaze\\r\\n Shall darken him for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter A MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n BRUTUS. What's the matter?\\r\\n MESSENGER. You are sent for to the Capitol. 'Tis thought\\r\\n That Marcius shall be consul.\\r\\n I have seen the dumb men throng to see him and\\r\\n The blind to hear him speak; matrons flung gloves,\\r\\n Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchers,\\r\\n Upon him as he pass'd; the nobles bended\\r\\n As to Jove's statue, and the commons made\\r\\n A shower and thunder with their caps and shouts.\\r\\n I never saw the like.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Let's to the Capitol,\\r\\n And carry with us ears and eyes for th' time,\\r\\n But hearts for the event.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Have with you. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Rome. The Capitol\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter two OFFICERS, to lay cushions, as it were in the Capitol\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST OFFICER. Come, come, they are almost here. How many stand for\\r\\n consulships?\\r\\n SECOND OFFICER. Three, they say; but 'tis thought of every one\\r\\n Coriolanus will carry it.\\r\\n FIRST OFFICER. That's a brave fellow; but he's vengeance proud and\\r\\n loves not the common people.\\r\\n SECOND OFFICER. Faith, there have been many great men that have\\r\\n flatter'd the people, who ne'er loved them; and there be many\\r\\n that they have loved, they know not wherefore; so that, if they\\r\\n love they know not why, they hate upon no better a ground.\\r\\n Therefore, for Coriolanus neither to care whether they love or\\r\\n hate him manifests the true knowledge he has in their\\r\\n disposition, and out of his noble carelessness lets them plainly\\r\\n see't.\\r\\n FIRST OFFICER. If he did not care whether he had their love or no,\\r\\n he waved indifferently 'twixt doing them neither good nor harm;\\r\\n but he seeks their hate with greater devotion than they can\\r\\n render it him, and leaves nothing undone that may fully discover\\r\\n him their opposite. Now to seem to affect the malice and\\r\\n displeasure of the people is as bad as that which he dislikes- to\\r\\n flatter them for their love.\\r\\n SECOND OFFICER. He hath deserved worthily of his country; and his\\r\\n ascent is not by such easy degrees as those who, having been\\r\\n supple and courteous to the people, bonneted, without any further\\r\\n deed to have them at all, into their estimation and report; but\\r\\n he hath so planted his honours in their eyes and his actions in\\r\\n their hearts that for their tongues to be silent and not confess\\r\\n so much were a kind of ingrateful injury; to report otherwise\\r\\n were a malice that, giving itself the lie, would pluck reproof\\r\\n and rebuke from every car that heard it.\\r\\n FIRST OFFICER. No more of him; he's a worthy man. Make way, they\\r\\n are coming.\\r\\n\\r\\n A sennet. Enter the PATRICIANS and the TRIBUNES\\r\\n OF THE PEOPLE, LICTORS before them; CORIOLANUS,\\r\\n MENENIUS, COMINIUS the Consul. SICINIUS and\\r\\n BRUTUS take their places by themselves.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS stands\\r\\n\\r\\n MENENIUS. Having determin'd of the Volsces, and\\r\\n To send for Titus Lartius, it remains,\\r\\n As the main point of this our after-meeting,\\r\\n To gratify his noble service that\\r\\n Hath thus stood for his country. Therefore please you,\\r\\n Most reverend and grave elders, to desire\\r\\n The present consul and last general\\r\\n In our well-found successes to report\\r\\n A little of that worthy work perform'd\\r\\n By Caius Marcius Coriolanus; whom\\r\\n We met here both to thank and to remember\\r\\n With honours like himself. [CORIOLANUS sits]\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Speak, good Cominius.\\r\\n Leave nothing out for length, and make us think\\r\\n Rather our state's defective for requital\\r\\n Than we to stretch it out. Masters o' th' people,\\r\\n We do request your kindest ears; and, after,\\r\\n Your loving motion toward the common body,\\r\\n To yield what passes here.\\r\\n SICINIUS. We are convented\\r\\n Upon a pleasing treaty, and have hearts\\r\\n Inclinable to honour and advance\\r\\n The theme of our assembly.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Which the rather\\r\\n We shall be bless'd to do, if he remember\\r\\n A kinder value of the people than\\r\\n He hath hereto priz'd them at.\\r\\n MENENIUS. That's off, that's off;\\r\\n I would you rather had been silent. Please you\\r\\n To hear Cominius speak?\\r\\n BRUTUS. Most willingly.\\r\\n But yet my caution was more pertinent\\r\\n Than the rebuke you give it.\\r\\n MENENIUS. He loves your people;\\r\\n But tie him not to be their bedfellow.\\r\\n Worthy Cominius, speak.\\r\\n [CORIOLANUS rises, and offers to go away]\\r\\n Nay, keep your place.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Sit, Coriolanus, never shame to hear\\r\\n What you have nobly done.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Your Honours' pardon.\\r\\n I had rather have my wounds to heal again\\r\\n Than hear say how I got them.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Sir, I hope\\r\\n My words disbench'd you not.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. No, sir; yet oft,\\r\\n When blows have made me stay, I fled from words.\\r\\n You sooth'd not, therefore hurt not. But your people,\\r\\n I love them as they weigh-\\r\\n MENENIUS. Pray now, sit down.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. I had rather have one scratch my head i' th' sun\\r\\n When the alarum were struck than idly sit\\r\\n To hear my nothings monster'd. Exit\\r\\n MENENIUS. Masters of the people,\\r\\n Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter-\\r\\n That's thousand to one good one- when you now see\\r\\n He had rather venture all his limbs for honour\\r\\n Than one on's ears to hear it? Proceed, Cominius.\\r\\n COMINIUS. I shall lack voice; the deeds of Coriolanus\\r\\n Should not be utter'd feebly. It is held\\r\\n That valour is the chiefest virtue and\\r\\n Most dignifies the haver. If it be,\\r\\n The man I speak of cannot in the world\\r\\n Be singly counterpois'd. At sixteen years,\\r\\n When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought\\r\\n Beyond the mark of others; our then Dictator,\\r\\n Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight\\r\\n When with his Amazonian chin he drove\\r\\n The bristled lips before him; he bestrid\\r\\n An o'erpress'd Roman and i' th' consul's view\\r\\n Slew three opposers; Tarquin's self he met,\\r\\n And struck him on his knee. In that day's feats,\\r\\n When he might act the woman in the scene,\\r\\n He prov'd best man i' th' field, and for his meed\\r\\n Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age\\r\\n Man-ent'red thus, he waxed like a sea,\\r\\n And in the brunt of seventeen battles since\\r\\n He lurch'd all swords of the garland. For this last,\\r\\n Before and in Corioli, let me say\\r\\n I cannot speak him home. He stopp'd the fliers,\\r\\n And by his rare example made the coward\\r\\n Turn terror into sport; as weeds before\\r\\n A vessel under sail, so men obey'd\\r\\n And fell below his stem. His sword, death's stamp,\\r\\n Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot\\r\\n He was a thing of blood, whose every motion\\r\\n Was tim'd with dying cries. Alone he ent'red\\r\\n The mortal gate of th' city, which he painted\\r\\n With shunless destiny; aidless came off,\\r\\n And with a sudden re-enforcement struck\\r\\n Corioli like a planet. Now all's his.\\r\\n When by and by the din of war 'gan pierce\\r\\n His ready sense, then straight his doubled spirit\\r\\n Re-quick'ned what in flesh was fatigate,\\r\\n And to the battle came he; where he did\\r\\n Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if\\r\\n 'Twere a perpetual spoil; and till we call'd\\r\\n Both field and city ours he never stood\\r\\n To ease his breast with panting.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Worthy man!\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. He cannot but with measure fit the honours\\r\\n Which we devise him.\\r\\n COMINIUS. Our spoils he kick'd at,\\r\\n And look'd upon things precious as they were\\r\\n The common muck of the world. He covets less\\r\\n Than misery itself would give, rewards\\r\\n His deeds with doing them, and is content\\r\\n To spend the time to end it.\\r\\n MENENIUS. He's right noble;\\r\\n Let him be call'd for.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Call Coriolanus.\\r\\n OFFICER. He doth appear.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter CORIOLANUS\\r\\n\\r\\n MENENIUS. The Senate, Coriolanus, are well pleas'd\\r\\n To make thee consul.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. I do owe them still\\r\\n My life and services.\\r\\n MENENIUS. It then remains\\r\\n That you do speak to the people.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. I do beseech you\\r\\n Let me o'erleap that custom; for I cannot\\r\\n Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat them\\r\\n For my wounds' sake to give their suffrage. Please you\\r\\n That I may pass this doing.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Sir, the people\\r\\n Must have their voices; neither will they bate\\r\\n One jot of ceremony.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Put them not to't.\\r\\n Pray you go fit you to the custom, and\\r\\n Take to you, as your predecessors have,\\r\\n Your honour with your form.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. It is a part\\r\\n That I shall blush in acting, and might well\\r\\n Be taken from the people.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Mark you that?\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. To brag unto them 'Thus I did, and thus!'\\r\\n Show them th' unaching scars which I should hide,\\r\\n As if I had receiv'd them for the hire\\r\\n Of their breath only!\\r\\n MENENIUS. Do not stand upon't.\\r\\n We recommend to you, Tribunes of the People,\\r\\n Our purpose to them; and to our noble consul\\r\\n Wish we all joy and honour.\\r\\n SENATORS. To Coriolanus come all joy and honour!\\r\\n [Flourish. Cornets. Then exeunt all\\r\\n but SICINIUS and BRUTUS]\\r\\n BRUTUS. You see how he intends to use the people.\\r\\n SICINIUS. May they perceive's intent! He will require them\\r\\n As if he did contemn what he requested\\r\\n Should be in them to give.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Come, we'll inform them\\r\\n Of our proceedings here. On th' market-place\\r\\n I know they do attend us. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Rome. The Forum\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter seven or eight citizens\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Once, if he do require our voices, we ought not to\\r\\n deny him.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. We may, sir, if we will.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. We have power in ourselves to do it, but it is a\\r\\n power that we have no power to do; for if he show us his wounds\\r\\n and tell us his deeds, we are to put our tongues into those\\r\\n wounds and speak for them; so, if he tell us his noble deeds, we\\r\\n must also tell him our noble acceptance of them. Ingratitude is\\r\\n monstrous, and for the multitude to be ingrateful were to make a\\r\\n monster of the multitude; of the which we being members should\\r\\n bring ourselves to be monstrous members.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. And to make us no better thought of, a little help\\r\\n will serve; for once we stood up about the corn, he himself stuck\\r\\n not to call us the many-headed multitude.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. We have been call'd so of many; not that our heads\\r\\n are some brown, some black, some abram, some bald, but that our\\r\\n wits are so diversely colour'd; and truly I think if all our wits\\r\\n were to issue out of one skull, they would fly east, west, north,\\r\\n south, and their consent of one direct way should be at once to\\r\\n all the points o' th' compass.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Think you so? Which way do you judge my wit would\\r\\n fly?\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Nay, your wit will not so soon out as another man's\\r\\n will- 'tis strongly wedg'd up in a block-head; but if it were at\\r\\n liberty 'twould sure southward.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Why that way?\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. To lose itself in a fog; where being three parts\\r\\n melted away with rotten dews, the fourth would return for\\r\\n conscience' sake, to help to get thee a wife.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. YOU are never without your tricks; you may, you\\r\\n may.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Are you all resolv'd to give your voices? But that's\\r\\n no matter, the greater part carries it. I say, if he would\\r\\n incline to the people, there was never a worthier man.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CORIOLANUS, in a gown of humility,\\r\\n with MENENIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n Here he comes, and in the gown of humility. Mark his behaviour.\\r\\n We are not to stay all together, but to come by him where he\\r\\n stands, by ones, by twos, and by threes. He's to make his\\r\\n requests by particulars, wherein every one of us has a single\\r\\n honour, in giving him our own voices with our own tongues;\\r\\n therefore follow me, and I'll direct you how you shall go by him.\\r\\n ALL. Content, content. Exeunt citizens\\r\\n MENENIUS. O sir, you are not right; have you not known\\r\\n The worthiest men have done't?\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. What must I say?\\r\\n 'I pray, sir'- Plague upon't! I cannot bring\\r\\n My tongue to such a pace. 'Look, sir, my wounds\\r\\n I got them in my country's service, when\\r\\n Some certain of your brethren roar'd and ran\\r\\n From th' noise of our own drums.'\\r\\n MENENIUS. O me, the gods!\\r\\n You must not speak of that. You must desire them\\r\\n To think upon you.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Think upon me? Hang 'em!\\r\\n I would they would forget me, like the virtues\\r\\n Which our divines lose by 'em.\\r\\n MENENIUS. You'll mar all.\\r\\n I'll leave you. Pray you speak to 'em, I pray you,\\r\\n In wholesome manner. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter three of the citizens\\r\\n\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Bid them wash their faces\\r\\n And keep their teeth clean. So, here comes a brace.\\r\\n You know the cause, sir, of my standing here.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. We do, sir; tell us what hath brought you to't.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Mine own desert.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Your own desert?\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Ay, not mine own desire.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. How, not your own desire?\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. No, sir, 'twas never my desire yet to trouble the poor\\r\\n with begging.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. YOU MUST think, if we give you anything, we hope to\\r\\n gain by you.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Well then, I pray, your price o' th' consulship?\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. The price is to ask it kindly.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Kindly, sir, I pray let me ha't. I have wounds to show\\r\\n you, which shall be yours in private. Your good voice, sir; what\\r\\n say you?\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. You shall ha' it, worthy sir.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. A match, sir. There's in all two worthy voices begg'd.\\r\\n I have your alms. Adieu.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. But this is something odd.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. An 'twere to give again- but 'tis no matter.\\r\\n Exeunt the three citizens\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter two other citizens\\r\\n\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune of your\\r\\n voices that I may be consul, I have here the customary gown.\\r\\n FOURTH CITIZEN. You have deserved nobly of your country, and you\\r\\n have not deserved nobly.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Your enigma?\\r\\n FOURTH CITIZEN. You have been a scourge to her enemies; you have\\r\\n been a rod to her friends. You have not indeed loved the common\\r\\n people.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. You should account me the more virtuous, that I have\\r\\n not been common in my love. I will, sir, flatter my sworn\\r\\n brother, the people, to earn a dearer estimation of them; 'tis a\\r\\n condition they account gentle; and since the wisdom of their\\r\\n choice is rather to have my hat than my heart, I will practise\\r\\n the insinuating nod and be off to them most counterfeitly. That\\r\\n is, sir, I will counterfeit the bewitchment of some popular man\\r\\n and give it bountiful to the desirers. Therefore, beseech you I\\r\\n may be consul.\\r\\n FIFTH CITIZEN. We hope to find you our friend; and therefore give\\r\\n you our voices heartily.\\r\\n FOURTH CITIZEN. You have received many wounds for your country.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. I will not seal your knowledge with showing them. I\\r\\n will make much of your voices, and so trouble you no farther.\\r\\n BOTH CITIZENS. The gods give you joy, sir, heartily!\\r\\n Exeunt citizens\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Most sweet voices!\\r\\n Better it is to die, better to starve,\\r\\n Than crave the hire which first we do deserve.\\r\\n Why in this wolvish toge should I stand here\\r\\n To beg of Hob and Dick that do appear\\r\\n Their needless vouches? Custom calls me to't.\\r\\n What custom wills, in all things should we do't,\\r\\n The dust on antique time would lie unswept,\\r\\n And mountainous error be too highly heap'd\\r\\n For truth to o'erpeer. Rather than fool it so,\\r\\n Let the high office and the honour go\\r\\n To one that would do thus. I am half through:\\r\\n The one part suffered, the other will I do.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter three citizens more\\r\\n\\r\\n Here come moe voices.\\r\\n Your voices. For your voices I have fought;\\r\\n Watch'd for your voices; for your voices bear\\r\\n Of wounds two dozen odd; battles thrice six\\r\\n I have seen and heard of; for your voices have\\r\\n Done many things, some less, some more. Your voices?\\r\\n Indeed, I would be consul.\\r\\n SIXTH CITIZEN. He has done nobly, and cannot go without any honest\\r\\n man's voice.\\r\\n SEVENTH CITIZEN. Therefore let him be consul. The gods give him\\r\\n joy, and make him good friend to the people!\\r\\n ALL. Amen, amen. God save thee, noble consul!\\r\\n Exeunt citizens\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Worthy voices!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter MENENIUS with BRUTUS and SICINIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n MENENIUS. You have stood your limitation, and the tribunes\\r\\n Endue you with the people's voice. Remains\\r\\n That, in th' official marks invested, you\\r\\n Anon do meet the Senate.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Is this done?\\r\\n SICINIUS. The custom of request you have discharg'd.\\r\\n The people do admit you, and are summon'd\\r\\n To meet anon, upon your approbation.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Where? At the Senate House?\\r\\n SICINIUS. There, Coriolanus.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. May I change these garments?\\r\\n SICINIUS. You may, sir.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. That I'll straight do, and, knowing myself again,\\r\\n Repair to th' Senate House.\\r\\n MENENIUS. I'll keep you company. Will you along?\\r\\n BRUTUS. We stay here for the people.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Fare you well.\\r\\n Exeunt CORIOLANUS and MENENIUS\\r\\n He has it now; and by his looks methinks\\r\\n 'Tis warm at's heart.\\r\\n BRUTUS. With a proud heart he wore\\r\\n His humble weeds. Will you dismiss the people?\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter citizens\\r\\n\\r\\n SICINIUS. How now, my masters! Have you chose this man?\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. He has our voices, sir.\\r\\n BRUTUS. We pray the gods he may deserve your loves.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Amen, sir. To my poor unworthy notice,\\r\\n He mock'd us when he begg'd our voices.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Certainly;\\r\\n He flouted us downright.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. No, 'tis his kind of speech- he did not mock us.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Not one amongst us, save yourself, but says\\r\\n He us'd us scornfully. He should have show'd us\\r\\n His marks of merit, wounds receiv'd for's country.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Why, so he did, I am sure.\\r\\n ALL. No, no; no man saw 'em.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. He said he had wounds which he could show in\\r\\n private,\\r\\n And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn,\\r\\n 'I would be consul,' says he; 'aged custom\\r\\n But by your voices will not so permit me;\\r\\n Your voices therefore.' When we granted that,\\r\\n Here was 'I thank you for your voices. Thank you,\\r\\n Your most sweet voices. Now you have left your voices,\\r\\n I have no further with you.' Was not this mockery?\\r\\n SICINIUS. Why either were you ignorant to see't,\\r\\n Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness\\r\\n To yield your voices?\\r\\n BRUTUS. Could you not have told him-\\r\\n As you were lesson'd- when he had no power\\r\\n But was a petty servant to the state,\\r\\n He was your enemy; ever spake against\\r\\n Your liberties and the charters that you bear\\r\\n I' th' body of the weal; and now, arriving\\r\\n A place of potency and sway o' th' state,\\r\\n If he should still malignantly remain\\r\\n Fast foe to th' plebeii, your voices might\\r\\n Be curses to yourselves? You should have said\\r\\n That as his worthy deeds did claim no less\\r\\n Than what he stood for, so his gracious nature\\r\\n Would think upon you for your voices, and\\r\\n Translate his malice towards you into love,\\r\\n Standing your friendly lord.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Thus to have said,\\r\\n As you were fore-advis'd, had touch'd his spirit\\r\\n And tried his inclination; from him pluck'd\\r\\n Either his gracious promise, which you might,\\r\\n As cause had call'd you up, have held him to;\\r\\n Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature,\\r\\n Which easily endures not article\\r\\n Tying him to aught. So, putting him to rage,\\r\\n You should have ta'en th' advantage of his choler\\r\\n And pass'd him unelected.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Did you perceive\\r\\n He did solicit you in free contempt\\r\\n When he did need your loves; and do you think\\r\\n That his contempt shall not be bruising to you\\r\\n When he hath power to crush? Why, had your bodies\\r\\n No heart among you? Or had you tongues to cry\\r\\n Against the rectorship of judgment?\\r\\n SICINIUS. Have you\\r\\n Ere now denied the asker, and now again,\\r\\n Of him that did not ask but mock, bestow\\r\\n Your su'd-for tongues?\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. He's not confirm'd: we may deny him yet.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZENS. And will deny him;\\r\\n I'll have five hundred voices of that sound.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. I twice five hundred, and their friends to piece\\r\\n 'em.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Get you hence instantly, and tell those friends\\r\\n They have chose a consul that will from them take\\r\\n Their liberties, make them of no more voice\\r\\n Than dogs, that are as often beat for barking\\r\\n As therefore kept to do so.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Let them assemble;\\r\\n And, on a safer judgment, all revoke\\r\\n Your ignorant election. Enforce his pride\\r\\n And his old hate unto you; besides, forget not\\r\\n With what contempt he wore the humble weed;\\r\\n How in his suit he scorn'd you; but your loves,\\r\\n Thinking upon his services, took from you\\r\\n Th' apprehension of his present portance,\\r\\n Which, most gibingly, ungravely, he did fashion\\r\\n After the inveterate hate he bears you.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Lay\\r\\n A fault on us, your tribunes, that we labour'd,\\r\\n No impediment between, but that you must\\r\\n Cast your election on him.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Say you chose him\\r\\n More after our commandment than as guided\\r\\n By your own true affections; and that your minds,\\r\\n Pre-occupied with what you rather must do\\r\\n Than what you should, made you against the grain\\r\\n To voice him consul. Lay the fault on us.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Ay, spare us not. Say we read lectures to you,\\r\\n How youngly he began to serve his country,\\r\\n How long continued; and what stock he springs of-\\r\\n The noble house o' th' Marcians; from whence came\\r\\n That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son,\\r\\n Who, after great Hostilius, here was king;\\r\\n Of the same house Publius and Quintus were,\\r\\n That our best water brought by conduits hither;\\r\\n And Censorinus, nobly named so,\\r\\n Twice being by the people chosen censor,\\r\\n Was his great ancestor.\\r\\n SICINIUS. One thus descended,\\r\\n That hath beside well in his person wrought\\r\\n To be set high in place, we did commend\\r\\n To your remembrances; but you have found,\\r\\n Scaling his present bearing with his past,\\r\\n That he's your fixed enemy, and revoke\\r\\n Your sudden approbation.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Say you ne'er had done't-\\r\\n Harp on that still- but by our putting on;\\r\\n And presently, when you have drawn your number,\\r\\n Repair to th' Capitol.\\r\\n CITIZENS. will will so; almost all\\r\\n Repent in their election. Exeunt plebeians\\r\\n BRUTUS. Let them go on;\\r\\n This mutiny were better put in hazard\\r\\n Than stay, past doubt, for greater.\\r\\n If, as his nature is, he fall in rage\\r\\n With their refusal, both observe and answer\\r\\n The vantage of his anger.\\r\\n SICINIUS. To th' Capitol, come.\\r\\n We will be there before the stream o' th' people;\\r\\n And this shall seem, as partly 'tis, their own,\\r\\n Which we have goaded onward. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. Rome. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nCornets. Enter CORIOLANUS, MENENIUS, all the GENTRY, COMINIUS,\\r\\nTITUS LARTIUS, and other SENATORS\\r\\n\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Tullus Aufidius, then, had made new head?\\r\\n LARTIUS. He had, my lord; and that it was which caus'd\\r\\n Our swifter composition.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. So then the Volsces stand but as at first,\\r\\n Ready, when time shall prompt them, to make road\\r\\n Upon's again.\\r\\n COMINIUS. They are worn, Lord Consul, so\\r\\n That we shall hardly in our ages see\\r\\n Their banners wave again.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Saw you Aufidius?\\r\\n LARTIUS. On safeguard he came to me, and did curse\\r\\n Against the Volsces, for they had so vilely\\r\\n Yielded the town. He is retir'd to Antium.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Spoke he of me?\\r\\n LARTIUS. He did, my lord.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. How? What?\\r\\n LARTIUS. How often he had met you, sword to sword;\\r\\n That of all things upon the earth he hated\\r\\n Your person most; that he would pawn his fortunes\\r\\n To hopeless restitution, so he might\\r\\n Be call'd your vanquisher.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. At Antium lives he?\\r\\n LARTIUS. At Antium.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. I wish I had a cause to seek him there,\\r\\n To oppose his hatred fully. Welcome home.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SICINIUS and BRUTUS\\r\\n\\r\\n Behold, these are the tribunes of the people,\\r\\n The tongues o' th' common mouth. I do despise them,\\r\\n For they do prank them in authority,\\r\\n Against all noble sufferance.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Pass no further.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Ha! What is that?\\r\\n BRUTUS. It will be dangerous to go on- no further.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. What makes this change?\\r\\n MENENIUS. The matter?\\r\\n COMINIUS. Hath he not pass'd the noble and the common?\\r\\n BRUTUS. Cominius, no.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Have I had children's voices?\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Tribunes, give way: he shall to th' market-place.\\r\\n BRUTUS. The people are incens'd against him.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Stop,\\r\\n Or all will fall in broil.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Are these your herd?\\r\\n Must these have voices, that can yield them now\\r\\n And straight disclaim their tongues? What are your offices?\\r\\n You being their mouths, why rule you not their teeth?\\r\\n Have you not set them on?\\r\\n MENENIUS. Be calm, be calm.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. It is a purpos'd thing, and grows by plot,\\r\\n To curb the will of the nobility;\\r\\n Suffer't, and live with such as cannot rule\\r\\n Nor ever will be rul'd.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Call't not a plot.\\r\\n The people cry you mock'd them; and of late,\\r\\n When corn was given them gratis, you repin'd;\\r\\n Scandal'd the suppliants for the people, call'd them\\r\\n Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Why, this was known before.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Not to them all.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Have you inform'd them sithence?\\r\\n BRUTUS. How? I inform them!\\r\\n COMINIUS. You are like to do such business.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Not unlike\\r\\n Each way to better yours.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Why then should I be consul? By yond clouds,\\r\\n Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me\\r\\n Your fellow tribune.\\r\\n SICINIUS. You show too much of that\\r\\n For which the people stir; if you will pass\\r\\n To where you are bound, you must enquire your way,\\r\\n Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit,\\r\\n Or never be so noble as a consul,\\r\\n Nor yoke with him for tribune.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Let's be calm.\\r\\n COMINIUS. The people are abus'd; set on. This palt'ring\\r\\n Becomes not Rome; nor has Coriolanus\\r\\n Deserved this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely\\r\\n I' th' plain way of his merit.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Tell me of corn!\\r\\n This was my speech, and I will speak't again-\\r\\n MENENIUS. Not now, not now.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Not in this heat, sir, now.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Now, as I live, I will.\\r\\n My nobler friends, I crave their pardons.\\r\\n For the mutable, rank-scented meiny, let them\\r\\n Regard me as I do not flatter, and\\r\\n Therein behold themselves. I say again,\\r\\n In soothing them we nourish 'gainst our Senate\\r\\n The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition,\\r\\n Which we ourselves have plough'd for, sow'd, and scatter'd,\\r\\n By mingling them with us, the honour'd number,\\r\\n Who lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that\\r\\n Which they have given to beggars.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Well, no more.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. No more words, we beseech you.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. How? no more!\\r\\n As for my country I have shed my blood,\\r\\n Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs\\r\\n Coin words till their decay against those measles\\r\\n Which we disdain should tetter us, yet sought\\r\\n The very way to catch them.\\r\\n BRUTUS. You speak o' th' people\\r\\n As if you were a god, to punish; not\\r\\n A man of their infirmity.\\r\\n SICINIUS. 'Twere well\\r\\n We let the people know't.\\r\\n MENENIUS. What, what? his choler?\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Choler!\\r\\n Were I as patient as the midnight sleep,\\r\\n By Jove, 'twould be my mind!\\r\\n SICINIUS. It is a mind\\r\\n That shall remain a poison where it is,\\r\\n Not poison any further.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Shall remain!\\r\\n Hear you this Triton of the minnows? Mark you\\r\\n His absolute 'shall'?\\r\\n COMINIUS. 'Twas from the canon.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. 'Shall'!\\r\\n O good but most unwise patricians! Why,\\r\\n You grave but reckless senators, have you thus\\r\\n Given Hydra here to choose an officer\\r\\n That with his peremptory 'shall,' being but\\r\\n The horn and noise o' th' monster's, wants not spirit\\r\\n To say he'll turn your current in a ditch,\\r\\n And make your channel his? If he have power,\\r\\n Then vail your ignorance; if none, awake\\r\\n Your dangerous lenity. If you are learn'd,\\r\\n Be not as common fools; if you are not,\\r\\n Let them have cushions by you. You are plebeians,\\r\\n If they be senators; and they are no less,\\r\\n When, both your voices blended, the great'st taste\\r\\n Most palates theirs. They choose their magistrate;\\r\\n And such a one as he, who puts his 'shall,'\\r\\n His popular 'shall,' against a graver bench\\r\\n Than ever frown'd in Greece. By Jove himself,\\r\\n It makes the consuls base; and my soul aches\\r\\n To know, when two authorities are up,\\r\\n Neither supreme, how soon confusion\\r\\n May enter 'twixt the gap of both and take\\r\\n The one by th' other.\\r\\n COMINIUS. Well, on to th' market-place.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Whoever gave that counsel to give forth\\r\\n The corn o' th' storehouse gratis, as 'twas us'd\\r\\n Sometime in Greece-\\r\\n MENENIUS. Well, well, no more of that.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Though there the people had more absolute pow'r-\\r\\n I say they nourish'd disobedience, fed\\r\\n The ruin of the state.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Why shall the people give\\r\\n One that speaks thus their voice?\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. I'll give my reasons,\\r\\n More worthier than their voices. They know the corn\\r\\n Was not our recompense, resting well assur'd\\r\\n They ne'er did service for't; being press'd to th' war\\r\\n Even when the navel of the state was touch'd,\\r\\n They would not thread the gates. This kind of service\\r\\n Did not deserve corn gratis. Being i' th' war,\\r\\n Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd\\r\\n Most valour, spoke not for them. Th' accusation\\r\\n Which they have often made against the Senate,\\r\\n All cause unborn, could never be the native\\r\\n Of our so frank donation. Well, what then?\\r\\n How shall this bosom multiplied digest\\r\\n The Senate's courtesy? Let deeds express\\r\\n What's like to be their words: 'We did request it;\\r\\n We are the greater poll, and in true fear\\r\\n They gave us our demands.' Thus we debase\\r\\n The nature of our seats, and make the rabble\\r\\n Call our cares fears; which will in time\\r\\n Break ope the locks o' th' Senate and bring in\\r\\n The crows to peck the eagles.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Come, enough.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Enough, with over measure.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. No, take more.\\r\\n What may be sworn by, both divine and human,\\r\\n Seal what I end withal! This double worship,\\r\\n Where one part does disdain with cause, the other\\r\\n Insult without all reason; where gentry, title, wisdom,\\r\\n Cannot conclude but by the yea and no\\r\\n Of general ignorance- it must omit\\r\\n Real necessities, and give way the while\\r\\n To unstable slightness. Purpose so barr'd, it follows\\r\\n Nothing is done to purpose. Therefore, beseech you-\\r\\n You that will be less fearful than discreet;\\r\\n That love the fundamental part of state\\r\\n More than you doubt the change on't; that prefer\\r\\n A noble life before a long, and wish\\r\\n To jump a body with a dangerous physic\\r\\n That's sure of death without it- at once pluck out\\r\\n The multitudinous tongue; let them not lick\\r\\n The sweet which is their poison. Your dishonour\\r\\n Mangles true judgment, and bereaves the state\\r\\n Of that integrity which should become't,\\r\\n Not having the power to do the good it would,\\r\\n For th' ill which doth control't.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Has said enough.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Has spoken like a traitor and shall answer\\r\\n As traitors do.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Thou wretch, despite o'erwhelm thee!\\r\\n What should the people do with these bald tribunes,\\r\\n On whom depending, their obedience fails\\r\\n To the greater bench? In a rebellion,\\r\\n When what's not meet, but what must be, was law,\\r\\n Then were they chosen; in a better hour\\r\\n Let what is meet be said it must be meet,\\r\\n And throw their power i' th' dust.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Manifest treason!\\r\\n SICINIUS. This a consul? No.\\r\\n BRUTUS. The aediles, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter an AEDILE\\r\\n\\r\\n Let him be apprehended.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Go call the people, [Exit AEDILE] in whose name myself\\r\\n Attach thee as a traitorous innovator,\\r\\n A foe to th' public weal. Obey, I charge thee,\\r\\n And follow to thine answer.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Hence, old goat!\\r\\n PATRICIANS. We'll surety him.\\r\\n COMINIUS. Ag'd sir, hands off.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Hence, rotten thing! or I shall shake thy bones\\r\\n Out of thy garments.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Help, ye citizens!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a rabble of plebeians, with the AEDILES\\r\\n\\r\\n MENENIUS. On both sides more respect.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Here's he that would take from you all your power.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Seize him, aediles.\\r\\n PLEBEIANS. Down with him! down with him!\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. Weapons, weapons, weapons!\\r\\n [They all bustle about CORIOLANUS]\\r\\n ALL. Tribunes! patricians! citizens! What, ho! Sicinius!\\r\\n Brutus! Coriolanus! Citizens!\\r\\n PATRICIANS. Peace, peace, peace; stay, hold, peace!\\r\\n MENENIUS. What is about to be? I am out of breath;\\r\\n Confusion's near; I cannot speak. You tribunes\\r\\n To th' people- Coriolanus, patience!\\r\\n Speak, good Sicinius.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Hear me, people; peace!\\r\\n PLEBEIANS. Let's hear our tribune. Peace! Speak, speak, speak.\\r\\n SICINIUS. You are at point to lose your liberties.\\r\\n Marcius would have all from you; Marcius,\\r\\n Whom late you have nam'd for consul.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Fie, fie, fie!\\r\\n This is the way to kindle, not to quench.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. To unbuild the city, and to lay all flat.\\r\\n SICINIUS. What is the city but the people?\\r\\n PLEBEIANS. True,\\r\\n The people are the city.\\r\\n BRUTUS. By the consent of all we were establish'd\\r\\n The people's magistrates.\\r\\n PLEBEIANS. You so remain.\\r\\n MENENIUS. And so are like to do.\\r\\n COMINIUS. That is the way to lay the city flat,\\r\\n To bring the roof to the foundation,\\r\\n And bury all which yet distinctly ranges\\r\\n In heaps and piles of ruin.\\r\\n SICINIUS. This deserves death.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Or let us stand to our authority\\r\\n Or let us lose it. We do here pronounce,\\r\\n Upon the part o' th' people, in whose power\\r\\n We were elected theirs: Marcius is worthy\\r\\n Of present death.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Therefore lay hold of him;\\r\\n Bear him to th' rock Tarpeian, and from thence\\r\\n Into destruction cast him.\\r\\n BRUTUS. AEdiles, seize him.\\r\\n PLEBEIANS. Yield, Marcius, yield.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Hear me one word; beseech you, Tribunes,\\r\\n Hear me but a word.\\r\\n AEDILES. Peace, peace!\\r\\n MENENIUS. Be that you seem, truly your country's friend,\\r\\n And temp'rately proceed to what you would\\r\\n Thus violently redress.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Sir, those cold ways,\\r\\n That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous\\r\\n Where the disease is violent. Lay hands upon him\\r\\n And bear him to the rock.\\r\\n [CORIOLANUS draws his sword]\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. No: I'll die here.\\r\\n There's some among you have beheld me fighting;\\r\\n Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Down with that sword! Tribunes, withdraw awhile.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Lay hands upon him.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Help Marcius, help,\\r\\n You that be noble; help him, young and old.\\r\\n PLEBEIANS. Down with him, down with him!\\r\\n [In this mutiny the TRIBUNES, the AEDILES,\\r\\n and the people are beat in]\\r\\n MENENIUS. Go, get you to your house; be gone, away.\\r\\n All will be nought else.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. Get you gone.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Stand fast;\\r\\n We have as many friends as enemies.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Shall it be put to that?\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. The gods forbid!\\r\\n I prithee, noble friend, home to thy house;\\r\\n Leave us to cure this cause.\\r\\n MENENIUS. For 'tis a sore upon us\\r\\n You cannot tent yourself; be gone, beseech you.\\r\\n COMINIUS. Come, sir, along with us.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. I would they were barbarians, as they are,\\r\\n Though in Rome litter'd; not Romans, as they are not,\\r\\n Though calved i' th' porch o' th' Capitol.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Be gone.\\r\\n Put not your worthy rage into your tongue;\\r\\n One time will owe another.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. On fair ground\\r\\n I could beat forty of them.\\r\\n MENENIUS. I could myself\\r\\n Take up a brace o' th' best of them; yea, the two tribunes.\\r\\n COMINIUS. But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic,\\r\\n And manhood is call'd foolery when it stands\\r\\n Against a falling fabric. Will you hence,\\r\\n Before the tag return? whose rage doth rend\\r\\n Like interrupted waters, and o'erbear\\r\\n What they are us'd to bear.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Pray you be gone.\\r\\n I'll try whether my old wit be in request\\r\\n With those that have but little; this must be patch'd\\r\\n With cloth of any colour.\\r\\n COMINIUS. Nay, come away.\\r\\n Exeunt CORIOLANUS and COMINIUS, with others\\r\\n PATRICIANS. This man has marr'd his fortune.\\r\\n MENENIUS. His nature is too noble for the world:\\r\\n He would not flatter Neptune for his trident,\\r\\n Or Jove for's power to thunder. His heart's his mouth;\\r\\n What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent;\\r\\n And, being angry, does forget that ever\\r\\n He heard the name of death. [A noise within]\\r\\n Here's goodly work!\\r\\n PATRICIANS. I would they were a-bed.\\r\\n MENENIUS. I would they were in Tiber.\\r\\n What the vengeance, could he not speak 'em fair?\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter BRUTUS and SICINIUS, the rabble again\\r\\n\\r\\n SICINIUS. Where is this viper\\r\\n That would depopulate the city and\\r\\n Be every man himself?\\r\\n MENENIUS. You worthy Tribunes-\\r\\n SICINIUS. He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock\\r\\n With rigorous hands; he hath resisted law,\\r\\n And therefore law shall scorn him further trial\\r\\n Than the severity of the public power,\\r\\n Which he so sets at nought.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. He shall well know\\r\\n The noble tribunes are the people's mouths,\\r\\n And we their hands.\\r\\n PLEBEIANS. He shall, sure on't.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Sir, sir-\\r\\n SICINIUS. Peace!\\r\\n MENENIUS. Do not cry havoc, where you should but hunt\\r\\n With modest warrant.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Sir, how comes't that you\\r\\n Have holp to make this rescue?\\r\\n MENENIUS. Hear me speak.\\r\\n As I do know the consul's worthiness,\\r\\n So can I name his faults.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Consul! What consul?\\r\\n MENENIUS. The consul Coriolanus.\\r\\n BRUTUS. He consul!\\r\\n PLEBEIANS. No, no, no, no, no.\\r\\n MENENIUS. If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good people,\\r\\n I may be heard, I would crave a word or two;\\r\\n The which shall turn you to no further harm\\r\\n Than so much loss of time.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Speak briefly, then,\\r\\n For we are peremptory to dispatch\\r\\n This viperous traitor; to eject him hence\\r\\n Were but one danger, and to keep him here\\r\\n Our certain death; therefore it is decreed\\r\\n He dies to-night.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Now the good gods forbid\\r\\n That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude\\r\\n Towards her deserved children is enroll'd\\r\\n In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam\\r\\n Should now eat up her own!\\r\\n SICINIUS. He's a disease that must be cut away.\\r\\n MENENIUS. O, he's a limb that has but a disease-\\r\\n Mortal, to cut it off: to cure it, easy.\\r\\n What has he done to Rome that's worthy death?\\r\\n Killing our enemies, the blood he hath lost-\\r\\n Which I dare vouch is more than that he hath\\r\\n By many an ounce- he dropt it for his country;\\r\\n And what is left, to lose it by his country\\r\\n Were to us all that do't and suffer it\\r\\n A brand to th' end o' th' world.\\r\\n SICINIUS. This is clean kam.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Merely awry. When he did love his country,\\r\\n It honour'd him.\\r\\n SICINIUS. The service of the foot,\\r\\n Being once gangren'd, is not then respected\\r\\n For what before it was.\\r\\n BRUTUS. We'll hear no more.\\r\\n Pursue him to his house and pluck him thence,\\r\\n Lest his infection, being of catching nature,\\r\\n Spread further.\\r\\n MENENIUS. One word more, one word\\r\\n This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find\\r\\n The harm of unscann'd swiftness, will, too late,\\r\\n Tie leaden pounds to's heels. Proceed by process,\\r\\n Lest parties- as he is belov'd- break out,\\r\\n And sack great Rome with Romans.\\r\\n BRUTUS. If it were so-\\r\\n SICINIUS. What do ye talk?\\r\\n Have we not had a taste of his obedience-\\r\\n Our aediles smote, ourselves resisted? Come!\\r\\n MENENIUS. Consider this: he has been bred i' th' wars\\r\\n Since 'a could draw a sword, and is ill school'd\\r\\n In bolted language; meal and bran together\\r\\n He throws without distinction. Give me leave,\\r\\n I'll go to him and undertake to bring him\\r\\n Where he shall answer by a lawful form,\\r\\n In peace, to his utmost peril.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Noble Tribunes,\\r\\n It is the humane way; the other course\\r\\n Will prove too bloody, and the end of it\\r\\n Unknown to the beginning.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Noble Menenius,\\r\\n Be you then as the people's officer.\\r\\n Masters, lay down your weapons.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Go not home.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Meet on the market-place. We'll attend you there;\\r\\n Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll proceed\\r\\n In our first way.\\r\\n MENENIUS. I'll bring him to you.\\r\\n [To the SENATORS] Let me desire your company; he must come,\\r\\n Or what is worst will follow.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Pray you let's to him. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Rome. The house of CORIOLANUS\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter CORIOLANUS with NOBLES\\r\\n\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Let them pull all about mine ears, present me\\r\\n Death on the wheel or at wild horses' heels;\\r\\n Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock,\\r\\n That the precipitation might down stretch\\r\\n Below the beam of sight; yet will I still\\r\\n Be thus to them.\\r\\n FIRST PATRICIAN. You do the nobler.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. I muse my mother\\r\\n Does not approve me further, who was wont\\r\\n To call them woollen vassals, things created\\r\\n To buy and sell with groats; to show bare heads\\r\\n In congregations, to yawn, be still, and wonder,\\r\\n When one but of my ordinance stood up\\r\\n To speak of peace or war.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter VOLUMNIA\\r\\n\\r\\n I talk of you:\\r\\n Why did you wish me milder? Would you have me\\r\\n False to my nature? Rather say I play\\r\\n The man I am.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. O, sir, sir, sir,\\r\\n I would have had you put your power well on\\r\\n Before you had worn it out.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Let go.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. You might have been enough the man you are\\r\\n With striving less to be so; lesser had been\\r\\n The thwartings of your dispositions, if\\r\\n You had not show'd them how ye were dispos'd,\\r\\n Ere they lack'd power to cross you.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Let them hang.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Ay, and burn too.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MENENIUS with the SENATORS\\r\\n\\r\\n MENENIUS. Come, come, you have been too rough, something too rough;\\r\\n You must return and mend it.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. There's no remedy,\\r\\n Unless, by not so doing, our good city\\r\\n Cleave in the midst and perish.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Pray be counsell'd;\\r\\n I have a heart as little apt as yours,\\r\\n But yet a brain that leads my use of anger\\r\\n To better vantage.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Well said, noble woman!\\r\\n Before he should thus stoop to th' herd, but that\\r\\n The violent fit o' th' time craves it as physic\\r\\n For the whole state, I would put mine armour on,\\r\\n Which I can scarcely bear.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. What must I do?\\r\\n MENENIUS. Return to th' tribunes.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Well, what then, what then?\\r\\n MENENIUS. Repent what you have spoke.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. For them! I cannot do it to the gods;\\r\\n Must I then do't to them?\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. You are too absolute;\\r\\n Though therein you can never be too noble\\r\\n But when extremities speak. I have heard you say\\r\\n Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends,\\r\\n I' th' war do grow together; grant that, and tell me\\r\\n In peace what each of them by th' other lose\\r\\n That they combine not there.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Tush, tush!\\r\\n MENENIUS. A good demand.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. If it be honour in your wars to seem\\r\\n The same you are not, which for your best ends\\r\\n You adopt your policy, how is it less or worse\\r\\n That it shall hold companionship in peace\\r\\n With honour as in war; since that to both\\r\\n It stands in like request?\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Why force you this?\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Because that now it lies you on to speak\\r\\n To th' people, not by your own instruction,\\r\\n Nor by th' matter which your heart prompts you,\\r\\n But with such words that are but roted in\\r\\n Your tongue, though but bastards and syllables\\r\\n Of no allowance to your bosom's truth.\\r\\n Now, this no more dishonours you at all\\r\\n Than to take in a town with gentle words,\\r\\n Which else would put you to your fortune and\\r\\n The hazard of much blood.\\r\\n I would dissemble with my nature where\\r\\n My fortunes and my friends at stake requir'd\\r\\n I should do so in honour. I am in this\\r\\n Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles;\\r\\n And you will rather show our general louts\\r\\n How you can frown, than spend a fawn upon 'em\\r\\n For the inheritance of their loves and safeguard\\r\\n Of what that want might ruin.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Noble lady!\\r\\n Come, go with us, speak fair; you may salve so,\\r\\n Not what is dangerous present, but the los\\r\\n Of what is past.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. I prithee now, My son,\\r\\n Go to them with this bonnet in thy hand;\\r\\n And thus far having stretch'd it- here be with them-\\r\\n Thy knee bussing the stones- for in such busines\\r\\n Action is eloquence, and the eyes of th' ignorant\\r\\n More learned than the ears- waving thy head,\\r\\n Which often thus correcting thy-stout heart,\\r\\n Now humble as the ripest mulberry\\r\\n That will not hold the handling. Or say to them\\r\\n Thou art their soldier and, being bred in broils,\\r\\n Hast not the soft way which, thou dost confess,\\r\\n Were fit for thee to use, as they to claim,\\r\\n In asking their good loves; but thou wilt frame\\r\\n Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far\\r\\n As thou hast power and person.\\r\\n MENENIUS. This but done\\r\\n Even as she speaks, why, their hearts were yours;\\r\\n For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free\\r\\n As words to little purpose.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Prithee now,\\r\\n Go, and be rul'd; although I know thou hadst rather\\r\\n Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf\\r\\n Than flatter him in a bower.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter COMINIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n Here is Cominius.\\r\\n COMINIUS. I have been i' th' market-place; and, sir, 'tis fit\\r\\n You make strong party, or defend yourself\\r\\n By calmness or by absence; all's in anger.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Only fair speech.\\r\\n COMINIUS. I think 'twill serve, if he\\r\\n Can thereto frame his spirit.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. He must and will.\\r\\n Prithee now, say you will, and go about it.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Must I go show them my unbarb'd sconce? Must I\\r\\n With my base tongue give to my noble heart\\r\\n A lie that it must bear? Well, I will do't;\\r\\n Yet, were there but this single plot to lose,\\r\\n This mould of Marcius, they to dust should grind it,\\r\\n And throw't against the wind. To th' market-place!\\r\\n You have put me now to such a part which never\\r\\n I shall discharge to th' life.\\r\\n COMINIUS. Come, come, we'll prompt you.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. I prithee now, sweet son, as thou hast said\\r\\n My praises made thee first a soldier, so,\\r\\n To have my praise for this, perform a part\\r\\n Thou hast not done before.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Well, I must do't.\\r\\n Away, my disposition, and possess me\\r\\n Some harlot's spirit! My throat of war be turn'd,\\r\\n Which quier'd with my drum, into a pipe\\r\\n Small as an eunuch or the virgin voice\\r\\n That babies lulls asleep! The smiles of knaves\\r\\n Tent in my cheeks, and schoolboys' tears take up\\r\\n The glasses of my sight! A beggar's tongue\\r\\n Make motion through my lips, and my arm'd knees,\\r\\n Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his\\r\\n That hath receiv'd an alms! I will not do't,\\r\\n Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth,\\r\\n And by my body's action teach my mind\\r\\n A most inherent baseness.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. At thy choice, then.\\r\\n To beg of thee, it is my more dishonour\\r\\n Than thou of them. Come all to ruin. Let\\r\\n Thy mother rather feel thy pride than fear\\r\\n Thy dangerous stoutness; for I mock at death\\r\\n With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list.\\r\\n Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it from me;\\r\\n But owe thy pride thyself.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Pray be content.\\r\\n Mother, I am going to the market-place;\\r\\n Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their loves,\\r\\n Cog their hearts from them, and come home belov'd\\r\\n Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am going.\\r\\n Commend me to my wife. I'll return consul,\\r\\n Or never trust to what my tongue can do\\r\\n I' th' way of flattery further.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Do your will. Exit\\r\\n COMINIUS. Away! The tribunes do attend you. Arm yourself\\r\\n To answer mildly; for they are prepar'd\\r\\n With accusations, as I hear, more strong\\r\\n Than are upon you yet.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. The word is 'mildly.' Pray you let us go.\\r\\n Let them accuse me by invention; I\\r\\n Will answer in mine honour.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Ay, but mildly.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Well, mildly be it then- mildly. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Rome. The Forum\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SICINIUS and BRUTUS\\r\\n\\r\\n BRUTUS. In this point charge him home, that he affects\\r\\n Tyrannical power. If he evade us there,\\r\\n Enforce him with his envy to the people,\\r\\n And that the spoil got on the Antiates\\r\\n Was ne'er distributed.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter an AEDILE\\r\\n\\r\\n What, will he come?\\r\\n AEDILE. He's coming.\\r\\n BRUTUS. How accompanied?\\r\\n AEDILE. With old Menenius, and those senators\\r\\n That always favour'd him.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Have you a catalogue\\r\\n Of all the voices that we have procur'd,\\r\\n Set down by th' poll?\\r\\n AEDILE. I have; 'tis ready.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Have you corrected them by tribes?\\r\\n AEDILE. I have.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Assemble presently the people hither;\\r\\n And when they hear me say 'It shall be so\\r\\n I' th' right and strength o' th' commons' be it either\\r\\n For death, for fine, or banishment, then let them,\\r\\n If I say fine, cry 'Fine!'- if death, cry 'Death!'\\r\\n Insisting on the old prerogative\\r\\n And power i' th' truth o' th' cause.\\r\\n AEDILE. I shall inform them.\\r\\n BRUTUS. And when such time they have begun to cry,\\r\\n Let them not cease, but with a din confus'd\\r\\n Enforce the present execution\\r\\n Of what we chance to sentence.\\r\\n AEDILE. Very well.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Make them be strong, and ready for this hint,\\r\\n When we shall hap to give't them.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Go about it. Exit AEDILE\\r\\n Put him to choler straight. He hath been us'd\\r\\n Ever to conquer, and to have his worth\\r\\n Of contradiction; being once chaf'd, he cannot\\r\\n Be rein'd again to temperance; then he speaks\\r\\n What's in his heart, and that is there which looks\\r\\n With us to break his neck.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CORIOLANUS, MENENIUS and COMINIUS, with others\\r\\n\\r\\n SICINIUS. Well, here he comes.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Calmly, I do beseech you.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Ay, as an ostler, that for th' poorest piece\\r\\n Will bear the knave by th' volume. Th' honour'd gods\\r\\n Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice\\r\\n Supplied with worthy men! plant love among's!\\r\\n Throng our large temples with the shows of peace,\\r\\n And not our streets with war!\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Amen, amen!\\r\\n MENENIUS. A noble wish.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter the.AEDILE,with the plebeians\\r\\n\\r\\n SICINIUS. Draw near, ye people.\\r\\n AEDILE. List to your tribunes. Audience! peace, I say!\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. First, hear me speak.\\r\\n BOTH TRIBUNES. Well, say. Peace, ho!\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Shall I be charg'd no further than this present?\\r\\n Must all determine here?\\r\\n SICINIUS. I do demand,\\r\\n If you submit you to the people's voices,\\r\\n Allow their officers, and are content\\r\\n To suffer lawful censure for such faults\\r\\n As shall be prov'd upon you.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. I am content.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Lo, citizens, he says he is content.\\r\\n The warlike service he has done, consider; think\\r\\n Upon the wounds his body bears, which show\\r\\n Like graves i' th' holy churchyard.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Scratches with briers,\\r\\n Scars to move laughter only.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Consider further,\\r\\n That when he speaks not like a citizen,\\r\\n You find him like a soldier; do not take\\r\\n His rougher accents for malicious sounds,\\r\\n But, as I say, such as become a soldier\\r\\n Rather than envy you.\\r\\n COMINIUS. Well, well! No more.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. What is the matter,\\r\\n That being pass'd for consul with full voice,\\r\\n I am so dishonour'd that the very hour\\r\\n You take it off again?\\r\\n SICINIUS. Answer to us.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Say then; 'tis true, I ought so.\\r\\n SICINIUS. We charge you that you have contriv'd to take\\r\\n From Rome all season'd office, and to wind\\r\\n Yourself into a power tyrannical;\\r\\n For which you are a traitor to the people.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. How- traitor?\\r\\n MENENIUS. Nay, temperately! Your promise.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. The fires i' th' lowest hell fold in the people!\\r\\n Call me their traitor! Thou injurious tribune!\\r\\n Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths,\\r\\n In thy hands clutch'd as many millions, in\\r\\n Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say\\r\\n 'Thou liest' unto thee with a voice as free\\r\\n As I do pray the gods.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Mark you this, people?\\r\\n PLEBEIANS. To th' rock, to th' rock, with him!\\r\\n SICINIUS. Peace!\\r\\n We need not put new matter to his charge.\\r\\n What you have seen him do and heard him speak,\\r\\n Beating your officers, cursing yourselves,\\r\\n Opposing laws with strokes, and here defying\\r\\n Those whose great power must try him- even this,\\r\\n So criminal and in such capital kind,\\r\\n Deserves th' extremest death.\\r\\n BRUTUS. But since he hath\\r\\n Serv'd well for Rome-\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. What do you prate of service?\\r\\n BRUTUS. I talk of that that know it.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. You!\\r\\n MENENIUS. Is this the promise that you made your mother?\\r\\n COMINIUS. Know, I pray you-\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. I'll know no further.\\r\\n Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death,\\r\\n Vagabond exile, flaying, pent to linger\\r\\n But with a grain a day, I would not buy\\r\\n Their mercy at the price of one fair word,\\r\\n Nor check my courage for what they can give,\\r\\n To have't with saying 'Good morrow.'\\r\\n SICINIUS. For that he has-\\r\\n As much as in him lies- from time to time\\r\\n Envied against the people, seeking means\\r\\n To pluck away their power; as now at last\\r\\n Given hostile strokes, and that not in the presence\\r\\n Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers\\r\\n That do distribute it- in the name o' th' people,\\r\\n And in the power of us the tribunes, we,\\r\\n Ev'n from this instant, banish him our city,\\r\\n In peril of precipitation\\r\\n From off the rock Tarpeian, never more\\r\\n To enter our Rome gates. I' th' people's name,\\r\\n I say it shall be so.\\r\\n PLEBEIANS. It shall be so, it shall be so! Let him away!\\r\\n He's banish'd, and it shall be so.\\r\\n COMINIUS. Hear me, my masters and my common friends-\\r\\n SICINIUS. He's sentenc'd; no more hearing.\\r\\n COMINIUS. Let me speak.\\r\\n I have been consul, and can show for Rome\\r\\n Her enemies' marks upon me. I do love\\r\\n My country's good with a respect more tender,\\r\\n More holy and profound, than mine own life,\\r\\n My dear wife's estimate, her womb's increase\\r\\n And treasure of my loins. Then if I would\\r\\n Speak that-\\r\\n SICINIUS. We know your drift. Speak what?\\r\\n BRUTUS. There's no more to be said, but he is banish'd,\\r\\n As enemy to the people and his country.\\r\\n It shall be so.\\r\\n PLEBEIANS. It shall be so, it shall be so.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. YOU common cry of curs, whose breath I hate\\r\\n As reek o' th' rotten fens, whose loves I prize\\r\\n As the dead carcasses of unburied men\\r\\n That do corrupt my air- I banish you.\\r\\n And here remain with your uncertainty!\\r\\n Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts;\\r\\n Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes,\\r\\n Fan you into despair! Have the power still\\r\\n To banish your defenders, till at length\\r\\n Your ignorance- which finds not till it feels,\\r\\n Making but reservation of yourselves\\r\\n Still your own foes- deliver you\\r\\n As most abated captives to some nation\\r\\n That won you without blows! Despising\\r\\n For you the city, thus I turn my back;\\r\\n There is a world elsewhere.\\r\\n Exeunt CORIOLANUS,\\r\\n COMINIUS, MENENIUS, with the other PATRICIANS\\r\\n AEDILE. The people's enemy is gone, is gone!\\r\\n [They all shout and throw up their caps]\\r\\n PLEBEIANS. Our enemy is banish'd, he is gone! Hoo-oo!\\r\\n SICINIUS. Go see him out at gates, and follow him,\\r\\n As he hath follow'd you, with all despite;\\r\\n Give him deserv'd vexation. Let a guard\\r\\n Attend us through the city.\\r\\n PLEBEIANS. Come, come, let's see him out at gates; come!\\r\\n The gods preserve our noble tribunes! Come. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I. Rome. Before a gate of the city\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter CORIOLANUS, VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, MENENIUS, COMINIUS, with the\\r\\nyoung NOBILITY of Rome\\r\\n\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Come, leave your tears; a brief farewell. The beast\\r\\n With many heads butts me away. Nay, mother,\\r\\n Where is your ancient courage? You were us'd\\r\\n To say extremities was the trier of spirits;\\r\\n That common chances common men could bear;\\r\\n That when the sea was calm all boats alike\\r\\n Show'd mastership in floating; fortune's blows,\\r\\n When most struck home, being gentle wounded craves\\r\\n A noble cunning. You were us'd to load me\\r\\n With precepts that would make invincible\\r\\n The heart that conn'd them.\\r\\n VIRGILIA. O heavens! O heavens!\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Nay, I prithee, woman-\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome,\\r\\n And occupations perish!\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. What, what, what!\\r\\n I shall be lov'd when I am lack'd. Nay, mother,\\r\\n Resume that spirit when you were wont to say,\\r\\n If you had been the wife of Hercules,\\r\\n Six of his labours you'd have done, and sav'd\\r\\n Your husband so much sweat. Cominius,\\r\\n Droop not; adieu. Farewell, my wife, my mother.\\r\\n I'll do well yet. Thou old and true Menenius,\\r\\n Thy tears are salter than a younger man's\\r\\n And venomous to thine eyes. My sometime General,\\r\\n I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld\\r\\n Heart-hard'ning spectacles; tell these sad women\\r\\n 'Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes,\\r\\n As 'tis to laugh at 'em. My mother, you wot well\\r\\n My hazards still have been your solace; and\\r\\n Believe't not lightly- though I go alone,\\r\\n Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen\\r\\n Makes fear'd and talk'd of more than seen- your son\\r\\n Will or exceed the common or be caught\\r\\n With cautelous baits and practice.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. My first son,\\r\\n Whither wilt thou go? Take good Cominius\\r\\n With thee awhile; determine on some course\\r\\n More than a wild exposture to each chance\\r\\n That starts i' th' way before thee.\\r\\n VIRGILIA. O the gods!\\r\\n COMINIUS. I'll follow thee a month, devise with the\\r\\n Where thou shalt rest, that thou mayst hear of us,\\r\\n And we of thee; so, if the time thrust forth\\r\\n A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send\\r\\n O'er the vast world to seek a single man,\\r\\n And lose advantage, which doth ever cool\\r\\n I' th' absence of the needer.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Fare ye well;\\r\\n Thou hast years upon thee, and thou art too full\\r\\n Of the wars' surfeits to go rove with one\\r\\n That's yet unbruis'd; bring me but out at gate.\\r\\n Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and\\r\\n My friends of noble touch; when I am forth,\\r\\n Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you come.\\r\\n While I remain above the ground you shall\\r\\n Hear from me still, and never of me aught\\r\\n But what is like me formerly.\\r\\n MENENIUS. That's worthily\\r\\n As any ear can hear. Come, let's not weep.\\r\\n If I could shake off but one seven years\\r\\n From these old arms and legs, by the good gods,\\r\\n I'd with thee every foot.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Give me thy hand.\\r\\n Come. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Rome. A street near the gate\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the two Tribunes, SICINIUS and BRUTUS with the AEDILE\\r\\n\\r\\n SICINIUS. Bid them all home; he's gone, and we'll no further.\\r\\n The nobility are vex'd, whom we see have sided\\r\\n In his behalf.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Now we have shown our power,\\r\\n Let us seem humbler after it is done\\r\\n Than when it was a-doing.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Bid them home.\\r\\n Say their great enemy is gone, and they\\r\\n Stand in their ancient strength.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Dismiss them home. Exit AEDILE\\r\\n Here comes his mother.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and MENENIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n SICINIUS. Let's not meet her.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Why?\\r\\n SICINIUS. They say she's mad.\\r\\n BRUTUS. They have ta'en note of us; keep on your way.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. O, Y'are well met; th' hoarded plague o' th' gods\\r\\n Requite your love!\\r\\n MENENIUS. Peace, peace, be not so loud.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. If that I could for weeping, you should hear-\\r\\n Nay, and you shall hear some. [To BRUTUS] Will you be gone?\\r\\n VIRGILIA. [To SICINIUS] You shall stay too. I would I had the\\r\\n power\\r\\n To say so to my husband.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Are you mankind?\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Ay, fool; is that a shame? Note but this, fool:\\r\\n Was not a man my father? Hadst thou foxship\\r\\n To banish him that struck more blows for Rome\\r\\n Than thou hast spoken words?\\r\\n SICINIUS. O blessed heavens!\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Moe noble blows than ever thou wise words;\\r\\n And for Rome's good. I'll tell thee what- yet go!\\r\\n Nay, but thou shalt stay too. I would my son\\r\\n Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him,\\r\\n His good sword in his hand.\\r\\n SICINIUS. What then?\\r\\n VIRGILIA. What then!\\r\\n He'd make an end of thy posterity.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Bastards and all.\\r\\n Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome!\\r\\n MENENIUS. Come, come, peace.\\r\\n SICINIUS. I would he had continued to his country\\r\\n As he began, and not unknit himself\\r\\n The noble knot he made.\\r\\n BRUTUS. I would he had.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. 'I would he had!' 'Twas you incens'd the rabble-\\r\\n Cats that can judge as fitly of his worth\\r\\n As I can of those mysteries which heaven\\r\\n Will not have earth to know.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Pray, let's go.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Now, pray, sir, get you gone;\\r\\n You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear this:\\r\\n As far as doth the Capitol exceed\\r\\n The meanest house in Rome, so far my son-\\r\\n This lady's husband here, this, do you see?-\\r\\n Whom you have banish'd does exceed you an.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Well, well, we'll leave you.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Why stay we to be baited\\r\\n With one that wants her wits? Exeunt TRIBUNES\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Take my prayers with you.\\r\\n I would the gods had nothing else to do\\r\\n But to confirm my curses. Could I meet 'em\\r\\n But once a day, it would unclog my heart\\r\\n Of what lies heavy to't.\\r\\n MENENIUS. You have told them home,\\r\\n And, by my troth, you have cause. You'll sup with me?\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Anger's my meat; I sup upon myself,\\r\\n And so shall starve with feeding. Come, let's go.\\r\\n Leave this faint puling and lament as I do,\\r\\n In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come.\\r\\n Exeunt VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA\\r\\n MENENIUS. Fie, fie, fie! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A highway between Rome and Antium\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a ROMAN and a VOLSCE, meeting\\r\\n\\r\\n ROMAN. I know you well, sir, and you know me; your name, I think,\\r\\n is Adrian.\\r\\n VOLSCE. It is so, sir. Truly, I have forgot you.\\r\\n ROMAN. I am a Roman; and my services are, as you are, against 'em.\\r\\n Know you me yet?\\r\\n VOLSCE. Nicanor? No!\\r\\n ROMAN. The same, sir.\\r\\n VOLSCE. YOU had more beard when I last saw you, but your favour is\\r\\n well appear'd by your tongue. What's the news in Rome? I have a\\r\\n note from the Volscian state, to find you out there. You have\\r\\n well saved me a day's journey.\\r\\n ROMAN. There hath been in Rome strange insurrections: the people\\r\\n against the senators, patricians, and nobles.\\r\\n VOLSCE. Hath been! Is it ended, then? Our state thinks not so; they\\r\\n are in a most warlike preparation, and hope to come upon them in\\r\\n the heat of their division.\\r\\n ROMAN. The main blaze of it is past, but a small thing would make\\r\\n it flame again; for the nobles receive so to heart the banishment\\r\\n of that worthy Coriolanus that they are in a ripe aptness to take\\r\\n all power from the people, and to pluck from them their tribunes\\r\\n for ever. This lies glowing, I can tell you, and is almost mature\\r\\n for the violent breaking out.\\r\\n VOLSCE. Coriolanus banish'd!\\r\\n ROMAN. Banish'd, sir.\\r\\n VOLSCE. You will be welcome with this intelligence, Nicanor.\\r\\n ROMAN. The day serves well for them now. I have heard it said the\\r\\n fittest time to corrupt a man's wife is when she's fall'n out\\r\\n with her husband. Your noble Tullus Aufidius will appear well in\\r\\n these wars, his great opposer, Coriolanus, being now in no\\r\\n request of his country.\\r\\n VOLSCE. He cannot choose. I am most fortunate thus accidentally to\\r\\n encounter you; you have ended my business, and I will merrily\\r\\n accompany you home.\\r\\n ROMAN. I shall between this and supper tell you most strange things\\r\\n from Rome, all tending to the good of their adversaries. Have you\\r\\n an army ready, say you?\\r\\n VOLSCE. A most royal one: the centurions and their charges,\\r\\n distinctly billeted, already in th' entertainment, and to be on\\r\\n foot at an hour's warning.\\r\\n ROMAN. I am joyful to hear of their readiness, and am the man, I\\r\\n think, that shall set them in present action. So, sir, heartily\\r\\n well met, and most glad of your company.\\r\\n VOLSCE. You take my part from me, sir. I have the most cause to be\\r\\n glad of yours.\\r\\n ROMAN. Well, let us go together.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Antium. Before AUFIDIUS' house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter CORIOLANUS, in mean apparel, disguis'd and muffled\\r\\n\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. A goodly city is this Antium. City,\\r\\n 'Tis I that made thy widows: many an heir\\r\\n Of these fair edifices fore my wars\\r\\n Have I heard groan and drop. Then know me not.\\r\\n Lest that thy wives with spits and boys with stones,\\r\\n In puny battle slay me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter A CITIZEN\\r\\n\\r\\n Save you, sir.\\r\\n CITIZEN. And you.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Direct me, if it be your will,\\r\\n Where great Aufidius lies. Is he in Antium?\\r\\n CITIZEN. He is, and feasts the nobles of the state\\r\\n At his house this night.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Which is his house, beseech you?\\r\\n CITIZEN. This here before you.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Thank you, sir; farewell. Exit CITIZEN\\r\\n O world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn,\\r\\n Whose double bosoms seems to wear one heart,\\r\\n Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal and exercise\\r\\n Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love,\\r\\n Unseparable, shall within this hour,\\r\\n On a dissension of a doit, break out\\r\\n To bitterest enmity; so fellest foes,\\r\\n Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep\\r\\n To take the one the other, by some chance,\\r\\n Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends\\r\\n And interjoin their issues. So with me:\\r\\n My birthplace hate I, and my love's upon\\r\\n This enemy town. I'll enter. If he slay me,\\r\\n He does fair justice: if he give me way,\\r\\n I'll do his country service.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Antium. AUFIDIUS' house\\r\\n\\r\\nMusic plays. Enter A SERVINGMAN\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. Wine, wine, wine! What service is here! I think our\\r\\n fellows are asleep. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another SERVINGMAN\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT.Where's Cotus? My master calls for him.\\r\\n Cotus! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CORIOLANUS\\r\\n\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. A goodly house. The feast smells well, but I\\r\\n Appear not like a guest.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter the first SERVINGMAN\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. What would you have, friend?\\r\\n Whence are you? Here's no place for you: pray go to the door.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. I have deserv'd no better entertainment\\r\\n In being Coriolanus.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter second SERVINGMAN\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. Whence are you, sir? Has the porter his eyes in his\\r\\n head that he gives entrance to such companions? Pray get you out.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Away!\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. Away? Get you away.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Now th' art troublesome.\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. Are you so brave? I'll have you talk'd with anon.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a third SERVINGMAN. The first meets him\\r\\n\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. What fellow's this?\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. A strange one as ever I look'd on. I cannot get him\\r\\n out o' th' house. Prithee call my master to him.\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. What have you to do here, fellow? Pray you avoid the\\r\\n house.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Let me but stand- I will not hurt your hearth.\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. What are you?\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. A gentleman.\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. A marv'llous poor one.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. True, so I am.\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. Pray you, poor gentleman, take up some other\\r\\n station; here's no place for you. Pray you avoid. Come.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Follow your function, go and batten on cold bits.\\r\\n [Pushes him away from him]\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. What, you will not? Prithee tell my master what a\\r\\n strange guest he has here.\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. And I shall. Exit\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. Where dwell'st thou?\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Under the canopy.\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. Under the canopy?\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Ay.\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. Where's that?\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. I' th' city of kites and crows.\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. I' th' city of kites and crows!\\r\\n What an ass it is! Then thou dwell'st with daws too?\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. No, I serve not thy master.\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. How, sir! Do you meddle with my master?\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Ay; 'tis an honester service than to meddle with thy\\r\\n mistress. Thou prat'st and prat'st; serve with thy trencher;\\r\\n hence! [Beats him away]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter AUFIDIUS with the second SERVINGMAN\\r\\n\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. Where is this fellow?\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. Here, sir; I'd have beaten him like a dog, but for\\r\\n disturbing the lords within.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. Whence com'st thou? What wouldst thou? Thy name?\\r\\n Why speak'st not? Speak, man. What's thy name?\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. [Unmuffling] If, Tullus,\\r\\n Not yet thou know'st me, and, seeing me, dost not\\r\\n Think me for the man I am, necessity\\r\\n Commands me name myself.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. What is thy name?\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears,\\r\\n And harsh in sound to thine.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. Say, what's thy name?\\r\\n Thou has a grim appearance, and thy face\\r\\n Bears a command in't; though thy tackle's torn,\\r\\n Thou show'st a noble vessel. What's thy name?\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Prepare thy brow to frown- know'st thou me yet?\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. I know thee not. Thy name?\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done\\r\\n To thee particularly, and to all the Volsces,\\r\\n Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may\\r\\n My surname, Coriolanus. The painful service,\\r\\n The extreme dangers, and the drops of blood\\r\\n Shed for my thankless country, are requited\\r\\n But with that surname- a good memory\\r\\n And witness of the malice and displeasure\\r\\n Which thou shouldst bear me. Only that name remains;\\r\\n The cruelty and envy of the people,\\r\\n Permitted by our dastard nobles, who\\r\\n Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest,\\r\\n An suffer'd me by th' voice of slaves to be\\r\\n Whoop'd out of Rome. Now this extremity\\r\\n Hath brought me to thy hearth; not out of hope,\\r\\n Mistake me not, to save my life; for if\\r\\n I had fear'd death, of all the men i' th' world\\r\\n I would have 'voided thee; but in mere spite,\\r\\n To be full quit of those my banishers,\\r\\n Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast\\r\\n A heart of wreak in thee, that wilt revenge\\r\\n Thine own particular wrongs and stop those maims\\r\\n Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee straight\\r\\n And make my misery serve thy turn. So use it\\r\\n That my revengeful services may prove\\r\\n As benefits to thee; for I will fight\\r\\n Against my cank'red country with the spleen\\r\\n Of all the under fiends. But if so be\\r\\n Thou dar'st not this, and that to prove more fortunes\\r\\n Th'art tir'd, then, in a word, I also am\\r\\n Longer to live most weary, and present\\r\\n My throat to thee and to thy ancient malice;\\r\\n Which not to cut would show thee but a fool,\\r\\n Since I have ever followed thee with hate,\\r\\n Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast,\\r\\n And cannot live but to thy shame, unless\\r\\n It be to do thee service.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. O Marcius, Marcius!\\r\\n Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my heart\\r\\n A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter\\r\\n Should from yond cloud speak divine things,\\r\\n And say ''Tis true,' I'd not believe them more\\r\\n Than thee, all noble Marcius. Let me twine\\r\\n Mine arms about that body, where against\\r\\n My grained ash an hundred times hath broke\\r\\n And scarr'd the moon with splinters; here I clip\\r\\n The anvil of my sword, and do contest\\r\\n As hotly and as nobly with thy love\\r\\n As ever in ambitious strength I did\\r\\n Contend against thy valour. Know thou first,\\r\\n I lov'd the maid I married; never man\\r\\n Sigh'd truer breath; but that I see thee here,\\r\\n Thou noble thing, more dances my rapt heart\\r\\n Than when I first my wedded mistress saw\\r\\n Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars, I tell the\\r\\n We have a power on foot, and I had purpose\\r\\n Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn,\\r\\n Or lose mine arm for't. Thou hast beat me out\\r\\n Twelve several times, and I have nightly since\\r\\n Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me-\\r\\n We have been down together in my sleep,\\r\\n Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat-\\r\\n And wak'd half dead with nothing. Worthy Marcius,\\r\\n Had we no other quarrel else to Rome but that\\r\\n Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster all\\r\\n From twelve to seventy, and, pouring war\\r\\n Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome,\\r\\n Like a bold flood o'erbeat. O, come, go in,\\r\\n And take our friendly senators by th' hands,\\r\\n Who now are here, taking their leaves of me\\r\\n Who am prepar'd against your territories,\\r\\n Though not for Rome itself.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. You bless me, gods!\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. Therefore, most. absolute sir, if thou wilt have\\r\\n The leading of thine own revenges, take\\r\\n Th' one half of my commission, and set down-\\r\\n As best thou art experienc'd, since thou know'st\\r\\n Thy country's strength and weakness- thine own ways,\\r\\n Whether to knock against the gates of Rome,\\r\\n Or rudely visit them in parts remote\\r\\n To fright them ere destroy. But come in;\\r\\n Let me commend thee first to those that shall\\r\\n Say yea to thy desires. A thousand welcomes!\\r\\n And more a friend than e'er an enemy;\\r\\n Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hand; most welcome!\\r\\n Exeunt CORIOLANUS and AUFIDIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n The two SERVINGMEN come forward\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. Here's a strange alteration!\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. By my hand, I had thought to have strucken him with\\r\\n a cudgel; and yet my mind gave me his clothes made a false report\\r\\n of him.\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. What an arm he has! He turn'd me about with his\\r\\n finger and his thumb, as one would set up a top.\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. Nay, I knew by his face that there was something in\\r\\n him; he had, sir, a kind of face, methought- I cannot tell how to\\r\\n term it.\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. He had so, looking as it were- Would I were hang'd,\\r\\n but I thought there was more in him than I could think.\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. So did I, I'll be sworn. He is simply the rarest\\r\\n man i' th' world.\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. I think he is; but a greater soldier than he you wot\\r\\n on.\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. Who, my master?\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. Nay, it's no matter for that.\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. Worth six on him.\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. Nay, not so neither; but I take him to be the\\r\\n greater soldier.\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to say that;\\r\\n for the defence of a town our general is excellent.\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. Ay, and for an assault too.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter the third SERVINGMAN\\r\\n\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. O slaves, I can tell you news- news, you rascals!\\r\\n BOTH. What, what, what? Let's partake.\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. I would not be a Roman, of all nations;\\r\\n I had as lief be a condemn'd man.\\r\\n BOTH. Wherefore? wherefore?\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. Why, here's he that was wont to thwack our general-\\r\\n Caius Marcius.\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. Why do you say 'thwack our general'?\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. I do not say 'thwack our general,' but he was always\\r\\n good enough for him.\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. Come, we are fellows and friends. He was ever too\\r\\n hard for him, I have heard him say so himself.\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. He was too hard for him directly, to say the troth\\r\\n on't; before Corioli he scotch'd him and notch'd him like a\\r\\n carbonado.\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. An he had been cannibally given, he might have\\r\\n broil'd and eaten him too.\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. But more of thy news!\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. Why, he is so made on here within as if he were son\\r\\n and heir to Mars; set at upper end o' th' table; no question\\r\\n asked him by any of the senators but they stand bald before him.\\r\\n Our general himself makes a mistress of him, sanctifies himself\\r\\n with's hand, and turns up the white o' th' eye to his discourse.\\r\\n But the bottom of the news is, our general is cut i' th' middle\\r\\n and but one half of what he was yesterday, for the other has half\\r\\n by the entreaty and grant of the whole table. He'll go, he says,\\r\\n and sowl the porter of Rome gates by th' ears; he will mow all\\r\\n down before him, and leave his passage poll'd.\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. And he's as like to do't as any man I can imagine.\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. Do't! He will do't; for look you, sir, he has as\\r\\n many friends as enemies; which friends, sir, as it were, durst\\r\\n not- look you, sir- show themselves, as we term it, his friends,\\r\\n whilst he's in directitude.\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. Directitude? What's that?\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. But when they shall see, sir, his crest up again and\\r\\n the man in blood, they will out of their burrows, like conies\\r\\n after rain, and revel an with him.\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. But when goes this forward?\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. To-morrow, to-day, presently. You shall have the\\r\\n drum struck up this afternoon; 'tis as it were parcel of their\\r\\n feast, and to be executed ere they wipe their lips.\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. Why, then we shall have a stirring world again.\\r\\n This peace is nothing but to rust iron, increase tailors, and\\r\\n breed ballad-makers.\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. Let me have war, say I; it exceeds peace as far as\\r\\n day does night; it's spritely, waking, audible, and full of vent.\\r\\n Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy; mull'd, deaf, sleepy,\\r\\n insensible; a getter of more bastard children than war's a\\r\\n destroyer of men.\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. 'Tis so; and as war in some sort may be said to be\\r\\n a ravisher, so it cannot be denied but peace is a great maker of\\r\\n cuckolds.\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. Ay, and it makes men hate one another.\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. Reason: because they then less need one another. The\\r\\n wars for my money. I hope to see Romans as cheap as Volscians.\\r\\n They are rising, they are rising.\\r\\n BOTH. In, in, in, in! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Rome. A public place\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the two Tribunes, SICINIUS and BRUTUS\\r\\n\\r\\n SICINIUS. We hear not of him, neither need we fear him.\\r\\n His remedies are tame. The present peace\\r\\n And quietness of the people, which before\\r\\n Were in wild hurry, here do make his friends\\r\\n Blush that the world goes well; who rather had,\\r\\n Though they themselves did suffer by't, behold\\r\\n Dissentious numbers pest'ring streets than see\\r\\n Our tradesmen singing in their shops, and going\\r\\n About their functions friendly.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MENENIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n BRUTUS. We stood to't in good time. Is this Menenius?\\r\\n SICINIUS. 'Tis he, 'tis he. O, he is grown most kind\\r\\n Of late. Hail, sir!\\r\\n MENENIUS. Hail to you both!\\r\\n SICINIUS. Your Coriolanus is not much miss'd\\r\\n But with his friends. The commonwealth doth stand,\\r\\n And so would do, were he more angry at it.\\r\\n MENENIUS. All's well, and might have been much better\\r\\n He could have temporiz'd.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Where is he, hear you?\\r\\n MENENIUS. Nay, I hear nothing; his mother and his wife\\r\\n Hear nothing from him.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter three or four citizens\\r\\n\\r\\n CITIZENS. The gods preserve you both!\\r\\n SICINIUS. God-den, our neighbours.\\r\\n BRUTUS. God-den to you all, god-den to you an.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Ourselves, our wives, and children, on our knees\\r\\n Are bound to pray for you both.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Live and thrive!\\r\\n BRUTUS. Farewell, kind neighbours; we wish'd Coriolanus\\r\\n Had lov'd you as we did.\\r\\n CITIZENS. Now the gods keep you!\\r\\n BOTH TRIBUNES. Farewell, farewell. Exeunt citizens\\r\\n SICINIUS. This is a happier and more comely time\\r\\n Than when these fellows ran about the streets\\r\\n Crying confusion.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Caius Marcius was\\r\\n A worthy officer i' the war, but insolent,\\r\\n O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking,\\r\\n Self-loving-\\r\\n SICINIUS. And affecting one sole throne,\\r\\n Without assistance.\\r\\n MENENIUS. I think not so.\\r\\n SICINIUS. We should by this, to all our lamentation,\\r\\n If he had gone forth consul, found it so.\\r\\n BRUTUS. The gods have well prevented it, and Rome\\r\\n Sits safe and still without him.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter an AEDILE\\r\\n\\r\\n AEDILE. Worthy tribunes,\\r\\n There is a slave, whom we have put in prison,\\r\\n Reports the Volsces with several powers\\r\\n Are ent'red in the Roman territories,\\r\\n And with the deepest malice of the war\\r\\n Destroy what lies before 'em.\\r\\n MENENIUS. 'Tis Aufidius,\\r\\n Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment,\\r\\n Thrusts forth his horns again into the world,\\r\\n Which were inshell'd when Marcius stood for Rome,\\r\\n And durst not once peep out.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Come, what talk you of Marcius?\\r\\n BRUTUS. Go see this rumourer whipp'd. It cannot be\\r\\n The Volsces dare break with us.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Cannot be!\\r\\n We have record that very well it can;\\r\\n And three examples of the like hath been\\r\\n Within my age. But reason with the fellow\\r\\n Before you punish him, where he heard this,\\r\\n Lest you shall chance to whip your information\\r\\n And beat the messenger who bids beware\\r\\n Of what is to be dreaded.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Tell not me.\\r\\n I know this cannot be.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Not Possible.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter A MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. The nobles in great earnestness are going\\r\\n All to the Senate House; some news is come\\r\\n That turns their countenances.\\r\\n SICINIUS. 'Tis this slave-\\r\\n Go whip him fore the people's eyes- his raising,\\r\\n Nothing but his report.\\r\\n MESSENGER. Yes, worthy sir,\\r\\n The slave's report is seconded, and more,\\r\\n More fearful, is deliver'd.\\r\\n SICINIUS. What more fearful?\\r\\n MESSENGER. It is spoke freely out of many mouths-\\r\\n How probable I do not know- that Marcius,\\r\\n Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome,\\r\\n And vows revenge as spacious as between\\r\\n The young'st and oldest thing.\\r\\n SICINIUS. This is most likely!\\r\\n BRUTUS. Rais'd only that the weaker sort may wish\\r\\n Good Marcius home again.\\r\\n SICINIUS. The very trick on 't.\\r\\n MENENIUS. This is unlikely.\\r\\n He and Aufidius can no more atone\\r\\n Than violent'st contrariety.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a second MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND MESSENGER. You are sent for to the Senate.\\r\\n A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius\\r\\n Associated with Aufidius, rages\\r\\n Upon our territories, and have already\\r\\n O'erborne their way, consum'd with fire and took\\r\\n What lay before them.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter COMINIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n COMINIUS. O, you have made good work!\\r\\n MENENIUS. What news? what news?\\r\\n COMINIUS. You have holp to ravish your own daughters and\\r\\n To melt the city leads upon your pates,\\r\\n To see your wives dishonour'd to your noses-\\r\\n MENENIUS. What's the news? What's the news?\\r\\n COMINIUS. Your temples burned in their cement, and\\r\\n Your franchises, whereon you stood, confin'd\\r\\n Into an auger's bore.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Pray now, your news?\\r\\n You have made fair work, I fear me. Pray, your news.\\r\\n If Marcius should be join'd wi' th' Volscians-\\r\\n COMINIUS. If!\\r\\n He is their god; he leads them like a thing\\r\\n Made by some other deity than Nature,\\r\\n That shapes man better; and they follow him\\r\\n Against us brats with no less confidence\\r\\n Than boys pursuing summer butterflies,\\r\\n Or butchers killing flies.\\r\\n MENENIUS. You have made good work,\\r\\n You and your apron men; you that stood so much\\r\\n Upon the voice of occupation and\\r\\n The breath of garlic-eaters!\\r\\n COMINIUS. He'll shake\\r\\n Your Rome about your ears.\\r\\n MENENIUS. As Hercules\\r\\n Did shake down mellow fruit. You have made fair work!\\r\\n BRUTUS. But is this true, sir?\\r\\n COMINIUS. Ay; and you'll look pale\\r\\n Before you find it other. All the regions\\r\\n Do smilingly revolt, and who resists\\r\\n Are mock'd for valiant ignorance,\\r\\n And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame him?\\r\\n Your enemies and his find something in him.\\r\\n MENENIUS. We are all undone unless\\r\\n The noble man have mercy.\\r\\n COMINIUS. Who shall ask it?\\r\\n The tribunes cannot do't for shame; the people\\r\\n Deserve such pity of him as the wolf\\r\\n Does of the shepherds; for his best friends, if they\\r\\n Should say 'Be good to Rome'- they charg'd him even\\r\\n As those should do that had deserv'd his hate,\\r\\n And therein show'd fike enemies.\\r\\n MENENIUS. 'Tis true;\\r\\n If he were putting to my house the brand\\r\\n That should consume it, I have not the face\\r\\n To say 'Beseech you, cease.' You have made fair hands,\\r\\n You and your crafts! You have crafted fair!\\r\\n COMINIUS. You have brought\\r\\n A trembling upon Rome, such as was never\\r\\n S' incapable of help.\\r\\n BOTH TRIBUNES. Say not we brought it.\\r\\n MENENIUS. How! Was't we? We lov'd him, but, like beasts\\r\\n And cowardly nobles, gave way unto your clusters,\\r\\n Who did hoot him out o' th' city.\\r\\n COMINIUS. But I fear\\r\\n They'll roar him in again. Tullus Aufidius,\\r\\n The second name of men, obeys his points\\r\\n As if he were his officer. Desperation\\r\\n Is all the policy, strength, and defence,\\r\\n That Rome can make against them.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a troop of citizens\\r\\n\\r\\n MENENIUS. Here comes the clusters.\\r\\n And is Aufidius with him? You are they\\r\\n That made the air unwholesome when you cast\\r\\n Your stinking greasy caps in hooting at\\r\\n Coriolanus' exile. Now he's coming,\\r\\n And not a hair upon a soldier's head\\r\\n Which will not prove a whip; as many coxcombs\\r\\n As you threw caps up will he tumble down,\\r\\n And pay you for your voices. 'Tis no matter;\\r\\n If he could burn us all into one coal\\r\\n We have deserv'd it.\\r\\n PLEBEIANS. Faith, we hear fearful news.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. For mine own part,\\r\\n When I said banish him, I said 'twas pity.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. And so did I.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. And so did I; and, to say the truth, so did very\\r\\n many of us. That we did, we did for the best; and though we\\r\\n willingly consented to his banishment, yet it was against our\\r\\n will.\\r\\n COMINIUS. Y'are goodly things, you voices!\\r\\n MENENIUS. You have made\\r\\n Good work, you and your cry! Shall's to the Capitol?\\r\\n COMINIUS. O, ay, what else?\\r\\n Exeunt COMINIUS and MENENIUS\\r\\n SICINIUS. Go, masters, get you be not dismay'd;\\r\\n These are a side that would be glad to have\\r\\n This true which they so seem to fear. Go home,\\r\\n And show no sign of fear.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. The gods be good to us! Come, masters, let's home. I\\r\\n ever said we were i' th' wrong when we banish'd him.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. So did we all. But come, let's home.\\r\\n Exeunt citizens\\r\\n BRUTUS. I do not like this news.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Nor I.\\r\\n BRUTUS. Let's to the Capitol. Would half my wealth\\r\\n Would buy this for a lie!\\r\\n SICINIUS. Pray let's go. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. A camp at a short distance from Rome\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter AUFIDIUS with his LIEUTENANT\\r\\n\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. Do they still fly to th' Roman?\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. I do not know what witchcraft's in him, but\\r\\n Your soldiers use him as the grace fore meat,\\r\\n Their talk at table, and their thanks at end;\\r\\n And you are dark'ned in this action, sir,\\r\\n Even by your own.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. I cannot help it now,\\r\\n Unless by using means I lame the foot\\r\\n Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier,\\r\\n Even to my person, than I thought he would\\r\\n When first I did embrace him; yet his nature\\r\\n In that's no changeling, and I must excuse\\r\\n What cannot be amended.\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. Yet I wish, sir-\\r\\n I mean, for your particular- you had not\\r\\n Join'd in commission with him, but either\\r\\n Had borne the action of yourself, or else\\r\\n To him had left it solely.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. I understand thee well; and be thou sure,\\r\\n When he shall come to his account, he knows not\\r\\n What I can urge against him. Although it seems,\\r\\n And so he thinks, and is no less apparent\\r\\n To th' vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly\\r\\n And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state,\\r\\n Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon\\r\\n As draw his sword; yet he hath left undone\\r\\n That which shall break his neck or hazard mine\\r\\n Whene'er we come to our account.\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry Rome?\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. All places yield to him ere he sits down,\\r\\n And the nobility of Rome are his;\\r\\n The senators and patricians love him too.\\r\\n The tribunes are no soldiers, and their people\\r\\n Will be as rash in the repeal as hasty\\r\\n To expel him thence. I think he'll be to Rome\\r\\n As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it\\r\\n By sovereignty of nature. First he was\\r\\n A noble servant to them, but he could not\\r\\n Carry his honours even. Whether 'twas pride,\\r\\n Which out of daily fortune ever taints\\r\\n The happy man; whether defect of judgment,\\r\\n To fail in the disposing of those chances\\r\\n Which he was lord of; or whether nature,\\r\\n Not to be other than one thing, not moving\\r\\n From th' casque to th' cushion, but commanding peace\\r\\n Even with the same austerity and garb\\r\\n As he controll'd the war; but one of these-\\r\\n As he hath spices of them all- not all,\\r\\n For I dare so far free him- made him fear'd,\\r\\n So hated, and so banish'd. But he has a merit\\r\\n To choke it in the utt'rance. So our virtues\\r\\n Lie in th' interpretation of the time;\\r\\n And power, unto itself most commendable,\\r\\n Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair\\r\\n T' extol what it hath done.\\r\\n One fire drives out one fire; one nail, one nail;\\r\\n Rights by rights falter, strengths by strengths do fail.\\r\\n Come, let's away. When, Caius, Rome is thine,\\r\\n Thou art poor'st of all; then shortly art thou mine.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. Rome. A public place\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MENENIUS, COMINIUS, SICINIUS and BRUTUS, the two Tribunes, with\\r\\nothers\\r\\n\\r\\n MENENIUS. No, I'll not go. You hear what he hath said\\r\\n Which was sometime his general, who lov'd him\\r\\n In a most dear particular. He call'd me father;\\r\\n But what o' that? Go, you that banish'd him:\\r\\n A mile before his tent fall down, and knee\\r\\n The way into his mercy. Nay, if he coy'd\\r\\n To hear Cominius speak, I'll keep at home.\\r\\n COMINIUS. He would not seem to know me.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Do you hear?\\r\\n COMINIUS. Yet one time he did call me by my name.\\r\\n I urg'd our old acquaintance, and the drops\\r\\n That we have bled together. 'Coriolanus'\\r\\n He would not answer to; forbid all names;\\r\\n He was a kind of nothing, titleless,\\r\\n Till he had forg'd himself a name i' th' fire\\r\\n Of burning Rome.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Why, so! You have made good work.\\r\\n A pair of tribunes that have wrack'd for Rome\\r\\n To make coals cheap- a noble memory!\\r\\n COMINIUS. I minded him how royal 'twas to pardon\\r\\n When it was less expected; he replied,\\r\\n It was a bare petition of a state\\r\\n To one whom they had punish'd.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Very well.\\r\\n Could he say less?\\r\\n COMINIUS. I offer'd to awaken his regard\\r\\n For's private friends; his answer to me was,\\r\\n He could not stay to pick them in a pile\\r\\n Of noisome musty chaff. He said 'twas folly,\\r\\n For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt\\r\\n And still to nose th' offence.\\r\\n MENENIUS. For one poor grain or two!\\r\\n I am one of those. His mother, wife, his child,\\r\\n And this brave fellow too- we are the grains:\\r\\n You are the musty chaff, and you are smelt\\r\\n Above the moon. We must be burnt for you.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Nay, pray be patient; if you refuse your aid\\r\\n In this so never-needed help, yet do not\\r\\n Upbraid's with our distress. But sure, if you\\r\\n Would be your country's pleader, your good tongue,\\r\\n More than the instant army we can make,\\r\\n Might stop our countryman.\\r\\n MENENIUS. No; I'll not meddle.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Pray you go to him.\\r\\n MENENIUS. What should I do?\\r\\n BRUTUS. Only make trial what your love can do\\r\\n For Rome, towards Marcius.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Well, and say that Marcius\\r\\n Return me, as Cominius is return'd,\\r\\n Unheard- what then?\\r\\n But as a discontented friend, grief-shot\\r\\n With his unkindness? Say't be so?\\r\\n SICINIUS. Yet your good will\\r\\n Must have that thanks from Rome after the measure\\r\\n As you intended well.\\r\\n MENENIUS. I'll undertake't;\\r\\n I think he'll hear me. Yet to bite his lip\\r\\n And hum at good Cominius much unhearts me.\\r\\n He was not taken well: he had not din'd;\\r\\n The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then\\r\\n We pout upon the morning, are unapt\\r\\n To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff'd\\r\\n These pipes and these conveyances of our blood\\r\\n With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls\\r\\n Than in our priest-like fasts. Therefore I'll watch him\\r\\n Till he be dieted to my request,\\r\\n And then I'll set upon him.\\r\\n BRUTUS. You know the very road into his kindness\\r\\n And cannot lose your way.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Good faith, I'll prove him,\\r\\n Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge\\r\\n Of my success. Exit\\r\\n COMINIUS. He'll never hear him.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Not?\\r\\n COMINIUS. I tell you he does sit in gold, his eye\\r\\n Red as 'twould burn Rome, and his injury\\r\\n The gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him;\\r\\n 'Twas very faintly he said 'Rise'; dismiss'd me\\r\\n Thus with his speechless hand. What he would do,\\r\\n He sent in writing after me; what he would not,\\r\\n Bound with an oath to yield to his conditions;\\r\\n So that all hope is vain,\\r\\n Unless his noble mother and his wife,\\r\\n Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him\\r\\n For mercy to his country. Therefore let's hence,\\r\\n And with our fair entreaties haste them on. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The Volscian camp before Rome\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MENENIUS to the WATCH on guard\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST WATCH. Stay. Whence are you?\\r\\n SECOND WATCH. Stand, and go back.\\r\\n MENENIUS. You guard like men, 'tis well; but, by your leave,\\r\\n I am an officer of state and come\\r\\n To speak with Coriolanus.\\r\\n FIRST WATCH. From whence?\\r\\n MENENIUS. From Rome.\\r\\n FIRST WATCH. YOU may not pass; you must return. Our general\\r\\n Will no more hear from thence.\\r\\n SECOND WATCH. You'll see your Rome embrac'd with fire before\\r\\n You'll speak with Coriolanus.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Good my friends,\\r\\n If you have heard your general talk of Rome\\r\\n And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks\\r\\n My name hath touch'd your ears: it is Menenius.\\r\\n FIRST WATCH. Be it so; go back. The virtue of your name\\r\\n Is not here passable.\\r\\n MENENIUS. I tell thee, fellow,\\r\\n Thy general is my lover. I have been\\r\\n The book of his good acts whence men have read\\r\\n His fame unparallel'd haply amplified;\\r\\n For I have ever verified my friends-\\r\\n Of whom he's chief- with all the size that verity\\r\\n Would without lapsing suffer. Nay, sometimes,\\r\\n Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground,\\r\\n I have tumbled past the throw, and in his praise\\r\\n Have almost stamp'd the leasing; therefore, fellow,\\r\\n I must have leave to pass.\\r\\n FIRST WATCH. Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in his behalf\\r\\n as you have uttered words in your own, you should not pass here;\\r\\n no, though it were as virtuous to lie as to live chastely.\\r\\n Therefore go back.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Prithee, fellow, remember my name is Menenius, always\\r\\n factionary on the party of your general.\\r\\n SECOND WATCH. Howsoever you have been his liar, as you say you\\r\\n have, I am one that, telling true under him, must say you cannot\\r\\n pass. Therefore go back.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Has he din'd, canst thou tell? For I would not speak with\\r\\n him till after dinner.\\r\\n FIRST WATCH. You are a Roman, are you?\\r\\n MENENIUS. I am as thy general is.\\r\\n FIRST WATCH. Then you should hate Rome, as he does. Can you, when\\r\\n you have push'd out your gates the very defender of them, and in\\r\\n a violent popular ignorance given your enemy your shield, think\\r\\n to front his revenges with the easy groans of old women, the\\r\\n virginal palms of your daughters, or with the palsied\\r\\n intercession of such a decay'd dotant as you seem to be? Can you\\r\\n think to blow out the intended fire your city is ready to flame\\r\\n in with such weak breath as this? No, you are deceiv'd; therefore\\r\\n back to Rome and prepare for your execution. You are condemn'd;\\r\\n our general has sworn you out of reprieve and pardon.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, he would use me\\r\\n with estimation.\\r\\n FIRST WATCH. Come, my captain knows you not.\\r\\n MENENIUS. I mean thy general.\\r\\n FIRST WATCH. My general cares not for you. Back, I say; go, lest I\\r\\n let forth your half pint of blood. Back- that's the utmost of\\r\\n your having. Back.\\r\\n MENENIUS. Nay, but fellow, fellow-\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CORIOLANUS with AUFIDIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. What's the matter?\\r\\n MENENIUS. Now, you companion, I'll say an errand for you; you shall\\r\\n know now that I am in estimation; you shall perceive that a Jack\\r\\n guardant cannot office me from my son Coriolanus. Guess but by my\\r\\n entertainment with him if thou stand'st not i' th' state of\\r\\n hanging, or of some death more long in spectatorship and crueller\\r\\n in suffering; behold now presently, and swoon for what's to come\\r\\n upon thee. The glorious gods sit in hourly synod about thy\\r\\n particular prosperity, and love thee no worse than thy old father\\r\\n Menenius does! O my son! my son! thou art preparing fire for us;\\r\\n look thee, here's water to quench it. I was hardly moved to come\\r\\n to thee; but being assured none but myself could move thee, I\\r\\n have been blown out of your gates with sighs, and conjure thee to\\r\\n pardon Rome and thy petitionary countrymen. The good gods assuage\\r\\n thy wrath, and turn the dregs of it upon this varlet here; this,\\r\\n who, like a block, hath denied my access to thee.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Away!\\r\\n MENENIUS. How! away!\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Wife, mother, child, I know not. My affairs\\r\\n Are servanted to others. Though I owe\\r\\n My revenge properly, my remission lies\\r\\n In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar,\\r\\n Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison rather\\r\\n Than pity note how much. Therefore be gone.\\r\\n Mine ears against your suits are stronger than\\r\\n Your gates against my force. Yet, for I lov'd thee,\\r\\n Take this along; I writ it for thy sake [Gives a letter]\\r\\n And would have sent it. Another word, Menenius,\\r\\n I will not hear thee speak. This man, Aufidius,\\r\\n Was my belov'd in Rome; yet thou behold'st.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. You keep a constant temper.\\r\\n Exeunt CORIOLANUS and Aufidius\\r\\n FIRST WATCH. Now, sir, is your name Menenius?\\r\\n SECOND WATCH. 'Tis a spell, you see, of much power! You know the\\r\\n way home again.\\r\\n FIRST WATCH. Do you hear how we are shent for keeping your\\r\\n greatness back?\\r\\n SECOND WATCH. What cause, do you think, I have to swoon?\\r\\n MENENIUS. I neither care for th' world nor your general; for such\\r\\n things as you, I can scarce think there's any, y'are so slight.\\r\\n He that hath a will to die by himself fears it not from another.\\r\\n Let your general do his worst. For you, be that you are, long;\\r\\n and your misery increase with your age! I say to you, as I was\\r\\n said to: Away! Exit\\r\\n FIRST WATCH. A noble fellow, I warrant him.\\r\\n SECOND WATCH. The worthy fellow is our general; he's the rock, the\\r\\n oak not to be wind-shaken. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The tent of CORIOLANUS\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter CORIOLANUS, AUFIDIUS, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. We will before the walls of Rome to-morrow\\r\\n Set down our host. My partner in this action,\\r\\n You must report to th' Volscian lords how plainly\\r\\n I have borne this business.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. Only their ends\\r\\n You have respected; stopp'd your ears against\\r\\n The general suit of Rome; never admitted\\r\\n A private whisper- no, not with such friends\\r\\n That thought them sure of you.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. This last old man,\\r\\n Whom with crack'd heart I have sent to Rome,\\r\\n Lov'd me above the measure of a father;\\r\\n Nay, godded me indeed. Their latest refuge\\r\\n Was to send him; for whose old love I have-\\r\\n Though I show'd sourly to him- once more offer'd\\r\\n The first conditions, which they did refuse\\r\\n And cannot now accept. To grace him only,\\r\\n That thought he could do more, a very little\\r\\n I have yielded to; fresh embassies and suits,\\r\\n Nor from the state nor private friends, hereafter\\r\\n Will I lend ear to. [Shout within] Ha! what shout is this?\\r\\n Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow\\r\\n In the same time 'tis made? I will not.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, in mourning habits, VIRGILIA, VOLUMNIA, VALERIA,\\r\\n YOUNG MARCIUS, with attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n My wife comes foremost, then the honour'd mould\\r\\n Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand\\r\\n The grandchild to her blood. But out, affection!\\r\\n All bond and privilege of nature, break!\\r\\n Let it be virtuous to be obstinate.\\r\\n What is that curtsy worth? or those doves' eyes,\\r\\n Which can make gods forsworn? I melt, and am not\\r\\n Of stronger earth than others. My mother bows,\\r\\n As if Olympus to a molehill should\\r\\n In supplication nod; and my young boy\\r\\n Hath an aspect of intercession which\\r\\n Great nature cries 'Deny not.' Let the Volsces\\r\\n Plough Rome and harrow Italy; I'll never\\r\\n Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand\\r\\n As if a man were author of himself\\r\\n And knew no other kin.\\r\\n VIRGILIA. My lord and husband!\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome.\\r\\n VIRGILIA. The sorrow that delivers us thus chang'd\\r\\n Makes you think so.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Like a dull actor now\\r\\n I have forgot my part and I am out,\\r\\n Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh,\\r\\n Forgive my tyranny; but do not say,\\r\\n For that, 'Forgive our Romans.' O, a kiss\\r\\n Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge!\\r\\n Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss\\r\\n I carried from thee, dear, and my true lip\\r\\n Hath virgin'd it e'er since. You gods! I prate,\\r\\n And the most noble mother of the world\\r\\n Leave unsaluted. Sink, my knee, i' th' earth; [Kneels]\\r\\n Of thy deep duty more impression show\\r\\n Than that of common sons.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. O, stand up blest!\\r\\n Whilst with no softer cushion than the flint\\r\\n I kneel before thee, and unproperly\\r\\n Show duty, as mistaken all this while\\r\\n Between the child and parent. [Kneels]\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. What's this?\\r\\n Your knees to me, to your corrected son?\\r\\n Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach\\r\\n Fillip the stars; then let the mutinous winds\\r\\n Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun,\\r\\n Murd'ring impossibility, to make\\r\\n What cannot be slight work.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Thou art my warrior;\\r\\n I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady?\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. The noble sister of Publicola,\\r\\n The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle\\r\\n That's curdied by the frost from purest snow,\\r\\n And hangs on Dian's temple- dear Valeria!\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. This is a poor epitome of yours,\\r\\n Which by th' interpretation of full time\\r\\n May show like all yourself.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. The god of soldiers,\\r\\n With the consent of supreme Jove, inform\\r\\n Thy thoughts with nobleness, that thou mayst prove\\r\\n To shame unvulnerable, and stick i' th' wars\\r\\n Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw,\\r\\n And saving those that eye thee!\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Your knee, sirrah.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. That's my brave boy.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself,\\r\\n Are suitors to you.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. I beseech you, peace!\\r\\n Or, if you'd ask, remember this before:\\r\\n The thing I have forsworn to grant may never\\r\\n Be held by you denials. Do not bid me\\r\\n Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate\\r\\n Again with Rome's mechanics. Tell me not\\r\\n Wherein I seem unnatural; desire not\\r\\n T'allay my rages and revenges with\\r\\n Your colder reasons.\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. O, no more, no more!\\r\\n You have said you will not grant us any thing-\\r\\n For we have nothing else to ask but that\\r\\n Which you deny already; yet we will ask,\\r\\n That, if you fail in our request, the blame\\r\\n May hang upon your hardness; therefore hear us.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Aufidius, and you Volsces, mark; for we'll\\r\\n Hear nought from Rome in private. Your request?\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment\\r\\n And state of bodies would bewray what life\\r\\n We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself\\r\\n How more unfortunate than all living women\\r\\n Are we come hither; since that thy sight, which should\\r\\n Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comforts,\\r\\n Constrains them weep and shake with fear and sorrow,\\r\\n Making the mother, wife, and child, to see\\r\\n The son, the husband, and the father, tearing\\r\\n His country's bowels out. And to poor we\\r\\n Thine enmity's most capital: thou bar'st us\\r\\n Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort\\r\\n That all but we enjoy. For how can we,\\r\\n Alas, how can we for our country pray,\\r\\n Whereto we are bound, together with thy victory,\\r\\n Whereto we are bound? Alack, or we must lose\\r\\n The country, our dear nurse, or else thy person,\\r\\n Our comfort in the country. We must find\\r\\n An evident calamity, though we had\\r\\n Our wish, which side should win; for either thou\\r\\n Must as a foreign recreant be led\\r\\n With manacles through our streets, or else\\r\\n Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin,\\r\\n And bear the palm for having bravely shed\\r\\n Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son,\\r\\n I purpose not to wait on fortune till\\r\\n These wars determine; if I can not persuade thee\\r\\n Rather to show a noble grace to both parts\\r\\n Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner\\r\\n March to assault thy country than to tread-\\r\\n Trust to't, thou shalt not- on thy mother's womb\\r\\n That brought thee to this world.\\r\\n VIRGILIA. Ay, and mine,\\r\\n That brought you forth this boy to keep your name\\r\\n Living to time.\\r\\n BOY. 'A shall not tread on me!\\r\\n I'll run away till I am bigger, but then I'll fight.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Not of a woman's tenderness to be\\r\\n Requires nor child nor woman's face to see.\\r\\n I have sat too long. [Rising]\\r\\n VOLUMNIA. Nay, go not from us thus.\\r\\n If it were so that our request did tend\\r\\n To save the Romans, thereby to destroy\\r\\n The Volsces whom you serve, you might condemn us\\r\\n As poisonous of your honour. No, our suit\\r\\n Is that you reconcile them: while the Volsces\\r\\n May say 'This mercy we have show'd,' the Romans\\r\\n 'This we receiv'd,' and each in either side\\r\\n Give the all-hail to thee, and cry 'Be blest\\r\\n For making up this peace!' Thou know'st, great son,\\r\\n The end of war's uncertain; but this certain,\\r\\n That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit\\r\\n Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name\\r\\n Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses;\\r\\n Whose chronicle thus writ: 'The man was noble,\\r\\n But with his last attempt he wip'd it out,\\r\\n Destroy'd his country, and his name remains\\r\\n To th' ensuing age abhorr'd.' Speak to me, son.\\r\\n Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour,\\r\\n To imitate the graces of the gods,\\r\\n To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' th' air,\\r\\n And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt\\r\\n That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak?\\r\\n Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man\\r\\n Still to remember wrongs? Daughter, speak you:\\r\\n He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy;\\r\\n Perhaps thy childishness will move him more\\r\\n Than can our reasons. There's no man in the world\\r\\n More bound to's mother, yet here he lets me prate\\r\\n Like one i' th' stocks. Thou hast never in thy life\\r\\n Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy,\\r\\n When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood,\\r\\n Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home\\r\\n Loaden with honour. Say my request's unjust,\\r\\n And spurn me back; but if it he not so,\\r\\n Thou art not honest, and the gods will plague thee,\\r\\n That thou restrain'st from me the duty which\\r\\n To a mother's part belongs. He turns away.\\r\\n Down, ladies; let us shame him with our knees.\\r\\n To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride\\r\\n Than pity to our prayers. Down. An end;\\r\\n This is the last. So we will home to Rome,\\r\\n And die among our neighbours. Nay, behold's!\\r\\n This boy, that cannot tell what he would have\\r\\n But kneels and holds up hands for fellowship,\\r\\n Does reason our petition with more strength\\r\\n Than thou hast to deny't. Come, let us go.\\r\\n This fellow had a Volscian to his mother;\\r\\n His wife is in Corioli, and his child\\r\\n Like him by chance. Yet give us our dispatch.\\r\\n I am hush'd until our city be afire,\\r\\n And then I'll speak a little.\\r\\n [He holds her by the hand, silent]\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. O mother, mother!\\r\\n What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope,\\r\\n The gods look down, and this unnatural scene\\r\\n They laugh at. O my mother, mother! O!\\r\\n You have won a happy victory to Rome;\\r\\n But for your son- believe it, O, believe it!-\\r\\n Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd,\\r\\n If not most mortal to him. But let it come.\\r\\n Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars,\\r\\n I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius,\\r\\n Were you in my stead, would you have heard\\r\\n A mother less, or granted less, Aufidius?\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. I was mov'd withal.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. I dare be sworn you were!\\r\\n And, sir, it is no little thing to make\\r\\n Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir,\\r\\n What peace you'fl make, advise me. For my part,\\r\\n I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you; and pray you\\r\\n Stand to me in this cause. O mother! wife!\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. [Aside] I am glad thou hast set thy mercy and thy\\r\\n honour\\r\\n At difference in thee. Out of that I'll work\\r\\n Myself a former fortune.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. [To the ladies] Ay, by and by;\\r\\n But we will drink together; and you shall bear\\r\\n A better witness back than words, which we,\\r\\n On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd.\\r\\n Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve\\r\\n To have a temple built you. All the swords\\r\\n In Italy, and her confederate arms,\\r\\n Could not have made this peace. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Rome. A public place\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MENENIUS and SICINIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n MENENIUS. See you yond coign o' th' Capitol, yond cornerstone?\\r\\n SICINIUS. Why, what of that?\\r\\n MENENIUS. If it be possible for you to displace it with your little\\r\\n finger, there is some hope the ladies of Rome, especially his\\r\\n mother, may prevail with him. But I say there is no hope in't;\\r\\n our throats are sentenc'd, and stay upon execution.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Is't possible that so short a time can alter the\\r\\n condition of a man?\\r\\n MENENIUS. There is differency between a grub and a butterfly; yet\\r\\n your butterfly was a grub. This Marcius is grown from man to\\r\\n dragon; he has wings, he's more than a creeping thing.\\r\\n SICINIUS. He lov'd his mother dearly.\\r\\n MENENIUS. So did he me; and he no more remembers his mother now\\r\\n than an eight-year-old horse. The tartness of his face sours ripe\\r\\n grapes; when he walks, he moves like an engine and the ground\\r\\n shrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce a corslet with\\r\\n his eye, talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. He sits in\\r\\n his state as a thing made for Alexander. What he bids be done is\\r\\n finish'd with his bidding. He wants nothing of a god but\\r\\n eternity, and a heaven to throne in.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Yes- mercy, if you report him truly.\\r\\n MENENIUS. I paint him in the character. Mark what mercy his mother\\r\\n shall bring from him. There is no more mercy in him than there is\\r\\n milk in a male tiger; that shall our poor city find. And all this\\r\\n is 'long of you.\\r\\n SICINIUS. The gods be good unto us!\\r\\n MENENIUS. No, in such a case the gods will not be good unto us.\\r\\n When we banish'd him we respected not them; and, he returning to\\r\\n break our necks, they respect not us.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your house.\\r\\n The plebeians have got your fellow tribune\\r\\n And hale him up and down; all swearing if\\r\\n The Roman ladies bring not comfort home\\r\\n They'll give him death by inches.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n SICINIUS. What's the news?\\r\\n SECOND MESSENGER. Good news, good news! The ladies have prevail'd,\\r\\n The Volscians are dislodg'd, and Marcius gone.\\r\\n A merrier day did never yet greet Rome,\\r\\n No, not th' expulsion of the Tarquins.\\r\\n SICINIUS. Friend,\\r\\n Art thou certain this is true? Is't most certain?\\r\\n SECOND MESSENGER. As certain as I know the sun is fire.\\r\\n Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it?\\r\\n Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide\\r\\n As the recomforted through th' gates. Why, hark you!\\r\\n [Trumpets, hautboys, drums beat, all together]\\r\\n The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes,\\r\\n Tabors and cymbals, and the shouting Romans,\\r\\n Make the sun dance. Hark you! [A shout within]\\r\\n MENENIUS. This is good news.\\r\\n I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia\\r\\n Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians,\\r\\n A city full; of tribunes such as you,\\r\\n A sea and land full. You have pray'd well to-day:\\r\\n This morning for ten thousand of your throats\\r\\n I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy!\\r\\n [Sound still with the shouts]\\r\\n SICINIUS. First, the gods bless you for your tidings; next,\\r\\n Accept my thankfulness.\\r\\n SECOND MESSENGER. Sir, we have all\\r\\n Great cause to give great thanks.\\r\\n SICINIUS. They are near the city?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Almost at point to enter.\\r\\n SICINIUS. We'll meet them,\\r\\n And help the joy. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Rome. A street near the gate\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter two SENATORS With VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, VALERIA, passing over the\\r\\nstage,\\r\\n'With other LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Behold our patroness, the life of Rome!\\r\\n Call all your tribes together, praise the gods,\\r\\n And make triumphant fires; strew flowers before them.\\r\\n Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius,\\r\\n Repeal him with the welcome of his mother;\\r\\n ALL. Welcome, ladies, welcome!\\r\\n [A flourish with drums and trumpets. Exeunt]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Corioli. A public place\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TULLUS AUFIDIUS with attendents\\r\\n\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. Go tell the lords o' th' city I am here;\\r\\n Deliver them this paper' having read it,\\r\\n Bid them repair to th' market-place, where I,\\r\\n Even in theirs and in the commons' ears,\\r\\n Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse\\r\\n The city ports by this hath enter'd and\\r\\n Intends t' appear before the people, hoping\\r\\n To purge himself with words. Dispatch.\\r\\n Exeunt attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter three or four CONSPIRATORS of AUFIDIUS' faction\\r\\n\\r\\n Most welcome!\\r\\n FIRST CONSPIRATOR. How is it with our general?\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. Even so\\r\\n As with a man by his own alms empoison'd,\\r\\n And with his charity slain.\\r\\n SECOND CONSPIRATOR. Most noble sir,\\r\\n If you do hold the same intent wherein\\r\\n You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you\\r\\n Of your great danger.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. Sir, I cannot tell;\\r\\n We must proceed as we do find the people.\\r\\n THIRD CONSPIRATOR. The people will remain uncertain whilst\\r\\n 'Twixt you there's difference; but the fall of either\\r\\n Makes the survivor heir of all.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. I know it;\\r\\n And my pretext to strike at him admits\\r\\n A good construction. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd\\r\\n Mine honour for his truth; who being so heighten'd,\\r\\n He watered his new plants with dews of flattery,\\r\\n Seducing so my friends; and to this end\\r\\n He bow'd his nature, never known before\\r\\n But to be rough, unswayable, and free.\\r\\n THIRD CONSPIRATOR. Sir, his stoutness\\r\\n When he did stand for consul, which he lost\\r\\n By lack of stooping-\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. That I would have spoken of.\\r\\n Being banish'd for't, he came unto my hearth,\\r\\n Presented to my knife his throat. I took him;\\r\\n Made him joint-servant with me; gave him way\\r\\n In all his own desires; nay, let him choose\\r\\n Out of my files, his projects to accomplish,\\r\\n My best and freshest men; serv'd his designments\\r\\n In mine own person; holp to reap the fame\\r\\n Which he did end all his, and took some pride\\r\\n To do myself this wrong. Till, at the last,\\r\\n I seem'd his follower, not partner; and\\r\\n He wag'd me with his countenance as if\\r\\n I had been mercenary.\\r\\n FIRST CONSPIRATOR. So he did, my lord.\\r\\n The army marvell'd at it; and, in the last,\\r\\n When he had carried Rome and that we look'd\\r\\n For no less spoil than glory-\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. There was it;\\r\\n For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him.\\r\\n At a few drops of women's rheum, which are\\r\\n As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour\\r\\n Of our great action; therefore shall he die,\\r\\n And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark!\\r\\n [Drums and\\r\\n trumpets sound, with great shouts of the people]\\r\\n FIRST CONSPIRATOR. Your native town you enter'd like a post,\\r\\n And had no welcomes home; but he returns\\r\\n Splitting the air with noise.\\r\\n SECOND CONSPIRATOR. And patient fools,\\r\\n Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear\\r\\n With giving him glory.\\r\\n THIRD CONSPIRATOR. Therefore, at your vantage,\\r\\n Ere he express himself or move the people\\r\\n With what he would say, let him feel your sword,\\r\\n Which we will second. When he lies along,\\r\\n After your way his tale pronounc'd shall bury\\r\\n His reasons with his body.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. Say no more:\\r\\n Here come the lords.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the LORDS of the city\\r\\n\\r\\n LORDS. You are most welcome home.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. I have not deserv'd it.\\r\\n But, worthy lords, have you with heed perused\\r\\n What I have written to you?\\r\\n LORDS. We have.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. And grieve to hear't.\\r\\n What faults he made before the last, I think\\r\\n Might have found easy fines; but there to end\\r\\n Where he was to begin, and give away\\r\\n The benefit of our levies, answering us\\r\\n With our own charge, making a treaty where\\r\\n There was a yielding- this admits no excuse.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. He approaches; you shall hear him.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CORIOLANUS, marching with drum and colours;\\r\\n the commoners being with him\\r\\n\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Hail, lords! I am return'd your soldier;\\r\\n No more infected with my country's love\\r\\n Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting\\r\\n Under your great command. You are to know\\r\\n That prosperously I have attempted, and\\r\\n With bloody passage led your wars even to\\r\\n The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought home\\r\\n Doth more than counterpoise a full third part\\r\\n The charges of the action. We have made peace\\r\\n With no less honour to the Antiates\\r\\n Than shame to th' Romans; and we here deliver,\\r\\n Subscrib'd by th' consuls and patricians,\\r\\n Together with the seal o' th' Senate, what\\r\\n We have compounded on.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. Read it not, noble lords;\\r\\n But tell the traitor in the highest degree\\r\\n He hath abus'd your powers.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Traitor! How now?\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. Ay, traitor, Marcius.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Marcius!\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius! Dost thou think\\r\\n I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name\\r\\n Coriolanus, in Corioli?\\r\\n You lords and heads o' th' state, perfidiously\\r\\n He has betray'd your business and given up,\\r\\n For certain drops of salt, your city Rome-\\r\\n I say your city- to his wife and mother;\\r\\n Breaking his oath and resolution like\\r\\n A twist of rotten silk; never admitting\\r\\n Counsel o' th' war; but at his nurse's tears\\r\\n He whin'd and roar'd away your victory,\\r\\n That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart\\r\\n Look'd wond'ring each at others.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Hear'st thou, Mars?\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. Name not the god, thou boy of tears-\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Ha!\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. -no more.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart\\r\\n Too great for what contains it. 'Boy'! O slave!\\r\\n Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever\\r\\n I was forc'd to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords,\\r\\n Must give this cur the lie; and his own notion-\\r\\n Who wears my stripes impress'd upon him, that\\r\\n Must bear my beating to his grave- shall join\\r\\n To thrust the lie unto him.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Peace, both, and hear me speak.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. Cut me to pieces, Volsces; men and lads,\\r\\n Stain all your edges on me. 'Boy'! False hound!\\r\\n If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there\\r\\n That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I\\r\\n Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli.\\r\\n Alone I did it. 'Boy'!\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. Why, noble lords,\\r\\n Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune,\\r\\n Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart,\\r\\n Fore your own eyes and ears?\\r\\n CONSPIRATORS. Let him die for't.\\r\\n ALL THE PEOPLE. Tear him to pieces. Do it presently. He kill'd my\\r\\n son. My daughter. He kill'd my cousin Marcus. He kill'd my\\r\\n father.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Peace, ho! No outrage- peace!\\r\\n The man is noble, and his fame folds in\\r\\n This orb o' th' earth. His last offences to us\\r\\n Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius,\\r\\n And trouble not the peace.\\r\\n CORIOLANUS. O that I had him,\\r\\n With six Aufidiuses, or more- his tribe,\\r\\n To use my lawful sword!\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. Insolent villain!\\r\\n CONSPIRATORS. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him!\\r\\n [The CONSPIRATORS draw and kill CORIOLANUS,who falls.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS stands on him]\\r\\n LORDS. Hold, hold, hold, hold!\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. My noble masters, hear me speak.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. O Tullus!\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. Tread not upon him. Masters all, be quiet;\\r\\n Put up your swords.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. My lords, when you shall know- as in this rage,\\r\\n Provok'd by him, you cannot- the great danger\\r\\n Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice\\r\\n That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours\\r\\n To call me to your Senate, I'll deliver\\r\\n Myself your loyal servant, or endure\\r\\n Your heaviest censure.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Bear from hence his body,\\r\\n And mourn you for him. Let him be regarded\\r\\n As the most noble corse that ever herald\\r\\n Did follow to his um.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. His own impatience\\r\\n Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame.\\r\\n Let's make the best of it.\\r\\n AUFIDIUS. My rage is gone,\\r\\n And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up.\\r\\n Help, three o' th' chiefest soldiers; I'll be one.\\r\\n Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully;\\r\\n Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he\\r\\n Hath widowed and unchilded many a one,\\r\\n Which to this hour bewail the injury,\\r\\n Yet he shall have a noble memory.\\r\\n Assist. Exeunt, bearing the body of CORIOLANUS\\r\\n [A dead march sounded]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Britain. The garden of Cymbeline’s palace.\\r\\nScene II. The same.\\r\\nScene III. Britain. A public place.\\r\\nScene IV. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace.\\r\\nScene V. Rome. Philario’s house.\\r\\nScene VI. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace.\\r\\nScene VII. Britain. The palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. Britain. Before Cymbeline’s palace.\\r\\nScene II. Britain. Imogen’s bedchamber in Cymbeline’s palace; a trunk\\r\\nin one corner.\\r\\nScene III. Cymbeline’s palace. An ante-chamber adjoining Imogen’s\\r\\napartments.\\r\\nScene IV. Rome. Philario’s house.\\r\\nScene V. Rome. Another room in Philario’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Britain. A hall in Cymbeline’s palace.\\r\\nScene II. Britain. Another room in Cymbeline’s palace.\\r\\nScene III. Wales. A mountainous country with a cave.\\r\\nScene IV. Wales, near Milford Haven.\\r\\nScene V. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace.\\r\\nScene VI. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius.\\r\\nScene VII. The same.\\r\\nScene VIII. Rome. A public place.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Wales. Near the cave of Belarius.\\r\\nScene II. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius.\\r\\nScene III. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace.\\r\\nScene IV. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Britain. The Roman camp.\\r\\nScene II. Britain. A field of battle between the British and Roman\\r\\ncamps.\\r\\nScene III. Another part of the field.\\r\\nScene IV. Britain. A prison.\\r\\nScene V. Britain. Cymbeline’s tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE, King of Britain\\r\\nCLOTEN, son to the Queen by a former husband\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS LEONATUS, a gentleman, husband to Imogen\\r\\nBELARIUS, a banished lord, disguised under the name of Morgan\\r\\nGUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS, sons to Cymbeline, disguised under the names\\r\\nof POLYDORE and CADWAL, supposed sons to Belarius\\r\\nPHILARIO, Italian, friend to Posthumus\\r\\nIACHIMO, Italian, friend to Philario\\r\\nCAIUS LUCIUS, General of the Roman forces\\r\\nPISANIO, servant to Posthumus\\r\\nCORNELIUS, a physician\\r\\nA SOOTHSAYER\\r\\nA ROMAN CAPTAIN\\r\\nTWO BRITISH CAPTAINS\\r\\nA FRENCH GENTLEMAN, friend to Philario\\r\\nTWO LORDS of Cymbeline’s court\\r\\nTWO GENTLEMEN of the same\\r\\nTWO GAOLERS\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN, wife to Cymbeline\\r\\nIMOGEN, daughter to Cymbeline by a former queen\\r\\nHELEN, a lady attending on Imogen\\r\\n\\r\\nAPPARITIONS\\r\\n\\r\\nLords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes, a Dutch Gentleman, a Spanish\\r\\nGentleman, Musicians, Officers, Captains, Soldiers, Messengers, and\\r\\nAttendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Britain; Italy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Britain. The garden of Cymbeline’s palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two Gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nYou do not meet a man but frowns; our bloods\\r\\nNo more obey the heavens than our courtiers\\r\\nStill seem as does the King’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nBut what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nHis daughter, and the heir of’s kingdom, whom\\r\\nHe purpos’d to his wife’s sole son—a widow\\r\\nThat late he married—hath referr’d herself\\r\\nUnto a poor but worthy gentleman. She’s wedded;\\r\\nHer husband banish’d; she imprison’d. All\\r\\nIs outward sorrow, though I think the King\\r\\nBe touch’d at very heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNone but the King?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nHe that hath lost her too. So is the Queen,\\r\\nThat most desir’d the match. But not a courtier,\\r\\nAlthough they wear their faces to the bent\\r\\nOf the King’s looks, hath a heart that is not\\r\\nGlad at the thing they scowl at.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nAnd why so?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nHe that hath miss’d the Princess is a thing\\r\\nToo bad for bad report; and he that hath her—\\r\\nI mean that married her, alack, good man!\\r\\nAnd therefore banish’d—is a creature such\\r\\nAs, to seek through the regions of the earth\\r\\nFor one his like, there would be something failing\\r\\nIn him that should compare. I do not think\\r\\nSo fair an outward and such stuff within\\r\\nEndows a man but he.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nYou speak him far.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI do extend him, sir, within himself;\\r\\nCrush him together rather than unfold\\r\\nHis measure duly.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWhat’s his name and birth?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI cannot delve him to the root; his father\\r\\nWas call’d Sicilius, who did join his honour\\r\\nAgainst the Romans with Cassibelan,\\r\\nBut had his titles by Tenantius, whom\\r\\nHe serv’d with glory and admir’d success,\\r\\nSo gain’d the sur-addition Leonatus;\\r\\nAnd had, besides this gentleman in question,\\r\\nTwo other sons, who, in the wars o’ th’ time,\\r\\nDied with their swords in hand; for which their father,\\r\\nThen old and fond of issue, took such sorrow\\r\\nThat he quit being; and his gentle lady,\\r\\nBig of this gentleman, our theme, deceas’d\\r\\nAs he was born. The King he takes the babe\\r\\nTo his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus,\\r\\nBreeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber,\\r\\nPuts to him all the learnings that his time\\r\\nCould make him the receiver of; which he took,\\r\\nAs we do air, fast as ’twas minist’red,\\r\\nAnd in’s spring became a harvest, liv’d in court—\\r\\nWhich rare it is to do—most prais’d, most lov’d,\\r\\nA sample to the youngest; to th’ more mature\\r\\nA glass that feated them; and to the graver\\r\\nA child that guided dotards. To his mistress,\\r\\nFor whom he now is banish’d, her own price\\r\\nProclaims how she esteem’d him and his virtue;\\r\\nBy her election may be truly read\\r\\nWhat kind of man he is.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI honour him\\r\\nEven out of your report. But pray you tell me,\\r\\nIs she sole child to th’ King?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nHis only child.\\r\\nHe had two sons—if this be worth your hearing,\\r\\nMark it—the eldest of them at three years old,\\r\\nI’ th’ swathing clothes the other, from their nursery\\r\\nWere stol’n; and to this hour no guess in knowledge\\r\\nWhich way they went.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nHow long is this ago?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nSome twenty years.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThat a king’s children should be so convey’d,\\r\\nSo slackly guarded, and the search so slow\\r\\nThat could not trace them!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nHowsoe’er ’tis strange,\\r\\nOr that the negligence may well be laugh’d at,\\r\\nYet is it true, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI do well believe you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWe must forbear; here comes the gentleman,\\r\\nThe Queen, and Princess.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Queen, Posthumus and Imogen.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nNo, be assur’d you shall not find me, daughter,\\r\\nAfter the slander of most stepmothers,\\r\\nEvil-ey’d unto you. You’re my prisoner, but\\r\\nYour gaoler shall deliver you the keys\\r\\nThat lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,\\r\\nSo soon as I can win th’ offended King,\\r\\nI will be known your advocate. Marry, yet\\r\\nThe fire of rage is in him, and ’twere good\\r\\nYou lean’d unto his sentence with what patience\\r\\nYour wisdom may inform you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nPlease your Highness,\\r\\nI will from hence today.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nYou know the peril.\\r\\nI’ll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying\\r\\nThe pangs of barr’d affections, though the King\\r\\nHath charg’d you should not speak together.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nO dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant\\r\\nCan tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband,\\r\\nI something fear my father’s wrath, but nothing\\r\\n(Always reserv’d my holy duty) what\\r\\nHis rage can do on me. You must be gone;\\r\\nAnd I shall here abide the hourly shot\\r\\nOf angry eyes, not comforted to live\\r\\nBut that there is this jewel in the world\\r\\nThat I may see again.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nMy queen! my mistress!\\r\\nO lady, weep no more, lest I give cause\\r\\nTo be suspected of more tenderness\\r\\nThan doth become a man. I will remain\\r\\nThe loyal’st husband that did e’er plight troth;\\r\\nMy residence in Rome at one Philario’s,\\r\\nWho to my father was a friend, to me\\r\\nKnown but by letter; thither write, my queen,\\r\\nAnd with mine eyes I’ll drink the words you send,\\r\\nThough ink be made of gall.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nBe brief, I pray you.\\r\\nIf the King come, I shall incur I know not\\r\\nHow much of his displeasure. [_Aside._] Yet I’ll move him\\r\\nTo walk this way. I never do him wrong\\r\\nBut he does buy my injuries, to be friends;\\r\\nPays dear for my offences.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nShould we be taking leave\\r\\nAs long a term as yet we have to live,\\r\\nThe loathness to depart would grow. Adieu!\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nNay, stay a little.\\r\\nWere you but riding forth to air yourself,\\r\\nSuch parting were too petty. Look here, love:\\r\\nThis diamond was my mother’s; take it, heart;\\r\\nBut keep it till you woo another wife,\\r\\nWhen Imogen is dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nHow, how? Another?\\r\\nYou gentle gods, give me but this I have,\\r\\nAnd sear up my embracements from a next\\r\\nWith bonds of death! Remain, remain thou here\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Puts on the ring._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhile sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, fairest,\\r\\nAs I my poor self did exchange for you,\\r\\nTo your so infinite loss, so in our trifles\\r\\nI still win of you. For my sake wear this;\\r\\nIt is a manacle of love; I’ll place it\\r\\nUpon this fairest prisoner.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Puts a bracelet on her arm._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nO the gods!\\r\\nWhen shall we see again?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cymbeline and Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nAlack, the King!\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nThou basest thing, avoid; hence from my sight\\r\\nIf after this command thou fraught the court\\r\\nWith thy unworthiness, thou diest. Away!\\r\\nThou’rt poison to my blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nThe gods protect you,\\r\\nAnd bless the good remainders of the court!\\r\\nI am gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nThere cannot be a pinch in death\\r\\nMore sharp than this is.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nO disloyal thing,\\r\\nThat shouldst repair my youth, thou heap’st\\r\\nA year’s age on me!\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nI beseech you, sir,\\r\\nHarm not yourself with your vexation.\\r\\nI am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare\\r\\nSubdues all pangs, all fears.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nPast grace? obedience?\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nPast hope, and in despair; that way past grace.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nThat mightst have had the sole son of my queen!\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nO blessed that I might not! I chose an eagle,\\r\\nAnd did avoid a puttock.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nThou took’st a beggar, wouldst have made my throne\\r\\nA seat for baseness.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nNo; I rather added\\r\\nA lustre to it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nO thou vile one!\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nSir,\\r\\nIt is your fault that I have lov’d Posthumus.\\r\\nYou bred him as my playfellow, and he is\\r\\nA man worth any woman; overbuys me\\r\\nAlmost the sum he pays.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nWhat, art thou mad?\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nAlmost, sir. Heaven restore me! Would I were\\r\\nA neat-herd’s daughter, and my Leonatus\\r\\nOur neighbour shepherd’s son!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nThou foolish thing!\\r\\n[_To the Queen._] They were again together. You have done\\r\\nNot after our command. Away with her,\\r\\nAnd pen her up.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nBeseech your patience. Peace,\\r\\nDear lady daughter, peace!—Sweet sovereign,\\r\\nLeave us to ourselves, and make yourself some comfort\\r\\nOut of your best advice.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nNay, let her languish\\r\\nA drop of blood a day and, being aged,\\r\\nDie of this folly.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with Lords._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pisanio.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nFie! you must give way.\\r\\nHere is your servant. How now, sir! What news?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nMy lord your son drew on my master.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nHa!\\r\\nNo harm, I trust, is done?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nThere might have been,\\r\\nBut that my master rather play’d than fought,\\r\\nAnd had no help of anger; they were parted\\r\\nBy gentlemen at hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nI am very glad on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nYour son’s my father’s friend; he takes his part\\r\\nTo draw upon an exile! O brave sir!\\r\\nI would they were in Afric both together;\\r\\nMyself by with a needle, that I might prick\\r\\nThe goer-back. Why came you from your master?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nOn his command. He would not suffer me\\r\\nTo bring him to the haven; left these notes\\r\\nOf what commands I should be subject to,\\r\\nWhen’t pleas’d you to employ me.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nThis hath been\\r\\nYour faithful servant. I dare lay mine honour\\r\\nHe will remain so.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nI humbly thank your Highness.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nPray walk awhile.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nAbout some half-hour hence,\\r\\nPray you speak with me.\\r\\nYou shall at least go see my lord aboard.\\r\\nFor this time leave me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Britain. A public place.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cloten and two Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nSir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; the violence of action hath\\r\\nmade you reek as a sacrifice. Where air comes out, air comes in;\\r\\nthere’s none abroad so wholesome as that you vent.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nIf my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Have I hurt him?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] No, faith; not so much as his patience.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nHurt him! His body’s a passable carcass if he be not hurt. It is a\\r\\nthroughfare for steel if it be not hurt.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] His steel was in debt; it went o’ th’ backside the town.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nThe villain would not stand me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] No; but he fled forward still, toward your face.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nStand you? You have land enough of your own; but he added to your\\r\\nhaving, gave you some ground.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] As many inches as you have oceans.\\r\\nPuppies!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nI would they had not come between us.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] So would I, till you had measur’d how long a fool you were\\r\\nupon the ground.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nAnd that she should love this fellow, and refuse me!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] If it be a sin to make a true election, she is damn’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nSir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain go not together;\\r\\nshe’s a good sign, but I have seen small reflection of her wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] She shines not upon fools, lest the reflection should hurt\\r\\nher.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nCome, I’ll to my chamber. Would there had been some hurt done!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I wish not so; unless it had been the fall of an ass, which\\r\\nis no great hurt.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nYou’ll go with us?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nI’ll attend your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nNay, come, let’s go together.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\nWell, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Imogen and Pisanio.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nI would thou grew’st unto the shores o’ th’ haven,\\r\\nAnd questioned’st every sail; if he should write,\\r\\nAnd I not have it, ’twere a paper lost,\\r\\nAs offer’d mercy is. What was the last\\r\\nThat he spake to thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nIt was: his queen, his queen!\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nThen wav’d his handkerchief?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nAnd kiss’d it, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nSenseless linen, happier therein than I!\\r\\nAnd that was all?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nNo, madam; for so long\\r\\nAs he could make me with his eye, or ear\\r\\nDistinguish him from others, he did keep\\r\\nThe deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief,\\r\\nStill waving, as the fits and stirs of’s mind\\r\\nCould best express how slow his soul sail’d on,\\r\\nHow swift his ship.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nThou shouldst have made him\\r\\nAs little as a crow, or less, ere left\\r\\nTo after-eye him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nMadam, so I did.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nI would have broke mine eyestrings, crack’d them but\\r\\nTo look upon him, till the diminution\\r\\nOf space had pointed him sharp as my needle;\\r\\nNay, followed him till he had melted from\\r\\nThe smallness of a gnat to air, and then\\r\\nHave turn’d mine eye and wept. But, good Pisanio,\\r\\nWhen shall we hear from him?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nBe assur’d, madam,\\r\\nWith his next vantage.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nI did not take my leave of him, but had\\r\\nMost pretty things to say. Ere I could tell him\\r\\nHow I would think on him at certain hours\\r\\nSuch thoughts and such; or I could make him swear\\r\\nThe shes of Italy should not betray\\r\\nMine interest and his honour; or have charg’d him,\\r\\nAt the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight,\\r\\nT’ encounter me with orisons, for then\\r\\nI am in heaven for him; or ere I could\\r\\nGive him that parting kiss which I had set\\r\\nBetwixt two charming words, comes in my father,\\r\\nAnd like the tyrannous breathing of the north\\r\\nShakes all our buds from growing.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY.\\r\\nThe Queen, madam,\\r\\nDesires your Highness’ company.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nThose things I bid you do, get them dispatch’d.\\r\\nI will attend the Queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nMadam, I shall.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Rome. Philario’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Philario, Iachimo, a Frenchman, a Dutchman and a Spaniard.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nBelieve it, sir, I have seen him in Britain. He was then of a crescent\\r\\nnote, expected to prove so worthy as since he hath been allowed the\\r\\nname of. But I could then have look’d on him without the help of\\r\\nadmiration, though the catalogue of his endowments had been tabled by\\r\\nhis side, and I to peruse him by items.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILARIO.\\r\\nYou speak of him when he was less furnish’d than now he is with that\\r\\nwhich makes him both without and within.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCHMAN.\\r\\nI have seen him in France; we had very many there could behold the sun\\r\\nwith as firm eyes as he.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nThis matter of marrying his king’s daughter, wherein he must be weighed\\r\\nrather by her value than his own, words him, I doubt not, a great deal\\r\\nfrom the matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCHMAN.\\r\\nAnd then his banishment.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nAy, and the approbation of those that weep this lamentable divorce\\r\\nunder her colours are wonderfully to extend him, be it but to fortify\\r\\nher judgement, which else an easy battery might lay flat, for taking a\\r\\nbeggar, without less quality. But how comes it he is to sojourn with\\r\\nyou? How creeps acquaintance?\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILARIO.\\r\\nHis father and I were soldiers together, to whom I have been often\\r\\nbound for no less than my life.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Posthumus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes the Briton. Let him be so entertained amongst you as suits\\r\\nwith gentlemen of your knowing to a stranger of his quality. I beseech\\r\\nyou all be better known to this gentleman, whom I commend to you as a\\r\\nnoble friend of mine. How worthy he is I will leave to appear\\r\\nhereafter, rather than story him in his own hearing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCHMAN.\\r\\nSir, we have known together in Orleans.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nSince when I have been debtor to you for courtesies, which I will be\\r\\never to pay and yet pay still.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCHMAN.\\r\\nSir, you o’errate my poor kindness. I was glad I did atone my\\r\\ncountryman and you; it had been pity you should have been put together\\r\\nwith so mortal a purpose as then each bore, upon importance of so\\r\\nslight and trivial a nature.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nBy your pardon, sir. I was then a young traveller; rather shunn’d to go\\r\\neven with what I heard than in my every action to be guided by others’\\r\\nexperiences; but upon my mended judgement (if I offend not to say it is\\r\\nmended) my quarrel was not altogether slight.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCHMAN.\\r\\nFaith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement of swords, and by such two\\r\\nthat would by all likelihood have confounded one the other or have\\r\\nfall’n both.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nCan we, with manners, ask what was the difference?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCHMAN.\\r\\nSafely, I think. ’Twas a contention in public, which may, without\\r\\ncontradiction, suffer the report. It was much like an argument that\\r\\nfell out last night, where each of us fell in praise of our country\\r\\nmistresses; this gentleman at that time vouching (and upon warrant of\\r\\nbloody affirmation) his to be more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste,\\r\\nconstant, qualified, and less attemptable, than any the rarest of our\\r\\nladies in France.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nThat lady is not now living, or this gentleman’s opinion, by this, worn\\r\\nout.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nShe holds her virtue still, and I my mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nYou must not so far prefer her ’fore ours of Italy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nBeing so far provok’d as I was in France, I would abate her nothing,\\r\\nthough I profess myself her adorer, not her friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nAs fair and as good—a kind of hand-in-hand comparison—had been\\r\\nsomething too fair and too good for any lady in Britain. If she went\\r\\nbefore others I have seen as that diamond of yours outlustres many I\\r\\nhave beheld, I could not but believe she excelled many; but I have not\\r\\nseen the most precious diamond that is, nor you the lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nI prais’d her as I rated her. So do I my stone.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nWhat do you esteem it at?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nMore than the world enjoys.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nEither your unparagon’d mistress is dead, or she’s outpriz’d by a\\r\\ntrifle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nYou are mistaken: the one may be sold or given, if there were wealth\\r\\nenough for the purchase or merit for the gift; the other is not a thing\\r\\nfor sale, and only the gift of the gods.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nWhich the gods have given you?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nWhich by their graces I will keep.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nYou may wear her in title yours; but you know strange fowl light upon\\r\\nneighbouring ponds. Your ring may be stol’n too. So your brace of\\r\\nunprizable estimations, the one is but frail and the other casual; a\\r\\ncunning thief, or a that-way-accomplish’d courtier, would hazard the\\r\\nwinning both of first and last.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nYour Italy contains none so accomplish’d a courtier to convince the\\r\\nhonour of my mistress, if in the holding or loss of that you term her\\r\\nfrail. I do nothing doubt you have store of thieves; notwithstanding, I\\r\\nfear not my ring.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILARIO.\\r\\nLet us leave here, gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nSir, with all my heart. This worthy signior, I thank him, makes no\\r\\nstranger of me; we are familiar at first.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nWith five times so much conversation I should get ground of your fair\\r\\nmistress; make her go back even to the yielding, had I admittance and\\r\\nopportunity to friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nNo, no.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nI dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my estate to your ring, which, in\\r\\nmy opinion, o’ervalues it something. But I make my wager rather against\\r\\nyour confidence than her reputation; and, to bar your offence herein\\r\\ntoo, I durst attempt it against any lady in the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nYou are a great deal abus’d in too bold a persuasion, and I doubt not\\r\\nyou sustain what y’are worthy of by your attempt.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nWhat’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nA repulse; though your attempt, as you call it, deserve more; a\\r\\npunishment too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILARIO.\\r\\nGentlemen, enough of this. It came in too suddenly; let it die as it\\r\\nwas born, and I pray you be better acquainted.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nWould I had put my estate and my neighbour’s on th’ approbation of what\\r\\nI have spoke!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nWhat lady would you choose to assail?\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nYours, whom in constancy you think stands so safe. I will lay you ten\\r\\nthousand ducats to your ring that, commend me to the court where your\\r\\nlady is, with no more advantage than the opportunity of a second\\r\\nconference, and I will bring from thence that honour of hers which you\\r\\nimagine so reserv’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nI will wage against your gold, gold to it. My ring I hold dear as my\\r\\nfinger; ’tis part of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nYou are a friend, and therein the wiser. If you buy ladies’ flesh at a\\r\\nmillion a dram, you cannot preserve it from tainting. But I see you\\r\\nhave some religion in you, that you fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nThis is but a custom in your tongue; you bear a graver purpose, I hope.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nI am the master of my speeches, and would undergo what’s spoken, I\\r\\nswear.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nWill you? I shall but lend my diamond till your return. Let there be\\r\\ncovenants drawn between’s. My mistress exceeds in goodness the hugeness\\r\\nof your unworthy thinking. I dare you to this match: here’s my ring.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILARIO.\\r\\nI will have it no lay.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nBy the gods, it is one. If I bring you no sufficient testimony that I\\r\\nhave enjoy’d the dearest bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand\\r\\nducats are yours; so is your diamond too. If I come off, and leave her\\r\\nin such honour as you have trust in, she your jewel, this your jewel,\\r\\nand my gold are yours: provided I have your commendation for my more\\r\\nfree entertainment.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nI embrace these conditions; let us have articles betwixt us. Only, thus\\r\\nfar you shall answer: if you make your voyage upon her, and give me\\r\\ndirectly to understand you have prevail’d, I am no further your enemy;\\r\\nshe is not worth our debate; if she remain unseduc’d, you not making it\\r\\nappear otherwise, for your ill opinion and th’ assault you have made to\\r\\nher chastity you shall answer me with your sword.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nYour hand, a covenant! We will have these things set down by lawful\\r\\ncounsel, and straight away for Britain, lest the bargain should catch\\r\\ncold and starve. I will fetch my gold and have our two wagers recorded.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nAgreed.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Posthumus and Iachimo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCHMAN.\\r\\nWill this hold, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILARIO.\\r\\nSignior Iachimo will not from it. Pray let us follow ’em.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Queen, Ladies and Cornelius.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nWhiles yet the dew’s on ground, gather those flowers;\\r\\nMake haste; who has the note of them?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY.\\r\\nI, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nDispatch.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Ladies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, Master Doctor, have you brought those drugs?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNELIUS.\\r\\nPleaseth your Highness, ay. Here they are, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Presenting a box._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBut I beseech your Grace, without offence,\\r\\n(My conscience bids me ask) wherefore you have\\r\\nCommanded of me these most poisonous compounds\\r\\nWhich are the movers of a languishing death,\\r\\nBut, though slow, deadly?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nI wonder, Doctor,\\r\\nThou ask’st me such a question. Have I not been\\r\\nThy pupil long? Hast thou not learn’d me how\\r\\nTo make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so\\r\\nThat our great king himself doth woo me oft\\r\\nFor my confections? Having thus far proceeded\\r\\n(Unless thou think’st me devilish) is’t not meet\\r\\nThat I did amplify my judgement in\\r\\nOther conclusions? I will try the forces\\r\\nOf these thy compounds on such creatures as\\r\\nWe count not worth the hanging (but none human)\\r\\nTo try the vigour of them, and apply\\r\\nAllayments to their act, and by them gather\\r\\nTheir several virtues and effects.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNELIUS.\\r\\nYour Highness\\r\\nShall from this practice but make hard your heart;\\r\\nBesides, the seeing these effects will be\\r\\nBoth noisome and infectious.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nO, content thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pisanio.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Aside._] Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him\\r\\nWill I first work. He’s for his master,\\r\\nAn enemy to my son. How now, Pisanio!\\r\\nDoctor, your service for this time is ended;\\r\\nTake your own way.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNELIUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I do suspect you, madam;\\r\\nBut you shall do no harm.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\n[_To Pisanio._] Hark thee, a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNELIUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I do not like her. She doth think she has\\r\\nStrange ling’ring poisons. I do know her spirit,\\r\\nAnd will not trust one of her malice with\\r\\nA drug of such damn’d nature. Those she has\\r\\nWill stupefy and dull the sense awhile,\\r\\nWhich first perchance she’ll prove on cats and dogs,\\r\\nThen afterward up higher; but there is\\r\\nNo danger in what show of death it makes,\\r\\nMore than the locking up the spirits a time,\\r\\nTo be more fresh, reviving. She is fool’d\\r\\nWith a most false effect; and I the truer\\r\\nSo to be false with her.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nNo further service, Doctor,\\r\\nUntil I send for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNELIUS.\\r\\nI humbly take my leave.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nWeeps she still, say’st thou? Dost thou think in time\\r\\nShe will not quench, and let instructions enter\\r\\nWhere folly now possesses? Do thou work.\\r\\nWhen thou shalt bring me word she loves my son,\\r\\nI’ll tell thee on the instant thou art then\\r\\nAs great as is thy master; greater, for\\r\\nHis fortunes all lie speechless, and his name\\r\\nIs at last gasp. Return he cannot, nor\\r\\nContinue where he is. To shift his being\\r\\nIs to exchange one misery with another,\\r\\nAnd every day that comes comes to decay\\r\\nA day’s work in him. What shalt thou expect\\r\\nTo be depender on a thing that leans,\\r\\nWho cannot be new built, nor has no friends\\r\\nSo much as but to prop him?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Queen drops the box. Pisanio takes it up._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThou tak’st up\\r\\nThou know’st not what; but take it for thy labour.\\r\\nIt is a thing I made, which hath the King\\r\\nFive times redeem’d from death. I do not know\\r\\nWhat is more cordial. Nay, I prithee take it;\\r\\nIt is an earnest of a further good\\r\\nThat I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how\\r\\nThe case stands with her; do’t as from thyself.\\r\\nThink what a chance thou changest on; but think\\r\\nThou hast thy mistress still; to boot, my son,\\r\\nWho shall take notice of thee. I’ll move the King\\r\\nTo any shape of thy preferment, such\\r\\nAs thou’lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly,\\r\\nThat set thee on to this desert, am bound\\r\\nTo load thy merit richly. Call my women.\\r\\nThink on my words.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Pisanio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nA sly and constant knave,\\r\\nNot to be shak’d; the agent for his master,\\r\\nAnd the remembrancer of her to hold\\r\\nThe hand-fast to her lord. I have given him that\\r\\nWhich, if he take, shall quite unpeople her\\r\\nOf liegers for her sweet; and which she after,\\r\\nExcept she bend her humour, shall be assur’d\\r\\nTo taste of too.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pisanio and Ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo, so. Well done, well done.\\r\\nThe violets, cowslips, and the primroses,\\r\\nBear to my closet. Fare thee well, Pisanio;\\r\\nThink on my words.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Queen and Ladies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nAnd shall do.\\r\\nBut when to my good lord I prove untrue\\r\\nI’ll choke myself: there’s all I’ll do for you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. Britain. The palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Imogen alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nA father cruel and a step-dame false;\\r\\nA foolish suitor to a wedded lady\\r\\nThat hath her husband banish’d. O, that husband!\\r\\nMy supreme crown of grief! and those repeated\\r\\nVexations of it! Had I been thief-stol’n,\\r\\nAs my two brothers, happy! but most miserable\\r\\nIs the desire that’s glorious. Blessed be those,\\r\\nHow mean soe’er, that have their honest wills,\\r\\nWhich seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pisanio and Iachimo.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nMadam, a noble gentleman of Rome\\r\\nComes from my lord with letters.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nChange you, madam?\\r\\nThe worthy Leonatus is in safety,\\r\\nAnd greets your Highness dearly.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Presents a letter._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nThanks, good sir.\\r\\nYou’re kindly welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] All of her that is out of door most rich!\\r\\nIf she be furnish’d with a mind so rare,\\r\\nShe is alone th’ Arabian bird, and I\\r\\nHave lost the wager. Boldness be my friend!\\r\\nArm me, audacity, from head to foot!\\r\\nOr, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight;\\r\\nRather, directly fly.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\n[_Reads._] _He is one of the noblest note, to whose kindnesses I am\\r\\nmost infinitely tied. Reflect upon him accordingly, as you value your\\r\\ntrust.\\r\\n LEONATUS._\\r\\n\\r\\nSo far I read aloud;\\r\\nBut even the very middle of my heart\\r\\nIs warm’d by th’ rest and takes it thankfully.\\r\\nYou are as welcome, worthy sir, as I\\r\\nHave words to bid you; and shall find it so\\r\\nIn all that I can do.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nThanks, fairest lady.\\r\\nWhat, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes\\r\\nTo see this vaulted arch and the rich crop\\r\\nOf sea and land, which can distinguish ’twixt\\r\\nThe fiery orbs above and the twinn’d stones\\r\\nUpon the number’d beach, and can we not\\r\\nPartition make with spectacles so precious\\r\\n’Twixt fair and foul?\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nWhat makes your admiration?\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nIt cannot be i’ th’ eye, for apes and monkeys,\\r\\n’Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way and\\r\\nContemn with mows the other; nor i’ th’ judgement,\\r\\nFor idiots in this case of favour would\\r\\nBe wisely definite; nor i’ th’ appetite;\\r\\nSluttery, to such neat excellence oppos’d,\\r\\nShould make desire vomit emptiness,\\r\\nNot so allur’d to feed.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nWhat is the matter, trow?\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nThe cloyed will—\\r\\nThat satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub\\r\\nBoth fill’d and running—ravening first the lamb,\\r\\nLongs after for the garbage.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nWhat, dear sir,\\r\\nThus raps you? Are you well?\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nThanks, madam; well. Beseech you, sir,\\r\\nDesire my man’s abode where I did leave him.\\r\\nHe’s strange and peevish.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nI was going, sir,\\r\\nTo give him welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nContinues well my lord? His health beseech you?\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nWell, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nIs he dispos’d to mirth? I hope he is.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nExceeding pleasant; none a stranger there\\r\\nSo merry and so gamesome. He is call’d\\r\\nThe Briton reveller.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nWhen he was here\\r\\nHe did incline to sadness, and oft-times\\r\\nNot knowing why.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nI never saw him sad.\\r\\nThere is a Frenchman his companion, one\\r\\nAn eminent monsieur that, it seems, much loves\\r\\nA Gallian girl at home. He furnaces\\r\\nThe thick sighs from him; whiles the jolly Briton\\r\\n(Your lord, I mean) laughs from’s free lungs, cries “O,\\r\\nCan my sides hold, to think that man, who knows\\r\\nBy history, report, or his own proof,\\r\\nWhat woman is, yea, what she cannot choose\\r\\nBut must be, will’s free hours languish for\\r\\nAssured bondage?”\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nWill my lord say so?\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nAy, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter.\\r\\nIt is a recreation to be by\\r\\nAnd hear him mock the Frenchman. But heavens know\\r\\nSome men are much to blame.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nNot he, I hope.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nNot he; but yet heaven’s bounty towards him might\\r\\nBe us’d more thankfully. In himself, ’tis much;\\r\\nIn you, which I account his, beyond all talents.\\r\\nWhilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound\\r\\nTo pity too.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nWhat do you pity, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nTwo creatures heartily.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nAm I one, sir?\\r\\nYou look on me: what wreck discern you in me\\r\\nDeserves your pity?\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nLamentable! What,\\r\\nTo hide me from the radiant sun and solace\\r\\nI’ th’ dungeon by a snuff?\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nI pray you, sir,\\r\\nDeliver with more openness your answers\\r\\nTo my demands. Why do you pity me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nThat others do,\\r\\nI was about to say, enjoy your—But\\r\\nIt is an office of the gods to venge it,\\r\\nNot mine to speak on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nYou do seem to know\\r\\nSomething of me, or what concerns me; pray you,\\r\\nSince doubting things go ill often hurts more\\r\\nThan to be sure they do; for certainties\\r\\nEither are past remedies, or, timely knowing,\\r\\nThe remedy then born—discover to me\\r\\nWhat both you spur and stop.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nHad I this cheek\\r\\nTo bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,\\r\\nWhose every touch, would force the feeler’s soul\\r\\nTo th’ oath of loyalty; this object, which\\r\\nTakes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,\\r\\nFixing it only here; should I, damn’d then,\\r\\nSlaver with lips as common as the stairs\\r\\nThat mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands\\r\\nMade hard with hourly falsehood (falsehood as\\r\\nWith labour): then by-peeping in an eye\\r\\nBase and illustrious as the smoky light\\r\\nThat’s fed with stinking tallow: it were fit\\r\\nThat all the plagues of hell should at one time\\r\\nEncounter such revolt.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nMy lord, I fear,\\r\\nHas forgot Britain.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nAnd himself. Not I\\r\\nInclin’d to this intelligence pronounce\\r\\nThe beggary of his change; but ’tis your graces\\r\\nThat from my mutest conscience to my tongue\\r\\nCharms this report out.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nLet me hear no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nO dearest soul, your cause doth strike my heart\\r\\nWith pity that doth make me sick! A lady\\r\\nSo fair, and fasten’d to an empery,\\r\\nWould make the great’st king double, to be partner’d\\r\\nWith tomboys hir’d with that self exhibition\\r\\nWhich your own coffers yield! with diseas’d ventures\\r\\nThat play with all infirmities for gold\\r\\nWhich rottenness can lend nature! Such boil’d stuff\\r\\nAs well might poison poison! Be reveng’d;\\r\\nOr she that bore you was no queen, and you\\r\\nRecoil from your great stock.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nReveng’d?\\r\\nHow should I be reveng’d? If this be true,\\r\\n(As I have such a heart that both mine ears\\r\\nMust not in haste abuse) if it be true,\\r\\nHow should I be reveng’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nShould he make me\\r\\nLive like Diana’s priest betwixt cold sheets,\\r\\nWhiles he is vaulting variable ramps,\\r\\nIn your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it.\\r\\nI dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure,\\r\\nMore noble than that runagate to your bed,\\r\\nAnd will continue fast to your affection,\\r\\nStill close as sure.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nWhat ho, Pisanio!\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nLet me my service tender on your lips.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nAway! I do condemn mine ears that have\\r\\nSo long attended thee. If thou wert honourable,\\r\\nThou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not\\r\\nFor such an end thou seek’st, as base as strange.\\r\\nThou wrong’st a gentleman who is as far\\r\\nFrom thy report as thou from honour; and\\r\\nSolicits here a lady that disdains\\r\\nThee and the devil alike. What ho, Pisanio!\\r\\nThe King my father shall be made acquainted\\r\\nOf thy assault. If he shall think it fit\\r\\nA saucy stranger in his court to mart\\r\\nAs in a Romish stew, and to expound\\r\\nHis beastly mind to us, he hath a court\\r\\nHe little cares for, and a daughter who\\r\\nHe not respects at all. What ho, Pisanio!\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nO happy Leonatus! I may say\\r\\nThe credit that thy lady hath of thee\\r\\nDeserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness\\r\\nHer assur’d credit. Blessed live you long,\\r\\nA lady to the worthiest sir that ever\\r\\nCountry call’d his! and you his mistress, only\\r\\nFor the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon.\\r\\nI have spoke this to know if your affiance\\r\\nWere deeply rooted, and shall make your lord\\r\\nThat which he is new o’er; and he is one\\r\\nThe truest manner’d, such a holy witch\\r\\nThat he enchants societies into him,\\r\\nHalf all men’s hearts are his.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nYou make amends.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nHe sits ’mongst men like a descended god:\\r\\nHe hath a kind of honour sets him off\\r\\nMore than a mortal seeming. Be not angry,\\r\\nMost mighty Princess, that I have adventur’d\\r\\nTo try your taking of a false report, which hath\\r\\nHonour’d with confirmation your great judgement\\r\\nIn the election of a sir so rare,\\r\\nWhich you know cannot err. The love I bear him\\r\\nMade me to fan you thus; but the gods made you,\\r\\nUnlike all others, chaffless. Pray your pardon.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nAll’s well, sir; take my pow’r i’ th’ court for yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nMy humble thanks. I had almost forgot\\r\\nT’ entreat your Grace but in a small request,\\r\\nAnd yet of moment too, for it concerns\\r\\nYour lord; myself and other noble friends\\r\\nAre partners in the business.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nPray what is’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nSome dozen Romans of us, and your lord\\r\\n(The best feather of our wing) have mingled sums\\r\\nTo buy a present for the Emperor;\\r\\nWhich I, the factor for the rest, have done\\r\\nIn France. ’Tis plate of rare device, and jewels\\r\\nOf rich and exquisite form, their values great;\\r\\nAnd I am something curious, being strange,\\r\\nTo have them in safe stowage. May it please you\\r\\nTo take them in protection?\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nWillingly;\\r\\nAnd pawn mine honour for their safety. Since\\r\\nMy lord hath interest in them, I will keep them\\r\\nIn my bedchamber.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nThey are in a trunk,\\r\\nAttended by my men. I will make bold\\r\\nTo send them to you only for this night;\\r\\nI must aboard tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nO, no, no.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nYes, I beseech; or I shall short my word\\r\\nBy length’ning my return. From Gallia\\r\\nI cross’d the seas on purpose and on promise\\r\\nTo see your Grace.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nI thank you for your pains.\\r\\nBut not away tomorrow!\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nO, I must, madam.\\r\\nTherefore I shall beseech you, if you please\\r\\nTo greet your lord with writing, do’t tonight.\\r\\nI have outstood my time, which is material\\r\\nTo th’ tender of our present.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nI will write.\\r\\nSend your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept\\r\\nAnd truly yielded you. You’re very welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Britain. Before Cymbeline’s palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cloten and the two Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nWas there ever man had such luck! When I kiss’d the jack, upon an\\r\\nupcast to be hit away! I had a hundred pound on’t; and then a whoreson\\r\\njackanapes must take me up for swearing, as if I borrowed mine oaths of\\r\\nhim, and might not spend them at my pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nWhat got he by that? You have broke his pate with your bowl.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] If his wit had been like him that broke it, it would have\\r\\nrun all out.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nWhen a gentleman is dispos’d to swear, it is not for any standers-by to\\r\\ncurtail his oaths. Ha?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\nNo, my lord; [_Aside._] nor crop the ears of them.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nWhoreson dog! I gave him satisfaction. Would he had been one of my\\r\\nrank!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] To have smell’d like a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nI am not vex’d more at anything in th’ earth. A pox on’t! I had rather\\r\\nnot be so noble as I am; they dare not fight with me, because of the\\r\\nQueen my mother. Every jackslave hath his bellyful of fighting, and I\\r\\nmust go up and down like a cock that nobody can match.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] You are cock and capon too; and you crow, cock, with your\\r\\ncomb on.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nSayest thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\nIt is not fit your lordship should undertake every companion that you\\r\\ngive offence to.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nNo, I know that; but it is fit I should commit offence to my inferiors.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\nAy, it is fit for your lordship only.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nWhy, so I say.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nDid you hear of a stranger that’s come to court tonight?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nA stranger, and I not known on’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] He’s a strange fellow himself, and knows it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nThere’s an Italian come, and, ’tis thought, one of Leonatus’ friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nLeonatus? A banish’d rascal; and he’s another, whatsoever he be. Who\\r\\ntold you of this stranger?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nOne of your lordship’s pages.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nIs it fit I went to look upon him? Is there no derogation in’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\nYou cannot derogate, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nNot easily, I think.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] You are a fool granted; therefore your issues, being\\r\\nfoolish, do not derogate.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nCome, I’ll go see this Italian. What I have lost today at bowls I’ll\\r\\nwin tonight of him. Come, go.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\nI’ll attend your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Cloten and First Lord._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThat such a crafty devil as is his mother\\r\\nShould yield the world this ass! A woman that\\r\\nBears all down with her brain; and this her son\\r\\nCannot take two from twenty, for his heart,\\r\\nAnd leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess,\\r\\nThou divine Imogen, what thou endur’st,\\r\\nBetwixt a father by thy step-dame govern’d,\\r\\nA mother hourly coining plots, a wooer\\r\\nMore hateful than the foul expulsion is\\r\\nOf thy dear husband, than that horrid act\\r\\nOf the divorce he’d make! The heavens hold firm\\r\\nThe walls of thy dear honour, keep unshak’d\\r\\nThat temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand\\r\\nT’ enjoy thy banish’d lord and this great land!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Britain. Imogen’s bedchamber in Cymbeline’s palace; a trunk\\r\\nin one corner.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Immogen in her bed, and a Lady attending.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nWho’s there? My woman Helen?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY.\\r\\nPlease you, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nWhat hour is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY.\\r\\nAlmost midnight, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nI have read three hours then. Mine eyes are weak;\\r\\nFold down the leaf where I have left. To bed.\\r\\nTake not away the taper, leave it burning;\\r\\nAnd if thou canst awake by four o’ th’ clock,\\r\\nI prithee call me. Sleep hath seiz’d me wholly.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lady._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTo your protection I commend me, gods.\\r\\nFrom fairies and the tempters of the night\\r\\nGuard me, beseech ye!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sleeps. Iachimo comes from the trunk._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nThe crickets sing, and man’s o’er-labour’d sense\\r\\nRepairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus\\r\\nDid softly press the rushes ere he waken’d\\r\\nThe chastity he wounded. Cytherea,\\r\\nHow bravely thou becom’st thy bed! fresh lily,\\r\\nAnd whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!\\r\\nBut kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagon’d,\\r\\nHow dearly they do’t! ’Tis her breathing that\\r\\nPerfumes the chamber thus. The flame o’ th’ taper\\r\\nBows toward her and would under-peep her lids\\r\\nTo see th’ enclosed lights, now canopied\\r\\nUnder these windows white and azure, lac’d\\r\\nWith blue of heaven’s own tinct. But my design\\r\\nTo note the chamber. I will write all down:\\r\\nSuch and such pictures; there the window; such\\r\\nTh’ adornment of her bed; the arras, figures,\\r\\nWhy, such and such; and the contents o’ th’ story.\\r\\nAh, but some natural notes about her body\\r\\nAbove ten thousand meaner movables\\r\\nWould testify, t’ enrich mine inventory.\\r\\nO sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her!\\r\\nAnd be her sense but as a monument,\\r\\nThus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off;\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Taking off her bracelet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAs slippery as the Gordian knot was hard!\\r\\n’Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly,\\r\\nAs strongly as the conscience does within,\\r\\nTo th’ madding of her lord. On her left breast\\r\\nA mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops\\r\\nI’ th’ bottom of a cowslip. Here’s a voucher\\r\\nStronger than ever law could make; this secret\\r\\nWill force him think I have pick’d the lock and ta’en\\r\\nThe treasure of her honour. No more. To what end?\\r\\nWhy should I write this down that’s riveted,\\r\\nScrew’d to my memory? She hath been reading late\\r\\nThe tale of Tereus; here the leaf’s turn’d down\\r\\nWhere Philomel gave up. I have enough.\\r\\nTo th’ trunk again, and shut the spring of it.\\r\\nSwift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning\\r\\nMay bare the raven’s eye! I lodge in fear;\\r\\nThough this a heavenly angel, hell is here.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Clock strikes._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOne, two, three. Time, time!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit into the trunk._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Cymbeline’s palace. An ante-chamber adjoining Imogen’s\\r\\napartments.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cloten and Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nYour lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most coldest that\\r\\never turn’d up ace.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nIt would make any man cold to lose.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nBut not every man patient after the noble temper of your lordship. You\\r\\nare most hot and furious when you win.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nWinning will put any man into courage. If I could get this foolish\\r\\nImogen, I should have gold enough. It’s almost morning, is’t not?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nDay, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nI would this music would come. I am advised to give her music a\\r\\nmornings; they say it will penetrate.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Musicians.\\r\\n\\r\\nCome on, tune. If you can penetrate her with your fingering, so. We’ll\\r\\ntry with tongue too. If none will do, let her remain; but I’ll never\\r\\ngive o’er. First, a very excellent good-conceited thing; after, a\\r\\nwonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it, and then let her\\r\\nconsider.\\r\\n\\r\\nSONG\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Hark, hark! the lark at heaven’s gate sings,\\r\\n And Phœbus ’gins arise,\\r\\n His steeds to water at those springs\\r\\n On chalic’d flow’rs that lies;\\r\\n And winking Mary-buds begin\\r\\n To ope their golden eyes.\\r\\n With everything that pretty is,\\r\\n My lady sweet, arise;\\r\\n Arise, arise!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nSo, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will consider your music the\\r\\nbetter; if it do not, it is a vice in her ears which horsehairs and\\r\\ncalves’ guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Musicians._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cymbeline and Queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\nHere comes the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nI am glad I was up so late, for that’s the reason I was up so early. He\\r\\ncannot choose but take this service I have done fatherly.—Good morrow\\r\\nto your Majesty and to my gracious mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nAttend you here the door of our stern daughter?\\r\\nWill she not forth?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nI have assail’d her with musics, but she vouchsafes no notice.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nThe exile of her minion is too new;\\r\\nShe hath not yet forgot him; some more time\\r\\nMust wear the print of his remembrance on’t,\\r\\nAnd then she’s yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nYou are most bound to th’ King,\\r\\nWho lets go by no vantages that may\\r\\nPrefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself\\r\\nTo orderly solicits, and be friended\\r\\nWith aptness of the season; make denials\\r\\nIncrease your services; so seem as if\\r\\nYou were inspir’d to do those duties which\\r\\nYou tender to her; that you in all obey her,\\r\\nSave when command to your dismission tends,\\r\\nAnd therein you are senseless.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nSenseless? Not so.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nSo like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;\\r\\nThe one is Caius Lucius.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nA worthy fellow,\\r\\nAlbeit he comes on angry purpose now;\\r\\nBut that’s no fault of his. We must receive him\\r\\nAccording to the honour of his sender;\\r\\nAnd towards himself, his goodness forespent on us,\\r\\nWe must extend our notice. Our dear son,\\r\\nWhen you have given good morning to your mistress,\\r\\nAttend the Queen and us; we shall have need\\r\\nT’ employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Cloten._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nIf she be up, I’ll speak with her; if not,\\r\\nLet her lie still and dream. By your leave, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knocks._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI know her women are about her; what\\r\\nIf I do line one of their hands? ’Tis gold\\r\\nWhich buys admittance (oft it doth) yea, and makes\\r\\nDiana’s rangers false themselves, yield up\\r\\nTheir deer to th’ stand o’ th’ stealer; and ’tis gold\\r\\nWhich makes the true man kill’d and saves the thief;\\r\\nNay, sometime hangs both thief and true man. What\\r\\nCan it not do and undo? I will make\\r\\nOne of her women lawyer to me, for\\r\\nI yet not understand the case myself.\\r\\nBy your leave.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knocks._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY.\\r\\nWho’s there that knocks?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nA gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY.\\r\\nNo more?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nYes, and a gentlewoman’s son.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY.\\r\\nThat’s more\\r\\nThan some whose tailors are as dear as yours\\r\\nCan justly boast of. What’s your lordship’s pleasure?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nYour lady’s person; is she ready?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY.\\r\\nAy,\\r\\nTo keep her chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nThere is gold for you; sell me your good report.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY.\\r\\nHow? My good name? or to report of you\\r\\nWhat I shall think is good? The Princess!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Imogen.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nGood morrow, fairest sister. Your sweet hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lady._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nGood morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains\\r\\nFor purchasing but trouble. The thanks I give\\r\\nIs telling you that I am poor of thanks,\\r\\nAnd scarce can spare them.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nStill I swear I love you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nIf you but said so, ’twere as deep with me.\\r\\nIf you swear still, your recompense is still\\r\\nThat I regard it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nThis is no answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nBut that you shall not say I yield, being silent,\\r\\nI would not speak. I pray you spare me. Faith,\\r\\nI shall unfold equal discourtesy\\r\\nTo your best kindness; one of your great knowing\\r\\nShould learn, being taught, forbearance.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nTo leave you in your madness ’twere my sin;\\r\\nI will not.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nFools are not mad folks.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nDo you call me fool?\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nAs I am mad, I do;\\r\\nIf you’ll be patient, I’ll no more be mad;\\r\\nThat cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,\\r\\nYou put me to forget a lady’s manners\\r\\nBy being so verbal; and learn now, for all,\\r\\nThat I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,\\r\\nBy th’ very truth of it, I care not for you,\\r\\nAnd am so near the lack of charity\\r\\nTo accuse myself I hate you; which I had rather\\r\\nYou felt than make’t my boast.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nYou sin against\\r\\nObedience, which you owe your father. For\\r\\nThe contract you pretend with that base wretch,\\r\\nOne bred of alms and foster’d with cold dishes,\\r\\nWith scraps o’ th’ court, it is no contract, none.\\r\\nAnd though it be allowed in meaner parties\\r\\n(Yet who than he more mean?) to knit their souls\\r\\n(On whom there is no more dependency\\r\\nBut brats and beggary) in self-figur’d knot,\\r\\nYet you are curb’d from that enlargement by\\r\\nThe consequence o’ th’ crown, and must not foil\\r\\nThe precious note of it with a base slave,\\r\\nA hilding for a livery, a squire’s cloth,\\r\\nA pantler; not so eminent!\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nProfane fellow!\\r\\nWert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more\\r\\nBut what thou art besides, thou wert too base\\r\\nTo be his groom. Thou wert dignified enough,\\r\\nEven to the point of envy, if ’twere made\\r\\nComparative for your virtues to be styl’d\\r\\nThe under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated\\r\\nFor being preferr’d so well.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nThe south fog rot him!\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nHe never can meet more mischance than come\\r\\nTo be but nam’d of thee. His mean’st garment\\r\\nThat ever hath but clipp’d his body, is dearer\\r\\nIn my respect, than all the hairs above thee,\\r\\nWere they all made such men. How now, Pisanio!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pisanio.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\n‘His garment’! Now the devil—\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nTo Dorothy my woman hie thee presently.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\n‘His garment’!\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nI am sprited with a fool;\\r\\nFrighted, and ang’red worse. Go bid my woman\\r\\nSearch for a jewel that too casually\\r\\nHath left mine arm. It was thy master’s; shrew me,\\r\\nIf I would lose it for a revenue\\r\\nOf any king’s in Europe! I do think\\r\\nI saw’t this morning; confident I am\\r\\nLast night ’twas on mine arm; I kiss’d it.\\r\\nI hope it be not gone to tell my lord\\r\\nThat I kiss aught but he.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\n’Twill not be lost.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nI hope so. Go and search.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Pisanio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nYou have abus’d me.\\r\\n‘His meanest garment’!\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nAy, I said so, sir.\\r\\nIf you will make ’t an action, call witness to ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nI will inform your father.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nYour mother too.\\r\\nShe’s my good lady and will conceive, I hope,\\r\\nBut the worst of me. So I leave you, sir,\\r\\nTo th’ worst of discontent.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nI’ll be reveng’d.\\r\\n‘His mean’st garment’! Well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Rome. Philario’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Posthumus and Philario.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nFear it not, sir; I would I were so sure\\r\\nTo win the King as I am bold her honour\\r\\nWill remain hers.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILARIO.\\r\\nWhat means do you make to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nNot any; but abide the change of time,\\r\\nQuake in the present winter’s state, and wish\\r\\nThat warmer days would come. In these fear’d hopes\\r\\nI barely gratify your love; they failing,\\r\\nI must die much your debtor.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILARIO.\\r\\nYour very goodness and your company\\r\\nO’erpays all I can do. By this your king\\r\\nHath heard of great Augustus. Caius Lucius\\r\\nWill do’s commission throughly; and I think\\r\\nHe’ll grant the tribute, send th’ arrearages,\\r\\nOr look upon our Romans, whose remembrance\\r\\nIs yet fresh in their grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nI do believe\\r\\nStatist though I am none, nor like to be,\\r\\nThat this will prove a war; and you shall hear\\r\\nThe legions now in Gallia sooner landed\\r\\nIn our not-fearing Britain than have tidings\\r\\nOf any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen\\r\\nAre men more order’d than when Julius Cæsar\\r\\nSmil’d at their lack of skill, but found their courage\\r\\nWorthy his frowning at. Their discipline,\\r\\nNow mingled with their courages, will make known\\r\\nTo their approvers they are people such\\r\\nThat mend upon the world.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iachimo.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILARIO.\\r\\nSee! Iachimo!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nThe swiftest harts have posted you by land,\\r\\nAnd winds of all the corners kiss’d your sails,\\r\\nTo make your vessel nimble.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILARIO.\\r\\nWelcome, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nI hope the briefness of your answer made\\r\\nThe speediness of your return.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nYour lady\\r\\nIs one of the fairest that I have look’d upon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nAnd therewithal the best; or let her beauty\\r\\nLook through a casement to allure false hearts,\\r\\nAnd be false with them.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nHere are letters for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nTheir tenour good, I trust.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\n’Tis very like.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILARIO.\\r\\nWas Caius Lucius in the Britain court\\r\\nWhen you were there?\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nHe was expected then,\\r\\nBut not approach’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nAll is well yet.\\r\\nSparkles this stone as it was wont, or is’t not\\r\\nToo dull for your good wearing?\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nIf I have lost it,\\r\\nI should have lost the worth of it in gold.\\r\\nI’ll make a journey twice as far t’ enjoy\\r\\nA second night of such sweet shortness which\\r\\nWas mine in Britain; for the ring is won.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nThe stone’s too hard to come by.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nNot a whit,\\r\\nYour lady being so easy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nMake not, sir,\\r\\nYour loss your sport. I hope you know that we\\r\\nMust not continue friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nGood sir, we must,\\r\\nIf you keep covenant. Had I not brought\\r\\nThe knowledge of your mistress home, I grant\\r\\nWe were to question farther; but I now\\r\\nProfess myself the winner of her honour,\\r\\nTogether with your ring; and not the wronger\\r\\nOf her or you, having proceeded but\\r\\nBy both your wills.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nIf you can make’t apparent\\r\\nThat you have tasted her in bed, my hand\\r\\nAnd ring is yours. If not, the foul opinion\\r\\nYou had of her pure honour gains or loses\\r\\nYour sword or mine, or masterless leaves both\\r\\nTo who shall find them.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nSir, my circumstances,\\r\\nBeing so near the truth as I will make them,\\r\\nMust first induce you to believe; whose strength\\r\\nI will confirm with oath; which I doubt not\\r\\nYou’ll give me leave to spare when you shall find\\r\\nYou need it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nProceed.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nFirst, her bedchamber,\\r\\n(Where I confess I slept not, but profess\\r\\nHad that was well worth watching) it was hang’d\\r\\nWith tapestry of silk and silver; the story,\\r\\nProud Cleopatra when she met her Roman\\r\\nAnd Cydnus swell’d above the banks, or for\\r\\nThe press of boats or pride. A piece of work\\r\\nSo bravely done, so rich, that it did strive\\r\\nIn workmanship and value; which I wonder’d\\r\\nCould be so rarely and exactly wrought,\\r\\nSince the true life on’t was—\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nThis is true;\\r\\nAnd this you might have heard of here, by me\\r\\nOr by some other.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nMore particulars\\r\\nMust justify my knowledge.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nSo they must,\\r\\nOr do your honour injury.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nThe chimney\\r\\nIs south the chamber, and the chimneypiece\\r\\nChaste Dian bathing. Never saw I figures\\r\\nSo likely to report themselves. The cutter\\r\\nWas as another nature, dumb; outwent her,\\r\\nMotion and breath left out.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nThis is a thing\\r\\nWhich you might from relation likewise reap,\\r\\nBeing, as it is, much spoke of.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nThe roof o’ th’ chamber\\r\\nWith golden cherubins is fretted; her andirons\\r\\n(I had forgot them) were two winking Cupids\\r\\nOf silver, each on one foot standing, nicely\\r\\nDepending on their brands.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nThis is her honour!\\r\\nLet it be granted you have seen all this, and praise\\r\\nBe given to your remembrance; the description\\r\\nOf what is in her chamber nothing saves\\r\\nThe wager you have laid.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nThen, if you can, [_Shows the bracelet_]\\r\\nBe pale. I beg but leave to air this jewel. See!\\r\\nAnd now ’tis up again. It must be married\\r\\nTo that your diamond; I’ll keep them.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nJove!\\r\\nOnce more let me behold it. Is it that\\r\\nWhich I left with her?\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nSir (I thank her) that.\\r\\nShe stripp’d it from her arm; I see her yet;\\r\\nHer pretty action did outsell her gift,\\r\\nAnd yet enrich’d it too. She gave it me, and said\\r\\nShe priz’d it once.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nMay be she pluck’d it of\\r\\nTo send it me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nShe writes so to you, doth she?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nO, no, no, no! ’tis true. Here, take this too;\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Gives the ring._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIt is a basilisk unto mine eye,\\r\\nKills me to look on’t. Let there be no honour\\r\\nWhere there is beauty; truth where semblance; love\\r\\nWhere there’s another man. The vows of women\\r\\nOf no more bondage be to where they are made\\r\\nThan they are to their virtues, which is nothing.\\r\\nO, above measure false!\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILARIO.\\r\\nHave patience, sir,\\r\\nAnd take your ring again; ’tis not yet won.\\r\\nIt may be probable she lost it, or\\r\\nWho knows if one her women, being corrupted\\r\\nHath stol’n it from her?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nVery true;\\r\\nAnd so I hope he came by’t. Back my ring.\\r\\nRender to me some corporal sign about her,\\r\\nMore evident than this; for this was stol’n.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nBy Jupiter, I had it from her arm!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nHark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears.\\r\\n’Tis true, nay, keep the ring, ’tis true. I am sure\\r\\nShe would not lose it. Her attendants are\\r\\nAll sworn and honourable:—they induc’d to steal it!\\r\\nAnd by a stranger! No, he hath enjoy’d her.\\r\\nThe cognizance of her incontinency\\r\\nIs this: she hath bought the name of whore thus dearly.\\r\\nThere, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell\\r\\nDivide themselves between you!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILARIO.\\r\\nSir, be patient;\\r\\nThis is not strong enough to be believ’d\\r\\nOf one persuaded well of.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nNever talk on’t;\\r\\nShe hath been colted by him.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nIf you seek\\r\\nFor further satisfying, under her breast\\r\\n(Worthy the pressing) lies a mole, right proud\\r\\nOf that most delicate lodging. By my life,\\r\\nI kiss’d it; and it gave me present hunger\\r\\nTo feed again, though full. You do remember\\r\\nThis stain upon her?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nAy, and it doth confirm\\r\\nAnother stain, as big as hell can hold,\\r\\nWere there no more but it.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nWill you hear more?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nSpare your arithmetic; never count the turns.\\r\\nOnce, and a million!\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nI’ll be sworn—\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nNo swearing.\\r\\nIf you will swear you have not done’t, you lie;\\r\\nAnd I will kill thee if thou dost deny\\r\\nThou’st made me cuckold.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nI’ll deny nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nO that I had her here to tear her limb-meal!\\r\\nI will go there and do’t, i’ th’ court, before\\r\\nHer father. I’ll do something—\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILARIO.\\r\\nQuite besides\\r\\nThe government of patience! You have won.\\r\\nLet’s follow him and pervert the present wrath\\r\\nHe hath against himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nWith all my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Rome. Another room in Philario’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Posthumus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nIs there no way for men to be, but women\\r\\nMust be half-workers? We are all bastards,\\r\\nAnd that most venerable man which I\\r\\nDid call my father was I know not where\\r\\nWhen I was stamp’d. Some coiner with his tools\\r\\nMade me a counterfeit; yet my mother seem’d\\r\\nThe Dian of that time. So doth my wife\\r\\nThe nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance!\\r\\nMe of my lawful pleasure she restrain’d,\\r\\nAnd pray’d me oft forbearance; did it with\\r\\nA pudency so rosy, the sweet view on’t\\r\\nMight well have warm’d old Saturn; that I thought her\\r\\nAs chaste as unsunn’d snow. O, all the devils!\\r\\nThis yellow Iachimo in an hour, was’t not?\\r\\nOr less; at first? Perchance he spoke not, but,\\r\\nLike a full-acorn’d boar, a German one,\\r\\nCried “O!” and mounted; found no opposition\\r\\nBut what he look’d for should oppose and she\\r\\nShould from encounter guard. Could I find out\\r\\nThe woman’s part in me! For there’s no motion\\r\\nThat tends to vice in man but I affirm\\r\\nIt is the woman’s part. Be it lying, note it,\\r\\nThe woman’s; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;\\r\\nLust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;\\r\\nAmbitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,\\r\\nNice longing, slanders, mutability,\\r\\nAll faults that man may name, nay, that hell knows,\\r\\nWhy, hers, in part or all; but rather all;\\r\\nFor even to vice\\r\\nThey are not constant, but are changing still\\r\\nOne vice but of a minute old for one\\r\\nNot half so old as that. I’ll write against them,\\r\\nDetest them, curse them. Yet ’tis greater skill\\r\\nIn a true hate to pray they have their will:\\r\\nThe very devils cannot plague them better.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Britain. A hall in Cymbeline’s palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter in state Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten and Lords at one door, and at\\r\\n another Caius Lucius and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nNow say, what would Augustus Cæsar with us?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nWhen Julius Cæsar, (whose remembrance yet\\r\\nLives in men’s eyes, and will to ears and tongues\\r\\nBe theme and hearing ever) was in this Britain,\\r\\nAnd conquer’d it, Cassibelan, thine uncle,\\r\\nFamous in Cæsar’s praises no whit less\\r\\nThan in his feats deserving it, for him\\r\\nAnd his succession granted Rome a tribute,\\r\\nYearly three thousand pounds, which by thee lately\\r\\nIs left untender’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nAnd, to kill the marvel,\\r\\nShall be so ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nThere be many Cæsars ere such another Julius. Britain is a world by\\r\\nitself, and we will nothing pay for wearing our own noses.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nThat opportunity,\\r\\nWhich then they had to take from’s, to resume\\r\\nWe have again. Remember, sir, my liege,\\r\\nThe kings your ancestors, together with\\r\\nThe natural bravery of your isle, which stands\\r\\nAs Neptune’s park, ribb’d and pal’d in\\r\\nWith rocks unscaleable and roaring waters,\\r\\nWith sands that will not bear your enemies’ boats\\r\\nBut suck them up to th’ top-mast. A kind of conquest\\r\\nCæsar made here, but made not here his brag\\r\\nOf ‘Came, and saw, and overcame.’ With shame\\r\\n(The first that ever touch’d him) he was carried\\r\\nFrom off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping\\r\\n(Poor ignorant baubles!) on our terrible seas,\\r\\nLike egg-shells mov’d upon their surges, crack’d\\r\\nAs easily ’gainst our rocks; for joy whereof\\r\\nThe fam’d Cassibelan, who was once at point\\r\\n(O, giglot fortune!) to master Cæsar’s sword,\\r\\nMade Lud’s Town with rejoicing fires bright\\r\\nAnd Britons strut with courage.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nCome, there’s no more tribute to be paid. Our kingdom is stronger than\\r\\nit was at that time; and, as I said, there is no moe such Cæsars. Other\\r\\nof them may have crook’d noses; but to owe such straight arms, none.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nSon, let your mother end.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nWe have yet many among us can gripe as hard as Cassibelan. I do not say\\r\\nI am one; but I have a hand. Why tribute? Why should we pay tribute? If\\r\\nCæsar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or put the moon in his\\r\\npocket, we will pay him tribute for light; else, sir, no more tribute,\\r\\npray you now.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nYou must know,\\r\\nTill the injurious Romans did extort\\r\\nThis tribute from us, we were free. Cæsar’s ambition,\\r\\nWhich swell’d so much that it did almost stretch\\r\\nThe sides o’ th’ world, against all colour here\\r\\nDid put the yoke upon’s; which to shake of\\r\\nBecomes a warlike people, whom we reckon\\r\\nOurselves to be.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nWe do.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nSay then to Cæsar,\\r\\nOur ancestor was that Mulmutius which\\r\\nOrdain’d our laws, whose use the sword of Cæsar\\r\\nHath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise\\r\\nShall, by the power we hold, be our good deed,\\r\\nThough Rome be therefore angry. Mulmutius made our laws,\\r\\nWho was the first of Britain which did put\\r\\nHis brows within a golden crown, and call’d\\r\\nHimself a king.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nI am sorry, Cymbeline,\\r\\nThat I am to pronounce Augustus Cæsar\\r\\n(Cæsar, that hath moe kings his servants than\\r\\nThyself domestic officers) thine enemy.\\r\\nReceive it from me, then: war and confusion\\r\\nIn Cæsar’s name pronounce I ’gainst thee; look\\r\\nFor fury not to be resisted. Thus defied,\\r\\nI thank thee for myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nThou art welcome, Caius.\\r\\nThy Cæsar knighted me; my youth I spent\\r\\nMuch under him; of him I gather’d honour,\\r\\nWhich he to seek of me again, perforce,\\r\\nBehoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect\\r\\nThat the Pannonians and Dalmatians for\\r\\nTheir liberties are now in arms, a precedent\\r\\nWhich not to read would show the Britons cold;\\r\\nSo Cæsar shall not find them.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nLet proof speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nHis majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime with us a day or two, or\\r\\nlonger. If you seek us afterwards in other terms, you shall find us in\\r\\nour salt-water girdle. If you beat us out of it, it is yours; if you\\r\\nfall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the better for you; and\\r\\nthere’s an end.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nSo, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nI know your master’s pleasure, and he mine;\\r\\nAll the remain is, welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Britain. Another room in Cymbeline’s palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pisanio reading of a letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nHow? of adultery? Wherefore write you not\\r\\nWhat monsters her accuse? Leonatus!\\r\\nO master, what a strange infection\\r\\nIs fall’n into thy ear! What false Italian\\r\\n(As poisonous-tongu’d as handed) hath prevail’d\\r\\nOn thy too ready hearing? Disloyal? No.\\r\\nShe’s punish’d for her truth, and undergoes,\\r\\nMore goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults\\r\\nAs would take in some virtue. O my master,\\r\\nThy mind to her is now as low as were\\r\\nThy fortunes. How? that I should murder her?\\r\\nUpon the love, and truth, and vows, which I\\r\\nHave made to thy command? I, her? Her blood?\\r\\nIf it be so to do good service, never\\r\\nLet me be counted serviceable. How look I\\r\\nThat I should seem to lack humanity\\r\\nSo much as this fact comes to?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Reads._]\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Do’t. The letter\\r\\nThat I have sent her, by her own command\\r\\nShall give thee opportunity.’ O damn’d paper,\\r\\nBlack as the ink that’s on thee! Senseless bauble,\\r\\nArt thou a fedary for this act, and look’st\\r\\nSo virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Imogen.\\r\\n\\r\\nI am ignorant in what I am commanded.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nHow now, Pisanio?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nMadam, here is a letter from my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nWho? thy lord? That is my lord, Leonatus?\\r\\nO, learn’d indeed were that astronomer\\r\\nThat knew the stars as I his characters;\\r\\nHe’d lay the future open. You good gods,\\r\\nLet what is here contain’d relish of love,\\r\\nOf my lord’s health, of his content; yet not\\r\\nThat we two are asunder; let that grieve him!\\r\\nSome griefs are med’cinable; that is one of them,\\r\\nFor it doth physic love: of his content,\\r\\nAll but in that. Good wax, thy leave. Blest be\\r\\nYou bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers\\r\\nAnd men in dangerous bonds pray not alike;\\r\\nThough forfeiters you cast in prison, yet\\r\\nYou clasp young Cupid’s tables. Good news, gods!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Reads._]\\r\\n\\r\\n_Justice and your father’s wrath, should he take me in his dominion,\\r\\ncould not be so cruel to me as you, O the dearest of creatures, would\\r\\neven renew me with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria, at\\r\\nMilford Haven. What your own love will out of this advise you, follow.\\r\\nSo he wishes you all happiness that remains loyal to his vow, and your\\r\\nincreasing in love.\\r\\n LEONATUS POSTHUMUS._\\r\\n\\r\\nO for a horse with wings! Hear’st thou, Pisanio?\\r\\nHe is at Milford Haven. Read, and tell me\\r\\nHow far ’tis thither. If one of mean affairs\\r\\nMay plod it in a week, why may not I\\r\\nGlide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio,\\r\\nWho long’st like me to see thy lord, who long’st\\r\\n(O, let me ’bate!) but not like me, yet long’st,\\r\\nBut in a fainter kind. O, not like me,\\r\\nFor mine’s beyond beyond: say, and speak thick,\\r\\n(Love’s counsellor should fill the bores of hearing\\r\\nTo th’ smothering of the sense) how far it is\\r\\nTo this same blessed Milford. And by th’ way\\r\\nTell me how Wales was made so happy as\\r\\nT’ inherit such a haven. But first of all,\\r\\nHow we may steal from hence; and for the gap\\r\\nThat we shall make in time from our hence-going\\r\\nAnd our return, to excuse. But first, how get hence.\\r\\nWhy should excuse be born or ere begot?\\r\\nWe’ll talk of that hereafter. Prithee speak,\\r\\nHow many score of miles may we well rid\\r\\n’Twixt hour and hour?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nOne score ’twixt sun and sun,\\r\\nMadam, ’s enough for you, and too much too.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nWhy, one that rode to’s execution, man,\\r\\nCould never go so slow. I have heard of riding wagers\\r\\nWhere horses have been nimbler than the sands\\r\\nThat run i’ th’ clock’s behalf. But this is fool’ry.\\r\\nGo bid my woman feign a sickness; say\\r\\nShe’ll home to her father; and provide me presently\\r\\nA riding suit, no costlier than would fit\\r\\nA franklin’s huswife.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nMadam, you’re best consider.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nI see before me, man. Nor here, nor here,\\r\\nNor what ensues, but have a fog in them\\r\\nThat I cannot look through. Away, I prithee;\\r\\nDo as I bid thee. There’s no more to say.\\r\\nAccessible is none but Milford way.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Wales. A mountainous country with a cave.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter from the cave Belarius, Guiderius and Arviragus.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nA goodly day not to keep house with such\\r\\nWhose roof’s as low as ours! Stoop, boys; this gate\\r\\nInstructs you how t’ adore the heavens, and bows you\\r\\nTo a morning’s holy office. The gates of monarchs\\r\\nAre arch’d so high that giants may jet through\\r\\nAnd keep their impious turbans on without\\r\\nGood morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven!\\r\\nWe house i’ th’ rock, yet use thee not so hardly\\r\\nAs prouder livers do.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nHail, heaven!\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nHail, heaven!\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nNow for our mountain sport. Up to yond hill,\\r\\nYour legs are young; I’ll tread these flats. Consider,\\r\\nWhen you above perceive me like a crow,\\r\\nThat it is place which lessens and sets off;\\r\\nAnd you may then revolve what tales I have told you\\r\\nOf courts, of princes, of the tricks in war.\\r\\nThis service is not service so being done,\\r\\nBut being so allow’d. To apprehend thus\\r\\nDraws us a profit from all things we see,\\r\\nAnd often to our comfort shall we find\\r\\nThe sharded beetle in a safer hold\\r\\nThan is the full-wing’d eagle. O, this life\\r\\nIs nobler than attending for a check,\\r\\nRicher than doing nothing for a robe,\\r\\nProuder than rustling in unpaid-for silk:\\r\\nSuch gain the cap of him that makes him fine,\\r\\nYet keeps his book uncross’d. No life to ours!\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nOut of your proof you speak. We, poor unfledg’d,\\r\\nHave never wing’d from view o’ th’ nest, nor know not\\r\\nWhat air’s from home. Haply this life is best,\\r\\nIf quiet life be best; sweeter to you\\r\\nThat have a sharper known; well corresponding\\r\\nWith your stiff age. But unto us it is\\r\\nA cell of ignorance, travelling abed,\\r\\nA prison for a debtor that not dares\\r\\nTo stride a limit.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nWhat should we speak of\\r\\nWhen we are old as you? When we shall hear\\r\\nThe rain and wind beat dark December, how,\\r\\nIn this our pinching cave, shall we discourse.\\r\\nThe freezing hours away? We have seen nothing;\\r\\nWe are beastly: subtle as the fox for prey,\\r\\nLike warlike as the wolf for what we eat.\\r\\nOur valour is to chase what flies; our cage\\r\\nWe make a choir, as doth the prison’d bird,\\r\\nAnd sing our bondage freely.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nHow you speak!\\r\\nDid you but know the city’s usuries,\\r\\nAnd felt them knowingly; the art o’ th’ court,\\r\\nAs hard to leave as keep, whose top to climb\\r\\nIs certain falling, or so slipp’ry that\\r\\nThe fear’s as bad as falling; the toil o’ th’ war,\\r\\nA pain that only seems to seek out danger\\r\\nI’ th’ name of fame and honour, which dies i’ th’ search,\\r\\nAnd hath as oft a sland’rous epitaph\\r\\nAs record of fair act; nay, many times,\\r\\nDoth ill deserve by doing well; what’s worse,\\r\\nMust curtsy at the censure. O, boys, this story\\r\\nThe world may read in me; my body’s mark’d\\r\\nWith Roman swords, and my report was once\\r\\nFirst with the best of note. Cymbeline lov’d me;\\r\\nAnd when a soldier was the theme, my name\\r\\nWas not far off. Then was I as a tree\\r\\nWhose boughs did bend with fruit. But in one night\\r\\nA storm, or robbery, call it what you will,\\r\\nShook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,\\r\\nAnd left me bare to weather.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nUncertain favour!\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nMy fault being nothing, as I have told you oft,\\r\\nBut that two villains, whose false oaths prevail’d\\r\\nBefore my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline\\r\\nI was confederate with the Romans. So\\r\\nFollow’d my banishment, and this twenty years\\r\\nThis rock and these demesnes have been my world,\\r\\nWhere I have liv’d at honest freedom, paid\\r\\nMore pious debts to heaven than in all\\r\\nThe fore-end of my time. But up to th’ mountains!\\r\\nThis is not hunters’ language. He that strikes\\r\\nThe venison first shall be the lord o’ th’ feast;\\r\\nTo him the other two shall minister;\\r\\nAnd we will fear no poison, which attends\\r\\nIn place of greater state. I’ll meet you in the valleys.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Guiderius and Arviragus._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!\\r\\nThese boys know little they are sons to th’ King,\\r\\nNor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.\\r\\nThey think they are mine; and though train’d up thus meanly\\r\\nI’ th’ cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit\\r\\nThe roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them\\r\\nIn simple and low things to prince it much\\r\\nBeyond the trick of others. This Polydore,\\r\\nThe heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who\\r\\nThe King his father call’d Guiderius—Jove!\\r\\nWhen on my three-foot stool I sit and tell\\r\\nThe warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out\\r\\nInto my story; say ‘Thus mine enemy fell,\\r\\nAnd thus I set my foot on’s neck’; even then\\r\\nThe princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,\\r\\nStrains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture\\r\\nThat acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,\\r\\nOnce Arviragus, in as like a figure\\r\\nStrikes life into my speech, and shows much more\\r\\nHis own conceiving. Hark, the game is rous’d!\\r\\nO Cymbeline, heaven and my conscience knows\\r\\nThou didst unjustly banish me! Whereon,\\r\\nAt three and two years old, I stole these babes,\\r\\nThinking to bar thee of succession as\\r\\nThou refts me of my lands. Euriphile,\\r\\nThou wast their nurse; they took thee for their mother,\\r\\nAnd every day do honour to her grave.\\r\\nMyself, Belarius, that am Morgan call’d,\\r\\nThey take for natural father. The game is up.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Wales, near Milford Haven.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pisanio and Imogen.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nThou told’st me, when we came from horse, the place\\r\\nWas near at hand. Ne’er long’d my mother so\\r\\nTo see me first as I have now. Pisanio! Man!\\r\\nWhere is Posthumus? What is in thy mind\\r\\nThat makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh\\r\\nFrom th’ inward of thee? One but painted thus\\r\\nWould be interpreted a thing perplex’d\\r\\nBeyond self-explication. Put thyself\\r\\nInto a haviour of less fear, ere wildness\\r\\nVanquish my staider senses. What’s the matter?\\r\\nWhy tender’st thou that paper to me with\\r\\nA look untender? If’t be summer news,\\r\\nSmile to’t before; if winterly, thou need’st\\r\\nBut keep that count’nance still. My husband’s hand?\\r\\nThat drug-damn’d Italy hath out-craftied him,\\r\\nAnd he’s at some hard point. Speak, man; thy tongue\\r\\nMay take off some extremity, which to read\\r\\nWould be even mortal to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nPlease you read,\\r\\nAnd you shall find me, wretched man, a thing\\r\\nThe most disdain’d of fortune.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\n[_Reads._] _Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath play’d the strumpet in my bed,\\r\\nthe testimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak\\r\\nsurmises, but from proof as strong as my grief and as certain as I\\r\\nexpect my revenge. That part thou, Pisanio, must act for me, if thy\\r\\nfaith be not tainted with the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take\\r\\naway her life; I shall give thee opportunity at Milford Haven; she hath\\r\\nmy letter for the purpose; where, if thou fear to strike, and to make\\r\\nme certain it is done, thou art the pandar to her dishonour, and\\r\\nequally to me disloyal._\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nWhat shall I need to draw my sword? The paper\\r\\nHath cut her throat already. No, ’tis slander,\\r\\nWhose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue\\r\\nOutvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath\\r\\nRides on the posting winds and doth belie\\r\\nAll corners of the world. Kings, queens, and states,\\r\\nMaids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave,\\r\\nThis viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam?\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nFalse to his bed? What is it to be false?\\r\\nTo lie in watch there, and to think on him?\\r\\nTo weep twixt clock and clock? If sleep charge nature,\\r\\nTo break it with a fearful dream of him,\\r\\nAnd cry myself awake? That’s false to’s bed,\\r\\nIs it?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nAlas, good lady!\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nI false! Thy conscience witness! Iachimo,\\r\\nThou didst accuse him of incontinency;\\r\\nThou then look’dst like a villain; now, methinks,\\r\\nThy favour’s good enough. Some jay of Italy,\\r\\nWhose mother was her painting, hath betray’d him.\\r\\nPoor I am stale, a garment out of fashion,\\r\\nAnd for I am richer than to hang by th’ walls\\r\\nI must be ripp’d. To pieces with me! O,\\r\\nMen’s vows are women’s traitors! All good seeming,\\r\\nBy thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought\\r\\nPut on for villainy; not born where’t grows,\\r\\nBut worn a bait for ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nGood madam, hear me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nTrue honest men being heard, like false Æneas,\\r\\nWere, in his time, thought false; and Sinon’s weeping\\r\\nDid scandal many a holy tear, took pity\\r\\nFrom most true wretchedness. So thou, Posthumus,\\r\\nWilt lay the leaven on all proper men:\\r\\nGoodly and gallant shall be false and perjur’d\\r\\nFrom thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honest;\\r\\nDo thou thy master’s bidding; when thou seest him,\\r\\nA little witness my obedience. Look!\\r\\nI draw the sword myself; take it, and hit\\r\\nThe innocent mansion of my love, my heart.\\r\\nFear not; ’tis empty of all things but grief;\\r\\nThy master is not there, who was indeed\\r\\nThe riches of it. Do his bidding; strike.\\r\\nThou mayst be valiant in a better cause,\\r\\nBut now thou seem’st a coward.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nHence, vile instrument!\\r\\nThou shalt not damn my hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nWhy, I must die;\\r\\nAnd if I do not by thy hand, thou art\\r\\nNo servant of thy master’s. Against self-slaughter\\r\\nThere is a prohibition so divine\\r\\nThat cravens my weak hand. Come, here’s my heart:\\r\\nSomething’s afore’t. Soft, soft! we’ll no defence,\\r\\nObedient as the scabbard. What is here?\\r\\nThe scriptures of the loyal Leonatus\\r\\nAll turn’d to heresy? Away, away,\\r\\nCorrupters of my faith, you shall no more\\r\\nBe stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools\\r\\nBelieve false teachers; though those that are betray’d\\r\\nDo feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor\\r\\nStands in worse case of woe. And thou, Posthumus,\\r\\nThat didst set up my disobedience ’gainst the King\\r\\nMy father, and make me put into contempt the suits\\r\\nOf princely fellows, shalt hereafter find\\r\\nIt is no act of common passage but\\r\\nA strain of rareness; and I grieve myself\\r\\nTo think, when thou shalt be disedg’d by her\\r\\nThat now thou tirest on, how thy memory\\r\\nWill then be pang’d by me. Prithee dispatch.\\r\\nThe lamp entreats the butcher. Where’s thy knife?\\r\\nThou art too slow to do thy master’s bidding,\\r\\nWhen I desire it too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nO gracious lady,\\r\\nSince I receiv’d command to do this busines\\r\\nI have not slept one wink.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nDo’t, and to bed then.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nI’ll wake mine eyeballs first.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nWherefore then\\r\\nDidst undertake it? Why hast thou abus’d\\r\\nSo many miles with a pretence? This place?\\r\\nMine action and thine own? our horses’ labour?\\r\\nThe time inviting thee? The perturb’d court,\\r\\nFor my being absent? whereunto I never\\r\\nPurpose return. Why hast thou gone so far\\r\\nTo be unbent when thou hast ta’en thy stand,\\r\\nTh’ elected deer before thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nBut to win time\\r\\nTo lose so bad employment, in the which\\r\\nI have consider’d of a course. Good lady,\\r\\nHear me with patience.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nTalk thy tongue weary, speak.\\r\\nI have heard I am a strumpet, and mine ear,\\r\\nTherein false struck, can take no greater wound,\\r\\nNor tent to bottom that. But speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nThen, madam,\\r\\nI thought you would not back again.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nMost like,\\r\\nBringing me here to kill me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nNot so, neither;\\r\\nBut if I were as wise as honest, then\\r\\nMy purpose would prove well. It cannot be\\r\\nBut that my master is abus’d. Some villain,\\r\\nAy, and singular in his art, hath done you both\\r\\nThis cursed injury.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nSome Roman courtezan!\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nNo, on my life!\\r\\nI’ll give but notice you are dead, and send him\\r\\nSome bloody sign of it, for ’tis commanded\\r\\nI should do so. You shall be miss’d at court,\\r\\nAnd that will well confirm it.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nWhy, good fellow,\\r\\nWhat shall I do the while? Where bide? How live?\\r\\nOr in my life what comfort, when I am\\r\\nDead to my husband?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nIf you’ll back to th’ court—\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nNo court, no father, nor no more ado\\r\\nWith that harsh, noble, simple nothing,\\r\\nThat Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me\\r\\nAs fearful as a siege.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nIf not at court,\\r\\nThen not in Britain must you bide.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nWhere then?\\r\\nHath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night,\\r\\nAre they not but in Britain? I’ th’ world’s volume\\r\\nOur Britain seems as of it, but not in’t;\\r\\nIn a great pool a swan’s nest. Prithee think\\r\\nThere’s livers out of Britain.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nI am most glad\\r\\nYou think of other place. Th’ ambassador,\\r\\nLucius the Roman, comes to Milford Haven\\r\\nTomorrow. Now, if you could wear a mind\\r\\nDark as your fortune is, and but disguise\\r\\nThat which t’ appear itself must not yet be\\r\\nBut by self-danger, you should tread a course\\r\\nPretty and full of view; yea, happily, near\\r\\nThe residence of Posthumus; so nigh, at least,\\r\\nThat though his actions were not visible, yet\\r\\nReport should render him hourly to your ear\\r\\nAs truly as he moves.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nO! for such means,\\r\\nThough peril to my modesty, not death on’t,\\r\\nI would adventure.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nWell then, here’s the point:\\r\\nYou must forget to be a woman; change\\r\\nCommand into obedience; fear and niceness\\r\\n(The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,\\r\\nWoman it pretty self) into a waggish courage;\\r\\nReady in gibes, quick-answer’d, saucy, and\\r\\nAs quarrelous as the weasel. Nay, you must\\r\\nForget that rarest treasure of your cheek,\\r\\nExposing it (but, O, the harder heart!\\r\\nAlack, no remedy) to the greedy touch\\r\\nOf common-kissing Titan, and forget\\r\\nYour laboursome and dainty trims wherein\\r\\nYou made great Juno angry.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nNay, be brief;\\r\\nI see into thy end, and am almost\\r\\nA man already.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nFirst, make yourself but like one.\\r\\nFore-thinking this, I have already fit\\r\\n(’Tis in my cloak-bag) doublet, hat, hose, all\\r\\nThat answer to them. Would you, in their serving,\\r\\nAnd with what imitation you can borrow\\r\\nFrom youth of such a season, ’fore noble Lucius\\r\\nPresent yourself, desire his service, tell him\\r\\nWherein you’re happy; which will make him know\\r\\nIf that his head have ear in music; doubtless\\r\\nWith joy he will embrace you; for he’s honourable,\\r\\nAnd, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad:\\r\\nYou have me, rich; and I will never fail\\r\\nBeginning nor supplyment.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nThou art all the comfort\\r\\nThe gods will diet me with. Prithee away!\\r\\nThere’s more to be consider’d; but we’ll even\\r\\nAll that good time will give us. This attempt\\r\\nI am soldier to, and will abide it with\\r\\nA prince’s courage. Away, I prithee.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nWell, madam, we must take a short farewell,\\r\\nLest, being miss’d, I be suspected of\\r\\nYour carriage from the court. My noble mistress,\\r\\nHere is a box; I had it from the Queen.\\r\\nWhat’s in’t is precious. If you are sick at sea\\r\\nOr stomach-qualm’d at land, a dram of this\\r\\nWill drive away distemper. To some shade,\\r\\nAnd fit you to your manhood. May the gods\\r\\nDirect you to the best!\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nAmen. I thank thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt severally._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius and Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nThus far, and so farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nThanks, royal sir.\\r\\nMy emperor hath wrote; I must from hence,\\r\\nAnd am right sorry that I must report ye\\r\\nMy master’s enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nOur subjects, sir,\\r\\nWill not endure his yoke; and for ourself\\r\\nTo show less sovereignty than they, must needs\\r\\nAppear unkinglike.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nSo, sir. I desire of you\\r\\nA conduct overland to Milford Haven.\\r\\nMadam, all joy befall your Grace, and you!\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nMy lords, you are appointed for that office;\\r\\nThe due of honour in no point omit.\\r\\nSo farewell, noble Lucius.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nYour hand, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nReceive it friendly; but from this time forth\\r\\nI wear it as your enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nSir, the event\\r\\nIs yet to name the winner. Fare you well.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nLeave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,\\r\\nTill he have cross’d the Severn. Happiness!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lucius and Lords._]\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nHe goes hence frowning; but it honours us\\r\\nThat we have given him cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\n’Tis all the better;\\r\\nYour valiant Britons have their wishes in it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nLucius hath wrote already to the Emperor\\r\\nHow it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely\\r\\nOur chariots and our horsemen be in readiness.\\r\\nThe pow’rs that he already hath in Gallia\\r\\nWill soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves\\r\\nHis war for Britain.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\n’Tis not sleepy business,\\r\\nBut must be look’d to speedily and strongly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nOur expectation that it would be thus\\r\\nHath made us forward. But, my gentle queen,\\r\\nWhere is our daughter? She hath not appear’d\\r\\nBefore the Roman, nor to us hath tender’d\\r\\nThe duty of the day. She looks us like\\r\\nA thing more made of malice than of duty;\\r\\nWe have noted it. Call her before us, for\\r\\nWe have been too slight in sufferance.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit an Attendant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nRoyal sir,\\r\\nSince the exile of Posthumus, most retir’d\\r\\nHath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,\\r\\n’Tis time must do. Beseech your Majesty,\\r\\nForbear sharp speeches to her; she’s a lady\\r\\nSo tender of rebukes that words are strokes,\\r\\nAnd strokes death to her.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Attendant.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nWhere is she, sir? How\\r\\nCan her contempt be answer’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nATTENDANT.\\r\\nPlease you, sir,\\r\\nHer chambers are all lock’d, and there’s no answer\\r\\nThat will be given to th’ loud of noise we make.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nMy lord, when last I went to visit her,\\r\\nShe pray’d me to excuse her keeping close;\\r\\nWhereto constrain’d by her infirmity\\r\\nShe should that duty leave unpaid to you\\r\\nWhich daily she was bound to proffer. This\\r\\nShe wish’d me to make known; but our great court\\r\\nMade me to blame in memory.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nHer doors lock’d?\\r\\nNot seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear\\r\\nProve false!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nSon, I say, follow the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nThat man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,\\r\\nI have not seen these two days.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nGo, look after.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Cloten._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPisanio, thou that stand’st so for Posthumus!\\r\\nHe hath a drug of mine. I pray his absence\\r\\nProceed by swallowing that; for he believes\\r\\nIt is a thing most precious. But for her,\\r\\nWhere is she gone? Haply despair hath seiz’d her;\\r\\nOr, wing’d with fervour of her love, she’s flown\\r\\nTo her desir’d Posthumus. Gone she is\\r\\nTo death or to dishonour, and my end\\r\\nCan make good use of either. She being down,\\r\\nI have the placing of the British crown.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cloten.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, my son?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\n’Tis certain she is fled.\\r\\nGo in and cheer the King. He rages; none\\r\\nDare come about him.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nAll the better. May\\r\\nThis night forestall him of the coming day!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nI love and hate her; for she’s fair and royal,\\r\\nAnd that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite\\r\\nThan lady, ladies, woman. From every one\\r\\nThe best she hath, and she, of all compounded,\\r\\nOutsells them all. I love her therefore; but\\r\\nDisdaining me and throwing favours on\\r\\nThe low Posthumus slanders so her judgement\\r\\nThat what’s else rare is chok’d; and in that point\\r\\nI will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,\\r\\nTo be reveng’d upon her. For when fools\\r\\nShall—\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pisanio.\\r\\n\\r\\nWho is here? What, are you packing, sirrah?\\r\\nCome hither. Ah, you precious pandar! Villain,\\r\\nWhere is thy lady? In a word, or else\\r\\nThou art straightway with the fiends.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nO good my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nWhere is thy lady? or, by Jupiter—\\r\\nI will not ask again. Close villain,\\r\\nI’ll have this secret from thy heart, or rip\\r\\nThy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?\\r\\nFrom whose so many weights of baseness cannot\\r\\nA dram of worth be drawn.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nAlas, my lord,\\r\\nHow can she be with him? When was she miss’d?\\r\\nHe is in Rome.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nWhere is she, sir? Come nearer.\\r\\nNo farther halting! Satisfy me home\\r\\nWhat is become of her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nO my all-worthy lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nAll-worthy villain!\\r\\nDiscover where thy mistress is at once,\\r\\nAt the next word. No more of ‘worthy lord’!\\r\\nSpeak, or thy silence on the instant is\\r\\nThy condemnation and thy death.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nThen, sir,\\r\\nThis paper is the history of my knowledge\\r\\nTouching her flight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Presenting a letter._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nLet’s see’t. I will pursue her\\r\\nEven to Augustus’ throne.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Or this or perish.\\r\\nShe’s far enough; and what he learns by this\\r\\nMay prove his travel, not her danger.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nHumh!\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I’ll write to my lord she’s dead. O Imogen,\\r\\nSafe mayst thou wander, safe return again!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nSirrah, is this letter true?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nSir, as I think.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nIt is Posthumus’ hand; I know’t. Sirrah, if thou wouldst not be a\\r\\nvillain, but do me true service, undergo those employments wherein I\\r\\nshould have cause to use thee with a serious industry—that is, what\\r\\nvillainy soe’er I bid thee do, to perform it directly and truly—I would\\r\\nthink thee an honest man; thou shouldst neither want my means for thy\\r\\nrelief nor my voice for thy preferment.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nWell, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nWilt thou serve me? For since patiently and constantly thou hast stuck\\r\\nto the bare fortune of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the\\r\\ncourse of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou\\r\\nserve me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nSir, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nGive me thy hand; here’s my purse. Hast any of thy late master’s\\r\\ngarments in thy possession?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nI have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he wore when he took\\r\\nleave of my lady and mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nThe first service thou dost me, fetch that suit hither. Let it be thy\\r\\nfirst service; go.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nI shall, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nMeet thee at Milford Haven! I forgot to ask him one thing; I’ll\\r\\nremember’t anon. Even there, thou villain Posthumus, will I kill thee.\\r\\nI would these garments were come. She said upon a time—the bitterness\\r\\nof it I now belch from my heart—that she held the very garment of\\r\\nPosthumus in more respect than my noble and natural person, together\\r\\nwith the adornment of my qualities. With that suit upon my back will I\\r\\nravish her; first kill him, and in her eyes. There shall she see my\\r\\nvalour, which will then be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground,\\r\\nmy speech of insultment ended on his dead body, and when my lust hath\\r\\ndined—which, as I say, to vex her I will execute in the clothes that\\r\\nshe so prais’d—to the court I’ll knock her back, foot her home again.\\r\\nShe hath despis’d me rejoicingly, and I’ll be merry in my revenge.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pisanio with the clothes.\\r\\n\\r\\nBe those the garments?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nAy, my noble lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nHow long is’t since she went to Milford Haven?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nShe can scarce be there yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nBring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second thing that I have\\r\\ncommanded thee. The third is that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my\\r\\ndesign. Be but duteous and true, preferment shall tender itself to\\r\\nthee. My revenge is now at Milford, would I had wings to follow it!\\r\\nCome, and be true.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nThou bid’st me to my loss; for true to thee\\r\\nWere to prove false, which I will never be,\\r\\nTo him that is most true. To Milford go,\\r\\nAnd find not her whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow,\\r\\nYou heavenly blessings, on her! This fool’s speed\\r\\nBe cross’d with slowness! Labour be his meed!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Imogen alone, in boy’s clothes.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nI see a man’s life is a tedious one.\\r\\nI have tir’d myself, and for two nights together\\r\\nHave made the ground my bed. I should be sick\\r\\nBut that my resolution helps me. Milford,\\r\\nWhen from the mountain-top Pisanio show’d thee,\\r\\nThou wast within a ken. O Jove! I think\\r\\nFoundations fly the wretched; such, I mean,\\r\\nWhere they should be reliev’d. Two beggars told me\\r\\nI could not miss my way. Will poor folks lie,\\r\\nThat have afflictions on them, knowing ’tis\\r\\nA punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder,\\r\\nWhen rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness\\r\\nIs sorer than to lie for need; and falsehood\\r\\nIs worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord!\\r\\nThou art one o’ th’ false ones. Now I think on thee\\r\\nMy hunger’s gone; but even before, I was\\r\\nAt point to sink for food. But what is this?\\r\\nHere is a path to’t; ’tis some savage hold.\\r\\nI were best not call; I dare not call. Yet famine,\\r\\nEre clean it o’erthrow nature, makes it valiant.\\r\\nPlenty and peace breeds cowards; hardness ever\\r\\nOf hardiness is mother. Ho! who’s here?\\r\\nIf anything that’s civil, speak; if savage,\\r\\nTake or lend. Ho! No answer? Then I’ll enter.\\r\\nBest draw my sword; and if mine enemy\\r\\nBut fear the sword, like me, he’ll scarcely look on’t.\\r\\nSuch a foe, good heavens!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit into the cave._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Belarius, Guiderius and Arviragus.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nYou, Polydore, have prov’d best woodman and\\r\\nAre master of the feast. Cadwal and I\\r\\nWill play the cook and servant; ’tis our match.\\r\\nThe sweat of industry would dry and die\\r\\nBut for the end it works to. Come, our stomachs\\r\\nWill make what’s homely savoury; weariness\\r\\nCan snore upon the flint, when resty sloth\\r\\nFinds the down pillow hard. Now, peace be here,\\r\\nPoor house, that keep’st thyself!\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nI am thoroughly weary.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nI am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nThere is cold meat i’ th’ cave; we’ll browse on that\\r\\nWhilst what we have kill’d be cook’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\n[_Looking into the cave._] Stay, come not in.\\r\\nBut that it eats our victuals, I should think\\r\\nHere were a fairy.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nBy Jupiter, an angel! or, if not,\\r\\nAn earthly paragon! Behold divineness\\r\\nNo elder than a boy!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Imogen.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nGood masters, harm me not.\\r\\nBefore I enter’d here I call’d, and thought\\r\\nTo have begg’d or bought what I have took. Good troth,\\r\\nI have stol’n nought; nor would not though I had found\\r\\nGold strew’d i’ th’ floor. Here’s money for my meat.\\r\\nI would have left it on the board, so soon\\r\\nAs I had made my meal, and parted\\r\\nWith pray’rs for the provider.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nMoney, youth?\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nAll gold and silver rather turn to dirt,\\r\\nAs ’tis no better reckon’d but of those\\r\\nWho worship dirty gods.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nI see you’re angry.\\r\\nKnow, if you kill me for my fault, I should\\r\\nHave died had I not made it.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nWhither bound?\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nTo Milford Haven.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nWhat’s your name?\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nFidele, sir. I have a kinsman who\\r\\nIs bound for Italy; he embark’d at Milford;\\r\\nTo whom being going, almost spent with hunger,\\r\\nI am fall’n in this offence.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nPrithee, fair youth,\\r\\nThink us no churls, nor measure our good minds\\r\\nBy this rude place we live in. Well encounter’d!\\r\\n’Tis almost night; you shall have better cheer\\r\\nEre you depart, and thanks to stay and eat it.\\r\\nBoys, bid him welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nWere you a woman, youth,\\r\\nI should woo hard but be your groom. In honesty\\r\\nI bid for you as I’d buy.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nI’ll make’t my comfort\\r\\nHe is a man. I’ll love him as my brother;\\r\\nAnd such a welcome as I’d give to him\\r\\nAfter long absence, such is yours. Most welcome!\\r\\nBe sprightly, for you fall ’mongst friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\n’Mongst friends,\\r\\nIf brothers. [_Aside._] Would it had been so that they\\r\\nHad been my father’s sons! Then had my prize\\r\\nBeen less, and so more equal ballasting\\r\\nTo thee, Posthumus.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nHe wrings at some distress.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nWould I could free’t!\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nOr I, whate’er it be,\\r\\nWhat pain it cost, what danger! Gods!\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\n[_Whispering._] Hark, boys.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Great men,\\r\\nThat had a court no bigger than this cave,\\r\\nThat did attend themselves, and had the virtue\\r\\nWhich their own conscience seal’d them, laying by\\r\\nThat nothing-gift of differing multitudes,\\r\\nCould not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods!\\r\\nI’d change my sex to be companion with them,\\r\\nSince Leonatus false.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nIt shall be so.\\r\\nBoys, we’ll go dress our hunt. Fair youth, come in.\\r\\nDiscourse is heavy, fasting; when we have supp’d,\\r\\nWe’ll mannerly demand thee of thy story,\\r\\nSo far as thou wilt speak it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nPray draw near.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nThe night to th’ owl and morn to th’ lark less\\r\\nwelcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nThanks, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nI pray draw near.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VIII. Rome. A public place.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two Roman Senators and Tribunes.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nThis is the tenour of the Emperor’s writ:\\r\\nThat since the common men are now in action\\r\\n’Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians,\\r\\nAnd that the legions now in Gallia are\\r\\nFull weak to undertake our wars against\\r\\nThe fall’n-off Britons, that we do incite\\r\\nThe gentry to this business. He creates\\r\\nLucius proconsul; and to you, the tribunes,\\r\\nFor this immediate levy, he commands\\r\\nHis absolute commission. Long live Cæsar!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRIBUNE.\\r\\nIs Lucius general of the forces?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SENATOR.\\r\\nAy.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRIBUNE.\\r\\nRemaining now in Gallia?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nWith those legions\\r\\nWhich I have spoke of, whereunto your levy\\r\\nMust be supplyant. The words of your commission\\r\\nWill tie you to the numbers and the time\\r\\nOf their dispatch.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRIBUNE.\\r\\nWe will discharge our duty.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Wales. Near the cave of Belarius.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cloten alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nI am near to th’ place where they should meet, if Pisanio have mapp’d\\r\\nit truly. How fit his garments serve me! Why should his mistress, who\\r\\nwas made by him that made the tailor, not be fit too? The rather,\\r\\nsaving reverence of the word, for ’tis said a woman’s fitness comes by\\r\\nfits. Therein I must play the workman. I dare speak it to myself, for\\r\\nit is not vain-glory for a man and his glass to confer in his own\\r\\nchamber; I mean, the lines of my body are as well drawn as his; no less\\r\\nyoung, more strong, not beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the\\r\\nadvantage of the time, above him in birth, alike conversant in general\\r\\nservices, and more remarkable in single oppositions. Yet this\\r\\nimperceiverant thing loves him in my despite. What mortality is!\\r\\nPosthumus, thy head, which now is growing upon thy shoulders, shall\\r\\nwithin this hour be off; thy mistress enforced; thy garments cut to\\r\\npieces before her face; and all this done, spurn her home to her\\r\\nfather, who may, haply, be a little angry for my so rough usage; but my\\r\\nmother, having power of his testiness, shall turn all into my\\r\\ncommendations. My horse is tied up safe. Out, sword, and to a sore\\r\\npurpose! Fortune, put them into my hand. This is the very description\\r\\nof their meeting-place; and the fellow dares not deceive me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter from the cave, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus and Imogen.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\n[_To Imogen._] You are not well. Remain here in the cave;\\r\\nWe’ll come to you after hunting.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\n[_To Imogen._] Brother, stay here.\\r\\nAre we not brothers?\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nSo man and man should be;\\r\\nBut clay and clay differs in dignity,\\r\\nWhose dust is both alike. I am very sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nGo you to hunting; I’ll abide with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nSo sick I am not, yet I am not well;\\r\\nBut not so citizen a wanton as\\r\\nTo seem to die ere sick. So please you, leave me;\\r\\nStick to your journal course. The breach of custom\\r\\nIs breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me\\r\\nCannot amend me; society is no comfort\\r\\nTo one not sociable. I am not very sick,\\r\\nSince I can reason of it. Pray you trust me here.\\r\\nI’ll rob none but myself; and let me die,\\r\\nStealing so poorly.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nI love thee; I have spoke it.\\r\\nHow much the quantity, the weight as much\\r\\nAs I do love my father.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nWhat? how? how?\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nIf it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me\\r\\nIn my good brother’s fault. I know not why\\r\\nI love this youth, and I have heard you say\\r\\nLove’s reason’s without reason. The bier at door,\\r\\nAnd a demand who is’t shall die, I’d say\\r\\n‘My father, not this youth.’\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] O noble strain!\\r\\nO worthiness of nature! breed of greatness!\\r\\nCowards father cowards and base things sire base.\\r\\nNature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace.\\r\\nI’m not their father; yet who this should be\\r\\nDoth miracle itself, lov’d before me.—\\r\\n’Tis the ninth hour o’ th’ morn.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nBrother, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nI wish ye sport.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nYour health. [_To Belarius._] So please you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\n[_Aside._] These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies I\\r\\nhave heard!\\r\\nOur courtiers say all’s savage but at court.\\r\\nExperience, O, thou disprov’st report!\\r\\nTh’ imperious seas breed monsters; for the dish,\\r\\nPoor tributary rivers as sweet fish.\\r\\nI am sick still; heart-sick. Pisanio,\\r\\nI’ll now taste of thy drug.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Swallows some._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nI could not stir him.\\r\\nHe said he was gentle, but unfortunate;\\r\\nDishonestly afflicted, but yet honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nThus did he answer me; yet said hereafter\\r\\nI might know more.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nTo th’ field, to th’ field!\\r\\nWe’ll leave you for this time. Go in and rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nWe’ll not be long away.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nPray be not sick,\\r\\nFor you must be our huswife.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nWell, or ill,\\r\\nI am bound to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nAnd shalt be ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Imogen into the cave._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThis youth, howe’er distress’d, appears he hath had\\r\\nGood ancestors.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nHow angel-like he sings!\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nBut his neat cookery! He cut our roots in characters,\\r\\nAnd sauc’d our broths as Juno had been sick,\\r\\nAnd he her dieter.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nNobly he yokes\\r\\nA smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh\\r\\nWas that it was for not being such a smile;\\r\\nThe smile mocking the sigh that it would fly\\r\\nFrom so divine a temple to commix\\r\\nWith winds that sailors rail at.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nI do note\\r\\nThat grief and patience, rooted in him both,\\r\\nMingle their spurs together.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nGrow patience!\\r\\nAnd let the stinking elder, grief, untwine\\r\\nHis perishing root with the increasing vine!\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nIt is great morning. Come, away! Who’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cloten.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nI cannot find those runagates; that villain\\r\\nHath mock’d me. I am faint.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nThose runagates?\\r\\nMeans he not us? I partly know him; ’tis\\r\\nCloten, the son o’ th’ Queen. I fear some ambush.\\r\\nI saw him not these many years, and yet\\r\\nI know ’tis he. We are held as outlaws. Hence!\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nHe is but one; you and my brother search\\r\\nWhat companies are near. Pray you away;\\r\\nLet me alone with him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Belarius and Arviragus._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nSoft! What are you\\r\\nThat fly me thus? Some villain mountaineers?\\r\\nI have heard of such. What slave art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nA thing\\r\\nMore slavish did I ne’er than answering\\r\\nA slave without a knock.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nThou art a robber,\\r\\nA law-breaker, a villain. Yield thee, thief.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nTo who? To thee? What art thou? Have not I\\r\\nAn arm as big as thine, a heart as big?\\r\\nThy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not\\r\\nMy dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art;\\r\\nWhy I should yield to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nThou villain base,\\r\\nKnow’st me not by my clothes?\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nNo, nor thy tailor, rascal,\\r\\nWho is thy grandfather; he made those clothes,\\r\\nWhich, as it seems, make thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nThou precious varlet,\\r\\nMy tailor made them not.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nHence, then, and thank\\r\\nThe man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool;\\r\\nI am loath to beat thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nThou injurious thief,\\r\\nHear but my name, and tremble.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nWhat’s thy name?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nCloten, thou villain.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nCloten, thou double villain, be thy name,\\r\\nI cannot tremble at it. Were it Toad, or Adder, Spider,\\r\\n’Twould move me sooner.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nTo thy further fear,\\r\\nNay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know\\r\\nI am son to th’ Queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nI’m sorry for’t; not seeming\\r\\nSo worthy as thy birth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nArt not afeard?\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nThose that I reverence, those I fear—the wise;\\r\\nAt fools I laugh, not fear them.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOTEN.\\r\\nDie the death.\\r\\nWhen I have slain thee with my proper hand,\\r\\nI’ll follow those that even now fled hence,\\r\\nAnd on the gates of Lud’s Town set your heads.\\r\\nYield, rustic mountaineer.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt, fighting._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Belarius and Arviragus.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nNo company’s abroad?\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nNone in the world; you did mistake him, sure.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nI cannot tell; long is it since I saw him,\\r\\nBut time hath nothing blurr’d those lines of favour\\r\\nWhich then he wore; the snatches in his voice,\\r\\nAnd burst of speaking, were as his. I am absolute\\r\\n’Twas very Cloten.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nIn this place we left them.\\r\\nI wish my brother make good time with him,\\r\\nYou say he is so fell.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nBeing scarce made up,\\r\\nI mean to man, he had not apprehension\\r\\nOr roaring terrors; for defect of judgement\\r\\nIs oft the cease of fear.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Guiderius with Cloten’s head.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut, see, thy brother.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nThis Cloten was a fool, an empty purse;\\r\\nThere was no money in’t. Not Hercules\\r\\nCould have knock’d out his brains, for he had none;\\r\\nYet I not doing this, the fool had borne\\r\\nMy head as I do his.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nWhat hast thou done?\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nI am perfect what: cut off one Cloten’s head,\\r\\nSon to the Queen, after his own report;\\r\\nWho call’d me traitor, mountaineer, and swore\\r\\nWith his own single hand he’d take us in,\\r\\nDisplace our heads where, thank the gods, they grow,\\r\\nAnd set them on Lud’s Town.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nWe are all undone.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nWhy, worthy father, what have we to lose\\r\\nBut that he swore to take, our lives? The law\\r\\nProtects not us; then why should we be tender\\r\\nTo let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us,\\r\\nPlay judge and executioner all himself,\\r\\nFor we do fear the law? What company\\r\\nDiscover you abroad?\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nNo single soul\\r\\nCan we set eye on, but in all safe reason\\r\\nHe must have some attendants. Though his humour\\r\\nWas nothing but mutation, ay, and that\\r\\nFrom one bad thing to worse, not frenzy, not\\r\\nAbsolute madness could so far have rav’d,\\r\\nTo bring him here alone. Although perhaps\\r\\nIt may be heard at court that such as we\\r\\nCave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time\\r\\nMay make some stronger head, the which he hearing,\\r\\nAs it is like him, might break out and swear\\r\\nHe’d fetch us in; yet is’t not probable\\r\\nTo come alone, either he so undertaking\\r\\nOr they so suffering. Then on good ground we fear,\\r\\nIf we do fear this body hath a tail\\r\\nMore perilous than the head.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nLet ordinance\\r\\nCome as the gods foresay it. Howsoe’er,\\r\\nMy brother hath done well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nI had no mind\\r\\nTo hunt this day; the boy Fidele’s sickness\\r\\nDid make my way long forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nWith his own sword,\\r\\nWhich he did wave against my throat, I have ta’en\\r\\nHis head from him. I’ll throw’t into the creek\\r\\nBehind our rock, and let it to the sea\\r\\nAnd tell the fishes he’s the Queen’s son, Cloten.\\r\\nThat’s all I reck.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nI fear ’twill be reveng’d.\\r\\nWould, Polydore, thou hadst not done’t! though valour\\r\\nBecomes thee well enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nWould I had done’t,\\r\\nSo the revenge alone pursu’d me! Polydore,\\r\\nI love thee brotherly, but envy much\\r\\nThou hast robb’d me of this deed. I would revenges,\\r\\nThat possible strength might meet, would seek us through,\\r\\nAnd put us to our answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nWell, ’tis done.\\r\\nWe’ll hunt no more today, nor seek for danger\\r\\nWhere there’s no profit. I prithee to our rock.\\r\\nYou and Fidele play the cooks; I’ll stay\\r\\nTill hasty Polydore return, and bring him\\r\\nTo dinner presently.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nPoor sick Fidele!\\r\\nI’ll willingly to him; to gain his colour\\r\\nI’d let a parish of such Cloten’s blood,\\r\\nAnd praise myself for charity.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nO thou goddess,\\r\\nThou divine Nature, thou thyself thou blazon’st\\r\\nIn these two princely boys! They are as gentle\\r\\nAs zephyrs blowing below the violet,\\r\\nNot wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,\\r\\nTheir royal blood enchaf’d, as the rud’st wind\\r\\nThat by the top doth take the mountain pine\\r\\nAnd make him stoop to th’ vale. ’Tis wonder\\r\\nThat an invisible instinct should frame them\\r\\nTo royalty unlearn’d, honour untaught,\\r\\nCivility not seen from other, valour\\r\\nThat wildly grows in them, but yields a crop\\r\\nAs if it had been sow’d. Yet still it’s strange\\r\\nWhat Cloten’s being here to us portends,\\r\\nOr what his death will bring us.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Guiderius.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nWhere’s my brother?\\r\\nI have sent Cloten’s clotpoll down the stream,\\r\\nIn embassy to his mother; his body’s hostage\\r\\nFor his return.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Solemn music._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nMy ingenious instrument!\\r\\nHark, Polydore, it sounds. But what occasion\\r\\nHath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark!\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nIs he at home?\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nHe went hence even now.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nWhat does he mean? Since death of my dear’st mother\\r\\nIt did not speak before. All solemn things\\r\\nShould answer solemn accidents. The matter?\\r\\nTriumphs for nothing and lamenting toys\\r\\nIs jollity for apes and grief for boys.\\r\\nIs Cadwal mad?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Arviragus with Imogen as dead, bearing her in his arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nLook, here he comes,\\r\\nAnd brings the dire occasion in his arms\\r\\nOf what we blame him for!\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nThe bird is dead\\r\\nThat we have made so much on. I had rather\\r\\nHave skipp’d from sixteen years of age to sixty,\\r\\nTo have turn’d my leaping time into a crutch,\\r\\nThan have seen this.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nO sweetest, fairest lily!\\r\\nMy brother wears thee not the one half so well\\r\\nAs when thou grew’st thyself.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nO melancholy!\\r\\nWho ever yet could sound thy bottom? find\\r\\nThe ooze to show what coast thy sluggish crare\\r\\nMight’st easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed thing!\\r\\nJove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I,\\r\\nThou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy.\\r\\nHow found you him?\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nStark, as you see;\\r\\nThus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber,\\r\\nNot as death’s dart, being laugh’d at; his right cheek\\r\\nReposing on a cushion.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nWhere?\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nO’ th’ floor;\\r\\nHis arms thus leagu’d. I thought he slept, and put\\r\\nMy clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness\\r\\nAnswer’d my steps too loud.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nWhy, he but sleeps.\\r\\nIf he be gone he’ll make his grave a bed;\\r\\nWith female fairies will his tomb be haunted,\\r\\nAnd worms will not come to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nWith fairest flowers,\\r\\nWhilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele,\\r\\nI’ll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack\\r\\nThe flower that’s like thy face, pale primrose; nor\\r\\nThe azur’d hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor\\r\\nThe leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,\\r\\nOut-sweet’ned not thy breath. The ruddock would,\\r\\nWith charitable bill (O bill, sore shaming\\r\\nThose rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie\\r\\nWithout a monument!) bring thee all this;\\r\\nYea, and furr’d moss besides, when flow’rs are none,\\r\\nTo winter-ground thy corse—\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nPrithee have done,\\r\\nAnd do not play in wench-like words with that\\r\\nWhich is so serious. Let us bury him,\\r\\nAnd not protract with admiration what\\r\\nIs now due debt. To th’ grave.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nSay, where shall’s lay him?\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nBy good Euriphile, our mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nBe’t so;\\r\\nAnd let us, Polydore, though now our voices\\r\\nHave got the mannish crack, sing him to th’ ground,\\r\\nAs once to our mother; use like note and words,\\r\\nSave that Euriphile must be Fidele.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nCadwal,\\r\\nI cannot sing. I’ll weep, and word it with thee;\\r\\nFor notes of sorrow out of tune are worse\\r\\nThan priests and fanes that lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nWe’ll speak it, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nGreat griefs, I see, med’cine the less, for Cloten\\r\\nIs quite forgot. He was a queen’s son, boys;\\r\\nAnd though he came our enemy, remember\\r\\nHe was paid for that. Though mean and mighty rotting\\r\\nTogether have one dust, yet reverence,\\r\\nThat angel of the world, doth make distinction\\r\\nOf place ’tween high and low. Our foe was princely;\\r\\nAnd though you took his life, as being our foe,\\r\\nYet bury him as a prince.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nPray you fetch him hither.\\r\\nThersites’ body is as good as Ajax’,\\r\\nWhen neither are alive.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nIf you’ll go fetch him,\\r\\nWe’ll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Belarius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nNay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to th’ East;\\r\\nMy father hath a reason for’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\n’Tis true.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nCome on, then, and remove him.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nSo. Begin.\\r\\n\\r\\nSONG\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\n_ Fear no more the heat o’ th’ sun,\\r\\n Nor the furious winter’s rages;\\r\\n Thou thy worldly task hast done,\\r\\n Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages.\\r\\n Golden lads and girls all must,\\r\\n As chimney-sweepers, come to dust._\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\n_ Fear no more the frown o’ th’ great;\\r\\n Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke.\\r\\n Care no more to clothe and eat;\\r\\n To thee the reed is as the oak.\\r\\n The sceptre, learning, physic, must\\r\\n All follow this and come to dust._\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\n_ Fear no more the lightning flash._\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\n_ Nor th’ all-dreaded thunder-stone._\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\n_ Fear not slander, censure rash;_\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\n_ Thou hast finish’d joy and moan._\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTH.\\r\\n_ All lovers young, all lovers must\\r\\n Consign to thee and come to dust._\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\n_ No exorciser harm thee!_\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\n_ Nor no witchcraft charm thee!_\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\n_ Ghost unlaid forbear thee!_\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\n_ Nothing ill come near thee!_\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTH.\\r\\n_ Quiet consummation have,\\r\\n And renowned be thy grave!_\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Belarius with the body of Cloten.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nWe have done our obsequies. Come, lay him down.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nHere’s a few flowers; but ’bout midnight, more.\\r\\nThe herbs that have on them cold dew o’ th’ night\\r\\nAre strewings fit’st for graves. Upon their faces.\\r\\nYou were as flow’rs, now wither’d. Even so\\r\\nThese herblets shall which we upon you strew.\\r\\nCome on, away. Apart upon our knees.\\r\\nThe ground that gave them first has them again.\\r\\nTheir pleasures here are past, so is their pain.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Imogen._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\n[_Awaking._] Yes, sir, to Milford Haven. Which is the way?\\r\\nI thank you. By yond bush? Pray, how far thither?\\r\\n’Ods pittikins! can it be six mile yet?\\r\\nI have gone all night. Faith, I’ll lie down and sleep.\\r\\nBut, soft! no bedfellow. O gods and goddesses!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Seeing the body._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThese flow’rs are like the pleasures of the world;\\r\\nThis bloody man, the care on’t. I hope I dream;\\r\\nFor so I thought I was a cave-keeper,\\r\\nAnd cook to honest creatures. But ’tis not so;\\r\\n’Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,\\r\\nWhich the brain makes of fumes. Our very eyes\\r\\nAre sometimes, like our judgements, blind. Good faith,\\r\\nI tremble still with fear; but if there be\\r\\nYet left in heaven as small a drop of pity\\r\\nAs a wren’s eye, fear’d gods, a part of it!\\r\\nThe dream’s here still. Even when I wake it is\\r\\nWithout me, as within me; not imagin’d, felt.\\r\\nA headless man? The garments of Posthumus?\\r\\nI know the shape of’s leg; this is his hand,\\r\\nHis foot Mercurial, his Martial thigh,\\r\\nThe brawns of Hercules; but his Jovial face—\\r\\nMurder in heaven! How! ’Tis gone. Pisanio,\\r\\nAll curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,\\r\\nAnd mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,\\r\\nConspir’d with that irregulous devil, Cloten,\\r\\nHath here cut off my lord. To write and read\\r\\nBe henceforth treacherous! Damn’d Pisanio\\r\\nHath with his forged letters (damn’d Pisanio)\\r\\nFrom this most bravest vessel of the world\\r\\nStruck the main-top. O Posthumus! alas,\\r\\nWhere is thy head? Where’s that? Ay me! where’s that?\\r\\nPisanio might have kill’d thee at the heart,\\r\\nAnd left this head on. How should this be? Pisanio?\\r\\n’Tis he and Cloten; malice and lucre in them\\r\\nHave laid this woe here. O, ’tis pregnant, pregnant!\\r\\nThe drug he gave me, which he said was precious\\r\\nAnd cordial to me, have I not found it\\r\\nMurd’rous to th’ senses? That confirms it home.\\r\\nThis is Pisanio’s deed, and Cloten. O!\\r\\nGive colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,\\r\\nThat we the horrider may seem to those\\r\\nWhich chance to find us. O, my lord, my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Falls fainting on the body._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucius, Captains and a Soothsayer.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nTo them the legions garrison’d in Gallia,\\r\\nAfter your will, have cross’d the sea, attending\\r\\nYou here at Milford Haven; with your ships,\\r\\nThey are in readiness.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nBut what from Rome?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nThe Senate hath stirr’d up the confiners\\r\\nAnd gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits,\\r\\nThat promise noble service; and they come\\r\\nUnder the conduct of bold Iachimo,\\r\\nSienna’s brother.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nWhen expect you them?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nWith the next benefit o’ th’ wind.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nThis forwardness\\r\\nMakes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers\\r\\nBe muster’d; bid the captains look to’t. Now, sir,\\r\\nWhat have you dream’d of late of this war’s purpose?\\r\\n\\r\\nSOOTHSAYER.\\r\\nLast night the very gods show’d me a vision\\r\\n(I fast and pray’d for their intelligence) thus:\\r\\nI saw Jove’s bird, the Roman eagle, wing’d\\r\\nFrom the spongy south to this part of the west,\\r\\nThere vanish’d in the sunbeams; which portends,\\r\\nUnless my sins abuse my divination,\\r\\nSuccess to th’ Roman host.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nDream often so,\\r\\nAnd never false. Soft, ho! what trunk is here\\r\\nWithout his top? The ruin speaks that sometime\\r\\nIt was a worthy building. How? a page?\\r\\nOr dead or sleeping on him? But dead, rather;\\r\\nFor nature doth abhor to make his bed\\r\\nWith the defunct, or sleep upon the dead.\\r\\nLet’s see the boy’s face.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nHe’s alive, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nHe’ll then instruct us of this body. Young one,\\r\\nInform us of thy fortunes; for it seems\\r\\nThey crave to be demanded. Who is this\\r\\nThou mak’st thy bloody pillow? Or who was he\\r\\nThat, otherwise than noble nature did,\\r\\nHath alter’d that good picture? What’s thy interest\\r\\nIn this sad wreck? How came’t? Who is’t?\\r\\nWhat art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nI am nothing; or if not,\\r\\nNothing to be were better. This was my master,\\r\\nA very valiant Briton and a good,\\r\\nThat here by mountaineers lies slain. Alas!\\r\\nThere is no more such masters. I may wander\\r\\nFrom east to occident; cry out for service;\\r\\nTry many, all good; serve truly; never\\r\\nFind such another master.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\n’Lack, good youth!\\r\\nThou mov’st no less with thy complaining than\\r\\nThy master in bleeding. Say his name, good friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nRichard du Champ. [_Aside._] If I do lie, and do\\r\\nNo harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope\\r\\nThey’ll pardon it.—Say you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nThy name?\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nFidele, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nThou dost approve thyself the very same;\\r\\nThy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name.\\r\\nWilt take thy chance with me? I will not say\\r\\nThou shalt be so well master’d; but, be sure,\\r\\nNo less belov’d. The Roman Emperor’s letters,\\r\\nSent by a consul to me, should not sooner\\r\\nThan thine own worth prefer thee. Go with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nI’ll follow, sir. But first, an’t please the gods,\\r\\nI’ll hide my master from the flies, as deep\\r\\nAs these poor pickaxes can dig; and when\\r\\nWith wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha’ strew’d his grave,\\r\\nAnd on it said a century of prayers,\\r\\nSuch as I can, twice o’er, I’ll weep and sigh;\\r\\nAnd leaving so his service, follow you,\\r\\nSo please you entertain me.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nAy, good youth;\\r\\nAnd rather father thee than master thee.\\r\\nMy friends,\\r\\nThe boy hath taught us manly duties; let us\\r\\nFind out the prettiest daisied plot we can,\\r\\nAnd make him with our pikes and partisans\\r\\nA grave. Come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr’d\\r\\nBy thee to us; and he shall be interr’d\\r\\nAs soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes.\\r\\nSome falls are means the happier to arise.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cymbeline, Lords, Pisanio and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nAgain! and bring me word how ’tis with her.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit an Attendant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nA fever with the absence of her son;\\r\\nA madness, of which her life’s in danger. Heavens,\\r\\nHow deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen,\\r\\nThe great part of my comfort, gone; my queen\\r\\nUpon a desperate bed, and in a time\\r\\nWhen fearful wars point at me; her son gone,\\r\\nSo needful for this present. It strikes me past\\r\\nThe hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow,\\r\\nWho needs must know of her departure and\\r\\nDost seem so ignorant, we’ll enforce it from thee\\r\\nBy a sharp torture.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nSir, my life is yours;\\r\\nI humbly set it at your will; but for my mistress,\\r\\nI nothing know where she remains, why gone,\\r\\nNor when she purposes return. Beseech your Highness,\\r\\nHold me your loyal servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nGood my liege,\\r\\nThe day that she was missing he was here.\\r\\nI dare be bound he’s true and shall perform\\r\\nAll parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten,\\r\\nThere wants no diligence in seeking him,\\r\\nAnd will no doubt be found.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nThe time is troublesome.\\r\\n[_To Pisanio._] We’ll slip you for a season; but our jealousy\\r\\nDoes yet depend.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nSo please your Majesty,\\r\\nThe Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,\\r\\nAre landed on your coast, with a supply\\r\\nOf Roman gentlemen by the Senate sent.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nNow for the counsel of my son and queen!\\r\\nI am amaz’d with matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nGood my liege,\\r\\nYour preparation can affront no less\\r\\nThan what you hear of. Come more, for more you’re ready.\\r\\nThe want is but to put those pow’rs in motion\\r\\nThat long to move.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nI thank you. Let’s withdraw,\\r\\nAnd meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not\\r\\nWhat can from Italy annoy us; but\\r\\nWe grieve at chances here. Away!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Pisanio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nI heard no letter from my master since\\r\\nI wrote him Imogen was slain. ’Tis strange.\\r\\nNor hear I from my mistress, who did promise\\r\\nTo yield me often tidings. Neither know I\\r\\nWhat is betid to Cloten, but remain\\r\\nPerplex’d in all. The heavens still must work.\\r\\nWherein I am false I am honest; not true, to be true.\\r\\nThese present wars shall find I love my country,\\r\\nEven to the note o’ th’ King, or I’ll fall in them.\\r\\nAll other doubts, by time let them be clear’d:\\r\\nFortune brings in some boats that are not steer’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Belarius, Guiderius and Arviragus.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nThe noise is round about us.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nLet us from it.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nWhat pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it\\r\\nFrom action and adventure?\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nNay, what hope\\r\\nHave we in hiding us? This way the Romans\\r\\nMust or for Britons slay us, or receive us\\r\\nFor barbarous and unnatural revolts\\r\\nDuring their use, and slay us after.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nSons,\\r\\nWe’ll higher to the mountains; there secure us.\\r\\nTo the King’s party there’s no going. Newness\\r\\nOf Cloten’s death (we being not known, not muster’d\\r\\nAmong the bands) may drive us to a render\\r\\nWhere we have liv’d, and so extort from’s that\\r\\nWhich we have done, whose answer would be death,\\r\\nDrawn on with torture.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nThis is, sir, a doubt\\r\\nIn such a time nothing becoming you\\r\\nNor satisfying us.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nIt is not likely\\r\\nThat when they hear the Roman horses neigh,\\r\\nBehold their quarter’d fires, have both their eyes\\r\\nAnd ears so cloy’d importantly as now,\\r\\nThat they will waste their time upon our note,\\r\\nTo know from whence we are.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nO, I am known\\r\\nOf many in the army. Many years,\\r\\nThough Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him\\r\\nFrom my remembrance. And, besides, the King\\r\\nHath not deserv’d my service nor your loves,\\r\\nWho find in my exile the want of breeding,\\r\\nThe certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless\\r\\nTo have the courtesy your cradle promis’d,\\r\\nBut to be still hot summer’s tanlings and\\r\\nThe shrinking slaves of winter.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nThan be so,\\r\\nBetter to cease to be. Pray, sir, to th’ army.\\r\\nI and my brother are not known; yourself\\r\\nSo out of thought, and thereto so o’ergrown,\\r\\nCannot be questioned.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nBy this sun that shines,\\r\\nI’ll thither. What thing is’t that I never\\r\\nDid see man die! scarce ever look’d on blood\\r\\nBut that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison!\\r\\nNever bestrid a horse, save one that had\\r\\nA rider like myself, who ne’er wore rowel\\r\\nNor iron on his heel! I am asham’d\\r\\nTo look upon the holy sun, to have\\r\\nThe benefit of his blest beams, remaining\\r\\nSo long a poor unknown.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nBy heavens, I’ll go!\\r\\nIf you will bless me, sir, and give me leave,\\r\\nI’ll take the better care; but if you will not,\\r\\nThe hazard therefore due fall on me by\\r\\nThe hands of Romans!\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nSo say I. Amen.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nNo reason I, since of your lives you set\\r\\nSo slight a valuation, should reserve\\r\\nMy crack’d one to more care. Have with you, boys!\\r\\nIf in your country wars you chance to die,\\r\\nThat is my bed too, lads, and there I’ll lie.\\r\\nLead, lead. [_Aside._] The time seems long; their blood thinks scorn\\r\\nTill it fly out and show them princes born.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Britain. The Roman camp.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Posthumus alone, with a bloody handkerchief.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nYea, bloody cloth, I’ll keep thee; for I wish’d\\r\\nThou shouldst be colour’d thus. You married ones,\\r\\nIf each of you should take this course, how many\\r\\nMust murder wives much better than themselves\\r\\nFor wrying but a little! O Pisanio!\\r\\nEvery good servant does not all commands;\\r\\nNo bond but to do just ones. Gods! if you\\r\\nShould have ta’en vengeance on my faults, I never\\r\\nHad liv’d to put on this; so had you saved\\r\\nThe noble Imogen to repent, and struck\\r\\nMe, wretch more worth your vengeance. But alack,\\r\\nYou snatch some hence for little faults; that’s love,\\r\\nTo have them fall no more. You some permit\\r\\nTo second ills with ills, each elder worse,\\r\\nAnd make them dread it, to the doers’ thrift.\\r\\nBut Imogen is your own. Do your best wills,\\r\\nAnd make me blest to obey. I am brought hither\\r\\nAmong th’ Italian gentry, and to fight\\r\\nAgainst my lady’s kingdom. ’Tis enough\\r\\nThat, Britain, I have kill’d thy mistress; peace!\\r\\nI’ll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens,\\r\\nHear patiently my purpose. I’ll disrobe me\\r\\nOf these Italian weeds, and suit myself\\r\\nAs does a Britain peasant. So I’ll fight\\r\\nAgainst the part I come with; so I’ll die\\r\\nFor thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life\\r\\nIs every breath a death. And thus unknown,\\r\\nPitied nor hated, to the face of peril\\r\\nMyself I’ll dedicate. Let me make men know\\r\\nMore valour in me than my habits show.\\r\\nGods, put the strength o’ th’ Leonati in me!\\r\\nTo shame the guise o’ th’ world, I will begin\\r\\nThe fashion less without and more within.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Britain. A field of battle between the British and Roman\\r\\ncamps.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucius, Iachimo and the Roman army at one door, and the British\\r\\n army at another, Leonatus Posthumus following like a poor soldier.\\r\\n They march over and go out. Alarums. Then enter again, in skirmish,\\r\\n Iachimo and Posthumus. He vanquisheth and disarmeth Iachimo and then\\r\\n leaves him.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nThe heaviness and guilt within my bosom\\r\\nTakes off my manhood. I have belied a lady,\\r\\nThe Princess of this country, and the air on’t\\r\\nRevengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl,\\r\\nA very drudge of nature’s, have subdu’d me\\r\\nIn my profession? Knighthoods and honours borne\\r\\nAs I wear mine are titles but of scorn.\\r\\nIf that thy gentry, Britain, go before\\r\\nThis lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds\\r\\nIs that we scarce are men, and you are gods.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n The battle continues; the Britons fly; Cymbeline is taken. Then enter\\r\\n to his rescue Belarius, Guiderius and Arviragus.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nStand, stand! We have th’ advantage of the ground;\\r\\nThe lane is guarded; nothing routs us but\\r\\nThe villainy of our fears.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nStand, stand, and fight!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Posthumus and seconds the Britons; they rescue Cymbeline and\\r\\n exeunt. Then re-enter Lucius and Iachimo with Imogen.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nAway, boy, from the troops, and save thyself;\\r\\nFor friends kill friends, and the disorder’s such\\r\\nAs war were hoodwink’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\n’Tis their fresh supplies.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nIt is a day turn’d strangely. Or betimes\\r\\nLet’s reinforce or fly.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Another part of the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Posthumus and a Briton Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nCam’st thou from where they made the stand?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nI did:\\r\\nThough you, it seems, come from the fliers.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nI did.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nNo blame be to you, sir, for all was lost,\\r\\nBut that the heavens fought. The King himself\\r\\nOf his wings destitute, the army broken,\\r\\nAnd but the backs of Britons seen, all flying,\\r\\nThrough a strait lane; the enemy, full-hearted,\\r\\nLolling the tongue with slaught’ring, having work\\r\\nMore plentiful than tools to do’t, struck down\\r\\nSome mortally, some slightly touch’d, some falling\\r\\nMerely through fear, that the strait pass was damm’d\\r\\nWith dead men hurt behind, and cowards living\\r\\nTo die with length’ned shame.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nWhere was this lane?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nClose by the battle, ditch’d, and wall’d with turf,\\r\\nWhich gave advantage to an ancient soldier,\\r\\nAn honest one, I warrant, who deserv’d\\r\\nSo long a breeding as his white beard came to,\\r\\nIn doing this for’s country. Athwart the lane\\r\\nHe, with two striplings (lads more like to run\\r\\nThe country base than to commit such slaughter;\\r\\nWith faces fit for masks, or rather fairer\\r\\nThan those for preservation cas’d or shame)\\r\\nMade good the passage, cried to those that fled\\r\\n‘Our Britain’s harts die flying, not our men.\\r\\nTo darkness fleet souls that fly backwards! Stand;\\r\\nOr we are Romans and will give you that,\\r\\nLike beasts, which you shun beastly, and may save\\r\\nBut to look back in frown. Stand, stand!’ These three,\\r\\nThree thousand confident, in act as many—\\r\\nFor three performers are the file when all\\r\\nThe rest do nothing—with this word ‘Stand, stand!’\\r\\nAccommodated by the place, more charming\\r\\nWith their own nobleness, which could have turn’d\\r\\nA distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks,\\r\\nPart shame, part spirit renew’d; that some turn’d coward\\r\\nBut by example (O, a sin in war\\r\\nDamn’d in the first beginners) ’gan to look\\r\\nThe way that they did and to grin like lions\\r\\nUpon the pikes o’ th’ hunters. Then began\\r\\nA stop i’ th’ chaser, a retire; anon\\r\\nA rout, confusion thick. Forthwith they fly,\\r\\nChickens, the way which they stoop’d eagles; slaves,\\r\\nThe strides they victors made; and now our cowards,\\r\\nLike fragments in hard voyages, became\\r\\nThe life o’ th’ need. Having found the back-door open\\r\\nOf the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound!\\r\\nSome slain before, some dying, some their friends\\r\\nO’erborne i’ th’ former wave. Ten chas’d by one\\r\\nAre now each one the slaughterman of twenty.\\r\\nThose that would die or ere resist are grown\\r\\nThe mortal bugs o’ th’ field.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nThis was strange chance:\\r\\nA narrow lane, an old man, and two boys.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nNay, do not wonder at it; you are made\\r\\nRather to wonder at the things you hear\\r\\nThan to work any. Will you rhyme upon’t,\\r\\nAnd vent it for a mock’ry? Here is one:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ‘Two boys, an old man (twice a boy), a lane,\\r\\n Preserv’d the Britons, was the Romans’ bane.’\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nNay, be not angry, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\n’Lack, to what end?\\r\\nWho dares not stand his foe I’ll be his friend;\\r\\nFor if he’ll do as he is made to do,\\r\\nI know he’ll quickly fly my friendship too.\\r\\nYou have put me into rhyme.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nFarewell; you’re angry.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nStill going? This is a lord! O noble misery,\\r\\nTo be i’ th’ field and ask ‘What news?’ of me!\\r\\nToday how many would have given their honours\\r\\nTo have sav’d their carcasses! took heel to do’t,\\r\\nAnd yet died too! I, in mine own woe charm’d,\\r\\nCould not find death where I did hear him groan,\\r\\nNor feel him where he struck. Being an ugly monster,\\r\\n’Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds,\\r\\nSweet words; or hath moe ministers than we\\r\\nThat draw his knives i’ th’ war. Well, I will find him;\\r\\nFor being now a favourer to the Briton,\\r\\nNo more a Briton, I have resum’d again\\r\\nThe part I came in. Fight I will no more,\\r\\nBut yield me to the veriest hind that shall\\r\\nOnce touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is\\r\\nHere made by th’ Roman; great the answer be\\r\\nBritons must take. For me, my ransom’s death;\\r\\nOn either side I come to spend my breath,\\r\\nWhich neither here I’ll keep nor bear again,\\r\\nBut end it by some means for Imogen.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two British Captains and soldiers.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CAPTAIN.\\r\\nGreat Jupiter be prais’d! Lucius is taken.\\r\\n’Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CAPTAIN.\\r\\nThere was a fourth man, in a silly habit,\\r\\nThat gave th’ affront with them.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CAPTAIN.\\r\\nSo ’tis reported;\\r\\nBut none of ’em can be found. Stand! who’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nA Roman,\\r\\nWho had not now been drooping here if seconds\\r\\nHad answer’d him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CAPTAIN.\\r\\nLay hands on him; a dog!\\r\\nA leg of Rome shall not return to tell\\r\\nWhat crows have peck’d them here. He brags his service,\\r\\nAs if he were of note. Bring him to th’ King.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pisanio and Roman\\r\\n captives. The Captains present Posthumus to Cymbeline, who delivers\\r\\n him over to a gaoler.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt omnes._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Britain. A prison.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Posthumus and two Gaolers.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GAOLER. You shall not now be stol’n, you have locks upon you;\\r\\nSo graze as you find pasture.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GAOLER.\\r\\nAy, or a stomach.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Gaolers._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nMost welcome, bondage! for thou art a way,\\r\\nI think, to liberty. Yet am I better\\r\\nThan one that’s sick o’ th’ gout, since he had rather\\r\\nGroan so in perpetuity than be cur’d\\r\\nBy th’ sure physician death, who is the key\\r\\nT’ unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetter’d\\r\\nMore than my shanks and wrists; you good gods, give me\\r\\nThe penitent instrument to pick that bolt,\\r\\nThen, free for ever! Is’t enough I am sorry?\\r\\nSo children temporal fathers do appease;\\r\\nGods are more full of mercy. Must I repent,\\r\\nI cannot do it better than in gyves,\\r\\nDesir’d more than constrain’d. To satisfy,\\r\\nIf of my freedom ’tis the main part, take\\r\\nNo stricter render of me than my all.\\r\\nI know you are more clement than vile men,\\r\\nWho of their broken debtors take a third,\\r\\nA sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again\\r\\nOn their abatement; that’s not my desire.\\r\\nFor Imogen’s dear life take mine; and though\\r\\n’Tis not so dear, yet ’tis a life; you coin’d it.\\r\\n’Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp;\\r\\nThough light, take pieces for the figure’s sake;\\r\\nYou rather mine, being yours. And so, great pow’rs,\\r\\nIf you will take this audit, take this life,\\r\\nAnd cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen!\\r\\nI’ll speak to thee in silence.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Solemn music. Enter, as in an apparition, Sicilius Leonatus, father to\\r\\n Posthumus, an old man attired like a warrior; leading in his hand an\\r\\n ancient matron, his wife and Mother to Posthumus, with music before\\r\\n them. Then, after other music, follows the two young Leonati, brothers\\r\\n to Posthumus, with wounds, as they died in the wars. They circle\\r\\n Posthumus round as he lies sleeping.\\r\\n\\r\\nSICILIUS.\\r\\nNo more, thou thunder-master, show\\r\\nThy spite on mortal flies.\\r\\nWith Mars fall out, with Juno chide,\\r\\nThat thy adulteries\\r\\nRates and revenges.\\r\\nHath my poor boy done aught but well,\\r\\nWhose face I never saw?\\r\\nI died whilst in the womb he stay’d\\r\\nAttending nature’s law;\\r\\nWhose father then, as men report\\r\\nThou orphans’ father art,\\r\\nThou shouldst have been, and shielded him\\r\\nFrom this earth-vexing smart.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOTHER.\\r\\nLucina lent not me her aid,\\r\\nBut took me in my throes,\\r\\nThat from me was Posthumus ripp’d,\\r\\nCame crying ’mongst his foes,\\r\\nA thing of pity.\\r\\n\\r\\nSICILIUS.\\r\\nGreat Nature like his ancestry\\r\\nMoulded the stuff so fair\\r\\nThat he deserv’d the praise o’ th’ world\\r\\nAs great Sicilius’ heir.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST BROTHER.\\r\\nWhen once he was mature for man,\\r\\nIn Britain where was he\\r\\nThat could stand up his parallel,\\r\\nOr fruitful object be\\r\\nIn eye of Imogen, that best\\r\\nCould deem his dignity?\\r\\n\\r\\nMOTHER.\\r\\nWith marriage wherefore was he mock’d,\\r\\nTo be exil’d and thrown\\r\\nFrom Leonati seat and cast\\r\\nFrom her his dearest one,\\r\\nSweet Imogen?\\r\\n\\r\\nSICILIUS.\\r\\nWhy did you suffer Iachimo,\\r\\nSlight thing of Italy,\\r\\nTo taint his nobler heart and brain\\r\\nWith needless jealousy,\\r\\nAnd to become the geck and scorn\\r\\nO’ th’ other’s villainy?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND BROTHER.\\r\\nFor this from stiller seats we came,\\r\\nOur parents and us twain,\\r\\nThat, striking in our country’s cause,\\r\\nFell bravely and were slain,\\r\\nOur fealty and Tenantius’ right\\r\\nWith honour to maintain.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST BROTHER.\\r\\nLike hardiment Posthumus hath\\r\\nTo Cymbeline perform’d.\\r\\nThen, Jupiter, thou king of gods,\\r\\nWhy hast thou thus adjourn’d\\r\\nThe graces for his merits due,\\r\\nBeing all to dolours turn’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nSICILIUS.\\r\\nThy crystal window ope; look out;\\r\\nNo longer exercise\\r\\nUpon a valiant race thy harsh\\r\\nAnd potent injuries.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOTHER.\\r\\nSince, Jupiter, our son is good,\\r\\nTake off his miseries.\\r\\n\\r\\nSICILIUS.\\r\\nPeep through thy marble mansion. Help!\\r\\nOr we poor ghosts will cry\\r\\nTo th’ shining synod of the rest\\r\\nAgainst thy deity.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHERS.\\r\\nHelp, Jupiter! or we appeal,\\r\\nAnd from thy justice fly.\\r\\n\\r\\n Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an eagle. He\\r\\n throws a thunderbolt. The Ghosts fall on their knees.\\r\\n\\r\\nJUPITER.\\r\\nNo more, you petty spirits of region low,\\r\\nOffend our hearing; hush! How dare you ghosts\\r\\nAccuse the Thunderer whose bolt, you know,\\r\\nSky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts?\\r\\nPoor shadows of Elysium, hence and rest\\r\\nUpon your never-withering banks of flow’rs.\\r\\nBe not with mortal accidents opprest:\\r\\nNo care of yours it is; you know ’tis ours.\\r\\nWhom best I love I cross; to make my gift,\\r\\nThe more delay’d, delighted. Be content;\\r\\nYour low-laid son our godhead will uplift;\\r\\nHis comforts thrive, his trials well are spent.\\r\\nOur Jovial star reign’d at his birth, and in\\r\\nOur temple was he married. Rise and fade!\\r\\nHe shall be lord of Lady Imogen,\\r\\nAnd happier much by his affliction made.\\r\\nThis tablet lay upon his breast, wherein\\r\\nOur pleasure his full fortune doth confine;\\r\\nAnd so, away; no farther with your din\\r\\nExpress impatience, lest you stir up mine.\\r\\nMount, eagle, to my palace crystalline.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Ascends._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSICILIUS.\\r\\nHe came in thunder; his celestial breath\\r\\nWas sulphurous to smell; the holy eagle\\r\\nStoop’d as to foot us. His ascension is\\r\\nMore sweet than our blest fields. His royal bird\\r\\nPrunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak,\\r\\nAs when his god is pleas’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nThanks, Jupiter!\\r\\n\\r\\nSICILIUS.\\r\\nThe marble pavement closes, he is enter’d\\r\\nHis radiant roof. Away! and, to be blest,\\r\\nLet us with care perform his great behest.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Ghosts vanish._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\n[_Waking._] Sleep, thou has been a grandsire and begot\\r\\nA father to me; and thou hast created\\r\\nA mother and two brothers. But, O scorn,\\r\\nGone! They went hence so soon as they were born.\\r\\nAnd so I am awake. Poor wretches, that depend\\r\\nOn greatness’ favour, dream as I have done;\\r\\nWake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve;\\r\\nMany dream not to find, neither deserve,\\r\\nAnd yet are steep’d in favours; so am I,\\r\\nThat have this golden chance, and know not why.\\r\\nWhat fairies haunt this ground? A book? O rare one!\\r\\nBe not, as is our fangled world, a garment\\r\\nNobler than that it covers. Let thy effects\\r\\nSo follow to be most unlike our courtiers,\\r\\nAs good as promise.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Reads._] _When as a lion’s whelp shall, to himself unknown, without\\r\\nseeking find, and be embrac’d by a piece of tender air; and when from a\\r\\nstately cedar shall be lopp’d branches which, being dead many years,\\r\\nshall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then\\r\\nshall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in\\r\\npeace and plenty._\\r\\n\\r\\n’Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen\\r\\nTongue, and brain not; either both or nothing,\\r\\nOr senseless speaking, or a speaking such\\r\\nAs sense cannot untie. Be what it is,\\r\\nThe action of my life is like it, which\\r\\nI’ll keep, if but for sympathy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gaoler.\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nCome, sir, are you ready for death?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nOver-roasted rather; ready long ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nHanging is the word, sir; if you be ready for that, you are well\\r\\ncook’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nSo, if I prove a good repast to the spectators, the dish pays the shot.\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nA heavy reckoning for you, sir. But the comfort is, you shall be called\\r\\nto no more payments, fear no more tavern bills, which are often the\\r\\nsadness of parting, as the procuring of mirth. You come in faint for\\r\\nwant of meat, depart reeling with too much drink; sorry that you have\\r\\npaid too much, and sorry that you are paid too much; purse and brain\\r\\nboth empty; the brain the heavier for being too light, the purse too\\r\\nlight, being drawn of heaviness. O, of this contradiction you shall now\\r\\nbe quit. O, the charity of a penny cord! It sums up thousands in a\\r\\ntrice. You have no true debitor and creditor but it; of what’s past,\\r\\nis, and to come, the discharge. Your neck, sir, is pen, book, and\\r\\ncounters; so the acquittance follows.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nI am merrier to die than thou art to live.\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nIndeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothache. But a man that\\r\\nwere to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he\\r\\nwould change places with his officer; for look you, sir, you know not\\r\\nwhich way you shall go.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nYes indeed do I, fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nYour death has eyes in’s head, then; I have not seen him so pictur’d.\\r\\nYou must either be directed by some that take upon them to know, or to\\r\\ntake upon yourself that which I am sure you do not know, or jump the\\r\\nafter-inquiry on your own peril. And how you shall speed in your\\r\\njourney’s end, I think you’ll never return to tell one.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nI tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to direct them the way I\\r\\nam going, but such as wink and will not use them.\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nWhat an infinite mock is this, that a man should have the best use of\\r\\neyes to see the way of blindness! I am sure hanging’s the way of\\r\\nwinking.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nKnock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nThou bring’st good news: I am call’d to be made free.\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nI’ll be hang’d then.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nThou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the dead.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Posthumus and Messenger._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nUnless a man would marry a gallows and beget young gibbets, I never saw\\r\\none so prone. Yet, on my conscience, there are verier knaves desire to\\r\\nlive, for all he be a Roman; and there be some of them too that die\\r\\nagainst their wills; so should I, if I were one. I would we were all of\\r\\none mind, and one mind good. O, there were desolation of gaolers and\\r\\ngallowses! I speak against my present profit, but my wish hath a\\r\\npreferment in’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Britain. Cymbeline’s tent.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pisanio, Lords,\\r\\n Officers and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nStand by my side, you whom the gods have made\\r\\nPreservers of my throne. Woe is my heart\\r\\nThat the poor soldier that so richly fought,\\r\\nWhose rags sham’d gilded arms, whose naked breast\\r\\nStepp’d before targes of proof, cannot be found.\\r\\nHe shall be happy that can find him, if\\r\\nOur grace can make him so.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nI never saw\\r\\nSuch noble fury in so poor a thing;\\r\\nSuch precious deeds in one that promis’d nought\\r\\nBut beggary and poor looks.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nNo tidings of him?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nHe hath been search’d among the dead and living,\\r\\nBut no trace of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nTo my grief, I am\\r\\nThe heir of his reward, [_To Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus_] which\\r\\nI will add\\r\\nTo you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain,\\r\\nBy whom I grant she lives. ’Tis now the time\\r\\nTo ask of whence you are. Report it.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nSir,\\r\\nIn Cambria are we born, and gentlemen;\\r\\nFurther to boast were neither true nor modest,\\r\\nUnless I add we are honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nBow your knees.\\r\\nArise my knights o’ th’ battle; I create you\\r\\nCompanions to our person, and will fit you\\r\\nWith dignities becoming your estates.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cornelius and Ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\nThere’s business in these faces. Why so sadly\\r\\nGreet you our victory? You look like Romans,\\r\\nAnd not o’ th’ court of Britain.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNELIUS.\\r\\nHail, great King!\\r\\nTo sour your happiness I must report\\r\\nThe Queen is dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nWho worse than a physician\\r\\nWould this report become? But I consider\\r\\nBy med’cine life may be prolong’d, yet death\\r\\nWill seize the doctor too. How ended she?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNELIUS.\\r\\nWith horror, madly dying, like her life;\\r\\nWhich, being cruel to the world, concluded\\r\\nMost cruel to herself. What she confess’d\\r\\nI will report, so please you; these her women\\r\\nCan trip me if I err, who with wet cheeks\\r\\nWere present when she finish’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nPrithee say.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNELIUS.\\r\\nFirst, she confess’d she never lov’d you; only\\r\\nAffected greatness got by you, not you;\\r\\nMarried your royalty, was wife to your place;\\r\\nAbhorr’d your person.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nShe alone knew this;\\r\\nAnd but she spoke it dying, I would not\\r\\nBelieve her lips in opening it. Proceed.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNELIUS.\\r\\nYour daughter, whom she bore in hand to love\\r\\nWith such integrity, she did confess\\r\\nWas as a scorpion to her sight; whose life,\\r\\nBut that her flight prevented it, she had\\r\\nTa’en off by poison.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nO most delicate fiend!\\r\\nWho is’t can read a woman? Is there more?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNELIUS.\\r\\nMore, sir, and worse. She did confess she had\\r\\nFor you a mortal mineral, which, being took,\\r\\nShould by the minute feed on life, and ling’ring,\\r\\nBy inches waste you. In which time she purpos’d,\\r\\nBy watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to\\r\\nO’ercome you with her show; and in time,\\r\\nWhen she had fitted you with her craft, to work\\r\\nHer son into th’ adoption of the crown;\\r\\nBut failing of her end by his strange absence,\\r\\nGrew shameless-desperate, open’d, in despite\\r\\nOf heaven and men, her purposes, repented\\r\\nThe evils she hatch’d were not effected; so,\\r\\nDespairing, died.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nHeard you all this, her women?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADIES.\\r\\nWe did, so please your Highness.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nMine eyes\\r\\nWere not in fault, for she was beautiful;\\r\\nMine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart\\r\\nThat thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious\\r\\nTo have mistrusted her; yet, O my daughter!\\r\\nThat it was folly in me thou mayst say,\\r\\nAnd prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucius, Iachimo, the Soothsayer and other Roman prisoners,\\r\\n guarded; Posthumus behind, and Imogen.\\r\\n\\r\\nThou com’st not, Caius, now for tribute; that\\r\\nThe Britons have raz’d out, though with the loss\\r\\nOf many a bold one, whose kinsmen have made suit\\r\\nThat their good souls may be appeas’d with slaughter\\r\\nOf you their captives, which ourself have granted;\\r\\nSo think of your estate.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nConsider, sir, the chance of war. The day\\r\\nWas yours by accident; had it gone with us,\\r\\nWe should not, when the blood was cool, have threaten’d\\r\\nOur prisoners with the sword. But since the gods\\r\\nWill have it thus, that nothing but our lives\\r\\nMay be call’d ransom, let it come. Sufficeth\\r\\nA Roman with a Roman’s heart can suffer.\\r\\nAugustus lives to think on’t; and so much\\r\\nFor my peculiar care. This one thing only\\r\\nI will entreat: my boy, a Briton born,\\r\\nLet him be ransom’d. Never master had\\r\\nA page so kind, so duteous, diligent,\\r\\nSo tender over his occasions, true,\\r\\nSo feat, so nurse-like; let his virtue join\\r\\nWith my request, which I’ll make bold your Highness\\r\\nCannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm\\r\\nThough he have serv’d a Roman. Save him, sir,\\r\\nAnd spare no blood beside.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nI have surely seen him;\\r\\nHis favour is familiar to me. Boy,\\r\\nThou hast look’d thyself into my grace,\\r\\nAnd art mine own. I know not why, wherefore\\r\\nTo say “Live, boy.” Ne’er thank thy master. Live;\\r\\nAnd ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,\\r\\nFitting my bounty and thy state, I’ll give it;\\r\\nYea, though thou do demand a prisoner,\\r\\nThe noblest ta’en.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nI humbly thank your Highness.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nI do not bid thee beg my life, good lad,\\r\\nAnd yet I know thou wilt.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nNo, no! Alack,\\r\\nThere’s other work in hand. I see a thing\\r\\nBitter to me as death; your life, good master,\\r\\nMust shuffle for itself.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nThe boy disdains me,\\r\\nHe leaves me, scorns me. Briefly die their joys\\r\\nThat place them on the truth of girls and boys.\\r\\nWhy stands he so perplex’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nWhat wouldst thou, boy?\\r\\nI love thee more and more; think more and more\\r\\nWhat’s best to ask. Know’st him thou look’st on? Speak,\\r\\nWilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend?\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nHe is a Roman, no more kin to me\\r\\nThan I to your Highness; who, being born your vassal,\\r\\nAm something nearer.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nWherefore ey’st him so?\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nI’ll tell you, sir, in private, if you please\\r\\nTo give me hearing.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nAy, with all my heart,\\r\\nAnd lend my best attention. What’s thy name?\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nFidele, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nThou’rt my good youth, my page;\\r\\nI’ll be thy master. Walk with me; speak freely.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Cymbeline and Imogen converse apart._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nIs not this boy reviv’d from death?\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nOne sand another\\r\\nNot more resembles that sweet rosy lad\\r\\nWho died and was Fidele. What think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nThe same dead thing alive.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nPeace, peace! see further. He eyes us not; forbear.\\r\\nCreatures may be alike; were’t he, I am sure\\r\\nHe would have spoke to us.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nBut we see him dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nBe silent; let’s see further.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] It is my mistress.\\r\\nSince she is living, let the time run on\\r\\nTo good or bad.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Cymbeline and Imogen advance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nCome, stand thou by our side;\\r\\nMake thy demand aloud. [_To Iachimo._] Sir, step you forth;\\r\\nGive answer to this boy, and do it freely,\\r\\nOr, by our greatness and the grace of it,\\r\\nWhich is our honour, bitter torture shall\\r\\nWinnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nMy boon is that this gentleman may render\\r\\nOf whom he had this ring.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] What’s that to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nThat diamond upon your finger, say\\r\\nHow came it yours?\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nThou’lt torture me to leave unspoken that\\r\\nWhich to be spoke would torture thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nHow? me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nI am glad to be constrain’d to utter that\\r\\nWhich torments me to conceal. By villainy\\r\\nI got this ring; ’twas Leonatus’ jewel,\\r\\nWhom thou didst banish; and—which more may grieve thee,\\r\\nAs it doth me—a nobler sir ne’er liv’d\\r\\n’Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nAll that belongs to this.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nThat paragon, thy daughter,\\r\\nFor whom my heart drops blood and my false spirits\\r\\nQuail to remember—Give me leave, I faint.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nMy daughter? What of her? Renew thy strength;\\r\\nI had rather thou shouldst live while nature will\\r\\nThan die ere I hear more. Strive, man, and speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nUpon a time, unhappy was the clock\\r\\nThat struck the hour: was in Rome, accurs’d\\r\\nThe mansion where: ’twas at a feast, O, would\\r\\nOur viands had been poison’d (or at least\\r\\nThose which I heav’d to head) the good Posthumus\\r\\n(What should I say? he was too good to be\\r\\nWhere ill men were, and was the best of all\\r\\nAmongst the rar’st of good ones) sitting sadly\\r\\nHearing us praise our loves of Italy\\r\\nFor beauty that made barren the swell’d boast\\r\\nOf him that best could speak; for feature, laming\\r\\nThe shrine of Venus or straight-pight Minerva,\\r\\nPostures beyond brief nature; for condition,\\r\\nA shop of all the qualities that man\\r\\nLoves woman for; besides that hook of wiving,\\r\\nFairness which strikes the eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nI stand on fire.\\r\\nCome to the matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nAll too soon I shall,\\r\\nUnless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus,\\r\\nMost like a noble lord in love and one\\r\\nThat had a royal lover, took his hint;\\r\\nAnd (not dispraising whom we prais’d, therein\\r\\nHe was as calm as virtue) he began\\r\\nHis mistress’ picture; which by his tongue being made,\\r\\nAnd then a mind put in’t, either our brags\\r\\nWere crack’d of kitchen trulls, or his description\\r\\nProv’d us unspeaking sots.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nNay, nay, to th’ purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\nYour daughter’s chastity (there it begins)\\r\\nHe spake of her as Dian had hot dreams\\r\\nAnd she alone were cold; whereat I, wretch,\\r\\nMade scruple of his praise, and wager’d with him\\r\\nPieces of gold ’gainst this which then he wore\\r\\nUpon his honour’d finger, to attain\\r\\nIn suit the place of’s bed, and win this ring\\r\\nBy hers and mine adultery. He, true knight,\\r\\nNo lesser of her honour confident\\r\\nThan I did truly find her, stakes this ring;\\r\\nAnd would so, had it been a carbuncle\\r\\nOf Phoebus’ wheel; and might so safely, had it\\r\\nBeen all the worth of’s car. Away to Britain\\r\\nPost I in this design. Well may you, sir,\\r\\nRemember me at court, where I was taught\\r\\nOf your chaste daughter the wide difference\\r\\n’Twixt amorous and villainous. Being thus quench’d\\r\\nOf hope, not longing, mine Italian brain\\r\\nGan in your duller Britain operate\\r\\nMost vilely; for my vantage, excellent;\\r\\nAnd, to be brief, my practice so prevail’d\\r\\nThat I return’d with simular proof enough\\r\\nTo make the noble Leonatus mad,\\r\\nBy wounding his belief in her renown\\r\\nWith tokens thus and thus; averring notes\\r\\nOf chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet\\r\\n(O cunning, how I got it!) nay, some marks\\r\\nOf secret on her person, that he could not\\r\\nBut think her bond of chastity quite crack’d,\\r\\nI having ta’en the forfeit. Whereupon\\r\\nMethinks I see him now—\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\n[_Coming forward._] Ay, so thou dost,\\r\\nItalian fiend! Ay me, most credulous fool,\\r\\nEgregious murderer, thief, anything\\r\\nThat’s due to all the villains past, in being,\\r\\nTo come! O, give me cord, or knife, or poison,\\r\\nSome upright justicer! Thou, King, send out\\r\\nFor torturers ingenious. It is I\\r\\nThat all th’ abhorred things o’ th’ earth amend\\r\\nBy being worse than they. I am Posthumus,\\r\\nThat kill’d thy daughter; villain-like, I lie;\\r\\nThat caus’d a lesser villain than myself,\\r\\nA sacrilegious thief, to do’t. The temple\\r\\nOf virtue was she; yea, and she herself.\\r\\nSpit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set\\r\\nThe dogs o’ th’ street to bay me. Every villain\\r\\nBe call’d Posthumus Leonatus, and\\r\\nBe villainy less than ’twas! O Imogen!\\r\\nMy queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen,\\r\\nImogen, Imogen!\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nPeace, my lord. Hear, hear!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nShall’s have a play of this? Thou scornful page,\\r\\nThere lies thy part.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Strikes her. She falls._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nO gentlemen, help!\\r\\nMine and your mistress! O, my lord Posthumus!\\r\\nYou ne’er kill’d Imogen till now. Help, help!\\r\\nMine honour’d lady!\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nDoes the world go round?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nHow comes these staggers on me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nWake, my mistress!\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nIf this be so, the gods do mean to strike me\\r\\nTo death with mortal joy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nHow fares my mistress?\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nO, get thee from my sight;\\r\\nThou gav’st me poison. Dangerous fellow, hence!\\r\\nBreathe not where princes are.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nThe tune of Imogen!\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nLady,\\r\\nThe gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if\\r\\nThat box I gave you was not thought by me\\r\\nA precious thing! I had it from the Queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nNew matter still?\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nIt poison’d me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNELIUS.\\r\\nO gods!\\r\\nI left out one thing which the Queen confess’d,\\r\\nWhich must approve thee honest. ‘If Pisanio\\r\\nHave’ said she ‘given his mistress that confection\\r\\nWhich I gave him for cordial, she is serv’d\\r\\nAs I would serve a rat.’\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nWhat’s this, Cornelius?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNELIUS.\\r\\nThe Queen, sir, very oft importun’d me\\r\\nTo temper poisons for her; still pretending\\r\\nThe satisfaction of her knowledge only\\r\\nIn killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs,\\r\\nOf no esteem. I, dreading that her purpose\\r\\nWas of more danger, did compound for her\\r\\nA certain stuff, which, being ta’en would cease\\r\\nThe present pow’r of life, but in short time\\r\\nAll offices of nature should again\\r\\nDo their due functions. Have you ta’en of it?\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nMost like I did, for I was dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nMy boys,\\r\\nThere was our error.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nThis is sure Fidele.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nWhy did you throw your wedded lady from you?\\r\\nThink that you are upon a rock, and now\\r\\nThrow me again.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Embracing him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nHang there like fruit, my soul,\\r\\nTill the tree die!\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nHow now, my flesh? my child?\\r\\nWhat, mak’st thou me a dullard in this act?\\r\\nWilt thou not speak to me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\n[_Kneeling._] Your blessing, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\n[_To Guiderius and Arviragus._] Though you did love this youth, I blame\\r\\nye not;\\r\\nYou had a motive for’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nMy tears that fall\\r\\nProve holy water on thee! Imogen,\\r\\nThy mother’s dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nI am sorry for’t, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nO, she was naught, and long of her it was\\r\\nThat we meet here so strangely; but her son\\r\\nIs gone, we know not how nor where.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISANIO.\\r\\nMy lord,\\r\\nNow fear is from me, I’ll speak troth. Lord Cloten,\\r\\nUpon my lady’s missing, came to me\\r\\nWith his sword drawn, foam’d at the mouth, and swore,\\r\\nIf I discover’d not which way she was gone,\\r\\nIt was my instant death. By accident\\r\\nI had a feigned letter of my master’s\\r\\nThen in my pocket, which directed him\\r\\nTo seek her on the mountains near to Milford;\\r\\nWhere, in a frenzy, in my master’s garments,\\r\\nWhich he enforc’d from me, away he posts\\r\\nWith unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate\\r\\nMy lady’s honour. What became of him\\r\\nI further know not.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nLet me end the story:\\r\\nI slew him there.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nMarry, the gods forfend!\\r\\nI would not thy good deeds should from my lips\\r\\nPluck a hard sentence. Prithee, valiant youth,\\r\\nDeny’t again.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nI have spoke it, and I did it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nHe was a prince.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nA most incivil one. The wrongs he did me\\r\\nWere nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me\\r\\nWith language that would make me spurn the sea,\\r\\nIf it could so roar to me. I cut off’s head,\\r\\nAnd am right glad he is not standing here\\r\\nTo tell this tale of mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nI am sorry for thee.\\r\\nBy thine own tongue thou art condemn’d, and must\\r\\nEndure our law. Thou’rt dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nThat headless man\\r\\nI thought had been my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nBind the offender,\\r\\nAnd take him from our presence.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nStay, sir King.\\r\\nThis man is better than the man he slew,\\r\\nAs well descended as thyself, and hath\\r\\nMore of thee merited than a band of Clotens\\r\\nHad ever scar for. [_To the guard._] Let his arms alone;\\r\\nThey were not born for bondage.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nWhy, old soldier,\\r\\nWilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for\\r\\nBy tasting of our wrath? How of descent\\r\\nAs good as we?\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nIn that he spake too far.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nAnd thou shalt die for’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nWe will die all three;\\r\\nBut I will prove that two on’s are as good\\r\\nAs I have given out him. My sons, I must\\r\\nFor mine own part unfold a dangerous speech,\\r\\nThough haply well for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nYour danger’s ours.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nAnd our good his.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nHave at it then by leave!\\r\\nThou hadst, great King, a subject who\\r\\nWas call’d Belarius.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nWhat of him? He is\\r\\nA banish’d traitor.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nHe it is that hath\\r\\nAssum’d this age; indeed a banish’d man;\\r\\nI know not how a traitor.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nTake him hence,\\r\\nThe whole world shall not save him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nNot too hot.\\r\\nFirst pay me for the nursing of thy sons,\\r\\nAnd let it be confiscate all, so soon\\r\\nAs I have receiv’d it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nNursing of my sons?\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nI am too blunt and saucy: here’s my knee.\\r\\nEre I arise I will prefer my sons;\\r\\nThen spare not the old father. Mighty sir,\\r\\nThese two young gentlemen that call me father,\\r\\nAnd think they are my sons, are none of mine;\\r\\nThey are the issue of your loins, my liege,\\r\\nAnd blood of your begetting.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nHow? my issue?\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nSo sure as you your father’s. I, old Morgan,\\r\\nAm that Belarius whom you sometime banish’d.\\r\\nYour pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment\\r\\nItself, and all my treason; that I suffer’d\\r\\nWas all the harm I did. These gentle princes\\r\\n(For such and so they are) these twenty years\\r\\nHave I train’d up; those arts they have as I\\r\\nCould put into them. My breeding was, sir, as\\r\\nYour Highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile,\\r\\nWhom for the theft I wedded, stole these children\\r\\nUpon my banishment; I mov’d her to’t,\\r\\nHaving receiv’d the punishment before\\r\\nFor that which I did then. Beaten for loyalty\\r\\nExcited me to treason. Their dear loss,\\r\\nThe more of you ’twas felt, the more it shap’d\\r\\nUnto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir,\\r\\nHere are your sons again, and I must lose\\r\\nTwo of the sweet’st companions in the world.\\r\\nThe benediction of these covering heavens\\r\\nFall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy\\r\\nTo inlay heaven with stars.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nThou weep’st and speak’st.\\r\\nThe service that you three have done is more\\r\\nUnlike than this thou tell’st. I lost my children.\\r\\nIf these be they, I know not how to wish\\r\\nA pair of worthier sons.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nBe pleas’d awhile.\\r\\nThis gentleman, whom I call Polydore,\\r\\nMost worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius;\\r\\nThis gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus,\\r\\nYour younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp’d\\r\\nIn a most curious mantle, wrought by th’ hand\\r\\nOf his queen mother, which for more probation\\r\\nI can with ease produce.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nGuiderius had\\r\\nUpon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;\\r\\nIt was a mark of wonder.\\r\\n\\r\\nBELARIUS.\\r\\nThis is he,\\r\\nWho hath upon him still that natural stamp.\\r\\nIt was wise nature’s end in the donation,\\r\\nTo be his evidence now.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nO, what am I?\\r\\nA mother to the birth of three? Ne’er mother\\r\\nRejoic’d deliverance more. Blest pray you be,\\r\\nThat, after this strange starting from your orbs,\\r\\nYou may reign in them now! O Imogen,\\r\\nThou hast lost by this a kingdom.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nNo, my lord;\\r\\nI have got two worlds by’t. O my gentle brothers,\\r\\nHave we thus met? O, never say hereafter\\r\\nBut I am truest speaker! You call’d me brother,\\r\\nWhen I was but your sister: I you brothers,\\r\\nWhen we were so indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nDid you e’er meet?\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nAy, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUIDERIUS.\\r\\nAnd at first meeting lov’d,\\r\\nContinu’d so until we thought he died.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNELIUS.\\r\\nBy the Queen’s dram she swallow’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nO rare instinct!\\r\\nWhen shall I hear all through? This fierce abridgement\\r\\nHath to it circumstantial branches, which\\r\\nDistinction should be rich in. Where? how liv’d you?\\r\\nAnd when came you to serve our Roman captive?\\r\\nHow parted with your brothers? how first met them?\\r\\nWhy fled you from the court? and whither? These,\\r\\nAnd your three motives to the battle, with\\r\\nI know not how much more, should be demanded,\\r\\nAnd all the other by-dependances,\\r\\nFrom chance to chance; but nor the time nor place\\r\\nWill serve our long interrogatories. See,\\r\\nPosthumus anchors upon Imogen;\\r\\nAnd she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye\\r\\nOn him, her brothers, me, her master, hitting\\r\\nEach object with a joy; the counterchange\\r\\nIs severally in all. Let’s quit this ground,\\r\\nAnd smoke the temple with our sacrifices.\\r\\n[_To Belarius._] Thou art my brother; so we’ll hold thee ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nYou are my father too, and did relieve me\\r\\nTo see this gracious season.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nAll o’erjoy’d\\r\\nSave these in bonds. Let them be joyful too,\\r\\nFor they shall taste our comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\nIMOGEN.\\r\\nMy good master,\\r\\nI will yet do you service.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nHappy be you!\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nThe forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought,\\r\\nHe would have well becom’d this place and grac’d\\r\\nThe thankings of a king.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nI am, sir,\\r\\nThe soldier that did company these three\\r\\nIn poor beseeming; ’twas a fitment for\\r\\nThe purpose I then follow’d. That I was he,\\r\\nSpeak, Iachimo. I had you down, and might\\r\\nHave made you finish.\\r\\n\\r\\nIACHIMO.\\r\\n[_Kneeling._] I am down again;\\r\\nBut now my heavy conscience sinks my knee,\\r\\nAs then your force did. Take that life, beseech you,\\r\\nWhich I so often owe; but your ring first,\\r\\nAnd here the bracelet of the truest princess\\r\\nThat ever swore her faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nKneel not to me.\\r\\nThe pow’r that I have on you is to spare you;\\r\\nThe malice towards you to forgive you. Live,\\r\\nAnd deal with others better.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nNobly doom’d!\\r\\nWe’ll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;\\r\\nPardon’s the word to all.\\r\\n\\r\\nARVIRAGUS.\\r\\nYou holp us, sir,\\r\\nAs you did mean indeed to be our brother;\\r\\nJoy’d are we that you are.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOSTHUMUS.\\r\\nYour servant, Princes. Good my lord of Rome,\\r\\nCall forth your soothsayer. As I slept, methought\\r\\nGreat Jupiter, upon his eagle back’d,\\r\\nAppear’d to me, with other spritely shows\\r\\nOf mine own kindred. When I wak’d, I found\\r\\nThis label on my bosom; whose containing\\r\\nIs so from sense in hardness that I can\\r\\nMake no collection of it. Let him show\\r\\nHis skill in the construction.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nPhilarmonus!\\r\\n\\r\\nSOOTHSAYER.\\r\\nHere, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nRead, and declare the meaning.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOOTHSAYER.\\r\\n[_Reads._] _When as a lion’s whelp shall, to himself unknown, without\\r\\nseeking find, and be embrac’d by a piece of tender air; and when from a\\r\\nstately cedar shall be lopp’d branches which, being dead many years,\\r\\nshall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then\\r\\nshall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in\\r\\npeace and plenty._\\r\\nThou, Leonatus, art the lion’s whelp;\\r\\nThe fit and apt construction of thy name,\\r\\nBeing Leo-natus, doth import so much.\\r\\n[_To Cymbeline_] The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,\\r\\nWhich we call _mollis aer_, and _mollis aer_\\r\\nWe term it _mulier_; which _mulier_ I divine\\r\\nIs this most constant wife, who even now\\r\\nAnswering the letter of the oracle,\\r\\nUnknown to you, unsought, were clipp’d about\\r\\nWith this most tender air.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nThis hath some seeming.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOOTHSAYER.\\r\\nThe lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,\\r\\nPersonates thee; and thy lopp’d branches point\\r\\nThy two sons forth, who, by Belarius stol’n,\\r\\nFor many years thought dead, are now reviv’d,\\r\\nTo the majestic cedar join’d, whose issue\\r\\nPromises Britain peace and plenty.\\r\\n\\r\\nCYMBELINE.\\r\\nWell,\\r\\nMy peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius,\\r\\nAlthough the victor, we submit to Cæsar\\r\\nAnd to the Roman empire, promising\\r\\nTo pay our wonted tribute, from the which\\r\\nWe were dissuaded by our wicked queen,\\r\\nWhom heavens in justice, both on her and hers,\\r\\nHave laid most heavy hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOOTHSAYER.\\r\\nThe fingers of the pow’rs above do tune\\r\\nThe harmony of this peace. The vision\\r\\nWhich I made known to Lucius ere the stroke\\r\\nOf yet this scarce-cold battle, at this instant\\r\\nIs full accomplish’d; for the Roman eagle,\\r\\nFrom south to west on wing soaring aloft,\\r\\nLessen’d herself and in the beams o’ th’ sun\\r\\nSo vanish’d; which foreshow’d our princely eagle,\\r\\nTh’ imperial Cæsar, Cæsar, should again unite\\r\\nHis favour with the radiant Cymbeline,\\r\\nWhich shines here in the west.\",\n", + " 'CYMBELINE.\\r\\nLaud we the gods;\\r\\nAnd let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils\\r\\nFrom our bless’d altars. Publish we this peace\\r\\nTo all our subjects. Set we forward; let\\r\\nA Roman and a British ensign wave\\r\\nFriendly together. So through Lud’s Town march;\\r\\nAnd in the temple of great Jupiter\\r\\nOur peace we’ll ratify; seal it with feasts.\\r\\nSet on there! Never was a war did cease,\\r\\nEre bloody hands were wash’d, with such a peace.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n',\n", + " 'THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Elsinore. A platform before the Castle.\\r\\nScene II. Elsinore. A room of state in the Castle\\r\\nScene III. A room in Polonius’s house.\\r\\nScene IV. The platform.\\r\\nScene V. A more remote part of the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. A room in Polonius’s house.\\r\\nScene II. A room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. A room in the Castle.\\r\\nScene II. A hall in the Castle.\\r\\nScene III. A room in the Castle.\\r\\nScene IV. Another room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. A room in the Castle.\\r\\nScene II. Another room in the Castle.\\r\\nScene III. Another room in the Castle.\\r\\nScene IV. A plain in Denmark.\\r\\nScene V. Elsinore. A room in the Castle.\\r\\nScene VI. Another room in the Castle.\\r\\nScene VII. Another room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. A churchyard.\\r\\nScene II. A hall in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET, Prince of Denmark.\\r\\nCLAUDIUS, King of Denmark, Hamlet’s uncle.\\r\\nThe GHOST of the late king, Hamlet’s father.\\r\\nGERTRUDE, the Queen, Hamlet’s mother, now wife of Claudius.\\r\\nPOLONIUS, Lord Chamberlain.\\r\\nLAERTES, Son to Polonius.\\r\\nOPHELIA, Daughter to Polonius.\\r\\nHORATIO, Friend to Hamlet.\\r\\nFORTINBRAS, Prince of Norway.\\r\\nVOLTEMAND, Courtier.\\r\\nCORNELIUS, Courtier.\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ, Courtier.\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN, Courtier.\\r\\nMARCELLUS, Officer.\\r\\nBARNARDO, Officer.\\r\\nFRANCISCO, a Soldier\\r\\nOSRIC, Courtier.\\r\\nREYNALDO, Servant to Polonius.\\r\\nPlayers.\\r\\nA Gentleman, Courtier.\\r\\nA Priest.\\r\\nTwo Clowns, Grave-diggers.\\r\\nA Captain.\\r\\nEnglish Ambassadors.\\r\\nLords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Sailors, Messengers, and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE. Elsinore.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Elsinore. A platform before the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Francisco and Barnardo, two sentinels.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARNARDO.\\r\\nWho’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCISCO.\\r\\nNay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARNARDO.\\r\\nLong live the King!\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCISCO.\\r\\nBarnardo?\\r\\n\\r\\nBARNARDO.\\r\\nHe.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCISCO.\\r\\nYou come most carefully upon your hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARNARDO.\\r\\n’Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed, Francisco.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCISCO.\\r\\nFor this relief much thanks. ’Tis bitter cold,\\r\\nAnd I am sick at heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARNARDO.\\r\\nHave you had quiet guard?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCISCO.\\r\\nNot a mouse stirring.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARNARDO.\\r\\nWell, good night.\\r\\nIf you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,\\r\\nThe rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Horatio and Marcellus.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCISCO.\\r\\nI think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who is there?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nFriends to this ground.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nAnd liegemen to the Dane.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCISCO.\\r\\nGive you good night.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nO, farewell, honest soldier, who hath reliev’d you?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCISCO.\\r\\nBarnardo has my place. Give you good-night.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nHolla, Barnardo!\\r\\n\\r\\nBARNARDO.\\r\\nSay, what, is Horatio there?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nA piece of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARNARDO.\\r\\nWelcome, Horatio. Welcome, good Marcellus.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nWhat, has this thing appear’d again tonight?\\r\\n\\r\\nBARNARDO.\\r\\nI have seen nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nHoratio says ’tis but our fantasy,\\r\\nAnd will not let belief take hold of him\\r\\nTouching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us.\\r\\nTherefore I have entreated him along\\r\\nWith us to watch the minutes of this night,\\r\\nThat if again this apparition come\\r\\nHe may approve our eyes and speak to it.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nTush, tush, ’twill not appear.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARNARDO.\\r\\nSit down awhile,\\r\\nAnd let us once again assail your ears,\\r\\nThat are so fortified against our story,\\r\\nWhat we two nights have seen.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nWell, sit we down,\\r\\nAnd let us hear Barnardo speak of this.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARNARDO.\\r\\nLast night of all,\\r\\nWhen yond same star that’s westward from the pole,\\r\\nHad made his course t’illume that part of heaven\\r\\nWhere now it burns, Marcellus and myself,\\r\\nThe bell then beating one—\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nPeace, break thee off. Look where it comes again.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ghost.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARNARDO.\\r\\nIn the same figure, like the King that’s dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nThou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARNARDO.\\r\\nLooks it not like the King? Mark it, Horatio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nMost like. It harrows me with fear and wonder.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARNARDO\\r\\nIt would be spoke to.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nQuestion it, Horatio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nWhat art thou that usurp’st this time of night,\\r\\nTogether with that fair and warlike form\\r\\nIn which the majesty of buried Denmark\\r\\nDid sometimes march? By heaven I charge thee speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nIt is offended.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARNARDO.\\r\\nSee, it stalks away.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nStay! speak, speak! I charge thee speak!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Ghost._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\n’Tis gone, and will not answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARNARDO.\\r\\nHow now, Horatio! You tremble and look pale.\\r\\nIs not this something more than fantasy?\\r\\nWhat think you on’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nBefore my God, I might not this believe\\r\\nWithout the sensible and true avouch\\r\\nOf mine own eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nIs it not like the King?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nAs thou art to thyself:\\r\\nSuch was the very armour he had on\\r\\nWhen he th’ambitious Norway combated;\\r\\nSo frown’d he once, when in an angry parle\\r\\nHe smote the sledded Polacks on the ice.\\r\\n’Tis strange.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nThus twice before, and jump at this dead hour,\\r\\nWith martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nIn what particular thought to work I know not;\\r\\nBut in the gross and scope of my opinion,\\r\\nThis bodes some strange eruption to our state.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nGood now, sit down, and tell me, he that knows,\\r\\nWhy this same strict and most observant watch\\r\\nSo nightly toils the subject of the land,\\r\\nAnd why such daily cast of brazen cannon\\r\\nAnd foreign mart for implements of war;\\r\\nWhy such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task\\r\\nDoes not divide the Sunday from the week.\\r\\nWhat might be toward, that this sweaty haste\\r\\nDoth make the night joint-labourer with the day:\\r\\nWho is’t that can inform me?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nThat can I;\\r\\nAt least, the whisper goes so. Our last King,\\r\\nWhose image even but now appear’d to us,\\r\\nWas, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,\\r\\nThereto prick’d on by a most emulate pride,\\r\\nDar’d to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet,\\r\\nFor so this side of our known world esteem’d him,\\r\\nDid slay this Fortinbras; who by a seal’d compact,\\r\\nWell ratified by law and heraldry,\\r\\nDid forfeit, with his life, all those his lands\\r\\nWhich he stood seiz’d of, to the conqueror;\\r\\nAgainst the which, a moiety competent\\r\\nWas gaged by our King; which had return’d\\r\\nTo the inheritance of Fortinbras,\\r\\nHad he been vanquisher; as by the same cov’nant\\r\\nAnd carriage of the article design’d,\\r\\nHis fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras,\\r\\nOf unimproved mettle, hot and full,\\r\\nHath in the skirts of Norway, here and there,\\r\\nShark’d up a list of lawless resolutes,\\r\\nFor food and diet, to some enterprise\\r\\nThat hath a stomach in’t; which is no other,\\r\\nAs it doth well appear unto our state,\\r\\nBut to recover of us by strong hand\\r\\nAnd terms compulsatory, those foresaid lands\\r\\nSo by his father lost. And this, I take it,\\r\\nIs the main motive of our preparations,\\r\\nThe source of this our watch, and the chief head\\r\\nOf this post-haste and rummage in the land.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARNARDO.\\r\\nI think it be no other but e’en so:\\r\\nWell may it sort that this portentous figure\\r\\nComes armed through our watch so like the King\\r\\nThat was and is the question of these wars.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nA mote it is to trouble the mind’s eye.\\r\\nIn the most high and palmy state of Rome,\\r\\nA little ere the mightiest Julius fell,\\r\\nThe graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead\\r\\nDid squeak and gibber in the Roman streets;\\r\\nAs stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,\\r\\nDisasters in the sun; and the moist star,\\r\\nUpon whose influence Neptune’s empire stands,\\r\\nWas sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.\\r\\nAnd even the like precurse of fierce events,\\r\\nAs harbingers preceding still the fates\\r\\nAnd prologue to the omen coming on,\\r\\nHave heaven and earth together demonstrated\\r\\nUnto our climatures and countrymen.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ghost.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut, soft, behold! Lo, where it comes again!\\r\\nI’ll cross it, though it blast me. Stay, illusion!\\r\\nIf thou hast any sound, or use of voice,\\r\\nSpeak to me.\\r\\nIf there be any good thing to be done,\\r\\nThat may to thee do ease, and grace to me,\\r\\nSpeak to me.\\r\\nIf thou art privy to thy country’s fate,\\r\\nWhich, happily, foreknowing may avoid,\\r\\nO speak!\\r\\nOr if thou hast uphoarded in thy life\\r\\nExtorted treasure in the womb of earth,\\r\\nFor which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death,\\r\\nSpeak of it. Stay, and speak!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The cock crows._]\\r\\n\\r\\nStop it, Marcellus!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nShall I strike at it with my partisan?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nDo, if it will not stand.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARNARDO.\\r\\n’Tis here!\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\n’Tis here!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Ghost._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\n’Tis gone!\\r\\nWe do it wrong, being so majestical,\\r\\nTo offer it the show of violence,\\r\\nFor it is as the air, invulnerable,\\r\\nAnd our vain blows malicious mockery.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARNARDO.\\r\\nIt was about to speak, when the cock crew.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nAnd then it started, like a guilty thing\\r\\nUpon a fearful summons. I have heard\\r\\nThe cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,\\r\\nDoth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat\\r\\nAwake the god of day; and at his warning,\\r\\nWhether in sea or fire, in earth or air,\\r\\nTh’extravagant and erring spirit hies\\r\\nTo his confine. And of the truth herein\\r\\nThis present object made probation.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nIt faded on the crowing of the cock.\\r\\nSome say that ever ’gainst that season comes\\r\\nWherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated,\\r\\nThe bird of dawning singeth all night long;\\r\\nAnd then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad,\\r\\nThe nights are wholesome, then no planets strike,\\r\\nNo fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm;\\r\\nSo hallow’d and so gracious is the time.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nSo have I heard, and do in part believe it.\\r\\nBut look, the morn in russet mantle clad,\\r\\nWalks o’er the dew of yon high eastward hill.\\r\\nBreak we our watch up, and by my advice,\\r\\nLet us impart what we have seen tonight\\r\\nUnto young Hamlet; for upon my life,\\r\\nThis spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him.\\r\\nDo you consent we shall acquaint him with it,\\r\\nAs needful in our loves, fitting our duty?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nLet’s do’t, I pray, and I this morning know\\r\\nWhere we shall find him most conveniently.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Elsinore. A room of state in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Claudius King of Denmark, Gertrude the Queen, Hamlet, Polonius,\\r\\n Laertes, Voltemand,\\r\\nCornelius, Lords and Attendant.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nThough yet of Hamlet our dear brother’s death\\r\\nThe memory be green, and that it us befitted\\r\\nTo bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom\\r\\nTo be contracted in one brow of woe;\\r\\nYet so far hath discretion fought with nature\\r\\nThat we with wisest sorrow think on him,\\r\\nTogether with remembrance of ourselves.\\r\\nTherefore our sometime sister, now our queen,\\r\\nTh’imperial jointress to this warlike state,\\r\\nHave we, as ’twere with a defeated joy,\\r\\nWith one auspicious and one dropping eye,\\r\\nWith mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage,\\r\\nIn equal scale weighing delight and dole,\\r\\nTaken to wife; nor have we herein barr’d\\r\\nYour better wisdoms, which have freely gone\\r\\nWith this affair along. For all, our thanks.\\r\\nNow follows, that you know young Fortinbras,\\r\\nHolding a weak supposal of our worth,\\r\\nOr thinking by our late dear brother’s death\\r\\nOur state to be disjoint and out of frame,\\r\\nColleagued with this dream of his advantage,\\r\\nHe hath not fail’d to pester us with message,\\r\\nImporting the surrender of those lands\\r\\nLost by his father, with all bonds of law,\\r\\nTo our most valiant brother. So much for him.\\r\\nNow for ourself and for this time of meeting:\\r\\nThus much the business is: we have here writ\\r\\nTo Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,\\r\\nWho, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears\\r\\nOf this his nephew’s purpose, to suppress\\r\\nHis further gait herein; in that the levies,\\r\\nThe lists, and full proportions are all made\\r\\nOut of his subject: and we here dispatch\\r\\nYou, good Cornelius, and you, Voltemand,\\r\\nFor bearers of this greeting to old Norway,\\r\\nGiving to you no further personal power\\r\\nTo business with the King, more than the scope\\r\\nOf these dilated articles allow.\\r\\nFarewell; and let your haste commend your duty.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNELIUS and VOLTEMAND.\\r\\nIn that, and all things, will we show our duty.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nWe doubt it nothing: heartily farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Voltemand and Cornelius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd now, Laertes, what’s the news with you?\\r\\nYou told us of some suit. What is’t, Laertes?\\r\\nYou cannot speak of reason to the Dane,\\r\\nAnd lose your voice. What wouldst thou beg, Laertes,\\r\\nThat shall not be my offer, not thy asking?\\r\\nThe head is not more native to the heart,\\r\\nThe hand more instrumental to the mouth,\\r\\nThan is the throne of Denmark to thy father.\\r\\nWhat wouldst thou have, Laertes?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nDread my lord,\\r\\nYour leave and favour to return to France,\\r\\nFrom whence though willingly I came to Denmark\\r\\nTo show my duty in your coronation;\\r\\nYet now I must confess, that duty done,\\r\\nMy thoughts and wishes bend again toward France,\\r\\nAnd bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nHave you your father’s leave? What says Polonius?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nHe hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave\\r\\nBy laboursome petition; and at last\\r\\nUpon his will I seal’d my hard consent.\\r\\nI do beseech you give him leave to go.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nTake thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine,\\r\\nAnd thy best graces spend it at thy will!\\r\\nBut now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son—\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\n[_Aside._] A little more than kin, and less than kind.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nHow is it that the clouds still hang on you?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNot so, my lord, I am too much i’ the sun.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nGood Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off,\\r\\nAnd let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.\\r\\nDo not for ever with thy vailed lids\\r\\nSeek for thy noble father in the dust.\\r\\nThou know’st ’tis common, all that lives must die,\\r\\nPassing through nature to eternity.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAy, madam, it is common.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nIf it be,\\r\\nWhy seems it so particular with thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nSeems, madam! Nay, it is; I know not seems.\\r\\n’Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,\\r\\nNor customary suits of solemn black,\\r\\nNor windy suspiration of forc’d breath,\\r\\nNo, nor the fruitful river in the eye,\\r\\nNor the dejected haviour of the visage,\\r\\nTogether with all forms, moods, shows of grief,\\r\\nThat can denote me truly. These indeed seem,\\r\\nFor they are actions that a man might play;\\r\\nBut I have that within which passeth show;\\r\\nThese but the trappings and the suits of woe.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\n’Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet,\\r\\nTo give these mourning duties to your father;\\r\\nBut you must know, your father lost a father,\\r\\nThat father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound\\r\\nIn filial obligation, for some term\\r\\nTo do obsequious sorrow. But to persevere\\r\\nIn obstinate condolement is a course\\r\\nOf impious stubbornness. ’Tis unmanly grief,\\r\\nIt shows a will most incorrect to heaven,\\r\\nA heart unfortified, a mind impatient,\\r\\nAn understanding simple and unschool’d;\\r\\nFor what we know must be, and is as common\\r\\nAs any the most vulgar thing to sense,\\r\\nWhy should we in our peevish opposition\\r\\nTake it to heart? Fie, ’tis a fault to heaven,\\r\\nA fault against the dead, a fault to nature,\\r\\nTo reason most absurd, whose common theme\\r\\nIs death of fathers, and who still hath cried,\\r\\nFrom the first corse till he that died today,\\r\\n‘This must be so.’ We pray you throw to earth\\r\\nThis unprevailing woe, and think of us\\r\\nAs of a father; for let the world take note\\r\\nYou are the most immediate to our throne,\\r\\nAnd with no less nobility of love\\r\\nThan that which dearest father bears his son\\r\\nDo I impart toward you. For your intent\\r\\nIn going back to school in Wittenberg,\\r\\nIt is most retrograde to our desire:\\r\\nAnd we beseech you bend you to remain\\r\\nHere in the cheer and comfort of our eye,\\r\\nOur chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nLet not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet.\\r\\nI pray thee stay with us; go not to Wittenberg.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI shall in all my best obey you, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nWhy, ’tis a loving and a fair reply.\\r\\nBe as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come;\\r\\nThis gentle and unforc’d accord of Hamlet\\r\\nSits smiling to my heart; in grace whereof,\\r\\nNo jocund health that Denmark drinks today\\r\\nBut the great cannon to the clouds shall tell,\\r\\nAnd the King’s rouse the heaven shall bruit again,\\r\\nRe-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Hamlet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nO that this too too solid flesh would melt,\\r\\nThaw, and resolve itself into a dew!\\r\\nOr that the Everlasting had not fix’d\\r\\nHis canon ’gainst self-slaughter. O God! O God!\\r\\nHow weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable\\r\\nSeem to me all the uses of this world!\\r\\nFie on’t! Oh fie! ’tis an unweeded garden\\r\\nThat grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature\\r\\nPossess it merely. That it should come to this!\\r\\nBut two months dead—nay, not so much, not two:\\r\\nSo excellent a king; that was to this\\r\\nHyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother,\\r\\nThat he might not beteem the winds of heaven\\r\\nVisit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!\\r\\nMust I remember? Why, she would hang on him\\r\\nAs if increase of appetite had grown\\r\\nBy what it fed on; and yet, within a month—\\r\\nLet me not think on’t—Frailty, thy name is woman!\\r\\nA little month, or ere those shoes were old\\r\\nWith which she followed my poor father’s body\\r\\nLike Niobe, all tears.—Why she, even she—\\r\\nO God! A beast that wants discourse of reason\\r\\nWould have mourn’d longer,—married with mine uncle,\\r\\nMy father’s brother; but no more like my father\\r\\nThan I to Hercules. Within a month?\\r\\nEre yet the salt of most unrighteous tears\\r\\nHad left the flushing in her galled eyes,\\r\\nShe married. O most wicked speed, to post\\r\\nWith such dexterity to incestuous sheets!\\r\\nIt is not, nor it cannot come to good.\\r\\nBut break my heart, for I must hold my tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Horatio, Marcellus and Barnardo.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nHail to your lordship!\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI am glad to see you well:\\r\\nHoratio, or I do forget myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nThe same, my lord,\\r\\nAnd your poor servant ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nSir, my good friend;\\r\\nI’ll change that name with you:\\r\\nAnd what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?—\\r\\nMarcellus?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nMy good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI am very glad to see you.—Good even, sir.—\\r\\nBut what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nA truant disposition, good my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI would not hear your enemy say so;\\r\\nNor shall you do my ear that violence,\\r\\nTo make it truster of your own report\\r\\nAgainst yourself. I know you are no truant.\\r\\nBut what is your affair in Elsinore?\\r\\nWe’ll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nMy lord, I came to see your father’s funeral.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI prithee do not mock me, fellow-student.\\r\\nI think it was to see my mother’s wedding.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nIndeed, my lord, it follow’d hard upon.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak’d meats\\r\\nDid coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.\\r\\nWould I had met my dearest foe in heaven\\r\\nOr ever I had seen that day, Horatio.\\r\\nMy father,—methinks I see my father.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nWhere, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nIn my mind’s eye, Horatio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nI saw him once; he was a goodly king.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHe was a man, take him for all in all,\\r\\nI shall not look upon his like again.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nMy lord, I think I saw him yesternight.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nSaw? Who?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nMy lord, the King your father.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThe King my father!\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nSeason your admiration for a while\\r\\nWith an attent ear, till I may deliver\\r\\nUpon the witness of these gentlemen\\r\\nThis marvel to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nFor God’s love let me hear.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nTwo nights together had these gentlemen,\\r\\nMarcellus and Barnardo, on their watch\\r\\nIn the dead waste and middle of the night,\\r\\nBeen thus encounter’d. A figure like your father,\\r\\nArmed at point exactly, cap-à-pie,\\r\\nAppears before them, and with solemn march\\r\\nGoes slow and stately by them: thrice he walk’d\\r\\nBy their oppress’d and fear-surprised eyes,\\r\\nWithin his truncheon’s length; whilst they, distill’d\\r\\nAlmost to jelly with the act of fear,\\r\\nStand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me\\r\\nIn dreadful secrecy impart they did,\\r\\nAnd I with them the third night kept the watch,\\r\\nWhere, as they had deliver’d, both in time,\\r\\nForm of the thing, each word made true and good,\\r\\nThe apparition comes. I knew your father;\\r\\nThese hands are not more like.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nBut where was this?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nMy lord, upon the platform where we watch.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nDid you not speak to it?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nMy lord, I did;\\r\\nBut answer made it none: yet once methought\\r\\nIt lifted up it head, and did address\\r\\nItself to motion, like as it would speak.\\r\\nBut even then the morning cock crew loud,\\r\\nAnd at the sound it shrunk in haste away,\\r\\nAnd vanish’d from our sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\n’Tis very strange.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nAs I do live, my honour’d lord, ’tis true;\\r\\nAnd we did think it writ down in our duty\\r\\nTo let you know of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nIndeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me.\\r\\nHold you the watch tonight?\\r\\n\\r\\nMar. and BARNARDO.\\r\\nWe do, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nArm’d, say you?\\r\\n\\r\\nBoth.\\r\\nArm’d, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nFrom top to toe?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTH.\\r\\nMy lord, from head to foot.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThen saw you not his face?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nO yes, my lord, he wore his beaver up.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhat, look’d he frowningly?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nA countenance more in sorrow than in anger.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nPale, or red?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nNay, very pale.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAnd fix’d his eyes upon you?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nMost constantly.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI would I had been there.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nIt would have much amaz’d you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nVery like, very like. Stay’d it long?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nWhile one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS and BARNARDO.\\r\\nLonger, longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nNot when I saw’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHis beard was grizzled, no?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nIt was, as I have seen it in his life,\\r\\nA sable silver’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI will watch tonight;\\r\\nPerchance ’twill walk again.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nI warrant you it will.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nIf it assume my noble father’s person,\\r\\nI’ll speak to it, though hell itself should gape\\r\\nAnd bid me hold my peace. I pray you all,\\r\\nIf you have hitherto conceal’d this sight,\\r\\nLet it be tenable in your silence still;\\r\\nAnd whatsoever else shall hap tonight,\\r\\nGive it an understanding, but no tongue.\\r\\nI will requite your loves. So, fare ye well.\\r\\nUpon the platform ’twixt eleven and twelve,\\r\\nI’ll visit you.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nOur duty to your honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nYour loves, as mine to you: farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Horatio, Marcellus and Barnardo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMy father’s spirit in arms! All is not well;\\r\\nI doubt some foul play: would the night were come!\\r\\nTill then sit still, my soul: foul deeds will rise,\\r\\nThough all the earth o’erwhelm them, to men’s eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A room in Polonius’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Laertes and Ophelia.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nMy necessaries are embark’d. Farewell.\\r\\nAnd, sister, as the winds give benefit\\r\\nAnd convoy is assistant, do not sleep,\\r\\nBut let me hear from you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nDo you doubt that?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nFor Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour,\\r\\nHold it a fashion and a toy in blood;\\r\\nA violet in the youth of primy nature,\\r\\nForward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting;\\r\\nThe perfume and suppliance of a minute;\\r\\nNo more.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nNo more but so?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nThink it no more.\\r\\nFor nature crescent does not grow alone\\r\\nIn thews and bulk; but as this temple waxes,\\r\\nThe inward service of the mind and soul\\r\\nGrows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now,\\r\\nAnd now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch\\r\\nThe virtue of his will; but you must fear,\\r\\nHis greatness weigh’d, his will is not his own;\\r\\nFor he himself is subject to his birth:\\r\\nHe may not, as unvalu’d persons do,\\r\\nCarve for himself; for on his choice depends\\r\\nThe sanctity and health of this whole state;\\r\\nAnd therefore must his choice be circumscrib’d\\r\\nUnto the voice and yielding of that body\\r\\nWhereof he is the head. Then if he says he loves you,\\r\\nIt fits your wisdom so far to believe it\\r\\nAs he in his particular act and place\\r\\nMay give his saying deed; which is no further\\r\\nThan the main voice of Denmark goes withal.\\r\\nThen weigh what loss your honour may sustain\\r\\nIf with too credent ear you list his songs,\\r\\nOr lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open\\r\\nTo his unmaster’d importunity.\\r\\nFear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister;\\r\\nAnd keep you in the rear of your affection,\\r\\nOut of the shot and danger of desire.\\r\\nThe chariest maid is prodigal enough\\r\\nIf she unmask her beauty to the moon.\\r\\nVirtue itself scopes not calumnious strokes:\\r\\nThe canker galls the infants of the spring\\r\\nToo oft before their buttons be disclos’d,\\r\\nAnd in the morn and liquid dew of youth\\r\\nContagious blastments are most imminent.\\r\\nBe wary then, best safety lies in fear.\\r\\nYouth to itself rebels, though none else near.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nI shall th’effect of this good lesson keep\\r\\nAs watchman to my heart. But good my brother,\\r\\nDo not as some ungracious pastors do,\\r\\nShow me the steep and thorny way to heaven;\\r\\nWhilst like a puff’d and reckless libertine\\r\\nHimself the primrose path of dalliance treads,\\r\\nAnd recks not his own rede.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nO, fear me not.\\r\\nI stay too long. But here my father comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Polonius.\\r\\n\\r\\nA double blessing is a double grace;\\r\\nOccasion smiles upon a second leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nYet here, Laertes? Aboard, aboard, for shame.\\r\\nThe wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,\\r\\nAnd you are stay’d for. There, my blessing with you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Laying his hand on Laertes’s head._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd these few precepts in thy memory\\r\\nLook thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,\\r\\nNor any unproportion’d thought his act.\\r\\nBe thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.\\r\\nThose friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,\\r\\nGrapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel;\\r\\nBut do not dull thy palm with entertainment\\r\\nOf each new-hatch’d, unfledg’d comrade. Beware\\r\\nOf entrance to a quarrel; but being in,\\r\\nBear’t that th’opposed may beware of thee.\\r\\nGive every man thine ear, but few thy voice:\\r\\nTake each man’s censure, but reserve thy judgment.\\r\\nCostly thy habit as thy purse can buy,\\r\\nBut not express’d in fancy; rich, not gaudy:\\r\\nFor the apparel oft proclaims the man;\\r\\nAnd they in France of the best rank and station\\r\\nAre of a most select and generous chief in that.\\r\\nNeither a borrower nor a lender be:\\r\\nFor loan oft loses both itself and friend;\\r\\nAnd borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.\\r\\nThis above all: to thine own self be true;\\r\\nAnd it must follow, as the night the day,\\r\\nThou canst not then be false to any man.\\r\\nFarewell: my blessing season this in thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nMost humbly do I take my leave, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nThe time invites you; go, your servants tend.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nFarewell, Ophelia, and remember well\\r\\nWhat I have said to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\n’Tis in my memory lock’d,\\r\\nAnd you yourself shall keep the key of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nFarewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nWhat is’t, Ophelia, he hath said to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nSo please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nMarry, well bethought:\\r\\n’Tis told me he hath very oft of late\\r\\nGiven private time to you; and you yourself\\r\\nHave of your audience been most free and bounteous.\\r\\nIf it be so,—as so ’tis put on me,\\r\\nAnd that in way of caution,—I must tell you\\r\\nYou do not understand yourself so clearly\\r\\nAs it behoves my daughter and your honour.\\r\\nWhat is between you? Give me up the truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nHe hath, my lord, of late made many tenders\\r\\nOf his affection to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nAffection! Pooh! You speak like a green girl,\\r\\nUnsifted in such perilous circumstance.\\r\\nDo you believe his tenders, as you call them?\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nI do not know, my lord, what I should think.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nMarry, I’ll teach you; think yourself a baby;\\r\\nThat you have ta’en these tenders for true pay,\\r\\nWhich are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly;\\r\\nOr,—not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,\\r\\nRoaming it thus,—you’ll tender me a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nMy lord, he hath importun’d me with love\\r\\nIn honourable fashion.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nAy, fashion you may call it; go to, go to.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nAnd hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,\\r\\nWith almost all the holy vows of heaven.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nAy, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know,\\r\\nWhen the blood burns, how prodigal the soul\\r\\nLends the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter,\\r\\nGiving more light than heat, extinct in both,\\r\\nEven in their promise, as it is a-making,\\r\\nYou must not take for fire. From this time\\r\\nBe something scanter of your maiden presence;\\r\\nSet your entreatments at a higher rate\\r\\nThan a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet,\\r\\nBelieve so much in him that he is young;\\r\\nAnd with a larger tether may he walk\\r\\nThan may be given you. In few, Ophelia,\\r\\nDo not believe his vows; for they are brokers,\\r\\nNot of that dye which their investments show,\\r\\nBut mere implorators of unholy suits,\\r\\nBreathing like sanctified and pious bawds,\\r\\nThe better to beguile. This is for all.\\r\\nI would not, in plain terms, from this time forth\\r\\nHave you so slander any moment leisure\\r\\nAs to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet.\\r\\nLook to’t, I charge you; come your ways.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nI shall obey, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The platform.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hamlet, Horatio and Marcellus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThe air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nIt is a nipping and an eager air.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhat hour now?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nI think it lacks of twelve.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nNo, it is struck.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nIndeed? I heard it not. It then draws near the season\\r\\nWherein the spirit held his wont to walk.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot off within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat does this mean, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThe King doth wake tonight and takes his rouse,\\r\\nKeeps wassail, and the swaggering upspring reels;\\r\\nAnd as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,\\r\\nThe kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out\\r\\nThe triumph of his pledge.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nIs it a custom?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAy marry is’t;\\r\\nAnd to my mind, though I am native here,\\r\\nAnd to the manner born, it is a custom\\r\\nMore honour’d in the breach than the observance.\\r\\nThis heavy-headed revel east and west\\r\\nMakes us traduc’d and tax’d of other nations:\\r\\nThey clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase\\r\\nSoil our addition; and indeed it takes\\r\\nFrom our achievements, though perform’d at height,\\r\\nThe pith and marrow of our attribute.\\r\\nSo oft it chances in particular men\\r\\nThat for some vicious mole of nature in them,\\r\\nAs in their birth, wherein they are not guilty,\\r\\nSince nature cannot choose his origin,\\r\\nBy their o’ergrowth of some complexion,\\r\\nOft breaking down the pales and forts of reason;\\r\\nOr by some habit, that too much o’erleavens\\r\\nThe form of plausive manners;—that these men,\\r\\nCarrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,\\r\\nBeing Nature’s livery or Fortune’s star,—\\r\\nHis virtues else,—be they as pure as grace,\\r\\nAs infinite as man may undergo,\\r\\nShall in the general censure take corruption\\r\\nFrom that particular fault. The dram of evil\\r\\nDoth all the noble substance often doubt\\r\\nTo his own scandal.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nLook, my lord, it comes!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ghost.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAngels and ministers of grace defend us!\\r\\nBe thou a spirit of health or goblin damn’d,\\r\\nBring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,\\r\\nBe thy intents wicked or charitable,\\r\\nThou com’st in such a questionable shape\\r\\nThat I will speak to thee. I’ll call thee Hamlet,\\r\\nKing, father, royal Dane. O, answer me!\\r\\nLet me not burst in ignorance; but tell\\r\\nWhy thy canoniz’d bones, hearsed in death,\\r\\nHave burst their cerements; why the sepulchre,\\r\\nWherein we saw thee quietly inurn’d,\\r\\nHath op’d his ponderous and marble jaws\\r\\nTo cast thee up again! What may this mean,\\r\\nThat thou, dead corse, again in complete steel,\\r\\nRevisit’st thus the glimpses of the moon,\\r\\nMaking night hideous, and we fools of nature\\r\\nSo horridly to shake our disposition\\r\\nWith thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?\\r\\nSay, why is this? Wherefore? What should we do?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Ghost beckons Hamlet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nIt beckons you to go away with it,\\r\\nAs if it some impartment did desire\\r\\nTo you alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nLook with what courteous action\\r\\nIt waves you to a more removed ground.\\r\\nBut do not go with it.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nNo, by no means.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nIt will not speak; then will I follow it.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nDo not, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhy, what should be the fear?\\r\\nI do not set my life at a pin’s fee;\\r\\nAnd for my soul, what can it do to that,\\r\\nBeing a thing immortal as itself?\\r\\nIt waves me forth again. I’ll follow it.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nWhat if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord,\\r\\nOr to the dreadful summit of the cliff\\r\\nThat beetles o’er his base into the sea,\\r\\nAnd there assume some other horrible form\\r\\nWhich might deprive your sovereignty of reason,\\r\\nAnd draw you into madness? Think of it.\\r\\nThe very place puts toys of desperation,\\r\\nWithout more motive, into every brain\\r\\nThat looks so many fadoms to the sea\\r\\nAnd hears it roar beneath.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nIt waves me still.\\r\\nGo on, I’ll follow thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nYou shall not go, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHold off your hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nBe rul’d; you shall not go.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nMy fate cries out,\\r\\nAnd makes each petty artery in this body\\r\\nAs hardy as the Nemean lion’s nerve.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Ghost beckons._]\\r\\n\\r\\nStill am I call’d. Unhand me, gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Breaking free from them._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBy heaven, I’ll make a ghost of him that lets me.\\r\\nI say, away!—Go on, I’ll follow thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nHe waxes desperate with imagination.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nLet’s follow; ’tis not fit thus to obey him.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nHave after. To what issue will this come?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nSomething is rotten in the state of Denmark.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nHeaven will direct it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nNay, let’s follow him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. A more remote part of the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ghost and Hamlet.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhither wilt thou lead me? Speak, I’ll go no further.\\r\\n\\r\\nGHOST.\\r\\nMark me.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI will.\\r\\n\\r\\nGHOST.\\r\\nMy hour is almost come,\\r\\nWhen I to sulph’rous and tormenting flames\\r\\nMust render up myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAlas, poor ghost!\\r\\n\\r\\nGHOST.\\r\\nPity me not, but lend thy serious hearing\\r\\nTo what I shall unfold.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nSpeak, I am bound to hear.\\r\\n\\r\\nGHOST.\\r\\nSo art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhat?\\r\\n\\r\\nGHOST.\\r\\nI am thy father’s spirit,\\r\\nDoom’d for a certain term to walk the night,\\r\\nAnd for the day confin’d to fast in fires,\\r\\nTill the foul crimes done in my days of nature\\r\\nAre burnt and purg’d away. But that I am forbid\\r\\nTo tell the secrets of my prison-house,\\r\\nI could a tale unfold whose lightest word\\r\\nWould harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood,\\r\\nMake thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres,\\r\\nThy knotted and combined locks to part,\\r\\nAnd each particular hair to stand on end\\r\\nLike quills upon the fretful porcupine.\\r\\nBut this eternal blazon must not be\\r\\nTo ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list!\\r\\nIf thou didst ever thy dear father love—\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nO God!\\r\\n\\r\\nGHOST.\\r\\nRevenge his foul and most unnatural murder.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nMurder!\\r\\n\\r\\nGHOST.\\r\\nMurder most foul, as in the best it is;\\r\\nBut this most foul, strange, and unnatural.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHaste me to know’t, that I, with wings as swift\\r\\nAs meditation or the thoughts of love\\r\\nMay sweep to my revenge.\\r\\n\\r\\nGHOST.\\r\\nI find thee apt;\\r\\nAnd duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed\\r\\nThat rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,\\r\\nWouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear.\\r\\n’Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard,\\r\\nA serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark\\r\\nIs by a forged process of my death\\r\\nRankly abus’d; but know, thou noble youth,\\r\\nThe serpent that did sting thy father’s life\\r\\nNow wears his crown.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nO my prophetic soul!\\r\\nMine uncle!\\r\\n\\r\\nGHOST.\\r\\nAy, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,\\r\\nWith witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts,—\\r\\nO wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power\\r\\nSo to seduce!—won to his shameful lust\\r\\nThe will of my most seeming-virtuous queen.\\r\\nO Hamlet, what a falling off was there,\\r\\nFrom me, whose love was of that dignity\\r\\nThat it went hand in hand even with the vow\\r\\nI made to her in marriage; and to decline\\r\\nUpon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor\\r\\nTo those of mine. But virtue, as it never will be mov’d,\\r\\nThough lewdness court it in a shape of heaven;\\r\\nSo lust, though to a radiant angel link’d,\\r\\nWill sate itself in a celestial bed\\r\\nAnd prey on garbage.\\r\\nBut soft! methinks I scent the morning air;\\r\\nBrief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard,\\r\\nMy custom always of the afternoon,\\r\\nUpon my secure hour thy uncle stole\\r\\nWith juice of cursed hebenon in a vial,\\r\\nAnd in the porches of my ears did pour\\r\\nThe leperous distilment, whose effect\\r\\nHolds such an enmity with blood of man\\r\\nThat swift as quicksilver it courses through\\r\\nThe natural gates and alleys of the body;\\r\\nAnd with a sudden vigour it doth posset\\r\\nAnd curd, like eager droppings into milk,\\r\\nThe thin and wholesome blood. So did it mine;\\r\\nAnd a most instant tetter bark’d about,\\r\\nMost lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust\\r\\nAll my smooth body.\\r\\nThus was I, sleeping, by a brother’s hand,\\r\\nOf life, of crown, of queen at once dispatch’d:\\r\\nCut off even in the blossoms of my sin,\\r\\nUnhous’led, disappointed, unanel’d;\\r\\nNo reckoning made, but sent to my account\\r\\nWith all my imperfections on my head.\\r\\nO horrible! O horrible! most horrible!\\r\\nIf thou hast nature in thee, bear it not;\\r\\nLet not the royal bed of Denmark be\\r\\nA couch for luxury and damned incest.\\r\\nBut howsoever thou pursu’st this act,\\r\\nTaint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive\\r\\nAgainst thy mother aught; leave her to heaven,\\r\\nAnd to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,\\r\\nTo prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once!\\r\\nThe glow-worm shows the matin to be near,\\r\\nAnd ’gins to pale his uneffectual fire.\\r\\nAdieu, adieu, adieu. Hamlet, remember me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nO all you host of heaven! O earth! What else?\\r\\nAnd shall I couple hell? O, fie! Hold, my heart;\\r\\nAnd you, my sinews, grow not instant old,\\r\\nBut bear me stiffly up. Remember thee?\\r\\nAy, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat\\r\\nIn this distracted globe. Remember thee?\\r\\nYea, from the table of my memory\\r\\nI’ll wipe away all trivial fond records,\\r\\nAll saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,\\r\\nThat youth and observation copied there;\\r\\nAnd thy commandment all alone shall live\\r\\nWithin the book and volume of my brain,\\r\\nUnmix’d with baser matter. Yes, by heaven!\\r\\nO most pernicious woman!\\r\\nO villain, villain, smiling damned villain!\\r\\nMy tables. Meet it is I set it down,\\r\\nThat one may smile, and smile, and be a villain!\\r\\nAt least I am sure it may be so in Denmark.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Writing._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSo, uncle, there you are. Now to my word;\\r\\nIt is ‘Adieu, adieu, remember me.’\\r\\nI have sworn’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO and MARCELLUS.\\r\\n[_Within._] My lord, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\n[_Within._] Lord Hamlet.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\n[_Within._] Heaven secure him.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nSo be it!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\n[_Within._] Illo, ho, ho, my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHillo, ho, ho, boy! Come, bird, come.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Horatio and Marcellus.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nHow is’t, my noble lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nWhat news, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nO, wonderful!\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nGood my lord, tell it.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNo, you’ll reveal it.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nNot I, my lord, by heaven.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nNor I, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHow say you then, would heart of man once think it?—\\r\\nBut you’ll be secret?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO and MARCELLUS.\\r\\nAy, by heaven, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThere’s ne’er a villain dwelling in all Denmark\\r\\nBut he’s an arrant knave.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nThere needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave\\r\\nTo tell us this.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhy, right; you are i’ the right;\\r\\nAnd so, without more circumstance at all,\\r\\nI hold it fit that we shake hands and part:\\r\\nYou, as your business and desires shall point you,—\\r\\nFor every man hath business and desire,\\r\\nSuch as it is;—and for my own poor part,\\r\\nLook you, I’ll go pray.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nThese are but wild and whirling words, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI’m sorry they offend you, heartily;\\r\\nYes faith, heartily.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nThere’s no offence, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nYes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio,\\r\\nAnd much offence too. Touching this vision here,\\r\\nIt is an honest ghost, that let me tell you.\\r\\nFor your desire to know what is between us,\\r\\nO’ermaster’t as you may. And now, good friends,\\r\\nAs you are friends, scholars, and soldiers,\\r\\nGive me one poor request.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nWhat is’t, my lord? We will.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNever make known what you have seen tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO and MARCELLUS.\\r\\nMy lord, we will not.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNay, but swear’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nIn faith, my lord, not I.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nNor I, my lord, in faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nUpon my sword.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARCELLUS.\\r\\nWe have sworn, my lord, already.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nIndeed, upon my sword, indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nGHOST.\\r\\n[_Cries under the stage._] Swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHa, ha boy, say’st thou so? Art thou there, truepenny?\\r\\nCome on, you hear this fellow in the cellarage.\\r\\nConsent to swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nPropose the oath, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNever to speak of this that you have seen.\\r\\nSwear by my sword.\\r\\n\\r\\nGHOST.\\r\\n[_Beneath._] Swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\n_Hic et ubique?_ Then we’ll shift our ground.\\r\\nCome hither, gentlemen,\\r\\nAnd lay your hands again upon my sword.\\r\\nNever to speak of this that you have heard.\\r\\nSwear by my sword.\\r\\n\\r\\nGHOST.\\r\\n[_Beneath._] Swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWell said, old mole! Canst work i’ th’earth so fast?\\r\\nA worthy pioner! Once more remove, good friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nO day and night, but this is wondrous strange.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAnd therefore as a stranger give it welcome.\\r\\nThere are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,\\r\\nThan are dreamt of in your philosophy. But come,\\r\\nHere, as before, never, so help you mercy,\\r\\nHow strange or odd soe’er I bear myself,—\\r\\nAs I perchance hereafter shall think meet\\r\\nTo put an antic disposition on—\\r\\nThat you, at such times seeing me, never shall,\\r\\nWith arms encumber’d thus, or this head-shake,\\r\\nOr by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase,\\r\\nAs ‘Well, we know’, or ‘We could and if we would’,\\r\\nOr ‘If we list to speak’; or ‘There be and if they might’,\\r\\nOr such ambiguous giving out, to note\\r\\nThat you know aught of me:—this not to do.\\r\\nSo grace and mercy at your most need help you,\\r\\nSwear.\\r\\n\\r\\nGHOST.\\r\\n[_Beneath._] Swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nRest, rest, perturbed spirit. So, gentlemen,\\r\\nWith all my love I do commend me to you;\\r\\nAnd what so poor a man as Hamlet is\\r\\nMay do t’express his love and friending to you,\\r\\nGod willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together,\\r\\nAnd still your fingers on your lips, I pray.\\r\\nThe time is out of joint. O cursed spite,\\r\\nThat ever I was born to set it right.\\r\\nNay, come, let’s go together.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A room in Polonius’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Polonius and Reynaldo.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nGive him this money and these notes, Reynaldo.\\r\\n\\r\\nREYNALDO.\\r\\nI will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nYou shall do marvellous wisely, good Reynaldo,\\r\\nBefore you visit him, to make inquiry\\r\\nOf his behaviour.\\r\\n\\r\\nREYNALDO.\\r\\nMy lord, I did intend it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nMarry, well said; very well said. Look you, sir,\\r\\nEnquire me first what Danskers are in Paris;\\r\\nAnd how, and who, what means, and where they keep,\\r\\nWhat company, at what expense; and finding\\r\\nBy this encompassment and drift of question,\\r\\nThat they do know my son, come you more nearer\\r\\nThan your particular demands will touch it.\\r\\nTake you as ’twere some distant knowledge of him,\\r\\nAs thus, ‘I know his father and his friends,\\r\\nAnd in part him’—do you mark this, Reynaldo?\\r\\n\\r\\nREYNALDO.\\r\\nAy, very well, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\n‘And in part him, but,’ you may say, ‘not well;\\r\\nBut if’t be he I mean, he’s very wild;\\r\\nAddicted so and so;’ and there put on him\\r\\nWhat forgeries you please; marry, none so rank\\r\\nAs may dishonour him; take heed of that;\\r\\nBut, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips\\r\\nAs are companions noted and most known\\r\\nTo youth and liberty.\\r\\n\\r\\nREYNALDO.\\r\\nAs gaming, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nAy, or drinking, fencing, swearing,\\r\\nQuarrelling, drabbing. You may go so far.\\r\\n\\r\\nREYNALDO.\\r\\nMy lord, that would dishonour him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nFaith no, as you may season it in the charge.\\r\\nYou must not put another scandal on him,\\r\\nThat he is open to incontinency;\\r\\nThat’s not my meaning: but breathe his faults so quaintly\\r\\nThat they may seem the taints of liberty;\\r\\nThe flash and outbreak of a fiery mind,\\r\\nA savageness in unreclaimed blood,\\r\\nOf general assault.\\r\\n\\r\\nREYNALDO.\\r\\nBut my good lord—\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nWherefore should you do this?\\r\\n\\r\\nREYNALDO.\\r\\nAy, my lord, I would know that.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nMarry, sir, here’s my drift,\\r\\nAnd I believe it is a fetch of warrant.\\r\\nYou laying these slight sullies on my son,\\r\\nAs ’twere a thing a little soil’d i’ th’ working,\\r\\nMark you,\\r\\nYour party in converse, him you would sound,\\r\\nHaving ever seen in the prenominate crimes\\r\\nThe youth you breathe of guilty, be assur’d\\r\\nHe closes with you in this consequence;\\r\\n‘Good sir,’ or so; or ‘friend,’ or ‘gentleman’—\\r\\nAccording to the phrase or the addition\\r\\nOf man and country.\\r\\n\\r\\nREYNALDO.\\r\\nVery good, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nAnd then, sir, does he this,—\\r\\nHe does—What was I about to say?\\r\\nBy the mass, I was about to say something. Where did I leave?\\r\\n\\r\\nREYNALDO.\\r\\nAt ‘closes in the consequence.’\\r\\nAt ‘friend or so,’ and ‘gentleman.’\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nAt ‘closes in the consequence’ ay, marry!\\r\\nHe closes with you thus: ‘I know the gentleman,\\r\\nI saw him yesterday, or t’other day,\\r\\nOr then, or then, with such and such; and, as you say,\\r\\nThere was he gaming, there o’ertook in’s rouse,\\r\\nThere falling out at tennis’: or perchance,\\r\\n‘I saw him enter such a house of sale’—\\r\\n_Videlicet_, a brothel, or so forth. See you now;\\r\\nYour bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth;\\r\\nAnd thus do we of wisdom and of reach,\\r\\nWith windlasses, and with assays of bias,\\r\\nBy indirections find directions out.\\r\\nSo by my former lecture and advice\\r\\nShall you my son. You have me, have you not?\\r\\n\\r\\nREYNALDO.\\r\\nMy lord, I have.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nGod b’ wi’ you, fare you well.\\r\\n\\r\\nREYNALDO.\\r\\nGood my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nObserve his inclination in yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nREYNALDO.\\r\\nI shall, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nAnd let him ply his music.\\r\\n\\r\\nREYNALDO.\\r\\nWell, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nFarewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Reynaldo._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ophelia.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Ophelia, what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nAlas, my lord, I have been so affrighted.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nWith what, in the name of God?\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nMy lord, as I was sewing in my chamber,\\r\\nLord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac’d,\\r\\nNo hat upon his head, his stockings foul’d,\\r\\nUngart’red, and down-gyved to his ankle,\\r\\nPale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other,\\r\\nAnd with a look so piteous in purport\\r\\nAs if he had been loosed out of hell\\r\\nTo speak of horrors, he comes before me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nMad for thy love?\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nMy lord, I do not know, but truly I do fear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nWhat said he?\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nHe took me by the wrist and held me hard;\\r\\nThen goes he to the length of all his arm;\\r\\nAnd with his other hand thus o’er his brow,\\r\\nHe falls to such perusal of my face\\r\\nAs he would draw it. Long stay’d he so,\\r\\nAt last,—a little shaking of mine arm,\\r\\nAnd thrice his head thus waving up and down,\\r\\nHe rais’d a sigh so piteous and profound\\r\\nAs it did seem to shatter all his bulk\\r\\nAnd end his being. That done, he lets me go,\\r\\nAnd with his head over his shoulder turn’d\\r\\nHe seem’d to find his way without his eyes,\\r\\nFor out o’ doors he went without their help,\\r\\nAnd to the last bended their light on me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nCome, go with me. I will go seek the King.\\r\\nThis is the very ecstasy of love,\\r\\nWhose violent property fordoes itself,\\r\\nAnd leads the will to desperate undertakings,\\r\\nAs oft as any passion under heaven\\r\\nThat does afflict our natures. I am sorry,—\\r\\nWhat, have you given him any hard words of late?\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nNo, my good lord; but as you did command,\\r\\nI did repel his letters and denied\\r\\nHis access to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nThat hath made him mad.\\r\\nI am sorry that with better heed and judgment\\r\\nI had not quoted him. I fear’d he did but trifle,\\r\\nAnd meant to wreck thee. But beshrew my jealousy!\\r\\nIt seems it is as proper to our age\\r\\nTo cast beyond ourselves in our opinions\\r\\nAs it is common for the younger sort\\r\\nTo lack discretion. Come, go we to the King.\\r\\nThis must be known, which, being kept close, might move\\r\\nMore grief to hide than hate to utter love.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter King, Queen, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nWelcome, dear Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.\\r\\nMoreover that we much did long to see you,\\r\\nThe need we have to use you did provoke\\r\\nOur hasty sending. Something have you heard\\r\\nOf Hamlet’s transformation; so I call it,\\r\\nSince nor th’exterior nor the inward man\\r\\nResembles that it was. What it should be,\\r\\nMore than his father’s death, that thus hath put him\\r\\nSo much from th’understanding of himself,\\r\\nI cannot dream of. I entreat you both\\r\\nThat, being of so young days brought up with him,\\r\\nAnd since so neighbour’d to his youth and humour,\\r\\nThat you vouchsafe your rest here in our court\\r\\nSome little time, so by your companies\\r\\nTo draw him on to pleasures and to gather,\\r\\nSo much as from occasion you may glean,\\r\\nWhether aught to us unknown afflicts him thus\\r\\nThat, open’d, lies within our remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nGood gentlemen, he hath much talk’d of you,\\r\\nAnd sure I am, two men there are not living\\r\\nTo whom he more adheres. If it will please you\\r\\nTo show us so much gentry and good will\\r\\nAs to expend your time with us awhile,\\r\\nFor the supply and profit of our hope,\\r\\nYour visitation shall receive such thanks\\r\\nAs fits a king’s remembrance.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nBoth your majesties\\r\\nMight, by the sovereign power you have of us,\\r\\nPut your dread pleasures more into command\\r\\nThan to entreaty.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nWe both obey,\\r\\nAnd here give up ourselves, in the full bent,\\r\\nTo lay our service freely at your feet\\r\\nTo be commanded.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nThanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nThanks, Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz.\\r\\nAnd I beseech you instantly to visit\\r\\nMy too much changed son. Go, some of you,\\r\\nAnd bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nHeavens make our presence and our practices\\r\\nPleasant and helpful to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nAy, amen.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Rosencrantz, Guildenstern and some Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Polonius.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nTh’ambassadors from Norway, my good lord,\\r\\nAre joyfully return’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nThou still hast been the father of good news.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nHave I, my lord? Assure you, my good liege,\\r\\nI hold my duty, as I hold my soul,\\r\\nBoth to my God and to my gracious King:\\r\\nAnd I do think,—or else this brain of mine\\r\\nHunts not the trail of policy so sure\\r\\nAs it hath us’d to do—that I have found\\r\\nThe very cause of Hamlet’s lunacy.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nO speak of that, that do I long to hear.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nGive first admittance to th’ambassadors;\\r\\nMy news shall be the fruit to that great feast.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nThyself do grace to them, and bring them in.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Polonius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHe tells me, my sweet queen, that he hath found\\r\\nThe head and source of all your son’s distemper.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nI doubt it is no other but the main,\\r\\nHis father’s death and our o’erhasty marriage.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nWell, we shall sift him.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Polonius with Voltemand and Cornelius.\\r\\n\\r\\nWelcome, my good friends!\\r\\nSay, Voltemand, what from our brother Norway?\\r\\n\\r\\nVOLTEMAND.\\r\\nMost fair return of greetings and desires.\\r\\nUpon our first, he sent out to suppress\\r\\nHis nephew’s levies, which to him appear’d\\r\\nTo be a preparation ’gainst the Polack;\\r\\nBut better look’d into, he truly found\\r\\nIt was against your Highness; whereat griev’d,\\r\\nThat so his sickness, age, and impotence\\r\\nWas falsely borne in hand, sends out arrests\\r\\nOn Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys,\\r\\nReceives rebuke from Norway; and in fine,\\r\\nMakes vow before his uncle never more\\r\\nTo give th’assay of arms against your Majesty.\\r\\nWhereon old Norway, overcome with joy,\\r\\nGives him three thousand crowns in annual fee,\\r\\nAnd his commission to employ those soldiers\\r\\nSo levied as before, against the Polack:\\r\\nWith an entreaty, herein further shown,\\r\\n[_Gives a paper._]\\r\\nThat it might please you to give quiet pass\\r\\nThrough your dominions for this enterprise,\\r\\nOn such regards of safety and allowance\\r\\nAs therein are set down.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nIt likes us well;\\r\\nAnd at our more consider’d time we’ll read,\\r\\nAnswer, and think upon this business.\\r\\nMeantime we thank you for your well-took labour.\\r\\nGo to your rest, at night we’ll feast together:.\\r\\nMost welcome home.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Voltemand and Cornelius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nThis business is well ended.\\r\\nMy liege and madam, to expostulate\\r\\nWhat majesty should be, what duty is,\\r\\nWhy day is day, night night, and time is time.\\r\\nWere nothing but to waste night, day and time.\\r\\nTherefore, since brevity is the soul of wit,\\r\\nAnd tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,\\r\\nI will be brief. Your noble son is mad.\\r\\nMad call I it; for to define true madness,\\r\\nWhat is’t but to be nothing else but mad?\\r\\nBut let that go.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nMore matter, with less art.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nMadam, I swear I use no art at all.\\r\\nThat he is mad, ’tis true: ’tis true ’tis pity;\\r\\nAnd pity ’tis ’tis true. A foolish figure,\\r\\nBut farewell it, for I will use no art.\\r\\nMad let us grant him then. And now remains\\r\\nThat we find out the cause of this effect,\\r\\nOr rather say, the cause of this defect,\\r\\nFor this effect defective comes by cause.\\r\\nThus it remains, and the remainder thus. Perpend,\\r\\nI have a daughter—have whilst she is mine—\\r\\nWho in her duty and obedience, mark,\\r\\nHath given me this. Now gather, and surmise.\\r\\n[_Reads._]\\r\\n_To the celestial, and my soul’s idol, the most beautified Ophelia_—\\r\\nThat’s an ill phrase, a vile phrase; ‘beautified’ is a vile\\r\\nphrase: but you shall hear.\\r\\n[_Reads._]\\r\\n_these; in her excellent white bosom, these, &c._\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nCame this from Hamlet to her?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nGood madam, stay awhile; I will be faithful.\\r\\n[_Reads._]\\r\\n _Doubt thou the stars are fire,\\r\\n Doubt that the sun doth move,\\r\\n Doubt truth to be a liar,\\r\\n But never doubt I love.\\r\\nO dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers. I have not art to reckon my\\r\\ngroans. But that I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu.\\r\\n Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this machine is to him,\\r\\n HAMLET._\\r\\nThis in obedience hath my daughter show’d me;\\r\\nAnd more above, hath his solicitings,\\r\\nAs they fell out by time, by means, and place,\\r\\nAll given to mine ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nBut how hath she receiv’d his love?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nWhat do you think of me?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nAs of a man faithful and honourable.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nI would fain prove so. But what might you think,\\r\\nWhen I had seen this hot love on the wing,\\r\\nAs I perceiv’d it, I must tell you that,\\r\\nBefore my daughter told me, what might you,\\r\\nOr my dear Majesty your queen here, think,\\r\\nIf I had play’d the desk or table-book,\\r\\nOr given my heart a winking, mute and dumb,\\r\\nOr look’d upon this love with idle sight,\\r\\nWhat might you think? No, I went round to work,\\r\\nAnd my young mistress thus I did bespeak:\\r\\n‘Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy star.\\r\\nThis must not be.’ And then I precepts gave her,\\r\\nThat she should lock herself from his resort,\\r\\nAdmit no messengers, receive no tokens.\\r\\nWhich done, she took the fruits of my advice,\\r\\nAnd he, repulsed,—a short tale to make—\\r\\nFell into a sadness, then into a fast,\\r\\nThence to a watch, thence into a weakness,\\r\\nThence to a lightness, and, by this declension,\\r\\nInto the madness wherein now he raves,\\r\\nAnd all we wail for.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nDo you think ’tis this?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nIt may be, very likely.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nHath there been such a time, I’d fain know that,\\r\\nThat I have positively said ‘’Tis so,’\\r\\nWhen it prov’d otherwise?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nNot that I know.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nTake this from this, if this be otherwise.\\r\\n[_Points to his head and shoulder._]\\r\\nIf circumstances lead me, I will find\\r\\nWhere truth is hid, though it were hid indeed\\r\\nWithin the centre.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nHow may we try it further?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nYou know sometimes he walks four hours together\\r\\nHere in the lobby.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nSo he does indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nAt such a time I’ll loose my daughter to him.\\r\\nBe you and I behind an arras then,\\r\\nMark the encounter. If he love her not,\\r\\nAnd be not from his reason fall’n thereon,\\r\\nLet me be no assistant for a state,\\r\\nBut keep a farm and carters.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nWe will try it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hamlet, reading.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nBut look where sadly the poor wretch comes reading.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nAway, I do beseech you, both away\\r\\nI’ll board him presently. O, give me leave.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt King, Queen and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow does my good Lord Hamlet?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWell, God-a-mercy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nDo you know me, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nExcellent well. You’re a fishmonger.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nNot I, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThen I would you were so honest a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nHonest, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAy sir, to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out\\r\\nof ten thousand.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nThat’s very true, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nFor if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a good kissing\\r\\ncarrion,—\\r\\nHave you a daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nI have, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nLet her not walk i’ th’ sun. Conception is a blessing, but not as your\\r\\ndaughter may conceive. Friend, look to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nHow say you by that? [_Aside._] Still harping on my daughter. Yet he\\r\\nknew me not at first; he said I was a fishmonger. He is far gone, far\\r\\ngone. And truly in my youth I suffered much extremity for love; very\\r\\nnear this. I’ll speak to him again.—What do you read, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWords, words, words.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nWhat is the matter, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nBetween who?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nI mean the matter that you read, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nSlanders, sir. For the satirical slave says here that old men have grey\\r\\nbeards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thick amber\\r\\nand plum-tree gum; and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together\\r\\nwith most weak hams. All which, sir, though I most powerfully and\\r\\npotently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down.\\r\\nFor you yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if like a crab you could\\r\\ngo backward.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Though this be madness, yet there is a method in’t.—\\r\\nWill you walk out of the air, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nInto my grave?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nIndeed, that is out o’ the air. [_Aside._] How pregnant sometimes his\\r\\nreplies are! A happiness that often madness hits on, which reason and\\r\\nsanity could not so prosperously be delivered of. I will leave him and\\r\\nsuddenly contrive the means of meeting between him and my daughter.\\r\\nMy honourable lord, I will most humbly take my leave of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nYou cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more willingly part\\r\\nwithal, except my life, except my life, except my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nFare you well, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThese tedious old fools.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nYou go to seek the Lord Hamlet; there he is.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\n[_To Polonius._] God save you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Polonius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nMy honoured lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nMy most dear lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nMy excellent good friends! How dost thou, Guildenstern? Ah,\\r\\nRosencrantz. Good lads, how do ye both?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nAs the indifferent children of the earth.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nHappy in that we are not over-happy;\\r\\nOn Fortune’s cap we are not the very button.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNor the soles of her shoe?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nNeither, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThen you live about her waist, or in the middle of her favours?\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nFaith, her privates we.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nIn the secret parts of Fortune? O, most true; she is a strumpet. What’s\\r\\nthe news?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nNone, my lord, but that the world’s grown honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThen is doomsday near. But your news is not true. Let me question more\\r\\nin particular. What have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of\\r\\nFortune, that she sends you to prison hither?\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nPrison, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nDenmark’s a prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nThen is the world one.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nA goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards, and dungeons,\\r\\nDenmark being one o’ th’ worst.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nWe think not so, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhy, then ’tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad but\\r\\nthinking makes it so. To me it is a prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nWhy, then your ambition makes it one; ’tis too narrow for your mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nO God, I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of\\r\\ninfinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nWhich dreams, indeed, are ambition; for the very substance of the\\r\\nambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nA dream itself is but a shadow.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nTruly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality that it is\\r\\nbut a shadow’s shadow.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThen are our beggars bodies, and our monarchs and outstretch’d heroes\\r\\nthe beggars’ shadows. Shall we to th’ court? For, by my fay, I cannot\\r\\nreason.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nWe’ll wait upon you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNo such matter. I will not sort you with the rest of my servants; for,\\r\\nto speak to you like an honest man, I am most dreadfully attended. But,\\r\\nin the beaten way of friendship, what make you at Elsinore?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nTo visit you, my lord, no other occasion.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nBeggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I thank you. And sure,\\r\\ndear friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny. Were you not sent\\r\\nfor? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free visitation? Come, deal\\r\\njustly with me. Come, come; nay, speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nWhat should we say, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhy, anything. But to the purpose. You were sent for; and there is a\\r\\nkind of confession in your looks, which your modesties have not craft\\r\\nenough to colour. I know the good King and Queen have sent for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nTo what end, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThat you must teach me. But let me conjure you, by the rights of our\\r\\nfellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our\\r\\never-preserved love, and by what more dear a better proposer could\\r\\ncharge you withal, be even and direct with me, whether you were sent\\r\\nfor or no.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\n[_To Guildenstern._] What say you?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Nay, then I have an eye of you. If you love me, hold not\\r\\noff.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nMy lord, we were sent for.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI will tell you why; so shall my anticipation prevent your discovery,\\r\\nand your secrecy to the King and Queen moult no feather. I have of\\r\\nlate, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth, forgone all custom\\r\\nof exercises; and indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition that\\r\\nthis goodly frame the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this\\r\\nmost excellent canopy the air, look you, this brave o’erhanging\\r\\nfirmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it\\r\\nappears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of\\r\\nvapours. What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason? How infinite\\r\\nin faculties, in form and moving, how express and admirable? In action\\r\\nhow like an angel? In apprehension, how like a god? The beauty of the\\r\\nworld, the paragon of animals. And yet, to me, what is this\\r\\nquintessence of dust? Man delights not me; no, nor woman neither,\\r\\nthough by your smiling you seem to say so.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nMy lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhy did you laugh then, when I said ‘Man delights not me’?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nTo think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what Lenten entertainment\\r\\nthe players shall receive from you. We coted them on the way, and\\r\\nhither are they coming to offer you service.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHe that plays the king shall be welcome,—his Majesty shall have tribute\\r\\nof me; the adventurous knight shall use his foil and target; the lover\\r\\nshall not sigh gratis, the humorous man shall end his part in peace;\\r\\nthe clown shall make those laugh whose lungs are tickle a’ th’ sere;\\r\\nand the lady shall say her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt\\r\\nfor’t. What players are they?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nEven those you were wont to take such delight in—the tragedians of the\\r\\ncity.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHow chances it they travel? Their residence, both in reputation and\\r\\nprofit, was better both ways.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nI think their inhibition comes by the means of the late innovation.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nDo they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the city? Are\\r\\nthey so followed?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nNo, indeed, they are not.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHow comes it? Do they grow rusty?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nNay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace; but there is, sir, an\\r\\nayry of children, little eyases, that cry out on the top of question,\\r\\nand are most tyrannically clapped for’t. These are now the fashion, and\\r\\nso berattle the common stages—so they call them—that many wearing\\r\\nrapiers are afraid of goose-quills and dare scarce come thither.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhat, are they children? Who maintains ’em? How are they escoted? Will\\r\\nthey pursue the quality no longer than they can sing? Will they not say\\r\\nafterwards, if they should grow themselves to common players—as it is\\r\\nmost like, if their means are no better—their writers do them wrong to\\r\\nmake them exclaim against their own succession?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nFaith, there has been much to do on both sides; and the nation holds it\\r\\nno sin to tarre them to controversy. There was for a while, no money\\r\\nbid for argument unless the poet and the player went to cuffs in the\\r\\nquestion.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nO, there has been much throwing about of brains.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nDo the boys carry it away?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nAy, that they do, my lord. Hercules and his load too.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nIt is not very strange; for my uncle is King of Denmark, and those that\\r\\nwould make mouths at him while my father lived, give twenty, forty,\\r\\nfifty, a hundred ducats apiece for his picture in little. ’Sblood,\\r\\nthere is something in this more than natural, if philosophy could find\\r\\nit out.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Flourish of trumpets within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nThere are the players.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nGentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your hands, come. The\\r\\nappurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony. Let me comply with you\\r\\nin this garb, lest my extent to the players, which I tell you must show\\r\\nfairly outward, should more appear like entertainment than yours. You\\r\\nare welcome. But my uncle-father and aunt-mother are deceived.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nIn what, my dear lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a\\r\\nhawk from a handsaw.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Polonius.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nWell be with you, gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHark you, Guildenstern, and you too, at each ear a hearer. That great\\r\\nbaby you see there is not yet out of his swaddling clouts.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nHappily he’s the second time come to them; for they say an old man is\\r\\ntwice a child.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI will prophesy he comes to tell me of the players. Mark it.—You say\\r\\nright, sir: for a Monday morning ’twas so indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nMy lord, I have news to tell you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nMy lord, I have news to tell you. When Roscius was an actor in Rome—\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nThe actors are come hither, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nBuzz, buzz.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nUpon my honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThen came each actor on his ass—\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nThe best actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, history,\\r\\npastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical,\\r\\ntragical-comical-historical-pastoral, scene individable, or poem\\r\\nunlimited. Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus too light, for the\\r\\nlaw of writ and the liberty. These are the only men.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nO Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a treasure hadst thou!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nWhat treasure had he, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhy—\\r\\n ’One fair daughter, and no more,\\r\\n The which he loved passing well.’\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Still on my daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAm I not i’ th’ right, old Jephthah?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nIf you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter that I love passing\\r\\nwell.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNay, that follows not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nWhat follows then, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhy,\\r\\n As by lot, God wot,\\r\\nand then, you know,\\r\\n It came to pass, as most like it was.\\r\\nThe first row of the pious chanson will show you more. For look where\\r\\nmy abridgement comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter four or five Players.\\r\\n\\r\\nYou are welcome, masters, welcome all. I am glad to see thee well.\\r\\nWelcome, good friends. O, my old friend! Thy face is valanc’d since I\\r\\nsaw thee last. Com’st thou to beard me in Denmark? What, my young lady\\r\\nand mistress! By’r lady, your ladyship is nearer to heaven than when I\\r\\nsaw you last, by the altitude of a chopine. Pray God your voice, like a\\r\\npiece of uncurrent gold, be not cracked within the ring. Masters, you\\r\\nare all welcome. We’ll e’en to’t like French falconers, fly at anything\\r\\nwe see. We’ll have a speech straight. Come, give us a taste of your\\r\\nquality. Come, a passionate speech.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST PLAYER.\\r\\nWhat speech, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI heard thee speak me a speech once, but it was never acted, or if it\\r\\nwas, not above once, for the play, I remember, pleased not the million,\\r\\n’twas caviare to the general. But it was—as I received it, and others,\\r\\nwhose judgments in such matters cried in the top of mine—an excellent\\r\\nplay, well digested in the scenes, set down with as much modesty as\\r\\ncunning. I remember one said there were no sallets in the lines to make\\r\\nthe matter savoury, nor no matter in the phrase that might indite the\\r\\nauthor of affectation, but called it an honest method, as wholesome as\\r\\nsweet, and by very much more handsome than fine. One speech in it, I\\r\\nchiefly loved. ’Twas Aeneas’ tale to Dido, and thereabout of it\\r\\nespecially where he speaks of Priam’s slaughter. If it live in your\\r\\nmemory, begin at this line, let me see, let me see:\\r\\n _The rugged Pyrrhus, like th’ Hyrcanian beast,—_\\r\\nIt is not so: it begins with Pyrrhus—\\r\\n _The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms,\\r\\n Black as his purpose, did the night resemble\\r\\n When he lay couched in the ominous horse,\\r\\n Hath now this dread and black complexion smear’d\\r\\n With heraldry more dismal. Head to foot\\r\\n Now is he total gules, horridly trick’d\\r\\n With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons,\\r\\n Bak’d and impasted with the parching streets,\\r\\n That lend a tyrannous and a damned light\\r\\n To their vile murders. Roasted in wrath and fire,\\r\\n And thus o’ersized with coagulate gore,\\r\\n With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus\\r\\n Old grandsire Priam seeks._\\r\\nSo, proceed you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\n’Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with good accent and good discretion.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST PLAYER.\\r\\n _Anon he finds him,\\r\\n Striking too short at Greeks. His antique sword,\\r\\n Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls,\\r\\n Repugnant to command. Unequal match’d,\\r\\n Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide;\\r\\n But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword\\r\\n Th’unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium,\\r\\n Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top\\r\\n Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash\\r\\n Takes prisoner Pyrrhus’ ear. For lo, his sword,\\r\\n Which was declining on the milky head\\r\\n Of reverend Priam, seem’d i’ th’air to stick.\\r\\n So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood,\\r\\n And like a neutral to his will and matter,\\r\\n Did nothing.\\r\\n But as we often see against some storm,\\r\\n A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still,\\r\\n The bold winds speechless, and the orb below\\r\\n As hush as death, anon the dreadful thunder\\r\\n Doth rend the region; so after Pyrrhus’ pause,\\r\\n Aroused vengeance sets him new a-work,\\r\\n And never did the Cyclops’ hammers fall\\r\\n On Mars’s armour, forg’d for proof eterne,\\r\\n With less remorse than Pyrrhus’ bleeding sword\\r\\n Now falls on Priam.\\r\\n Out, out, thou strumpet Fortune! All you gods,\\r\\n In general synod, take away her power;\\r\\n Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel,\\r\\n And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven,\\r\\n As low as to the fiends._\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nThis is too long.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nIt shall to the barber’s, with your beard.—Prythee say on.\\r\\nHe’s for a jig or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps.\\r\\nSay on; come to Hecuba.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST PLAYER.\\r\\n _But who, O who, had seen the mobled queen,—_\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\n‘The mobled queen’?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nThat’s good! ‘Mobled queen’ is good.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST PLAYER.\\r\\n _Run barefoot up and down, threat’ning the flames\\r\\n With bisson rheum. A clout upon that head\\r\\n Where late the diadem stood, and for a robe,\\r\\n About her lank and all o’erteemed loins,\\r\\n A blanket, in th’alarm of fear caught up—\\r\\n Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep’d,\\r\\n ’Gainst Fortune’s state would treason have pronounc’d.\\r\\n But if the gods themselves did see her then,\\r\\n When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport\\r\\n In mincing with his sword her husband’s limbs,\\r\\n The instant burst of clamour that she made,—\\r\\n Unless things mortal move them not at all,—\\r\\n Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven,\\r\\n And passion in the gods._\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nLook, where he has not turn’d his colour, and has tears in’s eyes. Pray\\r\\nyou, no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\n’Tis well. I’ll have thee speak out the rest of this soon.—Good my\\r\\nlord, will you see the players well bestowed? Do you hear, let them be\\r\\nwell used; for they are the abstracts and brief chronicles of the time.\\r\\nAfter your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill\\r\\nreport while you live.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nMy lord, I will use them according to their desert.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nGod’s bodikin, man, better. Use every man after his desert, and who\\r\\nshould scape whipping? Use them after your own honour and dignity. The\\r\\nless they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty. Take them in.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nCome, sirs.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nFollow him, friends. We’ll hear a play tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Polonius with all the Players but the First._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDost thou hear me, old friend? Can you play _The Murder of Gonzago_?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST PLAYER.\\r\\nAy, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWe’ll ha’t tomorrow night. You could for a need study a speech of some\\r\\ndozen or sixteen lines, which I would set down and insert in’t, could\\r\\nyou not?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST PLAYER.\\r\\nAy, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nVery well. Follow that lord, and look you mock him not.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit First Player._]\\r\\n\\r\\n[_To Rosencrantz and Guildenstern_] My good friends, I’ll leave you\\r\\ntill night. You are welcome to Elsinore.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nGood my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAy, so, God b’ wi’ ye. Now I am alone.\\r\\nO what a rogue and peasant slave am I!\\r\\nIs it not monstrous that this player here,\\r\\nBut in a fiction, in a dream of passion,\\r\\nCould force his soul so to his own conceit\\r\\nThat from her working all his visage wan’d;\\r\\nTears in his eyes, distraction in’s aspect,\\r\\nA broken voice, and his whole function suiting\\r\\nWith forms to his conceit? And all for nothing!\\r\\nFor Hecuba?\\r\\nWhat’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,\\r\\nThat he should weep for her? What would he do,\\r\\nHad he the motive and the cue for passion\\r\\nThat I have? He would drown the stage with tears\\r\\nAnd cleave the general ear with horrid speech;\\r\\nMake mad the guilty, and appal the free,\\r\\nConfound the ignorant, and amaze indeed,\\r\\nThe very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I,\\r\\nA dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak\\r\\nLike John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,\\r\\nAnd can say nothing. No, not for a king\\r\\nUpon whose property and most dear life\\r\\nA damn’d defeat was made. Am I a coward?\\r\\nWho calls me villain, breaks my pate across?\\r\\nPlucks off my beard and blows it in my face?\\r\\nTweaks me by the nose, gives me the lie i’ th’ throat\\r\\nAs deep as to the lungs? Who does me this?\\r\\nHa! ’Swounds, I should take it: for it cannot be\\r\\nBut I am pigeon-liver’d, and lack gall\\r\\nTo make oppression bitter, or ere this\\r\\nI should have fatted all the region kites\\r\\nWith this slave’s offal. Bloody, bawdy villain!\\r\\nRemorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!\\r\\nOh vengeance!\\r\\nWhy, what an ass am I! This is most brave,\\r\\nThat I, the son of a dear father murder’d,\\r\\nPrompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,\\r\\nMust, like a whore, unpack my heart with words\\r\\nAnd fall a-cursing like a very drab,\\r\\nA scullion! Fie upon’t! Foh!\\r\\nAbout, my brain! I have heard\\r\\nThat guilty creatures sitting at a play,\\r\\nHave by the very cunning of the scene,\\r\\nBeen struck so to the soul that presently\\r\\nThey have proclaim’d their malefactions.\\r\\nFor murder, though it have no tongue, will speak\\r\\nWith most miraculous organ. I’ll have these players\\r\\nPlay something like the murder of my father\\r\\nBefore mine uncle. I’ll observe his looks;\\r\\nI’ll tent him to the quick. If he but blench,\\r\\nI know my course. The spirit that I have seen\\r\\nMay be the devil, and the devil hath power\\r\\nT’assume a pleasing shape, yea, and perhaps\\r\\nOut of my weakness and my melancholy,\\r\\nAs he is very potent with such spirits,\\r\\nAbuses me to damn me. I’ll have grounds\\r\\nMore relative than this. The play’s the thing\\r\\nWherein I’ll catch the conscience of the King.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nAnd can you by no drift of circumstance\\r\\nGet from him why he puts on this confusion,\\r\\nGrating so harshly all his days of quiet\\r\\nWith turbulent and dangerous lunacy?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nHe does confess he feels himself distracted,\\r\\nBut from what cause he will by no means speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nNor do we find him forward to be sounded,\\r\\nBut with a crafty madness keeps aloof\\r\\nWhen we would bring him on to some confession\\r\\nOf his true state.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nDid he receive you well?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nMost like a gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nBut with much forcing of his disposition.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nNiggard of question, but of our demands,\\r\\nMost free in his reply.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nDid you assay him to any pastime?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nMadam, it so fell out that certain players\\r\\nWe o’er-raught on the way. Of these we told him,\\r\\nAnd there did seem in him a kind of joy\\r\\nTo hear of it. They are about the court,\\r\\nAnd, as I think, they have already order\\r\\nThis night to play before him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\n’Tis most true;\\r\\nAnd he beseech’d me to entreat your Majesties\\r\\nTo hear and see the matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nWith all my heart; and it doth much content me\\r\\nTo hear him so inclin’d.\\r\\nGood gentlemen, give him a further edge,\\r\\nAnd drive his purpose on to these delights.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nWe shall, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nSweet Gertrude, leave us too,\\r\\nFor we have closely sent for Hamlet hither,\\r\\nThat he, as ’twere by accident, may here\\r\\nAffront Ophelia.\\r\\nHer father and myself, lawful espials,\\r\\nWill so bestow ourselves that, seeing unseen,\\r\\nWe may of their encounter frankly judge,\\r\\nAnd gather by him, as he is behav’d,\\r\\nIf’t be th’affliction of his love or no\\r\\nThat thus he suffers for.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nI shall obey you.\\r\\nAnd for your part, Ophelia, I do wish\\r\\nThat your good beauties be the happy cause\\r\\nOf Hamlet’s wildness: so shall I hope your virtues\\r\\nWill bring him to his wonted way again,\\r\\nTo both your honours.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nMadam, I wish it may.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Queen._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nOphelia, walk you here.—Gracious, so please you,\\r\\nWe will bestow ourselves.—[_To Ophelia._] Read on this book,\\r\\nThat show of such an exercise may colour\\r\\nYour loneliness.—We are oft to blame in this,\\r\\n’Tis too much prov’d, that with devotion’s visage\\r\\nAnd pious action we do sugar o’er\\r\\nThe devil himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\n[_Aside._] O ’tis too true!\\r\\nHow smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience!\\r\\nThe harlot’s cheek, beautied with plastering art,\\r\\nIs not more ugly to the thing that helps it\\r\\nThan is my deed to my most painted word.\\r\\nO heavy burden!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nI hear him coming. Let’s withdraw, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt King and Polonius._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hamlet.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nTo be, or not to be, that is the question:\\r\\nWhether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer\\r\\nThe slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,\\r\\nOr to take arms against a sea of troubles,\\r\\nAnd by opposing end them? To die—to sleep,\\r\\nNo more; and by a sleep to say we end\\r\\nThe heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks\\r\\nThat flesh is heir to: ’tis a consummation\\r\\nDevoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep.\\r\\nTo sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there’s the rub,\\r\\nFor in that sleep of death what dreams may come,\\r\\nWhen we have shuffled off this mortal coil,\\r\\nMust give us pause. There’s the respect\\r\\nThat makes calamity of so long life.\\r\\nFor who would bear the whips and scorns of time,\\r\\nThe oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,\\r\\nThe pangs of dispriz’d love, the law’s delay,\\r\\nThe insolence of office, and the spurns\\r\\nThat patient merit of the unworthy takes,\\r\\nWhen he himself might his quietus make\\r\\nWith a bare bodkin? Who would these fardels bear,\\r\\nTo grunt and sweat under a weary life,\\r\\nBut that the dread of something after death,\\r\\nThe undiscover’d country, from whose bourn\\r\\nNo traveller returns, puzzles the will,\\r\\nAnd makes us rather bear those ills we have\\r\\nThan fly to others that we know not of?\\r\\nThus conscience does make cowards of us all,\\r\\nAnd thus the native hue of resolution\\r\\nIs sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,\\r\\nAnd enterprises of great pith and moment,\\r\\nWith this regard their currents turn awry\\r\\nAnd lose the name of action. Soft you now,\\r\\nThe fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons\\r\\nBe all my sins remember’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nGood my lord,\\r\\nHow does your honour for this many a day?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI humbly thank you; well, well, well.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nMy lord, I have remembrances of yours\\r\\nThat I have longed long to re-deliver.\\r\\nI pray you, now receive them.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNo, not I.\\r\\nI never gave you aught.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nMy honour’d lord, you know right well you did,\\r\\nAnd with them words of so sweet breath compos’d\\r\\nAs made the things more rich; their perfume lost,\\r\\nTake these again; for to the noble mind\\r\\nRich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.\\r\\nThere, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHa, ha! Are you honest?\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAre you fair?\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nWhat means your lordship?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThat if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no discourse\\r\\nto your beauty.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nCould beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAy, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner transform honesty from\\r\\nwhat it is to a bawd than the force of honesty can translate beauty\\r\\ninto his likeness. This was sometime a paradox, but now the time gives\\r\\nit proof. I did love you once.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nIndeed, my lord, you made me believe so.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nYou should not have believed me; for virtue cannot so inoculate our old\\r\\nstock but we shall relish of it. I loved you not.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nI was the more deceived.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nGet thee to a nunnery. Why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners? I am\\r\\nmyself indifferent honest; but yet I could accuse me of such things\\r\\nthat it were better my mother had not borne me. I am very proud,\\r\\nrevengeful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have\\r\\nthoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act\\r\\nthem in. What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and\\r\\nheaven? We are arrant knaves all, believe none of us. Go thy ways to a\\r\\nnunnery. Where’s your father?\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nAt home, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nLet the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool nowhere but\\r\\nin’s own house. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nO help him, you sweet heavens!\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nIf thou dost marry, I’ll give thee this plague for thy dowry. Be thou\\r\\nas chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get\\r\\nthee to a nunnery, go: farewell. Or if thou wilt needs marry, marry a\\r\\nfool; for wise men know well enough what monsters you make of them. To\\r\\na nunnery, go; and quickly too. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nO heavenly powers, restore him!\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI have heard of your paintings too, well enough. God hath given you one\\r\\nface, and you make yourselves another. You jig, you amble, and you\\r\\nlisp, and nickname God’s creatures, and make your wantonness your\\r\\nignorance. Go to, I’ll no more on’t, it hath made me mad. I say, we\\r\\nwill have no more marriages. Those that are married already, all but\\r\\none, shall live; the rest shall keep as they are. To a nunnery, go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nO, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!\\r\\nThe courtier’s, soldier’s, scholar’s, eye, tongue, sword,\\r\\nTh’expectancy and rose of the fair state,\\r\\nThe glass of fashion and the mould of form,\\r\\nTh’observ’d of all observers, quite, quite down!\\r\\nAnd I, of ladies most deject and wretched,\\r\\nThat suck’d the honey of his music vows,\\r\\nNow see that noble and most sovereign reason,\\r\\nLike sweet bells jangled out of tune and harsh,\\r\\nThat unmatch’d form and feature of blown youth\\r\\nBlasted with ecstasy. O woe is me,\\r\\nT’have seen what I have seen, see what I see.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter King and Polonius.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nLove? His affections do not that way tend,\\r\\nNor what he spake, though it lack’d form a little,\\r\\nWas not like madness. There’s something in his soul\\r\\nO’er which his melancholy sits on brood,\\r\\nAnd I do doubt the hatch and the disclose\\r\\nWill be some danger, which for to prevent,\\r\\nI have in quick determination\\r\\nThus set it down: he shall with speed to England\\r\\nFor the demand of our neglected tribute:\\r\\nHaply the seas and countries different,\\r\\nWith variable objects, shall expel\\r\\nThis something settled matter in his heart,\\r\\nWhereon his brains still beating puts him thus\\r\\nFrom fashion of himself. What think you on’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nIt shall do well. But yet do I believe\\r\\nThe origin and commencement of his grief\\r\\nSprung from neglected love. How now, Ophelia?\\r\\nYou need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said,\\r\\nWe heard it all. My lord, do as you please,\\r\\nBut if you hold it fit, after the play,\\r\\nLet his queen mother all alone entreat him\\r\\nTo show his grief, let her be round with him,\\r\\nAnd I’ll be plac’d, so please you, in the ear\\r\\nOf all their conference. If she find him not,\\r\\nTo England send him; or confine him where\\r\\nYour wisdom best shall think.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nIt shall be so.\\r\\nMadness in great ones must not unwatch’d go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A hall in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hamlet and certain Players.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nSpeak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on\\r\\nthe tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as\\r\\nlief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much\\r\\nwith your hand, thus, but use all gently; for in the very torrent,\\r\\ntempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and\\r\\nbeget a temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the\\r\\nsoul to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to\\r\\ntatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who, for\\r\\nthe most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and\\r\\nnoise. I would have such a fellow whipped for o’erdoing Termagant. It\\r\\nout-Herods Herod. Pray you avoid it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST PLAYER.\\r\\nI warrant your honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nBe not too tame neither; but let your own discretion be your tutor.\\r\\nSuit the action to the word, the word to the action, with this special\\r\\nobservance, that you o’erstep not the modesty of nature; for anything\\r\\nso overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the\\r\\nfirst and now, was and is, to hold as ’twere the mirror up to nature;\\r\\nto show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age\\r\\nand body of the time his form and pressure. Now, this overdone, or come\\r\\ntardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the\\r\\njudicious grieve; the censure of the which one must in your allowance\\r\\no’erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be players that I have\\r\\nseen play—and heard others praise, and that highly—not to speak it\\r\\nprofanely, that, neither having the accent of Christians, nor the gait\\r\\nof Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed that I have\\r\\nthought some of Nature’s journeymen had made men, and not made them\\r\\nwell, they imitated humanity so abominably.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST PLAYER.\\r\\nI hope we have reform’d that indifferently with us, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nO reform it altogether. And let those that play your clowns speak no\\r\\nmore than is set down for them. For there be of them that will\\r\\nthemselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh\\r\\ntoo, though in the meantime some necessary question of the play be then\\r\\nto be considered. That’s villanous, and shows a most pitiful ambition\\r\\nin the fool that uses it. Go make you ready.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Players._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Polonius, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, my lord?\\r\\nWill the King hear this piece of work?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nAnd the Queen too, and that presently.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nBid the players make haste.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Polonius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWill you two help to hasten them?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nWe will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhat ho, Horatio!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Horatio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nHere, sweet lord, at your service.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHoratio, thou art e’en as just a man\\r\\nAs e’er my conversation cop’d withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nO my dear lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNay, do not think I flatter;\\r\\nFor what advancement may I hope from thee,\\r\\nThat no revenue hast, but thy good spirits\\r\\nTo feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flatter’d?\\r\\nNo, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp,\\r\\nAnd crook the pregnant hinges of the knee\\r\\nWhere thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear?\\r\\nSince my dear soul was mistress of her choice,\\r\\nAnd could of men distinguish, her election\\r\\nHath seal’d thee for herself. For thou hast been\\r\\nAs one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing,\\r\\nA man that Fortune’s buffets and rewards\\r\\nHast ta’en with equal thanks. And bles’d are those\\r\\nWhose blood and judgment are so well co-mingled\\r\\nThat they are not a pipe for Fortune’s finger\\r\\nTo sound what stop she please. Give me that man\\r\\nThat is not passion’s slave, and I will wear him\\r\\nIn my heart’s core, ay, in my heart of heart,\\r\\nAs I do thee. Something too much of this.\\r\\nThere is a play tonight before the King.\\r\\nOne scene of it comes near the circumstance\\r\\nWhich I have told thee, of my father’s death.\\r\\nI prythee, when thou see’st that act a-foot,\\r\\nEven with the very comment of thy soul\\r\\nObserve mine uncle. If his occulted guilt\\r\\nDo not itself unkennel in one speech,\\r\\nIt is a damned ghost that we have seen;\\r\\nAnd my imaginations are as foul\\r\\nAs Vulcan’s stithy. Give him heedful note;\\r\\nFor I mine eyes will rivet to his face;\\r\\nAnd after we will both our judgments join\\r\\nIn censure of his seeming.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nWell, my lord.\\r\\nIf he steal aught the whilst this play is playing,\\r\\nAnd scape detecting, I will pay the theft.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThey are coming to the play. I must be idle.\\r\\nGet you a place.\\r\\n\\r\\n Danish march. A flourish. Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia,\\r\\n Rosencrantz, Guildenstern and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nHow fares our cousin Hamlet?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nExcellent, i’ faith; of the chameleon’s dish: I eat the air,\\r\\npromise-crammed: you cannot feed capons so.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nI have nothing with this answer, Hamlet; these words are not mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNo, nor mine now. [_To Polonius._] My lord, you play’d once i’\\r\\nth’university, you say?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nThat did I, my lord, and was accounted a good actor.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhat did you enact?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nI did enact Julius Caesar. I was kill’d i’ th’ Capitol. Brutus killed\\r\\nme.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nIt was a brute part of him to kill so capital a calf there. Be the\\r\\nplayers ready?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nAy, my lord; they stay upon your patience.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nCome hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNo, good mother, here’s metal more attractive.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\n[_To the King._] O ho! do you mark that?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nLady, shall I lie in your lap?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Lying down at Ophelia’s feet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nNo, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI mean, my head upon your lap?\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nAy, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nDo you think I meant country matters?\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nI think nothing, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThat’s a fair thought to lie between maids’ legs.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nWhat is, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nYou are merry, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWho, I?\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nAy, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nO God, your only jig-maker! What should a man do but be merry? For look\\r\\nyou how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died within’s two\\r\\nhours.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nNay, ’tis twice two months, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nSo long? Nay then, let the devil wear black, for I’ll have a suit of\\r\\nsables. O heavens! die two months ago, and not forgotten yet? Then\\r\\nthere’s hope a great man’s memory may outlive his life half a year. But\\r\\nby’r lady, he must build churches then; or else shall he suffer not\\r\\nthinking on, with the hobby-horse, whose epitaph is ‘For, O, for O, the\\r\\nhobby-horse is forgot!’\\r\\n\\r\\n Trumpets sound. The dumb show enters.\\r\\n\\r\\n_Enter a King and a Queen very lovingly; the Queen embracing him and he\\r\\nher. She kneels, and makes show of protestation unto him. He takes her\\r\\nup, and declines his head upon her neck. Lays him down upon a bank of\\r\\nflowers. She, seeing him asleep, leaves him. Anon comes in a fellow,\\r\\ntakes off his crown, kisses it, pours poison in the King’s ears, and\\r\\nexits. The Queen returns, finds the King dead, and makes passionate\\r\\naction. The Poisoner with some three or four Mutes, comes in again,\\r\\nseeming to lament with her. The dead body is carried away. The Poisoner\\r\\nwoos the Queen with gifts. She seems loth and unwilling awhile, but in\\r\\nthe end accepts his love._\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nWhat means this, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nMarry, this is miching mallicho; it means mischief.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nBelike this show imports the argument of the play.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Prologue.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWe shall know by this fellow: the players cannot keep counsel; they’ll\\r\\ntell all.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nWill they tell us what this show meant?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAy, or any show that you’ll show him. Be not you ashamed to show, he’ll\\r\\nnot shame to tell you what it means.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nYou are naught, you are naught: I’ll mark the play.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROLOGUE.\\r\\n _For us, and for our tragedy,\\r\\n Here stooping to your clemency,\\r\\n We beg your hearing patiently._\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nIs this a prologue, or the posy of a ring?\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\n’Tis brief, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAs woman’s love.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a King and a Queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYER KING.\\r\\nFull thirty times hath Phoebus’ cart gone round\\r\\nNeptune’s salt wash and Tellus’ orbed ground,\\r\\nAnd thirty dozen moons with borrow’d sheen\\r\\nAbout the world have times twelve thirties been,\\r\\nSince love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands\\r\\nUnite commutual in most sacred bands.\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYER QUEEN.\\r\\nSo many journeys may the sun and moon\\r\\nMake us again count o’er ere love be done.\\r\\nBut, woe is me, you are so sick of late,\\r\\nSo far from cheer and from your former state,\\r\\nThat I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust,\\r\\nDiscomfort you, my lord, it nothing must:\\r\\nFor women’s fear and love holds quantity,\\r\\nIn neither aught, or in extremity.\\r\\nNow what my love is, proof hath made you know,\\r\\nAnd as my love is siz’d, my fear is so.\\r\\nWhere love is great, the littlest doubts are fear;\\r\\nWhere little fears grow great, great love grows there.\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYER KING.\\r\\nFaith, I must leave thee, love, and shortly too:\\r\\nMy operant powers their functions leave to do:\\r\\nAnd thou shalt live in this fair world behind,\\r\\nHonour’d, belov’d, and haply one as kind\\r\\nFor husband shalt thou—\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYER QUEEN.\\r\\nO confound the rest.\\r\\nSuch love must needs be treason in my breast.\\r\\nIn second husband let me be accurst!\\r\\nNone wed the second but who kill’d the first.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Wormwood, wormwood.\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYER QUEEN.\\r\\nThe instances that second marriage move\\r\\nAre base respects of thrift, but none of love.\\r\\nA second time I kill my husband dead,\\r\\nWhen second husband kisses me in bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYER KING.\\r\\nI do believe you think what now you speak;\\r\\nBut what we do determine, oft we break.\\r\\nPurpose is but the slave to memory,\\r\\nOf violent birth, but poor validity:\\r\\nWhich now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree,\\r\\nBut fall unshaken when they mellow be.\\r\\nMost necessary ’tis that we forget\\r\\nTo pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt.\\r\\nWhat to ourselves in passion we propose,\\r\\nThe passion ending, doth the purpose lose.\\r\\nThe violence of either grief or joy\\r\\nTheir own enactures with themselves destroy.\\r\\nWhere joy most revels, grief doth most lament;\\r\\nGrief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident.\\r\\nThis world is not for aye; nor ’tis not strange\\r\\nThat even our loves should with our fortunes change,\\r\\nFor ’tis a question left us yet to prove,\\r\\nWhether love lead fortune, or else fortune love.\\r\\nThe great man down, you mark his favourite flies,\\r\\nThe poor advanc’d makes friends of enemies;\\r\\nAnd hitherto doth love on fortune tend:\\r\\nFor who not needs shall never lack a friend,\\r\\nAnd who in want a hollow friend doth try,\\r\\nDirectly seasons him his enemy.\\r\\nBut orderly to end where I begun,\\r\\nOur wills and fates do so contrary run\\r\\nThat our devices still are overthrown.\\r\\nOur thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.\\r\\nSo think thou wilt no second husband wed,\\r\\nBut die thy thoughts when thy first lord is dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYER QUEEN.\\r\\nNor earth to me give food, nor heaven light,\\r\\nSport and repose lock from me day and night,\\r\\nTo desperation turn my trust and hope,\\r\\nAn anchor’s cheer in prison be my scope,\\r\\nEach opposite that blanks the face of joy,\\r\\nMeet what I would have well, and it destroy!\\r\\nBoth here and hence pursue me lasting strife,\\r\\nIf, once a widow, ever I be wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\n[_To Ophelia._] If she should break it now.\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYER KING.\\r\\n’Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here awhile.\\r\\nMy spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile\\r\\nThe tedious day with sleep.\\r\\n[_Sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYER QUEEN.\\r\\nSleep rock thy brain,\\r\\nAnd never come mischance between us twain.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nMadam, how like you this play?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nThe lady protests too much, methinks.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nO, but she’ll keep her word.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nHave you heard the argument? Is there no offence in’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNo, no, they do but jest, poison in jest; no offence i’ th’ world.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nWhat do you call the play?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\n_The Mousetrap._ Marry, how? Tropically. This play is the image of a\\r\\nmurder done in Vienna. Gonzago is the Duke’s name, his wife Baptista:\\r\\nyou shall see anon; ’tis a knavish piece of work: but what o’ that?\\r\\nYour majesty, and we that have free souls, it touches us not. Let the\\r\\ngall’d jade wince; our withers are unwrung.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucianus.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis is one Lucianus, nephew to the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nYou are a good chorus, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI could interpret between you and your love, if I could see the puppets\\r\\ndallying.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nYou are keen, my lord, you are keen.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nIt would cost you a groaning to take off my edge.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nStill better, and worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nSo you mistake your husbands.—Begin, murderer. Pox, leave thy damnable\\r\\nfaces, and begin. Come, the croaking raven doth bellow for revenge.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIANUS.\\r\\nThoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing,\\r\\nConfederate season, else no creature seeing;\\r\\nThou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected,\\r\\nWith Hecate’s ban thrice blasted, thrice infected,\\r\\nThy natural magic and dire property\\r\\nOn wholesome life usurp immediately.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Pours the poison into the sleeper’s ears._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHe poisons him i’ th’garden for’s estate. His name’s Gonzago. The story\\r\\nis extant, and written in very choice Italian. You shall see anon how\\r\\nthe murderer gets the love of Gonzago’s wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nThe King rises.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhat, frighted with false fire?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nHow fares my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nGive o’er the play.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nGive me some light. Away.\\r\\n\\r\\nAll.\\r\\nLights, lights, lights.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\n Why, let the strucken deer go weep,\\r\\n The hart ungalled play;\\r\\n For some must watch, while some must sleep,\\r\\n So runs the world away.\\r\\nWould not this, sir, and a forest of feathers, if the rest of my\\r\\nfortunes turn Turk with me; with two Provincial roses on my razed\\r\\nshoes, get me a fellowship in a cry of players, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nHalf a share.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nA whole one, I.\\r\\n For thou dost know, O Damon dear,\\r\\n This realm dismantled was\\r\\n Of Jove himself, and now reigns here\\r\\n A very, very—pajock.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nYou might have rhymed.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nO good Horatio, I’ll take the ghost’s word for a thousand pound. Didst\\r\\nperceive?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nVery well, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nUpon the talk of the poisoning?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nI did very well note him.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAh, ha! Come, some music. Come, the recorders.\\r\\n For if the king like not the comedy,\\r\\n Why then, belike he likes it not, perdie.\\r\\nCome, some music.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nGood my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nSir, a whole history.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nThe King, sir—\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAy, sir, what of him?\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nIs in his retirement, marvellous distempered.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWith drink, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nNo, my lord; rather with choler.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nYour wisdom should show itself more richer to signify this to the\\r\\ndoctor, for me to put him to his purgation would perhaps plunge him\\r\\ninto far more choler.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nGood my lord, put your discourse into some frame, and start not so\\r\\nwildly from my affair.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI am tame, sir, pronounce.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nThe Queen your mother, in most great affliction of spirit, hath sent me\\r\\nto you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nYou are welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nNay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of the right breed. If it shall\\r\\nplease you to make me a wholesome answer, I will do your mother’s\\r\\ncommandment; if not, your pardon and my return shall be the end of my\\r\\nbusiness.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nSir, I cannot.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nWhat, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nMake you a wholesome answer. My wit’s diseased. But, sir, such answer\\r\\nas I can make, you shall command; or rather, as you say, my mother.\\r\\nTherefore no more, but to the matter. My mother, you say,—\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nThen thus she says: your behaviour hath struck her into amazement and\\r\\nadmiration.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nO wonderful son, that can so stonish a mother! But is there no sequel\\r\\nat the heels of this mother’s admiration?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nShe desires to speak with you in her closet ere you go to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWe shall obey, were she ten times our mother. Have you any further\\r\\ntrade with us?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nMy lord, you once did love me.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAnd so I do still, by these pickers and stealers.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nGood my lord, what is your cause of distemper? You do surely bar the\\r\\ndoor upon your own liberty if you deny your griefs to your friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nSir, I lack advancement.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nHow can that be, when you have the voice of the King himself for your\\r\\nsuccession in Denmark?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAy, sir, but while the grass grows—the proverb is something musty.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter the Players with recorders.\\r\\n\\r\\nO, the recorders. Let me see one.—To withdraw with you, why do you go\\r\\nabout to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil?\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nO my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe?\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nMy lord, I cannot.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI pray you.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nBelieve me, I cannot.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI do beseech you.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nI know no touch of it, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\n’Tis as easy as lying: govern these ventages with your finger and\\r\\nthumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most\\r\\neloquent music. Look you, these are the stops.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nBut these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony. I have not the\\r\\nskill.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhy, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play\\r\\nupon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart\\r\\nof my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my\\r\\ncompass; and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little\\r\\norgan, yet cannot you make it speak. ’Sblood, do you think I am easier\\r\\nto be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though\\r\\nyou can fret me, you cannot play upon me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Polonius.\\r\\n\\r\\nGod bless you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nMy lord, the Queen would speak with you, and presently.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nDo you see yonder cloud that’s almost in shape of a camel?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nBy the mass, and ’tis like a camel indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nMethinks it is like a weasel.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nIt is backed like a weasel.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nOr like a whale.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nVery like a whale.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThen will I come to my mother by and by.—They fool me to the top of my\\r\\nbent.—I will come by and by.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nI will say so.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nBy and by is easily said. Leave me, friends.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Hamlet._]\\r\\n\\r\\n’Tis now the very witching time of night,\\r\\nWhen churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out\\r\\nContagion to this world. Now could I drink hot blood,\\r\\nAnd do such bitter business as the day\\r\\nWould quake to look on. Soft now, to my mother.\\r\\nO heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever\\r\\nThe soul of Nero enter this firm bosom:\\r\\nLet me be cruel, not unnatural.\\r\\nI will speak daggers to her, but use none;\\r\\nMy tongue and soul in this be hypocrites.\\r\\nHow in my words somever she be shent,\\r\\nTo give them seals never, my soul, consent.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter King, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nI like him not, nor stands it safe with us\\r\\nTo let his madness range. Therefore prepare you,\\r\\nI your commission will forthwith dispatch,\\r\\nAnd he to England shall along with you.\\r\\nThe terms of our estate may not endure\\r\\nHazard so near us as doth hourly grow\\r\\nOut of his lunacies.\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nWe will ourselves provide.\\r\\nMost holy and religious fear it is\\r\\nTo keep those many many bodies safe\\r\\nThat live and feed upon your Majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nThe single and peculiar life is bound\\r\\nWith all the strength and armour of the mind,\\r\\nTo keep itself from ’noyance; but much more\\r\\nThat spirit upon whose weal depend and rest\\r\\nThe lives of many. The cease of majesty\\r\\nDies not alone; but like a gulf doth draw\\r\\nWhat’s near it with it. It is a massy wheel\\r\\nFix’d on the summit of the highest mount,\\r\\nTo whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things\\r\\nAre mortis’d and adjoin’d; which when it falls,\\r\\nEach small annexment, petty consequence,\\r\\nAttends the boist’rous ruin. Never alone\\r\\nDid the King sigh, but with a general groan.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nArm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage;\\r\\nFor we will fetters put upon this fear,\\r\\nWhich now goes too free-footed.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nWe will haste us.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Polonius.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nMy lord, he’s going to his mother’s closet.\\r\\nBehind the arras I’ll convey myself\\r\\nTo hear the process. I’ll warrant she’ll tax him home,\\r\\nAnd as you said, and wisely was it said,\\r\\n’Tis meet that some more audience than a mother,\\r\\nSince nature makes them partial, should o’erhear\\r\\nThe speech of vantage. Fare you well, my liege,\\r\\nI’ll call upon you ere you go to bed,\\r\\nAnd tell you what I know.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nThanks, dear my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Polonius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nO, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven;\\r\\nIt hath the primal eldest curse upon’t,—\\r\\nA brother’s murder! Pray can I not,\\r\\nThough inclination be as sharp as will:\\r\\nMy stronger guilt defeats my strong intent,\\r\\nAnd, like a man to double business bound,\\r\\nI stand in pause where I shall first begin,\\r\\nAnd both neglect. What if this cursed hand\\r\\nWere thicker than itself with brother’s blood,\\r\\nIs there not rain enough in the sweet heavens\\r\\nTo wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy\\r\\nBut to confront the visage of offence?\\r\\nAnd what’s in prayer but this twofold force,\\r\\nTo be forestalled ere we come to fall,\\r\\nOr pardon’d being down? Then I’ll look up.\\r\\nMy fault is past. But O, what form of prayer\\r\\nCan serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder!\\r\\nThat cannot be; since I am still possess’d\\r\\nOf those effects for which I did the murder,—\\r\\nMy crown, mine own ambition, and my queen.\\r\\nMay one be pardon’d and retain th’offence?\\r\\nIn the corrupted currents of this world\\r\\nOffence’s gilded hand may shove by justice,\\r\\nAnd oft ’tis seen the wicked prize itself\\r\\nBuys out the law. But ’tis not so above;\\r\\nThere is no shuffling, there the action lies\\r\\nIn his true nature, and we ourselves compell’d\\r\\nEven to the teeth and forehead of our faults,\\r\\nTo give in evidence. What then? What rests?\\r\\nTry what repentance can. What can it not?\\r\\nYet what can it, when one cannot repent?\\r\\nO wretched state! O bosom black as death!\\r\\nO limed soul, that struggling to be free,\\r\\nArt more engag’d! Help, angels! Make assay:\\r\\nBow, stubborn knees; and heart with strings of steel,\\r\\nBe soft as sinews of the new-born babe.\\r\\nAll may be well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Retires and kneels._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hamlet.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNow might I do it pat, now he is praying.\\r\\nAnd now I’ll do’t. And so he goes to heaven;\\r\\nAnd so am I reveng’d. That would be scann’d:\\r\\nA villain kills my father, and for that\\r\\nI, his sole son, do this same villain send\\r\\nTo heaven. O, this is hire and salary, not revenge.\\r\\nHe took my father grossly, full of bread,\\r\\nWith all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May;\\r\\nAnd how his audit stands, who knows save heaven?\\r\\nBut in our circumstance and course of thought,\\r\\n’Tis heavy with him. And am I then reveng’d,\\r\\nTo take him in the purging of his soul,\\r\\nWhen he is fit and season’d for his passage? No.\\r\\nUp, sword, and know thou a more horrid hent:\\r\\nWhen he is drunk asleep; or in his rage,\\r\\nOr in th’incestuous pleasure of his bed,\\r\\nAt gaming, swearing; or about some act\\r\\nThat has no relish of salvation in’t,\\r\\nThen trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven,\\r\\nAnd that his soul may be as damn’d and black\\r\\nAs hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays.\\r\\nThis physic but prolongs thy sickly days.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n The King rises and advances.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nMy words fly up, my thoughts remain below.\\r\\nWords without thoughts never to heaven go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Another room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Queen and Polonius.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\nHe will come straight. Look you lay home to him,\\r\\nTell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with,\\r\\nAnd that your Grace hath screen’d and stood between\\r\\nMuch heat and him. I’ll silence me e’en here.\\r\\nPray you be round with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\n[_Within._] Mother, mother, mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nI’ll warrant you, Fear me not.\\r\\nWithdraw, I hear him coming.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Polonius goes behind the arras._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hamlet.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNow, mother, what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nHamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nMother, you have my father much offended.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nCome, come, you answer with an idle tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nGo, go, you question with a wicked tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nWhy, how now, Hamlet?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter now?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nHave you forgot me?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNo, by the rood, not so.\\r\\nYou are the Queen, your husband’s brother’s wife,\\r\\nAnd, would it were not so. You are my mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nNay, then I’ll set those to you that can speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nCome, come, and sit you down, you shall not budge.\\r\\nYou go not till I set you up a glass\\r\\nWhere you may see the inmost part of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nWhat wilt thou do? Thou wilt not murder me?\\r\\nHelp, help, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\n[_Behind._] What, ho! help, help, help!\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHow now? A rat? [_Draws._]\\r\\nDead for a ducat, dead!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Makes a pass through the arras._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLONIUS.\\r\\n[_Behind._] O, I am slain!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Falls and dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nO me, what hast thou done?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNay, I know not. is it the King?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Draws forth Polonius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nO what a rash and bloody deed is this!\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nA bloody deed. Almost as bad, good mother,\\r\\nAs kill a king and marry with his brother.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nAs kill a king?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAy, lady, ’twas my word.—\\r\\n[_To Polonius._] Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell!\\r\\nI took thee for thy better. Take thy fortune,\\r\\nThou find’st to be too busy is some danger.—\\r\\nLeave wringing of your hands. Peace, sit you down,\\r\\nAnd let me wring your heart, for so I shall,\\r\\nIf it be made of penetrable stuff;\\r\\nIf damned custom have not braz’d it so,\\r\\nThat it is proof and bulwark against sense.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nWhat have I done, that thou dar’st wag thy tongue\\r\\nIn noise so rude against me?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nSuch an act\\r\\nThat blurs the grace and blush of modesty,\\r\\nCalls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose\\r\\nFrom the fair forehead of an innocent love,\\r\\nAnd sets a blister there. Makes marriage vows\\r\\nAs false as dicers’ oaths. O such a deed\\r\\nAs from the body of contraction plucks\\r\\nThe very soul, and sweet religion makes\\r\\nA rhapsody of words. Heaven’s face doth glow,\\r\\nYea this solidity and compound mass,\\r\\nWith tristful visage, as against the doom,\\r\\nIs thought-sick at the act.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nAy me, what act,\\r\\nThat roars so loud, and thunders in the index?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nLook here upon this picture, and on this,\\r\\nThe counterfeit presentment of two brothers.\\r\\nSee what a grace was seated on this brow,\\r\\nHyperion’s curls, the front of Jove himself,\\r\\nAn eye like Mars, to threaten and command,\\r\\nA station like the herald Mercury\\r\\nNew lighted on a heaven-kissing hill:\\r\\nA combination and a form indeed,\\r\\nWhere every god did seem to set his seal,\\r\\nTo give the world assurance of a man.\\r\\nThis was your husband. Look you now what follows.\\r\\nHere is your husband, like a mildew’d ear\\r\\nBlasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?\\r\\nCould you on this fair mountain leave to feed,\\r\\nAnd batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes?\\r\\nYou cannot call it love; for at your age\\r\\nThe hey-day in the blood is tame, it’s humble,\\r\\nAnd waits upon the judgment: and what judgment\\r\\nWould step from this to this? Sense sure you have,\\r\\nElse could you not have motion; but sure that sense\\r\\nIs apoplex’d, for madness would not err\\r\\nNor sense to ecstacy was ne’er so thrall’d\\r\\nBut it reserv’d some quantity of choice\\r\\nTo serve in such a difference. What devil was’t\\r\\nThat thus hath cozen’d you at hoodman-blind?\\r\\nEyes without feeling, feeling without sight,\\r\\nEars without hands or eyes, smelling sans all,\\r\\nOr but a sickly part of one true sense\\r\\nCould not so mope. O shame! where is thy blush?\\r\\nRebellious hell,\\r\\nIf thou canst mutine in a matron’s bones,\\r\\nTo flaming youth let virtue be as wax,\\r\\nAnd melt in her own fire. Proclaim no shame\\r\\nWhen the compulsive ardour gives the charge,\\r\\nSince frost itself as actively doth burn,\\r\\nAnd reason panders will.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nO Hamlet, speak no more.\\r\\nThou turn’st mine eyes into my very soul,\\r\\nAnd there I see such black and grained spots\\r\\nAs will not leave their tinct.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNay, but to live\\r\\nIn the rank sweat of an enseamed bed,\\r\\nStew’d in corruption, honeying and making love\\r\\nOver the nasty sty.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nO speak to me no more;\\r\\nThese words like daggers enter in mine ears;\\r\\nNo more, sweet Hamlet.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nA murderer and a villain;\\r\\nA slave that is not twentieth part the tithe\\r\\nOf your precedent lord. A vice of kings,\\r\\nA cutpurse of the empire and the rule,\\r\\nThat from a shelf the precious diadem stole\\r\\nAnd put it in his pocket!\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nNo more.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nA king of shreds and patches!—\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ghost.\\r\\n\\r\\nSave me and hover o’er me with your wings,\\r\\nYou heavenly guards! What would your gracious figure?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nAlas, he’s mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nDo you not come your tardy son to chide,\\r\\nThat, laps’d in time and passion, lets go by\\r\\nThe important acting of your dread command?\\r\\nO say!\\r\\n\\r\\nGHOST.\\r\\nDo not forget. This visitation\\r\\nIs but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.\\r\\nBut look, amazement on thy mother sits.\\r\\nO step between her and her fighting soul.\\r\\nConceit in weakest bodies strongest works.\\r\\nSpeak to her, Hamlet.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHow is it with you, lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nAlas, how is’t with you,\\r\\nThat you do bend your eye on vacancy,\\r\\nAnd with the incorporal air do hold discourse?\\r\\nForth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep,\\r\\nAnd, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm,\\r\\nYour bedded hairs, like life in excrements,\\r\\nStart up and stand an end. O gentle son,\\r\\nUpon the heat and flame of thy distemper\\r\\nSprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nOn him, on him! Look you how pale he glares,\\r\\nHis form and cause conjoin’d, preaching to stones,\\r\\nWould make them capable.—Do not look upon me,\\r\\nLest with this piteous action you convert\\r\\nMy stern effects. Then what I have to do\\r\\nWill want true colour; tears perchance for blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nTo whom do you speak this?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nDo you see nothing there?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nNothing at all; yet all that is I see.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNor did you nothing hear?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nNo, nothing but ourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhy, look you there! look how it steals away!\\r\\nMy father, in his habit as he liv’d!\\r\\nLook where he goes even now out at the portal.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Ghost._]\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nThis is the very coinage of your brain.\\r\\nThis bodiless creation ecstasy\\r\\nIs very cunning in.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nEcstasy!\\r\\nMy pulse as yours doth temperately keep time,\\r\\nAnd makes as healthful music. It is not madness\\r\\nThat I have utter’d. Bring me to the test,\\r\\nAnd I the matter will re-word; which madness\\r\\nWould gambol from. Mother, for love of grace,\\r\\nLay not that flattering unction to your soul\\r\\nThat not your trespass, but my madness speaks.\\r\\nIt will but skin and film the ulcerous place,\\r\\nWhilst rank corruption, mining all within,\\r\\nInfects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven,\\r\\nRepent what’s past, avoid what is to come;\\r\\nAnd do not spread the compost on the weeds,\\r\\nTo make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue;\\r\\nFor in the fatness of these pursy times\\r\\nVirtue itself of vice must pardon beg,\\r\\nYea, curb and woo for leave to do him good.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nO Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nO throw away the worser part of it,\\r\\nAnd live the purer with the other half.\\r\\nGood night. But go not to mine uncle’s bed.\\r\\nAssume a virtue, if you have it not.\\r\\nThat monster custom, who all sense doth eat,\\r\\nOf habits evil, is angel yet in this,\\r\\nThat to the use of actions fair and good\\r\\nHe likewise gives a frock or livery\\r\\nThat aptly is put on. Refrain tonight,\\r\\nAnd that shall lend a kind of easiness\\r\\nTo the next abstinence. The next more easy;\\r\\nFor use almost can change the stamp of nature,\\r\\nAnd either curb the devil, or throw him out\\r\\nWith wondrous potency. Once more, good night,\\r\\nAnd when you are desirous to be bles’d,\\r\\nI’ll blessing beg of you. For this same lord\\r\\n[_Pointing to Polonius._]\\r\\nI do repent; but heaven hath pleas’d it so,\\r\\nTo punish me with this, and this with me,\\r\\nThat I must be their scourge and minister.\\r\\nI will bestow him, and will answer well\\r\\nThe death I gave him. So again, good night.\\r\\nI must be cruel, only to be kind:\\r\\nThus bad begins, and worse remains behind.\\r\\nOne word more, good lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nWhat shall I do?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNot this, by no means, that I bid you do:\\r\\nLet the bloat King tempt you again to bed,\\r\\nPinch wanton on your cheek, call you his mouse,\\r\\nAnd let him, for a pair of reechy kisses,\\r\\nOr paddling in your neck with his damn’d fingers,\\r\\nMake you to ravel all this matter out,\\r\\nThat I essentially am not in madness,\\r\\nBut mad in craft. ’Twere good you let him know,\\r\\nFor who that’s but a queen, fair, sober, wise,\\r\\nWould from a paddock, from a bat, a gib,\\r\\nSuch dear concernings hide? Who would do so?\\r\\nNo, in despite of sense and secrecy,\\r\\nUnpeg the basket on the house’s top,\\r\\nLet the birds fly, and like the famous ape,\\r\\nTo try conclusions, in the basket creep\\r\\nAnd break your own neck down.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nBe thou assur’d, if words be made of breath,\\r\\nAnd breath of life, I have no life to breathe\\r\\nWhat thou hast said to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI must to England, you know that?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nAlack,\\r\\nI had forgot. ’Tis so concluded on.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThere’s letters seal’d: and my two schoolfellows,\\r\\nWhom I will trust as I will adders fang’d,—\\r\\nThey bear the mandate, they must sweep my way\\r\\nAnd marshal me to knavery. Let it work;\\r\\nFor ’tis the sport to have the enginer\\r\\nHoist with his own petard, and ’t shall go hard\\r\\nBut I will delve one yard below their mines\\r\\nAnd blow them at the moon. O, ’tis most sweet,\\r\\nWhen in one line two crafts directly meet.\\r\\nThis man shall set me packing.\\r\\nI’ll lug the guts into the neighbour room.\\r\\nMother, good night. Indeed, this counsellor\\r\\nIs now most still, most secret, and most grave,\\r\\nWho was in life a foolish peating knave.\\r\\nCome, sir, to draw toward an end with you.\\r\\nGood night, mother.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Hamlet dragging out Polonius._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter King, Queen, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nThere’s matter in these sighs. These profound heaves\\r\\nYou must translate. ’tis fit we understand them.\\r\\nWhere is your son?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nBestow this place on us a little while.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_To Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, who go out._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAh, my good lord, what have I seen tonight!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nWhat, Gertrude? How does Hamlet?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nMad as the sea and wind, when both contend\\r\\nWhich is the mightier. In his lawless fit\\r\\nBehind the arras hearing something stir,\\r\\nWhips out his rapier, cries ‘A rat, a rat!’\\r\\nAnd in this brainish apprehension kills\\r\\nThe unseen good old man.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nO heavy deed!\\r\\nIt had been so with us, had we been there.\\r\\nHis liberty is full of threats to all;\\r\\nTo you yourself, to us, to everyone.\\r\\nAlas, how shall this bloody deed be answer’d?\\r\\nIt will be laid to us, whose providence\\r\\nShould have kept short, restrain’d, and out of haunt\\r\\nThis mad young man. But so much was our love\\r\\nWe would not understand what was most fit,\\r\\nBut like the owner of a foul disease,\\r\\nTo keep it from divulging, let it feed\\r\\nEven on the pith of life. Where is he gone?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nTo draw apart the body he hath kill’d,\\r\\nO’er whom his very madness, like some ore\\r\\nAmong a mineral of metals base,\\r\\nShows itself pure. He weeps for what is done.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nO Gertrude, come away!\\r\\nThe sun no sooner shall the mountains touch\\r\\nBut we will ship him hence, and this vile deed\\r\\nWe must with all our majesty and skill\\r\\nBoth countenance and excuse.—Ho, Guildenstern!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.\\r\\n\\r\\nFriends both, go join you with some further aid:\\r\\nHamlet in madness hath Polonius slain,\\r\\nAnd from his mother’s closet hath he dragg’d him.\\r\\nGo seek him out, speak fair, and bring the body\\r\\nInto the chapel. I pray you haste in this.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, Gertrude, we’ll call up our wisest friends,\\r\\nAnd let them know both what we mean to do\\r\\nAnd what’s untimely done, so haply slander,\\r\\nWhose whisper o’er the world’s diameter,\\r\\nAs level as the cannon to his blank,\\r\\nTransports his poison’d shot, may miss our name,\\r\\nAnd hit the woundless air. O, come away!\\r\\nMy soul is full of discord and dismay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hamlet.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nSafely stowed.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN.\\r\\n[_Within._] Hamlet! Lord Hamlet!\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhat noise? Who calls on Hamlet? O, here they come.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nWhat have you done, my lord, with the dead body?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nCompounded it with dust, whereto ’tis kin.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nTell us where ’tis, that we may take it thence,\\r\\nAnd bear it to the chapel.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nDo not believe it.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nBelieve what?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThat I can keep your counsel, and not mine own. Besides, to be demanded\\r\\nof a sponge—what replication should be made by the son of a king?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nTake you me for a sponge, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAy, sir; that soaks up the King’s countenance, his rewards, his\\r\\nauthorities. But such officers do the King best service in the end: he\\r\\nkeeps them, like an ape, in the corner of his jaw; first mouthed, to be\\r\\nlast swallowed: when he needs what you have gleaned, it is but\\r\\nsqueezing you, and, sponge, you shall be dry again.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nI understand you not, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI am glad of it. A knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nMy lord, you must tell us where the body is and go with us to the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThe body is with the King, but the King is not with the body. The King\\r\\nis a thing—\\r\\n\\r\\nGUILDENSTERN.\\r\\nA thing, my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nOf nothing. Bring me to him. Hide fox, and all after.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Another room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter King, attended.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nI have sent to seek him and to find the body.\\r\\nHow dangerous is it that this man goes loose!\\r\\nYet must not we put the strong law on him:\\r\\nHe’s lov’d of the distracted multitude,\\r\\nWho like not in their judgment, but their eyes;\\r\\nAnd where ’tis so, th’offender’s scourge is weigh’d,\\r\\nBut never the offence. To bear all smooth and even,\\r\\nThis sudden sending him away must seem\\r\\nDeliberate pause. Diseases desperate grown\\r\\nBy desperate appliance are reliev’d,\\r\\nOr not at all.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Rosencrantz.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now? What hath befall’n?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nWhere the dead body is bestow’d, my lord,\\r\\nWe cannot get from him.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nBut where is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nWithout, my lord, guarded, to know your pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nBring him before us.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nHo, Guildenstern! Bring in my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hamlet and Guildenstern.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nNow, Hamlet, where’s Polonius?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAt supper.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nAt supper? Where?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNot where he eats, but where he is eaten. A certain convocation of\\r\\npolitic worms are e’en at him. Your worm is your only emperor for diet.\\r\\nWe fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots.\\r\\nYour fat king and your lean beggar is but variable service,—two dishes,\\r\\nbut to one table. That’s the end.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nAlas, alas!\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nA man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the\\r\\nfish that hath fed of that worm.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nWhat dost thou mean by this?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNothing but to show you how a king may go a progress through the guts\\r\\nof a beggar.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nWhere is Polonius?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nIn heaven. Send thither to see. If your messenger find him not there,\\r\\nseek him i’ th’other place yourself. But indeed, if you find him not\\r\\nwithin this month, you shall nose him as you go up the stairs into the\\r\\nlobby.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\n[_To some Attendants._] Go seek him there.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHe will stay till you come.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nHamlet, this deed, for thine especial safety,—\\r\\nWhich we do tender, as we dearly grieve\\r\\nFor that which thou hast done,—must send thee hence\\r\\nWith fiery quickness. Therefore prepare thyself;\\r\\nThe bark is ready, and the wind at help,\\r\\nTh’associates tend, and everything is bent\\r\\nFor England.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nFor England?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nAy, Hamlet.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nGood.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nSo is it, if thou knew’st our purposes.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI see a cherub that sees them. But, come; for England! Farewell, dear\\r\\nmother.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nThy loving father, Hamlet.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nMy mother. Father and mother is man and wife; man and wife is one\\r\\nflesh; and so, my mother. Come, for England.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nFollow him at foot. Tempt him with speed aboard;\\r\\nDelay it not; I’ll have him hence tonight.\\r\\nAway, for everything is seal’d and done\\r\\nThat else leans on th’affair. Pray you make haste.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd England, if my love thou hold’st at aught,—\\r\\nAs my great power thereof may give thee sense,\\r\\nSince yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red\\r\\nAfter the Danish sword, and thy free awe\\r\\nPays homage to us,—thou mayst not coldly set\\r\\nOur sovereign process, which imports at full,\\r\\nBy letters conjuring to that effect,\\r\\nThe present death of Hamlet. Do it, England;\\r\\nFor like the hectic in my blood he rages,\\r\\nAnd thou must cure me. Till I know ’tis done,\\r\\nHowe’er my haps, my joys were ne’er begun.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A plain in Denmark.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fortinbras and Forces marching.\\r\\n\\r\\nFORTINBRAS.\\r\\nGo, Captain, from me greet the Danish king.\\r\\nTell him that by his license, Fortinbras\\r\\nCraves the conveyance of a promis’d march\\r\\nOver his kingdom. You know the rendezvous.\\r\\nIf that his Majesty would aught with us,\\r\\nWe shall express our duty in his eye;\\r\\nAnd let him know so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nI will do’t, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nFORTINBRAS.\\r\\nGo softly on.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but the Captain._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hamlet, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nGood sir, whose powers are these?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nThey are of Norway, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHow purpos’d, sir, I pray you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nAgainst some part of Poland.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWho commands them, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nThe nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nGoes it against the main of Poland, sir,\\r\\nOr for some frontier?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nTruly to speak, and with no addition,\\r\\nWe go to gain a little patch of ground\\r\\nThat hath in it no profit but the name.\\r\\nTo pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it;\\r\\nNor will it yield to Norway or the Pole\\r\\nA ranker rate, should it be sold in fee.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhy, then the Polack never will defend it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nYes, it is already garrison’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nTwo thousand souls and twenty thousand ducats\\r\\nWill not debate the question of this straw!\\r\\nThis is th’imposthume of much wealth and peace,\\r\\nThat inward breaks, and shows no cause without\\r\\nWhy the man dies. I humbly thank you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nGod b’ wi’ you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROSENCRANTZ.\\r\\nWill’t please you go, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI’ll be with you straight. Go a little before.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Hamlet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow all occasions do inform against me,\\r\\nAnd spur my dull revenge. What is a man\\r\\nIf his chief good and market of his time\\r\\nBe but to sleep and feed? A beast, no more.\\r\\nSure he that made us with such large discourse,\\r\\nLooking before and after, gave us not\\r\\nThat capability and godlike reason\\r\\nTo fust in us unus’d. Now whether it be\\r\\nBestial oblivion, or some craven scruple\\r\\nOf thinking too precisely on th’event,—\\r\\nA thought which, quarter’d, hath but one part wisdom\\r\\nAnd ever three parts coward,—I do not know\\r\\nWhy yet I live to say this thing’s to do,\\r\\nSith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means\\r\\nTo do’t. Examples gross as earth exhort me,\\r\\nWitness this army of such mass and charge,\\r\\nLed by a delicate and tender prince,\\r\\nWhose spirit, with divine ambition puff’d,\\r\\nMakes mouths at the invisible event,\\r\\nExposing what is mortal and unsure\\r\\nTo all that fortune, death, and danger dare,\\r\\nEven for an eggshell. Rightly to be great\\r\\nIs not to stir without great argument,\\r\\nBut greatly to find quarrel in a straw\\r\\nWhen honour’s at the stake. How stand I then,\\r\\nThat have a father kill’d, a mother stain’d,\\r\\nExcitements of my reason and my blood,\\r\\nAnd let all sleep, while to my shame I see\\r\\nThe imminent death of twenty thousand men\\r\\nThat, for a fantasy and trick of fame,\\r\\nGo to their graves like beds, fight for a plot\\r\\nWhereon the numbers cannot try the cause,\\r\\nWhich is not tomb enough and continent\\r\\nTo hide the slain? O, from this time forth,\\r\\nMy thoughts be bloody or be nothing worth.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Elsinore. A room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Queen, Horatio and a Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nI will not speak with her.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nShe is importunate, indeed distract.\\r\\nHer mood will needs be pitied.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nWhat would she have?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nShe speaks much of her father; says she hears\\r\\nThere’s tricks i’ th’ world, and hems, and beats her heart,\\r\\nSpurns enviously at straws, speaks things in doubt,\\r\\nThat carry but half sense. Her speech is nothing,\\r\\nYet the unshaped use of it doth move\\r\\nThe hearers to collection; they aim at it,\\r\\nAnd botch the words up fit to their own thoughts,\\r\\nWhich, as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield them,\\r\\nIndeed would make one think there might be thought,\\r\\nThough nothing sure, yet much unhappily.\\r\\n’Twere good she were spoken with, for she may strew\\r\\nDangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nLet her come in.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Gentleman._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTo my sick soul, as sin’s true nature is,\\r\\nEach toy seems prologue to some great amiss.\\r\\nSo full of artless jealousy is guilt,\\r\\nIt spills itself in fearing to be spilt.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ophelia.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nWhere is the beauteous Majesty of Denmark?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nHow now, Ophelia?\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n How should I your true love know\\r\\n From another one?\\r\\n By his cockle bat and staff\\r\\n And his sandal shoon.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nAlas, sweet lady, what imports this song?\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nSay you? Nay, pray you mark.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n He is dead and gone, lady,\\r\\n He is dead and gone,\\r\\n At his head a grass green turf,\\r\\n At his heels a stone.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nNay, but Ophelia—\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nPray you mark.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n White his shroud as the mountain snow.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter King.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nAlas, look here, my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n Larded all with sweet flowers;\\r\\n Which bewept to the grave did go\\r\\n With true-love showers.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nHow do you, pretty lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nWell, God dild you! They say the owl was a baker’s daughter. Lord, we\\r\\nknow what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at your table!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nConceit upon her father.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nPray you, let’s have no words of this; but when they ask you what it\\r\\nmeans, say you this:\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n Tomorrow is Saint Valentine’s day,\\r\\n All in the morning betime,\\r\\n And I a maid at your window,\\r\\n To be your Valentine.\\r\\n\\r\\n Then up he rose and donn’d his clothes,\\r\\n And dupp’d the chamber door,\\r\\n Let in the maid, that out a maid\\r\\n Never departed more.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nPretty Ophelia!\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nIndeed la, without an oath, I’ll make an end on’t.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n By Gis and by Saint Charity,\\r\\n Alack, and fie for shame!\\r\\n Young men will do’t if they come to’t;\\r\\n By Cock, they are to blame.\\r\\n\\r\\n Quoth she, before you tumbled me,\\r\\n You promis’d me to wed.\\r\\n So would I ha’ done, by yonder sun,\\r\\n An thou hadst not come to my bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nHow long hath she been thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nI hope all will be well. We must be patient. But I cannot choose but\\r\\nweep, to think they would lay him i’ th’ cold ground. My brother shall\\r\\nknow of it. And so I thank you for your good counsel. Come, my coach!\\r\\nGood night, ladies; good night, sweet ladies; good night, good night.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nFollow her close; give her good watch, I pray you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Horatio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nO, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs\\r\\nAll from her father’s death. O Gertrude, Gertrude,\\r\\nWhen sorrows come, they come not single spies,\\r\\nBut in battalions. First, her father slain;\\r\\nNext, your son gone; and he most violent author\\r\\nOf his own just remove; the people muddied,\\r\\nThick and and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers\\r\\nFor good Polonius’ death; and we have done but greenly\\r\\nIn hugger-mugger to inter him. Poor Ophelia\\r\\nDivided from herself and her fair judgment,\\r\\nWithout the which we are pictures or mere beasts.\\r\\nLast, and as much containing as all these,\\r\\nHer brother is in secret come from France,\\r\\nFeeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds,\\r\\nAnd wants not buzzers to infect his ear\\r\\nWith pestilent speeches of his father’s death,\\r\\nWherein necessity, of matter beggar’d,\\r\\nWill nothing stick our person to arraign\\r\\nIn ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this,\\r\\nLike to a murdering piece, in many places\\r\\nGives me superfluous death.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A noise within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nAlack, what noise is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nWhere are my Switzers? Let them guard the door.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat is the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nSave yourself, my lord.\\r\\nThe ocean, overpeering of his list,\\r\\nEats not the flats with more impetuous haste\\r\\nThan young Laertes, in a riotous head,\\r\\nO’erbears your offices. The rabble call him lord,\\r\\nAnd, as the world were now but to begin,\\r\\nAntiquity forgot, custom not known,\\r\\nThe ratifiers and props of every word,\\r\\nThey cry ‘Choose we! Laertes shall be king!’\\r\\nCaps, hands, and tongues applaud it to the clouds,\\r\\n‘Laertes shall be king, Laertes king.’\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nHow cheerfully on the false trail they cry.\\r\\nO, this is counter, you false Danish dogs.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A noise within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nThe doors are broke.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Laertes, armed; Danes following.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nWhere is this king?—Sirs, stand you all without.\\r\\n\\r\\nDanes.\\r\\nNo, let’s come in.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nI pray you, give me leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nDANES.\\r\\nWe will, we will.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They retire without the door._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nI thank you. Keep the door. O thou vile king,\\r\\nGive me my father.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nCalmly, good Laertes.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nThat drop of blood that’s calm proclaims me bastard;\\r\\nCries cuckold to my father, brands the harlot\\r\\nEven here between the chaste unsmirched brow\\r\\nOf my true mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nWhat is the cause, Laertes,\\r\\nThat thy rebellion looks so giant-like?—\\r\\nLet him go, Gertrude. Do not fear our person.\\r\\nThere’s such divinity doth hedge a king,\\r\\nThat treason can but peep to what it would,\\r\\nActs little of his will.—Tell me, Laertes,\\r\\nWhy thou art thus incens’d.—Let him go, Gertrude:—\\r\\nSpeak, man.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nWhere is my father?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nDead.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nBut not by him.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nLet him demand his fill.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nHow came he dead? I’ll not be juggled with.\\r\\nTo hell, allegiance! Vows, to the blackest devil!\\r\\nConscience and grace, to the profoundest pit!\\r\\nI dare damnation. To this point I stand,\\r\\nThat both the worlds, I give to negligence,\\r\\nLet come what comes; only I’ll be reveng’d\\r\\nMost throughly for my father.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nWho shall stay you?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nMy will, not all the world.\\r\\nAnd for my means, I’ll husband them so well,\\r\\nThey shall go far with little.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nGood Laertes,\\r\\nIf you desire to know the certainty\\r\\nOf your dear father’s death, is’t writ in your revenge\\r\\nThat, sweepstake, you will draw both friend and foe,\\r\\nWinner and loser?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nNone but his enemies.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nWill you know them then?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nTo his good friends thus wide I’ll ope my arms;\\r\\nAnd, like the kind life-rendering pelican,\\r\\nRepast them with my blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nWhy, now you speak\\r\\nLike a good child and a true gentleman.\\r\\nThat I am guiltless of your father’s death,\\r\\nAnd am most sensibly in grief for it,\\r\\nIt shall as level to your judgment ’pear\\r\\nAs day does to your eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nDANES.\\r\\n[_Within._] Let her come in.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nHow now! What noise is that?\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ophelia, fantastically dressed with straws and flowers.\\r\\n\\r\\nO heat, dry up my brains. Tears seven times salt,\\r\\nBurn out the sense and virtue of mine eye.\\r\\nBy heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight,\\r\\nTill our scale turn the beam. O rose of May!\\r\\nDear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia!\\r\\nO heavens, is’t possible a young maid’s wits\\r\\nShould be as mortal as an old man’s life?\\r\\nNature is fine in love, and where ’tis fine,\\r\\nIt sends some precious instance of itself\\r\\nAfter the thing it loves.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n They bore him barefac’d on the bier,\\r\\n Hey no nonny, nonny, hey nonny\\r\\n And on his grave rain’d many a tear.—\\r\\n Fare you well, my dove!\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nHadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge,\\r\\nIt could not move thus.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nYou must sing ‘Down a-down, and you call him a-down-a.’ O, how the\\r\\nwheel becomes it! It is the false steward that stole his master’s\\r\\ndaughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nThis nothing’s more than matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nThere’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray love, remember. And\\r\\nthere is pansies, that’s for thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nA document in madness, thoughts and remembrance fitted.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\nThere’s fennel for you, and columbines. There’s rue for you; and here’s\\r\\nsome for me. We may call it herb of grace o’ Sundays. O you must wear\\r\\nyour rue with a difference. There’s a daisy. I would give you some\\r\\nviolets, but they wither’d all when my father died. They say he made a\\r\\ngood end.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nThought and affliction, passion, hell itself\\r\\nShe turns to favour and to prettiness.\\r\\n\\r\\nOPHELIA.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n And will he not come again?\\r\\n And will he not come again?\\r\\n No, no, he is dead,\\r\\n Go to thy death-bed,\\r\\n He never will come again.\\r\\n\\r\\n His beard was as white as snow,\\r\\n All flaxen was his poll.\\r\\n He is gone, he is gone,\\r\\n And we cast away moan.\\r\\n God ha’ mercy on his soul.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd of all Christian souls, I pray God. God b’ wi’ ye.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nDo you see this, O God?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nLaertes, I must commune with your grief,\\r\\nOr you deny me right. Go but apart,\\r\\nMake choice of whom your wisest friends you will,\\r\\nAnd they shall hear and judge ’twixt you and me.\\r\\nIf by direct or by collateral hand\\r\\nThey find us touch’d, we will our kingdom give,\\r\\nOur crown, our life, and all that we call ours\\r\\nTo you in satisfaction; but if not,\\r\\nBe you content to lend your patience to us,\\r\\nAnd we shall jointly labour with your soul\\r\\nTo give it due content.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nLet this be so;\\r\\nHis means of death, his obscure burial,—\\r\\nNo trophy, sword, nor hatchment o’er his bones,\\r\\nNo noble rite, nor formal ostentation,—\\r\\nCry to be heard, as ’twere from heaven to earth,\\r\\nThat I must call’t in question.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nSo you shall.\\r\\nAnd where th’offence is let the great axe fall.\\r\\nI pray you go with me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Another room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Horatio and a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nWhat are they that would speak with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nSailors, sir. They say they have letters for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nLet them come in.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI do not know from what part of the world\\r\\nI should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sailors.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SAILOR.\\r\\nGod bless you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nLet him bless thee too.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SAILOR.\\r\\nHe shall, sir, and’t please him. There’s a letter for you, sir. It\\r\\ncomes from th’ambassador that was bound for England; if your name be\\r\\nHoratio, as I am let to know it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\n[_Reads._] ‘Horatio, when thou shalt have overlooked this, give these\\r\\nfellows some means to the King. They have letters for him. Ere we were\\r\\ntwo days old at sea, a pirate of very warlike appointment gave us\\r\\nchase. Finding ourselves too slow of sail, we put on a compelled\\r\\nvalour, and in the grapple I boarded them. On the instant they got\\r\\nclear of our ship, so I alone became their prisoner. They have dealt\\r\\nwith me like thieves of mercy. But they knew what they did; I am to do\\r\\na good turn for them. Let the King have the letters I have sent, and\\r\\nrepair thou to me with as much haste as thou wouldst fly death. I have\\r\\nwords to speak in thine ear will make thee dumb; yet are they much too\\r\\nlight for the bore of the matter. These good fellows will bring thee\\r\\nwhere I am. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern hold their course for England:\\r\\nof them I have much to tell thee. Farewell.\\r\\n He that thou knowest thine,\\r\\n HAMLET.’\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, I will give you way for these your letters,\\r\\nAnd do’t the speedier, that you may direct me\\r\\nTo him from whom you brought them.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. Another room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter King and Laertes.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nNow must your conscience my acquittance seal,\\r\\nAnd you must put me in your heart for friend,\\r\\nSith you have heard, and with a knowing ear,\\r\\nThat he which hath your noble father slain\\r\\nPursu’d my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nIt well appears. But tell me\\r\\nWhy you proceeded not against these feats,\\r\\nSo crimeful and so capital in nature,\\r\\nAs by your safety, wisdom, all things else,\\r\\nYou mainly were stirr’d up.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nO, for two special reasons,\\r\\nWhich may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew’d,\\r\\nBut yet to me they are strong. The Queen his mother\\r\\nLives almost by his looks; and for myself,—\\r\\nMy virtue or my plague, be it either which,—\\r\\nShe’s so conjunctive to my life and soul,\\r\\nThat, as the star moves not but in his sphere,\\r\\nI could not but by her. The other motive,\\r\\nWhy to a public count I might not go,\\r\\nIs the great love the general gender bear him,\\r\\nWho, dipping all his faults in their affection,\\r\\nWould like the spring that turneth wood to stone,\\r\\nConvert his gyves to graces; so that my arrows,\\r\\nToo slightly timber’d for so loud a wind,\\r\\nWould have reverted to my bow again,\\r\\nAnd not where I had aim’d them.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nAnd so have I a noble father lost,\\r\\nA sister driven into desperate terms,\\r\\nWhose worth, if praises may go back again,\\r\\nStood challenger on mount of all the age\\r\\nFor her perfections. But my revenge will come.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nBreak not your sleeps for that. You must not think\\r\\nThat we are made of stuff so flat and dull\\r\\nThat we can let our beard be shook with danger,\\r\\nAnd think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more.\\r\\nI lov’d your father, and we love ourself,\\r\\nAnd that, I hope, will teach you to imagine—\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now? What news?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nLetters, my lord, from Hamlet.\\r\\nThis to your Majesty; this to the Queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nFrom Hamlet! Who brought them?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nSailors, my lord, they say; I saw them not.\\r\\nThey were given me by Claudio. He receiv’d them\\r\\nOf him that brought them.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nLaertes, you shall hear them.\\r\\nLeave us.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Messenger._]\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Reads._] ‘High and mighty, you shall know I am set naked on your\\r\\nkingdom. Tomorrow shall I beg leave to see your kingly eyes. When I\\r\\nshall, first asking your pardon thereunto, recount the occasions of my\\r\\nsudden and more strange return.\\r\\n HAMLET.’\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat should this mean? Are all the rest come back?\\r\\nOr is it some abuse, and no such thing?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nKnow you the hand?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\n’Tis Hamlet’s character. ’Naked!’\\r\\nAnd in a postscript here he says ‘alone.’\\r\\nCan you advise me?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nI am lost in it, my lord. But let him come,\\r\\nIt warms the very sickness in my heart\\r\\nThat I shall live and tell him to his teeth,\\r\\n‘Thus diest thou.’\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nIf it be so, Laertes,—\\r\\nAs how should it be so? How otherwise?—\\r\\nWill you be rul’d by me?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nAy, my lord;\\r\\nSo you will not o’errule me to a peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nTo thine own peace. If he be now return’d,\\r\\nAs checking at his voyage, and that he means\\r\\nNo more to undertake it, I will work him\\r\\nTo exploit, now ripe in my device,\\r\\nUnder the which he shall not choose but fall;\\r\\nAnd for his death no wind shall breathe,\\r\\nBut even his mother shall uncharge the practice\\r\\nAnd call it accident.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nMy lord, I will be rul’d;\\r\\nThe rather if you could devise it so\\r\\nThat I might be the organ.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nIt falls right.\\r\\nYou have been talk’d of since your travel much,\\r\\nAnd that in Hamlet’s hearing, for a quality\\r\\nWherein they say you shine. Your sum of parts\\r\\nDid not together pluck such envy from him\\r\\nAs did that one, and that, in my regard,\\r\\nOf the unworthiest siege.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nWhat part is that, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nA very riband in the cap of youth,\\r\\nYet needful too, for youth no less becomes\\r\\nThe light and careless livery that it wears\\r\\nThan settled age his sables and his weeds,\\r\\nImporting health and graveness. Two months since\\r\\nHere was a gentleman of Normandy,—\\r\\nI’ve seen myself, and serv’d against, the French,\\r\\nAnd they can well on horseback, but this gallant\\r\\nHad witchcraft in’t. He grew unto his seat,\\r\\nAnd to such wondrous doing brought his horse,\\r\\nAs had he been incorps’d and demi-natur’d\\r\\nWith the brave beast. So far he topp’d my thought\\r\\nThat I in forgery of shapes and tricks,\\r\\nCome short of what he did.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nA Norman was’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nA Norman.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nUpon my life, Lamond.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nThe very same.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nI know him well. He is the brooch indeed\\r\\nAnd gem of all the nation.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nHe made confession of you,\\r\\nAnd gave you such a masterly report\\r\\nFor art and exercise in your defence,\\r\\nAnd for your rapier most especially,\\r\\nThat he cried out ’twould be a sight indeed\\r\\nIf one could match you. The scrimers of their nation\\r\\nHe swore had neither motion, guard, nor eye,\\r\\nIf you oppos’d them. Sir, this report of his\\r\\nDid Hamlet so envenom with his envy\\r\\nThat he could nothing do but wish and beg\\r\\nYour sudden coming o’er to play with him.\\r\\nNow, out of this,—\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nWhat out of this, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nLaertes, was your father dear to you?\\r\\nOr are you like the painting of a sorrow,\\r\\nA face without a heart?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nWhy ask you this?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nNot that I think you did not love your father,\\r\\nBut that I know love is begun by time,\\r\\nAnd that I see, in passages of proof,\\r\\nTime qualifies the spark and fire of it.\\r\\nThere lives within the very flame of love\\r\\nA kind of wick or snuff that will abate it;\\r\\nAnd nothing is at a like goodness still,\\r\\nFor goodness, growing to a pleurisy,\\r\\nDies in his own too much. That we would do,\\r\\nWe should do when we would; for this ‘would’ changes,\\r\\nAnd hath abatements and delays as many\\r\\nAs there are tongues, are hands, are accidents;\\r\\nAnd then this ‘should’ is like a spendthrift sigh\\r\\nThat hurts by easing. But to the quick o’ th’ulcer:\\r\\nHamlet comes back: what would you undertake\\r\\nTo show yourself your father’s son in deed,\\r\\nMore than in words?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nTo cut his throat i’ th’ church.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nNo place, indeed, should murder sanctuarize;\\r\\nRevenge should have no bounds. But good Laertes,\\r\\nWill you do this, keep close within your chamber.\\r\\nHamlet return’d shall know you are come home:\\r\\nWe’ll put on those shall praise your excellence,\\r\\nAnd set a double varnish on the fame\\r\\nThe Frenchman gave you, bring you in fine together\\r\\nAnd wager on your heads. He, being remiss,\\r\\nMost generous, and free from all contriving,\\r\\nWill not peruse the foils; so that with ease,\\r\\nOr with a little shuffling, you may choose\\r\\nA sword unbated, and in a pass of practice,\\r\\nRequite him for your father.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nI will do’t.\\r\\nAnd for that purpose I’ll anoint my sword.\\r\\nI bought an unction of a mountebank\\r\\nSo mortal that, but dip a knife in it,\\r\\nWhere it draws blood no cataplasm so rare,\\r\\nCollected from all simples that have virtue\\r\\nUnder the moon, can save the thing from death\\r\\nThis is but scratch’d withal. I’ll touch my point\\r\\nWith this contagion, that if I gall him slightly,\\r\\nIt may be death.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nLet’s further think of this,\\r\\nWeigh what convenience both of time and means\\r\\nMay fit us to our shape. If this should fail,\\r\\nAnd that our drift look through our bad performance.\\r\\n’Twere better not assay’d. Therefore this project\\r\\nShould have a back or second, that might hold\\r\\nIf this did blast in proof. Soft, let me see.\\r\\nWe’ll make a solemn wager on your cunnings,—\\r\\nI ha’t! When in your motion you are hot and dry,\\r\\nAs make your bouts more violent to that end,\\r\\nAnd that he calls for drink, I’ll have prepar’d him\\r\\nA chalice for the nonce; whereon but sipping,\\r\\nIf he by chance escape your venom’d stuck,\\r\\nOur purpose may hold there.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, sweet Queen?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nOne woe doth tread upon another’s heel,\\r\\nSo fast they follow. Your sister’s drown’d, Laertes.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nDrown’d! O, where?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nThere is a willow grows aslant a brook,\\r\\nThat shows his hoary leaves in the glassy stream.\\r\\nThere with fantastic garlands did she make\\r\\nOf crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,\\r\\nThat liberal shepherds give a grosser name,\\r\\nBut our cold maids do dead men’s fingers call them.\\r\\nThere on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds\\r\\nClamb’ring to hang, an envious sliver broke,\\r\\nWhen down her weedy trophies and herself\\r\\nFell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide,\\r\\nAnd mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up,\\r\\nWhich time she chaunted snatches of old tunes,\\r\\nAs one incapable of her own distress,\\r\\nOr like a creature native and indued\\r\\nUnto that element. But long it could not be\\r\\nTill that her garments, heavy with their drink,\\r\\nPull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay\\r\\nTo muddy death.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nAlas, then she is drown’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nDrown’d, drown’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nToo much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,\\r\\nAnd therefore I forbid my tears. But yet\\r\\nIt is our trick; nature her custom holds,\\r\\nLet shame say what it will. When these are gone,\\r\\nThe woman will be out. Adieu, my lord,\\r\\nI have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze,\\r\\nBut that this folly douts it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nLet’s follow, Gertrude;\\r\\nHow much I had to do to calm his rage!\\r\\nNow fear I this will give it start again;\\r\\nTherefore let’s follow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A churchyard.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two Clowns with spades, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nIs she to be buried in Christian burial, when she wilfully seeks her\\r\\nown salvation?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CLOWN.\\r\\nI tell thee she is, and therefore make her grave straight. The crowner\\r\\nhath sat on her, and finds it Christian burial.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nHow can that be, unless she drowned herself in her own defence?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, ’tis found so.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nIt must be _se offendendo_, it cannot be else. For here lies the point:\\r\\nif I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act: and an act hath three\\r\\nbranches. It is to act, to do, and to perform: argal, she drowned\\r\\nherself wittingly.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CLOWN.\\r\\nNay, but hear you, goodman delver,—\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nGive me leave. Here lies the water; good. Here stands the man; good. If\\r\\nthe man go to this water and drown himself, it is, will he nill he, he\\r\\ngoes,—mark you that. But if the water come to him and drown him, he\\r\\ndrowns not himself. Argal, he that is not guilty of his own death\\r\\nshortens not his own life.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CLOWN.\\r\\nBut is this law?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nAy, marry, is’t, crowner’s quest law.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CLOWN.\\r\\nWill you ha’ the truth on’t? If this had not been a gentlewoman, she\\r\\nshould have been buried out o’ Christian burial.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, there thou say’st. And the more pity that great folk should have\\r\\ncountenance in this world to drown or hang themselves more than their\\r\\neven Christian. Come, my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but\\r\\ngardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers: they hold up Adam’s profession.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CLOWN.\\r\\nWas he a gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nHe was the first that ever bore arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, he had none.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nWhat, art a heathen? How dost thou understand the Scripture? The\\r\\nScripture says Adam digg’d. Could he dig without arms? I’ll put another\\r\\nquestion to thee. If thou answerest me not to the purpose, confess\\r\\nthyself—\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CLOWN.\\r\\nGo to.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nWhat is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright,\\r\\nor the carpenter?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CLOWN.\\r\\nThe gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand tenants.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nI like thy wit well in good faith, the gallows does well. But how does\\r\\nit well? It does well to those that do ill. Now, thou dost ill to say\\r\\nthe gallows is built stronger than the church; argal, the gallows may\\r\\ndo well to thee. To’t again, come.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CLOWN.\\r\\nWho builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a carpenter?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nAy, tell me that, and unyoke.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CLOWN.\\r\\nMarry, now I can tell.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nTo’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CLOWN.\\r\\nMass, I cannot tell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hamlet and Horatio, at a distance.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nCudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull ass will not mend his\\r\\npace with beating; and when you are asked this question next, say ‘a\\r\\ngrave-maker’. The houses he makes last till doomsday. Go, get thee to\\r\\nYaughan; fetch me a stoup of liquor.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Second Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Digs and sings._]\\r\\n\\r\\n In youth when I did love, did love,\\r\\n Methought it was very sweet;\\r\\n To contract, O, the time for, a, my behove,\\r\\n O methought there was nothing meet.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHas this fellow no feeling of his business, that he sings at\\r\\ngrave-making?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nCustom hath made it in him a property of easiness.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\n’Tis e’en so; the hand of little employment hath the daintier sense.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n But age with his stealing steps\\r\\n Hath claw’d me in his clutch,\\r\\n And hath shipp’d me into the land,\\r\\n As if I had never been such.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Throws up a skull._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThat skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once. How the knave jowls\\r\\nit to th’ ground, as if ’twere Cain’s jawbone, that did the first\\r\\nmurder! This might be the pate of a politician which this ass now\\r\\no’er-offices, one that would circumvent God, might it not?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nIt might, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nOr of a courtier, which could say ‘Good morrow, sweet lord! How dost\\r\\nthou, good lord?’ This might be my lord such-a-one, that praised my\\r\\nlord such-a-one’s horse when he meant to beg it, might it not?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nAy, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhy, e’en so: and now my Lady Worm’s; chapless, and knocked about the\\r\\nmazard with a sexton’s spade. Here’s fine revolution, an we had the\\r\\ntrick to see’t. Did these bones cost no more the breeding but to play\\r\\nat loggets with ’em? Mine ache to think on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n A pickaxe and a spade, a spade,\\r\\n For and a shrouding-sheet;\\r\\n O, a pit of clay for to be made\\r\\n For such a guest is meet.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Throws up another skull._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThere’s another. Why may not that be the skull of a lawyer? Where be\\r\\nhis quiddits now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks?\\r\\nWhy does he suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the sconce\\r\\nwith a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his action of battery?\\r\\nHum. This fellow might be in’s time a great buyer of land, with his\\r\\nstatutes, his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, his\\r\\nrecoveries. Is this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his\\r\\nrecoveries, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt? Will his vouchers\\r\\nvouch him no more of his purchases, and double ones too, than the\\r\\nlength and breadth of a pair of indentures? The very conveyances of his\\r\\nlands will scarcely lie in this box; and must the inheritor himself\\r\\nhave no more, ha?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nNot a jot more, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nIs not parchment made of sheep-skins?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nAy, my lord, and of calf-skins too.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThey are sheep and calves which seek out assurance in that. I will\\r\\nspeak to this fellow.—Whose grave’s this, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nMine, sir.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n O, a pit of clay for to be made\\r\\n For such a guest is meet.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI think it be thine indeed, for thou liest in’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nYou lie out on’t, sir, and therefore ’tis not yours.\\r\\nFor my part, I do not lie in’t, yet it is mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThou dost lie in’t, to be in’t and say it is thine. ’Tis for the dead,\\r\\nnot for the quick; therefore thou liest.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\n’Tis a quick lie, sir; ’t will away again from me to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhat man dost thou dig it for?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nFor no man, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhat woman then?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nFor none neither.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWho is to be buried in’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nOne that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she’s dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHow absolute the knave is! We must speak by the card, or equivocation\\r\\nwill undo us. By the Lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken note\\r\\nof it, the age is grown so picked that the toe of the peasant comes so\\r\\nnear the heel of the courtier he galls his kibe.—How long hast thou\\r\\nbeen a grave-maker?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nOf all the days i’ th’ year, I came to’t that day that our last King\\r\\nHamlet o’ercame Fortinbras.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHow long is that since?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nCannot you tell that? Every fool can tell that. It was the very day\\r\\nthat young Hamlet was born,—he that is mad, and sent into England.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAy, marry, why was he sent into England?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, because he was mad; he shall recover his wits there; or if he do\\r\\nnot, it’s no great matter there.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhy?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\n’Twill not be seen in him there; there the men are as mad as he.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHow came he mad?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nVery strangely, they say.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHow strangely?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nFaith, e’en with losing his wits.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nUpon what ground?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, here in Denmark. I have been sexton here, man and boy, thirty\\r\\nyears.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHow long will a man lie i’ th’earth ere he rot?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nFaith, if he be not rotten before he die,—as we have many pocky corses\\r\\nnowadays that will scarce hold the laying in,—he will last you some\\r\\neight year or nine year. A tanner will last you nine year.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhy he more than another?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, sir, his hide is so tann’d with his trade that he will keep out\\r\\nwater a great while. And your water is a sore decayer of your whoreson\\r\\ndead body. Here’s a skull now; this skull hath lain in the earth\\r\\nthree-and-twenty years.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhose was it?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nA whoreson, mad fellow’s it was. Whose do you think it was?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNay, I know not.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nA pestilence on him for a mad rogue! A pour’d a flagon of Rhenish on my\\r\\nhead once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick’s skull, the King’s jester.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThis?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CLOWN.\\r\\nE’en that.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nLet me see. [_Takes the skull._] Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him,\\r\\nHoratio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath\\r\\nborne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my\\r\\nimagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I\\r\\nhave kiss’d I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols?\\r\\nyour songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table\\r\\non a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? Quite chop-fallen?\\r\\nNow get you to my lady’s chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch\\r\\nthick, to this favour she must come. Make her laugh at that.—Prythee,\\r\\nHoratio, tell me one thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nWhat’s that, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nDost thou think Alexander looked o’ this fashion i’ th’earth?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nE’en so.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAnd smelt so? Pah!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Throws down the skull._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nE’en so, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nTo what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may not imagination trace\\r\\nthe noble dust of Alexander till he find it stopping a bung-hole?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\n’Twere to consider too curiously to consider so.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNo, faith, not a jot. But to follow him thither with modesty enough,\\r\\nand likelihood to lead it; as thus. Alexander died, Alexander was\\r\\nburied, Alexander returneth into dust; the dust is earth; of earth we\\r\\nmake loam; and why of that loam whereto he was converted might they not\\r\\nstop a beer-barrel?\\r\\nImperious Caesar, dead and turn’d to clay,\\r\\nMight stop a hole to keep the wind away.\\r\\nO, that that earth which kept the world in awe\\r\\nShould patch a wall t’expel the winter’s flaw.\\r\\nBut soft! but soft! aside! Here comes the King.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter priests, &c, in procession; the corpse of Ophelia, Laertes and\\r\\n Mourners following; King, Queen, their Trains, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Queen, the courtiers. Who is that they follow?\\r\\nAnd with such maimed rites? This doth betoken\\r\\nThe corse they follow did with desperate hand\\r\\nFordo it own life. ’Twas of some estate.\\r\\nCouch we awhile and mark.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Retiring with Horatio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nWhat ceremony else?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThat is Laertes, a very noble youth. Mark.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nWhat ceremony else?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIEST.\\r\\nHer obsequies have been as far enlarg’d\\r\\nAs we have warranties. Her death was doubtful;\\r\\nAnd but that great command o’ersways the order,\\r\\nShe should in ground unsanctified have lodg’d\\r\\nTill the last trumpet. For charitable prayers,\\r\\nShards, flints, and pebbles should be thrown on her.\\r\\nYet here she is allowed her virgin rites,\\r\\nHer maiden strewments, and the bringing home\\r\\nOf bell and burial.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nMust there no more be done?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIEST.\\r\\nNo more be done.\\r\\nWe should profane the service of the dead\\r\\nTo sing sage requiem and such rest to her\\r\\nAs to peace-parted souls.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nLay her i’ th’earth,\\r\\nAnd from her fair and unpolluted flesh\\r\\nMay violets spring. I tell thee, churlish priest,\\r\\nA minist’ring angel shall my sister be\\r\\nWhen thou liest howling.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhat, the fair Ophelia?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\n[_Scattering flowers._] Sweets to the sweet. Farewell.\\r\\nI hop’d thou shouldst have been my Hamlet’s wife;\\r\\nI thought thy bride-bed to have deck’d, sweet maid,\\r\\nAnd not have strew’d thy grave.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nO, treble woe\\r\\nFall ten times treble on that cursed head\\r\\nWhose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense\\r\\nDepriv’d thee of. Hold off the earth a while,\\r\\nTill I have caught her once more in mine arms.\\r\\n[_Leaps into the grave._]\\r\\nNow pile your dust upon the quick and dead,\\r\\nTill of this flat a mountain you have made,\\r\\nTo o’ertop old Pelion or the skyish head\\r\\nOf blue Olympus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\n[_Advancing._]\\r\\nWhat is he whose grief\\r\\nBears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow\\r\\nConjures the wand’ring stars, and makes them stand\\r\\nLike wonder-wounded hearers? This is I,\\r\\nHamlet the Dane.\\r\\n[_Leaps into the grave._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\n[_Grappling with him._] The devil take thy soul!\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThou pray’st not well.\\r\\nI prythee take thy fingers from my throat;\\r\\nFor though I am not splenative and rash,\\r\\nYet have I in me something dangerous,\\r\\nWhich let thy wiseness fear. Away thy hand!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nPluck them asunder.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nHamlet! Hamlet!\\r\\n\\r\\nAll.\\r\\nGentlemen!\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nGood my lord, be quiet.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Attendants part them, and they come out of the grave._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhy, I will fight with him upon this theme\\r\\nUntil my eyelids will no longer wag.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nO my son, what theme?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI lov’d Ophelia; forty thousand brothers\\r\\nCould not, with all their quantity of love,\\r\\nMake up my sum. What wilt thou do for her?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nO, he is mad, Laertes.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nFor love of God forbear him!\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\n’Swounds, show me what thou’lt do:\\r\\nWoul’t weep? woul’t fight? woul’t fast? woul’t tear thyself?\\r\\nWoul’t drink up eisel? eat a crocodile?\\r\\nI’ll do’t. Dost thou come here to whine?\\r\\nTo outface me with leaping in her grave?\\r\\nBe buried quick with her, and so will I.\\r\\nAnd if thou prate of mountains, let them throw\\r\\nMillions of acres on us, till our ground,\\r\\nSingeing his pate against the burning zone,\\r\\nMake Ossa like a wart. Nay, an thou’lt mouth,\\r\\nI’ll rant as well as thou.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nThis is mere madness:\\r\\nAnd thus awhile the fit will work on him;\\r\\nAnon, as patient as the female dove,\\r\\nWhen that her golden couplets are disclos’d,\\r\\nHis silence will sit drooping.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHear you, sir;\\r\\nWhat is the reason that you use me thus?\\r\\nI lov’d you ever. But it is no matter.\\r\\nLet Hercules himself do what he may,\\r\\nThe cat will mew, and dog will have his day.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nI pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Horatio._]\\r\\n\\r\\n[_To Laertes_]\\r\\nStrengthen your patience in our last night’s speech;\\r\\nWe’ll put the matter to the present push.—\\r\\nGood Gertrude, set some watch over your son.\\r\\nThis grave shall have a living monument.\\r\\nAn hour of quiet shortly shall we see;\\r\\nTill then in patience our proceeding be.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A hall in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hamlet and Horatio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nSo much for this, sir. Now let me see the other;\\r\\nYou do remember all the circumstance?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nRemember it, my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nSir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting\\r\\nThat would not let me sleep. Methought I lay\\r\\nWorse than the mutinies in the bilboes. Rashly,\\r\\nAnd prais’d be rashness for it,—let us know,\\r\\nOur indiscretion sometime serves us well,\\r\\nWhen our deep plots do pall; and that should teach us\\r\\nThere’s a divinity that shapes our ends,\\r\\nRough-hew them how we will.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nThat is most certain.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nUp from my cabin,\\r\\nMy sea-gown scarf’d about me, in the dark\\r\\nGrop’d I to find out them; had my desire,\\r\\nFinger’d their packet, and in fine, withdrew\\r\\nTo mine own room again, making so bold,\\r\\nMy fears forgetting manners, to unseal\\r\\nTheir grand commission; where I found, Horatio,\\r\\nOh royal knavery! an exact command,\\r\\nLarded with many several sorts of reasons,\\r\\nImporting Denmark’s health, and England’s too,\\r\\nWith ho! such bugs and goblins in my life,\\r\\nThat on the supervise, no leisure bated,\\r\\nNo, not to stay the grinding of the axe,\\r\\nMy head should be struck off.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHere’s the commission, read it at more leisure.\\r\\nBut wilt thou hear me how I did proceed?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nI beseech you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nBeing thus benetted round with villanies,—\\r\\nOr I could make a prologue to my brains,\\r\\nThey had begun the play,—I sat me down,\\r\\nDevis’d a new commission, wrote it fair:\\r\\nI once did hold it, as our statists do,\\r\\nA baseness to write fair, and labour’d much\\r\\nHow to forget that learning; but, sir, now\\r\\nIt did me yeoman’s service. Wilt thou know\\r\\nThe effect of what I wrote?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nAy, good my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAn earnest conjuration from the King,\\r\\nAs England was his faithful tributary,\\r\\nAs love between them like the palm might flourish,\\r\\nAs peace should still her wheaten garland wear\\r\\nAnd stand a comma ’tween their amities,\\r\\nAnd many such-like ‘as’es of great charge,\\r\\nThat on the view and know of these contents,\\r\\nWithout debatement further, more or less,\\r\\nHe should the bearers put to sudden death,\\r\\nNot shriving-time allow’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nHow was this seal’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhy, even in that was heaven ordinant.\\r\\nI had my father’s signet in my purse,\\r\\nWhich was the model of that Danish seal:\\r\\nFolded the writ up in the form of the other,\\r\\nSubscrib’d it: gave’t th’impression; plac’d it safely,\\r\\nThe changeling never known. Now, the next day\\r\\nWas our sea-fight, and what to this was sequent\\r\\nThou know’st already.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nSo Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhy, man, they did make love to this employment.\\r\\nThey are not near my conscience; their defeat\\r\\nDoes by their own insinuation grow.\\r\\n’Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes\\r\\nBetween the pass and fell incensed points\\r\\nOf mighty opposites.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nWhy, what a king is this!\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nDoes it not, thinks’t thee, stand me now upon,—\\r\\nHe that hath kill’d my king, and whor’d my mother,\\r\\nPopp’d in between th’election and my hopes,\\r\\nThrown out his angle for my proper life,\\r\\nAnd with such cozenage—is’t not perfect conscience\\r\\nTo quit him with this arm? And is’t not to be damn’d\\r\\nTo let this canker of our nature come\\r\\nIn further evil?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nIt must be shortly known to him from England\\r\\nWhat is the issue of the business there.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nIt will be short. The interim is mine;\\r\\nAnd a man’s life’s no more than to say ‘One’.\\r\\nBut I am very sorry, good Horatio,\\r\\nThat to Laertes I forgot myself;\\r\\nFor by the image of my cause I see\\r\\nThe portraiture of his. I’ll court his favours.\\r\\nBut sure the bravery of his grief did put me\\r\\nInto a tow’ring passion.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nPeace, who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Osric.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nYour lordship is right welcome back to Denmark.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI humbly thank you, sir. Dost know this waterfly?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nNo, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThy state is the more gracious; for ’tis a vice to know him. He hath\\r\\nmuch land, and fertile; let a beast be lord of beasts, and his crib\\r\\nshall stand at the king’s mess; ’tis a chough; but, as I say, spacious\\r\\nin the possession of dirt.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nSweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure, I should impart a thing\\r\\nto you from his Majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI will receive it with all diligence of spirit. Put your bonnet to his\\r\\nright use; ’tis for the head.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nI thank your lordship, ’tis very hot.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNo, believe me, ’tis very cold, the wind is northerly.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nIt is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nMethinks it is very sultry and hot for my complexion.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nExceedingly, my lord; it is very sultry,—as ’twere—I cannot tell how.\\r\\nBut, my lord, his Majesty bade me signify to you that he has laid a\\r\\ngreat wager on your head. Sir, this is the matter,—\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI beseech you, remember,—\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Hamlet moves him to put on his hat._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nNay, in good faith; for mine ease, in good faith. Sir, here is newly\\r\\ncome to court Laertes; believe me, an absolute gentleman, full of most\\r\\nexcellent differences, of very soft society and great showing. Indeed,\\r\\nto speak feelingly of him, he is the card or calendar of gentry; for\\r\\nyou shall find in him the continent of what part a gentleman would see.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nSir, his definement suffers no perdition in you, though I know, to\\r\\ndivide him inventorially would dizzy th’arithmetic of memory, and yet\\r\\nbut yaw neither, in respect of his quick sail. But, in the verity of\\r\\nextolment, I take him to be a soul of great article and his infusion of\\r\\nsuch dearth and rareness as, to make true diction of him, his semblable\\r\\nis his mirror and who else would trace him his umbrage, nothing more.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nYour lordship speaks most infallibly of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThe concernancy, sir? Why do we wrap the gentleman in our more rawer\\r\\nbreath?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nSir?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nIs’t not possible to understand in another tongue? You will do’t, sir,\\r\\nreally.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhat imports the nomination of this gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nOf Laertes?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nHis purse is empty already, all’s golden words are spent.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nOf him, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nI know you are not ignorant,—\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI would you did, sir; yet in faith if you did, it would not much\\r\\napprove me. Well, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nYou are not ignorant of what excellence Laertes is,—\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI dare not confess that, lest I should compare with him in excellence;\\r\\nbut to know a man well were to know himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nI mean, sir, for his weapon; but in the imputation laid on him, by them\\r\\nin his meed he’s unfellowed.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhat’s his weapon?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nRapier and dagger.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThat’s two of his weapons. But well.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nThe King, sir, hath wager’d with him six Barbary horses, against the\\r\\nwhich he has imponed, as I take it, six French rapiers and poniards,\\r\\nwith their assigns, as girdle, hangers, and so. Three of the carriages,\\r\\nin faith, are very dear to fancy, very responsive to the hilts, most\\r\\ndelicate carriages, and of very liberal conceit.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nWhat call you the carriages?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nI knew you must be edified by the margin ere you had done.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nThe carriages, sir, are the hangers.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThe phrase would be more german to the matter if we could carry cannon\\r\\nby our sides. I would it might be hangers till then. But on. Six\\r\\nBarbary horses against six French swords, their assigns, and three\\r\\nliberal conceited carriages: that’s the French bet against the Danish.\\r\\nWhy is this all imponed, as you call it?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nThe King, sir, hath laid that in a dozen passes between you and him, he\\r\\nshall not exceed you three hits. He hath laid on twelve for nine. And\\r\\nit would come to immediate trial if your lordship would vouchsafe the\\r\\nanswer.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHow if I answer no?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nI mean, my lord, the opposition of your person in trial.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nSir, I will walk here in the hall. If it please his Majesty, it is the\\r\\nbreathing time of day with me. Let the foils be brought, the gentleman\\r\\nwilling, and the King hold his purpose, I will win for him if I can; if\\r\\nnot, I will gain nothing but my shame and the odd hits.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nShall I re-deliver you e’en so?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nTo this effect, sir; after what flourish your nature will.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nI commend my duty to your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nYours, yours.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Osric._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHe does well to commend it himself, there are no tongues else for’s\\r\\nturn.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nThis lapwing runs away with the shell on his head.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHe did comply with his dug before he suck’d it. Thus has he,—and many\\r\\nmore of the same bevy that I know the drossy age dotes on,— only got\\r\\nthe tune of the time and outward habit of encounter; a kind of yeasty\\r\\ncollection, which carries them through and through the most fanned and\\r\\nwinnowed opinions; and do but blow them to their trial, the bubbles are\\r\\nout,\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nMy lord, his Majesty commended him to you by young Osric, who brings\\r\\nback to him that you attend him in the hall. He sends to know if your\\r\\npleasure hold to play with Laertes or that you will take longer time.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI am constant to my purposes, they follow the King’s pleasure. If his\\r\\nfitness speaks, mine is ready. Now or whensoever, provided I be so able\\r\\nas now.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nThe King and Queen and all are coming down.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nIn happy time.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nThe Queen desires you to use some gentle entertainment to Laertes\\r\\nbefore you fall to play.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nShe well instructs me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lord._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nYou will lose this wager, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI do not think so. Since he went into France, I have been in continual\\r\\npractice. I shall win at the odds. But thou wouldst not think how ill\\r\\nall’s here about my heart: but it is no matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nNay, good my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nIt is but foolery; but it is such a kind of gain-giving as would\\r\\nperhaps trouble a woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nIf your mind dislike anything, obey it. I will forestall their repair\\r\\nhither, and say you are not fit.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNot a whit, we defy augury. There’s a special providence in the fall of\\r\\na sparrow. If it be now, ’tis not to come; if it be not to come, it\\r\\nwill be now; if it be not now, yet it will come. The readiness is all.\\r\\nSince no man has aught of what he leaves, what is’t to leave betimes?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter King, Queen, Laertes, Lords, Osric and Attendants with foils &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nCome, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The King puts Laertes’s hand into Hamlet’s._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nGive me your pardon, sir. I have done you wrong;\\r\\nBut pardon’t as you are a gentleman.\\r\\nThis presence knows, and you must needs have heard,\\r\\nHow I am punish’d with sore distraction.\\r\\nWhat I have done\\r\\nThat might your nature, honour, and exception\\r\\nRoughly awake, I here proclaim was madness.\\r\\nWas’t Hamlet wrong’d Laertes? Never Hamlet.\\r\\nIf Hamlet from himself be ta’en away,\\r\\nAnd when he’s not himself does wrong Laertes,\\r\\nThen Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it.\\r\\nWho does it, then? His madness. If’t be so,\\r\\nHamlet is of the faction that is wrong’d;\\r\\nHis madness is poor Hamlet’s enemy.\\r\\nSir, in this audience,\\r\\nLet my disclaiming from a purpos’d evil\\r\\nFree me so far in your most generous thoughts\\r\\nThat I have shot my arrow o’er the house\\r\\nAnd hurt my brother.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nI am satisfied in nature,\\r\\nWhose motive in this case should stir me most\\r\\nTo my revenge. But in my terms of honour\\r\\nI stand aloof, and will no reconcilement\\r\\nTill by some elder masters of known honour\\r\\nI have a voice and precedent of peace\\r\\nTo keep my name ungor’d. But till that time\\r\\nI do receive your offer’d love like love,\\r\\nAnd will not wrong it.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI embrace it freely,\\r\\nAnd will this brother’s wager frankly play.—\\r\\nGive us the foils; come on.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nCome, one for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI’ll be your foil, Laertes; in mine ignorance\\r\\nYour skill shall like a star i’ th’ darkest night,\\r\\nStick fiery off indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nYou mock me, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNo, by this hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nGive them the foils, young Osric. Cousin Hamlet,\\r\\nYou know the wager?\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nVery well, my lord.\\r\\nYour Grace has laid the odds o’ the weaker side.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nI do not fear it. I have seen you both;\\r\\nBut since he is better’d, we have therefore odds.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nThis is too heavy. Let me see another.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThis likes me well. These foils have all a length?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They prepare to play._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nAy, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nSet me the stoups of wine upon that table.\\r\\nIf Hamlet give the first or second hit,\\r\\nOr quit in answer of the third exchange,\\r\\nLet all the battlements their ordnance fire;\\r\\nThe King shall drink to Hamlet’s better breath,\\r\\nAnd in the cup an union shall he throw\\r\\nRicher than that which four successive kings\\r\\nIn Denmark’s crown have worn. Give me the cups;\\r\\nAnd let the kettle to the trumpet speak,\\r\\nThe trumpet to the cannoneer without,\\r\\nThe cannons to the heavens, the heavens to earth,\\r\\n‘Now the King drinks to Hamlet.’ Come, begin.\\r\\nAnd you, the judges, bear a wary eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nCome on, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nCome, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They play._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nOne.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nJudgment.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nA hit, a very palpable hit.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nWell; again.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nStay, give me drink. Hamlet, this pearl is thine;\\r\\nHere’s to thy health.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Trumpets sound, and cannon shot off within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGive him the cup.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI’ll play this bout first; set it by awhile.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They play._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome. Another hit; what say you?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nA touch, a touch, I do confess.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nOur son shall win.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nHe’s fat, and scant of breath.\\r\\nHere, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows.\\r\\nThe Queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nGood madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nGertrude, do not drink.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nI will, my lord; I pray you pardon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\n[_Aside._] It is the poison’d cup; it is too late.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nI dare not drink yet, madam. By and by.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nCome, let me wipe thy face.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nMy lord, I’ll hit him now.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nI do not think’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] And yet ’tis almost ’gainst my conscience.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nCome for the third, Laertes. You do but dally.\\r\\nI pray you pass with your best violence.\\r\\nI am afeard you make a wanton of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nSay you so? Come on.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They play._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nNothing neither way.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nHave at you now.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Laertes wounds Hamlet; then, in scuffling, they change rapiers, and\\r\\n Hamlet wounds Laertes._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nPart them; they are incens’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nNay, come again!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Queen falls._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nLook to the Queen there, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nThey bleed on both sides. How is it, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nHow is’t, Laertes?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nWhy, as a woodcock to my own springe, Osric.\\r\\nI am justly kill’d with mine own treachery.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHow does the Queen?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nShe swoons to see them bleed.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN.\\r\\nNo, no, the drink, the drink! O my dear Hamlet!\\r\\nThe drink, the drink! I am poison’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nO villany! Ho! Let the door be lock’d:\\r\\nTreachery! Seek it out.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Laertes falls._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nIt is here, Hamlet. Hamlet, thou art slain.\\r\\nNo medicine in the world can do thee good.\\r\\nIn thee there is not half an hour of life;\\r\\nThe treacherous instrument is in thy hand,\\r\\nUnbated and envenom’d. The foul practice\\r\\nHath turn’d itself on me. Lo, here I lie,\\r\\nNever to rise again. Thy mother’s poison’d.\\r\\nI can no more. The King, the King’s to blame.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nThe point envenom’d too!\\r\\nThen, venom, to thy work.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Stabs the King._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC and LORDS.\\r\\nTreason! treason!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nO yet defend me, friends. I am but hurt.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHere, thou incestuous, murderous, damned Dane,\\r\\nDrink off this potion. Is thy union here?\\r\\nFollow my mother.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_King dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLAERTES.\\r\\nHe is justly serv’d.\\r\\nIt is a poison temper’d by himself.\\r\\nExchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet.\\r\\nMine and my father’s death come not upon thee,\\r\\nNor thine on me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nHeaven make thee free of it! I follow thee.\\r\\nI am dead, Horatio. Wretched Queen, adieu.\\r\\nYou that look pale and tremble at this chance,\\r\\nThat are but mutes or audience to this act,\\r\\nHad I but time,—as this fell sergeant, death,\\r\\nIs strict in his arrest,—O, I could tell you,—\\r\\nBut let it be. Horatio, I am dead,\\r\\nThou liv’st; report me and my cause aright\\r\\nTo the unsatisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nNever believe it.\\r\\nI am more an antique Roman than a Dane.\\r\\nHere’s yet some liquor left.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nAs th’art a man,\\r\\nGive me the cup. Let go; by Heaven, I’ll have’t.\\r\\nO good Horatio, what a wounded name,\\r\\nThings standing thus unknown, shall live behind me.\\r\\nIf thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,\\r\\nAbsent thee from felicity awhile,\\r\\nAnd in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain,\\r\\nTo tell my story.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_March afar off, and shot within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat warlike noise is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSRIC.\\r\\nYoung Fortinbras, with conquest come from Poland,\\r\\nTo the ambassadors of England gives\\r\\nThis warlike volley.\\r\\n\\r\\nHAMLET.\\r\\nO, I die, Horatio.\\r\\nThe potent poison quite o’er-crows my spirit:\\r\\nI cannot live to hear the news from England,\\r\\nBut I do prophesy th’election lights\\r\\nOn Fortinbras. He has my dying voice.\\r\\nSo tell him, with the occurrents more and less,\\r\\nWhich have solicited. The rest is silence.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nNow cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince,\\r\\nAnd flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.\\r\\nWhy does the drum come hither?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_March within._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fortinbras, the English Ambassadors and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nFORTINBRAS.\\r\\nWhere is this sight?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nWhat is it you would see?\\r\\nIf aught of woe or wonder, cease your search.\\r\\n\\r\\nFORTINBRAS.\\r\\nThis quarry cries on havoc. O proud death,\\r\\nWhat feast is toward in thine eternal cell,\\r\\nThat thou so many princes at a shot\\r\\nSo bloodily hast struck?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST AMBASSADOR.\\r\\nThe sight is dismal;\\r\\nAnd our affairs from England come too late.\\r\\nThe ears are senseless that should give us hearing,\\r\\nTo tell him his commandment is fulfill’d,\\r\\nThat Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead.\\r\\nWhere should we have our thanks?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nNot from his mouth,\\r\\nHad it th’ability of life to thank you.\\r\\nHe never gave commandment for their death.\\r\\nBut since, so jump upon this bloody question,\\r\\nYou from the Polack wars, and you from England\\r\\nAre here arriv’d, give order that these bodies\\r\\nHigh on a stage be placed to the view,\\r\\nAnd let me speak to th’ yet unknowing world\\r\\nHow these things came about. So shall you hear\\r\\nOf carnal, bloody and unnatural acts,\\r\\nOf accidental judgments, casual slaughters,\\r\\nOf deaths put on by cunning and forc’d cause,\\r\\nAnd, in this upshot, purposes mistook\\r\\nFall’n on the inventors’ heads. All this can I\\r\\nTruly deliver.\\r\\n\\r\\nFORTINBRAS.\\r\\nLet us haste to hear it,\\r\\nAnd call the noblest to the audience.\\r\\nFor me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune.\\r\\nI have some rights of memory in this kingdom,\\r\\nWhich now to claim my vantage doth invite me.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORATIO.\\r\\nOf that I shall have also cause to speak,\\r\\nAnd from his mouth whose voice will draw on more.\\r\\nBut let this same be presently perform’d,\\r\\nEven while men’s minds are wild, lest more mischance\\r\\nOn plots and errors happen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFORTINBRAS.\\r\\nLet four captains\\r\\nBear Hamlet like a soldier to the stage,\\r\\nFor he was likely, had he been put on,\\r\\nTo have prov’d most royally; and for his passage,\\r\\nThe soldiers’ music and the rites of war\\r\\nSpeak loudly for him.\\r\\nTake up the bodies. Such a sight as this\\r\\nBecomes the field, but here shows much amiss.\\r\\nGo, bid the soldiers shoot.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A dead march._]\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt, bearing off the bodies, after which a peal of ordnance is\\r\\n shot off._]\\r\\n\\r\\n',\n", + " 'THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY the Fourth.\\r\\nHENRY, PRINCE of Wales, son to the King.\\r\\nPrince John of LANCASTER, son to the King.\\r\\nEarl of WESTMORELAND.\\r\\nSir Walter BLUNT.\\r\\nThomas Percy, Earl of WORCESTER.\\r\\nHenry Percy, Earl of NORTHUMBERLAND.\\r\\nHenry Percy, surnamed HOTSPUR, his son.\\r\\nEdmund MORTIMER, Earl of March.\\r\\nScroop, ARCHBISHOP of York.\\r\\nSIR MICHAEL, his Friend.\\r\\nArchibald, Earl of DOUGLAS.\\r\\nOwen GLENDOWER.\\r\\nSir Richard VERNON.\\r\\nSir John FALSTAFF.\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nGADSHILL.\\r\\nPETO.\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nLADY PERCY, Wife to Hotspur.\\r\\nLady Mortimer, Daughter to Glendower.\\r\\nMrs. Quickly, Hostess in Eastcheap.\\r\\nLords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers,\\r\\nCarriers, Travellers and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE. England and Wales.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. London. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter the King Henry, Westmoreland, Sir Walter Blunt, and others.]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nSo shaken as we are, so wan with care,\\r\\nFind we a time for frighted peace to pant,\\r\\nAnd breathe short-winded accents of new broils\\r\\nTo be commenced in strands afar remote.\\r\\nNo more the thirsty entrance of this soil\\r\\nShall daub her lips with her own children’s blood;\\r\\nNo more shall trenching war channel her fields,\\r\\nNor bruise her flowerets with the armed hoofs\\r\\nOf hostile paces: those opposed eyes,\\r\\nWhich, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,\\r\\nAll of one nature, of one substance bred,\\r\\nDid lately meet in the intestine shock\\r\\nAnd furious close of civil butchery,\\r\\nShall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks,\\r\\nMarch all one way, and be no more opposed\\r\\nAgainst acquaintance, kindred, and allies:\\r\\nThe edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,\\r\\nNo more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,\\r\\nAs far as to the sepulchre of Christ—\\r\\nWhose soldier now, under whose blessed cross\\r\\nWe are impressed and engaged to fight—\\r\\nForthwith a power of English shall we levy,\\r\\nTo chase these pagans in those holy fields\\r\\nOver whose acres walk’d those blessed feet\\r\\nWhich fourteen hundred years ago were nail’d\\r\\nFor our advantage on the bitter cross.\\r\\nBut this our purpose now is twelvemonth old,\\r\\nAnd bootless ’tis to tell you we will go:\\r\\nTherefore we meet not now.—Then let me hear\\r\\nOf you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,\\r\\nWhat yesternight our Council did decree\\r\\nIn forwarding this dear expedience.\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORELAND.\\r\\nMy liege, this haste was hot in question,\\r\\nAnd many limits of the charge set down\\r\\nBut yesternight; when, all athwart, there came\\r\\nA post from Wales loaden with heavy news;\\r\\nWhose worst was, that the noble Mortimer,\\r\\nLeading the men of Herefordshire to fight\\r\\nAgainst th’ irregular and wild Glendower,\\r\\nWas by the rude hands of that Welshman taken;\\r\\nA thousand of his people butchered,\\r\\nUpon whose dead corpse’ there was such misuse,\\r\\nSuch beastly, shameless transformation,\\r\\nBy those Welshwomen done, as may not be\\r\\nWithout much shame re-told or spoken of.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nIt seems, then, that the tidings of this broil\\r\\nBrake off our business for the Holy Land.\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORELAND.\\r\\nThis, match’d with other, did, my gracious lord;\\r\\nFor more uneven and unwelcome news\\r\\nCame from the North, and thus it did import:\\r\\nOn Holy-rood day the gallant Hotspur there,\\r\\nYoung Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,\\r\\nThat ever-valiant and approved Scot,\\r\\nAt Holmedon met;\\r\\nWhere they did spend a sad and bloody hour,\\r\\nAs by discharge of their artillery,\\r\\nAnd shape of likelihood, the news was told;\\r\\nFor he that brought them, in the very heat\\r\\nAnd pride of their contention did take horse,\\r\\nUncertain of the issue any way.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nHere is a dear and true-industrious friend,\\r\\nSir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse,\\r\\nStain’d with the variation of each soil\\r\\nBetwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours;\\r\\nAnd he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.\\r\\nThe Earl of Douglas is discomfited:\\r\\nTen thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights,\\r\\nBalk’d in their own blood, did Sir Walter see\\r\\nOn Holmedon’s plains: of prisoners, Hotspur took\\r\\nMordake the Earl of Fife and eldest son\\r\\nTo beaten Douglas; and the Earls of Athol,\\r\\nOf Murray, Angus, and Menteith.\\r\\nAnd is not this an honourable spoil,\\r\\nA gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not?\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORELAND.\\r\\nFaith, ’tis a conquest for a prince to boast of.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nYea, there thou makest me sad, and makest me sin\\r\\nIn envy that my Lord Northumberland\\r\\nShould be the father to so blest a son,—\\r\\nA son who is the theme of honour’s tongue;\\r\\nAmongst a grove, the very straightest plant;\\r\\nWho is sweet Fortune’s minion and her pride:\\r\\nWhilst I, by looking on the praise of him,\\r\\nSee riot and dishonour stain the brow\\r\\nOf my young Harry. O, that it could be proved\\r\\nThat some night-tripping fairy had exchanged\\r\\nIn cradle-clothes our children where they lay,\\r\\nAnd call’d mine Percy, his Plantagenet!\\r\\nThen would I have his Harry, and he mine:\\r\\nBut let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz,\\r\\nOf this young Percy’s pride? the prisoners,\\r\\nWhich he in this adventure hath surprised,\\r\\nTo his own use he keeps; and sends me word,\\r\\nI shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife.\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORELAND.\\r\\nThis is his uncle’s teaching, this is Worcester,\\r\\nMalevolent to you in all aspects;\\r\\nWhich makes him prune himself, and bristle up\\r\\nThe crest of youth against your dignity.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nBut I have sent for him to answer this;\\r\\nAnd for this cause awhile we must neglect\\r\\nOur holy purpose to Jerusalem.\\r\\nCousin, on Wednesday next our Council we\\r\\nWill hold at Windsor; so inform the lords:\\r\\nBut come yourself with speed to us again;\\r\\nFor more is to be said and to be done\\r\\nThan out of anger can be uttered.\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORELAND.\\r\\nI will, my liege.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. An Apartment of Prince Henry’s.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Prince Henry and Falstaff.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nNow, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee\\r\\nafter supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast\\r\\nforgotten to demand that truly which thou wouldst truly know. What a\\r\\ndevil hast thou to do with the time of the day? unless hours were cups\\r\\nof sack, and minutes capons, and the blessed Sun himself a fair hot\\r\\nwench in flame-coloured taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be\\r\\nso superfluous to demand the time of the day.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nIndeed, you come near me now, Hal; for we that take purses go by the\\r\\nMoon and the seven stars, and not by Phoebus,—he, that wandering knight\\r\\nso fair. And I pr’ythee, sweet wag, when thou art king,—as, God save\\r\\nthy Grace—Majesty I should say, for grace thou wilt have none,—\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhat, none?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nNo, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and\\r\\nbutter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWell, how then? come, roundly, roundly.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nMarry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us that are squires\\r\\nof the night’s body be called thieves of the day’s beauty: let us be\\r\\nDiana’s foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the Moon; and let\\r\\nmen say we be men of good government, being governed, as the sea is, by\\r\\nour noble and chaste mistress the Moon, under whose countenance we\\r\\nsteal.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThou say’st well, and it holds well too; for the fortune of us that are\\r\\nthe Moon’s men doth ebb and flow like the sea, being governed, as the\\r\\nsea is, by the Moon. As, for proof, now: A purse of gold most\\r\\nresolutely snatch’d on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on\\r\\nTuesday morning; got with swearing Lay by, and spent with crying Bring\\r\\nin; now ill as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder, and by-and-by in\\r\\nas high a flow as the ridge of the gallows.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nBy the Lord, thou say’st true, lad. And is not my hostess of the\\r\\ntavern a most sweet wench?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nAs the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a buff\\r\\njerkin a most sweet robe of durance?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nHow now, how now, mad wag! what, in thy quips and thy quiddities? what\\r\\na plague have I to do with a buff jerkin?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhy, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWell, thou hast call’d her to a reckoning many a time and oft.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nDid I ever call for thee to pay thy part?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nNo; I’ll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nYea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch; and where it would\\r\\nnot, I have used my credit.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nYea, and so used it, that, were it not here apparent that thou art\\r\\nheir-apparent—But I pr’ythee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows\\r\\nstanding in England when thou art king? and resolution thus fobb’d as\\r\\nit is with the rusty curb of old father antic the law? Do not thou,\\r\\nwhen thou art king, hang a thief.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nNo; thou shalt.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nShall I? O rare! By the Lord, I’ll be a brave judge.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThou judgest false already: I mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the\\r\\nthieves, and so become a rare hangman.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWell, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour; as well as\\r\\nwaiting in the Court, I can tell you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nFor obtaining of suits?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nYea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe.\\r\\n’Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib-cat or a lugg’d bear.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nOr an old lion, or a lover’s lute.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nYea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhat say’st thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor-ditch?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nThou hast the most unsavoury similes, and art, indeed, the most\\r\\ncomparative, rascalliest, sweet young prince,—But, Hal, I pr’ythee\\r\\ntrouble me no more with vanity. I would to God thou and I knew where a\\r\\ncommodity of good names were to be bought. An old lord of the Council\\r\\nrated me the other day in the street about you, sir,—but I mark’d him\\r\\nnot; and yet he talk’d very wisely,—but I regarded him not; and yet he\\r\\ntalk’d wisely, and in the street too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThou didst well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man\\r\\nregards it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nO, thou hast damnable iteration, and art, indeed, able to corrupt a\\r\\nsaint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal; God forgive thee for it!\\r\\nBefore I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now am I, if a man should\\r\\nspeak truly, little better than one of the wicked. I must give over\\r\\nthis life, and I will give it over; by the Lord, an I do not, I am a\\r\\nvillain: I’ll be damn’d for never a king’s son in Christendom.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhere shall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nZounds, where thou wilt, lad; I’ll make one: an I do not, call me\\r\\nvillain, and baffle me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nI see a good amendment of life in thee,—from praying to purse-taking.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWhy, Hal, ’tis my vocation, Hal; ’tis no sin for a man to labour in his\\r\\nvocation.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Poins.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nNow shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if men were to be\\r\\nsaved by merit, what hole in Hell were hot enough for him? This is the\\r\\nmost omnipotent villain that ever cried Stand! to a true man.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nGood morrow, Ned.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nGood morrow, sweet Hal.—What says Monsieur Remorse? what says Sir John\\r\\nSack-and-sugar? Jack, how agrees the Devil and thee about thy soul,\\r\\nthat thou soldest him on Good-Friday last for a cup of Madeira and a\\r\\ncold capon’s leg?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nSir John stands to his word,—the Devil shall have his bargain;\\r\\nfor he was never yet a breaker of proverbs,—he will give the\\r\\nDevil his due.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nThen art thou damn’d for keeping thy word with the Devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nElse he had been damn’d for cozening the Devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nBut, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o’clock, early at\\r\\nGads-hill! there are pilgrims gong to Canterbury with rich offerings,\\r\\nand traders riding to London with fat purses: I have visards for you\\r\\nall; you have horses for yourselves: Gadshill lies to-night in\\r\\nRochester: I have bespoke supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap: we may\\r\\ndo it as secure as sleep. If you will go, I will stuff your purses full\\r\\nof crowns; if you will not, tarry at home and be hang’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nHear ye, Yedward; if I tarry at home and go not, I’ll hang you for\\r\\ngoing.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nYou will, chops?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nHal, wilt thou make one?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWho, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nThere’s neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou\\r\\ncamest not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten\\r\\nshillings.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWell, then, once in my days I’ll be a madcap.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWhy, that’s well said.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWell, come what will, I’ll tarry at home.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nBy the Lord, I’ll be a traitor, then, when thou art king.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nI care not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nSir John, I pr’ythee, leave the Prince and me alone: I will lay him\\r\\ndown such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWell, God give thee the spirit of persuasion, and him the ears of\\r\\nprofiting, that what thou speakest may move, and what he hears may be\\r\\nbelieved, that the true Prince may, for recreation- sake, prove a false\\r\\nthief; for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell; you\\r\\nshall find me in Eastcheap.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nFarewell, thou latter Spring! farewell, All-hallown Summer!\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit Falstaff.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nNow, my good sweet honey-lord, ride with us to-morrow: I have a jest\\r\\nto execute that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and\\r\\nGadshill, shall rob those men that we have already waylaid: yourself\\r\\nand I will not be there; and when they have the booty, if you and I do\\r\\nnot rob them, cut this head off from my shoulders.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nBut how shall we part with them in setting forth?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nWhy, we will set forth before or after them, and appoint them a place\\r\\nof meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they\\r\\nadventure upon the exploit themselves; which they shall have no sooner\\r\\nachieved but we’ll set upon them.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nAy, but ’tis like that they will know us by our horses, by our habits,\\r\\nand by every other appointment, to be ourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nTut! our horses they shall not see,—I’ll tie them in the wood; our\\r\\nvisards we will change, after we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases\\r\\nof buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nBut I doubt they will be too hard for us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nWell, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever\\r\\nturn’d back; and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason,\\r\\nI’ll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the\\r\\nincomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell us when we\\r\\nmeet at supper: how thirty, at least, he fought with; what wards, what\\r\\nblows, what extremities he endured; and in the reproof of this lies the\\r\\njest.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWell, I’ll go with thee: provide us all things necessary and meet me\\r\\nto-night in Eastcheap; there I’ll sup. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nFarewell, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nI know you all, and will awhile uphold\\r\\nThe unyok’d humour of your idleness:\\r\\nYet herein will I imitate the Sun,\\r\\nWho doth permit the base contagious clouds\\r\\nTo smother-up his beauty from the world,\\r\\nThat, when he please again to be himself,\\r\\nBeing wanted, he may be more wonder’d at,\\r\\nBy breaking through the foul and ugly mists\\r\\nOf vapours that did seem to strangle him.\\r\\nIf all the year were playing holidays,\\r\\nTo sport would be as tedious as to work;\\r\\nBut, when they seldom come, they wish’d-for come,\\r\\nAnd nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.\\r\\nSo, when this loose behaviour I throw off,\\r\\nAnd pay the debt I never promised,\\r\\nBy how much better than my word I am,\\r\\nBy so much shall I falsify men’s hopes;\\r\\nAnd, like bright metal on a sullen ground,\\r\\nMy reformation, glittering o’er my fault,\\r\\nShall show more goodly and attract more eyes\\r\\nThan that which hath no foil to set it off.\\r\\nI’ll so offend, to make offence a skill;\\r\\nRedeeming time, when men think least I will.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The Same. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter King Henry, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur, Sir Walter\\r\\nBlunt, and others.]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nMy blood hath been too cold and temperate,\\r\\nUnapt to stir at these indignities,\\r\\nAnd you have found me; for, accordingly,\\r\\nYou tread upon my patience: but be sure\\r\\nI will from henceforth rather be myself,\\r\\nMighty and to be fear’d, than my condition,\\r\\nWhich hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down,\\r\\nAnd therefore lost that title of respect\\r\\nWhich the proud soul ne’er pays but to the proud.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nOur House, my sovereign liege, little deserves\\r\\nThe scourge of greatness to be used on it;\\r\\nAnd that same greatness too which our own hands\\r\\nHave holp to make so portly.\\r\\n\\r\\nNORTHUMBERLAND.\\r\\nMy good lord,—\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nWorcester, get thee gone; for I do see\\r\\nDanger and disobedience in thine eye:\\r\\nO, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory,\\r\\nAnd majesty might never yet endure\\r\\nThe moody frontier of a servant brow.\\r\\nYou have good leave to leave us: when we need\\r\\nYour use and counsel, we shall send for you.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit Worcester.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[To Northumberland.]\\r\\n\\r\\nYou were about to speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nNORTHUMBERLAND.\\r\\nYea, my good lord.\\r\\nThose prisoners in your Highness’ name demanded,\\r\\nWhich Harry Percy here at Holmedon took,\\r\\nWere, as he says, not with such strength denied\\r\\nAs is deliver’d to your Majesty:\\r\\nEither envy, therefore, or misprision\\r\\nIs guilty of this fault, and not my son.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nMy liege, I did deny no prisoners.\\r\\nBut, I remember, when the fight was done,\\r\\nWhen I was dry with rage and extreme toil,\\r\\nBreathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,\\r\\nCame there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress’d,\\r\\nFresh as a bridegroom; and his chin new reap’d\\r\\nShow’d like a stubble-land at harvest-home:\\r\\nHe was perfumed like a milliner;\\r\\nAnd ’twixt his finger and his thumb he held\\r\\nA pouncet-box, which ever and anon\\r\\nHe gave his nose, and took’t away again;\\r\\nWho therewith angry, when it next came there,\\r\\nTook it in snuff: and still he smiled and talk’d;\\r\\nAnd, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,\\r\\nHe call’d them untaught knaves, unmannerly,\\r\\nTo bring a slovenly unhandsome corse\\r\\nBetwixt the wind and his nobility.\\r\\nWith many holiday and lady terms\\r\\nHe question’d me; amongst the rest, demanded\\r\\nMy prisoners in your Majesty’s behalf.\\r\\nI then, all smarting with my wounds being cold,\\r\\nOut of my grief and my impatience\\r\\nTo be so pester’d with a popinjay,\\r\\nAnswer’d neglectingly, I know not what,—\\r\\nHe should, or he should not; for’t made me mad\\r\\nTo see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,\\r\\nAnd talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman\\r\\nOf guns and drums and wounds,—God save the mark!—\\r\\nAnd telling me the sovereign’st thing on Earth\\r\\nWas parmaceti for an inward bruise;\\r\\nAnd that it was great pity, so it was,\\r\\nThis villainous salt-petre should be digg’d\\r\\nOut of the bowels of the harmless earth,\\r\\nWhich many a good tall fellow had destroy’d\\r\\nSo cowardly; and, but for these vile guns,\\r\\nHe would himself have been a soldier.\\r\\nThis bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,\\r\\nI answered indirectly, as I said;\\r\\nAnd I beseech you, let not his report\\r\\nCome current for an accusation\\r\\nBetwixt my love and your high Majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nBLUNT.\\r\\nThe circumstance consider’d, good my lord,\\r\\nWhatever Harry Percy then had said\\r\\nTo such a person, and in such a place,\\r\\nAt such a time, with all the rest re-told,\\r\\nMay reasonably die, and never rise\\r\\nTo do him wrong, or any way impeach\\r\\nWhat then he said, so he unsay it now.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nWhy, yet he doth deny his prisoners,\\r\\nBut with proviso and exception,\\r\\nThat we at our own charge shall ransom straight\\r\\nHis brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer;\\r\\nWho, on my soul, hath wilfully betray’d\\r\\nThe lives of those that he did lead to fight\\r\\nAgainst that great magician, damn’d Glendower,\\r\\nWhose daughter, as we hear, the Earl of March\\r\\nHath lately married. Shall our coffers, then,\\r\\nBe emptied to redeem a traitor home?\\r\\nShall we buy treason? and indent with fears\\r\\nWhen they have lost and forfeited themselves?\\r\\nNo, on the barren mountains let him starve;\\r\\nFor I shall never hold that man my friend\\r\\nWhose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost\\r\\nTo ransom home revolted Mortimer.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nRevolted Mortimer!\\r\\nHe never did fall off, my sovereign liege,\\r\\nBut by the chance of war: to prove that true\\r\\nNeeds no more but one tongue for all those wounds,\\r\\nThose mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took,\\r\\nWhen on the gentle Severn’s sedgy bank,\\r\\nIn single opposition, hand to hand,\\r\\nHe did confound the best part of an hour\\r\\nIn changing hardiment with great Glendower.\\r\\nThree times they breathed, and three times did they drink,\\r\\nUpon agreement, of swift Severn’s flood;\\r\\nWho then, affrighted with their bloody looks,\\r\\nRan fearfully among the trembling reeds,\\r\\nAnd hid his crisp head in the hollow bank\\r\\nBlood-stained with these valiant combatants.\\r\\nNever did base and rotten policy\\r\\nColour her working with such deadly wounds;\\r\\nNor never could the noble Mortimer\\r\\nReceive so many, and all willingly:\\r\\nThen let not him be slander’d with revolt.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nThou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him;\\r\\nHe never did encounter with Glendower:\\r\\nI tell thee,\\r\\nHe durst as well have met the Devil alone\\r\\nAs Owen Glendower for an enemy.\\r\\nArt not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforth\\r\\nLet me not hear you speak of Mortimer:\\r\\nSend me your prisoners with the speediest means,\\r\\nOr you shall hear in such a kind from me\\r\\nAs will displease you.—My Lord Northumberland,\\r\\nWe license your departure with your son.—\\r\\nSend us your prisoners, or you’ll hear of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and train.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nAn if the Devil come and roar for them,\\r\\nI will not send them: I will after straight,\\r\\nAnd tell him so; for I will else my heart,\\r\\nAlthough it be with hazard of my head.\\r\\n\\r\\nNORTHUMBERLAND.\\r\\nWhat, drunk with choler? stay, and pause awhile:\\r\\nHere comes your uncle.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Re-enter Worcester.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nSpeak of Mortimer!\\r\\nZounds, I will speak of him; and let my soul\\r\\nWant mercy, if I do not join with him:\\r\\nYea, on his part I’ll empty all these veins,\\r\\nAnd shed my dear blood drop by drop i’ the dust,\\r\\nBut I will lift the down-trod Mortimer\\r\\nAs high i’ the air as this unthankful King,\\r\\nAs this ingrate and canker’d Bolingbroke.\\r\\n\\r\\nNORTH.\\r\\n[To Worcester.]\\r\\nBrother, the King hath made your nephew mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nWho struck this heat up after I was gone?\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nHe will, forsooth, have all my prisoners;\\r\\nAnd when I urged the ransom once again\\r\\nOf my wife’s brother, then his cheek look’d pale,\\r\\nAnd on my face he turn’d an eye of death,\\r\\nTrembling even at the name of Mortimer.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nI cannot blame him: was not he proclaim’d\\r\\nBy Richard that dead is the next of blood?\\r\\n\\r\\nNORTHUMBERLAND.\\r\\nHe was; I heard the proclamation:\\r\\nAnd then it was when the unhappy King—\\r\\nWhose wrongs in us God pardon!—did set forth\\r\\nUpon his Irish expedition;\\r\\nFrom whence he intercepted did return\\r\\nTo be deposed, and shortly murdered.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nAnd for whose death we in the world’s wide mouth\\r\\nLive scandalized and foully spoken of.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nBut, soft! I pray you; did King Richard then\\r\\nProclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer\\r\\nHeir to the crown?\\r\\n\\r\\nNORTHUMBERLAND.\\r\\nHe did; myself did hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nNay, then I cannot blame his cousin King,\\r\\nThat wish’d him on the barren mountains starve.\\r\\nBut shall it be, that you, that set the crown\\r\\nUpon the head of this forgetful man,\\r\\nAnd for his sake wear the detested blot\\r\\nOf murderous subornation,—shall it be,\\r\\nThat you a world of curses undergo,\\r\\nBeing the agents, or base second means,\\r\\nThe cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?—\\r\\nO, pardon me, that I descend so low,\\r\\nTo show the line and the predicament\\r\\nWherein you range under this subtle King;—\\r\\nShall it, for shame, be spoken in these days,\\r\\nOr fill up chronicles in time to come,\\r\\nThat men of your nobility and power\\r\\nDid gage them both in an unjust behalf,—\\r\\nAs both of you, God pardon it! have done,—\\r\\nTo put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose,\\r\\nAnd plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke?\\r\\nAnd shall it, in more shame, be further spoken,\\r\\nThat you are fool’d, discarded, and shook off\\r\\nBy him for whom these shames ye underwent?\\r\\nNo! yet time serves, wherein you may redeem\\r\\nYour banish’d honours, and restore yourselves\\r\\nInto the good thoughts of the world again;\\r\\nRevenge the jeering and disdain’d contempt\\r\\nOf this proud King, who studies day and night\\r\\nTo answer all the debt he owes to you\\r\\nEven with the bloody payment of your deaths:\\r\\nTherefore, I say,—\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nPeace, cousin, say no more:\\r\\nAnd now I will unclasp a secret book,\\r\\nAnd to your quick-conceiving discontent\\r\\nI’ll read you matter deep and dangerous;\\r\\nAs full of peril and adventurous spirit\\r\\nAs to o’er-walk a current roaring loud\\r\\nOn the unsteadfast footing of a spear.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nIf we fall in, good night, or sink or swim!\\r\\nSend danger from the east unto the west,\\r\\nSo honour cross it from the north to south,\\r\\nAnd let them grapple. O, the blood more stirs\\r\\nTo rouse a lion than to start a hare!\\r\\n\\r\\nNORTHUMBERLAND.\\r\\nImagination of some great exploit\\r\\nDrives him beyond the bounds of patience.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nBy Heaven, methinks it were an easy leap,\\r\\nTo pluck bright honour from the pale-faced Moon;\\r\\nOr dive into the bottom of the deep,\\r\\nWhere fathom-line could never touch the ground,\\r\\nAnd pluck up drowned honour by the locks;\\r\\nSo he that doth redeem her thence might wear\\r\\nWithout corrival all her dignities:\\r\\nBut out upon this half-faced fellowship!\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nHe apprehends a world of figures here,\\r\\nBut not the form of what he should attend.—\\r\\nGood cousin, give me audience for a while.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nI cry you mercy.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nThose same noble Scots\\r\\nThat are your prisoners,—\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nI’ll keep them all;\\r\\nBy God, he shall not have a Scot of them;\\r\\nNo, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not:\\r\\nI’ll keep them, by this hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nYou start away,\\r\\nAnd lend no ear unto my purposes.\\r\\nThose prisoners you shall keep;—\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nNay, I will; that’s flat.\\r\\nHe said he would not ransom Mortimer;\\r\\nForbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer;\\r\\nBut I will find him when he lies asleep,\\r\\nAnd in his ear I’ll holla Mortimer!\\r\\nNay,\\r\\nI’ll have a starling shall be taught to speak\\r\\nNothing but Mortimer, and give it him,\\r\\nTo keep his anger still in motion.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nHear you, cousin; a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nAll studies here I solemnly defy,\\r\\nSave how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke:\\r\\nAnd that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales,\\r\\nBut that I think his father loves him not,\\r\\nAnd would be glad he met with some mischance,\\r\\nI’d have him poison’d with a pot of ale.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nFarewell, kinsman: I will talk to you\\r\\nWhen you are better temper’d to attend.\\r\\n\\r\\nNORTHUMBERLAND.\\r\\nWhy, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool\\r\\nArt thou, to break into this woman’s mood,\\r\\nTying thine ear to no tongue but thine own!\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nWhy, look you, I am whipp’d and scourged with rods,\\r\\nNettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear\\r\\nOf this vile politician, Bolingbroke.\\r\\nIn Richard’s time,—what do you call the place?—\\r\\nA plague upon’t!—it is in Gioucestershire;—\\r\\n’Twas where the madcap Duke his uncle kept,\\r\\nHis uncle York;—where I first bow’d my knee\\r\\nUnto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke;—\\r\\nWhen you and he came back from Ravenspurg.\\r\\n\\r\\nNORTHUMBERLAND.\\r\\nAt Berkeley-castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nYou say true:—\\r\\nWhy, what a candy deal of courtesy\\r\\nThis fawning greyhound then did proffer me!\\r\\nLook, when his infant fortune came to age,\\r\\nAnd, Gentle Harry Percy, and kind cousin,—\\r\\nO, the Devil take such cozeners!—God forgive me!—\\r\\nGood uncle, tell your tale; for I have done.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nNay, if you have not, to’t again;\\r\\nWe’ll stay your leisure.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nI have done, i’faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nThen once more to your Scottish prisoners.\\r\\nDeliver them up without their ransom straight,\\r\\nAnd make the Douglas’ son your only mean\\r\\nFor powers in Scotland; which, for divers reasons\\r\\nWhich I shall send you written, be assured,\\r\\nWill easily be granted.—\\r\\n[To Northumberland.] You, my lord,\\r\\nYour son in Scotland being thus employ’d,\\r\\nShall secretly into the bosom creep\\r\\nOf that same noble prelate, well beloved,\\r\\nTh’ Archbishop.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nOf York, is’t not?\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nTrue; who bears hard\\r\\nHis brother’s death at Bristol, the Lord Scroop.\\r\\nI speak not this in estimation,\\r\\nAs what I think might be, but what I know\\r\\nIs ruminated, plotted, and set down,\\r\\nAnd only stays but to behold the face\\r\\nOf that occasion that shall bring it on.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nI smell’t: upon my life, it will do well.\\r\\n\\r\\nNORTHUMBERLAND.\\r\\nBefore the game’s a-foot, thou still lett’st slip.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nWhy, it cannot choose but be a noble plot:—\\r\\nAnd then the power of Scotland and of York\\r\\nTo join with Mortimer, ha?\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nAnd so they shall.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nIn faith, it is exceedingly well aim’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nAnd ’tis no little reason bids us speed,\\r\\nTo save our heads by raising of a head;\\r\\nFor, bear ourselves as even as we can,\\r\\nThe King will always think him in our debt,\\r\\nAnd think we think ourselves unsatisfied,\\r\\nTill he hath found a time to pay us home:\\r\\nAnd see already how he doth begin\\r\\nTo make us strangers to his looks of love.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nHe does, he does: we’ll be revenged on him.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nCousin, farewell: no further go in this\\r\\nThan I by letters shall direct your course.\\r\\nWhen time is ripe,— which will be suddenly,—\\r\\nI’ll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer;\\r\\nWhere you and Douglas, and our powers at once,\\r\\nAs I will fashion it, shall happily meet,\\r\\nTo bear our fortunes in our own strong arms,\\r\\nWhich now we hold at much uncertainty.\\r\\n\\r\\nNORTHUMBERLAND.\\r\\nFarewell, good brother: we shall thrive, I trust.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nUncle, adieu: O, let the hours be short,\\r\\nTill fields and blows and groans applaud our sport!\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Rochester. An Inn-Yard.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter a Carrier with a lantern in his hand.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CARRIER.\\r\\nHeigh-ho! an’t be not four by the day, I’ll be hang’d:\\r\\nCharles’ wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse’ not\\r\\npack’d.—What, ostler!\\r\\n\\r\\nOSTLER.\\r\\n[within.] Anon, anon.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CARRIER.\\r\\nI pr’ythee, Tom, beat Cut’s saddle, put a few flocks in the point; the\\r\\npoor jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter another Carrier.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CARRIER.\\r\\nPeas and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is the next way to\\r\\ngive poor jades the bots; this house is turned upside down since Robin\\r\\nostler died.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CARRIER.\\r\\nPoor fellow! never joyed since the price of oats rose; it was the death\\r\\nof him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CARRIER.\\r\\nI think this be the most villainous house in all London road for fleas:\\r\\n I am stung like a tench.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CARRIER.\\r\\nLike a tench! by the Mass, there is ne’er a king in Christendom could\\r\\nbe better bit than I have been since the first cock.—What,\\r\\n\\r\\nostler! come away and be hang’d; come away.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CARRIER.\\r\\nI have a gammon of bacon and two razes of ginger, to be delivered as\\r\\nfar as Charing-cross.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CARRIER.\\r\\n’Odsbody! the turkeys in my pannier are quite starved.—What, ostler! A\\r\\nplague on thee! hast thou never an eye in thy head? canst not hear? An\\r\\n’twere not as good a deed as drink to break the pate of thee, I am a\\r\\nvery villain. Come, and be hang’d: hast no faith in thee?\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Gadshill.]\\r\\n\\r\\nGADSHILL.\\r\\nGood morrow, carriers. What’s o’clock?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CARRIER.\\r\\nI think it be two o’clock.\\r\\n\\r\\nGADSHILL.\\r\\nI pr’ythee, lend me thy lantern, to see my gelding in the stable.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CARRIER.\\r\\nNay, soft, I pray ye; I know a trick worth two of that, i’faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nGADSHILL.\\r\\nI pr’ythee, lend me thine.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CARRIER.\\r\\nAy, when? canst tell? Lend me thy lantern, quoth a? marry, I’ll see\\r\\nthee hang’d first.\\r\\n\\r\\nGADSHILL.\\r\\nSirrah carrier, what time do you mean to come to London?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CARRIER.\\r\\nTime enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant thee.—\\r\\nCome, neighbour Muggs, we’ll call up the gentlemen: they will\\r\\nalong with company, for they have great charge.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt Carriers.]\\r\\n\\r\\nGADSHILL.\\r\\nWhat, ho! chamberlain!\\r\\n\\r\\nCHAMBERLAIN.\\r\\n[Within.] At hand, quoth pick-purse.\\r\\n\\r\\nGADSHILL.\\r\\nThat’s even as fair as—at hand, quoth the chamberlain; for thou variest\\r\\nno more from picking of purses than giving direction doth from\\r\\nlabouring; thou lay’st the plot how.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Chamberlain.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCHAMBERLAIN.\\r\\nGood morrow, Master Gadshill. It holds current that I told you\\r\\nyesternight: there’s a franklin in the wild of Kent hath brought three\\r\\nhundred marks with him in gold: I heard him tell it to one of his\\r\\ncompany last night at supper; a kind of auditor; one that hath\\r\\nabundance of charge too, God knows what. They are up already, and call\\r\\nfor eggs and butter; they will away presently.\\r\\n\\r\\nGADSHILL.\\r\\nSirrah, if they meet not with Saint Nicholas’ clerks, I’ll give thee\\r\\nthis neck.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHAMBERLAIN.\\r\\nNo, I’ll none of it: I pr’ythee, keep that for the hangman; for\\r\\nI know thou worshippest Saint Nicholas as truly as a man of\\r\\nfalsehood may.\\r\\n\\r\\nGADSHILL.\\r\\nWhat talkest thou to me of the hangman? if I hang, I’ll make a fat pair\\r\\nof gallows; for, if I hang, old Sir John hangs with me, and thou\\r\\nknow’st he is no starveling. Tut! there are other Trojans that thou\\r\\ndreamest not of, the which, for sport-sake, are content to do the\\r\\nprofession some grace; that would, if matters should be look’d into,\\r\\nfor their own credit-sake, make all whole. I am joined with no foot\\r\\nland-rakers, no long-staff sixpenny strikers, none of these mad\\r\\nmustachio purple-hued malt-worms; but with nobility and tranquillity,\\r\\nburgomasters and great oneyers; such as can hold in, such as will\\r\\nstrike sooner than speak, and speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner\\r\\nthan pray: and yet, zwounds, I lie; for they pray continually to their\\r\\nsaint, the Commonwealth; or, rather, not pray to her, but prey on her,\\r\\nfor they ride up and down on her, and make her their boots.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHAMBERLAIN.\\r\\nWhat, the Commonwealth their boots? will she hold out water in foul\\r\\nway?\\r\\n\\r\\nGADSHILL.\\r\\nShe will, she will; justice hath liquor’d her. We steal as in a castle,\\r\\ncock-sure; we have the receipt of fernseed,—we walk invisible.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHAMBERLAIN.\\r\\nNay, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to the night than to\\r\\nfern-seed for your walking invisible.\\r\\n\\r\\nGADSHILL.\\r\\nGive me thy hand: thou shalt have a share in our purchase, as\\r\\nI am a true man.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHAMBERLAIN.\\r\\nNay, rather let me have it, as you are a false thief.\\r\\n\\r\\nGADSHILL.\\r\\nGo to; homo is a common name to all men. Bid the ostler bring my\\r\\ngelding out of the stable. Farewell, you muddy knave.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The Road by Gads-hill.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Prince Henry and Poins; Bardolph and Peto at some distance.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nCome, shelter, shelter: I have remov’d Falstaff’s horse, and he frets\\r\\nlike a gumm’d velvet.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nStand close.\\r\\n\\r\\n[They retire.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Falstaff.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nPoins! Poins, and be hang’d! Poins!\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\n[Coming forward.]\\r\\nPeace, ye fat-kidney’d rascal! what a brawling dost thou keep!\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWhere’s Poins, Hal?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nHe is walk’d up to the top of the hill: I’ll go seek him.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Retires.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nI am accursed to rob in that thief’s company: the rascal hath removed\\r\\nmy horse, and tied him I know not where. If I travel but four foot by\\r\\nthe squire further a-foot, I shall break my wind. Well, I doubt not but\\r\\nto die a fair death for all this, if I ’scape hanging for killing that\\r\\nrogue. I have forsworn his company hourly any time this two-and-twenty\\r\\nyear, and yet I am bewitch’d with the rogue’s company. If the rascal\\r\\nhave not given me medicines to make me love him, I’ll be hang’d; it\\r\\ncould not be else: I have drunk medicines.— Poins!—Hal!—a plague upon\\r\\nyou both!—Bardolph!—Peto!—I’ll starve, ere I’ll rob a foot further. An\\r\\n’twere not as good a deed as drink, to turn true man, and to leave\\r\\nthese rogues, I am the veriest varlet that ever chewed with a tooth.\\r\\nEight yards of uneven ground is threescore and ten miles a-foot with\\r\\nme; and the stony-hearted villains know it well enough: a plague\\r\\nupon’t, when thieves cannot be true one to another! [They whistle.]\\r\\nWhew!—A plague upon you all! Give me my horse, you rogues; give me my\\r\\nhorse, and be hang’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\n[Coming forward.] Peace! lie down; lay thine ear close to the ground,\\r\\nand list if thou canst hear the tread of travellers.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nHave you any levers to lift me up again, being down? ’Sblood, I’ll not\\r\\nbear mine own flesh so far a-foot again for all the coin in thy\\r\\nfather’s exchequer. What a plague mean ye to colt me thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThou liest; thou art not colted, thou art uncolted.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nI pr’ythee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horse, good king’s son.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nOut, ye rogue! shall I be your ostler?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nGo, hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent garters! If I be ta’en,\\r\\nI’ll peach for this. An I have not ballads made on you all, and sung to\\r\\nfilthy tunes, let a cup of sack be my poison. When a jest is so\\r\\nforward, and a-foot too, I hate it.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Gadshill.]\\r\\n\\r\\nGADSHILL.\\r\\nStand!\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nSo I do, against my will.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nO, ’tis our setter: I know his voice.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Comes forward with Bardolph and Peto.]\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nWhat news?\\r\\n\\r\\nGADSHILL.\\r\\nCase ye, case ye; on with your visards: there’s money of the King’s\\r\\ncoming down the hill; ’tis going to the King’s exchequer.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nYou lie, ye rogue; ’tis going to the King’s tavern.\\r\\n\\r\\nGADSHILL.\\r\\nThere’s enough to make us all.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nTo be hang’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nSirs, you four shall front them in the narrow lane; Ned\\r\\nPoins and I will walk lower; if they ’scape from your\\r\\nencounter, then they light on us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETO.\\r\\nHow many be there of them?\\r\\n\\r\\nGADSHILL.\\r\\nSome eight or ten.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nZwounds, will they not rob us?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhat, a coward, Sir John Paunch?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nIndeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather; but yet no coward,\\r\\nHal.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWell, we leave that to the proof.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nSirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge: when thou need’st him,\\r\\nthere thou shalt find him. Farewell, and stand fast.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nNow cannot I strike him, if I should be hang’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\n[aside to POINTZ.] Ned, where are our disguises?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\n[aside to PRINCE HENRY.] Here, hard by: stand close.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt Prince and Poins.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nNow, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I: every man to his\\r\\nbusiness.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Travellers.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST TRAVELLER.\\r\\nCome, neighbour:\\r\\nThe boy shall lead our horses down the hill;\\r\\nWe’ll walk a-foot awhile and ease our legs.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF, GADSHILL., &C.\\r\\nStand!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND TRAVELLER.\\r\\nJesu bless us!\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nStrike; down with them; cut the villains’ throats. Ah, whoreson\\r\\ncaterpillars! bacon-fed knaves! they hate us youth: down with them;\\r\\nfleece them.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST TRAVELLER.\\r\\nO, we’re undone, both we and ours for ever!\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nHang ye, gorbellied knaves, are ye undone? No, ye fat chuffs; I would\\r\\nyour store were here! On, bacons on! What, ye knaves! young men must\\r\\nlive. You are grand-jurors, are ye? we’ll jure ye, i’faith.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt Fals., Gads., &c., driving the Travellers out.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Re-enter Prince Henry and Poins, in buckram suits.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThe thieves have bound the true men. Now, could thou and I rob the\\r\\nthieves, and go merrily to London, it would be argument for a week,\\r\\nlaughter for a month, and a good jest for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nStand close: I hear them coming.\\r\\n\\r\\n[They retire.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Re-enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nCome, my masters, let us share, and then to horse before day.\\r\\nAn the Prince and Poins be not two arrant cowards, there’s no\\r\\nequity stirring: there’s no more valour in that Poins than in a\\r\\n\\r\\nwild duck.\\r\\n\\r\\n[As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon them.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nYour money!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nVillains!\\r\\n\\r\\n[Falstaff, after a blow or two, and the others run away, leaving the\\r\\nbooty behind them.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nGot with much ease. Now merrily to horse:\\r\\nThe thieves are scatter’d, and possess’d with fear\\r\\nSo strongly that they dare not meet each other;\\r\\nEach takes his fellow for an officer.\\r\\nAway, good Ned. Fat Falstaff sweats to death,\\r\\nAnd lards the lean earth as he walks along:\\r\\nWere’t not for laughing, I should pity him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nHow the rogue roar’d!\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Warkworth. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Hotspur, reading a letter.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\n—But, for mine own part, my lord, I could be well contented to be\\r\\nthere, in respect of the love I bear your House.—He could be contented;\\r\\nwhy is he not, then? In respect of the love he bears our House!—he\\r\\nshows in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our house.\\r\\nLet me see some more. The purpose you undertake is dangerous;—Why,\\r\\nthat’s certain: ’tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink; but\\r\\nI tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this\\r\\nflower, safety. The purpose you undertake is dangerous; the friends you\\r\\nhave named uncertain; the time itself unsorted; and your whole plot too\\r\\nlight for the counterpoise of so great an opposition.— Say you so, say\\r\\nyou so? I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and\\r\\nyou lie. What a lack-brain is this! By the Lord, our plot is a good\\r\\nplot as ever was laid; our friends true and constant: a good plot, good\\r\\nfriends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot, very good friends.\\r\\nWhat a frosty-spirited rogue is this! Why, my Lord of York commends the\\r\\nplot and the general course of the action. Zwounds! an I were now by\\r\\nthis rascal, I could brain him with his lady’s fan. Is there not my\\r\\nfather, my uncle, and myself? Lord Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of York,\\r\\nand Owen Glendower? is there not, besides, the Douglas? have I not all\\r\\ntheir letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month? and\\r\\nare they not some of them set forward already? What a pagan rascal is\\r\\nthis! an infidel! Ha! you shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and\\r\\ncold heart, will he to the King, and lay open all our proceedings. O, I\\r\\ncould divide myself, and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of\\r\\nskimm’d milk with so honourable an action! Hang him! let him tell the\\r\\nKing: we are prepared. I will set forward to-night.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Lady Percy.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Kate! I must leave you within these two hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY PERCY.\\r\\nO, my good lord, why are you thus alone?\\r\\nFor what offence have I this fortnight been\\r\\nA banish’d woman from my Harry’s bed?\\r\\nTell me, sweet lord, what is’t that takes from thee\\r\\nThy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep?\\r\\nWhy dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth,\\r\\nAnd start so often when thou sitt’st alone?\\r\\nWhy hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks;\\r\\nAnd given my treasures and my rights of thee\\r\\nTo thick-eyed musing and curst melancholy?\\r\\nIn thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch’d,\\r\\nAnd heard thee murmur tales of iron wars;\\r\\nSpeak terms of manage to thy bounding steed;\\r\\nCry Courage! to the field! And thou hast talk’d\\r\\nOf sallies and retires, of trenches, tents,\\r\\nOf palisadoes, frontiers, parapets,\\r\\nOf basilisks, of cannon, culverin,\\r\\nOf prisoners ransomed, and of soldiers slain,\\r\\nAnd all the currents of a heady fight.\\r\\nThy spirit within thee hath been so at war,\\r\\nAnd thus hath so bestirr’d thee in thy sleep,\\r\\nThat beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow,\\r\\nLike bubbles in a late-disturbed stream;\\r\\nAnd in thy face strange motions have appear’d,\\r\\nSuch as we see when men restrain their breath\\r\\nOn some great sudden hest. O, what portents are these?\\r\\nSome heavy business hath my lord in hand,\\r\\nAnd I must know it, else he loves me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nWhat, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter a Servant.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIs Gilliams with the packet gone?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nHe is, my lord, an hour ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nHath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nOne horse, my lord, he brought even now.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nWhat horse? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nIt is, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nThat roan shall be my throne.\\r\\nWell, I will back him straight: O esperance!—\\r\\nBid Butler lead him forth into the park.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit Servant.]\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY PERCY.\\r\\nBut hear you, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nWhat say’st thou, my lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY PERCY.\\r\\nWhat is it carries you away?\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nWhy, my horse, my love, my horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY PERCY.\\r\\nOut, you mad-headed ape!\\r\\nA weasel hath not such a deal of spleen\\r\\nAs you are toss’d with. In faith,\\r\\nI’ll know your business, Harry, that I will.\\r\\nI fear my brother Mortimer doth stir\\r\\nAbout his title, and hath sent for you\\r\\nTo line his enterprise: but if you go,—\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nSo far a-foot, I shall be weary, love.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY PERCY.\\r\\nCome, come, you paraquito, answer me\\r\\nDirectly to this question that I ask:\\r\\nIn faith, I’ll break thy little finger, Harry,\\r\\nAn if thou wilt not tell me true.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nAway,\\r\\nAway, you trifler! Love? I love thee not,\\r\\nI care not for thee, Kate: this is no world\\r\\nTo play with mammets and to tilt with lips:\\r\\nWe must have bloody noses and crack’d crowns,\\r\\nAnd pass them current too.—Gods me, my horse!—\\r\\nWhat say’st thou, Kate? what wouldst thou have with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY PERCY.\\r\\nDo you not love me? do you not indeed?\\r\\nWell, do not, then; for, since you love me not,\\r\\nI will not love myself. Do you not love me?\\r\\nNay, tell me if you speak in jest or no.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nCome, wilt thou see me ride?\\r\\nAnd when I am o’ horseback, I will swear\\r\\nI love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate;\\r\\nI must not have you henceforth question me\\r\\nWhither I go, nor reason whereabout:\\r\\nWhither I must, I must; and, to conclude,\\r\\nThis evening must I leave you, gentle Kate.\\r\\nI know you wise; but yet no further wise\\r\\nThan Harry Percy’s wife; constant you are;\\r\\nBut yet a woman: and, for secrecy,\\r\\nNo lady closer; for I well believe\\r\\nThou wilt not utter what thou dost not know;\\r\\nAnd so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY PERCY.\\r\\nHow! so far?\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nNot an inch further. But hark you, Kate:\\r\\nWhither I go, thither shall you go too;\\r\\nTo-day will I set forth, to-morrow you.\\r\\nWill this content you, Kate?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY PERCY.\\r\\nIt must of force.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar’s-Head Tavern.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Prince Henry.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nNed, pr’ythee, come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh\\r\\na little.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Poins.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nWhere hast been, Hal?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWith three or four loggerheads amongst three or fourscore hogsheads. I\\r\\nhave sounded the very base-string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn\\r\\nbrother to a leash of drawers; and can call them all by their Christian\\r\\nnames, as, Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their\\r\\nsalvation, that though I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the king of\\r\\ncourtesy; and tell me flatly I am no proud Jack, like Falstaff, but a\\r\\ncorinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy,—by the Lord, so they call\\r\\nme;—and, when I am King of England, I shall command all the good lads\\r\\nin Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, dying scarlet; and, when you\\r\\nbreathe in your watering, they cry hem! and bid you play it off. To\\r\\nconclude, I am so good a proficient in one quarter of an hour, that I\\r\\ncan drink with any tinker in his own language during my life. I tell\\r\\nthee, Ned, thou hast lost much honour, that thou wert not with me in\\r\\nthis action. But, sweet Ned,—to sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee\\r\\nthis pennyworth of sugar, clapp’d even now into my hand by an\\r\\nunder-skinker; one that never spake other English in his life than\\r\\nEight shillings and sixpence, and You are welcome; with this shrill\\r\\naddition, Anon, anon, sir! Score a pint of bastard in the Half-moon,—or\\r\\nso. But, Ned, to drive away the time till Falstaff come, I pr’ythee,\\r\\ndo thou stand in some by-room, while I question my puny drawer to what\\r\\nend he gave me the sugar; and do thou never leave calling Francis! that\\r\\nhis tale to me may be nothing but Anon. Step aside, and I’ll show thee\\r\\na precedent.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit Poins.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\n[Within.] Francis!\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\n\\r\\nThou art perfect.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\n[Within.] Francis!\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Francis.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCIS.\\r\\nAnon, anon, sir.—Look down into the Pomegranate, Ralph.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nCome hither, Francis.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCIS.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nHow long hast thou to serve, Francis?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCIS.\\r\\nForsooth, five years, and as much as to—\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\n[within.] Francis!\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCIS.\\r\\nAnon, anon, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nFive year! by’r Lady, a long lease for the clinking of pewter. But,\\r\\nFrancis, darest thou be so valiant as to play the coward with thy\\r\\nindenture and show it a fair pair of heels and run from it?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCIS.\\r\\nO Lord, sir, I’ll be sworn upon all the books in England,\\r\\nI could find in my heart—\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\n[within.] Francis!\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCIS.\\r\\nAnon, anon, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nHow old art thou, Francis?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCIS.\\r\\nLet me see,—about Michaelmas next I shall be—\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\n[within.] Francis!\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCIS.\\r\\nAnon, sir.—Pray you, stay a little, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nNay, but hark you, Francis: for the sugar thou gavest me, ’twas a\\r\\npennyworth, was’t not?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCIS.\\r\\nO Lord, sir, I would it had been two!\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nI will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me when thou wilt, and\\r\\nthou shalt have it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\n[within.] Francis!\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCIS.\\r\\nAnon, anon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nAnon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, Francis; or,\\r\\nFrancis, a Thursday; or, indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But,\\r\\nFrancis,—\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCIS.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\n—wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystal-button, nott-pated,\\r\\nagate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue,\\r\\nSpanish-pouch,—\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCIS.\\r\\nO Lord, sir, who do you mean?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhy, then, your brown bastard is your only drink; for, look you,\\r\\nFrancis, your white canvas doublet will sully: in Barbary, sir, it\\r\\ncannot come to so much.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCIS.\\r\\nWhat, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\n[within.] Francis!\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nAway, you rogue! dost thou not hear them call?\\r\\n\\r\\n[Here they both call him; Francis stands amazed, not knowing which way\\r\\nto go.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Vintner.]\\r\\n\\r\\nVINTNER.\\r\\nWhat, stand’st thou still, and hear’st such a calling? Look to the\\r\\nguests within. [Exit Francis.]—My lord, old Sir John, with half-a-dozen\\r\\nmore, are at the door: shall I let them in?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nLet them alone awhile, and then open the door.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit Vintner.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPoins!\\r\\n\\r\\n[Re-enter Poins.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nAnon, anon, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nSirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the door: shall we\\r\\nbe merry?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nAs merry as crickets, my lad. But hark ye; what cunning match have you\\r\\nmade with this jest of the drawer? Come, what’s the issue?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nI am now of all humours that have showed themselves humours since the\\r\\nold days of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this present twelve\\r\\no’clock at midnight.—What’s o’clock, Francis?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCIS.\\r\\n[Within.] Anon, anon, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThat ever this fellow should have fewer words than a parrot, and yet\\r\\nthe son of a woman! His industry is up-stairs and down-stairs; his\\r\\neloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy’s mind, the\\r\\nHotspur of the North; he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots\\r\\nat a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, Fie upon this\\r\\nquiet life! I want work. O my sweet Harry, says she, how many hast thou\\r\\n kill’d to-day? Give my roan horse a drench, says he; and answers,\\r\\nSome fourteen, an hour after,—a trifle, a trifle. I pr’ythee, call in\\r\\nFalstaff: I’ll play Percy, and that damn’d brawn shall play Dame\\r\\nMortimer his wife. Rivo! says the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in\\r\\ntallow.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto; followed by\\r\\nFrancis with wine.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nWelcome, Jack: where hast thou been?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nA plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too! marry, and\\r\\namen!—\\r\\nGive me a cup of sack, boy.—Ere I lead this life long, I’ll sew\\r\\nnether-stocks, and mend them and foot them too. A plague of all\\r\\ncowards!—\\r\\nGive me a cup of sack, rogue.—Is there no virtue extant?\\r\\n\\r\\n[Drinks.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nDidst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter? pitiful-hearted\\r\\nbutter, that melted at the sweet tale of the Sun! if thou didst, then\\r\\nbehold that compound.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nYou rogue, here’s lime in this sack too: there is nothing but roguery\\r\\nto be found in villainous man: yet a coward is worse than a cup of\\r\\nsack with lime in it, a villanous coward.—Go thy ways, old Jack: die\\r\\nwhen thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face\\r\\nof the Earth, then am I a shotten herring. There live not three good\\r\\nmen unhang’d in England; and one of them is fat, and grows old: God\\r\\nhelp the while! a bad world, I say. I would I were a weaver; I could\\r\\nsing psalms or any thing. A plague of all cowards! I say still.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nHow now, wool-sack? what mutter you?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nA king’s son! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom with a dagger of\\r\\nlath, and drive all thy subjects afore thee like a flock of wild-geese,\\r\\nI’ll never wear hair on my face more. You Prince of Wales!\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhy, you whoreson round man, what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nAre not you a coward? answer me to that:—and Poins there?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nZwounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, by the Lord, I’ll stab\\r\\nthee.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nI call thee coward! I’ll see thee damn’d ere I call thee coward: but I\\r\\nwould give a thousand pound, I could run as fast as thou canst. You are\\r\\nstraight enough in the shoulders; you care not who sees your back:\\r\\ncall you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing! give\\r\\nme them that will face me.—Give me a cup of sack: I am a rogue, if I\\r\\ndrunk to-day.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nO villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunk’st last.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nAll is one for that. A plague of all cowards! still say I.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Drinks.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter? there be four of us here have ta’en a thousand pound\\r\\nthis day morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhere is it, Jack? where is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWhere is it! taken from us it is: a hundred upon poor four of us!\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhat, a hundred, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nI am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of them two\\r\\nhours together. I have ’scaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust\\r\\nthrough the doublet, four through the hose; my buckler cut through and\\r\\nthrough; my sword hack’d like a hand-saw,—ecce signum! I never dealt\\r\\nbetter since I was a man: all would not do. A plague of all cowards!\\r\\nLet them speak: if they speak more or less than truth, they are\\r\\nvillains and the sons of darkness.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nSpeak, sirs; how was it?\\r\\n\\r\\nGADSHILL.\\r\\nWe four set upon some dozen,—\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nSixteen at least, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nGADSHILL.\\r\\n—and bound them.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETO.\\r\\nNo, no; they were not bound.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nYou rogue, they were bound, every man of them; or I am a Jew else, an\\r\\nEbrew Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\nGADSHILL.\\r\\nAs we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men sea upon us,—\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nAnd unbound the rest, and then come in the other.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhat, fought you with them all?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nAll? I know not what you call all; but if I fought not with fifty of\\r\\nthem, I am a bunch of radish: if there were not two or three and fifty\\r\\nupon poor old Jack, then am I no two-legged creature.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nPray God you have not murdered some of them.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nNay, that’s past praying for: I have pepper’d two of them; two I\\r\\nam sure I have paid, two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee what,\\r\\nHal, if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse.\\r\\nThou knowest my old ward: here I lay, and thus I bore my point.\\r\\nFour rogues in buckram let drive at me,—\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhat, four? thou saidst but two even now.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nFour, Hal; I told thee four.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nAy, ay, he said four.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nThese four came all a-front, and mainly thrust at me. I made me no more\\r\\nado but took all their seven points in my target, thus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nSeven? why, there were but four even now.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nIn buckram?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nAy, four, in buckram suits.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nSeven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\n[aside to Poins.] Pr’ythee let him alone; we shall have more anon.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nDost thou hear me, Hal?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nAy, and mark thee too, Jack.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nDo so, for it is worth the listening to. These nine in buckram that I\\r\\ntold thee of,—\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nSo, two more already.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\n—their points being broken,—\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nDown fell their hose.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\n—began to give me ground: but I followed me close, came in foot and\\r\\nhand; and with a thought seven of the eleven I paid.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nO monstrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two!\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nBut, as the Devil would have it, three misbegotten knaves in Kendal\\r\\nGreen came at my back and let drive at me; for it was so dark, Hal,\\r\\nthat thou couldst not see thy hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThese lies are like the father that begets them, gross as a mountain,\\r\\nopen, palpable. Why, thou nott-pated fool, thou whoreson, obscene\\r\\ngreasy tallow-keech,—\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWhat, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth the truth?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhy, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal green, when it was so\\r\\ndark thou couldst not see thy hand? come, tell us your reason: what\\r\\nsayest thou to this?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nCome, your reason, Jack, your reason.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWhat, upon compulsion? No; were I at the strappado, or all the racks in\\r\\nthe world, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on\\r\\ncompulsion! if reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give\\r\\nno man a reason upon compulsion, I.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nI’ll be no longer guilty of this sin; this sanguine coward, this\\r\\nbed-presser, this horse-back-breaker, this huge hill of flesh,—\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nAway, you starveling, you eel-skin, you dried neat’s-tongue, you\\r\\nstock-fish,—\\r\\nO, for breath to utter what is like thee!—you tailor’s-yard, you\\r\\nsheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck,—\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWell, breathe awhile, and then to it again: and, when thou hast tired\\r\\nthyself in base comparisons, hear me speak but this:—\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nMark, Jack.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\n—We two saw you four set on four; you bound them, and were masters of\\r\\ntheir wealth.—Mark now, how a plain tale shall put you down.— Then did\\r\\nwe two set on you four; and, with a word, outfaced you from your prize,\\r\\nand have it; yea, and can show it you here in the house: and, Falstaff,\\r\\nyou carried yourself away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and\\r\\nroared for mercy, and still ran and roar’d, as ever I heard bull-calf.\\r\\nWhat a slave art thou, to hack thy sword as thou hast done, and then\\r\\nsay it was in fight! What trick, what device, what starting-hole canst\\r\\nthou now find out to hide thee from this open and apparent shame?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nCome, let’s hear, Jack; what trick hast thou now?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nBy the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that made ye. Why, hear ye, my\\r\\nmasters: Was it for me to kill the heir-apparent? should I turn upon\\r\\nthe true Prince? why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules: but\\r\\nbeware instinct; the lion will not touch the true Prince. Instinct is a\\r\\ngreat matter; I was now a coward on instinct. I shall think the better\\r\\nof myself and thee during my life; I for a valiant lion, and thou for a\\r\\ntrue prince. But, by the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the money.—\\r\\n[To Hostess within.] Hostess, clap-to the doors: watch to-night, pray\\r\\nto-morrow.—Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of good\\r\\nfellowship come to you! What, shall we be merry? shall we have a play\\r\\nextempore?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nContent; and the argument shall be thy running away.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nAh, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me!\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter the Hostess.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nO Jesu, my lord the Prince,—\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nHow now, my lady the hostess! What say’st thou to me?\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nMarry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the Court at door would speak\\r\\nwith you: he says he comes from your father.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nGive him as much as will make him a royal man, and send him back again\\r\\nto my mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWhat manner of man is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nAn old man.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWhat doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall I give him his\\r\\nanswer?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nPr’ythee, do, Jack.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nFaith, and I’ll send him packing.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nNow, sirs:—by’r Lady, you fought fair;—so did you, Peto;—so did you,\\r\\nBardolph: you are lions, too, you ran away upon instinct, you will not\\r\\ntouch the true Prince; no,—fie!\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nFaith, I ran when I saw others run.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nTell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff’s sword so hack’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETO.\\r\\nWhy, he hack’d it with his dagger; and said he would swear truth out of\\r\\nEngland, but he would make you believe it was done in fight; and\\r\\npersuaded us to do the like.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nYea, and to tickle our noses with spear-grass to make them bleed; and\\r\\nthen to beslubber our garments with it, and swear it was the blood of\\r\\ntrue men. I did that I did not this seven year before; I blush’d to\\r\\nhear his monstrous devices.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nO villain, thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years ago, and wert\\r\\ntaken with the manner, and ever since thou hast blush’d extempore. Thou\\r\\nhadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou rann’st away: what\\r\\ninstinct hadst thou for it?\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nMy lord, do you see these meteors? do you behold these exhalations?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nI do.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nWhat think you they portend?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nHot livers and cold purses.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nCholer, my lord, if rightly taken.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nNo, if rightly taken, halter.—Here comes lean Jack, here comes\\r\\nbare-bone.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Falstaff.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, my sweet creature of bombast! How long is’t ago, Jack, since\\r\\nthou saw’st thine own knee?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nMy own knee! when I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an eagle’s\\r\\ntalon in the waist; I could have crept into any alderman’s thumb-ring:\\r\\na plague of sighing and grief! it blows a man up like a bladder.\\r\\nThere’s villanous news abroad: here was Sir John Bracy from your\\r\\nfather; you must to the Court in the morning. That same mad fellow of\\r\\nthe North, Percy; and he of Wales, that gave Amaimon the bastinado, and\\r\\nswore the Devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh hook,—what\\r\\na plague call you him?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nO, Glendower.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nOwen, Owen,—the same; and his son-in-law Mortimer; and old\\r\\nNorthumberland; and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that\\r\\nruns o’ horseback up a hill perpendicular,—\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nHe that rides at high speed and with his pistol kills a sparrow flying.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nYou have hit it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nSo did he never the sparrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWell, that rascal hath good metal in him; he will not run.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhy, what a rascal art thou, then, to praise him so for running!\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nO’ horseback, ye cuckoo! but a-foot he will not budge a foot.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nYes, Jack, upon instinct.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nI grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and one Mordake, and\\r\\na thousand blue-caps more: Worcester is stolen away to-night; thy\\r\\nfather’s beard is turn’d white with the news: you may buy land now as\\r\\ncheap as stinking mackerel. But, tell me, Hal, art not thou horrible\\r\\nafeard? thou being heir-apparent, could the world pick thee out three\\r\\nsuch enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, and that\\r\\ndevil Glendower? art thou not horribly afraid? doth not thy blood\\r\\nthrill at it?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nNot a whit, i’faith; I lack some of thy instinct.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWell, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow when thou comest to thy\\r\\nfather. If thou love life, practise an answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nDo thou stand for my father and examine me upon the particulars of my\\r\\nlife.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nShall I? content: this chair shall be my state, this dagger my\\r\\nsceptre, and this cushion my crown.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy golden sceptre for a leaden\\r\\ndagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful bald crown.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWell, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now shalt thou be\\r\\nmoved.— Give me a cup of sack, to make my eyes look red, that it may be\\r\\nthought I have wept; for I must speak in passion, and I will do it in\\r\\nKing Cambyses’ vein.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWell, here is my leg.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nAnd here is my speech.—Stand aside, nobility.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nO Jesu, this is excellent sport, i faith!\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWeep not, sweet Queen; for trickling tears are vain.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nO, the Father, how he holds his countenance!\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nFor God’s sake, lords, convey my tristful Queen;\\r\\nFor tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nO Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry players as ever\\r\\nI see!\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nPeace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle-brain.—Harry, I do not only\\r\\nmarvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied:\\r\\n for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, the faster it\\r\\ngrows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. That thou\\r\\nart my son, I have partly thy mother’s word, partly my own opinion; but\\r\\nchiefly a villainous trick of thine eye, and a foolish hanging of thy\\r\\nnether lip, that doth warrant me. If, then, thou be son to me, here\\r\\nlies the point: Why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall\\r\\nthe blessed Sun of heaven prove a micher, and eat blackberries? a\\r\\nquestion not to be ask’d. Shall the son of England prove a thief, and\\r\\ntake purses? a question to be ask’d. There is a thing, Harry, which\\r\\nthou hast often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the\\r\\nname of pitch: this pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile;\\r\\nso doth the company thou keepest: for, Harry, now I do not speak to\\r\\nthee in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in passion; not in\\r\\nwords only, but in woes also. And yet there is a virtuous man whom I\\r\\nhave often noted in thy company, but I know not his name.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhat manner of man, an it like your Majesty?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nA goodly portly man, i’faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful look, a\\r\\npleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I think, his age some\\r\\nfifty, or, by’r Lady, inclining to threescore; and now I remember me,\\r\\nhis name is Falstaff: if that man should be lewdly given, he deceiveth\\r\\nme; for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If, then, the tree may be\\r\\nknown by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then, peremptorily I\\r\\nspeak it, there is virtue in that Falstaff: him keep with, the rest\\r\\nbanish. And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me where hast thou\\r\\nbeen this month?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nDost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and I’ll play my\\r\\nfather.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nDepose me! if thou dost it half so gravely, so majestically, both in\\r\\nword and matter, hang me up by the heels for a rabbit-sucker or a\\r\\npoulter’s hare.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWell, here I am set.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nAnd here I stand.—Judge, my masters.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nNow, Harry, whence come you?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nMy noble lord, from Eastcheap.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThe complaints I hear of thee are grievous.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\n’Sblood, my lord, they are false.—Nay, I’ll tickle ye for a young\\r\\nprince, i’faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nSwearest thou, ungracious boy? henceforth ne’er look on me. Thou art\\r\\nviolently carried away from grace: there is a devil haunts thee, in\\r\\nthe likeness of an old fat man,—a tun of man is thy companion. Why dost\\r\\nthou converse with that trunk of humours, that bolting-hutch of\\r\\nbeastliness, that swollen parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of\\r\\nsack, that roasted Manningtree ox with the pudding in his belly, that\\r\\nreverend Vice, that grey Iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in\\r\\nyears? Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and drink it? wherein neat\\r\\nand cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat it? wherein cunning, but in\\r\\ncraft? wherein crafty, but in villany? wherein villainous, but in all\\r\\nthings? wherein worthy, but in nothing?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nI would your Grace would take me with you: whom means your Grace?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThat villainous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old\\r\\nwhite-bearded Satan.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nMy lord, the man I know.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nI know thou dost.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nBut to say I know more harm in him than in myself, were to say more\\r\\nthan I know. That he is old,—(the more the pity,—his white hairs do\\r\\nwitness it. If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked! if to be\\r\\nold and merry be a sin, then many an old host that I know is damn’d: if\\r\\nto be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh’s lean kine are to be loved. No,\\r\\nmy good lord: banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins; but, for\\r\\nsweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant\\r\\nJack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being, as he is, old Jack\\r\\nFalstaff, banish not him thy Harry’s company, banish not him thy\\r\\nHarry’s company: banish plump Jack, and banish all the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nI do, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\n[A knocking heard.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Bardolph, running.]\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nO, my lord, my lord! the sheriff with a most monstrous watch is at the\\r\\ndoor.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nOut, ye rogue!—Play out the play: I have much to say in the behalf of\\r\\nthat Falstaff.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Re-enter the Hostess, hastily.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nO Jesu, my lord, my lord,—\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nHeigh, heigh! the Devil rides upon a fiddlestick: what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nThe sheriff and all the watch are at the door: they are come to search\\r\\nthe house. Shall I let them in?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nDost thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of gold a counterfeit:\\r\\nthou art essentially mad without seeming so.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nAnd thou a natural coward, without instinct.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nI deny your major: if you will deny the sheriff, so; if not, let him\\r\\nenter: if I become not a cart as well as another man, a plague on my\\r\\nbringing up! I hope I shall as soon be strangled with a halter as\\r\\nanother.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nGo, hide thee behind the arras:—the rest walk, up above. Now, my\\r\\nmasters, for a true face and good conscience.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nBoth which I have had; but their date is out, and therefore I’ll hide\\r\\nme.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nCall in the sheriff.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt all but the Prince and Poins.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Sheriff and Carrier.]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, master sheriff, what’s your will with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHERIFF.\\r\\nFirst, pardon me, my lord. A hue-and-cry\\r\\nHath followed certain men unto this house.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhat men?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHERIFF.\\r\\nOne of them is well known, my gracious lord,—\\r\\nA gross fat man.\\r\\n\\r\\nCARRIER.\\r\\nAs fat as butter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThe man, I do assure you, is not here;\\r\\nFor I myself at this time have employ’d him.\\r\\nAnd, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee,\\r\\nThat I will, by to-morrow dinner-time,\\r\\nSend him to answer thee, or any man,\\r\\nFor any thing he shall be charged withal:\\r\\nAnd so, let me entreat you leave the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHERIFF.\\r\\nI will, my lord. There are two gentlemen\\r\\nHave in this robbery lost three hundred marks.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nIt may be so: if he have robb’d these men,\\r\\nHe shall be answerable; and so, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHERIFF.\\r\\nGood night, my noble lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nI think it is good morrow, is it not?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHERIFF.\\r\\nIndeed, my lord, I think’t be two o’clock.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit Sheriff and Carrier.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThis oily rascal is known as well as Paul’s. Go, call him forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nFalstaff!—fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like a horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nHark, how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Poins searches.]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat hast thou found?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nNothing but papers, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nLet’s see what they be: read them.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\n[reads]\\r\\nItem, A capon, . . . . . . . . . 2s. 2d.\\r\\nItem, Sauce, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4d.\\r\\nItem, Sack two gallons ,. . . 5s. 8d.\\r\\nItem, Anchovies and sack after supper, 2s. 6d.\\r\\nItem, Bread, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .ob.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nO monstrous! but one half-pennyworth of bread to this intolerable deal\\r\\nof sack! What there is else, keep close; we’ll read it at more\\r\\nadvantage: there let him sleep till day. I’ll to the Court in the\\r\\nmorning. We must all to the wars, and thy place shall be honourable.\\r\\nI’ll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot; and I know his death will\\r\\nbe a march of twelve-score. The money shall be paid back again with\\r\\nadvantage. Be with me betimes in the morning; and so, good morrow,\\r\\nPoins.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOINS.\\r\\nGood morrow, good my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Bangor. A Room in the Archdeacon’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Mortimer, and Glendower.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMORTIMER.\\r\\nThese promises are fair, the parties sure,\\r\\nAnd our induction full of prosperous hope.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nLord Mortimer,—and cousin Glendower,—Will you sit down?—\\r\\nAnd uncle Worcester,—A plague upon it! I have forgot the map.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLENDOWER.\\r\\nNo, here it is.\\r\\nSit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur;\\r\\nFor by that name as oft as Lancaster\\r\\nDoth speak of you, his cheek looks pale, and with\\r\\nA rising sigh he wisheth you in Heaven.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nAnd you in Hell, as oft as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLENDOWER.\\r\\nI cannot blame him: at my nativity\\r\\nThe front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,\\r\\nOf burning cressets; ay, and at my birth\\r\\nThe frame and huge foundation of the Earth\\r\\nShaked like a coward.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nWhy, so it would have done at the same season, if your mother’s cat had\\r\\nbut kitten’d, though yourself had never been born.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLENDOWER.\\r\\nI say the Earth did shake when I was born.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nAnd I say the Earth was not of my mind, if you suppose as fearing you\\r\\nit shook.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLENDOWER.\\r\\nThe Heavens were all on fire, the Earth did tremble.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nO, then th’ Earth shook to see the Heavens on fire,\\r\\nAnd not in fear of your nativity.\\r\\nDiseased Nature oftentimes breaks forth\\r\\nIn strange eruptions; oft the teeming Earth\\r\\nIs with a kind of colic pinch’d and vex’d\\r\\nBy the imprisoning of unruly wind\\r\\nWithin her womb; which, for enlargement striving,\\r\\nShakes the old beldam Earth, and topples down\\r\\nSteeples and moss-grown towers. At your birth,\\r\\nOur grandam Earth, having this distemperature,\\r\\nIn passion shook.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLENDOWER.\\r\\nCousin, of many men\\r\\nI do not bear these crossings. Give me leave\\r\\nTo tell you once again, that at my birth\\r\\nThe front of heaven was full of fiery shapes;\\r\\nThe goats ran from the mountains, and the herds\\r\\nWere strangely clamorous to the frighted fields.\\r\\nThese signs have mark’d me extraordinary;\\r\\nAnd all the courses of my life do show\\r\\nI am not in the roll of common men.\\r\\nWhere is he living,—clipp’d in with the sea\\r\\nThat chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales,—\\r\\nWhich calls me pupil, or hath read to me?\\r\\nAnd bring him out that is but woman’s son\\r\\nCan trace me in the tedious ways of art,\\r\\nAnd hold me pace in deep experiments.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nI think there is no man speaks better Welsh.—I’ll to dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nMORTIMER.\\r\\nPeace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLENDOWER.\\r\\nI can call spirits from the vasty deep.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nWhy, so can I, or so can any man;\\r\\nBut will they come when you do call for them?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLENDOWER.\\r\\nWhy, I can teach you, cousin, to command the Devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nAnd I can teach thee, coz, to shame the Devil\\r\\nBy telling truth: tell truth, and shame the Devil.\\r\\nIf thou have power to raise him, bring him hither,\\r\\nAnd I’ll be sworn I’ve power to shame him hence.\\r\\nO, while you live, tell truth, and shame the Devil!\\r\\n\\r\\nMORTIMER.\\r\\nCome, come, no more of this unprofitable chat.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLENDOWER.\\r\\nThree times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head\\r\\nAgainst my power; thrice from the banks of Wye\\r\\nAnd sandy-bottom’d Severn have I sent\\r\\nHim bootless home and weather-beaten back.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nHome without boots, and in foul weather too!\\r\\nHow ’scaped he agues, in the Devil’s name!\\r\\n\\r\\nGLENDOWER.\\r\\nCome, here’s the map: shall we divide our right\\r\\nAccording to our threefold order ta’en?\\r\\n\\r\\nMORTIMER.\\r\\nTh’ archdeacon hath divided it\\r\\nInto three limits very equally.\\r\\nEngland, from Trent and Severn hitherto,\\r\\nBy south and east is to my part assign’d:\\r\\nAll westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore,\\r\\nAnd all the fertile land within that bound,\\r\\nTo Owen Glendower:—and, dear coz, to you\\r\\nThe remnant northward, lying off from Trent.\\r\\nAnd our indentures tripartite are drawn;\\r\\nWhich being sealed interchangeably,—\\r\\nA business that this night may execute,—\\r\\nTo-morrow, cousin Percy, you, and I,\\r\\nAnd my good Lord of Worcester, will set forth\\r\\nTo meet your father and the Scottish power,\\r\\nAs is appointed us, at Shrewsbury.\\r\\nMy father Glendower is not ready yet,\\r\\nNor shall we need his help these fourteen days:—\\r\\n[To Glend.] Within that space you may have drawn together\\r\\nYour tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLENDOWER.\\r\\nA shorter time shall send me to you, lords:\\r\\nAnd in my conduct shall your ladies come;\\r\\nFrom whom you now must steal, and take no leave,\\r\\nFor there will be a world of water shed\\r\\nUpon the parting of your wives and you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nMethinks my moiety, north from Burton here,\\r\\nIn quantity equals not one of yours.\\r\\nSee how this river comes me cranking in,\\r\\nAnd cuts me from the best of all my land\\r\\nA huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out.\\r\\nI’ll have the current in this place damn’d up;\\r\\nAnd here the smug and sliver Trent shall run\\r\\nIn a new channel, fair and evenly:\\r\\nIt shall not wind with such a deep indent,\\r\\nTo rob me of so rich a bottom here.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLENDOWER.\\r\\nNot wind? it shall, it must; you see it doth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMORTIMER.\\r\\nYea, but\\r\\nMark how he bears his course, and runs me up\\r\\nWith like advantage on the other side;\\r\\nGelding th’ opposed continent as much\\r\\nAs on the other side it takes from you.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nYea, but a little charge will trench him here,\\r\\nAnd on this north side win this cape of land;\\r\\nAnd then he runneth straight and evenly.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nI’ll have it so: a little charge will do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLENDOWER.\\r\\nI will not have it alter’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nWill not you?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLENDOWER.\\r\\nNo, nor you shall not.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nWho shall say me nay?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLENDOWER.\\r\\nWhy, that will I.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nLet me not understand you, then; speak it in Welsh.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLENDOWER.\\r\\nI can speak English, lord, as well as you;\\r\\nFor I was train’d up in the English Court;\\r\\nWhere, being but young, I framed to the harp\\r\\nMany an English ditty lovely well,\\r\\nAnd gave the tongue a helpful ornament,\\r\\nA virtue that was never seen in you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nMarry, and I am glad of it with all my heart:\\r\\nI had rather be a kitten, and cry mew,\\r\\nThan one of these same metre ballet-mongers;\\r\\nI had rather hear a brazen canstick turn’d,\\r\\nOr a dry wheel grate on the axletree;\\r\\nAnd that would set my teeth nothing on edge,\\r\\nNothing so much as mincing poetry:\\r\\n’Tis like the forced gait of a shuffling nag.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLENDOWER.\\r\\nCome, you shall have Trent turn’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nI do not care: I’ll give thrice so much land\\r\\nTo any well-deserving friend;\\r\\nBut in the way of bargain, mark ye me,\\r\\nI’ll cavil on the ninth part of a hair.\\r\\nAre the indentures drawn? shall we be gone?\\r\\nGLEND.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Moon shines fair; you may away by night:\\r\\nI’ll in and haste the writer, and withal\\r\\nBreak with your wives of your departure hence:\\r\\nI am afraid my daughter will run mad,\\r\\nSo much she doteth on her Mortimer.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMORTIMER.\\r\\nFie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father!\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nI cannot choose: sometimes he angers me\\r\\nWith telling me of the moldwarp and the ant,\\r\\nOf the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies,\\r\\nAnd of a dragon and a finless fish,\\r\\nA clip-wing’d griffin and a moulten raven,\\r\\nA couching lion and a ramping cat,\\r\\nAnd such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff\\r\\nAs puts me from my faith. I tell you what,\\r\\nHe held me last night at the least nine hours\\r\\nIn reckoning up the several devils’ names\\r\\nThat were his lacqueys: I cried hum, and well,\\r\\nBut mark’d him not a word. O, he’s as tedious\\r\\nAs a tired horse, a railing wife;\\r\\nWorse than a smoky house: I had rather live\\r\\nWith cheese and garlic in a windmill, far,\\r\\nThan feed on cates and have him talk to me\\r\\nIn any summer-house in Christendom.\\r\\n\\r\\nMORTIMER.\\r\\nIn faith, he is a worthy gentleman;\\r\\nExceedingly well-read, and profited\\r\\nIn strange concealments; valiant as a lion,\\r\\nAnd wondrous affable, and as bountiful\\r\\nAs mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin?\\r\\nHe holds your temper in a high respect,\\r\\nAnd curbs himself even of his natural scope\\r\\nWhen you do cross his humour; faith, he does:\\r\\nI warrant you, that man is not alive\\r\\nMight so have tempted him as you have done,\\r\\nWithout the taste of danger and reproof:\\r\\nBut do not use it oft, let me entreat you.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nIn faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blunt;\\r\\nAnd since your coming hither have done enough\\r\\nTo put him quite beside his patience.\\r\\nYou must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault:\\r\\nThough sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood—\\r\\nAnd that’s the dearest grace it renders you,—\\r\\nYet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage,\\r\\nDefect of manners, want of government,\\r\\nPride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain;\\r\\nThe least of which haunting a nobleman\\r\\nLoseth men’s hearts, and leaves behind a stain\\r\\nUpon the beauty of all parts besides,\\r\\nBeguiling them of commendation.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nWell, I am school’d: good manners be your speed!\\r\\nHere come our wives, and let us take our leave.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Re-enter Glendower, with Lady Mortimer and Lady Percy.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMORTIMER.\\r\\nThis is the deadly spite that angers me,\\r\\nMy wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLENDOWER.\\r\\nMy daughter weeps: she will not part with you;\\r\\nShe’ll be a soldier too, she’ll to the wars.\\r\\n\\r\\nMORTIMER.\\r\\nGood father, tell her that she and my aunt Percy\\r\\nShall follow in your conduct speedily.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Glendower speaks to Lady Mortimer in Welsh, and she answers him in the\\r\\nsame.]\\r\\n\\r\\nGLENDOWER.\\r\\nShe’s desperate here; a peevish self-will’d harlotry,\\r\\nOne that no persuasion can do good upon.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Lady Mortimer speaks to Mortimer in Welsh.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMORTIMER.\\r\\nI understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh\\r\\nWhich thou pour’st down from these swelling heavens\\r\\nI am too perfect in; and, but for shame,\\r\\nIn such a parley should I answer thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Lady Mortimer speaks to him again in Welsh.]\\r\\n\\r\\nI understand thy kisses, and thou mine,\\r\\nAnd that’s a feeling disputation:\\r\\nBut I will never be a truant, love,\\r\\nTill I have learn’d thy language; for thy tongue\\r\\nMakes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn’d,\\r\\nSung by a fair queen in a Summer’s bower,\\r\\nWith ravishing division, to her lute.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLENDOWER.\\r\\nNay, if you melt, then will she run mad.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Lady Mortimer speaks to Mortimer again in Welsh.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMORTIMER.\\r\\nO, I am ignorance itself in this!\\r\\n\\r\\nGLENDOWER.\\r\\nShe bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down,\\r\\nAnd rest your gentle head upon her lap,\\r\\nAnd she will sing the song that pleaseth you,\\r\\nAnd on your eyelids crown the god of sleep,\\r\\nCharming your blood with pleasing heaviness;\\r\\nMaking such difference betwixt wake and sleep,\\r\\nAs is the difference betwixt day and night,\\r\\nThe hour before the heavenly-harness’d team\\r\\nBegins his golden progress in the East.\\r\\n\\r\\nMORTIMER.\\r\\nWith all my heart I’ll sit and hear her sing:\\r\\nBy that time will our book, I think, be drawn.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLENDOWER.\\r\\nDo so:\\r\\nAn those musicians that shall play to you\\r\\nHang in the air a thousand leagues from hence,\\r\\nAnd straight they shall be here: sit, and attend.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nCome, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down: come, quick, quick, that I\\r\\nmay lay my head in thy lap.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY PERCY.\\r\\nGo, ye giddy goose.\\r\\n\\r\\n[The music plays.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nNow I perceive the Devil understands Welsh;\\r\\nAnd ’tis no marvel he’s so humorous.\\r\\nBy’r Lady, he’s a good musician.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY PERCY.\\r\\nThen should you be nothing but musical; for you are altogether governed\\r\\nby humours. Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nI had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY PERCY.\\r\\nWouldst thou have thy head broken?\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY PERCY.\\r\\nThen be still.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nNeither; ’tis a woman’s fault.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY PERCY.\\r\\nNow God help thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nPeace! she sings.\\r\\n\\r\\n[A Welsh song by Lady Mortimer.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, Kate, I’ll have your song too.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY PERCY.\\r\\nNot mine, in good sooth.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nNot yours, in good sooth! ’Heart! you swear like a\\r\\ncomfit-maker’s wife. Not mine, in good sooth; and, As true\\r\\nas I live; and, As God shall mend me; and, As sure as day;\\r\\nAnd givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths,\\r\\nAs if thou ne’er walk’dst further than Finsbury.\\r\\nSwear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art,\\r\\nA good mouth-filling oath; and leave in sooth,\\r\\nAnd such protest of pepper-gingerbread,\\r\\nTo velvet-guards and Sunday-citizens. Come, sing.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY PERCY.\\r\\nI will not sing.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\n’Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be redbreast-teacher.\\r\\nAn the indentures be drawn, I’ll away within these two hours;\\r\\nand so, come in when ye will.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nGLENDOWER.\\r\\nCome, come, Lord Mortimer; you are as slow\\r\\nAs hot Lord Percy is on fire to go.\\r\\nBy this our book’s drawn; we’ll but seal, and then\\r\\nTo horse immediately.\\r\\n\\r\\nMORTIMER.\\r\\nWith all my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. London. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter King Henry, Prince Henry, and Lords.]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nLords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales and I\\r\\nMust have some private conference: but be near at hand,\\r\\nFor we shall presently have need of you.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt Lords.]\\r\\n\\r\\nI know not whether God will have it so,\\r\\nFor some displeasing service I have done,\\r\\nThat, in His secret doom, out of my blood\\r\\nHe’ll breed revengement and a scourge for me;\\r\\nBut thou dost, in thy passages of life,\\r\\nMake me believe that thou art only mark’d\\r\\nFor the hot vengeance and the rod of Heaven\\r\\nTo punish my mistreadings. Tell me else,\\r\\nCould such inordinate and low desires,\\r\\nSuch poor, such base, such lewd, such mean attempts,\\r\\nSuch barren pleasures, rude society,\\r\\nAs thou art match’d withal and grafted to,\\r\\nAccompany the greatness of thy blood,\\r\\nAnd hold their level with thy princely heart?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nSo please your Majesty, I would I could\\r\\nQuit all offences with as clear excuse\\r\\nAs well as I am doubtless I can purge\\r\\nMyself of many I am charged withal:\\r\\nYet such extenuation let me beg,\\r\\nAs, in reproof of many tales devised\\r\\nBy smiling pick-thanks and base news-mongers,—\\r\\nWhich oft the ear of greatness needs must hear,—\\r\\nI may, for some things true, wherein my youth\\r\\nHath faulty wander’d and irregular,\\r\\nFind pardon on my true submission.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nGod pardon thee! Yet let me wonder, Harry,\\r\\nAt thy affections, which do hold a wing\\r\\nQuite from the flight of all thy ancestors.\\r\\nThy place in Council thou hast rudely lost,\\r\\nWhich by thy younger brother is supplied;\\r\\nAnd art almost an alien to the hearts\\r\\nOf all the Court and princes of my blood:\\r\\nThe hope and expectation of thy time\\r\\nIs ruin’d; and the soul of every man\\r\\nProphetically does forethink thy fall.\\r\\nHad I so lavish of my presence been,\\r\\nSo common-hackney’d in the eyes of men,\\r\\nSo stale and cheap to vulgar company,\\r\\nOpinion, that did help me to the crown,\\r\\nHad still kept loyal to possession,\\r\\nAnd left me in reputeless banishment,\\r\\n\\r\\nA fellow of no mark nor likelihood.\\r\\nBy being seldom seen, I could not stir\\r\\nBut, like a comet, I was wonder’d at;\\r\\nThat men would tell their children, This is he;\\r\\nOthers would say, Where, which is Bolingbroke?\\r\\nAnd then I stole all courtesy from Heaven,\\r\\nAnd dress’d myself in such humility,\\r\\nThat I did pluck allegiance from men’s hearts,\\r\\nLoud shouts and salutations from their mouths,\\r\\nEven in the presence of the crowned King.\\r\\nThus did I keep my person fresh and new;\\r\\nMy presence, like a robe pontifical,\\r\\nNe’er seen but wonder’d at: and so my state,\\r\\nSeldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast,\\r\\nAnd won by rareness such solemnity.\\r\\nThe skipping King, he ambled up and down\\r\\nWith shallow jesters and rash bavin wits,\\r\\nSoon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state,\\r\\nMingled his royalty, with capering fools;\\r\\nHad his great name profaned with their scorns;\\r\\nAnd gave his countenance, against his name,\\r\\nTo laugh at gibing boys, and stand the push\\r\\nOf every beardless vain comparative;\\r\\nGrew a companion to the common streets,\\r\\nEnfeoff’d himself to popularity;\\r\\nThat, being dally swallow’d by men’s eyes,\\r\\nThey surfeited with honey, and began\\r\\nTo loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little\\r\\nMore than a little is by much too much.\\r\\nSo, when he had occasion to be seen,\\r\\nHe was but as the cuckoo is in June,\\r\\nHeard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes\\r\\nAs, sick and blunted with community,\\r\\nAfford no extraordinary gaze,\\r\\nSuch as is bent on sun-like majesty\\r\\nWhen it shines seldom in admiring eyes;\\r\\nBut rather drowsed, and hung their eyelids down,\\r\\nSlept in his face, and render’d such aspect\\r\\nAs cloudy men use to their adversaries,\\r\\nBeing with his presence glutted, gorged, and full.\\r\\nAnd in that very line, Harry, stand’st thou;\\r\\nFor thou hast lost thy princely privilege\\r\\nWith vile participation: not an eye\\r\\nBut is a-weary of thy common sight,\\r\\nSave mine, which hath desired to see thee more;\\r\\nWhich now doth that I would not have it do,\\r\\nMake blind itself with foolish tenderness.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nI shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord,\\r\\nBe more myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nFor all the world,\\r\\nAs thou art to this hour, was Richard then\\r\\nWhen I from France set foot at Ravenspurg;\\r\\nAnd even as I was then is Percy now.\\r\\nNow, by my sceptre, and my soul to boot,\\r\\nHe hath more worthy interest to the state\\r\\nThan thou, the shadow of succession;\\r\\nFor, of no right, nor colour like to right,\\r\\nHe doth fill fields with harness in the realm,\\r\\nTurns head against the lion’s armed jaws;\\r\\nAnd, being no more in debt to years than thou,\\r\\nLeads ancient lords and reverend bishops on\\r\\nTo bloody battles and to bruising arms.\\r\\nWhat never-dying honour hath he got\\r\\nAgainst renowned Douglas! whose high deeds,\\r\\nWhose hot incursions, and great name in arms,\\r\\nHolds from all soldiers chief majority\\r\\nAnd military title capital\\r\\nThrough all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ:\\r\\nThrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathing-clothes,\\r\\nThis infant warrior, in his enterprises\\r\\nDiscomfited great Douglas; ta’en him once,\\r\\nEnlarged him, and made a friend of him,\\r\\nTo fill the mouth of deep defiance up,\\r\\nAnd shake the peace and safety of our throne.\\r\\nAnd what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland,\\r\\nTh’ Archbishop’s Grace of York, Douglas, and Mortimer\\r\\nCapitulate against us, and are up.\\r\\nBut wherefore do I tell these news to thee?\\r\\nWhy, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes,\\r\\nWhich art my near’st and dearest enemy?\\r\\nThou that art like enough,—through vassal fear,\\r\\nBase inclination, and the start of spleen,—\\r\\nTo fight against me under Percy’s pay,\\r\\nTo dog his heels, and curtsy at his frowns,\\r\\nTo show how much thou art degenerate.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nDo not think so; you shall not find it so:\\r\\nAnd God forgive them that so much have sway’d\\r\\nYour Majesty’s good thoughts away from me!\\r\\nI will redeem all this on Percy’s head,\\r\\nAnd, in the closing of some glorious day,\\r\\nBe bold to tell you that I am your son;\\r\\nWhen I will wear a garment all of blood,\\r\\nAnd stain my favour in a bloody mask,\\r\\nWhich, wash’d away, shall scour my shame with it:\\r\\nAnd that shall be the day, whene’er it lights,\\r\\nThat this same child of honour and renown,\\r\\nThis gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight,\\r\\nAnd your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet.\\r\\nFor every honour sitting on his helm,\\r\\nWould they were multitudes, and on my head\\r\\nMy shames redoubled! for the time will come,\\r\\nThat I shall make this northern youth exchange\\r\\nHis glorious deeds for my indignities.\\r\\nPercy is but my factor, good my lord,\\r\\nT’ engross up glorious deeds on my behalf;\\r\\nAnd I will call hall to so strict account,\\r\\nThat he shall render every glory up,\\r\\nYea, even the slightest worship of his time,\\r\\nOr I will tear the reckoning from his heart.\\r\\nThis, in the name of God, I promise here:\\r\\nThe which if I perform, and do survive,\\r\\nI do beseech your Majesty, may salve\\r\\nThe long-grown wounds of my intemperance:\\r\\nIf not, the end of life cancels all bands;\\r\\nAnd I will die a hundred thousand deaths\\r\\nEre break the smallest parcel of this vow.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nA hundred thousand rebels die in this.\\r\\nThou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Sir Walter Blunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, good Blunt! thy looks are full of speed.\\r\\n\\r\\nBLUNT.\\r\\nSo is the business that I come to speak of.\\r\\nLord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word\\r\\nThat Douglas and the English rebels met\\r\\nTh’ eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury:\\r\\nA mighty and a fearful head they are,\\r\\nIf promises be kept on every hand,\\r\\nAs ever offer’d foul play in a State.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nThe Earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day;\\r\\nWith him my son, Lord John of Lancaster;\\r\\nFor this advertisement is five days old.\\r\\nOn Wednesday next you, Harry, shall set forward;\\r\\nOn Thursday we ourselves will march:\\r\\nOur meeting is Bridgenorth: and, Harry, you\\r\\nShall march through Glostershire; by which account,\\r\\nOur business valued, some twelve days hence\\r\\nOur general forces at Bridgenorth shall meet.\\r\\nOur hands are full of business: let’s away;\\r\\nAdvantage feeds him fat, while men delay.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar’s-Head Tavern.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nBardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since this last action? do I not\\r\\nbate? do I not dwindle? Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady’s\\r\\nloose gown; I am withered like an old apple-John. Well, I’ll repent,\\r\\nand that suddenly, while I am in some liking; I shall be out of heart\\r\\nshortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have not\\r\\nforgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a peppercorn, a\\r\\nbrewer’s horse: the inside of a church! Company, villainous company,\\r\\nhath been the spoil of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nSir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWhy, there is it: come, sing me a song; make me merry. I was as\\r\\nvirtuously given as a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough; swore\\r\\nlittle; diced not above seven times a week; paid money that I borrowed\\r\\n—three or four times; lived well, and in good compass: and now I live\\r\\nout of all order, out of all compass.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nWhy, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must needs be out of all\\r\\ncompass, —out of all reasonable compass, Sir John.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nDo thou amend thy face, and I’ll amend my life: thou art our admiral,\\r\\nthou bearest the lantern in the poop,—but ’tis in the nose of thee;\\r\\nthou art the Knight of the Burning Lamp.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nWhy, Sir John, my face does you no harm.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nNo, I’ll be sworn; I make as good use of it as many a man doth of a\\r\\ndeath’s-head or a memento mori: I never see thy face but I think upon\\r\\nhell-fire, and Dives that lived in purple; for there he is in his\\r\\nrobes, burning, burning. If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would\\r\\nswear by thy face; my oath should be, By this fire, that’s God’s angel:\\r\\n but thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the light\\r\\nin thy face, the son of utter darkness. When thou rann’st up Gad’s-hill\\r\\nin the night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an\\r\\nignis fatuus or a ball of wildfire, there’s no purchase in money. O,\\r\\nthou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light! Thou hast\\r\\nsaved me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee in\\r\\nthe night betwixt tavern and tavern: but the sack that thou hast drunk\\r\\nme would have bought me lights as good cheap at the dearest chandler’s\\r\\nin Europe. I have maintain’d that salamander of yours with fire any\\r\\ntime this two-and-thirty years; God reward me for it!\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\n’Sblood, I would my face were in your stomach!\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nGod-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart-burn’d.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter the Hostess.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Dame Partlet the hen! have you enquir’d yet who pick’d my\\r\\npocket?\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nWhy, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John? do you think I keep thieves\\r\\nin my house? I have search’d, I have inquired, so has my husband, man\\r\\nby man, boy by boy, servant by servant: the tithe of a hair was never\\r\\nlost in my house before.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nYe lie, hostess: Bardolph was shaved, and lost many a hair; and\\r\\nI’ll be sworn my pocket was pick’d. Go to, you are a woman, go.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nWho, I? no; I defy thee: God’s light, I was never call’d so in mine\\r\\nown house before.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nGo to, I know you well enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nNo, Sir John; you do not know me, Sir John. I know you, Sir John: you\\r\\nowe me money, Sir John; and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it:\\r\\nI bought you a dozen of shirts to your back.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nDowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away to bakers’ wives, and\\r\\nthey have made bolters of them.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nNow, as I am a true woman, holland of eight shillings an ell.\\r\\nYou owe money here besides, Sir John, for your diet and by-drinkings,\\r\\nand money lent you, four-and-twenty pound.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nHe had his part of it; let him pay.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nHe? alas, he is poor; he hath nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nHow! poor? look upon his face; what call you rich? let them coin his\\r\\nnose, let them coin his cheeks: I’ll not pay a denier. What, will you\\r\\nmake a younker of me? shall I not take mine ease in mine inn, but I\\r\\nshall have my pocket pick’d? I have lost a seal-ring of my\\r\\ngrandfather’s worth forty mark.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nO Jesu, I have heard the Prince tell him, I know not how oft, that that\\r\\nring was copper!\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nHow! the Prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup: ’sblood, an he were here, I\\r\\nwould cudgel him like a dog, if he would say so.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Prince Henry and Poins, marching. Falstaff meets them, playing\\r\\non his truncheon like a fife.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, lad? is the wind in that door, i’faith? must we all march?\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nYea, two-and-two, Newgate-fashion.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nMy lord, I pray you, hear me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhat say’st thou, Mistress Quickly? How doth thy husband? I love him\\r\\nwell; he is an honest man.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nGood my lord, hear me.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nPr’ythee, let her alone, and list to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhat say’st thou, Jack?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nThe other night I fell asleep here behind the arras, and had my pocket\\r\\npick’d: this house is turn’d bawdy-house; they pick pockets.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhat didst thou lose, Jack?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds of forty pound a-piece\\r\\nand a seal-ring of my grandfather’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nA trifle, some eight-penny matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nSo I told him, my lord; and I said I heard your Grace say so; and, my\\r\\nlord, he speaks most vilely of you, like a foul-mouth’d man as he is;\\r\\nand said he would cudgel you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhat! he did not?\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nThere’s neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me else.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nThere’s no more faith in thee than in a stew’d prune; nor no more truth\\r\\nin thee than in a drawn fox; and, for woman-hood, Maid Marian may be\\r\\nthe deputy’s wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nSay, what thing? what thing? I am an honest man’s wife: and, setting\\r\\nthy knighthood aside, thou art a knave to call me so.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nSetting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say otherwise.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nSay, what beast, thou knave, thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWhat beast! why, an otter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nAn otter, Sir John, why an otter?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWhy, she’s neither fish nor flesh; a man knows not where to have her.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nThou art an unjust man in saying so; thou or any man knows where to\\r\\nhave me, thou knave, thou!\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThou say’st true, hostess; and he slanders thee most grossly.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nSo he doth you, my lord; and said this other day you ought him a\\r\\nthousand pound.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nSirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\n\\r\\nA thousand pound, Hal! a million: thy love is worth a million; thou\\r\\nowest me thy love.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nNay, my lord, he call’d you Jack, and said he would cudgel you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nDid I, Bardolph?\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nIndeed, Sir John, you said so.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nYea, if he said my ring was copper.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nI say ’tis copper: darest thou be as good as thy word now?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWhy, Hal, thou know’st, as thou art but man, I dare; but as thou art\\r\\nprince, I fear thee as I fear the roaring of the lion’s whelp.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nAnd why not as the lion?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nThe King himself is to be feared as the lion: dost thou think I’ll\\r\\nfear thee as I fear thy father? nay, an I do, I pray God my girdle\\r\\nbreak.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nSirrah, there’s no room for faith, truth, nor honesty in this bosom of\\r\\nthine; it is all fill’d up with midriff. Charge an honest woman with\\r\\npicking thy pocket! why, thou whoreson, impudent, emboss’d rascal, if\\r\\nthere were anything in thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, and one poor\\r\\npennyworth of sugar-candy to make thee long-winded,—if thy pocket were\\r\\nenrich’d with any other injuries but these, I am a villain: and yet\\r\\nyou will stand to it; you will not pocket-up wrong. Art thou not\\r\\nashamed!\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nDost thou hear, Hal? thou know’st, in the state of innocency Adam fell;\\r\\nand what should poor Jack Falstaff do in the days of villainy? Thou\\r\\nsee’st I have more flesh than another man; and therefore more frailty.\\r\\nYou confess, then, you pick’d my pocket?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nIt appears so by the story.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nHostess, I forgive thee: go, make ready breakfast; love thy husband,\\r\\nlook to thy servants, cherish thy guests: thou shalt find me tractable\\r\\nto any honest reason; thou see’st I am pacified.—Still? Nay, pr’ythee,\\r\\nbe gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit Hostess.]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, Hal, to the news at Court: for the robbery, lad, how is that\\r\\nanswered?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nO, my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee: the money is\\r\\npaid back again.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nO, I do not like that paying back; ’tis a double labour.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nI am good friends with my father, and may do any thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nRob me the exchequer the first thing thou doest, and do it with\\r\\nunwash’d hands too.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nDo, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nI have procured thee, Jack, a charge of Foot.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nI would it had been of Horse. Where shall I find one that can steal\\r\\nwell? O, for a fine thief, of the age of two-and-twenty or thereabouts!\\r\\nI am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for these rebels; they\\r\\noffend none but the virtuous: I laud them, I praise them.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nBardolph,—\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nGo bear this letter to Lord John of Lancaster,\\r\\nTo my brother John; this to my Lord of Westmoreland.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit Bardolph.]\\r\\n\\r\\nGo, Poins, to horse, to horse; for thou and I\\r\\nHave thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner-time.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit Poins.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMeet me to-morrow, Jack, i’ the Temple-hall\\r\\nAt two o’clock in th’ afternoon:\\r\\nThere shalt thou know thy charge; and there receive\\r\\nMoney and order for their furniture.\\r\\nThe land is burning; Percy stands on high;\\r\\nAnd either they or we must lower lie.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nRare words! brave world!—Hostess, my breakfast; come:—\\r\\nO, I could wish this tavern were my drum!\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Hotspur, Worcester, and Douglas.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nWell said, my noble Scot: if speaking truth\\r\\nIn this fine age were not thought flattery,\\r\\nSuch attribution should the Douglas have,\\r\\nAs not a soldier of this season’s stamp\\r\\nShould go so general-current through the world.\\r\\nBy God, I cannot flatter; I defy\\r\\nThe tongues of soothers; but a braver place\\r\\nIn my heart’s love hath no man than yourself:\\r\\nNay, task me to my word; approve me, lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOUGLAS.\\r\\nThou art the king of honour:\\r\\nNo man so potent breathes upon the ground\\r\\nBut I will beard him.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nDo so, and ’tis well.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter a Messenger with letters.]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat letters hast thou there?—I can but thank you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThese letters come from your father.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nLetters from him! why comes he not himself?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nHe cannot come, my lord; he’s grievous sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nZwounds! how has he the leisure to be sick\\r\\nIn such a justling time? Who leads his power?\\r\\nUnder whose government come they along?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nHis letters bears his mind, not I, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nI pr’ythee, tell me, doth he keep his bed?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nHe did, my lord, four days ere I set forth,\\r\\nAnd at the time of my departure thence\\r\\nHe was much fear’d by his physicians.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nI would the state of time had first been whole\\r\\nEre he by sickness had been visited:\\r\\nHis health was never better worth than now.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nSick now! droop now! this sickness doth infect\\r\\nThe very life-blood of our enterprise;\\r\\n’Tis catching hither, even to our camp.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe writes me here, that inward sickness,—\\r\\nAnd that his friends by deputation could not\\r\\nSo soon be drawn; no did he think it meet\\r\\nTo lay so dangerous and dear a trust\\r\\nOn any soul removed, but on his own.\\r\\nYet doth he give us bold advertisement,\\r\\nThat with our small conjunction we should on,\\r\\nTo see how fortune is disposed to us;\\r\\nFor, as he writes, there is no quailing now,\\r\\nBecause the King is certainly possess’d\\r\\nOf all our purposes. What say you to it?\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nYour father’s sickness is a maim to us.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nA perilous gash, a very limb lopp’d off:—\\r\\nAnd yet, in faith, ’tis not; his present want\\r\\nSeems more than we shall find it. Were it good\\r\\nTo set the exact wealth of all our states\\r\\nAll at one cast? to set so rich a main\\r\\nOn the nice hazard of one doubtful hour?\\r\\nIt were not good; for therein should we read\\r\\nThe very bottom and the soul of hope,\\r\\nThe very list, the very utmost bound\\r\\nOf all our fortunes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOUGLAS.\\r\\nFaith, and so we should;\\r\\nWhere now remains a sweet reversion;\\r\\nAnd we may boldly spend upon the hope\\r\\nOf what is to come in:\\r\\nA comfort of retirement lives in this.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nA rendezvous, a home to fly unto,\\r\\nIf that the Devil and mischance look big\\r\\nUpon the maidenhead of our affairs.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nBut yet I would your father had been here.\\r\\nThe quality and hair of our attempt\\r\\nBrooks no division: it will be thought\\r\\nBy some, that know not why he is away,\\r\\nThat wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike\\r\\nOf our proceedings, kept the earl from hence:\\r\\nAnd think how such an apprehension\\r\\nMay turn the tide of fearful faction,\\r\\nAnd breed a kind of question in our cause;\\r\\nFor well you know we of the offering side\\r\\nMust keep aloof from strict arbitrement,\\r\\nAnd stop all sight-holes, every loop from whence\\r\\nThe eye of reason may pry in upon us.\\r\\nThis absence of your father’s draws a curtain,\\r\\nThat shows the ignorant a kind of fear\\r\\nBefore not dreamt of.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nNay, you strain too far.\\r\\nI, rather, of his absence make this use:\\r\\nIt lends a lustre and more great opinion,\\r\\nA larger dare to our great enterprise,\\r\\nThan if the earl were here; for men must think,\\r\\nIf we, without his help, can make a head\\r\\nTo push against the kingdom, with his help\\r\\nWe shall o’erturn it topsy-turvy down.\\r\\nYet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOUGLAS.\\r\\nAs heart can think: there is not such a word\\r\\nSpoke in Scotland as this term of fear.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Sir Richard Vernon.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nMy cousin Vernon! welcome, by my soul.\\r\\n\\r\\nVERNON.\\r\\nPray God my news be worth a welcome, lord.\\r\\nThe Earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong,\\r\\nIs marching hitherwards; with him Prince John.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nNo harm: what more?\\r\\n\\r\\nVERNON.\\r\\nAnd further, I have learn’d\\r\\nThe King himself in person is set forth,\\r\\nOr hitherwards intended speedily,\\r\\nWith strong and mighty preparation.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nHe shall be welcome too. Where is his son,\\r\\nThe nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales,\\r\\nAnd his comrades, that daff the world aside,\\r\\nAnd bid it pass?\\r\\n\\r\\nVERNON.\\r\\nAll furnish’d, all in arms;\\r\\nAll plumed like estridges that with the wind\\r\\nBate it; like eagles having lately bathed;\\r\\nGlittering in golden coats, like images;\\r\\nAs full of spirit as the month of May\\r\\nAnd gorgeous as the Sun at midsummer;\\r\\nWanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.\\r\\nI saw young Harry—with his beaver on,\\r\\nHis cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm’d—\\r\\nRise from the ground like feather’d Mercury,\\r\\nAnd vault it with such ease into his seat,\\r\\nAs if an angel dropp’d down from the clouds,\\r\\nTo turn and wind a fiery Pegasus,\\r\\nAnd witch the world with noble horsemanship.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nNo more, no more: worse than the Sun in March,\\r\\nThis praise doth nourish agues. Let them come;\\r\\nThey come like sacrifices in their trim,\\r\\nAnd to the fire-eyed maid of smoky war,\\r\\nAll hot and bleeding, will we offer them:\\r\\nThe mailed Mars shall on his altar sit\\r\\nUp to the ears in blood. I am on fire\\r\\nTo hear this rich reprisal is so nigh,\\r\\nAnd yet not ours.—Come, let me taste my horse,\\r\\nWho is to bear me, like a thunderbolt,\\r\\nAgainst the bosom of the Prince of Wales:\\r\\nHarry and Harry shall, hot horse to horse,\\r\\nMeet, and ne’er part till one drop down a corse.—\\r\\nO, that Glendower were come!\\r\\n\\r\\nVERNON.\\r\\nThere is more news:\\r\\nI learn’d in Worcester, as I rode along,\\r\\nHe cannot draw his power this fourteen days.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOUGLAS.\\r\\nThat’s the worst tidings that I hear of yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nAy, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nWhat may the King’s whole battle reach unto?\\r\\n\\r\\nVERNON.\\r\\nTo thirty thousand.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nForty let it be:\\r\\nMy father and Glendower being both away,\\r\\nThe powers of us may serve so great a day.\\r\\nCome, let us take a muster speedily:\\r\\nDoomsday is near; die all, die merrily.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOUGLAS.\\r\\nTalk not of dying: I am out of fear\\r\\nOf death or death’s hand for this one half-year.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A public Road near Coventry.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nBardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me a bottle of sack: our\\r\\nsoldiers shall march through; we’ll to Sutton-Co’fil’ to-night.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nWill you give me money, captain?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nLay out, lay out.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nThis bottle makes an angel.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nAn if it do, take it for thy labour; an if it make twenty,\\r\\ntake them all; I’ll answer the coinage. Bid my lieutenant\\r\\nPeto meet me at the town’s end.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nI will, captain: farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nIf I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a soused gurnet. I have\\r\\nmisused the King’s press damnably. I have got, in exchange of a hundred\\r\\nand fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press’d me none but\\r\\ngood householders, yeomen’s sons; inquired me out contracted bachelors,\\r\\nsuch as had been ask’d twice on the banns; such a commodity of warm\\r\\nslaves as had as lief hear the Devil as a drum; such as fear the report\\r\\nof a caliver worse than a struck fowl or a hurt wild-duck. I press’d me\\r\\nnone but such toasts-and-butter, with hearts in their bodies no bigger\\r\\nthan pins’-heads, and they have bought out their services; and now my\\r\\nwhole charge consists of ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of\\r\\ncompanies, slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, where the\\r\\nglutton’s dogs licked his sores; and such as, indeed, were never\\r\\nsoldiers, but discarded unjust serving-men, younger sons to younger\\r\\nbrothers, revolted tapsters, and ostlers trade-fallen; the cankers of a\\r\\ncalm world and a long peace; ten times more dishonourable ragged than\\r\\nan old faced ancient: and such have I, to fill up the rooms of them\\r\\nthat have bought out their services, that you would think that I had a\\r\\nhundred and fifty tattered Prodigals lately come from swine-keeping,\\r\\nfrom eating draff and husks. A mad fellow met me on the way, and told\\r\\nme I had unloaded all the gibbets, and press’d the dead bodies. No eye\\r\\nhath seen such scarecrows. I’ll not march through Coventry with them,\\r\\nthat’s flat: nay, and the villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if\\r\\nthey had gyves on; for, indeed, I had the most of them out of prison.\\r\\nThere’s but a shirt and a half in all my company; and the half-shirt is\\r\\ntwo napkins tack’d together and thrown over the shoulders like a\\r\\nherald’s coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to say the truth, stolen\\r\\nfrom my host at Saint Alban’s, or the red-nose innkeeper of Daventry.\\r\\nBut that’s all one; they’ll find linen enough on every hedge.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Prince Henry and Westmoreland.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nHow now, blown Jack! how now, quilt!\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWhat, Hal! how now, mad wag! what a devil dost thou in\\r\\nWarwickshire?—My good Lord of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy:\\r\\nI thought your honour had already been at Shrewsbury.\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORELAND.\\r\\nFaith, Sir John, ’tis more than time that I were there, and you too;\\r\\nbut my powers are there already. The King, I can tell you, looks for us\\r\\nall: we must away all, to-night.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nTut, never fear me: I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nI think, to steal cream, indeed; for thy theft hath already made thee\\r\\nbutter. But tell me, Jack, whose fellows are these that come after?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nMine, Hal, mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nI did never see such pitiful rascals.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nTut, tut; good enough to toss; food for powder, food for powder;\\r\\nthey’ll fill a pit as well as better: tush, man, mortal men, mortal\\r\\nmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORELAND.\\r\\nAy, but, Sir John, methinks they are exceeding poor and bare,—too\\r\\nbeggarly.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nFaith, for their poverty, I know not where they had that; and, for\\r\\ntheir bareness, I am sure they never learn’d that of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nNo, I’ll be sworn; unless you call three fingers on the ribs bare. But,\\r\\nsirrah, make haste: Percy is already in the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWhat, is the King encamp’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORELAND.\\r\\nHe is, Sir John: I fear we shall stay too long.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWell,\\r\\nTo the latter end of a fray and the beginning of a feast\\r\\nFits a dull fighter and a keen guest.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas, and Vernon.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nWe’ll fight with him to-night.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nIt may not be.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOUGLAS.\\r\\nYou give him, then, advantage.\\r\\n\\r\\nVERNON.\\r\\nNot a whit.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nWhy say you so? looks he not for supply?\\r\\n\\r\\nVERNON.\\r\\nSo do we.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nHis is certain, ours is doubtful.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nGood cousin, be advised; stir not to-night.\\r\\n\\r\\nVERNON.\\r\\nDo not, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOUGLAS.\\r\\nYou do not counsel well:\\r\\nYou speak it out of fear and cold heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nVERNON.\\r\\nDo me no slander, Douglas: by my life,—\\r\\nAnd I dare well maintain it with my life,—\\r\\nIf well-respected honour bid me on,\\r\\nI hold as little counsel with weak fear\\r\\nAs you, my lord, or any Scot that this day lives:\\r\\nLet it be seen to-morrow in the battle\\r\\nWhich of us fears.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOUGLAS.\\r\\nYea, or to-night.\\r\\n\\r\\nVERNON.\\r\\nContent.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nTo-night, say I.\\r\\n\\r\\nVERNON.\\r\\nCome, come, it may not be. I wonder much,\\r\\nBeing men of such great leading as you are,\\r\\nThat you foresee not what impediments\\r\\nDrag back our expedition: certain Horse\\r\\nOf my cousin Vernon’s are not yet come up:\\r\\nYour uncle Worcester’s Horse came but to-day;\\r\\nAnd now their pride and mettle is asleep,\\r\\nTheir courage with hard labour tame and dull,\\r\\nThat not a horse is half the half himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nSo are the horses of the enemy\\r\\nIn general, journey-bated and brought low:\\r\\nThe better part of ours are full of rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nThe number of the King exceedeth ours.\\r\\nFor God’s sake, cousin, stay till all come in.\\r\\n\\r\\n[The Trumpet sounds a parley.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Sir Walter Blunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nBLUNT.\\r\\nI come with gracious offers from the King,\\r\\nIf you vouchsafe me hearing and respect.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nWelcome, Sir Walter Blunt; and would to God\\r\\nYou were of our determination!\\r\\nSome of us love you well; and even those some\\r\\nEnvy your great deservings and good name,\\r\\nBecause you are not of our quality,\\r\\nBut stand against us like an enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBLUNT.\\r\\nAnd God defend but still I should stand so,\\r\\nSo long as out of limit and true rule\\r\\nYou stand against anointed majesty!\\r\\nBut to my charge: the King hath sent to know\\r\\nThe nature of your griefs; and whereupon\\r\\nYou conjure from the breast of civil peace\\r\\nSuch bold hostility, teaching his duteous land\\r\\nAudacious cruelty. If that the King\\r\\nHave any way your good deserts forgot,\\r\\nWhich he confesseth to be manifold,\\r\\nHe bids you name your griefs; and with all speed\\r\\nYou shall have your desires with interest,\\r\\nAnd pardon absolute for yourself and these\\r\\nHerein misled by your suggestion.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nThe King is kind; and well we know the King\\r\\nKnows at what time to promise, when to pay.\\r\\nMy father and my uncle and myself\\r\\nDid give him that same royalty he wears;\\r\\nAnd—when he was not six-and-twenty strong,\\r\\nSick in the world’s regard, wretched and low,\\r\\nA poor unminded outlaw sneaking home—\\r\\nMy father gave him welcome to the shore:\\r\\nAnd—when he heard him swear and vow to God,\\r\\nHe came but to be Duke of Lancaster,\\r\\nTo sue his livery and beg his peace,\\r\\nWith tears of innocence and terms of zeal—\\r\\nMy father, in kind heart and pity moved,\\r\\nSwore him assistance, and performed it too.\\r\\nNow, when the lords and barons of the realm\\r\\nPerceived Northumberland did lean to him,\\r\\nThe more and less came in with cap and knee;\\r\\nMet him in boroughs, cities, villages,\\r\\nAttended him on bridges, stood in lanes,\\r\\nLaid gifts before him, proffer’d him their oaths,\\r\\nGive him their heirs as pages, follow’d him\\r\\nEven at the heels in golden multitudes.\\r\\nHe presently—as greatness knows itself—\\r\\nSteps me a little higher than his vow\\r\\nMade to my father, while his blood was poor,\\r\\nUpon the naked shore at Ravenspurg;\\r\\nAnd now, forsooth, takes on him to reform\\r\\nSome certain edicts and some strait decrees\\r\\nThat lie too heavy on the commonwealth;\\r\\nCries out upon abuses, seems to weep\\r\\nOver his country’s wrongs; and, by this face,\\r\\nThis seeming brow of justice, did he win\\r\\nThe hearts of all that he did angle for:\\r\\nProceeded further; cut me off the heads\\r\\nOf all the favourites, that the absent King\\r\\nIn deputation left behind him here\\r\\nWhen he was personal in the Irish war.\\r\\n\\r\\nBLUNT.\\r\\nTut, I came not to hear this.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nThen to the point:\\r\\nIn short time after, he deposed the King;\\r\\nSoon after that, deprived him of his life;\\r\\nAnd, in the neck of that, task’d the whole State:\\r\\nTo make that worse, suffer’d his kinsman March\\r\\n(Who is, if every owner were well placed,\\r\\nIndeed his king) to be engaged in Wales,\\r\\nThere without ransom to lie forfeited;\\r\\nDisgraced me in my happy victories,\\r\\nSought to entrap me by intelligence;\\r\\nRated my uncle from the Council-board;\\r\\nIn rage dismiss’d my father from the Court;\\r\\nBroke oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong;\\r\\nAnd, in conclusion, drove us to seek out\\r\\nThis head of safety; and withal to pry\\r\\nInto his title, the which now we find\\r\\nToo indirect for long continuance.\\r\\n\\r\\nBLUNT.\\r\\nShall I return this answer to the King?\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nNot so, Sir Walter: we’ll withdraw awhile.\\r\\nGo to the King; and let there be impawn’d\\r\\nSome surety for a safe return again,\\r\\nAnd in the morning early shall my uncle\\r\\nBring him our purposes: and so, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nBLUNT.\\r\\nI would you would accept of grace and love.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nAnd may be so we shall.\\r\\n\\r\\nBLUNT.\\r\\nPray God you do.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. York. A Room in the Archbishop’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter the Archbishop of York and Sir Michael.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHBISHOP.\\r\\nHie, good Sir Michael; bear this sealed brief\\r\\nWith winged haste to the Lord Marshal;\\r\\nThis to my cousin Scroop; and all the rest\\r\\nTo whom they are directed. If you knew\\r\\nHow much they do import, you would make haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR MICHAEL.\\r\\nMy good lord,\\r\\nI guess their tenour.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHBISHOP.\\r\\nLike enough you do.\\r\\nTo-morrow, good Sir Michael, is a day\\r\\nWherein the fortune of ten thousand men\\r\\nMust bide the touch; for, sir, at Shrewsbury,\\r\\nAs I am truly given to understand,\\r\\nThe King, with mighty and quick-raised power,\\r\\nMeets with Lord Harry: and, I fear, Sir Michael,\\r\\nWhat with the sickness of Northumberland,\\r\\nWhose power was in the first proportion,\\r\\nAnd what with Owen Glendower’s absence thence,\\r\\nWho with them was a rated sinew too,\\r\\nAnd comes not in, o’er-rul’d by prophecies,—\\r\\nI fear the power of Percy is too weak\\r\\nTo wage an instant trial with the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR MICHAEL.\\r\\nWhy, my good lord, you need not fear;\\r\\nThere’s Douglas and Lord Mortimer.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHBISHOP.\\r\\nNo, Mortimer’s not there.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR MICHAEL.\\r\\nBut there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord Harry Percy,\\r\\nAnd there’s my Lord of Worcester; and a head\\r\\nOf gallant warriors, noble gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHBISHOP.\\r\\nAnd so there is: but yet the King hath drawn\\r\\nThe special head of all the land together;\\r\\nThe Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster,\\r\\nThe noble Westmoreland, and warlike Blunt;\\r\\nAnd many more corrivals and dear men\\r\\nOf estimation and command in arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR MICHAEL.\\r\\nDoubt not, my lord, they shall be well opposed.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHBISHOP.\\r\\nI hope no less, yet needful ’tis to fear;\\r\\nAnd, to prevent the worst, Sir Michael, speed:\\r\\nFor if Lord Percy thrive not, ere the King\\r\\nDismiss his power, he means to visit us,\\r\\nFor he hath heard of our confederacy;\\r\\nAnd ’tis but wisdom to make strong against him:\\r\\nTherefore make haste. I must go write again\\r\\nTo other friends; and so, farewell, Sir Michael.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The King’s Camp near Shrewsbury.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter King Henry, Prince Henry, Lancaster, Sir Walter Blunt, and Sir\\r\\nJohn Falstaff.]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nHow bloodily the Sun begins to peer\\r\\nAbove yon busky hill! the day looks pale\\r\\nAt his distemperature.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThe southern wind\\r\\nDoth play the trumpet to his purposes;\\r\\nAnd by his hollow whistling in the leaves\\r\\nForetells a tempest and a blustering day.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nThen with the losers let it sympathize,\\r\\nFor nothing can seem foul to those that win.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[The trumpet sounds. Enter Worcester and Vernon.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow, now, my Lord of Worcester! ’tis not well\\r\\nThat you and I should meet upon such terms\\r\\nAs now we meet. You have deceived our trust;\\r\\nAnd made us doff our easy robes of peace,\\r\\nTo crush our old limbs in ungentle steel:\\r\\nThis is not well, my lord, this is not well.\\r\\nWhat say you to’t? will you again unknit\\r\\nThis churlish knot of all-abhorred war,\\r\\nAnd move in that obedient orb again\\r\\nWhere you did give a fair and natural light;\\r\\nAnd be no more an exhaled meteor,\\r\\nA prodigy of fear, and a portent\\r\\nOf broached mischief to the unborn times?\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nHear me, my liege:\\r\\nFor mine own part, I could be well content\\r\\nTo entertain the lag-end of my life\\r\\nWith quiet hours; for I do protest,\\r\\nI have not sought the day of this dislike.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nYou have not sought it! why, how comes it, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nRebellion lay in his way, and he found it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nPeace, chewet, peace!\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nIt pleased your Majesty to turn your looks\\r\\nOf favour from myself and all our House;\\r\\nAnd yet I must remember you, my lord,\\r\\nWe were the first and dearest of your friends.\\r\\nFor you my staff of office did I break\\r\\nIn Richard’s time; and posted day and night\\r\\nTo meet you on the way, and kiss your hand,\\r\\nWhen yet you were in place and in account\\r\\nNothing so strong and fortunate as I.\\r\\nIt was myself, my brother, and his son,\\r\\nThat brought you home, and boldly did outdare\\r\\nThe dangers of the time. You swore to us,—\\r\\nAnd you did swear that oath at Doncaster,—\\r\\nThat you did nothing purpose ’gainst the state;\\r\\nNor claim no further than your new-fall’n right,\\r\\nThe seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster:\\r\\nTo this we swore our aid. But in short space\\r\\nIt rain’d down fortune showering on your head;\\r\\nAnd such a flood of greatness fell on you,—\\r\\nWhat with our help, what with the absent King,\\r\\nWhat with the injuries of a wanton time,\\r\\nThe seeming sufferances that you had borne,\\r\\nAnd the contrarious winds that held the King\\r\\nSo long in his unlucky Irish wars\\r\\nThat all in England did repute him dead,—\\r\\nAnd, from this swarm of fair advantages,\\r\\nYou took occasion to be quickly woo’d\\r\\nTo gripe the general sway into your hand;\\r\\nForgot your oath to us at Doncaster;\\r\\nAnd, being fed by us, you used us so\\r\\nAs that ungentle gull, the cuckoo-bird,\\r\\nUseth the sparrow; did oppress our nest;\\r\\nGrew by our feeding to so great a bulk,\\r\\nThat even our love thirst not come near your sight\\r\\nFor fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing\\r\\nWe were enforced, for safety-sake, to fly\\r\\nOut of your sight, and raise this present head:\\r\\nWhereby we stand opposed by such means\\r\\nAs you yourself have forged against yourself,\\r\\nBy unkind usage, dangerous countenance,\\r\\nAnd violation of all faith and troth\\r\\nSworn to tis in your younger enterprise.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nThese things, indeed, you have articulate,\\r\\nProclaim’d at market-crosses, read in churches,\\r\\nTo face the garment of rebellion\\r\\nWith some fine colour that may please the eye\\r\\nOf fickle changelings and poor discontents,\\r\\nWhich gape and rub the elbow at the news\\r\\nOf hurlyburly innovation:\\r\\nAnd never yet did insurrection want\\r\\nSuch water-colours to impaint his cause;\\r\\nNor moody beggars, starving for a time\\r\\nOf pellmell havoc and confusion.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nIn both our armies there is many a soul\\r\\nShall pay full dearly for this encounter,\\r\\nIf once they join in trial. Tell your nephew,\\r\\nThe Prince of Wales doth join with all the world\\r\\nIn praise of Henry Percy: by my hopes,\\r\\nThis present enterprise set off his head,\\r\\nI do not think a braver gentleman,\\r\\nMore active-valiant or more valiant-young,\\r\\nMore daring or more bold, is now alive\\r\\nTo grace this latter age with noble deeds.\\r\\nFor my part,—I may speak it to my shame,—\\r\\nI have a truant been to chivalry;\\r\\nAnd so I hear he doth account me too:\\r\\nYet this before my father’s Majesty,—\\r\\nI am content that he shall take the odds\\r\\nOf his great name and estimation,\\r\\nAnd will, to save the blood on either side,\\r\\nTry fortune with him in a single fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nAnd, Prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee,\\r\\nAlbeit considerations infinite\\r\\nDo make against it.—No, good Worcester, no;\\r\\nWe love our people well; even those we love\\r\\nThat are misled upon your cousin’s part;\\r\\nAnd, will they take the offer of our grace,\\r\\nBoth he, and they, and you, yea, every man\\r\\nShall be my friend again, and I’ll be his:\\r\\nSo tell your cousin, and then bring me word\\r\\nWhat he will do: but, if he will not yield,\\r\\nRebuke and dread correction wait on us,\\r\\nAnd they shall do their office. So, be gone;\\r\\nWe will not now be troubled with reply:\\r\\nWe offer fair; take it advisedly.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit Worcester with Vernon.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nIt will not be accepted, on my life:\\r\\nThe Douglas and the Hotspur both together\\r\\nAre confident against the world in arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nHence, therefore, every leader to his charge;\\r\\nFor, on their answer, will we set on them:\\r\\nAnd God befriend us, as our cause is just!\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt the King, Blunt, and Prince John.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nHal, if thou see me down in the battle, and bestride me, so; ’tis a\\r\\npoint of friendship.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nNothing but a colossus can do thee that friendship.\\r\\nSay thy prayers, and farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nI would it were bedtime, Hal, and all well.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhy, thou owest God a death.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\n’Tis not due yet; I would be loth to pay Him before His day. What need\\r\\nI be so forward with him that calls not on me? Well, ’tis no matter;\\r\\nhonour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come\\r\\non? how then? Can honor set-to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take away\\r\\nthe grief of a wound? no. Honour hath no skill in surgery then? no.\\r\\nWhat is honour? a word. What is that word, honour? air. A trim\\r\\nreckoning!—Who hath it? he that died o’ Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no.\\r\\nDoth be hear it? no. Is it insensible, then? yea, to the dead. But will\\r\\nit not live with the living? no. Why? detraction will not suffer it.\\r\\nTherefore I’ll none of it: honour is a mere scutcheon:—and so ends my\\r\\ncatechism.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The Rebel Camp.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Worcester and Vernon.]\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nO no, my nephew must not know, Sir Richard,\\r\\nThe liberal-kind offer of the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nVERNON.\\r\\n’Twere best he did.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nThen are we all undone.\\r\\nIt is not possible, it cannot be,\\r\\nThe King should keep his word in loving us;\\r\\nHe will suspect us still, and find a time\\r\\nTo punish this offence in other faults:\\r\\nSuspicion all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes;\\r\\nFor treason is but trusted like the fox,\\r\\nWho, ne’er so tame, so cherish’d, and lock’d up,\\r\\nWill have a wild trick of his ancestors.\\r\\nLook how we can, or sad or merrily,\\r\\nInterpretation will misquote our looks;\\r\\nAnd we shall feed like oxen at a stall,\\r\\nThe better cherish’d, still the nearer death.\\r\\nMy nephew’s trespass may be well forgot:\\r\\nIt hath th’ excuse of youth and heat of blood,\\r\\nAnd an adopted name of privilege,—\\r\\nA hare-brain’d Hotspur, govern’d by a spleen:\\r\\nAll his offences live upon my head\\r\\nAnd on his father’s: we did train him on;\\r\\nAnd, his corruption being ta’en from us,\\r\\nWe, as the spring of all, shall pay for all.\\r\\nTherefore, good cousin, let not Harry know,\\r\\nIn any case, the offer of the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nVERNON.\\r\\nDeliver what you will, I’ll say ’tis so.\\r\\nHere comes your cousin.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Hotspur and Douglas; Officers and Soldiers behind.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nMy uncle is return’d: deliver up\\r\\nMy Lord of Westmoreland.—Uncle, what news?\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nThe King will bid you battle presently.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOUGLAS.\\r\\nDefy him by the Lord Of Westmoreland.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nLord Douglas, go you and tell him so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOUGLAS.\\r\\nMarry, I shall, and very willingly.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nThere is no seeming mercy in the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nDid you beg any? God forbid!\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nI told him gently of our grievances,\\r\\nOf his oath-breaking; which he mended thus,\\r\\nBy new-forswearing that he is forsworn:\\r\\nHe calls us rebels, traitors; and will scourge\\r\\nWith haughty arms this hateful name in us.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Re-enter Douglas.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOUGLAS.\\r\\nArm, gentlemen; to arms! for I have thrown\\r\\nA brave defiance in King Henry’s teeth,\\r\\nAnd Westmoreland, that was engaged, did bear it;\\r\\nWhich cannot choose but bring him quickly on.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nThe Prince of Wales stepp’d forth before the King,\\r\\nAnd, nephew, challenged you to single fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nO, would the quarrel lay upon our heads;\\r\\nAnd that no man might draw short breath to-day\\r\\nBut I and Harry Monmouth! Tell me, tell me,\\r\\nHow show’d his tasking? seem’d it in contempt?\\r\\n\\r\\nVERNON.\\r\\nNo, by my soul: I never in my life\\r\\nDid hear a challenge urged more modestly,\\r\\nUnless a brother should a brother dare\\r\\nTo gentle exercise and proof of arms.\\r\\nHe gave you all the duties of a man;\\r\\nTrimm’d up your praises with a princely tongue;\\r\\nSpoke your deservings like a chronicle;\\r\\nMaking you ever better than his praise,\\r\\nBy still dispraising praise valued with you;\\r\\nAnd, which became him like a prince indeed,\\r\\nHe made a blushing cital of himself;\\r\\nAnd chid his truant youth with such a grace,\\r\\nAs if he master’d there a double spirit,\\r\\nOf teaching and of learning instantly.\\r\\nThere did he pause: but let me tell the world,\\r\\nIf he outlive the envy of this day,\\r\\nEngland did never owe so sweet a hope,\\r\\nSo much misconstrued in his wantonness.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nCousin, I think thou art enamoured\\r\\nUpon his follies: never did I hear\\r\\nOf any prince so wild o’ liberty.\\r\\nBut be he as he will, yet once ere night\\r\\nI will embrace him with a soldier’s arm,\\r\\nThat he shall shrink under my courtesy.—\\r\\nArm, arm with speed: and, fellows, soldiers, friends,\\r\\nBetter consider what you have to do\\r\\nThan I, that have not well the gift of tongue,\\r\\nCan lift your blood up with persuasion.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter a Messenger.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nMy lord, here are letters for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nI cannot read them now.—\\r\\nO gentlemen, the time of life is short!\\r\\nTo spend that shortness basely were too long,\\r\\nIf life did ride upon a dial’s point,\\r\\nStill ending at th’ arrival of an hour.\\r\\nAn if we live, we live to tread on kings;\\r\\nIf die, brave death, when princes die with us!\\r\\nNow, for our consciences, the arms are fair,\\r\\nWhen the intent of bearing them is just.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter another Messenger.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nMy lord, prepare: the King comes on apace.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nI thank him, that he cuts me from my tale,\\r\\nFor I profess not talking; only this,\\r\\nLet each man do his best: and here draw I\\r\\nA sword, whose temper I intend to stain\\r\\nWith the best blood that I can meet withal\\r\\nIn the adventure of this perilous day.\\r\\nNow, Esperance! Percy! and set on.\\r\\nSound all the lofty instruments of war,\\r\\nAnd by that music let us all embrace;\\r\\nFor, Heaven to Earth, some of us never shall\\r\\nA second time do such a courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\n[The trumpets sound. They embrace, and exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Plain between the Camps.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Excursions, and Parties fighting. Alarum to the battle.\\r\\nThen enter Douglas and Sir Walter Blunt, meeting.]\\r\\n\\r\\nBLUNT.\\r\\nWhat is thy name, that in the battle thus\\r\\nThou crossest me? what honour dost thou seek\\r\\nUpon my head?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOUGLAS.\\r\\nKnow, then, my name is Douglas,\\r\\nAnd I do haunt thee in the battle thus\\r\\nBecause some tell me that thou art a king.\\r\\n\\r\\nBLUNT.\\r\\nThey tell thee true.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOUGLAS.\\r\\nThe Lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought\\r\\nThy likeness; for, instead of thee, King Harry,\\r\\nThis sword hath ended him: so shall it thee,\\r\\nUnless thou yield thee as my prisoner.\\r\\n\\r\\nBLUNT.\\r\\nI was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot;\\r\\nAnd thou shalt find a king that will revenge\\r\\nLord Stafford’s death.\\r\\n\\r\\n[They fight, and Blunt is slain. Enter Hotspur.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nO Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus,\\r\\nI never had triumphed o’er a Scot.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOUGLAS.\\r\\nAll’s done, all’s won; here breathless lies the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nWhere?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOUGLAS.\\r\\nHere.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nThis, Douglas? no; I know this face full well:\\r\\nA gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt;\\r\\nSemblably furnish’d like the King himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOUGLAS.\\r\\nA fool go with thy soul, where’re it goes!\\r\\nA borrow’d title hast thou bought too dear:\\r\\nWhy didst thou tell me that thou wert a king?\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nThe King hath many marching in his coats.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOUGLAS.\\r\\nNow, by my sword, I will kill all his coats;\\r\\nI’ll murder all his wardrobe piece by piece,\\r\\nUntil I meet the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nUp, and away!\\r\\nOur soldiers stand full fairly for the day.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Alarums. Enter Falstaff.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nThough I could ’scape shot-free at London, I fear the shot here; here’s\\r\\nno scoring but upon the pate.—Soft! who are you? Sir Walter Blunt:\\r\\nthere’s honour for you! here’s no vanity! I am as hot as molten lead,\\r\\nand as heavy too: God keep lead out of me! I need no more weight than\\r\\nmine own bowels. I have led my ragamuffins where they are peppered:\\r\\nthere’s not three of my hundred and fifty left alive; and they are for\\r\\nthe town’s end, to beg during life. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Prince Henry.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhat, stand’st thou idle here? lend me thy sword:\\r\\nMany a nobleman lies stark and stiff\\r\\nUnder the hoofs of vaunting enemies,\\r\\nWhose deaths are yet unrevenged: I pr’ythee,\\r\\nLend me thy sword.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nO Hal, I pr’ythee give me leave to breathe awhile. Turk\\r\\nGregory never did such deeds in arms as I have done this\\r\\nday. I have paid Percy, I have made him sure.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nHe is indeed; and living to kill thee.\\r\\nI pr’ythee, lend me thy sword.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nNay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou gett’st not my sword; but\\r\\ntake my pistol, if thou wilt.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nGive it me: what, is it in the case?\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nAy, Hal. ’Tis hot, ’tis hot: there’s that will sack a city.\\r\\n\\r\\n[The Prince draws out a bottle of sack.]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat, is’t a time to jest and dally now?\\r\\n\\r\\n[Throws it at him, and exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWell, if Percy be alive, I’ll pierce him. If he do come in my way, so;\\r\\nif he do not, if I come in his willingly, let him make a carbonado of\\r\\nme. I like not such grinning honour as Sir Walter hath: give me life;\\r\\nwhich if I can save, so; if not, honour comes unlooked for, and there’s\\r\\nan end.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Another Part of the Field.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Alarums. Excursions. Enter King Henry, Prince Henry,\\r\\nLancaster, and Westmoreland.]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nI pr’ythee,\\r\\nHarry, withdraw thyself; thou bleedest too much.—\\r\\nLord John of Lancaster, go you unto him.\\r\\n\\r\\nLANCASTER.\\r\\nNot I, my lord, unless I did bleed too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nI do beseech your Majesty, make up,\\r\\nLest your retirement do amaze your friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nI will do so.—\\r\\nMy Lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORELAND.\\r\\nCome, my lord, I’ll lead you to your tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nLead me, my lord? I do not need your help:\\r\\nAnd God forbid, a shallow scratch should drive\\r\\nThe Prince of Wales from such a field as this,\\r\\nWhere stain’d nobility lies trodden on,\\r\\nAnd rebels’ arms triumph in massacres!\\r\\n\\r\\nLANCASTER.\\r\\nWe breathe too long:—come, cousin Westmoreland,\\r\\nOur duty this way lies; for God’s sake, come.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt Lancaster and Westmoreland.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nBy Heaven, thou hast deceived me, Lancaster;\\r\\nI did not think thee lord of such a spirit:\\r\\nBefore, I loved thee as a brother, John;\\r\\nBut now I do respect thee as my soul.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nI saw him hold Lord Percy at the point\\r\\nWith lustier maintenance than I did look for\\r\\nOf such an ungrown warrior.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nO, this boy\\r\\nLends mettle to us all!\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Alarums. Enter Douglas.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOUGLAS.\\r\\nAnother king! they grow like Hydra’s heads:\\r\\nI am the Douglas, fatal to all those\\r\\n\\r\\nThat wear those colours on them.—What art thou,\\r\\nThat counterfeit’st the person of a king?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nThe King himself; who, Douglas, grieves at heart\\r\\nSo many of his shadows thou hast met,\\r\\nAnd not the very King. I have two boys\\r\\nSeek Percy and thyself about the field:\\r\\nBut, seeing thou fall’st on me so luckily,\\r\\nI will assay thee; so, defend thyself.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOUGLAS.\\r\\nI fear thou art another counterfeit;\\r\\nAnd yet, in faith, thou bear’st thee like a king:\\r\\nBut mine I’m sure thou art, whoe’er thou be,\\r\\nAnd thus I win thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n[They fight; the King being in danger, re-enter Prince Henry.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nHold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like\\r\\nNever to hold it up again! the spirits\\r\\nOf valiant Shirley, Stafford, Blunt are in my arms:\\r\\nIt is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee;\\r\\nWho never promiseth but he means to pay.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[They fight: Douglas flies.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCheerly, my lord: how fares your Grace?\\r\\nSir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent,\\r\\nAnd so hath Clifton: I’ll to Clifton straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nStay, and breathe awhile:\\r\\nThou hast redeem’d thy lost opinion;\\r\\nAnd show’d thou makest some tender of my life,\\r\\nIn this fair rescue thou hast brought to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nO God, they did me too much injury\\r\\nThat ever said I hearken’d for your death!\\r\\nIf it were so, I might have let alone\\r\\nTh’ insulting hand of Douglas over you,\\r\\nWhich would have been as speedy in your end\\r\\nAs all the poisonous potions in the world,\\r\\nAnd saved the treacherous labour of your son.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nMake up to Clifton: I’ll to Sir Nicholas Gawsey.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Hotspur.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nIf I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThou speak’st as if I would deny my name.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nMy name is Harry Percy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhy, then I see\\r\\nA very valiant rebel of the name.\\r\\nI am the Prince of Wales; and think not, Percy,\\r\\nTo share with me in glory any more:\\r\\nTwo stars keep not their motion in one sphere;\\r\\nNor can one England brook a double reign,\\r\\nOf Harry Percy and the Prince of Wales.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nNor shall it, Harry; for the hour is come\\r\\nTo end the one of us; and would to God\\r\\nThy name in arms were now as great as mine!\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nI’ll make it greater ere I part from thee;\\r\\nAnd all the budding honours on thy crest\\r\\nI’ll crop, to make a garland for my head.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nI can no longer brook thy vanities.\\r\\n\\r\\n[They fight.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Falstaff.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nWell said, Hal! to it, Hal! Nay, you shall find no boy’s play here, I\\r\\ncan tell you.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Re-enter Douglas; he fights with Falstaff, who falls down as if he\\r\\nwere dead, and exit Douglas. Hotspure is wounded, and falls.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHOTSPUR.\\r\\nO Harry, thou hast robb’d me of my youth!\\r\\nI better brook the loss of brittle life\\r\\nThan those proud titles thou hast won of me;\\r\\nThey wound my thoughts worse than thy sword my flesh:\\r\\nBut thoughts the slave of life, and life Time’s fool,\\r\\nAnd Time, that takes survey of all the world,\\r\\nMust have a stop. O, I could prophesy,\\r\\nBut that the earthy and cold hand of death\\r\\nLies on my tongue: no, Percy, thou art dust,\\r\\nAnd food for—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Dies.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nFor worms, brave Percy: fare thee well, great heart!\\r\\nIll-weaved ambition, how much art thou shrunk!\\r\\nWhen that this body did contain a spirit,\\r\\nA kingdom for it was too small a bound;\\r\\nBut now two paces of the vilest earth\\r\\nIs room enough. This earth that bears thee dead\\r\\nBears not alive so stout a gentleman.\\r\\nIf thou wert sensible of courtesy,\\r\\nI should not make so dear a show of zeal:\\r\\nBut let my favours hide thy mangled face;\\r\\nAnd, even in thy behalf, I’ll thank myself\\r\\nFor doing these fair rites of tenderness.\\r\\nAdieu, and take thy praise with thee to Heaven!\\r\\nThy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave,\\r\\nBut not remember’d in thy epitaph!—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Sees Falstaff on the ground.]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat, old acquaintance? could not all this flesh\\r\\nKeep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell!\\r\\nI could have better spared a better man:\\r\\nO, I should have a heavy miss of thee,\\r\\nIf I were much in love with vanity!\\r\\nDeath hath not struck so fat a deer to-day,\\r\\nThough many dearer, in this bloody fray.\\r\\nEmbowell’d will I see thee by-and-by:\\r\\nTill then in blood by noble Percy lie.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\n[Rising.] Embowell’d! if thou embowel me to-day, I’ll give you leave to\\r\\npowder me and eat me too to-morrow. ’Sblood, ’twas time to counterfeit,\\r\\nor that hot termagant Scot had paid me scot and lot too. Counterfeit! I\\r\\nlie; I am no counterfeit: to die, is to be a counterfeit; for he is\\r\\nbut the counterfeit of a man who hath not the life of a man: but to\\r\\ncounterfeit dying, when a man thereby liveth, is to be no counterfeit,\\r\\nbut the true and perfect image of life indeed. The better part of\\r\\nvalour is discretion; in the which better part I have saved my life.—\\r\\nZwounds, I am afraid of this gunpowder Percy, though he be dead: how,\\r\\nif he should counterfeit too, and rise? by my faith, I am afraid he\\r\\nwould prove the better counterfeit. Therefore I’ll make him sure; yea,\\r\\nand I’ll swear I kill’d him. Why may not he rise as well as I? Nothing\\r\\nconfutes me but eyes, and nobody sees me. Therefore, sirrah, with a new\\r\\nwound in your thigh, come you along with me.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Takes Hotspur on his hack.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Re-enter Prince Henry and Lancaster.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nCome, brother John; full bravely hast thou flesh’d\\r\\nThy maiden sword.\\r\\n\\r\\nLANCASTER.\\r\\nBut, soft! whom have we here?\\r\\nDid you not tell me this fat man was dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nI did; I saw him dead, breathless and bleeding\\r\\nUpon the ground.—\\r\\nArt thou alive? or is it fantasy\\r\\nThat plays upon our eyesight? I pr’ythee, speak;\\r\\nWe will not trust our eyes without our ears.\\r\\nThou art not what thou seem’st.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nNo, that’s certain; I am not a double man: but if I be not Jack\\r\\nFalstaff, then am I a Jack. There is Percy! [Throwing the body down.]\\r\\nif your father will do me any honour, so; if not, let him kill the next\\r\\nPercy himself. I look to be either earl or duke, I can assure you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhy, Percy I kill’d myself, and saw thee dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nDidst thou?— Lord, Lord, how this world is given to lying!— I grant you\\r\\nI was down and out of breath; and so was he: but we rose both at an\\r\\ninstant, and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock. If I may be\\r\\nbelieved, so; if not, let them that should reward valour bear the sin\\r\\nupon their own heads. I’ll take it upon my death, I gave him this wound\\r\\nin the thigh: if the man were alive, and would deny it, zwounds, I\\r\\nwould make him eat a piece of my sword.\\r\\n\\r\\nLANCASTER.\\r\\nThis is the strangest tale that ever I heard.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThis is the strangest fellow, brother John.—\\r\\nCome, bring your luggage nobly on your back:\\r\\nFor my part, if a lie may do thee grace,\\r\\nI’ll gild it with the happiest terms I have.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[A retreat is sounded.]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe trumpet sounds retreat; the day is ours.\\r\\nCome, brother, let’s to th’ highest of the field,\\r\\nTo see what friends are living, who are dead.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt Prince Henry and Lancaster.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFALSTAFF.\\r\\nI’ll follow, as they say, for reward. He that rewards me, God reward\\r\\nhim! If I do grow great, I’ll grow less; for I’ll purge, and leave\\r\\nsack, and live cleanly as a nobleman should do.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exit, bearing off the body.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Another Part of the Field.\\r\\n\\r\\n[The trumpets sound. Enter King Henry, Prince Henry,\\r\\nLancaster, Westmoreland, and others, with Worcester and\\r\\nVernon prisoners.]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nThus ever did rebellion find rebuke.—\\r\\nIll-spirited Worcester! did not we send grace,\\r\\nPardon, and terms of love to all of you?\\r\\nAnd wouldst thou turn our offers contrary?\\r\\nMisuse the tenour of thy kinsman’s trust?\\r\\nThree knights upon our party slain to-day,\\r\\nA noble earl, and many a creature else,\\r\\nHad been alive this hour,\\r\\nIf, like a Christian, thou hadst truly borne\\r\\nBetwixt our armies true intelligence.\\r\\n\\r\\nWORCESTER.\\r\\nWhat I have done my safety urged me to;\\r\\nAnd I embrace this fortune patiently,\\r\\nSince not to be avoided it fails on me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nBear Worcester to the death, and Vernon too:\\r\\nOther offenders we will pause upon.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt Worcester and Vernon, guarded.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow goes the field?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThe noble Scot, Lord Douglas, when he saw\\r\\nThe fortune of the day quite turn’d from him,\\r\\nThe noble Percy slain, and all his men\\r\\nUpon the foot of fear, fled with the rest;\\r\\nAnd, falling from a hill, he was so bruised\\r\\nThat the pursuers took him. At my tent\\r\\nThe Douglas is: and I beseech your Grace\\r\\nI may dispose of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nWith all my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThen, brother John of Lancaster, to you\\r\\nThis honourable bounty shall belong:\\r\\nGo to the Douglas, and deliver him\\r\\nUp to his pleasure, ransomless and free:\\r\\nHis valour, shown upon our crests to-day,\\r\\nHath taught us how to cherish such high deeds\\r\\nEven in the bosom of our adversaries.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nThen this remains, that we divide our power.—\\r\\nYou, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland,\\r\\nTowards York shall bend you with your dearest speed,\\r\\nTo meet Northumberland and the prelate Scroop,\\r\\nWho, as we hear, are busily in arms:\\r\\nMyself,—and you, son Harry,—will towards Wales,\\r\\nTo fight with Glendower and the Earl of March.\\r\\nRebellion in this land shall lose his sway,\\r\\nMeeting the check of such another day;\\r\\nAnd since this business so fair is done,\\r\\nLet us not leave till all our own be won.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\n',\n", + " 'THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personae\\r\\n\\r\\n RUMOUR, the Presenter\\r\\n KING HENRY THE FOURTH\\r\\n\\r\\n HENRY, PRINCE OF WALES, afterwards HENRY\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER\\r\\n PRINCE HUMPHREY OF GLOUCESTER\\r\\n THOMAS, DUKE OF CLARENCE\\r\\n Sons of Henry IV\\r\\n\\r\\n EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND\\r\\n SCROOP, ARCHBISHOP OF YORK\\r\\n LORD MOWBRAY\\r\\n LORD HASTINGS\\r\\n LORD BARDOLPH\\r\\n SIR JOHN COLVILLE\\r\\n TRAVERS and MORTON, retainers of Northumberland\\r\\n Opposites against King Henry IV\\r\\n\\r\\n EARL OF WARWICK\\r\\n EARL OF WESTMORELAND\\r\\n EARL OF SURREY\\r\\n EARL OF KENT\\r\\n GOWER\\r\\n HARCOURT\\r\\n BLUNT\\r\\n Of the King\\'s party\\r\\n\\r\\n LORD CHIEF JUSTICE\\r\\n SERVANT, to Lord Chief Justice\\r\\n\\r\\n SIR JOHN FALSTAFF\\r\\n EDWARD POINS\\r\\n BARDOLPH\\r\\n PISTOL\\r\\n PETO\\r\\n Irregular humourists\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE, to Falstaff\\r\\n\\r\\n ROBERT SHALLOW and SILENCE, country Justices\\r\\n DAVY, servant to Shallow\\r\\n\\r\\n FANG and SNARE, Sheriff\\'s officers\\r\\n\\r\\n RALPH MOULDY\\r\\n SIMON SHADOW\\r\\n THOMAS WART\\r\\n FRANCIS FEEBLE\\r\\n PETER BULLCALF\\r\\n Country soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n FRANCIS, a drawer\\r\\n\\r\\n LADY NORTHUMBERLAND\\r\\n LADY PERCY, Percy\\'s widow\\r\\n HOSTESS QUICKLY, of the Boar\\'s Head, Eastcheap\\r\\n DOLL TEARSHEET\\r\\n\\r\\n LORDS, Attendants, Porter, Drawers, Beadles, Grooms, Servants,\\r\\n Speaker of the Epilogue\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE: England\\r\\n\\r\\nINDUCTION\\r\\n INDUCTION.\\r\\n Warkworth. Before NORTHUMBERLAND\\'S Castle\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter RUMOUR, painted full of tongues\\r\\n\\r\\n RUMOUR. Open your ears; for which of you will stop\\r\\n The vent of hearing when loud Rumour speaks?\\r\\n I, from the orient to the drooping west,\\r\\n Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold\\r\\n The acts commenced on this ball of earth.\\r\\n Upon my tongues continual slanders ride,\\r\\n The which in every language I pronounce,\\r\\n Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.\\r\\n I speak of peace while covert emnity,\\r\\n Under the smile of safety, wounds the world;\\r\\n And who but Rumour, who but only I,\\r\\n Make fearful musters and prepar\\'d defence,\\r\\n Whiles the big year, swoln with some other grief,\\r\\n Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war,\\r\\n And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe\\r\\n Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures,\\r\\n And of so easy and so plain a stop\\r\\n That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,\\r\\n The still-discordant wav\\'ring multitude,\\r\\n Can play upon it. But what need I thus\\r\\n My well-known body to anatomize\\r\\n Among my household? Why is Rumour here?\\r\\n I run before King Harry\\'s victory,\\r\\n Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury,\\r\\n Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his troops,\\r\\n Quenching the flame of bold rebellion\\r\\n Even with the rebels\\' blood. But what mean I\\r\\n To speak so true at first? My office is\\r\\n To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell\\r\\n Under the wrath of noble Hotspur\\'s sword,\\r\\n And that the King before the Douglas\\' rage\\r\\n Stoop\\'d his anointed head as low as death.\\r\\n This have I rumour\\'d through the peasant towns\\r\\n Between that royal field of Shrewsbury\\r\\n And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone,\\r\\n Where Hotspur\\'s father, old Northumberland,\\r\\n Lies crafty-sick. The posts come tiring on,\\r\\n And not a man of them brings other news\\r\\n Than they have learnt of me. From Rumour\\'s tongues\\r\\n They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true wrongs.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. Warkworth. Before NORTHUMBERLAND\\'S Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter LORD BARDOLPH\\r\\n\\r\\n LORD BARDOLPH. Who keeps the gate here, ho?\\r\\n\\r\\n The PORTER opens the gate\\r\\n\\r\\n Where is the Earl?\\r\\n PORTER. What shall I say you are?\\r\\n LORD BARDOLPH. Tell thou the Earl\\r\\n That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here.\\r\\n PORTER. His lordship is walk\\'d forth into the orchard.\\r\\n Please it your honour knock but at the gate,\\r\\n And he himself will answer.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NORTHUMBERLAND\\r\\n\\r\\n LORD BARDOLPH. Here comes the Earl. Exit PORTER\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. What news, Lord Bardolph? Every minute now\\r\\n Should be the father of some stratagem.\\r\\n The times are wild; contention, like a horse\\r\\n Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose\\r\\n And bears down all before him.\\r\\n LORD BARDOLPH. Noble Earl,\\r\\n I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Good, an God will!\\r\\n LORD BARDOLPH. As good as heart can wish.\\r\\n The King is almost wounded to the death;\\r\\n And, in the fortune of my lord your son,\\r\\n Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts\\r\\n Kill\\'d by the hand of Douglas; young Prince John,\\r\\n And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field;\\r\\n And Harry Monmouth\\'s brawn, the hulk Sir John,\\r\\n Is prisoner to your son. O, such a day,\\r\\n So fought, so followed, and so fairly won,\\r\\n Came not till now to dignify the times,\\r\\n Since Cxsar\\'s fortunes!\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. How is this deriv\\'d?\\r\\n Saw you the field? Came you from Shrewsbury?\\r\\n LORD BARDOLPH. I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence;\\r\\n A gentleman well bred and of good name,\\r\\n That freely rend\\'red me these news for true.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TRAVERS\\r\\n\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Here comes my servant Travers, whom I sent\\r\\n On Tuesday last to listen after news.\\r\\n LORD BARDOLPH. My lord, I over-rode him on the way;\\r\\n And he is furnish\\'d with no certainties\\r\\n More than he haply may retail from me.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Now, Travers, what good tidings comes with you?\\r\\n TRAVERS. My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn\\'d me back\\r\\n With joyful tidings; and, being better hors\\'d,\\r\\n Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard\\r\\n A gentleman, almost forspent with speed,\\r\\n That stopp\\'d by me to breathe his bloodied horse.\\r\\n He ask\\'d the way to Chester; and of him\\r\\n I did demand what news from Shrewsbury.\\r\\n He told me that rebellion had bad luck,\\r\\n And that young Harry Percy\\'s spur was cold.\\r\\n With that he gave his able horse the head\\r\\n And, bending forward, struck his armed heels\\r\\n Against the panting sides of his poor jade\\r\\n Up to the rowel-head; and starting so,\\r\\n He seem\\'d in running to devour the way,\\r\\n Staying no longer question.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Ha! Again:\\r\\n Said he young Harry Percy\\'s spur was cold?\\r\\n Of Hotspur, Coldspur? that rebellion\\r\\n Had met ill luck?\\r\\n LORD BARDOLPH. My lord, I\\'ll tell you what:\\r\\n If my young lord your son have not the day,\\r\\n Upon mine honour, for a silken point\\r\\n I\\'ll give my barony. Never talk of it.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Why should that gentleman that rode by Travers\\r\\n Give then such instances of loss?\\r\\n LORD BARDOLPH. Who- he?\\r\\n He was some hilding fellow that had stol\\'n\\r\\n The horse he rode on and, upon my life,\\r\\n Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Morton\\r\\n\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Yea, this man\\'s brow, like to a title-leaf,\\r\\n Foretells the nature of a tragic volume.\\r\\n So looks the strand whereon the imperious flood\\r\\n Hath left a witness\\'d usurpation.\\r\\n Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?\\r\\n MORTON. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord;\\r\\n Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask\\r\\n To fright our party.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. How doth my son and brother?\\r\\n Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek\\r\\n Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.\\r\\n Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,\\r\\n So dull, so dread in look, so woe-begone,\\r\\n Drew Priam\\'s curtain in the dead of night\\r\\n And would have told him half his Troy was burnt;\\r\\n But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue,\\r\\n And I my Percy\\'s death ere thou report\\'st it.\\r\\n This thou wouldst say: \\'Your son did thus and thus;\\r\\n Your brother thus; so fought the noble Douglas\\'-\\r\\n Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds;\\r\\n But in the end, to stop my ear indeed,\\r\\n Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise,\\r\\n Ending with \\'Brother, son, and all, are dead.\\'\\r\\n MORTON. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet;\\r\\n But for my lord your son-\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Why, he is dead.\\r\\n See what a ready tongue suspicion hath!\\r\\n He that but fears the thing he would not know\\r\\n Hath by instinct knowledge from others\\' eyes\\r\\n That what he fear\\'d is chanced. Yet speak, Morton;\\r\\n Tell thou an earl his divination lies,\\r\\n And I will take it as a sweet disgrace\\r\\n And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.\\r\\n MORTON. You are too great to be by me gainsaid;\\r\\n Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy\\'s dead.\\r\\n I see a strange confession in thine eye;\\r\\n Thou shak\\'st thy head, and hold\\'st it fear or sin\\r\\n To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so:\\r\\n The tongue offends not that reports his death;\\r\\n And he doth sin that doth belie the dead,\\r\\n Not he which says the dead is not alive.\\r\\n Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news\\r\\n Hath but a losing office, and his tongue\\r\\n Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,\\r\\n Rememb\\'red tolling a departing friend.\\r\\n LORD BARDOLPH. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.\\r\\n MORTON. I am sorry I should force you to believe\\r\\n That which I would to God I had not seen;\\r\\n But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,\\r\\n Rend\\'ring faint quittance, wearied and out-breath\\'d,\\r\\n To Harry Monmouth, whose swift wrath beat down\\r\\n The never-daunted Percy to the earth,\\r\\n From whence with life he never more sprung up.\\r\\n In few, his death- whose spirit lent a fire\\r\\n Even to the dullest peasant in his camp-\\r\\n Being bruited once, took fire and heat away\\r\\n From the best-temper\\'d courage in his troops;\\r\\n For from his metal was his party steeled;\\r\\n Which once in him abated, an the rest\\r\\n Turn\\'d on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.\\r\\n And as the thing that\\'s heavy in itself\\r\\n Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed,\\r\\n So did our men, heavy in Hotspur\\'s loss,\\r\\n Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear\\r\\n That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim\\r\\n Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,\\r\\n Fly from the field. Then was that noble Worcester\\r\\n Too soon ta\\'en prisoner; and that furious Scot,\\r\\n The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword\\r\\n Had three times slain th\\' appearance of the King,\\r\\n Gan vail his stomach and did grace the shame\\r\\n Of those that turn\\'d their backs, and in his flight,\\r\\n Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all\\r\\n Is that the King hath won, and hath sent out\\r\\n A speedy power to encounter you, my lord,\\r\\n Under the conduct of young Lancaster\\r\\n And Westmoreland. This is the news at full.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. For this I shall have time enough to mourn.\\r\\n In poison there is physic; and these news,\\r\\n Having been well, that would have made me sick,\\r\\n Being sick, have in some measure made me well;\\r\\n And as the wretch whose fever-weak\\'ned joints,\\r\\n Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life,\\r\\n Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire\\r\\n Out of his keeper\\'s arms, even so my limbs,\\r\\n Weak\\'ned with grief, being now enrag\\'d with grief,\\r\\n Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, thou nice crutch!\\r\\n A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel\\r\\n Must glove this hand; and hence, thou sickly coif!\\r\\n Thou art a guard too wanton for the head\\r\\n Which princes, flesh\\'d with conquest, aim to hit.\\r\\n Now bind my brows with iron; and approach\\r\\n The ragged\\'st hour that time and spite dare bring\\r\\n To frown upon th\\' enrag\\'d Northumberland!\\r\\n Let heaven kiss earth! Now let not Nature\\'s hand\\r\\n Keep the wild flood confin\\'d! Let order die!\\r\\n And let this world no longer be a stage\\r\\n To feed contention in a ling\\'ring act;\\r\\n But let one spirit of the first-born Cain\\r\\n Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set\\r\\n On bloody courses, the rude scene may end\\r\\n And darkness be the burier of the dead!\\r\\n LORD BARDOLPH. This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord.\\r\\n MORTON. Sweet Earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour.\\r\\n The lives of all your loving complices\\r\\n Lean on your health; the which, if you give o\\'er\\r\\n To stormy passion, must perforce decay.\\r\\n You cast th\\' event of war, my noble lord,\\r\\n And summ\\'d the account of chance before you said\\r\\n \\'Let us make head.\\' It was your pre-surmise\\r\\n That in the dole of blows your son might drop.\\r\\n You knew he walk\\'d o\\'er perils on an edge,\\r\\n More likely to fall in than to get o\\'er;\\r\\n You were advis\\'d his flesh was capable\\r\\n Of wounds and scars, and that his forward spirit\\r\\n Would lift him where most trade of danger rang\\'d;\\r\\n Yet did you say \\'Go forth\\'; and none of this,\\r\\n Though strongly apprehended, could restrain\\r\\n The stiff-borne action. What hath then befall\\'n,\\r\\n Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth\\r\\n More than that being which was like to be?\\r\\n LORD BARDOLPH. We all that are engaged to this loss\\r\\n Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas\\r\\n That if we wrought out life \\'twas ten to one;\\r\\n And yet we ventur\\'d, for the gain propos\\'d\\r\\n Chok\\'d the respect of likely peril fear\\'d;\\r\\n And since we are o\\'erset, venture again.\\r\\n Come, we will put forth, body and goods.\\r\\n MORTON. \\'Tis more than time. And, my most noble lord,\\r\\n I hear for certain, and dare speak the truth:\\r\\n The gentle Archbishop of York is up\\r\\n With well-appointed pow\\'rs. He is a man\\r\\n Who with a double surety binds his followers.\\r\\n My lord your son had only but the corpse,\\r\\n But shadows and the shows of men, to fight;\\r\\n For that same word \\'rebellion\\' did divide\\r\\n The action of their bodies from their souls;\\r\\n And they did fight with queasiness, constrain\\'d,\\r\\n As men drink potions; that their weapons only\\r\\n Seem\\'d on our side, but for their spirits and souls\\r\\n This word \\'rebellion\\'- it had froze them up,\\r\\n As fish are in a pond. But now the Bishop\\r\\n Turns insurrection to religion.\\r\\n Suppos\\'d sincere and holy in his thoughts,\\r\\n He\\'s follow\\'d both with body and with mind;\\r\\n And doth enlarge his rising with the blood\\r\\n Of fair King Richard, scrap\\'d from Pomfret stones;\\r\\n Derives from heaven his quarrel and his cause;\\r\\n Tells them he doth bestride a bleeding land,\\r\\n Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke;\\r\\n And more and less do flock to follow him.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. I knew of this before; but, to speak truth,\\r\\n This present grief had wip\\'d it from my mind.\\r\\n Go in with me; and counsel every man\\r\\n The aptest way for safety and revenge.\\r\\n Get posts and letters, and make friends with speed-\\r\\n Never so few, and never yet more need. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. London. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SIR JOHN FALSTAFF, with his PAGE bearing his sword and buckler\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my water?\\r\\n PAGE. He said, sir, the water itself was a good healthy water; but\\r\\n for the party that owed it, he might have moe diseases than he\\r\\n knew for.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me. The brain of\\r\\n this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to invent anything\\r\\n that intends to laughter, more than I invent or is invented on\\r\\n me. I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in\\r\\n other men. I do here walk before thee like a sow that hath\\r\\n overwhelm\\'d all her litter but one. If the Prince put thee into\\r\\n my service for any other reason than to set me off, why then I\\r\\n have no judgment. Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be\\r\\n worn in my cap than to wait at my heels. I was never mann\\'d with\\r\\n an agate till now; but I will inset you neither in gold nor\\r\\n silver, but in vile apparel, and send you back again to your\\r\\n master, for a jewel- the juvenal, the Prince your master, whose\\r\\n chin is not yet fledge. I will sooner have a beard grow in the\\r\\n palm of my hand than he shall get one off his cheek; and yet he\\r\\n will not stick to say his face is a face-royal. God may finish it\\r\\n when he will, \\'tis not a hair amiss yet. He may keep it still at\\r\\n a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of it;\\r\\n and yet he\\'ll be crowing as if he had writ man ever since his\\r\\n father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he\\'s almost\\r\\n out of mine, I can assure him. What said Master Dommelton about\\r\\n the satin for my short cloak and my slops?\\r\\n PAGE. He said, sir, you should procure him better assurance than\\r\\n Bardolph. He would not take his band and yours; he liked not the\\r\\n security.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Let him be damn\\'d, like the Glutton; pray God his tongue\\r\\n be hotter! A whoreson Achitophel! A rascal-yea-forsooth knave, to\\r\\n bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon security! The\\r\\n whoreson smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and\\r\\n bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is through with\\r\\n them in honest taking-up, then they must stand upon security. I\\r\\n had as lief they would put ratsbane in my mouth as offer to stop\\r\\n it with security. I look\\'d \\'a should have sent me two and twenty\\r\\n yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and he sends me security.\\r\\n Well, he may sleep in security; for he hath the horn of\\r\\n abundance, and the lightness of his wife shines through it; and\\r\\n yet cannot he see, though he have his own lanthorn to light him.\\r\\n Where\\'s Bardolph?\\r\\n PAGE. He\\'s gone into Smithfield to buy your worship horse.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I bought him in Paul\\'s, and he\\'ll buy me a horse in\\r\\n Smithfield. An I could get me but a wife in the stews, I were\\r\\n mann\\'d, hors\\'d, and wiv\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE and SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed the Prince for\\r\\n striking him about Bardolph. FALSTAFF. Wait close; I will not see\\r\\n him. CHIEF JUSTICE. What\\'s he that goes there? SERVANT. Falstaff,\\r\\n an\\'t please your lordship. CHIEF JUSTICE. He that was in question for\\r\\n the robb\\'ry? SERVANT. He, my lord; but he hath since done good\\r\\n service at Shrewsbury, and, as I hear, is now going with some charge\\r\\n to the Lord John of Lancaster. CHIEF JUSTICE. What, to York? Call him\\r\\n back again. SERVANT. Sir John Falstaff! FALSTAFF. Boy, tell him I am\\r\\n deaf. PAGE. You must speak louder; my master is deaf. CHIEF JUSTICE.\\r\\n I am sure he is, to the hearing of anything good. Go, pluck him by\\r\\n the elbow; I must speak with him. SERVANT. Sir John! FALSTAFF. What!\\r\\n a young knave, and begging! Is there not wars? Is there not\\r\\n employment? Doth not the King lack subjects? Do not the rebels need\\r\\n soldiers? Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it is worse\\r\\n shame to beg than to be on the worst side, were it worse than the\\r\\n name of rebellion can tell how to make it. SERVANT. You mistake me,\\r\\n sir. FALSTAFF. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man? Setting my\\r\\n knighthood and my soldiership aside, I had lied in my throat if I had\\r\\n said so. SERVANT. I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood and your\\r\\n soldiership aside; and give me leave to tell you you in your throat,\\r\\n if you say I am any other than an honest man. FALSTAFF. I give thee\\r\\n leave to tell me so! I lay aside that which grows to me! If thou\\r\\n get\\'st any leave of me, hang me; if thou tak\\'st leave, thou wert\\r\\n better be hang\\'d. You hunt counter. Hence! Avaunt! SERVANT. Sir, my\\r\\n lord would speak with you. CHIEF JUSTICE. Sir John Falstaff, a word\\r\\n with you. FALSTAFF. My good lord! God give your lordship good time of\\r\\n day. I am glad to see your lordship abroad. I heard say your lordship\\r\\n was sick; I hope your lordship goes abroad by advice. Your lordship,\\r\\n though not clean past your youth, hath yet some smack of age in you,\\r\\n some relish of the saltness of time; and I most humbly beseech your\\r\\n lordship to have a reverend care of your health. CHIEF JUSTICE. Sir\\r\\n John, I sent for you before your expedition to Shrewsbury. FALSTAFF.\\r\\n An\\'t please your lordship, I hear his Majesty is return\\'d with some\\r\\n discomfort from Wales. CHIEF JUSTICE. I talk not of his Majesty. You\\r\\n would not come when I sent for you. FALSTAFF. And I hear, moreover,\\r\\n his Highness is fall\\'n into this same whoreson apoplexy. CHIEF\\r\\n JUSTICE. Well God mend him! I pray you let me speak with you.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. This apoplexy, as I take it, is a kind of lethargy, an\\'t\\r\\n please your lordship, a kind of sleeping in the blood, a whoreson\\r\\n tingling. CHIEF JUSTICE. What tell you me of it? Be it as it is.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. It hath it original from much grief, from study, and\\r\\n perturbation of the brain. I have read the cause of his effects in\\r\\n Galen; it is a kind of deafness. CHIEF JUSTICE. I think you are\\r\\n fall\\'n into the disease, for you hear not what I say to you.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Very well, my lord, very well. Rather an\\'t please you, it\\r\\n is the disease of not listening, the malady of not marking, that I am\\r\\n troubled withal. CHIEF JUSTICE. To punish you by the heels would\\r\\n amend the attention of your ears; and I care not if I do become your\\r\\n physician. FALSTAFF. I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so\\r\\n patient. Your lordship may minister the potion of imprisonment to me\\r\\n in respect of poverty; but how I should be your patient to follow\\r\\n your prescriptions, the wise may make some dram of a scruple, or\\r\\n indeed a scruple itself. CHIEF JUSTICE. I sent for you, when there\\r\\n were matters against you for your life, to come speak with me.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. As I was then advis\\'d by my learned counsel in the laws of\\r\\n this land-service, I did not come. CHIEF JUSTICE. Well, the truth is,\\r\\n Sir John, you live in great infamy. FALSTAFF. He that buckles himself\\r\\n in my belt cannot live in less. CHIEF JUSTICE. Your means are very\\r\\n slender, and your waste is great. FALSTAFF. I would it were\\r\\n otherwise; I would my means were greater and my waist slenderer.\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. You have misled the youthful Prince. FALSTAFF. The\\r\\n young Prince hath misled me. I am the fellow with the great belly,\\r\\n and he my dog. CHIEF JUSTICE. Well, I am loath to gall a new-heal\\'d\\r\\n wound. Your day\\'s service at Shrewsbury hath a little gilded over\\r\\n your night\\'s exploit on Gadshill. You may thank th\\' unquiet time for\\r\\n your quiet o\\'erposting that action. FALSTAFF. My lord- CHIEF JUSTICE.\\r\\n But since all is well, keep it so: wake not a sleeping wolf.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. To wake a wolf is as bad as smell a fox. CHIEF JUSTICE.\\r\\n What! you are as a candle, the better part burnt out. FALSTAFF. A\\r\\n wassail candle, my lord- all tallow; if I did say of wax, my growth\\r\\n would approve the truth. CHIEF JUSTICE. There is not a white hair in\\r\\n your face but should have his effect of gravity. FALSTAFF. His effect\\r\\n of gravy, gravy, CHIEF JUSTICE. You follow the young Prince up and\\r\\n down, like his ill angel. FALSTAFF. Not so, my lord. Your ill angel\\r\\n is light; but hope he that looks upon me will take me without\\r\\n weighing. And yet in some respects, I grant, I cannot go- I cannot\\r\\n tell. Virtue is of so little regard in these costermongers\\' times\\r\\n that true valour is turn\\'d berod; pregnancy is made a tapster, and\\r\\n his quick wit wasted in giving reckonings; all the other gifts\\r\\n appertinent to man, as the malice of this age shapes them, are not\\r\\n worth a gooseberry. You that are old consider not the capacities of\\r\\n us that are young; you do measure the heat of our livers with the\\r\\n bitterness of your galls; and we that are in the vaward of our youth,\\r\\n must confess, are wags too. CHIEF JUSTICE. Do you set down your name\\r\\n in the scroll of youth, that are written down old with all the\\r\\n characters of age? Have you not a moist eye, a dry hand, a yellow\\r\\n cheek, a white beard, a decreasing leg, an increasing belly? Is not\\r\\n your voice broken, your wind short, your chin double, your wit\\r\\n single, and every part about you blasted with antiquity? And will you\\r\\n yet call yourself young? Fie, fie, fie, Sir John! FALSTAFF. My lord,\\r\\n I was born about three of the clock in the afternoon, with a white\\r\\n head and something a round belly. For my voice- I have lost it with\\r\\n hallooing and singing of anthems. To approve my youth further, I will\\r\\n not. The truth is, I am only old in judgment and understanding; and\\r\\n he that will caper with me for a thousand marks, let him lend me the\\r\\n money, and have at him. For the box of the ear that the Prince gave\\r\\n you- he gave it like a rude prince, and you took it like a sensible\\r\\n lord. I have check\\'d him for it; and the young lion repents- marry,\\r\\n not in ashes and sackcloth, but in new silk and old sack. CHIEF\\r\\n JUSTICE. Well, God send the Prince a better companion! FALSTAFF. God\\r\\n send the companion a better prince! I cannot rid my hands of him.\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. Well, the King hath sever\\'d you. I hear you are going\\r\\n with Lord John of Lancaster against the Archbishop and the Earl of\\r\\n Northumberland. FALSTAFF. Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it.\\r\\n But look you pray, all you that kiss my Lady Peace at home, that our\\r\\n armies join not in a hot day; for, by the Lord, I take but two shirts\\r\\n out with me, and I mean not to sweat extraordinarily. If it be a hot\\r\\n day, and I brandish anything but a bottle, I would I might never spit\\r\\n white again. There is not a dangerous action can peep out his head\\r\\n but I am thrust upon it. Well, I cannot last ever; but it was alway\\r\\n yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing, to\\r\\n make it too common. If ye will needs say I am an old man, you should\\r\\n give me rest. I would to God my name were not so terrible to the\\r\\n enemy as it is. I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than\\r\\n to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion. CHIEF JUSTICE. Well,\\r\\n be honest, be honest; and God bless your expedition! FALSTAFF. Will\\r\\n your lordship lend me a thousand pound to furnish me forth? CHIEF\\r\\n JUSTICE. Not a penny, not a penny; you are too impatient to bear\\r\\n crosses. Fare you well. Commend me to my cousin Westmoreland. Exeunt\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE and SERVANT FALSTAFF. If I do, fillip me with a\\r\\n three-man beetle. A man can no more separate age and covetousness\\r\\n than \\'a can part young limbs and lechery; but the gout galls the one,\\r\\n and the pox pinches the other; and so both the degrees prevent my\\r\\n curses. Boy! PAGE. Sir? FALSTAFF. What money is in my purse? PAGE.\\r\\n Seven groats and two pence. FALSTAFF. I can get no remedy against\\r\\n this consumption of the purse; borrowing only lingers and lingers it\\r\\n out, but the disease is incurable. Go bear this letter to my Lord of\\r\\n Lancaster; this to the Prince; this to the Earl of Westmoreland; and\\r\\n this to old Mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry since\\r\\n I perceiv\\'d the first white hair of my chin. About it; you know where\\r\\n to find me. [Exit PAGE] A pox of this gout! or, a gout of this pox!\\r\\n for the one or the other plays the rogue with my great toe. \\'Tis no\\r\\n matter if I do halt; I have the wars for my colour, and my pension\\r\\n shall seem the more reasonable. A good wit will make use of anything.\\r\\n I will turn diseases to commodity. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. York. The ARCHBISHOP\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the ARCHBISHOP, THOMAS MOWBRAY the EARL MARSHAL, LORD HASTINGS,\\r\\nand LORD BARDOLPH\\r\\n\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Thus have you heard our cause and known our means;\\r\\n And, my most noble friends, I pray you all\\r\\n Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes-\\r\\n And first, Lord Marshal, what say you to it?\\r\\n MOWBRAY. I well allow the occasion of our amis;\\r\\n But gladly would be better satisfied\\r\\n How, in our means, we should advance ourselves\\r\\n To look with forehead bold and big enough\\r\\n Upon the power and puissance of the King.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Our present musters grow upon the file\\r\\n To five and twenty thousand men of choice;\\r\\n And our supplies live largely in the hope\\r\\n Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns\\r\\n With an incensed fire of injuries.\\r\\n LORD BARDOLPH. The question then, Lord Hastings, standeth thus:\\r\\n Whether our present five and twenty thousand\\r\\n May hold up head without Northumberland?\\r\\n HASTINGS. With him, we may.\\r\\n LORD BARDOLPH. Yea, marry, there\\'s the point;\\r\\n But if without him we be thought too feeble,\\r\\n My judgment is we should not step too far\\r\\n Till we had his assistance by the hand;\\r\\n For, in a theme so bloody-fac\\'d as this,\\r\\n Conjecture, expectation, and surmise\\r\\n Of aids incertain, should not be admitted.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. \\'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for indeed\\r\\n It was young Hotspur\\'s case at Shrewsbury.\\r\\n LORD BARDOLPH. It was, my lord; who lin\\'d himself with hope,\\r\\n Eating the air and promise of supply,\\r\\n Flatt\\'ring himself in project of a power\\r\\n Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts;\\r\\n And so, with great imagination\\r\\n Proper to madmen, led his powers to death,\\r\\n And, winking, leapt into destruction.\\r\\n HASTINGS. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt\\r\\n To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope.\\r\\n LORD BARDOLPH. Yes, if this present quality of war-\\r\\n Indeed the instant action, a cause on foot-\\r\\n Lives so in hope, as in an early spring\\r\\n We see th\\' appearing buds; which to prove fruit\\r\\n Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair\\r\\n That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build,\\r\\n We first survey the plot, then draw the model;\\r\\n And when we see the figure of the house,\\r\\n Then we must rate the cost of the erection;\\r\\n Which if we find outweighs ability,\\r\\n What do we then but draw anew the model\\r\\n In fewer offices, or at least desist\\r\\n To build at all? Much more, in this great work-\\r\\n Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down\\r\\n And set another up- should we survey\\r\\n The plot of situation and the model,\\r\\n Consent upon a sure foundation,\\r\\n Question surveyors, know our own estate\\r\\n How able such a work to undergo-\\r\\n To weigh against his opposite; or else\\r\\n We fortify in paper and in figures,\\r\\n Using the names of men instead of men;\\r\\n Like one that draws the model of a house\\r\\n Beyond his power to build it; who, half through,\\r\\n Gives o\\'er and leaves his part-created cost\\r\\n A naked subject to the weeping clouds\\r\\n And waste for churlish winter\\'s tyranny.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Grant that our hopes- yet likely of fair birth-\\r\\n Should be still-born, and that we now possess\\'d\\r\\n The utmost man of expectation,\\r\\n I think we are so a body strong enough,\\r\\n Even as we are, to equal with the King.\\r\\n LORD BARDOLPH. What, is the King but five and twenty thousand?\\r\\n HASTINGS. To us no more; nay, not so much, Lord Bardolph;\\r\\n For his divisions, as the times do brawl,\\r\\n Are in three heads: one power against the French,\\r\\n And one against Glendower; perforce a third\\r\\n Must take up us. So is the unfirm King\\r\\n In three divided; and his coffers sound\\r\\n With hollow poverty and emptiness.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. That he should draw his several strengths together\\r\\n And come against us in full puissance\\r\\n Need not be dreaded.\\r\\n HASTINGS. If he should do so,\\r\\n He leaves his back unarm\\'d, the French and Welsh\\r\\n Baying at his heels. Never fear that.\\r\\n LORD BARDOLPH. Who is it like should lead his forces hither?\\r\\n HASTINGS. The Duke of Lancaster and Westmoreland;\\r\\n Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth;\\r\\n But who is substituted against the French\\r\\n I have no certain notice.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Let us on,\\r\\n And publish the occasion of our arms.\\r\\n The commonwealth is sick of their own choice;\\r\\n Their over-greedy love hath surfeited.\\r\\n An habitation giddy and unsure\\r\\n Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.\\r\\n O thou fond many, with what loud applause\\r\\n Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke\\r\\n Before he was what thou wouldst have him be!\\r\\n And being now trimm\\'d in thine own desires,\\r\\n Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him\\r\\n That thou provok\\'st thyself to cast him up.\\r\\n So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge\\r\\n Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard;\\r\\n And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up,\\r\\n And howl\\'st to find it. What trust is in these times?\\r\\n They that, when Richard liv\\'d, would have him die\\r\\n Are now become enamour\\'d on his grave.\\r\\n Thou that threw\\'st dust upon his goodly head,\\r\\n When through proud London he came sighing on\\r\\n After th\\' admired heels of Bolingbroke,\\r\\n Criest now \\'O earth, yield us that king again,\\r\\n And take thou this!\\' O thoughts of men accurs\\'d!\\r\\n Past and to come seems best; things present, worst.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on?\\r\\n HASTINGS. We are time\\'s subjects, and time bids be gone.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. London. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter HOSTESS with two officers, FANG and SNARE\\r\\n\\r\\n HOSTESS. Master Fang, have you ent\\'red the action?\\r\\n FANG. It is ent\\'red.\\r\\n HOSTESS. Where\\'s your yeoman? Is\\'t a lusty yeoman? Will \\'a stand\\r\\n to\\'t?\\r\\n FANG. Sirrah, where\\'s Snare?\\r\\n HOSTESS. O Lord, ay! good Master Snare.\\r\\n SNARE. Here, here.\\r\\n FANG. Snare, we must arrest Sir John Falstaff.\\r\\n HOSTESS. Yea, good Master Snare; I have ent\\'red him and all.\\r\\n SNARE. It may chance cost some of our lives, for he will stab.\\r\\n HOSTESS. Alas the day! take heed of him; he stabb\\'d me in mine own\\r\\n house, and that most beastly. In good faith, \\'a cares not what\\r\\n mischief he does, if his weapon be out; he will foin like any\\r\\n devil; he will spare neither man, woman, nor child.\\r\\n FANG. If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust.\\r\\n HOSTESS. No, nor I neither; I\\'ll be at your elbow.\\r\\n FANG. An I but fist him once; an \\'a come but within my vice!\\r\\n HOSTESS. I am undone by his going; I warrant you, he\\'s an\\r\\n infinitive thing upon my score. Good Master Fang, hold him sure.\\r\\n Good Master Snare, let him not scape. \\'A comes continuantly to\\r\\n Pie-corner- saving your manhoods- to buy a saddle; and he is\\r\\n indited to dinner to the Lubber\\'s Head in Lumbert Street, to\\r\\n Master Smooth\\'s the silkman. I pray you, since my exion is\\r\\n ent\\'red, and my case so openly known to the world, let him be\\r\\n brought in to his answer. A hundred mark is a long one for a poor\\r\\n lone woman to bear; and I have borne, and borne, and borne; and\\r\\n have been fubb\\'d off, and fubb\\'d off, and fubb\\'d off, from this\\r\\n day to that day, that it is a shame to be thought on. There is no\\r\\n honesty in such dealing; unless a woman should be made an ass and\\r\\n a beast, to bear every knave\\'s wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR JOHN FALSTAFF, PAGE, and BARDOLPH\\r\\n\\r\\n Yonder he comes; and that arrant malmsey-nose knave, Bardolph,\\r\\n with him. Do your offices, do your offices, Master Fang and\\r\\n Master Snare; do me, do me, do me your offices.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. How now! whose mare\\'s dead? What\\'s the matter?\\r\\n FANG. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of Mistress Quickly.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Away, varlets! Draw, Bardolph. Cut me off the villian\\'s\\r\\n head. Throw the quean in the channel.\\r\\n HOSTESS. Throw me in the channel! I\\'ll throw thee in the channel.\\r\\n Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly rogue! Murder, murder! Ah,\\r\\n thou honeysuckle villain! wilt thou kill God\\'s officers and the\\r\\n King\\'s? Ah, thou honey-seed rogue! thou art a honey-seed; a\\r\\n man-queller and a woman-queller.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Keep them off, Bardolph.\\r\\n FANG. A rescue! a rescue!\\r\\n HOSTESS. Good people, bring a rescue or two. Thou wot, wot thou!\\r\\n thou wot, wot ta? Do, do, thou rogue! do, thou hemp-seed!\\r\\n PAGE. Away, you scullion! you rampallian! you fustilarian!\\r\\n I\\'ll tickle your catastrophe.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE and his men\\r\\n\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. What is the matter? Keep the peace here, ho!\\r\\n HOSTESS. Good my lord, be good to me. I beseech you, stand to me.\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. How now, Sir John! what, are you brawling here?\\r\\n Doth this become your place, your time, and business?\\r\\n You should have been well on your way to York.\\r\\n Stand from him, fellow; wherefore hang\\'st thou upon him?\\r\\n HOSTESS. O My most worshipful lord, an\\'t please your Grace, I am a\\r\\n poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is arrested at my suit.\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. For what sum?\\r\\n HOSTESS. It is more than for some, my lord; it is for all- all I\\r\\n have. He hath eaten me out of house and home; he hath put all my\\r\\n substance into that fat belly of his. But I will have some of it\\r\\n out again, or I will ride thee a nights like a mare.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I think I am as like to ride the mare, if I have any\\r\\n vantage of ground to get up.\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. How comes this, Sir John? Fie! What man of good\\r\\n temper would endure this tempest of exclamation? Are you not\\r\\n ashamed to enforce a poor widow to so rough a course to come by\\r\\n her own?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What is the gross sum that I owe thee?\\r\\n HOSTESS. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself and the money\\r\\n too. Thou didst swear to me upon a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in\\r\\n my Dolphin chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, upon\\r\\n Wednesday in Wheeson week, when the Prince broke thy head for\\r\\n liking his father to singing-man of Windsor- thou didst swear to\\r\\n me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry me and make me my\\r\\n lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did not goodwife Keech, the\\r\\n butcher\\'s wife, come in then and call me gossip Quickly? Coming\\r\\n in to borrow a mess of vinegar, telling us she had a good dish of\\r\\n prawns, whereby thou didst desire to eat some, whereby I told\\r\\n thee they were ill for green wound? And didst thou not, when she\\r\\n was gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so familiarity with\\r\\n such poor people, saying that ere long they should call me madam?\\r\\n And didst thou not kiss me, and bid me fetch the thirty\\r\\n shillings? I put thee now to thy book-oath. Deny it, if thou\\r\\n canst.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. My lord, this is a poor mad soul, and she says up and\\r\\n down the town that her eldest son is like you. She hath been in\\r\\n good case, and, the truth is, poverty hath distracted her. But\\r\\n for these foolish officers, I beseech you I may have redress\\r\\n against them.\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. Sir John, Sir John, I am well acquainted with your\\r\\n manner of wrenching the true cause the false way. It is not a\\r\\n confident brow, nor the throng of words that come with such more\\r\\n than impudent sauciness from you, can thrust me from a level\\r\\n consideration. You have, as it appears to me, practis\\'d upon the\\r\\n easy yielding spirit of this woman, and made her serve your uses\\r\\n both in purse and in person.\\r\\n HOSTESS. Yea, in truth, my lord.\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. Pray thee, peace. Pay her the debt you owe her, and\\r\\n unpay the villainy you have done with her; the one you may do\\r\\n with sterling money, and the other with current repentance.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. My lord, I will not undergo this sneap without reply. You\\r\\n call honourable boldness impudent sauciness; if a man will make\\r\\n curtsy and say nothing, he is virtuous. No, my lord, my humble\\r\\n duty rememb\\'red, I will not be your suitor. I say to you I do\\r\\n desire deliverance from these officers, being upon hasty\\r\\n employment in the King\\'s affairs.\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. You speak as having power to do wrong; but answer in\\r\\n th\\' effect of your reputation, and satisfy the poor woman.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Come hither, hostess.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GOWER\\r\\n\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. Now, Master Gower, what news?\\r\\n GOWER. The King, my lord, and Harry Prince of Wales\\r\\n Are near at hand. The rest the paper tells. [Gives a letter]\\r\\n FALSTAFF. As I am a gentleman!\\r\\n HOSTESS. Faith, you said so before.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. As I am a gentleman! Come, no more words of it.\\r\\n HOSTESS. By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must be fain to pawn\\r\\n both my plate and the tapestry of my dining-chambers.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking; and for thy\\r\\n walls, a pretty slight drollery, or the story of the Prodigal, or\\r\\n the German hunting, in water-work, is worth a thousand of these\\r\\n bed-hangers and these fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound,\\r\\n if thou canst. Come, and \\'twere not for thy humours, there\\'s not\\r\\n a better wench in England. Go, wash thy face, and draw the\\r\\n action. Come, thou must not be in this humour with me; dost not\\r\\n know me? Come, come, I know thou wast set on to this.\\r\\n HOSTESS. Pray thee, Sir John, let it be but twenty nobles;\\r\\n i\\' faith, I am loath to pawn my plate, so God save me, la!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Let it alone; I\\'ll make other shift. You\\'ll be a fool\\r\\n still.\\r\\n HOSTESS. Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my gown.\\r\\n I hope you\\'ll come to supper. you\\'ll pay me all together?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Will I live? [To BARDOLPH] Go, with her, with her; hook\\r\\n on, hook on.\\r\\n HOSTESS. Will you have Doll Tearsheet meet you at supper?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. No more words; let\\'s have her.\\r\\n Exeunt HOSTESS, BARDOLPH, and OFFICERS\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. I have heard better news.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What\\'s the news, my lord?\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. Where lay the King to-night?\\r\\n GOWER. At Basingstoke, my lord.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I hope, my lord, all\\'s well. What is the news, my lord?\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. Come all his forces back?\\r\\n GOWER. No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse,\\r\\n Are march\\'d up to my Lord of Lancaster,\\r\\n Against Northumberland and the Archbishop.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Comes the King back from Wales, my noble lord?\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. You shall have letters of me presently.\\r\\n Come, go along with me, good Master Gower.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. My lord!\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. What\\'s the matter?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me to dinner?\\r\\n GOWER. I must wait upon my good lord here, I thank you, good Sir\\r\\n John.\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. Sir John, you loiter here too long, being you are to\\r\\n take soldiers up in counties as you go.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Will you sup with me, Master Gower?\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. What foolish master taught you these manners, Sir\\r\\n John?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Master Gower, if they become me not, he was a fool that\\r\\n taught them me. This is the right fencing grace, my lord; tap for\\r\\n tap, and so part fair.\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. Now, the Lord lighten thee! Thou art a great fool.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. London. Another street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PRINCE HENRY and POINS\\r\\n\\r\\n PRINCE. Before God, I am exceeding weary.\\r\\n POINS. Is\\'t come to that? I had thought weariness durst not have\\r\\n attach\\'d one of so high blood.\\r\\n PRINCE. Faith, it does me; though it discolours the complexion of\\r\\n my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth it not show vilely in me to\\r\\n desire small beer?\\r\\n POINS. Why, a prince should not be so loosely studied as to\\r\\n remember so weak a composition.\\r\\n PRINCE. Belike then my appetite was not-princely got; for, by my\\r\\n troth, I do now remember the poor creature, small beer. But\\r\\n indeed these humble considerations make me out of love with my\\r\\n greatness. What a disgrace is it to me to remember thy name, or\\r\\n to know thy face to-morrow, or to take note how many pair of silk\\r\\n stockings thou hast- viz., these, and those that were thy\\r\\n peach-colour\\'d ones- or to bear the inventory of thy shirts- as,\\r\\n one for superfluity, and another for use! But that the\\r\\n tennis-court-keeper knows better than I; for it is a low ebb of\\r\\n linen with thee when thou keepest not racket there; as thou hast\\r\\n not done a great while, because the rest of thy low countries\\r\\n have made a shift to eat up thy holland. And God knows whether\\r\\n those that bawl out of the ruins of thy linen shall inherit his\\r\\n kingdom; but the midwives say the children are not in the fault;\\r\\n whereupon the world increases, and kindreds are mightily\\r\\n strengthened.\\r\\n POINS. How ill it follows, after you have laboured so hard, you\\r\\n should talk so idly! Tell me, how many good young princes would\\r\\n do so, their fathers being so sick as yours at this time is?\\r\\n PRINCE. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins?\\r\\n POINS. Yes, faith; and let it be an excellent good thing.\\r\\n PRINCE. It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding than thine.\\r\\n POINS. Go to; I stand the push of your one thing that you will\\r\\n tell.\\r\\n PRINCE. Marry, I tell thee it is not meet that I should be sad, now\\r\\n my father is sick; albeit I could tell to thee- as to one it\\r\\n pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my friend- I could be\\r\\n sad and sad indeed too.\\r\\n POINS. Very hardly upon such a subject.\\r\\n PRINCE. By this hand, thou thinkest me as far in the devil\\'s book\\r\\n as thou and Falstaff for obduracy and persistency: let the end\\r\\n try the man. But I tell thee my heart bleeds inwardly that my\\r\\n father is so sick; and keeping such vile company as thou art hath\\r\\n in reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow.\\r\\n POINS. The reason?\\r\\n PRINCE. What wouldst thou think of me if I should weep?\\r\\n POINS. I would think thee a most princely hypocrite.\\r\\n PRINCE. It would be every man\\'s thought; and thou art a blessed\\r\\n fellow to think as every man thinks. Never a man\\'s thought in the\\r\\n world keeps the road-way better than thine. Every man would think\\r\\n me an hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most worshipful\\r\\n thought to think so?\\r\\n POINS. Why, because you have been so lewd and so much engraffed to\\r\\n Falstaff.\\r\\n PRINCE. And to thee.\\r\\n POINS. By this light, I am well spoke on; I can hear it with mine\\r\\n own ears. The worst that they can say of me is that I am a second\\r\\n brother and that I am a proper fellow of my hands; and those two\\r\\n things, I confess, I cannot help. By the mass, here comes\\r\\n Bardolph.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BARDOLPH and PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n PRINCE. And the boy that I gave Falstaff. \\'A had him from me\\r\\n Christian; and look if the fat villain have not transform\\'d him\\r\\n ape.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. God save your Grace!\\r\\n PRINCE. And yours, most noble Bardolph!\\r\\n POINS. Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful fool, must you be\\r\\n blushing? Wherefore blush you now? What a maidenly man-at-arms\\r\\n are you become! Is\\'t such a matter to get a pottle-pot\\'s\\r\\n maidenhead?\\r\\n PAGE. \\'A calls me e\\'en now, my lord, through a red lattice, and I\\r\\n could discern no part of his face from the window. At last I\\r\\n spied his eyes; and methought he had made two holes in the\\r\\n alewife\\'s new petticoat, and so peep\\'d through.\\r\\n PRINCE. Has not the boy profited?\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away!\\r\\n PAGE. Away, you rascally Althaea\\'s dream, away!\\r\\n PRINCE. Instruct us, boy; what dream, boy?\\r\\n PAGE. Marry, my lord, Althaea dreamt she was delivered of a\\r\\n firebrand; and therefore I call him her dream.\\r\\n PRINCE. A crown\\'s worth of good interpretation. There \\'tis, boy.\\r\\n [Giving a crown]\\r\\n POINS. O that this blossom could be kept from cankers!\\r\\n Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. An you do not make him be hang\\'d among you, the gallows\\r\\n shall have wrong.\\r\\n PRINCE. And how doth thy master, Bardolph?\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Well, my lord. He heard of your Grace\\'s coming to town.\\r\\n There\\'s a letter for you.\\r\\n POINS. Deliver\\'d with good respect. And how doth the martlemas,\\r\\n your master?\\r\\n BARDOLPH. In bodily health, sir.\\r\\n POINS. Marry, the immortal part needs a physician; but that moves\\r\\n not him. Though that be sick, it dies not.\\r\\n PRINCE. I do allow this well to be as familiar with me as my dog;\\r\\n and he holds his place, for look you how he writes.\\r\\n POINS. [Reads] \\'John Falstaff, knight\\'- Every man must know that\\r\\n as oft as he has occasion to name himself, even like those that\\r\\n are kin to the King; for they never prick their finger but they\\r\\n say \\'There\\'s some of the King\\'s blood spilt.\\' \\'How comes that?\\'\\r\\n says he that takes upon him not to conceive. The answer is as\\r\\n ready as a borrower\\'s cap: \\'I am the King\\'s poor cousin, sir.\\'\\r\\n PRINCE. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it from\\r\\n Japhet. But the letter: [Reads] \\'Sir John Falstaff, knight, to\\r\\n the son of the King nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales,\\r\\n greeting.\\'\\r\\n POINS. Why, this is a certificate.\\r\\n PRINCE. Peace! [Reads] \\'I will imitate the honourable Romans in\\r\\n brevity.\\'-\\r\\n POINS. He sure means brevity in breath, short-winded.\\r\\n PRINCE. [Reads] \\'I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I\\r\\n leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins; for he misuses thy\\r\\n favours so much that he swears thou art to marry his sister Nell.\\r\\n Repent at idle times as thou mayst, and so farewell.\\r\\n Thine, by yea and no- which is as much as to say as\\r\\n thou usest him- JACK FALSTAFF with my familiars,\\r\\n JOHN with my brothers and sisters, and SIR JOHN with\\r\\n all Europe.\\'\\r\\n POINS. My lord, I\\'ll steep this letter in sack and make him eat it.\\r\\n PRINCE. That\\'s to make him eat twenty of his words. But do you use\\r\\n me thus, Ned? Must I marry your sister?\\r\\n POINS. God send the wench no worse fortune! But I never said so.\\r\\n PRINCE. Well, thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits\\r\\n of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us. Is your master here in\\r\\n London?\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Yea, my lord.\\r\\n PRINCE. Where sups he? Doth the old boar feed in the old frank?\\r\\n BARDOLPH. At the old place, my lord, in Eastcheap.\\r\\n PRINCE. What company?\\r\\n PAGE. Ephesians, my lord, of the old church.\\r\\n PRINCE. Sup any women with him?\\r\\n PAGE. None, my lord, but old Mistress Quickly and Mistress Doll\\r\\n Tearsheet.\\r\\n PRINCE. What pagan may that be?\\r\\n PAGE. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman of my master\\'s.\\r\\n PRINCE. Even such kin as the parish heifers are to the town bull.\\r\\n Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper?\\r\\n POINS. I am your shadow, my lord; I\\'ll follow you.\\r\\n PRINCE. Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your master that\\r\\n I am yet come to town. There\\'s for your silence.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. I have no tongue, sir.\\r\\n PAGE. And for mine, sir, I will govern it.\\r\\n PRINCE. Fare you well; go. Exeunt BARDOLPH and PAGE\\r\\n This Doll Tearsheet should be some road.\\r\\n POINS. I warrant you, as common as the way between Saint Albans and\\r\\n London.\\r\\n PRINCE. How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night in his\\r\\n true colours, and not ourselves be seen?\\r\\n POINS. Put on two leathern jerkins and aprons, and wait upon him at\\r\\n his table as drawers.\\r\\n PRINCE. From a god to a bull? A heavy descension! It was Jove\\'s\\r\\n case. From a prince to a prentice? A low transformation! That\\r\\n shall be mine; for in everything the purpose must weigh with the\\r\\n folly. Follow me, Ned.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Warkworth. Before the castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter NORTHUMBERLAND, LADY NORTHUMBERLAND, and LADY PERCY\\r\\n\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter,\\r\\n Give even way unto my rough affairs;\\r\\n Put not you on the visage of the times\\r\\n And be, like them, to Percy troublesome.\\r\\n LADY NORTHUMBERLAND. I have given over, I will speak no more.\\r\\n Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn;\\r\\n And but my going nothing can redeem it.\\r\\n LADY PERCY. O, yet, for God\\'s sake, go not to these wars!\\r\\n The time was, father, that you broke your word,\\r\\n When you were more endear\\'d to it than now;\\r\\n When your own Percy, when my heart\\'s dear Harry,\\r\\n Threw many a northward look to see his father\\r\\n Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain.\\r\\n Who then persuaded you to stay at home?\\r\\n There were two honours lost, yours and your son\\'s.\\r\\n For yours, the God of heaven brighten it!\\r\\n For his, it stuck upon him as the sun\\r\\n In the grey vault of heaven; and by his light\\r\\n Did all the chivalry of England move\\r\\n To do brave acts. He was indeed the glass\\r\\n Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves.\\r\\n He had no legs that practis\\'d not his gait;\\r\\n And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish,\\r\\n Became the accents of the valiant;\\r\\n For those who could speak low and tardily\\r\\n Would turn their own perfection to abuse\\r\\n To seem like him: so that in speech, in gait,\\r\\n In diet, in affections of delight,\\r\\n In military rules, humours of blood,\\r\\n He was the mark and glass, copy and book,\\r\\n That fashion\\'d others. And him- O wondrous him!\\r\\n O miracle of men!- him did you leave-\\r\\n Second to none, unseconded by you-\\r\\n To look upon the hideous god of war\\r\\n In disadvantage, to abide a field\\r\\n Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur\\'s name\\r\\n Did seem defensible. So you left him.\\r\\n Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong\\r\\n To hold your honour more precise and nice\\r\\n With others than with him! Let them alone.\\r\\n The Marshal and the Archbishop are strong.\\r\\n Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers,\\r\\n To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur\\'s neck,\\r\\n Have talk\\'d of Monmouth\\'s grave.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Beshrew your heart,\\r\\n Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from me\\r\\n With new lamenting ancient oversights.\\r\\n But I must go and meet with danger there,\\r\\n Or it will seek me in another place,\\r\\n And find me worse provided.\\r\\n LADY NORTHUMBERLAND. O, fly to Scotland\\r\\n Till that the nobles and the armed commons\\r\\n Have of their puissance made a little taste.\\r\\n LADY PERCY. If they get ground and vantage of the King,\\r\\n Then join you with them, like a rib of steel,\\r\\n To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves,\\r\\n First let them try themselves. So did your son;\\r\\n He was so suff\\'red; so came I a widow;\\r\\n And never shall have length of life enough\\r\\n To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes,\\r\\n That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven,\\r\\n For recordation to my noble husband.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Come, come, go in with me. \\'Tis with my mind\\r\\n As with the tide swell\\'d up unto his height,\\r\\n That makes a still-stand, running neither way.\\r\\n Fain would I go to meet the Archbishop,\\r\\n But many thousand reasons hold me back.\\r\\n I will resolve for Scotland. There am I,\\r\\n Till time and vantage crave my company. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. London. The Boar\\'s Head Tavern in Eastcheap\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FRANCIS and another DRAWER\\r\\n\\r\\n FRANCIS. What the devil hast thou brought there-apple-johns? Thou\\r\\n knowest Sir John cannot endure an apple-john.\\r\\n SECOND DRAWER. Mass, thou say\\'st true. The Prince once set a dish\\r\\n of apple-johns before him, and told him there were five more Sir\\r\\n Johns; and, putting off his hat, said \\'I will now take my leave\\r\\n of these six dry, round, old, withered knights.\\' It ang\\'red him\\r\\n to the heart; but he hath forgot that.\\r\\n FRANCIS. Why, then, cover and set them down; and see if thou canst\\r\\n find out Sneak\\'s noise; Mistress Tearsheet would fain hear some\\r\\n music.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter third DRAWER\\r\\n\\r\\n THIRD DRAWER. Dispatch! The room where they supp\\'d is too hot;\\r\\n they\\'ll come in straight.\\r\\n FRANCIS. Sirrah, here will be the Prince and Master Poins anon; and\\r\\n they will put on two of our jerkins and aprons; and Sir John must\\r\\n not know of it. Bardolph hath brought word.\\r\\n THIRD DRAWER. By the mass, here will be old uds; it will be an\\r\\n excellent stratagem.\\r\\n SECOND DRAWER. I\\'ll see if I can find out Sneak.\\r\\n Exeunt second and third DRAWERS\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HOSTESS and DOLL TEARSHEET\\r\\n\\r\\n HOSTESS. I\\' faith, sweetheart, methinks now you are in an excellent\\r\\n good temperality. Your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as heart\\r\\n would desire; and your colour, I warrant you, is as red as any\\r\\n rose, in good truth, la! But, i\\' faith, you have drunk too much\\r\\n canaries; and that\\'s a marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes\\r\\n the blood ere one can say \\'What\\'s this?\\' How do you now?\\r\\n DOLL. Better than I was- hem.\\r\\n HOSTESS. Why, that\\'s well said; a good heart\\'s worth gold.\\r\\n Lo, here comes Sir John.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FALSTAFF\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. [Singing] \\'When Arthur first in court\\'- Empty the\\r\\n jordan. [Exit FRANCIS]- [Singing] \\'And was a worthy king\\'- How\\r\\n now, Mistress Doll!\\r\\n HOSTESS. Sick of a calm; yea, good faith.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. So is all her sect; and they be once in a calm, they are\\r\\n sick.\\r\\n DOLL. A pox damn you, you muddy rascal! Is that all the comfort you\\r\\n give me?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. You make fat rascals, Mistress Doll.\\r\\n DOLL. I make them! Gluttony and diseases make them: I make them\\r\\n not.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. If the cook help to make the gluttony, you help to make\\r\\n the diseases, Doll. We catch of you, Doll, we catch of you; grant\\r\\n that, my poor virtue, grant that.\\r\\n DOLL. Yea, joy, our chains and our jewels.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. \\'Your brooches, pearls, and ouches.\\' For to serve bravely\\r\\n is to come halting off; you know, to come off the breach with his\\r\\n pike bent bravely, and to surgery bravely; to venture upon the\\r\\n charg\\'d chambers bravely-\\r\\n DOLL. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang yourself!\\r\\n HOSTESS. By my troth, this is the old fashion; you two never meet\\r\\n but you fall to some discord. You are both, i\\' good truth, as\\r\\n rheumatic as two dry toasts; you cannot one bear with another\\'s\\r\\n confirmities. What the good-year! one must bear, and that must be\\r\\n you. You are the weaker vessel, as as they say, the emptier\\r\\n vessel.\\r\\n DOLL. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge full hogs-head?\\r\\n There\\'s a whole merchant\\'s venture of Bourdeaux stuff in him; you\\r\\n have not seen a hulk better stuff\\'d in the hold. Come, I\\'ll be\\r\\n friends with thee, Jack. Thou art going to the wars; and whether\\r\\n I shall ever see thee again or no, there is nobody cares.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter FRANCIS\\r\\n\\r\\n FRANCIS. Sir, Ancient Pistol\\'s below and would speak with you.\\r\\n DOLL. Hang him, swaggering rascal! Let him not come hither; it is\\r\\n the foul-mouth\\'dst rogue in England.\\r\\n HOSTESS. If he swagger, let him not come here. No, by my faith! I\\r\\n must live among my neighbours; I\\'ll no swaggerers. I am in good\\r\\n name and fame with the very best. Shut the door. There comes no\\r\\n swaggerers here; I have not liv\\'d all this while to have\\r\\n swaggering now. Shut the door, I pray you.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Dost thou hear, hostess?\\r\\n HOSTESS. Pray ye, pacify yourself, Sir John; there comes no\\r\\n swaggerers here.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Dost thou hear? It is mine ancient.\\r\\n HOSTESS. Tilly-fally, Sir John, ne\\'er tell me; and your ancient\\r\\n swagg\\'rer comes not in my doors. I was before Master Tisick, the\\r\\n debuty, t\\' other day; and, as he said to me- \\'twas no longer ago\\r\\n than Wednesday last, i\\' good faith!- \\'Neighbour Quickly,\\' says\\r\\n he- Master Dumbe, our minister, was by then- \\'Neighbour Quickly,\\'\\r\\n says he \\'receive those that are civil, for\\' said he \\'you are in\\r\\n an ill name.\\' Now \\'a said so, I can tell whereupon. \\'For\\' says he\\r\\n \\'you are an honest woman and well thought on, therefore take heed\\r\\n what guests you receive. Receive\\' says he \\'no swaggering\\r\\n companions.\\' There comes none here. You would bless you to hear\\r\\n what he said. No, I\\'ll no swagg\\'rers.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. He\\'s no swagg\\'rer, hostess; a tame cheater, i\\' faith; you\\r\\n may stroke him as gently as a puppy greyhound. He\\'ll not swagger\\r\\n with a Barbary hen, if her feathers turn back in any show of\\r\\n resistance. Call him up, drawer.\\r\\n Exit FRANCIS\\r\\n HOSTESS. Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honest man my house,\\r\\n nor no cheater; but I do not love swaggering, by my troth. I am\\r\\n the worse when one says \\'swagger.\\' Feel, masters, how I shake;\\r\\n look you, I warrant you.\\r\\n DOLL. So you do, hostess.\\r\\n HOSTESS. Do I? Yea, in very truth, do I, an \\'twere an aspen leaf. I\\r\\n cannot abide swagg\\'rers.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PISTOL, BARDOLPH, and PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n PISTOL. God save you, Sir John!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Welcome, Ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I charge you with\\r\\n a cup of sack; do you discharge upon mine hostess.\\r\\n PISTOL. I will discharge upon her, Sir John, with two bullets.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. She is pistol-proof, sir; you shall not hardly offend\\r\\n her.\\r\\n HOSTESS. Come, I\\'ll drink no proofs nor no bullets. I\\'ll drink no\\r\\n more than will do me good, for no man\\'s pleasure, I.\\r\\n PISTOL. Then to you, Mistress Dorothy; I will charge you.\\r\\n DOLL. Charge me! I scorn you, scurvy companion. What! you poor,\\r\\n base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen mate! Away, you mouldy\\r\\n rogue, away! I am meat for your master.\\r\\n PISTOL. I know you, Mistress Dorothy.\\r\\n DOLL. Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By this\\r\\n wine, I\\'ll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the\\r\\n saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you\\r\\n basket-hilt stale juggler, you! Since when, I pray you, sir?\\r\\n God\\'s light, with two points on your shoulder? Much!\\r\\n PISTOL. God let me not live but I will murder your ruff for this.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. No more, Pistol; I would not have you go off here.\\r\\n Discharge yourself of our company, Pistol.\\r\\n HOSTESS. No, good Captain Pistol; not here, sweet captain.\\r\\n DOLL. Captain! Thou abominable damn\\'d cheater, art thou not ashamed\\r\\n to be called captain? An captains were of my mind, they would\\r\\n truncheon you out, for taking their names upon you before you\\r\\n have earn\\'d them. You a captain! you slave, for what? For tearing\\r\\n a poor whore\\'s ruff in a bawdy-house? He a captain! hang him,\\r\\n rogue! He lives upon mouldy stew\\'d prunes and dried cakes. A\\r\\n captain! God\\'s light, these villains will make the word as odious\\r\\n as the word \\'occupy\\'; which was an excellent good word before it\\r\\n was ill sorted. Therefore captains had need look to\\'t.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Pray thee go down, good ancient.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Hark thee hither, Mistress Doll.\\r\\n PISTOL. Not I! I tell thee what, Corporal Bardolph, I could tear\\r\\n her; I\\'ll be reveng\\'d of her.\\r\\n PAGE. Pray thee go down.\\r\\n PISTOL. I\\'ll see her damn\\'d first; to Pluto\\'s damn\\'d lake, by this\\r\\n hand, to th\\' infernal deep, with Erebus and tortures vile also.\\r\\n Hold hook and line, say I. Down, down, dogs! down, faitors! Have\\r\\n we not Hiren here?\\r\\n HOSTESS. Good Captain Peesel, be quiet; \\'tis very late, i\\' faith; I\\r\\n beseek you now, aggravate your choler.\\r\\n PISTOL. These be good humours, indeed! Shall packhorses,\\r\\n And hollow pamper\\'d jades of Asia,\\r\\n Which cannot go but thirty mile a day,\\r\\n Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals,\\r\\n And Troiant Greeks? Nay, rather damn them with\\r\\n King Cerberus; and let the welkin roar.\\r\\n Shall we fall foul for toys?\\r\\n HOSTESS. By my troth, Captain, these are very bitter words.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Be gone, good ancient; this will grow to a brawl anon.\\r\\n PISTOL. Die men like dogs! Give crowns like pins! Have we not Hiren\\r\\n here?\\r\\n HOSTESS. O\\' my word, Captain, there\\'s none such here. What the\\r\\n good-year! do you think I would deny her? For God\\'s sake, be\\r\\n quiet.\\r\\n PISTOL. Then feed and be fat, my fair Calipolis.\\r\\n Come, give\\'s some sack.\\r\\n \\'Si fortune me tormente sperato me contento.\\'\\r\\n Fear we broadsides? No, let the fiend give fire.\\r\\n Give me some sack; and, sweetheart, lie thou there.\\r\\n [Laying down his sword]\\r\\n Come we to full points here, and are etceteras nothings?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Pistol, I would be quiet.\\r\\n PISTOL. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neaf. What! we have seen the seven\\r\\n stars.\\r\\n DOLL. For God\\'s sake thrust him down stairs; I cannot endure such a\\r\\n fustian rascal.\\r\\n PISTOL. Thrust him down stairs! Know we not Galloway nags?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat shilling.\\r\\n Nay, an \\'a do nothing but speak nothing, \\'a shall be nothing\\r\\n here.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Come, get you down stairs.\\r\\n PISTOL. What! shall we have incision? Shall we imbrue?\\r\\n [Snatching up his sword]\\r\\n Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days!\\r\\n Why, then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds\\r\\n Untwine the Sisters Three! Come, Atropos, I say!\\r\\n HOSTESS. Here\\'s goodly stuff toward!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Give me my rapier, boy.\\r\\n DOLL. I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Get you down stairs.\\r\\n [Drawing and driving PISTOL out]\\r\\n HOSTESS. Here\\'s a goodly tumult! I\\'ll forswear keeping house afore\\r\\n I\\'ll be in these tirrits and frights. So; murder, I warrant now.\\r\\n Alas, alas! put up your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons.\\r\\n Exeunt PISTOL and BARDOLPH\\r\\n DOLL. I pray thee, Jack, be quiet; the rascal\\'s gone. Ah, you\\r\\n whoreson little valiant villain, you!\\r\\n HOSTESS. Are you not hurt i\\' th\\' groin? Methought \\'a made a shrewd\\r\\n thrust at your belly.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter BARDOLPH\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Have you turn\\'d him out a doors?\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Yea, sir. The rascal\\'s drunk. You have hurt him, sir, i\\'\\r\\n th\\' shoulder.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. A rascal! to brave me!\\r\\n DOLL. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you! Alas, poor ape, how thou\\r\\n sweat\\'st! Come, let me wipe thy face. Come on, you whoreson\\r\\n chops. Ah, rogue! i\\' faith, I love thee. Thou art as valorous as\\r\\n Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon, and ten times better\\r\\n than the Nine Worthies. Ah, villain!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in a blanket.\\r\\n DOLL. Do, an thou dar\\'st for thy heart. An thou dost, I\\'ll canvass\\r\\n thee between a pair of sheets.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter musicians\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. The music is come, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Let them play. Play, sirs. Sit on my knee, Don. A rascal\\r\\n bragging slave! The rogue fled from me like quick-silver.\\r\\n DOLL. I\\' faith, and thou follow\\'dst him like a church. Thou\\r\\n whoreson little tidy Bartholomew boar-pig, when wilt thou leave\\r\\n fighting a days and foining a nights, and begin to patch up thine\\r\\n old body for heaven?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, behind, PRINCE HENRY and POINS disguised as drawers\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Peace, good Doll! Do not speak like a death\\'s-head; do\\r\\n not bid me remember mine end.\\r\\n DOLL. Sirrah, what humour\\'s the Prince of?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. A good shallow young fellow. \\'A would have made a good\\r\\n pantler; \\'a would ha\\' chipp\\'d bread well.\\r\\n DOLL. They say Poins has a good wit.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. He a good wit! hang him, baboon! His wit\\'s as thick as\\r\\n Tewksbury mustard; there\\'s no more conceit in him than is in a\\r\\n mallet.\\r\\n DOLL. Why does the Prince love him so, then?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Because their legs are both of a bigness, and \\'a plays at\\r\\n quoits well, and eats conger and fennel, and drinks off candles\\'\\r\\n ends for flap-dragons, and rides the wild mare with the boys, and\\r\\n jumps upon join\\'d-stools, and swears with a good grace, and wears\\r\\n his boots very smooth, like unto the sign of the Leg, and breeds\\r\\n no bate with telling of discreet stories; and such other gambol\\r\\n faculties \\'a has, that show a weak mind and an able body, for the\\r\\n which the Prince admits him. For the Prince himself is such\\r\\n another; the weight of a hair will turn the scales between their\\r\\n avoirdupois.\\r\\n PRINCE. Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears cut off?\\r\\n POINS. Let\\'s beat him before his whore.\\r\\n PRINCE. Look whe\\'er the wither\\'d elder hath not his poll claw\\'d\\r\\n like a parrot.\\r\\n POINS. Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive\\r\\n performance?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Kiss me, Doll.\\r\\n PRINCE. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! What says th\\'\\r\\n almanac to that?\\r\\n POINS. And look whether the fiery Trigon, his man, be not lisping\\r\\n to his master\\'s old tables, his note-book, his counsel-keeper.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Thou dost give me flattering busses.\\r\\n DOLL. By my troth, I kiss thee with a most constant heart.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I am old, I am old.\\r\\n DOLL. I love thee better than I love e\\'er a scurvy young boy of\\r\\n them all.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What stuff wilt have a kirtle of? I shall receive money a\\r\\n Thursday. Shalt have a cap to-morrow. A merry song, come. \\'A\\r\\n grows late; we\\'ll to bed. Thou\\'t forget me when I am gone.\\r\\n DOLL. By my troth, thou\\'t set me a-weeping, an thou say\\'st so.\\r\\n Prove that ever I dress myself handsome till thy return. Well,\\r\\n hearken a\\' th\\' end.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Some sack, Francis.\\r\\n PRINCE & POINS. Anon, anon, sir. [Advancing]\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Ha! a bastard son of the King\\'s? And art thou not Poins\\r\\n his brother?\\r\\n PRINCE. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what a life dost thou\\r\\n lead!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. A better than thou. I am a gentleman: thou art a drawer.\\r\\n PRINCE. Very true, sir, and I come to draw you out by the ears.\\r\\n HOSTESS. O, the Lord preserve thy Grace! By my troth, welcome to\\r\\n London. Now the Lord bless that sweet face of thine. O Jesu, are\\r\\n you come from Wales?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, by this light\\r\\n flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome.\\r\\n [Leaning his band upon DOLL]\\r\\n DOLL. How, you fat fool! I scorn you.\\r\\n POINS. My lord, he will drive you out of your revenge and turn all\\r\\n to a merriment, if you take not the heat.\\r\\n PRINCE. YOU whoreson candle-mine, you, how vilely did you speak of\\r\\n me even now before this honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman!\\r\\n HOSTESS. God\\'s blessing of your good heart! and so she is, by my\\r\\n troth.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Didst thou hear me?\\r\\n PRINCE. Yea; and you knew me, as you did when you ran away by\\r\\n Gadshill. You knew I was at your back, and spoke it on purpose to\\r\\n try my patience.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. No, no, no; not so; I did not think thou wast within\\r\\n hearing.\\r\\n PRINCE. I shall drive you then to confess the wilful abuse, and\\r\\n then I know how to handle you.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. No abuse, Hal, o\\' mine honour; no abuse.\\r\\n PRINCE. Not- to dispraise me, and call me pander, and\\r\\n bread-chipper, and I know not what!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. No abuse, Hal.\\r\\n POINS. No abuse!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. No abuse, Ned, i\\' th\\' world; honest Ned, none. I\\r\\n disprais\\'d him before the wicked- that the wicked might not fall\\r\\n in love with thee; in which doing, I have done the part of a\\r\\n careful friend and a true subject; and thy father is to give me\\r\\n thanks for it. No abuse, Hal; none, Ned, none; no, faith, boys,\\r\\n none.\\r\\n PRINCE. See now, whether pure fear and entire cowardice doth not\\r\\n make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman to close with us? Is\\r\\n she of the wicked? Is thine hostess here of the wicked? Or is thy\\r\\n boy of the wicked? Or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his\\r\\n nose, of the wicked?\\r\\n POINS. Answer, thou dead elm, answer.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. The fiend hath prick\\'d down Bardolph irrecoverable; and\\r\\n his face is Lucifer\\'s privy-kitchen, where he doth nothing but\\r\\n roast malt-worms. For the boy- there is a good angel about him;\\r\\n but the devil outbids him too.\\r\\n PRINCE. For the women?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. For one of them- she\\'s in hell already, and burns poor\\r\\n souls. For th\\' other- I owe her money; and whether she be damn\\'d\\r\\n for that, I know not.\\r\\n HOSTESS. No, I warrant you.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. No, I think thou art not; I think thou art quit for that.\\r\\n Marry, there is another indictment upon thee for suffering flesh\\r\\n to be eaten in thy house, contrary to the law; for the which I\\r\\n think thou wilt howl.\\r\\n HOSTESS. All vict\\'lers do so. What\\'s a joint of mutton or two in a\\r\\n whole Lent?\\r\\n PRINCE. You, gentlewoman-\\r\\n DOLL. What says your Grace?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. His Grace says that which his flesh rebels against.\\r\\n [Knocking within]\\r\\n HOSTESS. Who knocks so loud at door? Look to th\\' door there,\\r\\n Francis.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PETO\\r\\n\\r\\n PRINCE. Peto, how now! What news?\\r\\n PETO. The King your father is at Westminster;\\r\\n And there are twenty weak and wearied posts\\r\\n Come from the north; and as I came along\\r\\n I met and overtook a dozen captains,\\r\\n Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns,\\r\\n And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff.\\r\\n PRINCE. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame\\r\\n So idly to profane the precious time,\\r\\n When tempest of commotion, like the south,\\r\\n Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt\\r\\n And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.\\r\\n Give me my sword and cloak. Falstaff, good night.\\r\\n\\r\\n Exeunt PRINCE, POINS, PETO, and BARDOLPH\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and we\\r\\n must hence, and leave it unpick\\'d. [Knocking within] More\\r\\n knocking at the door!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter BARDOLPH\\r\\n\\r\\n How now! What\\'s the matter?\\r\\n BARDOLPH. You must away to court, sir, presently;\\r\\n A dozen captains stay at door for you.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. [To the PAGE]. Pay the musicians, sirrah.- Farewell,\\r\\n hostess; farewell, Doll. You see, my good wenches, how men of\\r\\n merit are sought after; the undeserver may sleep, when the man of\\r\\n action is call\\'d on. Farewell, good wenches. If I be not sent\\r\\n away post, I will see you again ere I go.\\r\\n DOLL. I cannot speak. If my heart be not ready to burst!\\r\\n Well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Farewell, farewell.\\r\\n Exeunt FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH\\r\\n HOSTESS. Well, fare thee well. I have known thee these twenty-nine\\r\\n years, come peascod-time; but an honester and truer-hearted man\\r\\n -well fare thee well.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. [ Within] Mistress Tearsheet!\\r\\n HOSTESS. What\\'s the matter?\\r\\n BARDOLPH. [ Within] Bid Mistress Tearsheet come to my master.\\r\\n HOSTESS. O, run Doll, run, run, good Come. [To BARDOLPH] She\\r\\n comes blubber\\'d.- Yea, will you come, Doll? Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. Westminster. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the KING in his nightgown, with a page\\r\\n\\r\\n KING. Go call the Earls of Surrey and of Warwick;\\r\\n But, ere they come, bid them o\\'er-read these letters\\r\\n And well consider of them. Make good speed. Exit page\\r\\n How many thousands of my poorest subjects\\r\\n Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle sleep,\\r\\n Nature\\'s soft nurse, how have I frightened thee,\\r\\n That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down,\\r\\n And steep my senses in forgetfulness?\\r\\n Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,\\r\\n Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,\\r\\n And hush\\'d with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,\\r\\n Than in the perfum\\'d chambers of the great,\\r\\n Under the canopies of costly state,\\r\\n And lull\\'d with sound of sweetest melody?\\r\\n O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile\\r\\n In loathsome beds, and leav\\'st the kingly couch\\r\\n A watch-case or a common \\'larum-bell?\\r\\n Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast\\r\\n Seal up the ship-boy\\'s eyes, and rock his brains\\r\\n In cradle of the rude imperious surge,\\r\\n And in the visitation of the winds,\\r\\n Who take the ruffian billows by the top,\\r\\n Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them\\r\\n With deafing clamour in the slippery clouds,\\r\\n That with the hurly death itself awakes?\\r\\n Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose\\r\\n To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;\\r\\n And in the calmest and most stillest night,\\r\\n With all appliances and means to boot,\\r\\n Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down!\\r\\n Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter WARWICK and Surrey\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. Many good morrows to your Majesty!\\r\\n KING. Is it good morrow, lords?\\r\\n WARWICK. \\'Tis one o\\'clock, and past.\\r\\n KING. Why then, good morrow to you all, my lords.\\r\\n Have you read o\\'er the letters that I sent you?\\r\\n WARWICK. We have, my liege.\\r\\n KING. Then you perceive the body of our kingdom\\r\\n How foul it is; what rank diseases grow,\\r\\n And with what danger, near the heart of it.\\r\\n WARWICK. It is but as a body yet distempered;\\r\\n Which to his former strength may be restored\\r\\n With good advice and little medicine.\\r\\n My Lord Northumberland will soon be cool\\'d.\\r\\n KING. O God! that one might read the book of fate,\\r\\n And see the revolution of the times\\r\\n Make mountains level, and the continent,\\r\\n Weary of solid firmness, melt itself\\r\\n Into the sea; and other times to see\\r\\n The beachy girdle of the ocean\\r\\n Too wide for Neptune\\'s hips; how chances mock,\\r\\n And changes fill the cup of alteration\\r\\n With divers liquors! O, if this were seen,\\r\\n The happiest youth, viewing his progress through,\\r\\n What perils past, what crosses to ensue,\\r\\n Would shut the book and sit him down and die.\\r\\n \\'Tis not ten years gone\\r\\n Since Richard and Northumberland, great friends,\\r\\n Did feast together, and in two years after\\r\\n Were they at wars. It is but eight years since\\r\\n This Percy was the man nearest my soul;\\r\\n Who like a brother toil\\'d in my affairs\\r\\n And laid his love and life under my foot;\\r\\n Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard\\r\\n Gave him defiance. But which of you was by-\\r\\n [To WARWICK] You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember-\\r\\n When Richard, with his eye brim full of tears,\\r\\n Then check\\'d and rated by Northumberland,\\r\\n Did speak these words, now prov\\'d a prophecy?\\r\\n \\'Northumberland, thou ladder by the which\\r\\n My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne\\'-\\r\\n Though then, God knows, I had no such intent\\r\\n But that necessity so bow\\'d the state\\r\\n That I and greatness were compell\\'d to kiss-\\r\\n \\'The time shall come\\'- thus did he follow it-\\r\\n \\'The time will come that foul sin, gathering head,\\r\\n Shall break into corruption\\' so went on,\\r\\n Foretelling this same time\\'s condition\\r\\n And the division of our amity.\\r\\n WARWICK. There is a history in all men\\'s lives,\\r\\n Figuring the natures of the times deceas\\'d;\\r\\n The which observ\\'d, a man may prophesy,\\r\\n With a near aim, of the main chance of things\\r\\n As yet not come to life, who in their seeds\\r\\n And weak beginning lie intreasured.\\r\\n Such things become the hatch and brood of time;\\r\\n And, by the necessary form of this,\\r\\n King Richard might create a perfect guess\\r\\n That great Northumberland, then false to him,\\r\\n Would of that seed grow to a greater falseness;\\r\\n Which should not find a ground to root upon\\r\\n Unless on you.\\r\\n KING. Are these things then necessities?\\r\\n Then let us meet them like necessities;\\r\\n And that same word even now cries out on us.\\r\\n They say the Bishop and Northumberland\\r\\n Are fifty thousand strong.\\r\\n WARWICK. It cannot be, my lord.\\r\\n Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo,\\r\\n The numbers of the feared. Please it your Grace\\r\\n To go to bed. Upon my soul, my lord,\\r\\n The powers that you already have sent forth\\r\\n Shall bring this prize in very easily.\\r\\n To comfort you the more, I have receiv\\'d\\r\\n A certain instance that Glendower is dead.\\r\\n Your Majesty hath been this fortnight ill;\\r\\n And these unseasoned hours perforce must ad\\r\\n Unto your sickness.\\r\\n KING. I will take your counsel.\\r\\n And, were these inward wars once out of hand,\\r\\n We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Gloucestershire. Before Justice, SHALLOW\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SHALLOW and SILENCE, meeting; MOULDY, SHADOW, WART, FEEBLE,\\r\\nBULLCALF, and servants behind\\r\\n\\r\\n SHALLOW. Come on, come on, come on; give me your hand, sir; give me\\r\\n your hand, sir. An early stirrer, by the rood! And how doth my\\r\\n good cousin Silence?\\r\\n SILENCE. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow.\\r\\n SHALLOW. And how doth my cousin, your bed-fellow? and your fairest\\r\\n daughter and mine, my god-daughter Ellen?\\r\\n SILENCE. Alas, a black ousel, cousin Shallow!\\r\\n SHALLOW. By yea and no, sir. I dare say my cousin William is become\\r\\n a good scholar; he is at Oxford still, is he not?\\r\\n SILENCE. Indeed, sir, to my cost.\\r\\n SHALLOW. \\'A must, then, to the Inns o\\' Court shortly. I was once of\\r\\n Clement\\'s Inn; where I think they will talk of mad Shallow yet.\\r\\n SILENCE. You were call\\'d \\'lusty Shallow\\' then, cousin.\\r\\n SHALLOW. By the mass, I was call\\'d anything; and I would have done\\r\\n anything indeed too, and roundly too. There was I, and little\\r\\n John Doit of Staffordshire, and black George Barnes, and Francis\\r\\n Pickbone, and Will Squele a Cotsole man- you had not four such\\r\\n swinge-bucklers in all the Inns of Court again. And I may say to\\r\\n you we knew where the bona-robas were, and had the best of them\\r\\n all at commandment. Then was Jack Falstaff, now Sir John, boy,\\r\\n and page to Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk.\\r\\n SILENCE. This Sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon about\\r\\n soldiers?\\r\\n SHALLOW. The same Sir John, the very same. I see him break\\r\\n Scoggin\\'s head at the court gate, when \\'a was a crack not thus\\r\\n high; and the very same day did I fight with one Sampson\\r\\n Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Gray\\'s Inn. Jesu, Jesu, the mad\\r\\n days that I have spent! and to see how many of my old\\r\\n acquaintance are dead!\\r\\n SILENCE. We shall all follow, cousin.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Certain, \\'tis certain; very sure, very sure. Death, as the\\r\\n Psalmist saith, is certain to all; all shall die. How a good yoke\\r\\n of bullocks at Stamford fair?\\r\\n SILENCE. By my troth, I was not there.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Death is certain. Is old Double of your town living yet?\\r\\n SILENCE. Dead, sir.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Jesu, Jesu, dead! drew a good bow; and dead! \\'A shot a\\r\\n fine shoot. John a Gaunt loved him well, and betted much money on\\r\\n his head. Dead! \\'A would have clapp\\'d i\\' th\\' clout at twelve\\r\\n score, and carried you a forehand shaft a fourteen and fourteen\\r\\n and a half, that it would have done a man\\'s heart good to see.\\r\\n How a score of ewes now?\\r\\n SILENCE. Thereafter as they be- a score of good ewes may be worth\\r\\n ten pounds.\\r\\n SHALLOW. And is old Double dead?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BARDOLPH, and one with him\\r\\n\\r\\n SILENCE. Here come two of Sir John Falstaffs men, as I think.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Good morrow, honest gentlemen.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. I beseech you, which is Justice Shallow?\\r\\n SHALLOW. I am Robert Shallow, sir, a poor esquire of this county,\\r\\n and one of the King\\'s justices of the peace. What is your good\\r\\n pleasure with me?\\r\\n BARDOLPH. My captain, sir, commends him to you; my captain, Sir\\r\\n John Falstaff- a tall gentleman, by heaven, and a most gallant\\r\\n leader.\\r\\n SHALLOW. He greets me well, sir; I knew him a good back-sword man.\\r\\n How doth the good knight? May I ask how my lady his wife doth?\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Sir, pardon; a soldier is better accommodated than with a\\r\\n wife.\\r\\n SHALLOW. It is well said, in faith, sir; and it is well said indeed\\r\\n too. \\'Better accommodated!\\' It is good; yea, indeed, is it. Good\\r\\n phrases are surely, and ever were, very commendable.\\r\\n \\'Accommodated!\\' It comes of accommodo. Very good; a good phrase.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Pardon, sir; I have heard the word. \\'Phrase\\' call you it?\\r\\n By this day, I know not the phrase; but I will maintain the word\\r\\n with my sword to be a soldier-like word, and a word of exceeding\\r\\n good command, by heaven. Accommodated: that is, when a man is, as\\r\\n they say, accommodated; or, when a man is being-whereby \\'a may be\\r\\n thought to be accommodated; which is an excellent thing.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FALSTAFF\\r\\n\\r\\n SHALLOW. It is very just. Look, here comes good Sir John. Give me\\r\\n your good hand, give me your worship\\'s good hand. By my troth,\\r\\n you like well and bear your years very well. Welcome, good Sir\\r\\n John.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I am glad to see you well, good Master Robert Shallow.\\r\\n Master Surecard, as I think?\\r\\n SHALLOW. No, Sir John; it is my cousin Silence, in commission with\\r\\n me.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Good Master Silence, it well befits you should be of the\\r\\n peace.\\r\\n SILENCE. Your good worship is welcome.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Fie! this is hot weather. Gentlemen, have you provided me\\r\\n here half a dozen sufficient men?\\r\\n SHALLOW. Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Let me see them, I beseech you.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Where\\'s the roll? Where\\'s the roll? Where\\'s the roll? Let\\r\\n me see, let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so,- so, so- yea,\\r\\n marry, sir. Rafe Mouldy! Let them appear as I call; let them do\\r\\n so, let them do so. Let me see; where is Mouldy?\\r\\n MOULDY. Here, an\\'t please you.\\r\\n SHALLOW. What think you, Sir John? A good-limb\\'d fellow; young,\\r\\n strong, and of good friends.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Is thy name Mouldy?\\r\\n MOULDY. Yea, an\\'t please you.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. \\'Tis the more time thou wert us\\'d.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i\\' faith! Things that are\\r\\n mouldy lack use. Very singular good! In faith, well said, Sir\\r\\n John; very well said.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Prick him.\\r\\n MOULDY. I was prick\\'d well enough before, an you could have let me\\r\\n alone. My old dame will be undone now for one to do her husbandry\\r\\n and her drudgery. You need not to have prick\\'d me; there are\\r\\n other men fitter to go out than I.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Go to; peace, Mouldy; you shall go. Mouldy, it is time\\r\\n you were spent.\\r\\n MOULDY. Spent!\\r\\n SHALLOW. Peace, fellow, peace; stand aside; know you where you are?\\r\\n For th\\' other, Sir John- let me see. Simon Shadow!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under. He\\'s like to be\\r\\n a cold soldier.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Where\\'s Shadow?\\r\\n SHADOW. Here, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Shadow, whose son art thou?\\r\\n SHADOW. My mother\\'s son, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Thy mother\\'s son! Like enough; and thy father\\'s shadow.\\r\\n So the son of the female is the shadow of the male. It is often\\r\\n so indeed; but much of the father\\'s substance!\\r\\n SHALLOW. Do you like him, Sir John?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Shadow will serve for summer. Prick him; for we have a\\r\\n number of shadows fill up the muster-book.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Thomas Wart!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Where\\'s he?\\r\\n WART. Here, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Is thy name Wart?\\r\\n WART. Yea, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Thou art a very ragged wart.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Shall I prick him, Sir John?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. It were superfluous; for his apparel is built upon his\\r\\n back, and the whole frame stands upon pins. Prick him no more.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Ha, ha, ha! You can do it, sir; you can do it. I commend\\r\\n you well. Francis Feeble!\\r\\n FEEBLE. Here, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What trade art thou, Feeble?\\r\\n FEEBLE. A woman\\'s tailor, sir.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Shall I prick him, sir?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. You may; but if he had been a man\\'s tailor, he\\'d ha\\'\\r\\n prick\\'d you. Wilt thou make as many holes in an enemy\\'s battle as\\r\\n thou hast done in a woman\\'s petticoat?\\r\\n FEEBLE. I will do my good will, sir; you can have no more.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Well said, good woman\\'s tailor! well said, courageous\\r\\n Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful dove or most\\r\\n magnanimous mouse. Prick the woman\\'s tailor- well, Master\\r\\n Shallow, deep, Master Shallow.\\r\\n FEEBLE. I would Wart might have gone, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I would thou wert a man\\'s tailor, that thou mightst mend\\r\\n him and make him fit to go. I cannot put him to a private\\r\\n soldier, that is the leader of so many thousands. Let that\\r\\n suffice, most forcible Feeble.\\r\\n FEEBLE. It shall suffice, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who is next?\\r\\n SHALLOW. Peter Bullcalf o\\' th\\' green!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Yea, marry, let\\'s see Bullcalf.\\r\\n BULLCALF. Here, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick me Bullcalf till\\r\\n he roar again.\\r\\n BULLCALF. O Lord! good my lord captain-\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What, dost thou roar before thou art prick\\'d?\\r\\n BULLCALF. O Lord, sir! I am a diseased man.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What disease hast thou?\\r\\n BULLCALF. A whoreson cold, sir, a cough, sir, which I caught with\\r\\n ringing in the King\\'s affairs upon his coronation day, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown. We will have\\r\\n away thy cold; and I will take such order that thy friends shall\\r\\n ring for thee. Is here all?\\r\\n SHALLOW. Here is two more call\\'d than your number. You must have\\r\\n but four here, sir; and so, I pray you, go in with me to dinner.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot tarry\\r\\n dinner. I am glad to see you, by my troth, Master Shallow.\\r\\n SHALLOW. O, Sir John, do you remember since we lay all night in the\\r\\n windmill in Saint George\\'s Field?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. No more of that, Master Shallow, no more of that.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Ha, \\'twas a merry night. And is Jane Nightwork alive?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. She lives, Master Shallow.\\r\\n SHALLOW. She never could away with me.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Never, never; she would always say she could not abide\\r\\n Master Shallow.\\r\\n SHALLOW. By the mass, I could anger her to th\\' heart. She was then\\r\\n a bona-roba. Doth she hold her own well?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Old, old, Master Shallow.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Nay, she must be old; she cannot choose but be old;\\r\\n certain she\\'s old; and had Robin Nightwork, by old Nightwork,\\r\\n before I came to Clement\\'s Inn.\\r\\n SILENCE. That\\'s fifty-five year ago.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen that that this\\r\\n knight and I have seen! Ha, Sir John, said I well?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master Shallow.\\r\\n SHALLOW. That we have, that we have, that we have; in faith, Sir\\r\\n John, we have. Our watchword was \\'Hem, boys!\\' Come, let\\'s to\\r\\n dinner; come, let\\'s to dinner. Jesus, the days that we have seen!\\r\\n Come, come.\\r\\n Exeunt FALSTAFF and the JUSTICES\\r\\n BULLCALF. Good Master Corporate Bardolph, stand my friend; and\\r\\n here\\'s four Harry ten shillings in French crowns for you. In very\\r\\n truth, sir, I had as lief be hang\\'d, sir, as go. And yet, for\\r\\n mine own part, sir, I do not care; but rather because I am\\r\\n unwilling and, for mine own part, have a desire to stay with my\\r\\n friends; else, sir, I did not care for mine own part so much.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Go to; stand aside.\\r\\n MOULDY. And, good Master Corporal Captain, for my old dame\\'s sake,\\r\\n stand my friend. She has nobody to do anything about her when I\\r\\n am gone; and she is old, and cannot help herself. You shall have\\r\\n forty, sir.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Go to; stand aside.\\r\\n FEEBLE. By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we owe God\\r\\n a death. I\\'ll ne\\'er bear a base mind. An\\'t be my destiny, so;\\r\\n an\\'t be not, so. No man\\'s too good to serve \\'s Prince; and, let\\r\\n it go which way it will, he that dies this year is quit for the\\r\\n next.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Well said; th\\'art a good fellow.\\r\\n FEEBLE. Faith, I\\'ll bear no base mind.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter FALSTAFF and the JUSTICES\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Come, sir, which men shall I have?\\r\\n SHALLOW. Four of which you please.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Sir, a word with you. I have three pound to free Mouldy\\r\\n and Bullcalf.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Go to; well.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Come, Sir John, which four will you have?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Do you choose for me.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Marry, then- Mouldy, Bullcalf, Feeble, and Shadow.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Mouldy and Bullcalf: for you, Mouldy, stay at home till\\r\\n you are past service; and for your part, Bullcalf, grow you come\\r\\n unto it. I will none of you.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Sir John, Sir John, do not yourself wrong. They are your\\r\\n likeliest men, and I would have you serv\\'d with the best.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Will you tell me, Master Shallow, how to choose a man?\\r\\n Care I for the limb, the thews, the stature, bulk, and big\\r\\n assemblance of a man! Give me the spirit, Master Shallow. Here\\'s\\r\\n Wart; you see what a ragged appearance it is. \\'A shall charge you\\r\\n and discharge you with the motion of a pewterer\\'s hammer, come\\r\\n off and on swifter than he that gibbets on the brewer\\'s bucket.\\r\\n And this same half-fac\\'d fellow, Shadow- give me this man. He\\r\\n presents no mark to the enemy; the foeman may with as great aim\\r\\n level at the edge of a penknife. And, for a retreat- how swiftly\\r\\n will this Feeble, the woman\\'s tailor, run off! O, give me the\\r\\n spare men, and spare me the great ones. Put me a caliver into\\r\\n Wart\\'s hand, Bardolph.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Hold, Wart. Traverse- thus, thus, thus.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Come, manage me your caliver. So- very well. Go to; very\\r\\n good; exceeding good. O, give me always a little, lean, old,\\r\\n chopt, bald shot. Well said, i\\' faith, Wart; th\\'art a good scab.\\r\\n Hold, there\\'s a tester for thee.\\r\\n SHALLOW. He is not his craft\\'s master, he doth not do it right. I\\r\\n remember at Mile-end Green, when I lay at Clement\\'s Inn- I was\\r\\n then Sir Dagonet in Arthur\\'s show- there was a little quiver\\r\\n fellow, and \\'a would manage you his piece thus; and \\'a would\\r\\n about and about, and come you in and come you in. \\'Rah, tah,\\r\\n tah!\\' would \\'a say; \\'Bounce!\\' would \\'a say; and away again would\\r\\n \\'a go, and again would \\'a come. I shall ne\\'er see such a fellow.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. These fellows will do well. Master Shallow, God keep you!\\r\\n Master Silence, I will not use many words with you: Fare you\\r\\n well! Gentlemen both, I thank you. I must a dozen mile to-night.\\r\\n Bardolph, give the soldiers coats.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Sir John, the Lord bless you; God prosper your affairs;\\r\\n God send us peace! At your return, visit our house; let our old\\r\\n acquaintance be renewed. Peradventure I will with ye to the\\r\\n court.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Fore God, would you would.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Go to; I have spoke at a word. God keep you.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. [Exeunt JUSTICES] On,\\r\\n Bardolph; lead the men away. [Exeunt all but FALSTAFF] As I\\r\\n return, I will fetch off these justices. I do see the bottom of\\r\\n justice Shallow. Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this\\r\\n vice of lying! This same starv\\'d justice hath done nothing but\\r\\n prate to me of the wildness of his youth and the feats he hath\\r\\n done about Turnbull Street; and every third word a lie, duer paid\\r\\n to the hearer than the Turk\\'s tribute. I do remember him at\\r\\n Clement\\'s Inn, like a man made after supper of a cheese-paring.\\r\\n When \\'a was naked, he was for all the world like a fork\\'d radish,\\r\\n with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife. \\'A was so\\r\\n forlorn that his dimensions to any thick sight were invisible. \\'A\\r\\n was the very genius of famine; yet lecherous as a monkey, and the\\r\\n whores call\\'d him mandrake. \\'A came ever in the rearward of the\\r\\n fashion, and sung those tunes to the overscutch\\'d huswifes that\\r\\n he heard the carmen whistle, and sware they were his fancies or\\r\\n his good-nights. And now is this Vice\\'s dagger become a squire,\\r\\n and talks as familiarly of John a Gaunt as if he had been sworn\\r\\n brother to him; and I\\'ll be sworn \\'a ne\\'er saw him but once in\\r\\n the Tiltyard; and then he burst his head for crowding among the\\r\\n marshal\\'s men. I saw it, and told John a Gaunt he beat his own\\r\\n name; for you might have thrust him and all his apparel into an\\r\\n eel-skin; the case of a treble hautboy was a mansion for him, a\\r\\n court- and now has he land and beeves. Well, I\\'ll be acquainted\\r\\n with him if I return; and \\'t shall go hard but I\\'ll make him a\\r\\n philosopher\\'s two stones to me. If the young dace be a bait for\\r\\n the old pike, I see no reason in the law of nature but I may snap\\r\\n at him. Let time shape, and there an end. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I. Yorkshire. Within the Forest of Gaultree\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, MOWBRAY, HASTINGS, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. What is this forest call\\'d\\r\\n HASTINGS. \\'Tis Gaultree Forest, an\\'t shall please your Grace.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Here stand, my lords, and send discoverers forth\\r\\n To know the numbers of our enemies.\\r\\n HASTINGS. We have sent forth already.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. \\'Tis well done.\\r\\n My friends and brethren in these great affairs,\\r\\n I must acquaint you that I have receiv\\'d\\r\\n New-dated letters from Northumberland;\\r\\n Their cold intent, tenour, and substance, thus:\\r\\n Here doth he wish his person, with such powers\\r\\n As might hold sortance with his quality,\\r\\n The which he could not levy; whereupon\\r\\n He is retir\\'d, to ripe his growing fortunes,\\r\\n To Scotland; and concludes in hearty prayers\\r\\n That your attempts may overlive the hazard\\r\\n And fearful meeting of their opposite.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch ground\\r\\n And dash themselves to pieces.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter A MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n HASTINGS. Now, what news?\\r\\n MESSENGER. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile,\\r\\n In goodly form comes on the enemy;\\r\\n And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number\\r\\n Upon or near the rate of thirty thousand.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. The just proportion that we gave them out.\\r\\n Let us sway on and face them in the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter WESTMORELAND\\r\\n\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. What well-appointed leader fronts us here?\\r\\n MOWBRAY. I think it is my Lord of Westmoreland.\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. Health and fair greeting from our general,\\r\\n The Prince, Lord John and Duke of Lancaster.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Say on, my Lord of Westmoreland, in peace,\\r\\n What doth concern your coming.\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. Then, my lord,\\r\\n Unto your Grace do I in chief address\\r\\n The substance of my speech. If that rebellion\\r\\n Came like itself, in base and abject routs,\\r\\n Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rags,\\r\\n And countenanc\\'d by boys and beggary-\\r\\n I say, if damn\\'d commotion so appear\\'d\\r\\n In his true, native, and most proper shape,\\r\\n You, reverend father, and these noble lords,\\r\\n Had not been here to dress the ugly form\\r\\n Of base and bloody insurrection\\r\\n With your fair honours. You, Lord Archbishop,\\r\\n Whose see is by a civil peace maintain\\'d,\\r\\n Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch\\'d,\\r\\n Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor\\'d,\\r\\n Whose white investments figure innocence,\\r\\n The dove, and very blessed spirit of peace-\\r\\n Wherefore you do so ill translate yourself\\r\\n Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace,\\r\\n Into the harsh and boist\\'rous tongue of war;\\r\\n Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood,\\r\\n Your pens to lances, and your tongue divine\\r\\n To a loud trumpet and a point of war?\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Wherefore do I this? So the question stands.\\r\\n Briefly to this end: we are all diseas\\'d\\r\\n And with our surfeiting and wanton hours\\r\\n Have brought ourselves into a burning fever,\\r\\n And we must bleed for it; of which disease\\r\\n Our late King, Richard, being infected, died.\\r\\n But, my most noble Lord of Westmoreland,\\r\\n I take not on me here as a physician;\\r\\n Nor do I as an enemy to peace\\r\\n Troop in the throngs of military men;\\r\\n But rather show awhile like fearful war\\r\\n To diet rank minds sick of happiness,\\r\\n And purge th\\' obstructions which begin to stop\\r\\n Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly.\\r\\n I have in equal balance justly weigh\\'d\\r\\n What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer,\\r\\n And find our griefs heavier than our offences.\\r\\n We see which way the stream of time doth run\\r\\n And are enforc\\'d from our most quiet there\\r\\n By the rough torrent of occasion;\\r\\n And have the summary of all our griefs,\\r\\n When time shall serve, to show in articles;\\r\\n Which long ere this we offer\\'d to the King,\\r\\n And might by no suit gain our audience:\\r\\n When we are wrong\\'d, and would unfold our griefs,\\r\\n We are denied access unto his person,\\r\\n Even by those men that most have done us wrong.\\r\\n The dangers of the days but newly gone,\\r\\n Whose memory is written on the earth\\r\\n With yet appearing blood, and the examples\\r\\n Of every minute\\'s instance, present now,\\r\\n Hath put us in these ill-beseeming arms;\\r\\n Not to break peace, or any branch of it,\\r\\n But to establish here a peace indeed,\\r\\n Concurring both in name and quality.\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. When ever yet was your appeal denied;\\r\\n Wherein have you been galled by the King;\\r\\n What peer hath been suborn\\'d to grate on you\\r\\n That you should seal this lawless bloody book\\r\\n Of forg\\'d rebellion with a seal divine,\\r\\n And consecrate commotion\\'s bitter edge?\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. My brother general, the commonwealth,\\r\\n To brother horn an household cruelty,\\r\\n I make my quarrel in particular.\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. There is no need of any such redress;\\r\\n Or if there were, it not belongs to you.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Why not to him in part, and to us all\\r\\n That feel the bruises of the days before,\\r\\n And suffer the condition of these times\\r\\n To lay a heavy and unequal hand\\r\\n Upon our honours?\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. O my good Lord Mowbray,\\r\\n Construe the times to their necessities,\\r\\n And you shall say, indeed, it is the time,\\r\\n And not the King, that doth you injuries.\\r\\n Yet, for your part, it not appears to me,\\r\\n Either from the King or in the present time,\\r\\n That you should have an inch of any ground\\r\\n To build a grief on. Were you not restor\\'d\\r\\n To all the Duke of Norfolk\\'s signiories,\\r\\n Your noble and right well-rememb\\'red father\\'s?\\r\\n MOWBRAY. What thing, in honour, had my father lost\\r\\n That need to be reviv\\'d and breath\\'d in me?\\r\\n The King that lov\\'d him, as the state stood then,\\r\\n Was force perforce compell\\'d to banish him,\\r\\n And then that Henry Bolingbroke and he,\\r\\n Being mounted and both roused in their seats,\\r\\n Their neighing coursers daring of the spur,\\r\\n Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down,\\r\\n Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel,\\r\\n And the loud trumpet blowing them together-\\r\\n Then, then, when there was nothing could have stay\\'d\\r\\n My father from the breast of Bolingbroke,\\r\\n O, when the King did throw his warder down-\\r\\n His own life hung upon the staff he threw-\\r\\n Then threw he down himself, and all their lives\\r\\n That by indictment and by dint of sword\\r\\n Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke.\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. You speak, Lord Mowbray, now you know not what.\\r\\n The Earl of Hereford was reputed then\\r\\n In England the most valiant gentleman.\\r\\n Who knows on whom fortune would then have smil\\'d?\\r\\n But if your father had been victor there,\\r\\n He ne\\'er had borne it out of Coventry;\\r\\n For all the country, in a general voice,\\r\\n Cried hate upon him; and all their prayers and love\\r\\n Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on,\\r\\n And bless\\'d and grac\\'d indeed more than the King.\\r\\n But this is mere digression from my purpose.\\r\\n Here come I from our princely general\\r\\n To know your griefs; to tell you from his Grace\\r\\n That he will give you audience; and wherein\\r\\n It shall appear that your demands are just,\\r\\n You shall enjoy them, everything set off\\r\\n That might so much as think you enemies.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. But he hath forc\\'d us to compel this offer;\\r\\n And it proceeds from policy, not love.\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. Mowbray. you overween to take it so.\\r\\n This offer comes from mercy, not from fear;\\r\\n For, lo! within a ken our army lies-\\r\\n Upon mine honour, all too confident\\r\\n To give admittance to a thought of fear.\\r\\n Our battle is more full of names than yours,\\r\\n Our men more perfect in the use of arms,\\r\\n Our armour all as strong, our cause the best;\\r\\n Then reason will our hearts should be as good.\\r\\n Say you not, then, our offer is compell\\'d.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Well, by my will we shall admit no parley.\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. That argues but the shame of your offence:\\r\\n A rotten case abides no handling.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Hath the Prince John a full commission,\\r\\n In very ample virtue of his father,\\r\\n To hear and absolutely to determine\\r\\n Of what conditions we shall stand upon?\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. That is intended in the general\\'s name.\\r\\n I muse you make so slight a question.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Then take, my Lord of Westmoreland, this schedule,\\r\\n For this contains our general grievances.\\r\\n Each several article herein redress\\'d,\\r\\n All members of our cause, both here and hence,\\r\\n That are insinewed to this action,\\r\\n Acquitted by a true substantial form,\\r\\n And present execution of our wills\\r\\n To us and to our purposes confin\\'d-\\r\\n We come within our awful banks again,\\r\\n And knit our powers to the arm of peace.\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. This will I show the general. Please you, lords,\\r\\n In sight of both our battles we may meet;\\r\\n And either end in peace- which God so frame!-\\r\\n Or to the place of diff\\'rence call the swords\\r\\n Which must decide it.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. My lord, we will do so. Exit WESTMORELAND\\r\\n MOWBRAY. There is a thing within my bosom tells me\\r\\n That no conditions of our peace can stand.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Fear you not that: if we can make our peace\\r\\n Upon such large terms and so absolute\\r\\n As our conditions shall consist upon,\\r\\n Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Yea, but our valuation shall be such\\r\\n That every slight and false-derived cause,\\r\\n Yea, every idle, nice, and wanton reason,\\r\\n Shall to the King taste of this action;\\r\\n That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love,\\r\\n We shall be winnow\\'d with so rough a wind\\r\\n That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff,\\r\\n And good from bad find no partition.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. No, no, my lord. Note this: the King is weary\\r\\n Of dainty and such picking grievances;\\r\\n For he hath found to end one doubt by death\\r\\n Revives two greater in the heirs of life;\\r\\n And therefore will he wipe his tables clean,\\r\\n And keep no tell-tale to his memory\\r\\n That may repeat and history his los\\r\\n To new remembrance. For full well he knows\\r\\n He cannot so precisely weed this land\\r\\n As his misdoubts present occasion:\\r\\n His foes are so enrooted with his friends\\r\\n That, plucking to unfix an enemy,\\r\\n He doth unfasten so and shake a friend.\\r\\n So that this land, like an offensive wife\\r\\n That hath enrag\\'d him on to offer strokes,\\r\\n As he is striking, holds his infant up,\\r\\n And hangs resolv\\'d correction in the arm\\r\\n That was uprear\\'d to execution.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Besides, the King hath wasted all his rods\\r\\n On late offenders, that he now doth lack\\r\\n The very instruments of chastisement;\\r\\n So that his power, like to a fangless lion,\\r\\n May offer, but not hold.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. \\'Tis very true;\\r\\n And therefore be assur\\'d, my good Lord Marshal,\\r\\n If we do now make our atonement well,\\r\\n Our peace will, like a broken limb united,\\r\\n Grow stronger for the breaking.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Be it so.\\r\\n Here is return\\'d my Lord of Westmoreland.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter WESTMORELAND\\r\\n\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. The Prince is here at hand. Pleaseth your lordship\\r\\n To meet his Grace just distance \\'tween our armies?\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Your Grace of York, in God\\'s name then, set forward.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Before, and greet his Grace. My lord, we come.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another part of the forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter, from one side, MOWBRAY, attended; afterwards, the ARCHBISHOP,\\r\\nHASTINGS, and others; from the other side, PRINCE JOHN of LANCASTER,\\r\\nWESTMORELAND, OFFICERS, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. You are well encount\\'red here, my cousin Mowbray.\\r\\n Good day to you, gentle Lord Archbishop;\\r\\n And so to you, Lord Hastings, and to all.\\r\\n My Lord of York, it better show\\'d with you\\r\\n When that your flock, assembled by the bell,\\r\\n Encircled you to hear with reverence\\r\\n Your exposition on the holy text\\r\\n Than now to see you here an iron man,\\r\\n Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum,\\r\\n Turning the word to sword, and life to death.\\r\\n That man that sits within a monarch\\'s heart\\r\\n And ripens in the sunshine of his favour,\\r\\n Would he abuse the countenance of the king,\\r\\n Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach\\r\\n In shadow of such greatness! With you, Lord Bishop,\\r\\n It is even so. Who hath not heard it spoken\\r\\n How deep you were within the books of God?\\r\\n To us the speaker in His parliament,\\r\\n To us th\\' imagin\\'d voice of God himself,\\r\\n The very opener and intelligencer\\r\\n Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven,\\r\\n And our dull workings. O, who shall believe\\r\\n But you misuse the reverence of your place,\\r\\n Employ the countenance and grace of heav\\'n\\r\\n As a false favourite doth his prince\\'s name,\\r\\n In deeds dishonourable? You have ta\\'en up,\\r\\n Under the counterfeited zeal of God,\\r\\n The subjects of His substitute, my father,\\r\\n And both against the peace of heaven and him\\r\\n Have here up-swarm\\'d them.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Good my Lord of Lancaster,\\r\\n I am not here against your father\\'s peace;\\r\\n But, as I told my Lord of Westmoreland,\\r\\n The time misord\\'red doth, in common sense,\\r\\n Crowd us and crush us to this monstrous form\\r\\n To hold our safety up. I sent your Grace\\r\\n The parcels and particulars of our grief,\\r\\n The which hath been with scorn shov\\'d from the court,\\r\\n Whereon this hydra son of war is born;\\r\\n Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm\\'d asleep\\r\\n With grant of our most just and right desires;\\r\\n And true obedience, of this madness cur\\'d,\\r\\n Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes\\r\\n To the last man.\\r\\n HASTINGS. And though we here fall down,\\r\\n We have supplies to second our attempt.\\r\\n If they miscarry, theirs shall second them;\\r\\n And so success of mischief shall be born,\\r\\n And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up\\r\\n Whiles England shall have generation.\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. YOU are too shallow, Hastings, much to shallow,\\r\\n To sound the bottom of the after-times.\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. Pleaseth your Grace to answer them directly\\r\\n How far forth you do like their articles.\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. I like them all and do allow them well;\\r\\n And swear here, by the honour of my blood,\\r\\n My father\\'s purposes have been mistook;\\r\\n And some about him have too lavishly\\r\\n Wrested his meaning and authority.\\r\\n My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress\\'d;\\r\\n Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you,\\r\\n Discharge your powers unto their several counties,\\r\\n As we will ours; and here, between the armies,\\r\\n Let\\'s drink together friendly and embrace,\\r\\n That all their eyes may bear those tokens home\\r\\n Of our restored love and amity.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. I take your princely word for these redresses.\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. I give it you, and will maintain my word;\\r\\n And thereupon I drink unto your Grace.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Go, Captain, and deliver to the army\\r\\n This news of peace. Let them have pay, and part.\\r\\n I know it will please them. Hie thee, Captain.\\r\\n Exit Officer\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. To you, my noble Lord of Westmoreland.\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. I pledge your Grace; and if you knew what pains\\r\\n I have bestow\\'d to breed this present peace,\\r\\n You would drink freely; but my love to ye\\r\\n Shall show itself more openly hereafter.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. I do not doubt you.\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. I am glad of it.\\r\\n Health to my lord and gentle cousin, Mowbray.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. You wish me health in very happy season,\\r\\n For I am on the sudden something ill.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Against ill chances men are ever merry;\\r\\n But heaviness foreruns the good event.\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. Therefore be merry, coz; since sudden sorrow\\r\\n Serves to say thus, \\'Some good thing comes to-morrow.\\'\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. So much the worse, if your own rule be true.\\r\\n [Shouts within]\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. The word of peace is rend\\'red. Hark, how they shout!\\r\\n MOWBRAY. This had been cheerful after victory.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. A peace is of the nature of a conquest;\\r\\n For then both parties nobly are subdu\\'d,\\r\\n And neither party loser.\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. Go, my lord,\\r\\n And let our army be discharged too.\\r\\n Exit WESTMORELAND\\r\\n And, good my lord, so please you let our trains\\r\\n March by us, that we may peruse the men\\r\\n We should have cop\\'d withal.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Go, good Lord Hastings,\\r\\n And, ere they be dismiss\\'d, let them march by.\\r\\n Exit HASTINGS\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. I trust, lords, we shall lie to-night together.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter WESTMORELAND\\r\\n\\r\\n Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still?\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. The leaders, having charge from you to stand,\\r\\n Will not go off until they hear you speak.\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. They know their duties.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter HASTINGS\\r\\n\\r\\n HASTINGS. My lord, our army is dispers\\'d already.\\r\\n Like youthful steers unyok\\'d, they take their courses\\r\\n East, west, north, south; or like a school broke up,\\r\\n Each hurries toward his home and sporting-place.\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. Good tidings, my Lord Hastings; for the which\\r\\n I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason;\\r\\n And you, Lord Archbishop, and you, Lord Mowbray,\\r\\n Of capital treason I attach you both.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Is this proceeding just and honourable?\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. Is your assembly so?\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Will you thus break your faith?\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. I pawn\\'d thee none:\\r\\n I promis\\'d you redress of these same grievances\\r\\n Whereof you did complain; which, by mine honour,\\r\\n I will perform with a most Christian care.\\r\\n But for you, rebels- look to taste the due\\r\\n Meet for rebellion and such acts as yours.\\r\\n Most shallowly did you these arms commence,\\r\\n Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence.\\r\\n Strike up our drums, pursue the scatt\\'red stray.\\r\\n God, and not we, hath safely fought to-day.\\r\\n Some guard these traitors to the block of death,\\r\\n Treason\\'s true bed and yielder-up of breath. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Another part of the forest\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum; excursions. Enter FALSTAFF and COLVILLE, meeting\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What\\'s your name, sir? Of what condition are you, and of\\r\\n what place, I pray?\\r\\n COLVILLE. I am a knight sir; and my name is Colville of the Dale.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Well then, Colville is your name, a knight is your\\r\\n degree, and your place the Dale. Colville shall still be your\\r\\n name, a traitor your degree, and the dungeon your place- a place\\r\\n deep enough; so shall you be still Colville of the Dale.\\r\\n COLVILLE. Are not you Sir John Falstaff?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. As good a man as he, sir, whoe\\'er I am. Do you yield,\\r\\n sir, or shall I sweat for you? If I do sweat, they are the drops\\r\\n of thy lovers, and they weep for thy death; therefore rouse up\\r\\n fear and trembling, and do observance to my mercy.\\r\\n COLVILLE. I think you are Sir John Falstaff, and in that thought\\r\\n yield me.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I have a whole school of tongues in this belly of mine;\\r\\n and not a tongue of them all speaks any other word but my name.\\r\\n An I had but a belly of any indifferency, I were simply the most\\r\\n active fellow in Europe. My womb, my womb, my womb undoes me.\\r\\n Here comes our general.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, WESTMORELAND,\\r\\n BLUNT, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. The heat is past; follow no further now.\\r\\n Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland.\\r\\n Exit WESTMORELAND\\r\\n Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while?\\r\\n When everything is ended, then you come.\\r\\n These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life,\\r\\n One time or other break some gallows\\' back.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be thus: I never\\r\\n knew yet but rebuke and check was the reward of valour. Do you\\r\\n think me a swallow, an arrow, or a bullet? Have I, in my poor and\\r\\n old motion, the expedition of thought? I have speeded hither with\\r\\n the very extremest inch of possibility; I have found\\'red nine\\r\\n score and odd posts; and here, travel tainted as I am, have, in\\r\\n my pure and immaculate valour, taken Sir John Colville of the\\r\\n Dale,a most furious knight and valorous enemy. But what of that?\\r\\n He saw me, and yielded; that I may justly say with the hook-nos\\'d\\r\\n fellow of Rome-I came, saw, and overcame.\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. It was more of his courtesy than your deserving.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I know not. Here he is, and here I yield him; and I\\r\\n beseech your Grace, let it be book\\'d with the rest of this day\\'s\\r\\n deeds; or, by the Lord, I will have it in a particular ballad\\r\\n else, with mine own picture on the top on\\'t, Colville kissing my\\r\\n foot; to the which course if I be enforc\\'d, if you do not all\\r\\n show like gilt twopences to me, and I, in the clear sky of fame,\\r\\n o\\'ershine you as much as the full moon doth the cinders of the\\r\\n element, which show like pins\\' heads to her, believe not the word\\r\\n of the noble. Therefore let me have right, and let desert mount.\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. Thine\\'s too heavy to mount.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Let it shine, then.\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. Thine\\'s too thick to shine.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Let it do something, my good lord, that may do me good,\\r\\n and call it what you will.\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. Is thy name Colville?\\r\\n COLVILLE. It is, my lord.\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. A famous rebel art thou, Colville.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. And a famous true subject took him.\\r\\n COLVILLE. I am, my lord, but as my betters are\\r\\n That led me hither. Had they been rul\\'d by me,\\r\\n You should have won them dearer than you have.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I know not how they sold themselves; but thou, like a\\r\\n kind fellow, gavest thyself away gratis; and I thank thee for\\r\\n thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter WESTMORELAND\\r\\n\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. Now, have you left pursuit?\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. Retreat is made, and execution stay\\'d.\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. Send Colville, with his confederates,\\r\\n To York, to present execution.\\r\\n Blunt, lead him hence; and see you guard him sure.\\r\\n Exeunt BLUNT and others\\r\\n And now dispatch we toward the court, my lords.\\r\\n I hear the King my father is sore sick.\\r\\n Our news shall go before us to his Majesty,\\r\\n Which, cousin, you shall bear to comfort him\\r\\n And we with sober speed will follow you.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go through\\r\\n Gloucestershire; and, when you come to court, stand my good lord,\\r\\n pray, in your good report.\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. Fare you well, Falstaff. I, in my condition,\\r\\n Shall better speak of you than you deserve.\\r\\n Exeunt all but FALSTAFF\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I would you had but the wit; \\'twere better than your\\r\\n dukedom. Good faith, this same young sober-blooded boy doth not\\r\\n love me; nor a man cannot make him laugh- but that\\'s no marvel;\\r\\n he drinks no wine. There\\'s never none of these demure boys come\\r\\n to any proof; for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood, and\\r\\n making many fish-meals, that they fall into a kind of male\\r\\n green-sickness; and then, when they marry, they get wenches. They\\r\\n are generally fools and cowards-which some of us should be too,\\r\\n but for inflammation. A good sherris-sack hath a two-fold\\r\\n operation in it. It ascends me into the brain; dries me there all\\r\\n the foolish and dull and crudy vapours which environ it; makes it\\r\\n apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and\\r\\n delectable shapes; which delivered o\\'er to the voice, the tongue,\\r\\n which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second property of\\r\\n your excellent sherris is the warming of the blood; which before,\\r\\n cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the\\r\\n badge of pusillanimity and cowardice; but the sherris warms it,\\r\\n and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extremes. It\\r\\n illumineth the face, which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the\\r\\n rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm; and then the vital\\r\\n commoners and inland petty spirits muster me all to their\\r\\n captain, the heart, who, great and puff\\'d up with this retinue,\\r\\n doth any deed of courage- and this valour comes of sherris. So\\r\\n that skill in the weapon is nothing without sack, for that sets\\r\\n it a-work; and learning, a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil\\r\\n till sack commences it and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes\\r\\n it that Prince Harry is valiant; for the cold blood he did\\r\\n naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, sterile, and\\r\\n bare land, manured, husbanded, and till\\'d, with excellent\\r\\n endeavour of drinking good and good store of fertile sherris,\\r\\n that he is become very hot and valiant. If I had a thousand sons,\\r\\n the first humane principle I would teach them should be to\\r\\n forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BARDOLPH\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, Bardolph!\\r\\n BARDOLPH. The army is discharged all and gone.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Let them go. I\\'ll through Gloucestershire, and there will\\r\\n I visit Master Robert Shallow, Esquire. I have him already\\r\\n temp\\'ring between my finger and my thumb, and shortly will I seal\\r\\n with him. Come away. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Westminster. The Jerusalem Chamber\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the KING, PRINCE THOMAS OF CLARENCE, PRINCE HUMPHREY OF\\r\\nGLOUCESTER,\\r\\nWARWICK, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n KING. Now, lords, if God doth give successful end\\r\\n To this debate that bleedeth at our doors,\\r\\n We will our youth lead on to higher fields,\\r\\n And draw no swords but what are sanctified.\\r\\n Our navy is address\\'d, our power connected,\\r\\n Our substitutes in absence well invested,\\r\\n And everything lies level to our wish.\\r\\n Only we want a little personal strength;\\r\\n And pause us till these rebels, now afoot,\\r\\n Come underneath the yoke of government.\\r\\n WARWICK. Both which we doubt not but your Majesty\\r\\n Shall soon enjoy.\\r\\n KING. Humphrey, my son of Gloucester,\\r\\n Where is the Prince your brother?\\r\\n PRINCE HUMPHREY. I think he\\'s gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor.\\r\\n KING. And how accompanied?\\r\\n PRINCE HUMPHREY. I do not know, my lord.\\r\\n KING. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, with him?\\r\\n PRINCE HUMPHREY. No, my good lord, he is in presence here.\\r\\n CLARENCE. What would my lord and father?\\r\\n KING. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence.\\r\\n How chance thou art not with the Prince thy brother?\\r\\n He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas.\\r\\n Thou hast a better place in his affection\\r\\n Than all thy brothers; cherish it, my boy,\\r\\n And noble offices thou mayst effect\\r\\n Of mediation, after I am dead,\\r\\n Between his greatness and thy other brethren.\\r\\n Therefore omit him not; blunt not his love,\\r\\n Nor lose the good advantage of his grace\\r\\n By seeming cold or careless of his will;\\r\\n For he is gracious if he be observ\\'d.\\r\\n He hath a tear for pity and a hand\\r\\n Open as day for melting charity;\\r\\n Yet notwithstanding, being incens\\'d, he is flint;\\r\\n As humorous as winter, and as sudden\\r\\n As flaws congealed in the spring of day.\\r\\n His temper, therefore, must be well observ\\'d.\\r\\n Chide him for faults, and do it reverently,\\r\\n When you perceive his blood inclin\\'d to mirth;\\r\\n But, being moody, give him line and scope\\r\\n Till that his passions, like a whale on ground,\\r\\n Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas,\\r\\n And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends,\\r\\n A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in,\\r\\n That the united vessel of their blood,\\r\\n Mingled with venom of suggestion-\\r\\n As, force perforce, the age will pour it in-\\r\\n Shall never leak, though it do work as strong\\r\\n As aconitum or rash gunpowder.\\r\\n CLARENCE. I shall observe him with all care and love.\\r\\n KING. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas?\\r\\n CLARENCE. He is not there to-day; he dines in London.\\r\\n KING. And how accompanied? Canst thou tell that?\\r\\n CLARENCE. With Poins, and other his continual followers.\\r\\n KING. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds;\\r\\n And he, the noble image of my youth,\\r\\n Is overspread with them; therefore my grief\\r\\n Stretches itself beyond the hour of death.\\r\\n The blood weeps from my heart when I do shape,\\r\\n In forms imaginary, th\\'unguided days\\r\\n And rotten times that you shall look upon\\r\\n When I am sleeping with my ancestors.\\r\\n For when his headstrong riot hath no curb,\\r\\n When rage and hot blood are his counsellors\\r\\n When means and lavish manners meet together,\\r\\n O, with what wings shall his affections fly\\r\\n Towards fronting peril and oppos\\'d decay!\\r\\n WARWICK. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite.\\r\\n The Prince but studies his companions\\r\\n Like a strange tongue, wherein, to gain the language,\\r\\n \\'Tis needful that the most immodest word\\r\\n Be look\\'d upon and learnt; which once attain\\'d,\\r\\n Your Highness knows, comes to no further use\\r\\n But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms,\\r\\n The Prince will, in the perfectness of time,\\r\\n Cast off his followers; and their memory\\r\\n Shall as a pattern or a measure live\\r\\n By which his Grace must mete the lives of other,\\r\\n Turning past evils to advantages.\\r\\n KING. \\'Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her comb\\r\\n In the dead carrion.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter WESTMORELAND\\r\\n\\r\\n Who\\'s here? Westmoreland?\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. Health to my sovereign, and new happiness\\r\\n Added to that that am to deliver!\\r\\n Prince John, your son, doth kiss your Grace\\'s hand.\\r\\n Mowbray, the Bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all,\\r\\n Are brought to the correction of your law.\\r\\n There is not now a rebel\\'s sword unsheath\\'d,\\r\\n But Peace puts forth her olive everywhere.\\r\\n The manner how this action hath been borne\\r\\n Here at more leisure may your Highness read,\\r\\n With every course in his particular.\\r\\n KING. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird,\\r\\n Which ever in the haunch of winter sings\\r\\n The lifting up of day.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HARCOURT\\r\\n\\r\\n Look here\\'s more news.\\r\\n HARCOURT. From enemies heaven keep your Majesty;\\r\\n And, when they stand against you, may they fall\\r\\n As those that I am come to tell you of!\\r\\n The Earl Northumberland and the Lord Bardolph,\\r\\n With a great power of English and of Scots,\\r\\n Are by the shrieve of Yorkshire overthrown.\\r\\n The manner and true order of the fight\\r\\n This packet, please it you, contains at large.\\r\\n KING. And wherefore should these good news make me sick?\\r\\n Will Fortune never come with both hands full,\\r\\n But write her fair words still in foulest letters?\\r\\n She either gives a stomach and no food-\\r\\n Such are the poor, in health- or else a feast,\\r\\n And takes away the stomach- such are the rich\\r\\n That have abundance and enjoy it not.\\r\\n I should rejoice now at this happy news;\\r\\n And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy.\\r\\n O me! come near me now I am much ill.\\r\\n PRINCE HUMPHREY. Comfort, your Majesty!\\r\\n CLARENCE. O my royal father!\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look up.\\r\\n WARWICK. Be patient, Princes; you do know these fits\\r\\n Are with his Highness very ordinary.\\r\\n Stand from him, give him air; he\\'ll straight be well.\\r\\n CLARENCE. No, no; he cannot long hold out these pangs.\\r\\n Th\\' incessant care and labour of his mind\\r\\n Hath wrought the mure that should confine it in\\r\\n So thin that life looks through, and will break out.\\r\\n PRINCE HUMPHREY. The people fear me; for they do observe\\r\\n Unfather\\'d heirs and loathly births of nature.\\r\\n The seasons change their manners, as the year\\r\\n Had found some months asleep, and leapt them over.\\r\\n CLARENCE. The river hath thrice flow\\'d, no ebb between;\\r\\n And the old folk, Time\\'s doting chronicles,\\r\\n Say it did so a little time before\\r\\n That our great grandsire, Edward, sick\\'d and died.\\r\\n WARWICK. Speak lower, Princes, for the King recovers.\\r\\n PRINCE HUMPHREY. This apoplexy will certain be his end.\\r\\n KING. I pray you take me up, and bear me hence\\r\\n Into some other chamber. Softly, pray. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Westminster. Another chamber\\r\\n\\r\\nThe KING lying on a bed; CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, and others in\\r\\nattendance\\r\\n\\r\\n KING. Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends;\\r\\n Unless some dull and favourable hand\\r\\n Will whisper music to my weary spirit.\\r\\n WARWICK. Call for the music in the other room.\\r\\n KING. Set me the crown upon my pillow here.\\r\\n CLARENCE. His eye is hollow, and he changes much.\\r\\n WARWICK. Less noise! less noise!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PRINCE HENRY\\r\\n\\r\\n PRINCE. Who saw the Duke of Clarence?\\r\\n CLARENCE. I am here, brother, full of heaviness.\\r\\n PRINCE. How now! Rain within doors, and none abroad!\\r\\n How doth the King?\\r\\n PRINCE HUMPHREY. Exceeding ill.\\r\\n PRINCE. Heard he the good news yet? Tell it him.\\r\\n PRINCE HUMPHREY. He alt\\'red much upon the hearing it.\\r\\n PRINCE. If he be sick with joy, he\\'ll recover without physic.\\r\\n WARWICK. Not so much noise, my lords. Sweet Prince, speak low;\\r\\n The King your father is dispos\\'d to sleep.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Let us withdraw into the other room.\\r\\n WARWICK. Will\\'t please your Grace to go along with us?\\r\\n PRINCE. No; I will sit and watch here by the King.\\r\\n Exeunt all but the PRINCE\\r\\n Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow,\\r\\n Being so troublesome a bedfellow?\\r\\n O polish\\'d perturbation! golden care!\\r\\n That keep\\'st the ports of slumber open wide\\r\\n To many a watchful night! Sleep with it now!\\r\\n Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet\\r\\n As he whose brow with homely biggen bound\\r\\n Snores out the watch of night. O majesty!\\r\\n When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit\\r\\n Like a rich armour worn in heat of day\\r\\n That scald\\'st with safety. By his gates of breath\\r\\n There lies a downy feather which stirs not.\\r\\n Did he suspire, that light and weightless down\\r\\n Perforce must move. My gracious lord! my father!\\r\\n This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep\\r\\n That from this golden rigol hath divorc\\'d\\r\\n So many English kings. Thy due from me\\r\\n Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood\\r\\n Which nature, love, and filial tenderness,\\r\\n Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously.\\r\\n My due from thee is this imperial crown,\\r\\n Which, as immediate from thy place and blood,\\r\\n Derives itself to me. [Putting on the crown] Lo where it sits-\\r\\n Which God shall guard; and put the world\\'s whole strength\\r\\n Into one giant arm, it shall not force\\r\\n This lineal honour from me. This from thee\\r\\n Will I to mine leave as \\'tis left to me. Exit\\r\\n KING. Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter WARWICK, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE\\r\\n\\r\\n CLARENCE. Doth the King call?\\r\\n WARWICK. What would your Majesty? How fares your Grace?\\r\\n KING. Why did you leave me here alone, my lords?\\r\\n CLARENCE. We left the Prince my brother here, my liege,\\r\\n Who undertook to sit and watch by you.\\r\\n KING. The Prince of Wales! Where is he? Let me see him.\\r\\n He is not here.\\r\\n WARWICK. This door is open; he is gone this way.\\r\\n PRINCE HUMPHREY. He came not through the chamber where we stay\\'d.\\r\\n KING. Where is the crown? Who took it from my pillow?\\r\\n WARWICK. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here.\\r\\n KING. The Prince hath ta\\'en it hence. Go, seek him out.\\r\\n Is he so hasty that he doth suppose\\r\\n My sleep my death?\\r\\n Find him, my lord of Warwick; chide him hither.\\r\\n Exit WARWICK\\r\\n This part of his conjoins with my disease\\r\\n And helps to end me. See, sons, what things you are!\\r\\n How quickly nature falls into revolt\\r\\n When gold becomes her object!\\r\\n For this the foolish over-careful fathers\\r\\n Have broke their sleep with thoughts,\\r\\n Their brains with care, their bones with industry;\\r\\n For this they have engrossed and pil\\'d up\\r\\n The cank\\'red heaps of strange-achieved gold;\\r\\n For this they have been thoughtful to invest\\r\\n Their sons with arts and martial exercises;\\r\\n When, like the bee, tolling from every flower\\r\\n The virtuous sweets,\\r\\n Our thighs with wax, our mouths with honey pack\\'d,\\r\\n We bring it to the hive, and, like the bees,\\r\\n Are murd\\'red for our pains. This bitter taste\\r\\n Yields his engrossments to the ending father.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter WARWICK\\r\\n\\r\\n Now where is he that will not stay so long\\r\\n Till his friend sickness hath determin\\'d me?\\r\\n WARWICK. My lord, I found the Prince in the next room,\\r\\n Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks,\\r\\n With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow,\\r\\n That tyranny, which never quaff\\'d but blood,\\r\\n Would, by beholding him, have wash\\'d his knife\\r\\n With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither.\\r\\n KING. But wherefore did he take away the crown?\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PRINCE HENRY\\r\\n\\r\\n Lo where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry.\\r\\n Depart the chamber, leave us here alone.\\r\\n Exeunt all but the KING and the PRINCE\\r\\n PRINCE. I never thought to hear you speak again.\\r\\n KING. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.\\r\\n I stay too long by thee, I weary thee.\\r\\n Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair\\r\\n That thou wilt needs invest thee with my honours\\r\\n Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth!\\r\\n Thou seek\\'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee.\\r\\n Stay but a little, for my cloud of dignity\\r\\n Is held from falling with so weak a wind\\r\\n That it will quickly drop; my day is dim.\\r\\n Thou hast stol\\'n that which, after some few hours,\\r\\n Were thine without offense; and at my death\\r\\n Thou hast seal\\'d up my expectation.\\r\\n Thy life did manifest thou lov\\'dst me not,\\r\\n And thou wilt have me die assur\\'d of it.\\r\\n Thou hid\\'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts,\\r\\n Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart,\\r\\n To stab at half an hour of my life.\\r\\n What, canst thou not forbear me half an hour?\\r\\n Then get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself;\\r\\n And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear\\r\\n That thou art crowned, not that I am dead.\\r\\n Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse\\r\\n Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head;\\r\\n Only compound me with forgotten dust;\\r\\n Give that which gave thee life unto the worms.\\r\\n Pluck down my officers, break my decrees;\\r\\n For now a time is come to mock at form-\\r\\n Harry the Fifth is crown\\'d. Up, vanity:\\r\\n Down, royal state. All you sage counsellors, hence.\\r\\n And to the English court assemble now,\\r\\n From every region, apes of idleness.\\r\\n Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum.\\r\\n Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance,\\r\\n Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit\\r\\n The oldest sins the newest kind of ways?\\r\\n Be happy, he will trouble you no more.\\r\\n England shall double gild his treble guilt;\\r\\n England shall give him office, honour, might;\\r\\n For the fifth Harry from curb\\'d license plucks\\r\\n The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog\\r\\n Shall flesh his tooth on every innocent.\\r\\n O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows!\\r\\n When that my care could not withhold thy riots,\\r\\n What wilt thou do when riot is thy care?\\r\\n O, thou wilt be a wilderness again.\\r\\n Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants!\\r\\n PRINCE. O, pardon me, my liege! But for my tears,\\r\\n The moist impediments unto my speech,\\r\\n I had forestall\\'d this dear and deep rebuke\\r\\n Ere you with grief had spoke and I had heard\\r\\n The course of it so far. There is your crown,\\r\\n And he that wears the crown immortally\\r\\n Long guard it yours! [Kneeling] If I affect it more\\r\\n Than as your honour and as your renown,\\r\\n Let me no more from this obedience rise,\\r\\n Which my most inward true and duteous spirit\\r\\n Teacheth this prostrate and exterior bending!\\r\\n God witness with me, when I here came in\\r\\n And found no course of breath within your Majesty,\\r\\n How cold it struck my heart! If I do feign,\\r\\n O, let me in my present wildness die,\\r\\n And never live to show th\\' incredulous world\\r\\n The noble change that I have purposed!\\r\\n Coming to look on you, thinking you dead-\\r\\n And dead almost, my liege, to think you were-\\r\\n I spake unto this crown as having sense,\\r\\n And thus upbraided it: \\'The care on thee depending\\r\\n Hath fed upon the body of my father;\\r\\n Therefore thou best of gold art worst of gold.\\r\\n Other, less fine in carat, is more precious,\\r\\n Preserving life in med\\'cine potable;\\r\\n But thou, most fine, most honour\\'d, most renown\\'d,\\r\\n Hast eat thy bearer up.\\' Thus, my most royal liege,\\r\\n Accusing it, I put it on my head,\\r\\n To try with it- as with an enemy\\r\\n That had before my face murd\\'red my father-\\r\\n The quarrel of a true inheritor.\\r\\n But if it did infect my blood with joy,\\r\\n Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride;\\r\\n If any rebel or vain spirit of mine\\r\\n Did with the least affection of a welcome\\r\\n Give entertainment to the might of it,\\r\\n Let God for ever keep it from my head,\\r\\n And make me as the poorest vassal is,\\r\\n That doth with awe and terror kneel to it!\\r\\n KING. O my son,\\r\\n God put it in thy mind to take it hence,\\r\\n That thou mightst win the more thy father\\'s love,\\r\\n Pleading so wisely in excuse of it!\\r\\n Come hither, Harry; sit thou by my bed,\\r\\n And hear, I think, the very latest counsel\\r\\n That ever I shall breathe. God knows, my son,\\r\\n By what by-paths and indirect crook\\'d ways\\r\\n I met this crown; and I myself know well\\r\\n How troublesome it sat upon my head:\\r\\n To thee it shall descend with better quiet,\\r\\n Better opinion, better confirmation;\\r\\n For all the soil of the achievement goes\\r\\n With me into the earth. It seem\\'d in me\\r\\n But as an honour snatch\\'d with boist\\'rous hand;\\r\\n And I had many living to upbraid\\r\\n My gain of it by their assistances;\\r\\n Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed,\\r\\n Wounding supposed peace. All these bold fears\\r\\n Thou seest with peril I have answered;\\r\\n For all my reign hath been but as a scene\\r\\n Acting that argument. And now my death\\r\\n Changes the mood; for what in me was purchas\\'d\\r\\n Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort;\\r\\n So thou the garland wear\\'st successively.\\r\\n Yet, though thou stand\\'st more sure than I could do,\\r\\n Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green;\\r\\n And all my friends, which thou must make thy friends,\\r\\n Have but their stings and teeth newly ta\\'en out;\\r\\n By whose fell working I was first advanc\\'d,\\r\\n And by whose power I well might lodge a fear\\r\\n To be again displac\\'d; which to avoid,\\r\\n I cut them off; and had a purpose now\\r\\n To lead out many to the Holy Land,\\r\\n Lest rest and lying still might make them look\\r\\n Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry,\\r\\n Be it thy course to busy giddy minds\\r\\n With foreign quarrels, that action, hence borne out,\\r\\n May waste the memory of the former days.\\r\\n More would I, but my lungs are wasted so\\r\\n That strength of speech is utterly denied me.\\r\\n How I came by the crown, O God, forgive;\\r\\n And grant it may with thee in true peace live!\\r\\n PRINCE. My gracious liege,\\r\\n You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me;\\r\\n Then plain and right must my possession be;\\r\\n Which I with more than with a common pain\\r\\n \\'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, WARWICK, LORDS, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n KING. Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster.\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. Health, peace, and happiness, to my royal father!\\r\\n KING. Thou bring\\'st me happiness and peace, son John;\\r\\n But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown\\r\\n From this bare wither\\'d trunk. Upon thy sight\\r\\n My worldly business makes a period.\\r\\n Where is my Lord of Warwick?\\r\\n PRINCE. My Lord of Warwick!\\r\\n KING. Doth any name particular belong\\r\\n Unto the lodging where I first did swoon?\\r\\n WARWICK. \\'Tis call\\'d Jerusalem, my noble lord.\\r\\n KING. Laud be to God! Even there my life must end.\\r\\n It hath been prophesied to me many years,\\r\\n I should not die but in Jerusalem;\\r\\n Which vainly I suppos\\'d the Holy Land.\\r\\n But bear me to that chamber; there I\\'ll lie;\\r\\n In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. Gloucestershire. SHALLOW\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SHALLOW, FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, and PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n SHALLOW. By cock and pie, sir, you shall not away to-night.\\r\\n What, Davy, I say!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. You must excuse me, Master Robert Shallow.\\r\\n SHALLOW. I will not excuse you; you shall not be excus\\'d; excuses\\r\\n shall not be admitted; there is no excuse shall serve; you shall\\r\\n not be excus\\'d. Why, Davy!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DAVY\\r\\n\\r\\n DAVY. Here, sir.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Davy, Davy, Davy, Davy; let me see, Davy; let me see,\\r\\n Davy; let me see- yea, marry, William cook, bid him come hither.\\r\\n Sir John, you shall not be excus\\'d.\\r\\n DAVY. Marry, sir, thus: those precepts cannot be served; and,\\r\\n again, sir- shall we sow the headland with wheat?\\r\\n SHALLOW. With red wheat, Davy. But for William cook- are there no\\r\\n young pigeons?\\r\\n DAVY. Yes, sir. Here is now the smith\\'s note for shoeing and\\r\\n plough-irons.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Let it be cast, and paid. Sir John, you shall not be\\r\\n excused.\\r\\n DAVY. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must needs be had; and,\\r\\n sir, do you mean to stop any of William\\'s wages about the sack he\\r\\n lost the other day at Hinckley fair?\\r\\n SHALLOW. \\'A shall answer it. Some pigeons, Davy, a couple of\\r\\n short-legg\\'d hens, a joint of mutton, and any pretty little tiny\\r\\n kickshaws, tell William cook.\\r\\n DAVY. Doth the man of war stay all night, sir?\\r\\n SHALLOW. Yea, Davy; I will use him well. A friend i\\' th\\' court is\\r\\n better than a penny in purse. Use his men well, Davy; for they\\r\\n are arrant knaves and will backbite.\\r\\n DAVY. No worse than they are backbitten, sir; for they have\\r\\n marvellous foul linen.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Well conceited, Davy- about thy business, Davy.\\r\\n DAVY. I beseech you, sir, to countenance William Visor of Woncot\\r\\n against Clement Perkes o\\' th\\' hill.\\r\\n SHALLOW. There, is many complaints, Davy, against that Visor. That\\r\\n Visor is an arrant knave, on my knowledge.\\r\\n DAVY. I grant your worship that he is a knave, sir; but yet God\\r\\n forbid, sir, but a knave should have some countenance at his\\r\\n friend\\'s request. An honest man, sir, is able to speak for\\r\\n himself, when a knave is not. I have serv\\'d your worship truly,\\r\\n sir, this eight years; an I cannot once or twice in a quarter\\r\\n bear out a knave against an honest man, I have but a very little\\r\\n credit with your worship. The knave is mine honest friend, sir;\\r\\n therefore, I beseech you, let him be countenanc\\'d.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Go to; I say he shall have no wrong. Look about,\\r\\n DAVY. [Exit DAVY] Where are you, Sir John? Come, come, come, off\\r\\n with your boots. Give me your hand, Master Bardolph.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. I am glad to see your worship.\\r\\n SHALLOW. I thank thee with all my heart, kind Master Bardolph.\\r\\n [To the PAGE] And welcome, my tall fellow. Come, Sir John.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I\\'ll follow you, good Master Robert Shallow.\\r\\n [Exit SHALLOW] Bardolph, look to our horses. [Exeunt BARDOLPH\\r\\n and PAGE] If I were sawed into quantities, I should make four\\r\\n dozen of such bearded hermits\\' staves as Master Shallow. It is a\\r\\n wonderful thing to see the semblable coherence of his men\\'s\\r\\n spirits and his. They, by observing of him, do bear themselves\\r\\n like foolish justices: he, by conversing with them, is turned\\r\\n into a justice-like serving-man. Their spirits are so married in\\r\\n conjunction with the participation of society that they flock\\r\\n together in consent, like so many wild geese. If I had a suit to\\r\\n Master Shallow, I would humour his men with the imputation of\\r\\n being near their master; if to his men, I would curry with Master\\r\\n Shallow that no man could better command his servants. It is\\r\\n certain that either wise bearing or ignorant carriage is caught,\\r\\n as men take diseases, one of another; therefore let men take heed\\r\\n of their company. I will devise matter enough out of this Shallow\\r\\n to keep Prince Harry in continual laughter the wearing out of six\\r\\n fashions, which is four terms, or two actions; and \\'a shall laugh\\r\\n without intervallums. O, it is much that a lie with a slight\\r\\n oath, and a jest with a sad brow will do with a fellow that never\\r\\n had the ache in his shoulders! O, you shall see him laugh till\\r\\n his face be like a wet cloak ill laid up!\\r\\n SHALLOW. [Within] Sir John!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I come, Master Shallow; I come, Master Shallow.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Westminster. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter, severally, WARWICK, and the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. How now, my Lord Chief Justice; whither away?\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. How doth the King?\\r\\n WARWICK. Exceeding well; his cares are now all ended.\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. I hope, not dead.\\r\\n WARWICK. He\\'s walk\\'d the way of nature;\\r\\n And to our purposes he lives no more.\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. I would his Majesty had call\\'d me with him.\\r\\n The service that I truly did his life\\r\\n Hath left me open to all injuries.\\r\\n WARWICK. Indeed, I think the young king loves you not.\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. I know he doth not, and do arm myself\\r\\n To welcome the condition of the time,\\r\\n Which cannot look more hideously upon me\\r\\n Than I have drawn it in my fantasy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LANCASTER, CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER,\\r\\n WESTMORELAND, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. Here comes the heavy issue of dead Harry.\\r\\n O that the living Harry had the temper\\r\\n Of he, the worst of these three gentlemen!\\r\\n How many nobles then should hold their places\\r\\n That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort!\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. O God, I fear all will be overturn\\'d.\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. Good morrow, cousin Warwick, good morrow.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER & CLARENCE. Good morrow, cousin.\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. We meet like men that had forgot to speak.\\r\\n WARWICK. We do remember; but our argument\\r\\n Is all too heavy to admit much talk.\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. Well, peace be with him that hath made us heavy!\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. Peace be with us, lest we be heavier!\\r\\n PRINCE HUMPHREY. O, good my lord, you have lost a friend indeed;\\r\\n And I dare swear you borrow not that face\\r\\n Of seeming sorrow- it is sure your own.\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. Though no man be assur\\'d what grace to find,\\r\\n You stand in coldest expectation.\\r\\n I am the sorrier; would \\'twere otherwise.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Well, you must now speak Sir John Falstaff fair;\\r\\n Which swims against your stream of quality.\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. Sweet Princes, what I did, I did in honour,\\r\\n Led by th\\' impartial conduct of my soul;\\r\\n And never shall you see that I will beg\\r\\n A ragged and forestall\\'d remission.\\r\\n If truth and upright innocency fail me,\\r\\n I\\'ll to the King my master that is dead,\\r\\n And tell him who hath sent me after him.\\r\\n WARWICK. Here comes the Prince.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING HENRY THE FIFTH, attended\\r\\n\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. Good morrow, and God save your Majesty!\\r\\n KING. This new and gorgeous garment, majesty,\\r\\n Sits not so easy on me as you think.\\r\\n Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear.\\r\\n This is the English, not the Turkish court;\\r\\n Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds,\\r\\n But Harry Harry. Yet be sad, good brothers,\\r\\n For, by my faith, it very well becomes you.\\r\\n Sorrow so royally in you appears\\r\\n That I will deeply put the fashion on,\\r\\n And wear it in my heart. Why, then, be sad;\\r\\n But entertain no more of it, good brothers,\\r\\n Than a joint burden laid upon us all.\\r\\n For me, by heaven, I bid you be assur\\'d,\\r\\n I\\'ll be your father and your brother too;\\r\\n Let me but bear your love, I\\'ll bear your cares.\\r\\n Yet weep that Harry\\'s dead, and so will I;\\r\\n But Harry lives that shall convert those tears\\r\\n By number into hours of happiness.\\r\\n BROTHERS. We hope no otherwise from your Majesty.\\r\\n KING. You all look strangely on me; and you most.\\r\\n You are, I think, assur\\'d I love you not.\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. I am assur\\'d, if I be measur\\'d rightly,\\r\\n Your Majesty hath no just cause to hate me.\\r\\n KING. No?\\r\\n How might a prince of my great hopes forget\\r\\n So great indignities you laid upon me?\\r\\n What, rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison,\\r\\n Th\\' immediate heir of England! Was this easy?\\r\\n May this be wash\\'d in Lethe and forgotten?\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. I then did use the person of your father;\\r\\n The image of his power lay then in me;\\r\\n And in th\\' administration of his law,\\r\\n Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth,\\r\\n Your Highness pleased to forget my place,\\r\\n The majesty and power of law and justice,\\r\\n The image of the King whom I presented,\\r\\n And struck me in my very seat of judgment;\\r\\n Whereon, as an offender to your father,\\r\\n I gave bold way to my authority\\r\\n And did commit you. If the deed were ill,\\r\\n Be you contented, wearing now the garland,\\r\\n To have a son set your decrees at nought,\\r\\n To pluck down justice from your awful bench,\\r\\n To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword\\r\\n That guards the peace and safety of your person;\\r\\n Nay, more, to spurn at your most royal image,\\r\\n And mock your workings in a second body.\\r\\n Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours;\\r\\n Be now the father, and propose a son;\\r\\n Hear your own dignity so much profan\\'d,\\r\\n See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted,\\r\\n Behold yourself so by a son disdain\\'d;\\r\\n And then imagine me taking your part\\r\\n And, in your power, soft silencing your son.\\r\\n After this cold considerance, sentence me;\\r\\n And, as you are a king, speak in your state\\r\\n What I have done that misbecame my place,\\r\\n My person, or my liege\\'s sovereignty.\\r\\n KING. You are right, Justice, and you weigh this well;\\r\\n Therefore still bear the balance and the sword;\\r\\n And I do wish your honours may increase\\r\\n Till you do live to see a son of mine\\r\\n Offend you, and obey you, as I did.\\r\\n So shall I live to speak my father\\'s words:\\r\\n \\'Happy am I that have a man so bold\\r\\n That dares do justice on my proper son;\\r\\n And not less happy, having such a son\\r\\n That would deliver up his greatness so\\r\\n Into the hands of justice.\\' You did commit me;\\r\\n For which I do commit into your hand\\r\\n Th\\' unstained sword that you have us\\'d to bear;\\r\\n With this remembrance- that you use the same\\r\\n With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit\\r\\n As you have done \\'gainst me. There is my hand.\\r\\n You shall be as a father to my youth;\\r\\n My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear;\\r\\n And I will stoop and humble my intents\\r\\n To your well-practis\\'d wise directions.\\r\\n And, Princes all, believe me, I beseech you,\\r\\n My father is gone wild into his grave,\\r\\n For in his tomb lie my affections;\\r\\n And with his spirits sadly I survive,\\r\\n To mock the expectation of the world,\\r\\n To frustrate prophecies, and to raze out\\r\\n Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down\\r\\n After my seeming. The tide of blood in me\\r\\n Hath proudly flow\\'d in vanity till now.\\r\\n Now doth it turn and ebb back to the sea,\\r\\n Where it shall mingle with the state of floods,\\r\\n And flow henceforth in formal majesty.\\r\\n Now call we our high court of parliament;\\r\\n And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel,\\r\\n That the great body of our state may go\\r\\n In equal rank with the best govern\\'d nation;\\r\\n That war, or peace, or both at once, may be\\r\\n As things acquainted and familiar to us;\\r\\n In which you, father, shall have foremost hand.\\r\\n Our coronation done, we will accite,\\r\\n As I before rememb\\'red, all our state;\\r\\n And- God consigning to my good intents-\\r\\n No prince nor peer shall have just cause to say,\\r\\n God shorten Harry\\'s happy life one day. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Gloucestershire. SHALLOW\\'S orchard\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FALSTAFF, SHALLOW, SILENCE, BARDOLPH, the PAGE, and DAVY\\r\\n\\r\\n SHALLOW. Nay, you shall see my orchard, where, in an arbour, we\\r\\n will eat a last year\\'s pippin of mine own graffing, with a dish\\r\\n of caraways, and so forth. Come, cousin Silence. And then to bed.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling and rich.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Barren, barren, barren; beggars all, beggars all, Sir John\\r\\n -marry, good air. Spread, Davy, spread, Davy; well said, Davy.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. This Davy serves you for good uses; he is your\\r\\n serving-man and your husband.\\r\\n SHALLOW. A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good varlet, Sir\\r\\n John. By the mass, I have drunk too much sack at supper. A good\\r\\n varlet. Now sit down, now sit down; come, cousin.\\r\\n SILENCE. Ah, sirrah! quoth-a- we shall [Singing]\\r\\n\\r\\n Do nothing but eat and make good cheer,\\r\\n And praise God for the merry year;\\r\\n When flesh is cheap and females dear,\\r\\n And lusty lads roam here and there,\\r\\n So merrily,\\r\\n And ever among so merrily.\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. There\\'s a merry heart! Good Master Silence, I\\'ll give you\\r\\n a health for that anon.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Give Master Bardolph some wine, Davy.\\r\\n DAVY. Sweet sir, sit; I\\'ll be with you anon; most sweet sir, sit.\\r\\n Master Page, good Master Page, sit. Proface! What you want in\\r\\n meat, we\\'ll have in drink. But you must bear; the heart\\'s all.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n SHALLOW. Be merry, Master Bardolph; and, my little soldier there,\\r\\n be merry.\\r\\n SILENCE. [Singing]\\r\\n\\r\\n Be merry, be merry, my wife has all;\\r\\n For women are shrews, both short and tall;\\r\\n \\'Tis merry in hall when beards wag an;\\r\\n And welcome merry Shrove-tide.\\r\\n Be merry, be merry.\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I did not think Master Silence had been a man of this\\r\\n mettle.\\r\\n SILENCE. Who, I? I have been merry twice and once ere now.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter DAVY\\r\\n\\r\\n DAVY. [To BARDOLPH] There\\'s a dish of leather-coats for you.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Davy!\\r\\n DAVY. Your worship! I\\'ll be with you straight. [To BARDOLPH]\\r\\n A cup of wine, sir?\\r\\n SILENCE. [Singing]\\r\\n\\r\\n A cup of wine that\\'s brisk and fine,\\r\\n And drink unto the leman mine;\\r\\n And a merry heart lives long-a.\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Well said, Master Silence.\\r\\n SILENCE. An we shall be merry, now comes in the sweet o\\' th\\' night.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Health and long life to you, Master Silence!\\r\\n SILENCE. [Singing]\\r\\n\\r\\n Fill the cup, and let it come,\\r\\n I\\'ll pledge you a mile to th\\' bottom.\\r\\n\\r\\n SHALLOW. Honest Bardolph, welcome; if thou want\\'st anything and\\r\\n wilt not call, beshrew thy heart. Welcome, my little tiny thief\\r\\n and welcome indeed too. I\\'ll drink to Master Bardolph, and to all\\r\\n the cabileros about London.\\r\\n DAVY. I hope to see London once ere I die.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. An I might see you there, Davy!\\r\\n SHALLOW. By the mass, you\\'R crack a quart together- ha! will you\\r\\n not, Master Bardolph?\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Yea, sir, in a pottle-pot.\\r\\n SHALLOW. By God\\'s liggens, I thank thee. The knave will stick by\\r\\n thee, I can assure thee that. \\'A will not out, \\'a; \\'tis true\\r\\n bred.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. And I\\'ll stick by him, sir.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing; be merry.\\r\\n [One knocks at door] Look who\\'s at door there, ho! Who knocks?\\r\\n Exit DAVY\\r\\n FALSTAFF. [To SILENCE, who has drunk a bumper] Why, now you have\\r\\n done me right.\\r\\n SILENCE. [Singing]\\r\\n\\r\\n Do me right,\\r\\n And dub me knight.\\r\\n Samingo.\\r\\n\\r\\n Is\\'t not so?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. \\'Tis so.\\r\\n SILENCE. Is\\'t so? Why then, say an old man can do somewhat.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter DAVY\\r\\n\\r\\n DAVY. An\\'t please your worship, there\\'s one Pistol come from the\\r\\n court with news.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. From the court? Let him come in.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PISTOL\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, Pistol?\\r\\n PISTOL. Sir John, God save you!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What wind blew you hither, Pistol?\\r\\n PISTOL. Not the ill wind which blows no man to good. Sweet knight,\\r\\n thou art now one of the greatest men in this realm.\\r\\n SILENCE. By\\'r lady, I think \\'a be, but goodman Puff of Barson.\\r\\n PISTOL. Puff!\\r\\n Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base!\\r\\n Sir John, I am thy Pistol and thy friend,\\r\\n And helter-skelter have I rode to thee;\\r\\n And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys,\\r\\n And golden times, and happy news of price.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I pray thee now, deliver them like a man of this world.\\r\\n PISTOL. A foutra for the world and worldlings base!\\r\\n I speak of Africa and golden joys.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news?\\r\\n Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof.\\r\\n SILENCE. [Singing] And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John.\\r\\n PISTOL. Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons?\\r\\n And shall good news be baffled?\\r\\n Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies\\' lap.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding.\\r\\n PISTOL. Why, then, lament therefore.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Give me pardon, sir. If, sir, you come with news from the\\r\\n court, I take it there\\'s but two ways- either to utter them or\\r\\n conceal them. I am, sir, under the King, in some authority.\\r\\n PISTOL. Under which king, Bezonian? Speak, or die.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Under King Harry.\\r\\n PISTOL. Harry the Fourth- or Fifth?\\r\\n SHALLOW. Harry the Fourth.\\r\\n PISTOL. A foutra for thine office!\\r\\n Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is King;\\r\\n Harry the Fifth\\'s the man. I speak the truth.\\r\\n When Pistol lies, do this; and fig me, like\\r\\n The bragging Spaniard.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What, is the old king dead?\\r\\n PISTOL. As nail in door. The things I speak are just.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Away, Bardolph! saddle my horse. Master Robert Shallow,\\r\\n choose what office thou wilt in the land, \\'tis thine. Pistol, I\\r\\n will double-charge thee with dignities.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. O joyful day!\\r\\n I would not take a knighthood for my fortune.\\r\\n PISTOL. What, I do bring good news?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Carry Master Silence to bed. Master Shallow, my Lord\\r\\n Shallow, be what thou wilt- I am Fortune\\'s steward. Get on thy\\r\\n boots; we\\'ll ride all night. O sweet Pistol! Away, Bardolph!\\r\\n [Exit BARDOLPH] Come, Pistol, utter more to me; and withal\\r\\n devise something to do thyself good. Boot, boot, Master Shallow!\\r\\n I know the young King is sick for me. Let us take any man\\'s\\r\\n horses: the laws of England are at my commandment. Blessed are\\r\\n they that have been my friends; and woe to my Lord Chief Justice!\\r\\n PISTOL. Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also!\\r\\n \\'Where is the life that late I led?\\' say they.\\r\\n Why, here it is; welcome these pleasant days! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. London. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter BEADLES, dragging in HOSTESS QUICKLY and DOLL TEARSHEET\\r\\n\\r\\n HOSTESS. No, thou arrant knave; I would to God that I might die,\\r\\n that I might have thee hang\\'d. Thou hast drawn my shoulder out of\\r\\n joint.\\r\\n FIRST BEADLE. The constables have delivered her over to me; and she\\r\\n shall have whipping-cheer enough, I warrant her. There hath been\\r\\n a man or two lately kill\\'d about her.\\r\\n DOLL. Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come on; I\\'ll tell thee what,\\r\\n thou damn\\'d tripe-visag\\'d rascal, an the child I now go with do\\r\\n miscarry, thou wert better thou hadst struck thy mother, thou\\r\\n paper-fac\\'d villain.\\r\\n HOSTESS. O the Lord, that Sir John were come! He would make this a\\r\\n bloody day to somebody. But I pray God the fruit of her womb\\r\\n miscarry!\\r\\n FIRST BEADLE. If it do, you shall have a dozen of cushions again;\\r\\n you have but eleven now. Come, I charge you both go with me; for\\r\\n the man is dead that you and Pistol beat amongst you.\\r\\n DOLL. I\\'ll tell you what, you thin man in a censer, I will have you\\r\\n as soundly swing\\'d for this- you blue-bottle rogue, you filthy\\r\\n famish\\'d correctioner, if you be not swing\\'d, I\\'ll forswear\\r\\n half-kirtles.\\r\\n FIRST BEADLE. Come, come, you she knight-errant, come.\\r\\n HOSTESS. O God, that right should thus overcome might!\\r\\n Well, of sufferance comes ease.\\r\\n DOLL. Come, you rogue, come; bring me to a justice.\\r\\n HOSTESS. Ay, come, you starv\\'d bloodhound.\\r\\n DOLL. Goodman death, goodman bones!\\r\\n HOSTESS. Thou atomy, thou!\\r\\n DOLL. Come, you thin thing! come, you rascal!\\r\\n FIRST BEADLE. Very well. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Westminster. Near the Abbey\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter GROOMS, strewing rushes\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST GROOM. More rushes, more rushes!\\r\\n SECOND GROOM. The trumpets have sounded twice.\\r\\n THIRD GROOM. \\'Twill be two o\\'clock ere they come from the\\r\\n coronation. Dispatch, dispatch. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Trumpets sound, and the KING and his train pass\\r\\n over the stage. After them enter FALSTAFF, SHALLOW,\\r\\n PISTOL, BARDOLPH, and page\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Stand here by me, Master Robert Shallow; I will make the\\r\\n King do you grace. I will leer upon him, as \\'a comes by; and do\\r\\n but mark the countenance that he will give me.\\r\\n PISTOL. God bless thy lungs, good knight!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Come here, Pistol; stand behind me. [To SHALLOW] O, if\\r\\n I had had to have made new liveries, I would have bestowed the\\r\\n thousand pound I borrowed of you. But \\'tis no matter; this poor\\r\\n show doth better; this doth infer the zeal I had to see him.\\r\\n SHALLOW. It doth so.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. It shows my earnestness of affection-\\r\\n SHALLOW. It doth so.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. My devotion-\\r\\n SHALLOW. It doth, it doth, it doth.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. As it were, to ride day and night; and not to deliberate,\\r\\n not to remember, not to have patience to shift me-\\r\\n SHALLOW. It is best, certain.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. But to stand stained with travel, and sweating with\\r\\n desire to see him; thinking of nothing else, putting all affairs\\r\\n else in oblivion, as if there were nothing else to be done but to\\r\\n see him.\\r\\n PISTOL. \\'Tis \\'semper idem\\' for \\'obsque hoc nihil est.\\' \\'Tis all in\\r\\n every part.\\r\\n SHALLOW. \\'Tis so, indeed.\\r\\n PISTOL. My knight, I will inflame thy noble liver\\r\\n And make thee rage.\\r\\n Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts,\\r\\n Is in base durance and contagious prison;\\r\\n Hal\\'d thither\\r\\n By most mechanical and dirty hand.\\r\\n Rouse up revenge from ebon den with fell Alecto\\'s snake,\\r\\n For Doll is in. Pistol speaks nought but truth.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I will deliver her.\\r\\n [Shouts,within, and the trumpets sound]\\r\\n PISTOL. There roar\\'d the sea, and trumpet-clangor sounds.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the KING and his train, the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE\\r\\n among them\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. God save thy Grace, King Hal; my royal Hal!\\r\\n PISTOL. The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal imp of fame!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. God save thee, my sweet boy!\\r\\n KING. My Lord Chief Justice, speak to that vain man.\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. Have you your wits? Know you what \\'tis you speak?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. My king! my Jove! I speak to thee, my heart!\\r\\n KING. I know thee not, old man. Fall to thy prayers.\\r\\n How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!\\r\\n I have long dreamt of such a kind of man,\\r\\n So surfeit-swell\\'d, so old, and so profane;\\r\\n But being awak\\'d, I do despise my dream.\\r\\n Make less thy body hence, and more thy grace;\\r\\n Leave gormandizing; know the grave doth gape\\r\\n For thee thrice wider than for other men-\\r\\n Reply not to me with a fool-born jest;\\r\\n Presume not that I am the thing I was,\\r\\n For God doth know, so shall the world perceive,\\r\\n That I have turn\\'d away my former self;\\r\\n So will I those that kept me company.\\r\\n When thou dost hear I am as I have been,\\r\\n Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast,\\r\\n The tutor and the feeder of my riots.\\r\\n Till then I banish thee, on pain of death,\\r\\n As I have done the rest of my misleaders,\\r\\n Not to come near our person by ten mile.\\r\\n For competence of life I will allow you,\\r\\n That lack of means enforce you not to evils;\\r\\n And, as we hear you do reform yourselves,\\r\\n We will, according to your strengths and qualities,\\r\\n Give you advancement. Be it your charge, my lord,\\r\\n To see perform\\'d the tenour of our word.\\r\\n Set on. Exeunt the KING and his train\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pounds.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Yea, marry, Sir John; which I beseech you to let me have\\r\\n home with me.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. That can hardly be, Master Shallow. Do not you grieve at\\r\\n this; I shall be sent for in private to him. Look you, he must\\r\\n seem thus to the world. Fear not your advancements; I will be the\\r\\n man yet that shall make you great.\\r\\n SHALLOW. I cannot perceive how, unless you give me your doublet,\\r\\n and stuff me out with straw. I beseech you, good Sir John, let me\\r\\n have five hundred of my thousand.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Sir, I will be as good as my word. This that you heard\\r\\n was but a colour.\\r\\n SHALLOW. A colour that I fear you will die in, Sir John.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Fear no colours; go with me to dinner. Come, Lieutenant\\r\\n Pistol; come, Bardolph. I shall be sent for soon at night.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PRINCE JOHN, the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE,\\r\\n with officers\\r\\n\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. Go, carry Sir John Falstaff to the Fleet;\\r\\n Take all his company along with him.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. My lord, my lord-\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. I cannot now speak. I will hear you soon.\\r\\n Take them away.\\r\\n PISTOL. Si fortuna me tormenta, spero me contenta.\\r\\n Exeunt all but PRINCE JOHN and the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. I like this fair proceeding of the King\\'s.\\r\\n He hath intent his wonted followers\\r\\n Shall all be very well provided for;\\r\\n But all are banish\\'d till their conversations\\r\\n Appear more wise and modest to the world.\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. And so they are.\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. The King hath call\\'d his parliament, my lord.\\r\\n CHIEF JUSTICE. He hath.\\r\\n PRINCE JOHN. I will lay odds that, ere this year expire,\\r\\n We bear our civil swords and native fire\\r\\n As far as France. I heard a bird so sing,\\r\\n Whose music, to my thinking, pleas\\'d the King.\\r\\n Come, will you hence? Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nEPILOGUE EPILOGUE.\\r\\n\\r\\n First my fear, then my curtsy, last my speech. My fear, is your\\r\\n displeasure; my curtsy, my duty; and my speech, to beg your pardons.\\r\\n If you look for a good speech now, you undo me; for what I have to\\r\\n say is of mine own making; and what, indeed, I should say will, I\\r\\n doubt, prove mine own marring. But to the purpose, and so to the\\r\\n venture. Be it known to you, as it is very well, I was lately here in\\r\\n the end of a displeasing play, to pray your patience for it and to\\r\\n promise you a better. I meant, indeed, to pay you with this; which if\\r\\n like an ill venture it come unluckily home, I break, and you, my\\r\\n gentle creditors, lose. Here I promis\\'d you I would be, and here I\\r\\n commit my body to your mercies. Bate me some, and I will pay you\\r\\n some, and, as most debtors do, promise you infinitely; and so I kneel\\r\\n down before you- but, indeed, to pray for the Queen. If my tongue\\r\\n cannot entreat you to acquit me, will you command me to use my legs?\\r\\n And yet that were but light payment-to dance out of your debt. But a\\r\\n good conscience will make any possible satisfaction, and so would I.\\r\\n All the gentlewomen here have forgiven me. If the gentlemen will not,\\r\\n then the gentlemen do not agree with the gentlewomen, which was never\\r\\n seen before in such an assembly. One word more, I beseech you. If you\\r\\n be not too much cloy\\'d with fat meat, our humble author will continue\\r\\n the story, with Sir John in it, and make you merry with fair\\r\\n Katherine of France; where, for anything I know, Falstaff shall die\\r\\n of a sweat, unless already \\'a be killed with your hard opinions; for\\r\\n Oldcastle died a martyr and this is not the man. My tongue is weary;\\r\\n when my legs are too, I will bid you good night.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE LIFE OF KING HENRY V\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nPrologue.\\r\\nScene I. London. An ante-chamber in the King’s palace.\\r\\nScene II. The same. The presence chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nChorus.\\r\\nScene I. London. A street.\\r\\nScene II. Southampton. A council-chamber.\\r\\nScene III. London. Before a tavern.\\r\\nScene IV. France. The King’s palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nChorus.\\r\\nScene I. France. Before Harfleur.\\r\\nScene II. The same.\\r\\nScene III. Before the gates.\\r\\nScene IV. The French King’s palace.\\r\\nScene V. The same.\\r\\nScene VI. The English camp in Picardy.\\r\\nScene VII. The French camp, near Agincourt.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nChorus.\\r\\nScene I. The English camp at Agincourt.\\r\\nScene II. The French camp.\\r\\nScene III. The English camp.\\r\\nScene IV. The field of battle.\\r\\nScene V. Another part of the field.\\r\\nScene VI. Another part of the field.\\r\\nScene VII. Another part of the field.\\r\\nScene VIII. Before King Henry’s pavilion.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nChorus.\\r\\nScene I. France. The English camp.\\r\\nScene II. France. A royal palace.\\r\\nEpilogue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY V.\\r\\nDUKE OF CLARENCE, brother to the King.\\r\\nDUKE OF BEDFORD, brother to the King.\\r\\nDUKE OF GLOUCESTER, brother to the King.\\r\\nDUKE OF EXETER, uncle to the King.\\r\\nDUKE OF YORK, cousin to the King.\\r\\nEARL OF SALISBURY.\\r\\nEARL OF HUNTINGDON.\\r\\nEARL OF WESTMORLAND.\\r\\nEARL OF WARWICK.\\r\\nARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY.\\r\\nBISHOP OF ELY.\\r\\nEARL OF CAMBRIDGE.\\r\\nLORD SCROOP.\\r\\nSIR THOMAS GREY.\\r\\nSIR THOMAS ERPINGHAM, officer in King Henry’s army.\\r\\nGOWER, officer in King Henry’s army.\\r\\nFLUELLEN, officer in King Henry’s army.\\r\\nMACMORRIS, officer in King Henry’s army.\\r\\nJAMY, officer in King Henry’s army.\\r\\nBATES, soldier in the same.\\r\\nCOURT, soldier in the same.\\r\\nWILLIAMS, soldier in the same.\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nA Herald.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHARLES VI, king of France.\\r\\nLEWIS, the Dauphin.\\r\\nDUKE OF BERRY.\\r\\nDUKE OF BRITTANY.\\r\\nDUKE OF BURGUNDY.\\r\\nDUKE OF ORLEANS.\\r\\nDUKE OF BOURBON.\\r\\nThe Constable of France.\\r\\nRAMBURES, French Lord.\\r\\nGRANDPRÉ, French Lord.\\r\\nGovernor of Harfleur\\r\\nMONTJOY, a French herald.\\r\\nAmbassadors to the King of England.\\r\\n\\r\\nISABEL, queen of France.\\r\\nKATHARINE, daughter to Charles and Isabel.\\r\\nALICE, a lady attending on her.\\r\\nHOSTESS of a tavern in Eastcheap, formerly Mistress Nell Quickly, and\\r\\nnow married to Pistol.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\n\\r\\nLords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, and\\r\\nAttendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: England; afterwards France.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nPROLOGUE.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nO for a Muse of fire, that would ascend\\r\\nThe brightest heaven of invention,\\r\\nA kingdom for a stage, princes to act,\\r\\nAnd monarchs to behold the swelling scene!\\r\\nThen should the warlike Harry, like himself,\\r\\nAssume the port of Mars, and at his heels,\\r\\nLeash’d in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire\\r\\nCrouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all,\\r\\nThe flat unraised spirits that hath dar’d\\r\\nOn this unworthy scaffold to bring forth\\r\\nSo great an object. Can this cockpit hold\\r\\nThe vasty fields of France? Or may we cram\\r\\nWithin this wooden O the very casques\\r\\nThat did affright the air at Agincourt?\\r\\nO pardon! since a crooked figure may\\r\\nAttest in little place a million,\\r\\nAnd let us, ciphers to this great accompt,\\r\\nOn your imaginary forces work.\\r\\nSuppose within the girdle of these walls\\r\\nAre now confin’d two mighty monarchies,\\r\\nWhose high upreared and abutting fronts\\r\\nThe perilous narrow ocean parts asunder;\\r\\nPiece out our imperfections with your thoughts.\\r\\nInto a thousand parts divide one man,\\r\\nAnd make imaginary puissance.\\r\\nThink, when we talk of horses, that you see them\\r\\nPrinting their proud hoofs i’ th’ receiving earth.\\r\\nFor ’tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings,\\r\\nCarry them here and there, jumping o’er times,\\r\\nTurning the accomplishment of many years\\r\\nInto an hour-glass: for the which supply,\\r\\nAdmit me Chorus to this history;\\r\\nWho prologue-like your humble patience pray,\\r\\nGently to hear, kindly to judge, our play.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. London. An ante-chamber in the King’s palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of Ely.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nMy lord, I’ll tell you, that self bill is urg’d\\r\\nWhich in the eleventh year of the last king’s reign\\r\\nWas like, and had indeed against us passed\\r\\nBut that the scambling and unquiet time\\r\\nDid push it out of farther question.\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nBut how, my lord, shall we resist it now?\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nIt must be thought on. If it pass against us,\\r\\nWe lose the better half of our possession:\\r\\nFor all the temporal lands, which men devout\\r\\nBy testament have given to the Church,\\r\\nWould they strip from us; being valu’d thus:\\r\\nAs much as would maintain, to the King’s honour,\\r\\nFull fifteen earls and fifteen hundred knights,\\r\\nSix thousand and two hundred good esquires;\\r\\nAnd, to relief of lazars and weak age,\\r\\nOf indigent faint souls past corporal toil,\\r\\nA hundred almshouses right well supplied;\\r\\nAnd to the coffers of the King beside,\\r\\nA thousand pounds by th’ year. Thus runs the bill.\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nThis would drink deep.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\n’Twould drink the cup and all.\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nBut what prevention?\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nThe King is full of grace and fair regard.\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nAnd a true lover of the holy Church.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nThe courses of his youth promis’d it not.\\r\\nThe breath no sooner left his father’s body\\r\\nBut that his wildness, mortified in him,\\r\\nSeemed to die too; yea, at that very moment\\r\\nConsideration like an angel came\\r\\nAnd whipped th’ offending Adam out of him,\\r\\nLeaving his body as a paradise\\r\\nT’ envelope and contain celestial spirits.\\r\\nNever was such a sudden scholar made,\\r\\nNever came reformation in a flood\\r\\nWith such a heady currance scouring faults,\\r\\nNor never Hydra-headed wilfulness\\r\\nSo soon did lose his seat, and all at once,\\r\\nAs in this king.\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nWe are blessed in the change.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nHear him but reason in divinity\\r\\nAnd, all-admiring, with an inward wish\\r\\nYou would desire the King were made a prelate;\\r\\nHear him debate of commonwealth affairs,\\r\\nYou would say it hath been all in all his study;\\r\\nList his discourse of war, and you shall hear\\r\\nA fearful battle rendered you in music;\\r\\nTurn him to any cause of policy,\\r\\nThe Gordian knot of it he will unloose,\\r\\nFamiliar as his garter; that, when he speaks,\\r\\nThe air, a chartered libertine, is still,\\r\\nAnd the mute wonder lurketh in men’s ears\\r\\nTo steal his sweet and honeyed sentences;\\r\\nSo that the art and practic part of life\\r\\nMust be the mistress to this theoric:\\r\\nWhich is a wonder how his Grace should glean it,\\r\\nSince his addiction was to courses vain,\\r\\nHis companies unlettered, rude, and shallow,\\r\\nHis hours filled up with riots, banquets, sports,\\r\\nAnd never noted in him any study,\\r\\nAny retirement, any sequestration\\r\\nFrom open haunts and popularity.\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nThe strawberry grows underneath the nettle,\\r\\nAnd wholesome berries thrive and ripen best\\r\\nNeighboured by fruit of baser quality;\\r\\nAnd so the Prince obscured his contemplation\\r\\nUnder the veil of wildness, which, no doubt,\\r\\nGrew like the summer grass, fastest by night,\\r\\nUnseen, yet crescive in his faculty.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nIt must be so, for miracles are ceased,\\r\\nAnd therefore we must needs admit the means\\r\\nHow things are perfected.\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nBut, my good lord,\\r\\nHow now for mitigation of this bill\\r\\nUrged by the Commons? Doth his Majesty\\r\\nIncline to it, or no?\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nHe seems indifferent,\\r\\nOr rather swaying more upon our part\\r\\nThan cherishing th’ exhibitors against us;\\r\\nFor I have made an offer to his Majesty,\\r\\nUpon our spiritual convocation\\r\\nAnd in regard of causes now in hand,\\r\\nWhich I have opened to his Grace at large,\\r\\nAs touching France, to give a greater sum\\r\\nThan ever at one time the clergy yet\\r\\nDid to his predecessors part withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nHow did this offer seem received, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nWith good acceptance of his Majesty;\\r\\nSave that there was not time enough to hear,\\r\\nAs I perceived his Grace would fain have done,\\r\\nThe severals and unhidden passages\\r\\nOf his true titles to some certain dukedoms,\\r\\nAnd generally to the crown and seat of France,\\r\\nDerived from Edward, his great-grandfather.\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nWhat was th’ impediment that broke this off?\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nThe French ambassador upon that instant\\r\\nCraved audience; and the hour, I think, is come\\r\\nTo give him hearing. Is it four o’clock?\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nIt is.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nThen go we in, to know his embassy,\\r\\nWhich I could with a ready guess declare\\r\\nBefore the Frenchman speak a word of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nI’ll wait upon you, and I long to hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. The presence chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter King Henry, Gloucester, Bedford, Clarence, Warwick, Westmorland,\\r\\n Exeter and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWhere is my gracious Lord of Canterbury?\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nNot here in presence.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nSend for him, good uncle.\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORLAND.\\r\\nShall we call in th’ ambassador, my liege?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNot yet, my cousin. We would be resolved,\\r\\nBefore we hear him, of some things of weight\\r\\nThat task our thoughts concerning us and France.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of Ely.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nGod and his angels guard your sacred throne\\r\\nAnd make you long become it!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nSure, we thank you.\\r\\nMy learned lord, we pray you to proceed\\r\\nAnd justly and religiously unfold\\r\\nWhy the law Salic that they have in France\\r\\nOr should or should not bar us in our claim.\\r\\nAnd God forbid, my dear and faithful lord,\\r\\nThat you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading,\\r\\nOr nicely charge your understanding soul\\r\\nWith opening titles miscreate, whose right\\r\\nSuits not in native colours with the truth;\\r\\nFor God doth know how many now in health\\r\\nShall drop their blood in approbation\\r\\nOf what your reverence shall incite us to.\\r\\nTherefore take heed how you impawn our person,\\r\\nHow you awake our sleeping sword of war.\\r\\nWe charge you in the name of God, take heed;\\r\\nFor never two such kingdoms did contend\\r\\nWithout much fall of blood, whose guiltless drops\\r\\nAre every one a woe, a sore complaint\\r\\n’Gainst him whose wrongs gives edge unto the swords\\r\\nThat makes such waste in brief mortality.\\r\\nUnder this conjuration speak, my lord,\\r\\nFor we will hear, note, and believe in heart\\r\\nThat what you speak is in your conscience washed\\r\\nAs pure as sin with baptism.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nThen hear me, gracious sovereign, and you peers,\\r\\nThat owe yourselves, your lives, and services\\r\\nTo this imperial throne. There is no bar\\r\\nTo make against your Highness’ claim to France\\r\\nBut this, which they produce from Pharamond:\\r\\n_In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant_,\\r\\n“No woman shall succeed in Salic land;”\\r\\nWhich Salic land the French unjustly gloze\\r\\nTo be the realm of France, and Pharamond\\r\\nThe founder of this law and female bar.\\r\\nYet their own authors faithfully affirm\\r\\nThat the land Salic is in Germany,\\r\\nBetween the floods of Sala and of Elbe;\\r\\nWhere Charles the Great, having subdu’d the Saxons,\\r\\nThere left behind and settled certain French;\\r\\nWho, holding in disdain the German women\\r\\nFor some dishonest manners of their life,\\r\\nEstablish’d then this law, to wit, no female\\r\\nShould be inheritrix in Salic land;\\r\\nWhich Salic, as I said, ’twixt Elbe and Sala,\\r\\nIs at this day in Germany call’d Meissen.\\r\\nThen doth it well appear the Salic law\\r\\nWas not devised for the realm of France;\\r\\nNor did the French possess the Salic land\\r\\nUntil four hundred one and twenty years\\r\\nAfter defunction of King Pharamond,\\r\\nIdly suppos’d the founder of this law,\\r\\nWho died within the year of our redemption\\r\\nFour hundred twenty-six; and Charles the Great\\r\\nSubdu’d the Saxons, and did seat the French\\r\\nBeyond the river Sala, in the year\\r\\nEight hundred five. Besides, their writers say,\\r\\nKing Pepin, which deposed Childeric,\\r\\nDid, as heir general, being descended\\r\\nOf Blithild, which was daughter to King Clothair,\\r\\nMake claim and title to the crown of France.\\r\\nHugh Capet also, who usurp’d the crown\\r\\nOf Charles the Duke of Lorraine, sole heir male\\r\\nOf the true line and stock of Charles the Great,\\r\\nTo find his title with some shows of truth,\\r\\nThough, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught,\\r\\nConvey’d himself as the heir to the Lady Lingare,\\r\\nDaughter to Charlemain, who was the son\\r\\nTo Lewis the Emperor, and Lewis the son\\r\\nOf Charles the Great. Also, King Lewis the Tenth,\\r\\nWho was sole heir to the usurper Capet,\\r\\nCould not keep quiet in his conscience,\\r\\nWearing the crown of France, till satisfied\\r\\nThat fair Queen Isabel, his grandmother,\\r\\nWas lineal of the Lady Ermengare,\\r\\nDaughter to Charles, the foresaid Duke of Lorraine;\\r\\nBy the which marriage the line of Charles the Great\\r\\nWas re-united to the crown of France.\\r\\nSo that, as clear as is the summer’s sun,\\r\\nKing Pepin’s title and Hugh Capet’s claim,\\r\\nKing Lewis his satisfaction, all appear\\r\\nTo hold in right and title of the female.\\r\\nSo do the kings of France unto this day,\\r\\nHowbeit they would hold up this Salic law\\r\\nTo bar your Highness claiming from the female,\\r\\nAnd rather choose to hide them in a net\\r\\nThan amply to imbar their crooked titles\\r\\nUsurp’d from you and your progenitors.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nMay I with right and conscience make this claim?\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nThe sin upon my head, dread sovereign!\\r\\nFor in the Book of Numbers is it writ,\\r\\n“When the man dies, let the inheritance\\r\\nDescend unto the daughter.” Gracious lord,\\r\\nStand for your own! Unwind your bloody flag!\\r\\nLook back into your mighty ancestors!\\r\\nGo, my dread lord, to your great-grandsire’s tomb,\\r\\nFrom whom you claim; invoke his warlike spirit,\\r\\nAnd your great-uncle’s, Edward the Black Prince,\\r\\nWho on the French ground play’d a tragedy,\\r\\nMaking defeat on the full power of France,\\r\\nWhiles his most mighty father on a hill\\r\\nStood smiling to behold his lion’s whelp\\r\\nForage in blood of French nobility.\\r\\nO noble English, that could entertain\\r\\nWith half their forces the full pride of France\\r\\nAnd let another half stand laughing by,\\r\\nAll out of work and cold for action!\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nAwake remembrance of these valiant dead,\\r\\nAnd with your puissant arm renew their feats.\\r\\nYou are their heir; you sit upon their throne;\\r\\nThe blood and courage that renowned them\\r\\nRuns in your veins; and my thrice-puissant liege\\r\\nIs in the very May-morn of his youth,\\r\\nRipe for exploits and mighty enterprises.\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nYour brother kings and monarchs of the earth\\r\\nDo all expect that you should rouse yourself,\\r\\nAs did the former lions of your blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORLAND.\\r\\nThey know your Grace hath cause and means and might;\\r\\nSo hath your Highness. Never King of England\\r\\nHad nobles richer, and more loyal subjects,\\r\\nWhose hearts have left their bodies here in England\\r\\nAnd lie pavilion’d in the fields of France.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nO, let their bodies follow, my dear liege,\\r\\nWith blood and sword and fire to win your right;\\r\\nIn aid whereof we of the spiritualty\\r\\nWill raise your Highness such a mighty sum\\r\\nAs never did the clergy at one time\\r\\nBring in to any of your ancestors.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWe must not only arm to invade the French,\\r\\nBut lay down our proportions to defend\\r\\nAgainst the Scot, who will make road upon us\\r\\nWith all advantages.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nThey of those marches, gracious sovereign,\\r\\nShall be a wall sufficient to defend\\r\\nOur inland from the pilfering borderers.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWe do not mean the coursing snatchers only,\\r\\nBut fear the main intendment of the Scot,\\r\\nWho hath been still a giddy neighbour to us;\\r\\nFor you shall read that my great-grandfather\\r\\nNever went with his forces into France\\r\\nBut that the Scot on his unfurnish’d kingdom\\r\\nCame pouring, like the tide into a breach,\\r\\nWith ample and brim fullness of his force,\\r\\nGalling the gleaned land with hot assays,\\r\\nGirdling with grievous siege castles and towns;\\r\\nThat England, being empty of defence,\\r\\nHath shook and trembled at the ill neighbourhood.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nShe hath been then more fear’d than harm’d, my liege;\\r\\nFor hear her but exampl’d by herself:\\r\\nWhen all her chivalry hath been in France,\\r\\nAnd she a mourning widow of her nobles,\\r\\nShe hath herself not only well defended\\r\\nBut taken and impounded as a stray\\r\\nThe King of Scots; whom she did send to France\\r\\nTo fill King Edward’s fame with prisoner kings,\\r\\nAnd make her chronicle as rich with praise\\r\\nAs is the ooze and bottom of the sea\\r\\nWith sunken wreck and sumless treasuries.\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORLAND.\\r\\nBut there’s a saying very old and true,\\r\\n“If that you will France win,\\r\\nThen with Scotland first begin.”\\r\\nFor once the eagle England being in prey,\\r\\nTo her unguarded nest the weasel Scot\\r\\nComes sneaking and so sucks her princely eggs,\\r\\nPlaying the mouse in absence of the cat,\\r\\nTo tear and havoc more than she can eat.\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nIt follows then the cat must stay at home;\\r\\nYet that is but a crush’d necessity,\\r\\nSince we have locks to safeguard necessaries,\\r\\nAnd pretty traps to catch the petty thieves.\\r\\nWhile that the armed hand doth fight abroad,\\r\\nThe advised head defends itself at home;\\r\\nFor government, though high and low and lower,\\r\\nPut into parts, doth keep in one consent,\\r\\nCongreeing in a full and natural close,\\r\\nLike music.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nTherefore doth heaven divide\\r\\nThe state of man in divers functions,\\r\\nSetting endeavour in continual motion,\\r\\nTo which is fixed, as an aim or butt,\\r\\nObedience; for so work the honey-bees,\\r\\nCreatures that by a rule in nature teach\\r\\nThe act of order to a peopled kingdom.\\r\\nThey have a king and officers of sorts,\\r\\nWhere some, like magistrates, correct at home,\\r\\nOthers like merchants, venture trade abroad,\\r\\nOthers, like soldiers, armed in their stings,\\r\\nMake boot upon the summer’s velvet buds,\\r\\nWhich pillage they with merry march bring home\\r\\nTo the tent-royal of their emperor;\\r\\nWho, busied in his majesty, surveys\\r\\nThe singing masons building roofs of gold,\\r\\nThe civil citizens kneading up the honey,\\r\\nThe poor mechanic porters crowding in\\r\\nTheir heavy burdens at his narrow gate,\\r\\nThe sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum,\\r\\nDelivering o’er to executors pale\\r\\nThe lazy yawning drone. I this infer,\\r\\nThat many things, having full reference\\r\\nTo one consent, may work contrariously.\\r\\nAs many arrows, loosed several ways,\\r\\nCome to one mark; as many ways meet in one town;\\r\\nAs many fresh streams meet in one salt sea;\\r\\nAs many lines close in the dial’s centre;\\r\\nSo many a thousand actions, once afoot,\\r\\nEnd in one purpose, and be all well borne\\r\\nWithout defeat. Therefore to France, my liege!\\r\\nDivide your happy England into four,\\r\\nWhereof take you one quarter into France,\\r\\nAnd you withal shall make all Gallia shake.\\r\\nIf we, with thrice such powers left at home,\\r\\nCannot defend our own doors from the dog,\\r\\nLet us be worried and our nation lose\\r\\nThe name of hardiness and policy.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nCall in the messengers sent from the Dauphin.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt some Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow are we well resolv’d; and, by God’s help,\\r\\nAnd yours, the noble sinews of our power,\\r\\nFrance being ours, we’ll bend it to our awe,\\r\\nOr break it all to pieces. Or there we’ll sit,\\r\\nRuling in large and ample empery\\r\\nO’er France and all her almost kingly dukedoms,\\r\\nOr lay these bones in an unworthy urn,\\r\\nTombless, with no remembrance over them.\\r\\nEither our history shall with full mouth\\r\\nSpeak freely of our acts, or else our grave,\\r\\nLike Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth,\\r\\nNot worshipp’d with a waxen epitaph.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ambassadors of France.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow are we well prepar’d to know the pleasure\\r\\nOf our fair cousin Dauphin; for we hear\\r\\nYour greeting is from him, not from the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST AMBASSADOR.\\r\\nMay’t please your Majesty to give us leave\\r\\nFreely to render what we have in charge,\\r\\nOr shall we sparingly show you far off\\r\\nThe Dauphin’s meaning and our embassy?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWe are no tyrant, but a Christian king,\\r\\nUnto whose grace our passion is as subject\\r\\nAs is our wretches fett’red in our prisons;\\r\\nTherefore with frank and with uncurbed plainness\\r\\nTell us the Dauphin’s mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nAMBASSADOR.\\r\\nThus, then, in few.\\r\\nYour Highness, lately sending into France,\\r\\nDid claim some certain dukedoms, in the right\\r\\nOf your great predecessor, King Edward the Third.\\r\\nIn answer of which claim, the prince our master\\r\\nSays that you savour too much of your youth,\\r\\nAnd bids you be advis’d there’s nought in France\\r\\nThat can be with a nimble galliard won.\\r\\nYou cannot revel into dukedoms there.\\r\\nHe therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit,\\r\\nThis tun of treasure; and, in lieu of this,\\r\\nDesires you let the dukedoms that you claim\\r\\nHear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWhat treasure, uncle?\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nTennis-balls, my liege.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWe are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us.\\r\\nHis present and your pains we thank you for.\\r\\nWhen we have match’d our rackets to these balls,\\r\\nWe will, in France, by God’s grace, play a set\\r\\nShall strike his father’s crown into the hazard.\\r\\nTell him he hath made a match with such a wrangler\\r\\nThat all the courts of France will be disturb’d\\r\\nWith chaces. And we understand him well,\\r\\nHow he comes o’er us with our wilder days,\\r\\nNot measuring what use we made of them.\\r\\nWe never valu’d this poor seat of England;\\r\\nAnd therefore, living hence, did give ourself\\r\\nTo barbarous licence; as ’tis ever common\\r\\nThat men are merriest when they are from home.\\r\\nBut tell the Dauphin I will keep my state,\\r\\nBe like a king, and show my sail of greatness\\r\\nWhen I do rouse me in my throne of France.\\r\\nFor that I have laid by my majesty\\r\\nAnd plodded like a man for working days,\\r\\nBut I will rise there with so full a glory\\r\\nThat I will dazzle all the eyes of France,\\r\\nYea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us.\\r\\nAnd tell the pleasant prince this mock of his\\r\\nHath turn’d his balls to gun-stones, and his soul\\r\\nShall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance\\r\\nThat shall fly with them; for many a thousand widows\\r\\nShall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands,\\r\\nMock mothers from their sons, mock castles down;\\r\\nAnd some are yet ungotten and unborn\\r\\nThat shall have cause to curse the Dauphin’s scorn.\\r\\nBut this lies all within the will of God,\\r\\nTo whom I do appeal; and in whose name\\r\\nTell you the Dauphin I am coming on\\r\\nTo venge me as I may, and to put forth\\r\\nMy rightful hand in a well-hallow’d cause.\\r\\nSo get you hence in peace; and tell the Dauphin\\r\\nHis jest will savour but of shallow wit,\\r\\nWhen thousands weep more than did laugh at it.—\\r\\nConvey them with safe conduct.—Fare you well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Ambassadors._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nThis was a merry message.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWe hope to make the sender blush at it.\\r\\nTherefore, my lords, omit no happy hour\\r\\nThat may give furtherance to our expedition;\\r\\nFor we have now no thought in us but France,\\r\\nSave those to God, that run before our business.\\r\\nTherefore, let our proportions for these wars\\r\\nBe soon collected, and all things thought upon\\r\\nThat may with reasonable swiftness add\\r\\nMore feathers to our wings; for, God before,\\r\\nWe’ll chide this Dauphin at his father’s door.\\r\\nTherefore let every man now task his thought,\\r\\nThat this fair action may on foot be brought.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Enter Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nNow all the youth of England are on fire,\\r\\nAnd silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies.\\r\\nNow thrive the armourers, and honour’s thought\\r\\nReigns solely in the breast of every man.\\r\\nThey sell the pasture now to buy the horse,\\r\\nFollowing the mirror of all Christian kings,\\r\\nWith winged heels, as English Mercuries.\\r\\nFor now sits Expectation in the air,\\r\\nAnd hides a sword from hilts unto the point\\r\\nWith crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets,\\r\\nPromis’d to Harry and his followers.\\r\\nThe French, advis’d by good intelligence\\r\\nOf this most dreadful preparation,\\r\\nShake in their fear, and with pale policy\\r\\nSeek to divert the English purposes.\\r\\nO England! model to thy inward greatness,\\r\\nLike little body with a mighty heart,\\r\\nWhat mightst thou do, that honour would thee do,\\r\\nWere all thy children kind and natural!\\r\\nBut see thy fault! France hath in thee found out\\r\\nA nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills\\r\\nWith treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men,\\r\\nOne, Richard Earl of Cambridge, and the second,\\r\\nHenry Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third,\\r\\nSir Thomas Grey, knight of Northumberland,\\r\\nHave, for the gilt of France,—O guilt indeed!—\\r\\nConfirm’d conspiracy with fearful France;\\r\\nAnd by their hands this grace of kings must die,\\r\\nIf hell and treason hold their promises,\\r\\nEre he take ship for France, and in Southampton.\\r\\nLinger your patience on, and we’ll digest\\r\\nThe abuse of distance, force a play.\\r\\nThe sum is paid; the traitors are agreed;\\r\\nThe King is set from London; and the scene\\r\\nIs now transported, gentles, to Southampton.\\r\\nThere is the playhouse now, there must you sit;\\r\\nAnd thence to France shall we convey you safe,\\r\\nAnd bring you back, charming the narrow seas\\r\\nTo give you gentle pass; for, if we may,\\r\\nWe’ll not offend one stomach with our play.\\r\\nBut, till the King come forth, and not till then,\\r\\nUnto Southampton do we shift our scene.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. London. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Corporal Nym and Lieutenant Bardolph.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nWell met, Corporal Nym.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nGood morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nWhat, are Ancient Pistol and you friends yet?\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nFor my part, I care not. I say little; but when time shall serve, there\\r\\nshall be smiles; but that shall be as it may. I dare not fight, but I\\r\\nwill wink and hold out mine iron. It is a simple one, but what though?\\r\\nIt will toast cheese, and it will endure cold as another man’s sword\\r\\nwill; and there’s an end.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nI will bestow a breakfast to make you friends; and we’ll be all three\\r\\nsworn brothers to France. Let it be so, good Corporal Nym.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nFaith, I will live so long as I may, that’s the certain of it; and when\\r\\nI cannot live any longer, I will do as I may. That is my rest, that is\\r\\nthe rendezvous of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nIt is certain, corporal, that he is married to Nell Quickly; and\\r\\ncertainly she did you wrong, for you were troth-plight to her.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nI cannot tell. Things must be as they may. Men may sleep, and they may\\r\\nhave their throats about them at that time; and some say knives have\\r\\nedges. It must be as it may. Though patience be a tired mare, yet she\\r\\nwill plod. There must be conclusions. Well, I cannot tell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pistol and Hostess.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nHere comes Ancient Pistol and his wife. Good Corporal, be patient here.\\r\\nHow now, mine host Pistol!\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nBase tike, call’st thou me host?\\r\\nNow, by this hand, I swear I scorn the term;\\r\\nNor shall my Nell keep lodgers.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nNo, by my troth, not long; for we cannot lodge and board a dozen or\\r\\nfourteen gentlewomen that live honestly by the prick of their needles,\\r\\nbut it will be thought we keep a bawdy house straight. [_Nym and Pistol\\r\\ndraw._] O well a day, Lady, if he be not drawn now! We shall see wilful\\r\\nadultery and murder committed.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nGood Lieutenant! good corporal! offer nothing here.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nPish!\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nPish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-ear’d cur of Iceland!\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nGood Corporal Nym, show thy valour, and put up your sword.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nWill you shog off? I would have you _solus_.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\n_Solus_, egregious dog! O viper vile!\\r\\nThe _solus_ in thy most mervailous face;\\r\\nThe _solus_ in thy teeth, and in thy throat,\\r\\nAnd in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy,\\r\\nAnd, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth!\\r\\nI do retort the _solus_ in thy bowels;\\r\\nFor I can take, and Pistol’s cock is up,\\r\\nAnd flashing fire will follow.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nI am not Barbason; you cannot conjure me. I have an humour to knock you\\r\\nindifferently well. If you grow foul with me, Pistol, I will scour you\\r\\nwith my rapier, as I may, in fair terms. If you would walk off, I would\\r\\nprick your guts a little, in good terms, as I may; and that’s the\\r\\nhumour of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nO braggart vile and damned furious wight!\\r\\nThe grave doth gape, and doting death is near,\\r\\nTherefore exhale.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nHear me, hear me what I say. He that strikes the first stroke I’ll run\\r\\nhim up to the hilts, as I am a soldier.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Draws._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nAn oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate.\\r\\nGive me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give.\\r\\nThy spirits are most tall.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nI will cut thy throat, one time or other, in fair terms: that is the\\r\\nhumour of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\n“Couple a gorge!”\\r\\nThat is the word. I thee defy again.\\r\\nO hound of Crete, think’st thou my spouse to get?\\r\\nNo! to the spital go,\\r\\nAnd from the powdering tub of infamy\\r\\nFetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid’s kind,\\r\\nDoll Tearsheet she by name, and her espouse.\\r\\nI have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly\\r\\nFor the only she; and _pauca_, there’s enough.\\r\\nGo to.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the Boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nMine host Pistol, you must come to my master, and you, hostess. He is\\r\\nvery sick, and would to bed. Good Bardolph, put thy face between his\\r\\nsheets, and do the office of a warming-pan. Faith, he’s very ill.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nAway, you rogue!\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nBy my troth, he’ll yield the crow a pudding one of these days.\\r\\nThe King has kill’d his heart.\\r\\nGood husband, come home presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Hostess and Boy._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nCome, shall I make you two friends? We must to France together; why the\\r\\ndevil should we keep knives to cut one another’s throats?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nLet floods o’erswell, and fiends for food howl on!\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nYou’ll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nBase is the slave that pays.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nThat now I will have: that’s the humour of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nAs manhood shall compound. Push home.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They draw._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nBy this sword, he that makes the first thrust, I’ll kill him; by this\\r\\nsword, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nSword is an oath, and oaths must have their course.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nCorporal Nym, and thou wilt be friends, be friends; an thou wilt not,\\r\\nwhy, then, be enemies with me too. Prithee, put up.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nI shall have my eight shillings I won from you at betting?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nA noble shalt thou have, and present pay;\\r\\nAnd liquor likewise will I give to thee,\\r\\nAnd friendship shall combine, and brotherhood.\\r\\nI’ll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me.\\r\\nIs not this just? For I shall sutler be\\r\\nUnto the camp, and profits will accrue.\\r\\nGive me thy hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nI shall have my noble?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nIn cash most justly paid.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nWell, then, that’s the humour of’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hostess.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nAs ever you come of women, come in quickly to Sir John.\\r\\nAh, poor heart! he is so shak’d of a burning quotidian tertian,\\r\\nthat it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nThe King hath run bad humours on the knight; that’s the even of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nNym, thou hast spoke the right.\\r\\nHis heart is fracted and corroborate.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nThe King is a good king; but it must be as it may; he passes some\\r\\nhumours and careers.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nLet us condole the knight; for, lambkins, we will live.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Southampton. A council-chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Exeter, Bedford and Westmorland.\\r\\n\\r\\nBEDFORD.\\r\\n’Fore God, his Grace is bold, to trust these traitors.\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nThey shall be apprehended by and by.\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORLAND.\\r\\nHow smooth and even they do bear themselves!\\r\\nAs if allegiance in their bosoms sat\\r\\nCrowned with faith and constant loyalty.\\r\\n\\r\\nBEDFORD.\\r\\nThe King hath note of all that they intend,\\r\\nBy interception which they dream not of.\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nNay, but the man that was his bed-fellow,\\r\\nWhom he hath dull’d and cloy’d with gracious favours,\\r\\nThat he should, for a foreign purse, so sell\\r\\nHis sovereign’s life to death and treachery.\\r\\n\\r\\n Trumpets sound. Enter King Henry, Scroop, Cambridge and Grey.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNow sits the wind fair, and we will aboard.\\r\\nMy Lord of Cambridge, and my kind Lord of Masham,\\r\\nAnd you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts.\\r\\nThink you not that the powers we bear with us\\r\\nWill cut their passage through the force of France,\\r\\nDoing the execution and the act\\r\\nFor which we have in head assembled them?\\r\\n\\r\\nSCROOP.\\r\\nNo doubt, my liege, if each man do his best.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI doubt not that, since we are well persuaded\\r\\nWe carry not a heart with us from hence\\r\\nThat grows not in a fair consent with ours,\\r\\nNor leave not one behind that doth not wish\\r\\nSuccess and conquest to attend on us.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMBRIDGE.\\r\\nNever was monarch better fear’d and lov’d\\r\\nThan is your Majesty. There’s not, I think, a subject\\r\\nThat sits in heart-grief and uneasiness\\r\\nUnder the sweet shade of your government.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREY.\\r\\nTrue; those that were your father’s enemies\\r\\nHave steep’d their galls in honey, and do serve you\\r\\nWith hearts create of duty and of zeal.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWe therefore have great cause of thankfulness,\\r\\nAnd shall forget the office of our hand\\r\\nSooner than quittance of desert and merit\\r\\nAccording to the weight and worthiness.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCROOP.\\r\\nSo service shall with steeled sinews toil,\\r\\nAnd labour shall refresh itself with hope,\\r\\nTo do your Grace incessant services.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWe judge no less. Uncle of Exeter,\\r\\nEnlarge the man committed yesterday,\\r\\nThat rail’d against our person. We consider\\r\\nIt was excess of wine that set him on,\\r\\nAnd on his more advice we pardon him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCROOP.\\r\\nThat’s mercy, but too much security.\\r\\nLet him be punish’d, sovereign, lest example\\r\\nBreed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nO, let us yet be merciful.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMBRIDGE.\\r\\nSo may your Highness, and yet punish too.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREY.\\r\\nSir,\\r\\nYou show great mercy if you give him life\\r\\nAfter the taste of much correction.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nAlas, your too much love and care of me\\r\\nAre heavy orisons ’gainst this poor wretch!\\r\\nIf little faults, proceeding on distemper,\\r\\nShall not be wink’d at, how shall we stretch our eye\\r\\nWhen capital crimes, chew’d, swallow’d, and digested,\\r\\nAppear before us? We’ll yet enlarge that man,\\r\\nThough Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, in their dear care\\r\\nAnd tender preservation of our person,\\r\\nWould have him punish’d. And now to our French causes.\\r\\nWho are the late commissioners?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMBRIDGE.\\r\\nI one, my lord.\\r\\nYour Highness bade me ask for it today.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCROOP.\\r\\nSo did you me, my liege.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREY.\\r\\nAnd I, my royal sovereign.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThen, Richard Earl of Cambridge, there is yours;\\r\\nThere yours, Lord Scroop of Masham; and, sir knight,\\r\\nGrey of Northumberland, this same is yours.\\r\\nRead them, and know I know your worthiness.\\r\\nMy Lord of Westmorland, and uncle Exeter,\\r\\nWe will aboard tonight.—Why, how now, gentlemen!\\r\\nWhat see you in those papers that you lose\\r\\nSo much complexion?—Look ye, how they change!\\r\\nTheir cheeks are paper.—Why, what read you there,\\r\\nThat have so cowarded and chas’d your blood\\r\\nOut of appearance?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMBRIDGE.\\r\\nI do confess my fault,\\r\\nAnd do submit me to your Highness’ mercy.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREY, SCROOP.\\r\\nTo which we all appeal.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThe mercy that was quick in us but late,\\r\\nBy your own counsel is suppress’d and kill’d.\\r\\nYou must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy,\\r\\nFor your own reasons turn into your bosoms,\\r\\nAs dogs upon their masters, worrying you.\\r\\nSee you, my princes and my noble peers,\\r\\nThese English monsters! My Lord of Cambridge here,\\r\\nYou know how apt our love was to accord\\r\\nTo furnish him with an appertinents\\r\\nBelonging to his honour; and this man\\r\\nHath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir’d\\r\\nAnd sworn unto the practices of France\\r\\nTo kill us here in Hampton; to the which\\r\\nThis knight, no less for bounty bound to us\\r\\nThan Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. But, O\\r\\nWhat shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop? thou cruel,\\r\\nIngrateful, savage, and inhuman creature!\\r\\nThou that didst bear the key of all my counsels,\\r\\nThat knew’st the very bottom of my soul,\\r\\nThat almost mightst have coin’d me into gold,\\r\\nWouldst thou have practis’d on me for thy use,—\\r\\nMay it be possible that foreign hire\\r\\nCould out of thee extract one spark of evil\\r\\nThat might annoy my finger? ’Tis so strange,\\r\\nThat, though the truth of it stands off as gross\\r\\nAs black and white, my eye will scarcely see it.\\r\\nTreason and murder ever kept together,\\r\\nAs two yoke-devils sworn to either’s purpose,\\r\\nWorking so grossly in a natural cause\\r\\nThat admiration did not whoop at them;\\r\\nBut thou, ’gainst all proportion, didst bring in\\r\\nWonder to wait on treason and on murder;\\r\\nAnd whatsoever cunning fiend it was\\r\\nThat wrought upon thee so preposterously\\r\\nHath got the voice in hell for excellence;\\r\\nAnd other devils that suggest by treasons\\r\\nDo botch and bungle up damnation\\r\\nWith patches, colours, and with forms being fetch’d\\r\\nFrom glist’ring semblances of piety.\\r\\nBut he that temper’d thee bade thee stand up,\\r\\nGave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason,\\r\\nUnless to dub thee with the name of traitor.\\r\\nIf that same demon that hath gull’d thee thus\\r\\nShould with his lion gait walk the whole world,\\r\\nHe might return to vasty Tartar back,\\r\\nAnd tell the legions, “I can never win\\r\\nA soul so easy as that Englishman’s.”\\r\\nO, how hast thou with jealousy infected\\r\\nThe sweetness of affiance! Show men dutiful?\\r\\nWhy, so didst thou. Seem they grave and learned?\\r\\nWhy, so didst thou. Come they of noble family?\\r\\nWhy, so didst thou. Seem they religious?\\r\\nWhy, so didst thou. Or are they spare in diet,\\r\\nFree from gross passion or of mirth or anger,\\r\\nConstant in spirit, not swerving with the blood,\\r\\nGarnish’d and deck’d in modest complement,\\r\\nNot working with the eye without the ear,\\r\\nAnd but in purged judgement trusting neither?\\r\\nSuch and so finely bolted didst thou seem.\\r\\nAnd thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot\\r\\nTo mark the full-fraught man and best indued\\r\\nWith some suspicion. I will weep for thee;\\r\\nFor this revolt of thine, methinks, is like\\r\\nAnother fall of man. Their faults are open.\\r\\nArrest them to the answer of the law;\\r\\nAnd God acquit them of their practices!\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nI arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Richard Earl of\\r\\nCambridge.\\r\\nI arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Henry Lord Scroop of\\r\\nMasham.\\r\\nI arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Thomas Grey, knight, of\\r\\nNorthumberland.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCROOP.\\r\\nOur purposes God justly hath discover’d,\\r\\nAnd I repent my fault more than my death,\\r\\nWhich I beseech your Highness to forgive,\\r\\nAlthough my body pay the price of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMBRIDGE.\\r\\nFor me, the gold of France did not seduce,\\r\\nAlthough I did admit it as a motive\\r\\nThe sooner to effect what I intended.\\r\\nBut God be thanked for prevention,\\r\\nWhich I in sufferance heartily will rejoice,\\r\\nBeseeching God and you to pardon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREY.\\r\\nNever did faithful subject more rejoice\\r\\nAt the discovery of most dangerous treason\\r\\nThan I do at this hour joy o’er myself,\\r\\nPrevented from a damned enterprise.\\r\\nMy fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nGod quit you in his mercy! Hear your sentence.\\r\\nYou have conspir’d against our royal person,\\r\\nJoin’d with an enemy proclaim’d, and from his coffers\\r\\nReceived the golden earnest of our death;\\r\\nWherein you would have sold your king to slaughter,\\r\\nHis princes and his peers to servitude,\\r\\nHis subjects to oppression and contempt,\\r\\nAnd his whole kingdom into desolation.\\r\\nTouching our person seek we no revenge;\\r\\nBut we our kingdom’s safety must so tender,\\r\\nWhose ruin you have sought, that to her laws\\r\\nWe do deliver you. Get you therefore hence,\\r\\nPoor miserable wretches, to your death,\\r\\nThe taste whereof God of his mercy give\\r\\nYou patience to endure, and true repentance\\r\\nOf all your dear offences! Bear them hence.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Cambridge, Scroop and Grey, guarded._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, lords, for France; the enterprise whereof\\r\\nShall be to you, as us, like glorious.\\r\\nWe doubt not of a fair and lucky war,\\r\\nSince God so graciously hath brought to light\\r\\nThis dangerous treason lurking in our way\\r\\nTo hinder our beginnings. We doubt not now\\r\\nBut every rub is smoothed on our way.\\r\\nThen forth, dear countrymen! Let us deliver\\r\\nOur puissance into the hand of God,\\r\\nPutting it straight in expedition.\\r\\nCheerly to sea! The signs of war advance!\\r\\nNo king of England, if not king of France!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Flourish. Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. London. Before a tavern.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pistol, Nym, Bardolph, Boy and Hostess.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nPrithee, honey, sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nNo; for my manly heart doth yearn.\\r\\nBardolph, be blithe; Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins;\\r\\nBoy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead,\\r\\nAnd we must yearn therefore.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nWould I were with him, wheresome’er he is, either in heaven or in hell!\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nNay, sure, he’s not in hell. He’s in Arthur’s bosom, if ever man went\\r\\nto Arthur’s bosom. ’A made a finer end and went away an it had been any\\r\\nchristom child. ’A parted even just between twelve and one, even at the\\r\\nturning o’ the tide: for after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and\\r\\nplay with flowers, and smile upon his fingers’ ends, I knew there was\\r\\nbut one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and ’a babbled of\\r\\ngreen fields. “How now, Sir John!” quoth I; “what, man! be o’ good\\r\\ncheer.” So ’a cried out, “God, God, God!” three or four times. Now I,\\r\\nto comfort him, bid him ’a should not think of God; I hop’d there was\\r\\nno need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So ’a bade me\\r\\nlay more clothes on his feet. I put my hand into the bed and felt them,\\r\\nand they were as cold as any stone. Then I felt to his knees, and so\\r\\nupward and upward, and all was as cold as any stone.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nThey say he cried out of sack.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nAy, that ’a did.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nAnd of women.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nNay, that ’a did not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nYes, that ’a did; and said they were devils incarnate.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\n’A could never abide carnation; ’twas a colour he never liked.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\n’A said once, the devil would have him about women.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\n’A did in some sort, indeed, handle women; but then he was rheumatic,\\r\\nand talk’d of the whore of Babylon.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nDo you not remember, ’a saw a flea stick upon Bardolph’s nose, and ’a\\r\\nsaid it was a black soul burning in hell-fire?\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nWell, the fuel is gone that maintain’d that fire. That’s all the riches\\r\\nI got in his service.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nShall we shog? The King will be gone from Southampton.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nCome, let’s away. My love, give me thy lips.\\r\\nLook to my chattels and my movables.\\r\\nLet senses rule; the word is “Pitch and Pay.”\\r\\nTrust none;\\r\\nFor oaths are straws, men’s faiths are wafer-cakes\\r\\nAnd hold-fast is the only dog, my duck;\\r\\nTherefore, _Caveto_ be thy counsellor.\\r\\nGo, clear thy crystals. Yoke-fellows in arms,\\r\\nLet us to France; like horse-leeches, my boys,\\r\\nTo suck, to suck, the very blood to suck!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nAnd that’s but unwholesome food, they say.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nTouch her soft mouth, and march.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nFarewell, hostess.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kissing her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nI cannot kiss; that is the humour of it; but, adieu.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nLet housewifery appear. Keep close, I thee command.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nFarewell; adieu.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. France. The King’s palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Enter the French King, the Dauphin, the Dukes of Berry and\\r\\n Brittany, the Constable and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nThus comes the English with full power upon us,\\r\\nAnd more than carefully it us concerns\\r\\nTo answer royally in our defences.\\r\\nTherefore the Dukes of Berry and of Brittany,\\r\\nOf Brabant and of Orleans, shall make forth,\\r\\nAnd you, Prince Dauphin, with all swift dispatch,\\r\\nTo line and new repair our towns of war\\r\\nWith men of courage and with means defendant;\\r\\nFor England his approaches makes as fierce\\r\\nAs waters to the sucking of a gulf.\\r\\nIt fits us then to be as provident\\r\\nAs fears may teach us out of late examples\\r\\nLeft by the fatal and neglected English\\r\\nUpon our fields.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nMy most redoubted father,\\r\\nIt is most meet we arm us ’gainst the foe;\\r\\nFor peace itself should not so dull a kingdom,\\r\\nThough war nor no known quarrel were in question,\\r\\nBut that defences, musters, preparations,\\r\\nShould be maintain’d, assembled, and collected,\\r\\nAs were a war in expectation.\\r\\nTherefore, I say, ’tis meet we all go forth\\r\\nTo view the sick and feeble parts of France.\\r\\nAnd let us do it with no show of fear;\\r\\nNo, with no more than if we heard that England\\r\\nWere busied with a Whitsun morris-dance;\\r\\nFor, my good liege, she is so idly king’d,\\r\\nHer sceptre so fantastically borne\\r\\nBy a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth,\\r\\nThat fear attends her not.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nO peace, Prince Dauphin!\\r\\nYou are too much mistaken in this king.\\r\\nQuestion your Grace the late ambassadors\\r\\nWith what great state he heard their embassy,\\r\\nHow well supplied with noble counsellors,\\r\\nHow modest in exception, and withal\\r\\nHow terrible in constant resolution,\\r\\nAnd you shall find his vanities forespent\\r\\nWere but the outside of the Roman Brutus,\\r\\nCovering discretion with a coat of folly;\\r\\nAs gardeners do with ordure hide those roots\\r\\nThat shall first spring and be most delicate.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nWell, ’tis not so, my Lord High Constable;\\r\\nBut though we think it so, it is no matter.\\r\\nIn cases of defence ’tis best to weigh\\r\\nThe enemy more mighty than he seems,\\r\\nSo the proportions of defence are fill’d;\\r\\nWhich, of a weak and niggardly projection,\\r\\nDoth, like a miser, spoil his coat with scanting\\r\\nA little cloth.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nThink we King Harry strong;\\r\\nAnd, Princes, look you strongly arm to meet him.\\r\\nThe kindred of him hath been flesh’d upon us;\\r\\nAnd he is bred out of that bloody strain\\r\\nThat haunted us in our familiar paths.\\r\\nWitness our too much memorable shame\\r\\nWhen Cressy battle fatally was struck,\\r\\nAnd all our princes captiv’d by the hand\\r\\nOf that black name, Edward, Black Prince of Wales;\\r\\nWhiles that his mountain sire, on mountain standing,\\r\\nUp in the air, crown’d with the golden sun,\\r\\nSaw his heroical seed, and smil’d to see him,\\r\\nMangle the work of nature and deface\\r\\nThe patterns that by God and by French fathers\\r\\nHad twenty years been made. This is a stem\\r\\nOf that victorious stock; and let us fear\\r\\nThe native mightiness and fate of him.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nAmbassadors from Harry King of England\\r\\nDo crave admittance to your Majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nWe’ll give them present audience. Go, and bring them.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Messenger and certain Lords._]\\r\\n\\r\\nYou see this chase is hotly follow’d, friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nTurn head and stop pursuit; for coward dogs\\r\\nMost spend their mouths when what they seem to threaten\\r\\nRuns far before them. Good my sovereign,\\r\\nTake up the English short, and let them know\\r\\nOf what a monarchy you are the head.\\r\\nSelf-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin\\r\\nAs self-neglecting.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Exeter.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nFrom our brother of England?\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nFrom him; and thus he greets your Majesty:\\r\\nHe wills you, in the name of God Almighty,\\r\\nThat you divest yourself, and lay apart\\r\\nThe borrowed glories that by gift of heaven,\\r\\nBy law of nature and of nations, ’longs\\r\\nTo him and to his heirs; namely, the crown\\r\\nAnd all wide-stretched honours that pertain\\r\\nBy custom and the ordinance of times\\r\\nUnto the crown of France. That you may know\\r\\n’Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim\\r\\nPick’d from the worm-holes of long-vanish’d days,\\r\\nNor from the dust of old oblivion rak’d,\\r\\nHe sends you this most memorable line,\\r\\nIn every branch truly demonstrative;\\r\\nWilling you overlook this pedigree;\\r\\nAnd when you find him evenly deriv’d\\r\\nFrom his most fam’d of famous ancestors,\\r\\nEdward the Third, he bids you then resign\\r\\nYour crown and kingdom, indirectly held\\r\\nFrom him, the native and true challenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nOr else what follows?\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nBloody constraint; for if you hide the crown\\r\\nEven in your hearts, there will he rake for it.\\r\\nTherefore in fierce tempest is he coming,\\r\\nIn thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove,\\r\\nThat, if requiring fail, he will compel;\\r\\nAnd bids you, in the bowels of the Lord,\\r\\nDeliver up the crown, and to take mercy\\r\\nOn the poor souls for whom this hungry war\\r\\nOpens his vasty jaws; and on your head\\r\\nTurning the widows’ tears, the orphans’ cries,\\r\\nThe dead men’s blood, the pining maidens’ groans,\\r\\nFor husbands, fathers, and betrothed lovers,\\r\\nThat shall be swallowed in this controversy.\\r\\nThis is his claim, his threat’ning, and my message;\\r\\nUnless the Dauphin be in presence here,\\r\\nTo whom expressly I bring greeting too.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nFor us, we will consider of this further.\\r\\nTomorrow shall you bear our full intent\\r\\nBack to our brother of England.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nFor the Dauphin,\\r\\nI stand here for him. What to him from England?\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nScorn and defiance. Slight regard, contempt,\\r\\nAnd anything that may not misbecome\\r\\nThe mighty sender, doth he prize you at.\\r\\nThus says my king: an if your father’s Highness\\r\\nDo not, in grant of all demands at large,\\r\\nSweeten the bitter mock you sent his Majesty,\\r\\nHe’ll call you to so hot an answer of it\\r\\nThat caves and womby vaultages of France\\r\\nShall chide your trespass and return your mock\\r\\nIn second accent of his ordinance.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nSay, if my father render fair return,\\r\\nIt is against my will; for I desire\\r\\nNothing but odds with England. To that end,\\r\\nAs matching to his youth and vanity,\\r\\nI did present him with the Paris balls.\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nHe’ll make your Paris Louvre shake for it,\\r\\nWere it the mistress-court of mighty Europe;\\r\\nAnd, be assur’d, you’ll find a difference,\\r\\nAs we his subjects have in wonder found,\\r\\nBetween the promise of his greener days\\r\\nAnd these he masters now. Now he weighs time\\r\\nEven to the utmost grain. That you shall read\\r\\nIn your own losses, if he stay in France.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nTomorrow shall you know our mind at full.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Flourish._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nDispatch us with all speed, lest that our king\\r\\nCome here himself to question our delay;\\r\\nFor he is footed in this land already.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nYou shall be soon dispatch’d with fair conditions.\\r\\nA night is but small breath and little pause\\r\\nTo answer matters of this consequence.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Enter Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nThus with imagin’d wing our swift scene flies,\\r\\nIn motion of no less celerity\\r\\nThan that of thought. Suppose that you have seen\\r\\nThe well-appointed king at Hampton pier\\r\\nEmbark his royalty, and his brave fleet\\r\\nWith silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning.\\r\\nPlay with your fancies; and in them behold\\r\\nUpon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing;\\r\\nHear the shrill whistle which doth order give\\r\\nTo sounds confus’d; behold the threaden sails,\\r\\nBorne with the invisible and creeping wind,\\r\\nDraw the huge bottoms through the furrow’d sea,\\r\\nBreasting the lofty surge. O, do but think\\r\\nYou stand upon the rivage and behold\\r\\nA city on the inconstant billows dancing;\\r\\nFor so appears this fleet majestical,\\r\\nHolding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow!\\r\\nGrapple your minds to sternage of this navy,\\r\\nAnd leave your England, as dead midnight still,\\r\\nGuarded with grandsires, babies, and old women,\\r\\nEither past or not arriv’d to pith and puissance.\\r\\nFor who is he, whose chin is but enrich’d\\r\\nWith one appearing hair, that will not follow\\r\\nThese cull’d and choice-drawn cavaliers to France?\\r\\nWork, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege;\\r\\nBehold the ordnance on their carriages,\\r\\nWith fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur.\\r\\nSuppose the ambassador from the French comes back,\\r\\nTells Harry that the King doth offer him\\r\\nKatharine his daughter, and with her, to dowry,\\r\\nSome petty and unprofitable dukedoms.\\r\\nThe offer likes not; and the nimble gunner\\r\\nWith linstock now the devilish cannon touches,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alarum, and chambers go off._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd down goes all before them. Still be kind,\\r\\nAnd eke out our performance with your mind.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. France. Before Harfleur.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, Gloucester and Soldiers,\\r\\n with scaling-ladders.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nOnce more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,\\r\\nOr close the wall up with our English dead.\\r\\nIn peace there’s nothing so becomes a man\\r\\nAs modest stillness and humility;\\r\\nBut when the blast of war blows in our ears,\\r\\nThen imitate the action of the tiger;\\r\\nStiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,\\r\\nDisguise fair nature with hard-favour’d rage;\\r\\nThen lend the eye a terrible aspect;\\r\\nLet it pry through the portage of the head\\r\\nLike the brass cannon; let the brow o’erwhelm it\\r\\nAs fearfully as does a galled rock\\r\\nO’erhang and jutty his confounded base,\\r\\nSwill’d with the wild and wasteful ocean.\\r\\nNow set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,\\r\\nHold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit\\r\\nTo his full height. On, on, you noblest English,\\r\\nWhose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!\\r\\nFathers that, like so many Alexanders,\\r\\nHave in these parts from morn till even fought,\\r\\nAnd sheath’d their swords for lack of argument.\\r\\nDishonour not your mothers; now attest\\r\\nThat those whom you call’d fathers did beget you.\\r\\nBe copy now to men of grosser blood,\\r\\nAnd teach them how to war. And you, good yeomen,\\r\\nWhose limbs were made in England, show us here\\r\\nThe mettle of your pasture; let us swear\\r\\nThat you are worth your breeding, which I doubt not;\\r\\nFor there is none of you so mean and base,\\r\\nThat hath not noble lustre in your eyes.\\r\\nI see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,\\r\\nStraining upon the start. The game’s afoot!\\r\\nFollow your spirit, and upon this charge\\r\\nCry, “God for Harry! England and Saint George!”\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nym, Bardolph, Pistol and Boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nOn, on, on, on, on! To the breach, to the breach!\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nPray thee, corporal, stay. The knocks are too hot; and, for mine own\\r\\npart, I have not a case of lives. The humour of it is too hot; that is\\r\\nthe very plain-song of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nThe plain-song is most just, for humours do abound.\\r\\nKnocks go and come; God’s vassals drop and die;\\r\\n And sword and shield,\\r\\n In bloody field,\\r\\n Doth win immortal fame.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nWould I were in an alehouse in London! I would give all my fame for a\\r\\npot of ale and safety.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nAnd I.\\r\\n If wishes would prevail with me,\\r\\n My purpose should not fail with me,\\r\\n But thither would I hie.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\n As duly,\\r\\n But not as truly,\\r\\n As bird doth sing on bough.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fluellen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nUp to the breach, you dogs! Avaunt, you cullions!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Driving them forward._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nBe merciful, great Duke, to men of mould.\\r\\nAbate thy rage, abate thy manly rage,\\r\\nAbate thy rage, great Duke!\\r\\nGood bawcock, bate thy rage; use lenity, sweet chuck!\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nThese be good humours! Your honour wins bad humours.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Boy._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nAs young as I am, I have observ’d these three swashers. I am boy to\\r\\nthem all three; but all they three, though they would serve me, could\\r\\nnot be man to me; for indeed three such antics do not amount to a man.\\r\\nFor Bardolph, he is white-liver’d and red-fac’d; by the means whereof\\r\\n’a faces it out, but fights not. For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue\\r\\nand a quiet sword; by the means whereof ’a breaks words, and keeps\\r\\nwhole weapons. For Nym, he hath heard that men of few words are the\\r\\nbest men; and therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest ’a should be\\r\\nthought a coward. But his few bad words are match’d with as few good\\r\\ndeeds; for ’a never broke any man’s head but his own, and that was\\r\\nagainst a post when he was drunk. They will steal anything, and call it\\r\\npurchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold\\r\\nit for three half-pence. Nym and Bardolph are sworn brothers in\\r\\nfilching, and in Calais they stole a fire-shovel. I knew by that piece\\r\\nof service the men would carry coals. They would have me as familiar\\r\\nwith men’s pockets as their gloves or their handkerchers; which makes\\r\\nmuch against my manhood, if I should take from another’s pocket to put\\r\\ninto mine; for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them,\\r\\nand seek some better service. Their villainy goes against my weak\\r\\nstomach, and therefore I must cast it up.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower and Fluellen.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nCaptain Fluellen, you must come presently to the mines.\\r\\nThe Duke of Gloucester would speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nTo the mines! Tell you the Duke, it is not so good to come to the\\r\\nmines; for, look you, the mines is not according to the disciplines of\\r\\nthe war. The concavities of it is not sufficient; for, look you, the\\r\\nathversary, you may discuss unto the Duke, look you, is digt himself\\r\\nfour yard under the countermines. By Cheshu, I think ’a will plow up\\r\\nall, if there is not better directions.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nThe Duke of Gloucester, to whom the order of the siege is given, is\\r\\naltogether directed by an Irishman, a very valiant gentleman, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nIt is Captain Macmorris, is it not?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nI think it be.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nBy Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the world. I will verify as much in his\\r\\nbeard. He has no more directions in the true disciplines of the wars,\\r\\nlook you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macmorris and Captain Jamy.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nHere ’a comes; and the Scots captain, Captain Jamy, with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nCaptain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gentleman, that is certain; and\\r\\nof great expedition and knowledge in the anchient wars, upon my\\r\\nparticular knowledge of his directions. By Cheshu, he will maintain his\\r\\nargument as well as any military man in the world, in the disciplines\\r\\nof the pristine wars of the Romans.\\r\\n\\r\\nJAMY.\\r\\nI say gud-day, Captain Fluellen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nGod-den to your worship, good Captain James.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nHow now, Captain Macmorris! have you quit the mines?\\r\\nHave the pioneers given o’er?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACMORRIS.\\r\\nBy Chrish, la! ’tish ill done! The work ish give over, the trompet\\r\\nsound the retreat. By my hand I swear, and my father’s soul, the work\\r\\nish ill done; it ish give over. I would have blowed up the town, so\\r\\nChrish save me, la! in an hour. O, ’tish ill done, ’tish ill done; by\\r\\nmy hand, ’tish ill done!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nCaptain Macmorris, I beseech you now, will you voutsafe me, look you, a\\r\\nfew disputations with you, as partly touching or concerning the\\r\\ndisciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, look\\r\\nyou, and friendly communication; partly to satisfy my opinion, and\\r\\npartly for the satisfaction, look you, of my mind, as touching the\\r\\ndirection of the military discipline; that is the point.\\r\\n\\r\\nJAMY.\\r\\nIt sall be vary gud, gud feith, gud captains bath: and I sall quit you\\r\\nwith gud leve, as I may pick occasion; that sall I, marry.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACMORRIS.\\r\\nIt is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me. The day is hot, and the\\r\\nweather, and the wars, and the King, and the Dukes. It is no time to\\r\\ndiscourse. The town is beseech’d, and the trumpet call us to the\\r\\nbreach, and we talk, and, be Chrish, do nothing. ’Tis shame for us all.\\r\\nSo God sa’ me, ’tis shame to stand still; it is shame, by my hand; and\\r\\nthere is throats to be cut, and works to be done; and there ish nothing\\r\\ndone, so Chrish sa’ me, la!\\r\\n\\r\\nJAMY.\\r\\nBy the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take themselves to slomber, I’ll\\r\\nde gud service, or I’ll lig i’ the grund for it; ay, or go to death;\\r\\nand I’ll pay’t as valorously as I may, that sall I suerly do, that is\\r\\nthe breff and the long. Marry, I wad full fain heard some question\\r\\n’tween you tway.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nCaptain Macmorris, I think, look you, under your correction, there is\\r\\nnot many of your nation—\\r\\n\\r\\nMACMORRIS.\\r\\nOf my nation! What ish my nation? Ish a villain, and a bastard, and a\\r\\nknave, and a rascal? What ish my nation? Who talks of my nation?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nLook you, if you take the matter otherwise than is meant, Captain\\r\\nMacmorris, peradventure I shall think you do not use me with that\\r\\naffability as in discretion you ought to use me, look you, being as\\r\\ngood a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of war, and in the\\r\\nderivation of my birth, and in other particularities.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACMORRIS.\\r\\nI do not know you so good a man as myself. So Chrish save me,\\r\\nI will cut off your head.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nGentlemen both, you will mistake each other.\\r\\n\\r\\nJAMY.\\r\\nAh! that’s a foul fault.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A parley sounded._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nThe town sounds a parley.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nCaptain Macmorris, when there is more better opportunity to be\\r\\nrequired, look you, I will be so bold as to tell you I know the\\r\\ndisciplines of war; and there is an end.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Before the gates.\\r\\n\\r\\n The Governor and some citizens on the walls; the English forces below.\\r\\n Enter King Henry and his train.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nHow yet resolves the governor of the town?\\r\\nThis is the latest parle we will admit;\\r\\nTherefore to our best mercy give yourselves,\\r\\nOr like to men proud of destruction\\r\\nDefy us to our worst; for, as I am a soldier,\\r\\nA name that in my thoughts becomes me best,\\r\\nIf I begin the battery once again,\\r\\nI will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur\\r\\nTill in her ashes she lie buried.\\r\\nThe gates of mercy shall be all shut up,\\r\\nAnd the flesh’d soldier, rough and hard of heart,\\r\\nIn liberty of bloody hand shall range\\r\\nWith conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass\\r\\nYour fresh fair virgins and your flow’ring infants.\\r\\nWhat is it then to me, if impious War,\\r\\nArray’d in flames like to the prince of fiends,\\r\\nDo with his smirch’d complexion all fell feats\\r\\nEnlink’d to waste and desolation?\\r\\nWhat is’t to me, when you yourselves are cause,\\r\\nIf your pure maidens fall into the hand\\r\\nOf hot and forcing violation?\\r\\nWhat rein can hold licentious wickedness\\r\\nWhen down the hill he holds his fierce career?\\r\\nWe may as bootless spend our vain command\\r\\nUpon the enraged soldiers in their spoil\\r\\nAs send precepts to the leviathan\\r\\nTo come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur,\\r\\nTake pity of your town and of your people,\\r\\nWhiles yet my soldiers are in my command,\\r\\nWhiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace\\r\\nO’erblows the filthy and contagious clouds\\r\\nOf heady murder, spoil, and villainy.\\r\\nIf not, why, in a moment look to see\\r\\nThe blind and bloody soldier with foul hand\\r\\nDefile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters;\\r\\nYour fathers taken by the silver beards,\\r\\nAnd their most reverend heads dash’d to the walls;\\r\\nYour naked infants spitted upon pikes,\\r\\nWhiles the mad mothers with their howls confus’d\\r\\nDo break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry\\r\\nAt Herod’s bloody-hunting slaughtermen.\\r\\nWhat say you? Will you yield, and this avoid,\\r\\nOr, guilty in defence, be thus destroy’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOVERNOR.\\r\\nOur expectation hath this day an end.\\r\\nThe Dauphin, whom of succours we entreated,\\r\\nReturns us that his powers are yet not ready\\r\\nTo raise so great a siege. Therefore, great King,\\r\\nWe yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy.\\r\\nEnter our gates; dispose of us and ours;\\r\\nFor we no longer are defensible.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nOpen your gates. Come, uncle Exeter,\\r\\nGo you and enter Harfleur; there remain,\\r\\nAnd fortify it strongly ’gainst the French.\\r\\nUse mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle,\\r\\nThe winter coming on, and sickness growing\\r\\nUpon our soldiers, we will retire to Calais.\\r\\nTonight in Harfleur will we be your guest;\\r\\nTomorrow for the march are we addrest.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. The King and his train enter the town.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The French King’s palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Katharine and Alice, an old Gentlewoman.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Alice, tu as été en Angleterre, et tu parles bien le langage._\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_Un peu, madame._\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Je te prie, m’enseignez; il faut que j’apprenne à parler.\\r\\nComment appelez-vous la main en anglais?_\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_La main? Elle est appelée_ de hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nDe hand. _Et les doigts?_\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_Les doigts? Ma foi, j’oublie les doigts; mais je me souviendrai. Les\\r\\ndoigts? Je pense qu’ils sont appelés_ de fingres; _oui_, de fingres.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_La main_, de hand; _les doigts_, de fingres. _Je pense que je suis le\\r\\nbon écolier; j’ai gagné deux mots d’anglais vitement. Comment\\r\\nappelez-vous les ongles?_\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_Les ongles? Nous les appelons_ de nails.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nDe nails. _Écoutez; dites-moi, si je parle bien:_ de hand, de fingres,\\r\\n_et_ de nails.\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_C’est bien dit, madame; il est fort bon anglais._\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Dites-moi l’anglais pour le bras._\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\nDe arm, _madame._\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Et le coude?_\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\nD’elbow.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nD’elbow. _Je m’en fais la répétition de tous les mots que vous m’avez\\r\\nappris dès à présent._\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_Il est trop difficile, madame, comme je pense._\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Excusez-moi, Alice. Écoutez:_ d’hand, de fingres, de nails, d’arm, de\\r\\nbilbow.\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\nD’elbow, _madame._\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_O Seigneur Dieu, je m’en oublie!_ D’elbow.\\r\\n_Comment appelez-vous le col?_\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\nDe nick, _madame._\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nDe nick. _Et le menton?_\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\nDe chin.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nDe sin. _Le col_, de nick; _le menton_, de sin.\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_Oui. Sauf votre honneur, en vérité, vous prononcez les mots aussi\\r\\ndroit que les natifs d’Angleterre._\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Je ne doute point d’apprendre, par la grâce de Dieu, et en peu de\\r\\ntemps._\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_N’avez-vous pas déjà oublié ce que je vous ai enseigné?_\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Non, je réciterai à vous promptement:_ d’hand, de fingres, de mails,—\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\nDe nails, _madame._\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nDe nails, de arm, de ilbow.\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_Sauf votre honneur_, de elbow.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Ainsi dis-je_, d’elbow, de nick, _et_ de sin. _Comment appelez-vous le\\r\\npied et la robe?_\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\nDe foot, _madame; et_ de coun.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nDe foot _et_ de coun! _O Seigneur Dieu! ils sont les mots de son\\r\\nmauvais, corruptible, gros, et impudique, et non pour les dames\\r\\nd’honneur d’user. Je ne voudrais prononcer ces mots devant les\\r\\nseigneurs de France pour tout le monde. Foh!_ le foot _et_ le coun!\\r\\n_Néanmoins, je réciterai une autre fois ma leçon ensemble:_ d’hand, de\\r\\nfingres, de nails, d’arm, d’elbow, de nick, de sin, de foot, de coun.\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_Excellent, madame!_\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_C’est assez pour une fois. Allons-nous à dîner._\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the King of France, the Dauphin, the Duke of Bourbon, the\\r\\n Constable of France and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\n’Tis certain he hath pass’d the river Somme.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nAnd if he be not fought withal, my lord,\\r\\nLet us not live in France; let us quit all\\r\\nAnd give our vineyards to a barbarous people.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\n_O Dieu vivant_! shall a few sprays of us,\\r\\nThe emptying of our fathers’ luxury,\\r\\nOur scions put in wild and savage stock,\\r\\nSpirt up so suddenly into the clouds,\\r\\nAnd overlook their grafters?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOURBON.\\r\\nNormans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards!\\r\\n_Mort de ma vie_, if they march along\\r\\nUnfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom,\\r\\nTo buy a slobbery and a dirty farm\\r\\nIn that nook-shotten isle of Albion.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\n_Dieu de batailles_, where have they this mettle?\\r\\nIs not their climate foggy, raw, and dull,\\r\\nOn whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale,\\r\\nKilling their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water,\\r\\nA drench for sur-rein’d jades, their barley-broth,\\r\\nDecoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?\\r\\nAnd shall our quick blood, spirited with wine,\\r\\nSeem frosty? O, for honour of our land,\\r\\nLet us not hang like roping icicles\\r\\nUpon our houses’ thatch, whiles a more frosty people\\r\\nSweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields!\\r\\nPoor we may call them in their native lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nBy faith and honour,\\r\\nOur madams mock at us, and plainly say\\r\\nOur mettle is bred out, and they will give\\r\\nTheir bodies to the lust of English youth\\r\\nTo new-store France with bastard warriors.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOURBON.\\r\\nThey bid us to the English dancing-schools,\\r\\nAnd teach lavoltas high, and swift corantos;\\r\\nSaying our grace is only in our heels,\\r\\nAnd that we are most lofty runaways.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nWhere is Montjoy the herald? Speed him hence.\\r\\nLet him greet England with our sharp defiance.\\r\\nUp, princes! and, with spirit of honour edged\\r\\nMore sharper than your swords, hie to the field!\\r\\nCharles Delabreth, High Constable of France;\\r\\nYou Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berry,\\r\\nAlençon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy;\\r\\nJacques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont,\\r\\nBeaumont, Grandpré, Roussi, and Fauconbridge,\\r\\nFoix, Lestrale, Boucicault, and Charolois;\\r\\nHigh dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and knights,\\r\\nFor your great seats now quit you of great shames.\\r\\nBar Harry England, that sweeps through our land\\r\\nWith pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur.\\r\\nRush on his host, as doth the melted snow\\r\\nUpon the valleys, whose low vassal seat\\r\\nThe Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon.\\r\\nGo down upon him, you have power enough,\\r\\nAnd in a captive chariot into Rouen\\r\\nBring him our prisoner.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nThis becomes the great.\\r\\nSorry am I his numbers are so few,\\r\\nHis soldiers sick and famish’d in their march;\\r\\nFor I am sure, when he shall see our army,\\r\\nHe’ll drop his heart into the sink of fear\\r\\nAnd for achievement offer us his ransom.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nTherefore, Lord Constable, haste on Montjoy,\\r\\nAnd let him say to England that we send\\r\\nTo know what willing ransom he will give.\\r\\nPrince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nNot so, I do beseech your Majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nBe patient, for you shall remain with us.\\r\\nNow forth, Lord Constable and princes all,\\r\\nAnd quickly bring us word of England’s fall.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. The English camp in Picardy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower and Fluellen, meeting.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nHow now, Captain Fluellen! come you from the bridge?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nI assure you, there is very excellent services committed at the bridge.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nIs the Duke of Exeter safe?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nThe Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon; and a man that I\\r\\nlove and honour with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my life,\\r\\nand my living, and my uttermost power. He is not—God be praised and\\r\\nblessed!—any hurt in the world; but keeps the bridge most valiantly,\\r\\nwith excellent discipline. There is an anchient lieutenant there at the\\r\\npridge, I think in my very conscience he is as valiant a man as Mark\\r\\nAntony; and he is a man of no estimation in the world, but I did see\\r\\nhim do as gallant service.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nWhat do you call him?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nHe is call’d Anchient Pistol.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nI know him not.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pistol.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nHere is the man.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nCaptain, I thee beseech to do me favours.\\r\\nThe Duke of Exeter doth love thee well.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nAy, I praise God; and I have merited some love at his hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nBardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart,\\r\\nAnd of buxom valour, hath by cruel fate\\r\\nAnd giddy Fortune’s furious fickle wheel,\\r\\nThat goddess blind,\\r\\nThat stands upon the rolling restless stone—\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nBy your patience, Anchient Pistol. Fortune is painted blind, with a\\r\\nmuffler afore his eyes, to signify to you that Fortune is blind; and\\r\\nshe is painted also with a wheel, to signify to you, which is the moral\\r\\nof it, that she is turning, and inconstant, and mutability, and\\r\\nvariation; and her foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone,\\r\\nwhich rolls, and rolls, and rolls. In good truth, the poet makes a most\\r\\nexcellent description of it. Fortune is an excellent moral.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nFortune is Bardolph’s foe, and frowns on him;\\r\\nFor he hath stolen a pax, and hanged must ’a be,—\\r\\nA damned death!\\r\\nLet gallows gape for dog; let man go free,\\r\\nAnd let not hemp his windpipe suffocate.\\r\\nBut Exeter hath given the doom of death\\r\\nFor pax of little price.\\r\\nTherefore, go speak; the Duke will hear thy voice;\\r\\nAnd let not Bardolph’s vital thread be cut\\r\\nWith edge of penny cord and vile reproach.\\r\\nSpeak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nAnchient Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nWhy then, rejoice therefore.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nCertainly, anchient, it is not a thing to rejoice at; for if, look you,\\r\\nhe were my brother, I would desire the Duke to use his good pleasure,\\r\\nand put him to execution; for discipline ought to be used.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nDie and be damn’d! and _fico_ for thy friendship!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nIt is well.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nThe fig of Spain.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nVery good.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nWhy, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal. I remember him now; a bawd,\\r\\na cutpurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nI’ll assure you, ’a uttered as prave words at the pridge as you shall\\r\\nsee in a summer’s day. But it is very well; what he has spoke to me,\\r\\nthat is well, I warrant you, when time is serve.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nWhy, ’t is a gull, a fool, a rogue, that now and then goes to the wars,\\r\\nto grace himself at his return into London under the form of a soldier.\\r\\nAnd such fellows are perfect in the great commanders’ names; and they\\r\\nwill learn you by rote where services were done; at such and such a\\r\\nsconce, at such a breach, at such a convoy; who came off bravely, who\\r\\nwas shot, who disgrac’d, what terms the enemy stood on; and this they\\r\\ncon perfectly in the phrase of war, which they trick up with new-tuned\\r\\noaths: and what a beard of the general’s cut and a horrid suit of the\\r\\ncamp will do among foaming bottles and ale-wash’d wits, is wonderful to\\r\\nbe thought on. But you must learn to know such slanders of the age, or\\r\\nelse you may be marvellously mistook.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nI tell you what, Captain Gower; I do perceive he is not the man that he\\r\\nwould gladly make show to the world he is. If I find a hole in his\\r\\ncoat, I will tell him my mind. [_Drum heard._] Hark you, the King is\\r\\ncoming, and I must speak with him from the pridge.\\r\\n\\r\\n Drum and colours. Enter King Henry, Gloucester and his poor soldiers.\\r\\n\\r\\nGod bless your Majesty!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nHow now, Fluellen! cam’st thou from the bridge?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nAy, so please your Majesty. The Duke of Exeter has very gallantly\\r\\nmaintain’d the pridge. The French is gone off, look you; and there is\\r\\ngallant and most prave passages. Marry, th’ athversary was have\\r\\npossession of the pridge; but he is enforced to retire, and the Duke of\\r\\nExeter is master of the pridge. I can tell your Majesty, the Duke is a\\r\\nprave man.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWhat men have you lost, Fluellen?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nThe perdition of the athversary hath been very great, reasonable great.\\r\\nMarry, for my part, I think the Duke hath lost never a man, but one\\r\\nthat is like to be executed for robbing a church, one Bardolph, if your\\r\\nMajesty know the man. His face is all bubukles, and whelks, and knobs,\\r\\nand flames o’ fire; and his lips blows at his nose, and it is like a\\r\\ncoal of fire, sometimes plue and sometimes red; but his nose is\\r\\nexecuted, and his fire’s out.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWe would have all such offenders so cut off; and we give express\\r\\ncharge, that in our marches through the country, there be nothing\\r\\ncompell’d from the villages, nothing taken but paid for, none of the\\r\\nFrench upbraided or abused in disdainful language; for when lenity and\\r\\ncruelty play for a kingdom, the gentler gamester is the soonest winner.\\r\\n\\r\\n Tucket. Enter Montjoy.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTJOY.\\r\\nYou know me by my habit.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWell then I know thee. What shall I know of thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTJOY.\\r\\nMy master’s mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nUnfold it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTJOY.\\r\\nThus says my King: Say thou to Harry of England: Though we seem’d dead,\\r\\nwe did but sleep; advantage is a better soldier than rashness. Tell him\\r\\nwe could have rebuk’d him at Harfleur, but that we thought not good to\\r\\nbruise an injury till it were full ripe. Now we speak upon our cue, and\\r\\nour voice is imperial. England shall repent his folly, see his\\r\\nweakness, and admire our sufferance. Bid him therefore consider of his\\r\\nransom; which must proportion the losses we have borne, the subjects we\\r\\nhave lost, the disgrace we have digested; which in weight to re-answer,\\r\\nhis pettishness would bow under. For our losses, his exchequer is too\\r\\npoor; for the effusion of our blood, the muster of his kingdom too\\r\\nfaint a number; and for our disgrace, his own person, kneeling at our\\r\\nfeet, but a weak and worthless satisfaction. To this add defiance; and\\r\\ntell him, for conclusion, he hath betrayed his followers, whose\\r\\ncondemnation is pronounc’d. So far my King and master; so much my\\r\\noffice.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWhat is thy name? I know thy quality.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTJOY.\\r\\nMontjoy.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee back,\\r\\nAnd tell thy King I do not seek him now,\\r\\nBut could be willing to march on to Calais\\r\\nWithout impeachment; for, to say the sooth,\\r\\nThough ’tis no wisdom to confess so much\\r\\nUnto an enemy of craft and vantage,\\r\\nMy people are with sickness much enfeebled,\\r\\nMy numbers lessen’d, and those few I have\\r\\nAlmost no better than so many French;\\r\\nWho when they were in health, I tell thee, herald,\\r\\nI thought upon one pair of English legs\\r\\nDid march three Frenchmen. Yet, forgive me, God,\\r\\nThat I do brag thus! This your air of France\\r\\nHath blown that vice in me. I must repent.\\r\\nGo therefore, tell thy master here I am;\\r\\nMy ransom is this frail and worthless trunk,\\r\\nMy army but a weak and sickly guard;\\r\\nYet, God before, tell him we will come on,\\r\\nThough France himself and such another neighbour\\r\\nStand in our way. There’s for thy labour, Montjoy.\\r\\nGo, bid thy master well advise himself.\\r\\nIf we may pass, we will; if we be hind’red,\\r\\nWe shall your tawny ground with your red blood\\r\\nDiscolour; and so, Montjoy, fare you well.\\r\\nThe sum of all our answer is but this:\\r\\nWe would not seek a battle, as we are;\\r\\nNor, as we are, we say we will not shun it.\\r\\nSo tell your master.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTJOY.\\r\\nI shall deliver so. Thanks to your Highness.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI hope they will not come upon us now.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWe are in God’s hands, brother, not in theirs.\\r\\nMarch to the bridge; it now draws toward night.\\r\\nBeyond the river we’ll encamp ourselves,\\r\\nAnd on tomorrow bid them march away.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. The French camp, near Agincourt.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the Constable of France, the Lord Rambures, Orleans, Dauphin\\r\\n with others.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nTut! I have the best armour of the world.\\r\\nWould it were day!\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nYou have an excellent armour; but let my horse have his due.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nIt is the best horse of Europe.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nWill it never be morning?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nMy Lord of Orleans, and my Lord High Constable, you talk of horse and\\r\\narmour?\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nYou are as well provided of both as any prince in the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nWhat a long night is this! I will not change my horse with any that\\r\\ntreads but on four pasterns. Ch’ha! He bounds from the earth, as if his\\r\\nentrails were hairs; _le cheval volant_, the Pegasus, _qui a les\\r\\nnarines de feu!_ When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk. He trots the\\r\\nair; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is\\r\\nmore musical than the pipe of Hermes.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nHe’s of the colour of the nutmeg.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nAnd of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast for Perseus. He is pure\\r\\nair and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in\\r\\nhim, but only in patient stillness while his rider mounts him. He is\\r\\nindeed a horse, and all other jades you may call beasts.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nIndeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and excellent horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nIt is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is like the bidding of a\\r\\nmonarch, and his countenance enforces homage.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nNo more, cousin.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nNay, the man hath no wit that cannot, from the rising of the lark to\\r\\nthe lodging of the lamb, vary deserved praise on my palfrey. It is a\\r\\ntheme as fluent as the sea; turn the sands into eloquent tongues, and\\r\\nmy horse is argument for them all. ’Tis a subject for a sovereign to\\r\\nreason on, and for a sovereign’s sovereign to ride on; and for the\\r\\nworld, familiar to us and unknown, to lay apart their particular\\r\\nfunctions and wonder at him. I once writ a sonnet in his praise and\\r\\nbegan thus: “Wonder of nature,”—\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nI have heard a sonnet begin so to one’s mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nThen did they imitate that which I compos’d to my courser, for my horse\\r\\nis my mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nYour mistress bears well.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nMe well; which is the prescript praise and perfection of a good and\\r\\nparticular mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nNay, for methought yesterday your mistress shrewdly shook your back.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nSo perhaps did yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nMine was not bridled.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nO then belike she was old and gentle; and you rode, like a kern of\\r\\nIreland, your French hose off, and in your strait strossers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nYou have good judgment in horsemanship.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nBe warn’d by me, then; they that ride so and ride not warily, fall into\\r\\nfoul bogs. I had rather have my horse to my mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nI had as lief have my mistress a jade.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nI tell thee, Constable, my mistress wears his own hair.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nI could make as true a boast as that, if I had a sow to my mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\n“_Le chien est retourné à son propre vomissement, et la truie lavée au\\r\\nbourbier_.” Thou mak’st use of anything.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nYet do I not use my horse for my mistress, or any such proverb so\\r\\nlittle kin to the purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\nRAMBURES.\\r\\nMy Lord Constable, the armour that I saw in your tent tonight, are\\r\\nthose stars or suns upon it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nStars, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nSome of them will fall tomorrow, I hope.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nAnd yet my sky shall not want.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nThat may be, for you bear a many superfluously, and ’twere more honour\\r\\nsome were away.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nEven as your horse bears your praises; who would trot as well, were\\r\\nsome of your brags dismounted.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nWould I were able to load him with his desert! Will it never be day? I\\r\\nwill trot tomorrow a mile, and my way shall be paved with English\\r\\nfaces.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nI will not say so, for fear I should be fac’d out of my way. But I\\r\\nwould it were morning; for I would fain be about the ears of the\\r\\nEnglish.\\r\\n\\r\\nRAMBURES.\\r\\nWho will go to hazard with me for twenty prisoners?\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nYou must first go yourself to hazard, ere you have them.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\n’Tis midnight; I’ll go arm myself.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nThe Dauphin longs for morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nRAMBURES.\\r\\nHe longs to eat the English.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nI think he will eat all he kills.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nBy the white hand of my lady, he’s a gallant prince.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nSwear by her foot that she may tread out the oath.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nHe is simply the most active gentleman of France.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nDoing is activity; and he will still be doing.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nHe never did harm, that I heard of.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nNor will do none tomorrow. He will keep that good name still.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nI know him to be valiant.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nI was told that by one that knows him better than you.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nWhat’s he?\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nMarry, he told me so himself; and he said he car’d not who knew it.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nHe needs not; it is no hidden virtue in him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nBy my faith, sir, but it is; never anybody saw it but his lackey. ’Tis\\r\\na hooded valour; and when it appears, it will bate.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\n“Ill will never said well.”\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nI will cap that proverb with “There is flattery in friendship.”\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nAnd I will take up that with “Give the devil his due.”\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nWell plac’d. There stands your friend for the devil; have at the very\\r\\neye of that proverb with “A pox of the devil.”\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nYou are the better at proverbs, by how much “A fool’s bolt is soon\\r\\nshot.”\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nYou have shot over.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\n’Tis not the first time you were overshot.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nMy Lord High Constable, the English lie within fifteen hundred paces of\\r\\nyour tents.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nWho hath measur’d the ground?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThe Lord Grandpré.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nA valiant and most expert gentleman. Would it were day! Alas, poor\\r\\nHarry of England, he longs not for the dawning as we do.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nWhat a wretched and peevish fellow is this King of England, to mope\\r\\nwith his fat-brain’d followers so far out of his knowledge!\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nIf the English had any apprehension, they would run away.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nThat they lack; for if their heads had any intellectual armour, they\\r\\ncould never wear such heavy head-pieces.\\r\\n\\r\\nRAMBURES.\\r\\nThat island of England breeds very valiant creatures. Their mastiffs\\r\\nare of unmatchable courage.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nFoolish curs, that run winking into the mouth of a Russian bear and\\r\\nhave their heads crush’d like rotten apples! You may as well say,\\r\\nthat’s a valiant flea that dare eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nJust, just; and the men do sympathize with the mastiffs in robustious\\r\\nand rough coming on, leaving their wits with their wives; and then,\\r\\ngive them great meals of beef and iron and steel, they will eat like\\r\\nwolves and fight like devils.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nAy, but these English are shrewdly out of beef.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nThen shall we find tomorrow they have only stomachs to eat and none to\\r\\nfight. Now is it time to arm. Come, shall we about it?\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nIt is now two o’clock; but, let me see, by ten\\r\\nWe shall have each a hundred Englishmen.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nNow entertain conjecture of a time\\r\\nWhen creeping murmur and the poring dark\\r\\nFills the wide vessel of the universe.\\r\\nFrom camp to camp through the foul womb of night\\r\\nThe hum of either army stilly sounds,\\r\\nThat the fix’d sentinels almost receive\\r\\nThe secret whispers of each other’s watch;\\r\\nFire answers fire, and through their paly flames\\r\\nEach battle sees the other’s umber’d face;\\r\\nSteed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs\\r\\nPiercing the night’s dull ear; and from the tents\\r\\nThe armourers, accomplishing the knights,\\r\\nWith busy hammers closing rivets up,\\r\\nGive dreadful note of preparation.\\r\\nThe country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll,\\r\\nAnd the third hour of drowsy morning name.\\r\\nProud of their numbers and secure in soul,\\r\\nThe confident and over-lusty French\\r\\nDo the low-rated English play at dice;\\r\\nAnd chide the cripple tardy-gaited Night\\r\\nWho, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp\\r\\nSo tediously away. The poor condemned English,\\r\\nLike sacrifices, by their watchful fires\\r\\nSit patiently and inly ruminate\\r\\nThe morning’s danger; and their gesture sad,\\r\\nInvesting lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats,\\r\\nPresented them unto the gazing moon\\r\\nSo many horrid ghosts. O now, who will behold\\r\\nThe royal captain of this ruin’d band\\r\\nWalking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,\\r\\nLet him cry, “Praise and glory on his head!”\\r\\nFor forth he goes and visits all his host,\\r\\nBids them good morrow with a modest smile,\\r\\nAnd calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen.\\r\\nUpon his royal face there is no note\\r\\nHow dread an army hath enrounded him;\\r\\nNor doth he dedicate one jot of colour\\r\\nUnto the weary and all-watched night,\\r\\nBut freshly looks, and over-bears attaint\\r\\nWith cheerful semblance and sweet majesty;\\r\\nThat every wretch, pining and pale before,\\r\\nBeholding him, plucks comfort from his looks.\\r\\nA largess universal like the sun\\r\\nHis liberal eye doth give to everyone,\\r\\nThawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all\\r\\nBehold, as may unworthiness define,\\r\\nA little touch of Harry in the night.\\r\\nAnd so our scene must to the battle fly,\\r\\nWhere—O for pity!—we shall much disgrace\\r\\nWith four or five most vile and ragged foils,\\r\\nRight ill-dispos’d in brawl ridiculous,\\r\\nThe name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see,\\r\\nMinding true things by what their mock’ries be.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The English camp at Agincourt.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter King Henry, Bedford and Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nGloucester, ’tis true that we are in great danger;\\r\\nThe greater therefore should our courage be.\\r\\nGood morrow, brother Bedford. God Almighty!\\r\\nThere is some soul of goodness in things evil,\\r\\nWould men observingly distil it out;\\r\\nFor our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers,\\r\\nWhich is both healthful and good husbandry.\\r\\nBesides, they are our outward consciences,\\r\\nAnd preachers to us all, admonishing\\r\\nThat we should dress us fairly for our end.\\r\\nThus may we gather honey from the weed,\\r\\nAnd make a moral of the devil himself.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Erpingham.\\r\\n\\r\\nGood morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham:\\r\\nA good soft pillow for that good white head\\r\\nWere better than a churlish turf of France.\\r\\n\\r\\nERPINGHAM.\\r\\nNot so, my liege; this lodging likes me better,\\r\\nSince I may say, “Now lie I like a king.”\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\n’Tis good for men to love their present pains\\r\\nUpon example; so the spirit is eased;\\r\\nAnd when the mind is quick’ned, out of doubt,\\r\\nThe organs, though defunct and dead before,\\r\\nBreak up their drowsy grave and newly move,\\r\\nWith casted slough and fresh legerity.\\r\\nLend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas. Brothers both,\\r\\nCommend me to the princes in our camp;\\r\\nDo my good morrow to them, and anon\\r\\nDesire them all to my pavilion.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWe shall, my liege.\\r\\n\\r\\nERPINGHAM.\\r\\nShall I attend your Grace?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNo, my good knight;\\r\\nGo with my brothers to my lords of England.\\r\\nI and my bosom must debate a while,\\r\\nAnd then I would no other company.\\r\\n\\r\\nERPINGHAM.\\r\\nThe Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but King._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nGod-a-mercy, old heart! thou speak’st cheerfully.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pistol.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\n_Qui vous là?_\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nA friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nDiscuss unto me; art thou officer?\\r\\nOr art thou base, common, and popular?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI am a gentleman of a company.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nTrail’st thou the puissant pike?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nEven so. What are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nAs good a gentleman as the Emperor.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThen you are a better than the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nThe King’s a bawcock, and a heart of gold,\\r\\nA lad of life, an imp of fame;\\r\\nOf parents good, of fist most valiant.\\r\\nI kiss his dirty shoe, and from heart-string\\r\\nI love the lovely bully. What is thy name?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nHarry le Roy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nLe Roy! a Cornish name. Art thou of Cornish crew?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNo, I am a Welshman.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nKnow’st thou Fluellen?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nTell him I’ll knock his leek about his pate\\r\\nUpon Saint Davy’s day.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nDo not you wear your dagger in your cap that day, lest he knock that\\r\\nabout yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nArt thou his friend?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nAnd his kinsman too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nThe _fico_ for thee, then!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI thank you. God be with you!\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nMy name is Pistol call’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nIt sorts well with your fierceness.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fluellen and Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nCaptain Fluellen!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nSo! in the name of Jesu Christ, speak lower. It is the greatest\\r\\nadmiration in the universal world, when the true and anchient\\r\\nprerogatifes and laws of the wars is not kept. If you would take the\\r\\npains but to examine the wars of Pompey the Great, you shall find, I\\r\\nwarrant you, that there is no tiddle taddle nor pibble pabble in\\r\\nPompey’s camp. I warrant you, you shall find the ceremonies of the\\r\\nwars, and the cares of it, and the forms of it, and the sobriety of it,\\r\\nand the modesty of it, to be otherwise.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nWhy, the enemy is loud; you hear him all night.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nIf the enemy is an ass and a fool and a prating coxcomb, is it meet,\\r\\nthink you, that we should also, look you, be an ass and a fool and a\\r\\nprating coxcomb? In your own conscience, now?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nI will speak lower.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nI pray you and beseech you that you will.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Gower and Fluellen._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThough it appear a little out of fashion,\\r\\nThere is much care and valour in this Welshman.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter three soldiers, John Bates, Alexander Court and Michael\\r\\n Williams.\\r\\n\\r\\nCOURT.\\r\\nBrother John Bates, is not that the morning which breaks yonder?\\r\\n\\r\\nBATES.\\r\\nI think it be; but we have no great cause to desire the approach of\\r\\nday.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nWe see yonder the beginning of the day, but I think we shall never see\\r\\nthe end of it. Who goes there?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nA friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nUnder what captain serve you?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nUnder Sir Thomas Erpingham.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nA good old commander and a most kind gentleman. I pray you, what thinks\\r\\nhe of our estate?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nEven as men wreck’d upon a sand, that look to be wash’d off the next\\r\\ntide.\\r\\n\\r\\nBATES.\\r\\nHe hath not told his thought to the King?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNo; nor it is not meet he should. For though I speak it to you, I think\\r\\nthe King is but a man as I am. The violet smells to him as it doth to\\r\\nme; the element shows to him as it doth to me; all his senses have but\\r\\nhuman conditions. His ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness he appears\\r\\nbut a man; and though his affections are higher mounted than ours, yet,\\r\\nwhen they stoop, they stoop with the like wing. Therefore, when he sees\\r\\nreason of fears as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same\\r\\nrelish as ours are; yet, in reason, no man should possess him with any\\r\\nappearance of fear, lest he, by showing it, should dishearten his army.\\r\\n\\r\\nBATES.\\r\\nHe may show what outward courage he will; but I believe, as cold a\\r\\nnight as ’tis, he could wish himself in Thames up to the neck; and so I\\r\\nwould he were, and I by him, at all adventures, so we were quit here.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nBy my troth, I will speak my conscience of the King: I think he would\\r\\nnot wish himself anywhere but where he is.\\r\\n\\r\\nBATES.\\r\\nThen I would he were here alone; so should he be sure to be ransomed,\\r\\nand a many poor men’s lives saved.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI dare say you love him not so ill, to wish him here alone, howsoever\\r\\nyou speak this to feel other men’s minds. Methinks I could not die\\r\\nanywhere so contented as in the King’s company, his cause being just\\r\\nand his quarrel honourable.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nThat’s more than we know.\\r\\n\\r\\nBATES.\\r\\nAy, or more than we should seek after; for we know enough, if we know\\r\\nwe are the King’s subjects. If his cause be wrong, our obedience to the\\r\\nKing wipes the crime of it out of us.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nBut if the cause be not good, the King himself hath a heavy reckoning\\r\\nto make, when all those legs and arms and heads, chopp’d off in a\\r\\nbattle, shall join together at the latter day and cry all, “We died at\\r\\nsuch a place”; some swearing, some crying for a surgeon, some upon\\r\\ntheir wives left poor behind them, some upon the debts they owe, some\\r\\nupon their children rawly left. I am afeard there are few die well that\\r\\ndie in a battle; for how can they charitably dispose of anything, when\\r\\nblood is their argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it will be\\r\\na black matter for the King that led them to it; who to disobey were\\r\\nagainst all proportion of subjection.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nSo, if a son that is by his father sent about merchandise do sinfully\\r\\nmiscarry upon the sea, the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule,\\r\\nshould be imposed upon his father that sent him; or if a servant, under\\r\\nhis master’s command transporting a sum of money, be assailed by\\r\\nrobbers and die in many irreconcil’d iniquities, you may call the\\r\\nbusiness of the master the author of the servant’s damnation. But this\\r\\nis not so. The King is not bound to answer the particular endings of\\r\\nhis soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of his servant; for\\r\\nthey purpose not their death, when they purpose their services.\\r\\nBesides, there is no king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come\\r\\nto the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all unspotted\\r\\nsoldiers. Some peradventure have on them the guilt of premeditated and\\r\\ncontrived murder; some, of beguiling virgins with the broken seals of\\r\\nperjury; some, making the wars their bulwark, that have before gored\\r\\nthe gentle bosom of Peace with pillage and robbery. Now, if these men\\r\\nhave defeated the law and outrun native punishment, though they can\\r\\noutstrip men, they have no wings to fly from God. War is his beadle,\\r\\nwar is his vengeance; so that here men are punish’d for before-breach\\r\\nof the King’s laws in now the King’s quarrel. Where they feared the\\r\\ndeath, they have borne life away; and where they would be safe, they\\r\\nperish. Then if they die unprovided, no more is the King guilty of\\r\\ntheir damnation than he was before guilty of those impieties for the\\r\\nwhich they are now visited. Every subject’s duty is the King’s; but\\r\\nevery subject’s soul is his own. Therefore should every soldier in the\\r\\nwars do as every sick man in his bed, wash every mote out of his\\r\\nconscience; and dying so, death is to him advantage; or not dying, the\\r\\ntime was blessedly lost wherein such preparation was gained; and in him\\r\\nthat escapes, it were not sin to think that, making God so free an\\r\\noffer, He let him outlive that day to see His greatness and to teach\\r\\nothers how they should prepare.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\n’Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill upon his own head, the\\r\\nKing is not to answer for it.\\r\\n\\r\\nBATES.\\r\\nI do not desire he should answer for me; and yet I determine to fight\\r\\nlustily for him.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI myself heard the King say he would not be ransom’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nAy, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully; but when our throats are\\r\\ncut, he may be ransom’d, and we ne’er the wiser.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nIf I live to see it, I will never trust his word after.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nYou pay him then. That’s a perilous shot out of an elder-gun, that a\\r\\npoor and a private displeasure can do against a monarch! You may as\\r\\nwell go about to turn the sun to ice with fanning in his face with a\\r\\npeacock’s feather. You’ll never trust his word after! Come, ’tis a\\r\\nfoolish saying.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nYour reproof is something too round. I should be angry with you, if the\\r\\ntime were convenient.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nLet it be a quarrel between us if you live.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI embrace it.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nHow shall I know thee again?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nGive me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my bonnet; then, if\\r\\never thou dar’st acknowledge it, I will make it my quarrel.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nHere’s my glove; give me another of thine.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThere.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nThis will I also wear in my cap. If ever thou come to me and say, after\\r\\ntomorrow, “This is my glove,” by this hand I will take thee a box on\\r\\nthe ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nIf ever I live to see it, I will challenge it.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nThou dar’st as well be hang’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWell, I will do it, though I take thee in the King’s company.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nKeep thy word; fare thee well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBATES.\\r\\nBe friends, you English fools, be friends. We have French quarrels\\r\\nenough, if you could tell how to reckon.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nIndeed, the French may lay twenty French crowns to one they will beat\\r\\nus, for they bear them on their shoulders; but it is no English treason\\r\\nto cut French crowns, and tomorrow the King himself will be a clipper.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt soldiers._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Upon the King! Let us our lives, our souls,\\r\\nOur debts, our careful wives,\\r\\nOur children, and our sins lay on the King!\\r\\nWe must bear all. O hard condition,\\r\\nTwin-born with greatness, subject to the breath\\r\\nOf every fool, whose sense no more can feel\\r\\nBut his own wringing! What infinite heart’s ease\\r\\nMust kings neglect, that private men enjoy!\\r\\nAnd what have kings, that privates have not too,\\r\\nSave ceremony, save general ceremony?\\r\\nAnd what art thou, thou idol Ceremony?\\r\\nWhat kind of god art thou, that suffer’st more\\r\\nOf mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?\\r\\nWhat are thy rents? What are thy comings in?\\r\\nO Ceremony, show me but thy worth!\\r\\nWhat is thy soul of adoration?\\r\\nArt thou aught else but place, degree, and form,\\r\\nCreating awe and fear in other men?\\r\\nWherein thou art less happy being fear’d\\r\\nThan they in fearing.\\r\\nWhat drink’st thou oft, instead of homage sweet,\\r\\nBut poison’d flattery? O, be sick, great greatness,\\r\\nAnd bid thy Ceremony give thee cure!\\r\\nThink’st thou the fiery fever will go out\\r\\nWith titles blown from adulation?\\r\\nWill it give place to flexure and low bending?\\r\\nCanst thou, when thou command’st the beggar’s knee,\\r\\nCommand the health of it? No, thou proud dream,\\r\\nThat play’st so subtly with a king’s repose;\\r\\nI am a king that find thee, and I know\\r\\n’Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball,\\r\\nThe sword, the mace, the crown imperial,\\r\\nThe intertissued robe of gold and pearl,\\r\\nThe farced title running ’fore the King,\\r\\nThe throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp\\r\\nThat beats upon the high shore of this world,\\r\\nNo, not all these, thrice-gorgeous Ceremony,—\\r\\nNot all these, laid in bed majestical,\\r\\nCan sleep so soundly as the wretched slave,\\r\\nWho with a body fill’d and vacant mind\\r\\nGets him to rest, cramm’d with distressful bread,\\r\\nNever sees horrid night, the child of hell,\\r\\nBut, like a lackey, from the rise to set\\r\\nSweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night\\r\\nSleeps in Elysium; next day after dawn,\\r\\nDoth rise and help Hyperion to his horse,\\r\\nAnd follows so the ever-running year,\\r\\nWith profitable labour, to his grave:\\r\\nAnd, but for ceremony, such a wretch,\\r\\nWinding up days with toil and nights with sleep,\\r\\nHad the fore-hand and vantage of a king.\\r\\nThe slave, a member of the country’s peace,\\r\\nEnjoys it, but in gross brain little wots\\r\\nWhat watch the King keeps to maintain the peace,\\r\\nWhose hours the peasant best advantages.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Erpingham.\\r\\n\\r\\nERPINGHAM.\\r\\nMy lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence,\\r\\nSeek through your camp to find you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nGood old knight,\\r\\nCollect them all together at my tent.\\r\\nI’ll be before thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nERPINGHAM.\\r\\nI shall do’t, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nO God of battles! steel my soldiers’ hearts.\\r\\nPossess them not with fear. Take from them now\\r\\nThe sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers\\r\\nPluck their hearts from them. Not today, O Lord,\\r\\nO, not today, think not upon the fault\\r\\nMy father made in compassing the crown!\\r\\nI Richard’s body have interred new,\\r\\nAnd on it have bestow’d more contrite tears\\r\\nThan from it issued forced drops of blood.\\r\\nFive hundred poor I have in yearly pay,\\r\\nWho twice a day their wither’d hands hold up\\r\\nToward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built\\r\\nTwo chantries, where the sad and solemn priests\\r\\nSing still for Richard’s soul. More will I do;\\r\\nThough all that I can do is nothing worth,\\r\\nSince that my penitence comes after all,\\r\\nImploring pardon.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nMy liege!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nMy brother Gloucester’s voice? Ay;\\r\\nI know thy errand, I will go with thee.\\r\\nThe day, my friends, and all things stay for me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The French camp.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the Dauphin, Orleans, Rambures and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nThe sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords!\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\n_Monte à cheval!_ My horse, _varlet! laquais_, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nO brave spirit!\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\n_Via, les eaux et terre!_\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\n_Rien puis? L’air et feu?_\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\n_Cieux_, cousin Orleans.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Constable.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, my Lord Constable!\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nHark, how our steeds for present service neigh!\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nMount them, and make incision in their hides,\\r\\nThat their hot blood may spin in English eyes,\\r\\nAnd dout them with superfluous courage, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nRAMBURES.\\r\\nWhat, will you have them weep our horses’ blood?\\r\\nHow shall we, then, behold their natural tears?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThe English are embattl’d, you French peers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nTo horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse!\\r\\nDo but behold yon poor and starved band,\\r\\nAnd your fair show shall suck away their souls,\\r\\nLeaving them but the shales and husks of men.\\r\\nThere is not work enough for all our hands;\\r\\nScarce blood enough in all their sickly veins\\r\\nTo give each naked curtle-axe a stain,\\r\\nThat our French gallants shall today draw out,\\r\\nAnd sheathe for lack of sport. Let us but blow on them,\\r\\nThe vapour of our valour will o’erturn them.\\r\\n’Tis positive ’gainst all exceptions, lords,\\r\\nThat our superfluous lackeys and our peasants,\\r\\nWho in unnecessary action swarm\\r\\nAbout our squares of battle, were enough\\r\\nTo purge this field of such a hilding foe,\\r\\nThough we upon this mountain’s basis by\\r\\nTook stand for idle speculation,\\r\\nBut that our honours must not. What’s to say?\\r\\nA very little little let us do,\\r\\nAnd all is done. Then let the trumpets sound\\r\\nThe tucket sonance and the note to mount;\\r\\nFor our approach shall so much dare the field\\r\\nThat England shall crouch down in fear and yield.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Grandpré.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRANDPRÉ.\\r\\nWhy do you stay so long, my lords of France?\\r\\nYond island carrions, desperate of their bones,\\r\\nIll-favouredly become the morning field.\\r\\nTheir ragged curtains poorly are let loose,\\r\\nAnd our air shakes them passing scornfully.\\r\\nBig Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar’d host,\\r\\nAnd faintly through a rusty beaver peeps;\\r\\nThe horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks\\r\\nWith torch-staves in their hand; and their poor jades\\r\\nLob down their heads, drooping the hides and hips,\\r\\nThe gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes,\\r\\nAnd in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit\\r\\nLies foul with chew’d grass, still, and motionless;\\r\\nAnd their executors, the knavish crows,\\r\\nFly o’er them, all impatient for their hour.\\r\\nDescription cannot suit itself in words\\r\\nTo demonstrate the life of such a battle,\\r\\nIn life so lifeless as it shows itself.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nThey have said their prayers, and they stay for death.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nShall we go send them dinners and fresh suits\\r\\nAnd give their fasting horses provender,\\r\\nAnd after fight with them?\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nI stay but for my guard; on to the field!\\r\\nI will the banner from a trumpet take,\\r\\nAnd use it for my haste. Come, come, away!\\r\\nThe sun is high, and we outwear the day.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The English camp.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester, Bedford, Exeter, Erpingham, with all his host:\\r\\n Salisbury and Westmorland.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWhere is the King?\\r\\n\\r\\nBEDFORD.\\r\\nThe King himself is rode to view their battle.\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORLAND.\\r\\nOf fighting men they have full three-score thousand.\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nThere’s five to one; besides, they all are fresh.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALISBURY.\\r\\nGod’s arm strike with us! ’tis a fearful odds.\\r\\nGod be wi’ you, princes all; I’ll to my charge.\\r\\nIf we no more meet till we meet in heaven,\\r\\nThen, joyfully, my noble Lord of Bedford,\\r\\nMy dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord Exeter,\\r\\nAnd my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu!\\r\\n\\r\\nBEDFORD.\\r\\nFarewell, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nFarewell, kind lord; fight valiantly today!\\r\\nAnd yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it,\\r\\nFor thou art fram’d of the firm truth of valour.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Salisbury._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBEDFORD.\\r\\nHe is as full of valour as of kindness,\\r\\nPrincely in both.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORLAND.\\r\\nO that we now had here\\r\\nBut one ten thousand of those men in England\\r\\nThat do no work today!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nWhat’s he that wishes so?\\r\\nMy cousin Westmorland? No, my fair cousin.\\r\\nIf we are mark’d to die, we are enough\\r\\nTo do our country loss; and if to live,\\r\\nThe fewer men, the greater share of honour.\\r\\nGod’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.\\r\\nBy Jove, I am not covetous for gold,\\r\\nNor care I who doth feed upon my cost;\\r\\nIt yearns me not if men my garments wear;\\r\\nSuch outward things dwell not in my desires;\\r\\nBut if it be a sin to covet honour,\\r\\nI am the most offending soul alive.\\r\\nNo, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.\\r\\nGod’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour\\r\\nAs one man more, methinks, would share from me\\r\\nFor the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!\\r\\nRather proclaim it, Westmorland, through my host,\\r\\nThat he which hath no stomach to this fight,\\r\\nLet him depart. His passport shall be made,\\r\\nAnd crowns for convoy put into his purse.\\r\\nWe would not die in that man’s company\\r\\nThat fears his fellowship to die with us.\\r\\nThis day is call’d the feast of Crispian.\\r\\nHe that outlives this day, and comes safe home,\\r\\nWill stand a tip-toe when this day is named,\\r\\nAnd rouse him at the name of Crispian.\\r\\nHe that shall live this day, and see old age,\\r\\nWill yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,\\r\\nAnd say, “Tomorrow is Saint Crispian.”\\r\\nThen will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,\\r\\nAnd say, “These wounds I had on Crispian’s day.”\\r\\nOld men forget; yet all shall be forgot,\\r\\nBut he’ll remember with advantages\\r\\nWhat feats he did that day. Then shall our names,\\r\\nFamiliar in his mouth as household words,\\r\\nHarry the King, Bedford, and Exeter,\\r\\nWarwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,\\r\\nBe in their flowing cups freshly remembered.\\r\\nThis story shall the good man teach his son;\\r\\nAnd Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,\\r\\nFrom this day to the ending of the world,\\r\\nBut we in it shall be remembered,\\r\\nWe few, we happy few, we band of brothers.\\r\\nFor he today that sheds his blood with me\\r\\nShall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,\\r\\nThis day shall gentle his condition;\\r\\nAnd gentlemen in England now abed\\r\\nShall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,\\r\\nAnd hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks\\r\\nThat fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Salisbury.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALISBURY.\\r\\nMy sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed.\\r\\nThe French are bravely in their battles set,\\r\\nAnd will with all expedience charge on us.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nAll things are ready, if our minds be so.\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORLAND.\\r\\nPerish the man whose mind is backward now!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThou dost not wish more help from England, coz?\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORLAND.\\r\\nGod’s will! my liege, would you and I alone,\\r\\nWithout more help, could fight this royal battle!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWhy, now thou hast unwish’d five thousand men,\\r\\nWhich likes me better than to wish us one.\\r\\nYou know your places. God be with you all!\\r\\n\\r\\n Tucket. Enter Montjoy.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTJOY.\\r\\nOnce more I come to know of thee, King Harry,\\r\\nIf for thy ransom thou wilt now compound,\\r\\nBefore thy most assured overthrow;\\r\\nFor certainly thou art so near the gulf,\\r\\nThou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy,\\r\\nThe Constable desires thee thou wilt mind\\r\\nThy followers of repentance; that their souls\\r\\nMay make a peaceful and a sweet retire\\r\\nFrom off these fields, where, wretches, their poor bodies\\r\\nMust lie and fester.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWho hath sent thee now?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTJOY.\\r\\nThe Constable of France.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI pray thee, bear my former answer back:\\r\\nBid them achieve me and then sell my bones.\\r\\nGood God! why should they mock poor fellows thus?\\r\\nThe man that once did sell the lion’s skin\\r\\nWhile the beast liv’d, was kill’d with hunting him.\\r\\nA many of our bodies shall no doubt\\r\\nFind native graves, upon the which, I trust,\\r\\nShall witness live in brass of this day’s work;\\r\\nAnd those that leave their valiant bones in France,\\r\\nDying like men, though buried in your dunghills,\\r\\nThey shall be fam’d; for there the sun shall greet them,\\r\\nAnd draw their honours reeking up to heaven;\\r\\nLeaving their earthly parts to choke your clime,\\r\\nThe smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.\\r\\nMark then abounding valour in our English,\\r\\nThat being dead, like to the bullet’s grazing,\\r\\nBreak out into a second course of mischief,\\r\\nKilling in relapse of mortality.\\r\\nLet me speak proudly: tell the Constable\\r\\nWe are but warriors for the working-day.\\r\\nOur gayness and our gilt are all besmirch’d\\r\\nWith rainy marching in the painful field;\\r\\nThere’s not a piece of feather in our host—\\r\\nGood argument, I hope, we will not fly—\\r\\nAnd time hath worn us into slovenry;\\r\\nBut, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim;\\r\\nAnd my poor soldiers tell me, yet ere night\\r\\nThey’ll be in fresher robes, or they will pluck\\r\\nThe gay new coats o’er the French soldiers’ heads\\r\\nAnd turn them out of service. If they do this—\\r\\nAs, if God please, they shall,—my ransom then\\r\\nWill soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour.\\r\\nCome thou no more for ransom, gentle herald.\\r\\nThey shall have none, I swear, but these my joints;\\r\\nWhich if they have as I will leave ’em them,\\r\\nShall yield them little, tell the Constable.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTJOY.\\r\\nI shall, King Harry. And so fare thee well;\\r\\nThou never shalt hear herald any more.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI fear thou’lt once more come again for ransom.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter York.\\r\\n\\r\\nYORK.\\r\\nMy lord, most humbly on my knee I beg\\r\\nThe leading of the vaward.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nTake it, brave York. Now, soldiers, march away;\\r\\nAnd how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The field of battle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Excursions. Enter Pistol, French Soldier and Boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nYield, cur!\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH SOLDIER.\\r\\n_Je pense que vous êtes le gentilhomme de bonne qualité._\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\n_Qualité? Caleno custore me!_\\r\\nArt thou a gentleman?\\r\\nWhat is thy name? Discuss.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH SOLDIER.\\r\\n_O Seigneur Dieu!_\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nO, Signieur Dew should be a gentleman.\\r\\nPerpend my words, O Signieur Dew, and mark:\\r\\nO Signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox,\\r\\nExcept, O signieur, thou do give to me\\r\\nEgregious ransom.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH SOLDIER.\\r\\n_O, prenez miséricorde! Ayez pitié de moi!_\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nMoy shall not serve; I will have forty moys,\\r\\nOr I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat\\r\\nIn drops of crimson blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH SOLDIER.\\r\\n_Est-il impossible d’échapper la force de ton bras?_\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nBrass, cur!\\r\\nThou damned and luxurious mountain goat,\\r\\nOffer’st me brass?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH SOLDIER.\\r\\n_O pardonnez-moi!_\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nSay’st thou me so? Is that a ton of moys?\\r\\nCome hither, boy; ask me this slave in French\\r\\nWhat is his name.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\n_Écoutez. Comment êtes-vous appelé?_\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH SOLDIER.\\r\\n_Monsieur le Fer._\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nHe says his name is Master Fer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nMaster Fer! I’ll fer him, and firk him, and ferret him.\\r\\nDiscuss the same in French unto him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nI do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and firk.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nBid him prepare; for I will cut his throat.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH SOLDIER.\\r\\n_Que dit-il, monsieur?_\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\n_Il me commande à vous dire que vous faites vous prêt, car ce soldat\\r\\nici est disposé tout à cette heure de couper votre gorge._\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nOwy, cuppele gorge, permafoy,\\r\\nPeasant, unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns;\\r\\nOr mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH SOLDIER.\\r\\n_O, je vous supplie, pour l’amour de Dieu, me pardonner! Je suis le\\r\\ngentilhomme de bonne maison; gardez ma vie, et je vous donnerai deux\\r\\ncents écus._\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nWhat are his words?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nHe prays you to save his life. He is a gentleman of a good house; and\\r\\nfor his ransom he will give you two hundred crowns.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nTell him my fury shall abate, and I\\r\\nThe crowns will take.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH SOLDIER.\\r\\n_Petit monsieur, que dit-il?_\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\n_Encore qu’il est contre son jurement de pardonner aucun prisonnier;\\r\\nnéanmoins, pour les écus que vous lui avez promis, il est content à\\r\\nvous donner la liberté, le franchisement._\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH SOLDIER.\\r\\n_Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille remerciements; et je m’estime\\r\\nheureux que je suis tombé entre les mains d’un chevalier, je pense, le\\r\\nplus brave, vaillant, et très distingué seigneur d’Angleterre._\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nExpound unto me, boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nHe gives you upon his knees, a thousand thanks; and he esteems himself\\r\\nhappy that he hath fallen into the hands of one, as he thinks, the most\\r\\nbrave, valorous, and thrice-worthy _seigneur_ of England.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nAs I suck blood, I will some mercy show.\\r\\nFollow me!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\n_Suivez-vous le grand capitaine._\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Pistol and French Soldier._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart; but the\\r\\nsaying is true, “The empty vessel makes the greatest sound.” Bardolph\\r\\nand Nym had ten times more valour than this roaring devil i’ the old\\r\\nplay, that everyone may pare his nails with a wooden dagger; and they\\r\\nare both hang’d; and so would this be, if he durst steal anything\\r\\nadventurously. I must stay with the lackeys with the luggage of our\\r\\ncamp. The French might have a good prey of us, if he knew of it; for\\r\\nthere is none to guard it but boys.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Another part of the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Constable, Orleans, Bourbon, Dauphin and Rambures.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\n_O diable!_\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\n_O Seigneur! le jour est perdu, tout est perdu!_\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\n_Mort de ma vie!_ all is confounded, all!\\r\\nReproach and everlasting shame\\r\\nSits mocking in our plumes.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A short alarum._]\\r\\n\\r\\n_O méchante Fortune!_ Do not run away.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nWhy, all our ranks are broke.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nO perdurable shame! Let’s stab ourselves,\\r\\nBe these the wretches that we play’d at dice for?\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nIs this the king we sent to for his ransom?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOURBON.\\r\\nShame and eternal shame, nothing but shame!\\r\\nLet’s die in honour! Once more back again!\\r\\nAnd he that will not follow Bourbon now,\\r\\nLet him go hence, and with his cap in hand,\\r\\nLike a base pandar, hold the chamber door\\r\\nWhilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog,\\r\\nHis fairest daughter is contaminated.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nDisorder, that hath spoil’d us, friend us now!\\r\\nLet us on heaps go offer up our lives.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nWe are enough yet living in the field\\r\\nTo smother up the English in our throngs,\\r\\nIf any order might be thought upon.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOURBON.\\r\\nThe devil take order now! I’ll to the throng.\\r\\nLet life be short, else shame will be too long.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Another part of the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter King Henry and his train, with prisoners.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWell have we done, thrice valiant countrymen.\\r\\nBut all’s not done; yet keep the French the field.\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nThe Duke of York commends him to your Majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nLives he, good uncle? Thrice within this hour\\r\\nI saw him down; thrice up again, and fighting.\\r\\nFrom helmet to the spur all blood he was.\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nIn which array, brave soldier, doth he lie,\\r\\nLarding the plain; and by his bloody side,\\r\\nYoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds,\\r\\nThe noble Earl of Suffolk also lies.\\r\\nSuffolk first died; and York, all haggled over,\\r\\nComes to him, where in gore he lay insteeped,\\r\\nAnd takes him by the beard; kisses the gashes\\r\\nThat bloodily did yawn upon his face.\\r\\nHe cries aloud, “Tarry, my cousin Suffolk!\\r\\nMy soul shall thine keep company to heaven;\\r\\nTarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast,\\r\\nAs in this glorious and well-foughten field\\r\\nWe kept together in our chivalry.”\\r\\nUpon these words I came and cheer’d him up.\\r\\nHe smil’d me in the face, raught me his hand,\\r\\nAnd, with a feeble gripe, says, “Dear my lord,\\r\\nCommend my service to my sovereign.”\\r\\nSo did he turn and over Suffolk’s neck\\r\\nHe threw his wounded arm and kiss’d his lips;\\r\\nAnd so espous’d to death, with blood he seal’d\\r\\nA testament of noble-ending love.\\r\\nThe pretty and sweet manner of it forc’d\\r\\nThose waters from me which I would have stopp’d;\\r\\nBut I had not so much of man in me,\\r\\nAnd all my mother came into mine eyes\\r\\nAnd gave me up to tears.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI blame you not;\\r\\nFor, hearing this, I must perforce compound\\r\\nWith mistful eyes, or they will issue too.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alarum._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBut hark! what new alarum is this same?\\r\\nThe French have reinforc’d their scatter’d men.\\r\\nThen every soldier kill his prisoners;\\r\\nGive the word through.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. Another part of the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fluellen and Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nKill the poys and the luggage! ’Tis expressly against the law of arms.\\r\\n’Tis as arrant a piece of knavery, mark you now, as can be offer’t; in\\r\\nyour conscience, now, is it not?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\n’Tis certain there’s not a boy left alive; and the cowardly rascals\\r\\nthat ran from the battle ha’ done this slaughter. Besides, they have\\r\\nburned and carried away all that was in the King’s tent; wherefore the\\r\\nKing, most worthily, hath caus’d every soldier to cut his prisoner’s\\r\\nthroat. O, ’tis a gallant king!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nAy, he was porn at Monmouth, Captain Gower. What call you the town’s\\r\\nname where Alexander the Pig was born?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nAlexander the Great.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nWhy, I pray you, is not pig great? The pig, or the great, or the\\r\\nmighty, or the huge, or the magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save\\r\\nthe phrase is a little variations.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nI think Alexander the Great was born in Macedon. His father was called\\r\\nPhilip of Macedon, as I take it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nI think it is in Macedon where Alexander is porn. I tell you, Captain,\\r\\nif you look in the maps of the ’orld, I warrant you sall find, in the\\r\\ncomparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, that the situations, look\\r\\nyou, is both alike. There is a river in Macedon; and there is also\\r\\nmoreover a river at Monmouth; it is call’d Wye at Monmouth; but it is\\r\\nout of my prains what is the name of the other river; but ’tis all one,\\r\\n’tis alike as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in\\r\\nboth. If you mark Alexander’s life well, Harry of Monmouth’s life is\\r\\ncome after it indifferent well; for there is figures in all things.\\r\\nAlexander, God knows, and you know, in his rages, and his furies, and\\r\\nhis wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and his displeasures, and\\r\\nhis indignations, and also being a little intoxicates in his prains,\\r\\ndid, in his ales and his angers, look you, kill his best friend,\\r\\nCleitus.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nOur King is not like him in that. He never kill’d any of his friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nIt is not well done, mark you now, to take the tales out of my mouth,\\r\\nere it is made and finished. I speak but in the figures and comparisons\\r\\nof it. As Alexander kill’d his friend Cleitus, being in his ales and\\r\\nhis cups; so also Harry Monmouth, being in his right wits and his good\\r\\njudgements, turn’d away the fat knight with the great belly doublet. He\\r\\nwas full of jests, and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks; I have forgot\\r\\nhis name.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nSir John Falstaff.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nThat is he. I’ll tell you there is good men porn at Monmouth.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nHere comes his Majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter King Henry and forces; Warwick, Gloucester, Exeter with\\r\\n prisoners. Flourish.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI was not angry since I came to France\\r\\nUntil this instant. Take a trumpet, herald;\\r\\nRide thou unto the horsemen on yond hill.\\r\\nIf they will fight with us, bid them come down,\\r\\nOr void the field; they do offend our sight.\\r\\nIf they’ll do neither, we will come to them,\\r\\nAnd make them skirr away, as swift as stones\\r\\nEnforced from the old Assyrian slings.\\r\\nBesides, we’ll cut the throats of those we have,\\r\\nAnd not a man of them that we shall take\\r\\nShall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Montjoy.\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nHere comes the herald of the French, my liege.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHis eyes are humbler than they us’d to be.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nHow now! what means this, herald? Know’st thou not\\r\\nThat I have fin’d these bones of mine for ransom?\\r\\nCom’st thou again for ransom?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTJOY.\\r\\nNo, great King;\\r\\nI come to thee for charitable license,\\r\\nThat we may wander o’er this bloody field\\r\\nTo book our dead, and then to bury them;\\r\\nTo sort our nobles from our common men.\\r\\nFor many of our princes—woe the while!—\\r\\nLie drown’d and soak’d in mercenary blood;\\r\\nSo do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs\\r\\nIn blood of princes; and their wounded steeds\\r\\nFret fetlock deep in gore, and with wild rage\\r\\nYerk out their armed heels at their dead masters,\\r\\nKilling them twice. O, give us leave, great King,\\r\\nTo view the field in safety, and dispose\\r\\nOf their dead bodies!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI tell thee truly, herald,\\r\\nI know not if the day be ours or no;\\r\\nFor yet a many of your horsemen peer\\r\\nAnd gallop o’er the field.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTJOY.\\r\\nThe day is yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nPraised be God, and not our strength, for it!\\r\\nWhat is this castle call’d that stands hard by?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTJOY.\\r\\nThey call it Agincourt.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThen call we this the field of Agincourt,\\r\\nFought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nYour grandfather of famous memory, an’t please your Majesty, and your\\r\\ngreat-uncle Edward the Plack Prince of Wales, as I have read in the\\r\\nchronicles, fought a most prave pattle here in France.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThey did, Fluellen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nYour Majesty says very true. If your Majesties is rememb’red of it, the\\r\\nWelshmen did good service in garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks\\r\\nin their Monmouth caps; which, your Majesty know, to this hour is an\\r\\nhonourable badge of the service; and I do believe your Majesty takes no\\r\\nscorn to wear the leek upon Saint Tavy’s day.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI wear it for a memorable honour;\\r\\nFor I am Welsh, you know, good countryman.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nAll the water in Wye cannot wash your Majesty’s Welsh plood out of your\\r\\npody, I can tell you that. Got pless it and preserve it, as long as it\\r\\npleases His grace, and His majesty too!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThanks, good my countryman.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nBy Jeshu, I am your Majesty’s countryman, I care not who know it. I\\r\\nwill confess it to all the ’orld. I need not be asham’d of your\\r\\nMajesty, praised be God, so long as your Majesty is an honest man.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nGod keep me so!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Williams.\\r\\n\\r\\nOur heralds go with him;\\r\\nBring me just notice of the numbers dead\\r\\nOn both our parts. Call yonder fellow hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Heralds with Montjoy._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nSoldier, you must come to the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nSoldier, why wear’st thou that glove in thy cap?\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nAn’t please your Majesty, ’tis the gage of one that I should fight\\r\\nwithal, if he be alive.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nAn Englishman?\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nAn’t please your Majesty, a rascal that swagger’d with me last night;\\r\\nwho, if alive and ever dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn to\\r\\ntake him a box o’ the ear; or if I can see my glove in his cap, which\\r\\nhe swore, as he was a soldier, he would wear if alive, I will strike it\\r\\nout soundly.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWhat think you, Captain Fluellen, is it fit this soldier keep his oath?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nHe is a craven and a villain else, an’t please your Majesty, in my\\r\\nconscience.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nIt may be his enemy is a gentlemen of great sort, quite from the answer\\r\\nof his degree.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nThough he be as good a gentleman as the devil is, as Lucifier and\\r\\nBelzebub himself, it is necessary, look your Grace, that he keep his\\r\\nvow and his oath. If he be perjur’d, see you now, his reputation is as\\r\\narrant a villain and a Jacksauce, as ever his black shoe trod upon\\r\\nGod’s ground and His earth, in my conscience, la!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThen keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou meet’st the fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nSo I will, my liege, as I live.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWho serv’st thou under?\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nUnder Captain Gower, my liege.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nGower is a good captain, and is good knowledge and literatured in the\\r\\nwars.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nCall him hither to me, soldier.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nI will, my liege.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nHere, Fluellen; wear thou this favour for me and stick it in thy cap.\\r\\nWhen Alençon and myself were down together, I pluck’d this glove from\\r\\nhis helm. If any man challenge this, he is a friend to Alençon, and an\\r\\nenemy to our person. If thou encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou\\r\\ndost me love.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nYour Grace does me as great honours as can be desir’d in the hearts of\\r\\nhis subjects. I would fain see the man, that has but two legs, that\\r\\nshall find himself aggrief’d at this glove; that is all. But I would\\r\\nfain see it once, an please God of His grace that I might see.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nKnow’st thou Gower?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nHe is my dear friend, an please you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nPray thee, go seek him, and bring him to my tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nI will fetch him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nMy Lord of Warwick, and my brother Gloucester,\\r\\nFollow Fluellen closely at the heels.\\r\\nThe glove which I have given him for a favour\\r\\nMay haply purchase him a box o’ the ear.\\r\\nIt is the soldier’s; I by bargain should\\r\\nWear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick.\\r\\nIf that the soldier strike him, as I judge\\r\\nBy his blunt bearing he will keep his word,\\r\\nSome sudden mischief may arise of it;\\r\\nFor I do know Fluellen valiant\\r\\nAnd, touch’d with choler, hot as gunpowder,\\r\\nAnd quickly will return an injury.\\r\\nFollow, and see there be no harm between them.\\r\\nGo you with me, uncle of Exeter.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VIII. Before King Henry’s pavilion.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower and Williams.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nI warrant it is to knight you, Captain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fluellen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nGod’s will and his pleasure, captain, I beseech you now, come apace to\\r\\nthe King. There is more good toward you peradventure than is in your\\r\\nknowledge to dream of.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nSir, know you this glove?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nKnow the glove! I know the glove is a glove.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nI know this; and thus I challenge it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Strikes him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\n’Sblood! an arrant traitor as any is in the universal world, or in\\r\\nFrance, or in England!\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nHow now, sir! you villain!\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nDo you think I’ll be forsworn?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nStand away, Captain Gower. I will give treason his payment into plows,\\r\\nI warrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nI am no traitor.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nThat’s a lie in thy throat. I charge you in his Majesty’s name,\\r\\napprehend him; he’s a friend of the Duke Alençon’s.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Warwick and Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\nWARWICK.\\r\\nHow now, how now! what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nMy lord of Warwick, here is—praised be God for it!—a most contagious\\r\\ntreason come to light, look you, as you shall desire in a summer’s day.\\r\\nHere is his Majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter King Henry and Exeter.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nHow now! what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nMy liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that, look your Grace, has\\r\\nstruck the glove which your Majesty is take out of the helmet of\\r\\nAlençon.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nMy liege, this was my glove; here is the fellow of it; and he that I\\r\\ngave it to in change promis’d to wear it in his cap. I promis’d to\\r\\nstrike him, if he did. I met this man with my glove in his cap, and I\\r\\nhave been as good as my word.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nYour Majesty hear now, saving your Majesty’s manhood, what an arrant,\\r\\nrascally, beggarly, lousy knave it is. I hope your Majesty is pear me\\r\\ntestimony and witness, and will avouchment, that this is the glove of\\r\\nAlençon that your Majesty is give me; in your conscience, now?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nGive me thy glove, soldier. Look, here is the fellow of it.\\r\\n’Twas I, indeed, thou promisedst to strike;\\r\\nAnd thou hast given me most bitter terms.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nAn it please your Majesty, let his neck answer for it, if there is any\\r\\nmartial law in the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nHow canst thou make me satisfaction?\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nAll offences, my lord, come from the heart. Never came any from mine\\r\\nthat might offend your Majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nIt was ourself thou didst abuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nYour Majesty came not like yourself. You appear’d to me but as a common\\r\\nman; witness the night, your garments, your lowliness; and what your\\r\\nHighness suffer’d under that shape, I beseech you take it for your own\\r\\nfault and not mine; for had you been as I took you for, I made no\\r\\noffence; therefore, I beseech your Highness, pardon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nHere, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns,\\r\\nAnd give it to this fellow. Keep it, fellow;\\r\\nAnd wear it for an honour in thy cap\\r\\nTill I do challenge it. Give him his crowns;\\r\\nAnd, captain, you must needs be friends with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nBy this day and this light, the fellow has mettle enough in his belly.\\r\\nHold, there is twelve pence for you; and I pray you to serve God, and\\r\\nkeep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels, and dissensions,\\r\\nand, I warrant you, it is the better for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nI will none of your money.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nIt is with a good will; I can tell you, it will serve you to mend your\\r\\nshoes. Come, wherefore should you be so pashful? Your shoes is not so\\r\\ngood. ’Tis a good silling, I warrant you, or I will change it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter an English Herald.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNow, herald, are the dead numb’red?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nHere is the number of the slaught’red French.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWhat prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle?\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nCharles Duke of Orleans, nephew to the King;\\r\\nJohn Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Boucicault:\\r\\nOf other lords and barons, knights and squires,\\r\\nFull fifteen hundred, besides common men.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThis note doth tell me of ten thousand French\\r\\nThat in the field lie slain; of princes, in this number,\\r\\nAnd nobles bearing banners, there lie dead\\r\\nOne hundred twenty-six; added to these,\\r\\nOf knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen,\\r\\nEight thousand and four hundred; of the which,\\r\\nFive hundred were but yesterday dubb’d knights;\\r\\nSo that, in these ten thousand they have lost,\\r\\nThere are but sixteen hundred mercenaries;\\r\\nThe rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, squires,\\r\\nAnd gentlemen of blood and quality.\\r\\nThe names of those their nobles that lie dead:\\r\\nCharles Delabreth, High Constable of France;\\r\\nJacques of Chatillon, Admiral of France;\\r\\nThe master of the Crossbows, Lord Rambures;\\r\\nGreat Master of France, the brave Sir Guichard Dauphin,\\r\\nJohn, Duke of Alençon, Anthony, Duke of Brabant,\\r\\nThe brother to the Duke of Burgundy,\\r\\nAnd Edward, Duke of Bar; of lusty earls,\\r\\nGrandpré and Roussi, Fauconbridge and Foix,\\r\\nBeaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Lestrale.\\r\\nHere was a royal fellowship of death!\\r\\nWhere is the number of our English dead?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Herald gives him another paper._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEdward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk,\\r\\nSir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire;\\r\\nNone else of name; and of all other men\\r\\nBut five and twenty.—O God, thy arm was here;\\r\\nAnd not to us, but to thy arm alone,\\r\\nAscribe we all! When, without stratagem,\\r\\nBut in plain shock and even play of battle,\\r\\nWas ever known so great and little loss\\r\\nOn one part and on the other? Take it, God,\\r\\nFor it is none but thine!\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\n’Tis wonderful!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nCome, go we in procession to the village;\\r\\nAnd be it death proclaimed through our host\\r\\nTo boast of this or take that praise from God\\r\\nWhich is His only.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nIs it not lawful, an please your Majesty, to tell how many is kill’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nYes, Captain; but with this acknowledgment,\\r\\nThat God fought for us.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nYes, my conscience, He did us great good.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nDo we all holy rites.\\r\\nLet there be sung _Non nobis_ and _Te Deum_,\\r\\nThe dead with charity enclos’d in clay,\\r\\nAnd then to Calais; and to England then,\\r\\nWhere ne’er from France arriv’d more happy men.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nVouchsafe to those that have not read the story,\\r\\nThat I may prompt them; and of such as have,\\r\\nI humbly pray them to admit the excuse\\r\\nOf time, of numbers, and due course of things,\\r\\nWhich cannot in their huge and proper life\\r\\nBe here presented. Now we bear the King\\r\\nToward Calais; grant him there; there seen,\\r\\nHeave him away upon your winged thoughts\\r\\nAthwart the sea. Behold, the English beach\\r\\nPales in the flood with men, with wives and boys,\\r\\nWhose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth’d sea,\\r\\nWhich like a mighty whiffler ’fore the King\\r\\nSeems to prepare his way. So let him land,\\r\\nAnd solemnly see him set on to London.\\r\\nSo swift a pace hath thought that even now\\r\\nYou may imagine him upon Blackheath,\\r\\nWhere that his lords desire him to have borne\\r\\nHis bruised helmet and his bended sword\\r\\nBefore him through the city. He forbids it,\\r\\nBeing free from vainness and self-glorious pride;\\r\\nGiving full trophy, signal, and ostent\\r\\nQuite from himself to God. But now behold,\\r\\nIn the quick forge and working-house of thought,\\r\\nHow London doth pour out her citizens!\\r\\nThe mayor and all his brethren in best sort,\\r\\nLike to the senators of th’ antique Rome,\\r\\nWith the plebeians swarming at their heels,\\r\\nGo forth and fetch their conquering Caesar in;\\r\\nAs, by a lower but loving likelihood,\\r\\nWere now the general of our gracious empress,\\r\\nAs in good time he may, from Ireland coming,\\r\\nBringing rebellion broached on his sword,\\r\\nHow many would the peaceful city quit,\\r\\nTo welcome him! Much more, and much more cause,\\r\\nDid they this Harry. Now in London place him;\\r\\nAs yet the lamentation of the French\\r\\nInvites the King of England’s stay at home,\\r\\nThe Emperor’s coming in behalf of France,\\r\\nTo order peace between them;—and omit\\r\\nAll the occurrences, whatever chanc’d,\\r\\nTill Harry’s back-return again to France.\\r\\nThere must we bring him; and myself have play’d\\r\\nThe interim, by rememb’ring you ’tis past.\\r\\nThen brook abridgement, and your eyes advance\\r\\nAfter your thoughts, straight back again to France.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. France. The English camp.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fluellen and Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nNay, that’s right; but why wear you your leek today?\\r\\nSaint Davy’s day is past.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nThere is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all things. I will\\r\\ntell you ass my friend, Captain Gower. The rascally, scald, beggarly,\\r\\nlousy, pragging knave, Pistol, which you and yourself and all the world\\r\\nknow to be no petter than a fellow, look you now, of no merits, he is\\r\\ncome to me and prings me pread and salt yesterday, look you, and bid me\\r\\neat my leek. It was in a place where I could not breed no contention\\r\\nwith him; but I will be so bold as to wear it in my cap till I see him\\r\\nonce again, and then I will tell him a little piece of my desires.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pistol.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nWhy, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\n’Tis no matter for his swellings nor his turkey-cocks. God pless you,\\r\\nAnchient Pistol! you scurvy, lousy knave, God pless you!\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nHa! art thou bedlam? Dost thou thirst, base Trojan,\\r\\nTo have me fold up Parca’s fatal web?\\r\\nHence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nI peseech you heartily, scurfy, lousy knave, at my desires, and my\\r\\nrequests, and my petitions, to eat, look you, this leek. Because, look\\r\\nyou, you do not love it, nor your affections and your appetites and\\r\\nyour digestions does not agree with it, I would desire you to eat it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nNot for Cadwallader and all his goats.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nThere is one goat for you. [_Strikes him._] Will you be so good, scald\\r\\nknave, as eat it?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nBase Trojan, thou shalt die.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nYou say very true, scald knave, when God’s will is. I will desire you\\r\\nto live in the mean time, and eat your victuals. Come, there is sauce\\r\\nfor it. [_Strikes him._] You call’d me yesterday mountain-squire; but I\\r\\nwill make you today a squire of low degree. I pray you, fall to; if you\\r\\ncan mock a leek, you can eat a leek.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nEnough, captain; you have astonish’d him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nI say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I will peat his\\r\\npate four days. Bite, I pray you; it is good for your green wound and\\r\\nyour ploody coxcomb.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nMust I bite?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nYes, certainly, and out of doubt and out of question too, and\\r\\nambiguities.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nBy this leek, I will most horribly revenge. I eat and eat, I swear—\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nEat, I pray you. Will you have some more sauce to your leek? There is\\r\\nnot enough leek to swear by.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nQuiet thy cudgel; thou dost see I eat.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nMuch good do you, scald knave, heartily. Nay, pray you, throw none\\r\\naway; the skin is good for your broken coxcomb. When you take occasions\\r\\nto see leeks hereafter, I pray you, mock at ’em; that is all.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nGood.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nAy, leeks is good. Hold you, there is a groat to heal your pate.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nMe a groat!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nYes, verily and in truth you shall take it; or I have another leek in\\r\\nmy pocket, which you shall eat.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nI take thy groat in earnest of revenge.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nIf I owe you anything I will pay you in cudgels. You shall be a\\r\\nwoodmonger, and buy nothing of me but cudgels. God be wi’ you, and keep\\r\\nyou, and heal your pate.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nAll hell shall stir for this.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nGo, go; you are a couterfeit cowardly knave. Will you mock at an\\r\\nancient tradition, begun upon an honourable respect, and worn as a\\r\\nmemorable trophy of predeceased valour, and dare not avouch in your\\r\\ndeeds any of your words? I have seen you gleeking and galling at this\\r\\ngentleman twice or thrice. You thought, because he could not speak\\r\\nEnglish in the native garb, he could not therefore handle an English\\r\\ncudgel. You find it otherwise; and henceforth let a Welsh correction\\r\\nteach you a good English condition. Fare ye well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nDoth Fortune play the huswife with me now?\\r\\nNews have I, that my Doll is dead i’ the spital\\r\\nOf malady of France;\\r\\nAnd there my rendezvous is quite cut off.\\r\\nOld I do wax; and from my weary limbs\\r\\nHonour is cudgell’d. Well, bawd I’ll turn,\\r\\nAnd something lean to cutpurse of quick hand.\\r\\nTo England will I steal, and there I’ll steal;\\r\\nAnd patches will I get unto these cudgell’d scars,\\r\\nAnd swear I got them in the Gallia wars.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. France. A royal palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter at one door, King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, Warwick, Gloucester,\\r\\n Westmorland, Clarence, Huntingdon and other Lords. At another, Queen\\r\\n Isabel, the French King, the Princess Katharine, Alice, and other\\r\\n Ladies; the Duke of Burgundy and other French.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nPeace to this meeting, wherefore we are met!\\r\\nUnto our brother France, and to our sister,\\r\\nHealth and fair time of day; joy and good wishes\\r\\nTo our most fair and princely cousin Katharine;\\r\\nAnd, as a branch and member of this royalty,\\r\\nBy whom this great assembly is contriv’d,\\r\\nWe do salute you, Duke of Burgundy;\\r\\nAnd, princes French, and peers, health to you all!\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nRight joyous are we to behold your face,\\r\\nMost worthy brother England; fairly met!\\r\\nSo are you, princes English, every one.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN ISABEL.\\r\\nSo happy be the issue, brother England,\\r\\nOf this good day and of this gracious meeting\\r\\nAs we are now glad to behold your eyes;\\r\\nYour eyes, which hitherto have borne in them\\r\\nAgainst the French that met them in their bent\\r\\nThe fatal balls of murdering basilisks.\\r\\nThe venom of such looks, we fairly hope,\\r\\nHave lost their quality; and that this day\\r\\nShall change all griefs and quarrels into love.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nTo cry amen to that, thus we appear.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN ISABEL.\\r\\nYou English princes all, I do salute you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nMy duty to you both, on equal love,\\r\\nGreat Kings of France and England! That I have labour’d,\\r\\nWith all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavours,\\r\\nTo bring your most imperial Majesties\\r\\nUnto this bar and royal interview,\\r\\nYour mightiness on both parts best can witness.\\r\\nSince then my office hath so far prevail’d\\r\\nThat, face to face and royal eye to eye,\\r\\nYou have congreeted, let it not disgrace me\\r\\nIf I demand, before this royal view,\\r\\nWhat rub or what impediment there is,\\r\\nWhy that the naked, poor, and mangled Peace,\\r\\nDear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births,\\r\\nShould not in this best garden of the world,\\r\\nOur fertile France, put up her lovely visage?\\r\\nAlas, she hath from France too long been chas’d,\\r\\nAnd all her husbandry doth lie on heaps,\\r\\nCorrupting in it own fertility.\\r\\nHer vine, the merry cheerer of the heart,\\r\\nUnpruned dies; her hedges even-pleach’d,\\r\\nLike prisoners wildly overgrown with hair,\\r\\nPut forth disorder’d twigs; her fallow leas\\r\\nThe darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory,\\r\\nDoth root upon, while that the coulter rusts\\r\\nThat should deracinate such savagery;\\r\\nThe even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth\\r\\nThe freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover,\\r\\nWanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank,\\r\\nConceives by idleness, and nothing teems\\r\\nBut hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs,\\r\\nLosing both beauty and utility;\\r\\nAnd as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges,\\r\\nDefective in their natures, grow to wildness.\\r\\nEven so our houses and ourselves and children\\r\\nHave lost, or do not learn for want of time,\\r\\nThe sciences that should become our country;\\r\\nBut grow like savages,—as soldiers will\\r\\nThat nothing do but meditate on blood,—\\r\\nTo swearing and stern looks, diffus’d attire,\\r\\nAnd everything that seems unnatural.\\r\\nWhich to reduce into our former favour\\r\\nYou are assembled; and my speech entreats\\r\\nThat I may know the let, why gentle Peace\\r\\nShould not expel these inconveniences\\r\\nAnd bless us with her former qualities.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nIf, Duke of Burgundy, you would the peace,\\r\\nWhose want gives growth to the imperfections\\r\\nWhich you have cited, you must buy that peace\\r\\nWith full accord to all our just demands;\\r\\nWhose tenours and particular effects\\r\\nYou have enschedul’d briefly in your hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nThe King hath heard them; to the which as yet\\r\\nThere is no answer made.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWell, then, the peace,\\r\\nWhich you before so urg’d, lies in his answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nI have but with a cursorary eye\\r\\nO’erglanc’d the articles. Pleaseth your Grace\\r\\nTo appoint some of your council presently\\r\\nTo sit with us once more, with better heed\\r\\nTo re-survey them, we will suddenly\\r\\nPass our accept and peremptory answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nBrother, we shall. Go, uncle Exeter,\\r\\nAnd brother Clarence, and you, brother Gloucester,\\r\\nWarwick, and Huntington, go with the King;\\r\\nAnd take with you free power to ratify,\\r\\nAugment, or alter, as your wisdoms best\\r\\nShall see advantageable for our dignity,\\r\\nAnything in or out of our demands,\\r\\nAnd we’ll consign thereto. Will you, fair sister,\\r\\nGo with the princes, or stay here with us?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN ISABEL.\\r\\nOur gracious brother, I will go with them.\\r\\nHaply a woman’s voice may do some good,\\r\\nWhen articles too nicely urg’d be stood on.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nYet leave our cousin Katharine here with us:\\r\\nShe is our capital demand, compris’d\\r\\nWithin the fore-rank of our articles.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN ISABEL.\\r\\nShe hath good leave.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all except Henry, Katharine and Alice._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nFair Katharine, and most fair,\\r\\nWill you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms\\r\\nSuch as will enter at a lady’s ear\\r\\nAnd plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nYour Majesty shall mock me; I cannot speak your England.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nO fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly with your French heart, I\\r\\nwill be glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your English tongue.\\r\\nDo you like me, Kate?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Pardonnez-moi_, I cannot tell wat is “like me.”\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nAn angel is like you, Kate, and you are like an angel.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Que dit-il? Que je suis semblable à les anges?_\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_Oui, vraiment, sauf votre Grâce, ainsi dit-il._\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI said so, dear Katharine; and I must not blush to affirm it.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_O bon Dieu! les langues des hommes sont pleines de tromperies._\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWhat says she, fair one? That the tongues of men are full of deceits?\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_Oui_, dat de tongues of de mans is be full of deceits: dat is de\\r\\nPrincess.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThe Princess is the better Englishwoman. I’ faith, Kate, my wooing is\\r\\nfit for thy understanding. I am glad thou canst speak no better\\r\\nEnglish; for if thou couldst, thou wouldst find me such a plain king\\r\\nthat thou wouldst think I had sold my farm to buy my crown. I know no\\r\\nways to mince it in love, but directly to say, “I love you”; then if\\r\\nyou urge me farther than to say, “Do you in faith?” I wear out my suit.\\r\\nGive me your answer; i’ faith, do; and so clap hands and a bargain. How\\r\\nsay you, lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Sauf votre honneur_, me understand well.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nMarry, if you would put me to verses, or to dance for your sake, Kate,\\r\\nwhy you undid me; for the one, I have neither words nor measure, and\\r\\nfor the other I have no strength in measure, yet a reasonable measure\\r\\nin strength. If I could win a lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my\\r\\nsaddle with my armour on my back, under the correction of bragging be\\r\\nit spoken, I should quickly leap into a wife. Or if I might buffet for\\r\\nmy love, or bound my horse for her favours, I could lay on like a\\r\\nbutcher and sit like a jack-an-apes, never off. But, before God, Kate,\\r\\nI cannot look greenly, nor gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning\\r\\nin protestation; only downright oaths, which I never use till urg’d,\\r\\nnor never break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of this temper,\\r\\nKate, whose face is not worth sunburning, that never looks in his glass\\r\\nfor love of anything he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook. I speak\\r\\nto thee plain soldier. If thou canst love me for this, take me; if not,\\r\\nto say to thee that I shall die, is true; but for thy love, by the\\r\\nLord, no; yet I love thee too. And while thou liv’st, dear Kate, take a\\r\\nfellow of plain and uncoined constancy; for he perforce must do thee\\r\\nright, because he hath not the gift to woo in other places; for these\\r\\nfellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies’\\r\\nfavours, they do always reason themselves out again. What! a speaker is\\r\\nbut a prater: a rhyme is but a ballad. A good leg will fall; a straight\\r\\nback will stoop; a black beard will turn white; a curl’d pate will grow\\r\\nbald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow; but a good\\r\\nheart, Kate, is the sun and the moon; or rather the sun and not the\\r\\nmoon; for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps his course\\r\\ntruly. If thou would have such a one, take me; and take me, take a\\r\\nsoldier; take a soldier, take a king. And what say’st thou then to my\\r\\nlove? Speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nIs it possible dat I should love de enemy of France?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNo; it is not possible you should love the enemy of France, Kate; but,\\r\\nin loving me, you should love the friend of France; for I love France\\r\\nso well that I will not part with a village of it, I will have it all\\r\\nmine; and, Kate, when France is mine and I am yours, then yours is\\r\\nFrance and you are mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nI cannot tell wat is dat.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNo, Kate? I will tell thee in French; which I am sure will hang upon my\\r\\ntongue like a new-married wife about her husband’s neck, hardly to be\\r\\nshook off. _Je quand sur le possession de France, et quand vous avez le\\r\\npossession de moi_,—let me see, what then? Saint Denis be my\\r\\nspeed!—_donc votre est France, et vous êtes mienne._ It is as easy for\\r\\nme, Kate, to conquer the kingdom as to speak so much more French. I\\r\\nshall never move thee in French, unless it be to laugh at me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Sauf votre honneur, le français que vous parlez, il est meilleur que\\r\\nl’anglais lequel je parle._\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNo, faith, is’t not, Kate; but thy speaking of my tongue, and I thine,\\r\\nmost truly-falsely, must needs be granted to be much at one. But, Kate,\\r\\ndost thou understand thus much English: canst thou love me?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nI cannot tell.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nCan any of your neighbours tell, Kate? I’ll ask them. Come, I know thou\\r\\nlovest me; and at night, when you come into your closet, you’ll\\r\\nquestion this gentlewoman about me; and I know, Kate, you will to her\\r\\ndispraise those parts in me that you love with your heart. But, good\\r\\nKate, mock me mercifully; the rather, gentle princess, because I love\\r\\nthee cruelly. If ever thou beest mine, Kate, as I have a saving faith\\r\\nwithin me tells me thou shalt, I get thee with scambling, and thou must\\r\\ntherefore needs prove a good soldier-breeder. Shall not thou and I,\\r\\nbetween Saint Denis and Saint George, compound a boy, half French, half\\r\\nEnglish, that shall go to Constantinople and take the Turk by the\\r\\nbeard? Shall we not? What say’st thou, my fair flower-de-luce?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nI do not know dat.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNo; ’tis hereafter to know, but now to promise. Do but now promise,\\r\\nKate, you will endeavour for your French part of such a boy; and for my\\r\\nEnglish moiety, take the word of a king and a bachelor. How answer you,\\r\\n_la plus belle Katherine du monde, mon très cher et divin déesse?_\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nYour Majestee ’ave _fausse_ French enough to deceive de most _sage\\r\\ndemoiselle_ dat is _en France_.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNow, fie upon my false French! By mine honour, in true English, I love\\r\\nthee, Kate; by which honour I dare not swear thou lovest me; yet my\\r\\nblood begins to flatter me that thou dost, notwithstanding the poor and\\r\\nuntempering effect of my visage. Now, beshrew my father’s ambition! He\\r\\nwas thinking of civil wars when he got me; therefore was I created with\\r\\na stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, that, when I come to woo\\r\\nladies, I fright them. But, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the better\\r\\nI shall appear. My comfort is, that old age, that ill layer up of\\r\\nbeauty, can do no more spoil upon my face. Thou hast me, if thou hast\\r\\nme, at the worst; and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and\\r\\nbetter; and therefore tell me, most fair Katharine, will you have me?\\r\\nPut off your maiden blushes; avouch the thoughts of your heart with the\\r\\nlooks of an empress; take me by the hand, and say, Harry of England, I\\r\\nam thine; which word thou shalt no sooner bless mine ear withal, but I\\r\\nwill tell thee aloud, England is thine, Ireland is thine, France is\\r\\nthine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine; who, though I speak it before\\r\\nhis face, if he be not fellow with the best king, thou shalt find the\\r\\nbest king of good fellows. Come, your answer in broken music; for thy\\r\\nvoice is music and thy English broken; therefore, queen of all,\\r\\nKatharine, break thy mind to me in broken English. Wilt thou have me?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nDat is as it shall please _le roi mon père_.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNay, it will please him well, Kate; it shall please him, Kate.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nDen it sall also content me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nUpon that I kiss your hand, and call you my queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez! Ma foi, je ne veux point que\\r\\nvous abaissiez votre grandeur en baisant la main d’une—Notre\\r\\nSeigneur!—indigne serviteur. Excusez-moi, je vous supplie, mon\\r\\ntrès-puissant seigneur._\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThen I will kiss your lips, Kate.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Les dames et demoiselles pour être baisées devant leurs noces, il\\r\\nn’est pas la coutume de France._\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nMadame my interpreter, what says she?\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\nDat it is not be de fashion _pour les_ ladies of France,—I cannot tell\\r\\nwat is _baiser en_ Anglish.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nTo kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\nYour Majestee _entend_ bettre _que moi_.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nIt is not a fashion for the maids in France to kiss before they are\\r\\nmarried, would she say?\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_Oui, vraiment._\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nO Kate, nice customs curtsy to great kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot\\r\\nbe confined within the weak list of a country’s fashion. We are the\\r\\nmakers of manners, Kate; and the liberty that follows our places stops\\r\\nthe mouth of all find-faults, as I will do yours, for upholding the\\r\\nnice fashion of your country in denying me a kiss; therefore, patiently\\r\\nand yielding. [_Kissing her._] You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate;\\r\\nthere is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in the tongues of\\r\\nthe French council; and they should sooner persuade Harry of England\\r\\nthan a general petition of monarchs. Here comes your father.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the French Power and the English Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nGod save your Majesty! My royal cousin, teach you our princess English?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI would have her learn, my fair cousin, how perfectly I love her; and\\r\\nthat is good English.\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nIs she not apt?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nOur tongue is rough, coz, and my condition is not smooth; so that,\\r\\nhaving neither the voice nor the heart of flattery about me, I cannot\\r\\nso conjure up the spirit of love in her, that he will appear in his\\r\\ntrue likeness.\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nPardon the frankness of my mirth, if I answer you for that. If you\\r\\nwould conjure in her, you must make a circle; if conjure up Love in her\\r\\nin his true likeness, he must appear naked and blind. Can you blame her\\r\\nthen, being a maid yet ros’d over with the virgin crimson of modesty,\\r\\nif she deny the appearance of a naked blind boy in her naked seeing\\r\\nself? It were, my lord, a hard condition for a maid to consign to.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nYet they do wink and yield, as love is blind and enforces.\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nThey are then excus’d, my lord, when they see not what they do.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThen, good my lord, teach your cousin to consent winking.\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nI will wink on her to consent, my lord, if you will teach her to know\\r\\nmy meaning; for maids, well summer’d and warm kept, are like flies at\\r\\nBartholomew-tide, blind, though they have their eyes; and then they\\r\\nwill endure handling, which before would not abide looking on.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThis moral ties me over to time and a hot summer; and so I shall catch\\r\\nthe fly, your cousin, in the latter end, and she must be blind too.\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nAs love is, my lord, before it loves.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nIt is so; and you may, some of you, thank love for my blindness, who\\r\\ncannot see many a fair French city for one fair French maid that stands\\r\\nin my way.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nYes, my lord, you see them perspectively, the cities turn’d into a\\r\\nmaid; for they are all girdled with maiden walls that no war hath\\r\\nentered.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nShall Kate be my wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nSo please you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI am content, so the maiden cities you talk of may wait on her; so the\\r\\nmaid that stood in the way for my wish shall show me the way to my\\r\\nwill.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nWe have consented to all terms of reason.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nIs’t so, my lords of England?\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORLAND.\\r\\nThe king hath granted every article;\\r\\nHis daughter first, and then in sequel all,\\r\\nAccording to their firm proposed natures.\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nOnly he hath not yet subscribed this: where your Majesty demands, that\\r\\nthe King of France, having any occasion to write for matter of grant,\\r\\nshall name your Highness in this form and with this addition, in\\r\\nFrench, _Notre très-cher fils Henri, Roi d’Angleterre, Héritier de\\r\\nFrance_; and thus in Latin, _Praeclarissimus filius noster Henricus,\\r\\nrex Angliae et haeres Franciae._\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nNor this I have not, brother, so denied\\r\\nBut our request shall make me let it pass.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI pray you then, in love and dear alliance,\\r\\nLet that one article rank with the rest;\\r\\nAnd thereupon give me your daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nTake her, fair son, and from her blood raise up\\r\\nIssue to me; that the contending kingdoms\\r\\nOf France and England, whose very shores look pale\\r\\nWith envy of each other’s happiness,\\r\\nMay cease their hatred; and this dear conjunction\\r\\nPlant neighbourhood and Christian-like accord\\r\\nIn their sweet bosoms, that never war advance\\r\\nHis bleeding sword ’twixt England and fair France.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORDS.\\r\\nAmen!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNow, welcome, Kate; and bear me witness all,\\r\\nThat here I kiss her as my sovereign queen.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Flourish._]\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN ISABEL.\\r\\nGod, the best maker of all marriages,\\r\\nCombine your hearts in one, your realms in one!\\r\\nAs man and wife, being two, are one in love,\\r\\nSo be there ’twixt your kingdoms such a spousal,\\r\\nThat never may ill office, or fell jealousy,\\r\\nWhich troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage,\\r\\nThrust in between the paction of these kingdoms,\\r\\nTo make divorce of their incorporate league;\\r\\nThat English may as French, French Englishmen,\\r\\nReceive each other. God speak this Amen!\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nAmen!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nPrepare we for our marriage; on which day,\\r\\nMy Lord of Burgundy, we’ll take your oath,\\r\\nAnd all the peers’, for surety of our leagues,\\r\\nThen shall I swear to Kate, and you to me;\\r\\nAnd may our oaths well kept and prosperous be!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sennet. Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEPILOGUE.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nThus far, with rough and all-unable pen,\\r\\nOur bending author hath pursu’d the story,\\r\\nIn little room confining mighty men,\\r\\nMangling by starts the full course of their glory.\\r\\nSmall time, but in that small most greatly lived\\r\\nThis star of England. Fortune made his sword,\\r\\nBy which the world’s best garden he achieved,\\r\\nAnd of it left his son imperial lord.\\r\\nHenry the Sixth, in infant bands crown’d King\\r\\nOf France and England, did this king succeed;\\r\\nWhose state so many had the managing,\\r\\nThat they lost France and made his England bleed:\\r\\nWhich oft our stage hath shown; and, for their sake,\\r\\nIn your fair minds let this acceptance take.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE FIRST PART OF HENRY THE SIXTH\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personae\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY THE SIXTH\\r\\n DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, uncle to the King, and Protector\\r\\n DUKE OF BEDFORD, uncle to the King, and Regent of France\\r\\n THOMAS BEAUFORT, DUKE OF EXETER, great-uncle to the king\\r\\n HENRY BEAUFORT, great-uncle to the King, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER,\\r\\n and afterwards CARDINAL\\r\\n JOHN BEAUFORT, EARL OF SOMERSET, afterwards Duke\\r\\n RICHARD PLANTAGENET, son of Richard late Earl of Cambridge,\\r\\n afterwards DUKE OF YORK\\r\\n EARL OF WARWICK\\r\\n EARL OF SALISBURY\\r\\n EARL OF SUFFOLK\\r\\n LORD TALBOT, afterwards EARL OF SHREWSBURY\\r\\n JOHN TALBOT, his son\\r\\n EDMUND MORTIMER, EARL OF MARCH\\r\\n SIR JOHN FASTOLFE\\r\\n SIR WILLIAM LUCY\\r\\n SIR WILLIAM GLANSDALE\\r\\n SIR THOMAS GARGRAVE\\r\\n MAYOR of LONDON\\r\\n WOODVILLE, Lieutenant of the Tower\\r\\n VERNON, of the White Rose or York faction\\r\\n BASSET, of the Red Rose or Lancaster faction\\r\\n A LAWYER\\r\\n GAOLERS, to Mortimer\\r\\n CHARLES, Dauphin, and afterwards King of France\\r\\n REIGNIER, DUKE OF ANJOU, and titular King of Naples\\r\\n DUKE OF BURGUNDY\\r\\n DUKE OF ALENCON\\r\\n BASTARD OF ORLEANS\\r\\n GOVERNOR OF PARIS\\r\\n MASTER-GUNNER OF ORLEANS, and his SON\\r\\n GENERAL OF THE FRENCH FORCES in Bordeaux\\r\\n A FRENCH SERGEANT\\r\\n A PORTER\\r\\n AN OLD SHEPHERD, father to Joan la Pucelle\\r\\n MARGARET, daughter to Reignier, afterwards married to\\r\\n King Henry\\r\\n COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE\\r\\n JOAN LA PUCELLE, Commonly called JOAN OF ARC\\r\\n\\r\\n Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers,\\r\\n Messengers, English and French Attendants. Fiends appearing\\r\\n to La Pucelle\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: England and France\\r\\n\\r\\nThe First Part of King Henry the Sixth\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nWestminster Abbey\\r\\n\\r\\nDead March. Enter the funeral of KING HENRY THE FIFTH, attended on by\\r\\nthe DUKE OF BEDFORD, Regent of France, the DUKE OF GLOUCESTER,\\r\\nProtector, the DUKE OF EXETER, the EARL OF WARWICK, the BISHOP OF\\r\\nWINCHESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n BEDFORD. Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to\\r\\n night! Comets, importing change of times and states,\\r\\n Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky\\r\\n And with them scourge the bad revolting stars\\r\\n That have consented unto Henry\\'s death!\\r\\n King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long!\\r\\n England ne\\'er lost a king of so much worth.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. England ne\\'er had a king until his time.\\r\\n Virtue he had, deserving to command;\\r\\n His brandish\\'d sword did blind men with his beams;\\r\\n His arms spread wider than a dragon\\'s wings;\\r\\n His sparkling eyes, replete with wrathful fire,\\r\\n More dazzled and drove back his enemies\\r\\n Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces.\\r\\n What should I say? His deeds exceed all speech:\\r\\n He ne\\'er lift up his hand but conquered.\\r\\n EXETER. We mourn in black; why mourn we not in blood?\\r\\n Henry is dead and never shall revive.\\r\\n Upon a wooden coffin we attend;\\r\\n And death\\'s dishonourable victory\\r\\n We with our stately presence glorify,\\r\\n Like captives bound to a triumphant car.\\r\\n What! shall we curse the planets of mishap\\r\\n That plotted thus our glory\\'s overthrow?\\r\\n Or shall we think the subtle-witted French\\r\\n Conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him,\\r\\n By magic verses have contriv\\'d his end?\\r\\n WINCHESTER. He was a king bless\\'d of the King of kings;\\r\\n Unto the French the dreadful judgment-day\\r\\n So dreadful will not be as was his sight.\\r\\n The battles of the Lord of Hosts he fought;\\r\\n The Church\\'s prayers made him so prosperous.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The Church! Where is it? Had not churchmen\\r\\n pray\\'d,\\r\\n His thread of life had not so soon decay\\'d.\\r\\n None do you like but an effeminate prince,\\r\\n Whom like a school-boy you may overawe.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Gloucester, whate\\'er we like, thou art\\r\\n Protector\\r\\n And lookest to command the Prince and realm.\\r\\n Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe\\r\\n More than God or religious churchmen may.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Name not religion, for thou lov\\'st the flesh;\\r\\n And ne\\'er throughout the year to church thou go\\'st,\\r\\n Except it be to pray against thy foes.\\r\\n BEDFORD. Cease, cease these jars and rest your minds in peace;\\r\\n Let\\'s to the altar. Heralds, wait on us.\\r\\n Instead of gold, we\\'ll offer up our arms,\\r\\n Since arms avail not, now that Henry\\'s dead.\\r\\n Posterity, await for wretched years,\\r\\n When at their mothers\\' moist\\'ned eyes babes shall suck,\\r\\n Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears,\\r\\n And none but women left to wail the dead.\\r\\n HENRY the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate:\\r\\n Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils,\\r\\n Combat with adverse planets in the heavens.\\r\\n A far more glorious star thy soul will make\\r\\n Than Julius Caesar or bright\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. My honourable lords, health to you all!\\r\\n Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,\\r\\n Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture:\\r\\n Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans,\\r\\n Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost.\\r\\n BEDFORD. What say\\'st thou, man, before dead Henry\\'s corse?\\r\\n Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns\\r\\n Will make him burst his lead and rise from death.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Is Paris lost? Is Rouen yielded up?\\r\\n If Henry were recall\\'d to life again,\\r\\n These news would cause him once more yield the ghost.\\r\\n EXETER. How were they lost? What treachery was us\\'d?\\r\\n MESSENGER. No treachery, but want of men and money.\\r\\n Amongst the soldiers this is muttered\\r\\n That here you maintain several factions;\\r\\n And whilst a field should be dispatch\\'d and fought,\\r\\n You are disputing of your generals:\\r\\n One would have ling\\'ring wars, with little cost;\\r\\n Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings;\\r\\n A third thinks, without expense at all,\\r\\n By guileful fair words peace may be obtain\\'d.\\r\\n Awake, awake, English nobility!\\r\\n Let not sloth dim your honours, new-begot.\\r\\n Cropp\\'d are the flower-de-luces in your arms;\\r\\n Of England\\'s coat one half is cut away.\\r\\n EXETER. Were our tears wanting to this funeral,\\r\\n These tidings would call forth their flowing tides.\\r\\n BEDFORD. Me they concern; Regent I am of France.\\r\\n Give me my steeled coat; I\\'ll fight for France.\\r\\n Away with these disgraceful wailing robes!\\r\\n Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes,\\r\\n To weep their intermissive miseries.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a second MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND MESSENGER. Lords, view these letters full of bad\\r\\n mischance.\\r\\n France is revolted from the English quite,\\r\\n Except some petty towns of no import.\\r\\n The Dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheims;\\r\\n The Bastard of Orleans with him is join\\'d;\\r\\n Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part;\\r\\n The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side.\\r\\n EXETER. The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him!\\r\\n O, whither shall we fly from this reproach?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. We will not fly but to our enemies\\' throats.\\r\\n Bedford, if thou be slack I\\'ll fight it out.\\r\\n BEDFORD. Gloucester, why doubt\\'st thou of my forwardness?\\r\\n An army have I muster\\'d in my thoughts,\\r\\n Wherewith already France is overrun.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a third MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n THIRD MESSENGER. My gracious lords, to add to your\\r\\n laments,\\r\\n Wherewith you now bedew King Henry\\'s hearse,\\r\\n I must inform you of a dismal fight\\r\\n Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. What! Wherein Talbot overcame? Is\\'t so?\\r\\n THIRD MESSENGER. O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was\\r\\n o\\'erthrown.\\r\\n The circumstance I\\'ll tell you more at large.\\r\\n The tenth of August last this dreadful lord,\\r\\n Retiring from the siege of Orleans,\\r\\n Having full scarce six thousand in his troop,\\r\\n By three and twenty thousand of the French\\r\\n Was round encompassed and set upon.\\r\\n No leisure had he to enrank his men;\\r\\n He wanted pikes to set before his archers;\\r\\n Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck\\'d out of hedges\\r\\n They pitched in the ground confusedly\\r\\n To keep the horsemen off from breaking in.\\r\\n More than three hours the fight continued;\\r\\n Where valiant Talbot, above human thought,\\r\\n Enacted wonders with his sword and lance:\\r\\n Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him;\\r\\n Here, there, and everywhere, enrag\\'d he slew\\r\\n The French exclaim\\'d the devil was in arms;\\r\\n All the whole army stood agaz\\'d on him.\\r\\n His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit,\\r\\n \\'A Talbot! a Talbot!\\' cried out amain,\\r\\n And rush\\'d into the bowels of the battle.\\r\\n Here had the conquest fully been seal\\'d up\\r\\n If Sir John Fastolfe had not play\\'d the coward.\\r\\n He, being in the vaward plac\\'d behind\\r\\n With purpose to relieve and follow them-\\r\\n Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke;\\r\\n Hence grew the general wreck and massacre.\\r\\n Enclosed were they with their enemies.\\r\\n A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin\\'s grace,\\r\\n Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back;\\r\\n Whom all France, with their chief assembled strength,\\r\\n Durst not presume to look once in the face.\\r\\n BEDFORD. Is Talbot slain? Then I will slay myself,\\r\\n For living idly here in pomp and ease,\\r\\n Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid,\\r\\n Unto his dastard foemen is betray\\'d.\\r\\n THIRD MESSENGER. O no, he lives, but is took prisoner,\\r\\n And Lord Scales with him, and Lord Hungerford;\\r\\n Most of the rest slaughter\\'d or took likewise.\\r\\n BEDFORD. His ransom there is none but I shall pay.\\r\\n I\\'ll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne;\\r\\n His crown shall be the ransom of my friend;\\r\\n Four of their lords I\\'ll change for one of ours.\\r\\n Farewell, my masters; to my task will I;\\r\\n Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make\\r\\n To keep our great Saint George\\'s feast withal.\\r\\n Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take,\\r\\n Whose bloody deeds shall make an Europe quake.\\r\\n THIRD MESSENGER. So you had need; for Orleans is besieg\\'d;\\r\\n The English army is grown weak and faint;\\r\\n The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply\\r\\n And hardly keeps his men from mutiny,\\r\\n Since they, so few, watch such a multitude.\\r\\n EXETER. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn,\\r\\n Either to quell the Dauphin utterly,\\r\\n Or bring him in obedience to your yoke.\\r\\n BEDFORD. I do remember it, and here take my leave\\r\\n To go about my preparation. Exit\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I\\'ll to the Tower with all the haste I can\\r\\n To view th\\' artillery and munition;\\r\\n And then I will proclaim young Henry king. Exit\\r\\n EXETER. To Eltham will I, where the young King is,\\r\\n Being ordain\\'d his special governor;\\r\\n And for his safety there I\\'ll best devise. Exit\\r\\n WINCHESTER. [Aside] Each hath his place and function to\\r\\n attend:\\r\\n I am left out; for me nothing remains.\\r\\n But long I will not be Jack out of office.\\r\\n The King from Eltham I intend to steal,\\r\\n And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\n France. Before Orleans\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound a flourish. Enter CHARLES THE DAUPHIN, ALENCON,\\r\\n and REIGNIER, marching with drum and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n CHARLES. Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens\\r\\n So in the earth, to this day is not known.\\r\\n Late did he shine upon the English side;\\r\\n Now we are victors, upon us he smiles.\\r\\n What towns of any moment but we have?\\r\\n At pleasure here we lie near Orleans;\\r\\n Otherwhiles the famish\\'d English, like pale ghosts,\\r\\n Faintly besiege us one hour in a month.\\r\\n ALENCON. They want their porridge and their fat bull\\r\\n beeves.\\r\\n Either they must be dieted like mules\\r\\n And have their provender tied to their mouths,\\r\\n Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice.\\r\\n REIGNIER. Let\\'s raise the siege. Why live we idly here?\\r\\n Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear;\\r\\n Remaineth none but mad-brain\\'d Salisbury,\\r\\n And he may well in fretting spend his gall\\r\\n Nor men nor money hath he to make war.\\r\\n CHARLES. Sound, sound alarum; we will rush on them.\\r\\n Now for the honour of the forlorn French!\\r\\n Him I forgive my death that killeth me,\\r\\n When he sees me go back one foot or flee. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Here alarum. They are beaten hack by the English, with\\r\\n great loss. Re-enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER\\r\\n\\r\\n CHARLES. Who ever saw the like? What men have I!\\r\\n Dogs! cowards! dastards! I would ne\\'er have fled\\r\\n But that they left me midst my enemies.\\r\\n REIGNIER. Salisbury is a desperate homicide;\\r\\n He fighteth as one weary of his life.\\r\\n The other lords, like lions wanting food,\\r\\n Do rush upon us as their hungry prey.\\r\\n ALENCON. Froissart, a countryman of ours, records\\r\\n England all Olivers and Rowlands bred\\r\\n During the time Edward the Third did reign.\\r\\n More truly now may this be verified;\\r\\n For none but Samsons and Goliases\\r\\n It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten!\\r\\n Lean raw-bon\\'d rascals! Who would e\\'er suppose\\r\\n They had such courage and audacity?\\r\\n CHARLES. Let\\'s leave this town; for they are hare-brain\\'d\\r\\n slaves,\\r\\n And hunger will enforce them to be more eager.\\r\\n Of old I know them; rather with their teeth\\r\\n The walls they\\'ll tear down than forsake the siege.\\r\\n REIGNIER. I think by some odd gimmers or device\\r\\n Their arms are set, like clocks, still to strike on;\\r\\n Else ne\\'er could they hold out so as they do.\\r\\n By my consent, we\\'ll even let them alone.\\r\\n ALENCON. Be it so.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS\\r\\n\\r\\n BASTARD. Where\\'s the Prince Dauphin? I have news for him.\\r\\n CHARLES. Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us.\\r\\n BASTARD. Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer appall\\'d.\\r\\n Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence?\\r\\n Be not dismay\\'d, for succour is at hand.\\r\\n A holy maid hither with me I bring,\\r\\n Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven,\\r\\n Ordained is to raise this tedious siege\\r\\n And drive the English forth the bounds of France.\\r\\n The spirit of deep prophecy she hath,\\r\\n Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome:\\r\\n What\\'s past and what\\'s to come she can descry.\\r\\n Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words,\\r\\n For they are certain and unfallible.\\r\\n CHARLES. Go, call her in. [Exit BASTARD]\\r\\n But first, to try her skill,\\r\\n Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place;\\r\\n Question her proudly; let thy looks be stern;\\r\\n By this means shall we sound what skill she hath.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS with\\r\\n JOAN LA PUCELLE\\r\\n\\r\\n REIGNIER. Fair maid, is \\'t thou wilt do these wondrous feats?\\r\\n PUCELLE. Reignier, is \\'t thou that thinkest to beguile me?\\r\\n Where is the Dauphin? Come, come from behind;\\r\\n I know thee well, though never seen before.\\r\\n Be not amaz\\'d, there\\'s nothing hid from me.\\r\\n In private will I talk with thee apart.\\r\\n Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile.\\r\\n REIGNIER. She takes upon her bravely at first dash.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd\\'s daughter,\\r\\n My wit untrain\\'d in any kind of art.\\r\\n Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleas\\'d\\r\\n To shine on my contemptible estate.\\r\\n Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs\\r\\n And to sun\\'s parching heat display\\'d my cheeks,\\r\\n God\\'s Mother deigned to appear to me,\\r\\n And in a vision full of majesty\\r\\n Will\\'d me to leave my base vocation\\r\\n And free my country from calamity\\r\\n Her aid she promis\\'d and assur\\'d success.\\r\\n In complete glory she reveal\\'d herself;\\r\\n And whereas I was black and swart before,\\r\\n With those clear rays which she infus\\'d on me\\r\\n That beauty am I bless\\'d with which you may see.\\r\\n Ask me what question thou canst possible,\\r\\n And I will answer unpremeditated.\\r\\n My courage try by combat if thou dar\\'st,\\r\\n And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex.\\r\\n Resolve on this: thou shalt be fortunate\\r\\n If thou receive me for thy warlike mate.\\r\\n CHARLES. Thou hast astonish\\'d me with thy high terms.\\r\\n Only this proof I\\'ll of thy valour make\\r\\n In single combat thou shalt buckle with me;\\r\\n And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true;\\r\\n Otherwise I renounce all confidence.\\r\\n PUCELLE. I am prepar\\'d; here is my keen-edg\\'d sword,\\r\\n Deck\\'d with five flower-de-luces on each side,\\r\\n The which at Touraine, in Saint Katherine\\'s churchyard,\\r\\n Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth.\\r\\n CHARLES. Then come, o\\' God\\'s name; I fear no woman.\\r\\n PUCELLE. And while I live I\\'ll ne\\'er fly from a man.\\r\\n [Here they fight and JOAN LA PUCELLE overcomes]\\r\\n CHARLES. Stay, stay thy hands; thou art an Amazon,\\r\\n And fightest with the sword of Deborah.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Christ\\'s Mother helps me, else I were too weak.\\r\\n CHARLES. Whoe\\'er helps thee, \\'tis thou that must help me.\\r\\n Impatiently I burn with thy desire;\\r\\n My heart and hands thou hast at once subdu\\'d.\\r\\n Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so,\\r\\n Let me thy servant and not sovereign be.\\r\\n \\'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus.\\r\\n PUCELLE. I must not yield to any rites of love,\\r\\n For my profession\\'s sacred from above.\\r\\n When I have chased all thy foes from hence,\\r\\n Then will I think upon a recompense.\\r\\n CHARLES. Meantime look gracious on thy prostrate thrall.\\r\\n REIGNIER. My lord, methinks, is very long in talk.\\r\\n ALENCON. Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock;\\r\\n Else ne\\'er could he so long protract his speech.\\r\\n REIGNIER. Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean?\\r\\n ALENCON. He may mean more than we poor men do know;\\r\\n These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues.\\r\\n REIGNIER. My lord, where are you? What devise you on?\\r\\n Shall we give o\\'er Orleans, or no?\\r\\n PUCELLE. Why, no, I say; distrustful recreants!\\r\\n Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard.\\r\\n CHARLES. What she says I\\'ll confirm; we\\'ll fight it out.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Assign\\'d am I to be the English scourge.\\r\\n This night the siege assuredly I\\'ll raise.\\r\\n Expect Saint Martin\\'s summer, halcyon days,\\r\\n Since I have entered into these wars.\\r\\n Glory is like a circle in the water,\\r\\n Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself\\r\\n Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought.\\r\\n With Henry\\'s death the English circle ends;\\r\\n Dispersed are the glories it included.\\r\\n Now am I like that proud insulting ship\\r\\n Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once.\\r\\n CHARLES. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove?\\r\\n Thou with an eagle art inspired then.\\r\\n Helen, the mother of great Constantine,\\r\\n Nor yet Saint Philip\\'s daughters were like thee.\\r\\n Bright star of Venus, fall\\'n down on the earth,\\r\\n How may I reverently worship thee enough?\\r\\n ALENCON. Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege.\\r\\n REIGNIER. Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours;\\r\\n Drive them from Orleans, and be immortaliz\\'d.\\r\\n CHARLES. Presently we\\'ll try. Come, let\\'s away about it.\\r\\n No prophet will I trust if she prove false. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\n London. Before the Tower gates\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, with his serving-men\\r\\n in blue coats\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I am come to survey the Tower this day;\\r\\n Since Henry\\'s death, I fear, there is conveyance.\\r\\n Where be these warders that they wait not here?\\r\\n Open the gates; \\'tis Gloucester that calls.\\r\\n FIRST WARDER. [Within] Who\\'s there that knocks so\\r\\n imperiously?\\r\\n FIRST SERVING-MAN. It is the noble Duke of Gloucester.\\r\\n SECOND WARDER. [Within] Whoe\\'er he be, you may not be\\r\\n let in.\\r\\n FIRST SERVING-MAN. Villains, answer you so the Lord\\r\\n Protector?\\r\\n FIRST WARDER. [Within] The Lord protect him! so we\\r\\n answer him.\\r\\n We do no otherwise than we are will\\'d.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Who willed you, or whose will stands but\\r\\n mine?\\r\\n There\\'s none Protector of the realm but I.\\r\\n Break up the gates, I\\'ll be your warrantize.\\r\\n Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms?\\r\\n [GLOUCESTER\\'S men rush at the Tower gates, and\\r\\n WOODVILLE the Lieutenant speaks within]\\r\\n WOODVILLE. [Within] What noise is this? What traitors\\r\\n have we here?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear?\\r\\n Open the gates; here\\'s Gloucester that would enter.\\r\\n WOODVILLE. [Within] Have patience, noble Duke, I may\\r\\n not open;\\r\\n The Cardinal of Winchester forbids.\\r\\n From him I have express commandment\\r\\n That thou nor none of thine shall be let in.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Faint-hearted Woodville, prizest him fore me?\\r\\n Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate\\r\\n Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne\\'er could brook!\\r\\n Thou art no friend to God or to the King.\\r\\n Open the gates, or I\\'ll shut thee out shortly.\\r\\n SERVING-MEN. Open the gates unto the Lord Protector,\\r\\n Or we\\'ll burst them open, if that you come not quickly.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter to the PROTECTOR at the Tower gates WINCHESTER\\r\\n and his men in tawny coats\\r\\n\\r\\n WINCHESTER. How now, ambitious Humphry! What means\\r\\n this?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Peel\\'d priest, dost thou command me to be\\r\\n shut out?\\r\\n WINCHESTER. I do, thou most usurping proditor,\\r\\n And not Protector of the King or realm.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Stand back, thou manifest conspirator,\\r\\n Thou that contrived\\'st to murder our dead lord;\\r\\n Thou that giv\\'st whores indulgences to sin.\\r\\n I\\'ll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal\\'s hat,\\r\\n If thou proceed in this thy insolence.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Nay, stand thou back; I will not budge a foot.\\r\\n This be Damascus; be thou cursed Cain,\\r\\n To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I will not slay thee, but I\\'ll drive thee back.\\r\\n Thy scarlet robes as a child\\'s bearing-cloth\\r\\n I\\'ll use to carry thee out of this place.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Do what thou dar\\'st; I beard thee to thy face.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What! am I dar\\'d and bearded to my face?\\r\\n Draw, men, for all this privileged place\\r\\n Blue-coats to tawny-coats. Priest, beware your beard;\\r\\n I mean to tug it, and to cuff you soundly;\\r\\n Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal\\'s hat;\\r\\n In spite of Pope or dignities of church,\\r\\n Here by the cheeks I\\'ll drag thee up and down.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Gloucester, thou wilt answer this before the\\r\\n Pope.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Winchester goose! I cry \\'A rope, a rope!\\'\\r\\n Now beat them hence; why do you let them stay?\\r\\n Thee I\\'ll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep\\'s array.\\r\\n Out, tawny-coats! Out, scarlet hypocrite!\\r\\n\\r\\n Here GLOUCESTER\\'S men beat out the CARDINAL\\'S\\r\\n men; and enter in the hurly burly the MAYOR OF\\r\\n LONDON and his OFFICERS\\r\\n\\r\\n MAYOR. Fie, lords! that you, being supreme magistrates,\\r\\n Thus contumeliously should break the peace!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Peace, Mayor! thou know\\'st little of my wrongs:\\r\\n Here\\'s Beaufort, that regards nor God nor King,\\r\\n Hath here distrain\\'d the Tower to his use.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Here\\'s Gloucester, a foe to citizens;\\r\\n One that still motions war and never peace,\\r\\n O\\'ercharging your free purses with large fines;\\r\\n That seeks to overthrow religion,\\r\\n Because he is Protector of the realm,\\r\\n And would have armour here out of the Tower,\\r\\n To crown himself King and suppress the Prince.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I Will not answer thee with words, but blows.\\r\\n [Here they skirmish again]\\r\\n MAYOR. Nought rests for me in this tumultuous strife\\r\\n But to make open proclamation.\\r\\n Come, officer, as loud as e\\'er thou canst,\\r\\n Cry.\\r\\n OFFICER. [Cries] All manner of men assembled here in arms\\r\\n this day against God\\'s peace and the King\\'s, we charge\\r\\n and command you, in his Highness\\' name, to repair to\\r\\n your several dwelling-places; and not to wear, handle, or\\r\\n use, any sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon\\r\\n pain of death.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Cardinal, I\\'ll be no breaker of the law;\\r\\n But we shall meet and break our minds at large.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Gloucester, we\\'ll meet to thy cost, be sure;\\r\\n Thy heart-blood I will have for this day\\'s work.\\r\\n MAYOR. I\\'ll call for clubs if you will not away.\\r\\n This Cardinal\\'s more haughty than the devil.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Mayor, farewell; thou dost but what thou\\r\\n mayst.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Abominable Gloucester, guard thy head,\\r\\n For I intend to have it ere long.\\r\\n Exeunt, severally, GLOUCESTER and WINCHESTER\\r\\n with their servants\\r\\n MAYOR. See the coast clear\\'d, and then we will depart.\\r\\n Good God, these nobles should such stomachs bear!\\r\\n I myself fight not once in forty year. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\n France. Before Orleans\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, on the walls, the MASTER-GUNNER\\r\\n OF ORLEANS and his BOY\\r\\n\\r\\n MASTER-GUNNER. Sirrah, thou know\\'st how Orleans is\\r\\n besieg\\'d,\\r\\n And how the English have the suburbs won.\\r\\n BOY. Father, I know; and oft have shot at them,\\r\\n Howe\\'er unfortunate I miss\\'d my aim.\\r\\n MASTER-GUNNER. But now thou shalt not. Be thou rul\\'d\\r\\n by me.\\r\\n Chief master-gunner am I of this town;\\r\\n Something I must do to procure me grace.\\r\\n The Prince\\'s espials have informed me\\r\\n How the English, in the suburbs close intrench\\'d,\\r\\n Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars\\r\\n In yonder tower, to overpeer the city,\\r\\n And thence discover how with most advantage\\r\\n They may vex us with shot or with assault.\\r\\n To intercept this inconvenience,\\r\\n A piece of ordnance \\'gainst it I have plac\\'d;\\r\\n And even these three days have I watch\\'d\\r\\n If I could see them. Now do thou watch,\\r\\n For I can stay no longer.\\r\\n If thou spy\\'st any, run and bring me word;\\r\\n And thou shalt find me at the Governor\\'s. Exit\\r\\n BOY. Father, I warrant you; take you no care;\\r\\n I\\'ll never trouble you, if I may spy them. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SALISBURY and TALBOT on the turrets, with\\r\\n SIR WILLIAM GLANSDALE, SIR THOMAS GARGRAVE,\\r\\n and others\\r\\n\\r\\n SALISBURY. Talbot, my life, my joy, again return\\'d!\\r\\n How wert thou handled being prisoner?\\r\\n Or by what means got\\'st thou to be releas\\'d?\\r\\n Discourse, I prithee, on this turret\\'s top.\\r\\n TALBOT. The Earl of Bedford had a prisoner\\r\\n Call\\'d the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles;\\r\\n For him was I exchang\\'d and ransomed.\\r\\n But with a baser man of arms by far\\r\\n Once, in contempt, they would have barter\\'d me;\\r\\n Which I disdaining scorn\\'d, and craved death\\r\\n Rather than I would be so vile esteem\\'d.\\r\\n In fine, redeem\\'d I was as I desir\\'d.\\r\\n But, O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart\\r\\n Whom with my bare fists I would execute,\\r\\n If I now had him brought into my power.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Yet tell\\'st thou not how thou wert entertain\\'d.\\r\\n TALBOT. With scoffs, and scorns, and contumelious taunts,\\r\\n In open market-place produc\\'d they me\\r\\n To be a public spectacle to all;\\r\\n Here, said they, is the terror of the French,\\r\\n The scarecrow that affrights our children so.\\r\\n Then broke I from the officers that led me,\\r\\n And with my nails digg\\'d stones out of the ground\\r\\n To hurl at the beholders of my shame;\\r\\n My grisly countenance made others fly;\\r\\n None durst come near for fear of sudden death.\\r\\n In iron walls they deem\\'d me not secure;\\r\\n So great fear of my name \\'mongst them was spread\\r\\n That they suppos\\'d I could rend bars of steel\\r\\n And spurn in pieces posts of adamant;\\r\\n Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had\\r\\n That walk\\'d about me every minute-while;\\r\\n And if I did but stir out of my bed,\\r\\n Ready they were to shoot me to the heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the BOY with a linstock\\r\\n\\r\\n SALISBURY. I grieve to hear what torments you endur\\'d;\\r\\n But we will be reveng\\'d sufficiently.\\r\\n Now it is supper-time in Orleans:\\r\\n Here, through this grate, I count each one\\r\\n And view the Frenchmen how they fortify.\\r\\n Let us look in; the sight will much delight thee.\\r\\n Sir Thomas Gargrave and Sir William Glansdale,\\r\\n Let me have your express opinions\\r\\n Where is best place to make our batt\\'ry next.\\r\\n GARGRAVE. I think at the North Gate; for there stand lords.\\r\\n GLANSDALE. And I here, at the bulwark of the bridge.\\r\\n TALBOT. For aught I see, this city must be famish\\'d,\\r\\n Or with light skirmishes enfeebled.\\r\\n [Here they shoot and SALISBURY and GARGRAVE\\r\\n fall down]\\r\\n SALISBURY. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners!\\r\\n GARGRAVE. O Lord, have mercy on me, woeful man!\\r\\n TALBOT. What chance is this that suddenly hath cross\\'d us?\\r\\n Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak.\\r\\n How far\\'st thou, mirror of all martial men?\\r\\n One of thy eyes and thy cheek\\'s side struck off!\\r\\n Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand\\r\\n That hath contriv\\'d this woeful tragedy!\\r\\n In thirteen battles Salisbury o\\'ercame;\\r\\n Henry the Fifth he first train\\'d to the wars;\\r\\n Whilst any trump did sound or drum struck up,\\r\\n His sword did ne\\'er leave striking in the field.\\r\\n Yet liv\\'st thou, Salisbury? Though thy speech doth fail,\\r\\n One eye thou hast to look to heaven for grace;\\r\\n The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.\\r\\n Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive\\r\\n If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands!\\r\\n Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it.\\r\\n Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life?\\r\\n Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him.\\r\\n Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort,\\r\\n Thou shalt not die whiles\\r\\n He beckons with his hand and smiles on me,\\r\\n As who should say \\'When I am dead and gone,\\r\\n Remember to avenge me on the French.\\'\\r\\n Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero,\\r\\n Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn.\\r\\n Wretched shall France be only in my name.\\r\\n [Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens]\\r\\n What stir is this? What tumult\\'s in the heavens?\\r\\n Whence cometh this alarum and the noise?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. My lord, my lord, the French have gather\\'d\\r\\n head\\r\\n The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join\\'d,\\r\\n A holy prophetess new risen up,\\r\\n Is come with a great power to raise the siege.\\r\\n [Here SALISBURY lifteth himself up and groans]\\r\\n TALBOT. Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan.\\r\\n It irks his heart he cannot be reveng\\'d.\\r\\n Frenchmen, I\\'ll be a Salisbury to you.\\r\\n Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish,\\r\\n Your hearts I\\'ll stamp out with my horse\\'s heels\\r\\n And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.\\r\\n Convey me Salisbury into his tent,\\r\\n And then we\\'ll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare.\\r\\n Alarum. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\n Before Orleans\\r\\n\\r\\n Here an alarum again, and TALBOT pursueth the\\r\\n DAUPHIN and driveth him. Then enter JOAN LA PUCELLE\\r\\n driving Englishmen before her. Then enter TALBOT\\r\\n\\r\\n TALBOT. Where is my strength, my valour, and my force?\\r\\n Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them;\\r\\n A woman clad in armour chaseth them.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LA PUCELLE\\r\\n\\r\\n Here, here she comes. I\\'ll have a bout with thee.\\r\\n Devil or devil\\'s dam, I\\'ll conjure thee;\\r\\n Blood will I draw on thee-thou art a witch\\r\\n And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv\\'st.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Come, come, \\'tis only I that must disgrace thee.\\r\\n [Here they fight]\\r\\n TALBOT. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail?\\r\\n My breast I\\'ll burst with straining of my courage.\\r\\n And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder,\\r\\n But I will chastise this high minded strumpet.\\r\\n [They fight again]\\r\\n PUCELLE. Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come.\\r\\n I must go victual Orleans forthwith.\\r\\n [A short alarum; then enter the town with soldiers]\\r\\n O\\'ertake me if thou canst; I scorn thy strength.\\r\\n Go, go, cheer up thy hungry starved men;\\r\\n Help Salisbury to make his testament.\\r\\n This day is ours, as many more shall be. Exit\\r\\n TALBOT. My thoughts are whirled like a potter\\'s wheel;\\r\\n I know not where I am nor what I do.\\r\\n A witch by fear, not force, like Hannibal,\\r\\n Drives back our troops and conquers as she lists.\\r\\n So bees with smoke and doves with noisome stench\\r\\n Are from their hives and houses driven away.\\r\\n They call\\'d us, for our fierceness, English dogs;\\r\\n Now like to whelps we crying run away.\\r\\n [A short alarum]\\r\\n Hark, countrymen! Either renew the fight\\r\\n Or tear the lions out of England\\'s coat;\\r\\n Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions\\' stead:\\r\\n Sheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf,\\r\\n Or horse or oxen from the leopard,\\r\\n As you fly from your oft subdued slaves.\\r\\n [Alarum. Here another skirmish]\\r\\n It will not be-retire into your trenches.\\r\\n You all consented unto Salisbury\\'s death,\\r\\n For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.\\r\\n Pucelle is ent\\'red into Orleans\\r\\n In spite of us or aught that we could do.\\r\\n O, would I were to die with Salisbury!\\r\\n The shame hereof will make me hide my head.\\r\\n Exit TALBOT. Alarum; retreat\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 6.\\r\\n\\r\\n ORLEANS\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Enter on the walls, LA PUCELLE, CHARLES,\\r\\n REIGNIER, ALENCON, and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n PUCELLE. Advance our waving colours on the walls;\\r\\n Rescu\\'d is Orleans from the English.\\r\\n Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform\\'d her word.\\r\\n CHARLES. Divinest creature, Astraea\\'s daughter,\\r\\n How shall I honour thee for this success?\\r\\n Thy promises are like Adonis\\' gardens,\\r\\n That one day bloom\\'d and fruitful were the next.\\r\\n France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess.\\r\\n Recover\\'d is the town of Orleans.\\r\\n More blessed hap did ne\\'er befall our state.\\r\\n REIGNIER. Why ring not out the bells aloud throughout the\\r\\n town?\\r\\n Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires\\r\\n And feast and banquet in the open streets\\r\\n To celebrate the joy that God hath given us.\\r\\n ALENCON. All France will be replete with mirth and joy\\r\\n When they shall hear how we have play\\'d the men.\\r\\n CHARLES. \\'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won;\\r\\n For which I will divide my crown with her;\\r\\n And all the priests and friars in my realm\\r\\n Shall in procession sing her endless praise.\\r\\n A statelier pyramis to her I\\'ll rear\\r\\n Than Rhodope\\'s of Memphis ever was.\\r\\n In memory of her, when she is dead,\\r\\n Her ashes, in an urn more precious\\r\\n Than the rich jewel\\'d coffer of Darius,\\r\\n Transported shall be at high festivals\\r\\n Before the kings and queens of France.\\r\\n No longer on Saint Denis will we cry,\\r\\n But Joan la Pucelle shall be France\\'s saint.\\r\\n Come in, and let us banquet royally\\r\\n After this golden day of victory. Flourish. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nBefore Orleans\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a FRENCH SERGEANT and two SENTINELS\\r\\n\\r\\n SERGEANT. Sirs, take your places and be vigilant.\\r\\n If any noise or soldier you perceive\\r\\n Near to the walls, by some apparent sign\\r\\n Let us have knowledge at the court of guard.\\r\\n FIRST SENTINEL. Sergeant, you shall. [Exit SERGEANT]\\r\\n Thus are poor servitors,\\r\\n When others sleep upon their quiet beds,\\r\\n Constrain\\'d to watch in darkness, rain, and cold.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, and forces,\\r\\n with scaling-ladders; their drums beating a dead\\r\\n march\\r\\n\\r\\n TALBOT. Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy,\\r\\n By whose approach the regions of Artois,\\r\\n Wallon, and Picardy, are friends to us,\\r\\n This happy night the Frenchmen are secure,\\r\\n Having all day carous\\'d and banqueted;\\r\\n Embrace we then this opportunity,\\r\\n As fitting best to quittance their deceit,\\r\\n Contriv\\'d by art and baleful sorcery.\\r\\n BEDFORD. Coward of France, how much he wrongs his fame,\\r\\n Despairing of his own arm\\'s fortitude,\\r\\n To join with witches and the help of hell!\\r\\n BURGUNDY. Traitors have never other company.\\r\\n But what\\'s that Pucelle whom they term so pure?\\r\\n TALBOT. A maid, they say.\\r\\n BEDFORD. A maid! and be so martial!\\r\\n BURGUNDY. Pray God she prove not masculine ere long,\\r\\n If underneath the standard of the French\\r\\n She carry armour as she hath begun.\\r\\n TALBOT. Well, let them practise and converse with spirits:\\r\\n God is our fortress, in whose conquering name\\r\\n Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.\\r\\n BEDFORD. Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.\\r\\n TALBOT. Not all together; better far, I guess,\\r\\n That we do make our entrance several ways;\\r\\n That if it chance the one of us do fail\\r\\n The other yet may rise against their force.\\r\\n BEDFORD. Agreed; I\\'ll to yond corner.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. And I to this.\\r\\n TALBOT. And here will Talbot mount or make his grave.\\r\\n Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right\\r\\n Of English Henry, shall this night appear\\r\\n How much in duty I am bound to both.\\r\\n [The English scale the walls and cry \\'Saint George!\\r\\n a Talbot!\\']\\r\\n SENTINEL. Arm! arm! The enemy doth make assault.\\r\\n\\r\\n The French leap o\\'er the walls in their shirts.\\r\\n Enter, several ways, BASTARD, ALENCON, REIGNIER,\\r\\n half ready and half unready\\r\\n\\r\\n ALENCON. How now, my lords? What, all unready so?\\r\\n BASTARD. Unready! Ay, and glad we \\'scap\\'d so well.\\r\\n REIGNIER. \\'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds,\\r\\n Hearing alarums at our chamber doors.\\r\\n ALENCON. Of all exploits since first I follow\\'d arms\\r\\n Ne\\'er heard I of a warlike enterprise\\r\\n More venturous or desperate than this.\\r\\n BASTARD. I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell.\\r\\n REIGNIER. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him\\r\\n ALENCON. Here cometh Charles; I marvel how he sped.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CHARLES and LA PUCELLE\\r\\n\\r\\n BASTARD. Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard.\\r\\n CHARLES. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame?\\r\\n Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal,\\r\\n Make us partakers of a little gain\\r\\n That now our loss might be ten times so much?\\r\\n PUCELLE. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend?\\r\\n At all times will you have my power alike?\\r\\n Sleeping or waking, must I still prevail\\r\\n Or will you blame and lay the fault on me?\\r\\n Improvident soldiers! Had your watch been good\\r\\n This sudden mischief never could have fall\\'n.\\r\\n CHARLES. Duke of Alencon, this was your default\\r\\n That, being captain of the watch to-night,\\r\\n Did look no better to that weighty charge.\\r\\n ALENCON. Had all your quarters been as safely kept\\r\\n As that whereof I had the government,\\r\\n We had not been thus shamefully surpris\\'d.\\r\\n BASTARD. Mine was secure.\\r\\n REIGNIER. And so was mine, my lord.\\r\\n CHARLES. And, for myself, most part of all this night,\\r\\n Within her quarter and mine own precinct\\r\\n I was employ\\'d in passing to and fro\\r\\n About relieving of the sentinels.\\r\\n Then how or which way should they first break in?\\r\\n PUCELLE. Question, my lords, no further of the case,\\r\\n How or which way; \\'tis sure they found some place\\r\\n But weakly guarded, where the breach was made.\\r\\n And now there rests no other shift but this\\r\\n To gather our soldiers, scatter\\'d and dispers\\'d,\\r\\n And lay new platforms to endamage them.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter an ENGLISH SOLDIER, crying\\r\\n \\'A Talbot! A Talbot!\\' They fly, leaving their\\r\\n clothes behind\\r\\n\\r\\n SOLDIER. I\\'ll be so bold to take what they have left.\\r\\n The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword;\\r\\n For I have loaden me with many spoils,\\r\\n Using no other weapon but his name. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\n ORLEANS. Within the town\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, a CAPTAIN,\\r\\n and others\\r\\n\\r\\n BEDFORD. The day begins to break, and night is fled\\r\\n Whose pitchy mantle over-veil\\'d the earth.\\r\\n Here sound retreat and cease our hot pursuit.\\r\\n [Retreat sounded]\\r\\n TALBOT. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury\\r\\n And here advance it in the market-place,\\r\\n The middle centre of this cursed town.\\r\\n Now have I paid my vow unto his soul;\\r\\n For every drop of blood was drawn from him\\r\\n There hath at least five Frenchmen died to-night.\\r\\n And that hereafter ages may behold\\r\\n What ruin happened in revenge of him,\\r\\n Within their chiefest temple I\\'ll erect\\r\\n A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr\\'d;\\r\\n Upon the which, that every one may read,\\r\\n Shall be engrav\\'d the sack of Orleans,\\r\\n The treacherous manner of his mournful death,\\r\\n And what a terror he had been to France.\\r\\n But, lords, in all our bloody massacre,\\r\\n I muse we met not with the Dauphin\\'s grace,\\r\\n His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc,\\r\\n Nor any of his false confederates.\\r\\n BEDFORD. \\'Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began,\\r\\n Rous\\'d on the sudden from their drowsy beds,\\r\\n They did amongst the troops of armed men\\r\\n Leap o\\'er the walls for refuge in the field.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. Myself, as far as I could well discern\\r\\n For smoke and dusky vapours of the night,\\r\\n Am sure I scar\\'d the Dauphin and his trull,\\r\\n When arm in arm they both came swiftly running,\\r\\n Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves\\r\\n That could not live asunder day or night.\\r\\n After that things are set in order here,\\r\\n We\\'ll follow them with all the power we have.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. All hail, my lords! Which of this princely train\\r\\n Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts\\r\\n So much applauded through the realm of France?\\r\\n TALBOT. Here is the Talbot; who would speak with him?\\r\\n MESSENGER. The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne,\\r\\n With modesty admiring thy renown,\\r\\n By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe\\r\\n To visit her poor castle where she lies,\\r\\n That she may boast she hath beheld the man\\r\\n Whose glory fills the world with loud report.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. Is it even so? Nay, then I see our wars\\r\\n Will turn into a peaceful comic sport,\\r\\n When ladies crave to be encount\\'red with.\\r\\n You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit.\\r\\n TALBOT. Ne\\'er trust me then; for when a world of men\\r\\n Could not prevail with all their oratory,\\r\\n Yet hath a woman\\'s kindness overrul\\'d;\\r\\n And therefore tell her I return great thanks\\r\\n And in submission will attend on her.\\r\\n Will not your honours bear me company?\\r\\n BEDFORD. No, truly; \\'tis more than manners will;\\r\\n And I have heard it said unbidden guests\\r\\n Are often welcomest when they are gone.\\r\\n TALBOT. Well then, alone, since there\\'s no remedy,\\r\\n I mean to prove this lady\\'s courtesy.\\r\\n Come hither, Captain. [Whispers] You perceive my mind?\\r\\n CAPTAIN. I do, my lord, and mean accordingly. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\n AUVERGNE. The Castle\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the COUNTESS and her PORTER\\r\\n\\r\\n COUNTESS. Porter, remember what I gave in charge;\\r\\n And when you have done so, bring the keys to me.\\r\\n PORTER. Madam, I will.\\r\\n COUNTESS. The plot is laid; if all things fall out right,\\r\\n I shall as famous be by this exploit.\\r\\n As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus\\' death.\\r\\n Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight,\\r\\n And his achievements of no less account.\\r\\n Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears\\r\\n To give their censure of these rare reports.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MESSENGER and TALBOT.\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. Madam, according as your ladyship desir\\'d,\\r\\n By message crav\\'d, so is Lord Talbot come.\\r\\n COUNTESS. And he is welcome. What! is this the man?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Madam, it is.\\r\\n COUNTESS. Is this the scourge of France?\\r\\n Is this Talbot, so much fear\\'d abroad\\r\\n That with his name the mothers still their babes?\\r\\n I see report is fabulous and false.\\r\\n I thought I should have seen some Hercules,\\r\\n A second Hector, for his grim aspect\\r\\n And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.\\r\\n Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf!\\r\\n It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp\\r\\n Should strike such terror to his enemies.\\r\\n TALBOT. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you;\\r\\n But since your ladyship is not at leisure,\\r\\n I\\'ll sort some other time to visit you. [Going]\\r\\n COUNTESS. What means he now? Go ask him whither he\\r\\n goes.\\r\\n MESSENGER. Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves\\r\\n To know the cause of your abrupt departure.\\r\\n TALBOT. Marry, for that she\\'s in a wrong belief,\\r\\n I go to certify her Talbot\\'s here.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PORTER With keys\\r\\n\\r\\n COUNTESS. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner.\\r\\n TALBOT. Prisoner! To whom?\\r\\n COUNTESS. To me, blood-thirsty lord\\r\\n And for that cause I train\\'d thee to my house.\\r\\n Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me,\\r\\n For in my gallery thy picture hangs;\\r\\n But now the substance shall endure the like\\r\\n And I will chain these legs and arms of thine\\r\\n That hast by tyranny these many years\\r\\n Wasted our country, slain our citizens,\\r\\n And sent our sons and husbands captivate.\\r\\n TALBOT. Ha, ha, ha!\\r\\n COUNTESS. Laughest thou, wretch? Thy mirth shall turn to\\r\\n moan.\\r\\n TALBOT. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond\\r\\n To think that you have aught but Talbot\\'s shadow\\r\\n Whereon to practise your severity.\\r\\n COUNTESS. Why, art not thou the man?\\r\\n TALBOT. I am indeed.\\r\\n COUNTESS. Then have I substance too.\\r\\n TALBOT. No, no, I am but shadow of myself.\\r\\n You are deceiv\\'d, my substance is not here;\\r\\n For what you see is but the smallest part\\r\\n And least proportion of humanity.\\r\\n I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here,\\r\\n It is of such a spacious lofty pitch\\r\\n Your roof were not sufficient to contain \\'t.\\r\\n COUNTESS. This is a riddling merchant for the nonce;\\r\\n He will be here, and yet he is not here.\\r\\n How can these contrarieties agree?\\r\\n TALBOT. That will I show you presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n Winds his horn; drums strike up;\\r\\n a peal of ordnance. Enter soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n How say you, madam? Are you now persuaded\\r\\n That Talbot is but shadow of himself?\\r\\n These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength,\\r\\n With which he yoketh your rebellious necks,\\r\\n Razeth your cities, and subverts your towns,\\r\\n And in a moment makes them desolate.\\r\\n COUNTESS. Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse.\\r\\n I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited,\\r\\n And more than may be gathered by thy shape.\\r\\n Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath,\\r\\n For I am sorry that with reverence\\r\\n I did not entertain thee as thou art.\\r\\n TALBOT. Be not dismay\\'d, fair lady; nor misconster\\r\\n The mind of Talbot as you did mistake\\r\\n The outward composition of his body.\\r\\n What you have done hath not offended me.\\r\\n Nor other satisfaction do I crave\\r\\n But only, with your patience, that we may\\r\\n Taste of your wine and see what cates you have,\\r\\n For soldiers\\' stomachs always serve them well.\\r\\n COUNTESS. With all my heart, and think me honoured\\r\\n To feast so great a warrior in my house. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\n London. The Temple garden\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the EARLS OF SOMERSET, SUFFOLK, and WARWICK;\\r\\n RICHARD PLANTAGENET, VERNON, and another LAWYER\\r\\n\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Great lords and gentlemen, what means this\\r\\n silence?\\r\\n Dare no man answer in a case of truth?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Within the Temple Hall we were too loud;\\r\\n The garden here is more convenient.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Then say at once if I maintain\\'d the truth;\\r\\n Or else was wrangling Somerset in th\\' error?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Faith, I have been a truant in the law\\r\\n And never yet could frame my will to it;\\r\\n And therefore frame the law unto my will.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Judge you, my Lord of Warwick, then, between us.\\r\\n WARWICK. Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch;\\r\\n Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth;\\r\\n Between two blades, which bears the better temper;\\r\\n Between two horses, which doth bear him best;\\r\\n Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye\\r\\n I have perhaps some shallow spirit of judgment;\\r\\n But in these nice sharp quillets of the law,\\r\\n Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance:\\r\\n The truth appears so naked on my side\\r\\n That any purblind eye may find it out.\\r\\n SOMERSET. And on my side it is so well apparell\\'d,\\r\\n So clear, so shining, and so evident,\\r\\n That it will glimmer through a blind man\\'s eye.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Since you are tongue-tied and so loath to speak,\\r\\n In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts.\\r\\n Let him that is a true-born gentleman\\r\\n And stands upon the honour of his birth,\\r\\n If he suppose that I have pleaded truth,\\r\\n From off this brier pluck a white rose with me.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer,\\r\\n But dare maintain the party of the truth,\\r\\n Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.\\r\\n WARWICK. I love no colours; and, without all colour\\r\\n Of base insinuating flattery,\\r\\n I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. I pluck this red rose with young Somerset,\\r\\n And say withal I think he held the right.\\r\\n VERNON. Stay, lords and gentlemen, and pluck no more\\r\\n Till you conclude that he upon whose side\\r\\n The fewest roses are cropp\\'d from the tree\\r\\n Shall yield the other in the right opinion.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Good Master Vernon, it is well objected;\\r\\n If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. And I.\\r\\n VERNON. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case,\\r\\n I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here,\\r\\n Giving my verdict on the white rose side.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off,\\r\\n Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red,\\r\\n And fall on my side so, against your will.\\r\\n VERNON. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed,\\r\\n Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt\\r\\n And keep me on the side where still I am.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Well, well, come on; who else?\\r\\n LAWYER. [To Somerset] Unless my study and my books be\\r\\n false,\\r\\n The argument you held was wrong in you;\\r\\n In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Now, Somerset, where is your argument?\\r\\n SOMERSET. Here in my scabbard, meditating that\\r\\n Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Meantime your cheeks do counterfeit our\\r\\n roses;\\r\\n For pale they look with fear, as witnessing\\r\\n The truth on our side.\\r\\n SOMERSET. No, Plantagenet,\\r\\n \\'Tis not for fear but anger that thy cheeks\\r\\n Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses,\\r\\n And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?\\r\\n SOMERSET. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth;\\r\\n Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Well, I\\'ll find friends to wear my bleeding roses,\\r\\n That shall maintain what I have said is true,\\r\\n Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand,\\r\\n I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Proud Pole, I will, and scorn both him and\\r\\n thee.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. I\\'ll turn my part thereof into thy throat.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Away, away, good William de la Pole!\\r\\n We grace the yeoman by conversing with him.\\r\\n WARWICK. Now, by God\\'s will, thou wrong\\'st him, Somerset;\\r\\n His grandfather was Lionel Duke of Clarence,\\r\\n Third son to the third Edward, King of England.\\r\\n Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root?\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. He bears him on the place\\'s privilege,\\r\\n Or durst not for his craven heart say thus.\\r\\n SOMERSET. By Him that made me, I\\'ll maintain my words\\r\\n On any plot of ground in Christendom.\\r\\n Was not thy father, Richard Earl of Cambridge,\\r\\n For treason executed in our late king\\'s days?\\r\\n And by his treason stand\\'st not thou attainted,\\r\\n Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry?\\r\\n His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood;\\r\\n And till thou be restor\\'d thou art a yeoman.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. My father was attached, not attainted;\\r\\n Condemn\\'d to die for treason, but no traitor;\\r\\n And that I\\'ll prove on better men than Somerset,\\r\\n Were growing time once ripened to my will.\\r\\n For your partaker Pole, and you yourself,\\r\\n I\\'ll note you in my book of memory\\r\\n To scourge you for this apprehension.\\r\\n Look to it well, and say you are well warn\\'d.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still;\\r\\n And know us by these colours for thy foes\\r\\n For these my friends in spite of thee shall wear.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose,\\r\\n As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate,\\r\\n Will I for ever, and my faction, wear,\\r\\n Until it wither with me to my grave,\\r\\n Or flourish to the height of my degree.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Go forward, and be chok\\'d with thy ambition!\\r\\n And so farewell until I meet thee next. Exit\\r\\n SOMERSET. Have with thee, Pole. Farewell, ambitious\\r\\n Richard. Exit\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. How I am brav\\'d, and must perforce endure\\r\\n it!\\r\\n WARWICK. This blot that they object against your house\\r\\n Shall be wip\\'d out in the next Parliament,\\r\\n Call\\'d for the truce of Winchester and Gloucester;\\r\\n And if thou be not then created York,\\r\\n I will not live to be accounted Warwick.\\r\\n Meantime, in signal of my love to thee,\\r\\n Against proud Somerset and William Pole,\\r\\n Will I upon thy party wear this rose;\\r\\n And here I prophesy: this brawl to-day,\\r\\n Grown to this faction in the Temple Garden,\\r\\n Shall send between the Red Rose and the White\\r\\n A thousand souls to death and deadly night.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Good Master Vernon, I am bound to you\\r\\n That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.\\r\\n VERNON. In your behalf still will I wear the same.\\r\\n LAWYER. And so will I.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Thanks, gentle sir.\\r\\n Come, let us four to dinner. I dare say\\r\\n This quarrel will drink blood another day. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\n The Tower of London\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MORTIMER, brought in a chair, and GAOLERS\\r\\n\\r\\n MORTIMER. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age,\\r\\n Let dying Mortimer here rest himself.\\r\\n Even like a man new haled from the rack,\\r\\n So fare my limbs with long imprisonment;\\r\\n And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death,\\r\\n Nestor-like aged in an age of care,\\r\\n Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.\\r\\n These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent,\\r\\n Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent;\\r\\n Weak shoulders, overborne with burdening grief,\\r\\n And pithless arms, like to a withered vine\\r\\n That droops his sapless branches to the ground.\\r\\n Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb,\\r\\n Unable to support this lump of clay,\\r\\n Swift-winged with desire to get a grave,\\r\\n As witting I no other comfort have.\\r\\n But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?\\r\\n FIRST KEEPER. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come.\\r\\n We sent unto the Temple, unto his chamber;\\r\\n And answer was return\\'d that he will come.\\r\\n MORTIMER. Enough; my soul shall then be satisfied.\\r\\n Poor gentleman! his wrong doth equal mine.\\r\\n Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign,\\r\\n Before whose glory I was great in arms,\\r\\n This loathsome sequestration have I had;\\r\\n And even since then hath Richard been obscur\\'d,\\r\\n Depriv\\'d of honour and inheritance.\\r\\n But now the arbitrator of despairs,\\r\\n Just Death, kind umpire of men\\'s miseries,\\r\\n With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence.\\r\\n I would his troubles likewise were expir\\'d,\\r\\n That so he might recover what was lost.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter RICHARD PLANTAGENET\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST KEEPER. My lord, your loving nephew now is come.\\r\\n MORTIMER. Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come?\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly us\\'d,\\r\\n Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes.\\r\\n MORTIMER. Direct mine arms I may embrace his neck\\r\\n And in his bosom spend my latter gasp.\\r\\n O, tell me when my lips do touch his cheeks,\\r\\n That I may kindly give one fainting kiss.\\r\\n And now declare, sweet stem from York\\'s great stock,\\r\\n Why didst thou say of late thou wert despis\\'d?\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. First, lean thine aged back against mine arm;\\r\\n And, in that ease, I\\'ll tell thee my disease.\\r\\n This day, in argument upon a case,\\r\\n Some words there grew \\'twixt Somerset and me;\\r\\n Among which terms he us\\'d his lavish tongue\\r\\n And did upbraid me with my father\\'s death;\\r\\n Which obloquy set bars before my tongue,\\r\\n Else with the like I had requited him.\\r\\n Therefore, good uncle, for my father\\'s sake,\\r\\n In honour of a true Plantagenet,\\r\\n And for alliance sake, declare the cause\\r\\n My father, Earl of Cambridge, lost his head.\\r\\n MORTIMER. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison\\'d me\\r\\n And hath detain\\'d me all my flow\\'ring youth\\r\\n Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine,\\r\\n Was cursed instrument of his decease.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Discover more at large what cause that was,\\r\\n For I am ignorant and cannot guess.\\r\\n MORTIMER. I will, if that my fading breath permit\\r\\n And death approach not ere my tale be done.\\r\\n Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king,\\r\\n Depos\\'d his nephew Richard, Edward\\'s son,\\r\\n The first-begotten and the lawful heir\\r\\n Of Edward king, the third of that descent;\\r\\n During whose reign the Percies of the north,\\r\\n Finding his usurpation most unjust,\\r\\n Endeavour\\'d my advancement to the throne.\\r\\n The reason mov\\'d these warlike lords to this\\r\\n Was, for that-young Richard thus remov\\'d,\\r\\n Leaving no heir begotten of his body-\\r\\n I was the next by birth and parentage;\\r\\n For by my mother I derived am\\r\\n From Lionel Duke of Clarence, third son\\r\\n To King Edward the Third; whereas he\\r\\n From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree,\\r\\n Being but fourth of that heroic line.\\r\\n But mark: as in this haughty great attempt\\r\\n They laboured to plant the rightful heir,\\r\\n I lost my liberty, and they their lives.\\r\\n Long after this, when Henry the Fifth,\\r\\n Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign,\\r\\n Thy father, Earl of Cambridge, then deriv\\'d\\r\\n From famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York,\\r\\n Marrying my sister, that thy mother was,\\r\\n Again, in pity of my hard distress,\\r\\n Levied an army, weening to redeem\\r\\n And have install\\'d me in the diadem;\\r\\n But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl,\\r\\n And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers,\\r\\n In whom the title rested, were suppress\\'d.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Of Which, my lord, your honour is the last.\\r\\n MORTIMER. True; and thou seest that I no issue have,\\r\\n And that my fainting words do warrant death.\\r\\n Thou art my heir; the rest I wish thee gather;\\r\\n But yet be wary in thy studious care.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Thy grave admonishments prevail with me.\\r\\n But yet methinks my father\\'s execution\\r\\n Was nothing less than bloody tyranny.\\r\\n MORTIMER. With silence, nephew, be thou politic;\\r\\n Strong fixed is the house of Lancaster\\r\\n And like a mountain not to be remov\\'d.\\r\\n But now thy uncle is removing hence,\\r\\n As princes do their courts when they are cloy\\'d\\r\\n With long continuance in a settled place.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. O uncle, would some part of my young years\\r\\n Might but redeem the passage of your age!\\r\\n MORTIMER. Thou dost then wrong me, as that slaughterer\\r\\n doth\\r\\n Which giveth many wounds when one will kill.\\r\\n Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good;\\r\\n Only give order for my funeral.\\r\\n And so, farewell; and fair be all thy hopes,\\r\\n And prosperous be thy life in peace and war! [Dies]\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. And peace, no war, befall thy parting soul!\\r\\n In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage,\\r\\n And like a hermit overpass\\'d thy days.\\r\\n Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast;\\r\\n And what I do imagine, let that rest.\\r\\n Keepers, convey him hence; and I myself\\r\\n Will see his burial better than his life.\\r\\n Exeunt GAOLERS, hearing out the body of MORTIMER\\r\\n Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer,\\r\\n Chok\\'d with ambition of the meaner sort;\\r\\n And for those wrongs, those bitter injuries,\\r\\n Which Somerset hath offer\\'d to my house,\\r\\n I doubt not but with honour to redress;\\r\\n And therefore haste I to the Parliament,\\r\\n Either to be restored to my blood,\\r\\n Or make my ill th\\' advantage of my good. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The Parliament House\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter the KING, EXETER, GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, SOMERSET, and\\r\\nSUFFOLK; the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, RICHARD PLANTAGENET, and others.\\r\\nGLOUCESTER offers to put up a bill; WINCHESTER snatches it, and tears\\r\\nit\\r\\n\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Com\\'st thou with deep premeditated lines,\\r\\n With written pamphlets studiously devis\\'d?\\r\\n Humphrey of Gloucester, if thou canst accuse\\r\\n Or aught intend\\'st to lay unto my charge,\\r\\n Do it without invention, suddenly;\\r\\n I with sudden and extemporal speech\\r\\n Purpose to answer what thou canst object.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Presumptuous priest, this place commands my\\r\\n patience,\\r\\n Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonour\\'d me.\\r\\n Think not, although in writing I preferr\\'d\\r\\n The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes,\\r\\n That therefore I have forg\\'d, or am not able\\r\\n Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen.\\r\\n No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness,\\r\\n Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks,\\r\\n As very infants prattle of thy pride.\\r\\n Thou art a most pernicious usurer;\\r\\n Froward by nature, enemy to peace;\\r\\n Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems\\r\\n A man of thy profession and degree;\\r\\n And for thy treachery, what\\'s more manifest\\r\\n In that thou laid\\'st a trap to take my life,\\r\\n As well at London Bridge as at the Tower?\\r\\n Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted,\\r\\n The King, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt\\r\\n From envious malice of thy swelling heart.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Gloucester, I do defy thee. Lords, vouchsafe\\r\\n To give me hearing what I shall reply.\\r\\n If I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse,\\r\\n As he will have me, how am I so poor?\\r\\n Or how haps it I seek not to advance\\r\\n Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling?\\r\\n And for dissension, who preferreth peace\\r\\n More than I do, except I be provok\\'d?\\r\\n No, my good lords, it is not that offends;\\r\\n It is not that that incens\\'d hath incens\\'d the Duke:\\r\\n It is because no one should sway but he;\\r\\n No one but he should be about the King;\\r\\n And that engenders thunder in his breast\\r\\n And makes him roar these accusations forth.\\r\\n But he shall know I am as good\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. As good!\\r\\n Thou bastard of my grandfather!\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray,\\r\\n But one imperious in another\\'s throne?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Am I not Protector, saucy priest?\\r\\n WINCHESTER. And am not I a prelate of the church?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps,\\r\\n And useth it to patronage his theft.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Unreverent Gloucester!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Thou art reverend\\r\\n Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Rome shall remedy this.\\r\\n WARWICK. Roam thither then.\\r\\n SOMERSET. My lord, it were your duty to forbear.\\r\\n WARWICK. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Methinks my lord should be religious,\\r\\n And know the office that belongs to such.\\r\\n WARWICK. Methinks his lordship should be humbler;\\r\\n It fitteth not a prelate so to plead.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Yes, when his holy state is touch\\'d so near.\\r\\n WARWICK. State holy or unhallow\\'d, what of that?\\r\\n Is not his Grace Protector to the King?\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. [Aside] Plantagenet, I see, must hold his\\r\\n tongue,\\r\\n Lest it be said \\'Speak, sirrah, when you should;\\r\\n Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords?\\'\\r\\n Else would I have a fling at Winchester.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Uncles of Gloucester and of Winchester,\\r\\n The special watchmen of our English weal,\\r\\n I would prevail, if prayers might prevail\\r\\n To join your hearts in love and amity.\\r\\n O, what a scandal is it to our crown\\r\\n That two such noble peers as ye should jar!\\r\\n Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell\\r\\n Civil dissension is a viperous worm\\r\\n That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.\\r\\n [A noise within: \\'Down with the tawny coats!\\']\\r\\n What tumult\\'s this?\\r\\n WARWICK. An uproar, I dare warrant,\\r\\n Begun through malice of the Bishop\\'s men.\\r\\n [A noise again: \\'Stones! Stones!\\']\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the MAYOR OF LONDON, attended\\r\\n\\r\\n MAYOR. O, my good lords, and virtuous Henry,\\r\\n Pity the city of London, pity us!\\r\\n The Bishop and the Duke of Gloucester\\'s men,\\r\\n Forbidden late to carry any weapon,\\r\\n Have fill\\'d their pockets full of pebble stones\\r\\n And, banding themselves in contrary parts,\\r\\n Do pelt so fast at one another\\'s pate\\r\\n That many have their giddy brains knock\\'d out.\\r\\n Our windows are broke down in every street,\\r\\n And we for fear compell\\'d to shut our shops.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter in skirmish, the retainers of GLOUCESTER and\\r\\n WINCHESTER, with bloody pates\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. We charge you, on allegiance to ourself,\\r\\n To hold your slaught\\'ring hands and keep the peace.\\r\\n Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife.\\r\\n FIRST SERVING-MAN. Nay, if we be forbidden stones, we\\'ll\\r\\n fall to it with our teeth.\\r\\n SECOND SERVING-MAN. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute.\\r\\n [Skirmish again]\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. You of my household, leave this peevish broil,\\r\\n And set this unaccustom\\'d fight aside.\\r\\n THIRD SERVING-MAN. My lord, we know your Grace to be a\\r\\n man\\r\\n Just and upright, and for your royal birth\\r\\n Inferior to none but to his Majesty;\\r\\n And ere that we will suffer such a prince,\\r\\n So kind a father of the commonweal,\\r\\n To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate,\\r\\n We and our wives and children all will fight\\r\\n And have our bodies slaught\\'red by thy foes.\\r\\n FIRST SERVING-MAN. Ay, and the very parings of our nails\\r\\n Shall pitch a field when we are dead. [Begin again]\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Stay, stay, I say!\\r\\n And if you love me, as you say you do,\\r\\n Let me persuade you to forbear awhile.\\r\\n KING HENRY. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul!\\r\\n Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold\\r\\n My sighs and tears and will not once relent?\\r\\n Who should be pitiful, if you be not?\\r\\n Or who should study to prefer a peace,\\r\\n If holy churchmen take delight in broils?\\r\\n WARWICK. Yield, my Lord Protector; yield, Winchester;\\r\\n Except you mean with obstinate repulse\\r\\n To slay your sovereign and destroy the realm.\\r\\n You see what mischief, and what murder too,\\r\\n Hath been enacted through your enmity;\\r\\n Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. He shall submit, or I will never yield.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Compassion on the King commands me stoop,\\r\\n Or I would see his heart out ere the priest\\r\\n Should ever get that privilege of me.\\r\\n WARWICK. Behold, my Lord of Winchester, the Duke\\r\\n Hath banish\\'d moody discontented fury,\\r\\n As by his smoothed brows it doth appear;\\r\\n Why look you still so stem and tragical?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Fie, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you preach\\r\\n That malice was a great and grievous sin;\\r\\n And will not you maintain the thing you teach,\\r\\n But prove a chief offender in the same?\\r\\n WARWICK. Sweet King! The Bishop hath a kindly gird.\\r\\n For shame, my Lord of Winchester, relent;\\r\\n What, shall a child instruct you what to do?\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Well, Duke of Gloucester, I will yield to thee;\\r\\n Love for thy love and hand for hand I give.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER [Aside] Ay, but, I fear me, with a hollow\\r\\n heart.\\r\\n See here, my friends and loving countrymen:\\r\\n This token serveth for a flag of truce\\r\\n Betwixt ourselves and all our followers.\\r\\n So help me God, as I dissemble not!\\r\\n WINCHESTER [Aside] So help me God, as I intend it not!\\r\\n KING HENRY. O loving uncle, kind Duke of Gloucester,\\r\\n How joyful am I made by this contract!\\r\\n Away, my masters! trouble us no more;\\r\\n But join in friendship, as your lords have done.\\r\\n FIRST SERVING-MAN. Content: I\\'ll to the surgeon\\'s.\\r\\n SECOND SERVING-MAN. And so will I.\\r\\n THIRD SERVING-MAN. And I will see what physic the tavern\\r\\n affords. Exeunt servants, MAYOR, &C.\\r\\n WARWICK. Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign;\\r\\n Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet\\r\\n We do exhibit to your Majesty.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Well urg\\'d, my Lord of Warwick; for, sweet\\r\\n prince,\\r\\n An if your Grace mark every circumstance,\\r\\n You have great reason to do Richard right;\\r\\n Especially for those occasions\\r\\n At Eltham Place I told your Majesty.\\r\\n KING HENRY. And those occasions, uncle, were of force;\\r\\n Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is\\r\\n That Richard be restored to his blood.\\r\\n WARWICK. Let Richard be restored to his blood;\\r\\n So shall his father\\'s wrongs be recompens\\'d.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. As will the rest, so willeth Winchester.\\r\\n KING HENRY. If Richard will be true, not that alone\\r\\n But all the whole inheritance I give\\r\\n That doth belong unto the house of York,\\r\\n From whence you spring by lineal descent.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Thy humble servant vows obedience\\r\\n And humble service till the point of death.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Stoop then and set your knee against my foot;\\r\\n And in reguerdon of that duty done\\r\\n I girt thee with the valiant sword of York.\\r\\n Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet,\\r\\n And rise created princely Duke of York.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. And so thrive Richard as thy foes may fall!\\r\\n And as my duty springs, so perish they\\r\\n That grudge one thought against your Majesty!\\r\\n ALL. Welcome, high Prince, the mighty Duke of York!\\r\\n SOMERSET. [Aside] Perish, base Prince, ignoble Duke of\\r\\n York!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Now will it best avail your Majesty\\r\\n To cross the seas and to be crown\\'d in France:\\r\\n The presence of a king engenders love\\r\\n Amongst his subjects and his loyal friends,\\r\\n As it disanimates his enemies.\\r\\n KING HENRY. When Gloucester says the word, King Henry\\r\\n goes;\\r\\n For friendly counsel cuts off many foes.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Your ships already are in readiness.\\r\\n Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but EXETER\\r\\n EXETER. Ay, we may march in England or in France,\\r\\n Not seeing what is likely to ensue.\\r\\n This late dissension grown betwixt the peers\\r\\n Burns under feigned ashes of forg\\'d love\\r\\n And will at last break out into a flame;\\r\\n As fest\\'red members rot but by degree\\r\\n Till bones and flesh and sinews fall away,\\r\\n So will this base and envious discord breed.\\r\\n And now I fear that fatal prophecy.\\r\\n Which in the time of Henry nam\\'d the Fifth\\r\\n Was in the mouth of every sucking babe:\\r\\n That Henry born at Monmouth should win all,\\r\\n And Henry born at Windsor should lose all.\\r\\n Which is so plain that Exeter doth wish\\r\\n His days may finish ere that hapless time. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\n France. Before Rouen\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LA PUCELLE disguis\\'d, with four soldiers dressed\\r\\n like countrymen, with sacks upon their backs\\r\\n\\r\\n PUCELLE. These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen,\\r\\n Through which our policy must make a breach.\\r\\n Take heed, be wary how you place your words;\\r\\n Talk like the vulgar sort of market-men\\r\\n That come to gather money for their corn.\\r\\n If we have entrance, as I hope we shall,\\r\\n And that we find the slothful watch but weak,\\r\\n I\\'ll by a sign give notice to our friends,\\r\\n That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them.\\r\\n FIRST SOLDIER. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city,\\r\\n And we be lords and rulers over Rouen;\\r\\n Therefore we\\'ll knock. [Knocks]\\r\\n WATCH. [Within] Qui est la?\\r\\n PUCELLE. Paysans, pauvres gens de France\\r\\n Poor market-folks that come to sell their corn.\\r\\n WATCH. Enter, go in; the market-bell is rung.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Now, Rouen, I\\'ll shake thy bulwarks to the\\r\\n ground.\\r\\n\\r\\n [LA PUCELLE, &c., enter the town]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CHARLES, BASTARD, ALENCON, REIGNIER, and forces\\r\\n\\r\\n CHARLES. Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem!\\r\\n And once again we\\'ll sleep secure in Rouen.\\r\\n BASTARD. Here ent\\'red Pucelle and her practisants;\\r\\n Now she is there, how will she specify\\r\\n Here is the best and safest passage in?\\r\\n ALENCON. By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower;\\r\\n Which once discern\\'d shows that her meaning is\\r\\n No way to that, for weakness, which she ent\\'red.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LA PUCELLE, on the top, thrusting out\\r\\n a torch burning\\r\\n\\r\\n PUCELLE. Behold, this is the happy wedding torch\\r\\n That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen,\\r\\n But burning fatal to the Talbotites. Exit\\r\\n BASTARD. See, noble Charles, the beacon of our friend;\\r\\n The burning torch in yonder turret stands.\\r\\n CHARLES. Now shine it like a comet of revenge,\\r\\n A prophet to the fall of all our foes!\\r\\n ALENCON. Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends;\\r\\n Enter, and cry \\'The Dauphin!\\' presently,\\r\\n And then do execution on the watch. Alarum. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n An alarum. Enter TALBOT in an excursion\\r\\n\\r\\n TALBOT. France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy tears,\\r\\n If Talbot but survive thy treachery.\\r\\n PUCELLE, that witch, that damned sorceress,\\r\\n Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares,\\r\\n That hardly we escap\\'d the pride of France. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n An alarum; excursions. BEDFORD brought in sick in\\r\\n a chair. Enter TALBOT and BURGUNDY without;\\r\\n within, LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, BASTARD, ALENCON,\\r\\n and REIGNIER, on the walls\\r\\n\\r\\n PUCELLE. Good morrow, gallants! Want ye corn for bread?\\r\\n I think the Duke of Burgundy will fast\\r\\n Before he\\'ll buy again at such a rate.\\r\\n \\'Twas full of darnel-do you like the taste?\\r\\n BURGUNDY. Scoff on, vile fiend and shameless courtezan.\\r\\n I trust ere long to choke thee with thine own,\\r\\n And make thee curse the harvest of that corn.\\r\\n CHARLES. Your Grace may starve, perhaps, before that time.\\r\\n BEDFORD. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason!\\r\\n PUCELLE. What you do, good grey beard? Break a\\r\\n lance,\\r\\n And run a tilt at death within a chair?\\r\\n TALBOT. Foul fiend of France and hag of all despite,\\r\\n Encompass\\'d with thy lustful paramours,\\r\\n Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age\\r\\n And twit with cowardice a man half dead?\\r\\n Damsel, I\\'ll have a bout with you again,\\r\\n Or else let Talbot perish with this shame.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Are ye so hot, sir? Yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace;\\r\\n If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow.\\r\\n [The English party whisper together in council]\\r\\n God speed the parliament! Who shall be the Speaker?\\r\\n TALBOT. Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field?\\r\\n PUCELLE. Belike your lordship takes us then for fools,\\r\\n To try if that our own be ours or no.\\r\\n TALBOT. I speak not to that railing Hecate,\\r\\n But unto thee, Alencon, and the rest.\\r\\n Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out?\\r\\n ALENCON. Signior, no.\\r\\n TALBOT. Signior, hang! Base muleteers of France!\\r\\n Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls,\\r\\n And dare not take up arms like gentlemen.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Away, captains! Let\\'s get us from the walls;\\r\\n For Talbot means no goodness by his looks.\\r\\n God b\\'uy, my lord; we came but to tell you\\r\\n That we are here. Exeunt from the walls\\r\\n TALBOT. And there will we be too, ere it be long,\\r\\n Or else reproach be Talbot\\'s greatest fame!\\r\\n Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house,\\r\\n Prick\\'d on by public wrongs sustain\\'d in France,\\r\\n Either to get the town again or die;\\r\\n And I, as sure as English Henry lives\\r\\n And as his father here was conqueror,\\r\\n As sure as in this late betrayed town\\r\\n Great Coeur-de-lion\\'s heart was buried\\r\\n So sure I swear to get the town or die.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. My vows are equal partners with thy vows.\\r\\n TALBOT. But ere we go, regard this dying prince,\\r\\n The valiant Duke of Bedford. Come, my lord,\\r\\n We will bestow you in some better place,\\r\\n Fitter for sickness and for crazy age.\\r\\n BEDFORD. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me;\\r\\n Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen,\\r\\n And will be partner of your weal or woe.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you.\\r\\n BEDFORD. Not to be gone from hence; for once I read\\r\\n That stout Pendragon in his litter sick\\r\\n Came to the field, and vanquished his foes.\\r\\n Methinks I should revive the soldiers\\' hearts,\\r\\n Because I ever found them as myself.\\r\\n TALBOT. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast!\\r\\n Then be it so. Heavens keep old Bedford safe!\\r\\n And now no more ado, brave Burgundy,\\r\\n But gather we our forces out of hand\\r\\n And set upon our boasting enemy.\\r\\n Exeunt against the town all but BEDFORD and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n An alarum; excursions. Enter SIR JOHN FASTOLFE,\\r\\n and a CAPTAIN\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPTAIN. Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in such haste?\\r\\n FASTOLFE. Whither away? To save myself by flight:\\r\\n We are like to have the overthrow again.\\r\\n CAPTAIN. What! Will you and leave Lord Talbot?\\r\\n FASTOLFE. Ay,\\r\\n All the Talbots in the world, to save my life. Exit\\r\\n CAPTAIN. Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow thee!\\r\\n Exit into the town\\r\\n\\r\\n Retreat; excursions. LA PUCELLE, ALENCON,\\r\\n and CHARLES fly\\r\\n\\r\\n BEDFORD. Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please,\\r\\n For I have seen our enemies\\' overthrow.\\r\\n What is the trust or strength of foolish man?\\r\\n They that of late were daring with their scoffs\\r\\n Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves.\\r\\n [BEDFORD dies and is carried in by two in his chair]\\r\\n\\r\\n An alarum. Re-enter TALBOT, BURGUNDY, and the rest\\r\\n\\r\\n TALBOT. Lost and recovered in a day again!\\r\\n This is a double honour, Burgundy.\\r\\n Yet heavens have glory for this victory!\\r\\n BURGUNDY. Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy\\r\\n Enshrines thee in his heart, and there erects\\r\\n Thy noble deeds as valour\\'s monuments.\\r\\n TALBOT. Thanks, gentle Duke. But where is Pucelle now?\\r\\n I think her old familiar is asleep.\\r\\n Now where\\'s the Bastard\\'s braves, and Charles his gleeks?\\r\\n What, all amort? Rouen hangs her head for grief\\r\\n That such a valiant company are fled.\\r\\n Now will we take some order in the town,\\r\\n Placing therein some expert officers;\\r\\n And then depart to Paris to the King,\\r\\n For there young Henry with his nobles lie.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. What Lord Talbot pleaseth Burgundy.\\r\\n TALBOT. But yet, before we go, let\\'s not forget\\r\\n The noble Duke of Bedford, late deceas\\'d,\\r\\n But see his exequies fulfill\\'d in Rouen.\\r\\n A braver soldier never couched lance,\\r\\n A gentler heart did never sway in court;\\r\\n But kings and mightiest potentates must die,\\r\\n For that\\'s the end of human misery. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\n The plains near Rouen\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CHARLES, the BASTARD, ALENCON, LA PUCELLE,\\r\\n and forces\\r\\n\\r\\n PUCELLE. Dismay not, Princes, at this accident,\\r\\n Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered.\\r\\n Care is no cure, but rather corrosive,\\r\\n For things that are not to be remedied.\\r\\n Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while\\r\\n And like a peacock sweep along his tail;\\r\\n We\\'ll pull his plumes and take away his train,\\r\\n If Dauphin and the rest will be but rul\\'d.\\r\\n CHARLES. We have guided by thee hitherto,\\r\\n And of thy cunning had no diffidence;\\r\\n One sudden foil shall never breed distrust\\r\\n BASTARD. Search out thy wit for secret policies,\\r\\n And we will make thee famous through the world.\\r\\n ALENCON. We\\'ll set thy statue in some holy place,\\r\\n And have thee reverenc\\'d like a blessed saint.\\r\\n Employ thee, then, sweet virgin, for our good.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise:\\r\\n By fair persuasions, mix\\'d with sug\\'red words,\\r\\n We will entice the Duke of Burgundy\\r\\n To leave the Talbot and to follow us.\\r\\n CHARLES. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that,\\r\\n France were no place for Henry\\'s warriors;\\r\\n Nor should that nation boast it so with us,\\r\\n But be extirped from our provinces.\\r\\n ALENCON. For ever should they be expuls\\'d from France,\\r\\n And not have tide of an earldom here.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Your honours shall perceive how I will work\\r\\n To bring this matter to the wished end.\\r\\n [Drum sounds afar off]\\r\\n Hark! by the sound of drum you may perceive\\r\\n Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward.\\r\\n\\r\\n Here sound an English march. Enter, and pass over\\r\\n at a distance, TALBOT and his forces\\r\\n\\r\\n There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread,\\r\\n And all the troops of English after him.\\r\\n\\r\\n French march. Enter the DUKE OF BURGUNDY and\\r\\n his forces\\r\\n\\r\\n Now in the rearward comes the Duke and his.\\r\\n Fortune in favour makes him lag behind.\\r\\n Summon a parley; we will talk with him.\\r\\n [Trumpets sound a parley]\\r\\n CHARLES. A parley with the Duke of Burgundy!\\r\\n BURGUNDY. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy?\\r\\n PUCELLE. The princely Charles of France, thy countryman.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. What say\\'st thou, Charles? for I am marching\\r\\n hence.\\r\\n CHARLES. Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy words.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France!\\r\\n Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. Speak on; but be not over-tedious.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Look on thy country, look on fertile France,\\r\\n And see the cities and the towns defac\\'d\\r\\n By wasting ruin of the cruel foe;\\r\\n As looks the mother on her lowly babe\\r\\n When death doth close his tender dying eyes,\\r\\n See, see the pining malady of France;\\r\\n Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds,\\r\\n Which thou thyself hast given her woeful breast.\\r\\n O, turn thy edged sword another way;\\r\\n Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help!\\r\\n One drop of blood drawn from thy country\\'s bosom\\r\\n Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore.\\r\\n Return thee therefore with a flood of tears,\\r\\n And wash away thy country\\'s stained spots.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. Either she hath bewitch\\'d me with her words,\\r\\n Or nature makes me suddenly relent.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee,\\r\\n Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny.\\r\\n Who join\\'st thou with but with a lordly nation\\r\\n That will not trust thee but for profit\\'s sake?\\r\\n When Talbot hath set footing once in France,\\r\\n And fashion\\'d thee that instrument of ill,\\r\\n Who then but English Henry will be lord,\\r\\n And thou be thrust out like a fugitive?\\r\\n Call we to mind-and mark but this for proof:\\r\\n Was not the Duke of Orleans thy foe?\\r\\n And was he not in England prisoner?\\r\\n But when they heard he was thine enemy\\r\\n They set him free without his ransom paid,\\r\\n In spite of Burgundy and all his friends.\\r\\n See then, thou fight\\'st against thy countrymen,\\r\\n And join\\'st with them will be thy slaughtermen.\\r\\n Come, come, return; return, thou wandering lord;\\r\\n Charles and the rest will take thee in their arms.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. I am vanquished; these haughty words of hers\\r\\n Have batt\\'red me like roaring cannon-shot\\r\\n And made me almost yield upon my knees.\\r\\n Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen\\r\\n And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace.\\r\\n My forces and my power of men are yours;\\r\\n So, farewell, Talbot; I\\'ll no longer trust thee.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Done like a Frenchman- [Aside] turn and turn\\r\\n again.\\r\\n CHARLES. Welcome, brave Duke! Thy friendship makes us\\r\\n fresh.\\r\\n BASTARD. And doth beget new courage in our breasts.\\r\\n ALENCON. Pucelle hath bravely play\\'d her part in this,\\r\\n And doth deserve a coronet of gold.\\r\\n CHARLES. Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers,\\r\\n And seek how we may prejudice the foe. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\n Paris. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the KING, GLOUCESTER, WINCHESTER, YORK,\\r\\n SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WARWICK, EXETER,\\r\\n VERNON, BASSET, and others. To them, with\\r\\n his soldiers, TALBOT\\r\\n\\r\\n TALBOT. My gracious Prince, and honourable peers,\\r\\n Hearing of your arrival in this realm,\\r\\n I have awhile given truce unto my wars\\r\\n To do my duty to my sovereign;\\r\\n In sign whereof, this arm that hath reclaim\\'d\\r\\n To your obedience fifty fortresses,\\r\\n Twelve cities, and seven walled towns of strength,\\r\\n Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem,\\r\\n Lets fall his sword before your Highness\\' feet,\\r\\n And with submissive loyalty of heart\\r\\n Ascribes the glory of his conquest got\\r\\n First to my God and next unto your Grace. [Kneels]\\r\\n KING HENRY. Is this the Lord Talbot, uncle Gloucester,\\r\\n That hath so long been resident in France?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Yes, if it please your Majesty, my liege.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Welcome, brave captain and victorious lord!\\r\\n When I was young, as yet I am not old,\\r\\n I do remember how my father said\\r\\n A stouter champion never handled sword.\\r\\n Long since we were resolved of your truth,\\r\\n Your faithful service, and your toil in war;\\r\\n Yet never have you tasted our reward,\\r\\n Or been reguerdon\\'d with so much as thanks,\\r\\n Because till now we never saw your face.\\r\\n Therefore stand up; and for these good deserts\\r\\n We here create you Earl of Shrewsbury;\\r\\n And in our coronation take your place.\\r\\n Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but VERNON and BASSET\\r\\n VERNON. Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea,\\r\\n Disgracing of these colours that I wear\\r\\n In honour of my noble Lord of York\\r\\n Dar\\'st thou maintain the former words thou spak\\'st?\\r\\n BASSET. Yes, sir; as well as you dare patronage\\r\\n The envious barking of your saucy tongue\\r\\n Against my lord the Duke of Somerset.\\r\\n VERNON. Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is.\\r\\n BASSET. Why, what is he? As good a man as York!\\r\\n VERNON. Hark ye: not so. In witness, take ye that.\\r\\n [Strikes him]\\r\\n BASSET. Villain, thou knowest the law of arms is such\\r\\n That whoso draws a sword \\'tis present death,\\r\\n Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood.\\r\\n But I\\'ll unto his Majesty and crave\\r\\n I may have liberty to venge this wrong;\\r\\n When thou shalt see I\\'ll meet thee to thy cost.\\r\\n VERNON. Well, miscreant, I\\'ll be there as soon as you;\\r\\n And, after, meet you sooner than you would. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nPark. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the KING, GLOUCESTER, WINCHESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, SOMERSET,\\r\\nWARWICK,\\r\\nTALBOT, EXETER, the GOVERNOR OF PARIS, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Lord Bishop, set the crown upon his head.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. God save King Henry, of that name the Sixth!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Now, Governor of Paris, take your oath\\r\\n [GOVERNOR kneels]\\r\\n That you elect no other king but him,\\r\\n Esteem none friends but such as are his friends,\\r\\n And none your foes but such as shall pretend\\r\\n Malicious practices against his state.\\r\\n This shall ye do, so help you righteous God!\\r\\n Exeunt GOVERNOR and his train\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR JOHN FASTOLFE\\r\\n\\r\\n FASTOLFE. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais,\\r\\n To haste unto your coronation,\\r\\n A letter was deliver\\'d to my hands,\\r\\n Writ to your Grace from th\\' Duke of Burgundy.\\r\\n TALBOT. Shame to the Duke of Burgundy and thee!\\r\\n I vow\\'d, base knight, when I did meet thee next\\r\\n To tear the Garter from thy craven\\'s leg, [Plucking it off]\\r\\n Which I have done, because unworthily\\r\\n Thou wast installed in that high degree.\\r\\n Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest:\\r\\n This dastard, at the battle of Patay,\\r\\n When but in all I was six thousand strong,\\r\\n And that the French were almost ten to one,\\r\\n Before we met or that a stroke was given,\\r\\n Like to a trusty squire did run away;\\r\\n In which assault we lost twelve hundred men;\\r\\n Myself and divers gentlemen beside\\r\\n Were there surpris\\'d and taken prisoners.\\r\\n Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss,\\r\\n Or whether that such cowards ought to wear\\r\\n This ornament of knighthood-yea or no.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. To say the truth, this fact was infamous\\r\\n And ill beseeming any common man,\\r\\n Much more a knight, a captain, and a leader.\\r\\n TALBOT. When first this order was ordain\\'d, my lords,\\r\\n Knights of the Garter were of noble birth,\\r\\n Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty courage,\\r\\n Such as were grown to credit by the wars;\\r\\n Not fearing death nor shrinking for distress,\\r\\n But always resolute in most extremes.\\r\\n He then that is not furnish\\'d in this sort\\r\\n Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight,\\r\\n Profaning this most honourable order,\\r\\n And should, if I were worthy to be judge,\\r\\n Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain\\r\\n That doth presume to boast of gentle blood.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Stain to thy countrymen, thou hear\\'st thy\\r\\n doom.\\r\\n Be packing, therefore, thou that wast a knight;\\r\\n Henceforth we banish thee on pain of death.\\r\\n Exit FASTOLFE\\r\\n And now, my Lord Protector, view the letter\\r\\n Sent from our uncle Duke of Burgundy.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Viewing the superscription] What means his\\r\\n Grace, that he hath chang\\'d his style?\\r\\n No more but plain and bluntly \\'To the King!\\'\\r\\n Hath he forgot he is his sovereign?\\r\\n Or doth this churlish superscription\\r\\n Pretend some alteration in good-will?\\r\\n What\\'s here? [Reads] \\'I have, upon especial cause,\\r\\n Mov\\'d with compassion of my country\\'s wreck,\\r\\n Together with the pitiful complaints\\r\\n Of such as your oppression feeds upon,\\r\\n Forsaken your pernicious faction,\\r\\n And join\\'d with Charles, the rightful King of France.\\'\\r\\n O monstrous treachery! Can this be so\\r\\n That in alliance, amity, and oaths,\\r\\n There should be found such false dissembling guile?\\r\\n KING HENRY. What! Doth my uncle Burgundy revolt?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He doth, my lord, and is become your foe.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Is that the worst this letter doth contain?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Why then Lord Talbot there shall talk with\\r\\n him\\r\\n And give him chastisement for this abuse.\\r\\n How say you, my lord, are you not content?\\r\\n TALBOT. Content, my liege! Yes; but that I am prevented,\\r\\n I should have begg\\'d I might have been employ\\'d.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Then gather strength and march unto him\\r\\n straight;\\r\\n Let him perceive how ill we brook his treason.\\r\\n And what offence it is to flout his friends.\\r\\n TALBOT. I go, my lord, in heart desiring still\\r\\n You may behold confusion of your foes. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter VERNON and BASSET\\r\\n\\r\\n VERNON. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign.\\r\\n BASSET. And me, my lord, grant me the combat too.\\r\\n YORK. This is my servant: hear him, noble Prince.\\r\\n SOMERSET. And this is mine: sweet Henry, favour him.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Be patient, lords, and give them leave to speak.\\r\\n Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim,\\r\\n And wherefore crave you combat, or with whom?\\r\\n VERNON. With him, my lord; for he hath done me wrong.\\r\\n BASSET. And I with him; for he hath done me wrong.\\r\\n KING HENRY. What is that wrong whereof you both\\r\\n complain? First let me know, and then I\\'ll answer you.\\r\\n BASSET. Crossing the sea from England into France,\\r\\n This fellow here, with envious carping tongue,\\r\\n Upbraided me about the rose I wear,\\r\\n Saying the sanguine colour of the leaves\\r\\n Did represent my master\\'s blushing cheeks\\r\\n When stubbornly he did repugn the truth\\r\\n About a certain question in the law\\r\\n Argu\\'d betwixt the Duke of York and him;\\r\\n With other vile and ignominious terms\\r\\n In confutation of which rude reproach\\r\\n And in defence of my lord\\'s worthiness,\\r\\n I crave the benefit of law of arms.\\r\\n VERNON. And that is my petition, noble lord;\\r\\n For though he seem with forged quaint conceit\\r\\n To set a gloss upon his bold intent,\\r\\n Yet know, my lord, I was provok\\'d by him,\\r\\n And he first took exceptions at this badge,\\r\\n Pronouncing that the paleness of this flower\\r\\n Bewray\\'d the faintness of my master\\'s heart.\\r\\n YORK. Will not this malice, Somerset, be left?\\r\\n SOMERSET. Your private grudge, my Lord of York, will out,\\r\\n Though ne\\'er so cunningly you smother it.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Good Lord, what madness rules in brainsick\\r\\n men, When for so slight and frivolous a cause\\r\\n Such factious emulations shall arise!\\r\\n Good cousins both, of York and Somerset,\\r\\n Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace.\\r\\n YORK. Let this dissension first be tried by fight,\\r\\n And then your Highness shall command a peace.\\r\\n SOMERSET. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone;\\r\\n Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then.\\r\\n YORK. There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset.\\r\\n VERNON. Nay, let it rest where it began at first.\\r\\n BASSET. Confirm it so, mine honourable lord.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Confirm it so? Confounded be your strife;\\r\\n And perish ye, with your audacious prate!\\r\\n Presumptuous vassals, are you not asham\\'d\\r\\n With this immodest clamorous outrage\\r\\n To trouble and disturb the King and us?\\r\\n And you, my lords- methinks you do not well\\r\\n To bear with their perverse objections,\\r\\n Much less to take occasion from their mouths\\r\\n To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves.\\r\\n Let me persuade you take a better course.\\r\\n EXETER. It grieves his Highness. Good my lords, be friends.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Come hither, you that would be combatants:\\r\\n Henceforth I charge you, as you love our favour,\\r\\n Quite to forget this quarrel and the cause.\\r\\n And you, my lords, remember where we are:\\r\\n In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation;\\r\\n If they perceive dissension in our looks\\r\\n And that within ourselves we disagree,\\r\\n How will their grudging stomachs be provok\\'d\\r\\n To wilful disobedience, and rebel!\\r\\n Beside, what infamy will there arise\\r\\n When foreign princes shall be certified\\r\\n That for a toy, a thing of no regard,\\r\\n King Henry\\'s peers and chief nobility\\r\\n Destroy\\'d themselves and lost the realm of France!\\r\\n O, think upon the conquest of my father,\\r\\n My tender years; and let us not forgo\\r\\n That for a trifle that was bought with blood!\\r\\n Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife.\\r\\n I see no reason, if I wear this rose,\\r\\n [Putting on a red rose]\\r\\n That any one should therefore be suspicious\\r\\n I more incline to Somerset than York:\\r\\n Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both.\\r\\n As well they may upbraid me with my crown,\\r\\n Because, forsooth, the King of Scots is crown\\'d.\\r\\n But your discretions better can persuade\\r\\n Than I am able to instruct or teach;\\r\\n And, therefore, as we hither came in peace,\\r\\n So let us still continue peace and love.\\r\\n Cousin of York, we institute your Grace\\r\\n To be our Regent in these parts of France.\\r\\n And, good my Lord of Somerset, unite\\r\\n Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot;\\r\\n And like true subjects, sons of your progenitors,\\r\\n Go cheerfully together and digest\\r\\n Your angry choler on your enemies.\\r\\n Ourself, my Lord Protector, and the rest,\\r\\n After some respite will return to Calais;\\r\\n From thence to England, where I hope ere long\\r\\n To be presented by your victories\\r\\n With Charles, Alencon, and that traitorous rout.\\r\\n Flourish. Exeunt all but YORK, WARWICK,\\r\\n EXETER, VERNON\\r\\n WARWICK. My Lord of York, I promise you, the King\\r\\n Prettily, methought, did play the orator.\\r\\n YORK. And so he did; but yet I like it not,\\r\\n In that he wears the badge of Somerset.\\r\\n WARWICK. Tush, that was but his fancy; blame him not;\\r\\n I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm.\\r\\n YORK. An if I wist he did-but let it rest;\\r\\n Other affairs must now be managed.\\r\\n Exeunt all but EXETER\\r\\n EXETER. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice;\\r\\n For had the passions of thy heart burst out,\\r\\n I fear we should have seen decipher\\'d there\\r\\n More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils,\\r\\n Than yet can be imagin\\'d or suppos\\'d.\\r\\n But howsoe\\'er, no simple man that sees\\r\\n This jarring discord of nobility,\\r\\n This shouldering of each other in the court,\\r\\n This factious bandying of their favourites,\\r\\n But that it doth presage some ill event.\\r\\n \\'Tis much when sceptres are in children\\'s hands;\\r\\n But more when envy breeds unkind division:\\r\\n There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\n France. Before Bordeaux\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TALBOT, with trump and drum\\r\\n\\r\\n TALBOT. Go to the gates of Bordeaux, trumpeter;\\r\\n Summon their general unto the wall.\\r\\n\\r\\n Trumpet sounds a parley. Enter, aloft, the\\r\\n GENERAL OF THE FRENCH, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n English John Talbot, Captains, calls you forth,\\r\\n Servant in arms to Harry King of England;\\r\\n And thus he would open your city gates,\\r\\n Be humble to us, call my sovereignvours\\r\\n And do him homage as obedient subjects,\\r\\n And I\\'ll withdraw me and my bloody power;\\r\\n But if you frown upon this proffer\\'d peace,\\r\\n You tempt the fury of my three attendants,\\r\\n Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire;\\r\\n Who in a moment even with the earth\\r\\n Shall lay your stately and air braving towers,\\r\\n If you forsake the offer of their love.\\r\\n GENERAL OF THE FRENCH. Thou ominous and fearful owl of\\r\\n death,\\r\\n Our nation\\'s terror and their bloody scourge!\\r\\n The period of thy tyranny approacheth.\\r\\n On us thou canst not enter but by death;\\r\\n For, I protest, we are well fortified,\\r\\n And strong enough to issue out and fight.\\r\\n If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed,\\r\\n Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee.\\r\\n On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch\\'d\\r\\n To wall thee from the liberty of flight,\\r\\n And no way canst thou turn thee for redress\\r\\n But death doth front thee with apparent spoil\\r\\n And pale destruction meets thee in the face.\\r\\n Ten thousand French have ta\\'en the sacrament\\r\\n To rive their dangerous artillery\\r\\n Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot.\\r\\n Lo, there thou stand\\'st, a breathing valiant man,\\r\\n Of an invincible unconquer\\'d spirit!\\r\\n This is the latest glory of thy praise\\r\\n That I, thy enemy, due thee withal;\\r\\n For ere the glass that now begins to run\\r\\n Finish the process of his sandy hour,\\r\\n These eyes that see thee now well coloured\\r\\n Shall see thee withered, bloody, pale, and dead.\\r\\n [Drum afar off]\\r\\n Hark! hark! The Dauphin\\'s drum, a warning bell,\\r\\n Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul;\\r\\n And mine shall ring thy dire departure out. Exit\\r\\n TALBOT. He fables not; I hear the enemy.\\r\\n Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.\\r\\n O, negligent and heedless discipline!\\r\\n How are we park\\'d and bounded in a pale\\r\\n A little herd of England\\'s timorous deer,\\r\\n Maz\\'d with a yelping kennel of French curs!\\r\\n If we be English deer, be then in blood;\\r\\n Not rascal-like to fall down with a pinch,\\r\\n But rather, moody-mad and desperate stags,\\r\\n Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel\\r\\n And make the cowards stand aloof at bay.\\r\\n Sell every man his life as dear as mine,\\r\\n And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends.\\r\\n God and Saint George, Talbot and England\\'s right,\\r\\n Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\n Plains in Gascony\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YORK, with trumpet and many soldiers. A\\r\\n MESSENGER meets him\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. Are not the speedy scouts return\\'d again\\r\\n That dogg\\'d the mighty army of the Dauphin?\\r\\n MESSENGER. They are return\\'d, my lord, and give it out\\r\\n That he is march\\'d to Bordeaux with his power\\r\\n To fight with Talbot; as he march\\'d along,\\r\\n By your espials were discovered\\r\\n Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led,\\r\\n Which join\\'d with him and made their march for\\r\\n Bordeaux.\\r\\n YORK. A plague upon that villain Somerset\\r\\n That thus delays my promised supply\\r\\n Of horsemen that were levied for this siege!\\r\\n Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid,\\r\\n And I am louted by a traitor villain\\r\\n And cannot help the noble chevalier.\\r\\n God comfort him in this necessity!\\r\\n If he miscarry, farewell wars in France.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR WILLIAM LUCY\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCY. Thou princely leader of our English strength,\\r\\n Never so needful on the earth of France,\\r\\n Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot,\\r\\n Who now is girdled with a waist of iron\\r\\n And hemm\\'d about with grim destruction.\\r\\n To Bordeaux, warlike Duke! to Bordeaux, York!\\r\\n Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England\\'s honour.\\r\\n YORK. O God, that Somerset, who in proud heart\\r\\n Doth stop my cornets, were in Talbot\\'s place!\\r\\n So should we save a valiant gentleman\\r\\n By forfeiting a traitor and a coward.\\r\\n Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep\\r\\n That thus we die while remiss traitors sleep.\\r\\n LUCY. O, send some succour to the distress\\'d lord!\\r\\n YORK. He dies; we lose; I break my warlike word.\\r\\n We mourn: France smiles. We lose: they daily get-\\r\\n All long of this vile traitor Somerset.\\r\\n LUCY. Then God take mercy on brave Talbot\\'s soul,\\r\\n And on his son, young John, who two hours since\\r\\n I met in travel toward his warlike father.\\r\\n This seven years did not Talbot see his son;\\r\\n And now they meet where both their lives are done.\\r\\n YORK. Alas, what joy shall noble Talbot have\\r\\n To bid his young son welcome to his grave?\\r\\n Away! vexation almost stops my breath,\\r\\n That sund\\'red friends greet in the hour of death.\\r\\n Lucy, farewell; no more my fortune can\\r\\n But curse the cause I cannot aid the man.\\r\\n Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away\\r\\n Long all of Somerset and his delay. Exit with forces\\r\\n LUCY. Thus, while the vulture of sedition\\r\\n Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders,\\r\\n Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss\\r\\n The conquest of our scarce cold conqueror,\\r\\n That ever-living man of memory,\\r\\n Henry the Fifth. Whiles they each other cross,\\r\\n Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\n Other plains of Gascony\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SOMERSET, With his forces; an OFFICER of\\r\\n TALBOT\\'S with him\\r\\n\\r\\n SOMERSET. It is too late; I cannot send them now.\\r\\n This expedition was by York and Talbot\\r\\n Too rashly plotted; all our general force\\r\\n Might with a sally of the very town\\r\\n Be buckled with. The over daring Talbot\\r\\n Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour\\r\\n By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure.\\r\\n York set him on to fight and die in shame.\\r\\n That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name.\\r\\n OFFICER. Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me\\r\\n Set from our o\\'er-match\\'d forces forth for aid.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR WILLIAM LUCY\\r\\n\\r\\n SOMERSET. How now, Sir William! Whither were you sent?\\r\\n LUCY. Whither, my lord! From bought and sold Lord\\r\\n Talbot,\\r\\n Who, ring\\'d about with bold adversity,\\r\\n Cries out for noble York and Somerset\\r\\n To beat assailing death from his weak legions;\\r\\n And whiles the honourable captain there\\r\\n Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs\\r\\n And, in advantage ling\\'ring, looks for rescue,\\r\\n You, his false hopes, the trust of England\\'s honour,\\r\\n Keep off aloof with worthless emulation.\\r\\n Let not your private discord keep away\\r\\n The levied succours that should lend him aid,\\r\\n While he, renowned noble gentleman,\\r\\n Yield up his life unto a world of odds.\\r\\n Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy,\\r\\n Alencon, Reignier, compass him about,\\r\\n And Talbot perisheth by your default.\\r\\n SOMERSET. York set him on; York should have sent him aid.\\r\\n LUCY. And York as fast upon your Grace exclaims,\\r\\n Swearing that you withhold his levied host,\\r\\n Collected for this expedition.\\r\\n SOMERSET. York lies; he might have sent and had the horse.\\r\\n I owe him little duty and less love,\\r\\n And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending.\\r\\n LUCY. The fraud of England, not the force of France,\\r\\n Hath now entrapp\\'d the noble minded Talbot.\\r\\n Never to England shall he bear his life,\\r\\n But dies betray\\'d to fortune by your strife.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen straight;\\r\\n Within six hours they will be at his aid.\\r\\n LUCY. Too late comes rescue; he is ta\\'en or slain,\\r\\n For fly he could not if he would have fled;\\r\\n And fly would Talbot never, though he might.\\r\\n SOMERSET. If he be dead, brave Talbot, then, adieu!\\r\\n LUCY. His fame lives in the world, his shame in you. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\n The English camp near Bordeaux\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TALBOT and JOHN his son\\r\\n\\r\\n TALBOT. O young John Talbot! I did send for thee\\r\\n To tutor thee in stratagems of war,\\r\\n That Talbot\\'s name might be in thee reviv\\'d\\r\\n When sapless age and weak unable limbs\\r\\n Should bring thy father to his drooping chair.\\r\\n But, O malignant and ill-boding stars!\\r\\n Now thou art come unto a feast of death,\\r\\n A terrible and unavoided danger;\\r\\n Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse,\\r\\n And I\\'ll direct thee how thou shalt escape\\r\\n By sudden flight. Come, dally not, be gone.\\r\\n JOHN. Is my name Talbot, and am I your son?\\r\\n And shall I fly? O, if you love my mother,\\r\\n Dishonour not her honourable name,\\r\\n To make a bastard and a slave of me!\\r\\n The world will say he is not Talbot\\'s blood\\r\\n That basely fled when noble Talbot stood.\\r\\n TALBOT. Fly to revenge my death, if I be slain.\\r\\n JOHN. He that flies so will ne\\'er return again.\\r\\n TALBOT. If we both stay, we both are sure to die.\\r\\n JOHN. Then let me stay; and, father, do you fly.\\r\\n Your loss is great, so your regard should be;\\r\\n My worth unknown, no loss is known in me;\\r\\n Upon my death the French can little boast;\\r\\n In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost.\\r\\n Flight cannot stain the honour you have won;\\r\\n But mine it will, that no exploit have done;\\r\\n You fled for vantage, every one will swear;\\r\\n But if I bow, they\\'ll say it was for fear.\\r\\n There is no hope that ever I will stay\\r\\n If the first hour I shrink and run away.\\r\\n Here, on my knee, I beg mortality,\\r\\n Rather than life preserv\\'d with infamy.\\r\\n TALBOT. Shall all thy mother\\'s hopes lie in one tomb?\\r\\n JOHN. Ay, rather than I\\'ll shame my mother\\'s womb.\\r\\n TALBOT. Upon my blessing I command thee go.\\r\\n JOHN. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe.\\r\\n TALBOT. Part of thy father may be sav\\'d in thee.\\r\\n JOHN. No part of him but will be shame in me.\\r\\n TALBOT. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it.\\r\\n JOHN. Yes, your renowned name; shall flight abuse it?\\r\\n TALBOT. Thy father\\'s charge shall clear thee from that stain.\\r\\n JOHN. You cannot witness for me, being slain.\\r\\n If death be so apparent, then both fly.\\r\\n TALBOT. And leave my followers here to fight and die?\\r\\n My age was never tainted with such shame.\\r\\n JOHN. And shall my youth be guilty of such blame?\\r\\n No more can I be severed from your side\\r\\n Than can yourself yourself yourself in twain divide.\\r\\n Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I;\\r\\n For live I will not if my father die.\\r\\n TALBOT. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son,\\r\\n Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon.\\r\\n Come, side by side together live and die;\\r\\n And soul with soul from France to heaven fly. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 6.\\r\\n\\r\\n A field of battle\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum: excursions wherein JOHN TALBOT is hemm\\'d\\r\\n about, and TALBOT rescues him\\r\\n\\r\\n TALBOT. Saint George and victory! Fight, soldiers, fight.\\r\\n The Regent hath with Talbot broke his word\\r\\n And left us to the rage of France his sword.\\r\\n Where is John Talbot? Pause and take thy breath;\\r\\n I gave thee life and rescu\\'d thee from death.\\r\\n JOHN. O, twice my father, twice am I thy son!\\r\\n The life thou gav\\'st me first was lost and done\\r\\n Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate,\\r\\n To my determin\\'d time thou gav\\'st new date.\\r\\n TALBOT. When from the Dauphin\\'s crest thy sword struck\\r\\n fire,\\r\\n It warm\\'d thy father\\'s heart with proud desire\\r\\n Of bold-fac\\'d victory. Then leaden age,\\r\\n Quicken\\'d with youthful spleen and warlike rage,\\r\\n Beat down Alencon, Orleans, Burgundy,\\r\\n And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee.\\r\\n The ireful bastard Orleans, that drew blood\\r\\n From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood\\r\\n Of thy first fight, I soon encountered\\r\\n And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed\\r\\n Some of his bastard blood; and in disgrace\\r\\n Bespoke him thus: \\'Contaminated, base,\\r\\n And misbegotten blood I spill of thine,\\r\\n Mean and right poor, for that pure blood of mine\\r\\n Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy.\\'\\r\\n Here purposing the Bastard to destroy,\\r\\n Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father\\'s care;\\r\\n Art thou not weary, John? How dost thou fare?\\r\\n Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly,\\r\\n Now thou art seal\\'d the son of chivalry?\\r\\n Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead:\\r\\n The help of one stands me in little stead.\\r\\n O, too much folly is it, well I wot,\\r\\n To hazard all our lives in one small boat!\\r\\n If I to-day die not with Frenchmen\\'s rage,\\r\\n To-morrow I shall die with mickle age.\\r\\n By me they nothing gain an if I stay:\\r\\n \\'Tis but the short\\'ning of my life one day.\\r\\n In thee thy mother dies, our household\\'s name,\\r\\n My death\\'s revenge, thy youth, and England\\'s fame.\\r\\n All these and more we hazard by thy stay;\\r\\n All these are sav\\'d if thou wilt fly away.\\r\\n JOHN. The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart;\\r\\n These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart.\\r\\n On that advantage, bought with such a shame,\\r\\n To save a paltry life and slay bright fame,\\r\\n Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly,\\r\\n The coward horse that bears me fall and die!\\r\\n And like me to the peasant boys of France,\\r\\n To be shame\\'s scorn and subject of mischance!\\r\\n Surely, by all the glory you have won,\\r\\n An if I fly, I am not Talbot\\'s son;\\r\\n Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot;\\r\\n If son to Talbot, die at Talbot\\'s foot.\\r\\n TALBOT. Then follow thou thy desp\\'rate sire of Crete,\\r\\n Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet.\\r\\n If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father\\'s side;\\r\\n And, commendable prov\\'d, let\\'s die in pride. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 7.\\r\\n\\r\\n Another part of the field\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum; excursions. Enter old TALBOT led by a SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n TALBOT. Where is my other life? Mine own is gone.\\r\\n O, where\\'s young Talbot? Where is valiant John?\\r\\n Triumphant death, smear\\'d with captivity,\\r\\n Young Talbot\\'s valour makes me smile at thee.\\r\\n When he perceiv\\'d me shrink and on my knee,\\r\\n His bloody sword he brandish\\'d over me,\\r\\n And like a hungry lion did commence\\r\\n Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience;\\r\\n But when my angry guardant stood alone,\\r\\n Tend\\'ring my ruin and assail\\'d of none,\\r\\n Dizzy-ey\\'d fury and great rage of heart\\r\\n Suddenly made him from my side to start\\r\\n Into the clust\\'ring battle of the French;\\r\\n And in that sea of blood my boy did drench\\r\\n His overmounting spirit; and there died,\\r\\n My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter soldiers, bearing the body of JOHN TALBOT\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. O my dear lord, lo where your son is borne!\\r\\n TALBOT. Thou antic Death, which laugh\\'st us here to scorn,\\r\\n Anon, from thy insulting tyranny,\\r\\n Coupled in bonds of perpetuity,\\r\\n Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky,\\r\\n In thy despite shall scape mortality.\\r\\n O thou whose wounds become hard-favoured Death,\\r\\n Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath!\\r\\n Brave Death by speaking, whether he will or no;\\r\\n Imagine him a Frenchman and thy foe.\\r\\n Poor boy! he smiles, methinks, as who should say,\\r\\n Had Death been French, then Death had died to-day.\\r\\n Come, come, and lay him in his father\\'s arms.\\r\\n My spirit can no longer bear these harms.\\r\\n Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have,\\r\\n Now my old arms are young John Talbot\\'s grave. [Dies]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BURGUNDY, BASTARD,\\r\\n LA PUCELLE, and forces\\r\\n\\r\\n CHARLES. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in,\\r\\n We should have found a bloody day of this.\\r\\n BASTARD. How the young whelp of Talbot\\'s, raging wood,\\r\\n Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen\\'s blood!\\r\\n PUCELLE. Once I encount\\'red him, and thus I said:\\r\\n \\'Thou maiden youth, be vanquish\\'d by a maid.\\'\\r\\n But with a proud majestical high scorn\\r\\n He answer\\'d thus: \\'Young Talbot was not born\\r\\n To be the pillage of a giglot wench.\\'\\r\\n So, rushing in the bowels of the French,\\r\\n He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. Doubtless he would have made a noble knight.\\r\\n See where he lies inhearsed in the arms\\r\\n Of the most bloody nurser of his harms!\\r\\n BASTARD. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder,\\r\\n Whose life was England\\'s glory, Gallia\\'s wonder.\\r\\n CHARLES. O, no; forbear! For that which we have fled\\r\\n During the life, let us not wrong it dead.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR WILLIAM Lucy, attended; a FRENCH\\r\\n HERALD preceding\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCY. Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin\\'s tent,\\r\\n To know who hath obtain\\'d the glory of the day.\\r\\n CHARLES. On what submissive message art thou sent?\\r\\n LUCY. Submission, Dauphin! \\'Tis a mere French word:\\r\\n We English warriors wot not what it means.\\r\\n I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta\\'en,\\r\\n And to survey the bodies of the dead.\\r\\n CHARLES. For prisoners ask\\'st thou? Hell our prison is.\\r\\n But tell me whom thou seek\\'st.\\r\\n LUCY. But where\\'s the great Alcides of the field,\\r\\n Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury,\\r\\n Created for his rare success in arms\\r\\n Great Earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence,\\r\\n Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield,\\r\\n Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of Alton,\\r\\n Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of Sheffield,\\r\\n The thrice victorious Lord of Falconbridge,\\r\\n Knight of the noble order of Saint George,\\r\\n Worthy Saint Michael, and the Golden Fleece,\\r\\n Great Marshal to Henry the Sixth\\r\\n Of all his wars within the realm of France?\\r\\n PUCELLE. Here\\'s a silly-stately style indeed!\\r\\n The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath,\\r\\n Writes not so tedious a style as this.\\r\\n Him that thou magnifi\\'st with all these tides,\\r\\n Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet.\\r\\n LUCY. Is Talbot slain-the Frenchmen\\'s only scourge,\\r\\n Your kingdom\\'s terror and black Nemesis?\\r\\n O, were mine eye-bans into bullets turn\\'d,\\r\\n That I in rage might shoot them at your faces!\\r\\n O that I could but can these dead to life!\\r\\n It were enough to fright the realm of France.\\r\\n Were but his picture left amongst you here,\\r\\n It would amaze the proudest of you all.\\r\\n Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence\\r\\n And give them burial as beseems their worth.\\r\\n PUCELLE. I think this upstart is old Talbot\\'s ghost,\\r\\n He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit.\\r\\n For God\\'s sake, let him have them; to keep them here,\\r\\n They would but stink, and putrefy the air.\\r\\n CHARLES. Go, take their bodies hence.\\r\\n LUCY. I\\'ll bear them hence; but from their ashes shall be\\r\\n rear\\'d\\r\\n A phoenix that shall make all France afeard.\\r\\n CHARLES. So we be rid of them, do with them what thou\\r\\n wilt.\\r\\n And now to Paris in this conquering vein!\\r\\n All will be ours, now bloody Talbot\\'s slain. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nSennet. Enter the KING, GLOUCESTER, and EXETER\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. Have you perus\\'d the letters from the Pope,\\r\\n The Emperor, and the Earl of Armagnac?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I have, my lord; and their intent is this:\\r\\n They humbly sue unto your Excellence\\r\\n To have a godly peace concluded of\\r\\n Between the realms of England and of France.\\r\\n KING HENRY. How doth your Grace affect their motion?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Well, my good lord, and as the only means\\r\\n To stop effusion of our Christian blood\\r\\n And stablish quietness on every side.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Ay, marry, uncle; for I always thought\\r\\n It was both impious and unnatural\\r\\n That such immanity and bloody strife\\r\\n Should reign among professors of one faith.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Beside, my lord, the sooner to effect\\r\\n And surer bind this knot of amity,\\r\\n The Earl of Armagnac, near knit to Charles,\\r\\n A man of great authority in France,\\r\\n Proffers his only daughter to your Grace\\r\\n In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Marriage, uncle! Alas, my years are young\\r\\n And fitter is my study and my books\\r\\n Than wanton dalliance with a paramour.\\r\\n Yet call th\\' ambassadors, and, as you please,\\r\\n So let them have their answers every one.\\r\\n I shall be well content with any choice\\r\\n Tends to God\\'s glory and my country\\'s weal.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter in Cardinal\\'s habit\\r\\n BEAUFORT, the PAPAL LEGATE, and two AMBASSADORS\\r\\n\\r\\n EXETER. What! Is my Lord of Winchester install\\'d\\r\\n And call\\'d unto a cardinal\\'s degree?\\r\\n Then I perceive that will be verified\\r\\n Henry the Fifth did sometime prophesy:\\r\\n \\'If once he come to be a cardinal,\\r\\n He\\'ll make his cap co-equal with the crown.\\'\\r\\n KING HENRY. My Lords Ambassadors, your several suits\\r\\n Have been consider\\'d and debated on.\\r\\n Your purpose is both good and reasonable,\\r\\n And therefore are we certainly resolv\\'d\\r\\n To draw conditions of a friendly peace,\\r\\n Which by my Lord of Winchester we mean\\r\\n Shall be transported presently to France.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And for the proffer of my lord your master,\\r\\n I have inform\\'d his Highness so at large,\\r\\n As, liking of the lady\\'s virtuous gifts,\\r\\n Her beauty, and the value of her dower,\\r\\n He doth intend she shall be England\\'s Queen.\\r\\n KING HENRY. [To AMBASSADOR] In argument and proof of\\r\\n which contract,\\r\\n Bear her this jewel, pledge of my affection.\\r\\n And so, my Lord Protector, see them guarded\\r\\n And safely brought to Dover; where inshipp\\'d,\\r\\n Commit them to the fortune of the sea.\\r\\n\\r\\n Exeunt all but WINCHESTER and the LEGATE\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Stay, my Lord Legate; you shall first receive\\r\\n The sum of money which I promised\\r\\n Should be delivered to his Holiness\\r\\n For clothing me in these grave ornaments.\\r\\n LEGATE. I will attend upon your lordship\\'s leisure.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. [Aside] Now Winchester will not submit, I\\r\\n trow,\\r\\n Or be inferior to the proudest peer.\\r\\n Humphrey of Gloucester, thou shalt well perceive\\r\\n That neither in birth or for authority\\r\\n The Bishop will be overborne by thee.\\r\\n I\\'ll either make thee stoop and bend thy knee,\\r\\n Or sack this country with a mutiny. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\n France. Plains in Anjou\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CHARLES, BURGUNDY, ALENCON, BASTARD,\\r\\n REIGNIER, LA PUCELLE, and forces\\r\\n\\r\\n CHARLES. These news, my lords, may cheer our drooping\\r\\n spirits:\\r\\n \\'Tis said the stout Parisians do revolt\\r\\n And turn again unto the warlike French.\\r\\n ALENCON. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France,\\r\\n And keep not back your powers in dalliance.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us;\\r\\n Else ruin combat with their palaces!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a SCOUT\\r\\n\\r\\n SCOUT. Success unto our valiant general,\\r\\n And happiness to his accomplices!\\r\\n CHARLES. What tidings send our scouts? I prithee speak.\\r\\n SCOUT. The English army, that divided was\\r\\n Into two parties, is now conjoin\\'d in one,\\r\\n And means to give you battle presently.\\r\\n CHARLES. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is;\\r\\n But we will presently provide for them.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. I trust the ghost of Talbot is not there.\\r\\n Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Of all base passions fear is most accurs\\'d.\\r\\n Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine,\\r\\n Let Henry fret and all the world repine.\\r\\n CHARLES. Then on, my lords; and France be fortunate!\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\n Before Angiers\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum, excursions. Enter LA PUCELLE\\r\\n\\r\\n PUCELLE. The Regent conquers and the Frenchmen fly.\\r\\n Now help, ye charming spells and periapts;\\r\\n And ye choice spirits that admonish me\\r\\n And give me signs of future accidents; [Thunder]\\r\\n You speedy helpers that are substitutes\\r\\n Under the lordly monarch of the north,\\r\\n Appear and aid me in this enterprise!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FIENDS\\r\\n\\r\\n This speedy and quick appearance argues proof\\r\\n Of your accustom\\'d diligence to me.\\r\\n Now, ye familiar spirits that are cull\\'d\\r\\n Out of the powerful regions under earth,\\r\\n Help me this once, that France may get the field.\\r\\n [They walk and speak not]\\r\\n O, hold me not with silence over-long!\\r\\n Where I was wont to feed you with my blood,\\r\\n I\\'ll lop a member off and give it you\\r\\n In earnest of a further benefit,\\r\\n So you do condescend to help me now.\\r\\n [They hang their heads]\\r\\n No hope to have redress? My body shall\\r\\n Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit.\\r\\n [They shake their heads]\\r\\n Cannot my body nor blood sacrifice\\r\\n Entreat you to your wonted furtherance?\\r\\n Then take my soul-my body, soul, and all,\\r\\n Before that England give the French the foil.\\r\\n [They depart]\\r\\n See! they forsake me. Now the time is come\\r\\n That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest\\r\\n And let her head fall into England\\'s lap.\\r\\n My ancient incantations are too weak,\\r\\n And hell too strong for me to buckle with.\\r\\n Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Excursions. Enter French and English, fighting.\\r\\n LA PUCELLE and YORK fight hand to hand; LA PUCELLE\\r\\n is taken. The French fly\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. Damsel of France, I think I have you fast.\\r\\n Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms,\\r\\n And try if they can gain your liberty.\\r\\n A goodly prize, fit for the devil\\'s grace!\\r\\n See how the ugly witch doth bend her brows\\r\\n As if, with Circe, she would change my shape!\\r\\n PUCELLE. Chang\\'d to a worser shape thou canst not be.\\r\\n YORK. O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man:\\r\\n No shape but his can please your dainty eye.\\r\\n PUCELLE. A plaguing mischief fight on Charles and thee!\\r\\n And may ye both be suddenly surpris\\'d\\r\\n By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds!\\r\\n YORK. Fell banning hag; enchantress, hold thy tongue.\\r\\n PUCELLE. I prithee give me leave to curse awhile.\\r\\n YORK. Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to the stake.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter SUFFOLK, with MARGARET in his hand\\r\\n\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner.\\r\\n [Gazes on her]\\r\\n O fairest beauty, do not fear nor fly!\\r\\n For I will touch thee but with reverent hands;\\r\\n I kiss these fingers for eternal peace,\\r\\n And lay them gently on thy tender side.\\r\\n Who art thou? Say, that I may honour thee.\\r\\n MARGARET. Margaret my name, and daughter to a king,\\r\\n The King of Naples-whosoe\\'er thou art.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call\\'d.\\r\\n Be not offended, nature\\'s miracle,\\r\\n Thou art allotted to be ta\\'en by me.\\r\\n So doth the swan her downy cygnets save,\\r\\n Keeping them prisoner underneath her wings.\\r\\n Yet, if this servile usage once offend,\\r\\n Go and be free again as Suffolk\\'s friend. [She is going]\\r\\n O, stay! [Aside] I have no power to let her pass;\\r\\n My hand would free her, but my heart says no.\\r\\n As plays the sun upon the glassy streams,\\r\\n Twinkling another counterfeited beam,\\r\\n So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes.\\r\\n Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak.\\r\\n I\\'ll call for pen and ink, and write my mind.\\r\\n Fie, de la Pole! disable not thyself;\\r\\n Hast not a tongue? Is she not here thy prisoner?\\r\\n Wilt thou be daunted at a woman\\'s sight?\\r\\n Ay, beauty\\'s princely majesty is such\\r\\n Confounds the tongue and makes the senses rough.\\r\\n MARGARET. Say, Earl of Suffolk, if thy name be so,\\r\\n What ransom must I pay before I pass?\\r\\n For I perceive I am thy prisoner.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. [Aside] How canst thou tell she will deny thy\\r\\n suit,\\r\\n Before thou make a trial of her love?\\r\\n MARGARET. Why speak\\'st thou not? What ransom must I\\r\\n pay?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. [Aside] She\\'s beautiful, and therefore to be woo\\'d;\\r\\n She is a woman, therefore to be won.\\r\\n MARGARET. Wilt thou accept of ransom-yea or no?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. [Aside] Fond man, remember that thou hast a\\r\\n wife;\\r\\n Then how can Margaret be thy paramour?\\r\\n MARGARET. I were best leave him, for he will not hear.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. [Aside] There all is marr\\'d; there lies a cooling\\r\\n card.\\r\\n MARGARET. He talks at random; sure, the man is mad.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. [Aside] And yet a dispensation may be had.\\r\\n MARGARET. And yet I would that you would answer me.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. [Aside] I\\'ll win this Lady Margaret. For whom?\\r\\n Why, for my King! Tush, that\\'s a wooden thing!\\r\\n MARGARET. He talks of wood. It is some carpenter.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. [Aside] Yet so my fancy may be satisfied,\\r\\n And peace established between these realms.\\r\\n But there remains a scruple in that too;\\r\\n For though her father be the King of Naples,\\r\\n Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor,\\r\\n And our nobility will scorn the match.\\r\\n MARGARET. Hear ye, Captain-are you not at leisure?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. [Aside] It shall be so, disdain they ne\\'er so much.\\r\\n Henry is youthful, and will quickly yield.\\r\\n Madam, I have a secret to reveal.\\r\\n MARGARET. [Aside] What though I be enthrall\\'d? He seems\\r\\n a knight,\\r\\n And will not any way dishonour me.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say.\\r\\n MARGARET. [Aside] Perhaps I shall be rescu\\'d by the French;\\r\\n And then I need not crave his courtesy.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause\\r\\n MARGARET. [Aside] Tush! women have been captivate ere\\r\\n now.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Lady, wherefore talk you so?\\r\\n MARGARET. I cry you mercy, \\'tis but quid for quo.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Say, gentle Princess, would you not suppose\\r\\n Your bondage happy, to be made a queen?\\r\\n MARGARET. To be a queen in bondage is more vile\\r\\n Than is a slave in base servility;\\r\\n For princes should be free.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. And so shall you,\\r\\n If happy England\\'s royal king be free.\\r\\n MARGARET. Why, what concerns his freedom unto me?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. I\\'ll undertake to make thee Henry\\'s queen,\\r\\n To put a golden sceptre in thy hand\\r\\n And set a precious crown upon thy head,\\r\\n If thou wilt condescend to be my-\\r\\n MARGARET. What?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. His love.\\r\\n MARGARET. I am unworthy to be Henry\\'s wife.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. No, gentle madam; I unworthy am\\r\\n To woo so fair a dame to be his wife\\r\\n And have no portion in the choice myself.\\r\\n How say you, madam? Are ye so content?\\r\\n MARGARET. An if my father please, I am content.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Then call our captains and our colours forth!\\r\\n And, madam, at your father\\'s castle walls\\r\\n We\\'ll crave a parley to confer with him.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound a parley. Enter REIGNIER on the walls\\r\\n\\r\\n See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner!\\r\\n REIGNIER. To whom?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. To me.\\r\\n REIGNIER. Suffolk, what remedy?\\r\\n I am a soldier and unapt to weep\\r\\n Or to exclaim on fortune\\'s fickleness.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord.\\r\\n Consent, and for thy honour give consent,\\r\\n Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king,\\r\\n Whom I with pain have woo\\'d and won thereto;\\r\\n And this her easy-held imprisonment\\r\\n Hath gain\\'d thy daughter princely liberty.\\r\\n REIGNIER. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Fair Margaret knows\\r\\n That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign.\\r\\n REIGNIER. Upon thy princely warrant I descend\\r\\n To give thee answer of thy just demand.\\r\\n Exit REIGNIER from the walls\\r\\n SUFFOLK. And here I will expect thy coming.\\r\\n\\r\\n Trumpets sound. Enter REIGNIER below\\r\\n\\r\\n REIGNIER. Welcome, brave Earl, into our territories;\\r\\n Command in Anjou what your Honour pleases.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child,\\r\\n Fit to be made companion with a king.\\r\\n What answer makes your Grace unto my suit?\\r\\n REIGNIER. Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth\\r\\n To be the princely bride of such a lord,\\r\\n Upon condition I may quietly\\r\\n Enjoy mine own, the country Maine and Anjou,\\r\\n Free from oppression or the stroke of war,\\r\\n My daughter shall be Henry\\'s, if he please.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. That is her ransom; I deliver her.\\r\\n And those two counties I will undertake\\r\\n Your Grace shall well and quietly enjoy.\\r\\n REIGNIER. And I again, in Henry\\'s royal name,\\r\\n As deputy unto that gracious king,\\r\\n Give thee her hand for sign of plighted faith.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks,\\r\\n Because this is in traffic of a king.\\r\\n [Aside] And yet, methinks, I could be well content\\r\\n To be mine own attorney in this case.\\r\\n I\\'ll over then to England with this news,\\r\\n And make this marriage to be solemniz\\'d.\\r\\n So, farewell, Reignier. Set this diamond safe\\r\\n In golden palaces, as it becomes.\\r\\n REIGNIER. I do embrace thee as I would embrace\\r\\n The Christian prince, King Henry, were he here.\\r\\n MARGARET. Farewell, my lord. Good wishes, praise, and\\r\\n prayers,\\r\\n Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret. [She is going]\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Farewell, sweet madam. But hark you, Margaret\\r\\n No princely commendations to my king?\\r\\n MARGARET. Such commendations as becomes a maid,\\r\\n A virgin, and his servant, say to him.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Words sweetly plac\\'d and modestly directed.\\r\\n But, madam, I must trouble you again\\r\\n No loving token to his Majesty?\\r\\n MARGARET. Yes, my good lord: a pure unspotted heart,\\r\\n Never yet taint with love, I send the King.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. And this withal. [Kisses her]\\r\\n MARGARET. That for thyself, I will not so presume\\r\\n To send such peevish tokens to a king.\\r\\n Exeunt REIGNIER and MARGARET\\r\\n SUFFOLK. O, wert thou for myself! But, Suffolk, stay;\\r\\n Thou mayst not wander in that labyrinth:\\r\\n There Minotaurs and ugly treasons lurk.\\r\\n Solicit Henry with her wondrous praise.\\r\\n Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount,\\r\\n And natural graces that extinguish art;\\r\\n Repeat their semblance often on the seas,\\r\\n That, when thou com\\'st to kneel at Henry\\'s feet,\\r\\n Thou mayst bereave him of his wits with wonder. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\n Camp of the DUKE OF YORK in Anjou\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YORK, WARWICK, and others\\r\\n YORK. Bring forth that sorceress, condemn\\'d to burn.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LA PUCELLE, guarded, and a SHEPHERD\\r\\n\\r\\n SHEPHERD. Ah, Joan, this kills thy father\\'s heart outright!\\r\\n Have I sought every country far and near,\\r\\n And, now it is my chance to find thee out,\\r\\n Must I behold thy timeless cruel death?\\r\\n Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I\\'ll die with thee!\\r\\n PUCELLE. Decrepit miser! base ignoble wretch!\\r\\n I am descended of a gentler blood;\\r\\n Thou art no father nor no friend of mine.\\r\\n SHEPHERD. Out, out! My lords, an please you, \\'tis not so;\\r\\n I did beget her, all the parish knows.\\r\\n Her mother liveth yet, can testify\\r\\n She was the first fruit of my bach\\'lorship.\\r\\n WARWICK. Graceless, wilt thou deny thy parentage?\\r\\n YORK. This argues what her kind of life hath been-\\r\\n Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes.\\r\\n SHEPHERD. Fie, Joan, that thou wilt be so obstacle!\\r\\n God knows thou art a collop of my flesh;\\r\\n And for thy sake have I shed many a tear.\\r\\n Deny me not, I prithee, gentle Joan.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Peasant, avaunt! You have suborn\\'d this man\\r\\n Of purpose to obscure my noble birth.\\r\\n SHEPHERD. \\'Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest\\r\\n The morn that I was wedded to her mother.\\r\\n Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl.\\r\\n Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time\\r\\n Of thy nativity. I would the milk\\r\\n Thy mother gave thee when thou suck\\'dst her breast\\r\\n Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake.\\r\\n Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs afield,\\r\\n I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee.\\r\\n Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab?\\r\\n O, burn her, burn her! Hanging is too good. Exit\\r\\n YORK. Take her away; for she hath liv\\'d too long,\\r\\n To fill the world with vicious qualities.\\r\\n PUCELLE. First let me tell you whom you have condemn\\'d:\\r\\n Not me begotten of a shepherd swain,\\r\\n But issued from the progeny of kings;\\r\\n Virtuous and holy, chosen from above\\r\\n By inspiration of celestial grace,\\r\\n To work exceeding miracles on earth.\\r\\n I never had to do with wicked spirits.\\r\\n But you, that are polluted with your lusts,\\r\\n Stain\\'d with the guiltless blood of innocents,\\r\\n Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices,\\r\\n Because you want the grace that others have,\\r\\n You judge it straight a thing impossible\\r\\n To compass wonders but by help of devils.\\r\\n No, misconceived! Joan of Arc hath been\\r\\n A virgin from her tender infancy,\\r\\n Chaste and immaculate in very thought;\\r\\n Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effus\\'d,\\r\\n Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven.\\r\\n YORK. Ay, ay. Away with her to execution!\\r\\n WARWICK. And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid,\\r\\n Spare for no fagots, let there be enow.\\r\\n Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake,\\r\\n That so her torture may be shortened.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts?\\r\\n Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity\\r\\n That warranteth by law to be thy privilege:\\r\\n I am with child, ye bloody homicides;\\r\\n Murder not then the fruit within my womb,\\r\\n Although ye hale me to a violent death.\\r\\n YORK. Now heaven forfend! The holy maid with child!\\r\\n WARWICK. The greatest miracle that e\\'er ye wrought:\\r\\n Is all your strict preciseness come to this?\\r\\n YORK. She and the Dauphin have been juggling.\\r\\n I did imagine what would be her refuge.\\r\\n WARWICK. Well, go to; we\\'ll have no bastards live;\\r\\n Especially since Charles must father it.\\r\\n PUCELLE. You are deceiv\\'d; my child is none of his:\\r\\n It was Alencon that enjoy\\'d my love.\\r\\n YORK. Alencon, that notorious Machiavel!\\r\\n It dies, an if it had a thousand lives.\\r\\n PUCELLE. O, give me leave, I have deluded you.\\r\\n \\'Twas neither Charles nor yet the Duke I nam\\'d,\\r\\n But Reignier, King of Naples, that prevail\\'d.\\r\\n WARWICK. A married man! That\\'s most intolerable.\\r\\n YORK. Why, here\\'s a girl! I think she knows not well\\r\\n There were so many-whom she may accuse.\\r\\n WARWICK. It\\'s sign she hath been liberal and free.\\r\\n YORK. And yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure.\\r\\n Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat and thee.\\r\\n Use no entreaty, for it is in vain.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Then lead me hence-with whom I leave my\\r\\n curse:\\r\\n May never glorious sun reflex his beams\\r\\n Upon the country where you make abode;\\r\\n But darkness and the gloomy shade of death\\r\\n Environ you, till mischief and despair\\r\\n Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves!\\r\\n Exit, guarded\\r\\n YORK. Break thou in pieces and consume to ashes,\\r\\n Thou foul accursed minister of hell!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CARDINAL BEAUFORT, attended\\r\\n\\r\\n CARDINAL. Lord Regent, I do greet your Excellence\\r\\n With letters of commission from the King.\\r\\n For know, my lords, the states of Christendom,\\r\\n Mov\\'d with remorse of these outrageous broils,\\r\\n Have earnestly implor\\'d a general peace\\r\\n Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French;\\r\\n And here at hand the Dauphin and his train\\r\\n Approacheth, to confer about some matter.\\r\\n YORK. Is all our travail turn\\'d to this effect?\\r\\n After the slaughter of so many peers,\\r\\n So many captains, gentlemen, and soldiers,\\r\\n That in this quarrel have been overthrown\\r\\n And sold their bodies for their country\\'s benefit,\\r\\n Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace?\\r\\n Have we not lost most part of all the towns,\\r\\n By treason, falsehood, and by treachery,\\r\\n Our great progenitors had conquered?\\r\\n O Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with grief\\r\\n The utter loss of all the realm of France.\\r\\n WARWICK. Be patient, York. If we conclude a peace,\\r\\n It shall be with such strict and severe covenants\\r\\n As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BASTARD, REIGNIER, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n CHARLES. Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed\\r\\n That peaceful truce shall be proclaim\\'d in France,\\r\\n We come to be informed by yourselves\\r\\n What the conditions of that league must be.\\r\\n YORK. Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler chokes\\r\\n The hollow passage of my poison\\'d voice,\\r\\n By sight of these our baleful enemies.\\r\\n CARDINAL. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus:\\r\\n That, in regard King Henry gives consent,\\r\\n Of mere compassion and of lenity,\\r\\n To ease your country of distressful war,\\r\\n An suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace,\\r\\n You shall become true liegemen to his crown;\\r\\n And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear\\r\\n To pay him tribute and submit thyself,\\r\\n Thou shalt be plac\\'d as viceroy under him,\\r\\n And still enjoy thy regal dignity.\\r\\n ALENCON. Must he be then as shadow of himself?\\r\\n Adorn his temples with a coronet\\r\\n And yet, in substance and authority,\\r\\n Retain but privilege of a private man?\\r\\n This proffer is absurd and reasonless.\\r\\n CHARLES. \\'Tis known already that I am possess\\'d\\r\\n With more than half the Gallian territories,\\r\\n And therein reverenc\\'d for their lawful king.\\r\\n Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish\\'d,\\r\\n Detract so much from that prerogative\\r\\n As to be call\\'d but viceroy of the whole?\\r\\n No, Lord Ambassador; I\\'ll rather keep\\r\\n That which I have than, coveting for more,\\r\\n Be cast from possibility of all.\\r\\n YORK. Insulting Charles! Hast thou by secret means\\r\\n Us\\'d intercession to obtain a league,\\r\\n And now the matter grows to compromise\\r\\n Stand\\'st thou aloof upon comparison?\\r\\n Either accept the title thou usurp\\'st,\\r\\n Of benefit proceeding from our king\\r\\n And not of any challenge of desert,\\r\\n Or we will plague thee with incessant wars.\\r\\n REIGNIER. [To CHARLES] My lord, you do not well in\\r\\n obstinacy\\r\\n To cavil in the course of this contract.\\r\\n If once it be neglected, ten to one\\r\\n We shall not find like opportunity.\\r\\n ALENCON. [To CHARLES] To say the truth, it is your policy\\r\\n To save your subjects from such massacre\\r\\n And ruthless slaughters as are daily seen\\r\\n By our proceeding in hostility;\\r\\n And therefore take this compact of a truce,\\r\\n Although you break it when your pleasure serves.\\r\\n WARWICK. How say\\'st thou, Charles? Shall our condition\\r\\n stand?\\r\\n CHARLES. It shall;\\r\\n Only reserv\\'d, you claim no interest\\r\\n In any of our towns of garrison.\\r\\n YORK. Then swear allegiance to his Majesty:\\r\\n As thou art knight, never to disobey\\r\\n Nor be rebellious to the crown of England\\r\\n Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England.\\r\\n [CHARLES and the rest give tokens of fealty]\\r\\n So, now dismiss your army when ye please;\\r\\n Hang up your ensigns, let your drums be still,\\r\\n For here we entertain a solemn peace. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\n London. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SUFFOLK, in conference with the KING,\\r\\n GLOUCESTER and EXETER\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. Your wondrous rare description, noble Earl,\\r\\n Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish\\'d me.\\r\\n Her virtues, graced with external gifts,\\r\\n Do breed love\\'s settled passions in my heart;\\r\\n And like as rigour of tempestuous gusts\\r\\n Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide,\\r\\n So am I driven by breath of her renown\\r\\n Either to suffer shipwreck or arrive\\r\\n Where I may have fruition of her love.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Tush, my good lord! This superficial tale\\r\\n Is but a preface of her worthy praise.\\r\\n The chief perfections of that lovely dame,\\r\\n Had I sufficient skill to utter them,\\r\\n Would make a volume of enticing lines,\\r\\n Able to ravish any dull conceit;\\r\\n And, which is more, she is not so divine,\\r\\n So full-replete with choice of all delights,\\r\\n But with as humble lowliness of mind\\r\\n She is content to be at your command\\r\\n Command, I mean, of virtuous intents,\\r\\n To love and honour Henry as her lord.\\r\\n KING HENRY. And otherwise will Henry ne\\'er presume.\\r\\n Therefore, my Lord Protector, give consent\\r\\n That Margaret may be England\\'s royal Queen.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. So should I give consent to flatter sin.\\r\\n You know, my lord, your Highness is betroth\\'d\\r\\n Unto another lady of esteem.\\r\\n How shall we then dispense with that contract,\\r\\n And not deface your honour with reproach?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths;\\r\\n Or one that at a triumph, having vow\\'d\\r\\n To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists\\r\\n By reason of his adversary\\'s odds:\\r\\n A poor earl\\'s daughter is unequal odds,\\r\\n And therefore may be broke without offence.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more than\\r\\n that?\\r\\n Her father is no better than an earl,\\r\\n Although in glorious titles he excel.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Yes, my lord, her father is a king,\\r\\n The King of Naples and Jerusalem;\\r\\n And of such great authority in France\\r\\n As his alliance will confirm our peace,\\r\\n And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And so the Earl of Armagnac may do,\\r\\n Because he is near kinsman unto Charles.\\r\\n EXETER. Beside, his wealth doth warrant a liberal dower;\\r\\n Where Reignier sooner will receive than give.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. A dow\\'r, my lords! Disgrace not so your king,\\r\\n That he should be so abject, base, and poor,\\r\\n To choose for wealth and not for perfect love.\\r\\n Henry is able to enrich his queen,\\r\\n And not to seek a queen to make him rich.\\r\\n So worthless peasants bargain for their wives,\\r\\n As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse.\\r\\n Marriage is a matter of more worth\\r\\n Than to be dealt in by attorneyship;\\r\\n Not whom we will, but whom his Grace affects,\\r\\n Must be companion of his nuptial bed.\\r\\n And therefore, lords, since he affects her most,\\r\\n It most of all these reasons bindeth us\\r\\n In our opinions she should be preferr\\'d;\\r\\n For what is wedlock forced but a hell,\\r\\n An age of discord and continual strife?\\r\\n Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss,\\r\\n And is a pattern of celestial peace.\\r\\n Whom should we match with Henry, being a king,\\r\\n But Margaret, that is daughter to a king?\\r\\n Her peerless feature, joined with her birth,\\r\\n Approves her fit for none but for a king;\\r\\n Her valiant courage and undaunted spirit,\\r\\n More than in women commonly is seen,\\r\\n Will answer our hope in issue of a king;\\r\\n For Henry, son unto a conqueror,\\r\\n Is likely to beget more conquerors,\\r\\n If with a lady of so high resolve\\r\\n As is fair Margaret he be link\\'d in love.\\r\\n Then yield, my lords; and here conclude with me\\r\\n That Margaret shall be Queen, and none but she.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Whether it be through force of your report,\\r\\n My noble Lord of Suffolk, or for that\\r\\n My tender youth was never yet attaint\\r\\n With any passion of inflaming love,\\r\\n I cannot tell; but this I am assur\\'d,\\r\\n I feel such sharp dissension in my breast,\\r\\n Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear,\\r\\n As I am sick with working of my thoughts.\\r\\n Take therefore shipping; post, my lord, to France;\\r\\n Agree to any covenants; and procure\\r\\n That Lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come\\r\\n To cross the seas to England, and be crown\\'d\\r\\n King Henry\\'s faithful and anointed queen.\\r\\n For your expenses and sufficient charge,\\r\\n Among the people gather up a tenth.\\r\\n Be gone, I say; for till you do return\\r\\n I rest perplexed with a thousand cares.\\r\\n And you, good uncle, banish all offence:\\r\\n If you do censure me by what you were,\\r\\n Not what you are, I know it will excuse\\r\\n This sudden execution of my will.\\r\\n And so conduct me where, from company,\\r\\n I may revolve and ruminate my grief. Exit\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last.\\r\\n Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EXETER\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Thus Suffolk hath prevail\\'d; and thus he goes,\\r\\n As did the youthful Paris once to Greece,\\r\\n With hope to find the like event in love\\r\\n But prosper better than the Troyan did.\\r\\n Margaret shall now be Queen, and rule the King;\\r\\n But I will rule both her, the King, and realm. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personae\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY THE SIXTH\\r\\n HUMPHREY, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, his uncle\\r\\n CARDINAL BEAUFORT, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, great-uncle to the King\\r\\n RICHARD PLANTAGENET, DUKE OF YORK\\r\\n EDWARD and RICHARD, his sons\\r\\n DUKE OF SOMERSET\\r\\n DUKE OF SUFFOLK\\r\\n DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n LORD CLIFFORD\\r\\n YOUNG CLIFFORD, his son\\r\\n EARL OF SALISBURY\\r\\n EARL OF WARWICK\\r\\n LORD SCALES\\r\\n LORD SAY\\r\\n SIR HUMPHREY STAFFORD\\r\\n WILLIAM STAFFORD, his brother\\r\\n SIR JOHN STANLEY\\r\\n VAUX\\r\\n MATTHEW GOFFE\\r\\n A LIEUTENANT, a SHIPMASTER, a MASTER\\'S MATE, and WALTER WHITMORE\\r\\n TWO GENTLEMEN, prisoners with Suffolk\\r\\n JOHN HUME and JOHN SOUTHWELL, two priests\\r\\n ROGER BOLINGBROKE, a conjurer\\r\\n A SPIRIT raised by him\\r\\n THOMAS HORNER, an armourer\\r\\n PETER, his man\\r\\n CLERK OF CHATHAM\\r\\n MAYOR OF SAINT ALBANS\\r\\n SAUNDER SIMPCOX, an impostor\\r\\n ALEXANDER IDEN, a Kentish gentleman\\r\\n JACK CADE, a rebel\\r\\n GEORGE BEVIS, JOHN HOLLAND, DICK THE BUTCHER, SMITH THE WEAVER,\\r\\n MICHAEL, &c., followers of Cade\\r\\n TWO MURDERERS\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET, Queen to King Henry\\r\\n ELEANOR, Duchess of Gloucester\\r\\n MARGERY JOURDAIN, a witch\\r\\n WIFE to SIMPCOX\\r\\n\\r\\n Lords, Ladies, and Attendants; Petitioners, Aldermen, a Herald,\\r\\n a Beadle, a Sheriff, Officers, Citizens, Prentices, Falconers,\\r\\n Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: England\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. London. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish of trumpets; then hautboys. Enter the KING, DUKE HUMPHREY OF\\r\\nGLOUCESTER, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and CARDINAL BEAUFORT, on the one side;\\r\\nthe QUEEN, SUFFOLK, YORK, SOMERSET, and BUCKINGHAM, on the other\\r\\n\\r\\n SUFFOLK. As by your high imperial Majesty\\r\\n I had in charge at my depart for France,\\r\\n As procurator to your Excellence,\\r\\n To marry Princess Margaret for your Grace;\\r\\n So, in the famous ancient city Tours,\\r\\n In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil,\\r\\n The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne, and Alencon,\\r\\n Seven earls, twelve barons, and twenty reverend bishops,\\r\\n I have perform\\'d my task, and was espous\\'d;\\r\\n And humbly now upon my bended knee,\\r\\n In sight of England and her lordly peers,\\r\\n Deliver up my title in the Queen\\r\\n To your most gracious hands, that are the substance\\r\\n Of that great shadow I did represent:\\r\\n The happiest gift that ever marquis gave,\\r\\n The fairest queen that ever king receiv\\'d.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Suffolk, arise. Welcome, Queen Margaret:\\r\\n I can express no kinder sign of love\\r\\n Than this kind kiss. O Lord, that lends me life,\\r\\n Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!\\r\\n For thou hast given me in this beauteous face\\r\\n A world of earthly blessings to my soul,\\r\\n If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.\\r\\n QUEEN. Great King of England, and my gracious lord,\\r\\n The mutual conference that my mind hath had,\\r\\n By day, by night, waking and in my dreams,\\r\\n In courtly company or at my beads,\\r\\n With you, mine alder-liefest sovereign,\\r\\n Makes me the bolder to salute my king\\r\\n With ruder terms, such as my wit affords\\r\\n And over-joy of heart doth minister.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Her sight did ravish, but her grace in speech,\\r\\n Her words y-clad with wisdom\\'s majesty,\\r\\n Makes me from wond\\'ring fall to weeping joys,\\r\\n Such is the fulness of my heart\\'s content.\\r\\n Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love.\\r\\n ALL. [Kneeling] Long live Queen Margaret, England\\'s happiness!\\r\\n QUEEN. We thank you all. [Flourish]\\r\\n SUFFOLK. My Lord Protector, so it please your Grace,\\r\\n Here are the articles of contracted peace\\r\\n Between our sovereign and the French King Charles,\\r\\n For eighteen months concluded by consent.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Reads] \\'Imprimis: It is agreed between the French King\\r\\n Charles and William de la Pole, Marquess of Suffolk, ambassador\\r\\n for Henry King of England, that the said Henry shall espouse the\\r\\n Lady Margaret, daughter unto Reignier King of Naples, Sicilia,\\r\\n and Jerusalem, and crown her Queen of England ere the thirtieth\\r\\n of May next ensuing.\\r\\n Item: That the duchy of Anjou and the county of Maine shall be\\r\\n released and delivered to the King her father\\'-\\r\\n [Lets the paper fall]\\r\\n KING HENRY. Uncle, how now!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Pardon me, gracious lord;\\r\\n Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart,\\r\\n And dimm\\'d mine eyes, that I can read no further.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Uncle of Winchester, I pray read on.\\r\\n CARDINAL. [Reads] \\'Item: It is further agreed between them that the\\r\\n duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be released and delivered over\\r\\n to the King her father, and she sent over of the King of\\r\\n England\\'s own proper cost and charges, without having any dowry.\\'\\r\\n KING HENRY. They please us well. Lord Marquess, kneel down.\\r\\n We here create thee the first Duke of Suffolk,\\r\\n And girt thee with the sword. Cousin of York,\\r\\n We here discharge your Grace from being Regent\\r\\n I\\' th\\' parts of France, till term of eighteen months\\r\\n Be full expir\\'d. Thanks, uncle Winchester,\\r\\n Gloucester, York, Buckingham, Somerset,\\r\\n Salisbury, and Warwick;\\r\\n We thank you all for this great favour done\\r\\n In entertainment to my princely queen.\\r\\n Come, let us in, and with all speed provide\\r\\n To see her coronation be perform\\'d.\\r\\n Exeunt KING, QUEEN, and SUFFOLK\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Brave peers of England, pillars of the state,\\r\\n To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief\\r\\n Your grief, the common grief of all the land.\\r\\n What! did my brother Henry spend his youth,\\r\\n His valour, coin, and people, in the wars?\\r\\n Did he so often lodge in open field,\\r\\n In winter\\'s cold and summer\\'s parching heat,\\r\\n To conquer France, his true inheritance?\\r\\n And did my brother Bedford toil his wits\\r\\n To keep by policy what Henry got?\\r\\n Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham,\\r\\n Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick,\\r\\n Receiv\\'d deep scars in France and Normandy?\\r\\n Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself,\\r\\n With all the learned Council of the realm,\\r\\n Studied so long, sat in the Council House\\r\\n Early and late, debating to and fro\\r\\n How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe?\\r\\n And had his Highness in his infancy\\r\\n Crowned in Paris, in despite of foes?\\r\\n And shall these labours and these honours die?\\r\\n Shall Henry\\'s conquest, Bedford\\'s vigilance,\\r\\n Your deeds of war, and all our counsel die?\\r\\n O peers of England, shameful is this league!\\r\\n Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame,\\r\\n Blotting your names from books of memory,\\r\\n Razing the characters of your renown,\\r\\n Defacing monuments of conquer\\'d France,\\r\\n Undoing all, as all had never been!\\r\\n CARDINAL. Nephew, what means this passionate discourse,\\r\\n This peroration with such circumstance?\\r\\n For France, \\'tis ours; and we will keep it still.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ay, uncle, we will keep it if we can;\\r\\n But now it is impossible we should.\\r\\n Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast,\\r\\n Hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine\\r\\n Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style\\r\\n Agrees not with the leanness of his purse.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Now, by the death of Him that died for all,\\r\\n These counties were the keys of Normandy!\\r\\n But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son?\\r\\n WARWICK. For grief that they are past recovery;\\r\\n For were there hope to conquer them again\\r\\n My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears.\\r\\n Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both;\\r\\n Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer;\\r\\n And are the cities that I got with wounds\\r\\n Deliver\\'d up again with peaceful words?\\r\\n Mort Dieu!\\r\\n YORK. For Suffolk\\'s duke, may he be suffocate,\\r\\n That dims the honour of this warlike isle!\\r\\n France should have torn and rent my very heart\\r\\n Before I would have yielded to this league.\\r\\n I never read but England\\'s kings have had\\r\\n Large sums of gold and dowries with their wives;\\r\\n And our King Henry gives away his own\\r\\n To match with her that brings no vantages.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. A proper jest, and never heard before,\\r\\n That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth\\r\\n For costs and charges in transporting her!\\r\\n She should have stay\\'d in France, and starv\\'d in France,\\r\\n Before-\\r\\n CARDINAL. My Lord of Gloucester, now ye grow too hot:\\r\\n It was the pleasure of my lord the King.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My Lord of Winchester, I know your mind;\\r\\n \\'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike,\\r\\n But \\'tis my presence that doth trouble ye.\\r\\n Rancour will out: proud prelate, in thy face\\r\\n I see thy fury; if I longer stay\\r\\n We shall begin our ancient bickerings.\\r\\n Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone,\\r\\n I prophesied France will be lost ere long. Exit\\r\\n CARDINAL. So, there goes our Protector in a rage.\\r\\n \\'Tis known to you he is mine enemy;\\r\\n Nay, more, an enemy unto you all,\\r\\n And no great friend, I fear me, to the King.\\r\\n Consider, lords, he is the next of blood\\r\\n And heir apparent to the English crown.\\r\\n Had Henry got an empire by his marriage\\r\\n And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west,\\r\\n There\\'s reason he should be displeas\\'d at it.\\r\\n Look to it, lords; let not his smoothing words\\r\\n Bewitch your hearts; be wise and circumspect.\\r\\n What though the common people favour him,\\r\\n Calling him \\'Humphrey, the good Duke of Gloucester,\\'\\r\\n Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice\\r\\n \\'Jesu maintain your royal excellence!\\'\\r\\n With \\'God preserve the good Duke Humphrey!\\'\\r\\n I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss,\\r\\n He will be found a dangerous Protector.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Why should he then protect our sovereign,\\r\\n He being of age to govern of himself?\\r\\n Cousin of Somerset, join you with me,\\r\\n And all together, with the Duke of Suffolk,\\r\\n We\\'ll quickly hoise Duke Humphrey from his seat.\\r\\n CARDINAL. This weighty business will not brook delay;\\r\\n I\\'ll to the Duke of Suffolk presently. Exit\\r\\n SOMERSET. Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey\\'s pride\\r\\n And greatness of his place be grief to us,\\r\\n Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal;\\r\\n His insolence is more intolerable\\r\\n Than all the princes in the land beside;\\r\\n If Gloucester be displac\\'d, he\\'ll be Protector.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Or thou or I, Somerset, will be Protector,\\r\\n Despite Duke Humphrey or the Cardinal.\\r\\n Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and SOMERSET\\r\\n SALISBURY. Pride went before, ambition follows him.\\r\\n While these do labour for their own preferment,\\r\\n Behoves it us to labour for the realm.\\r\\n I never saw but Humphrey Duke of Gloucester\\r\\n Did bear him like a noble gentleman.\\r\\n Oft have I seen the haughty Cardinal-\\r\\n More like a soldier than a man o\\' th\\' church,\\r\\n As stout and proud as he were lord of all-\\r\\n Swear like a ruffian and demean himself\\r\\n Unlike the ruler of a commonweal.\\r\\n Warwick my son, the comfort of my age,\\r\\n Thy deeds, thy plainness, and thy housekeeping,\\r\\n Hath won the greatest favour of the commons,\\r\\n Excepting none but good Duke Humphrey.\\r\\n And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland,\\r\\n In bringing them to civil discipline,\\r\\n Thy late exploits done in the heart of France\\r\\n When thou wert Regent for our sovereign,\\r\\n Have made thee fear\\'d and honour\\'d of the people:\\r\\n Join we together for the public good,\\r\\n In what we can, to bridle and suppress\\r\\n The pride of Suffolk and the Cardinal,\\r\\n With Somerset\\'s and Buckingham\\'s ambition;\\r\\n And, as we may, cherish Duke Humphrey\\'s deeds\\r\\n While they do tend the profit of the land.\\r\\n WARWICK. So God help Warwick, as he loves the land\\r\\n And common profit of his country!\\r\\n YORK. And so says York- [Aside] for he hath greatest cause.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Then let\\'s make haste away and look unto the main.\\r\\n WARWICK. Unto the main! O father, Maine is lost-\\r\\n That Maine which by main force Warwick did win,\\r\\n And would have kept so long as breath did last.\\r\\n Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine,\\r\\n Which I will win from France, or else be slain.\\r\\n Exeunt WARWICK and SALISBURY\\r\\n YORK. Anjou and Maine are given to the French;\\r\\n Paris is lost; the state of Normandy\\r\\n Stands on a tickle point now they are gone.\\r\\n Suffolk concluded on the articles;\\r\\n The peers agreed; and Henry was well pleas\\'d\\r\\n To changes two dukedoms for a duke\\'s fair daughter.\\r\\n I cannot blame them all: what is\\'t to them?\\r\\n \\'Tis thine they give away, and not their own.\\r\\n Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage,\\r\\n And purchase friends, and give to courtezans,\\r\\n Still revelling like lords till all be gone;\\r\\n While as the silly owner of the goods\\r\\n Weeps over them and wrings his hapless hands\\r\\n And shakes his head and trembling stands aloof,\\r\\n While all is shar\\'d and all is borne away,\\r\\n Ready to starve and dare not touch his own.\\r\\n So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue,\\r\\n While his own lands are bargain\\'d for and sold.\\r\\n Methinks the realms of England, France, and Ireland,\\r\\n Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood\\r\\n As did the fatal brand Althaea burnt\\r\\n Unto the prince\\'s heart of Calydon.\\r\\n Anjou and Maine both given unto the French!\\r\\n Cold news for me, for I had hope of France,\\r\\n Even as I have of fertile England\\'s soil.\\r\\n A day will come when York shall claim his own;\\r\\n And therefore I will take the Nevils\\' parts,\\r\\n And make a show of love to proud Duke Humphrey,\\r\\n And when I spy advantage, claim the crown,\\r\\n For that\\'s the golden mark I seek to hit.\\r\\n Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right,\\r\\n Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist,\\r\\n Nor wear the diadem upon his head,\\r\\n Whose church-like humours fits not for a crown.\\r\\n Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve;\\r\\n Watch thou and wake, when others be asleep,\\r\\n To pry into the secrets of the state;\\r\\n Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love\\r\\n With his new bride and England\\'s dear-bought queen,\\r\\n And Humphrey with the peers be fall\\'n at jars;\\r\\n Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose,\\r\\n With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfum\\'d,\\r\\n And in my standard bear the arms of York,\\r\\n To grapple with the house of Lancaster;\\r\\n And force perforce I\\'ll make him yield the crown,\\r\\n Whose bookish rule hath pull\\'d fair England down. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The DUKE OF GLOUCESTER\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE and his wife ELEANOR\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. Why droops my lord, like over-ripen\\'d corn\\r\\n Hanging the head at Ceres\\' plenteous load?\\r\\n Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows,\\r\\n As frowning at the favours of the world?\\r\\n Why are thine eyes fix\\'d to the sullen earth,\\r\\n Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight?\\r\\n What see\\'st thou there? King Henry\\'s diadem,\\r\\n Enchas\\'d with all the honours of the world?\\r\\n If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face\\r\\n Until thy head be circled with the same.\\r\\n Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.\\r\\n What, is\\'t too short? I\\'ll lengthen it with mine;\\r\\n And having both together heav\\'d it up,\\r\\n We\\'ll both together lift our heads to heaven,\\r\\n And never more abase our sight so low\\r\\n As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord,\\r\\n Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts!\\r\\n And may that thought, when I imagine ill\\r\\n Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry,\\r\\n Be my last breathing in this mortal world!\\r\\n My troublous dreams this night doth make me sad.\\r\\n DUCHESS. What dream\\'d my lord? Tell me, and I\\'ll requite it\\r\\n With sweet rehearsal of my morning\\'s dream.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Methought this staff, mine office-badge in court,\\r\\n Was broke in twain; by whom I have forgot,\\r\\n But, as I think, it was by th\\' Cardinal;\\r\\n And on the pieces of the broken wand\\r\\n Were plac\\'d the heads of Edmund Duke of Somerset\\r\\n And William de la Pole, first Duke of Suffolk.\\r\\n This was my dream; what it doth bode God knows.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Tut, this was nothing but an argument\\r\\n That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester\\'s grove\\r\\n Shall lose his head for his presumption.\\r\\n But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet Duke:\\r\\n Methought I sat in seat of majesty\\r\\n In the cathedral church of Westminster,\\r\\n And in that chair where kings and queens were crown\\'d;\\r\\n Where Henry and Dame Margaret kneel\\'d to me,\\r\\n And on my head did set the diadem.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright.\\r\\n Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtur\\'d Eleanor!\\r\\n Art thou not second woman in the realm,\\r\\n And the Protector\\'s wife, belov\\'d of him?\\r\\n Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command\\r\\n Above the reach or compass of thy thought?\\r\\n And wilt thou still be hammering treachery\\r\\n To tumble down thy husband and thyself\\r\\n From top of honour to disgrace\\'s feet?\\r\\n Away from me, and let me hear no more!\\r\\n DUCHESS. What, what, my lord! Are you so choleric\\r\\n With Eleanor for telling but her dream?\\r\\n Next time I\\'ll keep my dreams unto myself\\r\\n And not be check\\'d.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Nay, be not angry; I am pleas\\'d again.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. My Lord Protector, \\'tis his Highness\\' pleasure\\r\\n You do prepare to ride unto Saint Albans,\\r\\n Where as the King and Queen do mean to hawk.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us?\\r\\n DUCHESS. Yes, my good lord, I\\'ll follow presently.\\r\\n Exeunt GLOUCESTER and MESSENGER\\r\\n Follow I must; I cannot go before,\\r\\n While Gloucester bears this base and humble mind.\\r\\n Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood,\\r\\n I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks\\r\\n And smooth my way upon their headless necks;\\r\\n And, being a woman, I will not be slack\\r\\n To play my part in Fortune\\'s pageant.\\r\\n Where are you there, Sir John? Nay, fear not, man,\\r\\n We are alone; here\\'s none but thee and I.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HUME\\r\\n\\r\\n HUME. Jesus preserve your royal Majesty!\\r\\n DUCHESS. What say\\'st thou? Majesty! I am but Grace.\\r\\n HUME. But, by the grace of God and Hume\\'s advice,\\r\\n Your Grace\\'s title shall be multiplied.\\r\\n DUCHESS. What say\\'st thou, man? Hast thou as yet conferr\\'d\\r\\n With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch of Eie,\\r\\n With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer?\\r\\n And will they undertake to do me good?\\r\\n HUME. This they have promised, to show your Highness\\r\\n A spirit rais\\'d from depth of underground\\r\\n That shall make answer to such questions\\r\\n As by your Grace shall be propounded him\\r\\n DUCHESS. It is enough; I\\'ll think upon the questions;\\r\\n When from Saint Albans we do make return\\r\\n We\\'ll see these things effected to the full.\\r\\n Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man,\\r\\n With thy confederates in this weighty cause. Exit\\r\\n HUME. Hume must make merry with the Duchess\\' gold;\\r\\n Marry, and shall. But, how now, Sir John Hume!\\r\\n Seal up your lips and give no words but mum:\\r\\n The business asketh silent secrecy.\\r\\n Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch:\\r\\n Gold cannot come amiss were she a devil.\\r\\n Yet have I gold flies from another coast-\\r\\n I dare not say from the rich Cardinal,\\r\\n And from the great and new-made Duke of Suffolk;\\r\\n Yet I do find it so; for, to be plain,\\r\\n They, knowing Dame Eleanor\\'s aspiring humour,\\r\\n Have hired me to undermine the Duchess,\\r\\n And buzz these conjurations in her brain.\\r\\n They say \\'A crafty knave does need no broker\\';\\r\\n Yet am I Suffolk and the Cardinal\\'s broker.\\r\\n Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near\\r\\n To call them both a pair of crafty knaves.\\r\\n Well, so its stands; and thus, I fear, at last\\r\\n Hume\\'s knavery will be the Duchess\\' wreck,\\r\\n And her attainture will be Humphrey\\'s fall\\r\\n Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. London. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter three or four PETITIONERS, PETER, the Armourer\\'s man, being one\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST PETITIONER. My masters, let\\'s stand close; my Lord Protector\\r\\n will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver our\\r\\n supplications in the quill.\\r\\n SECOND PETITIONER. Marry, the Lord protect him, for he\\'s a good\\r\\n man, Jesu bless him!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SUFFOLK and QUEEN\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST PETITIONER. Here \\'a comes, methinks, and the Queen with him.\\r\\n I\\'ll be the first, sure.\\r\\n SECOND PETITIONER. Come back, fool; this is the Duke of Suffolk and\\r\\n not my Lord Protector.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. How now, fellow! Wouldst anything with me?\\r\\n FIRST PETITIONER. I pray, my lord, pardon me; I took ye for my Lord\\r\\n Protector.\\r\\n QUEEN. [Reads] \\'To my Lord Protector!\\' Are your supplications to\\r\\n his lordship? Let me see them. What is thine?\\r\\n FIRST PETITIONER. Mine is, an\\'t please your Grace, against John\\r\\n Goodman, my Lord Cardinal\\'s man, for keeping my house and lands,\\r\\n and wife and all, from me.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Thy wife too! That\\'s some wrong indeed. What\\'s yours?\\r\\n What\\'s here! [Reads] \\'Against the Duke of Suffolk, for enclosing\\r\\n the commons of Melford.\\' How now, sir knave!\\r\\n SECOND PETITIONER. Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our\\r\\n whole township.\\r\\n PETER. [Presenting his petition] Against my master, Thomas Horner,\\r\\n for saying that the Duke of York was rightful heir to the crown.\\r\\n QUEEN. What say\\'st thou? Did the Duke of York say he was rightful\\r\\n heir to the crown?\\r\\n PETER. That my master was? No, forsooth. My master said that he\\r\\n was, and that the King was an usurper.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Who is there? [Enter servant] Take this fellow in, and\\r\\n send for his master with a pursuivant presently. We\\'ll hear more\\r\\n of your matter before the King.\\r\\n Exit servant with PETER\\r\\n QUEEN. And as for you, that love to be protected\\r\\n Under the wings of our Protector\\'s grace,\\r\\n Begin your suits anew, and sue to him.\\r\\n [Tears the supplications]\\r\\n Away, base cullions! Suffolk, let them go.\\r\\n ALL. Come, let\\'s be gone. Exeunt\\r\\n QUEEN. My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise,\\r\\n Is this the fashions in the court of England?\\r\\n Is this the government of Britain\\'s isle,\\r\\n And this the royalty of Albion\\'s king?\\r\\n What, shall King Henry be a pupil still,\\r\\n Under the surly Gloucester\\'s governance?\\r\\n Am I a queen in title and in style,\\r\\n And must be made a subject to a duke?\\r\\n I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours\\r\\n Thou ran\\'st a tilt in honour of my love\\r\\n And stol\\'st away the ladies\\' hearts of France,\\r\\n I thought King Henry had resembled thee\\r\\n In courage, courtship, and proportion;\\r\\n But all his mind is bent to holiness,\\r\\n To number Ave-Maries on his beads;\\r\\n His champions are the prophets and apostles;\\r\\n His weapons, holy saws of sacred writ;\\r\\n His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves\\r\\n Are brazen images of canonized saints.\\r\\n I would the college of the Cardinals\\r\\n Would choose him Pope, and carry him to Rome,\\r\\n And set the triple crown upon his head;\\r\\n That were a state fit for his holiness.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Madam, be patient. As I was cause\\r\\n Your Highness came to England, so will I\\r\\n In England work your Grace\\'s full content.\\r\\n QUEEN. Beside the haughty Protector, have we Beaufort\\r\\n The imperious churchman; Somerset, Buckingham,\\r\\n And grumbling York; and not the least of these\\r\\n But can do more in England than the King.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. And he of these that can do most of all\\r\\n Cannot do more in England than the Nevils;\\r\\n Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers.\\r\\n QUEEN. Not all these lords do vex me half so much\\r\\n As that proud dame, the Lord Protector\\'s wife.\\r\\n She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies,\\r\\n More like an empress than Duke Humphrey\\'s wife.\\r\\n Strangers in court do take her for the Queen.\\r\\n She bears a duke\\'s revenues on her back,\\r\\n And in her heart she scorns our poverty;\\r\\n Shall I not live to be aveng\\'d on her?\\r\\n Contemptuous base-born callet as she is,\\r\\n She vaunted \\'mongst her minions t\\' other day\\r\\n The very train of her worst wearing gown\\r\\n Was better worth than all my father\\'s lands,\\r\\n Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Madam, myself have lim\\'d a bush for her,\\r\\n And plac\\'d a quire of such enticing birds\\r\\n That she will light to listen to the lays,\\r\\n And never mount to trouble you again.\\r\\n So, let her rest. And, madam, list to me,\\r\\n For I am bold to counsel you in this:\\r\\n Although we fancy not the Cardinal,\\r\\n Yet must we join with him and with the lords,\\r\\n Till we have brought Duke Humphrey in disgrace.\\r\\n As for the Duke of York, this late complaint\\r\\n Will make but little for his benefit.\\r\\n So one by one we\\'ll weed them all at last,\\r\\n And you yourself shall steer the happy helm.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound a sennet. Enter the KING, DUKE HUMPHREY,\\r\\n CARDINAL BEAUFORT, BUCKINGHAM, YORK, SOMERSET, SALISBURY,\\r\\n WARWICK, and the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. For my part, noble lords, I care not which:\\r\\n Or Somerset or York, all\\'s one to me.\\r\\n YORK. If York have ill demean\\'d himself in France,\\r\\n Then let him be denay\\'d the regentship.\\r\\n SOMERSET. If Somerset be unworthy of the place,\\r\\n Let York be Regent; I will yield to him.\\r\\n WARWICK. Whether your Grace be worthy, yea or no,\\r\\n Dispute not that; York is the worthier.\\r\\n CARDINAL. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak.\\r\\n WARWICK. The Cardinal\\'s not my better in the field.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick.\\r\\n WARWICK. Warwick may live to be the best of all.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Peace, son! And show some reason, Buckingham,\\r\\n Why Somerset should be preferr\\'d in this.\\r\\n QUEEN. Because the King, forsooth, will have it so.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Madam, the King is old enough himself\\r\\n To give his censure. These are no women\\'s matters.\\r\\n QUEEN. If he be old enough, what needs your Grace\\r\\n To be Protector of his Excellence?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Madam, I am Protector of the realm;\\r\\n And at his pleasure will resign my place.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Resign it then, and leave thine insolence.\\r\\n Since thou wert king- as who is king but thou?-\\r\\n The commonwealth hath daily run to wrack,\\r\\n The Dauphin hath prevail\\'d beyond the seas,\\r\\n And all the peers and nobles of the realm\\r\\n Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty.\\r\\n CARDINAL. The commons hast thou rack\\'d; the clergy\\'s bags\\r\\n Are lank and lean with thy extortions.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Thy sumptuous buildings and thy wife\\'s attire\\r\\n Have cost a mass of public treasury.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Thy cruelty in execution\\r\\n Upon offenders hath exceeded law,\\r\\n And left thee to the mercy of the law.\\r\\n QUEEN. Thy sale of offices and towns in France,\\r\\n If they were known, as the suspect is great,\\r\\n Would make thee quickly hop without thy head.\\r\\n Exit GLOUCESTER. The QUEEN drops QUEEN her fan\\r\\n Give me my fan. What, minion, can ye not?\\r\\n [She gives the DUCHESS a box on the ear]\\r\\n I cry your mercy, madam; was it you?\\r\\n DUCHESS. Was\\'t I? Yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman.\\r\\n Could I come near your beauty with my nails,\\r\\n I could set my ten commandments in your face.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Sweet aunt, be quiet; \\'twas against her will.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Against her will, good King? Look to \\'t in time;\\r\\n She\\'ll hamper thee and dandle thee like a baby.\\r\\n Though in this place most master wear no breeches,\\r\\n She shall not strike Dame Eleanor unreveng\\'d. Exit\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Lord Cardinal, I will follow Eleanor,\\r\\n And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds.\\r\\n She\\'s tickled now; her fume needs no spurs,\\r\\n She\\'ll gallop far enough to her destruction. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter GLOUCESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Now, lords, my choler being overblown\\r\\n With walking once about the quadrangle,\\r\\n I come to talk of commonwealth affairs.\\r\\n As for your spiteful false objections,\\r\\n Prove them, and I lie open to the law;\\r\\n But God in mercy so deal with my soul\\r\\n As I in duty love my king and country!\\r\\n But to the matter that we have in hand:\\r\\n I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man\\r\\n To be your Regent in the realm of France.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Before we make election, give me leave\\r\\n To show some reason, of no little force,\\r\\n That York is most unmeet of any man.\\r\\n YORK. I\\'ll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet:\\r\\n First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride;\\r\\n Next, if I be appointed for the place,\\r\\n My Lord of Somerset will keep me here\\r\\n Without discharge, money, or furniture,\\r\\n Till France be won into the Dauphin\\'s hands.\\r\\n Last time I danc\\'d attendance on his will\\r\\n Till Paris was besieg\\'d, famish\\'d, and lost.\\r\\n WARWICK. That can I witness; and a fouler fact\\r\\n Did never traitor in the land commit.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Peace, headstrong Warwick!\\r\\n WARWICK. Image of pride, why should I hold my peace?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HORNER, the Armourer, and his man PETER, guarded\\r\\n\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Because here is a man accus\\'d of treason:\\r\\n Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself!\\r\\n YORK. Doth any one accuse York for a traitor?\\r\\n KING HENRY. What mean\\'st thou, Suffolk? Tell me, what are these?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Please it your Majesty, this is the man\\r\\n That doth accuse his master of high treason;\\r\\n His words were these: that Richard Duke of York\\r\\n Was rightful heir unto the English crown,\\r\\n And that your Majesty was an usurper.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Say, man, were these thy words?\\r\\n HORNER. An\\'t shall please your Majesty, I never said nor thought\\r\\n any such matter. God is my witness, I am falsely accus\\'d by the\\r\\n villain.\\r\\n PETER. [Holding up his hands] By these ten bones, my lords, he did\\r\\n speak them to me in the garret one night, as we were scouring my\\r\\n Lord of York\\'s armour.\\r\\n YORK. Base dunghill villain and mechanical,\\r\\n I\\'ll have thy head for this thy traitor\\'s speech.\\r\\n I do beseech your royal Majesty,\\r\\n Let him have all the rigour of the law.\\r\\n HORNER`. Alas, my lord, hang me if ever I spake the words. My\\r\\n accuser is my prentice; and when I did correct him for his fault\\r\\n the other day, he did vow upon his knees he would be even with\\r\\n me. I have good witness of this; therefore I beseech your\\r\\n Majesty, do not cast away an honest man for a villain\\'s\\r\\n accusation.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Uncle, what shall we say to this in law?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. This doom, my lord, if I may judge:\\r\\n Let Somerset be Regent o\\'er the French,\\r\\n Because in York this breeds suspicion;\\r\\n And let these have a day appointed them\\r\\n For single combat in convenient place,\\r\\n For he hath witness of his servant\\'s malice.\\r\\n This is the law, and this Duke Humphrey\\'s doom.\\r\\n SOMERSET. I humbly thank your royal Majesty.\\r\\n HORNER. And I accept the combat willingly.\\r\\n PETER. Alas, my lord, I cannot fight; for God\\'s sake, pity my case!\\r\\n The spite of man prevaileth against me. O Lord, have mercy upon\\r\\n me, I shall never be able to fight a blow! O Lord, my heart!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Sirrah, or you must fight or else be hang\\'d.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Away with them to prison; and the day of combat shall\\r\\n be the last of the next month.\\r\\n Come, Somerset, we\\'ll see thee sent away. Flourish. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. London. The DUKE OF GLOUCESTER\\'S garden\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MARGERY JOURDAIN, the witch; the two priests, HUME and SOUTHWELL;\\r\\nand BOLINGBROKE\\r\\n\\r\\n HUME. Come, my masters; the Duchess, I tell you, expects\\r\\n performance of your promises.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Master Hume, we are therefore provided; will her\\r\\n ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms?\\r\\n HUME. Ay, what else? Fear you not her courage.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I have heard her reported to be a woman of an\\r\\n invincible spirit; but it shall be convenient, Master Hume, that\\r\\n you be by her aloft while we be busy below; and so I pray you go,\\r\\n in God\\'s name, and leave us. [Exit HUME] Mother Jourdain, be you\\r\\n prostrate and grovel on the earth; John Southwell, read you; and\\r\\n let us to our work.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUCHESS aloft, followed by HUME\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. Well said, my masters; and welcome all. To this gear, the\\r\\n sooner the better.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Patience, good lady; wizards know their times:\\r\\n Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night,\\r\\n The time of night when Troy was set on fire;\\r\\n The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl,\\r\\n And spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves-\\r\\n That time best fits the work we have in hand.\\r\\n Madam, sit you, and fear not: whom we raise\\r\\n We will make fast within a hallow\\'d verge.\\r\\n\\r\\n [Here they do the ceremonies belonging, and make the circle;\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE or SOUTHWELL reads: \\'Conjuro te,\\' &c.\\r\\n It thunders and lightens terribly; then the SPIRIT riseth]\\r\\n\\r\\n SPIRIT. Adsum.\\r\\n MARGERY JOURDAIN. Asmath,\\r\\n By the eternal God, whose name and power\\r\\n Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask;\\r\\n For till thou speak thou shalt not pass from hence.\\r\\n SPIRIT. Ask what thou wilt; that I had said and done.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. [Reads] \\'First of the king: what shall of him become?\\'\\r\\n SPIRIT. The Duke yet lives that Henry shall depose;\\r\\n But him outlive, and die a violent death.\\r\\n [As the SPIRIT speaks, SOUTHWELL writes the answer]\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. \\'What fates await the Duke of Suffolk?\\'\\r\\n SPIRIT. By water shall he die and take his end.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. \\'What shall befall the Duke of Somerset?\\'\\r\\n SPIRIT. Let him shun castles:\\r\\n Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains\\r\\n Than where castles mounted stand.\\r\\n Have done, for more I hardly can endure.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Descend to darkness and the burning lake;\\r\\n False fiend, avoid! Thunder and lightning. Exit SPIRIT\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the DUKE OF YORK and the DUKE OF\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM with guard, and break in\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. Lay hands upon these traitors and their trash.\\r\\n Beldam, I think we watch\\'d you at an inch.\\r\\n What, madam, are you there? The King and commonweal\\r\\n Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains;\\r\\n My Lord Protector will, I doubt it not,\\r\\n See you well guerdon\\'d for these good deserts.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Not half so bad as thine to England\\'s king,\\r\\n Injurious Duke, that threatest where\\'s no cause.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. True, madam, none at all. What can you this?\\r\\n Away with them! let them be clapp\\'d up close,\\r\\n And kept asunder. You, madam, shall with us.\\r\\n Stafford, take her to thee.\\r\\n We\\'ll see your trinkets here all forthcoming.\\r\\n All, away!\\r\\n Exeunt, above, DUCHESS and HUME, guarded; below,\\r\\n WITCH, SOUTHWELL and BOLINGBROKE, guarded\\r\\n YORK. Lord Buckingham, methinks you watch\\'d her well.\\r\\n A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon!\\r\\n Now, pray, my lord, let\\'s see the devil\\'s writ.\\r\\n What have we here? [Reads]\\r\\n \\'The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose;\\r\\n But him outlive, and die a violent death.\\'\\r\\n Why, this is just\\r\\n \\'Aio te, Aeacida, Romanos vincere posse.\\'\\r\\n Well, to the rest:\\r\\n \\'Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk?\\'\\r\\n \\'By water shall he die and take his end.\\'\\r\\n \\'What shall betide the Duke of Somerset?\\'\\r\\n \\'Let him shun castles;\\r\\n Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains\\r\\n Than where castles mounted stand.\\'\\r\\n Come, come, my lords;\\r\\n These oracles are hardly attain\\'d,\\r\\n And hardly understood.\\r\\n The King is now in progress towards Saint Albans,\\r\\n With him the husband of this lovely lady;\\r\\n Thither go these news as fast as horse can carry them-\\r\\n A sorry breakfast for my Lord Protector.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Your Grace shall give me leave, my Lord of York,\\r\\n To be the post, in hope of his reward.\\r\\n YORK. At your pleasure, my good lord.\\r\\n Who\\'s within there, ho?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a serving-man\\r\\n\\r\\n Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick\\r\\n To sup with me to-morrow night. Away! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. Saint Albans\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the KING, QUEEN, GLOUCESTER, CARDINAL, and SUFFOLK, with\\r\\nFalconers halloing\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN. Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook,\\r\\n I saw not better sport these seven years\\' day;\\r\\n Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high,\\r\\n And ten to one old Joan had not gone out.\\r\\n KING HENRY. But what a point, my lord, your falcon made,\\r\\n And what a pitch she flew above the rest!\\r\\n To see how God in all His creatures works!\\r\\n Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. No marvel, an it like your Majesty,\\r\\n My Lord Protector\\'s hawks do tow\\'r so well;\\r\\n They know their master loves to be aloft,\\r\\n And bears his thoughts above his falcon\\'s pitch.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My lord, \\'tis but a base ignoble mind\\r\\n That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.\\r\\n CARDINAL. I thought as much; he would be above the clouds.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ay, my lord Cardinal, how think you by that?\\r\\n Were it not good your Grace could fly to heaven?\\r\\n KING HENRY. The treasury of everlasting joy!\\r\\n CARDINAL. Thy heaven is on earth; thine eyes and thoughts\\r\\n Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart;\\r\\n Pernicious Protector, dangerous peer,\\r\\n That smooth\\'st it so with King and commonweal.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What, Cardinal, is your priesthood grown peremptory?\\r\\n Tantaene animis coelestibus irae?\\r\\n Churchmen so hot? Good uncle, hide such malice;\\r\\n With such holiness can you do it?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. No malice, sir; no more than well becomes\\r\\n So good a quarrel and so bad a peer.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. As who, my lord?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Why, as you, my lord,\\r\\n An\\'t like your lordly Lord\\'s Protectorship.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence.\\r\\n QUEEN. And thy ambition, Gloucester.\\r\\n KING HENRY. I prithee, peace,\\r\\n Good Queen, and whet not on these furious peers;\\r\\n For blessed are the peacemakers on earth.\\r\\n CARDINAL. Let me be blessed for the peace I make\\r\\n Against this proud Protector with my sword!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CARDINAL] Faith, holy uncle, would \\'twere\\r\\n come to that!\\r\\n CARDINAL. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Marry, when thou dar\\'st.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CARDINAL] Make up no factious numbers for the\\r\\n matter;\\r\\n In thine own person answer thy abuse.\\r\\n CARDINAL. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Ay, where thou dar\\'st not peep; an\\r\\n if thou dar\\'st,\\r\\n This evening on the east side of the grove.\\r\\n KING HENRY. How now, my lords!\\r\\n CARDINAL. Believe me, cousin Gloucester,\\r\\n Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly,\\r\\n We had had more sport. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Come with thy\\r\\n two-hand sword.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. True, uncle.\\r\\n CARDINAL. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Are ye advis\\'d? The east side of\\r\\n the grove?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CARDINAL] Cardinal, I am with you.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Why, how now, uncle Gloucester!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord.\\r\\n [Aside to CARDINAL] Now, by God\\'s Mother, priest,\\r\\n I\\'ll shave your crown for this,\\r\\n Or all my fence shall fail.\\r\\n CARDINAL. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Medice, teipsum;\\r\\n Protector, see to\\'t well; protect yourself.\\r\\n KING HENRY. The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, lords.\\r\\n How irksome is this music to my heart!\\r\\n When such strings jar, what hope of harmony?\\r\\n I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a TOWNSMAN of Saint Albans, crying \\'A miracle!\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What means this noise?\\r\\n Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim?\\r\\n TOWNSMAN. A miracle! A miracle!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Come to the King, and tell him what miracle.\\r\\n TOWNSMAN. Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Albans shrine\\r\\n Within this half hour hath receiv\\'d his sight;\\r\\n A man that ne\\'er saw in his life before.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Now God be prais\\'d that to believing souls\\r\\n Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the MAYOR OF SAINT ALBANS and his brethren,\\r\\n bearing Simpcox between two in a chair;\\r\\n his WIFE and a multitude following\\r\\n\\r\\n CARDINAL. Here comes the townsmen on procession\\r\\n To present your Highness with the man.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale,\\r\\n Although by his sight his sin be multiplied.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Stand by, my masters; bring him near the King;\\r\\n His Highness\\' pleasure is to talk with him.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance,\\r\\n That we for thee may glorify the Lord.\\r\\n What, hast thou been long blind and now restor\\'d?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. Born blind, an\\'t please your Grace.\\r\\n WIFE. Ay indeed was he.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. What woman is this?\\r\\n WIFE. His wife, an\\'t like your worship.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Hadst thou been his mother, thou couldst have better\\r\\n told.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Where wert thou born?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. At Berwick in the north, an\\'t like your Grace.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Poor soul, God\\'s goodness hath been great to thee.\\r\\n Let never day nor night unhallowed pass,\\r\\n But still remember what the Lord hath done.\\r\\n QUEEN. Tell me, good fellow, cam\\'st thou here by chance,\\r\\n Or of devotion, to this holy shrine?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. God knows, of pure devotion; being call\\'d\\r\\n A hundred times and oft\\'ner, in my sleep,\\r\\n By good Saint Alban, who said \\'Simpcox, come,\\r\\n Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.\\'\\r\\n WIFE. Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft\\r\\n Myself have heard a voice to call him so.\\r\\n CARDINAL. What, art thou lame?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. Ay, God Almighty help me!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. How cam\\'st thou so?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. A fall off of a tree.\\r\\n WIFE. A plum tree, master.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. How long hast thou been blind?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. O, born so, master!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What, and wouldst climb a tree?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. But that in all my life, when I was a youth.\\r\\n WIFE. Too true; and bought his climbing very dear.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Mass, thou lov\\'dst plums well, that wouldst venture so.\\r\\n SIMPCOX. Alas, good master, my wife desir\\'d some damsons\\r\\n And made me climb, With danger of my life.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. A subtle knave! But yet it shall not serve:\\r\\n Let me see thine eyes; wink now; now open them;\\r\\n In my opinion yet thou seest not well.\\r\\n SIMPCOX. Yes, master, clear as day, I thank God and Saint Alban.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Say\\'st thou me so? What colour is this cloak of?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. Red, master; red as blood.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, that\\'s well said. What colour is my gown of?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. Black, forsooth; coal-black as jet.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Why, then, thou know\\'st what colour jet is of?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. And yet, I think, jet did he never see.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. But cloaks and gowns before this day a many.\\r\\n WIFE. Never before this day in all his life.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Tell me, sirrah, what\\'s my name?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. Alas, master, I know not.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What\\'s his name?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. I know not.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Nor his?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. No, indeed, master.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What\\'s thine own name?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Then, Saunder, sit there, the lying\\'st knave in\\r\\n Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, thou mightst as well\\r\\n have known all our names as thus to name the several colours we\\r\\n do wear. Sight may distinguish of colours; but suddenly to\\r\\n nominate them all, it is impossible. My lords, Saint Alban here\\r\\n hath done a miracle; and would ye not think his cunning to be\\r\\n great that could restore this cripple to his legs again?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. O master, that you could!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My masters of Saint Albans, have you not beadles in\\r\\n your town, and things call\\'d whips?\\r\\n MAYOR. Yes, my lord, if it please your Grace.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Then send for one presently.\\r\\n MAYOR. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight.\\r\\n Exit an attendant\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. [A stool\\r\\n brought] Now, sirrah, if you mean to save yourself from whipping,\\r\\n leap me over this stool and run away.\\r\\n SIMPCOX. Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone!\\r\\n You go about to torture me in vain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a BEADLE with whips\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Well, sir, we must have you find your legs.\\r\\n Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same stool.\\r\\n BEADLE. I will, my lord. Come on, sirrah; off with your doublet\\r\\n quickly.\\r\\n SIMPCOX. Alas, master, what shall I do? I am not able to stand.\\r\\n\\r\\n After the BEADLE hath hit him once, he leaps over\\r\\n the stool and runs away; and they follow and cry\\r\\n \\'A miracle!\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. O God, seest Thou this, and bearest so long?\\r\\n QUEEN. It made me laugh to see the villain run.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Follow the knave, and take this drab away.\\r\\n WIFE. Alas, sir, we did it for pure need!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Let them be whipp\\'d through every market town till they\\r\\n come to Berwick, from whence they came.\\r\\n Exeunt MAYOR, BEADLE, WIFE, &c.\\r\\n CARDINAL. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. True; made the lame to leap and fly away.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. But you have done more miracles than I:\\r\\n You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. What tidings with our cousin Buckingham?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold:\\r\\n A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent,\\r\\n Under the countenance and confederacy\\r\\n Of Lady Eleanor, the Protector\\'s wife,\\r\\n The ringleader and head of all this rout,\\r\\n Have practis\\'d dangerously against your state,\\r\\n Dealing with witches and with conjurers,\\r\\n Whom we have apprehended in the fact,\\r\\n Raising up wicked spirits from under ground,\\r\\n Demanding of King Henry\\'s life and death\\r\\n And other of your Highness\\' Privy Council,\\r\\n As more at large your Grace shall understand.\\r\\n CARDINAL. And so, my Lord Protector, by this means\\r\\n Your lady is forthcoming yet at London.\\r\\n This news, I think, hath turn\\'d your weapon\\'s edge;\\r\\n \\'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart.\\r\\n Sorrow and grief have vanquish\\'d all my powers;\\r\\n And, vanquish\\'d as I am, I yield to the\\r\\n Or to the meanest groom.\\r\\n KING HENRY. O God, what mischiefs work the wicked ones,\\r\\n Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby!\\r\\n QUEEN. Gloucester, see here the tainture of thy nest;\\r\\n And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal\\r\\n How I have lov\\'d my King and commonweal;\\r\\n And for my wife I know not how it stands.\\r\\n Sorry I am to hear what I have heard.\\r\\n Noble she is; but if she have forgot\\r\\n Honour and virtue, and convers\\'d with such\\r\\n As, like to pitch, defile nobility,\\r\\n I banish her my bed and company\\r\\n And give her as a prey to law and shame,\\r\\n That hath dishonoured Gloucester\\'s honest name.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Well, for this night we will repose us here.\\r\\n To-morrow toward London back again\\r\\n To look into this business thoroughly\\r\\n And call these foul offenders to their answers,\\r\\n And poise the cause in justice\\' equal scales,\\r\\n Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails.\\r\\n Flourish. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. London. The DUKE OF YORK\\'S garden\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter YORK, SALISBURY, and WARWICK\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. Now, my good Lords of Salisbury and Warwick,\\r\\n Our simple supper ended, give me leave\\r\\n In this close walk to satisfy myself\\r\\n In craving your opinion of my tide,\\r\\n Which is infallible, to England\\'s crown.\\r\\n SALISBURY. My lord, I long to hear it at full.\\r\\n WARWICK. Sweet York, begin; and if thy claim be good,\\r\\n The Nevils are thy subjects to command.\\r\\n YORK. Then thus:\\r\\n Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons;\\r\\n The first, Edward the Black Prince, Prince of Wales;\\r\\n The second, William of Hatfield; and the third,\\r\\n Lionel Duke of Clarence; next to whom\\r\\n Was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster;\\r\\n The fifth was Edmund Langley, Duke of York;\\r\\n The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester;\\r\\n William of Windsor was the seventh and last.\\r\\n Edward the Black Prince died before his father\\r\\n And left behind him Richard, his only son,\\r\\n Who, after Edward the Third\\'s death, reign\\'d as king\\r\\n Till Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster,\\r\\n The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt,\\r\\n Crown\\'d by the name of Henry the Fourth,\\r\\n Seiz\\'d on the realm, depos\\'d the rightful king,\\r\\n Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she came.\\r\\n And him to Pomfret, where, as all you know,\\r\\n Harmless Richard was murdered traitorously.\\r\\n WARWICK. Father, the Duke hath told the truth;\\r\\n Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown.\\r\\n YORK. Which now they hold by force, and not by right;\\r\\n For Richard, the first son\\'s heir, being dead,\\r\\n The issue of the next son should have reign\\'d.\\r\\n SALISBURY. But William of Hatfield died without an heir.\\r\\n YORK. The third son, Duke of Clarence, from whose line\\r\\n I claim the crown, had issue Philippe, a daughter,\\r\\n Who married Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March;\\r\\n Edmund had issue, Roger Earl of March;\\r\\n Roger had issue, Edmund, Anne, and Eleanor.\\r\\n SALISBURY. This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke,\\r\\n As I have read, laid claim unto the crown;\\r\\n And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king,\\r\\n Who kept him in captivity till he died.\\r\\n But, to the rest.\\r\\n YORK. His eldest sister, Anne,\\r\\n My mother, being heir unto the crown,\\r\\n Married Richard Earl of Cambridge, who was\\r\\n To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third\\'s fifth son, son.\\r\\n By her I claim the kingdom: she was heir\\r\\n To Roger Earl of March, who was the son\\r\\n Of Edmund Mortimer, who married Philippe,\\r\\n Sole daughter unto Lionel Duke of Clarence;\\r\\n So, if the issue of the elder son\\r\\n Succeed before the younger, I am King.\\r\\n WARWICK. What plain proceedings is more plain than this?\\r\\n Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt,\\r\\n The fourth son: York claims it from the third.\\r\\n Till Lionel\\'s issue fails, his should not reign.\\r\\n It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee\\r\\n And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock.\\r\\n Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together,\\r\\n And in this private plot be we the first\\r\\n That shall salute our rightful sovereign\\r\\n With honour of his birthright to the crown.\\r\\n BOTH. Long live our sovereign Richard, England\\'s King!\\r\\n YORK. We thank you, lords. But I am not your king\\r\\n Till I be crown\\'d, and that my sword be stain\\'d\\r\\n With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster;\\r\\n And that\\'s not suddenly to be perform\\'d,\\r\\n But with advice and silent secrecy.\\r\\n Do you as I do in these dangerous days:\\r\\n Wink at the Duke of Suffolk\\'s insolence,\\r\\n At Beaufort\\'s pride, at Somerset\\'s ambition,\\r\\n At Buckingham, and all the crew of them,\\r\\n Till they have snar\\'d the shepherd of the flock,\\r\\n That virtuous prince, the good Duke Humphrey;\\r\\n \\'Tis that they seek; and they, in seeking that,\\r\\n Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy.\\r\\n SALISBURY. My lord, break we off; we know your mind at full.\\r\\n WARWICK. My heart assures me that the Earl of Warwick\\r\\n Shall one day make the Duke of York a king.\\r\\n YORK. And, Nevil, this I do assure myself,\\r\\n Richard shall live to make the Earl of Warwick\\r\\n The greatest man in England but the King. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. London. A hall of justice\\r\\n\\r\\nSound trumpets. Enter the KING and State: the QUEEN, GLOUCESTER, YORK,\\r\\nSUFFOLK, and SALISBURY, with guard, to banish the DUCHESS. Enter,\\r\\nguarded, the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER, MARGERY JOURDAIN, HUME, SOUTHWELL,\\r\\nand BOLINGBROKE\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. Stand forth, Dame Eleanor Cobham, Gloucester\\'s wife:\\r\\n In sight of God and us, your guilt is great;\\r\\n Receive the sentence of the law for sins\\r\\n Such as by God\\'s book are adjudg\\'d to death.\\r\\n You four, from hence to prison back again;\\r\\n From thence unto the place of execution:\\r\\n The witch in Smithfield shall be burnt to ashes,\\r\\n And you three shall be strangled on the gallows.\\r\\n You, madam, for you are more nobly born,\\r\\n Despoiled of your honour in your life,\\r\\n Shall, after three days\\' open penance done,\\r\\n Live in your country here in banishment\\r\\n With Sir John Stanley in the Isle of Man.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Welcome is banishment; welcome were my death.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Eleanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged thee.\\r\\n I cannot justify whom the law condemns.\\r\\n Exeunt the DUCHESS and the other prisoners, guarded\\r\\n Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.\\r\\n Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age\\r\\n Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground!\\r\\n I beseech your Majesty give me leave to go;\\r\\n Sorrow would solace, and mine age would ease.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester; ere thou go,\\r\\n Give up thy staff; Henry will to himself\\r\\n Protector be; and God shall be my hope,\\r\\n My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet.\\r\\n And go in peace, Humphrey, no less belov\\'d\\r\\n Than when thou wert Protector to thy King.\\r\\n QUEEN. I see no reason why a king of years\\r\\n Should be to be protected like a child.\\r\\n God and King Henry govern England\\'s realm!\\r\\n Give up your staff, sir, and the King his realm.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My staff! Here, noble Henry, is my staff.\\r\\n As willingly do I the same resign\\r\\n As ere thy father Henry made it mine;\\r\\n And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it\\r\\n As others would ambitiously receive it.\\r\\n Farewell, good King; when I am dead and gone,\\r\\n May honourable peace attend thy throne! Exit\\r\\n QUEEN. Why, now is Henry King, and Margaret Queen,\\r\\n And Humphrey Duke of Gloucester scarce himself,\\r\\n That bears so shrewd a maim: two pulls at once-\\r\\n His lady banish\\'d and a limb lopp\\'d off.\\r\\n This staff of honour raught, there let it stand\\r\\n Where it best fits to be, in Henry\\'s hand.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Thus droops this lofty pine and hangs his sprays;\\r\\n Thus Eleanor\\'s pride dies in her youngest days.\\r\\n YORK. Lords, let him go. Please it your Majesty,\\r\\n This is the day appointed for the combat;\\r\\n And ready are the appellant and defendant,\\r\\n The armourer and his man, to enter the lists,\\r\\n So please your Highness to behold the fight.\\r\\n QUEEN. Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore\\r\\n Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried.\\r\\n KING HENRY. A God\\'s name, see the lists and all things fit;\\r\\n Here let them end it, and God defend the right!\\r\\n YORK. I never saw a fellow worse bested,\\r\\n Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant,\\r\\n The servant of his armourer, my lords.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter at one door, HORNER, the Armourer, and his\\r\\n NEIGHBOURS, drinking to him so much that he is\\r\\n drunk; and he enters with a drum before him and\\r\\n his staff with a sand-bag fastened to it; and at the\\r\\n other door PETER, his man, with a drum and sandbag,\\r\\n and PRENTICES drinking to him\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST NEIGHBOUR. Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of\\r\\n sack; and fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough.\\r\\n SECOND NEIGHBOUR. And here, neighbour, here\\'s a cup of charneco.\\r\\n THIRD NEIGHBOUR. And here\\'s a pot of good double beer, neighbour;\\r\\n drink, and fear not your man.\\r\\n HORNER. Let it come, i\\' faith, and I\\'ll pledge you all; and a fig\\r\\n for Peter!\\r\\n FIRST PRENTICE. Here, Peter, I drink to thee; and be not afraid.\\r\\n SECOND PRENTICE. Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master: fight\\r\\n for credit of the prentices.\\r\\n PETER. I thank you all. Drink, and pray for me, I pray you; for I\\r\\n think I have taken my last draught in this world. Here, Robin, an\\r\\n if I die, I give thee my apron; and, Will, thou shalt have my\\r\\n hammer; and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. O Lord\\r\\n bless me, I pray God! for I am never able to deal with my master,\\r\\n he hath learnt so much fence already.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Come, leave your drinking and fall to blows.\\r\\n Sirrah, what\\'s thy name?\\r\\n PETER. Peter, forsooth.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Peter? What more?\\r\\n PETER. Thump.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Thump? Then see thou thump thy master well.\\r\\n HORNER. Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon my man\\'s\\r\\n instigation, to prove him a knave and myself an honest man; and\\r\\n touching the Duke of York, I will take my death I never meant him\\r\\n any ill, nor the King, nor the Queen; and therefore, Peter, have\\r\\n at thee with a down right blow!\\r\\n YORK. Dispatch- this knave\\'s tongue begins to double.\\r\\n Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants!\\r\\n [Alarum. They fight and PETER strikes him down]\\r\\n HORNER. Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess treason.\\r\\n [Dies]\\r\\n YORK. Take away his weapon. Fellow, thank God, and the good wine in\\r\\n thy master\\'s way.\\r\\n PETER. O God, have I overcome mine enemies in this presence? O\\r\\n Peter, thou hast prevail\\'d in right!\\r\\n KING HENRY. Go, take hence that traitor from our sight,\\r\\n For by his death we do perceive his guilt;\\r\\n And God in justice hath reveal\\'d to us\\r\\n The truth and innocence of this poor fellow,\\r\\n Which he had thought to have murder\\'d wrongfully.\\r\\n Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward.\\r\\n Sound a flourish. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. London. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE HUMPHREY and his men, in mourning cloaks\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud,\\r\\n And after summer evermore succeeds\\r\\n Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold;\\r\\n So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet.\\r\\n Sirs, what\\'s o\\'clock?\\r\\n SERVING-MAN. Ten, my lord.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ten is the hour that was appointed me\\r\\n To watch the coming of my punish\\'d duchess.\\r\\n Uneath may she endure the flinty streets\\r\\n To tread them with her tender-feeling feet.\\r\\n Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook\\r\\n The abject people gazing on thy face,\\r\\n With envious looks, laughing at thy shame,\\r\\n That erst did follow thy proud chariot wheels\\r\\n When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets.\\r\\n But, soft! I think she comes, and I\\'ll prepare\\r\\n My tear-stain\\'d eyes to see her miseries.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER in a white sheet,\\r\\n and a taper burning in her hand, with SIR JOHN\\r\\n STANLEY, the SHERIFF, and OFFICERS\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVING-MAN. So please your Grace, we\\'ll take her from the sheriff.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. No, stir not for your lives; let her pass by.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Come you, my lord, to see my open shame?\\r\\n Now thou dost penance too. Look how they gaze!\\r\\n See how the giddy multitude do point\\r\\n And nod their heads and throw their eyes on thee;\\r\\n Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks,\\r\\n And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame\\r\\n And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself!\\r\\n For whilst I think I am thy married wife\\r\\n And thou a prince, Protector of this land,\\r\\n Methinks I should not thus be led along,\\r\\n Mail\\'d up in shame, with papers on my back,\\r\\n And follow\\'d with a rabble that rejoice\\r\\n To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans.\\r\\n The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet,\\r\\n And when I start, the envious people laugh\\r\\n And bid me be advised how I tread.\\r\\n Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke?\\r\\n Trowest thou that e\\'er I\\'ll look upon the world\\r\\n Or count them happy that enjoy the sun?\\r\\n No; dark shall be my light and night my day;\\r\\n To think upon my pomp shall be my hell.\\r\\n Sometimes I\\'ll say I am Duke Humphrey\\'s wife,\\r\\n And he a prince, and ruler of the land;\\r\\n Yet so he rul\\'d, and such a prince he was,\\r\\n As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess,\\r\\n Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock\\r\\n To every idle rascal follower.\\r\\n But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame,\\r\\n Nor stir at nothing till the axe of death\\r\\n Hang over thee, as sure it shortly will.\\r\\n For Suffolk- he that can do all in all\\r\\n With her that hateth thee and hates us all-\\r\\n And York, and impious Beaufort, that false priest,\\r\\n Have all lim\\'d bushes to betray thy wings,\\r\\n And, fly thou how thou canst, they\\'ll tangle thee.\\r\\n But fear not thou until thy foot be snar\\'d,\\r\\n Nor never seek prevention of thy foes.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ah, Nell, forbear! Thou aimest all awry.\\r\\n I must offend before I be attainted;\\r\\n And had I twenty times so many foes,\\r\\n And each of them had twenty times their power,\\r\\n All these could not procure me any scathe\\r\\n So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless.\\r\\n Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach?\\r\\n Why, yet thy scandal were not wip\\'d away,\\r\\n But I in danger for the breach of law.\\r\\n Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell.\\r\\n I pray thee sort thy heart to patience;\\r\\n These few days\\' wonder will be quickly worn.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a HERALD\\r\\n\\r\\n HERALD. I summon your Grace to his Majesty\\'s Parliament,\\r\\n Holden at Bury the first of this next month.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And my consent ne\\'er ask\\'d herein before!\\r\\n This is close dealing. Well, I will be there. Exit HERALD\\r\\n My Nell, I take my leave- and, master sheriff,\\r\\n Let not her penance exceed the King\\'s commission.\\r\\n SHERIFF. An\\'t please your Grace, here my commission stays;\\r\\n And Sir John Stanley is appointed now\\r\\n To take her with him to the Isle of Man.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Must you, Sir John, protect my lady here?\\r\\n STANLEY. So am I given in charge, may\\'t please your Grace.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Entreat her not the worse in that I pray\\r\\n You use her well; the world may laugh again,\\r\\n And I may live to do you kindness if\\r\\n You do it her. And so, Sir John, farewell.\\r\\n DUCHESS. What, gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak.\\r\\n Exeunt GLOUCESTER and servants\\r\\n DUCHESS. Art thou gone too? All comfort go with thee!\\r\\n For none abides with me. My joy is death-\\r\\n Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard,\\r\\n Because I wish\\'d this world\\'s eternity.\\r\\n Stanley, I prithee go, and take me hence;\\r\\n I care not whither, for I beg no favour,\\r\\n Only convey me where thou art commanded.\\r\\n STANLEY. Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man,\\r\\n There to be us\\'d according to your state.\\r\\n DUCHESS. That\\'s bad enough, for I am but reproach-\\r\\n And shall I then be us\\'d reproachfully?\\r\\n STANLEY. Like to a duchess and Duke Humphrey\\'s lady;\\r\\n According to that state you shall be us\\'d.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare,\\r\\n Although thou hast been conduct of my shame.\\r\\n SHERIFF. It is my office; and, madam, pardon me.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharg\\'d.\\r\\n Come, Stanley, shall we go?\\r\\n STANLEY. Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet,\\r\\n And go we to attire you for our journey.\\r\\n DUCHESS. My shame will not be shifted with my sheet.\\r\\n No, it will hang upon my richest robes\\r\\n And show itself, attire me how I can.\\r\\n Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. The Abbey at Bury St. Edmunds\\r\\n\\r\\nSound a sennet. Enter the KING, the QUEEN, CARDINAL, SUFFOLK, YORK,\\r\\nBUCKINGHAM, SALISBURY, and WARWICK, to the Parliament\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. I muse my Lord of Gloucester is not come.\\r\\n \\'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man,\\r\\n Whate\\'er occasion keeps him from us now.\\r\\n QUEEN. Can you not see, or will ye not observe\\r\\n The strangeness of his alter\\'d countenance?\\r\\n With what a majesty he bears himself;\\r\\n How insolent of late he is become,\\r\\n How proud, how peremptory, and unlike himself?\\r\\n We know the time since he was mild and affable,\\r\\n And if we did but glance a far-off look\\r\\n Immediately he was upon his knee,\\r\\n That all the court admir\\'d him for submission.\\r\\n But meet him now and be it in the morn,\\r\\n When every one will give the time of day,\\r\\n He knits his brow and shows an angry eye\\r\\n And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee,\\r\\n Disdaining duty that to us belongs.\\r\\n Small curs are not regarded when they grin,\\r\\n But great men tremble when the lion roars,\\r\\n And Humphrey is no little man in England.\\r\\n First note that he is near you in descent,\\r\\n And should you fall he is the next will mount;\\r\\n Me seemeth, then, it is no policy-\\r\\n Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears,\\r\\n And his advantage following your decease-\\r\\n That he should come about your royal person\\r\\n Or be admitted to your Highness\\' Council.\\r\\n By flattery hath he won the commons\\' hearts;\\r\\n And when he please to make commotion,\\r\\n \\'Tis to be fear\\'d they all will follow him.\\r\\n Now \\'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted;\\r\\n Suffer them now, and they\\'ll o\\'ergrow the garden\\r\\n And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.\\r\\n The reverent care I bear unto my lord\\r\\n Made me collect these dangers in the Duke.\\r\\n If it be fond, can it a woman\\'s fear;\\r\\n Which fear if better reasons can supplant,\\r\\n I will subscribe, and say I wrong\\'d the Duke.\\r\\n My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York,\\r\\n Reprove my allegation if you can,\\r\\n Or else conclude my words effectual.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Well hath your Highness seen into this duke;\\r\\n And had I first been put to speak my mind,\\r\\n I think I should have told your Grace\\'s tale.\\r\\n The Duchess, by his subornation,\\r\\n Upon my life, began her devilish practices;\\r\\n Or if he were not privy to those faults,\\r\\n Yet by reputing of his high descent-\\r\\n As next the King he was successive heir-\\r\\n And such high vaunts of his nobility,\\r\\n Did instigate the bedlam brainsick Duchess\\r\\n By wicked means to frame our sovereign\\'s fall.\\r\\n Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep,\\r\\n And in his simple show he harbours treason.\\r\\n The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb.\\r\\n No, no, my sovereign, Gloucester is a man\\r\\n Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit.\\r\\n CARDINAL. Did he not, contrary to form of law,\\r\\n Devise strange deaths for small offences done?\\r\\n YORK. And did he not, in his protectorship,\\r\\n Levy great sums of money through the realm\\r\\n For soldiers\\' pay in France, and never sent it?\\r\\n By means whereof the towns each day revolted.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Tut, these are petty faults to faults unknown\\r\\n Which time will bring to light in smooth Duke Humphrey.\\r\\n KING HENRY. My lords, at once: the care you have of us,\\r\\n To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot,\\r\\n Is worthy praise; but shall I speak my conscience?\\r\\n Our kinsman Gloucester is as innocent\\r\\n From meaning treason to our royal person\\r\\n As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove:\\r\\n The Duke is virtuous, mild, and too well given\\r\\n To dream on evil or to work my downfall.\\r\\n QUEEN. Ah, what\\'s more dangerous than this fond affiance?\\r\\n Seems he a dove? His feathers are but borrow\\'d,\\r\\n For he\\'s disposed as the hateful raven.\\r\\n Is he a lamb? His skin is surely lent him,\\r\\n For he\\'s inclin\\'d as is the ravenous wolf.\\r\\n Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit?\\r\\n Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all\\r\\n Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SOMERSET\\r\\n\\r\\n SOMERSET. All health unto my gracious sovereign!\\r\\n KING HENRY. Welcome, Lord Somerset. What news from France?\\r\\n SOMERSET. That all your interest in those territories\\r\\n Is utterly bereft you; all is lost.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Cold news, Lord Somerset; but God\\'s will be done!\\r\\n YORK. [Aside] Cold news for me; for I had hope of France\\r\\n As firmly as I hope for fertile England.\\r\\n Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud,\\r\\n And caterpillars eat my leaves away;\\r\\n But I will remedy this gear ere long,\\r\\n Or sell my title for a glorious grave.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. All happiness unto my lord the King!\\r\\n Pardon, my liege, that I have stay\\'d so long.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Nay, Gloucester, know that thou art come too soon,\\r\\n Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art.\\r\\n I do arrest thee of high treason here.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Well, Suffolk, thou shalt not see me blush\\r\\n Nor change my countenance for this arrest:\\r\\n A heart unspotted is not easily daunted.\\r\\n The purest spring is not so free from mud\\r\\n As I am clear from treason to my sovereign.\\r\\n Who can accuse me? Wherein am I guilty?\\r\\n YORK. \\'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes of France\\r\\n And, being Protector, stay\\'d the soldiers\\' pay;\\r\\n By means whereof his Highness hath lost France.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Is it but thought so? What are they that think it?\\r\\n I never robb\\'d the soldiers of their pay\\r\\n Nor ever had one penny bribe from France.\\r\\n So help me God, as I have watch\\'d the night-\\r\\n Ay, night by night- in studying good for England!\\r\\n That doit that e\\'er I wrested from the King,\\r\\n Or any groat I hoarded to my use,\\r\\n Be brought against me at my trial-day!\\r\\n No; many a pound of mine own proper store,\\r\\n Because I would not tax the needy commons,\\r\\n Have I dispursed to the garrisons,\\r\\n And never ask\\'d for restitution.\\r\\n CARDINAL. It serves you well, my lord, to say so much.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I say no more than truth, so help me God!\\r\\n YORK. In your protectorship you did devise\\r\\n Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of,\\r\\n That England was defam\\'d by tyranny.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, \\'tis well known that whiles I was Protector\\r\\n Pity was all the fault that was in me;\\r\\n For I should melt at an offender\\'s tears,\\r\\n And lowly words were ransom for their fault.\\r\\n Unless it were a bloody murderer,\\r\\n Or foul felonious thief that fleec\\'d poor passengers,\\r\\n I never gave them condign punishment.\\r\\n Murder indeed, that bloody sin, I tortur\\'d\\r\\n Above the felon or what trespass else.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. My lord, these faults are easy, quickly answer\\'d;\\r\\n But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge,\\r\\n Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself.\\r\\n I do arrest you in His Highness\\' name,\\r\\n And here commit you to my Lord Cardinal\\r\\n To keep until your further time of trial.\\r\\n KING HENRY. My Lord of Gloucester, \\'tis my special hope\\r\\n That you will clear yourself from all suspense.\\r\\n My conscience tells me you are innocent.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous!\\r\\n Virtue is chok\\'d with foul ambition,\\r\\n And charity chas\\'d hence by rancour\\'s hand;\\r\\n Foul subornation is predominant,\\r\\n And equity exil\\'d your Highness\\' land.\\r\\n I know their complot is to have my life;\\r\\n And if my death might make this island happy\\r\\n And prove the period of their tyranny,\\r\\n I would expend it with all willingness.\\r\\n But mine is made the prologue to their play;\\r\\n For thousands more that yet suspect no peril\\r\\n Will not conclude their plotted tragedy.\\r\\n Beaufort\\'s red sparkling eyes blab his heart\\'s malice,\\r\\n And Suffolk\\'s cloudy brow his stormy hate;\\r\\n Sharp Buckingham unburdens with his tongue\\r\\n The envious load that lies upon his heart;\\r\\n And dogged York, that reaches at the moon,\\r\\n Whose overweening arm I have pluck\\'d back,\\r\\n By false accuse doth level at my life.\\r\\n And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest,\\r\\n Causeless have laid disgraces on my head,\\r\\n And with your best endeavour have stirr\\'d up\\r\\n My liefest liege to be mine enemy;\\r\\n Ay, all of you have laid your heads together-\\r\\n Myself had notice of your conventicles-\\r\\n And all to make away my guiltless life.\\r\\n I shall not want false witness to condemn me\\r\\n Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt.\\r\\n The ancient proverb will be well effected:\\r\\n \\'A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.\\'\\r\\n CARDINAL. My liege, his railing is intolerable.\\r\\n If those that care to keep your royal person\\r\\n From treason\\'s secret knife and traitor\\'s rage\\r\\n Be thus upbraided, chid, and rated at,\\r\\n And the offender granted scope of speech,\\r\\n \\'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your Grace.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here\\r\\n With ignominious words, though clerkly couch\\'d,\\r\\n As if she had suborned some to swear\\r\\n False allegations to o\\'erthrow his state?\\r\\n QUEEN. But I can give the loser leave to chide.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Far truer spoke than meant: I lose indeed.\\r\\n Beshrew the winners, for they play\\'d me false!\\r\\n And well such losers may have leave to speak.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. He\\'ll wrest the sense, and hold us here all day.\\r\\n Lord Cardinal, he is your prisoner.\\r\\n CARDINAL. Sirs, take away the Duke, and guard him sure.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ah, thus King Henry throws away his crutch\\r\\n Before his legs be firm to bear his body!\\r\\n Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side,\\r\\n And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first.\\r\\n Ah, that my fear were false! ah, that it were!\\r\\n For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear. Exit, guarded\\r\\n KING HENRY. My lords, what to your wisdoms seemeth best\\r\\n Do or undo, as if ourself were here.\\r\\n QUEEN. What, will your Highness leave the Parliament?\\r\\n KING HENRY. Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown\\'d with grief,\\r\\n Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes;\\r\\n My body round engirt with misery-\\r\\n For what\\'s more miserable than discontent?\\r\\n Ah, uncle Humphrey, in thy face I see\\r\\n The map of honour, truth, and loyalty!\\r\\n And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come\\r\\n That e\\'er I prov\\'d thee false or fear\\'d thy faith.\\r\\n What louring star now envies thy estate\\r\\n That these great lords, and Margaret our Queen,\\r\\n Do seek subversion of thy harmless life?\\r\\n Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong;\\r\\n And as the butcher takes away the calf,\\r\\n And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays,\\r\\n Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house,\\r\\n Even so, remorseless, have they borne him hence;\\r\\n And as the dam runs lowing up and down,\\r\\n Looking the way her harmless young one went,\\r\\n And can do nought but wail her darling\\'s loss,\\r\\n Even so myself bewails good Gloucester\\'s case\\r\\n With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimm\\'d eyes\\r\\n Look after him, and cannot do him good,\\r\\n So mighty are his vowed enemies.\\r\\n His fortunes I will weep, and \\'twixt each groan\\r\\n Say \\'Who\\'s a traitor? Gloucester he is none.\\' Exit\\r\\n QUEEN. Free lords, cold snow melts with the sun\\'s hot beams:\\r\\n Henry my lord is cold in great affairs,\\r\\n Too full of foolish pity; and Gloucester\\'s show\\r\\n Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile\\r\\n With sorrow snares relenting passengers;\\r\\n Or as the snake, roll\\'d in a flow\\'ring bank,\\r\\n With shining checker\\'d slough, doth sting a child\\r\\n That for the beauty thinks it excellent.\\r\\n Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I-\\r\\n And yet herein I judge mine own wit good-\\r\\n This Gloucester should be quickly rid the world\\r\\n To rid us from the fear we have of him.\\r\\n CARDINAL. That he should die is worthy policy;\\r\\n But yet we want a colour for his death.\\r\\n \\'Tis meet he be condemn\\'d by course of law.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. But, in my mind, that were no policy:\\r\\n The King will labour still to save his life;\\r\\n The commons haply rise to save his life;\\r\\n And yet we have but trivial argument,\\r\\n More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death.\\r\\n YORK. So that, by this, you would not have him die.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I!\\r\\n YORK. \\'Tis York that hath more reason for his death.\\r\\n But, my Lord Cardinal, and you, my Lord of Suffolk,\\r\\n Say as you think, and speak it from your souls:\\r\\n Were\\'t not all one an empty eagle were set\\r\\n To guard the chicken from a hungry kite\\r\\n As place Duke Humphrey for the King\\'s Protector?\\r\\n QUEEN. So the poor chicken should be sure of death.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Madam, \\'tis true; and were\\'t not madness then\\r\\n To make the fox surveyor of the fold?\\r\\n Who being accus\\'d a crafty murderer,\\r\\n His guilt should be but idly posted over,\\r\\n Because his purpose is not executed.\\r\\n No; let him die, in that he is a fox,\\r\\n By nature prov\\'d an enemy to the flock,\\r\\n Before his chaps be stain\\'d with crimson blood,\\r\\n As Humphrey, prov\\'d by reasons, to my liege.\\r\\n And do not stand on quillets how to slay him;\\r\\n Be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety,\\r\\n Sleeping or waking, \\'tis no matter how,\\r\\n So he be dead; for that is good deceit\\r\\n Which mates him first that first intends deceit.\\r\\n QUEEN. Thrice-noble Suffolk, \\'tis resolutely spoke.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Not resolute, except so much were done,\\r\\n For things are often spoke and seldom meant;\\r\\n But that my heart accordeth with my tongue,\\r\\n Seeing the deed is meritorious,\\r\\n And to preserve my sovereign from his foe,\\r\\n Say but the word, and I will be his priest.\\r\\n CARDINAL. But I would have him dead, my Lord of Suffolk,\\r\\n Ere you can take due orders for a priest;\\r\\n Say you consent and censure well the deed,\\r\\n And I\\'ll provide his executioner-\\r\\n I tender so the safety of my liege.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Here is my hand the deed is worthy doing.\\r\\n QUEEN. And so say I.\\r\\n YORK. And I. And now we three have spoke it,\\r\\n It skills not greatly who impugns our doom.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a POST\\r\\n\\r\\n POST. Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain\\r\\n To signify that rebels there are up\\r\\n And put the Englishmen unto the sword.\\r\\n Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime,\\r\\n Before the wound do grow uncurable;\\r\\n For, being green, there is great hope of help.\\r\\n CARDINAL. A breach that craves a quick expedient stop!\\r\\n What counsel give you in this weighty cause?\\r\\n YORK. That Somerset be sent as Regent thither;\\r\\n \\'Tis meet that lucky ruler be employ\\'d,\\r\\n Witness the fortune he hath had in France.\\r\\n SOMERSET. If York, with all his far-fet policy,\\r\\n Had been the Regent there instead of me,\\r\\n He never would have stay\\'d in France so long.\\r\\n YORK. No, not to lose it all as thou hast done.\\r\\n I rather would have lost my life betimes\\r\\n Than bring a burden of dishonour home\\r\\n By staying there so long till all were lost.\\r\\n Show me one scar character\\'d on thy skin:\\r\\n Men\\'s flesh preserv\\'d so whole do seldom win.\\r\\n QUEEN. Nay then, this spark will prove a raging fire,\\r\\n If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with;\\r\\n No more, good York; sweet Somerset, be still.\\r\\n Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been Regent there,\\r\\n Might happily have prov\\'d far worse than his.\\r\\n YORK. What, worse than nought? Nay, then a shame take all!\\r\\n SOMERSET. And in the number, thee that wishest shame!\\r\\n CARDINAL. My Lord of York, try what your fortune is.\\r\\n Th\\' uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms\\r\\n And temper clay with blood of Englishmen;\\r\\n To Ireland will you lead a band of men,\\r\\n Collected choicely, from each county some,\\r\\n And try your hap against the Irishmen?\\r\\n YORK. I will, my lord, so please his Majesty.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Why, our authority is his consent,\\r\\n And what we do establish he confirms;\\r\\n Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand.\\r\\n YORK. I am content; provide me soldiers, lords,\\r\\n Whiles I take order for mine own affairs.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. A charge, Lord York, that I will see perform\\'d.\\r\\n But now return we to the false Duke Humphrey.\\r\\n CARDINAL. No more of him; for I will deal with him\\r\\n That henceforth he shall trouble us no more.\\r\\n And so break off; the day is almost spent.\\r\\n Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event.\\r\\n YORK. My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days\\r\\n At Bristol I expect my soldiers;\\r\\n For there I\\'ll ship them all for Ireland.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. I\\'ll see it truly done, my Lord of York.\\r\\n Exeunt all but YORK\\r\\n YORK. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts\\r\\n And change misdoubt to resolution;\\r\\n Be that thou hop\\'st to be; or what thou art\\r\\n Resign to death- it is not worth th\\' enjoying.\\r\\n Let pale-fac\\'d fear keep with the mean-born man\\r\\n And find no harbour in a royal heart.\\r\\n Faster than spring-time show\\'rs comes thought on thought,\\r\\n And not a thought but thinks on dignity.\\r\\n My brain, more busy than the labouring spider,\\r\\n Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.\\r\\n Well, nobles, well, \\'tis politicly done\\r\\n To send me packing with an host of men.\\r\\n I fear me you but warm the starved snake,\\r\\n Who, cherish\\'d in your breasts, will sting your hearts.\\r\\n \\'Twas men I lack\\'d, and you will give them me;\\r\\n I take it kindly. Yet be well assur\\'d\\r\\n You put sharp weapons in a madman\\'s hands.\\r\\n Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,\\r\\n I will stir up in England some black storm\\r\\n Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell;\\r\\n And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage\\r\\n Until the golden circuit on my head,\\r\\n Like to the glorious sun\\'s transparent beams,\\r\\n Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.\\r\\n And for a minister of my intent\\r\\n I have seduc\\'d a headstrong Kentishman,\\r\\n John Cade of Ashford,\\r\\n To make commotion, as full well he can,\\r\\n Under the tide of John Mortimer.\\r\\n In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade\\r\\n Oppose himself against a troop of kerns,\\r\\n And fought so long tiff that his thighs with darts\\r\\n Were almost like a sharp-quill\\'d porpentine;\\r\\n And in the end being rescu\\'d, I have seen\\r\\n Him caper upright like a wild Morisco,\\r\\n Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells.\\r\\n Full often, like a shag-hair\\'d crafty kern,\\r\\n Hath he conversed with the enemy,\\r\\n And undiscover\\'d come to me again\\r\\n And given me notice of their villainies.\\r\\n This devil here shall be my substitute;\\r\\n For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,\\r\\n In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble.\\r\\n By this I shall perceive the commons\\' mind,\\r\\n How they affect the house and claim of York.\\r\\n Say he be taken, rack\\'d, and tortured;\\r\\n I know no pain they can inflict upon him\\r\\n Will make him say I mov\\'d him to those arms.\\r\\n Say that he thrive, as \\'tis great like he will,\\r\\n Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength,\\r\\n And reap the harvest which that rascal sow\\'d;\\r\\n For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,\\r\\n And Henry put apart, the next for me. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Bury St. Edmunds. A room of state\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter two or three MURDERERS running over the stage, from the murder of\\r\\nDUKE HUMPHREY\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Run to my Lord of Suffolk; let him know\\r\\n We have dispatch\\'d the Duke, as he commanded.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. O that it were to do! What have we done?\\r\\n Didst ever hear a man so penitent?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SUFFOLK\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Here comes my lord.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Now, sirs, have you dispatch\\'d this thing?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Ay, my good lord, he\\'s dead.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Why, that\\'s well said. Go, get you to my house;\\r\\n I will reward you for this venturous deed.\\r\\n The King and all the peers are here at hand.\\r\\n Have you laid fair the bed? Is all things well,\\r\\n According as I gave directions?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. \\'Tis, my good lord.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Away! be gone. Exeunt MURDERERS\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound trumpets. Enter the KING, the QUEEN,\\r\\n CARDINAL, SOMERSET, with attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. Go call our uncle to our presence straight;\\r\\n Say we intend to try his Grace to-day,\\r\\n If he be guilty, as \\'tis published.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. I\\'ll call him presently, my noble lord. Exit\\r\\n KING HENRY. Lords, take your places; and, I pray you all,\\r\\n Proceed no straiter \\'gainst our uncle Gloucester\\r\\n Than from true evidence, of good esteem,\\r\\n He be approv\\'d in practice culpable.\\r\\n QUEEN. God forbid any malice should prevail\\r\\n That faultless may condemn a nobleman!\\r\\n Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion!\\r\\n KING HENRY. I thank thee, Meg; these words content me much.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter SUFFOLK\\r\\n\\r\\n How now! Why look\\'st thou pale? Why tremblest thou?\\r\\n Where is our uncle? What\\'s the matter, Suffolk?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloucester is dead.\\r\\n QUEEN. Marry, God forfend!\\r\\n CARDINAL. God\\'s secret judgment! I did dream to-night\\r\\n The Duke was dumb and could not speak a word.\\r\\n [The KING swoons]\\r\\n QUEEN. How fares my lord? Help, lords! The King is dead.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Rear up his body; wring him by the nose.\\r\\n QUEEN. Run, go, help, help! O Henry, ope thine eyes!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. He doth revive again; madam, be patient.\\r\\n KING. O heavenly God!\\r\\n QUEEN. How fares my gracious lord?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Comfort, my sovereign! Gracious Henry, comfort!\\r\\n KING HENRY. What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me?\\r\\n Came he right now to sing a raven\\'s note,\\r\\n Whose dismal tune bereft my vital pow\\'rs;\\r\\n And thinks he that the chirping of a wren,\\r\\n By crying comfort from a hollow breast,\\r\\n Can chase away the first conceived sound?\\r\\n Hide not thy poison with such sug\\'red words;\\r\\n Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say,\\r\\n Their touch affrights me as a serpent\\'s sting.\\r\\n Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight!\\r\\n Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny\\r\\n Sits in grim majesty to fright the world.\\r\\n Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding;\\r\\n Yet do not go away; come, basilisk,\\r\\n And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight;\\r\\n For in the shade of death I shall find joy-\\r\\n In life but double death,\\'now Gloucester\\'s dead.\\r\\n QUEEN. Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus?\\r\\n Although the Duke was enemy to him,\\r\\n Yet he most Christian-like laments his death;\\r\\n And for myself- foe as he was to me-\\r\\n Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans,\\r\\n Or blood-consuming sighs, recall his life,\\r\\n I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans,\\r\\n Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs,\\r\\n And all to have the noble Duke alive.\\r\\n What know I how the world may deem of me?\\r\\n For it is known we were but hollow friends:\\r\\n It may be judg\\'d I made the Duke away;\\r\\n So shall my name with slander\\'s tongue be wounded,\\r\\n And princes\\' courts be fill\\'d with my reproach.\\r\\n This get I by his death. Ay me, unhappy!\\r\\n To be a queen and crown\\'d with infamy!\\r\\n KING HENRY. Ah, woe is me for Gloucester, wretched man!\\r\\n QUEEN. Be woe for me, more wretched than he is.\\r\\n What, dost thou turn away, and hide thy face?\\r\\n I am no loathsome leper- look on me.\\r\\n What, art thou like the adder waxen deaf?\\r\\n Be poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn Queen.\\r\\n Is all thy comfort shut in Gloucester\\'s tomb?\\r\\n Why, then Dame Margaret was ne\\'er thy joy.\\r\\n Erect his statue and worship it,\\r\\n And make my image but an alehouse sign.\\r\\n Was I for this nigh wreck\\'d upon the sea,\\r\\n And twice by awkward wind from England\\'s bank\\r\\n Drove back again unto my native clime?\\r\\n What boded this but well-forewarning wind\\r\\n Did seem to say \\'Seek not a scorpion\\'s nest,\\r\\n Nor set no footing on this unkind shore\\'?\\r\\n What did I then but curs\\'d the gentle gusts,\\r\\n And he that loos\\'d them forth their brazen caves;\\r\\n And bid them blow towards England\\'s blessed shore,\\r\\n Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock?\\r\\n Yet Aeolus would not be a murderer,\\r\\n But left that hateful office unto thee.\\r\\n The pretty-vaulting sea refus\\'d to drown me,\\r\\n Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown\\'d on shore\\r\\n With tears as salt as sea through thy unkindness;\\r\\n The splitting rocks cow\\'r\\'d in the sinking sands\\r\\n And would not dash me with their ragged sides,\\r\\n Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they,\\r\\n Might in thy palace perish Margaret.\\r\\n As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs,\\r\\n When from thy shore the tempest beat us back,\\r\\n I stood upon the hatches in the storm;\\r\\n And when the dusky sky began to rob\\r\\n My earnest-gaping sight of thy land\\'s view,\\r\\n I took a costly jewel from my neck-\\r\\n A heart it was, bound in with diamonds-\\r\\n And threw it towards thy land. The sea receiv\\'d it;\\r\\n And so I wish\\'d thy body might my heart.\\r\\n And even with this I lost fair England\\'s view,\\r\\n And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart,\\r\\n And call\\'d them blind and dusky spectacles\\r\\n For losing ken of Albion\\'s wished coast.\\r\\n How often have I tempted Suffolk\\'s tongue-\\r\\n The agent of thy foul inconstancy-\\r\\n To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did\\r\\n When he to madding Dido would unfold\\r\\n His father\\'s acts commenc\\'d in burning Troy!\\r\\n Am I not witch\\'d like her? Or thou not false like him?\\r\\n Ay me, I can no more! Die, Margaret,\\r\\n For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long.\\r\\n\\r\\n Noise within. Enter WARWICK, SALISBURY,\\r\\n and many commons\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. It is reported, mighty sovereign,\\r\\n That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is murd\\'red\\r\\n By Suffolk and the Cardinal Beaufort\\'s means.\\r\\n The commons, like an angry hive of bees\\r\\n That want their leader, scatter up and down\\r\\n And care not who they sting in his revenge.\\r\\n Myself have calm\\'d their spleenful mutiny\\r\\n Until they hear the order of his death.\\r\\n KING HENRY. That he is dead, good Warwick, \\'tis too true;\\r\\n But how he died God knows, not Henry.\\r\\n Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse,\\r\\n And comment then upon his sudden death.\\r\\n WARWICK. That shall I do, my liege. Stay, Salisbury,\\r\\n With the rude multitude till I return. Exit\\r\\n Exit SALISBURY with the commons\\r\\n KING HENRY. O Thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts-\\r\\n My thoughts that labour to persuade my soul\\r\\n Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey\\'s life!\\r\\n If my suspect be false, forgive me, God;\\r\\n For judgment only doth belong to Thee.\\r\\n Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips\\r\\n With twenty thousand kisses and to drain\\r\\n Upon his face an ocean of salt tears\\r\\n To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk;\\r\\n And with my fingers feel his hand un-feeling;\\r\\n But all in vain are these mean obsequies;\\r\\n And to survey his dead and earthy image,\\r\\n What were it but to make my sorrow greater?\\r\\n\\r\\n Bed put forth with the body. Enter WARWICK\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this body.\\r\\n KING HENRY. That is to see how deep my grave is made;\\r\\n For with his soul fled all my worldly solace,\\r\\n For, seeing him, I see my life in death.\\r\\n WARWICK. As surely as my soul intends to live\\r\\n With that dread King that took our state upon Him\\r\\n To free us from his Father\\'s wrathful curse,\\r\\n I do believe that violent hands were laid\\r\\n Upon the life of this thrice-famed Duke.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue!\\r\\n What instance gives Lord Warwick for his vow?\\r\\n WARWICK. See how the blood is settled in his face.\\r\\n Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost,\\r\\n Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless,\\r\\n Being all descended to the labouring heart,\\r\\n Who, in the conflict that it holds with death,\\r\\n Attracts the same for aidance \\'gainst the enemy,\\r\\n Which with the heart there cools, and ne\\'er returneth\\r\\n To blush and beautify the cheek again.\\r\\n But see, his face is black and full of blood;\\r\\n His eye-balls further out than when he liv\\'d,\\r\\n Staring full ghastly like a strangled man;\\r\\n His hair uprear\\'d, his nostrils stretch\\'d with struggling;\\r\\n His hands abroad display\\'d, as one that grasp\\'d\\r\\n And tugg\\'d for life, and was by strength subdu\\'d.\\r\\n Look, on the sheets his hair, you see, is sticking;\\r\\n His well-proportion\\'d beard made rough and rugged,\\r\\n Like to the summer\\'s corn by tempest lodged.\\r\\n It cannot be but he was murd\\'red here:\\r\\n The least of all these signs were probable.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Why, Warwick, who should do the Duke to death?\\r\\n Myself and Beaufort had him in protection;\\r\\n And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers.\\r\\n WARWICK. But both of you were vow\\'d Duke Humphrey\\'s foes;\\r\\n And you, forsooth, had the good Duke to keep.\\r\\n \\'Tis like you would not feast him like a friend;\\r\\n And \\'tis well seen he found an enemy.\\r\\n QUEEN. Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen\\r\\n As guilty of Duke Humphrey\\'s timeless death.\\r\\n WARWICK. Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh,\\r\\n And sees fast by a butcher with an axe,\\r\\n But will suspect \\'twas he that made the slaughter?\\r\\n Who finds the partridge in the puttock\\'s nest\\r\\n But may imagine how the bird was dead,\\r\\n Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak?\\r\\n Even so suspicious is this tragedy.\\r\\n QUEEN. Are you the butcher, Suffolk? Where\\'s your knife?\\r\\n Is Beaufort term\\'d a kite? Where are his talons?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping men;\\r\\n But here\\'s a vengeful sword, rusted with ease,\\r\\n That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart\\r\\n That slanders me with murder\\'s crimson badge.\\r\\n Say if thou dar\\'st, proud Lord of Warwickshire,\\r\\n That I am faulty in Duke Humphrey\\'s death.\\r\\n Exeunt CARDINAL, SOMERSET, and others\\r\\n WARWICK. What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare him?\\r\\n QUEEN. He dares not calm his contumelious spirit,\\r\\n Nor cease to be an arrogant controller,\\r\\n Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times.\\r\\n WARWICK. Madam, be still- with reverence may I say;\\r\\n For every word you speak in his behalf\\r\\n Is slander to your royal dignity.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanour,\\r\\n If ever lady wrong\\'d her lord so much,\\r\\n Thy mother took into her blameful bed\\r\\n Some stern untutor\\'d churl, and noble stock\\r\\n Was graft with crab-tree slip, whose fruit thou art,\\r\\n And never of the Nevils\\' noble race.\\r\\n WARWICK. But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee,\\r\\n And I should rob the deathsman of his fee,\\r\\n Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames,\\r\\n And that my sovereign\\'s presence makes me mild,\\r\\n I would, false murd\\'rous coward, on thy knee\\r\\n Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech\\r\\n And say it was thy mother that thou meant\\'st,\\r\\n That thou thyself was born in bastardy;\\r\\n And, after all this fearful homage done,\\r\\n Give thee thy hire and send thy soul to hell,\\r\\n Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Thou shalt be waking while I shed thy blood,\\r\\n If from this presence thou dar\\'st go with me.\\r\\n WARWICK. Away even now, or I will drag thee hence.\\r\\n Unworthy though thou art, I\\'ll cope with thee,\\r\\n And do some service to Duke Humphrey\\'s ghost.\\r\\n Exeunt SUFFOLK and WARWICK\\r\\n KING HENRY. What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted?\\r\\n Thrice is he arm\\'d that hath his quarrel just;\\r\\n And he but naked, though lock\\'d up in steel,\\r\\n Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.\\r\\n [A noise within]\\r\\n QUEEN. What noise is this?\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter SUFFOLK and WARWICK, with their weapons drawn\\r\\n\\r\\n KING. Why, how now, lords, your wrathful weapons drawn\\r\\n Here in our presence! Dare you be so bold?\\r\\n Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. The trait\\'rous Warwick, with the men of Bury,\\r\\n Set all upon me, mighty sovereign.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter SALISBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n SALISBURY. [To the Commons within] Sirs, stand apart, the King\\r\\n shall know your mind.\\r\\n Dread lord, the commons send you word by me\\r\\n Unless Lord Suffolk straight be done to death,\\r\\n Or banished fair England\\'s territories,\\r\\n They will by violence tear him from your palace\\r\\n And torture him with grievous ling\\'ring death.\\r\\n They say by him the good Duke Humphrey died;\\r\\n They say in him they fear your Highness\\' death;\\r\\n And mere instinct of love and loyalty,\\r\\n Free from a stubborn opposite intent,\\r\\n As being thought to contradict your liking,\\r\\n Makes them thus forward in his banishment.\\r\\n They say, in care of your most royal person,\\r\\n That if your Highness should intend to sleep\\r\\n And charge that no man should disturb your rest,\\r\\n In pain of your dislike or pain of death,\\r\\n Yet, notwithstanding such a strait edict,\\r\\n Were there a serpent seen with forked tongue\\r\\n That slily glided towards your Majesty,\\r\\n It were but necessary you were wak\\'d,\\r\\n Lest, being suffer\\'d in that harmful slumber,\\r\\n The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal.\\r\\n And therefore do they cry, though you forbid,\\r\\n That they will guard you, whe\\'er you will or no,\\r\\n From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is;\\r\\n With whose envenomed and fatal sting\\r\\n Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth,\\r\\n They say, is shamefully bereft of life.\\r\\n COMMONS. [Within] An answer from the King, my Lord of Salisbury!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. \\'Tis like the commons, rude unpolish\\'d hinds,\\r\\n Could send such message to their sovereign;\\r\\n But you, my lord, were glad to be employ\\'d,\\r\\n To show how quaint an orator you are.\\r\\n But all the honour Salisbury hath won\\r\\n Is that he was the lord ambassador\\r\\n Sent from a sort of tinkers to the King.\\r\\n COMMONS. [Within] An answer from the King, or we will all break in!\\r\\n KING HENRY. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me\\r\\n I thank them for their tender loving care;\\r\\n And had I not been cited so by them,\\r\\n Yet did I purpose as they do entreat;\\r\\n For sure my thoughts do hourly prophesy\\r\\n Mischance unto my state by Suffolk\\'s means.\\r\\n And therefore by His Majesty I swear,\\r\\n Whose far unworthy deputy I am,\\r\\n He shall not breathe infection in this air\\r\\n But three days longer, on the pain of death.\\r\\n Exit SALISBURY\\r\\n QUEEN. O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk!\\r\\n KING HENRY. Ungentle Queen, to call him gentle Suffolk!\\r\\n No more, I say; if thou dost plead for him,\\r\\n Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath.\\r\\n Had I but said, I would have kept my word;\\r\\n But when I swear, it is irrevocable.\\r\\n If after three days\\' space thou here be\\'st found\\r\\n On any ground that I am ruler of,\\r\\n The world shall not be ransom for thy life.\\r\\n Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me;\\r\\n I have great matters to impart to thee.\\r\\n Exeunt all but QUEEN and SUFFOLK\\r\\n QUEEN. Mischance and sorrow go along with you!\\r\\n Heart\\'s discontent and sour affliction\\r\\n Be playfellows to keep you company!\\r\\n There\\'s two of you; the devil make a third,\\r\\n And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Cease, gentle Queen, these execrations,\\r\\n And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.\\r\\n QUEEN. Fie, coward woman and soft-hearted wretch,\\r\\n Has thou not spirit to curse thine enemy?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. A plague upon them! Wherefore should I curse them?\\r\\n Would curses kill as doth the mandrake\\'s groan,\\r\\n I would invent as bitter searching terms,\\r\\n As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear,\\r\\n Deliver\\'d strongly through my fixed teeth,\\r\\n With full as many signs of deadly hate,\\r\\n As lean-fac\\'d Envy in her loathsome cave.\\r\\n My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words,\\r\\n Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint,\\r\\n Mine hair be fix\\'d an end, as one distract;\\r\\n Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban;\\r\\n And even now my burden\\'d heart would break,\\r\\n Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink!\\r\\n Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste!\\r\\n Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees!\\r\\n Their chiefest prospect murd\\'ring basilisks!\\r\\n Their softest touch as smart as lizards\\' stings!\\r\\n Their music frightful as the serpent\\'s hiss,\\r\\n And boding screech-owls make the consort full!\\r\\n all the foul terrors in dark-seated hell-\\r\\n QUEEN. Enough, sweet Suffolk, thou torment\\'st thyself;\\r\\n And these dread curses, like the sun \\'gainst glass,\\r\\n Or like an overcharged gun, recoil,\\r\\n And turns the force of them upon thyself.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave?\\r\\n Now, by the ground that I am banish\\'d from,\\r\\n Well could I curse away a winter\\'s night,\\r\\n Though standing naked on a mountain top\\r\\n Where biting cold would never let grass grow,\\r\\n And think it but a minute spent in sport.\\r\\n QUEEN. O, let me entreat thee cease! Give me thy hand,\\r\\n That I may dew it with my mournful tears;\\r\\n Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place\\r\\n To wash away my woeful monuments.\\r\\n O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand,\\r\\n That thou might\\'st think upon these by the seal,\\r\\n Through whom a thousand sighs are breath\\'d for thee!\\r\\n So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief;\\r\\n \\'Tis but surmis\\'d whiles thou art standing by,\\r\\n As one that surfeits thinking on a want.\\r\\n I will repeal thee or, be well assur\\'d,\\r\\n Adventure to be banished myself;\\r\\n And banished I am, if but from thee.\\r\\n Go, speak not to me; even now be gone.\\r\\n O, go not yet! Even thus two friends condemn\\'d\\r\\n Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves,\\r\\n Loather a hundred times to part than die.\\r\\n Yet now, farewell; and farewell life with thee!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished,\\r\\n Once by the King and three times thrice by thee,\\r\\n \\'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou thence;\\r\\n A wilderness is populous enough,\\r\\n So Suffolk had thy heavenly company;\\r\\n For where thou art, there is the world itself,\\r\\n With every several pleasure in the world;\\r\\n And where thou art not, desolation.\\r\\n I can no more: Live thou to joy thy life;\\r\\n Myself no joy in nought but that thou liv\\'st.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter VAUX\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN. Whither goes Vaux so fast? What news, I prithee?\\r\\n VAUX. To signify unto his Majesty\\r\\n That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death;\\r\\n For suddenly a grievous sickness took him\\r\\n That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air,\\r\\n Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth.\\r\\n Sometime he talks as if Duke Humphrey\\'s ghost\\r\\n Were by his side; sometime he calls the King\\r\\n And whispers to his pillow, as to him,\\r\\n The secrets of his overcharged soul;\\r\\n And I am sent to tell his Majesty\\r\\n That even now he cries aloud for him.\\r\\n QUEEN. Go tell this heavy message to the King. Exit VAUX\\r\\n Ay me! What is this world! What news are these!\\r\\n But wherefore grieve I at an hour\\'s poor loss,\\r\\n Omitting Suffolk\\'s exile, my soul\\'s treasure?\\r\\n Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee,\\r\\n And with the southern clouds contend in tears-\\r\\n Theirs for the earth\\'s increase, mine for my sorrows?\\r\\n Now get thee hence: the King, thou know\\'st, is coming;\\r\\n If thou be found by me; thou art but dead.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. If I depart from thee I cannot live;\\r\\n And in thy sight to die, what were it else\\r\\n But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap?\\r\\n Here could I breathe my soul into the air,\\r\\n As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe\\r\\n Dying with mother\\'s dug between its lips;\\r\\n Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad\\r\\n And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes,\\r\\n To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth;\\r\\n So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul,\\r\\n Or I should breathe it so into thy body,\\r\\n And then it liv\\'d in sweet Elysium.\\r\\n To die by thee were but to die in jest:\\r\\n From thee to die were torture more than death.\\r\\n O, let me stay, befall what may befall!\\r\\n QUEEN. Away! Though parting be a fretful corrosive,\\r\\n It is applied to a deathful wound.\\r\\n To France, sweet Suffolk. Let me hear from thee;\\r\\n For whereso\\'er thou art in this world\\'s globe\\r\\n I\\'ll have an Iris that shall find thee out.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. I go.\\r\\n QUEEN. And take my heart with thee. [She kisses him]\\r\\n SUFFOLK. A jewel, lock\\'d into the woefull\\'st cask\\r\\n That ever did contain a thing of worth.\\r\\n Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we:\\r\\n This way fall I to death.\\r\\n QUEEN. This way for me. Exeunt severally\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. London. CARDINAL BEAUFORT\\'S bedchamber\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the KING, SALISBURY, and WARWICK, to the CARDINAL in bed\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. How fares my lord? Speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign.\\r\\n CARDINAL. If thou be\\'st Death I\\'ll give thee England\\'s treasure,\\r\\n Enough to purchase such another island,\\r\\n So thou wilt let me live and feel no pain.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life\\r\\n Where death\\'s approach is seen so terrible!\\r\\n WARWICK. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.\\r\\n CARDINAL. Bring me unto my trial when you will.\\r\\n Died he not in his bed? Where should he die?\\r\\n Can I make men live, whe\\'er they will or no?\\r\\n O, torture me no more! I will confess.\\r\\n Alive again? Then show me where he is;\\r\\n I\\'ll give a thousand pound to look upon him.\\r\\n He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.\\r\\n Comb down his hair; look, look! it stands upright,\\r\\n Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul!\\r\\n Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary\\r\\n Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.\\r\\n KING HENRY. O Thou eternal Mover of the heavens,\\r\\n Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch!\\r\\n O, beat away the busy meddling fiend\\r\\n That lays strong siege unto this wretch\\'s soul,\\r\\n And from his bosom purge this black despair!\\r\\n WARWICK. See how the pangs of death do make him grin\\r\\n SALISBURY. Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Peace to his soul, if God\\'s good pleasure be!\\r\\n Lord Card\\'nal, if thou think\\'st on heaven\\'s bliss,\\r\\n Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.\\r\\n He dies, and makes no sign: O God, forgive him!\\r\\n WARWICK. So bad a death argues a monstrous life.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.\\r\\n Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close;\\r\\n And let us all to meditation. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I. The coast of Kent\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum. Fight at sea. Ordnance goes off. Enter a LIEUTENANT, a\\r\\nSHIPMASTER and his MATE, and WALTER WHITMORE, with sailors; SUFFOLK and\\r\\nother GENTLEMEN, as prisoners\\r\\n\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day\\r\\n Is crept into the bosom of the sea;\\r\\n And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades\\r\\n That drag the tragic melancholy night;\\r\\n Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings\\r\\n Clip dead men\\'s graves, and from their misty jaws\\r\\n Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.\\r\\n Therefore bring forth the soldiers of our prize;\\r\\n For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs,\\r\\n Here shall they make their ransom on the sand,\\r\\n Or with their blood stain this discoloured shore.\\r\\n Master, this prisoner freely give I thee;\\r\\n And thou that art his mate make boot of this;\\r\\n The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. What is my ransom, master, let me know?\\r\\n MASTER. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.\\r\\n MATE. And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns,\\r\\n And bear the name and port of gentlemen?\\r\\n Cut both the villains\\' throats- for die you shall;\\r\\n The lives of those which we have lost in fight\\r\\n Be counterpois\\'d with such a petty sum!\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. I\\'ll give it, sir: and therefore spare my life.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. And so will I, and write home for it straight.\\r\\n WHITMORE. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,\\r\\n [To SUFFOLK] And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die;\\r\\n And so should these, if I might have my will.\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Look on my George, I am a gentleman:\\r\\n Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.\\r\\n WHITMORE. And so am I: my name is Walter Whitmore.\\r\\n How now! Why start\\'st thou? What, doth death affright?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.\\r\\n A cunning man did calculate my birth\\r\\n And told me that by water I should die;\\r\\n Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded;\\r\\n Thy name is Gualtier, being rightly sounded.\\r\\n WHITMORE. Gualtier or Walter, which it is I care not:\\r\\n Never yet did base dishonour blur our name\\r\\n But with our sword we wip\\'d away the blot;\\r\\n Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge,\\r\\n Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defac\\'d,\\r\\n And I proclaim\\'d a coward through the world.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Stay, Whitmore, for thy prisoner is a prince,\\r\\n The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole.\\r\\n WHITMORE. The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Ay, but these rags are no part of the Duke:\\r\\n Jove sometime went disguis\\'d, and why not I?\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Obscure and lowly swain, King Henry\\'s blood,\\r\\n The honourable blood of Lancaster,\\r\\n Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.\\r\\n Hast thou not kiss\\'d thy hand and held my stirrup,\\r\\n Bareheaded plodded by my foot-cloth mule,\\r\\n And thought thee happy when I shook my head?\\r\\n How often hast thou waited at my cup,\\r\\n Fed from my trencher, kneel\\'d down at the board,\\r\\n When I have feasted with Queen Margaret?\\r\\n Remember it, and let it make thee crestfall\\'n,\\r\\n Ay, and allay thus thy abortive pride,\\r\\n How in our voiding-lobby hast thou stood\\r\\n And duly waited for my coming forth.\\r\\n This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf,\\r\\n And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue.\\r\\n WHITMORE. Speak, Captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain?\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. First let my words stab him, as he hath me.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Base slave, thy words are blunt, and so art thou.\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. Convey him hence, and on our longboat\\'s side\\r\\n Strike off his head.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Thou dar\\'st not, for thy own.\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. Poole!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Poole?\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. Ay, kennel, puddle, sink, whose filth and dirt\\r\\n Troubles the silver spring where England drinks;\\r\\n Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth\\r\\n For swallowing the treasure of the realm.\\r\\n Thy lips, that kiss\\'d the Queen, shall sweep the ground;\\r\\n And thou that smil\\'dst at good Duke Humphrey\\'s death\\r\\n Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain,\\r\\n Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again;\\r\\n And wedded be thou to the hags of hell\\r\\n For daring to affy a mighty lord\\r\\n Unto the daughter of a worthless king,\\r\\n Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem.\\r\\n By devilish policy art thou grown great,\\r\\n And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorg\\'d\\r\\n With gobbets of thy mother\\'s bleeding heart.\\r\\n By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France;\\r\\n The false revolting Normans thorough thee\\r\\n Disdain to call us lord; and Picardy\\r\\n Hath slain their governors, surpris\\'d our forts,\\r\\n And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home.\\r\\n The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all,\\r\\n Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain,\\r\\n As hating thee, are rising up in arms;\\r\\n And now the house of York- thrust from the crown\\r\\n By shameful murder of a guiltless king\\r\\n And lofty proud encroaching tyranny-\\r\\n Burns with revenging fire, whose hopeful colours\\r\\n Advance our half-fac\\'d sun, striving to shine,\\r\\n Under the which is writ \\'Invitis nubibus.\\'\\r\\n The commons here in Kent are up in arms;\\r\\n And to conclude, reproach and beggary\\r\\n Is crept into the palace of our King,\\r\\n And all by thee. Away! convey him hence.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder\\r\\n Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges!\\r\\n Small things make base men proud: this villain here,\\r\\n Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more\\r\\n Than Bargulus, the strong Illyrian pirate.\\r\\n Drones suck not eagles\\' blood but rob beehives.\\r\\n It is impossible that I should die\\r\\n By such a lowly vassal as thyself.\\r\\n Thy words move rage and not remorse in me.\\r\\n I go of message from the Queen to France:\\r\\n I charge thee waft me safely cross the Channel.\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. Walter-\\r\\n WHITMORE. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Gelidus timor occupat artus: it is thee I fear.\\r\\n WHITMORE. Thou shalt have cause to fear before I leave thee.\\r\\n What, are ye daunted now? Now will ye stoop?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Suffolk\\'s imperial tongue is stem and rough,\\r\\n Us\\'d to command, untaught to plead for favour.\\r\\n Far be it we should honour such as these\\r\\n With humble suit: no, rather let my head\\r\\n Stoop to the block than these knees bow to any\\r\\n Save to the God of heaven and to my king;\\r\\n And sooner dance upon a bloody pole\\r\\n Than stand uncover\\'d to the vulgar groom.\\r\\n True nobility is exempt from fear:\\r\\n More can I bear than you dare execute.\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. Hale him away, and let him talk no more.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can,\\r\\n That this my death may never be forgot-\\r\\n Great men oft die by vile bezonians:\\r\\n A Roman sworder and banditto slave\\r\\n Murder\\'d sweet Tully; Brutus\\' bastard hand\\r\\n Stabb\\'d Julius Caesar; savage islanders\\r\\n Pompey the Great; and Suffolk dies by pirates.\\r\\n Exit WALTER with SUFFOLK\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. And as for these, whose ransom we have set,\\r\\n It is our pleasure one of them depart;\\r\\n Therefore come you with us, and let him go.\\r\\n Exeunt all but the FIRST GENTLEMAN\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter WHITMORE with SUFFOLK\\'S body\\r\\n\\r\\n WHITMORE. There let his head and lifeless body lie,\\r\\n Until the Queen his mistress bury it. Exit\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. O barbarous and bloody spectacle!\\r\\n His body will I bear unto the King.\\r\\n If he revenge it not, yet will his friends;\\r\\n So will the Queen, that living held him dear.\\r\\n Exit with the body\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Blackheath\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter GEORGE BEVIS and JOHN HOLLAND\\r\\n\\r\\n GEORGE. Come and get thee a sword, though made of a lath; they have\\r\\n been up these two days.\\r\\n JOHN. They have the more need to sleep now, then.\\r\\n GEORGE. I tell thee Jack Cade the clothier means to dress the\\r\\n commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it.\\r\\n JOHN. So he had need, for \\'tis threadbare. Well, I say it was never\\r\\n merry world in England since gentlemen came up.\\r\\n GEORGE. O miserable age! Virtue is not regarded in handicraftsmen.\\r\\n JOHN. The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons.\\r\\n GEORGE. Nay, more, the King\\'s Council are no good workmen.\\r\\n JOHN. True; and yet it is said \\'Labour in thy vocation\\'; which is\\r\\n as much to say as \\'Let the magistrates be labouring men\\'; and\\r\\n therefore should we be magistrates.\\r\\n GEORGE. Thou hast hit it; for there\\'s no better sign of a brave\\r\\n mind than a hard hand.\\r\\n JOHN. I see them! I see them! There\\'s Best\\'s son, the tanner of\\r\\n Wingham-\\r\\n GEORGE. He shall have the skins of our enemies to make dog\\'s\\r\\n leather of.\\r\\n JOHN. And Dick the butcher-\\r\\n GEORGE. Then is sin struck down, like an ox, and iniquity\\'s throat\\r\\n cut like a calf.\\r\\n JOHN. And Smith the weaver-\\r\\n GEORGE. Argo, their thread of life is spun.\\r\\n JOHN. Come, come, let\\'s fall in with them.\\r\\n\\r\\n Drum. Enter CADE, DICK THE BUTCHER, SMITH\\r\\n THE WEAVER, and a SAWYER, with infinite numbers\\r\\n\\r\\n CADE. We John Cade, so term\\'d of our supposed father-\\r\\n DICK. [Aside] Or rather, of stealing a cade of herrings.\\r\\n CADE. For our enemies shall fall before us, inspired with the\\r\\n spirit of putting down kings and princes- command silence.\\r\\n DICK. Silence!\\r\\n CADE. My father was a Mortimer-\\r\\n DICK. [Aside] He was an honest man and a good bricklayer.\\r\\n CADE. My mother a Plantagenet-\\r\\n DICK. [Aside] I knew her well; she was a midwife.\\r\\n CADE. My wife descended of the Lacies-\\r\\n DICK. [Aside] She was, indeed, a pedlar\\'s daughter, and sold many\\r\\n laces.\\r\\n SMITH. [Aside] But now of late, not able to travel with her furr\\'d\\r\\n pack, she washes bucks here at home.\\r\\n CADE. Therefore am I of an honourable house.\\r\\n DICK. [Aside] Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable, and there\\r\\n was he born, under a hedge, for his father had never a house but\\r\\n the cage.\\r\\n CADE. Valiant I am.\\r\\n SMITH. [Aside] \\'A must needs; for beggary is valiant.\\r\\n CADE. I am able to endure much.\\r\\n DICK. [Aside] No question of that; for I have seen him whipt three\\r\\n market days together.\\r\\n CADE. I fear neither sword nor fire.\\r\\n SMITH. [Aside] He need not fear the sword, for his coat is of\\r\\n proof.\\r\\n DICK. [Aside] But methinks he should stand in fear of fire, being\\r\\n burnt i\\' th\\' hand for stealing of sheep.\\r\\n CADE. Be brave, then, for your captain is brave, and vows\\r\\n reformation. There shall be in England seven halfpenny loaves\\r\\n sold for a penny; the three-hoop\\'d pot shall have ten hoops; and\\r\\n I will make it felony to drink small beer. All the realm shall be\\r\\n in common, and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to grass. And\\r\\n when I am king- as king I will be\\r\\n ALL. God save your Majesty!\\r\\n CADE. I thank you, good people- there shall be no money; all shall\\r\\n eat and drink on my score, and I will apparel them all in one\\r\\n livery, that they may agree like brothers and worship me their\\r\\n lord.\\r\\n DICK. The first thing we do, let\\'s kill all the lawyers.\\r\\n CADE. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a lamentable thing, that\\r\\n of the skin of an innocent lamb should be made parchment? That\\r\\n parchment, being scribbl\\'d o\\'er, should undo a man? Some say the\\r\\n bee stings; but I say \\'tis the bee\\'s wax; for I did but seal once\\r\\n to a thing, and I was never mine own man since. How now! Who\\'s\\r\\n there?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter some, bringing in the CLERK OF CHATHAM\\r\\n\\r\\n SMITH. The clerk of Chatham. He can write and read and cast\\r\\n accompt.\\r\\n CADE. O monstrous!\\r\\n SMITH. We took him setting of boys\\' copies.\\r\\n CADE. Here\\'s a villain!\\r\\n SMITH. Has a book in his pocket with red letters in\\'t.\\r\\n CADE. Nay, then he is a conjurer.\\r\\n DICK. Nay, he can make obligations and write court-hand.\\r\\n CADE. I am sorry for\\'t; the man is a proper man, of mine honour;\\r\\n unless I find him guilty, he shall not die. Come hither, sirrah,\\r\\n I must examine thee. What is thy name?\\r\\n CLERK. Emmanuel.\\r\\n DICK. They use to write it on the top of letters; \\'twill go hard\\r\\n with you.\\r\\n CADE. Let me alone. Dost thou use to write thy name, or hast thou a\\r\\n mark to thyself, like a honest plain-dealing man?\\r\\n CLERK. Sir, I thank God, I have been so well brought up that I can\\r\\n write my name.\\r\\n ALL. He hath confess\\'d. Away with him! He\\'s a villain and a\\r\\n traitor.\\r\\n CADE. Away with him, I say! Hang him with his pen and inkhorn about\\r\\n his neck. Exit one with the CLERK\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MICHAEL\\r\\n\\r\\n MICHAEL. Where\\'s our General?\\r\\n CADE. Here I am, thou particular fellow.\\r\\n MICHAEL. Fly, fly, fly! Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother are\\r\\n hard by, with the King\\'s forces.\\r\\n CADE. Stand, villain, stand, or I\\'ll fell thee down. He shall be\\r\\n encount\\'red with a man as good as himself. He is but a knight,\\r\\n is \\'a?\\r\\n MICHAEL. No.\\r\\n CADE. To equal him, I will make myself a knight presently.\\r\\n [Kneels] Rise up, Sir John Mortimer. [Rises] Now have at him!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR HUMPHREY STAFFORD and WILLIAM\\r\\n his brother, with drum and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n STAFFORD. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent,\\r\\n Mark\\'d for the gallows, lay your weapons down;\\r\\n Home to your cottages, forsake this groom;\\r\\n The King is merciful if you revolt.\\r\\n WILLIAM STAFFORD. But angry, wrathful, and inclin\\'d to blood,\\r\\n If you go forward; therefore yield or die.\\r\\n CADE. As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass not;\\r\\n It is to you, good people, that I speak,\\r\\n O\\'er whom, in time to come, I hope to reign;\\r\\n For I am rightful heir unto the crown.\\r\\n STAFFORD. Villain, thy father was a plasterer;\\r\\n And thou thyself a shearman, art thou not?\\r\\n CADE. And Adam was a gardener.\\r\\n WILLIAM STAFFORD. And what of that?\\r\\n CADE. Marry, this: Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March,\\r\\n Married the Duke of Clarence\\' daughter, did he not?\\r\\n STAFFORD. Ay, sir.\\r\\n CADE. By her he had two children at one birth.\\r\\n WILLIAM STAFFORD. That\\'s false.\\r\\n CADE. Ay, there\\'s the question; but I say \\'tis true.\\r\\n The elder of them being put to nurse,\\r\\n Was by a beggar-woman stol\\'n away,\\r\\n And, ignorant of his birth and parentage,\\r\\n Became a bricklayer when he came to age.\\r\\n His son am I; deny it if you can.\\r\\n DICK. Nay, \\'tis too true; therefore he shall be king.\\r\\n SMITH. Sir, he made a chimney in my father\\'s house, and the bricks\\r\\n are alive at this day to testify it; therefore deny it not.\\r\\n STAFFORD. And will you credit this base drudge\\'s words\\r\\n That speaks he knows not what?\\r\\n ALL. Ay, marry, will we; therefore get ye gone.\\r\\n WILLIAM STAFFORD. Jack Cade, the Duke of York hath taught you this.\\r\\n CADE. [Aside] He lies, for I invented it myself- Go to, sirrah,\\r\\n tell the King from me that for his father\\'s sake, Henry the\\r\\n Fifth, in whose time boys went to span-counter for French crowns,\\r\\n I am content he shall reign; but I\\'ll be Protector over him.\\r\\n DICK. And furthermore, we\\'ll have the Lord Say\\'s head for selling\\r\\n the dukedom of Maine.\\r\\n CADE. And good reason; for thereby is England main\\'d and fain to go\\r\\n with a staff, but that my puissance holds it up. Fellow kings, I\\r\\n tell you that that Lord Say hath gelded the commonwealth and made\\r\\n it an eunuch; and more than that, he can speak French, and\\r\\n therefore he is a traitor.\\r\\n STAFFORD. O gross and miserable ignorance!\\r\\n CADE. Nay, answer if you can; the Frenchmen are our enemies. Go to,\\r\\n then, I ask but this: can he that speaks with the tongue of an\\r\\n enemy be a good counsellor, or no?\\r\\n ALL. No, no; and therefore we\\'ll have his head.\\r\\n WILLIAM STAFFORD. Well, seeing gentle words will not prevail,\\r\\n Assail them with the army of the King.\\r\\n STAFFORD. Herald, away; and throughout every town\\r\\n Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade;\\r\\n That those which fly before the battle ends\\r\\n May, even in their wives\\'and children\\'s sight,\\r\\n Be hang\\'d up for example at their doors.\\r\\n And you that be the King\\'s friends, follow me.\\r\\n Exeunt the TWO STAFFORDS and soldiers\\r\\n CADE. And you that love the commons follow me.\\r\\n Now show yourselves men; \\'tis for liberty.\\r\\n We will not leave one lord, one gentleman;\\r\\n Spare none but such as go in clouted shoon,\\r\\n For they are thrifty honest men and such\\r\\n As would- but that they dare not- take our parts.\\r\\n DICK. They are all in order, and march toward us.\\r\\n CADE. But then are we in order when we are most out of order. Come,\\r\\n march forward. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Another part of Blackheath\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarums to the fight, wherein both the STAFFORDS are slain.\\r\\nEnter CADE and the rest\\r\\n\\r\\n CADE. Where\\'s Dick, the butcher of Ashford?\\r\\n DICK. Here, sir.\\r\\n CADE. They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, and thou behavedst\\r\\n thyself as if thou hadst been in thine own slaughter-house;\\r\\n therefore thus will I reward thee- the Lent shall be as long\\r\\n again as it is, and thou shalt have a licence to kill for a\\r\\n hundred lacking one.\\r\\n DICK. I desire no more.\\r\\n CADE. And, to speak truth, thou deserv\\'st no less. [Putting on SIR\\r\\n HUMPHREY\\'S brigandine] This monument of the victory will I bear,\\r\\n and the bodies shall be dragged at my horse heels till I do come\\r\\n to London, where we will have the mayor\\'s sword borne before us.\\r\\n DICK. If we mean to thrive and do good, break open the gaols and\\r\\n let out the prisoners.\\r\\n CADE. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, let\\'s march towards\\r\\n London. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. London. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the KING with a supplication, and the QUEEN with SUFFOLK\\'S head;\\r\\nthe DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, and the LORD SAY\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN. Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind\\r\\n And makes it fearful and degenerate;\\r\\n Think therefore on revenge and cease to weep.\\r\\n But who can cease to weep, and look on this?\\r\\n Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast;\\r\\n But where\\'s the body that I should embrace?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. What answer makes your Grace to the rebels\\'\\r\\n supplication?\\r\\n KING HENRY. I\\'ll send some holy bishop to entreat;\\r\\n For God forbid so many simple souls\\r\\n Should perish by the sword! And I myself,\\r\\n Rather than bloody war shall cut them short,\\r\\n Will parley with Jack Cade their general.\\r\\n But stay, I\\'ll read it over once again.\\r\\n QUEEN. Ah, barbarous villains! Hath this lovely face\\r\\n Rul\\'d like a wandering planet over me,\\r\\n And could it not enforce them to relent\\r\\n That were unworthy to behold the same?\\r\\n KING HENRY. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have thy head.\\r\\n SAY. Ay, but I hope your Highness shall have his.\\r\\n KING HENRY. How now, madam!\\r\\n Still lamenting and mourning for Suffolk\\'s death?\\r\\n I fear me, love, if that I had been dead,\\r\\n Thou wouldst not have mourn\\'d so much for me.\\r\\n QUEEN. No, my love, I should not mourn, but die for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter A MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. How now! What news? Why com\\'st thou in such haste?\\r\\n MESSENGER. The rebels are in Southwark; fly, my lord!\\r\\n Jack Cade proclaims himself Lord Mortimer,\\r\\n Descended from the Duke of Clarence\\' house,\\r\\n And calls your Grace usurper, openly,\\r\\n And vows to crown himself in Westminster.\\r\\n His army is a ragged multitude\\r\\n Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless;\\r\\n Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother\\'s death\\r\\n Hath given them heart and courage to proceed.\\r\\n All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen,\\r\\n They call false caterpillars and intend their death.\\r\\n KING HENRY. O graceless men! they know not what they do.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My gracious lord, retire to Killingworth\\r\\n Until a power be rais\\'d to put them down.\\r\\n QUEEN. Ah, were the Duke of Suffolk now alive,\\r\\n These Kentish rebels would be soon appeas\\'d!\\r\\n KING HENRY. Lord Say, the traitors hate thee;\\r\\n Therefore away with us to Killingworth.\\r\\n SAY. So might your Grace\\'s person be in danger.\\r\\n The sight of me is odious in their eyes;\\r\\n And therefore in this city will I stay\\r\\n And live alone as secret as I may.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND MESSENGER. Jack Cade hath gotten London Bridge.\\r\\n The citizens fly and forsake their houses;\\r\\n The rascal people, thirsting after prey,\\r\\n Join with the traitor; and they jointly swear\\r\\n To spoil the city and your royal court.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Then linger not, my lord; away, take horse.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Come Margaret; God, our hope, will succour us.\\r\\n QUEEN. My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceas\\'d.\\r\\n KING HENRY. [To LORD SAY] Farewell, my lord, trust not the Kentish\\r\\n rebels.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Trust nobody, for fear you be betray\\'d.\\r\\n SAY. The trust I have is in mine innocence,\\r\\n And therefore am I bold and resolute. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. London. The Tower\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter LORD SCALES Upon the Tower, walking. Then enter two or three\\r\\nCITIZENS, below\\r\\n\\r\\n SCALES. How now! Is Jack Cade slain?\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. No, my lord, nor likely to be slain; for they have\\r\\n won the bridge, killing all those that withstand them.\\r\\n The Lord Mayor craves aid of your honour from the\\r\\n Tower, to defend the city from the rebels.\\r\\n SCALES. Such aid as I can spare you shall command,\\r\\n But I am troubled here with them myself;\\r\\n The rebels have assay\\'d to win the Tower.\\r\\n But get you to Smithfield, and gather head,\\r\\n And thither I will send you Matthew Goffe;\\r\\n Fight for your King, your country, and your lives;\\r\\n And so, farewell, for I must hence again. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. London. Cannon street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter JACK CADE and the rest, and strikes his staff on London Stone\\r\\n\\r\\n CADE. Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And here, sitting upon\\r\\n London Stone, I charge and command that, of the city\\'s cost, the\\r\\n pissing conduit run nothing but claret wine this first year of our\\r\\n reign. And now henceforward it shall be treason for any that calls me\\r\\n other than Lord Mortimer.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a SOLDIER, running\\r\\n\\r\\n SOLDIER. Jack Cade! Jack Cade!\\r\\n CADE. Knock him down there. [They kill him]\\r\\n SMITH. If this fellow be wise, he\\'ll never call ye Jack Cade more;\\r\\n I think he hath a very fair warning.\\r\\n DICK. My lord, there\\'s an army gathered together in Smithfield.\\r\\n CADE. Come then, let\\'s go fight with them. But first go and set\\r\\n London Bridge on fire; and, if you can, burn down the Tower too.\\r\\n Come, let\\'s away. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. London. Smithfield\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarums. MATTHEW GOFFE is slain, and all the rest. Then enter JACK\\r\\nCADE, with his company\\r\\n\\r\\n CADE. So, sirs. Now go some and pull down the Savoy; others to th\\'\\r\\n Inns of Court; down with them all.\\r\\n DICK. I have a suit unto your lordship.\\r\\n CADE. Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for that word.\\r\\n DICK. Only that the laws of England may come out of your mouth.\\r\\n JOHN. [Aside] Mass, \\'twill be sore law then; for he was thrust in\\r\\n the mouth with a spear, and \\'tis not whole yet.\\r\\n SMITH. [Aside] Nay, John, it will be stinking law; for his breath\\r\\n stinks with eating toasted cheese.\\r\\n CADE. I have thought upon it; it shall be so. Away, burn all the\\r\\n records of the realm. My mouth shall be the Parliament of\\r\\n England.\\r\\n JOHN. [Aside] Then we are like to have biting statutes, unless his\\r\\n teeth be pull\\'d out.\\r\\n CADE. And henceforward all things shall be in common.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. My lord, a prize, a prize! Here\\'s the Lord Say, which sold\\r\\n the towns in France; he that made us pay one and twenty fifteens, and\\r\\n one shining to the pound, the last subsidy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GEORGE BEVIS, with the LORD SAY\\r\\n\\r\\n CADE. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times. Ah, thou say,\\r\\n thou serge, nay, thou buckram lord! Now art thou within point\\r\\n blank of our jurisdiction regal. What canst thou answer to my\\r\\n Majesty for giving up of Normandy unto Mounsieur Basimecu the\\r\\n Dauphin of France? Be it known unto thee by these presence, even\\r\\n the presence of Lord Mortimer, that I am the besom that must\\r\\n sweep the court clean of such filth as thou art. Thou hast most\\r\\n traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a\\r\\n grammar school; and whereas, before, our forefathers had no other\\r\\n books but the score and the tally, thou hast caused printing to\\r\\n be us\\'d, and, contrary to the King, his crown, and dignity, thou\\r\\n hast built a paper-mill. It will be proved to thy face that thou\\r\\n hast men about thee that usually talk of a noun and a verb, and\\r\\n such abominable words as no Christian ear can endure to hear.\\r\\n Thou hast appointed justices of peace, to call poor men before\\r\\n them about matters they were not able to answer. Moreover, thou\\r\\n hast put them in prison, and because they could not read, thou\\r\\n hast hang\\'d them, when, indeed, only for that cause they have\\r\\n been most worthy to live. Thou dost ride in a foot-cloth, dost\\r\\n thou not?\\r\\n SAY. What of that?\\r\\n CADE. Marry, thou ought\\'st not to let thy horse wear a cloak, when\\r\\n honester men than thou go in their hose and doublets.\\r\\n DICK. And work in their shirt too, as myself, for example, that am\\r\\n a butcher.\\r\\n SAY. You men of Kent-\\r\\n DICK. What say you of Kent?\\r\\n SAY. Nothing but this: \\'tis \\'bona terra, mala gens.\\'\\r\\n CADE. Away with him, away with him! He speaks Latin.\\r\\n SAY. Hear me but speak, and bear me where you will.\\r\\n Kent, in the Commentaries Caesar writ,\\r\\n Is term\\'d the civil\\'st place of all this isle.\\r\\n Sweet is the country, because full of riches;\\r\\n The people liberal valiant, active, wealthy;\\r\\n Which makes me hope you are not void of pity.\\r\\n I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy;\\r\\n Yet, to recover them, would lose my life.\\r\\n Justice with favour have I always done;\\r\\n Pray\\'rs and tears have mov\\'d me, gifts could never.\\r\\n When have I aught exacted at your hands,\\r\\n But to maintain the King, the realm, and you?\\r\\n Large gifts have I bestow\\'d on learned clerks,\\r\\n Because my book preferr\\'d me to the King,\\r\\n And seeing ignorance is the curse of God,\\r\\n Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven,\\r\\n Unless you be possess\\'d with devilish spirits\\r\\n You cannot but forbear to murder me.\\r\\n This tongue hath parley\\'d unto foreign kings\\r\\n For your behoof.\\r\\n CADE. Tut, when struck\\'st thou one blow in the field?\\r\\n SAY. Great men have reaching hands. Oft have I struck\\r\\n Those that I never saw, and struck them dead.\\r\\n GEORGE. O monstrous coward! What, to come behind folks?\\r\\n SAY. These cheeks are pale for watching for your good.\\r\\n CADE. Give him a box o\\' th\\' ear, and that will make \\'em red again.\\r\\n SAY. Long sitting to determine poor men\\'s causes\\r\\n Hath made me full of sickness and diseases.\\r\\n CADE. Ye shall have a hempen caudle then, and the help of hatchet.\\r\\n DICK. Why dost thou quiver, man?\\r\\n SAY. The palsy, and not fear, provokes me.\\r\\n CADE. Nay, he nods at us, as who should say \\'I\\'ll be even with\\r\\n you\\'; I\\'ll see if his head will stand steadier on a pole, or no.\\r\\n Take him away, and behead him.\\r\\n SAY. Tell me: wherein have I offended most?\\r\\n Have I affected wealth or honour? Speak.\\r\\n Are my chests fill\\'d up with extorted gold?\\r\\n Is my apparel sumptuous to behold?\\r\\n Whom have I injur\\'d, that ye seek my death?\\r\\n These hands are free from guiltless bloodshedding,\\r\\n This breast from harbouring foul deceitful thoughts.\\r\\n O, let me live!\\r\\n CADE. [Aside] I feel remorse in myself with his words; but I\\'ll\\r\\n bridle it. He shall die, an it be but for pleading so well for\\r\\n his life.- Away with him! He has a familiar under his tongue; he\\r\\n speaks not o\\' God\\'s name. Go, take him away, I say, and strike\\r\\n off his head presently, and then break into his son-in-law\\'s\\r\\n house, Sir James Cromer, and strike off his head, and bring them\\r\\n both upon two poles hither.\\r\\n ALL. It shall be done.\\r\\n SAY. Ah, countrymen! if when you make your pray\\'rs,\\r\\n God should be so obdurate as yourselves,\\r\\n How would it fare with your departed souls?\\r\\n And therefore yet relent and save my life.\\r\\n CADE. Away with him, and do as I command ye. [Exeunt some with\\r\\n LORD SAY] The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a head\\r\\n on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute; there shall not a\\r\\n maid be married, but she shall pay to me her maidenhead ere they\\r\\n have it. Men shall hold of me in capite; and we charge and\\r\\n command that their wives be as free as heart can wish or tongue\\r\\n can tell.\\r\\n DICK. My lord, when shall we go to Cheapside, and take up\\r\\n commodities upon our bills?\\r\\n CADE. Marry, presently.\\r\\n ALL. O, brave!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter one with the heads\\r\\n\\r\\n CADE. But is not this braver? Let them kiss one another, for they\\r\\n lov\\'d well when they were alive. Now part them again, lest they\\r\\n consult about the giving up of some more towns in France. Soldiers,\\r\\n defer the spoil of the city until night; for with these borne before\\r\\n us instead of maces will we ride through the streets, and at every\\r\\n corner have them kiss. Away! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VIII. Southwark\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum and retreat. Enter again CADE and all his rabblement\\r\\n\\r\\n CADE. Up Fish Street! down Saint Magnus\\' Corner! Kill and knock down!\\r\\n Throw them into Thames! [Sound a parley] What noise is\\r\\n this I hear? Dare any be so bold to sound retreat or parley when I\\r\\n command them kill?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BUCKINGHAM and old CLIFFORD, attended\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Ay, here they be that dare and will disturb thee.\\r\\n And therefore yet relent, and save my life.\\r\\n Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the King\\r\\n Unto the commons whom thou hast misled;\\r\\n And here pronounce free pardon to them all\\r\\n That will forsake thee and go home in peace.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. What say ye, countrymen? Will ye relent\\r\\n And yield to mercy whilst \\'tis offer\\'d you,\\r\\n Or let a rebel lead you to your deaths?\\r\\n Who loves the King, and will embrace his pardon,\\r\\n Fling up his cap and say \\'God save his Majesty!\\'\\r\\n Who hateth him and honours not his father,\\r\\n Henry the Fifth, that made all France to quake,\\r\\n Shake he his weapon at us and pass by.\\r\\n ALL. God save the King! God save the King!\\r\\n CADE. What, Buckingham and Clifford, are ye so brave?\\r\\n And you, base peasants, do ye believe him? Will you needs be\\r\\n hang\\'d with your about your necks? Hath my sword therefore broke\\r\\n through London gates, that you should leave me at the White Hart\\r\\n in Southwark? I thought ye would never have given out these arms\\r\\n till you had recovered your ancient freedom. But you are all\\r\\n recreants and dastards, and delight to live in slavery to the\\r\\n nobility. Let them break your backs with burdens, take your\\r\\n houses over your heads, ravish your wives and daughters before\\r\\n your faces. For me, I will make shift for one; and so God\\'s curse\\r\\n light upon you all!\\r\\n ALL. We\\'ll follow Cade, we\\'ll follow Cade!\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Is Cade the son of Henry the Fifth,\\r\\n That thus you do exclaim you\\'ll go with him?\\r\\n Will he conduct you through the heart of France,\\r\\n And make the meanest of you earls and dukes?\\r\\n Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to;\\r\\n Nor knows he how to live but by the spoil,\\r\\n Unless by robbing of your friends and us.\\r\\n Were\\'t not a shame that whilst you live at jar\\r\\n The fearful French, whom you late vanquished,\\r\\n Should make a start o\\'er seas and vanquish you?\\r\\n Methinks already in this civil broil\\r\\n I see them lording it in London streets,\\r\\n Crying \\'Villiago!\\' unto all they meet.\\r\\n Better ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry\\r\\n Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman\\'s mercy.\\r\\n To France, to France, and get what you have lost;\\r\\n Spare England, for it is your native coast.\\r\\n Henry hath money; you are strong and manly.\\r\\n God on our side, doubt not of victory.\\r\\n ALL. A Clifford! a Clifford! We\\'ll follow the King and Clifford.\\r\\n CADE. Was ever feather so lightly blown to and fro as this\\r\\n multitude? The name of Henry the Fifth hales them to an hundred\\r\\n mischiefs, and makes them leave me desolate. I see them lay their\\r\\n heads together to surprise me. My sword make way for me for here\\r\\n is no staying. In despite of the devils and hell, have through\\r\\n the very middest of you! and heavens and honour be witness that\\r\\n no want of resolution in me, but only my followers\\' base and\\r\\n ignominious treasons, makes me betake me to my heels.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. What, is he fled? Go some, and follow him;\\r\\n And he that brings his head unto the King\\r\\n Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward.\\r\\n Exeunt some of them\\r\\n Follow me, soldiers; we\\'ll devise a mean\\r\\n To reconcile you all unto the King. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IX. Killing, worth Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nSound trumpets. Enter KING, QUEEN, and SOMERSET, on the terrace\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. Was ever king that joy\\'d an earthly throne\\r\\n And could command no more content than I?\\r\\n No sooner was I crept out of my cradle\\r\\n But I was made a king, at nine months old.\\r\\n Was never subject long\\'d to be a King\\r\\n As I do long and wish to be a subject.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BUCKINGHAM and old CLIFFORD\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Health and glad tidings to your Majesty!\\r\\n KING HENRY. Why, Buckingham, is the traitor Cade surpris\\'d?\\r\\n Or is he but retir\\'d to make him strong?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, below, multitudes, with halters about their necks\\r\\n\\r\\n CLIFFORD. He is fled, my lord, and all his powers do yield,\\r\\n And humbly thus, with halters on their necks,\\r\\n Expect your Highness\\' doom of life or death.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting gates,\\r\\n To entertain my vows of thanks and praise!\\r\\n Soldiers, this day have you redeem\\'d your lives,\\r\\n And show\\'d how well you love your Prince and country.\\r\\n Continue still in this so good a mind,\\r\\n And Henry, though he be infortunate,\\r\\n Assure yourselves, will never be unkind.\\r\\n And so, with thanks and pardon to you all,\\r\\n I do dismiss you to your several countries.\\r\\n ALL. God save the King! God save the King!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. Please it your Grace to be advertised\\r\\n The Duke of York is newly come from Ireland\\r\\n And with a puissant and a mighty power\\r\\n Of gallowglasses and stout kerns\\r\\n Is marching hitherward in proud array,\\r\\n And still proclaimeth, as he comes along,\\r\\n His arms are only to remove from thee\\r\\n The Duke of Somerset, whom he terms a traitor.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Thus stands my state, \\'twixt Cade and York distress\\'d;\\r\\n Like to a ship that, having scap\\'d a tempest,\\r\\n Is straightway calm\\'d, and boarded with a pirate;\\r\\n But now is Cade driven back, his men dispers\\'d,\\r\\n And now is York in arms to second him.\\r\\n I pray thee, Buckingham, go and meet him\\r\\n And ask him what\\'s the reason of these arms.\\r\\n Tell him I\\'ll send Duke Edmund to the Tower-\\r\\n And Somerset, we will commit thee thither\\r\\n Until his army be dismiss\\'d from him.\\r\\n SOMERSET. My lord,\\r\\n I\\'ll yield myself to prison willingly,\\r\\n Or unto death, to do my country good.\\r\\n KING HENRY. In any case be not too rough in terms,\\r\\n For he is fierce and cannot brook hard language.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I will, my lord, and doubt not so to deal\\r\\n As all things shall redound unto your good.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Come, wife, let\\'s in, and learn to govern better;\\r\\n For yet may England curse my wretched reign.\\r\\n Flourish. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE X. Kent. Iden\\'s garden\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter CADE\\r\\n\\r\\n CADE. Fie on ambitions! Fie on myself, that have a sword and yet am\\r\\n ready to famish! These five days have I hid me in these woods and\\r\\n durst not peep out, for all the country is laid for me; but now am I\\r\\n so hungry that, if I might have a lease of my life for a thousand\\r\\n years, I could stay no longer. Wherefore, on a brick wall have I\\r\\n climb\\'d into this garden, to see if I can eat grass or pick a sallet\\r\\n another while, which is not amiss to cool a man\\'s stomach this hot\\r\\n weather. And I think this word \\'sallet\\' was born to do me good; for\\r\\n many a time, but for a sallet, my brain-pain had been cleft with a\\r\\n brown bill; and many a time, when I have been dry, and bravely\\r\\n marching, it hath serv\\'d me instead of a quart-pot to drink in; and\\r\\n now the word \\'sallet\\' must serve me to feed on.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter IDEN\\r\\n\\r\\n IDEN. Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court\\r\\n And may enjoy such quiet walks as these?\\r\\n This small inheritance my father left me\\r\\n Contenteth me, and worth a monarchy.\\r\\n I seek not to wax great by others\\' waning\\r\\n Or gather wealth I care not with what envy;\\r\\n Sufficeth that I have maintains my state,\\r\\n And sends the poor well pleased from my gate.\\r\\n CADE. Here\\'s the lord of the soil come to seize me for a stray, for\\r\\n entering his fee-simple without leave. Ah, villain, thou wilt\\r\\n betray me, and get a thousand crowns of the King by carrying my\\r\\n head to him; but I\\'ll make thee eat iron like an ostrich and\\r\\n swallow my sword like a great pin ere thou and I part.\\r\\n IDEN. Why, rude companion, whatsoe\\'er thou be,\\r\\n I know thee not; why then should I betray thee?\\r\\n Is\\'t not enough to break into my garden\\r\\n And like a thief to come to rob my grounds,\\r\\n Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner,\\r\\n But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms?\\r\\n CADE. Brave thee? Ay, by the best blood that ever was broach\\'d, and\\r\\n beard thee too. Look on me well: I have eat no meat these five\\r\\n days, yet come thou and thy five men and if I do not leave you\\r\\n all as dead as a door-nail, I pray God I may never eat grass\\r\\n more.\\r\\n IDEN. Nay, it shall ne\\'er be said, while England stands,\\r\\n That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent,\\r\\n Took odds to combat a poor famish\\'d man.\\r\\n Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine;\\r\\n See if thou canst outface me with thy looks;\\r\\n Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser;\\r\\n Thy hand is but a finger to my fist,\\r\\n Thy leg a stick compared with this truncheon;\\r\\n My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast,\\r\\n And if mine arm be heaved in the air,\\r\\n Thy grave is digg\\'d already in the earth.\\r\\n As for words, whose greatness answers words,\\r\\n Let this my sword report what speech forbears.\\r\\n CADE. By my valour, the most complete champion that ever I heard!\\r\\n Steel, if thou turn the edge, or cut not out the burly bon\\'d\\r\\n clown in chines of beef ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I beseech\\r\\n God on my knees thou mayst be turn\\'d to hobnails. [Here they\\r\\n fight; CADE falls] O, I am slain! famine and no other hath slain\\r\\n me. Let ten thousand devils come against me, and give me but the\\r\\n ten meals I have lost, and I\\'d defy them all. Wither, garden, and\\r\\n be henceforth a burying place to all that do dwell in this house,\\r\\n because the unconquered soul of Cade is fled.\\r\\n IDEN. Is\\'t Cade that I have slain, that monstrous traitor?\\r\\n Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed\\r\\n And hang thee o\\'er my tomb when I am dead.\\r\\n Ne\\'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point,\\r\\n But thou shalt wear it as a herald\\'s coat\\r\\n To emblaze the honour that thy master got.\\r\\n CADE. Iden, farewell; and be proud of thy victory. Tell Kent from\\r\\n me she hath lost her best man, and exhort all the world to be\\r\\n cowards; for I, that never feared any, am vanquished by famine,\\r\\n not by valour. [Dies]\\r\\n IDEN. How much thou wrong\\'st me, heaven be my judge.\\r\\n Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee!\\r\\n And as I thrust thy body in with my sword,\\r\\n So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell.\\r\\n Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels\\r\\n Unto a dunghill, which shall be thy grave,\\r\\n And there cut off thy most ungracious head,\\r\\n Which I will bear in triumph to the King,\\r\\n Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. Fields between Dartford and Blackheath\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter YORK, and his army of Irish, with drum and colours\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. From Ireland thus comes York to claim his right\\r\\n And pluck the crown from feeble Henry\\'s head:\\r\\n Ring bells aloud, burn bonfires clear and bright,\\r\\n To entertain great England\\'s lawful king.\\r\\n Ah, sancta majestas! who would not buy thee dear?\\r\\n Let them obey that knows not how to rule;\\r\\n This hand was made to handle nought but gold.\\r\\n I cannot give due action to my words\\r\\n Except a sword or sceptre balance it.\\r\\n A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul\\r\\n On which I\\'ll toss the flower-de-luce of France.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n\\r\\n [Aside] Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me?\\r\\n The King hath sent him, sure: I must dissemble.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. York, if thou meanest well I greet thee well.\\r\\n YORK. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy greeting.\\r\\n Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. A messenger from Henry, our dread liege,\\r\\n To know the reason of these arms in peace;\\r\\n Or why thou, being a subject as I am,\\r\\n Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn,\\r\\n Should raise so great a power without his leave,\\r\\n Or dare to bring thy force so near the court.\\r\\n YORK. [Aside] Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great.\\r\\n O, I could hew up rocks and fight with flint,\\r\\n I am so angry at these abject terms;\\r\\n And now, like Ajax Telamonius,\\r\\n On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury.\\r\\n I am far better born than is the King,\\r\\n More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts;\\r\\n But I must make fair weather yet awhile,\\r\\n Till Henry be more weak and I more strong.-\\r\\n Buckingham, I prithee, pardon me\\r\\n That I have given no answer all this while;\\r\\n My mind was troubled with deep melancholy.\\r\\n The cause why I have brought this army hither\\r\\n Is to remove proud Somerset from the King,\\r\\n Seditious to his Grace and to the state.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. That is too much presumption on thy part;\\r\\n But if thy arms be to no other end,\\r\\n The King hath yielded unto thy demand:\\r\\n The Duke of Somerset is in the Tower.\\r\\n YORK. Upon thine honour, is he prisoner?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Upon mine honour, he is prisoner.\\r\\n YORK. Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my pow\\'rs.\\r\\n Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves;\\r\\n Meet me to-morrow in Saint George\\'s field,\\r\\n You shall have pay and everything you wish.\\r\\n And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry,\\r\\n Command my eldest son, nay, all my sons,\\r\\n As pledges of my fealty and love.\\r\\n I\\'ll send them all as willing as I live:\\r\\n Lands, goods, horse, armour, anything I have,\\r\\n Is his to use, so Somerset may die.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. York, I commend this kind submission.\\r\\n We twain will go into his Highness\\' tent.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the KING, and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. Buckingham, doth York intend no harm to us,\\r\\n That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm?\\r\\n YORK. In all submission and humility\\r\\n York doth present himself unto your Highness.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Then what intends these forces thou dost bring?\\r\\n YORK. To heave the traitor Somerset from hence,\\r\\n And fight against that monstrous rebel Cade,\\r\\n Who since I heard to be discomfited.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter IDEN, with CADE\\'s head\\r\\n\\r\\n IDEN. If one so rude and of so mean condition\\r\\n May pass into the presence of a king,\\r\\n Lo, I present your Grace a traitor\\'s head,\\r\\n The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew.\\r\\n KING HENRY. The head of Cade! Great God, how just art Thou!\\r\\n O, let me view his visage, being dead,\\r\\n That living wrought me such exceeding trouble.\\r\\n Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him?\\r\\n IDEN. I was, an\\'t like your Majesty.\\r\\n KING HENRY. How art thou call\\'d? And what is thy degree?\\r\\n IDEN. Alexander Iden, that\\'s my name;\\r\\n A poor esquire of Kent that loves his king.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. So please it you, my lord, \\'twere not amiss\\r\\n He were created knight for his good service.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Iden, kneel down. [He kneels] Rise up a knight.\\r\\n We give thee for reward a thousand marks,\\r\\n And will that thou thenceforth attend on us.\\r\\n IDEN. May Iden live to merit such a bounty,\\r\\n And never live but true unto his liege!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the QUEEN and SOMERSET\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. See, Buckingham! Somerset comes with th\\' Queen:\\r\\n Go, bid her hide him quickly from the Duke.\\r\\n QUEEN. For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his head,\\r\\n But boldly stand and front him to his face.\\r\\n YORK. How now! Is Somerset at liberty?\\r\\n Then, York, unloose thy long-imprisoned thoughts\\r\\n And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart.\\r\\n Shall I endure the sight of Somerset?\\r\\n False king, why hast thou broken faith with me,\\r\\n Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse?\\r\\n King did I call thee? No, thou art not king;\\r\\n Not fit to govern and rule multitudes,\\r\\n Which dar\\'st not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor.\\r\\n That head of thine doth not become a crown;\\r\\n Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer\\'s staff,\\r\\n And not to grace an awful princely sceptre.\\r\\n That gold must round engirt these brows of mine,\\r\\n Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles\\' spear,\\r\\n Is able with the change to kill and cure.\\r\\n Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up,\\r\\n And with the same to act controlling laws.\\r\\n Give place. By heaven, thou shalt rule no more\\r\\n O\\'er him whom heaven created for thy ruler.\\r\\n SOMERSET. O monstrous traitor! I arrest thee, York,\\r\\n Of capital treason \\'gainst the King and crown.\\r\\n Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for grace.\\r\\n YORK. Wouldst have me kneel? First let me ask of these,\\r\\n If they can brook I bow a knee to man.\\r\\n Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail: Exit attendant\\r\\n I know, ere thy will have me go to ward,\\r\\n They\\'ll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement.\\r\\n QUEEN. Call hither Clifford; bid him come amain,\\r\\n To say if that the bastard boys of York\\r\\n Shall be the surety for their traitor father.\\r\\n Exit BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n YORK. O blood-bespotted Neapolitan,\\r\\n Outcast of Naples, England\\'s bloody scourge!\\r\\n The sons of York, thy betters in their birth,\\r\\n Shall be their father\\'s bail; and bane to those\\r\\n That for my surety will refuse the boys!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter EDWARD and RICHARD PLANTAGENET\\r\\n\\r\\n See where they come: I\\'ll warrant they\\'ll make it good.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CLIFFORD and his SON\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN. And here comes Clifford to deny their bail.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Health and all happiness to my lord the King!\\r\\n [Kneels]\\r\\n YORK. I thank thee, Clifford. Say, what news with thee?\\r\\n Nay, do not fright us with an angry look.\\r\\n We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again;\\r\\n For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. This is my King, York, I do not mistake;\\r\\n But thou mistakes me much to think I do.\\r\\n To Bedlam with him! Is the man grown mad?\\r\\n KING HENRY. Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious humour\\r\\n Makes him oppose himself against his king.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. He is a traitor; let him to the Tower,\\r\\n And chop away that factious pate of his.\\r\\n QUEEN. He is arrested, but will not obey;\\r\\n His sons, he says, shall give their words for him.\\r\\n YORK. Will you not, sons?\\r\\n EDWARD. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve.\\r\\n RICHARD. And if words will not, then our weapons shall.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Why, what a brood of traitors have we here!\\r\\n YORK. Look in a glass, and call thy image so:\\r\\n I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor.\\r\\n Call hither to the stake my two brave bears,\\r\\n That with the very shaking of their chains\\r\\n They may astonish these fell-lurking curs.\\r\\n Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the EARLS OF WARWICK and SALISBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Are these thy bears? We\\'ll bait thy bears to death,\\r\\n And manacle the berard in their chains,\\r\\n If thou dar\\'st bring them to the baiting-place.\\r\\n RICHARD. Oft have I seen a hot o\\'er weening cur\\r\\n Run back and bite, because he was withheld;\\r\\n Who, being suffer\\'d, with the bear\\'s fell paw,\\r\\n Hath clapp\\'d his tail between his legs and cried;\\r\\n And such a piece of service will you do,\\r\\n If you oppose yourselves to match Lord Warwick.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump,\\r\\n As crooked in thy manners as thy shape!\\r\\n YORK. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Take heed, lest by your heat you burn yourselves.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to bow?\\r\\n Old Salisbury, shame to thy silver hair,\\r\\n Thou mad misleader of thy brainsick son!\\r\\n What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian\\r\\n And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles?\\r\\n O, where is faith? O, where is loyalty?\\r\\n If it be banish\\'d from the frosty head,\\r\\n Where shall it find a harbour in the earth?\\r\\n Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war\\r\\n And shame thine honourable age with blood?\\r\\n Why art thou old, and want\\'st experience?\\r\\n Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it?\\r\\n For shame! In duty bend thy knee to me,\\r\\n That bows unto the grave with mickle age.\\r\\n SALISBURY. My lord, I have considered with myself\\r\\n The tide of this most renowned duke,\\r\\n And in my conscience do repute his Grace\\r\\n The rightful heir to England\\'s royal seat.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me?\\r\\n SALISBURY. I have.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Canst thou dispense with heaven for such an oath?\\r\\n SALISBURY. It is great sin to swear unto a sin;\\r\\n But greater sin to keep a sinful oath.\\r\\n Who can be bound by any solemn vow\\r\\n To do a murd\\'rous deed, to rob a man,\\r\\n To force a spotless virgin\\'s chastity,\\r\\n To reave the orphan of his patrimony,\\r\\n To wring the widow from her custom\\'d right,\\r\\n And have no other reason for this wrong\\r\\n But that he was bound by a solemn oath?\\r\\n QUEEN. A subtle traitor needs no sophister.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself.\\r\\n YORK. Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast,\\r\\n I am resolv\\'d for death or dignity.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true.\\r\\n WARWICK. You were best to go to bed and dream again\\r\\n To keep thee from the tempest of the field.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. I am resolv\\'d to bear a greater storm\\r\\n Than any thou canst conjure up to-day;\\r\\n And that I\\'ll write upon thy burgonet,\\r\\n Might I but know thee by thy household badge.\\r\\n WARWICK. Now, by my father\\'s badge, old Nevil\\'s crest,\\r\\n The rampant bear chain\\'d to the ragged staff,\\r\\n This day I\\'ll wear aloft my burgonet,\\r\\n As on a mountain-top the cedar shows,\\r\\n That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm,\\r\\n Even to affright thee with the view thereof.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. And from thy burgonet I\\'ll rend thy bear\\r\\n And tread it under foot with all contempt,\\r\\n Despite the berard that protects the bear.\\r\\n YOUNG CLIFFORD. And so to arms, victorious father,\\r\\n To quell the rebels and their complices.\\r\\n RICHARD. Fie! charity, for shame! Speak not in spite,\\r\\n For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night.\\r\\n YOUNG CLIFFORD. Foul stigmatic, that\\'s more than thou canst tell.\\r\\n RICHARD. If not in heaven, you\\'ll surely sup in hell.\\r\\n Exeunt severally\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Saint Albans\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarums to the battle. Enter WARWICK\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. Clifford of Cumberland, \\'tis Warwick calls;\\r\\n And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear,\\r\\n Now, when the angry trumpet sounds alarum\\r\\n And dead men\\'s cries do fill the empty air,\\r\\n Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me.\\r\\n Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland,\\r\\n WARWICK is hoarse with calling thee to arms.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YORK\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, my noble lord! what, all a-foot?\\r\\n YORK. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed;\\r\\n But match to match I have encount\\'red him,\\r\\n And made a prey for carrion kites and crows\\r\\n Even of the bonny beast he lov\\'d so well.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter OLD CLIFFORD\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. Of one or both of us the time is come.\\r\\n YORK. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chase,\\r\\n For I myself must hunt this deer to death.\\r\\n WARWICK. Then, nobly, York; \\'tis for a crown thou fight\\'st.\\r\\n As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day,\\r\\n It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail\\'d. Exit\\r\\n CLIFFORD. What seest thou in me, York? Why dost thou pause?\\r\\n YORK. With thy brave bearing should I be in love\\r\\n But that thou art so fast mine enemy.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem\\r\\n But that \\'tis shown ignobly and in treason.\\r\\n YORK. So let it help me now against thy sword,\\r\\n As I in justice and true right express it!\\r\\n CLIFFORD. My soul and body on the action both!\\r\\n YORK. A dreadful lay! Address thee instantly.\\r\\n [They fight and CLIFFORD falls]\\r\\n CLIFFORD. La fin couronne les oeuvres. [Dies]\\r\\n YORK. Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still.\\r\\n Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YOUNG CLIFFORD\\r\\n\\r\\n YOUNG CLIFFORD. Shame and confusion! All is on the rout;\\r\\n Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds\\r\\n Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell,\\r\\n Whom angry heavens do make their minister,\\r\\n Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part\\r\\n Hot coals of vengeance! Let no soldier fly.\\r\\n He that is truly dedicate to war\\r\\n Hath no self-love; nor he that loves himself\\r\\n Hath not essentially, but by circumstance,\\r\\n The name of valour. [Sees his father\\'s body]\\r\\n O, let the vile world end\\r\\n And the premised flames of the last day\\r\\n Knit earth and heaven together!\\r\\n Now let the general trumpet blow his blast,\\r\\n Particularities and petty sounds\\r\\n To cease! Wast thou ordain\\'d, dear father,\\r\\n To lose thy youth in peace and to achieve\\r\\n The silver livery of advised age,\\r\\n And in thy reverence and thy chair-days thus\\r\\n To die in ruffian battle? Even at this sight\\r\\n My heart is turn\\'d to stone; and while \\'tis mine\\r\\n It shall be stony. York not our old men spares;\\r\\n No more will I their babes. Tears virginal\\r\\n Shall be to me even as the dew to fire;\\r\\n And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims,\\r\\n Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax.\\r\\n Henceforth I will not have to do with pity:\\r\\n Meet I an infant of the house of York,\\r\\n Into as many gobbets will I cut it\\r\\n As wild Medea young Absyrtus did;\\r\\n In cruelty will I seek out my fame.\\r\\n Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford\\'s house;\\r\\n As did Aeneas old Anchises bear,\\r\\n So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders;\\r\\n But then Aeneas bare a living load,\\r\\n Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine.\\r\\n Exit with the body\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter RICHARD and SOMERSET to fight. SOMERSET is killed\\r\\n\\r\\n RICHARD. So, lie thou there;\\r\\n For underneath an alehouse\\' paltry sign,\\r\\n The Castle in Saint Albans, Somerset\\r\\n Hath made the wizard famous in his death.\\r\\n Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still:\\r\\n Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Fight. Excursions. Enter KING, QUEEN, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN. Away, my lord! You are slow; for shame, away!\\r\\n KING HENRY. Can we outrun the heavens? Good Margaret, stay.\\r\\n QUEEN. What are you made of? You\\'ll nor fight nor fly.\\r\\n Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence,\\r\\n To give the enemy way, and to secure us\\r\\n By what we can, which can no more but fly.\\r\\n [Alarum afar off]\\r\\n If you be ta\\'en, we then should see the bottom\\r\\n Of all our fortunes; but if we haply scape-\\r\\n As well we may, if not through your neglect-\\r\\n We shall to London get, where you are lov\\'d,\\r\\n And where this breach now in our fortunes made\\r\\n May readily be stopp\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter YOUNG CLIFFORD\\r\\n\\r\\n YOUNG CLIFFORD. But that my heart\\'s on future mischief set,\\r\\n I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly;\\r\\n But fly you must; uncurable discomfit\\r\\n Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts.\\r\\n Away, for your relief! and we will live\\r\\n To see their day and them our fortune give.\\r\\n Away, my lord, away! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Fields near Saint Albans\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum. Retreat. Enter YORK, RICHARD, WARWICK, and soldiers, with drum\\r\\nand colours\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. Of Salisbury, who can report of him,\\r\\n That winter lion, who in rage forgets\\r\\n Aged contusions and all brush of time\\r\\n And, like a gallant in the brow of youth,\\r\\n Repairs him with occasion? This happy day\\r\\n Is not itself, nor have we won one foot,\\r\\n If Salisbury be lost.\\r\\n RICHARD. My noble father,\\r\\n Three times to-day I holp him to his horse,\\r\\n Three times bestrid him, thrice I led him off,\\r\\n Persuaded him from any further act;\\r\\n But still where danger was, still there I met him;\\r\\n And like rich hangings in a homely house,\\r\\n So was his will in his old feeble body.\\r\\n But, noble as he is, look where he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SALISBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n SALISBURY. Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought to-day!\\r\\n By th\\' mass, so did we all. I thank you, Richard:\\r\\n God knows how long it is I have to live,\\r\\n And it hath pleas\\'d Him that three times to-day\\r\\n You have defended me from imminent death.\\r\\n Well, lords, we have not got that which we have;\\r\\n \\'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled,\\r\\n Being opposites of such repairing nature.\\r\\n YORK. I know our safety is to follow them;\\r\\n For, as I hear, the King is fled to London\\r\\n To call a present court of Parliament.\\r\\n Let us pursue him ere the writs go forth.\\r\\n What says Lord Warwick? Shall we after them?\\r\\n WARWICK. After them? Nay, before them, if we can.\\r\\n Now, by my faith, lords, \\'twas a glorious day:\\r\\n Saint Albans\\' battle, won by famous York,\\r\\n Shall be eterniz\\'d in all age to come.\\r\\n Sound drum and trumpets and to London all;\\r\\n And more such days as these to us befall! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE THIRD PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY THE SIXTH\\r\\n EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES, his son\\r\\n LEWIS XI, King of France DUKE OF SOMERSET\\r\\n DUKE OF EXETER EARL OF OXFORD\\r\\n EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND EARL OF WESTMORELAND\\r\\n LORD CLIFFORD\\r\\n RICHARD PLANTAGENET, DUKE OF YORK\\r\\n EDWARD, EARL OF MARCH, afterwards KING EDWARD IV, his son\\r\\n EDMUND, EARL OF RUTLAND, his son\\r\\n GEORGE, afterwards DUKE OF CLARENCE, his son\\r\\n RICHARD, afterwards DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, his son\\r\\n DUKE OF NORFOLK MARQUIS OF MONTAGUE\\r\\n EARL OF WARWICK EARL OF PEMBROKE\\r\\n LORD HASTINGS LORD STAFFORD\\r\\n SIR JOHN MORTIMER, uncle to the Duke of York\\r\\n SIR HUGH MORTIMER, uncle to the Duke of York\\r\\n HENRY, EARL OF RICHMOND, a youth\\r\\n LORD RIVERS, brother to Lady Grey\\r\\n SIR WILLIAM STANLEY SIR JOHN MONTGOMERY\\r\\n SIR JOHN SOMERVILLE TUTOR, to Rutland\\r\\n MAYOR OF YORK LIEUTENANT OF THE TOWER\\r\\n A NOBLEMAN TWO KEEPERS\\r\\n A HUNTSMAN\\r\\n A SON that has killed his father\\r\\n A FATHER that has killed his son\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET\\r\\n LADY GREY, afterwards QUEEN to Edward IV\\r\\n BONA, sister to the French Queen\\r\\n\\r\\n Soldiers, Attendants, Messengers, Watchmen, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: England and France\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. London. The Parliament House\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum. Enter DUKE OF YORK, EDWARD, RICHARD, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE,\\r\\nWARWICK, and soldiers, with white roses in their hats\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. I wonder how the King escap\\'d our hands.\\r\\n YORK. While we pursu\\'d the horsemen of the north,\\r\\n He slily stole away and left his men;\\r\\n Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland,\\r\\n Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat,\\r\\n Cheer\\'d up the drooping army, and himself,\\r\\n Lord Clifford, and Lord Stafford, all abreast,\\r\\n Charg\\'d our main battle\\'s front, and, breaking in,\\r\\n Were by the swords of common soldiers slain.\\r\\n EDWARD. Lord Stafford\\'s father, Duke of Buckingham,\\r\\n Is either slain or wounded dangerous;\\r\\n I cleft his beaver with a downright blow.\\r\\n That this is true, father, behold his blood.\\r\\n MONTAGUE. And, brother, here\\'s the Earl of Wiltshire\\'s blood,\\r\\n Whom I encount\\'red as the battles join\\'d.\\r\\n RICHARD. Speak thou for me, and tell them what I did.\\r\\n [Throwing down SOMERSET\\'S head]\\r\\n YORK. Richard hath best deserv\\'d of all my sons.\\r\\n But is your Grace dead, my Lord of Somerset?\\r\\n NORFOLK. Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt!\\r\\n RICHARD. Thus do I hope to shake King Henry\\'s head.\\r\\n WARWICK. And so do I. Victorious Prince of York,\\r\\n Before I see thee seated in that throne\\r\\n Which now the house of Lancaster usurps,\\r\\n I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close.\\r\\n This is the palace of the fearful King,\\r\\n And this the regal seat. Possess it, York;\\r\\n For this is thine, and not King Henry\\'s heirs\\'.\\r\\n YORK. Assist me then, sweet Warwick, and I will;\\r\\n For hither we have broken in by force.\\r\\n NORFOLK. We\\'ll all assist you; he that flies shall die.\\r\\n YORK. Thanks, gentle Norfolk. Stay by me, my lords;\\r\\n And, soldiers, stay and lodge by me this night.\\r\\n [They go up]\\r\\n WARWICK. And when the King comes, offer him no violence.\\r\\n Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce.\\r\\n YORK. The Queen this day here holds her parliament,\\r\\n But little thinks we shall be of her council.\\r\\n By words or blows here let us win our right.\\r\\n RICHARD. Arm\\'d as we are, let\\'s stay within this house.\\r\\n WARWICK. The bloody parliament shall this be call\\'d,\\r\\n Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be King,\\r\\n And bashful Henry depos\\'d, whose cowardice\\r\\n Hath made us by-words to our enemies.\\r\\n YORK. Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute:\\r\\n I mean to take possession of my right.\\r\\n WARWICK. Neither the King, nor he that loves him best,\\r\\n The proudest he that holds up Lancaster,\\r\\n Dares stir a wing if Warwick shake his bells.\\r\\n I\\'ll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares.\\r\\n Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown.\\r\\n [YORK occupies the throne]\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND,\\r\\n WESTMORELAND, EXETER, and others, with red roses in\\r\\n their hats\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits,\\r\\n Even in the chair of state! Belike he means,\\r\\n Back\\'d by the power of Warwick, that false peer,\\r\\n To aspire unto the crown and reign as king.\\r\\n Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father;\\r\\n And thine, Lord Clifford; and you both have vow\\'d revenge\\r\\n On him, his sons, his favourites, and his friends.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. If I be not, heavens be reveng\\'d on me!\\r\\n CLIFFORD. The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel.\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. What, shall we suffer this? Let\\'s pluck him down;\\r\\n My heart for anger burns; I cannot brook it.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmoreland.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Patience is for poltroons such as he;\\r\\n He durst not sit there had your father liv\\'d.\\r\\n My gracious lord, here in the parliament\\r\\n Let us assail the family of York.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Well hast thou spoken, cousin; be it so.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Ah, know you not the city favours them,\\r\\n And they have troops of soldiers at their beck?\\r\\n EXETER. But when the Duke is slain they\\'ll quickly fly.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Far be the thought of this from Henry\\'s heart,\\r\\n To make a shambles of the parliament house!\\r\\n Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words, and threats,\\r\\n Shall be the war that Henry means to use.\\r\\n Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne\\r\\n And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet;\\r\\n I am thy sovereign.\\r\\n YORK. I am thine.\\r\\n EXETER. For shame, come down; he made thee Duke of York.\\r\\n YORK. \\'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was.\\r\\n EXETER. Thy father was a traitor to the crown.\\r\\n WARWICK. Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown\\r\\n In following this usurping Henry.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Whom should he follow but his natural king?\\r\\n WARWICK. True, Clifford; and that\\'s Richard Duke of York.\\r\\n KING HENRY. And shall I stand, and thou sit in my throne?\\r\\n YORK. It must and shall be so; content thyself.\\r\\n WARWICK. Be Duke of Lancaster; let him be King.\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. He is both King and Duke of Lancaster;\\r\\n And that the Lord of Westmoreland shall maintain.\\r\\n WARWICK. And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget\\r\\n That we are those which chas\\'d you from the field,\\r\\n And slew your fathers, and with colours spread\\r\\n March\\'d through the city to the palace gates.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief;\\r\\n And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it.\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. Plantagenet, of thee, and these thy sons,\\r\\n Thy kinsmen, and thy friends, I\\'ll have more lives\\r\\n Than drops of blood were in my father\\'s veins.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Urge it no more; lest that instead of words\\r\\n I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger\\r\\n As shall revenge his death before I stir.\\r\\n WARWICK. Poor Clifford, how I scorn his worthless threats!\\r\\n YORK. Will you we show our title to the crown?\\r\\n If not, our swords shall plead it in the field.\\r\\n KING HENRY. What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown?\\r\\n Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York;\\r\\n Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March:\\r\\n I am the son of Henry the Fifth,\\r\\n Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop,\\r\\n And seiz\\'d upon their towns and provinces.\\r\\n WARWICK. Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all.\\r\\n KING HENRY. The Lord Protector lost it, and not I:\\r\\n When I was crown\\'d, I was but nine months old.\\r\\n RICHARD. You are old enough now, and yet methinks you lose.\\r\\n Father, tear the crown from the usurper\\'s head.\\r\\n EDWARD. Sweet father, do so; set it on your head.\\r\\n MONTAGUE. Good brother, as thou lov\\'st and honourest arms,\\r\\n Let\\'s fight it out and not stand cavilling thus.\\r\\n RICHARD. Sound drums and trumpets, and the King will fly.\\r\\n YORK. Sons, peace!\\r\\n KING HENRY. Peace thou! and give King Henry leave to speak.\\r\\n WARWICK. Plantagenet shall speak first. Hear him, lords;\\r\\n And be you silent and attentive too,\\r\\n For he that interrupts him shall not live.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Think\\'st thou that I will leave my kingly throne,\\r\\n Wherein my grandsire and my father sat?\\r\\n No; first shall war unpeople this my realm;\\r\\n Ay, and their colours, often borne in France,\\r\\n And now in England to our heart\\'s great sorrow,\\r\\n Shall be my winding-sheet. Why faint you, lords?\\r\\n My title\\'s good, and better far than his.\\r\\n WARWICK. Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be King.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown.\\r\\n YORK. \\'Twas by rebellion against his king.\\r\\n KING HENRY. [Aside] I know not what to say; my title\\'s weak.-\\r\\n Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir?\\r\\n YORK. What then?\\r\\n KING HENRY. An if he may, then am I lawful King;\\r\\n For Richard, in the view of many lords,\\r\\n Resign\\'d the crown to Henry the Fourth,\\r\\n Whose heir my father was, and I am his.\\r\\n YORK. He rose against him, being his sovereign,\\r\\n And made him to resign his crown perforce.\\r\\n WARWICK. Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain\\'d,\\r\\n Think you \\'twere prejudicial to his crown?\\r\\n EXETER. No; for he could not so resign his crown\\r\\n But that the next heir should succeed and reign.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter?\\r\\n EXETER. His is the right, and therefore pardon me.\\r\\n YORK. Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not?\\r\\n EXETER. My conscience tells me he is lawful King.\\r\\n KING HENRY. [Aside] All will revolt from me, and turn to him.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay\\'st,\\r\\n Think not that Henry shall be so depos\\'d.\\r\\n WARWICK. Depos\\'d he shall be, in despite of all.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Thou art deceiv\\'d. \\'Tis not thy southern power\\r\\n Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent,\\r\\n Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud,\\r\\n Can set the Duke up in despite of me.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. King Henry, be thy title right or wrong,\\r\\n Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence.\\r\\n May that ground gape, and swallow me alive,\\r\\n Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father!\\r\\n KING HENRY. O Clifford, how thy words revive my heart!\\r\\n YORK. Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown.\\r\\n What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords?\\r\\n WARWICK. Do right unto this princely Duke of York;\\r\\n Or I will fill the house with armed men,\\r\\n And over the chair of state, where now he sits,\\r\\n Write up his title with usurping blood.\\r\\n [He stamps with his foot and the\\r\\n soldiers show themselves]\\r\\n KING HENRY. My Lord of Warwick, hear but one word:\\r\\n Let me for this my life-time reign as king.\\r\\n YORK. Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs,\\r\\n And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou liv\\'st.\\r\\n KING HENRY. I am content. Richard Plantagenet,\\r\\n Enjoy the kingdom after my decease.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. What wrong is this unto the Prince your son!\\r\\n WARWICK. What good is this to England and himself!\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. Base, fearful, and despairing Henry!\\r\\n CLIFFORD. How hast thou injur\\'d both thyself and or us!\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. I cannot stay to hear these articles.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Nor I.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Come, cousin, let us tell the Queen these news.\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king,\\r\\n In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Be thou a prey unto the house of York\\r\\n And die in bands for this unmanly deed!\\r\\n CLIFFORD. In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome,\\r\\n Or live in peace abandon\\'d and despis\\'d!\\r\\n Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, CLIFFORD,\\r\\n and WESTMORELAND\\r\\n WARWICK. Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not.\\r\\n EXETER. They seek revenge, and therefore will not yield.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Ah, Exeter!\\r\\n WARWICK. Why should you sigh, my lord?\\r\\n KING HENRY. Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son,\\r\\n Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit.\\r\\n But be it as it may. [To YORK] I here entail\\r\\n The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever;\\r\\n Conditionally, that here thou take an oath\\r\\n To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live,\\r\\n To honour me as thy king and sovereign,\\r\\n And neither by treason nor hostility\\r\\n To seek to put me down and reign thyself.\\r\\n YORK. This oath I willingly take, and will perform.\\r\\n [Coming from the throne]\\r\\n WARWICK. Long live King Henry! Plantagenet, embrace him.\\r\\n KING HENRY. And long live thou, and these thy forward sons!\\r\\n YORK. Now York and Lancaster are reconcil\\'d.\\r\\n EXETER. Accurs\\'d be he that seeks to make them foes!\\r\\n [Sennet. Here they come down]\\r\\n YORK. Farewell, my gracious lord; I\\'ll to my castle.\\r\\n WARWICK. And I\\'ll keep London with my soldiers.\\r\\n NORFOLK. And I to Norfolk with my followers.\\r\\n MONTAGUE. And I unto the sea, from whence I came.\\r\\n Exeunt the YORKISTS\\r\\n KING HENRY. And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter QUEEN MARGARET and the PRINCE OF WALES\\r\\n\\r\\n EXETER. Here comes the Queen, whose looks bewray her anger.\\r\\n I\\'ll steal away.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Exeter, so will I.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Nay, go not from me; I will follow thee.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Who can be patient in such extremes?\\r\\n Ah, wretched man! Would I had died a maid,\\r\\n And never seen thee, never borne thee son,\\r\\n Seeing thou hast prov\\'d so unnatural a father!\\r\\n Hath he deserv\\'d to lose his birthright thus?\\r\\n Hadst thou but lov\\'d him half so well as I,\\r\\n Or felt that pain which I did for him once,\\r\\n Or nourish\\'d him as I did with my blood,\\r\\n Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there\\r\\n Rather than have made that savage duke thine heir,\\r\\n And disinherited thine only son.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. Father, you cannot disinherit me.\\r\\n If you be King, why should not I succeed?\\r\\n KING HENRY. Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet son.\\r\\n The Earl of Warwick and the Duke enforc\\'d me.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Enforc\\'d thee! Art thou King and wilt be\\r\\n forc\\'d?\\r\\n I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch!\\r\\n Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me;\\r\\n And giv\\'n unto the house of York such head\\r\\n As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance.\\r\\n To entail him and his heirs unto the crown,\\r\\n What is it but to make thy sepulchre\\r\\n And creep into it far before thy time?\\r\\n Warwick is Chancellor and the lord of Calais;\\r\\n Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas;\\r\\n The Duke is made Protector of the realm;\\r\\n And yet shalt thou be safe? Such safety finds\\r\\n The trembling lamb environed with wolves.\\r\\n Had I been there, which am a silly woman,\\r\\n The soldiers should have toss\\'d me on their pikes\\r\\n Before I would have granted to that act.\\r\\n But thou prefer\\'st thy life before thine honour;\\r\\n And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself,\\r\\n Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,\\r\\n Until that act of parliament be repeal\\'d\\r\\n Whereby my son is disinherited.\\r\\n The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours\\r\\n Will follow mine, if once they see them spread;\\r\\n And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace\\r\\n And utter ruin of the house of York.\\r\\n Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let\\'s away;\\r\\n Our army is ready; come, we\\'ll after them.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Thou hast spoke too much already; get thee gone.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, to be murder\\'d by his enemies.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. When I return with victory from the field\\r\\n I\\'ll see your Grace; till then I\\'ll follow her.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Come, son, away; we may not linger thus.\\r\\n Exeunt QUEEN MARGARET and the PRINCE\\r\\n KING HENRY. Poor queen! How love to me and to her son\\r\\n Hath made her break out into terms of rage!\\r\\n Reveng\\'d may she be on that hateful Duke,\\r\\n Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire,\\r\\n Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle\\r\\n Tire on the flesh of me and of my son!\\r\\n The loss of those three lords torments my heart.\\r\\n I\\'ll write unto them, and entreat them fair;\\r\\n Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger.\\r\\n EXETER. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Sandal Castle, near Wakefield, in Yorkshire\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and MONTAGUE\\r\\n\\r\\n RICHARD. Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave.\\r\\n EDWARD. No, I can better play the orator.\\r\\n MONTAGUE. But I have reasons strong and forcible.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the DUKE OF YORK\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. Why, how now, sons and brother! at a strife?\\r\\n What is your quarrel? How began it first?\\r\\n EDWARD. No quarrel, but a slight contention.\\r\\n YORK. About what?\\r\\n RICHARD. About that which concerns your Grace and us-\\r\\n The crown of England, father, which is yours.\\r\\n YORK. Mine, boy? Not till King Henry be dead.\\r\\n RICHARD. Your right depends not on his life or death.\\r\\n EDWARD. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now.\\r\\n By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe,\\r\\n It will outrun you, father, in the end.\\r\\n YORK. I took an oath that he should quietly reign.\\r\\n EDWARD. But for a kingdom any oath may be broken:\\r\\n I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year.\\r\\n RICHARD. No; God forbid your Grace should be forsworn.\\r\\n YORK. I shall be, if I claim by open war.\\r\\n RICHARD. I\\'ll prove the contrary, if you\\'ll hear me speak.\\r\\n YORK. Thou canst not, son; it is impossible.\\r\\n RICHARD. An oath is of no moment, being not took\\r\\n Before a true and lawful magistrate\\r\\n That hath authority over him that swears.\\r\\n Henry had none, but did usurp the place;\\r\\n Then, seeing \\'twas he that made you to depose,\\r\\n Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous.\\r\\n Therefore, to arms. And, father, do but think\\r\\n How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown,\\r\\n Within whose circuit is Elysium\\r\\n And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.\\r\\n Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest\\r\\n Until the white rose that I wear be dy\\'d\\r\\n Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry\\'s heart.\\r\\n YORK. Richard, enough; I will be King, or die.\\r\\n Brother, thou shalt to London presently\\r\\n And whet on Warwick to this enterprise.\\r\\n Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk\\r\\n And tell him privily of our intent.\\r\\n You, Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham,\\r\\n With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise;\\r\\n In them I trust, for they are soldiers,\\r\\n Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit.\\r\\n While you are thus employ\\'d, what resteth more\\r\\n But that I seek occasion how to rise,\\r\\n And yet the King not privy to my drift,\\r\\n Nor any of the house of Lancaster?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n But, stay. What news? Why com\\'st thou in such post?\\r\\n MESSENGER. The Queen with all the northern earls and lords\\r\\n Intend here to besiege you in your castle.\\r\\n She is hard by with twenty thousand men;\\r\\n And therefore fortify your hold, my lord.\\r\\n YORK. Ay, with my sword. What! think\\'st thou that we fear them?\\r\\n Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me;\\r\\n My brother Montague shall post to London.\\r\\n Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,\\r\\n Whom we have left protectors of the King,\\r\\n With pow\\'rful policy strengthen themselves\\r\\n And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths.\\r\\n MONTAGUE. Brother, I go; I\\'ll win them, fear it not.\\r\\n And thus most humbly I do take my leave. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR JOHN and SIR HUGH MORTIMER\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. Sir john and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles!\\r\\n You are come to Sandal in a happy hour;\\r\\n The army of the Queen mean to besiege us.\\r\\n SIR JOHN. She shall not need; we\\'ll meet her in the field.\\r\\n YORK. What, with five thousand men?\\r\\n RICHARD. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need.\\r\\n A woman\\'s general; what should we fear?\\r\\n [A march afar off]\\r\\n EDWARD. I hear their drums. Let\\'s set our men in order,\\r\\n And issue forth and bid them battle straight.\\r\\n YORK. Five men to twenty! Though the odds be great,\\r\\n I doubt not, uncle, of our victory.\\r\\n Many a battle have I won in France,\\r\\n When as the enemy hath been ten to one;\\r\\n Why should I not now have the like success? Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Field of battle between Sandal Castle and Wakefield\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum. Enter RUTLAND and his TUTOR\\r\\n\\r\\n RUTLAND. Ah, whither shall I fly to scape their hands?\\r\\n Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CLIFFORD and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Chaplain, away! Thy priesthood saves thy life.\\r\\n As for the brat of this accursed duke,\\r\\n Whose father slew my father, he shall die.\\r\\n TUTOR. And I, my lord, will bear him company.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Soldiers, away with him!\\r\\n TUTOR. Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child,\\r\\n Lest thou be hated both of God and man.\\r\\n Exit, forced off by soldiers\\r\\n CLIFFORD. How now, is he dead already? Or is it fear\\r\\n That makes him close his eyes? I\\'ll open them.\\r\\n RUTLAND. So looks the pent-up lion o\\'er the wretch\\r\\n That trembles under his devouring paws;\\r\\n And so he walks, insulting o\\'er his prey,\\r\\n And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder.\\r\\n Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword,\\r\\n And not with such a cruel threat\\'ning look!\\r\\n Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die.\\r\\n I am too mean a subject for thy wrath;\\r\\n Be thou reveng\\'d on men, and let me live.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. In vain thou speak\\'st, poor boy; my father\\'s blood\\r\\n Hath stopp\\'d the passage where thy words should enter.\\r\\n RUTLAND. Then let my father\\'s blood open it again:\\r\\n He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine\\r\\n Were not revenge sufficient for me;\\r\\n No, if I digg\\'d up thy forefathers\\' graves\\r\\n And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,\\r\\n It could not slake mine ire nor ease my heart.\\r\\n The sight of any of the house of York\\r\\n Is as a fury to torment my soul;\\r\\n And till I root out their accursed line\\r\\n And leave not one alive, I live in hell.\\r\\n Therefore-\\r\\n RUTLAND. O, let me pray before I take my death!\\r\\n To thee I pray: sweet Clifford, pity me.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Such pity as my rapier\\'s point affords.\\r\\n RUTLAND. I never did thee harm; why wilt thou slay me?\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Thy father hath.\\r\\n RUTLAND. But \\'twas ere I was born.\\r\\n Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me,\\r\\n Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just,\\r\\n He be as miserably slain as I.\\r\\n Ah, let me live in prison all my days;\\r\\n And when I give occasion of offence\\r\\n Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. No cause!\\r\\n Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. [Stabs him]\\r\\n RUTLAND. Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae! [Dies]\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Plantagenet, I come, Plantagenet;\\r\\n And this thy son\\'s blood cleaving to my blade\\r\\n Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood,\\r\\n Congeal\\'d with this, do make me wipe off both. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Another part of the field\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum. Enter the DUKE OF YORK\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. The army of the Queen hath got the field.\\r\\n My uncles both are slain in rescuing me;\\r\\n And all my followers to the eager foe\\r\\n Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind,\\r\\n Or lambs pursu\\'d by hunger-starved wolves.\\r\\n My sons- God knows what hath bechanced them;\\r\\n But this I know- they have demean\\'d themselves\\r\\n Like men born to renown by life or death.\\r\\n Three times did Richard make a lane to me,\\r\\n And thrice cried \\'Courage, father! fight it out.\\'\\r\\n And full as oft came Edward to my side\\r\\n With purple falchion, painted to the hilt\\r\\n In blood of those that had encount\\'red him.\\r\\n And when the hardiest warriors did retire,\\r\\n Richard cried \\'Charge, and give no foot of ground!\\'\\r\\n And cried \\'A crown, or else a glorious tomb!\\r\\n A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!\\'\\r\\n With this we charg\\'d again; but out alas!\\r\\n We bodg\\'d again; as I have seen a swan\\r\\n With bootless labour swim against the tide\\r\\n And spend her strength with over-matching waves.\\r\\n [A short alarum within]\\r\\n Ah, hark! The fatal followers do pursue,\\r\\n And I am faint and cannot fly their fury;\\r\\n And were I strong, I would not shun their fury.\\r\\n The sands are numb\\'red that make up my life;\\r\\n Here must I stay, and here my life must end.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND,\\r\\n the PRINCE OF WALES, and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,\\r\\n I dare your quenchless fury to more rage;\\r\\n I am your butt, and I abide your shot.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm\\r\\n With downright payment show\\'d unto my father.\\r\\n Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car,\\r\\n And made an evening at the noontide prick.\\r\\n YORK. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth\\r\\n A bird that will revenge upon you all;\\r\\n And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven,\\r\\n Scorning whate\\'er you can afflict me with.\\r\\n Why come you not? What! multitudes, and fear?\\r\\n CLIFFORD. So cowards fight when they can fly no further;\\r\\n So doves do peck the falcon\\'s piercing talons;\\r\\n So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,\\r\\n Breathe out invectives \\'gainst the officers.\\r\\n YORK. O Clifford, but bethink thee once again,\\r\\n And in thy thought o\\'errun my former time;\\r\\n And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face,\\r\\n And bite thy tongue that slanders him with cowardice\\r\\n Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this!\\r\\n CLIFFORD. I will not bandy with thee word for word,\\r\\n But buckler with thee blows, twice two for one.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Hold, valiant Clifford; for a thousand causes\\r\\n I would prolong awhile the traitor\\'s life.\\r\\n Wrath makes him deaf; speak thou, Northumberland.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much\\r\\n To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart.\\r\\n What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,\\r\\n For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,\\r\\n When he might spurn him with his foot away?\\r\\n It is war\\'s prize to take all vantages;\\r\\n And ten to one is no impeach of valour.\\r\\n [They lay hands on YORK, who struggles]\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. So doth the cony struggle in the net.\\r\\n YORK. So triumph thieves upon their conquer\\'d booty;\\r\\n So true men yield, with robbers so o\\'er-match\\'d.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. What would your Grace have done unto him now?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland,\\r\\n Come, make him stand upon this molehill here\\r\\n That raught at mountains with outstretched arms,\\r\\n Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.\\r\\n What, was it you that would be England\\'s king?\\r\\n Was\\'t you that revell\\'d in our parliament\\r\\n And made a preachment of your high descent?\\r\\n Where are your mess of sons to back you now?\\r\\n The wanton Edward and the lusty George?\\r\\n And where\\'s that valiant crook-back prodigy,\\r\\n Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice\\r\\n Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?\\r\\n Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland?\\r\\n Look, York: I stain\\'d this napkin with the blood\\r\\n That valiant Clifford with his rapier\\'s point\\r\\n Made issue from the bosom of the boy;\\r\\n And if thine eyes can water for his death,\\r\\n I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.\\r\\n Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly,\\r\\n I should lament thy miserable state.\\r\\n I prithee grieve to make me merry, York.\\r\\n What, hath thy fiery heart so parch\\'d thine entrails\\r\\n That not a tear can fall for Rutland\\'s death?\\r\\n Why art thou patient, man? Thou shouldst be mad;\\r\\n And I to make thee mad do mock thee thus.\\r\\n Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.\\r\\n Thou wouldst be fee\\'d, I see, to make me sport;\\r\\n York cannot speak unless he wear a crown.\\r\\n A crown for York!-and, lords, bow low to him.\\r\\n Hold you his hands whilst I do set it on.\\r\\n [Putting a paper crown on his head]\\r\\n Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king!\\r\\n Ay, this is he that took King Henry\\'s chair,\\r\\n And this is he was his adopted heir.\\r\\n But how is it that great Plantagenet\\r\\n Is crown\\'d so soon and broke his solemn oath?\\r\\n As I bethink me, you should not be King\\r\\n Till our King Henry had shook hands with death.\\r\\n And will you pale your head in Henry\\'s glory,\\r\\n And rob his temples of the diadem,\\r\\n Now in his life, against your holy oath?\\r\\n O, \\'tis a fault too too\\r\\n Off with the crown and with the crown his head;\\r\\n And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. That is my office, for my father\\'s sake.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Nay, stay; let\\'s hear the orisons he makes.\\r\\n YORK. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France,\\r\\n Whose tongue more poisons than the adder\\'s tooth!\\r\\n How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex\\r\\n To triumph like an Amazonian trull\\r\\n Upon their woes whom fortune captivates!\\r\\n But that thy face is visard-like, unchanging,\\r\\n Made impudent with use of evil deeds,\\r\\n I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush.\\r\\n To tell thee whence thou cam\\'st, of whom deriv\\'d,\\r\\n Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless.\\r\\n Thy father bears the type of King of Naples,\\r\\n Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem,\\r\\n Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.\\r\\n Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult?\\r\\n It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen;\\r\\n Unless the adage must be verified,\\r\\n That beggars mounted run their horse to death.\\r\\n \\'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud;\\r\\n But, God He knows, thy share thereof is small.\\r\\n \\'Tis virtue that doth make them most admir\\'d;\\r\\n The contrary doth make thee wond\\'red at.\\r\\n \\'Tis government that makes them seem divine;\\r\\n The want thereof makes thee abominable.\\r\\n Thou art as opposite to every good\\r\\n As the Antipodes are unto us,\\r\\n Or as the south to the septentrion.\\r\\n O tiger\\'s heart wrapp\\'d in a woman\\'s hide!\\r\\n How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child,\\r\\n To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,\\r\\n And yet be seen to bear a woman\\'s face?\\r\\n Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible:\\r\\n Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.\\r\\n Bid\\'st thou me rage? Why, now thou hast thy wish;\\r\\n Wouldst have me weep? Why, now thou hast thy will;\\r\\n For raging wind blows up incessant showers,\\r\\n And when the rage allays, the rain begins.\\r\\n These tears are my sweet Rutland\\'s obsequies;\\r\\n And every drop cries vengeance for his death\\r\\n \\'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false Frenchwoman.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Beshrew me, but his passions move me so\\r\\n That hardly can I check my eyes from tears.\\r\\n YORK. That face of his the hungry cannibals\\r\\n Would not have touch\\'d, would not have stain\\'d with blood;\\r\\n But you are more inhuman, more inexorable-\\r\\n O, ten times more- than tigers of Hyrcania.\\r\\n See, ruthless queen, a hapless father\\'s tears.\\r\\n This cloth thou dipp\\'dst in blood of my sweet boy,\\r\\n And I with tears do wash the blood away.\\r\\n Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this;\\r\\n And if thou tell\\'st the heavy story right,\\r\\n Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;\\r\\n Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears\\r\\n And say \\'Alas, it was a piteous deed!\\'\\r\\n There, take the crown, and with the crown my curse;\\r\\n And in thy need such comfort come to thee\\r\\n As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!\\r\\n Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world;\\r\\n My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,\\r\\n I should not for my life but weep with him,\\r\\n To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland?\\r\\n Think but upon the wrong he did us all,\\r\\n And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Here\\'s for my oath, here\\'s for my father\\'s death.\\r\\n [Stabbing him]\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. And here\\'s to right our gentle-hearted king.\\r\\n [Stabbing him]\\r\\n YORK. Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God!\\r\\n My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee.\\r\\n [Dies]\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Off with his head, and set it on York gates;\\r\\n So York may overlook the town of York.\\r\\n Flourish. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. A plain near Mortimer\\'s Cross in Herefordshire\\r\\n\\r\\nA march. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and their power\\r\\n\\r\\n EDWARD. I wonder how our princely father scap\\'d,\\r\\n Or whether he be scap\\'d away or no\\r\\n From Clifford\\'s and Northumberland\\'s pursuit.\\r\\n Had he been ta\\'en, we should have heard the news;\\r\\n Had he been slain, we should have heard the news;\\r\\n Or had he scap\\'d, methinks we should have heard\\r\\n The happy tidings of his good escape.\\r\\n How fares my brother? Why is he so sad?\\r\\n RICHARD. I cannot joy until I be resolv\\'d\\r\\n Where our right valiant father is become.\\r\\n I saw him in the battle range about,\\r\\n And watch\\'d him how he singled Clifford forth.\\r\\n Methought he bore him in the thickest troop\\r\\n As doth a lion in a herd of neat;\\r\\n Or as a bear, encompass\\'d round with dogs,\\r\\n Who having pinch\\'d a few and made them cry,\\r\\n The rest stand all aloof and bark at him.\\r\\n So far\\'d our father with his enemies;\\r\\n So fled his enemies my warlike father.\\r\\n Methinks \\'tis prize enough to be his son.\\r\\n See how the morning opes her golden gates\\r\\n And takes her farewell of the glorious sun.\\r\\n How well resembles it the prime of youth,\\r\\n Trimm\\'d like a younker prancing to his love!\\r\\n EDWARD. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?\\r\\n RICHARD. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;\\r\\n Not separated with the racking clouds,\\r\\n But sever\\'d in a pale clear-shining sky.\\r\\n See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,\\r\\n As if they vow\\'d some league inviolable.\\r\\n Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.\\r\\n In this the heaven figures some event.\\r\\n EDWARD. \\'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of.\\r\\n I think it cites us, brother, to the field,\\r\\n That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,\\r\\n Each one already blazing by our meeds,\\r\\n Should notwithstanding join our lights together\\r\\n And overshine the earth, as this the world.\\r\\n Whate\\'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear\\r\\n Upon my target three fair shining suns.\\r\\n RICHARD. Nay, bear three daughters- by your leave I speak it,\\r\\n You love the breeder better than the male.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER, blowing\\r\\n\\r\\n But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell\\r\\n Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Ah, one that was a woeful looker-on\\r\\n When as the noble Duke of York was slain,\\r\\n Your princely father and my loving lord!\\r\\n EDWARD. O, speak no more! for I have heard too much.\\r\\n RICHARD. Say how he died, for I will hear it all.\\r\\n MESSENGER. Environed he was with many foes,\\r\\n And stood against them as the hope of Troy\\r\\n Against the Greeks that would have ent\\'red Troy.\\r\\n But Hercules himself must yield to odds;\\r\\n And many strokes, though with a little axe,\\r\\n Hews down and fells the hardest-timber\\'d oak.\\r\\n By many hands your father was subdu\\'d;\\r\\n But only slaught\\'red by the ireful arm\\r\\n Of unrelenting Clifford and the Queen,\\r\\n Who crown\\'d the gracious Duke in high despite,\\r\\n Laugh\\'d in his face; and when with grief he wept,\\r\\n The ruthless Queen gave him to dry his cheeks\\r\\n A napkin steeped in the harmless blood\\r\\n Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain;\\r\\n And after many scorns, many foul taunts,\\r\\n They took his head, and on the gates of York\\r\\n They set the same; and there it doth remain,\\r\\n The saddest spectacle that e\\'er I view\\'d.\\r\\n EDWARD. Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon,\\r\\n Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay.\\r\\n O Clifford, boist\\'rous Clifford, thou hast slain\\r\\n The flow\\'r of Europe for his chivalry;\\r\\n And treacherously hast thou vanquish\\'d him,\\r\\n For hand to hand he would have vanquish\\'d thee.\\r\\n Now my soul\\'s palace is become a prison.\\r\\n Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body\\r\\n Might in the ground be closed up in rest!\\r\\n For never henceforth shall I joy again;\\r\\n Never, O never, shall I see more joy.\\r\\n RICHARD. I cannot weep, for all my body\\'s moisture\\r\\n Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart;\\r\\n Nor can my tongue unload my heart\\'s great burden,\\r\\n For self-same wind that I should speak withal\\r\\n Is kindling coals that fires all my breast,\\r\\n And burns me up with flames that tears would quench.\\r\\n To weep is to make less the depth of grief.\\r\\n Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me!\\r\\n Richard, I bear thy name; I\\'ll venge thy death,\\r\\n Or die renowned by attempting it.\\r\\n EDWARD. His name that valiant duke hath left with thee;\\r\\n His dukedom and his chair with me is left.\\r\\n RICHARD. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle\\'s bird,\\r\\n Show thy descent by gazing \\'gainst the sun;\\r\\n For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom, say:\\r\\n Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his.\\r\\n\\r\\n March. Enter WARWICK, MONTAGUE, and their army\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. How now, fair lords! What fare? What news abroad?\\r\\n RICHARD. Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount\\r\\n Our baleful news and at each word\\'s deliverance\\r\\n Stab poinards in our flesh till all were told,\\r\\n The words would add more anguish than the wounds.\\r\\n O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain!\\r\\n EDWARD. O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet\\r\\n Which held thee dearly as his soul\\'s redemption\\r\\n Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death.\\r\\n WARWICK. Ten days ago I drown\\'d these news in tears;\\r\\n And now, to add more measure to your woes,\\r\\n I come to tell you things sith then befall\\'n.\\r\\n After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,\\r\\n Where your brave father breath\\'d his latest gasp,\\r\\n Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,\\r\\n Were brought me of your loss and his depart.\\r\\n I, then in London, keeper of the King,\\r\\n Muster\\'d my soldiers, gathered flocks of friends,\\r\\n And very well appointed, as I thought,\\r\\n March\\'d toward Saint Albans to intercept the Queen,\\r\\n Bearing the King in my behalf along;\\r\\n For by my scouts I was advertised\\r\\n That she was coming with a full intent\\r\\n To dash our late decree in parliament\\r\\n Touching King Henry\\'s oath and your succession.\\r\\n Short tale to make- we at Saint Albans met,\\r\\n Our battles join\\'d, and both sides fiercely fought;\\r\\n But whether \\'twas the coldness of the King,\\r\\n Who look\\'d full gently on his warlike queen,\\r\\n That robb\\'d my soldiers of their heated spleen,\\r\\n Or whether \\'twas report of her success,\\r\\n Or more than common fear of Clifford\\'s rigour,\\r\\n Who thunders to his captives blood and death,\\r\\n I cannot judge; but, to conclude with truth,\\r\\n Their weapons like to lightning came and went:\\r\\n Our soldiers\\', like the night-owl\\'s lazy flight\\r\\n Or like an idle thresher with a flail,\\r\\n Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.\\r\\n I cheer\\'d them up with justice of our cause,\\r\\n With promise of high pay and great rewards,\\r\\n But all in vain; they had no heart to fight,\\r\\n And we in them no hope to win the day;\\r\\n So that we fled: the King unto the Queen;\\r\\n Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself,\\r\\n In haste post-haste are come to join with you;\\r\\n For in the marches here we heard you were\\r\\n Making another head to fight again.\\r\\n EDWARD. Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick?\\r\\n And when came George from Burgundy to England?\\r\\n WARWICK. Some six miles off the Duke is with the soldiers;\\r\\n And for your brother, he was lately sent\\r\\n From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy,\\r\\n With aid of soldiers to this needful war.\\r\\n RICHARD. \\'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled.\\r\\n Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,\\r\\n But ne\\'er till now his scandal of retire.\\r\\n WARWICK. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear;\\r\\n For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine\\r\\n Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry\\'s head\\r\\n And wring the awful sceptre from his fist,\\r\\n Were he as famous and as bold in war\\r\\n As he is fam\\'d for mildness, peace, and prayer.\\r\\n RICHARD. I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not.\\r\\n \\'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak.\\r\\n But in this troublous time what\\'s to be done?\\r\\n Shall we go throw away our coats of steel\\r\\n And wrap our bodies in black mourning-gowns,\\r\\n Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads?\\r\\n Or shall we on the helmets of our foes\\r\\n Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?\\r\\n If for the last, say \\'Ay,\\' and to it, lords.\\r\\n WARWICK. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out;\\r\\n And therefore comes my brother Montague.\\r\\n Attend me, lords. The proud insulting Queen,\\r\\n With Clifford and the haught Northumberland,\\r\\n And of their feather many moe proud birds,\\r\\n Have wrought the easy-melting King like wax.\\r\\n He swore consent to your succession,\\r\\n His oath enrolled in the parliament;\\r\\n And now to London all the crew are gone\\r\\n To frustrate both his oath and what beside\\r\\n May make against the house of Lancaster.\\r\\n Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong.\\r\\n Now if the help of Norfolk and myself,\\r\\n With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March,\\r\\n Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,\\r\\n Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,\\r\\n Why, Via! to London will we march amain,\\r\\n And once again bestride our foaming steeds,\\r\\n And once again cry \\'Charge upon our foes!\\'\\r\\n But never once again turn back and fly.\\r\\n RICHARD. Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak.\\r\\n Ne\\'er may he live to see a sunshine day\\r\\n That cries \\'Retire!\\' if Warwick bid him stay.\\r\\n EDWARD. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean;\\r\\n And when thou fail\\'st- as God forbid the hour!-\\r\\n Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend.\\r\\n WARWICK. No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York;\\r\\n The next degree is England\\'s royal throne,\\r\\n For King of England shalt thou be proclaim\\'d\\r\\n In every borough as we pass along;\\r\\n And he that throws not up his cap for joy\\r\\n Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.\\r\\n King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague,\\r\\n Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown,\\r\\n But sound the trumpets and about our task.\\r\\n RICHARD. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel,\\r\\n As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,\\r\\n I come to pierce it or to give thee mine.\\r\\n EDWARD. Then strike up drums. God and Saint George for us!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. How now! what news?\\r\\n MESSENGER. The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me\\r\\n The Queen is coming with a puissant host,\\r\\n And craves your company for speedy counsel.\\r\\n WARWICK. Why, then it sorts; brave warriors, let\\'s away.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Before York\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter KING HENRY, QUEEN MARGARET, the PRINCE OF WALES,\\r\\nCLIFFORD,\\r\\nNORTHUMBERLAND, with drum and trumpets\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York.\\r\\n Yonder\\'s the head of that arch-enemy\\r\\n That sought to be encompass\\'d with your crown.\\r\\n Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord?\\r\\n KING HENRY. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck-\\r\\n To see this sight, it irks my very soul.\\r\\n Withhold revenge, dear God; \\'tis not my fault,\\r\\n Nor wittingly have I infring\\'d my vow.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. My gracious liege, this too much lenity\\r\\n And harmful pity must be laid aside.\\r\\n To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?\\r\\n Not to the beast that would usurp their den.\\r\\n Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick?\\r\\n Not his that spoils her young before her face.\\r\\n Who scapes the lurking serpent\\'s mortal sting?\\r\\n Not he that sets his foot upon her back,\\r\\n The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on,\\r\\n And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood.\\r\\n Ambitious York did level at thy crown,\\r\\n Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows.\\r\\n He, but a Duke, would have his son a king,\\r\\n And raise his issue like a loving sire:\\r\\n Thou, being a king, bless\\'d with a goodly son,\\r\\n Didst yield consent to disinherit him,\\r\\n Which argued thee a most unloving father.\\r\\n Unreasonable creatures feed their young;\\r\\n And though man\\'s face be fearful to their eyes,\\r\\n Yet, in protection of their tender ones,\\r\\n Who hath not seen them- even with those wings\\r\\n Which sometime they have us\\'d with fearful flight-\\r\\n Make war with him that climb\\'d unto their nest,\\r\\n Offering their own lives in their young\\'s defence\\r\\n For shame, my liege, make them your precedent!\\r\\n Were it not pity that this goodly boy\\r\\n Should lose his birthright by his father\\'s fault,\\r\\n And long hereafter say unto his child\\r\\n \\'What my great-grandfather and grandsire got\\r\\n My careless father fondly gave away\\'?\\r\\n Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy;\\r\\n And let his manly face, which promiseth\\r\\n Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart\\r\\n To hold thine own and leave thine own with him.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Full well hath Clifford play\\'d the orator,\\r\\n Inferring arguments of mighty force.\\r\\n But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear\\r\\n That things ill got had ever bad success?\\r\\n And happy always was it for that son\\r\\n Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?\\r\\n I\\'ll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind;\\r\\n And would my father had left me no more!\\r\\n For all the rest is held at such a rate\\r\\n As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep\\r\\n Than in possession any jot of pleasure.\\r\\n Ah, cousin York! would thy best friends did know\\r\\n How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foes are nigh,\\r\\n And this soft courage makes your followers faint.\\r\\n You promis\\'d knighthood to our forward son:\\r\\n Unsheathe your sword and dub him presently.\\r\\n Edward, kneel down.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight;\\r\\n And learn this lesson: Draw thy sword in right.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. My gracious father, by your kingly leave,\\r\\n I\\'ll draw it as apparent to the crown,\\r\\n And in that quarrel use it to the death.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. Royal commanders, be in readiness;\\r\\n For with a band of thirty thousand men\\r\\n Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York,\\r\\n And in the towns, as they do march along,\\r\\n Proclaims him king, and many fly to him.\\r\\n Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. I would your Highness would depart the field:\\r\\n The Queen hath best success when you are absent.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Why, that\\'s my fortune too; therefore I\\'ll stay.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Be it with resolution, then, to fight.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. My royal father, cheer these noble lords,\\r\\n And hearten those that fight in your defence.\\r\\n Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry \\'Saint George!\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK,\\r\\n NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n EDWARD. Now, perjur\\'d Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace\\r\\n And set thy diadem upon my head,\\r\\n Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Go rate thy minions, proud insulting boy.\\r\\n Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms\\r\\n Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king?\\r\\n EDWARD. I am his king, and he should bow his knee.\\r\\n I was adopted heir by his consent:\\r\\n Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear,\\r\\n You that are King, though he do wear the crown,\\r\\n Have caus\\'d him by new act of parliament\\r\\n To blot out me and put his own son in.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. And reason too:\\r\\n Who should succeed the father but the son?\\r\\n RICHARD. Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak!\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee,\\r\\n Or any he, the proudest of thy sort.\\r\\n RICHARD. \\'Twas you that kill\\'d young Rutland, was it not?\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.\\r\\n RICHARD. For God\\'s sake, lords, give signal to the fight.\\r\\n WARWICK. What say\\'st thou, Henry? Wilt thou yield the crown?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Why, how now, long-tongu\\'d Warwick! Dare you speak?\\r\\n When you and I met at Saint Albans last\\r\\n Your legs did better service than your hands.\\r\\n WARWICK. Then \\'twas my turn to fly, and now \\'tis thine.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. You said so much before, and yet you fled.\\r\\n WARWICK. \\'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay.\\r\\n RICHARD. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently.\\r\\n Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain\\r\\n The execution of my big-swol\\'n heart\\r\\n Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. I slew thy father; call\\'st thou him a child?\\r\\n RICHARD. Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward,\\r\\n As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland;\\r\\n But ere sunset I\\'ll make thee curse the deed.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips.\\r\\n KING HENRY. I prithee give no limits to my tongue:\\r\\n I am a king, and privileg\\'d to speak.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here\\r\\n Cannot be cur\\'d by words; therefore be still.\\r\\n RICHARD. Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword.\\r\\n By Him that made us all, I am resolv\\'d\\r\\n That Clifford\\'s manhood lies upon his tongue.\\r\\n EDWARD. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no?\\r\\n A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day\\r\\n That ne\\'er shall dine unless thou yield the crown.\\r\\n WARWICK. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head;\\r\\n For York in justice puts his armour on.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. If that be right which Warwick says is right,\\r\\n There is no wrong, but every thing is right.\\r\\n RICHARD. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands;\\r\\n For well I wot thou hast thy mother\\'s tongue.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam;\\r\\n But like a foul misshapen stigmatic,\\r\\n Mark\\'d by the destinies to be avoided,\\r\\n As venom toads or lizards\\' dreadful stings.\\r\\n RICHARD. Iron of Naples hid with English gilt,\\r\\n Whose father bears the title of a king-\\r\\n As if a channel should be call\\'d the sea-\\r\\n Sham\\'st thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught,\\r\\n To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart?\\r\\n EDWARD. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns\\r\\n To make this shameless callet know herself.\\r\\n Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou,\\r\\n Although thy husband may be Menelaus;\\r\\n And ne\\'er was Agamemmon\\'s brother wrong\\'d\\r\\n By that false woman as this king by thee.\\r\\n His father revell\\'d in the heart of France,\\r\\n And tam\\'d the King, and made the Dauphin stoop;\\r\\n And had he match\\'d according to his state,\\r\\n He might have kept that glory to this day;\\r\\n But when he took a beggar to his bed\\r\\n And grac\\'d thy poor sire with his bridal day,\\r\\n Even then that sunshine brew\\'d a show\\'r for him\\r\\n That wash\\'d his father\\'s fortunes forth of France\\r\\n And heap\\'d sedition on his crown at home.\\r\\n For what hath broach\\'d this tumult but thy pride?\\r\\n Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept;\\r\\n And we, in pity of the gentle King,\\r\\n Had slipp\\'d our claim until another age.\\r\\n GEORGE. But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring,\\r\\n And that thy summer bred us no increase,\\r\\n We set the axe to thy usurping root;\\r\\n And though the edge hath something hit ourselves,\\r\\n Yet know thou, since we have begun to strike,\\r\\n We\\'ll never leave till we have hewn thee down,\\r\\n Or bath\\'d thy growing with our heated bloods.\\r\\n EDWARD. And in this resolution I defy thee;\\r\\n Not willing any longer conference,\\r\\n Since thou deniest the gentle King to speak.\\r\\n Sound trumpets; let our bloody colours wave,\\r\\n And either victory or else a grave!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Stay, Edward.\\r\\n EDWARD. No, wrangling woman, we\\'ll no longer stay;\\r\\n These words will cost ten thousand lives this day.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum; excursions. Enter WARWICK\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race,\\r\\n I lay me down a little while to breathe;\\r\\n For strokes receiv\\'d and many blows repaid\\r\\n Have robb\\'d my strong-knit sinews of their strength,\\r\\n And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter EDWARD, running\\r\\n\\r\\n EDWARD. Smile, gentle heaven, or strike, ungentle death;\\r\\n For this world frowns, and Edward\\'s sun is clouded.\\r\\n WARWICK. How now, my lord. What hap? What hope of good?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GEORGE\\r\\n\\r\\n GEORGE. Our hap is lost, our hope but sad despair;\\r\\n Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us.\\r\\n What counsel give you? Whither shall we fly?\\r\\n EDWARD. Bootless is flight: they follow us with wings;\\r\\n And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter RICHARD\\r\\n\\r\\n RICHARD. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?\\r\\n Thy brother\\'s blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,\\r\\n Broach\\'d with the steely point of Clifford\\'s lance;\\r\\n And in the very pangs of death he cried,\\r\\n Like to a dismal clangor heard from far,\\r\\n \\'Warwick, revenge! Brother, revenge my death.\\'\\r\\n So, underneath the belly of their steeds,\\r\\n That stain\\'d their fetlocks in his smoking blood,\\r\\n The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.\\r\\n WARWICK. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood.\\r\\n I\\'ll kill my horse, because I will not fly.\\r\\n Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,\\r\\n Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage,\\r\\n And look upon, as if the tragedy\\r\\n Were play\\'d in jest by counterfeiting actors?\\r\\n Here on my knee I vow to God above\\r\\n I\\'ll never pause again, never stand still,\\r\\n Till either death hath clos\\'d these eyes of mine\\r\\n Or fortune given me measure of revenge.\\r\\n EDWARD. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine,\\r\\n And in this vow do chain my soul to thine!\\r\\n And ere my knee rise from the earth\\'s cold face\\r\\n I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to Thee,\\r\\n Thou setter-up and plucker-down of kings,\\r\\n Beseeching Thee, if with Thy will it stands\\r\\n That to my foes this body must be prey,\\r\\n Yet that Thy brazen gates of heaven may ope\\r\\n And give sweet passage to my sinful soul.\\r\\n Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,\\r\\n Where\\'er it be, in heaven or in earth.\\r\\n RICHARD. Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick,\\r\\n Let me embrace thee in my weary arms.\\r\\n I that did never weep now melt with woe\\r\\n That winter should cut off our spring-time so.\\r\\n WARWICK. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farewell.\\r\\n GEORGE. Yet let us all together to our troops,\\r\\n And give them leave to fly that will not stay,\\r\\n And call them pillars that will stand to us;\\r\\n And if we thrive, promise them such rewards\\r\\n As victors wear at the Olympian games.\\r\\n This may plant courage in their quailing breasts,\\r\\n For yet is hope of life and victory.\\r\\n Forslow no longer; make we hence amain. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Another part of the field\\r\\n\\r\\nExcursions. Enter RICHARD and CLIFFORD\\r\\n\\r\\n RICHARD. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone.\\r\\n Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York,\\r\\n And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge,\\r\\n Wert thou environ\\'d with a brazen wall.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone.\\r\\n This is the hand that stabbed thy father York;\\r\\n And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland;\\r\\n And here\\'s the heart that triumphs in their death\\r\\n And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother\\r\\n To execute the like upon thyself;\\r\\n And so, have at thee! [They fight]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter WARWICK; CLIFFORD flies\\r\\n\\r\\n RICHARD. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase;\\r\\n For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Another part of the field\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum. Enter KING HENRY alone\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. This battle fares like to the morning\\'s war,\\r\\n When dying clouds contend with growing light,\\r\\n What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,\\r\\n Can neither call it perfect day nor night.\\r\\n Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea\\r\\n Forc\\'d by the tide to combat with the wind;\\r\\n Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea\\r\\n Forc\\'d to retire by fury of the wind.\\r\\n Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind;\\r\\n Now one the better, then another best;\\r\\n Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,\\r\\n Yet neither conqueror nor conquered.\\r\\n So is the equal poise of this fell war.\\r\\n Here on this molehill will I sit me down.\\r\\n To whom God will, there be the victory!\\r\\n For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,\\r\\n Have chid me from the battle, swearing both\\r\\n They prosper best of all when I am thence.\\r\\n Would I were dead, if God\\'s good will were so!\\r\\n For what is in this world but grief and woe?\\r\\n O God! methinks it were a happy life\\r\\n To be no better than a homely swain;\\r\\n To sit upon a hill, as I do now,\\r\\n To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,\\r\\n Thereby to see the minutes how they run-\\r\\n How many makes the hour full complete,\\r\\n How many hours brings about the day,\\r\\n How many days will finish up the year,\\r\\n How many years a mortal man may live.\\r\\n When this is known, then to divide the times-\\r\\n So many hours must I tend my flock;\\r\\n So many hours must I take my rest;\\r\\n So many hours must I contemplate;\\r\\n So many hours must I sport myself;\\r\\n So many days my ewes have been with young;\\r\\n So many weeks ere the poor fools will can;\\r\\n So many years ere I shall shear the fleece:\\r\\n So minutes, hours, days, months, and years,\\r\\n Pass\\'d over to the end they were created,\\r\\n Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.\\r\\n Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely!\\r\\n Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade\\r\\n To shepherds looking on their silly sheep,\\r\\n Than doth a rich embroider\\'d canopy\\r\\n To kings that fear their subjects\\' treachery?\\r\\n O yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth.\\r\\n And to conclude: the shepherd\\'s homely curds,\\r\\n His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,\\r\\n His wonted sleep under a fresh tree\\'s shade,\\r\\n All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,\\r\\n Is far beyond a prince\\'s delicates-\\r\\n His viands sparkling in a golden cup,\\r\\n His body couched in a curious bed,\\r\\n When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter a son that hath kill\\'d his Father, at\\r\\n one door; and a FATHER that hath kill\\'d his Son, at\\r\\n another door\\r\\n\\r\\n SON. Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.\\r\\n This man whom hand to hand I slew in fight\\r\\n May be possessed with some store of crowns;\\r\\n And I, that haply take them from him now,\\r\\n May yet ere night yield both my life and them\\r\\n To some man else, as this dead man doth me.\\r\\n Who\\'s this? O God! It is my father\\'s face,\\r\\n Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill\\'d.\\r\\n O heavy times, begetting such events!\\r\\n From London by the King was I press\\'d forth;\\r\\n My father, being the Earl of Warwick\\'s man,\\r\\n Came on the part of York, press\\'d by his master;\\r\\n And I, who at his hands receiv\\'d my life,\\r\\n Have by my hands of life bereaved him.\\r\\n Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did.\\r\\n And pardon, father, for I knew not thee.\\r\\n My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks;\\r\\n And no more words till they have flow\\'d their fill.\\r\\n KING HENRY. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!\\r\\n Whiles lions war and battle for their dens,\\r\\n Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.\\r\\n Weep, wretched man; I\\'ll aid thee tear for tear;\\r\\n And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war,\\r\\n Be blind with tears and break o\\'ercharg\\'d with grief.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FATHER, bearing of his SON\\r\\n\\r\\n FATHER. Thou that so stoutly hath resisted me,\\r\\n Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold;\\r\\n For I have bought it with an hundred blows.\\r\\n But let me see. Is this our foeman\\'s face?\\r\\n Ah, no, no, no, no, it is mine only son!\\r\\n Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,\\r\\n Throw up thine eye! See, see what show\\'rs arise,\\r\\n Blown with the windy tempest of my heart\\r\\n Upon thy wounds, that kills mine eye and heart!\\r\\n O, pity, God, this miserable age!\\r\\n What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly,\\r\\n Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural,\\r\\n This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!\\r\\n O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,\\r\\n And hath bereft thee of thy life too late!\\r\\n KING HENRY. Woe above woe! grief more than common grief!\\r\\n O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!\\r\\n O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!\\r\\n The red rose and the white are on his face,\\r\\n The fatal colours of our striving houses:\\r\\n The one his purple blood right well resembles;\\r\\n The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth.\\r\\n Wither one rose, and let the other flourish!\\r\\n If you contend, a thousand lives must perish.\\r\\n SON. How will my mother for a father\\'s death\\r\\n Take on with me, and ne\\'er be satisfied!\\r\\n FATHER. How will my wife for slaughter of my son\\r\\n Shed seas of tears, and ne\\'er be satisfied!\\r\\n KING HENRY. How will the country for these woeful chances\\r\\n Misthink the King, and not be satisfied!\\r\\n SON. Was ever son so rued a father\\'s death?\\r\\n FATHER. Was ever father so bemoan\\'d his son?\\r\\n KING HENRY. Was ever king so griev\\'d for subjects\\' woe?\\r\\n Much is your sorrow; mine ten times so much.\\r\\n SON. I\\'ll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill.\\r\\n Exit with the body\\r\\n FATHER. These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet;\\r\\n My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre,\\r\\n For from my heart thine image ne\\'er shall go;\\r\\n My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;\\r\\n And so obsequious will thy father be,\\r\\n Even for the loss of thee, having no more,\\r\\n As Priam was for all his valiant sons.\\r\\n I\\'ll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will,\\r\\n For I have murdered where I should not kill.\\r\\n Exit with the body\\r\\n KING HENRY. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care,\\r\\n Here sits a king more woeful than you are.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarums, excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET,\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES, and EXETER\\r\\n\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. Fly, father, fly; for all your friends are fled,\\r\\n And Warwick rages like a chafed bull.\\r\\n Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain.\\r\\n Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds\\r\\n Having the fearful flying hare in sight,\\r\\n With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath,\\r\\n And bloody steel grasp\\'d in their ireful hands,\\r\\n Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.\\r\\n EXETER. Away! for vengeance comes along with them.\\r\\n Nay, stay not to expostulate; make speed;\\r\\n Or else come after. I\\'ll away before.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter.\\r\\n Not that I fear to stay, but love to go\\r\\n Whither the Queen intends. Forward; away! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Another part of the field\\r\\n\\r\\nA loud alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded\\r\\n\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies,\\r\\n Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light.\\r\\n O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow\\r\\n More than my body\\'s parting with my soul!\\r\\n My love and fear glu\\'d many friends to thee;\\r\\n And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts,\\r\\n Impairing Henry, strength\\'ning misproud York.\\r\\n The common people swarm like summer flies;\\r\\n And whither fly the gnats but to the sun?\\r\\n And who shines now but Henry\\'s enemies?\\r\\n O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent\\r\\n That Phaethon should check thy fiery steeds,\\r\\n Thy burning car never had scorch\\'d the earth!\\r\\n And, Henry, hadst thou sway\\'d as kings should do,\\r\\n Or as thy father and his father did,\\r\\n Giving no ground unto the house of York,\\r\\n They never then had sprung like summer flies;\\r\\n I and ten thousand in this luckless realm\\r\\n Had left no mourning widows for our death;\\r\\n And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.\\r\\n For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air?\\r\\n And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity?\\r\\n Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds.\\r\\n No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight.\\r\\n The foe is merciless and will not pity;\\r\\n For at their hands I have deserv\\'d no pity.\\r\\n The air hath got into my deadly wounds,\\r\\n And much effuse of blood doth make me faint.\\r\\n Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest;\\r\\n I stabb\\'d your fathers\\' bosoms: split my breast.\\r\\n [He faints]\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD\\r\\n MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n EDWARD. Now breathe we, lords. Good fortune bids us pause\\r\\n And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.\\r\\n Some troops pursue the bloody-minded Queen\\r\\n That led calm Henry, though he were a king,\\r\\n As doth a sail, fill\\'d with a fretting gust,\\r\\n Command an argosy to stern the waves.\\r\\n But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them?\\r\\n WARWICK. No, \\'tis impossible he should escape;\\r\\n For, though before his face I speak the words,\\r\\n Your brother Richard mark\\'d him for the grave;\\r\\n And, whereso\\'er he is, he\\'s surely dead.\\r\\n [CLIFFORD groans, and dies]\\r\\n RICHARD. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave?\\r\\n A deadly groan, like life and death\\'s departing.\\r\\n See who it is.\\r\\n EDWARD. And now the battle\\'s ended,\\r\\n If friend or foe, let him be gently used.\\r\\n RICHARD. Revoke that doom of mercy, for \\'tis Clifford;\\r\\n Who not contented that he lopp\\'d the branch\\r\\n In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth,\\r\\n But set his murd\\'ring knife unto the root\\r\\n From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring-\\r\\n I mean our princely father, Duke of York.\\r\\n WARWICK. From off the gates of York fetch down the head,\\r\\n Your father\\'s head, which Clifford placed there;\\r\\n Instead whereof let this supply the room.\\r\\n Measure for measure must be answered.\\r\\n EDWARD. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house,\\r\\n That nothing sung but death to us and ours.\\r\\n Now death shall stop his dismal threat\\'ning sound,\\r\\n And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.\\r\\n WARWICK. I think his understanding is bereft.\\r\\n Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee?\\r\\n Dark cloudy death o\\'ershades his beams of life,\\r\\n And he nor sees nor hears us what we say.\\r\\n RICHARD. O, would he did! and so, perhaps, he doth.\\r\\n \\'Tis but his policy to counterfeit,\\r\\n Because he would avoid such bitter taunts\\r\\n Which in the time of death he gave our father.\\r\\n GEORGE. If so thou think\\'st, vex him with eager words.\\r\\n RICHARD. Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace.\\r\\n EDWARD. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.\\r\\n WARWICK. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.\\r\\n GEORGE. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.\\r\\n RICHARD. Thou didst love York, and I am son to York.\\r\\n EDWARD. Thou pitied\\'st Rutland, I will pity thee.\\r\\n GEORGE. Where\\'s Captain Margaret, to fence you now?\\r\\n WARWICK. They mock thee, Clifford; swear as thou wast wont.\\r\\n RICHARD. What, not an oath? Nay, then the world goes hard\\r\\n When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath.\\r\\n I know by that he\\'s dead; and by my soul,\\r\\n If this right hand would buy two hours\\' life,\\r\\n That I in all despite might rail at him,\\r\\n This hand should chop it off, and with the issuing blood\\r\\n Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst\\r\\n York and young Rutland could not satisfy.\\r\\n WARWICK. Ay, but he\\'s dead. Off with the traitor\\'s head,\\r\\n And rear it in the place your father\\'s stands.\\r\\n And now to London with triumphant march,\\r\\n There to be crowned England\\'s royal King;\\r\\n From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France,\\r\\n And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen.\\r\\n So shalt thou sinew both these lands together;\\r\\n And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread\\r\\n The scatt\\'red foe that hopes to rise again;\\r\\n For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,\\r\\n Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears.\\r\\n First will I see the coronation;\\r\\n And then to Brittany I\\'ll cross the sea\\r\\n To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.\\r\\n EDWARD. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be;\\r\\n For in thy shoulder do I build my seat,\\r\\n And never will I undertake the thing\\r\\n Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting.\\r\\n Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester;\\r\\n And George, of Clarence; Warwick, as ourself,\\r\\n Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best.\\r\\n RICHARD. Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester;\\r\\n For Gloucester\\'s dukedom is too ominous.\\r\\n WARWICK. Tut, that\\'s a foolish observation.\\r\\n Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London\\r\\n To see these honours in possession. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. A chase in the north of England\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter two KEEPERS, with cross-bows in their hands\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST KEEPER. Under this thick-grown brake we\\'ll shroud ourselves,\\r\\n For through this laund anon the deer will come;\\r\\n And in this covert will we make our stand,\\r\\n Culling the principal of all the deer.\\r\\n SECOND KEEPER. I\\'ll stay above the hill, so both may shoot.\\r\\n FIRST KEEPER. That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow\\r\\n Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost.\\r\\n Here stand we both, and aim we at the best;\\r\\n And, for the time shall not seem tedious,\\r\\n I\\'ll tell thee what befell me on a day\\r\\n In this self-place where now we mean to stand.\\r\\n SECOND KEEPER. Here comes a man; let\\'s stay till he be past.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING HENRY, disguised, with a prayer-book\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. From Scotland am I stol\\'n, even of pure love,\\r\\n To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.\\r\\n No, Harry, Harry, \\'tis no land of thine;\\r\\n Thy place is fill\\'d, thy sceptre wrung from thee,\\r\\n Thy balm wash\\'d off wherewith thou wast anointed.\\r\\n No bending knee will call thee Caesar now,\\r\\n No humble suitors press to speak for right,\\r\\n No, not a man comes for redress of thee;\\r\\n For how can I help them and not myself?\\r\\n FIRST KEEPER. Ay, here\\'s a deer whose skin\\'s a keeper\\'s fee.\\r\\n This is the quondam King; let\\'s seize upon him.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Let me embrace thee, sour adversity,\\r\\n For wise men say it is the wisest course.\\r\\n SECOND KEEPER. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.\\r\\n FIRST KEEPER. Forbear awhile; we\\'ll hear a little more.\\r\\n KING HENRY. My Queen and son are gone to France for aid;\\r\\n And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick\\r\\n Is thither gone to crave the French King\\'s sister\\r\\n To wife for Edward. If this news be true,\\r\\n Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost;\\r\\n For Warwick is a subtle orator,\\r\\n And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words.\\r\\n By this account, then, Margaret may win him;\\r\\n For she\\'s a woman to be pitied much.\\r\\n Her sighs will make a batt\\'ry in his breast;\\r\\n Her tears will pierce into a marble heart;\\r\\n The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn;\\r\\n And Nero will be tainted with remorse\\r\\n To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears.\\r\\n Ay, but she\\'s come to beg: Warwick, to give.\\r\\n She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry:\\r\\n He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward.\\r\\n She weeps, and says her Henry is depos\\'d:\\r\\n He smiles, and says his Edward is install\\'d;\\r\\n That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more;\\r\\n Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong,\\r\\n Inferreth arguments of mighty strength,\\r\\n And in conclusion wins the King from her\\r\\n With promise of his sister, and what else,\\r\\n To strengthen and support King Edward\\'s place.\\r\\n O Margaret, thus \\'twill be; and thou, poor soul,\\r\\n Art then forsaken, as thou went\\'st forlorn!\\r\\n SECOND KEEPER. Say, what art thou that talk\\'st of kings and queens?\\r\\n KING HENRY. More than I seem, and less than I was born to:\\r\\n A man at least, for less I should not be;\\r\\n And men may talk of kings, and why not I?\\r\\n SECOND KEEPER. Ay, but thou talk\\'st as if thou wert a king.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Why, so I am- in mind; and that\\'s enough.\\r\\n SECOND KEEPER. But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown?\\r\\n KING HENRY. My crown is in my heart, not on my head;\\r\\n Not deck\\'d with diamonds and Indian stones,\\r\\n Not to be seen. My crown is call\\'d content;\\r\\n A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.\\r\\n SECOND KEEPER. Well, if you be a king crown\\'d with content,\\r\\n Your crown content and you must be contented\\r\\n To go along with us; for as we think,\\r\\n You are the king King Edward hath depos\\'d;\\r\\n And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance,\\r\\n Will apprehend you as his enemy.\\r\\n KING HENRY. But did you never swear, and break an oath?\\r\\n SECOND KEEPER. No, never such an oath; nor will not now.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Where did you dwell when I was King of England?\\r\\n SECOND KEEPER. Here in this country, where we now remain.\\r\\n KING HENRY. I was anointed king at nine months old;\\r\\n My father and my grandfather were kings;\\r\\n And you were sworn true subjects unto me;\\r\\n And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths?\\r\\n FIRST KEEPER. No;\\r\\n For we were subjects but while you were king.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Why, am I dead? Do I not breathe a man?\\r\\n Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear!\\r\\n Look, as I blow this feather from my face,\\r\\n And as the air blows it to me again,\\r\\n Obeying with my wind when I do blow,\\r\\n And yielding to another when it blows,\\r\\n Commanded always by the greater gust,\\r\\n Such is the lightness of you common men.\\r\\n But do not break your oaths; for of that sin\\r\\n My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty.\\r\\n Go where you will, the King shall be commanded;\\r\\n And be you kings: command, and I\\'ll obey.\\r\\n FIRST KEEPER. We are true subjects to the King, King Edward.\\r\\n KING HENRY. So would you be again to Henry,\\r\\n If he were seated as King Edward is.\\r\\n FIRST KEEPER. We charge you, in God\\'s name and the King\\'s,\\r\\n To go with us unto the officers.\\r\\n KING HENRY. In God\\'s name, lead; your King\\'s name be obey\\'d;\\r\\n And what God will, that let your King perform;\\r\\n And what he will, I humbly yield unto. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. London. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and LADY GREY\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Brother of Gloucester, at Saint Albans\\' field\\r\\n This lady\\'s husband, Sir Richard Grey, was slain,\\r\\n His land then seiz\\'d on by the conqueror.\\r\\n Her suit is now to repossess those lands;\\r\\n Which we in justice cannot well deny,\\r\\n Because in quarrel of the house of York\\r\\n The worthy gentleman did lose his life.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Your Highness shall do well to grant her suit;\\r\\n It were dishonour to deny it her.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. It were no less; but yet I\\'ll make a pause.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] Yea, is it so?\\r\\n I see the lady hath a thing to grant,\\r\\n Before the King will grant her humble suit.\\r\\n CLARENCE. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] He knows the game; how true he\\r\\n keeps the wind!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] Silence!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Widow, we will consider of your suit;\\r\\n And come some other time to know our mind.\\r\\n LADY GREY. Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay.\\r\\n May it please your Highness to resolve me now;\\r\\n And what your pleasure is shall satisfy me.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Ay, widow? Then I\\'ll warrant you all your\\r\\n lands,\\r\\n An if what pleases him shall pleasure you.\\r\\n Fight closer or, good faith, you\\'ll catch a blow.\\r\\n CLARENCE. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] I fear her not, unless she chance\\r\\n to fall.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] God forbid that, for he\\'ll take\\r\\n vantages.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. How many children hast thou, widow, tell me.\\r\\n CLARENCE. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] I think he means to beg a child of\\r\\n her.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] Nay, then whip me; he\\'ll rather\\r\\n give her two.\\r\\n LADY GREY. Three, my most gracious lord.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside] You shall have four if you\\'ll be rul\\'d by him.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. \\'Twere pity they should lose their father\\'s lands.\\r\\n LADY GREY. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it, then.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Lords, give us leave; I\\'ll try this widow\\'s wit.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Ay, good leave have you; for you will have\\r\\n leave\\r\\n Till youth take leave and leave you to the crutch.\\r\\n [GLOUCESTER and CLARENCE withdraw]\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Now tell me, madam, do you love your children?\\r\\n LADY GREY. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. And would you not do much to do them good?\\r\\n LADY GREY. To do them good I would sustain some harm.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Then get your husband\\'s lands, to do them good.\\r\\n LADY GREY. Therefore I came unto your Majesty.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. I\\'ll tell you how these lands are to be got.\\r\\n LADY GREY. So shall you bind me to your Highness\\' service.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. What service wilt thou do me if I give them?\\r\\n LADY GREY. What you command that rests in me to do.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. But you will take exceptions to my boon.\\r\\n LADY GREY. No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask.\\r\\n LADY GREY. Why, then I will do what your Grace commands.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He plies her hard; and much rain wears the marble.\\r\\n CLARENCE. As red as fire! Nay, then her wax must melt.\\r\\n LADY GREY. Why stops my lord? Shall I not hear my task?\\r\\n KING EDWARD. An easy task; \\'tis but to love a king.\\r\\n LADY GREY. That\\'s soon perform\\'d, because I am a subject.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Why, then, thy husband\\'s lands I freely give thee.\\r\\n LADY GREY. I take my leave with many thousand thanks.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The match is made; she seals it with a curtsy.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. But stay thee- \\'tis the fruits of love I mean.\\r\\n LADY GREY. The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense.\\r\\n What love, thinkst thou, I sue so much to get?\\r\\n LADY GREY. My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers;\\r\\n That love which virtue begs and virtue grants.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. No, by my troth, I did not mean such love.\\r\\n LADY GREY. Why, then you mean not as I thought you did.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. But now you partly may perceive my mind.\\r\\n LADY GREY. My mind will never grant what I perceive\\r\\n Your Highness aims at, if I aim aright.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee.\\r\\n LADY GREY. To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Why, then thou shalt not have thy husband\\'s lands.\\r\\n LADY GREY. Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower;\\r\\n For by that loss I will not purchase them.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Therein thou wrong\\'st thy children mightily.\\r\\n LADY GREY. Herein your Highness wrongs both them and me.\\r\\n But, mighty lord, this merry inclination\\r\\n Accords not with the sadness of my suit.\\r\\n Please you dismiss me, either with ay or no.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Ay, if thou wilt say ay to my request;\\r\\n No, if thou dost say no to my demand.\\r\\n LADY GREY. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The widow likes him not; she knits her brows.\\r\\n CLARENCE. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. [Aside] Her looks doth argue her replete with modesty;\\r\\n Her words doth show her wit incomparable;\\r\\n All her perfections challenge sovereignty.\\r\\n One way or other, she is for a king;\\r\\n And she shall be my love, or else my queen.\\r\\n Say that King Edward take thee for his queen?\\r\\n LADY GREY. \\'Tis better said than done, my gracious lord.\\r\\n I am a subject fit to jest withal,\\r\\n But far unfit to be a sovereign.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee\\r\\n I speak no more than what my soul intends;\\r\\n And that is to enjoy thee for my love.\\r\\n LADY GREY. And that is more than I will yield unto.\\r\\n I know I am too mean to be your queen,\\r\\n And yet too good to be your concubine.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. You cavil, widow; I did mean my queen.\\r\\n LADY GREY. \\'Twill grieve your Grace my sons should call you father.\\r\\n KING EDWARD.No more than when my daughters call thee mother.\\r\\n Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children;\\r\\n And, by God\\'s Mother, I, being but a bachelor,\\r\\n Have other some. Why, \\'tis a happy thing\\r\\n To be the father unto many sons.\\r\\n Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The ghostly father now hath done his shrift.\\r\\n CLARENCE. When he was made a shriver, \\'twas for shrift.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. You\\'d think it strange if I should marry her.\\r\\n CLARENCE. To who, my lord?\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Why, Clarence, to myself.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. That would be ten days\\' wonder at the least.\\r\\n CLARENCE. That\\'s a day longer than a wonder lasts.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. By so much is the wonder in extremes.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Well, jest on, brothers; I can tell you both\\r\\n Her suit is granted for her husband\\'s lands.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a NOBLEMAN\\r\\n\\r\\n NOBLEMAN. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken\\r\\n And brought your prisoner to your palace gate.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. See that he be convey\\'d unto the Tower.\\r\\n And go we, brothers, to the man that took him\\r\\n To question of his apprehension.\\r\\n Widow, go you along. Lords, use her honourably.\\r\\n Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ay, Edward will use women honourably.\\r\\n Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all,\\r\\n That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring\\r\\n To cross me from the golden time I look for!\\r\\n And yet, between my soul\\'s desire and me-\\r\\n The lustful Edward\\'s title buried-\\r\\n Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward,\\r\\n And all the unlook\\'d for issue of their bodies,\\r\\n To take their rooms ere I can place myself.\\r\\n A cold premeditation for my purpose!\\r\\n Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty;\\r\\n Like one that stands upon a promontory\\r\\n And spies a far-off shore where he would tread,\\r\\n Wishing his foot were equal with his eye;\\r\\n And chides the sea that sunders him from thence,\\r\\n Saying he\\'ll lade it dry to have his way-\\r\\n So do I wish the crown, being so far off;\\r\\n And so I chide the means that keeps me from it;\\r\\n And so I say I\\'ll cut the causes off,\\r\\n Flattering me with impossibilities.\\r\\n My eye\\'s too quick, my heart o\\'erweens too much,\\r\\n Unless my hand and strength could equal them.\\r\\n Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard;\\r\\n What other pleasure can the world afford?\\r\\n I\\'ll make my heaven in a lady\\'s lap,\\r\\n And deck my body in gay ornaments,\\r\\n And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.\\r\\n O miserable thought! and more unlikely\\r\\n Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns.\\r\\n Why, love forswore me in my mother\\'s womb;\\r\\n And, for I should not deal in her soft laws,\\r\\n She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe\\r\\n To shrink mine arm up like a wither\\'d shrub\\r\\n To make an envious mountain on my back,\\r\\n Where sits deformity to mock my body;\\r\\n To shape my legs of an unequal size;\\r\\n To disproportion me in every part,\\r\\n Like to a chaos, or an unlick\\'d bear-whelp\\r\\n That carries no impression like the dam.\\r\\n And am I, then, a man to be belov\\'d?\\r\\n O monstrous fault to harbour such a thought!\\r\\n Then, since this earth affords no joy to me\\r\\n But to command, to check, to o\\'erbear such\\r\\n As are of better person than myself,\\r\\n I\\'ll make my heaven to dream upon the crown,\\r\\n And whiles I live t\\' account this world but hell,\\r\\n Until my misshap\\'d trunk that bear this head\\r\\n Be round impaled with a glorious crown.\\r\\n And yet I know not how to get the crown,\\r\\n For many lives stand between me and home;\\r\\n And I- like one lost in a thorny wood\\r\\n That rents the thorns and is rent with the thorns,\\r\\n Seeking a way and straying from the way\\r\\n Not knowing how to find the open air,\\r\\n But toiling desperately to find it out-\\r\\n Torment myself to catch the English crown;\\r\\n And from that torment I will free myself\\r\\n Or hew my way out with a bloody axe.\\r\\n Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile,\\r\\n And cry \\'Content!\\' to that which grieves my heart,\\r\\n And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,\\r\\n And frame my face to all occasions.\\r\\n I\\'ll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall;\\r\\n I\\'ll slay more gazers than the basilisk;\\r\\n I\\'ll play the orator as well as Nestor,\\r\\n Deceive more slily than Ulysses could,\\r\\n And, like a Sinon, take another Troy.\\r\\n I can add colours to the chameleon,\\r\\n Change shapes with Protheus for advantages,\\r\\n And set the murderous Machiavel to school.\\r\\n Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?\\r\\n Tut, were it farther off, I\\'ll pluck it down. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. France. The KING\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter LEWIS the French King, his sister BONA, his Admiral\\r\\ncall\\'d BOURBON; PRINCE EDWARD, QUEEN MARGARET, and the EARL of OXFORD.\\r\\nLEWIS sits, and riseth up again\\r\\n\\r\\n LEWIS. Fair Queen of England, worthy Margaret,\\r\\n Sit down with us. It ill befits thy state\\r\\n And birth that thou shouldst stand while Lewis doth sit.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. No, mighty King of France. Now Margaret\\r\\n Must strike her sail and learn a while to serve\\r\\n Where kings command. I was, I must confess,\\r\\n Great Albion\\'s Queen in former golden days;\\r\\n But now mischance hath trod my title down\\r\\n And with dishonour laid me on the ground,\\r\\n Where I must take like seat unto my fortune,\\r\\n And to my humble seat conform myself.\\r\\n LEWIS. Why, say, fair Queen, whence springs this deep despair?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears\\r\\n And stops my tongue, while heart is drown\\'d in cares.\\r\\n LEWIS. Whate\\'er it be, be thou still like thyself,\\r\\n And sit thee by our side. [Seats her by him] Yield not thy neck\\r\\n To fortune\\'s yoke, but let thy dauntless mind\\r\\n Still ride in triumph over all mischance.\\r\\n Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief;\\r\\n It shall be eas\\'d, if France can yield relief.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Those gracious words revive my drooping thoughts\\r\\n And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak.\\r\\n Now therefore be it known to noble Lewis\\r\\n That Henry, sole possessor of my love,\\r\\n Is, of a king, become a banish\\'d man,\\r\\n And forc\\'d to live in Scotland a forlorn;\\r\\n While proud ambitious Edward Duke of York\\r\\n Usurps the regal title and the seat\\r\\n Of England\\'s true-anointed lawful King.\\r\\n This is the cause that I, poor Margaret,\\r\\n With this my son, Prince Edward, Henry\\'s heir,\\r\\n Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid;\\r\\n And if thou fail us, all our hope is done.\\r\\n Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help;\\r\\n Our people and our peers are both misled,\\r\\n Our treasure seiz\\'d, our soldiers put to flight,\\r\\n And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight.\\r\\n LEWIS. Renowned Queen, with patience calm the storm,\\r\\n While we bethink a means to break it off.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe.\\r\\n LEWIS. The more I stay, the more I\\'ll succour thee.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow.\\r\\n And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter WARWICK\\r\\n\\r\\n LEWIS. What\\'s he approacheth boldly to our presence?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Our Earl of Warwick, Edward\\'s greatest friend.\\r\\n LEWIS. Welcome, brave Warwick! What brings thee to France?\\r\\n [He descends. She ariseth]\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, now begins a second storm to rise;\\r\\n For this is he that moves both wind and tide.\\r\\n WARWICK. From worthy Edward, King of Albion,\\r\\n My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend,\\r\\n I come, in kindness and unfeigned love,\\r\\n First to do greetings to thy royal person,\\r\\n And then to crave a league of amity,\\r\\n And lastly to confirm that amity\\r\\n With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant\\r\\n That virtuous Lady Bona, thy fair sister,\\r\\n To England\\'s King in lawful marriage.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. [Aside] If that go forward, Henry\\'s hope is done.\\r\\n WARWICK. [To BONA] And, gracious madam, in our king\\'s behalf,\\r\\n I am commanded, with your leave and favour,\\r\\n Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue\\r\\n To tell the passion of my sovereign\\'s heart;\\r\\n Where fame, late ent\\'ring at his heedful ears,\\r\\n Hath plac\\'d thy beauty\\'s image and thy virtue.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. King Lewis and Lady Bona, hear me speak\\r\\n Before you answer Warwick. His demand\\r\\n Springs not from Edward\\'s well-meant honest love,\\r\\n But from deceit bred by necessity;\\r\\n For how can tyrants safely govern home\\r\\n Unless abroad they purchase great alliance?\\r\\n To prove him tyrant this reason may suffice,\\r\\n That Henry liveth still; but were he dead,\\r\\n Yet here Prince Edward stands, King Henry\\'s son.\\r\\n Look therefore, Lewis, that by this league and marriage\\r\\n Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour;\\r\\n For though usurpers sway the rule a while\\r\\n Yet heav\\'ns are just, and time suppresseth wrongs.\\r\\n WARWICK. Injurious Margaret!\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. And why not Queen?\\r\\n WARWICK. Because thy father Henry did usurp;\\r\\n And thou no more art prince than she is queen.\\r\\n OXFORD. Then Warwick disannuls great John of Gaunt,\\r\\n Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain;\\r\\n And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth,\\r\\n Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest;\\r\\n And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth,\\r\\n Who by his prowess conquered all France.\\r\\n From these our Henry lineally descends.\\r\\n WARWICK. Oxford, how haps it in this smooth discourse\\r\\n You told not how Henry the Sixth hath lost\\r\\n All that which Henry the Fifth had gotten?\\r\\n Methinks these peers of France should smile at that.\\r\\n But for the rest: you tell a pedigree\\r\\n Of threescore and two years- a silly time\\r\\n To make prescription for a kingdom\\'s worth.\\r\\n OXFORD. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy liege,\\r\\n Whom thou obeyed\\'st thirty and six years,\\r\\n And not betray thy treason with a blush?\\r\\n WARWICK. Can Oxford that did ever fence the right\\r\\n Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree?\\r\\n For shame! Leave Henry, and call Edward king.\\r\\n OXFORD. Call him my king by whose injurious doom\\r\\n My elder brother, the Lord Aubrey Vere,\\r\\n Was done to death; and more than so, my father,\\r\\n Even in the downfall of his mellow\\'d years,\\r\\n When nature brought him to the door of death?\\r\\n No, Warwick, no; while life upholds this arm,\\r\\n This arm upholds the house of Lancaster.\\r\\n WARWICK. And I the house of York.\\r\\n LEWIS. Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, and Oxford,\\r\\n Vouchsafe at our request to stand aside\\r\\n While I use further conference with Warwick.\\r\\n [They stand aloof]\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Heavens grant that Warwick\\'s words bewitch him not!\\r\\n LEWIS. Now, Warwick, tell me, even upon thy conscience,\\r\\n Is Edward your true king? for I were loath\\r\\n To link with him that were not lawful chosen.\\r\\n WARWICK. Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour.\\r\\n LEWIS. But is he gracious in the people\\'s eye?\\r\\n WARWICK. The more that Henry was unfortunate.\\r\\n LEWIS. Then further: all dissembling set aside,\\r\\n Tell me for truth the measure of his love\\r\\n Unto our sister Bona.\\r\\n WARWICK. Such it seems\\r\\n As may beseem a monarch like himself.\\r\\n Myself have often heard him say and swear\\r\\n That this his love was an eternal plant\\r\\n Whereof the root was fix\\'d in virtue\\'s ground,\\r\\n The leaves and fruit maintain\\'d with beauty\\'s sun,\\r\\n Exempt from envy, but not from disdain,\\r\\n Unless the Lady Bona quit his pain.\\r\\n LEWIS. Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve.\\r\\n BONA. Your grant or your denial shall be mine.\\r\\n [To WARWICK] Yet I confess that often ere this day,\\r\\n When I have heard your king\\'s desert recounted,\\r\\n Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire.\\r\\n LEWIS. Then, Warwick, thus: our sister shall be Edward\\'s.\\r\\n And now forthwith shall articles be drawn\\r\\n Touching the jointure that your king must make,\\r\\n Which with her dowry shall be counterpois\\'d.\\r\\n Draw near, Queen Margaret, and be a witness\\r\\n That Bona shall be wife to the English king.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. To Edward, but not to the English king.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Deceitful Warwick, it was thy device\\r\\n By this alliance to make void my suit.\\r\\n Before thy coming, Lewis was Henry\\'s friend.\\r\\n LEWIS. And still is friend to him and Margaret.\\r\\n But if your title to the crown be weak,\\r\\n As may appear by Edward\\'s good success,\\r\\n Then \\'tis but reason that I be releas\\'d\\r\\n From giving aid which late I promised.\\r\\n Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand\\r\\n That your estate requires and mine can yield.\\r\\n WARWICK. Henry now lives in Scotland at his case,\\r\\n Where having nothing, nothing can he lose.\\r\\n And as for you yourself, our quondam queen,\\r\\n You have a father able to maintain you,\\r\\n And better \\'twere you troubled him than France.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick,\\r\\n Proud setter up and puller down of kings!\\r\\n I will not hence till with my talk and tears,\\r\\n Both full of truth, I make King Lewis behold\\r\\n Thy sly conveyance and thy lord\\'s false love;\\r\\n For both of you are birds of self-same feather.\\r\\n [POST blowing a horn within]\\r\\n LEWIS. Warwick, this is some post to us or thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the POST\\r\\n\\r\\n POST. My lord ambassador, these letters are for you,\\r\\n Sent from your brother, Marquis Montague.\\r\\n These from our King unto your Majesty.\\r\\n And, madam, these for you; from whom I know not.\\r\\n [They all read their letters]\\r\\n OXFORD. I like it well that our fair Queen and mistress\\r\\n Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. Nay, mark how Lewis stamps as he were nettled.\\r\\n I hope all\\'s for the best.\\r\\n LEWIS. Warwick, what are thy news? And yours, fair Queen?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Mine such as fill my heart with unhop\\'d joys.\\r\\n WARWICK. Mine, full of sorrow and heart\\'s discontent.\\r\\n LEWIS. What, has your king married the Lady Grey?\\r\\n And now, to soothe your forgery and his,\\r\\n Sends me a paper to persuade me patience?\\r\\n Is this th\\' alliance that he seeks with France?\\r\\n Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. I told your Majesty as much before.\\r\\n This proveth Edward\\'s love and Warwick\\'s honesty.\\r\\n WARWICK. King Lewis, I here protest in sight of heaven,\\r\\n And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss,\\r\\n That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward\\'s-\\r\\n No more my king, for he dishonours me,\\r\\n But most himself, if he could see his shame.\\r\\n Did I forget that by the house of York\\r\\n My father came untimely to his death?\\r\\n Did I let pass th\\' abuse done to my niece?\\r\\n Did I impale him with the regal crown?\\r\\n Did I put Henry from his native right?\\r\\n And am I guerdon\\'d at the last with shame?\\r\\n Shame on himself! for my desert is honour;\\r\\n And to repair my honour lost for him\\r\\n I here renounce him and return to Henry.\\r\\n My noble Queen, let former grudges pass,\\r\\n And henceforth I am thy true servitor.\\r\\n I will revenge his wrong to Lady Bona,\\r\\n And replant Henry in his former state.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Warwick, these words have turn\\'d my hate to love;\\r\\n And I forgive and quite forget old faults,\\r\\n And joy that thou becom\\'st King Henry\\'s friend.\\r\\n WARWICK. So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend,\\r\\n That if King Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us\\r\\n With some few bands of chosen soldiers,\\r\\n I\\'ll undertake to land them on our coast\\r\\n And force the tyrant from his seat by war.\\r\\n \\'Tis not his new-made bride shall succour him;\\r\\n And as for Clarence, as my letters tell me,\\r\\n He\\'s very likely now to fall from him\\r\\n For matching more for wanton lust than honour\\r\\n Or than for strength and safety of our country.\\r\\n BONA. Dear brother, how shall Bona be reveng\\'d\\r\\n But by thy help to this distressed queen?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Renowned Prince, how shall poor Henry live\\r\\n Unless thou rescue him from foul despair?\\r\\n BONA. My quarrel and this English queen\\'s are one.\\r\\n WARWICK. And mine, fair Lady Bona, joins with yours.\\r\\n LEWIS. And mine with hers, and thine, and Margaret\\'s.\\r\\n Therefore, at last, I firmly am resolv\\'d\\r\\n You shall have aid.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Let me give humble thanks for all at once.\\r\\n LEWIS. Then, England\\'s messenger, return in post\\r\\n And tell false Edward, thy supposed king,\\r\\n That Lewis of France is sending over masquers\\r\\n To revel it with him and his new bride.\\r\\n Thou seest what\\'s past; go fear thy king withal.\\r\\n BONA. Tell him, in hope he\\'ll prove a widower shortly,\\r\\n I\\'ll wear the willow-garland for his sake.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Tell him my mourning weeds are laid aside,\\r\\n And I am ready to put armour on.\\r\\n WARWICK. Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong,\\r\\n And therefore I\\'ll uncrown him ere\\'t be long.\\r\\n There\\'s thy reward; be gone. Exit POST\\r\\n LEWIS. But, Warwick,\\r\\n Thou and Oxford, with five thousand men,\\r\\n Shall cross the seas and bid false Edward battle:\\r\\n And, as occasion serves, this noble Queen\\r\\n And Prince shall follow with a fresh supply.\\r\\n Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt:\\r\\n What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty?\\r\\n WARWICK. This shall assure my constant loyalty:\\r\\n That if our Queen and this young Prince agree,\\r\\n I\\'ll join mine eldest daughter and my joy\\r\\n To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Yes, I agree, and thank you for your motion.\\r\\n Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous,\\r\\n Therefore delay not- give thy hand to Warwick;\\r\\n And with thy hand thy faith irrevocable\\r\\n That only Warwick\\'s daughter shall be thine.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it;\\r\\n And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand.\\r\\n [He gives his hand to WARWICK]\\r\\n LEWIS. stay we now? These soldiers shall be levied;\\r\\n And thou, Lord Bourbon, our High Admiral,\\r\\n Shall waft them over with our royal fleet.\\r\\n I long till Edward fall by war\\'s mischance\\r\\n For mocking marriage with a dame of France.\\r\\n Exeunt all but WARWICK\\r\\n WARWICK. I came from Edward as ambassador,\\r\\n But I return his sworn and mortal foe.\\r\\n Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me,\\r\\n But dreadful war shall answer his demand.\\r\\n Had he none else to make a stale but me?\\r\\n Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow.\\r\\n I was the chief that rais\\'d him to the crown,\\r\\n And I\\'ll be chief to bring him down again;\\r\\n Not that I pity Henry\\'s misery,\\r\\n But seek revenge on Edward\\'s mockery. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I. London. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, SOMERSET, and MONTAGUE\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you\\r\\n Of this new marriage with the Lady Grey?\\r\\n Hath not our brother made a worthy choice?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Alas, you know \\'tis far from hence to France!\\r\\n How could he stay till Warwick made return?\\r\\n SOMERSET. My lords, forbear this talk; here comes the King.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, attended; LADY\\r\\n GREY, as Queen; PEMBROKE, STAFFORD, HASTINGS,\\r\\n and others. Four stand on one side, and four on the other\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And his well-chosen bride.\\r\\n CLARENCE. I mind to tell him plainly what I think.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Now, brother of Clarence, how like you our choice\\r\\n That you stand pensive as half malcontent?\\r\\n CLARENCE. As well as Lewis of France or the Earl of Warwick,\\r\\n Which are so weak of courage and in judgment\\r\\n That they\\'ll take no offence at our abuse.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Suppose they take offence without a cause;\\r\\n They are but Lewis and Warwick: I am Edward,\\r\\n Your King and Warwick\\'s and must have my will.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And shall have your will, because our King.\\r\\n Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Not I.\\r\\n No, God forbid that I should wish them sever\\'d\\r\\n Whom God hath join\\'d together; ay, and \\'twere pity\\r\\n To sunder them that yoke so well together.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Setting your scorns and your mislike aside,\\r\\n Tell me some reason why the Lady Grey\\r\\n Should not become my wife and England\\'s Queen.\\r\\n And you too, Somerset and Montague,\\r\\n Speak freely what you think.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Then this is mine opinion: that King Lewis\\r\\n Becomes your enemy for mocking him\\r\\n About the marriage of the Lady Bona.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge,\\r\\n Is now dishonoured by this new marriage.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. What if both Lewis and Warwick be appeas\\'d\\r\\n By such invention as I can devise?\\r\\n MONTAGUE. Yet to have join\\'d with France in such alliance\\r\\n Would more have strength\\'ned this our commonwealth\\r\\n \\'Gainst foreign storms than any home-bred marriage.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Why, knows not Montague that of itself\\r\\n England is safe, if true within itself?\\r\\n MONTAGUE. But the safer when \\'tis back\\'d with France.\\r\\n HASTINGS. \\'Tis better using France than trusting France.\\r\\n Let us be back\\'d with God, and with the seas\\r\\n Which He hath giv\\'n for fence impregnable,\\r\\n And with their helps only defend ourselves.\\r\\n In them and in ourselves our safety lies.\\r\\n CLARENCE. For this one speech Lord Hastings well deserves\\r\\n To have the heir of the Lord Hungerford.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Ay, what of that? it was my will and grant;\\r\\n And for this once my will shall stand for law.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And yet methinks your Grace hath not done well\\r\\n To give the heir and daughter of Lord Scales\\r\\n Unto the brother of your loving bride.\\r\\n She better would have fitted me or Clarence;\\r\\n But in your bride you bury brotherhood.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Or else you would not have bestow\\'d the heir\\r\\n Of the Lord Bonville on your new wife\\'s son,\\r\\n And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Alas, poor Clarence! Is it for a wife\\r\\n That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee.\\r\\n CLARENCE. In choosing for yourself you show\\'d your judgment,\\r\\n Which being shallow, you shall give me leave\\r\\n To play the broker in mine own behalf;\\r\\n And to that end I shortly mind to leave you.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Leave me or tarry, Edward will be King,\\r\\n And not be tied unto his brother\\'s will.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. My lords, before it pleas\\'d his Majesty\\r\\n To raise my state to title of a queen,\\r\\n Do me but right, and you must all confess\\r\\n That I was not ignoble of descent:\\r\\n And meaner than myself have had like fortune.\\r\\n But as this title honours me and mine,\\r\\n So your dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing,\\r\\n Doth cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. My love, forbear to fawn upon their frowns.\\r\\n What danger or what sorrow can befall thee,\\r\\n So long as Edward is thy constant friend\\r\\n And their true sovereign whom they must obey?\\r\\n Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too,\\r\\n Unless they seek for hatred at my hands;\\r\\n Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe,\\r\\n And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside] I hear, yet say not much, but think the more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a POST\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Now, messenger, what letters or what news\\r\\n From France?\\r\\n MESSENGER. My sovereign liege, no letters, and few words,\\r\\n But such as I, without your special pardon,\\r\\n Dare not relate.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Go to, we pardon thee; therefore, in brief,\\r\\n Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them.\\r\\n What answer makes King Lewis unto our letters?\\r\\n MESSENGER. At my depart, these were his very words:\\r\\n \\'Go tell false Edward, the supposed king,\\r\\n That Lewis of France is sending over masquers\\r\\n To revel it with him and his new bride.\\'\\r\\n KING EDWARD. IS Lewis so brave? Belike he thinks me Henry.\\r\\n But what said Lady Bona to my marriage?\\r\\n MESSENGER. These were her words, utt\\'red with mild disdain:\\r\\n \\'Tell him, in hope he\\'ll prove a widower shortly,\\r\\n I\\'ll wear the willow-garland for his sake.\\'\\r\\n KING EDWARD. I blame not her: she could say little less;\\r\\n She had the wrong. But what said Henry\\'s queen?\\r\\n For I have heard that she was there in place.\\r\\n MESSENGER. \\'Tell him\\' quoth she \\'my mourning weeds are done,\\r\\n And I am ready to put armour on.\\'\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Belike she minds to play the Amazon.\\r\\n But what said Warwick to these injuries?\\r\\n MESSENGER. He, more incens\\'d against your Majesty\\r\\n Than all the rest, discharg\\'d me with these words:\\r\\n \\'Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong;\\r\\n And therefore I\\'ll uncrown him ere\\'t be long.\\'\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Ha! durst the traitor breathe out so proud words?\\r\\n Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarn\\'d.\\r\\n They shall have wars and pay for their presumption.\\r\\n But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Ay, gracious sovereign; they are so link\\'d in friendship\\r\\n That young Prince Edward marries Warwick\\'s daughter.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Belike the elder; Clarence will have the younger.\\r\\n Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast,\\r\\n For I will hence to Warwick\\'s other daughter;\\r\\n That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage\\r\\n I may not prove inferior to yourself.\\r\\n You that love me and Warwick, follow me.\\r\\n Exit, and SOMERSET follows\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Not I.\\r\\n My thoughts aim at a further matter; I\\r\\n Stay not for the love of Edward but the crown.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Clarence and Somerset both gone to Warwick!\\r\\n Yet am I arm\\'d against the worst can happen;\\r\\n And haste is needful in this desp\\'rate case.\\r\\n Pembroke and Stafford, you in our behalf\\r\\n Go levy men and make prepare for war;\\r\\n They are already, or quickly will be landed.\\r\\n Myself in person will straight follow you.\\r\\n Exeunt PEMBROKE and STAFFORD\\r\\n But ere I go, Hastings and Montague,\\r\\n Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest,\\r\\n Are near to Warwick by blood and by alliance.\\r\\n Tell me if you love Warwick more than me?\\r\\n If it be so, then both depart to him:\\r\\n I rather wish you foes than hollow friends.\\r\\n But if you mind to hold your true obedience,\\r\\n Give me assurance with some friendly vow,\\r\\n That I may never have you in suspect.\\r\\n MONTAGUE. So God help Montague as he proves true!\\r\\n HASTINGS. And Hastings as he favours Edward\\'s cause!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Why, so! then am I sure of victory.\\r\\n Now therefore let us hence, and lose no hour\\r\\n Till we meet Warwick with his foreign pow\\'r. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A plain in Warwickshire\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter WARWICK and OXFORD, with French soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well;\\r\\n The common people by numbers swarm to us.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CLARENCE and SOMERSET\\r\\n\\r\\n But see where Somerset and Clarence comes.\\r\\n Speak suddenly, my lords- are we all friends?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Fear not that, my lord.\\r\\n WARWICK. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick;\\r\\n And welcome, Somerset. I hold it cowardice\\r\\n To rest mistrustful where a noble heart\\r\\n Hath pawn\\'d an open hand in sign of love;\\r\\n Else might I think that Clarence, Edward\\'s brother,\\r\\n Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings.\\r\\n But welcome, sweet Clarence; my daughter shall be thine.\\r\\n And now what rests but, in night\\'s coverture,\\r\\n Thy brother being carelessly encamp\\'d,\\r\\n His soldiers lurking in the towns about,\\r\\n And but attended by a simple guard,\\r\\n We may surprise and take him at our pleasure?\\r\\n Our scouts have found the adventure very easy;\\r\\n That as Ulysses and stout Diomede\\r\\n With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus\\' tents,\\r\\n And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds,\\r\\n So we, well cover\\'d with the night\\'s black mantle,\\r\\n At unawares may beat down Edward\\'s guard\\r\\n And seize himself- I say not \\'slaughter him,\\'\\r\\n For I intend but only to surprise him.\\r\\n You that will follow me to this attempt,\\r\\n Applaud the name of Henry with your leader.\\r\\n [They all cry \\'Henry!\\']\\r\\n Why then, let\\'s on our way in silent sort.\\r\\n For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Edward\\'s camp, near Warwick\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter three WATCHMEN, to guard the KING\\'S tent\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST WATCHMAN. Come on, my masters, each man take his stand;\\r\\n The King by this is set him down to sleep.\\r\\n SECOND WATCHMAN. What, will he not to bed?\\r\\n FIRST WATCHMAN. Why, no; for he hath made a solemn vow\\r\\n Never to lie and take his natural rest\\r\\n Till Warwick or himself be quite suppress\\'d.\\r\\n SECOND WATCHMAN. To-morrow then, belike, shall be the day,\\r\\n If Warwick be so near as men report.\\r\\n THIRD WATCHMAN. But say, I pray, what nobleman is that\\r\\n That with the King here resteth in his tent?\\r\\n FIRST WATCHMAN. \\'Tis the Lord Hastings, the King\\'s chiefest friend.\\r\\n THIRD WATCHMAN. O, is it So? But why commands the King\\r\\n That his chief followers lodge in towns about him,\\r\\n While he himself keeps in the cold field?\\r\\n SECOND WATCHMAN. \\'Tis the more honour, because more dangerous.\\r\\n THIRD WATCHMAN. Ay, but give me worship and quietness;\\r\\n I like it better than dangerous honour.\\r\\n If Warwick knew in what estate he stands,\\r\\n \\'Tis to be doubted he would waken him.\\r\\n FIRST WATCHMAN. Unless our halberds did shut up his passage.\\r\\n SECOND WATCHMAN. Ay, wherefore else guard we his royal tent\\r\\n But to defend his person from night-foes?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter WARWICK, CLARENCE, OXFORD, SOMERSET,\\r\\n and French soldiers, silent all\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. This is his tent; and see where stand his guard.\\r\\n Courage, my masters! Honour now or never!\\r\\n But follow me, and Edward shall be ours.\\r\\n FIRST WATCHMAN. Who goes there?\\r\\n SECOND WATCHMAN. Stay, or thou diest.\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK and the rest cry all \\'Warwick! Warwick!\\' and\\r\\n set upon the guard, who fly, crying \\'Arm! Arm!\\' WARWICK\\r\\n and the rest following them\\r\\n\\r\\n The drum playing and trumpet sounding, re-enter WARWICK\\r\\n and the rest, bringing the KING out in his gown,\\r\\n sitting in a chair. GLOUCESTER and HASTINGS fly over the stage\\r\\n\\r\\n SOMERSET. What are they that fly there?\\r\\n WARWICK. Richard and Hastings. Let them go; here is the Duke.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. The Duke! Why, Warwick, when we parted,\\r\\n Thou call\\'dst me King?\\r\\n WARWICK. Ay, but the case is alter\\'d.\\r\\n When you disgrac\\'d me in my embassade,\\r\\n Then I degraded you from being King,\\r\\n And come now to create you Duke of York.\\r\\n Alas, how should you govern any kingdom\\r\\n That know not how to use ambassadors,\\r\\n Nor how to be contented with one wife,\\r\\n Nor how to use your brothers brotherly,\\r\\n Nor how to study for the people\\'s welfare,\\r\\n Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies?\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Yea, brother of Clarence, art thou here too?\\r\\n Nay, then I see that Edward needs must down.\\r\\n Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance,\\r\\n Of thee thyself and all thy complices,\\r\\n Edward will always bear himself as King.\\r\\n Though fortune\\'s malice overthrow my state,\\r\\n My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel.\\r\\n WARWICK. Then, for his mind, be Edward England\\'s king;\\r\\n [Takes off his crown]\\r\\n But Henry now shall wear the English crown\\r\\n And be true King indeed; thou but the shadow.\\r\\n My Lord of Somerset, at my request,\\r\\n See that forthwith Duke Edward be convey\\'d\\r\\n Unto my brother, Archbishop of York.\\r\\n When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows,\\r\\n I\\'ll follow you and tell what answer\\r\\n Lewis and the Lady Bona send to him.\\r\\n Now for a while farewell, good Duke of York.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. What fates impose, that men must needs abide;\\r\\n It boots not to resist both wind and tide.\\r\\n [They lead him out forcibly]\\r\\n OXFORD. What now remains, my lords, for us to do\\r\\n But march to London with our soldiers?\\r\\n WARWICK. Ay, that\\'s the first thing that we have to do;\\r\\n To free King Henry from imprisonment,\\r\\n And see him seated in the regal throne. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. London. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter QUEEN ELIZABETH and RIVERS\\r\\n\\r\\n RIVERS. Madam, what makes you in this sudden change?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to learn\\r\\n What late misfortune is befall\\'n King Edward?\\r\\n RIVERS. What, loss of some pitch\\'d battle against Warwick?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. No, but the loss of his own royal person.\\r\\n RIVERS. Then is my sovereign slain?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner;\\r\\n Either betray\\'d by falsehood of his guard\\r\\n Or by his foe surpris\\'d at unawares;\\r\\n And, as I further have to understand,\\r\\n Is new committed to the Bishop of York,\\r\\n Fell Warwick\\'s brother, and by that our foe.\\r\\n RIVERS. These news, I must confess, are full of grief;\\r\\n Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may:\\r\\n Warwick may lose that now hath won the day.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Till then, fair hope must hinder life\\'s decay.\\r\\n And I the rather wean me from despair\\r\\n For love of Edward\\'s offspring in my womb.\\r\\n This is it that makes me bridle passion\\r\\n And bear with mildness my misfortune\\'s cross;\\r\\n Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear\\r\\n And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs,\\r\\n Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown\\r\\n King Edward\\'s fruit, true heir to th\\' English crown.\\r\\n RIVERS. But, madam, where is Warwick then become?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. I am inform\\'d that he comes towards London\\r\\n To set the crown once more on Henry\\'s head.\\r\\n Guess thou the rest: King Edward\\'s friends must down.\\r\\n But to prevent the tyrant\\'s violence-\\r\\n For trust not him that hath once broken faith-\\r\\n I\\'ll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary\\r\\n To save at least the heir of Edward\\'s right.\\r\\n There shall I rest secure from force and fraud.\\r\\n Come, therefore, let us fly while we may fly:\\r\\n If Warwick take us, we are sure to die. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. A park near Middleham Castle in Yorkshire\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter GLOUCESTER, LORD HASTINGS, SIR WILLIAM STANLEY, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Now, my Lord Hastings and Sir William Stanley,\\r\\n Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither\\r\\n Into this chiefest thicket of the park.\\r\\n Thus stands the case: you know our King, my brother,\\r\\n Is prisoner to the Bishop here, at whose hands\\r\\n He hath good usage and great liberty;\\r\\n And often but attended with weak guard\\r\\n Comes hunting this way to disport himself.\\r\\n I have advertis\\'d him by secret means\\r\\n That if about this hour he make this way,\\r\\n Under the colour of his usual game,\\r\\n He shall here find his friends, with horse and men,\\r\\n To set him free from his captivity.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING EDWARD and a HUNTSMAN with him\\r\\n\\r\\n HUNTSMAN. This way, my lord; for this way lies the game.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Nay, this way, man. See where the huntsmen stand.\\r\\n Now, brother of Gloucester, Lord Hastings, and the rest,\\r\\n Stand you thus close to steal the Bishop\\'s deer?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Brother, the time and case requireth haste;\\r\\n Your horse stands ready at the park corner.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. But whither shall we then?\\r\\n HASTINGS. To Lynn, my lord; and shipt from thence to Flanders.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Well guess\\'d, believe me; for that was my meaning.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. But wherefore stay we? \\'Tis no time to talk.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Huntsman, what say\\'st thou? Wilt thou go along?\\r\\n HUNTSMAN. Better do so than tarry and be hang\\'d.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Come then, away; let\\'s ha\\' no more ado.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Bishop, farewell. Shield thee from Warwick\\'s frown,\\r\\n And pray that I may repossess the crown. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. London. The Tower\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter KING HENRY, CLARENCE, WARWICK, SOMERSET, young HENRY,\\r\\nEARL OF RICHMOND, OXFORD, MONTAGUE, LIEUTENANT OF THE TOWER, and\\r\\nattendants\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. Master Lieutenant, now that God and friends\\r\\n Have shaken Edward from the regal seat\\r\\n And turn\\'d my captive state to liberty,\\r\\n My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys,\\r\\n At our enlargement what are thy due fees?\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. Subjects may challenge nothing of their sov\\'reigns;\\r\\n But if an humble prayer may prevail,\\r\\n I then crave pardon of your Majesty.\\r\\n KING HENRY. For what, Lieutenant? For well using me?\\r\\n Nay, be thou sure I\\'ll well requite thy kindness,\\r\\n For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure;\\r\\n Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds\\r\\n Conceive when, after many moody thoughts,\\r\\n At last by notes of household harmony\\r\\n They quite forget their loss of liberty.\\r\\n But, Warwick, after God, thou set\\'st me free,\\r\\n And chiefly therefore I thank God and thee;\\r\\n He was the author, thou the instrument.\\r\\n Therefore, that I may conquer fortune\\'s spite\\r\\n By living low where fortune cannot hurt me,\\r\\n And that the people of this blessed land\\r\\n May not be punish\\'d with my thwarting stars,\\r\\n Warwick, although my head still wear the crown,\\r\\n I here resign my government to thee,\\r\\n For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds.\\r\\n WARWICK. Your Grace hath still been fam\\'d for virtuous,\\r\\n And now may seem as wise as virtuous\\r\\n By spying and avoiding fortune\\'s malice,\\r\\n For few men rightly temper with the stars;\\r\\n Yet in this one thing let me blame your Grace,\\r\\n For choosing me when Clarence is in place.\\r\\n CLARENCE. No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway,\\r\\n To whom the heav\\'ns in thy nativity\\r\\n Adjudg\\'d an olive branch and laurel crown,\\r\\n As likely to be blest in peace and war;\\r\\n And therefore I yield thee my free consent.\\r\\n WARWICK. And I choose Clarence only for Protector.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Warwick and Clarence, give me both your hands.\\r\\n Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts,\\r\\n That no dissension hinder government.\\r\\n I make you both Protectors of this land,\\r\\n While I myself will lead a private life\\r\\n And in devotion spend my latter days,\\r\\n To sin\\'s rebuke and my Creator\\'s praise.\\r\\n WARWICK. What answers Clarence to his sovereign\\'s will?\\r\\n CLARENCE. That he consents, if Warwick yield consent,\\r\\n For on thy fortune I repose myself.\\r\\n WARWICK. Why, then, though loath, yet must I be content.\\r\\n We\\'ll yoke together, like a double shadow\\r\\n To Henry\\'s body, and supply his place;\\r\\n I mean, in bearing weight of government,\\r\\n While he enjoys the honour and his ease.\\r\\n And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful\\r\\n Forthwith that Edward be pronounc\\'d a traitor,\\r\\n And all his lands and goods confiscated.\\r\\n CLARENCE. What else? And that succession be determin\\'d.\\r\\n WARWICK. Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his part.\\r\\n KING HENRY. But, with the first of all your chief affairs,\\r\\n Let me entreat- for I command no more-\\r\\n That Margaret your Queen and my son Edward\\r\\n Be sent for to return from France with speed;\\r\\n For till I see them here, by doubtful fear\\r\\n My joy of liberty is half eclips\\'d.\\r\\n CLARENCE. It shall be done, my sovereign, with all speed.\\r\\n KING HENRY. My Lord of Somerset, what youth is that,\\r\\n Of whom you seem to have so tender care?\\r\\n SOMERSET. My liege, it is young Henry, Earl of Richmond.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Come hither, England\\'s hope.\\r\\n [Lays his hand on his head]\\r\\n If secret powers\\r\\n Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts,\\r\\n This pretty lad will prove our country\\'s bliss.\\r\\n His looks are full of peaceful majesty;\\r\\n His head by nature fram\\'d to wear a crown,\\r\\n His hand to wield a sceptre; and himself\\r\\n Likely in time to bless a regal throne.\\r\\n Make much of him, my lords; for this is he\\r\\n Must help you more than you are hurt by me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a POST\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. What news, my friend?\\r\\n POST. That Edward is escaped from your brother\\r\\n And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy.\\r\\n WARWICK. Unsavoury news! But how made he escape?\\r\\n POST. He was convey\\'d by Richard Duke of Gloucester\\r\\n And the Lord Hastings, who attended him\\r\\n In secret ambush on the forest side\\r\\n And from the Bishop\\'s huntsmen rescu\\'d him;\\r\\n For hunting was his daily exercise.\\r\\n WARWICK. My brother was too careless of his charge.\\r\\n But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide\\r\\n A salve for any sore that may betide.\\r\\n Exeunt all but SOMERSET, RICHMOND, and OXFORD\\r\\n SOMERSET. My lord, I like not of this flight of Edward\\'s;\\r\\n For doubtless Burgundy will yield him help,\\r\\n And we shall have more wars befor\\'t be long.\\r\\n As Henry\\'s late presaging prophecy\\r\\n Did glad my heart with hope of this young Richmond,\\r\\n So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts,\\r\\n What may befall him to his harm and ours.\\r\\n Therefore, Lord Oxford, to prevent the worst,\\r\\n Forthwith we\\'ll send him hence to Brittany,\\r\\n Till storms be past of civil enmity.\\r\\n OXFORD. Ay, for if Edward repossess the crown,\\r\\n \\'Tis like that Richmond with the rest shall down.\\r\\n SOMERSET. It shall be so; he shall to Brittany.\\r\\n Come therefore, let\\'s about it speedily. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. Before York\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Now, brother Richard, Lord Hastings, and the rest,\\r\\n Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends,\\r\\n And says that once more I shall interchange\\r\\n My waned state for Henry\\'s regal crown.\\r\\n Well have we pass\\'d and now repass\\'d the seas,\\r\\n And brought desired help from Burgundy;\\r\\n What then remains, we being thus arriv\\'d\\r\\n From Ravenspurgh haven before the gates of York,\\r\\n But that we enter, as into our dukedom?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The gates made fast! Brother, I like not this;\\r\\n For many men that stumble at the threshold\\r\\n Are well foretold that danger lurks within.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Tush, man, abodements must not now affright us.\\r\\n By fair or foul means we must enter in,\\r\\n For hither will our friends repair to us.\\r\\n HASTINGS. My liege, I\\'ll knock once more to summon them.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, on the walls, the MAYOR OF YORK and\\r\\n his BRETHREN\\r\\n\\r\\n MAYOR. My lords, we were forewarned of your coming\\r\\n And shut the gates for safety of ourselves,\\r\\n For now we owe allegiance unto Henry.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. But, Master Mayor, if Henry be your King,\\r\\n Yet Edward at the least is Duke of York.\\r\\n MAYOR. True, my good lord; I know you for no less.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Why, and I challenge nothing but my dukedom,\\r\\n As being well content with that alone.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside] But when the fox hath once got in his nose,\\r\\n He\\'ll soon find means to make the body follow.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Why, Master Mayor, why stand you in a doubt?\\r\\n Open the gates; we are King Henry\\'s friends.\\r\\n MAYOR. Ay, say you so? The gates shall then be open\\'d.\\r\\n [He descends]\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. A wise stout captain, and soon persuaded!\\r\\n HASTINGS. The good old man would fain that all were well,\\r\\n So \\'twere not long of him; but being ent\\'red,\\r\\n I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade\\r\\n Both him and all his brothers unto reason.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, below, the MAYOR and two ALDERMEN\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. So, Master Mayor. These gates must not be shut\\r\\n But in the night or in the time of war.\\r\\n What! fear not, man, but yield me up the keys;\\r\\n [Takes his keys]\\r\\n For Edward will defend the town and thee,\\r\\n And all those friends that deign to follow me.\\r\\n\\r\\n March. Enter MONTGOMERY with drum and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Brother, this is Sir John Montgomery,\\r\\n Our trusty friend, unless I be deceiv\\'d.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Welcome, Sir john! But why come you in arms?\\r\\n MONTGOMERY. To help King Edward in his time of storm,\\r\\n As every loyal subject ought to do.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Thanks, good Montgomery; but we now forget\\r\\n Our title to the crown, and only claim\\r\\n Our dukedom till God please to send the rest.\\r\\n MONTGOMERY. Then fare you well, for I will hence again.\\r\\n I came to serve a king and not a duke.\\r\\n Drummer, strike up, and let us march away.\\r\\n [The drum begins to march]\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Nay, stay, Sir John, a while, and we\\'ll debate\\r\\n By what safe means the crown may be recover\\'d.\\r\\n MONTGOMERY. What talk you of debating? In few words:\\r\\n If you\\'ll not here proclaim yourself our King,\\r\\n I\\'ll leave you to your fortune and be gone\\r\\n To keep them back that come to succour you.\\r\\n Why shall we fight, if you pretend no title?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice points?\\r\\n KING EDWARD. When we grow stronger, then we\\'ll make our claim;\\r\\n Till then \\'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Away with scrupulous wit! Now arms must rule.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns.\\r\\n Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand;\\r\\n The bruit thereof will bring you many friends.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Then be it as you will; for \\'tis my right,\\r\\n And Henry but usurps the diadem.\\r\\n MONTGOMERY. Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like himself;\\r\\n And now will I be Edward\\'s champion.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Sound trumpet; Edward shall be here proclaim\\'d.\\r\\n Come, fellow soldier, make thou proclamation.\\r\\n [Gives him a paper. Flourish]\\r\\n SOLDIER. [Reads] \\'Edward the Fourth, by the grace of God,\\r\\n King of England and France, and Lord of Ireland, &c.\\'\\r\\n MONTGOMERY. And whoso\\'er gainsays King Edward\\'s right,\\r\\n By this I challenge him to single fight.\\r\\n [Throws down gauntlet]\\r\\n ALL. Long live Edward the Fourth!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Thanks, brave Montgomery, and thanks unto you all;\\r\\n If fortune serve me, I\\'ll requite this kindness.\\r\\n Now for this night let\\'s harbour here in York;\\r\\n And when the morning sun shall raise his car\\r\\n Above the border of this horizon,\\r\\n We\\'ll forward towards Warwick and his mates;\\r\\n For well I wot that Henry is no soldier.\\r\\n Ah, froward Clarence, how evil it beseems the\\r\\n To flatter Henry and forsake thy brother!\\r\\n Yet, as we may, we\\'ll meet both thee and Warwick.\\r\\n Come on, brave soldiers; doubt not of the day,\\r\\n And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VIII. London. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter KING HENRY, WARWICK, MONTAGUE, CLARENCE, OXFORD, and\\r\\nEXETER\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. What counsel, lords? Edward from Belgia,\\r\\n With hasty Germans and blunt Hollanders,\\r\\n Hath pass\\'d in safety through the narrow seas\\r\\n And with his troops doth march amain to London;\\r\\n And many giddy people flock to him.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Let\\'s levy men and beat him back again.\\r\\n CLARENCE. A little fire is quickly trodden out,\\r\\n Which, being suffer\\'d, rivers cannot quench.\\r\\n WARWICK. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends,\\r\\n Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war;\\r\\n Those will I muster up, and thou, son Clarence,\\r\\n Shalt stir up in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent,\\r\\n The knights and gentlemen to come with thee.\\r\\n Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham,\\r\\n Northampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find\\r\\n Men well inclin\\'d to hear what thou command\\'st.\\r\\n And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well belov\\'d,\\r\\n In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends.\\r\\n My sovereign, with the loving citizens,\\r\\n Like to his island girt in with the ocean\\r\\n Or modest Dian circled with her nymphs,\\r\\n Shall rest in London till we come to him.\\r\\n Fair lords, take leave and stand not to reply.\\r\\n Farewell, my sovereign.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Farewell, my Hector and my Troy\\'s true hope.\\r\\n CLARENCE. In sign of truth, I kiss your Highness\\' hand.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate!\\r\\n MONTAGUE. Comfort, my lord; and so I take my leave.\\r\\n OXFORD. [Kissing the KING\\'S band] And thus I seal my truth and bid\\r\\n adieu.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague,\\r\\n And all at once, once more a happy farewell.\\r\\n WARWICK. Farewell, sweet lords; let\\'s meet at Coventry.\\r\\n Exeunt all but the KING and EXETER\\r\\n KING HENRY. Here at the palace will I rest a while.\\r\\n Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship?\\r\\n Methinks the power that Edward hath in field\\r\\n Should not be able to encounter mine.\\r\\n EXETER. The doubt is that he will seduce the rest.\\r\\n KING HENRY. That\\'s not my fear; my meed hath got me fame:\\r\\n I have not stopp\\'d mine ears to their demands,\\r\\n Nor posted off their suits with slow delays;\\r\\n My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds,\\r\\n My mildness hath allay\\'d their swelling griefs,\\r\\n My mercy dried their water-flowing tears;\\r\\n I have not been desirous of their wealth,\\r\\n Nor much oppress\\'d them with great subsidies,\\r\\n Nor forward of revenge, though they much err\\'d.\\r\\n Then why should they love Edward more than me?\\r\\n No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace;\\r\\n And, when the lion fawns upon the lamb,\\r\\n The lamb will never cease to follow him.\\r\\n [Shout within \\'A Lancaster! A Lancaster!\\']\\r\\n EXETER. Hark, hark, my lord! What shouts are these?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Seize on the shame-fac\\'d Henry, bear him hence;\\r\\n And once again proclaim us King of England.\\r\\n You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow.\\r\\n Now stops thy spring; my sea shall suck them dry,\\r\\n And swell so much the higher by their ebb.\\r\\n Hence with him to the Tower: let him not speak.\\r\\n Exeunt some with KING HENRY\\r\\n And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course,\\r\\n Where peremptory Warwick now remains.\\r\\n The sun shines hot; and, if we use delay,\\r\\n Cold biting winter mars our hop\\'d-for hay.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Away betimes, before his forces join,\\r\\n And take the great-grown traitor unawares.\\r\\n Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. Coventry\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter WARWICK, the MAYOR OF COVENTRY, two MESSENGERS, and others upon\\r\\nthe walls\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. Where is the post that came from valiant Oxford?\\r\\n How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow?\\r\\n FIRST MESSENGER. By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward.\\r\\n WARWICK. How far off is our brother Montague?\\r\\n Where is the post that came from Montague?\\r\\n SECOND MESSENGER. By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR JOHN SOMERVILLE\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. Say, Somerville, what says my loving son?\\r\\n And by thy guess how nigh is Clarence now?\\r\\n SOMERVILLE. At Southam I did leave him with his forces,\\r\\n And do expect him here some two hours hence.\\r\\n [Drum heard]\\r\\n WARWICK. Then Clarence is at hand; I hear his drum.\\r\\n SOMERVILLE. It is not his, my lord; here Southam lies.\\r\\n The drum your Honour hears marcheth from Warwick.\\r\\n WARWICK. Who should that be? Belike unlook\\'d for friends.\\r\\n SOMERVILLE. They are at hand, and you shall quickly know.\\r\\n\\r\\n March. Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER,\\r\\n and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a parle.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. See how the surly Warwick mans the wall.\\r\\n WARWICK. O unbid spite! Is sportful Edward come?\\r\\n Where slept our scouts or how are they seduc\\'d\\r\\n That we could hear no news of his repair?\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city gates,\\r\\n Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee,\\r\\n Call Edward King, and at his hands beg mercy?\\r\\n And he shall pardon thee these outrages.\\r\\n WARWICK. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence,\\r\\n Confess who set thee up and pluck\\'d thee down,\\r\\n Call Warwick patron, and be penitent?\\r\\n And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I thought, at least, he would have said the King;\\r\\n Or did he make the jest against his will?\\r\\n WARWICK. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give.\\r\\n I\\'ll do thee service for so good a gift.\\r\\n WARWICK. \\'Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy brother.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Why then \\'tis mine, if but by Warwick\\'s gift.\\r\\n WARWICK. Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight;\\r\\n And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again;\\r\\n And Henry is my King, Warwick his subject.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. But Warwick\\'s king is Edward\\'s prisoner.\\r\\n And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this:\\r\\n What is the body when the head is off?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast,\\r\\n But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten,\\r\\n The king was slily finger\\'d from the deck!\\r\\n You left poor Henry at the Bishop\\'s palace,\\r\\n And ten to one you\\'ll meet him in the Tower.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. \\'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Come, Warwick, take the time; kneel down, kneel down.\\r\\n Nay, when? Strike now, or else the iron cools.\\r\\n WARWICK. I had rather chop this hand off at a blow,\\r\\n And with the other fling it at thy face,\\r\\n Than bear so low a sail to strike to thee.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide thy friend,\\r\\n This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair,\\r\\n Shall, whiles thy head is warm and new cut off,\\r\\n Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood:\\r\\n \\'Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter OXFORD, with drum and colours\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. O cheerful colours! See where Oxford comes.\\r\\n OXFORD. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster!\\r\\n [He and his forces enter the city]\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The gates are open, let us enter too.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. So other foes may set upon our backs.\\r\\n Stand we in good array, for they no doubt\\r\\n Will issue out again and bid us battle;\\r\\n If not, the city being but of small defence,\\r\\n We\\'ll quietly rouse the traitors in the same.\\r\\n WARWICK. O, welcome, Oxford! for we want thy help.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MONTAGUE, with drum and colours\\r\\n\\r\\n MONTAGUE. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster!\\r\\n [He and his forces enter the city]\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Thou and thy brother both shall buy this treason\\r\\n Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. The harder match\\'d, the greater victory.\\r\\n My mind presageth happy gain and conquest.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SOMERSET, with drum and colours\\r\\n\\r\\n SOMERSET. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster!\\r\\n [He and his forces enter the city]\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset,\\r\\n Have sold their lives unto the house of York;\\r\\n And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CLARENCE, with drum and colours\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. And lo where George of Clarence sweeps along,\\r\\n Of force enough to bid his brother battle;\\r\\n With whom an upright zeal to right prevails\\r\\n More than the nature of a brother\\'s love.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Clarence, Clarence, for Lancaster!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Et tu Brute- wilt thou stab Caesar too?\\r\\n A parley, sirrah, to George of Clarence.\\r\\n [Sound a parley. RICHARD and CLARENCE whisper]\\r\\n WARWICK. Come, Clarence, come. Thou wilt if Warwick call.\\r\\n CLARENCE. [Taking the red rose from his hat and throwing\\r\\n it at WARWICK]\\r\\n Father of Warwick, know you what this means?\\r\\n Look here, I throw my infamy at thee.\\r\\n I will not ruinate my father\\'s house,\\r\\n Who gave his blood to lime the stones together,\\r\\n And set up Lancaster. Why, trowest thou, Warwick,\\r\\n That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural,\\r\\n To bend the fatal instruments of war\\r\\n Against his brother and his lawful King?\\r\\n Perhaps thou wilt object my holy oath.\\r\\n To keep that oath were more impiety\\r\\n Than Jephtha when he sacrific\\'d his daughter.\\r\\n I am so sorry for my trespass made\\r\\n That, to deserve well at my brother\\'s hands,\\r\\n I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe;\\r\\n With resolution whereso\\'er I meet thee-\\r\\n As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad-\\r\\n To plague thee for thy foul misleading me.\\r\\n And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee,\\r\\n And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks.\\r\\n Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends;\\r\\n And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults,\\r\\n For I will henceforth be no more unconstant.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Now welcome more, and ten times more belov\\'d,\\r\\n Than if thou never hadst deserv\\'d our hate.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Welcome, good Clarence; this is brother-like.\\r\\n WARWICK. O passing traitor, perjur\\'d and unjust!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave die town and fight?\\r\\n Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears?\\r\\n WARWICK. Alas, I am not coop\\'d here for defence!\\r\\n I will away towards Barnet presently\\r\\n And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar\\'st.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares and leads the way.\\r\\n Lords, to the field; Saint George and victory!\\r\\n Exeunt YORKISTS\\r\\n [March. WARWICK and his company follow]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A field of battle near Barnet\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum and excursions. Enter KING EDWARD, bringing forth WARWICK,\\r\\nwounded\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. So, lie thou there. Die thou, and die our fear;\\r\\n For Warwick was a bug that fear\\'d us all.\\r\\n Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee,\\r\\n That Warwick\\'s bones may keep thine company. Exit\\r\\n WARWICK. Ah, who is nigh? Come to me, friend or foe,\\r\\n And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick?\\r\\n Why ask I that? My mangled body shows,\\r\\n My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows,\\r\\n That I must yield my body to the earth\\r\\n And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe.\\r\\n Thus yields the cedar to the axe\\'s edge,\\r\\n Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle,\\r\\n Under whose shade the ramping lion slept,\\r\\n Whose top-branch overpeer\\'d Jove\\'s spreading tree\\r\\n And kept low shrubs from winter\\'s pow\\'rful wind.\\r\\n These eyes, that now are dimm\\'d with death\\'s black veil,\\r\\n Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun\\r\\n To search the secret treasons of the world;\\r\\n The wrinkles in my brows, now fill\\'d with blood,\\r\\n Were lik\\'ned oft to kingly sepulchres;\\r\\n For who liv\\'d King, but I could dig his grave?\\r\\n And who durst smile when Warwick bent his brow?\\r\\n Lo now my glory smear\\'d in dust and blood!\\r\\n My parks, my walks, my manors, that I had,\\r\\n Even now forsake me; and of all my lands\\r\\n Is nothing left me but my body\\'s length.\\r\\n what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?\\r\\n And live we how we can, yet die we must.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter OXFORD and SOMERSET\\r\\n\\r\\n SOMERSET. Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as we are,\\r\\n We might recover all our loss again.\\r\\n The Queen from France hath brought a puissant power;\\r\\n Even now we heard the news. Ah, couldst thou fly!\\r\\n WARWICK. Why then, I would not fly. Ah, Montague,\\r\\n If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand,\\r\\n And with thy lips keep in my soul a while!\\r\\n Thou lov\\'st me not; for, brother, if thou didst,\\r\\n Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood\\r\\n That glues my lips and will not let me speak.\\r\\n Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Ah, Warwick! Montague hath breath\\'d his last;\\r\\n And to the latest gasp cried out for Warwick,\\r\\n And said \\'Commend me to my valiant brother.\\'\\r\\n And more he would have said; and more he spoke,\\r\\n Which sounded like a clamour in a vault,\\r\\n That mought not be distinguish\\'d; but at last,\\r\\n I well might hear, delivered with a groan,\\r\\n \\'O farewell, Warwick!\\'\\r\\n WARWICK. Sweet rest his soul! Fly, lords, and save yourselves:\\r\\n For Warwick bids you all farewell, to meet in heaven.\\r\\n [Dies]\\r\\n OXFORD. Away, away, to meet the Queen\\'s great power!\\r\\n [Here they bear away his body]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Another part of the field\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter KING in triumph; with GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and the\\r\\nrest\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course,\\r\\n And we are grac\\'d with wreaths of victory.\\r\\n But in the midst of this bright-shining day\\r\\n I spy a black, suspicious, threat\\'ning cloud\\r\\n That will encounter with our glorious sun\\r\\n Ere he attain his easeful western bed-\\r\\n I mean, my lords, those powers that the Queen\\r\\n Hath rais\\'d in Gallia have arriv\\'d our coast\\r\\n And, as we hear, march on to fight with us.\\r\\n CLARENCE. A little gale will soon disperse that cloud\\r\\n And blow it to the source from whence it came;\\r\\n Thy very beams will dry those vapours up,\\r\\n For every cloud engenders not a storm.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The Queen is valued thirty thousand strong,\\r\\n And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her.\\r\\n If she have time to breathe, be well assur\\'d\\r\\n Her faction will be full as strong as ours.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. are advertis\\'d by our loving friends\\r\\n That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury;\\r\\n We, having now the best at Barnet field,\\r\\n Will thither straight, for willingness rids way;\\r\\n And as we march our strength will be augmented\\r\\n In every county as we go along.\\r\\n Strike up the drum; cry \\'Courage!\\' and away. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Plains wear Tewksbury\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. March. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD, SOMERSET, OXFORD,\\r\\nand SOLDIERS\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Great lords, wise men ne\\'er sit and wail their\\r\\n loss,\\r\\n But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.\\r\\n What though the mast be now blown overboard,\\r\\n The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost,\\r\\n And half our sailors swallow\\'d in the flood;\\r\\n Yet lives our pilot still. Is\\'t meet that he\\r\\n Should leave the helm and, like a fearful lad,\\r\\n With tearful eyes add water to the sea\\r\\n And give more strength to that which hath too much;\\r\\n Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock,\\r\\n Which industry and courage might have sav\\'d?\\r\\n Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this!\\r\\n Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that?\\r\\n And Montague our top-mast; what of him?\\r\\n Our slaught\\'red friends the tackles; what of these?\\r\\n Why, is not Oxford here another anchor?\\r\\n And Somerset another goodly mast?\\r\\n The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings?\\r\\n And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I\\r\\n For once allow\\'d the skilful pilot\\'s charge?\\r\\n We will not from the helm to sit and weep,\\r\\n But keep our course, though the rough wind say no,\\r\\n From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck,\\r\\n As good to chide the waves as speak them fair.\\r\\n And what is Edward but a ruthless sea?\\r\\n What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit?\\r\\n And Richard but a ragged fatal rock?\\r\\n All these the enemies to our poor bark.\\r\\n Say you can swim; alas, \\'tis but a while!\\r\\n Tread on the sand; why, there you quickly sink.\\r\\n Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off,\\r\\n Or else you famish- that\\'s a threefold death.\\r\\n This speak I, lords, to let you understand,\\r\\n If case some one of you would fly from us,\\r\\n That there\\'s no hop\\'d-for mercy with the brothers\\r\\n More than with ruthless waves, with sands, and rocks.\\r\\n Why, courage then! What cannot be avoided\\r\\n \\'Twere childish weakness to lament or fear.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. Methinks a woman of this valiant spirit\\r\\n Should, if a coward hear her speak these words,\\r\\n Infuse his breast with magnanimity\\r\\n And make him naked foil a man-at-arms.\\r\\n I speak not this as doubting any here;\\r\\n For did I but suspect a fearful man,\\r\\n He should have leave to go away betimes,\\r\\n Lest in our need he might infect another\\r\\n And make him of the like spirit to himself.\\r\\n If any such be here- as God forbid!-\\r\\n Let him depart before we need his help.\\r\\n OXFORD. Women and children of so high a courage,\\r\\n And warriors faint! Why, \\'twere perpetual shame.\\r\\n O brave young Prince! thy famous grandfather\\r\\n Doth live again in thee. Long mayst thou Eve\\r\\n To bear his image and renew his glories!\\r\\n SOMERSET. And he that will not fight for such a hope,\\r\\n Go home to bed and, like the owl by day,\\r\\n If he arise, be mock\\'d and wond\\'red at.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Thanks, gentle Somerset; sweet Oxford, thanks.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. And take his thanks that yet hath nothing else.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand\\r\\n Ready to fight; therefore be resolute.\\r\\n OXFORD. I thought no less. It is his policy\\r\\n To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided.\\r\\n SOMERSET. But he\\'s deceiv\\'d; we are in readiness.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. This cheers my heart, to see your forwardness.\\r\\n OXFORD. Here pitch our battle; hence we will not budge.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish and march. Enter, at a distance, KING EDWARD,\\r\\n GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood\\r\\n Which, by the heavens\\' assistance and your strength,\\r\\n Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night.\\r\\n I need not add more fuel to your fire,\\r\\n For well I wot ye blaze to burn them out.\\r\\n Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say\\r\\n My tears gainsay; for every word I speak,\\r\\n Ye see, I drink the water of my eye.\\r\\n Therefore, no more but this: Henry, your sovereign,\\r\\n Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp\\'d,\\r\\n His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain,\\r\\n His statutes cancell\\'d, and his treasure spent;\\r\\n And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil.\\r\\n You fight in justice. Then, in God\\'s name, lords,\\r\\n Be valiant, and give signal to the fight.\\r\\n Alarum, retreat, excursions. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Another part of the field\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and forces,\\r\\nWith QUEEN MARGARET, OXFORD, and SOMERSET, prisoners\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Now here a period of tumultuous broils.\\r\\n Away with Oxford to Hames Castle straight;\\r\\n For Somerset, off with his guilty head.\\r\\n Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak.\\r\\n OXFORD. For my part, I\\'ll not trouble thee with words.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune.\\r\\n Exeunt OXFORD and SOMERSET, guarded\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. So part we sadly in this troublous world,\\r\\n To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Is proclamation made that who finds Edward\\r\\n Shall have a high reward, and he his life?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. It is; and lo where youthful Edward comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter soldiers, with PRINCE EDWARD\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Bring forth the gallant; let us hear him speak.\\r\\n What, can so young a man begin to prick?\\r\\n Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make\\r\\n For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects,\\r\\n And all the trouble thou hast turn\\'d me to?\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. Speak like a subject, proud ambitious York.\\r\\n Suppose that I am now my father\\'s mouth;\\r\\n Resign thy chair, and where I stand kneel thou,\\r\\n Whilst I propose the self-same words to the\\r\\n Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Ah, that thy father had been so resolv\\'d!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. That you might still have worn the petticoat\\r\\n And ne\\'er have stol\\'n the breech from Lancaster.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. Let Aesop fable in a winter\\'s night;\\r\\n His currish riddle sorts not with this place.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. By heaven, brat, I\\'ll plague ye for that word.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. For God\\'s sake, take away this captive scold.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. Nay, take away this scolding crookback rather.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your tongue.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Untutor\\'d lad, thou art too malapert.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. I know my duty; you are all undutiful.\\r\\n Lascivious Edward, and thou perjur\\'d George,\\r\\n And thou misshapen Dick, I tell ye all\\r\\n I am your better, traitors as ye are;\\r\\n And thou usurp\\'st my father\\'s right and mine.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Take that, the likeness of this railer here.\\r\\n [Stabs him]\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Sprawl\\'st thou? Take that, to end thy agony.\\r\\n [Stabs him]\\r\\n CLARENCE. And there\\'s for twitting me with perjury.\\r\\n [Stabs him]\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. O, kill me too!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Marry, and shall. [Offers to kill her]\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Hold, Richard, hold; for we have done to much.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why should she live to fill the world with words?\\r\\n KING EDWARD. What, doth she swoon? Use means for her recovery.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Clarence, excuse me to the King my brother.\\r\\n I\\'ll hence to London on a serious matter;\\r\\n Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news.\\r\\n CLARENCE. What? what?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The Tower! the Tower! Exit\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. O Ned, sweet Ned, speak to thy mother, boy!\\r\\n Canst thou not speak? O traitors! murderers!\\r\\n They that stabb\\'d Caesar shed no blood at all,\\r\\n Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame,\\r\\n If this foul deed were by to equal it.\\r\\n He was a man: this, in respect, a child;\\r\\n And men ne\\'er spend their fury on a child.\\r\\n What\\'s worse than murderer, that I may name it?\\r\\n No, no, my heart will burst, an if I speak-\\r\\n And I will speak, that so my heart may burst.\\r\\n Butchers and villains! bloody cannibals!\\r\\n How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp\\'d!\\r\\n You have no children, butchers, if you had,\\r\\n The thought of them would have stirr\\'d up remorse.\\r\\n But if you ever chance to have a child,\\r\\n Look in his youth to have him so cut off\\r\\n As, deathsmen, you have rid this sweet young prince!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Away with her; go, bear her hence perforce.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Nay, never bear me hence; dispatch me here.\\r\\n Here sheathe thy sword; I\\'ll pardon thee my death.\\r\\n What, wilt thou not? Then, Clarence, do it thou.\\r\\n CLARENCE. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou do it.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Didst thou not hear me swear I would not do it?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself.\\r\\n \\'Twas sin before, but now \\'tis charity.\\r\\n What! wilt thou not? Where is that devil\\'s butcher,\\r\\n Hard-favour\\'d Richard? Richard, where art thou?\\r\\n Thou art not here. Murder is thy alms-deed;\\r\\n Petitioners for blood thou ne\\'er put\\'st back.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Away, I say; I charge ye bear her hence.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. So come to you and yours as to this prince.\\r\\n Exit, led out forcibly\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Where\\'s Richard gone?\\r\\n CLARENCE. To London, all in post; and, as I guess,\\r\\n To make a bloody supper in the Tower.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. He\\'s sudden, if a thing comes in his head.\\r\\n Now march we hence. Discharge the common sort\\r\\n With pay and thanks; and let\\'s away to London\\r\\n And see our gentle queen how well she fares.\\r\\n By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. London. The Tower\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter KING HENRY and GLOUCESTER with the LIEUTENANT, on the walls\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard?\\r\\n KING HENRY. Ay, my good lord- my lord, I should say rather.\\r\\n \\'Tis sin to flatter; \\'good\\' was little better.\\r\\n \\'Good Gloucester\\' and \\'good devil\\' were alike,\\r\\n And both preposterous; therefore, not \\'good lord.\\'\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves; we must confer.\\r\\n Exit LIEUTENANT\\r\\n KING HENRY. So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf;\\r\\n So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece,\\r\\n And next his throat unto the butcher\\'s knife.\\r\\n What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind:\\r\\n The thief doth fear each bush an officer.\\r\\n KING HENRY. The bird that hath been limed in a bush\\r\\n With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush;\\r\\n And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird,\\r\\n Have now the fatal object in my eye\\r\\n Where my poor young was lim\\'d, was caught, and kill\\'d.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete\\r\\n That taught his son the office of a fowl!\\r\\n And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown\\'d.\\r\\n KING HENRY. I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus;\\r\\n Thy father, Minos, that denied our course;\\r\\n The sun that sear\\'d the wings of my sweet boy,\\r\\n Thy brother Edward; and thyself, the sea\\r\\n Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life.\\r\\n Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words!\\r\\n My breast can better brook thy dagger\\'s point\\r\\n Than can my ears that tragic history.\\r\\n But wherefore dost thou come? Is\\'t for my life?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Think\\'st thou I am an executioner?\\r\\n KING HENRY. A persecutor I am sure thou art.\\r\\n If murdering innocents be executing,\\r\\n Why, then thou are an executioner.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Thy son I kill\\'d for his presumption.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Hadst thou been kill\\'d when first thou didst presume,\\r\\n Thou hadst not liv\\'d to kill a son of mine.\\r\\n And thus I prophesy, that many a thousand\\r\\n Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear,\\r\\n And many an old man\\'s sigh, and many a widow\\'s,\\r\\n And many an orphan\\'s water-standing eye-\\r\\n Men for their sons, wives for their husbands,\\r\\n Orphans for their parents\\' timeless death-\\r\\n Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.\\r\\n The owl shriek\\'d at thy birth- an evil sign;\\r\\n The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time;\\r\\n Dogs howl\\'d, and hideous tempest shook down trees;\\r\\n The raven rook\\'d her on the chimney\\'s top,\\r\\n And chatt\\'ring pies in dismal discords sung;\\r\\n Thy mother felt more than a mother\\'s pain,\\r\\n And yet brought forth less than a mother\\'s hope,\\r\\n To wit, an indigest deformed lump,\\r\\n Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.\\r\\n Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born,\\r\\n To signify thou cam\\'st to bite the world;\\r\\n And if the rest be true which I have heard,\\r\\n Thou cam\\'st-\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I\\'ll hear no more. Die, prophet, in thy speech.\\r\\n [Stabs him]\\r\\n For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain\\'d.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Ay, and for much more slaughter after this.\\r\\n O, God forgive my sins and pardon thee! [Dies]\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster\\r\\n Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted.\\r\\n See how my sword weeps for the poor King\\'s death.\\r\\n O, may such purple tears be always shed\\r\\n From those that wish the downfall of our house!\\r\\n If any spark of life be yet remaining,\\r\\n Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither-\\r\\n [Stabs him again]\\r\\n I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear.\\r\\n Indeed, \\'tis true that Henry told me of;\\r\\n For I have often heard my mother say\\r\\n I came into the world with my legs forward.\\r\\n Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste\\r\\n And seek their ruin that usurp\\'d our right?\\r\\n The midwife wonder\\'d; and the women cried\\r\\n \\'O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!\\'\\r\\n And so I was, which plainly signified\\r\\n That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog.\\r\\n Then, since the heavens have shap\\'d my body so,\\r\\n Let hell make crook\\'d my mind to answer it.\\r\\n I have no brother, I am like no brother;\\r\\n And this word \\'love,\\' which greybeards call divine,\\r\\n Be resident in men like one another,\\r\\n And not in me! I am myself alone.\\r\\n Clarence, beware; thou keep\\'st me from the light,\\r\\n But I will sort a pitchy day for thee;\\r\\n For I will buzz abroad such prophecies\\r\\n That Edward shall be fearful of his life;\\r\\n And then to purge his fear, I\\'ll be thy death.\\r\\n King Henry and the Prince his son are gone.\\r\\n Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest;\\r\\n Counting myself but bad till I be best.\\r\\n I\\'ll throw thy body in another room,\\r\\n And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom.\\r\\n Exit with the body\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. London. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter KING EDWARD, QUEEN ELIZABETH, CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER,\\r\\nHASTINGS, NURSE, with the Young PRINCE, and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Once more we sit in England\\'s royal throne,\\r\\n Repurchas\\'d with the blood of enemies.\\r\\n What valiant foemen, like to autumn\\'s corn,\\r\\n Have we mow\\'d down in tops of all their pride!\\r\\n Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renown\\'d\\r\\n For hardy and undoubted champions;\\r\\n Two Cliffords, as the father and the son;\\r\\n And two Northumberlands- two braver men\\r\\n Ne\\'er spurr\\'d their coursers at the trumpet\\'s sound;\\r\\n With them the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague,\\r\\n That in their chains fetter\\'d the kingly lion\\r\\n And made the forest tremble when they roar\\'d.\\r\\n Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat\\r\\n And made our footstool of security.\\r\\n Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy.\\r\\n Young Ned, for thee thine uncles and myself\\r\\n Have in our armours watch\\'d the winter\\'s night,\\r\\n Went all afoot in summer\\'s scalding heat,\\r\\n That thou might\\'st repossess the crown in peace;\\r\\n And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside] I\\'ll blast his harvest if your head were laid;\\r\\n For yet I am not look\\'d on in the world.\\r\\n This shoulder was ordain\\'d so thick to heave;\\r\\n And heave it shall some weight or break my back.\\r\\n Work thou the way- and that shall execute.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Clarence and Gloucester, love my lovely queen;\\r\\n And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.\\r\\n CLARENCE. The duty that I owe unto your Majesty\\r\\n I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, thanks.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And that I love the tree from whence thou sprang\\'st,\\r\\n Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit.\\r\\n [Aside] To say the truth, so Judas kiss\\'d his master\\r\\n And cried \\'All hail!\\' when as he meant all harm.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Now am I seated as my soul delights,\\r\\n Having my country\\'s peace and brothers\\' loves.\\r\\n CLARENCE. What will your Grace have done with Margaret?\\r\\n Reignier, her father, to the King of France\\r\\n Hath pawn\\'d the Sicils and Jerusalem,\\r\\n And hither have they sent it for her ransom.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Away with her, and waft her hence to France.\\r\\n And now what rests but that we spend the time\\r\\n With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows,\\r\\n Such as befits the pleasure of the court?\\r\\n Sound drums and trumpets. Farewell, sour annoy!\\r\\n For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY THE EIGHTH\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY THE EIGHTH\\r\\n CARDINAL WOLSEY CARDINAL CAMPEIUS\\r\\n CAPUCIUS, Ambassador from the Emperor Charles V\\r\\n CRANMER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY\\r\\n DUKE OF NORFOLK DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n DUKE OF SUFFOLK EARL OF SURREY\\r\\n LORD CHAMBERLAIN LORD CHANCELLOR\\r\\n GARDINER, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER\\r\\n BISHOP OF LINCOLN LORD ABERGAVENNY\\r\\n LORD SANDYS SIR HENRY GUILDFORD\\r\\n SIR THOMAS LOVELL SIR ANTHONY DENNY\\r\\n SIR NICHOLAS VAUX SECRETARIES to Wolsey\\r\\n CROMWELL, servant to Wolsey\\r\\n GRIFFITH, gentleman-usher to Queen Katharine\\r\\n THREE GENTLEMEN\\r\\n DOCTOR BUTTS, physician to the King\\r\\n GARTER KING-AT-ARMS\\r\\n SURVEYOR to the Duke of Buckingham\\r\\n BRANDON, and a SERGEANT-AT-ARMS\\r\\n DOORKEEPER Of the Council chamber\\r\\n PORTER, and his MAN PAGE to Gardiner\\r\\n A CRIER\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE, wife to King Henry, afterwards divorced\\r\\n ANNE BULLEN, her Maid of Honour, afterwards Queen\\r\\n AN OLD LADY, friend to Anne Bullen\\r\\n PATIENCE, woman to Queen Katharine\\r\\n\\r\\n Lord Mayor, Aldermen, Lords and Ladies in the Dumb\\r\\n Shows; Women attending upon the Queen; Scribes,\\r\\n Officers, Guards, and other Attendants; Spirits\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE:\\r\\n\\r\\n London; Westminster; Kimbolton\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY THE EIGHTH\\r\\n\\r\\n THE PROLOGUE.\\r\\n\\r\\n I come no more to make you laugh; things now\\r\\n That bear a weighty and a serious brow,\\r\\n Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,\\r\\n Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,\\r\\n We now present. Those that can pity here\\r\\n May, if they think it well, let fall a tear:\\r\\n The subject will deserve it. Such as give\\r\\n Their money out of hope they may believe\\r\\n May here find truth too. Those that come to see\\r\\n Only a show or two, and so agree\\r\\n The play may pass, if they be still and willing,\\r\\n I\\'ll undertake may see away their shilling\\r\\n Richly in two short hours. Only they\\r\\n That come to hear a merry bawdy play,\\r\\n A noise of targets, or to see a fellow\\r\\n In a long motley coat guarded with yellow,\\r\\n Will be deceiv\\'d; for, gentle hearers, know,\\r\\n To rank our chosen truth with such a show\\r\\n As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting\\r\\n Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring\\r\\n To make that only true we now intend,\\r\\n Will leave us never an understanding friend.\\r\\n Therefore, for goodness sake, and as you are known\\r\\n The first and happiest hearers of the town,\\r\\n Be sad, as we would make ye. Think ye see\\r\\n The very persons of our noble story\\r\\n As they were living; think you see them great,\\r\\n And follow\\'d with the general throng and sweat\\r\\n Of thousand friends; then, in a moment, see\\r\\n How soon this mightiness meets misery.\\r\\n And if you can be merry then, I\\'ll say\\r\\n A man may weep upon his wedding-day.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the DUKE OF NORFOLK at one door; at the other, the DUKE OF\\r\\nBUCKINGHAM and the LORD ABERGAVENNY\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done\\r\\n Since last we saw in France?\\r\\n NORFOLK. I thank your Grace,\\r\\n Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer\\r\\n Of what I saw there.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. An untimely ague\\r\\n Stay\\'d me a prisoner in my chamber when\\r\\n Those suns of glory, those two lights of men,\\r\\n Met in the vale of Andren.\\r\\n NORFOLK. \\'Twixt Guynes and Arde-\\r\\n I was then present, saw them salute on horseback;\\r\\n Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung\\r\\n In their embracement, as they grew together;\\r\\n Which had they, what four thron\\'d ones could have weigh\\'d\\r\\n Such a compounded one?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. All the whole time\\r\\n I was my chamber\\'s prisoner.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Then you lost\\r\\n The view of earthly glory; men might say,\\r\\n Till this time pomp was single, but now married\\r\\n To one above itself. Each following day\\r\\n Became the next day\\'s master, till the last\\r\\n Made former wonders its. To-day the French,\\r\\n All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,\\r\\n Shone down the English; and to-morrow they\\r\\n Made Britain India: every man that stood\\r\\n Show\\'d like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were\\r\\n As cherubins, an gilt; the madams too,\\r\\n Not us\\'d to toil, did almost sweat to bear\\r\\n The pride upon them, that their very labour\\r\\n Was to them as a painting. Now this masque\\r\\n Was cried incomparable; and th\\' ensuing night\\r\\n Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings,\\r\\n Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst,\\r\\n As presence did present them: him in eye\\r\\n still him in praise; and being present both,\\r\\n \\'Twas said they saw but one, and no discerner\\r\\n Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns-\\r\\n For so they phrase \\'em-by their heralds challeng\\'d\\r\\n The noble spirits to arms, they did perform\\r\\n Beyond thought\\'s compass, that former fabulous story,\\r\\n Being now seen possible enough, got credit,\\r\\n That Bevis was believ\\'d.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. O, you go far!\\r\\n NORFOLK. As I belong to worship, and affect\\r\\n In honour honesty, the tract of ev\\'rything\\r\\n Would by a good discourser lose some life\\r\\n Which action\\'s self was tongue to. All was royal:\\r\\n To the disposing of it nought rebell\\'d;\\r\\n Order gave each thing view. The office did\\r\\n Distinctly his full function.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Who did guide-\\r\\n I mean, who set the body and the limbs\\r\\n Of this great sport together, as you guess?\\r\\n NORFOLK. One, certes, that promises no element\\r\\n In such a business.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I pray you, who, my lord?\\r\\n NORFOLK. All this was ord\\'red by the good discretion\\r\\n Of the right reverend Cardinal of York.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. The devil speed him! No man\\'s pie is freed\\r\\n From his ambitious finger. What had he\\r\\n To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder\\r\\n That such a keech can with his very bulk\\r\\n Take up the rays o\\' th\\' beneficial sun,\\r\\n And keep it from the earth.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Surely, sir,\\r\\n There\\'s in him stuff that puts him to these ends;\\r\\n For, being not propp\\'d by ancestry, whose grace\\r\\n Chalks successors their way, nor call\\'d upon\\r\\n For high feats done to th\\' crown, neither allied\\r\\n To eminent assistants, but spider-like,\\r\\n Out of his self-drawing web, \\'a gives us note\\r\\n The force of his own merit makes his way-\\r\\n A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys\\r\\n A place next to the King.\\r\\n ABERGAVENNY. I cannot tell\\r\\n What heaven hath given him-let some graver eye\\r\\n Pierce into that; but I can see his pride\\r\\n Peep through each part of him. Whence has he that?\\r\\n If not from hell, the devil is a niggard\\r\\n Or has given all before, and he begins\\r\\n A new hell in himself.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Why the devil,\\r\\n Upon this French going out, took he upon him-\\r\\n Without the privity o\\' th\\' King-t\\' appoint\\r\\n Who should attend on him? He makes up the file\\r\\n Of all the gentry; for the most part such\\r\\n To whom as great a charge as little honour\\r\\n He meant to lay upon; and his own letter,\\r\\n The honourable board of council out,\\r\\n Must fetch him in he papers.\\r\\n ABERGAVENNY. I do know\\r\\n Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have\\r\\n By this so sicken\\'d their estates that never\\r\\n They shall abound as formerly.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. O, many\\r\\n Have broke their backs with laying manors on \\'em\\r\\n For this great journey. What did this vanity\\r\\n But minister communication of\\r\\n A most poor issue?\\r\\n NORFOLK. Grievingly I think\\r\\n The peace between the French and us not values\\r\\n The cost that did conclude it.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Every man,\\r\\n After the hideous storm that follow\\'d, was\\r\\n A thing inspir\\'d, and, not consulting, broke\\r\\n Into a general prophecy-that this tempest,\\r\\n Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded\\r\\n The sudden breach on\\'t.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Which is budded out;\\r\\n For France hath flaw\\'d the league, and hath attach\\'d\\r\\n Our merchants\\' goods at Bordeaux.\\r\\n ABERGAVENNY. Is it therefore\\r\\n Th\\' ambassador is silenc\\'d?\\r\\n NORFOLK. Marry, is\\'t.\\r\\n ABERGAVENNY. A proper tide of a peace, and purchas\\'d\\r\\n At a superfluous rate!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Why, all this business\\r\\n Our reverend Cardinal carried.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Like it your Grace,\\r\\n The state takes notice of the private difference\\r\\n Betwixt you and the Cardinal. I advise you-\\r\\n And take it from a heart that wishes towards you\\r\\n Honour and plenteous safety-that you read\\r\\n The Cardinal\\'s malice and his potency\\r\\n Together; to consider further, that\\r\\n What his high hatred would effect wants not\\r\\n A minister in his power. You know his nature,\\r\\n That he\\'s revengeful; and I know his sword\\r\\n Hath a sharp edge-it\\'s long and\\'t may be said\\r\\n It reaches far, and where \\'twill not extend,\\r\\n Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel\\r\\n You\\'ll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock\\r\\n That I advise your shunning.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, the purse borne before him, certain of the\\r\\n guard, and two SECRETARIES with papers. The CARDINAL in his\\r\\n passage fixeth his eye on BUCKINGHAM, and BUCKINGHAM on him, both\\r\\n full of disdain\\r\\n\\r\\n WOLSEY. The Duke of Buckingham\\'s surveyor? Ha!\\r\\n Where\\'s his examination?\\r\\n SECRETARY. Here, so please you.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Is he in person ready?\\r\\n SECRETARY. Ay, please your Grace.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Well, we shall then know more, and Buckingham\\r\\n shall lessen this big look.\\r\\n Exeunt WOLSEY and his train\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. This butcher\\'s cur is venom-mouth\\'d, and I\\r\\n Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best\\r\\n Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar\\'s book\\r\\n Outworths a noble\\'s blood.\\r\\n NORFOLK. What, are you chaf\\'d?\\r\\n Ask God for temp\\'rance; that\\'s th\\' appliance only\\r\\n Which your disease requires.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I read in\\'s looks\\r\\n Matter against me, and his eye revil\\'d\\r\\n Me as his abject object. At this instant\\r\\n He bores me with some trick. He\\'s gone to th\\' King;\\r\\n I\\'ll follow, and outstare him.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Stay, my lord,\\r\\n And let your reason with your choler question\\r\\n What \\'tis you go about. To climb steep hills\\r\\n Requires slow pace at first. Anger is like\\r\\n A full hot horse, who being allow\\'d his way,\\r\\n Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England\\r\\n Can advise me like you; be to yourself\\r\\n As you would to your friend.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I\\'ll to the King,\\r\\n And from a mouth of honour quite cry down\\r\\n This Ipswich fellow\\'s insolence; or proclaim\\r\\n There\\'s difference in no persons.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Be advis\\'d:\\r\\n Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot\\r\\n That it do singe yourself. We may outrun\\r\\n By violent swiftness that which we run at,\\r\\n And lose by over-running. Know you not\\r\\n The fire that mounts the liquor till\\'t run o\\'er\\r\\n In seeming to augment it wastes it? Be advis\\'d.\\r\\n I say again there is no English soul\\r\\n More stronger to direct you than yourself,\\r\\n If with the sap of reason you would quench\\r\\n Or but allay the fire of passion.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Sir,\\r\\n I am thankful to you, and I\\'ll go along\\r\\n By your prescription; but this top-proud fellow-\\r\\n Whom from the flow of gan I name not, but\\r\\n From sincere motions, by intelligence,\\r\\n And proofs as clear as founts in July when\\r\\n We see each grain of gravel-I do know\\r\\n To be corrupt and treasonous.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Say not treasonous.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. To th\\' King I\\'ll say\\'t, and make my vouch as strong\\r\\n As shore of rock. Attend: this holy fox,\\r\\n Or wolf, or both-for he is equal rav\\'nous\\r\\n As he is subtle, and as prone to mischief\\r\\n As able to perform\\'t, his mind and place\\r\\n Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally-\\r\\n Only to show his pomp as well in France\\r\\n As here at home, suggests the King our master\\r\\n To this last costly treaty, th\\' interview\\r\\n That swallowed so much treasure and like a glass\\r\\n Did break i\\' th\\' wrenching.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Faith, and so it did.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Pray, give me favour, sir; this cunning cardinal\\r\\n The articles o\\' th\\' combination drew\\r\\n As himself pleas\\'d; and they were ratified\\r\\n As he cried \\'Thus let be\\' to as much end\\r\\n As give a crutch to th\\' dead. But our Count-Cardinal\\r\\n Has done this, and \\'tis well; for worthy Wolsey,\\r\\n Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows,\\r\\n Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy\\r\\n To th\\' old dam treason: Charles the Emperor,\\r\\n Under pretence to see the Queen his aunt-\\r\\n For \\'twas indeed his colour, but he came\\r\\n To whisper Wolsey-here makes visitation-\\r\\n His fears were that the interview betwixt\\r\\n England and France might through their amity\\r\\n Breed him some prejudice; for from this league\\r\\n Peep\\'d harms that menac\\'d him-privily\\r\\n Deals with our Cardinal; and, as I trow-\\r\\n Which I do well, for I am sure the Emperor\\r\\n Paid ere he promis\\'d; whereby his suit was granted\\r\\n Ere it was ask\\'d-but when the way was made,\\r\\n And pav\\'d with gold, the Emperor thus desir\\'d,\\r\\n That he would please to alter the King\\'s course,\\r\\n And break the foresaid peace. Let the King know,\\r\\n As soon he shall by me, that thus the Cardinal\\r\\n Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases,\\r\\n And for his own advantage.\\r\\n NORFOLK. I am sorry\\r\\n To hear this of him, and could wish he were\\r\\n Something mistaken in\\'t.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. No, not a syllable:\\r\\n I do pronounce him in that very shape\\r\\n He shall appear in proof.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BRANDON, a SERGEANT-AT-ARMS before him,\\r\\n and two or three of the guard\\r\\n\\r\\n BRANDON. Your office, sergeant: execute it.\\r\\n SERGEANT. Sir,\\r\\n My lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl\\r\\n Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I\\r\\n Arrest thee of high treason, in the name\\r\\n Of our most sovereign King.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Lo you, my lord,\\r\\n The net has fall\\'n upon me! I shall perish\\r\\n Under device and practice.\\r\\n BRANDON. I am sorry\\r\\n To see you ta\\'en from liberty, to look on\\r\\n The business present; \\'tis his Highness\\' pleasure\\r\\n You shall to th\\' Tower.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. It will help nothing\\r\\n To plead mine innocence; for that dye is on me\\r\\n Which makes my whit\\'st part black. The will of heav\\'n\\r\\n Be done in this and all things! I obey.\\r\\n O my Lord Aberga\\'ny, fare you well!\\r\\n BRANDON. Nay, he must bear you company.\\r\\n [To ABERGAVENNY] The King\\r\\n Is pleas\\'d you shall to th\\' Tower, till you know\\r\\n How he determines further.\\r\\n ABERGAVENNY. As the Duke said,\\r\\n The will of heaven be done, and the King\\'s pleasure\\r\\n By me obey\\'d.\\r\\n BRANDON. Here is warrant from\\r\\n The King t\\' attach Lord Montacute and the bodies\\r\\n Of the Duke\\'s confessor, John de la Car,\\r\\n One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor-\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. So, so!\\r\\n These are the limbs o\\' th\\' plot; no more, I hope.\\r\\n BRANDON. A monk o\\' th\\' Chartreux.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. O, Nicholas Hopkins?\\r\\n BRANDON. He.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My surveyor is false. The o\\'er-great Cardinal\\r\\n Hath show\\'d him gold; my life is spann\\'d already.\\r\\n I am the shadow of poor Buckingham,\\r\\n Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on\\r\\n By dark\\'ning my clear sun. My lord, farewell.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The Council Chamber\\r\\n\\r\\nCornets. Enter KING HENRY, leaning on the CARDINAL\\'S shoulder, the\\r\\nNOBLES, and SIR THOMAS LOVELL, with others. The CARDINAL places himself\\r\\nunder the KING\\'S feet on his right side\\r\\n\\r\\n KING. My life itself, and the best heart of it,\\r\\n Thanks you for this great care; I stood i\\' th\\' level\\r\\n Of a full-charg\\'d confederacy, and give thanks\\r\\n To you that chok\\'d it. Let be call\\'d before us\\r\\n That gentleman of Buckingham\\'s. In person\\r\\n I\\'ll hear his confessions justify;\\r\\n And point by point the treasons of his master\\r\\n He shall again relate.\\r\\n\\r\\n A noise within, crying \\'Room for the Queen!\\' Enter the QUEEN,\\r\\n usher\\'d by the DUKES OF NORFOLK and SUFFOLK; she kneels. The KING\\r\\n riseth from his state, takes her up, kisses and placeth her by\\r\\n him\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Nay, we must longer kneel: I am suitor.\\r\\n KING. Arise, and take place by us. Half your suit\\r\\n Never name to us: you have half our power.\\r\\n The other moiety ere you ask is given;\\r\\n Repeat your will, and take it.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Thank your Majesty.\\r\\n That you would love yourself, and in that love\\r\\n Not unconsidered leave your honour nor\\r\\n The dignity of your office, is the point\\r\\n Of my petition.\\r\\n KING. Lady mine, proceed.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. I am solicited, not by a few,\\r\\n And those of true condition, that your subjects\\r\\n Are in great grievance: there have been commissions\\r\\n Sent down among \\'em which hath flaw\\'d the heart\\r\\n Of all their loyalties; wherein, although,\\r\\n My good Lord Cardinal, they vent reproaches\\r\\n Most bitterly on you as putter-on\\r\\n Of these exactions, yet the King our master-\\r\\n Whose honour Heaven shield from soil!-even he escapes not\\r\\n Language unmannerly; yea, such which breaks\\r\\n The sides of loyalty, and almost appears\\r\\n In loud rebellion.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Not almost appears-\\r\\n It doth appear; for, upon these taxations,\\r\\n The clothiers all, not able to maintain\\r\\n The many to them \\'longing, have put of\\r\\n The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who\\r\\n Unfit for other life, compell\\'d by hunger\\r\\n And lack of other means, in desperate manner\\r\\n Daring th\\' event to th\\' teeth, are all in uproar,\\r\\n And danger serves among them.\\r\\n KING. Taxation!\\r\\n Wherein? and what taxation? My Lord Cardinal,\\r\\n You that are blam\\'d for it alike with us,\\r\\n Know you of this taxation?\\r\\n WOLSEY. Please you, sir,\\r\\n I know but of a single part in aught\\r\\n Pertains to th\\' state, and front but in that file\\r\\n Where others tell steps with me.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. No, my lord!\\r\\n You know no more than others! But you frame\\r\\n Things that are known alike, which are not wholesome\\r\\n To those which would not know them, and yet must\\r\\n Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions,\\r\\n Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are\\r\\n Most pestilent to th\\' hearing; and to bear \\'em\\r\\n The back is sacrifice to th\\' load. They say\\r\\n They are devis\\'d by you, or else you suffer\\r\\n Too hard an exclamation.\\r\\n KING. Still exaction!\\r\\n The nature of it? In what kind, let\\'s know,\\r\\n Is this exaction?\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. I am much too venturous\\r\\n In tempting of your patience, but am bold\\'ned\\r\\n Under your promis\\'d pardon. The subjects\\' grief\\r\\n Comes through commissions, which compels from each\\r\\n The sixth part of his substance, to be levied\\r\\n Without delay; and the pretence for this\\r\\n Is nam\\'d your wars in France. This makes bold mouths;\\r\\n Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze\\r\\n Allegiance in them; their curses now\\r\\n Live where their prayers did; and it\\'s come to pass\\r\\n This tractable obedience is a slave\\r\\n To each incensed will. I would your Highness\\r\\n Would give it quick consideration, for\\r\\n There is no primer business.\\r\\n KING. By my life,\\r\\n This is against our pleasure.\\r\\n WOLSEY. And for me,\\r\\n I have no further gone in this than by\\r\\n A single voice; and that not pass\\'d me but\\r\\n By learned approbation of the judges. If I am\\r\\n Traduc\\'d by ignorant tongues, which neither know\\r\\n My faculties nor person, yet will be\\r\\n The chronicles of my doing, let me say\\r\\n \\'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake\\r\\n That virtue must go through. We must not stint\\r\\n Our necessary actions in the fear\\r\\n To cope malicious censurers, which ever\\r\\n As rav\\'nous fishes do a vessel follow\\r\\n That is new-trimm\\'d, but benefit no further\\r\\n Than vainly longing. What we oft do best,\\r\\n By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is\\r\\n Not ours, or not allow\\'d; what worst, as oft\\r\\n Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up\\r\\n For our best act. If we shall stand still,\\r\\n In fear our motion will be mock\\'d or carp\\'d at,\\r\\n We should take root here where we sit, or sit\\r\\n State-statues only.\\r\\n KING. Things done well\\r\\n And with a care exempt themselves from fear:\\r\\n Things done without example, in their issue\\r\\n Are to be fear\\'d. Have you a precedent\\r\\n Of this commission? I believe, not any.\\r\\n We must not rend our subjects from our laws,\\r\\n And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each?\\r\\n A trembling contribution! Why, we take\\r\\n From every tree lop, bark, and part o\\' th\\' timber;\\r\\n And though we leave it with a root, thus hack\\'d,\\r\\n The air will drink the sap. To every county\\r\\n Where this is question\\'d send our letters with\\r\\n Free pardon to each man that has denied\\r\\n The force of this commission. Pray, look tot;\\r\\n I put it to your care.\\r\\n WOLSEY. [Aside to the SECRETARY] A word with you.\\r\\n Let there be letters writ to every shire\\r\\n Of the King\\'s grace and pardon. The grieved commons\\r\\n Hardly conceive of me-let it be nois\\'d\\r\\n That through our intercession this revokement\\r\\n And pardon comes. I shall anon advise you\\r\\n Further in the proceeding. Exit SECRETARY\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SURVEYOR\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. I am sorry that the Duke of Buckingham\\r\\n Is run in your displeasure.\\r\\n KING. It grieves many.\\r\\n The gentleman is learn\\'d and a most rare speaker;\\r\\n To nature none more bound; his training such\\r\\n That he may furnish and instruct great teachers\\r\\n And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet see,\\r\\n When these so noble benefits shall prove\\r\\n Not well dispos\\'d, the mind growing once corrupt,\\r\\n They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly\\r\\n Than ever they were fair. This man so complete,\\r\\n Who was enroll\\'d \\'mongst wonders, and when we,\\r\\n Almost with ravish\\'d list\\'ning, could not find\\r\\n His hour of speech a minute-he, my lady,\\r\\n Hath into monstrous habits put the graces\\r\\n That once were his, and is become as black\\r\\n As if besmear\\'d in hell. Sit by us; you shall hear-\\r\\n This was his gentleman in trust-of him\\r\\n Things to strike honour sad. Bid him recount\\r\\n The fore-recited practices, whereof\\r\\n We cannot feel too little, hear too much.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate what you,\\r\\n Most like a careful subject, have collected\\r\\n Out of the Duke of Buckingham.\\r\\n KING. Speak freely.\\r\\n SURVEYOR. First, it was usual with him-every day\\r\\n It would infect his speech-that if the King\\r\\n Should without issue die, he\\'ll carry it so\\r\\n To make the sceptre his. These very words\\r\\n I\\'ve heard him utter to his son-in-law,\\r\\n Lord Aberga\\'ny, to whom by oath he menac\\'d\\r\\n Revenge upon the Cardinal.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Please your Highness, note\\r\\n This dangerous conception in this point:\\r\\n Not friended by his wish, to your high person\\r\\n His will is most malignant, and it stretches\\r\\n Beyond you to your friends.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. My learn\\'d Lord Cardinal,\\r\\n Deliver all with charity.\\r\\n KING. Speak on.\\r\\n How grounded he his title to the crown\\r\\n Upon our fail? To this point hast thou heard him\\r\\n At any time speak aught?\\r\\n SURVEYOR. He was brought to this\\r\\n By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Henton.\\r\\n KING. What was that Henton?\\r\\n SURVEYOR. Sir, a Chartreux friar,\\r\\n His confessor, who fed him every minute\\r\\n With words of sovereignty.\\r\\n KING. How know\\'st thou this?\\r\\n SURVEYOR. Not long before your Highness sped to France,\\r\\n The Duke being at the Rose, within the parish\\r\\n Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand\\r\\n What was the speech among the Londoners\\r\\n Concerning the French journey. I replied\\r\\n Men fear\\'d the French would prove perfidious,\\r\\n To the King\\'s danger. Presently the Duke\\r\\n Said \\'twas the fear indeed and that he doubted\\r\\n \\'Twould prove the verity of certain words\\r\\n Spoke by a holy monk \\'that oft\\' says he\\r\\n \\'Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit\\r\\n John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour\\r\\n To hear from him a matter of some moment;\\r\\n Whom after under the confession\\'s seal\\r\\n He solemnly had sworn that what he spoke\\r\\n My chaplain to no creature living but\\r\\n To me should utter, with demure confidence\\r\\n This pausingly ensu\\'d: \"Neither the King nor\\'s heirs,\\r\\n Tell you the Duke, shall prosper; bid him strive\\r\\n To gain the love o\\' th\\' commonalty; the Duke\\r\\n Shall govern England.\"\\'\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. If I know you well,\\r\\n You were the Duke\\'s surveyor, and lost your office\\r\\n On the complaint o\\' th\\' tenants. Take good heed\\r\\n You charge not in your spleen a noble person\\r\\n And spoil your nobler soul. I say, take heed;\\r\\n Yes, heartily beseech you.\\r\\n KING. Let him on.\\r\\n Go forward.\\r\\n SURVEYOR. On my soul, I\\'ll speak but truth.\\r\\n I told my lord the Duke, by th\\' devil\\'s illusions\\r\\n The monk might be deceiv\\'d, and that \\'twas dangerous\\r\\n for him\\r\\n To ruminate on this so far, until\\r\\n It forg\\'d him some design, which, being believ\\'d,\\r\\n It was much like to do. He answer\\'d \\'Tush,\\r\\n It can do me no damage\\'; adding further\\r\\n That, had the King in his last sickness fail\\'d,\\r\\n The Cardinal\\'s and Sir Thomas Lovell\\'s heads\\r\\n Should have gone off.\\r\\n KING. Ha! what, so rank? Ah ha!\\r\\n There\\'s mischief in this man. Canst thou say further?\\r\\n SURVEYOR. I can, my liege.\\r\\n KING. Proceed.\\r\\n SURVEYOR. Being at Greenwich,\\r\\n After your Highness had reprov\\'d the Duke\\r\\n About Sir William Bulmer-\\r\\n KING. I remember\\r\\n Of such a time: being my sworn servant,\\r\\n The Duke retain\\'d him his. But on: what hence?\\r\\n SURVEYOR. \\'If\\' quoth he \\'I for this had been committed-\\r\\n As to the Tower I thought-I would have play\\'d\\r\\n The part my father meant to act upon\\r\\n Th\\' usurper Richard; who, being at Salisbury,\\r\\n Made suit to come in\\'s presence, which if granted,\\r\\n As he made semblance of his duty, would\\r\\n Have put his knife into him.\\'\\r\\n KING. A giant traitor!\\r\\n WOLSEY. Now, madam, may his Highness live in freedom,\\r\\n And this man out of prison?\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. God mend all!\\r\\n KING. There\\'s something more would out of thee: what say\\'st?\\r\\n SURVEYOR. After \\'the Duke his father\\' with the \\'knife,\\'\\r\\n He stretch\\'d him, and, with one hand on his dagger,\\r\\n Another spread on\\'s breast, mounting his eyes,\\r\\n He did discharge a horrible oath, whose tenour\\r\\n Was, were he evil us\\'d, he would outgo\\r\\n His father by as much as a performance\\r\\n Does an irresolute purpose.\\r\\n KING. There\\'s his period,\\r\\n To sheath his knife in us. He is attach\\'d;\\r\\n Call him to present trial. If he may\\r\\n Find mercy in the law, \\'tis his; if none,\\r\\n Let him not seek\\'t of us. By day and night!\\r\\n He\\'s traitor to th\\' height. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN and LORD SANDYS\\r\\n\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Is\\'t possible the spells of France should juggle\\r\\n Men into such strange mysteries?\\r\\n SANDYS. New customs,\\r\\n Though they be never so ridiculous,\\r\\n Nay, let \\'em be unmanly, yet are follow\\'d.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. As far as I see, all the good our English\\r\\n Have got by the late voyage is but merely\\r\\n A fit or two o\\' th\\' face; but they are shrewd ones;\\r\\n For when they hold \\'em, you would swear directly\\r\\n Their very noses had been counsellors\\r\\n To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep state so.\\r\\n SANDYS. They have all new legs, and lame ones. One would take it,\\r\\n That never saw \\'em pace before, the spavin\\r\\n Or springhalt reign\\'d among \\'em.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Death! my lord,\\r\\n Their clothes are after such a pagan cut to\\'t,\\r\\n That sure th\\' have worn out Christendom.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR THOMAS LOVELL\\r\\n\\r\\n How now?\\r\\n What news, Sir Thomas Lovell?\\r\\n LOVELL. Faith, my lord,\\r\\n I hear of none but the new proclamation\\r\\n That\\'s clapp\\'d upon the court gate.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. What is\\'t for?\\r\\n LOVELL. The reformation of our travell\\'d gallants,\\r\\n That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. I am glad \\'tis there. Now I would pray our monsieurs\\r\\n To think an English courtier may be wise,\\r\\n And never see the Louvre.\\r\\n LOVELL. They must either,\\r\\n For so run the conditions, leave those remnants\\r\\n Of fool and feather that they got in France,\\r\\n With all their honourable points of ignorance\\r\\n Pertaining thereunto-as fights and fireworks;\\r\\n Abusing better men than they can be,\\r\\n Out of a foreign wisdom-renouncing clean\\r\\n The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings,\\r\\n Short blist\\'red breeches, and those types of travel\\r\\n And understand again like honest men,\\r\\n Or pack to their old playfellows. There, I take it,\\r\\n They may, cum privilegio, wear away\\r\\n The lag end of their lewdness and be laugh\\'d at.\\r\\n SANDYS. \\'Tis time to give \\'em physic, their diseases\\r\\n Are grown so catching.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. What a loss our ladies\\r\\n Will have of these trim vanities!\\r\\n LOVELL. Ay, marry,\\r\\n There will be woe indeed, lords: the sly whoresons\\r\\n Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies.\\r\\n A French song and a fiddle has no fellow.\\r\\n SANDYS. The devil fiddle \\'em! I am glad they are going,\\r\\n For sure there\\'s no converting \\'em. Now\\r\\n An honest country lord, as I am, beaten\\r\\n A long time out of play, may bring his plainsong\\r\\n And have an hour of hearing; and, by\\'r Lady,\\r\\n Held current music too.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Well said, Lord Sandys;\\r\\n Your colt\\'s tooth is not cast yet.\\r\\n SANDYS. No, my lord,\\r\\n Nor shall not while I have a stamp.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Sir Thomas,\\r\\n Whither were you a-going?\\r\\n LOVELL. To the Cardinal\\'s;\\r\\n Your lordship is a guest too.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. O, \\'tis true;\\r\\n This night he makes a supper, and a great one,\\r\\n To many lords and ladies; there will be\\r\\n The beauty of this kingdom, I\\'ll assure you.\\r\\n LOVELL. That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed,\\r\\n A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us;\\r\\n His dews fall everywhere.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. No doubt he\\'s noble;\\r\\n He had a black mouth that said other of him.\\r\\n SANDYS. He may, my lord; has wherewithal. In him\\r\\n Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine:\\r\\n Men of his way should be most liberal,\\r\\n They are set here for examples.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. True, they are so;\\r\\n But few now give so great ones. My barge stays;\\r\\n Your lordship shall along. Come, good Sir Thomas,\\r\\n We shall be late else; which I would not be,\\r\\n For I was spoke to, with Sir Henry Guildford,\\r\\n This night to be comptrollers.\\r\\n SANDYS. I am your lordship\\'s. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The Presence Chamber in York Place\\r\\n\\r\\nHautboys. A small table under a state for the Cardinal, a longer table\\r\\nfor the guests. Then enter ANNE BULLEN, and divers other LADIES and\\r\\nGENTLEMEN, as guests, at one door; at another door enter SIR HENRY\\r\\nGUILDFORD\\r\\n\\r\\n GUILDFORD. Ladies, a general welcome from his Grace\\r\\n Salutes ye all; this night he dedicates\\r\\n To fair content and you. None here, he hopes,\\r\\n In all this noble bevy, has brought with her\\r\\n One care abroad; he would have all as merry\\r\\n As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome,\\r\\n Can make good people.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD CHAMBERLAIN, LORD SANDYS, and SIR\\r\\n THOMAS LOVELL\\r\\n\\r\\n O, my lord, y\\'are tardy,\\r\\n The very thought of this fair company\\r\\n Clapp\\'d wings to me.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. You are young, Sir Harry Guildford.\\r\\n SANDYS. Sir Thomas Lovell, had the Cardinal\\r\\n But half my lay thoughts in him, some of these\\r\\n Should find a running banquet ere they rested\\r\\n I think would better please \\'em. By my life,\\r\\n They are a sweet society of fair ones.\\r\\n LOVELL. O that your lordship were but now confessor\\r\\n To one or two of these!\\r\\n SANDYS. I would I were;\\r\\n They should find easy penance.\\r\\n LOVELL. Faith, how easy?\\r\\n SANDYS. As easy as a down bed would afford it.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir Harry,\\r\\n Place you that side; I\\'ll take the charge of this.\\r\\n His Grace is ent\\'ring. Nay, you must not freeze:\\r\\n Two women plac\\'d together makes cold weather.\\r\\n My Lord Sandys, you are one will keep \\'em waking:\\r\\n Pray sit between these ladies.\\r\\n SANDYS. By my faith,\\r\\n And thank your lordship. By your leave, sweet ladies.\\r\\n [Seats himself between ANNE BULLEN and another lady]\\r\\n If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me;\\r\\n I had it from my father.\\r\\n ANNE. Was he mad, sir?\\r\\n SANDYS. O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too.\\r\\n But he would bite none; just as I do now,\\r\\n He would kiss you twenty with a breath. [Kisses her]\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Well said, my lord.\\r\\n So, now y\\'are fairly seated. Gentlemen,\\r\\n The penance lies on you if these fair ladies\\r\\n Pass away frowning.\\r\\n SANDYS. For my little cure,\\r\\n Let me alone.\\r\\n\\r\\n Hautboys. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, attended; and\\r\\n takes his state\\r\\n\\r\\n WOLSEY. Y\\'are welcome, my fair guests. That noble lady\\r\\n Or gentleman that is not freely merry\\r\\n Is not my friend. This, to confirm my welcome-\\r\\n And to you all, good health! [Drinks]\\r\\n SANDYS. Your Grace is noble.\\r\\n Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks\\r\\n And save me so much talking.\\r\\n WOLSEY. My Lord Sandys,\\r\\n I am beholding to you. Cheer your neighbours.\\r\\n Ladies, you are not merry. Gentlemen,\\r\\n Whose fault is this?\\r\\n SANDYS. The red wine first must rise\\r\\n In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have \\'em\\r\\n Talk us to silence.\\r\\n ANNE. You are a merry gamester,\\r\\n My Lord Sandys.\\r\\n SANDYS. Yes, if I make my play.\\r\\n Here\\'s to your ladyship; and pledge it, madam,\\r\\n For \\'tis to such a thing-\\r\\n ANNE. You cannot show me.\\r\\n SANDYS. I told your Grace they would talk anon.\\r\\n [Drum and trumpet. Chambers discharg\\'d]\\r\\n WOLSEY. What\\'s that?\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Look out there, some of ye. Exit a SERVANT\\r\\n WOLSEY. What warlike voice,\\r\\n And to what end, is this? Nay, ladies, fear not:\\r\\n By all the laws of war y\\'are privileg\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. How now! what is\\'t?\\r\\n SERVANT. A noble troop of strangers-\\r\\n For so they seem. Th\\' have left their barge and landed,\\r\\n And hither make, as great ambassadors\\r\\n From foreign princes.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Good Lord Chamberlain,\\r\\n Go, give \\'em welcome; you can speak the French tongue;\\r\\n And pray receive \\'em nobly and conduct \\'em\\r\\n Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty\\r\\n Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him.\\r\\n Exit CHAMBERLAIN attended. All rise, and tables remov\\'d\\r\\n You have now a broken banquet, but we\\'ll mend it.\\r\\n A good digestion to you all; and once more\\r\\n I show\\'r a welcome on ye; welcome all.\\r\\n\\r\\n Hautboys. Enter the KING, and others, as maskers,\\r\\n habited like shepherds, usher\\'d by the LORD CHAMBERLAIN.\\r\\n They pass directly before the CARDINAL,\\r\\n and gracefully salute him\\r\\n\\r\\n A noble company! What are their pleasures?\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Because they speak no English, thus they pray\\'d\\r\\n To tell your Grace, that, having heard by fame\\r\\n Of this so noble and so fair assembly\\r\\n This night to meet here, they could do no less,\\r\\n Out of the great respect they bear to beauty,\\r\\n But leave their flocks and, under your fair conduct,\\r\\n Crave leave to view these ladies and entreat\\r\\n An hour of revels with \\'em.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Say, Lord Chamberlain,\\r\\n They have done my poor house grace; for which I pay \\'em\\r\\n A thousand thanks, and pray \\'em take their pleasures.\\r\\n [They choose ladies. The KING chooses ANNE BULLEN]\\r\\n KING. The fairest hand I ever touch\\'d! O beauty,\\r\\n Till now I never knew thee! [Music. Dance]\\r\\n WOLSEY. My lord!\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Your Grace?\\r\\n WOLSEY. Pray tell \\'em thus much from me:\\r\\n There should be one amongst \\'em, by his person,\\r\\n More worthy this place than myself; to whom,\\r\\n If I but knew him, with my love and duty\\r\\n I would surrender it.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. I will, my lord.\\r\\n [He whispers to the maskers]\\r\\n WOLSEY. What say they?\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Such a one, they all confess,\\r\\n There is indeed; which they would have your Grace\\r\\n Find out, and he will take it.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Let me see, then. [Comes from his state]\\r\\n By all your good leaves, gentlemen, here I\\'ll make\\r\\n My royal choice.\\r\\n KING. [Unmasking] Ye have found him, Cardinal.\\r\\n You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord.\\r\\n You are a churchman, or, I\\'ll tell you, Cardinal,\\r\\n I should judge now unhappily.\\r\\n WOLSEY. I am glad\\r\\n Your Grace is grown so pleasant.\\r\\n KING. My Lord Chamberlain,\\r\\n Prithee come hither: what fair lady\\'s that?\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. An\\'t please your Grace, Sir Thomas Bullen\\'s\\r\\n daughter-\\r\\n The Viscount Rochford-one of her Highness\\' women.\\r\\n KING. By heaven, she is a dainty one. Sweet heart,\\r\\n I were unmannerly to take you out\\r\\n And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen!\\r\\n Let it go round.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready\\r\\n I\\' th\\' privy chamber?\\r\\n LOVELL. Yes, my lord.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Your Grace,\\r\\n I fear, with dancing is a little heated.\\r\\n KING. I fear, too much.\\r\\n WOLSEY. There\\'s fresher air, my lord,\\r\\n In the next chamber.\\r\\n KING. Lead in your ladies, ev\\'ry one. Sweet partner,\\r\\n I must not yet forsake you. Let\\'s be merry:\\r\\n Good my Lord Cardinal, I have half a dozen healths\\r\\n To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure\\r\\n To lead \\'em once again; and then let\\'s dream\\r\\n Who\\'s best in favour. Let the music knock it.\\r\\n Exeunt, with trumpets\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nWestminster. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter two GENTLEMEN, at several doors\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Whither away so fast?\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. O, God save ye!\\r\\n Ev\\'n to the Hall, to hear what shall become\\r\\n Of the great Duke of Buckingham.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. I\\'ll save you\\r\\n That labour, sir. All\\'s now done but the ceremony\\r\\n Of bringing back the prisoner.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Were you there?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes, indeed, was I.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Pray, speak what has happen\\'d.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. You may guess quickly what.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Is he found guilty?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes, truly is he, and condemn\\'d upon\\'t.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. I am sorry for\\'t.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. So are a number more.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. But, pray, how pass\\'d it?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. I\\'ll tell you in a little. The great Duke.\\r\\n Came to the bar; where to his accusations\\r\\n He pleaded still not guilty, and alleged\\r\\n Many sharp reasons to defeat the law.\\r\\n The King\\'s attorney, on the contrary,\\r\\n Urg\\'d on the examinations, proofs, confessions,\\r\\n Of divers witnesses; which the Duke desir\\'d\\r\\n To have brought, viva voce, to his face;\\r\\n At which appear\\'d against him his surveyor,\\r\\n Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor, and John Car,\\r\\n Confessor to him, with that devil-monk,\\r\\n Hopkins, that made this mischief.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. That was he\\r\\n That fed him with his prophecies?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. The same.\\r\\n All these accus\\'d him strongly, which he fain\\r\\n Would have flung from him; but indeed he could not;\\r\\n And so his peers, upon this evidence,\\r\\n Have found him guilty of high treason. Much\\r\\n He spoke, and learnedly, for life; but all\\r\\n Was either pitied in him or forgotten.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. After all this, how did he bear him-self\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. When he was brought again to th\\' bar to hear\\r\\n His knell rung out, his judgment, he was stirr\\'d\\r\\n With such an agony he sweat extremely,\\r\\n And something spoke in choler, ill and hasty;\\r\\n But he fell to himself again, and sweetly\\r\\n In all the rest show\\'d a most noble patience.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. I do not think he fears death.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Sure, he does not;\\r\\n He never was so womanish; the cause\\r\\n He may a little grieve at.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Certainly\\r\\n The Cardinal is the end of this.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. \\'Tis likely,\\r\\n By all conjectures: first, Kildare\\'s attainder,\\r\\n Then deputy of Ireland, who remov\\'d,\\r\\n Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too,\\r\\n Lest he should help his father.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. That trick of state\\r\\n Was a deep envious one.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. At his return\\r\\n No doubt he will requite it. This is noted,\\r\\n And generally: whoever the King favours\\r\\n The Cardinal instantly will find employment,\\r\\n And far enough from court too.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. All the commons\\r\\n Hate him perniciously, and, o\\' my conscience,\\r\\n Wish him ten fathom deep: this Duke as much\\r\\n They love and dote on; call him bounteous Buckingham,\\r\\n The mirror of all courtesy-\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BUCKINGHAM from his arraignment, tip-staves\\r\\n before him; the axe with the edge towards him; halberds\\r\\n on each side; accompanied with SIR THOMAS\\r\\n LOVELL, SIR NICHOLAS VAUX, SIR WILLIAM SANDYS,\\r\\n and common people, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Stay there, sir,\\r\\n And see the noble ruin\\'d man you speak of.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Let\\'s stand close, and behold him.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. All good people,\\r\\n You that thus far have come to pity me,\\r\\n Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me.\\r\\n I have this day receiv\\'d a traitor\\'s judgment,\\r\\n And by that name must die; yet, heaven bear witness,\\r\\n And if I have a conscience, let it sink me\\r\\n Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful!\\r\\n The law I bear no malice for my death:\\r\\n \\'T has done, upon the premises, but justice.\\r\\n But those that sought it I could wish more Christians.\\r\\n Be what they will, I heartily forgive \\'em;\\r\\n Yet let \\'em look they glory not in mischief\\r\\n Nor build their evils on the graves of great men,\\r\\n For then my guiltless blood must cry against \\'em.\\r\\n For further life in this world I ne\\'er hope\\r\\n Nor will I sue, although the King have mercies\\r\\n More than I dare make faults. You few that lov\\'d me\\r\\n And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham,\\r\\n His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave\\r\\n Is only bitter to him, only dying,\\r\\n Go with me like good angels to my end;\\r\\n And as the long divorce of steel falls on me\\r\\n Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice,\\r\\n And lift my soul to heaven. Lead on, a God\\'s name.\\r\\n LOVELL. I do beseech your Grace, for charity,\\r\\n If ever any malice in your heart\\r\\n Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you\\r\\n As I would be forgiven. I forgive all.\\r\\n There cannot be those numberless offences\\r\\n \\'Gainst me that I cannot take peace with. No black envy\\r\\n Shall mark my grave. Commend me to his Grace;\\r\\n And if he speak of Buckingham, pray tell him\\r\\n You met him half in heaven. My vows and prayers\\r\\n Yet are the King\\'s, and, till my soul forsake,\\r\\n Shall cry for blessings on him. May he live\\r\\n Longer than I have time to tell his years;\\r\\n Ever belov\\'d and loving may his rule be;\\r\\n And when old time Shall lead him to his end,\\r\\n Goodness and he fill up one monument!\\r\\n LOVELL. To th\\' water side I must conduct your Grace;\\r\\n Then give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux,\\r\\n Who undertakes you to your end.\\r\\n VAUX. Prepare there;\\r\\n The Duke is coming; see the barge be ready;\\r\\n And fit it with such furniture as suits\\r\\n The greatness of his person.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Nay, Sir Nicholas,\\r\\n Let it alone; my state now will but mock me.\\r\\n When I came hither I was Lord High Constable\\r\\n And Duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward Bohun.\\r\\n Yet I am richer than my base accusers\\r\\n That never knew what truth meant; I now seal it;\\r\\n And with that blood will make \\'em one day groan fort.\\r\\n My noble father, Henry of Buckingham,\\r\\n Who first rais\\'d head against usurping Richard,\\r\\n Flying for succour to his servant Banister,\\r\\n Being distress\\'d, was by that wretch betray\\'d\\r\\n And without trial fell; God\\'s peace be with him!\\r\\n Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying\\r\\n My father\\'s loss, like a most royal prince,\\r\\n Restor\\'d me to my honours, and out of ruins\\r\\n Made my name once more noble. Now his son,\\r\\n Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name, and all\\r\\n That made me happy, at one stroke has taken\\r\\n For ever from the world. I had my trial,\\r\\n And must needs say a noble one; which makes me\\r\\n A little happier than my wretched father;\\r\\n Yet thus far we are one in fortunes: both\\r\\n Fell by our servants, by those men we lov\\'d most-\\r\\n A most unnatural and faithless service.\\r\\n Heaven has an end in all. Yet, you that hear me,\\r\\n This from a dying man receive as certain:\\r\\n Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels,\\r\\n Be sure you be not loose; for those you make friends\\r\\n And give your hearts to, when they once perceive\\r\\n The least rub in your fortunes, fall away\\r\\n Like water from ye, never found again\\r\\n But where they mean to sink ye. All good people,\\r\\n Pray for me! I must now forsake ye; the last hour\\r\\n Of my long weary life is come upon me.\\r\\n Farewell;\\r\\n And when you would say something that is sad,\\r\\n Speak how I fell. I have done; and God forgive me!\\r\\n Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and train\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. O, this is full of pity! Sir, it calls,\\r\\n I fear, too many curses on their heads\\r\\n That were the authors.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. If the Duke be guiltless,\\r\\n \\'Tis full of woe; yet I can give you inkling\\r\\n Of an ensuing evil, if it fall,\\r\\n Greater than this.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Good angels keep it from us!\\r\\n What may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir?\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. This secret is so weighty, \\'twill require\\r\\n A strong faith to conceal it.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Let me have it;\\r\\n I do not talk much.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. I am confident.\\r\\n You shall, sir. Did you not of late days hear\\r\\n A buzzing of a separation\\r\\n Between the King and Katharine?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes, but it held not;\\r\\n For when the King once heard it, out of anger\\r\\n He sent command to the Lord Mayor straight\\r\\n To stop the rumour and allay those tongues\\r\\n That durst disperse it.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. But that slander, sir,\\r\\n Is found a truth now; for it grows again\\r\\n Fresher than e\\'er it was, and held for certain\\r\\n The King will venture at it. Either the Cardinal\\r\\n Or some about him near have, out of malice\\r\\n To the good Queen, possess\\'d him with a scruple\\r\\n That will undo her. To confirm this too,\\r\\n Cardinal Campeius is arriv\\'d and lately;\\r\\n As all think, for this business.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. \\'Tis the Cardinal;\\r\\n And merely to revenge him on the Emperor\\r\\n For not bestowing on him at his asking\\r\\n The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purpos\\'d.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. I think you have hit the mark; but is\\'t\\r\\n not cruel\\r\\n That she should feel the smart of this? The Cardinal\\r\\n Will have his will, and she must fall.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. \\'Tis woeful.\\r\\n We are too open here to argue this;\\r\\n Let\\'s think in private more. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN reading this letter\\r\\n\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. \\'My lord,\\r\\n \\'The horses your lordship sent for, with all the care\\r\\n had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and furnish\\'d. They were\\r\\n young and handsome, and of the best breed in the north.\\r\\n When they were ready to set out for London, a man of\\r\\n my Lord Cardinal\\'s, by commission, and main power, took\\r\\n \\'em from me, with this reason: his master would be serv\\'d\\r\\n before a subject, if not before the King; which stopp\\'d\\r\\n our mouths, sir.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n I fear he will indeed. Well, let him have them.\\r\\n He will have all, I think.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter to the LORD CHAMBERLAIN the DUKES OF NORFOLK and SUFFOLK\\r\\n\\r\\n NORFOLK. Well met, my Lord Chamberlain.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Good day to both your Graces.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. How is the King employ\\'d?\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. I left him private,\\r\\n Full of sad thoughts and troubles.\\r\\n NORFOLK. What\\'s the cause?\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. It seems the marriage with his brother\\'s wife\\r\\n Has crept too near his conscience.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. No, his conscience\\r\\n Has crept too near another lady.\\r\\n NORFOLK. \\'Tis so;\\r\\n This is the Cardinal\\'s doing; the King-Cardinal,\\r\\n That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune,\\r\\n Turns what he list. The King will know him one day.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Pray God he do! He\\'ll never know himself else.\\r\\n NORFOLK. How holily he works in all his business!\\r\\n And with what zeal! For, now he has crack\\'d the league\\r\\n Between us and the Emperor, the Queen\\'s great nephew,\\r\\n He dives into the King\\'s soul and there scatters\\r\\n Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience,\\r\\n Fears, and despairs-and all these for his marriage;\\r\\n And out of all these to restore the King,\\r\\n He counsels a divorce, a loss of her\\r\\n That like a jewel has hung twenty years\\r\\n About his neck, yet never lost her lustre;\\r\\n Of her that loves him with that excellence\\r\\n That angels love good men with; even of her\\r\\n That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls,\\r\\n Will bless the King-and is not this course pious?\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Heaven keep me from such counsel! \\'Tis most true\\r\\n These news are everywhere; every tongue speaks \\'em,\\r\\n And every true heart weeps for \\'t. All that dare\\r\\n Look into these affairs see this main end-\\r\\n The French King\\'s sister. Heaven will one day open\\r\\n The King\\'s eyes, that so long have slept upon\\r\\n This bold bad man.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. And free us from his slavery.\\r\\n NORFOLK. We had need pray, and heartily, for our deliverance;\\r\\n Or this imperious man will work us an\\r\\n From princes into pages. All men\\'s honours\\r\\n Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion\\'d\\r\\n Into what pitch he please.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. For me, my lords,\\r\\n I love him not, nor fear him-there\\'s my creed;\\r\\n As I am made without him, so I\\'ll stand,\\r\\n If the King please; his curses and his blessings\\r\\n Touch me alike; th\\' are breath I not believe in.\\r\\n I knew him, and I know him; so I leave him\\r\\n To him that made him proud-the Pope.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Let\\'s in;\\r\\n And with some other business put the King\\r\\n From these sad thoughts that work too much upon him.\\r\\n My lord, you\\'ll bear us company?\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Excuse me,\\r\\n The King has sent me otherwhere; besides,\\r\\n You\\'ll find a most unfit time to disturb him.\\r\\n Health to your lordships!\\r\\n NORFOLK. Thanks, my good Lord Chamberlain.\\r\\n Exit LORD CHAMBERLAIN; and the KING draws\\r\\n the curtain and sits reading pensively\\r\\n SUFFOLK. How sad he looks; sure, he is much afflicted.\\r\\n KING. Who\\'s there, ha?\\r\\n NORFOLK. Pray God he be not angry.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Who\\'s there, I say? How dare you thrust yourselves\\r\\n Into my private meditations?\\r\\n Who am I, ha?\\r\\n NORFOLK. A gracious king that pardons all offences\\r\\n Malice ne\\'er meant. Our breach of duty this way\\r\\n Is business of estate, in which we come\\r\\n To know your royal pleasure.\\r\\n KING. Ye are too bold.\\r\\n Go to; I\\'ll make ye know your times of business.\\r\\n Is this an hour for temporal affairs, ha?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS with a commission\\r\\n\\r\\n Who\\'s there? My good Lord Cardinal? O my Wolsey,\\r\\n The quiet of my wounded conscience,\\r\\n Thou art a cure fit for a King. [To CAMPEIUS] You\\'re\\r\\n welcome,\\r\\n Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom.\\r\\n Use us and it. [To WOLSEY] My good lord, have great care\\r\\n I be not found a talker.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Sir, you cannot.\\r\\n I would your Grace would give us but an hour\\r\\n Of private conference.\\r\\n KING. [To NORFOLK and SUFFOLK] We are busy; go.\\r\\n NORFOLK. [Aside to SUFFOLK] This priest has no pride in him!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. [Aside to NORFOLK] Not to speak of!\\r\\n I would not be so sick though for his place.\\r\\n But this cannot continue.\\r\\n NORFOLK. [Aside to SUFFOLK] If it do,\\r\\n I\\'ll venture one have-at-him.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. [Aside to NORFOLK] I another.\\r\\n Exeunt NORFOLK and SUFFOLK\\r\\n WOLSEY. Your Grace has given a precedent of wisdom\\r\\n Above all princes, in committing freely\\r\\n Your scruple to the voice of Christendom.\\r\\n Who can be angry now? What envy reach you?\\r\\n The Spaniard, tied by blood and favour to her,\\r\\n Must now confess, if they have any goodness,\\r\\n The trial just and noble. All the clerks,\\r\\n I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms\\r\\n Have their free voices. Rome the nurse of judgment,\\r\\n Invited by your noble self, hath sent\\r\\n One general tongue unto us, this good man,\\r\\n This just and learned priest, Cardinal Campeius,\\r\\n Whom once more I present unto your Highness.\\r\\n KING. And once more in mine arms I bid him welcome,\\r\\n And thank the holy conclave for their loves.\\r\\n They have sent me such a man I would have wish\\'d for.\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. Your Grace must needs deserve an strangers\\' loves,\\r\\n You are so noble. To your Highness\\' hand\\r\\n I tender my commission; by whose virtue-\\r\\n The court of Rome commanding-you, my Lord\\r\\n Cardinal of York, are join\\'d with me their servant\\r\\n In the unpartial judging of this business.\\r\\n KING. Two equal men. The Queen shall be acquainted\\r\\n Forthwith for what you come. Where\\'s Gardiner?\\r\\n WOLSEY. I know your Majesty has always lov\\'d her\\r\\n So dear in heart not to deny her that\\r\\n A woman of less place might ask by law-\\r\\n Scholars allow\\'d freely to argue for her.\\r\\n KING. Ay, and the best she shall have; and my favour\\r\\n To him that does best. God forbid else. Cardinal,\\r\\n Prithee call Gardiner to me, my new secretary;\\r\\n I find him a fit fellow. Exit WOLSEY\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter WOLSEY with GARDINER\\r\\n\\r\\n WOLSEY. [Aside to GARDINER] Give me your hand: much\\r\\n joy and favour to you;\\r\\n You are the King\\'s now.\\r\\n GARDINER. [Aside to WOLSEY] But to be commanded\\r\\n For ever by your Grace, whose hand has rais\\'d me.\\r\\n KING. Come hither, Gardiner. [Walks and whispers]\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. My Lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace\\r\\n In this man\\'s place before him?\\r\\n WOLSEY. Yes, he was.\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. Was he not held a learned man?\\r\\n WOLSEY. Yes, surely.\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. Believe me, there\\'s an ill opinion spread then,\\r\\n Even of yourself, Lord Cardinal.\\r\\n WOLSEY. How! Of me?\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. They will not stick to say you envied him\\r\\n And, fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous,\\r\\n Kept him a foreign man still; which so griev\\'d him\\r\\n That he ran mad and died.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Heav\\'n\\'s peace be with him!\\r\\n That\\'s Christian care enough. For living murmurers\\r\\n There\\'s places of rebuke. He was a fool,\\r\\n For he would needs be virtuous: that good fellow,\\r\\n If I command him, follows my appointment.\\r\\n I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother,\\r\\n We live not to be grip\\'d by meaner persons.\\r\\n KING. Deliver this with modesty to th\\' Queen.\\r\\n Exit GARDINER\\r\\n The most convenient place that I can think of\\r\\n For such receipt of learning is Blackfriars;\\r\\n There ye shall meet about this weighty business-\\r\\n My Wolsey, see it furnish\\'d. O, my lord,\\r\\n Would it not grieve an able man to leave\\r\\n So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, conscience!\\r\\n O, \\'tis a tender place! and I must leave her. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ANNE BULLEN and an OLD LADY\\r\\n\\r\\n ANNE. Not for that neither. Here\\'s the pang that pinches:\\r\\n His Highness having liv\\'d so long with her, and she\\r\\n So good a lady that no tongue could ever\\r\\n Pronounce dishonour of her-by my life,\\r\\n She never knew harm-doing-O, now, after\\r\\n So many courses of the sun enthroned,\\r\\n Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which\\r\\n To leave a thousand-fold more bitter than\\r\\n \\'Tis sweet at first t\\' acquire-after this process,\\r\\n To give her the avaunt, it is a pity\\r\\n Would move a monster.\\r\\n OLD LADY. Hearts of most hard temper\\r\\n Melt and lament for her.\\r\\n ANNE. O, God\\'s will! much better\\r\\n She ne\\'er had known pomp; though\\'t be temporal,\\r\\n Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce\\r\\n It from the bearer, \\'tis a sufferance panging\\r\\n As soul and body\\'s severing.\\r\\n OLD LADY. Alas, poor lady!\\r\\n She\\'s a stranger now again.\\r\\n ANNE. So much the more\\r\\n Must pity drop upon her. Verily,\\r\\n I swear \\'tis better to be lowly born\\r\\n And range with humble livers in content\\r\\n Than to be perk\\'d up in a glist\\'ring grief\\r\\n And wear a golden sorrow.\\r\\n OLD LADY. Our content\\r\\n Is our best having.\\r\\n ANNE. By my troth and maidenhead,\\r\\n I would not be a queen.\\r\\n OLD LADY. Beshrew me, I would,\\r\\n And venture maidenhead for \\'t; and so would you,\\r\\n For all this spice of your hypocrisy.\\r\\n You that have so fair parts of woman on you\\r\\n Have too a woman\\'s heart, which ever yet\\r\\n Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty;\\r\\n Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts,\\r\\n Saving your mincing, the capacity\\r\\n Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive\\r\\n If you might please to stretch it.\\r\\n ANNE. Nay, good troth.\\r\\n OLD LADY. Yes, troth and troth. You would not be a queen!\\r\\n ANNE. No, not for all the riches under heaven.\\r\\n OLD LADY. \\'Tis strange: a threepence bow\\'d would hire me,\\r\\n Old as I am, to queen it. But, I pray you,\\r\\n What think you of a duchess? Have you limbs\\r\\n To bear that load of title?\\r\\n ANNE. No, in truth.\\r\\n OLD LADY. Then you are weakly made. Pluck off a little;\\r\\n I would not be a young count in your way\\r\\n For more than blushing comes to. If your back\\r\\n Cannot vouchsafe this burden, \\'tis too weak\\r\\n Ever to get a boy.\\r\\n ANNE. How you do talk!\\r\\n I swear again I would not be a queen\\r\\n For all the world.\\r\\n OLD LADY. In faith, for little England\\r\\n You\\'d venture an emballing. I myself\\r\\n Would for Carnarvonshire, although there long\\'d\\r\\n No more to th\\' crown but that. Lo, who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN\\r\\n\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Good morrow, ladies. What were\\'t worth to know\\r\\n The secret of your conference?\\r\\n ANNE. My good lord,\\r\\n Not your demand; it values not your asking.\\r\\n Our mistress\\' sorrows we were pitying.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. It was a gentle business and becoming\\r\\n The action of good women; there is hope\\r\\n All will be well.\\r\\n ANNE. Now, I pray God, amen!\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. You bear a gentle mind, and heav\\'nly blessings\\r\\n Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady,\\r\\n Perceive I speak sincerely and high notes\\r\\n Ta\\'en of your many virtues, the King\\'s Majesty\\r\\n Commends his good opinion of you to you, and\\r\\n Does purpose honour to you no less flowing\\r\\n Than Marchioness of Pembroke; to which tide\\r\\n A thousand pound a year, annual support,\\r\\n Out of his grace he adds.\\r\\n ANNE. I do not know\\r\\n What kind of my obedience I should tender;\\r\\n More than my all is nothing, nor my prayers\\r\\n Are not words duly hallowed, nor my wishes\\r\\n More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers and wishes\\r\\n Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship,\\r\\n Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience,\\r\\n As from a blushing handmaid, to his Highness;\\r\\n Whose health and royalty I pray for.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Lady,\\r\\n I shall not fail t\\' approve the fair conceit\\r\\n The King hath of you. [Aside] I have perus\\'d her well:\\r\\n Beauty and honour in her are so mingled\\r\\n That they have caught the King; and who knows yet\\r\\n But from this lady may proceed a gem\\r\\n To lighten all this isle?-I\\'ll to the King\\r\\n And say I spoke with you.\\r\\n ANNE. My honour\\'d lord! Exit LORD CHAMBERLAIN\\r\\n OLD LADY. Why, this it is: see, see!\\r\\n I have been begging sixteen years in court-\\r\\n Am yet a courtier beggarly-nor could\\r\\n Come pat betwixt too early and too late\\r\\n For any suit of pounds; and you, O fate!\\r\\n A very fresh-fish here-fie, fie, fie upon\\r\\n This compell\\'d fortune!-have your mouth fill\\'d up\\r\\n Before you open it.\\r\\n ANNE. This is strange to me.\\r\\n OLD LADY. How tastes it? Is it bitter? Forty pence, no.\\r\\n There was a lady once-\\'tis an old story-\\r\\n That would not be a queen, that would she not,\\r\\n For all the mud in Egypt. Have you heard it?\\r\\n ANNE. Come, you are pleasant.\\r\\n OLD LADY. With your theme I could\\r\\n O\\'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke!\\r\\n A thousand pounds a year for pure respect!\\r\\n No other obligation! By my life,\\r\\n That promises moe thousands: honour\\'s train\\r\\n Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time\\r\\n I know your back will bear a duchess. Say,\\r\\n Are you not stronger than you were?\\r\\n ANNE. Good lady,\\r\\n Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy,\\r\\n And leave me out on\\'t. Would I had no being,\\r\\n If this salute my blood a jot; it faints me\\r\\n To think what follows.\\r\\n The Queen is comfortless, and we forgetful\\r\\n In our long absence. Pray, do not deliver\\r\\n What here y\\' have heard to her.\\r\\n OLD LADY. What do you think me? Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. A hall in Blackfriars\\r\\n\\r\\nTrumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter two VERGERS, with short silver\\r\\nwands; next them, two SCRIBES, in the habit of doctors; after them, the\\r\\nARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY alone; after him, the BISHOPS OF LINCOLN, ELY,\\r\\nROCHESTER, and SAINT ASAPH; next them, with some small distance,\\r\\nfollows a GENTLEMAN bearing the purse, with the great seal, and a\\r\\nCardinal\\'s hat; then two PRIESTS, bearing each silver cross; then a\\r\\nGENTLEMAN USHER bareheaded, accompanied with a SERGEANT-AT-ARMS bearing\\r\\na silver mace; then two GENTLEMEN bearing two great silver pillars;\\r\\nafter them, side by side, the two CARDINALS, WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS; two\\r\\nNOBLEMEN with the sword and mace. Then enter the KING and QUEEN and\\r\\ntheir trains. The KING takes place under the cloth of state; the two\\r\\nCARDINALS sit under him as judges. The QUEEN takes place some distance\\r\\nfrom the KING. The BISHOPS place themselves on each side of the court,\\r\\nin manner of consistory; below them the SCRIBES. The LORDS sit next the\\r\\nBISHOPS. The rest of the attendants stand in convenient order about the\\r\\nstage\\r\\n\\r\\n WOLSEY. Whilst our commission from Rome is read,\\r\\n Let silence be commanded.\\r\\n KING. What\\'s the need?\\r\\n It hath already publicly been read,\\r\\n And on all sides th\\' authority allow\\'d;\\r\\n You may then spare that time.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Be\\'t so; proceed.\\r\\n SCRIBE. Say \\'Henry King of England, come into the court.\\'\\r\\n CRIER. Henry King of England, &c.\\r\\n KING. Here.\\r\\n SCRIBE. Say \\'Katharine Queen of England, come into the court.\\'\\r\\n CRIER. Katharine Queen of England, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\n The QUEEN makes no answer, rises out of her chair,\\r\\n goes about the court, comes to the KING, and kneels\\r\\n at his feet; then speaks\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Sir, I desire you do me right and justice,\\r\\n And to bestow your pity on me; for\\r\\n I am a most poor woman and a stranger,\\r\\n Born out of your dominions, having here\\r\\n No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance\\r\\n Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir,\\r\\n In what have I offended you? What cause\\r\\n Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure\\r\\n That thus you should proceed to put me of\\r\\n And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness,\\r\\n I have been to you a true and humble wife,\\r\\n At all times to your will conformable,\\r\\n Ever in fear to kindle your dislike,\\r\\n Yea, subject to your countenance-glad or sorry\\r\\n As I saw it inclin\\'d. When was the hour\\r\\n I ever contradicted your desire\\r\\n Or made it not mine too? Or which of your friends\\r\\n Have I not strove to love, although I knew\\r\\n He were mine enemy? What friend of mine\\r\\n That had to him deriv\\'d your anger did\\r\\n Continue in my liking? Nay, gave notice\\r\\n He was from thence discharg\\'d? Sir, call to mind\\r\\n That I have been your wife in this obedience\\r\\n Upward of twenty years, and have been blest\\r\\n With many children by you. If, in the course\\r\\n And process of this time, you can report,\\r\\n And prove it too against mine honour, aught,\\r\\n My bond to wedlock or my love and duty,\\r\\n Against your sacred person, in God\\'s name,\\r\\n Turn me away and let the foul\\'st contempt\\r\\n Shut door upon me, and so give me up\\r\\n To the sharp\\'st kind of justice. Please you, sir,\\r\\n The King, your father, was reputed for\\r\\n A prince most prudent, of an excellent\\r\\n And unmatch\\'d wit and judgment; Ferdinand,\\r\\n My father, King of Spain, was reckon\\'d one\\r\\n The wisest prince that there had reign\\'d by many\\r\\n A year before. It is not to be question\\'d\\r\\n That they had gather\\'d a wise council to them\\r\\n Of every realm, that did debate this business,\\r\\n Who deem\\'d our marriage lawful. Wherefore I humbly\\r\\n Beseech you, sir, to spare me till I may\\r\\n Be by my friends in Spain advis\\'d, whose counsel\\r\\n I will implore. If not, i\\' th\\' name of God,\\r\\n Your pleasure be fulfill\\'d!\\r\\n WOLSEY. You have here, lady,\\r\\n And of your choice, these reverend fathers-men\\r\\n Of singular integrity and learning,\\r\\n Yea, the elect o\\' th\\' land, who are assembled\\r\\n To plead your cause. It shall be therefore bootless\\r\\n That longer you desire the court, as well\\r\\n For your own quiet as to rectify\\r\\n What is unsettled in the King.\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. His Grace\\r\\n Hath spoken well and justly; therefore, madam,\\r\\n It\\'s fit this royal session do proceed\\r\\n And that, without delay, their arguments\\r\\n Be now produc\\'d and heard.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Lord Cardinal,\\r\\n To you I speak.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Your pleasure, madam?\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Sir,\\r\\n I am about to weep; but, thinking that\\r\\n We are a queen, or long have dream\\'d so, certain\\r\\n The daughter of a king, my drops of tears\\r\\n I\\'ll turn to sparks of fire.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Be patient yet.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. I Will, when you are humble; nay, before\\r\\n Or God will punish me. I do believe,\\r\\n Induc\\'d by potent circumstances, that\\r\\n You are mine enemy, and make my challenge\\r\\n You shall not be my judge; for it is you\\r\\n Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me-\\r\\n Which God\\'s dew quench! Therefore I say again,\\r\\n I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul\\r\\n Refuse you for my judge, whom yet once more\\r\\n I hold my most malicious foe and think not\\r\\n At all a friend to truth.\\r\\n WOLSEY. I do profess\\r\\n You speak not like yourself, who ever yet\\r\\n Have stood to charity and display\\'d th\\' effects\\r\\n Of disposition gentle and of wisdom\\r\\n O\\'ertopping woman\\'s pow\\'r. Madam, you do me wrong:\\r\\n I have no spleen against you, nor injustice\\r\\n For you or any; how far I have proceeded,\\r\\n Or how far further shall, is warranted\\r\\n By a commission from the Consistory,\\r\\n Yea, the whole Consistory of Rome. You charge me\\r\\n That I have blown this coal: I do deny it.\\r\\n The King is present; if it be known to him\\r\\n That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound,\\r\\n And worthily, my falsehood! Yea, as much\\r\\n As you have done my truth. If he know\\r\\n That I am free of your report, he knows\\r\\n I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him\\r\\n It lies to cure me, and the cure is to\\r\\n Remove these thoughts from you; the which before\\r\\n His Highness shall speak in, I do beseech\\r\\n You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking\\r\\n And to say so no more.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. My lord, my lord,\\r\\n I am a simple woman, much too weak\\r\\n T\\' oppose your cunning. Y\\'are meek and humble-mouth\\'d;\\r\\n You sign your place and calling, in full seeming,\\r\\n With meekness and humility; but your heart\\r\\n Is cramm\\'d with arrogancy, spleen, and pride.\\r\\n You have, by fortune and his Highness\\' favours,\\r\\n Gone slightly o\\'er low steps, and now are mounted\\r\\n Where pow\\'rs are your retainers, and your words,\\r\\n Domestics to you, serve your will as\\'t please\\r\\n Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you\\r\\n You tender more your person\\'s honour than\\r\\n Your high profession spiritual; that again\\r\\n I do refuse you for my judge and here,\\r\\n Before you all, appeal unto the Pope,\\r\\n To bring my whole cause \\'fore his Holiness\\r\\n And to be judg\\'d by him.\\r\\n [She curtsies to the KING, and offers to depart]\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. The Queen is obstinate,\\r\\n Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and\\r\\n Disdainful to be tried by\\'t; \\'tis not well.\\r\\n She\\'s going away.\\r\\n KING. Call her again.\\r\\n CRIER. Katharine Queen of England, come into the court.\\r\\n GENTLEMAN USHER. Madam, you are call\\'d back.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. What need you note it? Pray you keep your way;\\r\\n When you are call\\'d, return. Now the Lord help!\\r\\n They vex me past my patience. Pray you pass on.\\r\\n I will not tarry; no, nor ever more\\r\\n Upon this business my appearance make\\r\\n In any of their courts. Exeunt QUEEN and her attendants\\r\\n KING. Go thy ways, Kate.\\r\\n That man i\\' th\\' world who shall report he has\\r\\n A better wife, let him in nought be trusted\\r\\n For speaking false in that. Thou art, alone-\\r\\n If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness,\\r\\n Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government,\\r\\n Obeying in commanding, and thy parts\\r\\n Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out-\\r\\n The queen of earthly queens. She\\'s noble born;\\r\\n And like her true nobility she has\\r\\n Carried herself towards me.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Most gracious sir,\\r\\n In humblest manner I require your Highness\\r\\n That it shall please you to declare in hearing\\r\\n Of all these ears-for where I am robb\\'d and bound,\\r\\n There must I be unloos\\'d, although not there\\r\\n At once and fully satisfied-whether ever I\\r\\n Did broach this business to your Highness, or\\r\\n Laid any scruple in your way which might\\r\\n Induce you to the question on\\'t, or ever\\r\\n Have to you, but with thanks to God for such\\r\\n A royal lady, spake one the least word that might\\r\\n Be to the prejudice of her present state,\\r\\n Or touch of her good person?\\r\\n KING. My Lord Cardinal,\\r\\n I do excuse you; yea, upon mine honour,\\r\\n I free you from\\'t. You are not to be taught\\r\\n That you have many enemies that know not\\r\\n Why they are so, but, like to village curs,\\r\\n Bark when their fellows do. By some of these\\r\\n The Queen is put in anger. Y\\'are excus\\'d.\\r\\n But will you be more justified? You ever\\r\\n Have wish\\'d the sleeping of this business; never desir\\'d\\r\\n It to be stirr\\'d; but oft have hind\\'red, oft,\\r\\n The passages made toward it. On my honour,\\r\\n I speak my good Lord Cardinal to this point,\\r\\n And thus far clear him. Now, what mov\\'d me to\\'t,\\r\\n I will be bold with time and your attention.\\r\\n Then mark th\\' inducement. Thus it came-give heed to\\'t:\\r\\n My conscience first receiv\\'d a tenderness,\\r\\n Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter\\'d\\r\\n By th\\' Bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador,\\r\\n Who had been hither sent on the debating\\r\\n A marriage \\'twixt the Duke of Orleans and\\r\\n Our daughter Mary. I\\' th\\' progress of this business,\\r\\n Ere a determinate resolution, he-\\r\\n I mean the Bishop-did require a respite\\r\\n Wherein he might the King his lord advertise\\r\\n Whether our daughter were legitimate,\\r\\n Respecting this our marriage with the dowager,\\r\\n Sometimes our brother\\'s wife. This respite shook\\r\\n The bosom of my conscience, enter\\'d me,\\r\\n Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble\\r\\n The region of my breast, which forc\\'d such way\\r\\n That many maz\\'d considerings did throng\\r\\n And press\\'d in with this caution. First, methought\\r\\n I stood not in the smile of heaven, who had\\r\\n Commanded nature that my lady\\'s womb,\\r\\n If it conceiv\\'d a male child by me, should\\r\\n Do no more offices of life to\\'t than\\r\\n The grave does to the dead; for her male issue\\r\\n Or died where they were made, or shortly after\\r\\n This world had air\\'d them. Hence I took a thought\\r\\n This was a judgment on me, that my kingdom,\\r\\n Well worthy the best heir o\\' th\\' world, should not\\r\\n Be gladded in\\'t by me. Then follows that\\r\\n I weigh\\'d the danger which my realms stood in\\r\\n By this my issue\\'s fail, and that gave to me\\r\\n Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in\\r\\n The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer\\r\\n Toward this remedy, whereupon we are\\r\\n Now present here together; that\\'s to say\\r\\n I meant to rectify my conscience, which\\r\\n I then did feel full sick, and yet not well,\\r\\n By all the reverend fathers of the land\\r\\n And doctors learn\\'d. First, I began in private\\r\\n With you, my Lord of Lincoln; you remember\\r\\n How under my oppression I did reek,\\r\\n When I first mov\\'d you.\\r\\n LINCOLN. Very well, my liege.\\r\\n KING. I have spoke long; be pleas\\'d yourself to say\\r\\n How far you satisfied me.\\r\\n LINCOLN. So please your Highness,\\r\\n The question did at first so stagger me-\\r\\n Bearing a state of mighty moment in\\'t\\r\\n And consequence of dread-that I committed\\r\\n The daring\\'st counsel which I had to doubt,\\r\\n And did entreat your Highness to this course\\r\\n Which you are running here.\\r\\n KING. I then mov\\'d you,\\r\\n My Lord of Canterbury, and got your leave\\r\\n To make this present summons. Unsolicited\\r\\n I left no reverend person in this court,\\r\\n But by particular consent proceeded\\r\\n Under your hands and seals; therefore, go on,\\r\\n For no dislike i\\' th\\' world against the person\\r\\n Of the good Queen, but the sharp thorny points\\r\\n Of my alleged reasons, drives this forward.\\r\\n Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life\\r\\n And kingly dignity, we are contented\\r\\n To wear our moral state to come with her,\\r\\n Katharine our queen, before the primest creature\\r\\n That\\'s paragon\\'d o\\' th\\' world.\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. So please your Highness,\\r\\n The Queen being absent, \\'tis a needful fitness\\r\\n That we adjourn this court till further day;\\r\\n Meanwhile must be an earnest motion\\r\\n Made to the Queen to call back her appeal\\r\\n She intends unto his Holiness.\\r\\n KING. [Aside] I may perceive\\r\\n These cardinals trifle with me. I abhor\\r\\n This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome.\\r\\n My learn\\'d and well-beloved servant, Cranmer,\\r\\n Prithee return. With thy approach I know\\r\\n My comfort comes along. -Break up the court;\\r\\n I say, set on. Exuent in manner as they entered\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The QUEEN\\'S apartments\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the QUEEN and her women, as at work\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Take thy lute, wench. My soul grows\\r\\n sad with troubles;\\r\\n Sing and disperse \\'em, if thou canst. Leave working.\\r\\n\\r\\n SONG\\r\\n\\r\\n Orpheus with his lute made trees,\\r\\n And the mountain tops that freeze,\\r\\n Bow themselves when he did sing;\\r\\n To his music plants and flowers\\r\\n Ever sprung, as sun and showers\\r\\n There had made a lasting spring.\\r\\n\\r\\n Every thing that heard him play,\\r\\n Even the billows of the sea,\\r\\n Hung their heads and then lay by.\\r\\n In sweet music is such art,\\r\\n Killing care and grief of heart\\r\\n Fall asleep or hearing die.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a GENTLEMAN\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. How now?\\r\\n GENTLEMAN. An\\'t please your Grace, the two great Cardinals\\r\\n Wait in the presence.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Would they speak with me?\\r\\n GENTLEMAN. They will\\'d me say so, madam.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Pray their Graces\\r\\n To come near. [Exit GENTLEMAN] What can be their business\\r\\n With me, a poor weak woman, fall\\'n from favour?\\r\\n I do not like their coming. Now I think on\\'t,\\r\\n They should be good men, their affairs as righteous;\\r\\n But all hoods make not monks.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the two CARDINALS, WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n WOLSEY. Peace to your Highness!\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Your Graces find me here part of housewife;\\r\\n I would be all, against the worst may happen.\\r\\n What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords?\\r\\n WOLSEY. May it please you, noble madam, to withdraw\\r\\n Into your private chamber, we shall give you\\r\\n The full cause of our coming.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Speak it here;\\r\\n There\\'s nothing I have done yet, o\\' my conscience,\\r\\n Deserves a corner. Would all other women\\r\\n Could speak this with as free a soul as I do!\\r\\n My lords, I care not-so much I am happy\\r\\n Above a number-if my actions\\r\\n Were tried by ev\\'ry tongue, ev\\'ry eye saw \\'em,\\r\\n Envy and base opinion set against \\'em,\\r\\n I know my life so even. If your business\\r\\n Seek me out, and that way I am wife in,\\r\\n Out with it boldly; truth loves open dealing.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina serenis-sima-\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. O, good my lord, no Latin!\\r\\n I am not such a truant since my coming,\\r\\n As not to know the language I have liv\\'d in;\\r\\n A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, suspicious;\\r\\n Pray speak in English. Here are some will thank you,\\r\\n If you speak truth, for their poor mistress\\' sake:\\r\\n Believe me, she has had much wrong. Lord Cardinal,\\r\\n The willing\\'st sin I ever yet committed\\r\\n May be absolv\\'d in English.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Noble lady,\\r\\n I am sorry my integrity should breed,\\r\\n And service to his Majesty and you,\\r\\n So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant\\r\\n We come not by the way of accusation\\r\\n To taint that honour every good tongue blesses,\\r\\n Nor to betray you any way to sorrow-\\r\\n You have too much, good lady; but to know\\r\\n How you stand minded in the weighty difference\\r\\n Between the King and you, and to deliver,\\r\\n Like free and honest men, our just opinions\\r\\n And comforts to your cause.\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. Most honour\\'d madam,\\r\\n My Lord of York, out of his noble nature,\\r\\n Zeal and obedience he still bore your Grace,\\r\\n Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure\\r\\n Both of his truth and him-which was too far-\\r\\n Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace,\\r\\n His service and his counsel.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. [Aside] To betray me.-\\r\\n My lords, I thank you both for your good wins;\\r\\n Ye speak like honest men-pray God ye prove so!\\r\\n But how to make ye suddenly an answer,\\r\\n In such a point of weight, so near mine honour,\\r\\n More near my life, I fear, with my weak wit,\\r\\n And to such men of gravity and learning,\\r\\n In truth I know not. I was set at work\\r\\n Among my maids, full little, God knows, looking\\r\\n Either for such men or such business.\\r\\n For her sake that I have been-for I feel\\r\\n The last fit of my greatness-good your Graces,\\r\\n Let me have time and counsel for my cause.\\r\\n Alas, I am a woman, friendless, hopeless!\\r\\n WOLSEY. Madam, you wrong the King\\'s love with these fears;\\r\\n Your hopes and friends are infinite.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. In England\\r\\n But little for my profit; can you think, lords,\\r\\n That any Englishman dare give me counsel?\\r\\n Or be a known friend, \\'gainst his Highness\\' pleasure-\\r\\n Though he be grown so desperate to be honest-\\r\\n And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends,\\r\\n They that must weigh out my afflictions,\\r\\n They that my trust must grow to, live not here;\\r\\n They are, as all my other comforts, far hence,\\r\\n In mine own country, lords.\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. I would your Grace\\r\\n Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. How, sir?\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. Put your main cause into the King\\'s protection;\\r\\n He\\'s loving and most gracious. \\'Twill be much\\r\\n Both for your honour better and your cause;\\r\\n For if the trial of the law o\\'ertake ye\\r\\n You\\'ll part away disgrac\\'d.\\r\\n WOLSEY. He tells you rightly.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Ye tell me what ye wish for both-my ruin.\\r\\n Is this your Christian counsel? Out upon ye!\\r\\n Heaven is above all yet: there sits a Judge\\r\\n That no king can corrupt.\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. Your rage mistakes us.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. The more shame for ye; holy men I thought ye,\\r\\n Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues;\\r\\n But cardinal sins and hollow hearts I fear ye.\\r\\n Mend \\'em, for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort?\\r\\n The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady-\\r\\n A woman lost among ye, laugh\\'d at, scorn\\'d?\\r\\n I will not wish ye half my miseries:\\r\\n I have more charity; but say I warned ye.\\r\\n Take heed, for heaven\\'s sake take heed, lest at once\\r\\n The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Madam, this is a mere distraction;\\r\\n You turn the good we offer into envy.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Ye turn me into nothing. Woe upon ye,\\r\\n And all such false professors! Would you have me-\\r\\n If you have any justice, any pity,\\r\\n If ye be any thing but churchmen\\'s habits-\\r\\n Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me?\\r\\n Alas! has banish\\'d me his bed already,\\r\\n His love too long ago! I am old, my lords,\\r\\n And all the fellowship I hold now with him\\r\\n Is only my obedience. What can happen\\r\\n To me above this wretchedness? All your studies\\r\\n Make me a curse like this.\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. Your fears are worse.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Have I liv\\'d thus long-let me speak myself,\\r\\n Since virtue finds no friends-a wife, a true one?\\r\\n A woman, I dare say without vain-glory,\\r\\n Never yet branded with suspicion?\\r\\n Have I with all my full affections\\r\\n Still met the King, lov\\'d him next heav\\'n, obey\\'d him,\\r\\n Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him,\\r\\n Almost forgot my prayers to content him,\\r\\n And am I thus rewarded? \\'Tis not well, lords.\\r\\n Bring me a constant woman to her husband,\\r\\n One that ne\\'er dream\\'d a joy beyond his pleasure,\\r\\n And to that woman, when she has done most,\\r\\n Yet will I add an honour-a great patience.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Madam, you wander from the good we aim at.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty,\\r\\n To give up willingly that noble title\\r\\n Your master wed me to: nothing but death\\r\\n Shall e\\'er divorce my dignities.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Pray hear me.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Would I had never trod this English earth,\\r\\n Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it!\\r\\n Ye have angels\\' faces, but heaven knows your hearts.\\r\\n What will become of me now, wretched lady?\\r\\n I am the most unhappy woman living.\\r\\n [To her WOMEN] Alas, poor wenches, where are now\\r\\n your fortunes?\\r\\n Shipwreck\\'d upon a kingdom, where no pity,\\r\\n No friends, no hope; no kindred weep for me;\\r\\n Almost no grave allow\\'d me. Like the My,\\r\\n That once was mistress of the field, and flourish\\'d,\\r\\n I\\'ll hang my head and perish.\\r\\n WOLSEY. If your Grace\\r\\n Could but be brought to know our ends are honest,\\r\\n You\\'d feel more comfort. Why should we, good lady,\\r\\n Upon what cause, wrong you? Alas, our places,\\r\\n The way of our profession is against it;\\r\\n We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow \\'em.\\r\\n For goodness\\' sake, consider what you do;\\r\\n How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly\\r\\n Grow from the King\\'s acquaintance, by this carriage.\\r\\n The hearts of princes kiss obedience,\\r\\n So much they love it; but to stubborn spirits\\r\\n They swell and grow as terrible as storms.\\r\\n I know you have a gentle, noble temper,\\r\\n A soul as even as a calm. Pray think us\\r\\n Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and servants.\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. Madam, you\\'ll find it so. You wrong your virtues\\r\\n With these weak women\\'s fears. A noble spirit,\\r\\n As yours was put into you, ever casts\\r\\n Such doubts as false coin from it. The King loves you;\\r\\n Beware you lose it not. For us, if you please\\r\\n To trust us in your business, we are ready\\r\\n To use our utmost studies in your service.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Do what ye will my lords; and pray\\r\\n forgive me\\r\\n If I have us\\'d myself unmannerly;\\r\\n You know I am a woman, lacking wit\\r\\n To make a seemly answer to such persons.\\r\\n Pray do my service to his Majesty;\\r\\n He has my heart yet, and shall have my prayers\\r\\n While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers,\\r\\n Bestow your counsels on me; she now begs\\r\\n That little thought, when she set footing here,\\r\\n She should have bought her dignities so dear. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III.SCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the DUKE OF NORFOLK, the DUKE OF SUFFOLK, the EARL OF SURREY, and\\r\\nthe LORD CHAMBERLAIN\\r\\n\\r\\n NORFOLK. If you will now unite in your complaints\\r\\n And force them with a constancy, the Cardinal\\r\\n Cannot stand under them: if you omit\\r\\n The offer of this time, I cannot promise\\r\\n But that you shall sustain moe new disgraces\\r\\n With these you bear already.\\r\\n SURREY. I am joyful\\r\\n To meet the least occasion that may give me\\r\\n Remembrance of my father-in-law, the Duke,\\r\\n To be reveng\\'d on him.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Which of the peers\\r\\n Have uncontemn\\'d gone by him, or at least\\r\\n Strangely neglected? When did he regard\\r\\n The stamp of nobleness in any person\\r\\n Out of himself?\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. My lords, you speak your pleasures.\\r\\n What he deserves of you and me I know;\\r\\n What we can do to him-though now the time\\r\\n Gives way to us-I much fear. If you cannot\\r\\n Bar his access to th\\' King, never attempt\\r\\n Anything on him; for he hath a witchcraft\\r\\n Over the King in\\'s tongue.\\r\\n NORFOLK. O, fear him not!\\r\\n His spell in that is out; the King hath found\\r\\n Matter against him that for ever mars\\r\\n The honey of his language. No, he\\'s settled,\\r\\n Not to come off, in his displeasure.\\r\\n SURREY. Sir,\\r\\n I should be glad to hear such news as this\\r\\n Once every hour.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Believe it, this is true:\\r\\n In the divorce his contrary proceedings\\r\\n Are all unfolded; wherein he appears\\r\\n As I would wish mine enemy.\\r\\n SURREY. How came\\r\\n His practices to light?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Most Strangely.\\r\\n SURREY. O, how, how?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. The Cardinal\\'s letters to the Pope miscarried,\\r\\n And came to th\\' eye o\\' th\\' King; wherein was read\\r\\n How that the Cardinal did entreat his Holiness\\r\\n To stay the judgment o\\' th\\' divorce; for if\\r\\n It did take place, \\'I do\\' quoth he \\'perceive\\r\\n My king is tangled in affection to\\r\\n A creature of the Queen\\'s, Lady Anne Bullen.\\'\\r\\n SURREY. Has the King this?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Believe it.\\r\\n SURREY. Will this work?\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. The King in this perceives him how he coasts\\r\\n And hedges his own way. But in this point\\r\\n All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic\\r\\n After his patient\\'s death: the King already\\r\\n Hath married the fair lady.\\r\\n SURREY. Would he had!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. May you be happy in your wish, my lord!\\r\\n For, I profess, you have it.\\r\\n SURREY. Now, all my joy\\r\\n Trace the conjunction!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. My amen to\\'t!\\r\\n NORFOLK. An men\\'s!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. There\\'s order given for her coronation;\\r\\n Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left\\r\\n To some ears unrecounted. But, my lords,\\r\\n She is a gallant creature, and complete\\r\\n In mind and feature. I persuade me from her\\r\\n Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall\\r\\n In it be memoriz\\'d.\\r\\n SURREY. But will the King\\r\\n Digest this letter of the Cardinal\\'s?\\r\\n The Lord forbid!\\r\\n NORFOLK. Marry, amen!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. No, no;\\r\\n There be moe wasps that buzz about his nose\\r\\n Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius\\r\\n Is stol\\'n away to Rome; hath ta\\'en no leave;\\r\\n Has left the cause o\\' th\\' King unhandled, and\\r\\n Is posted, as the agent of our Cardinal,\\r\\n To second all his plot. I do assure you\\r\\n The King cried \\'Ha!\\' at this.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Now, God incense him,\\r\\n And let him cry \\'Ha!\\' louder!\\r\\n NORFOLK. But, my lord,\\r\\n When returns Cranmer?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. He is return\\'d in his opinions; which\\r\\n Have satisfied the King for his divorce,\\r\\n Together with all famous colleges\\r\\n Almost in Christendom. Shortly, I believe,\\r\\n His second marriage shall be publish\\'d, and\\r\\n Her coronation. Katharine no more\\r\\n Shall be call\\'d queen, but princess dowager\\r\\n And widow to Prince Arthur.\\r\\n NORFOLK. This same Cranmer\\'s\\r\\n A worthy fellow, and hath ta\\'en much pain\\r\\n In the King\\'s business.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. He has; and we shall see him\\r\\n For it an archbishop.\\r\\n NORFOLK. So I hear.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. \\'Tis so.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter WOLSEY and CROMWELL\\r\\n\\r\\n The Cardinal!\\r\\n NORFOLK. Observe, observe, he\\'s moody.\\r\\n WOLSEY. The packet, Cromwell,\\r\\n Gave\\'t you the King?\\r\\n CROMWELL. To his own hand, in\\'s bedchamber.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Look\\'d he o\\' th\\' inside of the paper?\\r\\n CROMWELL. Presently\\r\\n He did unseal them; and the first he view\\'d,\\r\\n He did it with a serious mind; a heed\\r\\n Was in his countenance. You he bade\\r\\n Attend him here this morning.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Is he ready\\r\\n To come abroad?\\r\\n CROMWELL. I think by this he is.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Leave me awhile. Exit CROMWELL\\r\\n [Aside] It shall be to the Duchess of Alencon,\\r\\n The French King\\'s sister; he shall marry her.\\r\\n Anne Bullen! No, I\\'ll no Anne Bullens for him;\\r\\n There\\'s more in\\'t than fair visage. Bullen!\\r\\n No, we\\'ll no Bullens. Speedily I wish\\r\\n To hear from Rome. The Marchioness of Pembroke!\\r\\n NORFOLK. He\\'s discontented.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. May be he hears the King\\r\\n Does whet his anger to him.\\r\\n SURREY. Sharp enough,\\r\\n Lord, for thy justice!\\r\\n WOLSEY. [Aside] The late Queen\\'s gentlewoman, a knight\\'s\\r\\n daughter,\\r\\n To be her mistress\\' mistress! The Queen\\'s queen!\\r\\n This candle burns not clear. \\'Tis I must snuff it;\\r\\n Then out it goes. What though I know her virtuous\\r\\n And well deserving? Yet I know her for\\r\\n A spleeny Lutheran; and not wholesome to\\r\\n Our cause that she should lie i\\' th\\' bosom of\\r\\n Our hard-rul\\'d King. Again, there is sprung up\\r\\n An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one\\r\\n Hath crawl\\'d into the favour of the King,\\r\\n And is his oracle.\\r\\n NORFOLK. He is vex\\'d at something.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the KING, reading of a schedule, and LOVELL\\r\\n\\r\\n SURREY. I would \\'twere something that would fret the string,\\r\\n The master-cord on\\'s heart!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. The King, the King!\\r\\n KING. What piles of wealth hath he accumulated\\r\\n To his own portion! And what expense by th\\' hour\\r\\n Seems to flow from him! How, i\\' th\\' name of thrift,\\r\\n Does he rake this together?-Now, my lords,\\r\\n Saw you the Cardinal?\\r\\n NORFOLK. My lord, we have\\r\\n Stood here observing him. Some strange commotion\\r\\n Is in his brain: he bites his lip and starts,\\r\\n Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground,\\r\\n Then lays his finger on his temple; straight\\r\\n Springs out into fast gait; then stops again,\\r\\n Strikes his breast hard; and anon he casts\\r\\n His eye against the moon. In most strange postures\\r\\n We have seen him set himself.\\r\\n KING. It may well be\\r\\n There is a mutiny in\\'s mind. This morning\\r\\n Papers of state he sent me to peruse,\\r\\n As I requir\\'d; and wot you what I found\\r\\n There-on my conscience, put unwittingly?\\r\\n Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing\\r\\n The several parcels of his plate, his treasure,\\r\\n Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household; which\\r\\n I find at such proud rate that it outspeaks\\r\\n Possession of a subject.\\r\\n NORFOLK. It\\'s heaven\\'s will;\\r\\n Some spirit put this paper in the packet\\r\\n To bless your eye withal.\\r\\n KING. If we did think\\r\\n His contemplation were above the earth\\r\\n And fix\\'d on spiritual object, he should still\\r\\n dwell in his musings; but I am afraid\\r\\n His thinkings are below the moon, not worth\\r\\n His serious considering.\\r\\n [The KING takes his seat and whispers LOVELL,\\r\\n who goes to the CARDINAL]\\r\\n WOLSEY. Heaven forgive me!\\r\\n Ever God bless your Highness!\\r\\n KING. Good, my lord,\\r\\n You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the inventory\\r\\n Of your best graces in your mind; the which\\r\\n You were now running o\\'er. You have scarce time\\r\\n To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span\\r\\n To keep your earthly audit; sure, in that\\r\\n I deem you an ill husband, and am glad\\r\\n To have you therein my companion.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Sir,\\r\\n For holy offices I have a time; a time\\r\\n To think upon the part of business which\\r\\n I bear i\\' th\\' state; and nature does require\\r\\n Her times of preservation, which perforce\\r\\n I, her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal,\\r\\n Must give my tendance to.\\r\\n KING. You have said well.\\r\\n WOLSEY. And ever may your Highness yoke together,\\r\\n As I will lend you cause, my doing well\\r\\n With my well saying!\\r\\n KING. \\'Tis well said again;\\r\\n And \\'tis a kind of good deed to say well;\\r\\n And yet words are no deeds. My father lov\\'d you:\\r\\n He said he did; and with his deed did crown\\r\\n His word upon you. Since I had my office\\r\\n I have kept you next my heart; have not alone\\r\\n Employ\\'d you where high profits might come home,\\r\\n But par\\'d my present havings to bestow\\r\\n My bounties upon you.\\r\\n WOLSEY. [Aside] What should this mean?\\r\\n SURREY. [Aside] The Lord increase this business!\\r\\n KING. Have I not made you\\r\\n The prime man of the state? I pray you tell me\\r\\n If what I now pronounce you have found true;\\r\\n And, if you may confess it, say withal\\r\\n If you are bound to us or no. What say you?\\r\\n WOLSEY. My sovereign, I confess your royal graces,\\r\\n Show\\'r\\'d on me daily, have been more than could\\r\\n My studied purposes requite; which went\\r\\n Beyond all man\\'s endeavours. My endeavours,\\r\\n Have ever come too short of my desires,\\r\\n Yet fil\\'d with my abilities; mine own ends\\r\\n Have been mine so that evermore they pointed\\r\\n To th\\' good of your most sacred person and\\r\\n The profit of the state. For your great graces\\r\\n Heap\\'d upon me, poor undeserver, I\\r\\n Can nothing render but allegiant thanks;\\r\\n My pray\\'rs to heaven for you; my loyalty,\\r\\n Which ever has and ever shall be growing,\\r\\n Till death, that winter, kill it.\\r\\n KING. Fairly answer\\'d!\\r\\n A loyal and obedient subject is\\r\\n Therein illustrated; the honour of it\\r\\n Does pay the act of it, as, i\\' th\\' contrary,\\r\\n The foulness is the punishment. I presume\\r\\n That, as my hand has open\\'d bounty to you,\\r\\n My heart dropp\\'d love, my pow\\'r rain\\'d honour, more\\r\\n On you than any, so your hand and heart,\\r\\n Your brain, and every function of your power,\\r\\n Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty,\\r\\n As \\'twere in love\\'s particular, be more\\r\\n To me, your friend, than any.\\r\\n WOLSEY. I do profess\\r\\n That for your Highness\\' good I ever labour\\'d\\r\\n More than mine own; that am, have, and will be-\\r\\n Though all the world should crack their duty to you,\\r\\n And throw it from their soul; though perils did\\r\\n Abound as thick as thought could make \\'em, and\\r\\n Appear in forms more horrid-yet my duty,\\r\\n As doth a rock against the chiding flood,\\r\\n Should the approach of this wild river break,\\r\\n And stand unshaken yours.\\r\\n KING. \\'Tis nobly spoken.\\r\\n Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast,\\r\\n For you have seen him open \\'t. Read o\\'er this;\\r\\n [Giving him papers]\\r\\n And after, this; and then to breakfast with\\r\\n What appetite you have.\\r\\n Exit the KING, frowning upon the CARDINAL; the NOBLES\\r\\n throng after him, smiling and whispering\\r\\n WOLSEY. What should this mean?\\r\\n What sudden anger\\'s this? How have I reap\\'d it?\\r\\n He parted frowning from me, as if ruin\\r\\n Leap\\'d from his eyes; so looks the chafed lion\\r\\n Upon the daring huntsman that has gall\\'d him-\\r\\n Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper;\\r\\n I fear, the story of his anger. \\'Tis so;\\r\\n This paper has undone me. \\'Tis th\\' account\\r\\n Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together\\r\\n For mine own ends; indeed to gain the popedom,\\r\\n And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence,\\r\\n Fit for a fool to fall by! What cross devil\\r\\n Made me put this main secret in the packet\\r\\n I sent the King? Is there no way to cure this?\\r\\n No new device to beat this from his brains?\\r\\n I know \\'twill stir him strongly; yet I know\\r\\n A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune,\\r\\n Will bring me off again. What\\'s this? \\'To th\\' Pope.\\'\\r\\n The letter, as I live, with all the business\\r\\n I writ to\\'s Holiness. Nay then, farewell!\\r\\n I have touch\\'d the highest point of all my greatness,\\r\\n And from that full meridian of my glory\\r\\n I haste now to my setting. I shall fall\\r\\n Like a bright exhalation in the evening,\\r\\n And no man see me more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter to WOLSEY the DUKES OF NORFOLK and\\r\\n SUFFOLK, the EARL OF SURREY, and the LORD\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN\\r\\n\\r\\n NORFOLK. Hear the King\\'s pleasure, Cardinal, who commands you\\r\\n To render up the great seal presently\\r\\n Into our hands, and to confine yourself\\r\\n To Asher House, my Lord of Winchester\\'s,\\r\\n Till you hear further from his Highness.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Stay:\\r\\n Where\\'s your commission, lords? Words cannot carry\\r\\n Authority so weighty.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Who dares cross \\'em,\\r\\n Bearing the King\\'s will from his mouth expressly?\\r\\n WOLSEY. Till I find more than will or words to do it-\\r\\n I mean your malice-know, officious lords,\\r\\n I dare and must deny it. Now I feel\\r\\n Of what coarse metal ye are moulded-envy;\\r\\n How eagerly ye follow my disgraces,\\r\\n As if it fed ye; and how sleek and wanton\\r\\n Ye appear in every thing may bring my ruin!\\r\\n Follow your envious courses, men of malice;\\r\\n You have Christian warrant for \\'em, and no doubt\\r\\n In time will find their fit rewards. That seal\\r\\n You ask with such a violence, the King-\\r\\n Mine and your master-with his own hand gave me;\\r\\n Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours,\\r\\n During my life; and, to confirm his goodness,\\r\\n Tied it by letters-patents. Now, who\\'ll take it?\\r\\n SURREY. The King, that gave it.\\r\\n WOLSEY. It must be himself then.\\r\\n SURREY. Thou art a proud traitor, priest.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Proud lord, thou liest.\\r\\n Within these forty hours Surrey durst better\\r\\n Have burnt that tongue than said so.\\r\\n SURREY. Thy ambition,\\r\\n Thou scarlet sin, robb\\'d this bewailing land\\r\\n Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law.\\r\\n The heads of all thy brother cardinals,\\r\\n With thee and all thy best parts bound together,\\r\\n Weigh\\'d not a hair of his. Plague of your policy!\\r\\n You sent me deputy for Ireland;\\r\\n Far from his succour, from the King, from all\\r\\n That might have mercy on the fault thou gav\\'st him;\\r\\n Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity,\\r\\n Absolv\\'d him with an axe.\\r\\n WOLSEY. This, and all else\\r\\n This talking lord can lay upon my credit,\\r\\n I answer is most false. The Duke by law\\r\\n Found his deserts; how innocent I was\\r\\n From any private malice in his end,\\r\\n His noble jury and foul cause can witness.\\r\\n If I lov\\'d many words, lord, I should tell you\\r\\n You have as little honesty as honour,\\r\\n That in the way of loyalty and truth\\r\\n Toward the King, my ever royal master,\\r\\n Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be\\r\\n And an that love his follies.\\r\\n SURREY. By my soul,\\r\\n Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou shouldst feel\\r\\n My sword i\\' the life-blood of thee else. My lords\\r\\n Can ye endure to hear this arrogance?\\r\\n And from this fellow? If we live thus tamely,\\r\\n To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet,\\r\\n Farewell nobility! Let his Grace go forward\\r\\n And dare us with his cap like larks.\\r\\n WOLSEY. All goodness\\r\\n Is poison to thy stomach.\\r\\n SURREY. Yes, that goodness\\r\\n Of gleaning all the land\\'s wealth into one,\\r\\n Into your own hands, Cardinal, by extortion;\\r\\n The goodness of your intercepted packets\\r\\n You writ to th\\' Pope against the King; your goodness,\\r\\n Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious.\\r\\n My Lord of Norfolk, as you are truly noble,\\r\\n As you respect the common good, the state\\r\\n Of our despis\\'d nobility, our issues,\\r\\n Whom, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen-\\r\\n Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles\\r\\n Collected from his life. I\\'ll startle you\\r\\n Worse than the sacring bell, when the brown wench\\r\\n Lay kissing in your arms, Lord Cardinal.\\r\\n WOLSEY. How much, methinks, I could despise this man,\\r\\n But that I am bound in charity against it!\\r\\n NORFOLK. Those articles, my lord, are in the King\\'s hand;\\r\\n But, thus much, they are foul ones.\\r\\n WOLSEY. So much fairer\\r\\n And spotless shall mine innocence arise,\\r\\n When the King knows my truth.\\r\\n SURREY. This cannot save you.\\r\\n I thank my memory I yet remember\\r\\n Some of these articles; and out they shall.\\r\\n Now, if you can blush and cry guilty, Cardinal,\\r\\n You\\'ll show a little honesty.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Speak on, sir;\\r\\n I dare your worst objections. If I blush,\\r\\n It is to see a nobleman want manners.\\r\\n SURREY. I had rather want those than my head. Have at you!\\r\\n First, that without the King\\'s assent or knowledge\\r\\n You wrought to be a legate; by which power\\r\\n You maim\\'d the jurisdiction of all bishops.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Then, that in all you writ to Rome, or else\\r\\n To foreign princes, \\'Ego et Rex meus\\'\\r\\n Was still inscrib\\'d; in which you brought the King\\r\\n To be your servant.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Then, that without the knowledge\\r\\n Either of King or Council, when you went\\r\\n Ambassador to the Emperor, you made bold\\r\\n To carry into Flanders the great seal.\\r\\n SURREY. Item, you sent a large commission\\r\\n To Gregory de Cassado, to conclude,\\r\\n Without the King\\'s will or the state\\'s allowance,\\r\\n A league between his Highness and Ferrara.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. That out of mere ambition you have caus\\'d\\r\\n Your holy hat to be stamp\\'d on the King\\'s coin.\\r\\n SURREY. Then, that you have sent innumerable substance,\\r\\n By what means got I leave to your own conscience,\\r\\n To furnish Rome and to prepare the ways\\r\\n You have for dignities, to the mere undoing\\r\\n Of all the kingdom. Many more there are,\\r\\n Which, since they are of you, and odious,\\r\\n I will not taint my mouth with.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. O my lord,\\r\\n Press not a falling man too far! \\'Tis virtue.\\r\\n His faults lie open to the laws; let them,\\r\\n Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him\\r\\n So little of his great self.\\r\\n SURREY. I forgive him.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Lord Cardinal, the King\\'s further pleasure is-\\r\\n Because all those things you have done of late,\\r\\n By your power legatine within this kingdom,\\r\\n Fall into th\\' compass of a praemunire-\\r\\n That therefore such a writ be sued against you:\\r\\n To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements,\\r\\n Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be\\r\\n Out of the King\\'s protection. This is my charge.\\r\\n NORFOLK. And so we\\'ll leave you to your meditations\\r\\n How to live better. For your stubborn answer\\r\\n About the giving back the great seal to us,\\r\\n The King shall know it, and, no doubt, shall thank you.\\r\\n So fare you well, my little good Lord Cardinal.\\r\\n Exeunt all but WOLSEY\\r\\n WOLSEY. So farewell to the little good you bear me.\\r\\n Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!\\r\\n This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth\\r\\n The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms\\r\\n And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;\\r\\n The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,\\r\\n And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely\\r\\n His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,\\r\\n And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur\\'d,\\r\\n Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,\\r\\n This many summers in a sea of glory;\\r\\n But far beyond my depth. My high-blown pride\\r\\n At length broke under me, and now has left me,\\r\\n Weary and old with service, to the mercy\\r\\n Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.\\r\\n Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye;\\r\\n I feel my heart new open\\'d. O, how wretched\\r\\n Is that poor man that hangs on princes\\' favours!\\r\\n There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,\\r\\n That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin\\r\\n More pangs and fears than wars or women have;\\r\\n And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,\\r\\n Never to hope again.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CROMWELL, standing amazed\\r\\n\\r\\n Why, how now, Cromwell!\\r\\n CROMWELL. I have no power to speak, sir.\\r\\n WOLSEY. What, amaz\\'d\\r\\n At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder\\r\\n A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep,\\r\\n I am fall\\'n indeed.\\r\\n CROMWELL. How does your Grace?\\r\\n WOLSEY. Why, well;\\r\\n Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.\\r\\n I know myself now, and I feel within me\\r\\n A peace above all earthly dignities,\\r\\n A still and quiet conscience. The King has cur\\'d me,\\r\\n I humbly thank his Grace; and from these shoulders,\\r\\n These ruin\\'d pillars, out of pity, taken\\r\\n A load would sink a navy-too much honour.\\r\\n O, \\'tis a burden, Cromwell, \\'tis a burden\\r\\n Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven!\\r\\n CROMWELL. I am glad your Grace has made that right use of it.\\r\\n WOLSEY. I hope I have. I am able now, methinks,\\r\\n Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,\\r\\n To endure more miseries and greater far\\r\\n Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.\\r\\n What news abroad?\\r\\n CROMWELL. The heaviest and the worst\\r\\n Is your displeasure with the King.\\r\\n WOLSEY. God bless him!\\r\\n CROMWELL. The next is that Sir Thomas More is chosen\\r\\n Lord Chancellor in your place.\\r\\n WOLSEY. That\\'s somewhat sudden.\\r\\n But he\\'s a learned man. May he continue\\r\\n Long in his Highness\\' favour, and do justice\\r\\n For truth\\'s sake and his conscience; that his bones\\r\\n When he has run his course and sleeps in blessings,\\r\\n May have a tomb of orphans\\' tears wept on him!\\r\\n What more?\\r\\n CROMWELL. That Cranmer is return\\'d with welcome,\\r\\n Install\\'d Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.\\r\\n WOLSEY. That\\'s news indeed.\\r\\n CROMWELL. Last, that the Lady Anne,\\r\\n Whom the King hath in secrecy long married,\\r\\n This day was view\\'d in open as his queen,\\r\\n Going to chapel; and the voice is now\\r\\n Only about her coronation.\\r\\n WOLSEY. There was the weight that pull\\'d me down.\\r\\n O Cromwell,\\r\\n The King has gone beyond me. All my glories\\r\\n In that one woman I have lost for ever.\\r\\n No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours,\\r\\n Or gild again the noble troops that waited\\r\\n Upon my smiles. Go get thee from me, Cromwell;\\r\\n I am a poor fall\\'n man, unworthy now\\r\\n To be thy lord and master. Seek the King;\\r\\n That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him\\r\\n What and how true thou art. He will advance thee;\\r\\n Some little memory of me will stir him-\\r\\n I know his noble nature-not to let\\r\\n Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell,\\r\\n Neglect him not; make use now, and provide\\r\\n For thine own future safety.\\r\\n CROMWELL. O my lord,\\r\\n Must I then leave you? Must I needs forgo\\r\\n So good, so noble, and so true a master?\\r\\n Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron,\\r\\n With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord.\\r\\n The King shall have my service; but my prayers\\r\\n For ever and for ever shall be yours.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear\\r\\n In all my miseries; but thou hast forc\\'d me,\\r\\n Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.\\r\\n Let\\'s dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell,\\r\\n And when I am forgotten, as I shall be,\\r\\n And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention\\r\\n Of me more must be heard of, say I taught thee-\\r\\n Say Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,\\r\\n And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,\\r\\n Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in-\\r\\n A sure and safe one, though thy master miss\\'d it.\\r\\n Mark but my fall and that that ruin\\'d me.\\r\\n Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition:\\r\\n By that sin fell the angels. How can man then,\\r\\n The image of his Maker, hope to win by it?\\r\\n Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee;\\r\\n Corruption wins not more than honesty.\\r\\n Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace\\r\\n To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not;\\r\\n Let all the ends thou aim\\'st at be thy country\\'s,\\r\\n Thy God\\'s, and truth\\'s; then, if thou fall\\'st, O Cromwell,\\r\\n Thou fall\\'st a blessed martyr!\\r\\n Serve the King, and-prithee lead me in.\\r\\n There take an inventory of all I have\\r\\n To the last penny; \\'tis the King\\'s. My robe,\\r\\n And my integrity to heaven, is all\\r\\n I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell!\\r\\n Had I but serv\\'d my God with half the zeal\\r\\n I serv\\'d my King, he would not in mine age\\r\\n Have left me naked to mine enemies.\\r\\n CROMWELL. Good sir, have patience.\\r\\n WOLSEY. So I have. Farewell\\r\\n The hopes of court! My hopes in heaven do dwell. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nA street in Westminster\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter two GENTLEMEN, meeting one another\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Y\\'are well met once again.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. So are you.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. You come to take your stand here, and\\r\\n behold\\r\\n The Lady Anne pass from her coronation?\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. \\'Tis all my business. At our last encounter\\r\\n The Duke of Buckingham came from his trial.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. \\'Tis very true. But that time offer\\'d\\r\\n sorrow;\\r\\n This, general joy.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. \\'Tis well. The citizens,\\r\\n I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds-\\r\\n As, let \\'em have their rights, they are ever forward-\\r\\n In celebration of this day with shows,\\r\\n Pageants, and sights of honour.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Never greater,\\r\\n Nor, I\\'ll assure you, better taken, sir.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. May I be bold to ask what that contains,\\r\\n That paper in your hand?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes; \\'tis the list\\r\\n Of those that claim their offices this day,\\r\\n By custom of the coronation.\\r\\n The Duke of Suffolk is the first, and claims\\r\\n To be High Steward; next, the Duke of Norfolk,\\r\\n He to be Earl Marshal. You may read the rest.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. I thank you, sir; had I not known\\r\\n those customs,\\r\\n I should have been beholding to your paper.\\r\\n But, I beseech you, what\\'s become of Katharine,\\r\\n The Princess Dowager? How goes her business?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. That I can tell you too. The Archbishop\\r\\n Of Canterbury, accompanied with other\\r\\n Learned and reverend fathers of his order,\\r\\n Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles of\\r\\n From Ampthill, where the Princess lay; to which\\r\\n She was often cited by them, but appear\\'d not.\\r\\n And, to be short, for not appearance and\\r\\n The King\\'s late scruple, by the main assent\\r\\n Of all these learned men, she was divorc\\'d,\\r\\n And the late marriage made of none effect;\\r\\n Since which she was removed to Kimbolton,\\r\\n Where she remains now sick.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Alas, good lady! [Trumpets]\\r\\n The trumpets sound. Stand close, the Queen is coming.\\r\\n[Hautboys]\\r\\n\\r\\n THE ORDER OF THE CORONATION.\\r\\n\\r\\n 1. A lively flourish of trumpets.\\r\\n 2. Then two JUDGES.\\r\\n 3. LORD CHANCELLOR, with purse and mace before him.\\r\\n 4. CHORISTERS singing. [Music]\\r\\n 5. MAYOR OF LONDON, bearing the mace. Then GARTER, in\\r\\n his coat of arms, and on his head he wore a gilt copper\\r\\n crown.\\r\\n 6. MARQUIS DORSET, bearing a sceptre of gold, on his head a\\r\\n demi-coronal of gold. With him, the EARL OF SURREY,\\r\\n bearing the rod of silver with the dove, crowned with an\\r\\n earl\\'s coronet. Collars of Esses.\\r\\n 7. DUKE OF SUFFOLK, in his robe of estate, his coronet on\\r\\n his head, bearing a long white wand, as High Steward.\\r\\n With him, the DUKE OF NORFOLK, with the rod of\\r\\n marshalship, a coronet on his head. Collars of Esses.\\r\\n 8. A canopy borne by four of the CINQUE-PORTS; under it\\r\\n the QUEEN in her robe; in her hair richly adorned with\\r\\n pearl, crowned. On each side her, the BISHOPS OF LONDON\\r\\n and WINCHESTER.\\r\\n 9. The old DUCHESS OF NORFOLK, in a coronal of gold\\r\\n wrought with flowers, bearing the QUEEN\\'S train.\\r\\n 10. Certain LADIES or COUNTESSES, with plain circlets of gold\\r\\n without flowers.\\r\\n\\r\\n Exeunt, first passing over the stage in order and state,\\r\\n and then a great flourish of trumpets\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. A royal train, believe me. These know.\\r\\n Who\\'s that that bears the sceptre?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Marquis Dorset;\\r\\n And that the Earl of Surrey, with the rod.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. A bold brave gentleman. That should be\\r\\n The Duke of Suffolk?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. \\'Tis the same-High Steward.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. And that my Lord of Norfolk?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. [Looking on the QUEEN] Heaven\\r\\n bless thee!\\r\\n Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look\\'d on.\\r\\n Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel;\\r\\n Our king has all the Indies in his arms,\\r\\n And more and richer, when he strains that lady;\\r\\n I cannot blame his conscience.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. They that bear\\r\\n The cloth of honour over her are four barons\\r\\n Of the Cinque-ports.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Those men are happy; and so are all\\r\\n are near her.\\r\\n I take it she that carries up the train\\r\\n Is that old noble lady, Duchess of Norfolk.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. It is; and all the rest are countesses.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Their coronets say so. These are stars indeed,\\r\\n And sometimes falling ones.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. No more of that.\\r\\n Exit Procession, with a great flourish of trumpets\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a third GENTLEMAN\\r\\n\\r\\n God save you, sir! Where have you been broiling?\\r\\n THIRD GENTLEMAN. Among the crowds i\\' th\\' Abbey, where a finger\\r\\n Could not be wedg\\'d in more; I am stifled\\r\\n With the mere rankness of their joy.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. You saw\\r\\n The ceremony?\\r\\n THIRD GENTLEMAN. That I did.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. How was it?\\r\\n THIRD GENTLEMAN. Well worth the seeing.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Good sir, speak it to us.\\r\\n THIRD GENTLEMAN. As well as I am able. The rich stream\\r\\n Of lords and ladies, having brought the Queen\\r\\n To a prepar\\'d place in the choir, fell of\\r\\n A distance from her, while her Grace sat down\\r\\n To rest awhile, some half an hour or so,\\r\\n In a rich chair of state, opposing freely\\r\\n The beauty of her person to the people.\\r\\n Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman\\r\\n That ever lay by man; which when the people\\r\\n Had the full view of, such a noise arose\\r\\n As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest,\\r\\n As loud, and to as many tunes; hats, cloaks-\\r\\n Doublets, I think-flew up, and had their faces\\r\\n Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy\\r\\n I never saw before. Great-bellied women,\\r\\n That had not half a week to go, like rams\\r\\n In the old time of war, would shake the press,\\r\\n And make \\'em reel before \\'em. No man living\\r\\n Could say \\'This is my wife\\' there, all were woven\\r\\n So strangely in one piece.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. But what follow\\'d?\\r\\n THIRD GENTLEMAN. At length her Grace rose, and with\\r\\n modest paces\\r\\n Came to the altar, where she kneel\\'d, and saintlike\\r\\n Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray\\'d devoutly.\\r\\n Then rose again, and bow\\'d her to the people;\\r\\n When by the Archbishop of Canterbury\\r\\n She had all the royal makings of a queen:\\r\\n As holy oil, Edward Confessor\\'s crown,\\r\\n The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems\\r\\n Laid nobly on her; which perform\\'d, the choir,\\r\\n With all the choicest music of the kingdom,\\r\\n Together sung \\'Te Deum.\\' So she parted,\\r\\n And with the same full state pac\\'d back again\\r\\n To York Place, where the feast is held.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Sir,\\r\\n You must no more call it York Place: that\\'s past:\\r\\n For since the Cardinal fell that title\\'s lost.\\r\\n \\'Tis now the King\\'s, and called Whitehall.\\r\\n THIRD GENTLEMAN. I know it;\\r\\n But \\'tis so lately alter\\'d that the old name\\r\\n Is fresh about me.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. What two reverend bishops\\r\\n Were those that went on each side of the Queen?\\r\\n THIRD GENTLEMAN. Stokesly and Gardiner: the one of Winchester,\\r\\n Newly preferr\\'d from the King\\'s secretary;\\r\\n The other, London.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. He of Winchester\\r\\n Is held no great good lover of the Archbishop\\'s,\\r\\n The virtuous Cranmer.\\r\\n THIRD GENTLEMAN. All the land knows that;\\r\\n However, yet there is no great breach. When it comes,\\r\\n Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Who may that be, I pray you?\\r\\n THIRD GENTLEMAN. Thomas Cromwell,\\r\\n A man in much esteem with th\\' King, and truly\\r\\n A worthy friend. The King has made him Master\\r\\n O\\' th\\' jewel House,\\r\\n And one, already, of the Privy Council.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. He will deserve more.\\r\\n THIRD GENTLEMAN. Yes, without all doubt.\\r\\n Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which\\r\\n Is to th\\' court, and there ye shall be my guests:\\r\\n Something I can command. As I walk thither,\\r\\n I\\'ll tell ye more.\\r\\n BOTH. You may command us, sir. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nKimbolton\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter KATHARINE, Dowager, sick; led between GRIFFITH, her Gentleman\\r\\nUsher, and PATIENCE, her woman\\r\\n\\r\\n GRIFFITH. How does your Grace?\\r\\n KATHARINE. O Griffith, sick to death!\\r\\n My legs like loaden branches bow to th\\' earth,\\r\\n Willing to leave their burden. Reach a chair.\\r\\n So-now, methinks, I feel a little ease.\\r\\n Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led\\'st me,\\r\\n That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey,\\r\\n Was dead?\\r\\n GRIFFITH. Yes, madam; but I think your Grace,\\r\\n Out of the pain you suffer\\'d, gave no ear to\\'t.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died.\\r\\n If well, he stepp\\'d before me, happily,\\r\\n For my example.\\r\\n GRIFFITH. Well, the voice goes, madam;\\r\\n For after the stout Earl Northumberland\\r\\n Arrested him at York and brought him forward,\\r\\n As a man sorely tainted, to his answer,\\r\\n He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill\\r\\n He could not sit his mule.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Alas, poor man!\\r\\n GRIFFITH. At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester,\\r\\n Lodg\\'d in the abbey; where the reverend abbot,\\r\\n With all his covent, honourably receiv\\'d him;\\r\\n To whom he gave these words: \\'O father Abbot,\\r\\n An old man, broken with the storms of state,\\r\\n Is come to lay his weary bones among ye;\\r\\n Give him a little earth for charity!\\'\\r\\n So went to bed; where eagerly his sickness\\r\\n Pursu\\'d him still And three nights after this,\\r\\n About the hour of eight-which he himself\\r\\n Foretold should be his last-full of repentance,\\r\\n Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows,\\r\\n He gave his honours to the world again,\\r\\n His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.\\r\\n KATHARINE. So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him!\\r\\n Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him,\\r\\n And yet with charity. He was a man\\r\\n Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking\\r\\n Himself with princes; one that, by suggestion,\\r\\n Tied all the kingdom. Simony was fair play;\\r\\n His own opinion was his law. I\\' th\\' presence\\r\\n He would say untruths, and be ever double\\r\\n Both in his words and meaning. He was never,\\r\\n But where he meant to ruin, pitiful.\\r\\n His promises were, as he then was, mighty;\\r\\n But his performance, as he is now, nothing.\\r\\n Of his own body he was ill, and gave\\r\\n The clergy ill example.\\r\\n GRIFFITH. Noble madam,\\r\\n Men\\'s evil manners live in brass: their virtues\\r\\n We write in water. May it please your Highness\\r\\n To hear me speak his good now?\\r\\n KATHARINE. Yes, good Griffith;\\r\\n I were malicious else.\\r\\n GRIFFITH. This Cardinal,\\r\\n Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly\\r\\n Was fashion\\'d to much honour from his cradle.\\r\\n He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one;\\r\\n Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading;\\r\\n Lofty and sour to them that lov\\'d him not,\\r\\n But to those men that sought him sweet as summer.\\r\\n And though he were unsatisfied in getting-\\r\\n Which was a sin-yet in bestowing, madam,\\r\\n He was most princely: ever witness for him\\r\\n Those twins of learning that he rais\\'d in you,\\r\\n Ipswich and Oxford! One of which fell with him,\\r\\n Unwilling to outlive the good that did it;\\r\\n The other, though unfinish\\'d, yet so famous,\\r\\n So excellent in art, and still so rising,\\r\\n That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue.\\r\\n His overthrow heap\\'d happiness upon him;\\r\\n For then, and not till then, he felt himself,\\r\\n And found the blessedness of being little.\\r\\n And, to add greater honours to his age\\r\\n Than man could give him, he died fearing God.\\r\\n KATHARINE. After my death I wish no other herald,\\r\\n No other speaker of my living actions,\\r\\n To keep mine honour from corruption,\\r\\n But such an honest chronicler as Griffith.\\r\\n Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me,\\r\\n With thy religious truth and modesty,\\r\\n Now in his ashes honour. Peace be with him!\\r\\n patience, be near me still, and set me lower:\\r\\n I have not long to trouble thee. Good Griffith,\\r\\n Cause the musicians play me that sad note\\r\\n I nam\\'d my knell, whilst I sit meditating\\r\\n On that celestial harmony I go to.\\r\\n [Sad and solemn music]\\r\\n GRIFFITH. She is asleep. Good wench, let\\'s sit down quiet,\\r\\n For fear we wake her. Softly, gentle Patience.\\r\\n\\r\\n THE VISION.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, solemnly tripping one after another, six PERSONAGES clad\\r\\n in white robes, wearing on their heads garlands of bays, and\\r\\n golden vizards on their faces; branches of bays or palm in their\\r\\n hands. They first congee unto her, then dance; and, at certain\\r\\n changes, the first two hold a spare garland over her head, at\\r\\n which the other four make reverent curtsies. Then the two that\\r\\n held the garland deliver the same to the other next two, who\\r\\n observe the same order in their changes, and holding the garland\\r\\n over her head; which done, they deliver the same garland to the\\r\\n last two, who likewise observe the same order; at which, as it\\r\\n were by inspiration, she makes in her sleep signs of rejoicing,\\r\\n and holdeth up her hands to heaven. And so in their dancing\\r\\n vanish, carrying the garland with them. The music continues\\r\\n\\r\\n KATHARINE. Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye all gone?\\r\\n And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye?\\r\\n GRIFFITH. Madam, we are here.\\r\\n KATHARINE. It is not you I call for.\\r\\n Saw ye none enter since I slept?\\r\\n GRIFFITH. None, madam.\\r\\n KATHARINE. No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop\\r\\n Invite me to a banquet; whose bright faces\\r\\n Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun?\\r\\n They promis\\'d me eternal happiness,\\r\\n And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel\\r\\n I am not worthy yet to wear. I shall, assuredly.\\r\\n GRIFFITH. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams\\r\\n Possess your fancy.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Bid the music leave,\\r\\n They are harsh and heavy to me. [Music ceases]\\r\\n PATIENCE. Do you note\\r\\n How much her Grace is alter\\'d on the sudden?\\r\\n How long her face is drawn! How pale she looks,\\r\\n And of an earthly cold! Mark her eyes.\\r\\n GRIFFITH. She is going, wench. Pray, pray.\\r\\n PATIENCE. Heaven comfort her!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. An\\'t like your Grace-\\r\\n KATHARINE. You are a saucy fellow.\\r\\n Deserve we no more reverence?\\r\\n GRIFFITH. You are to blame,\\r\\n Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness,\\r\\n To use so rude behaviour. Go to, kneel.\\r\\n MESSENGER. I humbly do entreat your Highness\\' pardon;\\r\\n My haste made me unmannerly. There is staying\\r\\n A gentleman, sent from the King, to see you.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Admit him entrance, Griffith; but this fellow\\r\\n Let me ne\\'er see again. Exit MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD CAPUCIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n If my sight fail not,\\r\\n You should be Lord Ambassador from the Emperor,\\r\\n My royal nephew, and your name Capucius.\\r\\n CAPUCIUS. Madam, the same-your servant.\\r\\n KATHARINE. O, my Lord,\\r\\n The times and titles now are alter\\'d strangely\\r\\n With me since first you knew me. But, I pray you,\\r\\n What is your pleasure with me?\\r\\n CAPUCIUS. Noble lady,\\r\\n First, mine own service to your Grace; the next,\\r\\n The King\\'s request that I would visit you,\\r\\n Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me\\r\\n Sends you his princely commendations\\r\\n And heartily entreats you take good comfort.\\r\\n KATHARINE. O my good lord, that comfort comes too late,\\r\\n \\'Tis like a pardon after execution:\\r\\n That gentle physic, given in time, had cur\\'d me;\\r\\n But now I am past all comforts here, but prayers.\\r\\n How does his Highness?\\r\\n CAPUCIUS. Madam, in good health.\\r\\n KATHARINE. So may he ever do! and ever flourish\\r\\n When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name\\r\\n Banish\\'d the kingdom! Patience, is that letter\\r\\n I caus\\'d you write yet sent away?\\r\\n PATIENCE. No, madam. [Giving it to KATHARINE]\\r\\n KATHARINE. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver\\r\\n This to my lord the King.\\r\\n CAPUCIUS. Most willing, madam.\\r\\n KATHARINE. In which I have commended to his goodness\\r\\n The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter-\\r\\n The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her!-\\r\\n Beseeching him to give her virtuous breeding-\\r\\n She is young, and of a noble modest nature;\\r\\n I hope she will deserve well-and a little\\r\\n To love her for her mother\\'s sake, that lov\\'d him,\\r\\n Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition\\r\\n Is that his noble Grace would have some pity\\r\\n Upon my wretched women that so long\\r\\n Have follow\\'d both my fortunes faithfully;\\r\\n Of which there is not one, I dare avow-\\r\\n And now I should not lie-but will deserve,\\r\\n For virtue and true beauty of the soul,\\r\\n For honesty and decent carriage,\\r\\n A right good husband, let him be a noble;\\r\\n And sure those men are happy that shall have \\'em.\\r\\n The last is for my men-they are the poorest,\\r\\n But poverty could never draw \\'em from me-\\r\\n That they may have their wages duly paid \\'em,\\r\\n And something over to remember me by.\\r\\n If heaven had pleas\\'d to have given me longer life\\r\\n And able means, we had not parted thus.\\r\\n These are the whole contents; and, good my lord,\\r\\n By that you love the dearest in this world,\\r\\n As you wish Christian peace to souls departed,\\r\\n Stand these poor people\\'s friend, and urge the King\\r\\n To do me this last right.\\r\\n CAPUCIUS. By heaven, I will,\\r\\n Or let me lose the fashion of a man!\\r\\n KATHARINE. I thank you, honest lord. Remember me\\r\\n In all humility unto his Highness;\\r\\n Say his long trouble now is passing\\r\\n Out of this world. Tell him in death I bless\\'d him,\\r\\n For so I will. Mine eyes grow dim. Farewell,\\r\\n My lord. Griffith, farewell. Nay, Patience,\\r\\n You must not leave me yet. I must to bed;\\r\\n Call in more women. When I am dead, good wench,\\r\\n Let me be us\\'d with honour; strew me over\\r\\n With maiden flowers, that all the world may know\\r\\n I was a chaste wife to my grave. Embalm me,\\r\\n Then lay me forth; although unqueen\\'d, yet like\\r\\n A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me.\\r\\n I can no more. Exeunt, leading KATHARINE\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. A gallery in the palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter GARDINER, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, a PAGE with a torch before him,\\r\\nmet by SIR THOMAS LOVELL\\r\\n\\r\\n GARDINER. It\\'s one o\\'clock, boy, is\\'t not?\\r\\n BOY. It hath struck.\\r\\n GARDINER. These should be hours for necessities,\\r\\n Not for delights; times to repair our nature\\r\\n With comforting repose, and not for us\\r\\n To waste these times. Good hour of night, Sir Thomas!\\r\\n Whither so late?\\r\\n LOVELL. Came you from the King, my lord?\\r\\n GARDINER. I did, Sir Thomas, and left him at primero\\r\\n With the Duke of Suffolk.\\r\\n LOVELL. I must to him too,\\r\\n Before he go to bed. I\\'ll take my leave.\\r\\n GARDINER. Not yet, Sir Thomas Lovell. What\\'s the matter?\\r\\n It seems you are in haste. An if there be\\r\\n No great offence belongs to\\'t, give your friend\\r\\n Some touch of your late business. Affairs that walk-\\r\\n As they say spirits do-at midnight, have\\r\\n In them a wilder nature than the business\\r\\n That seeks despatch by day.\\r\\n LOVELL. My lord, I love you;\\r\\n And durst commend a secret to your ear\\r\\n Much weightier than this work. The Queen\\'s in labour,\\r\\n They say in great extremity, and fear\\'d\\r\\n She\\'ll with the labour end.\\r\\n GARDINER. The fruit she goes with\\r\\n I pray for heartily, that it may find\\r\\n Good time, and live; but for the stock, Sir Thomas,\\r\\n I wish it grubb\\'d up now.\\r\\n LOVELL. Methinks I could\\r\\n Cry thee amen; and yet my conscience says\\r\\n She\\'s a good creature, and, sweet lady, does\\r\\n Deserve our better wishes.\\r\\n GARDINER. But, sir, sir-\\r\\n Hear me, Sir Thomas. Y\\'are a gentleman\\r\\n Of mine own way; I know you wise, religious;\\r\\n And, let me tell you, it will ne\\'er be well-\\r\\n \\'Twill not, Sir Thomas Lovell, take\\'t of me-\\r\\n Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she,\\r\\n Sleep in their graves.\\r\\n LOVELL. Now, sir, you speak of two\\r\\n The most remark\\'d i\\' th\\' kingdom. As for Cromwell,\\r\\n Beside that of the Jewel House, is made Master\\r\\n O\\' th\\' Rolls, and the King\\'s secretary; further, sir,\\r\\n Stands in the gap and trade of moe preferments,\\r\\n With which the time will load him. Th\\' Archbishop\\r\\n Is the King\\'s hand and tongue, and who dare speak\\r\\n One syllable against him?\\r\\n GARDINER. Yes, yes, Sir Thomas,\\r\\n There are that dare; and I myself have ventur\\'d\\r\\n To speak my mind of him; and indeed this day,\\r\\n Sir-I may tell it you-I think I have\\r\\n Incens\\'d the lords o\\' th\\' Council, that he is-\\r\\n For so I know he is, they know he is-\\r\\n A most arch heretic, a pestilence\\r\\n That does infect the land; with which they moved\\r\\n Have broken with the King, who hath so far\\r\\n Given ear to our complaint-of his great grace\\r\\n And princely care, foreseeing those fell mischiefs\\r\\n Our reasons laid before him-hath commanded\\r\\n To-morrow morning to the Council board\\r\\n He be convented. He\\'s a rank weed, Sir Thomas,\\r\\n And we must root him out. From your affairs\\r\\n I hinder you too long-good night, Sir Thomas.\\r\\n LOVELL. Many good nights, my lord; I rest your servant.\\r\\n Exeunt GARDINER and PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the KING and the DUKE OF SUFFOLK\\r\\n\\r\\n KING. Charles, I will play no more to-night;\\r\\n My mind\\'s not on\\'t; you are too hard for me.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Sir, I did never win of you before.\\r\\n KING. But little, Charles;\\r\\n Nor shall not, when my fancy\\'s on my play.\\r\\n Now, Lovell, from the Queen what is the news?\\r\\n LOVELL. I could not personally deliver to her\\r\\n What you commanded me, but by her woman\\r\\n I sent your message; who return\\'d her thanks\\r\\n In the great\\'st humbleness, and desir\\'d your Highness\\r\\n Most heartily to pray for her.\\r\\n KING. What say\\'st thou, ha?\\r\\n To pray for her? What, is she crying out?\\r\\n LOVELL. So said her woman; and that her suff\\'rance made\\r\\n Almost each pang a death.\\r\\n KING. Alas, good lady!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. God safely quit her of her burden, and\\r\\n With gentle travail, to the gladding of\\r\\n Your Highness with an heir!\\r\\n KING. \\'Tis midnight, Charles;\\r\\n Prithee to bed; and in thy pray\\'rs remember\\r\\n Th\\' estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone,\\r\\n For I must think of that which company\\r\\n Will not be friendly to.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. I wish your Highness\\r\\n A quiet night, and my good mistress will\\r\\n Remember in my prayers.\\r\\n KING. Charles, good night. Exit SUFFOLK\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR ANTHONY DENNY\\r\\n\\r\\n Well, sir, what follows?\\r\\n DENNY. Sir, I have brought my lord the Archbishop,\\r\\n As you commanded me.\\r\\n KING. Ha! Canterbury?\\r\\n DENNY. Ay, my good lord.\\r\\n KING. \\'Tis true. Where is he, Denny?\\r\\n DENNY. He attends your Highness\\' pleasure.\\r\\n KING. Bring him to us. Exit DENNY\\r\\n LOVELL. [Aside] This is about that which the bishop spake.\\r\\n I am happily come hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter DENNY, With CRANMER\\r\\n\\r\\n KING. Avoid the gallery. [LOVELL seems to stay]\\r\\n Ha! I have said. Be gone.\\r\\n What! Exeunt LOVELL and DENNY\\r\\n CRANMER. [Aside] I am fearful-wherefore frowns he thus?\\r\\n \\'Tis his aspect of terror. All\\'s not well.\\r\\n KING. How now, my lord? You do desire to know\\r\\n Wherefore I sent for you.\\r\\n CRANMER. [Kneeling] It is my duty\\r\\n T\\'attend your Highness\\' pleasure.\\r\\n KING. Pray you, arise,\\r\\n My good and gracious Lord of Canterbury.\\r\\n Come, you and I must walk a turn together;\\r\\n I have news to tell you; come, come, me your hand.\\r\\n Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak,\\r\\n And am right sorry to repeat what follows.\\r\\n I have, and most unwillingly, of late\\r\\n Heard many grievous-I do say, my lord,\\r\\n Grievous-complaints of you; which, being consider\\'d,\\r\\n Have mov\\'d us and our Council that you shall\\r\\n This morning come before us; where I know\\r\\n You cannot with such freedom purge yourself\\r\\n But that, till further trial in those charges\\r\\n Which will require your answer, you must take\\r\\n Your patience to you and be well contented\\r\\n To make your house our Tow\\'r. You a brother of us,\\r\\n It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness\\r\\n Would come against you.\\r\\n CRANMER. I humbly thank your Highness\\r\\n And am right glad to catch this good occasion\\r\\n Most throughly to be winnowed where my chaff\\r\\n And corn shall fly asunder; for I know\\r\\n There\\'s none stands under more calumnious tongues\\r\\n Than I myself, poor man.\\r\\n KING. Stand up, good Canterbury;\\r\\n Thy truth and thy integrity is rooted\\r\\n In us, thy friend. Give me thy hand, stand up;\\r\\n Prithee let\\'s walk. Now, by my holidame,\\r\\n What manner of man are you? My lord, I look\\'d\\r\\n You would have given me your petition that\\r\\n I should have ta\\'en some pains to bring together\\r\\n Yourself and your accusers, and to have heard you\\r\\n Without indurance further.\\r\\n CRANMER. Most dread liege,\\r\\n The good I stand on is my truth and honesty;\\r\\n If they shall fail, I with mine enemies\\r\\n Will triumph o\\'er my person; which I weigh not,\\r\\n Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing\\r\\n What can be said against me.\\r\\n KING. Know you not\\r\\n How your state stands i\\' th\\' world, with the whole world?\\r\\n Your enemies are many, and not small; their practices\\r\\n Must bear the same proportion; and not ever\\r\\n The justice and the truth o\\' th\\' question carries\\r\\n The due o\\' th\\' verdict with it; at what ease\\r\\n Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt\\r\\n To swear against you? Such things have been done.\\r\\n You are potently oppos\\'d, and with a malice\\r\\n Of as great size. Ween you of better luck,\\r\\n I mean in perjur\\'d witness, than your Master,\\r\\n Whose minister you are, whiles here He liv\\'d\\r\\n Upon this naughty earth? Go to, go to;\\r\\n You take a precipice for no leap of danger,\\r\\n And woo your own destruction.\\r\\n CRANMER. God and your Majesty\\r\\n Protect mine innocence, or I fall into\\r\\n The trap is laid for me!\\r\\n KING. Be of good cheer;\\r\\n They shall no more prevail than we give way to.\\r\\n Keep comfort to you, and this morning see\\r\\n You do appear before them; if they shall chance,\\r\\n In charging you with matters, to commit you,\\r\\n The best persuasions to the contrary\\r\\n Fail not to use, and with what vehemency\\r\\n Th\\' occasion shall instruct you. If entreaties\\r\\n Will render you no remedy, this ring\\r\\n Deliver them, and your appeal to us\\r\\n There make before them. Look, the good man weeps!\\r\\n He\\'s honest, on mine honour. God\\'s blest Mother!\\r\\n I swear he is true-hearted, and a soul\\r\\n None better in my kingdom. Get you gone,\\r\\n And do as I have bid you.\\r\\n Exit CRANMER\\r\\n He has strangled his language in his tears.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter OLD LADY\\r\\n\\r\\n GENTLEMAN. [Within] Come back; what mean you?\\r\\n OLD LADY. I\\'ll not come back; the tidings that I bring\\r\\n Will make my boldness manners. Now, good angels\\r\\n Fly o\\'er thy royal head, and shade thy person\\r\\n Under their blessed wings!\\r\\n KING. Now, by thy looks\\r\\n I guess thy message. Is the Queen deliver\\'d?\\r\\n Say ay, and of a boy.\\r\\n OLD LADY. Ay, ay, my liege;\\r\\n And of a lovely boy. The God of Heaven\\r\\n Both now and ever bless her! \\'Tis a girl,\\r\\n Promises boys hereafter. Sir, your queen\\r\\n Desires your visitation, and to be\\r\\n Acquainted with this stranger; \\'tis as like you\\r\\n As cherry is to cherry.\\r\\n KING. Lovell!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LOVELL\\r\\n\\r\\n LOVELL. Sir?\\r\\n KING. Give her an hundred marks. I\\'ll to the Queen. Exit\\r\\n OLD LADY. An hundred marks? By this light, I\\'ll ha\\' more!\\r\\n An ordinary groom is for such payment.\\r\\n I will have more, or scold it out of him.\\r\\n Said I for this the girl was like to him! I\\'ll\\r\\n Have more, or else unsay\\'t; and now, while \\'tis hot,\\r\\n I\\'ll put it to the issue. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nLobby before the Council Chamber\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter CRANMER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n CRANMER. I hope I am not too late; and yet the gentleman\\r\\n That was sent to me from the Council pray\\'d me\\r\\n To make great haste. All fast? What means this? Ho!\\r\\n Who waits there? Sure you know me?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KEEPER\\r\\n\\r\\n KEEPER. Yes, my lord;\\r\\n But yet I cannot help you.\\r\\n CRANMER. Why?\\r\\n KEEPER. Your Grace must wait till you be call\\'d for.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DOCTOR BUTTS\\r\\n\\r\\n CRANMER. So.\\r\\n BUTTS. [Aside] This is a piece of malice. I am glad\\r\\n I came this way so happily; the King\\r\\n Shall understand it presently. Exit\\r\\n CRANMER. [Aside] \\'Tis Butts,\\r\\n The King\\'s physician; as he pass\\'d along,\\r\\n How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me!\\r\\n Pray heaven he sound not my disgrace! For certain,\\r\\n This is of purpose laid by some that hate me-\\r\\n God turn their hearts! I never sought their malice-\\r\\n To quench mine honour; they would shame to make me\\r\\n Wait else at door, a fellow councillor,\\r\\n \\'Mong boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their pleasures\\r\\n Must be fulfill\\'d, and I attend with patience.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the KING and BUTTS at window above\\r\\n\\r\\n BUTTS. I\\'ll show your Grace the strangest sight-\\r\\n KING. What\\'s that, Butts?\\r\\n BUTTS. I think your Highness saw this many a day.\\r\\n KING. Body a me, where is it?\\r\\n BUTTS. There my lord:\\r\\n The high promotion of his Grace of Canterbury;\\r\\n Who holds his state at door, \\'mongst pursuivants,\\r\\n Pages, and footboys.\\r\\n KING. Ha, \\'tis he indeed.\\r\\n Is this the honour they do one another?\\r\\n \\'Tis well there\\'s one above \\'em yet. I had thought\\r\\n They had parted so much honesty among \\'em-\\r\\n At least good manners-as not thus to suffer\\r\\n A man of his place, and so near our favour,\\r\\n To dance attendance on their lordships\\' pleasures,\\r\\n And at the door too, like a post with packets.\\r\\n By holy Mary, Butts, there\\'s knavery!\\r\\n Let \\'em alone, and draw the curtain close;\\r\\n We shall hear more anon. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Council Chamber\\r\\n\\r\\nA Council table brought in, with chairs and stools, and placed under\\r\\nthe state. Enter LORD CHANCELLOR, places himself at the upper end of\\r\\nthe table on the left band, a seat being left void above him, as for\\r\\nCanterbury\\'s seat. DUKE OF SUFFOLK, DUKE OF NORFOLK, SURREY, LORD\\r\\nCHAMBERLAIN, GARDINER, seat themselves in order on each side; CROMWELL\\r\\nat lower end, as secretary. KEEPER at the door\\r\\n\\r\\n CHANCELLOR. Speak to the business, master secretary;\\r\\n Why are we met in council?\\r\\n CROMWELL. Please your honours,\\r\\n The chief cause concerns his Grace of Canterbury.\\r\\n GARDINER. Has he had knowledge of it?\\r\\n CROMWELL. Yes.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Who waits there?\\r\\n KEEPER. Without, my noble lords?\\r\\n GARDINER. Yes.\\r\\n KEEPER. My Lord Archbishop;\\r\\n And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures.\\r\\n CHANCELLOR. Let him come in.\\r\\n KEEPER. Your Grace may enter now.\\r\\n\\r\\n CRANMER approaches the Council table\\r\\n\\r\\n CHANCELLOR. My good Lord Archbishop, I am very sorry\\r\\n To sit here at this present, and behold\\r\\n That chair stand empty; but we all are men,\\r\\n In our own natures frail and capable\\r\\n Of our flesh; few are angels; out of which frailty\\r\\n And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us,\\r\\n Have misdemean\\'d yourself, and not a little,\\r\\n Toward the King first, then his laws, in filling\\r\\n The whole realm by your teaching and your chaplains-\\r\\n For so we are inform\\'d-with new opinions,\\r\\n Divers and dangerous; which are heresies,\\r\\n And, not reform\\'d, may prove pernicious.\\r\\n GARDINER. Which reformation must be sudden too,\\r\\n My noble lords; for those that tame wild horses\\r\\n Pace \\'em not in their hands to make \\'em gentle,\\r\\n But stop their mouth with stubborn bits and spur \\'em\\r\\n Till they obey the manage. If we suffer,\\r\\n Out of our easiness and childish pity\\r\\n To one man\\'s honour, this contagious sickness,\\r\\n Farewell all physic; and what follows then?\\r\\n Commotions, uproars, with a general taint\\r\\n Of the whole state; as of late days our neighbours,\\r\\n The upper Germany, can dearly witness,\\r\\n Yet freshly pitied in our memories.\\r\\n CRANMER. My good lords, hitherto in all the progress\\r\\n Both of my life and office, I have labour\\'d,\\r\\n And with no little study, that my teaching\\r\\n And the strong course of my authority\\r\\n Might go one way, and safely; and the end\\r\\n Was ever to do well. Nor is there living-\\r\\n I speak it with a single heart, my lords-\\r\\n A man that more detests, more stirs against,\\r\\n Both in his private conscience and his place,\\r\\n Defacers of a public peace than I do.\\r\\n Pray heaven the King may never find a heart\\r\\n With less allegiance in it! Men that make\\r\\n Envy and crooked malice nourishment\\r\\n Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships\\r\\n That, in this case of justice, my accusers,\\r\\n Be what they will, may stand forth face to face\\r\\n And freely urge against me.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Nay, my lord,\\r\\n That cannot be; you are a councillor,\\r\\n And by that virtue no man dare accuse you.\\r\\n GARDINER. My lord, because we have business of more moment,\\r\\n We will be short with you. \\'Tis his Highness\\' pleasure\\r\\n And our consent, for better trial of you,\\r\\n From hence you be committed to the Tower;\\r\\n Where, being but a private man again,\\r\\n You shall know many dare accuse you boldly,\\r\\n More than, I fear, you are provided for.\\r\\n CRANMER. Ah, my good Lord of Winchester, I thank you;\\r\\n You are always my good friend; if your will pass,\\r\\n I shall both find your lordship judge and juror,\\r\\n You are so merciful. I see your end-\\r\\n \\'Tis my undoing. Love and meekness, lord,\\r\\n Become a churchman better than ambition;\\r\\n Win straying souls with modesty again,\\r\\n Cast none away. That I shall clear myself,\\r\\n Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience,\\r\\n I make as little doubt as you do conscience\\r\\n In doing daily wrongs. I could say more,\\r\\n But reverence to your calling makes me modest.\\r\\n GARDINER. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary;\\r\\n That\\'s the plain truth. Your painted gloss discovers,\\r\\n To men that understand you, words and weakness.\\r\\n CROMWELL. My Lord of Winchester, y\\'are a little,\\r\\n By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble,\\r\\n However faulty, yet should find respect\\r\\n For what they have been; \\'tis a cruelty\\r\\n To load a falling man.\\r\\n GARDINER. Good Master Secretary,\\r\\n I cry your honour mercy; you may, worst\\r\\n Of all this table, say so.\\r\\n CROMWELL. Why, my lord?\\r\\n GARDINER. Do not I know you for a favourer\\r\\n Of this new sect? Ye are not sound.\\r\\n CROMWELL. Not sound?\\r\\n GARDINER. Not sound, I say.\\r\\n CROMWELL. Would you were half so honest!\\r\\n Men\\'s prayers then would seek you, not their fears.\\r\\n GARDINER. I shall remember this bold language.\\r\\n CROMWELL. Do.\\r\\n Remember your bold life too.\\r\\n CHANCELLOR. This is too much;\\r\\n Forbear, for shame, my lords.\\r\\n GARDINER. I have done.\\r\\n CROMWELL. And I.\\r\\n CHANCELLOR. Then thus for you, my lord: it stands agreed,\\r\\n I take it, by all voices, that forthwith\\r\\n You be convey\\'d to th\\' Tower a prisoner;\\r\\n There to remain till the King\\'s further pleasure\\r\\n Be known unto us. Are you all agreed, lords?\\r\\n ALL. We are.\\r\\n CRANMER. Is there no other way of mercy,\\r\\n But I must needs to th\\' Tower, my lords?\\r\\n GARDINER. What other\\r\\n Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome.\\r\\n Let some o\\' th\\' guard be ready there.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the guard\\r\\n\\r\\n CRANMER. For me?\\r\\n Must I go like a traitor thither?\\r\\n GARDINER. Receive him,\\r\\n And see him safe i\\' th\\' Tower.\\r\\n CRANMER. Stay, good my lords,\\r\\n I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords;\\r\\n By virtue of that ring I take my cause\\r\\n Out of the gripes of cruel men and give it\\r\\n To a most noble judge, the King my master.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. This is the King\\'s ring.\\r\\n SURREY. \\'Tis no counterfeit.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. \\'Tis the right ring, by heav\\'n. I told ye all,\\r\\n When we first put this dangerous stone a-rolling,\\r\\n \\'Twould fall upon ourselves.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Do you think, my lords,\\r\\n The King will suffer but the little finger\\r\\n Of this man to be vex\\'d?\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. \\'Tis now too certain;\\r\\n How much more is his life in value with him!\\r\\n Would I were fairly out on\\'t!\\r\\n CROMWELL. My mind gave me,\\r\\n In seeking tales and informations\\r\\n Against this man-whose honesty the devil\\r\\n And his disciples only envy at-\\r\\n Ye blew the fire that burns ye. Now have at ye!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the KING frowning on them; he takes his seat\\r\\n\\r\\n GARDINER. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to heaven\\r\\n In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince;\\r\\n Not only good and wise but most religious;\\r\\n One that in all obedience makes the church\\r\\n The chief aim of his honour and, to strengthen\\r\\n That holy duty, out of dear respect,\\r\\n His royal self in judgment comes to hear\\r\\n The cause betwixt her and this great offender.\\r\\n KING. You were ever good at sudden commendations,\\r\\n Bishop of Winchester. But know I come not\\r\\n To hear such flattery now, and in my presence\\r\\n They are too thin and bare to hide offences.\\r\\n To me you cannot reach you play the spaniel,\\r\\n And think with wagging of your tongue to win me;\\r\\n But whatsoe\\'er thou tak\\'st me for, I\\'m sure\\r\\n Thou hast a cruel nature and a bloody.\\r\\n [To CRANMER] Good man, sit down. Now let me see the proudest\\r\\n He that dares most but wag his finger at thee.\\r\\n By all that\\'s holy, he had better starve\\r\\n Than but once think this place becomes thee not.\\r\\n SURREY. May it please your Grace-\\r\\n KING. No, sir, it does not please me.\\r\\n I had thought I had had men of some understanding\\r\\n And wisdom of my Council; but I find none.\\r\\n Was it discretion, lords, to let this man,\\r\\n This good man-few of you deserve that title-\\r\\n This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy\\r\\n At chamber door? and one as great as you are?\\r\\n Why, what a shame was this! Did my commission\\r\\n Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye\\r\\n Power as he was a councillor to try him,\\r\\n Not as a groom. There\\'s some of ye, I see,\\r\\n More out of malice than integrity,\\r\\n Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean;\\r\\n Which ye shall never have while I live.\\r\\n CHANCELLOR. Thus far,\\r\\n My most dread sovereign, may it like your Grace\\r\\n To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos\\'d\\r\\n concerning his imprisonment was rather-\\r\\n If there be faith in men-meant for his trial\\r\\n And fair purgation to the world, than malice,\\r\\n I\\'m sure, in me.\\r\\n KING. Well, well, my lords, respect him;\\r\\n Take him, and use him well, he\\'s worthy of it.\\r\\n I will say thus much for him: if a prince\\r\\n May be beholding to a subject,\\r\\n Am for his love and service so to him.\\r\\n Make me no more ado, but all embrace him;\\r\\n Be friends, for shame, my lords! My Lord of Canterbury,\\r\\n I have a suit which you must not deny me:\\r\\n That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism;\\r\\n You must be godfather, and answer for her.\\r\\n CRANMER. The greatest monarch now alive may glory\\r\\n In such an honour; how may I deserve it,\\r\\n That am a poor and humble subject to you?\\r\\n KING. Come, come, my lord, you\\'d spare your spoons. You\\r\\n shall have\\r\\n Two noble partners with you: the old Duchess of Norfolk\\r\\n And Lady Marquis Dorset. Will these please you?\\r\\n Once more, my Lord of Winchester, I charge you,\\r\\n Embrace and love this man.\\r\\n GARDINER. With a true heart\\r\\n And brother-love I do it.\\r\\n CRANMER. And let heaven\\r\\n Witness how dear I hold this confirmation.\\r\\n KING. Good man, those joyful tears show thy true heart.\\r\\n The common voice, I see, is verified\\r\\n Of thee, which says thus: \\'Do my Lord of Canterbury\\r\\n A shrewd turn and he\\'s your friend for ever.\\'\\r\\n Come, lords, we trifle time away; I long\\r\\n To have this young one made a Christian.\\r\\n As I have made ye one, lords, one remain;\\r\\n So I grow stronger, you more honour gain. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe palace yard\\r\\n\\r\\nNoise and tumult within. Enter PORTER and his MAN\\r\\n\\r\\n PORTER. You\\'ll leave your noise anon, ye rascals. Do you\\r\\n take the court for Paris garden? Ye rude slaves, leave your\\r\\n gaping.\\r\\n [Within: Good master porter, I belong to th\\' larder.]\\r\\n PORTER. Belong to th\\' gallows, and be hang\\'d, ye rogue! Is\\r\\n this a place to roar in? Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves,\\r\\n and strong ones; these are but switches to \\'em. I\\'ll scratch\\r\\n your heads. You must be seeing christenings? Do you look\\r\\n for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals?\\r\\n MAN. Pray, sir, be patient; \\'tis as much impossible,\\r\\n Unless we sweep \\'em from the door with cannons,\\r\\n To scatter \\'em as \\'tis to make \\'em sleep\\r\\n On May-day morning; which will never be.\\r\\n We may as well push against Paul\\'s as stir \\'em.\\r\\n PORTER. How got they in, and be hang\\'d?\\r\\n MAN. Alas, I know not: how gets the tide in?\\r\\n As much as one sound cudgel of four foot-\\r\\n You see the poor remainder-could distribute,\\r\\n I made no spare, sir.\\r\\n PORTER. You did nothing, sir.\\r\\n MAN. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand,\\r\\n To mow \\'em down before me; but if I spar\\'d any\\r\\n That had a head to hit, either young or old,\\r\\n He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker,\\r\\n Let me ne\\'er hope to see a chine again;\\r\\n And that I would not for a cow, God save her!\\r\\n [ Within: Do you hear, master porter?]\\r\\n PORTER. I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.\\r\\n Keep the door close, sirrah.\\r\\n MAN. What would you have me do?\\r\\n PORTER. What should you do, but knock \\'em down by th\\'\\r\\n dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? Or have we some\\r\\n strange Indian with the great tool come to court, the\\r\\n women so besiege us? Bless me, what a fry of fornication\\r\\n is at door! On my Christian conscience, this one christening\\r\\n will beget a thousand: here will be father, godfather,\\r\\n and all together.\\r\\n MAN. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a fellow\\r\\n somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier by his\\r\\n face, for, o\\' my conscience, twenty of the dog-days now\\r\\n reign in\\'s nose; all that stand about him are under the line,\\r\\n they need no other penance. That fire-drake did I hit three\\r\\n times on the head, and three times was his nose discharged\\r\\n against me; he stands there like a mortar-piece, to blow us.\\r\\n There was a haberdasher\\'s wife of small wit near him, that\\r\\n rail\\'d upon me till her pink\\'d porringer fell off her head,\\r\\n for kindling such a combustion in the state. I miss\\'d the\\r\\n meteor once, and hit that woman, who cried out \\'Clubs!\\'\\r\\n when I might see from far some forty truncheoners draw\\r\\n to her succour, which were the hope o\\' th\\' Strand, where\\r\\n she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my place.\\r\\n At length they came to th\\' broomstaff to me; I defied \\'em\\r\\n still; when suddenly a file of boys behind \\'em, loose shot,\\r\\n deliver\\'d such a show\\'r of pebbles that I was fain to draw\\r\\n mine honour in and let \\'em win the work: the devil was\\r\\n amongst \\'em, I think surely.\\r\\n PORTER. These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse\\r\\n and fight for bitten apples; that no audience but the tribulation\\r\\n of Tower-hill or the limbs of Limehouse, their dear\\r\\n brothers, are able to endure. I have some of \\'em in Limbo\\r\\n Patrum, and there they are like to dance these three days;\\r\\n besides the running banquet of two beadles that is to come.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN\\r\\n\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Mercy o\\' me, what a multitude are here!\\r\\n They grow still too; from all parts they are coming,\\r\\n As if we kept a fair here! Where are these porters,\\r\\n These lazy knaves? Y\\'have made a fine hand, fellows.\\r\\n There\\'s a trim rabble let in: are all these\\r\\n Your faithful friends o\\' th\\' suburbs? We shall have\\r\\n Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,\\r\\n When they pass back from the christening.\\r\\n PORTER. An\\'t please your honour,\\r\\n We are but men; and what so many may do,\\r\\n Not being torn a pieces, we have done.\\r\\n An army cannot rule \\'em.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. As I live,\\r\\n If the King blame me for\\'t, I\\'ll lay ye an\\r\\n By th\\' heels, and suddenly; and on your heads\\r\\n Clap round fines for neglect. Y\\'are lazy knaves;\\r\\n And here ye lie baiting of bombards, when\\r\\n Ye should do service. Hark! the trumpets sound;\\r\\n Th\\' are come already from the christening.\\r\\n Go break among the press and find a way out\\r\\n To let the troops pass fairly, or I\\'ll find\\r\\n A Marshalsea shall hold ye play these two months.\\r\\n PORTER. Make way there for the Princess.\\r\\n MAN. You great fellow,\\r\\n Stand close up, or I\\'ll make your head ache.\\r\\n PORTER. You i\\' th\\' camlet, get up o\\' th\\' rail;\\r\\n I\\'ll peck you o\\'er the pales else. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TRUMPETS, sounding; then two ALDERMEN, LORD MAYOR, GARTER,\\r\\nCRANMER, DUKE OF NORFOLK, with his marshal\\'s staff, DUKE OF SUFFOLK,\\r\\ntwo Noblemen bearing great standing-bowls for the christening gifts;\\r\\nthen four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the DUCHESS OF\\r\\nNORFOLK, godmother, bearing the CHILD richly habited in a mantle, etc.,\\r\\ntrain borne by a LADY; then follows the MARCHIONESS DORSET, the other\\r\\ngodmother, and LADIES. The troop pass once about the stage, and GARTER\\r\\nspeaks\\r\\n\\r\\n GARTER. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send prosperous life, long\\r\\n and ever-happy, to the high and mighty Princess of England,\\r\\n Elizabeth!\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Enter KING and guard\\r\\n\\r\\n CRANMER. [Kneeling] And to your royal Grace and the\\r\\n good Queen!\\r\\n My noble partners and myself thus pray:\\r\\n All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady,\\r\\n Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy,\\r\\n May hourly fall upon ye!\\r\\n KING. Thank you, good Lord Archbishop.\\r\\n What is her name?\\r\\n CRANMER. Elizabeth.\\r\\n KING. Stand up, lord. [The KING kisses the child]\\r\\n With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee!\\r\\n Into whose hand I give thy life.\\r\\n CRANMER. Amen.\\r\\n KING. My noble gossips, y\\'have been too prodigal;\\r\\n I thank ye heartily. So shall this lady,\\r\\n When she has so much English.\\r\\n CRANMER. Let me speak, sir,\\r\\n For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter\\r\\n Let none think flattery, for they\\'ll find \\'em truth.\\r\\n This royal infant-heaven still move about her!-\\r\\n Though in her cradle, yet now promises\\r\\n Upon this land a thousand blessings,\\r\\n Which time shall bring to ripeness. She shall be-\\r\\n But few now living can behold that goodness-\\r\\n A pattern to all princes living with her,\\r\\n And all that shall succeed. Saba was never\\r\\n More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue\\r\\n Than this pure soul shall be. All princely graces\\r\\n That mould up such a mighty piece as this is,\\r\\n With all the virtues that attend the good,\\r\\n Shall still be doubled on her. Truth shall nurse her,\\r\\n Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her;\\r\\n She shall be lov\\'d and fear\\'d. Her own shall bless her:\\r\\n Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,\\r\\n And hang their heads with sorrow. Good grows with her;\\r\\n In her days every man shall eat in safety\\r\\n Under his own vine what he plants, and sing\\r\\n The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours.\\r\\n God shall be truly known; and those about her\\r\\n From her shall read the perfect ways of honour,\\r\\n And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.\\r\\n Nor shall this peace sleep with her; but as when\\r\\n The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix\\r\\n Her ashes new create another heir\\r\\n As great in admiration as herself,\\r\\n So shall she leave her blessedness to one-\\r\\n When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness-\\r\\n Who from the sacred ashes of her honour\\r\\n Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was,\\r\\n And so stand fix\\'d. Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror,\\r\\n That were the servants to this chosen infant,\\r\\n Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him;\\r\\n Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine,\\r\\n His honour and the greatness of his name\\r\\n Shall be, and make new nations; he shall flourish,\\r\\n And like a mountain cedar reach his branches\\r\\n To all the plains about him; our children\\'s children\\r\\n Shall see this and bless heaven.\\r\\n KING. Thou speakest wonders.\\r\\n CRANMER. She shall be, to the happiness of England,\\r\\n An aged princess; many days shall see her,\\r\\n And yet no day without a deed to crown it.\\r\\n Would I had known no more! But she must die-\\r\\n She must, the saints must have her-yet a virgin;\\r\\n A most unspotted lily shall she pass\\r\\n To th\\' ground, and all the world shall mourn her.\\r\\n KING. O Lord Archbishop,\\r\\n Thou hast made me now a man; never before\\r\\n This happy child did I get anything.\\r\\n This oracle of comfort has so pleas\\'d me\\r\\n That when I am in heaven I shall desire\\r\\n To see what this child does, and praise my Maker.\\r\\n I thank ye all. To you, my good Lord Mayor,\\r\\n And you, good brethren, I am much beholding;\\r\\n I have receiv\\'d much honour by your presence,\\r\\n And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords;\\r\\n Ye must all see the Queen, and she must thank ye,\\r\\n She will be sick else. This day, no man think\\r\\n Has business at his house; for all shall stay.\\r\\n This little one shall make it holiday. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nKING_HENRY_VIII|EPILOGUE THE EPILOGUE.\\r\\n\\r\\n \\'Tis ten to one this play can never please\\r\\n All that are here. Some come to take their ease\\r\\n And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear,\\r\\n W\\'have frighted with our trumpets; so, \\'tis clear,\\r\\n They\\'ll say \\'tis nought; others to hear the city\\r\\n Abus\\'d extremely, and to cry \\'That\\'s witty!\\'\\r\\n Which we have not done neither; that, I fear,\\r\\n All the expected good w\\'are like to hear\\r\\n For this play at this time is only in\\r\\n The merciful construction of good women;\\r\\n For such a one we show\\'d \\'em. If they smile\\r\\n And say \\'twill do, I know within a while\\r\\n All the best men are ours; for \\'tis ill hap\\r\\n If they hold when their ladies bid \\'em clap.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nKING JOHN\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\\r\\n\\r\\n KING JOHN\\r\\n PRINCE HENRY, his son\\r\\n ARTHUR, DUKE OF BRITAINE, son of Geffrey, late Duke of\\r\\n Britaine, the elder brother of King John\\r\\n EARL OF PEMBROKE\\r\\n EARL OF ESSEX\\r\\n EARL OF SALISBURY\\r\\n LORD BIGOT\\r\\n HUBERT DE BURGH\\r\\n ROBERT FAULCONBRIDGE, son to Sir Robert Faulconbridge\\r\\n PHILIP THE BASTARD, his half-brother\\r\\n JAMES GURNEY, servant to Lady Faulconbridge\\r\\n PETER OF POMFRET, a prophet\\r\\n\\r\\n KING PHILIP OF FRANCE\\r\\n LEWIS, the Dauphin\\r\\n LYMOGES, Duke of Austria\\r\\n CARDINAL PANDULPH, the Pope\\'s legate\\r\\n MELUN, a French lord\\r\\n CHATILLON, ambassador from France to King John\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN ELINOR, widow of King Henry II and mother to\\r\\n King John\\r\\n CONSTANCE, Mother to Arthur\\r\\n BLANCH OF SPAIN, daughter to the King of Castile\\r\\n and niece to King John\\r\\n LADY FAULCONBRIDGE, widow of Sir Robert Faulconbridge\\r\\n\\r\\n Lords, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds, Officers,\\r\\n Soldiers, Executioners, Messengers, Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: England and France\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE 1\\r\\n\\r\\nKING JOHN\\'s palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, PEMBROKE, ESSEX, SALISBURY, and others,\\r\\nwith CHATILLON\\r\\n\\r\\n KING JOHN. Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us?\\r\\n CHATILLON. Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France\\r\\n In my behaviour to the majesty,\\r\\n The borrowed majesty, of England here.\\r\\n ELINOR. A strange beginning- \\'borrowed majesty\\'!\\r\\n KING JOHN. Silence, good mother; hear the embassy.\\r\\n CHATILLON. Philip of France, in right and true behalf\\r\\n Of thy deceased brother Geffrey\\'s son,\\r\\n Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim\\r\\n To this fair island and the territories,\\r\\n To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,\\r\\n Desiring thee to lay aside the sword\\r\\n Which sways usurpingly these several titles,\\r\\n And put the same into young Arthur\\'s hand,\\r\\n Thy nephew and right royal sovereign.\\r\\n KING JOHN. What follows if we disallow of this?\\r\\n CHATILLON. The proud control of fierce and bloody war,\\r\\n To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Here have we war for war, and blood for blood,\\r\\n Controlment for controlment- so answer France.\\r\\n CHATILLON. Then take my king\\'s defiance from my mouth-\\r\\n The farthest limit of my embassy.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace;\\r\\n Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France;\\r\\n For ere thou canst report I will be there,\\r\\n The thunder of my cannon shall be heard.\\r\\n So hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath\\r\\n And sullen presage of your own decay.\\r\\n An honourable conduct let him have-\\r\\n Pembroke, look to \\'t. Farewell, Chatillon.\\r\\n Exeunt CHATILLON and PEMBROKE\\r\\n ELINOR. What now, my son! Have I not ever said\\r\\n How that ambitious Constance would not cease\\r\\n Till she had kindled France and all the world\\r\\n Upon the right and party of her son?\\r\\n This might have been prevented and made whole\\r\\n With very easy arguments of love,\\r\\n Which now the manage of two kingdoms must\\r\\n With fearful bloody issue arbitrate.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Our strong possession and our right for us!\\r\\n ELINOR. Your strong possession much more than your right,\\r\\n Or else it must go wrong with you and me;\\r\\n So much my conscience whispers in your ear,\\r\\n Which none but heaven and you and I shall hear.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a SHERIFF\\r\\n\\r\\n ESSEX. My liege, here is the strangest controversy\\r\\n Come from the country to be judg\\'d by you\\r\\n That e\\'er I heard. Shall I produce the men?\\r\\n KING JOHN. Let them approach. Exit SHERIFF\\r\\n Our abbeys and our priories shall pay\\r\\n This expedition\\'s charge.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ROBERT FAULCONBRIDGE and PHILIP, his bastard\\r\\n brother\\r\\n\\r\\n What men are you?\\r\\n BASTARD. Your faithful subject I, a gentleman\\r\\n Born in Northamptonshire, and eldest son,\\r\\n As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge-\\r\\n A soldier by the honour-giving hand\\r\\n Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field.\\r\\n KING JOHN. What art thou?\\r\\n ROBERT. The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Is that the elder, and art thou the heir?\\r\\n You came not of one mother then, it seems.\\r\\n BASTARD. Most certain of one mother, mighty king-\\r\\n That is well known- and, as I think, one father;\\r\\n But for the certain knowledge of that truth\\r\\n I put you o\\'er to heaven and to my mother.\\r\\n Of that I doubt, as all men\\'s children may.\\r\\n ELINOR. Out on thee, rude man! Thou dost shame thy mother,\\r\\n And wound her honour with this diffidence.\\r\\n BASTARD. I, madam? No, I have no reason for it-\\r\\n That is my brother\\'s plea, and none of mine;\\r\\n The which if he can prove, \\'a pops me out\\r\\n At least from fair five hundred pound a year.\\r\\n Heaven guard my mother\\'s honour and my land!\\r\\n KING JOHN. A good blunt fellow. Why, being younger born,\\r\\n Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance?\\r\\n BASTARD. I know not why, except to get the land.\\r\\n But once he slander\\'d me with bastardy;\\r\\n But whe\\'er I be as true begot or no,\\r\\n That still I lay upon my mother\\'s head;\\r\\n But that I am as well begot, my liege-\\r\\n Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!-\\r\\n Compare our faces and be judge yourself.\\r\\n If old Sir Robert did beget us both\\r\\n And were our father, and this son like him-\\r\\n O old Sir Robert, father, on my knee\\r\\n I give heaven thanks I was not like to thee!\\r\\n KING JOHN. Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here!\\r\\n ELINOR. He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion\\'s face;\\r\\n The accent of his tongue affecteth him.\\r\\n Do you not read some tokens of my son\\r\\n In the large composition of this man?\\r\\n KING JOHN. Mine eye hath well examined his parts\\r\\n And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak,\\r\\n What doth move you to claim your brother\\'s land?\\r\\n BASTARD. Because he hath a half-face, like my father.\\r\\n With half that face would he have all my land:\\r\\n A half-fac\\'d groat five hundred pound a year!\\r\\n ROBERT. My gracious liege, when that my father liv\\'d,\\r\\n Your brother did employ my father much-\\r\\n BASTARD. Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land:\\r\\n Your tale must be how he employ\\'d my mother.\\r\\n ROBERT. And once dispatch\\'d him in an embassy\\r\\n To Germany, there with the Emperor\\r\\n To treat of high affairs touching that time.\\r\\n Th\\' advantage of his absence took the King,\\r\\n And in the meantime sojourn\\'d at my father\\'s;\\r\\n Where how he did prevail I shame to speak-\\r\\n But truth is truth: large lengths of seas and shores\\r\\n Between my father and my mother lay,\\r\\n As I have heard my father speak himself,\\r\\n When this same lusty gentleman was got.\\r\\n Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath\\'d\\r\\n His lands to me, and took it on his death\\r\\n That this my mother\\'s son was none of his;\\r\\n And if he were, he came into the world\\r\\n Full fourteen weeks before the course of time.\\r\\n Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine,\\r\\n My father\\'s land, as was my father\\'s will.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate:\\r\\n Your father\\'s wife did after wedlock bear him,\\r\\n And if she did play false, the fault was hers;\\r\\n Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands\\r\\n That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother,\\r\\n Who, as you say, took pains to get this son,\\r\\n Had of your father claim\\'d this son for his?\\r\\n In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept\\r\\n This calf, bred from his cow, from all the world;\\r\\n In sooth, he might; then, if he were my brother\\'s,\\r\\n My brother might not claim him; nor your father,\\r\\n Being none of his, refuse him. This concludes:\\r\\n My mother\\'s son did get your father\\'s heir;\\r\\n Your father\\'s heir must have your father\\'s land.\\r\\n ROBERT. Shall then my father\\'s will be of no force\\r\\n To dispossess that child which is not his?\\r\\n BASTARD. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir,\\r\\n Than was his will to get me, as I think.\\r\\n ELINOR. Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge,\\r\\n And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land,\\r\\n Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion,\\r\\n Lord of thy presence and no land beside?\\r\\n BASTARD. Madam, an if my brother had my shape\\r\\n And I had his, Sir Robert\\'s his, like him;\\r\\n And if my legs were two such riding-rods,\\r\\n My arms such eel-skins stuff\\'d, my face so thin\\r\\n That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose\\r\\n Lest men should say \\'Look where three-farthings goes!\\'\\r\\n And, to his shape, were heir to all this land-\\r\\n Would I might never stir from off this place,\\r\\n I would give it every foot to have this face!\\r\\n I would not be Sir Nob in any case.\\r\\n ELINOR. I like thee well. Wilt thou forsake thy fortune,\\r\\n Bequeath thy land to him and follow me?\\r\\n I am a soldier and now bound to France.\\r\\n BASTARD. Brother, take you my land, I\\'ll take my chance.\\r\\n Your face hath got five hundred pound a year,\\r\\n Yet sell your face for fivepence and \\'tis dear.\\r\\n Madam, I\\'ll follow you unto the death.\\r\\n ELINOR. Nay, I would have you go before me thither.\\r\\n BASTARD. Our country manners give our betters way.\\r\\n KING JOHN. What is thy name?\\r\\n BASTARD. Philip, my liege, so is my name begun:\\r\\n Philip, good old Sir Robert\\'s wife\\'s eldest son.\\r\\n KING JOHN. From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bearest:\\r\\n Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great-\\r\\n Arise Sir Richard and Plantagenet.\\r\\n BASTARD. Brother by th\\' mother\\'s side, give me your hand;\\r\\n My father gave me honour, yours gave land.\\r\\n Now blessed be the hour, by night or day,\\r\\n When I was got, Sir Robert was away!\\r\\n ELINOR. The very spirit of Plantagenet!\\r\\n I am thy grandam, Richard: call me so.\\r\\n BASTARD. Madam, by chance, but not by truth; what though?\\r\\n Something about, a little from the right,\\r\\n In at the window, or else o\\'er the hatch;\\r\\n Who dares not stir by day must walk by night;\\r\\n And have is have, however men do catch.\\r\\n Near or far off, well won is still well shot;\\r\\n And I am I, howe\\'er I was begot.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Go, Faulconbridge; now hast thou thy desire:\\r\\n A landless knight makes thee a landed squire.\\r\\n Come, madam, and come, Richard, we must speed\\r\\n For France, for France, for it is more than need.\\r\\n BASTARD. Brother, adieu. Good fortune come to thee!\\r\\n For thou wast got i\\' th\\' way of honesty.\\r\\n Exeunt all but the BASTARD\\r\\n A foot of honour better than I was;\\r\\n But many a many foot of land the worse.\\r\\n Well, now can I make any Joan a lady.\\r\\n \\'Good den, Sir Richard!\\'-\\'God-a-mercy, fellow!\\'\\r\\n And if his name be George, I\\'ll call him Peter;\\r\\n For new-made honour doth forget men\\'s names:\\r\\n \\'Tis too respective and too sociable\\r\\n For your conversion. Now your traveller,\\r\\n He and his toothpick at my worship\\'s mess-\\r\\n And when my knightly stomach is suffic\\'d,\\r\\n Why then I suck my teeth and catechize\\r\\n My picked man of countries: \\'My dear sir,\\'\\r\\n Thus leaning on mine elbow I begin\\r\\n \\'I shall beseech you\\'-That is question now;\\r\\n And then comes answer like an Absey book:\\r\\n \\'O sir,\\' says answer \\'at your best command,\\r\\n At your employment, at your service, sir!\\'\\r\\n \\'No, sir,\\' says question \\'I, sweet sir, at yours.\\'\\r\\n And so, ere answer knows what question would,\\r\\n Saving in dialogue of compliment,\\r\\n And talking of the Alps and Apennines,\\r\\n The Pyrenean and the river Po-\\r\\n It draws toward supper in conclusion so.\\r\\n But this is worshipful society,\\r\\n And fits the mounting spirit like myself;\\r\\n For he is but a bastard to the time\\r\\n That doth not smack of observation-\\r\\n And so am I, whether I smack or no;\\r\\n And not alone in habit and device,\\r\\n Exterior form, outward accoutrement,\\r\\n But from the inward motion to deliver\\r\\n Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age\\'s tooth;\\r\\n Which, though I will not practise to deceive,\\r\\n Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn;\\r\\n For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising.\\r\\n But who comes in such haste in riding-robes?\\r\\n What woman-post is this? Hath she no husband\\r\\n That will take pains to blow a horn before her?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LADY FAULCONBRIDGE, and JAMES GURNEY\\r\\n\\r\\n O me, \\'tis my mother! How now, good lady!\\r\\n What brings you here to court so hastily?\\r\\n LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Where is that slave, thy brother?\\r\\n Where is he\\r\\n That holds in chase mine honour up and down?\\r\\n BASTARD. My brother Robert, old Sir Robert\\'s son?\\r\\n Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man?\\r\\n Is it Sir Robert\\'s son that you seek so?\\r\\n LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Sir Robert\\'s son! Ay, thou unreverend boy,\\r\\n Sir Robert\\'s son! Why scorn\\'st thou at Sir Robert?\\r\\n He is Sir Robert\\'s son, and so art thou.\\r\\n BASTARD. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile?\\r\\n GURNEY. Good leave, good Philip.\\r\\n BASTARD. Philip-Sparrow! James,\\r\\n There\\'s toys abroad-anon I\\'ll tell thee more.\\r\\n Exit GURNEY\\r\\n Madam, I was not old Sir Robert\\'s son;\\r\\n Sir Robert might have eat his part in me\\r\\n Upon Good Friday, and ne\\'er broke his fast.\\r\\n Sir Robert could do: well-marry, to confess-\\r\\n Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it:\\r\\n We know his handiwork. Therefore, good mother,\\r\\n To whom am I beholding for these limbs?\\r\\n Sir Robert never holp to make this leg.\\r\\n LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Hast thou conspired with thy brother too,\\r\\n That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour?\\r\\n What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave?\\r\\n BASTARD. Knight, knight, good mother, Basilisco-like.\\r\\n What! I am dubb\\'d; I have it on my shoulder.\\r\\n But, mother, I am not Sir Robert\\'s son:\\r\\n I have disclaim\\'d Sir Robert and my land;\\r\\n Legitimation, name, and all is gone.\\r\\n Then, good my mother, let me know my father-\\r\\n Some proper man, I hope. Who was it, mother?\\r\\n LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge?\\r\\n BASTARD. As faithfully as I deny the devil.\\r\\n LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father.\\r\\n By long and vehement suit I was seduc\\'d\\r\\n To make room for him in my husband\\'s bed.\\r\\n Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge!\\r\\n Thou art the issue of my dear offence,\\r\\n Which was so strongly urg\\'d past my defence.\\r\\n BASTARD. Now, by this light, were I to get again,\\r\\n Madam, I would not wish a better father.\\r\\n Some sins do bear their privilege on earth,\\r\\n And so doth yours: your fault was not your folly;\\r\\n Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose,\\r\\n Subjected tribute to commanding love,\\r\\n Against whose fury and unmatched force\\r\\n The aweless lion could not wage the fight\\r\\n Nor keep his princely heart from Richard\\'s hand.\\r\\n He that perforce robs lions of their hearts\\r\\n May easily win a woman\\'s. Ay, my mother,\\r\\n With all my heart I thank thee for my father!\\r\\n Who lives and dares but say thou didst not well\\r\\n When I was got, I\\'ll send his soul to hell.\\r\\n Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin;\\r\\n And they shall say when Richard me begot,\\r\\n If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin.\\r\\n Who says it was, he lies; I say \\'twas not. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE 1\\r\\n\\r\\nFrance. Before Angiers\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter, on one side, AUSTRIA and forces; on the other, KING PHILIP OF\\r\\nFRANCE,\\r\\nLEWIS the Dauphin, CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and forces\\r\\n\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Before Angiers well met, brave Austria.\\r\\n Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood,\\r\\n Richard, that robb\\'d the lion of his heart\\r\\n And fought the holy wars in Palestine,\\r\\n By this brave duke came early to his grave;\\r\\n And for amends to his posterity,\\r\\n At our importance hither is he come\\r\\n To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf;\\r\\n And to rebuke the usurpation\\r\\n Of thy unnatural uncle, English John.\\r\\n Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither.\\r\\n ARTHUR. God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion\\'s death\\r\\n The rather that you give his offspring life,\\r\\n Shadowing their right under your wings of war.\\r\\n I give you welcome with a powerless hand,\\r\\n But with a heart full of unstained love;\\r\\n Welcome before the gates of Angiers, Duke.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. A noble boy! Who would not do thee right?\\r\\n AUSTRIA. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss\\r\\n As seal to this indenture of my love:\\r\\n That to my home I will no more return\\r\\n Till Angiers and the right thou hast in France,\\r\\n Together with that pale, that white-fac\\'d shore,\\r\\n Whose foot spurns back the ocean\\'s roaring tides\\r\\n And coops from other lands her islanders-\\r\\n Even till that England, hedg\\'d in with the main,\\r\\n That water-walled bulwark, still secure\\r\\n And confident from foreign purposes-\\r\\n Even till that utmost corner of the west\\r\\n Salute thee for her king. Till then, fair boy,\\r\\n Will I not think of home, but follow arms.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. O, take his mother\\'s thanks, a widow\\'s thanks,\\r\\n Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength\\r\\n To make a more requital to your love!\\r\\n AUSTRIA. The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords\\r\\n In such a just and charitable war.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Well then, to work! Our cannon shall be bent\\r\\n Against the brows of this resisting town;\\r\\n Call for our chiefest men of discipline,\\r\\n To cull the plots of best advantages.\\r\\n We\\'ll lay before this town our royal bones,\\r\\n Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen\\'s blood,\\r\\n But we will make it subject to this boy.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Stay for an answer to your embassy,\\r\\n Lest unadvis\\'d you stain your swords with blood;\\r\\n My Lord Chatillon may from England bring\\r\\n That right in peace which here we urge in war,\\r\\n And then we shall repent each drop of blood\\r\\n That hot rash haste so indirectly shed.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CHATILLON\\r\\n\\r\\n KING PHILIP. A wonder, lady! Lo, upon thy wish,\\r\\n Our messenger Chatillon is arriv\\'d.\\r\\n What England says, say briefly, gentle lord;\\r\\n We coldly pause for thee. Chatillon, speak.\\r\\n CHATILLON. Then turn your forces from this paltry siege\\r\\n And stir them up against a mightier task.\\r\\n England, impatient of your just demands,\\r\\n Hath put himself in arms. The adverse winds,\\r\\n Whose leisure I have stay\\'d, have given him time\\r\\n To land his legions all as soon as I;\\r\\n His marches are expedient to this town,\\r\\n His forces strong, his soldiers confident.\\r\\n With him along is come the mother-queen,\\r\\n An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife;\\r\\n With her the Lady Blanch of Spain;\\r\\n With them a bastard of the king\\'s deceas\\'d;\\r\\n And all th\\' unsettled humours of the land-\\r\\n Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries,\\r\\n With ladies\\' faces and fierce dragons\\' spleens-\\r\\n Have sold their fortunes at their native homes,\\r\\n Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs,\\r\\n To make a hazard of new fortunes here.\\r\\n In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits\\r\\n Than now the English bottoms have waft o\\'er\\r\\n Did never float upon the swelling tide\\r\\n To do offence and scathe in Christendom. [Drum beats]\\r\\n The interruption of their churlish drums\\r\\n Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand;\\r\\n To parley or to fight, therefore prepare.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. How much unlook\\'d for is this expedition!\\r\\n AUSTRIA. By how much unexpected, by so much\\r\\n We must awake endeavour for defence,\\r\\n For courage mounteth with occasion.\\r\\n Let them be welcome then; we are prepar\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING JOHN, ELINOR, BLANCH, the BASTARD,\\r\\n PEMBROKE, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n KING JOHN. Peace be to France, if France in peace permit\\r\\n Our just and lineal entrance to our own!\\r\\n If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven,\\r\\n Whiles we, God\\'s wrathful agent, do correct\\r\\n Their proud contempt that beats His peace to heaven!\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Peace be to England, if that war return\\r\\n From France to England, there to live in peace!\\r\\n England we love, and for that England\\'s sake\\r\\n With burden of our armour here we sweat.\\r\\n This toil of ours should be a work of thine;\\r\\n But thou from loving England art so far\\r\\n That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king,\\r\\n Cut off the sequence of posterity,\\r\\n Outfaced infant state, and done a rape\\r\\n Upon the maiden virtue of the crown.\\r\\n Look here upon thy brother Geffrey\\'s face:\\r\\n These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his;\\r\\n This little abstract doth contain that large\\r\\n Which died in Geffrey, and the hand of time\\r\\n Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume.\\r\\n That Geffrey was thy elder brother born,\\r\\n And this his son; England was Geffrey\\'s right,\\r\\n And this is Geffrey\\'s. In the name of God,\\r\\n How comes it then that thou art call\\'d a king,\\r\\n When living blood doth in these temples beat\\r\\n Which owe the crown that thou o\\'er-masterest?\\r\\n KING JOHN. From whom hast thou this great commission, France,\\r\\n To draw my answer from thy articles?\\r\\n KING PHILIP. From that supernal judge that stirs good thoughts\\r\\n In any breast of strong authority\\r\\n To look into the blots and stains of right.\\r\\n That judge hath made me guardian to this boy,\\r\\n Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong,\\r\\n And by whose help I mean to chastise it.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Alack, thou dost usurp authority.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Excuse it is to beat usurping down.\\r\\n ELINOR. Who is it thou dost call usurper, France?\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Let me make answer: thy usurping son.\\r\\n ELINOR. Out, insolent! Thy bastard shall be king,\\r\\n That thou mayst be a queen and check the world!\\r\\n CONSTANCE. My bed was ever to thy son as true\\r\\n As thine was to thy husband; and this boy\\r\\n Liker in feature to his father Geffrey\\r\\n Than thou and John in manners-being as Eke\\r\\n As rain to water, or devil to his dam.\\r\\n My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think\\r\\n His father never was so true begot;\\r\\n It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother.\\r\\n ELINOR. There\\'s a good mother, boy, that blots thy father.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. There\\'s a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee.\\r\\n AUSTRIA. Peace!\\r\\n BASTARD. Hear the crier.\\r\\n AUSTRIA. What the devil art thou?\\r\\n BASTARD. One that will play the devil, sir, with you,\\r\\n An \\'a may catch your hide and you alone.\\r\\n You are the hare of whom the proverb goes,\\r\\n Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard;\\r\\n I\\'ll smoke your skin-coat an I catch you right;\\r\\n Sirrah, look to \\'t; i\\' faith I will, i\\' faith.\\r\\n BLANCH. O, well did he become that lion\\'s robe\\r\\n That did disrobe the lion of that robe!\\r\\n BASTARD. It lies as sightly on the back of him\\r\\n As great Alcides\\' shows upon an ass;\\r\\n But, ass, I\\'ll take that burden from your back,\\r\\n Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack.\\r\\n AUSTRIA. What cracker is this same that deafs our ears\\r\\n With this abundance of superfluous breath?\\r\\n King Philip, determine what we shall do straight.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Women and fools, break off your conference.\\r\\n King John, this is the very sum of all:\\r\\n England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,\\r\\n In right of Arthur, do I claim of thee;\\r\\n Wilt thou resign them and lay down thy arms?\\r\\n KING JOHN. My life as soon. I do defy thee, France.\\r\\n Arthur of Britaine, yield thee to my hand,\\r\\n And out of my dear love I\\'ll give thee more\\r\\n Than e\\'er the coward hand of France can win.\\r\\n Submit thee, boy.\\r\\n ELINOR. Come to thy grandam, child.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Do, child, go to it grandam, child;\\r\\n Give grandam kingdom, and it grandam will\\r\\n Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig.\\r\\n There\\'s a good grandam!\\r\\n ARTHUR. Good my mother, peace!\\r\\n I would that I were low laid in my grave:\\r\\n I am not worth this coil that\\'s made for me.\\r\\n ELINOR. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Now shame upon you, whe\\'er she does or no!\\r\\n His grandam\\'s wrongs, and not his mother\\'s shames,\\r\\n Draws those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes,\\r\\n Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee;\\r\\n Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be brib\\'d\\r\\n To do him justice and revenge on you.\\r\\n ELINOR. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth!\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth,\\r\\n Call not me slanderer! Thou and thine usurp\\r\\n The dominations, royalties, and rights,\\r\\n Of this oppressed boy; this is thy eldest son\\'s son,\\r\\n Infortunate in nothing but in thee.\\r\\n Thy sins are visited in this poor child;\\r\\n The canon of the law is laid on him,\\r\\n Being but the second generation\\r\\n Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Bedlam, have done.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. I have but this to say-\\r\\n That he is not only plagued for her sin,\\r\\n But God hath made her sin and her the plague\\r\\n On this removed issue, plagued for her\\r\\n And with her plague; her sin his injury,\\r\\n Her injury the beadle to her sin;\\r\\n All punish\\'d in the person of this child,\\r\\n And all for her-a plague upon her!\\r\\n ELINOR. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce\\r\\n A will that bars the title of thy son.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Ay, who doubts that? A will, a wicked will;\\r\\n A woman\\'s will; a cank\\'red grandam\\'s will!\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Peace, lady! pause, or be more temperate.\\r\\n It ill beseems this presence to cry aim\\r\\n To these ill-tuned repetitions.\\r\\n Some trumpet summon hither to the walls\\r\\n These men of Angiers; let us hear them speak\\r\\n Whose title they admit, Arthur\\'s or John\\'s.\\r\\n\\r\\n Trumpet sounds. Enter citizens upon the walls\\r\\n\\r\\n CITIZEN. Who is it that hath warn\\'d us to the walls?\\r\\n KING PHILIP. \\'Tis France, for England.\\r\\n KING JOHN. England for itself.\\r\\n You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects-\\r\\n KING PHILIP. You loving men of Angiers, Arthur\\'s subjects,\\r\\n Our trumpet call\\'d you to this gentle parle-\\r\\n KING JOHN. For our advantage; therefore hear us first.\\r\\n These flags of France, that are advanced here\\r\\n Before the eye and prospect of your town,\\r\\n Have hither march\\'d to your endamagement;\\r\\n The cannons have their bowels full of wrath,\\r\\n And ready mounted are they to spit forth\\r\\n Their iron indignation \\'gainst your walls;\\r\\n All preparation for a bloody siege\\r\\n And merciless proceeding by these French\\r\\n Confront your city\\'s eyes, your winking gates;\\r\\n And but for our approach those sleeping stones\\r\\n That as a waist doth girdle you about\\r\\n By the compulsion of their ordinance\\r\\n By this time from their fixed beds of lime\\r\\n Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made\\r\\n For bloody power to rush upon your peace.\\r\\n But on the sight of us your lawful king,\\r\\n Who painfully with much expedient march\\r\\n Have brought a countercheck before your gates,\\r\\n To save unscratch\\'d your city\\'s threat\\'ned cheeks-\\r\\n Behold, the French amaz\\'d vouchsafe a parle;\\r\\n And now, instead of bullets wrapp\\'d in fire,\\r\\n To make a shaking fever in your walls,\\r\\n They shoot but calm words folded up in smoke,\\r\\n To make a faithless error in your cars;\\r\\n Which trust accordingly, kind citizens,\\r\\n And let us in-your King, whose labour\\'d spirits,\\r\\n Forwearied in this action of swift speed,\\r\\n Craves harbourage within your city walls.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. When I have said, make answer to us both.\\r\\n Lo, in this right hand, whose protection\\r\\n Is most divinely vow\\'d upon the right\\r\\n Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet,\\r\\n Son to the elder brother of this man,\\r\\n And king o\\'er him and all that he enjoys;\\r\\n For this down-trodden equity we tread\\r\\n In warlike march these greens before your town,\\r\\n Being no further enemy to you\\r\\n Than the constraint of hospitable zeal\\r\\n In the relief of this oppressed child\\r\\n Religiously provokes. Be pleased then\\r\\n To pay that duty which you truly owe\\r\\n To him that owes it, namely, this young prince;\\r\\n And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear,\\r\\n Save in aspect, hath all offence seal\\'d up;\\r\\n Our cannons\\' malice vainly shall be spent\\r\\n Against th\\' invulnerable clouds of heaven;\\r\\n And with a blessed and unvex\\'d retire,\\r\\n With unhack\\'d swords and helmets all unbruis\\'d,\\r\\n We will bear home that lusty blood again\\r\\n Which here we came to spout against your town,\\r\\n And leave your children, wives, and you, in peace.\\r\\n But if you fondly pass our proffer\\'d offer,\\r\\n \\'Tis not the roundure of your old-fac\\'d walls\\r\\n Can hide you from our messengers of war,\\r\\n Though all these English and their discipline\\r\\n Were harbour\\'d in their rude circumference.\\r\\n Then tell us, shall your city call us lord\\r\\n In that behalf which we have challeng\\'d it;\\r\\n Or shall we give the signal to our rage,\\r\\n And stalk in blood to our possession?\\r\\n CITIZEN. In brief: we are the King of England\\'s subjects;\\r\\n For him, and in his right, we hold this town.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Acknowledge then the King, and let me in.\\r\\n CITIZEN. That can we not; but he that proves the King,\\r\\n To him will we prove loyal. Till that time\\r\\n Have we ramm\\'d up our gates against the world.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Doth not the crown of England prove the King?\\r\\n And if not that, I bring you witnesses:\\r\\n Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England\\'s breed-\\r\\n BASTARD. Bastards and else.\\r\\n KING JOHN. To verify our title with their lives.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. As many and as well-born bloods as those-\\r\\n BASTARD. Some bastards too.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Stand in his face to contradict his claim.\\r\\n CITIZEN. Till you compound whose right is worthiest,\\r\\n We for the worthiest hold the right from both.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Then God forgive the sin of all those souls\\r\\n That to their everlasting residence,\\r\\n Before the dew of evening fall shall fleet\\r\\n In dreadful trial of our kingdom\\'s king!\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Amen, Amen! Mount, chevaliers; to arms!\\r\\n BASTARD. Saint George, that swing\\'d the dragon, and e\\'er since\\r\\n Sits on\\'s horse back at mine hostess\\' door,\\r\\n Teach us some fence! [To AUSTRIA] Sirrah, were I at home,\\r\\n At your den, sirrah, with your lioness,\\r\\n I would set an ox-head to your lion\\'s hide,\\r\\n And make a monster of you.\\r\\n AUSTRIA. Peace! no more.\\r\\n BASTARD. O, tremble, for you hear the lion roar!\\r\\n KING JOHN. Up higher to the plain, where we\\'ll set forth\\r\\n In best appointment all our regiments.\\r\\n BASTARD. Speed then to take advantage of the field.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. It shall be so; and at the other hill\\r\\n Command the rest to stand. God and our right! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Here, after excursions, enter the HERALD OF FRANCE,\\r\\n with trumpets, to the gates\\r\\n\\r\\n FRENCH HERALD. You men of Angiers, open wide your gates\\r\\n And let young Arthur, Duke of Britaine, in,\\r\\n Who by the hand of France this day hath made\\r\\n Much work for tears in many an English mother,\\r\\n Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground;\\r\\n Many a widow\\'s husband grovelling lies,\\r\\n Coldly embracing the discoloured earth;\\r\\n And victory with little loss doth play\\r\\n Upon the dancing banners of the French,\\r\\n Who are at hand, triumphantly displayed,\\r\\n To enter conquerors, and to proclaim\\r\\n Arthur of Britaine England\\'s King and yours.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ENGLISH HERALD, with trumpet\\r\\n\\r\\n ENGLISH HERALD. Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells:\\r\\n King John, your king and England\\'s, doth approach,\\r\\n Commander of this hot malicious day.\\r\\n Their armours that march\\'d hence so silver-bright\\r\\n Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen\\'s blood.\\r\\n There stuck no plume in any English crest\\r\\n That is removed by a staff of France;\\r\\n Our colours do return in those same hands\\r\\n That did display them when we first march\\'d forth;\\r\\n And like a jolly troop of huntsmen come\\r\\n Our lusty English, all with purpled hands,\\r\\n Dy\\'d in the dying slaughter of their foes.\\r\\n Open your gates and give the victors way.\\r\\n CITIZEN. Heralds, from off our tow\\'rs we might behold\\r\\n From first to last the onset and retire\\r\\n Of both your armies, whose equality\\r\\n By our best eyes cannot be censured.\\r\\n Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answer\\'d blows;\\r\\n Strength match\\'d with strength, and power confronted power;\\r\\n Both are alike, and both alike we like.\\r\\n One must prove greatest. While they weigh so even,\\r\\n We hold our town for neither, yet for both.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the two KINGS, with their powers, at several doors\\r\\n\\r\\n KING JOHN. France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away?\\r\\n Say, shall the current of our right run on?\\r\\n Whose passage, vex\\'d with thy impediment,\\r\\n Shall leave his native channel and o\\'erswell\\r\\n With course disturb\\'d even thy confining shores,\\r\\n Unless thou let his silver water keep\\r\\n A peaceful progress to the ocean.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. England, thou hast not sav\\'d one drop of blood\\r\\n In this hot trial more than we of France;\\r\\n Rather, lost more. And by this hand I swear,\\r\\n That sways the earth this climate overlooks,\\r\\n Before we will lay down our just-borne arms,\\r\\n We\\'ll put thee down, \\'gainst whom these arms we bear,\\r\\n Or add a royal number to the dead,\\r\\n Gracing the scroll that tells of this war\\'s loss\\r\\n With slaughter coupled to the name of kings.\\r\\n BASTARD. Ha, majesty! how high thy glory tow\\'rs\\r\\n When the rich blood of kings is set on fire!\\r\\n O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel;\\r\\n The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs;\\r\\n And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men,\\r\\n In undetermin\\'d differences of kings.\\r\\n Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus?\\r\\n Cry \\'havoc!\\' kings; back to the stained field,\\r\\n You equal potents, fiery kindled spirits!\\r\\n Then let confusion of one part confirm\\r\\n The other\\'s peace. Till then, blows, blood, and death!\\r\\n KING JOHN. Whose party do the townsmen yet admit?\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Speak, citizens, for England; who\\'s your king?\\r\\n CITIZEN. The King of England, when we know the King.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Know him in us that here hold up his right.\\r\\n KING JOHN. In us that are our own great deputy\\r\\n And bear possession of our person here,\\r\\n Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you.\\r\\n CITIZEN. A greater pow\\'r than we denies all this;\\r\\n And till it be undoubted, we do lock\\r\\n Our former scruple in our strong-barr\\'d gates;\\r\\n King\\'d of our fears, until our fears, resolv\\'d,\\r\\n Be by some certain king purg\\'d and depos\\'d.\\r\\n BASTARD. By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings,\\r\\n And stand securely on their battlements\\r\\n As in a theatre, whence they gape and point\\r\\n At your industrious scenes and acts of death.\\r\\n Your royal presences be rul\\'d by me:\\r\\n Do like the mutines of Jerusalem,\\r\\n Be friends awhile, and both conjointly bend\\r\\n Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town.\\r\\n By east and west let France and England mount\\r\\n Their battering cannon, charged to the mouths,\\r\\n Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl\\'d down\\r\\n The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city.\\r\\n I\\'d play incessantly upon these jades,\\r\\n Even till unfenced desolation\\r\\n Leave them as naked as the vulgar air.\\r\\n That done, dissever your united strengths\\r\\n And part your mingled colours once again,\\r\\n Turn face to face and bloody point to point;\\r\\n Then in a moment Fortune shall cull forth\\r\\n Out of one side her happy minion,\\r\\n To whom in favour she shall give the day,\\r\\n And kiss him with a glorious victory.\\r\\n How like you this wild counsel, mighty states?\\r\\n Smacks it not something of the policy?\\r\\n KING JOHN. Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads,\\r\\n I like it well. France, shall we knit our pow\\'rs\\r\\n And lay this Angiers even with the ground;\\r\\n Then after fight who shall be king of it?\\r\\n BASTARD. An if thou hast the mettle of a king,\\r\\n Being wrong\\'d as we are by this peevish town,\\r\\n Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery,\\r\\n As we will ours, against these saucy walls;\\r\\n And when that we have dash\\'d them to the ground,\\r\\n Why then defy each other, and pell-mell\\r\\n Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Let it be so. Say, where will you assault?\\r\\n KING JOHN. We from the west will send destruction\\r\\n Into this city\\'s bosom.\\r\\n AUSTRIA. I from the north.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Our thunder from the south\\r\\n Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town.\\r\\n BASTARD. [Aside] O prudent discipline! From north to south,\\r\\n Austria and France shoot in each other\\'s mouth.\\r\\n I\\'ll stir them to it.-Come, away, away!\\r\\n CITIZEN. Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe awhile to stay,\\r\\n And I shall show you peace and fair-fac\\'d league;\\r\\n Win you this city without stroke or wound;\\r\\n Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds\\r\\n That here come sacrifices for the field.\\r\\n Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Speak on with favour; we are bent to hear.\\r\\n CITIZEN. That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanch,\\r\\n Is niece to England; look upon the years\\r\\n Of Lewis the Dauphin and that lovely maid.\\r\\n If lusty love should go in quest of beauty,\\r\\n Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch?\\r\\n If zealous love should go in search of virtue,\\r\\n Where should he find it purer than in Blanch?\\r\\n If love ambitious sought a match of birth,\\r\\n Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanch?\\r\\n Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth,\\r\\n Is the young Dauphin every way complete-\\r\\n If not complete of, say he is not she;\\r\\n And she again wants nothing, to name want,\\r\\n If want it be not that she is not he.\\r\\n He is the half part of a blessed man,\\r\\n Left to be finished by such as she;\\r\\n And she a fair divided excellence,\\r\\n Whose fulness of perfection lies in him.\\r\\n O, two such silver currents, when they join,\\r\\n Do glorify the banks that bound them in;\\r\\n And two such shores to two such streams made one,\\r\\n Two such controlling bounds, shall you be, Kings,\\r\\n To these two princes, if you marry them.\\r\\n This union shall do more than battery can\\r\\n To our fast-closed gates; for at this match\\r\\n With swifter spleen than powder can enforce,\\r\\n The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope\\r\\n And give you entrance; but without this match,\\r\\n The sea enraged is not half so deaf,\\r\\n Lions more confident, mountains and rocks\\r\\n More free from motion-no, not Death himself\\r\\n In mortal fury half so peremptory\\r\\n As we to keep this city.\\r\\n BASTARD. Here\\'s a stay\\r\\n That shakes the rotten carcass of old Death\\r\\n Out of his rags! Here\\'s a large mouth, indeed,\\r\\n That spits forth death and mountains, rocks and seas;\\r\\n Talks as familiarly of roaring lions\\r\\n As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs!\\r\\n What cannoneer begot this lusty blood?\\r\\n He speaks plain cannon-fire, and smoke and bounce;\\r\\n He gives the bastinado with his tongue;\\r\\n Our ears are cudgell\\'d; not a word of his\\r\\n But buffets better than a fist of France.\\r\\n Zounds! I was never so bethump\\'d with words\\r\\n Since I first call\\'d my brother\\'s father dad.\\r\\n ELINOR. Son, list to this conjunction, make this match;\\r\\n Give with our niece a dowry large enough;\\r\\n For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie\\r\\n Thy now unsur\\'d assurance to the crown\\r\\n That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe\\r\\n The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit.\\r\\n I see a yielding in the looks of France;\\r\\n Mark how they whisper. Urge them while their souls\\r\\n Are capable of this ambition,\\r\\n Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath\\r\\n Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse,\\r\\n Cool and congeal again to what it was.\\r\\n CITIZEN. Why answer not the double majesties\\r\\n This friendly treaty of our threat\\'ned town?\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Speak England first, that hath been forward first\\r\\n To speak unto this city: what say you?\\r\\n KING JOHN. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son,\\r\\n Can in this book of beauty read \\'I love,\\'\\r\\n Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen;\\r\\n For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers,\\r\\n And all that we upon this side the sea-\\r\\n Except this city now by us besieg\\'d-\\r\\n Find liable to our crown and dignity,\\r\\n Shall gild her bridal bed, and make her rich\\r\\n In titles, honours, and promotions,\\r\\n As she in beauty, education, blood,\\r\\n Holds hand with any princess of the world.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. What say\\'st thou, boy? Look in the lady\\'s face.\\r\\n LEWIS. I do, my lord, and in her eye I find\\r\\n A wonder, or a wondrous miracle,\\r\\n The shadow of myself form\\'d in her eye;\\r\\n Which, being but the shadow of your son,\\r\\n Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow.\\r\\n I do protest I never lov\\'d myself\\r\\n Till now infixed I beheld myself\\r\\n Drawn in the flattering table of her eye.\\r\\n [Whispers with BLANCH]\\r\\n BASTARD. [Aside] Drawn in the flattering table of her eye,\\r\\n Hang\\'d in the frowning wrinkle of her brow,\\r\\n And quarter\\'d in her heart-he doth espy\\r\\n Himself love\\'s traitor. This is pity now,\\r\\n That hang\\'d and drawn and quarter\\'d there should be\\r\\n In such a love so vile a lout as he.\\r\\n BLANCH. My uncle\\'s will in this respect is mine.\\r\\n If he see aught in you that makes him like,\\r\\n That anything he sees which moves his liking\\r\\n I can with ease translate it to my will;\\r\\n Or if you will, to speak more properly,\\r\\n I will enforce it eas\\'ly to my love.\\r\\n Further I will not flatter you, my lord,\\r\\n That all I see in you is worthy love,\\r\\n Than this: that nothing do I see in you-\\r\\n Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your judge-\\r\\n That I can find should merit any hate.\\r\\n KING JOHN. What say these young ones? What say you, my niece?\\r\\n BLANCH. That she is bound in honour still to do\\r\\n What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Speak then, Prince Dauphin; can you love this lady?\\r\\n LEWIS. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love;\\r\\n For I do love her most unfeignedly.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine,\\r\\n Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces,\\r\\n With her to thee; and this addition more,\\r\\n Full thirty thousand marks of English coin.\\r\\n Philip of France, if thou be pleas\\'d withal,\\r\\n Command thy son and daughter to join hands.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. It likes us well; young princes, close your hands.\\r\\n AUSTRIA. And your lips too; for I am well assur\\'d\\r\\n That I did so when I was first assur\\'d.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates,\\r\\n Let in that amity which you have made;\\r\\n For at Saint Mary\\'s chapel presently\\r\\n The rites of marriage shall be solemniz\\'d.\\r\\n Is not the Lady Constance in this troop?\\r\\n I know she is not; for this match made up\\r\\n Her presence would have interrupted much.\\r\\n Where is she and her son? Tell me, who knows.\\r\\n LEWIS. She is sad and passionate at your Highness\\' tent.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. And, by my faith, this league that we have made\\r\\n Will give her sadness very little cure.\\r\\n Brother of England, how may we content\\r\\n This widow lady? In her right we came;\\r\\n Which we, God knows, have turn\\'d another way,\\r\\n To our own vantage.\\r\\n KING JOHN. We will heal up all,\\r\\n For we\\'ll create young Arthur Duke of Britaine,\\r\\n And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town\\r\\n We make him lord of. Call the Lady Constance;\\r\\n Some speedy messenger bid her repair\\r\\n To our solemnity. I trust we shall,\\r\\n If not fill up the measure of her will,\\r\\n Yet in some measure satisfy her so\\r\\n That we shall stop her exclamation.\\r\\n Go we as well as haste will suffer us\\r\\n To this unlook\\'d-for, unprepared pomp.\\r\\n Exeunt all but the BASTARD\\r\\n BASTARD. Mad world! mad kings! mad composition!\\r\\n John, to stop Arthur\\'s tide in the whole,\\r\\n Hath willingly departed with a part;\\r\\n And France, whose armour conscience buckled on,\\r\\n Whom zeal and charity brought to the field\\r\\n As God\\'s own soldier, rounded in the ear\\r\\n With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil,\\r\\n That broker that still breaks the pate of faith,\\r\\n That daily break-vow, he that wins of all,\\r\\n Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids,\\r\\n Who having no external thing to lose\\r\\n But the word \\'maid,\\' cheats the poor maid of that;\\r\\n That smooth-fac\\'d gentleman, tickling commodity,\\r\\n Commodity, the bias of the world-\\r\\n The world, who of itself is peised well,\\r\\n Made to run even upon even ground,\\r\\n Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias,\\r\\n This sway of motion, this commodity,\\r\\n Makes it take head from all indifferency,\\r\\n From all direction, purpose, course, intent-\\r\\n And this same bias, this commodity,\\r\\n This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word,\\r\\n Clapp\\'d on the outward eye of fickle France,\\r\\n Hath drawn him from his own determin\\'d aid,\\r\\n From a resolv\\'d and honourable war,\\r\\n To a most base and vile-concluded peace.\\r\\n And why rail I on this commodity?\\r\\n But for because he hath not woo\\'d me yet;\\r\\n Not that I have the power to clutch my hand\\r\\n When his fair angels would salute my palm,\\r\\n But for my hand, as unattempted yet,\\r\\n Like a poor beggar raileth on the rich.\\r\\n Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail\\r\\n And say there is no sin but to be rich;\\r\\n And being rich, my virtue then shall be\\r\\n To say there is no vice but beggary.\\r\\n Since kings break faith upon commodity,\\r\\n Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nFrance. The FRENCH KING\\'S camp\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and SALISBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Gone to be married! Gone to swear a peace!\\r\\n False blood to false blood join\\'d! Gone to be friends!\\r\\n Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those provinces?\\r\\n It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard;\\r\\n Be well advis\\'d, tell o\\'er thy tale again.\\r\\n It cannot be; thou dost but say \\'tis so;\\r\\n I trust I may not trust thee, for thy word\\r\\n Is but the vain breath of a common man:\\r\\n Believe me I do not believe thee, man;\\r\\n I have a king\\'s oath to the contrary.\\r\\n Thou shalt be punish\\'d for thus frighting me,\\r\\n For I am sick and capable of fears,\\r\\n Oppress\\'d with wrongs, and therefore full of fears;\\r\\n A widow, husbandless, subject to fears;\\r\\n A woman, naturally born to fears;\\r\\n And though thou now confess thou didst but jest,\\r\\n With my vex\\'d spirits I cannot take a truce,\\r\\n But they will quake and tremble all this day.\\r\\n What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head?\\r\\n Why dost thou look so sadly on my son?\\r\\n What means that hand upon that breast of thine?\\r\\n Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,\\r\\n Like a proud river peering o\\'er his bounds?\\r\\n Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words?\\r\\n Then speak again-not all thy former tale,\\r\\n But this one word, whether thy tale be true.\\r\\n SALISBURY. As true as I believe you think them false\\r\\n That give you cause to prove my saying true.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow,\\r\\n Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die;\\r\\n And let belief and life encounter so\\r\\n As doth the fury of two desperate men\\r\\n Which in the very meeting fall and die!\\r\\n Lewis marry Blanch! O boy, then where art thou?\\r\\n France friend with England; what becomes of me?\\r\\n Fellow, be gone: I cannot brook thy sight;\\r\\n This news hath made thee a most ugly man.\\r\\n SALISBURY. What other harm have I, good lady, done\\r\\n But spoke the harm that is by others done?\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Which harm within itself so heinous is\\r\\n As it makes harmful all that speak of it.\\r\\n ARTHUR. I do beseech you, madam, be content.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. If thou that bid\\'st me be content wert grim,\\r\\n Ugly, and sland\\'rous to thy mother\\'s womb,\\r\\n Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains,\\r\\n Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious,\\r\\n Patch\\'d with foul moles and eye-offending marks,\\r\\n I would not care, I then would be content;\\r\\n For then I should not love thee; no, nor thou\\r\\n Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown.\\r\\n But thou art fair, and at thy birth, dear boy,\\r\\n Nature and Fortune join\\'d to make thee great:\\r\\n Of Nature\\'s gifts thou mayst with lilies boast,\\r\\n And with the half-blown rose; but Fortune, O!\\r\\n She is corrupted, chang\\'d, and won from thee;\\r\\n Sh\\' adulterates hourly with thine uncle John,\\r\\n And with her golden hand hath pluck\\'d on France\\r\\n To tread down fair respect of sovereignty,\\r\\n And made his majesty the bawd to theirs.\\r\\n France is a bawd to Fortune and King John-\\r\\n That strumpet Fortune, that usurping John!\\r\\n Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn?\\r\\n Envenom him with words, or get thee gone\\r\\n And leave those woes alone which I alone\\r\\n Am bound to under-bear.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Pardon me, madam,\\r\\n I may not go without you to the kings.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Thou mayst, thou shalt; I will not go with thee;\\r\\n I will instruct my sorrows to be proud,\\r\\n For grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop.\\r\\n To me, and to the state of my great grief,\\r\\n Let kings assemble; for my grief\\'s so great\\r\\n That no supporter but the huge firm earth\\r\\n Can hold it up. [Seats herself on the ground]\\r\\n Here I and sorrows sit;\\r\\n Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING JOHN, KING PHILIP, LEWIS, BLANCH,\\r\\n ELINOR, the BASTARD, AUSTRIA, and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n KING PHILIP. \\'Tis true, fair daughter, and this blessed day\\r\\n Ever in France shall be kept festival.\\r\\n To solemnize this day the glorious sun\\r\\n Stays in his course and plays the alchemist,\\r\\n Turning with splendour of his precious eye\\r\\n The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold.\\r\\n The yearly course that brings this day about\\r\\n Shall never see it but a holiday.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. [Rising] A wicked day, and not a holy day!\\r\\n What hath this day deserv\\'d? what hath it done\\r\\n That it in golden letters should be set\\r\\n Among the high tides in the calendar?\\r\\n Nay, rather turn this day out of the week,\\r\\n This day of shame, oppression, perjury;\\r\\n Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child\\r\\n Pray that their burdens may not fall this day,\\r\\n Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross\\'d;\\r\\n But on this day let seamen fear no wreck;\\r\\n No bargains break that are not this day made;\\r\\n This day, all things begun come to ill end,\\r\\n Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change!\\r\\n KING PHILIP. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause\\r\\n To curse the fair proceedings of this day.\\r\\n Have I not pawn\\'d to you my majesty?\\r\\n CONSTANCE. You have beguil\\'d me with a counterfeit\\r\\n Resembling majesty, which, being touch\\'d and tried,\\r\\n Proves valueless; you are forsworn, forsworn;\\r\\n You came in arms to spill mine enemies\\' blood,\\r\\n But now in arms you strengthen it with yours.\\r\\n The grappling vigour and rough frown of war\\r\\n Is cold in amity and painted peace,\\r\\n And our oppression hath made up this league.\\r\\n Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjur\\'d kings!\\r\\n A widow cries: Be husband to me, heavens!\\r\\n Let not the hours of this ungodly day\\r\\n Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset,\\r\\n Set armed discord \\'twixt these perjur\\'d kings!\\r\\n Hear me, O, hear me!\\r\\n AUSTRIA. Lady Constance, peace!\\r\\n CONSTANCE. War! war! no peace! Peace is to me a war.\\r\\n O Lymoges! O Austria! thou dost shame\\r\\n That bloody spoil. Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward!\\r\\n Thou little valiant, great in villainy!\\r\\n Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!\\r\\n Thou Fortune\\'s champion that dost never fight\\r\\n But when her humorous ladyship is by\\r\\n To teach thee safety! Thou art perjur\\'d too,\\r\\n And sooth\\'st up greatness. What a fool art thou,\\r\\n A ramping fool, to brag and stamp and swear\\r\\n Upon my party! Thou cold-blooded slave,\\r\\n Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side,\\r\\n Been sworn my soldier, bidding me depend\\r\\n Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength,\\r\\n And dost thou now fall over to my foes?\\r\\n Thou wear a lion\\'s hide! Doff it for shame,\\r\\n And hang a calf\\'s-skin on those recreant limbs.\\r\\n AUSTRIA. O that a man should speak those words to me!\\r\\n BASTARD. And hang a calf\\'s-skin on those recreant limbs.\\r\\n AUSTRIA. Thou dar\\'st not say so, villain, for thy life.\\r\\n BASTARD. And hang a calf\\'s-skin on those recreant limbs.\\r\\n KING JOHN. We like not this: thou dost forget thyself.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PANDULPH\\r\\n\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Here comes the holy legate of the Pope.\\r\\n PANDULPH. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven!\\r\\n To thee, King John, my holy errand is.\\r\\n I Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal,\\r\\n And from Pope Innocent the legate here,\\r\\n Do in his name religiously demand\\r\\n Why thou against the Church, our holy mother,\\r\\n So wilfully dost spurn; and force perforce\\r\\n Keep Stephen Langton, chosen Archbishop\\r\\n Of Canterbury, from that holy see?\\r\\n This, in our foresaid holy father\\'s name,\\r\\n Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee.\\r\\n KING JOHN. What earthly name to interrogatories\\r\\n Can task the free breath of a sacred king?\\r\\n Thou canst not, Cardinal, devise a name\\r\\n So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous,\\r\\n To charge me to an answer, as the Pope.\\r\\n Tell him this tale, and from the mouth of England\\r\\n Add thus much more, that no Italian priest\\r\\n Shall tithe or toll in our dominions;\\r\\n But as we under heaven are supreme head,\\r\\n So, under Him that great supremacy,\\r\\n Where we do reign we will alone uphold,\\r\\n Without th\\' assistance of a mortal hand.\\r\\n So tell the Pope, all reverence set apart\\r\\n To him and his usurp\\'d authority.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Though you and all the kings of Christendom\\r\\n Are led so grossly by this meddling priest,\\r\\n Dreading the curse that money may buy out,\\r\\n And by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust,\\r\\n Purchase corrupted pardon of a man,\\r\\n Who in that sale sells pardon from himself-\\r\\n Though you and all the rest, so grossly led,\\r\\n This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish;\\r\\n Yet I alone, alone do me oppose\\r\\n Against the Pope, and count his friends my foes.\\r\\n PANDULPH. Then by the lawful power that I have\\r\\n Thou shalt stand curs\\'d and excommunicate;\\r\\n And blessed shall he be that doth revolt\\r\\n From his allegiance to an heretic;\\r\\n And meritorious shall that hand be call\\'d,\\r\\n Canonized, and worshipp\\'d as a saint,\\r\\n That takes away by any secret course\\r\\n Thy hateful life.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. O, lawful let it be\\r\\n That I have room with Rome to curse awhile!\\r\\n Good father Cardinal, cry thou \\'amen\\'\\r\\n To my keen curses; for without my wrong\\r\\n There is no tongue hath power to curse him right.\\r\\n PANDULPH. There\\'s law and warrant, lady, for my curse.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. And for mine too; when law can do no right,\\r\\n Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong;\\r\\n Law cannot give my child his kingdom here,\\r\\n For he that holds his kingdom holds the law;\\r\\n Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong,\\r\\n How can the law forbid my tongue to curse?\\r\\n PANDULPH. Philip of France, on peril of a curse,\\r\\n Let go the hand of that arch-heretic,\\r\\n And raise the power of France upon his head,\\r\\n Unless he do submit himself to Rome.\\r\\n ELINOR. Look\\'st thou pale, France? Do not let go thy hand.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Look to that, devil, lest that France repent\\r\\n And by disjoining hands hell lose a soul.\\r\\n AUSTRIA. King Philip, listen to the Cardinal.\\r\\n BASTARD. And hang a calf\\'s-skin on his recreant limbs.\\r\\n AUSTRIA. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs,\\r\\n Because-\\r\\n BASTARD. Your breeches best may carry them.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Philip, what say\\'st thou to the Cardinal?\\r\\n CONSTANCE. What should he say, but as the Cardinal?\\r\\n LEWIS. Bethink you, father; for the difference\\r\\n Is purchase of a heavy curse from Rome\\r\\n Or the light loss of England for a friend.\\r\\n Forgo the easier.\\r\\n BLANCH. That\\'s the curse of Rome.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. O Lewis, stand fast! The devil tempts thee here\\r\\n In likeness of a new untrimmed bride.\\r\\n BLANCH. The Lady Constance speaks not from her faith,\\r\\n But from her need.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. O, if thou grant my need,\\r\\n Which only lives but by the death of faith,\\r\\n That need must needs infer this principle-\\r\\n That faith would live again by death of need.\\r\\n O then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up:\\r\\n Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down!\\r\\n KING JOHN. The King is mov\\'d, and answers not to this.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. O be remov\\'d from him, and answer well!\\r\\n AUSTRIA. Do so, King Philip; hang no more in doubt.\\r\\n BASTARD. Hang nothing but a calf\\'s-skin, most sweet lout.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. I am perplex\\'d and know not what to say.\\r\\n PANDULPH. What canst thou say but will perplex thee more,\\r\\n If thou stand excommunicate and curs\\'d?\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Good reverend father, make my person yours,\\r\\n And tell me how you would bestow yourself.\\r\\n This royal hand and mine are newly knit,\\r\\n And the conjunction of our inward souls\\r\\n Married in league, coupled and link\\'d together\\r\\n With all religious strength of sacred vows;\\r\\n The latest breath that gave the sound of words\\r\\n Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love,\\r\\n Between our kingdoms and our royal selves;\\r\\n And even before this truce, but new before,\\r\\n No longer than we well could wash our hands,\\r\\n To clap this royal bargain up of peace,\\r\\n Heaven knows, they were besmear\\'d and overstain\\'d\\r\\n With slaughter\\'s pencil, where revenge did paint\\r\\n The fearful difference of incensed kings.\\r\\n And shall these hands, so lately purg\\'d of blood,\\r\\n So newly join\\'d in love, so strong in both,\\r\\n Unyoke this seizure and this kind regreet?\\r\\n Play fast and loose with faith? so jest with heaven,\\r\\n Make such unconstant children of ourselves,\\r\\n As now again to snatch our palm from palm,\\r\\n Unswear faith sworn, and on the marriage-bed\\r\\n Of smiling peace to march a bloody host,\\r\\n And make a riot on the gentle brow\\r\\n Of true sincerity? O, holy sir,\\r\\n My reverend father, let it not be so!\\r\\n Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose,\\r\\n Some gentle order; and then we shall be blest\\r\\n To do your pleasure, and continue friends.\\r\\n PANDULPH. All form is formless, order orderless,\\r\\n Save what is opposite to England\\'s love.\\r\\n Therefore, to arms! be champion of our church,\\r\\n Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse-\\r\\n A mother\\'s curse-on her revolting son.\\r\\n France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue,\\r\\n A chafed lion by the mortal paw,\\r\\n A fasting tiger safer by the tooth,\\r\\n Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith.\\r\\n PANDULPH. So mak\\'st thou faith an enemy to faith;\\r\\n And like. a civil war set\\'st oath to oath.\\r\\n Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow\\r\\n First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform\\'d,\\r\\n That is, to be the champion of our Church.\\r\\n What since thou swor\\'st is sworn against thyself\\r\\n And may not be performed by thyself,\\r\\n For that which thou hast sworn to do amiss\\r\\n Is not amiss when it is truly done;\\r\\n And being not done, where doing tends to ill,\\r\\n The truth is then most done not doing it;\\r\\n The better act of purposes mistook\\r\\n Is to mistake again; though indirect,\\r\\n Yet indirection thereby grows direct,\\r\\n And falsehood cures, as fire cools fire\\r\\n Within the scorched veins of one new-burn\\'d.\\r\\n It is religion that doth make vows kept;\\r\\n But thou hast sworn against religion\\r\\n By what thou swear\\'st against the thing thou swear\\'st,\\r\\n And mak\\'st an oath the surety for thy truth\\r\\n Against an oath; the truth thou art unsure\\r\\n To swear swears only not to be forsworn;\\r\\n Else what a mockery should it be to swear!\\r\\n But thou dost swear only to be forsworn;\\r\\n And most forsworn to keep what thou dost swear.\\r\\n Therefore thy later vows against thy first\\r\\n Is in thyself rebellion to thyself;\\r\\n And better conquest never canst thou make\\r\\n Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts\\r\\n Against these giddy loose suggestions;\\r\\n Upon which better part our pray\\'rs come in,\\r\\n If thou vouchsafe them. But if not, then know\\r\\n The peril of our curses fight on thee\\r\\n So heavy as thou shalt not shake them off,\\r\\n But in despair die under the black weight.\\r\\n AUSTRIA. Rebellion, flat rebellion!\\r\\n BASTARD. Will\\'t not be?\\r\\n Will not a calf\\'s-skin stop that mouth of thine?\\r\\n LEWIS. Father, to arms!\\r\\n BLANCH. Upon thy wedding-day?\\r\\n Against the blood that thou hast married?\\r\\n What, shall our feast be kept with slaughtered men?\\r\\n Shall braying trumpets and loud churlish drums,\\r\\n Clamours of hell, be measures to our pomp?\\r\\n O husband, hear me! ay, alack, how new\\r\\n Is \\'husband\\' in my mouth! even for that name,\\r\\n Which till this time my tongue did ne\\'er pronounce,\\r\\n Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms\\r\\n Against mine uncle.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. O, upon my knee,\\r\\n Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee,\\r\\n Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom\\r\\n Forethought by heaven!\\r\\n BLANCH. Now shall I see thy love. What motive may\\r\\n Be stronger with thee than the name of wife?\\r\\n CONSTANCE. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds,\\r\\n His honour. O, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour!\\r\\n LEWIS. I muse your Majesty doth seem so cold,\\r\\n When such profound respects do pull you on.\\r\\n PANDULPH. I will denounce a curse upon his head.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Thou shalt not need. England, I will fall from thee.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. O fair return of banish\\'d majesty!\\r\\n ELINOR. O foul revolt of French inconstancy!\\r\\n KING JOHN. France, thou shalt rue this hour within this hour.\\r\\n BASTARD. Old Time the clock-setter, that bald sexton Time,\\r\\n Is it as he will? Well then, France shall rue.\\r\\n BLANCH. The sun\\'s o\\'ercast with blood. Fair day, adieu!\\r\\n Which is the side that I must go withal?\\r\\n I am with both: each army hath a hand;\\r\\n And in their rage, I having hold of both,\\r\\n They whirl asunder and dismember me.\\r\\n Husband, I cannot pray that thou mayst win;\\r\\n Uncle, I needs must pray that thou mayst lose;\\r\\n Father, I may not wish the fortune thine;\\r\\n Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive.\\r\\n Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose:\\r\\n Assured loss before the match be play\\'d.\\r\\n LEWIS. Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies.\\r\\n BLANCH. There where my fortune lives, there my life dies.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Cousin, go draw our puissance together.\\r\\n Exit BASTARD\\r\\n France, I am burn\\'d up with inflaming wrath,\\r\\n A rage whose heat hath this condition\\r\\n That nothing can allay, nothing but blood,\\r\\n The blood, and dearest-valu\\'d blood, of France.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou shalt turn\\r\\n To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire.\\r\\n Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy.\\r\\n KING JOHN. No more than he that threats. To arms let\\'s hie!\\r\\n Exeunt severally\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nFrance. Plains near Angiers\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarums, excursions. Enter the BASTARD with AUSTRIA\\'S head\\r\\n\\r\\n BASTARD. Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot;\\r\\n Some airy devil hovers in the sky\\r\\n And pours down mischief. Austria\\'s head lie there,\\r\\n While Philip breathes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING JOHN, ARTHUR, and HUBERT\\r\\n\\r\\n KING JOHN. Hubert, keep this boy. Philip, make up:\\r\\n My mother is assailed in our tent,\\r\\n And ta\\'en, I fear.\\r\\n BASTARD. My lord, I rescued her;\\r\\n Her Highness is in safety, fear you not;\\r\\n But on, my liege, for very little pains\\r\\n Will bring this labour to an happy end. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nFrance. Plains near Angiers\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarums, excursions, retreat. Enter KING JOHN, ELINOR, ARTHUR, the\\r\\nBASTARD, HUBERT, and LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n KING JOHN. [To ELINOR] So shall it be; your Grace shall stay\\r\\n behind,\\r\\n So strongly guarded. [To ARTHUR] Cousin, look not sad;\\r\\n Thy grandam loves thee, and thy uncle will\\r\\n As dear be to thee as thy father was.\\r\\n ARTHUR. O, this will make my mother die with grief!\\r\\n KING JOHN. [To the BASTARD] Cousin, away for England! haste\\r\\n before,\\r\\n And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags\\r\\n Of hoarding abbots; imprisoned angels\\r\\n Set at liberty; the fat ribs of peace\\r\\n Must by the hungry now be fed upon.\\r\\n Use our commission in his utmost force.\\r\\n BASTARD. Bell, book, and candle, shall not drive me back,\\r\\n When gold and silver becks me to come on.\\r\\n I leave your Highness. Grandam, I will pray,\\r\\n If ever I remember to be holy,\\r\\n For your fair safety. So, I kiss your hand.\\r\\n ELINOR. Farewell, gentle cousin.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Coz, farewell.\\r\\n Exit BASTARD\\r\\n ELINOR. Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert,\\r\\n We owe thee much! Within this wall of flesh\\r\\n There is a soul counts thee her creditor,\\r\\n And with advantage means to pay thy love;\\r\\n And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath\\r\\n Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished.\\r\\n Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say-\\r\\n But I will fit it with some better time.\\r\\n By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham\\'d\\r\\n To say what good respect I have of thee.\\r\\n HUBERT. I am much bounden to your Majesty.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet,\\r\\n But thou shalt have; and creep time ne\\'er so slow,\\r\\n Yet it shall come for me to do thee good.\\r\\n I had a thing to say-but let it go:\\r\\n The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day,\\r\\n Attended with the pleasures of the world,\\r\\n Is all too wanton and too full of gawds\\r\\n To give me audience. If the midnight bell\\r\\n Did with his iron tongue and brazen mouth\\r\\n Sound on into the drowsy race of night;\\r\\n If this same were a churchyard where we stand,\\r\\n And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs;\\r\\n Or if that surly spirit, melancholy,\\r\\n Had bak\\'d thy blood and made it heavy-thick,\\r\\n Which else runs tickling up and down the veins,\\r\\n Making that idiot, laughter, keep men\\'s eyes\\r\\n And strain their cheeks to idle merriment,\\r\\n A passion hateful to my purposes;\\r\\n Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes,\\r\\n Hear me without thine cars, and make reply\\r\\n Without a tongue, using conceit alone,\\r\\n Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words-\\r\\n Then, in despite of brooded watchful day,\\r\\n I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts.\\r\\n But, ah, I will not! Yet I love thee well;\\r\\n And, by my troth, I think thou lov\\'st me well.\\r\\n HUBERT. So well that what you bid me undertake,\\r\\n Though that my death were adjunct to my act,\\r\\n By heaven, I would do it.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Do not I know thou wouldst?\\r\\n Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye\\r\\n On yon young boy. I\\'ll tell thee what, my friend,\\r\\n He is a very serpent in my way;\\r\\n And wheresoe\\'er this foot of mine doth tread,\\r\\n He lies before me. Dost thou understand me?\\r\\n Thou art his keeper.\\r\\n HUBERT. And I\\'ll keep him so\\r\\n That he shall not offend your Majesty.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Death.\\r\\n HUBERT. My lord?\\r\\n KING JOHN. A grave.\\r\\n HUBERT. He shall not live.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Enough!\\r\\n I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee.\\r\\n Well, I\\'ll not say what I intend for thee.\\r\\n Remember. Madam, fare you well;\\r\\n I\\'ll send those powers o\\'er to your Majesty.\\r\\n ELINOR. My blessing go with thee!\\r\\n KING JOHN. [To ARTHUR] For England, cousin, go;\\r\\n Hubert shall be your man, attend on you\\r\\n With all true duty. On toward Calais, ho! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nFrance. The FRENCH KING\\'s camp\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter KING PHILIP, LEWIS, PANDULPH, and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n KING PHILIP. So by a roaring tempest on the flood\\r\\n A whole armado of convicted sail\\r\\n Is scattered and disjoin\\'d from fellowship.\\r\\n PANDULPH. Courage and comfort! All shall yet go well.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. What can go well, when we have run so ill.\\r\\n Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost?\\r\\n Arthur ta\\'en prisoner? Divers dear friends slain?\\r\\n And bloody England into England gone,\\r\\n O\\'erbearing interruption, spite of France?\\r\\n LEWIS. he hath won, that hath he fortified;\\r\\n So hot a speed with such advice dispos\\'d,\\r\\n Such temperate order in so fierce a cause,\\r\\n Doth want example; who hath read or heard\\r\\n Of any kindred action like to this?\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Well could I bear that England had this praise,\\r\\n So we could find some pattern of our shame.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CONSTANCE\\r\\n\\r\\n Look who comes here! a grave unto a soul;\\r\\n Holding th\\' eternal spirit, against her will,\\r\\n In the vile prison of afflicted breath.\\r\\n I prithee, lady, go away with me.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Lo now! now see the issue of your peace!\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Patience, good lady! Comfort, gentle Constance!\\r\\n CONSTANCE. No, I defy all counsel, all redress,\\r\\n But that which ends all counsel, true redress-\\r\\n Death, death; O amiable lovely death!\\r\\n Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness!\\r\\n Arise forth from the couch of lasting night,\\r\\n Thou hate and terror to prosperity,\\r\\n And I will kiss thy detestable bones,\\r\\n And put my eyeballs in thy vaulty brows,\\r\\n And ring these fingers with thy household worms,\\r\\n And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust,\\r\\n And be a carrion monster like thyself.\\r\\n Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smil\\'st,\\r\\n And buss thee as thy wife. Misery\\'s love,\\r\\n O, come to me!\\r\\n KING PHILIP. O fair affliction, peace!\\r\\n CONSTANCE. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry.\\r\\n O that my tongue were in the thunder\\'s mouth!\\r\\n Then with a passion would I shake the world,\\r\\n And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy\\r\\n Which cannot hear a lady\\'s feeble voice,\\r\\n Which scorns a modern invocation.\\r\\n PANDULPH. Lady, you utter madness and not sorrow.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Thou art not holy to belie me so.\\r\\n I am not mad: this hair I tear is mine;\\r\\n My name is Constance; I was Geffrey\\'s wife;\\r\\n Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost.\\r\\n I am not mad-I would to heaven I were!\\r\\n For then \\'tis like I should forget myself.\\r\\n O, if I could, what grief should I forget!\\r\\n Preach some philosophy to make me mad,\\r\\n And thou shalt be canoniz\\'d, Cardinal;\\r\\n For, being not mad, but sensible of grief,\\r\\n My reasonable part produces reason\\r\\n How I may be deliver\\'d of these woes,\\r\\n And teaches me to kill or hang myself.\\r\\n If I were mad I should forget my son,\\r\\n Or madly think a babe of clouts were he.\\r\\n I am not mad; too well, too well I feel\\r\\n The different plague of each calamity.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Bind up those tresses. O, what love I note\\r\\n In the fair multitude of those her hairs!\\r\\n Where but by a chance a silver drop hath fall\\'n,\\r\\n Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends\\r\\n Do glue themselves in sociable grief,\\r\\n Like true, inseparable, faithful loves,\\r\\n Sticking together in calamity.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. To England, if you will.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Bind up your hairs.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Yes, that I will; and wherefore will I do it?\\r\\n I tore them from their bonds, and cried aloud\\r\\n \\'O that these hands could so redeem my son,\\r\\n As they have given these hairs their liberty!\\'\\r\\n But now I envy at their liberty,\\r\\n And will again commit them to their bonds,\\r\\n Because my poor child is a prisoner.\\r\\n And, father Cardinal, I have heard you say\\r\\n That we shall see and know our friends in heaven;\\r\\n If that be true, I shall see my boy again;\\r\\n For since the birth of Cain, the first male child,\\r\\n To him that did but yesterday suspire,\\r\\n There was not such a gracious creature born.\\r\\n But now will canker sorrow eat my bud\\r\\n And chase the native beauty from his cheek,\\r\\n And he will look as hollow as a ghost,\\r\\n As dim and meagre as an ague\\'s fit;\\r\\n And so he\\'ll die; and, rising so again,\\r\\n When I shall meet him in the court of heaven\\r\\n I shall not know him. Therefore never, never\\r\\n Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.\\r\\n PANDULPH. You hold too heinous a respect of grief.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. He talks to me that never had a son.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. You are as fond of grief as of your child.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Grief fills the room up of my absent child,\\r\\n Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,\\r\\n Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,\\r\\n Remembers me of all his gracious parts,\\r\\n Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;\\r\\n Then have I reason to be fond of grief.\\r\\n Fare you well; had you such a loss as I,\\r\\n I could give better comfort than you do.\\r\\n I will not keep this form upon my head,\\r\\n [Tearing her hair]\\r\\n When there is such disorder in my wit.\\r\\n O Lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son!\\r\\n My life, my joy, my food, my ail the world!\\r\\n My widow-comfort, and my sorrows\\' cure! Exit\\r\\n KING PHILIP. I fear some outrage, and I\\'ll follow her. Exit\\r\\n LEWIS. There\\'s nothing in this world can make me joy.\\r\\n Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale\\r\\n Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man;\\r\\n And bitter shame hath spoil\\'d the sweet world\\'s taste,\\r\\n That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.\\r\\n PANDULPH. Before the curing of a strong disease,\\r\\n Even in the instant of repair and health,\\r\\n The fit is strongest; evils that take leave\\r\\n On their departure most of all show evil;\\r\\n What have you lost by losing of this day?\\r\\n LEWIS. All days of glory, joy, and happiness.\\r\\n PANDULPH. If you had won it, certainly you had.\\r\\n No, no; when Fortune means to men most good,\\r\\n She looks upon them with a threat\\'ning eye.\\r\\n \\'Tis strange to think how much King John hath lost\\r\\n In this which he accounts so clearly won.\\r\\n Are not you griev\\'d that Arthur is his prisoner?\\r\\n LEWIS. As heartily as he is glad he hath him.\\r\\n PANDULPH. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood.\\r\\n Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit;\\r\\n For even the breath of what I mean to speak\\r\\n Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub,\\r\\n Out of the path which shall directly lead\\r\\n Thy foot to England\\'s throne. And therefore mark:\\r\\n John hath seiz\\'d Arthur; and it cannot be\\r\\n That, whiles warm life plays in that infant\\'s veins,\\r\\n The misplac\\'d John should entertain an hour,\\r\\n One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest.\\r\\n A sceptre snatch\\'d with an unruly hand\\r\\n Must be boisterously maintain\\'d as gain\\'d,\\r\\n And he that stands upon a slipp\\'ry place\\r\\n Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up;\\r\\n That John may stand then, Arthur needs must fall;\\r\\n So be it, for it cannot be but so.\\r\\n LEWIS. But what shall I gain by young Arthur\\'s fall?\\r\\n PANDULPH. You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife,\\r\\n May then make all the claim that Arthur did.\\r\\n LEWIS. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did.\\r\\n PANDULPH. How green you are and fresh in this old world!\\r\\n John lays you plots; the times conspire with you;\\r\\n For he that steeps his safety in true blood\\r\\n Shall find but bloody safety and untrue.\\r\\n This act, so evilly borne, shall cool the hearts\\r\\n Of all his people and freeze up their zeal,\\r\\n That none so small advantage shall step forth\\r\\n To check his reign but they will cherish it;\\r\\n No natural exhalation in the sky,\\r\\n No scope of nature, no distemper\\'d day,\\r\\n No common wind, no customed event,\\r\\n But they will pluck away his natural cause\\r\\n And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs,\\r\\n Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven,\\r\\n Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.\\r\\n LEWIS. May be he will not touch young Arthur\\'s life,\\r\\n But hold himself safe in his prisonment.\\r\\n PANDULPH. O, Sir, when he shall hear of your approach,\\r\\n If that young Arthur be not gone already,\\r\\n Even at that news he dies; and then the hearts\\r\\n Of all his people shall revolt from him,\\r\\n And kiss the lips of unacquainted change,\\r\\n And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath\\r\\n Out of the bloody fingers\\' ends of john.\\r\\n Methinks I see this hurly all on foot;\\r\\n And, O, what better matter breeds for you\\r\\n Than I have nam\\'d! The bastard Faulconbridge\\r\\n Is now in England ransacking the Church,\\r\\n Offending charity; if but a dozen French\\r\\n Were there in arms, they would be as a can\\r\\n To train ten thousand English to their side;\\r\\n Or as a little snow, tumbled about,\\r\\n Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin,\\r\\n Go with me to the King. \\'Tis wonderful\\r\\n What may be wrought out of their discontent,\\r\\n Now that their souls are topful of offence.\\r\\n For England go; I will whet on the King.\\r\\n LEWIS. Strong reasons makes strong actions. Let us go;\\r\\n If you say ay, the King will not say no. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nEngland. A castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter HUBERT and EXECUTIONERS\\r\\n\\r\\n HUBERT. Heat me these irons hot; and look thou stand\\r\\n Within the arras. When I strike my foot\\r\\n Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth\\r\\n And bind the boy which you shall find with me\\r\\n Fast to the chair. Be heedful; hence, and watch.\\r\\n EXECUTIONER. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.\\r\\n HUBERT. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you. Look to\\'t.\\r\\n Exeunt EXECUTIONERS\\r\\n Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ARTHUR\\r\\n\\r\\n ARTHUR. Good morrow, Hubert.\\r\\n HUBERT. Good morrow, little Prince.\\r\\n ARTHUR. As little prince, having so great a tide\\r\\n To be more prince, as may be. You are sad.\\r\\n HUBERT. Indeed I have been merrier.\\r\\n ARTHUR. Mercy on me!\\r\\n Methinks no body should be sad but I;\\r\\n Yet, I remember, when I was in France,\\r\\n Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,\\r\\n Only for wantonness. By my christendom,\\r\\n So I were out of prison and kept sheep,\\r\\n I should be as merry as the day is long;\\r\\n And so I would be here but that I doubt\\r\\n My uncle practises more harm to me;\\r\\n He is afraid of me, and I of him.\\r\\n Is it my fault that I was Geffrey\\'s son?\\r\\n No, indeed, ist not; and I would to heaven\\r\\n I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.\\r\\n HUBERT. [Aside] If I talk to him, with his innocent prate\\r\\n He will awake my mercy, which lies dead;\\r\\n Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch.\\r\\n ARTHUR. Are you sick, Hubert? You look pale to-day;\\r\\n In sooth, I would you were a little sick,\\r\\n That I might sit all night and watch with you.\\r\\n I warrant I love you more than you do me.\\r\\n HUBERT. [Aside] His words do take possession of my bosom.-\\r\\n Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper]\\r\\n [Aside] How now, foolish rheum!\\r\\n Turning dispiteous torture out of door!\\r\\n I must be brief, lest resolution drop\\r\\n Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.-\\r\\n Can you not read it? Is it not fair writ?\\r\\n ARTHUR. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect.\\r\\n Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?\\r\\n HUBERT. Young boy, I must.\\r\\n ARTHUR. And will you?\\r\\n HUBERT. And I will.\\r\\n ARTHUR. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,\\r\\n I knit my handkerchief about your brows-\\r\\n The best I had, a princess wrought it me-\\r\\n And I did never ask it you again;\\r\\n And with my hand at midnight held your head;\\r\\n And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,\\r\\n Still and anon cheer\\'d up the heavy time,\\r\\n Saying \\'What lack you?\\' and \\'Where lies your grief?\\'\\r\\n Or \\'What good love may I perform for you?\\'\\r\\n Many a poor man\\'s son would have lyen still,\\r\\n And ne\\'er have spoke a loving word to you;\\r\\n But you at your sick service had a prince.\\r\\n Nay, you may think my love was crafty love,\\r\\n And call it cunning. Do, an if you will.\\r\\n If heaven be pleas\\'d that you must use me ill,\\r\\n Why, then you must. Will you put out mine eyes,\\r\\n These eyes that never did nor never shall\\r\\n So much as frown on you?\\r\\n HUBERT. I have sworn to do it;\\r\\n And with hot irons must I burn them out.\\r\\n ARTHUR. Ah, none but in this iron age would do it!\\r\\n The iron of itself, though heat red-hot,\\r\\n Approaching near these eyes would drink my tears,\\r\\n And quench his fiery indignation\\r\\n Even in the matter of mine innocence;\\r\\n Nay, after that, consume away in rust\\r\\n But for containing fire to harm mine eye.\\r\\n Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer\\'d iron?\\r\\n An if an angel should have come to me\\r\\n And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,\\r\\n I would not have believ\\'d him-no tongue but Hubert\\'s.\\r\\n HUBERT. [Stamps] Come forth.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter EXECUTIONERS, With cord, irons, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\n Do as I bid you do.\\r\\n ARTHUR. O, save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are out\\r\\n Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.\\r\\n HUBERT. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.\\r\\n ARTHUR. Alas, what need you be so boist\\'rous rough?\\r\\n I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.\\r\\n For heaven sake, Hubert, let me not be bound!\\r\\n Nay, hear me, Hubert! Drive these men away,\\r\\n And I will sit as quiet as a lamb;\\r\\n I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,\\r\\n Nor look upon the iron angrily;\\r\\n Thrust but these men away, and I\\'ll forgive you,\\r\\n Whatever torment you do put me to.\\r\\n HUBERT. Go, stand within; let me alone with him.\\r\\n EXECUTIONER. I am best pleas\\'d to be from such a deed.\\r\\n Exeunt EXECUTIONERS\\r\\n ARTHUR. Alas, I then have chid away my friend!\\r\\n He hath a stern look but a gentle heart.\\r\\n Let him come back, that his compassion may\\r\\n Give life to yours.\\r\\n HUBERT. Come, boy, prepare yourself.\\r\\n ARTHUR. Is there no remedy?\\r\\n HUBERT. None, but to lose your eyes.\\r\\n ARTHUR. O heaven, that there were but a mote in yours,\\r\\n A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,\\r\\n Any annoyance in that precious sense!\\r\\n Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there,\\r\\n Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.\\r\\n HUBERT. Is this your promise? Go to, hold your tongue.\\r\\n ARTHUR. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues\\r\\n Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes.\\r\\n Let me not hold my tongue, let me not, Hubert;\\r\\n Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue,\\r\\n So I may keep mine eyes. O, spare mine eyes,\\r\\n Though to no use but still to look on you!\\r\\n Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold\\r\\n And would not harm me.\\r\\n HUBERT. I can heat it, boy.\\r\\n ARTHUR. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief,\\r\\n Being create for comfort, to be us\\'d\\r\\n In undeserved extremes. See else yourself:\\r\\n There is no malice in this burning coal;\\r\\n The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out,\\r\\n And strew\\'d repentant ashes on his head.\\r\\n HUBERT. But with my breath I can revive it, boy.\\r\\n ARTHUR. An if you do, you will but make it blush\\r\\n And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert.\\r\\n Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes,\\r\\n And, like a dog that is compell\\'d to fight,\\r\\n Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on.\\r\\n All things that you should use to do me wrong\\r\\n Deny their office; only you do lack\\r\\n That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends,\\r\\n Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses.\\r\\n HUBERT. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eye\\r\\n For all the treasure that thine uncle owes.\\r\\n Yet I am sworn, and I did purpose, boy,\\r\\n With this same very iron to burn them out.\\r\\n ARTHUR. O, now you look like Hubert! All this while\\r\\n You were disguis\\'d.\\r\\n HUBERT. Peace; no more. Adieu.\\r\\n Your uncle must not know but you are dead:\\r\\n I\\'ll fill these dogged spies with false reports;\\r\\n And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure\\r\\n That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,\\r\\n Will not offend thee.\\r\\n ARTHUR. O heaven! I thank you, Hubert.\\r\\n HUBERT. Silence; no more. Go closely in with me.\\r\\n Much danger do I undergo for thee. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nEngland. KING JOHN\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter KING JOHN, PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and other LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n KING JOHN. Here once again we sit, once again crown\\'d,\\r\\n And look\\'d upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. This once again, but that your Highness pleas\\'d,\\r\\n Was once superfluous: you were crown\\'d before,\\r\\n And that high royalty was ne\\'er pluck\\'d off,\\r\\n The faiths of men ne\\'er stained with revolt;\\r\\n Fresh expectation troubled not the land\\r\\n With any long\\'d-for change or better state.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Therefore, to be possess\\'d with double pomp,\\r\\n To guard a title that was rich before,\\r\\n To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,\\r\\n To throw a perfume on the violet,\\r\\n To smooth the ice, or add another hue\\r\\n Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light\\r\\n To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,\\r\\n Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. But that your royal pleasure must be done,\\r\\n This act is as an ancient tale new told\\r\\n And, in the last repeating, troublesome,\\r\\n Being urged at a time unseasonable.\\r\\n SALISBURY. In this the antique and well-noted face\\r\\n Of plain old form is much disfigured;\\r\\n And like a shifted wind unto a sail\\r\\n It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about,\\r\\n Startles and frights consideration,\\r\\n Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected,\\r\\n For putting on so new a fashion\\'d robe.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. When workmen strive to do better than well,\\r\\n They do confound their skill in covetousness;\\r\\n And oftentimes excusing of a fault\\r\\n Doth make the fault the worse by th\\' excuse,\\r\\n As patches set upon a little breach\\r\\n Discredit more in hiding of the fault\\r\\n Than did the fault before it was so patch\\'d.\\r\\n SALISBURY. To this effect, before you were new-crown\\'d,\\r\\n We breath\\'d our counsel; but it pleas\\'d your Highness\\r\\n To overbear it; and we are all well pleas\\'d,\\r\\n Since all and every part of what we would\\r\\n Doth make a stand at what your Highness will.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Some reasons of this double coronation\\r\\n I have possess\\'d you with, and think them strong;\\r\\n And more, more strong, when lesser is my fear,\\r\\n I shall indue you with. Meantime but ask\\r\\n What you would have reform\\'d that is not well,\\r\\n And well shall you perceive how willingly\\r\\n I will both hear and grant you your requests.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. Then I, as one that am the tongue of these,\\r\\n To sound the purposes of all their hearts,\\r\\n Both for myself and them- but, chief of all,\\r\\n Your safety, for the which myself and them\\r\\n Bend their best studies, heartily request\\r\\n Th\\' enfranchisement of Arthur, whose restraint\\r\\n Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent\\r\\n To break into this dangerous argument:\\r\\n If what in rest you have in right you hold,\\r\\n Why then your fears-which, as they say, attend\\r\\n The steps of wrong-should move you to mew up\\r\\n Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days\\r\\n With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth\\r\\n The rich advantage of good exercise?\\r\\n That the time\\'s enemies may not have this\\r\\n To grace occasions, let it be our suit\\r\\n That you have bid us ask his liberty;\\r\\n Which for our goods we do no further ask\\r\\n Than whereupon our weal, on you depending,\\r\\n Counts it your weal he have his liberty.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Let it be so. I do commit his youth\\r\\n To your direction.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HUBERT\\r\\n\\r\\n [Aside] Hubert, what news with you?\\r\\n PEMBROKE. This is the man should do the bloody deed:\\r\\n He show\\'d his warrant to a friend of mine;\\r\\n The image of a wicked heinous fault\\r\\n Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his\\r\\n Doth show the mood of a much troubled breast,\\r\\n And I do fearfully believe \\'tis done\\r\\n What we so fear\\'d he had a charge to do.\\r\\n SALISBURY. The colour of the King doth come and go\\r\\n Between his purpose and his conscience,\\r\\n Like heralds \\'twixt two dreadful battles set.\\r\\n His passion is so ripe it needs must break.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence\\r\\n The foul corruption of a sweet child\\'s death.\\r\\n KING JOHN. We cannot hold mortality\\'s strong hand.\\r\\n Good lords, although my will to give is living,\\r\\n The suit which you demand is gone and dead:\\r\\n He tells us Arthur is deceas\\'d to-night.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Indeed, we fear\\'d his sickness was past cure.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. Indeed, we heard how near his death he was,\\r\\n Before the child himself felt he was sick.\\r\\n This must be answer\\'d either here or hence.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Why do you bend such solemn brows on me?\\r\\n Think you I bear the shears of destiny?\\r\\n Have I commandment on the pulse of life?\\r\\n SALISBURY. It is apparent foul-play; and \\'tis shame\\r\\n That greatness should so grossly offer it.\\r\\n So thrive it in your game! and so, farewell.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. Stay yet, Lord Salisbury, I\\'ll go with thee\\r\\n And find th\\' inheritance of this poor child,\\r\\n His little kingdom of a forced grave.\\r\\n That blood which ow\\'d the breadth of all this isle\\r\\n Three foot of it doth hold-bad world the while!\\r\\n This must not be thus borne: this will break out\\r\\n To all our sorrows, and ere long I doubt. Exeunt LORDS\\r\\n KING JOHN. They burn in indignation. I repent.\\r\\n There is no sure foundation set on blood,\\r\\n No certain life achiev\\'d by others\\' death.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n A fearful eye thou hast; where is that blood\\r\\n That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks?\\r\\n So foul a sky clears not without a storm.\\r\\n Pour down thy weather-how goes all in France?\\r\\n MESSENGER. From France to England. Never such a pow\\'r\\r\\n For any foreign preparation\\r\\n Was levied in the body of a land.\\r\\n The copy of your speed is learn\\'d by them,\\r\\n For when you should be told they do prepare,\\r\\n The tidings comes that they are all arriv\\'d.\\r\\n KING JOHN. O, where hath our intelligence been drunk?\\r\\n Where hath it slept? Where is my mother\\'s care,\\r\\n That such an army could be drawn in France,\\r\\n And she not hear of it?\\r\\n MESSENGER. My liege, her ear\\r\\n Is stopp\\'d with dust: the first of April died\\r\\n Your noble mother; and as I hear, my lord,\\r\\n The Lady Constance in a frenzy died\\r\\n Three days before; but this from rumour\\'s tongue\\r\\n I idly heard-if true or false I know not.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion!\\r\\n O, make a league with me, till I have pleas\\'d\\r\\n My discontented peers! What! mother dead!\\r\\n How wildly then walks my estate in France!\\r\\n Under whose conduct came those pow\\'rs of France\\r\\n That thou for truth giv\\'st out are landed here?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Under the Dauphin.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Thou hast made me giddy\\r\\n With these in tidings.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the BASTARD and PETER OF POMFRET\\r\\n\\r\\n Now! What says the world\\r\\n To your proceedings? Do not seek to stuff\\r\\n My head with more ill news, for it is full.\\r\\n BASTARD. But if you be afear\\'d to hear the worst,\\r\\n Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Bear with me, cousin, for I was amaz\\'d\\r\\n Under the tide; but now I breathe again\\r\\n Aloft the flood, and can give audience\\r\\n To any tongue, speak it of what it will.\\r\\n BASTARD. How I have sped among the clergymen\\r\\n The sums I have collected shall express.\\r\\n But as I travell\\'d hither through the land,\\r\\n I find the people strangely fantasied;\\r\\n Possess\\'d with rumours, full of idle dreams.\\r\\n Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear;\\r\\n And here\\'s a prophet that I brought with me\\r\\n From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found\\r\\n With many hundreds treading on his heels;\\r\\n To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes,\\r\\n That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon,\\r\\n Your Highness should deliver up your crown.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so?\\r\\n PETER. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Hubert, away with him; imprison him;\\r\\n And on that day at noon whereon he says\\r\\n I shall yield up my crown let him be hang\\'d.\\r\\n Deliver him to safety; and return,\\r\\n For I must use thee.\\r\\n Exit HUBERT with PETER\\r\\n O my gentle cousin,\\r\\n Hear\\'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv\\'d?\\r\\n BASTARD. The French, my lord; men\\'s mouths are full of it;\\r\\n Besides, I met Lord Bigot and Lord Salisbury,\\r\\n With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire,\\r\\n And others more, going to seek the grave\\r\\n Of Arthur, whom they say is kill\\'d to-night\\r\\n On your suggestion.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Gentle kinsman, go\\r\\n And thrust thyself into their companies.\\r\\n I have a way to will their loves again;\\r\\n Bring them before me.\\r\\n BASTARD. I Will seek them out.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Nay, but make haste; the better foot before.\\r\\n O, let me have no subject enemies\\r\\n When adverse foreigners affright my towns\\r\\n With dreadful pomp of stout invasion!\\r\\n Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels,\\r\\n And fly like thought from them to me again.\\r\\n BASTARD. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Spoke like a sprightful noble gentleman.\\r\\n Exit BASTARD\\r\\n Go after him; for he perhaps shall need\\r\\n Some messenger betwixt me and the peers;\\r\\n And be thou he.\\r\\n MESSENGER. With all my heart, my liege. Exit\\r\\n KING JOHN. My mother dead!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter HUBERT\\r\\n\\r\\n HUBERT. My lord, they say five moons were seen to-night;\\r\\n Four fixed, and the fifth did whirl about\\r\\n The other four in wondrous motion.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Five moons!\\r\\n HUBERT. Old men and beldams in the streets\\r\\n Do prophesy upon it dangerously;\\r\\n Young Arthur\\'s death is common in their mouths;\\r\\n And when they talk of him, they shake their heads,\\r\\n And whisper one another in the ear;\\r\\n And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer\\'s wrist,\\r\\n Whilst he that hears makes fearful action\\r\\n With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes.\\r\\n I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,\\r\\n The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,\\r\\n With open mouth swallowing a tailor\\'s news;\\r\\n Who, with his shears and measure in his hand,\\r\\n Standing on slippers, which his nimble haste\\r\\n Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,\\r\\n Told of a many thousand warlike French\\r\\n That were embattailed and rank\\'d in Kent.\\r\\n Another lean unwash\\'d artificer\\r\\n Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur\\'s death.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Why seek\\'st thou to possess me with these fears?\\r\\n Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur\\'s death?\\r\\n Thy hand hath murd\\'red him. I had a mighty cause\\r\\n To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him.\\r\\n HUBERT. No had, my lord! Why, did you not provoke me?\\r\\n KING JOHN. It is the curse of kings to be attended\\r\\n By slaves that take their humours for a warrant\\r\\n To break within the bloody house of life,\\r\\n And on the winking of authority\\r\\n To understand a law; to know the meaning\\r\\n Of dangerous majesty, when perchance it frowns\\r\\n More upon humour than advis\\'d respect.\\r\\n HUBERT. Here is your hand and seal for what I did.\\r\\n KING JOHN. O, when the last account \\'twixt heaven and earth\\r\\n Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal\\r\\n Witness against us to damnation!\\r\\n How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds\\r\\n Make deeds ill done! Hadst not thou been by,\\r\\n A fellow by the hand of nature mark\\'d,\\r\\n Quoted and sign\\'d to do a deed of shame,\\r\\n This murder had not come into my mind;\\r\\n But, taking note of thy abhorr\\'d aspect,\\r\\n Finding thee fit for bloody villainy,\\r\\n Apt, liable to be employ\\'d in danger,\\r\\n I faintly broke with thee of Arthur\\'s death;\\r\\n And thou, to be endeared to a king,\\r\\n Made it no conscience to destroy a prince.\\r\\n HUBERT. My lord-\\r\\n KING JOHN. Hadst thou but shook thy head or made pause,\\r\\n When I spake darkly what I purposed,\\r\\n Or turn\\'d an eye of doubt upon my face,\\r\\n As bid me tell my tale in express words,\\r\\n Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off,\\r\\n And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me.\\r\\n But thou didst understand me by my signs,\\r\\n And didst in signs again parley with sin;\\r\\n Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent,\\r\\n And consequently thy rude hand to act\\r\\n The deed which both our tongues held vile to name.\\r\\n Out of my sight, and never see me more!\\r\\n My nobles leave me; and my state is braved,\\r\\n Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign pow\\'rs;\\r\\n Nay, in the body of the fleshly land,\\r\\n This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath,\\r\\n Hostility and civil tumult reigns\\r\\n Between my conscience and my cousin\\'s death.\\r\\n HUBERT. Arm you against your other enemies,\\r\\n I\\'ll make a peace between your soul and you.\\r\\n Young Arthur is alive. This hand of mine\\r\\n Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand,\\r\\n Not painted with the crimson spots of blood.\\r\\n Within this bosom never ent\\'red yet\\r\\n The dreadful motion of a murderous thought\\r\\n And you have slander\\'d nature in my form,\\r\\n Which, howsoever rude exteriorly,\\r\\n Is yet the cover of a fairer mind\\r\\n Than to be butcher of an innocent child.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to the peers,\\r\\n Throw this report on their incensed rage\\r\\n And make them tame to their obedience!\\r\\n Forgive the comment that my passion made\\r\\n Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind,\\r\\n And foul imaginary eyes of blood\\r\\n Presented thee more hideous than thou art.\\r\\n O, answer not; but to my closet bring\\r\\n The angry lords with all expedient haste.\\r\\n I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nEngland. Before the castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ARTHUR, on the walls\\r\\n\\r\\n ARTHUR. The wall is high, and yet will I leap down.\\r\\n Good ground, be pitiful and hurt me not!\\r\\n There\\'s few or none do know me; if they did,\\r\\n This ship-boy\\'s semblance hath disguis\\'d me quite.\\r\\n I am afraid; and yet I\\'ll venture it.\\r\\n If I get down and do not break my limbs,\\r\\n I\\'ll find a thousand shifts to get away.\\r\\n As good to die and go, as die and stay. [Leaps down]\\r\\n O me! my uncle\\'s spirit is in these stones.\\r\\n Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!\\r\\n [Dies]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and BIGOT\\r\\n\\r\\n SALISBURY. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmundsbury;\\r\\n It is our safety, and we must embrace\\r\\n This gentle offer of the perilous time.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. Who brought that letter from the Cardinal?\\r\\n SALISBURY. The Count Melun, a noble lord of France,\\r\\n Whose private with me of the Dauphin\\'s love\\r\\n Is much more general than these lines import.\\r\\n BIGOT. To-morrow morning let us meet him then.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Or rather then set forward; for \\'twill be\\r\\n Two long days\\' journey, lords, or ere we meet.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the BASTARD\\r\\n\\r\\n BASTARD. Once more to-day well met, distemper\\'d lords!\\r\\n The King by me requests your presence straight.\\r\\n SALISBURY. The King hath dispossess\\'d himself of us.\\r\\n We will not line his thin bestained cloak\\r\\n With our pure honours, nor attend the foot\\r\\n That leaves the print of blood where\\'er it walks.\\r\\n Return and tell him so. We know the worst.\\r\\n BASTARD. Whate\\'er you think, good words, I think, were best.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now.\\r\\n BASTARD. But there is little reason in your grief;\\r\\n Therefore \\'twere reason you had manners now.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege.\\r\\n BASTARD. \\'Tis true-to hurt his master, no man else.\\r\\n SALISBURY. This is the prison. What is he lies here?\\r\\n PEMBROKE. O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!\\r\\n The earth had not a hole to hide this deed.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Murder, as hating what himself hath done,\\r\\n Doth lay it open to urge on revenge.\\r\\n BIGOT. Or, when he doom\\'d this beauty to a grave,\\r\\n Found it too precious-princely for a grave.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Sir Richard, what think you? Have you beheld,\\r\\n Or have you read or heard, or could you think?\\r\\n Or do you almost think, although you see,\\r\\n That you do see? Could thought, without this object,\\r\\n Form such another? This is the very top,\\r\\n The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest,\\r\\n Of murder\\'s arms; this is the bloodiest shame,\\r\\n The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke,\\r\\n That ever wall-ey\\'d wrath or staring rage\\r\\n Presented to the tears of soft remorse.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. All murders past do stand excus\\'d in this;\\r\\n And this, so sole and so unmatchable,\\r\\n Shall give a holiness, a purity,\\r\\n To the yet unbegotten sin of times,\\r\\n And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,\\r\\n Exampled by this heinous spectacle.\\r\\n BASTARD. It is a damned and a bloody work;\\r\\n The graceless action of a heavy hand,\\r\\n If that it be the work of any hand.\\r\\n SALISBURY. If that it be the work of any hand!\\r\\n We had a kind of light what would ensue.\\r\\n It is the shameful work of Hubert\\'s hand;\\r\\n The practice and the purpose of the King;\\r\\n From whose obedience I forbid my soul\\r\\n Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life,\\r\\n And breathing to his breathless excellence\\r\\n The incense of a vow, a holy vow,\\r\\n Never to taste the pleasures of the world,\\r\\n Never to be infected with delight,\\r\\n Nor conversant with ease and idleness,\\r\\n Till I have set a glory to this hand\\r\\n By giving it the worship of revenge.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. and BIGOT. Our souls religiously confirm thy words.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HUBERT\\r\\n\\r\\n HUBERT. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you.\\r\\n Arthur doth live; the King hath sent for you.\\r\\n SALISBURY. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death!\\r\\n Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!\\r\\n HUBERT. I am no villain.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Must I rob the law? [Drawing his sword]\\r\\n BASTARD. Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Not till I sheathe it in a murderer\\'s skin.\\r\\n HUBERT. Stand back, Lord Salisbury, stand back, I say;\\r\\n By heaven, I think my sword\\'s as sharp as yours.\\r\\n I would not have you, lord, forget yourself,\\r\\n Nor tempt the danger of my true defence;\\r\\n Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget\\r\\n Your worth, your greatness and nobility.\\r\\n BIGOT. Out, dunghill! Dar\\'st thou brave a nobleman?\\r\\n HUBERT. Not for my life; but yet I dare defend\\r\\n My innocent life against an emperor.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Thou art a murderer.\\r\\n HUBERT. Do not prove me so.\\r\\n Yet I am none. Whose tongue soe\\'er speaks false,\\r\\n Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. Cut him to pieces.\\r\\n BASTARD. Keep the peace, I say.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge.\\r\\n BASTARD. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury.\\r\\n If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,\\r\\n Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,\\r\\n I\\'ll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime;\\r\\n Or I\\'ll so maul you and your toasting-iron\\r\\n That you shall think the devil is come from hell.\\r\\n BIGOT. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge?\\r\\n Second a villain and a murderer?\\r\\n HUBERT. Lord Bigot, I am none.\\r\\n BIGOT. Who kill\\'d this prince?\\r\\n HUBERT. \\'Tis not an hour since I left him well.\\r\\n I honour\\'d him, I lov\\'d him, and will weep\\r\\n My date of life out for his sweet life\\'s loss.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,\\r\\n For villainy is not without such rheum;\\r\\n And he, long traded in it, makes it seem\\r\\n Like rivers of remorse and innocency.\\r\\n Away with me, all you whose souls abhor\\r\\n Th\\' uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house;\\r\\n For I am stifled with this smell of sin.\\r\\n BIGOT. Away toward Bury, to the Dauphin there!\\r\\n PEMBROKE. There tell the King he may inquire us out.\\r\\n Exeunt LORDS\\r\\n BASTARD. Here\\'s a good world! Knew you of this fair work?\\r\\n Beyond the infinite and boundless reach\\r\\n Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,\\r\\n Art thou damn\\'d, Hubert.\\r\\n HUBERT. Do but hear me, sir.\\r\\n BASTARD. Ha! I\\'ll tell thee what:\\r\\n Thou\\'rt damn\\'d as black-nay, nothing is so black-\\r\\n Thou art more deep damn\\'d than Prince Lucifer;\\r\\n There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell\\r\\n As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.\\r\\n HUBERT. Upon my soul-\\r\\n BASTARD. If thou didst but consent\\r\\n To this most cruel act, do but despair;\\r\\n And if thou want\\'st a cord, the smallest thread\\r\\n That ever spider twisted from her womb\\r\\n Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be a beam\\r\\n To hang thee on; or wouldst thou drown thyself,\\r\\n Put but a little water in a spoon\\r\\n And it shall be as all the ocean,\\r\\n Enough to stifle such a villain up\\r\\n I do suspect thee very grievously.\\r\\n HUBERT. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought,\\r\\n Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath\\r\\n Which was embounded in this beauteous clay,\\r\\n Let hell want pains enough to torture me!\\r\\n I left him well.\\r\\n BASTARD. Go, bear him in thine arms.\\r\\n I am amaz\\'d, methinks, and lose my way\\r\\n Among the thorns and dangers of this world.\\r\\n How easy dost thou take all England up!\\r\\n From forth this morsel of dead royalty\\r\\n The life, the right, and truth of all this realm\\r\\n Is fled to heaven; and England now is left\\r\\n To tug and scamble, and to part by th\\' teeth\\r\\n The unowed interest of proud-swelling state.\\r\\n Now for the bare-pick\\'d bone of majesty\\r\\n Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest\\r\\n And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace;\\r\\n Now powers from home and discontents at home\\r\\n Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits,\\r\\n As doth a raven on a sick-fall\\'n beast,\\r\\n The imminent decay of wrested pomp.\\r\\n Now happy he whose cloak and cincture can\\r\\n Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child,\\r\\n And follow me with speed. I\\'ll to the King;\\r\\n A thousand businesses are brief in hand,\\r\\n And heaven itself doth frown upon the land. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 1. England. KING JOHN\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter KING JOHN, PANDULPH, and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n KING JOHN. Thus have I yielded up into your hand\\r\\n The circle of my glory.\\r\\n PANDULPH. [Gives back the crown] Take again\\r\\n From this my hand, as holding of the Pope,\\r\\n Your sovereign greatness and authority.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Now keep your holy word; go meet the French;\\r\\n And from his Holiness use all your power\\r\\n To stop their marches fore we are inflam\\'d.\\r\\n Our discontented counties do revolt;\\r\\n Our people quarrel with obedience,\\r\\n Swearing allegiance and the love of soul\\r\\n To stranger blood, to foreign royalty.\\r\\n This inundation of mistemp\\'red humour\\r\\n Rests by you only to be qualified.\\r\\n Then pause not; for the present time\\'s so sick\\r\\n That present med\\'cine must be minist\\'red\\r\\n Or overthrow incurable ensues.\\r\\n PANDULPH. It was my breath that blew this tempest up,\\r\\n Upon your stubborn usage of the Pope;\\r\\n But since you are a gentle convertite,\\r\\n My tongue shall hush again this storm of war\\r\\n And make fair weather in your blust\\'ring land.\\r\\n On this Ascension-day, remember well,\\r\\n Upon your oath of service to the Pope,\\r\\n Go I to make the French lay down their arms. Exit\\r\\n KING JOHN. Is this Ascension-day? Did not the prophet\\r\\n Say that before Ascension-day at noon\\r\\n My crown I should give off? Even so I have.\\r\\n I did suppose it should be on constraint;\\r\\n But, heaven be thank\\'d, it is but voluntary.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the BASTARD\\r\\n\\r\\n BASTARD. All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds out\\r\\n But Dover Castle. London hath receiv\\'d,\\r\\n Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers.\\r\\n Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone\\r\\n To offer service to your enemy;\\r\\n And wild amazement hurries up and down\\r\\n The little number of your doubtful friends.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Would not my lords return to me again\\r\\n After they heard young Arthur was alive?\\r\\n BASTARD. They found him dead, and cast into the streets,\\r\\n An empty casket, where the jewel of life\\r\\n By some damn\\'d hand was robbed and ta\\'en away.\\r\\n KING JOHN. That villain Hubert told me he did live.\\r\\n BASTARD. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew.\\r\\n But wherefore do you droop? Why look you sad?\\r\\n Be great in act, as you have been in thought;\\r\\n Let not the world see fear and sad distrust\\r\\n Govern the motion of a kingly eye.\\r\\n Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire;\\r\\n Threaten the threat\\'ner, and outface the brow\\r\\n Of bragging horror; so shall inferior eyes,\\r\\n That borrow their behaviours from the great,\\r\\n Grow great by your example and put on\\r\\n The dauntless spirit of resolution.\\r\\n Away, and glister like the god of war\\r\\n When he intendeth to become the field;\\r\\n Show boldness and aspiring confidence.\\r\\n What, shall they seek the lion in his den,\\r\\n And fright him there, and make him tremble there?\\r\\n O, let it not be said! Forage, and run\\r\\n To meet displeasure farther from the doors\\r\\n And grapple with him ere he come so nigh.\\r\\n KING JOHN. The legate of the Pope hath been with me,\\r\\n And I have made a happy peace with him;\\r\\n And he hath promis\\'d to dismiss the powers\\r\\n Led by the Dauphin.\\r\\n BASTARD. O inglorious league!\\r\\n Shall we, upon the footing of our land,\\r\\n Send fair-play orders, and make compromise,\\r\\n Insinuation, parley, and base truce,\\r\\n To arms invasive? Shall a beardless boy,\\r\\n A cock\\'red silken wanton, brave our fields\\r\\n And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil,\\r\\n Mocking the air with colours idly spread,\\r\\n And find no check? Let us, my liege, to arms.\\r\\n Perchance the Cardinal cannot make your peace;\\r\\n Or, if he do, let it at least be said\\r\\n They saw we had a purpose of defence.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Have thou the ordering of this present time.\\r\\n BASTARD. Away, then, with good courage!\\r\\n Yet, I know\\r\\n Our party may well meet a prouder foe. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. England. The DAUPHIN\\'S camp at Saint Edmundsbury\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter, in arms, LEWIS, SALISBURY, MELUN, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n LEWIS. My Lord Melun, let this be copied out\\r\\n And keep it safe for our remembrance;\\r\\n Return the precedent to these lords again,\\r\\n That, having our fair order written down,\\r\\n Both they and we, perusing o\\'er these notes,\\r\\n May know wherefore we took the sacrament,\\r\\n And keep our faiths firm and inviolable.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Upon our sides it never shall be broken.\\r\\n And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear\\r\\n A voluntary zeal and an unurg\\'d faith\\r\\n To your proceedings; yet, believe me, Prince,\\r\\n I am not glad that such a sore of time\\r\\n Should seek a plaster by contemn\\'d revolt,\\r\\n And heal the inveterate canker of one wound\\r\\n By making many. O, it grieves my soul\\r\\n That I must draw this metal from my side\\r\\n To be a widow-maker! O, and there\\r\\n Where honourable rescue and defence\\r\\n Cries out upon the name of Salisbury!\\r\\n But such is the infection of the time\\r\\n That, for the health and physic of our right,\\r\\n We cannot deal but with the very hand\\r\\n Of stern injustice and confused wrong.\\r\\n And is\\'t not pity, O my grieved friends!\\r\\n That we, the sons and children of this isle,\\r\\n Were born to see so sad an hour as this;\\r\\n Wherein we step after a stranger-march\\r\\n Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up\\r\\n Her enemies\\' ranks-I must withdraw and weep\\r\\n Upon the spot of this enforced cause-\\r\\n To grace the gentry of a land remote\\r\\n And follow unacquainted colours here?\\r\\n What, here? O nation, that thou couldst remove!\\r\\n That Neptune\\'s arms, who clippeth thee about,\\r\\n Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself\\r\\n And grapple thee unto a pagan shore,\\r\\n Where these two Christian armies might combine\\r\\n The blood of malice in a vein of league,\\r\\n And not to spend it so unneighbourly!\\r\\n LEWIS. A noble temper dost thou show in this;\\r\\n And great affections wrestling in thy bosom\\r\\n Doth make an earthquake of nobility.\\r\\n O, what a noble combat hast thou fought\\r\\n Between compulsion and a brave respect!\\r\\n Let me wipe off this honourable dew\\r\\n That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks.\\r\\n My heart hath melted at a lady\\'s tears,\\r\\n Being an ordinary inundation;\\r\\n But this effusion of such manly drops,\\r\\n This show\\'r, blown up by tempest of the soul,\\r\\n Startles mine eyes and makes me more amaz\\'d\\r\\n Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven\\r\\n Figur\\'d quite o\\'er with burning meteors.\\r\\n Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,\\r\\n And with a great heart heave away this storm;\\r\\n Commend these waters to those baby eyes\\r\\n That never saw the giant world enrag\\'d,\\r\\n Nor met with fortune other than at feasts,\\r\\n Full of warm blood, of mirth, of gossiping.\\r\\n Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep\\r\\n Into the purse of rich prosperity\\r\\n As Lewis himself. So, nobles, shall you all,\\r\\n That knit your sinews to the strength of mine.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PANDULPH\\r\\n\\r\\n And even there, methinks, an angel spake:\\r\\n Look where the holy legate comes apace,\\r\\n To give us warrant from the hand of heaven\\r\\n And on our actions set the name of right\\r\\n With holy breath.\\r\\n PANDULPH. Hail, noble prince of France!\\r\\n The next is this: King John hath reconcil\\'d\\r\\n Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in,\\r\\n That so stood out against the holy Church,\\r\\n The great metropolis and see of Rome.\\r\\n Therefore thy threat\\'ning colours now wind up\\r\\n And tame the savage spirit of wild war,\\r\\n That, like a lion fostered up at hand,\\r\\n It may lie gently at the foot of peace\\r\\n And be no further harmful than in show.\\r\\n LEWIS. Your Grace shall pardon me, I will not back:\\r\\n I am too high-born to be propertied,\\r\\n To be a secondary at control,\\r\\n Or useful serving-man and instrument\\r\\n To any sovereign state throughout the world.\\r\\n Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars\\r\\n Between this chastis\\'d kingdom and myself\\r\\n And brought in matter that should feed this fire;\\r\\n And now \\'tis far too huge to be blown out\\r\\n With that same weak wind which enkindled it.\\r\\n You taught me how to know the face of right,\\r\\n Acquainted me with interest to this land,\\r\\n Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart;\\r\\n And come ye now to tell me John hath made\\r\\n His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me?\\r\\n I, by the honour of my marriage-bed,\\r\\n After young Arthur, claim this land for mine;\\r\\n And, now it is half-conquer\\'d, must I back\\r\\n Because that John hath made his peace with Rome?\\r\\n Am I Rome\\'s slave? What penny hath Rome borne,\\r\\n What men provided, what munition sent,\\r\\n To underprop this action? Is \\'t not I\\r\\n That undergo this charge? Who else but I,\\r\\n And such as to my claim are liable,\\r\\n Sweat in this business and maintain this war?\\r\\n Have I not heard these islanders shout out\\r\\n \\'Vive le roi!\\' as I have bank\\'d their towns?\\r\\n Have I not here the best cards for the game\\r\\n To will this easy match, play\\'d for a crown?\\r\\n And shall I now give o\\'er the yielded set?\\r\\n No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said.\\r\\n PANDULPH. You look but on the outside of this work.\\r\\n LEWIS. Outside or inside, I will not return\\r\\n Till my attempt so much be glorified\\r\\n As to my ample hope was promised\\r\\n Before I drew this gallant head of war,\\r\\n And cull\\'d these fiery spirits from the world\\r\\n To outlook conquest, and to will renown\\r\\n Even in the jaws of danger and of death.\\r\\n [Trumpet sounds]\\r\\n What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the BASTARD, attended\\r\\n\\r\\n BASTARD. According to the fair play of the world,\\r\\n Let me have audience: I am sent to speak.\\r\\n My holy lord of Milan, from the King\\r\\n I come, to learn how you have dealt for him;\\r\\n And, as you answer, I do know the scope\\r\\n And warrant limited unto my tongue.\\r\\n PANDULPH. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite,\\r\\n And will not temporize with my entreaties;\\r\\n He flatly says he\\'ll not lay down his arms.\\r\\n BASTARD. By all the blood that ever fury breath\\'d,\\r\\n The youth says well. Now hear our English King;\\r\\n For thus his royalty doth speak in me.\\r\\n He is prepar\\'d, and reason too he should.\\r\\n This apish and unmannerly approach,\\r\\n This harness\\'d masque and unadvised revel\\r\\n This unhair\\'d sauciness and boyish troops,\\r\\n The King doth smile at; and is well prepar\\'d\\r\\n To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms,\\r\\n From out the circle of his territories.\\r\\n That hand which had the strength, even at your door.\\r\\n To cudgel you and make you take the hatch,\\r\\n To dive like buckets in concealed wells,\\r\\n To crouch in litter of your stable planks,\\r\\n To lie like pawns lock\\'d up in chests and trunks,\\r\\n To hug with swine, to seek sweet safety out\\r\\n In vaults and prisons, and to thrill and shake\\r\\n Even at the crying of your nation\\'s crow,\\r\\n Thinking this voice an armed Englishman-\\r\\n Shall that victorious hand be feebled here\\r\\n That in your chambers gave you chastisement?\\r\\n No. Know the gallant monarch is in arms\\r\\n And like an eagle o\\'er his aery tow\\'rs\\r\\n To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.\\r\\n And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts,\\r\\n You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb\\r\\n Of your dear mother England, blush for shame;\\r\\n For your own ladies and pale-visag\\'d maids,\\r\\n Like Amazons, come tripping after drums,\\r\\n Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change,\\r\\n Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts\\r\\n To fierce and bloody inclination.\\r\\n LEWIS. There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace;\\r\\n We grant thou canst outscold us. Fare thee well;\\r\\n We hold our time too precious to be spent\\r\\n With such a brabbler.\\r\\n PANDULPH. Give me leave to speak.\\r\\n BASTARD. No, I will speak.\\r\\n LEWIS. We will attend to neither.\\r\\n Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war,\\r\\n Plead for our interest and our being here.\\r\\n BASTARD. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out;\\r\\n And so shall you, being beaten. Do but start\\r\\n And echo with the clamour of thy drum,\\r\\n And even at hand a drum is ready brac\\'d\\r\\n That shall reverberate all as loud as thine:\\r\\n Sound but another, and another shall,\\r\\n As loud as thine, rattle the welkin\\'s ear\\r\\n And mock the deep-mouth\\'d thunder; for at hand-\\r\\n Not trusting to this halting legate here,\\r\\n Whom he hath us\\'d rather for sport than need-\\r\\n Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits\\r\\n A bare-ribb\\'d death, whose office is this day\\r\\n To feast upon whole thousands of the French.\\r\\n LEWIS. Strike up our drums to find this danger out.\\r\\n BASTARD. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nEngland. The field of battle\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarums. Enter KING JOHN and HUBERT\\r\\n\\r\\n KING JOHN. How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert.\\r\\n HUBERT. Badly, I fear. How fares your Majesty?\\r\\n KING JOHN. This fever that hath troubled me so long\\r\\n Lies heavy on me. O, my heart is sick!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge,\\r\\n Desires your Majesty to leave the field\\r\\n And send him word by me which way you go.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey there.\\r\\n MESSENGER. Be of good comfort; for the great supply\\r\\n That was expected by the Dauphin here\\r\\n Are wreck\\'d three nights ago on Goodwin Sands;\\r\\n This news was brought to Richard but even now.\\r\\n The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Ay me, this tyrant fever burns me up\\r\\n And will not let me welcome this good news.\\r\\n Set on toward Swinstead; to my litter straight;\\r\\n Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nEngland. Another part of the battlefield\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, and BIGOT\\r\\n\\r\\n SALISBURY. I did not think the King so stor\\'d with friends.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. Up once again; put spirit in the French;\\r\\n If they miscarry, we miscarry too.\\r\\n SALISBURY. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge,\\r\\n In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. They say King John, sore sick, hath left the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MELUN, wounded\\r\\n\\r\\n MELUN. Lead me to the revolts of England here.\\r\\n SALISBURY. When we were happy we had other names.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. It is the Count Melun.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Wounded to death.\\r\\n MELUN. Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold;\\r\\n Unthread the rude eye of rebellion,\\r\\n And welcome home again discarded faith.\\r\\n Seek out King John, and fall before his feet;\\r\\n For if the French be lords of this loud day,\\r\\n He means to recompense the pains you take\\r\\n By cutting off your heads. Thus hath he sworn,\\r\\n And I with him, and many moe with me,\\r\\n Upon the altar at Saint Edmundsbury;\\r\\n Even on that altar where we swore to you\\r\\n Dear amity and everlasting love.\\r\\n SALISBURY. May this be possible? May this be true?\\r\\n MELUN. Have I not hideous death within my view,\\r\\n Retaining but a quantity of life,\\r\\n Which bleeds away even as a form of wax\\r\\n Resolveth from his figure \\'gainst the fire?\\r\\n What in the world should make me now deceive,\\r\\n Since I must lose the use of all deceit?\\r\\n Why should I then be false, since it is true\\r\\n That I must die here, and live hence by truth?\\r\\n I say again, if Lewis do will the day,\\r\\n He is forsworn if e\\'er those eyes of yours\\r\\n Behold another day break in the east;\\r\\n But even this night, whose black contagious breath\\r\\n Already smokes about the burning crest\\r\\n Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun,\\r\\n Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire,\\r\\n Paying the fine of rated treachery\\r\\n Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives.\\r\\n If Lewis by your assistance win the day.\\r\\n Commend me to one Hubert, with your King;\\r\\n The love of him-and this respect besides,\\r\\n For that my grandsire was an Englishman-\\r\\n Awakes my conscience to confess all this.\\r\\n In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence\\r\\n From forth the noise and rumour of the field,\\r\\n Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts\\r\\n In peace, and part this body and my soul\\r\\n With contemplation and devout desires.\\r\\n SALISBURY. We do believe thee; and beshrew my soul\\r\\n But I do love the favour and the form\\r\\n Of this most fair occasion, by the which\\r\\n We will untread the steps of damned flight,\\r\\n And like a bated and retired flood,\\r\\n Leaving our rankness and irregular course,\\r\\n Stoop low within those bounds we have o\\'erlook\\'d,\\r\\n And calmly run on in obedience\\r\\n Even to our ocean, to great King John.\\r\\n My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;\\r\\n For I do see the cruel pangs of death\\r\\n Right in thine eye. Away, my friends! New flight,\\r\\n And happy newness, that intends old right.\\r\\n Exeunt, leading off MELUN\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nEngland. The French camp\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter LEWIS and his train\\r\\n\\r\\n LEWIS. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set,\\r\\n But stay\\'d and made the western welkin blush,\\r\\n When English measure backward their own ground\\r\\n In faint retire. O, bravely came we off,\\r\\n When with a volley of our needless shot,\\r\\n After such bloody toil, we bid good night;\\r\\n And wound our tott\\'ring colours clearly up,\\r\\n Last in the field and almost lords of it!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. Where is my prince, the Dauphin?\\r\\n LEWIS. Here; what news?\\r\\n MESSENGER. The Count Melun is slain; the English lords\\r\\n By his persuasion are again fall\\'n off,\\r\\n And your supply, which you have wish\\'d so long,\\r\\n Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands.\\r\\n LEWIS. Ah, foul shrewd news! Beshrew thy very heart!\\r\\n I did not think to be so sad to-night\\r\\n As this hath made me. Who was he that said\\r\\n King John did fly an hour or two before\\r\\n The stumbling night did part our weary pow\\'rs?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.\\r\\n LEWIS. keep good quarter and good care to-night;\\r\\n The day shall not be up so soon as I\\r\\n To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 6.\\r\\n\\r\\nAn open place wear Swinstead Abbey\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the BASTARD and HUBERT, severally\\r\\n\\r\\n HUBERT. Who\\'s there? Speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot.\\r\\n BASTARD. A friend. What art thou?\\r\\n HUBERT. Of the part of England.\\r\\n BASTARD. Whither dost thou go?\\r\\n HUBERT. What\\'s that to thee? Why may I not demand\\r\\n Of thine affairs as well as thou of mine?\\r\\n BASTARD. Hubert, I think.\\r\\n HUBERT. Thou hast a perfect thought.\\r\\n I will upon all hazards well believe\\r\\n Thou art my friend that know\\'st my tongue so well.\\r\\n Who art thou?\\r\\n BASTARD. Who thou wilt. And if thou please,\\r\\n Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think\\r\\n I come one way of the Plantagenets.\\r\\n HUBERT. Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless night\\r\\n Have done me shame. Brave soldier, pardon me\\r\\n That any accent breaking from thy tongue\\r\\n Should scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.\\r\\n BASTARD. Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad?\\r\\n HUBERT. Why, here walk I in the black brow of night\\r\\n To find you out.\\r\\n BASTARD. Brief, then; and what\\'s the news?\\r\\n HUBERT. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,\\r\\n Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.\\r\\n BASTARD. Show me the very wound of this ill news;\\r\\n I am no woman, I\\'ll not swoon at it.\\r\\n HUBERT. The King, I fear, is poison\\'d by a monk;\\r\\n I left him almost speechless and broke out\\r\\n To acquaint you with this evil, that you might\\r\\n The better arm you to the sudden time\\r\\n Than if you had at leisure known of this.\\r\\n BASTARD. How did he take it; who did taste to him?\\r\\n HUBERT. A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain,\\r\\n Whose bowels suddenly burst out. The King\\r\\n Yet speaks, and peradventure may recover.\\r\\n BASTARD. Who didst thou leave to tend his Majesty?\\r\\n HUBERT. Why, know you not? The lords are all come back,\\r\\n And brought Prince Henry in their company;\\r\\n At whose request the King hath pardon\\'d them,\\r\\n And they are all about his Majesty.\\r\\n BASTARD. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven,\\r\\n And tempt us not to bear above our power!\\r\\n I\\'ll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night,\\r\\n Passing these flats, are taken by the tide-\\r\\n These Lincoln Washes have devoured them;\\r\\n Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap\\'d.\\r\\n Away, before! conduct me to the King;\\r\\n I doubt he will be dead or ere I come. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 7.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe orchard at Swinstead Abbey\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT\\r\\n\\r\\n PRINCE HENRY. It is too late; the life of all his blood\\r\\n Is touch\\'d corruptibly, and his pure brain.\\r\\n Which some suppose the soul\\'s frail dwelling-house,\\r\\n Doth by the idle comments that it makes\\r\\n Foretell the ending of mortality.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PEMBROKE\\r\\n\\r\\n PEMBROKE. His Highness yet doth speak, and holds belief\\r\\n That, being brought into the open air,\\r\\n It would allay the burning quality\\r\\n Of that fell poison which assaileth him.\\r\\n PRINCE HENRY. Let him be brought into the orchard here.\\r\\n Doth he still rage? Exit BIGOT\\r\\n PEMBROKE. He is more patient\\r\\n Than when you left him; even now he sung.\\r\\n PRINCE HENRY. O vanity of sickness! Fierce extremes\\r\\n In their continuance will not feel themselves.\\r\\n Death, having prey\\'d upon the outward parts,\\r\\n Leaves them invisible, and his siege is now\\r\\n Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds\\r\\n With many legions of strange fantasies,\\r\\n Which, in their throng and press to that last hold,\\r\\n Confound themselves. \\'Tis strange that death should sing.\\r\\n I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan\\r\\n Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,\\r\\n And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings\\r\\n His soul and body to their lasting rest.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Be of good comfort, Prince; for you are born\\r\\n To set a form upon that indigest\\r\\n Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter BIGOT and attendants, who bring in\\r\\n KING JOHN in a chair\\r\\n\\r\\n KING JOHN. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room;\\r\\n It would not out at windows nor at doors.\\r\\n There is so hot a summer in my bosom\\r\\n That all my bowels crumble up to dust.\\r\\n I am a scribbled form drawn with a pen\\r\\n Upon a parchment, and against this fire\\r\\n Do I shrink up.\\r\\n PRINCE HENRY. How fares your Majesty?\\r\\n KING JOHN. Poison\\'d-ill-fare! Dead, forsook, cast off;\\r\\n And none of you will bid the winter come\\r\\n To thrust his icy fingers in my maw,\\r\\n Nor let my kingdom\\'s rivers take their course\\r\\n Through my burn\\'d bosom, nor entreat the north\\r\\n To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips\\r\\n And comfort me with cold. I do not ask you much;\\r\\n I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait\\r\\n And so ingrateful you deny me that.\\r\\n PRINCE HENRY. O that there were some virtue in my tears,\\r\\n That might relieve you!\\r\\n KING JOHN. The salt in them is hot.\\r\\n Within me is a hell; and there the poison\\r\\n Is as a fiend confin\\'d to tyrannize\\r\\n On unreprievable condemned blood.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the BASTARD\\r\\n\\r\\n BASTARD. O, I am scalded with my violent motion\\r\\n And spleen of speed to see your Majesty!\\r\\n KING JOHN. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye!\\r\\n The tackle of my heart is crack\\'d and burnt,\\r\\n And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail\\r\\n Are turned to one thread, one little hair;\\r\\n My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,\\r\\n Which holds but till thy news be uttered;\\r\\n And then all this thou seest is but a clod\\r\\n And module of confounded royalty.\\r\\n BASTARD. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward,\\r\\n Where God He knows how we shall answer him;\\r\\n For in a night the best part of my pow\\'r,\\r\\n As I upon advantage did remove,\\r\\n Were in the Washes all unwarily\\r\\n Devoured by the unexpected flood. [The KING dies]\\r\\n SALISBURY. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.\\r\\n My liege! my lord! But now a king-now thus.\\r\\n PRINCE HENRY. Even so must I run on, and even so stop.\\r\\n What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,\\r\\n When this was now a king, and now is clay?\\r\\n BASTARD. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind\\r\\n To do the office for thee of revenge,\\r\\n And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven,\\r\\n As it on earth hath been thy servant still.\\r\\n Now, now, you stars that move in your right spheres,\\r\\n Where be your pow\\'rs? Show now your mended faiths,\\r\\n And instantly return with me again\\r\\n To push destruction and perpetual shame\\r\\n Out of the weak door of our fainting land.\\r\\n Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought;\\r\\n The Dauphin rages at our very heels.\\r\\n SALISBURY. It seems you know not, then, so much as we:\\r\\n The Cardinal Pandulph is within at rest,\\r\\n Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin,\\r\\n And brings from him such offers of our peace\\r\\n As we with honour and respect may take,\\r\\n With purpose presently to leave this war.\\r\\n BASTARD. He will the rather do it when he sees\\r\\n Ourselves well sinewed to our defence.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Nay, \\'tis in a manner done already;\\r\\n For many carriages he hath dispatch\\'d\\r\\n To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel\\r\\n To the disposing of the Cardinal;\\r\\n With whom yourself, myself, and other lords,\\r\\n If you think meet, this afternoon will post\\r\\n To consummate this business happily.\\r\\n BASTARD. Let it be so. And you, my noble Prince,\\r\\n With other princes that may best be spar\\'d,\\r\\n Shall wait upon your father\\'s funeral.\\r\\n PRINCE HENRY. At Worcester must his body be interr\\'d;\\r\\n For so he will\\'d it.\\r\\n BASTARD. Thither shall it, then;\\r\\n And happily may your sweet self put on\\r\\n The lineal state and glory of the land!\\r\\n To whom, with all submission, on my knee\\r\\n I do bequeath my faithful services\\r\\n And true subjection everlastingly.\\r\\n SALISBURY. And the like tender of our love we make,\\r\\n To rest without a spot for evermore.\\r\\n PRINCE HENRY. I have a kind soul that would give you thanks,\\r\\n And knows not how to do it but with tears.\\r\\n BASTARD. O, let us pay the time but needful woe,\\r\\n Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.\\r\\n This England never did, nor never shall,\\r\\n Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,\\r\\n But when it first did help to wound itself.\\r\\n Now these her princes are come home again,\\r\\n Come the three corners of the world in arms,\\r\\n And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue,\\r\\n If England to itself do rest but true. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE TRAGEDY OF JULIUS CAESAR\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Rome. A street.\\r\\nScene II. The same. A public place.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. Rome. Brutus’ orchard.\\r\\nScene II. A room in Caesar’s palace.\\r\\nScene III. A street near the Capitol.\\r\\nScene IV. Another part of the same street, before the house of Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Rome. Before the Capitol; the Senate sitting.\\r\\nScene II. The same. The Forum.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. A room in Antony’s house.\\r\\nScene II. Before Brutus’ tent, in the camp near Sardis.\\r\\nScene III. Within the tent of Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. The plains of Philippi.\\r\\nScene II. The same. The field of battle.\\r\\nScene III. Another part of the field.\\r\\nScene IV. Another part of the field.\\r\\nScene V. Another part of the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIUS CAESAR\\r\\nOCTAVIUS CAESAR, Triumvir after his death.\\r\\nMARCUS ANTONIUS, ” ” ”\\r\\nM. AEMILIUS LEPIDUS, ” ” ”\\r\\nCICERO, PUBLIUS, POPILIUS LENA, Senators.\\r\\nMARCUS BRUTUS, Conspirator against Caesar.\\r\\nCASSIUS, ” ” ”\\r\\nCASCA, ” ” ”\\r\\nTREBONIUS, ” ” ”\\r\\nLIGARIUS,” ” ”\\r\\nDECIUS BRUTUS, ” ” ”\\r\\nMETELLUS CIMBER, ” ” ”\\r\\nCINNA, ” ” ”\\r\\nFLAVIUS, tribune\\r\\nMARULLUS, tribune\\r\\nARTEMIDORUS, a Sophist of Cnidos.\\r\\nA Soothsayer\\r\\nCINNA, a poet.\\r\\nAnother Poet.\\r\\nLUCILIUS, TITINIUS, MESSALA, young CATO, and VOLUMNIUS, Friends to\\r\\nBrutus and Cassius.\\r\\nVARRO, CLITUS, CLAUDIUS, STRATO, LUCIUS, DARDANIUS, Servants to Brutus\\r\\nPINDARUS, Servant to Cassius\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nCALPHURNIA, wife to Caesar\\r\\nPORTIA, wife to Brutus\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Ghost of Caesar\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSenators, Citizens, Soldiers, Commoners, Messengers, and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Rome, the conspirators’ camp near Sardis, and the plains of\\r\\nPhilippi.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Rome. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Flavius, Marullus and a throng of Citizens.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLAVIUS.\\r\\nHence! home, you idle creatures, get you home.\\r\\nIs this a holiday? What, know you not,\\r\\nBeing mechanical, you ought not walk\\r\\nUpon a labouring day without the sign\\r\\nOf your profession? Speak, what trade art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nCARPENTER.\\r\\nWhy, sir, a carpenter.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARULLUS.\\r\\nWhere is thy leather apron and thy rule?\\r\\nWhat dost thou with thy best apparel on?\\r\\nYou, sir, what trade are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBBLER.\\r\\nTruly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a\\r\\ncobbler.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARULLUS.\\r\\nBut what trade art thou? Answer me directly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBBLER.\\r\\nA trade, sir, that I hope I may use with a safe conscience, which is\\r\\nindeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARULLUS.\\r\\nWhat trade, thou knave? Thou naughty knave, what trade?\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBBLER.\\r\\nNay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me; yet, if you be out, sir, I\\r\\ncan mend you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARULLUS.\\r\\nWhat mean’st thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow!\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBBLER.\\r\\nWhy, sir, cobble you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLAVIUS.\\r\\nThou art a cobbler, art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBBLER.\\r\\nTruly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl; I meddle with no\\r\\ntradesman’s matters, nor women’s matters, but withal I am indeed, sir,\\r\\na surgeon to old shoes: when they are in great danger, I recover them.\\r\\nAs proper men as ever trod upon neat’s leather have gone upon my\\r\\nhandiwork.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLAVIUS.\\r\\nBut wherefore art not in thy shop today?\\r\\nWhy dost thou lead these men about the streets?\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBBLER.\\r\\nTruly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But\\r\\nindeed, sir, we make holiday to see Caesar, and to rejoice in his\\r\\ntriumph.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARULLUS.\\r\\nWherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home?\\r\\nWhat tributaries follow him to Rome,\\r\\nTo grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels?\\r\\nYou blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!\\r\\nO you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,\\r\\nKnew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft\\r\\nHave you climb’d up to walls and battlements,\\r\\nTo towers and windows, yea, to chimney tops,\\r\\nYour infants in your arms, and there have sat\\r\\nThe livelong day with patient expectation,\\r\\nTo see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome.\\r\\nAnd when you saw his chariot but appear,\\r\\nHave you not made an universal shout,\\r\\nThat Tiber trembled underneath her banks\\r\\nTo hear the replication of your sounds\\r\\nMade in her concave shores?\\r\\nAnd do you now put on your best attire?\\r\\nAnd do you now cull out a holiday?\\r\\nAnd do you now strew flowers in his way,\\r\\nThat comes in triumph over Pompey’s blood?\\r\\nBe gone!\\r\\nRun to your houses, fall upon your knees,\\r\\nPray to the gods to intermit the plague\\r\\nThat needs must light on this ingratitude.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLAVIUS.\\r\\nGo, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault\\r\\nAssemble all the poor men of your sort,\\r\\nDraw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears\\r\\nInto the channel, till the lowest stream\\r\\nDo kiss the most exalted shores of all.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Citizens._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSee whether their basest metal be not mov’d;\\r\\nThey vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.\\r\\nGo you down that way towards the Capitol;\\r\\nThis way will I. Disrobe the images,\\r\\nIf you do find them deck’d with ceremonies.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARULLUS.\\r\\nMay we do so?\\r\\nYou know it is the feast of Lupercal.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLAVIUS.\\r\\nIt is no matter; let no images\\r\\nBe hung with Caesar’s trophies. I’ll about\\r\\nAnd drive away the vulgar from the streets;\\r\\nSo do you too, where you perceive them thick.\\r\\nThese growing feathers pluck’d from Caesar’s wing\\r\\nWill make him fly an ordinary pitch,\\r\\nWho else would soar above the view of men,\\r\\nAnd keep us all in servile fearfulness.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. A public place.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, in procession, with music, Caesar; Antony, for the course;\\r\\n Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius and Casca; a great\\r\\n crowd following, among them a Soothsayer.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nCalphurnia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nPeace, ho! Caesar speaks.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music ceases._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nCalphurnia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALPHURNIA.\\r\\nHere, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nStand you directly in Antonius’ way,\\r\\nWhen he doth run his course. Antonius.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nCaesar, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nForget not in your speed, Antonius,\\r\\nTo touch Calphurnia; for our elders say,\\r\\nThe barren, touched in this holy chase,\\r\\nShake off their sterile curse.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nI shall remember.\\r\\nWhen Caesar says “Do this,” it is perform’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nSet on; and leave no ceremony out.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSOOTHSAYER.\\r\\nCaesar!\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nHa! Who calls?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nBid every noise be still; peace yet again!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music ceases._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nWho is it in the press that calls on me?\\r\\nI hear a tongue shriller than all the music,\\r\\nCry “Caesar”! Speak. Caesar is turn’d to hear.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOOTHSAYER.\\r\\nBeware the Ides of March.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nWhat man is that?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nA soothsayer bids you beware the Ides of March.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nSet him before me; let me see his face.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nFellow, come from the throng; look upon Caesar.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nWhat say’st thou to me now? Speak once again.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOOTHSAYER.\\r\\nBeware the Ides of March.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nHe is a dreamer; let us leave him. Pass.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sennet. Exeunt all but Brutus and Cassius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWill you go see the order of the course?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNot I.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI pray you, do.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI am not gamesome: I do lack some part\\r\\nOf that quick spirit that is in Antony.\\r\\nLet me not hinder, Cassius, your desires;\\r\\nI’ll leave you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nBrutus, I do observe you now of late:\\r\\nI have not from your eyes that gentleness\\r\\nAnd show of love as I was wont to have.\\r\\nYou bear too stubborn and too strange a hand\\r\\nOver your friend that loves you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nCassius,\\r\\nBe not deceived: if I have veil’d my look,\\r\\nI turn the trouble of my countenance\\r\\nMerely upon myself. Vexed I am\\r\\nOf late with passions of some difference,\\r\\nConceptions only proper to myself,\\r\\nWhich give some soil perhaps to my behaviors;\\r\\nBut let not therefore my good friends be grieved\\r\\n(Among which number, Cassius, be you one)\\r\\nNor construe any further my neglect,\\r\\nThan that poor Brutus, with himself at war,\\r\\nForgets the shows of love to other men.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThen, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion;\\r\\nBy means whereof this breast of mine hath buried\\r\\nThoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.\\r\\nTell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNo, Cassius, for the eye sees not itself\\r\\nBut by reflection, by some other thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\n’Tis just:\\r\\nAnd it is very much lamented, Brutus,\\r\\nThat you have no such mirrors as will turn\\r\\nYour hidden worthiness into your eye,\\r\\nThat you might see your shadow. I have heard\\r\\nWhere many of the best respect in Rome,\\r\\n(Except immortal Caesar) speaking of Brutus,\\r\\nAnd groaning underneath this age’s yoke,\\r\\nHave wish’d that noble Brutus had his eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nInto what dangers would you lead me, Cassius,\\r\\nThat you would have me seek into myself\\r\\nFor that which is not in me?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nTherefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear;\\r\\nAnd since you know you cannot see yourself\\r\\nSo well as by reflection, I, your glass,\\r\\nWill modestly discover to yourself\\r\\nThat of yourself which you yet know not of.\\r\\nAnd be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus:\\r\\nWere I a common laugher, or did use\\r\\nTo stale with ordinary oaths my love\\r\\nTo every new protester; if you know\\r\\nThat I do fawn on men, and hug them hard,\\r\\nAnd after scandal them; or if you know\\r\\nThat I profess myself in banqueting,\\r\\nTo all the rout, then hold me dangerous.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Flourish and shout._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhat means this shouting? I do fear the people\\r\\nChoose Caesar for their king.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nAy, do you fear it?\\r\\nThen must I think you would not have it so.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI would not, Cassius; yet I love him well,\\r\\nBut wherefore do you hold me here so long?\\r\\nWhat is it that you would impart to me?\\r\\nIf it be aught toward the general good,\\r\\nSet honour in one eye and death i’ the other,\\r\\nAnd I will look on both indifferently;\\r\\nFor let the gods so speed me as I love\\r\\nThe name of honour more than I fear death.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,\\r\\nAs well as I do know your outward favour.\\r\\nWell, honour is the subject of my story.\\r\\nI cannot tell what you and other men\\r\\nThink of this life; but, for my single self,\\r\\nI had as lief not be as live to be\\r\\nIn awe of such a thing as I myself.\\r\\nI was born free as Caesar; so were you;\\r\\nWe both have fed as well, and we can both\\r\\nEndure the winter’s cold as well as he:\\r\\nFor once, upon a raw and gusty day,\\r\\nThe troubled Tiber chafing with her shores,\\r\\nCaesar said to me, “Dar’st thou, Cassius, now\\r\\nLeap in with me into this angry flood,\\r\\nAnd swim to yonder point?” Upon the word,\\r\\nAccoutred as I was, I plunged in,\\r\\nAnd bade him follow: so indeed he did.\\r\\nThe torrent roar’d, and we did buffet it\\r\\nWith lusty sinews, throwing it aside\\r\\nAnd stemming it with hearts of controversy.\\r\\nBut ere we could arrive the point propos’d,\\r\\nCaesar cried, “Help me, Cassius, or I sink!”\\r\\nI, as Aeneas, our great ancestor,\\r\\nDid from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder\\r\\nThe old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber\\r\\nDid I the tired Caesar. And this man\\r\\nIs now become a god; and Cassius is\\r\\nA wretched creature, and must bend his body,\\r\\nIf Caesar carelessly but nod on him.\\r\\nHe had a fever when he was in Spain,\\r\\nAnd when the fit was on him I did mark\\r\\nHow he did shake: ’tis true, this god did shake:\\r\\nHis coward lips did from their colour fly,\\r\\nAnd that same eye whose bend doth awe the world\\r\\nDid lose his lustre. I did hear him groan:\\r\\nAy, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans\\r\\nMark him, and write his speeches in their books,\\r\\nAlas, it cried, “Give me some drink, Titinius,”\\r\\nAs a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me,\\r\\nA man of such a feeble temper should\\r\\nSo get the start of the majestic world,\\r\\nAnd bear the palm alone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Shout. Flourish._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nAnother general shout?\\r\\nI do believe that these applauses are\\r\\nFor some new honours that are heap’d on Caesar.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWhy, man, he doth bestride the narrow world\\r\\nLike a Colossus, and we petty men\\r\\nWalk under his huge legs, and peep about\\r\\nTo find ourselves dishonourable graves.\\r\\nMen at some time are masters of their fates:\\r\\nThe fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,\\r\\nBut in ourselves, that we are underlings.\\r\\n“Brutus” and “Caesar”: what should be in that “Caesar”?\\r\\nWhy should that name be sounded more than yours?\\r\\nWrite them together, yours is as fair a name;\\r\\nSound them, it doth become the mouth as well;\\r\\nWeigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with ’em,\\r\\n“Brutus” will start a spirit as soon as “Caesar.”\\r\\nNow in the names of all the gods at once,\\r\\nUpon what meat doth this our Caesar feed,\\r\\nThat he is grown so great? Age, thou art sham’d!\\r\\nRome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods!\\r\\nWhen went there by an age since the great flood,\\r\\nBut it was fam’d with more than with one man?\\r\\nWhen could they say, till now, that talk’d of Rome,\\r\\nThat her wide walls encompass’d but one man?\\r\\nNow is it Rome indeed, and room enough,\\r\\nWhen there is in it but one only man.\\r\\nO, you and I have heard our fathers say,\\r\\nThere was a Brutus once that would have brook’d\\r\\nTh’ eternal devil to keep his state in Rome,\\r\\nAs easily as a king!\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThat you do love me, I am nothing jealous;\\r\\nWhat you would work me to, I have some aim:\\r\\nHow I have thought of this, and of these times,\\r\\nI shall recount hereafter. For this present,\\r\\nI would not, so with love I might entreat you,\\r\\nBe any further mov’d. What you have said,\\r\\nI will consider; what you have to say\\r\\nI will with patience hear; and find a time\\r\\nBoth meet to hear and answer such high things.\\r\\nTill then, my noble friend, chew upon this:\\r\\nBrutus had rather be a villager\\r\\nThan to repute himself a son of Rome\\r\\nUnder these hard conditions as this time\\r\\nIs like to lay upon us.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI am glad that my weak words\\r\\nHave struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Caesar and his Train.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThe games are done, and Caesar is returning.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nAs they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve,\\r\\nAnd he will, after his sour fashion, tell you\\r\\nWhat hath proceeded worthy note today.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI will do so. But, look you, Cassius,\\r\\nThe angry spot doth glow on Caesar’s brow,\\r\\nAnd all the rest look like a chidden train:\\r\\nCalphurnia’s cheek is pale; and Cicero\\r\\nLooks with such ferret and such fiery eyes\\r\\nAs we have seen him in the Capitol,\\r\\nBeing cross’d in conference by some senators.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nCasca will tell us what the matter is.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nAntonius.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nCaesar?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nLet me have men about me that are fat,\\r\\nSleek-headed men, and such as sleep a-nights:\\r\\nYond Cassius has a lean and hungry look;\\r\\nHe thinks too much: such men are dangerous.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nFear him not, Caesar; he’s not dangerous;\\r\\nHe is a noble Roman and well given.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nWould he were fatter! But I fear him not:\\r\\nYet if my name were liable to fear,\\r\\nI do not know the man I should avoid\\r\\nSo soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much,\\r\\nHe is a great observer, and he looks\\r\\nQuite through the deeds of men. He loves no plays,\\r\\nAs thou dost, Antony; he hears no music.\\r\\nSeldom he smiles; and smiles in such a sort\\r\\nAs if he mock’d himself and scorn’d his spirit\\r\\nThat could be mov’d to smile at anything.\\r\\nSuch men as he be never at heart’s ease\\r\\nWhiles they behold a greater than themselves,\\r\\nAnd therefore are they very dangerous.\\r\\nI rather tell thee what is to be fear’d\\r\\nThan what I fear; for always I am Caesar.\\r\\nCome on my right hand, for this ear is deaf,\\r\\nAnd tell me truly what thou think’st of him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Caesar and his Train. Casca stays._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nYou pull’d me by the cloak; would you speak with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nAy, Casca, tell us what hath chanc’d today,\\r\\nThat Caesar looks so sad.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nWhy, you were with him, were you not?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI should not then ask Casca what had chanc’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nWhy, there was a crown offer’d him; and being offer’d him, he put it by\\r\\nwith the back of his hand, thus; and then the people fell a-shouting.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhat was the second noise for?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nWhy, for that too.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThey shouted thrice: what was the last cry for?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nWhy, for that too.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWas the crown offer’d him thrice?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nAy, marry, was’t, and he put it by thrice, every time gentler than\\r\\nother; and at every putting-by mine honest neighbours shouted.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWho offer’d him the crown?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nWhy, Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nTell us the manner of it, gentle Casca.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nI can as well be hang’d, as tell the manner of it: it was mere foolery;\\r\\nI did not mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown; yet ’twas not a\\r\\ncrown neither, ’twas one of these coronets; and, as I told you, he put\\r\\nit by once: but, for all that, to my thinking, he would fain have had\\r\\nit. Then he offered it to him again: then he put it by again: but, to\\r\\nmy thinking, he was very loath to lay his fingers off it. And then he\\r\\noffered it the third time; he put it the third time by; and still, as\\r\\nhe refus’d it, the rabblement hooted, and clapp’d their chopt hands,\\r\\nand threw up their sweaty night-caps, and uttered such a deal of\\r\\nstinking breath because Caesar refus’d the crown, that it had, almost,\\r\\nchoked Caesar, for he swooned, and fell down at it. And for mine own\\r\\npart, I durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips and receiving the\\r\\nbad air.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nBut, soft! I pray you. What, did Caesar swoon?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nHe fell down in the market-place, and foam’d at mouth, and was\\r\\nspeechless.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\n’Tis very like: he hath the falling-sickness.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nNo, Caesar hath it not; but you, and I,\\r\\nAnd honest Casca, we have the falling-sickness.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nI know not what you mean by that; but I am sure Caesar fell down. If\\r\\nthe tag-rag people did not clap him and hiss him, according as he\\r\\npleased and displeased them, as they use to do the players in the\\r\\ntheatre, I am no true man.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhat said he when he came unto himself?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nMarry, before he fell down, when he perceived the common herd was glad\\r\\nhe refused the crown, he pluck’d me ope his doublet, and offer’d them\\r\\nhis throat to cut. And I had been a man of any occupation, if I would\\r\\nnot have taken him at a word, I would I might go to hell among the\\r\\nrogues. And so he fell. When he came to himself again, he said, if he\\r\\nhad done or said anything amiss, he desir’d their worships to think it\\r\\nwas his infirmity. Three or four wenches where I stood cried, “Alas,\\r\\ngood soul!” and forgave him with all their hearts. But there’s no heed\\r\\nto be taken of them: if Caesar had stabb’d their mothers, they would\\r\\nhave done no less.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nAnd, after that, he came thus sad away?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nAy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nDid Cicero say anything?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nAy, he spoke Greek.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nTo what effect?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nNay, and I tell you that, I’ll ne’er look you i’ the face again. But\\r\\nthose that understood him smil’d at one another and shook their heads;\\r\\nbut for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell you more news\\r\\ntoo: Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarfs off Caesar’s images, are\\r\\nput to silence. Fare you well. There was more foolery yet, if I could\\r\\nremember it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWill you sup with me tonight, Casca?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nNo, I am promis’d forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWill you dine with me tomorrow?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nAy, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and your dinner worth the\\r\\neating.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nGood. I will expect you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nDo so; farewell both.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Casca._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhat a blunt fellow is this grown to be!\\r\\nHe was quick mettle when he went to school.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nSo is he now in execution\\r\\nOf any bold or noble enterprise,\\r\\nHowever he puts on this tardy form.\\r\\nThis rudeness is a sauce to his good wit,\\r\\nWhich gives men stomach to digest his words\\r\\nWith better appetite.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nAnd so it is. For this time I will leave you:\\r\\nTomorrow, if you please to speak with me,\\r\\nI will come home to you; or, if you will,\\r\\nCome home to me, and I will wait for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI will do so: till then, think of the world.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Brutus._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWell, Brutus, thou art noble; yet I see,\\r\\nThy honourable metal may be wrought\\r\\nFrom that it is dispos’d: therefore ’tis meet\\r\\nThat noble minds keep ever with their likes;\\r\\nFor who so firm that cannot be seduc’d?\\r\\nCaesar doth bear me hard, but he loves Brutus.\\r\\nIf I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius,\\r\\nHe should not humour me. I will this night,\\r\\nIn several hands, in at his windows throw,\\r\\nAs if they came from several citizens,\\r\\nWritings, all tending to the great opinion\\r\\nThat Rome holds of his name; wherein obscurely\\r\\nCaesar’s ambition shall be glanced at.\\r\\nAnd after this, let Caesar seat him sure,\\r\\nFor we will shake him, or worse days endure.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Thunder and lightning. Enter, from opposite sides, Casca with his\\r\\n sword drawn, and Cicero.\\r\\n\\r\\nCICERO.\\r\\nGood even, Casca: brought you Caesar home?\\r\\nWhy are you breathless, and why stare you so?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nAre not you moved, when all the sway of earth\\r\\nShakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero,\\r\\nI have seen tempests, when the scolding winds\\r\\nHave riv’d the knotty oaks; and I have seen\\r\\nTh’ ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam,\\r\\nTo be exalted with the threatening clouds:\\r\\nBut never till tonight, never till now,\\r\\nDid I go through a tempest dropping fire.\\r\\nEither there is a civil strife in heaven,\\r\\nOr else the world too saucy with the gods,\\r\\nIncenses them to send destruction.\\r\\n\\r\\nCICERO.\\r\\nWhy, saw you anything more wonderful?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nA common slave, you’d know him well by sight,\\r\\nHeld up his left hand, which did flame and burn\\r\\nLike twenty torches join’d, and yet his hand,\\r\\nNot sensible of fire remain’d unscorch’d.\\r\\nBesides, I ha’ not since put up my sword,\\r\\nAgainst the Capitol I met a lion,\\r\\nWho glared upon me, and went surly by,\\r\\nWithout annoying me. And there were drawn\\r\\nUpon a heap a hundred ghastly women,\\r\\nTransformed with their fear; who swore they saw\\r\\nMen, all in fire, walk up and down the streets.\\r\\nAnd yesterday the bird of night did sit,\\r\\nEven at noonday upon the marketplace,\\r\\nHooting and shrieking. When these prodigies\\r\\nDo so conjointly meet, let not men say,\\r\\n“These are their reasons; they are natural”;\\r\\nFor I believe, they are portentous things\\r\\nUnto the climate that they point upon.\\r\\n\\r\\nCICERO.\\r\\nIndeed, it is a strange-disposed time.\\r\\nBut men may construe things after their fashion,\\r\\nClean from the purpose of the things themselves.\\r\\nComes Caesar to the Capitol tomorrow?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nHe doth, for he did bid Antonius\\r\\nSend word to you he would be there tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nCICERO.\\r\\nGoodnight then, Casca: this disturbed sky\\r\\nIs not to walk in.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nFarewell, Cicero.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Cicero._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassius.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWho’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nA Roman.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nCasca, by your voice.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nYour ear is good. Cassius, what night is this!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nA very pleasing night to honest men.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nWho ever knew the heavens menace so?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThose that have known the earth so full of faults.\\r\\nFor my part, I have walk’d about the streets,\\r\\nSubmitting me unto the perilous night;\\r\\nAnd, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see,\\r\\nHave bar’d my bosom to the thunder-stone;\\r\\nAnd when the cross blue lightning seem’d to open\\r\\nThe breast of heaven, I did present myself\\r\\nEven in the aim and very flash of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nBut wherefore did you so much tempt the Heavens?\\r\\nIt is the part of men to fear and tremble,\\r\\nWhen the most mighty gods by tokens send\\r\\nSuch dreadful heralds to astonish us.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nYou are dull, Casca; and those sparks of life\\r\\nThat should be in a Roman you do want,\\r\\nOr else you use not. You look pale and gaze,\\r\\nAnd put on fear and cast yourself in wonder,\\r\\nTo see the strange impatience of the Heavens:\\r\\nBut if you would consider the true cause\\r\\nWhy all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts,\\r\\nWhy birds and beasts, from quality and kind;\\r\\nWhy old men, fools, and children calculate,\\r\\nWhy all these things change from their ordinance,\\r\\nTheir natures, and pre-formed faculties,\\r\\nTo monstrous quality; why, you shall find\\r\\nThat Heaven hath infus’d them with these spirits,\\r\\nTo make them instruments of fear and warning\\r\\nUnto some monstrous state.\\r\\nNow could I, Casca, name to thee a man\\r\\nMost like this dreadful night,\\r\\nThat thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars,\\r\\nAs doth the lion in the Capitol;\\r\\nA man no mightier than thyself, or me,\\r\\nIn personal action; yet prodigious grown,\\r\\nAnd fearful, as these strange eruptions are.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\n’Tis Caesar that you mean; is it not, Cassius?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nLet it be who it is: for Romans now\\r\\nHave thews and limbs like to their ancestors;\\r\\nBut, woe the while! our fathers’ minds are dead,\\r\\nAnd we are govern’d with our mothers’ spirits;\\r\\nOur yoke and sufferance show us womanish.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nIndeed, they say the senators tomorrow\\r\\nMean to establish Caesar as a king;\\r\\nAnd he shall wear his crown by sea and land,\\r\\nIn every place, save here in Italy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI know where I will wear this dagger then;\\r\\nCassius from bondage will deliver Cassius:\\r\\nTherein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong;\\r\\nTherein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat.\\r\\nNor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass,\\r\\nNor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron,\\r\\nCan be retentive to the strength of spirit;\\r\\nBut life, being weary of these worldly bars,\\r\\nNever lacks power to dismiss itself.\\r\\nIf I know this, know all the world besides,\\r\\nThat part of tyranny that I do bear\\r\\nI can shake off at pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Thunder still._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nSo can I:\\r\\nSo every bondman in his own hand bears\\r\\nThe power to cancel his captivity.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nAnd why should Caesar be a tyrant then?\\r\\nPoor man! I know he would not be a wolf,\\r\\nBut that he sees the Romans are but sheep:\\r\\nHe were no lion, were not Romans hinds.\\r\\nThose that with haste will make a mighty fire\\r\\nBegin it with weak straws. What trash is Rome,\\r\\nWhat rubbish, and what offal, when it serves\\r\\nFor the base matter to illuminate\\r\\nSo vile a thing as Caesar! But, O grief,\\r\\nWhere hast thou led me? I, perhaps, speak this\\r\\nBefore a willing bondman: then I know\\r\\nMy answer must be made; but I am arm’d,\\r\\nAnd dangers are to me indifferent.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nYou speak to Casca, and to such a man\\r\\nThat is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand:\\r\\nBe factious for redress of all these griefs,\\r\\nAnd I will set this foot of mine as far\\r\\nAs who goes farthest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThere’s a bargain made.\\r\\nNow know you, Casca, I have mov’d already\\r\\nSome certain of the noblest-minded Romans\\r\\nTo undergo with me an enterprise\\r\\nOf honourable-dangerous consequence;\\r\\nAnd I do know by this, they stay for me\\r\\nIn Pompey’s Porch: for now, this fearful night,\\r\\nThere is no stir or walking in the streets;\\r\\nAnd the complexion of the element\\r\\nIn favour’s like the work we have in hand,\\r\\nMost bloody, fiery, and most terrible.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cinna.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nStand close awhile, for here comes one in haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\n’Tis Cinna; I do know him by his gait;\\r\\nHe is a friend. Cinna, where haste you so?\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nTo find out you. Who’s that? Metellus Cimber?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nNo, it is Casca, one incorporate\\r\\nTo our attempts. Am I not stay’d for, Cinna?\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nI am glad on’t. What a fearful night is this!\\r\\nThere’s two or three of us have seen strange sights.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nAm I not stay’d for? tell me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nYes, you are. O Cassius, if you could\\r\\nBut win the noble Brutus to our party—\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nBe you content. Good Cinna, take this paper,\\r\\nAnd look you lay it in the praetor’s chair,\\r\\nWhere Brutus may but find it; and throw this\\r\\nIn at his window; set this up with wax\\r\\nUpon old Brutus’ statue: all this done,\\r\\nRepair to Pompey’s Porch, where you shall find us.\\r\\nIs Decius Brutus and Trebonius there?\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nAll but Metellus Cimber, and he’s gone\\r\\nTo seek you at your house. Well, I will hie,\\r\\nAnd so bestow these papers as you bade me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThat done, repair to Pompey’s theatre.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Cinna._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, Casca, you and I will yet, ere day,\\r\\nSee Brutus at his house: three parts of him\\r\\nIs ours already, and the man entire\\r\\nUpon the next encounter, yields him ours.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nO, he sits high in all the people’s hearts!\\r\\nAnd that which would appear offence in us,\\r\\nHis countenance, like richest alchemy,\\r\\nWill change to virtue and to worthiness.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nHim, and his worth, and our great need of him,\\r\\nYou have right well conceited. Let us go,\\r\\nFor it is after midnight; and ere day,\\r\\nWe will awake him, and be sure of him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Rome. Brutus’ orchard.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhat, Lucius, ho!\\r\\nI cannot, by the progress of the stars,\\r\\nGive guess how near to day.—Lucius, I say!\\r\\nI would it were my fault to sleep so soundly.\\r\\nWhen, Lucius, when? Awake, I say! What, Lucius!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucius.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nCall’d you, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGet me a taper in my study, Lucius:\\r\\nWhen it is lighted, come and call me here.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nI will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nIt must be by his death: and for my part,\\r\\nI know no personal cause to spurn at him,\\r\\nBut for the general. He would be crown’d:\\r\\nHow that might change his nature, there’s the question.\\r\\nIt is the bright day that brings forth the adder,\\r\\nAnd that craves wary walking. Crown him?—that;\\r\\nAnd then, I grant, we put a sting in him,\\r\\nThat at his will he may do danger with.\\r\\nTh’ abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins\\r\\nRemorse from power; and, to speak truth of Caesar,\\r\\nI have not known when his affections sway’d\\r\\nMore than his reason. But ’tis a common proof,\\r\\nThat lowliness is young ambition’s ladder,\\r\\nWhereto the climber-upward turns his face;\\r\\nBut when he once attains the upmost round,\\r\\nHe then unto the ladder turns his back,\\r\\nLooks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees\\r\\nBy which he did ascend. So Caesar may;\\r\\nThen lest he may, prevent. And since the quarrel\\r\\nWill bear no colour for the thing he is,\\r\\nFashion it thus: that what he is, augmented,\\r\\nWould run to these and these extremities:\\r\\nAnd therefore think him as a serpent’s egg\\r\\nWhich hatch’d, would, as his kind grow mischievous;\\r\\nAnd kill him in the shell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucius.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nThe taper burneth in your closet, sir.\\r\\nSearching the window for a flint, I found\\r\\nThis paper, thus seal’d up, and I am sure\\r\\nIt did not lie there when I went to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Gives him the letter._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGet you to bed again; it is not day.\\r\\nIs not tomorrow, boy, the Ides of March?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nI know not, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nLook in the calendar, and bring me word.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nI will, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThe exhalations, whizzing in the air\\r\\nGive so much light that I may read by them.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Opens the letter and reads._]\\r\\n\\r\\n_Brutus, thou sleep’st: awake and see thyself.\\r\\nShall Rome, &c. Speak, strike, redress!_\\r\\n“Brutus, thou sleep’st: awake!”\\r\\nSuch instigations have been often dropp’d\\r\\nWhere I have took them up.\\r\\n“Shall Rome, &c.” Thus must I piece it out:\\r\\nShall Rome stand under one man’s awe? What, Rome?\\r\\nMy ancestors did from the streets of Rome\\r\\nThe Tarquin drive, when he was call’d a king.\\r\\n“Speak, strike, redress!” Am I entreated\\r\\nTo speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee promise,\\r\\nIf the redress will follow, thou receivest\\r\\nThy full petition at the hand of Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucius.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nSir, March is wasted fifteen days.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knock within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\n’Tis good. Go to the gate, somebody knocks.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lucius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSince Cassius first did whet me against Caesar,\\r\\nI have not slept.\\r\\nBetween the acting of a dreadful thing\\r\\nAnd the first motion, all the interim is\\r\\nLike a phantasma, or a hideous dream:\\r\\nThe genius and the mortal instruments\\r\\nAre then in council; and the state of man,\\r\\nLike to a little kingdom, suffers then\\r\\nThe nature of an insurrection.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucius.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nSir, ’tis your brother Cassius at the door,\\r\\nWho doth desire to see you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nIs he alone?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nNo, sir, there are moe with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nDo you know them?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nNo, sir, their hats are pluck’d about their ears,\\r\\nAnd half their faces buried in their cloaks,\\r\\nThat by no means I may discover them\\r\\nBy any mark of favour.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nLet ’em enter.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lucius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThey are the faction. O conspiracy,\\r\\nSham’st thou to show thy dangerous brow by night,\\r\\nWhen evils are most free? O, then, by day\\r\\nWhere wilt thou find a cavern dark enough\\r\\nTo mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, conspiracy;\\r\\nHide it in smiles and affability:\\r\\nFor if thou path, thy native semblance on,\\r\\nNot Erebus itself were dim enough\\r\\nTo hide thee from prevention.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassius, Casca, Decius, Cinna, Metellus Cimber and Trebonius.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI think we are too bold upon your rest:\\r\\nGood morrow, Brutus; do we trouble you?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI have been up this hour, awake all night.\\r\\nKnow I these men that come along with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nYes, every man of them; and no man here\\r\\nBut honours you; and everyone doth wish\\r\\nYou had but that opinion of yourself\\r\\nWhich every noble Roman bears of you.\\r\\nThis is Trebonius.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHe is welcome hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThis Decius Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHe is welcome too.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThis, Casca; this, Cinna; and this, Metellus Cimber.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThey are all welcome.\\r\\nWhat watchful cares do interpose themselves\\r\\nBetwixt your eyes and night?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nShall I entreat a word?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They whisper._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nHere lies the east: doth not the day break here?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nO, pardon, sir, it doth; and yon grey lines\\r\\nThat fret the clouds are messengers of day.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nYou shall confess that you are both deceiv’d.\\r\\nHere, as I point my sword, the Sun arises;\\r\\nWhich is a great way growing on the South,\\r\\nWeighing the youthful season of the year.\\r\\nSome two months hence, up higher toward the North\\r\\nHe first presents his fire; and the high East\\r\\nStands, as the Capitol, directly here.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGive me your hands all over, one by one.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nAnd let us swear our resolution.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNo, not an oath. If not the face of men,\\r\\nThe sufferance of our souls, the time’s abuse—\\r\\nIf these be motives weak, break off betimes,\\r\\nAnd every man hence to his idle bed.\\r\\nSo let high-sighted tyranny range on,\\r\\nTill each man drop by lottery. But if these,\\r\\nAs I am sure they do, bear fire enough\\r\\nTo kindle cowards, and to steel with valour\\r\\nThe melting spirits of women; then, countrymen,\\r\\nWhat need we any spur but our own cause\\r\\nTo prick us to redress? what other bond\\r\\nThan secret Romans, that have spoke the word,\\r\\nAnd will not palter? and what other oath\\r\\nThan honesty to honesty engag’d,\\r\\nThat this shall be, or we will fall for it?\\r\\nSwear priests and cowards, and men cautelous,\\r\\nOld feeble carrions, and such suffering souls\\r\\nThat welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear\\r\\nSuch creatures as men doubt; but do not stain\\r\\nThe even virtue of our enterprise,\\r\\nNor th’ insuppressive mettle of our spirits,\\r\\nTo think that or our cause or our performance\\r\\nDid need an oath; when every drop of blood\\r\\nThat every Roman bears, and nobly bears,\\r\\nIs guilty of a several bastardy,\\r\\nIf he do break the smallest particle\\r\\nOf any promise that hath pass’d from him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nBut what of Cicero? Shall we sound him?\\r\\nI think he will stand very strong with us.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nLet us not leave him out.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nNo, by no means.\\r\\n\\r\\nMETELLUS.\\r\\nO, let us have him, for his silver hairs\\r\\nWill purchase us a good opinion,\\r\\nAnd buy men’s voices to commend our deeds.\\r\\nIt shall be said, his judgment rul’d our hands;\\r\\nOur youths and wildness shall no whit appear,\\r\\nBut all be buried in his gravity.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nO, name him not; let us not break with him;\\r\\nFor he will never follow anything\\r\\nThat other men begin.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThen leave him out.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nIndeed, he is not fit.\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nShall no man else be touch’d but only Caesar?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nDecius, well urg’d. I think it is not meet,\\r\\nMark Antony, so well belov’d of Caesar,\\r\\nShould outlive Caesar: we shall find of him\\r\\nA shrewd contriver; and you know, his means,\\r\\nIf he improve them, may well stretch so far\\r\\nAs to annoy us all; which to prevent,\\r\\nLet Antony and Caesar fall together.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nOur course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius,\\r\\nTo cut the head off, and then hack the limbs,\\r\\nLike wrath in death, and envy afterwards;\\r\\nFor Antony is but a limb of Caesar.\\r\\nLet us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius.\\r\\nWe all stand up against the spirit of Caesar,\\r\\nAnd in the spirit of men there is no blood.\\r\\nO, that we then could come by Caesar’s spirit,\\r\\nAnd not dismember Caesar! But, alas,\\r\\nCaesar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends,\\r\\nLet’s kill him boldly, but not wrathfully;\\r\\nLet’s carve him as a dish fit for the gods,\\r\\nNot hew him as a carcass fit for hounds.\\r\\nAnd let our hearts, as subtle masters do,\\r\\nStir up their servants to an act of rage,\\r\\nAnd after seem to chide ’em. This shall mark\\r\\nOur purpose necessary, and not envious;\\r\\nWhich so appearing to the common eyes,\\r\\nWe shall be call’d purgers, not murderers.\\r\\nAnd for Mark Antony, think not of him;\\r\\nFor he can do no more than Caesar’s arm\\r\\nWhen Caesar’s head is off.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nYet I fear him;\\r\\nFor in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar—\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nAlas, good Cassius, do not think of him:\\r\\nIf he love Caesar, all that he can do\\r\\nIs to himself; take thought and die for Caesar.\\r\\nAnd that were much he should; for he is given\\r\\nTo sports, to wildness, and much company.\\r\\n\\r\\nTREBONIUS.\\r\\nThere is no fear in him; let him not die;\\r\\nFor he will live, and laugh at this hereafter.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Clock strikes._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nPeace! count the clock.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThe clock hath stricken three.\\r\\n\\r\\nTREBONIUS.\\r\\n’Tis time to part.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nBut it is doubtful yet\\r\\nWhether Caesar will come forth today or no;\\r\\nFor he is superstitious grown of late,\\r\\nQuite from the main opinion he held once\\r\\nOf fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies.\\r\\nIt may be these apparent prodigies,\\r\\nThe unaccustom’d terror of this night,\\r\\nAnd the persuasion of his augurers,\\r\\nMay hold him from the Capitol today.\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nNever fear that: if he be so resolved,\\r\\nI can o’ersway him, for he loves to hear\\r\\nThat unicorns may be betray’d with trees,\\r\\nAnd bears with glasses, elephants with holes,\\r\\nLions with toils, and men with flatterers.\\r\\nBut when I tell him he hates flatterers,\\r\\nHe says he does, being then most flattered.\\r\\nLet me work;\\r\\nFor I can give his humour the true bent,\\r\\nAnd I will bring him to the Capitol.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nNay, we will all of us be there to fetch him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nBy the eighth hour: is that the uttermost?\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nBe that the uttermost; and fail not then.\\r\\n\\r\\nMETELLUS.\\r\\nCaius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard,\\r\\nWho rated him for speaking well of Pompey;\\r\\nI wonder none of you have thought of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNow, good Metellus, go along by him:\\r\\nHe loves me well, and I have given him reason;\\r\\nSend him but hither, and I’ll fashion him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThe morning comes upon’s. We’ll leave you, Brutus.\\r\\nAnd, friends, disperse yourselves; but all remember\\r\\nWhat you have said, and show yourselves true Romans.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGood gentlemen, look fresh and merrily;\\r\\nLet not our looks put on our purposes,\\r\\nBut bear it as our Roman actors do,\\r\\nWith untired spirits and formal constancy.\\r\\nAnd so, good morrow to you everyone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Brutus._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBoy! Lucius! Fast asleep? It is no matter;\\r\\nEnjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber:\\r\\nThou hast no figures nor no fantasies,\\r\\nWhich busy care draws in the brains of men;\\r\\nTherefore thou sleep’st so sound.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Portia.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nBrutus, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nPortia, what mean you? Wherefore rise you now?\\r\\nIt is not for your health thus to commit\\r\\nYour weak condition to the raw cold morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nNor for yours neither. Y’ have ungently, Brutus,\\r\\nStole from my bed; and yesternight at supper,\\r\\nYou suddenly arose, and walk’d about,\\r\\nMusing and sighing, with your arms across;\\r\\nAnd when I ask’d you what the matter was,\\r\\nYou star’d upon me with ungentle looks.\\r\\nI urg’d you further; then you scratch’d your head,\\r\\nAnd too impatiently stamp’d with your foot;\\r\\nYet I insisted, yet you answer’d not,\\r\\nBut with an angry wafture of your hand\\r\\nGave sign for me to leave you. So I did,\\r\\nFearing to strengthen that impatience\\r\\nWhich seem’d too much enkindled; and withal\\r\\nHoping it was but an effect of humour,\\r\\nWhich sometime hath his hour with every man.\\r\\nIt will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep;\\r\\nAnd could it work so much upon your shape\\r\\nAs it hath much prevail’d on your condition,\\r\\nI should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord,\\r\\nMake me acquainted with your cause of grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI am not well in health, and that is all.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nBrutus is wise, and, were he not in health,\\r\\nHe would embrace the means to come by it.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhy, so I do. Good Portia, go to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIs Brutus sick, and is it physical\\r\\nTo walk unbraced and suck up the humours\\r\\nOf the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick,\\r\\nAnd will he steal out of his wholesome bed\\r\\nTo dare the vile contagion of the night,\\r\\nAnd tempt the rheumy and unpurged air\\r\\nTo add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus;\\r\\nYou have some sick offence within your mind,\\r\\nWhich, by the right and virtue of my place,\\r\\nI ought to know of: and, upon my knees,\\r\\nI charm you, by my once commended beauty,\\r\\nBy all your vows of love, and that great vow\\r\\nWhich did incorporate and make us one,\\r\\nThat you unfold to me, your self, your half,\\r\\nWhy you are heavy, and what men tonight\\r\\nHave had resort to you; for here have been\\r\\nSome six or seven, who did hide their faces\\r\\nEven from darkness.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nKneel not, gentle Portia.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI should not need, if you were gentle Brutus.\\r\\nWithin the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus,\\r\\nIs it excepted I should know no secrets\\r\\nThat appertain to you? Am I your self\\r\\nBut, as it were, in sort or limitation,\\r\\nTo keep with you at meals, comfort your bed,\\r\\nAnd talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs\\r\\nOf your good pleasure? If it be no more,\\r\\nPortia is Brutus’ harlot, not his wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nYou are my true and honourable wife,\\r\\nAs dear to me as are the ruddy drops\\r\\nThat visit my sad heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIf this were true, then should I know this secret.\\r\\nI grant I am a woman; but withal\\r\\nA woman that Lord Brutus took to wife;\\r\\nI grant I am a woman; but withal\\r\\nA woman well reputed, Cato’s daughter.\\r\\nThink you I am no stronger than my sex,\\r\\nBeing so father’d and so husbanded?\\r\\nTell me your counsels, I will not disclose ’em.\\r\\nI have made strong proof of my constancy,\\r\\nGiving myself a voluntary wound\\r\\nHere, in the thigh: can I bear that with patience\\r\\nAnd not my husband’s secrets?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nO ye gods,\\r\\nRender me worthy of this noble wife!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knock._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHark, hark, one knocks. Portia, go in awhile;\\r\\nAnd by and by thy bosom shall partake\\r\\nThe secrets of my heart.\\r\\nAll my engagements I will construe to thee,\\r\\nAll the charactery of my sad brows.\\r\\nLeave me with haste.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Portia._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucius with Ligarius.\\r\\n\\r\\nLucius, who’s that knocks?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nHere is a sick man that would speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nCaius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of.\\r\\nBoy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius, how?\\r\\n\\r\\nLIGARIUS.\\r\\nVouchsafe good-morrow from a feeble tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nO, what a time have you chose out, brave Caius,\\r\\nTo wear a kerchief! Would you were not sick!\\r\\n\\r\\nLIGARIUS.\\r\\nI am not sick, if Brutus have in hand\\r\\nAny exploit worthy the name of honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nSuch an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius,\\r\\nHad you a healthful ear to hear of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLIGARIUS.\\r\\nBy all the gods that Romans bow before,\\r\\nI here discard my sickness. Soul of Rome!\\r\\nBrave son, derived from honourable loins!\\r\\nThou, like an exorcist, hast conjur’d up\\r\\nMy mortified spirit. Now bid me run,\\r\\nAnd I will strive with things impossible,\\r\\nYea, get the better of them. What’s to do?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nA piece of work that will make sick men whole.\\r\\n\\r\\nLIGARIUS.\\r\\nBut are not some whole that we must make sick?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThat must we also. What it is, my Caius,\\r\\nI shall unfold to thee, as we are going,\\r\\nTo whom it must be done.\\r\\n\\r\\nLIGARIUS.\\r\\nSet on your foot,\\r\\nAnd with a heart new-fir’d I follow you,\\r\\nTo do I know not what; but it sufficeth\\r\\nThat Brutus leads me on.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Thunder._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nFollow me then.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A room in Caesar’s palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Thunder and lightning. Enter Caesar, in his nightgown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nNor heaven nor earth have been at peace tonight:\\r\\nThrice hath Calphurnia in her sleep cried out,\\r\\n“Help, ho! They murder Caesar!” Who’s within?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nGo bid the priests do present sacrifice,\\r\\nAnd bring me their opinions of success.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Calphurnia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALPHURNIA.\\r\\nWhat mean you, Caesar? Think you to walk forth?\\r\\nYou shall not stir out of your house today.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nCaesar shall forth. The things that threaten’d me\\r\\nNe’er look’d but on my back; when they shall see\\r\\nThe face of Caesar, they are vanished.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALPHURNIA.\\r\\nCaesar, I never stood on ceremonies,\\r\\nYet now they fright me. There is one within,\\r\\nBesides the things that we have heard and seen,\\r\\nRecounts most horrid sights seen by the watch.\\r\\nA lioness hath whelped in the streets,\\r\\nAnd graves have yawn’d, and yielded up their dead;\\r\\nFierce fiery warriors fight upon the clouds\\r\\nIn ranks and squadrons and right form of war,\\r\\nWhich drizzled blood upon the Capitol;\\r\\nThe noise of battle hurtled in the air,\\r\\nHorses did neigh, and dying men did groan,\\r\\nAnd ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets.\\r\\nO Caesar, these things are beyond all use,\\r\\nAnd I do fear them!\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nWhat can be avoided\\r\\nWhose end is purpos’d by the mighty gods?\\r\\nYet Caesar shall go forth; for these predictions\\r\\nAre to the world in general as to Caesar.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALPHURNIA.\\r\\nWhen beggars die, there are no comets seen;\\r\\nThe heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nCowards die many times before their deaths;\\r\\nThe valiant never taste of death but once.\\r\\nOf all the wonders that I yet have heard,\\r\\nIt seems to me most strange that men should fear,\\r\\nSeeing that death, a necessary end,\\r\\nWill come when it will come.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat say the augurers?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThey would not have you to stir forth today.\\r\\nPlucking the entrails of an offering forth,\\r\\nThey could not find a heart within the beast.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nThe gods do this in shame of cowardice:\\r\\nCaesar should be a beast without a heart\\r\\nIf he should stay at home today for fear.\\r\\nNo, Caesar shall not. Danger knows full well\\r\\nThat Caesar is more dangerous than he.\\r\\nWe are two lions litter’d in one day,\\r\\nAnd I the elder and more terrible,\\r\\nAnd Caesar shall go forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALPHURNIA.\\r\\nAlas, my lord,\\r\\nYour wisdom is consum’d in confidence.\\r\\nDo not go forth today: call it my fear\\r\\nThat keeps you in the house, and not your own.\\r\\nWe’ll send Mark Antony to the Senate-house,\\r\\nAnd he shall say you are not well today.\\r\\nLet me upon my knee prevail in this.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nMark Antony shall say I am not well,\\r\\nAnd for thy humour, I will stay at home.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Decius.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere’s Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nCaesar, all hail! Good morrow, worthy Caesar.\\r\\nI come to fetch you to the Senate-house.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nAnd you are come in very happy time\\r\\nTo bear my greeting to the Senators,\\r\\nAnd tell them that I will not come today.\\r\\nCannot, is false; and that I dare not, falser:\\r\\nI will not come today. Tell them so, Decius.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALPHURNIA.\\r\\nSay he is sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nShall Caesar send a lie?\\r\\nHave I in conquest stretch’d mine arm so far,\\r\\nTo be afeard to tell grey-beards the truth?\\r\\nDecius, go tell them Caesar will not come.\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nMost mighty Caesar, let me know some cause,\\r\\nLest I be laugh’d at when I tell them so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nThe cause is in my will; I will not come.\\r\\nThat is enough to satisfy the Senate.\\r\\nBut for your private satisfaction,\\r\\nBecause I love you, I will let you know:\\r\\nCalphurnia here, my wife, stays me at home.\\r\\nShe dreamt tonight she saw my statue,\\r\\nWhich like a fountain with an hundred spouts\\r\\nDid run pure blood; and many lusty Romans\\r\\nCame smiling, and did bathe their hands in it.\\r\\nAnd these does she apply for warnings and portents\\r\\nAnd evils imminent; and on her knee\\r\\nHath begg’d that I will stay at home today.\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nThis dream is all amiss interpreted:\\r\\nIt was a vision fair and fortunate.\\r\\nYour statue spouting blood in many pipes,\\r\\nIn which so many smiling Romans bath’d,\\r\\nSignifies that from you great Rome shall suck\\r\\nReviving blood, and that great men shall press\\r\\nFor tinctures, stains, relics, and cognizance.\\r\\nThis by Calphurnia’s dream is signified.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nAnd this way have you well expounded it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nI have, when you have heard what I can say;\\r\\nAnd know it now. The Senate have concluded\\r\\nTo give this day a crown to mighty Caesar.\\r\\nIf you shall send them word you will not come,\\r\\nTheir minds may change. Besides, it were a mock\\r\\nApt to be render’d, for someone to say,\\r\\n“Break up the Senate till another time,\\r\\nWhen Caesar’s wife shall meet with better dreams.”\\r\\nIf Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper\\r\\n“Lo, Caesar is afraid”?\\r\\nPardon me, Caesar; for my dear dear love\\r\\nTo your proceeding bids me tell you this,\\r\\nAnd reason to my love is liable.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nHow foolish do your fears seem now, Calphurnia!\\r\\nI am ashamed I did yield to them.\\r\\nGive me my robe, for I will go.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus, Casca, Trebonius, Cinna and Publius.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd look where Publius is come to fetch me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUBLIUS.\\r\\nGood morrow, Caesar.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nWelcome, Publius.\\r\\nWhat, Brutus, are you stirr’d so early too?\\r\\nGood morrow, Casca. Caius Ligarius,\\r\\nCaesar was ne’er so much your enemy\\r\\nAs that same ague which hath made you lean.\\r\\nWhat is’t o’clock?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nCaesar, ’tis strucken eight.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nI thank you for your pains and courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nSee! Antony, that revels long a-nights,\\r\\nIs notwithstanding up. Good morrow, Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nSo to most noble Caesar.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nBid them prepare within.\\r\\nI am to blame to be thus waited for.\\r\\nNow, Cinna; now, Metellus; what, Trebonius!\\r\\nI have an hour’s talk in store for you:\\r\\nRemember that you call on me today;\\r\\nBe near me, that I may remember you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTREBONIUS.\\r\\nCaesar, I will. [_Aside._] and so near will I be,\\r\\nThat your best friends shall wish I had been further.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nGood friends, go in, and taste some wine with me;\\r\\nAnd we, like friends, will straightway go together.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] That every like is not the same, O Caesar,\\r\\nThe heart of Brutus yearns to think upon.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A street near the Capitol.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Artemidorus, reading a paper.\\r\\n\\r\\nARTEMIDORUS.\\r\\n_“Caesar, beware of Brutus; take heed of Cassius; come not near Casca;\\r\\nhave an eye to Cinna; trust not Trebonius; mark well Metellus Cimber;\\r\\nDecius Brutus loves thee not; thou hast wrong’d Caius Ligarius. There\\r\\nis but one mind in all these men, and it is bent against Caesar. If\\r\\nthou be’st not immortal, look about you: security gives way to\\r\\nconspiracy. The mighty gods defend thee!\\r\\nThy lover, Artemidorus.”_\\r\\nHere will I stand till Caesar pass along,\\r\\nAnd as a suitor will I give him this.\\r\\nMy heart laments that virtue cannot live\\r\\nOut of the teeth of emulation.\\r\\nIf thou read this, O Caesar, thou mayest live;\\r\\nIf not, the Fates with traitors do contrive.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Another part of the same street, before the house of Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Portia and Lucius.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI pr’ythee, boy, run to the Senate-house;\\r\\nStay not to answer me, but get thee gone.\\r\\nWhy dost thou stay?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nTo know my errand, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI would have had thee there and here again,\\r\\nEre I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there.\\r\\n[_Aside._] O constancy, be strong upon my side,\\r\\nSet a huge mountain ’tween my heart and tongue!\\r\\nI have a man’s mind, but a woman’s might.\\r\\nHow hard it is for women to keep counsel!\\r\\nArt thou here yet?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nMadam, what should I do?\\r\\nRun to the Capitol, and nothing else?\\r\\nAnd so return to you, and nothing else?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well,\\r\\nFor he went sickly forth: and take good note\\r\\nWhat Caesar doth, what suitors press to him.\\r\\nHark, boy, what noise is that?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nI hear none, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nPr’ythee, listen well.\\r\\nI heard a bustling rumour, like a fray,\\r\\nAnd the wind brings it from the Capitol.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nSooth, madam, I hear nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the Soothsayer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nCome hither, fellow:\\r\\nWhich way hast thou been?\\r\\n\\r\\nSOOTHSAYER.\\r\\nAt mine own house, good lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhat is’t o’clock?\\r\\n\\r\\nSOOTHSAYER.\\r\\nAbout the ninth hour, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIs Caesar yet gone to the Capitol?\\r\\n\\r\\nSOOTHSAYER.\\r\\nMadam, not yet. I go to take my stand,\\r\\nTo see him pass on to the Capitol.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not?\\r\\n\\r\\nSOOTHSAYER.\\r\\nThat I have, lady, if it will please Caesar\\r\\nTo be so good to Caesar as to hear me,\\r\\nI shall beseech him to befriend himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhy, know’st thou any harm’s intended towards him?\\r\\n\\r\\nSOOTHSAYER.\\r\\nNone that I know will be, much that I fear may chance.\\r\\nGood morrow to you. Here the street is narrow.\\r\\nThe throng that follows Caesar at the heels,\\r\\nOf Senators, of Praetors, common suitors,\\r\\nWill crowd a feeble man almost to death:\\r\\nI’ll get me to a place more void, and there\\r\\nSpeak to great Caesar as he comes along.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI must go in.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Ay me, how weak a thing\\r\\nThe heart of woman is! O Brutus,\\r\\nThe heavens speed thee in thine enterprise!\\r\\nSure, the boy heard me. Brutus hath a suit\\r\\nThat Caesar will not grant. O, I grow faint.\\r\\nRun, Lucius, and commend me to my lord;\\r\\nSay I am merry; come to me again,\\r\\nAnd bring me word what he doth say to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Rome. Before the Capitol; the Senate sitting.\\r\\n\\r\\n A crowd of people in the street leading to the Capitol. Flourish.\\r\\n Enter Caesar, Brutus, Cassius, Casca, Decius, Metellus, Trebonius,\\r\\n Cinna, Antony, Lepidus, Artemidorus, Publius, Popilius and the\\r\\n Soothsayer.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nThe Ides of March are come.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOOTHSAYER.\\r\\nAy, Caesar; but not gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nARTEMIDORUS.\\r\\nHail, Caesar! Read this schedule.\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nTrebonius doth desire you to o’er-read,\\r\\nAt your best leisure, this his humble suit.\\r\\n\\r\\nARTEMIDORUS.\\r\\nO Caesar, read mine first; for mine’s a suit\\r\\nThat touches Caesar nearer. Read it, great Caesar.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nWhat touches us ourself shall be last serv’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nARTEMIDORUS.\\r\\nDelay not, Caesar. Read it instantly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nWhat, is the fellow mad?\\r\\n\\r\\nPUBLIUS.\\r\\nSirrah, give place.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWhat, urge you your petitions in the street?\\r\\nCome to the Capitol.\\r\\n\\r\\nCaesar enters the Capitol, the rest following. All the Senators rise.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOPILIUS.\\r\\nI wish your enterprise today may thrive.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWhat enterprise, Popilius?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOPILIUS.\\r\\nFare you well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Advances to Caesar._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhat said Popilius Lena?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nHe wish’d today our enterprise might thrive.\\r\\nI fear our purpose is discovered.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nLook how he makes to Caesar: mark him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nCasca, be sudden, for we fear prevention.\\r\\nBrutus, what shall be done? If this be known,\\r\\nCassius or Caesar never shall turn back,\\r\\nFor I will slay myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nCassius, be constant:\\r\\nPopilius Lena speaks not of our purposes;\\r\\nFor look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nTrebonius knows his time, for look you, Brutus,\\r\\nHe draws Mark Antony out of the way.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Antony and Trebonius. Caesar and the Senators take their\\r\\n seats._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nWhere is Metellus Cimber? Let him go,\\r\\nAnd presently prefer his suit to Caesar.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHe is address’d; press near and second him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nCasca, you are the first that rears your hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nAre we all ready? What is now amiss\\r\\nThat Caesar and his Senate must redress?\\r\\n\\r\\nMETELLUS.\\r\\nMost high, most mighty, and most puissant Caesar,\\r\\nMetellus Cimber throws before thy seat\\r\\nAn humble heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kneeling._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nI must prevent thee, Cimber.\\r\\nThese couchings and these lowly courtesies\\r\\nMight fire the blood of ordinary men,\\r\\nAnd turn pre-ordinance and first decree\\r\\nInto the law of children. Be not fond,\\r\\nTo think that Caesar bears such rebel blood\\r\\nThat will be thaw’d from the true quality\\r\\nWith that which melteth fools; I mean sweet words,\\r\\nLow-crooked curtsies, and base spaniel fawning.\\r\\nThy brother by decree is banished:\\r\\nIf thou dost bend, and pray, and fawn for him,\\r\\nI spurn thee like a cur out of my way.\\r\\nKnow, Caesar dost not wrong, nor without cause\\r\\nWill he be satisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\nMETELLUS.\\r\\nIs there no voice more worthy than my own,\\r\\nTo sound more sweetly in great Caesar’s ear\\r\\nFor the repealing of my banish’d brother?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar;\\r\\nDesiring thee that Publius Cimber may\\r\\nHave an immediate freedom of repeal.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nWhat, Brutus?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nPardon, Caesar; Caesar, pardon:\\r\\nAs low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall,\\r\\nTo beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nI could be well mov’d, if I were as you;\\r\\nIf I could pray to move, prayers would move me:\\r\\nBut I am constant as the northern star,\\r\\nOf whose true-fix’d and resting quality\\r\\nThere is no fellow in the firmament.\\r\\nThe skies are painted with unnumber’d sparks,\\r\\nThey are all fire, and every one doth shine;\\r\\nBut there’s but one in all doth hold his place.\\r\\nSo in the world; ’tis furnish’d well with men,\\r\\nAnd men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive;\\r\\nYet in the number I do know but one\\r\\nThat unassailable holds on his rank,\\r\\nUnshak’d of motion: and that I am he,\\r\\nLet me a little show it, even in this,\\r\\nThat I was constant Cimber should be banish’d,\\r\\nAnd constant do remain to keep him so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nO Caesar,—\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nHence! wilt thou lift up Olympus?\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nGreat Caesar,—\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nDoth not Brutus bootless kneel?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nSpeak, hands, for me!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Casca stabs Caesar in the neck. Caesar catches hold of his arm. He\\r\\n is then stabbed by several other Conspirators, and at last by Marcus\\r\\n Brutus._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\n_Et tu, Brute?_—Then fall, Caesar!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies. The Senators and People retire in confusion._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nLiberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead!\\r\\nRun hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nSome to the common pulpits and cry out,\\r\\n“Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement!”\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nPeople and Senators, be not affrighted.\\r\\nFly not; stand still; ambition’s debt is paid.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nGo to the pulpit, Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nAnd Cassius too.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhere’s Publius?\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nHere, quite confounded with this mutiny.\\r\\n\\r\\nMETELLUS.\\r\\nStand fast together, lest some friend of Caesar’s\\r\\nShould chance—\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nTalk not of standing. Publius, good cheer!\\r\\nThere is no harm intended to your person,\\r\\nNor to no Roman else. So tell them, Publius.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nAnd leave us, Publius; lest that the people\\r\\nRushing on us, should do your age some mischief.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nDo so; and let no man abide this deed\\r\\nBut we the doers.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Trebonius.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWhere’s Antony?\\r\\n\\r\\nTREBONIUS.\\r\\nFled to his house amaz’d.\\r\\nMen, wives, and children stare, cry out, and run,\\r\\nAs it were doomsday.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nFates, we will know your pleasures.\\r\\nThat we shall die, we know; ’tis but the time\\r\\nAnd drawing days out, that men stand upon.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nWhy, he that cuts off twenty years of life\\r\\nCuts off so many years of fearing death.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGrant that, and then is death a benefit:\\r\\nSo are we Caesar’s friends, that have abridg’d\\r\\nHis time of fearing death. Stoop, Romans, stoop,\\r\\nAnd let us bathe our hands in Caesar’s blood\\r\\nUp to the elbows, and besmear our swords:\\r\\nThen walk we forth, even to the market-place,\\r\\nAnd waving our red weapons o’er our heads,\\r\\nLet’s all cry, “Peace, freedom, and liberty!”\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nStoop then, and wash. How many ages hence\\r\\nShall this our lofty scene be acted over\\r\\nIn States unborn, and accents yet unknown!\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHow many times shall Caesar bleed in sport,\\r\\nThat now on Pompey’s basis lies along,\\r\\nNo worthier than the dust!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nSo oft as that shall be,\\r\\nSo often shall the knot of us be call’d\\r\\nThe men that gave their country liberty.\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nWhat, shall we forth?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nAy, every man away.\\r\\nBrutus shall lead; and we will grace his heels\\r\\nWith the most boldest and best hearts of Rome.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nSoft, who comes here? A friend of Antony’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel;\\r\\nThus did Mark Antony bid me fall down;\\r\\nAnd, being prostrate, thus he bade me say:\\r\\nBrutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest;\\r\\nCaesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving;\\r\\nSay I love Brutus and I honour him;\\r\\nSay I fear’d Caesar, honour’d him, and lov’d him.\\r\\nIf Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony\\r\\nMay safely come to him, and be resolv’d\\r\\nHow Caesar hath deserv’d to lie in death,\\r\\nMark Antony shall not love Caesar dead\\r\\nSo well as Brutus living; but will follow\\r\\nThe fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus\\r\\nThorough the hazards of this untrod state,\\r\\nWith all true faith. So says my master Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThy master is a wise and valiant Roman;\\r\\nI never thought him worse.\\r\\nTell him, so please him come unto this place,\\r\\nHe shall be satisfied and, by my honour,\\r\\nDepart untouch’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI’ll fetch him presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI know that we shall have him well to friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI wish we may: but yet have I a mind\\r\\nThat fears him much; and my misgiving still\\r\\nFalls shrewdly to the purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nBut here comes Antony. Welcome, Mark Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nO mighty Caesar! Dost thou lie so low?\\r\\nAre all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils,\\r\\nShrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well.\\r\\nI know not, gentlemen, what you intend,\\r\\nWho else must be let blood, who else is rank:\\r\\nIf I myself, there is no hour so fit\\r\\nAs Caesar’s death’s hour; nor no instrument\\r\\nOf half that worth as those your swords, made rich\\r\\nWith the most noble blood of all this world.\\r\\nI do beseech ye, if you bear me hard,\\r\\nNow, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke,\\r\\nFulfill your pleasure. Live a thousand years,\\r\\nI shall not find myself so apt to die.\\r\\nNo place will please me so, no means of death,\\r\\nAs here by Caesar, and by you cut off,\\r\\nThe choice and master spirits of this age.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nO Antony, beg not your death of us.\\r\\nThough now we must appear bloody and cruel,\\r\\nAs by our hands and this our present act\\r\\nYou see we do; yet see you but our hands\\r\\nAnd this the bleeding business they have done.\\r\\nOur hearts you see not; they are pitiful;\\r\\nAnd pity to the general wrong of Rome—\\r\\nAs fire drives out fire, so pity pity—\\r\\nHath done this deed on Caesar. For your part,\\r\\nTo you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony;\\r\\nOur arms in strength of malice, and our hearts\\r\\nOf brothers’ temper, do receive you in\\r\\nWith all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nYour voice shall be as strong as any man’s\\r\\nIn the disposing of new dignities.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nOnly be patient till we have appeas’d\\r\\nThe multitude, beside themselves with fear,\\r\\nAnd then we will deliver you the cause\\r\\nWhy I, that did love Caesar when I struck him,\\r\\nHave thus proceeded.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nI doubt not of your wisdom.\\r\\nLet each man render me his bloody hand.\\r\\nFirst, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you;\\r\\nNext, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand.\\r\\nNow, Decius Brutus, yours; now yours, Metellus;\\r\\nYours, Cinna; and, my valiant Casca, yours;\\r\\nThough last, not least in love, yours, good Trebonius.\\r\\nGentlemen all—alas, what shall I say?\\r\\nMy credit now stands on such slippery ground,\\r\\nThat one of two bad ways you must conceit me,\\r\\nEither a coward or a flatterer.\\r\\nThat I did love thee, Caesar, O, ’tis true:\\r\\nIf then thy spirit look upon us now,\\r\\nShall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death,\\r\\nTo see thy Antony making his peace,\\r\\nShaking the bloody fingers of thy foes,\\r\\nMost noble, in the presence of thy corse?\\r\\nHad I as many eyes as thou hast wounds,\\r\\nWeeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood,\\r\\nIt would become me better than to close\\r\\nIn terms of friendship with thine enemies.\\r\\nPardon me, Julius! Here wast thou bay’d, brave hart;\\r\\nHere didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand,\\r\\nSign’d in thy spoil, and crimson’d in thy lethe.\\r\\nO world, thou wast the forest to this hart;\\r\\nAnd this indeed, O world, the heart of thee.\\r\\nHow like a deer strucken by many princes,\\r\\nDost thou here lie!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nMark Antony,—\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nPardon me, Caius Cassius:\\r\\nThe enemies of Caesar shall say this;\\r\\nThen, in a friend, it is cold modesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI blame you not for praising Caesar so;\\r\\nBut what compact mean you to have with us?\\r\\nWill you be prick’d in number of our friends,\\r\\nOr shall we on, and not depend on you?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nTherefore I took your hands; but was indeed\\r\\nSway’d from the point, by looking down on Caesar.\\r\\nFriends am I with you all, and love you all,\\r\\nUpon this hope, that you shall give me reasons\\r\\nWhy, and wherein, Caesar was dangerous.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nOr else were this a savage spectacle.\\r\\nOur reasons are so full of good regard\\r\\nThat were you, Antony, the son of Caesar,\\r\\nYou should be satisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nThat’s all I seek,\\r\\nAnd am moreover suitor that I may\\r\\nProduce his body to the market-place;\\r\\nAnd in the pulpit, as becomes a friend,\\r\\nSpeak in the order of his funeral.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nYou shall, Mark Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nBrutus, a word with you.\\r\\n[_Aside to Brutus._] You know not what you do. Do not consent\\r\\nThat Antony speak in his funeral.\\r\\nKnow you how much the people may be mov’d\\r\\nBy that which he will utter?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\n[_Aside to Cassius._] By your pardon:\\r\\nI will myself into the pulpit first,\\r\\nAnd show the reason of our Caesar’s death.\\r\\nWhat Antony shall speak, I will protest\\r\\nHe speaks by leave and by permission;\\r\\nAnd that we are contented Caesar shall\\r\\nHave all true rights and lawful ceremonies.\\r\\nIt shall advantage more than do us wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\n[_Aside to Brutus._] I know not what may fall; I like it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nMark Antony, here, take you Caesar’s body.\\r\\nYou shall not in your funeral speech blame us,\\r\\nBut speak all good you can devise of Caesar,\\r\\nAnd say you do’t by our permission;\\r\\nElse shall you not have any hand at all\\r\\nAbout his funeral. And you shall speak\\r\\nIn the same pulpit whereto I am going,\\r\\nAfter my speech is ended.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nBe it so;\\r\\nI do desire no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nPrepare the body, then, and follow us.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Antony._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nO, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,\\r\\nThat I am meek and gentle with these butchers.\\r\\nThou art the ruins of the noblest man\\r\\nThat ever lived in the tide of times.\\r\\nWoe to the hand that shed this costly blood!\\r\\nOver thy wounds now do I prophesy,\\r\\nWhich, like dumb mouths do ope their ruby lips\\r\\nTo beg the voice and utterance of my tongue,\\r\\nA curse shall light upon the limbs of men;\\r\\nDomestic fury and fierce civil strife\\r\\nShall cumber all the parts of Italy;\\r\\nBlood and destruction shall be so in use,\\r\\nAnd dreadful objects so familiar,\\r\\nThat mothers shall but smile when they behold\\r\\nTheir infants quartered with the hands of war;\\r\\nAll pity chok’d with custom of fell deeds:\\r\\nAnd Caesar’s spirit, ranging for revenge,\\r\\nWith Ate by his side come hot from Hell,\\r\\nShall in these confines with a monarch’s voice\\r\\nCry havoc and let slip the dogs of war,\\r\\nThat this foul deed shall smell above the earth\\r\\nWith carrion men, groaning for burial.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nYou serve Octavius Caesar, do you not?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI do, Mark Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nCaesar did write for him to come to Rome.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nHe did receive his letters, and is coming,\\r\\nAnd bid me say to you by word of mouth,—\\r\\n[_Seeing the body._] O Caesar!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nThy heart is big, get thee apart and weep.\\r\\nPassion, I see, is catching; for mine eyes,\\r\\nSeeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine,\\r\\nBegan to water. Is thy master coming?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nHe lies tonight within seven leagues of Rome.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nPost back with speed, and tell him what hath chanc’d.\\r\\nHere is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome,\\r\\nNo Rome of safety for Octavius yet.\\r\\nHie hence, and tell him so. Yet stay awhile;\\r\\nThou shalt not back till I have borne this corse\\r\\nInto the market-place: there shall I try,\\r\\nIn my oration, how the people take\\r\\nThe cruel issue of these bloody men;\\r\\nAccording to the which thou shalt discourse\\r\\nTo young Octavius of the state of things.\\r\\nLend me your hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt with Caesar’s body._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. The Forum.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Brutus and goes into the pulpit, and Cassius, with a throng of\\r\\n Citizens.\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nWe will be satisfied; let us be satisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThen follow me, and give me audience, friends.\\r\\nCassius, go you into the other street\\r\\nAnd part the numbers.\\r\\nThose that will hear me speak, let ’em stay here;\\r\\nThose that will follow Cassius, go with him;\\r\\nAnd public reasons shall be rendered\\r\\nOf Caesar’s death.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nI will hear Brutus speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nI will hear Cassius; and compare their reasons,\\r\\nWhen severally we hear them rendered.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Cassius, with some of the Citizens. Brutus goes into the\\r\\n rostrum._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nThe noble Brutus is ascended: silence!\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nBe patient till the last.\\r\\nRomans, countrymen, and lovers, hear me for my cause; and be silent,\\r\\nthat you may hear. Believe me for mine honour, and have respect to mine\\r\\nhonour, that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom, and awake your\\r\\nsenses, that you may the better judge. If there be any in this\\r\\nassembly, any dear friend of Caesar’s, to him I say that Brutus’ love\\r\\nto Caesar was no less than his. If then that friend demand why Brutus\\r\\nrose against Caesar, this is my answer: Not that I loved Caesar less,\\r\\nbut that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were living, and die\\r\\nall slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all free men? As Caesar\\r\\nloved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he\\r\\nwas valiant, I honour him; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him. There\\r\\nis tears, for his love; joy for his fortune; honour for his valour; and\\r\\ndeath, for his ambition. Who is here so base, that would be a bondman?\\r\\nIf any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude, that would\\r\\nnot be a Roman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so\\r\\nvile, that will not love his country? If any, speak; for him have I\\r\\noffended. I pause for a reply.\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nNone, Brutus, none.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThen none have I offended. I have done no more to Caesar than you shall\\r\\ndo to Brutus. The question of his death is enroll’d in the Capitol, his\\r\\nglory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy; nor his offences enforc’d,\\r\\nfor which he suffered death.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antony and others, with Caesar’s body.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony, who, though he had no hand\\r\\nin his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the\\r\\ncommonwealth; as which of you shall not? With this I depart, that, as I\\r\\nslew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for\\r\\nmyself, when it shall please my country to need my death.\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nLive, Brutus! live, live!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nBring him with triumph home unto his house.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nGive him a statue with his ancestors.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nLet him be Caesar.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nCaesar’s better parts\\r\\nShall be crown’d in Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nWe’ll bring him to his house with shouts and clamours.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nMy countrymen,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nPeace! Silence! Brutus speaks.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nPeace, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGood countrymen, let me depart alone,\\r\\nAnd, for my sake, stay here with Antony.\\r\\nDo grace to Caesar’s corpse, and grace his speech\\r\\nTending to Caesar’s glories, which Mark Antony,\\r\\nBy our permission, is allow’d to make.\\r\\nI do entreat you, not a man depart,\\r\\nSave I alone, till Antony have spoke.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nStay, ho! and let us hear Mark Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nLet him go up into the public chair.\\r\\nWe’ll hear him. Noble Antony, go up.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nFor Brutus’ sake, I am beholding to you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Goes up._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nWhat does he say of Brutus?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nHe says, for Brutus’ sake\\r\\nHe finds himself beholding to us all.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\n’Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nThis Caesar was a tyrant.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nNay, that’s certain.\\r\\nWe are blest that Rome is rid of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nPeace! let us hear what Antony can say.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nYou gentle Romans,—\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nPeace, ho! let us hear him.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nFriends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;\\r\\nI come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.\\r\\nThe evil that men do lives after them,\\r\\nThe good is oft interred with their bones;\\r\\nSo let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus\\r\\nHath told you Caesar was ambitious.\\r\\nIf it were so, it was a grievous fault,\\r\\nAnd grievously hath Caesar answer’d it.\\r\\nHere, under leave of Brutus and the rest,\\r\\nFor Brutus is an honourable man,\\r\\nSo are they all, all honourable men,\\r\\nCome I to speak in Caesar’s funeral.\\r\\nHe was my friend, faithful and just to me;\\r\\nBut Brutus says he was ambitious,\\r\\nAnd Brutus is an honourable man.\\r\\nHe hath brought many captives home to Rome,\\r\\nWhose ransoms did the general coffers fill:\\r\\nDid this in Caesar seem ambitious?\\r\\nWhen that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept;\\r\\nAmbition should be made of sterner stuff:\\r\\nYet Brutus says he was ambitious;\\r\\nAnd Brutus is an honourable man.\\r\\nYou all did see that on the Lupercal\\r\\nI thrice presented him a kingly crown,\\r\\nWhich he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?\\r\\nYet Brutus says he was ambitious;\\r\\nAnd sure he is an honourable man.\\r\\nI speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,\\r\\nBut here I am to speak what I do know.\\r\\nYou all did love him once, not without cause;\\r\\nWhat cause withholds you then to mourn for him?\\r\\nO judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts,\\r\\nAnd men have lost their reason. Bear with me.\\r\\nMy heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,\\r\\nAnd I must pause till it come back to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nMethinks there is much reason in his sayings.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nIf thou consider rightly of the matter,\\r\\nCaesar has had great wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nHas he, masters?\\r\\nI fear there will a worse come in his place.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nMark’d ye his words? He would not take the crown;\\r\\nTherefore ’tis certain he was not ambitious.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nIf it be found so, some will dear abide it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nPoor soul, his eyes are red as fire with weeping.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nThere’s not a nobler man in Rome than Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nNow mark him; he begins again to speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nBut yesterday the word of Caesar might\\r\\nHave stood against the world; now lies he there,\\r\\nAnd none so poor to do him reverence.\\r\\nO masters! If I were dispos’d to stir\\r\\nYour hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,\\r\\nI should do Brutus wrong and Cassius wrong,\\r\\nWho, you all know, are honourable men.\\r\\nI will not do them wrong; I rather choose\\r\\nTo wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you,\\r\\nThan I will wrong such honourable men.\\r\\nBut here’s a parchment with the seal of Caesar,\\r\\nI found it in his closet; ’tis his will:\\r\\nLet but the commons hear this testament,\\r\\nWhich, pardon me, I do not mean to read,\\r\\nAnd they would go and kiss dead Caesar’s wounds,\\r\\nAnd dip their napkins in his sacred blood;\\r\\nYea, beg a hair of him for memory,\\r\\nAnd, dying, mention it within their wills,\\r\\nBequeathing it as a rich legacy\\r\\nUnto their issue.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nWe’ll hear the will. Read it, Mark Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nThe will, the will! We will hear Caesar’s will.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nHave patience, gentle friends, I must not read it.\\r\\nIt is not meet you know how Caesar loved you.\\r\\nYou are not wood, you are not stones, but men;\\r\\nAnd being men, hearing the will of Caesar,\\r\\nIt will inflame you, it will make you mad.\\r\\n’Tis good you know not that you are his heirs;\\r\\nFor if you should, O, what would come of it?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nRead the will! We’ll hear it, Antony;\\r\\nYou shall read us the will, Caesar’s will!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nWill you be patient? Will you stay awhile?\\r\\nI have o’ershot myself to tell you of it.\\r\\nI fear I wrong the honourable men\\r\\nWhose daggers have stabb’d Caesar; I do fear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nThey were traitors. Honourable men!\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nThe will! The testament!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nThey were villains, murderers. The will! Read the will!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nYou will compel me then to read the will?\\r\\nThen make a ring about the corpse of Caesar,\\r\\nAnd let me show you him that made the will.\\r\\nShall I descend? and will you give me leave?\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nCome down.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nDescend.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He comes down._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nYou shall have leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nA ring! Stand round.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nStand from the hearse, stand from the body.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nRoom for Antony, most noble Antony!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nNay, press not so upon me; stand far off.\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nStand back; room! bear back.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nIf you have tears, prepare to shed them now.\\r\\nYou all do know this mantle. I remember\\r\\nThe first time ever Caesar put it on;\\r\\n’Twas on a Summer’s evening, in his tent,\\r\\nThat day he overcame the Nervii.\\r\\nLook, in this place ran Cassius’ dagger through:\\r\\nSee what a rent the envious Casca made:\\r\\nThrough this the well-beloved Brutus stabb’d;\\r\\nAnd as he pluck’d his cursed steel away,\\r\\nMark how the blood of Caesar follow’d it,\\r\\nAs rushing out of doors, to be resolv’d\\r\\nIf Brutus so unkindly knock’d, or no;\\r\\nFor Brutus, as you know, was Caesar’s angel.\\r\\nJudge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar lov’d him.\\r\\nThis was the most unkindest cut of all;\\r\\nFor when the noble Caesar saw him stab,\\r\\nIngratitude, more strong than traitors’ arms,\\r\\nQuite vanquish’d him: then burst his mighty heart;\\r\\nAnd in his mantle muffling up his face,\\r\\nEven at the base of Pompey’s statue\\r\\nWhich all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell.\\r\\nO, what a fall was there, my countrymen!\\r\\nThen I, and you, and all of us fell down,\\r\\nWhilst bloody treason flourish’d over us.\\r\\nO, now you weep; and I perceive you feel\\r\\nThe dint of pity. These are gracious drops.\\r\\nKind souls, what weep you when you but behold\\r\\nOur Caesar’s vesture wounded? Look you here,\\r\\nHere is himself, marr’d, as you see, with traitors.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nO piteous spectacle!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nO noble Caesar!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nO woeful day!\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nO traitors, villains!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nO most bloody sight!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nWe will be revenged.\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nRevenge,—about,—seek,—burn,—fire,—kill,—slay,—let not a traitor live!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nStay, countrymen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nPeace there! Hear the noble Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nWe’ll hear him, we’ll follow him, we’ll die with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nGood friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up\\r\\nTo such a sudden flood of mutiny.\\r\\nThey that have done this deed are honourable.\\r\\nWhat private griefs they have, alas, I know not,\\r\\nThat made them do it. They’re wise and honourable,\\r\\nAnd will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.\\r\\nI come not, friends, to steal away your hearts.\\r\\nI am no orator, as Brutus is;\\r\\nBut, as you know me all, a plain blunt man,\\r\\nThat love my friend; and that they know full well\\r\\nThat gave me public leave to speak of him.\\r\\nFor I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,\\r\\nAction, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,\\r\\nTo stir men’s blood. I only speak right on.\\r\\nI tell you that which you yourselves do know,\\r\\nShow you sweet Caesar’s wounds, poor poor dumb mouths,\\r\\nAnd bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus,\\r\\nAnd Brutus Antony, there were an Antony\\r\\nWould ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue\\r\\nIn every wound of Caesar, that should move\\r\\nThe stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nWe’ll mutiny.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nWe’ll burn the house of Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nAway, then! come, seek the conspirators.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nYet hear me, countrymen; yet hear me speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nPeace, ho! Hear Antony; most noble Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nWhy, friends, you go to do you know not what.\\r\\nWherein hath Caesar thus deserved your loves?\\r\\nAlas, you know not; I must tell you then.\\r\\nYou have forgot the will I told you of.\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nMost true; the will!—let’s stay, and hear the will.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nHere is the will, and under Caesar’s seal.\\r\\nTo every Roman citizen he gives,\\r\\nTo every several man, seventy-five drachmas.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nMost noble Caesar! We’ll revenge his death.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nO, royal Caesar!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nHear me with patience.\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nPeace, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nMoreover, he hath left you all his walks,\\r\\nHis private arbors, and new-planted orchards,\\r\\nOn this side Tiber; he hath left them you,\\r\\nAnd to your heirs forever; common pleasures,\\r\\nTo walk abroad, and recreate yourselves.\\r\\nHere was a Caesar! when comes such another?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nNever, never. Come, away, away!\\r\\nWe’ll burn his body in the holy place,\\r\\nAnd with the brands fire the traitors’ houses.\\r\\nTake up the body.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nGo, fetch fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nPluck down benches.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nPluck down forms, windows, anything.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Citizens, with the body._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nNow let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot,\\r\\nTake thou what course thou wilt!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, fellow?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nSir, Octavius is already come to Rome.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nWhere is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nHe and Lepidus are at Caesar’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nAnd thither will I straight to visit him.\\r\\nHe comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry,\\r\\nAnd in this mood will give us anything.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI heard him say Brutus and Cassius\\r\\nAre rid like madmen through the gates of Rome.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nBelike they had some notice of the people,\\r\\nHow I had moved them. Bring me to Octavius.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cinna, the poet, and after him the citizens.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nI dreamt tonight that I did feast with Caesar,\\r\\nAnd things unluckily charge my fantasy.\\r\\nI have no will to wander forth of doors,\\r\\nYet something leads me forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nWhat is your name?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nWhither are you going?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nWhere do you dwell?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nAre you a married man or a bachelor?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nAnswer every man directly.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nAy, and briefly.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nAy, and wisely.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nAy, and truly, you were best.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nWhat is my name? Whither am I going? Where do I dwell? Am I a married\\r\\nman or a bachelor? Then, to answer every man directly and briefly,\\r\\nwisely and truly. Wisely I say I am a bachelor.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nThat’s as much as to say they are fools that marry; you’ll bear me a\\r\\nbang for that, I fear. Proceed, directly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nDirectly, I am going to Caesar’s funeral.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nAs a friend, or an enemy?\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nAs a friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nThat matter is answered directly.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nFor your dwelling, briefly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nBriefly, I dwell by the Capitol.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nYour name, sir, truly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nTruly, my name is Cinna.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nTear him to pieces! He’s a conspirator.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nI am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nTear him for his bad verses, tear him for his bad verses.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nI am not Cinna the conspirator.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nIt is no matter, his name’s Cinna; pluck but his name out of his heart,\\r\\nand turn him going.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nTear him, tear him! Come; brands, ho! firebrands. To Brutus’, to\\r\\nCassius’; burn all. Some to Decius’ house, and some to Casca’s, some to\\r\\nLigarius’. Away, go!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Rome. A room in Antony’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antony, Octavius and Lepidus, seated at a table.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nThese many then shall die; their names are prick’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nYour brother too must die; consent you, Lepidus?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEPIDUS.\\r\\nI do consent,—\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nPrick him down, Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEPIDUS.\\r\\nUpon condition Publius shall not live,\\r\\nWho is your sister’s son, Mark Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nHe shall not live; look, with a spot I damn him.\\r\\nBut, Lepidus, go you to Caesar’s house;\\r\\nFetch the will hither, and we shall determine\\r\\nHow to cut off some charge in legacies.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEPIDUS.\\r\\nWhat, shall I find you here?\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nOr here, or at the Capitol.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lepidus._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nThis is a slight unmeritable man,\\r\\nMeet to be sent on errands. Is it fit,\\r\\nThe three-fold world divided, he should stand\\r\\nOne of the three to share it?\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nSo you thought him,\\r\\nAnd took his voice who should be prick’d to die\\r\\nIn our black sentence and proscription.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nOctavius, I have seen more days than you;\\r\\nAnd though we lay these honours on this man,\\r\\nTo ease ourselves of divers sland’rous loads,\\r\\nHe shall but bear them as the ass bears gold,\\r\\nTo groan and sweat under the business,\\r\\nEither led or driven, as we point the way;\\r\\nAnd having brought our treasure where we will,\\r\\nThen take we down his load, and turn him off,\\r\\nLike to the empty ass, to shake his ears,\\r\\nAnd graze in commons.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nYou may do your will;\\r\\nBut he’s a tried and valiant soldier.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nSo is my horse, Octavius; and for that\\r\\nI do appoint him store of provender.\\r\\nIt is a creature that I teach to fight,\\r\\nTo wind, to stop, to run directly on,\\r\\nHis corporal motion govern’d by my spirit.\\r\\nAnd, in some taste, is Lepidus but so:\\r\\nHe must be taught, and train’d, and bid go forth:\\r\\nA barren-spirited fellow; one that feeds\\r\\nOn objects, arts, and imitations,\\r\\nWhich, out of use and stal’d by other men,\\r\\nBegin his fashion. Do not talk of him\\r\\nBut as a property. And now, Octavius,\\r\\nListen great things. Brutus and Cassius\\r\\nAre levying powers; we must straight make head.\\r\\nTherefore let our alliance be combin’d,\\r\\nOur best friends made, our means stretch’d;\\r\\nAnd let us presently go sit in council,\\r\\nHow covert matters may be best disclos’d,\\r\\nAnd open perils surest answered.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nLet us do so: for we are at the stake,\\r\\nAnd bay’d about with many enemies;\\r\\nAnd some that smile have in their hearts, I fear,\\r\\nMillions of mischiefs.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Before Brutus’ tent, in the camp near Sardis.\\r\\n\\r\\n Drum. Enter Brutus, Lucilius, Titinius and Soldiers; Pindarus meeting\\r\\n them; Lucius at some distance.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nStand, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCILIUS.\\r\\nGive the word, ho! and stand.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhat now, Lucilius! is Cassius near?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCILIUS.\\r\\nHe is at hand, and Pindarus is come\\r\\nTo do you salutation from his master.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Pindarus gives a letter to Brutus._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHe greets me well. Your master, Pindarus,\\r\\nIn his own change, or by ill officers,\\r\\nHath given me some worthy cause to wish\\r\\nThings done, undone: but, if he be at hand,\\r\\nI shall be satisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\nPINDARUS.\\r\\nI do not doubt\\r\\nBut that my noble master will appear\\r\\nSuch as he is, full of regard and honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHe is not doubted. A word, Lucilius;\\r\\nHow he received you, let me be resolv’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCILIUS.\\r\\nWith courtesy and with respect enough,\\r\\nBut not with such familiar instances,\\r\\nNor with such free and friendly conference,\\r\\nAs he hath us’d of old.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThou hast describ’d\\r\\nA hot friend cooling. Ever note, Lucilius,\\r\\nWhen love begins to sicken and decay\\r\\nIt useth an enforced ceremony.\\r\\nThere are no tricks in plain and simple faith;\\r\\nBut hollow men, like horses hot at hand,\\r\\nMake gallant show and promise of their mettle;\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Low march within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBut when they should endure the bloody spur,\\r\\nThey fall their crests, and like deceitful jades\\r\\nSink in the trial. Comes his army on?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCILIUS.\\r\\nThey meant this night in Sardis to be quarter’d;\\r\\nThe greater part, the horse in general,\\r\\nAre come with Cassius.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassius and Soldiers.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHark! he is arriv’d.\\r\\nMarch gently on to meet him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nStand, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nStand, ho! Speak the word along.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SOLDIER.\\r\\nStand!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SOLDIER.\\r\\nStand!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD SOLDIER.\\r\\nStand!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nMost noble brother, you have done me wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nJudge me, you gods; wrong I mine enemies?\\r\\nAnd if not so, how should I wrong a brother?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nBrutus, this sober form of yours hides wrongs;\\r\\nAnd when you do them—\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nCassius, be content.\\r\\nSpeak your griefs softly, I do know you well.\\r\\nBefore the eyes of both our armies here,\\r\\nWhich should perceive nothing but love from us,\\r\\nLet us not wrangle. Bid them move away;\\r\\nThen in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs,\\r\\nAnd I will give you audience.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nPindarus,\\r\\nBid our commanders lead their charges off\\r\\nA little from this ground.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nLucilius, do you the like; and let no man\\r\\nCome to our tent till we have done our conference.\\r\\nLucius and Titinius, guard our door.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Within the tent of Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Brutus and Cassius.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThat you have wrong’d me doth appear in this:\\r\\nYou have condemn’d and noted Lucius Pella\\r\\nFor taking bribes here of the Sardians;\\r\\nWherein my letters, praying on his side\\r\\nBecause I knew the man, were slighted off.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nYou wrong’d yourself to write in such a case.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nIn such a time as this it is not meet\\r\\nThat every nice offence should bear his comment.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nLet me tell you, Cassius, you yourself\\r\\nAre much condemn’d to have an itching palm,\\r\\nTo sell and mart your offices for gold\\r\\nTo undeservers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI an itching palm!\\r\\nYou know that you are Brutus that speak this,\\r\\nOr, by the gods, this speech were else your last.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThe name of Cassius honours this corruption,\\r\\nAnd chastisement doth therefore hide his head.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nChastisement!\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nRemember March, the Ides of March remember:\\r\\nDid not great Julius bleed for justice’ sake?\\r\\nWhat villain touch’d his body, that did stab,\\r\\nAnd not for justice? What! Shall one of us,\\r\\nThat struck the foremost man of all this world\\r\\nBut for supporting robbers, shall we now\\r\\nContaminate our fingers with base bribes,\\r\\nAnd sell the mighty space of our large honours\\r\\nFor so much trash as may be grasped thus?\\r\\nI had rather be a dog, and bay the moon,\\r\\nThan such a Roman.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nBrutus, bait not me,\\r\\nI’ll not endure it. You forget yourself,\\r\\nTo hedge me in. I am a soldier, I,\\r\\nOlder in practice, abler than yourself\\r\\nTo make conditions.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGo to; you are not, Cassius.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI am.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI say you are not.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nUrge me no more, I shall forget myself;\\r\\nHave mind upon your health, tempt me no farther.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nAway, slight man!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHear me, for I will speak.\\r\\nMust I give way and room to your rash choler?\\r\\nShall I be frighted when a madman stares?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nO ye gods, ye gods! Must I endure all this?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nAll this? ay, more: fret till your proud heart break;\\r\\nGo show your slaves how choleric you are,\\r\\nAnd make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge?\\r\\nMust I observe you? Must I stand and crouch\\r\\nUnder your testy humour? By the gods,\\r\\nYou shall digest the venom of your spleen,\\r\\nThough it do split you; for, from this day forth,\\r\\nI’ll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,\\r\\nWhen you are waspish.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nIs it come to this?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nYou say you are a better soldier:\\r\\nLet it appear so; make your vaunting true,\\r\\nAnd it shall please me well. For mine own part,\\r\\nI shall be glad to learn of noble men.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nYou wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus.\\r\\nI said, an elder soldier, not a better:\\r\\nDid I say better?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nIf you did, I care not.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWhen Caesar liv’d, he durst not thus have mov’d me.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nPeace, peace! you durst not so have tempted him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI durst not?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWhat? durst not tempt him?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nFor your life you durst not.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nDo not presume too much upon my love.\\r\\nI may do that I shall be sorry for.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nYou have done that you should be sorry for.\\r\\nThere is no terror, Cassius, in your threats,\\r\\nFor I am arm’d so strong in honesty,\\r\\nThat they pass by me as the idle wind,\\r\\nWhich I respect not. I did send to you\\r\\nFor certain sums of gold, which you denied me;\\r\\nFor I can raise no money by vile means:\\r\\nBy Heaven, I had rather coin my heart,\\r\\nAnd drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring\\r\\nFrom the hard hands of peasants their vile trash\\r\\nBy any indirection. I did send\\r\\nTo you for gold to pay my legions,\\r\\nWhich you denied me: was that done like Cassius?\\r\\nShould I have answer’d Caius Cassius so?\\r\\nWhen Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,\\r\\nTo lock such rascal counters from his friends,\\r\\nBe ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,\\r\\nDash him to pieces!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI denied you not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nYou did.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI did not. He was but a fool\\r\\nThat brought my answer back. Brutus hath riv’d my heart.\\r\\nA friend should bear his friend’s infirmities;\\r\\nBut Brutus makes mine greater than they are.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI do not, till you practise them on me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nYou love me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI do not like your faults.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nA friendly eye could never see such faults.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nA flatterer’s would not, though they do appear\\r\\nAs huge as high Olympus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nCome, Antony, and young Octavius, come,\\r\\nRevenge yourselves alone on Cassius,\\r\\nFor Cassius is a-weary of the world:\\r\\nHated by one he loves; brav’d by his brother;\\r\\nCheck’d like a bondman; all his faults observ’d,\\r\\nSet in a note-book, learn’d and conn’d by rote,\\r\\nTo cast into my teeth. O, I could weep\\r\\nMy spirit from mine eyes! There is my dagger,\\r\\nAnd here my naked breast; within, a heart\\r\\nDearer than Plutus’ mine, richer than gold:\\r\\nIf that thou be’st a Roman, take it forth.\\r\\nI, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:\\r\\nStrike as thou didst at Caesar; for I know,\\r\\nWhen thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better\\r\\nThan ever thou lovedst Cassius.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nSheathe your dagger.\\r\\nBe angry when you will, it shall have scope;\\r\\nDo what you will, dishonour shall be humour.\\r\\nO Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb\\r\\nThat carries anger as the flint bears fire,\\r\\nWho, much enforced, shows a hasty spark,\\r\\nAnd straight is cold again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nHath Cassius liv’d\\r\\nTo be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,\\r\\nWhen grief and blood ill-temper’d vexeth him?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhen I spoke that, I was ill-temper’d too.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nDo you confess so much? Give me your hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nAnd my heart too.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nO Brutus!\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nHave not you love enough to bear with me,\\r\\nWhen that rash humour which my mother gave me\\r\\nMakes me forgetful?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nYes, Cassius; and from henceforth,\\r\\nWhen you are over-earnest with your Brutus,\\r\\nHe’ll think your mother chides, and leave you so.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Poet, followed by Lucilius, Titinius and Lucius.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOET.\\r\\n[_Within._] Let me go in to see the generals,\\r\\nThere is some grudge between ’em; ’tis not meet\\r\\nThey be alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCILIUS.\\r\\n[_Within._] You shall not come to them.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOET.\\r\\n[_Within._] Nothing but death shall stay me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nHow now! What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOET.\\r\\nFor shame, you generals! What do you mean?\\r\\nLove, and be friends, as two such men should be;\\r\\nFor I have seen more years, I’m sure, than ye.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nHa, ha! How vilely doth this cynic rhyme!\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGet you hence, sirrah. Saucy fellow, hence!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nBear with him, Brutus; ’tis his fashion.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI’ll know his humour when he knows his time.\\r\\nWhat should the wars do with these jigging fools?\\r\\nCompanion, hence!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nAway, away, be gone!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Poet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nLucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders\\r\\nPrepare to lodge their companies tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nAnd come yourselves and bring Messala with you\\r\\nImmediately to us.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nLucius, a bowl of wine.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lucius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI did not think you could have been so angry.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nO Cassius, I am sick of many griefs.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nOf your philosophy you make no use,\\r\\nIf you give place to accidental evils.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNo man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nHa? Portia?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nShe is dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nHow ’scap’d I killing, when I cross’d you so?\\r\\nO insupportable and touching loss!\\r\\nUpon what sickness?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nImpatient of my absence,\\r\\nAnd grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony\\r\\nHave made themselves so strong; for with her death\\r\\nThat tidings came. With this she fell distract,\\r\\nAnd, her attendants absent, swallow’d fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nAnd died so?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nEven so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nO ye immortal gods!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucius, with wine and a taper.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nSpeak no more of her. Give me a bowl of wine.\\r\\nIn this I bury all unkindness, Cassius.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Drinks._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nMy heart is thirsty for that noble pledge.\\r\\nFill, Lucius, till the wine o’erswell the cup.\\r\\nI cannot drink too much of Brutus’ love.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Drinks._]\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lucius._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Titinius and Messala.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nCome in, Titinius!\\r\\nWelcome, good Messala.\\r\\nNow sit we close about this taper here,\\r\\nAnd call in question our necessities.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nPortia, art thou gone?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNo more, I pray you.\\r\\nMessala, I have here received letters,\\r\\nThat young Octavius and Mark Antony\\r\\nCome down upon us with a mighty power,\\r\\nBending their expedition toward Philippi.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nMyself have letters of the selfsame tenor.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWith what addition?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nThat by proscription and bills of outlawry\\r\\nOctavius, Antony, and Lepidus\\r\\nHave put to death an hundred Senators.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nTherein our letters do not well agree.\\r\\nMine speak of seventy Senators that died\\r\\nBy their proscriptions, Cicero being one.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nCicero one!\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nCicero is dead,\\r\\nAnd by that order of proscription.\\r\\nHad you your letters from your wife, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNo, Messala.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nNor nothing in your letters writ of her?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNothing, Messala.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nThat, methinks, is strange.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhy ask you? Hear you aught of her in yours?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nNo, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNow as you are a Roman, tell me true.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nThen like a Roman bear the truth I tell,\\r\\nFor certain she is dead, and by strange manner.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhy, farewell, Portia. We must die, Messala.\\r\\nWith meditating that she must die once,\\r\\nI have the patience to endure it now.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nEven so great men great losses should endure.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI have as much of this in art as you,\\r\\nBut yet my nature could not bear it so.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWell, to our work alive. What do you think\\r\\nOf marching to Philippi presently?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI do not think it good.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nYour reason?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThis it is:\\r\\n’Tis better that the enemy seek us;\\r\\nSo shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers,\\r\\nDoing himself offence, whilst we, lying still,\\r\\nAre full of rest, defence, and nimbleness.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGood reasons must of force give place to better.\\r\\nThe people ’twixt Philippi and this ground\\r\\nDo stand but in a forced affection;\\r\\nFor they have grudg’d us contribution.\\r\\nThe enemy, marching along by them,\\r\\nBy them shall make a fuller number up,\\r\\nCome on refresh’d, new-added, and encourag’d;\\r\\nFrom which advantage shall we cut him off\\r\\nIf at Philippi we do face him there,\\r\\nThese people at our back.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nHear me, good brother.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nUnder your pardon. You must note besides,\\r\\nThat we have tried the utmost of our friends,\\r\\nOur legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe.\\r\\nThe enemy increaseth every day;\\r\\nWe, at the height, are ready to decline.\\r\\nThere is a tide in the affairs of men,\\r\\nWhich, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;\\r\\nOmitted, all the voyage of their life\\r\\nIs bound in shallows and in miseries.\\r\\nOn such a full sea are we now afloat,\\r\\nAnd we must take the current when it serves,\\r\\nOr lose our ventures.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThen, with your will, go on:\\r\\nWe’ll along ourselves, and meet them at Philippi.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThe deep of night is crept upon our talk,\\r\\nAnd nature must obey necessity,\\r\\nWhich we will niggard with a little rest.\\r\\nThere is no more to say?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nNo more. Good night:\\r\\nEarly tomorrow will we rise, and hence.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucius.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nLucius! My gown.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lucius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFarewell now, good Messala.\\r\\nGood night, Titinius. Noble, noble Cassius,\\r\\nGood night, and good repose.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nO my dear brother!\\r\\nThis was an ill beginning of the night.\\r\\nNever come such division ’tween our souls!\\r\\nLet it not, Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucius with the gown.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nEverything is well.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nGood night, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGood night, good brother.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITINIUS and MESSALA.\\r\\nGood night, Lord Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nFarewell, everyone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Cassius, Titinius and Messala._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGive me the gown. Where is thy instrument?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nHere in the tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhat, thou speak’st drowsily?\\r\\nPoor knave, I blame thee not, thou art o’er-watch’d.\\r\\nCall Claudius and some other of my men;\\r\\nI’ll have them sleep on cushions in my tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nVarro and Claudius!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Varro and Claudius.\\r\\n\\r\\nVARRO.\\r\\nCalls my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI pray you, sirs, lie in my tent and sleep;\\r\\nIt may be I shall raise you by-and-by\\r\\nOn business to my brother Cassius.\\r\\n\\r\\nVARRO.\\r\\nSo please you, we will stand and watch your pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI will not have it so; lie down, good sirs,\\r\\nIt may be I shall otherwise bethink me.\\r\\nLook, Lucius, here’s the book I sought for so;\\r\\nI put it in the pocket of my gown.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Servants lie down._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nI was sure your lordship did not give it me.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nBear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful.\\r\\nCanst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile,\\r\\nAnd touch thy instrument a strain or two?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nAy, my lord, an’t please you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nIt does, my boy.\\r\\nI trouble thee too much, but thou art willing.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nIt is my duty, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI should not urge thy duty past thy might;\\r\\nI know young bloods look for a time of rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nI have slept, my lord, already.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nIt was well done, and thou shalt sleep again;\\r\\nI will not hold thee long. If I do live,\\r\\nI will be good to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Lucius plays and sings till he falls asleep._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThis is a sleepy tune. O murd’rous slumber,\\r\\nLayest thou thy leaden mace upon my boy,\\r\\nThat plays thee music? Gentle knave, good night;\\r\\nI will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee.\\r\\nIf thou dost nod, thou break’st thy instrument;\\r\\nI’ll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night.\\r\\nLet me see, let me see; is not the leaf turn’d down\\r\\nWhere I left reading? Here it is, I think.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the Ghost of Caesar.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here?\\r\\nI think it is the weakness of mine eyes\\r\\nThat shapes this monstrous apparition.\\r\\nIt comes upon me. Art thou anything?\\r\\nArt thou some god, some angel, or some devil,\\r\\nThat mak’st my blood cold and my hair to stare?\\r\\nSpeak to me what thou art.\\r\\n\\r\\nGHOST.\\r\\nThy evil spirit, Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhy com’st thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nGHOST.\\r\\nTo tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWell; then I shall see thee again?\\r\\n\\r\\nGHOST.\\r\\nAy, at Philippi.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhy, I will see thee at Philippi then.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Ghost vanishes._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow I have taken heart, thou vanishest.\\r\\nIll spirit, I would hold more talk with thee.\\r\\nBoy! Lucius! Varro! Claudius! Sirs, awake! Claudius!\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nThe strings, my lord, are false.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHe thinks he still is at his instrument.\\r\\nLucius, awake!\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nDidst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so criedst out?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nMy lord, I do not know that I did cry.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nYes, that thou didst. Didst thou see anything?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nNothing, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nSleep again, Lucius. Sirrah Claudius!\\r\\nFellow thou, awake!\\r\\n\\r\\nVARRO.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLAUDIUS.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhy did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep?\\r\\n\\r\\nVARRO. CLAUDIUS.\\r\\nDid we, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nAy. Saw you anything?\\r\\n\\r\\nVARRO.\\r\\nNo, my lord, I saw nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLAUDIUS.\\r\\nNor I, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGo and commend me to my brother Cassius;\\r\\nBid him set on his powers betimes before,\\r\\nAnd we will follow.\\r\\n\\r\\nVARRO. CLAUDIUS.\\r\\nIt shall be done, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The plains of Philippi.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Octavius, Antony and their Army.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nNow, Antony, our hopes are answered.\\r\\nYou said the enemy would not come down,\\r\\nBut keep the hills and upper regions.\\r\\nIt proves not so; their battles are at hand,\\r\\nThey mean to warn us at Philippi here,\\r\\nAnswering before we do demand of them.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nTut, I am in their bosoms, and I know\\r\\nWherefore they do it. They could be content\\r\\nTo visit other places, and come down\\r\\nWith fearful bravery, thinking by this face\\r\\nTo fasten in our thoughts that they have courage;\\r\\nBut ’tis not so.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nPrepare you, generals.\\r\\nThe enemy comes on in gallant show;\\r\\nTheir bloody sign of battle is hung out,\\r\\nAnd something to be done immediately.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nOctavius, lead your battle softly on\\r\\nUpon the left hand of the even field.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nUpon the right hand I. Keep thou the left.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nWhy do you cross me in this exigent?\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nI do not cross you; but I will do so.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_March._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDrum. Enter Brutus, Cassius and their Army; Lucilius, Titinius, Messala\\r\\nand others.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThey stand, and would have parley.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nStand fast, Titinius; we must out and talk.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nMark Antony, shall we give sign of battle?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nNo, Caesar, we will answer on their charge.\\r\\nMake forth; the generals would have some words.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nStir not until the signal.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWords before blows: is it so, countrymen?\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nNot that we love words better, as you do.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGood words are better than bad strokes, Octavius.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nIn your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good words;\\r\\nWitness the hole you made in Caesar’s heart,\\r\\nCrying, “Long live! Hail, Caesar!”\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nAntony,\\r\\nThe posture of your blows are yet unknown;\\r\\nBut for your words, they rob the Hybla bees,\\r\\nAnd leave them honeyless.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nNot stingless too.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nO yes, and soundless too,\\r\\nFor you have stol’n their buzzing, Antony,\\r\\nAnd very wisely threat before you sting.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nVillains, you did not so when your vile daggers\\r\\nHack’d one another in the sides of Caesar:\\r\\nYou show’d your teeth like apes, and fawn’d like hounds,\\r\\nAnd bow’d like bondmen, kissing Caesar’s feet;\\r\\nWhilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind\\r\\nStruck Caesar on the neck. O you flatterers!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nFlatterers! Now, Brutus, thank yourself.\\r\\nThis tongue had not offended so today,\\r\\nIf Cassius might have rul’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nCome, come, the cause. If arguing makes us sweat,\\r\\nThe proof of it will turn to redder drops.\\r\\nLook, I draw a sword against conspirators.\\r\\nWhen think you that the sword goes up again?\\r\\nNever, till Caesar’s three and thirty wounds\\r\\nBe well aveng’d; or till another Caesar\\r\\nHave added slaughter to the sword of traitors.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nCaesar, thou canst not die by traitors’ hands,\\r\\nUnless thou bring’st them with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nSo I hope.\\r\\nI was not born to die on Brutus’ sword.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nO, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain,\\r\\nYoung man, thou couldst not die more honourable.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nA peevish school-boy, worthless of such honour,\\r\\nJoin’d with a masker and a reveller.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nOld Cassius still!\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nCome, Antony; away!\\r\\nDefiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth.\\r\\nIf you dare fight today, come to the field;\\r\\nIf not, when you have stomachs.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Octavius, Antony and their Army._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWhy now, blow wind, swell billow, and swim bark!\\r\\nThe storm is up, and all is on the hazard.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHo, Lucilius! Hark, a word with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCILIUS.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Brutus and Lucilius talk apart._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nMessala.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nWhat says my General?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nMessala,\\r\\nThis is my birth-day; as this very day\\r\\nWas Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala:\\r\\nBe thou my witness that against my will\\r\\nAs Pompey was, am I compell’d to set\\r\\nUpon one battle all our liberties.\\r\\nYou know that I held Epicurus strong,\\r\\nAnd his opinion. Now I change my mind,\\r\\nAnd partly credit things that do presage.\\r\\nComing from Sardis, on our former ensign\\r\\nTwo mighty eagles fell, and there they perch’d,\\r\\nGorging and feeding from our soldiers’ hands,\\r\\nWho to Philippi here consorted us.\\r\\nThis morning are they fled away and gone,\\r\\nAnd in their steads do ravens, crows, and kites\\r\\nFly o’er our heads, and downward look on us,\\r\\nAs we were sickly prey: their shadows seem\\r\\nA canopy most fatal, under which\\r\\nOur army lies, ready to give up the ghost.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nBelieve not so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI but believe it partly,\\r\\nFor I am fresh of spirit, and resolv’d\\r\\nTo meet all perils very constantly.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nEven so, Lucilius.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nNow, most noble Brutus,\\r\\nThe gods today stand friendly, that we may,\\r\\nLovers in peace, lead on our days to age!\\r\\nBut, since the affairs of men rest still incertain,\\r\\nLet’s reason with the worst that may befall.\\r\\nIf we do lose this battle, then is this\\r\\nThe very last time we shall speak together:\\r\\nWhat are you then determined to do?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nEven by the rule of that philosophy\\r\\nBy which I did blame Cato for the death\\r\\nWhich he did give himself, I know not how,\\r\\nBut I do find it cowardly and vile,\\r\\nFor fear of what might fall, so to prevent\\r\\nThe time of life, arming myself with patience\\r\\nTo stay the providence of some high powers\\r\\nThat govern us below.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThen, if we lose this battle,\\r\\nYou are contented to be led in triumph\\r\\nThorough the streets of Rome?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNo, Cassius, no: think not, thou noble Roman,\\r\\nThat ever Brutus will go bound to Rome;\\r\\nHe bears too great a mind. But this same day\\r\\nMust end that work the Ides of March begun;\\r\\nAnd whether we shall meet again I know not.\\r\\nTherefore our everlasting farewell take.\\r\\nFor ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius.\\r\\nIf we do meet again, why, we shall smile;\\r\\nIf not, why then this parting was well made.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nFor ever and for ever farewell, Brutus.\\r\\nIf we do meet again, we’ll smile indeed;\\r\\nIf not, ’tis true this parting was well made.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhy then, lead on. O, that a man might know\\r\\nThe end of this day’s business ere it come!\\r\\nBut it sufficeth that the day will end,\\r\\nAnd then the end is known. Come, ho! away!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. The field of battle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter Brutus and Messala.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nRide, ride, Messala, ride, and give these bills\\r\\nUnto the legions on the other side.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Loud alarum._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLet them set on at once; for I perceive\\r\\nBut cold demeanor in Octavius’ wing,\\r\\nAnd sudden push gives them the overthrow.\\r\\nRide, ride, Messala; let them all come down.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Another part of the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter Cassius and Titinius.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nO, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly!\\r\\nMyself have to mine own turn’d enemy:\\r\\nThis ensign here of mine was turning back;\\r\\nI slew the coward, and did take it from him.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITINIUS.\\r\\nO Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early,\\r\\nWho, having some advantage on Octavius,\\r\\nTook it too eagerly: his soldiers fell to spoil,\\r\\nWhilst we by Antony are all enclos’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pindarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPINDARUS.\\r\\nFly further off, my lord, fly further off;\\r\\nMark Antony is in your tents, my lord.\\r\\nFly, therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThis hill is far enough. Look, look, Titinius;\\r\\nAre those my tents where I perceive the fire?\\r\\n\\r\\nTITINIUS.\\r\\nThey are, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nTitinius, if thou lovest me,\\r\\nMount thou my horse and hide thy spurs in him,\\r\\nTill he have brought thee up to yonder troops\\r\\nAnd here again, that I may rest assur’d\\r\\nWhether yond troops are friend or enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITINIUS.\\r\\nI will be here again, even with a thought.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nGo, Pindarus, get higher on that hill,\\r\\nMy sight was ever thick. Regard Titinius,\\r\\nAnd tell me what thou notest about the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Pindarus goes up._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThis day I breathed first. Time is come round,\\r\\nAnd where I did begin, there shall I end.\\r\\nMy life is run his compass. Sirrah, what news?\\r\\n\\r\\nPINDARUS.\\r\\n[_Above._] O my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWhat news?\\r\\n\\r\\nPINDARUS.\\r\\n[_Above._] Titinius is enclosed round about\\r\\nWith horsemen, that make to him on the spur,\\r\\nYet he spurs on. Now they are almost on him.\\r\\nNow, Titinius! Now some light. O, he lights too.\\r\\nHe’s ta’en!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Shout._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd, hark! they shout for joy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nCome down; behold no more.\\r\\nO, coward that I am, to live so long,\\r\\nTo see my best friend ta’en before my face!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Pindarus descends._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome hither, sirrah.\\r\\nIn Parthia did I take thee prisoner;\\r\\nAnd then I swore thee, saving of thy life,\\r\\nThat whatsoever I did bid thee do,\\r\\nThou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep thine oath.\\r\\nNow be a freeman; and with this good sword,\\r\\nThat ran through Caesar’s bowels, search this bosom.\\r\\nStand not to answer. Here, take thou the hilts;\\r\\nAnd when my face is cover’d, as ’tis now,\\r\\nGuide thou the sword.—Caesar, thou art reveng’d,\\r\\nEven with the sword that kill’d thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPINDARUS.\\r\\nSo, I am free, yet would not so have been,\\r\\nDurst I have done my will. O Cassius!\\r\\nFar from this country Pindarus shall run,\\r\\nWhere never Roman shall take note of him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Titinius with Messala.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nIt is but change, Titinius; for Octavius\\r\\nIs overthrown by noble Brutus’ power,\\r\\nAs Cassius’ legions are by Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITINIUS.\\r\\nThese tidings would well comfort Cassius.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nWhere did you leave him?\\r\\n\\r\\nTITINIUS.\\r\\nAll disconsolate,\\r\\nWith Pindarus his bondman, on this hill.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nIs not that he that lies upon the ground?\\r\\n\\r\\nTITINIUS.\\r\\nHe lies not like the living. O my heart!\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nIs not that he?\\r\\n\\r\\nTITINIUS.\\r\\nNo, this was he, Messala,\\r\\nBut Cassius is no more. O setting sun,\\r\\nAs in thy red rays thou dost sink to night,\\r\\nSo in his red blood Cassius’ day is set.\\r\\nThe sun of Rome is set. Our day is gone;\\r\\nClouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are done.\\r\\nMistrust of my success hath done this deed.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nMistrust of good success hath done this deed.\\r\\nO hateful Error, Melancholy’s child!\\r\\nWhy dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men\\r\\nThe things that are not? O Error, soon conceiv’d,\\r\\nThou never com’st unto a happy birth,\\r\\nBut kill’st the mother that engender’d thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nTITINIUS.\\r\\nWhat, Pindarus! where art thou, Pindarus?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nSeek him, Titinius, whilst I go to meet\\r\\nThe noble Brutus, thrusting this report\\r\\nInto his ears. I may say thrusting it;\\r\\nFor piercing steel and darts envenomed\\r\\nShall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus\\r\\nAs tidings of this sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITINIUS.\\r\\nHie you, Messala,\\r\\nAnd I will seek for Pindarus the while.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Messala._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhy didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius?\\r\\nDid I not meet thy friends? And did not they\\r\\nPut on my brows this wreath of victory,\\r\\nAnd bid me give it thee? Didst thou not hear their shouts?\\r\\nAlas, thou hast misconstrued everything!\\r\\nBut, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow;\\r\\nThy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I\\r\\nWill do his bidding. Brutus, come apace,\\r\\nAnd see how I regarded Caius Cassius.\\r\\nBy your leave, gods. This is a Roman’s part.\\r\\nCome, Cassius’ sword, and find Titinius’ heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter Brutus, Messala, young Cato, Strato, Volumnius and\\r\\n Lucilius.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhere, where, Messala, doth his body lie?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nLo, yonder, and Titinius mourning it.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nTitinius’ face is upward.\\r\\n\\r\\nCATO.\\r\\nHe is slain.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nO Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet!\\r\\nThy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords\\r\\nIn our own proper entrails.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Low alarums._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCATO.\\r\\nBrave Titinius!\\r\\nLook whether he have not crown’d dead Cassius!\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nAre yet two Romans living such as these?\\r\\nThe last of all the Romans, fare thee well!\\r\\nIt is impossible that ever Rome\\r\\nShould breed thy fellow. Friends, I owe more tears\\r\\nTo this dead man than you shall see me pay.\\r\\nI shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time.\\r\\nCome therefore, and to Thassos send his body.\\r\\nHis funerals shall not be in our camp,\\r\\nLest it discomfort us. Lucilius, come;\\r\\nAnd come, young Cato; let us to the field.\\r\\nLabeo and Flavius, set our battles on.\\r\\n’Tis three o’clock; and Romans, yet ere night\\r\\nWe shall try fortune in a second fight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Another part of the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter fighting soldiers of both armies; then Brutus, Messala,\\r\\n young Cato, Lucilius, Flavius and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nYet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your heads!\\r\\n\\r\\nCATO.\\r\\nWhat bastard doth not? Who will go with me?\\r\\nI will proclaim my name about the field.\\r\\nI am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!\\r\\nA foe to tyrants, and my country’s friend.\\r\\nI am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Charges the enemy._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCILIUS.\\r\\nAnd I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I;\\r\\nBrutus, my country’s friend; know me for Brutus!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit, charging the enemy. Cato is overpowered, and falls._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCILIUS.\\r\\nO young and noble Cato, art thou down?\\r\\nWhy, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius,\\r\\nAnd mayst be honour’d, being Cato’s son.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SOLDIER.\\r\\nYield, or thou diest.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCILIUS.\\r\\nOnly I yield to die:\\r\\nThere is so much that thou wilt kill me straight;\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Offering money_]\\r\\n\\r\\nKill Brutus, and be honour’d in his death.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SOLDIER.\\r\\nWe must not. A noble prisoner!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SOLDIER.\\r\\nRoom, ho! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta’en.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SOLDIER.\\r\\nI’ll tell the news. Here comes the General.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nBrutus is ta’en, Brutus is ta’en, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nWhere is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCILIUS.\\r\\nSafe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough.\\r\\nI dare assure thee that no enemy\\r\\nShall ever take alive the noble Brutus.\\r\\nThe gods defend him from so great a shame!\\r\\nWhen you do find him, or alive or dead,\\r\\nHe will be found like Brutus, like himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nThis is not Brutus, friend; but, I assure you,\\r\\nA prize no less in worth. Keep this man safe,\\r\\nGive him all kindness. I had rather have\\r\\nSuch men my friends than enemies. Go on,\\r\\nAnd see whether Brutus be alive or dead;\\r\\nAnd bring us word unto Octavius’ tent\\r\\nHow everything is chanc’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Another part of the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato and Volumnius.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nCome, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLITUS.\\r\\nStatilius show’d the torch-light; but, my lord,\\r\\nHe came not back: he is or ta’en or slain.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nSit thee down, Clitus. Slaying is the word;\\r\\nIt is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Whispering._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLITUS.\\r\\nWhat, I, my lord? No, not for all the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nPeace then, no words.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLITUS.\\r\\nI’ll rather kill myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHark thee, Dardanius.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Whispers him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDARDANIUS.\\r\\nShall I do such a deed?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLITUS.\\r\\nO Dardanius!\\r\\n\\r\\nDARDANIUS.\\r\\nO Clitus!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLITUS.\\r\\nWhat ill request did Brutus make to thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nDARDANIUS.\\r\\nTo kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLITUS.\\r\\nNow is that noble vessel full of grief,\\r\\nThat it runs over even at his eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nCome hither, good Volumnius; list a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nVOLUMNIUS.\\r\\nWhat says my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhy, this, Volumnius:\\r\\nThe ghost of Caesar hath appear’d to me\\r\\nTwo several times by night; at Sardis once,\\r\\nAnd this last night here in Philippi fields.\\r\\nI know my hour is come.\\r\\n\\r\\nVOLUMNIUS.\\r\\nNot so, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNay I am sure it is, Volumnius.\\r\\nThou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes;\\r\\nOur enemies have beat us to the pit.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Low alarums._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIt is more worthy to leap in ourselves\\r\\nThan tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius,\\r\\nThou know’st that we two went to school together;\\r\\nEven for that our love of old, I pr’ythee\\r\\nHold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it.\\r\\n\\r\\nVOLUMNIUS.\\r\\nThat’s not an office for a friend, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alarums still._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLITUS.\\r\\nFly, fly, my lord! there is no tarrying here.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nFarewell to you; and you; and you, Volumnius.\\r\\nStrato, thou hast been all this while asleep;\\r\\nFarewell to thee too, Strato.—Countrymen,\\r\\nMy heart doth joy, that yet in all my life\\r\\nI found no man but he was true to me.\\r\\nI shall have glory by this losing day\\r\\nMore than Octavius and Mark Antony\\r\\nBy this vile conquest shall attain unto.\\r\\nSo fare you well at once; for Brutus’ tongue\\r\\nHath almost ended his life’s history.\\r\\nNight hangs upon mine eyes; my bones would rest,\\r\\nThat have but labour’d to attain this hour.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alarums. Cry within, “Fly, fly, fly!”._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLITUS.\\r\\nFly, my lord, fly!\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHence! I will follow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Clitus, Dardanius and Volumnius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI pr’ythee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord.\\r\\nThou art a fellow of a good respect;\\r\\nThy life hath had some smatch of honour in it.\\r\\nHold then my sword, and turn away thy face,\\r\\nWhile I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTRATO.\\r\\nGive me your hand first. Fare you well, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nFarewell, good Strato.—Caesar, now be still:\\r\\nI kill’d not thee with half so good a will.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He runs on his sword, and dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Retreat. Enter Antony, Octavius, Messala, Lucilius and the\\r\\n Army.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nWhat man is that?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nMy master’s man. Strato, where is thy master?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTRATO.\\r\\nFree from the bondage you are in, Messala.\\r\\nThe conquerors can but make a fire of him;\\r\\nFor Brutus only overcame himself,\\r\\nAnd no man else hath honour by his death.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCILIUS.\\r\\nSo Brutus should be found. I thank thee, Brutus,\\r\\nThat thou hast prov’d Lucilius’ saying true.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nAll that serv’d Brutus, I will entertain them.\\r\\nFellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTRATO.\\r\\nAy, if Messala will prefer me to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nDo so, good Messala.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nHow died my master, Strato?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTRATO.\\r\\nI held the sword, and he did run on it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nOctavius, then take him to follow thee,\\r\\nThat did the latest service to my master.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nThis was the noblest Roman of them all.\\r\\nAll the conspirators save only he,\\r\\nDid that they did in envy of great Caesar;\\r\\nHe only, in a general honest thought\\r\\nAnd common good to all, made one of them.\\r\\nHis life was gentle, and the elements\\r\\nSo mix’d in him that Nature might stand up\\r\\nAnd say to all the world, “This was a man!”\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nAccording to his virtue let us use him\\r\\nWith all respect and rites of burial.\\r\\nWithin my tent his bones tonight shall lie,\\r\\nMost like a soldier, order’d honourably.\\r\\nSo call the field to rest, and let’s away,\\r\\nTo part the glories of this happy day.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE TRAGEDY OF KING LEAR\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. A Room of State in King Lear’s Palace.\\r\\nScene II. A Hall in the Earl of Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\nScene III. A Room in the Duke of Albany’s Palace.\\r\\nScene IV. A Hall in Albany’s Palace.\\r\\nScene V. Court before the Duke of Albany’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. A court within the Castle of the Earl of Gloucester.\\r\\nScene II. Before Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\nScene III. The open Country.\\r\\nScene IV. Before Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. A Heath.\\r\\nScene II. Another part of the heath.\\r\\nScene III. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\nScene IV. A part of the Heath with a Hovel.\\r\\nScene V. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\nScene VI. A Chamber in a Farmhouse adjoining the Castle.\\r\\nScene VII. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. The heath.\\r\\nScene II. Before the Duke of Albany’s Palace.\\r\\nScene III. The French camp near Dover.\\r\\nScene IV. The French camp. A Tent.\\r\\nScene V. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\nScene VI. The country near Dover.\\r\\nScene VII. A Tent in the French Camp.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. The Camp of the British Forces near Dover.\\r\\nScene II. A field between the two Camps.\\r\\nScene III. The British Camp near Dover.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR, King of Britain.\\r\\nGONERIL, eldest daughter to Lear.\\r\\nREGAN, second daughter to Lear.\\r\\nCORDELIA, youngest daughter to Lear.\\r\\nDUKE of ALBANY, married to Goneril.\\r\\nDUKE of CORNWALL, married to Regan.\\r\\nKING of FRANCE.\\r\\nDUKE of BURGUNDY.\\r\\nEARL of GLOUCESTER.\\r\\nEDGAR, elder son to Gloucester.\\r\\nEDMUND, younger bastard son to Gloucester.\\r\\nEARL of KENT.\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nOSWALD, steward to Goneril.\\r\\nCURAN, a Courtier.\\r\\nOLD MAN, Tenant to Gloucester.\\r\\nPhysician.\\r\\nAn Officer employed by Edmund.\\r\\nGentleman, attendant on Cordelia.\\r\\nA Herald.\\r\\nServants to Cornwall.\\r\\n\\r\\nKnights attending on the King, Officers, Messengers, Soldiers and\\r\\nAttendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Britain.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A Room of State in King Lear’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Kent, Gloucester and Edmund.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nIt did always seem so to us; but now, in the division of the kingdom,\\r\\nit appears not which of the Dukes he values most, for qualities are so\\r\\nweighed that curiosity in neither can make choice of either’s moiety.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nIs not this your son, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHis breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have so often blush’d to\\r\\nacknowledge him that now I am braz’d to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI cannot conceive you.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nSir, this young fellow’s mother could; whereupon she grew round-wombed,\\r\\nand had indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a husband for her\\r\\nbed. Do you smell a fault?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nBut I have a son, sir, by order of law, some year elder than this, who\\r\\nyet is no dearer in my account: though this knave came something\\r\\nsaucily to the world before he was sent for, yet was his mother fair;\\r\\nthere was good sport at his making, and the whoreson must be\\r\\nacknowledged. Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nNo, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nMy Lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my honourable friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nMy services to your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI must love you, and sue to know you better.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nSir, I shall study deserving.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHe hath been out nine years, and away he shall again. The King is\\r\\ncoming.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sennet within._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nAttend the lords of France and Burgundy,\\r\\nGloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI shall, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Gloucester and Edmund._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nMeantime we shall express our darker purpose.\\r\\nGive me the map there. Know that we have divided\\r\\nIn three our kingdom: and ’tis our fast intent\\r\\nTo shake all cares and business from our age;\\r\\nConferring them on younger strengths, while we\\r\\nUnburden’d crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall,\\r\\nAnd you, our no less loving son of Albany,\\r\\nWe have this hour a constant will to publish\\r\\nOur daughters’ several dowers, that future strife\\r\\nMay be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy,\\r\\nGreat rivals in our youngest daughter’s love,\\r\\nLong in our court have made their amorous sojourn,\\r\\nAnd here are to be answer’d. Tell me, my daughters,—\\r\\nSince now we will divest us both of rule,\\r\\nInterest of territory, cares of state,—\\r\\nWhich of you shall we say doth love us most?\\r\\nThat we our largest bounty may extend\\r\\nWhere nature doth with merit challenge.—Goneril,\\r\\nOur eldest born, speak first.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nSir, I love you more than word can wield the matter;\\r\\nDearer than eyesight, space, and liberty;\\r\\nBeyond what can be valu’d, rich or rare;\\r\\nNo less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour;\\r\\nAs much as child e’er lov’d, or father found;\\r\\nA love that makes breath poor and speech unable;\\r\\nBeyond all manner of so much I love you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\n[_Aside._] What shall Cordelia speak? Love, and be silent.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nOf all these bounds, even from this line to this,\\r\\nWith shadowy forests and with champains rich’d,\\r\\nWith plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads,\\r\\nWe make thee lady: to thine and Albany’s issue\\r\\nBe this perpetual.—What says our second daughter,\\r\\nOur dearest Regan, wife of Cornwall? Speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nSir, I am made of the self mettle as my sister,\\r\\nAnd prize me at her worth. In my true heart\\r\\nI find she names my very deed of love;\\r\\nOnly she comes too short, that I profess\\r\\nMyself an enemy to all other joys\\r\\nWhich the most precious square of sense possesses,\\r\\nAnd find I am alone felicitate\\r\\nIn your dear highness’ love.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Then poor Cordelia,\\r\\nAnd yet not so; since, I am sure, my love’s\\r\\nMore ponderous than my tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nTo thee and thine hereditary ever\\r\\nRemain this ample third of our fair kingdom;\\r\\nNo less in space, validity, and pleasure\\r\\nThan that conferr’d on Goneril.—Now, our joy,\\r\\nAlthough the last and least; to whose young love\\r\\nThe vines of France and milk of Burgundy\\r\\nStrive to be interess’d; what can you say to draw\\r\\nA third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nNothing, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNothing?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nNothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNothing will come of nothing: speak again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nUnhappy that I am, I cannot heave\\r\\nMy heart into my mouth: I love your majesty\\r\\nAccording to my bond; no more nor less.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHow, how, Cordelia? Mend your speech a little,\\r\\nLest you may mar your fortunes.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nGood my lord,\\r\\nYou have begot me, bred me, lov’d me: I\\r\\nReturn those duties back as are right fit,\\r\\nObey you, love you, and most honour you.\\r\\nWhy have my sisters husbands if they say\\r\\nThey love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,\\r\\nThat lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry\\r\\nHalf my love with him, half my care and duty:\\r\\nSure I shall never marry like my sisters,\\r\\nTo love my father all.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nBut goes thy heart with this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nAy, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nSo young, and so untender?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nSo young, my lord, and true.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nLet it be so, thy truth then be thy dower:\\r\\nFor, by the sacred radiance of the sun,\\r\\nThe mysteries of Hecate and the night;\\r\\nBy all the operation of the orbs,\\r\\nFrom whom we do exist and cease to be;\\r\\nHere I disclaim all my paternal care,\\r\\nPropinquity and property of blood,\\r\\nAnd as a stranger to my heart and me\\r\\nHold thee from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian,\\r\\nOr he that makes his generation messes\\r\\nTo gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom\\r\\nBe as well neighbour’d, pitied, and reliev’d,\\r\\nAs thou my sometime daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nGood my liege,—\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nPeace, Kent!\\r\\nCome not between the dragon and his wrath.\\r\\nI lov’d her most, and thought to set my rest\\r\\nOn her kind nursery. [_To Cordelia._] Hence and avoid my sight!\\r\\nSo be my grave my peace, as here I give\\r\\nHer father’s heart from her! Call France. Who stirs?\\r\\nCall Burgundy! Cornwall and Albany,\\r\\nWith my two daughters’ dowers digest this third:\\r\\nLet pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.\\r\\nI do invest you jointly with my power,\\r\\nPre-eminence, and all the large effects\\r\\nThat troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course,\\r\\nWith reservation of an hundred knights,\\r\\nBy you to be sustain’d, shall our abode\\r\\nMake with you by due turn. Only we shall retain\\r\\nThe name, and all the addition to a king; the sway,\\r\\nRevenue, execution of the rest,\\r\\nBeloved sons, be yours; which to confirm,\\r\\nThis coronet part between you.\\r\\n [_Giving the crown._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nRoyal Lear,\\r\\nWhom I have ever honour’d as my king,\\r\\nLov’d as my father, as my master follow’d,\\r\\nAs my great patron thought on in my prayers.—\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThe bow is bent and drawn; make from the shaft.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nLet it fall rather, though the fork invade\\r\\nThe region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly\\r\\nWhen Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old man?\\r\\nThink’st thou that duty shall have dread to speak,\\r\\nWhen power to flattery bows? To plainness honour’s bound\\r\\nWhen majesty falls to folly. Reverse thy state;\\r\\nAnd in thy best consideration check\\r\\nThis hideous rashness: answer my life my judgement,\\r\\nThy youngest daughter does not love thee least;\\r\\nNor are those empty-hearted, whose low sounds\\r\\nReverb no hollowness.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nKent, on thy life, no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nMy life I never held but as a pawn\\r\\nTo wage against thine enemies; ne’er fear to lose it,\\r\\nThy safety being the motive.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nOut of my sight!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nSee better, Lear; and let me still remain\\r\\nThe true blank of thine eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNow, by Apollo,—\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNow by Apollo, King,\\r\\nThou swear’st thy gods in vain.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nO vassal! Miscreant!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Laying his hand on his sword._]\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY and CORNWALL.\\r\\nDear sir, forbear!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nKill thy physician, and the fee bestow\\r\\nUpon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift,\\r\\nOr, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat,\\r\\nI’ll tell thee thou dost evil.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHear me, recreant! on thine allegiance, hear me!\\r\\nSince thou hast sought to make us break our vows,\\r\\nWhich we durst never yet, and with strain’d pride\\r\\nTo come betwixt our sentences and our power,\\r\\nWhich nor our nature, nor our place can bear,\\r\\nOur potency made good, take thy reward.\\r\\nFive days we do allot thee for provision,\\r\\nTo shield thee from disasters of the world;\\r\\nAnd on the sixth to turn thy hated back\\r\\nUpon our kingdom: if, on the next day following,\\r\\nThy banish’d trunk be found in our dominions,\\r\\nThe moment is thy death. Away! By Jupiter,\\r\\nThis shall not be revok’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nFare thee well, King: sith thus thou wilt appear,\\r\\nFreedom lives hence, and banishment is here.\\r\\n[_To Cordelia._] The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid,\\r\\nThat justly think’st and hast most rightly said!\\r\\n[_To Goneril and Regan._] And your large speeches may your deeds\\r\\napprove,\\r\\nThat good effects may spring from words of love.\\r\\nThus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu;\\r\\nHe’ll shape his old course in a country new.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Re-enter Gloucester, with France, Burgundy and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nHere’s France and Burgundy, my noble lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nMy Lord of Burgundy,\\r\\nWe first address toward you, who with this king\\r\\nHath rivall’d for our daughter: what in the least\\r\\nWill you require in present dower with her,\\r\\nOr cease your quest of love?\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nMost royal majesty,\\r\\nI crave no more than hath your highness offer’d,\\r\\nNor will you tender less?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nRight noble Burgundy,\\r\\nWhen she was dear to us, we did hold her so;\\r\\nBut now her price is fall’n. Sir, there she stands:\\r\\nIf aught within that little-seeming substance,\\r\\nOr all of it, with our displeasure piec’d,\\r\\nAnd nothing more, may fitly like your grace,\\r\\nShe’s there, and she is yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nI know no answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWill you, with those infirmities she owes,\\r\\nUnfriended, new adopted to our hate,\\r\\nDower’d with our curse, and stranger’d with our oath,\\r\\nTake her or leave her?\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nPardon me, royal sir;\\r\\nElection makes not up in such conditions.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThen leave her, sir; for, by the power that made me,\\r\\nI tell you all her wealth. [_To France_] For you, great king,\\r\\nI would not from your love make such a stray\\r\\nTo match you where I hate; therefore beseech you\\r\\nT’avert your liking a more worthier way\\r\\nThan on a wretch whom nature is asham’d\\r\\nAlmost t’acknowledge hers.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCE.\\r\\nThis is most strange,\\r\\nThat she, who even but now was your best object,\\r\\nThe argument of your praise, balm of your age,\\r\\nThe best, the dearest, should in this trice of time\\r\\nCommit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle\\r\\nSo many folds of favour. Sure her offence\\r\\nMust be of such unnatural degree\\r\\nThat monsters it, or your fore-vouch’d affection\\r\\nFall into taint; which to believe of her\\r\\nMust be a faith that reason without miracle\\r\\nShould never plant in me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nI yet beseech your majesty,\\r\\nIf for I want that glib and oily art\\r\\nTo speak and purpose not; since what I well intend,\\r\\nI’ll do’t before I speak,—that you make known\\r\\nIt is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness,\\r\\nNo unchaste action or dishonour’d step,\\r\\nThat hath depriv’d me of your grace and favour;\\r\\nBut even for want of that for which I am richer,\\r\\nA still soliciting eye, and such a tongue\\r\\nAs I am glad I have not, though not to have it\\r\\nHath lost me in your liking.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nBetter thou hadst\\r\\nNot been born than not to have pleas’d me better.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCE.\\r\\nIs it but this?—a tardiness in nature\\r\\nWhich often leaves the history unspoke\\r\\nThat it intends to do? My lord of Burgundy,\\r\\nWhat say you to the lady? Love’s not love\\r\\nWhen it is mingled with regards that stands\\r\\nAloof from the entire point. Will you have her?\\r\\nShe is herself a dowry.\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nRoyal King,\\r\\nGive but that portion which yourself propos’d,\\r\\nAnd here I take Cordelia by the hand,\\r\\nDuchess of Burgundy.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNothing: I have sworn; I am firm.\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nI am sorry, then, you have so lost a father\\r\\nThat you must lose a husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nPeace be with Burgundy!\\r\\nSince that respects of fortunes are his love,\\r\\nI shall not be his wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCE.\\r\\nFairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;\\r\\nMost choice forsaken; and most lov’d, despis’d!\\r\\nThee and thy virtues here I seize upon:\\r\\nBe it lawful, I take up what’s cast away.\\r\\nGods, gods! ’Tis strange that from their cold’st neglect\\r\\nMy love should kindle to inflam’d respect.\\r\\nThy dowerless daughter, King, thrown to my chance,\\r\\nIs queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:\\r\\nNot all the dukes of waterish Burgundy\\r\\nCan buy this unpriz’d precious maid of me.\\r\\nBid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind:\\r\\nThou losest here, a better where to find.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThou hast her, France: let her be thine; for we\\r\\nHave no such daughter, nor shall ever see\\r\\nThat face of hers again. Therefore be gone\\r\\nWithout our grace, our love, our benison.\\r\\nCome, noble Burgundy.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, Cornwall, Albany, Gloucester and\\r\\n Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCE.\\r\\nBid farewell to your sisters.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nThe jewels of our father, with wash’d eyes\\r\\nCordelia leaves you: I know you what you are;\\r\\nAnd like a sister am most loath to call\\r\\nYour faults as they are nam’d. Love well our father:\\r\\nTo your professed bosoms I commit him:\\r\\nBut yet, alas, stood I within his grace,\\r\\nI would prefer him to a better place.\\r\\nSo farewell to you both.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nPrescribe not us our duties.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nLet your study\\r\\nBe to content your lord, who hath receiv’d you\\r\\nAt fortune’s alms. You have obedience scanted,\\r\\nAnd well are worth the want that you have wanted.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nTime shall unfold what plighted cunning hides:\\r\\nWho covers faults, at last shame derides.\\r\\nWell may you prosper.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCE.\\r\\nCome, my fair Cordelia.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt France and Cordelia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nSister, it is not little I have to say of what most nearly appertains\\r\\nto us both. I think our father will hence tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nThat’s most certain, and with you; next month with us.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nYou see how full of changes his age is; the observation we have made of\\r\\nit hath not been little: he always loved our sister most; and with what\\r\\npoor judgement he hath now cast her off appears too grossly.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\n’Tis the infirmity of his age: yet he hath ever but slenderly known\\r\\nhimself.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nThe best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then must we look\\r\\nfrom his age to receive not alone the imperfections of long-engrafted\\r\\ncondition, but therewithal the unruly waywardness that infirm and\\r\\ncholeric years bring with them.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nSuch unconstant starts are we like to have from him as this of Kent’s\\r\\nbanishment.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nThere is further compliment of leave-taking between France and him.\\r\\nPray you let us hit together: if our father carry authority with such\\r\\ndisposition as he bears, this last surrender of his will but offend us.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nWe shall further think of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nWe must do something, and i’ th’ heat.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Hall in the Earl of Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Edmund with a letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nThou, Nature, art my goddess; to thy law\\r\\nMy services are bound. Wherefore should I\\r\\nStand in the plague of custom, and permit\\r\\nThe curiosity of nations to deprive me?\\r\\nFor that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines\\r\\nLag of a brother? Why bastard? Wherefore base?\\r\\nWhen my dimensions are as well compact,\\r\\nMy mind as generous, and my shape as true\\r\\nAs honest madam’s issue? Why brand they us\\r\\nWith base? With baseness? bastardy? Base, base?\\r\\nWho, in the lusty stealth of nature, take\\r\\nMore composition and fierce quality\\r\\nThan doth within a dull stale tired bed\\r\\nGo to the creating a whole tribe of fops\\r\\nGot ’tween asleep and wake? Well then,\\r\\nLegitimate Edgar, I must have your land:\\r\\nOur father’s love is to the bastard Edmund\\r\\nAs to the legitimate: fine word: legitimate!\\r\\nWell, my legitimate, if this letter speed,\\r\\nAnd my invention thrive, Edmund the base\\r\\nShall top the legitimate. I grow, I prosper.\\r\\nNow, gods, stand up for bastards!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nKent banish’d thus! and France in choler parted!\\r\\nAnd the King gone tonight! Prescrib’d his pow’r!\\r\\nConfin’d to exhibition! All this done\\r\\nUpon the gad!—Edmund, how now! What news?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nSo please your lordship, none.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Putting up the letter._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWhy so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI know no news, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWhat paper were you reading?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nNothing, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nNo? What needed then that terrible dispatch of it into your pocket? The\\r\\nquality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself. Let’s see. Come,\\r\\nif it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI beseech you, sir, pardon me. It is a letter from my brother that I\\r\\nhave not all o’er-read; and for so much as I have perus’d, I find it\\r\\nnot fit for your o’er-looking.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nGive me the letter, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI shall offend, either to detain or give it. The contents, as in part I\\r\\nunderstand them, are to blame.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nLet’s see, let’s see!\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI hope, for my brother’s justification, he wrote this but as an essay,\\r\\nor taste of my virtue.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\n[_Reads._] ‘This policy and reverence of age makes the world bitter to\\r\\nthe best of our times; keeps our fortunes from us till our oldness\\r\\ncannot relish them. I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the\\r\\noppression of aged tyranny; who sways not as it hath power, but as it\\r\\nis suffered. Come to me, that of this I may speak more. If our father\\r\\nwould sleep till I waked him, you should enjoy half his revenue for\\r\\never, and live the beloved of your brother EDGAR.’\\r\\nHum! Conspiracy? ‘Sleep till I wake him, you should enjoy half his\\r\\nrevenue.’—My son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this? A heart and brain\\r\\nto breed it in? When came this to you? Who brought it?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nIt was not brought me, my lord, there’s the cunning of it. I found it\\r\\nthrown in at the casement of my closet.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nYou know the character to be your brother’s?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nIf the matter were good, my lord, I durst swear it were his; but in\\r\\nrespect of that, I would fain think it were not.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nIt is his.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nIt is his hand, my lord; but I hope his heart is not in the contents.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHas he never before sounded you in this business?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nNever, my lord. But I have heard him oft maintain it to be fit that,\\r\\nsons at perfect age, and fathers declined, the father should be as ward\\r\\nto the son, and the son manage his revenue.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nO villain, villain! His very opinion in the letter! Abhorred villain!\\r\\nUnnatural, detested, brutish villain! worse than brutish! Go, sirrah,\\r\\nseek him; I’ll apprehend him. Abominable villain, Where is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI do not well know, my lord. If it shall please you to suspend your\\r\\nindignation against my brother till you can derive from him better\\r\\ntestimony of his intent, you should run a certain course; where, if you\\r\\nviolently proceed against him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a\\r\\ngreat gap in your own honour, and shake in pieces the heart of his\\r\\nobedience. I dare pawn down my life for him, that he hath writ this to\\r\\nfeel my affection to your honour, and to no other pretence of danger.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nThink you so?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nIf your honour judge it meet, I will place you where you shall hear us\\r\\nconfer of this, and by an auricular assurance have your satisfaction,\\r\\nand that without any further delay than this very evening.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHe cannot be such a monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nNor is not, sure.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nTo his father, that so tenderly and entirely loves him. Heaven and\\r\\nearth! Edmund, seek him out; wind me into him, I pray you: frame the\\r\\nbusiness after your own wisdom. I would unstate myself to be in a due\\r\\nresolution.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI will seek him, sir, presently; convey the business as I shall find\\r\\nmeans, and acquaint you withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nThese late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to us: though\\r\\nthe wisdom of Nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds\\r\\nitself scourged by the sequent effects. Love cools, friendship falls\\r\\noff, brothers divide: in cities, mutinies; in countries, discord; in\\r\\npalaces, treason; and the bond cracked ’twixt son and father. This\\r\\nvillain of mine comes under the prediction; there’s son against father:\\r\\nthe King falls from bias of nature; there’s father against child. We\\r\\nhave seen the best of our time. Machinations, hollowness, treachery,\\r\\nand all ruinous disorders follow us disquietly to our graves. Find out\\r\\nthis villain, Edmund; it shall lose thee nothing; do it carefully.—And\\r\\nthe noble and true-hearted Kent banished! his offence, honesty! ’Tis\\r\\nstrange.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nThis is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in\\r\\nfortune, often the surfeits of our own behaviour, we make guilty of our\\r\\ndisasters the sun, the moon, and the stars; as if we were villains on\\r\\nnecessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers\\r\\nby spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers by an\\r\\nenforced obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in,\\r\\nby a divine thrusting on. An admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to\\r\\nlay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star. My father\\r\\ncompounded with my mother under the dragon’s tail, and my nativity was\\r\\nunder Ursa Major, so that it follows I am rough and lecherous. Fut! I\\r\\nshould have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament\\r\\ntwinkled on my bastardizing.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Edgar.\\r\\n\\r\\nPat! he comes, like the catastrophe of the old comedy: my cue is\\r\\nvillainous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o’Bedlam.—O, these eclipses\\r\\ndo portend these divisions! Fa, sol, la, mi.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nHow now, brother Edmund, what serious contemplation are you in?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other day, what\\r\\nshould follow these eclipses.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nDo you busy yourself with that?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI promise you, the effects he writes of succeed unhappily: as of\\r\\nunnaturalness between the child and the parent; death, dearth,\\r\\ndissolutions of ancient amities; divisions in state, menaces and\\r\\nmaledictions against King and nobles; needless diffidences, banishment\\r\\nof friends, dissipation of cohorts, nuptial breaches, and I know not\\r\\nwhat.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nHow long have you been a sectary astronomical?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nCome, come! when saw you my father last?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nThe night gone by.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nSpake you with him?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nAy, two hours together.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nParted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him, by word nor\\r\\ncountenance?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nNone at all.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nBethink yourself wherein you may have offended him: and at my entreaty\\r\\nforbear his presence until some little time hath qualified the heat of\\r\\nhis displeasure; which at this instant so rageth in him that with the\\r\\nmischief of your person it would scarcely allay.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nSome villain hath done me wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nThat’s my fear. I pray you have a continent forbearance till the speed\\r\\nof his rage goes slower; and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging,\\r\\nfrom whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak: pray ye, go;\\r\\nthere’s my key. If you do stir abroad, go armed.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nArmed, brother?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nBrother, I advise you to the best; I am no honest man if there be any\\r\\ngood meaning toward you: I have told you what I have seen and heard.\\r\\nBut faintly; nothing like the image and horror of it: pray you, away!\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nShall I hear from you anon?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI do serve you in this business.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Edgar._]\\r\\n\\r\\nA credulous father! and a brother noble,\\r\\nWhose nature is so far from doing harms\\r\\nThat he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty\\r\\nMy practices ride easy! I see the business.\\r\\nLet me, if not by birth, have lands by wit;\\r\\nAll with me’s meet that I can fashion fit.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A Room in the Duke of Albany’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Goneril and Oswald.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nDid my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nAy, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nBy day and night, he wrongs me; every hour\\r\\nHe flashes into one gross crime or other,\\r\\nThat sets us all at odds; I’ll not endure it:\\r\\nHis knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us\\r\\nOn every trifle. When he returns from hunting,\\r\\nI will not speak with him; say I am sick.\\r\\nIf you come slack of former services,\\r\\nYou shall do well; the fault of it I’ll answer.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Horns within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nHe’s coming, madam; I hear him.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nPut on what weary negligence you please,\\r\\nYou and your fellows; I’d have it come to question:\\r\\nIf he distaste it, let him to our sister,\\r\\nWhose mind and mine, I know, in that are one,\\r\\nNot to be overruled. Idle old man,\\r\\nThat still would manage those authorities\\r\\nThat he hath given away! Now, by my life,\\r\\nOld fools are babes again; and must be us’d\\r\\nWith checks as flatteries, when they are seen abus’d.\\r\\nRemember what I have said.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nVery well, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nAnd let his knights have colder looks among you;\\r\\nWhat grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows so;\\r\\nI would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,\\r\\nThat I may speak. I’ll write straight to my sister\\r\\nTo hold my very course. Prepare for dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Hall in Albany’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Kent, disguised.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nIf but as well I other accents borrow,\\r\\nThat can my speech defuse, my good intent\\r\\nMay carry through itself to that full issue\\r\\nFor which I rais’d my likeness. Now, banish’d Kent,\\r\\nIf thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn’d,\\r\\nSo may it come, thy master, whom thou lov’st,\\r\\nShall find thee full of labours.\\r\\n\\r\\n Horns within. Enter King Lear, Knights and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nLet me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit an Attendant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now! what art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nA man, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat dost thou profess? What wouldst thou with us?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI do profess to be no less than I seem; to serve him truly that will\\r\\nput me in trust; to love him that is honest; to converse with him that\\r\\nis wise and says little; to fear judgement; to fight when I cannot\\r\\nchoose; and to eat no fish.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nA very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nIf thou be’st as poor for a subject as he’s for a king, thou art poor\\r\\nenough. What wouldst thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nService.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWho wouldst thou serve?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nYou.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nDost thou know me, fellow?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNo, sir; but you have that in your countenance which I would fain call\\r\\nmaster.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nAuthority.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat services canst thou do?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in telling it\\r\\nand deliver a plain message bluntly. That which ordinary men are fit\\r\\nfor, I am qualified in, and the best of me is diligence.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHow old art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNot so young, sir, to love a woman for singing; nor so old to dote on\\r\\nher for anything: I have years on my back forty-eight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nFollow me; thou shalt serve me. If I like thee no worse after dinner, I\\r\\nwill not part from thee yet. Dinner, ho, dinner! Where’s my knave? my\\r\\nfool? Go you and call my fool hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit an Attendant._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Oswald.\\r\\n\\r\\nYou, you, sirrah, where’s my daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nSo please you,—\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit a Knight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhere’s my fool? Ho, I think the world’s asleep.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Knight.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now! where’s that mongrel?\\r\\n\\r\\nKNIGHT.\\r\\nHe says, my lord, your daughter is not well.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhy came not the slave back to me when I called him?\\r\\n\\r\\nKNIGHT.\\r\\nSir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHe would not?\\r\\n\\r\\nKNIGHT.\\r\\nMy lord, I know not what the matter is; but to my judgement your\\r\\nhighness is not entertained with that ceremonious affection as you were\\r\\nwont; there’s a great abatement of kindness appears as well in the\\r\\ngeneral dependants as in the Duke himself also, and your daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHa! say’st thou so?\\r\\n\\r\\nKNIGHT.\\r\\nI beseech you pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken; for my duty cannot\\r\\nbe silent when I think your highness wronged.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThou but rememberest me of mine own conception: I have perceived a most\\r\\nfaint neglect of late; which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous\\r\\ncuriosity than as a very pretence and purpose of unkindness: I will\\r\\nlook further into’t. But where’s my fool? I have not seen him this two\\r\\ndays.\\r\\n\\r\\nKNIGHT.\\r\\nSince my young lady’s going into France, sir, the fool hath much pined\\r\\naway.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo more of that; I have noted it well. Go you and tell my daughter I\\r\\nwould speak with her.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Attendant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGo you, call hither my fool.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit another Attendant._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Oswald.\\r\\n\\r\\nO, you, sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nMy lady’s father.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nMy lady’s father! my lord’s knave: you whoreson dog! you slave! you\\r\\ncur!\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nI am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nDo you bandy looks with me, you rascal?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Striking him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nI’ll not be struck, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNor tripp’d neither, you base football player.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Tripping up his heels._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI thank thee, fellow. Thou serv’st me, and I’ll love thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nCome, sir, arise, away! I’ll teach you differences: away, away! If you\\r\\nwill measure your lubber’s length again, tarry; but away! go to; have\\r\\nyou wisdom? So.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Pushes Oswald out._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNow, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there’s earnest of thy service.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Giving Kent money._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nLet me hire him too; here’s my coxcomb.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Giving Kent his cap._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHow now, my pretty knave, how dost thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nSirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWhy, fool?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nWhy, for taking one’s part that’s out of favour. Nay, an thou canst not\\r\\nsmile as the wind sits, thou’lt catch cold shortly: there, take my\\r\\ncoxcomb: why, this fellow has banish’d two on’s daughters, and did the\\r\\nthird a blessing against his will; if thou follow him, thou must needs\\r\\nwear my coxcomb. How now, nuncle! Would I had two coxcombs and two\\r\\ndaughters!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhy, my boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nIf I gave them all my living, I’d keep my coxcombs myself. There’s\\r\\nmine; beg another of thy daughters.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nTake heed, sirrah, the whip.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nTruth’s a dog must to kennel; he must be whipped out, when the Lady\\r\\nBrach may stand by the fire and stink.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nA pestilent gall to me!\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nSirrah, I’ll teach thee a speech.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nDo.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nMark it, nuncle:\\r\\n Have more than thou showest,\\r\\n Speak less than thou knowest,\\r\\n Lend less than thou owest,\\r\\n Ride more than thou goest,\\r\\n Learn more than thou trowest,\\r\\n Set less than thou throwest;\\r\\n Leave thy drink and thy whore,\\r\\n And keep in-a-door,\\r\\n And thou shalt have more\\r\\n Than two tens to a score.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nThis is nothing, fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nThen ’tis like the breath of an unfee’d lawyer, you gave me nothing\\r\\nfor’t. Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhy, no, boy; nothing can be made out of nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\n[_to Kent._] Prythee tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to:\\r\\nhe will not believe a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nA bitter fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nDost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a\\r\\nsweet one?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo, lad; teach me.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\n That lord that counsell’d thee\\r\\n To give away thy land,\\r\\n Come place him here by me,\\r\\n Do thou for him stand.\\r\\n The sweet and bitter fool\\r\\n Will presently appear;\\r\\n The one in motley here,\\r\\n The other found out there.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nDost thou call me fool, boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nAll thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast born with.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nThis is not altogether fool, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nNo, faith; lords and great men will not let me; if I had a monopoly\\r\\nout, they would have part on’t and ladies too, they will not let me\\r\\nhave all the fool to myself; they’ll be snatching. Nuncle, give me an\\r\\negg, and I’ll give thee two crowns.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat two crowns shall they be?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nWhy, after I have cut the egg i’ the middle and eat up the meat, the\\r\\ntwo crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i’ the middle and\\r\\ngav’st away both parts, thou bor’st thine ass on thy back o’er the\\r\\ndirt: thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown when thou gav’st thy\\r\\ngolden one away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be whipped\\r\\nthat first finds it so.\\r\\n[_Singing._]\\r\\n Fools had ne’er less grace in a year;\\r\\n For wise men are grown foppish,\\r\\n And know not how their wits to wear,\\r\\n Their manners are so apish.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhen were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nI have used it, nuncle, e’er since thou mad’st thy daughters thy\\r\\nmothers; for when thou gav’st them the rod, and put’st down thine own\\r\\nbreeches,\\r\\n[_Singing._]\\r\\n Then they for sudden joy did weep,\\r\\n And I for sorrow sung,\\r\\n That such a king should play bo-peep,\\r\\n And go the fools among.\\r\\nPrythee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie; I\\r\\nwould fain learn to lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nAn you lie, sirrah, we’ll have you whipped.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nI marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are: they’ll have me whipped\\r\\nfor speaking true; thou’lt have me whipped for lying; and sometimes I\\r\\nam whipped for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind o’thing than\\r\\na fool: and yet I would not be thee, nuncle: thou hast pared thy wit\\r\\no’both sides, and left nothing i’ the middle: here comes one o’ the\\r\\nparings.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Goneril.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHow now, daughter? What makes that frontlet on? Methinks you are too\\r\\nmuch of late i’ the frown.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nThou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her\\r\\nfrowning. Now thou art an O without a figure: I am better than thou art\\r\\nnow. I am a fool, thou art nothing. [_To Goneril._] Yes, forsooth, I\\r\\nwill hold my tongue. So your face bids me, though you say nothing. Mum,\\r\\nmum,\\r\\n He that keeps nor crust nor crum,\\r\\n Weary of all, shall want some.\\r\\n[_Pointing to Lear_.] That’s a shealed peascod.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nNot only, sir, this your all-licens’d fool,\\r\\nBut other of your insolent retinue\\r\\nDo hourly carp and quarrel; breaking forth\\r\\nIn rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir,\\r\\nI had thought, by making this well known unto you,\\r\\nTo have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful,\\r\\nBy what yourself too late have spoke and done,\\r\\nThat you protect this course, and put it on\\r\\nBy your allowance; which if you should, the fault\\r\\nWould not scape censure, nor the redresses sleep,\\r\\nWhich, in the tender of a wholesome weal,\\r\\nMight in their working do you that offence\\r\\nWhich else were shame, that then necessity\\r\\nWill call discreet proceeding.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nFor you know, nuncle,\\r\\n The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long\\r\\n That it’s had it head bit off by it young.\\r\\nSo out went the candle, and we were left darkling.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nAre you our daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nCome, sir,\\r\\nI would you would make use of that good wisdom,\\r\\nWhereof I know you are fraught; and put away\\r\\nThese dispositions, which of late transform you\\r\\nFrom what you rightly are.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nMay not an ass know when the cart draws the horse? Whoop, Jug! I love\\r\\nthee!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nDoth any here know me? This is not Lear;\\r\\nDoth Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes?\\r\\nEither his notion weakens, his discernings\\r\\nAre lethargied. Ha! waking? ’Tis not so!\\r\\nWho is it that can tell me who I am?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nLear’s shadow.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI would learn that; for by the marks of sovereignty, knowledge and\\r\\nreason, I should be false persuaded I had daughters.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nWhich they will make an obedient father.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nYour name, fair gentlewoman?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nThis admiration, sir, is much o’ the favour\\r\\nOf other your new pranks. I do beseech you\\r\\nTo understand my purposes aright:\\r\\nAs you are old and reverend, you should be wise.\\r\\nHere do you keep a hundred knights and squires;\\r\\nMen so disorder’d, so debosh’d and bold\\r\\nThat this our court, infected with their manners,\\r\\nShows like a riotous inn. Epicurism and lust\\r\\nMakes it more like a tavern or a brothel\\r\\nThan a grac’d palace. The shame itself doth speak\\r\\nFor instant remedy. Be, then, desir’d\\r\\nBy her that else will take the thing she begs\\r\\nA little to disquantity your train;\\r\\nAnd the remainder that shall still depend,\\r\\nTo be such men as may besort your age,\\r\\nWhich know themselves, and you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nDarkness and devils!\\r\\nSaddle my horses; call my train together.\\r\\nDegenerate bastard! I’ll not trouble thee:\\r\\nYet have I left a daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nYou strike my people; and your disorder’d rabble\\r\\nMake servants of their betters.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Albany.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWoe that too late repents!—\\r\\n[_To Albany._] O, sir, are you come?\\r\\nIs it your will? Speak, sir.—Prepare my horses.\\r\\nIngratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,\\r\\nMore hideous when thou show’st thee in a child\\r\\nThan the sea-monster!\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nPray, sir, be patient.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\n[_to Goneril._] Detested kite, thou liest.\\r\\nMy train are men of choice and rarest parts,\\r\\nThat all particulars of duty know;\\r\\nAnd in the most exact regard support\\r\\nThe worships of their name. O most small fault,\\r\\nHow ugly didst thou in Cordelia show!\\r\\nWhich, like an engine, wrench’d my frame of nature\\r\\nFrom the fix’d place; drew from my heart all love,\\r\\nAnd added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear!\\r\\n[_Striking his head._] Beat at this gate that let thy folly in\\r\\nAnd thy dear judgement out! Go, go, my people.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nMy lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant\\r\\nOf what hath moved you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nIt may be so, my lord.\\r\\nHear, nature, hear; dear goddess, hear\\r\\nSuspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend\\r\\nTo make this creature fruitful!\\r\\nInto her womb convey sterility!\\r\\nDry up in her the organs of increase;\\r\\nAnd from her derogate body never spring\\r\\nA babe to honour her! If she must teem,\\r\\nCreate her child of spleen, that it may live\\r\\nAnd be a thwart disnatur’d torment to her!\\r\\nLet it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth;\\r\\nWith cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks;\\r\\nTurn all her mother’s pains and benefits\\r\\nTo laughter and contempt; that she may feel\\r\\nHow sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is\\r\\nTo have a thankless child! Away, away!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nNow, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nNever afflict yourself to know more of it;\\r\\nBut let his disposition have that scope\\r\\nThat dotage gives it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Lear.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat, fifty of my followers at a clap?\\r\\nWithin a fortnight?\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI’ll tell thee. [_To Goneril._] Life and death! I am asham’d\\r\\nThat thou hast power to shake my manhood thus;\\r\\nThat these hot tears, which break from me perforce,\\r\\nShould make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee!\\r\\nTh’untented woundings of a father’s curse\\r\\nPierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes,\\r\\nBeweep this cause again, I’ll pluck ye out,\\r\\nAnd cast you with the waters that you lose\\r\\nTo temper clay. Ha! Let it be so.\\r\\nI have another daughter,\\r\\nWho, I am sure, is kind and comfortable:\\r\\nWhen she shall hear this of thee, with her nails\\r\\nShe’ll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find\\r\\nThat I’ll resume the shape which thou dost think\\r\\nI have cast off for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lear, Kent and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nDo you mark that?\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nI cannot be so partial, Goneril,\\r\\nTo the great love I bear you,—\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nPray you, content. What, Oswald, ho!\\r\\n[_To the Fool._] You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nNuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry and take the fool with thee.\\r\\n A fox when one has caught her,\\r\\n And such a daughter,\\r\\n Should sure to the slaughter,\\r\\n If my cap would buy a halter;\\r\\n So the fool follows after.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nThis man hath had good counsel.—A hundred knights!\\r\\n’Tis politic and safe to let him keep\\r\\nAt point a hundred knights: yes, that on every dream,\\r\\nEach buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,\\r\\nHe may enguard his dotage with their powers,\\r\\nAnd hold our lives in mercy. Oswald, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nWell, you may fear too far.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nSafer than trust too far:\\r\\nLet me still take away the harms I fear,\\r\\nNot fear still to be taken: I know his heart.\\r\\nWhat he hath utter’d I have writ my sister:\\r\\nIf she sustain him and his hundred knights,\\r\\nWhen I have show’d th’unfitness,—\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Oswald.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Oswald!\\r\\nWhat, have you writ that letter to my sister?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nAy, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nTake you some company, and away to horse:\\r\\nInform her full of my particular fear;\\r\\nAnd thereto add such reasons of your own\\r\\nAs may compact it more. Get you gone;\\r\\nAnd hasten your return.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Oswald._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNo, no, my lord!\\r\\nThis milky gentleness and course of yours,\\r\\nThough I condemn not, yet, under pardon,\\r\\nYou are much more attask’d for want of wisdom\\r\\nThan prais’d for harmful mildness.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nHow far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell:\\r\\nStriving to better, oft we mar what’s well.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nNay then,—\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nWell, well; the event.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Court before the Duke of Albany’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lear, Kent and Fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nGo you before to Gloucester with these letters: acquaint my daughter no\\r\\nfurther with anything you know than comes from her demand out of the\\r\\nletter. If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered your letter.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nIf a man’s brains were in’s heels, were’t not in danger of kibes?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nAy, boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nThen I prythee be merry; thy wit shall not go slipshod.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHa, ha, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nShalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly, for though she’s as\\r\\nlike this as a crab’s like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat canst tell, boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nShe’ll taste as like this as a crab does to a crab. Thou canst tell why\\r\\none’s nose stands i’the middle on’s face?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nWhy, to keep one’s eyes of either side’s nose, that what a man cannot\\r\\nsmell out, he may spy into.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI did her wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nCanst tell how an oyster makes his shell?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nNor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhy?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nWhy, to put’s head in; not to give it away to his daughters, and leave\\r\\nhis horns without a case.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI will forget my nature. So kind a father! Be my horses ready?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nThy asses are gone about ’em. The reason why the seven stars are no\\r\\nmore than seven is a pretty reason.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nBecause they are not eight?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nYes indeed: thou wouldst make a good fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nTo tak’t again perforce!—Monster ingratitude!\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nIf thou wert my fool, nuncle, I’ld have thee beaten for being old\\r\\nbefore thy time.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHow’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nThou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nO, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!\\r\\nKeep me in temper; I would not be mad!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now? are the horses ready?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nReady, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nCome, boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nShe that’s a maid now, and laughs at my departure,\\r\\nShall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A court within the Castle of the Earl of Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Edmund and Curan, meeting.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nSave thee, Curan.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURAN.\\r\\nAnd you, sir. I have been with your father, and given him notice that\\r\\nthe Duke of Cornwall and Regan his Duchess will be here with him this\\r\\nnight.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nHow comes that?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURAN.\\r\\nNay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad; I mean the\\r\\nwhispered ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nNot I: pray you, what are they?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURAN.\\r\\nHave you heard of no likely wars toward, ’twixt the two dukes of\\r\\nCornwall and Albany?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nNot a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURAN.\\r\\nYou may do, then, in time. Fare you well, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nThe Duke be here tonight? The better! best!\\r\\nThis weaves itself perforce into my business.\\r\\nMy father hath set guard to take my brother;\\r\\nAnd I have one thing, of a queasy question,\\r\\nWhich I must act. Briefness and fortune work!\\r\\nBrother, a word, descend, brother, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Edgar.\\r\\n\\r\\nMy father watches: O sir, fly this place;\\r\\nIntelligence is given where you are hid;\\r\\nYou have now the good advantage of the night.\\r\\nHave you not spoken ’gainst the Duke of Cornwall?\\r\\nHe’s coming hither; now, i’ the night, i’ the haste,\\r\\nAnd Regan with him: have you nothing said\\r\\nUpon his party ’gainst the Duke of Albany?\\r\\nAdvise yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nI am sure on’t, not a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI hear my father coming:—pardon me;\\r\\nIn cunning I must draw my sword upon you:\\r\\nDraw: seem to defend yourself: now quit you well.\\r\\nYield: come before my father. Light, ho, here!\\r\\nFly, brother. Torches, torches!—So farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Edgar._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSome blood drawn on me would beget opinion\\r\\nOf my more fierce endeavour: [_Wounds his arm._]\\r\\nI have seen drunkards\\r\\nDo more than this in sport. Father, father!\\r\\nStop, stop! No help?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester and Servants with torches.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nNow, Edmund, where’s the villain?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nHere stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,\\r\\nMumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon\\r\\nTo stand auspicious mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nBut where is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nLook, sir, I bleed.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWhere is the villain, Edmund?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nFled this way, sir. When by no means he could,—\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nPursue him, ho! Go after.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Servants._]\\r\\n\\r\\n—By no means what?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nPersuade me to the murder of your lordship;\\r\\nBut that I told him the revenging gods\\r\\n’Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend;\\r\\nSpoke with how manifold and strong a bond\\r\\nThe child was bound to the father; sir, in fine,\\r\\nSeeing how loathly opposite I stood\\r\\nTo his unnatural purpose, in fell motion\\r\\nWith his prepared sword, he charges home\\r\\nMy unprovided body, latch’d mine arm;\\r\\nBut when he saw my best alarum’d spirits,\\r\\nBold in the quarrel’s right, rous’d to th’encounter,\\r\\nOr whether gasted by the noise I made,\\r\\nFull suddenly he fled.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nLet him fly far;\\r\\nNot in this land shall he remain uncaught;\\r\\nAnd found—dispatch’d. The noble Duke my master,\\r\\nMy worthy arch and patron, comes tonight:\\r\\nBy his authority I will proclaim it,\\r\\nThat he which finds him shall deserve our thanks,\\r\\nBringing the murderous coward to the stake;\\r\\nHe that conceals him, death.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nWhen I dissuaded him from his intent,\\r\\nAnd found him pight to do it, with curst speech\\r\\nI threaten’d to discover him: he replied,\\r\\n‘Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think,\\r\\nIf I would stand against thee, would the reposal\\r\\nOf any trust, virtue, or worth in thee\\r\\nMake thy words faith’d? No: what I should deny\\r\\nAs this I would; ay, though thou didst produce\\r\\nMy very character, I’d turn it all\\r\\nTo thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice:\\r\\nAnd thou must make a dullard of the world,\\r\\nIf they not thought the profits of my death\\r\\nWere very pregnant and potential spurs\\r\\nTo make thee seek it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nO strange and fast’ned villain!\\r\\nWould he deny his letter, said he? I never got him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Tucket within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHark, the Duke’s trumpets! I know not why he comes.\\r\\nAll ports I’ll bar; the villain shall not scape;\\r\\nThe Duke must grant me that: besides, his picture\\r\\nI will send far and near, that all the kingdom\\r\\nMay have due note of him; and of my land,\\r\\nLoyal and natural boy, I’ll work the means\\r\\nTo make thee capable.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cornwall, Regan and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nHow now, my noble friend! since I came hither,\\r\\nWhich I can call but now, I have heard strange news.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nIf it be true, all vengeance comes too short\\r\\nWhich can pursue th’offender. How dost, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nO madam, my old heart is crack’d, it’s crack’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nWhat, did my father’s godson seek your life?\\r\\nHe whom my father nam’d? your Edgar?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nO lady, lady, shame would have it hid!\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nWas he not companion with the riotous knights\\r\\nThat tend upon my father?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI know not, madam; ’tis too bad, too bad.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nYes, madam, he was of that consort.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nNo marvel then though he were ill affected:\\r\\n’Tis they have put him on the old man’s death,\\r\\nTo have the expense and waste of his revenues.\\r\\nI have this present evening from my sister\\r\\nBeen well inform’d of them; and with such cautions\\r\\nThat if they come to sojourn at my house,\\r\\nI’ll not be there.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nNor I, assure thee, Regan.\\r\\nEdmund, I hear that you have shown your father\\r\\nA childlike office.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nIt was my duty, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHe did bewray his practice; and receiv’d\\r\\nThis hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nIs he pursued?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nAy, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nIf he be taken, he shall never more\\r\\nBe fear’d of doing harm: make your own purpose,\\r\\nHow in my strength you please. For you, Edmund,\\r\\nWhose virtue and obedience doth this instant\\r\\nSo much commend itself, you shall be ours:\\r\\nNatures of such deep trust we shall much need;\\r\\nYou we first seize on.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI shall serve you, sir, truly, however else.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nFor him I thank your grace.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nYou know not why we came to visit you?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nThus out of season, threading dark-ey’d night:\\r\\nOccasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise,\\r\\nWherein we must have use of your advice.\\r\\nOur father he hath writ, so hath our sister,\\r\\nOf differences, which I best thought it fit\\r\\nTo answer from our home; the several messengers\\r\\nFrom hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend,\\r\\nLay comforts to your bosom; and bestow\\r\\nYour needful counsel to our business,\\r\\nWhich craves the instant use.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI serve you, madam:\\r\\nYour graces are right welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt. Flourish._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Before Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Kent and Oswald, severally.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nGood dawning to thee, friend: art of this house?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nAy.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nWhere may we set our horses?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI’ the mire.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nPrythee, if thou lov’st me, tell me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI love thee not.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nWhy then, I care not for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nIf I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nWhy dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nFellow, I know thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nWhat dost thou know me for?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nA knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow,\\r\\nbeggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave;\\r\\na lily-livered, action-taking, whoreson, glass-gazing,\\r\\nsuper-serviceable, finical rogue; one trunk-inheriting slave; one that\\r\\nwouldst be a bawd in way of good service, and art nothing but the\\r\\ncomposition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of\\r\\na mongrel bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou\\r\\ndeniest the least syllable of thy addition.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nWhy, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one that’s\\r\\nneither known of thee nor knows thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWhat a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me! Is it two\\r\\ndays ago since I tripped up thy heels and beat thee before the King?\\r\\nDraw, you rogue: for, though it be night, yet the moon shines; I’ll\\r\\nmake a sop o’ the moonshine of you: draw, you whoreson cullionly\\r\\nbarber-monger, draw!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Drawing his sword._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nAway! I have nothing to do with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nDraw, you rascal: you come with letters against the King; and take\\r\\nvanity the puppet’s part against the royalty of her father: draw, you\\r\\nrogue, or I’ll so carbonado your shanks:—draw, you rascal; come your\\r\\nways!\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nHelp, ho! murder! help!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nStrike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat slave, strike!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Beating him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nHelp, ho! murder! murder!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Gloucester and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nHow now! What’s the matter? Part!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWith you, goodman boy, if you please: come, I’ll flesh ye; come on,\\r\\nyoung master.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWeapons! arms! What’s the matter here?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nKeep peace, upon your lives, he dies that strikes again. What is the\\r\\nmatter?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nThe messengers from our sister and the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nWhat is your difference? Speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nI am scarce in breath, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNo marvel, you have so bestirr’d your valour. You cowardly rascal,\\r\\nnature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nThou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a man?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nAy, a tailor, sir: a stonecutter or a painter could not have made him\\r\\nso ill, though he had been but two years at the trade.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nSpeak yet, how grew your quarrel?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nThis ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared at suit of his grey\\r\\nbeard,—\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nThou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you’ll give me\\r\\nleave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar and daub the\\r\\nwalls of a jakes with him. Spare my grey beard, you wagtail?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nPeace, sirrah!\\r\\nYou beastly knave, know you no reverence?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nYes, sir; but anger hath a privilege.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nWhy art thou angry?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nThat such a slave as this should wear a sword,\\r\\nWho wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,\\r\\nLike rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain\\r\\nWhich are too intrince t’unloose; smooth every passion\\r\\nThat in the natures of their lords rebel;\\r\\nBring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;\\r\\nRenege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks\\r\\nWith every gale and vary of their masters,\\r\\nKnowing naught, like dogs, but following.\\r\\nA plague upon your epileptic visage!\\r\\nSmile you my speeches, as I were a fool?\\r\\nGoose, if I had you upon Sarum plain,\\r\\nI’d drive ye cackling home to Camelot.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nWhat, art thou mad, old fellow?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHow fell you out? Say that.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNo contraries hold more antipathy\\r\\nThan I and such a knave.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nWhy dost thou call him knave? What is his fault?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nHis countenance likes me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nNo more perchance does mine, or his, or hers.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nSir, ’tis my occupation to be plain:\\r\\nI have seen better faces in my time\\r\\nThan stands on any shoulder that I see\\r\\nBefore me at this instant.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nThis is some fellow\\r\\nWho, having been prais’d for bluntness, doth affect\\r\\nA saucy roughness, and constrains the garb\\r\\nQuite from his nature: he cannot flatter, he,\\r\\nAn honest mind and plain, he must speak truth!\\r\\nAn they will take it, so; if not, he’s plain.\\r\\nThese kind of knaves I know which in this plainness\\r\\nHarbour more craft and more corrupter ends\\r\\nThan twenty silly-ducking observants\\r\\nThat stretch their duties nicely.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nSir, in good faith, in sincere verity,\\r\\nUnder th’allowance of your great aspect,\\r\\nWhose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire\\r\\nOn flickering Phoebus’ front,—\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nWhat mean’st by this?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nTo go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much. I know, sir, I\\r\\nam no flatterer: he that beguiled you in a plain accent was a plain\\r\\nknave; which, for my part, I will not be, though I should win your\\r\\ndispleasure to entreat me to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nWhat was the offence you gave him?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nI never gave him any:\\r\\nIt pleas’d the King his master very late\\r\\nTo strike at me, upon his misconstruction;\\r\\nWhen he, compact, and flattering his displeasure,\\r\\nTripp’d me behind; being down, insulted, rail’d\\r\\nAnd put upon him such a deal of man,\\r\\nThat worthied him, got praises of the King\\r\\nFor him attempting who was self-subdu’d;\\r\\nAnd, in the fleshment of this dread exploit,\\r\\nDrew on me here again.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNone of these rogues and cowards\\r\\nBut Ajax is their fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nFetch forth the stocks!\\r\\nYou stubborn ancient knave, you reverent braggart,\\r\\nWe’ll teach you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nSir, I am too old to learn:\\r\\nCall not your stocks for me: I serve the King;\\r\\nOn whose employment I was sent to you:\\r\\nYou shall do small respect, show too bold malice\\r\\nAgainst the grace and person of my master,\\r\\nStocking his messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nFetch forth the stocks!\\r\\nAs I have life and honour, there shall he sit till noon.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nTill noon! Till night, my lord; and all night too!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWhy, madam, if I were your father’s dog,\\r\\nYou should not use me so.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nSir, being his knave, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Stocks brought out._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nThis is a fellow of the selfsame colour\\r\\nOur sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks!\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nLet me beseech your grace not to do so:\\r\\nHis fault is much, and the good King his master\\r\\nWill check him for’t: your purpos’d low correction\\r\\nIs such as basest and contemned’st wretches\\r\\nFor pilferings and most common trespasses,\\r\\nAre punish’d with. The King must take it ill\\r\\nThat he, so slightly valued in his messenger,\\r\\nShould have him thus restrained.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nI’ll answer that.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nMy sister may receive it much more worse,\\r\\nTo have her gentleman abus’d, assaulted,\\r\\nFor following her affairs. Put in his legs.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kent is put in the stocks._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nCome, my good lord, away.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Gloucester and Kent._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI am sorry for thee, friend; ’tis the Duke’s pleasure,\\r\\nWhose disposition, all the world well knows,\\r\\nWill not be rubb’d nor stopp’d; I’ll entreat for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nPray do not, sir: I have watch’d, and travell’d hard;\\r\\nSome time I shall sleep out, the rest I’ll whistle.\\r\\nA good man’s fortune may grow out at heels:\\r\\nGive you good morrow!\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nThe Duke’s to blame in this: ’twill be ill taken.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nGood King, that must approve the common saw,\\r\\nThou out of heaven’s benediction com’st\\r\\nTo the warm sun.\\r\\nApproach, thou beacon to this under globe,\\r\\nThat by thy comfortable beams I may\\r\\nPeruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles\\r\\nBut misery. I know ’tis from Cordelia,\\r\\nWho hath most fortunately been inform’d\\r\\nOf my obscured course. And shall find time\\r\\nFrom this enormous state, seeking to give\\r\\nLosses their remedies. All weary and o’erwatch’d,\\r\\nTake vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold\\r\\nThis shameful lodging.\\r\\nFortune, good night: smile once more, turn thy wheel!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The open Country.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Edgar.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nI heard myself proclaim’d,\\r\\nAnd by the happy hollow of a tree\\r\\nEscap’d the hunt. No port is free, no place\\r\\nThat guard and most unusual vigilance\\r\\nDoes not attend my taking. While I may scape\\r\\nI will preserve myself: and am bethought\\r\\nTo take the basest and most poorest shape\\r\\nThat ever penury in contempt of man,\\r\\nBrought near to beast: my face I’ll grime with filth,\\r\\nBlanket my loins; elf all my hair in knots,\\r\\nAnd with presented nakedness outface\\r\\nThe winds and persecutions of the sky.\\r\\nThe country gives me proof and precedent\\r\\nOf Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices,\\r\\nStrike in their numb’d and mortified bare arms\\r\\nPins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary;\\r\\nAnd with this horrible object, from low farms,\\r\\nPoor pelting villages, sheep-cotes, and mills,\\r\\nSometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers,\\r\\nEnforce their charity. Poor Turlygod! poor Tom,\\r\\nThat’s something yet: Edgar I nothing am.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Before Gloucester’s Castle; Kent in the stocks.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lear, Fool and Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\n’Tis strange that they should so depart from home,\\r\\nAnd not send back my messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nAs I learn’d,\\r\\nThe night before there was no purpose in them\\r\\nOf this remove.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nHail to thee, noble master!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHa! Mak’st thou this shame thy pastime?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNo, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nHa, ha! he wears cruel garters. Horses are tied by the heads; dogs and\\r\\nbears by the neck, monkeys by the loins, and men by the legs: when a\\r\\nman is overlusty at legs, then he wears wooden nether-stocks.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat’s he that hath so much thy place mistook\\r\\nTo set thee here?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nIt is both he and she,\\r\\nYour son and daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI say, yea.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo, no; they would not.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nYes, they have.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nBy Jupiter, I swear no.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nBy Juno, I swear ay.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThey durst not do’t.\\r\\nThey could not, would not do’t; ’tis worse than murder,\\r\\nTo do upon respect such violent outrage:\\r\\nResolve me, with all modest haste, which way\\r\\nThou mightst deserve or they impose this usage,\\r\\nComing from us.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nMy lord, when at their home\\r\\nI did commend your highness’ letters to them,\\r\\nEre I was risen from the place that show’d\\r\\nMy duty kneeling, came there a reeking post,\\r\\nStew’d in his haste, half breathless, panting forth\\r\\nFrom Goneril his mistress salutations;\\r\\nDeliver’d letters, spite of intermission,\\r\\nWhich presently they read; on those contents,\\r\\nThey summon’d up their meiny, straight took horse;\\r\\nCommanded me to follow and attend\\r\\nThe leisure of their answer; gave me cold looks:\\r\\nAnd meeting here the other messenger,\\r\\nWhose welcome I perceiv’d had poison’d mine,\\r\\nBeing the very fellow which of late\\r\\nDisplay’d so saucily against your highness,\\r\\nHaving more man than wit about me, drew;\\r\\nHe rais’d the house with loud and coward cries.\\r\\nYour son and daughter found this trespass worth\\r\\nThe shame which here it suffers.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nWinter’s not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way.\\r\\n Fathers that wear rags\\r\\n Do make their children blind,\\r\\n But fathers that bear bags\\r\\n Shall see their children kind.\\r\\n Fortune, that arrant whore,\\r\\n Ne’er turns the key to th’ poor.\\r\\nBut for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours for thy daughters as\\r\\nthou canst tell in a year.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nO, how this mother swells up toward my heart!\\r\\n_Hysterica passio_, down, thou climbing sorrow,\\r\\nThy element’s below! Where is this daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWith the earl, sir, here within.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nFollow me not; stay here.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nMade you no more offence but what you speak of?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNone.\\r\\nHow chance the King comes with so small a number?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nAn thou hadst been set i’ the stocks for that question, thou hadst well\\r\\ndeserved it.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWhy, fool?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nWe’ll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there’s no labouring\\r\\ni’the winter. All that follow their noses are led by their eyes but\\r\\nblind men; and there’s not a nose among twenty but can smell him that’s\\r\\nstinking. Let go thy hold when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it\\r\\nbreak thy neck with following it; but the great one that goes upward,\\r\\nlet him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel,\\r\\ngive me mine again: I would have none but knaves follow it, since a\\r\\nfool gives it.\\r\\n That sir which serves and seeks for gain,\\r\\n And follows but for form,\\r\\n Will pack when it begins to rain,\\r\\n And leave thee in the storm.\\r\\n But I will tarry; the fool will stay,\\r\\n And let the wise man fly:\\r\\n The knave turns fool that runs away;\\r\\n The fool no knave perdy.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWhere learn’d you this, fool?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nNot i’ the stocks, fool.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lear and Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nDeny to speak with me? They are sick? they are weary?\\r\\nThey have travell’d all the night? Mere fetches;\\r\\nThe images of revolt and flying off.\\r\\nFetch me a better answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nMy dear lord,\\r\\nYou know the fiery quality of the Duke;\\r\\nHow unremovable and fix’d he is\\r\\nIn his own course.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nVengeance! plague! death! confusion!\\r\\nFiery? What quality? Why, Gloucester, Gloucester,\\r\\nI’d speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWell, my good lord, I have inform’d them so.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nInform’d them! Dost thou understand me, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nAy, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThe King would speak with Cornwall; the dear father\\r\\nWould with his daughter speak, commands, tends, service,\\r\\nAre they inform’d of this? My breath and blood!\\r\\nFiery? The fiery Duke, tell the hot Duke that—\\r\\nNo, but not yet: maybe he is not well:\\r\\nInfirmity doth still neglect all office\\r\\nWhereto our health is bound: we are not ourselves\\r\\nWhen nature, being oppress’d, commands the mind\\r\\nTo suffer with the body: I’ll forbear;\\r\\nAnd am fallen out with my more headier will,\\r\\nTo take the indispos’d and sickly fit\\r\\nFor the sound man. [_Looking on Kent._]\\r\\nDeath on my state! Wherefore\\r\\nShould he sit here? This act persuades me\\r\\nThat this remotion of the Duke and her\\r\\nIs practice only. Give me my servant forth.\\r\\nGo tell the Duke and’s wife I’d speak with them,\\r\\nNow, presently: bid them come forth and hear me,\\r\\nOr at their chamber door I’ll beat the drum\\r\\nTill it cry sleep to death.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI would have all well betwixt you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nO me, my heart, my rising heart! But down!\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nCry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels when she put ’em i’\\r\\nthe paste alive; she knapped ’em o’ the coxcombs with a stick and cried\\r\\n‘Down, wantons, down!’ ’Twas her brother that, in pure kindness to his\\r\\nhorse buttered his hay.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gloucester and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nGood morrow to you both.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nHail to your grace!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kent here set at liberty._]\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nI am glad to see your highness.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nRegan, I think you are; I know what reason\\r\\nI have to think so: if thou shouldst not be glad,\\r\\nI would divorce me from thy mother’s tomb,\\r\\nSepulchring an adultress. [_To Kent_] O, are you free?\\r\\nSome other time for that.—Beloved Regan,\\r\\nThy sister’s naught: O Regan, she hath tied\\r\\nSharp-tooth’d unkindness, like a vulture, here.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Points to his heart._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI can scarce speak to thee; thou’lt not believe\\r\\nWith how deprav’d a quality—O Regan!\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nI pray you, sir, take patience. I have hope\\r\\nYou less know how to value her desert\\r\\nThan she to scant her duty.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nSay, how is that?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nI cannot think my sister in the least\\r\\nWould fail her obligation. If, sir, perchance\\r\\nShe have restrain’d the riots of your followers,\\r\\n’Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end,\\r\\nAs clears her from all blame.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nMy curses on her.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nO, sir, you are old;\\r\\nNature in you stands on the very verge\\r\\nOf her confine: you should be rul’d and led\\r\\nBy some discretion, that discerns your state\\r\\nBetter than you yourself. Therefore I pray you,\\r\\nThat to our sister you do make return;\\r\\nSay you have wrong’d her, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nAsk her forgiveness?\\r\\nDo you but mark how this becomes the house?\\r\\n‘Dear daughter, I confess that I am old;\\r\\n[_Kneeling._]\\r\\nAge is unnecessary: on my knees I beg\\r\\nThat you’ll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.’\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nGood sir, no more! These are unsightly tricks:\\r\\nReturn you to my sister.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\n[_Rising._] Never, Regan:\\r\\nShe hath abated me of half my train;\\r\\nLook’d black upon me; struck me with her tongue,\\r\\nMost serpent-like, upon the very heart.\\r\\nAll the stor’d vengeances of heaven fall\\r\\nOn her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones,\\r\\nYou taking airs, with lameness!\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nFie, sir, fie!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nYou nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames\\r\\nInto her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty,\\r\\nYou fen-suck’d fogs, drawn by the powerful sun,\\r\\nTo fall and blast her pride!\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nO the blest gods!\\r\\nSo will you wish on me when the rash mood is on.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse.\\r\\nThy tender-hefted nature shall not give\\r\\nThee o’er to harshness. Her eyes are fierce; but thine\\r\\nDo comfort, and not burn. ’Tis not in thee\\r\\nTo grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,\\r\\nTo bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes,\\r\\nAnd, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt\\r\\nAgainst my coming in. Thou better know’st\\r\\nThe offices of nature, bond of childhood,\\r\\nEffects of courtesy, dues of gratitude;\\r\\nThy half o’ the kingdom hast thou not forgot,\\r\\nWherein I thee endow’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nGood sir, to the purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWho put my man i’ the stocks?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Tucket within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nWhat trumpet’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nI know’t, my sister’s: this approves her letter,\\r\\nThat she would soon be here.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Oswald.\\r\\n\\r\\nIs your lady come?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThis is a slave, whose easy borrowed pride\\r\\nDwells in the fickle grace of her he follows.\\r\\nOut, varlet, from my sight!\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nWhat means your grace?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWho stock’d my servant? Regan, I have good hope\\r\\nThou didst not know on’t. Who comes here? O heavens!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Goneril.\\r\\n\\r\\nIf you do love old men, if your sweet sway\\r\\nAllow obedience, if yourselves are old,\\r\\nMake it your cause; send down, and take my part!\\r\\n[_To Goneril._] Art not asham’d to look upon this beard?\\r\\nO Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nWhy not by the hand, sir? How have I offended?\\r\\nAll’s not offence that indiscretion finds\\r\\nAnd dotage terms so.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nO sides, you are too tough!\\r\\nWill you yet hold? How came my man i’ the stocks?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nI set him there, sir: but his own disorders\\r\\nDeserv’d much less advancement.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nYou? Did you?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nI pray you, father, being weak, seem so.\\r\\nIf, till the expiration of your month,\\r\\nYou will return and sojourn with my sister,\\r\\nDismissing half your train, come then to me:\\r\\nI am now from home, and out of that provision\\r\\nWhich shall be needful for your entertainment.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nReturn to her, and fifty men dismiss’d?\\r\\nNo, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose\\r\\nTo wage against the enmity o’ the air;\\r\\nTo be a comrade with the wolf and owl,\\r\\nNecessity’s sharp pinch! Return with her?\\r\\nWhy, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took\\r\\nOur youngest born, I could as well be brought\\r\\nTo knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg\\r\\nTo keep base life afoot. Return with her?\\r\\nPersuade me rather to be slave and sumpter\\r\\nTo this detested groom.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Pointing to Oswald._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nAt your choice, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI prythee, daughter, do not make me mad:\\r\\nI will not trouble thee, my child; farewell:\\r\\nWe’ll no more meet, no more see one another.\\r\\nBut yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter;\\r\\nOr rather a disease that’s in my flesh,\\r\\nWhich I must needs call mine. Thou art a boil,\\r\\nA plague sore, or embossed carbuncle\\r\\nIn my corrupted blood. But I’ll not chide thee;\\r\\nLet shame come when it will, I do not call it:\\r\\nI do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,\\r\\nNor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove:\\r\\nMend when thou canst; be better at thy leisure:\\r\\nI can be patient; I can stay with Regan,\\r\\nI and my hundred knights.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nNot altogether so,\\r\\nI look’d not for you yet, nor am provided\\r\\nFor your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my sister;\\r\\nFor those that mingle reason with your passion\\r\\nMust be content to think you old, and so—\\r\\nBut she knows what she does.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nIs this well spoken?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nI dare avouch it, sir: what, fifty followers?\\r\\nIs it not well? What should you need of more?\\r\\nYea, or so many, sith that both charge and danger\\r\\nSpeak ’gainst so great a number? How in one house\\r\\nShould many people, under two commands,\\r\\nHold amity? ’Tis hard; almost impossible.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nWhy might not you, my lord, receive attendance\\r\\nFrom those that she calls servants, or from mine?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nWhy not, my lord? If then they chanc’d to slack ye,\\r\\nWe could control them. If you will come to me,—\\r\\nFor now I spy a danger,—I entreat you\\r\\nTo bring but five-and-twenty: to no more\\r\\nWill I give place or notice.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI gave you all,—\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nAnd in good time you gave it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nMade you my guardians, my depositaries;\\r\\nBut kept a reservation to be followed\\r\\nWith such a number. What, must I come to you\\r\\nWith five-and-twenty, Regan, said you so?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nAnd speak’t again my lord; no more with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThose wicked creatures yet do look well-favour’d\\r\\nWhen others are more wicked; not being the worst\\r\\nStands in some rank of praise.\\r\\n[_To Goneril._] I’ll go with thee:\\r\\nThy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty,\\r\\nAnd thou art twice her love.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nHear me, my lord:\\r\\nWhat need you five-and-twenty? Ten? Or five?\\r\\nTo follow in a house where twice so many\\r\\nHave a command to tend you?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nWhat need one?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nO, reason not the need: our basest beggars\\r\\nAre in the poorest thing superfluous:\\r\\nAllow not nature more than nature needs,\\r\\nMan’s life is cheap as beast’s. Thou art a lady;\\r\\nIf only to go warm were gorgeous,\\r\\nWhy, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear’st\\r\\nWhich scarcely keeps thee warm. But, for true need,—\\r\\nYou heavens, give me that patience, patience I need!\\r\\nYou see me here, you gods, a poor old man,\\r\\nAs full of grief as age; wretched in both!\\r\\nIf it be you that stirs these daughters’ hearts\\r\\nAgainst their father, fool me not so much\\r\\nTo bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger,\\r\\nAnd let not women’s weapons, water-drops,\\r\\nStain my man’s cheeks! No, you unnatural hags,\\r\\nI will have such revenges on you both\\r\\nThat all the world shall,—I will do such things,—\\r\\nWhat they are yet, I know not; but they shall be\\r\\nThe terrors of the earth. You think I’ll weep;\\r\\nNo, I’ll not weep:— [_Storm and tempest._]\\r\\nI have full cause of weeping; but this heart\\r\\nShall break into a hundred thousand flaws\\r\\nOr ere I’ll weep.—O fool, I shall go mad!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lear, Gloucester, Kent and Fool._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nLet us withdraw; ’twill be a storm.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nThis house is little: the old man and his people\\r\\nCannot be well bestow’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\n’Tis his own blame; hath put himself from rest\\r\\nAnd must needs taste his folly.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nFor his particular, I’ll receive him gladly,\\r\\nBut not one follower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nSo am I purpos’d.\\r\\nWhere is my lord of Gloucester?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nFollowed the old man forth, he is return’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nThe King is in high rage.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nWhither is he going?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHe calls to horse; but will I know not whither.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\n’Tis best to give him way; he leads himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nMy lord, entreat him by no means to stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nAlack, the night comes on, and the high winds\\r\\nDo sorely ruffle; for many miles about\\r\\nThere’s scarce a bush.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nO, sir, to wilful men\\r\\nThe injuries that they themselves procure\\r\\nMust be their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors.\\r\\nHe is attended with a desperate train,\\r\\nAnd what they may incense him to, being apt\\r\\nTo have his ear abus’d, wisdom bids fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nShut up your doors, my lord; ’tis a wild night.\\r\\nMy Regan counsels well: come out o’ the storm.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A Heath.\\r\\n\\r\\n A storm with thunder and lightning. Enter Kent and a Gentleman,\\r\\n severally.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWho’s there, besides foul weather?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nOne minded like the weather, most unquietly.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI know you. Where’s the King?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nContending with the fretful elements;\\r\\nBids the wind blow the earth into the sea,\\r\\nOr swell the curled waters ’bove the main,\\r\\nThat things might change or cease; tears his white hair,\\r\\nWhich the impetuous blasts with eyeless rage,\\r\\nCatch in their fury and make nothing of;\\r\\nStrives in his little world of man to outscorn\\r\\nThe to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain.\\r\\nThis night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch,\\r\\nThe lion and the belly-pinched wolf\\r\\nKeep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs,\\r\\nAnd bids what will take all.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nBut who is with him?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNone but the fool, who labours to out-jest\\r\\nHis heart-struck injuries.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nSir, I do know you;\\r\\nAnd dare, upon the warrant of my note\\r\\nCommend a dear thing to you. There is division,\\r\\nAlthough as yet the face of it be cover’d\\r\\nWith mutual cunning, ’twixt Albany and Cornwall;\\r\\nWho have, as who have not, that their great stars\\r\\nThrone’d and set high; servants, who seem no less,\\r\\nWhich are to France the spies and speculations\\r\\nIntelligent of our state. What hath been seen,\\r\\nEither in snuffs and packings of the Dukes;\\r\\nOr the hard rein which both of them have borne\\r\\nAgainst the old kind King; or something deeper,\\r\\nWhereof, perchance, these are but furnishings;—\\r\\nBut, true it is, from France there comes a power\\r\\nInto this scatter’d kingdom; who already,\\r\\nWise in our negligence, have secret feet\\r\\nIn some of our best ports, and are at point\\r\\nTo show their open banner.—Now to you:\\r\\nIf on my credit you dare build so far\\r\\nTo make your speed to Dover, you shall find\\r\\nSome that will thank you making just report\\r\\nOf how unnatural and bemadding sorrow\\r\\nThe King hath cause to plain.\\r\\nI am a gentleman of blood and breeding;\\r\\nAnd from some knowledge and assurance\\r\\nOffer this office to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI will talk further with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNo, do not.\\r\\nFor confirmation that I am much more\\r\\nThan my out-wall, open this purse, and take\\r\\nWhat it contains. If you shall see Cordelia,\\r\\nAs fear not but you shall, show her this ring;\\r\\nAnd she will tell you who your fellow is\\r\\nThat yet you do not know. Fie on this storm!\\r\\nI will go seek the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nGive me your hand: have you no more to say?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nFew words, but, to effect, more than all yet:\\r\\nThat, when we have found the King, in which your pain\\r\\nThat way, I’ll this; he that first lights on him\\r\\nHolla the other.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another part of the heath.\\r\\n\\r\\n Storm continues. Enter Lear and Fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nBlow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage! blow!\\r\\nYou cataracts and hurricanoes, spout\\r\\nTill you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks!\\r\\nYou sulphurous and thought-executing fires,\\r\\nVaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,\\r\\nSinge my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,\\r\\nStrike flat the thick rotundity o’ the world!\\r\\nCrack nature’s moulds, all germens spill at once,\\r\\nThat make ingrateful man!\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nO nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house is better than this\\r\\nrain-water out o’ door. Good nuncle, in; and ask thy daughters\\r\\nblessing: here’s a night pities neither wise men nor fools.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nRumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain!\\r\\nNor rain, wind, thunder, fire are my daughters;\\r\\nI tax not you, you elements, with unkindness.\\r\\nI never gave you kingdom, call’d you children;\\r\\nYou owe me no subscription: then let fall\\r\\nYour horrible pleasure. Here I stand your slave,\\r\\nA poor, infirm, weak, and despis’d old man:\\r\\nBut yet I call you servile ministers,\\r\\nThat will with two pernicious daughters join\\r\\nYour high-engender’d battles ’gainst a head\\r\\nSo old and white as this! O! O! ’tis foul!\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nHe that has a house to put’s head in has a good head-piece.\\r\\n The codpiece that will house\\r\\n Before the head has any,\\r\\n The head and he shall louse:\\r\\n So beggars marry many.\\r\\n The man that makes his toe\\r\\n What he his heart should make\\r\\n Shall of a corn cry woe,\\r\\n And turn his sleep to wake.\\r\\nFor there was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo, I will be the pattern of all patience;\\r\\nI will say nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Kent.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWho’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nMarry, here’s grace and a codpiece; that’s a wise man and a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nAlas, sir, are you here? Things that love night\\r\\nLove not such nights as these; the wrathful skies\\r\\nGallow the very wanderers of the dark,\\r\\nAnd make them keep their caves. Since I was man,\\r\\nSuch sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder,\\r\\nSuch groans of roaring wind and rain I never\\r\\nRemember to have heard. Man’s nature cannot carry\\r\\nTh’affliction, nor the fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nLet the great gods,\\r\\nThat keep this dreadful pudder o’er our heads,\\r\\nFind out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,\\r\\nThat hast within thee undivulged crimes\\r\\nUnwhipp’d of justice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand;\\r\\nThou perjur’d, and thou simular of virtue\\r\\nThat art incestuous. Caitiff, to pieces shake\\r\\nThat under covert and convenient seeming\\r\\nHast practis’d on man’s life: close pent-up guilts,\\r\\nRive your concealing continents, and cry\\r\\nThese dreadful summoners grace. I am a man\\r\\nMore sinn’d against than sinning.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nAlack, bareheaded!\\r\\nGracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel;\\r\\nSome friendship will it lend you ’gainst the tempest:\\r\\nRepose you there, whilst I to this hard house,—\\r\\nMore harder than the stones whereof ’tis rais’d;\\r\\nWhich even but now, demanding after you,\\r\\nDenied me to come in,—return, and force\\r\\nTheir scanted courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nMy wits begin to turn.\\r\\nCome on, my boy. How dost, my boy? Art cold?\\r\\nI am cold myself. Where is this straw, my fellow?\\r\\nThe art of our necessities is strange,\\r\\nThat can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel.\\r\\nPoor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart\\r\\nThat’s sorry yet for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\n[_Singing._]\\r\\n He that has and a little tiny wit,\\r\\n With heigh-ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n Must make content with his fortunes fit,\\r\\n Though the rain it raineth every day.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nTrue, boy. Come, bring us to this hovel.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lear and Kent._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nThis is a brave night to cool a courtezan. I’ll speak a prophecy ere I\\r\\ngo:\\r\\n When priests are more in word than matter;\\r\\n When brewers mar their malt with water;\\r\\n When nobles are their tailors’ tutors;\\r\\n No heretics burn’d, but wenches’ suitors;\\r\\n When every case in law is right;\\r\\n No squire in debt, nor no poor knight;\\r\\n When slanders do not live in tongues;\\r\\n Nor cut-purses come not to throngs;\\r\\n When usurers tell their gold i’ the field;\\r\\n And bawds and whores do churches build,\\r\\n Then shall the realm of Albion\\r\\n Come to great confusion:\\r\\n Then comes the time, who lives to see’t,\\r\\n That going shall be us’d with feet.\\r\\nThis prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live before his time.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester and Edmund.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nAlack, alack, Edmund, I like not this unnatural dealing. When I desired\\r\\ntheir leave that I might pity him, they took from me the use of mine\\r\\nown house; charged me on pain of perpetual displeasure, neither to\\r\\nspeak of him, entreat for him, or any way sustain him.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nMost savage and unnatural!\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nGo to; say you nothing. There is division between the Dukes, and a\\r\\nworse matter than that: I have received a letter this night;—’tis\\r\\ndangerous to be spoken;—I have locked the letter in my closet: these\\r\\ninjuries the King now bears will be revenged home; there’s part of a\\r\\npower already footed: we must incline to the King. I will look him, and\\r\\nprivily relieve him: go you and maintain talk with the Duke, that my\\r\\ncharity be not of him perceived: if he ask for me, I am ill, and gone\\r\\nto bed. If I die for it, as no less is threatened me, the King my old\\r\\nmaster must be relieved. There is some strange thing toward, Edmund;\\r\\npray you be careful.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nThis courtesy, forbid thee, shall the Duke\\r\\nInstantly know; and of that letter too.\\r\\nThis seems a fair deserving, and must draw me\\r\\nThat which my father loses, no less than all:\\r\\nThe younger rises when the old doth fall.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A part of the Heath with a Hovel.\\r\\n\\r\\n Storm continues. Enter Lear, Kent and Fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nHere is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter:\\r\\nThe tyranny of the open night’s too rough\\r\\nFor nature to endure.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nLet me alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nGood my lord, enter here.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWilt break my heart?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI had rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThou think’st ’tis much that this contentious storm\\r\\nInvades us to the skin: so ’tis to thee,\\r\\nBut where the greater malady is fix’d,\\r\\nThe lesser is scarce felt. Thou’dst shun a bear;\\r\\nBut if thy flight lay toward the raging sea,\\r\\nThou’dst meet the bear i’ the mouth. When the mind’s free,\\r\\nThe body’s delicate: the tempest in my mind\\r\\nDoth from my senses take all feeling else\\r\\nSave what beats there. Filial ingratitude!\\r\\nIs it not as this mouth should tear this hand\\r\\nFor lifting food to’t? But I will punish home;\\r\\nNo, I will weep no more. In such a night\\r\\nTo shut me out! Pour on; I will endure:\\r\\nIn such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril!\\r\\nYour old kind father, whose frank heart gave all,\\r\\nO, that way madness lies; let me shun that;\\r\\nNo more of that.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nGood my lord, enter here.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nPrythee go in thyself; seek thine own ease:\\r\\nThis tempest will not give me leave to ponder\\r\\nOn things would hurt me more. But I’ll go in.\\r\\n[_To the Fool._] In, boy; go first. You houseless poverty,\\r\\nNay, get thee in. I’ll pray, and then I’ll sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Fool goes in._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPoor naked wretches, wheresoe’er you are,\\r\\nThat bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,\\r\\nHow shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,\\r\\nYour loop’d and window’d raggedness, defend you\\r\\nFrom seasons such as these? O, I have ta’en\\r\\nToo little care of this! Take physic, pomp;\\r\\nExpose thyself to feel what wretches feel,\\r\\nThat thou mayst shake the superflux to them\\r\\nAnd show the heavens more just.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\n[_Within._] Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Fool runs out from the hovel._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nCome not in here, nuncle, here’s a spirit.\\r\\nHelp me, help me!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nGive me thy hand. Who’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nA spirit, a spirit: he says his name’s poor Tom.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWhat art thou that dost grumble there i’ the straw?\\r\\nCome forth.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Edgar, disguised as a madman.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nAway! the foul fiend follows me! Through the sharp hawthorn blows the\\r\\ncold wind. Humh! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nDidst thou give all to thy two daughters?\\r\\nAnd art thou come to this?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nWho gives anything to poor Tom? Whom the foul fiend hath led through\\r\\nfire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, o’er bog and\\r\\nquagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow and halters in his\\r\\npew, set ratsbane by his porridge; made him proud of heart, to ride on\\r\\na bay trotting horse over four-inched bridges, to course his own shadow\\r\\nfor a traitor. Bless thy five wits! \\tTom’s a-cold. O, do, de, do,\\r\\nde, do, de. Bless thee from whirlwinds, star-blasting, and taking! Do\\r\\npoor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes. There could I have\\r\\nhim now, and there,—and there again, and there.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Storm continues._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat, have his daughters brought him to this pass?\\r\\nCouldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give ’em all?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nNay, he reserv’d a blanket, else we had been all shamed.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNow all the plagues that in the pendulous air\\r\\nHang fated o’er men’s faults light on thy daughters!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nHe hath no daughters, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nDeath, traitor! nothing could have subdu’d nature\\r\\nTo such a lowness but his unkind daughters.\\r\\nIs it the fashion that discarded fathers\\r\\nShould have thus little mercy on their flesh?\\r\\nJudicious punishment! ’twas this flesh begot\\r\\nThose pelican daughters.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\n Pillicock sat on Pillicock hill,\\r\\n Alow, alow, loo loo!\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nThis cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nTake heed o’ th’ foul fiend: obey thy parents; keep thy word justly;\\r\\nswear not; commit not with man’s sworn spouse; set not thy sweet-heart\\r\\non proud array. Tom’s a-cold.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat hast thou been?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nA serving-man, proud in heart and mind; that curled my hair; wore\\r\\ngloves in my cap; served the lust of my mistress’ heart, and did the\\r\\nact of darkness with her; swore as many oaths as I spake words, and\\r\\nbroke them in the sweet face of heaven. One that slept in the\\r\\ncontriving of lust, and waked to do it. Wine loved I deeply, dice\\r\\ndearly; and in woman out-paramour’d the Turk. False of heart, light of\\r\\near, bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness,\\r\\ndog in madness, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of shoes nor the\\r\\nrustling of silks betray thy poor heart to woman. Keep thy foot out of\\r\\nbrothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lender’s book, and\\r\\ndefy the foul fiend. Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind:\\r\\nsays suum, mun, nonny. Dolphin my boy, boy, sessa! let him trot by.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Storm still continues._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhy, thou wert better in thy grave than to answer with thy uncovered\\r\\nbody this extremity of the skies. Is man no more than this? Consider\\r\\nhim well. Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no\\r\\nwool, the cat no perfume. Ha! here’s three on’s are sophisticated! Thou\\r\\nart the thing itself: unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor,\\r\\nbare, forked animal as thou art. Off, off, you lendings! Come, unbutton\\r\\nhere.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Tears off his clothes._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nPrythee, nuncle, be contented; ’tis a naughty night to swim in. Now a\\r\\nlittle fire in a wild field were like an old lecher’s heart, a small\\r\\nspark, all the rest on’s body cold. Look, here comes a walking fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nThis is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he begins at curfew, and walks\\r\\ntill the first cock; he gives the web and the pin, squints the eye, and\\r\\nmakes the harelip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the poor creature\\r\\nof earth.\\r\\n Swithold footed thrice the old;\\r\\n He met the nightmare, and her nine-fold;\\r\\n Bid her alight and her troth plight,\\r\\n And aroint thee, witch, aroint thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nHow fares your grace?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester with a torch.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat’s he?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWho’s there? What is’t you seek?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWhat are you there? Your names?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nPoor Tom; that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the todpole, the\\r\\nwall-newt and the water; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul\\r\\nfiend rages, eats cow-dung for sallets; swallows the old rat and the\\r\\nditch-dog; drinks the green mantle of the standing pool; who is whipped\\r\\nfrom tithing to tithing, and stocked, punished, and imprisoned; who\\r\\nhath had three suits to his back, six shirts to his body,\\r\\n Horse to ride, and weapon to wear.\\r\\n But mice and rats and such small deer,\\r\\n Have been Tom’s food for seven long year.\\r\\nBeware my follower. Peace, Smulkin; peace, thou fiend!\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWhat, hath your grace no better company?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nThe prince of darkness is a gentleman:\\r\\nModo he’s call’d, and Mahu.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nOur flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile\\r\\nThat it doth hate what gets it.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nPoor Tom’s a-cold.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nGo in with me: my duty cannot suffer\\r\\nT’obey in all your daughters’ hard commands;\\r\\nThough their injunction be to bar my doors,\\r\\nAnd let this tyrannous night take hold upon you,\\r\\nYet have I ventur’d to come seek you out,\\r\\nAnd bring you where both fire and food is ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nFirst let me talk with this philosopher.\\r\\nWhat is the cause of thunder?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nGood my lord, take his offer; go into the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI’ll talk a word with this same learned Theban.\\r\\nWhat is your study?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nHow to prevent the fiend and to kill vermin.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nLet me ask you one word in private.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nImportune him once more to go, my lord;\\r\\nHis wits begin t’unsettle.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nCanst thou blame him?\\r\\nHis daughters seek his death. Ah, that good Kent!\\r\\nHe said it would be thus, poor banish’d man!\\r\\nThou sayest the King grows mad; I’ll tell thee, friend,\\r\\nI am almost mad myself. I had a son,\\r\\nNow outlaw’d from my blood; he sought my life\\r\\nBut lately, very late: I lov’d him, friend,\\r\\nNo father his son dearer: true to tell thee,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Storm continues._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe grief hath craz’d my wits. What a night’s this!\\r\\nI do beseech your grace.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nO, cry you mercy, sir.\\r\\nNoble philosopher, your company.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nTom’s a-cold.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nIn, fellow, there, into the hovel; keep thee warm.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nCome, let’s in all.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nThis way, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWith him;\\r\\nI will keep still with my philosopher.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nGood my lord, soothe him; let him take the fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nTake him you on.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nSirrah, come on; go along with us.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nCome, good Athenian.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nNo words, no words, hush.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\n Child Rowland to the dark tower came,\\r\\n His word was still—Fie, foh, and fum,\\r\\n I smell the blood of a British man.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cornwall and Edmund.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nI will have my revenge ere I depart his house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nHow, my lord, I may be censured, that nature thus gives way to loyalty,\\r\\nsomething fears me to think of.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nI now perceive it was not altogether your brother’s evil disposition\\r\\nmade him seek his death; but a provoking merit, set a-work by a\\r\\nreproveable badness in himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nHow malicious is my fortune, that I must repent to be just! This is the\\r\\nletter he spoke of, which approves him an intelligent party to the\\r\\nadvantages of France. O heavens! that this treason were not; or not I\\r\\nthe detector!\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nGo with me to the Duchess.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nIf the matter of this paper be certain, you have mighty business in\\r\\nhand.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nTrue or false, it hath made thee Earl of Gloucester. Seek out where thy\\r\\nfather is, that he may be ready for our apprehension.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\n[_Aside._] If I find him comforting the King, it will stuff his\\r\\nsuspicion more fully. I will persever in my course of loyalty, though\\r\\nthe conflict be sore between that and my blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nI will lay trust upon thee; and thou shalt find a dearer father in my\\r\\nlove.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. A Chamber in a Farmhouse adjoining the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester, Lear, Kent, Fool and Edgar.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHere is better than the open air; take it thankfully. I will piece out\\r\\nthe comfort with what addition I can: I will not be long from you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nAll the power of his wits have given way to his impatience:— the gods\\r\\nreward your kindness!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Gloucester._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nFrateretto calls me; and tells me Nero is an angler in the lake of\\r\\ndarkness. Pray, innocent, and beware the foul fiend.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nPrythee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a gentleman or a yeoman.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nA king, a king!\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nNo, he’s a yeoman that has a gentleman to his son; for he’s a mad\\r\\nyeoman that sees his son a gentleman before him.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nTo have a thousand with red burning spits\\r\\nCome hissing in upon ’em.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nThe foul fiend bites my back.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nHe’s mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse’s health, a\\r\\nboy’s love, or a whore’s oath.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nIt shall be done; I will arraign them straight.\\r\\n[_To Edgar._] Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer;\\r\\n[_To the Fool._] Thou, sapient sir, sit here. Now, you she-foxes!—\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nLook, where he stands and glares! Want’st thou eyes at trial, madam?\\r\\n Come o’er the bourn, Bessy, to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\n Her boat hath a leak,\\r\\n And she must not speak\\r\\n Why she dares not come over to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nThe foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice of a nightingale.\\r\\nHoppedance cries in Tom’s belly for two white herring. Croak not, black\\r\\nangel; I have no food for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nHow do you, sir? Stand you not so amaz’d;\\r\\nWill you lie down and rest upon the cushions?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI’ll see their trial first. Bring in their evidence.\\r\\n[_To Edgar._] Thou, robed man of justice, take thy place.\\r\\n[_To the Fool._] And thou, his yokefellow of equity,\\r\\nBench by his side. [_To Kent._] You are o’ the commission,\\r\\nSit you too.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\n Let us deal justly.\\r\\n Sleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd?\\r\\n Thy sheep be in the corn;\\r\\n And for one blast of thy minikin mouth\\r\\n Thy sheep shall take no harm.\\r\\nPurr! the cat is grey.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nArraign her first; ’tis Goneril. I here take my oath before this\\r\\nhonourable assembly, she kicked the poor King her father.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nCome hither, mistress. Is your name Goneril?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nShe cannot deny it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nCry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nAnd here’s another, whose warp’d looks proclaim\\r\\nWhat store her heart is made on. Stop her there!\\r\\nArms, arms! sword! fire! Corruption in the place!\\r\\nFalse justicer, why hast thou let her ’scape?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nBless thy five wits!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nO pity! Sir, where is the patience now\\r\\nThat you so oft have boasted to retain?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\n[_Aside._] My tears begin to take his part so much\\r\\nThey mar my counterfeiting.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThe little dogs and all,\\r\\nTrey, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see, they bark at me.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nTom will throw his head at them. Avaunt, you curs!\\r\\n Be thy mouth or black or white,\\r\\n Tooth that poisons if it bite;\\r\\n Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim,\\r\\n Hound or spaniel, brach or him,\\r\\n Or bobtail tike or trundle-tail,\\r\\n Tom will make them weep and wail;\\r\\n For, with throwing thus my head,\\r\\n Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled.\\r\\nDo, de, de, de. Sessa! Come, march to wakes and fairs and market towns.\\r\\nPoor Tom, thy horn is dry.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThen let them anatomize Regan; see what breeds about her heart. Is\\r\\nthere any cause in nature that makes these hard hearts? [_To Edgar._]\\r\\nYou, sir, I entertain you for one of my hundred; only I do not like the\\r\\nfashion of your garments. You’ll say they are Persian; but let them be\\r\\nchanged.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNow, good my lord, lie here and rest awhile.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nMake no noise, make no noise; draw the curtains.\\r\\nSo, so. We’ll go to supper i’ the morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nAnd I’ll go to bed at noon.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nCome hither, friend;\\r\\nWhere is the King my master?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nHere, sir; but trouble him not, his wits are gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nGood friend, I prythee, take him in thy arms;\\r\\nI have o’erheard a plot of death upon him;\\r\\nThere is a litter ready; lay him in’t\\r\\nAnd drive towards Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet\\r\\nBoth welcome and protection. Take up thy master;\\r\\nIf thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life,\\r\\nWith thine, and all that offer to defend him,\\r\\nStand in assured loss. Take up, take up;\\r\\nAnd follow me, that will to some provision\\r\\nGive thee quick conduct.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nOppressed nature sleeps.\\r\\nThis rest might yet have balm’d thy broken sinews,\\r\\nWhich, if convenience will not allow,\\r\\nStand in hard cure. Come, help to bear thy master;\\r\\n[_To the Fool._] Thou must not stay behind.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nCome, come, away!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Kent, Gloucester and the Fool bearing off Lear._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nWhen we our betters see bearing our woes,\\r\\nWe scarcely think our miseries our foes.\\r\\nWho alone suffers, suffers most i’ the mind,\\r\\nLeaving free things and happy shows behind:\\r\\nBut then the mind much sufferance doth o’erskip\\r\\nWhen grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship.\\r\\nHow light and portable my pain seems now,\\r\\nWhen that which makes me bend makes the King bow;\\r\\nHe childed as I fathered! Tom, away!\\r\\nMark the high noises; and thyself bewray,\\r\\nWhen false opinion, whose wrong thoughts defile thee,\\r\\nIn thy just proof repeals and reconciles thee.\\r\\nWhat will hap more tonight, safe ’scape the King!\\r\\nLurk, lurk.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, Edmund and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nPost speedily to my lord your husband, show him this letter: the army\\r\\nof France is landed. Seek out the traitor Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt some of the Servants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nHang him instantly.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nPluck out his eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nLeave him to my displeasure. Edmund, keep you our sister company: the\\r\\nrevenges we are bound to take upon your traitorous father are not fit\\r\\nfor your beholding. Advise the Duke where you are going, to a most\\r\\nfestinate preparation: we are bound to the like. Our posts shall be\\r\\nswift and intelligent betwixt us. Farewell, dear sister, farewell, my\\r\\nlord of Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Oswald.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now! Where’s the King?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nMy lord of Gloucester hath convey’d him hence:\\r\\nSome five or six and thirty of his knights,\\r\\nHot questrists after him, met him at gate;\\r\\nWho, with some other of the lord’s dependants,\\r\\nAre gone with him toward Dover: where they boast\\r\\nTo have well-armed friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nGet horses for your mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nFarewell, sweet lord, and sister.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nEdmund, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Goneril, Edmund and Oswald._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGo seek the traitor Gloucester,\\r\\nPinion him like a thief, bring him before us.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt other Servants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThough well we may not pass upon his life\\r\\nWithout the form of justice, yet our power\\r\\nShall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men\\r\\nMay blame, but not control. Who’s there? The traitor?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nIngrateful fox! ’tis he.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nBind fast his corky arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWhat mean your graces?\\r\\nGood my friends, consider you are my guests.\\r\\nDo me no foul play, friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nBind him, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Servants bind him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nHard, hard. O filthy traitor!\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nUnmerciful lady as you are, I’m none.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nTo this chair bind him. Villain, thou shalt find—\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Regan plucks his beard._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nBy the kind gods, ’tis most ignobly done\\r\\nTo pluck me by the beard.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nSo white, and such a traitor!\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nNaughty lady,\\r\\nThese hairs which thou dost ravish from my chin\\r\\nWill quicken, and accuse thee. I am your host:\\r\\nWith robber’s hands my hospitable favours\\r\\nYou should not ruffle thus. What will you do?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nCome, sir, what letters had you late from France?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nBe simple answer’d, for we know the truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nAnd what confederacy have you with the traitors,\\r\\nLate footed in the kingdom?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nTo whose hands have you sent the lunatic King?\\r\\nSpeak.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI have a letter guessingly set down,\\r\\nWhich came from one that’s of a neutral heart,\\r\\nAnd not from one oppos’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nCunning.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nAnd false.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nWhere hast thou sent the King?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nTo Dover.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nWherefore to Dover? Wast thou not charg’d at peril,—\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nWherefore to Dover? Let him first answer that.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI am tied to the stake, and I must stand the course.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nWherefore to Dover, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nBecause I would not see thy cruel nails\\r\\nPluck out his poor old eyes; nor thy fierce sister\\r\\nIn his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs.\\r\\nThe sea, with such a storm as his bare head\\r\\nIn hell-black night endur’d, would have buoy’d up,\\r\\nAnd quench’d the stelled fires;\\r\\nYet, poor old heart, he holp the heavens to rain.\\r\\nIf wolves had at thy gate howl’d that stern time,\\r\\nThou shouldst have said, ‘Good porter, turn the key.’\\r\\nAll cruels else subscrib’d: but I shall see\\r\\nThe winged vengeance overtake such children.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nSee’t shalt thou never. Fellows, hold the chair.\\r\\nUpon these eyes of thine I’ll set my foot.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Gloucester is held down in his chair, while Cornwall plucks out one\\r\\n of his eyes and sets his foot on it._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHe that will think to live till he be old,\\r\\nGive me some help!—O cruel! O you gods!\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nOne side will mock another; the other too!\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nIf you see vengeance—\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nHold your hand, my lord:\\r\\nI have serv’d you ever since I was a child;\\r\\nBut better service have I never done you\\r\\nThan now to bid you hold.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nHow now, you dog!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nIf you did wear a beard upon your chin,\\r\\nI’d shake it on this quarrel. What do you mean?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nMy villain?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Draws, and runs at him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nNay, then, come on, and take the chance of anger.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Draws. They fight. Cornwall is wounded._]\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\n[_To another servant._] Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Snatches a sword, comes behind, and stabs him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nO, I am slain! My lord, you have one eye left\\r\\nTo see some mischief on him. O!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nLest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly!\\r\\nWhere is thy lustre now?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Tears out Gloucester’s other eye and throws it on the ground._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nAll dark and comfortless. Where’s my son Edmund?\\r\\nEdmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature\\r\\nTo quit this horrid act.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nOut, treacherous villain!\\r\\nThou call’st on him that hates thee: it was he\\r\\nThat made the overture of thy treasons to us;\\r\\nWho is too good to pity thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nO my follies! Then Edgar was abus’d.\\r\\nKind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him!\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nGo thrust him out at gates, and let him smell\\r\\nHis way to Dover. How is’t, my lord? How look you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nI have receiv’d a hurt: follow me, lady.\\r\\nTurn out that eyeless villain. Throw this slave\\r\\nUpon the dunghill. Regan, I bleed apace:\\r\\nUntimely comes this hurt: give me your arm.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Cornwall, led by Regan; Servants unbind Gloucester and lead him\\r\\n out._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nI’ll never care what wickedness I do,\\r\\nIf this man come to good.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD SERVANT.\\r\\nIf she live long,\\r\\nAnd in the end meet the old course of death,\\r\\nWomen will all turn monsters.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nLet’s follow the old Earl, and get the bedlam\\r\\nTo lead him where he would: his roguish madness\\r\\nAllows itself to anything.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD SERVANT.\\r\\nGo thou: I’ll fetch some flax and whites of eggs\\r\\nTo apply to his bleeding face. Now heaven help him!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The heath.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Edgar.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nYet better thus, and known to be contemn’d,\\r\\nThan still contemn’d and flatter’d. To be worst,\\r\\nThe lowest and most dejected thing of fortune,\\r\\nStands still in esperance, lives not in fear:\\r\\nThe lamentable change is from the best;\\r\\nThe worst returns to laughter. Welcome then,\\r\\nThou unsubstantial air that I embrace;\\r\\nThe wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst\\r\\nOwes nothing to thy blasts.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester, led by an Old Man.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut who comes here? My father, poorly led?\\r\\nWorld, world, O world!\\r\\nBut that thy strange mutations make us hate thee,\\r\\nLife would not yield to age.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\nO my good lord, I have been your tenant, and your father’s tenant these\\r\\nfourscore years.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nAway, get thee away; good friend, be gone.\\r\\nThy comforts can do me no good at all;\\r\\nThee they may hurt.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\nYou cannot see your way.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI have no way, and therefore want no eyes;\\r\\nI stumbled when I saw. Full oft ’tis seen\\r\\nOur means secure us, and our mere defects\\r\\nProve our commodities. O dear son Edgar,\\r\\nThe food of thy abused father’s wrath!\\r\\nMight I but live to see thee in my touch,\\r\\nI’d say I had eyes again!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\nHow now! Who’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\n[_Aside._] O gods! Who is’t can say ‘I am at the worst’?\\r\\nI am worse than e’er I was.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\n’Tis poor mad Tom.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\n[_Aside._] And worse I may be yet. The worst is not\\r\\nSo long as we can say ‘This is the worst.’\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\nFellow, where goest?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nIs it a beggar-man?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\nMadman, and beggar too.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHe has some reason, else he could not beg.\\r\\nI’ the last night’s storm I such a fellow saw;\\r\\nWhich made me think a man a worm. My son\\r\\nCame then into my mind, and yet my mind\\r\\nWas then scarce friends with him.\\r\\nI have heard more since.\\r\\nAs flies to wanton boys are we to the gods,\\r\\nThey kill us for their sport.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\n[_Aside._] How should this be?\\r\\nBad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow,\\r\\nAngering itself and others. Bless thee, master!\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nIs that the naked fellow?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\nAy, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nThen prythee get thee away. If for my sake\\r\\nThou wilt o’ertake us hence a mile or twain,\\r\\nI’ the way toward Dover, do it for ancient love,\\r\\nAnd bring some covering for this naked soul,\\r\\nWhich I’ll entreat to lead me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\nAlack, sir, he is mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\n’Tis the time’s plague when madmen lead the blind.\\r\\nDo as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure;\\r\\nAbove the rest, be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\nI’ll bring him the best ’parel that I have,\\r\\nCome on’t what will.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nSirrah naked fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nPoor Tom’s a-cold.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I cannot daub it further.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nCome hither, fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\n[_Aside._] And yet I must. Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nKnow’st thou the way to Dover?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nBoth stile and gate, horseway and footpath. Poor Tom hath been scared\\r\\nout of his good wits. Bless thee, good man’s son, from the foul fiend!\\r\\nFive fiends have been in poor Tom at once; of lust, as Obidicut;\\r\\nHobbididence, prince of darkness; Mahu, of stealing; Modo, of murder;\\r\\nFlibbertigibbet, of mopping and mowing, who since possesses\\r\\nchambermaids and waiting women. So, bless thee, master!\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHere, take this purse, thou whom the heaven’s plagues\\r\\nHave humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched\\r\\nMakes thee the happier. Heavens deal so still!\\r\\nLet the superfluous and lust-dieted man,\\r\\nThat slaves your ordinance, that will not see\\r\\nBecause he does not feel, feel your power quickly;\\r\\nSo distribution should undo excess,\\r\\nAnd each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nAy, master.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nThere is a cliff, whose high and bending head\\r\\nLooks fearfully in the confined deep:\\r\\nBring me but to the very brim of it,\\r\\nAnd I’ll repair the misery thou dost bear\\r\\nWith something rich about me: from that place\\r\\nI shall no leading need.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nGive me thy arm:\\r\\nPoor Tom shall lead thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Before the Duke of Albany’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Goneril, Edmund; Oswald meeting them.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nWelcome, my lord. I marvel our mild husband\\r\\nNot met us on the way. Now, where’s your master?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nMadam, within; but never man so chang’d.\\r\\nI told him of the army that was landed;\\r\\nHe smil’d at it: I told him you were coming;\\r\\nHis answer was, ‘The worse.’ Of Gloucester’s treachery\\r\\nAnd of the loyal service of his son\\r\\nWhen I inform’d him, then he call’d me sot,\\r\\nAnd told me I had turn’d the wrong side out.\\r\\nWhat most he should dislike seems pleasant to him;\\r\\nWhat like, offensive.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\n[_To Edmund._] Then shall you go no further.\\r\\nIt is the cowish terror of his spirit,\\r\\nThat dares not undertake. He’ll not feel wrongs\\r\\nWhich tie him to an answer. Our wishes on the way\\r\\nMay prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother;\\r\\nHasten his musters and conduct his powers.\\r\\nI must change names at home, and give the distaff\\r\\nInto my husband’s hands. This trusty servant\\r\\nShall pass between us. Ere long you are like to hear,\\r\\nIf you dare venture in your own behalf,\\r\\nA mistress’s command. [_Giving a favour._]\\r\\nWear this; spare speech;\\r\\nDecline your head. This kiss, if it durst speak,\\r\\nWould stretch thy spirits up into the air.\\r\\nConceive, and fare thee well.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nYours in the ranks of death.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Edmund._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nMy most dear Gloucester.\\r\\nO, the difference of man and man!\\r\\nTo thee a woman’s services are due;\\r\\nMy fool usurps my body.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nMadam, here comes my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Albany.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nI have been worth the whistle.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nO Goneril!\\r\\nYou are not worth the dust which the rude wind\\r\\nBlows in your face! I fear your disposition;\\r\\nThat nature which contemns its origin\\r\\nCannot be bordered certain in itself.\\r\\nShe that herself will sliver and disbranch\\r\\nFrom her material sap, perforce must wither\\r\\nAnd come to deadly use.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nNo more; the text is foolish.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nWisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile;\\r\\nFilths savour but themselves. What have you done?\\r\\nTigers, not daughters, what have you perform’d?\\r\\nA father, and a gracious aged man,\\r\\nWhose reverence even the head-lugg’d bear would lick,\\r\\nMost barbarous, most degenerate, have you madded.\\r\\nCould my good brother suffer you to do it?\\r\\nA man, a prince, by him so benefitted!\\r\\nIf that the heavens do not their visible spirits\\r\\nSend quickly down to tame these vile offences,\\r\\nIt will come,\\r\\nHumanity must perforce prey on itself,\\r\\nLike monsters of the deep.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nMilk-liver’d man!\\r\\nThat bear’st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs;\\r\\nWho hast not in thy brows an eye discerning\\r\\nThine honour from thy suffering; that not know’st\\r\\nFools do those villains pity who are punish’d\\r\\nEre they have done their mischief. Where’s thy drum?\\r\\nFrance spreads his banners in our noiseless land;\\r\\nWith plumed helm thy state begins to threat,\\r\\nWhilst thou, a moral fool, sitt’st still, and criest\\r\\n‘Alack, why does he so?’\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nSee thyself, devil!\\r\\nProper deformity seems not in the fiend\\r\\nSo horrid as in woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nO vain fool!\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nThou changed and self-cover’d thing, for shame!\\r\\nBe-monster not thy feature! Were’t my fitness\\r\\nTo let these hands obey my blood.\\r\\nThey are apt enough to dislocate and tear\\r\\nThy flesh and bones. Howe’er thou art a fiend,\\r\\nA woman’s shape doth shield thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nMarry, your manhood, mew!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nWhat news?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nO, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall’s dead;\\r\\nSlain by his servant, going to put out\\r\\nThe other eye of Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nGloucester’s eyes!\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nA servant that he bred, thrill’d with remorse,\\r\\nOppos’d against the act, bending his sword\\r\\nTo his great master; who, thereat enrag’d,\\r\\nFlew on him, and amongst them fell’d him dead;\\r\\nBut not without that harmful stroke which since\\r\\nHath pluck’d him after.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nThis shows you are above,\\r\\nYou justicers, that these our nether crimes\\r\\nSo speedily can venge! But, O poor Gloucester!\\r\\nLost he his other eye?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nBoth, both, my lord.\\r\\nThis letter, madam, craves a speedy answer;\\r\\n’Tis from your sister.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\n[_Aside._] One way I like this well;\\r\\nBut being widow, and my Gloucester with her,\\r\\nMay all the building in my fancy pluck\\r\\nUpon my hateful life. Another way\\r\\nThe news is not so tart. I’ll read, and answer.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nWhere was his son when they did take his eyes?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nCome with my lady hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nHe is not here.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nNo, my good lord; I met him back again.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nKnows he the wickedness?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nAy, my good lord. ’Twas he inform’d against him;\\r\\nAnd quit the house on purpose, that their punishment\\r\\nMight have the freer course.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nGloucester, I live\\r\\nTo thank thee for the love thou show’dst the King,\\r\\nAnd to revenge thine eyes. Come hither, friend,\\r\\nTell me what more thou know’st.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The French camp near Dover.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Kent and a Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWhy the King of France is so suddenly gone back, know you no reason?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nSomething he left imperfect in the state, which since his coming forth\\r\\nis thought of, which imports to the kingdom so much fear and danger\\r\\nthat his personal return was most required and necessary.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWho hath he left behind him general?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThe Mareschal of France, Monsieur La Far.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nDid your letters pierce the queen to any demonstration of grief?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nAy, sir; she took them, read them in my presence;\\r\\nAnd now and then an ample tear trill’d down\\r\\nHer delicate cheek. It seem’d she was a queen\\r\\nOver her passion; who, most rebel-like,\\r\\nSought to be king o’er her.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nO, then it mov’d her.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNot to a rage: patience and sorrow strove\\r\\nWho should express her goodliest. You have seen\\r\\nSunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears\\r\\nWere like a better day. Those happy smilets\\r\\nThat play’d on her ripe lip seem’d not to know\\r\\nWhat guests were in her eyes; which parted thence\\r\\nAs pearls from diamonds dropp’d. In brief,\\r\\nSorrow would be a rarity most belov’d,\\r\\nIf all could so become it.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nMade she no verbal question?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nFaith, once or twice she heav’d the name of ‘father’\\r\\nPantingly forth, as if it press’d her heart;\\r\\nCried ‘Sisters, sisters! Shame of ladies! sisters!\\r\\nKent! father! sisters! What, i’ the storm? i’ the night?\\r\\nLet pity not be believ’d!’ There she shook\\r\\nThe holy water from her heavenly eyes,\\r\\nAnd clamour master’d her: then away she started\\r\\nTo deal with grief alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nIt is the stars,\\r\\nThe stars above us govern our conditions;\\r\\nElse one self mate and make could not beget\\r\\nSuch different issues. You spoke not with her since?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWas this before the King return’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNo, since.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWell, sir, the poor distressed Lear’s i’ the town;\\r\\nWho sometime, in his better tune, remembers\\r\\nWhat we are come about, and by no means\\r\\nWill yield to see his daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWhy, good sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nA sovereign shame so elbows him. His own unkindness,\\r\\nThat stripp’d her from his benediction, turn’d her\\r\\nTo foreign casualties, gave her dear rights\\r\\nTo his dog-hearted daughters, these things sting\\r\\nHis mind so venomously that burning shame\\r\\nDetains him from Cordelia.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nAlack, poor gentleman!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nOf Albany’s and Cornwall’s powers you heard not?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\n’Tis so; they are afoot.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWell, sir, I’ll bring you to our master Lear\\r\\nAnd leave you to attend him. Some dear cause\\r\\nWill in concealment wrap me up awhile;\\r\\nWhen I am known aright, you shall not grieve\\r\\nLending me this acquaintance.\\r\\nI pray you, go along with me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The French camp. A Tent.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter with drum and colours, Cordelia, Physician and Soldiers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nAlack, ’tis he: why, he was met even now\\r\\nAs mad as the vex’d sea; singing aloud;\\r\\nCrown’d with rank fumiter and furrow weeds,\\r\\nWith harlocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,\\r\\nDarnel, and all the idle weeds that grow\\r\\nIn our sustaining corn. A century send forth;\\r\\nSearch every acre in the high-grown field,\\r\\nAnd bring him to our eye.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit an Officer._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat can man’s wisdom\\r\\nIn the restoring his bereaved sense,\\r\\nHe that helps him take all my outward worth.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHYSICIAN.\\r\\nThere is means, madam:\\r\\nOur foster nurse of nature is repose,\\r\\nThe which he lacks; that to provoke in him\\r\\nAre many simples operative, whose power\\r\\nWill close the eye of anguish.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nAll bless’d secrets,\\r\\nAll you unpublish’d virtues of the earth,\\r\\nSpring with my tears! Be aidant and remediate\\r\\nIn the good man’s distress! Seek, seek for him;\\r\\nLest his ungovern’d rage dissolve the life\\r\\nThat wants the means to lead it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nNews, madam;\\r\\nThe British powers are marching hitherward.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\n’Tis known before. Our preparation stands\\r\\nIn expectation of them. O dear father,\\r\\nIt is thy business that I go about;\\r\\nTherefore great France\\r\\nMy mourning and important tears hath pitied.\\r\\nNo blown ambition doth our arms incite,\\r\\nBut love, dear love, and our ag’d father’s right:\\r\\nSoon may I hear and see him!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Regan and Oswald.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nBut are my brother’s powers set forth?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nAy, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nHimself in person there?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nMadam, with much ado.\\r\\nYour sister is the better soldier.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nLord Edmund spake not with your lord at home?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nNo, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nWhat might import my sister’s letter to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nI know not, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nFaith, he is posted hence on serious matter.\\r\\nIt was great ignorance, Gloucester’s eyes being out,\\r\\nTo let him live. Where he arrives he moves\\r\\nAll hearts against us. Edmund, I think, is gone\\r\\nIn pity of his misery, to dispatch\\r\\nHis nighted life; moreover to descry\\r\\nThe strength o’ th’enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nI must needs after him, madam, with my letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nOur troops set forth tomorrow; stay with us;\\r\\nThe ways are dangerous.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nI may not, madam:\\r\\nMy lady charg’d my duty in this business.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nWhy should she write to Edmund? Might not you\\r\\nTransport her purposes by word? Belike,\\r\\nSomethings, I know not what, I’ll love thee much.\\r\\nLet me unseal the letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nMadam, I had rather—\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nI know your lady does not love her husband;\\r\\nI am sure of that; and at her late being here\\r\\nShe gave strange oeillades and most speaking looks\\r\\nTo noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosom.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nI, madam?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nI speak in understanding; y’are, I know’t:\\r\\nTherefore I do advise you take this note:\\r\\nMy lord is dead; Edmund and I have talk’d,\\r\\nAnd more convenient is he for my hand\\r\\nThan for your lady’s. You may gather more.\\r\\nIf you do find him, pray you give him this;\\r\\nAnd when your mistress hears thus much from you,\\r\\nI pray desire her call her wisdom to her.\\r\\nSo, fare you well.\\r\\nIf you do chance to hear of that blind traitor,\\r\\nPreferment falls on him that cuts him off.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nWould I could meet him, madam! I should show\\r\\nWhat party I do follow.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nFare thee well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. The country near Dover.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester, and Edgar dressed like a peasant.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWhen shall I come to the top of that same hill?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nYou do climb up it now. Look how we labour.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nMethinks the ground is even.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nHorrible steep.\\r\\nHark, do you hear the sea?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nNo, truly.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nWhy, then, your other senses grow imperfect\\r\\nBy your eyes’ anguish.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nSo may it be indeed.\\r\\nMethinks thy voice is alter’d; and thou speak’st\\r\\nIn better phrase and matter than thou didst.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nY’are much deceiv’d: in nothing am I chang’d\\r\\nBut in my garments.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nMethinks you’re better spoken.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nCome on, sir; here’s the place. Stand still. How fearful\\r\\nAnd dizzy ’tis to cast one’s eyes so low!\\r\\nThe crows and choughs that wing the midway air\\r\\nShow scarce so gross as beetles. Half way down\\r\\nHangs one that gathers samphire—dreadful trade!\\r\\nMethinks he seems no bigger than his head.\\r\\nThe fishermen that walk upon the beach\\r\\nAppear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark,\\r\\nDiminish’d to her cock; her cock a buoy\\r\\nAlmost too small for sight: the murmuring surge\\r\\nThat on th’unnumber’d idle pebble chafes\\r\\nCannot be heard so high. I’ll look no more;\\r\\nLest my brain turn, and the deficient sight\\r\\nTopple down headlong.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nSet me where you stand.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nGive me your hand.\\r\\nYou are now within a foot of th’extreme verge.\\r\\nFor all beneath the moon would I not leap upright.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nLet go my hand.\\r\\nHere, friend, ’s another purse; in it a jewel\\r\\nWell worth a poor man’s taking. Fairies and gods\\r\\nProsper it with thee! Go thou further off;\\r\\nBid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nNow fare ye well, good sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Seems to go._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWith all my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Why I do trifle thus with his despair\\r\\nIs done to cure it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nO you mighty gods!\\r\\nThis world I do renounce, and in your sights,\\r\\nShake patiently my great affliction off:\\r\\nIf I could bear it longer, and not fall\\r\\nTo quarrel with your great opposeless wills,\\r\\nMy snuff and loathed part of nature should\\r\\nBurn itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless him!\\r\\nNow, fellow, fare thee well.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nGone, sir, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Gloucester leaps, and falls along_]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd yet I know not how conceit may rob\\r\\nThe treasury of life when life itself\\r\\nYields to the theft. Had he been where he thought,\\r\\nBy this had thought been past. Alive or dead?\\r\\nHo you, sir! friend! Hear you, sir? speak!\\r\\nThus might he pass indeed: yet he revives.\\r\\nWhat are you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nAway, and let me die.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nHadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air,\\r\\nSo many fathom down precipitating,\\r\\nThou’dst shiver’d like an egg: but thou dost breathe;\\r\\nHast heavy substance; bleed’st not; speak’st; art sound.\\r\\nTen masts at each make not the altitude\\r\\nWhich thou hast perpendicularly fell.\\r\\nThy life is a miracle. Speak yet again.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nBut have I fall’n, or no?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nFrom the dread summit of this chalky bourn.\\r\\nLook up a-height, the shrill-gorg’d lark so far\\r\\nCannot be seen or heard. Do but look up.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nAlack, I have no eyes.\\r\\nIs wretchedness depriv’d that benefit\\r\\nTo end itself by death? ’Twas yet some comfort\\r\\nWhen misery could beguile the tyrant’s rage\\r\\nAnd frustrate his proud will.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nGive me your arm.\\r\\nUp, so. How is’t? Feel you your legs? You stand.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nToo well, too well.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nThis is above all strangeness.\\r\\nUpon the crown o’ the cliff what thing was that\\r\\nWhich parted from you?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nA poor unfortunate beggar.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nAs I stood here below, methought his eyes\\r\\nWere two full moons; he had a thousand noses,\\r\\nHorns whelk’d and waved like the enraged sea.\\r\\nIt was some fiend. Therefore, thou happy father,\\r\\nThink that the clearest gods, who make them honours\\r\\nOf men’s impossibilities, have preserv’d thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI do remember now: henceforth I’ll bear\\r\\nAffliction till it do cry out itself\\r\\n‘Enough, enough,’ and die. That thing you speak of,\\r\\nI took it for a man; often ’twould say,\\r\\n‘The fiend, the fiend’; he led me to that place.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nBear free and patient thoughts. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lear, fantastically dressed up with flowers.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe safer sense will ne’er accommodate\\r\\nHis master thus.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo, they cannot touch me for coining. I am the King himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nO thou side-piercing sight!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNature’s above art in that respect. There’s your press money. That\\r\\nfellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper: draw me a clothier’s yard.\\r\\nLook, look, a mouse! Peace, peace, this piece of toasted cheese will\\r\\ndo’t. There’s my gauntlet; I’ll prove it on a giant. Bring up the brown\\r\\nbills. O, well flown, bird! i’ the clout, i’ the clout. Hewgh! Give the\\r\\nword.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nSweet marjoram.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nPass.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI know that voice.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHa! Goneril with a white beard! They flattered me like a dog; and told\\r\\nme I had white hairs in my beard ere the black ones were there. To say\\r\\n‘ay’ and ‘no’ to everything I said ‘ay’ and ‘no’ to was no good\\r\\ndivinity. When the rain came to wet me once, and the wind to make me\\r\\nchatter; when the thunder would not peace at my bidding; there I found\\r\\n’em, there I smelt ’em out. Go to, they are not men o’ their words:\\r\\nthey told me I was everything; ’tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nThe trick of that voice I do well remember:\\r\\nIs’t not the King?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nAy, every inch a king.\\r\\nWhen I do stare, see how the subject quakes.\\r\\nI pardon that man’s life. What was thy cause?\\r\\nAdultery? Thou shalt not die: die for adultery! No:\\r\\nThe wren goes to’t, and the small gilded fly\\r\\nDoes lecher in my sight. Let copulation thrive;\\r\\nFor Gloucester’s bastard son was kinder to his father\\r\\nThan my daughters got ’tween the lawful sheets.\\r\\nTo’t, luxury, pell-mell! for I lack soldiers.\\r\\nBehold yond simp’ring dame,\\r\\nWhose face between her forks presages snow;\\r\\nThat minces virtue, and does shake the head\\r\\nTo hear of pleasure’s name.\\r\\nThe fitchew nor the soiled horse goes to’t with a more riotous\\r\\nappetite. Down from the waist they are centaurs, though women all\\r\\nabove. But to the girdle do the gods inherit, beneath is all the\\r\\nfiend’s; there’s hell, there’s darkness, there is the sulphurous pit;\\r\\nburning, scalding, stench, consumption. Fie, fie, fie! pah, pah! Give\\r\\nme an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination.\\r\\nThere’s money for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nO, let me kiss that hand!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nLet me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nO ruin’d piece of nature, this great world\\r\\nShall so wear out to naught. Dost thou know me?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou squiny at me?\\r\\nNo, do thy worst, blind Cupid; I’ll not love.\\r\\nRead thou this challenge; mark but the penning of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWere all the letters suns, I could not see one.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nI would not take this from report,\\r\\nIt is, and my heart breaks at it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nRead.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWhat, with the case of eyes?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nO, ho, are you there with me? No eyes in your head, nor no money in\\r\\nyour purse? Your eyes are in a heavy case, your purse in a light, yet\\r\\nyou see how this world goes.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI see it feelingly.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat, art mad? A man may see how the world goes with no eyes. Look with\\r\\nthine ears. See how yon justice rails upon yon simple thief. Hark, in\\r\\nthine ear: change places; and, handy-dandy, which is the justice, which\\r\\nis the thief? Thou hast seen a farmer’s dog bark at a beggar?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nAy, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nAnd the creature run from the cur? There thou mightst behold the great\\r\\nimage of authority: a dog’s obeyed in office.\\r\\nThou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand!\\r\\nWhy dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back;\\r\\nThou hotly lusts to use her in that kind\\r\\nFor which thou whipp’st her. The usurer hangs the cozener.\\r\\nThrough tatter’d clothes great vices do appear;\\r\\nRobes and furr’d gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold,\\r\\nAnd the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks;\\r\\nArm it in rags, a pygmy’s straw does pierce it.\\r\\nNone does offend, none, I say none; I’ll able ’em;\\r\\nTake that of me, my friend, who have the power\\r\\nTo seal the accuser’s lips. Get thee glass eyes,\\r\\nAnd like a scurvy politician, seem\\r\\nTo see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now:\\r\\nPull off my boots: harder, harder, so.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nO, matter and impertinency mix’d!\\r\\nReason in madness!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nIf thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes.\\r\\nI know thee well enough, thy name is Gloucester.\\r\\nThou must be patient; we came crying hither:\\r\\nThou know’st the first time that we smell the air\\r\\nWe wawl and cry. I will preach to thee: mark.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nAlack, alack the day!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhen we are born, we cry that we are come\\r\\nTo this great stage of fools. This a good block:\\r\\nIt were a delicate stratagem to shoe\\r\\nA troop of horse with felt. I’ll put’t in proof\\r\\nAnd when I have stol’n upon these son-in-laws,\\r\\nThen kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Gentleman with Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nO, here he is: lay hand upon him. Sir,\\r\\nYour most dear daughter—\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even\\r\\nThe natural fool of fortune. Use me well;\\r\\nYou shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons;\\r\\nI am cut to the brains.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nYou shall have anything.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo seconds? All myself?\\r\\nWhy, this would make a man a man of salt,\\r\\nTo use his eyes for garden water-pots,\\r\\nAy, and for laying autumn’s dust.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nGood sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI will die bravely, like a smug bridegroom.\\r\\nWhat! I will be jovial. Come, come,\\r\\nI am a king, my masters, know you that.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nYou are a royal one, and we obey you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThen there’s life in’t. Come, and you get it,\\r\\nYou shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit running. Attendants follow._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nA sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch,\\r\\nPast speaking of in a king! Thou hast one daughter\\r\\nWho redeems nature from the general curse\\r\\nWhich twain have brought her to.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nHail, gentle sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nSir, speed you. What’s your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nDo you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nMost sure and vulgar.\\r\\nEveryone hears that, which can distinguish sound.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nBut, by your favour,\\r\\nHow near’s the other army?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNear and on speedy foot; the main descry\\r\\nStands on the hourly thought.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nI thank you sir, that’s all.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThough that the queen on special cause is here,\\r\\nHer army is mov’d on.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nI thank you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Gentleman._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nYou ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me;\\r\\nLet not my worser spirit tempt me again\\r\\nTo die before you please.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nWell pray you, father.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nNow, good sir, what are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nA most poor man, made tame to fortune’s blows;\\r\\nWho, by the art of known and feeling sorrows,\\r\\nAm pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand,\\r\\nI’ll lead you to some biding.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHearty thanks:\\r\\nThe bounty and the benison of heaven\\r\\nTo boot, and boot.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Oswald.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nA proclaim’d prize! Most happy!\\r\\nThat eyeless head of thine was first fram’d flesh\\r\\nTo raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor,\\r\\nBriefly thyself remember. The sword is out\\r\\nThat must destroy thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nNow let thy friendly hand\\r\\nPut strength enough to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Edgar interposes._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nWherefore, bold peasant,\\r\\nDar’st thou support a publish’d traitor? Hence;\\r\\nLest that th’infection of his fortune take\\r\\nLike hold on thee. Let go his arm.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nChill not let go, zir, without vurther ’casion.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nLet go, slave, or thou diest!\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nGood gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volke pass. An chud ha’ bin\\r\\nzwaggered out of my life, ’twould not ha’ bin zo long as ’tis by a\\r\\nvortnight. Nay, come not near th’old man; keep out, che vor ye, or ise\\r\\ntry whether your costard or my ballow be the harder: chill be plain\\r\\nwith you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nOut, dunghill!\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nChill pick your teeth, zir. Come! No matter vor your foins.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight, and Edgar knocks him down._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nSlave, thou hast slain me. Villain, take my purse.\\r\\nIf ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body;\\r\\nAnd give the letters which thou find’st about me\\r\\nTo Edmund, Earl of Gloucester. Seek him out\\r\\nUpon the British party. O, untimely death!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nI know thee well. A serviceable villain,\\r\\nAs duteous to the vices of thy mistress\\r\\nAs badness would desire.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWhat, is he dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nSit you down, father; rest you.\\r\\nLet’s see these pockets; the letters that he speaks of\\r\\nMay be my friends. He’s dead; I am only sorry\\r\\nHe had no other deathsman. Let us see:\\r\\nLeave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not.\\r\\nTo know our enemies’ minds, we rip their hearts,\\r\\nTheir papers is more lawful.\\r\\n[_Reads._] ‘Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. You have many\\r\\nopportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, time and place\\r\\nwill be fruitfully offered. There is nothing done if he return the\\r\\nconqueror: then am I the prisoner, and his bed my gaol; from the\\r\\nloathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the place for your\\r\\nlabour. ‘Your (wife, so I would say) affectionate servant, ‘Goneril.’\\r\\nO indistinguish’d space of woman’s will!\\r\\nA plot upon her virtuous husband’s life,\\r\\nAnd the exchange my brother! Here in the sands\\r\\nThee I’ll rake up, the post unsanctified\\r\\nOf murderous lechers: and in the mature time,\\r\\nWith this ungracious paper strike the sight\\r\\nOf the death-practis’d Duke: for him ’tis well\\r\\nThat of thy death and business I can tell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Edgar, dragging out the body._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nThe King is mad: how stiff is my vile sense,\\r\\nThat I stand up, and have ingenious feeling\\r\\nOf my huge sorrows! Better I were distract:\\r\\nSo should my thoughts be sever’d from my griefs,\\r\\nAnd woes by wrong imaginations lose\\r\\nThe knowledge of themselves.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A drum afar off._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nGive me your hand.\\r\\nFar off methinks I hear the beaten drum.\\r\\nCome, father, I’ll bestow you with a friend.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. A Tent in the French Camp.\\r\\n\\r\\nLear on a bed, asleep, soft music playing; Physician, Gentleman and\\r\\nothers attending.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cordelia and Kent.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nO thou good Kent, how shall I live and work\\r\\nTo match thy goodness? My life will be too short,\\r\\nAnd every measure fail me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nTo be acknowledg’d, madam, is o’erpaid.\\r\\nAll my reports go with the modest truth;\\r\\nNor more, nor clipp’d, but so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nBe better suited,\\r\\nThese weeds are memories of those worser hours:\\r\\nI prythee put them off.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nPardon, dear madam;\\r\\nYet to be known shortens my made intent.\\r\\nMy boon I make it that you know me not\\r\\nTill time and I think meet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nThen be’t so, my good lord. [_To the Physician._] How, does the King?\\r\\n\\r\\nPHYSICIAN.\\r\\nMadam, sleeps still.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nO you kind gods,\\r\\nCure this great breach in his abused nature!\\r\\nThe untun’d and jarring senses, O, wind up\\r\\nOf this child-changed father.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHYSICIAN.\\r\\nSo please your majesty\\r\\nThat we may wake the King: he hath slept long.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nBe govern’d by your knowledge, and proceed\\r\\nI’ the sway of your own will. Is he array’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nPHYSICIAN.\\r\\nAy, madam. In the heaviness of sleep\\r\\nWe put fresh garments on him.\\r\\nBe by, good madam, when we do awake him;\\r\\nI doubt not of his temperance.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nVery well.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHYSICIAN.\\r\\nPlease you draw near. Louder the music there!\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nO my dear father! Restoration hang\\r\\nThy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss\\r\\nRepair those violent harms that my two sisters\\r\\nHave in thy reverence made!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nKind and dear princess!\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nHad you not been their father, these white flakes\\r\\nDid challenge pity of them. Was this a face\\r\\nTo be oppos’d against the warring winds?\\r\\nTo stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder?\\r\\nIn the most terrible and nimble stroke\\r\\nOf quick cross lightning? to watch, poor perdu!\\r\\nWith this thin helm? Mine enemy’s dog,\\r\\nThough he had bit me, should have stood that night\\r\\nAgainst my fire; and wast thou fain, poor father,\\r\\nTo hovel thee with swine and rogues forlorn\\r\\nIn short and musty straw? Alack, alack!\\r\\n’Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once\\r\\nHad not concluded all. He wakes; speak to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHYSICIAN.\\r\\nMadam, do you; ’tis fittest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nHow does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nYou do me wrong to take me out o’ the grave.\\r\\nThou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound\\r\\nUpon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears\\r\\nDo scald like molten lead.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nSir, do you know me?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nYou are a spirit, I know: when did you die?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nStill, still, far wide!\\r\\n\\r\\nPHYSICIAN.\\r\\nHe’s scarce awake: let him alone awhile.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhere have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight?\\r\\nI am mightily abus’d. I should e’en die with pity,\\r\\nTo see another thus. I know not what to say.\\r\\nI will not swear these are my hands: let’s see;\\r\\nI feel this pin prick. Would I were assur’d\\r\\nOf my condition!\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nO, look upon me, sir,\\r\\nAnd hold your hands in benediction o’er me.\\r\\nNo, sir, you must not kneel.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nPray, do not mock me:\\r\\nI am a very foolish fond old man,\\r\\nFourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less;\\r\\nAnd to deal plainly,\\r\\nI fear I am not in my perfect mind.\\r\\nMethinks I should know you, and know this man;\\r\\nYet I am doubtful: for I am mainly ignorant\\r\\nWhat place this is; and all the skill I have\\r\\nRemembers not these garments; nor I know not\\r\\nWhere I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me;\\r\\nFor, as I am a man, I think this lady\\r\\nTo be my child Cordelia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nAnd so I am. I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nBe your tears wet? Yes, faith. I pray weep not:\\r\\nIf you have poison for me, I will drink it.\\r\\nI know you do not love me; for your sisters\\r\\nHave, as I do remember, done me wrong.\\r\\nYou have some cause, they have not.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nNo cause, no cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nAm I in France?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nIn your own kingdom, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nDo not abuse me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHYSICIAN.\\r\\nBe comforted, good madam, the great rage,\\r\\nYou see, is kill’d in him: and yet it is danger\\r\\nTo make him even o’er the time he has lost.\\r\\nDesire him to go in; trouble him no more\\r\\nTill further settling.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nWill’t please your highness walk?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nYou must bear with me:\\r\\nPray you now, forget and forgive: I am old and foolish.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lear, Cordelia, Physician and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nHolds it true, sir, that the Duke of Cornwall was so slain?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nMost certain, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWho is conductor of his people?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nAs ’tis said, the bastard son of Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThey say Edgar, his banished son, is with the Earl of Kent in Germany.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nReport is changeable. ’Tis time to look about; the powers of the\\r\\nkingdom approach apace.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThe arbitrement is like to be bloody.\\r\\nFare you well, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nMy point and period will be throughly wrought,\\r\\nOr well or ill, as this day’s battle’s fought.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Camp of the British Forces near Dover.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, with drum and colours Edmund, Regan, Officers, Soldiers and\\r\\n others.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nKnow of the Duke if his last purpose hold,\\r\\nOr whether since he is advis’d by aught\\r\\nTo change the course, he’s full of alteration\\r\\nAnd self-reproving, bring his constant pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_To an Officer, who goes out._]\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nOur sister’s man is certainly miscarried.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\n’Tis to be doubted, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nNow, sweet lord,\\r\\nYou know the goodness I intend upon you:\\r\\nTell me but truly, but then speak the truth,\\r\\nDo you not love my sister?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nIn honour’d love.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nBut have you never found my brother’s way\\r\\nTo the forfended place?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nThat thought abuses you.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nI am doubtful that you have been conjunct\\r\\nAnd bosom’d with her, as far as we call hers.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nNo, by mine honour, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nI never shall endure her, dear my lord,\\r\\nBe not familiar with her.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nFear not,\\r\\nShe and the Duke her husband!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter with drum and colours Albany, Goneril and Soldiers.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I had rather lose the battle than that sister\\r\\nShould loosen him and me.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nOur very loving sister, well be-met.\\r\\nSir, this I heard: the King is come to his daughter,\\r\\nWith others whom the rigour of our state\\r\\nForc’d to cry out. Where I could not be honest,\\r\\nI never yet was valiant. For this business,\\r\\nIt toucheth us as France invades our land,\\r\\nNot bolds the King, with others whom I fear\\r\\nMost just and heavy causes make oppose.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nSir, you speak nobly.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nWhy is this reason’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nCombine together ’gainst the enemy;\\r\\nFor these domestic and particular broils\\r\\nAre not the question here.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nLet’s, then, determine with the ancient of war\\r\\nOn our proceeding.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI shall attend you presently at your tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nSister, you’ll go with us?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\n’Tis most convenient; pray you, go with us.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] O, ho, I know the riddle. I will go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Edmund, Regan, Goneril, Officers, Soldiers and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\n As they are going out, enter Edgar disguised.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nIf e’er your grace had speech with man so poor,\\r\\nHear me one word.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nI’ll overtake you. Speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nBefore you fight the battle, ope this letter.\\r\\nIf you have victory, let the trumpet sound\\r\\nFor him that brought it: wretched though I seem,\\r\\nI can produce a champion that will prove\\r\\nWhat is avouched there. If you miscarry,\\r\\nYour business of the world hath so an end,\\r\\nAnd machination ceases. Fortune love you!\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nStay till I have read the letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nI was forbid it.\\r\\nWhen time shall serve, let but the herald cry,\\r\\nAnd I’ll appear again.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nWhy, fare thee well. I will o’erlook thy paper.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Edgar._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Edmund.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nThe enemy’s in view; draw up your powers.\\r\\nHere is the guess of their true strength and forces\\r\\nBy diligent discovery; but your haste\\r\\nIs now urg’d on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nWe will greet the time.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nTo both these sisters have I sworn my love;\\r\\nEach jealous of the other, as the stung\\r\\nAre of the adder. Which of them shall I take?\\r\\nBoth? One? Or neither? Neither can be enjoy’d,\\r\\nIf both remain alive. To take the widow\\r\\nExasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril;\\r\\nAnd hardly shall I carry out my side,\\r\\nHer husband being alive. Now, then, we’ll use\\r\\nHis countenance for the battle; which being done,\\r\\nLet her who would be rid of him devise\\r\\nHis speedy taking off. As for the mercy\\r\\nWhich he intends to Lear and to Cordelia,\\r\\nThe battle done, and they within our power,\\r\\nShall never see his pardon: for my state\\r\\nStands on me to defend, not to debate.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A field between the two Camps.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum within. Enter with drum and colours, Lear, Cordelia and their\\r\\n Forces, and exeunt.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Edgar and Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nHere, father, take the shadow of this tree\\r\\nFor your good host; pray that the right may thrive:\\r\\nIf ever I return to you again,\\r\\nI’ll bring you comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nGrace go with you, sir!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Edgar._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum and retreat within. Enter Edgar.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nAway, old man, give me thy hand, away!\\r\\nKing Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta’en:\\r\\nGive me thy hand; come on!\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nNo further, sir; a man may rot even here.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nWhat, in ill thoughts again? Men must endure\\r\\nTheir going hence, even as their coming hither;\\r\\nRipeness is all. Come on.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nAnd that’s true too.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The British Camp near Dover.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter in conquest with drum and colours, Edmund, Lear and Cordelia as\\r\\n prisoners; Officers, Soldiers, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nSome officers take them away: good guard\\r\\nUntil their greater pleasures first be known\\r\\nThat are to censure them.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nWe are not the first\\r\\nWho with best meaning have incurr’d the worst.\\r\\nFor thee, oppressed King, I am cast down;\\r\\nMyself could else out-frown false fortune’s frown.\\r\\nShall we not see these daughters and these sisters?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo, no, no, no. Come, let’s away to prison:\\r\\nWe two alone will sing like birds i’ the cage:\\r\\nWhen thou dost ask me blessing I’ll kneel down\\r\\nAnd ask of thee forgiveness. So we’ll live,\\r\\nAnd pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh\\r\\nAt gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues\\r\\nTalk of court news; and we’ll talk with them too,\\r\\nWho loses and who wins; who’s in, who’s out;\\r\\nAnd take upon’s the mystery of things,\\r\\nAs if we were God’s spies. And we’ll wear out,\\r\\nIn a wall’d prison, packs and sects of great ones\\r\\nThat ebb and flow by the moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nTake them away.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nUpon such sacrifices, my Cordelia,\\r\\nThe gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee?\\r\\nHe that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven,\\r\\nAnd fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes;\\r\\nThe good years shall devour them, flesh and fell,\\r\\nEre they shall make us weep!\\r\\nWe’ll see ’em starve first: come.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lear and Cordelia, guarded._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nCome hither, captain, hark.\\r\\nTake thou this note [_giving a paper_]; go follow them to prison.\\r\\nOne step I have advanc’d thee; if thou dost\\r\\nAs this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way\\r\\nTo noble fortunes: know thou this, that men\\r\\nAre as the time is; to be tender-minded\\r\\nDoes not become a sword. Thy great employment\\r\\nWill not bear question; either say thou’lt do’t,\\r\\nOr thrive by other means.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nI’ll do’t, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nAbout it; and write happy when thou hast done.\\r\\nMark, I say, instantly; and carry it so\\r\\nAs I have set it down.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nI cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried oats;\\r\\nIf it be man’s work, I’ll do’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Enter Albany, Goneril, Regan, Officers and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nSir, you have show’d today your valiant strain,\\r\\nAnd fortune led you well: you have the captives\\r\\nWho were the opposites of this day’s strife:\\r\\nI do require them of you, so to use them\\r\\nAs we shall find their merits and our safety\\r\\nMay equally determine.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nSir, I thought it fit\\r\\nTo send the old and miserable King\\r\\nTo some retention and appointed guard;\\r\\nWhose age has charms in it, whose title more,\\r\\nTo pluck the common bosom on his side,\\r\\nAnd turn our impress’d lances in our eyes\\r\\nWhich do command them. With him I sent the queen;\\r\\nMy reason all the same; and they are ready\\r\\nTomorrow, or at further space, to appear\\r\\nWhere you shall hold your session. At this time\\r\\nWe sweat and bleed: the friend hath lost his friend;\\r\\nAnd the best quarrels in the heat are curs’d\\r\\nBy those that feel their sharpness.\\r\\nThe question of Cordelia and her father\\r\\nRequires a fitter place.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nSir, by your patience,\\r\\nI hold you but a subject of this war,\\r\\nNot as a brother.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nThat’s as we list to grace him.\\r\\nMethinks our pleasure might have been demanded\\r\\nEre you had spoke so far. He led our powers;\\r\\nBore the commission of my place and person;\\r\\nThe which immediacy may well stand up\\r\\nAnd call itself your brother.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nNot so hot:\\r\\nIn his own grace he doth exalt himself,\\r\\nMore than in your addition.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nIn my rights,\\r\\nBy me invested, he compeers the best.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nThat were the most, if he should husband you.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nJesters do oft prove prophets.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nHolla, holla!\\r\\nThat eye that told you so look’d but asquint.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nLady, I am not well; else I should answer\\r\\nFrom a full-flowing stomach. General,\\r\\nTake thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony;\\r\\nDispose of them, of me; the walls are thine:\\r\\nWitness the world that I create thee here\\r\\nMy lord and master.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nMean you to enjoy him?\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nThe let-alone lies not in your good will.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nNor in thine, lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nHalf-blooded fellow, yes.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\n[_To Edmund._] Let the drum strike, and prove my title thine.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nStay yet; hear reason: Edmund, I arrest thee\\r\\nOn capital treason; and, in thine arrest,\\r\\nThis gilded serpent. [_pointing to Goneril._]\\r\\nFor your claim, fair sister,\\r\\nI bar it in the interest of my wife;\\r\\n’Tis she is sub-contracted to this lord,\\r\\nAnd I her husband contradict your bans.\\r\\nIf you will marry, make your loves to me,\\r\\nMy lady is bespoke.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nAn interlude!\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nThou art arm’d, Gloucester. Let the trumpet sound:\\r\\nIf none appear to prove upon thy person\\r\\nThy heinous, manifest, and many treasons,\\r\\nThere is my pledge. [_Throwing down a glove._]\\r\\nI’ll make it on thy heart,\\r\\nEre I taste bread, thou art in nothing less\\r\\nThan I have here proclaim’d thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nSick, O, sick!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\n[_Aside._] If not, I’ll ne’er trust medicine.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nThere’s my exchange. [_Throwing down a glove._]\\r\\nWhat in the world he is\\r\\nThat names me traitor, villain-like he lies.\\r\\nCall by thy trumpet: he that dares approach,\\r\\nOn him, on you, who not? I will maintain\\r\\nMy truth and honour firmly.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nA herald, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Herald.\\r\\n\\r\\nTrust to thy single virtue; for thy soldiers,\\r\\nAll levied in my name, have in my name\\r\\nTook their discharge.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nMy sickness grows upon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nShe is not well. Convey her to my tent.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Regan, led._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome hither, herald. Let the trumpet sound\\r\\nAnd read out this.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nSound, trumpet!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A trumpet sounds._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\n[_Reads._] ‘If any man of quality or degree within the lists of the\\r\\narmy will maintain upon Edmund, supposed Earl of Gloucester, that he is\\r\\na manifold traitor, let him appear by the third sound of the trumpet.\\r\\nHe is bold in his defence.’\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nSound!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_First trumpet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nAgain!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Second trumpet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nAgain!\\r\\n\\r\\n Third trumpet. Trumpet answers within. Enter Edgar, armed, preceded by\\r\\n a trumpet.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nAsk him his purposes, why he appears\\r\\nUpon this call o’ the trumpet.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nWhat are you?\\r\\nYour name, your quality? and why you answer\\r\\nThis present summons?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nKnow my name is lost;\\r\\nBy treason’s tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit.\\r\\nYet am I noble as the adversary\\r\\nI come to cope.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nWhich is that adversary?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nWhat’s he that speaks for Edmund, Earl of Gloucester?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nHimself, what say’st thou to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nDraw thy sword,\\r\\nThat if my speech offend a noble heart,\\r\\nThy arm may do thee justice: here is mine.\\r\\nBehold, it is the privilege of mine honours,\\r\\nMy oath, and my profession: I protest,\\r\\nMaugre thy strength, youth, place, and eminence,\\r\\nDespite thy victor sword and fire-new fortune,\\r\\nThy valour and thy heart, thou art a traitor;\\r\\nFalse to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father;\\r\\nConspirant ’gainst this high illustrious prince;\\r\\nAnd, from the extremest upward of thy head\\r\\nTo the descent and dust beneath thy foot,\\r\\nA most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou ‘No,’\\r\\nThis sword, this arm, and my best spirits are bent\\r\\nTo prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak,\\r\\nThou liest.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nIn wisdom I should ask thy name;\\r\\nBut since thy outside looks so fair and warlike,\\r\\nAnd that thy tongue some say of breeding breathes,\\r\\nWhat safe and nicely I might well delay\\r\\nBy rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn.\\r\\nBack do I toss those treasons to thy head,\\r\\nWith the hell-hated lie o’erwhelm thy heart;\\r\\nWhich for they yet glance by and scarcely bruise,\\r\\nThis sword of mine shall give them instant way,\\r\\nWhere they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, speak!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alarums. They fight. Edmund falls._]\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nSave him, save him!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nThis is mere practice, Gloucester:\\r\\nBy the law of arms thou wast not bound to answer\\r\\nAn unknown opposite; thou art not vanquish’d,\\r\\nBut cozen’d and beguil’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nShut your mouth, dame,\\r\\nOr with this paper shall I stop it. Hold, sir;\\r\\nThou worse than any name, read thine own evil.\\r\\nNo tearing, lady; I perceive you know it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Gives the letter to Edmund._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nSay if I do, the laws are mine, not thine:\\r\\nWho can arraign me for’t?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nMost monstrous! O!\\r\\nKnow’st thou this paper?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nAsk me not what I know.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\n[_To an Officer, who goes out._] Go after her; she’s desperate; govern\\r\\nher.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nWhat you have charg’d me with, that have I done;\\r\\nAnd more, much more; the time will bring it out.\\r\\n’Tis past, and so am I. But what art thou\\r\\nThat hast this fortune on me? If thou’rt noble,\\r\\nI do forgive thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nLet’s exchange charity.\\r\\nI am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund;\\r\\nIf more, the more thou hast wrong’d me.\\r\\nMy name is Edgar and thy father’s son.\\r\\nThe gods are just, and of our pleasant vices\\r\\nMake instruments to plague us:\\r\\nThe dark and vicious place where thee he got\\r\\nCost him his eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nThou hast spoken right, ’tis true;\\r\\nThe wheel is come full circle; I am here.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nMethought thy very gait did prophesy\\r\\nA royal nobleness. I must embrace thee.\\r\\nLet sorrow split my heart if ever I\\r\\nDid hate thee or thy father.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nWorthy prince, I know’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nWhere have you hid yourself?\\r\\nHow have you known the miseries of your father?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nBy nursing them, my lord. List a brief tale;\\r\\nAnd when ’tis told, O that my heart would burst!\\r\\nThe bloody proclamation to escape\\r\\nThat follow’d me so near,—O, our lives’ sweetness!\\r\\nThat with the pain of death we’d hourly die\\r\\nRather than die at once!—taught me to shift\\r\\nInto a madman’s rags; t’assume a semblance\\r\\nThat very dogs disdain’d; and in this habit\\r\\nMet I my father with his bleeding rings,\\r\\nTheir precious stones new lost; became his guide,\\r\\nLed him, begg’d for him, sav’d him from despair;\\r\\nNever,—O fault!—reveal’d myself unto him\\r\\nUntil some half hour past, when I was arm’d;\\r\\nNot sure, though hoping of this good success,\\r\\nI ask’d his blessing, and from first to last\\r\\nTold him my pilgrimage. But his flaw’d heart,\\r\\nAlack, too weak the conflict to support!\\r\\n’Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief,\\r\\nBurst smilingly.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nThis speech of yours hath mov’d me,\\r\\nAnd shall perchance do good, but speak you on;\\r\\nYou look as you had something more to say.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nIf there be more, more woeful, hold it in;\\r\\nFor I am almost ready to dissolve,\\r\\nHearing of this.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nThis would have seem’d a period\\r\\nTo such as love not sorrow; but another,\\r\\nTo amplify too much, would make much more,\\r\\nAnd top extremity.\\r\\nWhilst I was big in clamour, came there a man\\r\\nWho, having seen me in my worst estate,\\r\\nShunn’d my abhorr’d society; but then finding\\r\\nWho ’twas that so endur’d, with his strong arms\\r\\nHe fastened on my neck, and bellow’d out\\r\\nAs he’d burst heaven; threw him on my father;\\r\\nTold the most piteous tale of Lear and him\\r\\nThat ever ear receiv’d, which in recounting\\r\\nHis grief grew puissant, and the strings of life\\r\\nBegan to crack. Twice then the trumpets sounded,\\r\\nAnd there I left him tranc’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nBut who was this?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nKent, sir, the banish’d Kent; who in disguise\\r\\nFollow’d his enemy king and did him service\\r\\nImproper for a slave.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Gentleman hastily, with a bloody knife.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nHelp, help! O, help!\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nWhat kind of help?\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nSpeak, man.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nWhat means this bloody knife?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\n’Tis hot, it smokes;\\r\\nIt came even from the heart of—O! she’s dead!\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nWho dead? Speak, man.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nYour lady, sir, your lady; and her sister\\r\\nBy her is poisoned; she hath confesses it.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI was contracted to them both, all three\\r\\nNow marry in an instant.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nHere comes Kent.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Kent.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nProduce their bodies, be they alive or dead.\\r\\nThis judgement of the heavens that makes us tremble\\r\\nTouches us not with pity. O, is this he?\\r\\nThe time will not allow the compliment\\r\\nWhich very manners urges.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI am come\\r\\nTo bid my King and master aye good night:\\r\\nIs he not here?\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nGreat thing of us forgot!\\r\\nSpeak, Edmund, where’s the King? and where’s Cordelia?\\r\\n\\r\\n The bodies of Goneril and Regan are brought in.\\r\\n\\r\\nSeest thou this object, Kent?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nAlack, why thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nYet Edmund was belov’d.\\r\\nThe one the other poisoned for my sake,\\r\\nAnd after slew herself.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nEven so. Cover their faces.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI pant for life. Some good I mean to do,\\r\\nDespite of mine own nature. Quickly send,\\r\\nBe brief in it, to the castle; for my writ\\r\\nIs on the life of Lear and on Cordelia;\\r\\nNay, send in time.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nRun, run, O, run!\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nTo who, my lord? Who has the office? Send\\r\\nThy token of reprieve.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nWell thought on: take my sword,\\r\\nGive it the captain.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nHaste thee for thy life.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Edgar._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nHe hath commission from thy wife and me\\r\\nTo hang Cordelia in the prison, and\\r\\nTo lay the blame upon her own despair,\\r\\nThat she fordid herself.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nThe gods defend her! Bear him hence awhile.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Edmund is borne off._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lear with Cordelia dead in his arms; Edgar, Officer and others\\r\\n following.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHowl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stone.\\r\\nHad I your tongues and eyes, I’ld use them so\\r\\nThat heaven’s vault should crack. She’s gone for ever!\\r\\nI know when one is dead, and when one lives;\\r\\nShe’s dead as earth. Lend me a looking glass;\\r\\nIf that her breath will mist or stain the stone,\\r\\nWhy, then she lives.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nIs this the promis’d end?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nOr image of that horror?\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nFall, and cease!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThis feather stirs; she lives! If it be so,\\r\\nIt is a chance which does redeem all sorrows\\r\\nThat ever I have felt.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nO, my good master! [_Kneeling._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nPrythee, away!\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\n’Tis noble Kent, your friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nA plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!\\r\\nI might have sav’d her; now she’s gone for ever!\\r\\nCordelia, Cordelia! stay a little. Ha!\\r\\nWhat is’t thou say’st? Her voice was ever soft,\\r\\nGentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.\\r\\nI kill’d the slave that was a-hanging thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\n’Tis true, my lords, he did.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nDid I not, fellow?\\r\\nI have seen the day, with my good biting falchion\\r\\nI would have made them skip. I am old now,\\r\\nAnd these same crosses spoil me. Who are you?\\r\\nMine eyes are not o’ the best, I’ll tell you straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nIf Fortune brag of two she lov’d and hated,\\r\\nOne of them we behold.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThis is a dull sight. Are you not Kent?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nThe same,\\r\\nYour servant Kent. Where is your servant Caius?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHe’s a good fellow, I can tell you that;\\r\\nHe’ll strike, and quickly too:. He’s dead and rotten.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNo, my good lord; I am the very man.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI’ll see that straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nThat from your first of difference and decay\\r\\nHave follow’d your sad steps.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nYou are welcome hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNor no man else. All’s cheerless, dark and deadly.\\r\\nYour eldest daughters have fordone themselves,\\r\\nAnd desperately are dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nAy, so I think.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nHe knows not what he says; and vain is it\\r\\nThat we present us to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nVery bootless.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter an Officer.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nEdmund is dead, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nThat’s but a trifle here.\\r\\nYou lords and noble friends, know our intent.\\r\\nWhat comfort to this great decay may come\\r\\nShall be applied For us, we will resign,\\r\\nDuring the life of this old majesty,\\r\\nTo him our absolute power;\\r\\n[_to Edgar and Kent_] you to your rights;\\r\\nWith boot and such addition as your honours\\r\\nHave more than merited. All friends shall taste\\r\\nThe wages of their virtue and all foes\\r\\nThe cup of their deservings. O, see, see!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nAnd my poor fool is hang’d! No, no, no life!\\r\\nWhy should a dog, a horse, a rat have life,\\r\\nAnd thou no breath at all? Thou’lt come no more,\\r\\nNever, never, never, never, never!\\r\\nPray you undo this button. Thank you, sir.\\r\\nDo you see this? Look on her: look, her lips,\\r\\nLook there, look there!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nHe faints! My lord, my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nBreak, heart; I prythee break!\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nLook up, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nVex not his ghost: O, let him pass! He hates him\\r\\nThat would upon the rack of this rough world\\r\\nStretch him out longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nHe is gone indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nThe wonder is, he hath endur’d so long:\\r\\nHe but usurp’d his life.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nBear them from hence. Our present business\\r\\nIs general woe. [_To Edgar and Kent._] Friends of my soul, you twain,\\r\\nRule in this realm and the gor’d state sustain.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI have a journey, sir, shortly to go;\\r\\nMy master calls me, I must not say no.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nThe weight of this sad time we must obey;\\r\\nSpeak what we feel, not what we ought to say.\\r\\nThe oldest hath borne most; we that are young\\r\\nShall never see so much, nor live so long.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt with a dead march._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nLOVE’S LABOUR’S LOST\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personae.\\r\\n\\r\\n FERDINAND, King of Navarre\\r\\n BEROWNE, lord attending on the King\\r\\n LONGAVILLE, \" \" \" \" \"\\r\\n DUMAIN, \" \" \" \" \"\\r\\n BOYET, lord attending on the Princess of France\\r\\n MARCADE, \" \" \" \" \" \" \"\\r\\n DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO, fantastical Spaniard\\r\\n SIR NATHANIEL, a curate\\r\\n HOLOFERNES, a schoolmaster\\r\\n DULL, a constable\\r\\n COSTARD, a clown\\r\\n MOTH, page to Armado\\r\\n A FORESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n THE PRINCESS OF FRANCE\\r\\n ROSALINE, lady attending on the Princess\\r\\n MARIA, \" \" \" \" \"\\r\\n KATHARINE, lady attending on the Princess\\r\\n JAQUENETTA, a country wench\\r\\n\\r\\n Lords, Attendants, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Navarre\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. Navarre. The King\\'s park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the King, BEROWNE, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN\\r\\n\\r\\n KING. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives,\\r\\n Live regist\\'red upon our brazen tombs,\\r\\n And then grace us in the disgrace of death;\\r\\n When, spite of cormorant devouring Time,\\r\\n Th\\' endeavour of this present breath may buy\\r\\n That honour which shall bate his scythe\\'s keen edge,\\r\\n And make us heirs of all eternity.\\r\\n Therefore, brave conquerors- for so you are\\r\\n That war against your own affections\\r\\n And the huge army of the world\\'s desires-\\r\\n Our late edict shall strongly stand in force:\\r\\n Navarre shall be the wonder of the world;\\r\\n Our court shall be a little Academe,\\r\\n Still and contemplative in living art.\\r\\n You three, Berowne, Dumain, and Longaville,\\r\\n Have sworn for three years\\' term to live with me\\r\\n My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes\\r\\n That are recorded in this schedule here.\\r\\n Your oaths are pass\\'d; and now subscribe your names,\\r\\n That his own hand may strike his honour down\\r\\n That violates the smallest branch herein.\\r\\n If you are arm\\'d to do as sworn to do,\\r\\n Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. I am resolv\\'d; \\'tis but a three years\\' fast.\\r\\n The mind shall banquet, though the body pine.\\r\\n Fat paunches have lean pates; and dainty bits\\r\\n Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits.\\r\\n DUMAIN. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified.\\r\\n The grosser manner of these world\\'s delights\\r\\n He throws upon the gross world\\'s baser slaves;\\r\\n To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die,\\r\\n With all these living in philosophy.\\r\\n BEROWNE. I can but say their protestation over;\\r\\n So much, dear liege, I have already sworn,\\r\\n That is, to live and study here three years.\\r\\n But there are other strict observances,\\r\\n As: not to see a woman in that term,\\r\\n Which I hope well is not enrolled there;\\r\\n And one day in a week to touch no food,\\r\\n And but one meal on every day beside,\\r\\n The which I hope is not enrolled there;\\r\\n And then to sleep but three hours in the night\\r\\n And not be seen to wink of all the day-\\r\\n When I was wont to think no harm all night,\\r\\n And make a dark night too of half the day-\\r\\n Which I hope well is not enrolled there.\\r\\n O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep,\\r\\n Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep!\\r\\n KING. Your oath is pass\\'d to pass away from these.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Let me say no, my liege, an if you please:\\r\\n I only swore to study with your Grace,\\r\\n And stay here in your court for three years\\' space.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. You swore to that, Berowne, and to the rest.\\r\\n BEROWNE. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest.\\r\\n What is the end of study, let me know.\\r\\n KING. Why, that to know which else we should not know.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Things hid and barr\\'d, you mean, from common sense?\\r\\n KING. Ay, that is study\\'s god-like recompense.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Come on, then; I will swear to study so,\\r\\n To know the thing I am forbid to know,\\r\\n As thus: to study where I well may dine,\\r\\n When I to feast expressly am forbid;\\r\\n Or study where to meet some mistress fine,\\r\\n When mistresses from common sense are hid;\\r\\n Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath,\\r\\n Study to break it, and not break my troth.\\r\\n If study\\'s gain be thus, and this be so,\\r\\n Study knows that which yet it doth not know.\\r\\n Swear me to this, and I will ne\\'er say no.\\r\\n KING. These be the stops that hinder study quite,\\r\\n And train our intellects to vain delight.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain\\r\\n Which, with pain purchas\\'d, doth inherit pain,\\r\\n As painfully to pore upon a book\\r\\n To seek the light of truth; while truth the while\\r\\n Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look.\\r\\n Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile;\\r\\n So, ere you find where light in darkness lies,\\r\\n Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.\\r\\n Study me how to please the eye indeed,\\r\\n By fixing it upon a fairer eye;\\r\\n Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed,\\r\\n And give him light that it was blinded by.\\r\\n Study is like the heaven\\'s glorious sun,\\r\\n That will not be deep-search\\'d with saucy looks;\\r\\n Small have continual plodders ever won,\\r\\n Save base authority from others\\' books.\\r\\n These earthly godfathers of heaven\\'s lights\\r\\n That give a name to every fixed star\\r\\n Have no more profit of their shining nights\\r\\n Than those that walk and wot not what they are.\\r\\n Too much to know is to know nought but fame;\\r\\n And every godfather can give a name.\\r\\n KING. How well he\\'s read, to reason against reading!\\r\\n DUMAIN. Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding!\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the weeding.\\r\\n BEROWNE. The spring is near, when green geese are a-breeding.\\r\\n DUMAIN. How follows that?\\r\\n BEROWNE. Fit in his place and time.\\r\\n DUMAIN. In reason nothing.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Something then in rhyme.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Berowne is like an envious sneaping frost\\r\\n That bites the first-born infants of the spring.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Well, say I am; why should proud summer boast\\r\\n Before the birds have any cause to sing?\\r\\n Why should I joy in any abortive birth?\\r\\n At Christmas I no more desire a rose\\r\\n Than wish a snow in May\\'s new-fangled shows;\\r\\n But like of each thing that in season grows;\\r\\n So you, to study now it is too late,\\r\\n Climb o\\'er the house to unlock the little gate.\\r\\n KING. Well, sit out; go home, Berowne; adieu.\\r\\n BEROWNE. No, my good lord; I have sworn to stay with you;\\r\\n And though I have for barbarism spoke more\\r\\n Than for that angel knowledge you can say,\\r\\n Yet confident I\\'ll keep what I have swore,\\r\\n And bide the penance of each three years\\' day.\\r\\n Give me the paper; let me read the same;\\r\\n And to the strictest decrees I\\'ll write my name.\\r\\n KING. How well this yielding rescues thee from shame!\\r\\n BEROWNE. [Reads] \\'Item. That no woman shall come within a mile of\\r\\n my court\\'- Hath this been proclaimed?\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Four days ago.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Let\\'s see the penalty. [Reads] \\'-on pain of losing her\\r\\n tongue.\\' Who devis\\'d this penalty?\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Marry, that did I.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Sweet lord, and why?\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. To fright them hence with that dread penalty.\\r\\n BEROWNE. A dangerous law against gentility.\\r\\n [Reads] \\'Item. If any man be seen to talk with a woman within\\r\\n the term of three years, he shall endure such public shame as the\\r\\n rest of the court can possibly devise.\\'\\r\\n This article, my liege, yourself must break;\\r\\n For well you know here comes in embassy\\r\\n The French king\\'s daughter, with yourself to speak-\\r\\n A mild of grace and complete majesty-\\r\\n About surrender up of Aquitaine\\r\\n To her decrepit, sick, and bedrid father;\\r\\n Therefore this article is made in vain,\\r\\n Or vainly comes th\\' admired princess hither.\\r\\n KING. What say you, lords? Why, this was quite forgot.\\r\\n BEROWNE. So study evermore is over-shot.\\r\\n While it doth study to have what it would,\\r\\n It doth forget to do the thing it should;\\r\\n And when it hath the thing it hunteth most,\\r\\n \\'Tis won as towns with fire- so won, so lost.\\r\\n KING. We must of force dispense with this decree;\\r\\n She must lie here on mere necessity.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Necessity will make us all forsworn\\r\\n Three thousand times within this three years\\' space;\\r\\n For every man with his affects is born,\\r\\n Not by might mast\\'red, but by special grace.\\r\\n If I break faith, this word shall speak for me:\\r\\n I am forsworn on mere necessity.\\r\\n So to the laws at large I write my name; [Subscribes]\\r\\n And he that breaks them in the least degree\\r\\n Stands in attainder of eternal shame.\\r\\n Suggestions are to other as to me;\\r\\n But I believe, although I seem so loath,\\r\\n I am the last that will last keep his oath.\\r\\n But is there no quick recreation granted?\\r\\n KING. Ay, that there is. Our court, you know, is haunted\\r\\n With a refined traveller of Spain,\\r\\n A man in all the world\\'s new fashion planted,\\r\\n That hath a mint of phrases in his brain;\\r\\n One who the music of his own vain tongue\\r\\n Doth ravish like enchanting harmony;\\r\\n A man of complements, whom right and wrong\\r\\n Have chose as umpire of their mutiny.\\r\\n This child of fancy, that Armado hight,\\r\\n For interim to our studies shall relate,\\r\\n In high-born words, the worth of many a knight\\r\\n From tawny Spain lost in the world\\'s debate.\\r\\n How you delight, my lords, I know not, I;\\r\\n But I protest I love to hear him lie,\\r\\n And I will use him for my minstrelsy.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Armado is a most illustrious wight,\\r\\n A man of fire-new words, fashion\\'s own knight.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Costard the swain and he shall be our sport;\\r\\n And so to study three years is but short.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DULL, a constable, with a letter, and COSTARD\\r\\n\\r\\n DULL. Which is the Duke\\'s own person?\\r\\n BEROWNE. This, fellow. What wouldst?\\r\\n DULL. I myself reprehend his own person, for I am his Grace\\'s\\r\\n farborough; but I would see his own person in flesh and blood.\\r\\n BEROWNE. This is he.\\r\\n DULL. Signior Arme- Arme- commends you. There\\'s villainy abroad;\\r\\n this letter will tell you more.\\r\\n COSTARD. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me.\\r\\n KING. A letter from the magnificent Armado.\\r\\n BEROWNE. How low soever the matter, I hope in God for high words.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. A high hope for a low heaven. God grant us patience!\\r\\n BEROWNE. To hear, or forbear hearing?\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh moderately; or, to\\r\\n forbear both.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Well, sir, be it as the style shall give us cause to climb\\r\\n in the merriness.\\r\\n COSTARD. The matter is to me, sir, as concerning Jaquenetta.\\r\\n The manner of it is, I was taken with the manner.\\r\\n BEROWNE. In what manner?\\r\\n COSTARD. In manner and form following, sir; all those three: I was\\r\\n seen with her in the manor-house, sitting with her upon the form,\\r\\n and taken following her into the park; which, put together, is in\\r\\n manner and form following. Now, sir, for the manner- it is the\\r\\n manner of a man to speak to a woman. For the form- in some form.\\r\\n BEROWNE. For the following, sir?\\r\\n COSTARD. As it shall follow in my correction; and God defend the\\r\\n right!\\r\\n KING. Will you hear this letter with attention?\\r\\n BEROWNE. As we would hear an oracle.\\r\\n COSTARD. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken after the flesh.\\r\\n KING. [Reads] \\'Great deputy, the welkin\\'s vicegerent and sole\\r\\n dominator of Navarre, my soul\\'s earth\\'s god and body\\'s fost\\'ring\\r\\n patron\\'-\\r\\n COSTARD. Not a word of Costard yet.\\r\\n KING. [Reads] \\'So it is\\'-\\r\\n COSTARD. It may be so; but if he say it is so, he is, in telling\\r\\n true, but so.\\r\\n KING. Peace!\\r\\n COSTARD. Be to me, and every man that dares not fight!\\r\\n KING. No words!\\r\\n COSTARD. Of other men\\'s secrets, I beseech you.\\r\\n KING. [Reads] \\'So it is, besieged with sable-coloured melancholy, I\\r\\n did commend the black oppressing humour to the most wholesome\\r\\n physic of thy health-giving air; and, as I am a gentleman, betook\\r\\n myself to walk. The time When? About the sixth hour; when beasts\\r\\n most graze, birds best peck, and men sit down to that nourishment\\r\\n which is called supper. So much for the time When. Now for the\\r\\n ground Which? which, I mean, I upon; it is ycleped thy park. Then\\r\\n for the place Where? where, I mean, I did encounter that obscene\\r\\n and most prepost\\'rous event that draweth from my snow-white pen\\r\\n the ebon-coloured ink which here thou viewest, beholdest,\\r\\n surveyest, or seest. But to the place Where? It standeth\\r\\n north-north-east and by east from the west corner of thy\\r\\n curious-knotted garden. There did I see that low-spirited swain,\\r\\n that base minnow of thy mirth,\\'\\r\\n COSTARD. Me?\\r\\n KING. \\'that unlettered small-knowing soul,\\'\\r\\n COSTARD. Me?\\r\\n KING. \\'that shallow vassal,\\'\\r\\n COSTARD. Still me?\\r\\n KING. \\'which, as I remember, hight Costard,\\'\\r\\n COSTARD. O, me!\\r\\n KING. \\'sorted and consorted, contrary to thy established proclaimed\\r\\n edict and continent canon; which, with, O, with- but with this I\\r\\n passion to say wherewith-\\'\\r\\n COSTARD. With a wench.\\r\\n King. \\'with a child of our grandmother Eve, a female; or, for thy\\r\\n more sweet understanding, a woman. Him I, as my ever-esteemed\\r\\n duty pricks me on, have sent to thee, to receive the meed of\\r\\n punishment, by thy sweet Grace\\'s officer, Antony Dull, a man of\\r\\n good repute, carriage, bearing, and estimation.\\'\\r\\n DULL. Me, an\\'t shall please you; I am Antony Dull.\\r\\n KING. \\'For Jaquenetta- so is the weaker vessel called, which I\\r\\n apprehended with the aforesaid swain- I keep her as a vessel of\\r\\n thy law\\'s fury; and shall, at the least of thy sweet notice,\\r\\n bring her to trial. Thine, in all compliments of devoted and\\r\\n heart-burning heat of duty,\\r\\n DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n BEROWNE. This is not so well as I look\\'d for, but the best that\\r\\n ever I heard.\\r\\n KING. Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, what say you to\\r\\n this?\\r\\n COSTARD. Sir, I confess the wench.\\r\\n KING. Did you hear the proclamation?\\r\\n COSTARD. I do confess much of the hearing it, but little of the\\r\\n marking of it.\\r\\n KING. It was proclaimed a year\\'s imprisonment to be taken with a\\r\\n wench.\\r\\n COSTARD. I was taken with none, sir; I was taken with a damsel.\\r\\n KING. Well, it was proclaimed damsel.\\r\\n COSTARD. This was no damsel neither, sir; she was a virgin.\\r\\n KING. It is so varied too, for it was proclaimed virgin.\\r\\n COSTARD. If it were, I deny her virginity; I was taken with a maid.\\r\\n KING. This \\'maid\\' not serve your turn, sir.\\r\\n COSTARD. This maid will serve my turn, sir.\\r\\n KING. Sir, I will pronounce your sentence: you shall fast a week\\r\\n with bran and water.\\r\\n COSTARD. I had rather pray a month with mutton and porridge.\\r\\n KING. And Don Armado shall be your keeper.\\r\\n My Lord Berowne, see him delivered o\\'er;\\r\\n And go we, lords, to put in practice that\\r\\n Which each to other hath so strongly sworn.\\r\\n Exeunt KING, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN\\r\\n BEROWNE. I\\'ll lay my head to any good man\\'s hat\\r\\n These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn.\\r\\n Sirrah, come on.\\r\\n COSTARD. I suffer for the truth, sir; for true it is I was taken\\r\\n with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true girl; and therefore\\r\\n welcome the sour cup of prosperity! Affliction may one day smile\\r\\n again; and till then, sit thee down, sorrow.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ARMADO and MOTH, his page\\r\\n\\r\\n ARMADO. Boy, what sign is it when a man of great spirit grows\\r\\n melancholy?\\r\\n MOTH. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad.\\r\\n ARMADO. Why, sadness is one and the self-same thing, dear imp.\\r\\n MOTH. No, no; O Lord, sir, no!\\r\\n ARMADO. How canst thou part sadness and melancholy, my tender\\r\\n juvenal?\\r\\n MOTH. By a familiar demonstration of the working, my tough signior.\\r\\n ARMADO. Why tough signior? Why tough signior?\\r\\n MOTH. Why tender juvenal? Why tender juvenal?\\r\\n ARMADO. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent epitheton\\r\\n appertaining to thy young days, which we may nominate tender.\\r\\n MOTH. And I, tough signior, as an appertinent title to your old\\r\\n time, which we may name tough.\\r\\n ARMADO. Pretty and apt.\\r\\n MOTH. How mean you, sir? I pretty, and my saying apt? or I apt, and\\r\\n my saying pretty?\\r\\n ARMADO. Thou pretty, because little.\\r\\n MOTH. Little pretty, because little. Wherefore apt?\\r\\n ARMADO. And therefore apt, because quick.\\r\\n MOTH. Speak you this in my praise, master?\\r\\n ARMADO. In thy condign praise.\\r\\n MOTH. I will praise an eel with the same praise.\\r\\n ARMADO. that an eel is ingenious?\\r\\n MOTH. That an eel is quick.\\r\\n ARMADO. I do say thou art quick in answers; thou heat\\'st my blood.\\r\\n MOTH. I am answer\\'d, sir.\\r\\n ARMADO. I love not to be cross\\'d.\\r\\n MOTH. [Aside] He speaks the mere contrary: crosses love not him.\\r\\n ARMADO. I have promised to study three years with the Duke.\\r\\n MOTH. You may do it in an hour, sir.\\r\\n ARMADO. Impossible.\\r\\n MOTH. How many is one thrice told?\\r\\n ARMADO. I am ill at reck\\'ning; it fitteth the spirit of a tapster.\\r\\n MOTH. You are a gentleman and a gamester, sir.\\r\\n ARMADO. I confess both; they are both the varnish of a complete\\r\\n man.\\r\\n MOTH. Then I am sure you know how much the gross sum of deuce-ace\\r\\n amounts to.\\r\\n ARMADO. It doth amount to one more than two.\\r\\n MOTH. Which the base vulgar do call three.\\r\\n ARMADO. True.\\r\\n MOTH. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? Now here is three\\r\\n studied ere ye\\'ll thrice wink; and how easy it is to put \\'years\\'\\r\\n to the word \\'three,\\' and study three years in two words, the\\r\\n dancing horse will tell you.\\r\\n ARMADO. A most fine figure!\\r\\n MOTH. [Aside] To prove you a cipher.\\r\\n ARMADO. I will hereupon confess I am in love. And as it is base for\\r\\n a soldier to love, so am I in love with a base wench. If drawing\\r\\n my sword against the humour of affection would deliver me from\\r\\n the reprobate thought of it, I would take Desire prisoner, and\\r\\n ransom him to any French courtier for a new-devis\\'d curtsy. I\\r\\n think scorn to sigh; methinks I should out-swear Cupid. Comfort\\r\\n me, boy; what great men have been in love?\\r\\n MOTH. Hercules, master.\\r\\n ARMADO. Most sweet Hercules! More authority, dear boy, name more;\\r\\n and, sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage.\\r\\n MOTH. Samson, master; he was a man of good carriage, great\\r\\n carriage, for he carried the town gates on his back like a\\r\\n porter; and he was in love.\\r\\n ARMADO. O well-knit Samson! strong-jointed Samson! I do excel thee\\r\\n in my rapier as much as thou didst me in carrying gates. I am in\\r\\n love too. Who was Samson\\'s love, my dear Moth?\\r\\n MOTH. A woman, master.\\r\\n ARMADO. Of what complexion?\\r\\n MOTH. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the\\r\\n four.\\r\\n ARMADO. Tell me precisely of what complexion.\\r\\n MOTH. Of the sea-water green, sir.\\r\\n ARMADO. Is that one of the four complexions?\\r\\n MOTH. As I have read, sir; and the best of them too.\\r\\n ARMADO. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers; but to have a love\\r\\n of that colour, methinks Samson had small reason for it. He\\r\\n surely affected her for her wit.\\r\\n MOTH. It was so, sir; for she had a green wit.\\r\\n ARMADO. My love is most immaculate white and red.\\r\\n MOTH. Most maculate thoughts, master, are mask\\'d under such\\r\\n colours.\\r\\n ARMADO. Define, define, well-educated infant.\\r\\n MOTH. My father\\'s wit my mother\\'s tongue assist me!\\r\\n ARMADO. Sweet invocation of a child; most pretty, and pathetical!\\r\\n MOTH. If she be made of white and red,\\r\\n Her faults will ne\\'er be known;\\r\\n For blushing cheeks by faults are bred,\\r\\n And fears by pale white shown.\\r\\n Then if she fear, or be to blame,\\r\\n By this you shall not know;\\r\\n For still her cheeks possess the same\\r\\n Which native she doth owe.\\r\\n A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of white and red.\\r\\n ARMADO. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar?\\r\\n MOTH. The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages\\r\\n since; but I think now \\'tis not to be found; or if it were, it\\r\\n would neither serve for the writing nor the tune.\\r\\n ARMADO. I will have that subject newly writ o\\'er, that I may\\r\\n example my digression by some mighty precedent. Boy, I do love\\r\\n that country girl that I took in the park with the rational hind\\r\\n Costard; she deserves well.\\r\\n MOTH. [Aside] To be whipt; and yet a better love than my master.\\r\\n ARMADO. Sing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in love.\\r\\n MOTH. And that\\'s great marvel, loving a light wench.\\r\\n ARMADO. I say, sing.\\r\\n MOTH. Forbear till this company be past.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DULL, COSTARD, and JAQUENETTA\\r\\n\\r\\n DULL. Sir, the Duke\\'s pleasure is that you keep Costard safe; and\\r\\n you must suffer him to take no delight nor no penance; but \\'a\\r\\n must fast three days a week. For this damsel, I must keep her at\\r\\n the park; she is allow\\'d for the day-woman. Fare you well.\\r\\n ARMADO. I do betray myself with blushing. Maid!\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. Man!\\r\\n ARMADO. I will visit thee at the lodge.\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. That\\'s hereby.\\r\\n ARMADO. I know where it is situate.\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. Lord, how wise you are!\\r\\n ARMADO. I will tell thee wonders.\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. With that face?\\r\\n ARMADO. I love thee.\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. So I heard you say.\\r\\n ARMADO. And so, farewell.\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. Fair weather after you!\\r\\n DULL. Come, Jaquenetta, away. Exit with JAQUENETTA\\r\\n ARMADO. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences ere thou be\\r\\n pardoned.\\r\\n COSTARD. Well, sir, I hope when I do it I shall do it on a full\\r\\n stomach.\\r\\n ARMADO. Thou shalt be heavily punished.\\r\\n COSTARD. I am more bound to you than your fellows, for they are but\\r\\n lightly rewarded.\\r\\n ARMADO. Take away this villain; shut him up.\\r\\n MOTH. Come, you transgressing slave, away.\\r\\n COSTARD. Let me not be pent up, sir; I will fast, being loose.\\r\\n MOTH. No, sir; that were fast, and loose. Thou shalt to prison.\\r\\n COSTARD. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation that I\\r\\n have seen, some shall see.\\r\\n MOTH. What shall some see?\\r\\n COSTARD. Nay, nothing, Master Moth, but what they look upon. It is\\r\\n not for prisoners to be too silent in their words, and therefore\\r\\n I will say nothing. I thank God I have as little patience as\\r\\n another man, and therefore I can be quiet.\\r\\n Exeunt MOTH and COSTARD\\r\\n ARMADO. I do affect the very ground, which is base, where her shoe,\\r\\n which is baser, guided by her foot, which is basest, doth tread.\\r\\n I shall be forsworn- which is a great argument of falsehood- if I\\r\\n love. And how can that be true love which is falsely attempted?\\r\\n Love is a familiar; Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but\\r\\n Love. Yet was Samson so tempted, and he had an excellent\\r\\n strength; yet was Solomon so seduced, and he had a very good wit.\\r\\n Cupid\\'s butt-shaft is too hard for Hercules\\' club, and therefore\\r\\n too much odds for a Spaniard\\'s rapier. The first and second cause\\r\\n will not serve my turn; the passado he respects not, the duello\\r\\n he regards not; his disgrace is to be called boy, but his glory\\r\\n is to subdue men. Adieu, valour; rust, rapier; be still, drum;\\r\\n for your manager is in love; yea, he loveth. Assist me, some\\r\\n extemporal god of rhyme, for I am sure I shall turn sonnet.\\r\\n Devise, wit; write, pen; for I am for whole volumes in folio.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE II. The park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the PRINCESS OF FRANCE, with three attending ladies,\\r\\nROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET, and two other LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n BOYET. Now, madam, summon up your dearest spirits.\\r\\n Consider who the King your father sends,\\r\\n To whom he sends, and what\\'s his embassy:\\r\\n Yourself, held precious in the world\\'s esteem,\\r\\n To parley with the sole inheritor\\r\\n Of all perfections that a man may owe,\\r\\n Matchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight\\r\\n Than Aquitaine, a dowry for a queen.\\r\\n Be now as prodigal of all dear grace\\r\\n As Nature was in making graces dear,\\r\\n When she did starve the general world beside\\r\\n And prodigally gave them all to you.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean,\\r\\n Needs not the painted flourish of your praise.\\r\\n Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye,\\r\\n Not utt\\'red by base sale of chapmen\\'s tongues;\\r\\n I am less proud to hear you tell my worth\\r\\n Than you much willing to be counted wise\\r\\n In spending your wit in the praise of mine.\\r\\n But now to task the tasker: good Boyet,\\r\\n You are not ignorant all-telling fame\\r\\n Doth noise abroad Navarre hath made a vow,\\r\\n Till painful study shall outwear three years,\\r\\n No woman may approach his silent court.\\r\\n Therefore to\\'s seemeth it a needful course,\\r\\n Before we enter his forbidden gates,\\r\\n To know his pleasure; and in that behalf,\\r\\n Bold of your worthiness, we single you\\r\\n As our best-moving fair solicitor.\\r\\n Tell him the daughter of the King of France,\\r\\n On serious business, craving quick dispatch,\\r\\n Importunes personal conference with his Grace.\\r\\n Haste, signify so much; while we attend,\\r\\n Like humble-visag\\'d suitors, his high will.\\r\\n BOYET. Proud of employment, willingly I go.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so.\\r\\n Exit BOYET\\r\\n Who are the votaries, my loving lords,\\r\\n That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke?\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Lord Longaville is one.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Know you the man?\\r\\n MARIA. I know him, madam; at a marriage feast,\\r\\n Between Lord Perigort and the beauteous heir\\r\\n Of Jaques Falconbridge, solemnized\\r\\n In Normandy, saw I this Longaville.\\r\\n A man of sovereign parts, peerless esteem\\'d,\\r\\n Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms;\\r\\n Nothing becomes him ill that he would well.\\r\\n The only soil of his fair virtue\\'s gloss,\\r\\n If virtue\\'s gloss will stain with any soil,\\r\\n Is a sharp wit match\\'d with too blunt a will,\\r\\n Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills\\r\\n It should none spare that come within his power.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Some merry mocking lord, belike; is\\'t so?\\r\\n MARIA. They say so most that most his humours know.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Such short-liv\\'d wits do wither as they grow.\\r\\n Who are the rest?\\r\\n KATHARINE. The young Dumain, a well-accomplish\\'d youth,\\r\\n Of all that virtue love for virtue loved;\\r\\n Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill,\\r\\n For he hath wit to make an ill shape good,\\r\\n And shape to win grace though he had no wit.\\r\\n I saw him at the Duke Alencon\\'s once;\\r\\n And much too little of that good I saw\\r\\n Is my report to his great worthiness.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Another of these students at that time\\r\\n Was there with him, if I have heard a truth.\\r\\n Berowne they call him; but a merrier man,\\r\\n Within the limit of becoming mirth,\\r\\n I never spent an hour\\'s talk withal.\\r\\n His eye begets occasion for his wit,\\r\\n For every object that the one doth catch\\r\\n The other turns to a mirth-moving jest,\\r\\n Which his fair tongue, conceit\\'s expositor,\\r\\n Delivers in such apt and gracious words\\r\\n That aged ears play truant at his tales,\\r\\n And younger hearings are quite ravished;\\r\\n So sweet and voluble is his discourse.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. God bless my ladies! Are they all in love,\\r\\n That every one her own hath garnished\\r\\n With such bedecking ornaments of praise?\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Here comes Boyet.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter BOYET\\r\\n\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Now, what admittance, lord?\\r\\n BOYET. Navarre had notice of your fair approach,\\r\\n And he and his competitors in oath\\r\\n Were all address\\'d to meet you, gentle lady,\\r\\n Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt:\\r\\n He rather means to lodge you in the field,\\r\\n Like one that comes here to besiege his court,\\r\\n Than seek a dispensation for his oath,\\r\\n To let you enter his unpeopled house.\\r\\n [The LADIES-IN-WAITING mask]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING, LONGAVILLE, DUMAIN, BEROWNE,\\r\\n and ATTENDANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n Here comes Navarre.\\r\\n KING. Fair Princess, welcome to the court of Navarre.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. \\'Fair\\' I give you back again; and \\'welcome\\' I\\r\\n have not yet. The roof of this court is too high to be yours, and\\r\\n welcome to the wide fields too base to be mine.\\r\\n KING. You shall be welcome, madam, to my court.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I will be welcome then; conduct me thither.\\r\\n KING. Hear me, dear lady: I have sworn an oath-\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Our Lady help my lord! He\\'ll be forsworn.\\r\\n KING. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Why, will shall break it; will, and nothing\\r\\n else.\\r\\n KING. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise,\\r\\n Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance.\\r\\n I hear your Grace hath sworn out house-keeping.\\r\\n \\'Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord,\\r\\n And sin to break it.\\r\\n But pardon me, I am too sudden bold;\\r\\n To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me.\\r\\n Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming,\\r\\n And suddenly resolve me in my suit. [Giving a paper]\\r\\n KING. Madam, I will, if suddenly I may.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. YOU Will the sooner that I were away,\\r\\n For you\\'ll prove perjur\\'d if you make me stay.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?\\r\\n KATHARINE. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?\\r\\n BEROWNE. I know you did.\\r\\n KATHARINE. How needless was it then to ask the question!\\r\\n BEROWNE. You must not be so quick.\\r\\n KATHARINE. \\'Tis long of you, that spur me with such questions.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Your wit \\'s too hot, it speeds too fast, \\'twill tire.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Not till it leave the rider in the mire.\\r\\n BEROWNE. What time o\\' day?\\r\\n KATHARINE. The hour that fools should ask.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Now fair befall your mask!\\r\\n KATHARINE. Fair fall the face it covers!\\r\\n BEROWNE. And send you many lovers!\\r\\n KATHARINE. Amen, so you be none.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Nay, then will I be gone.\\r\\n KING. Madam, your father here doth intimate\\r\\n The payment of a hundred thousand crowns;\\r\\n Being but the one half of an entire sum\\r\\n Disbursed by my father in his wars.\\r\\n But say that he or we, as neither have,\\r\\n Receiv\\'d that sum, yet there remains unpaid\\r\\n A hundred thousand more, in surety of the which,\\r\\n One part of Aquitaine is bound to us,\\r\\n Although not valued to the money\\'s worth.\\r\\n If then the King your father will restore\\r\\n But that one half which is unsatisfied,\\r\\n We will give up our right in Aquitaine,\\r\\n And hold fair friendship with his Majesty.\\r\\n But that, it seems, he little purposeth,\\r\\n For here he doth demand to have repaid\\r\\n A hundred thousand crowns; and not demands,\\r\\n On payment of a hundred thousand crowns,\\r\\n To have his title live in Aquitaine;\\r\\n Which we much rather had depart withal,\\r\\n And have the money by our father lent,\\r\\n Than Aquitaine so gelded as it is.\\r\\n Dear Princess, were not his requests so far\\r\\n From reason\\'s yielding, your fair self should make\\r\\n A yielding \\'gainst some reason in my breast,\\r\\n And go well satisfied to France again.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. You do the King my father too much wrong,\\r\\n And wrong the reputation of your name,\\r\\n In so unseeming to confess receipt\\r\\n Of that which hath so faithfully been paid.\\r\\n KING. I do protest I never heard of it;\\r\\n And, if you prove it, I\\'ll repay it back\\r\\n Or yield up Aquitaine.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We arrest your word.\\r\\n Boyet, you can produce acquittances\\r\\n For such a sum from special officers\\r\\n Of Charles his father.\\r\\n KING. Satisfy me so.\\r\\n BOYET. So please your Grace, the packet is not come,\\r\\n Where that and other specialties are bound;\\r\\n To-morrow you shall have a sight of them.\\r\\n KING. It shall suffice me; at which interview\\r\\n All liberal reason I will yield unto.\\r\\n Meantime receive such welcome at my hand\\r\\n As honour, without breach of honour, may\\r\\n Make tender of to thy true worthiness.\\r\\n You may not come, fair Princess, within my gates;\\r\\n But here without you shall be so receiv\\'d\\r\\n As you shall deem yourself lodg\\'d in my heart,\\r\\n Though so denied fair harbour in my house.\\r\\n Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell.\\r\\n To-morrow shall we visit you again.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Sweet health and fair desires consort your\\r\\n Grace!\\r\\n KING. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place.\\r\\n Exit with attendants\\r\\n BEROWNE. Lady, I will commend you to mine own heart.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Pray you, do my commendations;\\r\\n I would be glad to see it.\\r\\n BEROWNE. I would you heard it groan.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Is the fool sick?\\r\\n BEROWNE. Sick at the heart.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Alack, let it blood.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Would that do it good?\\r\\n ROSALINE. My physic says \\'ay.\\'\\r\\n BEROWNE. Will YOU prick\\'t with your eye?\\r\\n ROSALINE. No point, with my knife.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Now, God save thy life!\\r\\n ROSALINE. And yours from long living!\\r\\n BEROWNE. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [Retiring]\\r\\n DUMAIN. Sir, I pray you, a word: what lady is that same?\\r\\n BOYET. The heir of Alencon, Katharine her name.\\r\\n DUMAIN. A gallant lady! Monsieur, fare you well. Exit\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. I beseech you a word: what is she in the white?\\r\\n BOYET. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the light.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Perchance light in the light. I desire her name.\\r\\n BOYET. She hath but one for herself; to desire that were a shame.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Pray you, sir, whose daughter?\\r\\n BOYET. Her mother\\'s, I have heard.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. God\\'s blessing on your beard!\\r\\n BOYET. Good sir, be not offended;\\r\\n She is an heir of Falconbridge.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Nay, my choler is ended.\\r\\n She is a most sweet lady.\\r\\n BOYET. Not unlike, sir; that may be. Exit LONGAVILLE\\r\\n BEROWNE. What\\'s her name in the cap?\\r\\n BOYET. Rosaline, by good hap.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Is she wedded or no?\\r\\n BOYET. To her will, sir, or so.\\r\\n BEROWNE. You are welcome, sir; adieu!\\r\\n BOYET. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you.\\r\\n Exit BEROWNE. LADIES Unmask\\r\\n MARIA. That last is Berowne, the merry mad-cap lord;\\r\\n Not a word with him but a jest.\\r\\n BOYET. And every jest but a word.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. It was well done of you to take him at his\\r\\n word.\\r\\n BOYET. I was as willing to grapple as he was to board.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Two hot sheeps, marry!\\r\\n BOYET. And wherefore not ships?\\r\\n No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips.\\r\\n KATHARINE. You sheep and I pasture- shall that finish the jest?\\r\\n BOYET. So you grant pasture for me. [Offering to kiss her]\\r\\n KATHARINE. Not so, gentle beast;\\r\\n My lips are no common, though several they be.\\r\\n BOYET. Belonging to whom?\\r\\n KATHARINE. To my fortunes and me.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles,\\r\\n agree;\\r\\n This civil war of wits were much better used\\r\\n On Navarre and his book-men, for here \\'tis abused.\\r\\n BOYET. If my observation, which very seldom lies,\\r\\n By the heart\\'s still rhetoric disclosed with eyes,\\r\\n Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. With what?\\r\\n BOYET. With that which we lovers entitle \\'affected.\\'\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Your reason?\\r\\n BOYET. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire\\r\\n To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire.\\r\\n His heart, like an agate, with your print impressed,\\r\\n Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed;\\r\\n His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,\\r\\n Did stumble with haste in his eyesight to be;\\r\\n All senses to that sense did make their repair,\\r\\n To feel only looking on fairest of fair.\\r\\n Methought all his senses were lock\\'d in his eye,\\r\\n As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy;\\r\\n Who, tend\\'ring their own worth from where they were glass\\'d,\\r\\n Did point you to buy them, along as you pass\\'d.\\r\\n His face\\'s own margent did quote such amazes\\r\\n That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes.\\r\\n I\\'ll give you Aquitaine and all that is his,\\r\\n An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Come, to our pavilion. Boyet is dispos\\'d.\\r\\n BOYET. But to speak that in words which his eye hath disclos\\'d;\\r\\n I only have made a mouth of his eye,\\r\\n By adding a tongue which I know will not lie.\\r\\n MARIA. Thou art an old love-monger, and speakest skilfully.\\r\\n KATHARINE. He is Cupid\\'s grandfather, and learns news of him.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Then was Venus like her mother; for her father is but\\r\\n grim.\\r\\n BOYET. Do you hear, my mad wenches?\\r\\n MARIA. No.\\r\\n BOYET. What, then; do you see?\\r\\n MARIA. Ay, our way to be gone.\\r\\n BOYET. You are too hard for me. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. The park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ARMADO and MOTH\\r\\n\\r\\n ARMADO. Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing.\\r\\n [MOTH sings Concolinel]\\r\\n ARMADO. Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years, take this key, give\\r\\n enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither; I must\\r\\n employ him in a letter to my love.\\r\\n MOTH. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl?\\r\\n ARMADO. How meanest thou? Brawling in French?\\r\\n MOTH. No, my complete master; but to jig off a tune at the tongue\\'s\\r\\n end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your\\r\\n eyelids, sigh a note and sing a note, sometime through the\\r\\n throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love, sometime\\r\\n through the nose, as if you snuff\\'d up love by smelling love,\\r\\n with your hat penthouse-like o\\'er the shop of your eyes, with\\r\\n your arms cross\\'d on your thin-belly doublet, like a rabbit on a\\r\\n spit, or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old\\r\\n painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away.\\r\\n These are complements, these are humours; these betray nice\\r\\n wenches, that would be betrayed without these; and make them men\\r\\n of note- do you note me?- that most are affected to these.\\r\\n ARMADO. How hast thou purchased this experience?\\r\\n MOTH. By my penny of observation.\\r\\n ARMADO. But O- but O-\\r\\n MOTH. The hobby-horse is forgot.\\r\\n ARMADO. Call\\'st thou my love \\'hobby-horse\\'?\\r\\n MOTH. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love\\r\\n perhaps a hackney. But have you forgot your love?\\r\\n ARMADO. Almost I had.\\r\\n MOTH. Negligent student! learn her by heart.\\r\\n ARMADO. By heart and in heart, boy.\\r\\n MOTH. And out of heart, master; all those three I will prove.\\r\\n ARMADO. What wilt thou prove?\\r\\n MOTH. A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and without, upon the\\r\\n instant. By heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by\\r\\n her; in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with\\r\\n her; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you\\r\\n cannot enjoy her.\\r\\n ARMADO. I am all these three.\\r\\n MOTH. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all.\\r\\n ARMADO. Fetch hither the swain; he must carry me a letter.\\r\\n MOTH. A message well sympathiz\\'d- a horse to be ambassador for an\\r\\n ass.\\r\\n ARMADO. Ha, ha, what sayest thou?\\r\\n MOTH. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is\\r\\n very slow-gaited. But I go.\\r\\n ARMADO. The way is but short; away.\\r\\n MOTH. As swift as lead, sir.\\r\\n ARMADO. The meaning, pretty ingenious?\\r\\n Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow?\\r\\n MOTH. Minime, honest master; or rather, master, no.\\r\\n ARMADO. I say lead is slow.\\r\\n MOTH. You are too swift, sir, to say so:\\r\\n Is that lead slow which is fir\\'d from a gun?\\r\\n ARMADO. Sweet smoke of rhetoric!\\r\\n He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that\\'s he;\\r\\n I shoot thee at the swain.\\r\\n MOTH. Thump, then, and I flee. Exit\\r\\n ARMADO. A most acute juvenal; volable and free of grace!\\r\\n By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face;\\r\\n Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place.\\r\\n My herald is return\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter MOTH with COSTARD\\r\\n\\r\\n MOTH. A wonder, master! here\\'s a costard broken in a shin.\\r\\n ARMADO. Some enigma, some riddle; come, thy l\\'envoy; begin.\\r\\n COSTARD. No egma, no riddle, no l\\'envoy; no salve in the mail, sir.\\r\\n O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain; no l\\'envoy, no l\\'envoy; no\\r\\n salve, sir, but a plantain!\\r\\n ARMADO. By virtue thou enforcest laughter; thy silly thought, my\\r\\n spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous\\r\\n smiling. O, pardon me, my stars! Doth the inconsiderate take\\r\\n salve for l\\'envoy, and the word \\'l\\'envoy\\' for a salve?\\r\\n MOTH. Do the wise think them other? Is not l\\'envoy a salve?\\r\\n ARMADO. No, page; it is an epilogue or discourse to make plain\\r\\n Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain.\\r\\n I will example it:\\r\\n The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,\\r\\n Were still at odds, being but three.\\r\\n There\\'s the moral. Now the l\\'envoy.\\r\\n MOTH. I will add the l\\'envoy. Say the moral again.\\r\\n ARMADO. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,\\r\\n Were still at odds, being but three.\\r\\n MOTH. Until the goose came out of door,\\r\\n And stay\\'d the odds by adding four.\\r\\n Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my l\\'envoy.\\r\\n The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,\\r\\n Were still at odds, being but three.\\r\\n ARMADO. Until the goose came out of door,\\r\\n Staying the odds by adding four.\\r\\n MOTH. A good l\\'envoy, ending in the goose; would you desire more?\\r\\n COSTARD. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, that\\'s flat.\\r\\n Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat.\\r\\n To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose;\\r\\n Let me see: a fat l\\'envoy; ay, that\\'s a fat goose.\\r\\n ARMADO. Come hither, come hither. How did this argument begin?\\r\\n MOTH. By saying that a costard was broken in a shin.\\r\\n Then call\\'d you for the l\\'envoy.\\r\\n COSTARD. True, and I for a plantain. Thus came your argument in;\\r\\n Then the boy\\'s fat l\\'envoy, the goose that you bought;\\r\\n And he ended the market.\\r\\n ARMADO. But tell me: how was there a costard broken in a shin?\\r\\n MOTH. I will tell you sensibly.\\r\\n COSTARD. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth; I will speak that\\r\\n l\\'envoy.\\r\\n I, Costard, running out, that was safely within,\\r\\n Fell over the threshold and broke my shin.\\r\\n ARMADO. We will talk no more of this matter.\\r\\n COSTARD. Till there be more matter in the shin.\\r\\n ARMADO. Sirrah Costard. I will enfranchise thee.\\r\\n COSTARD. O, Marry me to one Frances! I smell some l\\'envoy, some\\r\\n goose, in this.\\r\\n ARMADO. By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at liberty,\\r\\n enfreedoming thy person; thou wert immured, restrained,\\r\\n captivated, bound.\\r\\n COSTARD. True, true; and now you will be my purgation, and let me\\r\\n loose.\\r\\n ARMADO. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance; and, in\\r\\n lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this: bear this\\r\\n significant [giving a letter] to the country maid Jaquenetta;\\r\\n there is remuneration, for the best ward of mine honour is\\r\\n rewarding my dependents. Moth, follow. Exit\\r\\n MOTH. Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu.\\r\\n COSTARD. My sweet ounce of man\\'s flesh, my incony Jew!\\r\\n Exit MOTH\\r\\n Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration! O, that\\'s the\\r\\n Latin word for three farthings. Three farthings- remuneration.\\r\\n \\'What\\'s the price of this inkle?\\'- \\'One penny.\\'- \\'No, I\\'ll give\\r\\n you a remuneration.\\' Why, it carries it. Remuneration! Why, it is\\r\\n a fairer name than French crown. I will never buy and sell out of\\r\\n this word.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BEROWNE\\r\\n\\r\\n BEROWNE. My good knave Costard, exceedingly well met!\\r\\n COSTARD. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for\\r\\n a remuneration?\\r\\n BEROWNE. What is a remuneration?\\r\\n COSTARD. Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Why, then, three-farthing worth of silk.\\r\\n COSTARD. I thank your worship. God be wi\\' you!\\r\\n BEROWNE. Stay, slave; I must employ thee.\\r\\n As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave,\\r\\n Do one thing for me that I shall entreat.\\r\\n COSTARD. When would you have it done, sir?\\r\\n BEROWNE. This afternoon.\\r\\n COSTARD. Well, I will do it, sir; fare you well.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Thou knowest not what it is.\\r\\n COSTARD. I shall know, sir, when I have done it.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Why, villain, thou must know first.\\r\\n COSTARD. I will come to your worship to-morrow morning.\\r\\n BEROWNE. It must be done this afternoon.\\r\\n Hark, slave, it is but this:\\r\\n The Princess comes to hunt here in the park,\\r\\n And in her train there is a gentle lady;\\r\\n When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name,\\r\\n And Rosaline they call her. Ask for her,\\r\\n And to her white hand see thou do commend\\r\\n This seal\\'d-up counsel. There\\'s thy guerdon; go.\\r\\n [Giving him a shilling]\\r\\n COSTARD. Gardon, O sweet gardon! better than remuneration; a\\r\\n \\'leven-pence farthing better; most sweet gardon! I will do it,\\r\\n sir, in print. Gardon- remuneration! Exit\\r\\n BEROWNE. And I, forsooth, in love; I, that have been love\\'s whip;\\r\\n A very beadle to a humorous sigh;\\r\\n A critic, nay, a night-watch constable;\\r\\n A domineering pedant o\\'er the boy,\\r\\n Than whom no mortal so magnificent!\\r\\n This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy,\\r\\n This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid;\\r\\n Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms,\\r\\n Th\\' anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,\\r\\n Liege of all loiterers and malcontents,\\r\\n Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces,\\r\\n Sole imperator, and great general\\r\\n Of trotting paritors. O my little heart!\\r\\n And I to be a corporal of his field,\\r\\n And wear his colours like a tumbler\\'s hoop!\\r\\n What! I love, I sue, I seek a wife-\\r\\n A woman, that is like a German clock,\\r\\n Still a-repairing, ever out of frame,\\r\\n And never going aright, being a watch,\\r\\n But being watch\\'d that it may still go right!\\r\\n Nay, to be perjur\\'d, which is worst of all;\\r\\n And, among three, to love the worst of all,\\r\\n A whitely wanton with a velvet brow,\\r\\n With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes;\\r\\n Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed,\\r\\n Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard.\\r\\n And I to sigh for her! to watch for her!\\r\\n To pray for her! Go to; it is a plague\\r\\n That Cupid will impose for my neglect\\r\\n Of his almighty dreadful little might.\\r\\n Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan:\\r\\n Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I. The park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the PRINCESS, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET, LORDS,\\r\\nATTENDANTS, and a FORESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Was that the King that spurr\\'d his horse so\\r\\n hard\\r\\n Against the steep uprising of the hill?\\r\\n BOYET. I know not; but I think it was not he.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Whoe\\'er \\'a was, \\'a show\\'d a mounting mind.\\r\\n Well, lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch;\\r\\n On Saturday we will return to France.\\r\\n Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush\\r\\n That we must stand and play the murderer in?\\r\\n FORESTER. Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice;\\r\\n A stand where you may make the fairest shoot.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I thank my beauty I am fair that shoot,\\r\\n And thereupon thou speak\\'st the fairest shoot.\\r\\n FORESTER. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. What, what? First praise me, and again say no?\\r\\n O short-liv\\'d pride! Not fair? Alack for woe!\\r\\n FORESTER. Yes, madam, fair.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Nay, never paint me now;\\r\\n Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.\\r\\n Here, good my glass, take this for telling true:\\r\\n [ Giving him money]\\r\\n Fair payment for foul words is more than due.\\r\\n FORESTER. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. See, see, my beauty will be sav\\'d by merit.\\r\\n O heresy in fair, fit for these days!\\r\\n A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.\\r\\n But come, the bow. Now mercy goes to kill,\\r\\n And shooting well is then accounted ill;\\r\\n Thus will I save my credit in the shoot:\\r\\n Not wounding, pity would not let me do\\'t;\\r\\n If wounding, then it was to show my skill,\\r\\n That more for praise than purpose meant to kill.\\r\\n And, out of question, so it is sometimes:\\r\\n Glory grows guilty of detested crimes,\\r\\n When, for fame\\'s sake, for praise, an outward part,\\r\\n We bend to that the working of the heart;\\r\\n As I for praise alone now seek to spill\\r\\n The poor deer\\'s blood that my heart means no ill.\\r\\n BOYET. Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty\\r\\n Only for praise sake, when they strive to be\\r\\n Lords o\\'er their lords?\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Only for praise; and praise we may afford\\r\\n To any lady that subdues a lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter COSTARD\\r\\n\\r\\n BOYET. Here comes a member of the commonwealth.\\r\\n COSTARD. God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the head lady?\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that\\r\\n have no heads.\\r\\n COSTARD. Which is the greatest lady, the highest?\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. The thickest and the tallest.\\r\\n COSTARD. The thickest and the tallest! It is so; truth is truth.\\r\\n An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit,\\r\\n One o\\' these maids\\' girdles for your waist should be fit.\\r\\n Are not you the chief woman? You are the thickest here.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. What\\'s your will, sir? What\\'s your will?\\r\\n COSTARD. I have a letter from Monsieur Berowne to one\\r\\n Lady Rosaline.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. O, thy letter, thy letter! He\\'s a good friend\\r\\n of mine.\\r\\n Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve.\\r\\n Break up this capon.\\r\\n BOYET. I am bound to serve.\\r\\n This letter is mistook; it importeth none here.\\r\\n It is writ to Jaquenetta.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We will read it, I swear.\\r\\n Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.\\r\\n BOYET. [Reads] \\'By heaven, that thou art fair is most infallible;\\r\\n true that thou art beauteous; truth itself that thou art lovely.\\r\\n More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth\\r\\n itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal. The\\r\\n magnanimous and most illustrate king Cophetua set eye upon the\\r\\n pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and he it was that\\r\\n might rightly say, \\'Veni, vidi, vici\\'; which to annothanize in\\r\\n the vulgar,- O base and obscure vulgar!- videlicet, He came, saw,\\r\\n and overcame. He came, one; saw, two; overcame, three. Who came?-\\r\\n the king. Why did he come?- to see. Why did he see?-to overcome.\\r\\n To whom came he?- to the beggar. What saw he?- the beggar. Who\\r\\n overcame he?- the beggar. The conclusion is victory; on whose\\r\\n side?- the king\\'s. The captive is enrich\\'d; on whose side?- the\\r\\n beggar\\'s. The catastrophe is a nuptial; on whose side?- the\\r\\n king\\'s. No, on both in one, or one in both. I am the king, for so\\r\\n stands the comparison; thou the beggar, for so witnesseth thy\\r\\n lowliness. Shall I command thy love? I may. Shall I enforce thy\\r\\n love? I could. Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shalt thou\\r\\n exchange for rags?- robes, for tittles?- titles, for thyself?\\r\\n -me. Thus expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot, my\\r\\n eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy every part.\\r\\n Thine in the dearest design of industry,\\r\\n DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.\\r\\n\\r\\n \\'Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar\\r\\n \\'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey;\\r\\n Submissive fall his princely feet before,\\r\\n And he from forage will incline to play.\\r\\n But if thou strive, poor soul, what are thou then?\\r\\n Food for his rage, repasture for his den.\\'\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. What plume of feathers is he that indited this\\r\\n letter?\\r\\n What vane? What weathercock? Did you ever hear better?\\r\\n BOYET. I am much deceived but I remember the style.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Else your memory is bad, going o\\'er it\\r\\n erewhile.\\r\\n BOYET. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in court;\\r\\n A phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport\\r\\n To the Prince and his book-mates.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thou fellow, a word.\\r\\n Who gave thee this letter?\\r\\n COSTARD. I told you: my lord.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. To whom shouldst thou give it?\\r\\n COSTARD. From my lord to my lady.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. From which lord to which lady?\\r\\n COSTARD. From my Lord Berowne, a good master of mine,\\r\\n To a lady of France that he call\\'d Rosaline.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords,\\r\\n away.\\r\\n [To ROSALINE] Here, sweet, put up this; \\'twill be thine another\\r\\n day. Exeunt PRINCESS and TRAIN\\r\\n BOYET. Who is the shooter? who is the shooter?\\r\\n ROSALINE. Shall I teach you to know?\\r\\n BOYET. Ay, my continent of beauty.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Why, she that bears the bow.\\r\\n Finely put off!\\r\\n BOYET. My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marry,\\r\\n Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry.\\r\\n Finely put on!\\r\\n ROSALINE. Well then, I am the shooter.\\r\\n BOYET. And who is your deer?\\r\\n ROSALINE. If we choose by the horns, yourself come not near.\\r\\n Finely put on indeed!\\r\\n MARIA. You Still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the\\r\\n brow.\\r\\n BOYET. But she herself is hit lower. Have I hit her now?\\r\\n ROSALINE. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was a man\\r\\n when King Pepin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit\\r\\n it?\\r\\n BOYET. So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a woman when\\r\\n Queen Guinever of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit\\r\\n it.\\r\\n ROSALINE. [Singing]\\r\\n Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it,\\r\\n Thou canst not hit it, my good man.\\r\\n BOYET. An I cannot, cannot, cannot,\\r\\n An I cannot, another can.\\r\\n Exeunt ROSALINE and KATHARINE\\r\\n COSTARD. By my troth, most pleasant! How both did fit it!\\r\\n MARIA. A mark marvellous well shot; for they both did hit it.\\r\\n BOYET. A mark! O, mark but that mark! A mark, says my lady!\\r\\n Let the mark have a prick in\\'t, to mete at, if it may be.\\r\\n MARIA. Wide o\\' the bow-hand! I\\' faith, your hand is out.\\r\\n COSTARD. Indeed, \\'a must shoot nearer, or he\\'ll ne\\'er hit the\\r\\n clout.\\r\\n BOYET. An if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in.\\r\\n COSTARD. Then will she get the upshoot by cleaving the pin.\\r\\n MARIA. Come, come, you talk greasily; your lips grow foul.\\r\\n COSTARD. She\\'s too hard for you at pricks, sir; challenge her to\\r\\n bowl.\\r\\n BOYET. I fear too much rubbing; good-night, my good owl.\\r\\n Exeunt BOYET and MARIA\\r\\n COSTARD. By my soul, a swain, a most simple clown!\\r\\n Lord, Lord! how the ladies and I have put him down!\\r\\n O\\' my troth, most sweet jests, most incony vulgar wit!\\r\\n When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it were, so fit.\\r\\n Armado a th\\' t\\'one side- O, a most dainty man!\\r\\n To see him walk before a lady and to bear her fan!\\r\\n To see him kiss his hand, and how most sweetly \\'a will swear!\\r\\n And his page a t\\' other side, that handful of wit!\\r\\n Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit!\\r\\n Sola, sola! Exit COSTARD\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The park\\r\\n\\r\\nFrom the shooting within, enter HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, and DULL\\r\\n\\r\\n NATHANIEL. Very reverent sport, truly; and done in the testimony of\\r\\n a good conscience.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. The deer was, as you know, sanguis, in blood; ripe as\\r\\n the pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of caelo,\\r\\n the sky, the welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth like a crab on\\r\\n the face of terra, the soil, the land, the earth.\\r\\n NATHANIEL. Truly, Master Holofernes, the epithets are sweetly\\r\\n varied, like a scholar at the least; but, sir, I assure ye it was\\r\\n a buck of the first head.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.\\r\\n DULL. \\'Twas not a haud credo; \\'twas a pricket.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Most barbarous intimation! yet a kind of insinuation,\\r\\n as it were, in via, in way, of explication; facere, as it were,\\r\\n replication, or rather, ostentare, to show, as it were, his\\r\\n inclination, after his undressed, unpolished, uneducated,\\r\\n unpruned, untrained, or rather unlettered, or ratherest\\r\\n unconfirmed fashion, to insert again my haud credo for a deer.\\r\\n DULL. I Said the deer was not a haud credo; \\'twas a pricket.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Twice-sod simplicity, bis coctus!\\r\\n O thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost thou look!\\r\\n NATHANIEL. Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in\\r\\n a book;\\r\\n He hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink; his\\r\\n intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible\\r\\n in the duller parts;\\r\\n And such barren plants are set before us that we thankful should\\r\\n be-\\r\\n Which we of taste and feeling are- for those parts that do\\r\\n fructify in us more than he.\\r\\n For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, or a fool,\\r\\n So, were there a patch set on learning, to see him in a school.\\r\\n But, omne bene, say I, being of an old father\\'s mind:\\r\\n Many can brook the weather that love not the wind.\\r\\n DULL. You two are book-men: can you tell me by your wit\\r\\n What was a month old at Cain\\'s birth that\\'s not five weeks old as\\r\\n yet?\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Dictynna, goodman Dull; Dictynna, goodman Dull.\\r\\n DULL. What is Dictynna?\\r\\n NATHANIEL. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. The moon was a month old when Adam was no more,\\r\\n And raught not to five weeks when he came to five-score.\\r\\n Th\\' allusion holds in the exchange.\\r\\n DULL. \\'Tis true, indeed; the collusion holds in the exchange.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. God comfort thy capacity! I say th\\' allusion holds in\\r\\n the exchange.\\r\\n DULL. And I say the polusion holds in the exchange; for the moon is\\r\\n never but a month old; and I say, beside, that \\'twas a pricket\\r\\n that the Princess kill\\'d.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph on\\r\\n the death of the deer? And, to humour the ignorant, call the deer\\r\\n the Princess kill\\'d a pricket.\\r\\n NATHANIEL. Perge, good Master Holofernes, perge, so it shall please\\r\\n you to abrogate scurrility.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. I Will something affect the letter, for it argues\\r\\n facility.\\r\\n\\r\\n The preyful Princess pierc\\'d and prick\\'d a pretty pleasing\\r\\n pricket.\\r\\n Some say a sore; but not a sore till now made sore with shooting.\\r\\n The dogs did yell; put el to sore, then sorel jumps from thicket-\\r\\n Or pricket sore, or else sorel; the people fall a-hooting.\\r\\n If sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores o\\' sorel.\\r\\n Of one sore I an hundred make by adding but one more L.\\r\\n\\r\\n NATHANIEL. A rare talent!\\r\\n DULL. [Aside] If a talent be a claw, look how he claws him with a\\r\\n talent.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a foolish\\r\\n extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, objects,\\r\\n ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions. These are begot in\\r\\n the ventricle of memory, nourish\\'d in the womb of pia mater, and\\r\\n delivered upon the mellowing of occasion. But the gift is good in\\r\\n those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it.\\r\\n NATHANIEL. Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and so may my\\r\\n parishioners; for their sons are well tutor\\'d by you, and their\\r\\n daughters profit very greatly under you. You are a good member of\\r\\n the commonwealth.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Mehercle, if their sons be ingenious, they shall want\\r\\n no instruction; if their daughters be capable, I will put it to\\r\\n them; but, vir sapit qui pauca loquitur. A soul feminine saluteth\\r\\n us.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD\\r\\n\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. God give you good morrow, Master Person.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Master Person, quasi pers-one. And if one should be\\r\\n pierc\\'d which is the one?\\r\\n COSTARD. Marry, Master Schoolmaster, he that is likest to a\\r\\n hogshead.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Piercing a hogshead! A good lustre of conceit in a turf\\r\\n of earth; fire enough for a flint, pearl enough for a swine; \\'tis\\r\\n pretty; it is well.\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. Good Master Parson, be so good as read me this letter;\\r\\n it was given me by Costard, and sent me from Don Armado. I\\r\\n beseech you read it.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Fauste, precor gelida quando pecus omne sub umbra\\r\\n Ruminat-\\r\\n and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan! I may speak of thee as\\r\\n the traveller doth of Venice:\\r\\n Venetia, Venetia,\\r\\n Chi non ti vede, non ti pretia.\\r\\n Old Mantuan, old Mantuan! Who understandeth thee not,\\r\\n loves thee not-\\r\\n Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa.\\r\\n Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? or rather as\\r\\n Horace says in his- What, my soul, verses?\\r\\n NATHANIEL. Ay, sir, and very learned.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Let me hear a staff, a stanze, a verse; lege, domine.\\r\\n NATHANIEL. [Reads] \\'If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to\\r\\n love?\\r\\n Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed!\\r\\n Though to myself forsworn, to thee I\\'ll faithful prove;\\r\\n Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bowed.\\r\\n Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes,\\r\\n Where all those pleasures live that art would comprehend.\\r\\n If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;\\r\\n Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend;\\r\\n All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;\\r\\n Which is to me some praise that I thy parts admire.\\r\\n Thy eye Jove\\'s lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful thunder,\\r\\n Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire.\\r\\n Celestial as thou art, O, pardon love this wrong,\\r\\n That singes heaven\\'s praise with such an earthly tongue.\\'\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. You find not the apostrophas, and so miss the accent:\\r\\n let me supervise the canzonet. Here are only numbers ratified;\\r\\n but, for the elegancy, facility, and golden cadence of poesy,\\r\\n caret. Ovidius Naso was the man. And why, indeed, \\'Naso\\' but for\\r\\n smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, the jerks of\\r\\n invention? Imitari is nothing: so doth the hound his master, the\\r\\n ape his keeper, the tired horse his rider. But, damosella virgin,\\r\\n was this directed to you?\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Berowne, one of the strange\\r\\n queen\\'s lords.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. I will overglance the superscript: \\'To the snow-white\\r\\n hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline.\\' I will look again on\\r\\n the intellect of the letter, for the nomination of the party\\r\\n writing to the person written unto: \\'Your Ladyship\\'s in all\\r\\n desired employment, Berowne.\\' Sir Nathaniel, this Berowne is one\\r\\n of the votaries with the King; and here he hath framed a letter\\r\\n to a sequent of the stranger queen\\'s which accidentally, or by\\r\\n the way of progression, hath miscarried. Trip and go, my sweet;\\r\\n deliver this paper into the royal hand of the King; it may\\r\\n concern much. Stay not thy compliment; I forgive thy duty. Adieu.\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. Good Costard, go with me. Sir, God save your life!\\r\\n COSTARD. Have with thee, my girl.\\r\\n Exeunt COSTARD and JAQUENETTA\\r\\n NATHANIEL. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very\\r\\n religiously; and, as a certain father saith-\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Sir, tell not me of the father; I do fear colourable\\r\\n colours. But to return to the verses: did they please you, Sir\\r\\n Nathaniel?\\r\\n NATHANIEL. Marvellous well for the pen.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. I do dine to-day at the father\\'s of a certain pupil of\\r\\n mine; where, if, before repast, it shall please you to gratify\\r\\n the table with a grace, I will, on my privilege I have with the\\r\\n parents of the foresaid child or pupil, undertake your ben\\r\\n venuto; where I will prove those verses to be very unlearned,\\r\\n neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention. I beseech your\\r\\n society.\\r\\n NATHANIEL. And thank you too; for society, saith the text, is the\\r\\n happiness of life.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. And certes, the text most infallibly concludes it.\\r\\n [To DULL] Sir, I do invite you too; you shall not say me nay:\\r\\n pauca verba. Away; the gentles are at their game, and we will to\\r\\n our recreation. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter BEROWNE, with a paper his band, alone\\r\\n\\r\\n BEROWNE. The King he is hunting the deer: I am coursing myself. They\\r\\n have pitch\\'d a toil: I am tolling in a pitch- pitch that defiles.\\r\\n Defile! a foul word. Well, \\'set thee down, sorrow!\\' for so they say\\r\\n the fool said, and so say I, and I am the fool. Well proved, wit. By\\r\\n the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax: it kills sheep; it kills me- I\\r\\n a sheep. Well proved again o\\' my side. I will not love; if I do, hang\\r\\n me. I\\' faith, I will not. O, but her eye! By this light, but for her\\r\\n eye, I would not love her- yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing\\r\\n in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love; and\\r\\n it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be melancholy; and here is part of\\r\\n my rhyme, and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o\\' my sonnets\\r\\n already; the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it:\\r\\n sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I would not\\r\\n care a pin if the other three were in. Here comes one with a paper;\\r\\n God give him grace to groan! [Climbs into a tree]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the KING, with a paper\\r\\n\\r\\n KING. Ay me!\\r\\n BEROWNE. Shot, by heaven! Proceed, sweet Cupid; thou hast thump\\'d\\r\\n him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap. In faith, secrets!\\r\\n KING. [Reads]\\r\\n \\'So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not\\r\\n To those fresh morning drops upon the rose,\\r\\n As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote\\r\\n The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows;\\r\\n Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright\\r\\n Through the transparent bosom of the deep,\\r\\n As doth thy face through tears of mine give light.\\r\\n Thou shin\\'st in every tear that I do weep;\\r\\n No drop but as a coach doth carry thee;\\r\\n So ridest thou triumphing in my woe.\\r\\n Do but behold the tears that swell in me,\\r\\n And they thy glory through my grief will show.\\r\\n But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep\\r\\n My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.\\r\\n O queen of queens! how far dost thou excel\\r\\n No thought can think nor tongue of mortal tell.\\'\\r\\n How shall she know my griefs? I\\'ll drop the paper-\\r\\n Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here?\\r\\n [Steps aside]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LONGAVILLE, with a paper\\r\\n\\r\\n What, Longaville, and reading! Listen, car.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool appear!\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Ay me, I am forsworn!\\r\\n BEROWNE. Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing papers.\\r\\n KING. In love, I hope; sweet fellowship in shame!\\r\\n BEROWNE. One drunkard loves another of the name.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Am I the first that have been perjur\\'d so?\\r\\n BEROWNE. I could put thee in comfort: not by two that I know;\\r\\n Thou makest the triumviry, the corner-cap of society,\\r\\n The shape of Love\\'s Tyburn that hangs up simplicity.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move.\\r\\n O sweet Maria, empress of my love!\\r\\n These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.\\r\\n BEROWNE. O, rhymes are guards on wanton Cupid\\'s hose:\\r\\n Disfigure not his slop.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. This same shall go. [He reads the sonnet]\\r\\n \\'Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,\\r\\n \\'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,\\r\\n Persuade my heart to this false perjury?\\r\\n Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.\\r\\n A woman I forswore; but I will prove,\\r\\n Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:\\r\\n My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;\\r\\n Thy grace being gain\\'d cures all disgrace in me.\\r\\n Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is;\\r\\n Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine,\\r\\n Exhal\\'st this vapour-vow; in thee it is.\\r\\n If broken, then it is no fault of mine;\\r\\n If by me broke, what fool is not so wise\\r\\n To lose an oath to win a paradise?\\'\\r\\n BEROWNE. This is the liver-vein, which makes flesh a deity,\\r\\n A green goose a goddess- pure, pure idolatry.\\r\\n God amend us, God amend! We are much out o\\' th\\' way.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUMAIN, with a paper\\r\\n\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. By whom shall I send this?- Company! Stay.\\r\\n [Steps aside]\\r\\n BEROWNE. \\'All hid, all hid\\'- an old infant play.\\r\\n Like a demigod here sit I in the sky,\\r\\n And wretched fools\\' secrets heedfully o\\'er-eye.\\r\\n More sacks to the mill! O heavens, I have my wish!\\r\\n Dumain transformed! Four woodcocks in a dish!\\r\\n DUMAIN. O most divine Kate!\\r\\n BEROWNE. O most profane coxcomb!\\r\\n DUMAIN. By heaven, the wonder in a mortal eye!\\r\\n BEROWNE. By earth, she is not, corporal: there you lie.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Her amber hairs for foul hath amber quoted.\\r\\n BEROWNE. An amber-colour\\'d raven was well noted.\\r\\n DUMAIN. As upright as the cedar.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Stoop, I say;\\r\\n Her shoulder is with child.\\r\\n DUMAIN. As fair as day.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Ay, as some days; but then no sun must shine.\\r\\n DUMAIN. O that I had my wish!\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. And I had mine!\\r\\n KING. And I mine too,.good Lord!\\r\\n BEROWNE. Amen, so I had mine! Is not that a good word?\\r\\n DUMAIN. I would forget her; but a fever she\\r\\n Reigns in my blood, and will rememb\\'red be.\\r\\n BEROWNE. A fever in your blood? Why, then incision\\r\\n Would let her out in saucers. Sweet misprision!\\r\\n DUMAIN. Once more I\\'ll read the ode that I have writ.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Once more I\\'ll mark how love can vary wit.\\r\\n DUMAIN. [Reads]\\r\\n \\'On a day-alack the day!-\\r\\n Love, whose month is ever May,\\r\\n Spied a blossom passing fair\\r\\n Playing in the wanton air.\\r\\n Through the velvet leaves the wind,\\r\\n All unseen, can passage find;\\r\\n That the lover, sick to death,\\r\\n Wish\\'d himself the heaven\\'s breath.\\r\\n \"Air,\" quoth he \"thy cheeks may blow;\\r\\n Air, would I might triumph so!\\r\\n But, alack, my hand is sworn\\r\\n Ne\\'er to pluck thee from thy thorn;\\r\\n Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,\\r\\n Youth so apt to pluck a sweet.\\r\\n Do not call it sin in me\\r\\n That I am forsworn for thee;\\r\\n Thou for whom Jove would swear\\r\\n Juno but an Ethiope were;\\r\\n And deny himself for Jove,\\r\\n Turning mortal for thy love.\"\\'\\r\\n This will I send; and something else more plain\\r\\n That shall express my true love\\'s fasting pain.\\r\\n O, would the King, Berowne and Longaville,\\r\\n Were lovers too! Ill, to example ill,\\r\\n Would from my forehead wipe a perjur\\'d note;\\r\\n For none offend where all alike do dote.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. [Advancing] Dumain, thy love is far from charity,\\r\\n That in love\\'s grief desir\\'st society;\\r\\n You may look pale, but I should blush, I know,\\r\\n To be o\\'erheard and taken napping so.\\r\\n KING. [Advancing] Come, sir, you blush; as his, your case is such.\\r\\n You chide at him, offending twice as much:\\r\\n You do not love Maria! Longaville\\r\\n Did never sonnet for her sake compile;\\r\\n Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart\\r\\n His loving bosom, to keep down his heart.\\r\\n I have been closely shrouded in this bush,\\r\\n And mark\\'d you both, and for you both did blush.\\r\\n I heard your guilty rhymes, observ\\'d your fashion,\\r\\n Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion.\\r\\n \\'Ay me!\\' says one. \\'O Jove!\\' the other cries.\\r\\n One, her hairs were gold; crystal the other\\'s eyes.\\r\\n [To LONGAVILLE] You would for paradise break faith and troth;\\r\\n [To Dumain] And Jove for your love would infringe an oath.\\r\\n What will Berowne say when that he shall hear\\r\\n Faith infringed which such zeal did swear?\\r\\n How will he scorn, how will he spend his wit!\\r\\n How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it!\\r\\n For all the wealth that ever I did see,\\r\\n I would not have him know so much by me.\\r\\n BEROWNE. [Descending] Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy,\\r\\n Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me.\\r\\n Good heart, what grace hast thou thus to reprove\\r\\n These worms for loving, that art most in love?\\r\\n Your eyes do make no coaches; in your tears\\r\\n There is no certain princess that appears;\\r\\n You\\'ll not be perjur\\'d; \\'tis a hateful thing;\\r\\n Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting.\\r\\n But are you not ashamed? Nay, are you not,\\r\\n All three of you, to be thus much o\\'ershot?\\r\\n You found his mote; the King your mote did see;\\r\\n But I a beam do find in each of three.\\r\\n O, what a scene of fool\\'ry have I seen,\\r\\n Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen!\\r\\n O, me, with what strict patience have I sat,\\r\\n To see a king transformed to a gnat!\\r\\n To see great Hercules whipping a gig,\\r\\n And profound Solomon to tune a jig,\\r\\n And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys,\\r\\n And critic Timon laugh at idle toys!\\r\\n Where lies thy grief, O, tell me, good Dumain?\\r\\n And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain?\\r\\n And where my liege\\'s? All about the breast.\\r\\n A caudle, ho!\\r\\n KING. Too bitter is thy jest.\\r\\n Are we betrayed thus to thy over-view?\\r\\n BEROWNE. Not you by me, but I betrayed to you.\\r\\n I that am honest, I that hold it sin\\r\\n To break the vow I am engaged in;\\r\\n I am betrayed by keeping company\\r\\n With men like you, men of inconstancy.\\r\\n When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme?\\r\\n Or groan for Joan? or spend a minute\\'s time\\r\\n In pruning me? When shall you hear that I\\r\\n Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye,\\r\\n A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist,\\r\\n A leg, a limb-\\r\\n KING. Soft! whither away so fast?\\r\\n A true man or a thief that gallops so?\\r\\n BEROWNE. I post from love; good lover, let me go.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD\\r\\n\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. God bless the King!\\r\\n KING. What present hast thou there?\\r\\n COSTARD. Some certain treason.\\r\\n KING. What makes treason here?\\r\\n COSTARD. Nay, it makes nothing, sir.\\r\\n KING. If it mar nothing neither,\\r\\n The treason and you go in peace away together.\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. I beseech your Grace, let this letter be read;\\r\\n Our person misdoubts it: \\'twas treason, he said.\\r\\n KING. Berowne, read it over. [BEROWNE reads the letter]\\r\\n Where hadst thou it?\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. Of Costard.\\r\\n KING. Where hadst thou it?\\r\\n COSTARD. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.\\r\\n [BEROWNE tears the letter]\\r\\n KING. How now! What is in you? Why dost thou tear it?\\r\\n BEROWNE. A toy, my liege, a toy! Your Grace needs not fear it.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. It did move him to passion, and therefore let\\'s hear\\r\\n it.\\r\\n DUMAIN. It is Berowne\\'s writing, and here is his name.\\r\\n [Gathering up the pieces]\\r\\n BEROWNE. [ To COSTARD] Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, you were born\\r\\n to do me shame.\\r\\n Guilty, my lord, guilty! I confess, I confess.\\r\\n KING. What?\\r\\n BEROWNE. That you three fools lack\\'d me fool to make up the mess;\\r\\n He, he, and you- and you, my liege!- and I\\r\\n Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die.\\r\\n O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Now the number is even.\\r\\n BEROWNE. True, true, we are four.\\r\\n Will these turtles be gone?\\r\\n KING. Hence, sirs, away.\\r\\n COSTARD. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay.\\r\\n Exeunt COSTARD and JAQUENETTA\\r\\n BEROWNE. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us embrace!\\r\\n As true we are as flesh and blood can be.\\r\\n The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face;\\r\\n Young blood doth not obey an old decree.\\r\\n We cannot cross the cause why we were born,\\r\\n Therefore of all hands must we be forsworn.\\r\\n KING. What, did these rent lines show some love of thine?\\r\\n BEROWNE. \\'Did they?\\' quoth you. Who sees the heavenly Rosaline\\r\\n That, like a rude and savage man of Inde\\r\\n At the first op\\'ning of the gorgeous east,\\r\\n Bows not his vassal head and, strucken blind,\\r\\n Kisses the base ground with obedient breast?\\r\\n What peremptory eagle-sighted eye\\r\\n Dares look upon the heaven of her brow\\r\\n That is not blinded by her majesty?\\r\\n KING. What zeal, what fury hath inspir\\'d thee now?\\r\\n My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon;\\r\\n She, an attending star, scarce seen a light.\\r\\n BEROWNE. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Berowne.\\r\\n O, but for my love, day would turn to night!\\r\\n Of all complexions the cull\\'d sovereignty\\r\\n Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek,\\r\\n Where several worthies make one dignity,\\r\\n Where nothing wants that want itself doth seek.\\r\\n Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues-\\r\\n Fie, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not!\\r\\n To things of sale a seller\\'s praise belongs:\\r\\n She passes praise; then praise too short doth blot.\\r\\n A wither\\'d hermit, five-score winters worn,\\r\\n Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye.\\r\\n Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born,\\r\\n And gives the crutch the cradle\\'s infancy.\\r\\n O, \\'tis the sun that maketh all things shine!\\r\\n KING. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Is ebony like her? O wood divine!\\r\\n A wife of such wood were felicity.\\r\\n O, who can give an oath? Where is a book?\\r\\n That I may swear beauty doth beauty lack,\\r\\n If that she learn not of her eye to look.\\r\\n No face is fair that is not full so black.\\r\\n KING. O paradox! Black is the badge of hell,\\r\\n The hue of dungeons, and the school of night;\\r\\n And beauty\\'s crest becomes the heavens well.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light.\\r\\n O, if in black my lady\\'s brows be deckt,\\r\\n It mourns that painting and usurping hair\\r\\n Should ravish doters with a false aspect;\\r\\n And therefore is she born to make black fair.\\r\\n Her favour turns the fashion of the days;\\r\\n For native blood is counted painting now;\\r\\n And therefore red that would avoid dispraise\\r\\n Paints itself black, to imitate her brow.\\r\\n DUMAIN. To look like her are chimney-sweepers black.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. And since her time are colliers counted bright.\\r\\n KING. And Ethiopes of their sweet complexion crack.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Your mistresses dare never come in rain\\r\\n For fear their colours should be wash\\'d away.\\r\\n KING. \\'Twere good yours did; for, sir, to tell you plain,\\r\\n I\\'ll find a fairer face not wash\\'d to-day.\\r\\n BEROWNE. I\\'ll prove her fair, or talk till doomsday here.\\r\\n KING. No devil will fright thee then so much as she.\\r\\n DUMAIN. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Look, here\\'s thy love: my foot and her face see.\\r\\n [Showing his shoe]\\r\\n BEROWNE. O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes,\\r\\n Her feet were much too dainty for such tread!\\r\\n DUMAIN. O vile! Then, as she goes, what upward lies\\r\\n The street should see as she walk\\'d overhead.\\r\\n KING. But what of this? Are we not all in love?\\r\\n BEROWNE. Nothing so sure; and thereby all forsworn.\\r\\n KING. Then leave this chat; and, good Berowne, now prove\\r\\n Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Ay, marry, there; some flattery for this evil.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. O, some authority how to proceed;\\r\\n Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil!\\r\\n DUMAIN. Some salve for perjury.\\r\\n BEROWNE. \\'Tis more than need.\\r\\n Have at you, then, affection\\'s men-at-arms.\\r\\n Consider what you first did swear unto:\\r\\n To fast, to study, and to see no woman-\\r\\n Flat treason \\'gainst the kingly state of youth.\\r\\n Say, can you fast? Your stomachs are too young,\\r\\n And abstinence engenders maladies.\\r\\n And, where that you you have vow\\'d to study, lords,\\r\\n In that each of you have forsworn his book,\\r\\n Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look?\\r\\n For when would you, my lord, or you, or you,\\r\\n Have found the ground of study\\'s excellence\\r\\n Without the beauty of a woman\\'s face?\\r\\n From women\\'s eyes this doctrine I derive:\\r\\n They are the ground, the books, the academes,\\r\\n From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire.\\r\\n Why, universal plodding poisons up\\r\\n The nimble spirits in the arteries,\\r\\n As motion and long-during action tires\\r\\n The sinewy vigour of the traveller.\\r\\n Now, for not looking on a woman\\'s face,\\r\\n You have in that forsworn the use of eyes,\\r\\n And study too, the causer of your vow;\\r\\n For where is author in the world\\r\\n Teaches such beauty as a woman\\'s eye?\\r\\n Learning is but an adjunct to ourself,\\r\\n And where we are our learning likewise is;\\r\\n Then when ourselves we see in ladies\\' eyes,\\r\\n With ourselves.\\r\\n Do we not likewise see our learning there?\\r\\n O, we have made a vow to study, lords,\\r\\n And in that vow we have forsworn our books.\\r\\n For when would you, my liege, or you, or you,\\r\\n In leaden contemplation have found out\\r\\n Such fiery numbers as the prompting eyes\\r\\n Of beauty\\'s tutors have enrich\\'d you with?\\r\\n Other slow arts entirely keep the brain;\\r\\n And therefore, finding barren practisers,\\r\\n Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil;\\r\\n But love, first learned in a lady\\'s eyes,\\r\\n Lives not alone immured in the brain,\\r\\n But with the motion of all elements\\r\\n Courses as swift as thought in every power,\\r\\n And gives to every power a double power,\\r\\n Above their functions and their offices.\\r\\n It adds a precious seeing to the eye:\\r\\n A lover\\'s eyes will gaze an eagle blind.\\r\\n A lover\\'s ear will hear the lowest sound,\\r\\n When the suspicious head of theft is stopp\\'d.\\r\\n Love\\'s feeling is more soft and sensible\\r\\n Than are the tender horns of cockled snails:\\r\\n Love\\'s tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste.\\r\\n For valour, is not Love a Hercules,\\r\\n Still climbing trees in the Hesperides?\\r\\n Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet and musical\\r\\n As bright Apollo\\'s lute, strung with his hair.\\r\\n And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods\\r\\n Make heaven drowsy with the harmony.\\r\\n Never durst poet touch a pen to write\\r\\n Until his ink were temp\\'red with Love\\'s sighs;\\r\\n O, then his lines would ravish savage ears,\\r\\n And plant in tyrants mild humility.\\r\\n From women\\'s eyes this doctrine I derive.\\r\\n They sparkle still the right Promethean fire;\\r\\n They are the books, the arts, the academes,\\r\\n That show, contain, and nourish, all the world,\\r\\n Else none at all in aught proves excellent.\\r\\n Then fools you were these women to forswear;\\r\\n Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools.\\r\\n For wisdom\\'s sake, a word that all men love;\\r\\n Or for Love\\'s sake, a word that loves all men;\\r\\n Or for men\\'s sake, the authors of these women;\\r\\n Or women\\'s sake, by whom we men are men-\\r\\n Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves,\\r\\n Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths.\\r\\n It is religion to be thus forsworn;\\r\\n For charity itself fulfils the law,\\r\\n And who can sever love from charity?\\r\\n KING. Saint Cupid, then! and, soldiers, to the field!\\r\\n BEROWNE. Advance your standards, and upon them, lords;\\r\\n Pell-mell, down with them! be first advis\\'d,\\r\\n In conflict, that you get the sun of them.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Now to plain-dealing; lay these glozes by.\\r\\n Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France?\\r\\n KING. And win them too; therefore let us devise\\r\\n Some entertainment for them in their tents.\\r\\n BEROWNE. First, from the park let us conduct them thither;\\r\\n Then homeward every man attach the hand\\r\\n Of his fair mistress. In the afternoon\\r\\n We will with some strange pastime solace them,\\r\\n Such as the shortness of the time can shape;\\r\\n For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours,\\r\\n Forerun fair Love, strewing her way with flowers.\\r\\n KING. Away, away! No time shall be omitted\\r\\n That will betime, and may by us be fitted.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Allons! allons! Sow\\'d cockle reap\\'d no corn,\\r\\n And justice always whirls in equal measure.\\r\\n Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn;\\r\\n If so, our copper buys no better treasure. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. The park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, and DULL\\r\\n\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Satis quod sufficit.\\r\\n NATHANIEL. I praise God for you, sir. Your reasons at dinner have\\r\\n been sharp and sententious; pleasant without scurrility, witty\\r\\n without affection, audacious without impudency, learned without\\r\\n opinion, and strange without heresy. I did converse this quondam\\r\\n day with a companion of the King\\'s who is intituled, nominated,\\r\\n or called, Don Adriano de Armado.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Novi hominem tanquam te. His humour is lofty, his\\r\\n discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his eye ambitious, his\\r\\n gait majestical and his general behaviour vain, ridiculous, and\\r\\n thrasonical. He is too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd,\\r\\n as it were, too peregrinate, as I may call it.\\r\\n NATHANIEL. A most singular and choice epithet.\\r\\n [Draws out his table-book]\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than\\r\\n the staple of his argument. I abhor such fanatical phantasimes,\\r\\n such insociable and point-devise companions; such rackers of\\r\\n orthography, as to speak \\'dout\\' fine, when he should say \\'doubt\\';\\r\\n \\'det\\' when he should pronounce \\'debt\\'- d, e, b, t, not d, e, t.\\r\\n He clepeth a calf \\'cauf,\\' half \\'hauf\\'; neighbour vocatur\\r\\n \\'nebour\\'; \\'neigh\\' abbreviated \\'ne.\\' This is abhominable- which he\\r\\n would call \\'abbominable.\\' It insinuateth me of insanie: ne\\r\\n intelligis, domine? to make frantic, lunatic.\\r\\n NATHANIEL. Laus Deo, bone intelligo.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. \\'Bone\\'?- \\'bone\\' for \\'bene.\\' Priscian a little\\r\\n scratch\\'d; \\'twill serve.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ARMADO, MOTH, and COSTARD\\r\\n\\r\\n NATHANIEL. Videsne quis venit?\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Video, et gaudeo.\\r\\n ARMADO. [To MOTH] Chirrah!\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Quare \\'chirrah,\\' not \\'sirrah\\'?\\r\\n ARMADO. Men of peace, well encount\\'red.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Most military sir, salutation.\\r\\n MOTH. [Aside to COSTARD] They have been at a great feast of\\r\\n languages and stol\\'n the scraps.\\r\\n COSTARD. O, they have liv\\'d long on the alms-basket of words. I\\r\\n marvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a word, for thou are\\r\\n not so long by the head as honorificabilitudinitatibus; thou art\\r\\n easier swallowed than a flap-dragon.\\r\\n MOTH. Peace! the peal begins.\\r\\n ARMADO. [To HOLOFERNES] Monsieur, are you not lett\\'red?\\r\\n MOTH. Yes, yes; he teaches boys the hornbook. What is a, b, spelt\\r\\n backward with the horn on his head?\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Ba, pueritia, with a horn added.\\r\\n MOTH. Ba, most silly sheep with a horn. You hear his learning.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Quis, quis, thou consonant?\\r\\n MOTH. The third of the five vowels, if You repeat them; or the\\r\\n fifth, if I.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. I will repeat them: a, e, I-\\r\\n MOTH. The sheep; the other two concludes it: o, U.\\r\\n ARMADO. Now, by the salt wave of the Mediterraneum, a sweet touch,\\r\\n a quick venue of wit- snip, snap, quick and home. It rejoiceth my\\r\\n intellect. True wit!\\r\\n MOTH. Offer\\'d by a child to an old man; which is wit-old.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. What is the figure? What is the figure?\\r\\n MOTH. Horns.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Thou disputes like an infant; go whip thy gig.\\r\\n MOTH. Lend me your horn to make one, and I will whip about your\\r\\n infamy circum circa- a gig of a cuckold\\'s horn.\\r\\n COSTARD. An I had but one penny in the world, thou shouldst have it\\r\\n to buy ginger-bread. Hold, there is the very remuneration I had\\r\\n of thy master, thou halfpenny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of\\r\\n discretion. O, an the heavens were so pleased that thou wert but\\r\\n my bastard, what a joyful father wouldst thou make me! Go to;\\r\\n thou hast it ad dunghill, at the fingers\\' ends, as they say.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. O, I smell false Latin; \\'dunghill\\' for unguem.\\r\\n ARMADO. Arts-man, preambulate; we will be singuled from the\\r\\n barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the charge-house on the\\r\\n top of the mountain?\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Or mons, the hill.\\r\\n ARMADO. At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. I do, sans question.\\r\\n ARMADO. Sir, it is the King\\'s most sweet pleasure and affection to\\r\\n congratulate the Princess at her pavilion, in the posteriors of\\r\\n this day; which the rude multitude call the afternoon.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. The posterior of the day, most generous sir, is liable,\\r\\n congruent, and measurable, for the afternoon. The word is well\\r\\n cull\\'d, chose, sweet, and apt, I do assure you, sir, I do assure.\\r\\n ARMADO. Sir, the King is a noble gentleman, and my familiar, I do\\r\\n assure ye, very good friend. For what is inward between us, let\\r\\n it pass. I do beseech thee, remember thy courtesy. I beseech\\r\\n thee, apparel thy head. And among other importunate and most\\r\\n serious designs, and of great import indeed, too- but let that\\r\\n pass; for I must tell thee it will please his Grace, by the\\r\\n world, sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder, and with his royal\\r\\n finger thus dally with my excrement, with my mustachio; but,\\r\\n sweet heart, let that pass. By the world, I recount no fable:\\r\\n some certain special honours it pleaseth his greatness to impart\\r\\n to Armado, a soldier, a man of travel, that hath seen the world;\\r\\n but let that pass. The very all of all is- but, sweet heart, I do\\r\\n implore secrecy- that the King would have me present the\\r\\n Princess, sweet chuck, with some delightful ostentation, or show,\\r\\n or pageant, or antic, or firework. Now, understanding that the\\r\\n curate and your sweet self are good at such eruptions and sudden\\r\\n breaking-out of mirth, as it were, I have acquainted you withal,\\r\\n to the end to crave your assistance.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Sir, you shall present before her the Nine Worthies.\\r\\n Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some entertainment of time, some\\r\\n show in the posterior of this day, to be rend\\'red by our\\r\\n assistance, the King\\'s command, and this most gallant,\\r\\n illustrate, and learned gentleman, before the Princess- I say\\r\\n none so fit as to present the Nine Worthies.\\r\\n NATHANIEL. Where will you find men worthy enough to present them?\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Joshua, yourself; myself, Alexander; this gallant\\r\\n gentleman, Judas Maccabaeus; this swain, because of his great\\r\\n limb or joint, shall pass Pompey the Great; the page, Hercules.\\r\\n ARMADO. Pardon, sir; error: he is not quantity enough for that\\r\\n Worthy\\'s thumb; he is not so big as the end of his club.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Shall I have audience? He shall present Hercules in\\r\\n minority: his enter and exit shall be strangling a snake; and I\\r\\n will have an apology for that purpose.\\r\\n MOTH. An excellent device! So, if any of the audience hiss, you may\\r\\n cry \\'Well done, Hercules; now thou crushest the snake!\\' That is\\r\\n the way to make an offence gracious, though few have the grace to\\r\\n do it.\\r\\n ARMADO. For the rest of the Worthies?\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. I will play three myself.\\r\\n MOTH. Thrice-worthy gentleman!\\r\\n ARMADO. Shall I tell you a thing?\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. We attend.\\r\\n ARMADO. We will have, if this fadge not, an antic. I beseech you,\\r\\n follow.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Via, goodman Dull! Thou has spoken no word all this\\r\\n while.\\r\\n DULL. Nor understood none neither, sir.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Allons! we will employ thee.\\r\\n DULL. I\\'ll make one in a dance, or so, or I will play\\r\\n On the tabor to the Worthies, and let them dance the hay.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Most dull, honest Dull! To our sport, away.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the PRINCESS, MARIA, KATHARINE, and ROSALINE\\r\\n\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart,\\r\\n If fairings come thus plentifully in.\\r\\n A lady wall\\'d about with diamonds!\\r\\n Look you what I have from the loving King.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Madam, came nothing else along with that?\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Nothing but this! Yes, as much love in rhyme\\r\\n As would be cramm\\'d up in a sheet of paper\\r\\n Writ o\\' both sides the leaf, margent and all,\\r\\n That he was fain to seal on Cupid\\'s name.\\r\\n ROSALINE. That was the way to make his godhead wax;\\r\\n For he hath been five thousand year a boy.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too.\\r\\n ROSALINE. You\\'ll ne\\'er be friends with him: \\'a kill\\'d your sister.\\r\\n KATHARINE. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy;\\r\\n And so she died. Had she been light, like you,\\r\\n Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit,\\r\\n She might \\'a been a grandam ere she died.\\r\\n And so may you; for a light heart lives long.\\r\\n ROSALINE. What\\'s your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word?\\r\\n KATHARINE. A light condition in a beauty dark.\\r\\n ROSALINE. We need more light to find your meaning out.\\r\\n KATHARINE. You\\'ll mar the light by taking it in snuff;\\r\\n Therefore I\\'ll darkly end the argument.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Look what you do, you do it still i\\' th\\' dark.\\r\\n KATHARINE. So do not you; for you are a light wench.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Indeed, I weigh not you; and therefore light.\\r\\n KATHARINE. You weigh me not? O, that\\'s you care not for me.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Great reason; for \\'past cure is still past care.\\'\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Well bandied both; a set of wit well play\\'d.\\r\\n But, Rosaline, you have a favour too?\\r\\n Who sent it? and what is it?\\r\\n ROSALINE. I would you knew.\\r\\n An if my face were but as fair as yours,\\r\\n My favour were as great: be witness this.\\r\\n Nay, I have verses too, I thank Berowne;\\r\\n The numbers true, and, were the numb\\'ring too,\\r\\n I were the fairest goddess on the ground.\\r\\n I am compar\\'d to twenty thousand fairs.\\r\\n O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter!\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Anything like?\\r\\n ROSALINE. Much in the letters; nothing in the praise.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Beauteous as ink- a good conclusion.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Fair as a text B in a copy-book.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Ware pencils, ho! Let me not die your debtor,\\r\\n My red dominical, my golden letter:\\r\\n O that your face were not so full of O\\'s!\\r\\n KATHARINE. A pox of that jest! and I beshrew all shrows!\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. But, Katharine, what was sent to you from fair\\r\\n Dumain?\\r\\n KATHARINE. Madam, this glove.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Did he not send you twain?\\r\\n KATHARINE. Yes, madam; and, moreover,\\r\\n Some thousand verses of a faithful lover;\\r\\n A huge translation of hypocrisy,\\r\\n Vilely compil\\'d, profound simplicity.\\r\\n MARIA. This, and these pearl, to me sent Longaville;\\r\\n The letter is too long by half a mile.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I think no less. Dost thou not wish in heart\\r\\n The chain were longer and the letter short?\\r\\n MARIA. Ay, or I would these hands might never part.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We are wise girls to mock our lovers so.\\r\\n ROSALINE. They are worse fools to purchase mocking so.\\r\\n That same Berowne I\\'ll torture ere I go.\\r\\n O that I knew he were but in by th\\' week!\\r\\n How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek,\\r\\n And wait the season, and observe the times,\\r\\n And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes,\\r\\n And shape his service wholly to my hests,\\r\\n And make him proud to make me proud that jests!\\r\\n So pertaunt-like would I o\\'ersway his state\\r\\n That he should be my fool, and I his fate.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. None are so surely caught, when they are\\r\\n catch\\'d,\\r\\n As wit turn\\'d fool; folly, in wisdom hatch\\'d,\\r\\n Hath wisdom\\'s warrant and the help of school,\\r\\n And wit\\'s own grace to grace a learned fool.\\r\\n ROSALINE. The blood of youth burns not with such excess\\r\\n As gravity\\'s revolt to wantonness.\\r\\n MARIA. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note\\r\\n As fool\\'ry in the wise when wit doth dote,\\r\\n Since all the power thereof it doth apply\\r\\n To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BOYET\\r\\n\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face.\\r\\n BOYET. O, I am stabb\\'d with laughter! Where\\'s her Grace?\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thy news, Boyet?\\r\\n BOYET. Prepare, madam, prepare!\\r\\n Arm, wenches, arm! Encounters mounted are\\r\\n Against your peace. Love doth approach disguis\\'d,\\r\\n Armed in arguments; you\\'ll be surpris\\'d.\\r\\n Muster your wits; stand in your own defence;\\r\\n Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Saint Dennis to Saint Cupid! What are they\\r\\n That charge their breath against us? Say, scout, say.\\r\\n BOYET. Under the cool shade of a sycamore\\r\\n I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour;\\r\\n When, lo, to interrupt my purpos\\'d rest,\\r\\n Toward that shade I might behold addrest\\r\\n The King and his companions; warily\\r\\n I stole into a neighbour thicket by,\\r\\n And overheard what you shall overhear-\\r\\n That, by and by, disguis\\'d they will be here.\\r\\n Their herald is a pretty knavish page,\\r\\n That well by heart hath conn\\'d his embassage.\\r\\n Action and accent did they teach him there:\\r\\n \\'Thus must thou speak\\' and \\'thus thy body bear,\\'\\r\\n And ever and anon they made a doubt\\r\\n Presence majestical would put him out;\\r\\n \\'For\\' quoth the King \\'an angel shalt thou see;\\r\\n Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.\\'\\r\\n The boy replied \\'An angel is not evil;\\r\\n I should have fear\\'d her had she been a devil.\\'\\r\\n With that all laugh\\'d, and clapp\\'d him on the shoulder,\\r\\n Making the bold wag by their praises bolder.\\r\\n One rubb\\'d his elbow, thus, and fleer\\'d, and swore\\r\\n A better speech was never spoke before.\\r\\n Another with his finger and his thumb\\r\\n Cried \\'Via! we will do\\'t, come what will come.\\'\\r\\n The third he caper\\'d, and cried \\'All goes well.\\'\\r\\n The fourth turn\\'d on the toe, and down he fell.\\r\\n With that they all did tumble on the ground,\\r\\n With such a zealous laughter, so profound,\\r\\n That in this spleen ridiculous appears,\\r\\n To check their folly, passion\\'s solemn tears.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. But what, but what, come they to visit us?\\r\\n BOYET. They do, they do, and are apparell\\'d thus,\\r\\n Like Muscovites or Russians, as I guess.\\r\\n Their purpose is to parley, court, and dance;\\r\\n And every one his love-feat will advance\\r\\n Unto his several mistress; which they\\'ll know\\r\\n By favours several which they did bestow.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. And will they so? The gallants shall be task\\'d,\\r\\n For, ladies, we will every one be mask\\'d;\\r\\n And not a man of them shall have the grace,\\r\\n Despite of suit, to see a lady\\'s face.\\r\\n Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear,\\r\\n And then the King will court thee for his dear;\\r\\n Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine,\\r\\n So shall Berowne take me for Rosaline.\\r\\n And change you favours too; so shall your loves\\r\\n Woo contrary, deceiv\\'d by these removes.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Come on, then, wear the favours most in sight.\\r\\n KATHARINE. But, in this changing, what is your intent?\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. The effect of my intent is to cross theirs.\\r\\n They do it but in mocking merriment,\\r\\n And mock for mock is only my intent.\\r\\n Their several counsels they unbosom shall\\r\\n To loves mistook, and so be mock\\'d withal\\r\\n Upon the next occasion that we meet\\r\\n With visages display\\'d to talk and greet.\\r\\n ROSALINE. But shall we dance, if they desire us to\\'t?\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. No, to the death, we will not move a foot,\\r\\n Nor to their penn\\'d speech render we no grace;\\r\\n But while \\'tis spoke each turn away her face.\\r\\n BOYET. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker\\'s heart,\\r\\n And quite divorce his memory from his part.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Therefore I do it; and I make no doubt\\r\\n The rest will ne\\'er come in, if he be out.\\r\\n There\\'s no such sport as sport by sport o\\'erthrown,\\r\\n To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own;\\r\\n So shall we stay, mocking intended game,\\r\\n And they well mock\\'d depart away with shame.\\r\\n [Trumpet sounds within]\\r\\n BOYET. The trumpet sounds; be mask\\'d; the maskers come.\\r\\n [The LADIES mask]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BLACKAMOORS music, MOTH as Prologue, the\\r\\n KING and his LORDS as maskers, in the guise of Russians\\r\\n\\r\\n MOTH. All hail, the richest heauties on the earth!\\r\\n BOYET. Beauties no richer than rich taffeta.\\r\\n MOTH. A holy parcel of the fairest dames\\r\\n [The LADIES turn their backs to him]\\r\\n That ever turn\\'d their- backs- to mortal views!\\r\\n BEROWNE. Their eyes, villain, their eyes.\\r\\n MOTH. That ever turn\\'d their eyes to mortal views!\\r\\n Out-\\r\\n BOYET. True; out indeed.\\r\\n MOTH. Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe\\r\\n Not to behold-\\r\\n BEROWNE. Once to behold, rogue.\\r\\n MOTH. Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes- with your\\r\\n sun-beamed eyes-\\r\\n BOYET. They will not answer to that epithet;\\r\\n You were best call it \\'daughter-beamed eyes.\\'\\r\\n MOTH. They do not mark me, and that brings me out.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Is this your perfectness? Be gone, you rogue.\\r\\n Exit MOTH\\r\\n ROSALINE. What would these strangers? Know their minds, Boyet.\\r\\n If they do speak our language, \\'tis our will\\r\\n That some plain man recount their purposes.\\r\\n Know what they would.\\r\\n BOYET. What would you with the Princess?\\r\\n BEROWNE. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.\\r\\n ROSALINE. What would they, say they?\\r\\n BOYET. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Why, that they have; and bid them so be gone.\\r\\n BOYET. She says you have it, and you may be gone.\\r\\n KING. Say to her we have measur\\'d many miles\\r\\n To tread a measure with her on this grass.\\r\\n BOYET. They say that they have measur\\'d many a mile\\r\\n To tread a measure with you on this grass.\\r\\n ROSALINE. It is not so. Ask them how many inches\\r\\n Is in one mile? If they have measured many,\\r\\n The measure, then, of one is eas\\'ly told.\\r\\n BOYET. If to come hither you have measur\\'d miles,\\r\\n And many miles, the Princess bids you tell\\r\\n How many inches doth fill up one mile.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Tell her we measure them by weary steps.\\r\\n BOYET. She hears herself.\\r\\n ROSALINE. How many weary steps\\r\\n Of many weary miles you have o\\'ergone\\r\\n Are numb\\'red in the travel of one mile?\\r\\n BEROWNE. We number nothing that we spend for you;\\r\\n Our duty is so rich, so infinite,\\r\\n That we may do it still without accompt.\\r\\n Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face,\\r\\n That we, like savages, may worship it.\\r\\n ROSALINE. My face is but a moon, and clouded too.\\r\\n KING. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do.\\r\\n Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine,\\r\\n Those clouds removed, upon our watery eyne.\\r\\n ROSALINE. O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter;\\r\\n Thou now requests but moonshine in the water.\\r\\n KING. Then in our measure do but vouchsafe one change.\\r\\n Thou bid\\'st me beg; this begging is not strange.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Play, music, then. Nay, you must do it soon.\\r\\n Not yet? No dance! Thus change I like the moon.\\r\\n KING. Will you not dance? How come you thus estranged?\\r\\n ROSALINE. You took the moon at full; but now she\\'s changed.\\r\\n KING. Yet still she is the Moon, and I the Man.\\r\\n The music plays; vouchsafe some motion to it.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Our ears vouchsafe it.\\r\\n KING. But your legs should do it.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Since you are strangers, and come here by chance,\\r\\n We\\'ll not be nice; take hands. We will not dance.\\r\\n KING. Why take we hands then?\\r\\n ROSALINE. Only to part friends.\\r\\n Curtsy, sweet hearts; and so the measure ends.\\r\\n KING. More measure of this measure; be not nice.\\r\\n ROSALINE. We can afford no more at such a price.\\r\\n KING. Price you yourselves. What buys your company?\\r\\n ROSALINE. Your absence only.\\r\\n KING. That can never be.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Then cannot we be bought; and so adieu-\\r\\n Twice to your visor and half once to you.\\r\\n KING. If you deny to dance, let\\'s hold more chat.\\r\\n ROSALINE. In private then.\\r\\n KING. I am best pleas\\'d with that. [They converse apart]\\r\\n BEROWNE. White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is three.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Nay, then, two treys, an if you grow so nice,\\r\\n Metheglin, wort, and malmsey; well run dice!\\r\\n There\\'s half a dozen sweets.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Seventh sweet, adieu!\\r\\n Since you can cog, I\\'ll play no more with you.\\r\\n BEROWNE. One word in secret.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Let it not be sweet.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Thou grievest my gall.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Gall! bitter.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Therefore meet. [They converse apart]\\r\\n DUMAIN. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word?\\r\\n MARIA. Name it.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Fair lady-\\r\\n MARIA. Say you so? Fair lord-\\r\\n Take that for your fair lady.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Please it you,\\r\\n As much in private, and I\\'ll bid adieu.\\r\\n [They converse apart]\\r\\n KATHARINE. What, was your vizard made without a tongue?\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. I know the reason, lady, why you ask.\\r\\n KATHARINE. O for your reason! Quickly, sir; I long.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. You have a double tongue within your mask,\\r\\n And would afford my speechless vizard half.\\r\\n KATHARINE. \\'Veal\\' quoth the Dutchman. Is not \\'veal\\' a calf?\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. A calf, fair lady!\\r\\n KATHARINE. No, a fair lord calf.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Let\\'s part the word.\\r\\n KATHARINE. No, I\\'ll not be your half.\\r\\n Take all and wean it; it may prove an ox.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Look how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks!\\r\\n Will you give horns, chaste lady? Do not so.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. One word in private with you ere I die.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Bleat softly, then; the butcher hears you cry.\\r\\n [They converse apart]\\r\\n BOYET. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen\\r\\n As is the razor\\'s edge invisible,\\r\\n Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen,\\r\\n Above the sense of sense; so sensible\\r\\n Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings,\\r\\n Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off.\\r\\n BEROWNE. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff!\\r\\n KING. Farewell, mad wenches; you have simple wits.\\r\\n Exeunt KING, LORDS, and BLACKAMOORS\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovits.\\r\\n Are these the breed of wits so wondered at?\\r\\n BOYET. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puff\\'d out.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat, fat.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout!\\r\\n Will they not, think you, hang themselves to-night?\\r\\n Or ever but in vizards show their faces?\\r\\n This pert Berowne was out of count\\'nance quite.\\r\\n ROSALINE. They were all in lamentable cases!\\r\\n The King was weeping-ripe for a good word.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Berowne did swear himself out of all suit.\\r\\n MARIA. Dumain was at my service, and his sword.\\r\\n \\'No point\\' quoth I; my servant straight was mute.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Lord Longaville said I came o\\'er his heart;\\r\\n And trow you what he call\\'d me?\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Qualm, perhaps.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Yes, in good faith.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Go, sickness as thou art!\\r\\n ROSALINE. Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps.\\r\\n But will you hear? The King is my love sworn.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. And quick Berowne hath plighted faith to me.\\r\\n KATHARINE. And Longaville was for my service born.\\r\\n MARIA. Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree.\\r\\n BOYET. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear:\\r\\n Immediately they will again be here\\r\\n In their own shapes; for it can never be\\r\\n They will digest this harsh indignity.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Will they return?\\r\\n BOYET. They will, they will, God knows,\\r\\n And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows;\\r\\n Therefore, change favours; and, when they repair,\\r\\n Blow like sweet roses in this summer air.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. How blow? how blow? Speak to be understood.\\r\\n BOYET. Fair ladies mask\\'d are roses in their bud:\\r\\n Dismask\\'d, their damask sweet commixture shown,\\r\\n Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do\\r\\n If they return in their own shapes to woo?\\r\\n ROSALINE. Good madam, if by me you\\'ll be advis\\'d,\\r\\n Let\\'s mock them still, as well known as disguis\\'d.\\r\\n Let us complain to them what fools were here,\\r\\n Disguis\\'d like Muscovites, in shapeless gear;\\r\\n And wonder what they were, and to what end\\r\\n Their shallow shows and prologue vilely penn\\'d,\\r\\n And their rough carriage so ridiculous,\\r\\n Should be presented at our tent to us.\\r\\n BOYET. Ladies, withdraw; the gallants are at hand.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Whip to our tents, as roes run o\\'er land.\\r\\n Exeunt PRINCESS, ROSALINE, KATHARINE, and MARIA\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter the KING, BEROWNE, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN,\\r\\n in their proper habits\\r\\n\\r\\n KING. Fair sir, God save you! Where\\'s the Princess?\\r\\n BOYET. Gone to her tent. Please it your Majesty\\r\\n Command me any service to her thither?\\r\\n KING. That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.\\r\\n BOYET. I will; and so will she, I know, my lord. Exit\\r\\n BEROWNE. This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons pease,\\r\\n And utters it again when God doth please.\\r\\n He is wit\\'s pedlar, and retails his wares\\r\\n At wakes, and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs;\\r\\n And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know,\\r\\n Have not the grace to grace it with such show.\\r\\n This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve;\\r\\n Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve.\\r\\n \\'A can carve too, and lisp; why this is he\\r\\n That kiss\\'d his hand away in courtesy;\\r\\n This is the ape of form, Monsieur the Nice,\\r\\n That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice\\r\\n In honourable terms; nay, he can sing\\r\\n A mean most meanly; and in ushering,\\r\\n Mend him who can. The ladies call him sweet;\\r\\n The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet.\\r\\n This is the flow\\'r that smiles on every one,\\r\\n To show his teeth as white as whales-bone;\\r\\n And consciences that will not die in debt\\r\\n Pay him the due of \\'honey-tongued Boyet.\\'\\r\\n KING. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart,\\r\\n That put Armado\\'s page out of his part!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter the PRINCESS, ushered by BOYET; ROSALINE,\\r\\n MARIA, and KATHARINE\\r\\n\\r\\n BEROWNE. See where it comes! Behaviour, what wert thou\\r\\n Till this man show\\'d thee? And what art thou now?\\r\\n KING. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day!\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. \\'Fair\\' in \\'all hail\\' is foul, as I conceive.\\r\\n KING. Construe my speeches better, if you may.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Then wish me better; I will give you leave.\\r\\n KING. We came to visit you, and purpose now\\r\\n To lead you to our court; vouchsafe it then.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. This field shall hold me, and so hold your vow:\\r\\n Nor God, nor I, delights in perjur\\'d men.\\r\\n KING. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke.\\r\\n The virtue of your eye must break my oath.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. You nickname virtue: vice you should have\\r\\n spoke;\\r\\n For virtue\\'s office never breaks men\\'s troth.\\r\\n Now by my maiden honour, yet as pure\\r\\n As the unsullied lily, I protest,\\r\\n A world of torments though I should endure,\\r\\n I would not yield to be your house\\'s guest;\\r\\n So much I hate a breaking cause to be\\r\\n Of heavenly oaths, vowed with integrity.\\r\\n KING. O, you have liv\\'d in desolation here,\\r\\n Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Not so, my lord; it is not so, I swear;\\r\\n We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game;\\r\\n A mess of Russians left us but of late.\\r\\n KING. How, madam! Russians!\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Ay, in truth, my lord;\\r\\n Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Madam, speak true. It is not so, my lord.\\r\\n My lady, to the manner of the days,\\r\\n In courtesy gives undeserving praise.\\r\\n We four indeed confronted were with four\\r\\n In Russian habit; here they stayed an hour\\r\\n And talk\\'d apace; and in that hour, my lord,\\r\\n They did not bless us with one happy word.\\r\\n I dare not call them fools; but this I think,\\r\\n When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink.\\r\\n BEROWNE. This jest is dry to me. Fair gentle sweet,\\r\\n Your wit makes wise things foolish; when we greet,\\r\\n With eyes best seeing, heaven\\'s fiery eye,\\r\\n By light we lose light; your capacity\\r\\n Is of that nature that to your huge store\\r\\n Wise things seem foolish and rich things but poor.\\r\\n ROSALINE. This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye-\\r\\n BEROWNE. I am a fool, and full of poverty.\\r\\n ROSALINE. But that you take what doth to you belong,\\r\\n It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue.\\r\\n BEROWNE. O, I am yours, and all that I possess.\\r\\n ROSALINE. All the fool mine?\\r\\n BEROWNE. I cannot give you less.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Which of the vizards was it that you wore?\\r\\n BEROWNE. Where? when? what vizard? Why demand you this?\\r\\n ROSALINE. There, then, that vizard; that superfluous case\\r\\n That hid the worse and show\\'d the better face.\\r\\n KING. We were descried; they\\'ll mock us now downright.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Amaz\\'d, my lord? Why looks your Highness sad?\\r\\n ROSALINE. Help, hold his brows! he\\'ll swoon! Why look you pale?\\r\\n Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Thus pour the stars down plagues for perjury.\\r\\n Can any face of brass hold longer out?\\r\\n Here stand I, lady- dart thy skill at me,\\r\\n Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout,\\r\\n Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance,\\r\\n Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit;\\r\\n And I will wish thee never more to dance,\\r\\n Nor never more in Russian habit wait.\\r\\n O, never will I trust to speeches penn\\'d,\\r\\n Nor to the motion of a school-boy\\'s tongue,\\r\\n Nor never come in vizard to my friend,\\r\\n Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper\\'s song.\\r\\n Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise,\\r\\n Three-pil\\'d hyperboles, spruce affectation,\\r\\n Figures pedantical- these summer-flies\\r\\n Have blown me full of maggot ostentation.\\r\\n I do forswear them; and I here protest,\\r\\n By this white glove- how white the hand, God knows!-\\r\\n Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express\\'d\\r\\n In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes.\\r\\n And, to begin, wench- so God help me, law!-\\r\\n My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Sans \\'sans,\\' I pray you.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Yet I have a trick\\r\\n Of the old rage; bear with me, I am sick;\\r\\n I\\'ll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see-\\r\\n Write \\'Lord have mercy on us\\' on those three;\\r\\n They are infected; in their hearts it lies;\\r\\n They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes.\\r\\n These lords are visited; you are not free,\\r\\n For the Lord\\'s tokens on you do I see.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. No, they are free that gave these tokens to us.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Our states are forfeit; seek not to undo us.\\r\\n ROSALINE. It is not so; for how can this be true,\\r\\n That you stand forfeit, being those that sue?\\r\\n BEROWNE. Peace; for I will not have to do with you.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Speak for yourselves; my wit is at an end.\\r\\n KING. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude transgression\\r\\n Some fair excuse.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. The fairest is confession.\\r\\n Were not you here but even now, disguis\\'d?\\r\\n KING. Madam, I was.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. And were you well advis\\'d?\\r\\n KING. I was, fair madam.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. When you then were here,\\r\\n What did you whisper in your lady\\'s ear?\\r\\n KING. That more than all the world I did respect her.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. When she shall challenge this, you will reject\\r\\n her.\\r\\n KING. Upon mine honour, no.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Peace, peace, forbear;\\r\\n Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear.\\r\\n KING. Despise me when I break this oath of mine.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I will; and therefore keep it. Rosaline,\\r\\n What did the Russian whisper in your ear?\\r\\n ROSALINE. Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear\\r\\n As precious eyesight, and did value me\\r\\n Above this world; adding thereto, moreover,\\r\\n That he would wed me, or else die my lover.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. God give thee joy of him! The noble lord\\r\\n Most honourably doth uphold his word.\\r\\n KING. What mean you, madam? By my life, my troth,\\r\\n I never swore this lady such an oath.\\r\\n ROSALINE. By heaven, you did; and, to confirm it plain,\\r\\n You gave me this; but take it, sir, again.\\r\\n KING. My faith and this the Princess I did give;\\r\\n I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear;\\r\\n And Lord Berowne, I thank him, is my dear.\\r\\n What, will you have me, or your pearl again?\\r\\n BEROWNE. Neither of either; I remit both twain.\\r\\n I see the trick on\\'t: here was a consent,\\r\\n Knowing aforehand of our merriment,\\r\\n To dash it like a Christmas comedy.\\r\\n Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany,\\r\\n Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some Dick,\\r\\n That smiles his cheek in years and knows the trick\\r\\n To make my lady laugh when she\\'s dispos\\'d,\\r\\n Told our intents before; which once disclos\\'d,\\r\\n The ladies did change favours; and then we,\\r\\n Following the signs, woo\\'d but the sign of she.\\r\\n Now, to our perjury to add more terror,\\r\\n We are again forsworn in will and error.\\r\\n Much upon this it is; [To BOYET] and might not you\\r\\n Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue?\\r\\n Do not you know my lady\\'s foot by th\\' squier,\\r\\n And laugh upon the apple of her eye?\\r\\n And stand between her back, sir, and the fire,\\r\\n Holding a trencher, jesting merrily?\\r\\n You put our page out. Go, you are allow\\'d;\\r\\n Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud.\\r\\n You leer upon me, do you? There\\'s an eye\\r\\n Wounds like a leaden sword.\\r\\n BOYET. Full merrily\\r\\n Hath this brave manage, this career, been run.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Lo, he is tilting straight! Peace; I have done.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter COSTARD\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, pure wit! Thou part\\'st a fair fray.\\r\\n COSTARD. O Lord, sir, they would know\\r\\n Whether the three Worthies shall come in or no?\\r\\n BEROWNE. What, are there but three?\\r\\n COSTARD. No, sir; but it is vara fine,\\r\\n For every one pursents three.\\r\\n BEROWNE. And three times thrice is nine.\\r\\n COSTARD. Not so, sir; under correction, sir,\\r\\n I hope it is not so.\\r\\n You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir; we know what we\\r\\n know;\\r\\n I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir-\\r\\n BEROWNE. Is not nine.\\r\\n COSTARD. Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount.\\r\\n BEROWNE. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine.\\r\\n COSTARD. O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get your living by\\r\\n reck\\'ning, sir.\\r\\n BEROWNE. How much is it?\\r\\n COSTARD. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, sir, will\\r\\n show whereuntil it doth amount. For mine own part, I am, as they\\r\\n say, but to parfect one man in one poor man, Pompion the Great,\\r\\n sir.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Art thou one of the Worthies?\\r\\n COSTARD. It pleased them to think me worthy of Pompey the Great;\\r\\n for mine own part, I know not the degree of the Worthy; but I am\\r\\n to stand for him.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Go, bid them prepare.\\r\\n COSTARD. We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take some care.\\r\\n Exit COSTARD\\r\\n KING. Berowne, they will shame us; let them not approach.\\r\\n BEROWNE. We are shame-proof, my lord, and \\'tis some policy\\r\\n To have one show worse than the King\\'s and his company.\\r\\n KING. I say they shall not come.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Nay, my good lord, let me o\\'errule you now.\\r\\n That sport best pleases that doth least know how;\\r\\n Where zeal strives to content, and the contents\\r\\n Dies in the zeal of that which it presents.\\r\\n Their form confounded makes most form in mirth,\\r\\n When great things labouring perish in their birth.\\r\\n BEROWNE. A right description of our sport, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ARMADO\\r\\n\\r\\n ARMADO. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet\\r\\n breath as will utter a brace of words.\\r\\n [Converses apart with the KING, and delivers a paper]\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Doth this man serve God?\\r\\n BEROWNE. Why ask you?\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. \\'A speaks not like a man of God his making.\\r\\n ARMADO. That is all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch; for, I\\r\\n protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical; too too vain,\\r\\n too too vain; but we will put it, as they say, to fortuna de la\\r\\n guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement!\\r\\n Exit ARMADO\\r\\n KING. Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies. He presents\\r\\n Hector of Troy; the swain, Pompey the Great; the parish curate,\\r\\n Alexander; Arinado\\'s page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas\\r\\n Maccabaeus.\\r\\n And if these four Worthies in their first show thrive,\\r\\n These four will change habits and present the other five.\\r\\n BEROWNE. There is five in the first show.\\r\\n KING. You are deceived, \\'tis not so.\\r\\n BEROWNE. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the fool, and\\r\\n the boy:\\r\\n Abate throw at novum, and the whole world again\\r\\n Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his vein.\\r\\n KING. The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter COSTARD, armed for POMPEY\\r\\n\\r\\n COSTARD. I Pompey am-\\r\\n BEROWNE. You lie, you are not he.\\r\\n COSTARD. I Pompey am-\\r\\n BOYET. With libbard\\'s head on knee.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Well said, old mocker; I must needs be friends with thee.\\r\\n COSTARD. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam\\'d the Big-\\r\\n DUMAIN. The Great.\\r\\n COSTARD. It is Great, sir.\\r\\n Pompey surnam\\'d the Great,\\r\\n That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my foe to\\r\\n sweat;\\r\\n And travelling along this coast, I bere am come by chance,\\r\\n And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France.\\r\\n\\r\\n If your ladyship would say \\'Thanks, Pompey,\\' I had done.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Great thanks, great Pompey.\\r\\n COSTARD. \\'Tis not so much worth; but I hope I was perfect.\\r\\n I made a little fault in Great.\\r\\n BEROWNE. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best Worthy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR NATHANIEL, for ALEXANDER\\r\\n\\r\\n NATHANIEL. When in the world I liv\\'d, I was the world\\'s commander;\\r\\n By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquering might.\\r\\n My scutcheon plain declares that I am Alisander-\\r\\n BOYET. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands to right.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Your nose smells \\'no\\' in this, most tender-smelling\\r\\n knight.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. The conqueror is dismay\\'d. Proceed, good\\r\\n Alexander.\\r\\n NATHANIEL. When in the world I liv\\'d, I was the world\\'s commander-\\r\\n BOYET. Most true, \\'tis right, you were so, Alisander.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Pompey the Great!\\r\\n COSTARD. Your servant, and Costard.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Take away the conqueror, take away Alisander.\\r\\n COSTARD. [To Sir Nathaniel] O, Sir, you have overthrown Alisander\\r\\n the conqueror! You will be scrap\\'d out of the painted cloth for\\r\\n this. Your lion, that holds his poleaxe sitting on a close-stool,\\r\\n will be given to Ajax. He will be the ninth Worthy. A conqueror\\r\\n and afeard to speak! Run away for shame, Alisander.\\r\\n [Sir Nathaniel retires] There, an\\'t shall please you, a foolish\\r\\n mild man; an honest man, look you, and soon dash\\'d. He is a\\r\\n marvellous good neighbour, faith, and a very good bowler; but for\\r\\n Alisander- alas! you see how \\'tis- a little o\\'erparted. But there\\r\\n are Worthies a-coming will speak their mind in some other sort.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Stand aside, good Pompey.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HOLOFERNES, for JUDAS; and MOTH, for HERCULES\\r\\n\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Great Hercules is presented by this imp,\\r\\n Whose club kill\\'d Cerberus, that three-headed canus;\\r\\n And when be was a babe, a child, a shrimp,\\r\\n Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus.\\r\\n Quoniam he seemeth in minority,\\r\\n Ergo I come with this apology.\\r\\n Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish. [MOTH retires]\\r\\n Judas I am-\\r\\n DUMAIN. A Judas!\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Not Iscariot, sir.\\r\\n Judas I am, ycliped Maccabaeus.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Judas Maccabaeus clipt is plain Judas.\\r\\n BEROWNE. A kissing traitor. How art thou prov\\'d Judas?\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Judas I am-\\r\\n DUMAIN. The more shame for you, Judas!\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. What mean you, sir?\\r\\n BOYET. To make Judas hang himself.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Begin, sir; you are my elder.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Well followed: Judas was hanged on an elder.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. I will not be put out of countenance.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Because thou hast no face.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. What is this?\\r\\n BOYET. A cittern-head.\\r\\n DUMAIN. The head of a bodkin.\\r\\n BEROWNE. A death\\'s face in a ring.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen.\\r\\n BOYET. The pommel of Coesar\\'s falchion.\\r\\n DUMAIN. The carv\\'d-bone face on a flask.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Saint George\\'s half-cheek in a brooch.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Ay, and in a brooch of lead.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer. And now,\\r\\n forward; for we have put thee in countenance.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. You have put me out of countenance.\\r\\n BEROWNE. False: we have given thee faces.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. But you have outfac\\'d them all.\\r\\n BEROWNE. An thou wert a lion we would do so.\\r\\n BOYET. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go.\\r\\n And so adieu, sweet Jude! Nay, why dost thou stay?\\r\\n DUMAIN. For the latter end of his name.\\r\\n BEROWNE. For the ass to the Jude; give it him- Jud-as, away.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.\\r\\n BOYET. A light for Monsieur Judas! It grows dark, he may stumble.\\r\\n [HOLOFERNES retires]\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Alas, poor Maccabaeus, how hath he been baited!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ARMADO, for HECTOR\\r\\n\\r\\n BEROWNE. Hide thy head, Achilles; here comes Hector in arms.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry.\\r\\n KING. Hector was but a Troyan in respect of this.\\r\\n BOYET. But is this Hector?\\r\\n DUMAIN. I think Hector was not so clean-timber\\'d.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. His leg is too big for Hector\\'s.\\r\\n DUMAIN. More calf, certain.\\r\\n BOYET. No; he is best indued in the small.\\r\\n BEROWNE. This cannot be Hector.\\r\\n DUMAIN. He\\'s a god or a painter, for he makes faces.\\r\\n ARMADO. The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,\\r\\n Gave Hector a gift-\\r\\n DUMAIN. A gilt nutmeg.\\r\\n BEROWNE. A lemon.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Stuck with cloves.\\r\\n DUMAIN. No, cloven.\\r\\n ARMADO. Peace!\\r\\n The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,\\r\\n Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;\\r\\n A man so breathed that certain he would fight ye,\\r\\n From morn till night out of his pavilion.\\r\\n I am that flower-\\r\\n DUMAIN. That mint.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. That columbine.\\r\\n ARMADO. Sweet Lord Longaville, rein thy tongue.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. I must rather give it the rein, for it runs against\\r\\n Hector.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Ay, and Hector\\'s a greyhound.\\r\\n ARMADO. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet chucks, beat\\r\\n not the bones of the buried; when he breathed, he was a man. But\\r\\n I will forward with my device. [To the PRINCESS] Sweet royalty,\\r\\n bestow on me the sense of hearing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [BEROWNE steps forth, and speaks to COSTARD]\\r\\n\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Speak, brave Hector; we are much delighted.\\r\\n ARMADO. I do adore thy sweet Grace\\'s slipper.\\r\\n BOYET. [Aside to DUMAIN] Loves her by the foot.\\r\\n DUMAIN. [Aside to BOYET] He may not by the yard.\\r\\n ARMADO. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal-\\r\\n COSTARD. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two\\r\\n months on her way.\\r\\n ARMADO. What meanest thou?\\r\\n COSTARD. Faith, unless you play the honest Troyan, the poor wench\\r\\n is cast away. She\\'s quick; the child brags in her belly already;\\r\\n \\'tis yours.\\r\\n ARMADO. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? Thou shalt die.\\r\\n COSTARD. Then shall Hector be whipt for Jaquenetta that is quick by\\r\\n him, and hang\\'d for Pompey that is dead by him.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Most rare Pompey!\\r\\n BOYET. Renowned Pompey!\\r\\n BEROWNE. Greater than Great! Great, great, great Pompey! Pompey the\\r\\n Huge!\\r\\n DUMAIN. Hector trembles.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Pompey is moved. More Ates, more Ates! Stir them on! stir\\r\\n them on!\\r\\n DUMAIN. Hector will challenge him.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Ay, if \\'a have no more man\\'s blood in his belly than will\\r\\n sup a flea.\\r\\n ARMADO. By the North Pole, I do challenge thee.\\r\\n COSTARD. I will not fight with a pole, like a Northern man; I\\'ll\\r\\n slash; I\\'ll do it by the sword. I bepray you, let me borrow my\\r\\n arms again.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Room for the incensed Worthies!\\r\\n COSTARD. I\\'ll do it in my shirt.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Most resolute Pompey!\\r\\n MOTH. Master, let me take you a buttonhole lower. Do you not see\\r\\n Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What mean you? You will lose\\r\\n your reputation.\\r\\n ARMADO. Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat in my\\r\\n shirt.\\r\\n DUMAIN. You may not deny it: Pompey hath made the challenge.\\r\\n ARMADO. Sweet bloods, I both may and will.\\r\\n BEROWNE. What reason have you for \\'t?\\r\\n ARMADO. The naked truth of it is: I have no shirt; I go woolward\\r\\n for penance.\\r\\n BOYET. True, and it was enjoined him in Rome for want of linen;\\r\\n since when, I\\'ll be sworn, he wore none but a dishclout of\\r\\n Jaquenetta\\'s, and that \\'a wears next his heart for a favour.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter as messenger, MONSIEUR MARCADE\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCADE. God save you, madam!\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Welcome, Marcade;\\r\\n But that thou interruptest our merriment.\\r\\n MARCADE. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring\\r\\n Is heavy in my tongue. The King your father-\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Dead, for my life!\\r\\n MARCADE. Even so; my tale is told.\\r\\n BEROWNE. WOrthies away; the scene begins to cloud.\\r\\n ARMADO. For mine own part, I breathe free breath. I have seen the\\r\\n day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will\\r\\n right myself like a soldier. Exeunt WORTHIES\\r\\n KING. How fares your Majesty?\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night.\\r\\n KING. Madam, not so; I do beseech you stay.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords,\\r\\n For all your fair endeavours, and entreat,\\r\\n Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe\\r\\n In your rich wisdom to excuse or hide\\r\\n The liberal opposition of our spirits,\\r\\n If over-boldly we have borne ourselves\\r\\n In the converse of breath- your gentleness\\r\\n Was guilty of it. Farewell, worthy lord.\\r\\n A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue.\\r\\n Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks\\r\\n For my great suit so easily obtain\\'d.\\r\\n KING. The extreme parts of time extremely forms\\r\\n All causes to the purpose of his speed;\\r\\n And often at his very loose decides\\r\\n That which long process could not arbitrate.\\r\\n And though the mourning brow of progeny\\r\\n Forbid the smiling courtesy of love\\r\\n The holy suit which fain it would convince,\\r\\n Yet, since love\\'s argument was first on foot,\\r\\n Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it\\r\\n From what it purpos\\'d; since to wail friends lost\\r\\n Is not by much so wholesome-profitable\\r\\n As to rejoice at friends but newly found.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I understand you not; my griefs are double.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief;\\r\\n And by these badges understand the King.\\r\\n For your fair sakes have we neglected time,\\r\\n Play\\'d foul play with our oaths; your beauty, ladies,\\r\\n Hath much deformed us, fashioning our humours\\r\\n Even to the opposed end of our intents;\\r\\n And what in us hath seem\\'d ridiculous,\\r\\n As love is full of unbefitting strains,\\r\\n All wanton as a child, skipping and vain;\\r\\n Form\\'d by the eye and therefore, like the eye,\\r\\n Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms,\\r\\n Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll\\r\\n To every varied object in his glance;\\r\\n Which parti-coated presence of loose love\\r\\n Put on by us, if in your heavenly eyes\\r\\n Have misbecom\\'d our oaths and gravities,\\r\\n Those heavenly eyes that look into these faults\\r\\n Suggested us to make. Therefore, ladies,\\r\\n Our love being yours, the error that love makes\\r\\n Is likewise yours. We to ourselves prove false,\\r\\n By being once false for ever to be true\\r\\n To those that make us both- fair ladies, you;\\r\\n And even that falsehood, in itself a sin,\\r\\n Thus purifies itself and turns to grace.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We have receiv\\'d your letters, full of love;\\r\\n Your favours, the ambassadors of love;\\r\\n And, in our maiden council, rated them\\r\\n At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy,\\r\\n As bombast and as lining to the time;\\r\\n But more devout than this in our respects\\r\\n Have we not been; and therefore met your loves\\r\\n In their own fashion, like a merriment.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Our letters, madam, show\\'d much more than jest.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. So did our looks.\\r\\n ROSALINE. We did not quote them so.\\r\\n KING. Now, at the latest minute of the hour,\\r\\n Grant us your loves.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. A time, methinks, too short\\r\\n To make a world-without-end bargain in.\\r\\n No, no, my lord, your Grace is perjur\\'d much,\\r\\n Full of dear guiltiness; and therefore this,\\r\\n If for my love, as there is no such cause,\\r\\n You will do aught- this shall you do for me:\\r\\n Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed\\r\\n To some forlorn and naked hermitage,\\r\\n Remote from all the pleasures of the world;\\r\\n There stay until the twelve celestial signs\\r\\n Have brought about the annual reckoning.\\r\\n If this austere insociable life\\r\\n Change not your offer made in heat of blood,\\r\\n If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds,\\r\\n Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love,\\r\\n But that it bear this trial, and last love,\\r\\n Then, at the expiration of the year,\\r\\n Come, challenge me, challenge me by these deserts;\\r\\n And, by this virgin palm now kissing thine,\\r\\n I will be thine; and, till that instant, shut\\r\\n My woeful self up in a mournful house,\\r\\n Raining the tears of lamentation\\r\\n For the remembrance of my father\\'s death.\\r\\n If this thou do deny, let our hands part,\\r\\n Neither intitled in the other\\'s heart.\\r\\n KING. If this, or more than this, I would deny,\\r\\n To flatter up these powers of mine with rest,\\r\\n The sudden hand of death close up mine eye!\\r\\n Hence hermit then, my heart is in thy breast.\\r\\n BEROWNE. And what to me, my love? and what to me?\\r\\n ROSALINE. You must he purged too, your sins are rack\\'d;\\r\\n You are attaint with faults and perjury;\\r\\n Therefore, if you my favour mean to get,\\r\\n A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest,\\r\\n But seek the weary beds of people sick.\\r\\n DUMAIN. But what to me, my love? but what to me?\\r\\n A wife?\\r\\n KATHARINE. A beard, fair health, and honesty;\\r\\n With threefold love I wish you all these three.\\r\\n DUMAIN. O, shall I say I thank you, gentle wife?\\r\\n KATHARINE. No so, my lord; a twelvemonth and a day\\r\\n I\\'ll mark no words that smooth-fac\\'d wooers say.\\r\\n Come when the King doth to my lady come;\\r\\n Then, if I have much love, I\\'ll give you some.\\r\\n DUMAIN. I\\'ll serve thee true and faithfully till then.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Yet swear not, lest ye be forsworn again.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. What says Maria?\\r\\n MARIA. At the twelvemonth\\'s end\\r\\n I\\'ll change my black gown for a faithful friend.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. I\\'ll stay with patience; but the time is long.\\r\\n MARIA. The liker you; few taller are so young.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Studies my lady? Mistress, look on me;\\r\\n Behold the window of my heart, mine eye,\\r\\n What humble suit attends thy answer there.\\r\\n Impose some service on me for thy love.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Oft have I heard of you, my Lord Berowne,\\r\\n Before I saw you; and the world\\'s large tongue\\r\\n Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks,\\r\\n Full of comparisons and wounding flouts,\\r\\n Which you on all estates will execute\\r\\n That lie within the mercy of your wit.\\r\\n To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain,\\r\\n And therewithal to win me, if you please,\\r\\n Without the which I am not to be won,\\r\\n You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day\\r\\n Visit the speechless sick, and still converse\\r\\n With groaning wretches; and your task shall be,\\r\\n With all the fierce endeavour of your wit,\\r\\n To enforce the pained impotent to smile.\\r\\n BEROWNE. To move wild laughter in the throat of death?\\r\\n It cannot be; it is impossible;\\r\\n Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Why, that\\'s the way to choke a gibing spirit,\\r\\n Whose influence is begot of that loose grace\\r\\n Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools.\\r\\n A jest\\'s prosperity lies in the ear\\r\\n Of him that hears it, never in the tongue\\r\\n Of him that makes it; then, if sickly ears,\\r\\n Deaf\\'d with the clamours of their own dear groans,\\r\\n Will hear your idle scorns, continue then,\\r\\n And I will have you and that fault withal.\\r\\n But if they will not, throw away that spirit,\\r\\n And I shall find you empty of that fault,\\r\\n Right joyful of your reformation.\\r\\n BEROWNE. A twelvemonth? Well, befall what will befall,\\r\\n I\\'ll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. [ To the King] Ay, sweet my lord, and so I take\\r\\n my leave.\\r\\n KING. No, madam; we will bring you on your way.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Our wooing doth not end like an old play:\\r\\n Jack hath not Jill. These ladies\\' courtesy\\r\\n Might well have made our sport a comedy.\\r\\n KING. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth an\\' a day,\\r\\n And then \\'twill end.\\r\\n BEROWNE. That\\'s too long for a play.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter ARMADO\\r\\n\\r\\n ARMADO. Sweet Majesty, vouchsafe me-\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Was not that not Hector?\\r\\n DUMAIN. The worthy knight of Troy.\\r\\n ARMADO. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a\\r\\n votary: I have vow\\'d to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her\\r\\n sweet love three year. But, most esteemed greatness, will you\\r\\n hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled in\\r\\n praise of the Owl and the Cuckoo? It should have followed in the\\r\\n end of our show.\\r\\n KING. Call them forth quickly; we will do so.\\r\\n ARMADO. Holla! approach.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter All\\r\\n\\r\\n This side is Hiems, Winter; this Ver, the Spring- the one\\r\\n maintained by the Owl, th\\' other by the Cuckoo. Ver, begin.\\r\\n\\r\\n SPRING\\r\\n When daisies pied and violets blue\\r\\n And lady-smocks all silver-white\\r\\n And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue\\r\\n Do paint the meadows with delight,\\r\\n The cuckoo then on every tree\\r\\n Mocks married men, for thus sings he:\\r\\n \\'Cuckoo;\\r\\n Cuckoo, cuckoo\\'- O word of fear,\\r\\n Unpleasing to a married ear!\\r\\n\\r\\n When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,\\r\\n And merry larks are ploughmen\\'s clocks;\\r\\n When turtles tread, and rooks and daws,\\r\\n And maidens bleach their summer smocks;\\r\\n The cuckoo then on every tree\\r\\n Mocks married men, for thus sings he:\\r\\n \\'Cuckoo;\\r\\n Cuckoo, cuckoo\\'- O word of fear,\\r\\n Unpleasing to a married ear!\\r\\n\\r\\n WINTER\\r\\n\\r\\n When icicles hang by the wall,\\r\\n And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,\\r\\n And Tom bears logs into the hall,\\r\\n And milk comes frozen home in pail,\\r\\n When blood is nipp\\'d, and ways be foul,\\r\\n Then nightly sings the staring owl:\\r\\n \\'Tu-who;\\r\\n Tu-whit, Tu-who\\'- A merry note,\\r\\n While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.\\r\\n\\r\\n When all aloud the wind doth blow,\\r\\n And coughing drowns the parson\\'s saw,\\r\\n And birds sit brooding in the snow,\\r\\n And Marian\\'s nose looks red and raw,\\r\\n When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,\\r\\n Then nightly sings the staring owl:\\r\\n \\'Tu-who;\\r\\n Tu-whit, To-who\\'- A merry note,\\r\\n While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.\\r\\n\\r\\n ARMADO. The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.\\r\\n You that way: we this way. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. An open Place.\\r\\nScene II. A Camp near Forres.\\r\\nScene III. A heath.\\r\\nScene IV. Forres. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\nScene V. Inverness. A Room in Macbeth’s Castle.\\r\\nScene VI. The same. Before the Castle.\\r\\nScene VII. The same. A Lobby in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. Inverness. Court within the Castle.\\r\\nScene II. The same.\\r\\nScene III. The same.\\r\\nScene IV. The same. Without the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Forres. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\nScene II. The same. Another Room in the Palace.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A Park or Lawn, with a gate leading to the Palace.\\r\\nScene IV. The same. A Room of state in the Palace.\\r\\nScene V. The heath.\\r\\nScene VI. Forres. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. A dark Cave. In the middle, a Cauldron Boiling.\\r\\nScene II. Fife. A Room in Macduff’s Castle.\\r\\nScene III. England. Before the King’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\nScene II. The Country near Dunsinane.\\r\\nScene III. Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\nScene IV. Country near Dunsinane: a Wood in view.\\r\\nScene V. Dunsinane. Within the castle.\\r\\nScene VI. The same. A Plain before the Castle.\\r\\nScene VII. The same. Another part of the Plain.\\r\\nScene VIII. The same. Another part of the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN, King of Scotland.\\r\\nMALCOLM, his Son.\\r\\nDONALBAIN, his Son.\\r\\nMACBETH, General in the King’s Army.\\r\\nBANQUO, General in the King’s Army.\\r\\nMACDUFF, Nobleman of Scotland.\\r\\nLENNOX, Nobleman of Scotland.\\r\\nROSS, Nobleman of Scotland.\\r\\nMENTEITH, Nobleman of Scotland.\\r\\nANGUS, Nobleman of Scotland.\\r\\nCAITHNESS, Nobleman of Scotland.\\r\\nFLEANCE, Son to Banquo.\\r\\nSIWARD, Earl of Northumberland, General of the English Forces.\\r\\nYOUNG SIWARD, his Son.\\r\\nSEYTON, an Officer attending on Macbeth.\\r\\nBOY, Son to Macduff.\\r\\nAn English Doctor.\\r\\nA Scottish Doctor.\\r\\nA Soldier.\\r\\nA Porter.\\r\\nAn Old Man.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nGentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth.\\r\\nHECATE, and three Witches.\\r\\n\\r\\nLords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderers, Attendants and\\r\\nMessengers.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Ghost of Banquo and several other Apparitions.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: In the end of the Fourth Act, in England; through the rest of\\r\\nthe Play, in Scotland; and chiefly at Macbeth’s Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. An open Place.\\r\\n\\r\\n Thunder and Lightning. Enter three Witches.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nWhen shall we three meet again?\\r\\nIn thunder, lightning, or in rain?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nWhen the hurlyburly’s done,\\r\\nWhen the battle’s lost and won.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nThat will be ere the set of sun.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nWhere the place?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nUpon the heath.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nThere to meet with Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nI come, Graymalkin!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nPaddock calls.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nAnon.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nFair is foul, and foul is fair:\\r\\nHover through the fog and filthy air.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Camp near Forres.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum within. Enter King Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lennox, with\\r\\n Attendants, meeting a bleeding Captain.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nWhat bloody man is that? He can report,\\r\\nAs seemeth by his plight, of the revolt\\r\\nThe newest state.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nThis is the sergeant\\r\\nWho, like a good and hardy soldier, fought\\r\\n’Gainst my captivity.—Hail, brave friend!\\r\\nSay to the King the knowledge of the broil\\r\\nAs thou didst leave it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLDIER.\\r\\nDoubtful it stood;\\r\\nAs two spent swimmers that do cling together\\r\\nAnd choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald\\r\\n(Worthy to be a rebel, for to that\\r\\nThe multiplying villainies of nature\\r\\nDo swarm upon him) from the Western Isles\\r\\nOf kerns and gallowglasses is supplied;\\r\\nAnd Fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling,\\r\\nShow’d like a rebel’s whore. But all’s too weak;\\r\\nFor brave Macbeth (well he deserves that name),\\r\\nDisdaining Fortune, with his brandish’d steel,\\r\\nWhich smok’d with bloody execution,\\r\\nLike Valour’s minion, carv’d out his passage,\\r\\nTill he fac’d the slave;\\r\\nWhich ne’er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him,\\r\\nTill he unseam’d him from the nave to the chops,\\r\\nAnd fix’d his head upon our battlements.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nO valiant cousin! worthy gentleman!\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLDIER.\\r\\nAs whence the sun ’gins his reflection\\r\\nShipwracking storms and direful thunders break,\\r\\nSo from that spring, whence comfort seem’d to come\\r\\nDiscomfort swells. Mark, King of Scotland, mark:\\r\\nNo sooner justice had, with valour arm’d,\\r\\nCompell’d these skipping kerns to trust their heels,\\r\\nBut the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage,\\r\\nWith furbish’d arms and new supplies of men,\\r\\nBegan a fresh assault.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nDismay’d not this\\r\\nOur captains, Macbeth and Banquo?\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLDIER.\\r\\nYes;\\r\\nAs sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion.\\r\\nIf I say sooth, I must report they were\\r\\nAs cannons overcharg’d with double cracks;\\r\\nSo they\\r\\nDoubly redoubled strokes upon the foe:\\r\\nExcept they meant to bathe in reeking wounds,\\r\\nOr memorize another Golgotha,\\r\\nI cannot tell—\\r\\nBut I am faint, my gashes cry for help.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nSo well thy words become thee as thy wounds:\\r\\nThey smack of honour both.—Go, get him surgeons.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Captain, attended._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ross and Angus.\\r\\n\\r\\nWho comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nThe worthy Thane of Ross.\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nWhat a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look\\r\\nThat seems to speak things strange.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nGod save the King!\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nWhence cam’st thou, worthy thane?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nFrom Fife, great King,\\r\\nWhere the Norweyan banners flout the sky\\r\\nAnd fan our people cold.\\r\\nNorway himself, with terrible numbers,\\r\\nAssisted by that most disloyal traitor,\\r\\nThe Thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict;\\r\\nTill that Bellona’s bridegroom, lapp’d in proof,\\r\\nConfronted him with self-comparisons,\\r\\nPoint against point, rebellious arm ’gainst arm,\\r\\nCurbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude,\\r\\nThe victory fell on us.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nGreat happiness!\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nThat now\\r\\nSweno, the Norways’ king, craves composition;\\r\\nNor would we deign him burial of his men\\r\\nTill he disbursed at Saint Colme’s Inch\\r\\nTen thousand dollars to our general use.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nNo more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceive\\r\\nOur bosom interest. Go pronounce his present death,\\r\\nAnd with his former title greet Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nI’ll see it done.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nWhat he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A heath.\\r\\n\\r\\n Thunder. Enter the three Witches.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nWhere hast thou been, sister?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nKilling swine.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nSister, where thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nA sailor’s wife had chestnuts in her lap,\\r\\nAnd mounch’d, and mounch’d, and mounch’d. “Give me,” quoth I.\\r\\n“Aroint thee, witch!” the rump-fed ronyon cries.\\r\\nHer husband’s to Aleppo gone, master o’ th’ _Tiger:_\\r\\nBut in a sieve I’ll thither sail,\\r\\nAnd, like a rat without a tail,\\r\\nI’ll do, I’ll do, and I’ll do.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nI’ll give thee a wind.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nTh’art kind.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nAnd I another.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nI myself have all the other,\\r\\nAnd the very ports they blow,\\r\\nAll the quarters that they know\\r\\nI’ the shipman’s card.\\r\\nI will drain him dry as hay:\\r\\nSleep shall neither night nor day\\r\\nHang upon his pent-house lid;\\r\\nHe shall live a man forbid.\\r\\nWeary sev’n-nights nine times nine,\\r\\nShall he dwindle, peak, and pine:\\r\\nThough his bark cannot be lost,\\r\\nYet it shall be tempest-tost.\\r\\nLook what I have.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nShow me, show me.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nHere I have a pilot’s thumb,\\r\\nWrack’d as homeward he did come.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Drum within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nA drum, a drum!\\r\\nMacbeth doth come.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nThe Weird Sisters, hand in hand,\\r\\nPosters of the sea and land,\\r\\nThus do go about, about:\\r\\nThrice to thine, and thrice to mine,\\r\\nAnd thrice again, to make up nine.\\r\\nPeace!—the charm’s wound up.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macbeth and Banquo.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nSo foul and fair a day I have not seen.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nHow far is’t call’d to Forres?—What are these,\\r\\nSo wither’d, and so wild in their attire,\\r\\nThat look not like the inhabitants o’ th’ earth,\\r\\nAnd yet are on’t?—Live you? or are you aught\\r\\nThat man may question? You seem to understand me,\\r\\nBy each at once her choppy finger laying\\r\\nUpon her skinny lips. You should be women,\\r\\nAnd yet your beards forbid me to interpret\\r\\nThat you are so.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nSpeak, if you can;—what are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nAll hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, Thane of Glamis!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nAll hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nAll hail, Macbeth! that shalt be king hereafter!\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nGood sir, why do you start and seem to fear\\r\\nThings that do sound so fair?—I’ th’ name of truth,\\r\\nAre ye fantastical, or that indeed\\r\\nWhich outwardly ye show? My noble partner\\r\\nYou greet with present grace and great prediction\\r\\nOf noble having and of royal hope,\\r\\nThat he seems rapt withal. To me you speak not.\\r\\nIf you can look into the seeds of time,\\r\\nAnd say which grain will grow, and which will not,\\r\\nSpeak then to me, who neither beg nor fear\\r\\nYour favours nor your hate.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nHail!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nHail!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nHail!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nLesser than Macbeth, and greater.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nNot so happy, yet much happier.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nThou shalt get kings, though thou be none:\\r\\nSo all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nBanquo and Macbeth, all hail!\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nStay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more.\\r\\nBy Sinel’s death I know I am Thane of Glamis;\\r\\nBut how of Cawdor? The Thane of Cawdor lives,\\r\\nA prosperous gentleman; and to be king\\r\\nStands not within the prospect of belief,\\r\\nNo more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence\\r\\nYou owe this strange intelligence? or why\\r\\nUpon this blasted heath you stop our way\\r\\nWith such prophetic greeting?—Speak, I charge you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Witches vanish._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nThe earth hath bubbles, as the water has,\\r\\nAnd these are of them. Whither are they vanish’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nInto the air; and what seem’d corporal,\\r\\nMelted as breath into the wind.\\r\\nWould they had stay’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nWere such things here as we do speak about?\\r\\nOr have we eaten on the insane root\\r\\nThat takes the reason prisoner?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nYour children shall be kings.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nYou shall be king.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nAnd Thane of Cawdor too; went it not so?\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nTo the selfsame tune and words. Who’s here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ross and Angus.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nThe King hath happily receiv’d, Macbeth,\\r\\nThe news of thy success, and when he reads\\r\\nThy personal venture in the rebels’ fight,\\r\\nHis wonders and his praises do contend\\r\\nWhich should be thine or his: silenc’d with that,\\r\\nIn viewing o’er the rest o’ th’ selfsame day,\\r\\nHe finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,\\r\\nNothing afeard of what thyself didst make,\\r\\nStrange images of death. As thick as tale\\r\\nCame post with post; and everyone did bear\\r\\nThy praises in his kingdom’s great defence,\\r\\nAnd pour’d them down before him.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGUS.\\r\\nWe are sent\\r\\nTo give thee from our royal master thanks;\\r\\nOnly to herald thee into his sight,\\r\\nNot pay thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nAnd, for an earnest of a greater honour,\\r\\nHe bade me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor:\\r\\nIn which addition, hail, most worthy thane,\\r\\nFor it is thine.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nWhat, can the devil speak true?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThe Thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress me\\r\\nIn borrow’d robes?\\r\\n\\r\\nANGUS.\\r\\nWho was the Thane lives yet,\\r\\nBut under heavy judgement bears that life\\r\\nWhich he deserves to lose. Whether he was combin’d\\r\\nWith those of Norway, or did line the rebel\\r\\nWith hidden help and vantage, or that with both\\r\\nHe labour’d in his country’s wrack, I know not;\\r\\nBut treasons capital, confess’d and prov’d,\\r\\nHave overthrown him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Glamis, and Thane of Cawdor:\\r\\nThe greatest is behind. [_To Ross and Angus._] Thanks for your pains.\\r\\n[_To Banquo._] Do you not hope your children shall be kings,\\r\\nWhen those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me\\r\\nPromis’d no less to them?\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nThat, trusted home,\\r\\nMight yet enkindle you unto the crown,\\r\\nBesides the Thane of Cawdor. But ’tis strange:\\r\\nAnd oftentimes to win us to our harm,\\r\\nThe instruments of darkness tell us truths;\\r\\nWin us with honest trifles, to betray’s\\r\\nIn deepest consequence.—\\r\\nCousins, a word, I pray you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Two truths are told,\\r\\nAs happy prologues to the swelling act\\r\\nOf the imperial theme.—I thank you, gentlemen.—\\r\\n[_Aside._] This supernatural soliciting\\r\\nCannot be ill; cannot be good. If ill,\\r\\nWhy hath it given me earnest of success,\\r\\nCommencing in a truth? I am Thane of Cawdor:\\r\\nIf good, why do I yield to that suggestion\\r\\nWhose horrid image doth unfix my hair,\\r\\nAnd make my seated heart knock at my ribs,\\r\\nAgainst the use of nature? Present fears\\r\\nAre less than horrible imaginings.\\r\\nMy thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,\\r\\nShakes so my single state of man\\r\\nThat function is smother’d in surmise,\\r\\nAnd nothing is but what is not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nLook, how our partner’s rapt.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\n[_Aside._] If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me\\r\\nWithout my stir.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nNew honours come upon him,\\r\\nLike our strange garments, cleave not to their mould\\r\\nBut with the aid of use.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Come what come may,\\r\\nTime and the hour runs through the roughest day.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nWorthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nGive me your favour. My dull brain was wrought\\r\\nWith things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains\\r\\nAre register’d where every day I turn\\r\\nThe leaf to read them.—Let us toward the King.—\\r\\nThink upon what hath chanc’d; and at more time,\\r\\nThe interim having weigh’d it, let us speak\\r\\nOur free hearts each to other.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nVery gladly.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nTill then, enough.—Come, friends.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Forres. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lennox and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nIs execution done on Cawdor? Are not\\r\\nThose in commission yet return’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nMy liege,\\r\\nThey are not yet come back. But I have spoke\\r\\nWith one that saw him die, who did report,\\r\\nThat very frankly he confess’d his treasons,\\r\\nImplor’d your Highness’ pardon, and set forth\\r\\nA deep repentance. Nothing in his life\\r\\nBecame him like the leaving it; he died\\r\\nAs one that had been studied in his death,\\r\\nTo throw away the dearest thing he ow’d\\r\\nAs ’twere a careless trifle.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nThere’s no art\\r\\nTo find the mind’s construction in the face:\\r\\nHe was a gentleman on whom I built\\r\\nAn absolute trust.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Ross and Angus.\\r\\n\\r\\nO worthiest cousin!\\r\\nThe sin of my ingratitude even now\\r\\nWas heavy on me. Thou art so far before,\\r\\nThat swiftest wing of recompense is slow\\r\\nTo overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserv’d;\\r\\nThat the proportion both of thanks and payment\\r\\nMight have been mine! only I have left to say,\\r\\nMore is thy due than more than all can pay.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThe service and the loyalty I owe,\\r\\nIn doing it, pays itself. Your Highness’ part\\r\\nIs to receive our duties: and our duties\\r\\nAre to your throne and state, children and servants;\\r\\nWhich do but what they should, by doing everything\\r\\nSafe toward your love and honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nWelcome hither:\\r\\nI have begun to plant thee, and will labour\\r\\nTo make thee full of growing.—Noble Banquo,\\r\\nThat hast no less deserv’d, nor must be known\\r\\nNo less to have done so, let me infold thee\\r\\nAnd hold thee to my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nThere if I grow,\\r\\nThe harvest is your own.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nMy plenteous joys,\\r\\nWanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves\\r\\nIn drops of sorrow.—Sons, kinsmen, thanes,\\r\\nAnd you whose places are the nearest, know,\\r\\nWe will establish our estate upon\\r\\nOur eldest, Malcolm; whom we name hereafter\\r\\nThe Prince of Cumberland: which honour must\\r\\nNot unaccompanied invest him only,\\r\\nBut signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine\\r\\nOn all deservers.—From hence to Inverness,\\r\\nAnd bind us further to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThe rest is labour, which is not us’d for you:\\r\\nI’ll be myself the harbinger, and make joyful\\r\\nThe hearing of my wife with your approach;\\r\\nSo, humbly take my leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nMy worthy Cawdor!\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\n[_Aside._] The Prince of Cumberland!—That is a step\\r\\nOn which I must fall down, or else o’erleap,\\r\\nFor in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires!\\r\\nLet not light see my black and deep desires.\\r\\nThe eye wink at the hand, yet let that be,\\r\\nWhich the eye fears, when it is done, to see.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nTrue, worthy Banquo! He is full so valiant;\\r\\nAnd in his commendations I am fed.\\r\\nIt is a banquet to me. Let’s after him,\\r\\nWhose care is gone before to bid us welcome:\\r\\nIt is a peerless kinsman.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Flourish. Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Inverness. A Room in Macbeth’s Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\n“They met me in the day of success; and I have learned by the\\r\\nperfect’st report they have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I\\r\\nburned in desire to question them further, they made themselves air,\\r\\ninto which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came\\r\\nmissives from the King, who all-hailed me, ‘Thane of Cawdor’; by which\\r\\ntitle, before, these Weird Sisters saluted me, and referred me to the\\r\\ncoming on of time, with ‘Hail, king that shalt be!’ This have I thought\\r\\ngood to deliver thee (my dearest partner of greatness) that thou\\r\\nmight’st not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what\\r\\ngreatness is promis’d thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell.”\\r\\n\\r\\nGlamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be\\r\\nWhat thou art promis’d. Yet do I fear thy nature;\\r\\nIt is too full o’ th’ milk of human kindness\\r\\nTo catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great;\\r\\nArt not without ambition, but without\\r\\nThe illness should attend it. What thou wouldst highly,\\r\\nThat wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false,\\r\\nAnd yet wouldst wrongly win. Thou’dst have, great Glamis,\\r\\nThat which cries, “Thus thou must do,” if thou have it;\\r\\nAnd that which rather thou dost fear to do,\\r\\nThan wishest should be undone. Hie thee hither,\\r\\nThat I may pour my spirits in thine ear,\\r\\nAnd chastise with the valour of my tongue\\r\\nAll that impedes thee from the golden round,\\r\\nWhich fate and metaphysical aid doth seem\\r\\nTo have thee crown’d withal.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat is your tidings?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThe King comes here tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nThou’rt mad to say it.\\r\\nIs not thy master with him? who, were’t so,\\r\\nWould have inform’d for preparation.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nSo please you, it is true. Our thane is coming.\\r\\nOne of my fellows had the speed of him,\\r\\nWho, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more\\r\\nThan would make up his message.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nGive him tending.\\r\\nHe brings great news.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Messenger._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe raven himself is hoarse\\r\\nThat croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan\\r\\nUnder my battlements. Come, you spirits\\r\\nThat tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,\\r\\nAnd fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full\\r\\nOf direst cruelty! make thick my blood,\\r\\nStop up th’ access and passage to remorse,\\r\\nThat no compunctious visitings of nature\\r\\nShake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between\\r\\nTh’ effect and it! Come to my woman’s breasts,\\r\\nAnd take my milk for gall, your murd’ring ministers,\\r\\nWherever in your sightless substances\\r\\nYou wait on nature’s mischief! Come, thick night,\\r\\nAnd pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell\\r\\nThat my keen knife see not the wound it makes,\\r\\nNor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark\\r\\nTo cry, “Hold, hold!”\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nGreat Glamis, worthy Cawdor!\\r\\nGreater than both, by the all-hail hereafter!\\r\\nThy letters have transported me beyond\\r\\nThis ignorant present, and I feel now\\r\\nThe future in the instant.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nMy dearest love,\\r\\nDuncan comes here tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nAnd when goes hence?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nTomorrow, as he purposes.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nO, never\\r\\nShall sun that morrow see!\\r\\nYour face, my thane, is as a book where men\\r\\nMay read strange matters. To beguile the time,\\r\\nLook like the time; bear welcome in your eye,\\r\\nYour hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower,\\r\\nBut be the serpent under’t. He that’s coming\\r\\nMust be provided for; and you shall put\\r\\nThis night’s great business into my dispatch;\\r\\nWhich shall to all our nights and days to come\\r\\nGive solely sovereign sway and masterdom.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWe will speak further.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nOnly look up clear;\\r\\nTo alter favour ever is to fear.\\r\\nLeave all the rest to me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. The same. Before the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Hautboys. Servants of Macbeth attending.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Banquo, Lennox, Macduff, Ross, Angus\\r\\n and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nThis castle hath a pleasant seat. The air\\r\\nNimbly and sweetly recommends itself\\r\\nUnto our gentle senses.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nThis guest of summer,\\r\\nThe temple-haunting martlet, does approve,\\r\\nBy his loved mansionry, that the heaven’s breath\\r\\nSmells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze,\\r\\nButtress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird\\r\\nhath made his pendant bed and procreant cradle.\\r\\nWhere they most breed and haunt, I have observ’d\\r\\nThe air is delicate.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nSee, see, our honour’d hostess!—\\r\\nThe love that follows us sometime is our trouble,\\r\\nWhich still we thank as love. Herein I teach you\\r\\nHow you shall bid God ’ild us for your pains,\\r\\nAnd thank us for your trouble.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nAll our service,\\r\\nIn every point twice done, and then done double,\\r\\nWere poor and single business to contend\\r\\nAgainst those honours deep and broad wherewith\\r\\nYour Majesty loads our house: for those of old,\\r\\nAnd the late dignities heap’d up to them,\\r\\nWe rest your hermits.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nWhere’s the Thane of Cawdor?\\r\\nWe cours’d him at the heels, and had a purpose\\r\\nTo be his purveyor: but he rides well;\\r\\nAnd his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him\\r\\nTo his home before us. Fair and noble hostess,\\r\\nWe are your guest tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nYour servants ever\\r\\nHave theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, in compt,\\r\\nTo make their audit at your Highness’ pleasure,\\r\\nStill to return your own.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nGive me your hand;\\r\\nConduct me to mine host: we love him highly,\\r\\nAnd shall continue our graces towards him.\\r\\nBy your leave, hostess.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. The same. A Lobby in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Hautboys and torches. Enter, and pass over, a Sewer and divers\\r\\n Servants with dishes and service. Then enter Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nIf it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well\\r\\nIt were done quickly. If th’ assassination\\r\\nCould trammel up the consequence, and catch\\r\\nWith his surcease success; that but this blow\\r\\nMight be the be-all and the end-all—here,\\r\\nBut here, upon this bank and shoal of time,\\r\\nWe’d jump the life to come. But in these cases\\r\\nWe still have judgement here; that we but teach\\r\\nBloody instructions, which being taught, return\\r\\nTo plague th’ inventor. This even-handed justice\\r\\nCommends th’ ingredience of our poison’d chalice\\r\\nTo our own lips. He’s here in double trust:\\r\\nFirst, as I am his kinsman and his subject,\\r\\nStrong both against the deed; then, as his host,\\r\\nWho should against his murderer shut the door,\\r\\nNot bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan\\r\\nHath borne his faculties so meek, hath been\\r\\nSo clear in his great office, that his virtues\\r\\nWill plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against\\r\\nThe deep damnation of his taking-off;\\r\\nAnd pity, like a naked new-born babe,\\r\\nStriding the blast, or heaven’s cherubin, hors’d\\r\\nUpon the sightless couriers of the air,\\r\\nShall blow the horrid deed in every eye,\\r\\nThat tears shall drown the wind.—I have no spur\\r\\nTo prick the sides of my intent, but only\\r\\nVaulting ambition, which o’erleaps itself\\r\\nAnd falls on th’ other—\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now! what news?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nHe has almost supp’d. Why have you left the chamber?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nHath he ask’d for me?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nKnow you not he has?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWe will proceed no further in this business:\\r\\nHe hath honour’d me of late; and I have bought\\r\\nGolden opinions from all sorts of people,\\r\\nWhich would be worn now in their newest gloss,\\r\\nNot cast aside so soon.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nWas the hope drunk\\r\\nWherein you dress’d yourself? Hath it slept since?\\r\\nAnd wakes it now, to look so green and pale\\r\\nAt what it did so freely? From this time\\r\\nSuch I account thy love. Art thou afeard\\r\\nTo be the same in thine own act and valour\\r\\nAs thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that\\r\\nWhich thou esteem’st the ornament of life,\\r\\nAnd live a coward in thine own esteem,\\r\\nLetting “I dare not” wait upon “I would,”\\r\\nLike the poor cat i’ th’ adage?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nPr’ythee, peace!\\r\\nI dare do all that may become a man;\\r\\nWho dares do more is none.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nWhat beast was’t, then,\\r\\nThat made you break this enterprise to me?\\r\\nWhen you durst do it, then you were a man;\\r\\nAnd, to be more than what you were, you would\\r\\nBe so much more the man. Nor time nor place\\r\\nDid then adhere, and yet you would make both:\\r\\nThey have made themselves, and that their fitness now\\r\\nDoes unmake you. I have given suck, and know\\r\\nHow tender ’tis to love the babe that milks me:\\r\\nI would, while it was smiling in my face,\\r\\nHave pluck’d my nipple from his boneless gums\\r\\nAnd dash’d the brains out, had I so sworn as you\\r\\nHave done to this.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nIf we should fail?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nWe fail?\\r\\nBut screw your courage to the sticking-place,\\r\\nAnd we’ll not fail. When Duncan is asleep\\r\\n(Whereto the rather shall his day’s hard journey\\r\\nSoundly invite him), his two chamberlains\\r\\nWill I with wine and wassail so convince\\r\\nThat memory, the warder of the brain,\\r\\nShall be a fume, and the receipt of reason\\r\\nA limbeck only: when in swinish sleep\\r\\nTheir drenched natures lie as in a death,\\r\\nWhat cannot you and I perform upon\\r\\nTh’ unguarded Duncan? what not put upon\\r\\nHis spongy officers; who shall bear the guilt\\r\\nOf our great quell?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nBring forth men-children only;\\r\\nFor thy undaunted mettle should compose\\r\\nNothing but males. Will it not be receiv’d,\\r\\nWhen we have mark’d with blood those sleepy two\\r\\nOf his own chamber, and us’d their very daggers,\\r\\nThat they have done’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nWho dares receive it other,\\r\\nAs we shall make our griefs and clamour roar\\r\\nUpon his death?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI am settled, and bend up\\r\\nEach corporal agent to this terrible feat.\\r\\nAway, and mock the time with fairest show:\\r\\nFalse face must hide what the false heart doth know.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Inverness. Court within the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Banquo and Fleance with a torch before him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nHow goes the night, boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLEANCE.\\r\\nThe moon is down; I have not heard the clock.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nAnd she goes down at twelve.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLEANCE.\\r\\nI take’t, ’tis later, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nHold, take my sword.—There’s husbandry in heaven;\\r\\nTheir candles are all out. Take thee that too.\\r\\nA heavy summons lies like lead upon me,\\r\\nAnd yet I would not sleep. Merciful powers,\\r\\nRestrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature\\r\\nGives way to in repose!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macbeth and a Servant with a torch.\\r\\n\\r\\nGive me my sword.—Who’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nA friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nWhat, sir, not yet at rest? The King’s abed:\\r\\nHe hath been in unusual pleasure and\\r\\nSent forth great largess to your offices.\\r\\nThis diamond he greets your wife withal,\\r\\nBy the name of most kind hostess, and shut up\\r\\nIn measureless content.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nBeing unprepar’d,\\r\\nOur will became the servant to defect,\\r\\nWhich else should free have wrought.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nAll’s well.\\r\\nI dreamt last night of the three Weird Sisters:\\r\\nTo you they have show’d some truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI think not of them:\\r\\nYet, when we can entreat an hour to serve,\\r\\nWe would spend it in some words upon that business,\\r\\nIf you would grant the time.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nAt your kind’st leisure.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nIf you shall cleave to my consent, when ’tis,\\r\\nIt shall make honour for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nSo I lose none\\r\\nIn seeking to augment it, but still keep\\r\\nMy bosom franchis’d, and allegiance clear,\\r\\nI shall be counsell’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nGood repose the while!\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nThanks, sir: the like to you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Banquo and Fleance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nGo bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready,\\r\\nShe strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIs this a dagger which I see before me,\\r\\nThe handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee:—\\r\\nI have thee not, and yet I see thee still.\\r\\nArt thou not, fatal vision, sensible\\r\\nTo feeling as to sight? or art thou but\\r\\nA dagger of the mind, a false creation,\\r\\nProceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?\\r\\nI see thee yet, in form as palpable\\r\\nAs this which now I draw.\\r\\nThou marshall’st me the way that I was going;\\r\\nAnd such an instrument I was to use.\\r\\nMine eyes are made the fools o’ the other senses,\\r\\nOr else worth all the rest: I see thee still;\\r\\nAnd on thy blade and dudgeon, gouts of blood,\\r\\nWhich was not so before.—There’s no such thing.\\r\\nIt is the bloody business which informs\\r\\nThus to mine eyes.—Now o’er the one half-world\\r\\nNature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse\\r\\nThe curtain’d sleep. Witchcraft celebrates\\r\\nPale Hecate’s off’rings; and wither’d murder,\\r\\nAlarum’d by his sentinel, the wolf,\\r\\nWhose howl’s his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,\\r\\nWith Tarquin’s ravishing strides, towards his design\\r\\nMoves like a ghost.—Thou sure and firm-set earth,\\r\\nHear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear\\r\\nThy very stones prate of my whereabout,\\r\\nAnd take the present horror from the time,\\r\\nWhich now suits with it.—Whiles I threat, he lives.\\r\\nWords to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A bell rings._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI go, and it is done. The bell invites me.\\r\\nHear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell\\r\\nThat summons thee to heaven or to hell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nThat which hath made them drunk hath made me bold:\\r\\nWhat hath quench’d them hath given me fire.—Hark!—Peace!\\r\\nIt was the owl that shriek’d, the fatal bellman,\\r\\nWhich gives the stern’st good night. He is about it.\\r\\nThe doors are open; and the surfeited grooms\\r\\nDo mock their charge with snores: I have drugg’d their possets,\\r\\nThat death and nature do contend about them,\\r\\nWhether they live or die.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\n[_Within._] Who’s there?—what, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nAlack! I am afraid they have awak’d,\\r\\nAnd ’tis not done. Th’ attempt and not the deed\\r\\nConfounds us.—Hark!—I laid their daggers ready;\\r\\nHe could not miss ’em.—Had he not resembled\\r\\nMy father as he slept, I had done’t.—My husband!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI have done the deed.—Didst thou not hear a noise?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nI heard the owl scream and the crickets cry.\\r\\nDid not you speak?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWhen?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nNow.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nAs I descended?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nAy.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nHark!—Who lies i’ th’ second chamber?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nDonalbain.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThis is a sorry sight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Looking on his hands._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nA foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThere’s one did laugh in’s sleep, and one cried, “Murder!”\\r\\nThat they did wake each other: I stood and heard them.\\r\\nBut they did say their prayers, and address’d them\\r\\nAgain to sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nThere are two lodg’d together.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nOne cried, “God bless us!” and, “Amen,” the other,\\r\\nAs they had seen me with these hangman’s hands.\\r\\nList’ning their fear, I could not say “Amen,”\\r\\nWhen they did say, “God bless us.”\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nConsider it not so deeply.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nBut wherefore could not I pronounce “Amen”?\\r\\nI had most need of blessing, and “Amen”\\r\\nStuck in my throat.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nThese deeds must not be thought\\r\\nAfter these ways; so, it will make us mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nMethought I heard a voice cry, “Sleep no more!\\r\\nMacbeth does murder sleep,”—the innocent sleep;\\r\\nSleep that knits up the ravell’d sleave of care,\\r\\nThe death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath,\\r\\nBalm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,\\r\\nChief nourisher in life’s feast.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nWhat do you mean?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nStill it cried, “Sleep no more!” to all the house:\\r\\n“Glamis hath murder’d sleep, and therefore Cawdor\\r\\nShall sleep no more. Macbeth shall sleep no more!”\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nWho was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane,\\r\\nYou do unbend your noble strength to think\\r\\nSo brainsickly of things. Go get some water,\\r\\nAnd wash this filthy witness from your hand.—\\r\\nWhy did you bring these daggers from the place?\\r\\nThey must lie there: go carry them, and smear\\r\\nThe sleepy grooms with blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI’ll go no more:\\r\\nI am afraid to think what I have done;\\r\\nLook on’t again I dare not.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nInfirm of purpose!\\r\\nGive me the daggers. The sleeping and the dead\\r\\nAre but as pictures. ’Tis the eye of childhood\\r\\nThat fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,\\r\\nI’ll gild the faces of the grooms withal,\\r\\nFor it must seem their guilt.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit. Knocking within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWhence is that knocking?\\r\\nHow is’t with me, when every noise appals me?\\r\\nWhat hands are here? Ha, they pluck out mine eyes!\\r\\nWill all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood\\r\\nClean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather\\r\\nThe multitudinous seas incarnadine,\\r\\nMaking the green one red.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nMy hands are of your color, but I shame\\r\\nTo wear a heart so white. [_Knocking within._] I hear knocking\\r\\nAt the south entry:—retire we to our chamber.\\r\\nA little water clears us of this deed:\\r\\nHow easy is it then! Your constancy\\r\\nHath left you unattended.—[_Knocking within._] Hark, more knocking.\\r\\nGet on your nightgown, lest occasion call us\\r\\nAnd show us to be watchers. Be not lost\\r\\nSo poorly in your thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nTo know my deed, ’twere best not know myself. [_Knocking within._]\\r\\nWake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Porter. Knocking within.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTER.\\r\\nHere’s a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of hell gate, he should\\r\\nhave old turning the key. [_Knocking._] Knock, knock, knock. Who’s\\r\\nthere, i’ th’ name of Belzebub? Here’s a farmer that hanged himself on\\r\\nthe expectation of plenty: come in time; have napkins enow about you;\\r\\nhere you’ll sweat for’t. [_Knocking._] Knock, knock! Who’s there, i’\\r\\nth’ other devil’s name? Faith, here’s an equivocator, that could swear\\r\\nin both the scales against either scale, who committed treason enough\\r\\nfor God’s sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven: O, come in,\\r\\nequivocator. [_Knocking._] Knock, knock, knock! Who’s there? Faith,\\r\\nhere’s an English tailor come hither, for stealing out of a French\\r\\nhose: come in, tailor; here you may roast your goose. [_Knocking._]\\r\\nKnock, knock. Never at quiet! What are you?—But this place is too cold\\r\\nfor hell. I’ll devil-porter it no further: I had thought to have let in\\r\\nsome of all professions, that go the primrose way to th’ everlasting\\r\\nbonfire. [_Knocking._] Anon, anon! I pray you, remember the porter.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Opens the gate._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macduff and Lennox.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nWas it so late, friend, ere you went to bed,\\r\\nThat you do lie so late?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTER.\\r\\nFaith, sir, we were carousing till the second cock; and drink, sir, is\\r\\na great provoker of three things.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nWhat three things does drink especially provoke?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTER.\\r\\nMarry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes\\r\\nand unprovokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes away the\\r\\nperformance. Therefore much drink may be said to be an equivocator with\\r\\nlechery: it makes him, and it mars him; it sets him on, and it takes\\r\\nhim off; it persuades him, and disheartens him; makes him stand to, and\\r\\nnot stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and giving him\\r\\nthe lie, leaves him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nI believe drink gave thee the lie last night.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTER.\\r\\nThat it did, sir, i’ the very throat on me; but I requited him for his\\r\\nlie; and (I think) being too strong for him, though he took up my legs\\r\\nsometime, yet I made a shift to cast him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nIs thy master stirring?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nOur knocking has awak’d him; here he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nGood morrow, noble sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nGood morrow, both!\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nIs the King stirring, worthy thane?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nNot yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nHe did command me to call timely on him.\\r\\nI have almost slipp’d the hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI’ll bring you to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nI know this is a joyful trouble to you;\\r\\nBut yet ’tis one.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThe labour we delight in physics pain.\\r\\nThis is the door.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nI’ll make so bold to call.\\r\\nFor ’tis my limited service.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Macduff._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nGoes the King hence today?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nHe does. He did appoint so.\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nThe night has been unruly: where we lay,\\r\\nOur chimneys were blown down and, as they say,\\r\\nLamentings heard i’ th’ air, strange screams of death,\\r\\nAnd prophesying, with accents terrible,\\r\\nOf dire combustion and confus’d events,\\r\\nNew hatch’d to the woeful time. The obscure bird\\r\\nClamour’d the live-long night. Some say the earth\\r\\nWas feverous, and did shake.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\n’Twas a rough night.\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nMy young remembrance cannot parallel\\r\\nA fellow to it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macduff.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nO horror, horror, horror!\\r\\nTongue nor heart cannot conceive nor name thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH, LENNOX.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nConfusion now hath made his masterpiece!\\r\\nMost sacrilegious murder hath broke ope\\r\\nThe Lord’s anointed temple, and stole thence\\r\\nThe life o’ th’ building.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWhat is’t you say? the life?\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nMean you his majesty?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nApproach the chamber, and destroy your sight\\r\\nWith a new Gorgon. Do not bid me speak.\\r\\nSee, and then speak yourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Macbeth and Lennox._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAwake, awake!—\\r\\nRing the alarum bell.—Murder and treason!\\r\\nBanquo and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake!\\r\\nShake off this downy sleep, death’s counterfeit,\\r\\nAnd look on death itself! Up, up, and see\\r\\nThe great doom’s image. Malcolm! Banquo!\\r\\nAs from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites\\r\\nTo countenance this horror!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alarum-bell rings._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nWhat’s the business,\\r\\nThat such a hideous trumpet calls to parley\\r\\nThe sleepers of the house? Speak, speak!\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nO gentle lady,\\r\\n’Tis not for you to hear what I can speak:\\r\\nThe repetition, in a woman’s ear,\\r\\nWould murder as it fell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Banquo.\\r\\n\\r\\nO Banquo, Banquo!\\r\\nOur royal master’s murder’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nWoe, alas!\\r\\nWhat, in our house?\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nToo cruel anywhere.—\\r\\nDear Duff, I pr’ythee, contradict thyself,\\r\\nAnd say it is not so.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macbeth and Lennox with Ross.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nHad I but died an hour before this chance,\\r\\nI had liv’d a blessed time; for, from this instant\\r\\nThere’s nothing serious in mortality.\\r\\nAll is but toys: renown and grace is dead;\\r\\nThe wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees\\r\\nIs left this vault to brag of.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malcolm and Donalbain.\\r\\n\\r\\nDONALBAIN.\\r\\nWhat is amiss?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nYou are, and do not know’t:\\r\\nThe spring, the head, the fountain of your blood\\r\\nIs stopp’d; the very source of it is stopp’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nYour royal father’s murder’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nO, by whom?\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nThose of his chamber, as it seem’d, had done’t:\\r\\nTheir hands and faces were all badg’d with blood;\\r\\nSo were their daggers, which, unwip’d, we found\\r\\nUpon their pillows. They star’d, and were distracted;\\r\\nNo man’s life was to be trusted with them.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nO, yet I do repent me of my fury,\\r\\nThat I did kill them.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nWherefore did you so?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWho can be wise, amaz’d, temperate, and furious,\\r\\nLoyal and neutral, in a moment? No man:\\r\\nTh’ expedition of my violent love\\r\\nOutrun the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan,\\r\\nHis silver skin lac’d with his golden blood;\\r\\nAnd his gash’d stabs look’d like a breach in nature\\r\\nFor ruin’s wasteful entrance: there, the murderers,\\r\\nSteep’d in the colours of their trade, their daggers\\r\\nUnmannerly breech’d with gore. Who could refrain,\\r\\nThat had a heart to love, and in that heart\\r\\nCourage to make’s love known?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nHelp me hence, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nLook to the lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nWhy do we hold our tongues,\\r\\nThat most may claim this argument for ours?\\r\\n\\r\\nDONALBAIN.\\r\\nWhat should be spoken here, where our fate,\\r\\nHid in an auger hole, may rush, and seize us?\\r\\nLet’s away. Our tears are not yet brew’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nNor our strong sorrow\\r\\nUpon the foot of motion.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nLook to the lady:—\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Lady Macbeth is carried out._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd when we have our naked frailties hid,\\r\\nThat suffer in exposure, let us meet,\\r\\nAnd question this most bloody piece of work\\r\\nTo know it further. Fears and scruples shake us:\\r\\nIn the great hand of God I stand; and thence\\r\\nAgainst the undivulg’d pretence I fight\\r\\nOf treasonous malice.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nAnd so do I.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nSo all.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nLet’s briefly put on manly readiness,\\r\\nAnd meet i’ th’ hall together.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nWell contented.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Malcolm and Donalbain._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nWhat will you do? Let’s not consort with them:\\r\\nTo show an unfelt sorrow is an office\\r\\nWhich the false man does easy. I’ll to England.\\r\\n\\r\\nDONALBAIN.\\r\\nTo Ireland, I. Our separated fortune\\r\\nShall keep us both the safer. Where we are,\\r\\nThere’s daggers in men’s smiles: the near in blood,\\r\\nThe nearer bloody.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nThis murderous shaft that’s shot\\r\\nHath not yet lighted; and our safest way\\r\\nIs to avoid the aim. Therefore to horse;\\r\\nAnd let us not be dainty of leave-taking,\\r\\nBut shift away. There’s warrant in that theft\\r\\nWhich steals itself, when there’s no mercy left.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The same. Without the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ross and an Old Man.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\nThreescore and ten I can remember well,\\r\\nWithin the volume of which time I have seen\\r\\nHours dreadful and things strange, but this sore night\\r\\nHath trifled former knowings.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nHa, good father,\\r\\nThou seest the heavens, as troubled with man’s act,\\r\\nThreatens his bloody stage: by the clock ’tis day,\\r\\nAnd yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp.\\r\\nIs’t night’s predominance, or the day’s shame,\\r\\nThat darkness does the face of earth entomb,\\r\\nWhen living light should kiss it?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\n’Tis unnatural,\\r\\nEven like the deed that’s done. On Tuesday last,\\r\\nA falcon, towering in her pride of place,\\r\\nWas by a mousing owl hawk’d at and kill’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nAnd Duncan’s horses (a thing most strange and certain)\\r\\nBeauteous and swift, the minions of their race,\\r\\nTurn’d wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out,\\r\\nContending ’gainst obedience, as they would make\\r\\nWar with mankind.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\n’Tis said they eat each other.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nThey did so; to the amazement of mine eyes,\\r\\nThat look’d upon’t.\\r\\nHere comes the good Macduff.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macduff.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow goes the world, sir, now?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nWhy, see you not?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nIs’t known who did this more than bloody deed?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nThose that Macbeth hath slain.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nAlas, the day!\\r\\nWhat good could they pretend?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nThey were suborn’d.\\r\\nMalcolm and Donalbain, the King’s two sons,\\r\\nAre stol’n away and fled; which puts upon them\\r\\nSuspicion of the deed.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\n’Gainst nature still:\\r\\nThriftless ambition, that will ravin up\\r\\nThine own life’s means!—Then ’tis most like\\r\\nThe sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nHe is already nam’d; and gone to Scone\\r\\nTo be invested.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nWhere is Duncan’s body?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nCarried to Colmekill,\\r\\nThe sacred storehouse of his predecessors,\\r\\nAnd guardian of their bones.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nWill you to Scone?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nNo, cousin, I’ll to Fife.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nWell, I will thither.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nWell, may you see things well done there. Adieu!\\r\\nLest our old robes sit easier than our new!\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nFarewell, father.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\nGod’s benison go with you; and with those\\r\\nThat would make good of bad, and friends of foes!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Forres. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Banquo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nThou hast it now, King, Cawdor, Glamis, all,\\r\\nAs the Weird Women promis’d; and, I fear,\\r\\nThou play’dst most foully for’t; yet it was said\\r\\nIt should not stand in thy posterity;\\r\\nBut that myself should be the root and father\\r\\nOf many kings. If there come truth from them\\r\\n(As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine)\\r\\nWhy, by the verities on thee made good,\\r\\nMay they not be my oracles as well,\\r\\nAnd set me up in hope? But hush; no more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sennet sounded. Enter Macbeth as King, Lady Macbeth as Queen; Lennox,\\r\\n Ross, Lords, and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nHere’s our chief guest.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nIf he had been forgotten,\\r\\nIt had been as a gap in our great feast,\\r\\nAnd all-thing unbecoming.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nTonight we hold a solemn supper, sir,\\r\\nAnd I’ll request your presence.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nLet your Highness\\r\\nCommand upon me, to the which my duties\\r\\nAre with a most indissoluble tie\\r\\nFor ever knit.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nRide you this afternoon?\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nAy, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWe should have else desir’d your good advice\\r\\n(Which still hath been both grave and prosperous)\\r\\nIn this day’s council; but we’ll take tomorrow.\\r\\nIs’t far you ride?\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nAs far, my lord, as will fill up the time\\r\\n’Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better,\\r\\nI must become a borrower of the night,\\r\\nFor a dark hour or twain.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nFail not our feast.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nMy lord, I will not.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWe hear our bloody cousins are bestow’d\\r\\nIn England and in Ireland; not confessing\\r\\nTheir cruel parricide, filling their hearers\\r\\nWith strange invention. But of that tomorrow,\\r\\nWhen therewithal we shall have cause of state\\r\\nCraving us jointly. Hie you to horse: adieu,\\r\\nTill you return at night. Goes Fleance with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nAy, my good lord: our time does call upon’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI wish your horses swift and sure of foot;\\r\\nAnd so I do commend you to their backs.\\r\\nFarewell.—\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Banquo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLet every man be master of his time\\r\\nTill seven at night; to make society\\r\\nThe sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself\\r\\nTill supper time alone: while then, God be with you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lady Macbeth, Lords, &c._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSirrah, a word with you. Attend those men\\r\\nOur pleasure?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThey are, my lord, without the palace gate.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nBring them before us.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTo be thus is nothing,\\r\\nBut to be safely thus. Our fears in Banquo\\r\\nStick deep, and in his royalty of nature\\r\\nReigns that which would be fear’d: ’tis much he dares;\\r\\nAnd, to that dauntless temper of his mind,\\r\\nHe hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour\\r\\nTo act in safety. There is none but he\\r\\nWhose being I do fear: and under him\\r\\nMy genius is rebuk’d; as, it is said,\\r\\nMark Antony’s was by Caesar. He chid the sisters\\r\\nWhen first they put the name of king upon me,\\r\\nAnd bade them speak to him; then, prophet-like,\\r\\nThey hail’d him father to a line of kings:\\r\\nUpon my head they plac’d a fruitless crown,\\r\\nAnd put a barren sceptre in my gripe,\\r\\nThence to be wrench’d with an unlineal hand,\\r\\nNo son of mine succeeding. If’t be so,\\r\\nFor Banquo’s issue have I fil’d my mind;\\r\\nFor them the gracious Duncan have I murder’d;\\r\\nPut rancours in the vessel of my peace\\r\\nOnly for them; and mine eternal jewel\\r\\nGiven to the common enemy of man,\\r\\nTo make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings!\\r\\nRather than so, come, fate, into the list,\\r\\nAnd champion me to th’ utterance!—Who’s there?—\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Servant with two Murderers.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow go to the door, and stay there till we call.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWas it not yesterday we spoke together?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nIt was, so please your Highness.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWell then, now\\r\\nHave you consider’d of my speeches? Know\\r\\nThat it was he, in the times past, which held you\\r\\nSo under fortune, which you thought had been\\r\\nOur innocent self? This I made good to you\\r\\nIn our last conference, pass’d in probation with you\\r\\nHow you were borne in hand, how cross’d, the instruments,\\r\\nWho wrought with them, and all things else that might\\r\\nTo half a soul and to a notion craz’d\\r\\nSay, “Thus did Banquo.”\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nYou made it known to us.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI did so; and went further, which is now\\r\\nOur point of second meeting. Do you find\\r\\nYour patience so predominant in your nature,\\r\\nThat you can let this go? Are you so gospell’d,\\r\\nTo pray for this good man and for his issue,\\r\\nWhose heavy hand hath bow’d you to the grave,\\r\\nAnd beggar’d yours forever?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nWe are men, my liege.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nAy, in the catalogue ye go for men;\\r\\nAs hounds, and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs,\\r\\nShoughs, water-rugs, and demi-wolves are clept\\r\\nAll by the name of dogs: the valu’d file\\r\\nDistinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle,\\r\\nThe housekeeper, the hunter, every one\\r\\nAccording to the gift which bounteous nature\\r\\nHath in him clos’d; whereby he does receive\\r\\nParticular addition, from the bill\\r\\nThat writes them all alike: and so of men.\\r\\nNow, if you have a station in the file,\\r\\nNot i’ th’ worst rank of manhood, say’t;\\r\\nAnd I will put that business in your bosoms,\\r\\nWhose execution takes your enemy off,\\r\\nGrapples you to the heart and love of us,\\r\\nWho wear our health but sickly in his life,\\r\\nWhich in his death were perfect.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MURDERER.\\r\\nI am one, my liege,\\r\\nWhom the vile blows and buffets of the world\\r\\nHath so incens’d that I am reckless what\\r\\nI do to spite the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nAnd I another,\\r\\nSo weary with disasters, tugg’d with fortune,\\r\\nThat I would set my life on any chance,\\r\\nTo mend it or be rid on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nBoth of you\\r\\nKnow Banquo was your enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTH MURDERERS.\\r\\nTrue, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nSo is he mine; and in such bloody distance,\\r\\nThat every minute of his being thrusts\\r\\nAgainst my near’st of life; and though I could\\r\\nWith barefac’d power sweep him from my sight,\\r\\nAnd bid my will avouch it, yet I must not,\\r\\nFor certain friends that are both his and mine,\\r\\nWhose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall\\r\\nWho I myself struck down: and thence it is\\r\\nThat I to your assistance do make love,\\r\\nMasking the business from the common eye\\r\\nFor sundry weighty reasons.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MURDERER.\\r\\nWe shall, my lord,\\r\\nPerform what you command us.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nThough our lives—\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nYour spirits shine through you. Within this hour at most,\\r\\nI will advise you where to plant yourselves,\\r\\nAcquaint you with the perfect spy o’ th’ time,\\r\\nThe moment on’t; for’t must be done tonight\\r\\nAnd something from the palace; always thought\\r\\nThat I require a clearness. And with him\\r\\n(To leave no rubs nor botches in the work)\\r\\nFleance his son, that keeps him company,\\r\\nWhose absence is no less material to me\\r\\nThan is his father’s, must embrace the fate\\r\\nOf that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart.\\r\\nI’ll come to you anon.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTH MURDERERS.\\r\\nWe are resolv’d, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI’ll call upon you straight: abide within.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Murderers._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIt is concluded. Banquo, thy soul’s flight,\\r\\nIf it find heaven, must find it out tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. Another Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Macbeth and a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nIs Banquo gone from court?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nAy, madam, but returns again tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nSay to the King, I would attend his leisure\\r\\nFor a few words.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMadam, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nNaught’s had, all’s spent,\\r\\nWhere our desire is got without content:\\r\\n’Tis safer to be that which we destroy,\\r\\nThan by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, my lord, why do you keep alone,\\r\\nOf sorriest fancies your companions making,\\r\\nUsing those thoughts which should indeed have died\\r\\nWith them they think on? Things without all remedy\\r\\nShould be without regard: what’s done is done.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWe have scorch’d the snake, not kill’d it.\\r\\nShe’ll close, and be herself; whilst our poor malice\\r\\nRemains in danger of her former tooth.\\r\\nBut let the frame of things disjoint,\\r\\nBoth the worlds suffer,\\r\\nEre we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep\\r\\nIn the affliction of these terrible dreams\\r\\nThat shake us nightly. Better be with the dead,\\r\\nWhom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace,\\r\\nThan on the torture of the mind to lie\\r\\nIn restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave;\\r\\nAfter life’s fitful fever he sleeps well;\\r\\nTreason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison,\\r\\nMalice domestic, foreign levy, nothing\\r\\nCan touch him further.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nCome on,\\r\\nGently my lord, sleek o’er your rugged looks;\\r\\nBe bright and jovial among your guests tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nSo shall I, love; and so, I pray, be you.\\r\\nLet your remembrance apply to Banquo;\\r\\nPresent him eminence, both with eye and tongue:\\r\\nUnsafe the while, that we\\r\\nMust lave our honours in these flattering streams,\\r\\nAnd make our faces vizards to our hearts,\\r\\nDisguising what they are.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nYou must leave this.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nO, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!\\r\\nThou know’st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nBut in them nature’s copy’s not eterne.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThere’s comfort yet; they are assailable.\\r\\nThen be thou jocund. Ere the bat hath flown\\r\\nHis cloister’d flight, ere to black Hecate’s summons\\r\\nThe shard-born beetle, with his drowsy hums,\\r\\nHath rung night’s yawning peal, there shall be done\\r\\nA deed of dreadful note.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nWhat’s to be done?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nBe innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck,\\r\\nTill thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night,\\r\\nScarf up the tender eye of pitiful day,\\r\\nAnd with thy bloody and invisible hand\\r\\nCancel and tear to pieces that great bond\\r\\nWhich keeps me pale!—Light thickens; and the crow\\r\\nMakes wing to th’ rooky wood.\\r\\nGood things of day begin to droop and drowse,\\r\\nWhiles night’s black agents to their preys do rouse.\\r\\nThou marvell’st at my words: but hold thee still;\\r\\nThings bad begun make strong themselves by ill.\\r\\nSo, pr’ythee, go with me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A Park or Lawn, with a gate leading to the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter three Murderers.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nBut who did bid thee join with us?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD MURDERER.\\r\\nMacbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MURDERER.\\r\\nHe needs not our mistrust; since he delivers\\r\\nOur offices and what we have to do\\r\\nTo the direction just.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nThen stand with us.\\r\\nThe west yet glimmers with some streaks of day.\\r\\nNow spurs the lated traveller apace,\\r\\nTo gain the timely inn; and near approaches\\r\\nThe subject of our watch.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD MURDERER.\\r\\nHark! I hear horses.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\n[_Within._] Give us a light there, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MURDERER.\\r\\nThen ’tis he; the rest\\r\\nThat are within the note of expectation\\r\\nAlready are i’ th’ court.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nHis horses go about.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD MURDERER.\\r\\nAlmost a mile; but he does usually,\\r\\nSo all men do, from hence to the palace gate\\r\\nMake it their walk.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Banquo and Fleance with a torch.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MURDERER.\\r\\nA light, a light!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD MURDERER.\\r\\n’Tis he.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nStand to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nIt will be rain tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nLet it come down.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Assaults Banquo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nO, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly!\\r\\nThou mayst revenge—O slave!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies. Fleance escapes._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD MURDERER.\\r\\nWho did strike out the light?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nWas’t not the way?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD MURDERER.\\r\\nThere’s but one down: the son is fled.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MURDERER.\\r\\nWe have lost best half of our affair.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nWell, let’s away, and say how much is done.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The same. A Room of state in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n A banquet prepared. Enter Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Ross, Lennox, Lords\\r\\n and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nYou know your own degrees, sit down. At first\\r\\nAnd last the hearty welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORDS.\\r\\nThanks to your Majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nOurself will mingle with society,\\r\\nAnd play the humble host.\\r\\nOur hostess keeps her state; but, in best time,\\r\\nWe will require her welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nPronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends;\\r\\nFor my heart speaks they are welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter first Murderer to the door.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nSee, they encounter thee with their hearts’ thanks.\\r\\nBoth sides are even: here I’ll sit i’ th’ midst.\\r\\n\\r\\nBe large in mirth; anon we’ll drink a measure\\r\\nThe table round. There’s blood upon thy face.\\r\\n\\r\\nMURDERER.\\r\\n’Tis Banquo’s then.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\n’Tis better thee without than he within.\\r\\nIs he dispatch’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nMURDERER.\\r\\nMy lord, his throat is cut. That I did for him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThou art the best o’ th’ cut-throats;\\r\\nYet he’s good that did the like for Fleance:\\r\\nIf thou didst it, thou art the nonpareil.\\r\\n\\r\\nMURDERER.\\r\\nMost royal sir,\\r\\nFleance is ’scap’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThen comes my fit again: I had else been perfect;\\r\\nWhole as the marble, founded as the rock,\\r\\nAs broad and general as the casing air:\\r\\nBut now I am cabin’d, cribb’d, confin’d, bound in\\r\\nTo saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo’s safe?\\r\\n\\r\\nMURDERER.\\r\\nAy, my good lord. Safe in a ditch he bides,\\r\\nWith twenty trenched gashes on his head;\\r\\nThe least a death to nature.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThanks for that.\\r\\nThere the grown serpent lies; the worm that’s fled\\r\\nHath nature that in time will venom breed,\\r\\nNo teeth for th’ present.—Get thee gone; tomorrow\\r\\nWe’ll hear, ourselves, again.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Murderer._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nMy royal lord,\\r\\nYou do not give the cheer: the feast is sold\\r\\nThat is not often vouch’d, while ’tis a-making,\\r\\n’Tis given with welcome. To feed were best at home;\\r\\nFrom thence the sauce to meat is ceremony;\\r\\nMeeting were bare without it.\\r\\n\\r\\n The Ghost of Banquo rises, and sits in Macbeth’s place.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nSweet remembrancer!—\\r\\nNow, good digestion wait on appetite,\\r\\nAnd health on both!\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nMay’t please your Highness sit.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nHere had we now our country’s honour roof’d,\\r\\nWere the grac’d person of our Banquo present;\\r\\nWho may I rather challenge for unkindness\\r\\nThan pity for mischance!\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nHis absence, sir,\\r\\nLays blame upon his promise. Please’t your Highness\\r\\nTo grace us with your royal company?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThe table’s full.\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nHere is a place reserv’d, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWhere?\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nHere, my good lord. What is’t that moves your Highness?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWhich of you have done this?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORDS.\\r\\nWhat, my good lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThou canst not say I did it. Never shake\\r\\nThy gory locks at me.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nGentlemen, rise; his Highness is not well.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nSit, worthy friends. My lord is often thus,\\r\\nAnd hath been from his youth: pray you, keep seat;\\r\\nThe fit is momentary; upon a thought\\r\\nHe will again be well. If much you note him,\\r\\nYou shall offend him, and extend his passion.\\r\\nFeed, and regard him not.—Are you a man?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nAy, and a bold one, that dare look on that\\r\\nWhich might appal the devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nO proper stuff!\\r\\nThis is the very painting of your fear:\\r\\nThis is the air-drawn dagger which you said,\\r\\nLed you to Duncan. O, these flaws, and starts\\r\\n(Impostors to true fear), would well become\\r\\nA woman’s story at a winter’s fire,\\r\\nAuthoris’d by her grandam. Shame itself!\\r\\nWhy do you make such faces? When all’s done,\\r\\nYou look but on a stool.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nPr’ythee, see there!\\r\\nBehold! look! lo! how say you?\\r\\nWhy, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too.—\\r\\nIf charnel houses and our graves must send\\r\\nThose that we bury back, our monuments\\r\\nShall be the maws of kites.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Ghost disappears._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nWhat, quite unmann’d in folly?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nIf I stand here, I saw him.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nFie, for shame!\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nBlood hath been shed ere now, i’ th’ olden time,\\r\\nEre humane statute purg’d the gentle weal;\\r\\nAy, and since too, murders have been perform’d\\r\\nToo terrible for the ear: the time has been,\\r\\nThat, when the brains were out, the man would die,\\r\\nAnd there an end; but now they rise again,\\r\\nWith twenty mortal murders on their crowns,\\r\\nAnd push us from our stools. This is more strange\\r\\nThan such a murder is.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nMy worthy lord,\\r\\nYour noble friends do lack you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI do forget.—\\r\\nDo not muse at me, my most worthy friends.\\r\\nI have a strange infirmity, which is nothing\\r\\nTo those that know me. Come, love and health to all;\\r\\nThen I’ll sit down.—Give me some wine, fill full.—\\r\\nI drink to the general joy o’ th’ whole table,\\r\\nAnd to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss:\\r\\nWould he were here.\\r\\n\\r\\n Ghost rises again.\\r\\n\\r\\nTo all, and him, we thirst,\\r\\nAnd all to all.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORDS.\\r\\nOur duties, and the pledge.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nAvaunt! and quit my sight! let the earth hide thee!\\r\\nThy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;\\r\\nThou hast no speculation in those eyes\\r\\nWhich thou dost glare with!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nThink of this, good peers,\\r\\nBut as a thing of custom: ’tis no other,\\r\\nOnly it spoils the pleasure of the time.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWhat man dare, I dare:\\r\\nApproach thou like the rugged Russian bear,\\r\\nThe arm’d rhinoceros, or th’ Hyrcan tiger;\\r\\nTake any shape but that, and my firm nerves\\r\\nShall never tremble: or be alive again,\\r\\nAnd dare me to the desert with thy sword;\\r\\nIf trembling I inhabit then, protest me\\r\\nThe baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow!\\r\\nUnreal mock’ry, hence!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Ghost disappears._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhy, so;—being gone,\\r\\nI am a man again.—Pray you, sit still.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nYou have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting\\r\\nWith most admir’d disorder.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nCan such things be,\\r\\nAnd overcome us like a summer’s cloud,\\r\\nWithout our special wonder? You make me strange\\r\\nEven to the disposition that I owe,\\r\\nWhen now I think you can behold such sights,\\r\\nAnd keep the natural ruby of your cheeks,\\r\\nWhen mine are blanch’d with fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nWhat sights, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nI pray you, speak not; he grows worse and worse;\\r\\nQuestion enrages him. At once, good night:—\\r\\nStand not upon the order of your going,\\r\\nBut go at once.\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nGood night; and better health\\r\\nAttend his Majesty!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nA kind good night to all!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all Lords and Atendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nIt will have blood, they say, blood will have blood.\\r\\nStones have been known to move, and trees to speak;\\r\\nAugurs, and understood relations, have\\r\\nBy magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought forth\\r\\nThe secret’st man of blood.—What is the night?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nAlmost at odds with morning, which is which.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nHow say’st thou, that Macduff denies his person\\r\\nAt our great bidding?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nDid you send to him, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI hear it by the way; but I will send.\\r\\nThere’s not a one of them but in his house\\r\\nI keep a servant fee’d. I will tomorrow\\r\\n(And betimes I will) to the Weird Sisters:\\r\\nMore shall they speak; for now I am bent to know,\\r\\nBy the worst means, the worst. For mine own good,\\r\\nAll causes shall give way: I am in blood\\r\\nStepp’d in so far that, should I wade no more,\\r\\nReturning were as tedious as go o’er.\\r\\nStrange things I have in head, that will to hand,\\r\\nWhich must be acted ere they may be scann’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nYou lack the season of all natures, sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nCome, we’ll to sleep. My strange and self-abuse\\r\\nIs the initiate fear that wants hard use.\\r\\nWe are yet but young in deed.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. The heath.\\r\\n\\r\\n Thunder. Enter the three Witches meeting Hecate.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nWhy, how now, Hecate? you look angerly.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECATE.\\r\\nHave I not reason, beldams as you are,\\r\\nSaucy and overbold? How did you dare\\r\\nTo trade and traffic with Macbeth\\r\\nIn riddles and affairs of death;\\r\\nAnd I, the mistress of your charms,\\r\\nThe close contriver of all harms,\\r\\nWas never call’d to bear my part,\\r\\nOr show the glory of our art?\\r\\nAnd, which is worse, all you have done\\r\\nHath been but for a wayward son,\\r\\nSpiteful and wrathful; who, as others do,\\r\\nLoves for his own ends, not for you.\\r\\nBut make amends now: get you gone,\\r\\nAnd at the pit of Acheron\\r\\nMeet me i’ th’ morning: thither he\\r\\nWill come to know his destiny.\\r\\nYour vessels and your spells provide,\\r\\nYour charms, and everything beside.\\r\\nI am for th’ air; this night I’ll spend\\r\\nUnto a dismal and a fatal end.\\r\\nGreat business must be wrought ere noon.\\r\\nUpon the corner of the moon\\r\\nThere hangs a vap’rous drop profound;\\r\\nI’ll catch it ere it come to ground:\\r\\nAnd that, distill’d by magic sleights,\\r\\nShall raise such artificial sprites,\\r\\nAs, by the strength of their illusion,\\r\\nShall draw him on to his confusion.\\r\\nHe shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear\\r\\nHis hopes ’bove wisdom, grace, and fear.\\r\\nAnd you all know, security\\r\\nIs mortals’ chiefest enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music and song within, “Come away, come away” &c._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHark! I am call’d; my little spirit, see,\\r\\nSits in a foggy cloud and stays for me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nCome, let’s make haste; she’ll soon be back again.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Forres. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lennox and another Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nMy former speeches have but hit your thoughts,\\r\\nWhich can interpret farther: only, I say,\\r\\nThing’s have been strangely borne. The gracious Duncan\\r\\nWas pitied of Macbeth:—marry, he was dead:—\\r\\nAnd the right valiant Banquo walk’d too late;\\r\\nWhom, you may say, if’t please you, Fleance kill’d,\\r\\nFor Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late.\\r\\nWho cannot want the thought, how monstrous\\r\\nIt was for Malcolm and for Donalbain\\r\\nTo kill their gracious father? damned fact!\\r\\nHow it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight,\\r\\nIn pious rage, the two delinquents tear\\r\\nThat were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep?\\r\\nWas not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too;\\r\\nFor ’twould have anger’d any heart alive,\\r\\nTo hear the men deny’t. So that, I say,\\r\\nHe has borne all things well: and I do think,\\r\\nThat had he Duncan’s sons under his key\\r\\n(As, and’t please heaven, he shall not) they should find\\r\\nWhat ’twere to kill a father; so should Fleance.\\r\\nBut, peace!—for from broad words, and ’cause he fail’d\\r\\nHis presence at the tyrant’s feast, I hear,\\r\\nMacduff lives in disgrace. Sir, can you tell\\r\\nWhere he bestows himself?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nThe son of Duncan,\\r\\nFrom whom this tyrant holds the due of birth,\\r\\nLives in the English court and is receiv’d\\r\\nOf the most pious Edward with such grace\\r\\nThat the malevolence of fortune nothing\\r\\nTakes from his high respect. Thither Macduff\\r\\nIs gone to pray the holy king, upon his aid\\r\\nTo wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward\\r\\nThat, by the help of these (with Him above\\r\\nTo ratify the work), we may again\\r\\nGive to our tables meat, sleep to our nights;\\r\\nFree from our feasts and banquets bloody knives,\\r\\nDo faithful homage, and receive free honours,\\r\\nAll which we pine for now. And this report\\r\\nHath so exasperate the King that he\\r\\nPrepares for some attempt of war.\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nSent he to Macduff?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nHe did: and with an absolute “Sir, not I,”\\r\\nThe cloudy messenger turns me his back,\\r\\nAnd hums, as who should say, “You’ll rue the time\\r\\nThat clogs me with this answer.”\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nAnd that well might\\r\\nAdvise him to a caution, t’ hold what distance\\r\\nHis wisdom can provide. Some holy angel\\r\\nFly to the court of England, and unfold\\r\\nHis message ere he come, that a swift blessing\\r\\nMay soon return to this our suffering country\\r\\nUnder a hand accurs’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nI’ll send my prayers with him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A dark Cave. In the middle, a Cauldron Boiling.\\r\\n\\r\\n Thunder. Enter the three Witches.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nThrice the brinded cat hath mew’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nThrice, and once the hedge-pig whin’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nHarpier cries:—’Tis time, ’tis time.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nRound about the cauldron go;\\r\\nIn the poison’d entrails throw.—\\r\\nToad, that under cold stone\\r\\nDays and nights has thirty-one\\r\\nSwelter’d venom sleeping got,\\r\\nBoil thou first i’ th’ charmed pot!\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nDouble, double, toil and trouble;\\r\\nFire, burn; and cauldron, bubble.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nFillet of a fenny snake,\\r\\nIn the cauldron boil and bake;\\r\\nEye of newt, and toe of frog,\\r\\nWool of bat, and tongue of dog,\\r\\nAdder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting,\\r\\nLizard’s leg, and howlet’s wing,\\r\\nFor a charm of powerful trouble,\\r\\nLike a hell-broth boil and bubble.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nDouble, double, toil and trouble;\\r\\nFire, burn; and cauldron, bubble.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nScale of dragon, tooth of wolf,\\r\\nWitch’s mummy, maw and gulf\\r\\nOf the ravin’d salt-sea shark,\\r\\nRoot of hemlock digg’d i’ th’ dark,\\r\\nLiver of blaspheming Jew,\\r\\nGall of goat, and slips of yew\\r\\nSliver’d in the moon’s eclipse,\\r\\nNose of Turk, and Tartar’s lips,\\r\\nFinger of birth-strangled babe\\r\\nDitch-deliver’d by a drab,\\r\\nMake the gruel thick and slab:\\r\\nAdd thereto a tiger’s chaudron,\\r\\nFor th’ ingredients of our cauldron.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nDouble, double, toil and trouble;\\r\\nFire, burn; and cauldron, bubble.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nCool it with a baboon’s blood.\\r\\nThen the charm is firm and good.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hecate.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECATE.\\r\\nO, well done! I commend your pains,\\r\\nAnd everyone shall share i’ th’ gains.\\r\\nAnd now about the cauldron sing,\\r\\nLike elves and fairies in a ring,\\r\\nEnchanting all that you put in.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music and a song: “Black Spirits,” &c._]\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Hecate._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nBy the pricking of my thumbs,\\r\\nSomething wicked this way comes.\\r\\nOpen, locks,\\r\\nWhoever knocks!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nHow now, you secret, black, and midnight hags!\\r\\nWhat is’t you do?\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nA deed without a name.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI conjure you, by that which you profess,\\r\\n(Howe’er you come to know it) answer me:\\r\\nThough you untie the winds, and let them fight\\r\\nAgainst the churches; though the yesty waves\\r\\nConfound and swallow navigation up;\\r\\nThough bladed corn be lodg’d, and trees blown down;\\r\\nThough castles topple on their warders’ heads;\\r\\nThough palaces and pyramids do slope\\r\\nTheir heads to their foundations; though the treasure\\r\\nOf nature’s germens tumble all together,\\r\\nEven till destruction sicken, answer me\\r\\nTo what I ask you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nSpeak.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nDemand.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nWe’ll answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nSay, if thou’dst rather hear it from our mouths,\\r\\nOr from our masters?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nCall ’em, let me see ’em.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nPour in sow’s blood, that hath eaten\\r\\nHer nine farrow; grease that’s sweaten\\r\\nFrom the murderer’s gibbet throw\\r\\nInto the flame.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nCome, high or low;\\r\\nThyself and office deftly show!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Thunder. An Apparition of an armed Head rises._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nTell me, thou unknown power,—\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nHe knows thy thought:\\r\\nHear his speech, but say thou naught.\\r\\n\\r\\nAPPARITION.\\r\\nMacbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! Beware Macduff;\\r\\nBeware the Thane of Fife.—Dismiss me.—Enough.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Descends._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWhate’er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks;\\r\\nThou hast harp’d my fear aright.—But one word more.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nHe will not be commanded. Here’s another,\\r\\nMore potent than the first.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Thunder. An Apparition of a bloody Child rises._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAPPARITION.\\r\\nMacbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nHad I three ears, I’d hear thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nAPPARITION.\\r\\nBe bloody, bold, and resolute. Laugh to scorn\\r\\nThe power of man, for none of woman born\\r\\nShall harm Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Descends._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThen live, Macduff: what need I fear of thee?\\r\\nBut yet I’ll make assurance double sure,\\r\\nAnd take a bond of fate. Thou shalt not live;\\r\\nThat I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies,\\r\\nAnd sleep in spite of thunder.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Thunder. An Apparition of a Child crowned, with a tree in his hand,\\r\\n rises._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat is this,\\r\\nThat rises like the issue of a king,\\r\\nAnd wears upon his baby brow the round\\r\\nAnd top of sovereignty?\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nListen, but speak not to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nAPPARITION.\\r\\nBe lion-mettled, proud, and take no care\\r\\nWho chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are:\\r\\nMacbeth shall never vanquish’d be, until\\r\\nGreat Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill\\r\\nShall come against him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Descends._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThat will never be:\\r\\nWho can impress the forest; bid the tree\\r\\nUnfix his earth-bound root? Sweet bodements, good!\\r\\nRebellious head, rise never till the wood\\r\\nOf Birnam rise, and our high-plac’d Macbeth\\r\\nShall live the lease of nature, pay his breath\\r\\nTo time and mortal custom.—Yet my heart\\r\\nThrobs to know one thing: tell me, if your art\\r\\nCan tell so much, shall Banquo’s issue ever\\r\\nReign in this kingdom?\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nSeek to know no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI will be satisfied: deny me this,\\r\\nAnd an eternal curse fall on you! Let me know.\\r\\nWhy sinks that cauldron? and what noise is this?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Hautboys._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nShow!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nShow!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nShow!\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nShow his eyes, and grieve his heart;\\r\\nCome like shadows, so depart!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A show of eight kings appear, and pass over in order, the last with\\r\\n a glass in his hand; Banquo following._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThou are too like the spirit of Banquo. Down!\\r\\nThy crown does sear mine eyeballs:—and thy hair,\\r\\nThou other gold-bound brow, is like the first.\\r\\nA third is like the former.—Filthy hags!\\r\\nWhy do you show me this?—A fourth!—Start, eyes!\\r\\nWhat, will the line stretch out to th’ crack of doom?\\r\\nAnother yet!—A seventh!—I’ll see no more:—\\r\\nAnd yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass\\r\\nWhich shows me many more; and some I see\\r\\nThat twofold balls and treble sceptres carry.\\r\\nHorrible sight!—Now I see ’tis true;\\r\\nFor the blood-bolter’d Banquo smiles upon me,\\r\\nAnd points at them for his.—What! is this so?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nAy, sir, all this is so:—but why\\r\\nStands Macbeth thus amazedly?—\\r\\nCome, sisters, cheer we up his sprites,\\r\\nAnd show the best of our delights.\\r\\nI’ll charm the air to give a sound,\\r\\nWhile you perform your antic round;\\r\\nThat this great king may kindly say,\\r\\nOur duties did his welcome pay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music. The Witches dance, and vanish._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWhere are they? Gone?—Let this pernicious hour\\r\\nStand aye accursed in the calendar!—\\r\\nCome in, without there!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lennox.\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nWhat’s your Grace’s will?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nSaw you the Weird Sisters?\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nNo, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nCame they not by you?\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nNo, indeed, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nInfected be the air whereon they ride;\\r\\nAnd damn’d all those that trust them!—I did hear\\r\\nThe galloping of horse: who was’t came by?\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\n’Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word\\r\\nMacduff is fled to England.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nFled to England!\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nAy, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nTime, thou anticipat’st my dread exploits:\\r\\nThe flighty purpose never is o’ertook\\r\\nUnless the deed go with it. From this moment\\r\\nThe very firstlings of my heart shall be\\r\\nThe firstlings of my hand. And even now,\\r\\nTo crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done:\\r\\nThe castle of Macduff I will surprise;\\r\\nSeize upon Fife; give to th’ edge o’ th’ sword\\r\\nHis wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls\\r\\nThat trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool;\\r\\nThis deed I’ll do before this purpose cool:\\r\\nBut no more sights!—Where are these gentlemen?\\r\\nCome, bring me where they are.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Fife. A Room in Macduff’s Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Macduff her Son and Ross.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nWhat had he done, to make him fly the land?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nYou must have patience, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nHe had none:\\r\\nHis flight was madness: when our actions do not,\\r\\nOur fears do make us traitors.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nYou know not\\r\\nWhether it was his wisdom or his fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nWisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes,\\r\\nHis mansion, and his titles, in a place\\r\\nFrom whence himself does fly? He loves us not:\\r\\nHe wants the natural touch; for the poor wren,\\r\\nThe most diminutive of birds, will fight,\\r\\nHer young ones in her nest, against the owl.\\r\\nAll is the fear, and nothing is the love;\\r\\nAs little is the wisdom, where the flight\\r\\nSo runs against all reason.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nMy dearest coz,\\r\\nI pray you, school yourself: but, for your husband,\\r\\nHe is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows\\r\\nThe fits o’ th’ season. I dare not speak much further:\\r\\nBut cruel are the times, when we are traitors,\\r\\nAnd do not know ourselves; when we hold rumour\\r\\nFrom what we fear, yet know not what we fear,\\r\\nBut float upon a wild and violent sea\\r\\nEach way and move—I take my leave of you:\\r\\nShall not be long but I’ll be here again.\\r\\nThings at the worst will cease, or else climb upward\\r\\nTo what they were before.—My pretty cousin,\\r\\nBlessing upon you!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nFather’d he is, and yet he’s fatherless.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nI am so much a fool, should I stay longer,\\r\\nIt would be my disgrace and your discomfort:\\r\\nI take my leave at once.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nSirrah, your father’s dead.\\r\\nAnd what will you do now? How will you live?\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nAs birds do, mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nWhat, with worms and flies?\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nWith what I get, I mean; and so do they.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nPoor bird! thou’dst never fear the net nor lime,\\r\\nThe pit-fall nor the gin.\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nWhy should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for.\\r\\nMy father is not dead, for all your saying.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nYes, he is dead: how wilt thou do for a father?\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nNay, how will you do for a husband?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nWhy, I can buy me twenty at any market.\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nThen you’ll buy ’em to sell again.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nThou speak’st with all thy wit;\\r\\nAnd yet, i’ faith, with wit enough for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nWas my father a traitor, mother?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nAy, that he was.\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nWhat is a traitor?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nWhy, one that swears and lies.\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nAnd be all traitors that do so?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nEvery one that does so is a traitor, and must be hanged.\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nAnd must they all be hanged that swear and lie?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nEvery one.\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nWho must hang them?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nWhy, the honest men.\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nThen the liars and swearers are fools: for there are liars and swearers\\r\\nenow to beat the honest men and hang up them.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nNow, God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do for a father?\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nIf he were dead, you’ld weep for him: if you would not, it were a good\\r\\nsign that I should quickly have a new father.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nPoor prattler, how thou talk’st!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nBless you, fair dame! I am not to you known,\\r\\nThough in your state of honour I am perfect.\\r\\nI doubt some danger does approach you nearly:\\r\\nIf you will take a homely man’s advice,\\r\\nBe not found here; hence, with your little ones.\\r\\nTo fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage;\\r\\nTo do worse to you were fell cruelty,\\r\\nWhich is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you!\\r\\nI dare abide no longer.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nWhither should I fly?\\r\\nI have done no harm. But I remember now\\r\\nI am in this earthly world, where to do harm\\r\\nIs often laudable; to do good sometime\\r\\nAccounted dangerous folly: why then, alas,\\r\\nDo I put up that womanly defence,\\r\\nTo say I have done no harm? What are these faces?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Murderers.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nWhere is your husband?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nI hope, in no place so unsanctified\\r\\nWhere such as thou mayst find him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nHe’s a traitor.\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nThou liest, thou shag-ear’d villain!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nWhat, you egg!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Stabbing him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nYoung fry of treachery!\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nHe has kill’d me, mother:\\r\\nRun away, I pray you!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies. Exit Lady Macduff, crying “Murder!” and pursued by the\\r\\n Murderers._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. England. Before the King’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malcolm and Macduff.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nLet us seek out some desolate shade and there\\r\\nWeep our sad bosoms empty.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nLet us rather\\r\\nHold fast the mortal sword, and, like good men,\\r\\nBestride our down-fall’n birthdom. Each new morn\\r\\nNew widows howl, new orphans cry; new sorrows\\r\\nStrike heaven on the face, that it resounds\\r\\nAs if it felt with Scotland, and yell’d out\\r\\nLike syllable of dolour.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nWhat I believe, I’ll wail;\\r\\nWhat know, believe; and what I can redress,\\r\\nAs I shall find the time to friend, I will.\\r\\nWhat you have spoke, it may be so, perchance.\\r\\nThis tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,\\r\\nWas once thought honest: you have loved him well;\\r\\nHe hath not touch’d you yet. I am young; but something\\r\\nYou may deserve of him through me; and wisdom\\r\\nTo offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb\\r\\nTo appease an angry god.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nI am not treacherous.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nBut Macbeth is.\\r\\nA good and virtuous nature may recoil\\r\\nIn an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon.\\r\\nThat which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose.\\r\\nAngels are bright still, though the brightest fell:\\r\\nThough all things foul would wear the brows of grace,\\r\\nYet grace must still look so.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nI have lost my hopes.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nPerchance even there where I did find my doubts.\\r\\nWhy in that rawness left you wife and child,\\r\\nThose precious motives, those strong knots of love,\\r\\nWithout leave-taking?—I pray you,\\r\\nLet not my jealousies be your dishonours,\\r\\nBut mine own safeties. You may be rightly just,\\r\\nWhatever I shall think.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nBleed, bleed, poor country!\\r\\nGreat tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,\\r\\nFor goodness dare not check thee! wear thou thy wrongs;\\r\\nThe title is affeer’d.—Fare thee well, lord:\\r\\nI would not be the villain that thou think’st\\r\\nFor the whole space that’s in the tyrant’s grasp\\r\\nAnd the rich East to boot.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nBe not offended:\\r\\nI speak not as in absolute fear of you.\\r\\nI think our country sinks beneath the yoke;\\r\\nIt weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash\\r\\nIs added to her wounds. I think, withal,\\r\\nThere would be hands uplifted in my right;\\r\\nAnd here, from gracious England, have I offer\\r\\nOf goodly thousands: but, for all this,\\r\\nWhen I shall tread upon the tyrant’s head,\\r\\nOr wear it on my sword, yet my poor country\\r\\nShall have more vices than it had before,\\r\\nMore suffer, and more sundry ways than ever,\\r\\nBy him that shall succeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nWhat should he be?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nIt is myself I mean; in whom I know\\r\\nAll the particulars of vice so grafted\\r\\nThat, when they shall be open’d, black Macbeth\\r\\nWill seem as pure as snow; and the poor state\\r\\nEsteem him as a lamb, being compar’d\\r\\nWith my confineless harms.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nNot in the legions\\r\\nOf horrid hell can come a devil more damn’d\\r\\nIn evils to top Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nI grant him bloody,\\r\\nLuxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,\\r\\nSudden, malicious, smacking of every sin\\r\\nThat has a name: but there’s no bottom, none,\\r\\nIn my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters,\\r\\nYour matrons, and your maids, could not fill up\\r\\nThe cistern of my lust; and my desire\\r\\nAll continent impediments would o’erbear,\\r\\nThat did oppose my will: better Macbeth\\r\\nThan such an one to reign.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nBoundless intemperance\\r\\nIn nature is a tyranny; it hath been\\r\\nTh’ untimely emptying of the happy throne,\\r\\nAnd fall of many kings. But fear not yet\\r\\nTo take upon you what is yours: you may\\r\\nConvey your pleasures in a spacious plenty,\\r\\nAnd yet seem cold—the time you may so hoodwink.\\r\\nWe have willing dames enough; there cannot be\\r\\nThat vulture in you, to devour so many\\r\\nAs will to greatness dedicate themselves,\\r\\nFinding it so inclin’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nWith this there grows\\r\\nIn my most ill-compos’d affection such\\r\\nA staunchless avarice, that, were I king,\\r\\nI should cut off the nobles for their lands;\\r\\nDesire his jewels, and this other’s house:\\r\\nAnd my more-having would be as a sauce\\r\\nTo make me hunger more; that I should forge\\r\\nQuarrels unjust against the good and loyal,\\r\\nDestroying them for wealth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nThis avarice\\r\\nSticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root\\r\\nThan summer-seeming lust; and it hath been\\r\\nThe sword of our slain kings: yet do not fear;\\r\\nScotland hath foisons to fill up your will,\\r\\nOf your mere own. All these are portable,\\r\\nWith other graces weigh’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nBut I have none: the king-becoming graces,\\r\\nAs justice, verity, temp’rance, stableness,\\r\\nBounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness,\\r\\nDevotion, patience, courage, fortitude,\\r\\nI have no relish of them; but abound\\r\\nIn the division of each several crime,\\r\\nActing it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should\\r\\nPour the sweet milk of concord into hell,\\r\\nUproar the universal peace, confound\\r\\nAll unity on earth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nO Scotland, Scotland!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nIf such a one be fit to govern, speak:\\r\\nI am as I have spoken.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nFit to govern?\\r\\nNo, not to live.—O nation miserable,\\r\\nWith an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter’d,\\r\\nWhen shalt thou see thy wholesome days again,\\r\\nSince that the truest issue of thy throne\\r\\nBy his own interdiction stands accus’d,\\r\\nAnd does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal father\\r\\nWas a most sainted king. The queen that bore thee,\\r\\nOft’ner upon her knees than on her feet,\\r\\nDied every day she lived. Fare thee well!\\r\\nThese evils thou repeat’st upon thyself\\r\\nHave banish’d me from Scotland.—O my breast,\\r\\nThy hope ends here!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nMacduff, this noble passion,\\r\\nChild of integrity, hath from my soul\\r\\nWiped the black scruples, reconcil’d my thoughts\\r\\nTo thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth\\r\\nBy many of these trains hath sought to win me\\r\\nInto his power, and modest wisdom plucks me\\r\\nFrom over-credulous haste: but God above\\r\\nDeal between thee and me! for even now\\r\\nI put myself to thy direction, and\\r\\nUnspeak mine own detraction; here abjure\\r\\nThe taints and blames I laid upon myself,\\r\\nFor strangers to my nature. I am yet\\r\\nUnknown to woman; never was forsworn;\\r\\nScarcely have coveted what was mine own;\\r\\nAt no time broke my faith; would not betray\\r\\nThe devil to his fellow; and delight\\r\\nNo less in truth than life: my first false speaking\\r\\nWas this upon myself. What I am truly,\\r\\nIs thine and my poor country’s to command:\\r\\nWhither, indeed, before thy here-approach,\\r\\nOld Siward, with ten thousand warlike men,\\r\\nAlready at a point, was setting forth.\\r\\nNow we’ll together, and the chance of goodness\\r\\nBe like our warranted quarrel. Why are you silent?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nSuch welcome and unwelcome things at once\\r\\n’Tis hard to reconcile.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Doctor.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nWell; more anon.—Comes the King forth, I pray you?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nAy, sir. There are a crew of wretched souls\\r\\nThat stay his cure: their malady convinces\\r\\nThe great assay of art; but at his touch,\\r\\nSuch sanctity hath heaven given his hand,\\r\\nThey presently amend.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nI thank you, doctor.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Doctor._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nWhat’s the disease he means?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\n’Tis call’d the evil:\\r\\nA most miraculous work in this good king;\\r\\nWhich often, since my here-remain in England,\\r\\nI have seen him do. How he solicits heaven,\\r\\nHimself best knows, but strangely-visited people,\\r\\nAll swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,\\r\\nThe mere despair of surgery, he cures;\\r\\nHanging a golden stamp about their necks,\\r\\nPut on with holy prayers: and ’tis spoken,\\r\\nTo the succeeding royalty he leaves\\r\\nThe healing benediction. With this strange virtue,\\r\\nHe hath a heavenly gift of prophecy;\\r\\nAnd sundry blessings hang about his throne,\\r\\nThat speak him full of grace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ross.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nSee, who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nMy countryman; but yet I know him not.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nMy ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nI know him now. Good God, betimes remove\\r\\nThe means that makes us strangers!\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nSir, amen.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nStands Scotland where it did?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nAlas, poor country,\\r\\nAlmost afraid to know itself! It cannot\\r\\nBe call’d our mother, but our grave, where nothing,\\r\\nBut who knows nothing, is once seen to smile;\\r\\nWhere sighs, and groans, and shrieks, that rent the air,\\r\\nAre made, not mark’d; where violent sorrow seems\\r\\nA modern ecstasy. The dead man’s knell\\r\\nIs there scarce ask’d for who; and good men’s lives\\r\\nExpire before the flowers in their caps,\\r\\nDying or ere they sicken.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nO, relation\\r\\nToo nice, and yet too true!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nWhat’s the newest grief?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nThat of an hour’s age doth hiss the speaker;\\r\\nEach minute teems a new one.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nHow does my wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nWhy, well.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nAnd all my children?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nWell too.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nThe tyrant has not batter’d at their peace?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nNo; they were well at peace when I did leave ’em.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nBe not a niggard of your speech: how goes’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nWhen I came hither to transport the tidings,\\r\\nWhich I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour\\r\\nOf many worthy fellows that were out;\\r\\nWhich was to my belief witness’d the rather,\\r\\nFor that I saw the tyrant’s power afoot.\\r\\nNow is the time of help. Your eye in Scotland\\r\\nWould create soldiers, make our women fight,\\r\\nTo doff their dire distresses.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nBe’t their comfort\\r\\nWe are coming thither. Gracious England hath\\r\\nLent us good Siward and ten thousand men;\\r\\nAn older and a better soldier none\\r\\nThat Christendom gives out.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nWould I could answer\\r\\nThis comfort with the like! But I have words\\r\\nThat would be howl’d out in the desert air,\\r\\nWhere hearing should not latch them.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nWhat concern they?\\r\\nThe general cause? or is it a fee-grief\\r\\nDue to some single breast?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nNo mind that’s honest\\r\\nBut in it shares some woe, though the main part\\r\\nPertains to you alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nIf it be mine,\\r\\nKeep it not from me, quickly let me have it.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nLet not your ears despise my tongue for ever,\\r\\nWhich shall possess them with the heaviest sound\\r\\nThat ever yet they heard.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nHumh! I guess at it.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nYour castle is surpris’d; your wife and babes\\r\\nSavagely slaughter’d. To relate the manner\\r\\nWere, on the quarry of these murder’d deer,\\r\\nTo add the death of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nMerciful heaven!—\\r\\nWhat, man! ne’er pull your hat upon your brows.\\r\\nGive sorrow words. The grief that does not speak\\r\\nWhispers the o’er-fraught heart, and bids it break.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nMy children too?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nWife, children, servants, all\\r\\nThat could be found.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nAnd I must be from thence!\\r\\nMy wife kill’d too?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nI have said.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nBe comforted:\\r\\nLet’s make us med’cines of our great revenge,\\r\\nTo cure this deadly grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nHe has no children.—All my pretty ones?\\r\\nDid you say all?—O hell-kite!—All?\\r\\nWhat, all my pretty chickens and their dam\\r\\nAt one fell swoop?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nDispute it like a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nI shall do so;\\r\\nBut I must also feel it as a man:\\r\\nI cannot but remember such things were,\\r\\nThat were most precious to me.—Did heaven look on,\\r\\nAnd would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,\\r\\nThey were all struck for thee! Naught that I am,\\r\\nNot for their own demerits, but for mine,\\r\\nFell slaughter on their souls: heaven rest them now!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nBe this the whetstone of your sword. Let grief\\r\\nConvert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nO, I could play the woman with mine eyes,\\r\\nAnd braggart with my tongue!—But, gentle heavens,\\r\\nCut short all intermission; front to front,\\r\\nBring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself;\\r\\nWithin my sword’s length set him; if he ’scape,\\r\\nHeaven forgive him too!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nThis tune goes manly.\\r\\nCome, go we to the King. Our power is ready;\\r\\nOur lack is nothing but our leave. Macbeth\\r\\nIs ripe for shaking, and the powers above\\r\\nPut on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may;\\r\\nThe night is long that never finds the day.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Doctor of Physic and a Waiting-Gentlewoman.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nI have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your\\r\\nreport. When was it she last walked?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEWOMAN.\\r\\nSince his Majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her\\r\\nbed, throw her nightgown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper,\\r\\nfold it, write upon’t, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to\\r\\nbed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nA great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the benefit of\\r\\nsleep, and do the effects of watching. In this slumbery agitation,\\r\\nbesides her walking and other actual performances, what, at any time,\\r\\nhave you heard her say?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEWOMAN.\\r\\nThat, sir, which I will not report after her.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYou may to me; and ’tis most meet you should.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEWOMAN.\\r\\nNeither to you nor anyone; having no witness to confirm my speech.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Macbeth with a taper.\\r\\n\\r\\nLo you, here she comes! This is her very guise; and, upon my life, fast\\r\\nasleep. Observe her; stand close.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHow came she by that light?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEWOMAN.\\r\\nWhy, it stood by her: she has light by her continually; ’tis her\\r\\ncommand.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYou see, her eyes are open.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEWOMAN.\\r\\nAy, but their sense are shut.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWhat is it she does now? Look how she rubs her hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEWOMAN.\\r\\nIt is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands. I\\r\\nhave known her continue in this a quarter of an hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nYet here’s a spot.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHark, she speaks. I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my\\r\\nremembrance the more strongly.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nOut, damned spot! out, I say! One; two. Why, then ’tis time to do’t.\\r\\nHell is murky! Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard? What need we\\r\\nfear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? Yet who\\r\\nwould have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nDo you mark that?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nThe Thane of Fife had a wife. Where is she now?—What, will these hands\\r\\nne’er be clean? No more o’ that, my lord, no more o’ that: you mar all\\r\\nwith this starting.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nGo to, go to. You have known what you should not.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEWOMAN.\\r\\nShe has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: heaven knows what\\r\\nshe has known.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nHere’s the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will\\r\\nnot sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh!\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWhat a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEWOMAN.\\r\\nI would not have such a heart in my bosom for the dignity of the whole\\r\\nbody.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWell, well, well.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEWOMAN.\\r\\nPray God it be, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nThis disease is beyond my practice: yet I have known those which have\\r\\nwalked in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nWash your hands, put on your nightgown; look not so pale. I tell you\\r\\nyet again, Banquo’s buried; he cannot come out on’s grave.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nEven so?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nTo bed, to bed. There’s knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come,\\r\\ngive me your hand. What’s done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to\\r\\nbed.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWill she go now to bed?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEWOMAN.\\r\\nDirectly.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nFoul whisp’rings are abroad. Unnatural deeds\\r\\nDo breed unnatural troubles: infected minds\\r\\nTo their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.\\r\\nMore needs she the divine than the physician.—\\r\\nGod, God, forgive us all! Look after her;\\r\\nRemove from her the means of all annoyance,\\r\\nAnd still keep eyes upon her. So, good night:\\r\\nMy mind she has mated, and amaz’d my sight.\\r\\nI think, but dare not speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEWOMAN.\\r\\nGood night, good doctor.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The Country near Dunsinane.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, with drum and colours Menteith, Caithness, Angus, Lennox and\\r\\n Soldiers.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENTEITH.\\r\\nThe English power is near, led on by Malcolm,\\r\\nHis uncle Siward, and the good Macduff.\\r\\nRevenges burn in them; for their dear causes\\r\\nWould to the bleeding and the grim alarm\\r\\nExcite the mortified man.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGUS.\\r\\nNear Birnam wood\\r\\nShall we well meet them. That way are they coming.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAITHNESS.\\r\\nWho knows if Donalbain be with his brother?\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nFor certain, sir, he is not. I have a file\\r\\nOf all the gentry: there is Siward’s son\\r\\nAnd many unrough youths, that even now\\r\\nProtest their first of manhood.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENTEITH.\\r\\nWhat does the tyrant?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAITHNESS.\\r\\nGreat Dunsinane he strongly fortifies.\\r\\nSome say he’s mad; others, that lesser hate him,\\r\\nDo call it valiant fury: but, for certain,\\r\\nHe cannot buckle his distemper’d cause\\r\\nWithin the belt of rule.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGUS.\\r\\nNow does he feel\\r\\nHis secret murders sticking on his hands;\\r\\nNow minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach;\\r\\nThose he commands move only in command,\\r\\nNothing in love: now does he feel his title\\r\\nHang loose about him, like a giant’s robe\\r\\nUpon a dwarfish thief.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENTEITH.\\r\\nWho, then, shall blame\\r\\nHis pester’d senses to recoil and start,\\r\\nWhen all that is within him does condemn\\r\\nItself for being there?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAITHNESS.\\r\\nWell, march we on,\\r\\nTo give obedience where ’tis truly ow’d:\\r\\nMeet we the med’cine of the sickly weal;\\r\\nAnd with him pour we, in our country’s purge,\\r\\nEach drop of us.\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nOr so much as it needs\\r\\nTo dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds.\\r\\nMake we our march towards Birnam.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt, marching._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macbeth, Doctor and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nBring me no more reports; let them fly all:\\r\\nTill Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane\\r\\nI cannot taint with fear. What’s the boy Malcolm?\\r\\nWas he not born of woman? The spirits that know\\r\\nAll mortal consequences have pronounc’d me thus:\\r\\n“Fear not, Macbeth; no man that’s born of woman\\r\\nShall e’er have power upon thee.”—Then fly, false thanes,\\r\\nAnd mingle with the English epicures:\\r\\nThe mind I sway by, and the heart I bear,\\r\\nShall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac’d loon!\\r\\nWhere gott’st thou that goose look?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThere is ten thousand—\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nGeese, villain?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nSoldiers, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nGo prick thy face and over-red thy fear,\\r\\nThou lily-liver’d boy. What soldiers, patch?\\r\\nDeath of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine\\r\\nAre counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThe English force, so please you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nTake thy face hence.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSeyton!—I am sick at heart,\\r\\nWhen I behold—Seyton, I say!—This push\\r\\nWill cheer me ever or disseat me now.\\r\\nI have liv’d long enough: my way of life\\r\\nIs fall’n into the sere, the yellow leaf;\\r\\nAnd that which should accompany old age,\\r\\nAs honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,\\r\\nI must not look to have; but, in their stead,\\r\\nCurses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath,\\r\\nWhich the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.\\r\\nSeyton!—\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Seyton.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEYTON.\\r\\nWhat’s your gracious pleasure?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWhat news more?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEYTON.\\r\\nAll is confirm’d, my lord, which was reported.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI’ll fight till from my bones my flesh be hack’d.\\r\\nGive me my armour.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEYTON.\\r\\n’Tis not needed yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI’ll put it on.\\r\\nSend out more horses, skirr the country round;\\r\\nHang those that talk of fear. Give me mine armour.—\\r\\nHow does your patient, doctor?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nNot so sick, my lord,\\r\\nAs she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,\\r\\nThat keep her from her rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nCure her of that:\\r\\nCanst thou not minister to a mind diseas’d,\\r\\nPluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,\\r\\nRaze out the written troubles of the brain,\\r\\nAnd with some sweet oblivious antidote\\r\\nCleanse the stuff’d bosom of that perilous stuff\\r\\nWhich weighs upon the heart?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nTherein the patient\\r\\nMust minister to himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThrow physic to the dogs, I’ll none of it.\\r\\nCome, put mine armour on; give me my staff:\\r\\nSeyton, send out.—Doctor, the Thanes fly from me.—\\r\\nCome, sir, despatch.—If thou couldst, doctor, cast\\r\\nThe water of my land, find her disease,\\r\\nAnd purge it to a sound and pristine health,\\r\\nI would applaud thee to the very echo,\\r\\nThat should applaud again.—Pull’t off, I say.—\\r\\nWhat rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug,\\r\\nWould scour these English hence? Hear’st thou of them?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nAy, my good lord. Your royal preparation\\r\\nMakes us hear something.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nBring it after me.—\\r\\nI will not be afraid of death and bane,\\r\\nTill Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all except Doctor._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWere I from Dunsinane away and clear,\\r\\nProfit again should hardly draw me here.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Country near Dunsinane: a Wood in view.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, with drum and colours Malcolm, old Siward and his Son, Macduff,\\r\\n Menteith, Caithness, Angus, Lennox, Ross and Soldiers, marching.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nCousins, I hope the days are near at hand\\r\\nThat chambers will be safe.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENTEITH.\\r\\nWe doubt it nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nWhat wood is this before us?\\r\\n\\r\\nMENTEITH.\\r\\nThe wood of Birnam.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nLet every soldier hew him down a bough,\\r\\nAnd bear’t before him. Thereby shall we shadow\\r\\nThe numbers of our host, and make discovery\\r\\nErr in report of us.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLDIERS.\\r\\nIt shall be done.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nWe learn no other but the confident tyrant\\r\\nKeeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure\\r\\nOur setting down before’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\n’Tis his main hope;\\r\\nFor where there is advantage to be given,\\r\\nBoth more and less have given him the revolt,\\r\\nAnd none serve with him but constrained things,\\r\\nWhose hearts are absent too.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nLet our just censures\\r\\nAttend the true event, and put we on\\r\\nIndustrious soldiership.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nThe time approaches,\\r\\nThat will with due decision make us know\\r\\nWhat we shall say we have, and what we owe.\\r\\nThoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate,\\r\\nBut certain issue strokes must arbitrate;\\r\\nTowards which advance the war.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt, marching._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Dunsinane. Within the castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter with drum and colours, Macbeth, Seyton and Soldiers.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nHang out our banners on the outward walls;\\r\\nThe cry is still, “They come!” Our castle’s strength\\r\\nWill laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie\\r\\nTill famine and the ague eat them up.\\r\\nWere they not forc’d with those that should be ours,\\r\\nWe might have met them dareful, beard to beard,\\r\\nAnd beat them backward home.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A cry of women within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat is that noise?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEYTON.\\r\\nIt is the cry of women, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI have almost forgot the taste of fears.\\r\\nThe time has been, my senses would have cool’d\\r\\nTo hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair\\r\\nWould at a dismal treatise rouse and stir\\r\\nAs life were in’t. I have supp’d full with horrors;\\r\\nDireness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts,\\r\\nCannot once start me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Seyton.\\r\\n\\r\\nWherefore was that cry?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEYTON.\\r\\nThe Queen, my lord, is dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nShe should have died hereafter.\\r\\nThere would have been a time for such a word.\\r\\nTomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,\\r\\nCreeps in this petty pace from day to day,\\r\\nTo the last syllable of recorded time;\\r\\nAnd all our yesterdays have lighted fools\\r\\nThe way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!\\r\\nLife’s but a walking shadow; a poor player,\\r\\nThat struts and frets his hour upon the stage,\\r\\nAnd then is heard no more: it is a tale\\r\\nTold by an idiot, full of sound and fury,\\r\\nSignifying nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nThou com’st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nGracious my lord,\\r\\nI should report that which I say I saw,\\r\\nBut know not how to do’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWell, say, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nAs I did stand my watch upon the hill,\\r\\nI look’d toward Birnam, and anon, methought,\\r\\nThe wood began to move.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nLiar, and slave!\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nLet me endure your wrath, if’t be not so.\\r\\nWithin this three mile may you see it coming;\\r\\nI say, a moving grove.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nIf thou speak’st false,\\r\\nUpon the next tree shalt thou hang alive,\\r\\nTill famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth,\\r\\nI care not if thou dost for me as much.—\\r\\nI pull in resolution; and begin\\r\\nTo doubt th’ equivocation of the fiend,\\r\\nThat lies like truth. “Fear not, till Birnam wood\\r\\nDo come to Dunsinane;” and now a wood\\r\\nComes toward Dunsinane.—Arm, arm, and out!—\\r\\nIf this which he avouches does appear,\\r\\nThere is nor flying hence nor tarrying here.\\r\\nI ’gin to be aweary of the sun,\\r\\nAnd wish th’ estate o’ th’ world were now undone.—\\r\\nRing the alarum bell!—Blow, wind! come, wrack!\\r\\nAt least we’ll die with harness on our back.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. The same. A Plain before the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, with drum and colours, Malcolm, old Siward, Macduff and their\\r\\n Army, with boughs.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nNow near enough. Your leafy screens throw down,\\r\\nAnd show like those you are.—You, worthy uncle,\\r\\nShall with my cousin, your right noble son,\\r\\nLead our first battle: worthy Macduff and we\\r\\nShall take upon’s what else remains to do,\\r\\nAccording to our order.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nFare you well.—\\r\\nDo we but find the tyrant’s power tonight,\\r\\nLet us be beaten, if we cannot fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nMake all our trumpets speak; give them all breath,\\r\\nThose clamorous harbingers of blood and death.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. The same. Another part of the Plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarums. Enter Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThey have tied me to a stake. I cannot fly,\\r\\nBut, bear-like I must fight the course.—What’s he\\r\\nThat was not born of woman? Such a one\\r\\nAm I to fear, or none.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter young Siward.\\r\\n\\r\\nYOUNG SIWARD.\\r\\nWhat is thy name?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThou’lt be afraid to hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nYOUNG SIWARD.\\r\\nNo; though thou call’st thyself a hotter name\\r\\nThan any is in hell.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nMy name’s Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nYOUNG SIWARD.\\r\\nThe devil himself could not pronounce a title\\r\\nMore hateful to mine ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nNo, nor more fearful.\\r\\n\\r\\nYOUNG SIWARD.\\r\\nThou liest, abhorred tyrant. With my sword\\r\\nI’ll prove the lie thou speak’st.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight, and young Siward is slain._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThou wast born of woman.\\r\\nBut swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn,\\r\\nBrandish’d by man that’s of a woman born.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarums. Enter Macduff.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nThat way the noise is.—Tyrant, show thy face!\\r\\nIf thou be’st slain and with no stroke of mine,\\r\\nMy wife and children’s ghosts will haunt me still.\\r\\nI cannot strike at wretched kerns, whose arms\\r\\nAre hired to bear their staves. Either thou, Macbeth,\\r\\nOr else my sword, with an unbatter’d edge,\\r\\nI sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst be;\\r\\nBy this great clatter, one of greatest note\\r\\nSeems bruited. Let me find him, Fortune!\\r\\nAnd more I beg not.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit. Alarums._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malcolm and old Siward.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nThis way, my lord;—the castle’s gently render’d:\\r\\nThe tyrant’s people on both sides do fight;\\r\\nThe noble thanes do bravely in the war,\\r\\nThe day almost itself professes yours,\\r\\nAnd little is to do.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nWe have met with foes\\r\\nThat strike beside us.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nEnter, sir, the castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt. Alarums._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VIII. The same. Another part of the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWhy should I play the Roman fool, and die\\r\\nOn mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes\\r\\nDo better upon them.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macduff.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nTurn, hell-hound, turn!\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nOf all men else I have avoided thee:\\r\\nBut get thee back; my soul is too much charg’d\\r\\nWith blood of thine already.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nI have no words;\\r\\nMy voice is in my sword: thou bloodier villain\\r\\nThan terms can give thee out!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThou losest labour:\\r\\nAs easy mayst thou the intrenchant air\\r\\nWith thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed:\\r\\nLet fall thy blade on vulnerable crests;\\r\\nI bear a charmed life, which must not yield\\r\\nTo one of woman born.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nDespair thy charm;\\r\\nAnd let the angel whom thou still hast serv’d\\r\\nTell thee, Macduff was from his mother’s womb\\r\\nUntimely ripp’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nAccursed be that tongue that tells me so,\\r\\nFor it hath cow’d my better part of man!\\r\\nAnd be these juggling fiends no more believ’d,\\r\\nThat palter with us in a double sense;\\r\\nThat keep the word of promise to our ear,\\r\\nAnd break it to our hope!—I’ll not fight with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nThen yield thee, coward,\\r\\nAnd live to be the show and gaze o’ th’ time.\\r\\nWe’ll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,\\r\\nPainted upon a pole, and underwrit,\\r\\n“Here may you see the tyrant.”\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI will not yield,\\r\\nTo kiss the ground before young Malcolm’s feet,\\r\\nAnd to be baited with the rabble’s curse.\\r\\nThough Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane,\\r\\nAnd thou oppos’d, being of no woman born,\\r\\nYet I will try the last. Before my body\\r\\nI throw my warlike shield: lay on, Macduff;\\r\\nAnd damn’d be him that first cries, “Hold, enough!”\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt fighting. Alarums._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and colours, Malcolm, old Siward,\\r\\n Ross, Thanes and Soldiers.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nI would the friends we miss were safe arriv’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nSome must go off; and yet, by these I see,\\r\\nSo great a day as this is cheaply bought.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nMacduff is missing, and your noble son.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nYour son, my lord, has paid a soldier’s debt:\\r\\nHe only liv’d but till he was a man;\\r\\nThe which no sooner had his prowess confirm’d\\r\\nIn the unshrinking station where he fought,\\r\\nBut like a man he died.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nThen he is dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLEANCE.\\r\\nAy, and brought off the field. Your cause of sorrow\\r\\nMust not be measur’d by his worth, for then\\r\\nIt hath no end.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nHad he his hurts before?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nAy, on the front.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nWhy then, God’s soldier be he!\\r\\nHad I as many sons as I have hairs,\\r\\nI would not wish them to a fairer death:\\r\\nAnd so his knell is knoll’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nHe’s worth more sorrow,\\r\\nAnd that I’ll spend for him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nHe’s worth no more.\\r\\nThey say he parted well and paid his score:\\r\\nAnd so, God be with him!—Here comes newer comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macduff with Macbeth’s head.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nHail, King, for so thou art. Behold, where stands\\r\\nTh’ usurper’s cursed head: the time is free.\\r\\nI see thee compass’d with thy kingdom’s pearl,\\r\\nThat speak my salutation in their minds;\\r\\nWhose voices I desire aloud with mine,—\\r\\nHail, King of Scotland!\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nHail, King of Scotland!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Flourish._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nWe shall not spend a large expense of time\\r\\nBefore we reckon with your several loves,\\r\\nAnd make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen,\\r\\nHenceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland\\r\\nIn such an honour nam’d. What’s more to do,\\r\\nWhich would be planted newly with the time,—\\r\\nAs calling home our exil’d friends abroad,\\r\\nThat fled the snares of watchful tyranny;\\r\\nProducing forth the cruel ministers\\r\\nOf this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen,\\r\\nWho, as ’tis thought, by self and violent hands\\r\\nTook off her life;—this, and what needful else\\r\\nThat calls upon us, by the grace of Grace,\\r\\nWe will perform in measure, time, and place.\\r\\nSo thanks to all at once, and to each one,\\r\\nWhom we invite to see us crown’d at Scone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Flourish. Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nMEASURE FOR MEASURE\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\\r\\n\\r\\n VINCENTIO, the Duke\\r\\n ANGELO, the Deputy\\r\\n ESCALUS, an ancient Lord\\r\\n CLAUDIO, a young gentleman\\r\\n LUCIO, a fantastic\\r\\n Two other like Gentlemen\\r\\n VARRIUS, a gentleman, servant to the Duke\\r\\n PROVOST\\r\\n THOMAS, friar\\r\\n PETER, friar\\r\\n A JUSTICE\\r\\n ELBOW, a simple constable\\r\\n FROTH, a foolish gentleman\\r\\n POMPEY, a clown and servant to Mistress Overdone\\r\\n ABHORSON, an executioner\\r\\n BARNARDINE, a dissolute prisoner\\r\\n\\r\\n ISABELLA, sister to Claudio\\r\\n MARIANA, betrothed to Angelo\\r\\n JULIET, beloved of Claudio\\r\\n FRANCISCA, a nun\\r\\n MISTRESS OVERDONE, a bawd\\r\\n\\r\\n Lords, Officers, Citizens, Boy, and Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Vienna\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE, ESCALUS, LORDS, and ATTENDANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Escalus!\\r\\n ESCALUS. My lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Of government the properties to unfold\\r\\n Would seem in me t\\' affect speech and discourse,\\r\\n Since I am put to know that your own science\\r\\n Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice\\r\\n My strength can give you; then no more remains\\r\\n But that to your sufficiency- as your worth is able-\\r\\n And let them work. The nature of our people,\\r\\n Our city\\'s institutions, and the terms\\r\\n For common justice, y\\'are as pregnant in\\r\\n As art and practice hath enriched any\\r\\n That we remember. There is our commission,\\r\\n From which we would not have you warp. Call hither,\\r\\n I say, bid come before us, Angelo. Exit an ATTENDANT\\r\\n What figure of us think you he will bear?\\r\\n For you must know we have with special soul\\r\\n Elected him our absence to supply;\\r\\n Lent him our terror, dress\\'d him with our love,\\r\\n And given his deputation all the organs\\r\\n Of our own power. What think you of it?\\r\\n ESCALUS. If any in Vienna be of worth\\r\\n To undergo such ample grace and honour,\\r\\n It is Lord Angelo.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ANGELO\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Look where he comes.\\r\\n ANGELO. Always obedient to your Grace\\'s will,\\r\\n I come to know your pleasure.\\r\\n DUKE. Angelo,\\r\\n There is a kind of character in thy life\\r\\n That to th\\' observer doth thy history\\r\\n Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings\\r\\n Are not thine own so proper as to waste\\r\\n Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee.\\r\\n Heaven doth with us as we with torches do,\\r\\n Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues\\r\\n Did not go forth of us, \\'twere all alike\\r\\n As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch\\'d\\r\\n But to fine issues; nor Nature never lends\\r\\n The smallest scruple of her excellence\\r\\n But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines\\r\\n Herself the glory of a creditor,\\r\\n Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech\\r\\n To one that can my part in him advertise.\\r\\n Hold, therefore, Angelo-\\r\\n In our remove be thou at full ourself;\\r\\n Mortality and mercy in Vienna\\r\\n Live in thy tongue and heart. Old Escalus,\\r\\n Though first in question, is thy secondary.\\r\\n Take thy commission.\\r\\n ANGELO. Now, good my lord,\\r\\n Let there be some more test made of my metal,\\r\\n Before so noble and so great a figure\\r\\n Be stamp\\'d upon it.\\r\\n DUKE. No more evasion!\\r\\n We have with a leaven\\'d and prepared choice\\r\\n Proceeded to you; therefore take your honours.\\r\\n Our haste from hence is of so quick condition\\r\\n That it prefers itself, and leaves unquestion\\'d\\r\\n Matters of needful value. We shall write to you,\\r\\n As time and our concernings shall importune,\\r\\n How it goes with us, and do look to know\\r\\n What doth befall you here. So, fare you well.\\r\\n To th\\' hopeful execution do I leave you\\r\\n Of your commissions.\\r\\n ANGELO. Yet give leave, my lord,\\r\\n That we may bring you something on the way.\\r\\n DUKE. My haste may not admit it;\\r\\n Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do\\r\\n With any scruple: your scope is as mine own,\\r\\n So to enforce or qualify the laws\\r\\n As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand;\\r\\n I\\'ll privily away. I love the people,\\r\\n But do not like to stage me to their eyes;\\r\\n Though it do well, I do not relish well\\r\\n Their loud applause and Aves vehement;\\r\\n Nor do I think the man of safe discretion\\r\\n That does affect it. Once more, fare you well.\\r\\n ANGELO. The heavens give safety to your purposes!\\r\\n ESCALUS. Lead forth and bring you back in happiness!\\r\\n DUKE. I thank you. Fare you well. Exit\\r\\n ESCALUS. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave\\r\\n To have free speech with you; and it concerns me\\r\\n To look into the bottom of my place:\\r\\n A pow\\'r I have, but of what strength and nature\\r\\n I am not yet instructed.\\r\\n ANGELO. \\'Tis so with me. Let us withdraw together,\\r\\n And we may soon our satisfaction have\\r\\n Touching that point.\\r\\n ESCALUS. I\\'ll wait upon your honour. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Lucio and two other GENTLEMEN\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIO. If the Duke, with the other dukes, come not to composition\\r\\n with the King of Hungary, why then all the dukes fall upon the\\r\\n King.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Heaven grant us its peace, but not the King of\\r\\n Hungary\\'s!\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Amen.\\r\\n LUCIO. Thou conclud\\'st like the sanctimonious pirate that went to\\r\\n sea with the Ten Commandments, but scrap\\'d one out of the table.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. \\'Thou shalt not steal\\'?\\r\\n LUCIO. Ay, that he raz\\'d.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Why, \\'twas a commandment to command the captain\\r\\n and all the rest from their functions: they put forth to steal.\\r\\n There\\'s not a soldier of us all that, in the thanksgiving before\\r\\n meat, do relish the petition well that prays for peace.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. I never heard any soldier dislike it.\\r\\n LUCIO. I believe thee; for I think thou never wast where grace was\\r\\n said.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. No? A dozen times at least.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. What, in metre?\\r\\n LUCIO. In any proportion or in any language.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. I think, or in any religion.\\r\\n LUCIO. Ay, why not? Grace is grace, despite of all controversy; as,\\r\\n for example, thou thyself art a wicked villain, despite of all\\r\\n grace.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Well, there went but a pair of shears between us.\\r\\n LUCIO. I grant; as there may between the lists and the velvet.\\r\\n Thou art the list.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. And thou the velvet; thou art good velvet; thou\\'rt\\r\\n a three-pil\\'d piece, I warrant thee. I had as lief be a list of\\r\\n an English kersey as be pil\\'d, as thou art pil\\'d, for a French\\r\\n velvet. Do I speak feelingly now?\\r\\n LUCIO. I think thou dost; and, indeed, with most painful feeling of\\r\\n thy speech. I will, out of thine own confession, learn to begin\\r\\n thy health; but, whilst I live, forget to drink after thee.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. I think I have done myself wrong, have I not?\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Yes, that thou hast, whether thou art tainted or\\r\\n free.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS OVERDONE\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIO. Behold, behold, where Madam Mitigation comes! I have\\r\\n purchas\\'d as many diseases under her roof as come to-\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. To what, I pray?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Judge.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. To three thousand dolours a year.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Ay, and more.\\r\\n LUCIO. A French crown more.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Thou art always figuring diseases in me, but thou\\r\\n art full of error; I am sound.\\r\\n LUCIO. Nay, not, as one would say, healthy; but so sound as things\\r\\n that are hollow: thy bones are hollow; impiety has made a feast\\r\\n of thee.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. How now! which of your hips has the most profound\\r\\n sciatica?\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. Well, well! there\\'s one yonder arrested and carried\\r\\n to prison was worth five thousand of you all.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Who\\'s that, I pray thee?\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. Marry, sir, that\\'s Claudio, Signior Claudio.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Claudio to prison? \\'Tis not so.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. Nay, but I know \\'tis so: I saw him arrested; saw him\\r\\n carried away; and, which is more, within these three days his\\r\\n head to be chopp\\'d off.\\r\\n LUCIO. But, after all this fooling, I would not have it so. Art\\r\\n thou sure of this?\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. I am too sure of it; and it is for getting Madam\\r\\n Julietta with child.\\r\\n LUCIO. Believe me, this may be; he promis\\'d to meet me two hours\\r\\n since, and he was ever precise in promise-keeping.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Besides, you know, it draws something near to the\\r\\n speech we had to such a purpose.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. But most of all agreeing with the proclamation.\\r\\n LUCIO. Away; let\\'s go learn the truth of it.\\r\\n Exeunt Lucio and GENTLEMEN\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. Thus, what with the war, what with the sweat, what\\r\\n with the gallows, and what with poverty, I am custom-shrunk.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter POMPEY\\r\\n\\r\\n How now! what\\'s the news with you?\\r\\n POMPEY. Yonder man is carried to prison.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. Well, what has he done?\\r\\n POMPEY. A woman.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. But what\\'s his offence?\\r\\n POMPEY. Groping for trouts in a peculiar river.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. What! is there a maid with child by him?\\r\\n POMPEY. No; but there\\'s a woman with maid by him. You have not\\r\\n heard of the proclamation, have you?\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. What proclamation, man?\\r\\n POMPEY. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be pluck\\'d down.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. And what shall become of those in the city?\\r\\n POMPEY. They shall stand for seed; they had gone down too, but that\\r\\n a wise burgher put in for them.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. But shall all our houses of resort in the suburbs be\\r\\n pull\\'d down?\\r\\n POMPEY. To the ground, mistress.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. Why, here\\'s a change indeed in the commonwealth!\\r\\n What shall become of me?\\r\\n POMPEY. Come, fear not you: good counsellors lack no clients.\\r\\n Though you change your place you need not change your trade; I\\'ll\\r\\n be your tapster still. Courage, there will be pity taken on you;\\r\\n you that have worn your eyes almost out in the service, you will\\r\\n be considered.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. What\\'s to do here, Thomas Tapster? Let\\'s withdraw.\\r\\n POMPEY. Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the provost to prison;\\r\\n and there\\'s Madam Juliet. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROVOST, CLAUDIO, JULIET, and OFFICERS;\\r\\n LUCIO following\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to th\\' world?\\r\\n Bear me to prison, where I am committed.\\r\\n PROVOST. I do it not in evil disposition,\\r\\n But from Lord Angelo by special charge.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Thus can the demigod Authority\\r\\n Make us pay down for our offence by weight\\r\\n The words of heaven: on whom it will, it will;\\r\\n On whom it will not, so; yet still \\'tis just.\\r\\n LUCIO. Why, how now, Claudio, whence comes this restraint?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty;\\r\\n As surfeit is the father of much fast,\\r\\n So every scope by the immoderate use\\r\\n Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue,\\r\\n Like rats that ravin down their proper bane,\\r\\n A thirsty evil; and when we drink we die.\\r\\n LUCIO. If I could speak so wisely under an arrest, I would send for\\r\\n certain of my creditors; and yet, to say the truth, I had as lief\\r\\n have the foppery of freedom as the morality of imprisonment.\\r\\n What\\'s thy offence, Claudio?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. What but to speak of would offend again.\\r\\n LUCIO. What, is\\'t murder?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. No.\\r\\n LUCIO. Lechery?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Call it so.\\r\\n PROVOST. Away, sir; you must go.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. One word, good friend. Lucio, a word with you.\\r\\n LUCIO. A hundred, if they\\'ll do you any good. Is lechery so look\\'d\\r\\n after?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Thus stands it with me: upon a true contract\\r\\n I got possession of Julietta\\'s bed.\\r\\n You know the lady; she is fast my wife,\\r\\n Save that we do the denunciation lack\\r\\n Of outward order; this we came not to,\\r\\n Only for propagation of a dow\\'r\\r\\n Remaining in the coffer of her friends.\\r\\n From whom we thought it meet to hide our love\\r\\n Till time had made them for us. But it chances\\r\\n The stealth of our most mutual entertainment,\\r\\n With character too gross, is writ on Juliet.\\r\\n LUCIO. With child, perhaps?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Unhappily, even so.\\r\\n And the new deputy now for the Duke-\\r\\n Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness,\\r\\n Or whether that the body public be\\r\\n A horse whereon the governor doth ride,\\r\\n Who, newly in the seat, that it may know\\r\\n He can command, lets it straight feel the spur;\\r\\n Whether the tyranny be in his place,\\r\\n Or in his eminence that fills it up,\\r\\n I stagger in. But this new governor\\r\\n Awakes me all the enrolled penalties\\r\\n Which have, like unscour\\'d armour, hung by th\\' wall\\r\\n So long that nineteen zodiacs have gone round\\r\\n And none of them been worn; and, for a name,\\r\\n Now puts the drowsy and neglected act\\r\\n Freshly on me. \\'Tis surely for a name.\\r\\n LUCIO. I warrant it is; and thy head stands so tickle on thy\\r\\n shoulders that a milkmaid, if she be in love, may sigh it off.\\r\\n Send after the Duke, and appeal to him.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. I have done so, but he\\'s not to be found.\\r\\n I prithee, Lucio, do me this kind service:\\r\\n This day my sister should the cloister enter,\\r\\n And there receive her approbation;\\r\\n Acquaint her with the danger of my state;\\r\\n Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends\\r\\n To the strict deputy; bid herself assay him.\\r\\n I have great hope in that; for in her youth\\r\\n There is a prone and speechless dialect\\r\\n Such as move men; beside, she hath prosperous art\\r\\n When she will play with reason and discourse,\\r\\n And well she can persuade.\\r\\n LUCIO. I pray she may; as well for the encouragement of the like,\\r\\n which else would stand under grievous imposition, as for the\\r\\n enjoying of thy life, who I would be sorry should be thus\\r\\n foolishly lost at a game of tick-tack. I\\'ll to her.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. I thank you, good friend Lucio.\\r\\n LUCIO. Within two hours.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Come, officer, away. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A monastery\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE and FRIAR THOMAS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. No, holy father; throw away that thought;\\r\\n Believe not that the dribbling dart of love\\r\\n Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee\\r\\n To give me secret harbour hath a purpose\\r\\n More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends\\r\\n Of burning youth.\\r\\n FRIAR. May your Grace speak of it?\\r\\n DUKE. My holy sir, none better knows than you\\r\\n How I have ever lov\\'d the life removed,\\r\\n And held in idle price to haunt assemblies\\r\\n Where youth, and cost, a witless bravery keeps.\\r\\n I have deliver\\'d to Lord Angelo,\\r\\n A man of stricture and firm abstinence,\\r\\n My absolute power and place here in Vienna,\\r\\n And he supposes me travell\\'d to Poland;\\r\\n For so I have strew\\'d it in the common ear,\\r\\n And so it is received. Now, pious sir,\\r\\n You will demand of me why I do this.\\r\\n FRIAR. Gladly, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. We have strict statutes and most biting laws,\\r\\n The needful bits and curbs to headstrong steeds,\\r\\n Which for this fourteen years we have let slip;\\r\\n Even like an o\\'ergrown lion in a cave,\\r\\n That goes not out to prey. Now, as fond fathers,\\r\\n Having bound up the threat\\'ning twigs of birch,\\r\\n Only to stick it in their children\\'s sight\\r\\n For terror, not to use, in time the rod\\r\\n Becomes more mock\\'d than fear\\'d; so our decrees,\\r\\n Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead;\\r\\n And liberty plucks justice by the nose;\\r\\n The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart\\r\\n Goes all decorum.\\r\\n FRIAR. It rested in your Grace\\r\\n To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleas\\'d;\\r\\n And it in you more dreadful would have seem\\'d\\r\\n Than in Lord Angelo.\\r\\n DUKE. I do fear, too dreadful.\\r\\n Sith \\'twas my fault to give the people scope,\\r\\n \\'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them\\r\\n For what I bid them do; for we bid this be done,\\r\\n When evil deeds have their permissive pass\\r\\n And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, my father,\\r\\n I have on Angelo impos\\'d the office;\\r\\n Who may, in th\\' ambush of my name, strike home,\\r\\n And yet my nature never in the fight\\r\\n To do in slander. And to behold his sway,\\r\\n I will, as \\'twere a brother of your order,\\r\\n Visit both prince and people. Therefore, I prithee,\\r\\n Supply me with the habit, and instruct me\\r\\n How I may formally in person bear me\\r\\n Like a true friar. Moe reasons for this action\\r\\n At our more leisure shall I render you.\\r\\n Only, this one: Lord Angelo is precise;\\r\\n Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses\\r\\n That his blood flows, or that his appetite\\r\\n Is more to bread than stone. Hence shall we see,\\r\\n If power change purpose, what our seemers be. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A nunnery\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ISABELLA and FRANCISCA\\r\\n\\r\\n ISABELLA. And have you nuns no farther privileges?\\r\\n FRANCISCA. Are not these large enough?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Yes, truly; I speak not as desiring more,\\r\\n But rather wishing a more strict restraint\\r\\n Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare.\\r\\n LUCIO. [ Within] Ho! Peace be in this place!\\r\\n ISABELLA. Who\\'s that which calls?\\r\\n FRANCISCA. It is a man\\'s voice. Gentle Isabella,\\r\\n Turn you the key, and know his business of him:\\r\\n You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn;\\r\\n When you have vow\\'d, you must not speak with men\\r\\n But in the presence of the prioress;\\r\\n Then, if you speak, you must not show your face,\\r\\n Or, if you show your face, you must not speak.\\r\\n He calls again; I pray you answer him. Exit FRANCISCA\\r\\n ISABELLA. Peace and prosperity! Who is\\'t that calls?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LUCIO\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIO. Hail, virgin, if you be, as those cheek-roses\\r\\n Proclaim you are no less. Can you so stead me\\r\\n As bring me to the sight of Isabella,\\r\\n A novice of this place, and the fair sister\\r\\n To her unhappy brother Claudio?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Why her \\'unhappy brother\\'? Let me ask\\r\\n The rather, for I now must make you know\\r\\n I am that Isabella, and his sister.\\r\\n LUCIO. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you.\\r\\n Not to be weary with you, he\\'s in prison.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Woe me! For what?\\r\\n LUCIO. For that which, if myself might be his judge,\\r\\n He should receive his punishment in thanks:\\r\\n He hath got his friend with child.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Sir, make me not your story.\\r\\n LUCIO. It is true.\\r\\n I would not- though \\'tis my familiar sin\\r\\n With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest,\\r\\n Tongue far from heart- play with all virgins so:\\r\\n I hold you as a thing enskied and sainted,\\r\\n By your renouncement an immortal spirit,\\r\\n And to be talk\\'d with in sincerity,\\r\\n As with a saint.\\r\\n ISABELLA. You do blaspheme the good in mocking me.\\r\\n LUCIO. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, \\'tis thus:\\r\\n Your brother and his lover have embrac\\'d.\\r\\n As those that feed grow full, as blossoming time\\r\\n That from the seedness the bare fallow brings\\r\\n To teeming foison, even so her plenteous womb\\r\\n Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Some one with child by him? My cousin Juliet?\\r\\n LUCIO. Is she your cousin?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Adoptedly, as school-maids change their names\\r\\n By vain though apt affection.\\r\\n LUCIO. She it is.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, let him marry her!\\r\\n LUCIO. This is the point.\\r\\n The Duke is very strangely gone from hence;\\r\\n Bore many gentlemen, myself being one,\\r\\n In hand, and hope of action; but we do learn,\\r\\n By those that know the very nerves of state,\\r\\n His givings-out were of an infinite distance\\r\\n From his true-meant design. Upon his place,\\r\\n And with full line of his authority,\\r\\n Governs Lord Angelo, a man whose blood\\r\\n Is very snow-broth, one who never feels\\r\\n The wanton stings and motions of the sense,\\r\\n But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge\\r\\n With profits of the mind, study and fast.\\r\\n He- to give fear to use and liberty,\\r\\n Which have for long run by the hideous law,\\r\\n As mice by lions- hath pick\\'d out an act\\r\\n Under whose heavy sense your brother\\'s life\\r\\n Falls into forfeit; he arrests him on it,\\r\\n And follows close the rigour of the statute\\r\\n To make him an example. All hope is gone,\\r\\n Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer\\r\\n To soften Angelo. And that\\'s my pith of business\\r\\n \\'Twixt you and your poor brother.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Doth he so seek his life?\\r\\n LUCIO. Has censur\\'d him\\r\\n Already, and, as I hear, the Provost hath\\r\\n A warrant for his execution.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Alas! what poor ability\\'s in me\\r\\n To do him good?\\r\\n LUCIO. Assay the pow\\'r you have.\\r\\n ISABELLA. My power, alas, I doubt!\\r\\n LUCIO. Our doubts are traitors,\\r\\n And make us lose the good we oft might win\\r\\n By fearing to attempt. Go to Lord Angelo,\\r\\n And let him learn to know, when maidens sue,\\r\\n Men give like gods; but when they weep and kneel,\\r\\n All their petitions are as freely theirs\\r\\n As they themselves would owe them.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I\\'ll see what I can do.\\r\\n LUCIO. But speedily.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I will about it straight;\\r\\n No longer staying but to give the Mother\\r\\n Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you.\\r\\n Commend me to my brother; soon at night\\r\\n I\\'ll send him certain word of my success.\\r\\n LUCIO. I take my leave of you.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Good sir, adieu. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. Scene I. A hall in ANGELO\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ANGELO, ESCALUS, a JUSTICE, PROVOST, OFFICERS, and other\\r\\nATTENDANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n ANGELO. We must not make a scarecrow of the law,\\r\\n Setting it up to fear the birds of prey,\\r\\n And let it keep one shape till custom make it\\r\\n Their perch, and not their terror.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Ay, but yet\\r\\n Let us be keen, and rather cut a little\\r\\n Than fall and bruise to death. Alas! this gentleman,\\r\\n Whom I would save, had a most noble father.\\r\\n Let but your honour know,\\r\\n Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue,\\r\\n That, in the working of your own affections,\\r\\n Had time coher\\'d with place, or place with wishing,\\r\\n Or that the resolute acting of our blood\\r\\n Could have attain\\'d th\\' effect of your own purpose\\r\\n Whether you had not sometime in your life\\r\\n Err\\'d in this point which now you censure him,\\r\\n And pull\\'d the law upon you.\\r\\n ANGELO. \\'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus,\\r\\n Another thing to fall. I not deny\\r\\n The jury, passing on the prisoner\\'s life,\\r\\n May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two\\r\\n Guiltier than him they try. What\\'s open made to justice,\\r\\n That justice seizes. What knows the laws\\r\\n That thieves do pass on thieves? \\'Tis very pregnant,\\r\\n The jewel that we find, we stoop and take\\'t,\\r\\n Because we see it; but what we do not see\\r\\n We tread upon, and never think of it.\\r\\n You may not so extenuate his offence\\r\\n For I have had such faults; but rather tell me,\\r\\n When I, that censure him, do so offend,\\r\\n Let mine own judgment pattern out my death,\\r\\n And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Be it as your wisdom will.\\r\\n ANGELO. Where is the Provost?\\r\\n PROVOST. Here, if it like your honour.\\r\\n ANGELO. See that Claudio\\r\\n Be executed by nine to-morrow morning;\\r\\n Bring him his confessor; let him be prepar\\'d;\\r\\n For that\\'s the utmost of his pilgrimage. Exit PROVOST\\r\\n ESCALUS. [Aside] Well, heaven forgive him! and forgive us all!\\r\\n Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall;\\r\\n Some run from breaks of ice, and answer none,\\r\\n And some condemned for a fault alone.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ELBOW and OFFICERS with FROTH and POMPEY\\r\\n\\r\\n ELBOW. Come, bring them away; if these be good people in a\\r\\n commonweal that do nothing but use their abuses in common houses,\\r\\n I know no law; bring them away.\\r\\n ANGELO. How now, sir! What\\'s your name, and what\\'s the matter?\\r\\n ELBOW. If it please your honour, I am the poor Duke\\'s constable,\\r\\n and my name is Elbow; I do lean upon justice, sir, and do bring\\r\\n in here before your good honour two notorious benefactors.\\r\\n ANGELO. Benefactors! Well- what benefactors are they? Are they not\\r\\n malefactors?\\r\\n ELBOW. If it please your honour, I know not well what they are; but\\r\\n precise villains they are, that I am sure of, and void of all\\r\\n profanation in the world that good Christians ought to have.\\r\\n ESCALUS. This comes off well; here\\'s a wise officer.\\r\\n ANGELO. Go to; what quality are they of? Elbow is your name? Why\\r\\n dost thou not speak, Elbow?\\r\\n POMPEY. He cannot, sir; he\\'s out at elbow.\\r\\n ANGELO. What are you, sir?\\r\\n ELBOW. He, sir? A tapster, sir; parcel-bawd; one that serves a bad\\r\\n woman; whose house, sir, was, as they say, pluck\\'d down in the\\r\\n suburbs; and now she professes a hot-house, which, I think, is a\\r\\n very ill house too.\\r\\n ESCALUS. How know you that?\\r\\n ELBOW. My Wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven and your honour-\\r\\n ESCALUS. How! thy wife!\\r\\n ELBOW. Ay, sir; whom I thank heaven, is an honest woman-\\r\\n ESCALUS. Dost thou detest her therefore?\\r\\n ELBOW. I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well as she, that\\r\\n this house, if it be not a bawd\\'s house, it is pity of her life,\\r\\n for it is a naughty house.\\r\\n ESCALUS. How dost thou know that, constable?\\r\\n ELBOW. Marry, sir, by my wife; who, if she had been a woman\\r\\n cardinally given, might have been accus\\'d in fornication,\\r\\n adultery, and all uncleanliness there.\\r\\n ESCALUS. By the woman\\'s means?\\r\\n ELBOW. Ay, sir, by Mistress Overdone\\'s means; but as she spit in\\r\\n his face, so she defied him.\\r\\n POMPEY. Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so.\\r\\n ELBOW. Prove it before these varlets here, thou honourable man,\\r\\n prove it.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Do you hear how he misplaces?\\r\\n POMPEY. Sir, she came in great with child; and longing, saving your\\r\\n honour\\'s reverence, for stew\\'d prunes. Sir, we had but two in the\\r\\n house, which at that very distant time stood, as it were, in a\\r\\n fruit dish, a dish of some three pence; your honours have seen\\r\\n such dishes; they are not China dishes, but very good dishes.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Go to, go to; no matter for the dish, sir.\\r\\n POMPEY. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin; you are therein in the\\r\\n right; but to the point. As I say, this Mistress Elbow, being, as\\r\\n I say, with child, and being great-bellied, and longing, as I\\r\\n said, for prunes; and having but two in the dish, as I said,\\r\\n Master Froth here, this very man, having eaten the rest, as I\\r\\n said, and, as I say, paying for them very honestly; for, as you\\r\\n know, Master Froth, I could not give you three pence again-\\r\\n FROTH. No, indeed.\\r\\n POMPEY. Very well; you being then, if you be rememb\\'red, cracking\\r\\n the stones of the foresaid prunes-\\r\\n FROTH. Ay, so I did indeed.\\r\\n POMPEY. Why, very well; I telling you then, if you be rememb\\'red,\\r\\n that such a one and such a one were past cure of the thing you\\r\\n wot of, unless they kept very good diet, as I told you-\\r\\n FROTH. All this is true.\\r\\n POMPEY. Why, very well then-\\r\\n ESCALUS. Come, you are a tedious fool. To the purpose: what was\\r\\n done to Elbow\\'s wife that he hath cause to complain of? Come me\\r\\n to what was done to her.\\r\\n POMPEY. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet.\\r\\n ESCALUS. No, sir, nor I mean it not.\\r\\n POMPEY. Sir, but you shall come to it, by your honour\\'s leave. And,\\r\\n I beseech you, look into Master Froth here, sir, a man of\\r\\n fourscore pound a year; whose father died at Hallowmas- was\\'t not\\r\\n at Hallowmas, Master Froth?\\r\\n FROTH. All-hallond eve.\\r\\n POMPEY. Why, very well; I hope here be truths. He, sir, sitting, as\\r\\n I say, in a lower chair, sir; \\'twas in the Bunch of Grapes,\\r\\n where, indeed, you have a delight to sit, have you not?\\r\\n FROTH. I have so; because it is an open room, and good for winter.\\r\\n POMPEY. Why, very well then; I hope here be truths.\\r\\n ANGELO. This will last out a night in Russia,\\r\\n When nights are longest there; I\\'ll take my leave,\\r\\n And leave you to the hearing of the cause,\\r\\n Hoping you\\'ll find good cause to whip them all.\\r\\n ESCALUS. I think no less. Good morrow to your lordship.\\r\\n [Exit ANGELO] Now, sir, come on; what was done to Elbow\\'s wife,\\r\\n once more?\\r\\n POMPEY. Once?- sir. There was nothing done to her once.\\r\\n ELBOW. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did to my wife.\\r\\n POMPEY. I beseech your honour, ask me.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Well, sir, what did this gentleman to her?\\r\\n POMPEY. I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman\\'s face. Good\\r\\n Master Froth, look upon his honour; \\'tis for a good purpose. Doth\\r\\n your honour mark his face?\\r\\n ESCALUS. Ay, sir, very well.\\r\\n POMPEY. Nay, I beseech you, mark it well.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Well, I do so.\\r\\n POMPEY. Doth your honour see any harm in his face?\\r\\n ESCALUS. Why, no.\\r\\n POMPEY. I\\'ll be suppos\\'d upon a book his face is the worst thing\\r\\n about him. Good then; if his face be the worst thing about him,\\r\\n how could Master Froth do the constable\\'s wife any harm? I would\\r\\n know that of your honour.\\r\\n ESCALUS. He\\'s in the right, constable; what say you to it?\\r\\n ELBOW. First, an it like you, the house is a respected house; next,\\r\\n this is a respected fellow; and his mistress is a respected\\r\\n woman.\\r\\n POMPEY. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected person than\\r\\n any of us all.\\r\\n ELBOW. Varlet, thou liest; thou liest, wicket varlet; the time is\\r\\n yet to come that she was ever respected with man, woman, or\\r\\n child.\\r\\n POMPEY. Sir, she was respected with him before he married with her.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Which is the wiser here, Justice or Iniquity? Is this\\r\\n true?\\r\\n ELBOW. O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou wicked Hannibal! I\\r\\n respected with her before I was married to her! If ever I was\\r\\n respected with her, or she with me, let not your worship think me\\r\\n the poor Duke\\'s officer. Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, or\\r\\n I\\'ll have mine action of batt\\'ry on thee.\\r\\n ESCALUS. If he took you a box o\\' th\\' ear, you might have your\\r\\n action of slander too.\\r\\n ELBOW. Marry, I thank your good worship for it. What is\\'t your\\r\\n worship\\'s pleasure I shall do with this wicked caitiff?\\r\\n ESCALUS. Truly, officer, because he hath some offences in him that\\r\\n thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, let him continue in his\\r\\n courses till thou know\\'st what they are.\\r\\n ELBOW. Marry, I thank your worship for it. Thou seest, thou wicked\\r\\n varlet, now, what\\'s come upon thee: thou art to continue now,\\r\\n thou varlet; thou art to continue.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Where were you born, friend?\\r\\n FROTH. Here in Vienna, sir.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Are you of fourscore pounds a year?\\r\\n FROTH. Yes, an\\'t please you, sir.\\r\\n ESCALUS. So. What trade are you of, sir?\\r\\n POMPEY. A tapster, a poor widow\\'s tapster.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Your mistress\\' name?\\r\\n POMPEY. Mistress Overdone.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Hath she had any more than one husband?\\r\\n POMPEY. Nine, sir; Overdone by the last.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Nine! Come hither to me, Master Froth. Master Froth, I\\r\\n would not have you acquainted with tapsters: they will draw you,\\r\\n Master Froth, and you will hang them. Get you gone, and let me\\r\\n hear no more of you.\\r\\n FROTH. I thank your worship. For mine own part, I never come into\\r\\n any room in a taphouse but I am drawn in.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Well, no more of it, Master Froth; farewell. [Exit FROTH]\\r\\n Come you hither to me, Master Tapster; what\\'s your name, Master\\r\\n Tapster?\\r\\n POMPEY. Pompey.\\r\\n ESCALUS. What else?\\r\\n POMPEY. Bum, sir.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you; so\\r\\n that, in the beastliest sense, you are Pompey the Great. Pompey,\\r\\n you are partly a bawd, Pompey, howsoever you colour it in being a\\r\\n tapster. Are you not? Come, tell me true; it shall be the better\\r\\n for you.\\r\\n POMPEY. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would live.\\r\\n ESCALUS. How would you live, Pompey- by being a bawd? What do you\\r\\n think of the trade, Pompey? Is it a lawful trade?\\r\\n POMPEY. If the law would allow it, sir.\\r\\n ESCALUS. But the law will not allow it, Pompey; nor it shall not be\\r\\n allowed in Vienna.\\r\\n POMPEY. Does your worship mean to geld and splay all the youth of\\r\\n the city?\\r\\n ESCALUS. No, Pompey.\\r\\n POMPEY. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to\\'t then. If\\r\\n your worship will take order for the drabs and the knaves, you\\r\\n need not to fear the bawds.\\r\\n ESCALUS. There is pretty orders beginning, I can tell you: but it\\r\\n is but heading and hanging.\\r\\n POMPEY. If you head and hang all that offend that way but for ten\\r\\n year together, you\\'ll be glad to give out a commission for more\\r\\n heads; if this law hold in Vienna ten year, I\\'ll rent the fairest\\r\\n house in it, after threepence a bay. If you live to see this come\\r\\n to pass, say Pompey told you so.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Thank you, good Pompey; and, in requital of your prophecy,\\r\\n hark you: I advise you, let me not find you before me again upon\\r\\n any complaint whatsoever- no, not for dwelling where you do; if I\\r\\n do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, and prove a shrewd\\r\\n Caesar to you; in plain dealing, Pompey, I shall have you whipt.\\r\\n So for this time, Pompey, fare you well.\\r\\n POMPEY. I thank your worship for your good counsel; [Aside] but I\\r\\n shall follow it as the flesh and fortune shall better determine.\\r\\n Whip me? No, no; let carman whip his jade;\\r\\n The valiant heart\\'s not whipt out of his trade. Exit\\r\\n ESCALUS. Come hither to me, Master Elbow; come hither, Master\\r\\n Constable. How long have you been in this place of constable?\\r\\n ELBOW. Seven year and a half, sir.\\r\\n ESCALUS. I thought, by the readiness in the office, you had\\r\\n continued in it some time. You say seven years together?\\r\\n ELBOW. And a half, sir.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Alas, it hath been great pains to you! They do you wrong\\r\\n to put you so oft upon\\'t. Are there not men in your ward\\r\\n sufficient to serve it?\\r\\n ELBOW. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters; as they are\\r\\n chosen, they are glad to choose me for them; I do it for some\\r\\n piece of money, and go through with all.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Look you, bring me in the names of some six or seven, the\\r\\n most sufficient of your parish.\\r\\n ELBOW. To your worship\\'s house, sir?\\r\\n ESCALUS. To my house. Fare you well. [Exit ELBOW]\\r\\n What\\'s o\\'clock, think you?\\r\\n JUSTICE. Eleven, sir.\\r\\n ESCALUS. I pray you home to dinner with me.\\r\\n JUSTICE. I humbly thank you.\\r\\n ESCALUS. It grieves me for the death of Claudio;\\r\\n But there\\'s no remedy.\\r\\n JUSTICE. Lord Angelo is severe.\\r\\n ESCALUS. It is but needful:\\r\\n Mercy is not itself that oft looks so;\\r\\n Pardon is still the nurse of second woe.\\r\\n But yet, poor Claudio! There is no remedy.\\r\\n Come, sir. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another room in ANGELO\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PROVOST and a SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. He\\'s hearing of a cause; he will come straight.\\r\\n I\\'ll tell him of you.\\r\\n PROVOST. Pray you do. [Exit SERVANT] I\\'ll know\\r\\n His pleasure; may be he will relent. Alas,\\r\\n He hath but as offended in a dream!\\r\\n All sects, all ages, smack of this vice; and he\\r\\n To die for \\'t!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ANGELO\\r\\n\\r\\n ANGELO. Now, what\\'s the matter, Provost?\\r\\n PROVOST. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow?\\r\\n ANGELO. Did not I tell thee yea? Hadst thou not order?\\r\\n Why dost thou ask again?\\r\\n PROVOST. Lest I might be too rash;\\r\\n Under your good correction, I have seen\\r\\n When, after execution, judgment hath\\r\\n Repented o\\'er his doom.\\r\\n ANGELO. Go to; let that be mine.\\r\\n Do you your office, or give up your place,\\r\\n And you shall well be spar\\'d.\\r\\n PROVOST. I crave your honour\\'s pardon.\\r\\n What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet?\\r\\n She\\'s very near her hour.\\r\\n ANGELO. Dispose of her\\r\\n To some more fitter place, and that with speed.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. Here is the sister of the man condemn\\'d\\r\\n Desires access to you.\\r\\n ANGELO. Hath he a sister?\\r\\n PROVOST. Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid,\\r\\n And to be shortly of a sisterhood,\\r\\n If not already.\\r\\n ANGELO. Well, let her be admitted. Exit SERVANT\\r\\n See you the fornicatress be remov\\'d;\\r\\n Let her have needful but not lavish means;\\r\\n There shall be order for\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucio and ISABELLA\\r\\n\\r\\n PROVOST. [Going] Save your honour!\\r\\n ANGELO. Stay a little while. [To ISABELLA] Y\\'are welcome; what\\'s\\r\\n your will?\\r\\n ISABELLA. I am a woeful suitor to your honour,\\r\\n Please but your honour hear me.\\r\\n ANGELO. Well; what\\'s your suit?\\r\\n ISABELLA. There is a vice that most I do abhor,\\r\\n And most desire should meet the blow of justice;\\r\\n For which I would not plead, but that I must;\\r\\n For which I must not plead, but that I am\\r\\n At war \\'twixt will and will not.\\r\\n ANGELO. Well; the matter?\\r\\n ISABELLA. I have a brother is condemn\\'d to die;\\r\\n I do beseech you, let it be his fault,\\r\\n And not my brother.\\r\\n PROVOST. [Aside] Heaven give thee moving graces.\\r\\n ANGELO. Condemn the fault and not the actor of it!\\r\\n Why, every fault\\'s condemn\\'d ere it be done;\\r\\n Mine were the very cipher of a function,\\r\\n To fine the faults whose fine stands in record,\\r\\n And let go by the actor.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O just but severe law!\\r\\n I had a brother, then. Heaven keep your honour!\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Give\\'t not o\\'er so; to him again, entreat him,\\r\\n Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown;\\r\\n You are too cold: if you should need a pin,\\r\\n You could not with more tame a tongue desire it.\\r\\n To him, I say.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Must he needs die?\\r\\n ANGELO. Maiden, no remedy.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him.\\r\\n And neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy.\\r\\n ANGELO. I will not do\\'t.\\r\\n ISABELLA. But can you, if you would?\\r\\n ANGELO. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.\\r\\n ISABELLA. But might you do\\'t, and do the world no wrong,\\r\\n If so your heart were touch\\'d with that remorse\\r\\n As mine is to him?\\r\\n ANGELO. He\\'s sentenc\\'d; \\'tis too late.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] You are too cold.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Too late? Why, no; I, that do speak a word,\\r\\n May call it back again. Well, believe this:\\r\\n No ceremony that to great ones longs,\\r\\n Not the king\\'s crown nor the deputed sword,\\r\\n The marshal\\'s truncheon nor the judge\\'s robe,\\r\\n Become them with one half so good a grace\\r\\n As mercy does.\\r\\n If he had been as you, and you as he,\\r\\n You would have slipp\\'d like him; but he, like you,\\r\\n Would not have been so stern.\\r\\n ANGELO. Pray you be gone.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I would to heaven I had your potency,\\r\\n And you were Isabel! Should it then be thus?\\r\\n No; I would tell what \\'twere to be a judge\\r\\n And what a prisoner.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Ay, touch him; there\\'s the vein.\\r\\n ANGELO. Your brother is a forfeit of the law,\\r\\n And you but waste your words.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Alas! Alas!\\r\\n Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once;\\r\\n And He that might the vantage best have took\\r\\n Found out the remedy. How would you be\\r\\n If He, which is the top of judgment, should\\r\\n But judge you as you are? O, think on that;\\r\\n And mercy then will breathe within your lips,\\r\\n Like man new made.\\r\\n ANGELO. Be you content, fair maid.\\r\\n It is the law, not I condemn your brother.\\r\\n Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son,\\r\\n It should be thus with him. He must die to-morrow.\\r\\n ISABELLA. To-morrow! O, that\\'s sudden! Spare him, spare him.\\r\\n He\\'s not prepar\\'d for death. Even for our kitchens\\r\\n We kill the fowl of season; shall we serve heaven\\r\\n With less respect than we do minister\\r\\n To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink you.\\r\\n Who is it that hath died for this offence?\\r\\n There\\'s many have committed it.\\r\\n LUCIO. [Aside] Ay, well said.\\r\\n ANGELO. The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept.\\r\\n Those many had not dar\\'d to do that evil\\r\\n If the first that did th\\' edict infringe\\r\\n Had answer\\'d for his deed. Now \\'tis awake,\\r\\n Takes note of what is done, and, like a prophet,\\r\\n Looks in a glass that shows what future evils-\\r\\n Either now or by remissness new conceiv\\'d,\\r\\n And so in progress to be hatch\\'d and born-\\r\\n Are now to have no successive degrees,\\r\\n But here they live to end.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Yet show some pity.\\r\\n ANGELO. I show it most of all when I show justice;\\r\\n For then I pity those I do not know,\\r\\n Which a dismiss\\'d offence would after gall,\\r\\n And do him right that, answering one foul wrong,\\r\\n Lives not to act another. Be satisfied;\\r\\n Your brother dies to-morrow; be content.\\r\\n ISABELLA. So you must be the first that gives this sentence,\\r\\n And he that suffers. O, it is excellent\\r\\n To have a giant\\'s strength! But it is tyrannous\\r\\n To use it like a giant.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] That\\'s well said.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Could great men thunder\\r\\n As Jove himself does, Jove would never be quiet,\\r\\n For every pelting petty officer\\r\\n Would use his heaven for thunder,\\r\\n Nothing but thunder. Merciful Heaven,\\r\\n Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt,\\r\\n Splits the unwedgeable and gnarled oak\\r\\n Than the soft myrtle. But man, proud man,\\r\\n Dress\\'d in a little brief authority,\\r\\n Most ignorant of what he\\'s most assur\\'d,\\r\\n His glassy essence, like an angry ape,\\r\\n Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven\\r\\n As makes the angels weep; who, with our speens,\\r\\n Would all themselves laugh mortal.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] O, to him, to him, wench! He will relent;\\r\\n He\\'s coming; I perceive \\'t.\\r\\n PROVOST. [Aside] Pray heaven she win him.\\r\\n ISABELLA. We cannot weigh our brother with ourself.\\r\\n Great men may jest with saints: \\'tis wit in them;\\r\\n But in the less foul profanation.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Thou\\'rt i\\' th\\' right, girl; more o\\' that.\\r\\n ISABELLA. That in the captain\\'s but a choleric word\\r\\n Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Art avis\\'d o\\' that? More on\\'t.\\r\\n ANGELO. Why do you put these sayings upon me?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Because authority, though it err like others,\\r\\n Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself\\r\\n That skins the vice o\\' th\\' top. Go to your bosom,\\r\\n Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know\\r\\n That\\'s like my brother\\'s fault. If it confess\\r\\n A natural guiltiness such as is his,\\r\\n Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue\\r\\n Against my brother\\'s life.\\r\\n ANGELO. [Aside] She speaks, and \\'tis\\r\\n Such sense that my sense breeds with it.- Fare you well.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Gentle my lord, turn back.\\r\\n ANGELO. I will bethink me. Come again to-morrow.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Hark how I\\'ll bribe you; good my lord, turn back.\\r\\n ANGELO. How, bribe me?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Ay, with such gifts that heaven shall share with you.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA) You had marr\\'d all else.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Not with fond sicles of the tested gold,\\r\\n Or stones, whose rate are either rich or poor\\r\\n As fancy values them; but with true prayers\\r\\n That shall be up at heaven and enter there\\r\\n Ere sun-rise, prayers from preserved souls,\\r\\n From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate\\r\\n To nothing temporal.\\r\\n ANGELO. Well; come to me to-morrow.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Go to; \\'tis well; away.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Heaven keep your honour safe!\\r\\n ANGELO. [Aside] Amen; for I\\r\\n Am that way going to temptation\\r\\n Where prayers cross.\\r\\n ISABELLA. At what hour to-morrow\\r\\n Shall I attend your lordship?\\r\\n ANGELO. At any time \\'fore noon.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Save your honour! Exeunt all but ANGELO\\r\\n ANGELO. From thee; even from thy virtue!\\r\\n What\\'s this, what\\'s this? Is this her fault or mine?\\r\\n The tempter or the tempted, who sins most?\\r\\n Ha!\\r\\n Not she; nor doth she tempt; but it is I\\r\\n That, lying by the violet in the sun,\\r\\n Do as the carrion does, not as the flow\\'r,\\r\\n Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be\\r\\n That modesty may more betray our sense\\r\\n Than woman\\'s lightness? Having waste ground enough,\\r\\n Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary,\\r\\n And pitch our evils there? O, fie, fie, fie!\\r\\n What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo?\\r\\n Dost thou desire her foully for those things\\r\\n That make her good? O, let her brother live!\\r\\n Thieves for their robbery have authority\\r\\n When judges steal themselves. What, do I love her,\\r\\n That I desire to hear her speak again,\\r\\n And feast upon her eyes? What is\\'t I dream on?\\r\\n O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint,\\r\\n With saints dost bait thy hook! Most dangerous\\r\\n Is that temptation that doth goad us on\\r\\n To sin in loving virtue. Never could the strumpet,\\r\\n With all her double vigour, art and nature,\\r\\n Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid\\r\\n Subdues me quite. Ever till now,\\r\\n When men were fond, I smil\\'d and wond\\'red how. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A prison\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter, severally, DUKE, disguised as a FRIAR, and PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Hail to you, Provost! so I think you are.\\r\\n PROVOST. I am the Provost. What\\'s your will, good friar?\\r\\n DUKE. Bound by my charity and my blest order,\\r\\n I come to visit the afflicted spirits\\r\\n Here in the prison. Do me the common right\\r\\n To let me see them, and to make me know\\r\\n The nature of their crimes, that I may minister\\r\\n To them accordingly.\\r\\n PROVOST. I would do more than that, if more were needful.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter JULIET\\r\\n\\r\\n Look, here comes one; a gentlewoman of mine,\\r\\n Who, falling in the flaws of her own youth,\\r\\n Hath blister\\'d her report. She is with child;\\r\\n And he that got it, sentenc\\'d- a young man\\r\\n More fit to do another such offence\\r\\n Than die for this.\\r\\n DUKE. When must he die?\\r\\n PROVOST. As I do think, to-morrow.\\r\\n [To JULIET] I have provided for you; stay awhile\\r\\n And you shall be conducted.\\r\\n DUKE. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry?\\r\\n JULIET. I do; and bear the shame most patiently.\\r\\n DUKE. I\\'ll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience,\\r\\n And try your penitence, if it be sound\\r\\n Or hollowly put on.\\r\\n JULIET. I\\'ll gladly learn.\\r\\n DUKE. Love you the man that wrong\\'d you?\\r\\n JULIET. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong\\'d him.\\r\\n DUKE. So then, it seems, your most offenceful act\\r\\n Was mutually committed.\\r\\n JULIET. Mutually.\\r\\n DUKE. Then was your sin of heavier kind than his.\\r\\n JULIET. I do confess it, and repent it, father.\\r\\n DUKE. \\'Tis meet so, daughter; but lest you do repent\\r\\n As that the sin hath brought you to this shame,\\r\\n Which sorrow is always toward ourselves, not heaven,\\r\\n Showing we would not spare heaven as we love it,\\r\\n But as we stand in fear-\\r\\n JULIET. I do repent me as it is an evil,\\r\\n And take the shame with joy.\\r\\n DUKE. There rest.\\r\\n Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow,\\r\\n And I am going with instruction to him.\\r\\n Grace go with you! Benedicite! Exit\\r\\n JULIET. Must die to-morrow! O, injurious law,\\r\\n That respites me a life whose very comfort\\r\\n Is still a dying horror!\\r\\n PROVOST. \\'Tis pity of him. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. ANGELO\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ANGELO\\r\\n\\r\\n ANGELO. When I would pray and think, I think and pray\\r\\n To several subjects. Heaven hath my empty words,\\r\\n Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue,\\r\\n Anchors on Isabel. Heaven in my mouth,\\r\\n As if I did but only chew his name,\\r\\n And in my heart the strong and swelling evil\\r\\n Of my conception. The state whereon I studied\\r\\n Is, like a good thing being often read,\\r\\n Grown sere and tedious; yea, my gravity,\\r\\n Wherein- let no man hear me- I take pride,\\r\\n Could I with boot change for an idle plume\\r\\n Which the air beats for vain. O place, O form,\\r\\n How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit,\\r\\n Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls\\r\\n To thy false seeming! Blood, thou art blood.\\r\\n Let\\'s write \\'good angel\\' on the devil\\'s horn;\\r\\n \\'Tis not the devil\\'s crest.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, who\\'s there?\\r\\n SERVANT. One Isabel, a sister, desires access to you.\\r\\n ANGELO. Teach her the way. [Exit SERVANT] O heavens!\\r\\n Why does my blood thus muster to my heart,\\r\\n Making both it unable for itself\\r\\n And dispossessing all my other parts\\r\\n Of necessary fitness?\\r\\n So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons;\\r\\n Come all to help him, and so stop the air\\r\\n By which he should revive; and even so\\r\\n The general subject to a well-wish\\'d king\\r\\n Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness\\r\\n Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love\\r\\n Must needs appear offence.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ISABELLA\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, fair maid?\\r\\n ISABELLA. I am come to know your pleasure.\\r\\n ANGELO. That you might know it would much better please me\\r\\n Than to demand what \\'tis. Your brother cannot live.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Even so! Heaven keep your honour!\\r\\n ANGELO. Yet may he live awhile, and, it may be,\\r\\n As long as you or I; yet he must die.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Under your sentence?\\r\\n ANGELO. Yea.\\r\\n ISABELLA. When? I beseech you; that in his reprieve,\\r\\n Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted\\r\\n That his soul sicken not.\\r\\n ANGELO. Ha! Fie, these filthy vices! It were as good\\r\\n To pardon him that hath from nature stol\\'n\\r\\n A man already made, as to remit\\r\\n Their saucy sweetness that do coin heaven\\'s image\\r\\n In stamps that are forbid; \\'tis all as easy\\r\\n Falsely to take away a life true made\\r\\n As to put metal in restrained means\\r\\n To make a false one.\\r\\n ISABELLA. \\'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth.\\r\\n ANGELO. Say you so? Then I shall pose you quickly.\\r\\n Which had you rather- that the most just law\\r\\n Now took your brother\\'s life; or, to redeem him,\\r\\n Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness\\r\\n As she that he hath stain\\'d?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Sir, believe this:\\r\\n I had rather give my body than my soul.\\r\\n ANGELO. I talk not of your soul; our compell\\'d sins\\r\\n Stand more for number than for accompt.\\r\\n ISABELLA. How say you?\\r\\n ANGELO. Nay, I\\'ll not warrant that; for I can speak\\r\\n Against the thing I say. Answer to this:\\r\\n I, now the voice of the recorded law,\\r\\n Pronounce a sentence on your brother\\'s life;\\r\\n Might there not be a charity in sin\\r\\n To save this brother\\'s life?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Please you to do\\'t,\\r\\n I\\'ll take it as a peril to my soul\\r\\n It is no sin at all, but charity.\\r\\n ANGELO. Pleas\\'d you to do\\'t at peril of your soul,\\r\\n Were equal poise of sin and charity.\\r\\n ISABELLA. That I do beg his life, if it be sin,\\r\\n Heaven let me bear it! You granting of my suit,\\r\\n If that be sin, I\\'ll make it my morn prayer\\r\\n To have it added to the faults of mine,\\r\\n And nothing of your answer.\\r\\n ANGELO. Nay, but hear me;\\r\\n Your sense pursues not mine; either you are ignorant\\r\\n Or seem so, craftily; and that\\'s not good.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good\\r\\n But graciously to know I am no better.\\r\\n ANGELO. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright\\r\\n When it doth tax itself; as these black masks\\r\\n Proclaim an enshielded beauty ten times louder\\r\\n Than beauty could, display\\'d. But mark me:\\r\\n To be received plain, I\\'ll speak more gross-\\r\\n Your brother is to die.\\r\\n ISABELLA. So.\\r\\n ANGELO. And his offence is so, as it appears,\\r\\n Accountant to the law upon that pain.\\r\\n ISABELLA. True.\\r\\n ANGELO. Admit no other way to save his life,\\r\\n As I subscribe not that, nor any other,\\r\\n But, in the loss of question, that you, his sister,\\r\\n Finding yourself desir\\'d of such a person\\r\\n Whose credit with the judge, or own great place,\\r\\n Could fetch your brother from the manacles\\r\\n Of the all-binding law; and that there were\\r\\n No earthly mean to save him but that either\\r\\n You must lay down the treasures of your body\\r\\n To this supposed, or else to let him suffer-\\r\\n What would you do?\\r\\n ISABELLA. As much for my poor brother as myself;\\r\\n That is, were I under the terms of death,\\r\\n Th\\' impression of keen whips I\\'d wear as rubies,\\r\\n And strip myself to death as to a bed\\r\\n That longing have been sick for, ere I\\'d yield\\r\\n My body up to shame.\\r\\n ANGELO. Then must your brother die.\\r\\n ISABELLA. And \\'twere the cheaper way:\\r\\n Better it were a brother died at once\\r\\n Than that a sister, by redeeming him,\\r\\n Should die for ever.\\r\\n ANGELO. Were not you, then, as cruel as the sentence\\r\\n That you have slander\\'d so?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Ignominy in ransom and free pardon\\r\\n Are of two houses: lawful mercy\\r\\n Is nothing kin to foul redemption.\\r\\n ANGELO. You seem\\'d of late to make the law a tyrant;\\r\\n And rather prov\\'d the sliding of your brother\\r\\n A merriment than a vice.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, pardon me, my lord! It oft falls out,\\r\\n To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean:\\r\\n I something do excuse the thing I hate\\r\\n For his advantage that I dearly love.\\r\\n ANGELO. We are all frail.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Else let my brother die,\\r\\n If not a fedary but only he\\r\\n Owe and succeed thy weakness.\\r\\n ANGELO. Nay, women are frail too.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves,\\r\\n Which are as easy broke as they make forms.\\r\\n Women, help heaven! Men their creation mar\\r\\n In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail;\\r\\n For we are soft as our complexions are,\\r\\n And credulous to false prints.\\r\\n ANGELO. I think it well;\\r\\n And from this testimony of your own sex,\\r\\n Since I suppose we are made to be no stronger\\r\\n Than faults may shake our frames, let me be bold.\\r\\n I do arrest your words. Be that you are,\\r\\n That is, a woman; if you be more, you\\'re none;\\r\\n If you be one, as you are well express\\'d\\r\\n By all external warrants, show it now\\r\\n By putting on the destin\\'d livery.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I have no tongue but one; gentle, my lord,\\r\\n Let me intreat you speak the former language.\\r\\n ANGELO. Plainly conceive, I love you.\\r\\n ISABELLA. My brother did love Juliet,\\r\\n And you tell me that he shall die for\\'t.\\r\\n ANGELO. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I know your virtue hath a license in\\'t,\\r\\n Which seems a little fouler than it is,\\r\\n To pluck on others.\\r\\n ANGELO. Believe me, on mine honour,\\r\\n My words express my purpose.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Ha! little honour to be much believ\\'d,\\r\\n And most pernicious purpose! Seeming, seeming!\\r\\n I will proclaim thee, Angelo, look for\\'t.\\r\\n Sign me a present pardon for my brother\\r\\n Or, with an outstretch\\'d throat, I\\'ll tell the world aloud\\r\\n What man thou art.\\r\\n ANGELO. Who will believe thee, Isabel?\\r\\n My unsoil\\'d name, th\\' austereness of my life,\\r\\n My vouch against you, and my place i\\' th\\' state,\\r\\n Will so your accusation overweigh\\r\\n That you shall stifle in your own report,\\r\\n And smell of calumny. I have begun,\\r\\n And now I give my sensual race the rein:\\r\\n Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite;\\r\\n Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes\\r\\n That banish what they sue for; redeem thy brother\\r\\n By yielding up thy body to my will;\\r\\n Or else he must not only die the death,\\r\\n But thy unkindness shall his death draw out\\r\\n To ling\\'ring sufferance. Answer me to-morrow,\\r\\n Or, by the affection that now guides me most,\\r\\n I\\'ll prove a tyrant to him. As for you,\\r\\n Say what you can: my false o\\'erweighs your true. Exit\\r\\n ISABELLA. To whom should I complain? Did I tell this,\\r\\n Who would believe me? O perilous mouths\\r\\n That bear in them one and the self-same tongue\\r\\n Either of condemnation or approof,\\r\\n Bidding the law make curtsy to their will;\\r\\n Hooking both right and wrong to th\\' appetite,\\r\\n To follow as it draws! I\\'ll to my brother.\\r\\n Though he hath fall\\'n by prompture of the blood,\\r\\n Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour\\r\\n That, had he twenty heads to tender down\\r\\n On twenty bloody blocks, he\\'d yield them up\\r\\n Before his sister should her body stoop\\r\\n To such abhorr\\'d pollution.\\r\\n Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die:\\r\\n More than our brother is our chastity.\\r\\n I\\'ll tell him yet of Angelo\\'s request,\\r\\n And fit his mind to death, for his soul\\'s rest. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. The prison\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE, disguised as before, CLAUDIO, and PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. So, then you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. The miserable have no other medicine\\r\\n But only hope:\\r\\n I have hope to Eve, and am prepar\\'d to die.\\r\\n DUKE. Be absolute for death; either death or life\\r\\n Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life.\\r\\n If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing\\r\\n That none but fools would keep. A breath thou art,\\r\\n Servile to all the skyey influences,\\r\\n That dost this habitation where thou keep\\'st\\r\\n Hourly afflict. Merely, thou art Death\\'s fool;\\r\\n For him thou labour\\'st by thy flight to shun\\r\\n And yet run\\'st toward him still. Thou art not noble;\\r\\n For all th\\' accommodations that thou bear\\'st\\r\\n Are nurs\\'d by baseness. Thou \\'rt by no means valiant;\\r\\n For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork\\r\\n Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep,\\r\\n And that thou oft provok\\'st; yet grossly fear\\'st\\r\\n Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself;\\r\\n For thou exists on many a thousand grains\\r\\n That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not;\\r\\n For what thou hast not, still thou striv\\'st to get,\\r\\n And what thou hast, forget\\'st. Thou art not certain;\\r\\n For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,\\r\\n After the moon. If thou art rich, thou\\'rt poor;\\r\\n For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows,\\r\\n Thou bear\\'st thy heavy riches but a journey,\\r\\n And Death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none;\\r\\n For thine own bowels which do call thee sire,\\r\\n The mere effusion of thy proper loins,\\r\\n Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum,\\r\\n For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth nor age,\\r\\n But, as it were, an after-dinner\\'s sleep,\\r\\n Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth\\r\\n Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms\\r\\n Of palsied eld; and when thou art old and rich,\\r\\n Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,\\r\\n To make thy riches pleasant. What\\'s yet in this\\r\\n That bears the name of life? Yet in this life\\r\\n Lie hid moe thousand deaths; yet death we fear,\\r\\n That makes these odds all even.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. I humbly thank you.\\r\\n To sue to live, I find I seek to die;\\r\\n And, seeking death, find life. Let it come on.\\r\\n ISABELLA. [Within] What, ho! Peace here; grace and good company!\\r\\n PROVOST. Who\\'s there? Come in; the wish deserves a welcome.\\r\\n DUKE. Dear sir, ere long I\\'ll visit you again.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Most holy sir, I thank you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ISABELLA\\r\\n\\r\\n ISABELLA. My business is a word or two with Claudio.\\r\\n PROVOST. And very welcome. Look, signior, here\\'s your sister.\\r\\n DUKE. Provost, a word with you.\\r\\n PROVOST. As many as you please.\\r\\n DUKE. Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be conceal\\'d.\\r\\n Exeunt DUKE and PROVOST\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Now, sister, what\\'s the comfort?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Why,\\r\\n As all comforts are; most good, most good, indeed.\\r\\n Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven,\\r\\n Intends you for his swift ambassador,\\r\\n Where you shall be an everlasting leiger.\\r\\n Therefore, your best appointment make with speed;\\r\\n To-morrow you set on.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Is there no remedy?\\r\\n ISABELLA. None, but such remedy as, to save a head,\\r\\n To cleave a heart in twain.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. But is there any?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Yes, brother, you may live:\\r\\n There is a devilish mercy in the judge,\\r\\n If you\\'ll implore it, that will free your life,\\r\\n But fetter you till death.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Perpetual durance?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Ay, just; perpetual durance, a restraint,\\r\\n Though all the world\\'s vastidity you had,\\r\\n To a determin\\'d scope.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. But in what nature?\\r\\n ISABELLA. In such a one as, you consenting to\\'t,\\r\\n Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear,\\r\\n And leave you naked.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Let me know the point.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake,\\r\\n Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain,\\r\\n And six or seven winters more respect\\r\\n Than a perpetual honour. Dar\\'st thou die?\\r\\n The sense of death is most in apprehension;\\r\\n And the poor beetle that we tread upon\\r\\n In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great\\r\\n As when a giant dies.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Why give you me this shame?\\r\\n Think you I can a resolution fetch\\r\\n From flow\\'ry tenderness? If I must die,\\r\\n I will encounter darkness as a bride\\r\\n And hug it in mine arms.\\r\\n ISABELLA. There spake my brother; there my father\\'s grave\\r\\n Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die:\\r\\n Thou art too noble to conserve a life\\r\\n In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy,\\r\\n Whose settled visage and deliberate word\\r\\n Nips youth i\\' th\\' head, and follies doth enew\\r\\n As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil;\\r\\n His filth within being cast, he would appear\\r\\n A pond as deep as hell.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. The precise Angelo!\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, \\'tis the cunning livery of hell\\r\\n The damned\\'st body to invest and cover\\r\\n In precise guards! Dost thou think, Claudio,\\r\\n If I would yield him my virginity\\r\\n Thou mightst be freed?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. O heavens! it cannot be.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Yes, he would give\\'t thee, from this rank offence,\\r\\n So to offend him still. This night\\'s the time\\r\\n That I should do what I abhor to name,\\r\\n Or else thou diest to-morrow.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Thou shalt not do\\'t.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, were it but my life!\\r\\n I\\'d throw it down for your deliverance\\r\\n As frankly as a pin.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Thanks, dear Isabel.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Yes. Has he affections in him\\r\\n That thus can make him bite the law by th\\' nose\\r\\n When he would force it? Sure it is no sin;\\r\\n Or of the deadly seven it is the least.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Which is the least?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. If it were damnable, he being so wise,\\r\\n Why would he for the momentary trick\\r\\n Be perdurably fin\\'d?- O Isabel!\\r\\n ISABELLA. What says my brother?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Death is a fearful thing.\\r\\n ISABELLA. And shamed life a hateful.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;\\r\\n To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot;\\r\\n This sensible warm motion to become\\r\\n A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit\\r\\n To bathe in fiery floods or to reside\\r\\n In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice;\\r\\n To be imprison\\'d in the viewless winds,\\r\\n And blown with restless violence round about\\r\\n The pendent world; or to be worse than worst\\r\\n Of those that lawless and incertain thought\\r\\n Imagine howling- \\'tis too horrible.\\r\\n The weariest and most loathed worldly life\\r\\n That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment,\\r\\n Can lay on nature is a paradise\\r\\n To what we fear of death.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Alas, alas!\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Sweet sister, let me live.\\r\\n What sin you do to save a brother\\'s life,\\r\\n Nature dispenses with the deed so far\\r\\n That it becomes a virtue.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O you beast!\\r\\n O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch!\\r\\n Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice?\\r\\n Is\\'t not a kind of incest to take life\\r\\n From thine own sister\\'s shame? What should I think?\\r\\n Heaven shield my mother play\\'d my father fair!\\r\\n For such a warped slip of wilderness\\r\\n Ne\\'er issu\\'d from his blood. Take my defiance;\\r\\n Die; perish. Might but my bending down\\r\\n Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed.\\r\\n I\\'ll pray a thousand prayers for thy death,\\r\\n No word to save thee.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Nay, hear me, Isabel.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O fie, fie, fie!\\r\\n Thy sin\\'s not accidental, but a trade.\\r\\n Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd;\\r\\n \\'Tis best that thou diest quickly.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. O, hear me, Isabella.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter DUKE\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one word.\\r\\n ISABELLA. What is your will?\\r\\n DUKE. Might you dispense with your leisure, I would by and by have\\r\\n some speech with you; the satisfaction I would require is\\r\\n likewise your own benefit.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must be stolen out\\r\\n of other affairs; but I will attend you awhile.\\r\\n [Walks apart]\\r\\n DUKE. Son, I have overheard what hath pass\\'d between you and your\\r\\n sister. Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; only he hath\\r\\n made an assay of her virtue to practise his judgment with the\\r\\n disposition of natures. She, having the truth of honour in her,\\r\\n hath made him that gracious denial which he is most glad to\\r\\n receive. I am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be true;\\r\\n therefore prepare yourself to death. Do not satisfy your\\r\\n resolution with hopes that are fallible; to-morrow you must die;\\r\\n go to your knees and make ready.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out of love with life\\r\\n that I will sue to be rid of it.\\r\\n DUKE. Hold you there. Farewell. [Exit CLAUDIO] Provost, a word with\\r\\n you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n PROVOST. What\\'s your will, father?\\r\\n DUKE. That, now you are come, you will be gone. Leave me a while\\r\\n with the maid; my mind promises with my habit no loss shall touch\\r\\n her by my company.\\r\\n PROVOST. In good time. Exit PROVOST\\r\\n DUKE. The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good; the\\r\\n goodness that is cheap in beauty makes beauty brief in goodness;\\r\\n but grace, being the soul of your complexion, shall keep the body\\r\\n of it ever fair. The assault that Angelo hath made to you,\\r\\n fortune hath convey\\'d to my understanding; and, but that frailty\\r\\n hath examples for his falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How\\r\\n will you do to content this substitute, and to save your brother?\\r\\n ISABELLA. I am now going to resolve him; I had rather my brother\\r\\n die by the law than my son should be unlawfully born. But, O, how\\r\\n much is the good Duke deceiv\\'d in Angelo! If ever he return, and\\r\\n I can speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or discover his\\r\\n government.\\r\\n DUKE. That shall not be much amiss; yet, as the matter now stands,\\r\\n he will avoid your accusation: he made trial of you only.\\r\\n Therefore fasten your ear on my advisings; to the love I have in\\r\\n doing good a remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe\\r\\n that you may most uprighteously do a poor wronged lady a merited\\r\\n benefit; redeem your brother from the angry law; do no stain to\\r\\n your own gracious person; and much please the absent Duke, if\\r\\n peradventure he shall ever return to have hearing of this\\r\\n business.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Let me hear you speak farther; I have spirit to do\\r\\n anything that appears not foul in the truth of my spirit.\\r\\n DUKE. Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. Have you not\\r\\n heard speak of Mariana, the sister of Frederick, the great\\r\\n soldier who miscarried at sea?\\r\\n ISABELLA. I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her\\r\\n name.\\r\\n DUKE. She should this Angelo have married; was affianced to her by\\r\\n oath, and the nuptial appointed; between which time of the\\r\\n contract and limit of the solemnity her brother Frederick was\\r\\n wreck\\'d at sea, having in that perished vessel the dowry of his\\r\\n sister. But mark how heavily this befell to the poor gentlewoman:\\r\\n there she lost a noble and renowned brother, in his love toward\\r\\n her ever most kind and natural; with him the portion and sinew of\\r\\n her fortune, her marriage-dowry; with both, her combinate\\r\\n husband, this well-seeming Angelo.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Can this be so? Did Angelo so leave her?\\r\\n DUKE. Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them with his\\r\\n comfort; swallowed his vows whole, pretending in her discoveries\\r\\n of dishonour; in few, bestow\\'d her on her own lamentation, which\\r\\n she yet wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her tears, is\\r\\n washed with them, but relents not.\\r\\n ISABELLA. What a merit were it in death to take this poor maid from\\r\\n the world! What corruption in this life that it will let this man\\r\\n live! But how out of this can she avail?\\r\\n DUKE. It is a rupture that you may easily heal; and the cure of it\\r\\n not only saves your brother, but keeps you from dishonour in\\r\\n doing it.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Show me how, good father.\\r\\n DUKE. This forenamed maid hath yet in her the continuance of her\\r\\n first affection; his unjust unkindness, that in all reason should\\r\\n have quenched her love, hath, like an impediment in the current,\\r\\n made it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo; answer his\\r\\n requiring with a plausible obedience; agree with his demands to\\r\\n the point; only refer yourself to this advantage: first, that\\r\\n your stay with him may not be long; that the time may have all\\r\\n shadow and silence in it; and the place answer to convenience.\\r\\n This being granted in course- and now follows all: we shall\\r\\n advise this wronged maid to stead up your appointment, go in your\\r\\n place. If the encounter acknowledge itself hereafter, it may\\r\\n compel him to her recompense; and here, by this, is your brother\\r\\n saved, your honour untainted, the poor Mariana advantaged, and\\r\\n the corrupt deputy scaled. The maid will I frame and make fit for\\r\\n his attempt. If you think well to carry this as you may, the\\r\\n doubleness of the benefit defends the deceit from reproof. What\\r\\n think you of it?\\r\\n ISABELLA. The image of it gives me content already; and I trust it\\r\\n will grow to a most prosperous perfection.\\r\\n DUKE. It lies much in your holding up. Haste you speedily to\\r\\n Angelo; if for this night he entreat you to his bed, give him\\r\\n promise of satisfaction. I will presently to Saint Luke\\'s; there,\\r\\n at the moated grange, resides this dejected Mariana. At that\\r\\n place call upon me; and dispatch with Angelo, that it may be\\r\\n quickly.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, good father.\\r\\n Exeunt severally\\r\\n\\r\\nScene II. The street before the prison\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter, on one side, DUKE disguised as before; on the other, ELBOW, and\\r\\nOFFICERS with POMPEY\\r\\n\\r\\n ELBOW. Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that you will needs\\r\\n buy and sell men and women like beasts, we shall have all the\\r\\n world drink brown and white bastard.\\r\\n DUKE. O heavens! what stuff is here?\\r\\n POMPEY. \\'Twas never merry world since, of two usuries, the merriest\\r\\n was put down, and the worser allow\\'d by order of law a furr\\'d\\r\\n gown to keep him warm; and furr\\'d with fox on lamb-skins too, to\\r\\n signify that craft, being richer than innocency, stands for the\\r\\n facing.\\r\\n ELBOW. Come your way, sir. Bless you, good father friar.\\r\\n DUKE. And you, good brother father. What offence hath this man made\\r\\n you, sir?\\r\\n ELBOW. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law; and, sir, we take him\\r\\n to be a thief too, sir, for we have found upon him, sir, a\\r\\n strange picklock, which we have sent to the deputy.\\r\\n DUKE. Fie, sirrah, a bawd, a wicked bawd!\\r\\n The evil that thou causest to be done,\\r\\n That is thy means to live. Do thou but think\\r\\n What \\'tis to cram a maw or clothe a back\\r\\n From such a filthy vice; say to thyself\\r\\n \\'From their abominable and beastly touches\\r\\n I drink, I eat, array myself, and live.\\'\\r\\n Canst thou believe thy living is a life,\\r\\n So stinkingly depending? Go mend, go mend.\\r\\n POMPEY. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir; but yet, sir,\\r\\n I would prove-\\r\\n DUKE. Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for sin,\\r\\n Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer;\\r\\n Correction and instruction must both work\\r\\n Ere this rude beast will profit.\\r\\n ELBOW. He must before the deputy, sir; he has given him warning.\\r\\n The deputy cannot abide a whoremaster; if he be a whoremonger,\\r\\n and comes before him, he were as good go a mile on his errand.\\r\\n DUKE. That we were all, as some would seem to be,\\r\\n From our faults, as his faults from seeming, free.\\r\\n ELBOW. His neck will come to your waist- a cord, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LUCIO\\r\\n\\r\\n POMPEY. I spy comfort; I cry bail. Here\\'s a gentleman, and a friend\\r\\n of mine.\\r\\n LUCIO. How now, noble Pompey! What, at the wheels of Caesar? Art\\r\\n thou led in triumph? What, is there none of Pygmalion\\'s images,\\r\\n newly made woman, to be had now for putting the hand in the\\r\\n pocket and extracting it clutch\\'d? What reply, ha? What say\\'st\\r\\n thou to this tune, matter, and method? Is\\'t not drown\\'d i\\' th\\'\\r\\n last rain, ha? What say\\'st thou, trot? Is the world as it was,\\r\\n man? Which is the way? Is it sad, and few words? or how? The\\r\\n trick of it?\\r\\n DUKE. Still thus, and thus; still worse!\\r\\n LUCIO. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? Procures she still,\\r\\n ha?\\r\\n POMPEY. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and she is\\r\\n herself in the tub.\\r\\n LUCIO. Why, \\'tis good; it is the right of it; it must be so; ever\\r\\n your fresh whore and your powder\\'d bawd- an unshunn\\'d\\r\\n consequence; it must be so. Art going to prison, Pompey?\\r\\n POMPEY. Yes, faith, sir.\\r\\n LUCIO. Why, \\'tis not amiss, Pompey. Farewell; go, say I sent thee\\r\\n thither. For debt, Pompey- or how?\\r\\n ELBOW. For being a bawd, for being a bawd.\\r\\n LUCIO. Well, then, imprison him. If imprisonment be the due of a\\r\\n bawd, why, \\'tis his right. Bawd is he doubtless, and of\\r\\n antiquity, too; bawd-born. Farewell, good Pompey. Commend me to\\r\\n the prison, Pompey. You will turn good husband now, Pompey; you\\r\\n will keep the house.\\r\\n POMPEY. I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail.\\r\\n LUCIO. No, indeed, will I not, Pompey; it is not the wear. I will\\r\\n pray, Pompey, to increase your bondage. If you take it not\\r\\n patiently, why, your mettle is the more. Adieu trusty Pompey.\\r\\n Bless you, friar.\\r\\n DUKE. And you.\\r\\n LUCIO. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, ha?\\r\\n ELBOW. Come your ways, sir; come.\\r\\n POMPEY. You will not bail me then, sir?\\r\\n LUCIO. Then, Pompey, nor now. What news abroad, friar? what news?\\r\\n ELBOW. Come your ways, sir; come.\\r\\n LUCIO. Go to kennel, Pompey, go.\\r\\n\\r\\n Exeunt ELBOW, POMPEY and OFFICERS\\r\\n\\r\\n What news, friar, of the Duke?\\r\\n DUKE. I know none. Can you tell me of any?\\r\\n LUCIO. Some say he is with the Emperor of Russia; other some, he is\\r\\n in Rome; but where is he, think you?\\r\\n DUKE. I know not where; but wheresoever, I wish him well.\\r\\n LUCIO. It was a mad fantastical trick of him to steal from the\\r\\n state and usurp the beggary he was never born to. Lord Angelo\\r\\n dukes it well in his absence; he puts transgression to\\'t.\\r\\n DUKE. He does well in\\'t.\\r\\n LUCIO. A little more lenity to lechery would do no harm in him;\\r\\n something too crabbed that way, friar.\\r\\n DUKE. It is too general a vice, and severity must cure it.\\r\\n LUCIO. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great kindred; it is\\r\\n well allied; but it is impossible to extirp it quite, friar, till\\r\\n eating and drinking be put down. They say this Angelo was not\\r\\n made by man and woman after this downright way of creation. Is it\\r\\n true, think you?\\r\\n DUKE. How should he be made, then?\\r\\n LUCIO. Some report a sea-maid spawn\\'d him; some, that he was begot\\r\\n between two stock-fishes. But it is certain that when he makes\\r\\n water his urine is congeal\\'d ice; that I know to be true. And he\\r\\n is a motion generative; that\\'s infallible.\\r\\n DUKE. You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace.\\r\\n LUCIO. Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him, for the rebellion\\r\\n of a codpiece to take away the life of a man! Would the Duke that\\r\\n is absent have done this? Ere he would have hang\\'d a man for the\\r\\n getting a hundred bastards, he would have paid for the nursing a\\r\\n thousand. He had some feeling of the sport; he knew the service,\\r\\n and that instructed him to mercy.\\r\\n DUKE. I never heard the absent Duke much detected for women; he was\\r\\n not inclin\\'d that way.\\r\\n LUCIO. O, sir, you are deceiv\\'d.\\r\\n DUKE. \\'Tis not possible.\\r\\n LUCIO. Who- not the Duke? Yes, your beggar of fifty; and his use\\r\\n was to put a ducat in her clack-dish. The Duke had crotchets in\\r\\n him. He would be drunk too; that let me inform you.\\r\\n DUKE. You do him wrong, surely.\\r\\n LUCIO. Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy fellow was the Duke; and\\r\\n I believe I know the cause of his withdrawing.\\r\\n DUKE. What, I prithee, might be the cause?\\r\\n LUCIO. No, pardon; \\'tis a secret must be lock\\'d within the teeth\\r\\n and the lips; but this I can let you understand: the greater file\\r\\n of the subject held the Duke to be wise.\\r\\n DUKE. Wise? Why, no question but he was.\\r\\n LUCIO. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow.\\r\\n DUKE. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mistaking; the very\\r\\n stream of his life, and the business he hath helmed, must, upon a\\r\\n warranted need, give him a better proclamation. Let him be but\\r\\n testimonied in his own bringings-forth, and he shall appear to\\r\\n the envious a scholar, a statesman, and a soldier. Therefore you\\r\\n speak unskilfully; or, if your knowledge be more, it is much\\r\\n dark\\'ned in your malice.\\r\\n LUCIO. Sir, I know him, and I love him.\\r\\n DUKE. Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dearer\\r\\n love.\\r\\n LUCIO. Come, sir, I know what I know.\\r\\n DUKE. I can hardly believe that, since you know not what you speak.\\r\\n But, if ever the Duke return, as our prayers are he may, let me\\r\\n desire you to make your answer before him. If it be honest you\\r\\n have spoke, you have courage to maintain it; I am bound to call\\r\\n upon you; and I pray you your name?\\r\\n LUCIO. Sir, my name is Lucio, well known to the Duke.\\r\\n DUKE. He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to report you.\\r\\n LUCIO. I fear you not.\\r\\n DUKE. O, you hope the Duke will return no more; or you imagine me\\r\\n too unhurtful an opposite. But, indeed, I can do you little harm:\\r\\n you\\'ll forswear this again.\\r\\n LUCIO. I\\'ll be hang\\'d first. Thou art deceiv\\'d in me, friar. But no\\r\\n more of this. Canst thou tell if Claudio die to-morrow or no?\\r\\n DUKE. Why should he die, sir?\\r\\n LUCIO. Why? For filling a bottle with a tun-dish. I would the Duke\\r\\n we talk of were return\\'d again. This ungenitur\\'d agent will\\r\\n unpeople the province with continency; sparrows must not build in\\r\\n his house-eaves because they are lecherous. The Duke yet would\\r\\n have dark deeds darkly answered; he would never bring them to\\r\\n light. Would he were return\\'d! Marry, this Claudio is condemned\\r\\n for untrussing. Farewell, good friar; I prithee pray for me. The\\r\\n Duke, I say to thee again, would eat mutton on Fridays. He\\'s not\\r\\n past it yet; and, I say to thee, he would mouth with a beggar\\r\\n though she smelt brown bread and garlic. Say that I said so.\\r\\n Farewell. Exit\\r\\n DUKE. No might nor greatness in mortality\\r\\n Can censure scape; back-wounding calumny\\r\\n The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong\\r\\n Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue?\\r\\n But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ESCALUS, PROVOST, and OFFICERS with\\r\\n MISTRESS OVERDONE\\r\\n\\r\\n ESCALUS. Go, away with her to prison.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. Good my lord, be good to me; your honour is\\r\\n accounted a merciful man; good my lord.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Double and treble admonition, and still forfeit in the\\r\\n same kind! This would make mercy swear and play the tyrant.\\r\\n PROVOST. A bawd of eleven years\\' continuance, may it please your\\r\\n honour.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. My lord, this is one Lucio\\'s information against me.\\r\\n Mistress Kate Keepdown was with child by him in the Duke\\'s time;\\r\\n he promis\\'d her marriage. His child is a year and a quarter old\\r\\n come Philip and Jacob; I have kept it myself; and see how he goes\\r\\n about to abuse me.\\r\\n ESCALUS. That fellow is a fellow of much license. Let him be call\\'d\\r\\n before us. Away with her to prison. Go to; no more words. [Exeunt\\r\\n OFFICERS with MISTRESS OVERDONE] Provost, my brother Angelo will\\r\\n not be alter\\'d: Claudio must die to-morrow. Let him be furnish\\'d\\r\\n with divines, and have all charitable preparation. If my brother\\r\\n wrought by my pity, it should not be so with him.\\r\\n PROVOST. So please you, this friar hath been with him, and advis\\'d\\r\\n him for th\\' entertainment of death.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Good even, good father.\\r\\n DUKE. Bliss and goodness on you!\\r\\n ESCALUS. Of whence are you?\\r\\n DUKE. Not of this country, though my chance is now\\r\\n To use it for my time. I am a brother\\r\\n Of gracious order, late come from the See\\r\\n In special business from his Holiness.\\r\\n ESCALUS. What news abroad i\\' th\\' world?\\r\\n DUKE. None, but that there is so great a fever on goodness that the\\r\\n dissolution of it must cure it. Novelty is only in request; and,\\r\\n as it is, as dangerous to be aged in any kind of course as it is\\r\\n virtuous to be constant in any undertakeing. There is scarce\\r\\n truth enough alive to make societies secure; but security enough\\r\\n to make fellowships accurst. Much upon this riddle runs the\\r\\n wisdom of the world. This news is old enough, yet it is every\\r\\n day\\'s news. I pray you, sir, of what disposition was the Duke?\\r\\n ESCALUS. One that, above all other strifes, contended especially to\\r\\n know himself.\\r\\n DUKE. What pleasure was he given to?\\r\\n ESCALUS. Rather rejoicing to see another merry than merry at\\r\\n anything which profess\\'d to make him rejoice; a gentleman of all\\r\\n temperance. But leave we him to his events, with a prayer they\\r\\n may prove prosperous; and let me desire to know how you find\\r\\n Claudio prepar\\'d. I am made to understand that you have lent him\\r\\n visitation.\\r\\n DUKE. He professes to have received no sinister measure from his\\r\\n judge, but most willingly humbles himself to the determination of\\r\\n justice. Yet had he framed to himself, by the instruction of his\\r\\n frailty, many deceiving promises of life; which I, by my good\\r\\n leisure, have discredited to him, and now he is resolv\\'d to die.\\r\\n ESCALUS. You have paid the heavens your function, and the prisoner\\r\\n the very debt of your calling. I have labour\\'d for the poor\\r\\n gentleman to the extremest shore of my modesty; but my brother\\r\\n justice have I found so severe that he hath forc\\'d me to tell him\\r\\n he is indeed Justice.\\r\\n DUKE. If his own life answer the straitness of his proceeding, it\\r\\n shall become him well; wherein if he chance to fail, he hath\\r\\n sentenc\\'d himself.\\r\\n ESCALUS. I am going to visit the prisoner. Fare you well.\\r\\n DUKE. Peace be with you! Exeunt ESCALUS and PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n He who the sword of heaven will bear\\r\\n Should be as holy as severe;\\r\\n Pattern in himself to know,\\r\\n Grace to stand, and virtue go;\\r\\n More nor less to others paying\\r\\n Than by self-offences weighing.\\r\\n Shame to him whose cruel striking\\r\\n Kills for faults of his own liking!\\r\\n Twice treble shame on Angelo,\\r\\n To weed my vice and let his grow!\\r\\n O, what may man within him hide,\\r\\n Though angel on the outward side!\\r\\n How may likeness, made in crimes,\\r\\n Make a practice on the times,\\r\\n To draw with idle spiders\\' strings\\r\\n Most ponderous and substantial things!\\r\\n Craft against vice I must apply.\\r\\n With Angelo to-night shall lie\\r\\n His old betrothed but despised;\\r\\n So disguise shall, by th\\' disguised,\\r\\n Pay with falsehood false exacting,\\r\\n And perform an old contracting. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. Scene I. The moated grange at Saint Duke\\'s\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MARIANA; and BOY singing\\r\\n\\r\\n SONG\\r\\n\\r\\n Take, O, take those lips away,\\r\\n That so sweetly were forsworn;\\r\\n And those eyes, the break of day,\\r\\n Lights that do mislead the morn;\\r\\n But my kisses bring again, bring again;\\r\\n Seals of love, but seal\\'d in vain, seal\\'d in vain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUKE, disguised as before\\r\\n\\r\\n MARIANA. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick away;\\r\\n Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice\\r\\n Hath often still\\'d my brawling discontent. Exit BOY\\r\\n I cry you mercy, sir, and well could wish\\r\\n You had not found me here so musical.\\r\\n Let me excuse me, and believe me so,\\r\\n My mirth it much displeas\\'d, but pleas\\'d my woe.\\r\\n DUKE. \\'Tis good; though music oft hath such a charm\\r\\n To make bad good and good provoke to harm.\\r\\n I pray you tell me hath anybody inquir\\'d for me here to-day. Much\\r\\n upon this time have I promis\\'d here to meet.\\r\\n MARIANA. You have not been inquir\\'d after; I have sat here all day.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ISABELLA\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. I do constantly believe you. The time is come even now. I\\r\\n shall crave your forbearance a little. May be I will call upon\\r\\n you anon, for some advantage to yourself.\\r\\n MARIANA. I am always bound to you. Exit\\r\\n DUKE. Very well met, and well come.\\r\\n What is the news from this good deputy?\\r\\n ISABELLA. He hath a garden circummur\\'d with brick,\\r\\n Whose western side is with a vineyard back\\'d;\\r\\n And to that vineyard is a planched gate\\r\\n That makes his opening with this bigger key;\\r\\n This other doth command a little door\\r\\n Which from the vineyard to the garden leads.\\r\\n There have I made my promise\\r\\n Upon the heavy middle of the night\\r\\n To call upon him.\\r\\n DUKE. But shall you on your knowledge find this way?\\r\\n ISABELLA. I have ta\\'en a due and wary note upon\\'t;\\r\\n With whispering and most guilty diligence,\\r\\n In action all of precept, he did show me\\r\\n The way twice o\\'er.\\r\\n DUKE. Are there no other tokens\\r\\n Between you \\'greed concerning her observance?\\r\\n ISABELLA. No, none, but only a repair i\\' th\\' dark;\\r\\n And that I have possess\\'d him my most stay\\r\\n Can be but brief; for I have made him know\\r\\n I have a servant comes with me along,\\r\\n That stays upon me; whose persuasion is\\r\\n I come about my brother.\\r\\n DUKE. \\'Tis well borne up.\\r\\n I have not yet made known to Mariana\\r\\n A word of this. What ho, within! come forth.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter MARIANA\\r\\n\\r\\n I pray you be acquainted with this maid;\\r\\n She comes to do you good.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I do desire the like.\\r\\n DUKE. Do you persuade yourself that I respect you?\\r\\n MARIANA. Good friar, I know you do, and have found it.\\r\\n DUKE. Take, then, this your companion by the hand,\\r\\n Who hath a story ready for your ear.\\r\\n I shall attend your leisure; but make haste;\\r\\n The vaporous night approaches.\\r\\n MARIANA. Will\\'t please you walk aside?\\r\\n Exeunt MARIANA and ISABELLA\\r\\n DUKE. O place and greatness! Millions of false eyes\\r\\n Are stuck upon thee. Volumes of report\\r\\n Run with these false, and most contrarious quest\\r\\n Upon thy doings. Thousand escapes of wit\\r\\n Make thee the father of their idle dream,\\r\\n And rack thee in their fancies.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter MARIANA and ISABELLA\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, how agreed?\\r\\n ISABELLA. She\\'ll take the enterprise upon her, father,\\r\\n If you advise it.\\r\\n DUKE. It is not my consent,\\r\\n But my entreaty too.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Little have you to say,\\r\\n When you depart from him, but, soft and low,\\r\\n \\'Remember now my brother.\\'\\r\\n MARIANA. Fear me not.\\r\\n DUKE. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all.\\r\\n He is your husband on a pre-contract.\\r\\n To bring you thus together \\'tis no sin,\\r\\n Sith that the justice of your title to him\\r\\n Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go;\\r\\n Our corn\\'s to reap, for yet our tithe\\'s to sow. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The prison\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PROVOST and POMPEY\\r\\n\\r\\n PROVOST. Come hither, sirrah. Can you cut off a man\\'s head?\\r\\n POMPEY. If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can; but if he be a\\r\\n married man, he\\'s his wife\\'s head, and I can never cut of a\\r\\n woman\\'s head.\\r\\n PROVOST. Come, sir, leave me your snatches and yield me a direct\\r\\n answer. To-morrow morning are to die Claudio and Barnardine. Here\\r\\n is in our prison a common executioner, who in his office lacks a\\r\\n helper; if you will take it on you to assist him, it shall redeem\\r\\n you from your gyves; if not, you shall have your full time of\\r\\n imprisonment, and your deliverance with an unpitied whipping, for\\r\\n you have been a notorious bawd.\\r\\n POMPEY. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd time out of mind; but yet\\r\\n I will be content to be a lawful hangman. I would be glad to\\r\\n receive some instructions from my fellow partner.\\r\\n PROVOST. What ho, Abhorson! Where\\'s Abhorson there?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ABHORSON\\r\\n\\r\\n ABHORSON. Do you call, sir?\\r\\n PROVOST. Sirrah, here\\'s a fellow will help you to-morrow in your\\r\\n execution. If you think it meet, compound with him by the year,\\r\\n and let him abide here with you; if not, use him for the present,\\r\\n and dismiss him. He cannot plead his estimation with you; he hath\\r\\n been a bawd.\\r\\n ABHORSON. A bawd, sir? Fie upon him! He will discredit our mystery.\\r\\n PROVOST. Go to, sir; you weigh equally; a feather will turn the\\r\\n scale. Exit\\r\\n POMPEY. Pray, sir, by your good favour- for surely, sir, a good\\r\\n favour you have but that you have a hanging look- do you call,\\r\\n sir, your occupation a mystery?\\r\\n ABHORSON. Ay, sir; a mystery.\\r\\n POMPEY. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery; and your\\r\\n whores, sir, being members of my occupation, using painting, do\\r\\n prove my occupation a mystery; but what mystery there should be\\r\\n in hanging, if I should be hang\\'d, I cannot imagine.\\r\\n ABHORSON. Sir, it is a mystery.\\r\\n POMPEY. Proof?\\r\\n ABHORSON. Every true man\\'s apparel fits your thief: if it be too\\r\\n little for your thief, your true man thinks it big enough; if it\\r\\n be too big for your thief, your thief thinks it little enough; so\\r\\n every true man\\'s apparel fits your thief.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n PROVOST. Are you agreed?\\r\\n POMPEY. Sir, I will serve him; for I do find your hangman is a more\\r\\n penitent trade than your bawd; he doth oftener ask forgiveness.\\r\\n PROVOST. You, sirrah, provide your block and your axe to-morrow\\r\\n four o\\'clock.\\r\\n ABHORSON. Come on, bawd; I will instruct thee in my trade; follow.\\r\\n POMPEY. I do desire to learn, sir; and I hope, if you have occasion\\r\\n to use me for your own turn, you shall find me yare; for truly,\\r\\n sir, for your kindness I owe you a good turn.\\r\\n PROVOST. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio.\\r\\n Exeunt ABHORSON and POMPEY\\r\\n Th\\' one has my pity; not a jot the other,\\r\\n Being a murderer, though he were my brother.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CLAUDIO\\r\\n\\r\\n Look, here\\'s the warrant, Claudio, for thy death;\\r\\n \\'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow\\r\\n Thou must be made immortal. Where\\'s Barnardine?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. As fast lock\\'d up in sleep as guiltless labour\\r\\n When it lies starkly in the traveller\\'s bones.\\r\\n He will not wake.\\r\\n PROVOST. Who can do good on him?\\r\\n Well, go, prepare yourself. [Knocking within] But hark, what\\r\\n noise?\\r\\n Heaven give your spirits comfort! Exit CLAUDIO\\r\\n [Knocking continues] By and by.\\r\\n I hope it is some pardon or reprieve\\r\\n For the most gentle Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUKE, disguised as before\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, father.\\r\\n DUKE. The best and wholesom\\'st spirits of the night\\r\\n Envelop you, good Provost! Who call\\'d here of late?\\r\\n PROVOST. None, since the curfew rung.\\r\\n DUKE. Not Isabel?\\r\\n PROVOST. No.\\r\\n DUKE. They will then, ere\\'t be long.\\r\\n PROVOST. What comfort is for Claudio?\\r\\n DUKE. There\\'s some in hope.\\r\\n PROVOST. It is a bitter deputy.\\r\\n DUKE. Not so, not so; his life is parallel\\'d\\r\\n Even with the stroke and line of his great justice;\\r\\n He doth with holy abstinence subdue\\r\\n That in himself which he spurs on his pow\\'r\\r\\n To qualify in others. Were he meal\\'d with that\\r\\n Which he corrects, then were he tyrannous;\\r\\n But this being so, he\\'s just. [Knocking within] Now are they\\r\\n come. Exit PROVOST\\r\\n This is a gentle provost; seldom when\\r\\n The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. [Knocking within]\\r\\n How now, what noise! That spirit\\'s possess\\'d with haste\\r\\n That wounds th\\' unsisting postern with these strokes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n PROVOST. There he must stay until the officer\\r\\n Arise to let him in; he is call\\'d up.\\r\\n DUKE. Have you no countermand for Claudio yet\\r\\n But he must die to-morrow?\\r\\n PROVOST. None, sir, none.\\r\\n DUKE. As near the dawning, Provost, as it is,\\r\\n You shall hear more ere morning.\\r\\n PROVOST. Happily\\r\\n You something know; yet I believe there comes\\r\\n No countermand; no such example have we.\\r\\n Besides, upon the very siege of justice,\\r\\n Lord Angelo hath to the public ear\\r\\n Profess\\'d the contrary.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n This is his lordship\\'s man.\\r\\n DUKE. And here comes Claudio\\'s pardon.\\r\\n MESSENGER. My lord hath sent you this note; and by me this further\\r\\n charge, that you swerve not from the smallest article of it,\\r\\n neither in time, matter, or other circumstance. Good morrow; for\\r\\n as I take it, it is almost day.\\r\\n PROVOST. I shall obey him. Exit MESSENGER\\r\\n DUKE. [Aside] This is his pardon, purchas\\'d by such sin\\r\\n For which the pardoner himself is in;\\r\\n Hence hath offence his quick celerity,\\r\\n When it is borne in high authority.\\r\\n When vice makes mercy, mercy\\'s so extended\\r\\n That for the fault\\'s love is th\\' offender friended.\\r\\n Now, sir, what news?\\r\\n PROVOST. I told you: Lord Angelo, belike thinking me remiss in mine\\r\\n office, awakens me with this unwonted putting-on; methinks\\r\\n strangely, for he hath not us\\'d it before.\\r\\n DUKE. Pray you, let\\'s hear.\\r\\n PROVOST. [Reads] \\'Whatsoever you may hear to the contrary, let\\r\\n Claudio be executed by four of the clock, and, in the afternoon,\\r\\n Barnardine. For my better satisfaction, let me have Claudio\\'s\\r\\n head sent me by five. Let this be duly performed, with a thought\\r\\n that more depends on it than we must yet deliver. Thus fail not\\r\\n to do your office, as you will answer it at your peril.\\'\\r\\n What say you to this, sir?\\r\\n DUKE. What is that Barnardine who is to be executed in th\\'\\r\\n afternoon?\\r\\n PROVOST. A Bohemian born; but here nurs\\'d up and bred.\\r\\n One that is a prisoner nine years old.\\r\\n DUKE. How came it that the absent Duke had not either deliver\\'d him\\r\\n to his liberty or executed him? I have heard it was ever his\\r\\n manner to do so.\\r\\n PROVOST. His friends still wrought reprieves for him; and, indeed,\\r\\n his fact, till now in the government of Lord Angelo, came not to\\r\\n an undoubted proof.\\r\\n DUKE. It is now apparent?\\r\\n PROVOST. Most manifest, and not denied by himself.\\r\\n DUKE. Hath he borne himself penitently in prison? How seems he to\\r\\n be touch\\'d?\\r\\n PROVOST. A man that apprehends death no more dreadfully but as a\\r\\n drunken sleep; careless, reckless, and fearless, of what\\'s past,\\r\\n present, or to come; insensible of mortality and desperately\\r\\n mortal.\\r\\n DUKE. He wants advice.\\r\\n PROVOST. He will hear none. He hath evermore had the liberty of the\\r\\n prison; give him leave to escape hence, he would not; drunk many\\r\\n times a day, if not many days entirely drunk. We have very oft\\r\\n awak\\'d him, as if to carry him to execution, and show\\'d him a\\r\\n seeming warrant for it; it hath not moved him at all.\\r\\n DUKE. More of him anon. There is written in your brow, Provost,\\r\\n honesty and constancy. If I read it not truly, my ancient skill\\r\\n beguiles me; but in the boldness of my cunning I will lay myself\\r\\n in hazard. Claudio, whom here you have warrant to execute, is no\\r\\n greater forfeit to the law than Angelo who hath sentenc\\'d him. To\\r\\n make you understand this in a manifested effect, I crave but four\\r\\n days\\' respite; for the which you are to do me both a present and\\r\\n a dangerous courtesy.\\r\\n PROVOST. Pray, sir, in what?\\r\\n DUKE. In the delaying death.\\r\\n PROVOST. Alack! How may I do it, having the hour limited, and an\\r\\n express command, under penalty, to deliver his head in the view\\r\\n of Angelo? I may make my case as Claudio\\'s, to cross this in the\\r\\n smallest.\\r\\n DUKE. By the vow of mine order, I warrant you, if my instructions\\r\\n may be your guide. Let this Barnardine be this morning executed,\\r\\n and his head borne to Angelo.\\r\\n PROVOST. Angelo hath seen them both, and will discover the favour.\\r\\n DUKE. O, death\\'s a great disguiser; and you may add to it. Shave\\r\\n the head and tie the beard; and say it was the desire of the\\r\\n penitent to be so bar\\'d before his death. You know the course is\\r\\n common. If anything fall to you upon this more than thanks and\\r\\n good fortune, by the saint whom I profess, I will plead against\\r\\n it with my life.\\r\\n PROVOST. Pardon me, good father; it is against my oath.\\r\\n DUKE. Were you sworn to the Duke, or to the deputy?\\r\\n PROVOST. To him and to his substitutes.\\r\\n DUKE. You will think you have made no offence if the Duke avouch\\r\\n the justice of your dealing?\\r\\n PROVOST. But what likelihood is in that?\\r\\n DUKE. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet since I see you\\r\\n fearful, that neither my coat, integrity, nor persuasion, can\\r\\n with ease attempt you, I will go further than I meant, to pluck\\r\\n all fears out of you. Look you, sir, here is the hand and seal of\\r\\n the Duke. You know the character, I doubt not; and the signet is\\r\\n not strange to you.\\r\\n PROVOST. I know them both.\\r\\n DUKE. The contents of this is the return of the Duke; you shall\\r\\n anon over-read it at your pleasure, where you shall find within\\r\\n these two days he will be here. This is a thing that Angelo knows\\r\\n not; for he this very day receives letters of strange tenour,\\r\\n perchance of the Duke\\'s death, perchance entering into some\\r\\n monastery; but, by chance, nothing of what is writ. Look, th\\'\\r\\n unfolding star calls up the shepherd. Put not yourself into\\r\\n amazement how these things should be: all difficulties are but\\r\\n easy when they are known. Call your executioner, and off with\\r\\n Barnardine\\'s head. I will give him a present shrift, and advise\\r\\n him for a better place. Yet you are amaz\\'d, but this shall\\r\\n absolutely resolve you. Come away; it is almost clear dawn.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The prison\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter POMPEY\\r\\n\\r\\n POMPEY. I am as well acquainted here as I was in our house of\\r\\n profession; one would think it were Mistress Overdone\\'s own house,\\r\\n for here be many of her old customers. First, here\\'s young Master\\r\\n Rash; he\\'s in for a commodity of brown paper and old ginger, nine\\r\\n score and seventeen pounds, of which he made five marks ready money.\\r\\n Marry, then ginger was not much in request, for the old women were\\r\\n all dead. Then is there here one Master Caper, at the suit of Master\\r\\n Threepile the mercer, for some four suits of peach-colour\\'d satin,\\r\\n which now peaches him a beggar. Then have we here young Dizy, and\\r\\n young Master Deepvow, and Master Copperspur, and Master Starvelackey,\\r\\n the rapier and dagger man, and young Dropheir that kill\\'d lusty\\r\\n Pudding, and Master Forthlight the tilter, and brave Master Shootie\\r\\n the great traveller, and wild Halfcan that stabb\\'d Pots, and, I\\r\\n think, forty more- all great doers in our trade, and are now \\'for the\\r\\n Lord\\'s sake.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ABHORSON\\r\\n\\r\\n ABHORSON. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither.\\r\\n POMPEY. Master Barnardine! You must rise and be hang\\'d, Master\\r\\n Barnardine!\\r\\n ABHORSON. What ho, Barnardine!\\r\\n BARNARDINE. [Within] A pox o\\' your throats! Who makes that noise\\r\\n there? What are you?\\r\\n POMPEY. Your friends, sir; the hangman. You must be so good, sir,\\r\\n to rise and be put to death.\\r\\n BARNARDINE. [ Within ] Away, you rogue, away; I am sleepy.\\r\\n ABHORSON. Tell him he must awake, and that quickly too.\\r\\n POMPEY. Pray, Master Barnardine, awake till you are executed, and\\r\\n sleep afterwards.\\r\\n ABHORSON. Go in to him, and fetch him out.\\r\\n POMPEY. He is coming, sir, he is coming; I hear his straw rustle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BARNARDINE\\r\\n\\r\\n ABHORSON. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah?\\r\\n POMPEY. Very ready, sir.\\r\\n BARNARDINE. How now, Abhorson, what\\'s the news with you?\\r\\n ABHORSON. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into your prayers;\\r\\n for, look you, the warrant\\'s come.\\r\\n BARNARDINE. You rogue, I have been drinking all night; I am not\\r\\n fitted for\\'t.\\r\\n POMPEY. O, the better, sir! For he that drinks all night and is\\r\\n hanged betimes in the morning may sleep the sounder all the next\\r\\n day.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUKE, disguised as before\\r\\n\\r\\n ABHORSON. Look you, sir, here comes your ghostly father.\\r\\n Do we jest now, think you?\\r\\n DUKE. Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing how hastily you are\\r\\n to depart, I am come to advise you, comfort you, and pray with\\r\\n you.\\r\\n BARNARDINE. Friar, not I; I have been drinking hard all night, and\\r\\n I will have more time to prepare me, or they shall beat out my\\r\\n brains with billets. I will not consent to die this day, that\\'s\\r\\n certain.\\r\\n DUKE. O, Sir, you must; and therefore I beseech you\\r\\n Look forward on the journey you shall go.\\r\\n BARNARDINE. I swear I will not die to-day for any man\\'s persuasion.\\r\\n DUKE. But hear you-\\r\\n BARNARDINE. Not a word; if you have anything to say to me, come to\\r\\n my ward; for thence will not I to-day. Exit\\r\\n DUKE. Unfit to live or die. O gravel heart!\\r\\n After him, fellows; bring him to the block.\\r\\n Exeunt ABHORSON and POMPEY\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n PROVOST. Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner?\\r\\n DUKE. A creature unprepar\\'d, unmeet for death;\\r\\n And to transport him in the mind he is\\r\\n Were damnable.\\r\\n PROVOST. Here in the prison, father,\\r\\n There died this morning of a cruel fever\\r\\n One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate,\\r\\n A man of Claudio\\'s years; his beard and head\\r\\n Just of his colour. What if we do omit\\r\\n This reprobate till he were well inclin\\'d,\\r\\n And satisfy the deputy with the visage\\r\\n Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio?\\r\\n DUKE. O, \\'tis an accident that heaven provides!\\r\\n Dispatch it presently; the hour draws on\\r\\n Prefix\\'d by Angelo. See this be done,\\r\\n And sent according to command; whiles I\\r\\n Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die.\\r\\n PROVOST. This shall be done, good father, presently.\\r\\n But Barnardine must die this afternoon;\\r\\n And how shall we continue Claudio,\\r\\n To save me from the danger that might come\\r\\n If he were known alive?\\r\\n DUKE. Let this be done:\\r\\n Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and Claudio.\\r\\n Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting\\r\\n To the under generation, you shall find\\r\\n Your safety manifested.\\r\\n PROVOST. I am your free dependant.\\r\\n DUKE. Quick, dispatch, and send the head to Angelo.\\r\\n Exit PROVOST\\r\\n Now will I write letters to Angelo-\\r\\n The Provost, he shall bear them- whose contents\\r\\n Shall witness to him I am near at home,\\r\\n And that, by great injunctions, I am bound\\r\\n To enter publicly. Him I\\'ll desire\\r\\n To meet me at the consecrated fount,\\r\\n A league below the city; and from thence,\\r\\n By cold gradation and well-balanc\\'d form.\\r\\n We shall proceed with Angelo.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n PROVOST. Here is the head; I\\'ll carry it myself.\\r\\n DUKE. Convenient is it. Make a swift return;\\r\\n For I would commune with you of such things\\r\\n That want no ear but yours.\\r\\n PROVOST. I\\'ll make all speed. Exit\\r\\n ISABELLA. [ Within ] Peace, ho, be here!\\r\\n DUKE. The tongue of Isabel. She\\'s come to know\\r\\n If yet her brother\\'s pardon be come hither;\\r\\n But I will keep her ignorant of her good,\\r\\n To make her heavenly comforts of despair\\r\\n When it is least expected.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ISABELLA\\r\\n\\r\\n ISABELLA. Ho, by your leave!\\r\\n DUKE. Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter.\\r\\n ISABELLA. The better, given me by so holy a man.\\r\\n Hath yet the deputy sent my brother\\'s pardon?\\r\\n DUKE. He hath releas\\'d him, Isabel, from the world.\\r\\n His head is off and sent to Angelo.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Nay, but it is not so.\\r\\n DUKE. It is no other.\\r\\n Show your wisdom, daughter, in your close patience,\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, I will to him and pluck out his eyes!\\r\\n DUKE. You shall not be admitted to his sight.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Unhappy Claudio! Wretched Isabel!\\r\\n Injurious world! Most damned Angelo!\\r\\n DUKE. This nor hurts him nor profits you a jot;\\r\\n Forbear it, therefore; give your cause to heaven.\\r\\n Mark what I say, which you shall find\\r\\n By every syllable a faithful verity.\\r\\n The Duke comes home to-morrow. Nay, dry your eyes.\\r\\n One of our covent, and his confessor,\\r\\n Gives me this instance. Already he hath carried\\r\\n Notice to Escalus and Angelo,\\r\\n Who do prepare to meet him at the gates,\\r\\n There to give up their pow\\'r. If you can, pace your wisdom\\r\\n In that good path that I would wish it go,\\r\\n And you shall have your bosom on this wretch,\\r\\n Grace of the Duke, revenges to your heart,\\r\\n And general honour.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I am directed by you.\\r\\n DUKE. This letter, then, to Friar Peter give;\\r\\n \\'Tis that he sent me of the Duke\\'s return.\\r\\n Say, by this token, I desire his company\\r\\n At Mariana\\'s house to-night. Her cause and yours\\r\\n I\\'ll perfect him withal; and he shall bring you\\r\\n Before the Duke; and to the head of Angelo\\r\\n Accuse him home and home. For my poor self,\\r\\n I am combined by a sacred vow,\\r\\n And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter.\\r\\n Command these fretting waters from your eyes\\r\\n With a light heart; trust not my holy order,\\r\\n If I pervert your course. Who\\'s here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LUCIO\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIO. Good even. Friar, where\\'s the Provost?\\r\\n DUKE. Not within, sir.\\r\\n LUCIO. O pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart to see thine eyes\\r\\n so red. Thou must be patient. I am fain to dine and sup with\\r\\n water and bran; I dare not for my head fill my belly; one\\r\\n fruitful meal would set me to\\'t. But they say the Duke will be\\r\\n here to-morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I lov\\'d thy brother. If the\\r\\n old fantastical Duke of dark corners had been at home, he had\\r\\n lived. Exit ISABELLA\\r\\n DUKE. Sir, the Duke is marvellous little beholding to your reports;\\r\\n but the best is, he lives not in them.\\r\\n LUCIO. Friar, thou knowest not the Duke so well as I do; he\\'s a\\r\\n better woodman than thou tak\\'st him for.\\r\\n DUKE. Well, you\\'ll answer this one day. Fare ye well.\\r\\n LUCIO. Nay, tarry; I\\'ll go along with thee; I can tell thee pretty\\r\\n tales of the Duke.\\r\\n DUKE. You have told me too many of him already, sir, if they be\\r\\n true; if not true, none were enough.\\r\\n LUCIO. I was once before him for getting a wench with child.\\r\\n DUKE. Did you such a thing?\\r\\n LUCIO. Yes, marry, did I; but I was fain to forswear it: they would\\r\\n else have married me to the rotten medlar.\\r\\n DUKE. Sir, your company is fairer than honest. Rest you well.\\r\\n LUCIO. By my troth, I\\'ll go with thee to the lane\\'s end. If bawdy\\r\\n talk offend you, we\\'ll have very little of it. Nay, friar, I am a\\r\\n kind of burr; I shall stick. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. ANGELO\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ANGELO and ESCALUS\\r\\n\\r\\n ESCALUS. Every letter he hath writ hath disvouch\\'d other.\\r\\n ANGELO. In most uneven and distracted manner. His actions show much\\r\\n like to madness; pray heaven his wisdom be not tainted! And why\\r\\n meet him at the gates, and redeliver our authorities there?\\r\\n ESCALUS. I guess not.\\r\\n ANGELO. And why should we proclaim it in an hour before his\\r\\n ent\\'ring that, if any crave redress of injustice, they should\\r\\n exhibit their petitions in the street?\\r\\n ESCALUS. He shows his reason for that: to have a dispatch of\\r\\n complaints; and to deliver us from devices hereafter, which\\r\\n shall then have no power to stand against us.\\r\\n ANGELO. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaim\\'d;\\r\\n Betimes i\\' th\\' morn I\\'ll call you at your house;\\r\\n Give notice to such men of sort and suit\\r\\n As are to meet him.\\r\\n ESCALUS. I shall, sir; fare you well.\\r\\n ANGELO. Good night. Exit ESCALUS\\r\\n This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant\\r\\n And dull to all proceedings. A deflow\\'red maid!\\r\\n And by an eminent body that enforc\\'d\\r\\n The law against it! But that her tender shame\\r\\n Will not proclaim against her maiden loss,\\r\\n How might she tongue me! Yet reason dares her no;\\r\\n For my authority bears a so credent bulk\\r\\n That no particular scandal once can touch\\r\\n But it confounds the breather. He should have liv\\'d,\\r\\n Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense,\\r\\n Might in the times to come have ta\\'en revenge,\\r\\n By so receiving a dishonour\\'d life\\r\\n With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had liv\\'d!\\r\\n Alack, when once our grace we have forgot,\\r\\n Nothing goes right; we would, and we would not. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Fields without the town\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE in his own habit, and Friar PETER\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. These letters at fit time deliver me. [Giving letters]\\r\\n The Provost knows our purpose and our plot.\\r\\n The matter being afoot, keep your instruction\\r\\n And hold you ever to our special drift;\\r\\n Though sometimes you do blench from this to that\\r\\n As cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavius\\' house,\\r\\n And tell him where I stay; give the like notice\\r\\n To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus,\\r\\n And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate;\\r\\n But send me Flavius first.\\r\\n PETER. It shall be speeded well. Exit FRIAR\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter VARRIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. I thank thee, Varrius; thou hast made good haste.\\r\\n Come, we will walk. There\\'s other of our friends\\r\\n Will greet us here anon. My gentle Varrius! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. A street near the city gate\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ISABELLA and MARIANA\\r\\n\\r\\n ISABELLA. To speak so indirectly I am loath;\\r\\n I would say the truth; but to accuse him so,\\r\\n That is your part. Yet I am advis\\'d to do it;\\r\\n He says, to veil full purpose.\\r\\n MARIANA. Be rul\\'d by him.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Besides, he tells me that, if peradventure\\r\\n He speak against me on the adverse side,\\r\\n I should not think it strange; for \\'tis a physic\\r\\n That\\'s bitter to sweet end.\\r\\n MARIANA. I would Friar Peter-\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FRIAR PETER\\r\\n\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, peace! the friar is come.\\r\\n PETER. Come, I have found you out a stand most fit,\\r\\n Where you may have such vantage on the Duke\\r\\n He shall not pass you. Twice have the trumpets sounded;\\r\\n The generous and gravest citizens\\r\\n Have hent the gates, and very near upon\\r\\n The Duke is ent\\'ring; therefore, hence, away. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. The city gate\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter at several doors DUKE, VARRIUS, LORDS; ANGELO, ESCALUS, Lucio,\\r\\nPROVOST, OFFICERS, and CITIZENS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. My very worthy cousin, fairly met!\\r\\n Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you.\\r\\n ANGELO, ESCALUS. Happy return be to your royal Grace!\\r\\n DUKE. Many and hearty thankings to you both.\\r\\n We have made inquiry of you, and we hear\\r\\n Such goodness of your justice that our soul\\r\\n Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks,\\r\\n Forerunning more requital.\\r\\n ANGELO. You make my bonds still greater.\\r\\n DUKE. O, your desert speaks loud; and I should wrong it\\r\\n To lock it in the wards of covert bosom,\\r\\n When it deserves, with characters of brass,\\r\\n A forted residence \\'gainst the tooth of time\\r\\n And razure of oblivion. Give me your hand.\\r\\n And let the subject see, to make them know\\r\\n That outward courtesies would fain proclaim\\r\\n Favours that keep within. Come, Escalus,\\r\\n You must walk by us on our other hand,\\r\\n And good supporters are you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FRIAR PETER and ISABELLA\\r\\n\\r\\n PETER. Now is your time; speak loud, and kneel before him.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Justice, O royal Duke! Vail your regard\\r\\n Upon a wrong\\'d- I would fain have said a maid!\\r\\n O worthy Prince, dishonour not your eye\\r\\n By throwing it on any other object\\r\\n Till you have heard me in my true complaint,\\r\\n And given me justice, justice, justice, justice.\\r\\n DUKE. Relate your wrongs. In what? By whom? Be brief.\\r\\n Here is Lord Angelo shall give you justice;\\r\\n Reveal yourself to him.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O worthy Duke,\\r\\n You bid me seek redemption of the devil!\\r\\n Hear me yourself; for that which I must speak\\r\\n Must either punish me, not being believ\\'d,\\r\\n Or wring redress from you. Hear me, O, hear me, here!\\r\\n ANGELO. My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm;\\r\\n She hath been a suitor to me for her brother,\\r\\n Cut off by course of justice-\\r\\n ISABELLA. By course of justice!\\r\\n ANGELO. And she will speak most bitterly and strange.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Most strange, but yet most truly, will I speak.\\r\\n That Angelo\\'s forsworn, is it not strange?\\r\\n That Angelo\\'s a murderer, is\\'t not strange?\\r\\n That Angelo is an adulterous thief,\\r\\n An hypocrite, a virgin-violator,\\r\\n Is it not strange and strange?\\r\\n DUKE. Nay, it is ten times strange.\\r\\n ISABELLA. It is not truer he is Angelo\\r\\n Than this is all as true as it is strange;\\r\\n Nay, it is ten times true; for truth is truth\\r\\n To th\\' end of reck\\'ning.\\r\\n DUKE. Away with her. Poor soul,\\r\\n She speaks this in th\\' infirmity of sense.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O Prince! I conjure thee, as thou believ\\'st\\r\\n There is another comfort than this world,\\r\\n That thou neglect me not with that opinion\\r\\n That I am touch\\'d with madness. Make not impossible\\r\\n That which but seems unlike: \\'tis not impossible\\r\\n But one, the wicked\\'st caitiff on the ground,\\r\\n May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute,\\r\\n As Angelo; even so may Angelo,\\r\\n In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms,\\r\\n Be an arch-villain. Believe it, royal Prince,\\r\\n If he be less, he\\'s nothing; but he\\'s more,\\r\\n Had I more name for badness.\\r\\n DUKE. By mine honesty,\\r\\n If she be mad, as I believe no other,\\r\\n Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense,\\r\\n Such a dependency of thing on thing,\\r\\n As e\\'er I heard in madness.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O gracious Duke,\\r\\n Harp not on that; nor do not banish reason\\r\\n For inequality; but let your reason serve\\r\\n To make the truth appear where it seems hid,\\r\\n And hide the false seems true.\\r\\n DUKE. Many that are not mad\\r\\n Have, sure, more lack of reason. What would you say?\\r\\n ISABELLA. I am the sister of one Claudio,\\r\\n Condemn\\'d upon the act of fornication\\r\\n To lose his head; condemn\\'d by Angelo.\\r\\n I, in probation of a sisterhood,\\r\\n Was sent to by my brother; one Lucio\\r\\n As then the messenger-\\r\\n LUCIO. That\\'s I, an\\'t like your Grace.\\r\\n I came to her from Claudio, and desir\\'d her\\r\\n To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo\\r\\n For her poor brother\\'s pardon.\\r\\n ISABELLA. That\\'s he, indeed.\\r\\n DUKE. You were not bid to speak.\\r\\n LUCIO. No, my good lord;\\r\\n Nor wish\\'d to hold my peace.\\r\\n DUKE. I wish you now, then;\\r\\n Pray you take note of it; and when you have\\r\\n A business for yourself, pray heaven you then\\r\\n Be perfect.\\r\\n LUCIO. I warrant your honour.\\r\\n DUKE. The warrant\\'s for yourself; take heed to\\'t.\\r\\n ISABELLA. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale.\\r\\n LUCIO. Right.\\r\\n DUKE. It may be right; but you are i\\' the wrong\\r\\n To speak before your time. Proceed.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I went\\r\\n To this pernicious caitiff deputy.\\r\\n DUKE. That\\'s somewhat madly spoken.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Pardon it;\\r\\n The phrase is to the matter.\\r\\n DUKE. Mended again. The matter- proceed.\\r\\n ISABELLA. In brief- to set the needless process by,\\r\\n How I persuaded, how I pray\\'d, and kneel\\'d,\\r\\n How he refell\\'d me, and how I replied,\\r\\n For this was of much length- the vile conclusion\\r\\n I now begin with grief and shame to utter:\\r\\n He would not, but by gift of my chaste body\\r\\n To his concupiscible intemperate lust,\\r\\n Release my brother; and, after much debatement,\\r\\n My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour,\\r\\n And I did yield to him. But the next morn betimes,\\r\\n His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant\\r\\n For my poor brother\\'s head.\\r\\n DUKE. This is most likely!\\r\\n ISABELLA. O that it were as like as it is true!\\r\\n DUKE. By heaven, fond wretch, thou know\\'st not what thou speak\\'st,\\r\\n Or else thou art suborn\\'d against his honour\\r\\n In hateful practice. First, his integrity\\r\\n Stands without blemish; next, it imports no reason\\r\\n That with such vehemency he should pursue\\r\\n Faults proper to himself. If he had so offended,\\r\\n He would have weigh\\'d thy brother by himself,\\r\\n And not have cut him off. Some one hath set you on;\\r\\n Confess the truth, and say by whose advice\\r\\n Thou cam\\'st here to complain.\\r\\n ISABELLA. And is this all?\\r\\n Then, O you blessed ministers above,\\r\\n Keep me in patience; and, with ripened time,\\r\\n Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up\\r\\n In countenance! Heaven shield your Grace from woe,\\r\\n As I, thus wrong\\'d, hence unbelieved go!\\r\\n DUKE. I know you\\'d fain be gone. An officer!\\r\\n To prison with her! Shall we thus permit\\r\\n A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall\\r\\n On him so near us? This needs must be a practice.\\r\\n Who knew of your intent and coming hither?\\r\\n ISABELLA. One that I would were here, Friar Lodowick.\\r\\n DUKE. A ghostly father, belike. Who knows that Lodowick?\\r\\n LUCIO. My lord, I know him; \\'tis a meddling friar.\\r\\n I do not like the man; had he been lay, my lord,\\r\\n For certain words he spake against your Grace\\r\\n In your retirement, I had swing\\'d him soundly.\\r\\n DUKE. Words against me? This\\'s a good friar, belike!\\r\\n And to set on this wretched woman here\\r\\n Against our substitute! Let this friar be found.\\r\\n LUCIO. But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar,\\r\\n I saw them at the prison; a saucy friar,\\r\\n A very scurvy fellow.\\r\\n PETER. Blessed be your royal Grace!\\r\\n I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard\\r\\n Your royal ear abus\\'d. First, hath this woman\\r\\n Most wrongfully accus\\'d your substitute;\\r\\n Who is as free from touch or soil with her\\r\\n As she from one ungot.\\r\\n DUKE. We did believe no less.\\r\\n Know you that Friar Lodowick that she speaks of?\\r\\n PETER. I know him for a man divine and holy;\\r\\n Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler,\\r\\n As he\\'s reported by this gentleman;\\r\\n And, on my trust, a man that never yet\\r\\n Did, as he vouches, misreport your Grace.\\r\\n LUCIO. My lord, most villainously; believe it.\\r\\n PETER. Well, he in time may come to clear himself;\\r\\n But at this instant he is sick, my lord,\\r\\n Of a strange fever. Upon his mere request-\\r\\n Being come to knowledge that there was complaint\\r\\n Intended \\'gainst Lord Angelo- came I hither\\r\\n To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know\\r\\n Is true and false; and what he, with his oath\\r\\n And all probation, will make up full clear,\\r\\n Whensoever he\\'s convented. First, for this woman-\\r\\n To justify this worthy nobleman,\\r\\n So vulgarly and personally accus\\'d-\\r\\n Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes,\\r\\n Till she herself confess it.\\r\\n DUKE. Good friar, let\\'s hear it. Exit ISABELLA guarded\\r\\n Do you not smile at this, Lord Angelo?\\r\\n O heaven, the vanity of wretched fools!\\r\\n Give us some seats. Come, cousin Angelo;\\r\\n In this I\\'ll be impartial; be you judge\\r\\n Of your own cause.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MARIANA veiled\\r\\n\\r\\n Is this the witness, friar?\\r\\n FIRST let her show her face, and after speak.\\r\\n MARIANA. Pardon, my lord; I will not show my face\\r\\n Until my husband bid me.\\r\\n DUKE. What, are you married?\\r\\n MARIANA. No, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Are you a maid?\\r\\n MARIANA. No, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. A widow, then?\\r\\n MARIANA. Neither, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Why, you are nothing then; neither maid, widow, nor wife.\\r\\n LUCIO. My lord, she may be a punk; for many of them are neither\\r\\n maid, widow, nor wife.\\r\\n DUKE. Silence that fellow. I would he had some cause\\r\\n To prattle for himself.\\r\\n LUCIO. Well, my lord.\\r\\n MARIANA. My lord, I do confess I ne\\'er was married,\\r\\n And I confess, besides, I am no maid.\\r\\n I have known my husband; yet my husband\\r\\n Knows not that ever he knew me.\\r\\n LUCIO. He was drunk, then, my lord; it can be no better.\\r\\n DUKE. For the benefit of silence, would thou wert so too!\\r\\n LUCIO. Well, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. This is no witness for Lord Angelo.\\r\\n MARIANA. Now I come to\\'t, my lord:\\r\\n She that accuses him of fornication,\\r\\n In self-same manner doth accuse my husband;\\r\\n And charges him, my lord, with such a time\\r\\n When I\\'ll depose I had him in mine arms,\\r\\n With all th\\' effect of love.\\r\\n ANGELO. Charges she moe than me?\\r\\n MARIANA. Not that I know.\\r\\n DUKE. No? You say your husband.\\r\\n MARIANA. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo,\\r\\n Who thinks he knows that he ne\\'er knew my body,\\r\\n But knows he thinks that he knows Isabel\\'s.\\r\\n ANGELO. This is a strange abuse. Let\\'s see thy face.\\r\\n MARIANA. My husband bids me; now I will unmask.\\r\\n [Unveiling]\\r\\n This is that face, thou cruel Angelo,\\r\\n Which once thou swor\\'st was worth the looking on;\\r\\n This is the hand which, with a vow\\'d contract,\\r\\n Was fast belock\\'d in thine; this is the body\\r\\n That took away the match from Isabel,\\r\\n And did supply thee at thy garden-house\\r\\n In her imagin\\'d person.\\r\\n DUKE. Know you this woman?\\r\\n LUCIO. Carnally, she says.\\r\\n DUKE. Sirrah, no more.\\r\\n LUCIO. Enough, my lord.\\r\\n ANGELO. My lord, I must confess I know this woman;\\r\\n And five years since there was some speech of marriage\\r\\n Betwixt myself and her; which was broke off,\\r\\n Partly for that her promised proportions\\r\\n Came short of composition; but in chief\\r\\n For that her reputation was disvalued\\r\\n In levity. Since which time of five years\\r\\n I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her,\\r\\n Upon my faith and honour.\\r\\n MARIANA. Noble Prince,\\r\\n As there comes light from heaven and words from breath,\\r\\n As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue,\\r\\n I am affianc\\'d this man\\'s wife as strongly\\r\\n As words could make up vows. And, my good lord,\\r\\n But Tuesday night last gone, in\\'s garden-house,\\r\\n He knew me as a wife. As this is true,\\r\\n Let me in safety raise me from my knees,\\r\\n Or else for ever be confixed here,\\r\\n A marble monument!\\r\\n ANGELO. I did but smile till now.\\r\\n Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice;\\r\\n My patience here is touch\\'d. I do perceive\\r\\n These poor informal women are no more\\r\\n But instruments of some more mightier member\\r\\n That sets them on. Let me have way, my lord,\\r\\n To find this practice out.\\r\\n DUKE. Ay, with my heart;\\r\\n And punish them to your height of pleasure.\\r\\n Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman,\\r\\n Compact with her that\\'s gone, think\\'st thou thy oaths,\\r\\n Though they would swear down each particular saint,\\r\\n Were testimonies against his worth and credit,\\r\\n That\\'s seal\\'d in approbation? You, Lord Escalus,\\r\\n Sit with my cousin; lend him your kind pains\\r\\n To find out this abuse, whence \\'tis deriv\\'d.\\r\\n There is another friar that set them on;\\r\\n Let him be sent for.\\r\\n PETER. Would lie were here, my lord! For he indeed\\r\\n Hath set the women on to this complaint.\\r\\n Your provost knows the place where he abides,\\r\\n And he may fetch him.\\r\\n DUKE. Go, do it instantly. Exit PROVOST\\r\\n And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin,\\r\\n Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth,\\r\\n Do with your injuries as seems you best\\r\\n In any chastisement. I for a while will leave you;\\r\\n But stir not you till you have well determin\\'d\\r\\n Upon these slanderers.\\r\\n ESCALUS. My lord, we\\'ll do it throughly. Exit DUKE\\r\\n Signior Lucio, did not you say you knew that Friar Lodowick to be\\r\\n a dishonest person?\\r\\n LUCIO. \\'Cucullus non facit monachum\\': honest in nothing but in his\\r\\n clothes; and one that hath spoke most villainous speeches of the\\r\\n Duke.\\r\\n ESCALUS. We shall entreat you to abide here till he come and\\r\\n enforce them against him. We shall find this friar a notable\\r\\n fellow.\\r\\n LUCIO. As any in Vienna, on my word.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Call that same Isabel here once again; I would speak with\\r\\n her. [Exit an ATTENDANT] Pray you, my lord, give me leave to\\r\\n question; you shall see how I\\'ll handle her.\\r\\n LUCIO. Not better than he, by her own report.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Say you?\\r\\n LUCIO. Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her privately, she would\\r\\n sooner confess; perchance, publicly, she\\'ll be asham\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter OFFICERS with ISABELLA; and PROVOST with the\\r\\n DUKE in his friar\\'s habit\\r\\n\\r\\n ESCALUS. I will go darkly to work with her.\\r\\n LUCIO. That\\'s the way; for women are light at midnight.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Come on, mistress; here\\'s a gentlewoman denies all that\\r\\n you have said.\\r\\n LUCIO. My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke of, here with the\\r\\n Provost.\\r\\n ESCALUS. In very good time. Speak not you to him till we call upon\\r\\n you.\\r\\n LUCIO. Mum.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Come, sir; did you set these women on to slander Lord\\r\\n Angelo? They have confess\\'d you did.\\r\\n DUKE. \\'Tis false.\\r\\n ESCALUS. How! Know you where you are?\\r\\n DUKE. Respect to your great place! and let the devil\\r\\n Be sometime honour\\'d for his burning throne!\\r\\n Where is the Duke? \\'Tis he should hear me speak.\\r\\n ESCALUS. The Duke\\'s in us; and we will hear you speak;\\r\\n Look you speak justly.\\r\\n DUKE. Boldly, at least. But, O, poor souls,\\r\\n Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox,\\r\\n Good night to your redress! Is the Duke gone?\\r\\n Then is your cause gone too. The Duke\\'s unjust\\r\\n Thus to retort your manifest appeal,\\r\\n And put your trial in the villain\\'s mouth\\r\\n Which here you come to accuse.\\r\\n LUCIO. This is the rascal; this is he I spoke of.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Why, thou unreverend and unhallowed friar,\\r\\n Is\\'t not enough thou hast suborn\\'d these women\\r\\n To accuse this worthy man, but, in foul mouth,\\r\\n And in the witness of his proper ear,\\r\\n To call him villain; and then to glance from him\\r\\n To th\\' Duke himself, to tax him with injustice?\\r\\n Take him hence; to th\\' rack with him! We\\'ll touze you\\r\\n Joint by joint, but we will know his purpose.\\r\\n What, \\'unjust\\'!\\r\\n DUKE. Be not so hot; the Duke\\r\\n Dare no more stretch this finger of mine than he\\r\\n Dare rack his own; his subject am I not,\\r\\n Nor here provincial. My business in this state\\r\\n Made me a looker-on here in Vienna,\\r\\n Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble\\r\\n Till it o\\'errun the stew: laws for all faults,\\r\\n But faults so countenanc\\'d that the strong statutes\\r\\n Stand like the forfeits in a barber\\'s shop,\\r\\n As much in mock as mark.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Slander to th\\' state! Away with him to prison!\\r\\n ANGELO. What can you vouch against him, Signior Lucio?\\r\\n Is this the man that you did tell us of?\\r\\n LUCIO. \\'Tis he, my lord. Come hither, good-man bald-pate.\\r\\n Do you know me?\\r\\n DUKE. I remember you, sir, by the sound of your voice. I met you at\\r\\n the prison, in the absence of the Duke.\\r\\n LUCIO. O did you so? And do you remember what you said of the Duke?\\r\\n DUKE. Most notedly, sir.\\r\\n LUCIO. Do you so, sir? And was the Duke a fleshmonger, a fool, and\\r\\n a coward, as you then reported him to be?\\r\\n DUKE. You must, sir, change persons with me ere you make that my\\r\\n report; you, indeed, spoke so of him; and much more, much worse.\\r\\n LUCIO. O thou damnable fellow! Did not I pluck thee by the nose for\\r\\n thy speeches?\\r\\n DUKE. I protest I love the Duke as I love myself.\\r\\n ANGELO. Hark how the villain would close now, after his treasonable\\r\\n abuses!\\r\\n ESCALUS. Such a fellow is not to be talk\\'d withal. Away with him to\\r\\n prison! Where is the Provost? Away with him to prison! Lay bolts\\r\\n enough upon him; let him speak no more. Away with those giglets\\r\\n too, and with the other confederate companion!\\r\\n [The PROVOST lays bands on the DUKE]\\r\\n DUKE. Stay, sir; stay awhile.\\r\\n ANGELO. What, resists he? Help him, Lucio.\\r\\n LUCIO. Come, sir; come, sir; come, sir; foh, sir! Why, you\\r\\n bald-pated lying rascal, you must be hooded, must you? Show your\\r\\n knave\\'s visage, with a pox to you! Show your sheep-biting face,\\r\\n and be hang\\'d an hour! Will\\'t not off?\\r\\n [Pulls off the FRIAR\\'S bood and discovers the DUKE]\\r\\n DUKE. Thou art the first knave that e\\'er mad\\'st a duke.\\r\\n First, Provost, let me bail these gentle three.\\r\\n [To Lucio] Sneak not away, sir, for the friar and you\\r\\n Must have a word anon. Lay hold on him.\\r\\n LUCIO. This may prove worse than hanging.\\r\\n DUKE. [To ESCALUS] What you have spoke I pardon; sit you down.\\r\\n We\\'ll borrow place of him. [To ANGELO] Sir, by your leave.\\r\\n Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence,\\r\\n That yet can do thee office? If thou hast,\\r\\n Rely upon it till my tale be heard,\\r\\n And hold no longer out.\\r\\n ANGELO. O my dread lord,\\r\\n I should be guiltier than my guiltiness,\\r\\n To think I can be undiscernible,\\r\\n When I perceive your Grace, like pow\\'r divine,\\r\\n Hath look\\'d upon my passes. Then, good Prince,\\r\\n No longer session hold upon my shame,\\r\\n But let my trial be mine own confession;\\r\\n Immediate sentence then, and sequent death,\\r\\n Is all the grace I beg.\\r\\n DUKE. Come hither, Mariana.\\r\\n Say, wast thou e\\'er contracted to this woman?\\r\\n ANGELO. I was, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Go, take her hence and marry her instantly.\\r\\n Do you the office, friar; which consummate,\\r\\n Return him here again. Go with him, Provost.\\r\\n Exeunt ANGELO, MARIANA, FRIAR PETER, and PROVOST\\r\\n ESCALUS. My lord, I am more amaz\\'d at his dishonour\\r\\n Than at the strangeness of it.\\r\\n DUKE. Come hither, Isabel.\\r\\n Your friar is now your prince. As I was then\\r\\n Advertising and holy to your business,\\r\\n Not changing heart with habit, I am still\\r\\n Attorney\\'d at your service.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, give me pardon,\\r\\n That I, your vassal have employ\\'d and pain\\'d\\r\\n Your unknown sovereignty.\\r\\n DUKE. You are pardon\\'d, Isabel.\\r\\n And now, dear maid, be you as free to us.\\r\\n Your brother\\'s death, I know, sits at your heart;\\r\\n And you may marvel why I obscur\\'d myself,\\r\\n Labouring to save his life, and would not rather\\r\\n Make rash remonstrance of my hidden pow\\'r\\r\\n Than let him so be lost. O most kind maid,\\r\\n It was the swift celerity of his death,\\r\\n Which I did think with slower foot came on,\\r\\n That brain\\'d my purpose. But peace be with him!\\r\\n That life is better life, past fearing death,\\r\\n Than that which lives to fear. Make it your comfort,\\r\\n So happy is your brother.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I do, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter ANGELO, MARIANA, FRIAR PETER, and PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. For this new-married man approaching here,\\r\\n Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong\\'d\\r\\n Your well-defended honour, you must pardon\\r\\n For Mariana\\'s sake; but as he adjudg\\'d your brother-\\r\\n Being criminal in double violation\\r\\n Of sacred chastity and of promise-breach,\\r\\n Thereon dependent, for your brother\\'s life-\\r\\n The very mercy of the law cries out\\r\\n Most audible, even from his proper tongue,\\r\\n \\'An Angelo for Claudio, death for death!\\'\\r\\n Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure;\\r\\n Like doth quit like, and Measure still for Measure.\\r\\n Then, Angelo, thy fault\\'s thus manifested,\\r\\n Which, though thou wouldst deny, denies thee vantage.\\r\\n We do condemn thee to the very block\\r\\n Where Claudio stoop\\'d to death, and with like haste.\\r\\n Away with him!\\r\\n MARIANA. O my most gracious lord,\\r\\n I hope you will not mock me with a husband.\\r\\n DUKE. It is your husband mock\\'d you with a husband.\\r\\n Consenting to the safeguard of your honour,\\r\\n I thought your marriage fit; else imputation,\\r\\n For that he knew you, might reproach your life,\\r\\n And choke your good to come. For his possessions,\\r\\n Although by confiscation they are ours,\\r\\n We do instate and widow you withal\\r\\n To buy you a better husband.\\r\\n MARIANA. O my dear lord,\\r\\n I crave no other, nor no better man.\\r\\n DUKE. Never crave him; we are definitive.\\r\\n MARIANA. Gentle my liege- [Kneeling]\\r\\n DUKE. You do but lose your labour.\\r\\n Away with him to death! [To LUCIO] Now, sir, to you.\\r\\n MARIANA. O my good lord! Sweet Isabel, take my part;\\r\\n Lend me your knees, and all my life to come\\r\\n I\\'ll lend you all my life to do you service.\\r\\n DUKE. Against all sense you do importune her.\\r\\n Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact,\\r\\n Her brother\\'s ghost his paved bed would break,\\r\\n And take her hence in horror.\\r\\n MARIANA. Isabel,\\r\\n Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me;\\r\\n Hold up your hands, say nothing; I\\'ll speak all.\\r\\n They say best men moulded out of faults;\\r\\n And, for the most, become much more the better\\r\\n For being a little bad; so may my husband.\\r\\n O Isabel, will you not lend a knee?\\r\\n DUKE. He dies for Claudio\\'s death.\\r\\n ISABELLA. [Kneeling] Most bounteous sir,\\r\\n Look, if it please you, on this man condemn\\'d,\\r\\n As if my brother liv\\'d. I partly think\\r\\n A due sincerity govern\\'d his deeds\\r\\n Till he did look on me; since it is so,\\r\\n Let him not die. My brother had but justice,\\r\\n In that he did the thing for which he died;\\r\\n For Angelo,\\r\\n His act did not o\\'ertake his bad intent,\\r\\n And must be buried but as an intent\\r\\n That perish\\'d by the way. Thoughts are no subjects;\\r\\n Intents but merely thoughts.\\r\\n MARIANA. Merely, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Your suit\\'s unprofitable; stand up, I say.\\r\\n I have bethought me of another fault.\\r\\n Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded\\r\\n At an unusual hour?\\r\\n PROVOST. It was commanded so.\\r\\n DUKE. Had you a special warrant for the deed?\\r\\n PROVOST. No, my good lord; it was by private message.\\r\\n DUKE. For which I do discharge you of your office;\\r\\n Give up your keys.\\r\\n PROVOST. Pardon me, noble lord;\\r\\n I thought it was a fault, but knew it not;\\r\\n Yet did repent me, after more advice;\\r\\n For testimony whereof, one in the prison,\\r\\n That should by private order else have died,\\r\\n I have reserv\\'d alive.\\r\\n DUKE. What\\'s he?\\r\\n PROVOST. His name is Barnardine.\\r\\n DUKE. I would thou hadst done so by Claudio.\\r\\n Go fetch him hither; let me look upon him. Exit PROVOST\\r\\n ESCALUS. I am sorry one so learned and so wise\\r\\n As you, Lord Angelo, have still appear\\'d,\\r\\n Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood\\r\\n And lack of temper\\'d judgment afterward.\\r\\n ANGELO. I am sorry that such sorrow I procure;\\r\\n And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart\\r\\n That I crave death more willingly than mercy;\\r\\n \\'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PROVOST, with BARNARDINE, CLAUDIO (muffled)\\r\\n and JULIET\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Which is that Barnardine?\\r\\n PROVOST. This, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. There was a friar told me of this man.\\r\\n Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul,\\r\\n That apprehends no further than this world,\\r\\n And squar\\'st thy life according. Thou\\'rt condemn\\'d;\\r\\n But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all,\\r\\n And pray thee take this mercy to provide\\r\\n For better times to come. Friar, advise him;\\r\\n I leave him to your hand. What muffl\\'d fellow\\'s that?\\r\\n PROVOST. This is another prisoner that I sav\\'d,\\r\\n Who should have died when Claudio lost his head;\\r\\n As like almost to Claudio as himself. [Unmuffles CLAUDIO]\\r\\n DUKE. [To ISABELLA] If he be like your brother, for his sake\\r\\n Is he pardon\\'d; and for your lovely sake,\\r\\n Give me your hand and say you will be mine,\\r\\n He is my brother too. But fitter time for that.\\r\\n By this Lord Angelo perceives he\\'s safe;\\r\\n Methinks I see a quick\\'ning in his eye.\\r\\n Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well.\\r\\n Look that you love your wife; her worth worth yours.\\r\\n I find an apt remission in myself;\\r\\n And yet here\\'s one in place I cannot pardon.\\r\\n To Lucio] You, sirrah, that knew me for a fool, a coward,\\r\\n One all of luxury, an ass, a madman!\\r\\n Wherein have I so deserv\\'d of you\\r\\n That you extol me thus?\\r\\n LUCIO. Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according to the trick.\\r\\n If you will hang me for it, you may; but I had rather it would\\r\\n please you I might be whipt.\\r\\n DUKE. Whipt first, sir, and hang\\'d after.\\r\\n Proclaim it, Provost, round about the city,\\r\\n If any woman wrong\\'d by this lewd fellow-\\r\\n As I have heard him swear himself there\\'s one\\r\\n Whom he begot with child, let her appear,\\r\\n And he shall marry her. The nuptial finish\\'d,\\r\\n Let him be whipt and hang\\'d.\\r\\n LUCIO. I beseech your Highness, do not marry me to a whore. Your\\r\\n Highness said even now I made you a duke; good my lord, do not\\r\\n recompense me in making me a cuckold.\\r\\n DUKE. Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her.\\r\\n Thy slanders I forgive; and therewithal\\r\\n Remit thy other forfeits. Take him to prison;\\r\\n And see our pleasure herein executed.\\r\\n LUCIO. Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to death, whipping,\\r\\n and hanging.\\r\\n DUKE. Slandering a prince deserves it.\\r\\n Exeunt OFFICERS with LUCIO\\r\\n She, Claudio, that you wrong\\'d, look you restore.\\r\\n Joy to you, Mariana! Love her, Angelo;\\r\\n I have confess\\'d her, and I know her virtue.\\r\\n Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much goodness;\\r\\n There\\'s more behind that is more gratulate.\\r\\n Thanks, Provost, for thy care and secrecy;\\r\\n We shall employ thee in a worthier place.\\r\\n Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home\\r\\n The head of Ragozine for Claudio\\'s:\\r\\n Th\\' offence pardons itself. Dear Isabel,\\r\\n I have a motion much imports your good;\\r\\n Whereto if you\\'ll a willing ear incline,\\r\\n What\\'s mine is yours, and what is yours is mine.\\r\\n So, bring us to our palace, where we\\'ll show\\r\\n What\\'s yet behind that\\'s meet you all should know.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE MERCHANT OF VENICE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Venice. A street.\\r\\nScene II. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\nScene III. Venice. A public place.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\nScene II. Venice. A street.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A room in Shylock’s house.\\r\\nScene IV. The same. A street.\\r\\nScene V. The same. Before Shylock’s house.\\r\\nScene VI. The same.\\r\\nScene VII. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\nScene VIII. Venice. A street.\\r\\nScene IX. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Venice. A street.\\r\\nScene II. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\nScene III. Venice. A street.\\r\\nScene IV. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\nScene V. The same. A garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Venice. A court of justice.\\r\\nScene II. The same. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Belmont. The avenue to Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE DUKE OF VENICE\\r\\nTHE PRINCE OF MOROCCO, suitor to Portia\\r\\nTHE PRINCE OF ARRAGON, suitor to Portia\\r\\nANTONIO, a merchant of Venice\\r\\nBASSANIO, his friend, suitor to Portia\\r\\nGRATIANO, friend to Antonio and Bassanio\\r\\nSOLANIO, friend to Antonio and Bassanio\\r\\nSALARINO, friend to Antonio and Bassanio\\r\\nLORENZO, in love with Jessica\\r\\nSHYLOCK, a rich Jew\\r\\nTUBAL, a Jew, his friend\\r\\nLAUNCELET GOBBO, a clown, servant to Shylock\\r\\nOLD GOBBO, father to Launcelet\\r\\nLEONARDO, servant to Bassanio\\r\\nBALTHAZAR, servant to Portia\\r\\nSTEPHANO, servant to Portia\\r\\nSALERIO, a messenger from Venice\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA, a rich heiress\\r\\nNERISSA, her waiting-woman\\r\\nJESSICA, daughter to Shylock\\r\\n\\r\\nMagnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, a Gaoler,\\r\\nServants and other Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the seat of Portia on\\r\\nthe Continent\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Venice. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio, Salarino and Solanio.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIn sooth I know not why I am so sad,\\r\\nIt wearies me. you say it wearies you;\\r\\nBut how I caught it, found it, or came by it,\\r\\nWhat stuff ’tis made of, whereof it is born,\\r\\nI am to learn.\\r\\nAnd such a want-wit sadness makes of me,\\r\\nThat I have much ado to know myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nYour mind is tossing on the ocean,\\r\\nThere where your argosies, with portly sail\\r\\nLike signiors and rich burghers on the flood,\\r\\nOr as it were the pageants of the sea,\\r\\nDo overpeer the petty traffickers\\r\\nThat curtsy to them, do them reverence,\\r\\nAs they fly by them with their woven wings.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nBelieve me, sir, had I such venture forth,\\r\\nThe better part of my affections would\\r\\nBe with my hopes abroad. I should be still\\r\\nPlucking the grass to know where sits the wind,\\r\\nPeering in maps for ports, and piers and roads;\\r\\nAnd every object that might make me fear\\r\\nMisfortune to my ventures, out of doubt\\r\\nWould make me sad.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nMy wind cooling my broth\\r\\nWould blow me to an ague when I thought\\r\\nWhat harm a wind too great might do at sea.\\r\\nI should not see the sandy hour-glass run\\r\\nBut I should think of shallows and of flats,\\r\\nAnd see my wealthy Andrew dock’d in sand,\\r\\nVailing her high top lower than her ribs\\r\\nTo kiss her burial. Should I go to church\\r\\nAnd see the holy edifice of stone\\r\\nAnd not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,\\r\\nWhich, touching but my gentle vessel’s side,\\r\\nWould scatter all her spices on the stream,\\r\\nEnrobe the roaring waters with my silks,\\r\\nAnd, in a word, but even now worth this,\\r\\nAnd now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought\\r\\nTo think on this, and shall I lack the thought\\r\\nThat such a thing bechanc’d would make me sad?\\r\\nBut tell not me, I know Antonio\\r\\nIs sad to think upon his merchandise.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nBelieve me, no. I thank my fortune for it,\\r\\nMy ventures are not in one bottom trusted,\\r\\nNor to one place; nor is my whole estate\\r\\nUpon the fortune of this present year.\\r\\nTherefore my merchandise makes me not sad.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWhy then you are in love.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nFie, fie!\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nNot in love neither? Then let us say you are sad\\r\\nBecause you are not merry; and ’twere as easy\\r\\nFor you to laugh and leap and say you are merry\\r\\nBecause you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus,\\r\\nNature hath fram’d strange fellows in her time:\\r\\nSome that will evermore peep through their eyes,\\r\\nAnd laugh like parrots at a bagpiper.\\r\\nAnd other of such vinegar aspect\\r\\nThat they’ll not show their teeth in way of smile\\r\\nThough Nestor swear the jest be laughable.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo and Gratiano.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nHere comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,\\r\\nGratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare ye well.\\r\\nWe leave you now with better company.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nI would have stay’d till I had made you merry,\\r\\nIf worthier friends had not prevented me.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nYour worth is very dear in my regard.\\r\\nI take it your own business calls on you,\\r\\nAnd you embrace th’ occasion to depart.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nGood morrow, my good lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nGood signiors both, when shall we laugh? Say, when?\\r\\nYou grow exceeding strange. Must it be so?\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWe’ll make our leisures to attend on yours.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Salarino and Solanio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nMy Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio,\\r\\nWe two will leave you, but at dinner-time\\r\\nI pray you have in mind where we must meet.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nI will not fail you.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nYou look not well, Signior Antonio,\\r\\nYou have too much respect upon the world.\\r\\nThey lose it that do buy it with much care.\\r\\nBelieve me, you are marvellously chang’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI hold the world but as the world, Gratiano,\\r\\nA stage, where every man must play a part,\\r\\nAnd mine a sad one.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nLet me play the fool,\\r\\nWith mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come,\\r\\nAnd let my liver rather heat with wine\\r\\nThan my heart cool with mortifying groans.\\r\\nWhy should a man whose blood is warm within\\r\\nSit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?\\r\\nSleep when he wakes? And creep into the jaundice\\r\\nBy being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio,\\r\\n(I love thee, and ’tis my love that speaks):\\r\\nThere are a sort of men whose visages\\r\\nDo cream and mantle like a standing pond,\\r\\nAnd do a wilful stillness entertain,\\r\\nWith purpose to be dress’d in an opinion\\r\\nOf wisdom, gravity, profound conceit,\\r\\nAs who should say, “I am Sir Oracle,\\r\\nAnd when I ope my lips, let no dog bark.”\\r\\nO my Antonio, I do know of these\\r\\nThat therefore only are reputed wise\\r\\nFor saying nothing; when, I am very sure,\\r\\nIf they should speak, would almost damn those ears\\r\\nWhich, hearing them, would call their brothers fools.\\r\\nI’ll tell thee more of this another time.\\r\\nBut fish not with this melancholy bait\\r\\nFor this fool gudgeon, this opinion.\\r\\nCome, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well a while.\\r\\nI’ll end my exhortation after dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nWell, we will leave you then till dinner-time.\\r\\nI must be one of these same dumb wise men,\\r\\nFor Gratiano never lets me speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWell, keep me company but two years moe,\\r\\nThou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nFare you well. I’ll grow a talker for this gear.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nThanks, i’ faith, for silence is only commendable\\r\\nIn a neat’s tongue dried, and a maid not vendible.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIs that anything now?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nGratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all\\r\\nVenice. His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of\\r\\nchaff: you shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you have them\\r\\nthey are not worth the search.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWell, tell me now what lady is the same\\r\\nTo whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,\\r\\nThat you today promis’d to tell me of?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\n’Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,\\r\\nHow much I have disabled mine estate\\r\\nBy something showing a more swelling port\\r\\nThan my faint means would grant continuance.\\r\\nNor do I now make moan to be abridg’d\\r\\nFrom such a noble rate, but my chief care\\r\\nIs to come fairly off from the great debts\\r\\nWherein my time, something too prodigal,\\r\\nHath left me gag’d. To you, Antonio,\\r\\nI owe the most in money and in love,\\r\\nAnd from your love I have a warranty\\r\\nTo unburden all my plots and purposes\\r\\nHow to get clear of all the debts I owe.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;\\r\\nAnd if it stand, as you yourself still do,\\r\\nWithin the eye of honour, be assur’d\\r\\nMy purse, my person, my extremest means\\r\\nLie all unlock’d to your occasions.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nIn my school-days, when I had lost one shaft,\\r\\nI shot his fellow of the self-same flight\\r\\nThe self-same way, with more advised watch\\r\\nTo find the other forth; and by adventuring both\\r\\nI oft found both. I urge this childhood proof\\r\\nBecause what follows is pure innocence.\\r\\nI owe you much, and, like a wilful youth,\\r\\nThat which I owe is lost. But if you please\\r\\nTo shoot another arrow that self way\\r\\nWhich you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,\\r\\nAs I will watch the aim, or to find both,\\r\\nOr bring your latter hazard back again,\\r\\nAnd thankfully rest debtor for the first.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nYou know me well, and herein spend but time\\r\\nTo wind about my love with circumstance;\\r\\nAnd out of doubt you do me now more wrong\\r\\nIn making question of my uttermost\\r\\nThan if you had made waste of all I have.\\r\\nThen do but say to me what I should do\\r\\nThat in your knowledge may by me be done,\\r\\nAnd I am prest unto it. Therefore, speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nIn Belmont is a lady richly left,\\r\\nAnd she is fair, and, fairer than that word,\\r\\nOf wondrous virtues. Sometimes from her eyes\\r\\nI did receive fair speechless messages:\\r\\nHer name is Portia, nothing undervalu’d\\r\\nTo Cato’s daughter, Brutus’ Portia.\\r\\nNor is the wide world ignorant of her worth,\\r\\nFor the four winds blow in from every coast\\r\\nRenowned suitors, and her sunny locks\\r\\nHang on her temples like a golden fleece,\\r\\nWhich makes her seat of Belmont Colchos’ strond,\\r\\nAnd many Jasons come in quest of her.\\r\\nO my Antonio, had I but the means\\r\\nTo hold a rival place with one of them,\\r\\nI have a mind presages me such thrift\\r\\nThat I should questionless be fortunate.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThou know’st that all my fortunes are at sea;\\r\\nNeither have I money nor commodity\\r\\nTo raise a present sum, therefore go forth\\r\\nTry what my credit can in Venice do;\\r\\nThat shall be rack’d even to the uttermost,\\r\\nTo furnish thee to Belmont to fair Portia.\\r\\nGo presently inquire, and so will I,\\r\\nWhere money is, and I no question make\\r\\nTo have it of my trust or for my sake.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Portia with her waiting-woman Nerissa.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nBy my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this great world.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nYou would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance\\r\\nas your good fortunes are. And yet, for aught I see, they are as sick\\r\\nthat surfeit with too much as they that starve with nothing. It is no\\r\\nmean happiness, therefore, to be seated in the mean. Superfluity come\\r\\nsooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nGood sentences, and well pronounc’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nThey would be better if well followed.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIf to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been\\r\\nchurches, and poor men’s cottages princes’ palaces. It is a good divine\\r\\nthat follows his own instructions; I can easier teach twenty what were\\r\\ngood to be done than to be one of the twenty to follow mine own\\r\\nteaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper\\r\\nleaps o’er a cold decree; such a hare is madness the youth, to skip\\r\\no’er the meshes of good counsel the cripple. But this reasoning is not\\r\\nin the fashion to choose me a husband. O me, the word “choose”! I may\\r\\nneither choose who I would nor refuse who I dislike, so is the will of\\r\\na living daughter curb’d by the will of a dead father. Is it not hard,\\r\\nNerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none?\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nYour father was ever virtuous, and holy men at their death have good\\r\\ninspirations. Therefore the lott’ry that he hath devised in these three\\r\\nchests of gold, silver, and lead, whereof who chooses his meaning\\r\\nchooses you, will no doubt never be chosen by any rightly but one who\\r\\nyou shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in your affection\\r\\ntowards any of these princely suitors that are already come?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI pray thee over-name them, and as thou namest them, I will describe\\r\\nthem, and according to my description level at my affection.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nFirst, there is the Neapolitan prince.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nAy, that’s a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of his horse,\\r\\nand he makes it a great appropriation to his own good parts that he can\\r\\nshoe him himself. I am much afeard my lady his mother play’d false with\\r\\na smith.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nThen is there the County Palatine.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nHe doth nothing but frown, as who should say “And you will not have me,\\r\\nchoose.” He hears merry tales and smiles not. I fear he will prove the\\r\\nweeping philosopher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly\\r\\nsadness in his youth. I had rather be married to a death’s-head with a\\r\\nbone in his mouth than to either of these. God defend me from these\\r\\ntwo!\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nHow say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nGod made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. In truth, I know it\\r\\nis a sin to be a mocker, but he! why, he hath a horse better than the\\r\\nNeapolitan’s, a better bad habit of frowning than the Count Palatine.\\r\\nHe is every man in no man. If a throstle sing, he falls straight\\r\\na-cap’ring. He will fence with his own shadow. If I should marry him, I\\r\\nshould marry twenty husbands. If he would despise me, I would forgive\\r\\nhim, for if he love me to madness, I shall never requite him.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nWhat say you then to Falconbridge, the young baron of England?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYou know I say nothing to him, for he understands not me, nor I him: he\\r\\nhath neither Latin, French, nor Italian, and you will come into the\\r\\ncourt and swear that I have a poor pennyworth in the English. He is a\\r\\nproper man’s picture; but alas, who can converse with a dumb-show? How\\r\\noddly he is suited! I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round\\r\\nhose in France, his bonnet in Germany, and his behaviour everywhere.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nWhat think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThat he hath a neighbourly charity in him, for he borrowed a box of the\\r\\near of the Englishman, and swore he would pay him again when he was\\r\\nable. I think the Frenchman became his surety, and seal’d under for\\r\\nanother.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nHow like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony’s nephew?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nVery vilely in the morning when he is sober, and most vilely in the\\r\\nafternoon when he is drunk: when he is best, he is a little worse than\\r\\na man, and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast. And the\\r\\nworst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall make shift to go without him.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nIf he should offer to choose, and choose the right casket, you should\\r\\nrefuse to perform your father’s will, if you should refuse to accept\\r\\nhim.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nTherefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee set a deep glass of\\r\\nRhenish wine on the contrary casket, for if the devil be within and\\r\\nthat temptation without, I know he will choose it. I will do anything,\\r\\nNerissa, ere I will be married to a sponge.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nYou need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords. They have\\r\\nacquainted me with their determinations, which is indeed to return to\\r\\ntheir home, and to trouble you with no more suit, unless you may be won\\r\\nby some other sort than your father’s imposition, depending on the\\r\\ncaskets.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIf I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as chaste as Diana,\\r\\nunless I be obtained by the manner of my father’s will. I am glad this\\r\\nparcel of wooers are so reasonable, for there is not one among them but\\r\\nI dote on his very absence. And I pray God grant them a fair departure.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nDo you not remember, lady, in your father’s time, a Venetian, a scholar\\r\\nand a soldier, that came hither in company of the Marquis of\\r\\nMontferrat?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYes, yes, it was Bassanio, as I think, so was he call’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nTrue, madam. He, of all the men that ever my foolish eyes look’d upon,\\r\\nwas the best deserving a fair lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI remember him well, and I remember him worthy of thy praise.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servingman.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now! what news?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVINGMAN.\\r\\nThe four strangers seek for you, madam, to take their leave. And there\\r\\nis a forerunner come from a fifth, the Prince of Morocco, who brings\\r\\nword the Prince his master will be here tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIf I could bid the fifth welcome with so good heart as I can bid the\\r\\nother four farewell, I should be glad of his approach. If he have the\\r\\ncondition of a saint and the complexion of a devil, I had rather he\\r\\nshould shrive me than wive me. Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before. Whiles\\r\\nwe shut the gate upon one wooer, another knocks at the door.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Venice. A public place.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bassanio with Shylock the Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThree thousand ducats, well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nAy, sir, for three months.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nFor three months, well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nFor the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nAntonio shall become bound, well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nMay you stead me? Will you pleasure me? Shall I know your answer?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThree thousand ducats for three months, and Antonio bound.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nYour answer to that.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nAntonio is a good man.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nHave you heard any imputation to the contrary?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nHo, no, no, no, no: my meaning in saying he is a good man is to have\\r\\nyou understand me that he is sufficient. Yet his means are in\\r\\nsupposition: he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the\\r\\nIndies. I understand, moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a third at\\r\\nMexico, a fourth for England, and other ventures he hath squandered\\r\\nabroad. But ships are but boards, sailors but men; there be land-rats\\r\\nand water-rats, water-thieves and land-thieves—I mean pirates—and then\\r\\nthere is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks. The man is,\\r\\nnotwithstanding, sufficient. Three thousand ducats. I think I may take\\r\\nhis bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nBe assured you may.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI will be assured I may. And that I may be assured, I will bethink me.\\r\\nMay I speak with Antonio?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nIf it please you to dine with us.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nYes, to smell pork, to eat of the habitation which your prophet, the\\r\\nNazarite, conjured the devil into. I will buy with you, sell with you,\\r\\ntalk with you, walk with you, and so following; but I will not eat with\\r\\nyou, drink with you, nor pray with you. What news on the Rialto? Who is\\r\\nhe comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nThis is Signior Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\n[_Aside._] How like a fawning publican he looks!\\r\\nI hate him for he is a Christian,\\r\\nBut more for that in low simplicity\\r\\nHe lends out money gratis, and brings down\\r\\nThe rate of usance here with us in Venice.\\r\\nIf I can catch him once upon the hip,\\r\\nI will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.\\r\\nHe hates our sacred nation, and he rails,\\r\\nEven there where merchants most do congregate,\\r\\nOn me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift,\\r\\nWhich he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe\\r\\nIf I forgive him!\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nShylock, do you hear?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI am debating of my present store,\\r\\nAnd by the near guess of my memory\\r\\nI cannot instantly raise up the gross\\r\\nOf full three thousand ducats. What of that?\\r\\nTubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe,\\r\\nWill furnish me. But soft! how many months\\r\\nDo you desire? [_To Antonio._] Rest you fair, good signior,\\r\\nYour worship was the last man in our mouths.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nShylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow\\r\\nBy taking nor by giving of excess,\\r\\nYet to supply the ripe wants of my friend,\\r\\nI’ll break a custom. [_To Bassanio._] Is he yet possess’d\\r\\nHow much ye would?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nAy, ay, three thousand ducats.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd for three months.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI had forgot, three months, you told me so.\\r\\nWell then, your bond. And let me see, but hear you,\\r\\nMethought you said you neither lend nor borrow\\r\\nUpon advantage.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI do never use it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhen Jacob graz’d his uncle Laban’s sheep,—\\r\\nThis Jacob from our holy Abram was\\r\\nAs his wise mother wrought in his behalf,\\r\\nThe third possessor; ay, he was the third.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd what of him? Did he take interest?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nNo, not take interest, not, as you would say,\\r\\nDirectly interest; mark what Jacob did.\\r\\nWhen Laban and himself were compromis’d\\r\\nThat all the eanlings which were streak’d and pied\\r\\nShould fall as Jacob’s hire, the ewes being rank\\r\\nIn end of autumn turned to the rams,\\r\\nAnd when the work of generation was\\r\\nBetween these woolly breeders in the act,\\r\\nThe skilful shepherd pill’d me certain wands,\\r\\nAnd in the doing of the deed of kind,\\r\\nHe stuck them up before the fulsome ewes,\\r\\nWho then conceiving did in eaning time\\r\\nFall parti-colour’d lambs, and those were Jacob’s.\\r\\nThis was a way to thrive, and he was blest;\\r\\nAnd thrift is blessing if men steal it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThis was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv’d for,\\r\\nA thing not in his power to bring to pass,\\r\\nBut sway’d and fashion’d by the hand of heaven.\\r\\nWas this inserted to make interest good?\\r\\nOr is your gold and silver ewes and rams?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI cannot tell; I make it breed as fast.\\r\\nBut note me, signior.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nMark you this, Bassanio,\\r\\nThe devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.\\r\\nAn evil soul producing holy witness\\r\\nIs like a villain with a smiling cheek,\\r\\nA goodly apple rotten at the heart.\\r\\nO, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThree thousand ducats, ’tis a good round sum.\\r\\nThree months from twelve, then let me see the rate.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWell, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nSignior Antonio, many a time and oft\\r\\nIn the Rialto you have rated me\\r\\nAbout my moneys and my usances.\\r\\nStill have I borne it with a patient shrug,\\r\\n(For suff’rance is the badge of all our tribe.)\\r\\nYou call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog,\\r\\nAnd spet upon my Jewish gaberdine,\\r\\nAnd all for use of that which is mine own.\\r\\nWell then, it now appears you need my help.\\r\\nGo to, then, you come to me, and you say\\r\\n“Shylock, we would have moneys.” You say so:\\r\\nYou that did void your rheum upon my beard,\\r\\nAnd foot me as you spurn a stranger cur\\r\\nOver your threshold, moneys is your suit.\\r\\nWhat should I say to you? Should I not say\\r\\n“Hath a dog money? Is it possible\\r\\nA cur can lend three thousand ducats?” Or\\r\\nShall I bend low and, in a bondman’s key,\\r\\nWith bated breath and whisp’ring humbleness,\\r\\nSay this:\\r\\n“Fair sir, you spet on me on Wednesday last;\\r\\nYou spurn’d me such a day; another time\\r\\nYou call’d me dog; and for these courtesies\\r\\nI’ll lend you thus much moneys”?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI am as like to call thee so again,\\r\\nTo spet on thee again, to spurn thee too.\\r\\nIf thou wilt lend this money, lend it not\\r\\nAs to thy friends, for when did friendship take\\r\\nA breed for barren metal of his friend?\\r\\nBut lend it rather to thine enemy,\\r\\nWho if he break, thou mayst with better face\\r\\nExact the penalty.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhy, look you how you storm!\\r\\nI would be friends with you, and have your love,\\r\\nForget the shames that you have stain’d me with,\\r\\nSupply your present wants, and take no doit\\r\\nOf usance for my moneys, and you’ll not hear me,\\r\\nThis is kind I offer.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nThis were kindness.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThis kindness will I show.\\r\\nGo with me to a notary, seal me there\\r\\nYour single bond; and in a merry sport,\\r\\nIf you repay me not on such a day,\\r\\nIn such a place, such sum or sums as are\\r\\nExpress’d in the condition, let the forfeit\\r\\nBe nominated for an equal pound\\r\\nOf your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken\\r\\nIn what part of your body pleaseth me.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nContent, in faith, I’ll seal to such a bond,\\r\\nAnd say there is much kindness in the Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nYou shall not seal to such a bond for me,\\r\\nI’ll rather dwell in my necessity.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWhy, fear not, man, I will not forfeit it,\\r\\nWithin these two months, that’s a month before\\r\\nThis bond expires, I do expect return\\r\\nOf thrice three times the value of this bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nO father Abram, what these Christians are,\\r\\nWhose own hard dealings teaches them suspect\\r\\nThe thoughts of others. Pray you, tell me this,\\r\\nIf he should break his day, what should I gain\\r\\nBy the exaction of the forfeiture?\\r\\nA pound of man’s flesh, taken from a man,\\r\\nIs not so estimable, profitable neither,\\r\\nAs flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say,\\r\\nTo buy his favour, I extend this friendship.\\r\\nIf he will take it, so. If not, adieu,\\r\\nAnd for my love I pray you wrong me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nYes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThen meet me forthwith at the notary’s,\\r\\nGive him direction for this merry bond,\\r\\nAnd I will go and purse the ducats straight,\\r\\nSee to my house left in the fearful guard\\r\\nOf an unthrifty knave, and presently\\r\\nI’ll be with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHie thee, gentle Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Shylock._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThis Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nI like not fair terms and a villain’s mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nCome on; in this there can be no dismay;\\r\\nMy ships come home a month before the day.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince of Morocco, a tawny Moor all in\\r\\n white, and three or four followers accordingly, with Portia, Nerissa\\r\\n and their train.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE OF MOROCCO.\\r\\nMislike me not for my complexion,\\r\\nThe shadowed livery of the burnish’d sun,\\r\\nTo whom I am a neighbour, and near bred.\\r\\nBring me the fairest creature northward born,\\r\\nWhere Phœbus’ fire scarce thaws the icicles,\\r\\nAnd let us make incision for your love\\r\\nTo prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine.\\r\\nI tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine\\r\\nHath fear’d the valiant; by my love I swear\\r\\nThe best-regarded virgins of our clime\\r\\nHave lov’d it too. I would not change this hue,\\r\\nExcept to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIn terms of choice I am not solely led\\r\\nBy nice direction of a maiden’s eyes;\\r\\nBesides, the lott’ry of my destiny\\r\\nBars me the right of voluntary choosing.\\r\\nBut if my father had not scanted me\\r\\nAnd hedg’d me by his wit to yield myself\\r\\nHis wife who wins me by that means I told you,\\r\\nYourself, renowned Prince, then stood as fair\\r\\nAs any comer I have look’d on yet\\r\\nFor my affection.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE OF MOROCCO.\\r\\nEven for that I thank you.\\r\\nTherefore I pray you lead me to the caskets\\r\\nTo try my fortune. By this scimitar\\r\\nThat slew the Sophy and a Persian prince,\\r\\nThat won three fields of Sultan Solyman,\\r\\nI would o’erstare the sternest eyes that look,\\r\\nOutbrave the heart most daring on the earth,\\r\\nPluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear,\\r\\nYea, mock the lion when he roars for prey,\\r\\nTo win thee, lady. But, alas the while!\\r\\nIf Hercules and Lichas play at dice\\r\\nWhich is the better man, the greater throw\\r\\nMay turn by fortune from the weaker hand:\\r\\nSo is Alcides beaten by his rage,\\r\\nAnd so may I, blind Fortune leading me,\\r\\nMiss that which one unworthier may attain,\\r\\nAnd die with grieving.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYou must take your chance,\\r\\nAnd either not attempt to choose at all,\\r\\nOr swear before you choose, if you choose wrong\\r\\nNever to speak to lady afterward\\r\\nIn way of marriage. Therefore be advis’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE OF MOROCCO.\\r\\nNor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nFirst, forward to the temple. After dinner\\r\\nYour hazard shall be made.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE OF MOROCCO.\\r\\nGood fortune then,\\r\\nTo make me blest or cursed’st among men!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Cornets. Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Venice. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Launcelet Gobbo, the clown, alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nCertainly my conscience will serve me to run from this Jew my master.\\r\\nThe fiend is at mine elbow and tempts me, saying to me “Gobbo,\\r\\nLauncelet Gobbo, good Launcelet” or “good Gobbo,” or “good Launcelet\\r\\nGobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away.” My conscience says\\r\\n“No; take heed, honest Launcelet, take heed, honest Gobbo” or, as\\r\\naforesaid, “honest Launcelet Gobbo, do not run, scorn running with thy\\r\\nheels.” Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack. “Fia!” says the\\r\\nfiend, “away!” says the fiend. “For the heavens, rouse up a brave\\r\\nmind,” says the fiend “and run.” Well, my conscience, hanging about the\\r\\nneck of my heart, says very wisely to me “My honest friend Launcelet,\\r\\nbeing an honest man’s son”—or rather an honest woman’s son, for indeed\\r\\nmy father did something smack, something grow to, he had a kind of\\r\\ntaste;—well, my conscience says “Launcelet, budge not.” “Budge,” says\\r\\nthe fiend. “Budge not,” says my conscience. “Conscience,” say I, “you\\r\\ncounsel well.” “Fiend,” say I, “you counsel well.” To be ruled by my\\r\\nconscience, I should stay with the Jew my master, who, (God bless the\\r\\nmark) is a kind of devil; and, to run away from the Jew, I should be\\r\\nruled by the fiend, who (saving your reverence) is the devil himself.\\r\\nCertainly the Jew is the very devil incarnation, and, in my conscience,\\r\\nmy conscience is but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel me\\r\\nto stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly counsel. I will\\r\\nrun, fiend, my heels are at your commandment, I will run.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Old Gobbo with a basket.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nMaster young man, you, I pray you; which is the way to Master Jew’s?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\n[_Aside._] O heavens, this is my true-begotten father, who being more\\r\\nthan sand-blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not. I will try confusions\\r\\nwith him.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nMaster young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to Master Jew’s?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nTurn up on your right hand at the next turning, but at the next turning\\r\\nof all on your left; marry, at the very next turning, turn of no hand,\\r\\nbut turn down indirectly to the Jew’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nBe God’s sonties, ’twill be a hard way to hit. Can you tell me whether\\r\\none Launcelet, that dwells with him, dwell with him or no?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nTalk you of young Master Launcelet? [_Aside._] Mark me now, now will I\\r\\nraise the waters. Talk you of young Master Launcelet?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nNo master, sir, but a poor man’s son, his father, though I say’t, is an\\r\\nhonest exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well to live.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nWell, let his father be what he will, we talk of young Master\\r\\nLauncelet.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nYour worship’s friend, and Launcelet, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nBut I pray you, _ergo_, old man, _ergo_, I beseech you, talk you of\\r\\nyoung Master Launcelet?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nOf Launcelet, an’t please your mastership.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\n_Ergo_, Master Launcelet. Talk not of Master Launcelet, father, for the\\r\\nyoung gentleman, according to Fates and Destinies, and such odd\\r\\nsayings, the Sisters Three and such branches of learning, is indeed\\r\\ndeceased, or, as you would say in plain terms, gone to heaven.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nMarry, God forbid! The boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or a prop?\\r\\nDo you know me, father?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nAlack the day! I know you not, young gentleman, but I pray you tell me,\\r\\nis my boy, God rest his soul, alive or dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nDo you not know me, father?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nAlack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nNay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the knowing me: it\\r\\nis a wise father that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will tell\\r\\nyou news of your son. Give me your blessing, truth will come to light,\\r\\nmurder cannot be hid long, a man’s son may, but in the end truth will\\r\\nout.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nPray you, sir, stand up, I am sure you are not Launcelet my boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nPray you, let’s have no more fooling about it, but give me your\\r\\nblessing. I am Launcelet, your boy that was, your son that is, your\\r\\nchild that shall be.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nI cannot think you are my son.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nI know not what I shall think of that; but I am Launcelet, the Jew’s\\r\\nman, and I am sure Margery your wife is my mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nHer name is Margery, indeed. I’ll be sworn if thou be Launcelet, thou\\r\\nart mine own flesh and blood. Lord worshipped might he be, what a beard\\r\\nhast thou got! Thou hast got more hair on thy chin than Dobbin my\\r\\nfill-horse has on his tail.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nIt should seem, then, that Dobbin’s tail grows backward. I am sure he\\r\\nhad more hair on his tail than I have on my face when I last saw him.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nLord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy master agree? I have\\r\\nbrought him a present. How ’gree you now?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nWell, well. But for mine own part, as I have set up my rest to run\\r\\naway, so I will not rest till I have run some ground. My master’s a\\r\\nvery Jew. Give him a present! Give him a halter. I am famished in his\\r\\nservice. You may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am\\r\\nglad you are come, give me your present to one Master Bassanio, who\\r\\nindeed gives rare new liveries. If I serve not him, I will run as far\\r\\nas God has any ground. O rare fortune, here comes the man! To him,\\r\\nfather; for I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bassanio with Leonardo and a follower or two.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nYou may do so, but let it be so hasted that supper be ready at the\\r\\nfarthest by five of the clock. See these letters delivered, put the\\r\\nliveries to making, and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit a Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nTo him, father.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nGod bless your worship!\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nGramercy, wouldst thou aught with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nHere’s my son, sir, a poor boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nNot a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew’s man, that would, sir, as my\\r\\nfather shall specify.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nHe hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nIndeed the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and have a desire,\\r\\nas my father shall specify.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nHis master and he (saving your worship’s reverence) are scarce\\r\\ncater-cousins.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nTo be brief, the very truth is that the Jew, having done me wrong, doth\\r\\ncause me, as my father, being I hope an old man, shall frutify unto\\r\\nyou.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nI have here a dish of doves that I would bestow upon your worship, and\\r\\nmy suit is—\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nIn very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself, as your worship shall\\r\\nknow by this honest old man, and though I say it, though old man, yet\\r\\npoor man, my father.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nOne speak for both. What would you?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nServe you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nThat is the very defect of the matter, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nI know thee well; thou hast obtain’d thy suit.\\r\\nShylock thy master spoke with me this day,\\r\\nAnd hath preferr’d thee, if it be preferment\\r\\nTo leave a rich Jew’s service to become\\r\\nThe follower of so poor a gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nThe old proverb is very well parted between my master Shylock and you,\\r\\nsir: you have “the grace of God”, sir, and he hath “enough”.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nThou speak’st it well. Go, father, with thy son.\\r\\nTake leave of thy old master, and inquire\\r\\nMy lodging out. [_To a Servant._] Give him a livery\\r\\nMore guarded than his fellows’; see it done.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nFather, in. I cannot get a service, no! I have ne’er a tongue in my\\r\\nhead! [_Looking on his palm._] Well, if any man in Italy have a fairer\\r\\ntable which doth offer to swear upon a book, I shall have good fortune;\\r\\ngo to, here’s a simple line of life. Here’s a small trifle of wives,\\r\\nalas, fifteen wives is nothing; eleven widows and nine maids is a\\r\\nsimple coming-in for one man. And then to scape drowning thrice, and to\\r\\nbe in peril of my life with the edge of a feather-bed; here are simple\\r\\n’scapes. Well, if Fortune be a woman, she’s a good wench for this gear.\\r\\nFather, come; I’ll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Launcelet and Old Gobbo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nI pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this.\\r\\nThese things being bought and orderly bestow’d,\\r\\nReturn in haste, for I do feast tonight\\r\\nMy best esteem’d acquaintance; hie thee, go.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONARDO.\\r\\nMy best endeavours shall be done herein.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gratiano.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWhere’s your master?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONARDO.\\r\\nYonder, sir, he walks.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nSignior Bassanio!\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nGratiano!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nI have suit to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nYou have obtain’d it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nYou must not deny me, I must go with you to Belmont.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nWhy, then you must. But hear thee, Gratiano,\\r\\nThou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice,\\r\\nParts that become thee happily enough,\\r\\nAnd in such eyes as ours appear not faults;\\r\\nBut where thou art not known, why there they show\\r\\nSomething too liberal. Pray thee, take pain\\r\\nTo allay with some cold drops of modesty\\r\\nThy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild behaviour\\r\\nI be misconst’red in the place I go to,\\r\\nAnd lose my hopes.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nSignior Bassanio, hear me.\\r\\nIf I do not put on a sober habit,\\r\\nTalk with respect, and swear but now and then,\\r\\nWear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely,\\r\\nNay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes\\r\\nThus with my hat, and sigh, and say “amen”;\\r\\nUse all the observance of civility\\r\\nLike one well studied in a sad ostent\\r\\nTo please his grandam, never trust me more.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nWell, we shall see your bearing.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nNay, but I bar tonight, you shall not gauge me\\r\\nBy what we do tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nNo, that were pity.\\r\\nI would entreat you rather to put on\\r\\nYour boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends\\r\\nThat purpose merriment. But fare you well,\\r\\nI have some business.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nAnd I must to Lorenzo and the rest,\\r\\nBut we will visit you at supper-time.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A room in Shylock’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Jessica and Launcelet.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nI am sorry thou wilt leave my father so.\\r\\nOur house is hell, and thou, a merry devil,\\r\\nDidst rob it of some taste of tediousness.\\r\\nBut fare thee well, there is a ducat for thee,\\r\\nAnd, Launcelet, soon at supper shalt thou see\\r\\nLorenzo, who is thy new master’s guest.\\r\\nGive him this letter, do it secretly.\\r\\nAnd so farewell. I would not have my father\\r\\nSee me in talk with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nAdieu! tears exhibit my tongue, most beautiful pagan, most sweet Jew!\\r\\nIf a Christian do not play the knave and get thee, I am much deceived.\\r\\nBut, adieu! These foolish drops do something drown my manly spirit.\\r\\nAdieu!\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nFarewell, good Launcelet.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Launcelet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAlack, what heinous sin is it in me\\r\\nTo be ashamed to be my father’s child!\\r\\nBut though I am a daughter to his blood,\\r\\nI am not to his manners. O Lorenzo,\\r\\nIf thou keep promise, I shall end this strife,\\r\\nBecome a Christian and thy loving wife.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The same. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino and Solanio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nNay, we will slink away in supper-time,\\r\\nDisguise us at my lodging, and return\\r\\nAll in an hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWe have not made good preparation.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWe have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\n’Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order’d,\\r\\nAnd better in my mind not undertook.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\n’Tis now but four o’clock, we have two hours\\r\\nTo furnish us.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Launcelet with a letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nFriend Launcelet, what’s the news?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nAnd it shall please you to break up this, it shall seem to signify.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nI know the hand, in faith ’tis a fair hand,\\r\\nAnd whiter than the paper it writ on\\r\\nIs the fair hand that writ.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nLove news, in faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nBy your leave, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nWhither goest thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nMarry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew to sup tonight with my new\\r\\nmaster the Christian.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nHold here, take this. Tell gentle Jessica\\r\\nI will not fail her, speak it privately.\\r\\nGo, gentlemen,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Launcelet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWill you prepare you for this masque tonight?\\r\\nI am provided of a torch-bearer.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nAy, marry, I’ll be gone about it straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nAnd so will I.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nMeet me and Gratiano\\r\\nAt Gratiano’s lodging some hour hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\n’Tis good we do so.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Salarino and Solanio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWas not that letter from fair Jessica?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nI must needs tell thee all. She hath directed\\r\\nHow I shall take her from her father’s house,\\r\\nWhat gold and jewels she is furnish’d with,\\r\\nWhat page’s suit she hath in readiness.\\r\\nIf e’er the Jew her father come to heaven,\\r\\nIt will be for his gentle daughter’s sake;\\r\\nAnd never dare misfortune cross her foot,\\r\\nUnless she do it under this excuse,\\r\\nThat she is issue to a faithless Jew.\\r\\nCome, go with me, peruse this as thou goest;\\r\\nFair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. The same. Before Shylock’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Shylock the Jew and Launcelet his man that was the clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWell, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge,\\r\\nThe difference of old Shylock and Bassanio.—\\r\\nWhat, Jessica!—Thou shalt not gormandize\\r\\nAs thou hast done with me;—What, Jessica!—\\r\\nAnd sleep, and snore, and rend apparel out.\\r\\nWhy, Jessica, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nWhy, Jessica!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWho bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nYour worship was wont to tell me I could do nothing without bidding.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Jessica.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nCall you? What is your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI am bid forth to supper, Jessica.\\r\\nThere are my keys. But wherefore should I go?\\r\\nI am not bid for love, they flatter me.\\r\\nBut yet I’ll go in hate, to feed upon\\r\\nThe prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl,\\r\\nLook to my house. I am right loath to go;\\r\\nThere is some ill a-brewing towards my rest,\\r\\nFor I did dream of money-bags tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nI beseech you, sir, go. My young master doth expect your reproach.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nSo do I his.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nAnd they have conspired together. I will not say you shall see a\\r\\nmasque, but if you do, then it was not for nothing that my nose fell\\r\\na-bleeding on Black Monday last at six o’clock i’ th’ morning, falling\\r\\nout that year on Ash-Wednesday was four year in th’ afternoon.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhat, are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica,\\r\\nLock up my doors, and when you hear the drum\\r\\nAnd the vile squealing of the wry-neck’d fife,\\r\\nClamber not you up to the casements then,\\r\\nNor thrust your head into the public street\\r\\nTo gaze on Christian fools with varnish’d faces,\\r\\nBut stop my house’s ears, I mean my casements.\\r\\nLet not the sound of shallow fopp’ry enter\\r\\nMy sober house. By Jacob’s staff I swear\\r\\nI have no mind of feasting forth tonight.\\r\\nBut I will go. Go you before me, sirrah.\\r\\nSay I will come.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nI will go before, sir.\\r\\nMistress, look out at window for all this.\\r\\n There will come a Christian by\\r\\n Will be worth a Jewess’ eye.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Launcelet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhat says that fool of Hagar’s offspring, ha?\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nHis words were “Farewell, mistress,” nothing else.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThe patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder,\\r\\nSnail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day\\r\\nMore than the wild-cat. Drones hive not with me,\\r\\nTherefore I part with him, and part with him\\r\\nTo one that I would have him help to waste\\r\\nHis borrowed purse. Well, Jessica, go in.\\r\\nPerhaps I will return immediately:\\r\\nDo as I bid you, shut doors after you,\\r\\n“Fast bind, fast find.”\\r\\nA proverb never stale in thrifty mind.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nFarewell, and if my fortune be not crost,\\r\\nI have a father, you a daughter, lost.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the masquers, Gratiano and Salarino.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nThis is the penthouse under which Lorenzo\\r\\nDesired us to make stand.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nHis hour is almost past.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nAnd it is marvel he out-dwells his hour,\\r\\nFor lovers ever run before the clock.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nO ten times faster Venus’ pigeons fly\\r\\nTo seal love’s bonds new-made than they are wont\\r\\nTo keep obliged faith unforfeited!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nThat ever holds: who riseth from a feast\\r\\nWith that keen appetite that he sits down?\\r\\nWhere is the horse that doth untread again\\r\\nHis tedious measures with the unbated fire\\r\\nThat he did pace them first? All things that are,\\r\\nAre with more spirit chased than enjoy’d.\\r\\nHow like a younger or a prodigal\\r\\nThe scarfed bark puts from her native bay,\\r\\nHugg’d and embraced by the strumpet wind!\\r\\nHow like the prodigal doth she return\\r\\nWith over-weather’d ribs and ragged sails,\\r\\nLean, rent, and beggar’d by the strumpet wind!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lorenzo.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nHere comes Lorenzo, more of this hereafter.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nSweet friends, your patience for my long abode.\\r\\nNot I but my affairs have made you wait.\\r\\nWhen you shall please to play the thieves for wives,\\r\\nI’ll watch as long for you then. Approach.\\r\\nHere dwells my father Jew. Ho! who’s within?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Jessica above, in boy’s clothes.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nWho are you? Tell me, for more certainty,\\r\\nAlbeit I’ll swear that I do know your tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nLorenzo, and thy love.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nLorenzo certain, and my love indeed,\\r\\nFor who love I so much? And now who knows\\r\\nBut you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nHeaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nHere, catch this casket; it is worth the pains.\\r\\nI am glad ’tis night, you do not look on me,\\r\\nFor I am much asham’d of my exchange.\\r\\nBut love is blind, and lovers cannot see\\r\\nThe pretty follies that themselves commit,\\r\\nFor if they could, Cupid himself would blush\\r\\nTo see me thus transformed to a boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nDescend, for you must be my torch-bearer.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nWhat! must I hold a candle to my shames?\\r\\nThey in themselves, good sooth, are too too light.\\r\\nWhy, ’tis an office of discovery, love,\\r\\nAnd I should be obscur’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nSo are you, sweet,\\r\\nEven in the lovely garnish of a boy.\\r\\nBut come at once,\\r\\nFor the close night doth play the runaway,\\r\\nAnd we are stay’d for at Bassanio’s feast.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nI will make fast the doors, and gild myself\\r\\nWith some moe ducats, and be with you straight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit above._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nNow, by my hood, a gentle, and no Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nBeshrew me but I love her heartily,\\r\\nFor she is wise, if I can judge of her,\\r\\nAnd fair she is, if that mine eyes be true,\\r\\nAnd true she is, as she hath prov’d herself.\\r\\nAnd therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true,\\r\\nShall she be placed in my constant soul.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Jessica.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat, art thou come? On, gentlemen, away!\\r\\nOur masquing mates by this time for us stay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with Jessica and Salarino._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWho’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nSignior Antonio!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nFie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest?\\r\\n’Tis nine o’clock, our friends all stay for you.\\r\\nNo masque tonight, the wind is come about;\\r\\nBassanio presently will go aboard.\\r\\nI have sent twenty out to seek for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nI am glad on’t. I desire no more delight\\r\\nThan to be under sail and gone tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish of cornets. Enter Portia with the Prince of Morocco and both\\r\\n their trains.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nGo, draw aside the curtains and discover\\r\\nThe several caskets to this noble prince.\\r\\nNow make your choice.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE OF MOROCCO.\\r\\nThe first, of gold, who this inscription bears,\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.”\\r\\nThe second, silver, which this promise carries,\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.”\\r\\nThis third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt,\\r\\n“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.”\\r\\nHow shall I know if I do choose the right?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThe one of them contains my picture, prince.\\r\\nIf you choose that, then I am yours withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE OF MOROCCO.\\r\\nSome god direct my judgment! Let me see.\\r\\nI will survey the inscriptions back again.\\r\\nWhat says this leaden casket?\\r\\n“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.”\\r\\nMust give, for what? For lead? Hazard for lead!\\r\\nThis casket threatens; men that hazard all\\r\\nDo it in hope of fair advantages:\\r\\nA golden mind stoops not to shows of dross,\\r\\nI’ll then nor give nor hazard aught for lead.\\r\\nWhat says the silver with her virgin hue?\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.”\\r\\nAs much as he deserves! Pause there, Morocco,\\r\\nAnd weigh thy value with an even hand.\\r\\nIf thou be’st rated by thy estimation\\r\\nThou dost deserve enough, and yet enough\\r\\nMay not extend so far as to the lady.\\r\\nAnd yet to be afeard of my deserving\\r\\nWere but a weak disabling of myself.\\r\\nAs much as I deserve! Why, that’s the lady:\\r\\nI do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes,\\r\\nIn graces, and in qualities of breeding;\\r\\nBut more than these, in love I do deserve.\\r\\nWhat if I stray’d no farther, but chose here?\\r\\nLet’s see once more this saying grav’d in gold:\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.”\\r\\nWhy, that’s the lady, all the world desires her.\\r\\nFrom the four corners of the earth they come\\r\\nTo kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint.\\r\\nThe Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds\\r\\nOf wide Arabia are as throughfares now\\r\\nFor princes to come view fair Portia.\\r\\nThe watery kingdom, whose ambitious head\\r\\nSpets in the face of heaven, is no bar\\r\\nTo stop the foreign spirits, but they come\\r\\nAs o’er a brook to see fair Portia.\\r\\nOne of these three contains her heavenly picture.\\r\\nIs’t like that lead contains her? ’Twere damnation\\r\\nTo think so base a thought. It were too gross\\r\\nTo rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave.\\r\\nOr shall I think in silver she’s immur’d\\r\\nBeing ten times undervalued to tried gold?\\r\\nO sinful thought! Never so rich a gem\\r\\nWas set in worse than gold. They have in England\\r\\nA coin that bears the figure of an angel\\r\\nStamped in gold; but that’s insculp’d upon;\\r\\nBut here an angel in a golden bed\\r\\nLies all within. Deliver me the key.\\r\\nHere do I choose, and thrive I as I may.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThere, take it, prince, and if my form lie there,\\r\\nThen I am yours.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He unlocks the golden casket._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE OF MOROCCO.\\r\\nO hell! what have we here?\\r\\nA carrion Death, within whose empty eye\\r\\nThere is a written scroll. I’ll read the writing.\\r\\n\\r\\n _All that glisters is not gold,\\r\\n Often have you heard that told.\\r\\n Many a man his life hath sold\\r\\n But my outside to behold.\\r\\n Gilded tombs do worms infold.\\r\\n Had you been as wise as bold,\\r\\n Young in limbs, in judgment old,\\r\\n Your answer had not been inscroll’d,\\r\\n Fare you well, your suit is cold._\\r\\n\\r\\n Cold indeed and labour lost,\\r\\n Then farewell heat, and welcome frost.\\r\\nPortia, adieu! I have too griev’d a heart\\r\\nTo take a tedious leave. Thus losers part.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nA gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go.\\r\\nLet all of his complexion choose me so.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VIII. Venice. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Salarino and Solanio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWhy, man, I saw Bassanio under sail;\\r\\nWith him is Gratiano gone along;\\r\\nAnd in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nThe villain Jew with outcries rais’d the Duke,\\r\\nWho went with him to search Bassanio’s ship.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nHe came too late, the ship was under sail;\\r\\nBut there the Duke was given to understand\\r\\nThat in a gondola were seen together\\r\\nLorenzo and his amorous Jessica.\\r\\nBesides, Antonio certified the Duke\\r\\nThey were not with Bassanio in his ship.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nI never heard a passion so confus’d,\\r\\nSo strange, outrageous, and so variable\\r\\nAs the dog Jew did utter in the streets.\\r\\n“My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter!\\r\\nFled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats!\\r\\nJustice! the law! my ducats and my daughter!\\r\\nA sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,\\r\\nOf double ducats, stol’n from me by my daughter!\\r\\nAnd jewels, two stones, two rich and precious stones,\\r\\nStol’n by my daughter! Justice! find the girl,\\r\\nShe hath the stones upon her and the ducats.”\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWhy, all the boys in Venice follow him,\\r\\nCrying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nLet good Antonio look he keep his day\\r\\nOr he shall pay for this.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nMarry, well rememb’red.\\r\\nI reason’d with a Frenchman yesterday,\\r\\nWho told me, in the narrow seas that part\\r\\nThe French and English, there miscarried\\r\\nA vessel of our country richly fraught.\\r\\nI thought upon Antonio when he told me,\\r\\nAnd wish’d in silence that it were not his.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nYou were best to tell Antonio what you hear,\\r\\nYet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nA kinder gentleman treads not the earth.\\r\\nI saw Bassanio and Antonio part,\\r\\nBassanio told him he would make some speed\\r\\nOf his return. He answered “Do not so,\\r\\nSlubber not business for my sake, Bassanio,\\r\\nBut stay the very riping of the time,\\r\\nAnd for the Jew’s bond which he hath of me,\\r\\nLet it not enter in your mind of love:\\r\\nBe merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts\\r\\nTo courtship, and such fair ostents of love\\r\\nAs shall conveniently become you there.”\\r\\nAnd even there, his eye being big with tears,\\r\\nTurning his face, he put his hand behind him,\\r\\nAnd with affection wondrous sensible\\r\\nHe wrung Bassanio’s hand, and so they parted.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nI think he only loves the world for him.\\r\\nI pray thee, let us go and find him out\\r\\nAnd quicken his embraced heaviness\\r\\nWith some delight or other.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nDo we so.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IX. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nerissa and a Servitor.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nQuick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtain straight.\\r\\nThe Prince of Arragon hath ta’en his oath,\\r\\nAnd comes to his election presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince of Arragon, his train, and\\r\\n Portia.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nBehold, there stand the caskets, noble Prince,\\r\\nIf you choose that wherein I am contain’d,\\r\\nStraight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz’d.\\r\\nBut if you fail, without more speech, my lord,\\r\\nYou must be gone from hence immediately.\\r\\n\\r\\nARRAGON.\\r\\nI am enjoin’d by oath to observe three things:\\r\\nFirst, never to unfold to anyone\\r\\nWhich casket ’twas I chose; next, if I fail\\r\\nOf the right casket, never in my life\\r\\nTo woo a maid in way of marriage;\\r\\nLastly,\\r\\nIf I do fail in fortune of my choice,\\r\\nImmediately to leave you and be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nTo these injunctions everyone doth swear\\r\\nThat comes to hazard for my worthless self.\\r\\n\\r\\nARRAGON.\\r\\nAnd so have I address’d me. Fortune now\\r\\nTo my heart’s hope! Gold, silver, and base lead.\\r\\n“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.”\\r\\nYou shall look fairer ere I give or hazard.\\r\\nWhat says the golden chest? Ha! let me see:\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.”\\r\\nWhat many men desire! that “many” may be meant\\r\\nBy the fool multitude, that choose by show,\\r\\nNot learning more than the fond eye doth teach,\\r\\nWhich pries not to th’ interior, but like the martlet\\r\\nBuilds in the weather on the outward wall,\\r\\nEven in the force and road of casualty.\\r\\nI will not choose what many men desire,\\r\\nBecause I will not jump with common spirits\\r\\nAnd rank me with the barbarous multitudes.\\r\\nWhy, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house,\\r\\nTell me once more what title thou dost bear.\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.”\\r\\nAnd well said too; for who shall go about\\r\\nTo cozen fortune, and be honourable\\r\\nWithout the stamp of merit? Let none presume\\r\\nTo wear an undeserved dignity.\\r\\nO that estates, degrees, and offices\\r\\nWere not deriv’d corruptly, and that clear honour\\r\\nWere purchas’d by the merit of the wearer!\\r\\nHow many then should cover that stand bare?\\r\\nHow many be commanded that command?\\r\\nHow much low peasantry would then be gleaned\\r\\nFrom the true seed of honour? And how much honour\\r\\nPick’d from the chaff and ruin of the times,\\r\\nTo be new varnish’d? Well, but to my choice.\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.”\\r\\nI will assume desert. Give me a key for this,\\r\\nAnd instantly unlock my fortunes here.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He opens the silver casket._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nToo long a pause for that which you find there.\\r\\n\\r\\nARRAGON.\\r\\nWhat’s here? The portrait of a blinking idiot\\r\\nPresenting me a schedule! I will read it.\\r\\nHow much unlike art thou to Portia!\\r\\nHow much unlike my hopes and my deservings!\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserves.”\\r\\nDid I deserve no more than a fool’s head?\\r\\nIs that my prize? Are my deserts no better?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nTo offend and judge are distinct offices,\\r\\nAnd of opposed natures.\\r\\n\\r\\nARRAGON.\\r\\nWhat is here?\\r\\n\\r\\n _The fire seven times tried this;\\r\\n Seven times tried that judgment is\\r\\n That did never choose amiss.\\r\\n Some there be that shadows kiss;\\r\\n Such have but a shadow’s bliss.\\r\\n There be fools alive, I wis,\\r\\n Silver’d o’er, and so was this.\\r\\n Take what wife you will to bed,\\r\\n I will ever be your head:\\r\\n So be gone; you are sped._\\r\\n\\r\\nStill more fool I shall appear\\r\\nBy the time I linger here.\\r\\nWith one fool’s head I came to woo,\\r\\nBut I go away with two.\\r\\nSweet, adieu! I’ll keep my oath,\\r\\nPatiently to bear my wroth.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Aragon with his train._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThus hath the candle sing’d the moth.\\r\\nO, these deliberate fools! When they do choose,\\r\\nThey have the wisdom by their wit to lose.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nThe ancient saying is no heresy:\\r\\nHanging and wiving goes by destiny.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nCome, draw the curtain, Nerissa.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nWhere is my lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nHere, what would my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nMadam, there is alighted at your gate\\r\\nA young Venetian, one that comes before\\r\\nTo signify th’ approaching of his lord,\\r\\nFrom whom he bringeth sensible regreets;\\r\\nTo wit (besides commends and courteous breath)\\r\\nGifts of rich value; yet I have not seen\\r\\nSo likely an ambassador of love.\\r\\nA day in April never came so sweet,\\r\\nTo show how costly summer was at hand,\\r\\nAs this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nNo more, I pray thee. I am half afeard\\r\\nThou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee,\\r\\nThou spend’st such high-day wit in praising him.\\r\\nCome, come, Nerissa, for I long to see\\r\\nQuick Cupid’s post that comes so mannerly.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nBassanio, Lord Love, if thy will it be!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Venice. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Solanio and Salarino.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nNow, what news on the Rialto?\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWhy, yet it lives there unchecked that Antonio hath a ship of rich\\r\\nlading wrack’d on the narrow seas; the Goodwins, I think they call the\\r\\nplace, a very dangerous flat and fatal, where the carcasses of many a\\r\\ntall ship lie buried, as they say, if my gossip Report be an honest\\r\\nwoman of her word.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nI would she were as lying a gossip in that as ever knapped ginger or\\r\\nmade her neighbours believe she wept for the death of a third husband.\\r\\nBut it is true, without any slips of prolixity or crossing the plain\\r\\nhighway of talk, that the good Antonio, the honest Antonio,—O that I\\r\\nhad a title good enough to keep his name company!—\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nCome, the full stop.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nHa, what sayest thou? Why, the end is, he hath lost a ship.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nI would it might prove the end of his losses.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nLet me say “amen” betimes, lest the devil cross my prayer, for here he\\r\\ncomes in the likeness of a Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Shylock.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Shylock, what news among the merchants?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nYou knew, none so well, none so well as you, of my daughter’s flight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nThat’s certain, I, for my part, knew the tailor that made the wings she\\r\\nflew withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nAnd Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was fledged; and then it\\r\\nis the complexion of them all to leave the dam.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nShe is damn’d for it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nThat’s certain, if the devil may be her judge.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nMy own flesh and blood to rebel!\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nOut upon it, old carrion! Rebels it at these years?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI say my daughter is my flesh and my blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nThere is more difference between thy flesh and hers than between jet\\r\\nand ivory, more between your bloods than there is between red wine and\\r\\nRhenish. But tell us, do you hear whether Antonio have had any loss at\\r\\nsea or no?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThere I have another bad match, a bankrupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce\\r\\nshow his head on the Rialto, a beggar that used to come so smug upon\\r\\nthe mart; let him look to his bond. He was wont to call me usurer; let\\r\\nhim look to his bond: he was wont to lend money for a Christian cur’sy;\\r\\nlet him look to his bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWhy, I am sure if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his flesh! What’s that\\r\\ngood for?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nTo bait fish withal; if it will feed nothing else, it will feed my\\r\\nrevenge. He hath disgrac’d me and hind’red me half a million, laugh’d\\r\\nat my losses, mock’d at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my\\r\\nbargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies. And what’s his\\r\\nreason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs,\\r\\ndimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt\\r\\nwith the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same\\r\\nmeans, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian\\r\\nis? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not\\r\\nlaugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we\\r\\nnot revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in\\r\\nthat. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a\\r\\nChristian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian\\r\\nexample? Why, revenge! The villainy you teach me I will execute, and it\\r\\nshall go hard but I will better the instruction.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a man from Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nGentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house, and desires to speak with\\r\\nyou both.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWe have been up and down to seek him.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Tubal.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nHere comes another of the tribe; a third cannot be match’d, unless the\\r\\ndevil himself turn Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Solanio, Salarino and the Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nHow now, Tubal, what news from Genoa? Hast thou found my daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\nI often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhy there, there, there, there! A diamond gone cost me two thousand\\r\\nducats in Frankfort! The curse never fell upon our nation till now, I\\r\\nnever felt it till now. Two thousand ducats in that, and other\\r\\nprecious, precious jewels. I would my daughter were dead at my foot,\\r\\nand the jewels in her ear; would she were hearsed at my foot, and the\\r\\nducats in her coffin. No news of them? Why so? And I know not what’s\\r\\nspent in the search. Why, thou—loss upon loss! The thief gone with so\\r\\nmuch, and so much to find the thief, and no satisfaction, no revenge,\\r\\nnor no ill luck stirring but what lights o’ my shoulders, no sighs but\\r\\no’ my breathing, no tears but o’ my shedding.\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\nYes, other men have ill luck too. Antonio, as I heard in Genoa—\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhat, what, what? Ill luck, ill luck?\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\n—hath an argosy cast away coming from Tripolis.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI thank God! I thank God! Is it true, is it true?\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\nI spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wrack.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI thank thee, good Tubal. Good news, good news! Ha, ha, heard in Genoa?\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\nYour daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, one night, fourscore ducats.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThou stick’st a dagger in me. I shall never see my gold again.\\r\\nFourscore ducats at a sitting! Fourscore ducats!\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\nThere came divers of Antonio’s creditors in my company to Venice that\\r\\nswear he cannot choose but break.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI am very glad of it. I’ll plague him, I’ll torture him. I am glad of\\r\\nit.\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\nOne of them showed me a ring that he had of your daughter for a monkey.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nOut upon her! Thou torturest me, Tubal. It was my turquoise, I had it\\r\\nof Leah when I was a bachelor. I would not have given it for a\\r\\nwilderness of monkeys.\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\nBut Antonio is certainly undone.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nNay, that’s true, that’s very true. Go, Tubal, fee me an officer;\\r\\nbespeak him a fortnight before. I will have the heart of him if he\\r\\nforfeit, for were he out of Venice I can make what merchandise I will.\\r\\nGo, Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue. Go, good Tubal, at our\\r\\nsynagogue, Tubal.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, Nerissa and all their trains.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI pray you tarry, pause a day or two\\r\\nBefore you hazard, for in choosing wrong\\r\\nI lose your company; therefore forbear a while.\\r\\nThere’s something tells me (but it is not love)\\r\\nI would not lose you, and you know yourself\\r\\nHate counsels not in such a quality.\\r\\nBut lest you should not understand me well,—\\r\\nAnd yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought,—\\r\\nI would detain you here some month or two\\r\\nBefore you venture for me. I could teach you\\r\\nHow to choose right, but then I am forsworn.\\r\\nSo will I never be. So may you miss me.\\r\\nBut if you do, you’ll make me wish a sin,\\r\\nThat I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes,\\r\\nThey have o’erlook’d me and divided me.\\r\\nOne half of me is yours, the other half yours,\\r\\nMine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours,\\r\\nAnd so all yours. O these naughty times\\r\\nPuts bars between the owners and their rights!\\r\\nAnd so though yours, not yours. Prove it so,\\r\\nLet Fortune go to hell for it, not I.\\r\\nI speak too long, but ’tis to peise the time,\\r\\nTo eche it, and to draw it out in length,\\r\\nTo stay you from election.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nLet me choose,\\r\\nFor as I am, I live upon the rack.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nUpon the rack, Bassanio! Then confess\\r\\nWhat treason there is mingled with your love.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nNone but that ugly treason of mistrust,\\r\\nWhich makes me fear th’ enjoying of my love.\\r\\nThere may as well be amity and life\\r\\n’Tween snow and fire as treason and my love.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nAy, but I fear you speak upon the rack\\r\\nWhere men enforced do speak anything.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nPromise me life, and I’ll confess the truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWell then, confess and live.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\n“Confess and love”\\r\\nHad been the very sum of my confession:\\r\\nO happy torment, when my torturer\\r\\nDoth teach me answers for deliverance!\\r\\nBut let me to my fortune and the caskets.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nAway, then! I am lock’d in one of them.\\r\\nIf you do love me, you will find me out.\\r\\nNerissa and the rest, stand all aloof.\\r\\nLet music sound while he doth make his choice.\\r\\nThen if he lose he makes a swan-like end,\\r\\nFading in music. That the comparison\\r\\nMay stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream\\r\\nAnd wat’ry death-bed for him. He may win,\\r\\nAnd what is music then? Then music is\\r\\nEven as the flourish when true subjects bow\\r\\nTo a new-crowned monarch. Such it is\\r\\nAs are those dulcet sounds in break of day\\r\\nThat creep into the dreaming bridegroom’s ear\\r\\nAnd summon him to marriage. Now he goes,\\r\\nWith no less presence, but with much more love\\r\\nThan young Alcides when he did redeem\\r\\nThe virgin tribute paid by howling Troy\\r\\nTo the sea-monster: I stand for sacrifice;\\r\\nThe rest aloof are the Dardanian wives,\\r\\nWith bleared visages come forth to view\\r\\nThe issue of th’ exploit. Go, Hercules!\\r\\nLive thou, I live. With much much more dismay\\r\\nI view the fight than thou that mak’st the fray.\\r\\n\\r\\n A song, whilst Bassanio comments on the caskets to himself.\\r\\n\\r\\n _Tell me where is fancy bred,\\r\\n Or in the heart or in the head?\\r\\n How begot, how nourished?\\r\\n Reply, reply.\\r\\n It is engend’red in the eyes,\\r\\n With gazing fed, and fancy dies\\r\\n In the cradle where it lies.\\r\\n Let us all ring fancy’s knell:\\r\\n I’ll begin it.—Ding, dong, bell._\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\n _Ding, dong, bell._\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nSo may the outward shows be least themselves.\\r\\nThe world is still deceiv’d with ornament.\\r\\nIn law, what plea so tainted and corrupt\\r\\nBut, being season’d with a gracious voice,\\r\\nObscures the show of evil? In religion,\\r\\nWhat damned error but some sober brow\\r\\nWill bless it, and approve it with a text,\\r\\nHiding the grossness with fair ornament?\\r\\nThere is no vice so simple but assumes\\r\\nSome mark of virtue on his outward parts.\\r\\nHow many cowards, whose hearts are all as false\\r\\nAs stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins\\r\\nThe beards of Hercules and frowning Mars,\\r\\nWho inward search’d, have livers white as milk,\\r\\nAnd these assume but valour’s excrement\\r\\nTo render them redoubted. Look on beauty,\\r\\nAnd you shall see ’tis purchas’d by the weight,\\r\\nWhich therein works a miracle in nature,\\r\\nMaking them lightest that wear most of it:\\r\\nSo are those crisped snaky golden locks\\r\\nWhich make such wanton gambols with the wind\\r\\nUpon supposed fairness, often known\\r\\nTo be the dowry of a second head,\\r\\nThe skull that bred them in the sepulchre.\\r\\nThus ornament is but the guiled shore\\r\\nTo a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf\\r\\nVeiling an Indian beauty; in a word,\\r\\nThe seeming truth which cunning times put on\\r\\nTo entrap the wisest. Therefore thou gaudy gold,\\r\\nHard food for Midas, I will none of thee,\\r\\nNor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge\\r\\n’Tween man and man: but thou, thou meagre lead,\\r\\nWhich rather threaten’st than dost promise aught,\\r\\nThy palenness moves me more than eloquence,\\r\\nAnd here choose I, joy be the consequence!\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\n[_Aside._] How all the other passions fleet to air,\\r\\nAs doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac’d despair,\\r\\nAnd shudd’ring fear, and green-ey’d jealousy.\\r\\nO love, be moderate; allay thy ecstasy,\\r\\nIn measure rain thy joy; scant this excess!\\r\\nI feel too much thy blessing, make it less,\\r\\nFor fear I surfeit.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nWhat find I here? [_Opening the leaden casket_.]\\r\\nFair Portia’s counterfeit! What demi-god\\r\\nHath come so near creation? Move these eyes?\\r\\nOr whether, riding on the balls of mine,\\r\\nSeem they in motion? Here are sever’d lips,\\r\\nParted with sugar breath, so sweet a bar\\r\\nShould sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hairs\\r\\nThe painter plays the spider, and hath woven\\r\\nA golden mesh t’entrap the hearts of men\\r\\nFaster than gnats in cobwebs. But her eyes!—\\r\\nHow could he see to do them? Having made one,\\r\\nMethinks it should have power to steal both his\\r\\nAnd leave itself unfurnish’d. Yet look how far\\r\\nThe substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow\\r\\nIn underprizing it, so far this shadow\\r\\nDoth limp behind the substance. Here’s the scroll,\\r\\nThe continent and summary of my fortune.\\r\\n\\r\\n _You that choose not by the view\\r\\n Chance as fair and choose as true!\\r\\n Since this fortune falls to you,\\r\\n Be content and seek no new.\\r\\n If you be well pleas’d with this,\\r\\n And hold your fortune for your bliss,\\r\\n Turn to where your lady is,\\r\\n And claim her with a loving kiss._\\r\\n\\r\\nA gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave, [_Kissing her_.]\\r\\nI come by note to give and to receive.\\r\\nLike one of two contending in a prize\\r\\nThat thinks he hath done well in people’s eyes,\\r\\nHearing applause and universal shout,\\r\\nGiddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt\\r\\nWhether those peals of praise be his or no,\\r\\nSo, thrice-fair lady, stand I even so,\\r\\nAs doubtful whether what I see be true,\\r\\nUntil confirm’d, sign’d, ratified by you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYou see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,\\r\\nSuch as I am; though for myself alone\\r\\nI would not be ambitious in my wish\\r\\nTo wish myself much better, yet for you\\r\\nI would be trebled twenty times myself,\\r\\nA thousand times more fair, ten thousand times\\r\\nMore rich,\\r\\nThat only to stand high in your account,\\r\\nI might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends,\\r\\nExceed account. But the full sum of me\\r\\nIs sum of something, which, to term in gross,\\r\\nIs an unlesson’d girl, unschool’d, unpractis’d;\\r\\nHappy in this, she is not yet so old\\r\\nBut she may learn; happier than this,\\r\\nShe is not bred so dull but she can learn;\\r\\nHappiest of all, is that her gentle spirit\\r\\nCommits itself to yours to be directed,\\r\\nAs from her lord, her governor, her king.\\r\\nMyself, and what is mine, to you and yours\\r\\nIs now converted. But now I was the lord\\r\\nOf this fair mansion, master of my servants,\\r\\nQueen o’er myself; and even now, but now,\\r\\nThis house, these servants, and this same myself\\r\\nAre yours,—my lord’s. I give them with this ring,\\r\\nWhich when you part from, lose, or give away,\\r\\nLet it presage the ruin of your love,\\r\\nAnd be my vantage to exclaim on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nMadam, you have bereft me of all words,\\r\\nOnly my blood speaks to you in my veins,\\r\\nAnd there is such confusion in my powers\\r\\nAs after some oration fairly spoke\\r\\nBy a beloved prince, there doth appear\\r\\nAmong the buzzing pleased multitude,\\r\\nWhere every something being blent together,\\r\\nTurns to a wild of nothing, save of joy\\r\\nExpress’d and not express’d. But when this ring\\r\\nParts from this finger, then parts life from hence.\\r\\nO then be bold to say Bassanio’s dead!\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nMy lord and lady, it is now our time,\\r\\nThat have stood by and seen our wishes prosper,\\r\\nTo cry, good joy. Good joy, my lord and lady!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nMy Lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady,\\r\\nI wish you all the joy that you can wish;\\r\\nFor I am sure you can wish none from me.\\r\\nAnd when your honours mean to solemnize\\r\\nThe bargain of your faith, I do beseech you\\r\\nEven at that time I may be married too.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nWith all my heart, so thou canst get a wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nI thank your lordship, you have got me one.\\r\\nMy eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours:\\r\\nYou saw the mistress, I beheld the maid.\\r\\nYou lov’d, I lov’d; for intermission\\r\\nNo more pertains to me, my lord, than you.\\r\\nYour fortune stood upon the caskets there,\\r\\nAnd so did mine too, as the matter falls.\\r\\nFor wooing here until I sweat again,\\r\\nAnd swearing till my very roof was dry\\r\\nWith oaths of love, at last, (if promise last)\\r\\nI got a promise of this fair one here\\r\\nTo have her love, provided that your fortune\\r\\nAchiev’d her mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIs this true, Nerissa?\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nMadam, it is, so you stand pleas’d withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nAnd do you, Gratiano, mean good faith?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nYes, faith, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nOur feast shall be much honoured in your marriage.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWe’ll play with them the first boy for a thousand ducats.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nWhat! and stake down?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nNo, we shall ne’er win at that sport and stake down.\\r\\nBut who comes here? Lorenzo and his infidel?\\r\\nWhat, and my old Venetian friend, Salerio!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lorenzo, Jessica and Salerio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nLorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither,\\r\\nIf that the youth of my new int’rest here\\r\\nHave power to bid you welcome. By your leave,\\r\\nI bid my very friends and countrymen,\\r\\nSweet Portia, welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nSo do I, my lord,\\r\\nThey are entirely welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nI thank your honour. For my part, my lord,\\r\\nMy purpose was not to have seen you here,\\r\\nBut meeting with Salerio by the way,\\r\\nHe did entreat me, past all saying nay,\\r\\nTo come with him along.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALERIO.\\r\\nI did, my lord,\\r\\nAnd I have reason for it. Signior Antonio\\r\\nCommends him to you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Gives Bassanio a letter._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nEre I ope his letter,\\r\\nI pray you tell me how my good friend doth.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALERIO.\\r\\nNot sick, my lord, unless it be in mind,\\r\\nNor well, unless in mind. His letter there\\r\\nWill show you his estate.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Bassanio opens the letter._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nNerissa, cheer yond stranger, bid her welcome.\\r\\nYour hand, Salerio. What’s the news from Venice?\\r\\nHow doth that royal merchant, good Antonio?\\r\\nI know he will be glad of our success.\\r\\nWe are the Jasons, we have won the fleece.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALERIO.\\r\\nI would you had won the fleece that he hath lost.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThere are some shrewd contents in yond same paper\\r\\nThat steals the colour from Bassanio’s cheek.\\r\\nSome dear friend dead, else nothing in the world\\r\\nCould turn so much the constitution\\r\\nOf any constant man. What, worse and worse?\\r\\nWith leave, Bassanio, I am half yourself,\\r\\nAnd I must freely have the half of anything\\r\\nThat this same paper brings you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nO sweet Portia,\\r\\nHere are a few of the unpleasant’st words\\r\\nThat ever blotted paper. Gentle lady,\\r\\nWhen I did first impart my love to you,\\r\\nI freely told you all the wealth I had\\r\\nRan in my veins, I was a gentleman.\\r\\nAnd then I told you true. And yet, dear lady,\\r\\nRating myself at nothing, you shall see\\r\\nHow much I was a braggart. When I told you\\r\\nMy state was nothing, I should then have told you\\r\\nThat I was worse than nothing; for indeed\\r\\nI have engag’d myself to a dear friend,\\r\\nEngag’d my friend to his mere enemy,\\r\\nTo feed my means. Here is a letter, lady,\\r\\nThe paper as the body of my friend,\\r\\nAnd every word in it a gaping wound\\r\\nIssuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio?\\r\\nHath all his ventures fail’d? What, not one hit?\\r\\nFrom Tripolis, from Mexico, and England,\\r\\nFrom Lisbon, Barbary, and India,\\r\\nAnd not one vessel scape the dreadful touch\\r\\nOf merchant-marring rocks?\\r\\n\\r\\nSALERIO.\\r\\nNot one, my lord.\\r\\nBesides, it should appear, that if he had\\r\\nThe present money to discharge the Jew,\\r\\nHe would not take it. Never did I know\\r\\nA creature that did bear the shape of man\\r\\nSo keen and greedy to confound a man.\\r\\nHe plies the Duke at morning and at night,\\r\\nAnd doth impeach the freedom of the state\\r\\nIf they deny him justice. Twenty merchants,\\r\\nThe Duke himself, and the magnificoes\\r\\nOf greatest port have all persuaded with him,\\r\\nBut none can drive him from the envious plea\\r\\nOf forfeiture, of justice, and his bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nWhen I was with him, I have heard him swear\\r\\nTo Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen,\\r\\nThat he would rather have Antonio’s flesh\\r\\nThan twenty times the value of the sum\\r\\nThat he did owe him. And I know, my lord,\\r\\nIf law, authority, and power deny not,\\r\\nIt will go hard with poor Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIs it your dear friend that is thus in trouble?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nThe dearest friend to me, the kindest man,\\r\\nThe best condition’d and unwearied spirit\\r\\nIn doing courtesies, and one in whom\\r\\nThe ancient Roman honour more appears\\r\\nThan any that draws breath in Italy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhat sum owes he the Jew?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nFor me three thousand ducats.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhat, no more?\\r\\nPay him six thousand, and deface the bond.\\r\\nDouble six thousand, and then treble that,\\r\\nBefore a friend of this description\\r\\nShall lose a hair through Bassanio’s fault.\\r\\nFirst go with me to church and call me wife,\\r\\nAnd then away to Venice to your friend.\\r\\nFor never shall you lie by Portia’s side\\r\\nWith an unquiet soul. You shall have gold\\r\\nTo pay the petty debt twenty times over.\\r\\nWhen it is paid, bring your true friend along.\\r\\nMy maid Nerissa and myself meantime,\\r\\nWill live as maids and widows. Come, away!\\r\\nFor you shall hence upon your wedding day.\\r\\nBid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer;\\r\\nSince you are dear bought, I will love you dear.\\r\\nBut let me hear the letter of your friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\n_Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all miscarried, my creditors grow cruel,\\r\\nmy estate is very low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit, and since in\\r\\npaying it, it is impossible I should live, all debts are clear’d\\r\\nbetween you and I, if I might but see you at my death. Notwithstanding,\\r\\nuse your pleasure. If your love do not persuade you to come, let not my\\r\\nletter._\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nO love, dispatch all business and be gone!\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nSince I have your good leave to go away,\\r\\nI will make haste; but, till I come again,\\r\\nNo bed shall e’er be guilty of my stay,\\r\\nNor rest be interposer ’twixt us twain.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Venice. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Shylock, Salarino, Antonio and Gaoler.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nGaoler, look to him. Tell not me of mercy.\\r\\nThis is the fool that lent out money gratis.\\r\\nGaoler, look to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHear me yet, good Shylock.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI’ll have my bond, speak not against my bond.\\r\\nI have sworn an oath that I will have my bond.\\r\\nThou call’dst me dog before thou hadst a cause,\\r\\nBut since I am a dog, beware my fangs;\\r\\nThe Duke shall grant me justice. I do wonder,\\r\\nThou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond\\r\\nTo come abroad with him at his request.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI pray thee hear me speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI’ll have my bond. I will not hear thee speak.\\r\\nI’ll have my bond, and therefore speak no more.\\r\\nI’ll not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool,\\r\\nTo shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield\\r\\nTo Christian intercessors. Follow not,\\r\\nI’ll have no speaking, I will have my bond.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nIt is the most impenetrable cur\\r\\nThat ever kept with men.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLet him alone.\\r\\nI’ll follow him no more with bootless prayers.\\r\\nHe seeks my life, his reason well I know:\\r\\nI oft deliver’d from his forfeitures\\r\\nMany that have at times made moan to me.\\r\\nTherefore he hates me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nI am sure the Duke\\r\\nWill never grant this forfeiture to hold.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe Duke cannot deny the course of law,\\r\\nFor the commodity that strangers have\\r\\nWith us in Venice, if it be denied,\\r\\n’Twill much impeach the justice of the state,\\r\\nSince that the trade and profit of the city\\r\\nConsisteth of all nations. Therefore, go.\\r\\nThese griefs and losses have so bated me\\r\\nThat I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh\\r\\nTomorrow to my bloody creditor.\\r\\nWell, gaoler, on, pray God Bassanio come\\r\\nTo see me pay his debt, and then I care not.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica and Balthazar.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nMadam, although I speak it in your presence,\\r\\nYou have a noble and a true conceit\\r\\nOf godlike amity, which appears most strongly\\r\\nIn bearing thus the absence of your lord.\\r\\nBut if you knew to whom you show this honour,\\r\\nHow true a gentleman you send relief,\\r\\nHow dear a lover of my lord your husband,\\r\\nI know you would be prouder of the work\\r\\nThan customary bounty can enforce you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI never did repent for doing good,\\r\\nNor shall not now; for in companions\\r\\nThat do converse and waste the time together,\\r\\nWhose souls do bear an equal yoke of love,\\r\\nThere must be needs a like proportion\\r\\nOf lineaments, of manners, and of spirit;\\r\\nWhich makes me think that this Antonio,\\r\\nBeing the bosom lover of my lord,\\r\\nMust needs be like my lord. If it be so,\\r\\nHow little is the cost I have bestowed\\r\\nIn purchasing the semblance of my soul\\r\\nFrom out the state of hellish cruelty!\\r\\nThis comes too near the praising of myself;\\r\\nTherefore no more of it. Hear other things.\\r\\nLorenzo, I commit into your hands\\r\\nThe husbandry and manage of my house\\r\\nUntil my lord’s return. For mine own part,\\r\\nI have toward heaven breath’d a secret vow\\r\\nTo live in prayer and contemplation,\\r\\nOnly attended by Nerissa here,\\r\\nUntil her husband and my lord’s return.\\r\\nThere is a monastery two miles off,\\r\\nAnd there we will abide. I do desire you\\r\\nNot to deny this imposition,\\r\\nThe which my love and some necessity\\r\\nNow lays upon you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nMadam, with all my heart\\r\\nI shall obey you in all fair commands.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nMy people do already know my mind,\\r\\nAnd will acknowledge you and Jessica\\r\\nIn place of Lord Bassanio and myself.\\r\\nSo fare you well till we shall meet again.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nFair thoughts and happy hours attend on you!\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nI wish your ladyship all heart’s content.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI thank you for your wish, and am well pleas’d\\r\\nTo wish it back on you. Fare you well, Jessica.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Jessica and Lorenzo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, Balthazar,\\r\\nAs I have ever found thee honest-true,\\r\\nSo let me find thee still. Take this same letter,\\r\\nAnd use thou all th’ endeavour of a man\\r\\nIn speed to Padua, see thou render this\\r\\nInto my cousin’s hands, Doctor Bellario;\\r\\nAnd look what notes and garments he doth give thee,\\r\\nBring them, I pray thee, with imagin’d speed\\r\\nUnto the traject, to the common ferry\\r\\nWhich trades to Venice. Waste no time in words,\\r\\nBut get thee gone. I shall be there before thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHAZAR.\\r\\nMadam, I go with all convenient speed.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nCome on, Nerissa, I have work in hand\\r\\nThat you yet know not of; we’ll see our husbands\\r\\nBefore they think of us.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nShall they see us?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThey shall, Nerissa, but in such a habit\\r\\nThat they shall think we are accomplished\\r\\nWith that we lack. I’ll hold thee any wager,\\r\\nWhen we are both accoutered like young men,\\r\\nI’ll prove the prettier fellow of the two,\\r\\nAnd wear my dagger with the braver grace,\\r\\nAnd speak between the change of man and boy\\r\\nWith a reed voice; and turn two mincing steps\\r\\nInto a manly stride; and speak of frays\\r\\nLike a fine bragging youth; and tell quaint lies\\r\\nHow honourable ladies sought my love,\\r\\nWhich I denying, they fell sick and died;\\r\\nI could not do withal. Then I’ll repent,\\r\\nAnd wish for all that, that I had not kill’d them.\\r\\nAnd twenty of these puny lies I’ll tell,\\r\\nThat men shall swear I have discontinued school\\r\\nAbout a twelvemonth. I have within my mind\\r\\nA thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks,\\r\\nWhich I will practise.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nWhy, shall we turn to men?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nFie, what a question’s that,\\r\\nIf thou wert near a lewd interpreter!\\r\\nBut come, I’ll tell thee all my whole device\\r\\nWhen I am in my coach, which stays for us\\r\\nAt the park gate; and therefore haste away,\\r\\nFor we must measure twenty miles today.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. The same. A garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Launcelet and Jessica.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nYes, truly, for look you, the sins of the father are to be laid upon\\r\\nthe children, therefore, I promise you, I fear you. I was always plain\\r\\nwith you, and so now I speak my agitation of the matter. Therefore be\\r\\nof good cheer, for truly I think you are damn’d. There is but one hope\\r\\nin it that can do you any good, and that is but a kind of bastard hope\\r\\nneither.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nAnd what hope is that, I pray thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nMarry, you may partly hope that your father got you not, that you are\\r\\nnot the Jew’s daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nThat were a kind of bastard hope indeed; so the sins of my mother\\r\\nshould be visited upon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nTruly then I fear you are damn’d both by father and mother; thus when I\\r\\nshun Scylla your father, I fall into Charybdis your mother. Well, you\\r\\nare gone both ways.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nI shall be saved by my husband. He hath made me a Christian.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nTruly the more to blame he, we were Christians enow before, e’en as\\r\\nmany as could well live one by another. This making of Christians will\\r\\nraise the price of hogs; if we grow all to be pork-eaters, we shall not\\r\\nshortly have a rasher on the coals for money.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lorenzo.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nI’ll tell my husband, Launcelet, what you say. Here he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nI shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launcelet, if you thus get my wife\\r\\ninto corners!\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nNay, you need nor fear us, Lorenzo. Launcelet and I are out. He tells\\r\\nme flatly there’s no mercy for me in heaven, because I am a Jew’s\\r\\ndaughter; and he says you are no good member of the commonwealth, for\\r\\nin converting Jews to Christians you raise the price of pork.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nI shall answer that better to the commonwealth than you can the getting\\r\\nup of the negro’s belly! The Moor is with child by you, Launcelet.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nIt is much that the Moor should be more than reason; but if she be less\\r\\nthan an honest woman, she is indeed more than I took her for.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nHow every fool can play upon the word! I think the best grace of wit\\r\\nwill shortly turn into silence, and discourse grow commendable in none\\r\\nonly but parrots. Go in, sirrah; bid them prepare for dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nThat is done, sir, they have all stomachs.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nGoodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are you! Then bid them prepare dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nThat is done too, sir, only “cover” is the word.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nWill you cover, then, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nNot so, sir, neither. I know my duty.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nYet more quarrelling with occasion! Wilt thou show the whole wealth of\\r\\nthy wit in an instant? I pray thee understand a plain man in his plain\\r\\nmeaning: go to thy fellows, bid them cover the table, serve in the\\r\\nmeat, and we will come in to dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nFor the table, sir, it shall be served in; for the meat, sir, it shall\\r\\nbe covered; for your coming in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as\\r\\nhumours and conceits shall govern.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nO dear discretion, how his words are suited!\\r\\nThe fool hath planted in his memory\\r\\nAn army of good words, and I do know\\r\\nA many fools that stand in better place,\\r\\nGarnish’d like him, that for a tricksy word\\r\\nDefy the matter. How cheer’st thou, Jessica?\\r\\nAnd now, good sweet, say thy opinion,\\r\\nHow dost thou like the Lord Bassanio’s wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nPast all expressing. It is very meet\\r\\nThe Lord Bassanio live an upright life,\\r\\nFor having such a blessing in his lady,\\r\\nHe finds the joys of heaven here on earth,\\r\\nAnd if on earth he do not merit it,\\r\\nIn reason he should never come to heaven.\\r\\nWhy, if two gods should play some heavenly match,\\r\\nAnd on the wager lay two earthly women,\\r\\nAnd Portia one, there must be something else\\r\\nPawn’d with the other, for the poor rude world\\r\\nHath not her fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nEven such a husband\\r\\nHast thou of me as she is for a wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nNay, but ask my opinion too of that.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nI will anon. First let us go to dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nNay, let me praise you while I have a stomach.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nNo pray thee, let it serve for table-talk.\\r\\nThen howsome’er thou speak’st, ’mong other things\\r\\nI shall digest it.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nWell, I’ll set you forth.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Venice. A court of justice.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the Duke, the Magnificoes, Antonio, Bassanio, Gratiano, Salerio\\r\\n and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat, is Antonio here?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nReady, so please your Grace.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI am sorry for thee, thou art come to answer\\r\\nA stony adversary, an inhuman wretch,\\r\\nUncapable of pity, void and empty\\r\\nFrom any dram of mercy.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI have heard\\r\\nYour Grace hath ta’en great pains to qualify\\r\\nHis rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate,\\r\\nAnd that no lawful means can carry me\\r\\nOut of his envy’s reach, I do oppose\\r\\nMy patience to his fury, and am arm’d\\r\\nTo suffer with a quietness of spirit\\r\\nThe very tyranny and rage of his.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGo one and call the Jew into the court.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nHe is ready at the door. He comes, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Shylock.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nMake room, and let him stand before our face.\\r\\nShylock, the world thinks, and I think so too,\\r\\nThat thou but leadest this fashion of thy malice\\r\\nTo the last hour of act, and then, ’tis thought,\\r\\nThou’lt show thy mercy and remorse more strange\\r\\nThan is thy strange apparent cruelty;\\r\\nAnd where thou now exacts the penalty,\\r\\nWhich is a pound of this poor merchant’s flesh,\\r\\nThou wilt not only loose the forfeiture,\\r\\nBut, touch’d with human gentleness and love,\\r\\nForgive a moiety of the principal,\\r\\nGlancing an eye of pity on his losses\\r\\nThat have of late so huddled on his back,\\r\\nEnow to press a royal merchant down,\\r\\nAnd pluck commiseration of his state\\r\\nFrom brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint,\\r\\nFrom stubborn Turks and Tartars never train’d\\r\\nTo offices of tender courtesy.\\r\\nWe all expect a gentle answer, Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI have possess’d your Grace of what I purpose,\\r\\nAnd by our holy Sabbath have I sworn\\r\\nTo have the due and forfeit of my bond.\\r\\nIf you deny it, let the danger light\\r\\nUpon your charter and your city’s freedom!\\r\\nYou’ll ask me why I rather choose to have\\r\\nA weight of carrion flesh than to receive\\r\\nThree thousand ducats. I’ll not answer that,\\r\\nBut say it is my humour. Is it answer’d?\\r\\nWhat if my house be troubled with a rat,\\r\\nAnd I be pleas’d to give ten thousand ducats\\r\\nTo have it ban’d? What, are you answer’d yet?\\r\\nSome men there are love not a gaping pig;\\r\\nSome that are mad if they behold a cat;\\r\\nAnd others, when the bagpipe sings i’ the nose,\\r\\nCannot contain their urine; for affection\\r\\nMistress of passion, sways it to the mood\\r\\nOf what it likes or loathes. Now, for your answer:\\r\\nAs there is no firm reason to be render’d\\r\\nWhy he cannot abide a gaping pig,\\r\\nWhy he a harmless necessary cat,\\r\\nWhy he a woollen bagpipe, but of force\\r\\nMust yield to such inevitable shame\\r\\nAs to offend, himself being offended,\\r\\nSo can I give no reason, nor I will not,\\r\\nMore than a lodg’d hate and a certain loathing\\r\\nI bear Antonio, that I follow thus\\r\\nA losing suit against him. Are you answered?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nThis is no answer, thou unfeeling man,\\r\\nTo excuse the current of thy cruelty.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI am not bound to please thee with my answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nDo all men kill the things they do not love?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nHates any man the thing he would not kill?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nEvery offence is not a hate at first.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhat, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI pray you, think you question with the Jew.\\r\\nYou may as well go stand upon the beach\\r\\nAnd bid the main flood bate his usual height;\\r\\nYou may as well use question with the wolf,\\r\\nWhy he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb;\\r\\nYou may as well forbid the mountain pines\\r\\nTo wag their high tops and to make no noise\\r\\nWhen they are fretten with the gusts of heaven;\\r\\nYou may as well do anything most hard\\r\\nAs seek to soften that—than which what’s harder?—\\r\\nHis Jewish heart. Therefore, I do beseech you,\\r\\nMake no moe offers, use no farther means,\\r\\nBut with all brief and plain conveniency.\\r\\nLet me have judgment, and the Jew his will.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nFor thy three thousand ducats here is six.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nIf every ducat in six thousand ducats\\r\\nWere in six parts, and every part a ducat,\\r\\nI would not draw them, I would have my bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHow shalt thou hope for mercy, rend’ring none?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhat judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong?\\r\\nYou have among you many a purchas’d slave,\\r\\nWhich, like your asses and your dogs and mules,\\r\\nYou use in abject and in slavish parts,\\r\\nBecause you bought them. Shall I say to you\\r\\n“Let them be free, marry them to your heirs?\\r\\nWhy sweat they under burdens? Let their beds\\r\\nBe made as soft as yours, and let their palates\\r\\nBe season’d with such viands”? You will answer\\r\\n“The slaves are ours.” So do I answer you:\\r\\nThe pound of flesh which I demand of him\\r\\nIs dearly bought; ’tis mine and I will have it.\\r\\nIf you deny me, fie upon your law!\\r\\nThere is no force in the decrees of Venice.\\r\\nI stand for judgment. Answer; shall I have it?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nUpon my power I may dismiss this court,\\r\\nUnless Bellario, a learned doctor,\\r\\nWhom I have sent for to determine this,\\r\\nCome here today.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nMy lord, here stays without\\r\\nA messenger with letters from the doctor,\\r\\nNew come from Padua.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBring us the letters. Call the messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nGood cheer, Antonio! What, man, courage yet!\\r\\nThe Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all,\\r\\nEre thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI am a tainted wether of the flock,\\r\\nMeetest for death, the weakest kind of fruit\\r\\nDrops earliest to the ground, and so let me.\\r\\nYou cannot better be employ’d, Bassanio,\\r\\nThan to live still, and write mine epitaph.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nerissa dressed like a lawyer’s clerk.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nCame you from Padua, from Bellario?\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nFrom both, my lord. Bellario greets your Grace.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Presents a letter._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nWhy dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nTo cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nNot on thy sole but on thy soul, harsh Jew,\\r\\nThou mak’st thy knife keen. But no metal can,\\r\\nNo, not the hangman’s axe, bear half the keenness\\r\\nOf thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nNo, none that thou hast wit enough to make.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nO, be thou damn’d, inexecrable dog!\\r\\nAnd for thy life let justice be accus’d;\\r\\nThou almost mak’st me waver in my faith,\\r\\nTo hold opinion with Pythagoras\\r\\nThat souls of animals infuse themselves\\r\\nInto the trunks of men. Thy currish spirit\\r\\nGovern’d a wolf who, hang’d for human slaughter,\\r\\nEven from the gallows did his fell soul fleet,\\r\\nAnd whilst thou layest in thy unhallowed dam,\\r\\nInfus’d itself in thee; for thy desires\\r\\nAre wolfish, bloody, starv’d and ravenous.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nTill thou canst rail the seal from off my bond,\\r\\nThou but offend’st thy lungs to speak so loud.\\r\\nRepair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall\\r\\nTo cureless ruin. I stand here for law.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThis letter from Bellario doth commend\\r\\nA young and learned doctor to our court.\\r\\nWhere is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nHe attendeth here hard by,\\r\\nTo know your answer, whether you’ll admit him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE OF VENICE.\\r\\nWith all my heart: some three or four of you\\r\\nGo give him courteous conduct to this place.\\r\\nMeantime, the court shall hear Bellario’s letter.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Reads._] _Your Grace shall understand that at the receipt of your\\r\\nletter I am very sick, but in the instant that your messenger came, in\\r\\nloving visitation was with me a young doctor of Rome. His name is\\r\\nBalthazar. I acquainted him with the cause in controversy between the\\r\\nJew and Antonio the merchant. We turn’d o’er many books together. He is\\r\\nfurnished with my opinion, which, bettered with his own learning (the\\r\\ngreatness whereof I cannot enough commend), comes with him at my\\r\\nimportunity to fill up your Grace’s request in my stead. I beseech you\\r\\nlet his lack of years be no impediment to let him lack a reverend\\r\\nestimation, for I never knew so young a body with so old a head. I\\r\\nleave him to your gracious acceptance, whose trial shall better publish\\r\\nhis commendation._\\r\\n\\r\\nYou hear the learn’d Bellario what he writes,\\r\\nAnd here, I take it, is the doctor come.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Portia dressed like a doctor of laws.\\r\\n\\r\\nGive me your hand. Come you from old Bellario?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI did, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nYou are welcome. Take your place.\\r\\nAre you acquainted with the difference\\r\\nThat holds this present question in the court?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI am informed throughly of the cause.\\r\\nWhich is the merchant here? And which the Jew?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAntonio and old Shylock, both stand forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIs your name Shylock?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nShylock is my name.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nOf a strange nature is the suit you follow,\\r\\nYet in such rule that the Venetian law\\r\\nCannot impugn you as you do proceed.\\r\\n[_To Antonio_.] You stand within his danger, do you not?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAy, so he says.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nDo you confess the bond?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI do.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThen must the Jew be merciful.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nOn what compulsion must I? Tell me that.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThe quality of mercy is not strain’d,\\r\\nIt droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven\\r\\nUpon the place beneath. It is twice blest,\\r\\nIt blesseth him that gives and him that takes.\\r\\n’Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes\\r\\nThe throned monarch better than his crown.\\r\\nHis sceptre shows the force of temporal power,\\r\\nThe attribute to awe and majesty,\\r\\nWherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;\\r\\nBut mercy is above this sceptred sway,\\r\\nIt is enthroned in the hearts of kings,\\r\\nIt is an attribute to God himself;\\r\\nAnd earthly power doth then show likest God’s\\r\\nWhen mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,\\r\\nThough justice be thy plea, consider this,\\r\\nThat in the course of justice none of us\\r\\nShould see salvation. We do pray for mercy,\\r\\nAnd that same prayer doth teach us all to render\\r\\nThe deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much\\r\\nTo mitigate the justice of thy plea,\\r\\nWhich if thou follow, this strict court of Venice\\r\\nMust needs give sentence ’gainst the merchant there.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nMy deeds upon my head! I crave the law,\\r\\nThe penalty and forfeit of my bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIs he not able to discharge the money?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nYes, here I tender it for him in the court,\\r\\nYea, twice the sum, if that will not suffice,\\r\\nI will be bound to pay it ten times o’er\\r\\nOn forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart.\\r\\nIf this will not suffice, it must appear\\r\\nThat malice bears down truth. And I beseech you,\\r\\nWrest once the law to your authority.\\r\\nTo do a great right, do a little wrong,\\r\\nAnd curb this cruel devil of his will.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIt must not be, there is no power in Venice\\r\\nCan alter a decree established;\\r\\n’Twill be recorded for a precedent,\\r\\nAnd many an error by the same example\\r\\nWill rush into the state. It cannot be.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nA Daniel come to judgment! Yea, a Daniel!\\r\\nO wise young judge, how I do honour thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI pray you let me look upon the bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nHere ’tis, most reverend doctor, here it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nShylock, there’s thrice thy money offered thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nAn oath, an oath! I have an oath in heaven.\\r\\nShall I lay perjury upon my soul?\\r\\nNo, not for Venice.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhy, this bond is forfeit,\\r\\nAnd lawfully by this the Jew may claim\\r\\nA pound of flesh, to be by him cut off\\r\\nNearest the merchant’s heart. Be merciful,\\r\\nTake thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhen it is paid according to the tenour.\\r\\nIt doth appear you are a worthy judge;\\r\\nYou know the law; your exposition\\r\\nHath been most sound. I charge you by the law,\\r\\nWhereof you are a well-deserving pillar,\\r\\nProceed to judgment. By my soul I swear\\r\\nThere is no power in the tongue of man\\r\\nTo alter me. I stay here on my bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nMost heartily I do beseech the court\\r\\nTo give the judgment.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhy then, thus it is:\\r\\nYou must prepare your bosom for his knife.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nO noble judge! O excellent young man!\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nFor the intent and purpose of the law\\r\\nHath full relation to the penalty,\\r\\nWhich here appeareth due upon the bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\n’Tis very true. O wise and upright judge,\\r\\nHow much more elder art thou than thy looks!\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nTherefore lay bare your bosom.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nAy, his breast\\r\\nSo says the bond, doth it not, noble judge?\\r\\n“Nearest his heart”: those are the very words.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIt is so. Are there balance here to weigh\\r\\nThe flesh?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI have them ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nHave by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,\\r\\nTo stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nIs it so nominated in the bond?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIt is not so express’d, but what of that?\\r\\n’Twere good you do so much for charity.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI cannot find it; ’tis not in the bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYou, merchant, have you anything to say?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nBut little. I am arm’d and well prepar’d.\\r\\nGive me your hand, Bassanio. Fare you well,\\r\\nGrieve not that I am fallen to this for you,\\r\\nFor herein Fortune shows herself more kind\\r\\nThan is her custom: it is still her use\\r\\nTo let the wretched man outlive his wealth,\\r\\nTo view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow\\r\\nAn age of poverty, from which ling’ring penance\\r\\nOf such misery doth she cut me off.\\r\\nCommend me to your honourable wife,\\r\\nTell her the process of Antonio’s end,\\r\\nSay how I lov’d you, speak me fair in death.\\r\\nAnd when the tale is told, bid her be judge\\r\\nWhether Bassanio had not once a love.\\r\\nRepent but you that you shall lose your friend\\r\\nAnd he repents not that he pays your debt.\\r\\nFor if the Jew do cut but deep enough,\\r\\nI’ll pay it instantly with all my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nAntonio, I am married to a wife\\r\\nWhich is as dear to me as life itself,\\r\\nBut life itself, my wife, and all the world,\\r\\nAre not with me esteem’d above thy life.\\r\\nI would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all\\r\\nHere to this devil, to deliver you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYour wife would give you little thanks for that\\r\\nIf she were by to hear you make the offer.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nI have a wife who I protest I love.\\r\\nI would she were in heaven, so she could\\r\\nEntreat some power to change this currish Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\n’Tis well you offer it behind her back,\\r\\nThe wish would make else an unquiet house.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThese be the Christian husbands! I have a daughter—\\r\\nWould any of the stock of Barabbas\\r\\nHad been her husband, rather than a Christian!\\r\\nWe trifle time, I pray thee, pursue sentence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nA pound of that same merchant’s flesh is thine,\\r\\nThe court awards it and the law doth give it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nMost rightful judge!\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nAnd you must cut this flesh from off his breast.\\r\\nThe law allows it and the court awards it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nMost learned judge! A sentence! Come, prepare.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nTarry a little, there is something else.\\r\\nThis bond doth give thee here no jot of blood.\\r\\nThe words expressly are “a pound of flesh”:\\r\\nTake then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh,\\r\\nBut in the cutting it, if thou dost shed\\r\\nOne drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods\\r\\nAre, by the laws of Venice, confiscate\\r\\nUnto the state of Venice.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nO upright judge! Mark, Jew. O learned judge!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nIs that the law?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThyself shalt see the act.\\r\\nFor, as thou urgest justice, be assur’d\\r\\nThou shalt have justice more than thou desir’st.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nO learned judge! Mark, Jew, a learned judge!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI take this offer then. Pay the bond thrice\\r\\nAnd let the Christian go.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nHere is the money.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nSoft!\\r\\nThe Jew shall have all justice. Soft! no haste!\\r\\nHe shall have nothing but the penalty.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nO Jew, an upright judge, a learned judge!\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nTherefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh.\\r\\nShed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor more,\\r\\nBut just a pound of flesh: if thou tak’st more\\r\\nOr less than a just pound, be it but so much\\r\\nAs makes it light or heavy in the substance,\\r\\nOr the division of the twentieth part\\r\\nOf one poor scruple, nay, if the scale do turn\\r\\nBut in the estimation of a hair,\\r\\nThou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nA second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew!\\r\\nNow, infidel, I have you on the hip.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhy doth the Jew pause? Take thy forfeiture.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nGive me my principal, and let me go.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nI have it ready for thee. Here it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nHe hath refus’d it in the open court,\\r\\nHe shall have merely justice and his bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nA Daniel still say I, a second Daniel!\\r\\nI thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nShall I not have barely my principal?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture\\r\\nTo be so taken at thy peril, Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhy, then the devil give him good of it!\\r\\nI’ll stay no longer question.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nTarry, Jew.\\r\\nThe law hath yet another hold on you.\\r\\nIt is enacted in the laws of Venice,\\r\\nIf it be proved against an alien\\r\\nThat by direct or indirect attempts\\r\\nHe seek the life of any citizen,\\r\\nThe party ’gainst the which he doth contrive\\r\\nShall seize one half his goods; the other half\\r\\nComes to the privy coffer of the state,\\r\\nAnd the offender’s life lies in the mercy\\r\\nOf the Duke only, ’gainst all other voice.\\r\\nIn which predicament I say thou stand’st;\\r\\nFor it appears by manifest proceeding\\r\\nThat indirectly, and directly too,\\r\\nThou hast contrived against the very life\\r\\nOf the defendant; and thou hast incurr’d\\r\\nThe danger formerly by me rehears’d.\\r\\nDown, therefore, and beg mercy of the Duke.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nBeg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself,\\r\\nAnd yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state,\\r\\nThou hast not left the value of a cord;\\r\\nTherefore thou must be hang’d at the state’s charge.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThat thou shalt see the difference of our spirit,\\r\\nI pardon thee thy life before thou ask it.\\r\\nFor half thy wealth, it is Antonio’s;\\r\\nThe other half comes to the general state,\\r\\nWhich humbleness may drive unto a fine.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nAy, for the state, not for Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nNay, take my life and all, pardon not that.\\r\\nYou take my house when you do take the prop\\r\\nThat doth sustain my house; you take my life\\r\\nWhen you do take the means whereby I live.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhat mercy can you render him, Antonio?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nA halter gratis, nothing else, for God’s sake!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nSo please my lord the Duke and all the court\\r\\nTo quit the fine for one half of his goods,\\r\\nI am content, so he will let me have\\r\\nThe other half in use, to render it\\r\\nUpon his death unto the gentleman\\r\\nThat lately stole his daughter.\\r\\nTwo things provided more, that for this favour,\\r\\nHe presently become a Christian;\\r\\nThe other, that he do record a gift,\\r\\nHere in the court, of all he dies possess’d\\r\\nUnto his son Lorenzo and his daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHe shall do this, or else I do recant\\r\\nThe pardon that I late pronounced here.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nArt thou contented, Jew? What dost thou say?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI am content.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nClerk, draw a deed of gift.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI pray you give me leave to go from hence;\\r\\nI am not well; send the deed after me\\r\\nAnd I will sign it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGet thee gone, but do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nIn christ’ning shalt thou have two god-fathers.\\r\\nHad I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more,\\r\\nTo bring thee to the gallows, not to the font.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Shylock._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nSir, I entreat you home with me to dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI humbly do desire your Grace of pardon,\\r\\nI must away this night toward Padua,\\r\\nAnd it is meet I presently set forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI am sorry that your leisure serves you not.\\r\\nAntonio, gratify this gentleman,\\r\\nFor in my mind you are much bound to him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Duke and his train._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nMost worthy gentleman, I and my friend\\r\\nHave by your wisdom been this day acquitted\\r\\nOf grievous penalties, in lieu whereof,\\r\\nThree thousand ducats due unto the Jew\\r\\nWe freely cope your courteous pains withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd stand indebted, over and above\\r\\nIn love and service to you evermore.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nHe is well paid that is well satisfied,\\r\\nAnd I delivering you, am satisfied,\\r\\nAnd therein do account myself well paid,\\r\\nMy mind was never yet more mercenary.\\r\\nI pray you know me when we meet again,\\r\\nI wish you well, and so I take my leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nDear sir, of force I must attempt you further.\\r\\nTake some remembrance of us as a tribute,\\r\\nNot as fee. Grant me two things, I pray you,\\r\\nNot to deny me, and to pardon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYou press me far, and therefore I will yield.\\r\\n[_To Antonio_.] Give me your gloves, I’ll wear them for your sake.\\r\\n[_To Bassanio_.] And, for your love, I’ll take this ring from you.\\r\\nDo not draw back your hand; I’ll take no more,\\r\\nAnd you in love shall not deny me this.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nThis ring, good sir? Alas, it is a trifle,\\r\\nI will not shame myself to give you this.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI will have nothing else but only this,\\r\\nAnd now methinks I have a mind to it.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nThere’s more depends on this than on the value.\\r\\nThe dearest ring in Venice will I give you,\\r\\nAnd find it out by proclamation,\\r\\nOnly for this I pray you pardon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI see, sir, you are liberal in offers.\\r\\nYou taught me first to beg, and now methinks\\r\\nYou teach me how a beggar should be answer’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nGood sir, this ring was given me by my wife,\\r\\nAnd when she put it on, she made me vow\\r\\nThat I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThat ’scuse serves many men to save their gifts.\\r\\nAnd if your wife be not a mad-woman,\\r\\nAnd know how well I have deserv’d this ring,\\r\\nShe would not hold out enemy for ever\\r\\nFor giving it to me. Well, peace be with you!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Portia and Nerissa._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nMy Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring.\\r\\nLet his deservings and my love withal\\r\\nBe valued ’gainst your wife’s commandment.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nGo, Gratiano, run and overtake him;\\r\\nGive him the ring, and bring him if thou canst\\r\\nUnto Antonio’s house. Away, make haste.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Gratiano._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, you and I will thither presently,\\r\\nAnd in the morning early will we both\\r\\nFly toward Belmont. Come, Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Portia and Nerissa.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nInquire the Jew’s house out, give him this deed,\\r\\nAnd let him sign it, we’ll away tonight,\\r\\nAnd be a day before our husbands home.\\r\\nThis deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gratiano.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nFair sir, you are well o’erta’en.\\r\\nMy Lord Bassanio upon more advice,\\r\\nHath sent you here this ring, and doth entreat\\r\\nYour company at dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThat cannot be;\\r\\nHis ring I do accept most thankfully,\\r\\nAnd so I pray you tell him. Furthermore,\\r\\nI pray you show my youth old Shylock’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nThat will I do.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nSir, I would speak with you.\\r\\n[_Aside to Portia_.]\\r\\nI’ll see if I can get my husband’s ring,\\r\\nWhich I did make him swear to keep for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\n[_To Nerissa_.] Thou mayst, I warrant. We shall have old swearing\\r\\nThat they did give the rings away to men;\\r\\nBut we’ll outface them, and outswear them too.\\r\\nAway! make haste! Thou know’st where I will tarry.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nCome, good sir, will you show me to this house?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Belmont. The avenue to Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lorenzo and Jessica.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nThe moon shines bright. In such a night as this,\\r\\nWhen the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees,\\r\\nAnd they did make no noise, in such a night,\\r\\nTroilus methinks mounted the Trojan walls,\\r\\nAnd sigh’d his soul toward the Grecian tents\\r\\nWhere Cressid lay that night.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nIn such a night\\r\\nDid Thisby fearfully o’ertrip the dew,\\r\\nAnd saw the lion’s shadow ere himself,\\r\\nAnd ran dismay’d away.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nIn such a night\\r\\nStood Dido with a willow in her hand\\r\\nUpon the wild sea-banks, and waft her love\\r\\nTo come again to Carthage.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nIn such a night\\r\\nMedea gathered the enchanted herbs\\r\\nThat did renew old Æson.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nIn such a night\\r\\nDid Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew,\\r\\nAnd with an unthrift love did run from Venice\\r\\nAs far as Belmont.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nIn such a night\\r\\nDid young Lorenzo swear he loved her well,\\r\\nStealing her soul with many vows of faith,\\r\\nAnd ne’er a true one.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nIn such a night\\r\\nDid pretty Jessica, like a little shrew,\\r\\nSlander her love, and he forgave it her.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nI would out-night you did no body come;\\r\\nBut hark, I hear the footing of a man.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Stephano.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nWho comes so fast in silence of the night?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nA friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nA friend! What friend? Your name, I pray you, friend?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nStephano is my name, and I bring word\\r\\nMy mistress will before the break of day\\r\\nBe here at Belmont. She doth stray about\\r\\nBy holy crosses where she kneels and prays\\r\\nFor happy wedlock hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nWho comes with her?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nNone but a holy hermit and her maid.\\r\\nI pray you is my master yet return’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nHe is not, nor we have not heard from him.\\r\\nBut go we in, I pray thee, Jessica,\\r\\nAnd ceremoniously let us prepare\\r\\nSome welcome for the mistress of the house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Launcelet.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET. Sola, sola! wo ha, ho! sola, sola!\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nWho calls?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nSola! Did you see Master Lorenzo? Master Lorenzo! Sola, sola!\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nLeave holloaing, man. Here!\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nSola! Where, where?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nHere!\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nTell him there’s a post come from my master with his horn full of good\\r\\nnews. My master will be here ere morning.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nSweet soul, let’s in, and there expect their coming.\\r\\nAnd yet no matter; why should we go in?\\r\\nMy friend Stephano, signify, I pray you,\\r\\nWithin the house, your mistress is at hand,\\r\\nAnd bring your music forth into the air.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Stephano._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!\\r\\nHere will we sit and let the sounds of music\\r\\nCreep in our ears; soft stillness and the night\\r\\nBecome the touches of sweet harmony.\\r\\nSit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven\\r\\nIs thick inlaid with patens of bright gold.\\r\\nThere’s not the smallest orb which thou behold’st\\r\\nBut in his motion like an angel sings,\\r\\nStill quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;\\r\\nSuch harmony is in immortal souls,\\r\\nBut whilst this muddy vesture of decay\\r\\nDoth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Musicians.\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn.\\r\\nWith sweetest touches pierce your mistress’ ear,\\r\\nAnd draw her home with music.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nI am never merry when I hear sweet music.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nThe reason is, your spirits are attentive.\\r\\nFor do but note a wild and wanton herd\\r\\nOr race of youthful and unhandled colts,\\r\\nFetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud,\\r\\nWhich is the hot condition of their blood,\\r\\nIf they but hear perchance a trumpet sound,\\r\\nOr any air of music touch their ears,\\r\\nYou shall perceive them make a mutual stand,\\r\\nTheir savage eyes turn’d to a modest gaze\\r\\nBy the sweet power of music: therefore the poet\\r\\nDid feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods,\\r\\nSince naught so stockish, hard, and full of rage,\\r\\nBut music for the time doth change his nature.\\r\\nThe man that hath no music in himself,\\r\\nNor is not mov’d with concord of sweet sounds,\\r\\nIs fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;\\r\\nThe motions of his spirit are dull as night,\\r\\nAnd his affections dark as Erebus.\\r\\nLet no such man be trusted. Mark the music.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Portia and Nerissa.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThat light we see is burning in my hall.\\r\\nHow far that little candle throws his beams!\\r\\nSo shines a good deed in a naughty world.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nWhen the moon shone we did not see the candle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nSo doth the greater glory dim the less.\\r\\nA substitute shines brightly as a king\\r\\nUntil a king be by, and then his state\\r\\nEmpties itself, as doth an inland brook\\r\\nInto the main of waters. Music! hark!\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nIt is your music, madam, of the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nNothing is good, I see, without respect.\\r\\nMethinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nSilence bestows that virtue on it, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThe crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark\\r\\nWhen neither is attended; and I think\\r\\nThe nightingale, if she should sing by day\\r\\nWhen every goose is cackling, would be thought\\r\\nNo better a musician than the wren.\\r\\nHow many things by season season’d are\\r\\nTo their right praise and true perfection!\\r\\nPeace! How the moon sleeps with Endymion,\\r\\nAnd would not be awak’d!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music ceases._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nThat is the voice,\\r\\nOr I am much deceiv’d, of Portia.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nHe knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo,\\r\\nBy the bad voice.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nDear lady, welcome home.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWe have been praying for our husbands’ welfare,\\r\\nWhich speed, we hope, the better for our words.\\r\\nAre they return’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nMadam, they are not yet;\\r\\nBut there is come a messenger before\\r\\nTo signify their coming.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nGo in, Nerissa.\\r\\nGive order to my servants, that they take\\r\\nNo note at all of our being absent hence,\\r\\nNor you, Lorenzo; Jessica, nor you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A tucket sounds._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nYour husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet.\\r\\nWe are no tell-tales, madam, fear you not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThis night methinks is but the daylight sick,\\r\\nIt looks a little paler. ’Tis a day\\r\\nSuch as the day is when the sun is hid.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Gratiano and their Followers.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nWe should hold day with the Antipodes,\\r\\nIf you would walk in absence of the sun.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nLet me give light, but let me not be light,\\r\\nFor a light wife doth make a heavy husband,\\r\\nAnd never be Bassanio so for me.\\r\\nBut God sort all! You are welcome home, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nI thank you, madam. Give welcome to my friend.\\r\\nThis is the man, this is Antonio,\\r\\nTo whom I am so infinitely bound.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYou should in all sense be much bound to him,\\r\\nFor, as I hear, he was much bound for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nNo more than I am well acquitted of.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nSir, you are very welcome to our house.\\r\\nIt must appear in other ways than words,\\r\\nTherefore I scant this breathing courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\n[_To Nerissa_.] By yonder moon I swear you do me wrong,\\r\\nIn faith, I gave it to the judge’s clerk.\\r\\nWould he were gelt that had it, for my part,\\r\\nSince you do take it, love, so much at heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nA quarrel, ho, already! What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nAbout a hoop of gold, a paltry ring\\r\\nThat she did give me, whose posy was\\r\\nFor all the world like cutlers’ poetry\\r\\nUpon a knife, “Love me, and leave me not.”\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nWhat talk you of the posy, or the value?\\r\\nYou swore to me when I did give it you,\\r\\nThat you would wear it till your hour of death,\\r\\nAnd that it should lie with you in your grave.\\r\\nThough not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,\\r\\nYou should have been respective and have kept it.\\r\\nGave it a judge’s clerk! No, God’s my judge,\\r\\nThe clerk will ne’er wear hair on’s face that had it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nHe will, and if he live to be a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nAy, if a woman live to be a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nNow, by this hand, I gave it to a youth,\\r\\nA kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy,\\r\\nNo higher than thyself, the judge’s clerk,\\r\\nA prating boy that begg’d it as a fee,\\r\\nI could not for my heart deny it him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYou were to blame,—I must be plain with you,—\\r\\nTo part so slightly with your wife’s first gift,\\r\\nA thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger,\\r\\nAnd so riveted with faith unto your flesh.\\r\\nI gave my love a ring, and made him swear\\r\\nNever to part with it, and here he stands.\\r\\nI dare be sworn for him he would not leave it\\r\\nNor pluck it from his finger for the wealth\\r\\nThat the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano,\\r\\nYou give your wife too unkind a cause of grief,\\r\\nAn ’twere to me I should be mad at it.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Why, I were best to cut my left hand off,\\r\\nAnd swear I lost the ring defending it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nMy Lord Bassanio gave his ring away\\r\\nUnto the judge that begg’d it, and indeed\\r\\nDeserv’d it too. And then the boy, his clerk,\\r\\nThat took some pains in writing, he begg’d mine,\\r\\nAnd neither man nor master would take aught\\r\\nBut the two rings.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhat ring gave you, my lord?\\r\\nNot that, I hope, which you receiv’d of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nIf I could add a lie unto a fault,\\r\\nI would deny it, but you see my finger\\r\\nHath not the ring upon it, it is gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nEven so void is your false heart of truth.\\r\\nBy heaven, I will ne’er come in your bed\\r\\nUntil I see the ring.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nNor I in yours\\r\\nTill I again see mine!\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nSweet Portia,\\r\\nIf you did know to whom I gave the ring,\\r\\nIf you did know for whom I gave the ring,\\r\\nAnd would conceive for what I gave the ring,\\r\\nAnd how unwillingly I left the ring,\\r\\nWhen nought would be accepted but the ring,\\r\\nYou would abate the strength of your displeasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIf you had known the virtue of the ring,\\r\\nOr half her worthiness that gave the ring,\\r\\nOr your own honour to contain the ring,\\r\\nYou would not then have parted with the ring.\\r\\nWhat man is there so much unreasonable,\\r\\nIf you had pleas’d to have defended it\\r\\nWith any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty\\r\\nTo urge the thing held as a ceremony?\\r\\nNerissa teaches me what to believe:\\r\\nI’ll die for’t but some woman had the ring.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nNo, by my honour, madam, by my soul,\\r\\nNo woman had it, but a civil doctor,\\r\\nWhich did refuse three thousand ducats of me,\\r\\nAnd begg’d the ring, the which I did deny him,\\r\\nAnd suffer’d him to go displeas’d away,\\r\\nEven he that had held up the very life\\r\\nOf my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady?\\r\\nI was enforc’d to send it after him.\\r\\nI was beset with shame and courtesy.\\r\\nMy honour would not let ingratitude\\r\\nSo much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady;\\r\\nFor by these blessed candles of the night,\\r\\nHad you been there, I think you would have begg’d\\r\\nThe ring of me to give the worthy doctor.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nLet not that doctor e’er come near my house,\\r\\nSince he hath got the jewel that I loved,\\r\\nAnd that which you did swear to keep for me,\\r\\nI will become as liberal as you,\\r\\nI’ll not deny him anything I have,\\r\\nNo, not my body, nor my husband’s bed.\\r\\nKnow him I shall, I am well sure of it.\\r\\nLie not a night from home. Watch me like Argus,\\r\\nIf you do not, if I be left alone,\\r\\nNow by mine honour which is yet mine own,\\r\\nI’ll have that doctor for mine bedfellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nAnd I his clerk. Therefore be well advis’d\\r\\nHow you do leave me to mine own protection.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWell, do you so. Let not me take him then,\\r\\nFor if I do, I’ll mar the young clerk’s pen.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI am th’ unhappy subject of these quarrels.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nSir, grieve not you. You are welcome notwithstanding.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nPortia, forgive me this enforced wrong,\\r\\nAnd in the hearing of these many friends\\r\\nI swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes,\\r\\nWherein I see myself—\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nMark you but that!\\r\\nIn both my eyes he doubly sees himself,\\r\\nIn each eye one. Swear by your double self,\\r\\nAnd there’s an oath of credit.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nNay, but hear me.\\r\\nPardon this fault, and by my soul I swear\\r\\nI never more will break an oath with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI once did lend my body for his wealth,\\r\\nWhich but for him that had your husband’s ring\\r\\nHad quite miscarried. I dare be bound again,\\r\\nMy soul upon the forfeit, that your lord\\r\\nWill never more break faith advisedly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThen you shall be his surety. Give him this,\\r\\nAnd bid him keep it better than the other.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHere, Lord Bassanio, swear to keep this ring.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nBy heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor!\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio,\\r\\nFor by this ring, the doctor lay with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nAnd pardon me, my gentle Gratiano,\\r\\nFor that same scrubbed boy, the doctor’s clerk,\\r\\nIn lieu of this, last night did lie with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWhy, this is like the mending of highways\\r\\nIn summer, where the ways are fair enough.\\r\\nWhat, are we cuckolds ere we have deserv’d it?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nSpeak not so grossly. You are all amaz’d.\\r\\nHere is a letter; read it at your leisure.\\r\\nIt comes from Padua from Bellario.\\r\\nThere you shall find that Portia was the doctor,\\r\\nNerissa there, her clerk. Lorenzo here\\r\\nShall witness I set forth as soon as you,\\r\\nAnd even but now return’d. I have not yet\\r\\nEnter’d my house. Antonio, you are welcome,\\r\\nAnd I have better news in store for you\\r\\nThan you expect: unseal this letter soon.\\r\\nThere you shall find three of your argosies\\r\\nAre richly come to harbour suddenly.\\r\\nYou shall not know by what strange accident\\r\\nI chanced on this letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI am dumb.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nWere you the doctor, and I knew you not?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWere you the clerk that is to make me cuckold?\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nAy, but the clerk that never means to do it,\\r\\nUnless he live until he be a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nSweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow.\\r\\nWhen I am absent, then lie with my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nSweet lady, you have given me life and living;\\r\\nFor here I read for certain that my ships\\r\\nAre safely come to road.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nHow now, Lorenzo!\\r\\nMy clerk hath some good comforts too for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nAy, and I’ll give them him without a fee.\\r\\nThere do I give to you and Jessica,\\r\\nFrom the rich Jew, a special deed of gift,\\r\\nAfter his death, of all he dies possess’d of.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nFair ladies, you drop manna in the way\\r\\nOf starved people.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIt is almost morning,\\r\\nAnd yet I am sure you are not satisfied\\r\\nOf these events at full. Let us go in,\\r\\nAnd charge us there upon inter’gatories,\\r\\nAnd we will answer all things faithfully.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nLet it be so. The first inter’gatory\\r\\nThat my Nerissa shall be sworn on is,\\r\\nWhether till the next night she had rather stay,\\r\\nOr go to bed now, being two hours to day.\\r\\nBut were the day come, I should wish it dark\\r\\nTill I were couching with the doctor’s clerk.\\r\\nWell, while I live, I’ll fear no other thing\\r\\nSo sore as keeping safe Nerissa’s ring.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personae\\r\\n\\r\\n SIR JOHN FALSTAFF\\r\\n FENTON, a young gentleman\\r\\n SHALLOW, a country justice\\r\\n SLENDER, cousin to Shallow\\r\\n\\r\\n Gentlemen of Windsor\\r\\n FORD\\r\\n PAGE\\r\\n WILLIAM PAGE, a boy, son to Page\\r\\n SIR HUGH EVANS, a Welsh parson\\r\\n DOCTOR CAIUS, a French physician\\r\\n HOST of the Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\n Followers of Falstaff\\r\\n BARDOLPH\\r\\n PISTOL\\r\\n NYM\\r\\n ROBIN, page to Falstaff\\r\\n SIMPLE, servant to Slender\\r\\n RUGBY, servant to Doctor Caius\\r\\n\\r\\n MISTRESS FORD\\r\\n MISTRESS PAGE\\r\\n MISTRESS ANNE PAGE, her daughter\\r\\n MISTRESS QUICKLY, servant to Doctor Caius\\r\\n SERVANTS to Page, Ford, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Windsor, and the neighbourhood\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nWindsor. Before PAGE\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter JUSTICE SHALLOW, SLENDER, and SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n SHALLOW. Sir Hugh, persuade me not; I will make a Star\\r\\n Chamber matter of it; if he were twenty Sir John Falstaffs,\\r\\n he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, esquire.\\r\\n SLENDER. In the county of Gloucester, Justice of Peace, and\\r\\n Coram.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Ay, cousin Slender, and Custalorum.\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, and Ratolorum too; and a gentleman born,\\r\\n Master Parson, who writes himself \\'Armigero\\' in any bill,\\r\\n warrant, quittance, or obligation-\\'Armigero.\\'\\r\\n SHALLOW. Ay, that I do; and have done any time these three\\r\\n hundred years.\\r\\n SLENDER. All his successors, gone before him, hath done\\'t;\\r\\n and all his ancestors, that come after him, may: they may\\r\\n give the dozen white luces in their coat.\\r\\n SHALLOW. It is an old coat.\\r\\n EVANS. The dozen white louses do become an old coat well;\\r\\n it agrees well, passant; it is a familiar beast to man, and\\r\\n signifies love.\\r\\n SHALLOW. The luce is the fresh fish; the salt fish is an old\\r\\n coat.\\r\\n SLENDER. I may quarter, coz.\\r\\n SHALLOW. You may, by marrying.\\r\\n EVANS. It is marring indeed, if he quarter it.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Not a whit.\\r\\n EVANS. Yes, py\\'r lady! If he has a quarter of your coat, there\\r\\n is but three skirts for yourself, in my simple conjectures;\\r\\n but that is all one. If Sir John Falstaff have committed\\r\\n disparagements unto you, I am of the church, and will be\\r\\n glad to do my benevolence, to make atonements and\\r\\n compremises between you.\\r\\n SHALLOW. The Council shall hear it; it is a riot.\\r\\n EVANS. It is not meet the Council hear a riot; there is no\\r\\n fear of Got in a riot; the Council, look you, shall desire\\r\\n to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear a riot; take your\\r\\n vizaments in that.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Ha! o\\' my life, if I were young again, the sword\\r\\n should end it.\\r\\n EVANS. It is petter that friends is the sword and end it;\\r\\n and there is also another device in my prain, which\\r\\n peradventure prings goot discretions with it. There is Anne\\r\\n Page, which is daughter to Master George Page, which is\\r\\n pretty virginity.\\r\\n SLENDER. Mistress Anne Page? She has brown hair, and\\r\\n speaks small like a woman.\\r\\n EVANS. It is that fery person for all the orld, as just as you\\r\\n will desire; and seven hundred pounds of moneys, and\\r\\n gold, and silver, is her grandsire upon his death\\'s-bed-Got\\r\\n deliver to a joyful resurrections!-give, when she is able to\\r\\n overtake seventeen years old. It were a goot motion if we\\r\\n leave our pribbles and prabbles, and desire a marriage\\r\\n between Master Abraham and Mistress Anne Page.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Did her grandsire leave her seven hundred pound?\\r\\n EVANS. Ay, and her father is make her a petter penny.\\r\\n SHALLOW. I know the young gentlewoman; she has good\\r\\n gifts.\\r\\n EVANS. Seven hundred pounds, and possibilities, is goot gifts.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Well, let us see honest Master Page. Is Falstaff\\r\\n there?\\r\\n EVANS. Shall I tell you a lie? I do despise a liar as I do\\r\\n despise one that is false; or as I despise one that is not\\r\\n true. The knight Sir John is there; and, I beseech you, be\\r\\n ruled by your well-willers. I will peat the door for Master\\r\\n Page.\\r\\n [Knocks] What, hoa! Got pless your house here!\\r\\n PAGE. [Within] Who\\'s there?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n EVANS. Here is Got\\'s plessing, and your friend, and Justice\\r\\n Shallow; and here young Master Slender, that peradventures\\r\\n shall tell you another tale, if matters grow to your\\r\\n likings.\\r\\n PAGE. I am glad to see your worships well. I thank you for\\r\\n my venison, Master Shallow.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Master Page, I am glad to see you; much good do\\r\\n it your good heart! I wish\\'d your venison better; it was ill\\r\\n kill\\'d. How doth good Mistress Page?-and I thank you\\r\\n always with my heart, la! with my heart.\\r\\n PAGE. Sir, I thank you.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Sir, I thank you; by yea and no, I do.\\r\\n PAGE. I am glad to see you, good Master Slender.\\r\\n SLENDER. How does your fallow greyhound, sir? I heard say\\r\\n he was outrun on Cotsall.\\r\\n PAGE. It could not be judg\\'d, sir.\\r\\n SLENDER. You\\'ll not confess, you\\'ll not confess.\\r\\n SHALLOW. That he will not. \\'Tis your fault; \\'tis your fault;\\r\\n \\'tis a good dog.\\r\\n PAGE. A cur, sir.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Sir, he\\'s a good dog, and a fair dog. Can there be\\r\\n more said? He is good, and fair. Is Sir John Falstaff here?\\r\\n PAGE. Sir, he is within; and I would I could do a good office\\r\\n between you.\\r\\n EVANS. It is spoke as a Christians ought to speak.\\r\\n SHALLOW. He hath wrong\\'d me, Master Page.\\r\\n PAGE. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it.\\r\\n SHALLOW. If it be confessed, it is not redressed; is not that\\r\\n so, Master Page? He hath wrong\\'d me; indeed he hath; at a\\r\\n word, he hath, believe me; Robert Shallow, esquire, saith\\r\\n he is wronged.\\r\\n PAGE. Here comes Sir John.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR JOHN FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, NYM, and PISTOL\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Now, Master Shallow, you\\'ll complain of me to\\r\\n the King?\\r\\n SHALLOW. Knight, you have beaten my men, kill\\'d my deer,\\r\\n and broke open my lodge.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. But not kiss\\'d your keeper\\'s daughter.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Tut, a pin! this shall be answer\\'d.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I will answer it straight: I have done all this.\\r\\n That is now answer\\'d.\\r\\n SHALLOW. The Council shall know this.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. \\'Twere better for you if it were known in counsel:\\r\\n you\\'ll be laugh\\'d at.\\r\\n EVANS. Pauca verba, Sir John; goot worts.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Good worts! good cabbage! Slender, I broke your\\r\\n head; what matter have you against me?\\r\\n SLENDER. Marry, sir, I have matter in my head against you;\\r\\n and against your cony-catching rascals, Bardolph, Nym,\\r\\n and Pistol. They carried me to the tavern, and made me\\r\\n drunk, and afterwards pick\\'d my pocket.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. You Banbury cheese!\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, it is no matter.\\r\\n PISTOL. How now, Mephostophilus!\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, it is no matter.\\r\\n NYM. Slice, I say! pauca, pauca; slice! That\\'s my humour.\\r\\n SLENDER. Where\\'s Simple, my man? Can you tell, cousin?\\r\\n EVANS. Peace, I pray you. Now let us understand. There is\\r\\n three umpires in this matter, as I understand: that is,\\r\\n Master Page, fidelicet Master Page; and there is myself,\\r\\n fidelicet myself; and the three party is, lastly and\\r\\n finally, mine host of the Garter.\\r\\n PAGE. We three to hear it and end it between them.\\r\\n EVANS. Fery goot. I will make a prief of it in my note-book;\\r\\n and we will afterwards ork upon the cause with as great\\r\\n discreetly as we can.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Pistol!\\r\\n PISTOL. He hears with ears.\\r\\n EVANS. The tevil and his tam! What phrase is this, \\'He hears\\r\\n with ear\\'? Why, it is affectations.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Pistol, did you pick Master Slender\\'s purse?\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, by these gloves, did he-or I would I might\\r\\n never come in mine own great chamber again else!-of\\r\\n seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two Edward\\r\\n shovel-boards that cost me two shilling and two pence apiece\\r\\n of Yead Miller, by these gloves.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Is this true, Pistol?\\r\\n EVANS. No, it is false, if it is a pick-purse.\\r\\n PISTOL. Ha, thou mountain-foreigner! Sir John and master\\r\\n mine,\\r\\n I combat challenge of this latten bilbo.\\r\\n Word of denial in thy labras here!\\r\\n Word of denial! Froth and scum, thou liest.\\r\\n SLENDER. By these gloves, then, \\'twas he.\\r\\n NYM. Be avis\\'d, sir, and pass good humours; I will say\\r\\n \\'marry trap\\' with you, if you run the nuthook\\'s humour on\\r\\n me; that is the very note of it.\\r\\n SLENDER. By this hat, then, he in the red face had it; for\\r\\n though I cannot remember what I did when you made me\\r\\n drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What say you, Scarlet and John?\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Why, sir, for my part, I say the gentleman had\\r\\n drunk himself out of his five sentences.\\r\\n EVANS. It is his five senses; fie, what the ignorance is!\\r\\n BARDOLPH. And being fap, sir, was, as they say, cashier\\'d;\\r\\n and so conclusions pass\\'d the careers.\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, you spake in Latin then too; but \\'tis no matter;\\r\\n I\\'ll ne\\'er be drunk whilst I live again, but in honest,\\r\\n civil, godly company, for this trick. If I be drunk, I\\'ll be\\r\\n drunk with those that have the fear of God, and not with\\r\\n drunken knaves.\\r\\n EVANS. So Got udge me, that is a virtuous mind.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. You hear all these matters deni\\'d, gentlemen; you\\r\\n hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS ANNE PAGE with wine; MISTRESS\\r\\n FORD and MISTRESS PAGE, following\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. Nay, daughter, carry the wine in; we\\'ll drink within.\\r\\n Exit ANNE PAGE\\r\\n SLENDER. O heaven! this is Mistress Anne Page.\\r\\n PAGE. How now, Mistress Ford!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well\\r\\n met; by your leave, good mistress. [Kisses her]\\r\\n PAGE. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome. Come, we have a\\r\\n hot venison pasty to dinner; come, gentlemen, I hope we\\r\\n shall drink down all unkindness.\\r\\n Exeunt all but SHALLOW, SLENDER, and EVANS\\r\\n SLENDER. I had rather than forty shillings I had my Book of\\r\\n Songs and Sonnets here.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIMPLE\\r\\n\\r\\n How, Simple! Where have you been? I must wait on\\r\\n myself, must I? You have not the Book of Riddles about you,\\r\\n have you?\\r\\n SIMPLE. Book of Riddles! Why, did you not lend it to Alice\\r\\n Shortcake upon Allhallowmas last, a fortnight afore\\r\\n Michaelmas?\\r\\n SHALLOW. Come, coz; come, coz; we stay for you. A word\\r\\n with you, coz; marry, this, coz: there is, as \\'twere, a\\r\\n tender, a kind of tender, made afar off by Sir Hugh here. Do\\r\\n you understand me?\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable; if it be so, I\\r\\n shall do that that is reason.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Nay, but understand me.\\r\\n SLENDER. So I do, sir.\\r\\n EVANS. Give ear to his motions: Master Slender, I will\\r\\n description the matter to you, if you be capacity of it.\\r\\n SLENDER. Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says; I pray\\r\\n you pardon me; he\\'s a justice of peace in his country,\\r\\n simple though I stand here.\\r\\n EVANS. But that is not the question. The question is\\r\\n concerning your marriage.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Ay, there\\'s the point, sir.\\r\\n EVANS. Marry is it; the very point of it; to Mistress Anne\\r\\n Page.\\r\\n SLENDER. Why, if it be so, I will marry her upon any\\r\\n reasonable demands.\\r\\n EVANS. But can you affection the oman? Let us command to\\r\\n know that of your mouth or of your lips; for divers philosophers\\r\\n hold that the lips is parcel of the mouth. Therefore,\\r\\n precisely, can you carry your good will to the maid?\\r\\n SHALLOW. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her?\\r\\n SLENDER. I hope, sir, I will do as it shall become one that\\r\\n would do reason.\\r\\n EVANS. Nay, Got\\'s lords and his ladies! you must speak possitable,\\r\\n if you can carry her your desires towards her.\\r\\n SHALLOW. That you must. Will you, upon good dowry,\\r\\n marry her?\\r\\n SLENDER. I will do a greater thing than that upon your request,\\r\\n cousin, in any reason.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz; what\\r\\n I do is to pleasure you, coz. Can you love the maid?\\r\\n SLENDER. I will marry her, sir, at your request; but if there\\r\\n be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease\\r\\n it upon better acquaintance, when we are married and\\r\\n have more occasion to know one another. I hope upon\\r\\n familiarity will grow more contempt. But if you say\\r\\n \\'marry her,\\' I will marry her; that I am freely dissolved,\\r\\n and dissolutely.\\r\\n EVANS. It is a fery discretion answer, save the fall is in the\\r\\n ord \\'dissolutely\\': the ort is, according to our meaning,\\r\\n \\'resolutely\\'; his meaning is good.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Ay, I think my cousin meant well.\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, or else I would I might be hang\\'d, la!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter ANNE PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n SHALLOW. Here comes fair Mistress Anne. Would I were\\r\\n young for your sake, Mistress Anne!\\r\\n ANNE. The dinner is on the table; my father desires your\\r\\n worships\\' company.\\r\\n SHALLOW. I will wait on him, fair Mistress Anne!\\r\\n EVANS. Od\\'s plessed will! I will not be absence at the grace.\\r\\n Exeunt SHALLOW and EVANS\\r\\n ANNE. Will\\'t please your worship to come in, sir?\\r\\n SLENDER. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily; I am very\\r\\n well.\\r\\n ANNE. The dinner attends you, sir.\\r\\n SLENDER. I am not a-hungry, I thank you, forsooth. Go,\\r\\n sirrah, for all you are my man, go wait upon my cousin\\r\\n Shallow. [Exit SIMPLE] A justice of peace sometime may\\r\\n be beholding to his friend for a man. I keep but three men\\r\\n and a boy yet, till my mother be dead. But what though?\\r\\n Yet I live like a poor gentleman born.\\r\\n ANNE. I may not go in without your worship; they will not\\r\\n sit till you come.\\r\\n SLENDER. I\\' faith, I\\'ll eat nothing; I thank you as much as\\r\\n though I did.\\r\\n ANNE. I pray you, sir, walk in.\\r\\n SLENDER. I had rather walk here, I thank you. I bruis\\'d my\\r\\n shin th\\' other day with playing at sword and dagger with\\r\\n a master of fence-three veneys for a dish of stew\\'d prunes\\r\\n -and, I with my ward defending my head, he hot my shin,\\r\\n and, by my troth, I cannot abide the smell of hot meat\\r\\n since. Why do your dogs bark so? Be there bears i\\' th\\'\\r\\n town?\\r\\n ANNE. I think there are, sir; I heard them talk\\'d of.\\r\\n SLENDER. I love the sport well; but I shall as soon quarrel at\\r\\n it as any man in England. You are afraid, if you see the\\r\\n bear loose, are you not?\\r\\n ANNE. Ay, indeed, sir.\\r\\n SLENDER. That\\'s meat and drink to me now. I have seen\\r\\n Sackerson loose twenty times, and have taken him by the\\r\\n chain; but I warrant you, the women have so cried and\\r\\n shriek\\'d at it that it pass\\'d; but women, indeed, cannot\\r\\n abide \\'em; they are very ill-favour\\'d rough things.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. Come, gentle Master Slender, come; we stay for you.\\r\\n SLENDER. I\\'ll eat nothing, I thank you, sir.\\r\\n PAGE. By cock and pie, you shall not choose, sir! Come,\\r\\n come.\\r\\n SLENDER. Nay, pray you lead the way.\\r\\n PAGE. Come on, sir.\\r\\n SLENDER. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first.\\r\\n ANNE. Not I, sir; pray you keep on.\\r\\n SLENDER. Truly, I will not go first; truly, la! I will not do\\r\\n you that wrong.\\r\\n ANNE. I pray you, sir.\\r\\n SLENDER. I\\'ll rather be unmannerly than troublesome. You\\r\\n do yourself wrong indeed, la! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nBefore PAGE\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SIR HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE\\r\\n\\r\\n EVANS. Go your ways, and ask of Doctor Caius\\' house which\\r\\n is the way; and there dwells one Mistress Quickly, which\\r\\n is in the manner of his nurse, or his dry nurse, or his cook,\\r\\n or his laundry, his washer, and his wringer.\\r\\n SIMPLE. Well, sir.\\r\\n EVANS. Nay, it is petter yet. Give her this letter; for it is a\\r\\n oman that altogether\\'s acquaintance with Mistress Anne\\r\\n Page; and the letter is to desire and require her to solicit\\r\\n your master\\'s desires to Mistress Anne Page. I pray you\\r\\n be gone. I will make an end of my dinner; there\\'s pippins\\r\\n and cheese to come. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FALSTAFF, HOST, BARDOLPH, NYM, PISTOL, and ROBIN\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Mine host of the Garter!\\r\\n HOST. What says my bully rook? Speak scholarly and\\r\\n wisely.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of my\\r\\n followers.\\r\\n HOST. Discard, bully Hercules; cashier; let them wag; trot,\\r\\n trot.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I sit at ten pounds a week.\\r\\n HOST. Thou\\'rt an emperor-Caesar, Keiser, and Pheazar. I\\r\\n will entertain Bardolph; he shall draw, he shall tap; said I\\r\\n well, bully Hector?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Do so, good mine host.\\r\\n HOST. I have spoke; let him follow. [To BARDOLPH] Let me\\r\\n see thee froth and lime. I am at a word; follow. Exit HOST\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Bardolph, follow him. A tapster is a good trade;\\r\\n an old cloak makes a new jerkin; a wither\\'d serving-man a\\r\\n fresh tapster. Go; adieu.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. It is a life that I have desir\\'d; I will thrive.\\r\\n PISTOL. O base Hungarian wight! Wilt thou the spigot\\r\\n wield? Exit BARDOLPH\\r\\n NYM. He was gotten in drink. Is not the humour conceited?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I am glad I am so acquit of this tinder-box: his\\r\\n thefts were too open; his filching was like an unskilful\\r\\n singer-he kept not time.\\r\\n NYM. The good humour is to steal at a minute\\'s rest.\\r\\n PISTOL. \\'Convey\\' the wise it call. \\'Steal\\' foh! A fico for the\\r\\n phrase!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels.\\r\\n PISTOL. Why, then, let kibes ensue.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. There is no remedy; I must cony-catch; I must\\r\\n shift.\\r\\n PISTOL. Young ravens must have food.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Which of you know Ford of this town?\\r\\n PISTOL. I ken the wight; he is of substance good.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about.\\r\\n PISTOL. Two yards, and more.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. No quips now, Pistol. Indeed, I am in the waist\\r\\n two yards about; but I am now about no waste; I am about\\r\\n thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make love to Ford\\'s wife; I\\r\\n spy entertainment in her; she discourses, she carves, she\\r\\n gives the leer of invitation; I can construe the action of her\\r\\n familiar style; and the hardest voice of her behaviour, to be\\r\\n English\\'d rightly, is \\'I am Sir John Falstaff\\'s.\\'\\r\\n PISTOL. He hath studied her well, and translated her will out\\r\\n of honesty into English.\\r\\n NYM. The anchor is deep; will that humour pass?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Now, the report goes she has all the rule of her\\r\\n husband\\'s purse; he hath a legion of angels.\\r\\n PISTOL. As many devils entertain; and \\'To her, boy,\\' say I.\\r\\n NYM. The humour rises; it is good; humour me the angels.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I have writ me here a letter to her; and here\\r\\n another to Page\\'s wife, who even now gave me good eyes\\r\\n too, examin\\'d my parts with most judicious oeillades;\\r\\n sometimes the beam of her view gilded my foot, sometimes my\\r\\n portly belly.\\r\\n PISTOL. Then did the sun on dunghill shine.\\r\\n NYM. I thank thee for that humour.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. O, she did so course o\\'er my exteriors with such\\r\\n a greedy intention that the appetite of her eye did seem to\\r\\n scorch me up like a burning-glass! Here\\'s another letter to\\r\\n her. She bears the purse too; she is a region in Guiana, all\\r\\n gold and bounty. I will be cheaters to them both, and they\\r\\n shall be exchequers to me; they shall be my East and West\\r\\n Indies, and I will trade to them both. Go, bear thou this\\r\\n letter to Mistress Page; and thou this to Mistress Ford. We\\r\\n will thrive, lads, we will thrive.\\r\\n PISTOL. Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become,\\r\\n And by my side wear steel? Then Lucifer take all!\\r\\n NYM. I will run no base humour. Here, take the\\r\\n humour-letter; I will keep the haviour of reputation.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. [To ROBIN] Hold, sirrah; bear you these letters\\r\\n tightly;\\r\\n Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores.\\r\\n Rogues, hence, avaunt! vanish like hailstones, go;\\r\\n Trudge, plod away i\\' th\\' hoof; seek shelter, pack!\\r\\n Falstaff will learn the humour of the age;\\r\\n French thrift, you rogues; myself, and skirted page.\\r\\n Exeunt FALSTAFF and ROBIN\\r\\n PISTOL. Let vultures gripe thy guts! for gourd and fullam\\r\\n holds,\\r\\n And high and low beguiles the rich and poor;\\r\\n Tester I\\'ll have in pouch when thou shalt lack,\\r\\n Base Phrygian Turk!\\r\\n NYM. I have operations in my head which be humours of\\r\\n revenge.\\r\\n PISTOL. Wilt thou revenge?\\r\\n NYM. By welkin and her star!\\r\\n PISTOL. With wit or steel?\\r\\n NYM. With both the humours, I.\\r\\n I will discuss the humour of this love to Page.\\r\\n PISTOL. And I to Ford shall eke unfold\\r\\n How Falstaff, varlet vile,\\r\\n His dove will prove, his gold will hold,\\r\\n And his soft couch defile.\\r\\n NYM. My humour shall not cool; I will incense Page to deal\\r\\n with poison; I will possess him with yellowness; for the\\r\\n revolt of mine is dangerous. That is my true humour.\\r\\n PISTOL. Thou art the Mars of malcontents; I second thee;\\r\\n troop on. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR CAIUS\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MISTRESS QUICKLY, SIMPLE, and RUGBY\\r\\n\\r\\n QUICKLY. What, John Rugby! I pray thee go to the casement\\r\\n and see if you can see my master, Master Doctor\\r\\n Caius, coming. If he do, i\\' faith, and find anybody in the\\r\\n house, here will be an old abusing of God\\'s patience and\\r\\n the King\\'s English.\\r\\n RUGBY. I\\'ll go watch.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Go; and we\\'ll have a posset for\\'t soon at night, in\\r\\n faith, at the latter end of a sea-coal fire. [Exit RUGBY] An\\r\\n honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant shall come in\\r\\n house withal; and, I warrant you, no tell-tale nor no\\r\\n breed-bate; his worst fault is that he is given to prayer; he is\\r\\n something peevish that way; but nobody but has his fault;\\r\\n but let that pass. Peter Simple you say your name is?\\r\\n SIMPLE. Ay, for fault of a better.\\r\\n QUICKLY. And Master Slender\\'s your master?\\r\\n SIMPLE. Ay, forsooth.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Does he not wear a great round beard, like a\\r\\n glover\\'s paring-knife?\\r\\n SIMPLE. No, forsooth; he hath but a little whey face, with a\\r\\n little yellow beard, a Cain-colour\\'d beard.\\r\\n QUICKLY. A softly-sprighted man, is he not?\\r\\n SIMPLE. Ay, forsooth; but he is as tall a man of his hands as\\r\\n any is between this and his head; he hath fought with a\\r\\n warrener.\\r\\n QUICKLY. How say you? O, I should remember him. Does\\r\\n he not hold up his head, as it were, and strut in his gait?\\r\\n SIMPLE. Yes, indeed, does he.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse fortune!\\r\\n Tell Master Parson Evans I will do what I can for your\\r\\n master. Anne is a good girl, and I wish-\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter RUGBY\\r\\n\\r\\n RUGBY. Out, alas! here comes my master.\\r\\n QUICKLY. We shall all be shent. Run in here, good young\\r\\n man; go into this closet. [Shuts SIMPLE in the closet] He\\r\\n will not stay long. What, John Rugby! John! what, John,\\r\\n I say! Go, John, go inquire for my master; I doubt he be\\r\\n not well that he comes not home. [Singing]\\r\\n And down, down, adown-a, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DOCTOR CAIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n CAIUS. Vat is you sing? I do not like des toys. Pray you, go\\r\\n and vetch me in my closet un boitier vert-a box, a green-a\\r\\n box. Do intend vat I speak? A green-a box.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Ay, forsooth, I\\'ll fetch it you. [Aside] I am glad\\r\\n he went not in himself; if he had found the young man,\\r\\n he would have been horn-mad.\\r\\n CAIUS. Fe, fe, fe fe! ma foi, il fait fort chaud. Je m\\'en vais a\\r\\n la cour-la grande affaire.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Is it this, sir?\\r\\n CAIUS. Oui; mette le au mon pocket: depeche, quickly. Vere\\r\\n is dat knave, Rugby?\\r\\n QUICKLY. What, John Rugby? John!\\r\\n RUGBY. Here, sir.\\r\\n CAIUS. You are John Rugby, and you are Jack Rugby.\\r\\n Come, take-a your rapier, and come after my heel to the\\r\\n court.\\r\\n RUGBY. \\'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch.\\r\\n CAIUS. By my trot, I tarry too long. Od\\'s me! Qu\\'ai j\\'oublie?\\r\\n Dere is some simples in my closet dat I vill not for the\\r\\n varld I shall leave behind.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Ay me, he\\'ll find the young man there, and be\\r\\n mad!\\r\\n CAIUS. O diable, diable! vat is in my closet? Villainy! larron!\\r\\n [Pulling SIMPLE out] Rugby, my rapier!\\r\\n QUICKLY. Good master, be content.\\r\\n CAIUS. Wherefore shall I be content-a?\\r\\n QUICKLY. The young man is an honest man.\\r\\n CAIUS. What shall de honest man do in my closet? Dere is\\r\\n no honest man dat shall come in my closet.\\r\\n QUICKLY. I beseech you, be not so phlegmatic; hear the\\r\\n truth of it. He came of an errand to me from Parson Hugh.\\r\\n CAIUS. Vell?\\r\\n SIMPLE. Ay, forsooth, to desire her to-\\r\\n QUICKLY. Peace, I pray you.\\r\\n CAIUS. Peace-a your tongue. Speak-a your tale.\\r\\n SIMPLE. To desire this honest gentlewoman, your maid, to\\r\\n speak a good word to Mistress Anne Page for my master,\\r\\n in the way of marriage.\\r\\n QUICKLY. This is all, indeed, la! but I\\'ll ne\\'er put my finger\\r\\n in the fire, and need not.\\r\\n CAIUS. Sir Hugh send-a you? Rugby, baillez me some paper.\\r\\n Tarry you a little-a-while. [Writes]\\r\\n QUICKLY. [Aside to SIMPLE] I am glad he is so quiet; if he\\r\\n had been throughly moved, you should have heard him\\r\\n so loud and so melancholy. But notwithstanding, man, I\\'ll\\r\\n do you your master what good I can; and the very yea and\\r\\n the no is, the French doctor, my master-I may call him\\r\\n my master, look you, for I keep his house; and I wash,\\r\\n wring, brew, bake, scour, dress meat and drink, make the\\r\\n beds, and do all myself-\\r\\n SIMPLE. [Aside to QUICKLY] \\'Tis a great charge to come\\r\\n under one body\\'s hand.\\r\\n QUICKLY. [Aside to SIMPLE] Are you avis\\'d o\\' that? You\\r\\n shall find it a great charge; and to be up early and down\\r\\n late; but notwithstanding-to tell you in your ear, I would\\r\\n have no words of it-my master himself is in love with\\r\\n Mistress Anne Page; but notwithstanding that, I know\\r\\n Anne\\'s mind-that\\'s neither here nor there.\\r\\n CAIUS. You jack\\'nape; give-a this letter to Sir Hugh; by gar,\\r\\n it is a shallenge; I will cut his troat in de park; and I will\\r\\n teach a scurvy jack-a-nape priest to meddle or make. You\\r\\n may be gone; it is not good you tarry here. By gar, I will\\r\\n cut all his two stones; by gar, he shall not have a stone\\r\\n to throw at his dog. Exit SIMPLE\\r\\n QUICKLY. Alas, he speaks but for his friend.\\r\\n CAIUS. It is no matter-a ver dat. Do not you tell-a me dat I\\r\\n shall have Anne Page for myself? By gar, I vill kill de Jack\\r\\n priest; and I have appointed mine host of de Jarteer to\\r\\n measure our weapon. By gar, I will myself have Anne\\r\\n Page.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be well. We\\r\\n must give folks leave to prate. What the good-year!\\r\\n CAIUS. Rugby, come to the court with me. By gar, if I have\\r\\n not Anne Page, I shall turn your head out of my door.\\r\\n Follow my heels, Rugby. Exeunt CAIUS and RUGBY\\r\\n QUICKLY. You shall have-An fool\\'s-head of your own. No,\\r\\n I know Anne\\'s mind for that; never a woman in Windsor\\r\\n knows more of Anne\\'s mind than I do; nor can do more\\r\\n than I do with her, I thank heaven.\\r\\n FENTON. [Within] Who\\'s within there? ho!\\r\\n QUICKLY. Who\\'s there, I trow? Come near the house, I pray\\r\\n you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FENTON\\r\\n\\r\\n FENTON. How now, good woman, how dost thou?\\r\\n QUICKLY. The better that it pleases your good worship to\\r\\n ask.\\r\\n FENTON. What news? How does pretty Mistress Anne?\\r\\n QUICKLY. In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and honest, and\\r\\n gentle; and one that is your friend, I can tell you that by\\r\\n the way; I praise heaven for it.\\r\\n FENTON. Shall I do any good, think\\'st thou? Shall I not lose\\r\\n my suit?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Troth, sir, all is in His hands above; but\\r\\n notwithstanding, Master Fenton, I\\'ll be sworn on a book\\r\\n she loves you. Have not your worship a wart above your eye?\\r\\n FENTON. Yes, marry, have I; what of that?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Well, thereby hangs a tale; good faith, it is such\\r\\n another Nan; but, I detest, an honest maid as ever broke\\r\\n bread. We had an hour\\'s talk of that wart; I shall never\\r\\n laugh but in that maid\\'s company! But, indeed, she is\\r\\n given too much to allicholy and musing; but for you-well,\\r\\n go to.\\r\\n FENTON. Well, I shall see her to-day. Hold, there\\'s money\\r\\n for thee; let me have thy voice in my behalf. If thou seest\\r\\n her before me, commend me.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Will I? I\\' faith, that we will; and I will tell your\\r\\n worship more of the wart the next time we have confidence;\\r\\n and of other wooers.\\r\\n FENTON. Well, farewell; I am in great haste now.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Farewell to your worship. [Exit FENTON] Truly,\\r\\n an honest gentleman; but Anne loves him not; for I know\\r\\n Anne\\'s mind as well as another does. Out upon \\'t, what\\r\\n have I forgot? Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nBefore PAGE\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MISTRESS PAGE, with a letter\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. What! have I scap\\'d love-letters in the holiday-time\\r\\n of my beauty, and am I now a subject for them? Let\\r\\n me see. [Reads]\\r\\n \\'Ask me no reason why I love you; for though Love use\\r\\n Reason for his precisian, he admits him not for his counsellor.\\r\\n You are not young, no more am I; go to, then, there\\'s\\r\\n sympathy. You are merry, so am I; ha! ha! then there\\'s\\r\\n more sympathy. You love sack, and so do I; would you\\r\\n desire better sympathy? Let it suffice thee, Mistress Page\\r\\n at the least, if the love of soldier can suffice-that I love\\r\\n thee. I will not say, Pity me: \\'tis not a soldier-like phrase;\\r\\n but I say, Love me. By me,\\r\\n Thine own true knight,\\r\\n By day or night,\\r\\n Or any kind of light,\\r\\n With all his might,\\r\\n For thee to fight,\\r\\n JOHN FALSTAFF.\\'\\r\\n What a Herod of Jewry is this! O wicked, wicked world!\\r\\n One that is well-nigh worn to pieces with age to show\\r\\n himself a young gallant! What an unweighed behaviour\\r\\n hath this Flemish drunkard pick\\'d-with the devil\\'s name!\\r\\n -out of my conversation, that he dares in this manner\\r\\n assay me? Why, he hath not been thrice in my company!\\r\\n What should I say to him? I was then frugal of my mirth.\\r\\n Heaven forgive me! Why, I\\'ll exhibit a bill in the parliament\\r\\n for the putting down of men. How shall I be\\r\\n reveng\\'d on him? for reveng\\'d I will be, as sure as his guts\\r\\n are made of puddings.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS FORD\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Mistress Page! trust me, I was going to your\\r\\n house.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. And, trust me, I was coming to you. You look\\r\\n very ill.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Nay, I\\'ll ne\\'er believe that; I have to show to\\r\\n the contrary.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Faith, but you do, in my mind.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Well, I do, then; yet, I say, I could show you to\\r\\n the contrary. O Mistress Page, give me some counsel.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. What\\'s the matter, woman?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. O woman, if it were not for one trifling respect,\\r\\n I could come to such honour!\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Hang the trifle, woman; take the honour. What\\r\\n is it? Dispense with trifles; what is it?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. If I would but go to hell for an eternal moment\\r\\n or so, I could be knighted.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. What? Thou liest. Sir Alice Ford! These knights\\r\\n will hack; and so thou shouldst not alter the article of thy\\r\\n gentry.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. We burn daylight. Here, read, read; perceive\\r\\n how I might be knighted. I shall think the worse of fat\\r\\n men as long as I have an eye to make difference of men\\'s\\r\\n liking. And yet he would not swear; prais\\'d women\\'s\\r\\n modesty, and gave such orderly and well-behaved reproof\\r\\n to all uncomeliness that I would have sworn his disposition\\r\\n would have gone to the truth of his words; but they do no\\r\\n more adhere and keep place together than the Hundredth\\r\\n Psalm to the tune of \\'Greensleeves.\\' What tempest, I trow,\\r\\n threw this whale, with so many tuns of oil in his belly,\\r\\n ashore at Windsor? How shall I be revenged on him? I\\r\\n think the best way were to entertain him with hope, till\\r\\n the wicked fire of lust have melted him in his own grease.\\r\\n Did you ever hear the like?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Letter for letter, but that the name of Page and\\r\\n Ford differs. To thy great comfort in this mystery of ill\\r\\n opinions, here\\'s the twin-brother of thy letter; but let thine\\r\\n inherit first, for, I protest, mine never shall. I warrant he\\r\\n hath a thousand of these letters, writ with blank space for\\r\\n different names-sure, more!-and these are of the second\\r\\n edition. He will print them, out of doubt; for he cares not\\r\\n what he puts into the press when he would put us two. I\\r\\n had rather be a giantess and lie under Mount Pelion. Well,\\r\\n I will find you twenty lascivious turtles ere one chaste\\r\\n man.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why, this is the very same; the very hand, the\\r\\n very words. What doth he think of us?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Nay, I know not; it makes me almost ready to\\r\\n wrangle with mine own honesty. I\\'ll entertain myself like\\r\\n one that I am not acquainted withal; for, sure, unless he\\r\\n know some strain in me that I know not myself, he would\\r\\n never have boarded me in this fury.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. \\'Boarding\\' call you it? I\\'ll be sure to keep him\\r\\n above deck.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. So will I; if he come under my hatches, I\\'ll never\\r\\n to sea again. Let\\'s be reveng\\'d on him; let\\'s appoint him a\\r\\n meeting, give him a show of comfort in his suit, and lead\\r\\n him on with a fine-baited delay, till he hath pawn\\'d his\\r\\n horses to mine host of the Garter.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Nay, I will consent to act any villainy against\\r\\n him that may not sully the chariness of our honesty. O\\r\\n that my husband saw this letter! It would give eternal food\\r\\n to his jealousy.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Why, look where he comes; and my good man\\r\\n too; he\\'s as far from jealousy as I am from giving him\\r\\n cause; and that, I hope, is an unmeasurable distance.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. You are the happier woman.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Let\\'s consult together against this greasy knight.\\r\\n Come hither. [They retire]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FORD with PISTOL, and PAGE with Nym\\r\\n\\r\\n FORD. Well, I hope it be not so.\\r\\n PISTOL. Hope is a curtal dog in some affairs.\\r\\n Sir John affects thy wife.\\r\\n FORD. Why, sir, my wife is not young.\\r\\n PISTOL. He woos both high and low, both rich and poor,\\r\\n Both young and old, one with another, Ford;\\r\\n He loves the gallimaufry. Ford, perpend.\\r\\n FORD. Love my wife!\\r\\n PISTOL. With liver burning hot. Prevent, or go thou,\\r\\n Like Sir Actaeon he, with Ringwood at thy heels.\\r\\n O, odious is the name!\\r\\n FORD. What name, sir?\\r\\n PISTOL. The horn, I say. Farewell.\\r\\n Take heed, have open eye, for thieves do foot by night;\\r\\n Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo birds do sing.\\r\\n Away, Sir Corporal Nym.\\r\\n Believe it, Page; he speaks sense. Exit PISTOL\\r\\n FORD. [Aside] I will be patient; I will find out this.\\r\\n NYM. [To PAGE] And this is true; I like not the humour of\\r\\n lying. He hath wronged me in some humours; I should\\r\\n have borne the humour\\'d letter to her; but I have a sword,\\r\\n and it shall bite upon my necessity. He loves your wife;\\r\\n there\\'s the short and the long.\\r\\n My name is Corporal Nym; I speak, and I avouch;\\r\\n \\'Tis true. My name is Nym, and Falstaff loves your wife.\\r\\n Adieu! I love not the humour of bread and cheese; and\\r\\n there\\'s the humour of it. Adieu. Exit Nym\\r\\n PAGE. \\'The humour of it,\\' quoth \\'a! Here\\'s a fellow frights\\r\\n English out of his wits.\\r\\n FORD. I will seek out Falstaff.\\r\\n PAGE. I never heard such a drawling, affecting rogue.\\r\\n FORD. If I do find it-well.\\r\\n PAGE. I will not believe such a Cataian though the priest o\\'\\r\\n th\\' town commended him for a true man.\\r\\n FORD. \\'Twas a good sensible fellow. Well.\\r\\n\\r\\n MISTRESS PAGE and MISTRESS FORD come forward\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. How now, Meg!\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Whither go you, George? Hark you.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. How now, sweet Frank, why art thou melancholy?\\r\\n FORD. I melancholy! I am not melancholy. Get you home;\\r\\n go.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy head now.\\r\\n Will you go, Mistress Page?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Have with you. You\\'ll come to dinner, George?\\r\\n [Aside to MRS. FORD] Look who comes yonder; she shall\\r\\n be our messenger to this paltry knight.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. [Aside to MRS. PAGE] Trust me, I thought on\\r\\n her; she\\'ll fit it.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. You are come to see my daughter Anne?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Ay, forsooth; and, I pray, how does good Mistress Anne?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Go in with us and see; we have an hour\\'s talk\\r\\n with you. Exeunt MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and\\r\\n MISTRESS QUICKLY\\r\\n PAGE. How now, Master Ford!\\r\\n FORD. You heard what this knave told me, did you not?\\r\\n PAGE. Yes; and you heard what the other told me?\\r\\n FORD. Do you think there is truth in them?\\r\\n PAGE. Hang \\'em, slaves! I do not think the knight would offer it;\\r\\n but these that accuse him in his intent towards our\\r\\n wives are a yoke of his discarded men; very rogues, now\\r\\n they be out of service.\\r\\n FORD. Were they his men?\\r\\n PAGE. Marry, were they.\\r\\n FORD. I like it never the better for that. Does he lie at the\\r\\n Garter?\\r\\n PAGE. Ay, marry, does he. If he should intend this voyage\\r\\n toward my wife, I would turn her loose to him; and what\\r\\n he gets more of her than sharp words, let it lie on my head.\\r\\n FORD. I do not misdoubt my wife; but I would be loath to\\r\\n turn them together. A man may be too confident. I would\\r\\n have nothing lie on my head. I cannot be thus satisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HOST\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. Look where my ranting host of the Garter comes.\\r\\n There is either liquor in his pate or money in his purse\\r\\n when he looks so merrily. How now, mine host!\\r\\n HOST. How now, bully rook! Thou\\'rt a gentleman. [To\\r\\n SHALLOW following] Cavaleiro Justice, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SHALLOW\\r\\n\\r\\n SHALLOW. I follow, mine host, I follow. Good even and\\r\\n twenty, good Master Page! Master Page, will you go with\\r\\n us? We have sport in hand.\\r\\n HOST. Tell him, Cavaleiro Justice; tell him, bully rook.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Sir, there is a fray to be fought between Sir Hugh\\r\\n the Welsh priest and Caius the French doctor.\\r\\n FORD. Good mine host o\\' th\\' Garter, a word with you.\\r\\n HOST. What say\\'st thou, my bully rook? [They go aside]\\r\\n SHALLOW. [To PAGE] Will you go with us to behold it? My\\r\\n merry host hath had the measuring of their weapons; and,\\r\\n I think, hath appointed them contrary places; for, believe\\r\\n me, I hear the parson is no jester. Hark, I will tell you\\r\\n what our sport shall be. [They converse apart]\\r\\n HOST. Hast thou no suit against my knight, my guest-cavaleiro.\\r\\n FORD. None, I protest; but I\\'ll give you a pottle of burnt\\r\\n sack to give me recourse to him, and tell him my name is\\r\\n Brook-only for a jest.\\r\\n HOST. My hand, bully; thou shalt have egress and regress-\\r\\n said I well?-and thy name shall be Brook. It is a merry\\r\\n knight. Will you go, Mynheers?\\r\\n SHALLOW. Have with you, mine host.\\r\\n PAGE. I have heard the Frenchman hath good skill in his\\r\\n rapier.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Tut, sir, I could have told you more. In these\\r\\n times you stand on distance, your passes, stoccadoes, and\\r\\n I know not what. \\'Tis the heart, Master Page; \\'tis here,\\r\\n \\'tis here. I have seen the time with my long sword I would\\r\\n have made you four tall fellows skip like rats.\\r\\n HOST. Here, boys, here, here! Shall we wag?\\r\\n PAGE. Have with you. I had rather hear them scold than\\r\\n fight. Exeunt all but FORD\\r\\n FORD. Though Page be a secure fool, and stands so firmly on\\r\\n his wife\\'s frailty, yet I cannot put off my opinion so\\r\\n easily. She was in his company at Page\\'s house, and what\\r\\n they made there I know not. Well, I will look further into\\r\\n \\'t, and I have a disguise to sound Falstaff. If I find her\\r\\n honest, I lose not my labour; if she be otherwise, \\'tis labour\\r\\n well bestowed. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nA room in the Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FALSTAFF and PISTOL\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I will not lend thee a penny.\\r\\n PISTOL. I will retort the sum in equipage.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Not a penny.\\r\\n PISTOL. Why, then the world\\'s mine oyster. Which I with\\r\\n sword will open.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you should\\r\\n lay my countenance to pawn. I have grated upon my good\\r\\n friends for three reprieves for you and your coach-fellow,\\r\\n Nym; or else you had look\\'d through the grate, like a\\r\\n geminy of baboons. I am damn\\'d in hell for swearing to\\r\\n gentlemen my friends you were good soldiers and tall fellows;\\r\\n and when Mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan,\\r\\n I took \\'t upon mine honour thou hadst it not.\\r\\n PISTOL. Didst not thou share? Hadst thou not fifteen pence?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Reason, you rogue, reason. Think\\'st thou I\\'ll\\r\\n endanger my soul gratis? At a word, hang no more about me,\\r\\n I am no gibbet for you. Go-a short knife and a throng!-\\r\\n to your manor of Pickt-hatch; go. You\\'ll not bear a letter\\r\\n for me, you rogue! You stand upon your honour! Why,\\r\\n thou unconfinable baseness, it is as much as I can do to\\r\\n keep the terms of my honour precise. I, I, I myself\\r\\n sometimes, leaving the fear of God on the left hand, and hiding\\r\\n mine honour in my necessity, am fain to shuffle, to hedge,\\r\\n and to lurch; and yet you, rogue, will ensconce your rags,\\r\\n your cat-a-mountain looks, your red-lattice phrases, and\\r\\n your bold-beating oaths, under the shelter of your honour!\\r\\n You will not do it, you!\\r\\n PISTOL. I do relent; what would thou more of man?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ROBIN\\r\\n\\r\\n ROBIN. Sir, here\\'s a woman would speak with you.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Let her approach.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY\\r\\n\\r\\n QUICKLY. Give your worship good morrow.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Good morrow, good wife.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Not so, an\\'t please your worship.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Good maid, then.\\r\\n QUICKLY. I\\'ll be sworn;\\r\\n As my mother was, the first hour I was born.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I do believe the swearer. What with me?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word or two?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Two thousand, fair woman; and I\\'ll vouchsafe\\r\\n thee the hearing.\\r\\n QUICKLY. There is one Mistress Ford, sir-I pray, come a little\\r\\n nearer this ways. I myself dwell with Master Doctor\\r\\n Caius.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Well, on: Mistress Ford, you say-\\r\\n QUICKLY. Your worship says very true. I pray your worship\\r\\n come a little nearer this ways.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I warrant thee nobody hears-mine own people,\\r\\n mine own people.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Are they so? God bless them, and make them his\\r\\n servants!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Well; Mistress Ford, what of her?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Why, sir, she\\'s a good creature. Lord, Lord, your\\r\\n worship\\'s a wanton! Well, heaven forgive you, and all of\\r\\n us, I pray.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford; come, Mistress Ford-\\r\\n QUICKLY. Marry, this is the short and the long of it: you\\r\\n have brought her into such a canaries as \\'tis wonderful.\\r\\n The best courtier of them all, when the court lay at Windsor,\\r\\n could never have brought her to such a canary. Yet\\r\\n there has been knights, and lords, and gentlemen, with\\r\\n their coaches; I warrant you, coach after coach, letter after\\r\\n letter, gift after gift; smelling so sweetly, all musk, and so\\r\\n rushling, I warrant you, in silk and gold; and in such alligant\\r\\n terms; and in such wine and sugar of the best and the\\r\\n fairest, that would have won any woman\\'s heart; and I\\r\\n warrant you, they could never get an eye-wink of her.\\r\\n I had myself twenty angels given me this morning; but I\\r\\n defy all angels, in any such sort, as they say, but in the\\r\\n way of honesty; and, I warrant you, they could never get\\r\\n her so much as sip on a cup with the proudest of them all;\\r\\n and yet there has been earls, nay, which is more,\\r\\n pensioners; but, I warrant you, all is one with her.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. But what says she to me? Be brief, my good she-\\r\\n Mercury.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Marry, she hath receiv\\'d your letter; for the\\r\\n which she thanks you a thousand times; and she gives you\\r\\n to notify that her husband will be absence from his house\\r\\n between ten and eleven.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Ten and eleven?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Ay, forsooth; and then you may come and see\\r\\n the picture, she says, that you wot of. Master Ford, her\\r\\n husband, will be from home. Alas, the sweet woman leads\\r\\n an ill life with him! He\\'s a very jealousy man; she leads a\\r\\n very frampold life with him, good heart.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Ten and eleven. Woman, commend me to her; I\\r\\n will not fail her.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Why, you say well. But I have another messenger\\r\\n to your worship. Mistress Page hath her hearty commendations\\r\\n to you too; and let me tell you in your ear, she\\'s as\\r\\n fartuous a civil modest wife, and one, I tell you, that will\\r\\n not miss you morning nor evening prayer, as any is in\\r\\n Windsor, whoe\\'er be the other; and she bade me tell your\\r\\n worship that her husband is seldom from home, but she\\r\\n hopes there will come a time. I never knew a woman so\\r\\n dote upon a man: surely I think you have charms, la! Yes,\\r\\n in truth.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Not I, I assure thee; setting the attraction of my\\r\\n good parts aside, I have no other charms.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Blessing on your heart for \\'t!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. But, I pray thee, tell me this: has Ford\\'s wife and\\r\\n Page\\'s wife acquainted each other how they love me?\\r\\n QUICKLY. That were a jest indeed! They have not so little\\r\\n grace, I hope-that were a trick indeed! But Mistress Page\\r\\n would desire you to send her your little page of all loves.\\r\\n Her husband has a marvellous infection to the little page;\\r\\n and truly Master Page is an honest man. Never a wife in\\r\\n Windsor leads a better life than she does; do what she will,\\r\\n say what she will, take all, pay all, go to bed when she\\r\\n list, rise when she list, all is as she will; and truly she\\r\\n deserves it; for if there be a kind woman in Windsor, she\\r\\n is one. You must send her your page; no remedy.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Why, I will.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Nay, but do so then; and, look you, he may come\\r\\n and go between you both; and in any case have a\\r\\n nay-word, that you may know one another\\'s mind, and the boy\\r\\n never need to understand any thing; for \\'tis not good that\\r\\n children should know any wickedness. Old folks, you\\r\\n know, have discretion, as they say, and know the world.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Fare thee well; commend me to them both.\\r\\n There\\'s my purse; I am yet thy debtor. Boy, go along with\\r\\n this woman. [Exeunt QUICKLY and ROBIN] This news\\r\\n distracts me.\\r\\n PISTOL. [Aside] This punk is one of Cupid\\'s carriers;\\r\\n Clap on more sails; pursue; up with your fights;\\r\\n Give fire; she is my prize, or ocean whelm them all! Exit\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Say\\'st thou so, old Jack; go thy ways; I\\'ll make\\r\\n more of thy old body than I have done. Will they yet look\\r\\n after thee? Wilt thou, after the expense of so much money,\\r\\n be now a gainer? Good body, I thank thee. Let them say\\r\\n \\'tis grossly done; so it be fairly done, no matter.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BARDOLPH\\r\\n\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Sir John, there\\'s one Master Brook below would\\r\\n fain speak with you, and be acquainted with you; and hath\\r\\n sent your worship a moming\\'s draught of sack.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Brook is his name?\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Ay, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Call him in. [Exit BARDOLPH] Such Brooks are\\r\\n welcome to me, that o\\'erflows such liquor. Ah, ha! Mistress\\r\\n Ford and Mistress Page, have I encompass\\'d you? Go to;\\r\\n via!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter BARDOLPH, with FORD disguised\\r\\n\\r\\n FORD. Bless you, sir! FALSTAFF. And you, sir! Would you speak with\\r\\n me? FORD. I make bold to press with so little preparation upon you.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. You\\'re welcome. What\\'s your will? Give us leave, drawer.\\r\\n Exit BARDOLPH FORD. Sir, I am a\\r\\n gentleman that have spent much; my name is Brook. FALSTAFF. Good\\r\\n Master Brook, I desire more acquaintance of you. FORD. Good Sir John,\\r\\n I sue for yours-not to charge you; for I must let you understand I\\r\\n think myself in better plight for a lender than you are; the which\\r\\n hath something embold\\'ned me to this unseason\\'d intrusion; for they\\r\\n say, if money go before, all ways do lie open. FALSTAFF. Money is a\\r\\n good soldier, sir, and will on. FORD. Troth, and I have a bag of\\r\\n money here troubles me; if you will help to bear it, Sir John, take\\r\\n all, or half, for easing me of the carriage. FALSTAFF. Sir, I know\\r\\n not how I may deserve to be your porter. FORD. I will tell you, sir,\\r\\n if you will give me the hearing. FALSTAFF. Speak, good Master Brook;\\r\\n I shall be glad to be your servant. FORD. Sir, I hear you are a\\r\\n scholar-I will be brief with you -and you have been a man long known\\r\\n to me, though I had never so good means as desire to make myself\\r\\n acquainted with you. I shall discover a thing to you, wherein I must\\r\\n very much lay open mine own imperfection; but, good Sir John, as you\\r\\n have one eye upon my follies, as you hear them unfolded, turn another\\r\\n into the register of your own, that I may pass with a reproof the\\r\\n easier, sith you yourself know how easy is it to be such an offender.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Very well, sir; proceed. FORD. There is a gentlewoman in\\r\\n this town, her husband\\'s name is Ford. FALSTAFF. Well, sir. FORD. I\\r\\n have long lov\\'d her, and, I protest to you, bestowed much on her;\\r\\n followed her with a doting observance; engross\\'d opportunities to\\r\\n meet her; fee\\'d every slight occasion that could but niggardly give\\r\\n me sight of her; not only bought many presents to give her, but have\\r\\n given largely to many to know what she would have given; briefly, I\\r\\n have pursu\\'d her as love hath pursued me; which hath been on the wing\\r\\n of all occasions. But whatsoever I have merited, either in my mind or\\r\\n in my means, meed, I am sure, I have received none, unless experience\\r\\n be a jewel; that I have purchased at an infinite rate, and that hath\\r\\n taught me to say this: \\'Love like a shadow flies when substance love\\r\\n pursues; Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.\\'\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Have you receiv\\'d no promise of satisfaction at her hands?\\r\\n FORD. Never. FALSTAFF. Have you importun\\'d her to such a purpose?\\r\\n FORD. Never. FALSTAFF. Of what quality was your love, then? FORD.\\r\\n Like a fair house built on another man\\'s ground; so that I have lost\\r\\n my edifice by mistaking the place where erected it. FALSTAFF. To what\\r\\n purpose have you unfolded this to me? FORD. When I have told you\\r\\n that, I have told you all. Some say that though she appear honest to\\r\\n me, yet in other places she enlargeth her mirth so far that there is\\r\\n shrewd construction made of her. Now, Sir John, here is the heart of\\r\\n my purpose: you are a gentleman of excellent breeding, admirable\\r\\n discourse, of great admittance, authentic in your place and person,\\r\\n generally allow\\'d for your many war-like, courtlike, and learned\\r\\n preparations. FALSTAFF. O, sir! FORD. Believe it, for you know it.\\r\\n There is money; spend it, spend it; spend more; spend all I have;\\r\\n only give me so much of your time in exchange of it as to lay an\\r\\n amiable siege to the honesty of this Ford\\'s wife; use your art of\\r\\n wooing, win her to consent to you; if any man may, you may as soon as\\r\\n any. FALSTAFF. Would it apply well to the vehemency of your\\r\\n affection, that I should win what you would enjoy? Methinks you\\r\\n prescribe to yourself very preposterously. FORD. O, understand my\\r\\n drift. She dwells so securely on the excellency of her honour that\\r\\n the folly of my soul dares not present itself; she is too bright to\\r\\n be look\\'d against. Now, could I come to her with any detection in my\\r\\n hand, my desires had instance and argument to commend themselves; I\\r\\n could drive her then from the ward of her purity, her reputation, her\\r\\n marriage vow, and a thousand other her defences, which now are too\\r\\n too strongly embattl\\'d against me. What say you to\\'t, Sir John?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Master Brook, I will first make bold with your money; next,\\r\\n give me your hand; and last, as I am a gentleman, you shall, if you\\r\\n will, enjoy Ford\\'s wife. FORD. O good sir! FALSTAFF. I say you shall.\\r\\n FORD. Want no money, Sir John; you shall want none. FALSTAFF. Want no\\r\\n Mistress Ford, Master Brook; you shall want none. I shall be with\\r\\n her, I may tell you, by her own appointment; even as you came in to\\r\\n me her assistant, or go-between, parted from me; I say I shall be\\r\\n with her between ten and eleven; for at that time the jealous\\r\\n rascally knave, her husband, will be forth. Come you to me at night;\\r\\n you shall know how I speed. FORD. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do\\r\\n you know Ford, Sir? FALSTAFF. Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave! I know\\r\\n him not; yet I wrong him to call him poor; they say the jealous\\r\\n wittolly knave hath masses of money; for the which his wife seems to\\r\\n me well-favour\\'d. I will use her as the key of the cuckoldly rogue\\'s\\r\\n coffer; and there\\'s my harvest-home. FORD. I would you knew Ford,\\r\\n sir, that you might avoid him if you saw him. FALSTAFF. Hang him,\\r\\n mechanical salt-butter rogue! I will stare him out of his wits; I\\r\\n will awe him with my cudgel; it shall hang like a meteor o\\'er the\\r\\n cuckold\\'s horns. Master Brook, thou shalt know I will predominate\\r\\n over the peasant, and thou shalt lie with his wife. Come to me soon\\r\\n at night. Ford\\'s a knave, and I will aggravate his style; thou,\\r\\n Master Brook, shalt know him for knave and cuckold. Come to me soon\\r\\n at night. Exit FORD. What a damn\\'d\\r\\n Epicurean rascal is this! My heart is ready to crack with impatience.\\r\\n Who says this is improvident jealousy? My wife hath sent to him; the\\r\\n hour is fix\\'d; the match is made. Would any man have thought this?\\r\\n See the hell of having a false woman! My bed shall be abus\\'d, my\\r\\n coffers ransack\\'d, my reputation gnawn at; and I shall not only\\r\\n receive this villainous wrong, but stand under the adoption of\\r\\n abominable terms, and by him that does me this wrong. Terms! names!\\r\\n Amaimon sounds well; Lucifer, well; Barbason, well; yet they are\\r\\n devils\\' additions, the names of fiends. But cuckold! Wittol! Cuckold!\\r\\n the devil himself hath not such a name. Page is an ass, a secure ass;\\r\\n he will trust his wife; he will not be jealous; I will rather trust a\\r\\n Fleming with my butter, Parson Hugh the Welshman with my cheese, an\\r\\n Irishman with my aqua-vitae bottle, or a thief to walk my ambling\\r\\n gelding, than my wife with herself. Then she plots, then she\\r\\n ruminates, then she devises; and what they think in their hearts they\\r\\n may effect, they will break their hearts but they will effect. God be\\r\\n prais\\'d for my jealousy! Eleven o\\'clock the hour. I will prevent\\r\\n this, detect my wife, be reveng\\'d on Falstaff, and laugh at Page. I\\r\\n will about it; better three hours too soon than a minute too late.\\r\\n Fie, fie, fie! cuckold! cuckold! cuckold! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nA field near Windsor\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter CAIUS and RUGBY\\r\\n\\r\\n CAIUS. Jack Rugby!\\r\\n RUGBY. Sir?\\r\\n CAIUS. Vat is de clock, Jack?\\r\\n RUGBY. \\'Tis past the hour, sir, that Sir Hugh promis\\'d to\\r\\n meet.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, he has save his soul dat he is no come; he has\\r\\n pray his Pible well dat he is no come; by gar, Jack Rugby,\\r\\n he is dead already, if he be come.\\r\\n RUGBY. He is wise, sir; he knew your worship would kill\\r\\n him if he came.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, de herring is no dead so as I vill kill him. Take\\r\\n your rapier, Jack; I vill tell you how I vill kill him.\\r\\n RUGBY. Alas, sir, I cannot fence!\\r\\n CAIUS. Villainy, take your rapier.\\r\\n RUGBY. Forbear; here\\'s company.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HOST, SHALLOW, SLENDER, and PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n HOST. Bless thee, bully doctor!\\r\\n SHALLOW. Save you, Master Doctor Caius!\\r\\n PAGE. Now, good Master Doctor!\\r\\n SLENDER. Give you good morrow, sir.\\r\\n CAIUS. Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, come for?\\r\\n HOST. To see thee fight, to see thee foin, to see thee traverse;\\r\\n to see thee here, to see thee there; to see thee pass thy\\r\\n punto, thy stock, thy reverse, thy distance, thy montant.\\r\\n Is he dead, my Ethiopian? Is he dead, my Francisco? Ha,\\r\\n bully! What says my Aesculapius? my Galen? my heart\\r\\n of elder? Ha! is he dead, bully stale? Is he dead?\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, he is de coward Jack priest of de world; he is\\r\\n not show his face.\\r\\n HOST. Thou art a Castalion-King-Urinal. Hector of Greece,\\r\\n my boy!\\r\\n CAIUS. I pray you, bear witness that me have stay six or\\r\\n seven, two tree hours for him, and he is no come.\\r\\n SHALLOW. He is the wiser man, Master Doctor: he is a curer\\r\\n of souls, and you a curer of bodies; if you should fight,\\r\\n you go against the hair of your professions. Is it not true,\\r\\n Master Page?\\r\\n PAGE. Master Shallow, you have yourself been a great fighter,\\r\\n though now a man of peace.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Bodykins, Master Page, though I now be old, and\\r\\n of the peace, if I see a sword out, my finger itches to make\\r\\n one. Though we are justices, and doctors, and churchmen,\\r\\n Master Page, we have some salt of our youth in us; we are\\r\\n the sons of women, Master Page.\\r\\n PAGE. \\'Tis true, Master Shallow.\\r\\n SHALLOW. It will be found so, Master Page. Master Doctor\\r\\n CAIUS, I come to fetch you home. I am sworn of the peace;\\r\\n you have show\\'d yourself a wise physician, and Sir Hugh\\r\\n hath shown himself a wise and patient churchman. You\\r\\n must go with me, Master Doctor.\\r\\n HOST. Pardon, Guest Justice. A word, Mounseur Mockwater.\\r\\n CAIUS. Mock-vater! Vat is dat?\\r\\n HOST. Mockwater, in our English tongue, is valour, bully.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, then I have as much mockvater as de Englishman.\\r\\n Scurvy jack-dog priest! By gar, me vill cut his ears.\\r\\n HOST. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully.\\r\\n CAIUS. Clapper-de-claw! Vat is dat?\\r\\n HOST. That is, he will make thee amends.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, me do look he shall clapper-de-claw me; for,\\r\\n by gar, me vill have it.\\r\\n HOST. And I will provoke him to\\'t, or let him wag.\\r\\n CAIUS. Me tank you for dat.\\r\\n HOST. And, moreover, bully-but first: [Aside to the others]\\r\\n Master Guest, and Master Page, and eke Cavaleiro Slender,\\r\\n go you through the town to Frogmore.\\r\\n PAGE. [Aside] Sir Hugh is there, is he?\\r\\n HOST. [Aside] He is there. See what humour he is in; and\\r\\n I will bring the doctor about by the fields. Will it do well?\\r\\n SHALLOW. [Aside] We will do it.\\r\\n PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER. Adieu, good Master Doctor.\\r\\n Exeunt PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, me vill kill de priest; for he speak for a jack-\\r\\n an-ape to Anne Page.\\r\\n HOST. Let him die. Sheathe thy impatience; throw cold water\\r\\n on thy choler; go about the fields with me through Frogmore;\\r\\n I will bring thee where Mistress Anne Page is, at a a\\r\\n farm-house, a-feasting; and thou shalt woo her. Cried\\r\\n game! Said I well?\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, me dank you vor dat; by gar, I love you; and\\r\\n I shall procure-a you de good guest, de earl, de knight, de\\r\\n lords, de gentlemen, my patients.\\r\\n HOST. For the which I will be thy adversary toward Anne\\r\\n Page. Said I well?\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, \\'tis good; vell said.\\r\\n HOST. Let us wag, then.\\r\\n CAIUS. Come at my heels, Jack Rugby. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nA field near Frogmore\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SIR HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE\\r\\n\\r\\n EVANS. I pray you now, good Master Slender\\'s serving-man,\\r\\n and friend Simple by your name, which way have you\\r\\n look\\'d for Master Caius, that calls himself Doctor of\\r\\n Physic?\\r\\n SIMPLE. Marry, sir, the pittie-ward, the park-ward; every\\r\\n way; old Windsor way, and every way but the town way.\\r\\n EVANS. I most fehemently desire you you will also look that\\r\\n way.\\r\\n SIMPLE. I will, Sir. Exit\\r\\n EVANS. Pless my soul, how full of chollors I am, and trempling\\r\\n of mind! I shall be glad if he have deceived me. How\\r\\n melancholies I am! I will knog his urinals about his knave\\'s\\r\\n costard when I have goot opportunities for the ork. Pless\\r\\n my soul! [Sings]\\r\\n To shallow rivers, to whose falls\\r\\n Melodious birds sings madrigals;\\r\\n There will we make our peds of roses,\\r\\n And a thousand fragrant posies.\\r\\n To shallow-\\r\\n Mercy on me! I have a great dispositions to cry. [Sings]\\r\\n Melodious birds sing madrigals-\\r\\n Whenas I sat in Pabylon-\\r\\n And a thousand vagram posies.\\r\\n To shallow, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter SIMPLE\\r\\n\\r\\n SIMPLE. Yonder he is, coming this way, Sir Hugh.\\r\\n EVANS. He\\'s welcome. [Sings]\\r\\n To shallow rivers, to whose falls-\\r\\n Heaven prosper the right! What weapons is he?\\r\\n SIMPLE. No weapons, sir. There comes my master, Master\\r\\n Shallow, and another gentleman, from Frogmore, over the\\r\\n stile, this way.\\r\\n EVANS. Pray you give me my gown; or else keep it in your\\r\\n arms. [Takes out a book]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER\\r\\n\\r\\n SHALLOW. How now, Master Parson! Good morrow, good\\r\\n Sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dice, and a good student\\r\\n from his book, and it is wonderful.\\r\\n SLENDER. [Aside] Ah, sweet Anne Page!\\r\\n PAGE. Save you, good Sir Hugh!\\r\\n EVANS. Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you!\\r\\n SHALLOW. What, the sword and the word! Do you study\\r\\n them both, Master Parson?\\r\\n PAGE. And youthful still, in your doublet and hose, this raw\\r\\n rheumatic day!\\r\\n EVANS. There is reasons and causes for it.\\r\\n PAGE. We are come to you to do a good office, Master\\r\\n Parson.\\r\\n EVANS. Fery well; what is it?\\r\\n PAGE. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who, belike having\\r\\n received wrong by some person, is at most odds with\\r\\n his own gravity and patience that ever you saw.\\r\\n SHALLOW. I have lived fourscore years and upward; I never\\r\\n heard a man of his place, gravity, and learning, so wide of\\r\\n his own respect.\\r\\n EVANS. What is he?\\r\\n PAGE. I think you know him: Master Doctor Caius, the\\r\\n renowned French physician.\\r\\n EVANS. Got\\'s will and his passion of my heart! I had as lief\\r\\n you would tell me of a mess of porridge.\\r\\n PAGE. Why?\\r\\n EVANS. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and\\r\\n Galen, and he is a knave besides-a cowardly knave as you\\r\\n would desires to be acquainted withal.\\r\\n PAGE. I warrant you, he\\'s the man should fight with him.\\r\\n SLENDER. [Aside] O sweet Anne Page!\\r\\n SHALLOW. It appears so, by his weapons. Keep them asunder;\\r\\n here comes Doctor Caius.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HOST, CAIUS, and RUGBY\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. Nay, good Master Parson, keep in your weapon.\\r\\n SHALLOW. So do you, good Master Doctor.\\r\\n HOST. Disarm them, and let them question; let them keep\\r\\n their limbs whole and hack our English.\\r\\n CAIUS. I pray you, let-a me speak a word with your ear.\\r\\n Verefore will you not meet-a me?\\r\\n EVANS. [Aside to CAIUS] Pray you use your patience; in\\r\\n good time.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, John ape.\\r\\n EVANS. [Aside to CAIUS] Pray you, let us not be\\r\\n laughing-stocks to other men\\'s humours; I desire you in\\r\\n friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends.\\r\\n [Aloud] I will knog your urinals about your knave\\'s cogscomb\\r\\n for missing your meetings and appointments.\\r\\n CAIUS. Diable! Jack Rugby-mine Host de Jarteer-have I\\r\\n not stay for him to kill him? Have I not, at de place I did\\r\\n appoint?\\r\\n EVANS. As I am a Christians soul, now, look you, this is the\\r\\n place appointed. I\\'ll be judgment by mine host of the\\r\\n Garter.\\r\\n HOST. Peace, I say, Gallia and Gaul, French and Welsh,\\r\\n soul-curer and body-curer.\\r\\n CAIUS. Ay, dat is very good! excellent!\\r\\n HOST. Peace, I say. Hear mine host of the Garter. Am I\\r\\n politic? am I subtle? am I a Machiavel? Shall I lose my\\r\\n doctor? No; he gives me the potions and the motions. Shall I\\r\\n lose my parson, my priest, my Sir Hugh? No; he gives me\\r\\n the proverbs and the noverbs. Give me thy hand, terrestrial;\\r\\n so. Give me thy hand, celestial; so. Boys of art, I have\\r\\n deceiv\\'d you both; I have directed you to wrong places;\\r\\n your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole, and let burnt\\r\\n sack be the issue. Come, lay their swords to pawn. Follow\\r\\n me, lads of peace; follow, follow, follow.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Trust me, a mad host. Follow, gentlemen, follow.\\r\\n SLENDER. [Aside] O sweet Anne Page!\\r\\n Exeunt all but CAIUS and EVANS\\r\\n CAIUS. Ha, do I perceive dat? Have you make-a de sot of us,\\r\\n ha, ha?\\r\\n EVANS. This is well; he has made us his vlouting-stog. I\\r\\n desire you that we may be friends; and let us knog our prains\\r\\n together to be revenge on this same scall, scurvy, cogging\\r\\n companion, the host of the Garter.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, with all my heart. He promise to bring me\\r\\n where is Anne Page; by gar, he deceive me too.\\r\\n EVANS. Well, I will smite his noddles. Pray you follow.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe street in Windsor\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MISTRESS PAGE and ROBIN\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Nay, keep your way, little gallant; you were\\r\\n wont to be a follower, but now you are a leader. Whether\\r\\n had you rather lead mine eyes, or eye your master\\'s heels?\\r\\n ROBIN. I had rather, forsooth, go before you like a man than\\r\\n follow him like a dwarf.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. O, you are a flattering boy; now I see you\\'ll be a\\r\\n courtier.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FORD\\r\\n\\r\\n FORD. Well met, Mistress Page. Whither go you?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Truly, sir, to see your wife. Is she at home?\\r\\n FORD. Ay; and as idle as she may hang together, for want of\\r\\n company. I think, if your husbands were dead, you two\\r\\n would marry.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Be sure of that-two other husbands.\\r\\n FORD. Where had you this pretty weathercock?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. I cannot tell what the dickens his name is my\\r\\n husband had him of. What do you call your knight\\'s\\r\\n name, sirrah?\\r\\n ROBIN. Sir John Falstaff.\\r\\n FORD. Sir John Falstaff!\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. He, he; I can never hit on\\'s name. There is such\\r\\n a league between my good man and he! Is your wife at\\r\\n home indeed?\\r\\n FORD. Indeed she is.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. By your leave, sir. I am sick till I see her.\\r\\n Exeunt MRS. PAGE and ROBIN\\r\\n FORD. Has Page any brains? Hath he any eyes? Hath he any\\r\\n thinking? Sure, they sleep; he hath no use of them. Why,\\r\\n this boy will carry a letter twenty mile as easy as a cannon\\r\\n will shoot pointblank twelve score. He pieces out his wife\\'s\\r\\n inclination; he gives her folly motion and advantage; and\\r\\n now she\\'s going to my wife, and Falstaff\\'s boy with her. A\\r\\n man may hear this show\\'r sing in the wind. And Falstaff\\'s\\r\\n boy with her! Good plots! They are laid; and our revolted\\r\\n wives share damnation together. Well; I will take him,\\r\\n then torture my wife, pluck the borrowed veil of modesty\\r\\n from the so seeming Mistress Page, divulge Page himself\\r\\n for a secure and wilful Actaeon; and to these violent proceedings\\r\\n all my neighbours shall cry aim. [Clock strikes]\\r\\n The clock gives me my cue, and my assurance bids me\\r\\n search; there I shall find Falstaff. I shall be rather prais\\'d\\r\\n for this than mock\\'d; for it is as positive as the earth is firm\\r\\n that Falstaff is there. I will go.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, SLENDER, HOST, SIR HUGH EVANS,\\r\\n CAIUS, and RUGBY\\r\\n\\r\\n SHALLOW, PAGE, &C. Well met, Master Ford.\\r\\n FORD. Trust me, a good knot; I have good cheer at home,\\r\\n and I pray you all go with me.\\r\\n SHALLOW. I must excuse myself, Master Ford.\\r\\n SLENDER. And so must I, sir; we have appointed to dine with\\r\\n Mistress Anne, and I would not break with her for more\\r\\n money than I\\'ll speak of.\\r\\n SHALLOW. We have linger\\'d about a match between Anne\\r\\n Page and my cousin Slender, and this day we shall have\\r\\n our answer.\\r\\n SLENDER. I hope I have your good will, father Page.\\r\\n PAGE. You have, Master Slender; I stand wholly for you. But\\r\\n my wife, Master Doctor, is for you altogether.\\r\\n CAIUS. Ay, be-gar; and de maid is love-a me; my nursh-a\\r\\n Quickly tell me so mush.\\r\\n HOST. What say you to young Master Fenton? He capers,\\r\\n he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes verses, he speaks\\r\\n holiday, he smells April and May; he will carry \\'t, he will\\r\\n carry \\'t; \\'tis in his buttons; he will carry \\'t.\\r\\n PAGE. Not by my consent, I promise you. The gentleman is\\r\\n of no having: he kept company with the wild Prince and\\r\\n Poins; he is of too high a region, he knows too much. No,\\r\\n he shall not knit a knot in his fortunes with the finger of\\r\\n my substance; if he take her, let him take her simply; the\\r\\n wealth I have waits on my consent, and my consent goes\\r\\n not that way.\\r\\n FORD. I beseech you, heartily, some of you go home with me\\r\\n to dinner: besides your cheer, you shall have sport; I will\\r\\n show you a monster. Master Doctor, you shall go; so shall\\r\\n you, Master Page; and you, Sir Hugh.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Well, fare you well; we shall have the freer\\r\\n wooing at Master Page\\'s. Exeunt SHALLOW and SLENDER\\r\\n CAIUS. Go home, John Rugby; I come anon. Exit RUGBY\\r\\n HOST. Farewell, my hearts; I will to my honest knight\\r\\n Falstaff, and drink canary with him. Exit HOST\\r\\n FORD. [Aside] I think I shall drink in pipe-wine first with\\r\\n him. I\\'ll make him dance. Will you go, gentles?\\r\\n ALL. Have with you to see this monster. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nFORD\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MISTRESS FORD and MISTRESS PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. FORD. What, John! what, Robert!\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Quickly, quickly! Is the buck-basket-\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I warrant. What, Robin, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SERVANTS with a basket\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Come, come, come.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Here, set it down.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Give your men the charge; we must be brief.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Marry, as I told you before, John and Robert, be\\r\\n ready here hard by in the brew-house; and when I suddenly\\r\\n call you, come forth, and, without any pause or\\r\\n staggering, take this basket on your shoulders. That done,\\r\\n trudge with it in all haste, and carry it among the whitsters\\r\\n in Datchet Mead, and there empty it in the muddy ditch\\r\\n close by the Thames side.\\r\\n Mrs. PAGE. You will do it?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I ha\\' told them over and over; they lack no\\r\\n direction. Be gone, and come when you are call\\'d.\\r\\n Exeunt SERVANTS\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Here comes little Robin.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ROBIN\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. FORD. How now, my eyas-musket, what news with\\r\\n you?\\r\\n ROBIN. My Master Sir John is come in at your back-door,\\r\\n Mistress Ford, and requests your company.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. You little Jack-a-Lent, have you been true to us?\\r\\n ROBIN. Ay, I\\'ll be sworn. My master knows not of your\\r\\n being here, and hath threat\\'ned to put me into everlasting\\r\\n liberty, if I tell you of it; for he swears he\\'ll turn me away.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Thou \\'rt a good boy; this secrecy of thine shall\\r\\n be a tailor to thee, and shall make thee a new doublet and\\r\\n hose. I\\'ll go hide me.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Do so. Go tell thy master I am alone. [Exit\\r\\n ROBIN] Mistress Page, remember you your cue.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. I warrant thee; if I do not act it, hiss me.\\r\\n Exit MRS. PAGE\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Go to, then; we\\'ll use this unwholesome\\r\\n humidity, this gross wat\\'ry pumpion; we\\'ll teach him to\\r\\n know turtles from jays.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FALSTAFF\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel?\\r\\n Why, now let me die, for I have liv\\'d long enough; this is\\r\\n the period of my ambition. O this blessed hour!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. O sweet Sir John!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate,\\r\\n Mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish; I would thy\\r\\n husband were dead; I\\'ll speak it before the best lord, I\\r\\n would make thee my lady.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I your lady, Sir John? Alas, I should be a pitiful\\r\\n lady.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Let the court of France show me such another. I\\r\\n see how thine eye would emulate the diamond; thou hast\\r\\n the right arched beauty of the brow that becomes the\\r\\n ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any tire of Venetian admittance.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. A plain kerchief, Sir John; my brows become\\r\\n nothing else, nor that well neither.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. By the Lord, thou art a tyrant to say so; thou\\r\\n wouldst make an absolute courtier, and the firm fixture of\\r\\n thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gait in a\\r\\n semi-circled farthingale. I see what thou wert, if Fortune\\r\\n thy foe were, not Nature, thy friend. Come, thou canst not\\r\\n hide it.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Believe me, there\\'s no such thing in me.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What made me love thee? Let that persuade thee\\r\\n there\\'s something extra-ordinary in thee. Come, I cannot\\r\\n cog, and say thou art this and that, like a many of these\\r\\n lisping hawthorn-buds that come like women in men\\'s\\r\\n apparel, and smell like Bucklersbury in simple time; I\\r\\n cannot; but I love thee, none but thee; and thou deserv\\'st it.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Do not betray me, sir; I fear you love Mistress\\r\\n Page.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Thou mightst as well say I love to walk by the\\r\\n Counter-gate, which is as hateful to me as the reek of a\\r\\n lime-kiln.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Well, heaven knows how I love you; and you\\r\\n shall one day find it.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Keep in that mind; I\\'ll deserve it.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Nay, I must tell you, so you do; or else I could\\r\\n not be in that mind.\\r\\n ROBIN. [Within] Mistress Ford, Mistress Ford! here\\'s\\r\\n Mistress Page at the door, sweating and blowing and looking\\r\\n wildly, and would needs speak with you presently.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. She shall not see me; I will ensconce me behind\\r\\n the arras.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Pray you, do so; she\\'s a very tattling woman.\\r\\n [FALSTAFF hides himself]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter MISTRESS PAGE and ROBIN\\r\\n\\r\\n What\\'s the matter? How now!\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. O Mistress Ford, what have you done? You\\'re\\r\\n sham\\'d, y\\'are overthrown, y\\'are undone for ever.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. What\\'s the matter, good Mistress Page?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. O well-a-day, Mistress Ford, having an honest\\r\\n man to your husband, to give him such cause of suspicion!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. What cause of suspicion?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. What cause of suspicion? Out upon you, how\\r\\n am I mistook in you!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why, alas, what\\'s the matter?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Your husband\\'s coming hither, woman, with all\\r\\n the officers in Windsor, to search for a gentleman that he\\r\\n says is here now in the house, by your consent, to take an\\r\\n ill advantage of his absence. You are undone.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. \\'Tis not so, I hope.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Pray heaven it be not so that you have such a\\r\\n man here; but \\'tis most certain your husband\\'s coming,\\r\\n with half Windsor at his heels, to search for such a one. I\\r\\n come before to tell you. If you know yourself clear, why,\\r\\n I am glad of it; but if you have a friend here, convey,\\r\\n convey him out. Be not amaz\\'d; call all your senses to you;\\r\\n defend your reputation, or bid farewell to your good life\\r\\n for ever.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. What shall I do? There is a gentleman, my dear\\r\\n friend; and I fear not mine own shame as much as his peril.\\r\\n I had rather than a thousand pound he were out of the\\r\\n house.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. For shame, never stand \\'you had rather\\' and \\'you\\r\\n had rather\\'! Your husband\\'s here at hand; bethink you of\\r\\n some conveyance; in the house you cannot hide him. O,\\r\\n how have you deceiv\\'d me! Look, here is a basket; if he be\\r\\n of any reasonable stature, he may creep in here; and throw\\r\\n foul linen upon him, as if it were going to bucking, or-it is\\r\\n whiting-time-send him by your two men to Datchet\\r\\n Mead.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. He\\'s too big to go in there. What shall I do?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. [Coming forward] Let me see \\'t, let me see \\'t. O,\\r\\n let me see \\'t! I\\'ll in, I\\'ll in; follow your friend\\'s counsel;\\r\\n I\\'ll in.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. What, Sir John Falstaff! [Aside to FALSTAFF]\\r\\n Are these your letters, knight?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. [Aside to MRS. PAGE] I love thee and none but\\r\\n thee; help me away.-Let me creep in here; I\\'ll never-\\r\\n [Gets into the basket; they cover him with foul linen]\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Help to cover your master, boy. Call your men,\\r\\n Mistress Ford. You dissembling knight!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. What, John! Robert! John! Exit ROBIN\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter SERVANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n Go, take up these clothes here, quickly; where\\'s the cowl-staff?\\r\\n Look how you drumble. Carry them to the laundress in Datchet Mead;\\r\\n quickly, come.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FORD, PAGE, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n FORD. Pray you come near. If I suspect without cause, why\\r\\n then make sport at me, then let me be your jest; I deserve\\r\\n it. How now, whither bear you this?\\r\\n SERVANT. To the laundress, forsooth.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why, what have you to do whither they bear it?\\r\\n You were best meddle with buck-washing.\\r\\n FORD. Buck? I would I could wash myself of the buck!\\r\\n Buck, buck, buck! ay, buck! I warrant you, buck; and of\\r\\n the season too, it shall appear. [Exeunt SERVANTS with\\r\\n basket] Gentlemen, I have dream\\'d to-night; I\\'ll tell you my\\r\\n dream. Here, here, here be my keys; ascend my chambers,\\r\\n search, seek, find out. I\\'ll warrant we\\'ll unkennel the fox.\\r\\n Let me stop this way first. [Locking the door] So, now\\r\\n uncape.\\r\\n PAGE. Good Master Ford, be contented; you wrong yourself\\r\\n too much.\\r\\n FORD. True, Master Page. Up, gentlemen, you shall see sport\\r\\n anon; follow me, gentlemen. Exit\\r\\n EVANS. This is fery fantastical humours and jealousies.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, \\'tis no the fashion of France; it is not jealous\\r\\n in France.\\r\\n PAGE. Nay, follow him, gentlemen; see the issue of his\\r\\n search. Exeunt EVANS, PAGE, and CAIUS\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Is there not a double excellency in this?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I know not which pleases me better, that my\\r\\n husband is deceived, or Sir John.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. What a taking was he in when your husband\\r\\n ask\\'d who was in the basket!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I am half afraid he will have need of washing; so\\r\\n throwing him into the water will do him a benefit.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Hang him, dishonest rascal! I would all of the\\r\\n same strain were in the same distress.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I think my husband hath some special suspicion\\r\\n of Falstaff\\'s being here, for I never saw him so gross in his\\r\\n jealousy till now.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. I Will lay a plot to try that, and we will yet have\\r\\n more tricks with Falstaff. His dissolute disease will scarce\\r\\n obey this medicine.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Shall we send that foolish carrion, Mistress\\r\\n Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing into the water,\\r\\n and give him another hope, to betray him to another\\r\\n punishment?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. We will do it; let him be sent for to-morrow\\r\\n eight o\\'clock, to have amends.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter FORD, PAGE, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n FORD. I cannot find him; may be the knave bragg\\'d of that\\r\\n he could not compass.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. [Aside to MRS. FORD] Heard you that?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. You use me well, Master Ford, do you?\\r\\n FORD. Ay, I do so.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Heaven make you better than your thoughts!\\r\\n FORD. Amen.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. You do yourself mighty wrong, Master Ford.\\r\\n FORD. Ay, ay; I must bear it.\\r\\n EVANS. If there be any pody in the house, and in the\\r\\n chambers, and in the coffers, and in the presses, heaven forgive\\r\\n my sins at the day of judgment!\\r\\n CAIUS. Be gar, nor I too; there is no bodies.\\r\\n PAGE. Fie, fie, Master Ford, are you not asham\\'d? What\\r\\n spirit, what devil suggests this imagination? I would not ha\\'\\r\\n your distemper in this kind for the wealth of Windsor\\r\\n Castle.\\r\\n FORD. \\'Tis my fault, Master Page; I suffer for it.\\r\\n EVANS. You suffer for a pad conscience. Your wife is as\\r\\n honest a omans as I will desires among five thousand, and five\\r\\n hundred too.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, I see \\'tis an honest woman.\\r\\n FORD. Well, I promis\\'d you a dinner. Come, come, walk in\\r\\n the Park. I pray you pardon me; I will hereafter make\\r\\n known to you why I have done this. Come, wife, come,\\r\\n Mistress Page; I pray you pardon me; pray heartly,\\r\\n pardon me.\\r\\n PAGE. Let\\'s go in, gentlemen; but, trust me, we\\'ll mock him.\\r\\n I do invite you to-morrow morning to my house to breakfast;\\r\\n after, we\\'ll a-birding together; I have a fine hawk for\\r\\n the bush. Shall it be so?\\r\\n FORD. Any thing.\\r\\n EVANS. If there is one, I shall make two in the company.\\r\\n CAIUS. If there be one or two, I shall make-a the turd.\\r\\n FORD. Pray you go, Master Page.\\r\\n EVANS. I pray you now, remembrance to-morrow on the\\r\\n lousy knave, mine host.\\r\\n CAIUS. Dat is good; by gar, with all my heart.\\r\\n EVANS. A lousy knave, to have his gibes and his mockeries!\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nBefore PAGE\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FENTON and ANNE PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n FENTON. I see I cannot get thy father\\'s love;\\r\\n Therefore no more turn me to him, sweet Nan.\\r\\n ANNE. Alas, how then?\\r\\n FENTON. Why, thou must be thyself.\\r\\n He doth object I am too great of birth;\\r\\n And that, my state being gall\\'d with my expense,\\r\\n I seek to heal it only by his wealth.\\r\\n Besides these, other bars he lays before me,\\r\\n My riots past, my wild societies;\\r\\n And tells me \\'tis a thing impossible\\r\\n I should love thee but as a property.\\r\\n ANNE.. May be he tells you true.\\r\\n FENTON. No, heaven so speed me in my time to come!\\r\\n Albeit I will confess thy father\\'s wealth\\r\\n Was the first motive that I woo\\'d thee, Anne;\\r\\n Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value\\r\\n Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags;\\r\\n And \\'tis the very riches of thyself\\r\\n That now I aim at.\\r\\n ANNE. Gentle Master Fenton,\\r\\n Yet seek my father\\'s love; still seek it, sir.\\r\\n If opportunity and humblest suit\\r\\n Cannot attain it, why then-hark you hither.\\r\\n [They converse apart]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SHALLOW, SLENDER, and MISTRESS QUICKLY\\r\\n\\r\\n SHALLOW. Break their talk, Mistress Quickly; my kinsman\\r\\n shall speak for himself.\\r\\n SLENDER. I\\'ll make a shaft or a bolt on \\'t; \\'slid, \\'tis but\\r\\n venturing.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Be not dismay\\'d.\\r\\n SLENDER. No, she shall not dismay me. I care not for that,\\r\\n but that I am afeard.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Hark ye, Master Slender would speak a word\\r\\n with you.\\r\\n ANNE. I come to him. [Aside] This is my father\\'s choice.\\r\\n O, what a world of vile ill-favour\\'d faults\\r\\n Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year!\\r\\n QUICKLY. And how does good Master Fenton? Pray you, a\\r\\n word with you.\\r\\n SHALLOW. She\\'s coming; to her, coz. O boy, thou hadst a\\r\\n father!\\r\\n SLENDER. I had a father, Mistress Anne; my uncle can tell\\r\\n you good jests of him. Pray you, uncle, tell Mistress Anne\\r\\n the jest how my father stole two geese out of a pen, good\\r\\n uncle.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you.\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, that I do; as well as I love any woman in\\r\\n Gloucestershire.\\r\\n SHALLOW. He will maintain you like a gentlewoman.\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, that I will come cut and longtail, under the\\r\\n degree of a squire.\\r\\n SHALLOW. He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds\\r\\n jointure.\\r\\n ANNE. Good Master Shallow, let him woo for himself.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Marry, I thank you for it; I thank you for that\\r\\n good comfort. She calls you, coz; I\\'ll leave you.\\r\\n ANNE. Now, Master Slender-\\r\\n SLENDER. Now, good Mistress Anne-\\r\\n ANNE. What is your will?\\r\\n SLENDER. My Will! \\'Od\\'s heartlings, that\\'s a pretty jest\\r\\n indeed! I ne\\'er made my will yet, I thank heaven; I am not\\r\\n such a sickly creature, I give heaven praise.\\r\\n ANNE. I mean, Master Slender, what would you with me?\\r\\n SLENDER. Truly, for mine own part I would little or nothing\\r\\n with you. Your father and my uncle hath made motions;\\r\\n if it be my luck, so; if not, happy man be his dole! They\\r\\n can tell you how things go better than I can. You may ask\\r\\n your father; here he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PAGE and MISTRESS PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. Now, Master Slender! Love him, daughter Anne-\\r\\n Why, how now, what does Master Fenton here?\\r\\n You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house.\\r\\n I told you, sir, my daughter is dispos\\'d of.\\r\\n FENTON. Nay, Master Page, be not impatient.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Good Master Fenton, come not to my child.\\r\\n PAGE. She is no match for you.\\r\\n FENTON. Sir, will you hear me?\\r\\n PAGE. No, good Master Fenton.\\r\\n Come, Master Shallow; come, son Slender; in.\\r\\n Knowing my mind, you wrong me, Master Fenton.\\r\\n Exeunt PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER\\r\\n QUICKLY. Speak to Mistress Page.\\r\\n FENTON. Good Mistress Page, for that I love your daughter\\r\\n In such a righteous fashion as I do,\\r\\n Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and manners,\\r\\n I must advance the colours of my love,\\r\\n And not retire. Let me have your good will.\\r\\n ANNE. Good mother, do not marry me to yond fool.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. I mean it not; I seek you a better husband.\\r\\n QUICKLY. That\\'s my master, Master Doctor.\\r\\n ANNE. Alas, I had rather be set quick i\\' th\\' earth.\\r\\n And bowl\\'d to death with turnips.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Come, trouble not yourself. Good Master\\r\\n Fenton,\\r\\n I will not be your friend, nor enemy;\\r\\n My daughter will I question how she loves you,\\r\\n And as I find her, so am I affected;\\r\\n Till then, farewell, sir; she must needs go in;\\r\\n Her father will be angry.\\r\\n FENTON. Farewell, gentle mistress; farewell, Nan.\\r\\n Exeunt MRS. PAGE and ANNE\\r\\n QUICKLY. This is my doing now: \\'Nay,\\' said I \\'will you cast\\r\\n away your child on a fool, and a physician? Look on\\r\\n Master Fenton.\\' This is my doing.\\r\\n FENTON. I thank thee; and I pray thee, once to-night\\r\\n Give my sweet Nan this ring. There\\'s for thy pains.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Now Heaven send thee good fortune! [Exit\\r\\n FENTON] A kind heart he hath; a woman would run through\\r\\n fire and water for such a kind heart. But yet I would my\\r\\n master had Mistress Anne; or I would Master Slender had\\r\\n her; or, in sooth, I would Master Fenton had her; I will\\r\\n do what I can for them all three, for so I have promis\\'d,\\r\\n and I\\'ll be as good as my word; but speciously for Master\\r\\n Fenton. Well, I must of another errand to Sir John Falstaff\\r\\n from my two mistresses. What a beast am I to slack it!\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Bardolph, I say!\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Here, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Go fetch me a quart of sack; put a toast in \\'t.\\r\\n Exit BARDOLPH\\r\\n Have I liv\\'d to be carried in a basket, like a barrow of\\r\\n butcher\\'s offal, and to be thrown in the Thames? Well, if\\r\\n I be serv\\'d such another trick, I\\'ll have my brains ta\\'en out\\r\\n and butter\\'d, and give them to a dog for a new-year\\'s gift.\\r\\n The rogues slighted me into the river with as little remorse\\r\\n as they would have drown\\'d a blind bitch\\'s puppies, fifteen\\r\\n i\\' th\\' litter; and you may know by my size that I have\\r\\n a kind of alacrity in sinking; if the bottom were as deep as\\r\\n hell I should down. I had been drown\\'d but that the shore\\r\\n was shelvy and shallow-a death that I abhor; for the water\\r\\n swells a man; and what a thing should I have been when\\r\\n had been swell\\'d! I should have been a mountain of\\r\\n mummy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter BARDOLPH, with sack\\r\\n\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Here\\'s Mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with you\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Come, let me pour in some sack to the Thames\\r\\n water; for my belly\\'s as cold as if I had swallow\\'d\\r\\n snowballs for pills to cool the reins. Call her in.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Come in, woman.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY\\r\\n\\r\\n QUICKLY. By your leave; I cry you mercy. Give your\\r\\n worship good morrow.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Take away these chalices. Go, brew me a pottle\\r\\n of sack finely.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. With eggs, sir?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Simple of itself; I\\'ll no pullet-sperm in my\\r\\n brewage. [Exit BARDOLPH] How now!\\r\\n QUICKLY. Marry, sir, I come to your worship from Mistress\\r\\n Ford.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford! I have had ford enough; I was\\r\\n thrown into the ford; I have my belly full of ford.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Alas the day, good heart, that was not her fault!\\r\\n She does so take on with her men; they mistook their\\r\\n erection.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish woman\\'s\\r\\n promise.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would yearn\\r\\n your heart to see it. Her husband goes this morning\\r\\n a-birding; she desires you once more to come to her between\\r\\n eight and nine; I must carry her word quickly. She\\'ll make\\r\\n you amends, I warrant you.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Well, I Will visit her. Tell her so; and bid her\\r\\n think what a man is. Let her consider his frailty, and then\\r\\n judge of my merit.\\r\\n QUICKLY. I will tell her.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Do so. Between nine and ten, say\\'st thou?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Eight and nine, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Well, be gone; I will not miss her.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Peace be with you, sir. Exit\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I marvel I hear not of Master Brook; he sent me\\r\\n word to stay within. I like his money well. O, here he\\r\\n comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FORD disguised\\r\\n\\r\\n FORD. Bless you, sir!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Now, Master Brook, you come to know what\\r\\n hath pass\\'d between me and Ford\\'s wife?\\r\\n FORD. That, indeed, Sir John, is my business.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Master Brook, I will not lie to you; I was at her\\r\\n house the hour she appointed me.\\r\\n FORD. And sped you, sir?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Very ill-favouredly, Master Brook.\\r\\n FORD. How so, sir; did she change her determination?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. No. Master Brook; but the peaking cornuto her\\r\\n husband, Master Brook, dwelling in a continual \\'larum of\\r\\n jealousy, comes me in the instant of our, encounter, after\\r\\n we had embrac\\'d, kiss\\'d, protested, and, as it were, spoke\\r\\n the prologue of our comedy; and at his heels a rabble of his\\r\\n companions, thither provoked and instigated by his\\r\\n distemper, and, forsooth, to search his house for his wife\\'s\\r\\n love.\\r\\n FORD. What, while you were there?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. While I was there.\\r\\n FORD. And did he search for you, and could not find you?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. You shall hear. As good luck would have it, comes\\r\\n in one Mistress Page, gives intelligence of Ford\\'s approach;\\r\\n and, in her invention and Ford\\'s wife\\'s distraction, they\\r\\n convey\\'d me into a buck-basket.\\r\\n FORD. A buck-basket!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. By the Lord, a buck-basket! Ramm\\'d me in with\\r\\n foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul stockings, greasy\\r\\n napkins, that, Master Brook, there was the rankest compound\\r\\n of villainous smell that ever offended nostril.\\r\\n FORD. And how long lay you there?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Nay, you shall hear, Master Brook, what I have\\r\\n suffer\\'d to bring this woman to evil for your good. Being\\r\\n thus cramm\\'d in the basket, a couple of Ford\\'s knaves, his\\r\\n hinds, were call\\'d forth by their mistress to carry me in\\r\\n the name of foul clothes to Datchet Lane; they took me on\\r\\n their shoulders; met the jealous knave their master in the\\r\\n door; who ask\\'d them once or twice what they had in their\\r\\n basket. I quak\\'d for fear lest the lunatic knave would have\\r\\n search\\'d it; but Fate, ordaining he should be a cuckold,\\r\\n held his hand. Well, on went he for a search, and away\\r\\n went I for foul clothes. But mark the sequel, Master\\r\\n Brook-I suffered the pangs of three several deaths: first,\\r\\n an intolerable fright to be detected with a jealous rotten\\r\\n bell-wether; next, to be compass\\'d like a good bilbo in the\\r\\n circumference of a peck, hilt to point, heel to head; and\\r\\n then, to be stopp\\'d in, like a strong distillation, with\\r\\n stinking clothes that fretted in their own grease. Think of that\\r\\n -a man of my kidney. Think of that-that am as subject to\\r\\n heat as butter; a man of continual dissolution and thaw. It\\r\\n was a miracle to scape suffocation. And in the height of\\r\\n this bath, when I was more than half-stew\\'d in grease, like\\r\\n a Dutch dish, to be thrown into the Thames, and cool\\'d,\\r\\n glowing hot, in that surge, like a horse-shoe; think of that\\r\\n -hissing hot. Think of that, Master Brook.\\r\\n FORD. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for my sake you\\r\\n have suffer\\'d all this. My suit, then, is desperate;\\r\\n you\\'ll undertake her no more.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Master Brook, I will be thrown into Etna, as I\\r\\n have been into Thames, ere I will leave her thus. Her\\r\\n husband is this morning gone a-birding; I have received from\\r\\n her another embassy of meeting; \\'twixt eight and nine is\\r\\n the hour, Master Brook.\\r\\n FORD. \\'Tis past eight already, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Is it? I Will then address me to my appointment.\\r\\n Come to me at your convenient leisure, and you shall\\r\\n know how I speed; and the conclusion shall be crowned\\r\\n with your enjoying her. Adieu. You shall have her, Master\\r\\n Brook; Master Brook, you shall cuckold Ford. Exit\\r\\n FORD. Hum! ha! Is this a vision? Is this a dream? Do I sleep?\\r\\n Master Ford, awake; awake, Master Ford. There\\'s a hole\\r\\n made in your best coat, Master Ford. This \\'tis to be\\r\\n married; this \\'tis to have linen and buck-baskets! Well, I will\\r\\n proclaim myself what I am; I will now take the lecher; he\\r\\n is at my house. He cannot scape me; \\'tis impossible he\\r\\n should; he cannot creep into a halfpenny purse nor into\\r\\n a pepper box. But, lest the devil that guides him should aid\\r\\n him, I will search impossible places. Though what I am I\\r\\n cannot avoid, yet to be what I would not shall not make\\r\\n me tame. If I have horns to make one mad, let the proverb\\r\\n go with me-I\\'ll be horn mad. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I.\\r\\n\\r\\nWindsor. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS QUICKLY, and WILLIAM\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Is he at Master Ford\\'s already, think\\'st thou?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Sure he is by this; or will be presently; but truly\\r\\n he is very courageous mad about his throwing into the\\r\\n water. Mistress Ford desires you to come suddenly.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. I\\'ll be with her by and by; I\\'ll but bring my\\r\\n young man here to school. Look where his master comes;\\r\\n \\'tis a playing day, I see.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, Sir Hugh, no school to-day?\\r\\n EVANS. No; Master Slender is let the boys leave to play.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Blessing of his heart!\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Sir Hugh, my husband says my son profits\\r\\n nothing in the world at his book; I pray you ask him some\\r\\n questions in his accidence.\\r\\n EVANS. Come hither, William; hold up your head; come.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Come on, sirrah; hold up your head; answer your\\r\\n master; be not afraid.\\r\\n EVANS. William, how many numbers is in nouns?\\r\\n WILLIAM. Two.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Truly, I thought there had been one number\\r\\n more, because they say \\'Od\\'s nouns.\\'\\r\\n EVANS. Peace your tattlings. What is \\'fair,\\' William?\\r\\n WILLIAM. Pulcher.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Polecats! There are fairer things than polecats,\\r\\n sure.\\r\\n EVANS. You are a very simplicity oman; I pray you, peace.\\r\\n What is \\'lapis,\\' William?\\r\\n WILLIAM. A stone.\\r\\n EVANS. And what is \\'a stone,\\' William?\\r\\n WILLIAM. A pebble.\\r\\n EVANS. No, it is \\'lapis\\'; I pray you remember in your prain.\\r\\n WILLIAM. Lapis.\\r\\n EVANS. That is a good William. What is he, William, that\\r\\n does lend articles?\\r\\n WILLIAM. Articles are borrowed of the pronoun, and be\\r\\n thus declined: Singulariter, nominativo; hic, haec, hoc.\\r\\n EVANS. Nominativo, hig, hag, hog; pray you, mark: genitivo,\\r\\n hujus. Well, what is your accusative case?\\r\\n WILLIAM. Accusativo, hinc.\\r\\n EVANS. I pray you, have your remembrance, child.\\r\\n Accusativo, hung, hang, hog.\\r\\n QUICKLY. \\'Hang-hog\\' is Latin for bacon, I warrant you.\\r\\n EVANS. Leave your prabbles, oman. What is the focative\\r\\n case, William?\\r\\n WILLIAM. O-vocativo, O.\\r\\n EVANS. Remember, William: focative is caret.\\r\\n QUICKLY. And that\\'s a good root.\\r\\n EVANS. Oman, forbear.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Peace.\\r\\n EVANS. What is your genitive case plural, William?\\r\\n WILLIAM. Genitive case?\\r\\n EVANS. Ay.\\r\\n WILLIAM. Genitive: horum, harum, horum.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Vengeance of Jenny\\'s case; fie on her! Never\\r\\n name her, child, if she be a whore.\\r\\n EVANS. For shame, oman.\\r\\n QUICKLY. YOU do ill to teach the child such words. He\\r\\n teaches him to hick and to hack, which they\\'ll do fast\\r\\n enough of themselves; and to call \\'horum\\'; fie upon you!\\r\\n EVANS. Oman, art thou lunatics? Hast thou no understandings\\r\\n for thy cases, and the numbers of the genders? Thou\\r\\n art as foolish Christian creatures as I would desires.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Prithee hold thy peace.\\r\\n EVANS. Show me now, William, some declensions of your\\r\\n pronouns.\\r\\n WILLIAM. Forsooth, I have forgot.\\r\\n EVANS. It is qui, quae, quod; if you forget your qui\\'s, your\\r\\n quae\\'s, and your quod\\'s, you must be preeches. Go your\\r\\n ways and play; go.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. He is a better scholar than I thought he was.\\r\\n EVANS. He is a good sprag memory. Farewell, Mistress Page.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Adieu, good Sir Hugh. Exit SIR HUGH\\r\\n Get you home, boy. Come, we stay too long. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nFORD\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FALSTAFF and MISTRESS FORD\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up my\\r\\n sufferance. I see you are obsequious in your love, and I\\r\\n profess requital to a hair\\'s breadth; not only, Mistress Ford, in\\r\\n the simple office of love, but in all the accoutrement,\\r\\n complement, and ceremony of it. But are you sure of your\\r\\n husband now?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. He\\'s a-birding, sweet Sir John.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. [Within] What hoa, gossip Ford, what hoa!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Step into th\\' chamber, Sir John. Exit FALSTAFF\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. How now, sweetheart, who\\'s at home besides\\r\\n yourself?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why, none but mine own people.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Indeed?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. No, certainly. [Aside to her] Speak louder.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Truly, I am so glad you have nobody here.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Why, woman, your husband is in his old lunes\\r\\n again. He so takes on yonder with my husband; so rails\\r\\n against all married mankind; so curses an Eve\\'s daughters,\\r\\n of what complexion soever; and so buffets himself on the\\r\\n forehead, crying \\'Peer-out, peer-out!\\' that any madness I\\r\\n ever yet beheld seem\\'d but tameness, civility, and patience,\\r\\n to this his distemper he is in now. I am glad the fat knight\\r\\n is not here.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why, does he talk of him?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Of none but him; and swears he was carried out,\\r\\n the last time he search\\'d for him, in a basket; protests to\\r\\n my husband he is now here; and hath drawn him and the\\r\\n rest of their company from their sport, to make another\\r\\n experiment of his suspicion. But I am glad the knight is not\\r\\n here; now he shall see his own foolery.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. How near is he, Mistress Page?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Hard by, at street end; he will be here anon.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I am undone: the knight is here.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Why, then, you are utterly sham\\'d, and he\\'s but\\r\\n a dead man. What a woman are you! Away with him,\\r\\n away with him; better shame than murder.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Which way should he go? How should I bestow\\r\\n him? Shall I put him into the basket again?\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter FALSTAFF\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. No, I\\'ll come no more i\\' th\\' basket. May I not go\\r\\n out ere he come?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Alas, three of Master Ford\\'s brothers watch the\\r\\n door with pistols, that none shall issue out; otherwise you\\r\\n might slip away ere he came. But what make you here?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What shall I do? I\\'ll creep up into the chimney.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. There they always use to discharge their\\r\\n birding-pieces.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Creep into the kiln-hole.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Where is it?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. He will seek there, on my word. Neither press,\\r\\n coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but he hath an abstract for\\r\\n the remembrance of such places, and goes to them by his\\r\\n note. There is no hiding you in the house.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I\\'ll go out then.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. If you go out in your own semblance, you die,\\r\\n Sir John. Unless you go out disguis\\'d.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. How might we disguise him?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Alas the day, I know not! There is no woman\\'s\\r\\n gown big enough for him; otherwise he might put on a\\r\\n hat, a muffler, and a kerchief, and so escape.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Good hearts, devise something; any extremity\\r\\n rather than a mischief.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. My Maid\\'s aunt, the fat woman of Brainford, has\\r\\n a gown above.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. On my word, it will serve him; she\\'s as big as he\\r\\n is; and there\\'s her thrumm\\'d hat, and her muffler too. Run\\r\\n up, Sir John.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Go, go, sweet Sir John. Mistress Page and I will\\r\\n look some linen for your head.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Quick, quick; we\\'ll come dress you straight. Put\\r\\n on the gown the while. Exit FALSTAFF\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I would my husband would meet him in this\\r\\n shape; he cannot abide the old woman of Brainford; he\\r\\n swears she\\'s a witch, forbade her my house, and hath\\r\\n threat\\'ned to beat her.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Heaven guide him to thy husband\\'s cudgel; and\\r\\n the devil guide his cudgel afterwards!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. But is my husband coming?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Ay, in good sadness is he; and talks of the basket\\r\\n too, howsoever he hath had intelligence.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. We\\'ll try that; for I\\'ll appoint my men to carry\\r\\n the basket again, to meet him at the door with it as they\\r\\n did last time.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Nay, but he\\'ll be here presently; let\\'s go dress\\r\\n him like the witch of Brainford.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I\\'ll first direct my men what they shall do with\\r\\n the basket. Go up; I\\'ll bring linen for him straight. Exit\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Hang him, dishonest varlet! we cannot misuse\\r\\n him enough.\\r\\n We\\'ll leave a proof, by that which we will do,\\r\\n Wives may be merry and yet honest too.\\r\\n We do not act that often jest and laugh;\\r\\n \\'Tis old but true: Still swine eats all the draff. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter MISTRESS FORD, with two SERVANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Go, sirs, take the basket again on your shoulders;\\r\\n your master is hard at door; if he bid you set it down, obey\\r\\n him; quickly, dispatch. Exit\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. Come, come, take it up.\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. Pray heaven it be not full of knight again.\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. I hope not; I had lief as bear so much lead.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FORD, PAGE, SHALLOW, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n FORD. Ay, but if it prove true, Master Page, have you any\\r\\n way then to unfool me again? Set down the basket, villain!\\r\\n Somebody call my wife. Youth in a basket! O you panderly\\r\\n rascals, there\\'s a knot, a ging, a pack, a conspiracy\\r\\n against me. Now shall the devil be sham\\'d. What, wife, I\\r\\n say! Come, come forth; behold what honest clothes you\\r\\n send forth to bleaching.\\r\\n PAGE. Why, this passes, Master Ford; you are not to go loose\\r\\n any longer; you must be pinion\\'d.\\r\\n EVANS. Why, this is lunatics. This is mad as a mad dog.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Indeed, Master Ford, this is not well, indeed.\\r\\n FORD. So say I too, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter MISTRESS FORD\\r\\n\\r\\n Come hither, Mistress Ford; Mistress Ford, the honest\\r\\n woman, the modest wife, the virtuous creature, that hath\\r\\n the jealous fool to her husband! I suspect without cause,\\r\\n Mistress, do I?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Heaven be my witness, you do, if you suspect\\r\\n me in any dishonesty.\\r\\n FORD. Well said, brazen-face; hold it out. Come forth, sirrah.\\r\\n [Pulling clothes out of the basket]\\r\\n PAGE. This passes!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Are you not asham\\'d? Let the clothes alone.\\r\\n FORD. I shall find you anon.\\r\\n EVANS. \\'Tis unreasonable. Will you take up your wife\\'s\\r\\n clothes? Come away.\\r\\n FORD. Empty the basket, I say.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why, man, why?\\r\\n FORD. Master Page, as I am a man, there was one convey\\'d\\r\\n out of my house yesterday in this basket. Why may not\\r\\n he be there again? In my house I am sure he is; my\\r\\n intelligence is true; my jealousy is reasonable.\\r\\n Pluck me out all the linen.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. If you find a man there, he shall die a flea\\'s\\r\\n death.\\r\\n PAGE. Here\\'s no man.\\r\\n SHALLOW. By my fidelity, this is not well, Master Ford; this\\r\\n wrongs you.\\r\\n EVANS. Master Ford, you must pray, and not follow the\\r\\n imaginations of your own heart; this is jealousies.\\r\\n FORD. Well, he\\'s not here I seek for.\\r\\n PAGE. No, nor nowhere else but in your brain.\\r\\n FORD. Help to search my house this one time. If I find not\\r\\n what I seek, show no colour for my extremity; let me for\\r\\n ever be your table sport; let them say of me \\'As jealous as\\r\\n Ford, that search\\'d a hollow walnut for his wife\\'s leman.\\'\\r\\n Satisfy me once more; once more search with me.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. What, hoa, Mistress Page! Come you and the old\\r\\n woman down; my husband will come into the chamber.\\r\\n FORD. Old woman? what old woman\\'s that?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why, it is my maid\\'s aunt of Brainford.\\r\\n FORD. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean! Have I not\\r\\n forbid her my house? She comes of errands, does she? We\\r\\n are simple men; we do not know what\\'s brought to pass\\r\\n under the profession of fortune-telling. She works by\\r\\n charms, by spells, by th\\' figure, and such daub\\'ry as this\\r\\n is, beyond our element. We know nothing. Come down, you\\r\\n witch, you hag you; come down, I say.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Nay, good sweet husband! Good gentlemen, let\\r\\n him not strike the old woman.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter FALSTAFF in woman\\'s clothes, and MISTRESS PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Come, Mother Prat; come. give me your hand.\\r\\n FORD. I\\'ll prat her. [Beating him] Out of my door, you\\r\\n witch, you hag, you. baggage, you polecat, you ronyon!\\r\\n Out, out! I\\'ll conjure you, I\\'ll fortune-tell you.\\r\\n Exit FALSTAFF\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Are you not asham\\'d? I think you have kill\\'d the\\r\\n poor woman.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Nay, he will do it. \\'Tis a goodly credit for you.\\r\\n FORD. Hang her, witch!\\r\\n EVANS. By yea and no, I think the oman is a witch indeed; I\\r\\n like not when a oman has a great peard; I spy a great peard\\r\\n under his muffler.\\r\\n FORD. Will you follow, gentlemen? I beseech you follow;\\r\\n see but the issue of my jealousy; if I cry out thus upon no\\r\\n trail, never trust me when I open again.\\r\\n PAGE. Let\\'s obey his humour a little further. Come,\\r\\n gentlemen. Exeunt all but MRS. FORD and MRS. PAGE\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Trust me, he beat him most pitifully.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Nay, by th\\' mass, that he did not; he beat him\\r\\n most unpitifully methought.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. I\\'ll have the cudgel hallow\\'d and hung o\\'er the\\r\\n altar; it hath done meritorious service.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. What think you? May we, with the warrant of\\r\\n womanhood and the witness of a good conscience, pursue\\r\\n him with any further revenge?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. The spirit of wantonness is sure scar\\'d out of\\r\\n him; if the devil have him not in fee-simple, with fine and\\r\\n recovery, he will never, I think, in the way of waste,\\r\\n attempt us again.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Shall we tell our husbands how we have serv\\'d\\r\\n him?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Yes, by all means; if it be but to scrape the\\r\\n figures out of your husband\\'s brains. If they can find in their\\r\\n hearts the poor unvirtuous fat knight shall be any further\\r\\n afflicted, we two will still be the ministers.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I\\'ll warrant they\\'ll have him publicly sham\\'d;\\r\\n and methinks there would be no period to the jest, should\\r\\n he not be publicly sham\\'d.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Come, to the forge with it then; shape it. I\\r\\n would not have things cool. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter HOST and BARDOLPH\\r\\n\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Sir, the Germans desire to have three of your\\r\\n horses; the Duke himself will be to-morrow at court, and\\r\\n they are going to meet him.\\r\\n HOST. What duke should that be comes so secretly? I hear\\r\\n not of him in the court. Let me speak with the gentlemen;\\r\\n they speak English?\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Ay, sir; I\\'ll call them to you.\\r\\n HOST. They shall have my horses, but I\\'ll make them pay;\\r\\n I\\'ll sauce them; they have had my house a week at\\r\\n command; I have turn\\'d away my other guests. They must\\r\\n come off; I\\'ll sauce them. Come. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4\\r\\n\\r\\nFORD\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PAGE, FORD, MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n EVANS. \\'Tis one of the best discretions of a oman as ever\\r\\n did look upon.\\r\\n PAGE. And did he send you both these letters at an instant?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Within a quarter of an hour.\\r\\n FORD. Pardon me, wife. Henceforth, do what thou wilt;\\r\\n I rather will suspect the sun with cold\\r\\n Than thee with wantonness. Now doth thy honour stand,\\r\\n In him that was of late an heretic,\\r\\n As firm as faith.\\r\\n PAGE. \\'Tis well, \\'tis well; no more.\\r\\n Be not as extreme in submission as in offence;\\r\\n But let our plot go forward. Let our wives\\r\\n Yet once again, to make us public sport,\\r\\n Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow,\\r\\n Where we may take him and disgrace him for it.\\r\\n FORD. There is no better way than that they spoke of.\\r\\n PAGE. How? To send him word they\\'ll meet him in the Park\\r\\n at midnight? Fie, fie! he\\'ll never come!\\r\\n EVANS. You say he has been thrown in the rivers; and has\\r\\n been grievously peaten as an old oman; methinks there\\r\\n should be terrors in him, that he should not come;\\r\\n methinks his flesh is punish\\'d; he shall have no desires.\\r\\n PAGE. So think I too.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Devise but how you\\'ll use him when he comes,\\r\\n And let us two devise to bring him thither.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. There is an old tale goes that Heme the Hunter,\\r\\n Sometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest,\\r\\n Doth all the winter-time, at still midnight,\\r\\n Walk round about an oak, with great ragg\\'d horns;\\r\\n And there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle,\\r\\n And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a chain\\r\\n In a most hideous and dreadful manner.\\r\\n You have heard of such a spirit, and well you know\\r\\n The superstitious idle-headed eld\\r\\n Receiv\\'d, and did deliver to our age,\\r\\n This tale of Heme the Hunter for a truth.\\r\\n PAGE. Why yet there want not many that do fear\\r\\n In deep of night to walk by this Herne\\'s oak.\\r\\n But what of this?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Marry, this is our device-\\r\\n That Falstaff at that oak shall meet with us,\\r\\n Disguis\\'d, like Heme, with huge horns on his head.\\r\\n PAGE. Well, let it not be doubted but he\\'ll come,\\r\\n And in this shape. When you have brought him thither,\\r\\n What shall be done with him? What is your plot?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. That likewise have we thought upon, and\\r\\n thus:\\r\\n Nan Page my daughter, and my little son,\\r\\n And three or four more of their growth, we\\'ll dress\\r\\n Like urchins, ouphes, and fairies, green and white,\\r\\n With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads,\\r\\n And rattles in their hands; upon a sudden,\\r\\n As Falstaff, she, and I, are newly met,\\r\\n Let them from forth a sawpit rush at once\\r\\n With some diffused song; upon their sight\\r\\n We two in great amazedness will fly.\\r\\n Then let them all encircle him about,\\r\\n And fairy-like, to pinch the unclean knight;\\r\\n And ask him why, that hour of fairy revel,\\r\\n In their so sacred paths he dares to tread\\r\\n In shape profane.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. And till he tell the truth,\\r\\n Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound,\\r\\n And burn him with their tapers.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. The truth being known,\\r\\n We\\'ll all present ourselves; dis-horn the spirit,\\r\\n And mock him home to Windsor.\\r\\n FORD. The children must\\r\\n Be practis\\'d well to this or they\\'ll nev\\'r do \\'t.\\r\\n EVANS. I will teach the children their behaviours; and I will\\r\\n be like a jack-an-apes also, to burn the knight with my\\r\\n taber.\\r\\n FORD. That will be excellent. I\\'ll go buy them vizards.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. My Nan shall be the Queen of all the Fairies,\\r\\n Finely attired in a robe of white.\\r\\n PAGE. That silk will I go buy. [Aside] And in that time\\r\\n Shall Master Slender steal my Nan away,\\r\\n And marry her at Eton.-Go, send to Falstaff straight.\\r\\n FORD. Nay, I\\'ll to him again, in name of Brook;\\r\\n He\\'ll tell me all his purpose. Sure, he\\'ll come.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Fear not you that. Go get us properties\\r\\n And tricking for our fairies.\\r\\n EVANS. Let us about it. It is admirable pleasures, and fery\\r\\n honest knaveries. Exeunt PAGE, FORD, and EVANS\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Go, Mistress Ford.\\r\\n Send Quickly to Sir John to know his mind.\\r\\n Exit MRS. FORD\\r\\n I\\'ll to the Doctor; he hath my good will,\\r\\n And none but he, to marry with Nan Page.\\r\\n That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot;\\r\\n And he my husband best of all affects.\\r\\n The Doctor is well money\\'d, and his friends\\r\\n Potent at court; he, none but he, shall have her,\\r\\n Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave her. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter HOST and SIMPLE\\r\\n\\r\\n HOST. What wouldst thou have, boor? What, thick-skin?\\r\\n Speak, breathe, discuss; brief, short, quick, snap.\\r\\n SIMPLE. Marry, sir, I come to speak with Sir John Falstaff\\r\\n from Master Slender.\\r\\n HOST. There\\'s his chamber, his house, his castle, his\\r\\n standing-bed and truckle-bed; \\'tis painted about with the\\r\\n story of the Prodigal, fresh and new. Go, knock and can; he\\'ll\\r\\n speak like an Anthropophaginian unto thee. Knock, I say.\\r\\n SIMPLE. There\\'s an old woman, a fat woman, gone up into\\r\\n his chamber; I\\'ll be so bold as stay, sir, till she come down;\\r\\n I come to speak with her, indeed.\\r\\n HOST. Ha! a fat woman? The knight may be robb\\'d. I\\'ll call.\\r\\n Bully knight! Bully Sir John! Speak from thy lungs\\r\\n military. Art thou there? It is thine host, thine Ephesian, calls.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. [Above] How now, mine host?\\r\\n HOST. Here\\'s a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the coming down of\\r\\n thy fat woman. Let her descend, bully, let her descend;\\r\\n my chambers are honourible. Fie, privacy, fie!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FALSTAFF\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. There was, mine host, an old fat woman even\\r\\n now with, me; but she\\'s gone.\\r\\n SIMPLE. Pray you, sir, was\\'t not the wise woman of\\r\\n Brainford?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Ay, marry was it, mussel-shell. What would you\\r\\n with her?\\r\\n SIMPLE. My master, sir, my Master Slender, sent to her,\\r\\n seeing her go thorough the streets, to know, sir, whether one\\r\\n Nym, sir, that beguil\\'d him of a chain, had the chain or no.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I spake with the old woman about it.\\r\\n SIMPLE. And what says she, I pray, sir?\\r\\n FALSTAFF Marry, she says that the very same man that\\r\\n beguil\\'d Master Slender of his chain cozen\\'d him of it.\\r\\n SIMPLE. I would I could have spoken with the woman\\r\\n herself; I had other things to have spoken with her too,\\r\\n from him.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What are they? Let us know.\\r\\n HOST. Ay, come; quick.\\r\\n SIMPLE. I may not conceal them, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Conceal them, or thou diest.\\r\\n SIMPLE.. Why, sir, they were nothing but about Mistress\\r\\n Anne Page: to know if it were my master\\'s fortune to\\r\\n have her or no.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. \\'Tis, \\'tis his fortune.\\r\\n SIMPLE. What sir?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. To have her, or no. Go; say the woman told me\\r\\n so.\\r\\n SIMPLE. May I be bold to say so, sir?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Ay, sir, like who more bold?\\r\\n SIMPLE., I thank your worship; I shall make my master glad\\r\\n with these tidings. Exit SIMPLE\\r\\n HOST. Thou art clerkly, thou art clerkly, Sir John. Was\\r\\n there a wise woman with thee?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Ay, that there was, mine host; one that hath\\r\\n taught me more wit than ever I learn\\'d before in my life;\\r\\n and I paid nothing for it neither, but was paid for my\\r\\n learning.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BARDOLPH\\r\\n\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Out, alas, sir, cozenage, mere cozenage!\\r\\n HOST. Where be my horses? Speak well of them, varletto.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Run away with the cozeners; for so soon as I\\r\\n came beyond Eton, they threw me off from behind one of\\r\\n them, in a slough of mire; and set spurs and away, like\\r\\n three German devils, three Doctor Faustuses.\\r\\n HOST. They are gone but to meet the Duke, villain; do not\\r\\n say they be fled. Germans are honest men.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n EVANS. Where is mine host?\\r\\n HOST. What is the matter, sir?\\r\\n EVANS. Have a care of your entertainments. There is a friend\\r\\n of mine come to town tells me there is three\\r\\n cozen-germans that has cozen\\'d all the hosts of Readins,\\r\\n of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, of horses and money. I tell you for\\r\\n good will, look you; you are wise, and full of gibes and\\r\\n vlouting-stogs, and \\'tis not convenient you should be\\r\\n cozened. Fare you well. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DOCTOR CAIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n CAIUS. Vere is mine host de Jarteer?\\r\\n HOST. Here, Master Doctor, in perplexity and doubtful\\r\\n dilemma.\\r\\n CAIUS. I cannot tell vat is dat; but it is tell-a me dat you\\r\\n make grand preparation for a Duke de Jamany. By my\\r\\n trot, dere is no duke that the court is know to come; I\\r\\n tell you for good will. Adieu. Exit\\r\\n HOST. Hue and cry, villain, go! Assist me, knight; I am\\r\\n undone. Fly, run, hue and cry, villain; I am undone.\\r\\n Exeunt HOST and BARDOLPH\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I would all the world might be cozen\\'d, for I have\\r\\n been cozen\\'d and beaten too. If it should come to the car\\r\\n of the court how I have been transformed, and how my\\r\\n transformation hath been wash\\'d and cudgell\\'d, they\\r\\n would melt me out of my fat, drop by drop, and liquor\\r\\n fishermen\\'s boots with me; I warrant they would whip me\\r\\n with their fine wits till I were as crestfall\\'n as a dried pear.\\r\\n I never prosper\\'d since I forswore myself at primero. Well,\\r\\n if my wind were but long enough to say my prayers,\\r\\n would repent.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY\\r\\n\\r\\n Now! whence come you?\\r\\n QUICKLY. From the two parties, forsooth.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. The devil take one party and his dam the other!\\r\\n And so they shall be both bestowed. I have suffer\\'d more\\r\\n for their sakes, more than the villainous inconstancy of\\r\\n man\\'s disposition is able to bear.\\r\\n QUICKLY. And have not they suffer\\'d? Yes, I warrant;\\r\\n speciously one of them; Mistress Ford, good heart, is beaten\\r\\n black and blue, that you cannot see a white spot about her.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What tell\\'st thou me of black and blue? I was\\r\\n beaten myself into all the colours of the rainbow; and\\r\\n was like to be apprehended for the witch of Brainford. But\\r\\n that my admirable dexterity of wit, my counterfeiting the\\r\\n action of an old woman, deliver\\'d me, the knave constable\\r\\n had set me i\\' th\\' stocks, i\\' th\\' common stocks, for a witch.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Sir, let me speak with you in your chamber; you\\r\\n shall hear how things go, and, I warrant, to your content.\\r\\n Here is a letter will say somewhat. Good hearts, what ado\\r\\n here is to bring you together! Sure, one of you does not\\r\\n serve heaven well, that you are so cross\\'d.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Come up into my chamber. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 6.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FENTON and HOST\\r\\n\\r\\n HOST. Master Fenton, talk not to me; my mind is heavy; I\\r\\n will give over all.\\r\\n FENTON. Yet hear me speak. Assist me in my purpose,\\r\\n And, as I am a gentleman, I\\'ll give the\\r\\n A hundred pound in gold more than your loss.\\r\\n HOST. I will hear you, Master Fenton; and I will, at the least,\\r\\n keep your counsel.\\r\\n FENTON. From time to time I have acquainted you\\r\\n With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page;\\r\\n Who, mutually, hath answer\\'d my affection,\\r\\n So far forth as herself might be her chooser,\\r\\n Even to my wish. I have a letter from her\\r\\n Of such contents as you will wonder at;\\r\\n The mirth whereof so larded with my matter\\r\\n That neither, singly, can be manifested\\r\\n Without the show of both. Fat Falstaff\\r\\n Hath a great scene. The image of the jest\\r\\n I\\'ll show you here at large. Hark, good mine host:\\r\\n To-night at Heme\\'s oak, just \\'twixt twelve and one,\\r\\n Must my sweet Nan present the Fairy Queen-\\r\\n The purpose why is here-in which disguise,\\r\\n While other jests are something rank on foot,\\r\\n Her father hath commanded her to slip\\r\\n Away with Slender, and with him at Eton\\r\\n Immediately to marry; she hath consented.\\r\\n Now, sir,\\r\\n Her mother, even strong against that match\\r\\n And firm for Doctor Caius, hath appointed\\r\\n That he shall likewise shuffle her away\\r\\n While other sports are tasking of their minds,\\r\\n And at the dean\\'ry, where a priest attends,\\r\\n Straight marry her. To this her mother\\'s plot\\r\\n She seemingly obedient likewise hath\\r\\n Made promise to the doctor. Now thus it rests:\\r\\n Her father means she shall be all in white;\\r\\n And in that habit, when Slender sees his time\\r\\n To take her by the hand and bid her go,\\r\\n She shall go with him; her mother hath intended\\r\\n The better to denote her to the doctor-\\r\\n For they must all be mask\\'d and vizarded-\\r\\n That quaint in green she shall be loose enrob\\'d,\\r\\n With ribands pendent, flaring \\'bout her head;\\r\\n And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe,\\r\\n To pinch her by the hand, and, on that token,\\r\\n The maid hath given consent to go with him.\\r\\n HOST. Which means she to deceive, father or mother?\\r\\n FENTON. Both, my good host, to go along with me.\\r\\n And here it rests-that you\\'ll procure the vicar\\r\\n To stay for me at church, \\'twixt twelve and one,\\r\\n And in the lawful name of marrying,\\r\\n To give our hearts united ceremony.\\r\\n HOST. Well, husband your device; I\\'ll to the vicar.\\r\\n Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest.\\r\\n FENTON. So shall I evermore be bound to thee;\\r\\n Besides, I\\'ll make a present recompense. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FALSTAFF and MISTRESS QUICKLY\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Prithee, no more prattling; go. I\\'ll, hold. This is\\r\\n the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers.\\r\\n Away, go; they say there is divinity in odd numbers, either\\r\\n in nativity, chance, or death. Away.\\r\\n QUICKLY. I\\'ll provide you a chain, and I\\'ll do what I can to\\r\\n get you a pair of horns.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Away, I say; time wears; hold up your head, and\\r\\n mince. Exit MRS. QUICKLY\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FORD disguised\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, Master Brook. Master Brook, the matter will\\r\\n be known tonight or never. Be you in the Park about\\r\\n midnight, at Herne\\'s oak, and you shall see wonders.\\r\\n FORD. Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you told me\\r\\n you had appointed?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I went to her, Master Brook, as you see, like a\\r\\n poor old man; but I came from her, Master Brook, like a\\r\\n poor old woman. That same knave Ford, her husband, hath\\r\\n the finest mad devil of jealousy in him, Master Brook, that\\r\\n ever govern\\'d frenzy. I will tell you-he beat me grievously\\r\\n in the shape of a woman; for in the shape of man, Master\\r\\n Brook, I fear not Goliath with a weaver\\'s beam; because\\r\\n I know also life is a shuttle. I am in haste; go along with\\r\\n me; I\\'ll. tell you all, Master Brook. Since I pluck\\'d geese,\\r\\n play\\'d truant, and whipp\\'d top, I knew not what \\'twas to\\r\\n be beaten till lately. Follow me. I\\'ll tell you strange things\\r\\n of this knave-Ford, on whom to-night I will be revenged,\\r\\n and I will deliver his wife into your hand. Follow. Strange\\r\\n things in hand, Master Brook! Follow. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nWindsor Park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. Come, come; we\\'ll couch i\\' th\\' Castle ditch till we\\r\\n see the light of our fairies. Remember, son Slender, my daughter.\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, forsooth; I have spoke with her, and we have\\r\\n a nay-word how to know one another. I come to her in\\r\\n white and cry \\'mum\\'; she cries \\'budget,\\' and by that we\\r\\n know one another.\\r\\n SHALLOW. That\\'s good too; but what needs either your mum\\r\\n or her budget? The white will decipher her well enough.\\r\\n It hath struck ten o\\'clock.\\r\\n PAGE. The night is dark; light and spirits will become it well.\\r\\n Heaven prosper our sport! No man means evil but the\\r\\n devil, and we shall know him by his horns. Let\\'s away;\\r\\n follow me. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nA street leading to the Park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and DOCTOR CAIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Master Doctor, my daughter is in green; when\\r\\n you see your time, take her by the hand, away with her to\\r\\n the deanery, and dispatch it quickly. Go before into the\\r\\n Park; we two must go together.\\r\\n CAIUS. I know vat I have to do; adieu.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Fare you well, sir. [Exit CAIUS] My husband\\r\\n will not rejoice so much at the abuse of Falstaff as he will\\r\\n chafe at the doctor\\'s marrying my daughter; but \\'tis no\\r\\n matter; better a little chiding than a great deal of\\r\\n heartbreak.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Where is Nan now, and her troop of fairies, and\\r\\n the Welsh devil, Hugh?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. They are all couch\\'d in a pit hard by Heme\\'s\\r\\n oak, with obscur\\'d lights; which, at the very instant of\\r\\n Falstaff\\'s and our meeting, they will at once display to the\\r\\n night.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. That cannot choose but amaze him.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. If he be not amaz\\'d, he will be mock\\'d; if he be\\r\\n amaz\\'d, he will every way be mock\\'d.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. We\\'ll betray him finely.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Against such lewdsters and their lechery,\\r\\n Those that betray them do no treachery.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. The hour draws on. To the oak, to the oak!\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nWindsor Park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SIR HUGH EVANS like a satyr, with OTHERS as fairies\\r\\n\\r\\n EVANS. Trib, trib, fairies; come; and remember your parts. Be pold, I\\r\\n pray you; follow me into the pit; and when I give the watch-ords, do\\r\\n as I pid you. Come, come; trib, trib.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnother part of the Park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FALSTAFF disguised as HERNE\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve; the minute draws on.\\r\\n Now the hot-blooded gods assist me! Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull\\r\\n for thy Europa; love set on thy horns. O powerful love! that in some\\r\\n respects makes a beast a man; in some other a man a beast. You were\\r\\n also, Jupiter, a swan, for the love of Leda. O omnipotent love! how\\r\\n near the god drew to the complexion of a goose! A fault done first in\\r\\n the form of a beast-O Jove, a beastly fault!-and then another fault\\r\\n in the semblance of a fowl- think on\\'t, Jove, a foul fault! When gods\\r\\n have hot backs what shall poor men do? For me, I am here a Windsor\\r\\n stag; and the fattest, I think, i\\' th\\' forest. Send me a cool\\r\\n rut-time, Jove, or who can blame me to piss my tallow? Who comes\\r\\n here? my doe?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS FORD and MISTRESS PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Sir John! Art thou there, my deer, my male deer.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. My doe with the black scut! Let the sky rain\\r\\n potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of Greensleeves, hail\\r\\n kissing-comfits, and snow eringoes; let there come a tempest\\r\\n of provocation, I will shelter me here. [Embracing her]\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Mistress Page is come with me, sweetheart.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Divide me like a brib\\'d buck, each a haunch; I\\r\\n will keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the fellow\\r\\n of this walk, and my horns I bequeath your husbands. Am\\r\\n I a woodman, ha? Speak I like Heme the Hunter? Why,\\r\\n now is Cupid a child of conscience; he makes restitution.\\r\\n As I am a true spirit, welcome! [A noise of horns]\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Alas, what noise?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Heaven forgive our sins!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What should this be?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. } Away, away.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. } Away, away. [They run off]\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I think the devil will not have me damn\\'d, lest the\\r\\n oil that\\'s in me should set hell on fire; he would never else\\r\\n cross me thus.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR HUGH EVANS like a satyr, ANNE PAGE as\\r\\n a fairy, and OTHERS as the Fairy Queen, fairies, and\\r\\n Hobgoblin; all with tapers\\r\\n\\r\\n FAIRY QUEEN. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white,\\r\\n You moonshine revellers, and shades of night,\\r\\n You orphan heirs of fixed destiny,\\r\\n Attend your office and your quality.\\r\\n Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy oyes.\\r\\n PUCK. Elves, list your names; silence, you airy toys.\\r\\n Cricket, to Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap;\\r\\n Where fires thou find\\'st unrak\\'d, and hearths unswept,\\r\\n There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry;\\r\\n Our radiant Queen hates sluts and sluttery.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. They are fairies; he that speaks to them shall die.\\r\\n I\\'ll wink and couch; no man their works must eye.\\r\\n [Lies down upon his face]\\r\\n EVANS. Where\\'s Pede? Go you, and where you find a maid\\r\\n That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said,\\r\\n Raise up the organs of her fantasy\\r\\n Sleep she as sound as careless infancy;\\r\\n But those as sleep and think not on their sins,\\r\\n Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and shins.\\r\\n FAIRY QUEEN. About, about;\\r\\n Search Windsor castle, elves, within and out;\\r\\n Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room,\\r\\n That it may stand till the perpetual doom\\r\\n In state as wholesome as in state \\'tis fit,\\r\\n Worthy the owner and the owner it.\\r\\n The several chairs of order look you scour\\r\\n With juice of balm and every precious flower;\\r\\n Each fair instalment, coat, and sev\\'ral crest,\\r\\n With loyal blazon, evermore be blest!\\r\\n And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing,\\r\\n Like to the Garter\\'s compass, in a ring;\\r\\n Th\\' expressure that it bears, green let it be,\\r\\n More fertile-fresh than all the field to see;\\r\\n And \\'Honi soit qui mal y pense\\' write\\r\\n In em\\'rald tufts, flow\\'rs purple, blue and white;\\r\\n Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery,\\r\\n Buckled below fair knighthood\\'s bending knee.\\r\\n Fairies use flow\\'rs for their charactery.\\r\\n Away, disperse; but till \\'tis one o\\'clock,\\r\\n Our dance of custom round about the oak\\r\\n Of Herne the Hunter let us not forget.\\r\\n EVANS. Pray you, lock hand in hand; yourselves in order set;\\r\\n And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be,\\r\\n To guide our measure round about the tree.\\r\\n But, stay. I smell a man of middle earth.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy, lest he\\r\\n transform me to a piece of cheese!\\r\\n PUCK. Vile worm, thou wast o\\'erlook\\'d even in thy birth.\\r\\n FAIRY QUEEN. With trial-fire touch me his finger-end;\\r\\n If he be chaste, the flame will back descend,\\r\\n And turn him to no pain; but if he start,\\r\\n It is the flesh of a corrupted heart.\\r\\n PUCK. A trial, come.\\r\\n EVANS. Come, will this wood take fire?\\r\\n [They put the tapers to his fingers, and he starts]\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Oh, oh, oh!\\r\\n FAIRY QUEEN. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire!\\r\\n About him, fairies; sing a scornful rhyme;\\r\\n And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time.\\r\\n THE SONG.\\r\\n Fie on sinful fantasy!\\r\\n Fie on lust and luxury!\\r\\n Lust is but a bloody fire,\\r\\n Kindled with unchaste desire,\\r\\n Fed in heart, whose flames aspire,\\r\\n As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher.\\r\\n Pinch him, fairies, mutually;\\r\\n Pinch him for his villainy;\\r\\n Pinch him and burn him and turn him about,\\r\\n Till candles and star-light and moonshine be out.\\r\\n\\r\\n During this song they pinch FALSTAFF. DOCTOR\\r\\n CAIUS comes one way, and steals away a fairy in\\r\\n green; SLENDER another way, and takes off a fairy in\\r\\n white; and FENTON steals away ANNE PAGE. A noise\\r\\n of hunting is heard within. All the fairies run away.\\r\\n FALSTAFF pulls off his buck\\'s head, and rises\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PAGE, FORD, MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and\\r\\n SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. Nay, do not fly; I think we have watch\\'d you now.\\r\\n Will none but Heme the Hunter serve your turn?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. I pray you, come, hold up the jest no higher.\\r\\n Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor wives?\\r\\n See you these, husband? Do not these fair yokes\\r\\n Become the forest better than the town?\\r\\n FORD. Now, sir, who\\'s a cuckold now? Master Brook,\\r\\n Falstaff\\'s a knave, a cuckoldly knave; here are his horns,\\r\\n Master Brook; and, Master Brook, he hath enjoyed nothing of\\r\\n Ford\\'s but his buck-basket, his cudgel, and twenty pounds\\r\\n of money, which must be paid to Master Brook; his horses\\r\\n are arrested for it, Master Brook.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Sir John, we have had ill luck; we could never\\r\\n meet. I will never take you for my love again; but I will\\r\\n always count you my deer.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass.\\r\\n FORD. Ay, and an ox too; both the proofs are extant.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. And these are not fairies? I was three or four\\r\\n times in the thought they were not fairies; and yet the\\r\\n guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprise of my powers,\\r\\n drove the grossness of the foppery into a receiv\\'d belief,\\r\\n in despite of the teeth of all rhyme and reason, that they\\r\\n were fairies. See now how wit may be made a Jack-a-Lent\\r\\n when \\'tis upon ill employment.\\r\\n EVANS. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your desires,\\r\\n and fairies will not pinse you.\\r\\n FORD. Well said, fairy Hugh.\\r\\n EVANS. And leave you your jealousies too, I pray you.\\r\\n FORD. I will never mistrust my wife again, till thou art able\\r\\n to woo her in good English.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried it, that\\r\\n it wants matter to prevent so gross, o\\'er-reaching as this?\\r\\n Am I ridden with a Welsh goat too? Shall I have a cox-comb\\r\\n of frieze? \\'Tis time I were chok\\'d with a piece of\\r\\n toasted cheese.\\r\\n EVANS. Seese is not good to give putter; your belly is all\\r\\n putter.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. \\'Seese\\' and \\'putter\\'! Have I liv\\'d to stand at the\\r\\n taunt of one that makes fritters of English? This is enough\\r\\n to be the decay of lust and late-walking through the realm.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Why, Sir John, do you think, though we would\\r\\n have thrust virtue out of our hearts by the head and\\r\\n shoulders, and have given ourselves without scruple to hell,\\r\\n that ever the devil could have made you our delight?\\r\\n FORD. What, a hodge-pudding? a bag of flax?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. A puff\\'d man?\\r\\n PAGE. Old, cold, wither\\'d, and of intolerable entrails?\\r\\n FORD. And one that is as slanderous as Satan?\\r\\n PAGE. And as poor as Job?\\r\\n FORD. And as wicked as his wife?\\r\\n EVANS. And given to fornications, and to taverns, and sack,\\r\\n and wine, and metheglins, and to drinkings, and swearings,\\r\\n and starings, pribbles and prabbles?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Well, I am your theme; you have the start of me;\\r\\n I am dejected; I am not able to answer the Welsh flannel;\\r\\n ignorance itself is a plummet o\\'er me; use me as you will.\\r\\n FORD. Marry, sir, we\\'ll bring you to Windsor, to one Master\\r\\n Brook, that you have cozen\\'d of money, to whom you\\r\\n should have been a pander. Over and above that you have\\r\\n suffer\\'d, I think to repay that money will be a biting\\r\\n affliction.\\r\\n PAGE. Yet be cheerful, knight; thou shalt eat a posset\\r\\n tonight at my house, where I will desire thee to laugh at my\\r\\n wife, that now laughs at thee. Tell her Master Slender hath\\r\\n married her daughter.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. [Aside] Doctors doubt that; if Anne Page be\\r\\n my daughter, she is, by this, Doctor Caius\\' wife.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SLENDER\\r\\n\\r\\n SLENDER. Whoa, ho, ho, father Page!\\r\\n PAGE. Son, how now! how now, son! Have you dispatch\\'d\\'?\\r\\n SLENDER. Dispatch\\'d! I\\'ll make the best in Gloucestershire\\r\\n know on\\'t; would I were hang\\'d, la, else!\\r\\n PAGE. Of what, son?\\r\\n SLENDER. I came yonder at Eton to marry Mistress Anne\\r\\n Page, and she\\'s a great lubberly boy. If it had not been i\\'\\r\\n th\\' church, I would have swing\\'d him, or he should have\\r\\n swing\\'d me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page,\\r\\n would I might never stir!-and \\'tis a postmaster\\'s boy.\\r\\n PAGE. Upon my life, then, you took the wrong.\\r\\n SLENDER. What need you tell me that? I think so, when I\\r\\n took a boy for a girl. If I had been married to him, for all\\r\\n he was in woman\\'s apparel, I would not have had him.\\r\\n PAGE. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell you how\\r\\n you should know my daughter by her garments?\\r\\n SLENDER. I went to her in white and cried \\'mum\\' and she\\r\\n cried \\'budget\\' as Anne and I had appointed; and yet it was\\r\\n not Anne, but a postmaster\\'s boy.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Good George, be not angry. I knew of your\\r\\n purpose; turn\\'d my daughter into green; and, indeed, she\\r\\n is now with the Doctor at the dean\\'ry, and there married.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CAIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n CAIUS. Vere is Mistress Page? By gar, I am cozened; I ha\\'\\r\\n married un garcon, a boy; un paysan, by gar, a boy; it is\\r\\n not Anne Page; by gar, I am cozened.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Why, did you take her in green?\\r\\n CAIUS. Ay, be gar, and \\'tis a boy; be gar, I\\'ll raise all\\r\\n Windsor. Exit CAIUS\\r\\n FORD. This is strange. Who hath got the right Anne?\\r\\n PAGE. My heart misgives me; here comes Master Fenton.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, Master Fenton!\\r\\n ANNE. Pardon, good father. Good my mother, pardon.\\r\\n PAGE. Now, Mistress, how chance you went not with Master\\r\\n Slender?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Why went you not with Master Doctor, maid?\\r\\n FENTON. You do amaze her. Hear the truth of it.\\r\\n You would have married her most shamefully,\\r\\n Where there was no proportion held in love.\\r\\n The truth is, she and I, long since contracted,\\r\\n Are now so sure that nothing can dissolve us.\\r\\n Th\\' offence is holy that she hath committed;\\r\\n And this deceit loses the name of craft,\\r\\n Of disobedience, or unduteous title,\\r\\n Since therein she doth evitate and shun\\r\\n A thousand irreligious cursed hours,\\r\\n Which forced marriage would have brought upon her.\\r\\n FORD. Stand not amaz\\'d; here is no remedy.\\r\\n In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state;\\r\\n Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I am glad, though you have ta\\'en a special stand\\r\\n to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanc\\'d.\\r\\n PAGE. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give thee joy!\\r\\n What cannot be eschew\\'d must be embrac\\'d.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chas\\'d.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Well, I will muse no further. Master Fenton,\\r\\n Heaven give you many, many merry days!\\r\\n Good husband, let us every one go home,\\r\\n And laugh this sport o\\'er by a country fire;\\r\\n Sir John and all.\\r\\n FORD. Let it be so. Sir John,\\r\\n To Master Brook you yet shall hold your word;\\r\\n For he, to-night, shall lie with Mistress Ford. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nA MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Athens. A room in the Palace of Theseus\\r\\nScene II. The Same. A Room in a Cottage\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. A wood near Athens\\r\\nScene II. Another part of the wood\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. The Wood.\\r\\nScene II. Another part of the wood\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. The Wood\\r\\nScene II. Athens. A Room in Quince’s House\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Athens. An Apartment in the Palace of Theseus\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS, Duke of Athens\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA, Queen of the Amazons, bethrothed to Theseus\\r\\nEGEUS, Father to Hermia\\r\\nHERMIA, daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander\\r\\nHELENA, in love with Demetrius\\r\\nLYSANDER, in love with Hermia\\r\\nDEMETRIUS, in love with Hermia\\r\\nPHILOSTRATE, Master of the Revels to Theseus\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE, the Carpenter\\r\\nSNUG, the Joiner\\r\\nBOTTOM, the Weaver\\r\\nFLUTE, the Bellows-mender\\r\\nSNOUT, the Tinker\\r\\nSTARVELING, the Tailor\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON, King of the Fairies\\r\\nTITANIA, Queen of the Fairies\\r\\nPUCK, or ROBIN GOODFELLOW, a Fairy\\r\\nPEASEBLOSSOM, Fairy\\r\\nCOBWEB, Fairy\\r\\nMOTH, Fairy\\r\\nMUSTARDSEED, Fairy\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS, THISBE, WALL, MOONSHINE, LION; Characters in the Interlude\\r\\nperformed by the Clowns\\r\\n\\r\\nOther Fairies attending their King and Queen\\r\\nAttendants on Theseus and Hippolyta\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Athens, and a wood not far from it\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Athens. A room in the Palace of Theseus\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNow, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour\\r\\nDraws on apace; four happy days bring in\\r\\nAnother moon; but oh, methinks, how slow\\r\\nThis old moon wanes! She lingers my desires,\\r\\nLike to a step-dame or a dowager,\\r\\nLong withering out a young man’s revenue.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nFour days will quickly steep themselves in night;\\r\\nFour nights will quickly dream away the time;\\r\\nAnd then the moon, like to a silver bow\\r\\nNew bent in heaven, shall behold the night\\r\\nOf our solemnities.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nGo, Philostrate,\\r\\nStir up the Athenian youth to merriments;\\r\\nAwake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth;\\r\\nTurn melancholy forth to funerals;\\r\\nThe pale companion is not for our pomp.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Philostrate._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHippolyta, I woo’d thee with my sword,\\r\\nAnd won thy love doing thee injuries;\\r\\nBut I will wed thee in another key,\\r\\nWith pomp, with triumph, and with revelling.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander and Demetrius.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEUS.\\r\\nHappy be Theseus, our renownèd Duke!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThanks, good Egeus. What’s the news with thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEUS.\\r\\nFull of vexation come I, with complaint\\r\\nAgainst my child, my daughter Hermia.\\r\\nStand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord,\\r\\nThis man hath my consent to marry her.\\r\\nStand forth, Lysander. And, my gracious Duke,\\r\\nThis man hath bewitch’d the bosom of my child.\\r\\nThou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes,\\r\\nAnd interchang’d love-tokens with my child.\\r\\nThou hast by moonlight at her window sung,\\r\\nWith feigning voice, verses of feigning love;\\r\\nAnd stol’n the impression of her fantasy\\r\\nWith bracelets of thy hair, rings, gauds, conceits,\\r\\nKnacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats (messengers\\r\\nOf strong prevailment in unharden’d youth)\\r\\nWith cunning hast thou filch’d my daughter’s heart,\\r\\nTurn’d her obedience (which is due to me)\\r\\nTo stubborn harshness. And, my gracious Duke,\\r\\nBe it so she will not here before your grace\\r\\nConsent to marry with Demetrius,\\r\\nI beg the ancient privilege of Athens:\\r\\nAs she is mine I may dispose of her;\\r\\nWhich shall be either to this gentleman\\r\\nOr to her death, according to our law\\r\\nImmediately provided in that case.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat say you, Hermia? Be advis’d, fair maid.\\r\\nTo you your father should be as a god;\\r\\nOne that compos’d your beauties, yea, and one\\r\\nTo whom you are but as a form in wax\\r\\nBy him imprinted, and within his power\\r\\nTo leave the figure, or disfigure it.\\r\\nDemetrius is a worthy gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nSo is Lysander.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nIn himself he is.\\r\\nBut in this kind, wanting your father’s voice,\\r\\nThe other must be held the worthier.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI would my father look’d but with my eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nRather your eyes must with his judgment look.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI do entreat your Grace to pardon me.\\r\\nI know not by what power I am made bold,\\r\\nNor how it may concern my modesty\\r\\nIn such a presence here to plead my thoughts:\\r\\nBut I beseech your Grace that I may know\\r\\nThe worst that may befall me in this case,\\r\\nIf I refuse to wed Demetrius.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nEither to die the death, or to abjure\\r\\nFor ever the society of men.\\r\\nTherefore, fair Hermia, question your desires,\\r\\nKnow of your youth, examine well your blood,\\r\\nWhether, if you yield not to your father’s choice,\\r\\nYou can endure the livery of a nun,\\r\\nFor aye to be in shady cloister mew’d,\\r\\nTo live a barren sister all your life,\\r\\nChanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.\\r\\nThrice-blessèd they that master so their blood\\r\\nTo undergo such maiden pilgrimage,\\r\\nBut earthlier happy is the rose distill’d\\r\\nThan that which, withering on the virgin thorn,\\r\\nGrows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nSo will I grow, so live, so die, my lord,\\r\\nEre I will yield my virgin patent up\\r\\nUnto his lordship, whose unwishèd yoke\\r\\nMy soul consents not to give sovereignty.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nTake time to pause; and by the next new moon\\r\\nThe sealing-day betwixt my love and me\\r\\nFor everlasting bond of fellowship,\\r\\nUpon that day either prepare to die\\r\\nFor disobedience to your father’s will,\\r\\nOr else to wed Demetrius, as he would,\\r\\nOr on Diana’s altar to protest\\r\\nFor aye austerity and single life.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nRelent, sweet Hermia; and, Lysander, yield\\r\\nThy crazèd title to my certain right.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nYou have her father’s love, Demetrius.\\r\\nLet me have Hermia’s. Do you marry him.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEUS.\\r\\nScornful Lysander, true, he hath my love;\\r\\nAnd what is mine my love shall render him;\\r\\nAnd she is mine, and all my right of her\\r\\nI do estate unto Demetrius.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nI am, my lord, as well deriv’d as he,\\r\\nAs well possess’d; my love is more than his;\\r\\nMy fortunes every way as fairly rank’d,\\r\\nIf not with vantage, as Demetrius’;\\r\\nAnd, which is more than all these boasts can be,\\r\\nI am belov’d of beauteous Hermia.\\r\\nWhy should not I then prosecute my right?\\r\\nDemetrius, I’ll avouch it to his head,\\r\\nMade love to Nedar’s daughter, Helena,\\r\\nAnd won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes,\\r\\nDevoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry,\\r\\nUpon this spotted and inconstant man.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI must confess that I have heard so much,\\r\\nAnd with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof;\\r\\nBut, being over-full of self-affairs,\\r\\nMy mind did lose it.—But, Demetrius, come,\\r\\nAnd come, Egeus; you shall go with me.\\r\\nI have some private schooling for you both.—\\r\\nFor you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself\\r\\nTo fit your fancies to your father’s will,\\r\\nOr else the law of Athens yields you up\\r\\n(Which by no means we may extenuate)\\r\\nTo death, or to a vow of single life.\\r\\nCome, my Hippolyta. What cheer, my love?\\r\\nDemetrius and Egeus, go along;\\r\\nI must employ you in some business\\r\\nAgainst our nuptial, and confer with you\\r\\nOf something nearly that concerns yourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEUS.\\r\\nWith duty and desire we follow you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Lysander and Hermia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nHow now, my love? Why is your cheek so pale?\\r\\nHow chance the roses there do fade so fast?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nBelike for want of rain, which I could well\\r\\nBeteem them from the tempest of my eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nAy me! For aught that I could ever read,\\r\\nCould ever hear by tale or history,\\r\\nThe course of true love never did run smooth.\\r\\nBut either it was different in blood—\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nO cross! Too high to be enthrall’d to low.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nOr else misgraffèd in respect of years—\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nO spite! Too old to be engag’d to young.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nOr else it stood upon the choice of friends—\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nO hell! to choose love by another’s eyes!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nOr, if there were a sympathy in choice,\\r\\nWar, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,\\r\\nMaking it momentany as a sound,\\r\\nSwift as a shadow, short as any dream,\\r\\nBrief as the lightning in the collied night\\r\\nThat, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,\\r\\nAnd, ere a man hath power to say, ‘Behold!’\\r\\nThe jaws of darkness do devour it up:\\r\\nSo quick bright things come to confusion.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nIf then true lovers have ever cross’d,\\r\\nIt stands as an edict in destiny.\\r\\nThen let us teach our trial patience,\\r\\nBecause it is a customary cross,\\r\\nAs due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs,\\r\\nWishes and tears, poor fancy’s followers.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nA good persuasion; therefore, hear me, Hermia.\\r\\nI have a widow aunt, a dowager\\r\\nOf great revenue, and she hath no child.\\r\\nFrom Athens is her house remote seven leagues,\\r\\nAnd she respects me as her only son.\\r\\nThere, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee,\\r\\nAnd to that place the sharp Athenian law\\r\\nCannot pursue us. If thou lovest me then,\\r\\nSteal forth thy father’s house tomorrow night;\\r\\nAnd in the wood, a league without the town\\r\\n(Where I did meet thee once with Helena\\r\\nTo do observance to a morn of May),\\r\\nThere will I stay for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nMy good Lysander!\\r\\nI swear to thee by Cupid’s strongest bow,\\r\\nBy his best arrow with the golden head,\\r\\nBy the simplicity of Venus’ doves,\\r\\nBy that which knitteth souls and prospers loves,\\r\\nAnd by that fire which burn’d the Carthage queen\\r\\nWhen the false Trojan under sail was seen,\\r\\nBy all the vows that ever men have broke\\r\\n(In number more than ever women spoke),\\r\\nIn that same place thou hast appointed me,\\r\\nTomorrow truly will I meet with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nKeep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nGod speed fair Helena! Whither away?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nCall you me fair? That fair again unsay.\\r\\nDemetrius loves your fair. O happy fair!\\r\\nYour eyes are lode-stars and your tongue’s sweet air\\r\\nMore tuneable than lark to shepherd’s ear,\\r\\nWhen wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.\\r\\nSickness is catching. O were favour so,\\r\\nYours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go.\\r\\nMy ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye,\\r\\nMy tongue should catch your tongue’s sweet melody.\\r\\nWere the world mine, Demetrius being bated,\\r\\nThe rest I’d give to be to you translated.\\r\\nO, teach me how you look, and with what art\\r\\nYou sway the motion of Demetrius’ heart!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI frown upon him, yet he loves me still.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI give him curses, yet he gives me love.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO that my prayers could such affection move!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nThe more I hate, the more he follows me.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nThe more I love, the more he hateth me.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nHis folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nNone but your beauty; would that fault were mine!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nTake comfort: he no more shall see my face;\\r\\nLysander and myself will fly this place.\\r\\nBefore the time I did Lysander see,\\r\\nSeem’d Athens as a paradise to me.\\r\\nO, then, what graces in my love do dwell,\\r\\nThat he hath turn’d a heaven into hell!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nHelen, to you our minds we will unfold:\\r\\nTomorrow night, when Phoebe doth behold\\r\\nHer silver visage in the watery glass,\\r\\nDecking with liquid pearl the bladed grass\\r\\n(A time that lovers’ flights doth still conceal),\\r\\nThrough Athens’ gates have we devis’d to steal.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nAnd in the wood where often you and I\\r\\nUpon faint primrose beds were wont to lie,\\r\\nEmptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet,\\r\\nThere my Lysander and myself shall meet,\\r\\nAnd thence from Athens turn away our eyes,\\r\\nTo seek new friends and stranger companies.\\r\\nFarewell, sweet playfellow. Pray thou for us,\\r\\nAnd good luck grant thee thy Demetrius!\\r\\nKeep word, Lysander. We must starve our sight\\r\\nFrom lovers’ food, till morrow deep midnight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nI will, my Hermia.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Hermia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHelena, adieu.\\r\\nAs you on him, Demetrius dote on you!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lysander._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nHow happy some o’er other some can be!\\r\\nThrough Athens I am thought as fair as she.\\r\\nBut what of that? Demetrius thinks not so;\\r\\nHe will not know what all but he do know.\\r\\nAnd as he errs, doting on Hermia’s eyes,\\r\\nSo I, admiring of his qualities.\\r\\nThings base and vile, holding no quantity,\\r\\nLove can transpose to form and dignity.\\r\\nLove looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;\\r\\nAnd therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind.\\r\\nNor hath love’s mind of any judgment taste.\\r\\nWings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste.\\r\\nAnd therefore is love said to be a child,\\r\\nBecause in choice he is so oft beguil’d.\\r\\nAs waggish boys in game themselves forswear,\\r\\nSo the boy Love is perjur’d everywhere.\\r\\nFor, ere Demetrius look’d on Hermia’s eyne,\\r\\nHe hail’d down oaths that he was only mine;\\r\\nAnd when this hail some heat from Hermia felt,\\r\\nSo he dissolv’d, and showers of oaths did melt.\\r\\nI will go tell him of fair Hermia’s flight.\\r\\nThen to the wood will he tomorrow night\\r\\nPursue her; and for this intelligence\\r\\nIf I have thanks, it is a dear expense.\\r\\nBut herein mean I to enrich my pain,\\r\\nTo have his sight thither and back again.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Helena._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The Same. A Room in a Cottage\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout and Starveling.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nIs all our company here?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nYou were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the\\r\\nscrip.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nHere is the scroll of every man’s name, which is thought fit through\\r\\nall Athens, to play in our interlude before the Duke and Duchess, on\\r\\nhis wedding-day at night.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nFirst, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on; then read the\\r\\nnames of the actors; and so grow to a point.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nMarry, our play is _The most lamentable comedy and most cruel death of\\r\\nPyramus and Thisbe_.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nA very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry. Now, good Peter\\r\\nQuince, call forth your actors by the scroll. Masters, spread\\r\\nyourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nAnswer, as I call you. Nick Bottom, the weaver.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nReady. Name what part I am for, and proceed.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nYou, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWhat is Pyramus—a lover, or a tyrant?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nA lover, that kills himself most gallantly for love.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nThat will ask some tears in the true performing of it. If I do it, let\\r\\nthe audience look to their eyes. I will move storms; I will condole in\\r\\nsome measure. To the rest—yet my chief humour is for a tyrant. I could\\r\\nplay Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split.\\r\\n\\r\\n The raging rocks\\r\\n And shivering shocks\\r\\n Shall break the locks\\r\\n Of prison gates,\\r\\n And Phibbus’ car\\r\\n Shall shine from far,\\r\\n And make and mar\\r\\n The foolish Fates.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis was lofty. Now name the rest of the players. This is Ercles’ vein,\\r\\na tyrant’s vein; a lover is more condoling.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nFrancis Flute, the bellows-mender.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUTE.\\r\\nHere, Peter Quince.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nFlute, you must take Thisbe on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUTE.\\r\\nWhat is Thisbe? A wandering knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nIt is the lady that Pyramus must love.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUTE.\\r\\nNay, faith, let not me play a woman. I have a beard coming.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nThat’s all one. You shall play it in a mask, and you may speak as small\\r\\nas you will.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nAnd I may hide my face, let me play Thisbe too. I’ll speak in a\\r\\nmonstrous little voice; ‘Thisne, Thisne!’—‘Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear!\\r\\nthy Thisbe dear! and lady dear!’\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nNo, no, you must play Pyramus; and, Flute, you Thisbe.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWell, proceed.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nRobin Starveling, the tailor.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTARVELING.\\r\\nHere, Peter Quince.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nRobin Starveling, you must play Thisbe’s mother.\\r\\nTom Snout, the tinker.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNOUT\\r\\nHere, Peter Quince.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nYou, Pyramus’ father; myself, Thisbe’s father;\\r\\nSnug, the joiner, you, the lion’s part. And, I hope here is a play\\r\\nfitted.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNUG\\r\\nHave you the lion’s part written? Pray you, if it be, give it me, for I\\r\\nam slow of study.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nYou may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nLet me play the lion too. I will roar that I will do any man’s heart\\r\\ngood to hear me. I will roar that I will make the Duke say ‘Let him\\r\\nroar again, let him roar again.’\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nIf you should do it too terribly, you would fright the Duchess and the\\r\\nladies, that they would shriek; and that were enough to hang us all.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL\\r\\nThat would hang us every mother’s son.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI grant you, friends, if you should fright the ladies out of their\\r\\nwits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us. But I will\\r\\naggravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any sucking\\r\\ndove; I will roar you an ’twere any nightingale.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nYou can play no part but Pyramus, for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man; a\\r\\nproper man as one shall see in a summer’s day; a most lovely\\r\\ngentleman-like man. Therefore you must needs play Pyramus.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWell, I will undertake it. What beard were I best to play it in?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nWhy, what you will.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI will discharge it in either your straw-colour beard, your\\r\\norange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain beard, or your\\r\\nFrench-crown-colour beard, your perfect yellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nSome of your French crowns have no hair at all, and then you will play\\r\\nbare-faced. But, masters, here are your parts, and I am to entreat you,\\r\\nrequest you, and desire you, to con them by tomorrow night; and meet me\\r\\nin the palace wood, a mile without the town, by moonlight; there will\\r\\nwe rehearse, for if we meet in the city, we shall be dogg’d with\\r\\ncompany, and our devices known. In the meantime I will draw a bill of\\r\\nproperties, such as our play wants. I pray you fail me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWe will meet, and there we may rehearse most obscenely and\\r\\ncourageously. Take pains, be perfect; adieu.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nAt the Duke’s oak we meet.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nEnough. Hold, or cut bow-strings.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A wood near Athens\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Fairy at one door, and Puck at another.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nHow now, spirit! Whither wander you?\\r\\n\\r\\nFAIRY\\r\\n Over hill, over dale,\\r\\n Thorough bush, thorough brier,\\r\\n Over park, over pale,\\r\\n Thorough flood, thorough fire,\\r\\n I do wander everywhere,\\r\\n Swifter than the moon’s sphere;\\r\\n And I serve the Fairy Queen,\\r\\n To dew her orbs upon the green.\\r\\n The cowslips tall her pensioners be,\\r\\n In their gold coats spots you see;\\r\\n Those be rubies, fairy favours,\\r\\n In those freckles live their savours.\\r\\nI must go seek some dew-drops here,\\r\\nAnd hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear.\\r\\nFarewell, thou lob of spirits; I’ll be gone.\\r\\nOur Queen and all her elves come here anon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nThe King doth keep his revels here tonight;\\r\\nTake heed the Queen come not within his sight,\\r\\nFor Oberon is passing fell and wrath,\\r\\nBecause that she, as her attendant, hath\\r\\nA lovely boy, stol’n from an Indian king;\\r\\nShe never had so sweet a changeling.\\r\\nAnd jealous Oberon would have the child\\r\\nKnight of his train, to trace the forests wild:\\r\\nBut she perforce withholds the lovèd boy,\\r\\nCrowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy.\\r\\nAnd now they never meet in grove or green,\\r\\nBy fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen,\\r\\nBut they do square; that all their elves for fear\\r\\nCreep into acorn cups, and hide them there.\\r\\n\\r\\nFAIRY\\r\\nEither I mistake your shape and making quite,\\r\\nOr else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite\\r\\nCall’d Robin Goodfellow. Are not you he\\r\\nThat frights the maidens of the villagery,\\r\\nSkim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern,\\r\\nAnd bootless make the breathless housewife churn,\\r\\nAnd sometime make the drink to bear no barm,\\r\\nMislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm?\\r\\nThose that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck,\\r\\nYou do their work, and they shall have good luck.\\r\\nAre not you he?\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nThou speak’st aright;\\r\\nI am that merry wanderer of the night.\\r\\nI jest to Oberon, and make him smile,\\r\\nWhen I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,\\r\\nNeighing in likeness of a filly foal;\\r\\nAnd sometime lurk I in a gossip’s bowl\\r\\nIn very likeness of a roasted crab,\\r\\nAnd, when she drinks, against her lips I bob,\\r\\nAnd on her withered dewlap pour the ale.\\r\\nThe wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale,\\r\\nSometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me;\\r\\nThen slip I from her bum, down topples she,\\r\\nAnd ‘tailor’ cries, and falls into a cough;\\r\\nAnd then the whole quire hold their hips and loffe\\r\\nAnd waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear\\r\\nA merrier hour was never wasted there.\\r\\nBut room, fairy. Here comes Oberon.\\r\\n\\r\\nFAIRY\\r\\nAnd here my mistress. Would that he were gone!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Oberon at one door, with his Train, and Titania at another, with\\r\\n hers.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nIll met by moonlight, proud Titania.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nWhat, jealous Oberon! Fairies, skip hence;\\r\\nI have forsworn his bed and company.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nTarry, rash wanton; am not I thy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nThen I must be thy lady; but I know\\r\\nWhen thou hast stol’n away from fairyland,\\r\\nAnd in the shape of Corin sat all day\\r\\nPlaying on pipes of corn, and versing love\\r\\nTo amorous Phillida. Why art thou here,\\r\\nCome from the farthest steep of India,\\r\\nBut that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon,\\r\\nYour buskin’d mistress and your warrior love,\\r\\nTo Theseus must be wedded; and you come\\r\\nTo give their bed joy and prosperity?\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nHow canst thou thus, for shame, Titania,\\r\\nGlance at my credit with Hippolyta,\\r\\nKnowing I know thy love to Theseus?\\r\\nDidst not thou lead him through the glimmering night\\r\\nFrom Perigenia, whom he ravished?\\r\\nAnd make him with fair Aegles break his faith,\\r\\nWith Ariadne and Antiopa?\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nThese are the forgeries of jealousy:\\r\\nAnd never, since the middle summer’s spring,\\r\\nMet we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead,\\r\\nBy pavèd fountain, or by rushy brook,\\r\\nOr on the beachèd margent of the sea,\\r\\nTo dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,\\r\\nBut with thy brawls thou hast disturb’d our sport.\\r\\nTherefore the winds, piping to us in vain,\\r\\nAs in revenge, have suck’d up from the sea\\r\\nContagious fogs; which, falling in the land,\\r\\nHath every pelting river made so proud\\r\\nThat they have overborne their continents.\\r\\nThe ox hath therefore stretch’d his yoke in vain,\\r\\nThe ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn\\r\\nHath rotted ere his youth attain’d a beard.\\r\\nThe fold stands empty in the drownèd field,\\r\\nAnd crows are fatted with the murrion flock;\\r\\nThe nine-men’s-morris is fill’d up with mud,\\r\\nAnd the quaint mazes in the wanton green,\\r\\nFor lack of tread, are undistinguishable.\\r\\nThe human mortals want their winter here.\\r\\nNo night is now with hymn or carol blest.\\r\\nTherefore the moon, the governess of floods,\\r\\nPale in her anger, washes all the air,\\r\\nThat rheumatic diseases do abound.\\r\\nAnd thorough this distemperature we see\\r\\nThe seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts\\r\\nFall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose;\\r\\nAnd on old Hiems’ thin and icy crown\\r\\nAn odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds\\r\\nIs, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer,\\r\\nThe childing autumn, angry winter, change\\r\\nTheir wonted liveries; and the mazed world,\\r\\nBy their increase, now knows not which is which.\\r\\nAnd this same progeny of evils comes\\r\\nFrom our debate, from our dissension;\\r\\nWe are their parents and original.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nDo you amend it, then. It lies in you.\\r\\nWhy should Titania cross her Oberon?\\r\\nI do but beg a little changeling boy\\r\\nTo be my henchman.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nSet your heart at rest;\\r\\nThe fairyland buys not the child of me.\\r\\nHis mother was a vot’ress of my order,\\r\\nAnd in the spicèd Indian air, by night,\\r\\nFull often hath she gossip’d by my side;\\r\\nAnd sat with me on Neptune’s yellow sands,\\r\\nMarking th’ embarkèd traders on the flood,\\r\\nWhen we have laugh’d to see the sails conceive,\\r\\nAnd grow big-bellied with the wanton wind;\\r\\nWhich she, with pretty and with swimming gait\\r\\nFollowing (her womb then rich with my young squire),\\r\\nWould imitate, and sail upon the land,\\r\\nTo fetch me trifles, and return again,\\r\\nAs from a voyage, rich with merchandise.\\r\\nBut she, being mortal, of that boy did die;\\r\\nAnd for her sake do I rear up her boy,\\r\\nAnd for her sake I will not part with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nHow long within this wood intend you stay?\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nPerchance till after Theseus’ wedding-day.\\r\\nIf you will patiently dance in our round,\\r\\nAnd see our moonlight revels, go with us;\\r\\nIf not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nGive me that boy and I will go with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nNot for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away.\\r\\nWe shall chide downright if I longer stay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Titania with her Train._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nWell, go thy way. Thou shalt not from this grove\\r\\nTill I torment thee for this injury.—\\r\\nMy gentle Puck, come hither. Thou rememb’rest\\r\\nSince once I sat upon a promontory,\\r\\nAnd heard a mermaid on a dolphin’s back\\r\\nUttering such dulcet and harmonious breath\\r\\nThat the rude sea grew civil at her song\\r\\nAnd certain stars shot madly from their spheres\\r\\nTo hear the sea-maid’s music.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nI remember.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nThat very time I saw, (but thou couldst not),\\r\\nFlying between the cold moon and the earth,\\r\\nCupid all arm’d: a certain aim he took\\r\\nAt a fair vestal, thronèd by the west,\\r\\nAnd loos’d his love-shaft smartly from his bow\\r\\nAs it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts.\\r\\nBut I might see young Cupid’s fiery shaft\\r\\nQuench’d in the chaste beams of the watery moon;\\r\\nAnd the imperial votress passed on,\\r\\nIn maiden meditation, fancy-free.\\r\\nYet mark’d I where the bolt of Cupid fell:\\r\\nIt fell upon a little western flower,\\r\\nBefore milk-white, now purple with love’s wound,\\r\\nAnd maidens call it love-in-idleness.\\r\\nFetch me that flower, the herb I showed thee once:\\r\\nThe juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid\\r\\nWill make or man or woman madly dote\\r\\nUpon the next live creature that it sees.\\r\\nFetch me this herb, and be thou here again\\r\\nEre the leviathan can swim a league.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nI’ll put a girdle round about the earth\\r\\nIn forty minutes.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Puck._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nHaving once this juice,\\r\\nI’ll watch Titania when she is asleep,\\r\\nAnd drop the liquor of it in her eyes:\\r\\nThe next thing then she waking looks upon\\r\\n(Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull,\\r\\nOn meddling monkey, or on busy ape)\\r\\nShe shall pursue it with the soul of love.\\r\\nAnd ere I take this charm from off her sight\\r\\n(As I can take it with another herb)\\r\\nI’ll make her render up her page to me.\\r\\nBut who comes here? I am invisible;\\r\\nAnd I will overhear their conference.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Demetrius, Helena following him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nI love thee not, therefore pursue me not.\\r\\nWhere is Lysander and fair Hermia?\\r\\nThe one I’ll slay, the other slayeth me.\\r\\nThou told’st me they were stol’n into this wood,\\r\\nAnd here am I, and wode within this wood\\r\\nBecause I cannot meet with Hermia.\\r\\nHence, get thee gone, and follow me no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nYou draw me, you hard-hearted adamant,\\r\\nBut yet you draw not iron, for my heart\\r\\nIs true as steel. Leave you your power to draw,\\r\\nAnd I shall have no power to follow you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nDo I entice you? Do I speak you fair?\\r\\nOr rather do I not in plainest truth\\r\\nTell you I do not, nor I cannot love you?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nAnd even for that do I love you the more.\\r\\nI am your spaniel; and, Demetrius,\\r\\nThe more you beat me, I will fawn on you.\\r\\nUse me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me,\\r\\nNeglect me, lose me; only give me leave,\\r\\nUnworthy as I am, to follow you.\\r\\nWhat worser place can I beg in your love,\\r\\n(And yet a place of high respect with me)\\r\\nThan to be usèd as you use your dog?\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nTempt not too much the hatred of my spirit;\\r\\nFor I am sick when I do look on thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nAnd I am sick when I look not on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nYou do impeach your modesty too much\\r\\nTo leave the city and commit yourself\\r\\nInto the hands of one that loves you not,\\r\\nTo trust the opportunity of night.\\r\\nAnd the ill counsel of a desert place,\\r\\nWith the rich worth of your virginity.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nYour virtue is my privilege: for that.\\r\\nIt is not night when I do see your face,\\r\\nTherefore I think I am not in the night;\\r\\nNor doth this wood lack worlds of company,\\r\\nFor you, in my respect, are all the world.\\r\\nThen how can it be said I am alone\\r\\nWhen all the world is here to look on me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nI’ll run from thee and hide me in the brakes,\\r\\nAnd leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nThe wildest hath not such a heart as you.\\r\\nRun when you will, the story shall be chang’d;\\r\\nApollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase;\\r\\nThe dove pursues the griffin, the mild hind\\r\\nMakes speed to catch the tiger. Bootless speed,\\r\\nWhen cowardice pursues and valour flies!\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nI will not stay thy questions. Let me go,\\r\\nOr if thou follow me, do not believe\\r\\nBut I shall do thee mischief in the wood.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nAy, in the temple, in the town, the field,\\r\\nYou do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius!\\r\\nYour wrongs do set a scandal on my sex.\\r\\nWe cannot fight for love as men may do.\\r\\nWe should be woo’d, and were not made to woo.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Demetrius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI’ll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell,\\r\\nTo die upon the hand I love so well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Helena._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nFare thee well, nymph. Ere he do leave this grove,\\r\\nThou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck.\\r\\n\\r\\nHast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nAy, there it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nI pray thee give it me.\\r\\nI know a bank where the wild thyme blows,\\r\\nWhere oxlips and the nodding violet grows,\\r\\nQuite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,\\r\\nWith sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine.\\r\\nThere sleeps Titania sometime of the night,\\r\\nLull’d in these flowers with dances and delight;\\r\\nAnd there the snake throws her enamell’d skin,\\r\\nWeed wide enough to wrap a fairy in.\\r\\nAnd with the juice of this I’ll streak her eyes,\\r\\nAnd make her full of hateful fantasies.\\r\\nTake thou some of it, and seek through this grove:\\r\\nA sweet Athenian lady is in love\\r\\nWith a disdainful youth. Anoint his eyes;\\r\\nBut do it when the next thing he espies\\r\\nMay be the lady. Thou shalt know the man\\r\\nBy the Athenian garments he hath on.\\r\\nEffect it with some care, that he may prove\\r\\nMore fond on her than she upon her love:\\r\\nAnd look thou meet me ere the first cock crow.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nFear not, my lord, your servant shall do so.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another part of the wood\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Titania with her Train.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nCome, now a roundel and a fairy song;\\r\\nThen for the third part of a minute, hence;\\r\\nSome to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds;\\r\\nSome war with reremice for their leathern wings,\\r\\nTo make my small elves coats; and some keep back\\r\\nThe clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders\\r\\nAt our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep;\\r\\nThen to your offices, and let me rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nFairies sing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FAIRY.\\r\\n You spotted snakes with double tongue,\\r\\n Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;\\r\\n Newts and blind-worms do no wrong,\\r\\n Come not near our Fairy Queen:\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\n Philomel, with melody,\\r\\n Sing in our sweet lullaby:\\r\\nLulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby.\\r\\n Never harm, nor spell, nor charm,\\r\\n Come our lovely lady nigh;\\r\\n So good night, with lullaby.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FAIRY.\\r\\n Weaving spiders, come not here;\\r\\n Hence, you long-legg’d spinners, hence.\\r\\n Beetles black, approach not near;\\r\\n Worm nor snail do no offence.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\n Philomel with melody, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FAIRY.\\r\\nHence away! Now all is well.\\r\\nOne aloof stand sentinel.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Fairies. Titania sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Oberon.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nWhat thou seest when thou dost wake,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Squeezes the flower on Titania’s eyelids._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDo it for thy true love take;\\r\\nLove and languish for his sake.\\r\\nBe it ounce, or cat, or bear,\\r\\nPard, or boar with bristled hair,\\r\\nIn thy eye that shall appear\\r\\nWhen thou wak’st, it is thy dear.\\r\\nWake when some vile thing is near.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lysander and Hermia.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nFair love, you faint with wand’ring in the wood.\\r\\nAnd, to speak troth, I have forgot our way.\\r\\nWe’ll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good,\\r\\nAnd tarry for the comfort of the day.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nBe it so, Lysander: find you out a bed,\\r\\nFor I upon this bank will rest my head.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nOne turf shall serve as pillow for us both;\\r\\nOne heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nNay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear,\\r\\nLie further off yet, do not lie so near.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nO take the sense, sweet, of my innocence!\\r\\nLove takes the meaning in love’s conference.\\r\\nI mean that my heart unto yours is knit,\\r\\nSo that but one heart we can make of it:\\r\\nTwo bosoms interchainèd with an oath,\\r\\nSo then two bosoms and a single troth.\\r\\nThen by your side no bed-room me deny;\\r\\nFor lying so, Hermia, I do not lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nLysander riddles very prettily.\\r\\nNow much beshrew my manners and my pride,\\r\\nIf Hermia meant to say Lysander lied!\\r\\nBut, gentle friend, for love and courtesy\\r\\nLie further off, in human modesty,\\r\\nSuch separation as may well be said\\r\\nBecomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid,\\r\\nSo far be distant; and good night, sweet friend:\\r\\nThy love ne’er alter till thy sweet life end!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nAmen, amen, to that fair prayer say I;\\r\\nAnd then end life when I end loyalty!\\r\\nHere is my bed. Sleep give thee all his rest!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nWith half that wish the wisher’s eyes be pressed!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They sleep._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nThrough the forest have I gone,\\r\\nBut Athenian found I none,\\r\\nOn whose eyes I might approve\\r\\nThis flower’s force in stirring love.\\r\\nNight and silence! Who is here?\\r\\nWeeds of Athens he doth wear:\\r\\nThis is he, my master said,\\r\\nDespisèd the Athenian maid;\\r\\nAnd here the maiden, sleeping sound,\\r\\nOn the dank and dirty ground.\\r\\nPretty soul, she durst not lie\\r\\nNear this lack-love, this kill-courtesy.\\r\\nChurl, upon thy eyes I throw\\r\\nAll the power this charm doth owe;\\r\\nWhen thou wak’st let love forbid\\r\\nSleep his seat on thy eyelid.\\r\\nSo awake when I am gone;\\r\\nFor I must now to Oberon.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Demetrius and Helena, running.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nStay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nI charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO, wilt thou darkling leave me? Do not so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nStay, on thy peril; I alone will go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Demetrius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO, I am out of breath in this fond chase!\\r\\nThe more my prayer, the lesser is my grace.\\r\\nHappy is Hermia, wheresoe’er she lies,\\r\\nFor she hath blessèd and attractive eyes.\\r\\nHow came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears.\\r\\nIf so, my eyes are oftener wash’d than hers.\\r\\nNo, no, I am as ugly as a bear,\\r\\nFor beasts that meet me run away for fear:\\r\\nTherefore no marvel though Demetrius\\r\\nDo, as a monster, fly my presence thus.\\r\\nWhat wicked and dissembling glass of mine\\r\\nMade me compare with Hermia’s sphery eyne?\\r\\nBut who is here? Lysander, on the ground!\\r\\nDead or asleep? I see no blood, no wound.\\r\\nLysander, if you live, good sir, awake.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\n[_Waking._] And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake.\\r\\nTransparent Helena! Nature shows art,\\r\\nThat through thy bosom makes me see thy heart.\\r\\nWhere is Demetrius? O, how fit a word\\r\\nIs that vile name to perish on my sword!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nDo not say so, Lysander, say not so.\\r\\nWhat though he love your Hermia? Lord, what though?\\r\\nYet Hermia still loves you. Then be content.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nContent with Hermia? No, I do repent\\r\\nThe tedious minutes I with her have spent.\\r\\nNot Hermia, but Helena I love.\\r\\nWho will not change a raven for a dove?\\r\\nThe will of man is by his reason sway’d,\\r\\nAnd reason says you are the worthier maid.\\r\\nThings growing are not ripe until their season;\\r\\nSo I, being young, till now ripe not to reason;\\r\\nAnd touching now the point of human skill,\\r\\nReason becomes the marshal to my will,\\r\\nAnd leads me to your eyes, where I o’erlook\\r\\nLove’s stories, written in love’s richest book.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nWherefore was I to this keen mockery born?\\r\\nWhen at your hands did I deserve this scorn?\\r\\nIs’t not enough, is’t not enough, young man,\\r\\nThat I did never, no, nor never can\\r\\nDeserve a sweet look from Demetrius’ eye,\\r\\nBut you must flout my insufficiency?\\r\\nGood troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do,\\r\\nIn such disdainful manner me to woo.\\r\\nBut fare you well; perforce I must confess,\\r\\nI thought you lord of more true gentleness.\\r\\nO, that a lady of one man refus’d,\\r\\nShould of another therefore be abus’d!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nShe sees not Hermia. Hermia, sleep thou there,\\r\\nAnd never mayst thou come Lysander near!\\r\\nFor, as a surfeit of the sweetest things\\r\\nThe deepest loathing to the stomach brings;\\r\\nOr as the heresies that men do leave\\r\\nAre hated most of those they did deceive;\\r\\nSo thou, my surfeit and my heresy,\\r\\nOf all be hated, but the most of me!\\r\\nAnd, all my powers, address your love and might\\r\\nTo honour Helen, and to be her knight!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\n[_Starting._] Help me, Lysander, help me! Do thy best\\r\\nTo pluck this crawling serpent from my breast!\\r\\nAy me, for pity! What a dream was here!\\r\\nLysander, look how I do quake with fear.\\r\\nMethought a serpent eat my heart away,\\r\\nAnd you sat smiling at his cruel prey.\\r\\nLysander! What, removed? Lysander! lord!\\r\\nWhat, out of hearing? Gone? No sound, no word?\\r\\nAlack, where are you? Speak, and if you hear;\\r\\nSpeak, of all loves! I swoon almost with fear.\\r\\nNo? Then I well perceive you are not nigh.\\r\\nEither death or you I’ll find immediately.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Wood.\\r\\n\\r\\n The Queen of Fairies still lying asleep.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bottom, Quince, Snout, Starveling, Snug and Flute.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nAre we all met?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nPat, pat; and here’s a marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal.\\r\\nThis green plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn brake our\\r\\ntiring-house; and we will do it in action, as we will do it before the\\r\\nDuke.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nPeter Quince?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nWhat sayest thou, bully Bottom?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nThere are things in this comedy of Pyramus and Thisbe that will never\\r\\nplease. First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself; which the\\r\\nladies cannot abide. How answer you that?\\r\\n\\r\\nSNOUT\\r\\nBy’r lakin, a parlous fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTARVELING.\\r\\nI believe we must leave the killing out, when all is done.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nNot a whit; I have a device to make all well. Write me a prologue, and\\r\\nlet the prologue seem to say we will do no harm with our swords, and\\r\\nthat Pyramus is not killed indeed; and for the more better assurance,\\r\\ntell them that I Pyramus am not Pyramus but Bottom the weaver. This\\r\\nwill put them out of fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nWell, we will have such a prologue; and it shall be written in eight\\r\\nand six.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nNo, make it two more; let it be written in eight and eight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNOUT\\r\\nWill not the ladies be afeard of the lion?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTARVELING.\\r\\nI fear it, I promise you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nMasters, you ought to consider with yourselves, to bring in (God shield\\r\\nus!) a lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing. For there is not a\\r\\nmore fearful wild-fowl than your lion living; and we ought to look to\\r\\nit.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNOUT\\r\\nTherefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nNay, you must name his name, and half his face must be seen through the\\r\\nlion’s neck; and he himself must speak through, saying thus, or to the\\r\\nsame defect: ‘Ladies,’ or, ‘Fair ladies, I would wish you,’ or, ‘I\\r\\nwould request you,’ or, ’I would entreat you, not to fear, not to\\r\\ntremble: my life for yours. If you think I come hither as a lion, it\\r\\nwere pity of my life. No, I am no such thing; I am a man as other men\\r\\nare’: and there, indeed, let him name his name, and tell them plainly\\r\\nhe is Snug the joiner.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nWell, it shall be so. But there is two hard things: that is, to bring\\r\\nthe moonlight into a chamber, for you know, Pyramus and Thisbe meet by\\r\\nmoonlight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNOUT\\r\\nDoth the moon shine that night we play our play?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nA calendar, a calendar! Look in the almanack; find out moonshine, find\\r\\nout moonshine.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nYes, it doth shine that night.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWhy, then may you leave a casement of the great chamber window, where\\r\\nwe play, open; and the moon may shine in at the casement.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nAy; or else one must come in with a bush of thorns and a lantern, and\\r\\nsay he comes to disfigure or to present the person of Moonshine. Then\\r\\nthere is another thing: we must have a wall in the great chamber; for\\r\\nPyramus and Thisbe, says the story, did talk through the chink of a\\r\\nwall.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNOUT\\r\\nYou can never bring in a wall. What say you, Bottom?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nSome man or other must present Wall. And let him have some plaster, or\\r\\nsome loam, or some rough-cast about him, to signify wall; and let him\\r\\nhold his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall Pyramus and Thisbe\\r\\nwhisper.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nIf that may be, then all is well. Come, sit down, every mother’s son,\\r\\nand rehearse your parts. Pyramus, you begin: when you have spoken your\\r\\nspeech, enter into that brake; and so everyone according to his cue.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck behind.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nWhat hempen homespuns have we swaggering here,\\r\\nSo near the cradle of the Fairy Queen?\\r\\nWhat, a play toward? I’ll be an auditor;\\r\\nAn actor too perhaps, if I see cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nSpeak, Pyramus.—Thisbe, stand forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\n_Thisbe, the flowers of odious savours sweet_\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nOdours, odours.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\n_. . . odours savours sweet.\\r\\nSo hath thy breath, my dearest Thisbe dear.\\r\\nBut hark, a voice! Stay thou but here awhile,\\r\\nAnd by and by I will to thee appear._\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nA stranger Pyramus than e’er played here!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nMust I speak now?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nAy, marry, must you, For you must understand he goes but to see a noise\\r\\nthat he heard, and is to come again.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\n_Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue,\\r\\nOf colour like the red rose on triumphant brier,\\r\\nMost brisky juvenal, and eke most lovely Jew,\\r\\nAs true as truest horse, that yet would never tire,\\r\\nI’ll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny’s tomb._\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nNinus’ tomb, man! Why, you must not speak that yet. That you answer to\\r\\nPyramus. You speak all your part at once, cues, and all.—Pyramus enter!\\r\\nYour cue is past; it is ‘never tire.’\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nO, _As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire._\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck and Bottom with an ass’s head.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\n_If I were fair, Thisbe, I were only thine._\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nO monstrous! O strange! We are haunted. Pray, masters, fly, masters!\\r\\nHelp!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Clowns._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nI’ll follow you. I’ll lead you about a round,\\r\\n Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier;\\r\\nSometime a horse I’ll be, sometime a hound,\\r\\n A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire;\\r\\nAnd neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn,\\r\\nLike horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWhy do they run away? This is a knavery of them to make me afeard.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Snout.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNOUT\\r\\nO Bottom, thou art changed! What do I see on thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWhat do you see? You see an ass-head of your own, do you?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Snout._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Quince.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nBless thee, Bottom! bless thee! Thou art translated.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI see their knavery. This is to make an ass of me, to fright me, if\\r\\nthey could. But I will not stir from this place, do what they can. I\\r\\nwill walk up and down here, and I will sing, that they shall hear I am\\r\\nnot afraid.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n The ousel cock, so black of hue,\\r\\n With orange-tawny bill,\\r\\n The throstle with his note so true,\\r\\n The wren with little quill.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\n[_Waking._] What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,\\r\\n The plain-song cuckoo gray,\\r\\n Whose note full many a man doth mark,\\r\\n And dares not answer nay.\\r\\nfor, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird? Who would give\\r\\na bird the lie, though he cry ‘cuckoo’ never so?\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nI pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again.\\r\\nMine ear is much enamour’d of thy note.\\r\\nSo is mine eye enthrallèd to thy shape;\\r\\nAnd thy fair virtue’s force perforce doth move me,\\r\\nOn the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nMethinks, mistress, you should have little reason for that. And yet, to\\r\\nsay the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays.\\r\\nThe more the pity that some honest neighbours will not make them\\r\\nfriends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nThou art as wise as thou art beautiful.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nNot so, neither; but if I had wit enough to get out of this wood, I\\r\\nhave enough to serve mine own turn.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nOut of this wood do not desire to go.\\r\\nThou shalt remain here whether thou wilt or no.\\r\\nI am a spirit of no common rate.\\r\\nThe summer still doth tend upon my state;\\r\\nAnd I do love thee: therefore, go with me.\\r\\nI’ll give thee fairies to attend on thee;\\r\\nAnd they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,\\r\\nAnd sing, while thou on pressèd flowers dost sleep.\\r\\nAnd I will purge thy mortal grossness so\\r\\nThat thou shalt like an airy spirit go.—\\r\\nPeaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter four Fairies.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEASEBLOSSOM.\\r\\nReady.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBWEB.\\r\\nAnd I.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nMOTH.\\r\\nAnd I.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nMUSTARDSEED.\\r\\nAnd I.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nWhere shall we go?\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nBe kind and courteous to this gentleman;\\r\\nHop in his walks and gambol in his eyes;\\r\\nFeed him with apricocks and dewberries,\\r\\nWith purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries;\\r\\nThe honey-bags steal from the humble-bees,\\r\\nAnd for night-tapers, crop their waxen thighs,\\r\\nAnd light them at the fiery glow-worm’s eyes,\\r\\nTo have my love to bed and to arise;\\r\\nAnd pluck the wings from painted butterflies,\\r\\nTo fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.\\r\\nNod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nPEASEBLOSSOM.\\r\\nHail, mortal!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBWEB.\\r\\nHail!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nMOTH.\\r\\nHail!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nMUSTARDSEED.\\r\\nHail!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI cry your worships mercy, heartily.—I beseech your worship’s name.\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBWEB.\\r\\nCobweb.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI shall desire you of more acquaintance, good Master Cobweb. If I cut\\r\\nmy finger, I shall make bold with you.—Your name, honest gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEASEBLOSSOM.\\r\\nPeaseblossom.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI pray you, commend me to Mistress Squash, your mother, and to Master\\r\\nPeascod, your father. Good Master Peaseblossom, I shall desire you of\\r\\nmore acquaintance too.—Your name, I beseech you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nMUSTARDSEED.\\r\\nMustardseed.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nGood Master Mustardseed, I know your patience well. That same cowardly\\r\\ngiant-like ox-beef hath devoured many a gentleman of your house. I\\r\\npromise you, your kindred hath made my eyes water ere now. I desire you\\r\\nof more acquaintance, good Master Mustardseed.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nCome, wait upon him; lead him to my bower.\\r\\n The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye,\\r\\nAnd when she weeps, weeps every little flower,\\r\\n Lamenting some enforced chastity.\\r\\nTie up my love’s tongue, bring him silently.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another part of the wood\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Oberon.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nI wonder if Titania be awak’d;\\r\\nThen, what it was that next came in her eye,\\r\\nWhich she must dote on in extremity.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes my messenger. How now, mad spirit?\\r\\nWhat night-rule now about this haunted grove?\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nMy mistress with a monster is in love.\\r\\nNear to her close and consecrated bower,\\r\\nWhile she was in her dull and sleeping hour,\\r\\nA crew of patches, rude mechanicals,\\r\\nThat work for bread upon Athenian stalls,\\r\\nWere met together to rehearse a play\\r\\nIntended for great Theseus’ nuptial day.\\r\\nThe shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort\\r\\nWho Pyramus presented in their sport,\\r\\nForsook his scene and enter’d in a brake.\\r\\nWhen I did him at this advantage take,\\r\\nAn ass’s nole I fixed on his head.\\r\\nAnon, his Thisbe must be answerèd,\\r\\nAnd forth my mimic comes. When they him spy,\\r\\nAs wild geese that the creeping fowler eye,\\r\\nOr russet-pated choughs, many in sort,\\r\\nRising and cawing at the gun’s report,\\r\\nSever themselves and madly sweep the sky,\\r\\nSo at his sight away his fellows fly,\\r\\nAnd at our stamp, here o’er and o’er one falls;\\r\\nHe murder cries, and help from Athens calls.\\r\\nTheir sense thus weak, lost with their fears, thus strong,\\r\\nMade senseless things begin to do them wrong;\\r\\nFor briers and thorns at their apparel snatch;\\r\\nSome sleeves, some hats, from yielders all things catch.\\r\\nI led them on in this distracted fear,\\r\\nAnd left sweet Pyramus translated there.\\r\\nWhen in that moment, so it came to pass,\\r\\nTitania wak’d, and straightway lov’d an ass.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nThis falls out better than I could devise.\\r\\nBut hast thou yet latch’d the Athenian’s eyes\\r\\nWith the love-juice, as I did bid thee do?\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nI took him sleeping—that is finish’d too—\\r\\nAnd the Athenian woman by his side,\\r\\nThat, when he wak’d, of force she must be ey’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Demetrius and Hermia.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nStand close. This is the same Athenian.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nThis is the woman, but not this the man.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nO why rebuke you him that loves you so?\\r\\nLay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nNow I but chide, but I should use thee worse,\\r\\nFor thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse.\\r\\nIf thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep,\\r\\nBeing o’er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep,\\r\\nAnd kill me too.\\r\\nThe sun was not so true unto the day\\r\\nAs he to me. Would he have stol’n away\\r\\nFrom sleeping Hermia? I’ll believe as soon\\r\\nThis whole earth may be bor’d, and that the moon\\r\\nMay through the centre creep and so displease\\r\\nHer brother’s noontide with th’ Antipodes.\\r\\nIt cannot be but thou hast murder’d him.\\r\\nSo should a murderer look, so dead, so grim.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nSo should the murder’d look, and so should I,\\r\\nPierc’d through the heart with your stern cruelty.\\r\\nYet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear,\\r\\nAs yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nWhat’s this to my Lysander? Where is he?\\r\\nAh, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nI had rather give his carcass to my hounds.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nOut, dog! Out, cur! Thou driv’st me past the bounds\\r\\nOf maiden’s patience. Hast thou slain him, then?\\r\\nHenceforth be never number’d among men!\\r\\nO once tell true; tell true, even for my sake!\\r\\nDurst thou have look’d upon him, being awake,\\r\\nAnd hast thou kill’d him sleeping? O brave touch!\\r\\nCould not a worm, an adder, do so much?\\r\\nAn adder did it; for with doubler tongue\\r\\nThan thine, thou serpent, never adder stung.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nYou spend your passion on a mispris’d mood:\\r\\nI am not guilty of Lysander’s blood;\\r\\nNor is he dead, for aught that I can tell.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI pray thee, tell me then that he is well.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nAnd if I could, what should I get therefore?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nA privilege never to see me more.\\r\\nAnd from thy hated presence part I so:\\r\\nSee me no more, whether he be dead or no.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nThere is no following her in this fierce vein.\\r\\nHere, therefore, for a while I will remain.\\r\\nSo sorrow’s heaviness doth heavier grow\\r\\nFor debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe;\\r\\nWhich now in some slight measure it will pay,\\r\\nIf for his tender here I make some stay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Lies down._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nWhat hast thou done? Thou hast mistaken quite,\\r\\nAnd laid the love-juice on some true-love’s sight.\\r\\nOf thy misprision must perforce ensue\\r\\nSome true love turn’d, and not a false turn’d true.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nThen fate o’er-rules, that, one man holding troth,\\r\\nA million fail, confounding oath on oath.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nAbout the wood go swifter than the wind,\\r\\nAnd Helena of Athens look thou find.\\r\\nAll fancy-sick she is, and pale of cheer\\r\\nWith sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood dear.\\r\\nBy some illusion see thou bring her here;\\r\\nI’ll charm his eyes against she do appear.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nI go, I go; look how I go,\\r\\nSwifter than arrow from the Tartar’s bow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\n Flower of this purple dye,\\r\\n Hit with Cupid’s archery,\\r\\n Sink in apple of his eye.\\r\\n When his love he doth espy,\\r\\n Let her shine as gloriously\\r\\n As the Venus of the sky.—\\r\\n When thou wak’st, if she be by,\\r\\n Beg of her for remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n Captain of our fairy band,\\r\\n Helena is here at hand,\\r\\n And the youth mistook by me,\\r\\n Pleading for a lover’s fee.\\r\\n Shall we their fond pageant see?\\r\\n Lord, what fools these mortals be!\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\n Stand aside. The noise they make\\r\\n Will cause Demetrius to awake.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n Then will two at once woo one.\\r\\n That must needs be sport alone;\\r\\n And those things do best please me\\r\\n That befall prepost’rously.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lysander and Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nWhy should you think that I should woo in scorn?\\r\\nScorn and derision never come in tears.\\r\\nLook when I vow, I weep; and vows so born,\\r\\nIn their nativity all truth appears.\\r\\nHow can these things in me seem scorn to you,\\r\\nBearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nYou do advance your cunning more and more.\\r\\nWhen truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray!\\r\\nThese vows are Hermia’s: will you give her o’er?\\r\\nWeigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh:\\r\\nYour vows to her and me, put in two scales,\\r\\nWill even weigh; and both as light as tales.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nI had no judgment when to her I swore.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nNor none, in my mind, now you give her o’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nDemetrius loves her, and he loves not you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\n[_Waking._] O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine!\\r\\nTo what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne?\\r\\nCrystal is muddy. O how ripe in show\\r\\nThy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!\\r\\nThat pure congealèd white, high Taurus’ snow,\\r\\nFann’d with the eastern wind, turns to a crow\\r\\nWhen thou hold’st up thy hand. O, let me kiss\\r\\nThis princess of pure white, this seal of bliss!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO spite! O hell! I see you all are bent\\r\\nTo set against me for your merriment.\\r\\nIf you were civil, and knew courtesy,\\r\\nYou would not do me thus much injury.\\r\\nCan you not hate me, as I know you do,\\r\\nBut you must join in souls to mock me too?\\r\\nIf you were men, as men you are in show,\\r\\nYou would not use a gentle lady so;\\r\\nTo vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts,\\r\\nWhen I am sure you hate me with your hearts.\\r\\nYou both are rivals, and love Hermia;\\r\\nAnd now both rivals, to mock Helena.\\r\\nA trim exploit, a manly enterprise,\\r\\nTo conjure tears up in a poor maid’s eyes\\r\\nWith your derision! None of noble sort\\r\\nWould so offend a virgin, and extort\\r\\nA poor soul’s patience, all to make you sport.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nYou are unkind, Demetrius; be not so,\\r\\nFor you love Hermia; this you know I know.\\r\\nAnd here, with all good will, with all my heart,\\r\\nIn Hermia’s love I yield you up my part;\\r\\nAnd yours of Helena to me bequeath,\\r\\nWhom I do love and will do till my death.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nNever did mockers waste more idle breath.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nLysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none.\\r\\nIf e’er I lov’d her, all that love is gone.\\r\\nMy heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn’d;\\r\\nAnd now to Helen is it home return’d,\\r\\nThere to remain.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nHelen, it is not so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nDisparage not the faith thou dost not know,\\r\\nLest to thy peril thou aby it dear.\\r\\nLook where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hermia.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nDark night, that from the eye his function takes,\\r\\nThe ear more quick of apprehension makes;\\r\\nWherein it doth impair the seeing sense,\\r\\nIt pays the hearing double recompense.\\r\\nThou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found;\\r\\nMine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound.\\r\\nBut why unkindly didst thou leave me so?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nWhy should he stay whom love doth press to go?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nWhat love could press Lysander from my side?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nLysander’s love, that would not let him bide,\\r\\nFair Helena, who more engilds the night\\r\\nThan all yon fiery oes and eyes of light.\\r\\nWhy seek’st thou me? Could not this make thee know\\r\\nThe hate I bare thee made me leave thee so?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nYou speak not as you think; it cannot be.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nLo, she is one of this confederacy!\\r\\nNow I perceive they have conjoin’d all three\\r\\nTo fashion this false sport in spite of me.\\r\\nInjurious Hermia, most ungrateful maid!\\r\\nHave you conspir’d, have you with these contriv’d,\\r\\nTo bait me with this foul derision?\\r\\nIs all the counsel that we two have shar’d,\\r\\nThe sisters’ vows, the hours that we have spent,\\r\\nWhen we have chid the hasty-footed time\\r\\nFor parting us—O, is all forgot?\\r\\nAll school-days’ friendship, childhood innocence?\\r\\nWe, Hermia, like two artificial gods,\\r\\nHave with our needles created both one flower,\\r\\nBoth on one sampler, sitting on one cushion,\\r\\nBoth warbling of one song, both in one key,\\r\\nAs if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds,\\r\\nHad been incorporate. So we grew together,\\r\\nLike to a double cherry, seeming parted,\\r\\nBut yet a union in partition,\\r\\nTwo lovely berries moulded on one stem;\\r\\nSo, with two seeming bodies, but one heart;\\r\\nTwo of the first, like coats in heraldry,\\r\\nDue but to one, and crownèd with one crest.\\r\\nAnd will you rent our ancient love asunder,\\r\\nTo join with men in scorning your poor friend?\\r\\nIt is not friendly, ’tis not maidenly.\\r\\nOur sex, as well as I, may chide you for it,\\r\\nThough I alone do feel the injury.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI am amazèd at your passionate words:\\r\\nI scorn you not; it seems that you scorn me.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nHave you not set Lysander, as in scorn,\\r\\nTo follow me, and praise my eyes and face?\\r\\nAnd made your other love, Demetrius,\\r\\nWho even but now did spurn me with his foot,\\r\\nTo call me goddess, nymph, divine and rare,\\r\\nPrecious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this\\r\\nTo her he hates? And wherefore doth Lysander\\r\\nDeny your love, so rich within his soul,\\r\\nAnd tender me, forsooth, affection,\\r\\nBut by your setting on, by your consent?\\r\\nWhat though I be not so in grace as you,\\r\\nSo hung upon with love, so fortunate,\\r\\nBut miserable most, to love unlov’d?\\r\\nThis you should pity rather than despise.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI understand not what you mean by this.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nAy, do. Persever, counterfeit sad looks,\\r\\nMake mouths upon me when I turn my back,\\r\\nWink each at other; hold the sweet jest up.\\r\\nThis sport, well carried, shall be chronicled.\\r\\nIf you have any pity, grace, or manners,\\r\\nYou would not make me such an argument.\\r\\nBut fare ye well. ’Tis partly my own fault,\\r\\nWhich death, or absence, soon shall remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nStay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse;\\r\\nMy love, my life, my soul, fair Helena!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO excellent!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nSweet, do not scorn her so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nIf she cannot entreat, I can compel.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nThou canst compel no more than she entreat;\\r\\nThy threats have no more strength than her weak prayers.\\r\\nHelen, I love thee, by my life I do;\\r\\nI swear by that which I will lose for thee\\r\\nTo prove him false that says I love thee not.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nI say I love thee more than he can do.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nIf thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nQuick, come.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nLysander, whereto tends all this?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nAway, you Ethiope!\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nNo, no. He will\\r\\nSeem to break loose. Take on as you would follow,\\r\\nBut yet come not. You are a tame man, go!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nHang off, thou cat, thou burr! Vile thing, let loose,\\r\\nOr I will shake thee from me like a serpent.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nWhy are you grown so rude? What change is this,\\r\\nSweet love?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nThy love? Out, tawny Tartar, out!\\r\\nOut, loathèd medicine! O hated potion, hence!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nDo you not jest?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nYes, sooth, and so do you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nDemetrius, I will keep my word with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nI would I had your bond; for I perceive\\r\\nA weak bond holds you; I’ll not trust your word.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nWhat, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead?\\r\\nAlthough I hate her, I’ll not harm her so.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nWhat, can you do me greater harm than hate?\\r\\nHate me? Wherefore? O me! what news, my love?\\r\\nAm not I Hermia? Are not you Lysander?\\r\\nI am as fair now as I was erewhile.\\r\\nSince night you lov’d me; yet since night you left me.\\r\\nWhy then, you left me—O, the gods forbid!—\\r\\nIn earnest, shall I say?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nAy, by my life;\\r\\nAnd never did desire to see thee more.\\r\\nTherefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt;\\r\\nBe certain, nothing truer; ’tis no jest\\r\\nThat I do hate thee and love Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nO me! You juggler! You cankerblossom!\\r\\nYou thief of love! What! have you come by night\\r\\nAnd stol’n my love’s heart from him?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nFine, i’ faith!\\r\\nHave you no modesty, no maiden shame,\\r\\nNo touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear\\r\\nImpatient answers from my gentle tongue?\\r\\nFie, fie, you counterfeit, you puppet, you!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nPuppet! Why so? Ay, that way goes the game.\\r\\nNow I perceive that she hath made compare\\r\\nBetween our statures; she hath urg’d her height;\\r\\nAnd with her personage, her tall personage,\\r\\nHer height, forsooth, she hath prevail’d with him.\\r\\nAnd are you grown so high in his esteem\\r\\nBecause I am so dwarfish and so low?\\r\\nHow low am I, thou painted maypole? Speak,\\r\\nHow low am I? I am not yet so low\\r\\nBut that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nI pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen,\\r\\nLet her not hurt me. I was never curst;\\r\\nI have no gift at all in shrewishness;\\r\\nI am a right maid for my cowardice;\\r\\nLet her not strike me. You perhaps may think,\\r\\nBecause she is something lower than myself,\\r\\nThat I can match her.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nLower! Hark, again.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nGood Hermia, do not be so bitter with me.\\r\\nI evermore did love you, Hermia,\\r\\nDid ever keep your counsels, never wrong’d you,\\r\\nSave that, in love unto Demetrius,\\r\\nI told him of your stealth unto this wood.\\r\\nHe follow’d you; for love I follow’d him;\\r\\nBut he hath chid me hence, and threaten’d me\\r\\nTo strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too:\\r\\nAnd now, so you will let me quiet go,\\r\\nTo Athens will I bear my folly back,\\r\\nAnd follow you no further. Let me go:\\r\\nYou see how simple and how fond I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nWhy, get you gone. Who is’t that hinders you?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nA foolish heart that I leave here behind.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nWhat! with Lysander?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nWith Demetrius.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nBe not afraid; she shall not harm thee, Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nNo, sir, she shall not, though you take her part.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO, when she’s angry, she is keen and shrewd.\\r\\nShe was a vixen when she went to school,\\r\\nAnd though she be but little, she is fierce.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nLittle again! Nothing but low and little?\\r\\nWhy will you suffer her to flout me thus?\\r\\nLet me come to her.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nGet you gone, you dwarf;\\r\\nYou minimus, of hind’ring knot-grass made;\\r\\nYou bead, you acorn.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nYou are too officious\\r\\nIn her behalf that scorns your services.\\r\\nLet her alone. Speak not of Helena;\\r\\nTake not her part; for if thou dost intend\\r\\nNever so little show of love to her,\\r\\nThou shalt aby it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nNow she holds me not.\\r\\nNow follow, if thou dar’st, to try whose right,\\r\\nOf thine or mine, is most in Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nFollow! Nay, I’ll go with thee, cheek by jole.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lysander and Demetrius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nYou, mistress, all this coil is long of you.\\r\\nNay, go not back.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nI will not trust you, I,\\r\\nNor longer stay in your curst company.\\r\\nYour hands than mine are quicker for a fray.\\r\\nMy legs are longer though, to run away.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI am amaz’d, and know not what to say.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit, pursuing Helena._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nThis is thy negligence: still thou mistak’st,\\r\\nOr else commit’st thy knaveries willfully.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nBelieve me, king of shadows, I mistook.\\r\\nDid not you tell me I should know the man\\r\\nBy the Athenian garments he had on?\\r\\nAnd so far blameless proves my enterprise\\r\\nThat I have ’nointed an Athenian’s eyes:\\r\\nAnd so far am I glad it so did sort,\\r\\nAs this their jangling I esteem a sport.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nThou seest these lovers seek a place to fight.\\r\\nHie therefore, Robin, overcast the night;\\r\\nThe starry welkin cover thou anon\\r\\nWith drooping fog, as black as Acheron,\\r\\nAnd lead these testy rivals so astray\\r\\nAs one come not within another’s way.\\r\\nLike to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue,\\r\\nThen stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong;\\r\\nAnd sometime rail thou like Demetrius.\\r\\nAnd from each other look thou lead them thus,\\r\\nTill o’er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep\\r\\nWith leaden legs and batty wings doth creep.\\r\\nThen crush this herb into Lysander’s eye,\\r\\nWhose liquor hath this virtuous property,\\r\\nTo take from thence all error with his might\\r\\nAnd make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight.\\r\\nWhen they next wake, all this derision\\r\\nShall seem a dream and fruitless vision;\\r\\nAnd back to Athens shall the lovers wend,\\r\\nWith league whose date till death shall never end.\\r\\nWhiles I in this affair do thee employ,\\r\\nI’ll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy;\\r\\nAnd then I will her charmèd eye release\\r\\nFrom monster’s view, and all things shall be peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nMy fairy lord, this must be done with haste,\\r\\nFor night’s swift dragons cut the clouds full fast;\\r\\nAnd yonder shines Aurora’s harbinger,\\r\\nAt whose approach, ghosts wandering here and there\\r\\nTroop home to churchyards. Damnèd spirits all,\\r\\nThat in cross-ways and floods have burial,\\r\\nAlready to their wormy beds are gone;\\r\\nFor fear lest day should look their shames upon,\\r\\nThey wilfully themselves exile from light,\\r\\nAnd must for aye consort with black-brow’d night.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nBut we are spirits of another sort:\\r\\nI with the morning’s love have oft made sport;\\r\\nAnd, like a forester, the groves may tread\\r\\nEven till the eastern gate, all fiery-red,\\r\\nOpening on Neptune with fair blessèd beams,\\r\\nTurns into yellow gold his salt-green streams.\\r\\nBut, notwithstanding, haste, make no delay.\\r\\nWe may effect this business yet ere day.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Oberon._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n Up and down, up and down,\\r\\n I will lead them up and down.\\r\\n I am fear’d in field and town.\\r\\n Goblin, lead them up and down.\\r\\nHere comes one.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lysander.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nWhere art thou, proud Demetrius? Speak thou now.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nHere, villain, drawn and ready. Where art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nI will be with thee straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nFollow me then to plainer ground.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lysander as following the voice._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Demetrius.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nLysander, speak again.\\r\\nThou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled?\\r\\nSpeak. In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy head?\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nThou coward, art thou bragging to the stars,\\r\\nTelling the bushes that thou look’st for wars,\\r\\nAnd wilt not come? Come, recreant, come, thou child!\\r\\nI’ll whip thee with a rod. He is defil’d\\r\\nThat draws a sword on thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nYea, art thou there?\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nFollow my voice; we’ll try no manhood here.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lysander.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nHe goes before me, and still dares me on;\\r\\nWhen I come where he calls, then he is gone.\\r\\nThe villain is much lighter-heel’d than I:\\r\\nI follow’d fast, but faster he did fly,\\r\\nThat fallen am I in dark uneven way,\\r\\nAnd here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day!\\r\\n[_Lies down._] For if but once thou show me thy grey light,\\r\\nI’ll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck and Demetrius.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nHo, ho, ho! Coward, why com’st thou not?\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nAbide me, if thou dar’st; for well I wot\\r\\nThou runn’st before me, shifting every place,\\r\\nAnd dar’st not stand, nor look me in the face.\\r\\nWhere art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nCome hither; I am here.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nNay, then, thou mock’st me. Thou shalt buy this dear\\r\\nIf ever I thy face by daylight see:\\r\\nNow go thy way. Faintness constraineth me\\r\\nTo measure out my length on this cold bed.\\r\\nBy day’s approach look to be visited.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Lies down and sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO weary night, O long and tedious night,\\r\\n Abate thy hours! Shine, comforts, from the east,\\r\\nThat I may back to Athens by daylight,\\r\\n From these that my poor company detest.\\r\\nAnd sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow’s eye,\\r\\nSteal me awhile from mine own company.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n Yet but three? Come one more.\\r\\n Two of both kinds makes up four.\\r\\n Here she comes, curst and sad.\\r\\n Cupid is a knavish lad\\r\\n Thus to make poor females mad.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hermia.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nNever so weary, never so in woe,\\r\\n Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers,\\r\\nI can no further crawl, no further go;\\r\\n My legs can keep no pace with my desires.\\r\\nHere will I rest me till the break of day.\\r\\nHeavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Lies down._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n On the ground\\r\\n Sleep sound.\\r\\n I’ll apply\\r\\n To your eye,\\r\\n Gentle lover, remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Squeezing the juice on Lysander’s eye._]\\r\\n\\r\\n When thou wak’st,\\r\\n Thou tak’st\\r\\n True delight\\r\\n In the sight\\r\\n Of thy former lady’s eye.\\r\\n And the country proverb known,\\r\\n That every man should take his own,\\r\\n In your waking shall be shown:\\r\\n Jack shall have Jill;\\r\\n Nought shall go ill;\\r\\nThe man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Puck._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Wood\\r\\n\\r\\n Lysander, Demetrius, Helena and Hermia still asleep.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Titania and Bottom; Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth, Mustardseed and\\r\\n other Fairies attending; Oberon behind, unseen.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nCome, sit thee down upon this flowery bed,\\r\\n While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,\\r\\nAnd stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head,\\r\\n And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWhere’s Peaseblossom?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEASEBLOSSOM.\\r\\nReady.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nScratch my head, Peaseblossom. Where’s Monsieur Cobweb?\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBWEB.\\r\\nReady.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nMonsieur Cobweb; good monsieur, get you your weapons in your hand and\\r\\nkill me a red-hipped humble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good\\r\\nmonsieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret yourself too much in the\\r\\naction, monsieur; and, good monsieur, have a care the honey-bag break\\r\\nnot; I would be loath to have you overflown with a honey-bag, signior.\\r\\nWhere’s Monsieur Mustardseed?\\r\\n\\r\\nMUSTARDSEED.\\r\\nReady.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nGive me your neaf, Monsieur Mustardseed. Pray you, leave your courtesy,\\r\\ngood monsieur.\\r\\n\\r\\nMUSTARDSEED.\\r\\nWhat’s your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nNothing, good monsieur, but to help Cavalery Cobweb to scratch. I must\\r\\nto the barber’s, monsieur, for methinks I am marvellous hairy about the\\r\\nface; and I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must\\r\\nscratch.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nWhat, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI have a reasonable good ear in music. Let us have the tongs and the\\r\\nbones.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nOr say, sweet love, what thou desirest to eat.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nTruly, a peck of provender; I could munch your good dry oats. Methinks\\r\\nI have a great desire to a bottle of hay: good hay, sweet hay, hath no\\r\\nfellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nI have a venturous fairy that shall seek\\r\\nThe squirrel’s hoard, and fetch thee new nuts.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI had rather have a handful or two of dried peas. But, I pray you, let\\r\\nnone of your people stir me; I have an exposition of sleep come upon\\r\\nme.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nSleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms.\\r\\nFairies, be gone, and be all ways away.\\r\\nSo doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle\\r\\nGently entwist, the female ivy so\\r\\nEnrings the barky fingers of the elm.\\r\\nO, how I love thee! How I dote on thee!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They sleep._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Oberon advances. Enter Puck.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nWelcome, good Robin. Seest thou this sweet sight?\\r\\nHer dotage now I do begin to pity.\\r\\nFor, meeting her of late behind the wood,\\r\\nSeeking sweet favours for this hateful fool,\\r\\nI did upbraid her and fall out with her:\\r\\nFor she his hairy temples then had rounded\\r\\nWith coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers;\\r\\nAnd that same dew, which sometime on the buds\\r\\nWas wont to swell like round and orient pearls,\\r\\nStood now within the pretty flouriets’ eyes,\\r\\nLike tears that did their own disgrace bewail.\\r\\nWhen I had at my pleasure taunted her,\\r\\nAnd she in mild terms begg’d my patience,\\r\\nI then did ask of her her changeling child;\\r\\nWhich straight she gave me, and her fairy sent\\r\\nTo bear him to my bower in fairyland.\\r\\nAnd now I have the boy, I will undo\\r\\nThis hateful imperfection of her eyes.\\r\\nAnd, gentle Puck, take this transformèd scalp\\r\\nFrom off the head of this Athenian swain,\\r\\nThat he awaking when the other do,\\r\\nMay all to Athens back again repair,\\r\\nAnd think no more of this night’s accidents\\r\\nBut as the fierce vexation of a dream.\\r\\nBut first I will release the Fairy Queen.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Touching her eyes with an herb._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Be as thou wast wont to be;\\r\\n See as thou was wont to see.\\r\\n Dian’s bud o’er Cupid’s flower\\r\\n Hath such force and blessed power.\\r\\nNow, my Titania, wake you, my sweet queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nMy Oberon, what visions have I seen!\\r\\nMethought I was enamour’d of an ass.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nThere lies your love.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nHow came these things to pass?\\r\\nO, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now!\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nSilence awhile.—Robin, take off this head.\\r\\nTitania, music call; and strike more dead\\r\\nThan common sleep, of all these five the sense.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nMusic, ho, music, such as charmeth sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nNow when thou wak’st, with thine own fool’s eyes peep.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nSound, music.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Still mucic._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, my queen, take hands with me,\\r\\nAnd rock the ground whereon these sleepers be.\\r\\nNow thou and I are new in amity,\\r\\nAnd will tomorrow midnight solemnly\\r\\nDance in Duke Theseus’ house triumphantly,\\r\\nAnd bless it to all fair prosperity:\\r\\nThere shall the pairs of faithful lovers be\\r\\nWedded, with Theseus, all in jollity.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n Fairy king, attend and mark.\\r\\n I do hear the morning lark.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\n Then, my queen, in silence sad,\\r\\n Trip we after night’s shade.\\r\\n We the globe can compass soon,\\r\\n Swifter than the wand’ring moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\n Come, my lord, and in our flight,\\r\\n Tell me how it came this night\\r\\n That I sleeping here was found\\r\\n With these mortals on the ground.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt. Horns sound within._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus and Train.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nGo, one of you, find out the forester;\\r\\nFor now our observation is perform’d;\\r\\nAnd since we have the vaward of the day,\\r\\nMy love shall hear the music of my hounds.\\r\\nUncouple in the western valley; let them go.\\r\\nDispatch I say, and find the forester.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit an Attendant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWe will, fair queen, up to the mountain’s top,\\r\\nAnd mark the musical confusion\\r\\nOf hounds and echo in conjunction.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nI was with Hercules and Cadmus once,\\r\\nWhen in a wood of Crete they bay’d the bear\\r\\nWith hounds of Sparta. Never did I hear\\r\\nSuch gallant chiding; for, besides the groves,\\r\\nThe skies, the fountains, every region near\\r\\nSeem’d all one mutual cry. I never heard\\r\\nSo musical a discord, such sweet thunder.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nMy hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind,\\r\\nSo flew’d, so sanded; and their heads are hung\\r\\nWith ears that sweep away the morning dew;\\r\\nCrook-knee’d and dewlap’d like Thessalian bulls;\\r\\nSlow in pursuit, but match’d in mouth like bells,\\r\\nEach under each. A cry more tuneable\\r\\nWas never holla’d to, nor cheer’d with horn,\\r\\nIn Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly.\\r\\nJudge when you hear.—But, soft, what nymphs are these?\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEUS.\\r\\nMy lord, this is my daughter here asleep,\\r\\nAnd this Lysander; this Demetrius is;\\r\\nThis Helena, old Nedar’s Helena:\\r\\nI wonder of their being here together.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNo doubt they rose up early to observe\\r\\nThe rite of May; and, hearing our intent,\\r\\nCame here in grace of our solemnity.\\r\\nBut speak, Egeus; is not this the day\\r\\nThat Hermia should give answer of her choice?\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEUS.\\r\\nIt is, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nGo, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns.\\r\\n\\r\\n Horns, and shout within. Demetrius, Lysander, Hermia and Helena wake\\r\\n and start up.\\r\\n\\r\\nGood morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past.\\r\\nBegin these wood-birds but to couple now?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nPardon, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n He and the rest kneel to Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI pray you all, stand up.\\r\\nI know you two are rival enemies.\\r\\nHow comes this gentle concord in the world,\\r\\nThat hatred is so far from jealousy\\r\\nTo sleep by hate, and fear no enmity?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nMy lord, I shall reply amazedly,\\r\\nHalf sleep, half waking; but as yet, I swear,\\r\\nI cannot truly say how I came here.\\r\\nBut, as I think (for truly would I speak)\\r\\nAnd now I do bethink me, so it is:\\r\\nI came with Hermia hither. Our intent\\r\\nWas to be gone from Athens, where we might be,\\r\\nWithout the peril of the Athenian law.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEUS.\\r\\nEnough, enough, my lord; you have enough.\\r\\nI beg the law, the law upon his head.\\r\\nThey would have stol’n away, they would, Demetrius,\\r\\nThereby to have defeated you and me:\\r\\nYou of your wife, and me of my consent,\\r\\nOf my consent that she should be your wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nMy lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth,\\r\\nOf this their purpose hither to this wood;\\r\\nAnd I in fury hither follow’d them,\\r\\nFair Helena in fancy following me.\\r\\nBut, my good lord, I wot not by what power,\\r\\n(But by some power it is) my love to Hermia,\\r\\nMelted as the snow, seems to me now\\r\\nAs the remembrance of an idle gaud\\r\\nWhich in my childhood I did dote upon;\\r\\nAnd all the faith, the virtue of my heart,\\r\\nThe object and the pleasure of mine eye,\\r\\nIs only Helena. To her, my lord,\\r\\nWas I betroth’d ere I saw Hermia.\\r\\nBut like a sickness did I loathe this food.\\r\\nBut, as in health, come to my natural taste,\\r\\nNow I do wish it, love it, long for it,\\r\\nAnd will for evermore be true to it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nFair lovers, you are fortunately met.\\r\\nOf this discourse we more will hear anon.\\r\\nEgeus, I will overbear your will;\\r\\nFor in the temple, by and by with us,\\r\\nThese couples shall eternally be knit.\\r\\nAnd, for the morning now is something worn,\\r\\nOur purpos’d hunting shall be set aside.\\r\\nAway with us to Athens. Three and three,\\r\\nWe’ll hold a feast in great solemnity.\\r\\nCome, Hippolyta.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus and Train._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nThese things seem small and undistinguishable,\\r\\nLike far-off mountains turnèd into clouds.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nMethinks I see these things with parted eye,\\r\\nWhen everything seems double.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nSo methinks.\\r\\nAnd I have found Demetrius like a jewel,\\r\\nMine own, and not mine own.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nAre you sure\\r\\nThat we are awake? It seems to me\\r\\nThat yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think\\r\\nThe Duke was here, and bid us follow him?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nYea, and my father.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nAnd Hippolyta.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nAnd he did bid us follow to the temple.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nWhy, then, we are awake: let’s follow him,\\r\\nAnd by the way let us recount our dreams.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\n[_Waking._] When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer. My next is\\r\\n‘Most fair Pyramus.’ Heigh-ho! Peter Quince! Flute, the bellows-mender!\\r\\nSnout, the tinker! Starveling! God’s my life! Stol’n hence, and left me\\r\\nasleep! I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit\\r\\nof man to say what dream it was. Man is but an ass if he go about to\\r\\nexpound this dream. Methought I was—there is no man can tell what.\\r\\nMethought I was, and methought I had—but man is but a patched fool if\\r\\nhe will offer to say what methought I had. The eye of man hath not\\r\\nheard, the ear of man hath not seen, man’s hand is not able to taste,\\r\\nhis tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I\\r\\nwill get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream: it shall be\\r\\ncalled ‘Bottom’s Dream’, because it hath no bottom; and I will sing it\\r\\nin the latter end of a play, before the Duke. Peradventure, to make it\\r\\nthe more gracious, I shall sing it at her death.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Athens. A Room in Quince’s House\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Quince, Flute, Snout and Starveling.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nHave you sent to Bottom’s house? Is he come home yet?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTARVELING.\\r\\nHe cannot be heard of. Out of doubt he is transported.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUTE.\\r\\nIf he come not, then the play is marred. It goes not forward, doth it?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nIt is not possible. You have not a man in all Athens able to discharge\\r\\nPyramus but he.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUTE.\\r\\nNo, he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft man in Athens.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nYea, and the best person too, and he is a very paramour for a sweet\\r\\nvoice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUTE.\\r\\nYou must say paragon. A paramour is, God bless us, a thing of naught.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Snug.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNUG\\r\\nMasters, the Duke is coming from the temple, and there is two or three\\r\\nlords and ladies more married. If our sport had gone forward, we had\\r\\nall been made men.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUTE.\\r\\nO sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost sixpence a day during his life;\\r\\nhe could not have ’scaped sixpence a day. An the Duke had not given him\\r\\nsixpence a day for playing Pyramus, I’ll be hanged. He would have\\r\\ndeserved it: sixpence a day in Pyramus, or nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bottom.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWhere are these lads? Where are these hearts?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nBottom! O most courageous day! O most happy hour!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nMasters, I am to discourse wonders: but ask me not what; for if I tell\\r\\nyou, I am not true Athenian. I will tell you everything, right as it\\r\\nfell out.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nLet us hear, sweet Bottom.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nNot a word of me. All that I will tell you is, that the Duke hath\\r\\ndined. Get your apparel together, good strings to your beards, new\\r\\nribbons to your pumps; meet presently at the palace; every man look\\r\\no’er his part. For the short and the long is, our play is preferred. In\\r\\nany case, let Thisbe have clean linen; and let not him that plays the\\r\\nlion pare his nails, for they shall hang out for the lion’s claws. And\\r\\nmost dear actors, eat no onions nor garlick, for we are to utter sweet\\r\\nbreath; and I do not doubt but to hear them say it is a sweet comedy.\\r\\nNo more words. Away! Go, away!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Athens. An Apartment in the Palace of Theseus\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, Lords and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\n’Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak of.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nMore strange than true. I never may believe\\r\\nThese antique fables, nor these fairy toys.\\r\\nLovers and madmen have such seething brains,\\r\\nSuch shaping fantasies, that apprehend\\r\\nMore than cool reason ever comprehends.\\r\\nThe lunatic, the lover, and the poet\\r\\nAre of imagination all compact:\\r\\nOne sees more devils than vast hell can hold;\\r\\nThat is the madman: the lover, all as frantic,\\r\\nSees Helen’s beauty in a brow of Egypt:\\r\\nThe poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,\\r\\nDoth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;\\r\\nAnd as imagination bodies forth\\r\\nThe forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen\\r\\nTurns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing\\r\\nA local habitation and a name.\\r\\nSuch tricks hath strong imagination,\\r\\nThat if it would but apprehend some joy,\\r\\nIt comprehends some bringer of that joy.\\r\\nOr in the night, imagining some fear,\\r\\nHow easy is a bush supposed a bear?\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nBut all the story of the night told over,\\r\\nAnd all their minds transfigur’d so together,\\r\\nMore witnesseth than fancy’s images,\\r\\nAnd grows to something of great constancy;\\r\\nBut, howsoever, strange and admirable.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter lovers: Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia and Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nHere come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.\\r\\nJoy, gentle friends, joy and fresh days of love\\r\\nAccompany your hearts!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nMore than to us\\r\\nWait in your royal walks, your board, your bed!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nCome now; what masques, what dances shall we have,\\r\\nTo wear away this long age of three hours\\r\\nBetween our after-supper and bed-time?\\r\\nWhere is our usual manager of mirth?\\r\\nWhat revels are in hand? Is there no play\\r\\nTo ease the anguish of a torturing hour?\\r\\nCall Philostrate.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILOSTRATE.\\r\\nHere, mighty Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSay, what abridgment have you for this evening?\\r\\nWhat masque? What music? How shall we beguile\\r\\nThe lazy time, if not with some delight?\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILOSTRATE.\\r\\nThere is a brief how many sports are ripe.\\r\\nMake choice of which your Highness will see first.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Giving a paper._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\n[_Reads_] ‘The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung\\r\\nBy an Athenian eunuch to the harp.’\\r\\nWe’ll none of that. That have I told my love\\r\\nIn glory of my kinsman Hercules.\\r\\n‘The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals,\\r\\nTearing the Thracian singer in their rage?’\\r\\nThat is an old device, and it was play’d\\r\\nWhen I from Thebes came last a conqueror.\\r\\n‘The thrice three Muses mourning for the death\\r\\nOf learning, late deceas’d in beggary.’\\r\\nThat is some satire, keen and critical,\\r\\nNot sorting with a nuptial ceremony.\\r\\n‘A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus\\r\\nAnd his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth.’\\r\\nMerry and tragical? Tedious and brief?\\r\\nThat is hot ice and wondrous strange snow.\\r\\nHow shall we find the concord of this discord?\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILOSTRATE.\\r\\nA play there is, my lord, some ten words long,\\r\\nWhich is as brief as I have known a play;\\r\\nBut by ten words, my lord, it is too long,\\r\\nWhich makes it tedious. For in all the play\\r\\nThere is not one word apt, one player fitted.\\r\\nAnd tragical, my noble lord, it is.\\r\\nFor Pyramus therein doth kill himself,\\r\\nWhich, when I saw rehears’d, I must confess,\\r\\nMade mine eyes water; but more merry tears\\r\\nThe passion of loud laughter never shed.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat are they that do play it?\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILOSTRATE.\\r\\nHard-handed men that work in Athens here,\\r\\nWhich never labour’d in their minds till now;\\r\\nAnd now have toil’d their unbreath’d memories\\r\\nWith this same play against your nuptial.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAnd we will hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILOSTRATE.\\r\\nNo, my noble lord,\\r\\nIt is not for you: I have heard it over,\\r\\nAnd it is nothing, nothing in the world;\\r\\nUnless you can find sport in their intents,\\r\\nExtremely stretch’d and conn’d with cruel pain\\r\\nTo do you service.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI will hear that play;\\r\\nFor never anything can be amiss\\r\\nWhen simpleness and duty tender it.\\r\\nGo, bring them in: and take your places, ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Philostrate._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nI love not to see wretchedness o’ercharged,\\r\\nAnd duty in his service perishing.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhy, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nHe says they can do nothing in this kind.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThe kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing.\\r\\nOur sport shall be to take what they mistake:\\r\\nAnd what poor duty cannot do, noble respect\\r\\nTakes it in might, not merit.\\r\\nWhere I have come, great clerks have purposed\\r\\nTo greet me with premeditated welcomes;\\r\\nWhere I have seen them shiver and look pale,\\r\\nMake periods in the midst of sentences,\\r\\nThrottle their practis’d accent in their fears,\\r\\nAnd, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off,\\r\\nNot paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet,\\r\\nOut of this silence yet I pick’d a welcome;\\r\\nAnd in the modesty of fearful duty\\r\\nI read as much as from the rattling tongue\\r\\nOf saucy and audacious eloquence.\\r\\nLove, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity\\r\\nIn least speak most to my capacity.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Philostrate.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILOSTRATE.\\r\\nSo please your grace, the Prologue is address’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nLet him approach.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish of trumpets. Enter the Prologue.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROLOGUE\\r\\nIf we offend, it is with our good will.\\r\\nThat you should think, we come not to offend,\\r\\nBut with good will. To show our simple skill,\\r\\nThat is the true beginning of our end.\\r\\nConsider then, we come but in despite.\\r\\nWe do not come, as minding to content you,\\r\\nOur true intent is. All for your delight\\r\\nWe are not here. That you should here repent you,\\r\\nThe actors are at hand, and, by their show,\\r\\nYou shall know all that you are like to know.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThis fellow doth not stand upon points.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nHe hath rid his prologue like a rough colt; he knows not the stop. A\\r\\ngood moral, my lord: it is not enough to speak, but to speak true.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nIndeed he hath played on this prologue like a child on a recorder; a\\r\\nsound, but not in government.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nHis speech was like a tangled chain; nothing impaired, but all\\r\\ndisordered. Who is next?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine and Lion as in dumb show.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROLOGUE\\r\\nGentles, perchance you wonder at this show;\\r\\nBut wonder on, till truth make all things plain.\\r\\nThis man is Pyramus, if you would know;\\r\\nThis beauteous lady Thisbe is certain.\\r\\nThis man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present\\r\\nWall, that vile wall which did these lovers sunder;\\r\\nAnd through Wall’s chink, poor souls, they are content\\r\\nTo whisper, at the which let no man wonder.\\r\\nThis man, with lanthern, dog, and bush of thorn,\\r\\nPresenteth Moonshine, for, if you will know,\\r\\nBy moonshine did these lovers think no scorn\\r\\nTo meet at Ninus’ tomb, there, there to woo.\\r\\nThis grisly beast (which Lion hight by name)\\r\\nThe trusty Thisbe, coming first by night,\\r\\nDid scare away, or rather did affright;\\r\\nAnd as she fled, her mantle she did fall;\\r\\nWhich Lion vile with bloody mouth did stain.\\r\\nAnon comes Pyramus, sweet youth, and tall,\\r\\nAnd finds his trusty Thisbe’s mantle slain;\\r\\nWhereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade,\\r\\nHe bravely broach’d his boiling bloody breast;\\r\\nAnd Thisbe, tarrying in mulberry shade,\\r\\nHis dagger drew, and died. For all the rest,\\r\\nLet Lion, Moonshine, Wall, and lovers twain,\\r\\nAt large discourse while here they do remain.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Prologue, Pyramus, Thisbe, Lion and Moonshine._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI wonder if the lion be to speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nNo wonder, my lord. One lion may, when many asses do.\\r\\n\\r\\nWALL.\\r\\nIn this same interlude it doth befall\\r\\nThat I, one Snout by name, present a wall:\\r\\nAnd such a wall as I would have you think\\r\\nThat had in it a crannied hole or chink,\\r\\nThrough which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisbe,\\r\\nDid whisper often very secretly.\\r\\nThis loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth show\\r\\nThat I am that same wall; the truth is so:\\r\\nAnd this the cranny is, right and sinister,\\r\\nThrough which the fearful lovers are to whisper.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWould you desire lime and hair to speak better?\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nIt is the wittiest partition that ever I heard discourse, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nPyramus draws near the wall; silence.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pyramus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nO grim-look’d night! O night with hue so black!\\r\\nO night, which ever art when day is not!\\r\\nO night, O night, alack, alack, alack,\\r\\nI fear my Thisbe’s promise is forgot!\\r\\nAnd thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall,\\r\\nThat stand’st between her father’s ground and mine;\\r\\nThou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall,\\r\\nShow me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Wall holds up his fingers._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well for this!\\r\\nBut what see I? No Thisbe do I see.\\r\\nO wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss,\\r\\nCurs’d be thy stones for thus deceiving me!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThe wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nNo, in truth, sir, he should not. ‘Deceiving me’ is Thisbe’s cue: she\\r\\nis to enter now, and I am to spy her through the wall. You shall see it\\r\\nwill fall pat as I told you. Yonder she comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thisbe.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nO wall, full often hast thou heard my moans,\\r\\nFor parting my fair Pyramus and me.\\r\\nMy cherry lips have often kiss’d thy stones,\\r\\nThy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nI see a voice; now will I to the chink,\\r\\nTo spy an I can hear my Thisbe’s face.\\r\\nThisbe?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nMy love thou art, my love I think.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nThink what thou wilt, I am thy lover’s grace;\\r\\nAnd like Limander am I trusty still.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nAnd I like Helen, till the fates me kill.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nNot Shafalus to Procrus was so true.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nAs Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nO kiss me through the hole of this vile wall.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nI kiss the wall’s hole, not your lips at all.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nWilt thou at Ninny’s tomb meet me straightway?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\n’Tide life, ’tide death, I come without delay.\\r\\n\\r\\nWALL.\\r\\nThus have I, Wall, my part discharged so;\\r\\nAnd, being done, thus Wall away doth go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Wall, Pyramus and Thisbe._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNow is the mural down between the two neighbours.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nNo remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear without warning.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nThis is the silliest stuff that ever I heard.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThe best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst are no worse, if\\r\\nimagination amend them.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nIt must be your imagination then, and not theirs.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nIf we imagine no worse of them than they of themselves, they may pass\\r\\nfor excellent men. Here come two noble beasts in, a man and a lion.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lion and Moonshine.\\r\\n\\r\\nLION.\\r\\nYou, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear\\r\\nThe smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,\\r\\nMay now, perchance, both quake and tremble here,\\r\\nWhen lion rough in wildest rage doth roar.\\r\\nThen know that I, one Snug the joiner, am\\r\\nA lion fell, nor else no lion’s dam;\\r\\nFor if I should as lion come in strife\\r\\nInto this place, ’twere pity on my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nA very gentle beast, and of a good conscience.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nThe very best at a beast, my lord, that e’er I saw.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nThis lion is a very fox for his valour.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nTrue; and a goose for his discretion.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nNot so, my lord, for his valour cannot carry his discretion, and the\\r\\nfox carries the goose.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nHis discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour; for the goose\\r\\ncarries not the fox. It is well; leave it to his discretion, and let us\\r\\nlisten to the moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOONSHINE.\\r\\nThis lanthorn doth the hornèd moon present.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nHe should have worn the horns on his head.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nHe is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the\\r\\ncircumference.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOONSHINE.\\r\\nThis lanthorn doth the hornèd moon present;\\r\\nMyself the man i’ the moon do seem to be.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThis is the greatest error of all the rest; the man should be put into\\r\\nthe lantern. How is it else the man i’ the moon?\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nHe dares not come there for the candle, for you see, it is already in\\r\\nsnuff.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nI am aweary of this moon. Would he would change!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nIt appears by his small light of discretion that he is in the wane; but\\r\\nyet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nProceed, Moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOON\\r\\nAll that I have to say, is to tell you that the lantern is the moon; I\\r\\nthe man i’ the moon; this thorn-bush my thorn-bush; and this dog my\\r\\ndog.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nWhy, all these should be in the lantern, for all these are in the moon.\\r\\nBut silence; here comes Thisbe.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thisbe.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nThis is old Ninny’s tomb. Where is my love?\\r\\n\\r\\nLION.\\r\\nOh!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Lion roars, Thisbe runs off._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nWell roared, Lion.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWell run, Thisbe.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nWell shone, Moon. Truly, the moon shines with a good grace.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Lion tears Thisbe’s mantle, and exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWell moused, Lion.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nAnd then came Pyramus.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nAnd so the lion vanished.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pyramus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nSweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;\\r\\nI thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright;\\r\\nFor, by thy gracious golden, glittering gleams,\\r\\nI trust to take of truest Thisbe sight.\\r\\n But stay! O spite!\\r\\n But mark, poor knight,\\r\\n What dreadful dole is here!\\r\\n Eyes, do you see?\\r\\n How can it be?\\r\\n O dainty duck! O dear!\\r\\n Thy mantle good,\\r\\n What, stained with blood?\\r\\n Approach, ye Furies fell!\\r\\n O Fates, come, come;\\r\\n Cut thread and thrum;\\r\\n Quail, rush, conclude, and quell!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThis passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a\\r\\nman look sad.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nBeshrew my heart, but I pity the man.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nO wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame,\\r\\nSince lion vile hath here deflower’d my dear?\\r\\nWhich is—no, no—which was the fairest dame\\r\\nThat liv’d, that lov’d, that lik’d, that look’d with cheer.\\r\\n Come, tears, confound!\\r\\n Out, sword, and wound\\r\\n The pap of Pyramus;\\r\\n Ay, that left pap,\\r\\n Where heart doth hop:\\r\\n Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.\\r\\n Now am I dead,\\r\\n Now am I fled;\\r\\n My soul is in the sky.\\r\\n Tongue, lose thy light!\\r\\n Moon, take thy flight!\\r\\n Now die, die, die, die, die.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies. Exit Moonshine._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nNo die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nLess than an ace, man; for he is dead, he is nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWith the help of a surgeon he might yet recover and prove an ass.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nHow chance Moonshine is gone before Thisbe comes back and finds her\\r\\nlover?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nShe will find him by starlight.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thisbe.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere she comes, and her passion ends the play.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nMethinks she should not use a long one for such a Pyramus. I hope she\\r\\nwill be brief.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nA mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which Thisbe, is the\\r\\nbetter: he for a man, God warrant us; she for a woman, God bless us!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nShe hath spied him already with those sweet eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nAnd thus she means, _videlicet_—\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\n Asleep, my love?\\r\\n What, dead, my dove?\\r\\n O Pyramus, arise,\\r\\n Speak, speak. Quite dumb?\\r\\n Dead, dead? A tomb\\r\\n Must cover thy sweet eyes.\\r\\n These lily lips,\\r\\n This cherry nose,\\r\\n These yellow cowslip cheeks,\\r\\n Are gone, are gone!\\r\\n Lovers, make moan;\\r\\n His eyes were green as leeks.\\r\\n O Sisters Three,\\r\\n Come, come to me,\\r\\n With hands as pale as milk;\\r\\n Lay them in gore,\\r\\n Since you have shore\\r\\n With shears his thread of silk.\\r\\n Tongue, not a word:\\r\\n Come, trusty sword,\\r\\n Come, blade, my breast imbrue;\\r\\n And farewell, friends.\\r\\n Thus Thisbe ends.\\r\\n Adieu, adieu, adieu.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nMoonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nAy, and Wall too.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nNo, I assure you; the wall is down that parted their fathers. Will it\\r\\nplease you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance between\\r\\ntwo of our company?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNo epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse;\\r\\nfor when the players are all dead there need none to be blamed. Marry,\\r\\nif he that writ it had played Pyramus, and hanged himself in Thisbe’s\\r\\ngarter, it would have been a fine tragedy; and so it is, truly; and\\r\\nvery notably discharged. But come, your Bergomask; let your epilogue\\r\\nalone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Here a dance of Clowns._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve.\\r\\nLovers, to bed; ’tis almost fairy time.\\r\\nI fear we shall outsleep the coming morn\\r\\nAs much as we this night have overwatch’d.\\r\\nThis palpable-gross play hath well beguil’d\\r\\nThe heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed.\\r\\nA fortnight hold we this solemnity\\r\\nIn nightly revels and new jollity.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n Now the hungry lion roars,\\r\\n And the wolf behowls the moon;\\r\\n Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,\\r\\n All with weary task fordone.\\r\\n Now the wasted brands do glow,\\r\\n Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud,\\r\\n Puts the wretch that lies in woe\\r\\n In remembrance of a shroud.\\r\\n Now it is the time of night\\r\\n That the graves, all gaping wide,\\r\\n Every one lets forth his sprite,\\r\\n In the church-way paths to glide.\\r\\n And we fairies, that do run\\r\\n By the triple Hecate’s team\\r\\n From the presence of the sun,\\r\\n Following darkness like a dream,\\r\\n Now are frolic; not a mouse\\r\\n Shall disturb this hallow’d house.\\r\\n I am sent with broom before,\\r\\n To sweep the dust behind the door.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Oberon and Titania with their Train.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\n Through the house give glimmering light,\\r\\n By the dead and drowsy fire.\\r\\n Every elf and fairy sprite\\r\\n Hop as light as bird from brier,\\r\\n And this ditty after me,\\r\\n Sing and dance it trippingly.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\n First rehearse your song by rote,\\r\\n To each word a warbling note;\\r\\n Hand in hand, with fairy grace,\\r\\n Will we sing, and bless this place.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Song and Dance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\n Now, until the break of day,\\r\\n Through this house each fairy stray.\\r\\n To the best bride-bed will we,\\r\\n Which by us shall blessèd be;\\r\\n And the issue there create\\r\\n Ever shall be fortunate.\\r\\n So shall all the couples three\\r\\n Ever true in loving be;\\r\\n And the blots of Nature’s hand\\r\\n Shall not in their issue stand:\\r\\n Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar,\\r\\n Nor mark prodigious, such as are\\r\\n Despised in nativity,\\r\\n Shall upon their children be.\\r\\n With this field-dew consecrate,\\r\\n Every fairy take his gait,\\r\\n And each several chamber bless,\\r\\n Through this palace, with sweet peace;\\r\\n And the owner of it blest.\\r\\n Ever shall it in safety rest,\\r\\n Trip away. Make no stay;\\r\\n Meet me all by break of day.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Oberon, Titania and Train._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n If we shadows have offended,\\r\\n Think but this, and all is mended,\\r\\n That you have but slumber’d here\\r\\n While these visions did appear.\\r\\n And this weak and idle theme,\\r\\n No more yielding but a dream,\\r\\n Gentles, do not reprehend.\\r\\n If you pardon, we will mend.\\r\\n And, as I am an honest Puck,\\r\\n If we have unearnèd luck\\r\\n Now to ’scape the serpent’s tongue,\\r\\n We will make amends ere long;\\r\\n Else the Puck a liar call.\\r\\n So, good night unto you all.\\r\\n Give me your hands, if we be friends,\\r\\n And Robin shall restore amends.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Before Leonato’s House.\\r\\nScene II. A room in Leonato’s house.\\r\\nScene III. Another room in Leonato’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. A hall in Leonato’s house.\\r\\nScene II. Another room in Leonato’s house.\\r\\nScene III. Leonato’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Leonato’s Garden.\\r\\nScene II. A Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\nScene III. A Street.\\r\\nScene IV. A Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\nScene V. Another Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. The Inside of a Church.\\r\\nScene II. A Prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Before Leonato’s House.\\r\\nScene II. Leonato’s Garden.\\r\\nScene III. The Inside of a Church.\\r\\nScene IV. A Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO, Prince of Arragon.\\r\\n DON JOHN, his bastard Brother.\\r\\n CLAUDIO, a young Lord of Florence.\\r\\n BENEDICK, a young Lord of Padua.\\r\\n LEONATO, Governor of Messina.\\r\\n ANTONIO, his Brother.\\r\\n BALTHASAR, Servant to Don Pedro.\\r\\n BORACHIO, follower of Don John.\\r\\n CONRADE, follower of Don John.\\r\\n DOGBERRY, a Constable.\\r\\n VERGES, a Headborough.\\r\\n FRIAR FRANCIS.\\r\\n A Sexton.\\r\\n A Boy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO, Daughter to Leonato.\\r\\n BEATRICE, Niece to Leonato.\\r\\n MARGARET, Waiting gentlewoman attending on Hero.\\r\\n URSULA, Waiting gentlewoman attending on Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Messengers, Watch, Attendants, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE. Messina.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Before Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leonato, Hero, Beatrice and others, with a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I learn in this letter that Don Pedro of Arragon comes this night\\r\\n to Messina.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n He is very near by this: he was not three leagues off when I left\\r\\n him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n How many gentlemen have you lost in this action?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n But few of any sort, and none of name.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full\\r\\n numbers. I find here that Don Pedro hath bestowed much honour on\\r\\n a young Florentine called Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n Much deserved on his part, and equally remembered by Don Pedro.\\r\\n He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age, doing in the\\r\\n figure of a lamb the feats of a lion: he hath indeed better\\r\\n bettered expectation than you must expect of me to tell you how.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much glad of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n I have already delivered him letters, and there appears much joy\\r\\n in him; even so much that joy could not show itself modest enough\\r\\n without a badge of bitterness.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Did he break out into tears?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n In great measure.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n A kind overflow of kindness. There are no faces truer than those\\r\\n that are so washed; how much better is it to weep at joy than to\\r\\n joy at weeping!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I pray you, is Signior Mountanto returned from the wars or no?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n I know none of that name, lady: there was none such in the army\\r\\n of any sort.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n What is he that you ask for, niece?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n My cousin means Signior Benedick of Padua.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n O! he is returned, and as pleasant as ever he was.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n He set up his bills here in Messina and challenged Cupid at the\\r\\n flight; and my uncle’s fool, reading the challenge, subscribed\\r\\n for Cupid, and challenged him at the bird-bolt. I pray you, how\\r\\n many hath he killed and eaten in these wars? But how many hath he\\r\\n killed? for, indeed, I promised to eat all of his killing.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too much; but he’ll be\\r\\n meet with you, I doubt it not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n He hath done good service, lady, in these wars.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it; he is a very\\r\\n valiant trencher-man; he hath an excellent stomach.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n And a good soldier too, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n And a good soldier to a lady; but what is he to a lord?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with all honourable\\r\\n virtues.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n It is so indeed; he is no less than a stuffed man; but for the\\r\\n stuffing,—well, we are all mortal.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n You must not, sir, mistake my niece. There is a kind of merry war\\r\\n betwixt Signior Benedick and her; they never meet but there’s a\\r\\n skirmish of wit between them.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Alas! he gets nothing by that. In our last conflict four of his\\r\\n five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed\\r\\n with one! so that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let\\r\\n him bear it for a difference between himself and his horse; for\\r\\n it is all the wealth that he hath left to be known a reasonable\\r\\n creature. Who is his companion now? He hath every month a new\\r\\n sworn brother.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n Is’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Very easily possible: he wears his faith but as the fashion of\\r\\n his hat; it ever changes with the next block.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n No; and he were, I would burn my study. But I pray you, who is\\r\\n his companion? Is there no young squarer now that will make a\\r\\n voyage with him to the devil?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n O Lord, he will hang upon him like a disease: he is sooner caught\\r\\n than the pestilence, and the taker runs presently mad. God help\\r\\n the noble Claudio! If he have caught the Benedick, it will cost\\r\\n him a thousand pound ere he be cured.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n I will hold friends with you, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Do, good friend.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n You will never run mad, niece.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n No, not till a hot January.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n Don Pedro is approached.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Claudio, Benedick, Balthasar and\\r\\n Others.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet your trouble: the\\r\\n fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of your Grace, for\\r\\n trouble being gone, comfort should remain; but when you depart\\r\\n from me, sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n You embrace your charge too willingly. I think this is your\\r\\n daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Her mother hath many times told me so.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a child.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n You have it full, Benedick: we may guess by this what you are,\\r\\n being a man. Truly the lady fathers herself. Be happy, lady, for\\r\\n you are like an honourable father.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not have his head on\\r\\n her shoulders for all Messina, as like him as she is.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick: nobody\\r\\n marks you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n What! my dear Lady Disdain, are you yet living?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Is it possible Disdain should die while she hath such meet food\\r\\n to feed it as Signior Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to\\r\\n disdain if you come in her presence.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I am loved of all\\r\\n ladies, only you excepted; and I would I could find in my heart\\r\\n that I had not a hard heart; for, truly, I love none.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n A dear happiness to women: they would else have been troubled\\r\\n with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood, I am of\\r\\n your humour for that. I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow\\r\\n than a man swear he loves me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n God keep your Ladyship still in that mind; so some gentleman or\\r\\n other shall scape a predestinate scratched face.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Scratching could not make it worse, and ’twere such a face as\\r\\n yours were.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a\\r\\n continuer. But keep your way, i’ God’s name; I have done.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n You always end with a jade’s trick: I know you of old.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n That is the sum of all, Leonato: Signior Claudio, and Signior\\r\\n Benedick, my dear friend Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him\\r\\n we shall stay here at the least a month, and he heartly prays\\r\\n some occasion may detain us longer: I dare swear he is no\\r\\n hypocrite, but prays from his heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n If you swear, my lord, you shall not be forsworn. [_To Don John_]\\r\\n Let me bid you welcome, my lord: being reconciled to the Prince\\r\\n your brother, I owe you all duty.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I thank you: I am not of many words, but I thank you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Please it your Grace lead on?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Your hand, Leonato; we will go together.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Benedick and Claudio._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Signior Leonato?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I noted her not; but I looked on her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Is she not a modest young lady?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Do you question me, as an honest man should do, for my simple\\r\\n true judgment; or would you have me speak after my custom, as\\r\\n being a professed tyrant to their sex?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n No; I pray thee speak in sober judgment.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Why, i’ faith, methinks she’s too low for a high praise, too\\r\\n brown for a fair praise, and too little for a great praise; only\\r\\n this commendation I can afford her, that were she other than she\\r\\n is, she were unhandsome, and being no other but as she is, I do\\r\\n not like her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Thou thinkest I am in sport: I pray thee tell me truly how thou\\r\\n likest her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Would you buy her, that you enquire after her?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Can the world buy such a jewel?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you this with a sad\\r\\n brow, or do you play the flouting Jack, to tell us Cupid is a\\r\\n good hare-finder, and Vulcan a rare carpenter? Come, in what key\\r\\n shall a man take you, to go in the song?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that ever I looked on.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I can see yet without spectacles and I see no such matter:\\r\\n there’s her cousin and she were not possessed with a fury,\\r\\n exceeds her as much in beauty as the first of May doth the last\\r\\n of December. But I hope you have no intent to turn husband, have\\r\\n you?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I would scarce trust myself, though I had sworn to the contrary,\\r\\n if Hero would be my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Is’t come to this, in faith? Hath not the world one man but he\\r\\n will wear his cap with suspicion? Shall I never see a bachelor of\\r\\n threescore again? Go to, i’ faith; and thou wilt needs thrust thy\\r\\n neck into a yoke, wear the print of it and sigh away Sundays.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Don Pedro.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Look! Don Pedro is returned to seek you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n What secret hath held you here, that you followed not to\\r\\n Leonato’s?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I would your Grace would constrain me to tell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I charge thee on thy allegiance.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n You hear, Count Claudio: I can be secret as a dumb man; I would\\r\\n have you think so; but on my allegiance mark you this, on my\\r\\n allegiance: he is in love. With who? now that is your Grace’s\\r\\n part. Mark how short his answer is: with Hero, Leonato’s short\\r\\n daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If this were so, so were it uttered.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Like the old tale, my lord: ‘it is not so, nor ’twas not so; but\\r\\n indeed, God forbid it should be so.’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If my passion change not shortly, God forbid it should be\\r\\n otherwise.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Amen, if you love her; for the lady is very well worthy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n You speak this to fetch me in, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n By my troth, I speak my thought.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And in faith, my lord, I spoke mine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n And by my two faiths and troths, my lord, I spoke mine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n That I love her, I feel.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n That she is worthy, I know.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n That I neither feel how she should be loved, nor know how she\\r\\n should be worthy, is the opinion that fire cannot melt out of me:\\r\\n I will die in it at the stake.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in the despite of beauty.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And never could maintain his part but in the force of his will.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n That a woman conceived me, I thank her; that she brought me up, I\\r\\n likewise give her most humble thanks; but that I will have a\\r\\n recheat winded in my forehead, or hang my bugle in an invisible\\r\\n baldrick, all women shall pardon me. Because I will not do them\\r\\n the wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the right to trust\\r\\n none; and the fine is,—for the which I may go the finer,—I will\\r\\n live a bachelor.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, my lord; not with\\r\\n love: prove that ever I lose more blood with love than I will get\\r\\n again with drinking, pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker’s pen\\r\\n and hang me up at the door of a brothel-house for the sign of\\r\\n blind Cupid.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou wilt prove a\\r\\n notable argument.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat and shoot at me; and he\\r\\n that hits me, let him be clapped on the shoulder and called Adam.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Well, as time shall try: ‘In time the savage bull doth bear the\\r\\n yoke.’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n The savage bull may; but if ever the sensible Benedick bear it,\\r\\n pluck off the bull’s horns and set them in my forehead; and let\\r\\n me be vilely painted, and in such great letters as they write,\\r\\n ‘Here is good horse to hire,’ let them signify under my sign\\r\\n ‘Here you may see Benedick the married man.’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If this should ever happen, thou wouldst be horn-mad.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver in Venice, thou wilt\\r\\n quake for this shortly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I look for an earthquake too then.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Well, you will temporize with the hours. In the meantime, good\\r\\n Signior Benedick, repair to Leonato’s: commend me to him and tell\\r\\n him I will not fail him at supper; for indeed he hath made great\\r\\n preparation.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I have almost matter enough in me for such an embassage; and so I\\r\\n commit you—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n To the tuition of God: from my house, if I had it,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n The sixth of July: your loving friend, Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Nay, mock not, mock not. The body of your discourse is sometime\\r\\n guarded with fragments, and the guards are but slightly basted on\\r\\n neither: ere you flout old ends any further, examine your\\r\\n conscience: and so I leave you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n My liege, your Highness now may do me good.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n My love is thine to teach: teach it but how,\\r\\n And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn\\r\\n Any hard lesson that may do thee good.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Hath Leonato any son, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n No child but Hero; she’s his only heir.\\r\\n Dost thou affect her, Claudio?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n O! my lord,\\r\\n When you went onward on this ended action,\\r\\n I looked upon her with a soldier’s eye,\\r\\n That lik’d, but had a rougher task in hand\\r\\n Than to drive liking to the name of love;\\r\\n But now I am return’d, and that war-thoughts\\r\\n Have left their places vacant, in their rooms\\r\\n Come thronging soft and delicate desires,\\r\\n All prompting me how fair young Hero is,\\r\\n Saying, I lik’d her ere I went to wars.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Thou wilt be like a lover presently,\\r\\n And tire the hearer with a book of words.\\r\\n If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it,\\r\\n And I will break with her, and with her father,\\r\\n And thou shalt have her. Was’t not to this end\\r\\n That thou began’st to twist so fine a story?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n How sweetly you do minister to love,\\r\\n That know love’s grief by his complexion!\\r\\n But lest my liking might too sudden seem,\\r\\n I would have salv’d it with a longer treatise.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n What need the bridge much broader than the flood?\\r\\n The fairest grant is the necessity.\\r\\n Look, what will serve is fit: ’tis once, thou lov’st,\\r\\n And I will fit thee with the remedy.\\r\\n I know we shall have revelling tonight:\\r\\n I will assume thy part in some disguise,\\r\\n And tell fair Hero I am Claudio;\\r\\n And in her bosom I’ll unclasp my heart,\\r\\n And take her hearing prisoner with the force\\r\\n And strong encounter of my amorous tale:\\r\\n Then after to her father will I break;\\r\\n And the conclusion is, she shall be thine.\\r\\n In practice let us put it presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A room in Leonato’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leonato and Antonio, meeting.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n How now, brother? Where is my cousin your son? Hath he provided\\r\\n this music?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can tell you strange\\r\\n news that you yet dreamt not of.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Are they good?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n As the event stamps them: but they have a good cover; they show\\r\\n well outward. The Prince and Count Claudio, walking in a\\r\\n thick-pleached alley in my orchard, were thus much overheard by a\\r\\n man of mine: the Prince discovered to Claudio that he loved my\\r\\n niece your daughter and meant to acknowledge it this night in a\\r\\n dance; and if he found her accordant, he meant to take the\\r\\n present time by the top and instantly break with you of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO. Hath the fellow any wit that told you this?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n A good sharp fellow: I will send for him; and question him\\r\\n yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n No, no; we will hold it as a dream till it appear itself: but I\\r\\n will acquaint my daughter withal, that she may be the better\\r\\n prepared for an answer, if peradventure this be true. Go you and\\r\\n tell her of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Several persons cross the stage._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Cousins, you know what you have to do. O! I cry you mercy,\\r\\n friend; go you with me, and I will use your skill. Good cousin,\\r\\n have a care this busy time.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Another room in Leonato’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don John and Conrade.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n What the good-year, my lord! why are you thus out of measure sad?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n There is no measure in the occasion that breeds; therefore the\\r\\n sadness is without limit.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n You should hear reason.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n And when I have heard it, what blessings brings it?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n If not a present remedy, at least a patient sufferance.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I wonder that thou (being as thou say’st thou art, born under\\r\\n Saturn) goest about to apply a moral medicine to a mortifying\\r\\n mischief. I cannot hide what I am: I must be sad when I have\\r\\n cause, and smile at no man’s jests; eat when I have stomach, and\\r\\n wait for no man’s leisure; sleep when I am drowsy, and tend on no\\r\\n man’s business; laugh when I am merry, and claw no man in his\\r\\n humour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Yea; but you must not make the full show of this till you may do\\r\\n it without controlment. You have of late stood out against your\\r\\n brother, and he hath ta’en you newly into his grace; where it is\\r\\n impossible you should take true root but by the fair weather that\\r\\n you make yourself: it is needful that you frame the season for\\r\\n your own harvest.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I had rather be a canker in a hedge than a rose in his grace; and\\r\\n it better fits my blood to be disdained of all than to fashion a\\r\\n carriage to rob love from any: in this, though I cannot be said\\r\\n to be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied but I am a\\r\\n plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with a muzzle and\\r\\n enfranchised with a clog; therefore I have decreed not to sing in\\r\\n my cage. If I had my mouth, I would bite; if I had my liberty, I\\r\\n would do my liking: in the meantime, let me be that I am, and\\r\\n seek not to alter me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE. Can you make no use of your discontent?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN. I make all use of it, for I use it only. Who comes\\r\\n here?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Borachio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n What news, Borachio?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n I came yonder from a great supper: the Prince your brother is\\r\\n royally entertained by Leonato; and I can give you intelligence\\r\\n of an intended marriage.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Will it serve for any model to build mischief on? What is he for\\r\\n a fool that betroths himself to unquietness?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Marry, it is your brother’s right hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Who? the most exquisite Claudio?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Even he.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n A proper squire! And who, and who? which way looks he?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of Leonato.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n A very forward March-chick! How came you to this?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was smoking a musty room,\\r\\n comes me the Prince and Claudio, hand in hand, in sad conference:\\r\\n I whipt me behind the arras, and there heard it agreed upon that\\r\\n the Prince should woo Hero for himself, and having obtained her,\\r\\n give her to Count Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Come, come; let us thither: this may prove food to my\\r\\n displeasure. That young start-up hath all the glory of my\\r\\n overthrow: if I can cross him any way, I bless myself every way.\\r\\n You are both sure, and will assist me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE. To the death, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Let us to the great supper: their cheer is the greater that I am\\r\\n subdued. Would the cook were of my mind! Shall we go to prove\\r\\n what’s to be done?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n We’ll wait upon your Lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A hall in Leonato’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice and others.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Was not Count John here at supper?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n I saw him not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n How tartly that gentleman looks! I never can see him but I am\\r\\n heart-burned an hour after.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n He is of a very melancholy disposition.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n He were an excellent man that were made just in the mid-way\\r\\n between him and Benedick: the one is too like an image, and says\\r\\n nothing; and the other too like my lady’s eldest son, evermore\\r\\n tattling.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Then half Signior Benedick’s tongue in Count John’s mouth, and\\r\\n half Count John’s melancholy in Signior Benedick’s face—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n With a good leg and a good foot, uncle, and money enough in his\\r\\n purse, such a man would win any woman in the world if a’ could\\r\\n get her good will.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband, if thou\\r\\n be so shrewd of thy tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n In faith, she’s too curst.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Too curst is more than curst: I shall lessen God’s sending that\\r\\n way; for it is said, ‘God sends a curst cow short horns;’ but to\\r\\n a cow too curst he sends none.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n So, by being too curst, God will send you no horns?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Just, if he send me no husband; for the which blessing I am at\\r\\n him upon my knees every morning and evening. Lord! I could not\\r\\n endure a husband with a beard on his face: I had rather lie in\\r\\n the woollen.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n You may light on a husband that hath no beard.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n What should I do with him? dress him in my apparel and make him\\r\\n my waiting gentlewoman? He that hath a beard is more than a\\r\\n youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man; and he that\\r\\n is more than a youth is not for me; and he that is less than a\\r\\n man, I am not for him: therefore I will even take sixpence in\\r\\n earnest of the bear-ward, and lead his apes into hell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Well then, go you into hell?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n No; but to the gate; and there will the Devil meet me, like an\\r\\n old cuckold, with horns on his head, and say, ‘Get you to heaven,\\r\\n Beatrice, get you to heaven; here’s no place for you maids.’ So\\r\\n deliver I up my apes, and away to Saint Peter for the heavens: he\\r\\n shows me where the bachelors sit, and there live we as merry as\\r\\n the day is long.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n [_To Hero_.] Well, niece, I trust you will be ruled by your\\r\\n father.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Yes, faith; it is my cousin’s duty to make curtsy, and say,\\r\\n ‘Father, as it please you:’— but yet for all that, cousin, let\\r\\n him be a handsome fellow, or else make another curtsy, and say,\\r\\n ‘Father, as it please me.’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Not till God make men of some other metal than earth. Would it\\r\\n not grieve a woman to be over-mastered with a piece of valiant\\r\\n dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl?\\r\\n No, uncle, I’ll none: Adam’s sons are my brethren; and truly, I\\r\\n hold it a sin to match in my kindred.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Daughter, remember what I told you: if the Prince do solicit you\\r\\n in that kind, you know your answer.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be not wooed in\\r\\n good time: if the Prince be too important, tell him there is\\r\\n measure in everything, and so dance out the answer. For, hear me,\\r\\n Hero: wooing, wedding, and repenting is as a Scotch jig, a\\r\\n measure, and a cinquepace: the first suit is hot and hasty, like\\r\\n a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly\\r\\n modest, as a measure, full of state and ancientry; and then comes\\r\\n Repentance, and with his bad legs, falls into the cinquepace\\r\\n faster and faster, till he sink into his grave.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I have a good eye, uncle: I can see a church by daylight.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n The revellers are entering, brother: make good room.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthasar, Don John,\\r\\n Borachio, Margaret, Ursula and Others, masked.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Lady, will you walk about with your friend?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n So you walk softly and look sweetly and say nothing, I am yours\\r\\n for the walk; and especially when I walk away.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n With me in your company?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n I may say so, when I please.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n And when please you to say so?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n When I like your favour; for God defend the lute should be like\\r\\n the case!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n My visor is Philemon’s roof; within the house is Jove.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Why, then, your visor should be thatch’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Speak low, if you speak love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Takes her aside._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n Well, I would you did like me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n So would not I, for your own sake; for I have many ill qualities.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n Which is one?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n I say my prayers aloud.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n I love you the better; the hearers may cry Amen.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n God match me with a good dancer!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n Amen.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n And God keep him out of my sight when the dance is done! Answer,\\r\\n clerk.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n No more words: the clerk is answered.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n I know you well enough: you are Signior Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n At a word, I am not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n I know you by the waggling of your head.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n To tell you true, I counterfeit him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n You could never do him so ill-well, unless you were the very man.\\r\\n Here’s his dry hand up and down: you are he, you are he.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n At a word, I am not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Come, come; do you think I do not know you by your excellent wit?\\r\\n Can virtue hide itself? Go to, mum, you are he: graces will\\r\\n appear, and there’s an end.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Will you not tell me who told you so?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n No, you shall pardon me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Nor will you not tell me who you are?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Not now.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n That I was disdainful, and that I had my good wit out of the\\r\\n ‘Hundred Merry Tales.’ Well, this was Signior Benedick that said\\r\\n so.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n What’s he?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I am sure you know him well enough.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Not I, believe me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Did he never make you laugh?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I pray you, what is he?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Why, he is the Prince’s jester: a very dull fool; only his gift\\r\\n is in devising impossible slanders: none but libertines delight\\r\\n in him; and the commendation is not in his wit, but in his\\r\\n villainy; for he both pleases men and angers them, and then they\\r\\n laugh at him and beat him. I am sure he is in the fleet: I would\\r\\n he had boarded me!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n When I know the gentleman, I’ll tell him what you say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Do, do: he’ll but break a comparison or two on me; which,\\r\\n peradventure not marked or not laughed at, strikes him into\\r\\n melancholy; and then there’s a partridge wing saved, for the fool\\r\\n will eat no supper that night. [_Music within_.] We must follow\\r\\n the leaders.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n In every good thing.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at the next\\r\\n turning.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dance. Then exeunt all but Don John, Borachio and Claudio._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Sure my brother is amorous on Hero, and hath withdrawn her father\\r\\n to break with him about it. The ladies follow her and but one\\r\\n visor remains.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n And that is Claudio: I know him by his bearing.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Are you not Signior Benedick?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n You know me well; I am he.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Signior, you are very near my brother in his love: he is\\r\\n enamoured on Hero; I pray you, dissuade him from her; she is no\\r\\n equal for his birth: you may do the part of an honest man in it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n How know you he loves her?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I heard him swear his affection.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n So did I too; and he swore he would marry her tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Come, let us to the banquet.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Don John and Borachio._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Thus answer I in name of Benedick,\\r\\n But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio.\\r\\n ’Tis certain so; the Prince wooes for himself.\\r\\n Friendship is constant in all other things\\r\\n Save in the office and affairs of love:\\r\\n Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues;\\r\\n Let every eye negotiate for itself\\r\\n And trust no agent; for beauty is a witch\\r\\n Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.\\r\\n This is an accident of hourly proof,\\r\\n Which I mistrusted not. Farewell, therefore, Hero!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Count Claudio?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Yea, the same.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Come, will you go with me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Whither?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Even to the next willow, about your own business, Count. What\\r\\n fashion will you wear the garland of? About your neck, like a\\r\\n usurer’s chain? or under your arm, like a lieutenant’s scarf? You\\r\\n must wear it one way, for the Prince hath got your Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I wish him joy of her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Why, that’s spoken like an honest drovier: so they sell bullocks.\\r\\n But did you think the Prince would have served you thus?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I pray you, leave me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Ho! now you strike like the blind man: ’twas the boy that stole\\r\\n your meat, and you’ll beat the post.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If it will not be, I’ll leave you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Alas! poor hurt fowl. Now will he creep into sedges. But, that my\\r\\n Lady Beatrice should know me, and not know me! The Prince’s fool!\\r\\n Ha! it may be I go under that title because I am merry. Yea, but\\r\\n so I am apt to do myself wrong; I am not so reputed: it is the\\r\\n base though bitter disposition of Beatrice that puts the world\\r\\n into her person, and so gives me out. Well, I’ll be revenged as I\\r\\n may.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Don Pedro.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Now, signior, where’s the Count? Did you see him?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Troth, my lord, I have played the part of Lady Fame. I found him\\r\\n here as melancholy as a lodge in a warren. I told him, and I\\r\\n think I told him true, that your Grace had got the good will of\\r\\n this young lady; and I offered him my company to a willow tree,\\r\\n either to make him a garland, as being forsaken, or to bind him\\r\\n up a rod, as being worthy to be whipped.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n To be whipped! What’s his fault?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n The flat transgression of a school-boy, who, being overjoy’d with\\r\\n finding a bird’s nest, shows it his companion, and he steals it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? The transgression is in\\r\\n the stealer.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Yet it had not been amiss the rod had been made, and the garland\\r\\n too; for the garland he might have worn himself, and the rod he\\r\\n might have bestowed on you, who, as I take it, have stolen his\\r\\n bird’s nest.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I will but teach them to sing, and restore them to the owner.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n If their singing answer your saying, by my faith, you say\\r\\n honestly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you: the gentleman that\\r\\n danced with her told her she is much wronged by you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n O! she misused me past the endurance of a block: an oak but with\\r\\n one green leaf on it would have answered her: my very visor began\\r\\n to assume life and scold with her. She told me, not thinking I\\r\\n had been myself, that I was the Prince’s jester, that I was\\r\\n duller than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest with such\\r\\n impossible conveyance upon me, that I stood like a man at a mark,\\r\\n with a whole army shooting at me. She speaks poniards, and every\\r\\n word stabs: if her breath were as terrible as her terminations,\\r\\n there were no living near her; she would infect to the north\\r\\n star. I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all\\r\\n that Adam had left him before he transgressed: she would have\\r\\n made Hercules have turned spit, yea, and have cleft his club to\\r\\n make the fire too. Come, talk not of her; you shall find her the\\r\\n infernal Ate in good apparel. I would to God some scholar would\\r\\n conjure her, for certainly, while she is here, a man may live as\\r\\n quiet in hell as in a sanctuary; and people sin upon purpose\\r\\n because they would go thither; so indeed, all disquiet, horror\\r\\n and perturbation follow her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Claudio, Beatrice, Hero and Leonato.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Look! here she comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Will your Grace command me any service to the world’s end? I will\\r\\n go on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes that you can\\r\\n devise to send me on; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the\\r\\n furthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of Prester John’s\\r\\n foot; fetch you a hair off the Great Cham’s beard; do you any\\r\\n embassage to the Pygmies, rather than hold three words’\\r\\n conference with this harpy. You have no employment for me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n None, but to desire your good company.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n O God, sir, here’s a dish I love not: I cannot endure my Lady\\r\\n Tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of Signior Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile; and I gave him use for it,\\r\\n a double heart for a single one: marry, once before he won it of\\r\\n me with false dice, therefore your Grace may well say I have lost\\r\\n it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n You have put him down, lady, you have put him down.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I should prove the\\r\\n mother of fools. I have brought Count Claudio, whom you sent me\\r\\n to seek.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Why, how now, Count! wherefore are you sad?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Not sad, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n How then? Sick?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Neither, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n The Count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well; but\\r\\n civil Count, civil as an orange, and something of that jealous\\r\\n complexion.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I’ faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true; though, I’ll be\\r\\n sworn, if he be so, his conceit is false. Here, Claudio, I have\\r\\n wooed in thy name, and fair Hero is won; I have broke with her\\r\\n father, and, his good will obtained; name the day of marriage,\\r\\n and God give thee joy!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes: his\\r\\n Grace hath made the match, and all grace say Amen to it!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Speak, Count, ’tis your cue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy,\\r\\n if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I\\r\\n give away myself for you and dote upon the exchange.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth with a kiss, and\\r\\n let not him speak neither.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n In faith, lady, you have a merry heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Yea, my lord; I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on the windy side\\r\\n of care. My cousin tells him in his ear that he is in her heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And so she doth, cousin.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Good Lord, for alliance! Thus goes everyone to the world but I,\\r\\n and I am sunburnt. I may sit in a corner and cry heigh-ho for a\\r\\n husband!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I would rather have one of your father’s getting. Hath your Grace\\r\\n ne’er a brother like you? Your father got excellent husbands, if\\r\\n a maid could come by them.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Will you have me, lady?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n No, my lord, unless I might have another for working days: your\\r\\n Grace is too costly to wear every day. But, I beseech your Grace,\\r\\n pardon me; I was born to speak all mirth and no matter.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best becomes you;\\r\\n for out of question, you were born in a merry hour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there was a star\\r\\n danced, and under that was I born. Cousins, God give you joy!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Niece, will you look to those things I told you of?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I cry you mercy, uncle. By your Grace’s pardon.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n By my troth, a pleasant spirited lady.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n There’s little of the melancholy element in her, my lord: she is\\r\\n never sad but when she sleeps; and not ever sad then, for I have\\r\\n heard my daughter say, she hath often dreamed of unhappiness and\\r\\n waked herself with laughing.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n O! by no means: she mocks all her wooers out of suit.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n She were an excellent wife for Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n O Lord! my lord, if they were but a week married, they would talk\\r\\n themselves mad.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Count Claudio, when mean you to go to church?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Tomorrow, my lord. Time goes on crutches till love have all his\\r\\n rites.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a just seven-night;\\r\\n and a time too brief too, to have all things answer my mind.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Come, you shake the head at so long a breathing; but, I warrant\\r\\n thee, Claudio, the time shall not go dully by us. I will in the\\r\\n interim undertake one of Hercules’ labours, which is, to bring\\r\\n Signior Benedick and the Lady Beatrice into a mountain of\\r\\n affection the one with the other. I would fain have it a match;\\r\\n and I doubt not but to fashion it, if you three will but minister\\r\\n such assistance as I shall give you direction.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights’ watchings.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And I, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n And you too, gentle Hero?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n I will do any modest office, my lord, to help my cousin to a good\\r\\n husband.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n And Benedick is not the unhopefullest husband that I know. Thus\\r\\n far can I praise him; he is of a noble strain, of approved\\r\\n valour, and confirmed honesty. I will teach you how to humour\\r\\n your cousin, that she shall fall in love with Benedick; and I,\\r\\n with your two helps, will so practise on Benedick that, in\\r\\n despite of his quick wit and his queasy stomach, he shall fall in\\r\\n love with Beatrice. If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an\\r\\n archer: his glory shall be ours, for we are the only love-gods.\\r\\n Go in with me, and I will tell you my drift.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another room in Leonato’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don John and Borachio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n It is so; the Count Claudio shall marry the daughter of Leonato.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Yea, my lord; but I can cross it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be medicinable to me: I\\r\\n am sick in displeasure to him, and whatsoever comes athwart his\\r\\n affection ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou cross this\\r\\n marriage?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly that no dishonesty shall\\r\\n appear in me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Show me briefly how.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n I think I told your lordship, a year since, how much I am in the\\r\\n favour of Margaret, the waiting gentlewoman to Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I remember.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night, appoint her to\\r\\n look out at her lady’s chamber window.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN. What life is in that, to be the death of this marriage?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go you to the Prince\\r\\n your brother; spare not to tell him, that he hath wronged his\\r\\n honour in marrying the renowned Claudio,—whose estimation do you\\r\\n mightily hold up,—to a contaminated stale, such a one as Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n What proof shall I make of that?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Proof enough to misuse the Prince, to vex Claudio, to undo Hero,\\r\\n and kill Leonato. Look you for any other issue?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Only to despite them, I will endeavour anything.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Go then; find me a meet hour to draw Don Pedro and the Count\\r\\n Claudio alone: tell them that you know that Hero loves me; intend\\r\\n a kind of zeal both to the Prince and Claudio, as—in love of your\\r\\n brother’s honour, who hath made this match, and his friend’s\\r\\n reputation, who is thus like to be cozened with the semblance of\\r\\n a maid,—that you have discovered thus. They will scarcely believe\\r\\n this without trial: offer them instances, which shall bear no\\r\\n less likelihood than to see me at her chamber window, hear me\\r\\n call Margaret Hero, hear Margaret term me Claudio; and bring them\\r\\n to see this the very night before the intended wedding: for in\\r\\n the meantime I will so fashion the matter that Hero shall be\\r\\n absent; and there shall appear such seeming truth of Hero’s\\r\\n disloyalty, that jealousy shall be called assurance, and all the\\r\\n preparation overthrown.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will put it in\\r\\n practice. Be cunning in the working this, and thy fee is a\\r\\n thousand ducats.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not shame\\r\\n me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I will presently go learn their day of marriage.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Leonato’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Boy!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Boy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BOY.\\r\\n Signior?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n In my chamber window lies a book; bring it hither to me in the\\r\\n orchard.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BOY.\\r\\n I am here already, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I know that; but I would have thee hence, and here again.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Boy._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n I do much wonder that one man, seeing how much another man is a\\r\\n fool when he dedicates his behaviours to love, will, after he\\r\\n hath laughed at such shallow follies in others, become the\\r\\n argument of his own scorn by falling in love: and such a man is\\r\\n Claudio. I have known, when there was no music with him but the\\r\\n drum and the fife; and now had he rather hear the tabor and the\\r\\n pipe: I have known when he would have walked ten mile afoot to\\r\\n see a good armour; and now will he lie ten nights awake, carving\\r\\n the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain and to\\r\\n the purpose, like an honest man and a soldier; and now is he\\r\\n turned orthography; his words are a very fantastical banquet,\\r\\n just so many strange dishes. May I be so converted, and see with\\r\\n these eyes? I cannot tell; I think not: I will not be sworn but\\r\\n love may transform me to an oyster; but I’ll take my oath on it,\\r\\n till he have made an oyster of me, he shall never make me such a\\r\\n fool. One woman is fair, yet I am well; another is wise, yet I am\\r\\n well; another virtuous, yet I am well; but till all graces be in\\r\\n one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace. Rich she shall\\r\\n be, that’s certain; wise, or I’ll none; virtuous, or I’ll never\\r\\n cheapen her; fair, or I’ll never look on her; mild, or come not\\r\\n near me; noble, or not I for an angel; of good discourse, an\\r\\n excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what colour it\\r\\n please God. Ha! the Prince and Monsieur Love! I will hide me in\\r\\n the arbour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Withdraws._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro, Leonato and Claudio, followed by Balthasar and\\r\\n Musicians.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Come, shall we hear this music?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Yea, my good lord. How still the evening is,\\r\\n As hush’d on purpose to grace harmony!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n See you where Benedick hath hid himself?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n O! very well, my lord: the music ended,\\r\\n We’ll fit the kid-fox with a penny-worth.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Come, Balthasar, we’ll hear that song again.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n O! good my lord, tax not so bad a voice\\r\\n To slander music any more than once.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n It is the witness still of excellency,\\r\\n To put a strange face on his own perfection.\\r\\n I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n Because you talk of wooing, I will sing;\\r\\n Since many a wooer doth commence his suit\\r\\n To her he thinks not worthy; yet he wooes;\\r\\n Yet will he swear he loves.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Nay, pray thee come;\\r\\n Or if thou wilt hold longer argument,\\r\\n Do it in notes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n Note this before my notes;\\r\\n There’s not a note of mine that’s worth the noting.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Why these are very crotchets that he speaks;\\r\\n Notes, notes, forsooth, and nothing!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Now, divine air! now is his soul ravished! Is it not strange that\\r\\n sheep’s guts should hale souls out of men’s bodies? Well, a horn\\r\\n for my money, when all’s done.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR [_sings_.]\\r\\n Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,\\r\\n Men were deceivers ever;\\r\\n One foot in sea, and one on shore,\\r\\n To one thing constant never.\\r\\n Then sigh not so, but let them go,\\r\\n And be you blithe and bonny,\\r\\n Converting all your sounds of woe\\r\\n Into Hey nonny, nonny.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Sing no more ditties, sing no mo\\r\\n Of dumps so dull and heavy;\\r\\n The fraud of men was ever so,\\r\\n Since summer first was leavy.\\r\\n Then sigh not so, but let them go,\\r\\n And be you blithe and bonny,\\r\\n Converting all your sounds of woe\\r\\n Into Hey nonny, nonny.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n By my troth, a good song.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n And an ill singer, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Ha, no, no, faith; thou singest well enough for a shift.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n [_Aside_] And he had been a dog that should have howled thus,\\r\\n they would have hanged him; and I pray God his bad voice bode no\\r\\n mischief. I had as lief have heard the night-raven, come what\\r\\n plague could have come after it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO. Yea, marry; dost thou hear, Balthasar? I pray thee,\\r\\n get us some excellent music, for tomorrow night we would have it\\r\\n at the Lady Hero’s chamber window.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR. The best I can, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO. Do so: farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Balthasar and Musicians._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Come hither, Leonato: what was it you told me of today, that your\\r\\n niece Beatrice was in love with Signior Benedick?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n O! ay:—[_Aside to Don Pedro_] Stalk on, stalk on; the fowl sits.\\r\\n I did never think that lady would have loved any man.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n No, nor I neither; but most wonderful that she should so dote on\\r\\n Signior Benedick, whom she hath in all outward behaviours seemed\\r\\n ever to abhor.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n [_Aside_] Is’t possible? Sits the wind in that corner?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think of it but that\\r\\n she loves him with an enraged affection: it is past the infinite\\r\\n of thought.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Maybe she doth but counterfeit.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Faith, like enough.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n O God! counterfeit! There was never counterfeit of passion came\\r\\n so near the life of passion as she discovers it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Why, what effects of passion shows she?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO. [_Aside_] Bait the hook well: this fish will bite.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n What effects, my lord? She will sit you; [_To Claudio_] You heard\\r\\n my daughter tell you how.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n She did, indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n How, how, I pray you? You amaze me: I would have thought her\\r\\n spirit had been invincible against all assaults of affection.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I would have sworn it had, my lord; especially against Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n [_Aside_] I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded\\r\\n fellow speaks it: knavery cannot, sure, hide itself in such\\r\\n reverence.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n [_Aside_] He hath ta’en the infection: hold it up.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n No; and swears she never will: that’s her torment.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n ’Tis true, indeed; so your daughter says: ‘Shall I,’ says she,\\r\\n ‘that have so oft encountered him with scorn, write to him that I\\r\\n love him?’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n This says she now when she is beginning to write to him; for\\r\\n she’ll be up twenty times a night, and there will she sit in her\\r\\n smock till she have writ a sheet of paper: my daughter tells us\\r\\n all.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a pretty jest your\\r\\n daughter told us of.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n O! when she had writ it, and was reading it over, she found\\r\\n Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n That.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n O! she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence; railed at\\r\\n herself, that she should be so immodest to write to one that she\\r\\n knew would flout her: ‘I measure him,’ says she, ‘by my own\\r\\n spirit; for I should flout him, if he writ to me; yea, though I\\r\\n love him, I should.’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats her heart,\\r\\n tears her hair, prays, curses; ‘O sweet Benedick! God give me\\r\\n patience!’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n She doth indeed; my daughter says so; and the ecstasy hath so\\r\\n much overborne her, that my daughter is sometimes afeard she will\\r\\n do a desperate outrage to herself. It is very true.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n It were good that Benedick knew of it by some other, if she will\\r\\n not discover it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n To what end? he would make but a sport of it and torment the poor\\r\\n lady worse.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n And he should, it were an alms to hang him. She’s an excellent\\r\\n sweet lady, and, out of all suspicion, she is virtuous.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And she is exceeding wise.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n In everything but in loving Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n O! my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so tender a body, we\\r\\n have ten proofs to one that blood hath the victory. I am sorry\\r\\n for her, as I have just cause, being her uncle and her guardian.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I would she had bestowed this dotage on me; I would have daffed\\r\\n all other respects and made her half myself. I pray you, tell\\r\\n Benedick of it, and hear what he will say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Were it good, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Hero thinks surely she will die; for she says she will die if he\\r\\n love her not, and she will die ere she make her love known, and\\r\\n she will die if he woo her, rather than she will bate one breath\\r\\n of her accustomed crossness.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n She doth well: if she should make tender of her love, ’tis very\\r\\n possible he’ll scorn it; for the man,—as you know all,—hath a\\r\\n contemptible spirit.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n He is a very proper man.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n He hath indeed a good outward happiness.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n ’Fore God, and in my mind, very wise.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n He doth indeed show some sparks that are like wit.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And I take him to be valiant.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n As Hector, I assure you: and in the managing of quarrels you may\\r\\n say he is wise; for either he avoids them with great discretion,\\r\\n or undertakes them with a most Christian-like fear.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n If he do fear God, a’ must necessarily keep peace: if he break\\r\\n the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and\\r\\n trembling.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n And so will he do; for the man doth fear God, howsoever it seems\\r\\n not in him by some large jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for\\r\\n your niece. Shall we go seek Benedick and tell him of her love?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Never tell him, my lord: let her wear it out with good counsel.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Nay, that’s impossible: she may wear her heart out first.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Well, we will hear further of it by your daughter: let it cool\\r\\n the while. I love Benedick well, and I could wish he would\\r\\n modestly examine himself, to see how much he is unworthy so good\\r\\n a lady.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n [_Aside_] If he do not dote on her upon this, I will never trust\\r\\n my expectation.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n [_Aside_] Let there be the same net spread for her; and that must\\r\\n your daughter and her gentlewoman carry. The sport will be, when\\r\\n they hold one an opinion of another’s dotage, and no such matter:\\r\\n that’s the scene that I would see, which will be merely a dumb\\r\\n show. Let us send her to call him in to dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio and Leonato._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n [_Advancing from the arbour._] This can be no trick: the\\r\\n conference was sadly borne. They have the truth of this from\\r\\n Hero. They seem to pity the lady: it seems her affections have\\r\\n their full bent. Love me? why, it must be requited. I hear how I\\r\\n am censured: they say I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive\\r\\n the love come from her; they say too that she will rather die\\r\\n than give any sign of affection. I did never think to marry: I\\r\\n must not seem proud: happy are they that hear their detractions,\\r\\n and can put them to mending. They say the lady is fair: ’tis a\\r\\n truth, I can bear them witness; and virtuous: ’tis so, I cannot\\r\\n reprove it; and wise, but for loving me: by my troth, it is no\\r\\n addition to her wit, nor no great argument of her folly, for I\\r\\n will be horribly in love with her. I may chance have some odd\\r\\n quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed so\\r\\n long against marriage; but doth not the appetite alter? A man\\r\\n loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age.\\r\\n Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets of the brain\\r\\n awe a man from the career of his humour? No; the world must be\\r\\n peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I\\r\\n should live till I were married. Here comes Beatrice. By this\\r\\n day! she’s a fair lady: I do spy some marks of love in her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I took no more pains for those thanks than you take pains to\\r\\n thank me: if it had been painful, I would not have come.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n You take pleasure then in the message?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife’s point, and choke\\r\\n a daw withal. You have no stomach, signior: fare you well.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Ha! ‘Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner,’\\r\\n there’s a double meaning in that. ‘I took no more pains for those\\r\\n thanks than you took pains to thank me,’ that’s as much as to\\r\\n say, Any pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks. If I do\\r\\n not take pity of her, I am a villain; if I do not love her, I am\\r\\n a Jew. I will go get her picture.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Leonato’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hero, Margaret and Ursula.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Good Margaret, run thee to the parlour;\\r\\n There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice\\r\\n Proposing with the Prince and Claudio:\\r\\n Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursala\\r\\n Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse\\r\\n Is all of her; say that thou overheard’st us,\\r\\n And bid her steal into the pleached bower,\\r\\n Where honey-suckles, ripen’d by the sun,\\r\\n Forbid the sun to enter; like favourites,\\r\\n Made proud by princes, that advance their pride\\r\\n Against that power that bred it. There will she hide her,\\r\\n To listen our propose. This is thy office;\\r\\n Bear thee well in it and leave us alone.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n I’ll make her come, I warrant you, presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come,\\r\\n As we do trace this alley up and down,\\r\\n Our talk must only be of Benedick:\\r\\n When I do name him, let it be thy part\\r\\n To praise him more than ever man did merit.\\r\\n My talk to thee must be how Benedick\\r\\n Is sick in love with Beatrice: of this matter\\r\\n Is little Cupid’s crafty arrow made,\\r\\n That only wounds by hearsay.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Beatrice behind.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Now begin;\\r\\n For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs\\r\\n Close by the ground, to hear our conference.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n The pleasant’st angling is to see the fish\\r\\n Cut with her golden oars the silver stream,\\r\\n And greedily devour the treacherous bait:\\r\\n So angle we for Beatrice; who even now\\r\\n Is couched in the woodbine coverture.\\r\\n Fear you not my part of the dialogue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing\\r\\n Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They advance to the bower._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful;\\r\\n I know her spirits are as coy and wild\\r\\n As haggards of the rock.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n But are you sure\\r\\n That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n So says the Prince, and my new-trothed lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n And did they bid you tell her of it, madam?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n They did entreat me to acquaint her of it;\\r\\n But I persuaded them, if they lov’d Benedick,\\r\\n To wish him wrestle with affection,\\r\\n And never to let Beatrice know of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman\\r\\n Deserve as full as fortunate a bed\\r\\n As ever Beatrice shall couch upon?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n O god of love! I know he doth deserve\\r\\n As much as may be yielded to a man;\\r\\n But Nature never fram’d a woman’s heart\\r\\n Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice;\\r\\n Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,\\r\\n Misprising what they look on, and her wit\\r\\n Values itself so highly, that to her\\r\\n All matter else seems weak. She cannot love,\\r\\n Nor take no shape nor project of affection,\\r\\n She is so self-endear’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Sure I think so;\\r\\n And therefore certainly it were not good\\r\\n She knew his love, lest she make sport at it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Why, you speak truth. I never yet saw man,\\r\\n How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur’d,\\r\\n But she would spell him backward: if fair-fac’d,\\r\\n She would swear the gentleman should be her sister;\\r\\n If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antick,\\r\\n Made a foul blot; if tall, a lance ill-headed;\\r\\n If low, an agate very vilely cut;\\r\\n If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds;\\r\\n If silent, why, a block moved with none.\\r\\n So turns she every man the wrong side out,\\r\\n And never gives to truth and virtue that\\r\\n Which simpleness and merit purchaseth.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n No; not to be so odd, and from all fashions,\\r\\n As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable.\\r\\n But who dare tell her so? If I should speak,\\r\\n She would mock me into air: O! she would laugh me\\r\\n Out of myself, press me to death with wit.\\r\\n Therefore let Benedick, like cover’d fire,\\r\\n Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly:\\r\\n It were a better death than die with mocks,\\r\\n Which is as bad as die with tickling.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Yet tell her of it: hear what she will say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n No; rather I will go to Benedick,\\r\\n And counsel him to fight against his passion.\\r\\n And, truly, I’ll devise some honest slanders\\r\\n To stain my cousin with. One doth not know\\r\\n How much an ill word may empoison liking.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n O! do not do your cousin such a wrong.\\r\\n She cannot be so much without true judgment,—\\r\\n Having so swift and excellent a wit\\r\\n As she is priz’d to have,—as to refuse\\r\\n So rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n He is the only man of Italy,\\r\\n Always excepted my dear Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n I pray you, be not angry with me, madam,\\r\\n Speaking my fancy: Signior Benedick,\\r\\n For shape, for bearing, argument and valour,\\r\\n Goes foremost in report through Italy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Indeed, he hath an excellent good name.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n His excellence did earn it, ere he had it.\\r\\n When are you married, madam?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Why, every day, tomorrow. Come, go in:\\r\\n I’ll show thee some attires, and have thy counsel\\r\\n Which is the best to furnish me tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n She’s lim’d, I warrant you,\\r\\n We have caught her, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n If it prove so, then loving goes by haps:\\r\\n Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Hero and Ursula._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n [_Advancing._] What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true?\\r\\n Stand I condemn’d for pride and scorn so much?\\r\\n Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu!\\r\\n No glory lives behind the back of such.\\r\\n And, Benedick, love on; I will requite thee,\\r\\n Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand:\\r\\n If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee\\r\\n To bind our loves up in a holy band;\\r\\n For others say thou dost deserve, and I\\r\\n Believe it better than reportingly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick and Leonato.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I do but stay till your marriage be consummate, and then go I\\r\\n toward Arragon.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I’ll bring you thither, my lord, if you’ll vouchsafe me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Nay, that would be as great a soil in the new gloss of your\\r\\n marriage, as to show a child his new coat and forbid him to wear\\r\\n it. I will only be bold with Benedick for his company; for, from\\r\\n the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth;\\r\\n he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid’s bowstring, and the little\\r\\n hangman dare not shoot at him. He hath a heart as sound as a\\r\\n bell, and his tongue is the clapper; for what his heart thinks,\\r\\n his tongue speaks.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Gallants, I am not as I have been.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n So say I: methinks you are sadder.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I hope he be in love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Hang him, truant! there’s no true drop of blood in him to be\\r\\n truly touched with love. If he be sad, he wants money.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I have the tooth-ache.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Draw it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Hang it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n What! sigh for the tooth-ache?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Where is but a humour or a worm?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Well, everyone can master a grief but he that has it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Yet say I, he is in love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless it be a fancy that\\r\\n he hath to strange disguises; as to be a Dutchman today, a\\r\\n Frenchman tomorrow; or in the shape of two countries at once, as\\r\\n a German from the waist downward, all slops, and a Spaniard from\\r\\n the hip upward, no doublet. Unless he have a fancy to this\\r\\n foolery, as it appears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you\\r\\n would have it appear he is.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If he be not in love with some woman, there is no believing old\\r\\n signs: a’ brushes his hat a mornings; what should that bode?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Hath any man seen him at the barber’s?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n No, but the barber’s man hath been seen with him; and the old\\r\\n ornament of his cheek hath already stuffed tennis balls.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Indeed he looks younger than he did, by the loss of a beard.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Nay, a’ rubs himself with civet: can you smell him out by that?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n That’s as much as to say the sweet youth’s in love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n The greatest note of it is his melancholy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And when was he wont to wash his face?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, I hear what they say of\\r\\n him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Nay, but his jesting spirit; which is now crept into a\\r\\n lute-string, and now governed by stops.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him. Conclude, conclude he is\\r\\n in love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Nay, but I know who loves him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n That would I know too: I warrant, one that knows him not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Yes, and his ill conditions; and in despite of all, dies for him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n She shall be buried with her face upwards.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ache. Old signior, walk aside\\r\\n with me: I have studied eight or nine wise words to speak to you,\\r\\n which these hobby-horses must not hear.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Benedick and Leonato._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n For my life, to break with him about Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n ’Tis even so. Hero and Margaret have by this played their parts\\r\\n with Beatrice, and then the two bears will not bite one another\\r\\n when they meet.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don John.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n My lord and brother, God save you!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Good den, brother.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n If your leisure served, I would speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n In private?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n If it please you; yet Count Claudio may hear, for what I would\\r\\n speak of concerns him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n [_To Claudio._] Means your lordship to be married tomorrow?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n You know he does.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I know not that, when he knows what I know.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If there be any impediment, I pray you discover it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n You may think I love you not: let that appear hereafter, and aim\\r\\n better at me by that I now will manifest. For my brother, I think\\r\\n he holds you well, and in dearness of heart hath holp to effect\\r\\n your ensuing marriage; surely suit ill-spent and labour ill\\r\\n bestowed!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Why, what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I came hither to tell you; and circumstances shortened,—for she\\r\\n has been too long a talking of,—the lady is disloyal.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Who, Hero?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Even she: Leonato’s Hero, your Hero, every man’s Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Disloyal?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n The word’s too good to paint out her wickedness; I could say, she\\r\\n were worse: think you of a worse title, and I will fit her to it.\\r\\n Wonder not till further warrant: go but with me tonight, you\\r\\n shall see her chamber window entered, even the night before her\\r\\n wedding-day: if you love her then, tomorrow wed her; but it would\\r\\n better fit your honour to change your mind.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n May this be so?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I will not think it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n If you dare not trust that you see, confess not that you know. If\\r\\n you will follow me, I will show you enough; and when you have\\r\\n seen more and heard more, proceed accordingly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If I see anything tonight why I should not marry her tomorrow, in\\r\\n the congregation, where I should wed, there will I shame her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I will join with thee to\\r\\n disgrace her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I will disparage her no farther till you are my witnesses: bear\\r\\n it coldly but till midnight, and let the issue show itself.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n O day untowardly turned!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n O mischief strangely thwarting!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n O plague right well prevented! So will you say when you have seen\\r\\n the sequel.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nScene III. A Street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Dogberry and Verges, with the Watch.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Are you good men and true?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer salvation, body\\r\\n and soul.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Nay, that were a punishment too good for them, if they should\\r\\n have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the Prince’s watch.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dogberry.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n First, who think you the most desartless man to be constable?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST WATCH.\\r\\n Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal; for they can write and\\r\\n read.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Come hither, neighbour Seacoal. God hath blessed you with a good\\r\\n name: to be a well-favoured man is the gift of Fortune; but to\\r\\n write and read comes by Nature.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n Both which, Master Constable,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n You have: I knew it would be your answer. Well, for your favour,\\r\\n sir, why, give God thanks, and make no boast of it; and for your\\r\\n writing and reading, let that appear when there is no need of\\r\\n such vanity. You are thought here to be the most senseless and\\r\\n fit man for the constable of the watch; therefore bear you the\\r\\n lanthorn. This is your charge: you shall comprehend all vagrom\\r\\n men; you are to bid any man stand, in the Prince’s name.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n How, if a’ will not stand?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Why, then, take no note of him, but let him go; and presently\\r\\n call the rest of the watch together, and thank God you are rid of\\r\\n a knave.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the\\r\\n Prince’s subjects.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n True, and they are to meddle with none but the Prince’s subjects.\\r\\n You shall also make no noise in the streets: for, for the watch\\r\\n to babble and to talk is most tolerable and not to be endured.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n We will rather sleep than talk: we know what belongs to a watch.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet watchman, for I\\r\\n cannot see how sleeping should offend; only have a care that your\\r\\n bills be not stolen. Well, you are to call at all the alehouses,\\r\\n and bid those that are drunk get them to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n How if they will not?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Why then, let them alone till they are sober: if they make you\\r\\n not then the better answer, you may say they are not the men you\\r\\n took them for.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n Well, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue of your\\r\\n office, to be no true man; and, for such kind of men, the less\\r\\n you meddle or make with them, why, the more is for your honesty.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Truly, by your office, you may; but I think they that touch pitch\\r\\n will be defiled. The most peaceable way for you, if you do take a\\r\\n thief, is to let him show himself what he is and steal out of\\r\\n your company.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n You have been always called a merciful man, partner.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will, much more a man who\\r\\n hath any honesty in him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the nurse\\r\\n and bid her still it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n How if the nurse be asleep and will not hear us?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Why then, depart in peace, and let the child wake her with\\r\\n crying; for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it baes,\\r\\n will never answer a calf when he bleats.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n ’Tis very true.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n This is the end of the charge. You constable, are to present the\\r\\n Prince’s own person: if you meet the Prince in the night, you may\\r\\n stay him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Nay, by’r lady, that I think, a’ cannot.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Five shillings to one on’t, with any man that knows the statutes,\\r\\n he may stay him: marry, not without the Prince be willing; for,\\r\\n indeed, the watch ought to offend no man, and it is an offence to\\r\\n stay a man against his will.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n By’r lady, I think it be so.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Ha, ah, ha! Well, masters, good night: an there be any matter of\\r\\n weight chances, call up me: keep your fellows’ counsels and your\\r\\n own, and good night. Come, neighbour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n Well, masters, we hear our charge: let us go sit here upon the\\r\\n church bench till two, and then all to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n One word more, honest neighbours. I pray you, watch about Signior\\r\\n Leonato’s door; for the wedding being there tomorrow, there is a\\r\\n great coil tonight. Adieu; be vigitant, I beseech you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Dogberry and Verges._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Borachio and Conrade.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n What, Conrade!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n WATCH.\\r\\n [_Aside_] Peace! stir not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Conrade, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Here, man. I am at thy elbow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Mass, and my elbow itched; I thought there would a scab follow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n I will owe thee an answer for that; and now forward with thy\\r\\n tale.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Stand thee close then under this penthouse, for it drizzles rain,\\r\\n and I will, like a true drunkard, utter all to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n WATCH.\\r\\n [_Aside_] Some treason, masters; yet stand close.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Therefore know, I have earned of Don John a thousand ducats.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Is it possible that any villainy should be so dear?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Thou shouldst rather ask if it were possible any villainy should\\r\\n be so rich; for when rich villains have need of poor ones, poor\\r\\n ones may make what price they will.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n I wonder at it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n That shows thou art unconfirmed. Thou knowest that the fashion of\\r\\n a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak, is nothing to a man.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Yes, it is apparel.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n I mean, the fashion.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Yes, the fashion is the fashion.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Tush! I may as well say the fool’s the fool. But seest thou not\\r\\n what a deformed thief this fashion is?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n WATCH.\\r\\n [_Aside_] I know that Deformed; a’ has been a vile thief this\\r\\n seven years; a’ goes up and down like a gentleman: I remember his\\r\\n name.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Didst thou not hear somebody?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n No: ’twas the vane on the house.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this fashion is? how\\r\\n giddily he turns about all the hot bloods between fourteen and\\r\\n five-and-thirty? sometime fashioning them like Pharaoh’s soldiers\\r\\n in the reechy painting; sometime like god Bel’s priests in the\\r\\n old church window; sometime like the shaven Hercules in the\\r\\n smirched worm-eaten tapestry, where his codpiece seems as massy\\r\\n as his club?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n All this I see, and I see that the fashion wears out more apparel\\r\\n than the man. But art not thou thyself giddy with the fashion\\r\\n too, that thou hast shifted out of thy tale into telling me of\\r\\n the fashion?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Not so neither; but know, that I have tonight wooed Margaret, the\\r\\n Lady Hero’s gentlewoman, by the name of Hero: she leans me out at\\r\\n her mistress’ chamber window, bids me a thousand times good\\r\\n night,—I tell this tale vilely:—I should first tell thee how the\\r\\n Prince, Claudio, and my master, planted and placed and possessed\\r\\n by my master Don John, saw afar off in the orchard this amiable\\r\\n encounter.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n And thought they Margaret was Hero?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio; but the devil my master,\\r\\n knew she was Margaret; and partly by his oaths, which first\\r\\n possessed them, partly by the dark night, which did deceive them,\\r\\n but chiefly by my villainy, which did confirm any slander that\\r\\n Don John had made, away went Claudio enraged; swore he would meet\\r\\n her, as he was appointed, next morning at the temple, and there,\\r\\n before the whole congregation, shame her with what he saw o’er\\r\\n night, and send her home again without a husband.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST WATCH.\\r\\n We charge you in the Prince’s name, stand!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n Call up the right Master Constable. We have here recovered the\\r\\n most dangerous piece of lechery that ever was known in the\\r\\n commonwealth.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST WATCH.\\r\\n And one Deformed is one of them: I know him, a’ wears a lock.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Masters, masters!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n You’ll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Masters,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST WATCH.\\r\\n Never speak: we charge you let us obey you to go with us.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO. We are like to prove a goodly commodity, being taken up\\r\\n of these men’s bills.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n A commodity in question, I warrant you. Come, we’ll obey you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nScene IV. A Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hero, Margaret and Ursula.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and desire her to rise.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n I will, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n And bid her come hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Well.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Troth, I think your other rebato were better.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n No, pray thee, good Meg, I’ll wear this.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n By my troth’s not so good; and I warrant your cousin will say so.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n My cousin ’s a fool, and thou art another: I’ll wear none but\\r\\n this.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n I like the new tire within excellently, if the hair were a\\r\\n thought browner; and your gown ’s a most rare fashion, i’ faith.\\r\\n I saw the Duchess of Milan’s gown that they praise so.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n O! that exceeds, they say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n By my troth ’s but a night-gown in respect of yours: cloth o’\\r\\n gold, and cuts, and laced with silver, set with pearls, down\\r\\n sleeves, side sleeves, and skirts round, underborne with a bluish\\r\\n tinsel; but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excellent fashion,\\r\\n yours is worth ten on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n God give me joy to wear it! for my heart is exceeding heavy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n ’Twill be heavier soon by the weight of a man.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Fie upon thee! art not ashamed?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Of what, lady? of speaking honourably? Is not marriage honourable\\r\\n in a beggar? Is not your lord honourable without marriage? I\\r\\n think you would have me say, saving your reverence, ‘a husband:’\\r\\n an bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, I’ll offend nobody.\\r\\n Is there any harm in ‘the heavier for a husband’? None, I think,\\r\\n and it be the right husband and the right wife; otherwise ’tis\\r\\n light, and not heavy: ask my Lady Beatrice else; here she comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Good morrow, coz.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Good morrow, sweet Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Why, how now? do you speak in the sick tune?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I am out of all other tune, methinks.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Clap’s into ‘Light o’ love’; that goes without a burden: do you\\r\\n sing it, and I’ll dance it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Ye, light o’ love with your heels! then, if your husband have\\r\\n stables enough, you’ll see he shall lack no barnes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n O illegitimate construction! I scorn that with my heels.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n ’Tis almost five o’clock, cousin; ’tis time you were ready. By my\\r\\n troth, I am exceeding ill. Heigh-ho!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n For a hawk, a horse, or a husband?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n For the letter that begins them all, H.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Well, and you be not turned Turk, there’s no more sailing by the\\r\\n star.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n What means the fool, trow?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Nothing I; but God send everyone their heart’s desire!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n These gloves the Count sent me; they are an excellent perfume.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I am stuffed, cousin, I cannot smell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n A maid, and stuffed! there’s goodly catching of cold.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n O, God help me! God help me! how long have you professed\\r\\n apprehension?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Ever since you left it. Doth not my wit become me rarely!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n It is not seen enough, you should wear it in your cap. By my\\r\\n troth, I am sick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Get you some of this distilled _Carduus benedictus_, and lay it\\r\\n to your heart: it is the only thing for a qualm.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n There thou prick’st her with a thistle.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n _Benedictus!_ why _benedictus?_ you have some moral in this\\r\\n _benedictus_.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Moral! no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning; I meant, plain\\r\\n holy thistle. You may think, perchance, that I think you are in\\r\\n love: nay, by’r Lady, I am not such a fool to think what I list;\\r\\n nor I list not to think what I can; nor, indeed, I cannot think,\\r\\n if I would think my heart out of thinking, that you are in love,\\r\\n or that you will be in love, or that you can be in love. Yet\\r\\n Benedick was such another, and now is he become a man: he swore\\r\\n he would never marry; and yet now, in despite of his heart, he\\r\\n eats his meat without grudging: and how you may be converted, I\\r\\n know not; but methinks you look with your eyes as other women do.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n What pace is this that thy tongue keeps?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Not a false gallop.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ursula.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Madam, withdraw: the Prince, the Count, Signior Benedick, Don\\r\\n John, and all the gallants of the town are come to fetch you to\\r\\n church.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good Ursula.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nScene V. Another Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leonato and Dogberry and Verges.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n What would you with me, honest neighbour?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Marry, sir, I would have some confidence with you, that decerns\\r\\n you nearly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Brief, I pray you; for you see it is a busy time with me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Marry, this it is, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Yes, in truth it is, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n What is it, my good friends?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off the matter: an old man,\\r\\n sir, and his wits are not so blunt as, God help, I would desire\\r\\n they were; but, in faith, honest as the skin between his brows.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Yes, I thank God, I am as honest as any man living, that is an\\r\\n old man and no honester than I.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Comparisons are odorous: palabras, neighbour Verges.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Neighbours, you are tedious.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n It pleases your worship to say so, but we are the poor Duke’s\\r\\n officers; but truly, for mine own part, if I were as tedious as a\\r\\n king, I could find in my heart to bestow it all of your worship.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n All thy tediousness on me! ah?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Yea, and ’twere a thousand pound more than ’tis; for I hear as\\r\\n good exclamation on your worship, as of any man in the city, and\\r\\n though I be but a poor man, I am glad to hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n And so am I.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I would fain know what you have to say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Marry, sir, our watch tonight, excepting your worship’s presence,\\r\\n ha’ ta’en a couple of as arrant knaves as any in Messina.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n A good old man, sir; he will be talking; as they say, ‘when the\\r\\n age is in, the wit is out.’ God help us! it is a world to see!\\r\\n Well said, i’ faith, neighbour Verges: well, God’s a good man;\\r\\n and two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind. An honest\\r\\n soul, i’ faith, sir; by my troth he is, as ever broke bread; but\\r\\n God is to be worshipped: all men are not alike; alas! good\\r\\n neighbour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Gifts that God gives.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I must leave you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n One word, sir: our watch, sir, have indeed comprehended two\\r\\n aspicious persons, and we would have them this morning examined\\r\\n before your worship.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Take their examination yourself, and bring it me: I am now in\\r\\n great haste, as may appear unto you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n It shall be suffigance.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Drink some wine ere you go: fare you well.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n My lord, they stay for you to give your daughter to her husband.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I’ll wait upon them: I am ready.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Leonato and Messenger._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Go, good partner, go get you to Francis Seacoal; bid him bring\\r\\n his pen and inkhorn to the gaol: we are now to examination these\\r\\n men.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n And we must do it wisely.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n We will spare for no wit, I warrant you; here’s that shall drive\\r\\n some of them to a non-come: only get the learned writer to set\\r\\n down our excommunication, and meet me at the gaol.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Inside of a Church.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Leonato, Friar Francis, Claudio,\\r\\n Benedick, Hero, Beatrice &c.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Come, Friar Francis, be brief: only to the plain form of\\r\\n marriage, and you shall recount their particular duties\\r\\n afterwards.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n No.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n To be married to her, friar; you come to marry her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Lady, you come hither to be married to this Count?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n I do.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n If either of you know any inward impediment, why you should not\\r\\n be conjoined, I charge you, on your souls, to utter it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Know you any, Hero?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n None, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Know you any, Count?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I dare make his answer; none.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n O! what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, not\\r\\n knowing what they do!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n How now! Interjections? Why then, some be of laughing, as ah! ha!\\r\\n he!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Stand thee by, Friar. Father, by your leave:\\r\\n Will you with free and unconstrained soul\\r\\n Give me this maid, your daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n As freely, son, as God did give her me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And what have I to give you back whose worth\\r\\n May counterpoise this rich and precious gift?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Nothing, unless you render her again.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Sweet Prince, you learn me noble thankfulness.\\r\\n There, Leonato, take her back again:\\r\\n Give not this rotten orange to your friend;\\r\\n She’s but the sign and semblance of her honour.\\r\\n Behold! how like a maid she blushes here.\\r\\n O! what authority and show of truth\\r\\n Can cunning sin cover itself withal.\\r\\n Comes not that blood as modest evidence\\r\\n To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear,\\r\\n All you that see her, that she were a maid,\\r\\n By these exterior shows? But she is none:\\r\\n She knows the heat of a luxurious bed;\\r\\n Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n What do you mean, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Not to be married,\\r\\n Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof,\\r\\n Have vanquish’d the resistance of her youth,\\r\\n And made defeat of her virginity,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I know what you would say: if I have known her,\\r\\n You will say she did embrace me as a husband,\\r\\n And so extenuate the forehand sin: No, Leonato,\\r\\n I never tempted her with word too large;\\r\\n But as a brother to his sister show’d\\r\\n Bashful sincerity and comely love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n And seem’d I ever otherwise to you?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Out on thee! Seeming! I will write against it:\\r\\n You seem to me as Dian in her orb,\\r\\n As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown;\\r\\n But you are more intemperate in your blood\\r\\n Than Venus, or those pamper’d animals\\r\\n That rage in savage sensuality.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Sweet Prince, why speak not you?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n What should I speak?\\r\\n I stand dishonour’d, that have gone about\\r\\n To link my dear friend to a common stale.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Are these things spoken, or do I but dream?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n This looks not like a nuptial.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n True! O God!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Leonato, stand I here?\\r\\n Is this the Prince? Is this the Prince’s brother?\\r\\n Is this face Hero’s? Are our eyes our own?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n All this is so; but what of this, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Let me but move one question to your daughter,\\r\\n And by that fatherly and kindly power\\r\\n That you have in her, bid her answer truly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I charge thee do so, as thou art my child.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n O, God defend me! how am I beset!\\r\\n What kind of catechizing call you this?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n To make you answer truly to your name.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name\\r\\n With any just reproach?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Marry, that can Hero:\\r\\n Hero itself can blot out Hero’s virtue.\\r\\n What man was he talk’d with you yesternight\\r\\n Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one?\\r\\n Now, if you are a maid, answer to this.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n I talk’d with no man at that hour, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Why, then are you no maiden.\\r\\n Leonato, I am sorry you must hear: upon my honour,\\r\\n Myself, my brother, and this grieved Count,\\r\\n Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night,\\r\\n Talk with a ruffian at her chamber window;\\r\\n Who hath indeed, most like a liberal villain,\\r\\n Confess’d the vile encounters they have had\\r\\n A thousand times in secret.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Fie, fie! they are not to be nam’d, my lord,\\r\\n Not to be spoke of;\\r\\n There is not chastity enough in language\\r\\n Without offence to utter them. Thus, pretty lady,\\r\\n I am sorry for thy much misgovernment.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been,\\r\\n If half thy outward graces had been plac’d\\r\\n About thy thoughts and counsels of thy heart!\\r\\n But fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell,\\r\\n Thou pure impiety, and impious purity!\\r\\n For thee I’ll lock up all the gates of love,\\r\\n And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang,\\r\\n To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm,\\r\\n And never shall it more be gracious.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Hath no man’s dagger here a point for me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Hero swoons._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Why, how now, cousin! wherefore sink you down?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Come, let us go. These things, come thus to light,\\r\\n Smother her spirits up.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John and Claudio._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n How doth the lady?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Dead, I think! Help, uncle! Hero! why, Hero! Uncle! Signior\\r\\n Benedick! Friar!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n O Fate! take not away thy heavy hand:\\r\\n Death is the fairest cover for her shame\\r\\n That may be wish’d for.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n How now, cousin Hero?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Have comfort, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Dost thou look up?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Yea; wherefore should she not?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Wherefore! Why, doth not every earthly thing\\r\\n Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny\\r\\n The story that is printed in her blood?\\r\\n Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes;\\r\\n For, did I think thou wouldst not quickly die,\\r\\n Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames,\\r\\n Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches,\\r\\n Strike at thy life. Griev’d I, I had but one?\\r\\n Chid I for that at frugal Nature’s frame?\\r\\n O! one too much by thee. Why had I one?\\r\\n Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes?\\r\\n Why had I not with charitable hand\\r\\n Took up a beggar’s issue at my gates,\\r\\n Who smirched thus, and mir’d with infamy,\\r\\n I might have said, ‘No part of it is mine;\\r\\n This shame derives itself from unknown loins?’\\r\\n But mine, and mine I lov’d, and mine I prais’d,\\r\\n And mine that I was proud on, mine so much\\r\\n That I myself was to myself not mine,\\r\\n Valuing of her; why, she—O! she is fallen\\r\\n Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea\\r\\n Hath drops too few to wash her clean again,\\r\\n And salt too little which may season give\\r\\n To her foul tainted flesh.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Sir, sir, be patient.\\r\\n For my part, I am so attir’d in wonder,\\r\\n I know not what to say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n O! on my soul, my cousin is belied!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n No, truly, not; although, until last night,\\r\\n I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Confirm’d, confirm’d! O! that is stronger made,\\r\\n Which was before barr’d up with ribs of iron.\\r\\n Would the two princes lie? and Claudio lie,\\r\\n Who lov’d her so, that, speaking of her foulness,\\r\\n Wash’d it with tears? Hence from her! let her die.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Hear me a little;\\r\\n For I have only been silent so long,\\r\\n And given way unto this course of fortune,\\r\\n By noting of the lady: I have mark’d\\r\\n A thousand blushing apparitions\\r\\n To start into her face; a thousand innocent shames\\r\\n In angel whiteness bear away those blushes;\\r\\n And in her eye there hath appear’d a fire,\\r\\n To burn the errors that these princes hold\\r\\n Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool;\\r\\n Trust not my reading nor my observations,\\r\\n Which with experimental seal doth warrant\\r\\n The tenure of my book; trust not my age,\\r\\n My reverence, calling, nor divinity,\\r\\n If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here\\r\\n Under some biting error.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Friar, it cannot be.\\r\\n Thou seest that all the grace that she hath left\\r\\n Is that she will not add to her damnation\\r\\n A sin of perjury: she not denies it.\\r\\n Why seek’st thou then to cover with excuse\\r\\n That which appears in proper nakedness?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Lady, what man is he you are accus’d of?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n They know that do accuse me, I know none;\\r\\n If I know more of any man alive\\r\\n Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant,\\r\\n Let all my sins lack mercy! O, my father!\\r\\n Prove you that any man with me convers’d\\r\\n At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight\\r\\n Maintain’d the change of words with any creature,\\r\\n Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n There is some strange misprision in the princes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Two of them have the very bent of honour;\\r\\n And if their wisdoms be misled in this,\\r\\n The practice of it lives in John the bastard,\\r\\n Whose spirits toil in frame of villainies.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I know not. If they speak but truth of her,\\r\\n These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honour,\\r\\n The proudest of them shall well hear of it.\\r\\n Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine,\\r\\n Nor age so eat up my invention,\\r\\n Nor fortune made such havoc of my means,\\r\\n Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends,\\r\\n But they shall find, awak’d in such a kind,\\r\\n Both strength of limb and policy of mind,\\r\\n Ability in means and choice of friends,\\r\\n To quit me of them throughly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Pause awhile,\\r\\n And let my counsel sway you in this case.\\r\\n Your daughter here the princes left for dead;\\r\\n Let her awhile be secretly kept in,\\r\\n And publish it that she is dead indeed:\\r\\n Maintain a mourning ostentation;\\r\\n And on your family’s old monument\\r\\n Hang mournful epitaphs and do all rites\\r\\n That appertain unto a burial.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n What shall become of this? What will this do?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Marry, this well carried shall on her behalf\\r\\n Change slander to remorse; that is some good.\\r\\n But not for that dream I on this strange course,\\r\\n But on this travail look for greater birth.\\r\\n She dying, as it must be so maintain’d,\\r\\n Upon the instant that she was accus’d,\\r\\n Shall be lamented, pitied and excus’d\\r\\n Of every hearer; for it so falls out\\r\\n That what we have we prize not to the worth\\r\\n Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack’d and lost,\\r\\n Why, then we rack the value, then we find\\r\\n The virtue that possession would not show us\\r\\n Whiles it was ours. So will it fare with Claudio:\\r\\n When he shall hear she died upon his words,\\r\\n The idea of her life shall sweetly creep\\r\\n Into his study of imagination,\\r\\n And every lovely organ of her life\\r\\n Shall come apparell’d in more precious habit,\\r\\n More moving, delicate, and full of life\\r\\n Into the eye and prospect of his soul,\\r\\n Than when she liv’d indeed: then shall he mourn,—\\r\\n If ever love had interest in his liver,—\\r\\n And wish he had not so accused her,\\r\\n No, though he thought his accusation true.\\r\\n Let this be so, and doubt not but success\\r\\n Will fashion the event in better shape\\r\\n Than I can lay it down in likelihood.\\r\\n But if all aim but this be levell’d false,\\r\\n The supposition of the lady’s death\\r\\n Will quench the wonder of her infamy:\\r\\n And if it sort not well, you may conceal her,—\\r\\n As best befits her wounded reputation,—\\r\\n In some reclusive and religious life,\\r\\n Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you:\\r\\n And though you know my inwardness and love\\r\\n Is very much unto the Prince and Claudio,\\r\\n Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this\\r\\n As secretly and justly as your soul\\r\\n Should with your body.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Being that I flow in grief,\\r\\n The smallest twine may lead me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n ’Tis well consented: presently away;\\r\\n For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure.\\r\\n Come, lady, die to live: this wedding day\\r\\n Perhaps is but prolong’d: have patience and endure.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Friar, Hero and Leonato._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Yea, and I will weep a while longer.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I will not desire that.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n You have no reason; I do it freely.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wronged.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Ah! how much might the man deserve of me that would right her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Is there any way to show such friendship?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n A very even way, but no such friend.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n May a man do it?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n It is a man’s office, but not yours.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that\\r\\n strange?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n As strange as the thing I know not. It were as possible for me to\\r\\n say I loved nothing so well as you; but believe me not, and yet I\\r\\n lie not; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am sorry for my\\r\\n cousin.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Do not swear by it, and eat it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I will swear by it that you love me; and I will make him eat it\\r\\n that says I love not you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Will you not eat your word?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest I love thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Why then, God forgive me!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n What offence, sweet Beatrice?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about to protest I\\r\\n loved you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n And do it with all thy heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Come, bid me do anything for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Kill Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Ha! not for the wide world.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n You kill me to deny it. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Tarry, sweet Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I am gone, though I am here: there is no love in you: nay, I pray\\r\\n you, let me go.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Beatrice,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n In faith, I will go.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n We’ll be friends first.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n You dare easier be friends with me than fight with mine enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Is Claudio thine enemy?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath slandered,\\r\\n scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman? O! that I were a man. What!\\r\\n bear her in hand until they come to take hands, and then, with\\r\\n public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour,—O God,\\r\\n that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Hear me, Beatrice,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Talk with a man out at a window! a proper saying!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Nay, but Beatrice,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Sweet Hero! she is wronged, she is slandered, she is undone.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Beat—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Princes and Counties! Surely, a princely testimony, a goodly\\r\\n Count Comfect; a sweet gallant, surely! O! that I were a man for\\r\\n his sake, or that I had any friend would be a man for my sake!\\r\\n But manhood is melted into curtsies, valour into compliment, and\\r\\n men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones too: he is now as\\r\\n valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lie and swears it. I\\r\\n cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with\\r\\n grieving.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I love thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Think you in your soul the Count Claudio hath wronged Hero?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Yea, as sure is I have a thought or a soul.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Enough! I am engaged, I will challenge him. I will kiss your\\r\\n hand, and so leave you. By this hand, Claudio shall render me a\\r\\n dear account. As you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort your\\r\\n cousin: I must say she is dead; and so, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nScene II. A Prison.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Dogberry, Verges, and Sexton, in gowns; and the Watch, with\\r\\n Conrade and Borachio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Is our whole dissembly appeared?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n O! a stool and a cushion for the sexton.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SEXTON.\\r\\n Which be the malefactors?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Marry, that am I and my partner.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Nay, that’s certain: we have the exhibition to examine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SEXTON.\\r\\n But which are the offenders that are to be examined? let them\\r\\n come before Master Constable.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Yea, marry, let them come before me. What is your name, friend?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Borachio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Pray write down Borachio. Yours, sirrah?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Write down Master gentleman Conrade. Masters, do you serve God?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BOTH.\\r\\n Yea, sir, we hope.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Write down that they hope they serve God: and write God first;\\r\\n for God defend but God should go before such villains! Masters,\\r\\n it is proved already that you are little better than false\\r\\n knaves, and it will go near to be thought so shortly. How answer\\r\\n you for yourselves?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Marry, sir, we say we are none.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you; but I will go about with\\r\\n him. Come you hither, sirrah; a word in your ear: sir, I say to\\r\\n you, it is thought you are false knaves.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Sir, I say to you we are none.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Well, stand aside. Fore God, they are both in a tale. Have you\\r\\n writ down, that they are none?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SEXTON.\\r\\n Master Constable, you go not the way to examine: you must call\\r\\n forth the watch that are their accusers.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Yea, marry, that’s the eftest way. Let the watch come forth.\\r\\n Masters, I charge you, in the Prince’s name, accuse these men.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST WATCH.\\r\\n This man said, sir, that Don John, the Prince’s brother, was a\\r\\n villain.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Write down Prince John a villain. Why, this is flat perjury, to\\r\\n call a Prince’s brother villain.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Master Constable,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Pray thee, fellow, peace: I do not like thy look, I promise thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SEXTON.\\r\\n What heard you him say else?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n Marry, that he had received a thousand ducats of Don John for\\r\\n accusing the Lady Hero wrongfully.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Flat burglary as ever was committed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Yea, by the mass, that it is.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SEXTON.\\r\\n What else, fellow?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST WATCH.\\r\\n And that Count Claudio did mean, upon his words, to disgrace Hero\\r\\n before the whole assembly, and not marry her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n O villain! thou wilt be condemned into everlasting redemption for\\r\\n this.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SEXTON.\\r\\n What else?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n This is all.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SEXTON.\\r\\n And this is more, masters, than you can deny. Prince John is this\\r\\n morning secretly stolen away: Hero was in this manner accused, in\\r\\n this manner refused, and, upon the grief of this, suddenly died.\\r\\n Master Constable, let these men be bound, and brought to\\r\\n Leonato’s: I will go before and show him their examination.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Come, let them be opinioned.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Let them be in the hands—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Off, coxcomb!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n God’s my life! where’s the sexton? let him write down the\\r\\n Prince’s officer coxcomb. Come, bind them. Thou naughty varlet!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Away! you are an ass; you are an ass.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not suspect my years? O\\r\\n that he were here to write me down an ass! but, masters, remember\\r\\n that I am an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not\\r\\n that I am an ass. No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as\\r\\n shall be proved upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow;\\r\\n and, which is more, an officer; and, which is more, a\\r\\n householder; and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as\\r\\n any in Messina; and one that knows the law, go to; and a rich\\r\\n fellow enough, go to; and a fellow that hath had losses; and one\\r\\n that hath two gowns, and everything handsome about him. Bring him\\r\\n away. O that I had been writ down an ass!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Before Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leonato and Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n If you go on thus, you will kill yourself\\r\\n And ’tis not wisdom thus to second grief\\r\\n Against yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I pray thee, cease thy counsel,\\r\\n Which falls into mine ears as profitless\\r\\n As water in a sieve: give not me counsel;\\r\\n Nor let no comforter delight mine ear\\r\\n But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine:\\r\\n Bring me a father that so lov’d his child,\\r\\n Whose joy of her is overwhelm’d like mine,\\r\\n And bid him speak of patience;\\r\\n Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine,\\r\\n And let it answer every strain for strain,\\r\\n As thus for thus and such a grief for such,\\r\\n In every lineament, branch, shape, and form:\\r\\n If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard;\\r\\n Bid sorrow wag, cry ‘hem’ when he should groan,\\r\\n Patch grief with proverbs; make misfortune drunk\\r\\n With candle-wasters; bring him yet to me,\\r\\n And I of him will gather patience.\\r\\n But there is no such man; for, brother, men\\r\\n Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief\\r\\n Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it,\\r\\n Their counsel turns to passion, which before\\r\\n Would give preceptial medicine to rage,\\r\\n Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,\\r\\n Charm ache with air and agony with words.\\r\\n No, no; ’tis all men’s office to speak patience\\r\\n To those that wring under the load of sorrow,\\r\\n But no man’s virtue nor sufficiency\\r\\n To be so moral when he shall endure\\r\\n The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel:\\r\\n My griefs cry louder than advertisement.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Therein do men from children nothing differ.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I pray thee peace! I will be flesh and blood;\\r\\n For there was never yet philosopher\\r\\n That could endure the toothache patiently,\\r\\n However they have writ the style of gods\\r\\n And made a push at chance and sufferance.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself;\\r\\n Make those that do offend you suffer too.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n There thou speak’st reason: nay, I will do so.\\r\\n My soul doth tell me Hero is belied;\\r\\n And that shall Claudio know; so shall the Prince,\\r\\n And all of them that thus dishonour her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Here comes the Prince and Claudio hastily.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro and Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Good den, good den.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Good day to both of you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Hear you, my lords,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n We have some haste, Leonato.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Some haste, my lord! well, fare you well, my lord:\\r\\n Are you so hasty now?—well, all is one.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n If he could right himself with quarrelling,\\r\\n Some of us would lie low.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Who wrongs him?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Marry, thou dost wrong me; thou dissembler, thou.\\r\\n Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword;\\r\\n I fear thee not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Marry, beshrew my hand,\\r\\n If it should give your age such cause of fear.\\r\\n In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Tush, tush, man! never fleer and jest at me:\\r\\n I speak not like a dotard nor a fool,\\r\\n As, under privilege of age, to brag\\r\\n What I have done being young, or what would do,\\r\\n Were I not old. Know, Claudio, to thy head,\\r\\n Thou hast so wrong’d mine innocent child and me\\r\\n That I am forc’d to lay my reverence by,\\r\\n And, with grey hairs and bruise of many days,\\r\\n Do challenge thee to trial of a man.\\r\\n I say thou hast belied mine innocent child:\\r\\n Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart,\\r\\n And she lies buried with her ancestors;\\r\\n O! in a tomb where never scandal slept,\\r\\n Save this of hers, fram’d by thy villainy!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n My villainy?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Thine, Claudio; thine, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n You say not right, old man,\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n My lord, my lord, I’ll prove it on his body, if he dare,\\r\\n Despite his nice fence and his active practice,\\r\\n His May of youth and bloom of lustihood.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Away! I will not have to do with you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Canst thou so daff me? Thou hast kill’d my child;\\r\\n If thou kill’st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n He shall kill two of us, and men indeed:\\r\\n But that’s no matter; let him kill one first:\\r\\n Win me and wear me; let him answer me.\\r\\n Come, follow me, boy; come, sir boy, come, follow me.\\r\\n Sir boy, I’ll whip you from your foining fence;\\r\\n Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Brother,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Content yourself. God knows I lov’d my niece;\\r\\n And she is dead, slander’d to death by villains,\\r\\n That dare as well answer a man indeed\\r\\n As I dare take a serpent by the tongue.\\r\\n Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Brother Anthony,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Hold you content. What, man! I know them, yea,\\r\\n And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple,\\r\\n Scambling, out-facing, fashion-monging boys,\\r\\n That lie and cog and flout, deprave and slander,\\r\\n Go antickly, show outward hideousness,\\r\\n And speak off half a dozen dangerous words,\\r\\n How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst;\\r\\n And this is all!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n But, brother Anthony,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Come, ’tis no matter:\\r\\n Do not you meddle, let me deal in this.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience.\\r\\n My heart is sorry for your daughter’s death;\\r\\n But, on my honour, she was charg’d with nothing\\r\\n But what was true and very full of proof.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n My lord, my lord—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I will not hear you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n No? Come, brother, away. I will be heard.—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n And shall, or some of us will smart for it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Leonato and Antonio._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n See, see; here comes the man we went to seek.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Now, signior, what news?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Good day, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Welcome, signior: you are almost come to part almost a fray.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n We had like to have had our two noses snapped off with two old\\r\\n men without teeth.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Leonato and his brother. What think’st thou? Had we fought, I\\r\\n doubt we should have been too young for them.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n In a false quarrel there is no true valour. I came to seek you\\r\\n both.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n We have been up and down to seek thee; for we are high-proof\\r\\n melancholy, and would fain have it beaten away. Wilt thou use thy\\r\\n wit?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n It is in my scabbard; shall I draw it?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Never any did so, though very many have been beside their wit. I\\r\\n will bid thee draw, as we do the minstrels; draw, to pleasure us.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n As I am an honest man, he looks pale. Art thou sick, or angry?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n What, courage, man! What though care killed a cat, thou hast\\r\\n mettle enough in thee to kill care.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, and you charge it\\r\\n against me. I pray you choose another subject.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Nay then, give him another staff: this last was broke cross.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n By this light, he changes more and more: I think he be angry\\r\\n indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Shall I speak a word in your ear?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n God bless me from a challenge!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n [_Aside to Claudio._] You are a villain, I jest not: I will make\\r\\n it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare. Do\\r\\n me right, or I will protest your cowardice. You have killed a\\r\\n sweet lady, and her death shall fall heavy on you. Let me hear\\r\\n from you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Well I will meet you, so I may have good cheer.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n What, a feast, a feast?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I’ faith, I thank him; he hath bid me to a calf’s-head and a\\r\\n capon, the which if I do not carve most curiously, say my knife’s\\r\\n naught. Shall I not find a woodcock too?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I’ll tell thee how Beatrice praised thy wit the other day. I\\r\\n said, thou hadst a fine wit. ‘True,’ says she, ‘a fine little\\r\\n one.’ ‘No,’ said I, ‘a great wit.’ ‘Right,’ said she, ‘a great\\r\\n gross one.’ ‘Nay,’ said I, ‘a good wit.’ ‘Just,’ said she, ‘it\\r\\n hurts nobody.’ ‘Nay,’ said I, ‘the gentleman is wise.’ ‘Certain,’\\r\\n said she, ‘a wise gentleman.’ ‘Nay,’ said I, ‘he hath the\\r\\n tongues.’ ‘That I believe’ said she, ‘for he swore a thing to me\\r\\n on Monday night, which he forswore on Tuesday morning: there’s a\\r\\n double tongue; there’s two tongues.’ Thus did she, an hour\\r\\n together, trans-shape thy particular virtues; yet at last she\\r\\n concluded with a sigh, thou wast the properest man in Italy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n For the which she wept heartily and said she cared not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Yea, that she did; but yet, for all that, an if she did not hate\\r\\n him deadly, she would love him dearly. The old man’s daughter\\r\\n told us all.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n All, all; and moreover, God saw him when he was hid in the\\r\\n garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n But when shall we set the savage bull’s horns on the sensible\\r\\n Benedick’s head?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Yea, and text underneath, ‘Here dwells Benedick the married man!’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Fare you well, boy: you know my mind. I will leave you now to\\r\\n your gossip-like humour; you break jests as braggarts do their\\r\\n blades, which, God be thanked, hurt not. My lord, for your many\\r\\n courtesies I thank you: I must discontinue your company. Your\\r\\n brother the bastard is fled from Messina: you have, among you,\\r\\n killed a sweet and innocent lady. For my Lord Lack-beard there,\\r\\n he and I shall meet; and till then, peace be with him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n He is in earnest.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n In most profound earnest; and, I’ll warrant you, for the love of\\r\\n Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n And hath challenged thee?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Most sincerely.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n What a pretty thing man is when he goes in his doublet and hose\\r\\n and leaves off his wit!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n He is then a giant to an ape; but then is an ape a doctor to such\\r\\n a man.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n But, soft you; let me be: pluck up, my heart, and be sad! Did he\\r\\n not say my brother was fled?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Dogberry, Verges, and the Watch, with Conrade and\\r\\n Borachio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Come you, sir: if justice cannot tame you, she shall ne’er weigh\\r\\n more reasons in her balance. Nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite\\r\\n once, you must be looked to.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n How now! two of my brother’s men bound! Borachio, one!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Hearken after their offence, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Officers, what offence have these men done?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Marry, sir, they have committed false report; moreover, they have\\r\\n spoken untruths; secondarily, they are slanders; sixth and\\r\\n lastly, they have belied a lady; thirdly, they have verified\\r\\n unjust things; and to conclude, they are lying knaves.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n First, I ask thee what they have done; thirdly, I ask thee what’s\\r\\n their offence; sixth and lastly, why they are committed; and, to\\r\\n conclude, what you lay to their charge?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Rightly reasoned, and in his own division; and, by my troth,\\r\\n there’s one meaning well suited.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Who have you offended, masters, that you are thus bound to your\\r\\n answer? This learned constable is too cunning to be understood.\\r\\n What’s your offence?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Sweet Prince, let me go no farther to mine answer: do you hear\\r\\n me, and let this Count kill me. I have deceived even your very\\r\\n eyes: what your wisdoms could not discover, these shallow fools\\r\\n have brought to light; who, in the night overheard me confessing\\r\\n to this man how Don John your brother incensed me to slander the\\r\\n Lady Hero; how you were brought into the orchard and saw me court\\r\\n Margaret in Hero’s garments; how you disgraced her, when you\\r\\n should marry her. My villainy they have upon record; which I had\\r\\n rather seal with my death than repeat over to my shame. The lady\\r\\n is dead upon mine and my master’s false accusation; and, briefly,\\r\\n I desire nothing but the reward of a villain.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Runs not this speech like iron through your blood?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I have drunk poison whiles he utter’d it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n But did my brother set thee on to this?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Yea; and paid me richly for the practice of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n He is compos’d and fram’d of treachery: And fled he is upon this\\r\\n villainy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Sweet Hero! now thy image doth appear\\r\\n In the rare semblance that I lov’d it first.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Come, bring away the plaintiffs: by this time our sexton hath\\r\\n reformed Signior Leonato of the matter. And masters, do not\\r\\n forget to specify, when time and place shall serve, that I am an\\r\\n ass.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Here, here comes Master Signior Leonato, and the sexton too.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Leonato, Antonio and the Sexton.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Which is the villain? Let me see his eyes,\\r\\n That, when I note another man like him,\\r\\n I may avoid him. Which of these is he?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n If you would know your wronger, look on me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Art thou the slave that with thy breath hast kill’d\\r\\n Mine innocent child?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Yea, even I alone.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n No, not so, villain; thou beliest thyself:\\r\\n Here stand a pair of honourable men;\\r\\n A third is fled, that had a hand in it.\\r\\n I thank you, princes, for my daughter’s death:\\r\\n Record it with your high and worthy deeds.\\r\\n ’Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I know not how to pray your patience;\\r\\n Yet I must speak. Choose your revenge yourself;\\r\\n Impose me to what penance your invention\\r\\n Can lay upon my sin: yet sinn’d I not\\r\\n But in mistaking.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n By my soul, nor I:\\r\\n And yet, to satisfy this good old man,\\r\\n I would bend under any heavy weight\\r\\n That he’ll enjoin me to.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I cannot bid you bid my daughter live;\\r\\n That were impossible; but, I pray you both,\\r\\n Possess the people in Messina here\\r\\n How innocent she died; and if your love\\r\\n Can labour aught in sad invention,\\r\\n Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb,\\r\\n And sing it to her bones: sing it tonight.\\r\\n Tomorrow morning come you to my house,\\r\\n And since you could not be my son-in-law,\\r\\n Be yet my nephew. My brother hath a daughter,\\r\\n Almost the copy of my child that’s dead,\\r\\n And she alone is heir to both of us:\\r\\n Give her the right you should have given her cousin,\\r\\n And so dies my revenge.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n O noble sir,\\r\\n Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me!\\r\\n I do embrace your offer; and dispose\\r\\n For henceforth of poor Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Tomorrow then I will expect your coming;\\r\\n Tonight I take my leave. This naughty man\\r\\n Shall face to face be brought to Margaret,\\r\\n Who, I believe, was pack’d in all this wrong,\\r\\n Hir’d to it by your brother.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n No, by my soul she was not;\\r\\n Nor knew not what she did when she spoke to me;\\r\\n But always hath been just and virtuous\\r\\n In anything that I do know by her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Moreover, sir,—which, indeed, is not under white and black,— this\\r\\n plaintiff here, the offender, did call me ass: I beseech you, let\\r\\n it be remembered in his punishment. And also, the watch heard\\r\\n them talk of one Deformed: they say he wears a key in his ear and\\r\\n a lock hanging by it, and borrows money in God’s name, the which\\r\\n he hath used so long and never paid, that now men grow\\r\\n hard-hearted, and will lend nothing for God’s sake. Pray you,\\r\\n examine him upon that point.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I thank thee for thy care and honest pains.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Your worship speaks like a most thankful and reverent youth, and\\r\\n I praise God for you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n There’s for thy pains.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n God save the foundation!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n I leave an arrant knave with your worship; which I beseech your\\r\\n worship to correct yourself, for the example of others. God keep\\r\\n your worship! I wish your worship well; God restore you to\\r\\n health! I humbly give you leave to depart, and if a merry meeting\\r\\n may be wished, God prohibit it! Come, neighbour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Dogberry and Verges._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Until tomorrow morning, lords, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Farewell, my lords: we look for you tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n We will not fail.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Tonight I’ll mourn with Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Don Pedro and Claudio._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n [_To the Watch._] Bring you these fellows on. We’ll talk with\\r\\n Margaret,\\r\\n How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Leonato’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benedick and Margaret, meeting.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Pray thee, sweet Mistress Margaret, deserve well at my hands by\\r\\n helping me to the speech of Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come over\\r\\n it; for, in most comely truth, thou deservest it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n To have no man come over me! why, shall I always keep below\\r\\n stairs?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound’s mouth; it catches.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n And yours as blunt as the fencer’s foils, which hit, but hurt\\r\\n not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n A most manly wit, Margaret; it will not hurt a woman: and so, I\\r\\n pray thee, call Beatrice. I give thee the bucklers.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Give us the swords, we have bucklers of our own.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the pikes with a vice;\\r\\n and they are dangerous weapons for maids.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I think hath legs.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n And therefore will come.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Margaret._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n The god of love,\\r\\n That sits above,\\r\\n And knows me, and knows me,\\r\\n How pitiful I deserve,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n I mean, in singing: but in loving, Leander the good swimmer,\\r\\n Troilus the first employer of panders, and a whole book full of\\r\\n these quondam carpet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the\\r\\n even road of a blank verse, why, they were never so truly turned\\r\\n over and over as my poor self in love. Marry, I cannot show it in\\r\\n rime; I have tried: I can find out no rime to ‘lady’ but ‘baby’,\\r\\n an innocent rime; for ‘scorn,’ ‘horn’, a hard rime; for ‘school’,\\r\\n ‘fool’, a babbling rime; very ominous endings: no, I was not born\\r\\n under a riming planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called thee?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Yea, signior; and depart when you bid me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n O, stay but till then!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n ‘Then’ is spoken; fare you well now: and yet, ere I go, let me go\\r\\n with that I came for; which is, with knowing what hath passed\\r\\n between you and Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath,\\r\\n and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sense, so forcible\\r\\n is thy wit. But I must tell thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my\\r\\n challenge, and either I must shortly hear from him, or I will\\r\\n subscribe him a coward. And, I pray thee now, tell me, for which\\r\\n of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n For them all together; which maintained so politic a state of\\r\\n evil that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with\\r\\n them. But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love\\r\\n for me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n ‘Suffer love,’ a good epithet! I do suffer love indeed, for I\\r\\n love thee against my will.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n In spite of your heart, I think. Alas, poor heart! If you spite\\r\\n it for my sake, I will spite it for yours; for I will never love\\r\\n that which my friend hates.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n It appears not in this confession: there’s not one wise man among\\r\\n twenty that will praise himself.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived in the time of good\\r\\n neighbours. If a man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere he\\r\\n dies, he shall live no longer in monument than the bell rings and\\r\\n the widow weeps.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE. And how long is that think you?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Question: why, an hour in clamour and a quarter in rheum:\\r\\n therefore is it most expedient for the wise,—if Don Worm, his\\r\\n conscience, find no impediment to the contrary,—to be the trumpet\\r\\n of his own virtues, as I am to myself. So much for praising\\r\\n myself, who, I myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy. And now\\r\\n tell me, how doth your cousin?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Very ill.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n And how do you?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Very ill too.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Serve God, love me, and mend. There will I leave you too, for\\r\\n here comes one in haste.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ursula.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder’s old coil at home: it\\r\\n is proved, my Lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the Prince and\\r\\n Claudio mightily abused; and Don John is the author of all, who\\r\\n is fled and gone. Will you come presently?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Will you go hear this news, signior?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy\\r\\n eyes; and moreover I will go with thee to thy uncle’s.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The Inside of a Church.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro, Claudio and Attendants, with music and tapers.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Is this the monument of Leonato?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n A LORD.\\r\\n It is, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n [_Reads from a scroll._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Epitaph.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Done to death by slanderous tongues\\r\\n Was the Hero that here lies:\\r\\n Death, in guerdon of her wrongs,\\r\\n Gives her fame which never dies.\\r\\n So the life that died with shame\\r\\n Lives in death with glorious fame.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Hang thou there upon the tomb,\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Praising her when I am dumb.\\r\\n Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Song.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Pardon, goddess of the night,\\r\\n Those that slew thy virgin knight;\\r\\n For the which, with songs of woe,\\r\\n Round about her tomb they go.\\r\\n Midnight, assist our moan;\\r\\n Help us to sigh and groan,\\r\\n Heavily, heavily:\\r\\n Graves, yawn and yield your dead,\\r\\n Till death be uttered,\\r\\n Heavily, heavily.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Now, unto thy bones good night!\\r\\n Yearly will I do this rite.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Good morrow, masters: put your torches out.\\r\\n The wolves have prey’d; and look, the gentle day,\\r\\n Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about\\r\\n Dapples the drowsy East with spots of grey.\\r\\n Thanks to you all, and leave us: fare you well.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Good morrow, masters: each his several way.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds;\\r\\n And then to Leonato’s we will go.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And Hymen now with luckier issue speed’s,\\r\\n Than this for whom we rend’red up this woe!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leonato, Antonio, Benedick, Beatrice, Margaret, Ursula,\\r\\n Friar Francis and Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Did I not tell you she was innocent?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n So are the Prince and Claudio, who accus’d her\\r\\n Upon the error that you heard debated:\\r\\n But Margaret was in some fault for this,\\r\\n Although against her will, as it appears\\r\\n In the true course of all the question.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Well, I am glad that all things sort so well.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n And so am I, being else by faith enforc’d\\r\\n To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all,\\r\\n Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves,\\r\\n And when I send for you, come hither mask’d:\\r\\n The Prince and Claudio promis’d by this hour\\r\\n To visit me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Ladies._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n You know your office, brother;\\r\\n You must be father to your brother’s daughter,\\r\\n And give her to young Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Which I will do with confirm’d countenance.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n To do what, signior?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n To bind me, or undo me; one of them.\\r\\n Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior,\\r\\n Your niece regards me with an eye of favour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n That eye my daughter lent her. ’Tis most true.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n And I do with an eye of love requite her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n The sight whereof I think, you had from me,\\r\\n From Claudio, and the Prince. But what’s your will?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Your answer, sir, is enigmatical:\\r\\n But, for my will, my will is your good will\\r\\n May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin’d\\r\\n In the state of honourable marriage:\\r\\n In which, good friar, I shall desire your help.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n My heart is with your liking.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n And my help. Here comes the Prince and Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, with Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Good morrow to this fair assembly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Good morrow, Prince; good morrow, Claudio:\\r\\n We here attend you. Are you yet determin’d\\r\\n Today to marry with my brother’s daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I’ll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Call her forth, brother: here’s the friar ready.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Antonio._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Good morrow, Benedick. Why, what’s the matter,\\r\\n That you have such a February face,\\r\\n So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I think he thinks upon the savage bull.\\r\\n Tush! fear not, man, we’ll tip thy horns with gold,\\r\\n And all Europa shall rejoice at thee,\\r\\n As once Europa did at lusty Jove,\\r\\n When he would play the noble beast in love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low:\\r\\n And some such strange bull leap’d your father’s cow,\\r\\n And got a calf in that same noble feat,\\r\\n Much like to you, for you have just his bleat.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n For this I owe you: here comes other reckonings.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Antonio, with the ladies masked.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Which is the lady I must seize upon?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n This same is she, and I do give you her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Why then, she’s mine. Sweet, let me see your face.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n No, that you shall not, till you take her hand\\r\\n Before this friar, and swear to marry her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Give me your hand: before this holy friar,\\r\\n I am your husband, if you like of me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n And when I liv’d, I was your other wife:\\r\\n [_Unmasking._] And when you lov’d, you were my other husband.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Another Hero!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Nothing certainer:\\r\\n One Hero died defil’d, but I do live,\\r\\n And surely as I live, I am a maid.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n The former Hero! Hero that is dead!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n She died, my lord, but whiles her slander liv’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n All this amazement can I qualify:\\r\\n When after that the holy rites are ended,\\r\\n I’ll tell you largely of fair Hero’s death:\\r\\n Meantime, let wonder seem familiar,\\r\\n And to the chapel let us presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Soft and fair, friar. Which is Beatrice?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n [_Unmasking._] I answer to that name. What is your will?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Do not you love me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Why, no; no more than reason.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Why, then, your uncle and the Prince and Claudio\\r\\n Have been deceived; for they swore you did.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Do not you love me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Troth, no; no more than reason.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula,\\r\\n Are much deceiv’d; for they did swear you did.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n They swore that you were almost sick for me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n ’Tis no such matter. Then you do not love me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n No, truly, but in friendly recompense.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And I’ll be sworn upon ’t that he loves her;\\r\\n For here’s a paper written in his hand,\\r\\n A halting sonnet of his own pure brain,\\r\\n Fashion’d to Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n And here’s another,\\r\\n Writ in my cousin’s hand, stolen from her pocket,\\r\\n Containing her affection unto Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n A miracle! here’s our own hands against our hearts. Come, I will\\r\\n have thee; but, by this light, I take thee for pity.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I would not deny you; but, by this good day, I yield upon great\\r\\n persuasion, and partly to save your life, for I was told you were\\r\\n in a consumption.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Peace! I will stop your mouth. [_Kisses her._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n How dost thou, Benedick, the married man?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I’ll tell thee what, Prince; a college of witcrackers cannout\\r\\n flout me out of my humour. Dost thou think I care for a satire or\\r\\n an epigram? No; if man will be beaten with brains, a’ shall wear\\r\\n nothing handsome about him. In brief, since I do purpose to\\r\\n marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say\\r\\n against it; and therefore never flout at me for what I have said\\r\\n against it, for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion.\\r\\n For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee; but, in\\r\\n that thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruised, and love my\\r\\n cousin.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I had well hoped thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that I might\\r\\n have cudgelled thee out of thy single life, to make thee a\\r\\n double-dealer; which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin\\r\\n do not look exceeding narrowly to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Come, come, we are friends. Let’s have a dance ere we are\\r\\n married, that we may lighten our own hearts and our wives’ heels.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n We’ll have dancing afterward.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n First, of my word; therefore play, music! Prince, thou art sad;\\r\\n get thee a wife, get thee a wife: there is no staff more reverent\\r\\n than one tipped with horn.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n My lord, your brother John is ta’en in flight,\\r\\n And brought with armed men back to Messina.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Think not on him till tomorrow: I’ll devise thee brave\\r\\n punishments for him. Strike up, pipers!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dance. Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Venice. A street.\\r\\nScene II. Venice. Another street.\\r\\nScene III. Venice. A council chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. A seaport in Cyprus. A Platform.\\r\\nScene II. A street.\\r\\nScene III. A Hall in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\nScene II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\nScene III. Cyprus. The Garden of the Castle.\\r\\nScene IV. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\nScene II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\nScene III. Cyprus. Another Room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Cyprus. A Street.\\r\\nScene II. Cyprus. A Bedchamber in the castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE OF VENICE\\r\\nBRABANTIO, a Senator of Venice and Desdemona’s father\\r\\nOther Senators\\r\\nGRATIANO, Brother to Brabantio\\r\\nLODOVICO, Kinsman to Brabantio\\r\\nOTHELLO, a noble Moor in the service of Venice\\r\\nCASSIO, his Lieutenant\\r\\nIAGO, his Ancient\\r\\nMONTANO, Othello’s predecessor in the government of Cyprus\\r\\nRODERIGO, a Venetian Gentleman\\r\\nCLOWN, Servant to Othello\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA, Daughter to Brabantio and Wife to Othello\\r\\nEMILIA, Wife to Iago\\r\\nBIANCA, Mistress to Cassio\\r\\n\\r\\nOfficers, Gentlemen, Messenger, Musicians, Herald, Sailor, Attendants,\\r\\n&c.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: The First Act in Venice; during the rest of the Play at a\\r\\nSeaport in Cyprus.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Venice. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Roderigo and Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nTush, never tell me, I take it much unkindly\\r\\nThat thou, Iago, who hast had my purse,\\r\\nAs if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n’Sblood, but you will not hear me.\\r\\nIf ever I did dream of such a matter,\\r\\nAbhor me.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nThou told’st me, thou didst hold him in thy hate.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDespise me if I do not. Three great ones of the city,\\r\\nIn personal suit to make me his lieutenant,\\r\\nOff-capp’d to him; and by the faith of man,\\r\\nI know my price, I am worth no worse a place.\\r\\nBut he, as loving his own pride and purposes,\\r\\nEvades them, with a bombast circumstance,\\r\\nHorribly stuff’d with epithets of war:\\r\\nAnd in conclusion,\\r\\nNonsuits my mediators: for “Certes,” says he,\\r\\n“I have already chose my officer.”\\r\\nAnd what was he?\\r\\nForsooth, a great arithmetician,\\r\\nOne Michael Cassio, a Florentine,\\r\\nA fellow almost damn’d in a fair wife,\\r\\nThat never set a squadron in the field,\\r\\nNor the division of a battle knows\\r\\nMore than a spinster, unless the bookish theoric,\\r\\nWherein the toged consuls can propose\\r\\nAs masterly as he: mere prattle without practice\\r\\nIs all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election,\\r\\nAnd I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof\\r\\nAt Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds,\\r\\nChristian and heathen, must be belee’d and calm’d\\r\\nBy debitor and creditor, this counter-caster,\\r\\nHe, in good time, must his lieutenant be,\\r\\nAnd I, God bless the mark, his Moorship’s ancient.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nBy heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, there’s no remedy. ’Tis the curse of service,\\r\\nPreferment goes by letter and affection,\\r\\nAnd not by old gradation, where each second\\r\\nStood heir to the first. Now sir, be judge yourself\\r\\nWhether I in any just term am affin’d\\r\\nTo love the Moor.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI would not follow him, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, sir, content you.\\r\\nI follow him to serve my turn upon him:\\r\\nWe cannot all be masters, nor all masters\\r\\nCannot be truly follow’d. You shall mark\\r\\nMany a duteous and knee-crooking knave\\r\\nThat, doting on his own obsequious bondage,\\r\\nWears out his time, much like his master’s ass,\\r\\nFor nought but provender, and when he’s old, cashier’d.\\r\\nWhip me such honest knaves. Others there are\\r\\nWho, trimm’d in forms, and visages of duty,\\r\\nKeep yet their hearts attending on themselves,\\r\\nAnd throwing but shows of service on their lords,\\r\\nDo well thrive by them, and when they have lin’d their coats,\\r\\nDo themselves homage. These fellows have some soul,\\r\\nAnd such a one do I profess myself. For, sir,\\r\\nIt is as sure as you are Roderigo,\\r\\nWere I the Moor, I would not be Iago:\\r\\nIn following him, I follow but myself.\\r\\nHeaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,\\r\\nBut seeming so for my peculiar end.\\r\\nFor when my outward action doth demonstrate\\r\\nThe native act and figure of my heart\\r\\nIn complement extern, ’tis not long after\\r\\nBut I will wear my heart upon my sleeve\\r\\nFor daws to peck at: I am not what I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhat a full fortune does the thick-lips owe,\\r\\nIf he can carry’t thus!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCall up her father,\\r\\nRouse him, make after him, poison his delight,\\r\\nProclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen,\\r\\nAnd though he in a fertile climate dwell,\\r\\nPlague him with flies: though that his joy be joy,\\r\\nYet throw such changes of vexation on’t,\\r\\nAs it may lose some color.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nHere is her father’s house, I’ll call aloud.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo, with like timorous accent and dire yell\\r\\nAs when, by night and negligence, the fire\\r\\nIs spied in populous cities.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhat ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAwake! what ho, Brabantio! Thieves, thieves!\\r\\nLook to your house, your daughter, and your bags!\\r\\nThieves, thieves!\\r\\n\\r\\n Brabantio appears above at a window.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nWhat is the reason of this terrible summons?\\r\\nWhat is the matter there?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nSignior, is all your family within?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAre your doors locked?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nWhy, wherefore ask you this?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nZounds, sir, you’re robb’d, for shame put on your gown,\\r\\nYour heart is burst, you have lost half your soul;\\r\\nEven now, now, very now, an old black ram\\r\\nIs tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise,\\r\\nAwake the snorting citizens with the bell,\\r\\nOr else the devil will make a grandsire of you:\\r\\nArise, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nWhat, have you lost your wits?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nMost reverend signior, do you know my voice?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nNot I. What are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nMy name is Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nThe worser welcome.\\r\\nI have charg’d thee not to haunt about my doors;\\r\\nIn honest plainness thou hast heard me say\\r\\nMy daughter is not for thee; and now in madness,\\r\\nBeing full of supper and distempering draughts,\\r\\nUpon malicious bravery, dost thou come\\r\\nTo start my quiet.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nSir, sir, sir,—\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nBut thou must needs be sure\\r\\nMy spirit and my place have in them power\\r\\nTo make this bitter to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nPatience, good sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nWhat tell’st thou me of robbing?\\r\\nThis is Venice. My house is not a grange.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nMost grave Brabantio,\\r\\nIn simple and pure soul I come to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nZounds, sir, you are one of those that will not serve God if the devil\\r\\nbid you. Because we come to do you service, and you think we are\\r\\nruffians, you’ll have your daughter cover’d with a Barbary horse;\\r\\nyou’ll have your nephews neigh to you; you’ll have coursers for cousins\\r\\nand gennets for germans.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nWhat profane wretch art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are\\r\\nnow making the beast with two backs.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nThou art a villain.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou are a senator.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nThis thou shalt answer. I know thee, Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nSir, I will answer anything. But I beseech you,\\r\\nIf ’t be your pleasure, and most wise consent,\\r\\n(As partly I find it is) that your fair daughter,\\r\\nAt this odd-even and dull watch o’ the night,\\r\\nTransported with no worse nor better guard,\\r\\nBut with a knave of common hire, a gondolier,\\r\\nTo the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor:\\r\\nIf this be known to you, and your allowance,\\r\\nWe then have done you bold and saucy wrongs.\\r\\nBut if you know not this, my manners tell me,\\r\\nWe have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe\\r\\nThat from the sense of all civility,\\r\\nI thus would play and trifle with your reverence.\\r\\nYour daughter (if you have not given her leave)\\r\\nI say again, hath made a gross revolt,\\r\\nTying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes\\r\\nIn an extravagant and wheeling stranger\\r\\nOf here and everywhere. Straight satisfy yourself:\\r\\nIf she be in her chamber or your house,\\r\\nLet loose on me the justice of the state\\r\\nFor thus deluding you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nStrike on the tinder, ho!\\r\\nGive me a taper! Call up all my people!\\r\\nThis accident is not unlike my dream,\\r\\nBelief of it oppresses me already.\\r\\nLight, I say, light!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit from above._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFarewell; for I must leave you:\\r\\nIt seems not meet nor wholesome to my place\\r\\nTo be produc’d, as if I stay I shall,\\r\\nAgainst the Moor. For I do know the state,\\r\\nHowever this may gall him with some check,\\r\\nCannot with safety cast him, for he’s embark’d\\r\\nWith such loud reason to the Cyprus wars,\\r\\nWhich even now stand in act, that, for their souls,\\r\\nAnother of his fathom they have none\\r\\nTo lead their business. In which regard,\\r\\nThough I do hate him as I do hell pains,\\r\\nYet, for necessity of present life,\\r\\nI must show out a flag and sign of love,\\r\\nWhich is indeed but sign. That you shall surely find him,\\r\\nLead to the Sagittary the raised search,\\r\\nAnd there will I be with him. So, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Brabantio with Servants and torches.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nIt is too true an evil. Gone she is,\\r\\nAnd what’s to come of my despised time,\\r\\nIs naught but bitterness. Now Roderigo,\\r\\nWhere didst thou see her? (O unhappy girl!)\\r\\nWith the Moor, say’st thou? (Who would be a father!)\\r\\nHow didst thou know ’twas she? (O, she deceives me\\r\\nPast thought.) What said she to you? Get more tapers,\\r\\nRaise all my kindred. Are they married, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nTruly I think they are.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nO heaven! How got she out? O treason of the blood!\\r\\nFathers, from hence trust not your daughters’ minds\\r\\nBy what you see them act. Is there not charms\\r\\nBy which the property of youth and maidhood\\r\\nMay be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo,\\r\\nOf some such thing?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nYes, sir, I have indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nCall up my brother. O, would you had had her!\\r\\nSome one way, some another. Do you know\\r\\nWhere we may apprehend her and the Moor?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI think I can discover him, if you please\\r\\nTo get good guard, and go along with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nPray you lead on. At every house I’ll call,\\r\\nI may command at most. Get weapons, ho!\\r\\nAnd raise some special officers of night.\\r\\nOn, good Roderigo. I will deserve your pains.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Venice. Another street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello, Iago and Attendants with torches.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThough in the trade of war I have slain men,\\r\\nYet do I hold it very stuff o’ the conscience\\r\\nTo do no contriv’d murder; I lack iniquity\\r\\nSometimes to do me service: nine or ten times\\r\\nI had thought to have yerk’d him here under the ribs.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n’Tis better as it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, but he prated,\\r\\nAnd spoke such scurvy and provoking terms\\r\\nAgainst your honour,\\r\\nThat with the little godliness I have,\\r\\nI did full hard forbear him. But I pray you, sir,\\r\\nAre you fast married? Be assur’d of this,\\r\\nThat the magnifico is much belov’d\\r\\nAnd hath in his effect a voice potential\\r\\nAs double as the duke’s; he will divorce you,\\r\\nOr put upon you what restraint and grievance\\r\\nThe law (with all his might to enforce it on)\\r\\nWill give him cable.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nLet him do his spite;\\r\\nMy services, which I have done the signiory,\\r\\nShall out-tongue his complaints. ’Tis yet to know,—\\r\\nWhich, when I know that boasting is an honour,\\r\\nI shall promulgate,—I fetch my life and being\\r\\nFrom men of royal siege. And my demerits\\r\\nMay speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune\\r\\nAs this that I have reach’d. For know, Iago,\\r\\nBut that I love the gentle Desdemona,\\r\\nI would not my unhoused free condition\\r\\nPut into circumscription and confine\\r\\nFor the sea’s worth. But look, what lights come yond?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThose are the raised father and his friends:\\r\\nYou were best go in.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNot I; I must be found.\\r\\nMy parts, my title, and my perfect soul\\r\\nShall manifest me rightly. Is it they?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBy Janus, I think no.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio and Officers with torches.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe servants of the duke and my lieutenant.\\r\\nThe goodness of the night upon you, friends!\\r\\nWhat is the news?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThe duke does greet you, general,\\r\\nAnd he requires your haste-post-haste appearance\\r\\nEven on the instant.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat is the matter, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nSomething from Cyprus, as I may divine.\\r\\nIt is a business of some heat. The galleys\\r\\nHave sent a dozen sequent messengers\\r\\nThis very night at one another’s heels;\\r\\nAnd many of the consuls, rais’d and met,\\r\\nAre at the duke’s already. You have been hotly call’d for,\\r\\nWhen, being not at your lodging to be found,\\r\\nThe senate hath sent about three several quests\\r\\nTo search you out.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n’Tis well I am found by you.\\r\\nI will but spend a word here in the house,\\r\\nAnd go with you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAncient, what makes he here?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFaith, he tonight hath boarded a land carrack:\\r\\nIf it prove lawful prize, he’s made forever.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI do not understand.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHe’s married.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nTo who?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMarry to—Come, captain, will you go?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHave with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHere comes another troop to seek for you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Brabantio, Roderigo and Officers with torches and weapons.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIt is Brabantio. General, be advis’d,\\r\\nHe comes to bad intent.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHolla, stand there!\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nSignior, it is the Moor.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nDown with him, thief!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They draw on both sides._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou, Roderigo! Come, sir, I am for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nKeep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.\\r\\nGood signior, you shall more command with years\\r\\nThan with your weapons.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nO thou foul thief, where hast thou stow’d my daughter?\\r\\nDamn’d as thou art, thou hast enchanted her,\\r\\nFor I’ll refer me to all things of sense,\\r\\n(If she in chains of magic were not bound)\\r\\nWhether a maid so tender, fair, and happy,\\r\\nSo opposite to marriage, that she shunn’d\\r\\nThe wealthy curled darlings of our nation,\\r\\nWould ever have, to incur a general mock,\\r\\nRun from her guardage to the sooty bosom\\r\\nOf such a thing as thou—to fear, not to delight.\\r\\nJudge me the world, if ’tis not gross in sense,\\r\\nThat thou hast practis’d on her with foul charms,\\r\\nAbus’d her delicate youth with drugs or minerals\\r\\nThat weakens motion. I’ll have’t disputed on;\\r\\n’Tis probable, and palpable to thinking.\\r\\nI therefore apprehend and do attach thee\\r\\nFor an abuser of the world, a practiser\\r\\nOf arts inhibited and out of warrant.—\\r\\nLay hold upon him, if he do resist,\\r\\nSubdue him at his peril.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHold your hands,\\r\\nBoth you of my inclining and the rest:\\r\\nWere it my cue to fight, I should have known it\\r\\nWithout a prompter. Where will you that I go\\r\\nTo answer this your charge?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nTo prison, till fit time\\r\\nOf law and course of direct session\\r\\nCall thee to answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat if I do obey?\\r\\nHow may the duke be therewith satisfied,\\r\\nWhose messengers are here about my side,\\r\\nUpon some present business of the state,\\r\\nTo bring me to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\n’Tis true, most worthy signior,\\r\\nThe duke’s in council, and your noble self,\\r\\nI am sure is sent for.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nHow? The duke in council?\\r\\nIn this time of the night? Bring him away;\\r\\nMine’s not an idle cause. The duke himself,\\r\\nOr any of my brothers of the state,\\r\\nCannot but feel this wrong as ’twere their own.\\r\\nFor if such actions may have passage free,\\r\\nBond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Venice. A council chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\n The Duke and Senators sitting at a table; Officers attending.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThere is no composition in these news\\r\\nThat gives them credit.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nIndeed, they are disproportion’d;\\r\\nMy letters say a hundred and seven galleys.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAnd mine a hundred and forty.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SENATOR\\r\\nAnd mine two hundred:\\r\\nBut though they jump not on a just account,\\r\\n(As in these cases, where the aim reports,\\r\\n’Tis oft with difference,) yet do they all confirm\\r\\nA Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nNay, it is possible enough to judgement:\\r\\nI do not so secure me in the error,\\r\\nBut the main article I do approve\\r\\nIn fearful sense.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAILOR.\\r\\n[_Within._] What, ho! what, ho! what, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nA messenger from the galleys.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sailor.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nNow,—what’s the business?\\r\\n\\r\\nSAILOR.\\r\\nThe Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes,\\r\\nSo was I bid report here to the state\\r\\nBy Signior Angelo.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHow say you by this change?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nThis cannot be\\r\\nBy no assay of reason. ’Tis a pageant\\r\\nTo keep us in false gaze. When we consider\\r\\nThe importancy of Cyprus to the Turk;\\r\\nAnd let ourselves again but understand\\r\\nThat, as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes,\\r\\nSo may he with more facile question bear it,\\r\\nFor that it stands not in such warlike brace,\\r\\nBut altogether lacks the abilities\\r\\nThat Rhodes is dress’d in. If we make thought of this,\\r\\nWe must not think the Turk is so unskilful\\r\\nTo leave that latest which concerns him first,\\r\\nNeglecting an attempt of ease and gain,\\r\\nTo wake and wage a danger profitless.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nNay, in all confidence, he’s not for Rhodes.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nHere is more news.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThe Ottomites, reverend and gracious,\\r\\nSteering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes,\\r\\nHave there injointed them with an after fleet.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nAy, so I thought. How many, as you guess?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nOf thirty sail, and now they do re-stem\\r\\nTheir backward course, bearing with frank appearance\\r\\nTheir purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Montano,\\r\\nYour trusty and most valiant servitor,\\r\\nWith his free duty recommends you thus,\\r\\nAnd prays you to believe him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\n’Tis certain, then, for Cyprus.\\r\\nMarcus Luccicos, is not he in town?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nHe’s now in Florence.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWrite from us to him; post-post-haste dispatch.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nHere comes Brabantio and the valiant Moor.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Brabantio, Othello, Iago, Roderigo and Officers.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nValiant Othello, we must straight employ you\\r\\nAgainst the general enemy Ottoman.\\r\\n[_To Brabantio._] I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior,\\r\\nWe lack’d your counsel and your help tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nSo did I yours. Good your grace, pardon me.\\r\\nNeither my place, nor aught I heard of business\\r\\nHath rais’d me from my bed, nor doth the general care\\r\\nTake hold on me; for my particular grief\\r\\nIs of so flood-gate and o’erbearing nature\\r\\nThat it engluts and swallows other sorrows,\\r\\nAnd it is still itself.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhy, what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nMy daughter! O, my daughter!\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE and SENATORS.\\r\\nDead?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nAy, to me.\\r\\nShe is abused, stol’n from me, and corrupted\\r\\nBy spells and medicines bought of mountebanks;\\r\\nFor nature so preposterously to err,\\r\\nBeing not deficient, blind, or lame of sense,\\r\\nSans witchcraft could not.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhoe’er he be, that in this foul proceeding,\\r\\nHath thus beguil’d your daughter of herself,\\r\\nAnd you of her, the bloody book of law\\r\\nYou shall yourself read in the bitter letter,\\r\\nAfter your own sense, yea, though our proper son\\r\\nStood in your action.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nHumbly I thank your grace.\\r\\nHere is the man, this Moor, whom now it seems\\r\\nYour special mandate for the state affairs\\r\\nHath hither brought.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nWe are very sorry for ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\n[_To Othello._] What, in your own part, can you say to this?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nNothing, but this is so.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nMost potent, grave, and reverend signiors,\\r\\nMy very noble and approv’d good masters:\\r\\nThat I have ta’en away this old man’s daughter,\\r\\nIt is most true; true, I have married her.\\r\\nThe very head and front of my offending\\r\\nHath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech,\\r\\nAnd little bless’d with the soft phrase of peace;\\r\\nFor since these arms of mine had seven years’ pith,\\r\\nTill now some nine moons wasted, they have us’d\\r\\nTheir dearest action in the tented field,\\r\\nAnd little of this great world can I speak,\\r\\nMore than pertains to feats of broil and battle,\\r\\nAnd therefore little shall I grace my cause\\r\\nIn speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,\\r\\nI will a round unvarnish’d tale deliver\\r\\nOf my whole course of love: what drugs, what charms,\\r\\nWhat conjuration, and what mighty magic,\\r\\n(For such proceeding I am charged withal)\\r\\nI won his daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nA maiden never bold:\\r\\nOf spirit so still and quiet that her motion\\r\\nBlush’d at herself; and she, in spite of nature,\\r\\nOf years, of country, credit, everything,\\r\\nTo fall in love with what she fear’d to look on!\\r\\nIt is judgement maim’d and most imperfect\\r\\nThat will confess perfection so could err\\r\\nAgainst all rules of nature, and must be driven\\r\\nTo find out practices of cunning hell,\\r\\nWhy this should be. I therefore vouch again,\\r\\nThat with some mixtures powerful o’er the blood,\\r\\nOr with some dram conjur’d to this effect,\\r\\nHe wrought upon her.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nTo vouch this is no proof;\\r\\nWithout more wider and more overt test\\r\\nThan these thin habits and poor likelihoods\\r\\nOf modern seeming do prefer against him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nBut, Othello, speak:\\r\\nDid you by indirect and forced courses\\r\\nSubdue and poison this young maid’s affections?\\r\\nOr came it by request, and such fair question\\r\\nAs soul to soul affordeth?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI do beseech you,\\r\\nSend for the lady to the Sagittary,\\r\\nAnd let her speak of me before her father.\\r\\nIf you do find me foul in her report,\\r\\nThe trust, the office I do hold of you,\\r\\nNot only take away, but let your sentence\\r\\nEven fall upon my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nFetch Desdemona hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAncient, conduct them, you best know the place.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Iago and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd till she come, as truly as to heaven\\r\\nI do confess the vices of my blood,\\r\\nSo justly to your grave ears I’ll present\\r\\nHow I did thrive in this fair lady’s love,\\r\\nAnd she in mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nSay it, Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHer father lov’d me, oft invited me,\\r\\nStill question’d me the story of my life,\\r\\nFrom year to year—the battles, sieges, fortunes,\\r\\nThat I have pass’d.\\r\\nI ran it through, even from my boyish days\\r\\nTo the very moment that he bade me tell it,\\r\\nWherein I spake of most disastrous chances,\\r\\nOf moving accidents by flood and field;\\r\\nOf hair-breadth scapes i’ th’ imminent deadly breach;\\r\\nOf being taken by the insolent foe,\\r\\nAnd sold to slavery, of my redemption thence,\\r\\nAnd portance in my traveler’s history,\\r\\nWherein of antres vast and deserts idle,\\r\\nRough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven,\\r\\nIt was my hint to speak,—such was the process;\\r\\nAnd of the Cannibals that each other eat,\\r\\nThe Anthropophagi, and men whose heads\\r\\nDo grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear\\r\\nWould Desdemona seriously incline.\\r\\nBut still the house affairs would draw her thence,\\r\\nWhich ever as she could with haste dispatch,\\r\\nShe’d come again, and with a greedy ear\\r\\nDevour up my discourse; which I observing,\\r\\nTook once a pliant hour, and found good means\\r\\nTo draw from her a prayer of earnest heart\\r\\nThat I would all my pilgrimage dilate,\\r\\nWhereof by parcels she had something heard,\\r\\nBut not intentively. I did consent,\\r\\nAnd often did beguile her of her tears,\\r\\nWhen I did speak of some distressful stroke\\r\\nThat my youth suffer’d. My story being done,\\r\\nShe gave me for my pains a world of sighs.\\r\\nShe swore, in faith, ’twas strange, ’twas passing strange;\\r\\n’Twas pitiful, ’twas wondrous pitiful.\\r\\nShe wish’d she had not heard it, yet she wish’d\\r\\nThat heaven had made her such a man: she thank’d me,\\r\\nAnd bade me, if I had a friend that lov’d her,\\r\\nI should but teach him how to tell my story,\\r\\nAnd that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake:\\r\\nShe lov’d me for the dangers I had pass’d,\\r\\nAnd I lov’d her that she did pity them.\\r\\nThis only is the witchcraft I have us’d.\\r\\nHere comes the lady. Let her witness it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona, Iago and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI think this tale would win my daughter too.\\r\\nGood Brabantio,\\r\\nTake up this mangled matter at the best.\\r\\nMen do their broken weapons rather use\\r\\nThan their bare hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nI pray you hear her speak.\\r\\nIf she confess that she was half the wooer,\\r\\nDestruction on my head, if my bad blame\\r\\nLight on the man!—Come hither, gentle mistress:\\r\\nDo you perceive in all this noble company\\r\\nWhere most you owe obedience?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy noble father,\\r\\nI do perceive here a divided duty:\\r\\nTo you I am bound for life and education.\\r\\nMy life and education both do learn me\\r\\nHow to respect you. You are the lord of duty,\\r\\nI am hitherto your daughter: but here’s my husband.\\r\\nAnd so much duty as my mother show’d\\r\\nTo you, preferring you before her father,\\r\\nSo much I challenge that I may profess\\r\\nDue to the Moor my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nGod be with you! I have done.\\r\\nPlease it your grace, on to the state affairs.\\r\\nI had rather to adopt a child than get it.—\\r\\nCome hither, Moor:\\r\\nI here do give thee that with all my heart\\r\\nWhich, but thou hast already, with all my heart\\r\\nI would keep from thee.—For your sake, jewel,\\r\\nI am glad at soul I have no other child,\\r\\nFor thy escape would teach me tyranny,\\r\\nTo hang clogs on them.—I have done, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nLet me speak like yourself, and lay a sentence,\\r\\nWhich as a grise or step may help these lovers\\r\\nInto your favour.\\r\\nWhen remedies are past, the griefs are ended\\r\\nBy seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended.\\r\\nTo mourn a mischief that is past and gone\\r\\nIs the next way to draw new mischief on.\\r\\nWhat cannot be preserved when fortune takes,\\r\\nPatience her injury a mockery makes.\\r\\nThe robb’d that smiles steals something from the thief;\\r\\nHe robs himself that spends a bootless grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nSo let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile,\\r\\nWe lose it not so long as we can smile;\\r\\nHe bears the sentence well, that nothing bears\\r\\nBut the free comfort which from thence he hears;\\r\\nBut he bears both the sentence and the sorrow\\r\\nThat, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow.\\r\\nThese sentences to sugar or to gall,\\r\\nBeing strong on both sides, are equivocal:\\r\\nBut words are words; I never yet did hear\\r\\nThat the bruis’d heart was pierced through the ear.\\r\\nI humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThe Turk with a most mighty preparation makes for Cyprus. Othello, the\\r\\nfortitude of the place is best known to you. And though we have there a\\r\\nsubstitute of most allowed sufficiency, yet opinion, a sovereign\\r\\nmistress of effects, throws a more safer voice on you: you must\\r\\ntherefore be content to slubber the gloss of your new fortunes with\\r\\nthis more stubborn and boisterous expedition.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe tyrant custom, most grave senators,\\r\\nHath made the flinty and steel couch of war\\r\\nMy thrice-driven bed of down: I do agnize\\r\\nA natural and prompt alacrity\\r\\nI find in hardness, and do undertake\\r\\nThis present wars against the Ottomites.\\r\\nMost humbly, therefore, bending to your state,\\r\\nI crave fit disposition for my wife,\\r\\nDue reference of place and exhibition,\\r\\nWith such accommodation and besort\\r\\nAs levels with her breeding.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nIf you please,\\r\\nBe’t at her father’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nI’ll not have it so.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNor I.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNor I. I would not there reside,\\r\\nTo put my father in impatient thoughts,\\r\\nBy being in his eye. Most gracious duke,\\r\\nTo my unfolding lend your prosperous ear,\\r\\nAnd let me find a charter in your voice\\r\\nT’ assist my simpleness.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat would you, Desdemona?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThat I did love the Moor to live with him,\\r\\nMy downright violence and storm of fortunes\\r\\nMay trumpet to the world: my heart’s subdued\\r\\nEven to the very quality of my lord.\\r\\nI saw Othello’s visage in his mind,\\r\\nAnd to his honours and his valiant parts\\r\\nDid I my soul and fortunes consecrate.\\r\\nSo that, dear lords, if I be left behind,\\r\\nA moth of peace, and he go to the war,\\r\\nThe rites for which I love him are bereft me,\\r\\nAnd I a heavy interim shall support\\r\\nBy his dear absence. Let me go with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nLet her have your voice.\\r\\nVouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not\\r\\nTo please the palate of my appetite,\\r\\nNor to comply with heat, the young affects\\r\\nIn me defunct, and proper satisfaction,\\r\\nBut to be free and bounteous to her mind.\\r\\nAnd heaven defend your good souls that you think\\r\\nI will your serious and great business scant\\r\\nFor she is with me. No, when light-wing’d toys\\r\\nOf feather’d Cupid seel with wanton dullness\\r\\nMy speculative and offic’d instruments,\\r\\nThat my disports corrupt and taint my business,\\r\\nLet housewives make a skillet of my helm,\\r\\nAnd all indign and base adversities\\r\\nMake head against my estimation.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBe it as you shall privately determine,\\r\\nEither for her stay or going. The affair cries haste,\\r\\nAnd speed must answer it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nYou must away tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWith all my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAt nine i’ the morning here we’ll meet again.\\r\\nOthello, leave some officer behind,\\r\\nAnd he shall our commission bring to you,\\r\\nWith such things else of quality and respect\\r\\nAs doth import you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nSo please your grace, my ancient,\\r\\nA man he is of honesty and trust,\\r\\nTo his conveyance I assign my wife,\\r\\nWith what else needful your good grace shall think\\r\\nTo be sent after me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nLet it be so.\\r\\nGood night to everyone. [_To Brabantio._] And, noble signior,\\r\\nIf virtue no delighted beauty lack,\\r\\nYour son-in-law is far more fair than black.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nAdieu, brave Moor, use Desdemona well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nLook to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see:\\r\\nShe has deceiv’d her father, and may thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Duke, Senators, Officers, &c._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nMy life upon her faith! Honest Iago,\\r\\nMy Desdemona must I leave to thee.\\r\\nI prithee, let thy wife attend on her,\\r\\nAnd bring them after in the best advantage.—\\r\\nCome, Desdemona, I have but an hour\\r\\nOf love, of worldly matters, and direction,\\r\\nTo spend with thee. We must obey the time.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Othello and Desdemona._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nIago—\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat sayst thou, noble heart?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhat will I do, thinkest thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, go to bed and sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI will incontinently drown myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIf thou dost, I shall never love thee after. Why, thou silly gentleman!\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nIt is silliness to live, when to live is torment; and then have we a\\r\\nprescription to die when death is our physician.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO villainous! I have looked upon the world for four times seven years,\\r\\nand since I could distinguish betwixt a benefit and an injury, I never\\r\\nfound man that knew how to love himself. Ere I would say I would drown\\r\\nmyself for the love of a guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with a\\r\\nbaboon.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhat should I do? I confess it is my shame to be so fond, but it is not\\r\\nin my virtue to amend it.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nVirtue! a fig! ’Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies\\r\\nare gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners. So that if we will\\r\\nplant nettles or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up thyme, supply it\\r\\nwith one gender of herbs or distract it with many, either to have it\\r\\nsterile with idleness or manured with industry, why, the power and\\r\\ncorrigible authority of this lies in our wills. If the balance of our\\r\\nlives had not one scale of reason to poise another of sensuality, the\\r\\nblood and baseness of our natures would conduct us to most preposterous\\r\\nconclusions. But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal\\r\\nstings, our unbitted lusts; whereof I take this, that you call love, to\\r\\nbe a sect, or scion.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nIt cannot be.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIt is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will. Come, be\\r\\na man. Drown thyself? Drown cats and blind puppies. I have professed me\\r\\nthy friend, and I confess me knit to thy deserving with cables of\\r\\nperdurable toughness; I could never better stead thee than now. Put\\r\\nmoney in thy purse; follow thou the wars; defeat thy favour with an\\r\\nusurped beard; I say, put money in thy purse. It cannot be that\\r\\nDesdemona should long continue her love to the Moor,—put money in thy\\r\\npurse,—nor he his to her. It was a violent commencement, and thou shalt\\r\\nsee an answerable sequestration—put but money in thy purse. These Moors\\r\\nare changeable in their wills. Fill thy purse with money. The food that\\r\\nto him now is as luscious as locusts shall be to him shortly as acerb\\r\\nas the coloquintida. She must change for youth. When she is sated with\\r\\nhis body, she will find the error of her choice. She must have change,\\r\\nshe must. Therefore put money in thy purse. If thou wilt needs damn\\r\\nthyself, do it a more delicate way than drowning. Make all the money\\r\\nthou canst. If sanctimony and a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian\\r\\nand a supersubtle Venetian be not too hard for my wits and all the\\r\\ntribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy her; therefore make money. A pox of\\r\\ndrowning thyself! It is clean out of the way: seek thou rather to be\\r\\nhanged in compassing thy joy than to be drowned and go without her.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWilt thou be fast to my hopes if I depend on the issue?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThou art sure of me. Go, make money. I have told thee often, and I\\r\\nretell thee again and again, I hate the Moor. My cause is hearted;\\r\\nthine hath no less reason. Let us be conjunctive in our revenge against\\r\\nhim: if thou canst cuckold him, thou dost thyself a pleasure, me a\\r\\nsport. There are many events in the womb of time which will be\\r\\ndelivered. Traverse, go, provide thy money. We will have more of this\\r\\ntomorrow. Adieu.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhere shall we meet i’ the morning?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAt my lodging.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI’ll be with thee betimes.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGo to, farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhat say you?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNo more of drowning, do you hear?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI am changed. I’ll sell all my land.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThus do I ever make my fool my purse.\\r\\nFor I mine own gain’d knowledge should profane\\r\\nIf I would time expend with such a snipe\\r\\nBut for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor,\\r\\nAnd it is thought abroad that ’twixt my sheets\\r\\nHe has done my office. I know not if ’t be true,\\r\\nBut I, for mere suspicion in that kind,\\r\\nWill do as if for surety. He holds me well,\\r\\nThe better shall my purpose work on him.\\r\\nCassio’s a proper man. Let me see now,\\r\\nTo get his place, and to plume up my will\\r\\nIn double knavery. How, how? Let’s see.\\r\\nAfter some time, to abuse Othello’s ear\\r\\nThat he is too familiar with his wife.\\r\\nHe hath a person and a smooth dispose,\\r\\nTo be suspected, fram’d to make women false.\\r\\nThe Moor is of a free and open nature\\r\\nThat thinks men honest that but seem to be so,\\r\\nAnd will as tenderly be led by the nose\\r\\nAs asses are.\\r\\nI have’t. It is engender’d. Hell and night\\r\\nMust bring this monstrous birth to the world’s light.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A seaport in Cyprus. A Platform.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Montano and two Gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nWhat from the cape can you discern at sea?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNothing at all, it is a high-wrought flood.\\r\\nI cannot ’twixt the heaven and the main\\r\\nDescry a sail.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nMethinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land.\\r\\nA fuller blast ne’er shook our battlements.\\r\\nIf it hath ruffian’d so upon the sea,\\r\\nWhat ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them,\\r\\nCan hold the mortise? What shall we hear of this?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nA segregation of the Turkish fleet.\\r\\nFor do but stand upon the foaming shore,\\r\\nThe chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds,\\r\\nThe wind-shak’d surge, with high and monstrous main,\\r\\nSeems to cast water on the burning Bear,\\r\\nAnd quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole;\\r\\nI never did like molestation view\\r\\nOn the enchafed flood.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nIf that the Turkish fleet\\r\\nBe not enshelter’d, and embay’d, they are drown’d.\\r\\nIt is impossible to bear it out.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a third Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNews, lads! Our wars are done.\\r\\nThe desperate tempest hath so bang’d the Turks\\r\\nThat their designment halts. A noble ship of Venice\\r\\nHath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance\\r\\nOn most part of their fleet.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nHow? Is this true?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThe ship is here put in,\\r\\nA Veronessa; Michael Cassio,\\r\\nLieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello,\\r\\nIs come on shore; the Moor himself at sea,\\r\\nAnd is in full commission here for Cyprus.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nI am glad on’t. ’Tis a worthy governor.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nBut this same Cassio, though he speak of comfort\\r\\nTouching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly,\\r\\nAnd prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted\\r\\nWith foul and violent tempest.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nPray heavens he be;\\r\\nFor I have serv’d him, and the man commands\\r\\nLike a full soldier. Let’s to the sea-side, ho!\\r\\nAs well to see the vessel that’s come in\\r\\nAs to throw out our eyes for brave Othello,\\r\\nEven till we make the main and the aerial blue\\r\\nAn indistinct regard.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nCome, let’s do so;\\r\\nFor every minute is expectancy\\r\\nOf more arrivance.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThanks you, the valiant of this warlike isle,\\r\\nThat so approve the Moor! O, let the heavens\\r\\nGive him defence against the elements,\\r\\nFor I have lost him on a dangerous sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nIs he well shipp’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHis bark is stoutly timber’d, and his pilot\\r\\nOf very expert and approv’d allowance;\\r\\nTherefore my hopes, not surfeited to death,\\r\\nStand in bold cure.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Within._] A sail, a sail, a sail!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhat noise?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThe town is empty; on the brow o’ the sea\\r\\nStand ranks of people, and they cry “A sail!”\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMy hopes do shape him for the governor.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A shot._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThey do discharge their shot of courtesy.\\r\\nOur friends at least.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI pray you, sir, go forth,\\r\\nAnd give us truth who ’tis that is arriv’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI shall.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nBut, good lieutenant, is your general wiv’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMost fortunately: he hath achiev’d a maid\\r\\nThat paragons description and wild fame,\\r\\nOne that excels the quirks of blazoning pens,\\r\\nAnd in the essential vesture of creation\\r\\nDoes tire the ingener.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter second Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now? Who has put in?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\n’Tis one Iago, ancient to the general.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHe has had most favourable and happy speed:\\r\\nTempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds,\\r\\nThe gutter’d rocks, and congregated sands,\\r\\nTraitors ensteep’d to clog the guiltless keel,\\r\\nAs having sense of beauty, do omit\\r\\nTheir mortal natures, letting go safely by\\r\\nThe divine Desdemona.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nWhat is she?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nShe that I spake of, our great captain’s captain,\\r\\nLeft in the conduct of the bold Iago;\\r\\nWhose footing here anticipates our thoughts\\r\\nA se’nnight’s speed. Great Jove, Othello guard,\\r\\nAnd swell his sail with thine own powerful breath,\\r\\nThat he may bless this bay with his tall ship,\\r\\nMake love’s quick pants in Desdemona’s arms,\\r\\nGive renew’d fire to our extincted spirits,\\r\\nAnd bring all Cyprus comfort!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona, Iago, Roderigo, and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nO, behold,\\r\\nThe riches of the ship is come on shore!\\r\\nYe men of Cyprus, let her have your knees.\\r\\nHail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven,\\r\\nBefore, behind thee, and on every hand,\\r\\nEnwheel thee round!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI thank you, valiant Cassio.\\r\\nWhat tidings can you tell me of my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHe is not yet arrived, nor know I aught\\r\\nBut that he’s well, and will be shortly here.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, but I fear—How lost you company?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Within._] A sail, a sail!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThe great contention of the sea and skies\\r\\nParted our fellowship. But, hark! a sail.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Guns within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThey give their greeting to the citadel.\\r\\nThis likewise is a friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nSee for the news.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Gentleman._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGood ancient, you are welcome. [_To Emilia._] Welcome, mistress.\\r\\nLet it not gall your patience, good Iago,\\r\\nThat I extend my manners; ’tis my breeding\\r\\nThat gives me this bold show of courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kissing her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSir, would she give you so much of her lips\\r\\nAs of her tongue she oft bestows on me,\\r\\nYou would have enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas, she has no speech.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIn faith, too much.\\r\\nI find it still when I have list to sleep.\\r\\nMarry, before your ladyship, I grant,\\r\\nShe puts her tongue a little in her heart,\\r\\nAnd chides with thinking.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYou have little cause to say so.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCome on, come on; you are pictures out of doors,\\r\\nBells in your parlours, wild-cats in your kitchens,\\r\\nSaints in your injuries, devils being offended,\\r\\nPlayers in your housewifery, and housewives in your beds.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, fie upon thee, slanderer!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, it is true, or else I am a Turk.\\r\\nYou rise to play, and go to bed to work.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYou shall not write my praise.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNo, let me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst praise me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO gentle lady, do not put me to’t,\\r\\nFor I am nothing if not critical.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nCome on, assay.—There’s one gone to the harbour?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAy, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI am not merry, but I do beguile\\r\\nThe thing I am, by seeming otherwise.—\\r\\nCome, how wouldst thou praise me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am about it, but indeed, my invention\\r\\nComes from my pate as birdlime does from frieze,\\r\\nIt plucks out brains and all: but my Muse labours,\\r\\nAnd thus she is deliver’d.\\r\\nIf she be fair and wise, fairness and wit,\\r\\nThe one’s for use, the other useth it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWell prais’d! How if she be black and witty?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIf she be black, and thereto have a wit,\\r\\nShe’ll find a white that shall her blackness fit.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWorse and worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHow if fair and foolish?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShe never yet was foolish that was fair,\\r\\nFor even her folly help’d her to an heir.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThese are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh i’ the alehouse. What\\r\\nmiserable praise hast thou for her that’s foul and foolish?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThere’s none so foul and foolish thereunto,\\r\\nBut does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO heavy ignorance! Thou praisest the worst best. But what praise\\r\\ncouldst thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed, one that in the\\r\\nauthority of her merit did justly put on the vouch of very malice\\r\\nitself?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShe that was ever fair and never proud,\\r\\nHad tongue at will and yet was never loud,\\r\\nNever lack’d gold and yet went never gay,\\r\\nFled from her wish, and yet said, “Now I may”;\\r\\nShe that, being anger’d, her revenge being nigh,\\r\\nBade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly;\\r\\nShe that in wisdom never was so frail\\r\\nTo change the cod’s head for the salmon’s tail;\\r\\nShe that could think and ne’er disclose her mind,\\r\\nSee suitors following and not look behind;\\r\\nShe was a wight, if ever such wight were—\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nTo do what?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nTo suckle fools and chronicle small beer.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO most lame and impotent conclusion!—Do not learn of him, Emilia,\\r\\nthough he be thy husband.—How say you, Cassio? is he not a most profane\\r\\nand liberal counsellor?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHe speaks home, madam. You may relish him more in the soldier than in\\r\\nthe scholar.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] He takes her by the palm. Ay, well said, whisper. With as\\r\\nlittle a web as this will I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile\\r\\nupon her, do. I will gyve thee in thine own courtship. You say true,\\r\\n’tis so, indeed. If such tricks as these strip you out of your\\r\\nlieutenantry, it had been better you had not kissed your three fingers\\r\\nso oft, which now again you are most apt to play the sir in. Very good;\\r\\nwell kissed, an excellent courtesy! ’Tis so, indeed. Yet again your\\r\\nfingers to your lips? Would they were clyster-pipes for your sake!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Trumpets within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Moor! I know his trumpet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Tis truly so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nLet’s meet him, and receive him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nLo, where he comes!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO my fair warrior!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy dear Othello!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIt gives me wonder great as my content\\r\\nTo see you here before me. O my soul’s joy!\\r\\nIf after every tempest come such calms,\\r\\nMay the winds blow till they have waken’d death!\\r\\nAnd let the labouring bark climb hills of seas\\r\\nOlympus-high, and duck again as low\\r\\nAs hell’s from heaven! If it were now to die,\\r\\n’Twere now to be most happy, for I fear\\r\\nMy soul hath her content so absolute\\r\\nThat not another comfort like to this\\r\\nSucceeds in unknown fate.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThe heavens forbid\\r\\nBut that our loves and comforts should increase\\r\\nEven as our days do grow!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAmen to that, sweet powers!\\r\\nI cannot speak enough of this content.\\r\\nIt stops me here; it is too much of joy:\\r\\nAnd this, and this, the greatest discords be [_They kiss._]\\r\\nThat e’er our hearts shall make!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] O, you are well tun’d now,\\r\\nBut I’ll set down the pegs that make this music,\\r\\nAs honest as I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nCome, let us to the castle.—\\r\\nNews, friends, our wars are done, the Turks are drown’d.\\r\\nHow does my old acquaintance of this isle?\\r\\nHoney, you shall be well desir’d in Cyprus;\\r\\nI have found great love amongst them. O my sweet,\\r\\nI prattle out of fashion, and I dote\\r\\nIn mine own comforts.—I prithee, good Iago,\\r\\nGo to the bay and disembark my coffers.\\r\\nBring thou the master to the citadel;\\r\\nHe is a good one, and his worthiness\\r\\nDoes challenge much respect.—Come, Desdemona,\\r\\nOnce more well met at Cyprus.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Othello, Desdemona and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo thou meet me presently at the harbour. Come hither. If thou be’st\\r\\nvaliant—as, they say, base men being in love have then a nobility in\\r\\ntheir natures more than is native to them—list me. The lieutenant\\r\\ntonight watches on the court of guard: first, I must tell thee this:\\r\\nDesdemona is directly in love with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWith him? Why, ’tis not possible.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLay thy finger thus, and let thy soul be instructed. Mark me with what\\r\\nviolence she first loved the Moor, but for bragging, and telling her\\r\\nfantastical lies. And will she love him still for prating? Let not thy\\r\\ndiscreet heart think it. Her eye must be fed. And what delight shall\\r\\nshe have to look on the devil? When the blood is made dull with the act\\r\\nof sport, there should be, again to inflame it and to give satiety a\\r\\nfresh appetite, loveliness in favour, sympathy in years, manners, and\\r\\nbeauties; all which the Moor is defective in: now, for want of these\\r\\nrequired conveniences, her delicate tenderness will find itself abused,\\r\\nbegin to heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the Moor, very nature\\r\\nwill instruct her in it, and compel her to some second choice. Now sir,\\r\\nthis granted (as it is a most pregnant and unforced position) who\\r\\nstands so eminently in the degree of this fortune as Cassio does? a\\r\\nknave very voluble; no further conscionable than in putting on the mere\\r\\nform of civil and humane seeming, for the better compassing of his salt\\r\\nand most hidden loose affection? Why, none, why, none! A slipper and\\r\\nsubtle knave, a finder out of occasions; that has an eye can stamp and\\r\\ncounterfeit advantages, though true advantage never present itself: a\\r\\ndevilish knave! Besides, the knave is handsome, young, and hath all\\r\\nthose requisites in him that folly and green minds look after. A\\r\\npestilent complete knave, and the woman hath found him already.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI cannot believe that in her, she is full of most blessed condition.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBlest fig’s end! the wine she drinks is made of grapes: if she had been\\r\\nblessed, she would never have loved the Moor. Blessed pudding! Didst\\r\\nthou not see her paddle with the palm of his hand? Didst not mark that?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nYes, that I did. But that was but courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLechery, by this hand. An index and obscure prologue to the history of\\r\\nlust and foul thoughts. They met so near with their lips that their\\r\\nbreaths embrac’d together. Villainous thoughts, Roderigo! When these\\r\\nmutualities so marshal the way, hard at hand comes the master and main\\r\\nexercise, the incorporate conclusion. Pish! But, sir, be you ruled by\\r\\nme. I have brought you from Venice. Watch you tonight. For the command,\\r\\nI’ll lay’t upon you. Cassio knows you not. I’ll not be far from you. Do\\r\\nyou find some occasion to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud, or\\r\\ntainting his discipline, or from what other course you please, which\\r\\nthe time shall more favourably minister.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWell.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSir, he is rash, and very sudden in choler, and haply with his\\r\\ntruncheon may strike at you: provoke him that he may, for even out of\\r\\nthat will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny, whose qualification shall\\r\\ncome into no true taste again but by the displanting of Cassio. So\\r\\nshall you have a shorter journey to your desires by the means I shall\\r\\nthen have to prefer them, and the impediment most profitably removed,\\r\\nwithout the which there were no expectation of our prosperity.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI will do this, if I can bring it to any opportunity.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the citadel: I must fetch his\\r\\nnecessaries ashore. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nAdieu.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThat Cassio loves her, I do well believe it;\\r\\nThat she loves him, ’tis apt, and of great credit:\\r\\nThe Moor, howbeit that I endure him not,\\r\\nIs of a constant, loving, noble nature;\\r\\nAnd, I dare think, he’ll prove to Desdemona\\r\\nA most dear husband. Now, I do love her too,\\r\\nNot out of absolute lust (though peradventure\\r\\nI stand accountant for as great a sin)\\r\\nBut partly led to diet my revenge,\\r\\nFor that I do suspect the lusty Moor\\r\\nHath leap’d into my seat. The thought whereof\\r\\nDoth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards,\\r\\nAnd nothing can or shall content my soul\\r\\nTill I am even’d with him, wife for wife,\\r\\nOr, failing so, yet that I put the Moor\\r\\nAt least into a jealousy so strong\\r\\nThat judgement cannot cure. Which thing to do,\\r\\nIf this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash\\r\\nFor his quick hunting, stand the putting on,\\r\\nI’ll have our Michael Cassio on the hip,\\r\\nAbuse him to the Moor in the rank garb\\r\\n(For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too)\\r\\nMake the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me\\r\\nFor making him egregiously an ass\\r\\nAnd practicing upon his peace and quiet\\r\\nEven to madness. ’Tis here, but yet confus’d.\\r\\nKnavery’s plain face is never seen till us’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello’s Herald with a proclamation.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nIt is Othello’s pleasure, our noble and valiant general, that upon\\r\\ncertain tidings now arrived, importing the mere perdition of the\\r\\nTurkish fleet, every man put himself into triumph: some to dance, some\\r\\nto make bonfires, each man to what sport and revels his addition leads\\r\\nhim. For besides these beneficial news, it is the celebration of his\\r\\nnuptial. So much was his pleasure should be proclaimed. All offices are\\r\\nopen, and there is full liberty of feasting from this present hour of\\r\\nfive till the bell have told eleven. Heaven bless the isle of Cyprus\\r\\nand our noble general Othello!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A Hall in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello, Desdemona, Cassio and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGood Michael, look you to the guard tonight.\\r\\nLet’s teach ourselves that honourable stop,\\r\\nNot to outsport discretion.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nIago hath direction what to do.\\r\\nBut notwithstanding with my personal eye\\r\\nWill I look to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIago is most honest.\\r\\nMichael, good night. Tomorrow with your earliest\\r\\nLet me have speech with you. [_To Desdemona._] Come, my dear love,\\r\\nThe purchase made, the fruits are to ensue;\\r\\nThat profit’s yet to come ’tween me and you.—\\r\\nGood night.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Othello, Desdemona and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWelcome, Iago. We must to the watch.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNot this hour, lieutenant. ’Tis not yet ten o’ th’ clock. Our general\\r\\ncast us thus early for the love of his Desdemona; who let us not\\r\\ntherefore blame: he hath not yet made wanton the night with her; and\\r\\nshe is sport for Jove.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nShe’s a most exquisite lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd, I’ll warrant her, full of game.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nIndeed, she is a most fresh and delicate creature.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat an eye she has! methinks it sounds a parley to provocation.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAn inviting eye, and yet methinks right modest.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd when she speaks, is it not an alarm to love?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nShe is indeed perfection.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWell, happiness to their sheets! Come, lieutenant, I have a stoup of\\r\\nwine; and here without are a brace of Cyprus gallants that would fain\\r\\nhave a measure to the health of black Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nNot tonight, good Iago. I have very poor and unhappy brains for\\r\\ndrinking. I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of\\r\\nentertainment.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, they are our friends; but one cup: I’ll drink for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI have drunk but one cup tonight, and that was craftily qualified too,\\r\\nand behold, what innovation it makes here: I am unfortunate in the\\r\\ninfirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any more.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat, man! ’Tis a night of revels. The gallants desire it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhere are they?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHere at the door. I pray you, call them in.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI’ll do’t; but it dislikes me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIf I can fasten but one cup upon him,\\r\\nWith that which he hath drunk tonight already,\\r\\nHe’ll be as full of quarrel and offence\\r\\nAs my young mistress’ dog. Now my sick fool Roderigo,\\r\\nWhom love hath turn’d almost the wrong side out,\\r\\nTo Desdemona hath tonight carous’d\\r\\nPotations pottle-deep; and he’s to watch:\\r\\nThree lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits,\\r\\nThat hold their honours in a wary distance,\\r\\nThe very elements of this warlike isle,\\r\\nHave I tonight fluster’d with flowing cups,\\r\\nAnd they watch too. Now, ’mongst this flock of drunkards,\\r\\nAm I to put our Cassio in some action\\r\\nThat may offend the isle. But here they come:\\r\\nIf consequence do but approve my dream,\\r\\nMy boat sails freely, both with wind and stream.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio, Montano and Gentlemen; followed by Servant with wine.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Fore God, they have given me a rouse already.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nGood faith, a little one; not past a pint, as I am a soldier.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSome wine, ho!\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n\\r\\n _And let me the cannikin clink, clink,\\r\\n And let me the cannikin clink, clink:\\r\\n A soldier’s a man,\\r\\n O, man’s life’s but a span,\\r\\n Why then let a soldier drink._\\r\\n\\r\\nSome wine, boys!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Fore God, an excellent song.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI learned it in England, where indeed they are most potent in potting:\\r\\nyour Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander,—drink, ho!—are\\r\\nnothing to your English.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nIs your Englishman so expert in his drinking?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane dead drunk; he sweats not\\r\\nto overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit ere the next\\r\\npottle can be filled.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nTo the health of our general!\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nI am for it, lieutenant; and I’ll do you justice.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO sweet England!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n\\r\\n _King Stephen was a worthy peer,\\r\\n His breeches cost him but a crown;\\r\\n He held them sixpence all too dear,\\r\\n With that he call’d the tailor lown.\\r\\n He was a wight of high renown,\\r\\n And thou art but of low degree:\\r\\n ’Tis pride that pulls the country down,\\r\\n Then take thine auld cloak about thee._\\r\\n\\r\\nSome wine, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Fore God, this is a more exquisite song than the other.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWill you hear ’t again?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nNo, for I hold him to be unworthy of his place that does those things.\\r\\nWell, God’s above all, and there be souls must be saved, and there be\\r\\nsouls must not be saved.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIt’s true, good lieutenant.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nFor mine own part, no offence to the general, nor any man of quality, I\\r\\nhope to be saved.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd so do I too, lieutenant.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAy, but, by your leave, not before me; the lieutenant is to be saved\\r\\nbefore the ancient. Let’s have no more of this; let’s to our affairs.\\r\\nForgive us our sins! Gentlemen, let’s look to our business. Do not\\r\\nthink, gentlemen, I am drunk. This is my ancient, this is my right\\r\\nhand, and this is my left. I am not drunk now. I can stand well enough,\\r\\nand I speak well enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nExcellent well.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhy, very well then. You must not think, then, that I am drunk.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nTo the platform, masters. Come, let’s set the watch.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou see this fellow that is gone before,\\r\\nHe is a soldier fit to stand by Cæsar\\r\\nAnd give direction: and do but see his vice,\\r\\n’Tis to his virtue a just equinox,\\r\\nThe one as long as th’ other. ’Tis pity of him.\\r\\nI fear the trust Othello puts him in,\\r\\nOn some odd time of his infirmity,\\r\\nWill shake this island.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nBut is he often thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n’Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep:\\r\\nHe’ll watch the horologe a double set\\r\\nIf drink rock not his cradle.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nIt were well\\r\\nThe general were put in mind of it.\\r\\nPerhaps he sees it not, or his good nature\\r\\nPrizes the virtue that appears in Cassio,\\r\\nAnd looks not on his evils: is not this true?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Aside to him._] How now, Roderigo?\\r\\nI pray you, after the lieutenant; go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nAnd ’tis great pity that the noble Moor\\r\\nShould hazard such a place as his own second\\r\\nWith one of an ingraft infirmity:\\r\\nIt were an honest action to say so\\r\\nTo the Moor.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNot I, for this fair island.\\r\\nI do love Cassio well and would do much\\r\\nTo cure him of this evil. But, hark! What noise?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Cry within_: “Help! help!”]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio, driving in Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nZounds, you rogue, you rascal!\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter, lieutenant?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nA knave teach me my duty! I’ll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nBeat me?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nDost thou prate, rogue?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Striking Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nNay, good lieutenant;\\r\\nI pray you, sir, hold your hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nLet me go, sir,\\r\\nOr I’ll knock you o’er the mazard.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nCome, come, you’re drunk.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nDrunk?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Roderigo._] Away, I say! Go out and cry a mutiny.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNay, good lieutenant, God’s will, gentlemen.\\r\\nHelp, ho!—Lieutenant,—sir,—Montano,—sir:—\\r\\nHelp, masters! Here’s a goodly watch indeed!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A bell rings._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWho’s that which rings the bell?—Diablo, ho!\\r\\nThe town will rise. God’s will, lieutenant, hold,\\r\\nYou will be sham’d forever.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat is the matter here?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nZounds, I bleed still, I am hurt to the death.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHold, for your lives!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHold, ho! lieutenant,—sir,—Montano,—gentlemen,—\\r\\nHave you forgot all place of sense and duty?\\r\\nHold! The general speaks to you; hold, hold, for shame!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy, how now, ho! From whence ariseth this?\\r\\nAre we turn’d Turks, and to ourselves do that\\r\\nWhich heaven hath forbid the Ottomites?\\r\\nFor Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl:\\r\\nHe that stirs next to carve for his own rage\\r\\nHolds his soul light; he dies upon his motion.\\r\\nSilence that dreadful bell, it frights the isle\\r\\nFrom her propriety. What is the matter, masters?\\r\\nHonest Iago, that looks dead with grieving,\\r\\nSpeak, who began this? On thy love, I charge thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI do not know. Friends all but now, even now,\\r\\nIn quarter, and in terms like bride and groom\\r\\nDevesting them for bed; and then, but now,\\r\\nAs if some planet had unwitted men,\\r\\nSwords out, and tilting one at other’s breast,\\r\\nIn opposition bloody. I cannot speak\\r\\nAny beginning to this peevish odds;\\r\\nAnd would in action glorious I had lost\\r\\nThose legs that brought me to a part of it!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHow comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI pray you, pardon me; I cannot speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWorthy Montano, you were wont be civil.\\r\\nThe gravity and stillness of your youth\\r\\nThe world hath noted, and your name is great\\r\\nIn mouths of wisest censure: what’s the matter,\\r\\nThat you unlace your reputation thus,\\r\\nAnd spend your rich opinion for the name\\r\\nOf a night-brawler? Give me answer to it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nWorthy Othello, I am hurt to danger.\\r\\nYour officer, Iago, can inform you,\\r\\nWhile I spare speech, which something now offends me,\\r\\nOf all that I do know; nor know I aught\\r\\nBy me that’s said or done amiss this night,\\r\\nUnless self-charity be sometimes a vice,\\r\\nAnd to defend ourselves it be a sin\\r\\nWhen violence assails us.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNow, by heaven,\\r\\nMy blood begins my safer guides to rule,\\r\\nAnd passion, having my best judgement collied,\\r\\nAssays to lead the way. Zounds, if I stir,\\r\\nOr do but lift this arm, the best of you\\r\\nShall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know\\r\\nHow this foul rout began, who set it on,\\r\\nAnd he that is approv’d in this offence,\\r\\nThough he had twinn’d with me, both at a birth,\\r\\nShall lose me. What! in a town of war,\\r\\nYet wild, the people’s hearts brimful of fear,\\r\\nTo manage private and domestic quarrel,\\r\\nIn night, and on the court and guard of safety?\\r\\n’Tis monstrous. Iago, who began’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nIf partially affin’d, or leagu’d in office,\\r\\nThou dost deliver more or less than truth,\\r\\nThou art no soldier.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nTouch me not so near.\\r\\nI had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth\\r\\nThan it should do offence to Michael Cassio.\\r\\nYet I persuade myself, to speak the truth\\r\\nShall nothing wrong him. Thus it is, general:\\r\\nMontano and myself being in speech,\\r\\nThere comes a fellow crying out for help,\\r\\nAnd Cassio following him with determin’d sword,\\r\\nTo execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman\\r\\nSteps in to Cassio and entreats his pause.\\r\\nMyself the crying fellow did pursue,\\r\\nLest by his clamour (as it so fell out)\\r\\nThe town might fall in fright: he, swift of foot,\\r\\nOutran my purpose: and I return’d the rather\\r\\nFor that I heard the clink and fall of swords,\\r\\nAnd Cassio high in oath, which till tonight\\r\\nI ne’er might say before. When I came back,\\r\\n(For this was brief) I found them close together,\\r\\nAt blow and thrust, even as again they were\\r\\nWhen you yourself did part them.\\r\\nMore of this matter cannot I report.\\r\\nBut men are men; the best sometimes forget;\\r\\nThough Cassio did some little wrong to him,\\r\\nAs men in rage strike those that wish them best,\\r\\nYet surely Cassio, I believe, receiv’d\\r\\nFrom him that fled some strange indignity,\\r\\nWhich patience could not pass.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI know, Iago,\\r\\nThy honesty and love doth mince this matter,\\r\\nMaking it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee,\\r\\nBut never more be officer of mine.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona, attended.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook, if my gentle love be not rais’d up!\\r\\nI’ll make thee an example.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAll’s well now, sweeting; come away to bed.\\r\\nSir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon.\\r\\nLead him off.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Montano is led off._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIago, look with care about the town,\\r\\nAnd silence those whom this vile brawl distracted.\\r\\nCome, Desdemona: ’tis the soldiers’ life\\r\\nTo have their balmy slumbers wak’d with strife.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Iago and Cassio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat, are you hurt, lieutenant?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAy, past all surgery.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMarry, Heaven forbid!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nReputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my reputation! I\\r\\nhave lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial. My\\r\\nreputation, Iago, my reputation!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAs I am an honest man, I thought you had received some bodily wound;\\r\\nthere is more sense in that than in reputation. Reputation is an idle\\r\\nand most false imposition, oft got without merit and lost without\\r\\ndeserving. You have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute\\r\\nyourself such a loser. What, man, there are ways to recover the general\\r\\nagain: you are but now cast in his mood, a punishment more in policy\\r\\nthan in malice, even so as one would beat his offenceless dog to\\r\\naffright an imperious lion: sue to him again, and he’s yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI will rather sue to be despised than to deceive so good a commander\\r\\nwith so slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk? and\\r\\nspeak parrot? and squabble? swagger? swear? and discourse fustian with\\r\\none’s own shadow? O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name\\r\\nto be known by, let us call thee devil!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat was he that you followed with your sword? What had he done to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI know not.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quarrel, but\\r\\nnothing wherefore. O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths\\r\\nto steal away their brains! That we should with joy, pleasance, revel,\\r\\nand applause, transform ourselves into beasts!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, but you are now well enough: how came you thus recovered?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nIt hath pleased the devil drunkenness to give place to the devil wrath.\\r\\nOne unperfectness shows me another, to make me frankly despise myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCome, you are too severe a moraler. As the time, the place, and the\\r\\ncondition of this country stands, I could heartily wish this had not\\r\\nbefallen; but since it is as it is, mend it for your own good.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI will ask him for my place again; he shall tell me I am a drunkard!\\r\\nHad I as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To\\r\\nbe now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast! O\\r\\nstrange! Every inordinate cup is unbless’d, and the ingredient is a\\r\\ndevil.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCome, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well used.\\r\\nExclaim no more against it. And, good lieutenant, I think you think I\\r\\nlove you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI have well approved it, sir.—I drunk!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou, or any man living, may be drunk at a time, man. I’ll tell you what\\r\\nyou shall do. Our general’s wife is now the general; I may say so in\\r\\nthis respect, for that he hath devoted and given up himself to the\\r\\ncontemplation, mark, and denotement of her parts and graces. Confess\\r\\nyourself freely to her. Importune her help to put you in your place\\r\\nagain. She is of so free, so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition,\\r\\nshe holds it a vice in her goodness not to do more than she is\\r\\nrequested. This broken joint between you and her husband entreat her to\\r\\nsplinter, and, my fortunes against any lay worth naming, this crack of\\r\\nyour love shall grow stronger than it was before.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nYou advise me well.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI protest, in the sincerity of love and honest kindness.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI think it freely; and betimes in the morning I will beseech the\\r\\nvirtuous Desdemona to undertake for me; I am desperate of my fortunes\\r\\nif they check me here.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou are in the right. Good night, lieutenant, I must to the watch.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nGood night, honest Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd what’s he then, that says I play the villain?\\r\\nWhen this advice is free I give and honest,\\r\\nProbal to thinking, and indeed the course\\r\\nTo win the Moor again? For ’tis most easy\\r\\nThe inclining Desdemona to subdue\\r\\nIn any honest suit. She’s fram’d as fruitful\\r\\nAs the free elements. And then for her\\r\\nTo win the Moor, were’t to renounce his baptism,\\r\\nAll seals and symbols of redeemed sin,\\r\\nHis soul is so enfetter’d to her love\\r\\nThat she may make, unmake, do what she list,\\r\\nEven as her appetite shall play the god\\r\\nWith his weak function. How am I then, a villain\\r\\nTo counsel Cassio to this parallel course,\\r\\nDirectly to his good? Divinity of hell!\\r\\nWhen devils will the blackest sins put on,\\r\\nThey do suggest at first with heavenly shows,\\r\\nAs I do now: for whiles this honest fool\\r\\nPlies Desdemona to repair his fortune,\\r\\nAnd she for him pleads strongly to the Moor,\\r\\nI’ll pour this pestilence into his ear,\\r\\nThat she repeals him for her body’s lust;\\r\\nAnd by how much she strives to do him good,\\r\\nShe shall undo her credit with the Moor.\\r\\nSo will I turn her virtue into pitch,\\r\\nAnd out of her own goodness make the net\\r\\nThat shall enmesh them all.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Roderigo?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI do follow here in the chase, not like a hound that hunts, but one\\r\\nthat fills up the cry. My money is almost spent, I have been tonight\\r\\nexceedingly well cudgelled; and I think the issue will be, I shall have\\r\\nso much experience for my pains, and so, with no money at all and a\\r\\nlittle more wit, return again to Venice.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHow poor are they that have not patience!\\r\\nWhat wound did ever heal but by degrees?\\r\\nThou know’st we work by wit, and not by witchcraft,\\r\\nAnd wit depends on dilatory time.\\r\\nDoes’t not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee,\\r\\nAnd thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier’d Cassio;\\r\\nThough other things grow fair against the sun,\\r\\nYet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe.\\r\\nContent thyself awhile. By the mass, ’tis morning;\\r\\nPleasure and action make the hours seem short.\\r\\nRetire thee; go where thou art billeted.\\r\\nAway, I say, thou shalt know more hereafter.\\r\\nNay, get thee gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTwo things are to be done,\\r\\nMy wife must move for Cassio to her mistress.\\r\\nI’ll set her on;\\r\\nMyself the while to draw the Moor apart,\\r\\nAnd bring him jump when he may Cassio find\\r\\nSoliciting his wife. Ay, that’s the way.\\r\\nDull not device by coldness and delay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio and some Musicians.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMasters, play here, I will content your pains,\\r\\nSomething that’s brief; and bid “Good morrow, general.”\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, masters, have your instruments been in Naples, that they speak i’\\r\\nthe nose thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nHow, sir, how?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAre these, I pray you, wind instruments?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nAy, marry, are they, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nO, thereby hangs a tail.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWhereby hangs a tale, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMarry, sir, by many a wind instrument that I know. But, masters, here’s\\r\\nmoney for you: and the general so likes your music, that he desires\\r\\nyou, for love’s sake, to make no more noise with it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWell, sir, we will not.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIf you have any music that may not be heard, to’t again. But, as they\\r\\nsay, to hear music the general does not greatly care.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWe have none such, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThen put up your pipes in your bag, for I’ll away. Go, vanish into air,\\r\\naway!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Musicians._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nDost thou hear, mine honest friend?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, I hear not your honest friend. I hear you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nPrithee, keep up thy quillets. There’s a poor piece of gold for thee:\\r\\nif the gentlewoman that attends the general’s wife be stirring, tell\\r\\nher there’s one Cassio entreats her a little favour of speech. Wilt\\r\\nthou do this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nShe is stirring, sir; if she will stir hither, I shall seem to notify\\r\\nunto her.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nDo, good my friend.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn happy time, Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou have not been a-bed, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhy, no. The day had broke\\r\\nBefore we parted. I have made bold, Iago,\\r\\nTo send in to your wife. My suit to her\\r\\nIs, that she will to virtuous Desdemona\\r\\nProcure me some access.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI’ll send her to you presently,\\r\\nAnd I’ll devise a mean to draw the Moor\\r\\nOut of the way, that your converse and business\\r\\nMay be more free.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI humbly thank you for’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Iago._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI never knew\\r\\nA Florentine more kind and honest.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nGood morrow, good lieutenant; I am sorry\\r\\nFor your displeasure, but all will sure be well.\\r\\nThe general and his wife are talking of it,\\r\\nAnd she speaks for you stoutly: the Moor replies\\r\\nThat he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus\\r\\nAnd great affinity, and that in wholesome wisdom\\r\\nHe might not but refuse you; but he protests he loves you\\r\\nAnd needs no other suitor but his likings\\r\\nTo take the safest occasion by the front\\r\\nTo bring you in again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nYet, I beseech you,\\r\\nIf you think fit, or that it may be done,\\r\\nGive me advantage of some brief discourse\\r\\nWith Desdemona alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPray you, come in.\\r\\nI will bestow you where you shall have time\\r\\nTo speak your bosom freely.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI am much bound to you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello, Iago and Gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThese letters give, Iago, to the pilot,\\r\\nAnd by him do my duties to the senate.\\r\\nThat done, I will be walking on the works,\\r\\nRepair there to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWell, my good lord, I’ll do’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThis fortification, gentlemen, shall we see’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMEN.\\r\\nWe’ll wait upon your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Cyprus. The Garden of the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona, Cassio and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBe thou assured, good Cassio, I will do\\r\\nAll my abilities in thy behalf.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nGood madam, do. I warrant it grieves my husband\\r\\nAs if the cause were his.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, that’s an honest fellow. Do not doubt, Cassio,\\r\\nBut I will have my lord and you again\\r\\nAs friendly as you were.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nBounteous madam,\\r\\nWhatever shall become of Michael Cassio,\\r\\nHe’s never anything but your true servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI know’t. I thank you. You do love my lord.\\r\\nYou have known him long; and be you well assur’d\\r\\nHe shall in strangeness stand no farther off\\r\\nThan in a politic distance.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAy, but, lady,\\r\\nThat policy may either last so long,\\r\\nOr feed upon such nice and waterish diet,\\r\\nOr breed itself so out of circumstance,\\r\\nThat, I being absent, and my place supplied,\\r\\nMy general will forget my love and service.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nDo not doubt that. Before Emilia here\\r\\nI give thee warrant of thy place. Assure thee,\\r\\nIf I do vow a friendship, I’ll perform it\\r\\nTo the last article. My lord shall never rest,\\r\\nI’ll watch him tame, and talk him out of patience;\\r\\nHis bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift;\\r\\nI’ll intermingle everything he does\\r\\nWith Cassio’s suit. Therefore be merry, Cassio,\\r\\nFor thy solicitor shall rather die\\r\\nThan give thy cause away.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello and Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMadam, here comes my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMadam, I’ll take my leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, stay, and hear me speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMadam, not now. I am very ill at ease,\\r\\nUnfit for mine own purposes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWell, do your discretion.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Cassio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHa, I like not that.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat dost thou say?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNothing, my lord; or if—I know not what.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWas not that Cassio parted from my wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCassio, my lord? No, sure, I cannot think it,\\r\\nThat he would steal away so guilty-like,\\r\\nSeeing you coming.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI do believe ’twas he.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHow now, my lord?\\r\\nI have been talking with a suitor here,\\r\\nA man that languishes in your displeasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWho is’t you mean?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good my lord,\\r\\nIf I have any grace or power to move you,\\r\\nHis present reconciliation take;\\r\\nFor if he be not one that truly loves you,\\r\\nThat errs in ignorance and not in cunning,\\r\\nI have no judgement in an honest face.\\r\\nI prithee call him back.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWent he hence now?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAy, sooth; so humbled\\r\\nThat he hath left part of his grief with me\\r\\nTo suffer with him. Good love, call him back.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNot now, sweet Desdemon, some other time.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBut shall’t be shortly?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe sooner, sweet, for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nShall’t be tonight at supper?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNo, not tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nTomorrow dinner then?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI shall not dine at home;\\r\\nI meet the captains at the citadel.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy then tomorrow night, or Tuesday morn,\\r\\nOn Tuesday noon, or night; on Wednesday morn.\\r\\nI prithee name the time, but let it not\\r\\nExceed three days. In faith, he’s penitent;\\r\\nAnd yet his trespass, in our common reason,\\r\\n(Save that, they say, the wars must make examples\\r\\nOut of their best) is not almost a fault\\r\\nTo incur a private check. When shall he come?\\r\\nTell me, Othello: I wonder in my soul,\\r\\nWhat you would ask me, that I should deny,\\r\\nOr stand so mammering on. What? Michael Cassio,\\r\\nThat came a-wooing with you, and so many a time,\\r\\nWhen I have spoke of you dispraisingly,\\r\\nHath ta’en your part, to have so much to do\\r\\nTo bring him in! Trust me, I could do much.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nPrithee no more. Let him come when he will;\\r\\nI will deny thee nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, this is not a boon;\\r\\n’Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves,\\r\\nOr feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm,\\r\\nOr sue to you to do a peculiar profit\\r\\nTo your own person: nay, when I have a suit\\r\\nWherein I mean to touch your love indeed,\\r\\nIt shall be full of poise and difficult weight,\\r\\nAnd fearful to be granted.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI will deny thee nothing.\\r\\nWhereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this,\\r\\nTo leave me but a little to myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nShall I deny you? No, farewell, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFarewell, my Desdemona. I’ll come to thee straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nEmilia, come. Be as your fancies teach you.\\r\\nWhate’er you be, I am obedient.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nExcellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul,\\r\\nBut I do love thee! And when I love thee not,\\r\\nChaos is come again.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy noble lord,—\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat dost thou say, Iago?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDid Michael Cassio, when you woo’d my lady,\\r\\nKnow of your love?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHe did, from first to last. Why dost thou ask?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBut for a satisfaction of my thought.\\r\\nNo further harm.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy of thy thought, Iago?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI did not think he had been acquainted with her.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO yes, and went between us very oft.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIndeed?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIndeed? Ay, indeed. Discern’st thou aught in that?\\r\\nIs he not honest?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHonest, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHonest? ay, honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy lord, for aught I know.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat dost thou think?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThink, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThink, my lord? By heaven, he echoes me,\\r\\nAs if there were some monster in his thought\\r\\nToo hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something.\\r\\nI heard thee say even now, thou lik’st not that,\\r\\nWhen Cassio left my wife. What didst not like?\\r\\nAnd when I told thee he was of my counsel\\r\\nIn my whole course of wooing, thou criedst, “Indeed?”\\r\\nAnd didst contract and purse thy brow together,\\r\\nAs if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain\\r\\nSome horrible conceit: if thou dost love me,\\r\\nShow me thy thought.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy lord, you know I love you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI think thou dost;\\r\\nAnd for I know thou’rt full of love and honesty\\r\\nAnd weigh’st thy words before thou giv’st them breath,\\r\\nTherefore these stops of thine fright me the more:\\r\\nFor such things in a false disloyal knave\\r\\nAre tricks of custom; but in a man that’s just,\\r\\nThey’re close dilations, working from the heart,\\r\\nThat passion cannot rule.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFor Michael Cassio,\\r\\nI dare be sworn I think that he is honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI think so too.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMen should be what they seem;\\r\\nOr those that be not, would they might seem none!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nCertain, men should be what they seem.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy then, I think Cassio’s an honest man.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNay, yet there’s more in this:\\r\\nI prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings,\\r\\nAs thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts\\r\\nThe worst of words.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGood my lord, pardon me.\\r\\nThough I am bound to every act of duty,\\r\\nI am not bound to that all slaves are free to.\\r\\nUtter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile and false:\\r\\nAs where’s that palace whereinto foul things\\r\\nSometimes intrude not? Who has a breast so pure\\r\\nBut some uncleanly apprehensions\\r\\nKeep leets and law-days, and in session sit\\r\\nWith meditations lawful?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago,\\r\\nIf thou but think’st him wrong’d and mak’st his ear\\r\\nA stranger to thy thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI do beseech you,\\r\\nThough I perchance am vicious in my guess,\\r\\nAs, I confess, it is my nature’s plague\\r\\nTo spy into abuses, and of my jealousy\\r\\nShapes faults that are not,—that your wisdom\\r\\nFrom one that so imperfectly conceits,\\r\\nWould take no notice; nor build yourself a trouble\\r\\nOut of his scattering and unsure observance.\\r\\nIt were not for your quiet nor your good,\\r\\nNor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom,\\r\\nTo let you know my thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat dost thou mean?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGood name in man and woman, dear my lord,\\r\\nIs the immediate jewel of their souls.\\r\\nWho steals my purse steals trash. ’Tis something, nothing;\\r\\n’Twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands.\\r\\nBut he that filches from me my good name\\r\\nRobs me of that which not enriches him\\r\\nAnd makes me poor indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBy heaven, I’ll know thy thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou cannot, if my heart were in your hand,\\r\\nNor shall not, whilst ’tis in my custody.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHa?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, beware, my lord, of jealousy;\\r\\nIt is the green-ey’d monster which doth mock\\r\\nThe meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss\\r\\nWho, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;\\r\\nBut O, what damned minutes tells he o’er\\r\\nWho dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO misery!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nPoor and content is rich, and rich enough;\\r\\nBut riches fineless is as poor as winter\\r\\nTo him that ever fears he shall be poor.\\r\\nGood heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend\\r\\nFrom jealousy!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy, why is this?\\r\\nThink’st thou I’d make a life of jealousy,\\r\\nTo follow still the changes of the moon\\r\\nWith fresh suspicions? No. To be once in doubt\\r\\nIs once to be resolv’d: exchange me for a goat\\r\\nWhen I shall turn the business of my soul\\r\\nTo such exsufflicate and blown surmises,\\r\\nMatching thy inference. ’Tis not to make me jealous,\\r\\nTo say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company,\\r\\nIs free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well;\\r\\nWhere virtue is, these are more virtuous:\\r\\nNor from mine own weak merits will I draw\\r\\nThe smallest fear or doubt of her revolt,\\r\\nFor she had eyes, and chose me. No, Iago,\\r\\nI’ll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove;\\r\\nAnd on the proof, there is no more but this:\\r\\nAway at once with love or jealousy!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am glad of it, for now I shall have reason\\r\\nTo show the love and duty that I bear you\\r\\nWith franker spirit: therefore, as I am bound,\\r\\nReceive it from me. I speak not yet of proof.\\r\\nLook to your wife; observe her well with Cassio;\\r\\nWear your eye thus, not jealous nor secure.\\r\\nI would not have your free and noble nature,\\r\\nOut of self-bounty, be abus’d. Look to’t.\\r\\nI know our country disposition well;\\r\\nIn Venice they do let heaven see the pranks\\r\\nThey dare not show their husbands. Their best conscience\\r\\nIs not to leave undone, but keep unknown.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDost thou say so?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShe did deceive her father, marrying you;\\r\\nAnd when she seem’d to shake and fear your looks,\\r\\nShe loved them most.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAnd so she did.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, go to then.\\r\\nShe that so young could give out such a seeming,\\r\\nTo seal her father’s eyes up close as oak,\\r\\nHe thought ’twas witchcraft. But I am much to blame.\\r\\nI humbly do beseech you of your pardon\\r\\nFor too much loving you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI am bound to thee for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI see this hath a little dash’d your spirits.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNot a jot, not a jot.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nTrust me, I fear it has.\\r\\nI hope you will consider what is spoke\\r\\nComes from my love. But I do see you’re mov’d.\\r\\nI am to pray you not to strain my speech\\r\\nTo grosser issues nor to larger reach\\r\\nThan to suspicion.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI will not.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShould you do so, my lord,\\r\\nMy speech should fall into such vile success\\r\\nWhich my thoughts aim’d not. Cassio’s my worthy friend.\\r\\nMy lord, I see you’re mov’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNo, not much mov’d.\\r\\nI do not think but Desdemona’s honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLong live she so! And long live you to think so!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAnd yet, how nature erring from itself—\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAy, there’s the point. As, to be bold with you,\\r\\nNot to affect many proposed matches,\\r\\nOf her own clime, complexion, and degree,\\r\\nWhereto we see in all things nature tends;\\r\\nFoh! One may smell in such a will most rank,\\r\\nFoul disproportion, thoughts unnatural.\\r\\nBut pardon me: I do not in position\\r\\nDistinctly speak of her, though I may fear\\r\\nHer will, recoiling to her better judgement,\\r\\nMay fall to match you with her country forms,\\r\\nAnd happily repent.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFarewell, farewell:\\r\\nIf more thou dost perceive, let me know more;\\r\\nSet on thy wife to observe. Leave me, Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Going._] My lord, I take my leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy did I marry? This honest creature doubtless\\r\\nSees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Returning._] My lord, I would I might entreat your honour\\r\\nTo scan this thing no further. Leave it to time:\\r\\nThough it be fit that Cassio have his place,\\r\\nFor sure he fills it up with great ability,\\r\\nYet if you please to hold him off awhile,\\r\\nYou shall by that perceive him and his means.\\r\\nNote if your lady strain his entertainment\\r\\nWith any strong or vehement importunity,\\r\\nMuch will be seen in that. In the meantime,\\r\\nLet me be thought too busy in my fears\\r\\n(As worthy cause I have to fear I am)\\r\\nAnd hold her free, I do beseech your honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFear not my government.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI once more take my leave.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThis fellow’s of exceeding honesty,\\r\\nAnd knows all qualities, with a learned spirit,\\r\\nOf human dealings. If I do prove her haggard,\\r\\nThough that her jesses were my dear heartstrings,\\r\\nI’d whistle her off, and let her down the wind\\r\\nTo prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black,\\r\\nAnd have not those soft parts of conversation\\r\\nThat chamberers have, or for I am declin’d\\r\\nInto the vale of years,—yet that’s not much—\\r\\nShe’s gone, I am abus’d, and my relief\\r\\nMust be to loathe her. O curse of marriage,\\r\\nThat we can call these delicate creatures ours,\\r\\nAnd not their appetites! I had rather be a toad,\\r\\nAnd live upon the vapour of a dungeon,\\r\\nThan keep a corner in the thing I love\\r\\nFor others’ uses. Yet, ’tis the plague of great ones,\\r\\nPrerogativ’d are they less than the base,\\r\\n’Tis destiny unshunnable, like death:\\r\\nEven then this forked plague is fated to us\\r\\nWhen we do quicken. Desdemona comes.\\r\\nIf she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself!\\r\\nI’ll not believe’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHow now, my dear Othello?\\r\\nYour dinner, and the generous islanders\\r\\nBy you invited, do attend your presence.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI am to blame.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy do you speak so faintly?\\r\\nAre you not well?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI have a pain upon my forehead here.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nFaith, that’s with watching, ’twill away again;\\r\\nLet me but bind it hard, within this hour\\r\\nIt will be well.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYour napkin is too little;\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He puts the handkerchief from him, and she drops it._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLet it alone. Come, I’ll go in with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI am very sorry that you are not well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Othello and Desdemona._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI am glad I have found this napkin;\\r\\nThis was her first remembrance from the Moor.\\r\\nMy wayward husband hath a hundred times\\r\\nWoo’d me to steal it. But she so loves the token,\\r\\nFor he conjur’d her she should ever keep it,\\r\\nThat she reserves it evermore about her\\r\\nTo kiss and talk to. I’ll have the work ta’en out,\\r\\nAnd give’t Iago. What he will do with it\\r\\nHeaven knows, not I,\\r\\nI nothing but to please his fantasy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHow now? What do you here alone?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nDo not you chide. I have a thing for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nA thing for me? It is a common thing—\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHa?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nTo have a foolish wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, is that all? What will you give me now\\r\\nFor that same handkerchief?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat handkerchief?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhat handkerchief?\\r\\nWhy, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona,\\r\\nThat which so often you did bid me steal.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHast stol’n it from her?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNo, faith, she let it drop by negligence,\\r\\nAnd, to the advantage, I being here, took ’t up.\\r\\nLook, here it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nA good wench, give it me.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhat will you do with’t, that you have been so earnest\\r\\nTo have me filch it?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Snatching it._] Why, what’s that to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIf it be not for some purpose of import,\\r\\nGive ’t me again. Poor lady, she’ll run mad\\r\\nWhen she shall lack it.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBe not acknown on’t, I have use for it.\\r\\nGo, leave me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI will in Cassio’s lodging lose this napkin,\\r\\nAnd let him find it. Trifles light as air\\r\\nAre to the jealous confirmations strong\\r\\nAs proofs of holy writ. This may do something.\\r\\nThe Moor already changes with my poison:\\r\\nDangerous conceits are in their natures poisons,\\r\\nWhich at the first are scarce found to distaste,\\r\\nBut with a little act upon the blood\\r\\nBurn like the mines of sulphur. I did say so.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook, where he comes. Not poppy, nor mandragora,\\r\\nNor all the drowsy syrups of the world,\\r\\nShall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep\\r\\nWhich thou ow’dst yesterday.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHa! ha! false to me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, how now, general? No more of that.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAvaunt! be gone! Thou hast set me on the rack.\\r\\nI swear ’tis better to be much abus’d\\r\\nThan but to know’t a little.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHow now, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat sense had I of her stol’n hours of lust?\\r\\nI saw’t not, thought it not, it harm’d not me.\\r\\nI slept the next night well, was free and merry;\\r\\nI found not Cassio’s kisses on her lips.\\r\\nHe that is robb’d, not wanting what is stol’n,\\r\\nLet him not know’t, and he’s not robb’d at all.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am sorry to hear this.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI had been happy if the general camp,\\r\\nPioners and all, had tasted her sweet body,\\r\\nSo I had nothing known. O, now, for ever\\r\\nFarewell the tranquil mind! Farewell content!\\r\\nFarewell the plumed troops and the big wars\\r\\nThat make ambition virtue! O, farewell,\\r\\nFarewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump,\\r\\nThe spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,\\r\\nThe royal banner, and all quality,\\r\\nPride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!\\r\\nAnd, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats\\r\\nThe immortal Jove’s dread clamours counterfeit,\\r\\nFarewell! Othello’s occupation’s gone!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIs’t possible, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nVillain, be sure thou prove my love a whore;\\r\\nBe sure of it. Give me the ocular proof,\\r\\nOr, by the worth of man’s eternal soul,\\r\\nThou hadst been better have been born a dog\\r\\nThan answer my wak’d wrath.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIs’t come to this?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nMake me to see’t, or at the least so prove it,\\r\\nThat the probation bear no hinge nor loop\\r\\nTo hang a doubt on, or woe upon thy life!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy noble lord,—\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIf thou dost slander her and torture me,\\r\\nNever pray more. Abandon all remorse;\\r\\nOn horror’s head horrors accumulate;\\r\\nDo deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz’d;\\r\\nFor nothing canst thou to damnation add\\r\\nGreater than that.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO grace! O heaven defend me!\\r\\nAre you a man? Have you a soul or sense?\\r\\nGod be wi’ you. Take mine office.—O wretched fool,\\r\\nThat liv’st to make thine honesty a vice!\\r\\nO monstrous world! Take note, take note, O world,\\r\\nTo be direct and honest is not safe.\\r\\nI thank you for this profit, and from hence\\r\\nI’ll love no friend, sith love breeds such offence.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNay, stay. Thou shouldst be honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI should be wise; for honesty’s a fool,\\r\\nAnd loses that it works for.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBy the world,\\r\\nI think my wife be honest, and think she is not.\\r\\nI think that thou art just, and think thou art not.\\r\\nI’ll have some proof: her name, that was as fresh\\r\\nAs Dian’s visage, is now begrim’d and black\\r\\nAs mine own face. If there be cords or knives,\\r\\nPoison or fire, or suffocating streams,\\r\\nI’ll not endure ’t. Would I were satisfied!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI see, sir, you are eaten up with passion.\\r\\nI do repent me that I put it to you.\\r\\nYou would be satisfied?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWould? Nay, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd may; but how? How satisfied, my lord?\\r\\nWould you, the supervisor, grossly gape on,\\r\\nBehold her topp’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDeath and damnation! O!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIt were a tedious difficulty, I think,\\r\\nTo bring them to that prospect. Damn them then,\\r\\nIf ever mortal eyes do see them bolster\\r\\nMore than their own! What then? How then?\\r\\nWhat shall I say? Where’s satisfaction?\\r\\nIt is impossible you should see this,\\r\\nWere they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys,\\r\\nAs salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross\\r\\nAs ignorance made drunk. But yet I say,\\r\\nIf imputation and strong circumstances,\\r\\nWhich lead directly to the door of truth,\\r\\nWill give you satisfaction, you may have’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGive me a living reason she’s disloyal.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI do not like the office,\\r\\nBut sith I am enter’d in this cause so far,\\r\\nPrick’d to ’t by foolish honesty and love,\\r\\nI will go on. I lay with Cassio lately,\\r\\nAnd being troubled with a raging tooth,\\r\\nI could not sleep.\\r\\nThere are a kind of men so loose of soul,\\r\\nThat in their sleeps will mutter their affairs.\\r\\nOne of this kind is Cassio:\\r\\nIn sleep I heard him say, “Sweet Desdemona,\\r\\nLet us be wary, let us hide our loves;”\\r\\nAnd then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand,\\r\\nCry “O sweet creature!” and then kiss me hard,\\r\\nAs if he pluck’d up kisses by the roots,\\r\\nThat grew upon my lips, then laid his leg\\r\\nOver my thigh, and sigh’d and kiss’d, and then\\r\\nCried “Cursed fate that gave thee to the Moor!”\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO monstrous! monstrous!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, this was but his dream.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBut this denoted a foregone conclusion.\\r\\n’Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd this may help to thicken other proofs\\r\\nThat do demonstrate thinly.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI’ll tear her all to pieces.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, but be wise. Yet we see nothing done,\\r\\nShe may be honest yet. Tell me but this,\\r\\nHave you not sometimes seen a handkerchief\\r\\nSpotted with strawberries in your wife’s hand?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI gave her such a one, ’twas my first gift.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI know not that: but such a handkerchief\\r\\n(I am sure it was your wife’s) did I today\\r\\nSee Cassio wipe his beard with.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIf it be that,—\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIf it be that, or any that was hers,\\r\\nIt speaks against her with the other proofs.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, that the slave had forty thousand lives!\\r\\nOne is too poor, too weak for my revenge!\\r\\nNow do I see ’tis true. Look here, Iago;\\r\\nAll my fond love thus do I blow to heaven.\\r\\n’Tis gone.\\r\\nArise, black vengeance, from thy hollow hell!\\r\\nYield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne\\r\\nTo tyrannous hate! Swell, bosom, with thy fraught,\\r\\nFor ’tis of aspics’ tongues!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYet be content.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, blood, Iago, blood!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nPatience, I say. Your mind perhaps may change.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNever, Iago. Like to the Pontic Sea,\\r\\nWhose icy current and compulsive course\\r\\nNe’er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on\\r\\nTo the Propontic and the Hellespont;\\r\\nEven so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace\\r\\nShall ne’er look back, ne’er ebb to humble love,\\r\\nTill that a capable and wide revenge\\r\\nSwallow them up. Now by yond marble heaven,\\r\\nIn the due reverence of a sacred vow [_Kneels._]\\r\\nI here engage my words.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo not rise yet. [_Kneels._]\\r\\nWitness, you ever-burning lights above,\\r\\nYou elements that clip us round about,\\r\\nWitness that here Iago doth give up\\r\\nThe execution of his wit, hands, heart,\\r\\nTo wrong’d Othello’s service! Let him command,\\r\\nAnd to obey shall be in me remorse,\\r\\nWhat bloody business ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They rise._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI greet thy love,\\r\\nNot with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous,\\r\\nAnd will upon the instant put thee to ’t.\\r\\nWithin these three days let me hear thee say\\r\\nThat Cassio’s not alive.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy friend is dead. ’Tis done at your request.\\r\\nBut let her live.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDamn her, lewd minx! O, damn her, damn her!\\r\\nCome, go with me apart, I will withdraw\\r\\nTo furnish me with some swift means of death\\r\\nFor the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am your own for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona, Emilia and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nDo you know, sirrah, where Lieutenant Cassio lies?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI dare not say he lies anywhere.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe’s a soldier; and for one to say a soldier lies is stabbing.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nGo to. Where lodges he?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTo tell you where he lodges is to tell you where I lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nCan anything be made of this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI know not where he lodges; and for me to devise a lodging, and say he\\r\\nlies here, or he lies there, were to lie in mine own throat.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nCan you inquire him out, and be edified by report?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI will catechize the world for him, that is, make questions and by them\\r\\nanswer.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nSeek him, bid him come hither. Tell him I have moved my lord on his\\r\\nbehalf, and hope all will be well.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTo do this is within the compass of man’s wit, and therefore I will\\r\\nattempt the doing it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhere should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI know not, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBelieve me, I had rather have lost my purse\\r\\nFull of crusadoes. And but my noble Moor\\r\\nIs true of mind and made of no such baseness\\r\\nAs jealous creatures are, it were enough\\r\\nTo put him to ill thinking.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIs he not jealous?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWho, he? I think the sun where he was born\\r\\nDrew all such humours from him.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nLook, where he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI will not leave him now till Cassio\\r\\nBe call’d to him. How is’t with you, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWell, my good lady. [_Aside._] O, hardness to dissemble!\\r\\nHow do you, Desdemona?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWell, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGive me your hand. This hand is moist, my lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIt yet hath felt no age nor known no sorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThis argues fruitfulness and liberal heart.\\r\\nHot, hot, and moist. This hand of yours requires\\r\\nA sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer,\\r\\nMuch castigation, exercise devout;\\r\\nFor here’s a young and sweating devil here\\r\\nThat commonly rebels. ’Tis a good hand,\\r\\nA frank one.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nYou may indeed say so,\\r\\nFor ’twas that hand that gave away my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nA liberal hand. The hearts of old gave hands,\\r\\nBut our new heraldry is hands, not hearts.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI cannot speak of this. Come now, your promise.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat promise, chuck?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI have a salt and sorry rheum offends me.\\r\\nLend me thy handkerchief.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHere, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat which I gave you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI have it not about me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNot?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, faith, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat is a fault. That handkerchief\\r\\nDid an Egyptian to my mother give.\\r\\nShe was a charmer, and could almost read\\r\\nThe thoughts of people. She told her, while she kept it,\\r\\n’Twould make her amiable and subdue my father\\r\\nEntirely to her love. But if she lost it,\\r\\nOr made a gift of it, my father’s eye\\r\\nShould hold her loathed, and his spirits should hunt\\r\\nAfter new fancies: she, dying, gave it me,\\r\\nAnd bid me, when my fate would have me wive,\\r\\nTo give it her. I did so; and take heed on’t,\\r\\nMake it a darling like your precious eye.\\r\\nTo lose’t or give’t away were such perdition\\r\\nAs nothing else could match.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n’Tis true. There’s magic in the web of it.\\r\\nA sibyl, that had number’d in the world\\r\\nThe sun to course two hundred compasses,\\r\\nIn her prophetic fury sew’d the work;\\r\\nThe worms were hallow’d that did breed the silk,\\r\\nAnd it was dyed in mummy, which the skillful\\r\\nConserv’d of maiden’s hearts.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIndeed? Is’t true?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nMost veritable, therefore look to ’t well.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThen would to God that I had never seen ’t!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHa? wherefore?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy do you speak so startingly and rash?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIs’t lost? is’t gone? speak, is it out of the way?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHeaven bless us!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nSay you?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIt is not lost, but what and if it were?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHow?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI say it is not lost.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFetch’t, let me see ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, so I can, sir, but I will not now.\\r\\nThis is a trick to put me from my suit.\\r\\nPray you, let Cassio be receiv’d again.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFetch me the handkerchief! My mind misgives.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nCome, come.\\r\\nYou’ll never meet a more sufficient man.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe handkerchief!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI pray, talk me of Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe handkerchief!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nA man that all his time\\r\\nHath founded his good fortunes on your love,\\r\\nShar’d dangers with you,—\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe handkerchief!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIn sooth, you are to blame.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAway!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIs not this man jealous?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI ne’er saw this before.\\r\\nSure there’s some wonder in this handkerchief,\\r\\nI am most unhappy in the loss of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n’Tis not a year or two shows us a man:\\r\\nThey are all but stomachs and we all but food;\\r\\nThey eat us hungerly, and when they are full,\\r\\nThey belch us.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio and Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook you, Cassio and my husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThere is no other way; ’tis she must do ’t,\\r\\nAnd, lo, the happiness! Go and importune her.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHow now, good Cassio, what’s the news with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMadam, my former suit: I do beseech you\\r\\nThat by your virtuous means I may again\\r\\nExist, and be a member of his love,\\r\\nWhom I, with all the office of my heart,\\r\\nEntirely honour. I would not be delay’d.\\r\\nIf my offence be of such mortal kind\\r\\nThat nor my service past, nor present sorrows,\\r\\nNor purpos’d merit in futurity,\\r\\nCan ransom me into his love again,\\r\\nBut to know so must be my benefit;\\r\\nSo shall I clothe me in a forc’d content,\\r\\nAnd shut myself up in some other course\\r\\nTo fortune’s alms.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas, thrice-gentle Cassio,\\r\\nMy advocation is not now in tune;\\r\\nMy lord is not my lord; nor should I know him\\r\\nWere he in favour as in humour alter’d.\\r\\nSo help me every spirit sanctified,\\r\\nAs I have spoken for you all my best,\\r\\nAnd stood within the blank of his displeasure\\r\\nFor my free speech! You must awhile be patient.\\r\\nWhat I can do I will; and more I will\\r\\nThan for myself I dare. Let that suffice you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIs my lord angry?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHe went hence but now,\\r\\nAnd certainly in strange unquietness.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCan he be angry? I have seen the cannon,\\r\\nWhen it hath blown his ranks into the air\\r\\nAnd, like the devil, from his very arm\\r\\nPuff’d his own brother, and can he be angry?\\r\\nSomething of moment then. I will go meet him.\\r\\nThere’s matter in’t indeed if he be angry.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI prithee do so.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Iago._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSomething sure of state,\\r\\nEither from Venice, or some unhatch’d practice\\r\\nMade demonstrable here in Cyprus to him,\\r\\nHath puddled his clear spirit, and in such cases\\r\\nMen’s natures wrangle with inferior things,\\r\\nThough great ones are their object. ’Tis even so.\\r\\nFor let our finger ache, and it indues\\r\\nOur other healthful members even to that sense\\r\\nOf pain. Nay, we must think men are not gods,\\r\\nNor of them look for such observancy\\r\\nAs fits the bridal. Beshrew me much, Emilia,\\r\\nI was (unhandsome warrior as I am)\\r\\nArraigning his unkindness with my soul;\\r\\nBut now I find I had suborn’d the witness,\\r\\nAnd he’s indicted falsely.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPray heaven it be state matters, as you think,\\r\\nAnd no conception nor no jealous toy\\r\\nConcerning you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas the day, I never gave him cause!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBut jealous souls will not be answer’d so;\\r\\nThey are not ever jealous for the cause,\\r\\nBut jealous for they are jealous: ’tis a monster\\r\\nBegot upon itself, born on itself.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHeaven keep that monster from Othello’s mind!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nLady, amen.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI will go seek him. Cassio, walk hereabout:\\r\\nIf I do find him fit, I’ll move your suit,\\r\\nAnd seek to effect it to my uttermost.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI humbly thank your ladyship.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nSave you, friend Cassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhat make you from home?\\r\\nHow is it with you, my most fair Bianca?\\r\\nI’ faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nAnd I was going to your lodging, Cassio.\\r\\nWhat, keep a week away? Seven days and nights?\\r\\nEight score eight hours, and lovers’ absent hours,\\r\\nMore tedious than the dial eight score times?\\r\\nO weary reckoning!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nPardon me, Bianca.\\r\\nI have this while with leaden thoughts been press’d,\\r\\nBut I shall in a more continuate time\\r\\nStrike off this score of absence. Sweet Bianca,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Giving her Desdemona’s handkerchief._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTake me this work out.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nO Cassio, whence came this?\\r\\nThis is some token from a newer friend.\\r\\nTo the felt absence now I feel a cause.\\r\\nIs’t come to this? Well, well.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nGo to, woman!\\r\\nThrow your vile guesses in the devil’s teeth,\\r\\nFrom whence you have them. You are jealous now\\r\\nThat this is from some mistress, some remembrance.\\r\\nNo, in good troth, Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhy, whose is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI know not neither. I found it in my chamber.\\r\\nI like the work well. Ere it be demanded,\\r\\nAs like enough it will, I’d have it copied.\\r\\nTake it, and do ’t, and leave me for this time.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nLeave you, wherefore?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI do attend here on the general,\\r\\nAnd think it no addition, nor my wish,\\r\\nTo have him see me woman’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhy, I pray you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nNot that I love you not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nBut that you do not love me.\\r\\nI pray you bring me on the way a little,\\r\\nAnd say if I shall see you soon at night.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Tis but a little way that I can bring you,\\r\\nFor I attend here. But I’ll see you soon.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\n’Tis very good; I must be circumstanc’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello and Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWill you think so?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThink so, Iago?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat,\\r\\nTo kiss in private?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAn unauthoriz’d kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nOr to be naked with her friend in bed\\r\\nAn hour or more, not meaning any harm?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNaked in bed, Iago, and not mean harm?\\r\\nIt is hypocrisy against the devil:\\r\\nThey that mean virtuously and yet do so,\\r\\nThe devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt heaven.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSo they do nothing, ’tis a venial slip.\\r\\nBut if I give my wife a handkerchief—\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat then?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy then, ’tis hers, my lord, and being hers,\\r\\nShe may, I think, bestow’t on any man.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nShe is protectress of her honour too.\\r\\nMay she give that?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHer honour is an essence that’s not seen;\\r\\nThey have it very oft that have it not:\\r\\nBut for the handkerchief—\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBy heaven, I would most gladly have forgot it.\\r\\nThou said’st (O, it comes o’er my memory,\\r\\nAs doth the raven o’er the infected house,\\r\\nBoding to all) he had my handkerchief.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAy, what of that?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat’s not so good now.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat\\r\\nIf I had said I had seen him do you wrong?\\r\\nOr heard him say (as knaves be such abroad,\\r\\nWho having, by their own importunate suit,\\r\\nOr voluntary dotage of some mistress,\\r\\nConvinced or supplied them, cannot choose\\r\\nBut they must blab.)\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHath he said anything?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHe hath, my lord, but be you well assur’d,\\r\\nNo more than he’ll unswear.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat hath he said?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFaith, that he did—I know not what he did.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat? What?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLie.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWith her?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWith her, on her, what you will.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nLie with her! lie on her!—We say lie on her when they belie her.—Lie\\r\\nwith her! that’s fulsome. Handkerchief—confessions—handkerchief! To\\r\\nconfess, and be hanged for his labour. First, to be hanged, and then to\\r\\nconfess. I tremble at it. Nature would not invest herself in such\\r\\nshadowing passion without some instruction. It is not words that shake\\r\\nme thus. Pish! Noses, ears, and lips. Is’t\\r\\npossible?—Confess?—handkerchief?—O devil!—\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Falls in a trance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWork on,\\r\\nMy medicine, work! Thus credulous fools are caught,\\r\\nAnd many worthy and chaste dames even thus,\\r\\nAll guiltless, meet reproach. What, ho! my lord!\\r\\nMy lord, I say! Othello!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Cassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy lord is fallen into an epilepsy.\\r\\nThis is his second fit. He had one yesterday.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nRub him about the temples.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNo, forbear;\\r\\nThe lethargy must have his quiet course.\\r\\nIf not, he foams at mouth, and by and by\\r\\nBreaks out to savage madness. Look, he stirs:\\r\\nDo you withdraw yourself a little while,\\r\\nHe will recover straight. When he is gone,\\r\\nI would on great occasion speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Cassio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow is it, general? Have you not hurt your head?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDost thou mock me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI mock you? No, by heaven.\\r\\nWould you would bear your fortune like a man!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nA horned man’s a monster and a beast.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThere’s many a beast, then, in a populous city,\\r\\nAnd many a civil monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDid he confess it?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGood sir, be a man.\\r\\nThink every bearded fellow that’s but yok’d\\r\\nMay draw with you. There’s millions now alive\\r\\nThat nightly lie in those unproper beds\\r\\nWhich they dare swear peculiar: your case is better.\\r\\nO, ’tis the spite of hell, the fiend’s arch-mock,\\r\\nTo lip a wanton in a secure couch,\\r\\nAnd to suppose her chaste! No, let me know,\\r\\nAnd knowing what I am, I know what she shall be.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, thou art wise, ’tis certain.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nStand you awhile apart,\\r\\nConfine yourself but in a patient list.\\r\\nWhilst you were here o’erwhelmed with your grief,\\r\\n(A passion most unsuiting such a man)\\r\\nCassio came hither. I shifted him away,\\r\\nAnd laid good ’scuse upon your ecstasy,\\r\\nBade him anon return, and here speak with me,\\r\\nThe which he promis’d. Do but encave yourself,\\r\\nAnd mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable scorns,\\r\\nThat dwell in every region of his face;\\r\\nFor I will make him tell the tale anew,\\r\\nWhere, how, how oft, how long ago, and when\\r\\nHe hath, and is again to cope your wife:\\r\\nI say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience,\\r\\nOr I shall say you are all in all in spleen,\\r\\nAnd nothing of a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDost thou hear, Iago?\\r\\nI will be found most cunning in my patience;\\r\\nBut,—dost thou hear?—most bloody.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThat’s not amiss.\\r\\nBut yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Othello withdraws._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow will I question Cassio of Bianca,\\r\\nA housewife that by selling her desires\\r\\nBuys herself bread and clothes: it is a creature\\r\\nThat dotes on Cassio, (as ’tis the strumpet’s plague\\r\\nTo beguile many and be beguil’d by one.)\\r\\nHe, when he hears of her, cannot refrain\\r\\nFrom the excess of laughter. Here he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs he shall smile Othello shall go mad,\\r\\nAnd his unbookish jealousy must construe\\r\\nPoor Cassio’s smiles, gestures, and light behaviour\\r\\nQuite in the wrong. How do you now, lieutenant?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThe worser that you give me the addition\\r\\nWhose want even kills me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nPly Desdemona well, and you are sure on’t.\\r\\n[_Speaking lower._] Now, if this suit lay in Bianca’s power,\\r\\nHow quickly should you speed!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAlas, poor caitiff!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Look how he laughs already!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI never knew a woman love man so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAlas, poor rogue! I think, i’ faith, she loves me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Now he denies it faintly and laughs it out.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo you hear, Cassio?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNow he importunes him\\r\\nTo tell it o’er. Go to, well said, well said.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShe gives it out that you shall marry her.\\r\\nDo you intend it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHa, ha, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDo you triumph, Roman? Do you triumph?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI marry her? What? A customer? I prithee, bear some charity to my wit,\\r\\ndo not think it so unwholesome. Ha, ha, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nSo, so, so, so. They laugh that wins.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFaith, the cry goes that you shall marry her.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nPrithee say true.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am a very villain else.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHave you scored me? Well.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThis is the monkey’s own giving out. She is persuaded I will marry her,\\r\\nout of her own love and flattery, not out of my promise.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIago beckons me. Now he begins the story.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nShe was here even now. She haunts me in every place. I was the other\\r\\nday talking on the sea-bank with certain Venetians, and thither comes\\r\\nthe bauble, and falls thus about my neck.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nCrying, “O dear Cassio!” as it were: his gesture imports it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nSo hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon me; so hales and pulls me. Ha, ha,\\r\\nha!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNow he tells how she plucked him to my chamber. O, I see that nose of\\r\\nyours, but not that dog I shall throw it to.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWell, I must leave her company.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBefore me! look where she comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Tis such another fitchew! Marry, a perfum’d one.\\r\\nWhat do you mean by this haunting of me?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nLet the devil and his dam haunt you! What did you mean by that same\\r\\nhandkerchief you gave me even now? I was a fine fool to take it. I must\\r\\ntake out the work? A likely piece of work, that you should find it in\\r\\nyour chamber and not know who left it there! This is some minx’s token,\\r\\nand I must take out the work? There, give it your hobby-horse.\\r\\nWheresoever you had it, I’ll take out no work on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHow now, my sweet Bianca? How now, how now?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBy heaven, that should be my handkerchief!\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nIf you’ll come to supper tonight, you may. If you will not, come when\\r\\nyou are next prepared for.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAfter her, after her.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nFaith, I must; she’ll rail in the street else.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWill you sup there?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nFaith, I intend so.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWell, I may chance to see you, for I would very fain speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nPrithee come, will you?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGo to; say no more.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Cassio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_Coming forward._] How shall I murder him, Iago?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDid you perceive how he laughed at his vice?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO Iago!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd did you see the handkerchief?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWas that mine?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYours, by this hand: and to see how he prizes the foolish woman your\\r\\nwife! she gave it him, and he hath given it his whore.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI would have him nine years a-killing. A fine woman, a fair woman, a\\r\\nsweet woman!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, you must forget that.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, let her rot, and perish, and be damned tonight, for she shall not\\r\\nlive. No, my heart is turned to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my\\r\\nhand. O, the world hath not a sweeter creature. She might lie by an\\r\\nemperor’s side, and command him tasks.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, that’s not your way.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHang her, I do but say what she is. So delicate with her needle, an\\r\\nadmirable musician! O, she will sing the savageness out of a bear! Of\\r\\nso high and plenteous wit and invention!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShe’s the worse for all this.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, a thousand, a thousand times: and then of so gentle a condition!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAy, too gentle.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNay, that’s certain. But yet the pity of it, Iago! O Iago, the pity of\\r\\nit, Iago!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIf you are so fond over her iniquity, give her patent to offend, for if\\r\\nit touch not you, it comes near nobody.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI will chop her into messes. Cuckold me!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, ’tis foul in her.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWith mine officer!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThat’s fouler.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGet me some poison, Iago; this night. I’ll not expostulate with her,\\r\\nlest her body and beauty unprovide my mind again. This night, Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo it not with poison, strangle her in her bed, even the bed she hath\\r\\ncontaminated.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGood, good. The justice of it pleases. Very good.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd for Cassio, let me be his undertaker. You shall hear more by\\r\\nmidnight.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nExcellent good. [_A trumpet within._] What trumpet is that same?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lodovico, Desdemona and Attendant.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSomething from Venice, sure. ’Tis Lodovico\\r\\nCome from the duke. See, your wife is with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nSave you, worthy general!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWith all my heart, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nThe duke and senators of Venice greet you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Gives him a packet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI kiss the instrument of their pleasures.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Opens the packet and reads._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAnd what’s the news, good cousin Lodovico?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am very glad to see you, signior.\\r\\nWelcome to Cyprus.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nI thank you. How does Lieutenant Cassio?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLives, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nCousin, there’s fall’n between him and my lord\\r\\nAn unkind breach, but you shall make all well.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAre you sure of that?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_Reads._] “This fail you not to do, as you will—”\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nHe did not call; he’s busy in the paper.\\r\\nIs there division ’twixt my lord and Cassio?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nA most unhappy one. I would do much\\r\\nTo atone them, for the love I bear to Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFire and brimstone!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAre you wise?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat, is he angry?\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nMay be the letter mov’d him;\\r\\nFor, as I think, they do command him home,\\r\\nDeputing Cassio in his government.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nTrust me, I am glad on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIndeed!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI am glad to see you mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, sweet Othello?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDevil!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Striking her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI have not deserv’d this.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nMy lord, this would not be believ’d in Venice,\\r\\nThough I should swear I saw’t: ’tis very much.\\r\\nMake her amends. She weeps.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO devil, devil!\\r\\nIf that the earth could teem with woman’s tears,\\r\\nEach drop she falls would prove a crocodile.\\r\\nOut of my sight!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI will not stay to offend you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Going._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nTruly, an obedient lady.\\r\\nI do beseech your lordship, call her back.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nMistress!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat would you with her, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWho, I, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, you did wish that I would make her turn.\\r\\nSir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on,\\r\\nAnd turn again. And she can weep, sir, weep;\\r\\nAnd she’s obedient, as you say, obedient,\\r\\nVery obedient. Proceed you in your tears.\\r\\nConcerning this, sir,—O well-painted passion!\\r\\nI am commanded home.—Get you away;\\r\\nI’ll send for you anon.—Sir, I obey the mandate,\\r\\nAnd will return to Venice.—Hence, avaunt!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Desdemona._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCassio shall have my place. And, sir, tonight,\\r\\nI do entreat that we may sup together.\\r\\nYou are welcome, sir, to Cyprus. Goats and monkeys!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nIs this the noble Moor, whom our full senate\\r\\nCall all in all sufficient? Is this the nature\\r\\nWhom passion could not shake? whose solid virtue\\r\\nThe shot of accident nor dart of chance\\r\\nCould neither graze nor pierce?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHe is much chang’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nAre his wits safe? Is he not light of brain?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHe’s that he is. I may not breathe my censure\\r\\nWhat he might be. If what he might he is not,\\r\\nI would to heaven he were!\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWhat, strike his wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFaith, that was not so well; yet would I knew\\r\\nThat stroke would prove the worst!\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nIs it his use?\\r\\nOr did the letters work upon his blood,\\r\\nAnd new-create this fault?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAlas, alas!\\r\\nIt is not honesty in me to speak\\r\\nWhat I have seen and known. You shall observe him,\\r\\nAnd his own courses will denote him so\\r\\nThat I may save my speech: do but go after,\\r\\nAnd mark how he continues.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nI am sorry that I am deceiv’d in him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYou have seen nothing, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNor ever heard, nor ever did suspect.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYes, you have seen Cassio and she together.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBut then I saw no harm, and then I heard\\r\\nEach syllable that breath made up between them.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat, did they never whisper?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNever, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNor send you out o’ the way?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNever.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nTo fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor nothing?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNever, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat’s strange.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI durst, my lord, to wager she is honest,\\r\\nLay down my soul at stake: if you think other,\\r\\nRemove your thought, it doth abuse your bosom.\\r\\nIf any wretch have put this in your head,\\r\\nLet heaven requite it with the serpent’s curse,\\r\\nFor if she be not honest, chaste, and true,\\r\\nThere’s no man happy. The purest of their wives\\r\\nIs foul as slander.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBid her come hither. Go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nShe says enough. Yet she’s a simple bawd\\r\\nThat cannot say as much. This is a subtle whore,\\r\\nA closet lock and key of villainous secrets.\\r\\nAnd yet she’ll kneel and pray. I have seen her do ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord, what is your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nPray, chuck, come hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat is your pleasure?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nLet me see your eyes.\\r\\nLook in my face.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat horrible fancy’s this?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_To Emilia._] Some of your function, mistress,\\r\\nLeave procreants alone, and shut the door.\\r\\nCough, or cry hem, if anybody come.\\r\\nYour mystery, your mystery. Nay, dispatch.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nUpon my knees, what doth your speech import?\\r\\nI understand a fury in your words,\\r\\nBut not the words.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy, what art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nYour wife, my lord, your true and loyal wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nCome, swear it, damn thyself,\\r\\nLest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves\\r\\nShould fear to seize thee. Therefore be double-damn’d.\\r\\nSwear thou art honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHeaven doth truly know it.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHeaven truly knows that thou art false as hell.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nTo whom, my lord? With whom? How am I false?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO Desdemona, away! away! away!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas the heavy day, why do you weep?\\r\\nAm I the motive of these tears, my lord?\\r\\nIf haply you my father do suspect\\r\\nAn instrument of this your calling back,\\r\\nLay not your blame on me. If you have lost him,\\r\\nWhy, I have lost him too.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHad it pleas’d heaven\\r\\nTo try me with affliction, had they rain’d\\r\\nAll kinds of sores and shames on my bare head,\\r\\nSteep’d me in poverty to the very lips,\\r\\nGiven to captivity me and my utmost hopes,\\r\\nI should have found in some place of my soul\\r\\nA drop of patience. But, alas, to make me\\r\\nA fixed figure for the time of scorn\\r\\nTo point his slow unmoving finger at.\\r\\nYet could I bear that too, well, very well:\\r\\nBut there, where I have garner’d up my heart,\\r\\nWhere either I must live or bear no life,\\r\\nThe fountain from the which my current runs,\\r\\nOr else dries up, to be discarded thence,\\r\\nOr keep it as a cistern for foul toads\\r\\nTo knot and gender in!—turn thy complexion there,\\r\\nPatience, thou young and rose-lipp’d cherubin,\\r\\nAy, there, look grim as hell!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI hope my noble lord esteems me honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, ay, as summer flies are in the shambles,\\r\\nThat quicken even with blowing. O thou weed,\\r\\nWho art so lovely fair, and smell’st so sweet,\\r\\nThat the sense aches at thee,\\r\\nWould thou hadst ne’er been born!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas, what ignorant sin have I committed?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWas this fair paper, this most goodly book,\\r\\nMade to write “whore” upon? What committed?\\r\\nCommitted! O thou public commoner!\\r\\nI should make very forges of my cheeks,\\r\\nThat would to cinders burn up modesty,\\r\\nDid I but speak thy deeds. What committed!\\r\\nHeaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks;\\r\\nThe bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets,\\r\\nIs hush’d within the hollow mine of earth,\\r\\nAnd will not hear it. What committed!\\r\\nImpudent strumpet!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBy heaven, you do me wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAre not you a strumpet?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, as I am a Christian:\\r\\nIf to preserve this vessel for my lord\\r\\nFrom any other foul unlawful touch\\r\\nBe not to be a strumpet, I am none.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat, not a whore?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, as I shall be sav’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, heaven forgive us!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI cry you mercy then.\\r\\nI took you for that cunning whore of Venice\\r\\nThat married with Othello.—You, mistress,\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nThat have the office opposite to Saint Peter,\\r\\nAnd keeps the gate of hell. You, you, ay, you!\\r\\nWe have done our course; there’s money for your pains.\\r\\nI pray you turn the key, and keep our counsel.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAlas, what does this gentleman conceive?\\r\\nHow do you, madam? How do you, my good lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nFaith, half asleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nGood madam, what’s the matter with my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWith who?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhy, with my lord, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWho is thy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHe that is yours, sweet lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI have none. Do not talk to me, Emilia,\\r\\nI cannot weep, nor answer have I none\\r\\nBut what should go by water. Prithee, tonight\\r\\nLay on my bed my wedding sheets, remember,\\r\\nAnd call thy husband hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHere’s a change indeed!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\n’Tis meet I should be us’d so, very meet.\\r\\nHow have I been behav’d, that he might stick\\r\\nThe small’st opinion on my least misuse?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat is your pleasure, madam? How is’t with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI cannot tell. Those that do teach young babes\\r\\nDo it with gentle means and easy tasks.\\r\\nHe might have chid me so, for, in good faith,\\r\\nI am a child to chiding.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter, lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAlas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhor’d her,\\r\\nThrown such despite and heavy terms upon her,\\r\\nAs true hearts cannot bear.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAm I that name, Iago?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat name, fair lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nSuch as she says my lord did say I was.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHe call’d her whore: a beggar in his drink\\r\\nCould not have laid such terms upon his callet.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy did he so?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI do not know. I am sure I am none such.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo not weep, do not weep: alas the day!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHath she forsook so many noble matches,\\r\\nHer father, and her country, and her friends,\\r\\nTo be call’d whore? would it not make one weep?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIt is my wretched fortune.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBeshrew him for’t!\\r\\nHow comes this trick upon him?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNay, heaven doth know.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI will be hang’d, if some eternal villain,\\r\\nSome busy and insinuating rogue,\\r\\nSome cogging, cozening slave, to get some office,\\r\\nHave not devis’d this slander. I’ll be hang’d else.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFie, there is no such man. It is impossible.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIf any such there be, heaven pardon him!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nA halter pardon him, and hell gnaw his bones!\\r\\nWhy should he call her whore? who keeps her company?\\r\\nWhat place? what time? what form? what likelihood?\\r\\nThe Moor’s abused by some most villainous knave,\\r\\nSome base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow.\\r\\nO heaven, that such companions thou’dst unfold,\\r\\nAnd put in every honest hand a whip\\r\\nTo lash the rascals naked through the world\\r\\nEven from the east to the west!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSpeak within door.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, fie upon them! Some such squire he was\\r\\nThat turn’d your wit the seamy side without,\\r\\nAnd made you to suspect me with the Moor.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou are a fool. Go to.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas, Iago,\\r\\nWhat shall I do to win my lord again?\\r\\nGood friend, go to him. For by this light of heaven,\\r\\nI know not how I lost him. Here I kneel.\\r\\nIf e’er my will did trespass ’gainst his love,\\r\\nEither in discourse of thought or actual deed,\\r\\nOr that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense,\\r\\nDelighted them in any other form,\\r\\nOr that I do not yet, and ever did,\\r\\nAnd ever will, (though he do shake me off\\r\\nTo beggarly divorcement) love him dearly,\\r\\nComfort forswear me! Unkindness may do much;\\r\\nAnd his unkindness may defeat my life,\\r\\nBut never taint my love. I cannot say “whore,”\\r\\nIt does abhor me now I speak the word;\\r\\nTo do the act that might the addition earn\\r\\nNot the world’s mass of vanity could make me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI pray you, be content. ’Tis but his humour.\\r\\nThe business of the state does him offence,\\r\\nAnd he does chide with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIf ’twere no other,—\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n’Tis but so, I warrant.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Trumpets within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHark, how these instruments summon to supper.\\r\\nThe messengers of Venice stay the meat.\\r\\nGo in, and weep not. All things shall be well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Roderigo?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI do not find that thou dealest justly with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat in the contrary?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nEvery day thou daffest me with some device, Iago, and rather, as it\\r\\nseems to me now, keepest from me all conveniency than suppliest me with\\r\\nthe least advantage of hope. I will indeed no longer endure it. Nor am\\r\\nI yet persuaded to put up in peace what already I have foolishly\\r\\nsuffered.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWill you hear me, Roderigo?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nFaith, I have heard too much, for your words and performances are no\\r\\nkin together.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou charge me most unjustly.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWith naught but truth. I have wasted myself out of my means. The jewels\\r\\nyou have had from me to deliver to Desdemona would half have corrupted\\r\\na votarist: you have told me she hath received them, and returned me\\r\\nexpectations and comforts of sudden respect and acquaintance, but I\\r\\nfind none.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWell, go to, very well.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nVery well, go to, I cannot go to, man, nor ’tis not very well. Nay, I\\r\\nsay ’tis very scurvy, and begin to find myself fopped in it.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nVery well.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI tell you ’tis not very well. I will make myself known to Desdemona.\\r\\nIf she will return me my jewels, I will give over my suit and repent my\\r\\nunlawful solicitation. If not, assure yourself I will seek satisfaction\\r\\nof you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou have said now.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nAy, and said nothing but what I protest intendment of doing.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, now I see there’s mettle in thee, and even from this instant do\\r\\nbuild on thee a better opinion than ever before. Give me thy hand,\\r\\nRoderigo. Thou hast taken against me a most just exception, but yet I\\r\\nprotest, I have dealt most directly in thy affair.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nIt hath not appeared.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI grant indeed it hath not appeared, and your suspicion is not without\\r\\nwit and judgement. But, Roderigo, if thou hast that in thee indeed,\\r\\nwhich I have greater reason to believe now than ever,—I mean purpose,\\r\\ncourage, and valour,—this night show it. If thou the next night\\r\\nfollowing enjoy not Desdemona, take me from this world with treachery\\r\\nand devise engines for my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWell, what is it? Is it within reason and compass?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSir, there is especial commission come from Venice to depute Cassio in\\r\\nOthello’s place.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nIs that true? Why then Othello and Desdemona return again to Venice.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, no; he goes into Mauritania, and takes away with him the fair\\r\\nDesdemona, unless his abode be lingered here by some accident: wherein\\r\\nnone can be so determinate as the removing of Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nHow do you mean “removing” of him?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, by making him uncapable of Othello’s place: knocking out his\\r\\nbrains.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nAnd that you would have me to do?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAy, if you dare do yourself a profit and a right. He sups tonight with\\r\\na harlotry, and thither will I go to him. He knows not yet of his\\r\\nhonourable fortune. If you will watch his going thence, which I will\\r\\nfashion to fall out between twelve and one, you may take him at your\\r\\npleasure: I will be near to second your attempt, and he shall fall\\r\\nbetween us. Come, stand not amazed at it, but go along with me. I will\\r\\nshow you such a necessity in his death that you shall think yourself\\r\\nbound to put it on him. It is now high supper-time, and the night grows\\r\\nto waste. About it.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI will hear further reason for this.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd you shall be satisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Cyprus. Another Room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Emilia and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nI do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no further.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, pardon me; ’twill do me good to walk.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nMadam, good night. I humbly thank your ladyship.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nYour honour is most welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWill you walk, sir?—\\r\\nO, Desdemona,—\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGet you to bed on th’ instant, I will be return’d forthwith. Dismiss\\r\\nyour attendant there. Look ’t be done.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Othello, Lodovico and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHow goes it now? He looks gentler than he did.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHe says he will return incontinent,\\r\\nHe hath commanded me to go to bed,\\r\\nAnd bade me to dismiss you.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nDismiss me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIt was his bidding. Therefore, good Emilia,\\r\\nGive me my nightly wearing, and adieu.\\r\\nWe must not now displease him.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI would you had never seen him!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nSo would not I. My love doth so approve him,\\r\\nThat even his stubbornness, his checks, his frowns,—\\r\\nPrithee, unpin me,—have grace and favour in them.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI have laid those sheets you bade me on the bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAll’s one. Good faith, how foolish are our minds!\\r\\nIf I do die before thee, prithee, shroud me\\r\\nIn one of those same sheets.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nCome, come, you talk.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy mother had a maid call’d Barbary,\\r\\nShe was in love, and he she lov’d prov’d mad\\r\\nAnd did forsake her. She had a song of “willow”,\\r\\nAn old thing ’twas, but it express’d her fortune,\\r\\nAnd she died singing it. That song tonight\\r\\nWill not go from my mind. I have much to do\\r\\nBut to go hang my head all at one side\\r\\nAnd sing it like poor Barbary. Prithee dispatch.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nShall I go fetch your night-gown?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, unpin me here.\\r\\nThis Lodovico is a proper man.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nA very handsome man.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHe speaks well.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot to Palestine for a\\r\\ntouch of his nether lip.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\n[_Singing._]\\r\\n _The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,\\r\\n Sing all a green willow.\\r\\n Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,\\r\\n Sing willow, willow, willow.\\r\\n The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur’d her moans,\\r\\n Sing willow, willow, willow;\\r\\n Her salt tears fell from her, and soften’d the stones;—_\\r\\n\\r\\nLay by these:—\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n _Sing willow, willow, willow._\\r\\n\\r\\nPrithee hie thee. He’ll come anon.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n _Sing all a green willow must be my garland.\\r\\nLet nobody blame him, his scorn I approve,—_\\r\\n\\r\\nNay, that’s not next. Hark! who is’t that knocks?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIt’s the wind.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n _I call’d my love false love; but what said he then?\\r\\n Sing willow, willow, willow:\\r\\n If I court mo women, you’ll couch with mo men._\\r\\n\\r\\nSo get thee gone; good night. Mine eyes do itch;\\r\\nDoth that bode weeping?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n’Tis neither here nor there.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI have heard it said so. O, these men, these men!\\r\\nDost thou in conscience think,—tell me, Emilia,—\\r\\nThat there be women do abuse their husbands\\r\\nIn such gross kind?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThere be some such, no question.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhy, would not you?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, by this heavenly light!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNor I neither by this heavenly light,\\r\\nI might do’t as well i’ the dark.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThe world’s a huge thing. It is a great price\\r\\nFor a small vice.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIn troth, I think thou wouldst not.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIn troth, I think I should, and undo’t when I had done. Marry, I would\\r\\nnot do such a thing for a joint-ring, nor for measures of lawn, nor for\\r\\ngowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor any petty exhibition; but, for the\\r\\nwhole world—why, who would not make her husband a cuckold to make him a\\r\\nmonarch? I should venture purgatory for ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBeshrew me, if I would do such a wrong for the whole world.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhy, the wrong is but a wrong i’ the world; and having the world for\\r\\nyour labour, ’tis a wrong in your own world, and you might quickly make\\r\\nit right.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI do not think there is any such woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYes, a dozen; and as many to the vantage as would store the world they\\r\\nplayed for.\\r\\nBut I do think it is their husbands’ faults\\r\\nIf wives do fall: say that they slack their duties,\\r\\nAnd pour our treasures into foreign laps;\\r\\nOr else break out in peevish jealousies,\\r\\nThrowing restraint upon us. Or say they strike us,\\r\\nOr scant our former having in despite.\\r\\nWhy, we have galls; and though we have some grace,\\r\\nYet have we some revenge. Let husbands know\\r\\nTheir wives have sense like them: they see, and smell\\r\\nAnd have their palates both for sweet and sour,\\r\\nAs husbands have. What is it that they do\\r\\nWhen they change us for others? Is it sport?\\r\\nI think it is. And doth affection breed it?\\r\\nI think it doth. Is’t frailty that thus errs?\\r\\nIt is so too. And have not we affections,\\r\\nDesires for sport, and frailty, as men have?\\r\\nThen let them use us well: else let them know,\\r\\nThe ills we do, their ills instruct us so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nGood night, good night. Heaven me such usage send,\\r\\nNot to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Cyprus. A Street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago and Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHere, stand behind this bulk. Straight will he come.\\r\\nWear thy good rapier bare, and put it home.\\r\\nQuick, quick, fear nothing; I’ll be at thy elbow.\\r\\nIt makes us, or it mars us, think on that,\\r\\nAnd fix most firm thy resolution.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nBe near at hand, I may miscarry in ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHere, at thy hand. Be bold, and take thy stand.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Retires to a little distance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI have no great devotion to the deed;\\r\\nAnd yet he hath given me satisfying reasons.\\r\\n’Tis but a man gone. Forth, my sword; he dies.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Goes to his stand._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI have rubb’d this young quat almost to the sense,\\r\\nAnd he grows angry. Now, whether he kill Cassio,\\r\\nOr Cassio him, or each do kill the other,\\r\\nEvery way makes my gain. Live Roderigo,\\r\\nHe calls me to a restitution large\\r\\nOf gold and jewels that I bobb’d from him,\\r\\nAs gifts to Desdemona.\\r\\nIt must not be. If Cassio do remain,\\r\\nHe hath a daily beauty in his life\\r\\nThat makes me ugly. And besides, the Moor\\r\\nMay unfold me to him; there stand I in much peril.\\r\\nNo, he must die. But so, I hear him coming.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI know his gait; ’tis he. Villain, thou diest!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Rushes out, and makes a pass at Cassio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThat thrust had been mine enemy indeed,\\r\\nBut that my coat is better than thou know’st.\\r\\nI will make proof of thine.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Draws, and wounds Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nO, I am slain!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Iago rushes from his post, cuts Cassio behind in the leg, and\\r\\n exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI am maim’d forever. Help, ho! murder, murder!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Falls._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe voice of Cassio. Iago keeps his word.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nO, villain that I am!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIt is even so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nO, help, ho! light! a surgeon!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n’Tis he. O brave Iago, honest and just,\\r\\nThat hast such noble sense of thy friend’s wrong!\\r\\nThou teachest me,—minion, your dear lies dead,\\r\\nAnd your unbless’d fate hies. Strumpet, I come!\\r\\nForth of my heart those charms, thine eyes, are blotted;\\r\\nThy bed, lust-stain’d, shall with lust’s blood be spotted.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lodovico and Gratiano.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhat, ho! No watch? No passage? murder, murder!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\n’Tis some mischance; the cry is very direful.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nO, help!\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nHark!\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nO wretched villain!\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nTwo or three groan. It is a heavy night.\\r\\nThese may be counterfeits. Let’s think’t unsafe\\r\\nTo come in to the cry without more help.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nNobody come? Then shall I bleed to death.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago with a light.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nHark!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nHere’s one comes in his shirt, with light and weapons.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWho’s there? Whose noise is this that cries on murder?\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWe do not know.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDid not you hear a cry?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHere, here! for heaven’s sake, help me!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nThis is Othello’s ancient, as I take it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nThe same indeed, a very valiant fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat are you here that cry so grievously?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nIago? O, I am spoil’d, undone by villains!\\r\\nGive me some help.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO me, lieutenant! What villains have done this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI think that one of them is hereabout,\\r\\nAnd cannot make away.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO treacherous villains!\\r\\n[_To Lodovico and Gratiano._] What are you there?\\r\\nCome in and give some help.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nO, help me here!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThat’s one of them.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO murderous slave! O villain!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Stabs Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nO damn’d Iago! O inhuman dog!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nKill men i’ the dark! Where be these bloody thieves?\\r\\nHow silent is this town! Ho! murder! murder!\\r\\nWhat may you be? Are you of good or evil?\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nAs you shall prove us, praise us.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSignior Lodovico?\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nHe, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI cry you mercy. Here’s Cassio hurt by villains.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nCassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHow is’t, brother?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMy leg is cut in two.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMarry, heaven forbid!\\r\\nLight, gentlemen, I’ll bind it with my shirt.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhat is the matter, ho? Who is’t that cried?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWho is’t that cried?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nO my dear Cassio, my sweet Cassio! O Cassio, Cassio, Cassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO notable strumpet! Cassio, may you suspect\\r\\nWho they should be that have thus mangled you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nI am sorry to find you thus; I have been to seek you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLend me a garter. So.—O, for a chair,\\r\\nTo bear him easily hence!\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nAlas, he faints! O Cassio, Cassio, Cassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGentlemen all, I do suspect this trash\\r\\nTo be a party in this injury.\\r\\nPatience awhile, good Cassio. Come, come;\\r\\nLend me a light. Know we this face or no?\\r\\nAlas, my friend and my dear countryman\\r\\nRoderigo? No. Yes, sure; O heaven! Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWhat, of Venice?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nEven he, sir. Did you know him?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nKnow him? Ay.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSignior Gratiano? I cry you gentle pardon.\\r\\nThese bloody accidents must excuse my manners,\\r\\nThat so neglected you.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nI am glad to see you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHow do you, Cassio? O, a chair, a chair!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nRoderigo!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHe, he, ’tis he.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A chair brought in._]\\r\\n\\r\\nO, that’s well said; the chair.\\r\\nSome good man bear him carefully from hence,\\r\\nI’ll fetch the general’s surgeon. [_To Bianca_] For you, mistress,\\r\\nSave you your labour. He that lies slain here, Cassio,\\r\\nWas my dear friend. What malice was between you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nNone in the world. Nor do I know the man.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_To Bianca._] What, look you pale?—O, bear him out o’ the air.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Cassio and Roderigo are borne off._]\\r\\n\\r\\nStay you, good gentlemen.—Look you pale, mistress?\\r\\nDo you perceive the gastness of her eye?\\r\\nNay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon.\\r\\nBehold her well. I pray you, look upon her.\\r\\nDo you see, gentlemen? Nay, guiltiness will speak\\r\\nThough tongues were out of use.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n’Las, what’s the matter? What’s the matter, husband?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCassio hath here been set on in the dark\\r\\nBy Roderigo, and fellows that are ’scap’d.\\r\\nHe’s almost slain, and Roderigo dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAlas, good gentleman! alas, good Cassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThis is the fruit of whoring. Prithee, Emilia,\\r\\nGo know of Cassio where he supp’d tonight.\\r\\nWhat, do you shake at that?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nHe supp’d at my house, but I therefore shake not.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, did he so? I charge you go with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nFie, fie upon thee, strumpet!\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nI am no strumpet, but of life as honest\\r\\nAs you that thus abuse me.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAs I? Foh! fie upon thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nKind gentlemen, let’s go see poor Cassio dress’d.\\r\\nCome, mistress, you must tell’s another tale.\\r\\nEmilia, run you to the citadel,\\r\\nAnd tell my lord and lady what hath happ’d.\\r\\nWill you go on afore? [_Aside._] This is the night\\r\\nThat either makes me or fordoes me quite.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Cyprus. A Bedchamber in the castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nDesdemona in bed asleep; a light burning.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIt is the cause, it is the cause, my soul,\\r\\nLet me not name it to you, you chaste stars!\\r\\nIt is the cause. Yet I’ll not shed her blood,\\r\\nNor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow,\\r\\nAnd smooth as monumental alabaster.\\r\\nYet she must die, else she’ll betray more men.\\r\\nPut out the light, and then put out the light:\\r\\nIf I quench thee, thou flaming minister,\\r\\nI can again thy former light restore,\\r\\nShould I repent me. But once put out thy light,\\r\\nThou cunning’st pattern of excelling nature,\\r\\nI know not where is that Promethean heat\\r\\nThat can thy light relume. When I have pluck’d thy rose,\\r\\nI cannot give it vital growth again,\\r\\nIt must needs wither. I’ll smell it on the tree.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kissing her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nO, balmy breath, that dost almost persuade\\r\\nJustice to break her sword! One more, one more.\\r\\nBe thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,\\r\\nAnd love thee after. One more, and this the last.\\r\\nSo sweet was ne’er so fatal. I must weep,\\r\\nBut they are cruel tears. This sorrow’s heavenly,\\r\\nIt strikes where it doth love. She wakes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWho’s there? Othello?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, Desdemona.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWill you come to bed, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHave you pray’d tonight, Desdemona?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAy, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIf you bethink yourself of any crime\\r\\nUnreconcil’d as yet to heaven and grace,\\r\\nSolicit for it straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlack, my lord, what may you mean by that?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWell, do it, and be brief, I will walk by.\\r\\nI would not kill thy unprepared spirit,\\r\\nNo, heaven forfend! I would not kill thy soul.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nTalk you of killing?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, I do.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThen heaven have mercy on me!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAmen, with all my heart!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIf you say so, I hope you will not kill me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHum!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAnd yet I fear you, for you are fatal then\\r\\nWhen your eyes roll so: why I should fear I know not,\\r\\nSince guiltiness I know not, but yet I feel I fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThink on thy sins.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThey are loves I bear to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, and for that thou diest.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThat death’s unnatural that kills for loving.\\r\\nAlas, why gnaw you so your nether lip?\\r\\nSome bloody passion shakes your very frame.\\r\\nThese are portents; but yet I hope, I hope,\\r\\nThey do not point on me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nPeace, and be still!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI will so. What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat handkerchief which I so loved and gave thee,\\r\\nThou gav’st to Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, by my life and soul!\\r\\nSend for the man and ask him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nSweet soul, take heed, take heed of perjury,\\r\\nThou’rt on thy death-bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAy, but not yet to die.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYes, presently:\\r\\nTherefore confess thee freely of thy sin.\\r\\nFor to deny each article with oath\\r\\nCannot remove nor choke the strong conception\\r\\nThat I do groan withal. Thou art to die.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThen, Lord have mercy on me!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI say, amen.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAnd have you mercy too! I never did\\r\\nOffend you in my life,\\t never lov’d Cassio\\r\\nBut with such general warranty of heaven\\r\\nAs I might love. I never gave him token.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBy heaven, I saw my handkerchief in ’s hand.\\r\\nO perjur’d woman, thou dost stone my heart,\\r\\nAnd mak’st me call what I intend to do\\r\\nA murder, which I thought a sacrifice.\\r\\nI saw the handkerchief.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHe found it then.\\r\\nI never gave it him. Send for him hither.\\r\\nLet him confess a truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHe hath confess’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat he hath us’d thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHow? Unlawfully?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHe will not say so.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNo, his mouth is stopp’d.\\r\\nHonest Iago hath ta’en order for ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, my fear interprets! What, is he dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHad all his hairs been lives, my great revenge\\r\\nHad stomach for them all.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas, he is betray’d, and I undone!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nOut, strumpet! Weep’st thou for him to my face?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, banish me, my lord, but kill me not!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDown, strumpet!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nKill me tomorrow, let me live tonight!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNay, if you strive,—\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBut half an hour!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBeing done, there is no pause.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBut while I say one prayer!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIt is too late.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Smothers her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n[_Within._] My lord, my lord! what, ho! my lord, my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat noise is this? Not dead? Not yet quite dead?\\r\\nI that am cruel am yet merciful,\\r\\nI would not have thee linger in thy pain.\\r\\nSo, so.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n[_Within._] What, ho! my lord, my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWho’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n[_Within._] O, good my lord, I would speak a word with you!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYes. ’Tis Emilia, by and by. She’s dead.\\r\\n’Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio’s death;\\r\\nThe noise was high.—Ha! no more moving?\\r\\nStill as the grave. Shall she come in? Were’t good?\\r\\nI think she stirs again; no. What’s best to do?\\r\\nIf she come in, she’ll sure speak to my wife.\\r\\nMy wife! my wife! what wife? I have no wife.\\r\\nO, insupportable! O heavy hour!\\r\\nMethinks it should be now a huge eclipse\\r\\nOf sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe\\r\\nShould yawn at alteration.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n[_Within._] I do beseech you\\r\\nThat I may speak with you, O, good my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI had forgot thee: O, come in, Emilia.\\r\\nSoft, by and by; let me the curtains draw.\\r\\nWhere art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Unlocks the door._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat’s the matter with thee now?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, my good lord, yonder’s foul murders done!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat, now?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBut now, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIt is the very error of the moon,\\r\\nShe comes more nearer earth than she was wont\\r\\nAnd makes men mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nCassio, my lord, hath kill’d a young Venetian\\r\\nCall’d Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nRoderigo kill’d?\\r\\nAnd Cassio kill’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNo, Cassio is not kill’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNot Cassio kill’d! Then murder’s out of tune,\\r\\nAnd sweet revenge grows harsh.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, falsely, falsely murder’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAlas, what cry is that?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat? What?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nOut, and alas! That was my lady’s voice.\\r\\nHelp! help, ho! help! O lady, speak again,\\r\\nSweet Desdemona! O sweet mistress, speak!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nA guiltless death I die.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, who hath done this deed?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNobody; I myself. Farewell.\\r\\nCommend me to my kind lord. O, farewell!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_She dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy, how should she be murder’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAlas, who knows?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYou heard her say herself, it was not I.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nShe said so. I must needs report the truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nShe’s like a liar, gone to burning hell.\\r\\n’Twas I that kill’d her.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, the more angel she,\\r\\nAnd you the blacker devil!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nShe turn’d to folly, and she was a whore.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThou dost belie her, and thou art a devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nShe was false as water.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThou art rash as fire, to say\\r\\nThat she was false: O, she was heavenly true!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nCassio did top her; ask thy husband else.\\r\\nO, I were damn’d beneath all depth in hell,\\r\\nBut that I did proceed upon just grounds\\r\\nTo this extremity. Thy husband knew it all.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMy husband?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThy husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat she was false to wedlock?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, with Cassio. Nay, had she been true,\\r\\nIf heaven would make me such another world\\r\\nOf one entire and perfect chrysolite,\\r\\nI’d not have sold her for it.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMy husband?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, ’twas he that told me first.\\r\\nAn honest man he is, and hates the slime\\r\\nThat sticks on filthy deeds.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMy husband?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat needs this iterance, woman? I say thy husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO mistress, villainy hath made mocks with love!\\r\\nMy husband say that she was false?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHe, woman;\\r\\nI say thy husband: dost understand the word?\\r\\nMy friend, thy husband, honest, honest Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIf he say so, may his pernicious soul\\r\\nRot half a grain a day! he lies to the heart.\\r\\nShe was too fond of her most filthy bargain.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHa!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nDo thy worst:\\r\\nThis deed of thine is no more worthy heaven\\r\\nThan thou wast worthy her.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nPeace, you were best.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThou hast not half that power to do me harm\\r\\nAs I have to be hurt. O gull! O dolt!\\r\\nAs ignorant as dirt! Thou hast done a deed\\r\\n(I care not for thy sword) I’ll make thee known,\\r\\nThough I lost twenty lives. Help! help, ho! help!\\r\\nThe Moor hath kill’d my mistress! Murder, murder!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Montano, Gratiano and Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nWhat is the matter? How now, general?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, are you come, Iago? You have done well,\\r\\nThat men must lay their murders on your neck.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWhat is the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nDisprove this villain, if thou be’st a man.\\r\\nHe says thou told’st him that his wife was false.\\r\\nI know thou didst not, thou’rt not such a villain.\\r\\nSpeak, for my heart is full.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI told him what I thought, and told no more\\r\\nThan what he found himself was apt and true.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBut did you ever tell him she was false?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI did.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYou told a lie, an odious, damned lie;\\r\\nUpon my soul, a lie; a wicked lie.\\r\\nShe false with Cassio? Did you say with Cassio?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWith Cassio, mistress. Go to, charm your tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI will not charm my tongue; I am bound to speak.\\r\\nMy mistress here lies murder’d in her bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nO heavens forfend!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAnd your reports have set the murder on.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNay, stare not, masters, it is true indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\n’Tis a strange truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nO monstrous act!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nVillany, villany, villany!\\r\\nI think upon’t, I think I smell’t; O villany!\\r\\nI thought so then. I’ll kill myself for grief.\\r\\nO villany, villany!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat, are you mad? I charge you, get you home.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nGood gentlemen, let me have leave to speak.\\r\\n’Tis proper I obey him, but not now.\\r\\nPerchance, Iago, I will ne’er go home.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO! O! O!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Hanging over his wife._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNay, lay thee down and roar;\\r\\nFor thou hast kill’d the sweetest innocent\\r\\nThat e’er did lift up eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_Rising._] O, she was foul!\\r\\nI scarce did know you, uncle, there lies your niece,\\r\\nWhose breath indeed these hands have newly stopp’d.\\r\\nI know this act shows horrible and grim.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nPoor Desdemona! I am glad thy father’s dead.\\r\\nThy match was mortal to him, and pure grief\\r\\nShore his old thread in twain: did he live now,\\r\\nThis sight would make him do a desperate turn,\\r\\nYea, curse his better angel from his side,\\r\\nAnd fall to reprobance.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n’Tis pitiful. But yet Iago knows\\r\\nThat she with Cassio hath the act of shame\\r\\nA thousand times committed; Cassio confess’d it,\\r\\nAnd she did gratify his amorous works\\r\\nWith that recognizance and pledge of love\\r\\nWhich I first gave her; I saw it in his hand.\\r\\nIt was a handkerchief, an antique token\\r\\nMy father gave my mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO heaven! O heavenly powers!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCome, hold your peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n’Twill out, ’twill out. I peace?\\r\\nNo, I will speak as liberal as the north.\\r\\nLet heaven and men and devils, let them all,\\r\\nAll, all, cry shame against me, yet I’ll speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBe wise, and get you home.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI will not.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Iago offers to stab his wife._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nFie!\\r\\nYour sword upon a woman?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO thou dull Moor, that handkerchief thou speak’st of\\r\\nI found by fortune and did give my husband;\\r\\nFor often with a solemn earnestness,\\r\\nMore than indeed belong’d to such a trifle,\\r\\nHe begg’d of me to steal it.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nVillanous whore!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nShe give it Cassio! no, alas, I found it,\\r\\nAnd I did give’t my husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFilth, thou liest!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBy heaven, I do not, I do not, gentlemen.\\r\\nO murderous coxcomb! What should such a fool\\r\\nDo with so good a wife?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO\\r\\nAre there not stones in heaven\\r\\nBut what serve for thunder? Precious villain!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Iago stabs Emilia and then runs out._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nThe woman falls. Sure, he hath kill’d his wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAy, ay. O, lay me by my mistress’ side.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nHe’s gone, but his wife’s kill’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\n’Tis a notorious villain. Take you this weapon,\\r\\nWhich I have here recover’d from the Moor.\\r\\nCome, guard the door without, let him not pass,\\r\\nBut kill him rather. I’ll after that same villain,\\r\\nFor ’tis a damned slave.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Montano and Gratiano._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI am not valiant neither,\\r\\nBut every puny whipster gets my sword.\\r\\nBut why should honour outlive honesty?\\r\\nLet it go all.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhat did thy song bode, lady?\\r\\nHark, canst thou hear me? I will play the swan,\\r\\nAnd die in music.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Willow, willow, willow._\\r\\nMoor, she was chaste. She lov’d thee, cruel Moor,\\r\\nSo come my soul to bliss, as I speak true;\\r\\nSo speaking as I think, I die, I die.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_She dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI have another weapon in this chamber,\\r\\nIt is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook’s temper.\\r\\nO, here it is. Uncle, I must come forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\n[_Within._] If thou attempt it, it will cost thee dear;\\r\\nThou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nLook in upon me then, and speak with me,\\r\\nOr, naked as I am, I will assault thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gratiano.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWhat is the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBehold, I have a weapon.\\r\\nA better never did itself sustain\\r\\nUpon a soldier’s thigh: I have seen the day\\r\\nThat with this little arm and this good sword\\r\\nI have made my way through more impediments\\r\\nThan twenty times your stop. But, O vain boast!\\r\\nWho can control his fate? ’Tis not so now.\\r\\nBe not afraid, though you do see me weapon’d.\\r\\nHere is my journey’s end, here is my butt,\\r\\nAnd very sea-mark of my utmost sail.\\r\\nDo you go back dismay’d? ’Tis a lost fear.\\r\\nMan but a rush against Othello’s breast,\\r\\nAnd he retires. Where should Othello go?\\r\\nNow, how dost thou look now? O ill-starr’d wench,\\r\\nPale as thy smock, when we shall meet at compt,\\r\\nThis look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven,\\r\\nAnd fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl!\\r\\nEven like thy chastity.\\r\\nO cursed, cursed slave! Whip me, ye devils,\\r\\nFrom the possession of this heavenly sight!\\r\\nBlow me about in winds, roast me in sulphur,\\r\\nWash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire!\\r\\nO Desdemon! Dead, Desdemon! dead! Oh, oh!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lodovico, Montano, Cassio carried in a chair, and Officers with\\r\\n Iago prisoner.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWhere is this rash and most unfortunate man?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat’s he that was Othello. Here I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWhere is that viper? Bring the villain forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI look down towards his feet; but that’s a fable.\\r\\nIf that thou be’st a devil, I cannot kill thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Wounds Iago._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWrench his sword from him.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI bleed, sir, but not kill’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI am not sorry neither. I’d have thee live,\\r\\nFor in my sense ’tis happiness to die.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nO thou Othello, that wert once so good,\\r\\nFall’n in the practice of a damned slave,\\r\\nWhat shall be said to thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy, anything;\\r\\nAn honourable murderer, if you will.\\r\\nFor naught did I in hate, but all in honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nThis wretch hath part confess’d his villany.\\r\\nDid you and he consent in Cassio’s death?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nDear general, I never gave you cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI do believe it, and I ask your pardon.\\r\\nWill you, I pray, demand that demi-devil\\r\\nWhy he hath thus ensnar’d my soul and body?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDemand me nothing. What you know, you know.\\r\\nFrom this time forth I never will speak word.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWhat, not to pray?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nTorments will ope your lips.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWell, thou dost best.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nSir, you shall understand what hath befall’n,\\r\\nWhich, as I think, you know not. Here is a letter\\r\\nFound in the pocket of the slain Roderigo,\\r\\nAnd here another. The one of them imports\\r\\nThe death of Cassio, to be undertook\\r\\nBy Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO villain!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMost heathenish and most gross!\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nNow here’s another discontented paper,\\r\\nFound in his pocket too; and this, it seems,\\r\\nRoderigo meant to have sent this damned villain,\\r\\nBut that, belike, Iago in the interim\\r\\nCame in and satisfied him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO the pernicious caitiff!\\r\\nHow came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief\\r\\nThat was my wife’s?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI found it in my chamber.\\r\\nAnd he himself confess’d but even now,\\r\\nThat there he dropp’d it for a special purpose\\r\\nWhich wrought to his desire.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO fool! fool! fool!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThere is besides in Roderigo’s letter,\\r\\nHow he upbraids Iago, that he made him\\r\\nBrave me upon the watch, whereon it came\\r\\nThat I was cast. And even but now he spake,\\r\\nAfter long seeming dead, Iago hurt him,\\r\\nIago set him on.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nYou must forsake this room, and go with us.\\r\\nYour power and your command is taken off,\\r\\nAnd Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave,\\r\\nIf there be any cunning cruelty\\r\\nThat can torment him much and hold him long,\\r\\nIt shall be his. You shall close prisoner rest,\\r\\nTill that the nature of your fault be known\\r\\nTo the Venetian state. Come, bring away.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nSoft you; a word or two before you go.\\r\\nI have done the state some service, and they know’t.\\r\\nNo more of that. I pray you, in your letters,\\r\\nWhen you shall these unlucky deeds relate,\\r\\nSpeak of me as I am. Nothing extenuate,\\r\\nNor set down aught in malice. Then must you speak\\r\\nOf one that loved not wisely, but too well;\\r\\nOf one not easily jealous, but being wrought,\\r\\nPerplex’d in the extreme; of one whose hand,\\r\\nLike the base Judean, threw a pearl away\\r\\nRicher than all his tribe; of one whose subdu’d eyes,\\r\\nAlbeit unused to the melting mood,\\r\\nDrop tears as fast as the Arabian trees\\r\\nTheir medicinal gum. Set you down this.\\r\\nAnd say besides, that in Aleppo once,\\r\\nWhere a malignant and a turban’d Turk\\r\\nBeat a Venetian and traduc’d the state,\\r\\nI took by the throat the circumcised dog,\\r\\nAnd smote him, thus.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Stabs himself._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nO bloody period!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nAll that’s spoke is marr’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI kiss’d thee ere I kill’d thee. No way but this,\\r\\nKilling myself, to die upon a kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Falling upon Desdemona._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThis did I fear, but thought he had no weapon,\\r\\nFor he was great of heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\n[_To Iago._] O Spartan dog,\\r\\nMore fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea,\\r\\nLook on the tragic loading of this bed.\\r\\nThis is thy work. The object poisons sight,\\r\\nLet it be hid. Gratiano, keep the house,\\r\\nAnd seize upon the fortunes of the Moor,\\r\\nFor they succeed on you. To you, lord governor,\\r\\nRemains the censure of this hellish villain.\\r\\nThe time, the place, the torture, O, enforce it!\\r\\nMyself will straight aboard, and to the state\\r\\nThis heavy act with heavy heart relate.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nChorus. Before the palace of Antioch.\\r\\nScene I. Antioch. A room in the palace.\\r\\nScene II. Tyre. A room in the palace.\\r\\nScene III. Tyre. An ante-chamber in the Palace.\\r\\nScene IV. Tarsus. A room in the Governor’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nChorus. Chorus.\\r\\nScene I. Pentapolis. An open place by the seaside.\\r\\nScene II. The same. A public way, or platform leading to the lists.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A hall of state: a banquet prepared.\\r\\nScene IV. Tyre. A room in the Governor’s house.\\r\\nScene V. Pentapolis. A room in the palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nChorus. Chorus.\\r\\nScene I. On shipboard.\\r\\nScene II. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon’s house.\\r\\nScene III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon’s house.\\r\\nScene IV. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nChorus. Chorus.\\r\\nScene I. Tarsus. An open place near the seashore.\\r\\nScene II. Mytilene. A room in a brothel.\\r\\nScene III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon’s house.\\r\\nScene IV. Before the monument of Marina at Tarsus.\\r\\nScene V. Mytilene. A street before the brothel.\\r\\nScene VI. The same. A room in the brothel.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nChorus. Chorus.\\r\\nScene I. On board Pericles’ ship, off Mytilene.\\r\\nScene II. Before the temple of Diana at Ephesus.\\r\\nScene III. The temple of Diana at Ephesus.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS, king of Antioch.\\r\\nPERICLES, prince of Tyre.\\r\\nHELICANUS, ESCANES, two lords of Tyre.\\r\\nSIMONIDES, king of Pentapolis.\\r\\nCLEON, governor of Tarsus.\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS, governor of Mytilene.\\r\\nCERIMON, a lord of Ephesus.\\r\\nTHALIARD, a lord of Antioch.\\r\\nPHILEMON, servant to Cerimon.\\r\\nLEONINE, servant to Dionyza.\\r\\nMarshal.\\r\\nA Pandar.\\r\\nBOULT, his servant.\\r\\nThe Daughter of Antiochus.\\r\\nDIONYZA, wife to Cleon.\\r\\nTHAISA, daughter to Simonides.\\r\\nMARINA, daughter to Pericles and Thaisa.\\r\\nLYCHORIDA, nurse to Marina.\\r\\nA Bawd.\\r\\nLords, Knights, Gentlemen, Sailors, Pirates, Fishermen, and Messengers.\\r\\nDIANA.\\r\\nGOWER, as Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Dispersedly in various countries.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\n Before the palace of Antioch.\\r\\n\\r\\nTo sing a song that old was sung,\\r\\nFrom ashes ancient Gower is come;\\r\\nAssuming man’s infirmities,\\r\\nTo glad your ear, and please your eyes.\\r\\nIt hath been sung at festivals,\\r\\nOn ember-eves and holy-ales;\\r\\nAnd lords and ladies in their lives\\r\\nHave read it for restoratives:\\r\\nThe purchase is to make men glorious,\\r\\n_Et bonum quo antiquius eo melius._\\r\\nIf you, born in these latter times,\\r\\nWhen wit’s more ripe, accept my rhymes,\\r\\nAnd that to hear an old man sing\\r\\nMay to your wishes pleasure bring,\\r\\nI life would wish, and that I might\\r\\nWaste it for you, like taper-light.\\r\\nThis Antioch, then, Antiochus the Great\\r\\nBuilt up, this city, for his chiefest seat;\\r\\nThe fairest in all Syria.\\r\\nI tell you what mine authors say:\\r\\nThis king unto him took a fere,\\r\\nWho died and left a female heir,\\r\\nSo buxom, blithe, and full of face,\\r\\nAs heaven had lent her all his grace;\\r\\nWith whom the father liking took,\\r\\nAnd her to incest did provoke.\\r\\nBad child; worse father! to entice his own\\r\\nTo evil should be done by none:\\r\\nBut custom what they did begin\\r\\nWas with long use account’d no sin.\\r\\nThe beauty of this sinful dame\\r\\nMade many princes thither frame,\\r\\nTo seek her as a bedfellow,\\r\\nIn marriage pleasures playfellow:\\r\\nWhich to prevent he made a law,\\r\\nTo keep her still, and men in awe,\\r\\nThat whoso ask’d her for his wife,\\r\\nHis riddle told not, lost his life:\\r\\nSo for her many a wight did die,\\r\\nAs yon grim looks do testify.\\r\\nWhat now ensues, to the judgement your eye\\r\\nI give, my cause who best can justify.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Antioch. A room in the palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antiochus, Prince Pericles and followers.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nYoung prince of Tyre, you have at large received\\r\\nThe danger of the task you undertake.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI have, Antiochus, and, with a soul\\r\\nEmboldened with the glory of her praise,\\r\\nThink death no hazard in this enterprise.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nMusic! Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride,\\r\\nFor the embracements even of Jove himself;\\r\\nAt whose conception, till Lucina reigned,\\r\\nNature this dowry gave, to glad her presence,\\r\\nThe senate house of planets all did sit,\\r\\nTo knit in her their best perfections.\\r\\n\\r\\n Music. Enter the Daughter of Antiochus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nSee where she comes, apparell’d like the spring,\\r\\nGraces her subjects, and her thoughts the king\\r\\nOf every virtue gives renown to men!\\r\\nHer face the book of praises, where is read\\r\\nNothing but curious pleasures, as from thence\\r\\nSorrow were ever razed, and testy wrath\\r\\nCould never be her mild companion.\\r\\nYou gods that made me man, and sway in love,\\r\\nThat have inflamed desire in my breast\\r\\nTo taste the fruit of yon celestial tree,\\r\\nOr die in the adventure, be my helps,\\r\\nAs I am son and servant to your will,\\r\\nTo compass such a boundless happiness!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nPrince Pericles, —\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThat would be son to great Antiochus.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nBefore thee stands this fair Hesperides,\\r\\nWith golden fruit, but dangerous to be touch’d;\\r\\nFor death-like dragons here affright thee hard:\\r\\nHer face, like heaven, enticeth thee to view\\r\\nHer countless glory, which desert must gain;\\r\\nAnd which, without desert, because thine eye\\r\\nPresumes to reach, all the whole heap must die.\\r\\nYon sometimes famous princes, like thyself,\\r\\nDrawn by report, adventurous by desire,\\r\\nTell thee, with speechless tongues and semblance pale,\\r\\nThat without covering, save yon field of stars,\\r\\nHere they stand Martyrs, slain in Cupid’s wars;\\r\\nAnd with dead cheeks advise thee to desist\\r\\nFor going on death’s net, whom none resist.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAntiochus, I thank thee, who hath taught\\r\\nMy frail mortality to know itself,\\r\\nAnd by those fearful objects to prepare\\r\\nThis body, like to them, to what I must;\\r\\nFor death remember’d should be like a mirror,\\r\\nWho tells us life’s but breath, to trust it error.\\r\\nI’ll make my will then, and, as sick men do\\r\\nWho know the world, see heaven, but, feeling woe,\\r\\nGripe not at earthly joys as erst they did;\\r\\nSo I bequeath a happy peace to you\\r\\nAnd all good men, as every prince should do;\\r\\nMy riches to the earth from whence they came;\\r\\n[_To the daughter of Antiochus._] But my unspotted fire of love to you.\\r\\nThus ready for the way of life or death,\\r\\nI wait the sharpest blow, Antiochus.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nScorning advice, read the conclusion, then:\\r\\nWhich read and not expounded, ’tis decreed,\\r\\nAs these before thee thou thyself shalt bleed.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nOf all ’ssayed yet, mayst thou prove prosperous!\\r\\nOf all ’ssayed yet, I wish thee happiness!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES\\r\\nLike a bold champion, I assume the lists,\\r\\nNor ask advice of any other thought\\r\\nBut faithfulness and courage.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He reads the riddle._]\\r\\n\\r\\n _I am no viper, yet I feed\\r\\n On mother’s flesh which did me breed.\\r\\n I sought a husband, in which labour\\r\\n I found that kindness in a father:\\r\\n He’s father, son, and husband mild;\\r\\n I mother, wife, and yet his child.\\r\\n How they may be, and yet in two,\\r\\n As you will live resolve it you._\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSharp physic is the last: but, O you powers\\r\\nThat give heaven countless eyes to view men’s acts,\\r\\nWhy cloud they not their sights perpetually,\\r\\nIf this be true, which makes me pale to read it?\\r\\nFair glass of light, I loved you, and could still,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Takes hold of the hand of the Princess._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWere not this glorious casket stored with ill:\\r\\nBut I must tell you, now my thoughts revolt;\\r\\nFor he’s no man on whom perfections wait\\r\\nThat, knowing sin within, will touch the gate,\\r\\nYou are a fair viol, and your sense the strings;\\r\\nWho, finger’d to make man his lawful music,\\r\\nWould draw heaven down, and all the gods to hearken;\\r\\nBut being play’d upon before your time,\\r\\nHell only danceth at so harsh a chime.\\r\\nGood sooth, I care not for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nPrince Pericles, touch not, upon thy life,\\r\\nFor that’s an article within our law,\\r\\nAs dangerous as the rest. Your time’s expired:\\r\\nEither expound now, or receive your sentence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nGreat king,\\r\\nFew love to hear the sins they love to act;\\r\\n’Twould braid yourself too near for me to tell it.\\r\\nWho has a book of all that monarchs do,\\r\\nHe’s more secure to keep it shut than shown:\\r\\nFor vice repeated is like the wandering wind,\\r\\nBlows dust in others’ eyes, to spread itself;\\r\\nAnd yet the end of all is bought thus dear,\\r\\nThe breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear.\\r\\nTo stop the air would hurt them. The blind mole casts\\r\\nCopp’d hills towards heaven, to tell the earth is throng’d\\r\\nBy man’s oppression; and the poor worm doth die for’t.\\r\\nKind are earth’s gods; in vice their law’s their will;\\r\\nAnd if Jove stray, who dares say Jove doth ill?\\r\\nIt is enough you know; and it is fit,\\r\\nWhat being more known grows worse, to smother it.\\r\\nAll love the womb that their first bred,\\r\\nThen give my tongue like leave to love my head.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\n[_Aside_] Heaven, that I had thy head! He has found the meaning:\\r\\nBut I will gloze with him. — Young prince of Tyre.\\r\\nThough by the tenour of our strict edict,\\r\\nYour exposition misinterpreting,\\r\\nWe might proceed to cancel of your days;\\r\\nYet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree\\r\\nAs your fair self, doth tune us otherwise:\\r\\nForty days longer we do respite you;\\r\\nIf by which time our secret be undone,\\r\\nThis mercy shows we’ll joy in such a son:\\r\\nAnd until then your entertain shall be\\r\\nAs doth befit our honour and your worth.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Pericles._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHow courtesy would seem to cover sin,\\r\\nWhen what is done is like an hypocrite,\\r\\nThe which is good in nothing but in sight!\\r\\nIf it be true that I interpret false,\\r\\nThen were it certain you were not so bad\\r\\nAs with foul incest to abuse your soul;\\r\\nWhere now you’re both a father and a son,\\r\\nBy your untimely claspings with your child,\\r\\nWhich pleasures fits a husband, not a father;\\r\\nAnd she an eater of her mother’s flesh,\\r\\nBy the defiling of her parent’s bed;\\r\\nAnd both like serpents are, who though they feed\\r\\nOn sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed.\\r\\nAntioch, farewell! for wisdom sees, those men\\r\\nBlush not in actions blacker than the night,\\r\\nWill ’schew no course to keep them from the light.\\r\\nOne sin, I know, another doth provoke;\\r\\nMurder’s as near to lust as flame to smoke:\\r\\nPoison and treason are the hands of sin,\\r\\nAy, and the targets, to put off the shame:\\r\\nThen, lest my life be cropp’d to keep you clear,\\r\\nBy flight I’ll shun the danger which I fear.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Antiochus.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nHe hath found the meaning,\\r\\nFor which we mean to have his head.\\r\\nHe must not live to trumpet forth my infamy,\\r\\nNor tell the world Antiochus doth sin\\r\\nIn such a loathed manner;\\r\\nAnd therefore instantly this prince must die;\\r\\nFor by his fall my honour must keep high.\\r\\nWho attends us there?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thaliard.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\nDoth your highness call?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nThaliard, you are of our chamber,\\r\\nAnd our mind partakes her private actions\\r\\nTo your secrecy; and for your faithfulness\\r\\nWe will advance you. Thaliard,\\r\\nBehold, here’s poison, and here’s gold;\\r\\nWe hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill him:\\r\\nIt fits thee not to ask the reason why,\\r\\nBecause we bid it. Say, is it done?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\nMy lord, ’tis done.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nEnough.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nLet your breath cool yourself, telling your haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nMy lord, Prince Pericles is fled.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nAs thou wilt live, fly after: and like an arrow shot\\r\\nFrom a well-experienced archer hits the mark\\r\\nHis eye doth level at, so thou ne’er return\\r\\nUnless thou say ‘Prince Pericles is dead.’\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\nMy lord, if I can get him within my pistol’s length, I’ll make him sure\\r\\nenough: so, farewell to your highness.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nThaliard! adieu!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Thaliard._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTill Pericles be dead,\\r\\nMy heart can lend no succour to my head.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Tyre. A room in the palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles with his Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_To Lords without._] Let none disturb us. — Why should this change of\\r\\nthoughts,\\r\\nThe sad companion, dull-eyed melancholy,\\r\\nBe my so used a guest as not an hour\\r\\nIn the day’s glorious walk or peaceful night,\\r\\nThe tomb where grief should sleep, can breed me quiet?\\r\\nHere pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes shun them,\\r\\nAnd danger, which I fear’d, is at Antioch,\\r\\nWhose arm seems far too short to hit me here:\\r\\nYet neither pleasure’s art can joy my spirits,\\r\\nNor yet the other’s distance comfort me.\\r\\nThen it is thus: the passions of the mind,\\r\\nThat have their first conception by misdread,\\r\\nHave after-nourishment and life by care;\\r\\nAnd what was first but fear what might be done,\\r\\nGrows elder now and cares it be not done.\\r\\nAnd so with me: the great Antiochus,\\r\\n’Gainst whom I am too little to contend,\\r\\nSince he’s so great can make his will his act,\\r\\nWill think me speaking, though I swear to silence;\\r\\nNor boots it me to say I honour him.\\r\\nIf he suspect I may dishonour him:\\r\\nAnd what may make him blush in being known,\\r\\nHe’ll stop the course by which it might be known;\\r\\nWith hostile forces he’ll o’erspread the land,\\r\\nAnd with the ostent of war will look so huge,\\r\\nAmazement shall drive courage from the state;\\r\\nOur men be vanquish’d ere they do resist,\\r\\nAnd subjects punish’d that ne’er thought offence:\\r\\nWhich care of them, not pity of myself,\\r\\nWho am no more but as the tops of trees,\\r\\nWhich fence the roots they grow by and defend them,\\r\\nMakes both my body pine and soul to languish,\\r\\nAnd punish that before that he would punish.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Helicanus with other Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nJoy and all comfort in your sacred breast!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\nAnd keep your mind, till you return to us,\\r\\nPeaceful and comfortable!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nPeace, peace, and give experience tongue.\\r\\nThey do abuse the king that flatter him:\\r\\nFor flattery is the bellows blows up sin;\\r\\nThe thing the which is flatter’d, but a spark,\\r\\nTo which that spark gives heat and stronger glowing:\\r\\nWhereas reproof, obedient and in order,\\r\\nFits kings, as they are men, for they may err.\\r\\nWhen Signior Sooth here does proclaim peace,\\r\\nHe flatters you, makes war upon your life.\\r\\nPrince, pardon me, or strike me, if you please;\\r\\nI cannot be much lower than my knees.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAll leave us else, but let your cares o’erlook\\r\\nWhat shipping and what lading’s in our haven,\\r\\nAnd then return to us.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lords._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHelicanus, thou\\r\\nHast moved us: what seest thou in our looks?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nAn angry brow, dread lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nIf there be such a dart in princes’ frowns,\\r\\nHow durst thy tongue move anger to our face?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nHow dares the plants look up to heaven, from whence\\r\\nThey have their nourishment?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThou know’st I have power\\r\\nTo take thy life from thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS. [_Kneeling._]\\r\\nI have ground the axe myself;\\r\\nDo but you strike the blow.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nRise, prithee, rise.\\r\\nSit down: thou art no flatterer:\\r\\nI thank thee for it; and heaven forbid\\r\\nThat kings should let their ears hear their faults hid!\\r\\nFit counsellor and servant for a prince,\\r\\nWho by thy wisdom makest a prince thy servant,\\r\\nWhat wouldst thou have me do?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nTo bear with patience\\r\\nSuch griefs as you yourself do lay upon yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThou speak’st like a physician, Helicanus,\\r\\nThat ministers a potion unto me\\r\\nThat thou wouldst tremble to receive thyself.\\r\\nAttend me, then: I went to Antioch,\\r\\nWhere, as thou know’st, against the face of death,\\r\\nI sought the purchase of a glorious beauty,\\r\\nFrom whence an issue I might propagate,\\r\\nAre arms to princes, and bring joys to subjects.\\r\\nHer face was to mine eye beyond all wonder;\\r\\nThe rest — hark in thine ear — as black as incest,\\r\\nWhich by my knowledge found, the sinful father\\r\\nSeem’d not to strike, but smooth: but thou know’st this,\\r\\n’Tis time to fear when tyrants seems to kiss.\\r\\nWhich fear so grew in me I hither fled,\\r\\nUnder the covering of a careful night,\\r\\nWho seem’d my good protector; and, being here,\\r\\nBethought me what was past, what might succeed.\\r\\nI knew him tyrannous; and tyrants’ fears\\r\\nDecrease not, but grow faster than the years:\\r\\nAnd should he doubt, as no doubt he doth,\\r\\nThat I should open to the listening air\\r\\nHow many worthy princes’ bloods were shed,\\r\\nTo keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope,\\r\\nTo lop that doubt, he’ll fill this land with arms,\\r\\nAnd make pretence of wrong that I have done him;\\r\\nWhen all, for mine, if I may call offence,\\r\\nMust feel war’s blow, who spares not innocence:\\r\\nWhich love to all, of which thyself art one,\\r\\nWho now reprovest me for it, —\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nAlas, sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nDrew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from my cheeks,\\r\\nMusings into my mind, with thousand doubts\\r\\nHow I might stop this tempest ere it came;\\r\\nAnd finding little comfort to relieve them,\\r\\nI thought it princely charity to grieve them.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nWell, my lord, since you have given me leave to speak,\\r\\nFreely will I speak. Antiochus you fear,\\r\\nAnd justly too, I think, you fear the tyrant,\\r\\nWho either by public war or private treason\\r\\nWill take away your life.\\r\\nTherefore, my lord, go travel for a while,\\r\\nTill that his rage and anger be forgot,\\r\\nOr till the Destinies do cut his thread of life.\\r\\nYour rule direct to any; if to me,\\r\\nDay serves not light more faithful than I’ll be.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI do not doubt thy faith;\\r\\nBut should he wrong my liberties in my absence?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELCANUS.\\r\\nWe’ll mingle our bloods together in the earth,\\r\\nFrom whence we had our being and our birth.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nTyre, I now look from thee then, and to Tarsus\\r\\nIntend my travel, where I’ll hear from thee;\\r\\nAnd by whose letters I’ll dispose myself.\\r\\nThe care I had and have of subjects’ good\\r\\nOn thee I lay, whose wisdom’s strength can bear it.\\r\\nI’ll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath:\\r\\nWho shuns not to break one will sure crack both:\\r\\nBut in our orbs we’ll live so round and safe,\\r\\nThat time of both this truth shall ne’er convince,\\r\\nThou show’dst a subject’s shine, I a true prince.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Tyre. An ante-chamber in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thaliard.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\nSo, this is Tyre, and this the court. Here must I kill King Pericles;\\r\\nand if I do it not, I am sure to be hanged at home: ’tis dangerous.\\r\\nWell, I perceive he was a wise fellow, and had good discretion, that,\\r\\nbeing bid to ask what he would of the king, desired he might know none\\r\\nof his secrets: now do I see he had some reason for’t; for if a king\\r\\nbid a man be a villain, he’s bound by the indenture of his oath to be\\r\\none. Husht, here come the lords of Tyre.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Helicanus and Escanes with other Lords of Tyre.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nYou shall not need, my fellow peers of Tyre,\\r\\nFurther to question me of your king’s departure:\\r\\nHis seal’d commission, left in trust with me,\\r\\nDoth speak sufficiently he’s gone to travel.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] How? the king gone?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nIf further yet you will be satisfied,\\r\\nWhy, as it were unlicensed of your loves,\\r\\nHe would depart, I’ll give some light unto you.\\r\\nBeing at Antioch —\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] What from Antioch?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nRoyal Antiochus — on what cause I know not\\r\\nTook some displeasure at him; at least he judged so:\\r\\nAnd doubting lest that he had err’d or sinn’d,\\r\\nTo show his sorrow, he’d correct himself;\\r\\nSo puts himself unto the shipman’s toil,\\r\\nWith whom each minute threatens life or death.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Well, I perceive\\r\\nI shall not be hang’d now, although I would;\\r\\nBut since he’s gone, the king’s seas must please\\r\\nHe ’scaped the land, to perish at the sea.\\r\\nI’ll present myself. Peace to the lords of Tyre!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nLord Thaliard from Antiochus is welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\nFrom him I come\\r\\nWith message unto princely Pericles;\\r\\nBut since my landing I have understood\\r\\nYour lord has betook himself to unknown travels,\\r\\nMy message must return from whence it came.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nWe have no reason to desire it,\\r\\nCommended to our master, not to us:\\r\\nYet, ere you shall depart, this we desire,\\r\\nAs friends to Antioch, we may feast in Tyre.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Tarsus. A room in the Governor’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cleon, the governor of Tarsus, with Dionyza and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nMy Dionyza, shall we rest us here,\\r\\nAnd by relating tales of others’ griefs,\\r\\nSee if ’twill teach us to forget our own?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nThat were to blow at fire in hope to quench it;\\r\\nFor who digs hills because they do aspire\\r\\nThrows down one mountain to cast up a higher.\\r\\nO my distressed lord, even such our griefs are;\\r\\nHere they’re but felt, and seen with mischief’s eyes,\\r\\nBut like to groves, being topp’d, they higher rise.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nO Dionyza,\\r\\nWho wanteth food, and will not say he wants it,\\r\\nOr can conceal his hunger till he famish?\\r\\nOur tongues and sorrows do sound deep\\r\\nOur woes into the air; our eyes do weep,\\r\\nTill tongues fetch breath that may proclaim them louder;\\r\\nThat, if heaven slumber while their creatures want,\\r\\nThey may awake their helps to comfort them.\\r\\nI’ll then discourse our woes, felt several years,\\r\\nAnd wanting breath to speak, help me with tears.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nI’ll do my best, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nThis Tarsus, o’er which I have the government,\\r\\nA city on whom plenty held full hand,\\r\\nFor riches strew’d herself even in the streets;\\r\\nWhose towers bore heads so high they kiss’d the clouds,\\r\\nAnd strangers ne’er beheld but wonder’d at;\\r\\nWhose men and dames so jetted and adorn’d,\\r\\nLike one another’s glass to trim them by:\\r\\nTheir tables were stored full to glad the sight,\\r\\nAnd not so much to feed on as delight;\\r\\nAll poverty was scorn’d, and pride so great,\\r\\nThe name of help grew odious to repeat.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nO, ’tis too true.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nBut see what heaven can do! By this our change,\\r\\nThese mouths, who but of late, earth, sea, and air,\\r\\nWere all too little to content and please,\\r\\nAlthough they gave their creatures in abundance,\\r\\nAs houses are defiled for want of use,\\r\\nThey are now starved for want of exercise:\\r\\nThose palates who, not yet two summers younger,\\r\\nMust have inventions to delight the taste,\\r\\nWould now be glad of bread and beg for it:\\r\\nThose mothers who, to nousle up their babes,\\r\\nThought nought too curious, are ready now\\r\\nTo eat those little darlings whom they loved.\\r\\nSo sharp are hunger’s teeth, that man and wife\\r\\nDraw lots who first shall die to lengthen life:\\r\\nHere stands a lord, and there a lady weeping;\\r\\nHere many sink, yet those which see them fall\\r\\nHave scarce strength left to give them burial.\\r\\nIs not this true?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nOur cheeks and hollow eyes do witness it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nO, let those cities that of plenty’s cup\\r\\nAnd her prosperities so largely taste,\\r\\nWith their superflous riots, hear these tears!\\r\\nThe misery of Tarsus may be theirs.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nWhere’s the lord governor?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nHere.\\r\\nSpeak out thy sorrows which thou bring’st in haste,\\r\\nFor comfort is too far for us to expect.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nWe have descried, upon our neighbouring shore,\\r\\nA portly sail of ships make hitherward.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nI thought as much.\\r\\nOne sorrow never comes but brings an heir,\\r\\nThat may succeed as his inheritor;\\r\\nAnd so in ours: some neighbouring nation,\\r\\nTaking advantage of our misery,\\r\\nThat stuff’d the hollow vessels with their power,\\r\\nTo beat us down, the which are down already;\\r\\nAnd make a conquest of unhappy me,\\r\\nWhereas no glory’s got to overcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nThat’s the least fear; for, by the semblance\\r\\nOf their white flags display’d, they bring us peace,\\r\\nAnd come to us as favourers, not as foes.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nThou speak’st like him’s untutor’d to repeat:\\r\\nWho makes the fairest show means most deceit.\\r\\nBut bring they what they will and what they can,\\r\\nWhat need we fear?\\r\\nThe ground’s the lowest, and we are half way there.\\r\\nGo tell their general we attend him here,\\r\\nTo know for what he comes, and whence he comes,\\r\\nAnd what he craves.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nI go, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nWelcome is peace, if he on peace consist;\\r\\nIf wars, we are unable to resist.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles with Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nLord governor, for so we hear you are,\\r\\nLet not our ships and number of our men\\r\\nBe like a beacon fired to amaze your eyes.\\r\\nWe have heard your miseries as far as Tyre,\\r\\nAnd seen the desolation of your streets:\\r\\nNor come we to add sorrow to your tears,\\r\\nBut to relieve them of their heavy load;\\r\\nAnd these our ships, you happily may think\\r\\nAre like the Trojan horse was stuff’d within\\r\\nWith bloody veins, expecting overthrow,\\r\\nAre stored with corn to make your needy bread,\\r\\nAnd give them life whom hunger starved half dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nThe gods of Greece protect you!\\r\\nAnd we’ll pray for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nArise, I pray you, rise:\\r\\nWe do not look for reverence, but for love,\\r\\nAnd harbourage for ourself, our ships and men.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nThe which when any shall not gratify,\\r\\nOr pay you with unthankfulness in thought,\\r\\nBe it our wives, our children, or ourselves,\\r\\nThe curse of heaven and men succeed their evils!\\r\\nTill when, — the which I hope shall ne’er be seen, —\\r\\nYour grace is welcome to our town and us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWhich welcome we’ll accept; feast here awhile,\\r\\nUntil our stars that frown lend us a smile.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nHere have you seen a mighty king\\r\\nHis child, iwis, to incest bring;\\r\\nA better prince and benign lord,\\r\\nThat will prove awful both in deed word.\\r\\nBe quiet then as men should be,\\r\\nTill he hath pass’d necessity.\\r\\nI’ll show you those in troubles reign,\\r\\nLosing a mite, a mountain gain.\\r\\nThe good in conversation,\\r\\nTo whom I give my benison,\\r\\nIs still at Tarsus, where each man\\r\\nThinks all is writ he speken can;\\r\\nAnd to remember what he does,\\r\\nBuild his statue to make him glorious:\\r\\nBut tidings to the contrary\\r\\nAre brought your eyes; what need speak I?\\r\\n\\r\\n Dumb-show. Enter at one door Pericles talking with Cleon; all the\\r\\n train with them. Enter at another door a Gentleman with a letter to\\r\\n Pericles; Pericles shows the letter to Cleon; gives the Messenger a\\r\\n reward, and knights him. Exit Pericles at one door, and Cleon at\\r\\n another.\\r\\n\\r\\nGood Helicane, that stay’d at home.\\r\\nNot to eat honey like a drone\\r\\nFrom others’ labours; for though he strive\\r\\nTo killen bad, keep good alive;\\r\\nAnd to fulfil his prince’ desire,\\r\\nSends word of all that haps in Tyre:\\r\\nHow Thaliard came full bent with sin\\r\\nAnd had intent to murder him;\\r\\nAnd that in Tarsus was not best\\r\\nLonger for him to make his rest.\\r\\nHe, doing so, put forth to seas,\\r\\nWhere when men been, there’s seldom ease;\\r\\nFor now the wind begins to blow;\\r\\nThunder above and deeps below\\r\\nMake such unquiet, that the ship\\r\\nShould house him safe is wreck’d and split;\\r\\nAnd he, good prince, having all lost,\\r\\nBy waves from coast to coast is tost:\\r\\nAll perishen of man, of pelf,\\r\\nNe aught escapen but himself;\\r\\nTill Fortune, tired with doing bad,\\r\\nThrew him ashore, to give him glad:\\r\\nAnd here he comes. What shall be next,\\r\\nPardon old Gower, — this longs the text.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Pentapolis. An open place by the seaside.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles, wet.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nYet cease your ire, you angry stars of heaven!\\r\\nWind, rain, and thunder, remember earthly man\\r\\nIs but a substance that must yield to you;\\r\\nAnd I, as fits my nature, do obey you:\\r\\nAlas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks,\\r\\nWash’d me from shore to shore, and left me breath\\r\\nNothing to think on but ensuing death:\\r\\nLet it suffice the greatness of your powers\\r\\nTo have bereft a prince of all his fortunes;\\r\\nAnd having thrown him from your watery grave,\\r\\nHere to have death in peace is all he’ll crave.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter three Fishermen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhat, ho, Pilch!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nHa, come and bring away the nets!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhat, Patch-breech, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhat say you, master?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nLook how thou stirrest now! Come away, or I’ll fetch thee with a\\r\\nwanion.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nFaith, master, I am thinking of the poor men that were cast away before\\r\\nus even now.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nAlas, poor souls, it grieved my heart to hear what pitiful cries they\\r\\nmade to us to help them, when, well-a-day, we could scarce help\\r\\nourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nNay, master, said not I as much when I saw the porpus how he bounced\\r\\nand tumbled? They say they’re half fish, half flesh: a plague on them,\\r\\nthey ne’er come but I look to be washed. Master, I marvel how the\\r\\nfishes live in the sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhy, as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the little ones: I can\\r\\ncompare our rich misers to nothing so fitly as to a whale; a’ plays and\\r\\ntumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and at last devours them all\\r\\nat a mouthful. Such whales have I heard on o’ the land, who never leave\\r\\ngaping till they swallowed the whole parish, church, steeple, bells and\\r\\nall.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] A pretty moral.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nBut, master, if I had been the sexton, I would have been that day in\\r\\nthe belfry.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhy, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nBecause he should have swallowed me too; and when I had been in his\\r\\nbelly, I would have kept such a jangling of the bells, that he should\\r\\nnever have left, till he cast bells, steeple, church and parish up\\r\\nagain. But if the good King Simonides were of my mind, —\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Simonides?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWe would purge the land of these drones, that rob the bee of her honey.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] How from the finny subject of the sea\\r\\nThese fishers tell the infirmities of men;\\r\\nAnd from their watery empire recollect\\r\\nAll that may men approve or men detect!\\r\\nPeace be at your labour, honest fishermen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nHonest! good fellow, what’s that? If it be a day fits you, search out\\r\\nof the calendar, and nobody look after it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMay see the sea hath cast upon your coast.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhat a drunken knave was the sea to cast thee in our way!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nA man whom both the waters and the wind,\\r\\nIn that vast tennis-court, have made the ball\\r\\nFor them to play upon, entreats you pity him;\\r\\nHe asks of you, that never used to beg.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nNo, friend, cannot you beg? Here’s them in our country of Greece gets\\r\\nmore with begging than we can do with working.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nCanst thou catch any fishes, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI never practised it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nNay, then thou wilt starve, sure; for here’s nothing to be got\\r\\nnow-a-days, unless thou canst fish for’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWhat I have been I have forgot to know;\\r\\nBut what I am, want teaches me to think on:\\r\\nA man throng’d up with cold: my veins are chill,\\r\\nAnd have no more of life than may suffice\\r\\nTo give my tongue that heat to ask your help;\\r\\nWhich if you shall refuse, when I am dead,\\r\\nFor that I am a man, pray see me buried.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nDie quoth-a? Now gods forbid’t, and I have a gown here; come, put it\\r\\non; keep thee warm. Now, afore me, a handsome fellow! Come, thou shalt\\r\\ngo home, and we’ll have flesh for holidays, fish for fasting-days, and\\r\\nmoreo’er puddings and flap-jacks, and thou shalt be welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI thank you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nHark you, my friend; you said you could not beg?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI did but crave.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nBut crave! Then I’ll turn craver too, and so I shall ’scape whipping.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWhy, are your beggars whipped, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nO, not all, my friend, not all; for if all your beggars were whipped, I\\r\\nwould wish no better office than to be beadle. But, master, I’ll go\\r\\ndraw up the net.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with Third Fisherman._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] How well this honest mirth becomes their labour!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nHark you, sir, do you know where ye are?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nNot well.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhy, I’ll tell you: this is called Pentapolis, and our King, the good\\r\\nSimonides.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThe good Simonides, do you call him?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nAy, sir; and he deserves so to be called for his peaceable reign and\\r\\ngood government.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHe is a happy king, since he gains from his subjects the name of good\\r\\ngovernment. How far is his court distant from this shore?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nMarry sir, half a day’s journey: and I’ll tell you, he hath a fair\\r\\ndaughter, and tomorrow is her birth-day; and there are princes and\\r\\nknights come from all parts of the world to joust and tourney for her\\r\\nlove.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWere my fortunes equal to my desires, I could wish to make one there.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nO, sir, things must be as they may; and what a man cannot get, he may\\r\\nlawfully deal for — his wife’s soul.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Second and Third Fishermen, drawing up a net.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nHelp, master, help! here’s a fish hangs in the net, like a poor man’s\\r\\nright in the law; ’twill hardly come out. Ha! bots on’t, ’tis come at\\r\\nlast, and ’tis turned to a rusty armour.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAn armour, friends! I pray you, let me see it.\\r\\nThanks, Fortune, yet, that, after all my crosses,\\r\\nThou givest me somewhat to repair myself,\\r\\nAnd though it was mine own, part of my heritage,\\r\\nWhich my dead father did bequeath to me,\\r\\nWith this strict charge, even as he left his life.\\r\\n‘Keep it, my Pericles; it hath been a shield\\r\\n’Twixt me and death;’ — and pointed to this brace;—\\r\\n‘For that it saved me, keep it; in like necessity —\\r\\nThe which the gods protect thee from! — may defend thee.’\\r\\nIt kept where I kept, I so dearly loved it;\\r\\nTill the rough seas, that spares not any man,\\r\\nTook it in rage, though calm’d have given’t again:\\r\\nI thank thee for’t: my shipwreck now’s no ill,\\r\\nSince I have here my father gave in his will.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhat mean you sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nTo beg of you, kind friends, this coat of worth,\\r\\nFor it was sometime target to a king;\\r\\nI know it by this mark. He loved me dearly,\\r\\nAnd for his sake I wish the having of it;\\r\\nAnd that you’d guide me to your sovereign court,\\r\\nWhere with it I may appear a gentleman;\\r\\nAnd if that ever my low fortune’s better,\\r\\nI’ll pay your bounties; till then rest your debtor.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhy, wilt thou tourney for the lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI’ll show the virtue I have borne in arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhy, d’ye take it, and the gods give thee good on’t!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nAy, but hark you, my friend; ’twas we that made up this garment through\\r\\nthe rough seams of the waters: there are certain condolements, certain\\r\\nvails. I hope, sir, if you thrive, you’ll remember from whence you had\\r\\nthem.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nBelieve’t I will.\\r\\nBy your furtherance I am clothed in steel;\\r\\nAnd spite of all the rapture of the sea,\\r\\nThis jewel holds his building on my arm:\\r\\nUnto thy value I will mount myself\\r\\nUpon a courser, whose delightful steps\\r\\nShall make the gazer joy to see him tread.\\r\\nOnly, my friend, I yet am unprovided\\r\\nOf a pair of bases.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWe’ll sure provide: thou shalt have my best gown to make thee a pair;\\r\\nand I’ll bring thee to the court myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThen honour be but a goal to my will,\\r\\nThis day I’ll rise, or else add ill to ill.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. A public way, or platform leading to the lists. A\\r\\npavilion by the side of it for the reception of the King, Princess,\\r\\nLords, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAre the knights ready to begin the triumph?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nThey are, my liege;\\r\\nAnd stay your coming to present themselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nReturn them, we are ready; and our daughter,\\r\\nIn honour of whose birth these triumphs are,\\r\\nSits here, like beauty’s child, whom Nature gat\\r\\nFor men to see, and seeing wonder at.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit a Lord._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nIt pleaseth you, my royal father, to express\\r\\nMy commendations great, whose merit’s less.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nIt’s fit it should be so; for princes are\\r\\nA model, which heaven makes like to itself:\\r\\nAs jewels lose their glory if neglected,\\r\\nSo princes their renowns if not respected.\\r\\n’Tis now your honour, daughter, to entertain\\r\\nThe labour of each knight in his device.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nWhich, to preserve mine honour, I’ll perform.\\r\\n\\r\\n The first Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to\\r\\n Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nWho is the first that doth prefer himself?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nA knight of Sparta, my renowned father;\\r\\nAnd the device he bears upon his shield\\r\\nIs a black Ethiope reaching at the sun:\\r\\nThe word, _Lux tua vita mihi._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nHe loves you well that holds his life of you.\\r\\n\\r\\n The second Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to\\r\\n Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nWho is the second that presents himself?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nA prince of Macedon, my royal father;\\r\\nAnd the device he bears upon his shield\\r\\nIs an arm’d knight that’s conquer’d by a lady;\\r\\nThe motto thus, in Spanish, _Piu por dulzura que por forza._\\r\\n\\r\\n The third Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to\\r\\n Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAnd what’s the third?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nThe third of Antioch;\\r\\nAnd his device, a wreath of chivalry;\\r\\nThe word, _Me pompae provexit apex._\\r\\n\\r\\n The fourth Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to\\r\\n Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nWhat is the fourth?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nA burning torch that’s turned upside down;\\r\\nThe word, _Quod me alit me extinguit._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nWhich shows that beauty hath his power and will,\\r\\nWhich can as well inflame as it can kill.\\r\\n\\r\\n The fifth Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to\\r\\n Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nThe fifth, an hand environed with clouds,\\r\\nHolding out gold that’s by the touchstone tried;\\r\\nThe motto thus, _Sic spectanda fides._\\r\\n\\r\\n The sixth Knight, Pericles, passes in rusty armour with bases, and\\r\\n unaccompanied. He presents his device directly to Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAnd what’s the sixth and last, the which the knight himself\\r\\nWith such a graceful courtesy deliver’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nHe seems to be a stranger; but his present is\\r\\nA wither’d branch, that’s only green at top;\\r\\nThe motto, _In hac spe vivo._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nA pretty moral;\\r\\nFrom the dejected state wherein he is,\\r\\nHe hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nHe had need mean better than his outward show\\r\\nCan any way speak in his just commend;\\r\\nFor by his rusty outside he appears\\r\\nTo have practised more the whipstock than the lance.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\nHe well may be a stranger, for he comes\\r\\nTo an honour’d triumph strangely furnished.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD LORD.\\r\\nAnd on set purpose let his armour rust\\r\\nUntil this day, to scour it in the dust.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nOpinion’s but a fool, that makes us scan\\r\\nThe outward habit by the inward man.\\r\\nBut stay, the knights are coming.\\r\\nWe will withdraw into the gallery.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt. Great shouts within, and all cry_ ‘The mean Knight!’]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A hall of state: a banquet prepared.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords, Attendants and Knights, from tilting.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nKnights,\\r\\nTo say you’re welcome were superfluous.\\r\\nTo place upon the volume of your deeds,\\r\\nAs in a title-page, your worth in arms,\\r\\nWere more than you expect, or more than’s fit,\\r\\nSince every worth in show commends itself.\\r\\nPrepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast:\\r\\nYou are princes and my guests.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nBut you, my knight and guest;\\r\\nTo whom this wreath of victory I give,\\r\\nAnd crown you king of this day’s happiness.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n’Tis more by fortune, lady, than by merit.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nCall it by what you will, the day is yours;\\r\\nAnd here, I hope, is none that envies it.\\r\\nIn framing an artist, art hath thus decreed,\\r\\nTo make some good, but others to exceed;\\r\\nAnd you are her labour’d scholar. Come queen of the feast, —\\r\\nFor, daughter, so you are, — here take your place:\\r\\nMarshal the rest, as they deserve their grace.\\r\\n\\r\\nKNIGHTS.\\r\\nWe are honour’d much by good Simonides.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nYour presence glads our days; honour we love;\\r\\nFor who hates honour hates the gods above.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARSHALL.\\r\\nSir, yonder is your place.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nSome other is more fit.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST KNIGHT.\\r\\nContend not, sir; for we are gentlemen\\r\\nHave neither in our hearts nor outward eyes\\r\\nEnvied the great, nor shall the low despise.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nYou are right courteous knights.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nSit, sir, sit.\\r\\nBy Jove, I wonder, that is king of thoughts,\\r\\nThese cates resist me, he but thought upon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nBy Juno, that is queen of marriage,\\r\\nAll viands that I eat do seem unsavoury,\\r\\nWishing him my meat. Sure, he’s a gallant gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nHe’s but a country gentleman;\\r\\nHas done no more than other knights have done;\\r\\nHas broken a staff or so; so let it pass.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nTo me he seems like diamond to glass.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nYon king’s to me like to my father’s picture,\\r\\nWhich tells me in that glory once he was;\\r\\nHad princes sit, like stars, about his throne,\\r\\nAnd he the sun, for them to reverence;\\r\\nNone that beheld him, but, like lesser lights,\\r\\nDid vail their crowns to his supremacy:\\r\\nWhere now his son’s like a glow-worm in the night,\\r\\nThe which hath fire in darkness, none in light:\\r\\nWhereby I see that time’s the king of men,\\r\\nHe’s both their parent, and he is their grave,\\r\\nAnd gives them what he will, not what they crave.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nWhat, are you merry, knights?\\r\\n\\r\\nKNIGHTS.\\r\\nWho can be other in this royal presence?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nHere, with a cup that’s stored unto the brim, —\\r\\nAs you do love, fill to your mistress’ lips, —\\r\\nWe drink this health to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKNIGHTS.\\r\\nWe thank your grace.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nYet pause awhile. Yon knight doth sit too melancholy,\\r\\nAs if the entertainment in our court\\r\\nHad not a show might countervail his worth.\\r\\nNote it not you, Thaisa?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nWhat is’t to me, my father?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nO attend, my daughter:\\r\\nPrinces in this should live like god’s above,\\r\\nWho freely give to everyone that comes to honour them:\\r\\nAnd princes not doing so are like to gnats,\\r\\nWhich make a sound, but kill’d are wonder’d at.\\r\\nTherefore to make his entrance more sweet,\\r\\nHere, say we drink this standing-bowl of wine to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nAlas, my father, it befits not me\\r\\nUnto a stranger knight to be so bold:\\r\\nHe may my proffer take for an offence,\\r\\nSince men take women’s gifts for impudence.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nHow? Do as I bid you, or you’ll move me else.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Now, by the gods, he could not please me better.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAnd furthermore tell him, we desire to know of him,\\r\\nOf whence he is, his name and parentage.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nThe king my father, sir, has drunk to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI thank him.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nWishing it so much blood unto your life.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI thank both him and you, and pledge him freely.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nAnd further he desires to know of you,\\r\\nOf whence you are, your name and parentage.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nA gentleman of Tyre; my name, Pericles;\\r\\nMy education been in arts and arms;\\r\\nWho, looking for adventures in the world,\\r\\nWas by the rough seas reft of ships and men,\\r\\nAnd after shipwreck driven upon this shore.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nHe thanks your grace; names himself Pericles,\\r\\nA gentleman of Tyre,\\r\\nWho only by misfortune of the seas\\r\\nBereft of ships and men, cast on this shore.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nNow, by the gods, I pity his misfortune,\\r\\nAnd will awake him from his melancholy.\\r\\nCome, gentlemen, we sit too long on trifles,\\r\\nAnd waste the time, which looks for other revels.\\r\\nEven in your armours, as you are address’d,\\r\\nWill well become a soldier’s dance.\\r\\nI will not have excuse, with saying this,\\r\\n‘Loud music is too harsh for ladies’ heads’\\r\\nSince they love men in arms as well as beds.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Knights dance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSo, this was well ask’d, ’twas so well perform’d.\\r\\nCome, sir; here is a lady which wants breathing too:\\r\\nAnd I have heard you knights of Tyre\\r\\nAre excellent in making ladies trip;\\r\\nAnd that their measures are as excellent.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nIn those that practise them they are, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nO, that’s as much as you would be denied\\r\\nOf your fair courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Knights and Ladies dance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nUnclasp, unclasp:\\r\\nThanks gentlemen, to all; all have done well.\\r\\n[_To Pericles._] But you the best. Pages and lights to conduct\\r\\nThese knights unto their several lodgings.\\r\\n[_To Pericles._] Yours, sir, we have given order to be next our own.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI am at your grace’s pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nPrinces, it is too late to talk of love;\\r\\nAnd that’s the mark I know you level at:\\r\\nTherefore each one betake him to his rest;\\r\\nTomorrow all for speeding do their best.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Tyre. A room in the Governor’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Helicanus and Escanes.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nNo, Escanes, know this of me,\\r\\nAntiochus from incest lived not free:\\r\\nFor which the most high gods not minding longer\\r\\nTo withhold the vengeance that they had in store\\r\\nDue to this heinous capital offence,\\r\\nEven in the height and pride of all his glory,\\r\\nWhen he was seated in a chariot\\r\\nOf an inestimable value, and his daughter with him,\\r\\nA fire from heaven came and shrivell’d up\\r\\nTheir bodies, even to loathing, for they so stunk,\\r\\nThat all those eyes adored them ere their fall\\r\\nScorn now their hand should give them burial.\\r\\n\\r\\nESCANES.\\r\\n’Twas very strange\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nAnd yet but justice; for though this king were great;\\r\\nHis greatness was no guard to bar heaven’s shaft,\\r\\nBut sin had his reward.\\r\\n\\r\\nESCANES.\\r\\n’Tis very true.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two or three Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nSee, not a man in private conference\\r\\nOr council has respect with him but he.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\nIt shall no longer grieve without reproof.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD LORD.\\r\\nAnd cursed be he that will not second it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nFollow me, then. Lord Helicane, a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nWith me? and welcome: happy day, my lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nKnow that our griefs are risen to the top,\\r\\nAnd now at length they overflow their banks.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nYour griefs! for what? Wrong not your prince you love.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nWrong not yourself, then, noble Helicane;\\r\\nBut if the prince do live, let us salute him.\\r\\nOr know what ground’s made happy by his breath.\\r\\nIf in the world he live, we’ll seek him out;\\r\\nIf in his grave he rest, we’ll find him there.\\r\\nWe’ll be resolved he lives to govern us,\\r\\nOr dead, give’s cause to mourn his funeral,\\r\\nAnd leave us to our free election.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\nWhose death’s indeed the strongest in our censure:\\r\\nAnd knowing this kingdom is without a head, —\\r\\nLike goodly buildings left without a roof\\r\\nSoon fall to ruin, — your noble self,\\r\\nThat best know how to rule and how to reign,\\r\\nWe thus submit unto, — our sovereign.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nLive, noble Helicane!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nFor honour’s cause, forbear your suffrages:\\r\\nIf that you love Prince Pericles, forbear.\\r\\nTake I your wish, I leap into the seas,\\r\\nWhere’s hourly trouble for a minute’s ease.\\r\\nA twelvemonth longer, let me entreat you\\r\\nTo forbear the absence of your king;\\r\\nIf in which time expired, he not return,\\r\\nI shall with aged patience bear your yoke.\\r\\nBut if I cannot win you to this love,\\r\\nGo search like nobles, like noble subjects,\\r\\nAnd in your search spend your adventurous worth;\\r\\nWhom if you find, and win unto return,\\r\\nYou shall like diamonds sit about his crown.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nTo wisdom he’s a fool that will not yield;\\r\\nAnd since Lord Helicane enjoineth us,\\r\\nWe with our travels will endeavour us.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nThen you love us, we you, and we’ll clasp hands:\\r\\nWhen peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Pentapolis. A room in the palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Simonides reading a letter at one door; the Knights meet him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST KNIGHT.\\r\\nGood morrow to the good Simonides.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nKnights, from my daughter this I let you know,\\r\\nThat for this twelvemonth she’ll not undertake\\r\\nA married life.\\r\\nHer reason to herself is only known,\\r\\nWhich yet from her by no means can I get.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND KNIGHT.\\r\\nMay we not get access to her, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nFaith, by no means; she hath so strictly tied\\r\\nHer to her chamber, that ’tis impossible.\\r\\nOne twelve moons more she’ll wear Diana’s livery;\\r\\nThis by the eye of Cynthia hath she vow’d,\\r\\nAnd on her virgin honour will not break it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD KNIGHT.\\r\\nLoath to bid farewell, we take our leaves.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Knights._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nSo, they are well dispatch’d; now to my daughter’s letter:\\r\\nShe tells me here, she’ll wed the stranger knight,\\r\\nOr never more to view nor day nor light.\\r\\n’Tis well, mistress; your choice agrees with mine;\\r\\nI like that well: nay, how absolute she’s in’t,\\r\\nNot minding whether I dislike or no!\\r\\nWell, I do commend her choice;\\r\\nAnd will no longer have it be delay’d.\\r\\nSoft! here he comes: I must dissemble it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAll fortune to the good Simonides!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nTo you as much. Sir, I am beholding to you\\r\\nFor your sweet music this last night: I do\\r\\nProtest my ears were never better fed\\r\\nWith such delightful pleasing harmony.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nIt is your grace’s pleasure to commend;\\r\\nNot my desert.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nSir, you are music’s master.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThe worst of all her scholars, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nLet me ask you one thing:\\r\\nWhat do you think of my daughter, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nA most virtuous princess.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAnd she is fair too, is she not?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAs a fair day in summer, wondrous fair.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nSir, my daughter thinks very well of you;\\r\\nAy, so well, that you must be her master,\\r\\nAnd she will be your scholar: therefore look to it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI am unworthy for her schoolmaster.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nShe thinks not so; peruse this writing else.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] What’s here? A letter, that she loves the knight of Tyre!\\r\\n’Tis the king’s subtlety to have my life.\\r\\nO, seek not to entrap me, gracious lord,\\r\\nA stranger and distressed gentleman,\\r\\nThat never aim’d so high to love your daughter,\\r\\nBut bent all offices to honour her.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nThou hast bewitch’d my daughter,\\r\\nAnd thou art a villain.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nBy the gods, I have not:\\r\\nNever did thought of mine levy offence;\\r\\nNor never did my actions yet commence\\r\\nA deed might gain her love or your displeasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nTraitor, thou liest.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nTraitor?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAy, traitor.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nEven in his throat — unless it be the king —\\r\\nThat calls me traitor, I return the lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Now, by the gods, I do applaud his courage.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMy actions are as noble as my thoughts,\\r\\nThat never relish’d of a base descent.\\r\\nI came unto your court for honour’s cause,\\r\\nAnd not to be a rebel to her state;\\r\\nAnd he that otherwise accounts of me,\\r\\nThis sword shall prove he’s honour’s enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nNo?\\r\\nHere comes my daughter, she can witness it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThen, as you are as virtuous as fair,\\r\\nResolve your angry father, if my tongue\\r\\nDid e’er solicit, or my hand subscribe\\r\\nTo any syllable that made love to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nWhy, sir, say if you had,\\r\\nWho takes offence at that would make me glad?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nYea, mistress, are you so peremptory?\\r\\n[_Aside._] I am glad on’t with all my heart. —\\r\\nI’ll tame you; I’ll bring you in subjection.\\r\\nWill you, not having my consent,\\r\\nBestow your love and your affections\\r\\nUpon a stranger? [_Aside._] Who, for aught I know\\r\\nMay be, nor can I think the contrary,\\r\\nAs great in blood as I myself. —\\r\\nTherefore hear you, mistress; either frame\\r\\nYour will to mine, and you, sir, hear you,\\r\\nEither be ruled by me, or I will make you —\\r\\nMan and wife. Nay, come, your hands,\\r\\nAnd lips must seal it too: and being join’d,\\r\\nI’ll thus your hopes destroy; and for further grief,\\r\\nGod give you joy! What, are you both pleased?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nYes, if you love me, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nEven as my life my blood that fosters it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nWhat, are you both agreed?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTH.\\r\\nYes, if’t please your majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nIt pleaseth me so well, that I will see you wed;\\r\\nAnd then with what haste you can, get you to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nNow sleep yslaked hath the rouse;\\r\\nNo din but snores about the house,\\r\\nMade louder by the o’erfed breast\\r\\nOf this most pompous marriage feast.\\r\\nThe cat, with eyne of burning coal,\\r\\nNow couches fore the mouse’s hole;\\r\\nAnd crickets sing at the oven’s mouth,\\r\\nAre the blither for their drouth.\\r\\nHymen hath brought the bride to bed,\\r\\nWhere, by the loss of maidenhead,\\r\\nA babe is moulded. Be attent,\\r\\nAnd time that is so briefly spent\\r\\nWith your fine fancies quaintly eche:\\r\\nWhat’s dumb in show I’ll plain with speech.\\r\\n\\r\\n Dumb-show. Enter, Pericles and Simonides at one door with Attendants;\\r\\n a Messenger meets them, kneels, and gives Pericles a letter: Pericles\\r\\n shows it Simonides; the Lords kneel to him. Then enter Thaisa with\\r\\n child, with Lychorida, a nurse. The King shows her the letter; she\\r\\n rejoices: she and Pericles take leave of her father, and depart, with\\r\\n Lychorida and their Attendants. Then exeunt Simonides and the rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nBy many a dern and painful perch\\r\\nOf Pericles the careful search,\\r\\nBy the four opposing coigns\\r\\nWhich the world together joins,\\r\\nIs made with all due diligence\\r\\nThat horse and sail and high expense\\r\\nCan stead the quest. At last from Tyre,\\r\\nFame answering the most strange enquire,\\r\\nTo th’ court of King Simonides\\r\\nAre letters brought, the tenour these:\\r\\nAntiochus and his daughter dead;\\r\\nThe men of Tyrus on the head\\r\\nOf Helicanus would set on\\r\\nThe crown of Tyre, but he will none:\\r\\nThe mutiny he there hastes t’oppress;\\r\\nSays to ’em, if King Pericles\\r\\nCome not home in twice six moons,\\r\\nHe, obedient to their dooms,\\r\\nWill take the crown. The sum of this,\\r\\nBrought hither to Pentapolis\\r\\nY-ravished the regions round,\\r\\nAnd everyone with claps can sound,\\r\\n‘Our heir apparent is a king!\\r\\nWho dreamt, who thought of such a thing?’\\r\\nBrief, he must hence depart to Tyre:\\r\\nHis queen with child makes her desire —\\r\\nWhich who shall cross? — along to go:\\r\\nOmit we all their dole and woe:\\r\\nLychorida, her nurse, she takes,\\r\\nAnd so to sea. Their vessel shakes\\r\\nOn Neptune’s billow; half the flood\\r\\nHath their keel cut: but fortune’s mood\\r\\nVaries again; the grisled north\\r\\nDisgorges such a tempest forth,\\r\\nThat, as a duck for life that dives,\\r\\nSo up and down the poor ship drives:\\r\\nThe lady shrieks, and well-a-near\\r\\nDoes fall in travail with her fear:\\r\\nAnd what ensues in this fell storm\\r\\nShall for itself itself perform.\\r\\nI nill relate, action may\\r\\nConveniently the rest convey;\\r\\nWhich might not what by me is told.\\r\\nIn your imagination hold\\r\\nThis stage the ship, upon whose deck\\r\\nThe sea-tost Pericles appears to speak.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles, on shipboard.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThou god of this great vast, rebuke these surges,\\r\\nWhich wash both heaven and hell; and thou that hast\\r\\nUpon the winds command, bind them in brass,\\r\\nHaving call’d them from the deep! O, still\\r\\nThy deafening, dreadful thunders; gently quench\\r\\nThy nimble, sulphurous flashes! O, how, Lychorida,\\r\\nHow does my queen? Thou stormest venomously;\\r\\nWilt thou spit all thyself? The seaman’s whistle\\r\\nIs as a whisper in the ears of death,\\r\\nUnheard. Lychorida! - Lucina, O!\\r\\nDivinest patroness, and midwife gentle\\r\\nTo those that cry by night, convey thy deity\\r\\nAboard our dancing boat; make swift the pangs\\r\\nOf my queen’s travails! Now, Lychorida!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lychorida with an infant.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYCHORIDA.\\r\\nHere is a thing too young for such a place,\\r\\nWho, if it had conceit, would die, as I\\r\\nAm like to do: take in your arms this piece\\r\\nOf your dead queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHow? how, Lychorida?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYCHORIDA.\\r\\nPatience, good sir; do not assist the storm.\\r\\nHere’s all that is left living of your queen,\\r\\nA little daughter: for the sake of it,\\r\\nBe manly, and take comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nO you gods!\\r\\nWhy do you make us love your goodly gifts,\\r\\nAnd snatch them straight away? We here below\\r\\nRecall not what we give, and therein may\\r\\nVie honour with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYCHORIDA.\\r\\nPatience, good sir.\\r\\nEven for this charge.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nNow, mild may be thy life!\\r\\nFor a more blustrous birth had never babe:\\r\\nQuiet and gentle thy conditions! for\\r\\nThou art the rudeliest welcome to this world\\r\\nThat ever was prince’s child. Happy what follows!\\r\\nThou hast as chiding a nativity\\r\\nAs fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make,\\r\\nTo herald thee from the womb.\\r\\nEven at the first thy loss is more than can\\r\\nThy portage quit, with all thou canst find here,\\r\\nNow, the good gods throw their best eyes upon’t!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two Sailors\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SAILOR.\\r\\nWhat courage, sir? God save you!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nCourage enough: I do not fear the flaw;\\r\\nIt hath done to me the worst. Yet, for the love\\r\\nOf this poor infant, this fresh new sea-farer,\\r\\nI would it would be quiet.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SAILOR.\\r\\nSlack the bolins there! Thou wilt not, wilt thou? Blow, and split\\r\\nthyself.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SAILOR.\\r\\nBut sea-room, and the brine and cloudy billow kiss the moon, I care\\r\\nnot.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SAILOR.\\r\\nSir, your queen must overboard: the sea works high, the wind is loud\\r\\nand will not lie till the ship be cleared of the dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThat’s your superstition.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SAILOR.\\r\\nPardon us, sir; with us at sea it has been still observed; and we are\\r\\nstrong in custom. Therefore briefly yield her; for she must overboard\\r\\nstraight.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAs you think meet. Most wretched queen!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYCHORIDA.\\r\\nHere she lies, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nA terrible childbed hast thou had, my dear;\\r\\nNo light, no fire: th’unfriendly elements\\r\\nForgot thee utterly; nor have I time\\r\\nTo give thee hallow’d to thy grave, but straight\\r\\nMust cast thee, scarcely coffin’d, in the ooze;\\r\\nWhere, for a monument upon thy bones,\\r\\nAnd e’er-remaining lamps, the belching whale\\r\\nAnd humming water must o’erwhelm thy corpse,\\r\\nLying with simple shells. O Lychorida.\\r\\nBid Nestor bring me spices, ink and paper,\\r\\nMy casket and my jewels; and bid Nicander\\r\\nBring me the satin coffer: lay the babe\\r\\nUpon the pillow: hie thee, whiles I say\\r\\nA priestly farewell to her: suddenly, woman.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lychorida._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SAILOR.\\r\\nSir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, caulked and bitumed ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI thank thee. Mariner, say what coast is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SAILOR.\\r\\nWe are near Tarsus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThither, gentle mariner,\\r\\nAlter thy course for Tyre. When, canst thou reach it?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SAILOR.\\r\\nBy break of day, if the wind cease.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nO, make for Tarsus!\\r\\nThere will I visit Cleon, for the babe\\r\\nCannot hold out to Tyrus. There I’ll leave it\\r\\nAt careful nursing. Go thy ways, good mariner:\\r\\nI’ll bring the body presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cerimon, with a Servant, and some Persons who have been\\r\\n shipwrecked.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nPhilemon, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Philemon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILEMON.\\r\\nDoth my lord call?\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nGet fire and meat for these poor men:\\r\\n’T has been a turbulent and stormy night.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI have been in many; but such a night as this,\\r\\nTill now, I ne’er endured.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nYour master will be dead ere you return;\\r\\nThere’s nothing can be minister’d to nature\\r\\nThat can recover him. [_To Philemon._] Give this to the ’pothecary,\\r\\nAnd tell me how it works.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Cerimon._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two Gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nGood morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nGood morrow to your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nGentlemen, why do you stir so early?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nSir, our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea,\\r\\nShook as the earth did quake;\\r\\nThe very principals did seem to rend,\\r\\nAnd all to topple: pure surprise and fear\\r\\nMade me to quit the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThat is the cause we trouble you so early;\\r\\n’Tis not our husbandry.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nO, you say well.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nBut I much marvel that your lordship, having\\r\\nRich tire about you, should at these early hours\\r\\nShake off the golden slumber of repose.\\r\\n’Tis most strange,\\r\\nNature should be so conversant with pain.\\r\\nBeing thereto not compell’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nI hold it ever,\\r\\nVirtue and cunning were endowments greater\\r\\nThan nobleness and riches: careless heirs\\r\\nMay the two latter darken and expend;\\r\\nBut immortality attends the former,\\r\\nMaking a man a god. ’Tis known, I ever\\r\\nHave studied physic, through which secret art,\\r\\nBy turning o’er authorities, I have,\\r\\nTogether with my practice, made familiar\\r\\nTo me and to my aid the blest infusions\\r\\nThat dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones;\\r\\nAnd I can speak of the disturbances\\r\\nThat nature works, and of her cures; which doth give me\\r\\nA more content in course of true delight\\r\\nThan to be thirsty after tottering honour,\\r\\nOr tie my pleasure up in silken bags,\\r\\nTo please the fool and death.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nYour honour has through Ephesus pour’d forth\\r\\nYour charity, and hundreds call themselves\\r\\nYour creatures, who by you have been restored:\\r\\nAnd not your knowledge, your personal pain, but even\\r\\nYour purse, still open, hath built Lord Cerimon\\r\\nSuch strong renown as time shall never—\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two or three Servants with a chest.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nSo, lift there.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nWhat’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nSir, even now\\r\\nDid the sea toss upon our shore this chest:\\r\\n’Tis of some wreck.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nSet’t down, let’s look upon’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\n’Tis like a coffin, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nWhate’er it be,\\r\\n’Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight:\\r\\nIf the sea’s stomach be o’ercharged with gold,\\r\\n’Tis a good constraint of fortune it belches upon us.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\n’Tis so, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nHow close ’tis caulk’d and bitumed!\\r\\nDid the sea cast it up?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nI never saw so huge a billow, sir,\\r\\nAs toss’d it upon shore.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nWrench it open;\\r\\nSoft! it smells most sweetly in my sense.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nA delicate odour.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nAs ever hit my nostril. So up with it.\\r\\nO you most potent gods! what’s here? a corpse!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nMost strange!\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nShrouded in cloth of state; balm’d and entreasured\\r\\nWith full bags of spices! A passport too!\\r\\nApollo, perfect me in the characters!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Reads from a scroll._]\\r\\n\\r\\n _Here I give to understand,\\r\\n If e’er this coffin drives a-land,\\r\\n I, King Pericles, have lost\\r\\n This queen, worth all our mundane cost.\\r\\n Who finds her, give her burying;\\r\\n She was the daughter of a king:\\r\\n Besides this treasure for a fee,\\r\\n The gods requite his charity._\\r\\nIf thou livest, Pericles, thou hast a heart\\r\\nThat even cracks for woe! This chanced tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nMost likely, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nNay, certainly tonight;\\r\\nFor look how fresh she looks! They were too rough\\r\\nThat threw her in the sea. Make a fire within\\r\\nFetch hither all my boxes in my closet.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit a Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDeath may usurp on nature many hours,\\r\\nAnd yet the fire of life kindle again\\r\\nThe o’erpress’d spirits. I heard of an Egyptian\\r\\nThat had nine hours lain dead,\\r\\nWho was by good appliance recovered.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter a Servant with napkins and fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nWell said, well said; the fire and cloths.\\r\\nThe rough and woeful music that we have,\\r\\nCause it to sound, beseech you\\r\\nThe viol once more: how thou stirr’st, thou block!\\r\\nThe music there! — I pray you, give her air.\\r\\nGentlemen, this queen will live.\\r\\nNature awakes; a warmth breathes out of her.\\r\\nShe hath not been entranced above five hours.\\r\\nSee how she ’gins to blow into life’s flower again!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThe heavens, through you, increase our wonder\\r\\nAnd sets up your fame for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nShe is alive; behold, her eyelids,\\r\\nCases to those heavenly jewels which Pericles hath lost,\\r\\nBegin to part their fringes of bright gold;\\r\\nThe diamonds of a most praised water doth appear,\\r\\nTo make the world twice rich. Live, and make us weep\\r\\nTo hear your fate, fair creature, rare as you seem to be.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_She moves._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nO dear Diana,\\r\\nWhere am I? Where’s my lord? What world is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nIs not this strange?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nMost rare.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nHush, my gentle neighbours!\\r\\nLend me your hands; to the next chamber bear her.\\r\\nGet linen: now this matter must be look’d to,\\r\\nFor her relapse is mortal. Come, come;\\r\\nAnd Aesculapius guide us!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt, carrying her away._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles, Cleon, Dionyza and Lychorida with Marina in her arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMost honour’d Cleon, I must needs be gone;\\r\\nMy twelve months are expired, and Tyrus stands\\r\\nIn a litigious peace. You and your lady,\\r\\nTake from my heart all thankfulness! The gods\\r\\nMake up the rest upon you!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nYour shafts of fortune, though they hurt you mortally,\\r\\nYet glance full wanderingly on us.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nO, your sweet queen!\\r\\nThat the strict fates had pleased you had brought her hither,\\r\\nTo have bless’d mine eyes with her!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWe cannot but obey\\r\\nThe powers above us. Could I rage and roar\\r\\nAs doth the sea she lies in, yet the end\\r\\nMust be as ’tis. My gentle babe Marina,\\r\\nWhom, for she was born at sea, I have named so,\\r\\nHere I charge your charity withal,\\r\\nLeaving her the infant of your care;\\r\\nBeseeching you to give her princely training,\\r\\nThat she may be manner’d as she is born.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nFear not, my lord, but think\\r\\nYour grace, that fed my country with your corn,\\r\\nFor which the people’s prayers still fall upon you,\\r\\nMust in your child be thought on. If neglection\\r\\nShould therein make me vile, the common body,\\r\\nBy you relieved, would force me to my duty:\\r\\nBut if to that my nature need a spur,\\r\\nThe gods revenge it upon me and mine,\\r\\nTo the end of generation!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI believe you;\\r\\nYour honour and your goodness teach me to’t,\\r\\nWithout your vows. Till she be married, madam,\\r\\nBy bright Diana, whom we honour, all\\r\\nUnscissored shall this hair of mine remain,\\r\\nThough I show ill in’t. So I take my leave.\\r\\nGood madam, make me blessed in your care\\r\\nIn bringing up my child.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nI have one myself,\\r\\nWho shall not be more dear to my respect\\r\\nThan yours, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMadam, my thanks and prayers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nWe’ll bring your grace e’en to the edge o’the shore,\\r\\nThen give you up to the mask’d Neptune and\\r\\nThe gentlest winds of heaven.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI will embrace your offer. Come, dearest madam.\\r\\nO, no tears, Lychorida, no tears.\\r\\nLook to your little mistress, on whose grace\\r\\nYou may depend hereafter. Come, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cerimon and Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nMadam, this letter, and some certain jewels,\\r\\nLay with you in your coffer, which are\\r\\nAt your command. Know you the character?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nIt is my lord’s.\\r\\nThat I was shipp’d at sea, I well remember,\\r\\nEven on my groaning time; but whether there\\r\\nDeliver’d, by the holy gods,\\r\\nI cannot rightly say. But since King Pericles,\\r\\nMy wedded lord, I ne’er shall see again,\\r\\nA vestal livery will I take me to,\\r\\nAnd never more have joy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nMadam, if this you purpose as ye speak,\\r\\nDiana’s temple is not distant far,\\r\\nWhere you may abide till your date expire.\\r\\nMoreover, if you please, a niece of mine\\r\\nShall there attend you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nMy recompense is thanks, that’s all;\\r\\nYet my good will is great, though the gift small.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nImagine Pericles arrived at Tyre,\\r\\nWelcomed and settled to his own desire.\\r\\nHis woeful queen we leave at Ephesus,\\r\\nUnto Diana there a votaress.\\r\\nNow to Marina bend your mind,\\r\\nWhom our fast-growing scene must find\\r\\nAt Tarsus, and by Cleon train’d\\r\\nIn music’s letters; who hath gain’d\\r\\nOf education all the grace,\\r\\nWhich makes her both the heart and place\\r\\nOf general wonder. But, alack,\\r\\nThat monster envy, oft the wrack\\r\\nOf earned praise, Marina’s life\\r\\nSeeks to take off by treason’s knife,\\r\\nAnd in this kind our Cleon hath\\r\\nOne daughter, and a full grown wench\\r\\nEven ripe for marriage-rite; this maid\\r\\nHight Philoten: and it is said\\r\\nFor certain in our story, she\\r\\nWould ever with Marina be.\\r\\nBe’t when she weaved the sleided silk\\r\\nWith fingers long, small, white as milk;\\r\\nOr when she would with sharp needle wound,\\r\\nThe cambric, which she made more sound\\r\\nBy hurting it; or when to th’ lute\\r\\nShe sung, and made the night-bird mute\\r\\nThat still records with moan; or when\\r\\nShe would with rich and constant pen\\r\\nVail to her mistress Dian; still\\r\\nThis Philoten contends in skill\\r\\nWith absolute Marina: so\\r\\nThe dove of Paphos might with the crow\\r\\nVie feathers white. Marina gets\\r\\nAll praises, which are paid as debts,\\r\\nAnd not as given. This so darks\\r\\nIn Philoten all graceful marks,\\r\\nThat Cleon’s wife, with envy rare,\\r\\nA present murderer does prepare\\r\\nFor good Marina, that her daughter\\r\\nMight stand peerless by this slaughter.\\r\\nThe sooner her vile thoughts to stead,\\r\\nLychorida, our nurse, is dead:\\r\\nAnd cursed Dionyza hath\\r\\nThe pregnant instrument of wrath\\r\\nPrest for this blow. The unborn event\\r\\nI do commend to your content:\\r\\nOnly I carry winged time\\r\\nPost on the lame feet of my rhyme;\\r\\nWhich never could I so convey,\\r\\nUnless your thoughts went on my way.\\r\\nDionyza does appear,\\r\\nWith Leonine, a murderer.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nScene I. Tarsus. An open place near the seashore.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Dionyza with Leonine.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nThy oath remember; thou hast sworn to do’t:\\r\\n’Tis but a blow, which never shall be known.\\r\\nThou canst not do a thing in the world so soon,\\r\\nTo yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience,\\r\\nWhich is but cold, inflaming love i’ thy bosom,\\r\\nInflame too nicely; nor let pity, which\\r\\nEven women have cast off, melt thee, but be\\r\\nA soldier to thy purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nI will do’t; but yet she is a goodly creature.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nThe fitter, then, the gods should have her. Here she comes weeping for\\r\\nher only mistress’ death. Thou art resolved?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nI am resolved.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Marina with a basket of flowers.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNo, I will rob Tellus of her weed\\r\\nTo strew thy green with flowers: the yellows, blues,\\r\\nThe purple violets, and marigolds,\\r\\nShall as a carpet hang upon thy grave,\\r\\nWhile summer days do last. Ay me! poor maid,\\r\\nBorn in a tempest, when my mother died,\\r\\nThis world to me is like a lasting storm,\\r\\nWhirring me from my friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nHow now, Marina! why do you keep alone?\\r\\nHow chance my daughter is not with you?\\r\\nDo not consume your blood with sorrowing;\\r\\nHave you a nurse of me? Lord, how your favour’s\\r\\nChanged with this unprofitable woe!\\r\\nCome, give me your flowers, ere the sea mar it.\\r\\nWalk with Leonine; the air is quick there,\\r\\nAnd it pierces and sharpens the stomach.\\r\\nCome, Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNo, I pray you;\\r\\nI’ll not bereave you of your servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nCome, come;\\r\\nI love the king your father, and yourself,\\r\\nWith more than foreign heart. We every day\\r\\nExpect him here: when he shall come and find\\r\\nOur paragon to all reports thus blasted,\\r\\nHe will repent the breadth of his great voyage;\\r\\nBlame both my lord and me, that we have taken\\r\\nNo care to your best courses. Go, I pray you,\\r\\nWalk, and be cheerful once again; reserve\\r\\nThat excellent complexion, which did steal\\r\\nThe eyes of young and old. Care not for me;\\r\\nI can go home alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWell, I will go;\\r\\nBut yet I have no desire to it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nCome, come, I know ’tis good for you.\\r\\nWalk half an hour, Leonine, at the least:\\r\\nRemember what I have said.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nI warrant you, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nI’ll leave you, my sweet lady, for a while:\\r\\nPray, walk softly, do not heat your blood:\\r\\nWhat! I must have a care of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nMy thanks, sweet madam.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Dionyza._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIs this wind westerly that blows?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nSouth-west.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhen I was born the wind was north.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nWas’t so?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nMy father, as nurse said, did never fear,\\r\\nBut cried ‘Good seamen!’ to the sailors,\\r\\nGalling his kingly hands, haling ropes;\\r\\nAnd clasping to the mast, endured a sea\\r\\nThat almost burst the deck.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nWhen was this?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhen I was born:\\r\\nNever was waves nor wind more violent;\\r\\nAnd from the ladder tackle washes off\\r\\nA canvas-climber. ‘Ha!’ says one, ‘wolt out?’\\r\\nAnd with a dropping industry they skip\\r\\nFrom stem to stern: the boatswain whistles, and\\r\\nThe master calls and trebles their confusion.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nCome, say your prayers.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhat mean you?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nIf you require a little space for prayer,\\r\\nI grant it: pray; but be not tedious,\\r\\nFor the gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn\\r\\nTo do my work with haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhy will you kill me?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nTo satisfy my lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhy would she have me kill’d now?\\r\\nAs I can remember, by my troth,\\r\\nI never did her hurt in all my life:\\r\\nI never spake bad word, nor did ill turn\\r\\nTo any living creature: believe me, la,\\r\\nI never kill’d a mouse, nor hurt a fly:\\r\\nI trod upon a worm against my will,\\r\\nBut I wept for it. How have I offended,\\r\\nWherein my death might yield her any profit,\\r\\nOr my life imply her any danger?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nMy commission\\r\\nIs not to reason of the deed, but do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nYou will not do’t for all the world, I hope.\\r\\nYou are well favour’d, and your looks foreshow\\r\\nYou have a gentle heart. I saw you lately,\\r\\nWhen you caught hurt in parting two that fought:\\r\\nGood sooth, it show’d well in you: do so now:\\r\\nYour lady seeks my life; come you between,\\r\\nAnd save poor me, the weaker.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nI am sworn,\\r\\nAnd will dispatch.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He seizes her._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pirates.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST PIRATE.\\r\\nHold, villain!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Leonine runs away._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND PIRATE.\\r\\nA prize! a prize!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD PIRATE.\\r\\nHalf part, mates, half part,\\r\\nCome, let’s have her aboard suddenly.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Pirates with Marina._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Leonine.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nThese roguing thieves serve the great pirate Valdes;\\r\\nAnd they have seized Marina. Let her go:\\r\\nThere’s no hope she will return. I’ll swear she’s dead\\r\\nAnd thrown into the sea. But I’ll see further:\\r\\nPerhaps they will but please themselves upon her,\\r\\nNot carry her aboard. If she remain,\\r\\nWhom they have ravish’d must by me be slain.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nScene II. Mytilene. A room in a brothel.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandar, Bawd and Boult.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nBoult!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nSir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nSearch the market narrowly; Mytilene is full of gallants. We lost too\\r\\nmuch money this mart by being too wenchless.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWe were never so much out of creatures. We have but poor three, and\\r\\nthey can do no more than they can do; and they with continual action\\r\\nare even as good as rotten.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nTherefore let’s have fresh ones, whate’er we pay for them. If there be\\r\\nnot a conscience to be used in every trade, we shall never prosper.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nThou sayest true: ’tis not our bringing up of poor bastards, — as, I\\r\\nthink, I have brought up some eleven —\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nAy, to eleven; and brought them down again. But shall I search the\\r\\nmarket?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhat else, man? The stuff we have, a strong wind will blow it to\\r\\npieces, they are so pitifully sodden.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nThou sayest true; they’re too unwholesome, o’ conscience. The poor\\r\\nTransylvanian is dead, that lay with the little baggage.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nAy, she quickly pooped him; she made him roast-meat for worms. But I’ll\\r\\ngo search the market.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nThree or four thousand chequins were as pretty a proportion to live\\r\\nquietly, and so give over.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhy to give over, I pray you? Is it a shame to get when we are old?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nO, our credit comes not in like the commodity, nor the commodity wages\\r\\nnot with the danger: therefore, if in our youths we could pick up some\\r\\npretty estate, ’twere not amiss to keep our door hatched. Besides, the\\r\\nsore terms we stand upon with the gods will be strong with us for\\r\\ngiving over.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nCome, others sorts offend as well as we.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nAs well as we! ay, and better too; we offend worse. Neither is our\\r\\nprofession any trade; it’s no calling. But here comes Boult.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Boult, with the Pirates and Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT\\r\\n[_To Pirates._] Come your ways. My masters, you say she’s a virgin?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST PIRATE.\\r\\nO sir, we doubt it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nMaster, I have gone through for this piece, you see: if you like her,\\r\\nso; if not, I have lost my earnest.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nBoult, has she any qualities?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nShe has a good face, speaks well and has excellent good clothes:\\r\\nthere’s no farther necessity of qualities can make her be refused.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhat is her price, Boult?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI cannot be baited one doit of a thousand pieces.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nWell, follow me, my masters, you shall have your money presently. Wife,\\r\\ntake her in; instruct her what she has to do, that she may not be raw\\r\\nin her entertainment.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Pandar and Pirates._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nBoult, take you the marks of her, the colour of her hair, complexion,\\r\\nheight, her age, with warrant of her virginity; and cry ‘He that will\\r\\ngive most shall have her first.’ Such a maidenhead were no cheap thing,\\r\\nif men were as they have been. Get this done as I command you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nPerformance shall follow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nAlack that Leonine was so slack, so slow!\\r\\nHe should have struck, not spoke; or that these pirates,\\r\\nNot enough barbarous, had not o’erboard thrown me\\r\\nFor to seek my mother!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhy lament you, pretty one?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThat I am pretty.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nCome, the gods have done their part in you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI accuse them not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nYou are light into my hands, where you are like to live.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThe more my fault\\r\\nTo scape his hands where I was like to die.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nAy, and you shall live in pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nYes, indeed shall you, and taste gentlemen of all fashions: you shall\\r\\nfare well; you shall have the difference of all complexions. What! do\\r\\nyou stop your ears?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nAre you a woman?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhat would you have me be, an I be not a woman?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nAn honest woman, or not a woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nMarry, whip the gosling: I think I shall have something to do with you.\\r\\nCome, you’re a young foolish sapling, and must be bowed as I would have\\r\\nyou.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThe gods defend me!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nIf it please the gods to defend you by men, then men must comfort you,\\r\\nmen must feed you, men stir you up. Boult’s returned.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Boult.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, sir, hast thou cried her through the market?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI have cried her almost to the number of her hairs; I have drawn her\\r\\npicture with my voice.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nAnd I prithee tell me, how dost thou find the inclination of the\\r\\npeople, especially of the younger sort?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nFaith, they listened to me as they would have hearkened to their\\r\\nfather’s testament. There was a Spaniard’s mouth so watered, that he\\r\\nwent to bed to her very description.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWe shall have him here tomorrow with his best ruff on.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nTonight, tonight. But, mistress, do you know the French knight that\\r\\ncowers i’ the hams?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWho, Monsieur Veroles?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nAy, he: he offered to cut a caper at the proclamation; but he made a\\r\\ngroan at it, and swore he would see her tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWell, well, as for him, he brought his disease hither: here he does but\\r\\nrepair it. I know he will come in our shadow, to scatter his crowns in\\r\\nthe sun.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWell, if we had of every nation a traveller, we should lodge them with\\r\\nthis sign.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_To Marina._] Pray you, come hither awhile. You have fortunes coming\\r\\nupon you. Mark me: you must seem to do that fearfully which you commit\\r\\nwillingly, despise profit where you have most gain. To weep that you\\r\\nlive as ye do makes pity in your lovers: seldom but that pity begets\\r\\nyou a good opinion, and that opinion a mere profit.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI understand you not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nO, take her home, mistress, take her home: these blushes of hers must\\r\\nbe quenched with some present practice.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nThou sayest true, i’faith so they must; for your bride goes to that\\r\\nwith shame which is her way to go with warrant.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nFaith, some do and some do not. But, mistress, if I have bargained for\\r\\nthe joint, —\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nThou mayst cut a morsel off the spit.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI may so.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD. Who should deny it? Come young one, I like the manner of your\\r\\ngarments well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nAy, by my faith, they shall not be changed yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nBoult, spend thou that in the town: report what a sojourner we have;\\r\\nyou’ll lose nothing by custom. When nature framed this piece, she meant\\r\\nthee a good turn; therefore say what a paragon she is, and thou hast\\r\\nthe harvest out of thine own report.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI warrant you, mistress, thunder shall not so awake the beds of eels as\\r\\nmy giving out her beauty stirs up the lewdly inclined. I’ll bring home\\r\\nsome tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nCome your ways; follow me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nIf fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep,\\r\\nUntied I still my virgin knot will keep.\\r\\nDiana, aid my purpose!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhat have we to do with Diana? Pray you, will you go with us?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cleon and Dionyza.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nWhy, are you foolish? Can it be undone?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nO, Dionyza, such a piece of slaughter\\r\\nThe sun and moon ne’er look’d upon!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nI think you’ll turn a child again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nWere I chief lord of all this spacious world,\\r\\nI’d give it to undo the deed. A lady,\\r\\nMuch less in blood than virtue, yet a princess\\r\\nTo equal any single crown o’ the earth\\r\\nI’ the justice of compare! O villain Leonine!\\r\\nWhom thou hast poison’d too:\\r\\nIf thou hadst drunk to him, ’t had been a kindness\\r\\nBecoming well thy face. What canst thou say\\r\\nWhen noble Pericles shall demand his child?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nThat she is dead. Nurses are not the fates,\\r\\nTo foster it, nor ever to preserve.\\r\\nShe died at night; I’ll say so. Who can cross it?\\r\\nUnless you play the pious innocent,\\r\\nAnd for an honest attribute cry out\\r\\n‘She died by foul play.’\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nO, go to. Well, well,\\r\\nOf all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods\\r\\nDo like this worst.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nBe one of those that thinks\\r\\nThe petty wrens of Tarsus will fly hence,\\r\\nAnd open this to Pericles. I do shame\\r\\nTo think of what a noble strain you are,\\r\\nAnd of how coward a spirit.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nTo such proceeding\\r\\nWhoever but his approbation added,\\r\\nThough not his prime consent, he did not flow\\r\\nFrom honourable sources,\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nBe it so, then:\\r\\nYet none does know, but you, how she came dead,\\r\\nNor none can know, Leonine being gone.\\r\\nShe did distain my child, and stood between\\r\\nHer and her fortunes: none would look on her,\\r\\nBut cast their gazes on Marina’s face;\\r\\nWhilst ours was blurted at and held a malkin\\r\\nNot worth the time of day. It pierced me through;\\r\\nAnd though you call my course unnatural,\\r\\nYou not your child well loving, yet I find\\r\\nIt greets me as an enterprise of kindness\\r\\nPerform’d to your sole daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nHeavens forgive it!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nAnd as for Pericles, what should he say?\\r\\nWe wept after her hearse, and yet we mourn.\\r\\nHer monument is almost finish’d, and her epitaphs\\r\\nIn glittering golden characters express\\r\\nA general praise to her, and care in us\\r\\nAt whose expense ’tis done.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nThou art like the harpy,\\r\\nWhich, to betray, dost, with thine angel’s face,\\r\\nSeize with thine eagle’s talons.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nYou are like one that superstitiously\\r\\nDoth swear to the gods that winter kills the flies:\\r\\nBut yet I know you’ll do as I advise.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower, before the monument of Marina at Tarsus.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nThus time we waste, and long leagues make short;\\r\\nSail seas in cockles, have and wish but for’t;\\r\\nMaking, to take your imagination,\\r\\nFrom bourn to bourn, region to region.\\r\\nBy you being pardon’d, we commit no crime\\r\\nTo use one language in each several clime\\r\\nWhere our scenes seem to live. I do beseech you\\r\\nTo learn of me, who stand i’the gaps to teach you,\\r\\nThe stages of our story. Pericles\\r\\nIs now again thwarting the wayward seas\\r\\nAttended on by many a lord and knight,\\r\\nTo see his daughter, all his life’s delight.\\r\\nOld Helicanus goes along. Behind\\r\\nIs left to govern, if you bear in mind,\\r\\nOld Escanes, whom Helicanus late\\r\\nAdvanced in time to great and high estate.\\r\\nWell-sailing ships and bounteous winds have brought\\r\\nThis king to Tarsus, — think his pilot thought;\\r\\nSo with his steerage shall your thoughts go on, —\\r\\nTo fetch his daughter home, who first is gone.\\r\\nLike motes and shadows see them move awhile;\\r\\nYour ears unto your eyes I’ll reconcile.\\r\\n\\r\\n Dumb-show. Enter Pericles at one door with all his train; Cleon and\\r\\n Dionyza at the other. Cleon shows Pericles the tomb; whereat Pericles\\r\\n makes lamentation, puts on sackcloth and in a mighty passion departs.\\r\\n Then exeunt Cleon and Dionyza.\\r\\n\\r\\nSee how belief may suffer by foul show;\\r\\nThis borrow’d passion stands for true old woe;\\r\\nAnd Pericles, in sorrow all devour’d,\\r\\nWith sighs shot through; and biggest tears o’ershower’d,\\r\\nLeaves Tarsus and again embarks. He swears\\r\\nNever to wash his face, nor cut his hairs:\\r\\nHe puts on sackcloth, and to sea he bears\\r\\nA tempest, which his mortal vessel tears,\\r\\nAnd yet he rides it out. Now please you wit\\r\\nThe epitaph is for Marina writ\\r\\nBy wicked Dionyza.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Reads the inscription on Marina’s monument._]\\r\\n\\r\\n _The fairest, sweet’st, and best lies here,\\r\\n Who wither’d in her spring of year.\\r\\n She was of Tyrus the King’s daughter,\\r\\n On whom foul death hath made this slaughter;\\r\\n Marina was she call’d; and at her birth,\\r\\n Thetis, being proud, swallow’d some part o’ the earth:\\r\\n Therefore the earth, fearing to be o’erflow’d,\\r\\n Hath Thetis’ birth-child on the heavens bestow’d:\\r\\n Wherefore she does, and swears she’ll never stint,\\r\\n Make raging battery upon shores of flint._\\r\\n\\r\\nNo visor does become black villany\\r\\nSo well as soft and tender flattery.\\r\\nLet Pericles believe his daughter’s dead,\\r\\nAnd bear his courses to be ordered\\r\\nBy Lady Fortune; while our scene must play\\r\\nHis daughter’s woe and heavy well-a-day\\r\\nIn her unholy service. Patience, then,\\r\\nAnd think you now are all in Mytilene.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Mytilene. A street before the brothel.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, from the brothel, two Gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nDid you ever hear the like?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNo, nor never shall do in such a place as this, she being once gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nBut to have divinity preached there! did you ever dream of such a\\r\\nthing?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNo, no. Come, I am for no more bawdy houses: shall’s go hear the\\r\\nvestals sing?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI’ll do anything now that is virtuous; but I am out of the road of\\r\\nrutting for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. The same. A room in the brothel.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandar, Bawd and Boult.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nWell, I had rather than twice the worth of her she had ne’er come here.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nFie, fie upon her! She’s able to freeze the god Priapus, and undo a\\r\\nwhole generation. We must either get her ravished, or be rid of her.\\r\\nWhen she should do for clients her fitment, and do me the kindness of\\r\\nour profession, she has me her quirks, her reasons, her master reasons,\\r\\nher prayers, her knees; that she would make a puritan of the devil, if\\r\\nhe should cheapen a kiss of her.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nFaith, I must ravish her, or she’ll disfurnish us of all our cavaliers,\\r\\nand make our swearers priests.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nNow, the pox upon her green sickness for me!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nFaith, there’s no way to be rid on’t but by the way to the pox.\\r\\nHere comes the Lord Lysimachus disguised.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWe should have both lord and lown, if the peevish baggage would but\\r\\ngive way to customers.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lysimachus.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nHow now! How a dozen of virginities?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nNow, the gods to bless your honour!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI am glad to see your honour in good health.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nYou may so; ’tis the better for you that your resorters stand upon\\r\\nsound legs. How now? Wholesome iniquity have you that a man may deal\\r\\nwithal, and defy the surgeon?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWe have here one, sir, if she would — but there never came her like in\\r\\nMytilene.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nIf she’d do the deed of darkness, thou wouldst say.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nYour honour knows what ’tis to say well enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWell, call forth, call forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nFor flesh and blood, sir, white and red, you shall see a rose; and she\\r\\nwere a rose indeed, if she had but —\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWhat, prithee?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nO, sir, I can be modest.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nThat dignifies the renown of a bawd no less than it gives a good report\\r\\nto a number to be chaste.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Boult._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nHere comes that which grows to the stalk; never plucked yet, I can\\r\\nassure you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Boult with Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nIs she not a fair creature?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nFaith, she would serve after a long voyage at sea. Well, there’s for\\r\\nyou: leave us.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nI beseech your honour, give me leave: a word, and I’ll have done\\r\\npresently.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nI beseech you, do.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\n[_To Marina._] First, I would have you note, this is an honourable man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI desire to find him so, that I may worthily note him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nNext, he’s the governor of this country, and a man whom I am bound to.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nIf he govern the country, you are bound to him indeed; but how\\r\\nhonourable he is in that, I know not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD. Pray you, without any more virginal fencing, will you use him\\r\\nkindly? He will line your apron with gold.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhat he will do graciously, I will thankfully receive.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nHa’ you done?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nMy lord, she’s not paced yet: you must take some pains to work her to\\r\\nyour manage. Come, we will leave his honour and her together. Go thy\\r\\nways.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Bawd, Pandar and Boult._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nNow, pretty one, how long have you been at this trade?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhat trade, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWhy, I cannot name’t but I shall offend.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI cannot be offended with my trade. Please you to name it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nHow long have you been of this profession?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nE’er since I can remember.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS. Did you go to’t so young? Were you a gamester at five or at\\r\\nseven?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nEarlier, too, sir, if now I be one.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWhy, the house you dwell in proclaims you to be a creature of sale.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nDo you know this house to be a place of such resort, and will come\\r\\ninto’t? I hear say you are of honourable parts, and are the governor of\\r\\nthis place.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWhy, hath your principal made known unto you who I am?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWho is my principal?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWhy, your herb-woman; she that sets seeds and roots of shame and\\r\\niniquity. O, you have heard something of my power, and so stand aloof\\r\\nfor more serious wooing. But I protest to thee, pretty one, my\\r\\nauthority shall not see thee, or else look friendly upon thee. Come,\\r\\nbring me to some private place: come, come.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nIf you were born to honour, show it now;\\r\\nIf put upon you, make the judgement good\\r\\nThat thought you worthy of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nHow’s this? how’s this? Some more; be sage.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nFor me,\\r\\nThat am a maid, though most ungentle Fortune\\r\\nHave placed me in this sty, where, since I came,\\r\\nDiseases have been sold dearer than physic,\\r\\nO, that the gods\\r\\nWould set me free from this unhallow’d place,\\r\\nThough they did change me to the meanest bird\\r\\nThat flies i’ the purer air!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nI did not think\\r\\nThou couldst have spoke so well; ne’er dream’d thou couldst.\\r\\nHad I brought hither a corrupted mind,\\r\\nThy speech had alter’d it. Hold, here’s gold for thee:\\r\\nPersever in that clear way thou goest,\\r\\nAnd the gods strengthen thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThe good gods preserve you!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nFor me, be you thoughten\\r\\nThat I came with no ill intent; for to me\\r\\nThe very doors and windows savour vilely.\\r\\nFare thee well. Thou art a piece of virtue, and\\r\\nI doubt not but thy training hath been noble.\\r\\nHold, here’s more gold for thee.\\r\\nA curse upon him, die he like a thief,\\r\\nThat robs thee of thy goodness! If thou dost\\r\\nHear from me, it shall be for thy good.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Boult.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI beseech your honour, one piece for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nAvaunt, thou damned door-keeper!\\r\\nYour house but for this virgin that doth prop it,\\r\\nWould sink and overwhelm you. Away!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nHow’s this? We must take another course with you. If your peevish\\r\\nchastity, which is not worth a breakfast in the cheapest country under\\r\\nthe cope, shall undo a whole household, let me be gelded like a\\r\\nspaniel. Come your ways.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhither would you have me?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI must have your maidenhead taken off, or the common hangman shall\\r\\nexecute it. Come your ways. We’ll have no more gentlemen driven away.\\r\\nCome your ways, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Bawd.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nHow now! what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWorse and worse, mistress; she has here spoken holy words to the Lord\\r\\nLysimachus.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nO, abominable!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nShe makes our profession as it were to stink afore the face of the\\r\\ngods.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nMarry, hang her up for ever!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nThe nobleman would have dealt with her like a nobleman, and she sent\\r\\nhim away as cold as a snowball; saying his prayers too.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nBoult, take her away; use her at thy pleasure: crack the glass of her\\r\\nvirginity, and make the rest malleable.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nAn if she were a thornier piece of ground than she is, she shall be\\r\\nploughed.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nHark, hark, you gods!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nShe conjures: away with her! Would she had never come within my doors!\\r\\nMarry, hang you! She’s born to undo us. Will you not go the way of\\r\\nwomankind? Marry, come up, my dish of chastity with rosemary and bays!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nCome, mistress; come your way with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhither wilt thou have me?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nTo take from you the jewel you hold so dear.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nPrithee, tell me one thing first.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nCome now, your one thing?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhat canst thou wish thine enemy to be?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWhy, I could wish him to be my master, or rather, my mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNeither of these are so bad as thou art,\\r\\nSince they do better thee in their command.\\r\\nThou hold’st a place, for which the pained’st fiend\\r\\nOf hell would not in reputation change:\\r\\nThou art the damned doorkeeper to every\\r\\nCoistrel that comes inquiring for his Tib.\\r\\nTo the choleric fisting of every rogue\\r\\nThy ear is liable, thy food is such\\r\\nAs hath been belch’d on by infected lungs.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWhat would you have me do? Go to the wars, would you? where a man may\\r\\nserve seven years for the loss of a leg, and have not money enough in\\r\\nthe end to buy him a wooden one?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nDo anything but this thou doest. Empty\\r\\nOld receptacles, or common shores, of filth;\\r\\nServe by indenture to the common hangman:\\r\\nAny of these ways are yet better than this;\\r\\nFor what thou professest, a baboon, could he speak,\\r\\nWould own a name too dear. O, that the gods\\r\\nWould safely deliver me from this place!\\r\\nHere, here’s gold for thee.\\r\\nIf that thy master would gain by me,\\r\\nProclaim that I can sing, weave, sew, and dance,\\r\\nWith other virtues, which I’ll keep from boast;\\r\\nAnd I will undertake all these to teach.\\r\\nI doubt not but this populous city will\\r\\nYield many scholars.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nBut can you teach all this you speak of?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nProve that I cannot, take me home again,\\r\\nAnd prostitute me to the basest groom\\r\\nThat doth frequent your house.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWell, I will see what I can do for thee: if I can place thee, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nBut amongst honest women.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nFaith, my acquaintance lies little amongst them. But since my master\\r\\nand mistress have bought you, there’s no going but by their consent:\\r\\ntherefore I will make them acquainted with your purpose, and I doubt\\r\\nnot but I shall find them tractable enough. Come, I’ll do for thee what\\r\\nI can; come your ways.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nMarina thus the brothel ’scapes, and chances\\r\\nInto an honest house, our story says.\\r\\nShe sings like one immortal, and she dances\\r\\nAs goddess-like to her admired lays;\\r\\nDeep clerks she dumbs; and with her nee’le composes\\r\\nNature’s own shape, of bud, bird, branch, or berry,\\r\\nThat even her art sisters the natural roses;\\r\\nHer inkle, silk, twin with the rubied cherry:\\r\\nThat pupils lacks she none of noble race,\\r\\nWho pour their bounty on her; and her gain\\r\\nShe gives the cursed bawd. Here we her place;\\r\\nAnd to her father turn our thoughts again,\\r\\nWhere we left him, on the sea. We there him lost;\\r\\nWhence, driven before the winds, he is arrived\\r\\nHere where his daughter dwells; and on this coast\\r\\nSuppose him now at anchor. The city strived\\r\\nGod Neptune’s annual feast to keep: from whence\\r\\nLysimachus our Tyrian ship espies,\\r\\nHis banners sable, trimm’d with rich expense;\\r\\nAnd to him in his barge with fervour hies.\\r\\nIn your supposing once more put your sight\\r\\nOf heavy Pericles; think this his bark:\\r\\nWhere what is done in action, more, if might,\\r\\nShall be discover’d; please you, sit and hark.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. On board Pericles’ ship, off Mytilene. A close pavilion on\\r\\ndeck, with a curtain before it; Pericles within it, reclined on a\\r\\ncouch. A barge lying beside the Tyrian vessel.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two Sailors, one belonging to the Tyrian vessel, the other to\\r\\n the barge; to them Helicanus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYRIAN SAILOR.\\r\\n[_To the Sailor of Mytilene._]\\r\\nWhere is lord Helicanus? He can resolve you.\\r\\nO, here he is.\\r\\nSir, there’s a barge put off from Mytilene,\\r\\nAnd in it is Lysimachus the governor,\\r\\nWho craves to come aboard. What is your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nThat he have his. Call up some gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYRIAN SAILOR.\\r\\nHo, gentlemen! my lord calls.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two or three Gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nDoth your lordship call?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nGentlemen, there is some of worth would come aboard;\\r\\nI pray ye, greet them fairly.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Gentlemen and the two Sailors descend and go on board the\\r\\n barge._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, from thence, Lysimachus and Lords; with the Gentlemen and the\\r\\n two Sailors.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYRIAN SAILOR.\\r\\nSir,\\r\\nThis is the man that can, in aught you would,\\r\\nResolve you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nHail, reverend sir! the gods preserve you!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nAnd you, sir, to outlive the age I am,\\r\\nAnd die as I would do.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nYou wish me well.\\r\\nBeing on shore, honouring of Neptune’s triumphs,\\r\\nSeeing this goodly vessel ride before us,\\r\\nI made to it, to know of whence you are.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nFirst, what is your place?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nI am the governor of this place you lie before.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nSir, our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king;\\r\\nA man who for this three months hath not spoken\\r\\nTo anyone, nor taken sustenance\\r\\nBut to prorogue his grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nUpon what ground is his distemperature?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\n’Twould be too tedious to repeat;\\r\\nBut the main grief springs from the loss\\r\\nOf a beloved daughter and a wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nMay we not see him?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nYou may;\\r\\nBut bootless is your sight: he will not speak\\r\\nTo any.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nYet let me obtain my wish.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nBehold him.\\r\\n[_Pericles discovered._]\\r\\nThis was a goodly person.\\r\\nTill the disaster that, one mortal night,\\r\\nDrove him to this.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nSir king, all hail! The gods preserve you!\\r\\nHail, royal sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nIt is in vain; he will not speak to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nSir, we have a maid in Mytilene, I durst wager,\\r\\nWould win some words of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\n’Tis well bethought.\\r\\nShe questionless with her sweet harmony\\r\\nAnd other chosen attractions, would allure,\\r\\nAnd make a battery through his deafen’d parts,\\r\\nWhich now are midway stopp’d:\\r\\nShe is all happy as the fairest of all,\\r\\nAnd, with her fellow maids, is now upon\\r\\nThe leafy shelter that abuts against\\r\\nThe island’s side.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Whispers a Lord who goes off in the barge of Lysimachus._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nSure, all’s effectless; yet nothing we’ll omit\\r\\nThat bears recovery’s name. But, since your kindness\\r\\nWe have stretch’d thus far, let us beseech you\\r\\nThat for our gold we may provision have,\\r\\nWherein we are not destitute for want,\\r\\nBut weary for the staleness.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nO, sir, a courtesy\\r\\nWhich if we should deny, the most just gods\\r\\nFor every graff would send a caterpillar,\\r\\nAnd so inflict our province. Yet once more\\r\\nLet me entreat to know at large the cause\\r\\nOf your king’s sorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nSit, sir, I will recount it to you:\\r\\nBut, see, I am prevented.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter from the barge, Lord with Marina and a young Lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nO, here is the lady that I sent for. Welcome, fair one!\\r\\nIs’t not a goodly presence?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nShe’s a gallant lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nShe’s such a one, that, were I well assured\\r\\nCame of a gentle kind and noble stock,\\r\\nI’d wish no better choice, and think me rarely wed.\\r\\nFair one, all goodness that consists in bounty\\r\\nExpect even here, where is a kingly patient:\\r\\nIf that thy prosperous and artificial feat\\r\\nCan draw him but to answer thee in aught,\\r\\nThy sacred physic shall receive such pay\\r\\nAs thy desires can wish.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nSir, I will use\\r\\nMy utmost skill in his recovery, provided\\r\\nThat none but I and my companion maid\\r\\nBe suffer’d to come near him.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nCome, let us leave her,\\r\\nAnd the gods make her prosperous!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Marina sings._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nMark’d he your music?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNo, nor look’d on us,\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nSee, she will speak to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nHail, sir! My lord, lend ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHum, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI am a maid,\\r\\nMy lord, that ne’er before invited eyes,\\r\\nBut have been gazed on like a comet: she speaks,\\r\\nMy lord, that, may be, hath endured a grief\\r\\nMight equal yours, if both were justly weigh’d.\\r\\nThough wayward Fortune did malign my state,\\r\\nMy derivation was from ancestors\\r\\nWho stood equivalent with mighty kings:\\r\\nBut time hath rooted out my parentage,\\r\\nAnd to the world and awkward casualties\\r\\nBound me in servitude.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I will desist;\\r\\nBut there is something glows upon my cheek,\\r\\nAnd whispers in mine ear ‘Go not till he speak.’\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMy fortunes — parentage — good parentage —\\r\\nTo equal mine! — was it not thus? what say you?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI said, my lord, if you did know my parentage.\\r\\nYou would not do me violence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI do think so. Pray you, turn your eyes upon me.\\r\\nYou are like something that — what country-woman?\\r\\nHere of these shores?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNo, nor of any shores:\\r\\nYet I was mortally brought forth, and am\\r\\nNo other than I appear.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI am great with woe, and shall deliver weeping.\\r\\nMy dearest wife was like this maid, and such a one\\r\\nMy daughter might have been: my queen’s square brows;\\r\\nHer stature to an inch; as wand-like straight;\\r\\nAs silver-voiced; her eyes as jewel-like\\r\\nAnd cased as richly; in pace another Juno;\\r\\nWho starves the ears she feeds, and makes them hungry,\\r\\nThe more she gives them speech. Where do you live?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhere I am but a stranger: from the deck\\r\\nYou may discern the place.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWhere were you bred?\\r\\nAnd how achieved you these endowments, which\\r\\nYou make more rich to owe?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nIf I should tell my history, it would seem\\r\\nLike lies disdain’d in the reporting.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nPrithee, speak:\\r\\nFalseness cannot come from thee; for thou look’st\\r\\nModest as Justice, and thou seem’st a palace\\r\\nFor the crown’d Truth to dwell in: I will believe thee,\\r\\nAnd make my senses credit thy relation\\r\\nTo points that seem impossible; for thou look’st\\r\\nLike one I loved indeed. What were thy friends?\\r\\nDidst thou not say, when I did push thee back —\\r\\nWhich was when I perceived thee — that thou cam’st\\r\\nFrom good descending?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nSo indeed I did.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nReport thy parentage. I think thou said’st\\r\\nThou hadst been toss’d from wrong to injury,\\r\\nAnd that thou thought’st thy griefs might equal mine,\\r\\nIf both were open’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nSome such thing,\\r\\nI said, and said no more but what my thoughts\\r\\nDid warrant me was likely.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nTell thy story;\\r\\nIf thine consider’d prove the thousand part\\r\\nOf my endurance, thou art a man, and I\\r\\nHave suffer’d like a girl: yet thou dost look\\r\\nLike Patience gazing on kings’ graves, and smiling\\r\\nExtremity out of act. What were thy friends?\\r\\nHow lost thou them? Thy name, my most kind virgin?\\r\\nRecount, I do beseech thee: come, sit by me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nMy name is Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nO, I am mock’d,\\r\\nAnd thou by some incensed god sent hither\\r\\nTo make the world to laugh at me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nPatience, good sir,\\r\\nOr here I’ll cease.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nNay, I’ll be patient.\\r\\nThou little know’st how thou dost startle me,\\r\\nTo call thyself Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThe name\\r\\nWas given me by one that had some power,\\r\\nMy father, and a king.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHow! a king’s daughter?\\r\\nAnd call’d Marina?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nYou said you would believe me;\\r\\nBut, not to be a troubler of your peace,\\r\\nI will end here.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nBut are you flesh and blood?\\r\\nHave you a working pulse? and are no fairy?\\r\\nMotion! Well; speak on. Where were you born?\\r\\nAnd wherefore call’d Marina?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nCall’d Marina\\r\\nFor I was born at sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAt sea! What mother?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nMy mother was the daughter of a king;\\r\\nWho died the minute I was born,\\r\\nAs my good nurse Lychorida hath oft\\r\\nDeliver’d weeping.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nO, stop there a little! [_Aside._] This is the rarest dream that e’er\\r\\ndull sleep\\r\\nDid mock sad fools withal: this cannot be:\\r\\nMy daughter, buried. Well, where were you bred?\\r\\nI’ll hear you more, to the bottom of your story,\\r\\nAnd never interrupt you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nYou scorn: believe me, ’twere best I did give o’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI will believe you by the syllable\\r\\nOf what you shall deliver. Yet, give me leave:\\r\\nHow came you in these parts? Where were you bred?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThe king my father did in Tarsus leave me;\\r\\nTill cruel Cleon, with his wicked wife,\\r\\nDid seek to murder me: and having woo’d\\r\\nA villain to attempt it, who having drawn to do’t,\\r\\nA crew of pirates came and rescued me;\\r\\nBrought me to Mytilene. But, good sir.\\r\\nWhither will you have me? Why do you weep? It may be,\\r\\nYou think me an impostor: no, good faith;\\r\\nI am the daughter to King Pericles,\\r\\nIf good King Pericles be.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHo, Helicanus!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Helicanus and Lysimachus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nCalls my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThou art a grave and noble counsellor,\\r\\nMost wise in general: tell me, if thou canst,\\r\\nWhat this maid is, or what is like to be,\\r\\nThat thus hath made me weep.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nI know not,\\r\\nBut here is the regent, sir, of Mytilene\\r\\nSpeaks nobly of her.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nShe would never tell\\r\\nHer parentage; being demanded that,\\r\\nShe would sit still and weep.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nO Helicanus, strike me, honour’d sir;\\r\\nGive me a gash, put me to present pain;\\r\\nLest this great sea of joys rushing upon me\\r\\nO’erbear the shores of my mortality,\\r\\nAnd drown me with their sweetness.\\r\\n[_To Marina_] O, come hither,\\r\\nThou that beget’st him that did thee beget;\\r\\nThou that wast born at sea, buried at Tarsus,\\r\\nAnd found at sea again! O Helicanus,\\r\\nDown on thy knees, thank the holy gods as loud\\r\\nAs thunder threatens us: this is Marina.\\r\\nWhat was thy mother’s name? tell me but that,\\r\\nFor truth can never be confirm’d enough,\\r\\nThough doubts did ever sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nFirst, sir, I pray, what is your title?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI am Pericles of Tyre: but tell me now\\r\\nMy drown’d queen’s name, as in the rest you said\\r\\nThou hast been godlike perfect,\\r\\nThe heir of kingdoms and another life\\r\\nTo Pericles thy father.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nIs it no more to be your daughter than\\r\\nTo say my mother’s name was Thaisa?\\r\\nThaisa was my mother, who did end\\r\\nThe minute I began.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nNow, blessing on thee! rise; thou art my child.\\r\\nGive me fresh garments. Mine own, Helicanus;\\r\\nShe is not dead at Tarsus, as she should have been,\\r\\nBy savage Cleon: she shall tell thee all;\\r\\nWhen thou shalt kneel, and justify in knowledge\\r\\nShe is thy very princess. Who is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nSir, ’tis the governor of Mytilene,\\r\\nWho, hearing of your melancholy state,\\r\\nDid come to see you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI embrace you.\\r\\nGive me my robes. I am wild in my beholding.\\r\\nO heavens bless my girl! But, hark, what music?\\r\\nTell Helicanus, my Marina, tell him\\r\\nO’er, point by point, for yet he seems to doubt,\\r\\nHow sure you are my daughter. But, what music?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nMy lord, I hear none.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nNone!\\r\\nThe music of the spheres! List, my Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nIt is not good to cross him; give him way.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nRarest sounds! Do ye not hear?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nMusic, my lord? I hear.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMost heavenly music!\\r\\nIt nips me unto listening, and thick slumber\\r\\nHangs upon mine eyes: let me rest.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nA pillow for his head:\\r\\nSo, leave him all. Well, my companion friends,\\r\\nIf this but answer to my just belief,\\r\\nI’ll well remember you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Pericles._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Diana appears to Pericles as in a vision.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIANA.\\r\\nMy temple stands in Ephesus: hie thee thither,\\r\\nAnd do upon mine altar sacrifice.\\r\\nThere, when my maiden priests are met together,\\r\\nBefore the people all,\\r\\nReveal how thou at sea didst lose thy wife:\\r\\nTo mourn thy crosses, with thy daughter’s, call\\r\\nAnd give them repetition to the life.\\r\\nOr perform my bidding, or thou livest in woe:\\r\\nDo it, and happy; by my silver bow!\\r\\nAwake and tell thy dream.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Disappears._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nCelestial Dian, goddess argentine,\\r\\nI will obey thee. Helicanus!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Helicanus, Lysimachus and Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nSir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMy purpose was for Tarsus, there to strike\\r\\nThe inhospitable Cleon; but I am\\r\\nFor other service first: toward Ephesus\\r\\nTurn our blown sails; eftsoons I’ll tell thee why.\\r\\n[_To Lysimachus._] Shall we refresh us, sir, upon your shore,\\r\\nAnd give you gold for such provision\\r\\nAs our intents will need?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nSir, with all my heart,\\r\\nAnd when you come ashore I have another suit.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nYou shall prevail, were it to woo my daughter;\\r\\nFor it seems you have been noble towards her.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nSir, lend me your arm.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nCome, my Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower before the temple of Diana at Ephesus.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nNow our sands are almost run;\\r\\nMore a little, and then dumb.\\r\\nThis, my last boon, give me,\\r\\nFor such kindness must relieve me,\\r\\nThat you aptly will suppose\\r\\nWhat pageantry, what feats, what shows,\\r\\nWhat minstrelsy, and pretty din,\\r\\nThe regent made in Mytilene\\r\\nTo greet the king. So he thrived,\\r\\nThat he is promised to be wived\\r\\nTo fair Marina; but in no wise\\r\\nTill he had done his sacrifice,\\r\\nAs Dian bade: whereto being bound,\\r\\nThe interim, pray you, all confound.\\r\\nIn feather’d briefness sails are fill’d,\\r\\nAnd wishes fall out as they’re will’d.\\r\\nAt Ephesus, the temple see,\\r\\nOur king and all his company.\\r\\nThat he can hither come so soon,\\r\\nIs by your fancy’s thankful doom.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The temple of Diana at Ephesus; Thaisa standing near the\\r\\naltar, as high priestess; a number of Virgins on each side; Cerimon and\\r\\nother inhabitants of Ephesus attending.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles with his train; Lysimachus, Helicanus, Marina and a\\r\\n Lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHail, Dian! to perform thy just command,\\r\\nI here confess myself the King of Tyre;\\r\\nWho, frighted from my country, did wed\\r\\nAt Pentapolis the fair Thaisa.\\r\\nAt sea in childbed died she, but brought forth\\r\\nA maid child call’d Marina; whom, O goddess,\\r\\nWears yet thy silver livery. She at Tarsus\\r\\nWas nursed with Cleon; who at fourteen years\\r\\nHe sought to murder: but her better stars\\r\\nBrought her to Mytilene; ’gainst whose shore\\r\\nRiding, her fortunes brought the maid aboard us,\\r\\nWhere by her own most clear remembrance, she\\r\\nMade known herself my daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nVoice and favour!\\r\\nYou are, you are — O royal Pericles!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Faints._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWhat means the nun? She dies! help, gentlemen!\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nNoble sir,\\r\\nIf you have told Diana’s altar true,\\r\\nThis is your wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nReverend appearer, no;\\r\\nI threw her overboard with these very arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nUpon this coast, I warrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n’Tis most certain.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nLook to the lady; O, she’s but o’er-joy’d.\\r\\nEarly in blustering morn this lady was\\r\\nThrown upon this shore. I oped the coffin,\\r\\nFound there rich jewels; recover’d her, and placed her\\r\\nHere in Diana’s temple.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMay we see them?\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nGreat sir, they shall be brought you to my house,\\r\\nWhither I invite you. Look, Thaisa is\\r\\nRecovered.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nO, let me look!\\r\\nIf he be none of mine, my sanctity\\r\\nWill to my sense bend no licentious ear,\\r\\nBut curb it, spite of seeing. O, my lord,\\r\\nAre you not Pericles? Like him you spake,\\r\\nLike him you are: did you not name a tempest,\\r\\nA birth, and death?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThe voice of dead Thaisa!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nThat Thaisa am I, supposed dead\\r\\nAnd drown’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nImmortal Dian!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nNow I know you better,\\r\\nWhen we with tears parted Pentapolis,\\r\\nThe king my father gave you such a ring.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Shows a ring._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThis, this: no more, you gods! your present kindness\\r\\nMakes my past miseries sports: you shall do well,\\r\\nThat on the touching of her lips I may\\r\\nMelt and no more be seen. O, come, be buried\\r\\nA second time within these arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nMy heart\\r\\nLeaps to be gone into my mother’s bosom.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kneels to Thaisa._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nLook, who kneels here! Flesh of thy flesh, Thaisa;\\r\\nThy burden at the sea, and call’d Marina\\r\\nFor she was yielded there.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nBlest, and mine own!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nHail, madam, and my queen!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nI know you not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nYou have heard me say, when I did fly from Tyre,\\r\\nI left behind an ancient substitute:\\r\\nCan you remember what I call’d the man\\r\\nI have named him oft.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\n’Twas Helicanus then.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nStill confirmation:\\r\\nEmbrace him, dear Thaisa; this is he.\\r\\nNow do I long to hear how you were found:\\r\\nHow possibly preserved; and who to thank,\\r\\nBesides the gods, for this great miracle.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nLord Cerimon, my lord; this man,\\r\\nThrough whom the gods have shown their power; that can\\r\\nFrom first to last resolve you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nReverend sir,\\r\\nThe gods can have no mortal officer\\r\\nMore like a god than you. Will you deliver\\r\\nHow this dead queen relives?\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nI will, my lord.\\r\\nBeseech you, first go with me to my house,\\r\\nWhere shall be shown you all was found with her;\\r\\nHow she came placed here in the temple;\\r\\nNo needful thing omitted.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nPure Dian, bless thee for thy vision! I\\r\\nWill offer night-oblations to thee. Thaisa,\\r\\nThis prince, the fair betrothed of your daughter,\\r\\nShall marry her at Pentapolis.\\r\\nAnd now this ornament\\r\\nMakes me look dismal will I clip to form;\\r\\nAnd what this fourteen years no razor touch’d\\r\\nTo grace thy marriage-day, I’ll beautify.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nLord Cerimon hath letters of good credit, sir,\\r\\nMy father’s dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHeavens make a star of him! Yet there, my queen,\\r\\nWe’ll celebrate their nuptials, and ourselves\\r\\nWill in that kingdom spend our following days:\\r\\nOur son and daughter shall in Tyrus reign.\\r\\nLord Cerimon, we do our longing stay\\r\\nTo hear the rest untold. Sir, lead’s the way.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nIn Antiochus and his daughter you have heard\\r\\nOf monstrous lust the due and just reward:\\r\\nIn Pericles, his queen and daughter seen,\\r\\nAlthough assail’d with Fortune fierce and keen,\\r\\nVirtue preserved from fell destruction’s blast,\\r\\nLed on by heaven, and crown’d with joy at last.\\r\\nIn Helicanus may you well descry\\r\\nA figure of truth, of faith, of loyalty:\\r\\nIn reverend Cerimon there well appears\\r\\nThe worth that learned charity aye wears:\\r\\nFor wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame\\r\\nHad spread their cursed deed, the honour’d name\\r\\nOf Pericles, to rage the city turn,\\r\\nThat him and his they in his palace burn.\\r\\nThe gods for murder seemed so content\\r\\nTo punish, although not done, but meant.\\r\\nSo on your patience evermore attending,\\r\\nNew joy wait on you! Here our play has ending.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nKING RICHARD THE SECOND\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD THE SECOND\\r\\n JOHN OF GAUNT, Duke of Lancaster - uncle to the King\\r\\n EDMUND LANGLEY, Duke of York - uncle to the King\\r\\n HENRY, surnamed BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford, son of\\r\\n John of Gaunt, afterwards King Henry IV\\r\\n DUKE OF AUMERLE, son of the Duke of York\\r\\n THOMAS MOWBRAY, Duke of Norfolk\\r\\n DUKE OF SURREY\\r\\n EARL OF SALISBURY\\r\\n EARL BERKELEY\\r\\n BUSHY - favourites of King Richard\\r\\n BAGOT - \" \" \" \"\\r\\n GREEN - \" \" \" \"\\r\\n EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND\\r\\n HENRY PERCY, surnamed HOTSPUR, his son\\r\\n LORD Ross LORD WILLOUGHBY\\r\\n LORD FITZWATER BISHOP OF CARLISLE\\r\\n ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER LORD MARSHAL\\r\\n SIR STEPHEN SCROOP SIR PIERCE OF EXTON\\r\\n CAPTAIN of a band of Welshmen TWO GARDENERS\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN to King Richard\\r\\n DUCHESS OF YORK\\r\\n DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER, widow of Thomas of Woodstock,\\r\\n Duke of Gloucester\\r\\n LADY attending on the Queen\\r\\n\\r\\n Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Keeper, Messenger,\\r\\n Groom, and other Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: England and Wales\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. London. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter RICHARD, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other NOBLES and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster,\\r\\n Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,\\r\\n Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son,\\r\\n Here to make good the boist\\'rous late appeal,\\r\\n Which then our leisure would not let us hear,\\r\\n Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?\\r\\n GAUNT. I have, my liege.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him\\r\\n If he appeal the Duke on ancient malice,\\r\\n Or worthily, as a good subject should,\\r\\n On some known ground of treachery in him?\\r\\n GAUNT. As near as I could sift him on that argument,\\r\\n On some apparent danger seen in him\\r\\n Aim\\'d at your Highness-no inveterate malice.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then call them to our presence: face to face\\r\\n And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear\\r\\n The accuser and the accused freely speak.\\r\\n High-stomach\\'d are they both and full of ire,\\r\\n In rage, deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BOLINGBROKE and MOWBRAY\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Many years of happy days befall\\r\\n My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Each day still better other\\'s happiness\\r\\n Until the heavens, envying earth\\'s good hap,\\r\\n Add an immortal title to your crown!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We thank you both; yet one but flatters us,\\r\\n As well appeareth by the cause you come;\\r\\n Namely, to appeal each other of high treason.\\r\\n Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object\\r\\n Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. First-heaven be the record to my speech!\\r\\n In the devotion of a subject\\'s love,\\r\\n Tend\\'ring the precious safety of my prince,\\r\\n And free from other misbegotten hate,\\r\\n Come I appellant to this princely presence.\\r\\n Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,\\r\\n And mark my greeting well; for what I speak\\r\\n My body shall make good upon this earth,\\r\\n Or my divine soul answer it in heaven-\\r\\n Thou art a traitor and a miscreant,\\r\\n Too good to be so, and too bad to live,\\r\\n Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,\\r\\n The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.\\r\\n Once more, the more to aggravate the note,\\r\\n With a foul traitor\\'s name stuff I thy throat;\\r\\n And wish-so please my sovereign-ere I move,\\r\\n What my tongue speaks, my right drawn sword may prove.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal.\\r\\n \\'Tis not the trial of a woman\\'s war,\\r\\n The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,\\r\\n Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain;\\r\\n The blood is hot that must be cool\\'d for this.\\r\\n Yet can I not of such tame patience boast\\r\\n As to be hush\\'d and nought at an to say.\\r\\n First, the fair reverence of your Highness curbs me\\r\\n From giving reins and spurs to my free speech;\\r\\n Which else would post until it had return\\'d\\r\\n These terms of treason doubled down his throat.\\r\\n Setting aside his high blood\\'s royalty,\\r\\n And let him be no kinsman to my liege,\\r\\n I do defy him, and I spit at him,\\r\\n Call him a slanderous coward and a villain;\\r\\n Which to maintain, I would allow him odds\\r\\n And meet him, were I tied to run afoot\\r\\n Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,\\r\\n Or any other ground inhabitable\\r\\n Where ever Englishman durst set his foot.\\r\\n Meantime let this defend my loyalty-\\r\\n By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage,\\r\\n Disclaiming here the kindred of the King;\\r\\n And lay aside my high blood\\'s royalty,\\r\\n Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except.\\r\\n If guilty dread have left thee so much strength\\r\\n As to take up mine honour\\'s pawn, then stoop.\\r\\n By that and all the rites of knighthood else\\r\\n Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,\\r\\n What I have spoke or thou canst worst devise.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. I take it up; and by that sword I swear\\r\\n Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder\\r\\n I\\'ll answer thee in any fair degree\\r\\n Or chivalrous design of knightly trial;\\r\\n And when I mount, alive may I not light\\r\\n If I be traitor or unjustly fight!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray\\'s charge?\\r\\n It must be great that can inherit us\\r\\n So much as of a thought of ill in him.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Look what I speak, my life shall prove it true-\\r\\n That Mowbray hath receiv\\'d eight thousand nobles\\r\\n In name of lendings for your Highness\\' soldiers,\\r\\n The which he hath detain\\'d for lewd employments\\r\\n Like a false traitor and injurious villain.\\r\\n Besides, I say and will in battle prove-\\r\\n Or here, or elsewhere to the furthest verge\\r\\n That ever was survey\\'d by English eye-\\r\\n That all the treasons for these eighteen years\\r\\n Complotted and contrived in this land\\r\\n Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.\\r\\n Further I say, and further will maintain\\r\\n Upon his bad life to make all this good,\\r\\n That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester\\'s death,\\r\\n Suggest his soon-believing adversaries,\\r\\n And consequently, like a traitor coward,\\r\\n Sluic\\'d out his innocent soul through streams of blood;\\r\\n Which blood, like sacrificing Abel\\'s, cries,\\r\\n Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth,\\r\\n To me for justice and rough chastisement;\\r\\n And, by the glorious worth of my descent,\\r\\n This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. How high a pitch his resolution soars!\\r\\n Thomas of Norfolk, what say\\'st thou to this?\\r\\n MOWBRAY. O, let my sovereign turn away his face\\r\\n And bid his ears a little while be deaf,\\r\\n Till I have told this slander of his blood\\r\\n How God and good men hate so foul a liar.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and cars.\\r\\n Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom\\'s heir,\\r\\n As he is but my father\\'s brother\\'s son,\\r\\n Now by my sceptre\\'s awe I make a vow,\\r\\n Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood\\r\\n Should nothing privilege him nor partialize\\r\\n The unstooping firmness of my upright soul.\\r\\n He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou:\\r\\n Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,\\r\\n Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest.\\r\\n Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais\\r\\n Disburs\\'d I duly to his Highness\\' soldiers;\\r\\n The other part reserv\\'d I by consent,\\r\\n For that my sovereign liege was in my debt\\r\\n Upon remainder of a dear account\\r\\n Since last I went to France to fetch his queen:\\r\\n Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester\\'s death-\\r\\n I slew him not, but to my own disgrace\\r\\n Neglected my sworn duty in that case.\\r\\n For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster,\\r\\n The honourable father to my foe,\\r\\n Once did I lay an ambush for your life,\\r\\n A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul;\\r\\n But ere I last receiv\\'d the sacrament\\r\\n I did confess it, and exactly begg\\'d\\r\\n Your Grace\\'s pardon; and I hope I had it.\\r\\n This is my fault. As for the rest appeal\\'d,\\r\\n It issues from the rancour of a villain,\\r\\n A recreant and most degenerate traitor;\\r\\n Which in myself I boldly will defend,\\r\\n And interchangeably hurl down my gage\\r\\n Upon this overweening traitor\\'s foot\\r\\n To prove myself a loyal gentleman\\r\\n Even in the best blood chamber\\'d in his bosom.\\r\\n In haste whereof, most heartily I pray\\r\\n Your Highness to assign our trial day.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul\\'d by me;\\r\\n Let\\'s purge this choler without letting blood-\\r\\n This we prescribe, though no physician;\\r\\n Deep malice makes too deep incision.\\r\\n Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed:\\r\\n Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.\\r\\n Good uncle, let this end where it begun;\\r\\n We\\'ll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son.\\r\\n GAUNT. To be a make-peace shall become my age.\\r\\n Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk\\'s gage.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And, Norfolk, throw down his.\\r\\n GAUNT. When, Harry, when?\\r\\n Obedience bids I should not bid again.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Norfolk, throw down; we bid.\\r\\n There is no boot.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot;\\r\\n My life thou shalt command, but not my shame:\\r\\n The one my duty owes; but my fair name,\\r\\n Despite of death, that lives upon my grave\\r\\n To dark dishonour\\'s use thou shalt not have.\\r\\n I am disgrac\\'d, impeach\\'d, and baffl\\'d here;\\r\\n Pierc\\'d to the soul with slander\\'s venom\\'d spear,\\r\\n The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood\\r\\n Which breath\\'d this poison.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Rage must be withstood:\\r\\n Give me his gage-lions make leopards tame.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Yea, but not change his spots. Take but my shame,\\r\\n And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord,\\r\\n The purest treasure mortal times afford\\r\\n Is spotless reputation; that away,\\r\\n Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.\\r\\n A jewel in a ten-times barr\\'d-up chest\\r\\n Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.\\r\\n Mine honour is my life; both grow in one;\\r\\n Take honour from me, and my life is done:\\r\\n Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try;\\r\\n In that I live, and for that will I die.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. O, God defend my soul from such deep sin!\\r\\n Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father\\'s sight?\\r\\n Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height\\r\\n Before this outdar\\'d dastard? Ere my tongue\\r\\n Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong\\r\\n Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear\\r\\n The slavish motive of recanting fear,\\r\\n And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace,\\r\\n Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray\\'s face.\\r\\n Exit GAUNT\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We were not born to sue, but to command;\\r\\n Which since we cannot do to make you friends,\\r\\n Be ready, as your lives shall answer it,\\r\\n At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert\\'s day.\\r\\n There shall your swords and lances arbitrate\\r\\n The swelling difference of your settled hate;\\r\\n Since we can not atone you, we shall see\\r\\n Justice design the victor\\'s chivalry.\\r\\n Lord Marshal, command our officers-at-arms\\r\\n Be ready to direct these home alarms. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. London. The DUKE OF LANCASTER\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter JOHN OF GAUNT with the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n GAUNT. Alas, the part I had in Woodstock\\'s blood\\r\\n Doth more solicit me than your exclaims\\r\\n To stir against the butchers of his life!\\r\\n But since correction lieth in those hands\\r\\n Which made the fault that we cannot correct,\\r\\n Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven;\\r\\n Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth,\\r\\n Will rain hot vengeance on offenders\\' heads.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?\\r\\n Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?\\r\\n Edward\\'s seven sons, whereof thyself art one,\\r\\n Were as seven vials of his sacred blood,\\r\\n Or seven fair branches springing from one root.\\r\\n Some of those seven are dried by nature\\'s course,\\r\\n Some of those branches by the Destinies cut;\\r\\n But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester,\\r\\n One vial full of Edward\\'s sacred blood,\\r\\n One flourishing branch of his most royal root,\\r\\n Is crack\\'d, and all the precious liquor spilt;\\r\\n Is hack\\'d down, and his summer leaves all faded,\\r\\n By envy\\'s hand and murder\\'s bloody axe.\\r\\n Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! That bed, that womb,\\r\\n That mettle, that self mould, that fashion\\'d thee,\\r\\n Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest,\\r\\n Yet art thou slain in him. Thou dost consent\\r\\n In some large measure to thy father\\'s death\\r\\n In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,\\r\\n Who was the model of thy father\\'s life.\\r\\n Call it not patience, Gaunt-it is despair;\\r\\n In suff\\'ring thus thy brother to be slaught\\'red,\\r\\n Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life,\\r\\n Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee.\\r\\n That which in mean men we entitle patience\\r\\n Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.\\r\\n What shall I say? To safeguard thine own life\\r\\n The best way is to venge my Gloucester\\'s death.\\r\\n GAUNT. God\\'s is the quarrel; for God\\'s substitute,\\r\\n His deputy anointed in His sight,\\r\\n Hath caus\\'d his death; the which if wrongfully,\\r\\n Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift\\r\\n An angry arm against His minister.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Where then, alas, may I complain myself?\\r\\n GAUNT. To God, the widow\\'s champion and defence.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.\\r\\n Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold\\r\\n Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight.\\r\\n O, sit my husband\\'s wrongs on Hereford\\'s spear,\\r\\n That it may enter butcher Mowbray\\'s breast!\\r\\n Or, if misfortune miss the first career,\\r\\n Be Mowbray\\'s sins so heavy in his bosom\\r\\n That they may break his foaming courser\\'s back\\r\\n And throw the rider headlong in the lists,\\r\\n A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford!\\r\\n Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometimes brother\\'s wife,\\r\\n With her companion, Grief, must end her life.\\r\\n GAUNT. Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry.\\r\\n As much good stay with thee as go with me!\\r\\n DUCHESS. Yet one word more- grief boundeth where it falls,\\r\\n Not with the empty hollowness, but weight.\\r\\n I take my leave before I have begun,\\r\\n For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.\\r\\n Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York.\\r\\n Lo, this is all- nay, yet depart not so;\\r\\n Though this be all, do not so quickly go;\\r\\n I shall remember more. Bid him- ah, what?-\\r\\n With all good speed at Plashy visit me.\\r\\n Alack, and what shall good old York there see\\r\\n But empty lodgings and unfurnish\\'d walls,\\r\\n Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?\\r\\n And what hear there for welcome but my groans?\\r\\n Therefore commend me; let him not come there\\r\\n To seek out sorrow that dwells every where.\\r\\n Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die;\\r\\n The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. The lists at Coventry\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the LORD MARSHAL and the DUKE OF AUMERLE\\r\\n\\r\\n MARSHAL. My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm\\'d?\\r\\n AUMERLE. Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in.\\r\\n MARSHAL. The Duke of Norfolk, spightfully and bold,\\r\\n Stays but the summons of the appelant\\'s trumpet.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Why then, the champions are prepar\\'d, and stay\\r\\n For nothing but his Majesty\\'s approach.\\r\\n\\r\\n The trumpets sound, and the KING enters with his nobles,\\r\\n GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and others. When they are set,\\r\\n enter MOWBRAY, Duke of Nor folk, in arms, defendant, and\\r\\n a HERALD\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Marshal, demand of yonder champion\\r\\n The cause of his arrival here in arms;\\r\\n Ask him his name; and orderly proceed\\r\\n To swear him in the justice of his cause.\\r\\n MARSHAL. In God\\'s name and the King\\'s, say who thou art,\\r\\n And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms;\\r\\n Against what man thou com\\'st, and what thy quarrel.\\r\\n Speak truly on thy knighthood and thy oath;\\r\\n As so defend thee heaven and thy valour!\\r\\n MOWBRAY. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk;\\r\\n Who hither come engaged by my oath-\\r\\n Which God defend a knight should violate!-\\r\\n Both to defend my loyalty and truth\\r\\n To God, my King, and my succeeding issue,\\r\\n Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me;\\r\\n And, by the grace of God and this mine arm,\\r\\n To prove him, in defending of myself,\\r\\n A traitor to my God, my King, and me.\\r\\n And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!\\r\\n\\r\\n The trumpets sound. Enter BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford,\\r\\n appellant, in armour, and a HERALD\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms,\\r\\n Both who he is and why he cometh hither\\r\\n Thus plated in habiliments of war;\\r\\n And formally, according to our law,\\r\\n Depose him in the justice of his cause.\\r\\n MARSHAL. What is thy name? and wherefore com\\'st thou hither\\r\\n Before King Richard in his royal lists?\\r\\n Against whom comest thou? and what\\'s thy quarrel?\\r\\n Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,\\r\\n Am I; who ready here do stand in arms\\r\\n To prove, by God\\'s grace and my body\\'s valour,\\r\\n In lists on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,\\r\\n That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous,\\r\\n To God of heaven, King Richard, and to me.\\r\\n And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!\\r\\n MARSHAL. On pain of death, no person be so bold\\r\\n Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists,\\r\\n Except the Marshal and such officers\\r\\n Appointed to direct these fair designs.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign\\'s hand,\\r\\n And bow my knee before his Majesty;\\r\\n For Mowbray and myself are like two men\\r\\n That vow a long and weary pilgrimage.\\r\\n Then let us take a ceremonious leave\\r\\n And loving farewell of our several friends.\\r\\n MARSHAL. The appellant in all duty greets your Highness,\\r\\n And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We will descend and fold him in our arms.\\r\\n Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,\\r\\n So be thy fortune in this royal fight!\\r\\n Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed,\\r\\n Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. O, let no noble eye profane a tear\\r\\n For me, if I be gor\\'d with Mowbray\\'s spear.\\r\\n As confident as is the falcon\\'s flight\\r\\n Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.\\r\\n My loving lord, I take my leave of you;\\r\\n Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle;\\r\\n Not sick, although I have to do with death,\\r\\n But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.\\r\\n Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet\\r\\n The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.\\r\\n O thou, the earthly author of my blood,\\r\\n Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,\\r\\n Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up\\r\\n To reach at victory above my head,\\r\\n Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers,\\r\\n And with thy blessings steel my lance\\'s point,\\r\\n That it may enter Mowbray\\'s waxen coat\\r\\n And furbish new the name of John o\\' Gaunt,\\r\\n Even in the lusty haviour of his son.\\r\\n GAUNT. God in thy good cause make thee prosperous!\\r\\n Be swift like lightning in the execution,\\r\\n And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,\\r\\n Fall like amazing thunder on the casque\\r\\n Of thy adverse pernicious enemy.\\r\\n Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Mine innocence and Saint George to thrive!\\r\\n MOWBRAY. However God or fortune cast my lot,\\r\\n There lives or dies, true to King Richard\\'s throne,\\r\\n A loyal, just, and upright gentleman.\\r\\n Never did captive with a freer heart\\r\\n Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace\\r\\n His golden uncontroll\\'d enfranchisement,\\r\\n More than my dancing soul doth celebrate\\r\\n This feast of battle with mine adversary.\\r\\n Most mighty liege, and my companion peers,\\r\\n Take from my mouth the wish of happy years.\\r\\n As gentle and as jocund as to jest\\r\\n Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Farewell, my lord, securely I espy\\r\\n Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.\\r\\n Order the trial, Marshal, and begin.\\r\\n MARSHAL. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,\\r\\n Receive thy lance; and God defend the right!\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen.\\r\\n MARSHAL. [To an officer] Go bear this lance to Thomas,\\r\\n Duke of Norfolk.\\r\\n FIRST HERALD. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,\\r\\n Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself,\\r\\n On pain to be found false and recreant,\\r\\n To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,\\r\\n A traitor to his God, his King, and him;\\r\\n And dares him to set forward to the fight.\\r\\n SECOND HERALD. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,\\r\\n On pain to be found false and recreant,\\r\\n Both to defend himself, and to approve\\r\\n Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,\\r\\n To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal,\\r\\n Courageously and with a free desire\\r\\n Attending but the signal to begin.\\r\\n MARSHAL. Sound trumpets; and set forward, combatants.\\r\\n [A charge sounded]\\r\\n Stay, the King hath thrown his warder down.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Let them lay by their helmets and their spears,\\r\\n And both return back to their chairs again.\\r\\n Withdraw with us; and let the trumpets sound\\r\\n While we return these dukes what we decree.\\r\\n\\r\\n A long flourish, while the KING consults his Council\\r\\n\\r\\n Draw near,\\r\\n And list what with our council we have done.\\r\\n For that our kingdom\\'s earth should not be soil\\'d\\r\\n With that dear blood which it hath fostered;\\r\\n And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect\\r\\n Of civil wounds plough\\'d up with neighbours\\' sword;\\r\\n And for we think the eagle-winged pride\\r\\n Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,\\r\\n With rival-hating envy, set on you\\r\\n To wake our peace, which in our country\\'s cradle\\r\\n Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;\\r\\n Which so rous\\'d up with boist\\'rous untun\\'d drums,\\r\\n With harsh-resounding trumpets\\' dreadful bray,\\r\\n And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,\\r\\n Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace\\r\\n And make us wade even in our kindred\\'s blood-\\r\\n Therefore we banish you our territories.\\r\\n You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life,\\r\\n Till twice five summers have enrich\\'d our fields\\r\\n Shall not regreet our fair dominions,\\r\\n But tread the stranger paths of banishment.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Your will be done. This must my comfort be-\\r\\n That sun that warms you here shall shine on me,\\r\\n And those his golden beams to you here lent\\r\\n Shall point on me and gild my banishment.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,\\r\\n Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:\\r\\n The sly slow hours shall not determinate\\r\\n The dateless limit of thy dear exile;\\r\\n The hopeless word of \\'never to return\\'\\r\\n Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,\\r\\n And all unlook\\'d for from your Highness\\' mouth.\\r\\n A dearer merit, not so deep a maim\\r\\n As to be cast forth in the common air,\\r\\n Have I deserved at your Highness\\' hands.\\r\\n The language I have learnt these forty years,\\r\\n My native English, now I must forgo;\\r\\n And now my tongue\\'s use is to me no more\\r\\n Than an unstringed viol or a harp;\\r\\n Or like a cunning instrument cas\\'d up\\r\\n Or, being open, put into his hands\\r\\n That knows no touch to tune the harmony.\\r\\n Within my mouth you have engaol\\'d my tongue,\\r\\n Doubly portcullis\\'d with my teeth and lips;\\r\\n And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance\\r\\n Is made my gaoler to attend on me.\\r\\n I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,\\r\\n Too far in years to be a pupil now.\\r\\n What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death,\\r\\n Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. It boots thee not to be compassionate;\\r\\n After our sentence plaining comes too late.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Then thus I turn me from my countrv\\'s light,\\r\\n To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Return again, and take an oath with thee.\\r\\n Lay on our royal sword your banish\\'d hands;\\r\\n Swear by the duty that you owe to God,\\r\\n Our part therein we banish with yourselves,\\r\\n To keep the oath that we administer:\\r\\n You never shall, so help you truth and God,\\r\\n Embrace each other\\'s love in banishment;\\r\\n Nor never look upon each other\\'s face;\\r\\n Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile\\r\\n This louring tempest of your home-bred hate;\\r\\n Nor never by advised purpose meet\\r\\n To plot, contrive, or complot any ill,\\r\\n \\'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I swear.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. And I, to keep all this.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy.\\r\\n By this time, had the King permitted us,\\r\\n One of our souls had wand\\'red in the air,\\r\\n Banish\\'d this frail sepulchre of our flesh,\\r\\n As now our flesh is banish\\'d from this land-\\r\\n Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm;\\r\\n Since thou hast far to go, bear not along\\r\\n The clogging burden of a guilty soul.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were traitor,\\r\\n My name be blotted from the book of life,\\r\\n And I from heaven banish\\'d as from hence!\\r\\n But what thou art, God, thou, and I, do know;\\r\\n And all too soon, I fear, the King shall rue.\\r\\n Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray:\\r\\n Save back to England, an the world\\'s my way. Exit\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes\\r\\n I see thy grieved heart. Thy sad aspect\\r\\n Hath from the number of his banish\\'d years\\r\\n Pluck\\'d four away. [To BOLINGBROKE] Six frozen winters spent,\\r\\n Return with welcome home from banishment.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. How long a time lies in one little word!\\r\\n Four lagging winters and four wanton springs\\r\\n End in a word: such is the breath of Kings.\\r\\n GAUNT. I thank my liege that in regard of me\\r\\n He shortens four years of my son\\'s exile;\\r\\n But little vantage shall I reap thereby,\\r\\n For ere the six years that he hath to spend\\r\\n Can change their moons and bring their times about,\\r\\n My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light\\r\\n Shall be extinct with age and endless night;\\r\\n My inch of taper will be burnt and done,\\r\\n And blindfold death not let me see my son.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live.\\r\\n GAUNT. But not a minute, King, that thou canst give:\\r\\n Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow\\r\\n And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow;\\r\\n Thou can\\'st help time to furrow me with age,\\r\\n But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage;\\r\\n Thy word is current with him for my death,\\r\\n But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thy son is banish\\'d upon good advice,\\r\\n Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave.\\r\\n Why at our justice seem\\'st thou then to lour?\\r\\n GAUNT. Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.\\r\\n You urg\\'d me as a judge; but I had rather\\r\\n You would have bid me argue like a father.\\r\\n O, had it been a stranger, not my child,\\r\\n To smooth his fault I should have been more mild.\\r\\n A partial slander sought I to avoid,\\r\\n And in the sentence my own life destroy\\'d.\\r\\n Alas, I look\\'d when some of you should say\\r\\n I was too strict to make mine own away;\\r\\n But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue\\r\\n Against my will to do myself this wrong.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so.\\r\\n Six years we banish him, and he shall go.\\r\\n Flourish. Exit KING with train\\r\\n AUMERLE. Cousin, farewell; what presence must not know,\\r\\n From where you do remain let paper show.\\r\\n MARSHAL. My lord, no leave take I, for I will ride\\r\\n As far as land will let me by your side.\\r\\n GAUNT. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,\\r\\n That thou returnest no greeting to thy friends?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I have too few to take my leave of you,\\r\\n When the tongue\\'s office should be prodigal\\r\\n To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.\\r\\n GAUNT. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Joy absent, grief is present for that time.\\r\\n GAUNT. What is six winters? They are quickly gone.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.\\r\\n GAUNT. Call it a travel that thou tak\\'st for pleasure.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,\\r\\n Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage.\\r\\n GAUNT. The sullen passage of thy weary steps\\r\\n Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set\\r\\n The precious jewel of thy home return.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make\\r\\n Will but remember me what a deal of world\\r\\n I wander from the jewels that I love.\\r\\n Must I not serve a long apprenticehood\\r\\n To foreign passages; and in the end,\\r\\n Having my freedom, boast of nothing else\\r\\n But that I was a journeyman to grief?\\r\\n GAUNT. All places that the eye of heaven visits\\r\\n Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.\\r\\n Teach thy necessity to reason thus:\\r\\n There is no virtue like necessity.\\r\\n Think not the King did banish thee,\\r\\n But thou the King. Woe doth the heavier sit\\r\\n Where it perceives it is but faintly home.\\r\\n Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour,\\r\\n And not the King exil\\'d thee; or suppose\\r\\n Devouring pestilence hangs in our air\\r\\n And thou art flying to a fresher clime.\\r\\n Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it\\r\\n To lie that way thou goest, not whence thou com\\'st.\\r\\n Suppose the singing birds musicians,\\r\\n The grass whereon thou tread\\'st the presence strew\\'d,\\r\\n The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more\\r\\n Than a delightful measure or a dance;\\r\\n For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite\\r\\n The man that mocks at it and sets it light.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. O, who can hold a fire in his hand\\r\\n By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?\\r\\n Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite\\r\\n By bare imagination of a feast?\\r\\n Or wallow naked in December snow\\r\\n By thinking on fantastic summer\\'s heat?\\r\\n O, no! the apprehension of the good\\r\\n Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.\\r\\n Fell sorrow\\'s tooth doth never rankle more\\r\\n Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore.\\r\\n GAUNT. Come, come, my son, I\\'ll bring thee on thy way.\\r\\n Had I thy youtli and cause, I would not stay.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Then, England\\'s ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu;\\r\\n My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet!\\r\\n Where\\'er I wander, boast of this I can:\\r\\n Though banish\\'d, yet a trueborn English man. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. London. The court\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the KING, with BAGOT and GREEN, at one door; and the DUKE OF\\r\\nAUMERLE at another\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We did observe. Cousin Aumerle,\\r\\n How far brought you high Hereford on his way?\\r\\n AUMERLE. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,\\r\\n But to the next high way, and there I left him.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And say, what store of parting tears were shed?\\r\\n AUMERLE. Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind,\\r\\n Which then blew bitterly against our faces,\\r\\n Awak\\'d the sleeping rheum, and so by chance\\r\\n Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What said our cousin when you parted with him?\\r\\n AUMERLE. \\'Farewell.\\'\\r\\n And, for my heart disdained that my tongue\\r\\n Should so profane the word, that taught me craft\\r\\n To counterfeit oppression of such grief\\r\\n That words seem\\'d buried in my sorrow\\'s grave.\\r\\n Marry, would the word \\'farewell\\' have length\\'ned hours\\r\\n And added years to his short banishment,\\r\\n He should have had a volume of farewells;\\r\\n But since it would not, he had none of me.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. He is our cousin, cousin; but \\'tis doubt,\\r\\n When time shall call him home from banishment,\\r\\n Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.\\r\\n Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green,\\r\\n Observ\\'d his courtship to the common people;\\r\\n How he did seem to dive into their hearts\\r\\n With humble and familiar courtesy;\\r\\n What reverence he did throw away on slaves,\\r\\n Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles\\r\\n And patient underbearing of his fortune,\\r\\n As \\'twere to banish their affects with him.\\r\\n Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;\\r\\n A brace of draymen bid God speed him well\\r\\n And had the tribute of his supple knee,\\r\\n With \\'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends\\';\\r\\n As were our England in reversion his,\\r\\n And he our subjects\\' next degree in hope.\\r\\n GREEN. Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts!\\r\\n Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland,\\r\\n Expedient manage must be made, my liege,\\r\\n Ere further leisure yicld them further means\\r\\n For their advantage and your Highness\\' loss.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We will ourself in person to this war;\\r\\n And, for our coffers, with too great a court\\r\\n And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light,\\r\\n We are enforc\\'d to farm our royal realm;\\r\\n The revenue whereof shall furnish us\\r\\n For our affairs in hand. If that come short,\\r\\n Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters;\\r\\n Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,\\r\\n They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold,\\r\\n And send them after to supply our wants;\\r\\n For we will make for Ireland presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BUSHY\\r\\n\\r\\n Bushy, what news?\\r\\n BUSHY. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord,\\r\\n Suddenly taken; and hath sent poste-haste\\r\\n To entreat your Majesty to visit him.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Where lies he?\\r\\n BUSHY. At Ely House.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Now put it, God, in the physician\\'s mind\\r\\n To help him to his grave immediately!\\r\\n The lining of his coffers shall make coats\\r\\n To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.\\r\\n Come, gentlemen, let\\'s all go visit him.\\r\\n Pray God we may make haste, and come too late!\\r\\n ALL. Amen. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. London. Ely House\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter JOHN OF GAUNT, sick, with the DUKE OF YORK, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\n GAUNT. Will the King come, that I may breathe my last\\r\\n In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth?\\r\\n YORK. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath;\\r\\n For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.\\r\\n GAUNT. O, but they say the tongues of dying men\\r\\n Enforce attention like deep harmony.\\r\\n Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain;\\r\\n For they breathe truth that breathe their words -in pain.\\r\\n He that no more must say is listen\\'d more\\r\\n Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose;\\r\\n More are men\\'s ends mark\\'d than their lives before.\\r\\n The setting sun, and music at the close,\\r\\n As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,\\r\\n Writ in remembrance more than things long past.\\r\\n Though Richard my life\\'s counsel would not hear,\\r\\n My death\\'s sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.\\r\\n YORK. No; it is stopp\\'d with other flattering sounds,\\r\\n As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond,\\r\\n Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound\\r\\n The open ear of youth doth always listen;\\r\\n Report of fashions in proud Italy,\\r\\n Whose manners still our tardy apish nation\\r\\n Limps after in base imitation.\\r\\n Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity-\\r\\n So it be new, there\\'s no respect how vile-\\r\\n That is not quickly buzz\\'d into his ears?\\r\\n Then all too late comes counsel to be heard\\r\\n Where will doth mutiny with wit\\'s regard.\\r\\n Direct not him whose way himself will choose.\\r\\n \\'Tis breath thou lack\\'st, and that breath wilt thou lose.\\r\\n GAUNT. Methinks I am a prophet new inspir\\'d,\\r\\n And thus expiring do foretell of him:\\r\\n His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,\\r\\n For violent fires soon burn out themselves;\\r\\n Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short;\\r\\n He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes;\\r\\n With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder;\\r\\n Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,\\r\\n Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.\\r\\n This royal throne of kings, this scept\\'red isle,\\r\\n This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,\\r\\n This other Eden, demi-paradise,\\r\\n This fortress built by Nature for herself\\r\\n Against infection and the hand of war,\\r\\n This happy breed of men, this little world,\\r\\n This precious stone set in the silver sea,\\r\\n Which serves it in the office of a wall,\\r\\n Or as a moat defensive to a house,\\r\\n Against the envy of less happier lands;\\r\\n This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,\\r\\n This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,\\r\\n Fear\\'d by their breed, and famous by their birth,\\r\\n Renowned for their deeds as far from home,\\r\\n For Christian service and true chivalry,\\r\\n As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry\\r\\n Of the world\\'s ransom, blessed Mary\\'s Son;\\r\\n This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,\\r\\n Dear for her reputation through the world,\\r\\n Is now leas\\'d out-I die pronouncing it-\\r\\n Like to a tenement or pelting farm.\\r\\n England, bound in with the triumphant sea,\\r\\n Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege\\r\\n Of wat\\'ry Neptune, is now bound in with shame,\\r\\n With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds;\\r\\n That England, that was wont to conquer others,\\r\\n Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.\\r\\n Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,\\r\\n How happy then were my ensuing death!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING and QUEEN, AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT,\\r\\n Ross, and WILLOUGHBY\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. The King is come; deal mildly with his youth,\\r\\n For young hot colts being rag\\'d do rage the more.\\r\\n QUEEN. How fares our noble uncle Lancaster?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What comfort, man? How is\\'t with aged Gaunt?\\r\\n GAUNT. O, how that name befits my composition!\\r\\n Old Gaunt, indeed; and gaunt in being old.\\r\\n Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast;\\r\\n And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt?\\r\\n For sleeping England long time have I watch\\'d;\\r\\n Watching breeds leanness, leanness is an gaunt.\\r\\n The pleasure that some fathers feed upon\\r\\n Is my strict fast-I mean my children\\'s looks;\\r\\n And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt.\\r\\n Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,\\r\\n Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Can sick men play so nicely with their names?\\r\\n GAUNT. No, misery makes sport to mock itself:\\r\\n Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,\\r\\n I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Should dying men flatter with those that live?\\r\\n GAUNT. No, no; men living flatter those that die.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thou, now a-dying, sayest thou flatterest me.\\r\\n GAUNT. O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.\\r\\n GAUNT. Now He that made me knows I see thee ill;\\r\\n Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill.\\r\\n Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land\\r\\n Wherein thou liest in reputation sick;\\r\\n And thou, too careless patient as thou art,\\r\\n Commit\\'st thy anointed body to the cure\\r\\n Of those physicians that first wounded thee:\\r\\n A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,\\r\\n Whose compass is no bigger than thy head;\\r\\n And yet, incaged in so small a verge,\\r\\n The waste is no whit lesser than thy land.\\r\\n O, had thy grandsire with a prophet\\'s eye\\r\\n Seen how his son\\'s son should destroy his sons,\\r\\n From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame,\\r\\n Deposing thee before thou wert possess\\'d,\\r\\n Which art possess\\'d now to depose thyself.\\r\\n Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world,\\r\\n It were a shame to let this land by lease;\\r\\n But for thy world enjoying but this land,\\r\\n Is it not more than shame to shame it so?\\r\\n Landlord of England art thou now, not King.\\r\\n Thy state of law is bondslave to the law;\\r\\n And thou-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. A lunatic lean-witted fool,\\r\\n Presuming on an ague\\'s privilege,\\r\\n Darest with thy frozen admonition\\r\\n Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood\\r\\n With fury from his native residence.\\r\\n Now by my seat\\'s right royal majesty,\\r\\n Wert thou not brother to great Edward\\'s son,\\r\\n This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head\\r\\n Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders.\\r\\n GAUNT. O, Spare me not, my brother Edward\\'s son,\\r\\n For that I was his father Edward\\'s son;\\r\\n That blood already, like the pelican,\\r\\n Hast thou tapp\\'d out, and drunkenly carous\\'d.\\r\\n My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul-\\r\\n Whom fair befall in heaven \\'mongst happy souls!-\\r\\n May be a precedent and witness good\\r\\n That thou respect\\'st not spilling Edward\\'s blood.\\r\\n Join with the present sickness that I have;\\r\\n And thy unkindness be like crooked age,\\r\\n To crop at once a too long withered flower.\\r\\n Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!\\r\\n These words hereafter thy tormentors be!\\r\\n Convey me to my bed, then to my grave.\\r\\n Love they to live that love and honour have.\\r\\n Exit, borne out by his attendants\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And let them die that age and sullens have;\\r\\n For both hast thou, and both become the grave.\\r\\n YORK. I do beseech your Majesty impute his words\\r\\n To wayward sickliness and age in him.\\r\\n He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear\\r\\n As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Right, you say true: as Hereford\\'s love, so his;\\r\\n As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NORTHUMBERLAND\\r\\n\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your Majesty.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What says he?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Nay, nothing; all is said.\\r\\n His tongue is now a stringless instrument;\\r\\n Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.\\r\\n YORK. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so!\\r\\n Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he;\\r\\n His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be.\\r\\n So much for that. Now for our Irish wars.\\r\\n We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns,\\r\\n Which live like venom where no venom else\\r\\n But only they have privilege to live.\\r\\n And for these great affairs do ask some charge,\\r\\n Towards our assistance we do seize to us\\r\\n The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables,\\r\\n Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess\\'d.\\r\\n YORK. How long shall I be patient? Ah, how long\\r\\n Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?\\r\\n Not Gloucester\\'s death, nor Hereford\\'s banishment,\\r\\n Nor Gaunt\\'s rebukes, nor England\\'s private wrongs,\\r\\n Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke\\r\\n About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,\\r\\n Have ever made me sour my patient cheek\\r\\n Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign\\'s face.\\r\\n I am the last of noble Edward\\'s sons,\\r\\n Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first.\\r\\n In war was never lion rag\\'d more fierce,\\r\\n In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,\\r\\n Than was that young and princely gentleman.\\r\\n His face thou hast, for even so look\\'d he,\\r\\n Accomplish\\'d with the number of thy hours;\\r\\n But when he frown\\'d, it was against the French\\r\\n And not against his friends. His noble hand\\r\\n Did win what he did spend, and spent not that\\r\\n Which his triumphant father\\'s hand had won.\\r\\n His hands were guilty of no kindred blood,\\r\\n But bloody with the enemies of his kin.\\r\\n O Richard! York is too far gone with grief,\\r\\n Or else he never would compare between-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, uncle, what\\'s the matter?\\r\\n YORK. O my liege,\\r\\n Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleas\\'d\\r\\n Not to be pardoned, am content withal.\\r\\n Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands\\r\\n The royalties and rights of banish\\'d Hereford?\\r\\n Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Hereford live?\\r\\n Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true?\\r\\n Did not the one deserve to have an heir?\\r\\n Is not his heir a well-deserving son?\\r\\n Take Hereford\\'s rights away, and take from Time\\r\\n His charters and his customary rights;\\r\\n Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day;\\r\\n Be not thyself-for how art thou a king\\r\\n But by fair sequence and succession?\\r\\n Now, afore God-God forbid I say true!-\\r\\n If you do wrongfully seize Hereford\\'s rights,\\r\\n Call in the letters patents that he hath\\r\\n By his attorneys-general to sue\\r\\n His livery, and deny his off\\'red homage,\\r\\n You pluck a thousand dangers on your head,\\r\\n You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts,\\r\\n And prick my tender patience to those thoughts\\r\\n Which honour and allegiance cannot think.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Think what you will, we seize into our hands\\r\\n His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands.\\r\\n YORK. I\\'ll not be by the while. My liege, farewell.\\r\\n What will ensue hereof there\\'s none can tell;\\r\\n But by bad courses may be understood\\r\\n That their events can never fall out good. Exit\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight;\\r\\n Bid him repair to us to Ely House\\r\\n To see this business. To-morrow next\\r\\n We will for Ireland; and \\'tis time, I trow.\\r\\n And we create, in absence of ourself,\\r\\n Our Uncle York Lord Governor of England;\\r\\n For he is just, and always lov\\'d us well.\\r\\n Come on, our queen; to-morrow must we part;\\r\\n Be merry, for our time of stay is short.\\r\\n Flourish. Exeunt KING, QUEEN, BUSHY, AUMERLE,\\r\\n GREEN, and BAGOT\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.\\r\\n Ross. And living too; for now his son is Duke.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. Barely in title, not in revenues.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Richly in both, if justice had her right.\\r\\n ROSS. My heart is great; but it must break with silence,\\r\\n Ere\\'t be disburdened with a liberal tongue.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne\\'er speak more\\r\\n That speaks thy words again to do thee harm!\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford?\\r\\n If it be so, out with it boldly, man;\\r\\n Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.\\r\\n ROSS. No good at all that I can do for him;\\r\\n Unless you call it good to pity him,\\r\\n Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Now, afore God, \\'tis shame such wrongs are borne\\r\\n In him, a royal prince, and many moe\\r\\n Of noble blood in this declining land.\\r\\n The King is not himself, but basely led\\r\\n By flatterers; and what they will inform,\\r\\n Merely in hate, \\'gainst any of us an,\\r\\n That will the King severely prosecute\\r\\n \\'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.\\r\\n ROSS. The commons hath he pill\\'d with grievous taxes;\\r\\n And quite lost their hearts; the nobles hath he find\\r\\n For ancient quarrels and quite lost their hearts.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. And daily new exactions are devis\\'d,\\r\\n As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what;\\r\\n But what, a God\\'s name, doth become of this?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Wars hath not wasted it, for warr\\'d he hath not,\\r\\n But basely yielded upon compromise\\r\\n That which his noble ancestors achiev\\'d with blows.\\r\\n More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.\\r\\n ROSS. The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. The King\\'s grown bankrupt like a broken man.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him.\\r\\n ROSS. He hath not money for these Irish wars,\\r\\n His burdenous taxations notwithstanding,\\r\\n But by the robbing of the banish\\'d Duke.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. His noble kinsman-most degenerate king!\\r\\n But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,\\r\\n Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm;\\r\\n We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,\\r\\n And yet we strike not, but securely perish.\\r\\n ROSS. We see the very wreck that we must suffer;\\r\\n And unavoided is the danger now\\r\\n For suffering so the causes of our wreck.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death\\r\\n I spy life peering; but I dare not say\\r\\n How near the tidings of our comfort is.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. Nay, let us share thy thoughts as thou dost ours.\\r\\n ROSS. Be confident to speak, Northumberland.\\r\\n We three are but thyself, and, speaking so,\\r\\n Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore be bold.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Then thus: I have from Le Port Blanc, a bay\\r\\n In Brittany, receiv\\'d intelligence\\r\\n That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham,\\r\\n That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,\\r\\n His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury,\\r\\n Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston,\\r\\n Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis Quoint-\\r\\n All these, well furnish\\'d by the Duke of Britaine,\\r\\n With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,\\r\\n Are making hither with all due expedience,\\r\\n And shortly mean to touch our northern shore.\\r\\n Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay\\r\\n The first departing of the King for Ireland.\\r\\n If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke,\\r\\n Imp out our drooping country\\'s broken wing,\\r\\n Redeem from broking pawn the blemish\\'d crown,\\r\\n Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre\\'s gilt,\\r\\n And make high majesty look like itself,\\r\\n Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh;\\r\\n But if you faint, as fearing to do so,\\r\\n Stay and be secret, and myself will go.\\r\\n ROSS. To horse, to horse! Urge doubts to them that fear.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. Windsor Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT\\r\\n\\r\\n BUSHY. Madam, your Majesty is too much sad.\\r\\n You promis\\'d, when you parted with the King,\\r\\n To lay aside life-harming heaviness\\r\\n And entertain a cheerful disposition.\\r\\n QUEEN. To please the King, I did; to please myself\\r\\n I cannot do it; yet I know no cause\\r\\n Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,\\r\\n Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest\\r\\n As my sweet Richard. Yet again methinks\\r\\n Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune\\'s womb,\\r\\n Is coming towards me, and my inward soul\\r\\n With nothing trembles. At some thing it grieves\\r\\n More than with parting from my lord the King.\\r\\n BUSHY. Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,\\r\\n Which shows like grief itself, but is not so;\\r\\n For sorrow\\'s eye, glazed with blinding tears,\\r\\n Divides one thing entire to many objects,\\r\\n Like perspectives which, rightly gaz\\'d upon,\\r\\n Show nothing but confusion-ey\\'d awry,\\r\\n Distinguish form. So your sweet Majesty,\\r\\n Looking awry upon your lord\\'s departure,\\r\\n Find shapes of grief more than himself to wail;\\r\\n Which, look\\'d on as it is, is nought but shadows\\r\\n Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious Queen,\\r\\n More than your lord\\'s departure weep not-more is not seen;\\r\\n Or if it be, \\'tis with false sorrow\\'s eye,\\r\\n Which for things true weeps things imaginary.\\r\\n QUEEN. It may be so; but yet my inward soul\\r\\n Persuades me it is otherwise. Howe\\'er it be,\\r\\n I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad\\r\\n As-though, on thinking, on no thought I think-\\r\\n Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.\\r\\n BUSHY. \\'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.\\r\\n QUEEN. \\'Tis nothing less: conceit is still deriv\\'d\\r\\n From some forefather grief; mine is not so,\\r\\n For nothing hath begot my something grief,\\r\\n Or something hath the nothing that I grieve;\\r\\n \\'Tis in reversion that I do possess-\\r\\n But what it is that is not yet known what,\\r\\n I cannot name; \\'tis nameless woe, I wot.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GREEN\\r\\n\\r\\n GREEN. God save your Majesty! and well met, gentlemen.\\r\\n I hope the King is not yet shipp\\'d for Ireland.\\r\\n QUEEN. Why hopest thou so? \\'Tis better hope he is;\\r\\n For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope.\\r\\n Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp\\'d?\\r\\n GREEN. That he, our hope, might have retir\\'d his power\\r\\n And driven into despair an enemy\\'s hope\\r\\n Who strongly hath set footing in this land.\\r\\n The banish\\'d Bolingbroke repeals himself,\\r\\n And with uplifted arms is safe arriv\\'d\\r\\n At Ravenspurgh.\\r\\n QUEEN. Now God in heaven forbid!\\r\\n GREEN. Ah, madam, \\'tis too true; and that is worse,\\r\\n The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy,\\r\\n The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,\\r\\n With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.\\r\\n BUSHY. Why have you not proclaim\\'d Northumberland\\r\\n And all the rest revolted faction traitors?\\r\\n GREEN. We have; whereupon the Earl of Worcester\\r\\n Hath broken his staff, resign\\'d his stewardship,\\r\\n And all the household servants fled with him\\r\\n To Bolingbroke.\\r\\n QUEEN. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe,\\r\\n And Bolingbroke my sorrow\\'s dismal heir.\\r\\n Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy;\\r\\n And I, a gasping new-deliver\\'d mother,\\r\\n Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join\\'d.\\r\\n BUSHY. Despair not, madam.\\r\\n QUEEN. Who shall hinder me?\\r\\n I will despair, and be at enmity\\r\\n With cozening hope-he is a flatterer,\\r\\n A parasite, a keeper-back of death,\\r\\n Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,\\r\\n Which false hope lingers in extremity.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YORK\\r\\n\\r\\n GREEN. Here comes the Duke of York.\\r\\n QUEEN. With signs of war about his aged neck.\\r\\n O, full of careful business are his looks!\\r\\n Uncle, for God\\'s sake, speak comfortable words.\\r\\n YORK. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts.\\r\\n Comfort\\'s in heaven; and we are on the earth,\\r\\n Where nothing lives but crosses, cares, and grief.\\r\\n Your husband, he is gone to save far off,\\r\\n Whilst others come to make him lose at home.\\r\\n Here am I left to underprop his land,\\r\\n Who, weak with age, cannot support myself.\\r\\n Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made;\\r\\n Now shall he try his friends that flatter\\'d him.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a SERVINGMAN\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVINGMAN. My lord, your son was gone before I came.\\r\\n YORK. He was-why so go all which way it will!\\r\\n The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold\\r\\n And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford\\'s side.\\r\\n Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester;\\r\\n Bid her send me presently a thousand pound.\\r\\n Hold, take my ring.\\r\\n SERVINGMAN. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship,\\r\\n To-day, as I came by, I called there-\\r\\n But I shall grieve you to report the rest.\\r\\n YORK. What is\\'t, knave?\\r\\n SERVINGMAN. An hour before I came, the Duchess died.\\r\\n YORK. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes\\r\\n Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!\\r\\n I know not what to do. I would to God,\\r\\n So my untruth had not provok\\'d him to it,\\r\\n The King had cut off my head with my brother\\'s.\\r\\n What, are there no posts dispatch\\'d for Ireland?\\r\\n How shall we do for money for these wars?\\r\\n Come, sister-cousin, I would say-pray, pardon me.\\r\\n Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts,\\r\\n And bring away the armour that is there.\\r\\n Exit SERVINGMAN\\r\\n Gentlemen, will you go muster men?\\r\\n If I know how or which way to order these affairs\\r\\n Thus disorderly thrust into my hands,\\r\\n Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen.\\r\\n T\\'one is my sovereign, whom both my oath\\r\\n And duty bids defend; t\\'other again\\r\\n Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wrong\\'d,\\r\\n Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.\\r\\n Well, somewhat we must do.-Come, cousin,\\r\\n I\\'ll dispose of you. Gentlemen, go muster up your men\\r\\n And meet me presently at Berkeley.\\r\\n I should to Plashy too,\\r\\n But time will not permit. All is uneven,\\r\\n And everything is left at six and seven.\\r\\n Exeunt YORK and QUEEN\\r\\n BUSHY. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland.\\r\\n But none returns. For us to levy power\\r\\n Proportionable to the enemy\\r\\n Is all unpossible.\\r\\n GREEN. Besides, our nearness to the King in love\\r\\n Is near the hate of those love not the King.\\r\\n BAGOT. And that is the wavering commons; for their love\\r\\n Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them,\\r\\n By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.\\r\\n BUSHY. Wherein the King stands generally condemn\\'d.\\r\\n BAGOT. If judgment lie in them, then so do we,\\r\\n Because we ever have been near the King.\\r\\n GREEN. Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristow Castle.\\r\\n The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.\\r\\n BUSHY. Thither will I with you; for little office\\r\\n Will the hateful commons perform for us,\\r\\n Except Eke curs to tear us all to pieces.\\r\\n Will you go along with us?\\r\\n BAGOT. No; I will to Ireland to his Majesty.\\r\\n Farewell. If heart\\'s presages be not vain,\\r\\n We three here part that ne\\'er shall meet again.\\r\\n BUSHY. That\\'s as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.\\r\\n GREEN. Alas, poor Duke! the task he undertakes\\r\\n Is numb\\'ring sands and drinking oceans dry.\\r\\n Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.\\r\\n Farewell at once-for once, for all, and ever.\\r\\n BUSHY. Well, we may meet again.\\r\\n BAGOT. I fear me, never. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. Gloucestershire\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND, forces\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Believe me, noble lord,\\r\\n I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire.\\r\\n These high wild hills and rough uneven ways\\r\\n Draws out our miles, and makes them wearisome;\\r\\n And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,\\r\\n Making the hard way sweet and delectable.\\r\\n But I bethink me what a weary way\\r\\n From Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be found\\r\\n In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company,\\r\\n Which, I protest, hath very much beguil\\'d\\r\\n The tediousness and process of my travel.\\r\\n But theirs is sweet\\'ned with the hope to have\\r\\n The present benefit which I possess;\\r\\n And hope to joy is little less in joy\\r\\n Than hope enjoy\\'d. By this the weary lords\\r\\n Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done\\r\\n By sight of what I have, your noble company.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Of much less value is my company\\r\\n Than your good words. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HARRY PERCY\\r\\n\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. It is my son, young Harry Percy,\\r\\n Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.\\r\\n Harry, how fares your uncle?\\r\\n PERCY. I had thought, my lord, to have learn\\'d his health of you.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Why, is he not with the Queen?\\r\\n PERCY. No, my good lord; he hath forsook the court,\\r\\n Broken his staff of office, and dispers\\'d\\r\\n The household of the King.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. What was his reason?\\r\\n He was not so resolv\\'d when last we spake together.\\r\\n PERCY. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor.\\r\\n But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh,\\r\\n To offer service to the Duke of Hereford;\\r\\n And sent me over by Berkeley, to discover\\r\\n What power the Duke of York had levied there;\\r\\n Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy?\\r\\n PERCY. No, my good lord; for that is not forgot\\r\\n Which ne\\'er I did remember; to my knowledge,\\r\\n I never in my life did look on him.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Then learn to know him now; this is the Duke.\\r\\n PERCY. My gracious lord, I tender you my service,\\r\\n Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young;\\r\\n Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm\\r\\n To more approved service and desert.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure\\r\\n I count myself in nothing else so happy\\r\\n As in a soul rememb\\'ring my good friends;\\r\\n And as my fortune ripens with thy love,\\r\\n It shall be still thy true love\\'s recompense.\\r\\n My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. How far is it to Berkeley? And what stir\\r\\n Keeps good old York there with his men of war?\\r\\n PERCY. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees,\\r\\n Mann\\'d with three hundred men, as I have heard;\\r\\n And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and Seymour-\\r\\n None else of name and noble estimate.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ross and WILLOUGHBY\\r\\n\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby,\\r\\n Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues\\r\\n A banish\\'d traitor. All my treasury\\r\\n Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich\\'d,\\r\\n Shall be your love and labour\\'s recompense.\\r\\n ROSS. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. And far surmounts our labour to attain it.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor;\\r\\n Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,\\r\\n Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BERKELEY\\r\\n\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess.\\r\\n BERKELEY. My Lord of Hereford, my message is to you.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. My lord, my answer is-\\'to Lancaster\\';\\r\\n And I am come to seek that name in England;\\r\\n And I must find that title in your tongue\\r\\n Before I make reply to aught you say.\\r\\n BERKELEY. Mistake me not, my lord; \\'tis not my meaning\\r\\n To raze one title of your honour out.\\r\\n To you, my lord, I come-what lord you will-\\r\\n From the most gracious regent of this land,\\r\\n The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on\\r\\n To take advantage of the absent time,\\r\\n And fright our native peace with self-borne arms.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YORK, attended\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I shall not need transport my words by you;\\r\\n Here comes his Grace in person. My noble uncle!\\r\\n [Kneels]\\r\\n YORK. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,\\r\\n Whose duty is deceivable and false.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. My gracious uncle!-\\r\\n YORK. Tut, tut!\\r\\n Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle.\\r\\n I am no traitor\\'s uncle; and that word \\'grace\\'\\r\\n In an ungracious mouth is but profane.\\r\\n Why have those banish\\'d and forbidden legs\\r\\n Dar\\'d once to touch a dust of England\\'s ground?\\r\\n But then more \\'why?\\'-why have they dar\\'d to march\\r\\n So many miles upon her peaceful bosom,\\r\\n Frighting her pale-fac\\'d villages with war\\r\\n And ostentation of despised arms?\\r\\n Com\\'st thou because the anointed King is hence?\\r\\n Why, foolish boy, the King is left behind,\\r\\n And in my loyal bosom lies his power.\\r\\n Were I but now lord of such hot youth\\r\\n As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself\\r\\n Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,\\r\\n From forth the ranks of many thousand French,\\r\\n O, then how quickly should this arm of mine,\\r\\n Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise the\\r\\n And minister correction to thy fault!\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE My gracious uncle, let me know my fault;\\r\\n On what condition stands it and wherein?\\r\\n YORK. Even in condition of the worst degree-\\r\\n In gross rebellion and detested treason.\\r\\n Thou art a banish\\'d man, and here art come\\r\\n Before the expiration of thy time,\\r\\n In braving arms against thy sovereign.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. As I was banish\\'d, I was banish\\'d Hereford;\\r\\n But as I come, I come for Lancaster.\\r\\n And, noble uncle, I beseech your Grace\\r\\n Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye.\\r\\n You are my father, for methinks in you\\r\\n I see old Gaunt alive. O, then, my father,\\r\\n Will you permit that I shall stand condemn\\'d\\r\\n A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties\\r\\n Pluck\\'d from my arms perforce, and given away\\r\\n To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?\\r\\n If that my cousin king be King in England,\\r\\n It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster.\\r\\n You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin;\\r\\n Had you first died, and he been thus trod down,\\r\\n He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father\\r\\n To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay.\\r\\n I am denied to sue my livery here,\\r\\n And yet my letters patents give me leave.\\r\\n My father\\'s goods are all distrain\\'d and sold;\\r\\n And these and all are all amiss employ\\'d.\\r\\n What would you have me do? I am a subject,\\r\\n And I challenge law-attorneys are denied me;\\r\\n And therefore personally I lay my claim\\r\\n To my inheritance of free descent.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. The noble Duke hath been too much abused.\\r\\n ROSS. It stands your Grace upon to do him right.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. Base men by his endowments are made great.\\r\\n YORK. My lords of England, let me tell you this:\\r\\n I have had feeling of my cousin\\'s wrongs,\\r\\n And labour\\'d all I could to do him right;\\r\\n But in this kind to come, in braving arms,\\r\\n Be his own carver and cut out his way,\\r\\n To find out right with wrong-it may not be;\\r\\n And you that do abet him in this kind\\r\\n Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. The noble Duke hath sworn his coming is\\r\\n But for his own; and for the right of that\\r\\n We all have strongly sworn to give him aid;\\r\\n And let him never see joy that breaks that oath!\\r\\n YORK. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms.\\r\\n I cannot mend it, I must needs confess,\\r\\n Because my power is weak and all ill left;\\r\\n But if I could, by Him that gave me life,\\r\\n I would attach you all and make you stoop\\r\\n Unto the sovereign mercy of the King;\\r\\n But since I cannot, be it known unto you\\r\\n I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well;\\r\\n Unless you please to enter in the castle,\\r\\n And there repose you for this night.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. An offer, uncle, that we will accept.\\r\\n But we must win your Grace to go with us\\r\\n To Bristow Castle, which they say is held\\r\\n By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices,\\r\\n The caterpillars of the commonwealth,\\r\\n Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.\\r\\n YORK. It may be I will go with you; but yet I\\'ll pause,\\r\\n For I am loath to break our country\\'s laws.\\r\\n Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are.\\r\\n Things past redress are now with me past care. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. A camp in Wales\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter EARL OF SALISBURY and a WELSH CAPTAIN\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPTAIN. My Lord of Salisbury, we have stay\\'d ten days\\r\\n And hardly kept our countrymen together,\\r\\n And yet we hear no tidings from the King;\\r\\n Therefore we will disperse ourselves. Farewell.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman;\\r\\n The King reposeth all his confidence in thee.\\r\\n CAPTAIN. \\'Tis thought the King is dead; we will not stay.\\r\\n The bay trees in our country are all wither\\'d,\\r\\n And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;\\r\\n The pale-fac\\'d moon looks bloody on the earth,\\r\\n And lean-look\\'d prophets whisper fearful change;\\r\\n Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap-\\r\\n The one in fear to lose what they enjoy,\\r\\n The other to enjoy by rage and war.\\r\\n These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.\\r\\n Farewell. Our countrymen are gone and fled,\\r\\n As well assur\\'d Richard their King is dead. Exit\\r\\n SALISBURY. Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind,\\r\\n I see thy glory like a shooting star\\r\\n Fall to the base earth from the firmament!\\r\\n The sun sets weeping in the lowly west,\\r\\n Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest;\\r\\n Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes;\\r\\n And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. BOLINGBROKE\\'S camp at Bristol\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, ROSS, WILLOUGHBY,\\r\\nBUSHY and GREEN, prisoners\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Bring forth these men.\\r\\n Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls-\\r\\n Since presently your souls must part your bodies-\\r\\n With too much urging your pernicious lives,\\r\\n For \\'twere no charity; yet, to wash your blood\\r\\n From off my hands, here in the view of men\\r\\n I will unfold some causes of your deaths:\\r\\n You have misled a prince, a royal king,\\r\\n A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,\\r\\n By you unhappied and disfigured clean;\\r\\n You have in manner with your sinful hours\\r\\n Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him;\\r\\n Broke the possession of a royal bed,\\r\\n And stain\\'d the beauty of a fair queen\\'s cheeks\\r\\n With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs;\\r\\n Myself-a prince by fortune of my birth,\\r\\n Near to the King in blood, and near in love\\r\\n Till you did make him misinterpret me-\\r\\n Have stoop\\'d my neck under your injuries\\r\\n And sigh\\'d my English breath in foreign clouds,\\r\\n Eating the bitter bread of banishment,\\r\\n Whilst you have fed upon my signories,\\r\\n Dispark\\'d my parks and fell\\'d my forest woods,\\r\\n From my own windows torn my household coat,\\r\\n Raz\\'d out my imprese, leaving me no sign\\r\\n Save men\\'s opinions and my living blood\\r\\n To show the world I am a gentleman.\\r\\n This and much more, much more than twice all this,\\r\\n Condemns you to the death. See them delivered over\\r\\n To execution and the hand of death.\\r\\n BUSHY. More welcome is the stroke of death to me\\r\\n Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell.\\r\\n GREEN. My comfort is that heaven will take our souls,\\r\\n And plague injustice with the pains of hell.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch\\'d.\\r\\n Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, and others, with the prisoners\\r\\n Uncle, you say the Queen is at your house;\\r\\n For God\\'s sake, fairly let her be entreated.\\r\\n Tell her I send to her my kind commends;\\r\\n Take special care my greetings be delivered.\\r\\n YORK. A gentleman of mine I have dispatch\\'d\\r\\n With letters of your love to her at large.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away,\\r\\n To fight with Glendower and his complices.\\r\\n Awhile to work, and after holiday. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. The coast of Wales. A castle in view\\r\\n\\r\\nDrums. Flourish and colours. Enter the KING, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE,\\r\\nAUMERLE, and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Barkloughly Castle can they this at hand?\\r\\n AUMERLE. Yea, my lord. How brooks your Grace the air\\r\\n After your late tossing on the breaking seas?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Needs must I like it well. I weep for joy\\r\\n To stand upon my kingdom once again.\\r\\n Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,\\r\\n Though rebels wound thee with their horses\\' hoofs.\\r\\n As a long-parted mother with her child\\r\\n Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting,\\r\\n So weeping-smiling greet I thee, my earth,\\r\\n And do thee favours with my royal hands.\\r\\n Feed not thy sovereign\\'s foe, my gentle earth,\\r\\n Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense;\\r\\n But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,\\r\\n And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way,\\r\\n Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet\\r\\n Which with usurping steps do trample thee;\\r\\n Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies;\\r\\n And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,\\r\\n Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder,\\r\\n Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch\\r\\n Throw death upon thy sovereign\\'s enemies.\\r\\n Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords.\\r\\n This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones\\r\\n Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king\\r\\n Shall falter under foul rebellion\\'s arms.\\r\\n CARLISLE. Fear not, my lord; that Power that made you king\\r\\n Hath power to keep you king in spite of all.\\r\\n The means that heaven yields must be embrac\\'d\\r\\n And not neglected; else, if heaven would,\\r\\n And we will not, heaven\\'s offer we refuse,\\r\\n The proffered means of succour and redress.\\r\\n AUMERLE. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss;\\r\\n Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,\\r\\n Grows strong and great in substance and in power.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Discomfortable cousin! know\\'st thou not\\r\\n That when the searching eye of heaven is hid,\\r\\n Behind the globe, that lights the lower world,\\r\\n Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen\\r\\n In murders and in outrage boldly here;\\r\\n But when from under this terrestrial ball\\r\\n He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines\\r\\n And darts his light through every guilty hole,\\r\\n Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,\\r\\n The cloak of night being pluck\\'d from off their backs,\\r\\n Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?\\r\\n So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,\\r\\n Who all this while hath revell\\'d in the night,\\r\\n Whilst we were wand\\'ring with the Antipodes,\\r\\n Shall see us rising in our throne, the east,\\r\\n His treasons will sit blushing in his face,\\r\\n Not able to endure the sight of day,\\r\\n But self-affrighted tremble at his sin.\\r\\n Not all the water in the rough rude sea\\r\\n Can wash the balm off from an anointed king;\\r\\n The breath of worldly men cannot depose\\r\\n The deputy elected by the Lord.\\r\\n For every man that Bolingbroke hath press\\'d\\r\\n To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,\\r\\n God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay\\r\\n A glorious angel. Then, if angels fight,\\r\\n Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards the right.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SALISBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power?\\r\\n SALISBURY. Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord,\\r\\n Than this weak arm. Discomfort guides my tongue,\\r\\n And bids me speak of nothing but despair.\\r\\n One day too late, I fear me, noble lord,\\r\\n Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth.\\r\\n O, call back yesterday, bid time return,\\r\\n And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men!\\r\\n To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late,\\r\\n O\\'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state;\\r\\n For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead,\\r\\n Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers\\'d, and fled.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Comfort, my liege, why looks your Grace so pale?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. But now the blood of twenty thousand men\\r\\n Did triumph in my face, and they are fled;\\r\\n And, till so much blood thither come again,\\r\\n Have I not reason to look pale and dead?\\r\\n All souls that will be safe, fly from my side;\\r\\n For time hath set a blot upon my pride.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Comfort, my liege; remember who you are.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I had forgot myself; am I not King?\\r\\n Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest.\\r\\n Is not the King\\'s name twenty thousand names?\\r\\n Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes\\r\\n At thy great glory. Look not to the ground,\\r\\n Ye favourites of a king; are we not high?\\r\\n High be our thoughts. I know my uncle York\\r\\n Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SCROOP\\r\\n\\r\\n SCROOP. More health and happiness betide my liege\\r\\n Than can my care-tun\\'d tongue deliver him.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Mine ear is open and my heart prepar\\'d.\\r\\n The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.\\r\\n Say, is my kingdom lost? Why, \\'twas my care,\\r\\n And what loss is it to be rid of care?\\r\\n Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?\\r\\n Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,\\r\\n We\\'ll serve him too, and be his fellow so.\\r\\n Revolt our subjects? That we cannot mend;\\r\\n They break their faith to God as well as us.\\r\\n Cry woe, destruction, ruin, and decay-\\r\\n The worst is death, and death will have his day.\\r\\n SCROOP. Glad am I that your Highness is so arm\\'d\\r\\n To bear the tidings of calamity.\\r\\n Like an unseasonable stormy day\\r\\n Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores,\\r\\n As if the world were all dissolv\\'d to tears,\\r\\n So high above his limits swells the rage\\r\\n Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land\\r\\n With hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel.\\r\\n White-beards have arm\\'d their thin and hairless scalps\\r\\n Against thy majesty; boys, with women\\'s voices,\\r\\n Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints\\r\\n In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown;\\r\\n Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows\\r\\n Of double-fatal yew against thy state;\\r\\n Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills\\r\\n Against thy seat: both young and old rebel,\\r\\n And all goes worse than I have power to tell.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Too well, too well thou tell\\'st a tale so in.\\r\\n Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? Where is Bagot?\\r\\n What is become of Bushy? Where is Green?\\r\\n That they have let the dangerous enemy\\r\\n Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?\\r\\n If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it.\\r\\n I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke.\\r\\n SCROOP. Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O villains, vipers, damn\\'d without redemption!\\r\\n Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!\\r\\n Snakes, in my heart-blood warm\\'d, that sting my heart!\\r\\n Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas!\\r\\n Would they make peace? Terrible hell make war\\r\\n Upon their spotted souls for this offence!\\r\\n SCROOP. Sweet love, I see, changing his property,\\r\\n Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate.\\r\\n Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made\\r\\n With heads, and not with hands; those whom you curse\\r\\n Have felt the worst of death\\'s destroying wound\\r\\n And lie full low, grav\\'d in the hollow ground.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?\\r\\n SCROOP. Ay, all of them at Bristow lost their heads.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Where is the Duke my father with his power?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. No matter where-of comfort no man speak.\\r\\n Let\\'s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;\\r\\n Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes\\r\\n Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.\\r\\n Let\\'s choose executors and talk of wills;\\r\\n And yet not so-for what can we bequeath\\r\\n Save our deposed bodies to the ground?\\r\\n Our lands, our lives, and an, are Bolingbroke\\'s.\\r\\n And nothing can we can our own but death\\r\\n And that small model of the barren earth\\r\\n Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.\\r\\n For God\\'s sake let us sit upon the ground\\r\\n And tell sad stories of the death of kings:\\r\\n How some have been depos\\'d, some slain in war,\\r\\n Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos\\'d,\\r\\n Some poison\\'d by their wives, some sleeping kill\\'d,\\r\\n All murder\\'d-for within the hollow crown\\r\\n That rounds the mortal temples of a king\\r\\n Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits,\\r\\n Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp;\\r\\n Allowing him a breath, a little scene,\\r\\n To monarchize, be fear\\'d, and kill with looks;\\r\\n Infusing him with self and vain conceit,\\r\\n As if this flesh which walls about our life\\r\\n Were brass impregnable; and, humour\\'d thus,\\r\\n Comes at the last, and with a little pin\\r\\n Bores through his castle wall, and farewell, king!\\r\\n Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood\\r\\n With solemn reverence; throw away respect,\\r\\n Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty;\\r\\n For you have but mistook me all this while.\\r\\n I live with bread like you, feel want,\\r\\n Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus,\\r\\n How can you say to me I am a king?\\r\\n CARLISLE. My lord, wise men ne\\'er sit and wail their woes,\\r\\n But presently prevent the ways to wail.\\r\\n To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength,\\r\\n Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe,\\r\\n And so your follies fight against yourself.\\r\\n Fear and be slain-no worse can come to fight;\\r\\n And fight and die is death destroying death,\\r\\n Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.\\r\\n AUMERLE. My father hath a power; inquire of him,\\r\\n And learn to make a body of a limb.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thou chid\\'st me well. Proud Bolingbroke, I come\\r\\n To change blows with thee for our day of doom.\\r\\n This ague fit of fear is over-blown;\\r\\n An easy task it is to win our own.\\r\\n Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power?\\r\\n Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.\\r\\n SCROOP. Men judge by the complexion of the sky\\r\\n The state in inclination of the day;\\r\\n So may you by my dull and heavy eye,\\r\\n My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.\\r\\n I play the torturer, by small and small\\r\\n To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:\\r\\n Your uncle York is join\\'d with Bolingbroke;\\r\\n And all your northern castles yielded up,\\r\\n And all your southern gentlemen in arms\\r\\n Upon his party.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thou hast said enough.\\r\\n [To AUMERLE] Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth\\r\\n Of that sweet way I was in to despair!\\r\\n What say you now? What comfort have we now?\\r\\n By heaven, I\\'ll hate him everlastingly\\r\\n That bids me be of comfort any more.\\r\\n Go to Flint Castle; there I\\'ll pine away;\\r\\n A king, woe\\'s slave, shall kingly woe obey.\\r\\n That power I have, discharge; and let them go\\r\\n To ear the land that hath some hope to grow,\\r\\n For I have none. Let no man speak again\\r\\n To alter this, for counsel is but vain.\\r\\n AUMERLE. My liege, one word.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. He does me double wrong\\r\\n That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.\\r\\n Discharge my followers; let them hence away,\\r\\n From Richard\\'s night to Bolingbroke\\'s fair day. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. Wales. Before Flint Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter, with drum and colours, BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, and\\r\\nforces\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. So that by this intelligence we learn\\r\\n The Welshmen are dispers\\'d; and Salisbury\\r\\n Is gone to meet the King, who lately landed\\r\\n With some few private friends upon this coast.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. The news is very fair and good, my lord.\\r\\n Richard not far from hence hath hid his head.\\r\\n YORK. It would beseem the Lord Northumberland\\r\\n To say \\'King Richard.\\' Alack the heavy day\\r\\n When such a sacred king should hide his head!\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Your Grace mistakes; only to be brief,\\r\\n Left I his title out.\\r\\n YORK. The time hath been,\\r\\n Would you have been so brief with him, he would\\r\\n Have been so brief with you to shorten you,\\r\\n For taking so the head, your whole head\\'s length.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Mistake not, uncle, further than you should.\\r\\n YORK. Take not, good cousin, further than you should,\\r\\n Lest you mistake. The heavens are over our heads.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I know it, uncle; and oppose not myself\\r\\n Against their will. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PERCY\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, Harry. What, will not this castle yield?\\r\\n PIERCY. The castle royally is mann\\'d, my lord,\\r\\n Against thy entrance.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Royally!\\r\\n Why, it contains no king?\\r\\n PERCY. Yes, my good lord,\\r\\n It doth contain a king; King Richard lies\\r\\n Within the limits of yon lime and stone;\\r\\n And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,\\r\\n Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman\\r\\n Of holy reverence; who, I cannot learn.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. [To NORTHUMBERLAND] Noble lord,\\r\\n Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle;\\r\\n Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley\\r\\n Into his ruin\\'d ears, and thus deliver:\\r\\n Henry Bolingbroke\\r\\n On both his knees doth kiss King Richard\\'s hand,\\r\\n And sends allegiance and true faith of heart\\r\\n To his most royal person; hither come\\r\\n Even at his feet to lay my arms and power,\\r\\n Provided that my banishment repeal\\'d\\r\\n And lands restor\\'d again be freely granted;\\r\\n If not, I\\'ll use the advantage of my power\\r\\n And lay the summer\\'s dust with showers of blood\\r\\n Rain\\'d from the wounds of slaughtered Englishmen;\\r\\n The which how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke\\r\\n It is such crimson tempest should bedrench\\r\\n The fresh green lap of fair King Richard\\'s land,\\r\\n My stooping duty tenderly shall show.\\r\\n Go, signify as much, while here we march\\r\\n Upon the grassy carpet of this plain.\\r\\n [NORTHUMBERLAND advances to the Castle, with a trumpet]\\r\\n Let\\'s march without the noise of threat\\'ning drum,\\r\\n That from this castle\\'s tottered battlements\\r\\n Our fair appointments may be well perus\\'d.\\r\\n Methinks King Richard and myself should meet\\r\\n With no less terror than the elements\\r\\n Of fire and water, when their thund\\'ring shock\\r\\n At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.\\r\\n Be he the fire, I\\'ll be the yielding water;\\r\\n The rage be his, whilst on the earth I rain\\r\\n My waters-on the earth, and not on him.\\r\\n March on, and mark King Richard how he looks.\\r\\n\\r\\n Parle without, and answer within; then a flourish.\\r\\n Enter on the walls, the KING, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE,\\r\\n AUMERLE, SCROOP, and SALISBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n See, see, King Richard doth himself appear,\\r\\n As doth the blushing discontented sun\\r\\n From out the fiery portal of the east,\\r\\n When he perceives the envious clouds are bent\\r\\n To dim his glory and to stain the track\\r\\n Of his bright passage to the occident.\\r\\n YORK. Yet he looks like a king. Behold, his eye,\\r\\n As bright as is the eagle\\'s, lightens forth\\r\\n Controlling majesty. Alack, alack, for woe,\\r\\n That any harm should stain so fair a show!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. [To NORTHUMBERLAND] We are amaz\\'d; and thus long\\r\\n have we stood\\r\\n To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,\\r\\n Because we thought ourself thy lawful King;\\r\\n And if we be, how dare thy joints forget\\r\\n To pay their awful duty to our presence?\\r\\n If we be not, show us the hand of God\\r\\n That hath dismiss\\'d us from our stewardship;\\r\\n For well we know no hand of blood and bone\\r\\n Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre,\\r\\n Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp.\\r\\n And though you think that all, as you have done,\\r\\n Have torn their souls by turning them from us,\\r\\n And we are barren and bereft of friends,\\r\\n Yet know-my master, God omnipotent,\\r\\n Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf\\r\\n Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike\\r\\n Your children yet unborn and unbegot,\\r\\n That lift your vassal hands against my head\\r\\n And threat the glory of my precious crown.\\r\\n Tell Bolingbroke, for yon methinks he stands,\\r\\n That every stride he makes upon my land\\r\\n Is dangerous treason; he is come to open\\r\\n The purple testament of bleeding war;\\r\\n But ere the crown he looks for live in peace,\\r\\n Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers\\' sons\\r\\n Shall ill become the flower of England\\'s face,\\r\\n Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace\\r\\n To scarlet indignation, and bedew\\r\\n Her pastures\\' grass with faithful English blood.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. The King of Heaven forbid our lord the King\\r\\n Should so with civil and uncivil arms\\r\\n Be rush\\'d upon! Thy thrice noble cousin,\\r\\n Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand;\\r\\n And by the honourable tomb he swears\\r\\n That stands upon your royal grandsire\\'s bones,\\r\\n And by the royalties of both your bloods,\\r\\n Currents that spring from one most gracious head,\\r\\n And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt,\\r\\n And by the worth and honour of himself,\\r\\n Comprising all that may be sworn or said,\\r\\n His coming hither hath no further scope\\r\\n Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg\\r\\n Enfranchisement immediate on his knees;\\r\\n Which on thy royal party granted once,\\r\\n His glittering arms he will commend to rust,\\r\\n His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart\\r\\n To faithful service of your Majesty.\\r\\n This swears he, as he is a prince, is just;\\r\\n And as I am a gentleman I credit him.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Northumberland, say thus the King returns:\\r\\n His noble cousin is right welcome hither;\\r\\n And all the number of his fair demands\\r\\n Shall be accomplish\\'d without contradiction.\\r\\n With all the gracious utterance thou hast\\r\\n Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.\\r\\n [To AUMERLE] We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not,\\r\\n To look so poorly and to speak so fair?\\r\\n Shall we call back Northumberland, and send\\r\\n Defiance to the traitor, and so die?\\r\\n AUMERLE. No, good my lord; let\\'s fight with gentle words\\r\\n Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O God, O God! that e\\'er this tongue of mine\\r\\n That laid the sentence of dread banishment\\r\\n On yon proud man should take it off again\\r\\n With words of sooth! O that I were as great\\r\\n As is my grief, or lesser than my name!\\r\\n Or that I could forget what I have been!\\r\\n Or not remember what I must be now!\\r\\n Swell\\'st thou, proud heart? I\\'ll give thee scope to beat,\\r\\n Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What must the King do now? Must he submit?\\r\\n The King shall do it. Must he be depos\\'d?\\r\\n The King shall be contented. Must he lose\\r\\n The name of king? A God\\'s name, let it go.\\r\\n I\\'ll give my jewels for a set of beads,\\r\\n My gorgeous palace for a hermitage,\\r\\n My gay apparel for an almsman\\'s gown,\\r\\n My figur\\'d goblets for a dish of wood,\\r\\n My sceptre for a palmer\\'s walking staff,\\r\\n My subjects for a pair of carved saints,\\r\\n And my large kingdom for a little grave,\\r\\n A little little grave, an obscure grave-\\r\\n Or I\\'ll be buried in the king\\'s high way,\\r\\n Some way of common trade, where subjects\\' feet\\r\\n May hourly trample on their sovereign\\'s head;\\r\\n For on my heart they tread now whilst I live,\\r\\n And buried once, why not upon my head?\\r\\n Aumerle, thou weep\\'st, my tender-hearted cousin!\\r\\n We\\'ll make foul weather with despised tears;\\r\\n Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn\\r\\n And make a dearth in this revolting land.\\r\\n Or shall we play the wantons with our woes\\r\\n And make some pretty match with shedding tears?\\r\\n As thus: to drop them still upon one place\\r\\n Till they have fretted us a pair of graves\\r\\n Within the earth; and, therein laid-there lies\\r\\n Two kinsmen digg\\'d their graves with weeping eyes.\\r\\n Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see\\r\\n I talk but idly, and you laugh at me.\\r\\n Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland,\\r\\n What says King Bolingbroke? Will his Majesty\\r\\n Give Richard leave to live till Richard die?\\r\\n You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, in the base court he doth attend\\r\\n To speak with you; may it please you to come down?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Down, down I come, like glist\\'ring Phaethon,\\r\\n Wanting the manage of unruly jades.\\r\\n In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base,\\r\\n To come at traitors\\' calls, and do them grace.\\r\\n In the base court? Come down? Down, court! down, king!\\r\\n For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing.\\r\\n Exeunt from above\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. What says his Majesty?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Sorrow and grief of heart\\r\\n Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man;\\r\\n Yet he is come.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the KING, and his attendants, below\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Stand all apart,\\r\\n And show fair duty to his Majesty. [He kneels down]\\r\\n My gracious lord-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee\\r\\n To make the base earth proud with kissing it.\\r\\n Me rather had my heart might feel your love\\r\\n Than my unpleas\\'d eye see your courtesy.\\r\\n Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know,\\r\\n [Touching his own head] Thus high at least, although your\\r\\n knee be low.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord,\\r\\n As my true service shall deserve your love.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Well you deserve. They well deserve to have\\r\\n That know the strong\\'st and surest way to get.\\r\\n Uncle, give me your hands; nay, dry your eyes:\\r\\n Tears show their love, but want their remedies.\\r\\n Cousin, I am too young to be your father,\\r\\n Though you are old enough to be my heir.\\r\\n What you will have, I\\'ll give, and willing too;\\r\\n For do we must what force will have us do.\\r\\n Set on towards London. Cousin, is it so?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Yea, my good lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then I must not say no. Flourish. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. The DUKE OF YORK\\'s garden\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the QUEEN and two LADIES\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN. What sport shall we devise here in this garden\\r\\n To drive away the heavy thought of care?\\r\\n LADY. Madam, we\\'ll play at bowls.\\r\\n QUEEN. \\'Twill make me think the world is full of rubs\\r\\n And that my fortune runs against the bias.\\r\\n LADY. Madam, we\\'ll dance.\\r\\n QUEEN. My legs can keep no measure in delight,\\r\\n When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief;\\r\\n Therefore no dancing, girl; some other sport.\\r\\n LADY. Madam, we\\'ll tell tales.\\r\\n QUEEN. Of sorrow or of joy?\\r\\n LADY. Of either, madam.\\r\\n QUEEN. Of neither, girl;\\r\\n For if of joy, being altogether wanting,\\r\\n It doth remember me the more of sorrow;\\r\\n Or if of grief, being altogether had,\\r\\n It adds more sorrow to my want of joy;\\r\\n For what I have I need not to repeat,\\r\\n And what I want it boots not to complain.\\r\\n LADY. Madam, I\\'ll sing.\\r\\n QUEEN. \\'Tis well\\' that thou hast cause;\\r\\n But thou shouldst please me better wouldst thou weep.\\r\\n LADY. I could weep, madam, would it do you good.\\r\\n QUEEN. And I could sing, would weeping do me good,\\r\\n And never borrow any tear of thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a GARDENER and two SERVANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n But stay, here come the gardeners.\\r\\n Let\\'s step into the shadow of these trees.\\r\\n My wretchedness unto a row of pins,\\r\\n They will talk of state, for every one doth so\\r\\n Against a change: woe is forerun with woe.\\r\\n [QUEEN and LADIES retire]\\r\\n GARDENER. Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks,\\r\\n Which, like unruly children, make their sire\\r\\n Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight;\\r\\n Give some supportance to the bending twigs.\\r\\n Go thou, and Eke an executioner\\r\\n Cut off the heads of too fast growing sprays\\r\\n That look too lofty in our commonwealth:\\r\\n All must be even in our government.\\r\\n You thus employ\\'d, I will go root away\\r\\n The noisome weeds which without profit suck\\r\\n The soil\\'s fertility from wholesome flowers.\\r\\n SERVANT. Why should we, in the compass of a pale,\\r\\n Keep law and form and due proportion,\\r\\n Showing, as in a model, our firm estate,\\r\\n When our sea-walled garden, the whole land,\\r\\n Is full of weeds; her fairest flowers chok\\'d up,\\r\\n Her fruit trees all unprun\\'d, her hedges ruin\\'d,\\r\\n Her knots disordered, and her wholesome herbs\\r\\n Swarming with caterpillars?\\r\\n GARDENER. Hold thy peace.\\r\\n He that hath suffer\\'d this disorder\\'d spring\\r\\n Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf;\\r\\n The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did shelter,\\r\\n That seem\\'d in eating him to hold him up,\\r\\n Are pluck\\'d up root and all by Bolingbroke-\\r\\n I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.\\r\\n SERVANT. What, are they dead?\\r\\n GARDENER. They are; and Bolingbroke\\r\\n Hath seiz\\'d the wasteful King. O, what pity is it\\r\\n That he had not so trimm\\'d and dress\\'d his land\\r\\n As we this garden! We at time of year\\r\\n Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit trees,\\r\\n Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood,\\r\\n With too much riches it confound itself;\\r\\n Had he done so to great and growing men,\\r\\n They might have Ev\\'d to bear, and he to taste\\r\\n Their fruits of duty. Superfluous branches\\r\\n We lop away, that bearing boughs may live;\\r\\n Had he done so, himself had home the crown,\\r\\n Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.\\r\\n SERVANT. What, think you the King shall be deposed?\\r\\n GARDENER. Depress\\'d he is already, and depos\\'d\\r\\n \\'Tis doubt he will be. Letters came last night\\r\\n To a dear friend of the good Duke of York\\'s\\r\\n That tell black tidings.\\r\\n QUEEN. O, I am press\\'d to death through want of speaking!\\r\\n [Coming forward]\\r\\n Thou, old Adam\\'s likeness, set to dress this garden,\\r\\n How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news?\\r\\n What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested the\\r\\n To make a second fall of cursed man?\\r\\n Why dost thou say King Richard is depos\\'d?\\r\\n Dar\\'st thou, thou little better thing than earth,\\r\\n Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how,\\r\\n Cam\\'st thou by this ill tidings? Speak, thou wretch.\\r\\n GARDENER. Pardon me, madam; little joy have\\r\\n To breathe this news; yet what I say is true.\\r\\n King Richard, he is in the mighty hold\\r\\n Of Bolingbroke. Their fortunes both are weigh\\'d.\\r\\n In your lord\\'s scale is nothing but himself,\\r\\n And some few vanities that make him light;\\r\\n But in the balance of great Bolingbroke,\\r\\n Besides himself, are all the English peers,\\r\\n And with that odds he weighs King Richard down.\\r\\n Post you to London, and you will find it so;\\r\\n I speak no more than every one doth know.\\r\\n QUEEN. Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot,\\r\\n Doth not thy embassage belong to me,\\r\\n And am I last that knows it? O, thou thinkest\\r\\n To serve me last, that I may longest keep\\r\\n Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go\\r\\n To meet at London London\\'s King in woe.\\r\\n What, was I born to this, that my sad look\\r\\n Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?\\r\\n Gard\\'ner, for telling me these news of woe,\\r\\n Pray God the plants thou graft\\'st may never grow!\\r\\n Exeunt QUEEN and LADIES\\r\\n GARDENER. Poor Queen, so that thy state might be no worse,\\r\\n I would my skill were subject to thy curse.\\r\\n Here did she fall a tear; here in this place\\r\\n I\\'ll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace.\\r\\n Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,\\r\\n In the remembrance of a weeping queen. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE 1. Westminster Hall\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter, as to the Parliament, BOLINGBROKE, AUMERLE, NORTHUMBERLAND,\\r\\nPERCY, FITZWATER, SURREY, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, the ABBOT OF\\r\\nWESTMINSTER, and others; HERALD, OFFICERS, and BAGOT\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Call forth Bagot.\\r\\n Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind-\\r\\n What thou dost know of noble Gloucester\\'s death;\\r\\n Who wrought it with the King, and who perform\\'d\\r\\n The bloody office of his timeless end.\\r\\n BAGOT. Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man.\\r\\n BAGOT. My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue\\r\\n Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver\\'d.\\r\\n In that dead time when Gloucester\\'s death was plotted\\r\\n I heard you say \\'Is not my arm of length,\\r\\n That reacheth from the restful English Court\\r\\n As far as Calais, to mine uncle\\'s head?\\'\\r\\n Amongst much other talk that very time\\r\\n I heard you say that you had rather refuse\\r\\n The offer of an hundred thousand crowns\\r\\n Than Bolingbroke\\'s return to England;\\r\\n Adding withal, how blest this land would be\\r\\n In this your cousin\\'s death.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Princes, and noble lords,\\r\\n What answer shall I make to this base man?\\r\\n Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars\\r\\n On equal terms to give him chastisement?\\r\\n Either I must, or have mine honour soil\\'d\\r\\n With the attainder of his slanderous lips.\\r\\n There is my gage, the manual seal of death\\r\\n That marks thee out for hell. I say thou liest,\\r\\n And will maintain what thou hast said is false\\r\\n In thy heart-blood, through being all too base\\r\\n To stain the temper of my knightly sword.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Bagot, forbear; thou shalt not take it up.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Excepting one, I would he were the best\\r\\n In all this presence that hath mov\\'d me so.\\r\\n FITZWATER. If that thy valour stand on sympathy,\\r\\n There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine.\\r\\n By that fair sun which shows me where thou stand\\'st,\\r\\n I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak\\'st it,\\r\\n That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester\\'s death.\\r\\n If thou deniest it twenty times, thou liest;\\r\\n And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart,\\r\\n Where it was forged, with my rapier\\'s point.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Thou dar\\'st not, coward, live to see that day.\\r\\n FITZWATER. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Fitzwater, thou art damn\\'d to hell for this.\\r\\n PERCY. Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true\\r\\n In this appeal as thou art an unjust;\\r\\n And that thou art so, there I throw my gage,\\r\\n To prove it on thee to the extremest point\\r\\n Of mortal breathing. Seize it, if thou dar\\'st.\\r\\n AUMERLE. An if I do not, may my hands rot of\\r\\n And never brandish more revengeful steel\\r\\n Over the glittering helmet of my foe!\\r\\n ANOTHER LORD. I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle;\\r\\n And spur thee on with fun as many lies\\r\\n As may be halloa\\'d in thy treacherous ear\\r\\n From sun to sun. There is my honour\\'s pawn;\\r\\n Engage it to the trial, if thou darest.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Who sets me else? By heaven, I\\'ll throw at all!\\r\\n I have a thousand spirits in one breast\\r\\n To answer twenty thousand such as you.\\r\\n SURREY. My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember well\\r\\n The very time Aumerle and you did talk.\\r\\n FITZWATER. \\'Tis very true; you were in presence then,\\r\\n And you can witness with me this is true.\\r\\n SURREY. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true.\\r\\n FITZWATER. Surrey, thou liest.\\r\\n SURREY. Dishonourable boy!\\r\\n That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword\\r\\n That it shall render vengeance and revenge\\r\\n Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do he\\r\\n In earth as quiet as thy father\\'s skull.\\r\\n In proof whereof, there is my honour\\'s pawn;\\r\\n Engage it to the trial, if thou dar\\'st.\\r\\n FITZWATER. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse!\\r\\n If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live,\\r\\n I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness,\\r\\n And spit upon him whilst I say he lies,\\r\\n And lies, and lies. There is my bond of faith,\\r\\n To tie thee to my strong correction.\\r\\n As I intend to thrive in this new world,\\r\\n Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal.\\r\\n Besides, I heard the banish\\'d Norfolk say\\r\\n That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men\\r\\n To execute the noble Duke at Calais.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage\\r\\n That Norfolk lies. Here do I throw down this,\\r\\n If he may be repeal\\'d to try his honour.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. These differences shall all rest under gage\\r\\n Till Norfolk be repeal\\'d-repeal\\'d he shall be\\r\\n And, though mine enemy, restor\\'d again\\r\\n To all his lands and signories. When he is return\\'d,\\r\\n Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.\\r\\n CARLISLE. That honourable day shall never be seen.\\r\\n Many a time hath banish\\'d Norfolk fought\\r\\n For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field,\\r\\n Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross\\r\\n Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens;\\r\\n And, toil\\'d with works of war, retir\\'d himself\\r\\n To Italy; and there, at Venice, gave\\r\\n His body to that pleasant country\\'s earth,\\r\\n And his pure soul unto his captain, Christ,\\r\\n Under whose colours he had fought so long.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Why, Bishop, is Norfolk dead?\\r\\n CARLISLE. As surely as I live, my lord.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom\\r\\n Of good old Abraham! Lords appellants,\\r\\n Your differences shall all rest under gage\\r\\n Till we assign you to your days of trial\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YORK, attended\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to the\\r\\n From plume-pluck\\'d Richard, who with willing soul\\r\\n Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields\\r\\n To the possession of thy royal hand.\\r\\n Ascend his throne, descending now from him-\\r\\n And long live Henry, fourth of that name!\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. In God\\'s name, I\\'ll ascend the regal throne.\\r\\n CARLISLE. Marry, God forbid!\\r\\n Worst in this royal presence may I speak,\\r\\n Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth.\\r\\n Would God that any in this noble presence\\r\\n Were enough noble to be upright judge\\r\\n Of noble Richard! Then true noblesse would\\r\\n Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong.\\r\\n What subject can give sentence on his king?\\r\\n And who sits here that is not Richard\\'s subject?\\r\\n Thieves are not judg\\'d but they are by to hear,\\r\\n Although apparent guilt be seen in them;\\r\\n And shall the figure of God\\'s majesty,\\r\\n His captain, steward, deputy elect,\\r\\n Anointed, crowned, planted many years,\\r\\n Be judg\\'d by subject and inferior breath,\\r\\n And he himself not present? O, forfend it, God,\\r\\n That in a Christian climate souls refin\\'d\\r\\n Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed!\\r\\n I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks,\\r\\n Stirr\\'d up by God, thus boldly for his king.\\r\\n My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king,\\r\\n Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford\\'s king;\\r\\n And if you crown him, let me prophesy-\\r\\n The blood of English shall manure the ground,\\r\\n And future ages groan for this foul act;\\r\\n Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels,\\r\\n And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars\\r\\n Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound;\\r\\n Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny,\\r\\n Shall here inhabit, and this land be call\\'d\\r\\n The field of Golgotha and dead men\\'s skulls.\\r\\n O, if you raise this house against this house,\\r\\n It will the woefullest division prove\\r\\n That ever fell upon this cursed earth.\\r\\n Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so,\\r\\n Lest child, child\\'s children, cry against you woe.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Well have you argued, sir; and, for your pains,\\r\\n Of capital treason we arrest you here.\\r\\n My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge\\r\\n To keep him safely till his day of trial.\\r\\n May it please you, lords, to grant the commons\\' suit?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view\\r\\n He may surrender; so we shall proceed\\r\\n Without suspicion.\\r\\n YORK. I will be his conduct. Exit\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Lords, you that here are under our arrest,\\r\\n Procure your sureties for your days of answer.\\r\\n Little are we beholding to your love,\\r\\n And little look\\'d for at your helping hands.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter YORK, with KING RICHARD, and OFFICERS\\r\\n bearing the regalia\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Alack, why am I sent for to a king,\\r\\n Before I have shook off the regal thoughts\\r\\n Wherewith I reign\\'d? I hardly yet have learn\\'d\\r\\n To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee.\\r\\n Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me\\r\\n To this submission. Yet I well remember\\r\\n The favours of these men. Were they not mine?\\r\\n Did they not sometime cry \\'All hail!\\' to me?\\r\\n So Judas did to Christ; but he, in twelve,\\r\\n Found truth in all but one; I, in twelve thousand, none.\\r\\n God save the King! Will no man say amen?\\r\\n Am I both priest and clerk? Well then, amen.\\r\\n God save the King! although I be not he;\\r\\n And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.\\r\\n To do what service am I sent for hither?\\r\\n YORK. To do that office of thine own good will\\r\\n Which tired majesty did make thee offer-\\r\\n The resignation of thy state and crown\\r\\n To Henry Bolingbroke.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Give me the crown. Here, cousin, seize the crown.\\r\\n Here, cousin,\\r\\n On this side my hand, and on that side thine.\\r\\n Now is this golden crown like a deep well\\r\\n That owes two buckets, filling one another;\\r\\n The emptier ever dancing in the air,\\r\\n The other down, unseen, and full of water.\\r\\n That bucket down and fun of tears am I,\\r\\n Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I thought you had been willing to resign.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. My crown I am; but still my griefs are mine.\\r\\n You may my glories and my state depose,\\r\\n But not my griefs; still am I king of those.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Part of your cares you give me with your crown.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Your cares set up do not pluck my cares down.\\r\\n My care is loss of care, by old care done;\\r\\n Your care is gain of care, by new care won.\\r\\n The cares I give I have, though given away;\\r\\n They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Are you contented to resign the crown?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, no; no, ay; for I must nothing be;\\r\\n Therefore no no, for I resign to thee.\\r\\n Now mark me how I will undo myself:\\r\\n I give this heavy weight from off my head,\\r\\n And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand,\\r\\n The pride of kingly sway from out my heart;\\r\\n With mine own tears I wash away my balm,\\r\\n With mine own hands I give away my crown,\\r\\n With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,\\r\\n With mine own breath release all duteous oaths;\\r\\n All pomp and majesty I do forswear;\\r\\n My manors, rents, revenues, I forgo;\\r\\n My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny.\\r\\n God pardon all oaths that are broke to me!\\r\\n God keep all vows unbroke are made to thee!\\r\\n Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev\\'d,\\r\\n And thou with all pleas\\'d, that hast an achiev\\'d.\\r\\n Long mayst thou live in Richard\\'s seat to sit,\\r\\n And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit.\\r\\n God save King Henry, unking\\'d Richard says,\\r\\n And send him many years of sunshine days!\\r\\n What more remains?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. No more; but that you read\\r\\n These accusations, and these grievous crimes\\r\\n Committed by your person and your followers\\r\\n Against the state and profit of this land;\\r\\n That, by confessing them, the souls of men\\r\\n May deem that you are worthily depos\\'d.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Must I do so? And must I ravel out\\r\\n My weav\\'d-up follies? Gentle Northumberland,\\r\\n If thy offences were upon record,\\r\\n Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop\\r\\n To read a lecture of them? If thou wouldst,\\r\\n There shouldst thou find one heinous article,\\r\\n Containing the deposing of a king\\r\\n And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,\\r\\n Mark\\'d with a blot, damn\\'d in the book of heaven.\\r\\n Nay, all of you that stand and look upon me\\r\\n Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself,\\r\\n Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands,\\r\\n Showing an outward pity-yet you Pilates\\r\\n Have here deliver\\'d me to my sour cross,\\r\\n And water cannot wash away your sin.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, dispatch; read o\\'er these\\r\\n articles.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Mine eyes are full of tears; I cannot see.\\r\\n And yet salt water blinds them not so much\\r\\n But they can see a sort of traitors here.\\r\\n Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,\\r\\n I find myself a traitor with the rest;\\r\\n For I have given here my soul\\'s consent\\r\\n T\\'undeck the pompous body of a king;\\r\\n Made glory base, and sovereignty a slave,\\r\\n Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. No lord of thine, thou haught insulting man,\\r\\n Nor no man\\'s lord; I have no name, no tide-\\r\\n No, not that name was given me at the font-\\r\\n But \\'tis usurp\\'d. Alack the heavy day,\\r\\n That I have worn so many winters out,\\r\\n And know not now what name to call myself!\\r\\n O that I were a mockery king of snow,\\r\\n Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke\\r\\n To melt myself away in water drops!\\r\\n Good king, great king, and yet not greatly good,\\r\\n An if my word be sterling yet in England,\\r\\n Let it command a mirror hither straight,\\r\\n That it may show me what a face I have\\r\\n Since it is bankrupt of his majesty.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Go some of you and fetch a looking-glass.\\r\\n Exit an attendant\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Read o\\'er this paper while the glass doth come.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Fiend, thou torments me ere I come to hell.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. The Commons will not, then, be satisfied.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. They shall be satisfied. I\\'ll read enough,\\r\\n When I do see the very book indeed\\r\\n Where all my sins are writ, and that\\'s myself.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter attendant with glass\\r\\n\\r\\n Give me that glass, and therein will I read.\\r\\n No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck\\r\\n So many blows upon this face of mine\\r\\n And made no deeper wounds? O flatt\\'ring glass,\\r\\n Like to my followers in prosperity,\\r\\n Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face\\r\\n That every day under his household roof\\r\\n Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face\\r\\n That like the sun did make beholders wink?\\r\\n Is this the face which fac\\'d so many follies\\r\\n That was at last out-fac\\'d by Bolingbroke?\\r\\n A brittle glory shineth in this face;\\r\\n As brittle as the glory is the face;\\r\\n [Dashes the glass against the ground]\\r\\n For there it is, crack\\'d in a hundred shivers.\\r\\n Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport-\\r\\n How soon my sorrow hath destroy\\'d my face.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy\\'d\\r\\n The shadow of your face.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Say that again.\\r\\n The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let\\'s see.\\r\\n \\'Tis very true: my grief lies all within;\\r\\n And these external manner of laments\\r\\n Are merely shadows to the unseen grief\\r\\n That swells with silence in the tortur\\'d soul.\\r\\n There lies the substance; and I thank thee, king,\\r\\n For thy great bounty, that not only giv\\'st\\r\\n Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way\\r\\n How to lament the cause. I\\'ll beg one boon,\\r\\n And then be gone and trouble you no more.\\r\\n Shall I obtain it?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Name it, fair cousin.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Fair cousin! I am greater than a king;\\r\\n For when I was a king, my flatterers\\r\\n Were then but subjects; being now a subject,\\r\\n I have a king here to my flatterer.\\r\\n Being so great, I have no need to beg.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Yet ask.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And shall I have?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. You shall.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then give me leave to go.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Whither?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Whither you will, so I were from your sights.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Go, some of you convey him to the Tower.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O, good! Convey! Conveyers are you all,\\r\\n That rise thus nimbly by a true king\\'s fall.\\r\\n Exeunt KING RICHARD, some Lords and a Guard\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. On Wednesday next we solemnly set down\\r\\n Our coronation. Lords, prepare yourselves.\\r\\n Exeunt all but the ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER, the\\r\\n BISHOP OF CARLISLE, and AUMERLE\\r\\n ABBOT. A woeful pageant have we here beheld.\\r\\n CARLISLE. The woe\\'s to come; the children yet unborn\\r\\n Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.\\r\\n AUMERLE. You holy clergymen, is there no plot\\r\\n To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?\\r\\n ABBOT. My lord,\\r\\n Before I freely speak my mind herein,\\r\\n You shall not only take the sacrament\\r\\n To bury mine intents, but also to effect\\r\\n Whatever I shall happen to devise.\\r\\n I see your brows are full of discontent,\\r\\n Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears.\\r\\n Come home with me to supper; I will lay\\r\\n A plot shall show us all a merry day. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 1. London. A street leading to the Tower\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the QUEEN, with her attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN. This way the King will come; this is the way\\r\\n To Julius Caesar\\'s ill-erected tower,\\r\\n To whose flint bosom my condemned lord\\r\\n Is doom\\'d a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke.\\r\\n Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth\\r\\n Have any resting for her true King\\'s queen.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING RICHARD and Guard\\r\\n\\r\\n But soft, but see, or rather do not see,\\r\\n My fair rose wither. Yet look up, behold,\\r\\n That you in pity may dissolve to dew,\\r\\n And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.\\r\\n Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand;\\r\\n Thou map of honour, thou King Richard\\'s tomb,\\r\\n And not King Richard; thou most beauteous inn,\\r\\n Why should hard-favour\\'d grief be lodg\\'d in thee,\\r\\n When triumph is become an alehouse guest?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so,\\r\\n To make my end too sudden. Learn, good soul,\\r\\n To think our former state a happy dream;\\r\\n From which awak\\'d, the truth of what we are\\r\\n Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet,\\r\\n To grim Necessity; and he and\\r\\n Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France,\\r\\n And cloister thee in some religious house.\\r\\n Our holy lives must win a new world\\'s crown,\\r\\n Which our profane hours here have thrown down.\\r\\n QUEEN. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind\\r\\n Transform\\'d and weak\\'ned? Hath Bolingbroke depos\\'d\\r\\n Thine intellect? Hath he been in thy heart?\\r\\n The lion dying thrusteth forth his paw\\r\\n And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage\\r\\n To be o\\'erpow\\'r\\'d; and wilt thou, pupil-like,\\r\\n Take the correction mildly, kiss the rod,\\r\\n And fawn on rage with base humility,\\r\\n Which art a lion and the king of beasts?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. A king of beasts, indeed! If aught but beasts,\\r\\n I had been still a happy king of men.\\r\\n Good sometimes queen, prepare thee hence for France.\\r\\n Think I am dead, and that even here thou takest,\\r\\n As from my death-bed, thy last living leave.\\r\\n In winter\\'s tedious nights sit by the fire\\r\\n With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales\\r\\n Of woeful ages long ago betid;\\r\\n And ere thou bid good night, to quit their griefs\\r\\n Tell thou the lamentable tale of me,\\r\\n And send the hearers weeping to their beds;\\r\\n For why, the senseless brands will sympathize\\r\\n The heavy accent of thy moving tongue,\\r\\n And in compassion weep the fire out;\\r\\n And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black,\\r\\n For the deposing of a rightful king.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NORTHUMBERLAND attended\\r\\n\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang\\'d;\\r\\n You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.\\r\\n And, madam, there is order ta\\'en for you:\\r\\n With all swift speed you must away to France.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal\\r\\n The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,\\r\\n The time shall not be many hours of age\\r\\n More than it is, ere foul sin gathering head\\r\\n Shall break into corruption. Thou shalt think\\r\\n Though he divide the realm and give thee half\\r\\n It is too little, helping him to all;\\r\\n And he shall think that thou, which knowest the way\\r\\n To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,\\r\\n Being ne\\'er so little urg\\'d, another way\\r\\n To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne.\\r\\n The love of wicked men converts to fear;\\r\\n That fear to hate; and hate turns one or both\\r\\n To worthy danger and deserved death.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My guilt be on my head, and there an end.\\r\\n Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Doubly divorc\\'d! Bad men, you violate\\r\\n A twofold marriage-\\'twixt my crown and me,\\r\\n And then betwixt me and my married wife.\\r\\n Let me unkiss the oath \\'twixt thee and me;\\r\\n And yet not so, for with a kiss \\'twas made.\\r\\n Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north,\\r\\n Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime;\\r\\n My wife to France, from whence set forth in pomp,\\r\\n She came adorned hither like sweet May,\\r\\n Sent back like Hallowmas or short\\'st of day.\\r\\n QUEEN. And must we be divided? Must we part?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart.\\r\\n QUEEN. Banish us both, and send the King with me.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. That were some love, but little policy.\\r\\n QUEEN. Then whither he goes thither let me go.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. So two, together weeping, make one woe.\\r\\n Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here;\\r\\n Better far off than near, be ne\\'er the near.\\r\\n Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans.\\r\\n QUEEN. So longest way shall have the longest moans.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Twice for one step I\\'ll groan, the way being short,\\r\\n And piece the way out with a heavy heart.\\r\\n Come, come, in wooing sorrow let\\'s be brief,\\r\\n Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief.\\r\\n One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part;\\r\\n Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart.\\r\\n QUEEN. Give me mine own again; \\'twere no good part\\r\\n To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.\\r\\n So, now I have mine own again, be gone.\\r\\n That I may strive to kill it with a groan.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We make woe wanton with this fond delay.\\r\\n Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. The DUKE OF YORK\\'s palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the DUKE OF YORK and the DUCHESS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. My Lord, you told me you would tell the rest,\\r\\n When weeping made you break the story off,\\r\\n Of our two cousins\\' coming into London.\\r\\n YORK. Where did I leave?\\r\\n DUCHESS. At that sad stop, my lord,\\r\\n Where rude misgoverned hands from windows\\' tops\\r\\n Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard\\'s head.\\r\\n YORK. Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bolingbroke,\\r\\n Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed\\r\\n Which his aspiring rider seem\\'d to know,\\r\\n With slow but stately pace kept on his course,\\r\\n Whilst all tongues cried \\'God save thee, Bolingbroke!\\'\\r\\n You would have thought the very windows spake,\\r\\n So many greedy looks of young and old\\r\\n Through casements darted their desiring eyes\\r\\n Upon his visage; and that all the walls\\r\\n With painted imagery had said at once\\r\\n \\'Jesu preserve thee! Welcome, Bolingbroke!\\'\\r\\n Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning,\\r\\n Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed\\'s neck,\\r\\n Bespake them thus, \\'I thank you, countrymen.\\'\\r\\n And thus still doing, thus he pass\\'d along.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst?\\r\\n YORK. As in a theatre the eyes of men\\r\\n After a well-grac\\'d actor leaves the stage\\r\\n Are idly bent on him that enters next,\\r\\n Thinking his prattle to be tedious;\\r\\n Even so, or with much more contempt, men\\'s eyes\\r\\n Did scowl on gentle Richard; no man cried \\'God save him!\\'\\r\\n No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home;\\r\\n But dust was thrown upon his sacred head;\\r\\n Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,\\r\\n His face still combating with tears and smiles,\\r\\n The badges of his grief and patience,\\r\\n That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel\\'d\\r\\n The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,\\r\\n And barbarism itself have pitied him.\\r\\n But heaven hath a hand in these events,\\r\\n To whose high will we bound our calm contents.\\r\\n To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,\\r\\n Whose state and honour I for aye allow.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Here comes my son Aumerle.\\r\\n YORK. Aumerle that was\\r\\n But that is lost for being Richard\\'s friend,\\r\\n And madam, you must call him Rudand now.\\r\\n I am in Parliament pledge for his truth\\r\\n And lasting fealty to the new-made king.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter AUMERLE\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now\\r\\n That strew the green lap of the new come spring?\\r\\n AUMERLE. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not.\\r\\n God knows I had as lief be none as one.\\r\\n YORK. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,\\r\\n Lest you be cropp\\'d before you come to prime.\\r\\n What news from Oxford? Do these justs and triumphs hold?\\r\\n AUMERLE. For aught I know, my lord, they do.\\r\\n YORK. You will be there, I know.\\r\\n AUMERLE. If God prevent not, I purpose so.\\r\\n YORK. What seal is that that without thy bosom?\\r\\n Yea, look\\'st thou pale? Let me see the writing.\\r\\n AUMERLE. My lord, \\'tis nothing.\\r\\n YORK. No matter, then, who see it.\\r\\n I will be satisfied; let me see the writing.\\r\\n AUMERLE. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me;\\r\\n It is a matter of small consequence\\r\\n Which for some reasons I would not have seen.\\r\\n YORK. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.\\r\\n I fear, I fear-\\r\\n DUCHESS. What should you fear?\\r\\n \\'Tis nothing but some bond that he is ent\\'red into\\r\\n For gay apparel \\'gainst the triumph-day.\\r\\n YORK. Bound to himself! What doth he with a bond\\r\\n That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.\\r\\n Boy, let me see the writing.\\r\\n AUMERLE. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it.\\r\\n YORK. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say.\\r\\n [He plucks it out of his bosom, and reads it]\\r\\n Treason, foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave!\\r\\n DUCHESS. What is the matter, my lord?\\r\\n YORK. Ho! who is within there?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a servant\\r\\n\\r\\n Saddle my horse.\\r\\n God for his mercy, what treachery is here!\\r\\n DUCHESS. Why, York, what is it, my lord?\\r\\n YORK. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse.\\r\\n Exit servant\\r\\n Now, by mine honour, by my life, my troth,\\r\\n I will appeach the villain.\\r\\n DUCHESS. What is the matter?\\r\\n YORK. Peace, foolish woman.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle?\\r\\n AUMERLE. Good mother, be content; it is no more\\r\\n Than my poor life must answer.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Thy life answer!\\r\\n YORK. Bring me my boots. I will unto the King.\\r\\n\\r\\n His man enters with his boots\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amaz\\'d.\\r\\n Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.\\r\\n YORK. Give me my boots, I say.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Why, York, what wilt thou do?\\r\\n Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?\\r\\n Have we more sons? or are we like to have?\\r\\n Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?\\r\\n And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age\\r\\n And rob me of a happy mother\\'s name?\\r\\n Is he not like thee? Is he not thine own?\\r\\n YORK. Thou fond mad woman,\\r\\n Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?\\r\\n A dozen of them here have ta\\'en the sacrament,\\r\\n And interchangeably set down their hands\\r\\n To kill the King at Oxford.\\r\\n DUCHESS. He shall be none;\\r\\n We\\'ll keep him here. Then what is that to him?\\r\\n YORK. Away, fond woman! were he twenty times my son\\r\\n I would appeach him.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Hadst thou groan\\'d for him\\r\\n As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful.\\r\\n But now I know thy mind: thou dost suspect\\r\\n That I have been disloyal to thy bed\\r\\n And that he is a bastard, not thy son.\\r\\n Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind.\\r\\n He is as like thee as a man may be\\r\\n Not like to me, or any of my kin,\\r\\n And yet I love him.\\r\\n YORK. Make way, unruly woman! Exit\\r\\n DUCHESS. After, Aumerle! Mount thee upon his horse;\\r\\n Spur post, and get before him to the King,\\r\\n And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.\\r\\n I\\'ll not be long behind; though I be old,\\r\\n I doubt not but to ride as fast as York;\\r\\n And never will I rise up from the ground\\r\\n Till Bolingbroke have pardon\\'d thee. Away, be gone.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. Windsor Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter BOLINGBROKE as King, PERCY, and other LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Can no man tell me of my unthrifty son?\\r\\n \\'Tis full three months since I did see him last.\\r\\n If any plague hang over us, \\'tis he.\\r\\n I would to God, my lords, he might be found.\\r\\n Inquire at London, \\'mongst the taverns there,\\r\\n For there, they say, he daily doth frequent\\r\\n With unrestrained loose companions,\\r\\n Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes\\r\\n And beat our watch and rob our passengers,\\r\\n Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy,\\r\\n Takes on the point of honour to support\\r\\n So dissolute a crew.\\r\\n PERCY. My lord, some two days since I saw the Prince,\\r\\n And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. And what said the gallant?\\r\\n PERCY. His answer was, he would unto the stews,\\r\\n And from the common\\'st creature pluck a glove\\r\\n And wear it as a favour; and with that\\r\\n He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. As dissolute as desperate; yet through both\\r\\n I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years\\r\\n May happily bring forth. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter AUMERLE amazed\\r\\n\\r\\n AUMERLE. Where is the King?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. What means our cousin that he stares and looks\\r\\n So wildly?\\r\\n AUMERLE. God save your Grace! I do beseech your Majesty,\\r\\n To have some conference with your Grace alone.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.\\r\\n Exeunt PERCY and LORDS\\r\\n What is the matter with our cousin now?\\r\\n AUMERLE. For ever may my knees grow to the earth,\\r\\n [Kneels]\\r\\n My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth,\\r\\n Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Intended or committed was this fault?\\r\\n If on the first, how heinous e\\'er it be,\\r\\n To win thy after-love I pardon thee.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Then give me leave that I may turn the key,\\r\\n That no man enter till my tale be done.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Have thy desire.\\r\\n [The DUKE OF YORK knocks at the door and crieth]\\r\\n YORK. [Within] My liege, beware; look to thyself;\\r\\n Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. [Drawing] Villain, I\\'ll make thee safe.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast no cause to fear.\\r\\n YORK. [Within] Open the door, secure, foolhardy King.\\r\\n Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face?\\r\\n Open the door, or I will break it open.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YORK\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. What is the matter, uncle? Speak;\\r\\n Recover breath; tell us how near is danger,\\r\\n That we may arm us to encounter it.\\r\\n YORK. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know\\r\\n The treason that my haste forbids me show.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Remember, as thou read\\'st, thy promise pass\\'d.\\r\\n I do repent me; read not my name there;\\r\\n My heart is not confederate with my hand.\\r\\n YORK. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down.\\r\\n I tore it from the traitor\\'s bosom, King;\\r\\n Fear, and not love, begets his penitence.\\r\\n Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove\\r\\n A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy!\\r\\n O loyal father of a treacherous son!\\r\\n Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain,\\r\\n From whence this stream through muddy passages\\r\\n Hath held his current and defil\\'d himself!\\r\\n Thy overflow of good converts to bad;\\r\\n And thy abundant goodness shall excuse\\r\\n This deadly blot in thy digressing son.\\r\\n YORK. So shall my virtue be his vice\\'s bawd;\\r\\n And he shall spend mine honour with his shame,\\r\\n As thriftless sons their scraping fathers\\' gold.\\r\\n Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,\\r\\n Or my sham\\'d life in his dishonour lies.\\r\\n Thou kill\\'st me in his life; giving him breath,\\r\\n The traitor lives, the true man\\'s put to death.\\r\\n DUCHESS. [Within] I What ho, my liege, for God\\'s sake, let me in.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. What shrill-voic\\'d suppliant makes this eager cry?\\r\\n DUCHESS. [Within] A woman, and thine aunt, great King; \\'tis I.\\r\\n Speak with me, pity me, open the door.\\r\\n A beggar begs that never begg\\'d before.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Our scene is alt\\'red from a serious thing,\\r\\n And now chang\\'d to \\'The Beggar and the King.\\'\\r\\n My dangerous cousin, let your mother in.\\r\\n I know she is come to pray for your foul sin.\\r\\n YORK. If thou do pardon whosoever pray,\\r\\n More sins for this forgiveness prosper may.\\r\\n This fest\\'red joint cut off, the rest rest sound;\\r\\n This let alone will all the rest confound.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUCHESS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. O King, believe not this hard-hearted man!\\r\\n Love loving not itself, none other can.\\r\\n YORK. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here?\\r\\n Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?\\r\\n DUCHESS. Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle liege.\\r\\n [Kneels]\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Rise up, good aunt.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Not yet, I thee beseech.\\r\\n For ever will I walk upon my knees,\\r\\n And never see day that the happy sees\\r\\n Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy\\r\\n By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Unto my mother\\'s prayers I bend my knee.\\r\\n [Kneels]\\r\\n YORK. Against them both, my true joints bended be.\\r\\n [Kneels]\\r\\n Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace!\\r\\n DUCHESS. Pleads he in earnest? Look upon his face;\\r\\n His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest;\\r\\n His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast.\\r\\n He prays but faintly and would be denied;\\r\\n We pray with heart and soul, and all beside.\\r\\n His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;\\r\\n Our knees still kneel till to the ground they grow.\\r\\n His prayers are full of false hypocrisy;\\r\\n Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.\\r\\n Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have\\r\\n That mercy which true prayer ought to have.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Good aunt, stand up.\\r\\n DUCHESS. do not say \\'stand up\\';\\r\\n Say \\'pardon\\' first, and afterwards \\'stand up.\\'\\r\\n An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,\\r\\n \\'Pardon\\' should be the first word of thy speech.\\r\\n I never long\\'d to hear a word till now;\\r\\n Say \\'pardon,\\' King; let pity teach thee how.\\r\\n The word is short, but not so short as sweet;\\r\\n No word like \\'pardon\\' for kings\\' mouths so meet.\\r\\n YORK. Speak it in French, King, say \\'pardonne moy.\\'\\r\\n DUCHESS. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?\\r\\n Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,\\r\\n That sets the word itself against the word!\\r\\n Speak \\'pardon\\' as \\'tis current in our land;\\r\\n The chopping French we do not understand.\\r\\n Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there;\\r\\n Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear,\\r\\n That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce,\\r\\n Pity may move thee \\'pardon\\' to rehearse.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Good aunt, stand up.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I do not sue to stand;\\r\\n Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.\\r\\n DUCHESS. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee!\\r\\n Yet am I sick for fear. Speak it again.\\r\\n Twice saying \\'pardon\\' doth not pardon twain,\\r\\n But makes one pardon strong.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. With all my heart\\r\\n I pardon him.\\r\\n DUCHESS. A god on earth thou art.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. But for our trusty brother-in-law and the Abbot,\\r\\n With all the rest of that consorted crew,\\r\\n Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.\\r\\n Good uncle, help to order several powers\\r\\n To Oxford, or where\\'er these traitors are.\\r\\n They shall not live within this world, I swear,\\r\\n But I will have them, if I once know where.\\r\\n Uncle, farewell; and, cousin, adieu;\\r\\n Your mother well hath pray\\'d, and prove you true.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Come, my old son; I pray God make thee new. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. Windsor Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SIR PIERCE OF EXTON and a servant\\r\\n\\r\\n EXTON. Didst thou not mark the King, what words he spake?\\r\\n \\'Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?\\'\\r\\n Was it not so?\\r\\n SERVANT. These were his very words.\\r\\n EXTON. \\'Have I no friend?\\' quoth he. He spake it twice\\r\\n And urg\\'d it twice together, did he not?\\r\\n SERVANT. He did.\\r\\n EXTON. And, speaking it, he wishtly look\\'d on me,\\r\\n As who should say \\'I would thou wert the man\\r\\n That would divorce this terror from my heart\\';\\r\\n Meaning the King at Pomfret. Come, let\\'s go.\\r\\n I am the King\\'s friend, and will rid his foe. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5. Pomfret Castle. The dungeon of the Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter KING RICHARD\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I have been studying how I may compare\\r\\n This prison where I live unto the world\\r\\n And, for because the world is populous\\r\\n And here is not a creature but myself,\\r\\n I cannot do it. Yet I\\'ll hammer it out.\\r\\n My brain I\\'ll prove the female to my soul,\\r\\n My soul the father; and these two beget\\r\\n A generation of still-breeding thoughts,\\r\\n And these same thoughts people this little world,\\r\\n In humours like the people of this world,\\r\\n For no thought is contented. The better sort,\\r\\n As thoughts of things divine, are intermix\\'d\\r\\n With scruples, and do set the word itself\\r\\n Against the word,\\r\\n As thus: \\'Come, little ones\\'; and then again,\\r\\n \\'It is as hard to come as for a camel\\r\\n To thread the postern of a small needle\\'s eye.\\'\\r\\n Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot\\r\\n Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails\\r\\n May tear a passage through the flinty ribs\\r\\n Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls;\\r\\n And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.\\r\\n Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves\\r\\n That they are not the first of fortune\\'s slaves,\\r\\n Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars\\r\\n Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame,\\r\\n That many have and others must sit there;\\r\\n And in this thought they find a kind of ease,\\r\\n Bearing their own misfortunes on the back\\r\\n Of such as have before endur\\'d the like.\\r\\n Thus play I in one person many people,\\r\\n And none contented. Sometimes am I king;\\r\\n Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar,\\r\\n And so I am. Then crushing penury\\r\\n Persuades me I was better when a king;\\r\\n Then am I king\\'d again; and by and by\\r\\n Think that I am unking\\'d by Bolingbroke,\\r\\n And straight am nothing. But whate\\'er I be,\\r\\n Nor I, nor any man that but man is,\\r\\n With nothing shall be pleas\\'d till he be eas\\'d\\r\\n With being nothing. [The music plays]\\r\\n Music do I hear?\\r\\n Ha, ha! keep time. How sour sweet music is\\r\\n When time is broke and no proportion kept!\\r\\n So is it in the music of men\\'s lives.\\r\\n And here have I the daintiness of ear\\r\\n To check time broke in a disorder\\'d string;\\r\\n But, for the concord of my state and time,\\r\\n Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.\\r\\n I wasted time, and now doth time waste me;\\r\\n For now hath time made me his numb\\'ring clock:\\r\\n My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar\\r\\n Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch,\\r\\n Whereto my finger, like a dial\\'s point,\\r\\n Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.\\r\\n Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is\\r\\n Are clamorous groans which strike upon my heart,\\r\\n Which is the bell. So sighs, and tears, and groans,\\r\\n Show minutes, times, and hours; but my time\\r\\n Runs posting on in Bolingbroke\\'s proud joy,\\r\\n While I stand fooling here, his Jack of the clock.\\r\\n This music mads me. Let it sound no more;\\r\\n For though it have holp madmen to their wits,\\r\\n In me it seems it will make wise men mad.\\r\\n Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!\\r\\n For \\'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard\\r\\n Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a GROOM of the stable\\r\\n\\r\\n GROOM. Hail, royal Prince!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thanks, noble peer!\\r\\n The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.\\r\\n What art thou? and how comest thou hither,\\r\\n Where no man never comes but that sad dog\\r\\n That brings me food to make misfortune live?\\r\\n GROOM. I was a poor groom of thy stable, King,\\r\\n When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York,\\r\\n With much ado at length have gotten leave\\r\\n To look upon my sometimes royal master\\'s face.\\r\\n O, how it ern\\'d my heart, when I beheld,\\r\\n In London streets, that coronation-day,\\r\\n When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary-\\r\\n That horse that thou so often hast bestrid,\\r\\n That horse that I so carefully have dress\\'d!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend,\\r\\n How went he under him?\\r\\n GROOM. So proudly as if he disdain\\'d the ground.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back!\\r\\n That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand;\\r\\n This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.\\r\\n Would he not stumble? would he not fall down,\\r\\n Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck\\r\\n Of that proud man that did usurp his back?\\r\\n Forgiveness, horse! Why do I rail on thee,\\r\\n Since thou, created to be aw\\'d by man,\\r\\n Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse;\\r\\n And yet I bear a burden like an ass,\\r\\n Spurr\\'d, gall\\'d, and tir\\'d, by jauncing Bolingbroke.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KEEPER with meat\\r\\n\\r\\n KEEPER. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. If thou love me, \\'tis time thou wert away.\\r\\n GROOM. my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n KEEPER. My lord, will\\'t please you to fall to?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Taste of it first as thou art wont to do.\\r\\n KEEPER. My lord, I dare not. Sir Pierce of Exton,\\r\\n Who lately came from the King, commands the contrary.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee!\\r\\n Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.\\r\\n [Beats the KEEPER]\\r\\n KEEPER. Help, help, help!\\r\\n The murderers, EXTON and servants, rush in, armed\\r\\n KING RICHARD. How now! What means death in this rude assault?\\r\\n Villain, thy own hand yields thy death\\'s instrument.\\r\\n [Snatching a weapon and killing one]\\r\\n Go thou and fill another room in hell.\\r\\n [He kills another, then EXTON strikes him down]\\r\\n That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire\\r\\n That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand\\r\\n Hath with the King\\'s blood stain\\'d the King\\'s own land.\\r\\n Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high;\\r\\n Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.\\r\\n [Dies]\\r\\n EXTON. As full of valour as of royal blood.\\r\\n Both have I spill\\'d. O, would the deed were good!\\r\\n For now the devil, that told me I did well,\\r\\n Says that this deed is chronicled in hell.\\r\\n This dead King to the living King I\\'ll bear.\\r\\n Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 6. Windsor Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE, the DUKE OF YORK, With other LORDS and\\r\\nattendants\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear\\r\\n Is that the rebels have consum\\'d with fire\\r\\n Our town of Ciceter in Gloucestershire;\\r\\n But whether they be ta\\'en or slain we hear not.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NORTHUMBERLAND\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, my lord. What is the news?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness.\\r\\n The next news is, I have to London sent\\r\\n The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent.\\r\\n The manner of their taking may appear\\r\\n At large discoursed in this paper here.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains;\\r\\n And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FITZWATER\\r\\n\\r\\n FITZWATER. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London\\r\\n The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely;\\r\\n Two of the dangerous consorted traitors\\r\\n That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot;\\r\\n Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PERCY, With the BISHOP OF CARLISLE\\r\\n\\r\\n PERCY. The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster,\\r\\n With clog of conscience and sour melancholy,\\r\\n Hath yielded up his body to the grave;\\r\\n But here is Carlisle living, to abide\\r\\n Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Carlisle, this is your doom:\\r\\n Choose out some secret place, some reverend room,\\r\\n More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life;\\r\\n So as thou liv\\'st in peace, die free from strife;\\r\\n For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,\\r\\n High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter EXTON, with attendants, hearing a coffin\\r\\n\\r\\n EXTON. Great King, within this coffin I present\\r\\n Thy buried fear. Herein all breathless lies\\r\\n The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,\\r\\n Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought\\r\\n A deed of slander with thy fatal hand\\r\\n Upon my head and all this famous land.\\r\\n EXTON. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. They love not poison that do poison need,\\r\\n Nor do I thee. Though I did wish him dead,\\r\\n I hate the murderer, love him murdered.\\r\\n The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,\\r\\n But neither my good word nor princely favour;\\r\\n With Cain go wander thorough shades of night,\\r\\n And never show thy head by day nor light.\\r\\n Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe\\r\\n That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow.\\r\\n Come, mourn with me for what I do lament,\\r\\n And put on sullen black incontinent.\\r\\n I\\'ll make a voyage to the Holy Land,\\r\\n To wash this blood off from my guilty hand.\\r\\n March sadly after; grace my mournings here\\r\\n In weeping after this untimely bier. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nKING RICHARD THE THIRD\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personae\\r\\n\\r\\n EDWARD THE FOURTH\\r\\n\\r\\n Sons to the King\\r\\n EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES afterwards KING EDWARD V\\r\\n RICHARD, DUKE OF YORK,\\r\\n\\r\\n Brothers to the King\\r\\n GEORGE, DUKE OF CLARENCE,\\r\\n RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, afterwards KING RICHARD III\\r\\n\\r\\n A YOUNG SON OF CLARENCE (Edward, Earl of Warwick)\\r\\n HENRY, EARL OF RICHMOND, afterwards KING HENRY VII\\r\\n CARDINAL BOURCHIER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY\\r\\n THOMAS ROTHERHAM, ARCHBISHOP OF YORK\\r\\n JOHN MORTON, BISHOP OF ELY\\r\\n DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n DUKE OF NORFOLK\\r\\n EARL OF SURREY, his son\\r\\n EARL RIVERS, brother to King Edward\\'s Queen\\r\\n MARQUIS OF DORSET and LORD GREY, her sons\\r\\n EARL OF OXFORD\\r\\n LORD HASTINGS\\r\\n LORD LOVEL\\r\\n LORD STANLEY, called also EARL OF DERBY\\r\\n SIR THOMAS VAUGHAN\\r\\n SIR RICHARD RATCLIFF\\r\\n SIR WILLIAM CATESBY\\r\\n SIR JAMES TYRREL\\r\\n SIR JAMES BLOUNT\\r\\n SIR WALTER HERBERT\\r\\n SIR WILLIAM BRANDON\\r\\n SIR ROBERT BRAKENBURY, Lieutenant of the Tower\\r\\n CHRISTOPHER URSWICK, a priest\\r\\n LORD MAYOR OF LONDON\\r\\n SHERIFF OF WILTSHIRE\\r\\n HASTINGS, a pursuivant\\r\\n TRESSEL and BERKELEY, gentlemen attending on Lady Anne\\r\\n ELIZABETH, Queen to King Edward IV\\r\\n MARGARET, widow of King Henry VI\\r\\n DUCHESS OF YORK, mother to King Edward IV\\r\\n LADY ANNE, widow of Edward, Prince of Wales, son to King\\r\\n Henry VI; afterwards married to the Duke of Gloucester\\r\\n A YOUNG DAUGHTER OF CLARENCE (Margaret Plantagenet,\\r\\n Countess of Salisbury)\\r\\n Ghosts, of Richard\\'s victims\\r\\n Lords, Gentlemen, and Attendants; Priest, Scrivener, Page, Bishops,\\r\\n Aldermen, Citizens, Soldiers, Messengers, Murderers, Keeper\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: England\\r\\n\\r\\nKing Richard the Third\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, solus\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Now is the winter of our discontent\\r\\n Made glorious summer by this sun of York;\\r\\n And all the clouds that lour\\'d upon our house\\r\\n In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.\\r\\n Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;\\r\\n Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;\\r\\n Our stern alarums chang\\'d to merry meetings,\\r\\n Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.\\r\\n Grim-visag\\'d war hath smooth\\'d his wrinkled front,\\r\\n And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds\\r\\n To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,\\r\\n He capers nimbly in a lady\\'s chamber\\r\\n To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.\\r\\n But I-that am not shap\\'d for sportive tricks,\\r\\n Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass-\\r\\n I-that am rudely stamp\\'d, and want love\\'s majesty\\r\\n To strut before a wanton ambling nymph-\\r\\n I-that am curtail\\'d of this fair proportion,\\r\\n Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,\\r\\n Deform\\'d, unfinish\\'d, sent before my time\\r\\n Into this breathing world scarce half made up,\\r\\n And that so lamely and unfashionable\\r\\n That dogs bark at me as I halt by them-\\r\\n Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,\\r\\n Have no delight to pass away the time,\\r\\n Unless to spy my shadow in the sun\\r\\n And descant on mine own deformity.\\r\\n And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover\\r\\n To entertain these fair well-spoken days,\\r\\n I am determined to prove a villain\\r\\n And hate the idle pleasures of these days.\\r\\n Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,\\r\\n By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,\\r\\n To set my brother Clarence and the King\\r\\n In deadly hate the one against the other;\\r\\n And if King Edward be as true and just\\r\\n As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,\\r\\n This day should Clarence closely be mew\\'d up-\\r\\n About a prophecy which says that G\\r\\n Of Edward\\'s heirs the murderer shall be.\\r\\n Dive, thoughts, down to my soul. Here Clarence comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n Brother, good day. What means this armed guard\\r\\n That waits upon your Grace?\\r\\n CLARENCE. His Majesty,\\r\\n Tend\\'ring my person\\'s safety, hath appointed\\r\\n This conduct to convey me to th\\' Tower.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Upon what cause?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Because my name is George.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours:\\r\\n He should, for that, commit your godfathers.\\r\\n O, belike his Majesty hath some intent\\r\\n That you should be new-christ\\'ned in the Tower.\\r\\n But what\\'s the matter, Clarence? May I know?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest\\r\\n As yet I do not; but, as I can learn,\\r\\n He hearkens after prophecies and dreams,\\r\\n And from the cross-row plucks the letter G,\\r\\n And says a wizard told him that by G\\r\\n His issue disinherited should be;\\r\\n And, for my name of George begins with G,\\r\\n It follows in his thought that I am he.\\r\\n These, as I learn, and such like toys as these\\r\\n Hath mov\\'d his Highness to commit me now.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, this it is when men are rul\\'d by women:\\r\\n \\'Tis not the King that sends you to the Tower;\\r\\n My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, \\'tis she\\r\\n That tempers him to this extremity.\\r\\n Was it not she and that good man of worship,\\r\\n Antony Woodville, her brother there,\\r\\n That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower,\\r\\n From whence this present day he is delivered?\\r\\n We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.\\r\\n CLARENCE. By heaven, I think there is no man is secure\\r\\n But the Queen\\'s kindred, and night-walking heralds\\r\\n That trudge betwixt the King and Mistress Shore.\\r\\n Heard you not what an humble suppliant\\r\\n Lord Hastings was, for her delivery?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Humbly complaining to her deity\\r\\n Got my Lord Chamberlain his liberty.\\r\\n I\\'ll tell you what-I think it is our way,\\r\\n If we will keep in favour with the King,\\r\\n To be her men and wear her livery:\\r\\n The jealous o\\'er-worn widow, and herself,\\r\\n Since that our brother dubb\\'d them gentlewomen,\\r\\n Are mighty gossips in our monarchy.\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. I beseech your Graces both to pardon me:\\r\\n His Majesty hath straitly given in charge\\r\\n That no man shall have private conference,\\r\\n Of what degree soever, with your brother.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Even so; an\\'t please your worship, Brakenbury,\\r\\n You may partake of any thing we say:\\r\\n We speak no treason, man; we say the King\\r\\n Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen\\r\\n Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous;\\r\\n We say that Shore\\'s wife hath a pretty foot,\\r\\n A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue;\\r\\n And that the Queen\\'s kindred are made gentlefolks.\\r\\n How say you, sir? Can you deny all this?\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. With this, my lord, myself have naught to do.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Naught to do with Mistress Shore! I tell thee,\\r\\n fellow,\\r\\n He that doth naught with her, excepting one,\\r\\n Were best to do it secretly alone.\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. What one, my lord?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Her husband, knave! Wouldst thou betray me?\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me, and\\r\\n withal\\r\\n Forbear your conference with the noble Duke.\\r\\n CLARENCE. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will\\r\\n obey.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. We are the Queen\\'s abjects and must obey.\\r\\n Brother, farewell; I will unto the King;\\r\\n And whatsoe\\'er you will employ me in-\\r\\n Were it to call King Edward\\'s widow sister-\\r\\n I will perform it to enfranchise you.\\r\\n Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood\\r\\n Touches me deeper than you can imagine.\\r\\n CLARENCE. I know it pleaseth neither of us well.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;\\r\\n I will deliver or else lie for you.\\r\\n Meantime, have patience.\\r\\n CLARENCE. I must perforce. Farewell.\\r\\n Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and guard\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Go tread the path that thou shalt ne\\'er return.\\r\\n Simple, plain Clarence, I do love thee so\\r\\n That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,\\r\\n If heaven will take the present at our hands.\\r\\n But who comes here? The new-delivered Hastings?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD HASTINGS\\r\\n\\r\\n HASTINGS. Good time of day unto my gracious lord!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain!\\r\\n Well are you welcome to the open air.\\r\\n How hath your lordship brook\\'d imprisonment?\\r\\n HASTINGS. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must;\\r\\n But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks\\r\\n That were the cause of my imprisonment.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too;\\r\\n For they that were your enemies are his,\\r\\n And have prevail\\'d as much on him as you.\\r\\n HASTINGS. More pity that the eagles should be mew\\'d\\r\\n Whiles kites and buzzards prey at liberty.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What news abroad?\\r\\n HASTINGS. No news so bad abroad as this at home:\\r\\n The King is sickly, weak, and melancholy,\\r\\n And his physicians fear him mightily.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Now, by Saint John, that news is bad indeed.\\r\\n O, he hath kept an evil diet long\\r\\n And overmuch consum\\'d his royal person!\\r\\n \\'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.\\r\\n Where is he? In his bed?\\r\\n HASTINGS. He is.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Go you before, and I will follow you.\\r\\n Exit HASTINGS\\r\\n He cannot live, I hope, and must not die\\r\\n Till George be pack\\'d with posthorse up to heaven.\\r\\n I\\'ll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence\\r\\n With lies well steel\\'d with weighty arguments;\\r\\n And, if I fail not in my deep intent,\\r\\n Clarence hath not another day to live;\\r\\n Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy,\\r\\n And leave the world for me to bustle in!\\r\\n For then I\\'ll marry Warwick\\'s youngest daughter.\\r\\n What though I kill\\'d her husband and her father?\\r\\n The readiest way to make the wench amends\\r\\n Is to become her husband and her father;\\r\\n The which will I-not all so much for love\\r\\n As for another secret close intent\\r\\n By marrying her which I must reach unto.\\r\\n But yet I run before my horse to market.\\r\\n Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns;\\r\\n When they are gone, then must I count my gains. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. Another street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter corpse of KING HENRY THE SIXTH, with halberds to guard it;\\r\\nLADY ANNE being the mourner, attended by TRESSEL and BERKELEY\\r\\n\\r\\n ANNE. Set down, set down your honourable load-\\r\\n If honour may be shrouded in a hearse;\\r\\n Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament\\r\\n Th\\' untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.\\r\\n Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!\\r\\n Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!\\r\\n Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!\\r\\n Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost\\r\\n To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,\\r\\n Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughtered son,\\r\\n Stabb\\'d by the self-same hand that made these wounds.\\r\\n Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life\\r\\n I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.\\r\\n O, cursed be the hand that made these holes!\\r\\n Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it!\\r\\n Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence!\\r\\n More direful hap betide that hated wretch\\r\\n That makes us wretched by the death of thee\\r\\n Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,\\r\\n Or any creeping venom\\'d thing that lives!\\r\\n If ever he have child, abortive be it,\\r\\n Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,\\r\\n Whose ugly and unnatural aspect\\r\\n May fright the hopeful mother at the view,\\r\\n And that be heir to his unhappiness!\\r\\n If ever he have wife, let her be made\\r\\n More miserable by the death of him\\r\\n Than I am made by my young lord and thee!\\r\\n Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load,\\r\\n Taken from Paul\\'s to be interred there;\\r\\n And still as you are weary of this weight\\r\\n Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry\\'s corse.\\r\\n [The bearers take up the coffin]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.\\r\\n ANNE. What black magician conjures up this fiend\\r\\n To stop devoted charitable deeds?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul,\\r\\n I\\'ll make a corse of him that disobeys!\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin\\r\\n pass.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Unmannerd dog! Stand thou, when I command.\\r\\n Advance thy halberd higher than my breast,\\r\\n Or, by Saint Paul, I\\'ll strike thee to my foot\\r\\n And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.\\r\\n [The bearers set down the coffin]\\r\\n ANNE. What, do you tremble? Are you all afraid?\\r\\n Alas, I blame you not, for you are mortal,\\r\\n And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.\\r\\n Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell!\\r\\n Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,\\r\\n His soul thou canst not have; therefore, be gone.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.\\r\\n ANNE. Foul devil, for God\\'s sake, hence and trouble us not;\\r\\n For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell\\r\\n Fill\\'d it with cursing cries and deep exclaims.\\r\\n If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,\\r\\n Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.\\r\\n O, gentlemen, see, see! Dead Henry\\'s wounds\\r\\n Open their congeal\\'d mouths and bleed afresh.\\r\\n Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity,\\r\\n For \\'tis thy presence that exhales this blood\\r\\n From cold and empty veins where no blood dwells;\\r\\n Thy deeds inhuman and unnatural\\r\\n Provokes this deluge most unnatural.\\r\\n O God, which this blood mad\\'st, revenge his death!\\r\\n O earth, which this blood drink\\'st, revenge his death!\\r\\n Either, heav\\'n, with lightning strike the murd\\'rer dead;\\r\\n Or, earth, gape open wide and eat him quick,\\r\\n As thou dost swallow up this good king\\'s blood,\\r\\n Which his hell-govern\\'d arm hath butchered.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Lady, you know no rules of charity,\\r\\n Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.\\r\\n ANNE. Villain, thou knowest nor law of God nor man:\\r\\n No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.\\r\\n ANNE. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. More wonderful when angels are so angry.\\r\\n Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,\\r\\n Of these supposed crimes to give me leave\\r\\n By circumstance but to acquit myself.\\r\\n ANNE. Vouchsafe, diffus\\'d infection of a man,\\r\\n Of these known evils but to give me leave\\r\\n By circumstance to accuse thy cursed self.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have\\r\\n Some patient leisure to excuse myself.\\r\\n ANNE. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make\\r\\n No excuse current but to hang thyself.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. By such despair I should accuse myself.\\r\\n ANNE. And by despairing shalt thou stand excused\\r\\n For doing worthy vengeance on thyself\\r\\n That didst unworthy slaughter upon others.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Say that I slew them not?\\r\\n ANNE. Then say they were not slain.\\r\\n But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I did not kill your husband.\\r\\n ANNE. Why, then he is alive.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Nay, he is dead, and slain by Edward\\'s hands.\\r\\n ANNE. In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw\\r\\n Thy murd\\'rous falchion smoking in his blood;\\r\\n The which thou once didst bend against her breast,\\r\\n But that thy brothers beat aside the point.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I was provoked by her sland\\'rous tongue\\r\\n That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.\\r\\n ANNE. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind,\\r\\n That never dream\\'st on aught but butcheries.\\r\\n Didst thou not kill this king?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I grant ye.\\r\\n ANNE. Dost grant me, hedgehog? Then, God grant me to\\r\\n Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed!\\r\\n O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The better for the King of Heaven, that hath\\r\\n him.\\r\\n ANNE. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Let him thank me that holp to send him\\r\\n thither,\\r\\n For he was fitter for that place than earth.\\r\\n ANNE. And thou unfit for any place but hell.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.\\r\\n ANNE. Some dungeon.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Your bed-chamber.\\r\\n ANNE. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. So will it, madam, till I lie with you.\\r\\n ANNE. I hope so.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne,\\r\\n To leave this keen encounter of our wits,\\r\\n And fall something into a slower method-\\r\\n Is not the causer of the timeless deaths\\r\\n Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,\\r\\n As blameful as the executioner?\\r\\n ANNE. Thou wast the cause and most accurs\\'d effect.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Your beauty was the cause of that effect-\\r\\n Your beauty that did haunt me in my sleep\\r\\n To undertake the death of all the world\\r\\n So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.\\r\\n ANNE. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,\\r\\n These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. These eyes could not endure that beauty\\'s\\r\\n wreck;\\r\\n You should not blemish it if I stood by.\\r\\n As all the world is cheered by the sun,\\r\\n So I by that; it is my day, my life.\\r\\n ANNE. Black night o\\'ershade thy day, and death thy life!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both.\\r\\n ANNE. I would I were, to be reveng\\'d on thee.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. It is a quarrel most unnatural,\\r\\n To be reveng\\'d on him that loveth thee.\\r\\n ANNE. It is a quarrel just and reasonable,\\r\\n To be reveng\\'d on him that kill\\'d my husband.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband\\r\\n Did it to help thee to a better husband.\\r\\n ANNE. His better doth not breathe upon the earth.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He lives that loves thee better than he could.\\r\\n ANNE. Name him.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Plantagenet.\\r\\n ANNE. Why, that was he.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The self-same name, but one of better nature.\\r\\n ANNE. Where is he?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Here. [She spits at him] Why dost thou spit\\r\\n at me?\\r\\n ANNE. Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Never came poison from so sweet a place.\\r\\n ANNE. Never hung poison on a fouler toad.\\r\\n Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.\\r\\n ANNE. Would they were basilisks to strike thee dead!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I would they were, that I might die at once;\\r\\n For now they kill me with a living death.\\r\\n Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears,\\r\\n Sham\\'d their aspects with store of childish drops-\\r\\n These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear,\\r\\n No, when my father York and Edward wept\\r\\n To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made\\r\\n When black-fac\\'d Clifford shook his sword at him;\\r\\n Nor when thy warlike father, like a child,\\r\\n Told the sad story of my father\\'s death,\\r\\n And twenty times made pause to sob and weep\\r\\n That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks\\r\\n Like trees bedash\\'d with rain-in that sad time\\r\\n My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear;\\r\\n And what these sorrows could not thence exhale\\r\\n Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.\\r\\n I never sued to friend nor enemy;\\r\\n My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word;\\r\\n But, now thy beauty is propos\\'d my fee,\\r\\n My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.\\r\\n [She looks scornfully at him]\\r\\n Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made\\r\\n For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.\\r\\n If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,\\r\\n Lo here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword;\\r\\n Which if thou please to hide in this true breast\\r\\n And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,\\r\\n I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,\\r\\n And humbly beg the death upon my knee.\\r\\n [He lays his breast open; she offers at it with his sword]\\r\\n Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry-\\r\\n But \\'twas thy beauty that provoked me.\\r\\n Nay, now dispatch; \\'twas I that stabb\\'d young Edward-\\r\\n But \\'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.\\r\\n [She falls the sword]\\r\\n Take up the sword again, or take up me.\\r\\n ANNE. Arise, dissembler; though I wish thy death,\\r\\n I will not be thy executioner.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it;\\r\\n ANNE. I have already.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. That was in thy rage.\\r\\n Speak it again, and even with the word\\r\\n This hand, which for thy love did kill thy love,\\r\\n Shall for thy love kill a far truer love;\\r\\n To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.\\r\\n ANNE. I would I knew thy heart.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. \\'Tis figur\\'d in my tongue.\\r\\n ANNE. I fear me both are false.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Then never was man true.\\r\\n ANNE. well put up your sword.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Say, then, my peace is made.\\r\\n ANNE. That shalt thou know hereafter.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. But shall I live in hope?\\r\\n ANNE. All men, I hope, live so.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.\\r\\n ANNE. To take is not to give. [Puts on the ring]\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Look how my ring encompasseth thy finger,\\r\\n Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart;\\r\\n Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.\\r\\n And if thy poor devoted servant may\\r\\n But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,\\r\\n Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.\\r\\n ANNE. What is it?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. That it may please you leave these sad designs\\r\\n To him that hath most cause to be a mourner,\\r\\n And presently repair to Crosby House;\\r\\n Where-after I have solemnly interr\\'d\\r\\n At Chertsey monast\\'ry this noble king,\\r\\n And wet his grave with my repentant tears-\\r\\n I will with all expedient duty see you.\\r\\n For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you,\\r\\n Grant me this boon.\\r\\n ANNE. With all my heart; and much it joys me too\\r\\n To see you are become so penitent.\\r\\n Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Bid me farewell.\\r\\n ANNE. \\'Tis more than you deserve;\\r\\n But since you teach me how to flatter you,\\r\\n Imagine I have said farewell already.\\r\\n Exeunt two GENTLEMEN With LADY ANNE\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Sirs, take up the corse.\\r\\n GENTLEMEN. Towards Chertsey, noble lord?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. No, to White Friars; there attend my coming.\\r\\n Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER\\r\\n Was ever woman in this humour woo\\'d?\\r\\n Was ever woman in this humour won?\\r\\n I\\'ll have her; but I will not keep her long.\\r\\n What! I that kill\\'d her husband and his father-\\r\\n To take her in her heart\\'s extremest hate,\\r\\n With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,\\r\\n The bleeding witness of my hatred by;\\r\\n Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me,\\r\\n And I no friends to back my suit at all\\r\\n But the plain devil and dissembling looks,\\r\\n And yet to win her, all the world to nothing!\\r\\n Ha!\\r\\n Hath she forgot already that brave prince,\\r\\n Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,\\r\\n Stabb\\'d in my angry mood at Tewksbury?\\r\\n A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman-\\r\\n Fram\\'d in the prodigality of nature,\\r\\n Young, valiant, wise, and no doubt right royal-\\r\\n The spacious world cannot again afford;\\r\\n And will she yet abase her eyes on me,\\r\\n That cropp\\'d the golden prime of this sweet prince\\r\\n And made her widow to a woeful bed?\\r\\n On me, whose all not equals Edward\\'s moiety?\\r\\n On me, that halts and am misshapen thus?\\r\\n My dukedom to a beggarly denier,\\r\\n I do mistake my person all this while.\\r\\n Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,\\r\\n Myself to be a marv\\'llous proper man.\\r\\n I\\'ll be at charges for a looking-glass,\\r\\n And entertain a score or two of tailors\\r\\n To study fashions to adorn my body.\\r\\n Since I am crept in favour with myself,\\r\\n I will maintain it with some little cost.\\r\\n But first I\\'ll turn yon fellow in his grave,\\r\\n And then return lamenting to my love.\\r\\n Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,\\r\\n That I may see my shadow as I pass. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter QUEEN ELIZABETH, LORD RIVERS, and LORD GREY\\r\\n\\r\\n RIVERS. Have patience, madam; there\\'s no doubt his Majesty\\r\\n Will soon recover his accustom\\'d health.\\r\\n GREY. In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse;\\r\\n Therefore, for God\\'s sake, entertain good comfort,\\r\\n And cheer his Grace with quick and merry eyes.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. If he were dead, what would betide on\\r\\n me?\\r\\n GREY. No other harm but loss of such a lord.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. The loss of such a lord includes all\\r\\n harms.\\r\\n GREY. The heavens have bless\\'d you with a goodly son\\r\\n To be your comforter when he is gone.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, he is young; and his minority\\r\\n Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester,\\r\\n A man that loves not me, nor none of you.\\r\\n RIVER. Is it concluded he shall be Protector?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. It is determin\\'d, not concluded yet;\\r\\n But so it must be, if the King miscarry.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BUCKINGHAM and DERBY\\r\\n\\r\\n GREY. Here come the Lords of Buckingham and Derby.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Good time of day unto your royal Grace!\\r\\n DERBY. God make your Majesty joyful as you have been.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. The Countess Richmond, good my Lord\\r\\n of Derby,\\r\\n To your good prayer will scarcely say amen.\\r\\n Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she\\'s your wife\\r\\n And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur\\'d\\r\\n I hate not you for her proud arrogance.\\r\\n DERBY. I do beseech you, either not believe\\r\\n The envious slanders of her false accusers;\\r\\n Or, if she be accus\\'d on true report,\\r\\n Bear with her weakness, which I think proceeds\\r\\n From wayward sickness and no grounded malice.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Saw you the King to-day, my Lord of\\r\\n Derby?\\r\\n DERBY. But now the Duke of Buckingham and I\\r\\n Are come from visiting his Majesty.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. What likelihood of his amendment,\\r\\n Lords?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Madam, good hope; his Grace speaks\\r\\n cheerfully.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. God grant him health! Did you confer\\r\\n with him?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Ay, madam; he desires to make atonement\\r\\n Between the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers,\\r\\n And between them and my Lord Chamberlain;\\r\\n And sent to warn them to his royal presence.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Would all were well! But that will\\r\\n never be.\\r\\n I fear our happiness is at the height.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it.\\r\\n Who is it that complains unto the King\\r\\n That I, forsooth, am stern and love them not?\\r\\n By holy Paul, they love his Grace but lightly\\r\\n That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours.\\r\\n Because I cannot flatter and look fair,\\r\\n Smile in men\\'s faces, smooth, deceive, and cog,\\r\\n Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,\\r\\n I must be held a rancorous enemy.\\r\\n Cannot a plain man live and think no harm\\r\\n But thus his simple truth must be abus\\'d\\r\\n With silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?\\r\\n GREY. To who in all this presence speaks your Grace?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace.\\r\\n When have I injur\\'d thee? when done thee wrong,\\r\\n Or thee, or thee, or any of your faction?\\r\\n A plague upon you all! His royal Grace-\\r\\n Whom God preserve better than you would wish!-\\r\\n Cannot be quiet searce a breathing while\\r\\n But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the\\r\\n matter.\\r\\n The King, on his own royal disposition\\r\\n And not provok\\'d by any suitor else-\\r\\n Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred\\r\\n That in your outward action shows itself\\r\\n Against my children, brothers, and myself-\\r\\n Makes him to send that he may learn the ground.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I cannot tell; the world is grown so bad\\r\\n That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.\\r\\n Since every Jack became a gentleman,\\r\\n There\\'s many a gentle person made a Jack.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Come, come, we know your meaning,\\r\\n brother Gloucester:\\r\\n You envy my advancement and my friends\\';\\r\\n God grant we never may have need of you!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Meantime, God grants that I have need of you.\\r\\n Our brother is imprison\\'d by your means,\\r\\n Myself disgrac\\'d, and the nobility\\r\\n Held in contempt; while great promotions\\r\\n Are daily given to ennoble those\\r\\n That scarce some two days since were worth a noble.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. By Him that rais\\'d me to this careful\\r\\n height\\r\\n From that contented hap which I enjoy\\'d,\\r\\n I never did incense his Majesty\\r\\n Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been\\r\\n An earnest advocate to plead for him.\\r\\n My lord, you do me shameful injury\\r\\n Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. You may deny that you were not the mean\\r\\n Of my Lord Hastings\\' late imprisonment.\\r\\n RIVERS. She may, my lord; for-\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. She may, Lord Rivers? Why, who knows\\r\\n not so?\\r\\n She may do more, sir, than denying that:\\r\\n She may help you to many fair preferments\\r\\n And then deny her aiding hand therein,\\r\\n And lay those honours on your high desert.\\r\\n What may she not? She may-ay, marry, may she-\\r\\n RIVERS. What, marry, may she?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What, marry, may she? Marry with a king,\\r\\n A bachelor, and a handsome stripling too.\\r\\n Iwis your grandam had a worser match.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. My Lord of Gloucester, I have too long\\r\\n borne\\r\\n Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs.\\r\\n By heaven, I will acquaint his Majesty\\r\\n Of those gross taunts that oft I have endur\\'d.\\r\\n I had rather be a country servant-maid\\r\\n Than a great queen with this condition-\\r\\n To be so baited, scorn\\'d, and stormed at.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter old QUEEN MARGARET, behind\\r\\n\\r\\n Small joy have I in being England\\'s Queen.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. And less\\'ned be that small, God, I\\r\\n beseech Him!\\r\\n Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What! Threat you me with telling of the\\r\\n King?\\r\\n Tell him and spare not. Look what I have said\\r\\n I will avouch\\'t in presence of the King.\\r\\n I dare adventure to be sent to th\\' Tow\\'r.\\r\\n \\'Tis time to speak-my pains are quite forgot.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Out, devil! I do remember them to\\r\\n well:\\r\\n Thou kill\\'dst my husband Henry in the Tower,\\r\\n And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband\\r\\n King,\\r\\n I was a pack-horse in his great affairs,\\r\\n A weeder-out of his proud adversaries,\\r\\n A liberal rewarder of his friends;\\r\\n To royalize his blood I spent mine own.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, and much better blood than his or\\r\\n thine.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. In all which time you and your husband Grey\\r\\n Were factious for the house of Lancaster;\\r\\n And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband\\r\\n In Margaret\\'s battle at Saint Albans slain?\\r\\n Let me put in your minds, if you forget,\\r\\n What you have been ere this, and what you are;\\r\\n Withal, what I have been, and what I am.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. A murd\\'rous villain, and so still thou art.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick,\\r\\n Ay, and forswore himself-which Jesu pardon!-\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Which God revenge!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. To fight on Edward\\'s party for the crown;\\r\\n And for his meed, poor lord, he is mewed up.\\r\\n I would to God my heart were flint like Edward\\'s,\\r\\n Or Edward\\'s soft and pitiful like mine.\\r\\n I am too childish-foolish for this world.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Hie thee to hell for shame and leave this\\r\\n world,\\r\\n Thou cacodemon; there thy kingdom is.\\r\\n RIVERS. My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days\\r\\n Which here you urge to prove us enemies,\\r\\n We follow\\'d then our lord, our sovereign king.\\r\\n So should we you, if you should be our king.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar.\\r\\n Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose\\r\\n You should enjoy were you this country\\'s king,\\r\\n As little joy you may suppose in me\\r\\n That I enjoy, being the Queen thereof.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. As little joy enjoys the Queen thereof;\\r\\n For I am she, and altogether joyless.\\r\\n I can no longer hold me patient. [Advancing]\\r\\n Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out\\r\\n In sharing that which you have pill\\'d from me.\\r\\n Which of you trembles not that looks on me?\\r\\n If not that, I am Queen, you bow like subjects,\\r\\n Yet that, by you depos\\'d, you quake like rebels?\\r\\n Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak\\'st thou in my\\r\\n sight?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. But repetition of what thou hast marr\\'d,\\r\\n That will I make before I let thee go.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Wert thou not banished on pain of death?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. I was; but I do find more pain in\\r\\n banishment\\r\\n Than death can yield me here by my abode.\\r\\n A husband and a son thou ow\\'st to me;\\r\\n And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance.\\r\\n This sorrow that I have by right is yours;\\r\\n And all the pleasures you usurp are mine.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The curse my noble father laid on thee,\\r\\n When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper\\r\\n And with thy scorns drew\\'st rivers from his eyes,\\r\\n And then to dry them gav\\'st the Duke a clout\\r\\n Steep\\'d in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland-\\r\\n His curses then from bitterness of soul\\r\\n Denounc\\'d against thee are all fall\\'n upon thee;\\r\\n And God, not we, hath plagu\\'d thy bloody deed.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. So just is God to right the innocent.\\r\\n HASTINGS. O, \\'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe,\\r\\n And the most merciless that e\\'er was heard of!\\r\\n RIVERS. Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.\\r\\n DORSET. No man but prophesied revenge for it.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. What, were you snarling all before I came,\\r\\n Ready to catch each other by the throat,\\r\\n And turn you all your hatred now on me?\\r\\n Did York\\'s dread curse prevail so much with heaven\\r\\n That Henry\\'s death, my lovely Edward\\'s death,\\r\\n Their kingdom\\'s loss, my woeful banishment,\\r\\n Should all but answer for that peevish brat?\\r\\n Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven?\\r\\n Why then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses!\\r\\n Though not by war, by surfeit die your king,\\r\\n As ours by murder, to make him a king!\\r\\n Edward thy son, that now is Prince of Wales,\\r\\n For Edward our son, that was Prince of Wales,\\r\\n Die in his youth by like untimely violence!\\r\\n Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,\\r\\n Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self!\\r\\n Long mayest thou live to wail thy children\\'s death,\\r\\n And see another, as I see thee now,\\r\\n Deck\\'d in thy rights, as thou art stall\\'d in mine!\\r\\n Long die thy happy days before thy death;\\r\\n And, after many length\\'ned hours of grief,\\r\\n Die neither mother, wife, nor England\\'s Queen!\\r\\n Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by,\\r\\n And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son\\r\\n Was stabb\\'d with bloody daggers. God, I pray him,\\r\\n That none of you may live his natural age,\\r\\n But by some unlook\\'d accident cut off!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither\\'d\\r\\n hag.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. And leave out thee? Stay, dog, for thou\\r\\n shalt hear me.\\r\\n If heaven have any grievous plague in store\\r\\n Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,\\r\\n O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe,\\r\\n And then hurl down their indignation\\r\\n On thee, the troubler of the poor world\\'s peace!\\r\\n The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul!\\r\\n Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv\\'st,\\r\\n And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!\\r\\n No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,\\r\\n Unless it be while some tormenting dream\\r\\n Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!\\r\\n Thou elvish-mark\\'d, abortive, rooting hog,\\r\\n Thou that wast seal\\'d in thy nativity\\r\\n The slave of nature and the son of hell,\\r\\n Thou slander of thy heavy mother\\'s womb,\\r\\n Thou loathed issue of thy father\\'s loins,\\r\\n Thou rag of honour, thou detested-\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Margaret!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Richard!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ha?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. I call thee not.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I cry thee mercy then, for I did think\\r\\n That thou hadst call\\'d me all these bitter names.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Why, so I did, but look\\'d for no reply.\\r\\n O, let me make the period to my curse!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. \\'Tis done by me, and ends in-Margaret.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thus have you breath\\'d your curse\\r\\n against yourself.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my\\r\\n fortune!\\r\\n Why strew\\'st thou sugar on that bottled spider\\r\\n Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?\\r\\n Fool, fool! thou whet\\'st a knife to kill thyself.\\r\\n The day will come that thou shalt wish for me\\r\\n To help thee curse this poisonous bunch-back\\'d toad.\\r\\n HASTINGS. False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse,\\r\\n Lest to thy harm thou move our patience.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Foul shame upon you! you have all\\r\\n mov\\'d mine.\\r\\n RIVERS. Were you well serv\\'d, you would be taught your\\r\\n duty.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. To serve me well you all should do me\\r\\n duty,\\r\\n Teach me to be your queen and you my subjects.\\r\\n O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty!\\r\\n DORSET. Dispute not with her; she is lunatic.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Peace, Master Marquis, you are malapert;\\r\\n Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current.\\r\\n O, that your young nobility could judge\\r\\n What \\'twere to lose it and be miserable!\\r\\n They that stand high have many blasts to shake them,\\r\\n And if they fall they dash themselves to pieces.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Good counsel, marry; learn it, learn it, Marquis.\\r\\n DORSET. It touches you, my lord, as much as me.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ay, and much more; but I was born so high,\\r\\n Our aery buildeth in the cedar\\'s top,\\r\\n And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. And turns the sun to shade-alas! alas!\\r\\n Witness my son, now in the shade of death,\\r\\n Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath\\r\\n Hath in eternal darkness folded up.\\r\\n Your aery buildeth in our aery\\'s nest.\\r\\n O God that seest it, do not suffer it;\\r\\n As it is won with blood, lost be it so!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Urge neither charity nor shame to me.\\r\\n Uncharitably with me have you dealt,\\r\\n And shamefully my hopes by you are butcher\\'d.\\r\\n My charity is outrage, life my shame;\\r\\n And in that shame still live my sorrow\\'s rage!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Have done, have done.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. O princely Buckingham, I\\'ll kiss thy\\r\\n hand\\r\\n In sign of league and amity with thee.\\r\\n Now fair befall thee and thy noble house!\\r\\n Thy garments are not spotted with our blood,\\r\\n Nor thou within the compass of my curse.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Nor no one here; for curses never pass\\r\\n The lips of those that breathe them in the air.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. I will not think but they ascend the sky\\r\\n And there awake God\\'s gentle-sleeping peace.\\r\\n O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog!\\r\\n Look when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites,\\r\\n His venom tooth will rankle to the death:\\r\\n Have not to do with him, beware of him;\\r\\n Sin, death, and hell, have set their marks on him,\\r\\n And all their ministers attend on him.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle\\r\\n counsel,\\r\\n And soothe the devil that I warn thee from?\\r\\n O, but remember this another day,\\r\\n When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow,\\r\\n And say poor Margaret was a prophetess!\\r\\n Live each of you the subjects to his hate,\\r\\n And he to yours, and all of you to God\\'s! Exit\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My hair doth stand an end to hear her curses.\\r\\n RIVERS. And so doth mine. I muse why she\\'s at liberty.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I cannot blame her; by God\\'s holy Mother,\\r\\n She hath had too much wrong; and I repent\\r\\n My part thereof that I have done to her.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. I never did her any to my knowledge.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong.\\r\\n I was too hot to do somebody good\\r\\n That is too cold in thinking of it now.\\r\\n Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid;\\r\\n He is frank\\'d up to fatting for his pains;\\r\\n God pardon them that are the cause thereof!\\r\\n RIVERS. A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion,\\r\\n To pray for them that have done scathe to us!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. So do I ever- [Aside] being well advis\\'d;\\r\\n For had I curs\\'d now, I had curs\\'d myself.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n CATESBY. Madam, his Majesty doth can for you,\\r\\n And for your Grace, and you, my gracious lords.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Catesby, I come. Lords, will you go\\r\\n with me?\\r\\n RIVERS. We wait upon your Grace.\\r\\n Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl.\\r\\n The secret mischiefs that I set abroach\\r\\n I lay unto the grievous charge of others.\\r\\n Clarence, who I indeed have cast in darkness,\\r\\n I do beweep to many simple gulls;\\r\\n Namely, to Derby, Hastings, Buckingham;\\r\\n And tell them \\'tis the Queen and her allies\\r\\n That stir the King against the Duke my brother.\\r\\n Now they believe it, and withal whet me\\r\\n To be reveng\\'d on Rivers, Dorset, Grey;\\r\\n But then I sigh and, with a piece of Scripture,\\r\\n Tell them that God bids us do good for evil.\\r\\n And thus I clothe my naked villainy\\r\\n With odd old ends stol\\'n forth of holy writ,\\r\\n And seem a saint when most I play the devil.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two MURDERERS\\r\\n\\r\\n But, soft, here come my executioners.\\r\\n How now, my hardy stout resolved mates!\\r\\n Are you now going to dispatch this thing?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. We are, my lord, and come to have the\\r\\n warrant,\\r\\n That we may be admitted where he is.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Well thought upon; I have it here about me.\\r\\n [Gives the warrant]\\r\\n When you have done, repair to Crosby Place.\\r\\n But, sirs, be sudden in the execution,\\r\\n Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead;\\r\\n For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps\\r\\n May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to\\r\\n prate;\\r\\n Talkers are no good doers. Be assur\\'d\\r\\n We go to use our hands and not our tongues.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Your eyes drop millstones when fools\\' eyes fall\\r\\n tears.\\r\\n I like you, lads; about your business straight;\\r\\n Go, go, dispatch.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. We will, my noble lord. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The Tower\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter CLARENCE and KEEPER\\r\\n\\r\\n KEEPER. Why looks your Grace so heavily to-day?\\r\\n CLARENCE. O, I have pass\\'d a miserable night,\\r\\n So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights,\\r\\n That, as I am a Christian faithful man,\\r\\n I would not spend another such a night\\r\\n Though \\'twere to buy a world of happy days-\\r\\n So full of dismal terror was the time!\\r\\n KEEPER. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you\\r\\n tell me.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower\\r\\n And was embark\\'d to cross to Burgundy;\\r\\n And in my company my brother Gloucester,\\r\\n Who from my cabin tempted me to walk\\r\\n Upon the hatches. Thence we look\\'d toward England,\\r\\n And cited up a thousand heavy times,\\r\\n During the wars of York and Lancaster,\\r\\n That had befall\\'n us. As we pac\\'d along\\r\\n Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,\\r\\n Methought that Gloucester stumbled, and in falling\\r\\n Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard\\r\\n Into the tumbling billows of the main.\\r\\n O Lord, methought what pain it was to drown,\\r\\n What dreadful noise of waters in my ears,\\r\\n What sights of ugly death within my eyes!\\r\\n Methoughts I saw a thousand fearful wrecks,\\r\\n A thousand men that fishes gnaw\\'d upon,\\r\\n Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,\\r\\n Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,\\r\\n All scatt\\'red in the bottom of the sea;\\r\\n Some lay in dead men\\'s skulls, and in the holes\\r\\n Where eyes did once inhabit there were crept,\\r\\n As \\'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,\\r\\n That woo\\'d the slimy bottom of the deep\\r\\n And mock\\'d the dead bones that lay scatt\\'red by.\\r\\n KEEPER. Had you such leisure in the time of death\\r\\n To gaze upon these secrets of the deep?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Methought I had; and often did I strive\\r\\n To yield the ghost, but still the envious flood\\r\\n Stopp\\'d in my soul and would not let it forth\\r\\n To find the empty, vast, and wand\\'ring air;\\r\\n But smother\\'d it within my panting bulk,\\r\\n Who almost burst to belch it in the sea.\\r\\n KEEPER. Awak\\'d you not in this sore agony?\\r\\n CLARENCE. No, no, my dream was lengthen\\'d after life.\\r\\n O, then began the tempest to my soul!\\r\\n I pass\\'d, methought, the melancholy flood\\r\\n With that sour ferryman which poets write of,\\r\\n Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.\\r\\n The first that there did greet my stranger soul\\r\\n Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick,\\r\\n Who spake aloud \\'What scourge for perjury\\r\\n Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?\\'\\r\\n And so he vanish\\'d. Then came wand\\'ring by\\r\\n A shadow like an angel, with bright hair\\r\\n Dabbled in blood, and he shriek\\'d out aloud\\r\\n \\'Clarence is come-false, fleeting, perjur\\'d Clarence,\\r\\n That stabb\\'d me in the field by Tewksbury.\\r\\n Seize on him, Furies, take him unto torment!\\'\\r\\n With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends\\r\\n Environ\\'d me, and howled in mine ears\\r\\n Such hideous cries that, with the very noise,\\r\\n I trembling wak\\'d, and for a season after\\r\\n Could not believe but that I was in hell,\\r\\n Such terrible impression made my dream.\\r\\n KEEPER. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you;\\r\\n I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Ah, Keeper, Keeper, I have done these things\\r\\n That now give evidence against my soul\\r\\n For Edward\\'s sake, and see how he requites me!\\r\\n O God! If my deep prayers cannot appease Thee,\\r\\n But Thou wilt be aveng\\'d on my misdeeds,\\r\\n Yet execute Thy wrath in me alone;\\r\\n O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children!\\r\\n KEEPER, I prithee sit by me awhile;\\r\\n My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.\\r\\n KEEPER. I will, my lord. God give your Grace good rest.\\r\\n [CLARENCE sleeps]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BRAKENBURY the Lieutenant\\r\\n\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours,\\r\\n Makes the night morning and the noontide night.\\r\\n Princes have but their titles for their glories,\\r\\n An outward honour for an inward toil;\\r\\n And for unfelt imaginations\\r\\n They often feel a world of restless cares,\\r\\n So that between their tides and low name\\r\\n There\\'s nothing differs but the outward fame.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the two MURDERERS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Ho! who\\'s here?\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. What wouldst thou, fellow, and how cam\\'st\\r\\n thou hither?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. I would speak with Clarence, and I came\\r\\n hither on my legs.\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. What, so brief?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. \\'Tis better, sir, than to be tedious. Let\\r\\n him see our commission and talk no more.\\r\\n [BRAKENBURY reads it]\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. I am, in this, commanded to deliver\\r\\n The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands.\\r\\n I will not reason what is meant hereby,\\r\\n Because I will be guiltless from the meaning.\\r\\n There lies the Duke asleep; and there the keys.\\r\\n I\\'ll to the King and signify to him\\r\\n That thus I have resign\\'d to you my charge.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. You may, sir; \\'tis a point of wisdom. Fare\\r\\n you well. Exeunt BRAKENBURY and KEEPER\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. What, shall I stab him as he sleeps?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. No; he\\'ll say \\'twas done cowardly, when\\r\\n he wakes.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Why, he shall never wake until the great\\r\\n judgment-day.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Why, then he\\'ll say we stabb\\'d him\\r\\n sleeping.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. The urging of that word judgment hath\\r\\n bred a kind of remorse in me.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. What, art thou afraid?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Not to kill him, having a warrant; but to\\r\\n be damn\\'d for killing him, from the which no warrant can\\r\\n defend me.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. I thought thou hadst been resolute.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. So I am, to let him live.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. I\\'ll back to the Duke of Gloucester and\\r\\n tell him so.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Nay, I prithee, stay a little. I hope this\\r\\n passionate humour of mine will change; it was wont to\\r\\n hold me but while one tells twenty.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. How dost thou feel thyself now?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Faith, some certain dregs of conscience\\r\\n are yet within me.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Remember our reward, when the deed\\'s\\r\\n done.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Zounds, he dies; I had forgot the reward.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Where\\'s thy conscience now?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. O, in the Duke of Gloucester\\'s purse!\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. When he opens his purse to give us our\\r\\n reward, thy conscience flies out.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. \\'Tis no matter; let it go; there\\'s few or\\r\\n none will entertain it.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. What if it come to thee again?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. I\\'ll not meddle with it-it makes a man\\r\\n coward: a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; a man\\r\\n cannot swear, but it checks him; a man cannot lie with his\\r\\n neighbour\\'s wife, but it detects him. \\'Tis a blushing shame-\\r\\n fac\\'d spirit that mutinies in a man\\'s bosom; it fills a man\\r\\n full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold\\r\\n that-by chance I found. It beggars any man that keeps it.\\r\\n It is turn\\'d out of towns and cities for a dangerous thing;\\r\\n and every man that means to live well endeavours to trust\\r\\n to himself and live without it.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Zounds, \\'tis even now at my elbow,\\r\\n persuading me not to kill the Duke.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Take the devil in thy mind and believe\\r\\n him not; he would insinuate with thee but to make the\\r\\n sigh.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. I am strong-fram\\'d; he cannot prevail with\\r\\n me.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Spoke like a tall man that respects thy\\r\\n reputation. Come, shall we fall to work?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Take him on the costard with the hilts of\\r\\n thy sword, and then chop him in the malmsey-butt in the\\r\\n next room.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. O excellent device! and make a sop of\\r\\n him.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Soft! he wakes.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Strike!\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. No, we\\'ll reason with him.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Where art thou, Keeper? Give me a cup of wine.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. You shall have wine enough, my lord,\\r\\n anon.\\r\\n CLARENCE. In God\\'s name, what art thou?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. A man, as you are.\\r\\n CLARENCE. But not as I am, royal.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Nor you as we are, loyal.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. My voice is now the King\\'s, my looks\\r\\n mine own.\\r\\n CLARENCE. How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak!\\r\\n Your eyes do menace me. Why look you pale?\\r\\n Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. To, to, to-\\r\\n CLARENCE. To murder me?\\r\\n BOTH MURDERERS. Ay, ay.\\r\\n CLARENCE. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so,\\r\\n And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it.\\r\\n Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Offended us you have not, but the King.\\r\\n CLARENCE. I shall be reconcil\\'d to him again.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Are you drawn forth among a world of men\\r\\n To slay the innocent? What is my offence?\\r\\n Where is the evidence that doth accuse me?\\r\\n What lawful quest have given their verdict up\\r\\n Unto the frowning judge, or who pronounc\\'d\\r\\n The bitter sentence of poor Clarence\\' death?\\r\\n Before I be convict by course of law,\\r\\n To threaten me with death is most unlawful.\\r\\n I charge you, as you hope to have redemption\\r\\n By Christ\\'s dear blood shed for our grievous sins,\\r\\n That you depart and lay no hands on me.\\r\\n The deed you undertake is damnable.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. What we will do, we do upon command.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. And he that hath commanded is our\\r\\n King.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Erroneous vassals! the great King of kings\\r\\n Hath in the tables of his law commanded\\r\\n That thou shalt do no murder. Will you then\\r\\n Spurn at his edict and fulfil a man\\'s?\\r\\n Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hand\\r\\n To hurl upon their heads that break his law.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. And that same vengeance doth he hurl\\r\\n on thee\\r\\n For false forswearing, and for murder too;\\r\\n Thou didst receive the sacrament to fight\\r\\n In quarrel of the house of Lancaster.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. And like a traitor to the name of God\\r\\n Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous blade\\r\\n Unripp\\'dst the bowels of thy sov\\'reign\\'s son.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and\\r\\n defend.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. How canst thou urge God\\'s dreadful law\\r\\n to us,\\r\\n When thou hast broke it in such dear degree?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed?\\r\\n For Edward, for my brother, for his sake.\\r\\n He sends you not to murder me for this,\\r\\n For in that sin he is as deep as I.\\r\\n If God will be avenged for the deed,\\r\\n O, know you yet He doth it publicly.\\r\\n Take not the quarrel from His pow\\'rful arm;\\r\\n He needs no indirect or lawless course\\r\\n To cut off those that have offended Him.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Who made thee then a bloody minister\\r\\n When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet,\\r\\n That princely novice, was struck dead by thee?\\r\\n CLARENCE. My brother\\'s love, the devil, and my rage.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Thy brother\\'s love, our duty, and thy\\r\\n faults,\\r\\n Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.\\r\\n CLARENCE. If you do love my brother, hate not me;\\r\\n I am his brother, and I love him well.\\r\\n If you are hir\\'d for meed, go back again,\\r\\n And I will send you to my brother Gloucester,\\r\\n Who shall reward you better for my life\\r\\n Than Edward will for tidings of my death.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. You are deceiv\\'d: your brother Gloucester\\r\\n hates you.\\r\\n CLARENCE. O, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear.\\r\\n Go you to him from me.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Ay, so we will.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Tell him when that our princely father York\\r\\n Bless\\'d his three sons with his victorious arm\\r\\n And charg\\'d us from his soul to love each other,\\r\\n He little thought of this divided friendship.\\r\\n Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Ay, millstones; as he lesson\\'d us to weep.\\r\\n CLARENCE. O, do not slander him, for he is kind.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Right, as snow in harvest. Come, you\\r\\n deceive yourself:\\r\\n \\'Tis he that sends us to destroy you here.\\r\\n CLARENCE. It cannot be; for he bewept my fortune\\r\\n And hugg\\'d me in his arms, and swore with sobs\\r\\n That he would labour my delivery.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Why, so he doth, when he delivers you\\r\\n From this earth\\'s thraldom to the joys of heaven.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Make peace with God, for you must die,\\r\\n my lord.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Have you that holy feeling in your souls\\r\\n To counsel me to make my peace with God,\\r\\n And are you yet to your own souls so blind\\r\\n That you will war with God by murd\\'ring me?\\r\\n O, sirs, consider: they that set you on\\r\\n To do this deed will hate you for the deed.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. What shall we do?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Relent, and save your souls.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Relent! No, \\'tis cowardly and womanish.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish.\\r\\n Which of you, if you were a prince\\'s son,\\r\\n Being pent from liberty as I am now,\\r\\n If two such murderers as yourselves came to you,\\r\\n Would not entreat for life?\\r\\n My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks;\\r\\n O, if thine eye be not a flatterer,\\r\\n Come thou on my side and entreat for me-\\r\\n As you would beg were you in my distress.\\r\\n A begging prince what beggar pities not?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Look behind you, my lord.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. [Stabbing him] Take that, and that. If all\\r\\n this will not do,\\r\\n I\\'ll drown you in the malmsey-butt within.\\r\\n Exit with the body\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. A bloody deed, and desperately\\r\\n dispatch\\'d!\\r\\n How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands\\r\\n Of this most grievous murder!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter FIRST MURDERER\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER-How now, what mean\\'st thou that thou\\r\\n help\\'st me not?\\r\\n By heavens, the Duke shall know how slack you have\\r\\n been!\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. I would he knew that I had sav\\'d his\\r\\n brother!\\r\\n Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say;\\r\\n For I repent me that the Duke is slain. Exit\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. So do not I. Go, coward as thou art.\\r\\n Well, I\\'ll go hide the body in some hole,\\r\\n Till that the Duke give order for his burial;\\r\\n And when I have my meed, I will away;\\r\\n For this will out, and then I must not stay. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter KING EDWARD sick, QUEEN ELIZABETH, DORSET, RIVERS,\\r\\nHASTINGS, BUCKINGHAM, GREY, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Why, so. Now have I done a good day\\'s\\r\\n work.\\r\\n You peers, continue this united league.\\r\\n I every day expect an embassage\\r\\n From my Redeemer to redeem me hence;\\r\\n And more at peace my soul shall part to heaven,\\r\\n Since I have made my friends at peace on earth.\\r\\n Hastings and Rivers, take each other\\'s hand;\\r\\n Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love.\\r\\n RIVERS. By heaven, my soul is purg\\'d from grudging hate;\\r\\n And with my hand I seal my true heart\\'s love.\\r\\n HASTINGS. So thrive I, as I truly swear the like!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Take heed you dally not before your king;\\r\\n Lest He that is the supreme King of kings\\r\\n Confound your hidden falsehood and award\\r\\n Either of you to be the other\\'s end.\\r\\n HASTINGS. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love!\\r\\n RIVERS. And I, as I love Hastings with my heart!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Madam, yourself is not exempt from this;\\r\\n Nor you, son Dorset; Buckingham, nor you:\\r\\n You have been factious one against the other.\\r\\n Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand;\\r\\n And what you do, do it unfeignedly.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. There, Hastings; I will never more\\r\\n remember\\r\\n Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Dorset, embrace him; Hastings, love Lord\\r\\n Marquis.\\r\\n DORSET. This interchange of love, I here protest,\\r\\n Upon my part shall be inviolable.\\r\\n HASTINGS. And so swear I. [They embrace]\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this\\r\\n league\\r\\n With thy embracements to my wife\\'s allies,\\r\\n And make me happy in your unity.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. [To the QUEEN] Whenever Buckingham\\r\\n doth turn his hate\\r\\n Upon your Grace, but with all duteous love\\r\\n Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me\\r\\n With hate in those where I expect most love!\\r\\n When I have most need to employ a friend\\r\\n And most assured that he is a friend,\\r\\n Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile,\\r\\n Be he unto me! This do I beg of God\\r\\n When I am cold in love to you or yours.\\r\\n [They embrace]\\r\\n KING EDWARD. A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham,\\r\\n Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart.\\r\\n There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here\\r\\n To make the blessed period of this peace.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. And, in good time,\\r\\n Here comes Sir Richard Ratcliff and the Duke.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER, and RATCLIFF\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Good morrow to my sovereign king and\\r\\n Queen;\\r\\n And, princely peers, a happy time of day!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day.\\r\\n Gloucester, we have done deeds of charity,\\r\\n Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate,\\r\\n Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. A blessed labour, my most sovereign lord.\\r\\n Among this princely heap, if any here,\\r\\n By false intelligence or wrong surmise,\\r\\n Hold me a foe-\\r\\n If I unwittingly, or in my rage,\\r\\n Have aught committed that is hardly borne\\r\\n To any in this presence, I desire\\r\\n To reconcile me to his friendly peace:\\r\\n \\'Tis death to me to be at enmity;\\r\\n I hate it, and desire all good men\\'s love.\\r\\n First, madam, I entreat true peace of you,\\r\\n Which I will purchase with my duteous service;\\r\\n Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham,\\r\\n If ever any grudge were lodg\\'d between us;\\r\\n Of you, and you, Lord Rivers, and of Dorset,\\r\\n That all without desert have frown\\'d on me;\\r\\n Of you, Lord Woodville, and, Lord Scales, of you;\\r\\n Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen-indeed, of all.\\r\\n I do not know that Englishman alive\\r\\n With whom my soul is any jot at odds\\r\\n More than the infant that is born to-night.\\r\\n I thank my God for my humility.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. A holy day shall this be kept hereafter.\\r\\n I would to God all strifes were well compounded.\\r\\n My sovereign lord, I do beseech your Highness\\r\\n To take our brother Clarence to your grace.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, madam, have I off\\'red love for this,\\r\\n To be so flouted in this royal presence?\\r\\n Who knows not that the gentle Duke is dead?\\r\\n [They all start]\\r\\n You do him injury to scorn his corse.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Who knows not he is dead! Who knows\\r\\n he is?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. All-seeing heaven, what a world is this!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest?\\r\\n DORSET. Ay, my good lord; and no man in the presence\\r\\n But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Is Clarence dead? The order was revers\\'d.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. But he, poor man, by your first order died,\\r\\n And that a winged Mercury did bear;\\r\\n Some tardy cripple bare the countermand\\r\\n That came too lag to see him buried.\\r\\n God grant that some, less noble and less loyal,\\r\\n Nearer in bloody thoughts, an not in blood,\\r\\n Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did,\\r\\n And yet go current from suspicion!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DERBY\\r\\n\\r\\n DERBY. A boon, my sovereign, for my service done!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. I prithee, peace; my soul is full of sorrow.\\r\\n DERBY. I Will not rise unless your Highness hear me.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Then say at once what is it thou requests.\\r\\n DERBY. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant\\'s life;\\r\\n Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman\\r\\n Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Have I a tongue to doom my brother\\'s death,\\r\\n And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave?\\r\\n My brother killed no man-his fault was thought,\\r\\n And yet his punishment was bitter death.\\r\\n Who sued to me for him? Who, in my wrath,\\r\\n Kneel\\'d at my feet, and bid me be advis\\'d?\\r\\n Who spoke of brotherhood? Who spoke of love?\\r\\n Who told me how the poor soul did forsake\\r\\n The mighty Warwick and did fight for me?\\r\\n Who told me, in the field at Tewksbury\\r\\n When Oxford had me down, he rescued me\\r\\n And said \\'Dear Brother, live, and be a king\\'?\\r\\n Who told me, when we both lay in the field\\r\\n Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me\\r\\n Even in his garments, and did give himself,\\r\\n All thin and naked, to the numb cold night?\\r\\n All this from my remembrance brutish wrath\\r\\n Sinfully pluck\\'d, and not a man of you\\r\\n Had so much race to put it in my mind.\\r\\n But when your carters or your waiting-vassals\\r\\n Have done a drunken slaughter and defac\\'d\\r\\n The precious image of our dear Redeemer,\\r\\n You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon;\\r\\n And I, unjustly too, must grant it you. [DERBY rises]\\r\\n But for my brother not a man would speak;\\r\\n Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself\\r\\n For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all\\r\\n Have been beholding to him in his life;\\r\\n Yet none of you would once beg for his life.\\r\\n O God, I fear thy justice will take hold\\r\\n On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this!\\r\\n Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Ah, poor Clarence!\\r\\n Exeunt some with KING and QUEEN\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. This is the fruits of rashness. Mark\\'d you not\\r\\n How that the guilty kindred of the Queen\\r\\n Look\\'d pale when they did hear of Clarence\\' death?\\r\\n O, they did urge it still unto the King!\\r\\n God will revenge it. Come, lords, will you go\\r\\n To comfort Edward with our company?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. We wait upon your Grace. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the old DUCHESS OF YORK, with the SON and DAUGHTER of CLARENCE\\r\\n\\r\\n SON. Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead?\\r\\n DUCHESS. No, boy.\\r\\n DAUGHTER. Why do you weep so oft, and beat your breast,\\r\\n And cry \\'O Clarence, my unhappy son!\\'?\\r\\n SON. Why do you look on us, and shake your head,\\r\\n And call us orphans, wretches, castaways,\\r\\n If that our noble father were alive?\\r\\n DUCHESS. My pretty cousins, you mistake me both;\\r\\n I do lament the sickness of the King,\\r\\n As loath to lose him, not your father\\'s death;\\r\\n It were lost sorrow to wail one that\\'s lost.\\r\\n SON. Then you conclude, my grandam, he is dead.\\r\\n The King mine uncle is to blame for it.\\r\\n God will revenge it; whom I will importune\\r\\n With earnest prayers all to that effect.\\r\\n DAUGHTER. And so will I.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Peace, children, peace! The King doth love you\\r\\n well.\\r\\n Incapable and shallow innocents,\\r\\n You cannot guess who caus\\'d your father\\'s death.\\r\\n SON. Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloucester\\r\\n Told me the King, provok\\'d to it by the Queen,\\r\\n Devis\\'d impeachments to imprison him.\\r\\n And when my uncle told me so, he wept,\\r\\n And pitied me, and kindly kiss\\'d my cheek;\\r\\n Bade me rely on him as on my father,\\r\\n And he would love me dearly as a child.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shape,\\r\\n And with a virtuous vizor hide deep vice!\\r\\n He is my son; ay, and therein my shame;\\r\\n Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit.\\r\\n SON. Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam?\\r\\n DUCHESS. Ay, boy.\\r\\n SON. I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, with her hair about her\\r\\n ears; RIVERS and DORSET after her\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, who shall hinder me to wail and\\r\\n weep,\\r\\n To chide my fortune, and torment myself?\\r\\n I\\'ll join with black despair against my soul\\r\\n And to myself become an enemy.\\r\\n DUCHESS. What means this scene of rude impatience?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. To make an act of tragic violence.\\r\\n EDWARD, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead.\\r\\n Why grow the branches when the root is gone?\\r\\n Why wither not the leaves that want their sap?\\r\\n If you will live, lament; if die, be brief,\\r\\n That our swift-winged souls may catch the King\\'s,\\r\\n Or like obedient subjects follow him\\r\\n To his new kingdom of ne\\'er-changing night.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow\\r\\n As I had title in thy noble husband!\\r\\n I have bewept a worthy husband\\'s death,\\r\\n And liv\\'d with looking on his images;\\r\\n But now two mirrors of his princely semblance\\r\\n Are crack\\'d in pieces by malignant death,\\r\\n And I for comfort have but one false glass,\\r\\n That grieves me when I see my shame in him.\\r\\n Thou art a widow, yet thou art a mother\\r\\n And hast the comfort of thy children left;\\r\\n But death hath snatch\\'d my husband from mine arms\\r\\n And pluck\\'d two crutches from my feeble hands-\\r\\n Clarence and Edward. O, what cause have I-\\r\\n Thine being but a moiety of my moan-\\r\\n To overgo thy woes and drown thy cries?\\r\\n SON. Ah, aunt, you wept not for our father\\'s death!\\r\\n How can we aid you with our kindred tears?\\r\\n DAUGHTER. Our fatherless distress was left unmoan\\'d;\\r\\n Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Give me no help in lamentation;\\r\\n I am not barren to bring forth complaints.\\r\\n All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes\\r\\n That I, being govern\\'d by the watery moon,\\r\\n May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world!\\r\\n Ah for my husband, for my dear Lord Edward!\\r\\n CHILDREN. Ah for our father, for our dear Lord Clarence!\\r\\n DUCHESS. Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. What stay had I but Edward? and he\\'s\\r\\n gone.\\r\\n CHILDREN. What stay had we but Clarence? and he\\'s gone.\\r\\n DUCHESS. What stays had I but they? and they are gone.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Was never widow had so dear a loss.\\r\\n CHILDREN. Were never orphans had so dear a loss.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Was never mother had so dear a loss.\\r\\n Alas, I am the mother of these griefs!\\r\\n Their woes are parcell\\'d, mine is general.\\r\\n She for an Edward weeps, and so do I:\\r\\n I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she.\\r\\n These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I:\\r\\n I for an Edward weep, so do not they.\\r\\n Alas, you three on me, threefold distress\\'d,\\r\\n Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow\\'s nurse,\\r\\n And I will pamper it with lamentation.\\r\\n DORSET. Comfort, dear mother. God is much displeas\\'d\\r\\n That you take with unthankfulness his doing.\\r\\n In common worldly things \\'tis called ungrateful\\r\\n With dull unwillingness to repay a debt\\r\\n Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent;\\r\\n Much more to be thus opposite with heaven,\\r\\n For it requires the royal debt it lent you.\\r\\n RIVERS. Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother,\\r\\n Of the young prince your son. Send straight for him;\\r\\n Let him be crown\\'d; in him your comfort lives.\\r\\n Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward\\'s grave,\\r\\n And plant your joys in living Edward\\'s throne.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, DERBY,\\r\\n HASTINGS, and RATCLIFF\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Sister, have comfort. All of us have cause\\r\\n To wail the dimming of our shining star;\\r\\n But none can help our harms by wailing them.\\r\\n Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy;\\r\\n I did not see your Grace. Humbly on my knee\\r\\n I crave your blessing.\\r\\n DUCHESS. God bless thee; and put meekness in thy breast,\\r\\n Love, charity, obedience, and true duty!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Amen! [Aside] And make me die a good old\\r\\n man!\\r\\n That is the butt end of a mother\\'s blessing;\\r\\n I marvel that her Grace did leave it out.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing\\r\\n peers,\\r\\n That bear this heavy mutual load of moan,\\r\\n Now cheer each other in each other\\'s love.\\r\\n Though we have spent our harvest of this king,\\r\\n We are to reap the harvest of his son.\\r\\n The broken rancour of your high-swol\\'n hearts,\\r\\n But lately splinter\\'d, knit, and join\\'d together,\\r\\n Must gently be preserv\\'d, cherish\\'d, and kept.\\r\\n Me seemeth good that, with some little train,\\r\\n Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fet\\r\\n Hither to London, to be crown\\'d our King.\\r\\n\\r\\n RIVERS. Why with some little train, my Lord of\\r\\n Buckingham?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude\\r\\n The new-heal\\'d wound of malice should break out,\\r\\n Which would be so much the more dangerous\\r\\n By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern\\'d;\\r\\n Where every horse bears his commanding rein\\r\\n And may direct his course as please himself,\\r\\n As well the fear of harm as harm apparent,\\r\\n In my opinion, ought to be prevented.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I hope the King made peace with all of us;\\r\\n And the compact is firm and true in me.\\r\\n RIVERS. And so in me; and so, I think, in an.\\r\\n Yet, since it is but green, it should be put\\r\\n To no apparent likelihood of breach,\\r\\n Which haply by much company might be urg\\'d;\\r\\n Therefore I say with noble Buckingham\\r\\n That it is meet so few should fetch the Prince.\\r\\n HASTINGS. And so say I.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Then be it so; and go we to determine\\r\\n Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow.\\r\\n Madam, and you, my sister, will you go\\r\\n To give your censures in this business?\\r\\n Exeunt all but BUCKINGHAM and GLOUCESTER\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince,\\r\\n For God sake, let not us two stay at home;\\r\\n For by the way I\\'ll sort occasion,\\r\\n As index to the story we late talk\\'d of,\\r\\n To part the Queen\\'s proud kindred from the Prince.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My other self, my counsel\\'s consistory,\\r\\n My oracle, my prophet, my dear cousin,\\r\\n I, as a child, will go by thy direction.\\r\\n Toward Ludlow then, for we\\'ll not stay behind. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter one CITIZEN at one door, and another at the other\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Good morrow, neighbour. Whither away so\\r\\n fast?\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. I promise you, I scarcely know myself.\\r\\n Hear you the news abroad?\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Yes, that the King is dead.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Ill news, by\\'r lady; seldom comes the\\r\\n better.\\r\\n I fear, I fear \\'twill prove a giddy world.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another CITIZEN\\r\\n\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Neighbours, God speed!\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Give you good morrow, sir.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Doth the news hold of good King Edward\\'s\\r\\n death?\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while!\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Then, masters, look to see a troublous\\r\\n world.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. No, no; by God\\'s good grace, his son shall\\r\\n reign.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Woe to that land that\\'s govern\\'d by a child.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. In him there is a hope of government,\\r\\n Which, in his nonage, council under him,\\r\\n And, in his full and ripened years, himself,\\r\\n No doubt, shall then, and till then, govern well.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. So stood the state when Henry the Sixth\\r\\n Was crown\\'d in Paris but at nine months old.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Stood the state so? No, no, good friends,\\r\\n God wot;\\r\\n For then this land was famously enrich\\'d\\r\\n With politic grave counsel; then the King\\r\\n Had virtuous uncles to protect his Grace.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Why, so hath this, both by his father and\\r\\n mother.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Better it were they all came by his father,\\r\\n Or by his father there were none at all;\\r\\n For emulation who shall now be nearest\\r\\n Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not.\\r\\n O, full of danger is the Duke of Gloucester!\\r\\n And the Queen\\'s sons and brothers haught and proud;\\r\\n And were they to be rul\\'d, and not to rule,\\r\\n This sickly land might solace as before.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Come, come, we fear the worst; all will be\\r\\n well.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. When clouds are seen, wise men put on\\r\\n their cloaks;\\r\\n When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand;\\r\\n When the sun sets, who doth not look for night?\\r\\n Untimely storms make men expect a dearth.\\r\\n All may be well; but, if God sort it so,\\r\\n \\'Tis more than we deserve or I expect.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Truly, the hearts of men are fun of fear.\\r\\n You cannot reason almost with a man\\r\\n That looks not heavily and fun of dread.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Before the days of change, still is it so;\\r\\n By a divine instinct men\\'s minds mistrust\\r\\n Ensuing danger; as by proof we see\\r\\n The water swell before a boist\\'rous storm.\\r\\n But leave it all to God. Whither away?\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Marry, we were sent for to the justices.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. And so was I; I\\'ll bear you company.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, the young DUKE OF YORK, QUEEN ELIZABETH,\\r\\nand the DUCHESS OF YORK\\r\\n\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Last night, I hear, they lay at Stony Stratford,\\r\\n And at Northampton they do rest to-night;\\r\\n To-morrow or next day they will be here.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I long with all my heart to see the Prince.\\r\\n I hope he is much grown since last I saw him.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. But I hear no; they say my son of York\\r\\n Has almost overta\\'en him in his growth.\\r\\n YORK. Ay, mother; but I would not have it so.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Why, my good cousin, it is good to grow.\\r\\n YORK. Grandam, one night as we did sit at supper,\\r\\n My uncle Rivers talk\\'d how I did grow\\r\\n More than my brother. \\'Ay,\\' quoth my uncle Gloucester\\r\\n \\'Small herbs have grace: great weeds do grow apace.\\'\\r\\n And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast,\\r\\n Because sweet flow\\'rs are slow and weeds make haste.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold\\r\\n In him that did object the same to thee.\\r\\n He was the wretched\\'st thing when he was young,\\r\\n So long a-growing and so leisurely\\r\\n That, if his rule were true, he should be gracious.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. And so no doubt he is, my gracious madam.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I hope he is; but yet let mothers doubt.\\r\\n YORK. Now, by my troth, if I had been rememb\\'red,\\r\\n I could have given my uncle\\'s Grace a flout\\r\\n To touch his growth nearer than he touch\\'d mine.\\r\\n DUCHESS. How, my young York? I prithee let me hear it.\\r\\n YORK. Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast\\r\\n That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old.\\r\\n \\'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth.\\r\\n Grandam, this would have been a biting jest.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I prithee, pretty York, who told thee this?\\r\\n YORK. Grandam, his nurse.\\r\\n DUCHESS. His nurse! Why she was dead ere thou wast\\r\\n born.\\r\\n YORK. If \\'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. A parlous boy! Go to, you are too\\r\\n shrewd.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Good madam, be not angry with the child.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Pitchers have ears.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Here comes a messenger. What news?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Such news, my lord, as grieves me to report.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. How doth the Prince?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Well, madam, and in health.\\r\\n DUCHESS. What is thy news?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Lord Rivers and Lord Grey\\r\\n Are sent to Pomfret, and with them\\r\\n Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Who hath committed them?\\r\\n MESSENGER. The mighty Dukes, Gloucester and Buckingham.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. For what offence?\\r\\n MESSENGER. The sum of all I can, I have disclos\\'d.\\r\\n Why or for what the nobles were committed\\r\\n Is all unknown to me, my gracious lord.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ay me, I see the ruin of my house!\\r\\n The tiger now hath seiz\\'d the gentle hind;\\r\\n Insulting tyranny begins to jet\\r\\n Upon the innocent and aweless throne.\\r\\n Welcome, destruction, blood, and massacre!\\r\\n I see, as in a map, the end of all.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Accursed and unquiet wrangling days,\\r\\n How many of you have mine eyes beheld!\\r\\n My husband lost his life to get the crown;\\r\\n And often up and down my sons were toss\\'d\\r\\n For me to joy and weep their gain and loss;\\r\\n And being seated, and domestic broils\\r\\n Clean over-blown, themselves the conquerors\\r\\n Make war upon themselves-brother to brother,\\r\\n Blood to blood, self against self. O, preposterous\\r\\n And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen,\\r\\n Or let me die, to look on death no more!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Come, come, my boy; we will to\\r\\n sanctuary.\\r\\n Madam, farewell.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Stay, I will go with you.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. You have no cause.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. [To the QUEEN] My gracious lady, go.\\r\\n And thither bear your treasure and your goods.\\r\\n For my part, I\\'ll resign unto your Grace\\r\\n The seal I keep; and so betide to me\\r\\n As well I tender you and all of yours!\\r\\n Go, I\\'ll conduct you to the sanctuary. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nThe trumpets sound. Enter the PRINCE OF WALES, GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM,\\r\\nCATESBY, CARDINAL BOURCHIER, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Welcome, sweet Prince, to London, to your\\r\\n chamber.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts\\' sovereign.\\r\\n The weary way hath made you melancholy.\\r\\n PRINCE. No, uncle; but our crosses on the way\\r\\n Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy.\\r\\n I want more uncles here to welcome me.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Sweet Prince, the untainted virtue of your\\r\\n years\\r\\n Hath not yet div\\'d into the world\\'s deceit;\\r\\n Nor more can you distinguish of a man\\r\\n Than of his outward show; which, God He knows,\\r\\n Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart.\\r\\n Those uncles which you want were dangerous;\\r\\n Your Grace attended to their sug\\'red words\\r\\n But look\\'d not on the poison of their hearts.\\r\\n God keep you from them and from such false friends!\\r\\n PRINCE. God keep me from false friends! but they were\\r\\n none.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My lord, the Mayor of London comes to greet\\r\\n you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the LORD MAYOR and his train\\r\\n\\r\\n MAYOR. God bless your Grace with health and happy days!\\r\\n PRINCE. I thank you, good my lord, and thank you all.\\r\\n I thought my mother and my brother York\\r\\n Would long ere this have met us on the way.\\r\\n Fie, what a slug is Hastings, that he comes not\\r\\n To tell us whether they will come or no!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD HASTINGS\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. And, in good time, here comes the sweating\\r\\n Lord.\\r\\n PRINCE. Welcome, my lord. What, will our mother come?\\r\\n HASTINGS. On what occasion, God He knows, not I,\\r\\n The Queen your mother and your brother York\\r\\n Have taken sanctuary. The tender Prince\\r\\n Would fain have come with me to meet your Grace,\\r\\n But by his mother was perforce withheld.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Fie, what an indirect and peevish course\\r\\n Is this of hers? Lord Cardinal, will your Grace\\r\\n Persuade the Queen to send the Duke of York\\r\\n Unto his princely brother presently?\\r\\n If she deny, Lord Hastings, go with him\\r\\n And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce.\\r\\n CARDINAL. My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory\\r\\n Can from his mother win the Duke of York,\\r\\n Anon expect him here; but if she be obdurate\\r\\n To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid\\r\\n We should infringe the holy privilege\\r\\n Of blessed sanctuary! Not for all this land\\r\\n Would I be guilty of so deep a sin.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. You are too senseless-obstinate, my lord,\\r\\n Too ceremonious and traditional.\\r\\n Weigh it but with the grossness of this age,\\r\\n You break not sanctuary in seizing him.\\r\\n The benefit thereof is always granted\\r\\n To those whose dealings have deserv\\'d the place\\r\\n And those who have the wit to claim the place.\\r\\n This Prince hath neither claim\\'d it nor deserv\\'d it,\\r\\n And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it.\\r\\n Then, taking him from thence that is not there,\\r\\n You break no privilege nor charter there.\\r\\n Oft have I heard of sanctuary men;\\r\\n But sanctuary children never till now.\\r\\n CARDINAL. My lord, you shall o\\'errule my mind for once.\\r\\n Come on, Lord Hastings, will you go with me?\\r\\n HASTINGS. I go, my lord.\\r\\n PRINCE. Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may.\\r\\n Exeunt CARDINAL and HASTINGS\\r\\n Say, uncle Gloucester, if our brother come,\\r\\n Where shall we sojourn till our coronation?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Where it seems best unto your royal self.\\r\\n If I may counsel you, some day or two\\r\\n Your Highness shall repose you at the Tower,\\r\\n Then where you please and shall be thought most fit\\r\\n For your best health and recreation.\\r\\n PRINCE. I do not like the Tower, of any place.\\r\\n Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. He did, my gracious lord, begin that place,\\r\\n Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified.\\r\\n PRINCE. Is it upon record, or else reported\\r\\n Successively from age to age, he built it?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Upon record, my gracious lord.\\r\\n PRINCE. But say, my lord, it were not regist\\'red,\\r\\n Methinks the truth should Eve from age to age,\\r\\n As \\'twere retail\\'d to all posterity,\\r\\n Even to the general all-ending day.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside] So wise so young, they say, do never\\r\\n live long.\\r\\n PRINCE. What say you, uncle?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I say, without characters, fame lives long.\\r\\n [Aside] Thus, like the formal vice, Iniquity,\\r\\n I moralize two meanings in one word.\\r\\n PRINCE. That Julius Caesar was a famous man;\\r\\n With what his valour did enrich his wit,\\r\\n His wit set down to make his valour live.\\r\\n Death makes no conquest of this conqueror;\\r\\n For now he lives in fame, though not in life.\\r\\n I\\'ll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham-\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. What, my gracious lord?\\r\\n PRINCE. An if I live until I be a man,\\r\\n I\\'ll win our ancient right in France again,\\r\\n Or die a soldier as I liv\\'d a king.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Short summers lightly have a forward\\r\\n spring.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HASTINGS, young YORK, and the CARDINAL\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Now, in good time, here comes the Duke of\\r\\n York.\\r\\n PRINCE. Richard of York, how fares our loving brother?\\r\\n YORK. Well, my dread lord; so must I can you now.\\r\\n PRINCE. Ay brother, to our grief, as it is yours.\\r\\n Too late he died that might have kept that title,\\r\\n Which by his death hath lost much majesty.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. How fares our cousin, noble Lord of York?\\r\\n YORK. I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord,\\r\\n You said that idle weeds are fast in growth.\\r\\n The Prince my brother hath outgrown me far.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He hath, my lord.\\r\\n YORK. And therefore is he idle?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. O, my fair cousin, I must not say so.\\r\\n YORK. Then he is more beholding to you than I.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He may command me as my sovereign;\\r\\n But you have power in me as in a kinsman.\\r\\n YORK. I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My dagger, little cousin? With all my heart!\\r\\n PRINCE. A beggar, brother?\\r\\n YORK. Of my kind uncle, that I know will give,\\r\\n And being but a toy, which is no grief to give.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. A greater gift than that I\\'ll give my cousin.\\r\\n YORK. A greater gift! O, that\\'s the sword to it!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough.\\r\\n YORK. O, then, I see you will part but with light gifts:\\r\\n In weightier things you\\'ll say a beggar nay.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. It is too heavy for your Grace to wear.\\r\\n YORK. I weigh it lightly, were it heavier.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What, would you have my weapon, little\\r\\n Lord?\\r\\n YORK. I would, that I might thank you as you call me.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. How?\\r\\n YORK. Little.\\r\\n PRINCE. My Lord of York will still be cross in talk.\\r\\n Uncle, your Grace knows how to bear with him.\\r\\n YORK. You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me.\\r\\n Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me;\\r\\n Because that I am little, like an ape,\\r\\n He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons!\\r\\n To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle\\r\\n He prettily and aptly taunts himself.\\r\\n So cunning and so young is wonderful.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My lord, will\\'t please you pass along?\\r\\n Myself and my good cousin Buckingham\\r\\n Will to your mother, to entreat of her\\r\\n To meet you at the Tower and welcome you.\\r\\n YORK. What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord?\\r\\n PRINCE. My Lord Protector needs will have it so.\\r\\n YORK. I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, what should you fear?\\r\\n YORK. Marry, my uncle Clarence\\' angry ghost.\\r\\n My grandam told me he was murder\\'d there.\\r\\n PRINCE. I fear no uncles dead.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Nor none that live, I hope.\\r\\n PRINCE. An if they live, I hope I need not fear.\\r\\n But come, my lord; and with a heavy heart,\\r\\n Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower.\\r\\n A sennet.\\r\\n Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, and CATESBY\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Think you, my lord, this little prating York\\r\\n Was not incensed by his subtle mother\\r\\n To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. No doubt, no doubt. O, \\'tis a perilous boy;\\r\\n Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable.\\r\\n He is all the mother\\'s, from the top to toe.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Well, let them rest. Come hither, Catesby.\\r\\n Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we intend\\r\\n As closely to conceal what we impart.\\r\\n Thou know\\'st our reasons urg\\'d upon the way.\\r\\n What think\\'st thou? Is it not an easy matter\\r\\n To make William Lord Hastings of our mind,\\r\\n For the instalment of this noble Duke\\r\\n In the seat royal of this famous isle?\\r\\n CATESBY. He for his father\\'s sake so loves the Prince\\r\\n That he will not be won to aught against him.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. What think\\'st thou then of Stanley? Will\\r\\n not he?\\r\\n CATESBY. He will do all in all as Hastings doth.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Well then, no more but this: go, gentle\\r\\n Catesby,\\r\\n And, as it were far off, sound thou Lord Hastings\\r\\n How he doth stand affected to our purpose;\\r\\n And summon him to-morrow to the Tower,\\r\\n To sit about the coronation.\\r\\n If thou dost find him tractable to us,\\r\\n Encourage him, and tell him all our reasons;\\r\\n If he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling,\\r\\n Be thou so too, and so break off the talk,\\r\\n And give us notice of his inclination;\\r\\n For we to-morrow hold divided councils,\\r\\n Wherein thyself shalt highly be employ\\'d.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Commend me to Lord William. Tell him,\\r\\n Catesby,\\r\\n His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries\\r\\n To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret Castle;\\r\\n And bid my lord, for joy of this good news,\\r\\n Give Mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Good Catesby, go effect this business soundly.\\r\\n CATESBY. My good lords both, with all the heed I can.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep?\\r\\n CATESBY. You shall, my lord.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. At Crosby House, there shall you find us both.\\r\\n Exit CATESBY\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Now, my lord, what shall we do if we\\r\\n perceive\\r\\n Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Chop off his head-something we will\\r\\n determine.\\r\\n And, look when I am King, claim thou of me\\r\\n The earldom of Hereford and all the movables\\r\\n Whereof the King my brother was possess\\'d.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I\\'ll claim that promise at your Grace\\'s hand.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And look to have it yielded with all kindness.\\r\\n Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards\\r\\n We may digest our complots in some form. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nBefore LORD HASTING\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a MESSENGER to the door of HASTINGS\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. My lord, my lord! [Knocking]\\r\\n HASTINGS. [Within] Who knocks?\\r\\n MESSENGER. One from the Lord Stanley.\\r\\n HASTINGS. [Within] What is\\'t o\\'clock?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Upon the stroke of four.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD HASTINGS\\r\\n\\r\\n HASTINGS. Cannot my Lord Stanley sleep these tedious\\r\\n nights?\\r\\n MESSENGER. So it appears by that I have to say.\\r\\n First, he commends him to your noble self.\\r\\n HASTINGS. What then?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Then certifies your lordship that this night\\r\\n He dreamt the boar had razed off his helm.\\r\\n Besides, he says there are two councils kept,\\r\\n And that may be determin\\'d at the one\\r\\n Which may make you and him to rue at th\\' other.\\r\\n Therefore he sends to know your lordship\\'s pleasure-\\r\\n If you will presently take horse with him\\r\\n And with all speed post with him toward the north\\r\\n To shun the danger that his soul divines.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord;\\r\\n Bid him not fear the separated council:\\r\\n His honour and myself are at the one,\\r\\n And at the other is my good friend Catesby;\\r\\n Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us\\r\\n Whereof I shall not have intelligence.\\r\\n Tell him his fears are shallow, without instance;\\r\\n And for his dreams, I wonder he\\'s so simple\\r\\n To trust the mock\\'ry of unquiet slumbers.\\r\\n To fly the boar before the boar pursues\\r\\n Were to incense the boar to follow us\\r\\n And make pursuit where he did mean no chase.\\r\\n Go, bid thy master rise and come to me;\\r\\n And we will both together to the Tower,\\r\\n Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly.\\r\\n MESSENGER. I\\'ll go, my lord, and tell him what you say.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n CATESBY. Many good morrows to my noble lord!\\r\\n HASTINGS. Good morrow, Catesby; you are early stirring.\\r\\n What news, what news, in this our tott\\'ring state?\\r\\n CATESBY. It is a reeling world indeed, my lord;\\r\\n And I believe will never stand upright\\r\\n Till Richard wear the garland of the realm.\\r\\n HASTINGS. How, wear the garland! Dost thou mean the\\r\\n crown?\\r\\n CATESBY. Ay, my good lord.\\r\\n HASTINGS. I\\'ll have this crown of mine cut from my\\r\\n shoulders\\r\\n Before I\\'ll see the crown so foul misplac\\'d.\\r\\n But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it?\\r\\n CATESBY. Ay, on my life; and hopes to find you forward\\r\\n Upon his party for the gain thereof;\\r\\n And thereupon he sends you this good news,\\r\\n That this same very day your enemies,\\r\\n The kindred of the Queen, must die at Pomfret.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Indeed, I am no mourner for that news,\\r\\n Because they have been still my adversaries;\\r\\n But that I\\'ll give my voice on Richard\\'s side\\r\\n To bar my master\\'s heirs in true descent,\\r\\n God knows I will not do it to the death.\\r\\n CATESBY. God keep your lordship in that gracious mind!\\r\\n HASTINGS. But I shall laugh at this a twelve month hence,\\r\\n That they which brought me in my master\\'s hate,\\r\\n I live to look upon their tragedy.\\r\\n Well, Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older,\\r\\n I\\'ll send some packing that yet think not on\\'t.\\r\\n CATESBY. \\'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord,\\r\\n When men are unprepar\\'d and look not for it.\\r\\n HASTINGS. O monstrous, monstrous! And so falls it out\\r\\n With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey; and so \\'twill do\\r\\n With some men else that think themselves as safe\\r\\n As thou and I, who, as thou knowest, are dear\\r\\n To princely Richard and to Buckingham.\\r\\n CATESBY. The Princes both make high account of you-\\r\\n [Aside] For they account his head upon the bridge.\\r\\n HASTINGS. I know they do, and I have well deserv\\'d it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD STANLEY\\r\\n\\r\\n Come on, come on; where is your boar-spear, man?\\r\\n Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided?\\r\\n STANLEY. My lord, good morrow; good morrow, Catesby.\\r\\n You may jest on, but, by the holy rood,\\r\\n I do not like these several councils, I.\\r\\n HASTINGS. My lord, I hold my life as dear as yours,\\r\\n And never in my days, I do protest,\\r\\n Was it so precious to me as \\'tis now.\\r\\n Think you, but that I know our state secure,\\r\\n I would be so triumphant as I am?\\r\\n STANLEY. The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from\\r\\n London,\\r\\n Were jocund and suppos\\'d their states were sure,\\r\\n And they indeed had no cause to mistrust;\\r\\n But yet you see how soon the day o\\'ercast.\\r\\n This sudden stab of rancour I misdoubt;\\r\\n Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward.\\r\\n What, shall we toward the Tower? The day is spent.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Come, come, have with you. Wot you what, my\\r\\n Lord?\\r\\n To-day the lords you talk\\'d of are beheaded.\\r\\n STANLEY. They, for their truth, might better wear their\\r\\n heads\\r\\n Than some that have accus\\'d them wear their hats.\\r\\n But come, my lord, let\\'s away.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HASTINGS, a pursuivant\\r\\n\\r\\n HASTINGS. Go on before; I\\'ll talk with this good fellow.\\r\\n Exeunt STANLEY and CATESBY\\r\\n How now, Hastings! How goes the world with thee?\\r\\n PURSUIVANT. The better that your lordship please to ask.\\r\\n HASTINGS. I tell thee, man, \\'tis better with me now\\r\\n Than when thou met\\'st me last where now we meet:\\r\\n Then was I going prisoner to the Tower\\r\\n By the suggestion of the Queen\\'s allies;\\r\\n But now, I tell thee-keep it to thyself-\\r\\n This day those enernies are put to death,\\r\\n And I in better state than e\\'er I was.\\r\\n PURSUIVANT. God hold it, to your honour\\'s good content!\\r\\n HASTINGS. Gramercy, Hastings; there, drink that for me.\\r\\n [Throws him his purse]\\r\\n PURSUIVANT. I thank your honour. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a PRIEST\\r\\n\\r\\n PRIEST. Well met, my lord; I am glad to see your honour.\\r\\n HASTINGS. I thank thee, good Sir John, with all my heart.\\r\\n I am in your debt for your last exercise;\\r\\n Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you.\\r\\n [He whispers in his ear]\\r\\n PRIEST. I\\'ll wait upon your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. What, talking with a priest, Lord\\r\\n Chamberlain!\\r\\n Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest:\\r\\n Your honour hath no shriving work in hand.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Good faith, and when I met this holy man,\\r\\n The men you talk of came into my mind.\\r\\n What, go you toward the Tower?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I do, my lord, but long I cannot stay there;\\r\\n I shall return before your lordship thence.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Nay, like enough, for I stay dinner there.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. [Aside] And supper too, although thou\\r\\n knowest it not.-\\r\\n Come, will you go?\\r\\n HASTINGS. I\\'ll wait upon your lordship. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nPomfret Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SIR RICHARD RATCLIFF, with halberds, carrying the Nobles,\\r\\nRIVERS, GREY, and VAUGHAN, to death\\r\\n\\r\\n RIVERS. Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this:\\r\\n To-day shalt thou behold a subject die\\r\\n For truth, for duty, and for loyalty.\\r\\n GREY. God bless the Prince from all the pack of you!\\r\\n A knot you are of damned blood-suckers.\\r\\n VAUGHAN. You live that shall cry woe for this hereafter.\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Dispatch; the limit of your lives is out.\\r\\n RIVERS. O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prison,\\r\\n Fatal and ominous to noble peers!\\r\\n Within the guilty closure of thy walls\\r\\n RICHARD the Second here was hack\\'d to death;\\r\\n And for more slander to thy dismal seat,\\r\\n We give to thee our guiltless blood to drink.\\r\\n GREY. Now Margaret\\'s curse is fall\\'n upon our heads,\\r\\n When she exclaim\\'d on Hastings, you, and I,\\r\\n For standing by when Richard stabb\\'d her son.\\r\\n RIVERS. Then curs\\'d she Richard, then curs\\'d she\\r\\n Buckingham,\\r\\n Then curs\\'d she Hastings. O, remember, God,\\r\\n To hear her prayer for them, as now for us!\\r\\n And for my sister, and her princely sons,\\r\\n Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood,\\r\\n Which, as thou know\\'st, unjustly must be spilt.\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Make haste; the hour of death is expiate.\\r\\n RIVERS. Come, Grey; come, Vaughan; let us here embrace.\\r\\n Farewell, until we meet again in heaven. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The Tower\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, HASTINGS, the BISHOP of ELY, RATCLIFF, LOVEL,\\r\\nwith others and seat themselves at a table\\r\\n\\r\\n HASTINGS. Now, noble peers, the cause why we are met\\r\\n Is to determine of the coronation.\\r\\n In God\\'s name speak-when is the royal day?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Is all things ready for the royal time?\\r\\n DERBY. It is, and wants but nomination.\\r\\n BISHOP OF ELY. To-morrow then I judge a happy day.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Who knows the Lord Protector\\'s mind\\r\\n herein?\\r\\n Who is most inward with the noble Duke?\\r\\n BISHOP OF ELY. Your Grace, we think, should soonest know\\r\\n his mind.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. We know each other\\'s faces; for our hearts,\\r\\n He knows no more of mine than I of yours;\\r\\n Or I of his, my lord, than you of mine.\\r\\n Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love.\\r\\n HASTINGS. I thank his Grace, I know he loves me well;\\r\\n But for his purpose in the coronation\\r\\n I have not sounded him, nor he deliver\\'d\\r\\n His gracious pleasure any way therein.\\r\\n But you, my honourable lords, may name the time;\\r\\n And in the Duke\\'s behalf I\\'ll give my voice,\\r\\n Which, I presume, he\\'ll take in gentle part.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n BISHOP OF ELY. In happy time, here comes the Duke himself.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My noble lords and cousins an, good morrow.\\r\\n I have been long a sleeper, but I trust\\r\\n My absence doth neglect no great design\\r\\n Which by my presence might have been concluded.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Had you not come upon your cue, my lord,\\r\\n WILLIAM Lord Hastings had pronounc\\'d your part-\\r\\n I mean, your voice for crowning of the King.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Than my Lord Hastings no man might be\\r\\n bolder;\\r\\n His lordship knows me well and loves me well.\\r\\n My lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn\\r\\n I saw good strawberries in your garden there.\\r\\n I do beseech you send for some of them.\\r\\n BISHOP of ELY. Marry and will, my lord, with all my heart.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you.\\r\\n [Takes him aside]\\r\\n Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business,\\r\\n And finds the testy gentleman so hot\\r\\n That he will lose his head ere give consent\\r\\n His master\\'s child, as worshipfully he terms it,\\r\\n Shall lose the royalty of England\\'s throne.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Withdraw yourself awhile; I\\'ll go with you.\\r\\n Exeunt GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n DERBY. We have not yet set down this day of triumph.\\r\\n To-morrow, in my judgment, is too sudden;\\r\\n For I myself am not so well provided\\r\\n As else I would be, were the day prolong\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter the BISHOP OF ELY\\r\\n\\r\\n BISHOP OF ELY. Where is my lord the Duke of Gloucester?\\r\\n I have sent for these strawberries.\\r\\n HASTINGS. His Grace looks cheerfully and smooth this\\r\\n morning;\\r\\n There\\'s some conceit or other likes him well\\r\\n When that he bids good morrow with such spirit.\\r\\n I think there\\'s never a man in Christendom\\r\\n Can lesser hide his love or hate than he;\\r\\n For by his face straight shall you know his heart.\\r\\n DERBY. What of his heart perceive you in his face\\r\\n By any livelihood he show\\'d to-day?\\r\\n HASTINGS. Marry, that with no man here he is offended;\\r\\n For, were he, he had shown it in his looks.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve\\r\\n That do conspire my death with devilish plots\\r\\n Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevail\\'d\\r\\n Upon my body with their hellish charms?\\r\\n HASTINGS. The tender love I bear your Grace, my lord,\\r\\n Makes me most forward in this princely presence\\r\\n To doom th\\' offenders, whosoe\\'er they be.\\r\\n I say, my lord, they have deserved death.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Then be your eyes the witness of their evil.\\r\\n Look how I am bewitch\\'d; behold, mine arm\\r\\n Is like a blasted sapling wither\\'d up.\\r\\n And this is Edward\\'s wife, that monstrous witch,\\r\\n Consorted with that harlot strumpet Shore,\\r\\n That by their witchcraft thus have marked me.\\r\\n HASTINGS. If they have done this deed, my noble lord-\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. If?-thou protector of this damned strumpet,\\r\\n Talk\\'st thou to me of ifs? Thou art a traitor.\\r\\n Off with his head! Now by Saint Paul I swear\\r\\n I will not dine until I see the same.\\r\\n Lovel and Ratcliff, look that it be done.\\r\\n The rest that love me, rise and follow me.\\r\\n Exeunt all but HASTINGS, LOVEL, and RATCLIFF\\r\\n HASTINGS. Woe, woe, for England! not a whit for me;\\r\\n For I, too fond, might have prevented this.\\r\\n STANLEY did dream the boar did raze our helms,\\r\\n And I did scorn it and disdain to fly.\\r\\n Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble,\\r\\n And started when he look\\'d upon the Tower,\\r\\n As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house.\\r\\n O, now I need the priest that spake to me!\\r\\n I now repent I told the pursuivant,\\r\\n As too triumphing, how mine enemies\\r\\n To-day at Pomfret bloodily were butcher\\'d,\\r\\n And I myself secure in grace and favour.\\r\\n O Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse\\r\\n Is lighted on poor Hastings\\' wretched head!\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Come, come, dispatch; the Duke would be at\\r\\n dinner.\\r\\n Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head.\\r\\n HASTINGS. O momentary grace of mortal men,\\r\\n Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!\\r\\n Who builds his hope in air of your good looks\\r\\n Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast,\\r\\n Ready with every nod to tumble down\\r\\n Into the fatal bowels of the deep.\\r\\n LOVEL. Come, come, dispatch; \\'tis bootless to exclaim.\\r\\n HASTINGS. O bloody Richard! Miserable England!\\r\\n I prophesy the fearfull\\'st time to thee\\r\\n That ever wretched age hath look\\'d upon.\\r\\n Come, lead me to the block; bear him my head.\\r\\n They smile at me who shortly shall be dead. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The Tower-walls\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM in rotten armour, marvellous\\r\\nill-favoured\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Come, cousin, canst thou quake and change\\r\\n thy colour,\\r\\n Murder thy breath in middle of a word,\\r\\n And then again begin, and stop again,\\r\\n As if thou were distraught and mad with terror?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian;\\r\\n Speak and look back, and pry on every side,\\r\\n Tremble and start at wagging of a straw,\\r\\n Intending deep suspicion. Ghastly looks\\r\\n Are at my service, like enforced smiles;\\r\\n And both are ready in their offices\\r\\n At any time to grace my stratagems.\\r\\n But what, is Catesby gone?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He is; and, see, he brings the mayor along.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the LORD MAYOR and CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Lord Mayor-\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Look to the drawbridge there!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Hark! a drum.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Catesby, o\\'erlook the walls.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Lord Mayor, the reason we have sent-\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Look back, defend thee; here are enemies.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. God and our innocence defend and guard us!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LOVEL and RATCLIFF, with HASTINGS\\' head\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Be patient; they are friends-Ratcliff and Lovel.\\r\\n LOVEL. Here is the head of that ignoble traitor,\\r\\n The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. So dear I lov\\'d the man that I must weep.\\r\\n I took him for the plainest harmless creature\\r\\n That breath\\'d upon the earth a Christian;\\r\\n Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded\\r\\n The history of all her secret thoughts.\\r\\n So smooth he daub\\'d his vice with show of virtue\\r\\n That, his apparent open guilt omitted,\\r\\n I mean his conversation with Shore\\'s wife-\\r\\n He liv\\'d from all attainder of suspects.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Well, well, he was the covert\\'st shelt\\'red\\r\\n traitor\\r\\n That ever liv\\'d.\\r\\n Would you imagine, or almost believe-\\r\\n Were\\'t not that by great preservation\\r\\n We live to tell it-that the subtle traitor\\r\\n This day had plotted, in the council-house,\\r\\n To murder me and my good Lord of Gloucester.\\r\\n MAYOR. Had he done so?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What! think you we are Turks or Infidels?\\r\\n Or that we would, against the form of law,\\r\\n Proceed thus rashly in the villain\\'s death\\r\\n But that the extreme peril of the case,\\r\\n The peace of England and our persons\\' safety,\\r\\n Enforc\\'d us to this execution?\\r\\n MAYOR. Now, fair befall you! He deserv\\'d his death;\\r\\n And your good Graces both have well proceeded\\r\\n To warn false traitors from the like attempts.\\r\\n I never look\\'d for better at his hands\\r\\n After he once fell in with Mistress Shore.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Yet had we not determin\\'d he should die\\r\\n Until your lordship came to see his end-\\r\\n Which now the loving haste of these our friends,\\r\\n Something against our meanings, have prevented-\\r\\n Because, my lord, I would have had you heard\\r\\n The traitor speak, and timorously confess\\r\\n The manner and the purpose of his treasons:\\r\\n That you might well have signified the same\\r\\n Unto the citizens, who haply may\\r\\n Misconster us in him and wail his death.\\r\\n MAYOR. But, my good lord, your Grace\\'s words shall serve\\r\\n As well as I had seen and heard him speak;\\r\\n And do not doubt, right noble Princes both,\\r\\n But I\\'ll acquaint our duteous citizens\\r\\n With all your just proceedings in this cause.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And to that end we wish\\'d your lordship here,\\r\\n T\\' avoid the the the censures of the carping world.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Which since you come too late of our intent,\\r\\n Yet witness what you hear we did intend.\\r\\n And so, my good Lord Mayor, we bid farewell.\\r\\n Exit LORD MAYOR\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham.\\r\\n The Mayor towards Guildhall hies him in an post.\\r\\n There, at your meet\\'st advantage of the time,\\r\\n Infer the bastardy of Edward\\'s children.\\r\\n Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen\\r\\n Only for saying he would make his son\\r\\n Heir to the crown-meaning indeed his house,\\r\\n Which by the sign thereof was termed so.\\r\\n Moreover, urge his hateful luxury\\r\\n And bestial appetite in change of lust,\\r\\n Which stretch\\'d unto their servants, daughters, wives,\\r\\n Even where his raging eye or savage heart\\r\\n Without control lusted to make a prey.\\r\\n Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person:\\r\\n Tell them, when that my mother went with child\\r\\n Of that insatiate Edward, noble York\\r\\n My princely father then had wars in France\\r\\n And, by true computation of the time,\\r\\n Found that the issue was not his begot;\\r\\n Which well appeared in his lineaments,\\r\\n Being nothing like the noble Duke my father.\\r\\n Yet touch this sparingly, as \\'twere far off;\\r\\n Because, my lord, you know my mother lives.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Doubt not, my lord, I\\'ll play the orator\\r\\n As if the golden fee for which I plead\\r\\n Were for myself; and so, my lord, adieu.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard\\'s\\r\\n Castle;\\r\\n Where you shall find me well accompanied\\r\\n With reverend fathers and well learned bishops.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I go; and towards three or four o\\'clock\\r\\n Look for the news that the Guildhall affords. Exit\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor Shaw.\\r\\n [To CATESBY] Go thou to Friar Penker. Bid them both\\r\\n Meet me within this hour at Baynard\\'s Castle.\\r\\n Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER\\r\\n Now will I go to take some privy order\\r\\n To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight,\\r\\n And to give order that no manner person\\r\\n Have any time recourse unto the Princes. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 6.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a SCRIVENER\\r\\n\\r\\n SCRIVENER. Here is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings;\\r\\n Which in a set hand fairly is engross\\'d\\r\\n That it may be to-day read o\\'er in Paul\\'s.\\r\\n And mark how well the sequel hangs together:\\r\\n Eleven hours I have spent to write it over,\\r\\n For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me;\\r\\n The precedent was full as long a-doing;\\r\\n And yet within these five hours Hastings liv\\'d,\\r\\n Untainted, unexamin\\'d, free, at liberty.\\r\\n Here\\'s a good world the while! Who is so gros\\r\\n That cannot see this palpable device?\\r\\n Yet who\\'s so bold but says he sees it not?\\r\\n Bad is the world; and all will come to nought,\\r\\n When such ill dealing must be seen in thought. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 7.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. Baynard\\'s Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM, at several doors\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. How now, how now! What say the citizens?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Now, by the holy Mother of our Lord,\\r\\n The citizens are mum, say not a word.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Touch\\'d you the bastardy of Edward\\'s\\r\\n children?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I did; with his contract with Lady Lucy,\\r\\n And his contract by deputy in France;\\r\\n Th\\' insatiate greediness of his desire,\\r\\n And his enforcement of the city wives;\\r\\n His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy,\\r\\n As being got, your father then in France,\\r\\n And his resemblance, being not like the Duke.\\r\\n Withal I did infer your lineaments,\\r\\n Being the right idea of your father,\\r\\n Both in your form and nobleness of mind;\\r\\n Laid open all your victories in Scotland,\\r\\n Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace,\\r\\n Your bounty, virtue, fair humility;\\r\\n Indeed, left nothing fitting for your purpose\\r\\n Untouch\\'d or slightly handled in discourse.\\r\\n And when mine oratory drew toward end\\r\\n I bid them that did love their country\\'s good\\r\\n Cry \\'God save Richard, England\\'s royal King!\\'\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And did they so?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. No, so God help me, they spake not a word;\\r\\n But, like dumb statues or breathing stones,\\r\\n Star\\'d each on other, and look\\'d deadly pale.\\r\\n Which when I saw, I reprehended them,\\r\\n And ask\\'d the Mayor what meant this wilfull silence.\\r\\n His answer was, the people were not used\\r\\n To be spoke to but by the Recorder.\\r\\n Then he was urg\\'d to tell my tale again.\\r\\n \\'Thus saith the Duke, thus hath the Duke inferr\\'d\\'-\\r\\n But nothing spoke in warrant from himself.\\r\\n When he had done, some followers of mine own\\r\\n At lower end of the hall hurl\\'d up their caps,\\r\\n And some ten voices cried \\'God save King Richard!\\'\\r\\n And thus I took the vantage of those few-\\r\\n \\'Thanks, gentle citizens and friends,\\' quoth I\\r\\n \\'This general applause and cheerful shout\\r\\n Argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard.\\'\\r\\n And even here brake off and came away.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What, tongueless blocks were they? Would\\r\\n they not speak?\\r\\n Will not the Mayor then and his brethren come?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. The Mayor is here at hand. Intend some fear;\\r\\n Be not you spoke with but by mighty suit;\\r\\n And look you get a prayer-book in your hand,\\r\\n And stand between two churchmen, good my lord;\\r\\n For on that ground I\\'ll make a holy descant;\\r\\n And be not easily won to our requests.\\r\\n Play the maid\\'s part: still answer nay, and take it.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I go; and if you plead as well for them\\r\\n As I can say nay to thee for myself,\\r\\n No doubt we bring it to a happy issue.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Go, go, up to the leads; the Lord Mayor\\r\\n knocks. Exit GLOUCESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the LORD MAYOR, ALDERMEN, and citizens\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, my lord. I dance attendance here;\\r\\n I think the Duke will not be spoke withal.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n Now, Catesby, what says your lord to my request?\\r\\n CATESBY. He doth entreat your Grace, my noble lord,\\r\\n To visit him to-morrow or next day.\\r\\n He is within, with two right reverend fathers,\\r\\n Divinely bent to meditation;\\r\\n And in no worldly suits would he be mov\\'d,\\r\\n To draw him from his holy exercise.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Return, good Catesby, to the gracious Duke;\\r\\n Tell him, myself, the Mayor and Aldermen,\\r\\n In deep designs, in matter of great moment,\\r\\n No less importing than our general good,\\r\\n Are come to have some conference with his Grace.\\r\\n CATESBY. I\\'ll signify so much unto him straight. Exit\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Ah ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward!\\r\\n He is not lolling on a lewd love-bed,\\r\\n But on his knees at meditation;\\r\\n Not dallying with a brace of courtezans,\\r\\n But meditating with two deep divines;\\r\\n Not sleeping, to engross his idle body,\\r\\n But praying, to enrich his watchful soul.\\r\\n Happy were England would this virtuous prince\\r\\n Take on his Grace the sovereignty thereof;\\r\\n But, sure, I fear we shall not win him to it.\\r\\n MAYOR. Marry, God defend his Grace should say us nay!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I fear he will. Here Catesby comes again.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n Now, Catesby, what says his Grace?\\r\\n CATESBY. My lord,\\r\\n He wonders to what end you have assembled\\r\\n Such troops of citizens to come to him.\\r\\n His Grace not being warn\\'d thereof before,\\r\\n He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Sorry I am my noble cousin should\\r\\n Suspect me that I mean no good to him.\\r\\n By heaven, we come to him in perfect love;\\r\\n And so once more return and tell his Grace.\\r\\n Exit CATESBY\\r\\n When holy and devout religious men\\r\\n Are at their beads, \\'tis much to draw them thence,\\r\\n So sweet is zealous contemplation.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER aloft, between two BISHOPS.\\r\\n CATESBY returns\\r\\n\\r\\n MAYOR. See where his Grace stands \\'tween two clergymen!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Two props of virtue for a Christian prince,\\r\\n To stay him from the fall of vanity;\\r\\n And, see, a book of prayer in his hand,\\r\\n True ornaments to know a holy man.\\r\\n Famous Plantagenet, most gracious Prince,\\r\\n Lend favourable ear to our requests,\\r\\n And pardon us the interruption\\r\\n Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My lord, there needs no such apology:\\r\\n I do beseech your Grace to pardon me,\\r\\n Who, earnest in the service of my God,\\r\\n Deferr\\'d the visitation of my friends.\\r\\n But, leaving this, what is your Grace\\'s pleasure?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above,\\r\\n And all good men of this ungovern\\'d isle.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I do suspect I have done some offence\\r\\n That seems disgracious in the city\\'s eye,\\r\\n And that you come to reprehend my ignorance.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. You have, my lord. Would it might please\\r\\n your Grace,\\r\\n On our entreaties, to amend your fault!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Know then, it is your fault that you resign\\r\\n The supreme seat, the throne majestical,\\r\\n The scept\\'red office of your ancestors,\\r\\n Your state of fortune and your due of birth,\\r\\n The lineal glory of your royal house,\\r\\n To the corruption of a blemish\\'d stock;\\r\\n Whiles in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts,\\r\\n Which here we waken to our country\\'s good,\\r\\n The noble isle doth want her proper limbs;\\r\\n Her face defac\\'d with scars of infamy,\\r\\n Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants,\\r\\n And almost should\\'red in the swallowing gulf\\r\\n Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion.\\r\\n Which to recure, we heartily solicit\\r\\n Your gracious self to take on you the charge\\r\\n And kingly government of this your land-\\r\\n Not as protector, steward, substitute,\\r\\n Or lowly factor for another\\'s gain;\\r\\n But as successively, from blood to blood,\\r\\n Your right of birth, your empery, your own.\\r\\n For this, consorted with the citizens,\\r\\n Your very worshipful and loving friends,\\r\\n And by their vehement instigation,\\r\\n In this just cause come I to move your Grace.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I cannot tell if to depart in silence\\r\\n Or bitterly to speak in your reproof\\r\\n Best fitteth my degree or your condition.\\r\\n If not to answer, you might haply think\\r\\n Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded\\r\\n To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty,\\r\\n Which fondly you would here impose on me;\\r\\n If to reprove you for this suit of yours,\\r\\n So season\\'d with your faithful love to me,\\r\\n Then, on the other side, I check\\'d my friends.\\r\\n Therefore-to speak, and to avoid the first,\\r\\n And then, in speaking, not to incur the last-\\r\\n Definitively thus I answer you:\\r\\n Your love deserves my thanks, but my desert\\r\\n Unmeritable shuns your high request.\\r\\n First, if all obstacles were cut away,\\r\\n And that my path were even to the crown,\\r\\n As the ripe revenue and due of birth,\\r\\n Yet so much is my poverty of spirit,\\r\\n So mighty and so many my defects,\\r\\n That I would rather hide me from my greatness-\\r\\n Being a bark to brook no mighty sea-\\r\\n Than in my greatness covet to be hid,\\r\\n And in the vapour of my glory smother\\'d.\\r\\n But, God be thank\\'d, there is no need of me-\\r\\n And much I need to help you, were there need.\\r\\n The royal tree hath left us royal fruit\\r\\n Which, mellow\\'d by the stealing hours of time,\\r\\n Will well become the seat of majesty\\r\\n And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign.\\r\\n On him I lay that you would lay on me-\\r\\n The right and fortune of his happy stars,\\r\\n Which God defend that I should wring from him.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord, this argues conscience in your\\r\\n Grace;\\r\\n But the respects thereof are nice and trivial,\\r\\n All circumstances well considered.\\r\\n You say that Edward is your brother\\'s son.\\r\\n So say we too, but not by Edward\\'s wife;\\r\\n For first was he contract to Lady Lucy-\\r\\n Your mother lives a witness to his vow-\\r\\n And afterward by substitute betroth\\'d\\r\\n To Bona, sister to the King of France.\\r\\n These both put off, a poor petitioner,\\r\\n A care-craz\\'d mother to a many sons,\\r\\n A beauty-waning and distressed widow,\\r\\n Even in the afternoon of her best days,\\r\\n Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye,\\r\\n Seduc\\'d the pitch and height of his degree\\r\\n To base declension and loath\\'d bigamy.\\r\\n By her, in his unlawful bed, he got\\r\\n This Edward, whom our manners call the Prince.\\r\\n More bitterly could I expostulate,\\r\\n Save that, for reverence to some alive,\\r\\n I give a sparing limit to my tongue.\\r\\n Then, good my lord, take to your royal self\\r\\n This proffer\\'d benefit of dignity;\\r\\n If not to bless us and the land withal,\\r\\n Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry\\r\\n From the corruption of abusing times\\r\\n Unto a lineal true-derived course.\\r\\n MAYOR. Do, good my lord; your citizens entreat you.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer\\'d love.\\r\\n CATESBY. O, make them joyful, grant their lawful suit!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Alas, why would you heap this care on me?\\r\\n I am unfit for state and majesty.\\r\\n I do beseech you, take it not amiss:\\r\\n I cannot nor I will not yield to you.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. If you refuse it-as, in love and zeal,\\r\\n Loath to depose the child, your brother\\'s son;\\r\\n As well we know your tenderness of heart\\r\\n And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse,\\r\\n Which we have noted in you to your kindred\\r\\n And egally indeed to all estates-\\r\\n Yet know, whe\\'er you accept our suit or no,\\r\\n Your brother\\'s son shall never reign our king;\\r\\n But we will plant some other in the throne\\r\\n To the disgrace and downfall of your house;\\r\\n And in this resolution here we leave you.\\r\\n Come, citizens. Zounds, I\\'ll entreat no more.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. O, do not swear, my lord of Buckingham.\\r\\n Exeunt BUCKINGHAM, MAYOR, and citizens\\r\\n CATESBY. Call him again, sweet Prince, accept their suit.\\r\\n If you deny them, all the land will rue it.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Will you enforce me to a world of cares?\\r\\n Call them again. I am not made of stones,\\r\\n But penetrable to your kind entreaties,\\r\\n Albeit against my conscience and my soul.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter BUCKINGHAM and the rest\\r\\n\\r\\n Cousin of Buckingham, and sage grave men,\\r\\n Since you will buckle fortune on my back,\\r\\n To bear her burden, whe\\'er I will or no,\\r\\n I must have patience to endure the load;\\r\\n But if black scandal or foul-fac\\'d reproach\\r\\n Attend the sequel of your imposition,\\r\\n Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me\\r\\n From all the impure blots and stains thereof;\\r\\n For God doth know, and you may partly see,\\r\\n How far I am from the desire of this.\\r\\n MAYOR. God bless your Grace! We see it, and will say it.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. In saying so, you shall but say the truth.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Then I salute you with this royal title-\\r\\n Long live King Richard, England\\'s worthy King!\\r\\n ALL. Amen.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. To-morrow may it please you to be crown\\'d?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Even when you please, for you will have it so.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. To-morrow, then, we will attend your Grace;\\r\\n And so, most joyfully, we take our leave.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [To the BISHOPS] Come, let us to our holy\\r\\n work again.\\r\\n Farewell, my cousin; farewell, gentle friends. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. Before the Tower\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter QUEEN ELIZABETH, DUCHESS of YORK, and MARQUIS of DORSET, at one\\r\\ndoor;\\r\\nANNE, DUCHESS of GLOUCESTER, leading LADY MARGARET PLANTAGENET,\\r\\nCLARENCE\\'s young daughter, at another door\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. Who meets us here? My niece Plantagenet,\\r\\n Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloucester?\\r\\n Now, for my life, she\\'s wand\\'ring to the Tower,\\r\\n On pure heart\\'s love, to greet the tender Princes.\\r\\n Daughter, well met.\\r\\n ANNE. God give your Graces both\\r\\n A happy and a joyful time of day!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. As much to you, good sister! Whither\\r\\n away?\\r\\n ANNE. No farther than the Tower; and, as I guess,\\r\\n Upon the like devotion as yourselves,\\r\\n To gratulate the gentle Princes there.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Kind sister, thanks; we\\'ll enter\\r\\n all together.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BRAKENBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n And in good time, here the lieutenant comes.\\r\\n Master Lieutenant, pray you, by your leave,\\r\\n How doth the Prince, and my young son of York?\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. Right well, dear madam. By your patience,\\r\\n I may not suffer you to visit them.\\r\\n The King hath strictly charg\\'d the contrary.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. The King! Who\\'s that?\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. I mean the Lord Protector.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. The Lord protect him from that kingly\\r\\n title!\\r\\n Hath he set bounds between their love and me?\\r\\n I am their mother; who shall bar me from them?\\r\\n DUCHESS. I am their father\\'s mother; I will see them.\\r\\n ANNE. Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother.\\r\\n Then bring me to their sights; I\\'ll bear thy blame,\\r\\n And take thy office from thee on my peril.\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. No, madam, no. I may not leave it so;\\r\\n I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter STANLEY\\r\\n\\r\\n STANLEY. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence,\\r\\n And I\\'ll salute your Grace of York as mother\\r\\n And reverend looker-on of two fair queens.\\r\\n [To ANNE] Come, madam, you must straight to\\r\\n Westminster,\\r\\n There to be crowned Richard\\'s royal queen.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, cut my lace asunder\\r\\n That my pent heart may have some scope to beat,\\r\\n Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news!\\r\\n ANNE. Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news!\\r\\n DORSET. Be of good cheer; mother, how fares your Grace?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee\\r\\n gone!\\r\\n Death and destruction dogs thee at thy heels;\\r\\n Thy mother\\'s name is ominous to children.\\r\\n If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas,\\r\\n And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell.\\r\\n Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house,\\r\\n Lest thou increase the number of the dead,\\r\\n And make me die the thrall of Margaret\\'s curse,\\r\\n Nor mother, wife, nor England\\'s counted queen.\\r\\n STANLEY. Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam.\\r\\n Take all the swift advantage of the hours;\\r\\n You shall have letters from me to my son\\r\\n In your behalf, to meet you on the way.\\r\\n Be not ta\\'en tardy by unwise delay.\\r\\n DUCHESS. O ill-dispersing wind of misery!\\r\\n O my accursed womb, the bed of death!\\r\\n A cockatrice hast thou hatch\\'d to the world,\\r\\n Whose unavoided eye is murderous.\\r\\n STANLEY. Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent.\\r\\n ANNE. And I with all unwillingness will go.\\r\\n O, would to God that the inclusive verge\\r\\n Of golden metal that must round my brow\\r\\n Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brains!\\r\\n Anointed let me be with deadly venom,\\r\\n And die ere men can say \\'God save the Queen!\\'\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Go, go, poor soul; I envy not thy glory.\\r\\n To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm.\\r\\n ANNE. No, why? When he that is my husband now\\r\\n Came to me, as I follow\\'d Henry\\'s corse;\\r\\n When scarce the blood was well wash\\'d from his hands\\r\\n Which issued from my other angel husband,\\r\\n And that dear saint which then I weeping follow\\'d-\\r\\n O, when, I say, I look\\'d on Richard\\'s face,\\r\\n This was my wish: \\'Be thou\\' quoth I \\'accurs\\'d\\r\\n For making me, so young, so old a widow;\\r\\n And when thou wed\\'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed;\\r\\n And be thy wife, if any be so mad,\\r\\n More miserable by the life of thee\\r\\n Than thou hast made me by my dear lord\\'s death.\\'\\r\\n Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,\\r\\n Within so small a time, my woman\\'s heart\\r\\n Grossly grew captive to his honey words\\r\\n And prov\\'d the subject of mine own soul\\'s curse,\\r\\n Which hitherto hath held my eyes from rest;\\r\\n For never yet one hour in his bed\\r\\n Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep,\\r\\n But with his timorous dreams was still awak\\'d.\\r\\n Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;\\r\\n And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy complaining.\\r\\n ANNE. No more than with my soul I mourn for yours.\\r\\n DORSET. Farewell, thou woeful welcomer of glory!\\r\\n ANNE. Adieu, poor soul, that tak\\'st thy leave of it!\\r\\n DUCHESS. [To DORSET] Go thou to Richmond, and good\\r\\n fortune guide thee!\\r\\n [To ANNE] Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend\\r\\n thee! [To QUEEN ELIZABETH] Go thou to sanctuary, and good\\r\\n thoughts possess thee!\\r\\n I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me!\\r\\n Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen,\\r\\n And each hour\\'s joy wreck\\'d with a week of teen.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Stay, yet look back with me unto the\\r\\n Tower.\\r\\n Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes\\r\\n Whom envy hath immur\\'d within your walls,\\r\\n Rough cradle for such little pretty ones.\\r\\n Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow\\r\\n For tender princes, use my babies well.\\r\\n So foolish sorrows bids your stones farewell. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nSound a sennet. Enter RICHARD, in pomp, as KING; BUCKINGHAM, CATESBY,\\r\\nRATCLIFF, LOVEL, a PAGE, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Stand all apart. Cousin of Buckingham!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My gracious sovereign?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Give me thy hand.\\r\\n [Here he ascendeth the throne. Sound]\\r\\n Thus high, by thy advice\\r\\n And thy assistance, is King Richard seated.\\r\\n But shall we wear these glories for a day;\\r\\n Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Still live they, and for ever let them last!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the touch,\\r\\n To try if thou be current gold indeed.\\r\\n Young Edward lives-think now what I would speak.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Say on, my loving lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, Buckingham, I say I would be King.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ha! am I King? \\'Tis so; but Edward lives.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. True, noble Prince.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O bitter consequence:\\r\\n That Edward still should live-true noble Prince!\\r\\n Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull.\\r\\n Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead.\\r\\n And I would have it suddenly perform\\'d.\\r\\n What say\\'st thou now? Speak suddenly, be brief.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Your Grace may do your pleasure.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Tut, tut, thou art all ice; thy kindness freezes.\\r\\n Say, have I thy consent that they shall die?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Give me some little breath, some pause,\\r\\n dear Lord,\\r\\n Before I positively speak in this.\\r\\n I will resolve you herein presently. Exit\\r\\n CATESBY. [Aside to another] The King is angry; see, he\\r\\n gnaws his lip.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I will converse with iron-witted fools\\r\\n [Descends from the throne]\\r\\n And unrespective boys; none are for me\\r\\n That look into me with considerate eyes.\\r\\n High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.\\r\\n Boy!\\r\\n PAGE. My lord?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Know\\'st thou not any whom corrupting\\r\\n gold\\r\\n Will tempt unto a close exploit of death?\\r\\n PAGE. I know a discontented gentleman\\r\\n Whose humble means match not his haughty spirit.\\r\\n Gold were as good as twenty orators,\\r\\n And will, no doubt, tempt him to anything.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What is his name?\\r\\n PAGE. His name, my lord, is Tyrrel.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I partly know the man. Go, call him hither,\\r\\n boy. Exit PAGE\\r\\n The deep-revolving witty Buckingham\\r\\n No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels.\\r\\n Hath he so long held out with me, untir\\'d,\\r\\n And stops he now for breath? Well, be it so.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter STANLEY\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, Lord Stanley! What\\'s the news?\\r\\n STANLEY. Know, my loving lord,\\r\\n The Marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled\\r\\n To Richmond, in the parts where he abides. [Stands apart]\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Come hither, Catesby. Rumour it abroad\\r\\n That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick;\\r\\n I will take order for her keeping close.\\r\\n Inquire me out some mean poor gentleman,\\r\\n Whom I will marry straight to Clarence\\' daughter-\\r\\n The boy is foolish, and I fear not him.\\r\\n Look how thou dream\\'st! I say again, give out\\r\\n That Anne, my queen, is sick and like to die.\\r\\n About it; for it stands me much upon\\r\\n To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me.\\r\\n Exit CATESBY\\r\\n I must be married to my brother\\'s daughter,\\r\\n Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass.\\r\\n Murder her brothers, and then marry her!\\r\\n Uncertain way of gain! But I am in\\r\\n So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin.\\r\\n Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PAGE, with TYRREL\\r\\n\\r\\n Is thy name Tyrrel?\\r\\n TYRREL. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Art thou, indeed?\\r\\n TYRREL. Prove me, my gracious lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Dar\\'st\\'thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?\\r\\n TYRREL. Please you;\\r\\n But I had rather kill two enemies.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, then thou hast it. Two deep enemies,\\r\\n Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep\\'s disturbers,\\r\\n Are they that I would have thee deal upon.\\r\\n TYRREL, I mean those bastards in the Tower.\\r\\n TYRREL. Let me have open means to come to them,\\r\\n And soon I\\'ll rid you from the fear of them.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thou sing\\'st sweet music. Hark, come\\r\\n hither, Tyrrel.\\r\\n Go, by this token. Rise, and lend thine ear. [Whispers]\\r\\n There is no more but so: say it is done,\\r\\n And I will love thee and prefer thee for it.\\r\\n TYRREL. I will dispatch it straight. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord, I have consider\\'d in my mind\\r\\n The late request that you did sound me in.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to\\r\\n Richmond.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I hear the news, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Stanley, he is your wife\\'s son: well, look\\r\\n unto it.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise,\\r\\n For which your honour and your faith is pawn\\'d:\\r\\n Th\\' earldom of Hereford and the movables\\r\\n Which you have promised I shall possess.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey\\r\\n Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. What says your Highness to my just request?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I do remember me: Henry the Sixth\\r\\n Did prophesy that Richmond should be King,\\r\\n When Richmond was a little peevish boy.\\r\\n A king!-perhaps-\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. How chance the prophet could not at that\\r\\n time\\r\\n Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord, your promise for the earldom-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Richmond! When last I was at Exeter,\\r\\n The mayor in courtesy show\\'d me the castle\\r\\n And call\\'d it Rugemount, at which name I started,\\r\\n Because a bard of Ireland told me once\\r\\n I should not live long after I saw Richmond.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, what\\'s o\\'clock?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I am thus bold to put your Grace in mind\\r\\n Of what you promis\\'d me.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Well, but o\\'clock?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Upon the stroke of ten.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Well, let it strike.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Why let it strike?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Because that like a Jack thou keep\\'st the\\r\\n stroke\\r\\n Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.\\r\\n I am not in the giving vein to-day.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. May it please you to resolve me in my suit.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein.\\r\\n Exeunt all but Buckingham\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. And is it thus? Repays he my deep service\\r\\n With such contempt? Made I him King for this?\\r\\n O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone\\r\\n To Brecknock while my fearful head is on! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TYRREL\\r\\n\\r\\n TYRREL. The tyrannous and bloody act is done,\\r\\n The most arch deed of piteous massacre\\r\\n That ever yet this land was guilty of.\\r\\n Dighton and Forrest, who I did suborn\\r\\n To do this piece of ruthless butchery,\\r\\n Albeit they were flesh\\'d villains, bloody dogs,\\r\\n Melted with tenderness and mild compassion,\\r\\n Wept like two children in their deaths\\' sad story.\\r\\n \\'O, thus\\' quoth Dighton \\'lay the gentle babes\\'-\\r\\n \\'Thus, thus,\\' quoth Forrest \\'girdling one another\\r\\n Within their alabaster innocent arms.\\r\\n Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,\\r\\n And in their summer beauty kiss\\'d each other.\\r\\n A book of prayers on their pillow lay;\\r\\n Which once,\\' quoth Forrest \\'almost chang\\'d my mind;\\r\\n But, O, the devil\\'-there the villain stopp\\'d;\\r\\n When Dighton thus told on: \\'We smothered\\r\\n The most replenished sweet work of nature\\r\\n That from the prime creation e\\'er she framed.\\'\\r\\n Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse\\r\\n They could not speak; and so I left them both,\\r\\n To bear this tidings to the bloody King.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING RICHARD\\r\\n\\r\\n And here he comes. All health, my sovereign lord!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news?\\r\\n TYRREL. If to have done the thing you gave in charge\\r\\n Beget your happiness, be happy then,\\r\\n For it is done.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. But didst thou see them dead?\\r\\n TYRREL. I did, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And buried, gentle Tyrrel?\\r\\n TYRREL. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them;\\r\\n But where, to say the truth, I do not know.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper,\\r\\n When thou shalt tell the process of their death.\\r\\n Meantime, but think how I may do thee good\\r\\n And be inheritor of thy desire.\\r\\n Farewell till then.\\r\\n TYRREL. I humbly take my leave. Exit\\r\\n KING RICHARD. The son of Clarence have I pent up close;\\r\\n His daughter meanly have I match\\'d in marriage;\\r\\n The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham\\'s bosom,\\r\\n And Anne my wife hath bid this world good night.\\r\\n Now, for I know the Britaine Richmond aims\\r\\n At young Elizabeth, my brother\\'s daughter,\\r\\n And by that knot looks proudly on the crown,\\r\\n To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter RATCLIFF\\r\\n\\r\\n RATCLIFF. My lord!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Good or bad news, that thou com\\'st in so\\r\\n bluntly?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Bad news, my lord: Morton is fled to Richmond;\\r\\n And Buckingham, back\\'d with the hardy Welshmen,\\r\\n Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near\\r\\n Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength.\\r\\n Come, I have learn\\'d that fearful commenting\\r\\n Is leaden servitor to dull delay;\\r\\n Delay leads impotent and snail-pac\\'d beggary.\\r\\n Then fiery expedition be my wing,\\r\\n Jove\\'s Mercury, and herald for a king!\\r\\n Go, muster men. My counsel is my shield.\\r\\n We must be brief when traitors brave the field. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. Before the palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter old QUEEN MARGARET\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. So now prosperity begins to mellow\\r\\n And drop into the rotten mouth of death.\\r\\n Here in these confines slily have I lurk\\'d\\r\\n To watch the waning of mine enemies.\\r\\n A dire induction am I witness to,\\r\\n And will to France, hoping the consequence\\r\\n Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.\\r\\n Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret. Who comes here?\\r\\n [Retires]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and the DUCHESS OF YORK\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, my poor princes! ah, my tender\\r\\n babes!\\r\\n My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets!\\r\\n If yet your gentle souls fly in the air\\r\\n And be not fix\\'d in doom perpetual,\\r\\n Hover about me with your airy wings\\r\\n And hear your mother\\'s lamentation.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Hover about her; say that right for right\\r\\n Hath dimm\\'d your infant morn to aged night.\\r\\n DUCHESS. So many miseries have craz\\'d my voice\\r\\n That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute.\\r\\n Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet,\\r\\n Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle\\r\\n lambs\\r\\n And throw them in the entrails of the wolf?\\r\\n When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. When holy Harry died, and my sweet\\r\\n son.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal living ghost,\\r\\n Woe\\'s scene, world\\'s shame, grave\\'s due by life usurp\\'d,\\r\\n Brief abstract and record of tedious days,\\r\\n Rest thy unrest on England\\'s lawful earth, [Sitting down]\\r\\n Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, that thou wouldst as soon afford a\\r\\n grave\\r\\n As thou canst yield a melancholy seat!\\r\\n Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here.\\r\\n Ah, who hath any cause to mourn but we?\\r\\n [Sitting down by her]\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. [Coming forward] If ancient sorrow be\\r\\n most reverend,\\r\\n Give mine the benefit of seniory,\\r\\n And let my griefs frown on the upper hand.\\r\\n If sorrow can admit society, [Sitting down with them]\\r\\n Tell o\\'er your woes again by viewing mine.\\r\\n I had an Edward, till a Richard kill\\'d him;\\r\\n I had a husband, till a Richard kill\\'d him:\\r\\n Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill\\'d him;\\r\\n Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill\\'d him.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him;\\r\\n I had a Rutland too, thou holp\\'st to kill him.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard\\r\\n kill\\'d him.\\r\\n From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept\\r\\n A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death.\\r\\n That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes\\r\\n To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood,\\r\\n That foul defacer of God\\'s handiwork,\\r\\n That excellent grand tyrant of the earth\\r\\n That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,\\r\\n Thy womb let loose to chase us to our graves.\\r\\n O upright, just, and true-disposing God,\\r\\n How do I thank thee that this carnal cur\\r\\n Preys on the issue of his mother\\'s body\\r\\n And makes her pew-fellow with others\\' moan!\\r\\n DUCHESS. O Harry\\'s wife, triumph not in my woes!\\r\\n God witness with me, I have wept for thine.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge,\\r\\n And now I cloy me with beholding it.\\r\\n Thy Edward he is dead, that kill\\'d my Edward;\\r\\n The other Edward dead, to quit my Edward;\\r\\n Young York he is but boot, because both they\\r\\n Match\\'d not the high perfection of my loss.\\r\\n Thy Clarence he is dead that stabb\\'d my Edward;\\r\\n And the beholders of this frantic play,\\r\\n Th\\' adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,\\r\\n Untimely smother\\'d in their dusky graves.\\r\\n Richard yet lives, hell\\'s black intelligencer;\\r\\n Only reserv\\'d their factor to buy souls\\r\\n And send them thither. But at hand, at hand,\\r\\n Ensues his piteous and unpitied end.\\r\\n Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray,\\r\\n To have him suddenly convey\\'d from hence.\\r\\n Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray,\\r\\n That I may live and say \\'The dog is dead.\\'\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. O, thou didst prophesy the time would\\r\\n come\\r\\n That I should wish for thee to help me curse\\r\\n That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back\\'d toad!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. I Call\\'d thee then vain flourish of my\\r\\n fortune;\\r\\n I call\\'d thee then poor shadow, painted queen,\\r\\n The presentation of but what I was,\\r\\n The flattering index of a direful pageant,\\r\\n One heav\\'d a-high to be hurl\\'d down below,\\r\\n A mother only mock\\'d with two fair babes,\\r\\n A dream of what thou wast, a garish flag\\r\\n To be the aim of every dangerous shot,\\r\\n A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble,\\r\\n A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.\\r\\n Where is thy husband now? Where be thy brothers?\\r\\n Where be thy two sons? Wherein dost thou joy?\\r\\n Who sues, and kneels, and says \\'God save the Queen\\'?\\r\\n Where be the bending peers that flattered thee?\\r\\n Where be the thronging troops that followed thee?\\r\\n Decline an this, and see what now thou art:\\r\\n For happy wife, a most distressed widow;\\r\\n For joyful mother, one that wails the name;\\r\\n For one being su\\'d to, one that humbly sues;\\r\\n For Queen, a very caitiff crown\\'d with care;\\r\\n For she that scorn\\'d at me, now scorn\\'d of me;\\r\\n For she being fear\\'d of all, now fearing one;\\r\\n For she commanding all, obey\\'d of none.\\r\\n Thus hath the course of justice whirl\\'d about\\r\\n And left thee but a very prey to time,\\r\\n Having no more but thought of what thou wast\\r\\n To torture thee the more, being what thou art.\\r\\n Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not\\r\\n Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow?\\r\\n Now thy proud neck bears half my burden\\'d yoke,\\r\\n From which even here I slip my weary head\\r\\n And leave the burden of it all on thee.\\r\\n Farewell, York\\'s wife, and queen of sad mischance;\\r\\n These English woes shall make me smile in France.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. O thou well skill\\'d in curses, stay awhile\\r\\n And teach me how to curse mine enemies!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the\\r\\n days;\\r\\n Compare dead happiness with living woe;\\r\\n Think that thy babes were sweeter than they were,\\r\\n And he that slew them fouler than he is.\\r\\n Bett\\'ring thy loss makes the bad-causer worse;\\r\\n Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. My words are dull; O, quicken them\\r\\n with thine!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Thy woes will make them sharp and\\r\\n pierce like mine. Exit\\r\\n DUCHESS. Why should calamity be fun of words?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Windy attorneys to their client woes,\\r\\n Airy succeeders of intestate joys,\\r\\n Poor breathing orators of miseries,\\r\\n Let them have scope; though what they will impart\\r\\n Help nothing else, yet do they case the heart.\\r\\n DUCHESS. If so, then be not tongue-tied. Go with me,\\r\\n And in the breath of bitter words let\\'s smother\\r\\n My damned son that thy two sweet sons smother\\'d.\\r\\n The trumpet sounds; be copious in exclaims.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING RICHARD and his train, marching with\\r\\n drums and trumpets\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Who intercepts me in my expedition?\\r\\n DUCHESS. O, she that might have intercepted thee,\\r\\n By strangling thee in her accursed womb,\\r\\n From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Hidest thou that forehead with a golden\\r\\n crown\\r\\n Where\\'t should be branded, if that right were right,\\r\\n The slaughter of the Prince that ow\\'d that crown,\\r\\n And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers?\\r\\n Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my children?\\r\\n DUCHESS. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother\\r\\n Clarence?\\r\\n And little Ned Plantagenet, his son?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan,\\r\\n Grey?\\r\\n DUCHESS. Where is kind Hastings?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. A flourish, trumpets! Strike alarum, drums!\\r\\n Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women\\r\\n Rail on the Lord\\'s anointed. Strike, I say!\\r\\n [Flourish. Alarums]\\r\\n Either be patient and entreat me fair,\\r\\n Or with the clamorous report of war\\r\\n Thus will I drown your exclamations.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Art thou my son?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Then patiently hear my impatience.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Madam, I have a touch of your condition\\r\\n That cannot brook the accent of reproof.\\r\\n DUCHESS. O, let me speak!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Do, then; but I\\'ll not hear.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I will be mild and gentle in my words.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And brief, good mother; for I am in haste.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Art thou so hasty? I have stay\\'d for thee,\\r\\n God knows, in torment and in agony.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And came I not at last to comfort you?\\r\\n DUCHESS. No, by the holy rood, thou know\\'st it well\\r\\n Thou cam\\'st on earth to make the earth my hell.\\r\\n A grievous burden was thy birth to me;\\r\\n Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;\\r\\n Thy school-days frightful, desp\\'rate, wild, and furious;\\r\\n Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous;\\r\\n Thy age confirm\\'d, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody,\\r\\n More mild, but yet more harmful-kind in hatred.\\r\\n What comfortable hour canst thou name\\r\\n That ever grac\\'d me with thy company?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Faith, none but Humphrey Hour, that call\\'d\\r\\n your Grace\\r\\n To breakfast once forth of my company.\\r\\n If I be so disgracious in your eye,\\r\\n Let me march on and not offend you, madam.\\r\\n Strike up the drum.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I prithee hear me speak.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. You speak too bitterly.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Hear me a word;\\r\\n For I shall never speak to thee again.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. So.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Either thou wilt die by God\\'s just ordinance\\r\\n Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror;\\r\\n Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish\\r\\n And never more behold thy face again.\\r\\n Therefore take with thee my most grievous curse,\\r\\n Which in the day of battle tire thee more\\r\\n Than all the complete armour that thou wear\\'st!\\r\\n My prayers on the adverse party fight;\\r\\n And there the little souls of Edward\\'s children\\r\\n Whisper the spirits of thine enemies\\r\\n And promise them success and victory.\\r\\n Bloody thou art; bloody will be thy end.\\r\\n Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend. Exit\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Though far more cause, yet much less\\r\\n spirit to curse\\r\\n Abides in me; I say amen to her.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Stay, madam, I must talk a word with you.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. I have no moe sons of the royal blood\\r\\n For thee to slaughter. For my daughters, Richard,\\r\\n They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens;\\r\\n And therefore level not to hit their lives.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. You have a daughter call\\'d Elizabeth.\\r\\n Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. And must she die for this? O, let her\\r\\n live,\\r\\n And I\\'ll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty,\\r\\n Slander myself as false to Edward\\'s bed,\\r\\n Throw over her the veil of infamy;\\r\\n So she may live unscarr\\'d of bleeding slaughter,\\r\\n I will confess she was not Edward\\'s daughter.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Wrong not her birth; she is a royal\\r\\n Princess.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. To save her life I\\'ll say she is not so.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Her life is safest only in her birth.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. And only in that safety died her\\r\\n brothers.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Lo, at their birth good stars were opposite.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. No, to their lives ill friends were\\r\\n contrary.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. All unavoided is the doom of destiny.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. True, when avoided grace makes destiny.\\r\\n My babes were destin\\'d to a fairer death,\\r\\n If grace had bless\\'d thee with a fairer life.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. You speak as if that I had slain my cousins.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle\\r\\n cozen\\'d\\r\\n Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.\\r\\n Whose hand soever lanc\\'d their tender hearts,\\r\\n Thy head, an indirectly, gave direction.\\r\\n No doubt the murd\\'rous knife was dull and blunt\\r\\n Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart\\r\\n To revel in the entrails of my lambs.\\r\\n But that stiff use of grief makes wild grief tame,\\r\\n My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys\\r\\n Till that my nails were anchor\\'d in thine eyes;\\r\\n And I, in such a desp\\'rate bay of death,\\r\\n Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft,\\r\\n Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise\\r\\n And dangerous success of bloody wars,\\r\\n As I intend more good to you and yours\\r\\n Than ever you or yours by me were harm\\'d!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. What good is cover\\'d with the face of\\r\\n heaven,\\r\\n To be discover\\'d, that can do me good?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. advancement of your children, gentle\\r\\n lady.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their\\r\\n heads?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Unto the dignity and height of Fortune,\\r\\n The high imperial type of this earth\\'s glory.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Flatter my sorrow with report of it;\\r\\n Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour,\\r\\n Canst thou demise to any child of mine?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Even all I have-ay, and myself and all\\r\\n Will I withal endow a child of thine;\\r\\n So in the Lethe of thy angry soul\\r\\n Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs\\r\\n Which thou supposest I have done to thee.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Be brief, lest that the process of thy\\r\\n kindness\\r\\n Last longer telling than thy kindness\\' date.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then know, that from my soul I love thy\\r\\n daughter.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. My daughter\\'s mother thinks it with her\\r\\n soul.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What do you think?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. That thou dost love my daughter from\\r\\n thy soul.\\r\\n So from thy soul\\'s love didst thou love her brothers,\\r\\n And from my heart\\'s love I do thank thee for it.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning.\\r\\n I mean that with my soul I love thy daughter\\r\\n And do intend to make her Queen of England.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Well, then, who dost thou mean shall be\\r\\n her king?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Even he that makes her Queen. Who else\\r\\n should be?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. What, thou?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Even so. How think you of it?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. How canst thou woo her?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. That would I learn of you,\\r\\n As one being best acquainted with her humour.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. And wilt thou learn of me?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Madam, with all my heart.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Send to her, by the man that slew her\\r\\n brothers,\\r\\n A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave\\r\\n \\'Edward\\' and \\'York.\\' Then haply will she weep;\\r\\n Therefore present to her-as sometimes Margaret\\r\\n Did to thy father, steep\\'d in Rutland\\'s blood-\\r\\n A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain\\r\\n The purple sap from her sweet brother\\'s body,\\r\\n And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal.\\r\\n If this inducement move her not to love,\\r\\n Send her a letter of thy noble deeds;\\r\\n Tell her thou mad\\'st away her uncle Clarence,\\r\\n Her uncle Rivers; ay, and for her sake\\r\\n Mad\\'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. You mock me, madam; this is not the way\\r\\n To win your daughter.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. There is no other way;\\r\\n Unless thou couldst put on some other shape\\r\\n And not be Richard that hath done all this.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Say that I did all this for love of her.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but\\r\\n hate thee,\\r\\n Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Look what is done cannot be now amended.\\r\\n Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,\\r\\n Which after-hours gives leisure to repent.\\r\\n If I did take the kingdom from your sons,\\r\\n To make amends I\\'ll give it to your daughter.\\r\\n If I have kill\\'d the issue of your womb,\\r\\n To quicken your increase I will beget\\r\\n Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter.\\r\\n A grandam\\'s name is little less in love\\r\\n Than is the doating title of a mother;\\r\\n They are as children but one step below,\\r\\n Even of your metal, of your very blood;\\r\\n Of all one pain, save for a night of groans\\r\\n Endur\\'d of her, for whom you bid like sorrow.\\r\\n Your children were vexation to your youth;\\r\\n But mine shall be a comfort to your age.\\r\\n The loss you have is but a son being King,\\r\\n And by that loss your daughter is made Queen.\\r\\n I cannot make you what amends I would,\\r\\n Therefore accept such kindness as I can.\\r\\n Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul\\r\\n Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,\\r\\n This fair alliance quickly shall can home\\r\\n To high promotions and great dignity.\\r\\n The King, that calls your beauteous daughter wife,\\r\\n Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother;\\r\\n Again shall you be mother to a king,\\r\\n And all the ruins of distressful times\\r\\n Repair\\'d with double riches of content.\\r\\n What! we have many goodly days to see.\\r\\n The liquid drops of tears that you have shed\\r\\n Shall come again, transform\\'d to orient pearl,\\r\\n Advantaging their loan with interest\\r\\n Of ten times double gain of happiness.\\r\\n Go, then, my mother, to thy daughter go;\\r\\n Make bold her bashful years with your experience;\\r\\n Prepare her ears to hear a wooer\\'s tale;\\r\\n Put in her tender heart th\\' aspiring flame\\r\\n Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the Princes\\r\\n With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys.\\r\\n And when this arm of mine hath chastised\\r\\n The petty rebel, dull-brain\\'d Buckingham,\\r\\n Bound with triumphant garlands will I come,\\r\\n And lead thy daughter to a conqueror\\'s bed;\\r\\n To whom I will retail my conquest won,\\r\\n And she shall be sole victoress, Caesar\\'s Caesar.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. What were I best to say? Her father\\'s\\r\\n brother\\r\\n Would be her lord? Or shall I say her uncle?\\r\\n Or he that slew her brothers and her uncles?\\r\\n Under what title shall I woo for thee\\r\\n That God, the law, my honour, and her love\\r\\n Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Infer fair England\\'s peace by this alliance.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Which she shall purchase with\\r\\n still-lasting war.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Tell her the King, that may command,\\r\\n entreats.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. That at her hands which the King\\'s\\r\\n King forbids.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Say she shall be a high and mighty queen.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. To wail the title, as her mother doth.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Say I will love her everlastingly.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. But how long shall that title \\'ever\\' last?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Sweetly in force unto her fair life\\'s end.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. But how long fairly shall her sweet life\\r\\n last?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. As long as heaven and nature lengthens it.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. As long as hell and Richard likes of it.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Say I, her sovereign, am her subject low.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. But she, your subject, loathes such\\r\\n sovereignty.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Be eloquent in my behalf to her.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. An honest tale speeds best being plainly\\r\\n told.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then plainly to her tell my loving tale.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. O, no, my reasons are too deep and\\r\\n dead-\\r\\n Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Harp not on that string, madam; that is past.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Harp on it still shall I till heartstrings\\r\\n break.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Now, by my George, my garter, and my\\r\\n crown-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Profan\\'d, dishonour\\'d, and the third\\r\\n usurp\\'d.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I swear-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. By nothing; for this is no oath:\\r\\n Thy George, profan\\'d, hath lost his lordly honour;\\r\\n Thy garter, blemish\\'d, pawn\\'d his knightly virtue;\\r\\n Thy crown, usurp\\'d, disgrac\\'d his kingly glory.\\r\\n If something thou wouldst swear to be believ\\'d,\\r\\n Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong\\'d.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then, by my self-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thy self is self-misus\\'d.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Now, by the world-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. \\'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. My father\\'s death-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thy life hath it dishonour\\'d.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, then, by God-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. God\\'s wrong is most of all.\\r\\n If thou didst fear to break an oath with Him,\\r\\n The unity the King my husband made\\r\\n Thou hadst not broken, nor my brothers died.\\r\\n If thou hadst fear\\'d to break an oath by Him,\\r\\n Th\\' imperial metal, circling now thy head,\\r\\n Had grac\\'d the tender temples of my child;\\r\\n And both the Princes had been breathing here,\\r\\n Which now, two tender bedfellows for dust,\\r\\n Thy broken faith hath made the prey for worms.\\r\\n What canst thou swear by now?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. The time to come.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. That thou hast wronged in the time\\r\\n o\\'erpast;\\r\\n For I myself have many tears to wash\\r\\n Hereafter time, for time past wrong\\'d by thee.\\r\\n The children live whose fathers thou hast slaughter\\'d,\\r\\n Ungovern\\'d youth, to wail it in their age;\\r\\n The parents live whose children thou hast butcheed,\\r\\n Old barren plants, to wail it with their age.\\r\\n Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast\\r\\n Misus\\'d ere us\\'d, by times ill-us\\'d o\\'erpast.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. As I intend to prosper and repent,\\r\\n So thrive I in my dangerous affairs\\r\\n Of hostile arms! Myself myself confound!\\r\\n Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours!\\r\\n Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest!\\r\\n Be opposite all planets of good luck\\r\\n To my proceeding!-if, with dear heart\\'s love,\\r\\n Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts,\\r\\n I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter.\\r\\n In her consists my happiness and thine;\\r\\n Without her, follows to myself and thee,\\r\\n Herself, the land, and many a Christian soul,\\r\\n Death, desolation, ruin, and decay.\\r\\n It cannot be avoided but by this;\\r\\n It will not be avoided but by this.\\r\\n Therefore, dear mother-I must call you so-\\r\\n Be the attorney of my love to her;\\r\\n Plead what I will be, not what I have been;\\r\\n Not my deserts, but what I will deserve.\\r\\n Urge the necessity and state of times,\\r\\n And be not peevish-fond in great designs.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, if the devil tempt you to do good.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I forget myself to be myself?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, if your self\\'s remembrance wrong\\r\\n yourself.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Yet thou didst kill my children.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. But in your daughter\\'s womb I bury them;\\r\\n Where, in that nest of spicery, they will breed\\r\\n Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And be a happy mother by the deed.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. I go. Write to me very shortly,\\r\\n And you shall understand from me her mind.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Bear her my true love\\'s kiss; and so, farewell.\\r\\n Kissing her. Exit QUEEN ELIZABETH\\r\\n Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter RATCLIFF; CATESBY following\\r\\n\\r\\n How now! what news?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast\\r\\n Rideth a puissant navy; to our shores\\r\\n Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,\\r\\n Unarm\\'d, and unresolv\\'d to beat them back.\\r\\n \\'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral;\\r\\n And there they hull, expecting but the aid\\r\\n Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of\\r\\n Norfolk.\\r\\n Ratcliff, thyself-or Catesby; where is he?\\r\\n CATESBY. Here, my good lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Catesby, fly to the Duke.\\r\\n CATESBY. I will my lord, with all convenient haste.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ratcliff, come hither. Post to Salisbury;\\r\\n When thou com\\'st thither- [To CATESBY] Dull,\\r\\n unmindfull villain,\\r\\n Why stay\\'st thou here, and go\\'st not to the Duke?\\r\\n CATESBY. First, mighty liege, tell me your Highness\\' pleasure,\\r\\n What from your Grace I shall deliver to him.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O, true, good Catesby. Bid him levy straight\\r\\n The greatest strength and power that he can make\\r\\n And meet me suddenly at Salisbury.\\r\\n CATESBY. I go. Exit\\r\\n RATCLIFF. What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, what wouldst thou do there before I\\r\\n go?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Your Highness told me I should post before.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. My mind is chang\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD STANLEY\\r\\n\\r\\n STANLEY, what news with you?\\r\\n STANLEY. None good, my liege, to please you with\\r\\n the hearing;\\r\\n Nor none so bad but well may be reported.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Hoyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad!\\r\\n What need\\'st thou run so many miles about,\\r\\n When thou mayest tell thy tale the nearest way?\\r\\n Once more, what news?\\r\\n STANLEY. Richmond is on the seas.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. There let him sink, and be the seas on him!\\r\\n White-liver\\'d runagate, what doth he there?\\r\\n STANLEY. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Well, as you guess?\\r\\n STANLEY. Stirr\\'d up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton,\\r\\n He makes for England here to claim the crown.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Is the chair empty? Is the sword unsway\\'d?\\r\\n Is the King dead, the empire unpossess\\'d?\\r\\n What heir of York is there alive but we?\\r\\n And who is England\\'s King but great York\\'s heir?\\r\\n Then tell me what makes he upon the seas.\\r\\n STANLEY. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Unless for that he comes to be your liege,\\r\\n You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes.\\r\\n Thou wilt revolt and fly to him, I fear.\\r\\n STANLEY. No, my good lord; therefore mistrust me not.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Where is thy power then, to beat him back?\\r\\n Where be thy tenants and thy followers?\\r\\n Are they not now upon the western shore,\\r\\n Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships?\\r\\n STANLEY. No, my good lord, my friends are in the north.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Cold friends to me. What do they in the\\r\\n north,\\r\\n When they should serve their sovereign in the west?\\r\\n STANLEY. They have not been commanded, mighty King.\\r\\n Pleaseth your Majesty to give me leave,\\r\\n I\\'ll muster up my friends and meet your Grace\\r\\n Where and what time your Majesty shall please.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with\\r\\n Richmond;\\r\\n But I\\'ll not trust thee.\\r\\n STANLEY. Most mighty sovereign,\\r\\n You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful.\\r\\n I never was nor never will be false.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Go, then, and muster men. But leave behind\\r\\n Your son, George Stanley. Look your heart be firm,\\r\\n Or else his head\\'s assurance is but frail.\\r\\n STANLEY. So deal with him as I prove true to you. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire,\\r\\n As I by friends am well advertised,\\r\\n Sir Edward Courtney and the haughty prelate,\\r\\n Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother,\\r\\n With many moe confederates, are in arms.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND MESSENGER. In Kent, my liege, the Guilfords are in\\r\\n arms;\\r\\n And every hour more competitors\\r\\n Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n THIRD MESSENGER. My lord, the army of great Buckingham-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Out on you, owls! Nothing but songs of\\r\\n death? [He strikes him]\\r\\n There, take thou that till thou bring better news.\\r\\n THIRD MESSENGER. The news I have to tell your Majesty\\r\\n Is that by sudden floods and fall of waters\\r\\n Buckingham\\'s army is dispers\\'d and scatter\\'d;\\r\\n And he himself wand\\'red away alone,\\r\\n No man knows whither.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I cry thee mercy.\\r\\n There is my purse to cure that blow of thine.\\r\\n Hath any well-advised friend proclaim\\'d\\r\\n Reward to him that brings the traitor in?\\r\\n THIRD MESSENGER. Such proclamation hath been made,\\r\\n my Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n FOURTH MESSENGER. Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Marquis\\r\\n Dorset,\\r\\n \\'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms.\\r\\n But this good comfort bring I to your Highness-\\r\\n The Britaine navy is dispers\\'d by tempest.\\r\\n Richmond in Dorsetshire sent out a boat\\r\\n Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks\\r\\n If they were his assistants, yea or no;\\r\\n Who answer\\'d him they came from Buckingham\\r\\n Upon his party. He, mistrusting them,\\r\\n Hois\\'d sail, and made his course again for Britaine.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. March on, march on, since we are up in\\r\\n arms;\\r\\n If not to fight with foreign enemies,\\r\\n Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n CATESBY. My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken-\\r\\n That is the best news. That the Earl of Richmond\\r\\n Is with a mighty power landed at Milford\\r\\n Is colder tidings, yet they must be told.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Away towards Salisbury! While we reason\\r\\n here\\r\\n A royal battle might be won and lost.\\r\\n Some one take order Buckingham be brought\\r\\n To Salisbury; the rest march on with me.\\r\\n Flourish. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD DERBY\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter STANLEY and SIR CHRISTOPHER URSWICK\\r\\n\\r\\n STANLEY. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me:\\r\\n That in the sty of the most deadly boar\\r\\n My son George Stanley is frank\\'d up in hold;\\r\\n If I revolt, off goes young George\\'s head;\\r\\n The fear of that holds off my present aid.\\r\\n So, get thee gone; commend me to thy lord.\\r\\n Withal say that the Queen hath heartily consented\\r\\n He should espouse Elizabeth her daughter.\\r\\n But tell me, where is princely Richmond now?\\r\\n CHRISTOPHER. At Pembroke, or at Ha\\'rford west in Wales.\\r\\n STANLEY. What men of name resort to him?\\r\\n CHRISTOPHER. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier;\\r\\n SIR Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley,\\r\\n OXFORD, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt,\\r\\n And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew;\\r\\n And many other of great name and worth;\\r\\n And towards London do they bend their power,\\r\\n If by the way they be not fought withal.\\r\\n STANLEY. Well, hie thee to thy lord; I kiss his hand;\\r\\n My letter will resolve him of my mind.\\r\\n Farewell. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nSalisbury. An open place\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the SHERIFF and guard, with BUCKINGHAM, led to execution\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Will not King Richard let me speak with\\r\\n him?\\r\\n SHERIFF. No, my good lord; therefore be patient.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Hastings, and Edward\\'s children, Grey, and\\r\\n Rivers,\\r\\n Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward,\\r\\n Vaughan, and all that have miscarried\\r\\n By underhand corrupted foul injustice,\\r\\n If that your moody discontented souls\\r\\n Do through the clouds behold this present hour,\\r\\n Even for revenge mock my destruction!\\r\\n This is All-Souls\\' day, fellow, is it not?\\r\\n SHERIFF. It is, my lord.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Why, then All-Souls\\' day is my body\\'s\\r\\n doomsday.\\r\\n This is the day which in King Edward\\'s time\\r\\n I wish\\'d might fall on me when I was found\\r\\n False to his children and his wife\\'s allies;\\r\\n This is the day wherein I wish\\'d to fall\\r\\n By the false faith of him whom most I trusted;\\r\\n This, this All-Souls\\' day to my fearful soul\\r\\n Is the determin\\'d respite of my wrongs;\\r\\n That high All-Seer which I dallied with\\r\\n Hath turn\\'d my feigned prayer on my head\\r\\n And given in earnest what I begg\\'d in jest.\\r\\n Thus doth He force the swords of wicked men\\r\\n To turn their own points in their masters\\' bosoms.\\r\\n Thus Margaret\\'s curse falls heavy on my neck.\\r\\n \\'When he\\' quoth she \\'shall split thy heart with sorrow,\\r\\n Remember Margaret was a prophetess.\\'\\r\\n Come lead me, officers, to the block of shame;\\r\\n Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nCamp near Tamworth\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter RICHMOND, OXFORD, SIR JAMES BLUNT, SIR WALTER HERBERT, and\\r\\nothers, with drum and colours\\r\\n\\r\\n RICHMOND. Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends,\\r\\n Bruis\\'d underneath the yoke of tyranny,\\r\\n Thus far into the bowels of the land\\r\\n Have we march\\'d on without impediment;\\r\\n And here receive we from our father Stanley\\r\\n Lines of fair comfort and encouragement.\\r\\n The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar,\\r\\n That spoil\\'d your summer fields and fruitful vines,\\r\\n Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough\\r\\n In your embowell\\'d bosoms-this foul swine\\r\\n Is now even in the centre of this isle,\\r\\n Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn.\\r\\n From Tamworth thither is but one day\\'s march.\\r\\n In God\\'s name cheerly on, courageous friends,\\r\\n To reap the harvest of perpetual peace\\r\\n By this one bloody trial of sharp war.\\r\\n OXFORD. Every man\\'s conscience is a thousand men,\\r\\n To fight against this guilty homicide.\\r\\n HERBERT. I doubt not but his friends will turn to us.\\r\\n BLUNT. He hath no friends but what are friends for fear,\\r\\n Which in his dearest need will fly from him.\\r\\n RICHMOND. All for our vantage. Then in God\\'s name march.\\r\\n True hope is swift and flies with swallow\\'s wings;\\r\\n Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nBosworth Field\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter KING RICHARD in arms, with NORFOLK, RATCLIFF, the EARL of SURREYS\\r\\nand others\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Here pitch our tent, even here in Bosworth\\r\\n field.\\r\\n My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad?\\r\\n SURREY. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. My Lord of Norfolk!\\r\\n NORFOLK. Here, most gracious liege.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Norfolk, we must have knocks; ha! must we\\r\\n not?\\r\\n NORFOLK. We must both give and take, my loving lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Up With my tent! Here will I lie to-night;\\r\\n [Soldiers begin to set up the KING\\'S tent]\\r\\n But where to-morrow? Well, all\\'s one for that.\\r\\n Who hath descried the number of the traitors?\\r\\n NORFOLK. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, our battalia trebles that account;\\r\\n Besides, the King\\'s name is a tower of strength,\\r\\n Which they upon the adverse faction want.\\r\\n Up with the tent! Come, noble gentlemen,\\r\\n Let us survey the vantage of the ground.\\r\\n Call for some men of sound direction.\\r\\n Let\\'s lack no discipline, make no delay;\\r\\n For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, on the other side of the field,\\r\\n RICHMOND, SIR WILLIAM BRANDON, OXFORD, DORSET,\\r\\n and others. Some pitch RICHMOND\\'S tent\\r\\n\\r\\n RICHMOND. The weary sun hath made a golden set,\\r\\n And by the bright tract of his fiery car\\r\\n Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow.\\r\\n Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard.\\r\\n Give me some ink and paper in my tent.\\r\\n I\\'ll draw the form and model of our battle,\\r\\n Limit each leader to his several charge,\\r\\n And part in just proportion our small power.\\r\\n My Lord of Oxford-you, Sir William Brandon-\\r\\n And you, Sir Walter Herbert-stay with me.\\r\\n The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment;\\r\\n Good Captain Blunt, bear my good night to him,\\r\\n And by the second hour in the morning\\r\\n Desire the Earl to see me in my tent.\\r\\n Yet one thing more, good Captain, do for me-\\r\\n Where is Lord Stanley quarter\\'d, do you know?\\r\\n BLUNT. Unless I have mista\\'en his colours much-\\r\\n Which well I am assur\\'d I have not done-\\r\\n His regiment lies half a mile at least\\r\\n South from the mighty power of the King.\\r\\n RICHMOND. If without peril it be possible,\\r\\n Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with him\\r\\n And give him from me this most needful note.\\r\\n BLUNT. Upon my life, my lord, I\\'ll undertake it;\\r\\n And so, God give you quiet rest to-night!\\r\\n RICHMOND. Good night, good Captain Blunt. Come,\\r\\n gentlemen,\\r\\n Let us consult upon to-morrow\\'s business.\\r\\n In to my tent; the dew is raw and cold.\\r\\n [They withdraw into the tent]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, to his-tent, KING RICHARD, NORFOLK,\\r\\n RATCLIFF, and CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What is\\'t o\\'clock?\\r\\n CATESBY. It\\'s supper-time, my lord;\\r\\n It\\'s nine o\\'clock.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I will not sup to-night.\\r\\n Give me some ink and paper.\\r\\n What, is my beaver easier than it was?\\r\\n And all my armour laid into my tent?\\r\\n CATESBY. It is, my liege; and all things are in readiness.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge;\\r\\n Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels.\\r\\n NORFOLK. I go, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Norfolk.\\r\\n NORFOLK. I warrant you, my lord. Exit\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Catesby!\\r\\n CATESBY. My lord?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Send out a pursuivant-at-arms\\r\\n To Stanley\\'s regiment; bid him bring his power\\r\\n Before sunrising, lest his son George fall\\r\\n Into the blind cave of eternal night. Exit CATESBY\\r\\n Fill me a bowl of wine. Give me a watch.\\r\\n Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow.\\r\\n Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy.\\r\\n Ratcliff!\\r\\n RATCLIFF. My lord?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Saw\\'st thou the melancholy Lord\\r\\n Northumberland?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Thomas the Earl of Surrey and himself,\\r\\n Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop\\r\\n Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. So, I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine.\\r\\n I have not that alacrity of spirit\\r\\n Nor cheer of mind that I was wont to have.\\r\\n Set it down. Is ink and paper ready?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. It is, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Bid my guard watch; leave me.\\r\\n RATCLIFF, about the mid of night come to my tent\\r\\n And help to arm me. Leave me, I say.\\r\\n Exit RATCLIFF. RICHARD sleeps\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DERBY to RICHMOND in his tent;\\r\\n LORDS attending\\r\\n\\r\\n DERBY. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm!\\r\\n RICHMOND. All comfort that the dark night can afford\\r\\n Be to thy person, noble father-in-law!\\r\\n Tell me, how fares our loving mother?\\r\\n DERBY. I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother,\\r\\n Who prays continually for Richmond\\'s good.\\r\\n So much for that. The silent hours steal on,\\r\\n And flaky darkness breaks within the east.\\r\\n In brief, for so the season bids us be,\\r\\n Prepare thy battle early in the morning,\\r\\n And put thy fortune to the arbitrement\\r\\n Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war.\\r\\n I, as I may-that which I would I cannot-\\r\\n With best advantage will deceive the time\\r\\n And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms;\\r\\n But on thy side I may not be too forward,\\r\\n Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George,\\r\\n Be executed in his father\\'s sight.\\r\\n Farewell; the leisure and the fearful time\\r\\n Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love\\r\\n And ample interchange of sweet discourse\\r\\n Which so-long-sund\\'red friends should dwell upon.\\r\\n God give us leisure for these rites of love!\\r\\n Once more, adieu; be valiant, and speed well!\\r\\n RICHMOND. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment.\\r\\n I\\'ll strive with troubled thoughts to take a nap,\\r\\n Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow\\r\\n When I should mount with wings of victory.\\r\\n Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen.\\r\\n Exeunt all but RICHMOND\\r\\n O Thou, whose captain I account myself,\\r\\n Look on my forces with a gracious eye;\\r\\n Put in their hands Thy bruising irons of wrath,\\r\\n That they may crush down with a heavy fall\\r\\n The usurping helmets of our adversaries!\\r\\n Make us Thy ministers of chastisement,\\r\\n That we may praise Thee in the victory!\\r\\n To Thee I do commend my watchful soul\\r\\n Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes.\\r\\n Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still! [Sleeps]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST Of YOUNG PRINCE EDWARD,\\r\\n son to HENRY THE SIXTH\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] Let me sit heavy on thy soul\\r\\n to-morrow!\\r\\n Think how thou stabb\\'dst me in my prime of youth\\r\\n At Tewksbury; despair, therefore, and die!\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Be cheerful, Richmond; for the wronged\\r\\n souls\\r\\n Of butcher\\'d princes fight in thy behalf.\\r\\n King Henry\\'s issue, Richmond, comforts thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST of HENRY THE SIXTH\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] When I was mortal, my anointed\\r\\n body\\r\\n By thee was punched full of deadly holes.\\r\\n Think on the Tower and me. Despair, and die.\\r\\n Harry the Sixth bids thee despair and die.\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror!\\r\\n Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be King,\\r\\n Doth comfort thee in thy sleep. Live and flourish!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST of CLARENCE\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] Let me sit heavy in thy soul\\r\\n to-morrow! I that was wash\\'d to death with fulsome wine,\\r\\n Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray\\'d to death!\\r\\n To-morrow in the battle think on me,\\r\\n And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die!\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster,\\r\\n The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee.\\r\\n Good angels guard thy battle! Live and flourish!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOSTS of RIVERS, GREY, and VAUGHAN\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST OF RIVERS. [To RICHARD] Let me sit heavy in thy\\r\\n soul to-morrow,\\r\\n Rivers that died at Pomfret! Despair and die!\\r\\n GHOST OF GREY. [To RICHARD] Think upon Grey, and let\\r\\n thy soul despair!\\r\\n GHOST OF VAUGHAN. [To RICHARD] Think upon Vaughan,\\r\\n and with guilty fear\\r\\n Let fall thy lance. Despair and die!\\r\\n ALL. [To RICHMOND] Awake, and think our wrongs in\\r\\n Richard\\'s bosom\\r\\n Will conquer him. Awake and win the day.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST of HASTINGS\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake,\\r\\n And in a bloody battle end thy days!\\r\\n Think on Lord Hastings. Despair and die.\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake!\\r\\n Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England\\'s sake!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOSTS of the two young PRINCES\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOSTS. [To RICHARD] Dream on thy cousins smothered in\\r\\n the Tower.\\r\\n Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard,\\r\\n And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death!\\r\\n Thy nephews\\' souls bid thee despair and die.\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and\\r\\n wake in joy;\\r\\n Good angels guard thee from the boar\\'s annoy!\\r\\n Live, and beget a happy race of kings!\\r\\n Edward\\'s unhappy sons do bid thee flourish.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST of LADY ANNE, his wife\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] Richard, thy wife, that wretched\\r\\n Anne thy wife\\r\\n That never slept a quiet hour with thee\\r\\n Now fills thy sleep with perturbations.\\r\\n To-morrow in the battle think on me,\\r\\n And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die.\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep;\\r\\n Dream of success and happy victory.\\r\\n Thy adversary\\'s wife doth pray for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST of BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] The first was I that help\\'d thee\\r\\n to the crown;\\r\\n The last was I that felt thy tyranny.\\r\\n O, in the battle think on Buckingham,\\r\\n And die in terror of thy guiltiness!\\r\\n Dream on, dream on of bloody deeds and death;\\r\\n Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath!\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] I died for hope ere I could lend thee aid;\\r\\n But cheer thy heart and be thou not dismay\\'d:\\r\\n God and good angels fight on Richmond\\'s side;\\r\\n And Richard falls in height of all his pride.\\r\\n [The GHOSTS vanish. RICHARD starts out of his dream]\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Give me another horse. Bind up my wounds.\\r\\n Have mercy, Jesu! Soft! I did but dream.\\r\\n O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!\\r\\n The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.\\r\\n Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.\\r\\n What do I fear? Myself? There\\'s none else by.\\r\\n Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.\\r\\n Is there a murderer here? No-yes, I am.\\r\\n Then fly. What, from myself? Great reason why-\\r\\n Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself!\\r\\n Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? For any good\\r\\n That I myself have done unto myself?\\r\\n O, no! Alas, I rather hate myself\\r\\n For hateful deeds committed by myself!\\r\\n I am a villain; yet I lie, I am not.\\r\\n Fool, of thyself speak well. Fool, do not flatter.\\r\\n My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,\\r\\n And every tongue brings in a several tale,\\r\\n And every tale condemns me for a villain.\\r\\n Perjury, perjury, in the high\\'st degree;\\r\\n Murder, stern murder, in the dir\\'st degree;\\r\\n All several sins, all us\\'d in each degree,\\r\\n Throng to the bar, crying all \\'Guilty! guilty!\\'\\r\\n I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;\\r\\n And if I die no soul will pity me:\\r\\n And wherefore should they, since that I myself\\r\\n Find in myself no pity to myself?\\r\\n Methought the souls of all that I had murder\\'d\\r\\n Came to my tent, and every one did threat\\r\\n To-morrow\\'s vengeance on the head of Richard.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter RATCLIFF\\r\\n\\r\\n RATCLIFF. My lord!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Zounds, who is there?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Ratcliff, my lord; \\'tis I. The early village-cock\\r\\n Hath twice done salutation to the morn;\\r\\n Your friends are up and buckle on their armour.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O Ratcliff, I have dream\\'d a fearful dream!\\r\\n What think\\'st thou-will our friends prove all true?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. No doubt, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O Ratcliff, I fear, I fear.\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows.\\r\\n KING RICHARD By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night\\r\\n Have stuck more terror to the soul of Richard\\r\\n Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers\\r\\n Armed in proof and led by shallow Richmond.\\r\\n \\'Tis not yet near day. Come, go with me;\\r\\n Under our tents I\\'ll play the eaves-dropper,\\r\\n To see if any mean to shrink from me. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the LORDS to RICHMOND sitting in his tent\\r\\n\\r\\n LORDS. Good morrow, Richmond!\\r\\n RICHMOND. Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen,\\r\\n That you have ta\\'en a tardy sluggard here.\\r\\n LORDS. How have you slept, my lord?\\r\\n RICHMOND. The sweetest sleep and fairest-boding dreams\\r\\n That ever ent\\'red in a drowsy head\\r\\n Have I since your departure had, my lords.\\r\\n Methought their souls whose bodies Richard murder\\'d\\r\\n Came to my tent and cried on victory.\\r\\n I promise you my soul is very jocund\\r\\n In the remembrance of so fair a dream.\\r\\n How far into the morning is it, lords?\\r\\n LORDS. Upon the stroke of four.\\r\\n RICHMOND. Why, then \\'tis time to arm and give direction.\\r\\n\\r\\n His ORATION to his SOLDIERS\\r\\n\\r\\n More than I have said, loving countrymen,\\r\\n The leisure and enforcement of the time\\r\\n Forbids to dwell upon; yet remember this:\\r\\n God and our good cause fight upon our side;\\r\\n The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls,\\r\\n Like high-rear\\'d bulwarks, stand before our faces;\\r\\n Richard except, those whom we fight against\\r\\n Had rather have us win than him they follow.\\r\\n For what is he they follow? Truly, gentlemen,\\r\\n A bloody tyrant and a homicide;\\r\\n One rais\\'d in blood, and one in blood establish\\'d;\\r\\n One that made means to come by what he hath,\\r\\n And slaughtered those that were the means to help him;\\r\\n A base foul stone, made precious by the foil\\r\\n Of England\\'s chair, where he is falsely set;\\r\\n One that hath ever been God\\'s enemy.\\r\\n Then if you fight against God\\'s enemy,\\r\\n God will in justice ward you as his soldiers;\\r\\n If you do sweat to put a tyrant down,\\r\\n You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain;\\r\\n If you do fight against your country\\'s foes,\\r\\n Your country\\'s foes shall pay your pains the hire;\\r\\n If you do fight in safeguard of your wives,\\r\\n Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors;\\r\\n If you do free your children from the sword,\\r\\n Your children\\'s children quits it in your age.\\r\\n Then, in the name of God and all these rights,\\r\\n Advance your standards, draw your willing swords.\\r\\n For me, the ransom of my bold attempt\\r\\n Shall be this cold corpse on the earth\\'s cold face;\\r\\n But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt\\r\\n The least of you shall share his part thereof.\\r\\n Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully;\\r\\n God and Saint George! Richmond and victory! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter KING RICHARD, RATCLIFF, attendants,\\r\\n and forces\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What said Northumberland as touching\\r\\n Richmond?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. That he was never trained up in arms.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. He said the truth; and what said Surrey\\r\\n then?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. He smil\\'d, and said \\'The better for our purpose.\\'\\r\\n KING He was in the right; and so indeed it is.\\r\\n [Clock strikes]\\r\\n Tell the clock there. Give me a calendar.\\r\\n Who saw the sun to-day?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Not I, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then he disdains to shine; for by the book\\r\\n He should have brav\\'d the east an hour ago.\\r\\n A black day will it be to somebody.\\r\\n Ratcliff!\\r\\n RATCLIFF. My lord?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. The sun will not be seen to-day;\\r\\n The sky doth frown and lour upon our army.\\r\\n I would these dewy tears were from the ground.\\r\\n Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me\\r\\n More than to Richmond? For the selfsame heaven\\r\\n That frowns on me looks sadly upon him.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NORFOLK\\r\\n\\r\\n NORFOLK. Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Come, bustle, bustle; caparison my horse;\\r\\n Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power.\\r\\n I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain,\\r\\n And thus my battle shall be ordered:\\r\\n My foreward shall be drawn out all in length,\\r\\n Consisting equally of horse and foot;\\r\\n Our archers shall be placed in the midst.\\r\\n John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey,\\r\\n Shall have the leading of this foot and horse.\\r\\n They thus directed, we will follow\\r\\n In the main battle, whose puissance on either side\\r\\n Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse.\\r\\n This, and Saint George to boot! What think\\'st thou,\\r\\n Norfolk?\\r\\n NORFOLK. A good direction, warlike sovereign.\\r\\n This found I on my tent this morning.\\r\\n [He sheweth him a paper]\\r\\n KING RICHARD. [Reads]\\r\\n \\'Jockey of Norfolk, be not so bold,\\r\\n For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.\\'\\r\\n A thing devised by the enemy.\\r\\n Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge.\\r\\n Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls;\\r\\n Conscience is but a word that cowards use,\\r\\n Devis\\'d at first to keep the strong in awe.\\r\\n Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law.\\r\\n March on, join bravely, let us to it pell-mell;\\r\\n If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.\\r\\n\\r\\n His ORATION to his ARMY\\r\\n\\r\\n What shall I say more than I have inferr\\'d?\\r\\n Remember whom you are to cope withal-\\r\\n A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways,\\r\\n A scum of Britaines, and base lackey peasants,\\r\\n Whom their o\\'er-cloyed country vomits forth\\r\\n To desperate adventures and assur\\'d destruction.\\r\\n You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest;\\r\\n You having lands, and bless\\'d with beauteous wives,\\r\\n They would restrain the one, distain the other.\\r\\n And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow,\\r\\n Long kept in Britaine at our mother\\'s cost?\\r\\n A milk-sop, one that never in his life\\r\\n Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow?\\r\\n Let\\'s whip these stragglers o\\'er the seas again;\\r\\n Lash hence these over-weening rags of France,\\r\\n These famish\\'d beggars, weary of their lives;\\r\\n Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit,\\r\\n For want of means, poor rats, had hang\\'d themselves.\\r\\n If we be conquered, let men conquer us,\\r\\n And not these bastard Britaines, whom our fathers\\r\\n Have in their own land beaten, bobb\\'d, and thump\\'d,\\r\\n And, in record, left them the heirs of shame.\\r\\n Shall these enjoy our lands? lie with our wives,\\r\\n Ravish our daughters? [Drum afar off] Hark! I hear their\\r\\n drum.\\r\\n Fight, gentlemen of England! Fight, bold yeomen!\\r\\n Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head!\\r\\n Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood;\\r\\n Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n What says Lord Stanley? Will he bring his power?\\r\\n MESSENGER. My lord, he doth deny to come.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Off with his son George\\'s head!\\r\\n NORFOLK. My lord, the enemy is pass\\'d the marsh.\\r\\n After the battle let George Stanley die.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. A thousand hearts are great within my\\r\\n bosom.\\r\\n Advance our standards, set upon our foes;\\r\\n Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George,\\r\\n Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!\\r\\n Upon them! Victory sits on our helms. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnother part of the field\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum; excursions. Enter NORFOLK and forces; to him CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n CATESBY. Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue!\\r\\n The King enacts more wonders than a man,\\r\\n Daring an opposite to every danger.\\r\\n His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights,\\r\\n Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death.\\r\\n Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarums. Enter KING RICHARD\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!\\r\\n CATESBY. Withdraw, my lord! I\\'ll help you to a horse.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast\\r\\n And I Will stand the hazard of the die.\\r\\n I think there be six Richmonds in the field;\\r\\n Five have I slain to-day instead of him.\\r\\n A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnother part of the field\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum. Enter RICHARD and RICHMOND; they fight; RICHARD is slain.\\r\\nRetreat and flourish. Enter RICHMOND, DERBY bearing the crown, with\\r\\nother LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n RICHMOND. God and your arms be prais\\'d, victorious friends;\\r\\n The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead.\\r\\n DERBY. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee!\\r\\n Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty\\r\\n From the dead temples of this bloody wretch\\r\\n Have I pluck\\'d off, to grace thy brows withal.\\r\\n Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it.\\r\\n RICHMOND. Great God of heaven, say Amen to all!\\r\\n But, teLL me is young George Stanley living.\\r\\n DERBY. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town,\\r\\n Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us.\\r\\n RICHMOND. What men of name are slain on either side?\\r\\n DERBY. John Duke of Norfolk, Walter Lord Ferrers,\\r\\n Sir Robert Brakenbury, and Sir William Brandon.\\r\\n RICHMOND. Inter their bodies as becomes their births.\\r\\n Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled\\r\\n That in submission will return to us.\\r\\n And then, as we have ta\\'en the sacrament,\\r\\n We will unite the white rose and the red.\\r\\n Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction,\\r\\n That long have frown\\'d upon their emnity!\\r\\n What traitor hears me, and says not Amen?\\r\\n England hath long been mad, and scarr\\'d herself;\\r\\n The brother blindly shed the brother\\'s blood,\\r\\n The father rashly slaughter\\'d his own son,\\r\\n The son, compell\\'d, been butcher to the sire;\\r\\n All this divided York and Lancaster,\\r\\n Divided in their dire division,\\r\\n O, now let Richmond and Elizabeth,\\r\\n The true succeeders of each royal house,\\r\\n By God\\'s fair ordinance conjoin together!\\r\\n And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so,\\r\\n Enrich the time to come with smooth-fac\\'d peace,\\r\\n With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days!\\r\\n Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord,\\r\\n That would reduce these bloody days again\\r\\n And make poor England weep in streams of blood!\\r\\n Let them not live to taste this land\\'s increase\\r\\n That would with treason wound this fair land\\'s peace!\\r\\n Now civil wounds are stopp\\'d, peace lives again-\\r\\n That she may long live here, God say Amen! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE TRAGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE PROLOGUE.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. A public place.\\r\\nScene II. A Street.\\r\\nScene III. Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\nScene IV. A Street.\\r\\nScene V. A Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nScene I. An open place adjoining Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\nScene II. Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\nScene III. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\nScene IV. A Street.\\r\\nScene V. Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\nScene VI. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. A public Place.\\r\\nScene II. A Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\nScene III. Friar Lawrence’s cell.\\r\\nScene IV. A Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\nScene V. An open Gallery to Juliet’s Chamber, overlooking the Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\nScene II. Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\nScene III. Juliet’s Chamber.\\r\\nScene IV. Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\nScene V. Juliet’s Chamber; Juliet on the bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Mantua. A Street.\\r\\nScene II. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\nScene III. A churchyard; in it a Monument belonging to the Capulets.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nESCALUS, Prince of Verona.\\r\\nMERCUTIO, kinsman to the Prince, and friend to Romeo.\\r\\nPARIS, a young Nobleman, kinsman to the Prince.\\r\\nPage to Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE, head of a Veronese family at feud with the Capulets.\\r\\nLADY MONTAGUE, wife to Montague.\\r\\nROMEO, son to Montague.\\r\\nBENVOLIO, nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo.\\r\\nABRAM, servant to Montague.\\r\\nBALTHASAR, servant to Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET, head of a Veronese family at feud with the Montagues.\\r\\nLADY CAPULET, wife to Capulet.\\r\\nJULIET, daughter to Capulet.\\r\\nTYBALT, nephew to Lady Capulet.\\r\\nCAPULET’S COUSIN, an old man.\\r\\nNURSE to Juliet.\\r\\nPETER, servant to Juliet’s Nurse.\\r\\nSAMPSON, servant to Capulet.\\r\\nGREGORY, servant to Capulet.\\r\\nServants.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE, a Franciscan.\\r\\nFRIAR JOHN, of the same Order.\\r\\nAn Apothecary.\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nThree Musicians.\\r\\nAn Officer.\\r\\nCitizens of Verona; several Men and Women, relations to both houses;\\r\\nMaskers, Guards, Watchmen and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE. During the greater part of the Play in Verona; once, in the\\r\\nFifth Act, at Mantua.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE PROLOGUE\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nTwo households, both alike in dignity,\\r\\nIn fair Verona, where we lay our scene,\\r\\nFrom ancient grudge break to new mutiny,\\r\\nWhere civil blood makes civil hands unclean.\\r\\nFrom forth the fatal loins of these two foes\\r\\nA pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life;\\r\\nWhose misadventur’d piteous overthrows\\r\\nDoth with their death bury their parents’ strife.\\r\\nThe fearful passage of their death-mark’d love,\\r\\nAnd the continuance of their parents’ rage,\\r\\nWhich, but their children’s end, nought could remove,\\r\\nIs now the two hours’ traffic of our stage;\\r\\nThe which, if you with patient ears attend,\\r\\nWhat here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A public place.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sampson and Gregory armed with swords and bucklers.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nGregory, on my word, we’ll not carry coals.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nNo, for then we should be colliers.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nI mean, if we be in choler, we’ll draw.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nAy, while you live, draw your neck out o’ the collar.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nI strike quickly, being moved.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nBut thou art not quickly moved to strike.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nA dog of the house of Montague moves me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nTo move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if thou\\r\\nart moved, thou runn’st away.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nA dog of that house shall move me to stand.\\r\\nI will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nThat shows thee a weak slave, for the weakest goes to the wall.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nTrue, and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to\\r\\nthe wall: therefore I will push Montague’s men from the wall, and\\r\\nthrust his maids to the wall.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nThe quarrel is between our masters and us their men.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\n’Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the\\r\\nmen I will be civil with the maids, I will cut off their heads.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nThe heads of the maids?\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nAy, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense\\r\\nthou wilt.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nThey must take it in sense that feel it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nMe they shall feel while I am able to stand: and ’tis known I am a\\r\\npretty piece of flesh.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\n’Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John.\\r\\nDraw thy tool; here comes of the house of Montagues.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Abram and Balthasar.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nMy naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nHow? Turn thy back and run?\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nFear me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nNo, marry; I fear thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nLet us take the law of our sides; let them begin.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nI will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nNay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them, which is disgrace to\\r\\nthem if they bear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nABRAM.\\r\\nDo you bite your thumb at us, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nI do bite my thumb, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nABRAM.\\r\\nDo you bite your thumb at us, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nIs the law of our side if I say ay?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nNo sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nDo you quarrel, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nABRAM.\\r\\nQuarrel, sir? No, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nBut if you do, sir, am for you. I serve as good a man as you.\\r\\n\\r\\nABRAM.\\r\\nNo better.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nWell, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nSay better; here comes one of my master’s kinsmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nYes, better, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nABRAM.\\r\\nYou lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nDraw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy washing blow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nPart, fools! put up your swords, you know not what you do.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Beats down their swords._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Tybalt.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nWhat, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?\\r\\nTurn thee Benvolio, look upon thy death.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nI do but keep the peace, put up thy sword,\\r\\nOr manage it to part these men with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nWhat, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word\\r\\nAs I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:\\r\\nHave at thee, coward.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter three or four Citizens with clubs.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nClubs, bills and partisans! Strike! Beat them down!\\r\\nDown with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet in his gown, and Lady Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhat noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nA crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a sword?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nMy sword, I say! Old Montague is come,\\r\\nAnd flourishes his blade in spite of me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Montague and his Lady Montague.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nThou villain Capulet! Hold me not, let me go.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MONTAGUE.\\r\\nThou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Prince Escalus, with Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nRebellious subjects, enemies to peace,\\r\\nProfaners of this neighbour-stained steel,—\\r\\nWill they not hear? What, ho! You men, you beasts,\\r\\nThat quench the fire of your pernicious rage\\r\\nWith purple fountains issuing from your veins,\\r\\nOn pain of torture, from those bloody hands\\r\\nThrow your mistemper’d weapons to the ground\\r\\nAnd hear the sentence of your moved prince.\\r\\nThree civil brawls, bred of an airy word,\\r\\nBy thee, old Capulet, and Montague,\\r\\nHave thrice disturb’d the quiet of our streets,\\r\\nAnd made Verona’s ancient citizens\\r\\nCast by their grave beseeming ornaments,\\r\\nTo wield old partisans, in hands as old,\\r\\nCanker’d with peace, to part your canker’d hate.\\r\\nIf ever you disturb our streets again,\\r\\nYour lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.\\r\\nFor this time all the rest depart away:\\r\\nYou, Capulet, shall go along with me,\\r\\nAnd Montague, come you this afternoon,\\r\\nTo know our farther pleasure in this case,\\r\\nTo old Free-town, our common judgement-place.\\r\\nOnce more, on pain of death, all men depart.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Prince and Attendants; Capulet, Lady Capulet, Tybalt,\\r\\n Citizens and Servants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nWho set this ancient quarrel new abroach?\\r\\nSpeak, nephew, were you by when it began?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nHere were the servants of your adversary\\r\\nAnd yours, close fighting ere I did approach.\\r\\nI drew to part them, in the instant came\\r\\nThe fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar’d,\\r\\nWhich, as he breath’d defiance to my ears,\\r\\nHe swung about his head, and cut the winds,\\r\\nWho nothing hurt withal, hiss’d him in scorn.\\r\\nWhile we were interchanging thrusts and blows\\r\\nCame more and more, and fought on part and part,\\r\\nTill the Prince came, who parted either part.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MONTAGUE.\\r\\nO where is Romeo, saw you him today?\\r\\nRight glad I am he was not at this fray.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nMadam, an hour before the worshipp’d sun\\r\\nPeer’d forth the golden window of the east,\\r\\nA troubled mind drave me to walk abroad,\\r\\nWhere underneath the grove of sycamore\\r\\nThat westward rooteth from this city side,\\r\\nSo early walking did I see your son.\\r\\nTowards him I made, but he was ware of me,\\r\\nAnd stole into the covert of the wood.\\r\\nI, measuring his affections by my own,\\r\\nWhich then most sought where most might not be found,\\r\\nBeing one too many by my weary self,\\r\\nPursu’d my humour, not pursuing his,\\r\\nAnd gladly shunn’d who gladly fled from me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nMany a morning hath he there been seen,\\r\\nWith tears augmenting the fresh morning’s dew,\\r\\nAdding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;\\r\\nBut all so soon as the all-cheering sun\\r\\nShould in the farthest east begin to draw\\r\\nThe shady curtains from Aurora’s bed,\\r\\nAway from light steals home my heavy son,\\r\\nAnd private in his chamber pens himself,\\r\\nShuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out\\r\\nAnd makes himself an artificial night.\\r\\nBlack and portentous must this humour prove,\\r\\nUnless good counsel may the cause remove.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nMy noble uncle, do you know the cause?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nI neither know it nor can learn of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nHave you importun’d him by any means?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nBoth by myself and many other friends;\\r\\nBut he, his own affections’ counsellor,\\r\\nIs to himself—I will not say how true—\\r\\nBut to himself so secret and so close,\\r\\nSo far from sounding and discovery,\\r\\nAs is the bud bit with an envious worm\\r\\nEre he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,\\r\\nOr dedicate his beauty to the sun.\\r\\nCould we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,\\r\\nWe would as willingly give cure as know.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nSee, where he comes. So please you step aside;\\r\\nI’ll know his grievance or be much denied.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nI would thou wert so happy by thy stay\\r\\nTo hear true shrift. Come, madam, let’s away,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Montague and Lady Montague._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nGood morrow, cousin.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIs the day so young?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nBut new struck nine.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAy me, sad hours seem long.\\r\\nWas that my father that went hence so fast?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nIt was. What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNot having that which, having, makes them short.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nIn love?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nOut.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nOf love?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nOut of her favour where I am in love.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAlas that love so gentle in his view,\\r\\nShould be so tyrannous and rough in proof.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAlas that love, whose view is muffled still,\\r\\nShould, without eyes, see pathways to his will!\\r\\nWhere shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?\\r\\nYet tell me not, for I have heard it all.\\r\\nHere’s much to do with hate, but more with love:\\r\\nWhy, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!\\r\\nO anything, of nothing first create!\\r\\nO heavy lightness! serious vanity!\\r\\nMisshapen chaos of well-seeming forms!\\r\\nFeather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!\\r\\nStill-waking sleep, that is not what it is!\\r\\nThis love feel I, that feel no love in this.\\r\\nDost thou not laugh?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nNo coz, I rather weep.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGood heart, at what?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAt thy good heart’s oppression.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhy such is love’s transgression.\\r\\nGriefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,\\r\\nWhich thou wilt propagate to have it prest\\r\\nWith more of thine. This love that thou hast shown\\r\\nDoth add more grief to too much of mine own.\\r\\nLove is a smoke made with the fume of sighs;\\r\\nBeing purg’d, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes;\\r\\nBeing vex’d, a sea nourish’d with lovers’ tears:\\r\\nWhat is it else? A madness most discreet,\\r\\nA choking gall, and a preserving sweet.\\r\\nFarewell, my coz.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Going._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nSoft! I will go along:\\r\\nAnd if you leave me so, you do me wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nTut! I have lost myself; I am not here.\\r\\nThis is not Romeo, he’s some other where.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nTell me in sadness who is that you love?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat, shall I groan and tell thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nGroan! Why, no; but sadly tell me who.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBid a sick man in sadness make his will,\\r\\nA word ill urg’d to one that is so ill.\\r\\nIn sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nI aim’d so near when I suppos’d you lov’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nA right good markman, and she’s fair I love.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nA right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWell, in that hit you miss: she’ll not be hit\\r\\nWith Cupid’s arrow, she hath Dian’s wit;\\r\\nAnd in strong proof of chastity well arm’d,\\r\\nFrom love’s weak childish bow she lives uncharm’d.\\r\\nShe will not stay the siege of loving terms\\r\\nNor bide th’encounter of assailing eyes,\\r\\nNor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:\\r\\nO she’s rich in beauty, only poor\\r\\nThat when she dies, with beauty dies her store.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThen she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nShe hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste;\\r\\nFor beauty starv’d with her severity,\\r\\nCuts beauty off from all posterity.\\r\\nShe is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair,\\r\\nTo merit bliss by making me despair.\\r\\nShe hath forsworn to love, and in that vow\\r\\nDo I live dead, that live to tell it now.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nBe rul’d by me, forget to think of her.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO teach me how I should forget to think.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nBy giving liberty unto thine eyes;\\r\\nExamine other beauties.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\n’Tis the way\\r\\nTo call hers, exquisite, in question more.\\r\\nThese happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows,\\r\\nBeing black, puts us in mind they hide the fair;\\r\\nHe that is strucken blind cannot forget\\r\\nThe precious treasure of his eyesight lost.\\r\\nShow me a mistress that is passing fair,\\r\\nWhat doth her beauty serve but as a note\\r\\nWhere I may read who pass’d that passing fair?\\r\\nFarewell, thou canst not teach me to forget.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nI’ll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet, Paris and Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nBut Montague is bound as well as I,\\r\\nIn penalty alike; and ’tis not hard, I think,\\r\\nFor men so old as we to keep the peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nOf honourable reckoning are you both,\\r\\nAnd pity ’tis you liv’d at odds so long.\\r\\nBut now my lord, what say you to my suit?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nBut saying o’er what I have said before.\\r\\nMy child is yet a stranger in the world,\\r\\nShe hath not seen the change of fourteen years;\\r\\nLet two more summers wither in their pride\\r\\nEre we may think her ripe to be a bride.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nYounger than she are happy mothers made.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nAnd too soon marr’d are those so early made.\\r\\nThe earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she,\\r\\nShe is the hopeful lady of my earth:\\r\\nBut woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,\\r\\nMy will to her consent is but a part;\\r\\nAnd she agree, within her scope of choice\\r\\nLies my consent and fair according voice.\\r\\nThis night I hold an old accustom’d feast,\\r\\nWhereto I have invited many a guest,\\r\\nSuch as I love, and you among the store,\\r\\nOne more, most welcome, makes my number more.\\r\\nAt my poor house look to behold this night\\r\\nEarth-treading stars that make dark heaven light:\\r\\nSuch comfort as do lusty young men feel\\r\\nWhen well apparell’d April on the heel\\r\\nOf limping winter treads, even such delight\\r\\nAmong fresh female buds shall you this night\\r\\nInherit at my house. Hear all, all see,\\r\\nAnd like her most whose merit most shall be:\\r\\nWhich, on more view of many, mine, being one,\\r\\nMay stand in number, though in reckoning none.\\r\\nCome, go with me. Go, sirrah, trudge about\\r\\nThrough fair Verona; find those persons out\\r\\nWhose names are written there, [_gives a paper_] and to them say,\\r\\nMy house and welcome on their pleasure stay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Capulet and Paris._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nFind them out whose names are written here! It is written that the\\r\\nshoemaker should meddle with his yard and the tailor with his last, the\\r\\nfisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to\\r\\nfind those persons whose names are here writ, and can never find what\\r\\nnames the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned. In good\\r\\ntime!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benvolio and Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nTut, man, one fire burns out another’s burning,\\r\\nOne pain is lessen’d by another’s anguish;\\r\\nTurn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;\\r\\nOne desperate grief cures with another’s languish:\\r\\nTake thou some new infection to thy eye,\\r\\nAnd the rank poison of the old will die.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nYour plantain leaf is excellent for that.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nFor what, I pray thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nFor your broken shin.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nWhy, Romeo, art thou mad?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNot mad, but bound more than a madman is:\\r\\nShut up in prison, kept without my food,\\r\\nWhipp’d and tormented and—God-den, good fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nGod gi’ go-den. I pray, sir, can you read?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAy, mine own fortune in my misery.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nPerhaps you have learned it without book.\\r\\nBut I pray, can you read anything you see?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAy, If I know the letters and the language.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nYe say honestly, rest you merry!\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nStay, fellow; I can read.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He reads the letter._]\\r\\n\\r\\n_Signior Martino and his wife and daughters;\\r\\nCounty Anselmo and his beauteous sisters;\\r\\nThe lady widow of Utruvio;\\r\\nSignior Placentio and his lovely nieces;\\r\\nMercutio and his brother Valentine;\\r\\nMine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters;\\r\\nMy fair niece Rosaline and Livia;\\r\\nSignior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt;\\r\\nLucio and the lively Helena. _\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nA fair assembly. [_Gives back the paper_] Whither should they come?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nUp.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhither to supper?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nTo our house.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhose house?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMy master’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIndeed I should have ask’d you that before.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nNow I’ll tell you without asking. My master is the great rich Capulet,\\r\\nand if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray come and crush a\\r\\ncup of wine. Rest you merry.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAt this same ancient feast of Capulet’s\\r\\nSups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lov’st;\\r\\nWith all the admired beauties of Verona.\\r\\nGo thither and with unattainted eye,\\r\\nCompare her face with some that I shall show,\\r\\nAnd I will make thee think thy swan a crow.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhen the devout religion of mine eye\\r\\nMaintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fire;\\r\\nAnd these who, often drown’d, could never die,\\r\\nTransparent heretics, be burnt for liars.\\r\\nOne fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun\\r\\nNe’er saw her match since first the world begun.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nTut, you saw her fair, none else being by,\\r\\nHerself pois’d with herself in either eye:\\r\\nBut in that crystal scales let there be weigh’d\\r\\nYour lady’s love against some other maid\\r\\nThat I will show you shining at this feast,\\r\\nAnd she shall scant show well that now shows best.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI’ll go along, no such sight to be shown,\\r\\nBut to rejoice in splendour of my own.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nNurse, where’s my daughter? Call her forth to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNow, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old,\\r\\nI bade her come. What, lamb! What ladybird!\\r\\nGod forbid! Where’s this girl? What, Juliet!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHow now, who calls?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nYour mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nMadam, I am here. What is your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nThis is the matter. Nurse, give leave awhile,\\r\\nWe must talk in secret. Nurse, come back again,\\r\\nI have remember’d me, thou’s hear our counsel.\\r\\nThou knowest my daughter’s of a pretty age.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nFaith, I can tell her age unto an hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nShe’s not fourteen.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI’ll lay fourteen of my teeth,\\r\\nAnd yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four,\\r\\nShe is not fourteen. How long is it now\\r\\nTo Lammas-tide?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nA fortnight and odd days.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nEven or odd, of all days in the year,\\r\\nCome Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen.\\r\\nSusan and she,—God rest all Christian souls!—\\r\\nWere of an age. Well, Susan is with God;\\r\\nShe was too good for me. But as I said,\\r\\nOn Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen;\\r\\nThat shall she, marry; I remember it well.\\r\\n’Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;\\r\\nAnd she was wean’d,—I never shall forget it—,\\r\\nOf all the days of the year, upon that day:\\r\\nFor I had then laid wormwood to my dug,\\r\\nSitting in the sun under the dovehouse wall;\\r\\nMy lord and you were then at Mantua:\\r\\nNay, I do bear a brain. But as I said,\\r\\nWhen it did taste the wormwood on the nipple\\r\\nOf my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool,\\r\\nTo see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug!\\r\\nShake, quoth the dovehouse: ’twas no need, I trow,\\r\\nTo bid me trudge.\\r\\nAnd since that time it is eleven years;\\r\\nFor then she could stand alone; nay, by th’rood\\r\\nShe could have run and waddled all about;\\r\\nFor even the day before she broke her brow,\\r\\nAnd then my husband,—God be with his soul!\\r\\nA was a merry man,—took up the child:\\r\\n‘Yea,’ quoth he, ‘dost thou fall upon thy face?\\r\\nThou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit;\\r\\nWilt thou not, Jule?’ and, by my holidame,\\r\\nThe pretty wretch left crying, and said ‘Ay’.\\r\\nTo see now how a jest shall come about.\\r\\nI warrant, and I should live a thousand years,\\r\\nI never should forget it. ‘Wilt thou not, Jule?’ quoth he;\\r\\nAnd, pretty fool, it stinted, and said ‘Ay.’\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nEnough of this; I pray thee hold thy peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nYes, madam, yet I cannot choose but laugh,\\r\\nTo think it should leave crying, and say ‘Ay’;\\r\\nAnd yet I warrant it had upon it brow\\r\\nA bump as big as a young cockerel’s stone;\\r\\nA perilous knock, and it cried bitterly.\\r\\n‘Yea,’ quoth my husband, ‘fall’st upon thy face?\\r\\nThou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age;\\r\\nWilt thou not, Jule?’ it stinted, and said ‘Ay’.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAnd stint thou too, I pray thee, Nurse, say I.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nPeace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace\\r\\nThou wast the prettiest babe that e’er I nurs’d:\\r\\nAnd I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nMarry, that marry is the very theme\\r\\nI came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet,\\r\\nHow stands your disposition to be married?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIt is an honour that I dream not of.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAn honour! Were not I thine only nurse,\\r\\nI would say thou hadst suck’d wisdom from thy teat.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWell, think of marriage now: younger than you,\\r\\nHere in Verona, ladies of esteem,\\r\\nAre made already mothers. By my count\\r\\nI was your mother much upon these years\\r\\nThat you are now a maid. Thus, then, in brief;\\r\\nThe valiant Paris seeks you for his love.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nA man, young lady! Lady, such a man\\r\\nAs all the world—why he’s a man of wax.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nVerona’s summer hath not such a flower.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNay, he’s a flower, in faith a very flower.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWhat say you, can you love the gentleman?\\r\\nThis night you shall behold him at our feast;\\r\\nRead o’er the volume of young Paris’ face,\\r\\nAnd find delight writ there with beauty’s pen.\\r\\nExamine every married lineament,\\r\\nAnd see how one another lends content;\\r\\nAnd what obscur’d in this fair volume lies,\\r\\nFind written in the margent of his eyes.\\r\\nThis precious book of love, this unbound lover,\\r\\nTo beautify him, only lacks a cover:\\r\\nThe fish lives in the sea; and ’tis much pride\\r\\nFor fair without the fair within to hide.\\r\\nThat book in many’s eyes doth share the glory,\\r\\nThat in gold clasps locks in the golden story;\\r\\nSo shall you share all that he doth possess,\\r\\nBy having him, making yourself no less.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNo less, nay bigger. Women grow by men.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nSpeak briefly, can you like of Paris’ love?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI’ll look to like, if looking liking move:\\r\\nBut no more deep will I endart mine eye\\r\\nThan your consent gives strength to make it fly.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMadam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called, my young lady\\r\\nasked for, the Nurse cursed in the pantry, and everything in extremity.\\r\\nI must hence to wait, I beseech you follow straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWe follow thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJuliet, the County stays.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nGo, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six Maskers;\\r\\n Torch-bearers and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?\\r\\nOr shall we on without apology?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThe date is out of such prolixity:\\r\\nWe’ll have no Cupid hoodwink’d with a scarf,\\r\\nBearing a Tartar’s painted bow of lath,\\r\\nScaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;\\r\\nNor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke\\r\\nAfter the prompter, for our entrance:\\r\\nBut let them measure us by what they will,\\r\\nWe’ll measure them a measure, and be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGive me a torch, I am not for this ambling;\\r\\nBeing but heavy I will bear the light.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNot I, believe me, you have dancing shoes,\\r\\nWith nimble soles, I have a soul of lead\\r\\nSo stakes me to the ground I cannot move.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nYou are a lover, borrow Cupid’s wings,\\r\\nAnd soar with them above a common bound.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI am too sore enpierced with his shaft\\r\\nTo soar with his light feathers, and so bound,\\r\\nI cannot bound a pitch above dull woe.\\r\\nUnder love’s heavy burden do I sink.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAnd, to sink in it, should you burden love;\\r\\nToo great oppression for a tender thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIs love a tender thing? It is too rough,\\r\\nToo rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nIf love be rough with you, be rough with love;\\r\\nPrick love for pricking, and you beat love down.\\r\\nGive me a case to put my visage in: [_Putting on a mask._]\\r\\nA visor for a visor. What care I\\r\\nWhat curious eye doth quote deformities?\\r\\nHere are the beetle-brows shall blush for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nCome, knock and enter; and no sooner in\\r\\nBut every man betake him to his legs.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nA torch for me: let wantons, light of heart,\\r\\nTickle the senseless rushes with their heels;\\r\\nFor I am proverb’d with a grandsire phrase,\\r\\nI’ll be a candle-holder and look on,\\r\\nThe game was ne’er so fair, and I am done.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nTut, dun’s the mouse, the constable’s own word:\\r\\nIf thou art dun, we’ll draw thee from the mire\\r\\nOr save your reverence love, wherein thou stickest\\r\\nUp to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNay, that’s not so.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nI mean sir, in delay\\r\\nWe waste our lights in vain, light lights by day.\\r\\nTake our good meaning, for our judgment sits\\r\\nFive times in that ere once in our five wits.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd we mean well in going to this mask;\\r\\nBut ’tis no wit to go.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nWhy, may one ask?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI dreamt a dream tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAnd so did I.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWell what was yours?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThat dreamers often lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIn bed asleep, while they do dream things true.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nO, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.\\r\\nShe is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes\\r\\nIn shape no bigger than an agate-stone\\r\\nOn the fore-finger of an alderman,\\r\\nDrawn with a team of little atomies\\r\\nOver men’s noses as they lie asleep:\\r\\nHer waggon-spokes made of long spinners’ legs;\\r\\nThe cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;\\r\\nHer traces, of the smallest spider’s web;\\r\\nThe collars, of the moonshine’s watery beams;\\r\\nHer whip of cricket’s bone; the lash, of film;\\r\\nHer waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat,\\r\\nNot half so big as a round little worm\\r\\nPrick’d from the lazy finger of a maid:\\r\\nHer chariot is an empty hazelnut,\\r\\nMade by the joiner squirrel or old grub,\\r\\nTime out o’ mind the fairies’ coachmakers.\\r\\nAnd in this state she gallops night by night\\r\\nThrough lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love;\\r\\nO’er courtiers’ knees, that dream on curtsies straight;\\r\\nO’er lawyers’ fingers, who straight dream on fees;\\r\\nO’er ladies’ lips, who straight on kisses dream,\\r\\nWhich oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,\\r\\nBecause their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:\\r\\nSometime she gallops o’er a courtier’s nose,\\r\\nAnd then dreams he of smelling out a suit;\\r\\nAnd sometime comes she with a tithe-pig’s tail,\\r\\nTickling a parson’s nose as a lies asleep,\\r\\nThen dreams he of another benefice:\\r\\nSometime she driveth o’er a soldier’s neck,\\r\\nAnd then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,\\r\\nOf breaches, ambuscados, Spanish blades,\\r\\nOf healths five fathom deep; and then anon\\r\\nDrums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes;\\r\\nAnd, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,\\r\\nAnd sleeps again. This is that very Mab\\r\\nThat plats the manes of horses in the night;\\r\\nAnd bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,\\r\\nWhich, once untangled, much misfortune bodes:\\r\\nThis is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,\\r\\nThat presses them, and learns them first to bear,\\r\\nMaking them women of good carriage:\\r\\nThis is she,—\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nPeace, peace, Mercutio, peace,\\r\\nThou talk’st of nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nTrue, I talk of dreams,\\r\\nWhich are the children of an idle brain,\\r\\nBegot of nothing but vain fantasy,\\r\\nWhich is as thin of substance as the air,\\r\\nAnd more inconstant than the wind, who wooes\\r\\nEven now the frozen bosom of the north,\\r\\nAnd, being anger’d, puffs away from thence,\\r\\nTurning his side to the dew-dropping south.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThis wind you talk of blows us from ourselves:\\r\\nSupper is done, and we shall come too late.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI fear too early: for my mind misgives\\r\\nSome consequence yet hanging in the stars,\\r\\nShall bitterly begin his fearful date\\r\\nWith this night’s revels; and expire the term\\r\\nOf a despised life, clos’d in my breast\\r\\nBy some vile forfeit of untimely death.\\r\\nBut he that hath the steerage of my course\\r\\nDirect my suit. On, lusty gentlemen!\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nStrike, drum.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. A Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Musicians waiting. Enter Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nWhere’s Potpan, that he helps not to take away?\\r\\nHe shift a trencher! He scrape a trencher!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nWhen good manners shall lie all in one or two men’s hands, and they\\r\\nunwash’d too, ’tis a foul thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nAway with the join-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the\\r\\nplate. Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and as thou loves me,\\r\\nlet the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. Antony and Potpan!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nAy, boy, ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nYou are looked for and called for, asked for and sought for, in the\\r\\ngreat chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nWe cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys. Be brisk awhile, and\\r\\nthe longer liver take all.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet, &c. with the Guests and Gentlewomen to the Maskers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWelcome, gentlemen, ladies that have their toes\\r\\nUnplagu’d with corns will have a bout with you.\\r\\nAh my mistresses, which of you all\\r\\nWill now deny to dance? She that makes dainty,\\r\\nShe I’ll swear hath corns. Am I come near ye now?\\r\\nWelcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day\\r\\nThat I have worn a visor, and could tell\\r\\nA whispering tale in a fair lady’s ear,\\r\\nSuch as would please; ’tis gone, ’tis gone, ’tis gone,\\r\\nYou are welcome, gentlemen! Come, musicians, play.\\r\\nA hall, a hall, give room! And foot it, girls.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music plays, and they dance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMore light, you knaves; and turn the tables up,\\r\\nAnd quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.\\r\\nAh sirrah, this unlook’d-for sport comes well.\\r\\nNay sit, nay sit, good cousin Capulet,\\r\\nFor you and I are past our dancing days;\\r\\nHow long is’t now since last yourself and I\\r\\nWere in a mask?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET’S COUSIN.\\r\\nBy’r Lady, thirty years.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhat, man, ’tis not so much, ’tis not so much:\\r\\n’Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio,\\r\\nCome Pentecost as quickly as it will,\\r\\nSome five and twenty years; and then we mask’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET’S COUSIN.\\r\\n’Tis more, ’tis more, his son is elder, sir;\\r\\nHis son is thirty.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWill you tell me that?\\r\\nHis son was but a ward two years ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat lady is that, which doth enrich the hand\\r\\nOf yonder knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI know not, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!\\r\\nIt seems she hangs upon the cheek of night\\r\\nAs a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear;\\r\\nBeauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!\\r\\nSo shows a snowy dove trooping with crows\\r\\nAs yonder lady o’er her fellows shows.\\r\\nThe measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand,\\r\\nAnd touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.\\r\\nDid my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight!\\r\\nFor I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nThis by his voice, should be a Montague.\\r\\nFetch me my rapier, boy. What, dares the slave\\r\\nCome hither, cover’d with an antic face,\\r\\nTo fleer and scorn at our solemnity?\\r\\nNow by the stock and honour of my kin,\\r\\nTo strike him dead I hold it not a sin.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhy how now, kinsman!\\r\\nWherefore storm you so?\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nUncle, this is a Montague, our foe;\\r\\nA villain that is hither come in spite,\\r\\nTo scorn at our solemnity this night.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nYoung Romeo, is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\n’Tis he, that villain Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nContent thee, gentle coz, let him alone,\\r\\nA bears him like a portly gentleman;\\r\\nAnd, to say truth, Verona brags of him\\r\\nTo be a virtuous and well-govern’d youth.\\r\\nI would not for the wealth of all the town\\r\\nHere in my house do him disparagement.\\r\\nTherefore be patient, take no note of him,\\r\\nIt is my will; the which if thou respect,\\r\\nShow a fair presence and put off these frowns,\\r\\nAn ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nIt fits when such a villain is a guest:\\r\\nI’ll not endure him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHe shall be endur’d.\\r\\nWhat, goodman boy! I say he shall, go to;\\r\\nAm I the master here, or you? Go to.\\r\\nYou’ll not endure him! God shall mend my soul,\\r\\nYou’ll make a mutiny among my guests!\\r\\nYou will set cock-a-hoop, you’ll be the man!\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nWhy, uncle, ’tis a shame.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nGo to, go to!\\r\\nYou are a saucy boy. Is’t so, indeed?\\r\\nThis trick may chance to scathe you, I know what.\\r\\nYou must contrary me! Marry, ’tis time.\\r\\nWell said, my hearts!—You are a princox; go:\\r\\nBe quiet, or—More light, more light!—For shame!\\r\\nI’ll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nPatience perforce with wilful choler meeting\\r\\nMakes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.\\r\\nI will withdraw: but this intrusion shall,\\r\\nNow seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\n[_To Juliet._] If I profane with my unworthiest hand\\r\\nThis holy shrine, the gentle sin is this,\\r\\nMy lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand\\r\\nTo smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGood pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,\\r\\nWhich mannerly devotion shows in this;\\r\\nFor saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,\\r\\nAnd palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHave not saints lips, and holy palmers too?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAy, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do:\\r\\nThey pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nSaints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThen move not while my prayer’s effect I take.\\r\\nThus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg’d.\\r\\n[_Kissing her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThen have my lips the sin that they have took.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg’d!\\r\\nGive me my sin again.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nYou kiss by the book.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMadam, your mother craves a word with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat is her mother?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMarry, bachelor,\\r\\nHer mother is the lady of the house,\\r\\nAnd a good lady, and a wise and virtuous.\\r\\nI nurs’d her daughter that you talk’d withal.\\r\\nI tell you, he that can lay hold of her\\r\\nShall have the chinks.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIs she a Capulet?\\r\\nO dear account! My life is my foe’s debt.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAway, be gone; the sport is at the best.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAy, so I fear; the more is my unrest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nNay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone,\\r\\nWe have a trifling foolish banquet towards.\\r\\nIs it e’en so? Why then, I thank you all;\\r\\nI thank you, honest gentlemen; good night.\\r\\nMore torches here! Come on then, let’s to bed.\\r\\nAh, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late,\\r\\nI’ll to my rest.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Juliet and Nurse._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nCome hither, Nurse. What is yond gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nThe son and heir of old Tiberio.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat’s he that now is going out of door?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMarry, that I think be young Petruchio.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat’s he that follows here, that would not dance?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI know not.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGo ask his name. If he be married,\\r\\nMy grave is like to be my wedding bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nHis name is Romeo, and a Montague,\\r\\nThe only son of your great enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nMy only love sprung from my only hate!\\r\\nToo early seen unknown, and known too late!\\r\\nProdigious birth of love it is to me,\\r\\nThat I must love a loathed enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWhat’s this? What’s this?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nA rhyme I learn’d even now\\r\\nOf one I danc’d withal.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_One calls within, ‘Juliet’._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAnon, anon!\\r\\nCome let’s away, the strangers all are gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nNow old desire doth in his deathbed lie,\\r\\nAnd young affection gapes to be his heir;\\r\\nThat fair for which love groan’d for and would die,\\r\\nWith tender Juliet match’d, is now not fair.\\r\\nNow Romeo is belov’d, and loves again,\\r\\nAlike bewitched by the charm of looks;\\r\\nBut to his foe suppos’d he must complain,\\r\\nAnd she steal love’s sweet bait from fearful hooks:\\r\\nBeing held a foe, he may not have access\\r\\nTo breathe such vows as lovers use to swear;\\r\\nAnd she as much in love, her means much less\\r\\nTo meet her new beloved anywhere.\\r\\nBut passion lends them power, time means, to meet,\\r\\nTempering extremities with extreme sweet.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. An open place adjoining Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nCan I go forward when my heart is here?\\r\\nTurn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He climbs the wall and leaps down within it._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nRomeo! My cousin Romeo! Romeo!\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nHe is wise,\\r\\nAnd on my life hath stol’n him home to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nHe ran this way, and leap’d this orchard wall:\\r\\nCall, good Mercutio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNay, I’ll conjure too.\\r\\nRomeo! Humours! Madman! Passion! Lover!\\r\\nAppear thou in the likeness of a sigh,\\r\\nSpeak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;\\r\\nCry but ‘Ah me!’ Pronounce but Love and dove;\\r\\nSpeak to my gossip Venus one fair word,\\r\\nOne nickname for her purblind son and heir,\\r\\nYoung Abraham Cupid, he that shot so trim\\r\\nWhen King Cophetua lov’d the beggar-maid.\\r\\nHe heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not;\\r\\nThe ape is dead, and I must conjure him.\\r\\nI conjure thee by Rosaline’s bright eyes,\\r\\nBy her high forehead and her scarlet lip,\\r\\nBy her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh,\\r\\nAnd the demesnes that there adjacent lie,\\r\\nThat in thy likeness thou appear to us.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAn if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThis cannot anger him. ’Twould anger him\\r\\nTo raise a spirit in his mistress’ circle,\\r\\nOf some strange nature, letting it there stand\\r\\nTill she had laid it, and conjur’d it down;\\r\\nThat were some spite. My invocation\\r\\nIs fair and honest, and, in his mistress’ name,\\r\\nI conjure only but to raise up him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nCome, he hath hid himself among these trees\\r\\nTo be consorted with the humorous night.\\r\\nBlind is his love, and best befits the dark.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nIf love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.\\r\\nNow will he sit under a medlar tree,\\r\\nAnd wish his mistress were that kind of fruit\\r\\nAs maids call medlars when they laugh alone.\\r\\nO Romeo, that she were, O that she were\\r\\nAn open-arse and thou a poperin pear!\\r\\nRomeo, good night. I’ll to my truckle-bed.\\r\\nThis field-bed is too cold for me to sleep.\\r\\nCome, shall we go?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nGo then; for ’tis in vain\\r\\nTo seek him here that means not to be found.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHe jests at scars that never felt a wound.\\r\\n\\r\\n Juliet appears above at a window.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut soft, what light through yonder window breaks?\\r\\nIt is the east, and Juliet is the sun!\\r\\nArise fair sun and kill the envious moon,\\r\\nWho is already sick and pale with grief,\\r\\nThat thou her maid art far more fair than she.\\r\\nBe not her maid since she is envious;\\r\\nHer vestal livery is but sick and green,\\r\\nAnd none but fools do wear it; cast it off.\\r\\nIt is my lady, O it is my love!\\r\\nO, that she knew she were!\\r\\nShe speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?\\r\\nHer eye discourses, I will answer it.\\r\\nI am too bold, ’tis not to me she speaks.\\r\\nTwo of the fairest stars in all the heaven,\\r\\nHaving some business, do entreat her eyes\\r\\nTo twinkle in their spheres till they return.\\r\\nWhat if her eyes were there, they in her head?\\r\\nThe brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,\\r\\nAs daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven\\r\\nWould through the airy region stream so bright\\r\\nThat birds would sing and think it were not night.\\r\\nSee how she leans her cheek upon her hand.\\r\\nO that I were a glove upon that hand,\\r\\nThat I might touch that cheek.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAy me.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nShe speaks.\\r\\nO speak again bright angel, for thou art\\r\\nAs glorious to this night, being o’er my head,\\r\\nAs is a winged messenger of heaven\\r\\nUnto the white-upturned wondering eyes\\r\\nOf mortals that fall back to gaze on him\\r\\nWhen he bestrides the lazy-puffing clouds\\r\\nAnd sails upon the bosom of the air.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?\\r\\nDeny thy father and refuse thy name.\\r\\nOr if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,\\r\\nAnd I’ll no longer be a Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\n’Tis but thy name that is my enemy;\\r\\nThou art thyself, though not a Montague.\\r\\nWhat’s Montague? It is nor hand nor foot,\\r\\nNor arm, nor face, nor any other part\\r\\nBelonging to a man. O be some other name.\\r\\nWhat’s in a name? That which we call a rose\\r\\nBy any other name would smell as sweet;\\r\\nSo Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,\\r\\nRetain that dear perfection which he owes\\r\\nWithout that title. Romeo, doff thy name,\\r\\nAnd for thy name, which is no part of thee,\\r\\nTake all myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI take thee at thy word.\\r\\nCall me but love, and I’ll be new baptis’d;\\r\\nHenceforth I never will be Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat man art thou that, thus bescreen’d in night\\r\\nSo stumblest on my counsel?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBy a name\\r\\nI know not how to tell thee who I am:\\r\\nMy name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,\\r\\nBecause it is an enemy to thee.\\r\\nHad I it written, I would tear the word.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nMy ears have yet not drunk a hundred words\\r\\nOf thy tongue’s utterance, yet I know the sound.\\r\\nArt thou not Romeo, and a Montague?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNeither, fair maid, if either thee dislike.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHow cam’st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?\\r\\nThe orchard walls are high and hard to climb,\\r\\nAnd the place death, considering who thou art,\\r\\nIf any of my kinsmen find thee here.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWith love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls,\\r\\nFor stony limits cannot hold love out,\\r\\nAnd what love can do, that dares love attempt:\\r\\nTherefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIf they do see thee, they will murder thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAlack, there lies more peril in thine eye\\r\\nThan twenty of their swords. Look thou but sweet,\\r\\nAnd I am proof against their enmity.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI would not for the world they saw thee here.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI have night’s cloak to hide me from their eyes,\\r\\nAnd but thou love me, let them find me here.\\r\\nMy life were better ended by their hate\\r\\nThan death prorogued, wanting of thy love.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nBy whose direction found’st thou out this place?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBy love, that first did prompt me to enquire;\\r\\nHe lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.\\r\\nI am no pilot; yet wert thou as far\\r\\nAs that vast shore wash’d with the farthest sea,\\r\\nI should adventure for such merchandise.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThou knowest the mask of night is on my face,\\r\\nElse would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek\\r\\nFor that which thou hast heard me speak tonight.\\r\\nFain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny\\r\\nWhat I have spoke; but farewell compliment.\\r\\nDost thou love me? I know thou wilt say Ay,\\r\\nAnd I will take thy word. Yet, if thou swear’st,\\r\\nThou mayst prove false. At lovers’ perjuries,\\r\\nThey say Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,\\r\\nIf thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully.\\r\\nOr if thou thinkest I am too quickly won,\\r\\nI’ll frown and be perverse, and say thee nay,\\r\\nSo thou wilt woo. But else, not for the world.\\r\\nIn truth, fair Montague, I am too fond;\\r\\nAnd therefore thou mayst think my ’haviour light:\\r\\nBut trust me, gentleman, I’ll prove more true\\r\\nThan those that have more cunning to be strange.\\r\\nI should have been more strange, I must confess,\\r\\nBut that thou overheard’st, ere I was ’ware,\\r\\nMy true-love passion; therefore pardon me,\\r\\nAnd not impute this yielding to light love,\\r\\nWhich the dark night hath so discovered.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nLady, by yonder blessed moon I vow,\\r\\nThat tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,—\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO swear not by the moon, th’inconstant moon,\\r\\nThat monthly changes in her circled orb,\\r\\nLest that thy love prove likewise variable.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat shall I swear by?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nDo not swear at all.\\r\\nOr if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,\\r\\nWhich is the god of my idolatry,\\r\\nAnd I’ll believe thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIf my heart’s dear love,—\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWell, do not swear. Although I joy in thee,\\r\\nI have no joy of this contract tonight;\\r\\nIt is too rash, too unadvis’d, too sudden,\\r\\nToo like the lightning, which doth cease to be\\r\\nEre one can say It lightens. Sweet, good night.\\r\\nThis bud of love, by summer’s ripening breath,\\r\\nMay prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.\\r\\nGood night, good night. As sweet repose and rest\\r\\nCome to thy heart as that within my breast.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat satisfaction canst thou have tonight?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nTh’exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI gave thee mine before thou didst request it;\\r\\nAnd yet I would it were to give again.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWould’st thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nBut to be frank and give it thee again.\\r\\nAnd yet I wish but for the thing I have;\\r\\nMy bounty is as boundless as the sea,\\r\\nMy love as deep; the more I give to thee,\\r\\nThe more I have, for both are infinite.\\r\\nI hear some noise within. Dear love, adieu.\\r\\n[_Nurse calls within._]\\r\\nAnon, good Nurse!—Sweet Montague be true.\\r\\nStay but a little, I will come again.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO blessed, blessed night. I am afeard,\\r\\nBeing in night, all this is but a dream,\\r\\nToo flattering sweet to be substantial.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet above.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThree words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.\\r\\nIf that thy bent of love be honourable,\\r\\nThy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow,\\r\\nBy one that I’ll procure to come to thee,\\r\\nWhere and what time thou wilt perform the rite,\\r\\nAnd all my fortunes at thy foot I’ll lay\\r\\nAnd follow thee my lord throughout the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\n[_Within._] Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI come, anon.— But if thou meanest not well,\\r\\nI do beseech thee,—\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\n[_Within._] Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nBy and by I come—\\r\\nTo cease thy strife and leave me to my grief.\\r\\nTomorrow will I send.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSo thrive my soul,—\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nA thousand times good night.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nA thousand times the worse, to want thy light.\\r\\nLove goes toward love as schoolboys from their books,\\r\\nBut love from love, towards school with heavy looks.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Retiring slowly._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Juliet, above.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHist! Romeo, hist! O for a falconer’s voice\\r\\nTo lure this tassel-gentle back again.\\r\\nBondage is hoarse and may not speak aloud,\\r\\nElse would I tear the cave where Echo lies,\\r\\nAnd make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine\\r\\nWith repetition of my Romeo’s name.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIt is my soul that calls upon my name.\\r\\nHow silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night,\\r\\nLike softest music to attending ears.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nRomeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nMy nyas?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat o’clock tomorrow\\r\\nShall I send to thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBy the hour of nine.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI will not fail. ’Tis twenty years till then.\\r\\nI have forgot why I did call thee back.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nLet me stand here till thou remember it.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI shall forget, to have thee still stand there,\\r\\nRemembering how I love thy company.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget,\\r\\nForgetting any other home but this.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\n’Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone,\\r\\nAnd yet no farther than a wanton’s bird,\\r\\nThat lets it hop a little from her hand,\\r\\nLike a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,\\r\\nAnd with a silk thread plucks it back again,\\r\\nSo loving-jealous of his liberty.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI would I were thy bird.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nSweet, so would I:\\r\\nYet I should kill thee with much cherishing.\\r\\nGood night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow\\r\\nThat I shall say good night till it be morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast.\\r\\nWould I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest.\\r\\nThe grey-ey’d morn smiles on the frowning night,\\r\\nChequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light;\\r\\nAnd darkness fleckled like a drunkard reels\\r\\nFrom forth day’s pathway, made by Titan’s wheels\\r\\nHence will I to my ghostly Sire’s cell,\\r\\nHis help to crave and my dear hap to tell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence with a basket.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nNow, ere the sun advance his burning eye,\\r\\nThe day to cheer, and night’s dank dew to dry,\\r\\nI must upfill this osier cage of ours\\r\\nWith baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.\\r\\nThe earth that’s nature’s mother, is her tomb;\\r\\nWhat is her burying grave, that is her womb:\\r\\nAnd from her womb children of divers kind\\r\\nWe sucking on her natural bosom find.\\r\\nMany for many virtues excellent,\\r\\nNone but for some, and yet all different.\\r\\nO, mickle is the powerful grace that lies\\r\\nIn plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities.\\r\\nFor naught so vile that on the earth doth live\\r\\nBut to the earth some special good doth give;\\r\\nNor aught so good but, strain’d from that fair use,\\r\\nRevolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse.\\r\\nVirtue itself turns vice being misapplied,\\r\\nAnd vice sometime’s by action dignified.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nWithin the infant rind of this weak flower\\r\\nPoison hath residence, and medicine power:\\r\\nFor this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;\\r\\nBeing tasted, slays all senses with the heart.\\r\\nTwo such opposed kings encamp them still\\r\\nIn man as well as herbs,—grace and rude will;\\r\\nAnd where the worser is predominant,\\r\\nFull soon the canker death eats up that plant.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGood morrow, father.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nBenedicite!\\r\\nWhat early tongue so sweet saluteth me?\\r\\nYoung son, it argues a distemper’d head\\r\\nSo soon to bid good morrow to thy bed.\\r\\nCare keeps his watch in every old man’s eye,\\r\\nAnd where care lodges sleep will never lie;\\r\\nBut where unbruised youth with unstuff’d brain\\r\\nDoth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.\\r\\nTherefore thy earliness doth me assure\\r\\nThou art uprous’d with some distemperature;\\r\\nOr if not so, then here I hit it right,\\r\\nOur Romeo hath not been in bed tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThat last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nGod pardon sin. Wast thou with Rosaline?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWith Rosaline, my ghostly father? No.\\r\\nI have forgot that name, and that name’s woe.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThat’s my good son. But where hast thou been then?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI’ll tell thee ere thou ask it me again.\\r\\nI have been feasting with mine enemy,\\r\\nWhere on a sudden one hath wounded me\\r\\nThat’s by me wounded. Both our remedies\\r\\nWithin thy help and holy physic lies.\\r\\nI bear no hatred, blessed man; for lo,\\r\\nMy intercession likewise steads my foe.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nBe plain, good son, and homely in thy drift;\\r\\nRiddling confession finds but riddling shrift.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThen plainly know my heart’s dear love is set\\r\\nOn the fair daughter of rich Capulet.\\r\\nAs mine on hers, so hers is set on mine;\\r\\nAnd all combin’d, save what thou must combine\\r\\nBy holy marriage. When, and where, and how\\r\\nWe met, we woo’d, and made exchange of vow,\\r\\nI’ll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,\\r\\nThat thou consent to marry us today.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHoly Saint Francis! What a change is here!\\r\\nIs Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear,\\r\\nSo soon forsaken? Young men’s love then lies\\r\\nNot truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.\\r\\nJesu Maria, what a deal of brine\\r\\nHath wash’d thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!\\r\\nHow much salt water thrown away in waste,\\r\\nTo season love, that of it doth not taste.\\r\\nThe sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,\\r\\nThy old groans yet ring in mine ancient ears.\\r\\nLo here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit\\r\\nOf an old tear that is not wash’d off yet.\\r\\nIf ere thou wast thyself, and these woes thine,\\r\\nThou and these woes were all for Rosaline,\\r\\nAnd art thou chang’d? Pronounce this sentence then,\\r\\nWomen may fall, when there’s no strength in men.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThou chidd’st me oft for loving Rosaline.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nFor doting, not for loving, pupil mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd bad’st me bury love.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nNot in a grave\\r\\nTo lay one in, another out to have.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI pray thee chide me not, her I love now\\r\\nDoth grace for grace and love for love allow.\\r\\nThe other did not so.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nO, she knew well\\r\\nThy love did read by rote, that could not spell.\\r\\nBut come young waverer, come go with me,\\r\\nIn one respect I’ll thy assistant be;\\r\\nFor this alliance may so happy prove,\\r\\nTo turn your households’ rancour to pure love.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nWisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nWhere the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home tonight?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nNot to his father’s; I spoke with his man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nWhy, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline, torments him so\\r\\nthat he will sure run mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nTybalt, the kinsman to old Capulet, hath sent a letter to his father’s\\r\\nhouse.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nA challenge, on my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nRomeo will answer it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAny man that can write may answer a letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nNay, he will answer the letter’s master, how he dares, being dared.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAlas poor Romeo, he is already dead, stabbed with a white wench’s black\\r\\neye; run through the ear with a love song, the very pin of his heart\\r\\ncleft with the blind bow-boy’s butt-shaft. And is he a man to encounter\\r\\nTybalt?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nWhy, what is Tybalt?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nMore than Prince of cats. O, he’s the courageous captain of\\r\\ncompliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance,\\r\\nand proportion. He rests his minim rest, one, two, and the third in\\r\\nyour bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist;\\r\\na gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second cause. Ah,\\r\\nthe immortal passado, the punto reverso, the hay.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThe what?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThe pox of such antic lisping, affecting phantasies; these new tuners\\r\\nof accent. By Jesu, a very good blade, a very tall man, a very good\\r\\nwhore. Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should\\r\\nbe thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers,\\r\\nthese pardon-me’s, who stand so much on the new form that they cannot\\r\\nsit at ease on the old bench? O their bones, their bones!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nHere comes Romeo, here comes Romeo!\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nWithout his roe, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art thou\\r\\nfishified! Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in. Laura, to\\r\\nhis lady, was but a kitchen wench,—marry, she had a better love to\\r\\nberhyme her: Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gypsy; Helen and Hero hildings\\r\\nand harlots; Thisbe a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior\\r\\nRomeo, bonjour! There’s a French salutation to your French slop. You\\r\\ngave us the counterfeit fairly last night.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGood morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThe slip sir, the slip; can you not conceive?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nPardon, good Mercutio, my business was great, and in such a case as\\r\\nmine a man may strain courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThat’s as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow\\r\\nin the hams.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nMeaning, to curtsy.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThou hast most kindly hit it.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nA most courteous exposition.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNay, I am the very pink of courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nPink for flower.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nRight.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhy, then is my pump well flowered.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nSure wit, follow me this jest now, till thou hast worn out thy pump,\\r\\nthat when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain after the\\r\\nwearing, solely singular.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness!\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nCome between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSwits and spurs, swits and spurs; or I’ll cry a match.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I am done. For thou hast\\r\\nmore of the wild-goose in one of thy wits, than I am sure, I have in my\\r\\nwhole five. Was I with you there for the goose?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThou wast never with me for anything, when thou wast not there for the\\r\\ngoose.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nI will bite thee by the ear for that jest.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNay, good goose, bite not.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThy wit is a very bitter sweeting, it is a most sharp sauce.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd is it not then well served in to a sweet goose?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nO here’s a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an\\r\\nell broad.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI stretch it out for that word broad, which added to the goose, proves\\r\\nthee far and wide a broad goose.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nWhy, is not this better now than groaning for love? Now art thou\\r\\nsociable, now art thou Romeo; not art thou what thou art, by art as\\r\\nwell as by nature. For this drivelling love is like a great natural,\\r\\nthat runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nStop there, stop there.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThou wouldst else have made thy tale large.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nO, thou art deceived; I would have made it short, for I was come to the\\r\\nwhole depth of my tale, and meant indeed to occupy the argument no\\r\\nlonger.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse and Peter.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHere’s goodly gear!\\r\\nA sail, a sail!\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nTwo, two; a shirt and a smock.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nPeter!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nAnon.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMy fan, Peter.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nGood Peter, to hide her face; for her fan’s the fairer face.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nGod ye good morrow, gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nGod ye good-den, fair gentlewoman.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nIs it good-den?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\n’Tis no less, I tell ye; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the\\r\\nprick of noon.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nOut upon you! What a man are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nOne, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nBy my troth, it is well said; for himself to mar, quoth a? Gentlemen,\\r\\ncan any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI can tell you: but young Romeo will be older when you have found him\\r\\nthan he was when you sought him. I am the youngest of that name, for\\r\\nfault of a worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nYou say well.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nYea, is the worst well? Very well took, i’faith; wisely, wisely.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nIf you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nShe will endite him to some supper.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nA bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat hast thou found?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNo hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something\\r\\nstale and hoar ere it be spent.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n An old hare hoar,\\r\\n And an old hare hoar,\\r\\n Is very good meat in Lent;\\r\\n But a hare that is hoar\\r\\n Is too much for a score\\r\\n When it hoars ere it be spent.\\r\\nRomeo, will you come to your father’s? We’ll to dinner thither.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI will follow you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nFarewell, ancient lady; farewell, lady, lady, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this that was so full of his\\r\\nropery?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nA gentleman, Nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak\\r\\nmore in a minute than he will stand to in a month.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAnd a speak anything against me, I’ll take him down, and a were lustier\\r\\nthan he is, and twenty such Jacks. And if I cannot, I’ll find those\\r\\nthat shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of\\r\\nhis skains-mates.—And thou must stand by too and suffer every knave to\\r\\nuse me at his pleasure!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nI saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I had, my weapon should\\r\\nquickly have been out. I warrant you, I dare draw as soon as another\\r\\nman, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNow, afore God, I am so vexed that every part about me quivers. Scurvy\\r\\nknave. Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bid me\\r\\nenquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself. But first\\r\\nlet me tell ye, if ye should lead her in a fool’s paradise, as they\\r\\nsay, it were a very gross kind of behaviour, as they say; for the\\r\\ngentlewoman is young. And therefore, if you should deal double with\\r\\nher, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and\\r\\nvery weak dealing.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto\\r\\nthee,—\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nGood heart, and i’faith I will tell her as much. Lord, Lord, she will\\r\\nbe a joyful woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat wilt thou tell her, Nurse? Thou dost not mark me.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI will tell her, sir, that you do protest, which, as I take it, is a\\r\\ngentlemanlike offer.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBid her devise\\r\\nSome means to come to shrift this afternoon,\\r\\nAnd there she shall at Friar Lawrence’ cell\\r\\nBe shriv’d and married. Here is for thy pains.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNo truly, sir; not a penny.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGo to; I say you shall.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nThis afternoon, sir? Well, she shall be there.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd stay, good Nurse, behind the abbey wall.\\r\\nWithin this hour my man shall be with thee,\\r\\nAnd bring thee cords made like a tackled stair,\\r\\nWhich to the high topgallant of my joy\\r\\nMust be my convoy in the secret night.\\r\\nFarewell, be trusty, and I’ll quit thy pains;\\r\\nFarewell; commend me to thy mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNow God in heaven bless thee. Hark you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat say’st thou, my dear Nurse?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nIs your man secret? Did you ne’er hear say,\\r\\nTwo may keep counsel, putting one away?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI warrant thee my man’s as true as steel.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWell, sir, my mistress is the sweetest lady. Lord, Lord! When ’twas a\\r\\nlittle prating thing,—O, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that\\r\\nwould fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief see a\\r\\ntoad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes, and tell her that\\r\\nParis is the properer man, but I’ll warrant you, when I say so, she\\r\\nlooks as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and\\r\\nRomeo begin both with a letter?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAy, Nurse; what of that? Both with an R.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAh, mocker! That’s the dog’s name. R is for the—no, I know it begins\\r\\nwith some other letter, and she hath the prettiest sententious of it,\\r\\nof you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nCommend me to thy lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAy, a thousand times. Peter!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Romeo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nAnon.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nBefore and apace.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThe clock struck nine when I did send the Nurse,\\r\\nIn half an hour she promised to return.\\r\\nPerchance she cannot meet him. That’s not so.\\r\\nO, she is lame. Love’s heralds should be thoughts,\\r\\nWhich ten times faster glides than the sun’s beams,\\r\\nDriving back shadows over lowering hills:\\r\\nTherefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw love,\\r\\nAnd therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.\\r\\nNow is the sun upon the highmost hill\\r\\nOf this day’s journey, and from nine till twelve\\r\\nIs three long hours, yet she is not come.\\r\\nHad she affections and warm youthful blood,\\r\\nShe’d be as swift in motion as a ball;\\r\\nMy words would bandy her to my sweet love,\\r\\nAnd his to me.\\r\\nBut old folks, many feign as they were dead;\\r\\nUnwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse and Peter.\\r\\n\\r\\nO God, she comes. O honey Nurse, what news?\\r\\nHast thou met with him? Send thy man away.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nPeter, stay at the gate.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Peter._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNow, good sweet Nurse,—O Lord, why look’st thou sad?\\r\\nThough news be sad, yet tell them merrily;\\r\\nIf good, thou sham’st the music of sweet news\\r\\nBy playing it to me with so sour a face.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI am aweary, give me leave awhile;\\r\\nFie, how my bones ache! What a jaunt have I had!\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news:\\r\\nNay come, I pray thee speak; good, good Nurse, speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nJesu, what haste? Can you not stay a while? Do you not see that I am\\r\\nout of breath?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHow art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath\\r\\nTo say to me that thou art out of breath?\\r\\nThe excuse that thou dost make in this delay\\r\\nIs longer than the tale thou dost excuse.\\r\\nIs thy news good or bad? Answer to that;\\r\\nSay either, and I’ll stay the circumstance.\\r\\nLet me be satisfied, is’t good or bad?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWell, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man.\\r\\nRomeo? No, not he. Though his face be better than any man’s, yet his\\r\\nleg excels all men’s, and for a hand and a foot, and a body, though\\r\\nthey be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare. He is not the\\r\\nflower of courtesy, but I’ll warrant him as gentle as a lamb. Go thy\\r\\nways, wench, serve God. What, have you dined at home?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNo, no. But all this did I know before.\\r\\nWhat says he of our marriage? What of that?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nLord, how my head aches! What a head have I!\\r\\nIt beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.\\r\\nMy back o’ t’other side,—O my back, my back!\\r\\nBeshrew your heart for sending me about\\r\\nTo catch my death with jauncing up and down.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI’faith, I am sorry that thou art not well.\\r\\nSweet, sweet, sweet Nurse, tell me, what says my love?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nYour love says like an honest gentleman,\\r\\nAnd a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome,\\r\\nAnd I warrant a virtuous,—Where is your mother?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhere is my mother? Why, she is within.\\r\\nWhere should she be? How oddly thou repliest.\\r\\n‘Your love says, like an honest gentleman,\\r\\n‘Where is your mother?’\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO God’s lady dear,\\r\\nAre you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow.\\r\\nIs this the poultice for my aching bones?\\r\\nHenceforward do your messages yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHere’s such a coil. Come, what says Romeo?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nHave you got leave to go to shrift today?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI have.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nThen hie you hence to Friar Lawrence’ cell;\\r\\nThere stays a husband to make you a wife.\\r\\nNow comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks,\\r\\nThey’ll be in scarlet straight at any news.\\r\\nHie you to church. I must another way,\\r\\nTo fetch a ladder by the which your love\\r\\nMust climb a bird’s nest soon when it is dark.\\r\\nI am the drudge, and toil in your delight;\\r\\nBut you shall bear the burden soon at night.\\r\\nGo. I’ll to dinner; hie you to the cell.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHie to high fortune! Honest Nurse, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nSo smile the heavens upon this holy act\\r\\nThat after-hours with sorrow chide us not.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAmen, amen, but come what sorrow can,\\r\\nIt cannot countervail the exchange of joy\\r\\nThat one short minute gives me in her sight.\\r\\nDo thou but close our hands with holy words,\\r\\nThen love-devouring death do what he dare,\\r\\nIt is enough I may but call her mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThese violent delights have violent ends,\\r\\nAnd in their triumph die; like fire and powder,\\r\\nWhich as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey\\r\\nIs loathsome in his own deliciousness,\\r\\nAnd in the taste confounds the appetite.\\r\\nTherefore love moderately: long love doth so;\\r\\nToo swift arrives as tardy as too slow.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes the lady. O, so light a foot\\r\\nWill ne’er wear out the everlasting flint.\\r\\nA lover may bestride the gossamers\\r\\nThat idles in the wanton summer air\\r\\nAnd yet not fall; so light is vanity.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGood even to my ghostly confessor.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nRomeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAs much to him, else is his thanks too much.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAh, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy\\r\\nBe heap’d like mine, and that thy skill be more\\r\\nTo blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath\\r\\nThis neighbour air, and let rich music’s tongue\\r\\nUnfold the imagin’d happiness that both\\r\\nReceive in either by this dear encounter.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nConceit more rich in matter than in words,\\r\\nBrags of his substance, not of ornament.\\r\\nThey are but beggars that can count their worth;\\r\\nBut my true love is grown to such excess,\\r\\nI cannot sum up sum of half my wealth.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nCome, come with me, and we will make short work,\\r\\nFor, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone\\r\\nTill holy church incorporate two in one.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A public Place.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, Page and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nI pray thee, good Mercutio, let’s retire:\\r\\nThe day is hot, the Capulets abroad,\\r\\nAnd if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl,\\r\\nFor now these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThou art like one of these fellows that, when he enters the confines of\\r\\na tavern, claps me his sword upon the table, and says ‘God send me no\\r\\nneed of thee!’ and by the operation of the second cup draws him on the\\r\\ndrawer, when indeed there is no need.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAm I like such a fellow?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nCome, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy; and as\\r\\nsoon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAnd what to?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would\\r\\nkill the other. Thou? Why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a\\r\\nhair more or a hair less in his beard than thou hast. Thou wilt quarrel\\r\\nwith a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou\\r\\nhast hazel eyes. What eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel?\\r\\nThy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy\\r\\nhead hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling. Thou hast\\r\\nquarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath\\r\\nwakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall\\r\\nout with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with\\r\\nanother for tying his new shoes with an old riband? And yet thou wilt\\r\\ntutor me from quarrelling!\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAnd I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee\\r\\nsimple of my life for an hour and a quarter.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThe fee simple! O simple!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Tybalt and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nBy my head, here comes the Capulets.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nBy my heel, I care not.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nFollow me close, for I will speak to them.\\r\\nGentlemen, good-den: a word with one of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAnd but one word with one of us? Couple it with something; make it a\\r\\nword and a blow.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nYou shall find me apt enough to that, sir, and you will give me\\r\\noccasion.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nCould you not take some occasion without giving?\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nMercutio, thou consortest with Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nConsort? What, dost thou make us minstrels? And thou make minstrels of\\r\\nus, look to hear nothing but discords. Here’s my fiddlestick, here’s\\r\\nthat shall make you dance. Zounds, consort!\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nWe talk here in the public haunt of men.\\r\\nEither withdraw unto some private place,\\r\\nAnd reason coldly of your grievances,\\r\\nOr else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nMen’s eyes were made to look, and let them gaze.\\r\\nI will not budge for no man’s pleasure, I.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nWell, peace be with you, sir, here comes my man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nBut I’ll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery.\\r\\nMarry, go before to field, he’ll be your follower;\\r\\nYour worship in that sense may call him man.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nRomeo, the love I bear thee can afford\\r\\nNo better term than this: Thou art a villain.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nTybalt, the reason that I have to love thee\\r\\nDoth much excuse the appertaining rage\\r\\nTo such a greeting. Villain am I none;\\r\\nTherefore farewell; I see thou know’st me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nBoy, this shall not excuse the injuries\\r\\nThat thou hast done me, therefore turn and draw.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI do protest I never injur’d thee,\\r\\nBut love thee better than thou canst devise\\r\\nTill thou shalt know the reason of my love.\\r\\nAnd so good Capulet, which name I tender\\r\\nAs dearly as mine own, be satisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nO calm, dishonourable, vile submission!\\r\\n[_Draws._] Alla stoccata carries it away.\\r\\nTybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nWhat wouldst thou have with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nGood King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives; that I mean to\\r\\nmake bold withal, and, as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest\\r\\nof the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears?\\r\\nMake haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\n[_Drawing._] I am for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nCome, sir, your passado.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nDraw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons.\\r\\nGentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage,\\r\\nTybalt, Mercutio, the Prince expressly hath\\r\\nForbid this bandying in Verona streets.\\r\\nHold, Tybalt! Good Mercutio!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Tybalt with his Partizans._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nI am hurt.\\r\\nA plague o’ both your houses. I am sped.\\r\\nIs he gone, and hath nothing?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nWhat, art thou hurt?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAy, ay, a scratch, a scratch. Marry, ’tis enough.\\r\\nWhere is my page? Go villain, fetch a surgeon.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Page._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nCourage, man; the hurt cannot be much.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNo, ’tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door, but ’tis\\r\\nenough, ’twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a\\r\\ngrave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o’ both\\r\\nyour houses. Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to\\r\\ndeath. A braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of\\r\\narithmetic!—Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your\\r\\narm.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI thought all for the best.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nHelp me into some house, Benvolio,\\r\\nOr I shall faint. A plague o’ both your houses.\\r\\nThey have made worms’ meat of me.\\r\\nI have it, and soundly too. Your houses!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThis gentleman, the Prince’s near ally,\\r\\nMy very friend, hath got his mortal hurt\\r\\nIn my behalf; my reputation stain’d\\r\\nWith Tybalt’s slander,—Tybalt, that an hour\\r\\nHath been my cousin. O sweet Juliet,\\r\\nThy beauty hath made me effeminate\\r\\nAnd in my temper soften’d valour’s steel.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Benvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nO Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio’s dead,\\r\\nThat gallant spirit hath aspir’d the clouds,\\r\\nWhich too untimely here did scorn the earth.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThis day’s black fate on mo days doth depend;\\r\\nThis but begins the woe others must end.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Tybalt.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nHere comes the furious Tybalt back again.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAgain in triumph, and Mercutio slain?\\r\\nAway to heaven respective lenity,\\r\\nAnd fire-ey’d fury be my conduct now!\\r\\nNow, Tybalt, take the ‘villain’ back again\\r\\nThat late thou gav’st me, for Mercutio’s soul\\r\\nIs but a little way above our heads,\\r\\nStaying for thine to keep him company.\\r\\nEither thou or I, or both, must go with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nThou wretched boy, that didst consort him here,\\r\\nShalt with him hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThis shall determine that.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight; Tybalt falls._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nRomeo, away, be gone!\\r\\nThe citizens are up, and Tybalt slain.\\r\\nStand not amaz’d. The Prince will doom thee death\\r\\nIf thou art taken. Hence, be gone, away!\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO, I am fortune’s fool!\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nWhy dost thou stay?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Romeo._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Citizens.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nWhich way ran he that kill’d Mercutio?\\r\\nTybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThere lies that Tybalt.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nUp, sir, go with me.\\r\\nI charge thee in the Prince’s name obey.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Prince, attended; Montague, Capulet, their Wives and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhere are the vile beginners of this fray?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nO noble Prince, I can discover all\\r\\nThe unlucky manage of this fatal brawl.\\r\\nThere lies the man, slain by young Romeo,\\r\\nThat slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nTybalt, my cousin! O my brother’s child!\\r\\nO Prince! O husband! O, the blood is spill’d\\r\\nOf my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true,\\r\\nFor blood of ours shed blood of Montague.\\r\\nO cousin, cousin.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nBenvolio, who began this bloody fray?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nTybalt, here slain, whom Romeo’s hand did slay;\\r\\nRomeo, that spoke him fair, bid him bethink\\r\\nHow nice the quarrel was, and urg’d withal\\r\\nYour high displeasure. All this uttered\\r\\nWith gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow’d\\r\\nCould not take truce with the unruly spleen\\r\\nOf Tybalt, deaf to peace, but that he tilts\\r\\nWith piercing steel at bold Mercutio’s breast,\\r\\nWho, all as hot, turns deadly point to point,\\r\\nAnd, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats\\r\\nCold death aside, and with the other sends\\r\\nIt back to Tybalt, whose dexterity\\r\\nRetorts it. Romeo he cries aloud,\\r\\n‘Hold, friends! Friends, part!’ and swifter than his tongue,\\r\\nHis agile arm beats down their fatal points,\\r\\nAnd ’twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm\\r\\nAn envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life\\r\\nOf stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled.\\r\\nBut by and by comes back to Romeo,\\r\\nWho had but newly entertain’d revenge,\\r\\nAnd to’t they go like lightning; for, ere I\\r\\nCould draw to part them was stout Tybalt slain;\\r\\nAnd as he fell did Romeo turn and fly.\\r\\nThis is the truth, or let Benvolio die.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nHe is a kinsman to the Montague.\\r\\nAffection makes him false, he speaks not true.\\r\\nSome twenty of them fought in this black strife,\\r\\nAnd all those twenty could but kill one life.\\r\\nI beg for justice, which thou, Prince, must give;\\r\\nRomeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nRomeo slew him, he slew Mercutio.\\r\\nWho now the price of his dear blood doth owe?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nNot Romeo, Prince, he was Mercutio’s friend;\\r\\nHis fault concludes but what the law should end,\\r\\nThe life of Tybalt.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nAnd for that offence\\r\\nImmediately we do exile him hence.\\r\\nI have an interest in your hate’s proceeding,\\r\\nMy blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding.\\r\\nBut I’ll amerce you with so strong a fine\\r\\nThat you shall all repent the loss of mine.\\r\\nI will be deaf to pleading and excuses;\\r\\nNor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses.\\r\\nTherefore use none. Let Romeo hence in haste,\\r\\nElse, when he is found, that hour is his last.\\r\\nBear hence this body, and attend our will.\\r\\nMercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,\\r\\nTowards Phoebus’ lodging. Such a waggoner\\r\\nAs Phaeton would whip you to the west\\r\\nAnd bring in cloudy night immediately.\\r\\nSpread thy close curtain, love-performing night,\\r\\nThat runaway’s eyes may wink, and Romeo\\r\\nLeap to these arms, untalk’d of and unseen.\\r\\nLovers can see to do their amorous rites\\r\\nBy their own beauties: or, if love be blind,\\r\\nIt best agrees with night. Come, civil night,\\r\\nThou sober-suited matron, all in black,\\r\\nAnd learn me how to lose a winning match,\\r\\nPlay’d for a pair of stainless maidenhoods.\\r\\nHood my unmann’d blood, bating in my cheeks,\\r\\nWith thy black mantle, till strange love, grow bold,\\r\\nThink true love acted simple modesty.\\r\\nCome, night, come Romeo; come, thou day in night;\\r\\nFor thou wilt lie upon the wings of night\\r\\nWhiter than new snow upon a raven’s back.\\r\\nCome gentle night, come loving black-brow’d night,\\r\\nGive me my Romeo, and when I shall die,\\r\\nTake him and cut him out in little stars,\\r\\nAnd he will make the face of heaven so fine\\r\\nThat all the world will be in love with night,\\r\\nAnd pay no worship to the garish sun.\\r\\nO, I have bought the mansion of a love,\\r\\nBut not possess’d it; and though I am sold,\\r\\nNot yet enjoy’d. So tedious is this day\\r\\nAs is the night before some festival\\r\\nTo an impatient child that hath new robes\\r\\nAnd may not wear them. O, here comes my Nurse,\\r\\nAnd she brings news, and every tongue that speaks\\r\\nBut Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse, with cords.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, Nurse, what news? What hast thou there?\\r\\nThe cords that Romeo bid thee fetch?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAy, ay, the cords.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Throws them down._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAy me, what news? Why dost thou wring thy hands?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAh, well-a-day, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead!\\r\\nWe are undone, lady, we are undone.\\r\\nAlack the day, he’s gone, he’s kill’d, he’s dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nCan heaven be so envious?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nRomeo can,\\r\\nThough heaven cannot. O Romeo, Romeo.\\r\\nWho ever would have thought it? Romeo!\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat devil art thou, that dost torment me thus?\\r\\nThis torture should be roar’d in dismal hell.\\r\\nHath Romeo slain himself? Say thou but Ay,\\r\\nAnd that bare vowel I shall poison more\\r\\nThan the death-darting eye of cockatrice.\\r\\nI am not I if there be such an I;\\r\\nOr those eyes shut that make thee answer Ay.\\r\\nIf he be slain, say Ay; or if not, No.\\r\\nBrief sounds determine of my weal or woe.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,\\r\\nGod save the mark!—here on his manly breast.\\r\\nA piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;\\r\\nPale, pale as ashes, all bedaub’d in blood,\\r\\nAll in gore-blood. I swounded at the sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO, break, my heart. Poor bankrout, break at once.\\r\\nTo prison, eyes; ne’er look on liberty.\\r\\nVile earth to earth resign; end motion here,\\r\\nAnd thou and Romeo press one heavy bier.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had.\\r\\nO courteous Tybalt, honest gentleman!\\r\\nThat ever I should live to see thee dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat storm is this that blows so contrary?\\r\\nIs Romeo slaughter’d and is Tybalt dead?\\r\\nMy dearest cousin, and my dearer lord?\\r\\nThen dreadful trumpet sound the general doom,\\r\\nFor who is living, if those two are gone?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nTybalt is gone, and Romeo banished,\\r\\nRomeo that kill’d him, he is banished.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO God! Did Romeo’s hand shed Tybalt’s blood?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nIt did, it did; alas the day, it did.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO serpent heart, hid with a flowering face!\\r\\nDid ever dragon keep so fair a cave?\\r\\nBeautiful tyrant, fiend angelical,\\r\\nDove-feather’d raven, wolvish-ravening lamb!\\r\\nDespised substance of divinest show!\\r\\nJust opposite to what thou justly seem’st,\\r\\nA damned saint, an honourable villain!\\r\\nO nature, what hadst thou to do in hell\\r\\nWhen thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend\\r\\nIn mortal paradise of such sweet flesh?\\r\\nWas ever book containing such vile matter\\r\\nSo fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell\\r\\nIn such a gorgeous palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nThere’s no trust,\\r\\nNo faith, no honesty in men. All perjur’d,\\r\\nAll forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.\\r\\nAh, where’s my man? Give me some aqua vitae.\\r\\nThese griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.\\r\\nShame come to Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nBlister’d be thy tongue\\r\\nFor such a wish! He was not born to shame.\\r\\nUpon his brow shame is asham’d to sit;\\r\\nFor ’tis a throne where honour may be crown’d\\r\\nSole monarch of the universal earth.\\r\\nO, what a beast was I to chide at him!\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWill you speak well of him that kill’d your cousin?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nShall I speak ill of him that is my husband?\\r\\nAh, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name,\\r\\nWhen I thy three-hours’ wife have mangled it?\\r\\nBut wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?\\r\\nThat villain cousin would have kill’d my husband.\\r\\nBack, foolish tears, back to your native spring,\\r\\nYour tributary drops belong to woe,\\r\\nWhich you mistaking offer up to joy.\\r\\nMy husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain,\\r\\nAnd Tybalt’s dead, that would have slain my husband.\\r\\nAll this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?\\r\\nSome word there was, worser than Tybalt’s death,\\r\\nThat murder’d me. I would forget it fain,\\r\\nBut O, it presses to my memory\\r\\nLike damned guilty deeds to sinners’ minds.\\r\\nTybalt is dead, and Romeo banished.\\r\\nThat ‘banished,’ that one word ‘banished,’\\r\\nHath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt’s death\\r\\nWas woe enough, if it had ended there.\\r\\nOr if sour woe delights in fellowship,\\r\\nAnd needly will be rank’d with other griefs,\\r\\nWhy follow’d not, when she said Tybalt’s dead,\\r\\nThy father or thy mother, nay or both,\\r\\nWhich modern lamentation might have mov’d?\\r\\nBut with a rear-ward following Tybalt’s death,\\r\\n‘Romeo is banished’—to speak that word\\r\\nIs father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,\\r\\nAll slain, all dead. Romeo is banished,\\r\\nThere is no end, no limit, measure, bound,\\r\\nIn that word’s death, no words can that woe sound.\\r\\nWhere is my father and my mother, Nurse?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWeeping and wailing over Tybalt’s corse.\\r\\nWill you go to them? I will bring you thither.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWash they his wounds with tears. Mine shall be spent,\\r\\nWhen theirs are dry, for Romeo’s banishment.\\r\\nTake up those cords. Poor ropes, you are beguil’d,\\r\\nBoth you and I; for Romeo is exil’d.\\r\\nHe made you for a highway to my bed,\\r\\nBut I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.\\r\\nCome cords, come Nurse, I’ll to my wedding bed,\\r\\nAnd death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nHie to your chamber. I’ll find Romeo\\r\\nTo comfort you. I wot well where he is.\\r\\nHark ye, your Romeo will be here at night.\\r\\nI’ll to him, he is hid at Lawrence’ cell.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO find him, give this ring to my true knight,\\r\\nAnd bid him come to take his last farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Friar Lawrence’s cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nRomeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man.\\r\\nAffliction is enanmour’d of thy parts\\r\\nAnd thou art wedded to calamity.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nFather, what news? What is the Prince’s doom?\\r\\nWhat sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,\\r\\nThat I yet know not?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nToo familiar\\r\\nIs my dear son with such sour company.\\r\\nI bring thee tidings of the Prince’s doom.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat less than doomsday is the Prince’s doom?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nA gentler judgment vanish’d from his lips,\\r\\nNot body’s death, but body’s banishment.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHa, banishment? Be merciful, say death;\\r\\nFor exile hath more terror in his look,\\r\\nMuch more than death. Do not say banishment.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHence from Verona art thou banished.\\r\\nBe patient, for the world is broad and wide.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThere is no world without Verona walls,\\r\\nBut purgatory, torture, hell itself.\\r\\nHence banished is banish’d from the world,\\r\\nAnd world’s exile is death. Then banished\\r\\nIs death misterm’d. Calling death banished,\\r\\nThou cutt’st my head off with a golden axe,\\r\\nAnd smilest upon the stroke that murders me.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nO deadly sin, O rude unthankfulness!\\r\\nThy fault our law calls death, but the kind Prince,\\r\\nTaking thy part, hath brush’d aside the law,\\r\\nAnd turn’d that black word death to banishment.\\r\\nThis is dear mercy, and thou see’st it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\n’Tis torture, and not mercy. Heaven is here\\r\\nWhere Juliet lives, and every cat and dog,\\r\\nAnd little mouse, every unworthy thing,\\r\\nLive here in heaven and may look on her,\\r\\nBut Romeo may not. More validity,\\r\\nMore honourable state, more courtship lives\\r\\nIn carrion flies than Romeo. They may seize\\r\\nOn the white wonder of dear Juliet’s hand,\\r\\nAnd steal immortal blessing from her lips,\\r\\nWho, even in pure and vestal modesty\\r\\nStill blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.\\r\\nBut Romeo may not, he is banished.\\r\\nThis may flies do, when I from this must fly.\\r\\nThey are free men but I am banished.\\r\\nAnd say’st thou yet that exile is not death?\\r\\nHadst thou no poison mix’d, no sharp-ground knife,\\r\\nNo sudden mean of death, though ne’er so mean,\\r\\nBut banished to kill me? Banished?\\r\\nO Friar, the damned use that word in hell.\\r\\nHowlings attends it. How hast thou the heart,\\r\\nBeing a divine, a ghostly confessor,\\r\\nA sin-absolver, and my friend profess’d,\\r\\nTo mangle me with that word banished?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThou fond mad man, hear me speak a little,\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO, thou wilt speak again of banishment.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nI’ll give thee armour to keep off that word,\\r\\nAdversity’s sweet milk, philosophy,\\r\\nTo comfort thee, though thou art banished.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nYet banished? Hang up philosophy.\\r\\nUnless philosophy can make a Juliet,\\r\\nDisplant a town, reverse a Prince’s doom,\\r\\nIt helps not, it prevails not, talk no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nO, then I see that mad men have no ears.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHow should they, when that wise men have no eyes?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nLet me dispute with thee of thy estate.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel.\\r\\nWert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,\\r\\nAn hour but married, Tybalt murdered,\\r\\nDoting like me, and like me banished,\\r\\nThen mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair,\\r\\nAnd fall upon the ground as I do now,\\r\\nTaking the measure of an unmade grave.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knocking within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nArise; one knocks. Good Romeo, hide thyself.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNot I, unless the breath of heartsick groans\\r\\nMist-like infold me from the search of eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knocking._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHark, how they knock!—Who’s there?—Romeo, arise,\\r\\nThou wilt be taken.—Stay awhile.—Stand up.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knocking._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRun to my study.—By-and-by.—God’s will,\\r\\nWhat simpleness is this.—I come, I come.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knocking._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWho knocks so hard? Whence come you, what’s your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\n[_Within._] Let me come in, and you shall know my errand.\\r\\nI come from Lady Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nWelcome then.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO holy Friar, O, tell me, holy Friar,\\r\\nWhere is my lady’s lord, where’s Romeo?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThere on the ground, with his own tears made drunk.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO, he is even in my mistress’ case.\\r\\nJust in her case! O woeful sympathy!\\r\\nPiteous predicament. Even so lies she,\\r\\nBlubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering.\\r\\nStand up, stand up; stand, and you be a man.\\r\\nFor Juliet’s sake, for her sake, rise and stand.\\r\\nWhy should you fall into so deep an O?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAh sir, ah sir, death’s the end of all.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSpakest thou of Juliet? How is it with her?\\r\\nDoth not she think me an old murderer,\\r\\nNow I have stain’d the childhood of our joy\\r\\nWith blood remov’d but little from her own?\\r\\nWhere is she? And how doth she? And what says\\r\\nMy conceal’d lady to our cancell’d love?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps;\\r\\nAnd now falls on her bed, and then starts up,\\r\\nAnd Tybalt calls, and then on Romeo cries,\\r\\nAnd then down falls again.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAs if that name,\\r\\nShot from the deadly level of a gun,\\r\\nDid murder her, as that name’s cursed hand\\r\\nMurder’d her kinsman. O, tell me, Friar, tell me,\\r\\nIn what vile part of this anatomy\\r\\nDoth my name lodge? Tell me, that I may sack\\r\\nThe hateful mansion.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Drawing his sword._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHold thy desperate hand.\\r\\nArt thou a man? Thy form cries out thou art.\\r\\nThy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote\\r\\nThe unreasonable fury of a beast.\\r\\nUnseemly woman in a seeming man,\\r\\nAnd ill-beseeming beast in seeming both!\\r\\nThou hast amaz’d me. By my holy order,\\r\\nI thought thy disposition better temper’d.\\r\\nHast thou slain Tybalt? Wilt thou slay thyself?\\r\\nAnd slay thy lady, that in thy life lives,\\r\\nBy doing damned hate upon thyself?\\r\\nWhy rail’st thou on thy birth, the heaven and earth?\\r\\nSince birth, and heaven and earth, all three do meet\\r\\nIn thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose.\\r\\nFie, fie, thou sham’st thy shape, thy love, thy wit,\\r\\nWhich, like a usurer, abound’st in all,\\r\\nAnd usest none in that true use indeed\\r\\nWhich should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit.\\r\\nThy noble shape is but a form of wax,\\r\\nDigressing from the valour of a man;\\r\\nThy dear love sworn but hollow perjury,\\r\\nKilling that love which thou hast vow’d to cherish;\\r\\nThy wit, that ornament to shape and love,\\r\\nMisshapen in the conduct of them both,\\r\\nLike powder in a skilless soldier’s flask,\\r\\nIs set afire by thine own ignorance,\\r\\nAnd thou dismember’d with thine own defence.\\r\\nWhat, rouse thee, man. Thy Juliet is alive,\\r\\nFor whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead.\\r\\nThere art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee,\\r\\nBut thou slew’st Tybalt; there art thou happy.\\r\\nThe law that threaten’d death becomes thy friend,\\r\\nAnd turns it to exile; there art thou happy.\\r\\nA pack of blessings light upon thy back;\\r\\nHappiness courts thee in her best array;\\r\\nBut like a misshaped and sullen wench,\\r\\nThou putt’st up thy Fortune and thy love.\\r\\nTake heed, take heed, for such die miserable.\\r\\nGo, get thee to thy love as was decreed,\\r\\nAscend her chamber, hence and comfort her.\\r\\nBut look thou stay not till the watch be set,\\r\\nFor then thou canst not pass to Mantua;\\r\\nWhere thou shalt live till we can find a time\\r\\nTo blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,\\r\\nBeg pardon of the Prince, and call thee back\\r\\nWith twenty hundred thousand times more joy\\r\\nThan thou went’st forth in lamentation.\\r\\nGo before, Nurse. Commend me to thy lady,\\r\\nAnd bid her hasten all the house to bed,\\r\\nWhich heavy sorrow makes them apt unto.\\r\\nRomeo is coming.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO Lord, I could have stay’d here all the night\\r\\nTo hear good counsel. O, what learning is!\\r\\nMy lord, I’ll tell my lady you will come.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nDo so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nHere sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir.\\r\\nHie you, make haste, for it grows very late.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHow well my comfort is reviv’d by this.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nGo hence, good night, and here stands all your state:\\r\\nEither be gone before the watch be set,\\r\\nOr by the break of day disguis’d from hence.\\r\\nSojourn in Mantua. I’ll find out your man,\\r\\nAnd he shall signify from time to time\\r\\nEvery good hap to you that chances here.\\r\\nGive me thy hand; ’tis late; farewell; good night.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBut that a joy past joy calls out on me,\\r\\nIt were a grief so brief to part with thee.\\r\\nFarewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet and Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nThings have fallen out, sir, so unluckily\\r\\nThat we have had no time to move our daughter.\\r\\nLook you, she lov’d her kinsman Tybalt dearly,\\r\\nAnd so did I. Well, we were born to die.\\r\\n’Tis very late; she’ll not come down tonight.\\r\\nI promise you, but for your company,\\r\\nI would have been abed an hour ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThese times of woe afford no tune to woo.\\r\\nMadam, good night. Commend me to your daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nI will, and know her mind early tomorrow;\\r\\nTonight she’s mew’d up to her heaviness.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nSir Paris, I will make a desperate tender\\r\\nOf my child’s love. I think she will be rul’d\\r\\nIn all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.\\r\\nWife, go you to her ere you go to bed,\\r\\nAcquaint her here of my son Paris’ love,\\r\\nAnd bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next,\\r\\nBut, soft, what day is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nMonday, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nMonday! Ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon,\\r\\nA Thursday let it be; a Thursday, tell her,\\r\\nShe shall be married to this noble earl.\\r\\nWill you be ready? Do you like this haste?\\r\\nWe’ll keep no great ado,—a friend or two,\\r\\nFor, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,\\r\\nIt may be thought we held him carelessly,\\r\\nBeing our kinsman, if we revel much.\\r\\nTherefore we’ll have some half a dozen friends,\\r\\nAnd there an end. But what say you to Thursday?\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nMy lord, I would that Thursday were tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWell, get you gone. A Thursday be it then.\\r\\nGo you to Juliet ere you go to bed,\\r\\nPrepare her, wife, against this wedding day.\\r\\nFarewell, my lord.—Light to my chamber, ho!\\r\\nAfore me, it is so very very late that we\\r\\nMay call it early by and by. Good night.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. An open Gallery to Juliet’s Chamber, overlooking the Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo and Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day.\\r\\nIt was the nightingale, and not the lark,\\r\\nThat pierc’d the fearful hollow of thine ear;\\r\\nNightly she sings on yond pomegranate tree.\\r\\nBelieve me, love, it was the nightingale.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIt was the lark, the herald of the morn,\\r\\nNo nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks\\r\\nDo lace the severing clouds in yonder east.\\r\\nNight’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day\\r\\nStands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.\\r\\nI must be gone and live, or stay and die.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nYond light is not daylight, I know it, I.\\r\\nIt is some meteor that the sun exhales\\r\\nTo be to thee this night a torchbearer\\r\\nAnd light thee on thy way to Mantua.\\r\\nTherefore stay yet, thou need’st not to be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nLet me be ta’en, let me be put to death,\\r\\nI am content, so thou wilt have it so.\\r\\nI’ll say yon grey is not the morning’s eye,\\r\\n’Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia’s brow.\\r\\nNor that is not the lark whose notes do beat\\r\\nThe vaulty heaven so high above our heads.\\r\\nI have more care to stay than will to go.\\r\\nCome, death, and welcome. Juliet wills it so.\\r\\nHow is’t, my soul? Let’s talk. It is not day.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIt is, it is! Hie hence, be gone, away.\\r\\nIt is the lark that sings so out of tune,\\r\\nStraining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.\\r\\nSome say the lark makes sweet division;\\r\\nThis doth not so, for she divideth us.\\r\\nSome say the lark and loathed toad change eyes.\\r\\nO, now I would they had chang’d voices too,\\r\\nSince arm from arm that voice doth us affray,\\r\\nHunting thee hence with hunt’s-up to the day.\\r\\nO now be gone, more light and light it grows.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nMore light and light, more dark and dark our woes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMadam.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNurse?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nYour lady mother is coming to your chamber.\\r\\nThe day is broke, be wary, look about.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThen, window, let day in, and let life out.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nFarewell, farewell, one kiss, and I’ll descend.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Descends._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nArt thou gone so? Love, lord, ay husband, friend,\\r\\nI must hear from thee every day in the hour,\\r\\nFor in a minute there are many days.\\r\\nO, by this count I shall be much in years\\r\\nEre I again behold my Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nFarewell!\\r\\nI will omit no opportunity\\r\\nThat may convey my greetings, love, to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO thinkest thou we shall ever meet again?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI doubt it not, and all these woes shall serve\\r\\nFor sweet discourses in our time to come.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO God! I have an ill-divining soul!\\r\\nMethinks I see thee, now thou art so low,\\r\\nAs one dead in the bottom of a tomb.\\r\\nEither my eyesight fails, or thou look’st pale.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd trust me, love, in my eye so do you.\\r\\nDry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit below._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO Fortune, Fortune! All men call thee fickle,\\r\\nIf thou art fickle, what dost thou with him\\r\\nThat is renown’d for faith? Be fickle, Fortune;\\r\\nFor then, I hope thou wilt not keep him long\\r\\nBut send him back.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\n[_Within._] Ho, daughter, are you up?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWho is’t that calls? Is it my lady mother?\\r\\nIs she not down so late, or up so early?\\r\\nWhat unaccustom’d cause procures her hither?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWhy, how now, Juliet?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nMadam, I am not well.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nEvermore weeping for your cousin’s death?\\r\\nWhat, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?\\r\\nAnd if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live.\\r\\nTherefore have done: some grief shows much of love,\\r\\nBut much of grief shows still some want of wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nYet let me weep for such a feeling loss.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nSo shall you feel the loss, but not the friend\\r\\nWhich you weep for.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nFeeling so the loss,\\r\\nI cannot choose but ever weep the friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWell, girl, thou weep’st not so much for his death\\r\\nAs that the villain lives which slaughter’d him.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat villain, madam?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nThat same villain Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nVillain and he be many miles asunder.\\r\\nGod pardon him. I do, with all my heart.\\r\\nAnd yet no man like he doth grieve my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nThat is because the traitor murderer lives.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAy madam, from the reach of these my hands.\\r\\nWould none but I might venge my cousin’s death.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWe will have vengeance for it, fear thou not.\\r\\nThen weep no more. I’ll send to one in Mantua,\\r\\nWhere that same banish’d runagate doth live,\\r\\nShall give him such an unaccustom’d dram\\r\\nThat he shall soon keep Tybalt company:\\r\\nAnd then I hope thou wilt be satisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIndeed I never shall be satisfied\\r\\nWith Romeo till I behold him—dead—\\r\\nIs my poor heart so for a kinsman vex’d.\\r\\nMadam, if you could find out but a man\\r\\nTo bear a poison, I would temper it,\\r\\nThat Romeo should upon receipt thereof,\\r\\nSoon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors\\r\\nTo hear him nam’d, and cannot come to him,\\r\\nTo wreak the love I bore my cousin\\r\\nUpon his body that hath slaughter’d him.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nFind thou the means, and I’ll find such a man.\\r\\nBut now I’ll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAnd joy comes well in such a needy time.\\r\\nWhat are they, I beseech your ladyship?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWell, well, thou hast a careful father, child;\\r\\nOne who to put thee from thy heaviness,\\r\\nHath sorted out a sudden day of joy,\\r\\nThat thou expects not, nor I look’d not for.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nMadam, in happy time, what day is that?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nMarry, my child, early next Thursday morn\\r\\nThe gallant, young, and noble gentleman,\\r\\nThe County Paris, at Saint Peter’s Church,\\r\\nShall happily make thee there a joyful bride.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNow by Saint Peter’s Church, and Peter too,\\r\\nHe shall not make me there a joyful bride.\\r\\nI wonder at this haste, that I must wed\\r\\nEre he that should be husband comes to woo.\\r\\nI pray you tell my lord and father, madam,\\r\\nI will not marry yet; and when I do, I swear\\r\\nIt shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,\\r\\nRather than Paris. These are news indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nHere comes your father, tell him so yourself,\\r\\nAnd see how he will take it at your hands.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet and Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhen the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew;\\r\\nBut for the sunset of my brother’s son\\r\\nIt rains downright.\\r\\nHow now? A conduit, girl? What, still in tears?\\r\\nEvermore showering? In one little body\\r\\nThou counterfeits a bark, a sea, a wind.\\r\\nFor still thy eyes, which I may call the sea,\\r\\nDo ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is,\\r\\nSailing in this salt flood, the winds, thy sighs,\\r\\nWho raging with thy tears and they with them,\\r\\nWithout a sudden calm will overset\\r\\nThy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife?\\r\\nHave you deliver’d to her our decree?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nAy, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks.\\r\\nI would the fool were married to her grave.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nSoft. Take me with you, take me with you, wife.\\r\\nHow, will she none? Doth she not give us thanks?\\r\\nIs she not proud? Doth she not count her blest,\\r\\nUnworthy as she is, that we have wrought\\r\\nSo worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNot proud you have, but thankful that you have.\\r\\nProud can I never be of what I hate;\\r\\nBut thankful even for hate that is meant love.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHow now, how now, chopp’d logic? What is this?\\r\\nProud, and, I thank you, and I thank you not;\\r\\nAnd yet not proud. Mistress minion you,\\r\\nThank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,\\r\\nBut fettle your fine joints ’gainst Thursday next\\r\\nTo go with Paris to Saint Peter’s Church,\\r\\nOr I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.\\r\\nOut, you green-sickness carrion! Out, you baggage!\\r\\nYou tallow-face!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nFie, fie! What, are you mad?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGood father, I beseech you on my knees,\\r\\nHear me with patience but to speak a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHang thee young baggage, disobedient wretch!\\r\\nI tell thee what,—get thee to church a Thursday,\\r\\nOr never after look me in the face.\\r\\nSpeak not, reply not, do not answer me.\\r\\nMy fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest\\r\\nThat God had lent us but this only child;\\r\\nBut now I see this one is one too much,\\r\\nAnd that we have a curse in having her.\\r\\nOut on her, hilding.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nGod in heaven bless her.\\r\\nYou are to blame, my lord, to rate her so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nAnd why, my lady wisdom? Hold your tongue,\\r\\nGood prudence; smatter with your gossips, go.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI speak no treason.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nO God ye good-en!\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMay not one speak?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nPeace, you mumbling fool!\\r\\nUtter your gravity o’er a gossip’s bowl,\\r\\nFor here we need it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nYou are too hot.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nGod’s bread, it makes me mad!\\r\\nDay, night, hour, ride, time, work, play,\\r\\nAlone, in company, still my care hath been\\r\\nTo have her match’d, and having now provided\\r\\nA gentleman of noble parentage,\\r\\nOf fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly allied,\\r\\nStuff’d, as they say, with honourable parts,\\r\\nProportion’d as one’s thought would wish a man,\\r\\nAnd then to have a wretched puling fool,\\r\\nA whining mammet, in her fortune’s tender,\\r\\nTo answer, ‘I’ll not wed, I cannot love,\\r\\nI am too young, I pray you pardon me.’\\r\\nBut, and you will not wed, I’ll pardon you.\\r\\nGraze where you will, you shall not house with me.\\r\\nLook to’t, think on’t, I do not use to jest.\\r\\nThursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise.\\r\\nAnd you be mine, I’ll give you to my friend;\\r\\nAnd you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets,\\r\\nFor by my soul, I’ll ne’er acknowledge thee,\\r\\nNor what is mine shall never do thee good.\\r\\nTrust to’t, bethink you, I’ll not be forsworn.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIs there no pity sitting in the clouds,\\r\\nThat sees into the bottom of my grief?\\r\\nO sweet my mother, cast me not away,\\r\\nDelay this marriage for a month, a week,\\r\\nOr, if you do not, make the bridal bed\\r\\nIn that dim monument where Tybalt lies.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nTalk not to me, for I’ll not speak a word.\\r\\nDo as thou wilt, for I have done with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO God! O Nurse, how shall this be prevented?\\r\\nMy husband is on earth, my faith in heaven.\\r\\nHow shall that faith return again to earth,\\r\\nUnless that husband send it me from heaven\\r\\nBy leaving earth? Comfort me, counsel me.\\r\\nAlack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems\\r\\nUpon so soft a subject as myself.\\r\\nWhat say’st thou? Hast thou not a word of joy?\\r\\nSome comfort, Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nFaith, here it is.\\r\\nRomeo is banished; and all the world to nothing\\r\\nThat he dares ne’er come back to challenge you.\\r\\nOr if he do, it needs must be by stealth.\\r\\nThen, since the case so stands as now it doth,\\r\\nI think it best you married with the County.\\r\\nO, he’s a lovely gentleman.\\r\\nRomeo’s a dishclout to him. An eagle, madam,\\r\\nHath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye\\r\\nAs Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,\\r\\nI think you are happy in this second match,\\r\\nFor it excels your first: or if it did not,\\r\\nYour first is dead, or ’twere as good he were,\\r\\nAs living here and you no use of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nSpeakest thou from thy heart?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAnd from my soul too,\\r\\nOr else beshrew them both.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWhat?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWell, thou hast comforted me marvellous much.\\r\\nGo in, and tell my lady I am gone,\\r\\nHaving displeas’d my father, to Lawrence’ cell,\\r\\nTo make confession and to be absolv’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMarry, I will; and this is wisely done.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAncient damnation! O most wicked fiend!\\r\\nIs it more sin to wish me thus forsworn,\\r\\nOr to dispraise my lord with that same tongue\\r\\nWhich she hath prais’d him with above compare\\r\\nSo many thousand times? Go, counsellor.\\r\\nThou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain.\\r\\nI’ll to the Friar to know his remedy.\\r\\nIf all else fail, myself have power to die.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nOn Thursday, sir? The time is very short.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nMy father Capulet will have it so;\\r\\nAnd I am nothing slow to slack his haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nYou say you do not know the lady’s mind.\\r\\nUneven is the course; I like it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nImmoderately she weeps for Tybalt’s death,\\r\\nAnd therefore have I little talk’d of love;\\r\\nFor Venus smiles not in a house of tears.\\r\\nNow, sir, her father counts it dangerous\\r\\nThat she do give her sorrow so much sway;\\r\\nAnd in his wisdom, hastes our marriage,\\r\\nTo stop the inundation of her tears,\\r\\nWhich, too much minded by herself alone,\\r\\nMay be put from her by society.\\r\\nNow do you know the reason of this haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I would I knew not why it should be slow’d.—\\r\\nLook, sir, here comes the lady toward my cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHappily met, my lady and my wife!\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThat may be, sir, when I may be a wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThat may be, must be, love, on Thursday next.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat must be shall be.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThat’s a certain text.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nCome you to make confession to this father?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nTo answer that, I should confess to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nDo not deny to him that you love me.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI will confess to you that I love him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nSo will ye, I am sure, that you love me.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIf I do so, it will be of more price,\\r\\nBeing spoke behind your back than to your face.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nPoor soul, thy face is much abus’d with tears.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThe tears have got small victory by that;\\r\\nFor it was bad enough before their spite.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThou wrong’st it more than tears with that report.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThat is no slander, sir, which is a truth,\\r\\nAnd what I spake, I spake it to my face.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThy face is mine, and thou hast slander’d it.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIt may be so, for it is not mine own.\\r\\nAre you at leisure, holy father, now,\\r\\nOr shall I come to you at evening mass?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nMy leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.—\\r\\nMy lord, we must entreat the time alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nGod shield I should disturb devotion!—\\r\\nJuliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye,\\r\\nTill then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO shut the door, and when thou hast done so,\\r\\nCome weep with me, past hope, past cure, past help!\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nO Juliet, I already know thy grief;\\r\\nIt strains me past the compass of my wits.\\r\\nI hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it,\\r\\nOn Thursday next be married to this County.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nTell me not, Friar, that thou hear’st of this,\\r\\nUnless thou tell me how I may prevent it.\\r\\nIf in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help,\\r\\nDo thou but call my resolution wise,\\r\\nAnd with this knife I’ll help it presently.\\r\\nGod join’d my heart and Romeo’s, thou our hands;\\r\\nAnd ere this hand, by thee to Romeo’s seal’d,\\r\\nShall be the label to another deed,\\r\\nOr my true heart with treacherous revolt\\r\\nTurn to another, this shall slay them both.\\r\\nTherefore, out of thy long-experienc’d time,\\r\\nGive me some present counsel, or behold\\r\\n’Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife\\r\\nShall play the empire, arbitrating that\\r\\nWhich the commission of thy years and art\\r\\nCould to no issue of true honour bring.\\r\\nBe not so long to speak. I long to die,\\r\\nIf what thou speak’st speak not of remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHold, daughter. I do spy a kind of hope,\\r\\nWhich craves as desperate an execution\\r\\nAs that is desperate which we would prevent.\\r\\nIf, rather than to marry County Paris\\r\\nThou hast the strength of will to slay thyself,\\r\\nThen is it likely thou wilt undertake\\r\\nA thing like death to chide away this shame,\\r\\nThat cop’st with death himself to scape from it.\\r\\nAnd if thou dar’st, I’ll give thee remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,\\r\\nFrom off the battlements of yonder tower,\\r\\nOr walk in thievish ways, or bid me lurk\\r\\nWhere serpents are. Chain me with roaring bears;\\r\\nOr hide me nightly in a charnel-house,\\r\\nO’er-cover’d quite with dead men’s rattling bones,\\r\\nWith reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls.\\r\\nOr bid me go into a new-made grave,\\r\\nAnd hide me with a dead man in his shroud;\\r\\nThings that, to hear them told, have made me tremble,\\r\\nAnd I will do it without fear or doubt,\\r\\nTo live an unstain’d wife to my sweet love.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHold then. Go home, be merry, give consent\\r\\nTo marry Paris. Wednesday is tomorrow;\\r\\nTomorrow night look that thou lie alone,\\r\\nLet not thy Nurse lie with thee in thy chamber.\\r\\nTake thou this vial, being then in bed,\\r\\nAnd this distilled liquor drink thou off,\\r\\nWhen presently through all thy veins shall run\\r\\nA cold and drowsy humour; for no pulse\\r\\nShall keep his native progress, but surcease.\\r\\nNo warmth, no breath shall testify thou livest,\\r\\nThe roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade\\r\\nTo paly ashes; thy eyes’ windows fall,\\r\\nLike death when he shuts up the day of life.\\r\\nEach part depriv’d of supple government,\\r\\nShall stiff and stark and cold appear like death.\\r\\nAnd in this borrow’d likeness of shrunk death\\r\\nThou shalt continue two and forty hours,\\r\\nAnd then awake as from a pleasant sleep.\\r\\nNow when the bridegroom in the morning comes\\r\\nTo rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead.\\r\\nThen as the manner of our country is,\\r\\nIn thy best robes, uncover’d, on the bier,\\r\\nThou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault\\r\\nWhere all the kindred of the Capulets lie.\\r\\nIn the meantime, against thou shalt awake,\\r\\nShall Romeo by my letters know our drift,\\r\\nAnd hither shall he come, and he and I\\r\\nWill watch thy waking, and that very night\\r\\nShall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua.\\r\\nAnd this shall free thee from this present shame,\\r\\nIf no inconstant toy nor womanish fear\\r\\nAbate thy valour in the acting it.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGive me, give me! O tell not me of fear!\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHold; get you gone, be strong and prosperous\\r\\nIn this resolve. I’ll send a friar with speed\\r\\nTo Mantua, with my letters to thy lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nLove give me strength, and strength shall help afford.\\r\\nFarewell, dear father.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, Nurse and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nSo many guests invite as here are writ.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit first Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nYou shall have none ill, sir; for I’ll try if they can lick their\\r\\nfingers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHow canst thou try them so?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nMarry, sir, ’tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers;\\r\\ntherefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nGo, begone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit second Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWe shall be much unfurnish’d for this time.\\r\\nWhat, is my daughter gone to Friar Lawrence?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAy, forsooth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWell, he may chance to do some good on her.\\r\\nA peevish self-will’d harlotry it is.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nSee where she comes from shrift with merry look.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHow now, my headstrong. Where have you been gadding?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhere I have learnt me to repent the sin\\r\\nOf disobedient opposition\\r\\nTo you and your behests; and am enjoin’d\\r\\nBy holy Lawrence to fall prostrate here,\\r\\nTo beg your pardon. Pardon, I beseech you.\\r\\nHenceforward I am ever rul’d by you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nSend for the County, go tell him of this.\\r\\nI’ll have this knot knit up tomorrow morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI met the youthful lord at Lawrence’ cell,\\r\\nAnd gave him what becomed love I might,\\r\\nNot stepping o’er the bounds of modesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhy, I am glad on’t. This is well. Stand up.\\r\\nThis is as’t should be. Let me see the County.\\r\\nAy, marry. Go, I say, and fetch him hither.\\r\\nNow afore God, this reverend holy Friar,\\r\\nAll our whole city is much bound to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNurse, will you go with me into my closet,\\r\\nTo help me sort such needful ornaments\\r\\nAs you think fit to furnish me tomorrow?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nNo, not till Thursday. There is time enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nGo, Nurse, go with her. We’ll to church tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Juliet and Nurse._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWe shall be short in our provision,\\r\\n’Tis now near night.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nTush, I will stir about,\\r\\nAnd all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife.\\r\\nGo thou to Juliet, help to deck up her.\\r\\nI’ll not to bed tonight, let me alone.\\r\\nI’ll play the housewife for this once.—What, ho!—\\r\\nThey are all forth: well, I will walk myself\\r\\nTo County Paris, to prepare him up\\r\\nAgainst tomorrow. My heart is wondrous light\\r\\nSince this same wayward girl is so reclaim’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Juliet’s Chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet and Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAy, those attires are best. But, gentle Nurse,\\r\\nI pray thee leave me to myself tonight;\\r\\nFor I have need of many orisons\\r\\nTo move the heavens to smile upon my state,\\r\\nWhich, well thou know’st, is cross and full of sin.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWhat, are you busy, ho? Need you my help?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNo, madam; we have cull’d such necessaries\\r\\nAs are behoveful for our state tomorrow.\\r\\nSo please you, let me now be left alone,\\r\\nAnd let the nurse this night sit up with you,\\r\\nFor I am sure you have your hands full all\\r\\nIn this so sudden business.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nGood night.\\r\\nGet thee to bed and rest, for thou hast need.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nFarewell. God knows when we shall meet again.\\r\\nI have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins\\r\\nThat almost freezes up the heat of life.\\r\\nI’ll call them back again to comfort me.\\r\\nNurse!—What should she do here?\\r\\nMy dismal scene I needs must act alone.\\r\\nCome, vial.\\r\\nWhat if this mixture do not work at all?\\r\\nShall I be married then tomorrow morning?\\r\\nNo, No! This shall forbid it. Lie thou there.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Laying down her dagger._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat if it be a poison, which the Friar\\r\\nSubtly hath minister’d to have me dead,\\r\\nLest in this marriage he should be dishonour’d,\\r\\nBecause he married me before to Romeo?\\r\\nI fear it is. And yet methinks it should not,\\r\\nFor he hath still been tried a holy man.\\r\\nHow if, when I am laid into the tomb,\\r\\nI wake before the time that Romeo\\r\\nCome to redeem me? There’s a fearful point!\\r\\nShall I not then be stifled in the vault,\\r\\nTo whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,\\r\\nAnd there die strangled ere my Romeo comes?\\r\\nOr, if I live, is it not very like,\\r\\nThe horrible conceit of death and night,\\r\\nTogether with the terror of the place,\\r\\nAs in a vault, an ancient receptacle,\\r\\nWhere for this many hundred years the bones\\r\\nOf all my buried ancestors are pack’d,\\r\\nWhere bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,\\r\\nLies festering in his shroud; where, as they say,\\r\\nAt some hours in the night spirits resort—\\r\\nAlack, alack, is it not like that I,\\r\\nSo early waking, what with loathsome smells,\\r\\nAnd shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth,\\r\\nThat living mortals, hearing them, run mad.\\r\\nO, if I wake, shall I not be distraught,\\r\\nEnvironed with all these hideous fears,\\r\\nAnd madly play with my forefathers’ joints?\\r\\nAnd pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud?\\r\\nAnd, in this rage, with some great kinsman’s bone,\\r\\nAs with a club, dash out my desperate brains?\\r\\nO look, methinks I see my cousin’s ghost\\r\\nSeeking out Romeo that did spit his body\\r\\nUpon a rapier’s point. Stay, Tybalt, stay!\\r\\nRomeo, Romeo, Romeo, here’s drink! I drink to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Throws herself on the bed._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nHold, take these keys and fetch more spices, Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nThey call for dates and quinces in the pastry.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nCome, stir, stir, stir! The second cock hath crow’d,\\r\\nThe curfew bell hath rung, ’tis three o’clock.\\r\\nLook to the bak’d meats, good Angelica;\\r\\nSpare not for cost.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nGo, you cot-quean, go,\\r\\nGet you to bed; faith, you’ll be sick tomorrow\\r\\nFor this night’s watching.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nNo, not a whit. What! I have watch’d ere now\\r\\nAll night for lesser cause, and ne’er been sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nAy, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time;\\r\\nBut I will watch you from such watching now.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nA jealous-hood, a jealous-hood!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Servants, with spits, logs and baskets.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, fellow, what’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nThings for the cook, sir; but I know not what.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nMake haste, make haste.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit First Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\n—Sirrah, fetch drier logs.\\r\\nCall Peter, he will show thee where they are.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nI have a head, sir, that will find out logs\\r\\nAnd never trouble Peter for the matter.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nMass and well said; a merry whoreson, ha.\\r\\nThou shalt be loggerhead.—Good faith, ’tis day.\\r\\nThe County will be here with music straight,\\r\\nFor so he said he would. I hear him near.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Play music._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNurse! Wife! What, ho! What, Nurse, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nGo waken Juliet, go and trim her up.\\r\\nI’ll go and chat with Paris. Hie, make haste,\\r\\nMake haste; the bridegroom he is come already.\\r\\nMake haste I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Juliet’s Chamber; Juliet on the bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMistress! What, mistress! Juliet! Fast, I warrant her, she.\\r\\nWhy, lamb, why, lady, fie, you slug-abed!\\r\\nWhy, love, I say! Madam! Sweetheart! Why, bride!\\r\\nWhat, not a word? You take your pennyworths now.\\r\\nSleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant,\\r\\nThe County Paris hath set up his rest\\r\\nThat you shall rest but little. God forgive me!\\r\\nMarry and amen. How sound is she asleep!\\r\\nI needs must wake her. Madam, madam, madam!\\r\\nAy, let the County take you in your bed,\\r\\nHe’ll fright you up, i’faith. Will it not be?\\r\\nWhat, dress’d, and in your clothes, and down again?\\r\\nI must needs wake you. Lady! Lady! Lady!\\r\\nAlas, alas! Help, help! My lady’s dead!\\r\\nO, well-a-day that ever I was born.\\r\\nSome aqua vitae, ho! My lord! My lady!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWhat noise is here?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO lamentable day!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWhat is the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nLook, look! O heavy day!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nO me, O me! My child, my only life.\\r\\nRevive, look up, or I will die with thee.\\r\\nHelp, help! Call help.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nFor shame, bring Juliet forth, her lord is come.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nShe’s dead, deceas’d, she’s dead; alack the day!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nAlack the day, she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead!\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHa! Let me see her. Out alas! She’s cold,\\r\\nHer blood is settled and her joints are stiff.\\r\\nLife and these lips have long been separated.\\r\\nDeath lies on her like an untimely frost\\r\\nUpon the sweetest flower of all the field.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO lamentable day!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nO woful time!\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nDeath, that hath ta’en her hence to make me wail,\\r\\nTies up my tongue and will not let me speak.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris with Musicians.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nCome, is the bride ready to go to church?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nReady to go, but never to return.\\r\\nO son, the night before thy wedding day\\r\\nHath death lain with thy bride. There she lies,\\r\\nFlower as she was, deflowered by him.\\r\\nDeath is my son-in-law, death is my heir;\\r\\nMy daughter he hath wedded. I will die.\\r\\nAnd leave him all; life, living, all is death’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHave I thought long to see this morning’s face,\\r\\nAnd doth it give me such a sight as this?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nAccurs’d, unhappy, wretched, hateful day.\\r\\nMost miserable hour that e’er time saw\\r\\nIn lasting labour of his pilgrimage.\\r\\nBut one, poor one, one poor and loving child,\\r\\nBut one thing to rejoice and solace in,\\r\\nAnd cruel death hath catch’d it from my sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day.\\r\\nMost lamentable day, most woeful day\\r\\nThat ever, ever, I did yet behold!\\r\\nO day, O day, O day, O hateful day.\\r\\nNever was seen so black a day as this.\\r\\nO woeful day, O woeful day.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nBeguil’d, divorced, wronged, spited, slain.\\r\\nMost detestable death, by thee beguil’d,\\r\\nBy cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown.\\r\\nO love! O life! Not life, but love in death!\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nDespis’d, distressed, hated, martyr’d, kill’d.\\r\\nUncomfortable time, why cam’st thou now\\r\\nTo murder, murder our solemnity?\\r\\nO child! O child! My soul, and not my child,\\r\\nDead art thou. Alack, my child is dead,\\r\\nAnd with my child my joys are buried.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nPeace, ho, for shame. Confusion’s cure lives not\\r\\nIn these confusions. Heaven and yourself\\r\\nHad part in this fair maid, now heaven hath all,\\r\\nAnd all the better is it for the maid.\\r\\nYour part in her you could not keep from death,\\r\\nBut heaven keeps his part in eternal life.\\r\\nThe most you sought was her promotion,\\r\\nFor ’twas your heaven she should be advanc’d,\\r\\nAnd weep ye now, seeing she is advanc’d\\r\\nAbove the clouds, as high as heaven itself?\\r\\nO, in this love, you love your child so ill\\r\\nThat you run mad, seeing that she is well.\\r\\nShe’s not well married that lives married long,\\r\\nBut she’s best married that dies married young.\\r\\nDry up your tears, and stick your rosemary\\r\\nOn this fair corse, and, as the custom is,\\r\\nAnd in her best array bear her to church;\\r\\nFor though fond nature bids us all lament,\\r\\nYet nature’s tears are reason’s merriment.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nAll things that we ordained festival\\r\\nTurn from their office to black funeral:\\r\\nOur instruments to melancholy bells,\\r\\nOur wedding cheer to a sad burial feast;\\r\\nOur solemn hymns to sullen dirges change;\\r\\nOur bridal flowers serve for a buried corse,\\r\\nAnd all things change them to the contrary.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nSir, go you in, and, madam, go with him,\\r\\nAnd go, Sir Paris, everyone prepare\\r\\nTo follow this fair corse unto her grave.\\r\\nThe heavens do lower upon you for some ill;\\r\\nMove them no more by crossing their high will.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris and Friar._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nFaith, we may put up our pipes and be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nHonest good fellows, ah, put up, put up,\\r\\nFor well you know this is a pitiful case.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nAy, by my troth, the case may be amended.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Nurse._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Peter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nMusicians, O, musicians, ‘Heart’s ease,’ ‘Heart’s ease’, O, and you\\r\\nwill have me live, play ‘Heart’s ease.’\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWhy ‘Heart’s ease’?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nO musicians, because my heart itself plays ‘My heart is full’. O play\\r\\nme some merry dump to comfort me.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nNot a dump we, ’tis no time to play now.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nYou will not then?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nI will then give it you soundly.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWhat will you give us?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nNo money, on my faith, but the gleek! I will give you the minstrel.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nThen will I give you the serving-creature.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nThen will I lay the serving-creature’s dagger on your pate. I will\\r\\ncarry no crotchets. I’ll re you, I’ll fa you. Do you note me?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nAnd you re us and fa us, you note us.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MUSICIAN.\\r\\nPray you put up your dagger, and put out your wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nThen have at you with my wit. I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and\\r\\nput up my iron dagger. Answer me like men.\\r\\n ‘When griping griefs the heart doth wound,\\r\\n And doleful dumps the mind oppress,\\r\\n Then music with her silver sound’—\\r\\nWhy ‘silver sound’? Why ‘music with her silver sound’? What say you,\\r\\nSimon Catling?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nMarry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nPrates. What say you, Hugh Rebeck?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MUSICIAN.\\r\\nI say ‘silver sound’ because musicians sound for silver.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nPrates too! What say you, James Soundpost?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD MUSICIAN.\\r\\nFaith, I know not what to say.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nO, I cry you mercy, you are the singer. I will say for you. It is\\r\\n‘music with her silver sound’ because musicians have no gold for\\r\\nsounding.\\r\\n ‘Then music with her silver sound\\r\\n With speedy help doth lend redress.’\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWhat a pestilent knave is this same!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MUSICIAN.\\r\\nHang him, Jack. Come, we’ll in here, tarry for the mourners, and stay\\r\\ndinner.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Mantua. A Street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIf I may trust the flattering eye of sleep,\\r\\nMy dreams presage some joyful news at hand.\\r\\nMy bosom’s lord sits lightly in his throne;\\r\\nAnd all this day an unaccustom’d spirit\\r\\nLifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.\\r\\nI dreamt my lady came and found me dead,—\\r\\nStrange dream, that gives a dead man leave to think!—\\r\\nAnd breath’d such life with kisses in my lips,\\r\\nThat I reviv’d, and was an emperor.\\r\\nAh me, how sweet is love itself possess’d,\\r\\nWhen but love’s shadows are so rich in joy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Balthasar.\\r\\n\\r\\nNews from Verona! How now, Balthasar?\\r\\nDost thou not bring me letters from the Friar?\\r\\nHow doth my lady? Is my father well?\\r\\nHow fares my Juliet? That I ask again;\\r\\nFor nothing can be ill if she be well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nThen she is well, and nothing can be ill.\\r\\nHer body sleeps in Capel’s monument,\\r\\nAnd her immortal part with angels lives.\\r\\nI saw her laid low in her kindred’s vault,\\r\\nAnd presently took post to tell it you.\\r\\nO pardon me for bringing these ill news,\\r\\nSince you did leave it for my office, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIs it even so? Then I defy you, stars!\\r\\nThou know’st my lodging. Get me ink and paper,\\r\\nAnd hire post-horses. I will hence tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nI do beseech you sir, have patience.\\r\\nYour looks are pale and wild, and do import\\r\\nSome misadventure.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nTush, thou art deceiv’d.\\r\\nLeave me, and do the thing I bid thee do.\\r\\nHast thou no letters to me from the Friar?\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nNo, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNo matter. Get thee gone,\\r\\nAnd hire those horses. I’ll be with thee straight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Balthasar._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWell, Juliet, I will lie with thee tonight.\\r\\nLet’s see for means. O mischief thou art swift\\r\\nTo enter in the thoughts of desperate men.\\r\\nI do remember an apothecary,—\\r\\nAnd hereabouts he dwells,—which late I noted\\r\\nIn tatter’d weeds, with overwhelming brows,\\r\\nCulling of simples, meagre were his looks,\\r\\nSharp misery had worn him to the bones;\\r\\nAnd in his needy shop a tortoise hung,\\r\\nAn alligator stuff’d, and other skins\\r\\nOf ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves\\r\\nA beggarly account of empty boxes,\\r\\nGreen earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,\\r\\nRemnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses\\r\\nWere thinly scatter’d, to make up a show.\\r\\nNoting this penury, to myself I said,\\r\\nAnd if a man did need a poison now,\\r\\nWhose sale is present death in Mantua,\\r\\nHere lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.\\r\\nO, this same thought did but forerun my need,\\r\\nAnd this same needy man must sell it me.\\r\\nAs I remember, this should be the house.\\r\\nBeing holiday, the beggar’s shop is shut.\\r\\nWhat, ho! Apothecary!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Apothecary.\\r\\n\\r\\nAPOTHECARY.\\r\\nWho calls so loud?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nCome hither, man. I see that thou art poor.\\r\\nHold, there is forty ducats. Let me have\\r\\nA dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear\\r\\nAs will disperse itself through all the veins,\\r\\nThat the life-weary taker may fall dead,\\r\\nAnd that the trunk may be discharg’d of breath\\r\\nAs violently as hasty powder fir’d\\r\\nDoth hurry from the fatal cannon’s womb.\\r\\n\\r\\nAPOTHECARY.\\r\\nSuch mortal drugs I have, but Mantua’s law\\r\\nIs death to any he that utters them.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nArt thou so bare and full of wretchedness,\\r\\nAnd fear’st to die? Famine is in thy cheeks,\\r\\nNeed and oppression starveth in thine eyes,\\r\\nContempt and beggary hangs upon thy back.\\r\\nThe world is not thy friend, nor the world’s law;\\r\\nThe world affords no law to make thee rich;\\r\\nThen be not poor, but break it and take this.\\r\\n\\r\\nAPOTHECARY.\\r\\nMy poverty, but not my will consents.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI pay thy poverty, and not thy will.\\r\\n\\r\\nAPOTHECARY.\\r\\nPut this in any liquid thing you will\\r\\nAnd drink it off; and, if you had the strength\\r\\nOf twenty men, it would despatch you straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThere is thy gold, worse poison to men’s souls,\\r\\nDoing more murder in this loathsome world\\r\\nThan these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.\\r\\nI sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none.\\r\\nFarewell, buy food, and get thyself in flesh.\\r\\nCome, cordial and not poison, go with me\\r\\nTo Juliet’s grave, for there must I use thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar John.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR JOHN.\\r\\nHoly Franciscan Friar! Brother, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThis same should be the voice of Friar John.\\r\\nWelcome from Mantua. What says Romeo?\\r\\nOr, if his mind be writ, give me his letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR JOHN.\\r\\nGoing to find a barefoot brother out,\\r\\nOne of our order, to associate me,\\r\\nHere in this city visiting the sick,\\r\\nAnd finding him, the searchers of the town,\\r\\nSuspecting that we both were in a house\\r\\nWhere the infectious pestilence did reign,\\r\\nSeal’d up the doors, and would not let us forth,\\r\\nSo that my speed to Mantua there was stay’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nWho bare my letter then to Romeo?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR JOHN.\\r\\nI could not send it,—here it is again,—\\r\\nNor get a messenger to bring it thee,\\r\\nSo fearful were they of infection.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nUnhappy fortune! By my brotherhood,\\r\\nThe letter was not nice, but full of charge,\\r\\nOf dear import, and the neglecting it\\r\\nMay do much danger. Friar John, go hence,\\r\\nGet me an iron crow and bring it straight\\r\\nUnto my cell.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR JOHN.\\r\\nBrother, I’ll go and bring it thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nNow must I to the monument alone.\\r\\nWithin this three hours will fair Juliet wake.\\r\\nShe will beshrew me much that Romeo\\r\\nHath had no notice of these accidents;\\r\\nBut I will write again to Mantua,\\r\\nAnd keep her at my cell till Romeo come.\\r\\nPoor living corse, clos’d in a dead man’s tomb.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A churchyard; in it a Monument belonging to the Capulets.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paris, and his Page bearing flowers and a torch.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nGive me thy torch, boy. Hence and stand aloof.\\r\\nYet put it out, for I would not be seen.\\r\\nUnder yond yew tree lay thee all along,\\r\\nHolding thy ear close to the hollow ground;\\r\\nSo shall no foot upon the churchyard tread,\\r\\nBeing loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves,\\r\\nBut thou shalt hear it. Whistle then to me,\\r\\nAs signal that thou hear’st something approach.\\r\\nGive me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I am almost afraid to stand alone\\r\\nHere in the churchyard; yet I will adventure.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Retires._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nSweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew.\\r\\nO woe, thy canopy is dust and stones,\\r\\nWhich with sweet water nightly I will dew,\\r\\nOr wanting that, with tears distill’d by moans.\\r\\nThe obsequies that I for thee will keep,\\r\\nNightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Page whistles._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe boy gives warning something doth approach.\\r\\nWhat cursed foot wanders this way tonight,\\r\\nTo cross my obsequies and true love’s rite?\\r\\nWhat, with a torch! Muffle me, night, awhile.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Retires._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo and Balthasar with a torch, mattock, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGive me that mattock and the wrenching iron.\\r\\nHold, take this letter; early in the morning\\r\\nSee thou deliver it to my lord and father.\\r\\nGive me the light; upon thy life I charge thee,\\r\\nWhate’er thou hear’st or seest, stand all aloof\\r\\nAnd do not interrupt me in my course.\\r\\nWhy I descend into this bed of death\\r\\nIs partly to behold my lady’s face,\\r\\nBut chiefly to take thence from her dead finger\\r\\nA precious ring, a ring that I must use\\r\\nIn dear employment. Therefore hence, be gone.\\r\\nBut if thou jealous dost return to pry\\r\\nIn what I further shall intend to do,\\r\\nBy heaven I will tear thee joint by joint,\\r\\nAnd strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs.\\r\\nThe time and my intents are savage-wild;\\r\\nMore fierce and more inexorable far\\r\\nThan empty tigers or the roaring sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nI will be gone, sir, and not trouble you.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSo shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that.\\r\\nLive, and be prosperous, and farewell, good fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nFor all this same, I’ll hide me hereabout.\\r\\nHis looks I fear, and his intents I doubt.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Retires_]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThou detestable maw, thou womb of death,\\r\\nGorg’d with the dearest morsel of the earth,\\r\\nThus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Breaking open the door of the monument._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd in despite, I’ll cram thee with more food.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThis is that banish’d haughty Montague\\r\\nThat murder’d my love’s cousin,—with which grief,\\r\\nIt is supposed, the fair creature died,—\\r\\nAnd here is come to do some villanous shame\\r\\nTo the dead bodies. I will apprehend him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Advances._]\\r\\n\\r\\nStop thy unhallow’d toil, vile Montague.\\r\\nCan vengeance be pursu’d further than death?\\r\\nCondemned villain, I do apprehend thee.\\r\\nObey, and go with me, for thou must die.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI must indeed; and therefore came I hither.\\r\\nGood gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man.\\r\\nFly hence and leave me. Think upon these gone;\\r\\nLet them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth,\\r\\nPut not another sin upon my head\\r\\nBy urging me to fury. O be gone.\\r\\nBy heaven I love thee better than myself;\\r\\nFor I come hither arm’d against myself.\\r\\nStay not, be gone, live, and hereafter say,\\r\\nA madman’s mercy bid thee run away.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nI do defy thy conjuration,\\r\\nAnd apprehend thee for a felon here.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWilt thou provoke me? Then have at thee, boy!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nO lord, they fight! I will go call the watch.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nO, I am slain! [_Falls._] If thou be merciful,\\r\\nOpen the tomb, lay me with Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIn faith, I will. Let me peruse this face.\\r\\nMercutio’s kinsman, noble County Paris!\\r\\nWhat said my man, when my betossed soul\\r\\nDid not attend him as we rode? I think\\r\\nHe told me Paris should have married Juliet.\\r\\nSaid he not so? Or did I dream it so?\\r\\nOr am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet,\\r\\nTo think it was so? O, give me thy hand,\\r\\nOne writ with me in sour misfortune’s book.\\r\\nI’ll bury thee in a triumphant grave.\\r\\nA grave? O no, a lantern, slaught’red youth,\\r\\nFor here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes\\r\\nThis vault a feasting presence full of light.\\r\\nDeath, lie thou there, by a dead man interr’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Laying Paris in the monument._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow oft when men are at the point of death\\r\\nHave they been merry! Which their keepers call\\r\\nA lightning before death. O, how may I\\r\\nCall this a lightning? O my love, my wife,\\r\\nDeath that hath suck’d the honey of thy breath,\\r\\nHath had no power yet upon thy beauty.\\r\\nThou art not conquer’d. Beauty’s ensign yet\\r\\nIs crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,\\r\\nAnd death’s pale flag is not advanced there.\\r\\nTybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet?\\r\\nO, what more favour can I do to thee\\r\\nThan with that hand that cut thy youth in twain\\r\\nTo sunder his that was thine enemy?\\r\\nForgive me, cousin. Ah, dear Juliet,\\r\\nWhy art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe\\r\\nThat unsubstantial death is amorous;\\r\\nAnd that the lean abhorred monster keeps\\r\\nThee here in dark to be his paramour?\\r\\nFor fear of that I still will stay with thee,\\r\\nAnd never from this palace of dim night\\r\\nDepart again. Here, here will I remain\\r\\nWith worms that are thy chambermaids. O, here\\r\\nWill I set up my everlasting rest;\\r\\nAnd shake the yoke of inauspicious stars\\r\\nFrom this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last.\\r\\nArms, take your last embrace! And, lips, O you\\r\\nThe doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss\\r\\nA dateless bargain to engrossing death.\\r\\nCome, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide.\\r\\nThou desperate pilot, now at once run on\\r\\nThe dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark.\\r\\nHere’s to my love! [_Drinks._] O true apothecary!\\r\\nThy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, at the other end of the Churchyard, Friar Lawrence, with a\\r\\n lantern, crow, and spade.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nSaint Francis be my speed. How oft tonight\\r\\nHave my old feet stumbled at graves? Who’s there?\\r\\nWho is it that consorts, so late, the dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nHere’s one, a friend, and one that knows you well.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nBliss be upon you. Tell me, good my friend,\\r\\nWhat torch is yond that vainly lends his light\\r\\nTo grubs and eyeless skulls? As I discern,\\r\\nIt burneth in the Capels’ monument.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nIt doth so, holy sir, and there’s my master,\\r\\nOne that you love.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nWho is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nRomeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHow long hath he been there?\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nFull half an hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nGo with me to the vault.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nI dare not, sir;\\r\\nMy master knows not but I am gone hence,\\r\\nAnd fearfully did menace me with death\\r\\nIf I did stay to look on his intents.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nStay then, I’ll go alone. Fear comes upon me.\\r\\nO, much I fear some ill unlucky thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nAs I did sleep under this yew tree here,\\r\\nI dreamt my master and another fought,\\r\\nAnd that my master slew him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nRomeo! [_Advances._]\\r\\nAlack, alack, what blood is this which stains\\r\\nThe stony entrance of this sepulchre?\\r\\nWhat mean these masterless and gory swords\\r\\nTo lie discolour’d by this place of peace?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Enters the monument._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRomeo! O, pale! Who else? What, Paris too?\\r\\nAnd steep’d in blood? Ah what an unkind hour\\r\\nIs guilty of this lamentable chance?\\r\\nThe lady stirs.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Juliet wakes and stirs._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO comfortable Friar, where is my lord?\\r\\nI do remember well where I should be,\\r\\nAnd there I am. Where is my Romeo?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Noise within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nI hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest\\r\\nOf death, contagion, and unnatural sleep.\\r\\nA greater power than we can contradict\\r\\nHath thwarted our intents. Come, come away.\\r\\nThy husband in thy bosom there lies dead;\\r\\nAnd Paris too. Come, I’ll dispose of thee\\r\\nAmong a sisterhood of holy nuns.\\r\\nStay not to question, for the watch is coming.\\r\\nCome, go, good Juliet. I dare no longer stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGo, get thee hence, for I will not away.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Friar Lawrence._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat’s here? A cup clos’d in my true love’s hand?\\r\\nPoison, I see, hath been his timeless end.\\r\\nO churl. Drink all, and left no friendly drop\\r\\nTo help me after? I will kiss thy lips.\\r\\nHaply some poison yet doth hang on them,\\r\\nTo make me die with a restorative.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kisses him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThy lips are warm!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\n[_Within._] Lead, boy. Which way?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nYea, noise? Then I’ll be brief. O happy dagger.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Snatching Romeo’s dagger._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThis is thy sheath. [_stabs herself_] There rest, and let me die.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Falls on Romeo’s body and dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Watch with the Page of Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nThis is the place. There, where the torch doth burn.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\nThe ground is bloody. Search about the churchyard.\\r\\nGo, some of you, whoe’er you find attach.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt some of the Watch._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPitiful sight! Here lies the County slain,\\r\\nAnd Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead,\\r\\nWho here hath lain this two days buried.\\r\\nGo tell the Prince; run to the Capulets.\\r\\nRaise up the Montagues, some others search.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt others of the Watch._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWe see the ground whereon these woes do lie,\\r\\nBut the true ground of all these piteous woes\\r\\nWe cannot without circumstance descry.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter some of the Watch with Balthasar.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WATCH.\\r\\nHere’s Romeo’s man. We found him in the churchyard.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\nHold him in safety till the Prince come hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter others of the Watch with Friar Lawrence.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WATCH. Here is a Friar that trembles, sighs, and weeps.\\r\\nWe took this mattock and this spade from him\\r\\nAs he was coming from this churchyard side.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\nA great suspicion. Stay the Friar too.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the Prince and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhat misadventure is so early up,\\r\\nThat calls our person from our morning’s rest?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhat should it be that they so shriek abroad?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nO the people in the street cry Romeo,\\r\\nSome Juliet, and some Paris, and all run\\r\\nWith open outcry toward our monument.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhat fear is this which startles in our ears?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\nSovereign, here lies the County Paris slain,\\r\\nAnd Romeo dead, and Juliet, dead before,\\r\\nWarm and new kill’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nSearch, seek, and know how this foul murder comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\nHere is a Friar, and slaughter’d Romeo’s man,\\r\\nWith instruments upon them fit to open\\r\\nThese dead men’s tombs.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nO heaven! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds!\\r\\nThis dagger hath mista’en, for lo, his house\\r\\nIs empty on the back of Montague,\\r\\nAnd it mis-sheathed in my daughter’s bosom.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nO me! This sight of death is as a bell\\r\\nThat warns my old age to a sepulchre.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Montague and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nCome, Montague, for thou art early up,\\r\\nTo see thy son and heir more early down.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nAlas, my liege, my wife is dead tonight.\\r\\nGrief of my son’s exile hath stopp’d her breath.\\r\\nWhat further woe conspires against mine age?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nLook, and thou shalt see.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nO thou untaught! What manners is in this,\\r\\nTo press before thy father to a grave?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nSeal up the mouth of outrage for a while,\\r\\nTill we can clear these ambiguities,\\r\\nAnd know their spring, their head, their true descent,\\r\\nAnd then will I be general of your woes,\\r\\nAnd lead you even to death. Meantime forbear,\\r\\nAnd let mischance be slave to patience.\\r\\nBring forth the parties of suspicion.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nI am the greatest, able to do least,\\r\\nYet most suspected, as the time and place\\r\\nDoth make against me, of this direful murder.\\r\\nAnd here I stand, both to impeach and purge\\r\\nMyself condemned and myself excus’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThen say at once what thou dost know in this.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nI will be brief, for my short date of breath\\r\\nIs not so long as is a tedious tale.\\r\\nRomeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet,\\r\\nAnd she, there dead, that Romeo’s faithful wife.\\r\\nI married them; and their stol’n marriage day\\r\\nWas Tybalt’s doomsday, whose untimely death\\r\\nBanish’d the new-made bridegroom from this city;\\r\\nFor whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pin’d.\\r\\nYou, to remove that siege of grief from her,\\r\\nBetroth’d, and would have married her perforce\\r\\nTo County Paris. Then comes she to me,\\r\\nAnd with wild looks, bid me devise some means\\r\\nTo rid her from this second marriage,\\r\\nOr in my cell there would she kill herself.\\r\\nThen gave I her, so tutored by my art,\\r\\nA sleeping potion, which so took effect\\r\\nAs I intended, for it wrought on her\\r\\nThe form of death. Meantime I writ to Romeo\\r\\nThat he should hither come as this dire night\\r\\nTo help to take her from her borrow’d grave,\\r\\nBeing the time the potion’s force should cease.\\r\\nBut he which bore my letter, Friar John,\\r\\nWas stay’d by accident; and yesternight\\r\\nReturn’d my letter back. Then all alone\\r\\nAt the prefixed hour of her waking\\r\\nCame I to take her from her kindred’s vault,\\r\\nMeaning to keep her closely at my cell\\r\\nTill I conveniently could send to Romeo.\\r\\nBut when I came, some minute ere the time\\r\\nOf her awaking, here untimely lay\\r\\nThe noble Paris and true Romeo dead.\\r\\nShe wakes; and I entreated her come forth\\r\\nAnd bear this work of heaven with patience.\\r\\nBut then a noise did scare me from the tomb;\\r\\nAnd she, too desperate, would not go with me,\\r\\nBut, as it seems, did violence on herself.\\r\\nAll this I know; and to the marriage\\r\\nHer Nurse is privy. And if ought in this\\r\\nMiscarried by my fault, let my old life\\r\\nBe sacrific’d, some hour before his time,\\r\\nUnto the rigour of severest law.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWe still have known thee for a holy man.\\r\\nWhere’s Romeo’s man? What can he say to this?\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nI brought my master news of Juliet’s death,\\r\\nAnd then in post he came from Mantua\\r\\nTo this same place, to this same monument.\\r\\nThis letter he early bid me give his father,\\r\\nAnd threaten’d me with death, going in the vault,\\r\\nIf I departed not, and left him there.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nGive me the letter, I will look on it.\\r\\nWhere is the County’s Page that rais’d the watch?\\r\\nSirrah, what made your master in this place?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nHe came with flowers to strew his lady’s grave,\\r\\nAnd bid me stand aloof, and so I did.\\r\\nAnon comes one with light to ope the tomb,\\r\\nAnd by and by my master drew on him,\\r\\nAnd then I ran away to call the watch.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThis letter doth make good the Friar’s words,\\r\\nTheir course of love, the tidings of her death.\\r\\nAnd here he writes that he did buy a poison\\r\\nOf a poor ’pothecary, and therewithal\\r\\nCame to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet.\\r\\nWhere be these enemies? Capulet, Montague,\\r\\nSee what a scourge is laid upon your hate,\\r\\nThat heaven finds means to kill your joys with love!\\r\\nAnd I, for winking at your discords too,\\r\\nHave lost a brace of kinsmen. All are punish’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nO brother Montague, give me thy hand.\\r\\nThis is my daughter’s jointure, for no more\\r\\nCan I demand.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nBut I can give thee more,\\r\\nFor I will raise her statue in pure gold,\\r\\nThat whiles Verona by that name is known,\\r\\nThere shall no figure at such rate be set\\r\\nAs that of true and faithful Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nAs rich shall Romeo’s by his lady’s lie,\\r\\nPoor sacrifices of our enmity.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nA glooming peace this morning with it brings;\\r\\nThe sun for sorrow will not show his head.\\r\\nGo hence, to have more talk of these sad things.\\r\\nSome shall be pardon’d, and some punished,\\r\\nFor never was a story of more woe\\r\\nThan this of Juliet and her Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE TAMING OF THE SHREW\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nINDUCTION\\r\\nScene I. Before an alehouse on a heath.\\r\\nScene II. A bedchamber in the LORD’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Padua. A public place.\\r\\nScene II. Padua. Before HORTENSIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. Padua. A room in BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Padua. A room in BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\nScene II. The same. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. A hall in PETRUCHIO’S country house.\\r\\nScene II. Padua. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\nScene III. A room in PETRUCHIO’S house.\\r\\nScene IV. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\nScene V. A public road.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Padua. Before LUCENTIO’S house.\\r\\nScene II. A room in LUCENTIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nPersons in the Induction\\r\\nA LORD\\r\\nCHRISTOPHER SLY, a tinker\\r\\nHOSTESS\\r\\nPAGE\\r\\nPLAYERS\\r\\nHUNTSMEN\\r\\nSERVANTS\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA MINOLA, a rich gentleman of Padua\\r\\nVINCENTIO, an old gentleman of Pisa\\r\\nLUCENTIO, son to Vincentio; in love with Bianca\\r\\nPETRUCHIO, a gentleman of Verona; suitor to Katherina\\r\\n\\r\\nSuitors to Bianca\\r\\nGREMIO\\r\\nHORTENSIO\\r\\n\\r\\nServants to Lucentio\\r\\nTRANIO\\r\\nBIONDELLO\\r\\n\\r\\nServants to Petruchio\\r\\nGRUMIO\\r\\nCURTIS\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT, set up to personate Vincentio\\r\\n\\r\\nDaughters to Baptista\\r\\nKATHERINA, the shrew\\r\\nBIANCA\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW\\r\\n\\r\\nTailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Baptista and Petruchio\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Sometimes in Padua, and sometimes in PETRUCHIO’S house in the\\r\\ncountry.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nINDUCTION\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Before an alehouse on a heath.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Hostess and Sly\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nI’ll pheeze you, in faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nA pair of stocks, you rogue!\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nY’are a baggage; the Slys are no rogues; look in the chronicles: we\\r\\ncame in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore, _paucas pallabris_; let the\\r\\nworld slide. Sessa!\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nYou will not pay for the glasses you have burst?\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nNo, not a denier. Go by, Saint Jeronimy, go to thy cold bed and warm\\r\\nthee.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nI know my remedy; I must go fetch the third-borough.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit_]\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nThird, or fourth, or fifth borough, I’ll answer him by law. I’ll not\\r\\nbudge an inch, boy: let him come, and kindly.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Lies down on the ground, and falls asleep._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHorns winded. Enter a Lord from hunting, with Huntsmen and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nHuntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds;\\r\\nBrach Merriman, the poor cur is emboss’d,\\r\\nAnd couple Clowder with the deep-mouth’d brach.\\r\\nSaw’st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good\\r\\nAt the hedge-corner, in the coldest fault?\\r\\nI would not lose the dog for twenty pound.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nWhy, Bellman is as good as he, my lord;\\r\\nHe cried upon it at the merest loss,\\r\\nAnd twice today pick’d out the dullest scent;\\r\\nTrust me, I take him for the better dog.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nThou art a fool: if Echo were as fleet,\\r\\nI would esteem him worth a dozen such.\\r\\nBut sup them well, and look unto them all;\\r\\nTomorrow I intend to hunt again.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nI will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\n[ _Sees Sly_.] What’s here? One dead, or drunk?\\r\\nSee, doth he breathe?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nHe breathes, my lord. Were he not warm’d with ale,\\r\\nThis were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nO monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies!\\r\\nGrim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image!\\r\\nSirs, I will practise on this drunken man.\\r\\nWhat think you, if he were convey’d to bed,\\r\\nWrapp’d in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers,\\r\\nA most delicious banquet by his bed,\\r\\nAnd brave attendants near him when he wakes,\\r\\nWould not the beggar then forget himself?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nBelieve me, lord, I think he cannot choose.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nIt would seem strange unto him when he wak’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nEven as a flattering dream or worthless fancy.\\r\\nThen take him up, and manage well the jest.\\r\\nCarry him gently to my fairest chamber,\\r\\nAnd hang it round with all my wanton pictures;\\r\\nBalm his foul head in warm distilled waters,\\r\\nAnd burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet.\\r\\nProcure me music ready when he wakes,\\r\\nTo make a dulcet and a heavenly sound;\\r\\nAnd if he chance to speak, be ready straight,\\r\\nAnd with a low submissive reverence\\r\\nSay ‘What is it your honour will command?’\\r\\nLet one attend him with a silver basin\\r\\nFull of rose-water and bestrew’d with flowers;\\r\\nAnother bear the ewer, the third a diaper,\\r\\nAnd say ‘Will’t please your lordship cool your hands?’\\r\\nSomeone be ready with a costly suit,\\r\\nAnd ask him what apparel he will wear;\\r\\nAnother tell him of his hounds and horse,\\r\\nAnd that his lady mourns at his disease.\\r\\nPersuade him that he hath been lunatic;\\r\\nAnd, when he says he is—say that he dreams,\\r\\nFor he is nothing but a mighty lord.\\r\\nThis do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs;\\r\\nIt will be pastime passing excellent,\\r\\nIf it be husbanded with modesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nMy lord, I warrant you we will play our part,\\r\\nAs he shall think by our true diligence,\\r\\nHe is no less than what we say he is.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nTake him up gently, and to bed with him,\\r\\nAnd each one to his office when he wakes.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Sly _is bourne out. A trumpet sounds._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSirrah, go see what trumpet ’tis that sounds:\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit_ Servant.]\\r\\n\\r\\nBelike some noble gentleman that means,\\r\\nTravelling some journey, to repose him here.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now! who is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nAn it please your honour, players\\r\\nThat offer service to your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nBid them come near.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Players.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, fellows, you are welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYERS.\\r\\nWe thank your honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nDo you intend to stay with me tonight?\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYER.\\r\\nSo please your lordship to accept our duty.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nWith all my heart. This fellow I remember\\r\\nSince once he play’d a farmer’s eldest son;\\r\\n’Twas where you woo’d the gentlewoman so well.\\r\\nI have forgot your name; but, sure, that part\\r\\nWas aptly fitted and naturally perform’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYER.\\r\\nI think ’twas Soto that your honour means.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\n’Tis very true; thou didst it excellent.\\r\\nWell, you are come to me in happy time,\\r\\nThe rather for I have some sport in hand\\r\\nWherein your cunning can assist me much.\\r\\nThere is a lord will hear you play tonight;\\r\\nBut I am doubtful of your modesties,\\r\\nLest, over-eying of his odd behaviour,—\\r\\nFor yet his honour never heard a play,—\\r\\nYou break into some merry passion\\r\\nAnd so offend him; for I tell you, sirs,\\r\\nIf you should smile, he grows impatient.\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYER.\\r\\nFear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves,\\r\\nWere he the veriest antick in the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nGo, sirrah, take them to the buttery,\\r\\nAnd give them friendly welcome everyone:\\r\\nLet them want nothing that my house affords.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit one with the Players._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSirrah, go you to Barthol’mew my page,\\r\\nAnd see him dress’d in all suits like a lady;\\r\\nThat done, conduct him to the drunkard’s chamber,\\r\\nAnd call him ‘madam,’ do him obeisance.\\r\\nTell him from me—as he will win my love,—\\r\\nHe bear himself with honourable action,\\r\\nSuch as he hath observ’d in noble ladies\\r\\nUnto their lords, by them accomplished;\\r\\nSuch duty to the drunkard let him do,\\r\\nWith soft low tongue and lowly courtesy,\\r\\nAnd say ‘What is’t your honour will command,\\r\\nWherein your lady and your humble wife\\r\\nMay show her duty and make known her love?’\\r\\nAnd then with kind embracements, tempting kisses,\\r\\nAnd with declining head into his bosom,\\r\\nBid him shed tears, as being overjoy’d\\r\\nTo see her noble lord restor’d to health,\\r\\nWho for this seven years hath esteemed him\\r\\nNo better than a poor and loathsome beggar.\\r\\nAnd if the boy have not a woman’s gift\\r\\nTo rain a shower of commanded tears,\\r\\nAn onion will do well for such a shift,\\r\\nWhich, in a napkin being close convey’d,\\r\\nShall in despite enforce a watery eye.\\r\\nSee this dispatch’d with all the haste thou canst;\\r\\nAnon I’ll give thee more instructions.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI know the boy will well usurp the grace,\\r\\nVoice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman;\\r\\nI long to hear him call the drunkard husband;\\r\\nAnd how my men will stay themselves from laughter\\r\\nWhen they do homage to this simple peasant.\\r\\nI’ll in to counsel them; haply my presence\\r\\nMay well abate the over-merry spleen,\\r\\nWhich otherwise would grow into extremes.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A bedchamber in the LORD’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nSly is discovered in a rich nightgown, with Attendants: some with\\r\\napparel, basin, ewer, and other appurtenances; and Lord, dressed like a\\r\\nservant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nFor God’s sake! a pot of small ale.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nWill’t please your lordship drink a cup of sack?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nWill’t please your honour taste of these conserves?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD SERVANT.\\r\\nWhat raiment will your honour wear today?\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nI am Christophero Sly; call not me honour nor lordship. I ne’er drank\\r\\nsack in my life; and if you give me any conserves, give me conserves of\\r\\nbeef. Ne’er ask me what raiment I’ll wear, for I have no more doublets\\r\\nthan backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet:\\r\\nnay, sometime more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look\\r\\nthrough the over-leather.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nHeaven cease this idle humour in your honour!\\r\\nO, that a mighty man of such descent,\\r\\nOf such possessions, and so high esteem,\\r\\nShould be infused with so foul a spirit!\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nWhat! would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly’s son of\\r\\nBurton-heath; by birth a pedlar, by education a cardmaker, by\\r\\ntransmutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker? Ask\\r\\nMarian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she know me not: if she\\r\\nsay I am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up for\\r\\nthe lyingest knave in Christendom. What! I am not bestraught. Here’s—\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD SERVANT.\\r\\nO! this it is that makes your lady mourn.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nO! this is it that makes your servants droop.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nHence comes it that your kindred shuns your house,\\r\\nAs beaten hence by your strange lunacy.\\r\\nO noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth,\\r\\nCall home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,\\r\\nAnd banish hence these abject lowly dreams.\\r\\nLook how thy servants do attend on thee,\\r\\nEach in his office ready at thy beck:\\r\\nWilt thou have music? Hark! Apollo plays,\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd twenty caged nightingales do sing:\\r\\nOr wilt thou sleep? We’ll have thee to a couch\\r\\nSofter and sweeter than the lustful bed\\r\\nOn purpose trimm’d up for Semiramis.\\r\\nSay thou wilt walk: we will bestrew the ground:\\r\\nOr wilt thou ride? Thy horses shall be trapp’d,\\r\\nTheir harness studded all with gold and pearl.\\r\\nDost thou love hawking? Thou hast hawks will soar\\r\\nAbove the morning lark: or wilt thou hunt?\\r\\nThy hounds shall make the welkin answer them\\r\\nAnd fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nSay thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift\\r\\nAs breathed stags; ay, fleeter than the roe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nDost thou love pictures? We will fetch thee straight\\r\\nAdonis painted by a running brook,\\r\\nAnd Cytherea all in sedges hid,\\r\\nWhich seem to move and wanton with her breath\\r\\nEven as the waving sedges play with wind.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nWe’ll show thee Io as she was a maid\\r\\nAnd how she was beguiled and surpris’d,\\r\\nAs lively painted as the deed was done.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD SERVANT.\\r\\nOr Daphne roaming through a thorny wood,\\r\\nScratching her legs, that one shall swear she bleeds\\r\\nAnd at that sight shall sad Apollo weep,\\r\\nSo workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nThou art a lord, and nothing but a lord:\\r\\nThou hast a lady far more beautiful\\r\\nThan any woman in this waning age.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nAnd, till the tears that she hath shed for thee\\r\\nLike envious floods o’er-run her lovely face,\\r\\nShe was the fairest creature in the world;\\r\\nAnd yet she is inferior to none.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nAm I a lord? and have I such a lady?\\r\\nOr do I dream? Or have I dream’d till now?\\r\\nI do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak;\\r\\nI smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things:\\r\\nUpon my life, I am a lord indeed;\\r\\nAnd not a tinker, nor Christophero Sly.\\r\\nWell, bring our lady hither to our sight;\\r\\nAnd once again, a pot o’ the smallest ale.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nWill’t please your mightiness to wash your hands?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Servants present a ewer, basin and napkin._]\\r\\n\\r\\nO, how we joy to see your wit restor’d!\\r\\nO, that once more you knew but what you are!\\r\\nThese fifteen years you have been in a dream,\\r\\nOr, when you wak’d, so wak’d as if you slept.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nThese fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap.\\r\\nBut did I never speak of all that time?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nO! yes, my lord, but very idle words;\\r\\nFor though you lay here in this goodly chamber,\\r\\nYet would you say ye were beaten out of door,\\r\\nAnd rail upon the hostess of the house,\\r\\nAnd say you would present her at the leet,\\r\\nBecause she brought stone jugs and no seal’d quarts.\\r\\nSometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nAy, the woman’s maid of the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD SERVANT.\\r\\nWhy, sir, you know no house nor no such maid,\\r\\nNor no such men as you have reckon’d up,\\r\\nAs Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece,\\r\\nAnd Peter Turph, and Henry Pimpernell;\\r\\nAnd twenty more such names and men as these,\\r\\nWhich never were, nor no man ever saw.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nNow, Lord be thanked for my good amends!\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the Page, as a lady, with Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nI thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nHow fares my noble lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nMarry, I fare well; for here is cheer enough.\\r\\nWhere is my wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nHere, noble lord: what is thy will with her?\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nAre you my wife, and will not call me husband?\\r\\nMy men should call me lord: I am your goodman.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nMy husband and my lord, my lord and husband;\\r\\nI am your wife in all obedience.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nI know it well. What must I call her?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nMadam.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nAlice madam, or Joan madam?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nMadam, and nothing else; so lords call ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nMadam wife, they say that I have dream’d\\r\\nAnd slept above some fifteen year or more.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nAy, and the time seems thirty unto me,\\r\\nBeing all this time abandon’d from your bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\n’Tis much. Servants, leave me and her alone.\\r\\nMadam, undress you, and come now to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nThrice noble lord, let me entreat of you\\r\\nTo pardon me yet for a night or two;\\r\\nOr, if not so, until the sun be set:\\r\\nFor your physicians have expressly charg’d,\\r\\nIn peril to incur your former malady,\\r\\nThat I should yet absent me from your bed:\\r\\nI hope this reason stands for my excuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nAy, it stands so that I may hardly tarry so long; but I would be loath\\r\\nto fall into my dreams again: I will therefore tarry in despite of the\\r\\nflesh and the blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nYour honour’s players, hearing your amendment,\\r\\nAre come to play a pleasant comedy;\\r\\nFor so your doctors hold it very meet,\\r\\nSeeing too much sadness hath congeal’d your blood,\\r\\nAnd melancholy is the nurse of frenzy:\\r\\nTherefore they thought it good you hear a play,\\r\\nAnd frame your mind to mirth and merriment,\\r\\nWhich bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nMarry, I will; let them play it. Is not a commonty a Christmas gambold\\r\\nor a tumbling-trick?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nNo, my good lord; it is more pleasing stuff.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nWhat! household stuff?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nIt is a kind of history.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nWell, we’ll see’t. Come, madam wife, sit by my side and let the world\\r\\nslip: we shall ne’er be younger.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Padua. A public place.\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter Lucentio and Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTranio, since for the great desire I had\\r\\nTo see fair Padua, nursery of arts,\\r\\nI am arriv’d for fruitful Lombardy,\\r\\nThe pleasant garden of great Italy,\\r\\nAnd by my father’s love and leave am arm’d\\r\\nWith his good will and thy good company,\\r\\nMy trusty servant well approv’d in all,\\r\\nHere let us breathe, and haply institute\\r\\nA course of learning and ingenious studies.\\r\\nPisa, renowned for grave citizens,\\r\\nGave me my being and my father first,\\r\\nA merchant of great traffic through the world,\\r\\nVincentio, come of the Bentivolii.\\r\\nVincentio’s son, brought up in Florence,\\r\\nIt shall become to serve all hopes conceiv’d,\\r\\nTo deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds:\\r\\nAnd therefore, Tranio, for the time I study,\\r\\nVirtue and that part of philosophy\\r\\nWill I apply that treats of happiness\\r\\nBy virtue specially to be achiev’d.\\r\\nTell me thy mind; for I have Pisa left\\r\\nAnd am to Padua come as he that leaves\\r\\nA shallow plash to plunge him in the deep,\\r\\nAnd with satiety seeks to quench his thirst.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n_Mi perdonato_, gentle master mine;\\r\\nI am in all affected as yourself;\\r\\nGlad that you thus continue your resolve\\r\\nTo suck the sweets of sweet philosophy.\\r\\nOnly, good master, while we do admire\\r\\nThis virtue and this moral discipline,\\r\\nLet’s be no stoics nor no stocks, I pray;\\r\\nOr so devote to Aristotle’s checks\\r\\nAs Ovid be an outcast quite abjur’d.\\r\\nBalk logic with acquaintance that you have,\\r\\nAnd practise rhetoric in your common talk;\\r\\nMusic and poesy use to quicken you;\\r\\nThe mathematics and the metaphysics,\\r\\nFall to them as you find your stomach serves you:\\r\\nNo profit grows where is no pleasure ta’en;\\r\\nIn brief, sir, study what you most affect.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nGramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise.\\r\\nIf, Biondello, thou wert come ashore,\\r\\nWe could at once put us in readiness,\\r\\nAnd take a lodging fit to entertain\\r\\nSuch friends as time in Padua shall beget.\\r\\nBut stay awhile; what company is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMaster, some show to welcome us to town.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Lucentio and Tranio stand aside._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Baptista, Katherina, Bianca, Gremio and Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nGentlemen, importune me no farther,\\r\\nFor how I firmly am resolv’d you know;\\r\\nThat is, not to bestow my youngest daughter\\r\\nBefore I have a husband for the elder.\\r\\nIf either of you both love Katherina,\\r\\nBecause I know you well and love you well,\\r\\nLeave shall you have to court her at your pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nTo cart her rather: she’s too rough for me.\\r\\nThere, there, Hortensio, will you any wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\n[_To Baptista_] I pray you, sir, is it your will\\r\\nTo make a stale of me amongst these mates?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMates, maid! How mean you that? No mates for you,\\r\\nUnless you were of gentler, milder mould.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI’ faith, sir, you shall never need to fear;\\r\\nI wis it is not half way to her heart;\\r\\nBut if it were, doubt not her care should be\\r\\nTo comb your noddle with a three-legg’d stool,\\r\\nAnd paint your face, and use you like a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nFrom all such devils, good Lord deliver us!\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAnd me, too, good Lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nHusht, master! Here’s some good pastime toward:\\r\\nThat wench is stark mad or wonderful froward.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nBut in the other’s silence do I see\\r\\nMaid’s mild behaviour and sobriety.\\r\\nPeace, Tranio!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWell said, master; mum! and gaze your fill.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nGentlemen, that I may soon make good\\r\\nWhat I have said,—Bianca, get you in:\\r\\nAnd let it not displease thee, good Bianca,\\r\\nFor I will love thee ne’er the less, my girl.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nA pretty peat! it is best put finger in the eye, and she knew why.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nSister, content you in my discontent.\\r\\nSir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe:\\r\\nMy books and instruments shall be my company,\\r\\nOn them to look, and practise by myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nHark, Tranio! thou mayst hear Minerva speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSignior Baptista, will you be so strange?\\r\\nSorry am I that our good will effects\\r\\nBianca’s grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWhy will you mew her up,\\r\\nSignior Baptista, for this fiend of hell,\\r\\nAnd make her bear the penance of her tongue?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nGentlemen, content ye; I am resolv’d.\\r\\nGo in, Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Bianca._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd for I know she taketh most delight\\r\\nIn music, instruments, and poetry,\\r\\nSchoolmasters will I keep within my house\\r\\nFit to instruct her youth. If you, Hortensio,\\r\\nOr, Signior Gremio, you, know any such,\\r\\nPrefer them hither; for to cunning men\\r\\nI will be very kind, and liberal\\r\\nTo mine own children in good bringing up;\\r\\nAnd so, farewell. Katherina, you may stay;\\r\\nFor I have more to commune with Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhy, and I trust I may go too, may I not? What! shall I be appointed\\r\\nhours, as though, belike, I knew not what to take and what to leave?\\r\\nHa!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nYou may go to the devil’s dam: your gifts are so good here’s none will\\r\\nhold you. Their love is not so great, Hortensio, but we may blow our\\r\\nnails together, and fast it fairly out; our cake’s dough on both sides.\\r\\nFarewell: yet, for the love I bear my sweet Bianca, if I can by any\\r\\nmeans light on a fit man to teach her that wherein she delights, I will\\r\\nwish him to her father.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSo will I, Signior Gremio: but a word, I pray. Though the nature of our\\r\\nquarrel yet never brooked parle, know now, upon advice, it toucheth us\\r\\nboth,—that we may yet again have access to our fair mistress, and be\\r\\nhappy rivals in Bianca’s love,—to labour and effect one thing\\r\\nspecially.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWhat’s that, I pray?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMarry, sir, to get a husband for her sister.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nA husband! a devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI say, a husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI say, a devil. Thinkest thou, Hortensio, though her father be very\\r\\nrich, any man is so very a fool to be married to hell?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nTush, Gremio! Though it pass your patience and mine to endure her loud\\r\\nalarums, why, man, there be good fellows in the world, and a man could\\r\\nlight on them, would take her with all faults, and money enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI cannot tell; but I had as lief take her dowry with this condition: to\\r\\nbe whipp’d at the high cross every morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nFaith, as you say, there’s small choice in rotten apples. But come;\\r\\nsince this bar in law makes us friends, it shall be so far forth\\r\\nfriendly maintained, till by helping Baptista’s eldest daughter to a\\r\\nhusband, we set his youngest free for a husband, and then have to’t\\r\\nafresh. Sweet Bianca! Happy man be his dole! He that runs fastest gets\\r\\nthe ring. How say you, Signior Gremio?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI am agreed; and would I had given him the best horse in Padua to begin\\r\\nhis wooing, that would thoroughly woo her, wed her, and bed her, and\\r\\nrid the house of her. Come on.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Gremio and Hortensio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nI pray, sir, tell me, is it possible\\r\\nThat love should of a sudden take such hold?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nO Tranio! till I found it to be true,\\r\\nI never thought it possible or likely;\\r\\nBut see, while idly I stood looking on,\\r\\nI found the effect of love in idleness;\\r\\nAnd now in plainness do confess to thee,\\r\\nThat art to me as secret and as dear\\r\\nAs Anna to the Queen of Carthage was,\\r\\nTranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio,\\r\\nIf I achieve not this young modest girl.\\r\\nCounsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst:\\r\\nAssist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMaster, it is no time to chide you now;\\r\\nAffection is not rated from the heart:\\r\\nIf love have touch’d you, nought remains but so:\\r\\n_Redime te captum quam queas minimo._\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nGramercies, lad; go forward; this contents;\\r\\nThe rest will comfort, for thy counsel’s sound.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMaster, you look’d so longly on the maid.\\r\\nPerhaps you mark’d not what’s the pith of all.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nO, yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face,\\r\\nSuch as the daughter of Agenor had,\\r\\nThat made great Jove to humble him to her hand,\\r\\nWhen with his knees he kiss’d the Cretan strand.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSaw you no more? mark’d you not how her sister\\r\\nBegan to scold and raise up such a storm\\r\\nThat mortal ears might hardly endure the din?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTranio, I saw her coral lips to move,\\r\\nAnd with her breath she did perfume the air;\\r\\nSacred and sweet was all I saw in her.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nNay, then, ’tis time to stir him from his trance.\\r\\nI pray, awake, sir: if you love the maid,\\r\\nBend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it stands:\\r\\nHer elder sister is so curst and shrewd,\\r\\nThat till the father rid his hands of her,\\r\\nMaster, your love must live a maid at home;\\r\\nAnd therefore has he closely mew’d her up,\\r\\nBecause she will not be annoy’d with suitors.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAh, Tranio, what a cruel father’s he!\\r\\nBut art thou not advis’d he took some care\\r\\nTo get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAy, marry, am I, sir, and now ’tis plotted.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI have it, Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMaster, for my hand,\\r\\nBoth our inventions meet and jump in one.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTell me thine first.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nYou will be schoolmaster,\\r\\nAnd undertake the teaching of the maid:\\r\\nThat’s your device.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nIt is: may it be done?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nNot possible; for who shall bear your part\\r\\nAnd be in Padua here Vincentio’s son;\\r\\nKeep house and ply his book, welcome his friends;\\r\\nVisit his countrymen, and banquet them?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\n_Basta_, content thee, for I have it full.\\r\\nWe have not yet been seen in any house,\\r\\nNor can we be distinguish’d by our faces\\r\\nFor man or master: then it follows thus:\\r\\nThou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead,\\r\\nKeep house and port and servants, as I should;\\r\\nI will some other be; some Florentine,\\r\\nSome Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa.\\r\\n’Tis hatch’d, and shall be so: Tranio, at once\\r\\nUncase thee; take my colour’d hat and cloak.\\r\\nWhen Biondello comes, he waits on thee;\\r\\nBut I will charm him first to keep his tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They exchange habits_]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSo had you need.\\r\\nIn brief, sir, sith it your pleasure is,\\r\\nAnd I am tied to be obedient;\\r\\nFor so your father charg’d me at our parting,\\r\\n‘Be serviceable to my son,’ quoth he,\\r\\nAlthough I think ’twas in another sense:\\r\\nI am content to be Lucentio,\\r\\nBecause so well I love Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTranio, be so, because Lucentio loves;\\r\\nAnd let me be a slave, to achieve that maid\\r\\nWhose sudden sight hath thrall’d my wounded eye.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes the rogue. Sirrah, where have you been?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhere have I been? Nay, how now! where are you?\\r\\nMaster, has my fellow Tranio stol’n your clothes?\\r\\nOr you stol’n his? or both? Pray, what’s the news?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nSirrah, come hither: ’tis no time to jest,\\r\\nAnd therefore frame your manners to the time.\\r\\nYour fellow Tranio here, to save my life,\\r\\nPuts my apparel and my count’nance on,\\r\\nAnd I for my escape have put on his;\\r\\nFor in a quarrel since I came ashore\\r\\nI kill’d a man, and fear I was descried.\\r\\nWait you on him, I charge you, as becomes,\\r\\nWhile I make way from hence to save my life.\\r\\nYou understand me?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI, sir! Ne’er a whit.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAnd not a jot of Tranio in your mouth:\\r\\nTranio is changed to Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nThe better for him: would I were so too!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSo could I, faith, boy, to have the next wish after,\\r\\nThat Lucentio indeed had Baptista’s youngest daughter.\\r\\nBut, sirrah, not for my sake but your master’s, I advise\\r\\nYou use your manners discreetly in all kind of companies:\\r\\nWhen I am alone, why, then I am Tranio;\\r\\nBut in all places else your master, Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTranio, let’s go.\\r\\nOne thing more rests, that thyself execute,\\r\\nTo make one among these wooers: if thou ask me why,\\r\\nSufficeth my reasons are both good and weighty.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n[_The Presenters above speak._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nMy lord, you nod; you do not mind the play.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nYes, by Saint Anne, I do. A good matter, surely: comes there any more\\r\\nof it?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nMy lord, ’tis but begun.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\n’Tis a very excellent piece of work, madam lady: would ’twere done!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They sit and mark._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Padua. Before HORTENSIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petruchio and his man Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nVerona, for a while I take my leave,\\r\\nTo see my friends in Padua; but of all\\r\\nMy best beloved and approved friend,\\r\\nHortensio; and I trow this is his house.\\r\\nHere, sirrah Grumio, knock, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nKnock, sir? Whom should I knock? Is there any man has rebused your\\r\\nworship?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nVillain, I say, knock me here soundly.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nKnock you here, sir? Why, sir, what am I, sir, that I should knock you\\r\\nhere, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nVillain, I say, knock me at this gate;\\r\\nAnd rap me well, or I’ll knock your knave’s pate.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nMy master is grown quarrelsome. I should knock you first,\\r\\nAnd then I know after who comes by the worst.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWill it not be?\\r\\nFaith, sirrah, and you’ll not knock, I’ll ring it;\\r\\nI’ll try how you can sol, fa, and sing it.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_He wrings Grumio by the ears._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nHelp, masters, help! my master is mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNow, knock when I bid you, sirrah villain!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nHow now! what’s the matter? My old friend Grumio! and my good friend\\r\\nPetruchio! How do you all at Verona?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSignior Hortensio, come you to part the fray?\\r\\n_Con tutto il cuore ben trovato_, may I say.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n_Alla nostra casa ben venuto; molto honorato signor mio Petruchio._\\r\\nRise, Grumio, rise: we will compound this quarrel.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nNay, ’tis no matter, sir, what he ’leges in Latin. If this be not a\\r\\nlawful cause for me to leave his service, look you, sir, he bid me\\r\\nknock him and rap him soundly, sir: well, was it fit for a servant to\\r\\nuse his master so; being, perhaps, for aught I see, two-and-thirty, a\\r\\npip out? Whom would to God I had well knock’d at first, then had not\\r\\nGrumio come by the worst.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA senseless villain! Good Hortensio,\\r\\nI bade the rascal knock upon your gate,\\r\\nAnd could not get him for my heart to do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nKnock at the gate! O heavens! Spake you not these words plain: ‘Sirrah\\r\\nknock me here, rap me here, knock me well, and knock me soundly’? And\\r\\ncome you now with ‘knocking at the gate’?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nPetruchio, patience; I am Grumio’s pledge;\\r\\nWhy, this’s a heavy chance ’twixt him and you,\\r\\nYour ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio.\\r\\nAnd tell me now, sweet friend, what happy gale\\r\\nBlows you to Padua here from old Verona?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSuch wind as scatters young men through the world\\r\\nTo seek their fortunes farther than at home,\\r\\nWhere small experience grows. But in a few,\\r\\nSignior Hortensio, thus it stands with me:\\r\\nAntonio, my father, is deceas’d,\\r\\nAnd I have thrust myself into this maze,\\r\\nHaply to wive and thrive as best I may;\\r\\nCrowns in my purse I have, and goods at home,\\r\\nAnd so am come abroad to see the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nPetruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee\\r\\nAnd wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour’d wife?\\r\\nThou’dst thank me but a little for my counsel;\\r\\nAnd yet I’ll promise thee she shall be rich,\\r\\nAnd very rich: but th’art too much my friend,\\r\\nAnd I’ll not wish thee to her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSignior Hortensio, ’twixt such friends as we\\r\\nFew words suffice; and therefore, if thou know\\r\\nOne rich enough to be Petruchio’s wife,\\r\\nAs wealth is burden of my wooing dance,\\r\\nBe she as foul as was Florentius’ love,\\r\\nAs old as Sibyl, and as curst and shrewd\\r\\nAs Socrates’ Xanthippe or a worse,\\r\\nShe moves me not, or not removes, at least,\\r\\nAffection’s edge in me, were she as rough\\r\\nAs are the swelling Adriatic seas:\\r\\nI come to wive it wealthily in Padua;\\r\\nIf wealthily, then happily in Padua.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nNay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what his mind is: why, give him\\r\\ngold enough and marry him to a puppet or an aglet-baby; or an old trot\\r\\nwith ne’er a tooth in her head, though she have as many diseases as\\r\\ntwo-and-fifty horses: why, nothing comes amiss, so money comes withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nPetruchio, since we are stepp’d thus far in,\\r\\nI will continue that I broach’d in jest.\\r\\nI can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife\\r\\nWith wealth enough, and young and beauteous;\\r\\nBrought up as best becomes a gentlewoman:\\r\\nHer only fault,—and that is faults enough,—\\r\\nIs, that she is intolerable curst,\\r\\nAnd shrewd and froward, so beyond all measure,\\r\\nThat, were my state far worser than it is,\\r\\nI would not wed her for a mine of gold.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHortensio, peace! thou know’st not gold’s effect:\\r\\nTell me her father’s name, and ’tis enough;\\r\\nFor I will board her, though she chide as loud\\r\\nAs thunder when the clouds in autumn crack.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nHer father is Baptista Minola,\\r\\nAn affable and courteous gentleman;\\r\\nHer name is Katherina Minola,\\r\\nRenown’d in Padua for her scolding tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI know her father, though I know not her;\\r\\nAnd he knew my deceased father well.\\r\\nI will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her;\\r\\nAnd therefore let me be thus bold with you,\\r\\nTo give you over at this first encounter,\\r\\nUnless you will accompany me thither.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI pray you, sir, let him go while the humour lasts. O’ my word, and she\\r\\nknew him as well as I do, she would think scolding would do little good\\r\\nupon him. She may perhaps call him half a score knaves or so; why,\\r\\nthat’s nothing; and he begin once, he’ll rail in his rope-tricks. I’ll\\r\\ntell you what, sir, and she stand him but a little, he will throw a\\r\\nfigure in her face, and so disfigure her with it that she shall have no\\r\\nmore eyes to see withal than a cat. You know him not, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nTarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee,\\r\\nFor in Baptista’s keep my treasure is:\\r\\nHe hath the jewel of my life in hold,\\r\\nHis youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca,\\r\\nAnd her withholds from me and other more,\\r\\nSuitors to her and rivals in my love;\\r\\nSupposing it a thing impossible,\\r\\nFor those defects I have before rehears’d,\\r\\nThat ever Katherina will be woo’d:\\r\\nTherefore this order hath Baptista ta’en,\\r\\nThat none shall have access unto Bianca\\r\\nTill Katherine the curst have got a husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nKatherine the curst!\\r\\nA title for a maid of all titles the worst.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nNow shall my friend Petruchio do me grace,\\r\\nAnd offer me disguis’d in sober robes,\\r\\nTo old Baptista as a schoolmaster\\r\\nWell seen in music, to instruct Bianca;\\r\\nThat so I may, by this device at least\\r\\nHave leave and leisure to make love to her,\\r\\nAnd unsuspected court her by herself.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nHere’s no knavery! See, to beguile the old folks, how the young folks\\r\\nlay their heads together!\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Gremio and Lucentio disguised, with books under his arm.\\r\\n\\r\\nMaster, master, look about you: who goes there, ha?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nPeace, Grumio! It is the rival of my love. Petruchio, stand by awhile.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nA proper stripling, and an amorous!\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nO! very well; I have perus’d the note.\\r\\nHark you, sir; I’ll have them very fairly bound:\\r\\nAll books of love, see that at any hand,\\r\\nAnd see you read no other lectures to her.\\r\\nYou understand me. Over and beside\\r\\nSignior Baptista’s liberality,\\r\\nI’ll mend it with a largess. Take your papers too,\\r\\nAnd let me have them very well perfum’d;\\r\\nFor she is sweeter than perfume itself\\r\\nTo whom they go to. What will you read to her?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nWhate’er I read to her, I’ll plead for you,\\r\\nAs for my patron, stand you so assur’d,\\r\\nAs firmly as yourself were still in place;\\r\\nYea, and perhaps with more successful words\\r\\nThan you, unless you were a scholar, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nO! this learning, what a thing it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nO! this woodcock, what an ass it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nPeace, sirrah!\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nGrumio, mum! God save you, Signior Gremio!\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAnd you are well met, Signior Hortensio.\\r\\nTrow you whither I am going? To Baptista Minola.\\r\\nI promis’d to enquire carefully\\r\\nAbout a schoolmaster for the fair Bianca;\\r\\nAnd by good fortune I have lighted well\\r\\nOn this young man; for learning and behaviour\\r\\nFit for her turn, well read in poetry\\r\\nAnd other books, good ones, I warrant ye.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n’Tis well; and I have met a gentleman\\r\\nHath promis’d me to help me to another,\\r\\nA fine musician to instruct our mistress:\\r\\nSo shall I no whit be behind in duty\\r\\nTo fair Bianca, so belov’d of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nBelov’d of me, and that my deeds shall prove.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] And that his bags shall prove.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nGremio, ’tis now no time to vent our love:\\r\\nListen to me, and if you speak me fair,\\r\\nI’ll tell you news indifferent good for either.\\r\\nHere is a gentleman whom by chance I met,\\r\\nUpon agreement from us to his liking,\\r\\nWill undertake to woo curst Katherine;\\r\\nYea, and to marry her, if her dowry please.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nSo said, so done, is well.\\r\\nHortensio, have you told him all her faults?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI know she is an irksome brawling scold;\\r\\nIf that be all, masters, I hear no harm.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nNo, say’st me so, friend? What countryman?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nBorn in Verona, old Antonio’s son.\\r\\nMy father dead, my fortune lives for me;\\r\\nAnd I do hope good days and long to see.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nO sir, such a life, with such a wife, were strange!\\r\\nBut if you have a stomach, to’t a God’s name;\\r\\nYou shall have me assisting you in all.\\r\\nBut will you woo this wild-cat?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWill I live?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWill he woo her? Ay, or I’ll hang her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy came I hither but to that intent?\\r\\nThink you a little din can daunt mine ears?\\r\\nHave I not in my time heard lions roar?\\r\\nHave I not heard the sea, puff’d up with winds,\\r\\nRage like an angry boar chafed with sweat?\\r\\nHave I not heard great ordnance in the field,\\r\\nAnd heaven’s artillery thunder in the skies?\\r\\nHave I not in a pitched battle heard\\r\\nLoud ’larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets’ clang?\\r\\nAnd do you tell me of a woman’s tongue,\\r\\nThat gives not half so great a blow to hear\\r\\nAs will a chestnut in a farmer’s fire?\\r\\nTush, tush! fear boys with bugs.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\n[_Aside_] For he fears none.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nHortensio, hark:\\r\\nThis gentleman is happily arriv’d,\\r\\nMy mind presumes, for his own good and yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI promis’d we would be contributors,\\r\\nAnd bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAnd so we will, provided that he win her.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI would I were as sure of a good dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Tranio brave, and Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nGentlemen, God save you! If I may be bold,\\r\\nTell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way\\r\\nTo the house of Signior Baptista Minola?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nHe that has the two fair daughters; is’t he you mean?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nEven he, Biondello!\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nHark you, sir, you mean not her to—\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nPerhaps him and her, sir; what have you to do?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNot her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nI love no chiders, sir. Biondello, let’s away.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\n[_Aside_] Well begun, Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSir, a word ere you go.\\r\\nAre you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd if I be, sir, is it any offence?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nNo; if without more words you will get you hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhy, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free\\r\\nFor me as for you?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nBut so is not she.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nFor what reason, I beseech you?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nFor this reason, if you’ll know,\\r\\nThat she’s the choice love of Signior Gremio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nThat she’s the chosen of Signior Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSoftly, my masters! If you be gentlemen,\\r\\nDo me this right; hear me with patience.\\r\\nBaptista is a noble gentleman,\\r\\nTo whom my father is not all unknown;\\r\\nAnd were his daughter fairer than she is,\\r\\nShe may more suitors have, and me for one.\\r\\nFair Leda’s daughter had a thousand wooers;\\r\\nThen well one more may fair Bianca have;\\r\\nAnd so she shall: Lucentio shall make one,\\r\\nThough Paris came in hope to speed alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWhat, this gentleman will out-talk us all.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nSir, give him head; I know he’ll prove a jade.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHortensio, to what end are all these words?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSir, let me be so bold as ask you,\\r\\nDid you yet ever see Baptista’s daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nNo, sir, but hear I do that he hath two,\\r\\nThe one as famous for a scolding tongue\\r\\nAs is the other for beauteous modesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSir, sir, the first’s for me; let her go by.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nYea, leave that labour to great Hercules,\\r\\nAnd let it be more than Alcides’ twelve.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSir, understand you this of me, in sooth:\\r\\nThe youngest daughter, whom you hearken for,\\r\\nHer father keeps from all access of suitors,\\r\\nAnd will not promise her to any man\\r\\nUntil the elder sister first be wed;\\r\\nThe younger then is free, and not before.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nIf it be so, sir, that you are the man\\r\\nMust stead us all, and me amongst the rest;\\r\\nAnd if you break the ice, and do this feat,\\r\\nAchieve the elder, set the younger free\\r\\nFor our access, whose hap shall be to have her\\r\\nWill not so graceless be to be ingrate.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSir, you say well, and well you do conceive;\\r\\nAnd since you do profess to be a suitor,\\r\\nYou must, as we do, gratify this gentleman,\\r\\nTo whom we all rest generally beholding.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSir, I shall not be slack; in sign whereof,\\r\\nPlease ye we may contrive this afternoon,\\r\\nAnd quaff carouses to our mistress’ health;\\r\\nAnd do as adversaries do in law,\\r\\nStrive mightily, but eat and drink as friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO, BIONDELLO.\\r\\nO excellent motion! Fellows, let’s be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nThe motion’s good indeed, and be it so:—\\r\\nPetruchio, I shall be your _ben venuto_.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Padua. A room in BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Katherina and Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nGood sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself,\\r\\nTo make a bondmaid and a slave of me;\\r\\nThat I disdain; but for these other gawds,\\r\\nUnbind my hands, I’ll pull them off myself,\\r\\nYea, all my raiment, to my petticoat;\\r\\nOr what you will command me will I do,\\r\\nSo well I know my duty to my elders.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nOf all thy suitors here I charge thee tell\\r\\nWhom thou lov’st best: see thou dissemble not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nBelieve me, sister, of all the men alive\\r\\nI never yet beheld that special face\\r\\nWhich I could fancy more than any other.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nMinion, thou liest. Is’t not Hortensio?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nIf you affect him, sister, here I swear\\r\\nI’ll plead for you myself but you shall have him.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nO! then, belike, you fancy riches more:\\r\\nYou will have Gremio to keep you fair.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nIs it for him you do envy me so?\\r\\nNay, then you jest; and now I well perceive\\r\\nYou have but jested with me all this while:\\r\\nI prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nIf that be jest, then all the rest was so.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Strikes her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Baptista.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, how now, dame! Whence grows this insolence?\\r\\nBianca, stand aside. Poor girl! she weeps.\\r\\nGo ply thy needle; meddle not with her.\\r\\nFor shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit,\\r\\nWhy dost thou wrong her that did ne’er wrong thee?\\r\\nWhen did she cross thee with a bitter word?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nHer silence flouts me, and I’ll be reveng’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Flies after Bianca._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhat! in my sight? Bianca, get thee in.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Bianca._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhat! will you not suffer me? Nay, now I see\\r\\nShe is your treasure, she must have a husband;\\r\\nI must dance bare-foot on her wedding-day,\\r\\nAnd, for your love to her, lead apes in hell.\\r\\nTalk not to me: I will go sit and weep\\r\\nTill I can find occasion of revenge.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\n Was ever gentleman thus griev’d as I?\\r\\nBut who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Gremio, with Lucentio in the habit of a mean man; Petruchio, with\\r\\nHortensio as a musician; and Tranio, with Biondello bearing a lute and\\r\\nbooks.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nGood morrow, neighbour Baptista.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nGood morrow, neighbour Gremio. God save you, gentlemen!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAnd you, good sir! Pray, have you not a daughter\\r\\nCall’d Katherina, fair and virtuous?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI have a daughter, sir, call’d Katherina.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nYou are too blunt: go to it orderly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nYou wrong me, Signior Gremio: give me leave.\\r\\nI am a gentleman of Verona, sir,\\r\\nThat, hearing of her beauty and her wit,\\r\\nHer affability and bashful modesty,\\r\\nHer wondrous qualities and mild behaviour,\\r\\nAm bold to show myself a forward guest\\r\\nWithin your house, to make mine eye the witness\\r\\nOf that report which I so oft have heard.\\r\\nAnd, for an entrance to my entertainment,\\r\\nI do present you with a man of mine,\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Presenting Hortensio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCunning in music and the mathematics,\\r\\nTo instruct her fully in those sciences,\\r\\nWhereof I know she is not ignorant.\\r\\nAccept of him, or else you do me wrong:\\r\\nHis name is Licio, born in Mantua.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nY’are welcome, sir, and he for your good sake;\\r\\nBut for my daughter Katherine, this I know,\\r\\nShe is not for your turn, the more my grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI see you do not mean to part with her;\\r\\nOr else you like not of my company.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nMistake me not; I speak but as I find.\\r\\nWhence are you, sir? What may I call your name?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nPetruchio is my name, Antonio’s son;\\r\\nA man well known throughout all Italy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI know him well: you are welcome for his sake.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nSaving your tale, Petruchio, I pray,\\r\\nLet us, that are poor petitioners, speak too.\\r\\nBackare! you are marvellous forward.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nO, pardon me, Signior Gremio; I would fain be doing.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your wooing. Neighbour, this is\\r\\na gift very grateful, I am sure of it. To express the like kindness,\\r\\nmyself, that have been more kindly beholding to you than any, freely\\r\\ngive unto you this young scholar,\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Presenting Lucentio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nthat has been long studying at Rheims; as cunning in Greek, Latin, and\\r\\nother languages, as the other in music and mathematics. His name is\\r\\nCambio; pray accept his service.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nA thousand thanks, Signior Gremio; welcome, good Cambio. [_To Tranio._]\\r\\nBut, gentle sir, methinks you walk like a stranger. May I be so bold to\\r\\nknow the cause of your coming?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nPardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own,\\r\\nThat, being a stranger in this city here,\\r\\nDo make myself a suitor to your daughter,\\r\\nUnto Bianca, fair and virtuous.\\r\\nNor is your firm resolve unknown to me,\\r\\nIn the preferment of the eldest sister.\\r\\nThis liberty is all that I request,\\r\\nThat, upon knowledge of my parentage,\\r\\nI may have welcome ’mongst the rest that woo,\\r\\nAnd free access and favour as the rest:\\r\\nAnd, toward the education of your daughters,\\r\\nI here bestow a simple instrument,\\r\\nAnd this small packet of Greek and Latin books:\\r\\nIf you accept them, then their worth is great.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nLucentio is your name, of whence, I pray?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nOf Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nA mighty man of Pisa: by report\\r\\nI know him well: you are very welcome, sir.\\r\\n[_To Hortensio_.] Take you the lute,\\r\\n[_To Lucentio_.] and you the set of books;\\r\\nYou shall go see your pupils presently.\\r\\nHolla, within!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSirrah, lead these gentlemen\\r\\nTo my daughters, and tell them both\\r\\nThese are their tutors: bid them use them well.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Servant with Hortensio, Lucentio and Biondello._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWe will go walk a little in the orchard,\\r\\nAnd then to dinner. You are passing welcome,\\r\\nAnd so I pray you all to think yourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSignior Baptista, my business asketh haste,\\r\\nAnd every day I cannot come to woo.\\r\\nYou knew my father well, and in him me,\\r\\nLeft solely heir to all his lands and goods,\\r\\nWhich I have bettered rather than decreas’d:\\r\\nThen tell me, if I get your daughter’s love,\\r\\nWhat dowry shall I have with her to wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAfter my death, the one half of my lands,\\r\\nAnd in possession twenty thousand crowns.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAnd, for that dowry, I’ll assure her of\\r\\nHer widowhood, be it that she survive me,\\r\\nIn all my lands and leases whatsoever.\\r\\nLet specialities be therefore drawn between us,\\r\\nThat covenants may be kept on either hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAy, when the special thing is well obtain’d,\\r\\nThat is, her love; for that is all in all.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, that is nothing; for I tell you, father,\\r\\nI am as peremptory as she proud-minded;\\r\\nAnd where two raging fires meet together,\\r\\nThey do consume the thing that feeds their fury:\\r\\nThough little fire grows great with little wind,\\r\\nYet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all;\\r\\nSo I to her, and so she yields to me;\\r\\nFor I am rough and woo not like a babe.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWell mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed!\\r\\nBut be thou arm’d for some unhappy words.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAy, to the proof, as mountains are for winds,\\r\\nThat shake not though they blow perpetually.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Hortensio, with his head broke.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nHow now, my friend! Why dost thou look so pale?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nFor fear, I promise you, if I look pale.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhat, will my daughter prove a good musician?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI think she’ll sooner prove a soldier:\\r\\nIron may hold with her, but never lutes.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, then thou canst not break her to the lute?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nWhy, no; for she hath broke the lute to me.\\r\\nI did but tell her she mistook her frets,\\r\\nAnd bow’d her hand to teach her fingering;\\r\\nWhen, with a most impatient devilish spirit,\\r\\n’Frets, call you these?’ quoth she ‘I’ll fume with them’;\\r\\nAnd with that word she struck me on the head,\\r\\nAnd through the instrument my pate made way;\\r\\nAnd there I stood amazed for a while,\\r\\nAs on a pillory, looking through the lute;\\r\\nWhile she did call me rascal fiddler,\\r\\nAnd twangling Jack, with twenty such vile terms,\\r\\nAs had she studied to misuse me so.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNow, by the world, it is a lusty wench!\\r\\nI love her ten times more than e’er I did:\\r\\nO! how I long to have some chat with her!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\n[_To Hortensio_.] Well, go with me, and be not so discomfited;\\r\\nProceed in practice with my younger daughter;\\r\\nShe’s apt to learn, and thankful for good turns.\\r\\nSignior Petruchio, will you go with us,\\r\\nOr shall I send my daughter Kate to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI pray you do.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Baptista, Gremio, Tranio and Hortensio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI will attend her here,\\r\\nAnd woo her with some spirit when she comes.\\r\\nSay that she rail; why, then I’ll tell her plain\\r\\nShe sings as sweetly as a nightingale:\\r\\nSay that she frown; I’ll say she looks as clear\\r\\nAs morning roses newly wash’d with dew:\\r\\nSay she be mute, and will not speak a word;\\r\\nThen I’ll commend her volubility,\\r\\nAnd say she uttereth piercing eloquence:\\r\\nIf she do bid me pack, I’ll give her thanks,\\r\\nAs though she bid me stay by her a week:\\r\\nIf she deny to wed, I’ll crave the day\\r\\nWhen I shall ask the banns, and when be married.\\r\\nBut here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Katherina.\\r\\n\\r\\nGood morrow, Kate; for that’s your name, I hear.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWell have you heard, but something hard of hearing:\\r\\nThey call me Katherine that do talk of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nYou lie, in faith, for you are call’d plain Kate,\\r\\nAnd bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst;\\r\\nBut, Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom,\\r\\nKate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate,\\r\\nFor dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate,\\r\\nTake this of me, Kate of my consolation;\\r\\nHearing thy mildness prais’d in every town,\\r\\nThy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,—\\r\\nYet not so deeply as to thee belongs,—\\r\\nMyself am mov’d to woo thee for my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nMov’d! in good time: let him that mov’d you hither\\r\\nRemove you hence. I knew you at the first,\\r\\nYou were a moveable.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, what’s a moveable?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nA joint-stool.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThou hast hit it: come, sit on me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nAsses are made to bear, and so are you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWomen are made to bear, and so are you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNo such jade as bear you, if me you mean.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAlas! good Kate, I will not burden thee;\\r\\nFor, knowing thee to be but young and light,—\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nToo light for such a swain as you to catch;\\r\\nAnd yet as heavy as my weight should be.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nShould be! should buz!\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWell ta’en, and like a buzzard.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nO, slow-wing’d turtle! shall a buzzard take thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nAy, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome, come, you wasp; i’ faith, you are too angry.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nIf I be waspish, best beware my sting.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nMy remedy is then to pluck it out.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nAy, if the fool could find it where it lies.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWho knows not where a wasp does wear his sting?\\r\\nIn his tail.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nIn his tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhose tongue?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nYours, if you talk of tales; and so farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhat! with my tongue in your tail? Nay, come again,\\r\\nGood Kate; I am a gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThat I’ll try.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Striking him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI swear I’ll cuff you if you strike again.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nSo may you lose your arms:\\r\\nIf you strike me, you are no gentleman;\\r\\nAnd if no gentleman, why then no arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA herald, Kate? O! put me in thy books.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhat is your crest? a coxcomb?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNo cock of mine; you crow too like a craven.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nIt is my fashion when I see a crab.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, here’s no crab, and therefore look not sour.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThere is, there is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThen show it me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nHad I a glass I would.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhat, you mean my face?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWell aim’d of such a young one.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNow, by Saint George, I am too young for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nYet you are wither’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\n’Tis with cares.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI care not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, hear you, Kate: in sooth, you ’scape not so.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI chafe you, if I tarry; let me go.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNo, not a whit; I find you passing gentle.\\r\\n’Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen,\\r\\nAnd now I find report a very liar;\\r\\nFor thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous,\\r\\nBut slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers.\\r\\nThou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance,\\r\\nNor bite the lip, as angry wenches will,\\r\\nNor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk;\\r\\nBut thou with mildness entertain’st thy wooers;\\r\\nWith gentle conference, soft and affable.\\r\\nWhy does the world report that Kate doth limp?\\r\\nO sland’rous world! Kate like the hazel-twig\\r\\nIs straight and slender, and as brown in hue\\r\\nAs hazel-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels.\\r\\nO! let me see thee walk: thou dost not halt.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nGo, fool, and whom thou keep’st command.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nDid ever Dian so become a grove\\r\\nAs Kate this chamber with her princely gait?\\r\\nO! be thou Dian, and let her be Kate,\\r\\nAnd then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful!\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhere did you study all this goodly speech?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nIt is extempore, from my mother-wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nA witty mother! witless else her son.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAm I not wise?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nYes; keep you warm.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nMarry, so I mean, sweet Katherine, in thy bed;\\r\\nAnd therefore, setting all this chat aside,\\r\\nThus in plain terms: your father hath consented\\r\\nThat you shall be my wife your dowry ’greed on;\\r\\nAnd will you, nill you, I will marry you.\\r\\nNow, Kate, I am a husband for your turn;\\r\\nFor, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty,—\\r\\nThy beauty that doth make me like thee well,—\\r\\nThou must be married to no man but me;\\r\\nFor I am he am born to tame you, Kate,\\r\\nAnd bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate\\r\\nConformable as other household Kates.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Baptista, Gremio and Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes your father. Never make denial;\\r\\nI must and will have Katherine to my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNow, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHow but well, sir? how but well?\\r\\nIt were impossible I should speed amiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, how now, daughter Katherine, in your dumps?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nCall you me daughter? Now I promise you\\r\\nYou have show’d a tender fatherly regard\\r\\nTo wish me wed to one half lunatic,\\r\\nA mad-cap ruffian and a swearing Jack,\\r\\nThat thinks with oaths to face the matter out.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nFather, ’tis thus: yourself and all the world\\r\\nThat talk’d of her have talk’d amiss of her:\\r\\nIf she be curst, it is for policy,\\r\\nFor she’s not froward, but modest as the dove;\\r\\nShe is not hot, but temperate as the morn;\\r\\nFor patience she will prove a second Grissel,\\r\\nAnd Roman Lucrece for her chastity;\\r\\nAnd to conclude, we have ’greed so well together\\r\\nThat upon Sunday is the wedding-day.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI’ll see thee hang’d on Sunday first.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nHark, Petruchio; she says she’ll see thee hang’d first.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nIs this your speeding? Nay, then good-night our part!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nBe patient, gentlemen. I choose her for myself;\\r\\nIf she and I be pleas’d, what’s that to you?\\r\\n’Tis bargain’d ’twixt us twain, being alone,\\r\\nThat she shall still be curst in company.\\r\\nI tell you, ’tis incredible to believe\\r\\nHow much she loves me: O! the kindest Kate\\r\\nShe hung about my neck, and kiss on kiss\\r\\nShe vied so fast, protesting oath on oath,\\r\\nThat in a twink she won me to her love.\\r\\nO! you are novices: ’tis a world to see,\\r\\nHow tame, when men and women are alone,\\r\\nA meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew.\\r\\nGive me thy hand, Kate; I will unto Venice,\\r\\nTo buy apparel ’gainst the wedding-day.\\r\\nProvide the feast, father, and bid the guests;\\r\\nI will be sure my Katherine shall be fine.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI know not what to say; but give me your hands.\\r\\nGod send you joy, Petruchio! ’Tis a match.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO, TRANIO.\\r\\nAmen, say we; we will be witnesses.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nFather, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu.\\r\\nI will to Venice; Sunday comes apace;\\r\\nWe will have rings and things, and fine array;\\r\\nAnd kiss me, Kate; we will be married o’ Sunday.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Petruchio and Katherina, severally._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWas ever match clapp’d up so suddenly?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nFaith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant’s part,\\r\\nAnd venture madly on a desperate mart.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n’Twas a commodity lay fretting by you;\\r\\n’Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nThe gain I seek is, quiet in the match.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nNo doubt but he hath got a quiet catch.\\r\\nBut now, Baptista, to your younger daughter:\\r\\nNow is the day we long have looked for;\\r\\nI am your neighbour, and was suitor first.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd I am one that love Bianca more\\r\\nThan words can witness or your thoughts can guess.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nYoungling, thou canst not love so dear as I.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nGreybeard, thy love doth freeze.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nBut thine doth fry.\\r\\nSkipper, stand back; ’tis age that nourisheth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nBut youth in ladies’ eyes that flourisheth.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nContent you, gentlemen; I’ll compound this strife:\\r\\n’Tis deeds must win the prize, and he of both\\r\\nThat can assure my daughter greatest dower\\r\\nShall have my Bianca’s love.\\r\\nSay, Signior Gremio, what can you assure her?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nFirst, as you know, my house within the city\\r\\nIs richly furnished with plate and gold:\\r\\nBasins and ewers to lave her dainty hands;\\r\\nMy hangings all of Tyrian tapestry;\\r\\nIn ivory coffers I have stuff’d my crowns;\\r\\nIn cypress chests my arras counterpoints,\\r\\nCostly apparel, tents, and canopies,\\r\\nFine linen, Turkey cushions boss’d with pearl,\\r\\nValance of Venice gold in needlework;\\r\\nPewter and brass, and all things that belong\\r\\nTo house or housekeeping: then, at my farm\\r\\nI have a hundred milch-kine to the pail,\\r\\nSix score fat oxen standing in my stalls,\\r\\nAnd all things answerable to this portion.\\r\\nMyself am struck in years, I must confess;\\r\\nAnd if I die tomorrow this is hers,\\r\\nIf whilst I live she will be only mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThat ‘only’ came well in. Sir, list to me:\\r\\nI am my father’s heir and only son;\\r\\nIf I may have your daughter to my wife,\\r\\nI’ll leave her houses three or four as good\\r\\nWithin rich Pisa’s walls as anyone\\r\\nOld Signior Gremio has in Padua;\\r\\nBesides two thousand ducats by the year\\r\\nOf fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure.\\r\\nWhat, have I pinch’d you, Signior Gremio?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nTwo thousand ducats by the year of land!\\r\\nMy land amounts not to so much in all:\\r\\nThat she shall have, besides an argosy\\r\\nThat now is lying in Marseilles’ road.\\r\\nWhat, have I chok’d you with an argosy?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nGremio, ’tis known my father hath no less\\r\\nThan three great argosies, besides two galliasses,\\r\\nAnd twelve tight galleys; these I will assure her,\\r\\nAnd twice as much, whate’er thou offer’st next.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nNay, I have offer’d all; I have no more;\\r\\nAnd she can have no more than all I have;\\r\\nIf you like me, she shall have me and mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhy, then the maid is mine from all the world,\\r\\nBy your firm promise; Gremio is out-vied.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI must confess your offer is the best;\\r\\nAnd let your father make her the assurance,\\r\\nShe is your own; else, you must pardon me;\\r\\nIf you should die before him, where’s her dower?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThat’s but a cavil; he is old, I young.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAnd may not young men die as well as old?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWell, gentlemen,\\r\\nI am thus resolv’d. On Sunday next, you know,\\r\\nMy daughter Katherine is to be married;\\r\\nNow, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca\\r\\nBe bride to you, if you make this assurance;\\r\\nIf not, to Signior Gremio.\\r\\nAnd so I take my leave, and thank you both.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAdieu, good neighbour.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Baptista._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, I fear thee not:\\r\\nSirrah young gamester, your father were a fool\\r\\nTo give thee all, and in his waning age\\r\\nSet foot under thy table. Tut! a toy!\\r\\nAn old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nA vengeance on your crafty wither’d hide!\\r\\nYet I have fac’d it with a card of ten.\\r\\n’Tis in my head to do my master good:\\r\\nI see no reason but suppos’d Lucentio\\r\\nMust get a father, call’d suppos’d Vincentio;\\r\\nAnd that’s a wonder: fathers commonly\\r\\nDo get their children; but in this case of wooing\\r\\nA child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Padua. A room in BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Lucentio, Hortensio and Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nFiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir.\\r\\nHave you so soon forgot the entertainment\\r\\nHer sister Katherine welcome’d you withal?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nBut, wrangling pedant, this is\\r\\nThe patroness of heavenly harmony:\\r\\nThen give me leave to have prerogative;\\r\\nAnd when in music we have spent an hour,\\r\\nYour lecture shall have leisure for as much.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nPreposterous ass, that never read so far\\r\\nTo know the cause why music was ordain’d!\\r\\nWas it not to refresh the mind of man\\r\\nAfter his studies or his usual pain?\\r\\nThen give me leave to read philosophy,\\r\\nAnd while I pause serve in your harmony.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhy, gentlemen, you do me double wrong,\\r\\nTo strive for that which resteth in my choice.\\r\\nI am no breeching scholar in the schools,\\r\\nI’ll not be tied to hours nor ’pointed times,\\r\\nBut learn my lessons as I please myself.\\r\\nAnd, to cut off all strife, here sit we down;\\r\\nTake you your instrument, play you the whiles;\\r\\nHis lecture will be done ere you have tun’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nYou’ll leave his lecture when I am in tune?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Retires._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nThat will be never: tune your instrument.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhere left we last?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nHere, madam:—\\r\\n_Hic ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus;\\r\\nHic steterat Priami regia celsa senis._\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nConstrue them.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\n_Hic ibat_, as I told you before, _Simois_, I am Lucentio, _hic est_,\\r\\nson unto Vincentio of Pisa, _Sigeia tellus_, disguised thus to get your\\r\\nlove, _Hic steterat_, and that Lucentio that comes a-wooing, _Priami_,\\r\\nis my man Tranio, _regia_, bearing my port, _celsa senis_, that we\\r\\nmight beguile the old pantaloon.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO. [_Returning._]\\r\\nMadam, my instrument’s in tune.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nLet’s hear.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Hortensio _plays._]\\r\\n\\r\\nO fie! the treble jars.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nSpit in the hole, man, and tune again.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nNow let me see if I can construe it: _Hic ibat Simois_, I know you not;\\r\\n_hic est Sigeia tellus_, I trust you not; _Hic steterat Priami_, take\\r\\nheed he hear us not; _regia_, presume not; _celsa senis_, despair not.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMadam, ’tis now in tune.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAll but the base.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nThe base is right; ’tis the base knave that jars.\\r\\n[_Aside_] How fiery and forward our pedant is!\\r\\nNow, for my life, the knave doth court my love:\\r\\nPedascule, I’ll watch you better yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nIn time I may believe, yet I mistrust.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nMistrust it not; for sure, Æacides\\r\\nWas Ajax, call’d so from his grandfather.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nI must believe my master; else, I promise you,\\r\\nI should be arguing still upon that doubt;\\r\\nBut let it rest. Now, Licio, to you.\\r\\nGood master, take it not unkindly, pray,\\r\\nThat I have been thus pleasant with you both.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n[_To Lucentio_] You may go walk and give me leave a while;\\r\\nMy lessons make no music in three parts.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAre you so formal, sir? Well, I must wait,\\r\\n[_Aside_] And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv’d,\\r\\nOur fine musician groweth amorous.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMadam, before you touch the instrument,\\r\\nTo learn the order of my fingering,\\r\\nI must begin with rudiments of art;\\r\\nTo teach you gamut in a briefer sort,\\r\\nMore pleasant, pithy, and effectual,\\r\\nThan hath been taught by any of my trade:\\r\\nAnd there it is in writing, fairly drawn.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhy, I am past my gamut long ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nYet read the gamut of Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\n _Gamut_ I am, the ground of all accord,\\r\\n _A re_, to plead Hortensio’s passion;\\r\\n _B mi_, Bianca, take him for thy lord,\\r\\n _C fa ut_, that loves with all affection:\\r\\n _D sol re_, one clef, two notes have I\\r\\n _E la mi_, show pity or I die.\\r\\nCall you this gamut? Tut, I like it not:\\r\\nOld fashions please me best; I am not so nice,\\r\\nTo change true rules for odd inventions.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMistress, your father prays you leave your books,\\r\\nAnd help to dress your sister’s chamber up:\\r\\nYou know tomorrow is the wedding-day.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nFarewell, sweet masters, both: I must be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Bianca and Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nFaith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nBut I have cause to pry into this pedant:\\r\\nMethinks he looks as though he were in love.\\r\\nYet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble\\r\\nTo cast thy wand’ring eyes on every stale,\\r\\nSeize thee that list: if once I find thee ranging,\\r\\nHortensio will be quit with thee by changing.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, Katherina, Bianca, Lucentio and\\r\\nAttendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA. [_To Tranio_.]\\r\\nSignior Lucentio, this is the ’pointed day\\r\\nThat Katherine and Petruchio should be married,\\r\\nAnd yet we hear not of our son-in-law.\\r\\nWhat will be said? What mockery will it be\\r\\nTo want the bridegroom when the priest attends\\r\\nTo speak the ceremonial rites of marriage!\\r\\nWhat says Lucentio to this shame of ours?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNo shame but mine; I must, forsooth, be forc’d\\r\\nTo give my hand, oppos’d against my heart,\\r\\nUnto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen;\\r\\nWho woo’d in haste and means to wed at leisure.\\r\\nI told you, I, he was a frantic fool,\\r\\nHiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour;\\r\\nAnd to be noted for a merry man,\\r\\nHe’ll woo a thousand, ’point the day of marriage,\\r\\nMake friends, invite, and proclaim the banns;\\r\\nYet never means to wed where he hath woo’d.\\r\\nNow must the world point at poor Katherine,\\r\\nAnd say ‘Lo! there is mad Petruchio’s wife,\\r\\nIf it would please him come and marry her.’\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nPatience, good Katherine, and Baptista too.\\r\\nUpon my life, Petruchio means but well,\\r\\nWhatever fortune stays him from his word:\\r\\nThough he be blunt, I know him passing wise;\\r\\nThough he be merry, yet withal he’s honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWould Katherine had never seen him though!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit weeping, followed by Bianca and others._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nGo, girl, I cannot blame thee now to weep,\\r\\nFor such an injury would vex a very saint;\\r\\nMuch more a shrew of thy impatient humour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nMaster, master! News! old news, and such news as you never heard of!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nIs it new and old too? How may that be?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhy, is it not news to hear of Petruchio’s coming?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nIs he come?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhy, no, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhat then?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nHe is coming.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhen will he be here?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhen he stands where I am and sees you there.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nBut say, what to thine old news?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhy, Petruchio is coming, in a new hat and an old jerkin; a pair of old\\r\\nbreeches thrice turned; a pair of boots that have been candle-cases,\\r\\none buckled, another laced; an old rusty sword ta’en out of the town\\r\\narmoury, with a broken hilt, and chapeless; with two broken points: his\\r\\nhorse hipped with an old mothy saddle and stirrups of no kindred;\\r\\nbesides, possessed with the glanders and like to mose in the chine;\\r\\ntroubled with the lampass, infected with the fashions, full of\\r\\nwindgalls, sped with spavins, rayed with the yellows, past cure of the\\r\\nfives, stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the bots, swayed\\r\\nin the back and shoulder-shotten; near-legged before, and with a\\r\\nhalf-checked bit, and a head-stall of sheep’s leather, which, being\\r\\nrestrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been often burst, and now\\r\\nrepaired with knots; one girth six times pieced, and a woman’s crupper\\r\\nof velure, which hath two letters for her name fairly set down in\\r\\nstuds, and here and there pieced with pack-thread.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWho comes with him?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nO, sir! his lackey, for all the world caparisoned like the horse; with\\r\\na linen stock on one leg and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered\\r\\nwith a red and blue list; an old hat, and the humour of forty fancies\\r\\nprick’d in’t for a feather: a monster, a very monster in apparel, and\\r\\nnot like a Christian footboy or a gentleman’s lackey.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n’Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion;\\r\\nYet oftentimes lie goes but mean-apparell’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI am glad he’s come, howsoe’er he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhy, sir, he comes not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nDidst thou not say he comes?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWho? that Petruchio came?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAy, that Petruchio came.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nNo, sir; I say his horse comes, with him on his back.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, that’s all one.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\n Nay, by Saint Jamy,\\r\\n I hold you a penny,\\r\\n A horse and a man\\r\\n Is more than one,\\r\\n And yet not many.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petruchio and Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome, where be these gallants? Who is at home?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nYou are welcome, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAnd yet I come not well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAnd yet you halt not.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nNot so well apparell’d as I wish you were.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWere it better, I should rush in thus.\\r\\nBut where is Kate? Where is my lovely bride?\\r\\nHow does my father? Gentles, methinks you frown;\\r\\nAnd wherefore gaze this goodly company,\\r\\nAs if they saw some wondrous monument,\\r\\nSome comet or unusual prodigy?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, sir, you know this is your wedding-day:\\r\\nFirst were we sad, fearing you would not come;\\r\\nNow sadder, that you come so unprovided.\\r\\nFie! doff this habit, shame to your estate,\\r\\nAn eye-sore to our solemn festival.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd tell us what occasion of import\\r\\nHath all so long detain’d you from your wife,\\r\\nAnd sent you hither so unlike yourself?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nTedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear;\\r\\nSufficeth I am come to keep my word,\\r\\nThough in some part enforced to digress;\\r\\nWhich at more leisure I will so excuse\\r\\nAs you shall well be satisfied withal.\\r\\nBut where is Kate? I stay too long from her;\\r\\nThe morning wears, ’tis time we were at church.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSee not your bride in these unreverent robes;\\r\\nGo to my chamber, put on clothes of mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNot I, believe me: thus I’ll visit her.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nBut thus, I trust, you will not marry her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGood sooth, even thus; therefore ha’ done with words;\\r\\nTo me she’s married, not unto my clothes.\\r\\nCould I repair what she will wear in me\\r\\nAs I can change these poor accoutrements,\\r\\n’Twere well for Kate and better for myself.\\r\\nBut what a fool am I to chat with you\\r\\nWhen I should bid good morrow to my bride,\\r\\nAnd seal the title with a lovely kiss!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Petruchio, Grumio and Biondello._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nHe hath some meaning in his mad attire.\\r\\nWe will persuade him, be it possible,\\r\\nTo put on better ere he go to church.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI’ll after him and see the event of this.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Baptista, Gremio and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nBut, sir, to love concerneth us to add\\r\\nHer father’s liking; which to bring to pass,\\r\\nAs I before imparted to your worship,\\r\\nI am to get a man,—whate’er he be\\r\\nIt skills not much; we’ll fit him to our turn,—\\r\\nAnd he shall be Vincentio of Pisa,\\r\\nAnd make assurance here in Padua,\\r\\nOf greater sums than I have promised.\\r\\nSo shall you quietly enjoy your hope,\\r\\nAnd marry sweet Bianca with consent.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nWere it not that my fellow schoolmaster\\r\\nDoth watch Bianca’s steps so narrowly,\\r\\n’Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage;\\r\\nWhich once perform’d, let all the world say no,\\r\\nI’ll keep mine own despite of all the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThat by degrees we mean to look into,\\r\\nAnd watch our vantage in this business.\\r\\nWe’ll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio,\\r\\nThe narrow-prying father, Minola,\\r\\nThe quaint musician, amorous Licio;\\r\\nAll for my master’s sake, Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Gremio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSignior Gremio, came you from the church?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAs willingly as e’er I came from school.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd is the bride and bridegroom coming home?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nA bridegroom, say you? ’Tis a groom indeed,\\r\\nA grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nCurster than she? Why, ’tis impossible.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWhy, he’s a devil, a devil, a very fiend.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhy, she’s a devil, a devil, the devil’s dam.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nTut! she’s a lamb, a dove, a fool, to him.\\r\\nI’ll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priest\\r\\nShould ask if Katherine should be his wife,\\r\\n’Ay, by gogs-wouns’ quoth he, and swore so loud\\r\\nThat, all amaz’d, the priest let fall the book;\\r\\nAnd as he stoop’d again to take it up,\\r\\nThe mad-brain’d bridegroom took him such a cuff\\r\\nThat down fell priest and book, and book and priest:\\r\\n‘Now take them up,’ quoth he ‘if any list.’\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhat said the wench, when he rose again?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nTrembled and shook, for why, he stamp’d and swore\\r\\nAs if the vicar meant to cozen him.\\r\\nBut after many ceremonies done,\\r\\nHe calls for wine: ‘A health!’ quoth he, as if\\r\\nHe had been abroad, carousing to his mates\\r\\nAfter a storm; quaff’d off the muscadel,\\r\\nAnd threw the sops all in the sexton’s face,\\r\\nHaving no other reason\\r\\nBut that his beard grew thin and hungerly\\r\\nAnd seem’d to ask him sops as he was drinking.\\r\\nThis done, he took the bride about the neck,\\r\\nAnd kiss’d her lips with such a clamorous smack\\r\\nThat at the parting all the church did echo.\\r\\nAnd I, seeing this, came thence for very shame;\\r\\nAnd after me, I know, the rout is coming.\\r\\nSuch a mad marriage never was before.\\r\\nHark, hark! I hear the minstrels play.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Music plays._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petrucio, Katherina, Bianca, Baptista, Hortensio, Grumio and\\r\\nTrain.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains:\\r\\nI know you think to dine with me today,\\r\\nAnd have prepar’d great store of wedding cheer\\r\\nBut so it is, my haste doth call me hence,\\r\\nAnd therefore here I mean to take my leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nIs’t possible you will away tonight?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI must away today before night come.\\r\\nMake it no wonder: if you knew my business,\\r\\nYou would entreat me rather go than stay.\\r\\nAnd, honest company, I thank you all,\\r\\nThat have beheld me give away myself\\r\\nTo this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife.\\r\\nDine with my father, drink a health to me.\\r\\nFor I must hence; and farewell to you all.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nLet us entreat you stay till after dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nIt may not be.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nLet me entreat you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nIt cannot be.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nLet me entreat you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI am content.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nAre you content to stay?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI am content you shall entreat me stay;\\r\\nBut yet not stay, entreat me how you can.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNow, if you love me, stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGrumio, my horse!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nAy, sir, they be ready; the oats have eaten the horses.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNay, then,\\r\\nDo what thou canst, I will not go today;\\r\\nNo, nor tomorrow, not till I please myself.\\r\\nThe door is open, sir; there lies your way;\\r\\nYou may be jogging whiles your boots are green;\\r\\nFor me, I’ll not be gone till I please myself.\\r\\n’Tis like you’ll prove a jolly surly groom\\r\\nThat take it on you at the first so roundly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nO Kate! content thee: prithee be not angry.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI will be angry: what hast thou to do?\\r\\nFather, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAy, marry, sir, now it begins to work.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nGentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner:\\r\\nI see a woman may be made a fool,\\r\\nIf she had not a spirit to resist.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThey shall go forward, Kate, at thy command.\\r\\nObey the bride, you that attend on her;\\r\\nGo to the feast, revel and domineer,\\r\\nCarouse full measure to her maidenhead,\\r\\nBe mad and merry, or go hang yourselves:\\r\\nBut for my bonny Kate, she must with me.\\r\\nNay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret;\\r\\nI will be master of what is mine own.\\r\\nShe is my goods, my chattels; she is my house,\\r\\nMy household stuff, my field, my barn,\\r\\nMy horse, my ox, my ass, my anything;\\r\\nAnd here she stands, touch her whoever dare;\\r\\nI’ll bring mine action on the proudest he\\r\\nThat stops my way in Padua. Grumio,\\r\\nDraw forth thy weapon; we are beset with thieves;\\r\\nRescue thy mistress, if thou be a man.\\r\\nFear not, sweet wench; they shall not touch thee, Kate;\\r\\nI’ll buckler thee against a million.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Petrucio, Katherina and Grumio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWent they not quickly, I should die with laughing.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nOf all mad matches, never was the like.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nMistress, what’s your opinion of your sister?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nThat, being mad herself, she’s madly mated.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI warrant him, Petruchio is Kated.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNeighbours and friends, though bride and bridegroom wants\\r\\nFor to supply the places at the table,\\r\\nYou know there wants no junkets at the feast.\\r\\nLucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom’s place;\\r\\nAnd let Bianca take her sister’s room.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nShall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nShe shall, Lucentio. Come, gentlemen, let’s go.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A hall in PETRUCHIO’S country house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nFie, fie on all tired jades, on all mad masters, and all foul ways! Was\\r\\never man so beaten? Was ever man so ray’d? Was ever man so weary? I am\\r\\nsent before to make a fire, and they are coming after to warm them.\\r\\nNow, were not I a little pot and soon hot, my very lips might freeze to\\r\\nmy teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere\\r\\nI should come by a fire to thaw me. But I with blowing the fire shall\\r\\nwarm myself; for, considering the weather, a taller man than I will\\r\\ntake cold. Holla, ho! Curtis!\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Curtis.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nWho is that calls so coldly?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nA piece of ice: if thou doubt it, thou mayst slide from my shoulder to\\r\\nmy heel with no greater a run but my head and my neck. A fire, good\\r\\nCurtis.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nIs my master and his wife coming, Grumio?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nO, ay! Curtis, ay; and therefore fire, fire; cast on no water.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nIs she so hot a shrew as she’s reported?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nShe was, good Curtis, before this frost; but thou knowest winter tames\\r\\nman, woman, and beast; for it hath tamed my old master, and my new\\r\\nmistress, and myself, fellow Curtis.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nAway, you three-inch fool! I am no beast.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nAm I but three inches? Why, thy horn is a foot; and so long am I at the\\r\\nleast. But wilt thou make a fire, or shall I complain on thee to our\\r\\nmistress, whose hand,—she being now at hand,— thou shalt soon feel, to\\r\\nthy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nI prithee, good Grumio, tell me, how goes the world?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nA cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; and therefore fire. Do\\r\\nthy duty, and have thy duty, for my master and mistress are almost\\r\\nfrozen to death.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nThere’s fire ready; and therefore, good Grumio, the news.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhy, ‘Jack boy! ho, boy!’ and as much news as wilt thou.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nCome, you are so full of cony-catching.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhy, therefore, fire; for I have caught extreme cold. Where’s the cook?\\r\\nIs supper ready, the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept, the\\r\\nservingmen in their new fustian, their white stockings, and every\\r\\nofficer his wedding-garment on? Be the Jacks fair within, the Jills\\r\\nfair without, and carpets laid, and everything in order?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nAll ready; and therefore, I pray thee, news.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nFirst, know my horse is tired; my master and mistress fallen out.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nHow?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nOut of their saddles into the dirt; and thereby hangs a tale.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nLet’s ha’t, good Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nLend thine ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nHere.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\n[_Striking him._] There.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nThis ’tis to feel a tale, not to hear a tale.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nAnd therefore ’tis called a sensible tale; and this cuff was but to\\r\\nknock at your ear and beseech listening. Now I begin: _Imprimis_, we\\r\\ncame down a foul hill, my master riding behind my mistress,—\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nBoth of one horse?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhat’s that to thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nWhy, a horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nTell thou the tale: but hadst thou not crossed me, thou shouldst have\\r\\nheard how her horse fell, and she under her horse; thou shouldst have\\r\\nheard in how miry a place, how she was bemoiled; how he left her with\\r\\nthe horse upon her; how he beat me because her horse stumbled; how she\\r\\nwaded through the dirt to pluck him off me: how he swore; how she\\r\\nprayed, that never prayed before; how I cried; how the horses ran away;\\r\\nhow her bridle was burst; how I lost my crupper; with many things of\\r\\nworthy memory, which now shall die in oblivion, and thou return\\r\\nunexperienced to thy grave.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nBy this reckoning he is more shrew than she.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nAy; and that thou and the proudest of you all shall find when he comes\\r\\nhome. But what talk I of this? Call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas,\\r\\nPhilip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest; let their heads be sleekly\\r\\ncombed, their blue coats brush’d and their garters of an indifferent\\r\\nknit; let them curtsy with their left legs, and not presume to touch a\\r\\nhair of my master’s horse-tail till they kiss their hands. Are they all\\r\\nready?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nThey are.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nCall them forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nDo you hear? ho! You must meet my master to countenance my mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhy, she hath a face of her own.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nWho knows not that?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nThou, it seems, that calls for company to countenance her.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nI call them forth to credit her.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhy, she comes to borrow nothing of them.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter four or five Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nNATHANIEL.\\r\\nWelcome home, Grumio!\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILIP.\\r\\nHow now, Grumio!\\r\\n\\r\\nJOSEPH.\\r\\nWhat, Grumio!\\r\\n\\r\\nNICHOLAS.\\r\\nFellow Grumio!\\r\\n\\r\\nNATHANIEL.\\r\\nHow now, old lad!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWelcome, you; how now, you; what, you; fellow, you; and thus much for\\r\\ngreeting. Now, my spruce companions, is all ready, and all things neat?\\r\\n\\r\\nNATHANIEL.\\r\\nAll things is ready. How near is our master?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nE’en at hand, alighted by this; and therefore be not,—\\r\\nCock’s passion, silence! I hear my master.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petrucio and Katherina.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhere be these knaves? What! no man at door\\r\\nTo hold my stirrup nor to take my horse?\\r\\nWhere is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip?—\\r\\n\\r\\nALL SERVANTS.\\r\\nHere, here, sir; here, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHere, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sir!\\r\\nYou logger-headed and unpolish’d grooms!\\r\\nWhat, no attendance? no regard? no duty?\\r\\nWhere is the foolish knave I sent before?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nHere, sir; as foolish as I was before.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nYou peasant swain! you whoreson malt-horse drudge!\\r\\nDid I not bid thee meet me in the park,\\r\\nAnd bring along these rascal knaves with thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nNathaniel’s coat, sir, was not fully made,\\r\\nAnd Gabriel’s pumps were all unpink’d i’ the heel;\\r\\nThere was no link to colour Peter’s hat,\\r\\nAnd Walter’s dagger was not come from sheathing;\\r\\nThere was none fine but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory;\\r\\nThe rest were ragged, old, and beggarly;\\r\\nYet, as they are, here are they come to meet you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGo, rascals, go and fetch my supper in.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt some of the Servants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhere is the life that late I led?\\r\\n Where are those—? Sit down, Kate, and welcome.\\r\\nFood, food, food, food!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Servants with supper.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhy, when, I say?—Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry.—\\r\\nOff with my boots, you rogues! you villains! when?\\r\\n It was the friar of orders grey,\\r\\n As he forth walked on his way:\\r\\nOut, you rogue! you pluck my foot awry:\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Strikes him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTake that, and mend the plucking off the other.\\r\\nBe merry, Kate. Some water, here; what, ho!\\r\\nWhere’s my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you hence\\r\\nAnd bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither:\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOne, Kate, that you must kiss and be acquainted with.\\r\\nWhere are my slippers? Shall I have some water?\\r\\nCome, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Servant lets the ewer fall. Petruchio strikes him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nYou whoreson villain! will you let it fall?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nPatience, I pray you; ’twas a fault unwilling.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA whoreson, beetle-headed, flap-ear’d knave!\\r\\nCome, Kate, sit down; I know you have a stomach.\\r\\nWill you give thanks, sweet Kate, or else shall I?—\\r\\nWhat’s this? Mutton?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nAy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWho brought it?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nI.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\n’Tis burnt; and so is all the meat.\\r\\nWhat dogs are these! Where is the rascal cook?\\r\\nHow durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser,\\r\\nAnd serve it thus to me that love it not?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Throws the meat, etc., at them._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThere, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all.\\r\\nYou heedless joltheads and unmanner’d slaves!\\r\\nWhat! do you grumble? I’ll be with you straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI pray you, husband, be not so disquiet;\\r\\nThe meat was well, if you were so contented.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI tell thee, Kate, ’twas burnt and dried away,\\r\\nAnd I expressly am forbid to touch it;\\r\\nFor it engenders choler, planteth anger;\\r\\nAnd better ’twere that both of us did fast,\\r\\nSince, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric,\\r\\nThan feed it with such over-roasted flesh.\\r\\nBe patient; tomorrow ’t shall be mended.\\r\\nAnd for this night we’ll fast for company:\\r\\nCome, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Petruchio, Katherina and Curtis._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNATHANIEL.\\r\\nPeter, didst ever see the like?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nHe kills her in her own humour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Curtis.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhere is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nIn her chamber, making a sermon of continency to her;\\r\\nAnd rails, and swears, and rates, that she, poor soul,\\r\\nKnows not which way to stand, to look, to speak,\\r\\nAnd sits as one new risen from a dream.\\r\\nAway, away! for he is coming hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Petruchio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThus have I politicly begun my reign,\\r\\nAnd ’tis my hope to end successfully.\\r\\nMy falcon now is sharp and passing empty.\\r\\nAnd till she stoop she must not be full-gorg’d,\\r\\nFor then she never looks upon her lure.\\r\\nAnother way I have to man my haggard,\\r\\nTo make her come, and know her keeper’s call,\\r\\nThat is, to watch her, as we watch these kites\\r\\nThat bate and beat, and will not be obedient.\\r\\nShe eat no meat today, nor none shall eat;\\r\\nLast night she slept not, nor tonight she shall not;\\r\\nAs with the meat, some undeserved fault\\r\\nI’ll find about the making of the bed;\\r\\nAnd here I’ll fling the pillow, there the bolster,\\r\\nThis way the coverlet, another way the sheets;\\r\\nAy, and amid this hurly I intend\\r\\nThat all is done in reverend care of her;\\r\\nAnd, in conclusion, she shall watch all night:\\r\\nAnd if she chance to nod I’ll rail and brawl,\\r\\nAnd with the clamour keep her still awake.\\r\\nThis is a way to kill a wife with kindness;\\r\\nAnd thus I’ll curb her mad and headstrong humour.\\r\\nHe that knows better how to tame a shrew,\\r\\nNow let him speak; ’tis charity to show.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Padua. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Tranio and Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nIs ’t possible, friend Licio, that Mistress Bianca\\r\\nDoth fancy any other but Lucentio?\\r\\nI tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSir, to satisfy you in what I have said,\\r\\nStand by and mark the manner of his teaching.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They stand aside._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Bianca and Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nNow, mistress, profit you in what you read?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhat, master, read you? First resolve me that.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI read that I profess, _The Art to Love_.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nAnd may you prove, sir, master of your art!\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nWhile you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They retire._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nQuick proceeders, marry! Now tell me, I pray,\\r\\nYou that durst swear that your Mistress Bianca\\r\\nLov’d none in the world so well as Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nO despiteful love! unconstant womankind!\\r\\nI tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMistake no more; I am not Licio.\\r\\nNor a musician as I seem to be;\\r\\nBut one that scorn to live in this disguise\\r\\nFor such a one as leaves a gentleman\\r\\nAnd makes a god of such a cullion:\\r\\nKnow, sir, that I am call’d Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSignior Hortensio, I have often heard\\r\\nOf your entire affection to Bianca;\\r\\nAnd since mine eyes are witness of her lightness,\\r\\nI will with you, if you be so contented,\\r\\nForswear Bianca and her love for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSee, how they kiss and court! Signior Lucentio,\\r\\nHere is my hand, and here I firmly vow\\r\\nNever to woo her more, but do forswear her,\\r\\nAs one unworthy all the former favours\\r\\nThat I have fondly flatter’d her withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd here I take the like unfeigned oath,\\r\\nNever to marry with her though she would entreat;\\r\\nFie on her! See how beastly she doth court him!\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nWould all the world but he had quite forsworn!\\r\\nFor me, that I may surely keep mine oath,\\r\\nI will be married to a wealthy widow\\r\\nEre three days pass, which hath as long lov’d me\\r\\nAs I have lov’d this proud disdainful haggard.\\r\\nAnd so farewell, Signior Lucentio.\\r\\nKindness in women, not their beauteous looks,\\r\\nShall win my love; and so I take my leave,\\r\\nIn resolution as I swore before.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Hortensio. Lucentio and Bianca advance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMistress Bianca, bless you with such grace\\r\\nAs ’longeth to a lover’s blessed case!\\r\\nNay, I have ta’en you napping, gentle love,\\r\\nAnd have forsworn you with Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nTranio, you jest; but have you both forsworn me?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMistress, we have.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nThen we are rid of Licio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nI’ faith, he’ll have a lusty widow now,\\r\\nThat shall be woo’d and wedded in a day.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nGod give him joy!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAy, and he’ll tame her.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nHe says so, Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nFaith, he is gone unto the taming-school.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nThe taming-school! What, is there such a place?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAy, mistress; and Petruchio is the master,\\r\\nThat teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long,\\r\\nTo tame a shrew and charm her chattering tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Biondello, running.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nO master, master! I have watch’d so long\\r\\nThat I am dog-weary; but at last I spied\\r\\nAn ancient angel coming down the hill\\r\\nWill serve the turn.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhat is he, Biondello?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nMaster, a mercatante or a pedant,\\r\\nI know not what; but formal in apparel,\\r\\nIn gait and countenance surely like a father.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAnd what of him, Tranio?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nIf he be credulous and trust my tale,\\r\\nI’ll make him glad to seem Vincentio,\\r\\nAnd give assurance to Baptista Minola,\\r\\nAs if he were the right Vincentio.\\r\\nTake in your love, and then let me alone.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Lucentio and Bianca._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a Pedant.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nGod save you, sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd you, sir! you are welcome.\\r\\nTravel you far on, or are you at the farthest?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nSir, at the farthest for a week or two;\\r\\nBut then up farther, and as far as Rome;\\r\\nAnd so to Tripoli, if God lend me life.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhat countryman, I pray?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nOf Mantua.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nOf Mantua, sir? Marry, God forbid,\\r\\nAnd come to Padua, careless of your life!\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nMy life, sir! How, I pray? for that goes hard.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n’Tis death for anyone in Mantua\\r\\nTo come to Padua. Know you not the cause?\\r\\nYour ships are stay’d at Venice; and the Duke,—\\r\\nFor private quarrel ’twixt your Duke and him,—\\r\\nHath publish’d and proclaim’d it openly.\\r\\n’Tis marvel, but that you are but newly come\\r\\nYou might have heard it else proclaim’d about.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nAlas, sir! it is worse for me than so;\\r\\nFor I have bills for money by exchange\\r\\nFrom Florence, and must here deliver them.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWell, sir, to do you courtesy,\\r\\nThis will I do, and this I will advise you:\\r\\nFirst, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nAy, sir, in Pisa have I often been,\\r\\nPisa renowned for grave citizens.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAmong them know you one Vincentio?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nI know him not, but I have heard of him,\\r\\nA merchant of incomparable wealth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nHe is my father, sir; and, sooth to say,\\r\\nIn countenance somewhat doth resemble you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] As much as an apple doth an oyster, and all one.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nTo save your life in this extremity,\\r\\nThis favour will I do you for his sake;\\r\\nAnd think it not the worst of all your fortunes\\r\\nThat you are like to Sir Vincentio.\\r\\nHis name and credit shall you undertake,\\r\\nAnd in my house you shall be friendly lodg’d;\\r\\nLook that you take upon you as you should!\\r\\nYou understand me, sir; so shall you stay\\r\\nTill you have done your business in the city.\\r\\nIf this be courtesy, sir, accept of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nO, sir, I do; and will repute you ever\\r\\nThe patron of my life and liberty.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThen go with me to make the matter good.\\r\\nThis, by the way, I let you understand:\\r\\nMy father is here look’d for every day\\r\\nTo pass assurance of a dower in marriage\\r\\n’Twixt me and one Baptista’s daughter here:\\r\\nIn all these circumstances I’ll instruct you.\\r\\nGo with me to clothe you as becomes you.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A room in PETRUCHIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Katherina and Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nNo, no, forsooth; I dare not for my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThe more my wrong, the more his spite appears.\\r\\nWhat, did he marry me to famish me?\\r\\nBeggars that come unto my father’s door\\r\\nUpon entreaty have a present alms;\\r\\nIf not, elsewhere they meet with charity;\\r\\nBut I, who never knew how to entreat,\\r\\nNor never needed that I should entreat,\\r\\nAm starv’d for meat, giddy for lack of sleep;\\r\\nWith oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed.\\r\\nAnd that which spites me more than all these wants,\\r\\nHe does it under name of perfect love;\\r\\nAs who should say, if I should sleep or eat\\r\\n’Twere deadly sickness, or else present death.\\r\\nI prithee go and get me some repast;\\r\\nI care not what, so it be wholesome food.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhat say you to a neat’s foot?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\n’Tis passing good; I prithee let me have it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI fear it is too choleric a meat.\\r\\nHow say you to a fat tripe finely broil’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI like it well; good Grumio, fetch it me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI cannot tell; I fear ’tis choleric.\\r\\nWhat say you to a piece of beef and mustard?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nA dish that I do love to feed upon.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nAy, but the mustard is too hot a little.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhy then the beef, and let the mustard rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nNay, then I will not: you shall have the mustard,\\r\\nOr else you get no beef of Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThen both, or one, or anything thou wilt.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhy then the mustard without the beef.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nGo, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave,\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Beats him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThat feed’st me with the very name of meat.\\r\\nSorrow on thee and all the pack of you\\r\\nThat triumph thus upon my misery!\\r\\nGo, get thee gone, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petruchio with a dish of meat; and Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHow fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMistress, what cheer?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nFaith, as cold as can be.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nPluck up thy spirits; look cheerfully upon me.\\r\\nHere, love; thou seest how diligent I am,\\r\\nTo dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee:\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sets the dish on a table._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks.\\r\\nWhat! not a word? Nay, then thou lov’st it not,\\r\\nAnd all my pains is sorted to no proof.\\r\\nHere, take away this dish.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI pray you, let it stand.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThe poorest service is repaid with thanks;\\r\\nAnd so shall mine, before you touch the meat.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI thank you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSignior Petruchio, fie! you are to blame.\\r\\nCome, Mistress Kate, I’ll bear you company.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lovest me.\\r\\nMuch good do it unto thy gentle heart!\\r\\nKate, eat apace: and now, my honey love,\\r\\nWill we return unto thy father’s house\\r\\nAnd revel it as bravely as the best,\\r\\nWith silken coats and caps, and golden rings,\\r\\nWith ruffs and cuffs and farthingales and things;\\r\\nWith scarfs and fans and double change of bravery,\\r\\nWith amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery.\\r\\nWhat! hast thou din’d? The tailor stays thy leisure,\\r\\nTo deck thy body with his ruffling treasure.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Tailor.\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, tailor, let us see these ornaments;\\r\\nLay forth the gown.—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Haberdasher.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat news with you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nHABERDASHER.\\r\\nHere is the cap your worship did bespeak.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, this was moulded on a porringer;\\r\\nA velvet dish: fie, fie! ’tis lewd and filthy:\\r\\nWhy, ’tis a cockle or a walnut-shell,\\r\\nA knack, a toy, a trick, a baby’s cap:\\r\\nAway with it! come, let me have a bigger.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI’ll have no bigger; this doth fit the time,\\r\\nAnd gentlewomen wear such caps as these.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhen you are gentle, you shall have one too,\\r\\nAnd not till then.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n[_Aside_] That will not be in haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhy, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak;\\r\\nAnd speak I will. I am no child, no babe.\\r\\nYour betters have endur’d me say my mind,\\r\\nAnd if you cannot, best you stop your ears.\\r\\nMy tongue will tell the anger of my heart,\\r\\nOr else my heart, concealing it, will break;\\r\\nAnd rather than it shall, I will be free\\r\\nEven to the uttermost, as I please, in words.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, thou say’st true; it is a paltry cap,\\r\\nA custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie;\\r\\nI love thee well in that thou lik’st it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nLove me or love me not, I like the cap;\\r\\nAnd it I will have, or I will have none.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Haberdasher._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThy gown? Why, ay: come, tailor, let us see’t.\\r\\nO mercy, God! what masquing stuff is here?\\r\\nWhat’s this? A sleeve? ’Tis like a demi-cannon.\\r\\nWhat, up and down, carv’d like an apple tart?\\r\\nHere’s snip and nip and cut and slish and slash,\\r\\nLike to a censer in a barber’s shop.\\r\\nWhy, what i’ devil’s name, tailor, call’st thou this?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n[_Aside_] I see she’s like to have neither cap nor gown.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nYou bid me make it orderly and well,\\r\\nAccording to the fashion and the time.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nMarry, and did; but if you be remember’d,\\r\\nI did not bid you mar it to the time.\\r\\nGo, hop me over every kennel home,\\r\\nFor you shall hop without my custom, sir.\\r\\nI’ll none of it: hence! make your best of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI never saw a better fashion’d gown,\\r\\nMore quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable;\\r\\nBelike you mean to make a puppet of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, true; he means to make a puppet of thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nShe says your worship means to make a puppet of her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nO monstrous arrogance! Thou liest, thou thread,\\r\\nThou thimble,\\r\\nThou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail!\\r\\nThou flea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket thou!\\r\\nBrav’d in mine own house with a skein of thread!\\r\\nAway! thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant,\\r\\nOr I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard\\r\\nAs thou shalt think on prating whilst thou liv’st!\\r\\nI tell thee, I, that thou hast marr’d her gown.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nYour worship is deceiv’d: the gown is made\\r\\nJust as my master had direction.\\r\\nGrumio gave order how it should be done.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI gave him no order; I gave him the stuff.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nBut how did you desire it should be made?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nMarry, sir, with needle and thread.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nBut did you not request to have it cut?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nThou hast faced many things.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nI have.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nFace not me. Thou hast braved many men; brave not me: I will neither be\\r\\nfac’d nor brav’d. I say unto thee, I bid thy master cut out the gown;\\r\\nbut I did not bid him cut it to pieces: ergo, thou liest.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nWhy, here is the note of the fashion to testify.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nRead it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nThe note lies in ’s throat, if he say I said so.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\n’Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown.’\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nMaster, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, sew me in the skirts of it\\r\\nand beat me to death with a bottom of brown thread; I said, a gown.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nProceed.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\n’With a small compassed cape.’\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI confess the cape.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\n’With a trunk sleeve.’\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI confess two sleeves.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\n’The sleeves curiously cut.’\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAy, there’s the villainy.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nError i’ the bill, sir; error i’ the bill. I commanded the sleeves\\r\\nshould be cut out, and sew’d up again; and that I’ll prove upon thee,\\r\\nthough thy little finger be armed in a thimble.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nThis is true that I say; and I had thee in place where thou shouldst\\r\\nknow it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI am for thee straight; take thou the bill, give me thy mete-yard, and\\r\\nspare not me.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nGod-a-mercy, Grumio! Then he shall have no odds.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWell, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nYou are i’ the right, sir; ’tis for my mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGo, take it up unto thy master’s use.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nVillain, not for thy life! Take up my mistress’ gown for thy master’s\\r\\nuse!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, sir, what’s your conceit in that?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nO, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for.\\r\\nTake up my mistress’ gown to his master’s use!\\r\\nO fie, fie, fie!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\n[_Aside_] Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor paid.\\r\\n[_To Tailor._] Go take it hence; be gone, and say no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Tailor._] Tailor, I’ll pay thee for thy gown tomorrow;\\r\\nTake no unkindness of his hasty words.\\r\\nAway, I say! commend me to thy master.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Tailor._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWell, come, my Kate; we will unto your father’s\\r\\nEven in these honest mean habiliments.\\r\\nOur purses shall be proud, our garments poor\\r\\nFor ’tis the mind that makes the body rich;\\r\\nAnd as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,\\r\\nSo honour peereth in the meanest habit.\\r\\nWhat, is the jay more precious than the lark\\r\\nBecause his feathers are more beautiful?\\r\\nOr is the adder better than the eel\\r\\nBecause his painted skin contents the eye?\\r\\nO no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse\\r\\nFor this poor furniture and mean array.\\r\\nIf thou account’st it shame, lay it on me;\\r\\nAnd therefore frolic; we will hence forthwith,\\r\\nTo feast and sport us at thy father’s house.\\r\\nGo call my men, and let us straight to him;\\r\\nAnd bring our horses unto Long-lane end;\\r\\nThere will we mount, and thither walk on foot.\\r\\nLet’s see; I think ’tis now some seven o’clock,\\r\\nAnd well we may come there by dinner-time.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI dare assure you, sir, ’tis almost two,\\r\\nAnd ’twill be supper-time ere you come there.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nIt shall be seven ere I go to horse.\\r\\nLook what I speak, or do, or think to do,\\r\\nYou are still crossing it. Sirs, let ’t alone:\\r\\nI will not go today; and ere I do,\\r\\nIt shall be what o’clock I say it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nWhy, so this gallant will command the sun.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Padua. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Tranio and the Pedant dressed like Vincentio\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSir, this is the house; please it you that I call?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nAy, what else? and, but I be deceived,\\r\\nSignior Baptista may remember me,\\r\\nNear twenty years ago in Genoa,\\r\\nWhere we were lodgers at the Pegasus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n’Tis well; and hold your own, in any case,\\r\\nWith such austerity as ’longeth to a father.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nI warrant you. But, sir, here comes your boy;\\r\\n’Twere good he were school’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nFear you not him. Sirrah Biondello,\\r\\nNow do your duty throughly, I advise you.\\r\\nImagine ’twere the right Vincentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nTut! fear not me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nBut hast thou done thy errand to Baptista?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI told him that your father was at Venice,\\r\\nAnd that you look’d for him this day in Padua.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nTh’art a tall fellow; hold thee that to drink.\\r\\nHere comes Baptista. Set your countenance, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Baptista and Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSignior Baptista, you are happily met.\\r\\n[_To the Pedant_] Sir, this is the gentleman I told you of;\\r\\nI pray you stand good father to me now;\\r\\nGive me Bianca for my patrimony.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nSoft, son!\\r\\nSir, by your leave: having come to Padua\\r\\nTo gather in some debts, my son Lucentio\\r\\nMade me acquainted with a weighty cause\\r\\nOf love between your daughter and himself:\\r\\nAnd,—for the good report I hear of you,\\r\\nAnd for the love he beareth to your daughter,\\r\\nAnd she to him,—to stay him not too long,\\r\\nI am content, in a good father’s care,\\r\\nTo have him match’d; and, if you please to like\\r\\nNo worse than I, upon some agreement\\r\\nMe shall you find ready and willing\\r\\nWith one consent to have her so bestow’d;\\r\\nFor curious I cannot be with you,\\r\\nSignior Baptista, of whom I hear so well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nSir, pardon me in what I have to say.\\r\\nYour plainness and your shortness please me well.\\r\\nRight true it is your son Lucentio here\\r\\nDoth love my daughter, and she loveth him,\\r\\nOr both dissemble deeply their affections;\\r\\nAnd therefore, if you say no more than this,\\r\\nThat like a father you will deal with him,\\r\\nAnd pass my daughter a sufficient dower,\\r\\nThe match is made, and all is done:\\r\\nYour son shall have my daughter with consent.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nI thank you, sir. Where then do you know best\\r\\nWe be affied, and such assurance ta’en\\r\\nAs shall with either part’s agreement stand?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNot in my house, Lucentio, for you know\\r\\nPitchers have ears, and I have many servants;\\r\\nBesides, old Gremio is hearkening still,\\r\\nAnd happily we might be interrupted.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThen at my lodging, and it like you:\\r\\nThere doth my father lie; and there this night\\r\\nWe’ll pass the business privately and well.\\r\\nSend for your daughter by your servant here;\\r\\nMy boy shall fetch the scrivener presently.\\r\\nThe worst is this, that at so slender warning\\r\\nYou are like to have a thin and slender pittance.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nIt likes me well. Cambio, hie you home,\\r\\nAnd bid Bianca make her ready straight;\\r\\nAnd, if you will, tell what hath happened:\\r\\nLucentio’s father is arriv’d in Padua,\\r\\nAnd how she’s like to be Lucentio’s wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI pray the gods she may, with all my heart!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nDally not with the gods, but get thee gone.\\r\\nSignior Baptista, shall I lead the way?\\r\\nWelcome! One mess is like to be your cheer;\\r\\nCome, sir; we will better it in Pisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI follow you.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Tranio, Pedant and Baptista._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nCambio!\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nWhat say’st thou, Biondello?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nYou saw my master wink and laugh upon you?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nBiondello, what of that?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nFaith, nothing; but has left me here behind to expound the meaning or\\r\\nmoral of his signs and tokens.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI pray thee moralize them.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nThen thus: Baptista is safe, talking with the deceiving father of a\\r\\ndeceitful son.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAnd what of him?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nHis daughter is to be brought by you to the supper.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAnd then?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nThe old priest at Saint Luke’s church is at your command at all hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAnd what of all this?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI cannot tell, except they are busied about a counterfeit assurance.\\r\\nTake your assurance of her, _cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum_; to\\r\\nthe church! take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient honest\\r\\nwitnesses.\\r\\nIf this be not that you look for, I have more to say,\\r\\nBut bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Going._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nHear’st thou, Biondello?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI cannot tarry: I knew a wench married in an afternoon as she went to\\r\\nthe garden for parsley to stuff a rabbit; and so may you, sir; and so\\r\\nadieu, sir. My master hath appointed me to go to Saint Luke’s to bid\\r\\nthe priest be ready to come against you come with your appendix.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI may, and will, if she be so contented.\\r\\nShe will be pleas’d; then wherefore should I doubt?\\r\\nHap what hap may, I’ll roundly go about her;\\r\\nIt shall go hard if Cambio go without her:\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. A public road.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petruchio, Katherina, Hortensio and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome on, i’ God’s name; once more toward our father’s.\\r\\nGood Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon!\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThe moon! The sun; it is not moonlight now.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI say it is the moon that shines so bright.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI know it is the sun that shines so bright.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNow by my mother’s son, and that’s myself,\\r\\nIt shall be moon, or star, or what I list,\\r\\nOr ere I journey to your father’s house.\\r\\nGo on and fetch our horses back again.\\r\\nEvermore cross’d and cross’d; nothing but cross’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSay as he says, or we shall never go.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nForward, I pray, since we have come so far,\\r\\nAnd be it moon, or sun, or what you please;\\r\\nAnd if you please to call it a rush-candle,\\r\\nHenceforth I vow it shall be so for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI say it is the moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI know it is the moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, then you lie; it is the blessed sun.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThen, God be bless’d, it is the blessed sun;\\r\\nBut sun it is not when you say it is not,\\r\\nAnd the moon changes even as your mind.\\r\\nWhat you will have it nam’d, even that it is,\\r\\nAnd so it shall be so for Katherine.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nPetruchio, go thy ways; the field is won.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWell, forward, forward! thus the bowl should run,\\r\\nAnd not unluckily against the bias.\\r\\nBut, soft! Company is coming here.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Vincentio, in a travelling dress.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_To Vincentio_] Good morrow, gentle mistress; where away?\\r\\nTell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too,\\r\\nHast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman?\\r\\nSuch war of white and red within her cheeks!\\r\\nWhat stars do spangle heaven with such beauty\\r\\nAs those two eyes become that heavenly face?\\r\\nFair lovely maid, once more good day to thee.\\r\\nSweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty’s sake.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nA will make the man mad, to make a woman of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nYoung budding virgin, fair and fresh and sweet,\\r\\nWhither away, or where is thy abode?\\r\\nHappy the parents of so fair a child;\\r\\nHappier the man whom favourable stars\\r\\nAllot thee for his lovely bedfellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, how now, Kate! I hope thou art not mad:\\r\\nThis is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither’d,\\r\\nAnd not a maiden, as thou sayst he is.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nPardon, old father, my mistaking eyes,\\r\\nThat have been so bedazzled with the sun\\r\\nThat everything I look on seemeth green:\\r\\nNow I perceive thou art a reverend father;\\r\\nPardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nDo, good old grandsire, and withal make known\\r\\nWhich way thou travellest: if along with us,\\r\\nWe shall be joyful of thy company.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nFair sir, and you my merry mistress,\\r\\nThat with your strange encounter much amaz’d me,\\r\\nMy name is called Vincentio; my dwelling Pisa;\\r\\nAnd bound I am to Padua, there to visit\\r\\nA son of mine, which long I have not seen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhat is his name?\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nLucentio, gentle sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHappily met; the happier for thy son.\\r\\nAnd now by law, as well as reverend age,\\r\\nI may entitle thee my loving father:\\r\\nThe sister to my wife, this gentlewoman,\\r\\nThy son by this hath married. Wonder not,\\r\\nNor be not griev’d: she is of good esteem,\\r\\nHer dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth;\\r\\nBeside, so qualified as may beseem\\r\\nThe spouse of any noble gentleman.\\r\\nLet me embrace with old Vincentio;\\r\\nAnd wander we to see thy honest son,\\r\\nWho will of thy arrival be full joyous.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nBut is this true? or is it else your pleasure,\\r\\nLike pleasant travellers, to break a jest\\r\\nUpon the company you overtake?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI do assure thee, father, so it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome, go along, and see the truth hereof;\\r\\nFor our first merriment hath made thee jealous.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt all but Hortensio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nWell, Petruchio, this has put me in heart.\\r\\nHave to my widow! and if she be froward,\\r\\nThen hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Padua. Before LUCENTIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter on one side Biondello, Lucentio and Bianca; Gremio walking on\\r\\nother side.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nSoftly and swiftly, sir, for the priest is ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI fly, Biondello; but they may chance to need thee at home, therefore\\r\\nleave us.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nNay, faith, I’ll see the church o’ your back; and then come back to my\\r\\nmaster’s as soon as I can.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Lucentio, Bianca and Biondello._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI marvel Cambio comes not all this while.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petruchio, Katherina, Vincentio and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSir, here’s the door; this is Lucentio’s house:\\r\\nMy father’s bears more toward the market-place;\\r\\nThither must I, and here I leave you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nYou shall not choose but drink before you go.\\r\\nI think I shall command your welcome here,\\r\\nAnd by all likelihood some cheer is toward.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Knocks._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nThey’re busy within; you were best knock louder.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Pedant above, at a window.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nWhat’s he that knocks as he would beat down the gate?\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nIs Signior Lucentio within, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nHe’s within, sir, but not to be spoken withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nWhat if a man bring him a hundred pound or two to make merry withal?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nKeep your hundred pounds to yourself: he shall need none so long as I\\r\\nlive.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, I told you your son was well beloved in Padua. Do you hear, sir?\\r\\nTo leave frivolous circumstances, I pray you tell Signior Lucentio that\\r\\nhis father is come from Pisa, and is here at the door to speak with\\r\\nhim.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nThou liest: his father is come from Padua, and here looking out at the\\r\\nwindow.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nArt thou his father?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nAy, sir; so his mother says, if I may believe her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\n[_To Vincentio_] Why, how now, gentleman! why, this is flat knavery to\\r\\ntake upon you another man’s name.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nLay hands on the villain: I believe a means to cozen somebody in this\\r\\ncity under my countenance.\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI have seen them in the church together: God send ’em good shipping!\\r\\nBut who is here? Mine old master, Vincentio! Now we are undone and\\r\\nbrought to nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\n[_Seeing Biondello._] Come hither, crack-hemp.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI hope I may choose, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nCome hither, you rogue. What, have you forgot me?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nForgot you! No, sir: I could not forget you, for I never saw you before\\r\\nin all my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nWhat, you notorious villain! didst thou never see thy master’s father,\\r\\nVincentio?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhat, my old worshipful old master? Yes, marry, sir; see where he looks\\r\\nout of the window.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nIs’t so, indeed?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_He beats Biondello._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nHelp, help, help! here’s a madman will murder me.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nHelp, son! help, Signior Baptista!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit from the window._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nPrithee, Kate, let’s stand aside and see the end of this controversy.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They retire._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Pedant, below; Baptista, Tranio and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSir, what are you that offer to beat my servant?\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nWhat am I, sir! nay, what are you, sir? O immortal gods! O fine\\r\\nvillain! A silken doublet, a velvet hose, a scarlet cloak, and a\\r\\ncopatain hat! O, I am undone! I am undone! While I play the good\\r\\nhusband at home, my son and my servant spend all at the university.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nHow now! what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhat, is the man lunatic?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by your habit, but your words\\r\\nshow you a madman. Why, sir, what ’cerns it you if I wear pearl and\\r\\ngold? I thank my good father, I am able to maintain it.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nThy father! O villain! he is a sailmaker in Bergamo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nYou mistake, sir; you mistake, sir. Pray, what do you think is his\\r\\nname?\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nHis name! As if I knew not his name! I have brought him up ever since\\r\\nhe was three years old, and his name is Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nAway, away, mad ass! His name is Lucentio; and he is mine only son, and\\r\\nheir to the lands of me, Signior Vincentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nLucentio! O, he hath murdered his master! Lay hold on him, I charge\\r\\nyou, in the Duke’s name. O, my son, my son! Tell me, thou villain,\\r\\nwhere is my son, Lucentio?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nCall forth an officer.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter one with an Officer.\\r\\n\\r\\nCarry this mad knave to the gaol. Father Baptista, I charge you see\\r\\nthat he be forthcoming.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nCarry me to the gaol!\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nStay, officer; he shall not go to prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nTalk not, Signior Gremio; I say he shall go to prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nTake heed, Signior Baptista, lest you be cony-catched in this business;\\r\\nI dare swear this is the right Vincentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nSwear if thou darest.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nNay, I dare not swear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThen thou wert best say that I am not Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nYes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAway with the dotard! to the gaol with him!\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nThus strangers may be haled and abus’d: O monstrous villain!\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Biondello, with Lucentio and Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nO! we are spoiled; and yonder he is: deny him, forswear him, or else we\\r\\nare all undone.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\n[_Kneeling._] Pardon, sweet father.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nLives my sweetest son?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Biondello, Tranio and Pedant run out._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\n[_Kneeling._] Pardon, dear father.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nHow hast thou offended?\\r\\nWhere is Lucentio?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nHere’s Lucentio,\\r\\nRight son to the right Vincentio;\\r\\nThat have by marriage made thy daughter mine,\\r\\nWhile counterfeit supposes blear’d thine eyne.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nHere ’s packing, with a witness, to deceive us all!\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nWhere is that damned villain, Tranio,\\r\\nThat fac’d and brav’d me in this matter so?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, tell me, is not this my Cambio?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nCambio is chang’d into Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nLove wrought these miracles. Bianca’s love\\r\\nMade me exchange my state with Tranio,\\r\\nWhile he did bear my countenance in the town;\\r\\nAnd happily I have arriv’d at the last\\r\\nUnto the wished haven of my bliss.\\r\\nWhat Tranio did, myself enforc’d him to;\\r\\nThen pardon him, sweet father, for my sake.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nI’ll slit the villain’s nose that would have sent me to the gaol.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\n[_To Lucentio._] But do you hear, sir? Have you married my daughter\\r\\nwithout asking my good will?\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nFear not, Baptista; we will content you, go to: but I will in, to be\\r\\nrevenged for this villainy.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAnd I to sound the depth of this knavery.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nLook not pale, Bianca; thy father will not frown.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Lucentio and Bianca._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nMy cake is dough, but I’ll in among the rest;\\r\\nOut of hope of all but my share of the feast.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPetruchio and Katherina advance.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nHusband, let’s follow to see the end of this ado.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nFirst kiss me, Kate, and we will.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhat! in the midst of the street?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhat! art thou ashamed of me?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNo, sir; God forbid; but ashamed to kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, then, let’s home again. Come, sirrah, let’s away.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNay, I will give thee a kiss: now pray thee, love, stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nIs not this well? Come, my sweet Kate:\\r\\nBetter once than never, for never too late.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A room in LUCENTIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Baptista, Vincentio, Gremio, the Pedant, Lucentio, Bianca,\\r\\nPetruchio, Katherina, Hortensio and Widow. Tranio, Biondello and Grumio\\r\\nand Others, attending.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAt last, though long, our jarring notes agree:\\r\\nAnd time it is when raging war is done,\\r\\nTo smile at ’scapes and perils overblown.\\r\\nMy fair Bianca, bid my father welcome,\\r\\nWhile I with self-same kindness welcome thine.\\r\\nBrother Petruchio, sister Katherina,\\r\\nAnd thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow,\\r\\nFeast with the best, and welcome to my house:\\r\\nMy banquet is to close our stomachs up,\\r\\nAfter our great good cheer. Pray you, sit down;\\r\\nFor now we sit to chat as well as eat.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They sit at table._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nPadua affords this kindness, son Petruchio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nPadua affords nothing but what is kind.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nFor both our sakes I would that word were true.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNow, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nThen never trust me if I be afeard.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nYou are very sensible, and yet you miss my sense:\\r\\nI mean Hortensio is afeard of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nHe that is giddy thinks the world turns round.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nRoundly replied.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nMistress, how mean you that?\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nThus I conceive by him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nConceives by me! How likes Hortensio that?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMy widow says thus she conceives her tale.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nVery well mended. Kiss him for that, good widow.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\n’He that is giddy thinks the world turns round’:\\r\\nI pray you tell me what you meant by that.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nYour husband, being troubled with a shrew,\\r\\nMeasures my husband’s sorrow by his woe;\\r\\nAnd now you know my meaning.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nA very mean meaning.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nRight, I mean you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nAnd I am mean, indeed, respecting you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nTo her, Kate!\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nTo her, widow!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA hundred marks, my Kate does put her down.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nThat’s my office.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSpoke like an officer: ha’ to thee, lad.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Drinks to Hortensio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nHow likes Gremio these quick-witted folks?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nBelieve me, sir, they butt together well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nHead and butt! An hasty-witted body\\r\\nWould say your head and butt were head and horn.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nAy, mistress bride, hath that awaken’d you?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nAy, but not frighted me; therefore I’ll sleep again.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, that you shall not; since you have begun,\\r\\nHave at you for a bitter jest or two.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nAm I your bird? I mean to shift my bush,\\r\\nAnd then pursue me as you draw your bow.\\r\\nYou are welcome all.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Bianca, Katherina and Widow._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nShe hath prevented me. Here, Signior Tranio;\\r\\nThis bird you aim’d at, though you hit her not:\\r\\nTherefore a health to all that shot and miss’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nO, sir! Lucentio slipp’d me like his greyhound,\\r\\nWhich runs himself, and catches for his master.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA good swift simile, but something currish.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n’Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself:\\r\\n’Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nO ho, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI thank thee for that gird, good Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nConfess, confess; hath he not hit you here?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA has a little gall’d me, I confess;\\r\\nAnd as the jest did glance away from me,\\r\\n’Tis ten to one it maim’d you two outright.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNow, in good sadness, son Petruchio,\\r\\nI think thou hast the veriest shrew of all.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWell, I say no; and therefore, for assurance,\\r\\nLet’s each one send unto his wife,\\r\\nAnd he whose wife is most obedient,\\r\\nTo come at first when he doth send for her,\\r\\nShall win the wager which we will propose.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nContent. What’s the wager?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTwenty crowns.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nTwenty crowns!\\r\\nI’ll venture so much of my hawk or hound,\\r\\nBut twenty times so much upon my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nA hundred then.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nContent.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA match! ’tis done.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nWho shall begin?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nThat will I.\\r\\nGo, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI go.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nSon, I’ll be your half, Bianca comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI’ll have no halves; I’ll bear it all myself.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now! what news?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nSir, my mistress sends you word\\r\\nThat she is busy and she cannot come.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHow! She’s busy, and she cannot come!\\r\\nIs that an answer?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAy, and a kind one too:\\r\\nPray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI hope better.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife\\r\\nTo come to me forthwith.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Biondello._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nO, ho! entreat her!\\r\\nNay, then she must needs come.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI am afraid, sir,\\r\\nDo what you can, yours will not be entreated.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, where’s my wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nShe says you have some goodly jest in hand:\\r\\nShe will not come; she bids you come to her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWorse and worse; she will not come! O vile,\\r\\nIntolerable, not to be endur’d!\\r\\nSirrah Grumio, go to your mistress,\\r\\nSay I command her come to me.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Grumio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI know her answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhat?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nShe will not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThe fouler fortune mine, and there an end.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Katherina.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNow, by my holidame, here comes Katherina!\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhat is your will sir, that you send for me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhere is your sister, and Hortensio’s wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThey sit conferring by the parlour fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGo fetch them hither; if they deny to come,\\r\\nSwinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands.\\r\\nAway, I say, and bring them hither straight.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Katherina._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nHere is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nAnd so it is. I wonder what it bodes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nMarry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life,\\r\\nAn awful rule, and right supremacy;\\r\\nAnd, to be short, what not that’s sweet and happy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNow fair befall thee, good Petruchio!\\r\\nThe wager thou hast won; and I will add\\r\\nUnto their losses twenty thousand crowns;\\r\\nAnother dowry to another daughter,\\r\\nFor she is chang’d, as she had never been.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, I will win my wager better yet,\\r\\nAnd show more sign of her obedience,\\r\\nHer new-built virtue and obedience.\\r\\nSee where she comes, and brings your froward wives\\r\\nAs prisoners to her womanly persuasion.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Katherina with Bianca and Widow.\\r\\n\\r\\nKatherine, that cap of yours becomes you not:\\r\\nOff with that bauble, throw it underfoot.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Katherina pulls off her cap and throws it down._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nLord, let me never have a cause to sigh\\r\\nTill I be brought to such a silly pass!\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nFie! what a foolish duty call you this?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI would your duty were as foolish too;\\r\\nThe wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca,\\r\\nHath cost me a hundred crowns since supper-time!\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nThe more fool you for laying on my duty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nKatherine, I charge thee, tell these headstrong women\\r\\nWhat duty they do owe their lords and husbands.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nCome, come, you’re mocking; we will have no telling.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome on, I say; and first begin with her.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nShe shall not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI say she shall: and first begin with her.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nFie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow,\\r\\nAnd dart not scornful glances from those eyes\\r\\nTo wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor:\\r\\nIt blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads,\\r\\nConfounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds,\\r\\nAnd in no sense is meet or amiable.\\r\\nA woman mov’d is like a fountain troubled,\\r\\nMuddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;\\r\\nAnd while it is so, none so dry or thirsty\\r\\nWill deign to sip or touch one drop of it.\\r\\nThy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,\\r\\nThy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee,\\r\\nAnd for thy maintenance commits his body\\r\\nTo painful labour both by sea and land,\\r\\nTo watch the night in storms, the day in cold,\\r\\nWhilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;\\r\\nAnd craves no other tribute at thy hands\\r\\nBut love, fair looks, and true obedience;\\r\\nToo little payment for so great a debt.\\r\\nSuch duty as the subject owes the prince,\\r\\nEven such a woman oweth to her husband;\\r\\nAnd when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour,\\r\\nAnd not obedient to his honest will,\\r\\nWhat is she but a foul contending rebel\\r\\nAnd graceless traitor to her loving lord?—\\r\\nI am asham’d that women are so simple\\r\\nTo offer war where they should kneel for peace,\\r\\nOr seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,\\r\\nWhen they are bound to serve, love, and obey.\\r\\nWhy are our bodies soft and weak and smooth,\\r\\nUnapt to toil and trouble in the world,\\r\\nBut that our soft conditions and our hearts\\r\\nShould well agree with our external parts?\\r\\nCome, come, you froward and unable worms!\\r\\nMy mind hath been as big as one of yours,\\r\\nMy heart as great, my reason haply more,\\r\\nTo bandy word for word and frown for frown;\\r\\nBut now I see our lances are but straws,\\r\\nOur strength as weak, our weakness past compare,\\r\\nThat seeming to be most which we indeed least are.\\r\\nThen vail your stomachs, for it is no boot,\\r\\nAnd place your hands below your husband’s foot:\\r\\nIn token of which duty, if he please,\\r\\nMy hand is ready; may it do him ease.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, there’s a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nWell, go thy ways, old lad, for thou shalt ha’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\n’Tis a good hearing when children are toward.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nBut a harsh hearing when women are froward.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome, Kate, we’ll to bed.\\r\\nWe three are married, but you two are sped.\\r\\n’Twas I won the wager,\\r\\n[_To Lucentio._] though you hit the white;\\r\\nAnd being a winner, God give you good night!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Petrucio and Katherina._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nNow go thy ways; thou hast tam’d a curst shrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\n’Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tam’d so.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE TEMPEST\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. On a ship at sea; a tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning\\r\\nheard.\\r\\nScene II. The Island. Before the cell of Prospero.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. Another part of the island.\\r\\nScene II. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Before Prospero’s cell.\\r\\nScene II. Another part of the island.\\r\\nScene III. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Before Prospero’s cell.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Before the cell of Prospero.\\r\\nEpilogue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO, King of Naples\\r\\nSEBASTIAN, his brother\\r\\nPROSPERO, the right Duke of Milan\\r\\nANTONIO, his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan\\r\\nFERDINAND, Son to the King of Naples\\r\\nGONZALO, an honest old counsellor\\r\\nADRIAN, Lord\\r\\nFRANCISCO, Lord\\r\\nCALIBAN, a savage and deformed slave\\r\\nTRINCULO, a jester\\r\\nSTEPHANO, a drunken butler\\r\\nMASTER OF A SHIP\\r\\nBOATSWAIN\\r\\nMARINERS\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA, daughter to Prospero\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL, an airy Spirit\\r\\n\\r\\nIRIS, presented by Spirits\\r\\nCERES, presented by Spirits\\r\\nJUNO, presented by Spirits\\r\\nNYMPHS, presented by Spirits\\r\\nREAPERS, presented by Spirits\\r\\n\\r\\nOther Spirits attending on Prospero\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: The sea, with a Ship; afterwards an Island.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. On a ship at sea; a tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning\\r\\nheard.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Shipmaster and a Boatswain severally.\\r\\n\\r\\nMASTER.\\r\\nBoatswain!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nHere, master: what cheer?\\r\\n\\r\\nMASTER.\\r\\nGood! Speak to the mariners: fall to ’t yarely, or we run ourselves\\r\\naground: bestir, bestir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Mariners.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nHeigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! yare, yare! Take in the\\r\\ntopsail. Tend to th’ master’s whistle. Blow till thou burst thy wind,\\r\\nif room enough.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdinand, Gonzalo and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nGood boatswain, have care. Where’s the master?\\r\\nPlay the men.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nI pray now, keep below.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWhere is the master, boson?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nDo you not hear him? You mar our labour: keep your cabins: you do\\r\\nassist the storm.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nNay, good, be patient.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nWhen the sea is. Hence! What cares these roarers for the name of king?\\r\\nTo cabin! silence! Trouble us not.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nGood, yet remember whom thou hast aboard.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nNone that I more love than myself. You are a counsellor: if you can\\r\\ncommand these elements to silence, and work the peace of the present,\\r\\nwe will not hand a rope more. Use your authority: if you cannot, give\\r\\nthanks you have lived so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin\\r\\nfor the mischance of the hour, if it so hap.—Cheerly, good hearts!—Out\\r\\nof our way, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI have great comfort from this fellow. Methinks he hath no drowning\\r\\nmark upon him. His complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good\\r\\nFate, to his hanging! Make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our\\r\\nown doth little advantage! If he be not born to be hang’d, our case is\\r\\nmiserable.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Boatswain.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nDown with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring her to try wi’ th’\\r\\nmaincourse.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A cry within._]\\r\\n\\r\\n A plague upon this howling! They are louder than the weather or our\\r\\n office.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian, Antonio and Gonzalo.\\r\\n\\r\\nYet again! What do you here? Shall we give o’er, and drown? Have you a\\r\\nmind to sink?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA pox o’ your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nWork you, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHang, cur, hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker! We are less afraid\\r\\nto be drowned than thou art.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI’ll warrant him for drowning, though the ship were no stronger than a\\r\\nnutshell, and as leaky as an unstanched wench.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nLay her a-hold, a-hold! Set her two courses: off to sea again: lay her\\r\\noff.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Mariners, wet.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINERS.\\r\\nAll lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nWhat, must our mouths be cold?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nThe King and Prince at prayers! Let’s assist them,\\r\\nFor our case is as theirs.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI am out of patience.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWe are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards.\\r\\nThis wide-chapp’d rascal—would thou might’st lie drowning\\r\\nThe washing of ten tides!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nHe’ll be hang’d yet,\\r\\nThough every drop of water swear against it,\\r\\nAnd gape at wid’st to glut him.\\r\\n\\r\\n_A confused noise within: _“Mercy on us!”—\\r\\n“We split, we split!”—“Farewell, my wife and children!”—\\r\\n“Farewell, brother!”—“We split, we split, we split!”\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLet’s all sink wi’ th’ King.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nLet’s take leave of him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nNow would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren\\r\\nground. Long heath, brown furze, anything. The wills above be done! but\\r\\nI would fain die a dry death.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The Island. Before the cell of Prospero.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Prospero and Miranda.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nIf by your art, my dearest father, you have\\r\\nPut the wild waters in this roar, allay them.\\r\\nThe sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,\\r\\nBut that the sea, mounting to th’ welkin’s cheek,\\r\\nDashes the fire out. O! I have suffered\\r\\nWith those that I saw suffer! A brave vessel,\\r\\nWho had, no doubt, some noble creature in her,\\r\\nDash’d all to pieces. O, the cry did knock\\r\\nAgainst my very heart. Poor souls, they perish’d.\\r\\nHad I been any god of power, I would\\r\\nHave sunk the sea within the earth, or ere\\r\\nIt should the good ship so have swallow’d and\\r\\nThe fraughting souls within her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBe collected:\\r\\nNo more amazement: tell your piteous heart\\r\\nThere’s no harm done.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO, woe the day!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNo harm.\\r\\nI have done nothing but in care of thee,\\r\\nOf thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who\\r\\nArt ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing\\r\\nOf whence I am, nor that I am more better\\r\\nThan Prospero, master of a full poor cell,\\r\\nAnd thy no greater father.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nMore to know\\r\\nDid never meddle with my thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n’Tis time\\r\\nI should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand,\\r\\nAnd pluck my magic garment from me.—So:\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Lays down his mantle._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLie there my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.\\r\\nThe direful spectacle of the wrack, which touch’d\\r\\nThe very virtue of compassion in thee,\\r\\nI have with such provision in mine art\\r\\nSo safely ordered that there is no soul—\\r\\nNo, not so much perdition as an hair\\r\\nBetid to any creature in the vessel\\r\\nWhich thou heard’st cry, which thou saw’st sink. Sit down;\\r\\nFor thou must now know farther.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nYou have often\\r\\nBegun to tell me what I am, but stopp’d,\\r\\nAnd left me to a bootless inquisition,\\r\\nConcluding “Stay; not yet.”\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThe hour’s now come,\\r\\nThe very minute bids thee ope thine ear;\\r\\nObey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember\\r\\nA time before we came unto this cell?\\r\\nI do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not\\r\\nOut three years old.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nCertainly, sir, I can.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBy what? By any other house, or person?\\r\\nOf anything the image, tell me, that\\r\\nHath kept with thy remembrance.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\n’Tis far off,\\r\\nAnd rather like a dream than an assurance\\r\\nThat my remembrance warrants. Had I not\\r\\nFour or five women once that tended me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it\\r\\nThat this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else\\r\\nIn the dark backward and abysm of time?\\r\\nIf thou rememb’rest aught ere thou cam’st here,\\r\\nHow thou cam’st here, thou mayst.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nBut that I do not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nTwelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since,\\r\\nThy father was the Duke of Milan, and\\r\\nA prince of power.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nSir, are not you my father?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThy mother was a piece of virtue, and\\r\\nShe said thou wast my daughter. And thy father\\r\\nWas Duke of Milan, and his only heir\\r\\nAnd princess, no worse issued.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO, the heavens!\\r\\nWhat foul play had we that we came from thence?\\r\\nOr blessed was’t we did?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBoth, both, my girl.\\r\\nBy foul play, as thou say’st, were we heav’d thence;\\r\\nBut blessedly holp hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO, my heart bleeds\\r\\nTo think o’ th’ teen that I have turn’d you to,\\r\\nWhich is from my remembrance. Please you, farther.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nMy brother and thy uncle, call’d Antonio—\\r\\nI pray thee, mark me, that a brother should\\r\\nBe so perfidious!—he whom next thyself\\r\\nOf all the world I lov’d, and to him put\\r\\nThe manage of my state; as at that time\\r\\nThrough all the signories it was the first,\\r\\nAnd Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed\\r\\nIn dignity, and for the liberal arts,\\r\\nWithout a parallel: those being all my study,\\r\\nThe government I cast upon my brother,\\r\\nAnd to my state grew stranger, being transported\\r\\nAnd rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle—\\r\\nDost thou attend me?\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nSir, most heedfully.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBeing once perfected how to grant suits,\\r\\nHow to deny them, who t’ advance, and who\\r\\nTo trash for over-topping, new created\\r\\nThe creatures that were mine, I say, or chang’d ’em,\\r\\nOr else new form’d ’em: having both the key\\r\\nOf officer and office, set all hearts i’ th’ state\\r\\nTo what tune pleas’d his ear: that now he was\\r\\nThe ivy which had hid my princely trunk,\\r\\nAnd suck’d my verdure out on ’t. Thou attend’st not.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO, good sir! I do.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nI pray thee, mark me.\\r\\nI, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated\\r\\nTo closeness and the bettering of my mind\\r\\nWith that which, but by being so retir’d,\\r\\nO’er-priz’d all popular rate, in my false brother\\r\\nAwak’d an evil nature; and my trust,\\r\\nLike a good parent, did beget of him\\r\\nA falsehood in its contrary as great\\r\\nAs my trust was; which had indeed no limit,\\r\\nA confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded,\\r\\nNot only with what my revenue yielded,\\r\\nBut what my power might else exact, like one\\r\\nWho having into truth, by telling of it,\\r\\nMade such a sinner of his memory,\\r\\nTo credit his own lie, he did believe\\r\\nHe was indeed the Duke; out o’ the substitution,\\r\\nAnd executing th’ outward face of royalty,\\r\\nWith all prerogative. Hence his ambition growing—\\r\\nDost thou hear?\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nYour tale, sir, would cure deafness.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nTo have no screen between this part he play’d\\r\\nAnd him he play’d it for, he needs will be\\r\\nAbsolute Milan. Me, poor man, my library\\r\\nWas dukedom large enough: of temporal royalties\\r\\nHe thinks me now incapable; confederates,\\r\\nSo dry he was for sway, wi’ th’ King of Naples\\r\\nTo give him annual tribute, do him homage,\\r\\nSubject his coronet to his crown, and bend\\r\\nThe dukedom, yet unbow’d—alas, poor Milan!—\\r\\nTo most ignoble stooping.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO the heavens!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nMark his condition, and the event; then tell me\\r\\nIf this might be a brother.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nI should sin\\r\\nTo think but nobly of my grandmother:\\r\\nGood wombs have borne bad sons.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNow the condition.\\r\\nThis King of Naples, being an enemy\\r\\nTo me inveterate, hearkens my brother’s suit;\\r\\nWhich was, that he, in lieu o’ th’ premises\\r\\nOf homage and I know not how much tribute,\\r\\nShould presently extirpate me and mine\\r\\nOut of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan,\\r\\nWith all the honours on my brother: whereon,\\r\\nA treacherous army levied, one midnight\\r\\nFated to th’ purpose, did Antonio open\\r\\nThe gates of Milan; and, i’ th’ dead of darkness,\\r\\nThe ministers for th’ purpose hurried thence\\r\\nMe and thy crying self.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAlack, for pity!\\r\\nI, not rememb’ring how I cried out then,\\r\\nWill cry it o’er again: it is a hint\\r\\nThat wrings mine eyes to ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHear a little further,\\r\\nAnd then I’ll bring thee to the present business\\r\\nWhich now’s upon us; without the which this story\\r\\nWere most impertinent.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nWherefore did they not\\r\\nThat hour destroy us?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nWell demanded, wench:\\r\\nMy tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not,\\r\\nSo dear the love my people bore me, nor set\\r\\nA mark so bloody on the business; but\\r\\nWith colours fairer painted their foul ends.\\r\\nIn few, they hurried us aboard a bark,\\r\\nBore us some leagues to sea, where they prepared\\r\\nA rotten carcass of a butt, not rigg’d,\\r\\nNor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats\\r\\nInstinctively have quit it. There they hoist us,\\r\\nTo cry to th’ sea, that roar’d to us; to sigh\\r\\nTo th’ winds, whose pity, sighing back again,\\r\\nDid us but loving wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAlack, what trouble\\r\\nWas I then to you!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nO, a cherubin\\r\\nThou wast that did preserve me. Thou didst smile,\\r\\nInfused with a fortitude from heaven,\\r\\nWhen I have deck’d the sea with drops full salt,\\r\\nUnder my burden groan’d: which rais’d in me\\r\\nAn undergoing stomach, to bear up\\r\\nAgainst what should ensue.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nHow came we ashore?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBy Providence divine.\\r\\nSome food we had and some fresh water that\\r\\nA noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,\\r\\nOut of his charity, who being then appointed\\r\\nMaster of this design, did give us, with\\r\\nRich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries,\\r\\nWhich since have steaded much: so, of his gentleness,\\r\\nKnowing I lov’d my books, he furnish’d me\\r\\nFrom mine own library with volumes that\\r\\nI prize above my dukedom.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nWould I might\\r\\nBut ever see that man!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNow I arise.\\r\\nSit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.\\r\\nHere in this island we arriv’d; and here\\r\\nHave I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit\\r\\nThan other princes can, that have more time\\r\\nFor vainer hours, and tutors not so careful.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nHeavens thank you for ’t! And now, I pray you, sir,\\r\\nFor still ’tis beating in my mind, your reason\\r\\nFor raising this sea-storm?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nKnow thus far forth.\\r\\nBy accident most strange, bountiful Fortune,\\r\\nNow my dear lady, hath mine enemies\\r\\nBrought to this shore; and by my prescience\\r\\nI find my zenith doth depend upon\\r\\nA most auspicious star, whose influence\\r\\nIf now I court not but omit, my fortunes\\r\\nWill ever after droop. Here cease more questions;\\r\\nThou art inclin’d to sleep; ’tis a good dulness,\\r\\nAnd give it way. I know thou canst not choose.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Miranda sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome away, servant, come! I am ready now.\\r\\nApproach, my Ariel. Come!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ariel.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nAll hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come\\r\\nTo answer thy best pleasure; be’t to fly,\\r\\nTo swim, to dive into the fire, to ride\\r\\nOn the curl’d clouds, to thy strong bidding task\\r\\nAriel and all his quality.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHast thou, spirit,\\r\\nPerform’d to point the tempest that I bade thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nTo every article.\\r\\nI boarded the King’s ship; now on the beak,\\r\\nNow in the waist, the deck, in every cabin,\\r\\nI flam’d amazement; sometime I’d divide,\\r\\nAnd burn in many places; on the topmast,\\r\\nThe yards, and boresprit, would I flame distinctly,\\r\\nThen meet and join. Jove’s lightning, the precursors\\r\\nO’ th’ dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary\\r\\nAnd sight-outrunning were not: the fire and cracks\\r\\nOf sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune\\r\\nSeem to besiege and make his bold waves tremble,\\r\\nYea, his dread trident shake.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nMy brave spirit!\\r\\nWho was so firm, so constant, that this coil\\r\\nWould not infect his reason?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nNot a soul\\r\\nBut felt a fever of the mad, and play’d\\r\\nSome tricks of desperation. All but mariners\\r\\nPlunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel,\\r\\nThen all afire with me: the King’s son, Ferdinand,\\r\\nWith hair up-staring—then like reeds, not hair—\\r\\nWas the first man that leapt; cried “Hell is empty,\\r\\nAnd all the devils are here.”\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nWhy, that’s my spirit!\\r\\nBut was not this nigh shore?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nClose by, my master.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBut are they, Ariel, safe?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nNot a hair perish’d;\\r\\nOn their sustaining garments not a blemish,\\r\\nBut fresher than before: and, as thou bad’st me,\\r\\nIn troops I have dispers’d them ’bout the isle.\\r\\nThe King’s son have I landed by himself,\\r\\nWhom I left cooling of the air with sighs\\r\\nIn an odd angle of the isle, and sitting,\\r\\nHis arms in this sad knot.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nOf the King’s ship\\r\\nThe mariners, say how thou hast dispos’d,\\r\\nAnd all the rest o’ th’ fleet?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nSafely in harbour\\r\\nIs the King’s ship; in the deep nook, where once\\r\\nThou call’dst me up at midnight to fetch dew\\r\\nFrom the still-vex’d Bermoothes; there she’s hid:\\r\\nThe mariners all under hatches stowed;\\r\\nWho, with a charm join’d to their suff’red labour,\\r\\nI have left asleep: and for the rest o’ th’ fleet,\\r\\nWhich I dispers’d, they all have met again,\\r\\nAnd are upon the Mediterranean flote\\r\\nBound sadly home for Naples,\\r\\nSupposing that they saw the King’s ship wrack’d,\\r\\nAnd his great person perish.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAriel, thy charge\\r\\nExactly is perform’d; but there’s more work.\\r\\nWhat is the time o’ th’ day?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nPast the mid season.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAt least two glasses. The time ’twixt six and now\\r\\nMust by us both be spent most preciously.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nIs there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains,\\r\\nLet me remember thee what thou hast promis’d,\\r\\nWhich is not yet perform’d me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHow now! moody?\\r\\nWhat is’t thou canst demand?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nMy liberty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBefore the time be out? No more!\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI prithee,\\r\\nRemember I have done thee worthy service;\\r\\nTold thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv’d\\r\\nWithout or grudge or grumblings: thou didst promise\\r\\nTo bate me a full year.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nDost thou forget\\r\\nFrom what a torment I did free thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou dost, and think’st it much to tread the ooze\\r\\nOf the salt deep,\\r\\nTo run upon the sharp wind of the north,\\r\\nTo do me business in the veins o’ th’ earth\\r\\nWhen it is bak’d with frost.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI do not, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot\\r\\nThe foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy\\r\\nWas grown into a hoop? Hast thou forgot her?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nNo, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou hast. Where was she born? Speak; tell me.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nSir, in Argier.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nO, was she so? I must\\r\\nOnce in a month recount what thou hast been,\\r\\nWhich thou forget’st. This damn’d witch Sycorax,\\r\\nFor mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible\\r\\nTo enter human hearing, from Argier,\\r\\nThou know’st, was banish’d: for one thing she did\\r\\nThey would not take her life. Is not this true?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nAy, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThis blue-ey’d hag was hither brought with child,\\r\\nAnd here was left by th’ sailors. Thou, my slave,\\r\\nAs thou report’st thyself, wast then her servant;\\r\\nAnd, for thou wast a spirit too delicate\\r\\nTo act her earthy and abhorr’d commands,\\r\\nRefusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,\\r\\nBy help of her more potent ministers,\\r\\nAnd in her most unmitigable rage,\\r\\nInto a cloven pine; within which rift\\r\\nImprison’d, thou didst painfully remain\\r\\nA dozen years; within which space she died,\\r\\nAnd left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groans\\r\\nAs fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island—\\r\\nSave for the son that she did litter here,\\r\\nA freckl’d whelp, hag-born—not honour’d with\\r\\nA human shape.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nYes, Caliban her son.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nDull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban,\\r\\nWhom now I keep in service. Thou best know’st\\r\\nWhat torment I did find thee in; thy groans\\r\\nDid make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts\\r\\nOf ever-angry bears: it was a torment\\r\\nTo lay upon the damn’d, which Sycorax\\r\\nCould not again undo; it was mine art,\\r\\nWhen I arriv’d and heard thee, that made gape\\r\\nThe pine, and let thee out.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI thank thee, master.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nIf thou more murmur’st, I will rend an oak\\r\\nAnd peg thee in his knotty entrails till\\r\\nThou hast howl’d away twelve winters.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nPardon, master:\\r\\nI will be correspondent to command,\\r\\nAnd do my spriting gently.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nDo so; and after two days\\r\\nI will discharge thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThat’s my noble master!\\r\\nWhat shall I do? Say what? What shall I do?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nGo make thyself like a nymph o’ th’ sea. Be subject\\r\\nTo no sight but thine and mine; invisible\\r\\nTo every eyeball else. Go, take this shape,\\r\\nAnd hither come in ’t. Go, hence with diligence!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Ariel._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAwake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well;\\r\\nAwake!\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\n[_Waking._] The strangeness of your story put\\r\\nHeaviness in me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nShake it off. Come on;\\r\\nWe’ll visit Caliban my slave, who never\\r\\nYields us kind answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\n’Tis a villain, sir,\\r\\nI do not love to look on.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBut as ’tis,\\r\\nWe cannot miss him: he does make our fire,\\r\\nFetch in our wood; and serves in offices\\r\\nThat profit us. What ho! slave! Caliban!\\r\\nThou earth, thou! Speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\n[_Within._] There’s wood enough within.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nCome forth, I say; there’s other business for thee.\\r\\nCome, thou tortoise! when?\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel like a water-nymph.\\r\\n\\r\\nFine apparition! My quaint Ariel,\\r\\nHark in thine ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nMy lord, it shall be done.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself\\r\\nUpon thy wicked dam, come forth!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Caliban.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nAs wicked dew as e’er my mother brush’d\\r\\nWith raven’s feather from unwholesome fen\\r\\nDrop on you both! A south-west blow on ye,\\r\\nAnd blister you all o’er!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nFor this, be sure, tonight thou shalt have cramps,\\r\\nSide-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins\\r\\nShall forth at vast of night that they may work\\r\\nAll exercise on thee. Thou shalt be pinch’d\\r\\nAs thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging\\r\\nThan bees that made them.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI must eat my dinner.\\r\\nThis island’s mine, by Sycorax my mother,\\r\\nWhich thou tak’st from me. When thou cam’st first,\\r\\nThou strok’st me and made much of me; wouldst give me\\r\\nWater with berries in ’t; and teach me how\\r\\nTo name the bigger light, and how the less,\\r\\nThat burn by day and night: and then I lov’d thee,\\r\\nAnd show’d thee all the qualities o’ th’ isle,\\r\\nThe fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place, and fertile.\\r\\nCurs’d be I that did so! All the charms\\r\\nOf Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you!\\r\\nFor I am all the subjects that you have,\\r\\nWhich first was mine own King; and here you sty me\\r\\nIn this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me\\r\\nThe rest o’ th’ island.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou most lying slave,\\r\\nWhom stripes may move, not kindness! I have us’d thee,\\r\\nFilth as thou art, with human care, and lodg’d thee\\r\\nIn mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate\\r\\nThe honour of my child.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nOh ho! Oh ho! Would ’t had been done!\\r\\nThou didst prevent me; I had peopled else\\r\\nThis isle with Calibans.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAbhorred slave,\\r\\nWhich any print of goodness wilt not take,\\r\\nBeing capable of all ill! I pitied thee,\\r\\nTook pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour\\r\\nOne thing or other: when thou didst not, savage,\\r\\nKnow thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like\\r\\nA thing most brutish, I endow’d thy purposes\\r\\nWith words that made them known. But thy vile race,\\r\\nThough thou didst learn, had that in ’t which good natures\\r\\nCould not abide to be with; therefore wast thou\\r\\nDeservedly confin’d into this rock,\\r\\nWho hadst deserv’d more than a prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nYou taught me language, and my profit on ’t\\r\\nIs, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you,\\r\\nFor learning me your language!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHag-seed, hence!\\r\\nFetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou ’rt best,\\r\\nTo answer other business. Shrug’st thou, malice?\\r\\nIf thou neglect’st, or dost unwillingly\\r\\nWhat I command, I’ll rack thee with old cramps,\\r\\nFill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar,\\r\\nThat beasts shall tremble at thy din.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nNo, pray thee.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I must obey. His art is of such power,\\r\\nIt would control my dam’s god, Setebos,\\r\\nAnd make a vassal of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSo, slave, hence!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Caliban._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel, playing and singing; Ferdinand following.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL’S SONG.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n_Come unto these yellow sands,\\r\\n And then take hands:\\r\\nCurtsied when you have, and kiss’d\\r\\n The wild waves whist.\\r\\nFoot it featly here and there,\\r\\n And sweet sprites bear\\r\\nThe burden. Hark, hark!_\\r\\n Burden dispersedly. _Bow-wow.\\r\\nThe watch dogs bark._\\r\\n [Burden dispersedly.] _Bow-wow.\\r\\nHark, hark! I hear\\r\\nThe strain of strutting chanticleer\\r\\n Cry cock-a-diddle-dow._\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nWhere should this music be? i’ th’ air or th’ earth?\\r\\nIt sounds no more; and sure it waits upon\\r\\nSome god o’ th’ island. Sitting on a bank,\\r\\nWeeping again the King my father’s wrack,\\r\\nThis music crept by me upon the waters,\\r\\nAllaying both their fury and my passion\\r\\nWith its sweet air: thence I have follow’d it,\\r\\nOr it hath drawn me rather,—but ’tis gone.\\r\\nNo, it begins again.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n_Full fathom five thy father lies.\\r\\n Of his bones are coral made.\\r\\nThose are pearls that were his eyes.\\r\\n Nothing of him that doth fade\\r\\nBut doth suffer a sea-change\\r\\nInto something rich and strange.\\r\\nSea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:_\\r\\n Burden: _Ding-dong.\\r\\nHark! now I hear them: ding-dong, bell._\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nThe ditty does remember my drown’d father.\\r\\nThis is no mortal business, nor no sound\\r\\nThat the earth owes:—I hear it now above me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThe fringed curtains of thine eye advance,\\r\\nAnd say what thou seest yond.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nWhat is’t? a spirit?\\r\\nLord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir,\\r\\nIt carries a brave form. But ’tis a spirit.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNo, wench; it eats and sleeps and hath such senses\\r\\nAs we have, such. This gallant which thou seest\\r\\nWas in the wrack; and, but he’s something stain’d\\r\\nWith grief,—that’s beauty’s canker,—thou mightst call him\\r\\nA goodly person: he hath lost his fellows\\r\\nAnd strays about to find ’em.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nI might call him\\r\\nA thing divine; for nothing natural\\r\\nI ever saw so noble.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] It goes on, I see,\\r\\nAs my soul prompts it. Spirit, fine spirit! I’ll free thee\\r\\nWithin two days for this.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nMost sure, the goddess\\r\\nOn whom these airs attend! Vouchsafe, my prayer\\r\\nMay know if you remain upon this island;\\r\\nAnd that you will some good instruction give\\r\\nHow I may bear me here: my prime request,\\r\\nWhich I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder!\\r\\nIf you be maid or no?\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nNo wonder, sir;\\r\\nBut certainly a maid.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nMy language! Heavens!\\r\\nI am the best of them that speak this speech,\\r\\nWere I but where ’tis spoken.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHow! the best?\\r\\nWhat wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nA single thing, as I am now, that wonders\\r\\nTo hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me;\\r\\nAnd that he does I weep: myself am Naples,\\r\\nWho with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld\\r\\nThe King my father wrack’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAlack, for mercy!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nYes, faith, and all his lords, the Duke of Milan,\\r\\nAnd his brave son being twain.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] The Duke of Milan\\r\\nAnd his more braver daughter could control thee,\\r\\nIf now ’twere fit to do’t. At the first sight\\r\\nThey have changed eyes. Delicate Ariel,\\r\\nI’ll set thee free for this. [_To Ferdinand._] A word, good sir.\\r\\nI fear you have done yourself some wrong: a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nWhy speaks my father so ungently? This\\r\\nIs the third man that e’er I saw; the first\\r\\nThat e’er I sigh’d for. Pity move my father\\r\\nTo be inclin’d my way!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nO! if a virgin,\\r\\nAnd your affection not gone forth, I’ll make you\\r\\nThe Queen of Naples.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSoft, sir; one word more.\\r\\n[_Aside._] They are both in either’s powers. But this swift business\\r\\nI must uneasy make, lest too light winning\\r\\nMake the prize light. [_To Ferdinand._] One word more. I charge thee\\r\\nThat thou attend me. Thou dost here usurp\\r\\nThe name thou ow’st not; and hast put thyself\\r\\nUpon this island as a spy, to win it\\r\\nFrom me, the lord on ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nNo, as I am a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nThere’s nothing ill can dwell in such a temple:\\r\\nIf the ill spirit have so fair a house,\\r\\nGood things will strive to dwell with ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_To Ferdinand._] Follow me.—\\r\\n[_To Miranda._] Speak not you for him; he’s a traitor.\\r\\n[_To Ferdinand._] Come;\\r\\nI’ll manacle thy neck and feet together:\\r\\nSea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be\\r\\nThe fresh-brook mussels, wither’d roots, and husks\\r\\nWherein the acorn cradled. Follow.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nNo;\\r\\nI will resist such entertainment till\\r\\nMine enemy has more power.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He draws, and is charmed from moving._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO dear father!\\r\\nMake not too rash a trial of him, for\\r\\nHe’s gentle, and not fearful.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nWhat! I say,\\r\\nMy foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor;\\r\\nWho mak’st a show, but dar’st not strike, thy conscience\\r\\nIs so possess’d with guilt: come from thy ward,\\r\\nFor I can here disarm thee with this stick\\r\\nAnd make thy weapon drop.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nBeseech you, father!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHence! Hang not on my garments.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nSir, have pity;\\r\\nI’ll be his surety.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSilence! One word more\\r\\nShall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What!\\r\\nAn advocate for an impostor? hush!\\r\\nThou think’st there is no more such shapes as he,\\r\\nHaving seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench!\\r\\nTo th’ most of men this is a Caliban,\\r\\nAnd they to him are angels.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nMy affections\\r\\nAre then most humble; I have no ambition\\r\\nTo see a goodlier man.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_To Ferdinand._] Come on; obey:\\r\\nThy nerves are in their infancy again,\\r\\nAnd have no vigour in them.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nSo they are:\\r\\nMy spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.\\r\\nMy father’s loss, the weakness which I feel,\\r\\nThe wrack of all my friends, nor this man’s threats,\\r\\nTo whom I am subdued, are but light to me,\\r\\nMight I but through my prison once a day\\r\\nBehold this maid: all corners else o’ th’ earth\\r\\nLet liberty make use of; space enough\\r\\nHave I in such a prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] It works. [_To Ferdinand._] Come on.\\r\\nThou hast done well, fine Ariel! [_To Ferdinand._] Follow me.\\r\\n[_To Ariel._] Hark what thou else shalt do me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nBe of comfort;\\r\\nMy father’s of a better nature, sir,\\r\\nThan he appears by speech: this is unwonted\\r\\nWhich now came from him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou shalt be as free\\r\\nAs mountain winds; but then exactly do\\r\\nAll points of my command.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nTo th’ syllable.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_To Ferdinand._] Come, follow. Speak not for him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, Adrian, Francisco and\\r\\n others.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nBeseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause,\\r\\nSo have we all, of joy; for our escape\\r\\nIs much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe\\r\\nIs common; every day, some sailor’s wife,\\r\\nThe masters of some merchant and the merchant,\\r\\nHave just our theme of woe; but for the miracle,\\r\\nI mean our preservation, few in millions\\r\\nCan speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh\\r\\nOur sorrow with our comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nPrithee, peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHe receives comfort like cold porridge.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe visitor will not give him o’er so.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nLook, he’s winding up the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nSir,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nOne: tell.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWhen every grief is entertain’d that’s offer’d,\\r\\nComes to the entertainer—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA dollar.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nDolour comes to him, indeed: you have spoken truer than you purposed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nYou have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nTherefore, my lord,—\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nFie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI prithee, spare.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWell, I have done: but yet—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHe will be talking.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWhich, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nThe old cock.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe cockerel.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nDone. The wager?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nA laughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA match!\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nThough this island seem to be desert,—\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHa, ha, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nSo. You’re paid.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nUninhabitable, and almost inaccessible,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nYet—\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nYet—\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHe could not miss ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nIt must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temperance.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTemperance was a delicate wench.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAy, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nThe air breathes upon us here most sweetly.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAs if it had lungs, and rotten ones.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nOr, as ’twere perfum’d by a fen.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nHere is everything advantageous to life.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTrue; save means to live.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nOf that there’s none, or little.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nHow lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe ground indeed is tawny.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWith an eye of green in’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHe misses not much.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nNo; he doth but mistake the truth totally.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nBut the rarity of it is,—which is indeed almost beyond credit,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAs many vouch’d rarities are.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nThat our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold\\r\\nnotwithstanding their freshness and glosses, being rather new-dyed than\\r\\nstained with salt water.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIf but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say he lies?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAy, or very falsely pocket up his report.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nMethinks our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in\\r\\nAfric, at the marriage of the King’s fair daughter Claribel to the King\\r\\nof Tunis.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n’Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nTunis was never graced before with such a paragon to their Queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nNot since widow Dido’s time.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWidow! a pox o’ that! How came that widow in? Widow Dido!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhat if he had said, widower Aeneas too?\\r\\nGood Lord, how you take it!\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nWidow Dido said you? You make me study of that; she was of Carthage,\\r\\nnot of Tunis.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nThis Tunis, sir, was Carthage.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nCarthage?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI assure you, Carthage.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHis word is more than the miraculous harp.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHe hath rais’d the wall, and houses too.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWhat impossible matter will he make easy next?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI think he will carry this island home in his pocket, and give it his\\r\\nson for an apple.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nAy.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWhy, in good time.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\n[_To Alonso._] Sir, we were talking that our garments seem now as fresh\\r\\nas when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now\\r\\nQueen.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd the rarest that e’er came there.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nBate, I beseech you, widow Dido.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nO! widow Dido; ay, widow Dido.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nIs not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it? I mean, in\\r\\na sort.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThat sort was well fish’d for.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWhen I wore it at your daughter’s marriage?\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nYou cram these words into mine ears against\\r\\nThe stomach of my sense. Would I had never\\r\\nMarried my daughter there! for, coming thence,\\r\\nMy son is lost; and, in my rate, she too,\\r\\nWho is so far from Italy removed,\\r\\nI ne’er again shall see her. O thou mine heir\\r\\nOf Naples and of Milan, what strange fish\\r\\nHath made his meal on thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCISCO.\\r\\nSir, he may live:\\r\\nI saw him beat the surges under him,\\r\\nAnd ride upon their backs. He trod the water,\\r\\nWhose enmity he flung aside, and breasted\\r\\nThe surge most swoln that met him. His bold head\\r\\n’Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oared\\r\\nHimself with his good arms in lusty stroke\\r\\nTo th’ shore, that o’er his wave-worn basis bowed,\\r\\nAs stooping to relieve him. I not doubt\\r\\nHe came alive to land.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nNo, no, he’s gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nSir, you may thank yourself for this great loss,\\r\\nThat would not bless our Europe with your daughter,\\r\\nBut rather lose her to an African;\\r\\nWhere she, at least, is banish’d from your eye,\\r\\nWho hath cause to wet the grief on ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nPrithee, peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nYou were kneel’d to, and importun’d otherwise\\r\\nBy all of us; and the fair soul herself\\r\\nWeigh’d between loathness and obedience at\\r\\nWhich end o’ th’ beam should bow. We have lost your son,\\r\\nI fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have\\r\\nMore widows in them of this business’ making,\\r\\nThan we bring men to comfort them.\\r\\nThe fault’s your own.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nSo is the dear’st o’ th’ loss.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nMy lord Sebastian,\\r\\nThe truth you speak doth lack some gentleness\\r\\nAnd time to speak it in. You rub the sore,\\r\\nWhen you should bring the plaster.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nVery well.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd most chirurgeonly.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nIt is foul weather in us all, good sir,\\r\\nWhen you are cloudy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nFoul weather?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nVery foul.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nHad I plantation of this isle, my lord,—\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHe’d sow ’t with nettle-seed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nOr docks, or mallows.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nAnd were the King on’t, what would I do?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n’Scape being drunk for want of wine.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI’ th’ commonwealth I would by contraries\\r\\nExecute all things; for no kind of traffic\\r\\nWould I admit; no name of magistrate;\\r\\nLetters should not be known; riches, poverty,\\r\\nAnd use of service, none; contract, succession,\\r\\nBourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;\\r\\nNo use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;\\r\\nNo occupation; all men idle, all;\\r\\nAnd women too, but innocent and pure;\\r\\nNo sovereignty,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nYet he would be King on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nAll things in common nature should produce\\r\\nWithout sweat or endeavour; treason, felony,\\r\\nSword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine,\\r\\nWould I not have; but nature should bring forth,\\r\\nOf it own kind, all foison, all abundance,\\r\\nTo feed my innocent people.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nNo marrying ’mong his subjects?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nNone, man; all idle; whores and knaves.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI would with such perfection govern, sir,\\r\\nT’ excel the Golden Age.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nSave his Majesty!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLong live Gonzalo!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nAnd,—do you mark me, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nPrithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI do well believe your highness; and did it to minister occasion to\\r\\nthese gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs that they\\r\\nalways use to laugh at nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\n’Twas you we laughed at.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWho in this kind of merry fooling am nothing to you. So you may\\r\\ncontinue, and laugh at nothing still.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWhat a blow was there given!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAn it had not fallen flat-long.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nYou are gentlemen of brave mettle. You would lift the moon out of her\\r\\nsphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ariel, invisible, playing solemn music.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWe would so, and then go a-bat-fowling.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nNay, good my lord, be not angry.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nNo, I warrant you; I will not adventure my discretion so weakly. Will\\r\\nyou laugh me asleep, for I am very heavy?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nGo sleep, and hear us.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_All sleep but Alonso, Sebastian and Antonio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nWhat, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes\\r\\nWould, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find\\r\\nThey are inclin’d to do so.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nPlease you, sir,\\r\\nDo not omit the heavy offer of it:\\r\\nIt seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,\\r\\nIt is a comforter.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWe two, my lord,\\r\\nWill guard your person while you take your rest,\\r\\nAnd watch your safety.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nThank you. Wondrous heavy!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alonso sleeps. Exit Ariel._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhat a strange drowsiness possesses them!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIt is the quality o’ th’ climate.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhy\\r\\nDoth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not\\r\\nMyself dispos’d to sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nNor I. My spirits are nimble.\\r\\nThey fell together all, as by consent;\\r\\nThey dropp’d, as by a thunder-stroke. What might,\\r\\nWorthy Sebastian? O, what might?—No more.\\r\\nAnd yet methinks I see it in thy face,\\r\\nWhat thou shouldst be. Th’ occasion speaks thee; and\\r\\nMy strong imagination sees a crown\\r\\nDropping upon thy head.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhat, art thou waking?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nDo you not hear me speak?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI do; and surely\\r\\nIt is a sleepy language, and thou speak’st\\r\\nOut of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say?\\r\\nThis is a strange repose, to be asleep\\r\\nWith eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving,\\r\\nAnd yet so fast asleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nNoble Sebastian,\\r\\nThou let’st thy fortune sleep—die rather; wink’st\\r\\nWhiles thou art waking.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nThou dost snore distinctly:\\r\\nThere’s meaning in thy snores.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI am more serious than my custom; you\\r\\nMust be so too, if heed me; which to do\\r\\nTrebles thee o’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWell, I am standing water.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI’ll teach you how to flow.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nDo so: to ebb,\\r\\nHereditary sloth instructs me.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nO,\\r\\nIf you but knew how you the purpose cherish\\r\\nWhiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it,\\r\\nYou more invest it! Ebbing men indeed,\\r\\nMost often, do so near the bottom run\\r\\nBy their own fear or sloth.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nPrithee, say on:\\r\\nThe setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim\\r\\nA matter from thee, and a birth, indeed\\r\\nWhich throes thee much to yield.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThus, sir:\\r\\nAlthough this lord of weak remembrance, this\\r\\nWho shall be of as little memory\\r\\nWhen he is earth’d, hath here almost persuaded,—\\r\\nFor he’s a spirit of persuasion, only\\r\\nProfesses to persuade,—the King his son’s alive,\\r\\n’Tis as impossible that he’s undrown’d\\r\\nAs he that sleeps here swims.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI have no hope\\r\\nThat he’s undrown’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nO, out of that “no hope”\\r\\nWhat great hope have you! No hope that way is\\r\\nAnother way so high a hope, that even\\r\\nAmbition cannot pierce a wink beyond,\\r\\nBut doubts discovery there. Will you grant with me\\r\\nThat Ferdinand is drown’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHe’s gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThen tell me,\\r\\nWho’s the next heir of Naples?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nClaribel.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nShe that is Queen of Tunis; she that dwells\\r\\nTen leagues beyond man’s life; she that from Naples\\r\\nCan have no note, unless the sun were post—\\r\\nThe Man i’ th’ Moon’s too slow—till newborn chins\\r\\nBe rough and razorable; she that from whom\\r\\nWe all were sea-swallow’d, though some cast again,\\r\\nAnd by that destiny, to perform an act\\r\\nWhereof what’s past is prologue, what to come\\r\\nIn yours and my discharge.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhat stuff is this! How say you?\\r\\n’Tis true, my brother’s daughter’s Queen of Tunis;\\r\\nSo is she heir of Naples; ’twixt which regions\\r\\nThere is some space.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nA space whose ev’ry cubit\\r\\nSeems to cry out “How shall that Claribel\\r\\nMeasure us back to Naples? Keep in Tunis,\\r\\nAnd let Sebastian wake.” Say this were death\\r\\nThat now hath seiz’d them; why, they were no worse\\r\\nThan now they are. There be that can rule Naples\\r\\nAs well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate\\r\\nAs amply and unnecessarily\\r\\nAs this Gonzalo. I myself could make\\r\\nA chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore\\r\\nThe mind that I do! What a sleep were this\\r\\nFor your advancement! Do you understand me?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nMethinks I do.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd how does your content\\r\\nTender your own good fortune?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI remember\\r\\nYou did supplant your brother Prospero.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTrue.\\r\\nAnd look how well my garments sit upon me;\\r\\nMuch feater than before; my brother’s servants\\r\\nWere then my fellows; now they are my men.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nBut, for your conscience.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAy, sir; where lies that? If ’twere a kibe,\\r\\n’Twould put me to my slipper: but I feel not\\r\\nThis deity in my bosom: twenty consciences\\r\\nThat stand ’twixt me and Milan, candied be they\\r\\nAnd melt ere they molest! Here lies your brother,\\r\\nNo better than the earth he lies upon,\\r\\nIf he were that which now he’s like, that’s dead;\\r\\nWhom I, with this obedient steel, three inches of it,\\r\\nCan lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus,\\r\\nTo the perpetual wink for aye might put\\r\\nThis ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who\\r\\nShould not upbraid our course. For all the rest,\\r\\nThey’ll take suggestion as a cat laps milk.\\r\\nThey’ll tell the clock to any business that\\r\\nWe say befits the hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nThy case, dear friend,\\r\\nShall be my precedent: as thou got’st Milan,\\r\\nI’ll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one stroke\\r\\nShall free thee from the tribute which thou payest,\\r\\nAnd I the King shall love thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nDraw together,\\r\\nAnd when I rear my hand, do you the like,\\r\\nTo fall it on Gonzalo.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nO, but one word.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They converse apart._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Music. Re-enter Ariel, invisible.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nMy master through his art foresees the danger\\r\\nThat you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth—\\r\\nFor else his project dies—to keep them living.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sings in Gonzalo’s ear._]\\r\\n_While you here do snoring lie,\\r\\nOpen-ey’d conspiracy\\r\\n His time doth take.\\r\\nIf of life you keep a care,\\r\\nShake off slumber, and beware.\\r\\n Awake! awake!_\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThen let us both be sudden.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nNow, good angels\\r\\nPreserve the King!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They wake._]\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nWhy, how now! Ho, awake! Why are you drawn?\\r\\nWherefore this ghastly looking?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhiles we stood here securing your repose,\\r\\nEven now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing\\r\\nLike bulls, or rather lions; did ’t not wake you?\\r\\nIt struck mine ear most terribly.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI heard nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nO! ’twas a din to fright a monster’s ear,\\r\\nTo make an earthquake. Sure, it was the roar\\r\\nOf a whole herd of lions.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nHeard you this, Gonzalo?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nUpon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming,\\r\\nAnd that a strange one too, which did awake me.\\r\\nI shak’d you, sir, and cried; as mine eyes open’d,\\r\\nI saw their weapons drawn:—there was a noise,\\r\\nThat’s verily. ’Tis best we stand upon our guard,\\r\\nOr that we quit this place: let’s draw our weapons.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nLead off this ground, and let’s make further search\\r\\nFor my poor son.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nHeavens keep him from these beasts!\\r\\nFor he is, sure, i’ th’ island.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nLead away.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with the others._]\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nProspero my lord shall know what I have done:\\r\\nSo, King, go safely on to seek thy son.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Caliban with a burden of wood. A noise of thunder heard.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nAll the infections that the sun sucks up\\r\\nFrom bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him\\r\\nBy inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me,\\r\\nAnd yet I needs must curse. But they’ll nor pinch,\\r\\nFright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i’ the mire,\\r\\nNor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark\\r\\nOut of my way, unless he bid ’em; but\\r\\nFor every trifle are they set upon me,\\r\\nSometime like apes that mow and chatter at me,\\r\\nAnd after bite me; then like hedgehogs which\\r\\nLie tumbling in my barefoot way, and mount\\r\\nTheir pricks at my footfall; sometime am I\\r\\nAll wound with adders, who with cloven tongues\\r\\nDo hiss me into madness.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Trinculo.\\r\\n\\r\\nLo, now, lo!\\r\\nHere comes a spirit of his, and to torment me\\r\\nFor bringing wood in slowly. I’ll fall flat;\\r\\nPerchance he will not mind me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nHere’s neither bush nor shrub to bear off any weather at all, and\\r\\nanother storm brewing; I hear it sing i’ th’ wind. Yond same black\\r\\ncloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul bombard that would shed his\\r\\nliquor. If it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to hide\\r\\nmy head: yond same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. What have\\r\\nwe here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish;\\r\\na very ancient and fish-like smell; a kind of not of the newest\\r\\nPoor-John. A strange fish! Were I in England now, as once I was, and\\r\\nhad but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a\\r\\npiece of silver: there would this monster make a man; any strange beast\\r\\nthere makes a man. When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame\\r\\nbeggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg’d like a man,\\r\\nand his fins like arms! Warm, o’ my troth! I do now let loose my\\r\\nopinion, hold it no longer: this is no fish, but an islander, that hath\\r\\nlately suffered by thunderbolt. [_Thunder._] Alas, the storm is come\\r\\nagain! My best way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no other\\r\\nshelter hereabout: misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows. I\\r\\nwill here shroud till the dregs of the storm be past.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Stephano singing; a bottle in his hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\n_I shall no more to sea, to sea,\\r\\nHere shall I die ashore—_\\r\\n\\r\\nThis is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man’s funeral.\\r\\nWell, here’s my comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Drinks._]\\r\\n\\r\\n_The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I,\\r\\n The gunner, and his mate,\\r\\nLov’d Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,\\r\\n But none of us car’d for Kate:\\r\\n For she had a tongue with a tang,\\r\\n Would cry to a sailor “Go hang!”\\r\\nShe lov’d not the savour of tar nor of pitch,\\r\\nYet a tailor might scratch her where’er she did itch.\\r\\n Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang._\\r\\n\\r\\nThis is a scurvy tune too: but here’s my comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Drinks._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nDo not torment me: O!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter? Have we devils here? Do you put tricks upon ’s with\\r\\nsavages and men of Ind? Ha? I have not scap’d drowning, to be afeard\\r\\nnow of your four legs; for it hath been said, As proper a man as ever\\r\\nwent on four legs cannot make him give ground; and it shall be said so\\r\\nagain, while Stephano breathes at’ nostrils.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThe spirit torments me: O!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThis is some monster of the isle with four legs, who hath got, as I\\r\\ntake it, an ague. Where the devil should he learn our language? I will\\r\\ngive him some relief, if it be but for that. If I can recover him and\\r\\nkeep him tame, and get to Naples with him, he’s a present for any\\r\\nemperor that ever trod on neat’s-leather.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nDo not torment me, prithee; I’ll bring my wood home faster.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHe’s in his fit now, and does not talk after the wisest. He shall taste\\r\\nof my bottle: if he have never drunk wine afore, it will go near to\\r\\nremove his fit. If I can recover him, and keep him tame, I will not\\r\\ntake too much for him. He shall pay for him that hath him, and that\\r\\nsoundly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon,\\r\\nI know it by thy trembling: now Prosper works upon thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nCome on your ways. Open your mouth; here is that which will give\\r\\nlanguage to you, cat. Open your mouth. This will shake your shaking, I\\r\\ncan tell you, and that soundly. [_gives Caliban a drink_] You cannot\\r\\ntell who’s your friend: open your chaps again.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI should know that voice: it should be—but he is drowned; and these are\\r\\ndevils. O, defend me!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nFour legs and two voices; a most delicate monster! His forward voice\\r\\nnow is to speak well of his friend; his backward voice is to utter foul\\r\\nspeeches and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will recover him,\\r\\nI will help his ague. Come. Amen! I will pour some in thy other mouth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nStephano!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nDoth thy other mouth call me? Mercy! mercy!\\r\\nThis is a devil, and no monster: I will leave him; I\\r\\nhave no long spoon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nStephano! If thou beest Stephano, touch me, and speak to me; for I am\\r\\nTrinculo—be not afeared—thy good friend Trinculo.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nIf thou beest Trinculo, come forth. I’ll pull thee by the lesser legs:\\r\\nif any be Trinculo’s legs, these are they. Thou art very Trinculo\\r\\nindeed! How cam’st thou to be the siege of this moon-calf? Can he vent\\r\\nTrinculos?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI took him to be kill’d with a thunderstroke. But art thou not drown’d,\\r\\nStephano? I hope now thou are not drown’d. Is the storm overblown? I\\r\\nhid me under the dead moon-calf’s gaberdine for fear of the storm. And\\r\\nart thou living, Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitans scap’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nPrithee, do not turn me about. My stomach is not constant.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\n[_Aside._] These be fine things, an if they be not sprites.\\r\\nThat’s a brave god, and bears celestial liquor.\\r\\nI will kneel to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHow didst thou scape? How cam’st thou hither? Swear by this bottle how\\r\\nthou cam’st hither—I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors\\r\\nheaved o’erboard, by this bottle! which I made of the bark of a tree\\r\\nwith mine own hands, since I was cast ashore.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI’ll swear upon that bottle to be thy true subject, for the liquor is\\r\\nnot earthly.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHere. Swear then how thou escapedst.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nSwum ashore, man, like a duck: I can swim like a duck, I’ll be sworn.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHere, kiss the book. Though thou canst swim like a duck, thou art made\\r\\nlike a goose.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nO Stephano, hast any more of this?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThe whole butt, man: my cellar is in a rock by th’ seaside, where my\\r\\nwine is hid. How now, moon-calf! How does thine ague?\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nHast thou not dropped from heaven?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nOut o’ the moon, I do assure thee: I was the Man in the Moon, when time\\r\\nwas.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee. My mistress showed me\\r\\nthee, and thy dog, and thy bush.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nCome, swear to that. Kiss the book. I will furnish it anon with new\\r\\ncontents. Swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nBy this good light, this is a very shallow monster. I afeard of him? A\\r\\nvery weak monster. The Man i’ the Moon! A most poor credulous monster!\\r\\nWell drawn, monster, in good sooth!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI’ll show thee every fertile inch o’ the island; and I will kiss thy\\r\\nfoot. I prithee, be my god.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nBy this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster. When ’s god’s\\r\\nasleep, he’ll rob his bottle.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI’ll kiss thy foot. I’ll swear myself thy subject.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nCome on, then; down, and swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed monster. A most\\r\\nscurvy monster! I could find in my heart to beat him,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nCome, kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nBut that the poor monster’s in drink. An abominable monster!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI’ll show thee the best springs; I’ll pluck thee berries;\\r\\nI’ll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough.\\r\\nA plague upon the tyrant that I serve!\\r\\nI’ll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee,\\r\\nThou wondrous man.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nA most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of a poor drunkard!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI prithee, let me bring thee where crabs grow;\\r\\nAnd I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts;\\r\\nShow thee a jay’s nest, and instruct thee how\\r\\nTo snare the nimble marmoset; I’ll bring thee\\r\\nTo clustering filberts, and sometimes I’ll get thee\\r\\nYoung scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nI prithee now, lead the way without any more talking. Trinculo, the\\r\\nKing and all our company else being drowned, we will inherit here.\\r\\nHere, bear my bottle. Fellow Trinculo, we’ll fill him by and by again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\n[_Sings drunkenly._] _Farewell, master; farewell, farewell!_\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nA howling monster, a drunken monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\n_No more dams I’ll make for fish;\\r\\nNor fetch in firing\\r\\nAt requiring,\\r\\nNor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish;\\r\\n’Ban ’Ban, Cacaliban,\\r\\nHas a new master—Get a new man._\\r\\nFreedom, high-day! high-day, freedom! freedom,\\r\\nhigh-day, freedom!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nO brave monster! lead the way.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Before Prospero’s cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ferdinand bearing a log.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nThere be some sports are painful, and their labour\\r\\nDelight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness\\r\\nAre nobly undergone; and most poor matters\\r\\nPoint to rich ends. This my mean task\\r\\nWould be as heavy to me as odious, but\\r\\nThe mistress which I serve quickens what’s dead,\\r\\nAnd makes my labours pleasures: O, she is\\r\\nTen times more gentle than her father’s crabbed,\\r\\nAnd he’s compos’d of harshness. I must remove\\r\\nSome thousands of these logs, and pile them up,\\r\\nUpon a sore injunction: my sweet mistress\\r\\nWeeps when she sees me work, and says such baseness\\r\\nHad never like executor. I forget:\\r\\nBut these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours,\\r\\nMost busy, least when I do it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Miranda and Prospero behind.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAlas now, pray you,\\r\\nWork not so hard: I would the lightning had\\r\\nBurnt up those logs that you are enjoin’d to pile!\\r\\nPray, set it down and rest you. When this burns,\\r\\n’Twill weep for having wearied you. My father\\r\\nIs hard at study; pray, now, rest yourself:\\r\\nHe’s safe for these three hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nO most dear mistress,\\r\\nThe sun will set, before I shall discharge\\r\\nWhat I must strive to do.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nIf you’ll sit down,\\r\\nI’ll bear your logs the while. Pray give me that;\\r\\nI’ll carry it to the pile.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nNo, precious creature;\\r\\nI had rather crack my sinews, break my back,\\r\\nThan you should such dishonour undergo,\\r\\nWhile I sit lazy by.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nIt would become me\\r\\nAs well as it does you: and I should do it\\r\\nWith much more ease; for my good will is to it,\\r\\nAnd yours it is against.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Poor worm! thou art infected.\\r\\nThis visitation shows it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nYou look wearily.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nNo, noble mistress; ’tis fresh morning with me\\r\\nWhen you are by at night. I do beseech you—\\r\\nChiefly that I might set it in my prayers—\\r\\nWhat is your name?\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nMiranda—O my father!\\r\\nI have broke your hest to say so.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nAdmir’d Miranda!\\r\\nIndeed, the top of admiration; worth\\r\\nWhat’s dearest to the world! Full many a lady\\r\\nI have ey’d with best regard, and many a time\\r\\nTh’ harmony of their tongues hath into bondage\\r\\nBrought my too diligent ear: for several virtues\\r\\nHave I lik’d several women; never any\\r\\nWith so full soul but some defect in her\\r\\nDid quarrel with the noblest grace she ow’d,\\r\\nAnd put it to the foil: but you, O you,\\r\\nSo perfect and so peerless, are created\\r\\nOf every creature’s best.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nI do not know\\r\\nOne of my sex; no woman’s face remember,\\r\\nSave, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen\\r\\nMore that I may call men than you, good friend,\\r\\nAnd my dear father: how features are abroad,\\r\\nI am skilless of; but, by my modesty,\\r\\nThe jewel in my dower, I would not wish\\r\\nAny companion in the world but you;\\r\\nNor can imagination form a shape,\\r\\nBesides yourself, to like of. But I prattle\\r\\nSomething too wildly, and my father’s precepts\\r\\nI therein do forget.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nI am, in my condition,\\r\\nA prince, Miranda; I do think, a King;\\r\\nI would not so!—and would no more endure\\r\\nThis wooden slavery than to suffer\\r\\nThe flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak:\\r\\nThe very instant that I saw you, did\\r\\nMy heart fly to your service; there resides,\\r\\nTo make me slave to it; and for your sake\\r\\nAm I this patient log-man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nDo you love me?\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nO heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound,\\r\\nAnd crown what I profess with kind event,\\r\\nIf I speak true; if hollowly, invert\\r\\nWhat best is boded me to mischief! I,\\r\\nBeyond all limit of what else i’ the world,\\r\\nDo love, prize, honour you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nI am a fool\\r\\nTo weep at what I am glad of.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Fair encounter\\r\\nOf two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace\\r\\nOn that which breeds between ’em!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nWherefore weep you?\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAt mine unworthiness, that dare not offer\\r\\nWhat I desire to give; and much less take\\r\\nWhat I shall die to want. But this is trifling;\\r\\nAnd all the more it seeks to hide itself,\\r\\nThe bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning!\\r\\nAnd prompt me, plain and holy innocence!\\r\\nI am your wife if you will marry me;\\r\\nIf not, I’ll die your maid: to be your fellow\\r\\nYou may deny me; but I’ll be your servant,\\r\\nWhether you will or no.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nMy mistress, dearest;\\r\\nAnd I thus humble ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nMy husband, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nAy, with a heart as willing\\r\\nAs bondage e’er of freedom: here’s my hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAnd mine, with my heart in ’t: and now farewell\\r\\nTill half an hour hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nA thousand thousand!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Ferdinand and Miranda severally._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSo glad of this as they, I cannot be,\\r\\nWho are surpris’d withal; but my rejoicing\\r\\nAt nothing can be more. I’ll to my book;\\r\\nFor yet, ere supper time, must I perform\\r\\nMuch business appertaining.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Caliban with a bottle, Stephano and Trinculo.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nTell not me:—when the butt is out we will drink water; not a drop\\r\\nbefore: therefore bear up, and board ’em. Servant-monster, drink to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nServant-monster! The folly of this island! They say there’s but five\\r\\nupon this isle; we are three of them; if th’ other two be brained like\\r\\nus, the state totters.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nDrink, servant-monster, when I bid thee: thy eyes are almost set in thy\\r\\nhead.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nWhere should they be set else? He were a brave monster indeed, if they\\r\\nwere set in his tail.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMy man-monster hath drown’d his tongue in sack: for my part, the sea\\r\\ncannot drown me; I swam, ere I could recover the shore, five-and-thirty\\r\\nleagues, off and on, by this light. Thou shalt be my lieutenant,\\r\\nmonster, or my standard.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nYour lieutenant, if you list; he’s no standard.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nWe’ll not run, Monsieur monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nNor go neither. But you’ll lie like dogs, and yet say nothing neither.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMoon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest a good moon-calf.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nHow does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe. I’ll not serve him, he is\\r\\nnot valiant.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThou liest, most ignorant monster: I am in case to justle a constable.\\r\\nWhy, thou deboshed fish thou, was there ever man a coward that hath\\r\\ndrunk so much sack as I today? Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being\\r\\nbut half a fish and half a monster?\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nLo, how he mocks me! wilt thou let him, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\n“Lord” quoth he! That a monster should be such a natural!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nLo, lo again! bite him to death, I prithee.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nTrinculo, keep a good tongue in your head: if you prove a mutineer, the\\r\\nnext tree! The poor monster’s my subject, and he shall not suffer\\r\\nindignity.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleas’d to hearken once again to\\r\\nthe suit I made to thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMarry. will I. Kneel and repeat it. I will stand, and so shall\\r\\nTrinculo.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ariel, invisible.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nAs I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant, a sorcerer, that by\\r\\nhis cunning hath cheated me of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThou liest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou;\\r\\nI would my valiant master would destroy thee;\\r\\nI do not lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nTrinculo, if you trouble him any more in his tale, by this hand, I will\\r\\nsupplant some of your teeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nWhy, I said nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMum, then, and no more. Proceed.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI say, by sorcery he got this isle;\\r\\nFrom me he got it. If thy greatness will,\\r\\nRevenge it on him,—for I know thou dar’st;\\r\\nBut this thing dare not,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThat’s most certain.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThou shalt be lord of it and I’ll serve thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHow now shall this be compassed? Canst thou bring me to the party?\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nYea, yea, my lord: I’ll yield him thee asleep,\\r\\nWhere thou mayst knock a nail into his head.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThou liest. Thou canst not.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nWhat a pied ninny’s this! Thou scurvy patch!\\r\\nI do beseech thy greatness, give him blows,\\r\\nAnd take his bottle from him: when that’s gone\\r\\nHe shall drink nought but brine; for I’ll not show him\\r\\nWhere the quick freshes are.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nTrinculo, run into no further danger: interrupt the monster one word\\r\\nfurther, and by this hand, I’ll turn my mercy out o’ doors, and make a\\r\\nstock-fish of thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nWhy, what did I? I did nothing. I’ll go farther off.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nDidst thou not say he lied?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThou liest.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nDo I so? Take thou that.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Strikes Trinculo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAs you like this, give me the lie another time.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI did not give the lie. Out o’ your wits and hearing too? A pox o’ your\\r\\nbottle! this can sack and drinking do. A murrain on your monster, and\\r\\nthe devil take your fingers!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nHa, ha, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nNow, forward with your tale.—Prithee stand further off.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nBeat him enough: after a little time,\\r\\nI’ll beat him too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nStand farther.—Come, proceed.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nWhy, as I told thee, ’tis a custom with him\\r\\nI’ th’ afternoon to sleep: there thou mayst brain him,\\r\\nHaving first seiz’d his books; or with a log\\r\\nBatter his skull, or paunch him with a stake,\\r\\nOr cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember\\r\\nFirst to possess his books; for without them\\r\\nHe’s but a sot, as I am, nor hath not\\r\\nOne spirit to command: they all do hate him\\r\\nAs rootedly as I. Burn but his books.\\r\\nHe has brave utensils,—for so he calls them,—\\r\\nWhich, when he has a house, he’ll deck withal.\\r\\nAnd that most deeply to consider is\\r\\nThe beauty of his daughter; he himself\\r\\nCalls her a nonpareil: I never saw a woman\\r\\nBut only Sycorax my dam and she;\\r\\nBut she as far surpasseth Sycorax\\r\\nAs great’st does least.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nIs it so brave a lass?\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nAy, lord, she will become thy bed, I warrant,\\r\\nAnd bring thee forth brave brood.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMonster, I will kill this man. His daughter and I will be king and\\r\\nqueen,—save our graces!—and Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys.\\r\\nDost thou like the plot, Trinculo?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nExcellent.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nGive me thy hand: I am sorry I beat thee; but while thou liv’st, keep a\\r\\ngood tongue in thy head.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nWithin this half hour will he be asleep.\\r\\nWilt thou destroy him then?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nAy, on mine honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThis will I tell my master.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThou mak’st me merry. I am full of pleasure.\\r\\nLet us be jocund: will you troll the catch\\r\\nYou taught me but while-ere?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nAt thy request, monster, I will do reason, any reason. Come on,\\r\\nTrinculo, let us sing.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n\\r\\n_Flout ’em and cout ’em,\\r\\nand scout ’em and flout ’em:\\r\\n Thought is free._\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThat’s not the tune.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Ariel plays the tune on a tabor and pipe._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nWhat is this same?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThis is the tune of our catch, played by the picture of Nobody.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nIf thou beest a man, show thyself in thy likeness: if thou beest a\\r\\ndevil, take ’t as thou list.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nO, forgive me my sins!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHe that dies pays all debts: I defy thee. Mercy upon us!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nArt thou afeard?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nNo, monster, not I.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nBe not afeard. The isle is full of noises,\\r\\nSounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not.\\r\\nSometimes a thousand twangling instruments\\r\\nWill hum about mine ears; and sometimes voices,\\r\\nThat, if I then had wak’d after long sleep,\\r\\nWill make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,\\r\\nThe clouds methought would open and show riches\\r\\nReady to drop upon me; that, when I wak’d,\\r\\nI cried to dream again.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThis will prove a brave kingdom to me, where I shall have my music for\\r\\nnothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nWhen Prospero is destroyed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThat shall be by and by: I remember the story.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThe sound is going away. Let’s follow it, and after do our work.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nLead, monster: we’ll follow. I would I could see this taborer! he lays\\r\\nit on. Wilt come?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI’ll follow, Stephano.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo Adrian, Francisco, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nBy ’r lakin, I can go no further, sir;\\r\\nMy old bones ache: here’s a maze trod, indeed,\\r\\nThrough forth-rights and meanders! By your patience,\\r\\nI needs must rest me.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nOld lord, I cannot blame thee,\\r\\nWho am myself attach’d with weariness\\r\\nTo th’ dulling of my spirits: sit down, and rest.\\r\\nEven here I will put off my hope, and keep it\\r\\nNo longer for my flatterer: he is drown’d\\r\\nWhom thus we stray to find; and the sea mocks\\r\\nOur frustrate search on land. Well, let him go.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Sebastian._] I am right glad that he’s\\r\\nso out of hope.\\r\\nDo not, for one repulse, forgo the purpose\\r\\nThat you resolv’d to effect.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n[_Aside to Antonio._] The next advantage\\r\\nWill we take throughly.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Sebastian._] Let it be tonight;\\r\\nFor, now they are oppress’d with travel, they\\r\\nWill not, nor cannot, use such vigilance\\r\\nAs when they are fresh.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n[_Aside to Antonio._] I say, tonight: no more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Solemn and strange music: and Prospero above, invisible. Enter several\\r\\n strange Shapes, bringing in a banquet: they dance about it with gentle\\r\\n actions of salutation; and inviting the King &c., to eat, they depart.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nWhat harmony is this? My good friends, hark!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nMarvellous sweet music!\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nGive us kind keepers, heavens! What were these?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA living drollery. Now I will believe\\r\\nThat there are unicorns; that in Arabia\\r\\nThere is one tree, the phoenix’ throne; one phoenix\\r\\nAt this hour reigning there.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI’ll believe both;\\r\\nAnd what does else want credit, come to me,\\r\\nAnd I’ll be sworn ’tis true: travellers ne’er did lie,\\r\\nThough fools at home condemn them.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nIf in Naples\\r\\nI should report this now, would they believe me?\\r\\nIf I should say, I saw such islanders,—\\r\\nFor, certes, these are people of the island,—\\r\\nWho, though, they are of monstrous shape, yet, note,\\r\\nTheir manners are more gentle, kind, than of\\r\\nOur human generation you shall find\\r\\nMany, nay, almost any.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Honest lord,\\r\\nThou hast said well; for some of you there present\\r\\nAre worse than devils.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI cannot too much muse\\r\\nSuch shapes, such gesture, and such sound, expressing—\\r\\nAlthough they want the use of tongue—a kind\\r\\nOf excellent dumb discourse.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Praise in departing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCISCO.\\r\\nThey vanish’d strangely.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nNo matter, since\\r\\nThey have left their viands behind; for we have stomachs.—\\r\\nWill’t please you taste of what is here?\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nNot I.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nFaith, sir, you need not fear. When we were boys,\\r\\nWho would believe that there were mountaineers\\r\\nDewlapp’d like bulls, whose throats had hanging at ’em\\r\\nWallets of flesh? Or that there were such men\\r\\nWhose heads stood in their breasts? which now we find\\r\\nEach putter-out of five for one will bring us\\r\\nGood warrant of.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI will stand to, and feed,\\r\\nAlthough my last, no matter, since I feel\\r\\nThe best is past. Brother, my lord the duke,\\r\\nStand to, and do as we.\\r\\n\\r\\n Thunder and lightning. Enter Ariel like a Harpy; claps his wings upon\\r\\n the table; and, with a quaint device, the banquet vanishes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nYou are three men of sin, whom Destiny,\\r\\nThat hath to instrument this lower world\\r\\nAnd what is in’t,—the never-surfeited sea\\r\\nHath caused to belch up you; and on this island\\r\\nWhere man doth not inhabit; you ’mongst men\\r\\nBeing most unfit to live. I have made you mad;\\r\\nAnd even with such-like valour men hang and drown\\r\\nTheir proper selves.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Seeing Alonso, Sebastian &c., draw their swords._]\\r\\n\\r\\nYou fools! I and my fellows\\r\\nAre ministers of Fate: the elements\\r\\nOf whom your swords are temper’d may as well\\r\\nWound the loud winds, or with bemock’d-at stabs\\r\\nKill the still-closing waters, as diminish\\r\\nOne dowle that’s in my plume. My fellow-ministers\\r\\nAre like invulnerable. If you could hurt,\\r\\nYour swords are now too massy for your strengths,\\r\\nAnd will not be uplifted. But, remember—\\r\\nFor that’s my business to you,—that you three\\r\\nFrom Milan did supplant good Prospero;\\r\\nExpos’d unto the sea, which hath requit it,\\r\\nHim and his innocent child: for which foul deed\\r\\nThe powers, delaying, not forgetting, have\\r\\nIncens’d the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures,\\r\\nAgainst your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso,\\r\\nThey have bereft; and do pronounce, by me\\r\\nLing’ring perdition,—worse than any death\\r\\nCan be at once,—shall step by step attend\\r\\nYou and your ways; whose wraths to guard you from—\\r\\nWhich here, in this most desolate isle, else falls\\r\\nUpon your heads,—is nothing but heart-sorrow,\\r\\nAnd a clear life ensuing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He vanishes in thunder: then, to soft music, enter the Shapes again,\\r\\n and dance, with mocks and mows, and carry out the table._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Bravely the figure of this Harpy hast thou\\r\\nPerform’d, my Ariel; a grace it had, devouring.\\r\\nOf my instruction hast thou nothing bated\\r\\nIn what thou hadst to say: so, with good life\\r\\nAnd observation strange, my meaner ministers\\r\\nTheir several kinds have done. My high charms work,\\r\\nAnd these mine enemies are all knit up\\r\\nIn their distractions; they now are in my power;\\r\\nAnd in these fits I leave them, while I visit\\r\\nYoung Ferdinand,—whom they suppose is drown’d,—\\r\\nAnd his and mine lov’d darling.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit above._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI’ the name of something holy, sir, why stand you\\r\\nIn this strange stare?\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nO, it is monstrous! monstrous!\\r\\nMethought the billows spoke, and told me of it;\\r\\nThe winds did sing it to me; and the thunder,\\r\\nThat deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc’d\\r\\nThe name of Prosper: it did bass my trespass.\\r\\nTherefore my son i’ th’ ooze is bedded; and\\r\\nI’ll seek him deeper than e’er plummet sounded,\\r\\nAnd with him there lie mudded.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nBut one fiend at a time,\\r\\nI’ll fight their legions o’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI’ll be thy second.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sebastian and Antonio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nAll three of them are desperate: their great guilt,\\r\\nLike poison given to work a great time after,\\r\\nNow ’gins to bite the spirits. I do beseech you\\r\\nThat are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly\\r\\nAnd hinder them from what this ecstasy\\r\\nMay now provoke them to.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nFollow, I pray you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Before Prospero’s cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Prospero, Ferdinand and Miranda.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nIf I have too austerely punish’d you,\\r\\nYour compensation makes amends: for I\\r\\nHave given you here a third of mine own life,\\r\\nOr that for which I live; who once again\\r\\nI tender to thy hand: all thy vexations\\r\\nWere but my trials of thy love, and thou\\r\\nHast strangely stood the test: here, afore Heaven,\\r\\nI ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand,\\r\\nDo not smile at me that I boast her off,\\r\\nFor thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise,\\r\\nAnd make it halt behind her.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nI do believe it\\r\\nAgainst an oracle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThen, as my gift and thine own acquisition\\r\\nWorthily purchas’d, take my daughter: but\\r\\nIf thou dost break her virgin knot before\\r\\nAll sanctimonious ceremonies may\\r\\nWith full and holy rite be minister’d,\\r\\nNo sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall\\r\\nTo make this contract grow; but barren hate,\\r\\nSour-ey’d disdain, and discord shall bestrew\\r\\nThe union of your bed with weeds so loathly\\r\\nThat you shall hate it both: therefore take heed,\\r\\nAs Hymen’s lamps shall light you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nAs I hope\\r\\nFor quiet days, fair issue, and long life,\\r\\nWith such love as ’tis now, the murkiest den,\\r\\nThe most opportune place, the strong’st suggestion\\r\\nOur worser genius can, shall never melt\\r\\nMine honour into lust, to take away\\r\\nThe edge of that day’s celebration,\\r\\nWhen I shall think, or Phoebus’ steeds are founder’d,\\r\\nOr Night kept chain’d below.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nFairly spoke:\\r\\nSit, then, and talk with her, she is thine own.\\r\\nWhat, Ariel! my industrious servant, Ariel!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ariel.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nWhat would my potent master? here I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou and thy meaner fellows your last service\\r\\nDid worthily perform; and I must use you\\r\\nIn such another trick. Go bring the rabble,\\r\\nO’er whom I give thee power, here to this place.\\r\\nIncite them to quick motion; for I must\\r\\nBestow upon the eyes of this young couple\\r\\nSome vanity of mine art: it is my promise,\\r\\nAnd they expect it from me.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nPresently?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAy, with a twink.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nBefore you can say “Come” and “Go,”\\r\\nAnd breathe twice, and cry “so, so,”\\r\\nEach one, tripping on his toe,\\r\\nWill be here with mop and mow.\\r\\nDo you love me, master? no?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nDearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not approach\\r\\nTill thou dost hear me call.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nWell, I conceive.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nLook, thou be true; do not give dalliance\\r\\nToo much the rein: the strongest oaths are straw\\r\\nTo th’ fire i’ the blood: be more abstemious,\\r\\nOr else good night your vow!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nI warrant you, sir;\\r\\nThe white cold virgin snow upon my heart\\r\\nAbates the ardour of my liver.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nWell.\\r\\nNow come, my Ariel! bring a corollary,\\r\\nRather than want a spirit: appear, and pertly.\\r\\nNo tongue! all eyes! be silent.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Soft music._]\\r\\n\\r\\n A Masque. Enter Iris.\\r\\n\\r\\nIRIS.\\r\\nCeres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas\\r\\nOf wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas;\\r\\nThy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,\\r\\nAnd flat meads thatch’d with stover, them to keep;\\r\\nThy banks with pioned and twilled brims,\\r\\nWhich spongy April at thy hest betrims,\\r\\nTo make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom groves,\\r\\nWhose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves,\\r\\nBeing lass-lorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard;\\r\\nAnd thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard,\\r\\nWhere thou thyself dost air: the Queen o’ th’ sky,\\r\\nWhose wat’ry arch and messenger am I,\\r\\nBids thee leave these; and with her sovereign grace,\\r\\nHere on this grass-plot, in this very place,\\r\\nTo come and sport; her peacocks fly amain:\\r\\nApproach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ceres.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERES.\\r\\nHail, many-colour’d messenger, that ne’er\\r\\nDost disobey the wife of Jupiter;\\r\\nWho with thy saffron wings upon my flowers\\r\\nDiffusest honey drops, refreshing showers;\\r\\nAnd with each end of thy blue bow dost crown\\r\\nMy bosky acres and my unshrubb’d down,\\r\\nRich scarf to my proud earth; why hath thy queen\\r\\nSummon’d me hither to this short-grass’d green?\\r\\n\\r\\nIRIS.\\r\\nA contract of true love to celebrate,\\r\\nAnd some donation freely to estate\\r\\nOn the blest lovers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERES.\\r\\nTell me, heavenly bow,\\r\\nIf Venus or her son, as thou dost know,\\r\\nDo now attend the queen? Since they did plot\\r\\nThe means that dusky Dis my daughter got,\\r\\nHer and her blind boy’s scandal’d company\\r\\nI have forsworn.\\r\\n\\r\\nIRIS.\\r\\nOf her society\\r\\nBe not afraid. I met her deity\\r\\nCutting the clouds towards Paphos, and her son\\r\\nDove-drawn with her. Here thought they to have done\\r\\nSome wanton charm upon this man and maid,\\r\\nWhose vows are, that no bed-right shall be paid\\r\\nTill Hymen’s torch be lighted; but in vain.\\r\\nMars’s hot minion is return’d again;\\r\\nHer waspish-headed son has broke his arrows,\\r\\nSwears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows,\\r\\nAnd be a boy right out.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERES.\\r\\nHighest queen of State,\\r\\nGreat Juno comes; I know her by her gait.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juno.\\r\\n\\r\\nJUNO.\\r\\nHow does my bounteous sister? Go with me\\r\\nTo bless this twain, that they may prosperous be,\\r\\nAnd honour’d in their issue.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They sing._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJUNO.\\r\\n_Honour, riches, marriage-blessing,\\r\\nLong continuance, and increasing,\\r\\nHourly joys be still upon you!\\r\\nJuno sings her blessings on you._\\r\\n\\r\\nCERES.\\r\\n_Earth’s increase, foison plenty,\\r\\nBarns and gamers never empty;\\r\\nVines with clust’ring bunches growing;\\r\\nPlants with goodly burden bowing;\\r\\nSpring come to you at the farthest\\r\\nIn the very end of harvest!\\r\\nScarcity and want shall shun you;\\r\\nCeres’ blessing so is on you._\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nThis is a most majestic vision, and\\r\\nHarmonious charmingly. May I be bold\\r\\nTo think these spirits?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSpirits, which by mine art\\r\\nI have from their confines call’d to enact\\r\\nMy present fancies.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nLet me live here ever.\\r\\nSo rare a wonder’d father and a wise,\\r\\nMakes this place Paradise.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Juno and Ceres whisper, and send Iris on employment._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSweet now, silence!\\r\\nJuno and Ceres whisper seriously,\\r\\nThere’s something else to do: hush, and be mute,\\r\\nOr else our spell is marr’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nIRIS.\\r\\nYou nymphs, call’d Naiads, of the windring brooks,\\r\\nWith your sedg’d crowns and ever-harmless looks,\\r\\nLeave your crisp channels, and on this green land\\r\\nAnswer your summons; Juno does command.\\r\\nCome, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate\\r\\nA contract of true love. Be not too late.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter certain Nymphs.\\r\\n\\r\\nYou sun-burn’d sicklemen, of August weary,\\r\\nCome hither from the furrow, and be merry:\\r\\nMake holiday: your rye-straw hats put on,\\r\\nAnd these fresh nymphs encounter every one\\r\\nIn country footing.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter certain Reapers, properly habited: they join with the Nymphs in\\r\\n a graceful dance; towards the end whereof Prospero starts suddenly,\\r\\n and speaks; after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused noise,\\r\\n they heavily vanish.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I had forgot that foul conspiracy\\r\\nOf the beast Caliban and his confederates\\r\\nAgainst my life: the minute of their plot\\r\\nIs almost come. [_To the Spirits._] Well done! avoid; no\\r\\nmore!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nThis is strange: your father’s in some passion\\r\\nThat works him strongly.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nNever till this day\\r\\nSaw I him touch’d with anger so distemper’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nYou do look, my son, in a mov’d sort,\\r\\nAs if you were dismay’d: be cheerful, sir:\\r\\nOur revels now are ended. These our actors,\\r\\nAs I foretold you, were all spirits and\\r\\nAre melted into air, into thin air:\\r\\nAnd, like the baseless fabric of this vision,\\r\\nThe cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,\\r\\nThe solemn temples, the great globe itself,\\r\\nYea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,\\r\\nAnd, like this insubstantial pageant faded,\\r\\nLeave not a rack behind. We are such stuff\\r\\nAs dreams are made on, and our little life\\r\\nIs rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex’d:\\r\\nBear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled.\\r\\nBe not disturb’d with my infirmity.\\r\\nIf you be pleas’d, retire into my cell\\r\\nAnd there repose: a turn or two I’ll walk,\\r\\nTo still my beating mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND, MIRANDA.\\r\\nWe wish your peace.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nCome, with a thought. I thank thee, Ariel. Come!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ariel.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThy thoughts I cleave to. What’s thy pleasure?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSpirit,\\r\\nWe must prepare to meet with Caliban.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nAy, my commander. When I presented Ceres,\\r\\nI thought to have told thee of it; but I fear’d\\r\\nLest I might anger thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSay again, where didst thou leave these varlets?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking;\\r\\nSo full of valour that they smote the air\\r\\nFor breathing in their faces; beat the ground\\r\\nFor kissing of their feet; yet always bending\\r\\nTowards their project. Then I beat my tabor;\\r\\nAt which, like unback’d colts, they prick’d their ears,\\r\\nAdvanc’d their eyelids, lifted up their noses\\r\\nAs they smelt music: so I charm’d their ears,\\r\\nThat calf-like they my lowing follow’d through\\r\\nTooth’d briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and thorns,\\r\\nWhich enter’d their frail shins: at last I left them\\r\\nI’ th’ filthy-mantled pool beyond your cell,\\r\\nThere dancing up to th’ chins, that the foul lake\\r\\nO’erstunk their feet.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThis was well done, my bird.\\r\\nThy shape invisible retain thou still:\\r\\nThe trumpery in my house, go bring it hither\\r\\nFor stale to catch these thieves.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI go, I go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nA devil, a born devil, on whose nature\\r\\nNurture can never stick; on whom my pains,\\r\\nHumanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost;\\r\\nAnd as with age his body uglier grows,\\r\\nSo his mind cankers. I will plague them all,\\r\\nEven to roaring.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel, loaden with glistering apparel, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, hang them on this line.\\r\\n\\r\\n Prospero and Ariel remain invisible. Enter Caliban, Stephano and\\r\\n Trinculo all wet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nPray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not\\r\\nHear a foot fall: we now are near his cell.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMonster, your fairy, which you say is a harmless fairy, has done little\\r\\nbetter than played the Jack with us.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nMonster, I do smell all horse-piss; at which my nose is in great\\r\\nindignation.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nSo is mine. Do you hear, monster? If I should take a displeasure\\r\\nagainst you, look you,—\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThou wert but a lost monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nGood my lord, give me thy favour still.\\r\\nBe patient, for the prize I’ll bring thee to\\r\\nShall hoodwink this mischance: therefore speak softly.\\r\\nAll’s hush’d as midnight yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nAy, but to lose our bottles in the pool!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThere is not only disgrace and dishonour in that, monster, but an\\r\\ninfinite loss.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThat’s more to me than my wetting: yet this is your harmless fairy,\\r\\nmonster.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nI will fetch off my bottle, though I be o’er ears for my labour.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nPrithee, my King, be quiet. Seest thou here,\\r\\nThis is the mouth o’ th’ cell: no noise, and enter.\\r\\nDo that good mischief which may make this island\\r\\nThine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban,\\r\\nFor aye thy foot-licker.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nGive me thy hand. I do begin to have bloody thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nO King Stephano! O peer! O worthy Stephano!\\r\\nLook what a wardrobe here is for thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nLet it alone, thou fool; it is but trash.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nO, ho, monster! we know what belongs to a frippery. O King Stephano!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nPut off that gown, Trinculo; by this hand, I’ll have that gown.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThy Grace shall have it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThe dropsy drown this fool! What do you mean\\r\\nTo dote thus on such luggage? Let’t alone,\\r\\nAnd do the murder first. If he awake,\\r\\nFrom toe to crown he’ll fill our skins with pinches,\\r\\nMake us strange stuff.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nBe you quiet, monster. Mistress line, is not this my jerkin? Now is the\\r\\njerkin under the line: now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair, and\\r\\nprove a bald jerkin.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nDo, do: we steal by line and level, an’t like your Grace.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nI thank thee for that jest. Here’s a garment for ’t: wit shall not go\\r\\nunrewarded while I am King of this country. “Steal by line and level,”\\r\\nis an excellent pass of pate. There’s another garment for ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nMonster, come, put some lime upon your fingers, and away with the rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI will have none on’t. We shall lose our time,\\r\\nAnd all be turn’d to barnacles, or to apes\\r\\nWith foreheads villainous low.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMonster, lay-to your fingers: help to bear this away where my hogshead\\r\\nof wine is, or I’ll turn you out of my kingdom. Go to, carry this.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nAnd this.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nAy, and this.\\r\\n\\r\\n A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits, in shape of dogs and\\r\\n hounds, and hunt them about; Prospero and Ariel setting them on.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHey, Mountain, hey!\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nSilver! there it goes, Silver!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nFury, Fury! There, Tyrant, there! hark, hark!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo are driven out._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGo, charge my goblins that they grind their joints\\r\\nWith dry convulsions; shorten up their sinews\\r\\nWith aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted make them\\r\\nThan pard, or cat o’ mountain.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nHark, they roar.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nLet them be hunted soundly. At this hour\\r\\nLies at my mercy all mine enemies.\\r\\nShortly shall all my labours end, and thou\\r\\nShalt have the air at freedom. For a little\\r\\nFollow, and do me service.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Before the cell of Prospero.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Prospero in his magic robes, and Ariel.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNow does my project gather to a head:\\r\\nMy charms crack not; my spirits obey, and time\\r\\nGoes upright with his carriage. How’s the day?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nOn the sixth hour; at which time, my lord,\\r\\nYou said our work should cease.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nI did say so,\\r\\nWhen first I rais’d the tempest. Say, my spirit,\\r\\nHow fares the King and ’s followers?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nConfin’d together\\r\\nIn the same fashion as you gave in charge,\\r\\nJust as you left them; all prisoners, sir,\\r\\nIn the line-grove which weather-fends your cell;\\r\\nThey cannot budge till your release. The King,\\r\\nHis brother, and yours, abide all three distracted,\\r\\nAnd the remainder mourning over them,\\r\\nBrimful of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly\\r\\nHim you term’d, sir, “the good old lord, Gonzalo”.\\r\\nHis tears run down his beard, like winter’s drops\\r\\nFrom eaves of reeds; your charm so strongly works ’em,\\r\\nThat if you now beheld them, your affections\\r\\nWould become tender.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nDost thou think so, spirit?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nMine would, sir, were I human.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAnd mine shall.\\r\\nHast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling\\r\\nOf their afflictions, and shall not myself,\\r\\nOne of their kind, that relish all as sharply\\r\\nPassion as they, be kindlier mov’d than thou art?\\r\\nThough with their high wrongs I am struck to th’ quick,\\r\\nYet with my nobler reason ’gainst my fury\\r\\nDo I take part: the rarer action is\\r\\nIn virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent,\\r\\nThe sole drift of my purpose doth extend\\r\\nNot a frown further. Go release them, Ariel.\\r\\nMy charms I’ll break, their senses I’ll restore,\\r\\nAnd they shall be themselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI’ll fetch them, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nYe elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and\\r\\ngroves;\\r\\nAnd ye that on the sands with printless foot\\r\\nDo chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him\\r\\nWhen he comes back; you demi-puppets that\\r\\nBy moonshine do the green sour ringlets make,\\r\\nWhereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime\\r\\nIs to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice\\r\\nTo hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid,\\r\\nWeak masters though ye be, I have bedimm’d\\r\\nThe noontide sun, call’d forth the mutinous winds,\\r\\nAnd ’twixt the green sea and the azur’d vault\\r\\nSet roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder\\r\\nHave I given fire, and rifted Jove’s stout oak\\r\\nWith his own bolt; the strong-bas’d promontory\\r\\nHave I made shake, and by the spurs pluck’d up\\r\\nThe pine and cedar: graves at my command\\r\\nHave wak’d their sleepers, op’d, and let ’em forth\\r\\nBy my so potent art. But this rough magic\\r\\nI here abjure; and, when I have requir’d\\r\\nSome heavenly music,—which even now I do,—\\r\\nTo work mine end upon their senses that\\r\\nThis airy charm is for, I’ll break my staff,\\r\\nBury it certain fathoms in the earth,\\r\\nAnd deeper than did ever plummet sound\\r\\nI’ll drown my book.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Solem music._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel: after him, Alonso with a frantic gesture, attended by\\r\\n Gonzalo, Sebastian and Antonio in like manner, attended by Adrian and\\r\\n Francisco: they all enter the circle which Prospero had made, and\\r\\n there stand charmed; which Prospero observing, speaks.\\r\\n\\r\\nA solemn air, and the best comforter\\r\\nTo an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains,\\r\\nNow useless, boil’d within thy skull! There stand,\\r\\nFor you are spell-stopp’d.\\r\\nHoly Gonzalo, honourable man,\\r\\nMine eyes, e’en sociable to the show of thine,\\r\\nFall fellowly drops. The charm dissolves apace;\\r\\nAnd as the morning steals upon the night,\\r\\nMelting the darkness, so their rising senses\\r\\nBegin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle\\r\\nTheir clearer reason. O good Gonzalo!\\r\\nMy true preserver, and a loyal sir\\r\\nTo him thou follow’st, I will pay thy graces\\r\\nHome, both in word and deed. Most cruelly\\r\\nDidst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter:\\r\\nThy brother was a furtherer in the act.\\r\\nThou art pinch’d for ’t now, Sebastian. Flesh and blood,\\r\\nYou, brother mine, that entertain’d ambition,\\r\\nExpell’d remorse and nature, who, with Sebastian,—\\r\\nWhose inward pinches therefore are most strong,\\r\\nWould here have kill’d your King; I do forgive thee,\\r\\nUnnatural though thou art. Their understanding\\r\\nBegins to swell, and the approaching tide\\r\\nWill shortly fill the reasonable shores\\r\\nThat now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them\\r\\nThat yet looks on me, or would know me. Ariel,\\r\\nFetch me the hat and rapier in my cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Ariel._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI will discase me, and myself present\\r\\nAs I was sometime Milan. Quickly, spirit;\\r\\nThou shalt ere long be free.\\r\\n\\r\\n Ariel re-enters, singing, and helps to attire Prospero.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL\\r\\n_Where the bee sucks, there suck I:\\r\\nIn a cowslip’s bell I lie;\\r\\nThere I couch when owls do cry.\\r\\nOn the bat’s back I do fly\\r\\nAfter summer merrily.\\r\\nMerrily, merrily shall I live now\\r\\nUnder the blossom that hangs on the bough._\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nWhy, that’s my dainty Ariel! I shall miss thee;\\r\\nBut yet thou shalt have freedom; so, so, so.\\r\\nTo the King’s ship, invisible as thou art:\\r\\nThere shalt thou find the mariners asleep\\r\\nUnder the hatches; the master and the boatswain\\r\\nBeing awake, enforce them to this place,\\r\\nAnd presently, I prithee.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI drink the air before me, and return\\r\\nOr ere your pulse twice beat.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nAll torment, trouble, wonder and amazement\\r\\nInhabits here. Some heavenly power guide us\\r\\nOut of this fearful country!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBehold, sir King,\\r\\nThe wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero.\\r\\nFor more assurance that a living prince\\r\\nDoes now speak to thee, I embrace thy body;\\r\\nAnd to thee and thy company I bid\\r\\nA hearty welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nWhe’er thou be’st he or no,\\r\\nOr some enchanted trifle to abuse me,\\r\\nAs late I have been, I not know: thy pulse\\r\\nBeats, as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee,\\r\\nTh’ affliction of my mind amends, with which,\\r\\nI fear, a madness held me: this must crave,\\r\\nAn if this be at all, a most strange story.\\r\\nThy dukedom I resign, and do entreat\\r\\nThou pardon me my wrongs. But how should Prospero\\r\\nBe living and be here?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nFirst, noble friend,\\r\\nLet me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot\\r\\nBe measur’d or confin’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWhether this be\\r\\nOr be not, I’ll not swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nYou do yet taste\\r\\nSome subtleties o’ the isle, that will not let you\\r\\nBelieve things certain. Welcome, my friends all.\\r\\n[_Aside to Sebastian and Antonio._] But you, my brace of lords, were I\\r\\nso minded,\\r\\nI here could pluck his highness’ frown upon you,\\r\\nAnd justify you traitors: at this time\\r\\nI will tell no tales.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n[_Aside._] The devil speaks in him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\nFor you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother\\r\\nWould even infect my mouth, I do forgive\\r\\nThy rankest fault, all of them; and require\\r\\nMy dukedom of thee, which perforce I know\\r\\nThou must restore.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nIf thou beest Prospero,\\r\\nGive us particulars of thy preservation;\\r\\nHow thou hast met us here, whom three hours since\\r\\nWere wrack’d upon this shore; where I have lost,—\\r\\nHow sharp the point of this remembrance is!—\\r\\nMy dear son Ferdinand.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nI am woe for ’t, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nIrreparable is the loss, and patience\\r\\nSays it is past her cure.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nI rather think\\r\\nYou have not sought her help, of whose soft grace,\\r\\nFor the like loss I have her sovereign aid,\\r\\nAnd rest myself content.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nYou the like loss!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAs great to me, as late; and, supportable\\r\\nTo make the dear loss, have I means much weaker\\r\\nThan you may call to comfort you, for I\\r\\nHave lost my daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nA daughter?\\r\\nO heavens, that they were living both in Naples,\\r\\nThe King and Queen there! That they were, I wish\\r\\nMyself were mudded in that oozy bed\\r\\nWhere my son lies. When did you lose your daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nIn this last tempest. I perceive, these lords\\r\\nAt this encounter do so much admire\\r\\nThat they devour their reason, and scarce think\\r\\nTheir eyes do offices of truth, their words\\r\\nAre natural breath; but, howsoe’er you have\\r\\nBeen justled from your senses, know for certain\\r\\nThat I am Prospero, and that very duke\\r\\nWhich was thrust forth of Milan; who most strangely\\r\\nUpon this shore, where you were wrack’d, was landed\\r\\nTo be the lord on’t. No more yet of this;\\r\\nFor ’tis a chronicle of day by day,\\r\\nNot a relation for a breakfast nor\\r\\nBefitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir.\\r\\nThis cell’s my court: here have I few attendants,\\r\\nAnd subjects none abroad: pray you, look in.\\r\\nMy dukedom since you have given me again,\\r\\nI will requite you with as good a thing;\\r\\nAt least bring forth a wonder, to content ye\\r\\nAs much as me my dukedom.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere Prospero discovers Ferdinand and Miranda playing at chess.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nSweet lord, you play me false.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nNo, my dearest love,\\r\\nI would not for the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nYes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle,\\r\\nAnd I would call it fair play.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nIf this prove\\r\\nA vision of the island, one dear son\\r\\nShall I twice lose.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA most high miracle!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nThough the seas threaten, they are merciful.\\r\\nI have curs’d them without cause.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kneels to Alonso._]\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nNow all the blessings\\r\\nOf a glad father compass thee about!\\r\\nArise, and say how thou cam’st here.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO, wonder!\\r\\nHow many goodly creatures are there here!\\r\\nHow beauteous mankind is! O brave new world\\r\\nThat has such people in ’t!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n’Tis new to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nWhat is this maid, with whom thou wast at play?\\r\\nYour eld’st acquaintance cannot be three hours:\\r\\nIs she the goddess that hath sever’d us,\\r\\nAnd brought us thus together?\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nSir, she is mortal;\\r\\nBut by immortal Providence she’s mine.\\r\\nI chose her when I could not ask my father\\r\\nFor his advice, nor thought I had one. She\\r\\nIs daughter to this famous Duke of Milan,\\r\\nOf whom so often I have heard renown,\\r\\nBut never saw before; of whom I have\\r\\nReceiv’d a second life; and second father\\r\\nThis lady makes him to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI am hers:\\r\\nBut, O, how oddly will it sound that I\\r\\nMust ask my child forgiveness!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThere, sir, stop:\\r\\nLet us not burden our remembrances with\\r\\nA heaviness that’s gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI have inly wept,\\r\\nOr should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods,\\r\\nAnd on this couple drop a blessed crown;\\r\\nFor it is you that have chalk’d forth the way\\r\\nWhich brought us hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI say, Amen, Gonzalo!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWas Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue\\r\\nShould become Kings of Naples? O, rejoice\\r\\nBeyond a common joy, and set it down\\r\\nWith gold on lasting pillars: in one voyage\\r\\nDid Claribel her husband find at Tunis,\\r\\nAnd Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife\\r\\nWhere he himself was lost; Prospero his dukedom\\r\\nIn a poor isle; and all of us ourselves,\\r\\nWhen no man was his own.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\n[_To Ferdinand and Miranda._] Give me your hands:\\r\\nLet grief and sorrow still embrace his heart\\r\\nThat doth not wish you joy!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nBe it so. Amen!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel with the Master and Boatswain amazedly following.\\r\\n\\r\\nO look, sir, look, sir! Here are more of us.\\r\\nI prophesied, if a gallows were on land,\\r\\nThis fellow could not drown. Now, blasphemy,\\r\\nThat swear’st grace o’erboard, not an oath on shore?\\r\\nHast thou no mouth by land? What is the news?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nThe best news is that we have safely found\\r\\nOur King and company. The next, our ship,—\\r\\nWhich but three glasses since, we gave out split,\\r\\nIs tight and yare, and bravely rigg’d as when\\r\\nWe first put out to sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\n[_Aside to Prospero._] Sir, all this service\\r\\nHave I done since I went.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Ariel._] My tricksy spirit!\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nThese are not natural events; they strengthen\\r\\nFrom strange to stranger. Say, how came you hither?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nIf I did think, sir, I were well awake,\\r\\nI’d strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep,\\r\\nAnd,—how, we know not,—all clapp’d under hatches,\\r\\nWhere, but even now, with strange and several noises\\r\\nOf roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains,\\r\\nAnd mo diversity of sounds, all horrible,\\r\\nWe were awak’d; straightway, at liberty:\\r\\nWhere we, in all her trim, freshly beheld\\r\\nOur royal, good, and gallant ship; our master\\r\\nCap’ring to eye her. On a trice, so please you,\\r\\nEven in a dream, were we divided from them,\\r\\nAnd were brought moping hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\n[_Aside to Prospero._] Was’t well done?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Ariel._] Bravely, my diligence. Thou shalt be free.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nThis is as strange a maze as e’er men trod;\\r\\nAnd there is in this business more than nature\\r\\nWas ever conduct of: some oracle\\r\\nMust rectify our knowledge.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSir, my liege,\\r\\nDo not infest your mind with beating on\\r\\nThe strangeness of this business. At pick’d leisure,\\r\\nWhich shall be shortly, single I’ll resolve you,\\r\\nWhich to you shall seem probable, of every\\r\\nThese happen’d accidents; till when, be cheerful\\r\\nAnd think of each thing well. [_Aside to Ariel._] Come hither, spirit;\\r\\nSet Caliban and his companions free;\\r\\nUntie the spell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Ariel._]\\r\\n\\r\\n How fares my gracious sir?\\r\\nThere are yet missing of your company\\r\\nSome few odd lads that you remember not.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel driving in Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo in their\\r\\n stolen apparel.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nEvery man shift for all the rest, and let no man take care for himself,\\r\\nfor all is but fortune.—Coragio! bully-monster, coragio!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nIf these be true spies which I wear in my head, here’s a goodly sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nO Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed.\\r\\nHow fine my master is! I am afraid\\r\\nHe will chastise me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHa, ha!\\r\\nWhat things are these, my lord Antonio?\\r\\nWill money buy them?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nVery like; one of them\\r\\nIs a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nMark but the badges of these men, my lords,\\r\\nThen say if they be true. This mis-shapen knave,\\r\\nHis mother was a witch; and one so strong\\r\\nThat could control the moon, make flows and ebbs,\\r\\nAnd deal in her command without her power.\\r\\nThese three have robb’d me; and this demi-devil,\\r\\nFor he’s a bastard one, had plotted with them\\r\\nTo take my life. Two of these fellows you\\r\\nMust know and own; this thing of darkness I\\r\\nAcknowledge mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI shall be pinch’d to death.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nIs not this Stephano, my drunken butler?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHe is drunk now: where had he wine?\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nAnd Trinculo is reeling-ripe: where should they\\r\\nFind this grand liquor that hath gilded ’em?\\r\\nHow cam’st thou in this pickle?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI have been in such a pickle since I saw you last that, I fear me, will\\r\\nnever out of my bones. I shall not fear fly-blowing.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhy, how now, Stephano!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nO! touch me not. I am not Stephano, but a cramp.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nYou’d be King o’ the isle, sirrah?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nI should have been a sore one, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nThis is as strange a thing as e’er I look’d on.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Pointing to Caliban._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHe is as disproportioned in his manners\\r\\nAs in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell;\\r\\nTake with you your companions. As you look\\r\\nTo have my pardon, trim it handsomely.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nAy, that I will; and I’ll be wise hereafter,\\r\\nAnd seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass\\r\\nWas I, to take this drunkard for a god,\\r\\nAnd worship this dull fool!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nGo to; away!\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nHence, and bestow your luggage where you found it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nOr stole it, rather.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSir, I invite your Highness and your train\\r\\nTo my poor cell, where you shall take your rest\\r\\nFor this one night; which, part of it, I’ll waste\\r\\nWith such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it\\r\\nGo quick away: the story of my life\\r\\nAnd the particular accidents gone by\\r\\nSince I came to this isle: and in the morn\\r\\nI’ll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples,\\r\\nWhere I have hope to see the nuptial\\r\\nOf these our dear-belov’d solemnized;\\r\\nAnd thence retire me to my Milan, where\\r\\nEvery third thought shall be my grave.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI long\\r\\nTo hear the story of your life, which must\\r\\nTake the ear strangely.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nI’ll deliver all;\\r\\nAnd promise you calm seas, auspicious gales,\\r\\nAnd sail so expeditious that shall catch\\r\\nYour royal fleet far off. [_Aside to Ariel._] My Ariel,\\r\\nchick,\\r\\nThat is thy charge: then to the elements\\r\\nBe free, and fare thou well! Please you, draw near.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEPILOGUE\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNow my charms are all o’erthrown,\\r\\nAnd what strength I have’s mine own,\\r\\nWhich is most faint. Now ’tis true,\\r\\nI must be here confin’d by you,\\r\\nOr sent to Naples. Let me not,\\r\\nSince I have my dukedom got,\\r\\nAnd pardon’d the deceiver, dwell\\r\\nIn this bare island by your spell,\\r\\nBut release me from my bands\\r\\nWith the help of your good hands.\\r\\nGentle breath of yours my sails\\r\\nMust fill, or else my project fails,\\r\\nWhich was to please. Now I want\\r\\nSpirits to enforce, art to enchant;\\r\\nAnd my ending is despair,\\r\\nUnless I be reliev’d by prayer,\\r\\nWhich pierces so that it assaults\\r\\nMercy itself, and frees all faults.\\r\\n As you from crimes would pardon’d be,\\r\\n Let your indulgence set me free.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE LIFE OF TIMON OF ATHENS\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON of Athens\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS\\r\\n LUCULLUS\\r\\n SEMPRONIUS\\r\\n flattering lords\\r\\n\\r\\n VENTIDIUS, one of Timon\\'s false friends\\r\\n ALCIBIADES, an Athenian captain\\r\\n APEMANTUS, a churlish philosopher\\r\\n FLAVIUS, steward to Timon\\r\\n\\r\\n FLAMINIUS\\r\\n LUCILIUS\\r\\n SERVILIUS\\r\\n Timon\\'s servants\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPHIS\\r\\n PHILOTUS\\r\\n TITUS\\r\\n HORTENSIUS\\r\\n servants to Timon\\'s creditors\\r\\n\\r\\n POET PAINTER JEWELLER MERCHANT MERCER AN OLD ATHENIAN THREE\\r\\n STRANGERS A PAGE A FOOL\\r\\n\\r\\n PHRYNIA\\r\\n TIMANDRA\\r\\n mistresses to Alcibiades\\r\\n\\r\\n CUPID\\r\\n AMAZONS\\r\\n in the Masque\\r\\n\\r\\n Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Servants, Thieves, and\\r\\n Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Athens and the neighbouring woods\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. Athens. TIMON\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter POET, PAINTER, JEWELLER, MERCHANT, and MERCER, at several doors\\r\\n\\r\\n POET. Good day, sir.\\r\\n PAINTER. I am glad y\\'are well.\\r\\n POET. I have not seen you long; how goes the world?\\r\\n PAINTER. It wears, sir, as it grows.\\r\\n POET. Ay, that\\'s well known.\\r\\n But what particular rarity? What strange,\\r\\n Which manifold record not matches? See,\\r\\n Magic of bounty, all these spirits thy power\\r\\n Hath conjur\\'d to attend! I know the merchant.\\r\\n PAINTER. I know them both; th\\' other\\'s a jeweller.\\r\\n MERCHANT. O, \\'tis a worthy lord!\\r\\n JEWELLER. Nay, that\\'s most fix\\'d.\\r\\n MERCHANT. A most incomparable man; breath\\'d, as it were,\\r\\n To an untirable and continuate goodness.\\r\\n He passes.\\r\\n JEWELLER. I have a jewel here-\\r\\n MERCHANT. O, pray let\\'s see\\'t. For the Lord Timon, sir?\\r\\n JEWELLER. If he will touch the estimate. But for that-\\r\\n POET. When we for recompense have prais\\'d the vile,\\r\\n It stains the glory in that happy verse\\r\\n Which aptly sings the good.\\r\\n MERCHANT. [Looking at the jewel] \\'Tis a good form.\\r\\n JEWELLER. And rich. Here is a water, look ye.\\r\\n PAINTER. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication\\r\\n To the great lord.\\r\\n POET. A thing slipp\\'d idly from me.\\r\\n Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes\\r\\n From whence \\'tis nourish\\'d. The fire i\\' th\\' flint\\r\\n Shows not till it be struck: our gentle flame\\r\\n Provokes itself, and like the current flies\\r\\n Each bound it chafes. What have you there?\\r\\n PAINTER. A picture, sir. When comes your book forth?\\r\\n POET. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir.\\r\\n Let\\'s see your piece.\\r\\n PAINTER. \\'Tis a good piece.\\r\\n POET. So \\'tis; this comes off well and excellent.\\r\\n PAINTER. Indifferent.\\r\\n POET. Admirable. How this grace\\r\\n Speaks his own standing! What a mental power\\r\\n This eye shoots forth! How big imagination\\r\\n Moves in this lip! To th\\' dumbness of the gesture\\r\\n One might interpret.\\r\\n PAINTER. It is a pretty mocking of the life.\\r\\n Here is a touch; is\\'t good?\\r\\n POET. I will say of it\\r\\n It tutors nature. Artificial strife\\r\\n Lives in these touches, livelier than life.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter certain SENATORS, and pass over\\r\\n\\r\\n PAINTER. How this lord is followed!\\r\\n POET. The senators of Athens- happy man!\\r\\n PAINTER. Look, moe!\\r\\n POET. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors.\\r\\n I have in this rough work shap\\'d out a man\\r\\n Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug\\r\\n With amplest entertainment. My free drift\\r\\n Halts not particularly, but moves itself\\r\\n In a wide sea of tax. No levell\\'d malice\\r\\n Infects one comma in the course I hold,\\r\\n But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,\\r\\n Leaving no tract behind.\\r\\n PAINTER. How shall I understand you?\\r\\n POET. I will unbolt to you.\\r\\n You see how all conditions, how all minds-\\r\\n As well of glib and slipp\\'ry creatures as\\r\\n Of grave and austere quality, tender down\\r\\n Their services to Lord Timon. His large fortune,\\r\\n Upon his good and gracious nature hanging,\\r\\n Subdues and properties to his love and tendance\\r\\n All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-fac\\'d flatterer\\r\\n To Apemantus, that few things loves better\\r\\n Than to abhor himself; even he drops down\\r\\n The knee before him, and returns in peace\\r\\n Most rich in Timon\\'s nod.\\r\\n PAINTER. I saw them speak together.\\r\\n POET. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill\\r\\n Feign\\'d Fortune to be thron\\'d. The base o\\' th\\' mount\\r\\n Is rank\\'d with all deserts, all kind of natures\\r\\n That labour on the bosom of this sphere\\r\\n To propagate their states. Amongst them all\\r\\n Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix\\'d\\r\\n One do I personate of Lord Timon\\'s frame,\\r\\n Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her;\\r\\n Whose present grace to present slaves and servants\\r\\n Translates his rivals.\\r\\n PAINTER. \\'Tis conceiv\\'d to scope.\\r\\n This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks,\\r\\n With one man beckon\\'d from the rest below,\\r\\n Bowing his head against the steepy mount\\r\\n To climb his happiness, would be well express\\'d\\r\\n In our condition.\\r\\n POET. Nay, sir, but hear me on.\\r\\n All those which were his fellows but of late-\\r\\n Some better than his value- on the moment\\r\\n Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance,\\r\\n Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear,\\r\\n Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him\\r\\n Drink the free air.\\r\\n PAINTER. Ay, marry, what of these?\\r\\n POET. When Fortune in her shift and change of mood\\r\\n Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants,\\r\\n Which labour\\'d after him to the mountain\\'s top\\r\\n Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down,\\r\\n Not one accompanying his declining foot.\\r\\n PAINTER. \\'Tis common.\\r\\n A thousand moral paintings I can show\\r\\n That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune\\'s\\r\\n More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well\\r\\n To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen\\r\\n The foot above the head.\\r\\n\\r\\n Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, addressing himself\\r\\n courteously to every suitor, a MESSENGER from\\r\\n VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other\\r\\n servants following\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. Imprison\\'d is he, say you?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Ay, my good lord. Five talents is his debt;\\r\\n His means most short, his creditors most strait.\\r\\n Your honourable letter he desires\\r\\n To those have shut him up; which failing,\\r\\n Periods his comfort.\\r\\n TIMON. Noble Ventidius! Well.\\r\\n I am not of that feather to shake of\\r\\n My friend when he must need me. I do know him\\r\\n A gentleman that well deserves a help,\\r\\n Which he shall have. I\\'ll pay the debt, and free him.\\r\\n MESSENGER. Your lordship ever binds him.\\r\\n TIMON. Commend me to him; I will send his ransom;\\r\\n And being enfranchis\\'d, bid him come to me.\\r\\n \\'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,\\r\\n But to support him after. Fare you well.\\r\\n MESSENGER. All happiness to your honour! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter an OLD ATHENIAN\\r\\n\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Lord Timon, hear me speak.\\r\\n TIMON. Freely, good father.\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Thou hast a servant nam\\'d Lucilius.\\r\\n TIMON. I have so; what of him?\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee.\\r\\n TIMON. Attends he here, or no? Lucilius!\\r\\n LUCILIUS. Here, at your lordship\\'s service.\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature,\\r\\n By night frequents my house. I am a man\\r\\n That from my first have been inclin\\'d to thrift,\\r\\n And my estate deserves an heir more rais\\'d\\r\\n Than one which holds a trencher.\\r\\n TIMON. Well; what further?\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. One only daughter have I, no kin else,\\r\\n On whom I may confer what I have got.\\r\\n The maid is fair, o\\' th\\' youngest for a bride,\\r\\n And I have bred her at my dearest cost\\r\\n In qualities of the best. This man of thine\\r\\n Attempts her love; I prithee, noble lord,\\r\\n Join with me to forbid him her resort;\\r\\n Myself have spoke in vain.\\r\\n TIMON. The man is honest.\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Therefore he will be, Timon.\\r\\n His honesty rewards him in itself;\\r\\n It must not bear my daughter.\\r\\n TIMON. Does she love him?\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. She is young and apt:\\r\\n Our own precedent passions do instruct us\\r\\n What levity\\'s in youth.\\r\\n TIMON. Love you the maid?\\r\\n LUCILIUS. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it.\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. If in her marriage my consent be missing,\\r\\n I call the gods to witness I will choose\\r\\n Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world,\\r\\n And dispossess her all.\\r\\n TIMON. How shall she be endow\\'d,\\r\\n If she be mated with an equal husband?\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Three talents on the present; in future, all.\\r\\n TIMON. This gentleman of mine hath serv\\'d me long;.\\r\\n To build his fortune I will strain a little,\\r\\n For \\'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter:\\r\\n What you bestow, in him I\\'ll counterpoise,\\r\\n And make him weigh with her.\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Most noble lord,\\r\\n Pawn me to this your honour, she is his.\\r\\n TIMON. My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise.\\r\\n LUCILIUS. Humbly I thank your lordship. Never may\\r\\n That state or fortune fall into my keeping\\r\\n Which is not owed to you!\\r\\n Exeunt LUCILIUS and OLD ATHENIAN\\r\\n POET. [Presenting his poem] Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your\\r\\n lordship!\\r\\n TIMON. I thank you; you shall hear from me anon;\\r\\n Go not away. What have you there, my friend?\\r\\n PAINTER. A piece of painting, which I do beseech\\r\\n Your lordship to accept.\\r\\n TIMON. Painting is welcome.\\r\\n The painting is almost the natural man;\\r\\n For since dishonour traffics with man\\'s nature,\\r\\n He is but outside; these pencill\\'d figures are\\r\\n Even such as they give out. I like your work,\\r\\n And you shall find I like it; wait attendance\\r\\n Till you hear further from me.\\r\\n PAINTER. The gods preserve ye!\\r\\n TIMON. Well fare you, gentleman. Give me your hand;\\r\\n We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel\\r\\n Hath suffered under praise.\\r\\n JEWELLER. What, my lord! Dispraise?\\r\\n TIMON. A mere satiety of commendations;\\r\\n If I should pay you for\\'t as \\'tis extoll\\'d,\\r\\n It would unclew me quite.\\r\\n JEWELLER. My lord, \\'tis rated\\r\\n As those which sell would give; but you well know\\r\\n Things of like value, differing in the owners,\\r\\n Are prized by their masters. Believe\\'t, dear lord,\\r\\n You mend the jewel by the wearing it.\\r\\n TIMON. Well mock\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter APEMANTUS\\r\\n\\r\\n MERCHANT. No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue,\\r\\n Which all men speak with him.\\r\\n TIMON. Look who comes here; will you be chid?\\r\\n JEWELLER. We\\'ll bear, with your lordship.\\r\\n MERCHANT. He\\'ll spare none.\\r\\n TIMON. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow;\\r\\n When thou art Timon\\'s dog, and these knaves honest.\\r\\n TIMON. Why dost thou call them knaves? Thou know\\'st them not.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Are they not Athenians?\\r\\n TIMON. Yes.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Then I repent not.\\r\\n JEWELLER. You know me, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou know\\'st I do; I call\\'d thee by thy name.\\r\\n TIMON. Thou art proud, Apemantus.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Of nothing so much as that I am not like Timon.\\r\\n TIMON. Whither art going?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. To knock out an honest Athenian\\'s brains.\\r\\n TIMON. That\\'s a deed thou\\'t die for.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Right, if doing nothing be death by th\\' law.\\r\\n TIMON. How lik\\'st thou this picture, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. The best, for the innocence.\\r\\n TIMON. Wrought he not well that painted it?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. He wrought better that made the painter; and yet he\\'s\\r\\n but a filthy piece of work.\\r\\n PAINTER. Y\\'are a dog.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thy mother\\'s of my generation; what\\'s she, if I be a dog?\\r\\n TIMON. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No; I eat not lords.\\r\\n TIMON. An thou shouldst, thou\\'dst anger ladies.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. O, they eat lords; so they come by great bellies.\\r\\n TIMON. That\\'s a lascivious apprehension.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. So thou apprehend\\'st it take it for thy labour.\\r\\n TIMON. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Not so well as plain dealing, which will not cost a man\\r\\n a doit.\\r\\n TIMON. What dost thou think \\'tis worth?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Not worth my thinking. How now, poet!\\r\\n POET. How now, philosopher!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou liest.\\r\\n POET. Art not one?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Yes.\\r\\n POET. Then I lie not.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Art not a poet?\\r\\n POET. Yes.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Then thou liest. Look in thy last work, where thou hast\\r\\n feign\\'d him a worthy fellow.\\r\\n POET. That\\'s not feign\\'d- he is so.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy\\r\\n labour. He that loves to be flattered is worthy o\\' th\\' flatterer.\\r\\n Heavens, that I were a lord!\\r\\n TIMON. What wouldst do then, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. E\\'en as Apemantus does now: hate a lord with my heart.\\r\\n TIMON. What, thyself?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ay.\\r\\n TIMON. Wherefore?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. That I had no angry wit to be a lord.- Art not thou a\\r\\n merchant?\\r\\n MERCHANT. Ay, Apemantus.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not!\\r\\n MERCHANT. If traffic do it, the gods do it.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Traffic\\'s thy god, and thy god confound thee!\\r\\n\\r\\n Trumpet sounds. Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. What trumpet\\'s that?\\r\\n MESSENGER. \\'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse,\\r\\n All of companionship.\\r\\n TIMON. Pray entertain them; give them guide to us.\\r\\n Exeunt some attendants\\r\\n You must needs dine with me. Go not you hence\\r\\n Till I have thank\\'d you. When dinner\\'s done\\r\\n Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ALCIBIADES, with the rest\\r\\n\\r\\n Most welcome, sir! [They salute]\\r\\n APEMANTUS. So, so, there!\\r\\n Aches contract and starve your supple joints!\\r\\n That there should be small love amongst these sweet knaves,\\r\\n And all this courtesy! The strain of man\\'s bred out\\r\\n Into baboon and monkey.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Sir, you have sav\\'d my longing, and I feed\\r\\n Most hungerly on your sight.\\r\\n TIMON. Right welcome, sir!\\r\\n Ere we depart we\\'ll share a bounteous time\\r\\n In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in.\\r\\n Exeunt all but APEMANTUS\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST LORD. What time o\\' day is\\'t, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Time to be honest.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. That time serves still.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. The more accursed thou that still omit\\'st it.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Thou art going to Lord Timon\\'s feast.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ay; to see meat fill knaves and wine heat fools.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Fare thee well, fare thee well.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Why, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean to give\\r\\n thee none.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Hang thyself.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding; make thy requests\\r\\n to thy friend.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Away, unpeaceable dog, or I\\'ll spurn thee hence.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I will fly, like a dog, the heels o\\' th\\' ass. Exit\\r\\n FIRST LORD. He\\'s opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in\\r\\n And taste Lord Timon\\'s bounty? He outgoes\\r\\n The very heart of kindness.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. He pours it out: Plutus, the god of gold,\\r\\n Is but his steward; no meed but he repays\\r\\n Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him\\r\\n But breeds the giver a return exceeding\\r\\n All use of quittance.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. The noblest mind he carries\\r\\n That ever govern\\'d man.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Long may he live in fortunes! shall we in?\\r\\n FIRST LORD. I\\'ll keep you company. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A room of state in TIMON\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nHautboys playing loud music. A great banquet serv\\'d in;\\r\\nFLAVIUS and others attending; and then enter LORD TIMON, the states,\\r\\nthe ATHENIAN LORDS, VENTIDIUS, which TIMON redeem\\'d from prison.\\r\\nThen comes, dropping after all, APEMANTUS, discontentedly, like himself\\r\\n\\r\\n VENTIDIUS. Most honoured Timon,\\r\\n It hath pleas\\'d the gods to remember my father\\'s age,\\r\\n And call him to long peace.\\r\\n He is gone happy, and has left me rich.\\r\\n Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound\\r\\n To your free heart, I do return those talents,\\r\\n Doubled with thanks and service, from whose help\\r\\n I deriv\\'d liberty.\\r\\n TIMON. O, by no means,\\r\\n Honest Ventidius! You mistake my love;\\r\\n I gave it freely ever; and there\\'s none\\r\\n Can truly say he gives, if he receives.\\r\\n If our betters play at that game, we must not dare\\r\\n To imitate them: faults that are rich are fair.\\r\\n VENTIDIUS. A noble spirit!\\r\\n TIMON. Nay, my lords, ceremony was but devis\\'d at first\\r\\n To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes,\\r\\n Recanting goodness, sorry ere \\'tis shown;\\r\\n But where there is true friendship there needs none.\\r\\n Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes\\r\\n Than my fortunes to me. [They sit]\\r\\n FIRST LORD. My lord, we always have confess\\'d it.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ho, ho, confess\\'d it! Hang\\'d it, have you not?\\r\\n TIMON. O, Apemantus, you are welcome.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No;\\r\\n You shall not make me welcome.\\r\\n I come to have thee thrust me out of doors.\\r\\n TIMON. Fie, th\\'art a churl; ye have got a humour there\\r\\n Does not become a man; \\'tis much to blame.\\r\\n They say, my lords, Ira furor brevis est; but yond man is ever\\r\\n angry. Go, let him have a table by himself; for he does neither\\r\\n affect company nor is he fit for\\'t indeed.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon.\\r\\n I come to observe; I give thee warning on\\'t.\\r\\n TIMON. I take no heed of thee. Th\\'art an Athenian, therefore\\r\\n welcome. I myself would have no power; prithee let my meat make\\r\\n thee silent.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I scorn thy meat; \\'t\\'would choke me, for I should ne\\'er\\r\\n flatter thee. O you gods, what a number of men eats Timon, and he\\r\\n sees \\'em not! It grieves me to see so many dip their meat in one\\r\\n man\\'s blood; and all the madness is, he cheers them up too.\\r\\n I wonder men dare trust themselves with men.\\r\\n Methinks they should invite them without knives:\\r\\n Good for their meat and safer for their lives.\\r\\n There\\'s much example for\\'t; the fellow that sits next him now,\\r\\n parts bread with him, pledges the breath of him in a divided\\r\\n draught, is the readiest man to kill him. \\'T has been proved. If\\r\\n I were a huge man I should fear to drink at meals.\\r\\n Lest they should spy my windpipe\\'s dangerous notes:\\r\\n Great men should drink with harness on their throats.\\r\\n TIMON. My lord, in heart! and let the health go round.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Let it flow this way, my good lord.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Flow this way! A brave fellow! He keeps his tides well.\\r\\n Those healths will make thee and thy state look ill, Timon.\\r\\n Here\\'s that which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, which\\r\\n ne\\'er left man i\\' th\\' mire.\\r\\n This and my food are equals; there\\'s no odds.\\'\\r\\n Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods.\\r\\n\\r\\n APEMANTUS\\' Grace\\r\\n\\r\\n Immortal gods, I crave no pelf;\\r\\n I pray for no man but myself.\\r\\n Grant I may never prove so fond\\r\\n To trust man on his oath or bond,\\r\\n Or a harlot for her weeping,\\r\\n Or a dog that seems a-sleeping,\\r\\n Or a keeper with my freedom,\\r\\n Or my friends, if I should need \\'em.\\r\\n Amen. So fall to\\'t.\\r\\n Rich men sin, and I eat root. [Eats and drinks]\\r\\n\\r\\n Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus!\\r\\n TIMON. Captain Alcibiades, your heart\\'s in the field now.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. My heart is ever at your service, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies than dinner of\\r\\n friends.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. So they were bleeding new, my lord, there\\'s no meat\\r\\n like \\'em; I could wish my best friend at such a feast.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Would all those flatterers were thine enemies then, that\\r\\n then thou mightst kill \\'em, and bid me to \\'em.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you\\r\\n would once use our hearts, whereby we might express some part of\\r\\n our zeals, we should think ourselves for ever perfect.\\r\\n TIMON. O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themselves have\\r\\n provided that I shall have much help from you. How had you been\\r\\n my friends else? Why have you that charitable title from\\r\\n thousands, did not you chiefly belong to my heart? I have told\\r\\n more of you to myself than you can with modesty speak in your own\\r\\n behalf; and thus far I confirm you. O you gods, think I, what\\r\\n need we have any friends if we should ne\\'er have need of \\'em?\\r\\n They were the most needless creatures living, should we ne\\'er\\r\\n have use for \\'em; and would most resemble sweet instruments hung\\r\\n up in cases, that keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have\\r\\n often wish\\'d myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you. We\\r\\n are born to do benefits; and what better or properer can we call\\r\\n our own than the riches of our friends? O, what a precious\\r\\n comfort \\'tis to have so many like brothers commanding one\\r\\n another\\'s fortunes! O, joy\\'s e\\'en made away ere\\'t can be born!\\r\\n Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks. To forget their\\r\\n faults, I drink to you.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou weep\\'st to make them drink, Timon.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Joy had the like conception in our eyes,\\r\\n And at that instant like a babe sprung up.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ho, ho! I laugh to think that babe a bastard.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. I promise you, my lord, you mov\\'d me much.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Much! [Sound tucket]\\r\\n TIMON. What means that trump?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n How now?\\r\\n SERVANT. Please you, my lord, there are certain ladies most\\r\\n desirous of admittance.\\r\\n TIMON. Ladies! What are their wills?\\r\\n SERVANT. There comes with them a forerunner, my lord, which bears\\r\\n that office to signify their pleasures.\\r\\n TIMON. I pray let them be admitted.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CUPID\\r\\n CUPID. Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all\\r\\n That of his bounties taste! The five best Senses\\r\\n Acknowledge thee their patron, and come freely\\r\\n To gratulate thy plenteous bosom. Th\\' Ear,\\r\\n Taste, Touch, Smell, pleas\\'d from thy table rise;\\r\\n They only now come but to feast thine eyes.\\r\\n TIMON. They\\'re welcome all; let \\'em have kind admittance.\\r\\n Music, make their welcome. Exit CUPID\\r\\n FIRST LORD. You see, my lord, how ample y\\'are belov\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Music. Re-enter CUPID, witb a Masque of LADIES as Amazons,\\r\\n with lutes in their hands, dancing and playing\\r\\n\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Hoy-day, what a sweep of vanity comes this way!\\r\\n They dance? They are mad women.\\r\\n Like madness is the glory of this life,\\r\\n As this pomp shows to a little oil and root.\\r\\n We make ourselves fools to disport ourselves,\\r\\n And spend our flatteries to drink those men\\r\\n Upon whose age we void it up again\\r\\n With poisonous spite and envy.\\r\\n Who lives that\\'s not depraved or depraves?\\r\\n Who dies that bears not one spurn to their graves\\r\\n Of their friends\\' gift?\\r\\n I should fear those that dance before me now\\r\\n Would one day stamp upon me. \\'T has been done:\\r\\n Men shut their doors against a setting sun.\\r\\n\\r\\n The LORDS rise from table, with much adoring of\\r\\n TIMON; and to show their loves, each single out an\\r\\n Amazon, and all dance, men witb women, a lofty\\r\\n strain or two to the hautboys, and cease\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. You have done our pleasures much grace, fair ladies,\\r\\n Set a fair fashion on our entertainment,\\r\\n Which was not half so beautiful and kind;\\r\\n You have added worth unto\\'t and lustre,\\r\\n And entertain\\'d me with mine own device;\\r\\n I am to thank you for\\'t.\\r\\n FIRST LADY. My lord, you take us even at the best.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Faith, for the worst is filthy, and would not hold\\r\\n taking, I doubt me.\\r\\n TIMON. Ladies, there is an idle banquet attends you;\\r\\n Please you to dispose yourselves.\\r\\n ALL LADIES. Most thankfully, my lord.\\r\\n Exeunt CUPID and LADIES\\r\\n TIMON. Flavius!\\r\\n FLAVIUS. My lord?\\r\\n TIMON. The little casket bring me hither.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Yes, my lord. [Aside] More jewels yet!\\r\\n There is no crossing him in\\'s humour,\\r\\n Else I should tell him- well i\\' faith, I should-\\r\\n When all\\'s spent, he\\'d be cross\\'d then, an he could.\\r\\n \\'Tis pity bounty had not eyes behind,\\r\\n That man might ne\\'er be wretched for his mind. Exit\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Where be our men?\\r\\n SERVANT. Here, my lord, in readiness.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Our horses!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter FLAVIUS, with the casket\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. O my friends,\\r\\n I have one word to say to you. Look you, my good lord,\\r\\n I must entreat you honour me so much\\r\\n As to advance this jewel; accept it and wear it,\\r\\n Kind my lord.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. I am so far already in your gifts-\\r\\n ALL. So are we all.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. My lord, there are certain nobles of the Senate newly\\r\\n alighted and come to visit you.\\r\\n TIMON. They are fairly welcome. Exit SERVANT\\r\\n FLAVIUS. I beseech your honour, vouchsafe me a word; it does\\r\\n concern you near.\\r\\n TIMON. Near! Why then, another time I\\'ll hear thee. I prithee let\\'s\\r\\n be provided to show them entertainment.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. [Aside] I scarce know how.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. May it please vour honour, Lord Lucius, out of his\\r\\n free love, hath presented to you four milk-white horses, trapp\\'d\\r\\n in silver.\\r\\n TIMON. I shall accept them fairly. Let the presents\\r\\n Be worthily entertain\\'d. Exit SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a third SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n How now! What news?\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. Please you, my lord, that honourable gentleman, Lord\\r\\n Lucullus, entreats your company to-morrow to hunt with him and\\r\\n has sent your honour two brace of greyhounds.\\r\\n TIMON. I\\'ll hunt with him; and let them be receiv\\'d,\\r\\n Not without fair reward. Exit SERVANT\\r\\n FLAVIUS. [Aside] What will this come to?\\r\\n He commands us to provide and give great gifts,\\r\\n And all out of an empty coffer;\\r\\n Nor will he know his purse, or yield me this,\\r\\n To show him what a beggar his heart is,\\r\\n Being of no power to make his wishes good.\\r\\n His promises fly so beyond his state\\r\\n That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes\\r\\n For ev\\'ry word. He is so kind that he now\\r\\n Pays interest for\\'t; his land\\'s put to their books.\\r\\n Well, would I were gently put out of office\\r\\n Before I were forc\\'d out!\\r\\n Happier is he that has no friend to feed\\r\\n Than such that do e\\'en enemies exceed.\\r\\n I bleed inwardly for my lord. Exit\\r\\n TIMON. You do yourselves much wrong;\\r\\n You bate too much of your own merits.\\r\\n Here, my lord, a trifle of our love.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. With more than common thanks I will receive it.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. O, he\\'s the very soul of bounty!\\r\\n TIMON. And now I remember, my lord, you gave good words the other\\r\\n day of a bay courser I rode on. \\'Tis yours because you lik\\'d it.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. O, I beseech you pardon me, my lord, in that.\\r\\n TIMON. You may take my word, my lord: I know no man\\r\\n Can justly praise but what he does affect.\\r\\n I weigh my friend\\'s affection with mine own.\\r\\n I\\'ll tell you true; I\\'ll call to you.\\r\\n ALL LORDS. O, none so welcome!\\r\\n TIMON. I take all and your several visitations\\r\\n So kind to heart \\'tis not enough to give;\\r\\n Methinks I could deal kingdoms to my friends\\r\\n And ne\\'er be weary. Alcibiades,\\r\\n Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich.\\r\\n It comes in charity to thee; for all thy living\\r\\n Is \\'mongst the dead, and all the lands thou hast\\r\\n Lie in a pitch\\'d field.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Ay, defil\\'d land, my lord.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. We are so virtuously bound-\\r\\n TIMON. And so am I to you.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. So infinitely endear\\'d-\\r\\n TIMON. All to you. Lights, more lights!\\r\\n FIRST LORD. The best of happiness, honour, and fortunes, keep with\\r\\n you, Lord Timon!\\r\\n TIMON. Ready for his friends.\\r\\n Exeunt all but APEMANTUS and TIMON\\r\\n APEMANTUS. What a coil\\'s here!\\r\\n Serving of becks and jutting-out of bums!\\r\\n I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums\\r\\n That are given for \\'em. Friendship\\'s full of dregs:\\r\\n Methinks false hearts should never have sound legs.\\r\\n Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on curtsies.\\r\\n TIMON. Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen\\r\\n I would be good to thee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No, I\\'ll nothing; for if I should be brib\\'d too, there\\r\\n would be none left to rail upon thee, and then thou wouldst sin\\r\\n the faster. Thou giv\\'st so long, Timon, I fear me thou wilt give\\r\\n away thyself in paper shortly. What needs these feasts, pomps,\\r\\n and vain-glories?\\r\\n TIMON. Nay, an you begin to rail on society once, I am sworn not to\\r\\n give regard to you. Farewell; and come with better music.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n APEMANTUS. So. Thou wilt not hear me now: thou shalt not then. I\\'ll\\r\\n lock thy heaven from thee.\\r\\n O that men\\'s ears should be\\r\\n To counsel deaf, but not to flattery! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. A SENATOR\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter A SENATOR, with papers in his hand\\r\\n\\r\\n SENATOR. And late, five thousand. To Varro and to Isidore\\r\\n He owes nine thousand; besides my former sum,\\r\\n Which makes it five and twenty. Still in motion\\r\\n Of raging waste? It cannot hold; it will not.\\r\\n If I want gold, steal but a beggar\\'s dog\\r\\n And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold.\\r\\n If I would sell my horse and buy twenty moe\\r\\n Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon,\\r\\n Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me straight,\\r\\n And able horses. No porter at his gate,\\r\\n But rather one that smiles and still invites\\r\\n All that pass by. It cannot hold; no reason\\r\\n Can sound his state in safety. Caphis, ho!\\r\\n Caphis, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CAPHIS\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPHIS. Here, sir; what is your pleasure?\\r\\n SENATOR. Get on your cloak and haste you to Lord Timon;\\r\\n Importune him for my moneys; be not ceas\\'d\\r\\n With slight denial, nor then silenc\\'d when\\r\\n \\'Commend me to your master\\' and the cap\\r\\n Plays in the right hand, thus; but tell him\\r\\n My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn\\r\\n Out of mine own; his days and times are past,\\r\\n And my reliances on his fracted dates\\r\\n Have smit my credit. I love and honour him,\\r\\n But must not break my back to heal his finger.\\r\\n Immediate are my needs, and my relief\\r\\n Must not be toss\\'d and turn\\'d to me in words,\\r\\n But find supply immediate. Get you gone;\\r\\n Put on a most importunate aspect,\\r\\n A visage of demand; for I do fear,\\r\\n When every feather sticks in his own wing,\\r\\n Lord Timon will be left a naked gull,\\r\\n Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone.\\r\\n CAPHIS. I go, sir.\\r\\n SENATOR. Take the bonds along with you,\\r\\n And have the dates in compt.\\r\\n CAPHIS. I will, sir.\\r\\n SENATOR. Go. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Before TIMON\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FLAVIUS, TIMON\\'S Steward, with many bills in his hand\\r\\n\\r\\n FLAVIUS. No care, no stop! So senseless of expense\\r\\n That he will neither know how to maintain it\\r\\n Nor cease his flow of riot; takes no account\\r\\n How things go from him, nor resumes no care\\r\\n Of what is to continue. Never mind\\r\\n Was to be so unwise to be so kind.\\r\\n What shall be done? He will not hear till feel.\\r\\n I must be round with him. Now he comes from hunting.\\r\\n Fie, fie, fie, fie!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CAPHIS, and the SERVANTS Of ISIDORE and VARRO\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPHIS. Good even, Varro. What, you come for money?\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. Is\\'t not your business too?\\r\\n CAPHIS. It is. And yours too, Isidore?\\r\\n ISIDORE\\'S SERVANT. It is so.\\r\\n CAPHIS. Would we were all discharg\\'d!\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. I fear it.\\r\\n CAPHIS. Here comes the lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TIMON and his train, with ALCIBIADES\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. So soon as dinner\\'s done we\\'ll forth again,\\r\\n My Alcibiades.- With me? What is your will?\\r\\n CAPHIS. My lord, here is a note of certain dues.\\r\\n TIMON. Dues! Whence are you?\\r\\n CAPHIS. Of Athens here, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. Go to my steward.\\r\\n CAPHIS. Please it your lordship, he hath put me off\\r\\n To the succession of new days this month.\\r\\n My master is awak\\'d by great occasion\\r\\n To call upon his own, and humbly prays you\\r\\n That with your other noble parts you\\'ll suit\\r\\n In giving him his right.\\r\\n TIMON. Mine honest friend,\\r\\n I prithee but repair to me next morning.\\r\\n CAPHIS. Nay, good my lord-\\r\\n TIMON. Contain thyself, good friend.\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. One Varro\\'s servant, my good lord-\\r\\n ISIDORE\\'S SERVANT. From Isidore: he humbly prays your speedy\\r\\n payment-\\r\\n CAPHIS. If you did know, my lord, my master\\'s wants-\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. \\'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six weeks and\\r\\n past.\\r\\n ISIDORE\\'S SERVANT. Your steward puts me off, my lord; and\\r\\n I am sent expressly to your lordship.\\r\\n TIMON. Give me breath.\\r\\n I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on;\\r\\n I\\'ll wait upon you instantly.\\r\\n Exeunt ALCIBIADES and LORDS\\r\\n [To FLAVIUS] Come hither. Pray you,\\r\\n How goes the world that I am thus encount\\'red\\r\\n With clamorous demands of date-broke bonds\\r\\n And the detention of long-since-due debts,\\r\\n Against my honour?\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Please you, gentlemen,\\r\\n The time is unagreeable to this business.\\r\\n Your importunacy cease till after dinner,\\r\\n That I may make his lordship understand\\r\\n Wherefore you are not paid.\\r\\n TIMON. Do so, my friends.\\r\\n See them well entertain\\'d. Exit\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Pray draw near. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter APEMANTUS and FOOL\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPHIS. Stay, stay, here comes the fool with Apemantus.\\r\\n Let\\'s ha\\' some sport with \\'em.\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. Hang him, he\\'ll abuse us!\\r\\n ISIDORE\\'S SERVANT. A plague upon him, dog!\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. How dost, fool?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Dost dialogue with thy shadow?\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. I speak not to thee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No, \\'tis to thyself. [To the FOOL] Come away.\\r\\n ISIDORE\\'S SERVANT. [To VARRO\\'S SERVANT] There\\'s the fool hangs on\\r\\n your back already.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No, thou stand\\'st single; th\\'art not on him yet.\\r\\n CAPHIS. Where\\'s the fool now?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. He last ask\\'d the question. Poor rogues and usurers\\'\\r\\n men! Bawds between gold and want!\\r\\n ALL SERVANTS. What are we, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Asses.\\r\\n ALL SERVANTS. Why?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. That you ask me what you are, and do not know\\r\\n yourselves. Speak to \\'em, fool.\\r\\n FOOL. How do you, gentlemen?\\r\\n ALL SERVANTS. Gramercies, good fool. How does your mistress?\\r\\n FOOL. She\\'s e\\'en setting on water to scald such chickens as you\\r\\n are. Would we could see you at Corinth!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Good! gramercy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n FOOL. Look you, here comes my mistress\\' page.\\r\\n PAGE. [To the FOOL] Why, how now, Captain? What do you in this wise\\r\\n company? How dost thou, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I might answer thee\\r\\n profitably!\\r\\n PAGE. Prithee, Apemantus, read me the superscription of these\\r\\n letters; I know not which is which.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Canst not read?\\r\\n PAGE. No.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. There will little learning die, then, that day thou art\\r\\n hang\\'d. This is to Lord Timon; this to Alcibiades. Go; thou wast\\r\\n born a bastard, and thou\\'t die a bawd.\\r\\n PAGE. Thou wast whelp\\'d a dog, and thou shalt famish dog\\'s death.\\r\\n Answer not: I am gone. Exit PAGE\\r\\n APEMANTUS. E\\'en so thou outrun\\'st grace.\\r\\n Fool, I will go with you to Lord Timon\\'s.\\r\\n FOOL. Will you leave me there?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. If Timon stay at home. You three serve three usurers?\\r\\n ALL SERVANTS. Ay; would they serv\\'d us!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. So would I- as good a trick as ever hangman serv\\'d\\r\\n thief.\\r\\n FOOL. Are you three usurers\\' men?\\r\\n ALL SERVANTS. Ay, fool.\\r\\n FOOL. I think no usurer but has a fool to his servant. My mistress\\r\\n is one, and I am her fool. When men come to borrow of your\\r\\n masters, they approach sadly and go away merry; but they enter my\\r\\n mistress\\' house merrily and go away sadly. The reason of this?\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. I could render one.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Do it then, that we may account thee a whoremaster and a\\r\\n knave; which notwithstanding, thou shalt be no less esteemed.\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. What is a whoremaster, fool?\\r\\n FOOL. A fool in good clothes, and something like thee. \\'Tis a\\r\\n spirit. Sometime \\'t appears like a lord; sometime like a lawyer;\\r\\n sometime like a philosopher, with two stones moe than\\'s\\r\\n artificial one. He is very often like a knight; and, generally,\\r\\n in all shapes that man goes up and down in from fourscore to\\r\\n thirteen, this spirit walks in.\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. Thou art not altogether a fool.\\r\\n FOOL. Nor thou altogether a wise man.\\r\\n As much foolery as I have, so much wit thou lack\\'st.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. That answer might have become Apemantus.\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. Aside, aside; here comes Lord Timon.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Come with me, fool, come.\\r\\n FOOL. I do not always follow lover, elder brother, and woman;\\r\\n sometime the philosopher.\\r\\n Exeunt APEMANTUS and FOOL\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Pray you walk near; I\\'ll speak with you anon.\\r\\n Exeunt SERVANTS\\r\\n TIMON. You make me marvel wherefore ere this time\\r\\n Had you not fully laid my state before me,\\r\\n That I might so have rated my expense\\r\\n As I had leave of means.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. You would not hear me\\r\\n At many leisures I propos\\'d.\\r\\n TIMON. Go to;\\r\\n Perchance some single vantages you took\\r\\n When my indisposition put you back,\\r\\n And that unaptness made your minister\\r\\n Thus to excuse yourself.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. O my good lord,\\r\\n At many times I brought in my accounts,\\r\\n Laid them before you; you would throw them off\\r\\n And say you found them in mine honesty.\\r\\n When, for some trifling present, you have bid me\\r\\n Return so much, I have shook my head and wept;\\r\\n Yea, \\'gainst th\\' authority of manners, pray\\'d you\\r\\n To hold your hand more close. I did endure\\r\\n Not seldom, nor no slight checks, when I have\\r\\n Prompted you in the ebb of your estate\\r\\n And your great flow of debts. My lov\\'d lord,\\r\\n Though you hear now- too late!- yet now\\'s a time:\\r\\n The greatest of your having lacks a half\\r\\n To pay your present debts.\\r\\n TIMON. Let all my land be sold.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. \\'Tis all engag\\'d, some forfeited and gone;\\r\\n And what remains will hardly stop the mouth\\r\\n Of present dues. The future comes apace;\\r\\n What shall defend the interim? And at length\\r\\n How goes our reck\\'ning?\\r\\n TIMON. To Lacedaemon did my land extend.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. O my good lord, the world is but a word;\\r\\n Were it all yours to give it in a breath,\\r\\n How quickly were it gone!\\r\\n TIMON. You tell me true.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. If you suspect my husbandry or falsehood,\\r\\n Call me before th\\' exactest auditors\\r\\n And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me,\\r\\n When all our offices have been oppress\\'d\\r\\n With riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept\\r\\n With drunken spilth of wine, when every room\\r\\n Hath blaz\\'d with lights and bray\\'d with minstrelsy,\\r\\n I have retir\\'d me to a wasteful cock\\r\\n And set mine eyes at flow.\\r\\n TIMON. Prithee no more.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. \\'Heavens,\\' have I said \\'the bounty of this lord!\\r\\n How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants\\r\\n This night englutted! Who is not Lord Timon\\'s?\\r\\n What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is Lord Timon\\'s?\\r\\n Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon!\\'\\r\\n Ah! when the means are gone that buy this praise,\\r\\n The breath is gone whereof this praise is made.\\r\\n Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter show\\'rs,\\r\\n These flies are couch\\'d.\\r\\n TIMON. Come, sermon me no further.\\r\\n No villainous bounty yet hath pass\\'d my heart;\\r\\n Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given.\\r\\n Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack\\r\\n To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart:\\r\\n If I would broach the vessels of my love,\\r\\n And try the argument of hearts by borrowing,\\r\\n Men and men\\'s fortunes could I frankly use\\r\\n As I can bid thee speak.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Assurance bless your thoughts!\\r\\n TIMON. And, in some sort, these wants of mine are crown\\'d\\r\\n That I account them blessings; for by these\\r\\n Shall I try friends. You shall perceive how you\\r\\n Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my friends.\\r\\n Within there! Flaminius! Servilius!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FLAMINIUS, SERVILIUS, and another SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANTS. My lord! my lord!\\r\\n TIMON. I will dispatch you severally- you to Lord Lucius; to Lord\\r\\n Lucullus you; I hunted with his honour to-day. You to Sempronius.\\r\\n Commend me to their loves; and I am proud, say, that my occasions\\r\\n have found time to use \\'em toward a supply of money. Let the\\r\\n request be fifty talents.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. As you have said, my lord. Exeunt SERVANTS\\r\\n FLAVIUS. [Aside] Lord Lucius and Lucullus? Humh!\\r\\n TIMON. Go you, sir, to the senators,\\r\\n Of whom, even to the state\\'s best health, I have\\r\\n Deserv\\'d this hearing. Bid \\'em send o\\' th\\' instant\\r\\n A thousand talents to me.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. I have been bold,\\r\\n For that I knew it the most general way,\\r\\n To them to use your signet and your name;\\r\\n But they do shake their heads, and I am here\\r\\n No richer in return.\\r\\n TIMON. Is\\'t true? Can\\'t be?\\r\\n FLAVIUS. They answer, in a joint and corporate voice,\\r\\n That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot\\r\\n Do what they would, are sorry- you are honourable-\\r\\n But yet they could have wish\\'d- they know not-\\r\\n Something hath been amiss- a noble nature\\r\\n May catch a wrench- would all were well!- \\'tis pity-\\r\\n And so, intending other serious matters,\\r\\n After distasteful looks, and these hard fractions,\\r\\n With certain half-caps and cold-moving nods,\\r\\n They froze me into silence.\\r\\n TIMON. You gods, reward them!\\r\\n Prithee, man, look cheerly. These old fellows\\r\\n Have their ingratitude in them hereditary.\\r\\n Their blood is cak\\'d, \\'tis cold, it seldom flows;\\r\\n \\'Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind;\\r\\n And nature, as it grows again toward earth,\\r\\n Is fashion\\'d for the journey dull and heavy.\\r\\n Go to Ventidius. Prithee be not sad,\\r\\n Thou art true and honest; ingeniously I speak,\\r\\n No blame belongs to thee. Ventidius lately\\r\\n Buried his father, by whose death he\\'s stepp\\'d\\r\\n Into a great estate. When he was poor,\\r\\n Imprison\\'d, and in scarcity of friends,\\r\\n I clear\\'d him with five talents. Greet him from me,\\r\\n Bid him suppose some good necessity\\r\\n Touches his friend, which craves to be rememb\\'red\\r\\n With those five talents. That had, give\\'t these fellows\\r\\n To whom \\'tis instant due. Nev\\'r speak or think\\r\\n That Timon\\'s fortunes \\'mong his friends can sink.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. I would I could not think it.\\r\\n That thought is bounty\\'s foe;\\r\\n Being free itself, it thinks all others so. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. LUCULLUS\\' house\\r\\n\\r\\nFLAMINIUS waiting to speak with LUCULLUS. Enter SERVANT to him\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. I have told my lord of you; he is coming down to you.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. I thank you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LUCULLUS\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. Here\\'s my lord.\\r\\n LUCULLUS. [Aside] One of Lord Timon\\'s men? A gift, I warrant. Why,\\r\\n this hits right; I dreamt of a silver basin and ewer to-night-\\r\\n Flaminius, honest Flaminius, you are very respectively welcome,\\r\\n sir. Fill me some wine. [Exit SERVANT] And how does that\\r\\n honourable, complete, freehearted gentleman of Athens, thy very\\r\\n bountiful good lord and master?\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. His health is well, sir.\\r\\n LUCULLUS. I am right glad that his health is well, sir. And what\\r\\n hast thou there under thy cloak, pretty Flaminius?\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir, which in my lord\\'s\\r\\n behalf I come to entreat your honour to supply; who, having\\r\\n great and instant occasion to use fifty talents, hath sent to\\r\\n your lordship to furnish him, nothing doubting your present\\r\\n assistance therein.\\r\\n LUCULLIUS. La, la, la, la! \\'Nothing doubting\\' says he? Alas, good\\r\\n lord! a noble gentleman \\'tis, if he would not keep so good a\\r\\n house. Many a time and often I ha\\' din\\'d with him and told him\\r\\n on\\'t; and come again to supper to him of purpose to have him\\r\\n spend less; and yet he would embrace no counsel, take no warning\\r\\n by my coming. Every man has his fault, and honesty is his. I ha\\'\\r\\n told him on\\'t, but I could ne\\'er get him from\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter SERVANT, with wine\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. Please your lordship, here is the wine.\\r\\n LUCULLUS. Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. Here\\'s to thee.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. Your lordship speaks your pleasure.\\r\\n LUCULLUS. I have observed thee always for a towardly prompt spirit,\\r\\n give thee thy due, and one that knows what belongs to reason, and\\r\\n canst use the time well, if the time use thee well. Good parts in\\r\\n thee. [To SERVANT] Get you gone, sirrah. [Exit SERVANT] Draw\\r\\n nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord\\'s a bountiful gentleman; but\\r\\n thou art wise, and thou know\\'st well enough, although thou com\\'st\\r\\n to me, that this is no time to lend money, especially upon bare\\r\\n friendship without security. Here\\'s three solidares for thee.\\r\\n Good boy, wink at me, and say thou saw\\'st me not. Fare thee well.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. Is\\'t possible the world should so much differ,\\r\\n And we alive that liv\\'d? Fly, damned baseness,\\r\\n To him that worships thee. [Throwing the money back]\\r\\n LUCULLUS. Ha! Now I see thou art a fool, and fit for thy master.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. May these add to the number that may scald thee!\\r\\n Let molten coin be thy damnation,\\r\\n Thou disease of a friend and not himself!\\r\\n Has friendship such a faint and milky heart\\r\\n It turns in less than two nights? O you gods,\\r\\n I feel my master\\'s passion! This slave\\r\\n Unto his honour has my lord\\'s meat in him;\\r\\n Why should it thrive and turn to nutriment\\r\\n When he is turn\\'d to poison?\\r\\n O, may diseases only work upon\\'t!\\r\\n And when he\\'s sick to death, let not that part of nature\\r\\n Which my lord paid for be of any power\\r\\n To expel sickness, but prolong his hour! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A public place\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Lucius, with three STRANGERS\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS. Who, the Lord Timon? He is my very good friend, and an\\r\\n honourable gentleman.\\r\\n FIRST STRANGER. We know him for no less, though we are but\\r\\n strangers to him. But I can tell you one thing, my lord, and\\r\\n which I hear from common rumours: now Lord Timon\\'s happy hours\\r\\n are done and past, and his estate shrinks from him.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Fie, no: do not believe it; he cannot want for money.\\r\\n SECOND STRANGER. But believe you this, my lord, that not long ago\\r\\n one of his men was with the Lord Lucullus to borrow so many\\r\\n talents; nay, urg\\'d extremely for\\'t, and showed what necessity\\r\\n belong\\'d to\\'t, and yet was denied.\\r\\n LUCIUS. How?\\r\\n SECOND STRANGER. I tell you, denied, my lord.\\r\\n LUCIUS. What a strange case was that! Now, before the gods, I am\\r\\n asham\\'d on\\'t. Denied that honourable man! There was very little\\r\\n honour show\\'d in\\'t. For my own part, I must needs confess I have\\r\\n received some small kindnesses from him, as money, plate, jewels,\\r\\n and such-like trifles, nothing comparing to his; yet, had he\\r\\n mistook him and sent to me, I should ne\\'er have denied his\\r\\n occasion so many talents.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SERVILIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVILIUS. See, by good hap, yonder\\'s my lord; I have sweat to see\\r\\n his honour.- My honour\\'d lord!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Servilius? You are kindly met, sir. Fare thee well; commend\\r\\n me to thy honourable virtuous lord, my very exquisite friend.\\r\\n SERVILIUS. May it please your honour, my lord hath sent-\\r\\n LUCIUS. Ha! What has he sent? I am so much endeared to that lord:\\r\\n he\\'s ever sending. How shall I thank him, think\\'st thou? And what\\r\\n has he sent now?\\r\\n SERVILIUS. Has only sent his present occasion now, my lord,\\r\\n requesting your lordship to supply his instant use with so many\\r\\n talents.\\r\\n LUCIUS. I know his lordship is but merry with me;\\r\\n He cannot want fifty-five hundred talents.\\r\\n SERVILIUS. But in the mean time he wants less, my lord.\\r\\n If his occasion were not virtuous\\r\\n I should not urge it half so faithfully.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius?\\r\\n SERVILIUS. Upon my soul, \\'tis true, sir.\\r\\n LUCIUS. What a wicked beast was I to disfurnish myself against such\\r\\n a good time, when I might ha\\' shown myself honourable! How\\r\\n unluckily it happ\\'ned that I should purchase the day before for a\\r\\n little part and undo a great deal of honour! Servilius, now\\r\\n before the gods, I am not able to do- the more beast, I say! I\\r\\n was sending to use Lord Timon myself, these gentlemen can\\r\\n witness; but I would not for the wealth of Athens I had done\\'t\\r\\n now. Commend me bountifully to his good lordship, and I hope his\\r\\n honour will conceive the fairest of me, because I have no power\\r\\n to be kind. And tell him this from me: I count it one of my\\r\\n greatest afflictions, say, that I cannot pleasure such an\\r\\n honourable gentleman. Good Servilius, will you befriend me so far\\r\\n as to use mine own words to him?\\r\\n SERVILIUS. Yes, sir, I shall.\\r\\n LUCIUS. I\\'ll look you out a good turn, Servilius.\\r\\n Exit SERVILIUS\\r\\n True, as you said, Timon is shrunk indeed;\\r\\n And he that\\'s once denied will hardly speed. Exit\\r\\n FIRST STRANGER. Do you observe this, Hostilius?\\r\\n SECOND STRANGER. Ay, too well.\\r\\n FIRST STRANGER. Why, this is the world\\'s soul; and just of the same\\r\\n piece\\r\\n Is every flatterer\\'s spirit. Who can call him his friend\\r\\n That dips in the same dish? For, in my knowing,\\r\\n Timon has been this lord\\'s father,\\r\\n And kept his credit with his purse;\\r\\n Supported his estate; nay, Timon\\'s money\\r\\n Has paid his men their wages. He ne\\'er drinks\\r\\n But Timon\\'s silver treads upon his lip;\\r\\n And yet- O, see the monstrousness of man\\r\\n When he looks out in an ungrateful shape!-\\r\\n He does deny him, in respect of his,\\r\\n What charitable men afford to beggars.\\r\\n THIRD STRANGER. Religion groans at it.\\r\\n FIRST STRANGER. For mine own part,\\r\\n I never tasted Timon in my life,\\r\\n Nor came any of his bounties over me\\r\\n To mark me for his friend; yet I protest,\\r\\n For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue,\\r\\n And honourable carriage,\\r\\n Had his necessity made use of me,\\r\\n I would have put my wealth into donation,\\r\\n And the best half should have return\\'d to him,\\r\\n So much I love his heart. But I perceive\\r\\n Men must learn now with pity to dispense;\\r\\n For policy sits above conscience. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. SEMPRONIUS\\' house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SEMPRONIUS and a SERVANT of TIMON\\'S\\r\\n\\r\\n SEMPRONIUS. Must he needs trouble me in\\'t? Hum! \\'Bove all others?\\r\\n He might have tried Lord Lucius or Lucullus;\\r\\n And now Ventidius is wealthy too,\\r\\n Whom he redeem\\'d from prison. All these\\r\\n Owe their estates unto him.\\r\\n SERVANT. My lord,\\r\\n They have all been touch\\'d and found base metal, for\\r\\n They have all denied him.\\r\\n SEMPRONIUS. How! Have they denied him?\\r\\n Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him?\\r\\n And does he send to me? Three? Humh!\\r\\n It shows but little love or judgment in him.\\r\\n Must I be his last refuge? His friends, like physicians,\\r\\n Thrice give him over. Must I take th\\' cure upon me?\\r\\n Has much disgrac\\'d me in\\'t; I\\'m angry at him,\\r\\n That might have known my place. I see no sense for\\'t,\\r\\n But his occasions might have woo\\'d me first;\\r\\n For, in my conscience, I was the first man\\r\\n That e\\'er received gift from him.\\r\\n And does he think so backwardly of me now\\r\\n That I\\'ll requite it last? No;\\r\\n So it may prove an argument of laughter\\r\\n To th\\' rest, and I \\'mongst lords be thought a fool.\\r\\n I\\'d rather than the worth of thrice the sum\\r\\n Had sent to me first, but for my mind\\'s sake;\\r\\n I\\'d such a courage to do him good. But now return,\\r\\n And with their faint reply this answer join:\\r\\n Who bates mine honour shall not know my coin. Exit\\r\\n SERVANT. Excellent! Your lordship\\'s a goodly villain. The devil\\r\\n knew not what he did when he made man politic- he cross\\'d himself\\r\\n by\\'t; and I cannot think but, in the end, the villainies of man\\r\\n will set him clear. How fairly this lord strives to appear foul!\\r\\n Takes virtuous copies to be wicked, like those that under hot\\r\\n ardent zeal would set whole realms on fire.\\r\\n Of such a nature is his politic love.\\r\\n This was my lord\\'s best hope; now all are fled,\\r\\n Save only the gods. Now his friends are dead,\\r\\n Doors that were ne\\'er acquainted with their wards\\r\\n Many a bounteous year must be employ\\'d\\r\\n Now to guard sure their master.\\r\\n And this is all a liberal course allows:\\r\\n Who cannot keep his wealth must keep his house. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A hall in TIMON\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter two Of VARRO\\'S MEN, meeting LUCIUS\\' SERVANT, and others, all\\r\\nbeing servants of TIMON\\'s creditors, to wait for his coming out. Then\\r\\nenter TITUS and HORTENSIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST VARRO\\'S SERVANT. Well met; good morrow, Titus and Hortensius.\\r\\n TITUS. The like to you, kind Varro.\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. Lucius! What, do we meet together?\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Ay, and I think one business does command us all;\\r\\n for mine is money.\\r\\n TITUS. So is theirs and ours.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PHILOTUS\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. And Sir Philotus too!\\r\\n PHILOTUS. Good day at once.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. welcome, good brother, what do you think the hour?\\r\\n PHILOTUS. Labouring for nine.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. So much?\\r\\n PHILOTUS. Is not my lord seen yet?\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Not yet.\\r\\n PHILOTUS. I wonder on\\'t; he was wont to shine at seven.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Ay, but the days are wax\\'d shorter with him;\\r\\n You must consider that a prodigal course\\r\\n Is like the sun\\'s, but not like his recoverable.\\r\\n I fear\\r\\n \\'Tis deepest winter in Lord Timon\\'s purse;\\r\\n That is, one may reach deep enough and yet\\r\\n Find little.\\r\\n PHILOTUS. I am of your fear for that.\\r\\n TITUS. I\\'ll show you how t\\' observe a strange event.\\r\\n Your lord sends now for money.\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. Most true, he does.\\r\\n TITUS. And he wears jewels now of Timon\\'s gift,\\r\\n For which I wait for money.\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. It is against my heart.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Mark how strange it shows\\r\\n Timon in this should pay more than he owes;\\r\\n And e\\'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels\\r\\n And send for money for \\'em.\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. I\\'m weary of this charge, the gods can witness;\\r\\n I know my lord hath spent of Timon\\'s wealth,\\r\\n And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth.\\r\\n FIRST VARRO\\'S SERVANT. Yes, mine\\'s three thousand crowns; what\\'s\\r\\n yours?\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Five thousand mine.\\r\\n FIRST VARRO\\'S SERVANT. \\'Tis much deep; and it should seem by th\\'\\r\\n sum\\r\\n Your master\\'s confidence was above mine,\\r\\n Else surely his had equall\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FLAMINIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. One of Lord Timon\\'s men.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Flaminius! Sir, a word. Pray, is my lord ready to\\r\\n come forth?\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. No, indeed, he is not.\\r\\n TITUS. We attend his lordship; pray signify so much.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. I need not tell him that; he knows you are to diligent.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FLAVIUS, in a cloak, muffled\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Ha! Is not that his steward muffled so?\\r\\n He goes away in a cloud. Call him, call him.\\r\\n TITUS. Do you hear, sir?\\r\\n SECOND VARRO\\'S SERVANT. By your leave, sir.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. What do ye ask of me, my friend?\\r\\n TITUS. We wait for certain money here, sir.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Ay,\\r\\n If money were as certain as your waiting,\\r\\n \\'Twere sure enough.\\r\\n Why then preferr\\'d you not your sums and bills\\r\\n When your false masters eat of my lord\\'s meat?\\r\\n Then they could smile, and fawn upon his debts,\\r\\n And take down th\\' int\\'rest into their glutt\\'nous maws.\\r\\n You do yourselves but wrong to stir me up;\\r\\n Let me pass quietly.\\r\\n Believe\\'t, my lord and I have made an end:\\r\\n I have no more to reckon, he to spend.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Ay, but this answer will not serve.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. If \\'twill not serve, \\'tis not so base as you,\\r\\n For you serve knaves. Exit\\r\\n FIRST VARRO\\'S SERVANT. How! What does his cashier\\'d worship mutter?\\r\\n SECOND VARRO\\'S SERVANT. No matter what; he\\'s poor, and that\\'s\\r\\n revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he that has no house\\r\\n to put his head in? Such may rail against great buildings.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SERVILIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. O, here\\'s Servilius; now we shall know some answer.\\r\\n SERVILIUS. If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to repair some other\\r\\n hour, I should derive much from\\'t; for take\\'t of my soul, my lord\\r\\n leans wondrously to discontent. His comfortable temper has\\r\\n forsook him; he\\'s much out of health and keeps his chamber.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Many do keep their chambers are not sick;\\r\\n And if it be so far beyond his health,\\r\\n Methinks he should the sooner pay his debts,\\r\\n And make a clear way to the gods.\\r\\n SERVILIUS. Good gods!\\r\\n TITUS. We cannot take this for answer, sir.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. [Within] Servilius, help! My lord! my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TIMON, in a rage, FLAMINIUS following\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. What, are my doors oppos\\'d against my passage?\\r\\n Have I been ever free, and must my house\\r\\n Be my retentive enemy, my gaol?\\r\\n The place which I have feasted, does it now,\\r\\n Like all mankind, show me an iron heart?\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Put in now, Titus.\\r\\n TITUS. My lord, here is my bill.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Here\\'s mine.\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. And mine, my lord.\\r\\n BOTH VARRO\\'S SERVANTS. And ours, my lord.\\r\\n PHILOTUS. All our bills.\\r\\n TIMON. Knock me down with \\'em; cleave me to the girdle.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Alas, my lord-\\r\\n TIMON. Cut my heart in sums.\\r\\n TITUS. Mine, fifty talents.\\r\\n TIMON. Tell out my blood.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Five thousand crowns, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. Five thousand drops pays that. What yours? and yours?\\r\\n FIRST VARRO\\'S SERVANT. My lord-\\r\\n SECOND VARRO\\'S SERVANT. My lord-\\r\\n TIMON. Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon you! Exit\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their caps at\\r\\n their money. These debts may well be call\\'d desperate ones, for a\\r\\n madman owes \\'em. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. They have e\\'en put my breath from me, the slaves.\\r\\n Creditors? Devils!\\r\\n FLAVIUS. My dear lord-\\r\\n TIMON. What if it should be so?\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. My lord-\\r\\n TIMON. I\\'ll have it so. My steward!\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Here, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. So fitly? Go, bid all my friends again:\\r\\n Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius- all.\\r\\n I\\'ll once more feast the rascals.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. O my lord,\\r\\n You only speak from your distracted soul;\\r\\n There is not so much left to furnish out\\r\\n A moderate table.\\r\\n TIMON. Be it not in thy care.\\r\\n Go, I charge thee, invite them all; let in the tide\\r\\n Of knaves once more; my cook and I\\'ll provide. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. The Senate House\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter three SENATORS at one door, ALCIBIADES meeting them, with\\r\\nattendants\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. My lord, you have my voice to\\'t: the fault\\'s bloody.\\r\\n \\'Tis necessary he should die:\\r\\n Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. Most true; the law shall bruise him.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Honour, health, and compassion, to the Senate!\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Now, Captain?\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I am an humble suitor to your virtues;\\r\\n For pity is the virtue of the law,\\r\\n And none but tyrants use it cruelly.\\r\\n It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy\\r\\n Upon a friend of mine, who in hot blood\\r\\n Hath stepp\\'d into the law, which is past depth\\r\\n To those that without heed do plunge into\\'t.\\r\\n He is a man, setting his fate aside,\\r\\n Of comely virtues;\\r\\n Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice-\\r\\n An honour in him which buys out his fault-\\r\\n But with a noble fury and fair spirit,\\r\\n Seeing his reputation touch\\'d to death,\\r\\n He did oppose his foe;\\r\\n And with such sober and unnoted passion\\r\\n He did behove his anger ere \\'twas spent,\\r\\n As if he had but prov\\'d an argument.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. You undergo too strict a paradox,\\r\\n Striving to make an ugly deed look fair;\\r\\n Your words have took such pains as if they labour\\'d\\r\\n To bring manslaughter into form and set\\r\\n Quarrelling upon the head of valour; which, indeed,\\r\\n Is valour misbegot, and came into the world\\r\\n When sects and factions were newly born.\\r\\n He\\'s truly valiant that can wisely suffer\\r\\n The worst that man can breathe,\\r\\n And make his wrongs his outsides,\\r\\n To wear them like his raiment, carelessly,\\r\\n And ne\\'er prefer his injuries to his heart,\\r\\n To bring it into danger.\\r\\n If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill,\\r\\n What folly \\'tis to hazard life for ill!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. My lord-\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. You cannot make gross sins look clear:\\r\\n To revenge is no valour, but to bear.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. My lords, then, under favour, pardon me\\r\\n If I speak like a captain:\\r\\n Why do fond men expose themselves to battle,\\r\\n And not endure all threats? Sleep upon\\'t,\\r\\n And let the foes quietly cut their throats,\\r\\n Without repugnancy? If there be\\r\\n Such valour in the bearing, what make we\\r\\n Abroad? Why, then, women are more valiant,\\r\\n That stay at home, if bearing carry it;\\r\\n And the ass more captain than the lion; the fellow\\r\\n Loaden with irons wiser than the judge,\\r\\n If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords,\\r\\n As you are great, be pitifully good.\\r\\n Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood?\\r\\n To kill, I grant, is sin\\'s extremest gust;\\r\\n But, in defence, by mercy, \\'tis most just.\\r\\n To be in anger is impiety;\\r\\n But who is man that is not angry?\\r\\n Weigh but the crime with this.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. You breathe in vain.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. In vain! His service done\\r\\n At Lacedaemon and Byzantium\\r\\n Were a sufficient briber for his life.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. What\\'s that?\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Why, I say, my lords, has done fair service,\\r\\n And slain in fight many of your enemies;\\r\\n How full of valour did he bear himself\\r\\n In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds!\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. He has made too much plenty with \\'em.\\r\\n He\\'s a sworn rioter; he has a sin that often\\r\\n Drowns him and takes his valour prisoner.\\r\\n If there were no foes, that were enough\\r\\n To overcome him. In that beastly fury\\r\\n He has been known to commit outrages\\r\\n And cherish factions. \\'Tis inferr\\'d to us\\r\\n His days are foul and his drink dangerous.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. He dies.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Hard fate! He might have died in war.\\r\\n My lords, if not for any parts in him-\\r\\n Though his right arm might purchase his own time,\\r\\n And be in debt to none- yet, more to move you,\\r\\n Take my deserts to his, and join \\'em both;\\r\\n And, for I know your reverend ages love\\r\\n Security, I\\'ll pawn my victories, all\\r\\n My honours to you, upon his good returns.\\r\\n If by this crime he owes the law his life,\\r\\n Why, let the war receive\\'t in valiant gore;\\r\\n For law is strict, and war is nothing more.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. We are for law: he dies. Urge it no more\\r\\n On height of our displeasure. Friend or brother,\\r\\n He forfeits his own blood that spills another.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Must it be so? It must not be. My lords,\\r\\n I do beseech you, know me.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. How!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Call me to your remembrances.\\r\\n THIRD SENATOR. What!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I cannot think but your age has forgot me;\\r\\n It could not else be I should prove so base\\r\\n To sue, and be denied such common grace.\\r\\n My wounds ache at you.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Do you dare our anger?\\r\\n \\'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect:\\r\\n We banish thee for ever.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Banish me!\\r\\n Banish your dotage! Banish usury\\r\\n That makes the Senate ugly.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. If after two days\\' shine Athens contain thee,\\r\\n Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell our spirit,\\r\\n He shall be executed presently. Exeunt SENATORS\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Now the gods keep you old enough that you may live\\r\\n Only in bone, that none may look on you!\\r\\n I\\'m worse than mad; I have kept back their foes,\\r\\n While they have told their money and let out\\r\\n Their coin upon large interest, I myself\\r\\n Rich only in large hurts. All those for this?\\r\\n Is this the balsam that the usuring Senate\\r\\n Pours into captains\\' wounds? Banishment!\\r\\n It comes not ill; I hate not to be banish\\'d;\\r\\n It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury,\\r\\n That I may strike at Athens. I\\'ll cheer up\\r\\n My discontented troops, and lay for hearts.\\r\\n \\'Tis honour with most lands to be at odds;\\r\\n Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. A banqueting hall in TIMON\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nMusic. Tables set out; servants attending. Enter divers LORDS, friends\\r\\nof TIMON, at several doors\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST LORD. The good time of day to you, sir.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. I also wish it to you. I think this honourable lord\\r\\n did but try us this other day.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Upon that were my thoughts tiring when we encount\\'red.\\r\\n I hope it is not so low with him as he made it seem in the trial\\r\\n of his several friends.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. It should not be, by the persuasion of his new\\r\\n feasting.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. I should think so. He hath sent me an earnest inviting,\\r\\n which many my near occasions did urge me to put off; but he hath\\r\\n conjur\\'d me beyond them, and I must needs appear.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. In like manner was I in debt to my importunate\\r\\n business, but he would not hear my excuse. I am sorry, when he\\r\\n sent to borrow of me, that my provision was out.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. I am sick of that grief too, as I understand how all\\r\\n things go.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Every man here\\'s so. What would he have borrowed of\\r\\n you?\\r\\n FIRST LORD. A thousand pieces.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. A thousand pieces!\\r\\n FIRST LORD. What of you?\\r\\n SECOND LORD. He sent to me, sir- here he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TIMON and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. With all my heart, gentlemen both! And how fare you?\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Ever at the best, hearing well of your lordship.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. The swallow follows not summer more willing than we\\r\\n your lordship.\\r\\n TIMON. [Aside] Nor more willingly leaves winter; such summer-birds\\r\\n are men- Gentlemen, our dinner will not recompense this long\\r\\n stay; feast your ears with the music awhile, if they will fare so\\r\\n harshly o\\' th\\' trumpet\\'s sound; we shall to\\'t presently.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. I hope it remains not unkindly with your lordship that\\r\\n I return\\'d you an empty messenger.\\r\\n TIMON. O sir, let it not trouble you.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. My noble lord-\\r\\n TIMON. Ah, my good friend, what cheer?\\r\\n SECOND LORD. My most honourable lord, I am e\\'en sick of shame that,\\r\\n when your lordship this other day sent to me, I was so\\r\\n unfortunate a beggar.\\r\\n TIMON. Think not on\\'t, sir.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. If you had sent but two hours before-\\r\\n TIMON. Let it not cumber your better remembrance. [The banquet\\r\\n brought in] Come, bring in all together.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. All cover\\'d dishes!\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Royal cheer, I warrant you.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. Doubt not that, if money and the season can yield it.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. How do you? What\\'s the news?\\r\\n THIRD LORD. Alcibiades is banish\\'d. Hear you of it?\\r\\n FIRST AND SECOND LORDS. Alcibiades banish\\'d!\\r\\n THIRD LORD. \\'Tis so, be sure of it.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. How? how?\\r\\n SECOND LORD. I pray you, upon what?\\r\\n TIMON. My worthy friends, will you draw near?\\r\\n THIRD LORD. I\\'ll tell you more anon. Here\\'s a noble feast toward.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. This is the old man still.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. Will\\'t hold? Will\\'t hold?\\r\\n SECOND LORD. It does; but time will- and so-\\r\\n THIRD LORD. I do conceive.\\r\\n TIMON. Each man to his stool with that spur as he would to the lip\\r\\n of his mistress; your diet shall be in all places alike. Make not\\r\\n a city feast of it, to let the meat cool ere we can agree upon\\r\\n the first place. Sit, sit. The gods require our thanks:\\r\\n\\r\\n You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with thankfulness. For\\r\\n your own gifts make yourselves prais\\'d; but reserve still to give,\\r\\n lest your deities be despised. Lend to each man enough, that one\\r\\n need not lend to another; for were your god-heads to borrow of men,\\r\\n men would forsake the gods. Make the meat be beloved more than the\\r\\n man that gives it. Let no assembly of twenty be without a score of\\r\\n villains. If there sit twelve women at the table, let a dozen of\\r\\n them be- as they are. The rest of your foes, O gods, the senators\\r\\n of Athens, together with the common lag of people, what is amiss in\\r\\n them, you gods, make suitable for destruction. For these my present\\r\\n friends, as they are to me nothing, so in nothing bless them, and\\r\\n to nothing are they welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\n Uncover, dogs, and lap. [The dishes are uncovered and\\r\\n seen to he full of warm water]\\r\\n SOME SPEAK. What does his lordship mean?\\r\\n SOME OTHER. I know not.\\r\\n TIMON. May you a better feast never behold,\\r\\n You knot of mouth-friends! Smoke and lukewarm water\\r\\n Is your perfection. This is Timon\\'s last;\\r\\n Who, stuck and spangled with your flatteries,\\r\\n Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces\\r\\n [Throwing the water in their faces]\\r\\n Your reeking villainy. Live loath\\'d and long,\\r\\n Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites,\\r\\n Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears,\\r\\n You fools of fortune, trencher friends, time\\'s flies,\\r\\n Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-lacks!\\r\\n Of man and beast the infinite malady\\r\\n Crust you quite o\\'er! What, dost thou go?\\r\\n Soft, take thy physic first; thou too, and thou.\\r\\n Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none. [Throws the\\r\\n dishes at them, and drives them out]\\r\\n What, all in motion? Henceforth be no feast\\r\\n Whereat a villain\\'s not a welcome guest.\\r\\n Burn house! Sink Athens! Henceforth hated be\\r\\n Of Timon man and all humanity! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter the LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST LORD. How now, my lords!\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Know you the quality of Lord Timon\\'s fury?\\r\\n THIRD LORD. Push! Did you see my cap?\\r\\n FOURTH LORD. I have lost my gown.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. He\\'s but a mad lord, and nought but humours sways him.\\r\\n He gave me a jewel th\\' other day, and now he has beat it out of\\r\\n my hat. Did you see my jewel?\\r\\n THIRD LORD. Did you see my cap?\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Here \\'tis.\\r\\n FOURTH LORD. Here lies my gown.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Let\\'s make no stay.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Lord Timon\\'s mad.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. I feel\\'t upon my bones.\\r\\n FOURTH LORD. One day he gives us diamonds, next day stones.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I. Without the walls of Athens\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TIMON\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. Let me look back upon thee. O thou wall\\r\\n That girdles in those wolves, dive in the earth\\r\\n And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent.\\r\\n Obedience, fail in children! Slaves and fools,\\r\\n Pluck the grave wrinkled Senate from the bench\\r\\n And minister in their steads. To general filths\\r\\n Convert, o\\' th\\' instant, green virginity.\\r\\n Do\\'t in your parents\\' eyes. Bankrupts, hold fast;\\r\\n Rather than render back, out with your knives\\r\\n And cut your trusters\\' throats. Bound servants, steal:\\r\\n Large-handed robbers your grave masters are,\\r\\n And pill by law. Maid, to thy master\\'s bed:\\r\\n Thy mistress is o\\' th\\' brothel. Son of sixteen,\\r\\n Pluck the lin\\'d crutch from thy old limping sire,\\r\\n With it beat out his brains. Piety and fear,\\r\\n Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth,\\r\\n Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood,\\r\\n Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades,\\r\\n Degrees, observances, customs and laws,\\r\\n Decline to your confounding contraries\\r\\n And let confusion live. Plagues incident to men,\\r\\n Your potent and infectious fevers heap\\r\\n On Athens, ripe for stroke. Thou cold sciatica,\\r\\n Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt\\r\\n As lamely as their manners. Lust and liberty,\\r\\n Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth,\\r\\n That \\'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive\\r\\n And drown themselves in riot. Itches, blains,\\r\\n Sow all th\\' Athenian bosoms, and their crop\\r\\n Be general leprosy! Breath infect breath,\\r\\n That their society, as their friendship, may\\r\\n Be merely poison! Nothing I\\'ll bear from thee\\r\\n But nakedness, thou detestable town!\\r\\n Take thou that too, with multiplying bans.\\r\\n Timon will to the woods, where he shall find\\r\\n Th\\' unkindest beast more kinder than mankind.\\r\\n The gods confound- hear me, you good gods all-\\r\\n The Athenians both within and out that wall!\\r\\n And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow\\r\\n To the whole race of mankind, high and low!\\r\\n Amen. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Athens. TIMON\\'s house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FLAVIUS, with two or three SERVANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. Hear you, Master Steward, where\\'s our master?\\r\\n Are we undone, cast off, nothing remaining?\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you?\\r\\n Let me be recorded by the righteous gods,\\r\\n I am as poor as you.\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. Such a house broke!\\r\\n So noble a master fall\\'n! All gone, and not\\r\\n One friend to take his fortune by the arm\\r\\n And go along with him?\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. As we do turn our backs\\r\\n From our companion, thrown into his grave,\\r\\n So his familiars to his buried fortunes\\r\\n Slink all away; leave their false vows with him,\\r\\n Like empty purses pick\\'d; and his poor self,\\r\\n A dedicated beggar to the air,\\r\\n With his disease of all-shunn\\'d poverty,\\r\\n Walks, like contempt, alone. More of our fellows.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter other SERVANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n FLAVIUS. All broken implements of a ruin\\'d house.\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. Yet do our hearts wear Timon\\'s livery;\\r\\n That see I by our faces. We are fellows still,\\r\\n Serving alike in sorrow. Leak\\'d is our bark;\\r\\n And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck,\\r\\n Hearing the surges threat. We must all part\\r\\n Into this sea of air.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Good fellows all,\\r\\n The latest of my wealth I\\'ll share amongst you.\\r\\n Wherever we shall meet, for Timon\\'s sake,\\r\\n Let\\'s yet be fellows; let\\'s shake our heads and say,\\r\\n As \\'twere a knell unto our master\\'s fortune,\\r\\n \\'We have seen better days.\\' Let each take some.\\r\\n [Giving them money]\\r\\n Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more!\\r\\n Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor.\\r\\n [Embrace, and part several ways]\\r\\n O the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us!\\r\\n Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt,\\r\\n Since riches point to misery and contempt?\\r\\n Who would be so mock\\'d with glory, or to live\\r\\n But in a dream of friendship,\\r\\n To have his pomp, and all what state compounds,\\r\\n But only painted, like his varnish\\'d friends?\\r\\n Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart,\\r\\n Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood,\\r\\n When man\\'s worst sin is he does too much good!\\r\\n Who then dares to be half so kind again?\\r\\n For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men.\\r\\n My dearest lord- blest to be most accurst,\\r\\n Rich only to be wretched- thy great fortunes\\r\\n Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord!\\r\\n He\\'s flung in rage from this ingrateful seat\\r\\n Of monstrous friends; nor has he with him to\\r\\n Supply his life, or that which can command it.\\r\\n I\\'ll follow and enquire him out.\\r\\n I\\'ll ever serve his mind with my best will;\\r\\n Whilst I have gold, I\\'ll be his steward still. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The woods near the sea-shore. Before TIMON\\'S cave\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TIMON in the woods\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth\\r\\n Rotten humidity; below thy sister\\'s orb\\r\\n Infect the air! Twinn\\'d brothers of one womb-\\r\\n Whose procreation, residence, and birth,\\r\\n Scarce is dividant- touch them with several fortunes:\\r\\n The greater scorns the lesser. Not nature,\\r\\n To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune\\r\\n But by contempt of nature.\\r\\n Raise me this beggar and deny\\'t that lord:\\r\\n The senator shall bear contempt hereditary,\\r\\n The beggar native honour.\\r\\n It is the pasture lards the rother\\'s sides,\\r\\n The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares,\\r\\n In purity of manhood stand upright,\\r\\n And say \\'This man\\'s a flatterer\\'? If one be,\\r\\n So are they all; for every grise of fortune\\r\\n Is smooth\\'d by that below. The learned pate\\r\\n Ducks to the golden fool. All\\'s oblique;\\r\\n There\\'s nothing level in our cursed natures\\r\\n But direct villainy. Therefore be abhorr\\'d\\r\\n All feasts, societies, and throngs of men!\\r\\n His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains.\\r\\n Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots.\\r\\n [Digging]\\r\\n Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate\\r\\n With thy most operant poison. What is here?\\r\\n Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods,\\r\\n I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens!\\r\\n Thus much of this will make black white, foul fair,\\r\\n Wrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant.\\r\\n Ha, you gods! why this? What, this, you gods? Why, this\\r\\n Will lug your priests and servants from your sides,\\r\\n Pluck stout men\\'s pillows from below their heads-\\r\\n This yellow slave\\r\\n Will knit and break religions, bless th\\' accurs\\'d,\\r\\n Make the hoar leprosy ador\\'d, place thieves\\r\\n And give them title, knee, and approbation,\\r\\n With senators on the bench. This is it\\r\\n That makes the wappen\\'d widow wed again-\\r\\n She whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores\\r\\n Would cast the gorge at this embalms and spices\\r\\n To th \\'April day again. Come, damn\\'d earth,\\r\\n Thou common whore of mankind, that puts odds\\r\\n Among the rout of nations, I will make thee\\r\\n Do thy right nature. [March afar off]\\r\\n Ha! a drum? Th\\'art quick,\\r\\n But yet I\\'ll bury thee. Thou\\'t go, strong thief,\\r\\n When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand.\\r\\n Nay, stay thou out for earnest. [Keeping some gold]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ALCIBIADES, with drum and fife, in warlike\\r\\n manner; and PHRYNIA and TIMANDRA\\r\\n\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. What art thou there? Speak.\\r\\n TIMON. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart\\r\\n For showing me again the eyes of man!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee\\r\\n That art thyself a man?\\r\\n TIMON. I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind.\\r\\n For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog,\\r\\n That I might love thee something.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I know thee well;\\r\\n But in thy fortunes am unlearn\\'d and strange.\\r\\n TIMON. I know thee too; and more than that I know thee\\r\\n I not desire to know. Follow thy drum;\\r\\n With man\\'s blood paint the ground, gules, gules.\\r\\n Religious canons, civil laws, are cruel;\\r\\n Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine\\r\\n Hath in her more destruction than thy sword\\r\\n For all her cherubin look.\\r\\n PHRYNIA. Thy lips rot off!\\r\\n TIMON. I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns\\r\\n To thine own lips again.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. How came the noble Timon to this change?\\r\\n TIMON. As the moon does, by wanting light to give.\\r\\n But then renew I could not, like the moon;\\r\\n There were no suns to borrow of.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Noble Timon,\\r\\n What friendship may I do thee?\\r\\n TIMON. None, but to\\r\\n Maintain my opinion.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. What is it, Timon?\\r\\n TIMON. Promise me friendship, but perform none. If thou wilt not\\r\\n promise, the gods plague thee, for thou art man! If thou dost\\r\\n perform, confound thee, for thou art a man!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries.\\r\\n TIMON. Thou saw\\'st them when I had prosperity.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I see them now; then was a blessed time.\\r\\n TIMON. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots.\\r\\n TIMANDRA. Is this th\\' Athenian minion whom the world\\r\\n Voic\\'d so regardfully?\\r\\n TIMON. Art thou Timandra?\\r\\n TIMANDRA. Yes.\\r\\n TIMON. Be a whore still; they love thee not that use thee.\\r\\n Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust.\\r\\n Make use of thy salt hours. Season the slaves\\r\\n For tubs and baths; bring down rose-cheek\\'d youth\\r\\n To the tub-fast and the diet.\\r\\n TIMANDRA. Hang thee, monster!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Pardon him, sweet Timandra, for his wits\\r\\n Are drown\\'d and lost in his calamities.\\r\\n I have but little gold of late, brave Timon,\\r\\n The want whereof doth daily make revolt\\r\\n In my penurious band. I have heard, and griev\\'d,\\r\\n How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth,\\r\\n Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states,\\r\\n But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them-\\r\\n TIMON. I prithee beat thy drum and get thee gone.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon.\\r\\n TIMON. How dost thou pity him whom thou dost trouble?\\r\\n I had rather be alone.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Why, fare thee well;\\r\\n Here is some gold for thee.\\r\\n TIMON. Keep it: I cannot eat it.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap-\\r\\n TIMON. War\\'st thou \\'gainst Athens?\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Ay, Timon, and have cause.\\r\\n TIMON. The gods confound them all in thy conquest;\\r\\n And thee after, when thou hast conquer\\'d!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Why me, Timon?\\r\\n TIMON. That by killing of villains\\r\\n Thou wast born to conquer my country.\\r\\n Put up thy gold. Go on. Here\\'s gold. Go on.\\r\\n Be as a planetary plague, when Jove\\r\\n Will o\\'er some high-vic\\'d city hang his poison\\r\\n In the sick air; let not thy sword skip one.\\r\\n Pity not honour\\'d age for his white beard:\\r\\n He is an usurer. Strike me the counterfeit matron:\\r\\n It is her habit only that is honest,\\r\\n Herself\\'s a bawd. Let not the virgin\\'s cheek\\r\\n Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk paps\\r\\n That through the window bars bore at men\\'s eyes\\r\\n Are not within the leaf of pity writ,\\r\\n But set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe\\r\\n Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy;\\r\\n Think it a bastard whom the oracle\\r\\n Hath doubtfully pronounc\\'d thy throat shall cut,\\r\\n And mince it sans remorse. Swear against abjects;\\r\\n Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes,\\r\\n Whose proof nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,\\r\\n Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding,\\r\\n Shall pierce a jot. There\\'s gold to pay thy soldiers.\\r\\n Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent,\\r\\n Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Hast thou gold yet? I\\'ll take the gold thou givest me,\\r\\n Not all thy counsel.\\r\\n TIMON. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven\\'s curse upon thee!\\r\\n PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. Give us some gold, good Timon.\\r\\n Hast thou more?\\r\\n TIMON. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade,\\r\\n And to make whores a bawd. Hold up, you sluts,\\r\\n Your aprons mountant; you are not oathable,\\r\\n Although I know you\\'ll swear, terribly swear,\\r\\n Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues,\\r\\n Th\\' immortal gods that hear you. Spare your oaths;\\r\\n I\\'ll trust to your conditions. Be whores still;\\r\\n And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you-\\r\\n Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up;\\r\\n Let your close fire predominate his smoke,\\r\\n And be no turncoats. Yet may your pains six months\\r\\n Be quite contrary! And thatch your poor thin roofs\\r\\n With burdens of the dead- some that were hang\\'d,\\r\\n No matter. Wear them, betray with them. Whore still;\\r\\n Paint till a horse may mire upon your face.\\r\\n A pox of wrinkles!\\r\\n PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. Well, more gold. What then?\\r\\n Believe\\'t that we\\'ll do anything for gold.\\r\\n TIMON. Consumptions sow\\r\\n In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins,\\r\\n And mar men\\'s spurring. Crack the lawyer\\'s voice,\\r\\n That he may never more false title plead,\\r\\n Nor sound his quillets shrilly. Hoar the flamen,\\r\\n That scolds against the quality of flesh\\r\\n And not believes himself. Down with the nose,\\r\\n Down with it flat, take the bridge quite away\\r\\n Of him that, his particular to foresee,\\r\\n Smells from the general weal. Make curl\\'d-pate ruffians bald,\\r\\n And let the unscarr\\'d braggarts of the war\\r\\n Derive some pain from you. Plague all,\\r\\n That your activity may defeat and quell\\r\\n The source of all erection. There\\'s more gold.\\r\\n Do you damn others, and let this damn you,\\r\\n And ditches grave you all!\\r\\n PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. More counsel with more money, bounteous\\r\\n Timon.\\r\\n TIMON. More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Strike up the drum towards Athens. Farewell, Timon;\\r\\n If I thrive well, I\\'ll visit thee again.\\r\\n TIMON. If I hope well, I\\'ll never see thee more.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I never did thee harm.\\r\\n TIMON. Yes, thou spok\\'st well of me.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Call\\'st thou that harm?\\r\\n TIMON. Men daily find it. Get thee away, and take\\r\\n Thy beagles with thee.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. We but offend him. Strike.\\r\\n Drum beats. Exeunt all but TIMON\\r\\n TIMON. That nature, being sick of man\\'s unkindness,\\r\\n Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou, [Digging]\\r\\n Whose womb unmeasurable and infinite breast\\r\\n Teems and feeds all; whose self-same mettle,\\r\\n Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff\\'d,\\r\\n Engenders the black toad and adder blue,\\r\\n The gilded newt and eyeless venom\\'d worm,\\r\\n With all th\\' abhorred births below crisp heaven\\r\\n Whereon Hyperion\\'s quick\\'ning fire doth shine-\\r\\n Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate,\\r\\n From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root!\\r\\n Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb,\\r\\n Let it no more bring out ingrateful man!\\r\\n Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears;\\r\\n Teem with new monsters whom thy upward face\\r\\n Hath to the marbled mansion all above\\r\\n Never presented!- O, a root! Dear thanks!-\\r\\n Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas,\\r\\n Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts\\r\\n And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind,\\r\\n That from it all consideration slips-\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter APEMANTUS\\r\\n\\r\\n More man? Plague, plague!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I was directed hither. Men report\\r\\n Thou dost affect my manners and dost use them.\\r\\n TIMON. \\'Tis, then, because thou dost not keep a dog,\\r\\n Whom I would imitate. Consumption catch thee!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. This is in thee a nature but infected,\\r\\n A poor unmanly melancholy sprung\\r\\n From change of fortune. Why this spade, this place?\\r\\n This slave-like habit and these looks of care?\\r\\n Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft,\\r\\n Hug their diseas\\'d perfumes, and have forgot\\r\\n That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods\\r\\n By putting on the cunning of a carper.\\r\\n Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive\\r\\n By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee,\\r\\n And let his very breath whom thou\\'lt observe\\r\\n Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain,\\r\\n And call it excellent. Thou wast told thus;\\r\\n Thou gav\\'st thine ears, like tapsters that bade welcome,\\r\\n To knaves and all approachers. \\'Tis most just\\r\\n That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again\\r\\n Rascals should have\\'t. Do not assume my likeness.\\r\\n TIMON. Were I like thee, I\\'d throw away myself.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself;\\r\\n A madman so long, now a fool. What, think\\'st\\r\\n That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain,\\r\\n Will put thy shirt on warm? Will these moist trees,\\r\\n That have outliv\\'d the eagle, page thy heels\\r\\n And skip when thou point\\'st out? Will the cold brook,\\r\\n Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste\\r\\n To cure thy o\\'ernight\\'s surfeit? Call the creatures\\r\\n Whose naked natures live in all the spite\\r\\n Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks,\\r\\n To the conflicting elements expos\\'d,\\r\\n Answer mere nature- bid them flatter thee.\\r\\n O, thou shalt find-\\r\\n TIMON. A fool of thee. Depart.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I love thee better now than e\\'er I did.\\r\\n TIMON. I hate thee worse.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Why?\\r\\n TIMON. Thou flatter\\'st misery.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I flatter not, but say thou art a caitiff.\\r\\n TIMON. Why dost thou seek me out?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. To vex thee.\\r\\n TIMON. Always a villain\\'s office or a fool\\'s.\\r\\n Dost please thyself in\\'t?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ay.\\r\\n TIMON. What, a knave too?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on\\r\\n To castigate thy pride, \\'twere well; but thou\\r\\n Dost it enforcedly. Thou\\'dst courtier be again\\r\\n Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery\\r\\n Outlives incertain pomp, is crown\\'d before.\\r\\n The one is filling still, never complete;\\r\\n The other, at high wish. Best state, contentless,\\r\\n Hath a distracted and most wretched being,\\r\\n Worse than the worst, content.\\r\\n Thou should\\'st desire to die, being miserable.\\r\\n TIMON. Not by his breath that is more miserable.\\r\\n Thou art a slave whom Fortune\\'s tender arm\\r\\n With favour never clasp\\'d, but bred a dog.\\r\\n Hadst thou, like us from our first swath, proceeded\\r\\n The sweet degrees that this brief world affords\\r\\n To such as may the passive drugs of it\\r\\n Freely command, thou wouldst have plung\\'d thyself\\r\\n In general riot, melted down thy youth\\r\\n In different beds of lust, and never learn\\'d\\r\\n The icy precepts of respect, but followed\\r\\n The sug\\'red game before thee. But myself,\\r\\n Who had the world as my confectionary;\\r\\n The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men\\r\\n At duty, more than I could frame employment;\\r\\n That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves\\r\\n Do on the oak, have with one winter\\'s brush\\r\\n Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare\\r\\n For every storm that blows- I to bear this,\\r\\n That never knew but better, is some burden.\\r\\n Thy nature did commence in sufferance; time\\r\\n Hath made thee hard in\\'t. Why shouldst thou hate men?\\r\\n They never flatter\\'d thee. What hast thou given?\\r\\n If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag,\\r\\n Must be thy subject; who, in spite, put stuff\\r\\n To some she-beggar and compounded thee\\r\\n Poor rogue hereditary. Hence, be gone.\\r\\n If thou hadst not been born the worst of men,\\r\\n Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Art thou proud yet?\\r\\n TIMON. Ay, that I am not thee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I, that I was\\r\\n No prodigal.\\r\\n TIMON. I, that I am one now.\\r\\n Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee,\\r\\n I\\'d give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone.\\r\\n That the whole life of Athens were in this!\\r\\n Thus would I eat it. [Eating a root]\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Here! I will mend thy feast.\\r\\n [Offering him food]\\r\\n TIMON. First mend my company: take away thyself.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. So I shall mend mine own by th\\' lack of thine.\\r\\n TIMON. \\'Tis not well mended so; it is but botch\\'d.\\r\\n If not, I would it were.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. What wouldst thou have to Athens?\\r\\n TIMON. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt,\\r\\n Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Here is no use for gold.\\r\\n TIMON. The best and truest;\\r\\n For here it sleeps and does no hired harm.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Where liest a nights, Timon?\\r\\n TIMON. Under that\\'s above me.\\r\\n Where feed\\'st thou a days, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Where my stomach. finds meat; or rather, where I eat it.\\r\\n TIMON. Would poison were obedient, and knew my mind!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Where wouldst thou send it?\\r\\n TIMON. To sauce thy dishes.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. The middle of humanity thou never knewest, but the\\r\\n extremity of both ends. When thou wast in thy gilt and thy\\r\\n perfume, they mock\\'d thee for too much curiosity; in thy rags\\r\\n thou know\\'st none, but art despis\\'d for the contrary. There\\'s a\\r\\n medlar for thee; eat it.\\r\\n TIMON. On what I hate I feed not.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Dost hate a medlar?\\r\\n TIMON. Ay, though it look like thee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. An th\\' hadst hated medlars sooner, thou shouldst have\\r\\n loved thyself better now. What man didst thou ever know unthrift\\r\\n that was beloved after his means?\\r\\n TIMON. Who, without those means thou talk\\'st of, didst thou ever\\r\\n know belov\\'d?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Myself.\\r\\n TIMON. I understand thee: thou hadst some means to keep a dog.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. What things in the world canst thou nearest compare to\\r\\n thy flatterers?\\r\\n TIMON. Women nearest; but men, men are the things themselves. What\\r\\n wouldst thou do with the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy\\r\\n power?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men.\\r\\n TIMON. Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the confusion of men, and\\r\\n remain a beast with the beasts?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ay, Timon.\\r\\n TIMON. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee t\\' attain to!\\r\\n If thou wert the lion, the fox would beguile thee; if thou wert\\r\\n the lamb, the fox would eat thee; if thou wert the fox, the lion\\r\\n would suspect thee, when, peradventure, thou wert accus\\'d by the\\r\\n ass. If thou wert the ass, thy dulness would torment thee; and\\r\\n still thou liv\\'dst but as a breakfast to the wolf. If thou wert\\r\\n the wolf, thy greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou\\r\\n shouldst hazard thy life for thy dinner. Wert thou the unicorn,\\r\\n pride and wrath would confound thee, and make thine own self the\\r\\n conquest of thy fury. Wert thou bear, thou wouldst be kill\\'d by\\r\\n the horse; wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be seiz\\'d by the\\r\\n leopard; wert thou a leopard, thou wert german to the lion, and\\r\\n the spots of thy kindred were jurors on thy life. All thy safety\\r\\n were remotion, and thy defence absence. What beast couldst thou\\r\\n be that were not subject to a beast? And what beast art thou\\r\\n already, that seest not thy loss in transformation!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. If thou couldst please me with speaking to me, thou\\r\\n mightst have hit upon it here. The commonwealth of Athens is\\r\\n become a forest of beasts.\\r\\n TIMON. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art out of the\\r\\n city?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Yonder comes a poet and a painter. The plague of company\\r\\n light upon thee! I will fear to catch it, and give way. When I\\r\\n know not what else to do, I\\'ll see thee again.\\r\\n TIMON. When there is nothing living but thee, thou shalt be\\r\\n welcome. I had rather be a beggar\\'s dog than Apemantus.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou art the cap of all the fools alive.\\r\\n TIMON. Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. A plague on thee! thou art too bad to curse.\\r\\n TIMON. All villains that do stand by thee are pure.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. There is no leprosy but what thou speak\\'st.\\r\\n TIMON. If I name thee.\\r\\n I\\'ll beat thee- but I should infect my hands.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I would my tongue could rot them off!\\r\\n TIMON. Away, thou issue of a mangy dog!\\r\\n Choler does kill me that thou art alive;\\r\\n I swoon to see thee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Would thou wouldst burst!\\r\\n TIMON. Away,\\r\\n Thou tedious rogue! I am sorry I shall lose\\r\\n A stone by thee. [Throws a stone at him]\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Beast!\\r\\n TIMON. Slave!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Toad!\\r\\n TIMON. Rogue, rogue, rogue!\\r\\n I am sick of this false world, and will love nought\\r\\n But even the mere necessities upon\\'t.\\r\\n Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave;\\r\\n Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat\\r\\n Thy gravestone daily; make thine epitaph,\\r\\n That death in me at others\\' lives may laugh.\\r\\n [Looks at the gold] O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce\\r\\n \\'Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler\\r\\n Of Hymen\\'s purest bed! thou valiant Mars!\\r\\n Thou ever young, fresh, lov\\'d, and delicate wooer,\\r\\n Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow\\r\\n That lies on Dian\\'s lap! thou visible god,\\r\\n That sold\\'rest close impossibilities,\\r\\n And mak\\'st them kiss! that speak\\'st with every tongue\\r\\n To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts!\\r\\n Think thy slave man rebels, and by thy virtue\\r\\n Set them into confounding odds, that beasts\\r\\n May have the world in empire!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Would \\'twere so!\\r\\n But not till I am dead. I\\'ll say th\\' hast gold.\\r\\n Thou wilt be throng\\'d to shortly.\\r\\n TIMON. Throng\\'d to?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ay.\\r\\n TIMON. Thy back, I prithee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Live, and love thy misery!\\r\\n TIMON. Long live so, and so die! [Exit APEMANTUS] I am quit. More\\r\\n things like men? Eat, Timon, and abhor them.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the BANDITTI\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST BANDIT. Where should he have this gold? It is some poor\\r\\n fragment, some slender ort of his remainder. The mere want of\\r\\n gold and the falling-from of his friends drove him into this\\r\\n melancholy.\\r\\n SECOND BANDIT. It is nois\\'d he hath a mass of treasure.\\r\\n THIRD BANDIT. Let us make the assay upon him; if he care not for\\'t,\\r\\n he will supply us easily; if he covetously reserve it, how\\r\\n shall\\'s get it?\\r\\n SECOND BANDIT. True; for he bears it not about him. \\'Tis hid.\\r\\n FIRST BANDIT. Is not this he?\\r\\n BANDITTI. Where?\\r\\n SECOND BANDIT. \\'Tis his description.\\r\\n THIRD BANDIT. He; I know him.\\r\\n BANDITTI. Save thee, Timon!\\r\\n TIMON. Now, thieves?\\r\\n BANDITTI. Soldiers, not thieves.\\r\\n TIMON. Both too, and women\\'s sons.\\r\\n BANDITTI. We are not thieves, but men that much do want.\\r\\n TIMON. Your greatest want is, you want much of meat.\\r\\n Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots;\\r\\n Within this mile break forth a hundred springs;\\r\\n The oaks bear mast, the briars scarlet hips;\\r\\n The bounteous housewife Nature on each bush\\r\\n Lays her full mess before you. Want! Why want?\\r\\n FIRST BANDIT. We cannot live on grass, on berries, water,\\r\\n As beasts and birds and fishes.\\r\\n TIMON. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and fishes;\\r\\n You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con\\r\\n That you are thieves profess\\'d, that you work not\\r\\n In holier shapes; for there is boundless theft\\r\\n In limited professions. Rascal thieves,\\r\\n Here\\'s gold. Go, suck the subtle blood o\\' th\\' grape\\r\\n Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth,\\r\\n And so scape hanging. Trust not the physician;\\r\\n His antidotes are poison, and he slays\\r\\n Moe than you rob. Take wealth and lives together;\\r\\n Do villainy, do, since you protest to do\\'t,\\r\\n Like workmen. I\\'ll example you with thievery:\\r\\n The sun\\'s a thief, and with his great attraction\\r\\n Robs the vast sea; the moon\\'s an arrant thief,\\r\\n And her pale fire she snatches from the sun;\\r\\n The sea\\'s a thief, whose liquid surge resolves\\r\\n The moon into salt tears; the earth\\'s a thief,\\r\\n That feeds and breeds by a composture stol\\'n\\r\\n From gen\\'ral excrement- each thing\\'s a thief.\\r\\n The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power\\r\\n Has uncheck\\'d theft. Love not yourselves; away,\\r\\n Rob one another. There\\'s more gold. Cut throats;\\r\\n All that you meet are thieves. To Athens go,\\r\\n Break open shops; nothing can you steal\\r\\n But thieves do lose it. Steal not less for this\\r\\n I give you; and gold confound you howsoe\\'er!\\r\\n Amen.\\r\\n THIRD BANDIT. Has almost charm\\'d me from my profession by\\r\\n persuading me to it.\\r\\n FIRST BANDIT. \\'Tis in the malice of mankind that he thus advises\\r\\n us; not to have us thrive in our mystery.\\r\\n SECOND BANDIT. I\\'ll believe him as an enemy, and give over my\\r\\n trade.\\r\\n FIRST BANDIT. Let us first see peace in Athens. There is no time so\\r\\n miserable but a man may be true. Exeunt THIEVES\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FLAVIUS, to TIMON\\r\\n\\r\\n FLAVIUS. O you gods!\\r\\n Is yond despis\\'d and ruinous man my lord?\\r\\n Full of decay and failing? O monument\\r\\n And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow\\'d!\\r\\n What an alteration of honour\\r\\n Has desp\\'rate want made!\\r\\n What viler thing upon the earth than friends,\\r\\n Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends!\\r\\n How rarely does it meet with this time\\'s guise,\\r\\n When man was wish\\'d to love his enemies!\\r\\n Grant I may ever love, and rather woo\\r\\n Those that would mischief me than those that do!\\r\\n Has caught me in his eye; I will present\\r\\n My honest grief unto him, and as my lord\\r\\n Still serve him with my life. My dearest master!\\r\\n TIMON. Away! What art thou?\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Have you forgot me, sir?\\r\\n TIMON. Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men;\\r\\n Then, if thou grant\\'st th\\'art a man, I have forgot thee.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. An honest poor servant of yours.\\r\\n TIMON. Then I know thee not.\\r\\n I never had honest man about me, I.\\r\\n All I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. The gods are witness,\\r\\n Nev\\'r did poor steward wear a truer grief\\r\\n For his undone lord than mine eyes for you.\\r\\n TIMON. What, dost thou weep? Come nearer. Then I love thee\\r\\n Because thou art a woman and disclaim\\'st\\r\\n Flinty mankind, whose eyes do never give\\r\\n But thorough lust and laughter. Pity\\'s sleeping.\\r\\n Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with weeping!\\r\\n FLAVIUS. I beg of you to know me, good my lord,\\r\\n T\\' accept my grief, and whilst this poor wealth lasts\\r\\n To entertain me as your steward still.\\r\\n TIMON. Had I a steward\\r\\n So true, so just, and now so comfortable?\\r\\n It almost turns my dangerous nature mild.\\r\\n Let me behold thy face. Surely, this man\\r\\n Was born of woman.\\r\\n Forgive my general and exceptless rashness,\\r\\n You perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim\\r\\n One honest man- mistake me not, but one;\\r\\n No more, I pray- and he\\'s a steward.\\r\\n How fain would I have hated all mankind!\\r\\n And thou redeem\\'st thyself. But all, save thee,\\r\\n I fell with curses.\\r\\n Methinks thou art more honest now than wise;\\r\\n For by oppressing and betraying me\\r\\n Thou mightst have sooner got another service;\\r\\n For many so arrive at second masters\\r\\n Upon their first lord\\'s neck. But tell me true,\\r\\n For I must ever doubt though ne\\'er so sure,\\r\\n Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous,\\r\\n If not a usuring kindness, and as rich men deal gifts,\\r\\n Expecting in return twenty for one?\\r\\n FLAVIUS. No, my most worthy master, in whose breast\\r\\n Doubt and suspect, alas, are plac\\'d too late!\\r\\n You should have fear\\'d false times when you did feast:\\r\\n Suspect still comes where an estate is least.\\r\\n That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love,\\r\\n Duty, and zeal, to your unmatched mind,\\r\\n Care of your food and living; and believe it,\\r\\n My most honour\\'d lord,\\r\\n For any benefit that points to me,\\r\\n Either in hope or present, I\\'d exchange\\r\\n For this one wish, that you had power and wealth\\r\\n To requite me by making rich yourself.\\r\\n TIMON. Look thee, \\'tis so! Thou singly honest man,\\r\\n Here, take. The gods, out of my misery,\\r\\n Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy,\\r\\n But thus condition\\'d; thou shalt build from men;\\r\\n Hate all, curse all, show charity to none,\\r\\n But let the famish\\'d flesh slide from the bone\\r\\n Ere thou relieve the beggar. Give to dogs\\r\\n What thou deniest to men; let prisons swallow \\'em,\\r\\n Debts wither \\'em to nothing. Be men like blasted woods,\\r\\n And may diseases lick up their false bloods!\\r\\n And so, farewell and thrive.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. O, let me stay\\r\\n And comfort you, my master.\\r\\n TIMON. If thou hat\\'st curses,\\r\\n Stay not; fly whilst thou art blest and free.\\r\\n Ne\\'er see thou man, and let me ne\\'er see thee.\\r\\n Exeunt severally\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. The woods. Before TIMON\\'s cave\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter POET and PAINTER\\r\\n\\r\\n PAINTER. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he\\r\\n abides.\\r\\n POET. to be thought of him? Does the rumour hold for true that he\\'s\\r\\n so full of gold?\\r\\n PAINTER. Certain. Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had\\r\\n gold of him. He likewise enrich\\'d poor straggling soldiers with\\r\\n great quantity. \\'Tis said he gave unto his steward a mighty sum.\\r\\n POET. Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends?\\r\\n PAINTER. Nothing else. You shall see him a palm in Athens again,\\r\\n and flourish with the highest. Therefore \\'tis not amiss we tender\\r\\n our loves to him in this suppos\\'d distress of his; it will show\\r\\n honestly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with what\\r\\n they travail for, if it be just and true report that goes of his\\r\\n having.\\r\\n POET. What have you now to present unto him?\\r\\n PAINTER. Nothing at this time but my visitation; only I will\\r\\n promise him an excellent piece.\\r\\n POET. I must serve him so too, tell him of an intent that\\'s coming\\r\\n toward him.\\r\\n PAINTER. Good as the best. Promising is the very air o\\' th\\' time;\\r\\n it opens the eyes of expectation. Performance is ever the duller\\r\\n for his act, and but in the plainer and simpler kind of people\\r\\n the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most\\r\\n courtly and fashionable; performance is a kind of will or\\r\\n testament which argues a great sickness in his judgment that\\r\\n makes it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TIMON from his cave\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. [Aside] Excellent workman! Thou canst not paint a man so bad\\r\\n as is thyself.\\r\\n POET. I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him. It\\r\\n must be a personating of himself; a satire against the softness\\r\\n of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that\\r\\n follow youth and opulency.\\r\\n TIMON. [Aside] Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own\\r\\n work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have\\r\\n gold for thee.\\r\\n POET. Nay, let\\'s seek him;\\r\\n Then do we sin against our own estate\\r\\n When we may profit meet and come too late.\\r\\n PAINTER. True;\\r\\n When the day serves, before black-corner\\'d night,\\r\\n Find what thou want\\'st by free and offer\\'d light.\\r\\n Come.\\r\\n TIMON. [Aside] I\\'ll meet you at the turn. What a god\\'s gold,\\r\\n That he is worshipp\\'d in a baser temple\\r\\n Than where swine feed!\\r\\n \\'Tis thou that rig\\'st the bark and plough\\'st the foam,\\r\\n Settlest admired reverence in a slave.\\r\\n To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye\\r\\n Be crown\\'d with plagues, that thee alone obey!\\r\\n Fit I meet them. [Advancing from his cave]\\r\\n POET. Hail, worthy Timon!\\r\\n PAINTER. Our late noble master!\\r\\n TIMON. Have I once liv\\'d to see two honest men?\\r\\n POET. Sir,\\r\\n Having often of your open bounty tasted,\\r\\n Hearing you were retir\\'d, your friends fall\\'n off,\\r\\n Whose thankless natures- O abhorred spirits!-\\r\\n Not all the whips of heaven are large enough-\\r\\n What! to you,\\r\\n Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence\\r\\n To their whole being! I am rapt, and cannot cover\\r\\n The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude\\r\\n With any size of words.\\r\\n TIMON. Let it go naked: men may see\\'t the better.\\r\\n You that are honest, by being what you are,\\r\\n Make them best seen and known.\\r\\n PAINTER. He and myself\\r\\n Have travail\\'d in the great show\\'r of your gifts,\\r\\n And sweetly felt it.\\r\\n TIMON. Ay, you are honest men.\\r\\n PAINTER. We are hither come to offer you our service.\\r\\n TIMON. Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you?\\r\\n Can you eat roots, and drink cold water- No?\\r\\n BOTH. What we can do, we\\'ll do, to do you service.\\r\\n TIMON. Y\\'are honest men. Y\\'have heard that I have gold;\\r\\n I am sure you have. Speak truth; y\\'are honest men.\\r\\n PAINTER. So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore\\r\\n Came not my friend nor I.\\r\\n TIMON. Good honest men! Thou draw\\'st a counterfeit\\r\\n Best in all Athens. Th\\'art indeed the best;\\r\\n Thou counterfeit\\'st most lively.\\r\\n PAINTER. So, so, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. E\\'en so, sir, as I say. [To To POET] And for thy fiction,\\r\\n Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth\\r\\n That thou art even natural in thine art.\\r\\n But for all this, my honest-natur\\'d friends,\\r\\n I must needs say you have a little fault.\\r\\n Marry, \\'tis not monstrous in you; neither wish I\\r\\n You take much pains to mend.\\r\\n BOTH. Beseech your honour\\r\\n To make it known to us.\\r\\n TIMON. You\\'ll take it ill.\\r\\n BOTH. Most thankfully, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. Will you indeed?\\r\\n BOTH. Doubt it not, worthy lord.\\r\\n TIMON. There\\'s never a one of you but trusts a knave\\r\\n That mightily deceives you.\\r\\n BOTH. Do we, my lord?\\r\\n TIMON. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble,\\r\\n Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him,\\r\\n Keep in your bosom; yet remain assur\\'d\\r\\n That he\\'s a made-up villain.\\r\\n PAINTER. I know not such, my lord.\\r\\n POET. Nor I.\\r\\n TIMON. Look you, I love you well; I\\'ll give you gold,\\r\\n Rid me these villains from your companies.\\r\\n Hang them or stab them, drown them in a draught,\\r\\n Confound them by some course, and come to me,\\r\\n I\\'ll give you gold enough.\\r\\n BOTH. Name them, my lord; let\\'s know them.\\r\\n TIMON. You that way, and you this- but two in company;\\r\\n Each man apart, all single and alone,\\r\\n Yet an arch-villain keeps him company.\\r\\n [To the PAINTER] If, where thou art, two villians shall not be,\\r\\n Come not near him. [To the POET] If thou wouldst not reside\\r\\n But where one villain is, then him abandon.-\\r\\n Hence, pack! there\\'s gold; you came for gold, ye slaves.\\r\\n [To the PAINTER] You have work for me; there\\'s payment; hence!\\r\\n [To the POET] You are an alchemist; make gold of that.-\\r\\n Out, rascal dogs! [Beats and drives them out]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FLAVIUS and two SENATORS\\r\\n\\r\\n FLAVIUS. It is vain that you would speak with Timon;\\r\\n For he is set so only to himself\\r\\n That nothing but himself which looks like man\\r\\n Is friendly with him.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Bring us to his cave.\\r\\n It is our part and promise to th\\' Athenians\\r\\n To speak with Timon.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. At all times alike\\r\\n Men are not still the same; \\'twas time and griefs\\r\\n That fram\\'d him thus. Time, with his fairer hand,\\r\\n Offering the fortunes of his former days,\\r\\n The former man may make him. Bring us to him,\\r\\n And chance it as it may.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Here is his cave.\\r\\n Peace and content be here! Lord Timon! Timon!\\r\\n Look out, and speak to friends. Th\\' Athenians\\r\\n By two of their most reverend Senate greet thee.\\r\\n Speak to them, noble Timon.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TIMON out of his cave\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. Thou sun that comforts, burn. Speak and be hang\\'d!\\r\\n For each true word a blister, and each false\\r\\n Be as a cauterizing to the root o\\' th\\' tongue,\\r\\n Consuming it with speaking!\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Worthy Timon-\\r\\n TIMON. Of none but such as you, and you of Timon.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon.\\r\\n TIMON. I thank them; and would send them back the plague,\\r\\n Could I but catch it for them.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. O, forget\\r\\n What we are sorry for ourselves in thee.\\r\\n The senators with one consent of love\\r\\n Entreat thee back to Athens, who have thought\\r\\n On special dignities, which vacant lie\\r\\n For thy best use and wearing.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. They confess\\r\\n Toward thee forgetfulness too general, gross;\\r\\n Which now the public body, which doth seldom\\r\\n Play the recanter, feeling in itself\\r\\n A lack of Timon\\'s aid, hath sense withal\\r\\n Of it own fail, restraining aid to Timon,\\r\\n And send forth us to make their sorrowed render,\\r\\n Together with a recompense more fruitful\\r\\n Than their offence can weigh down by the dram;\\r\\n Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth\\r\\n As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs\\r\\n And write in thee the figures of their love,\\r\\n Ever to read them thine.\\r\\n TIMON. You witch me in it;\\r\\n Surprise me to the very brink of tears.\\r\\n Lend me a fool\\'s heart and a woman\\'s eyes,\\r\\n And I\\'ll beweep these comforts, worthy senators.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Therefore so please thee to return with us,\\r\\n And of our Athens, thine and ours, to take\\r\\n The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks,\\r\\n Allow\\'d with absolute power, and thy good name\\r\\n Live with authority. So soon we shall drive back\\r\\n Of Alcibiades th\\' approaches wild,\\r\\n Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up\\r\\n His country\\'s peace.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. And shakes his threat\\'ning sword\\r\\n Against the walls of Athens.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Therefore, Timon-\\r\\n TIMON. Well, sir, I will. Therefore I will, sir, thus:\\r\\n If Alcibiades kill my countrymen,\\r\\n Let Alcibiades know this of Timon,\\r\\n That Timon cares not. But if he sack fair Athens,\\r\\n And take our goodly aged men by th\\' beards,\\r\\n Giving our holy virgins to the stain\\r\\n Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain\\'d war,\\r\\n Then let him know- and tell him Timon speaks it\\r\\n In pity of our aged and our youth-\\r\\n I cannot choose but tell him that I care not,\\r\\n And let him take\\'t at worst; for their knives care not,\\r\\n While you have throats to answer. For myself,\\r\\n There\\'s not a whittle in th\\' unruly camp\\r\\n But I do prize it at my love before\\r\\n The reverend\\'st throat in Athens. So I leave you\\r\\n To the protection of the prosperous gods,\\r\\n As thieves to keepers.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Stay not, all\\'s in vain.\\r\\n TIMON. Why, I was writing of my epitaph;\\r\\n It will be seen to-morrow. My long sickness\\r\\n Of health and living now begins to mend,\\r\\n And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still;\\r\\n Be Alcibiades your plague, you his,\\r\\n And last so long enough!\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. We speak in vain.\\r\\n TIMON. But yet I love my country, and am not\\r\\n One that rejoices in the common wreck,\\r\\n As common bruit doth put it.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. That\\'s well spoke.\\r\\n TIMON. Commend me to my loving countrymen-\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. These words become your lips as they pass through\\r\\n them.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. And enter in our ears like great triumphers\\r\\n In their applauding gates.\\r\\n TIMON. Commend me to them,\\r\\n And tell them that, to ease them of their griefs,\\r\\n Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses,\\r\\n Their pangs of love, with other incident throes\\r\\n That nature\\'s fragile vessel doth sustain\\r\\n In life\\'s uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them-\\r\\n I\\'ll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades\\' wrath.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. I like this well; he will return again.\\r\\n TIMON. I have a tree, which grows here in my close,\\r\\n That mine own use invites me to cut down,\\r\\n And shortly must I fell it. Tell my friends,\\r\\n Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree\\r\\n From high to low throughout, that whoso please\\r\\n To stop affliction, let him take his haste,\\r\\n Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe,\\r\\n And hang himself. I pray you do my greeting.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Trouble him no further; thus you still shall find him.\\r\\n TIMON. Come not to me again; but say to Athens\\r\\n Timon hath made his everlasting mansion\\r\\n Upon the beached verge of the salt flood,\\r\\n Who once a day with his embossed froth\\r\\n The turbulent surge shall cover. Thither come,\\r\\n And let my gravestone be your oracle.\\r\\n Lips, let sour words go by and language end:\\r\\n What is amiss, plague and infection mend!\\r\\n Graves only be men\\'s works and death their gain!\\r\\n Sun, hide thy beams. Timon hath done his reign.\\r\\n Exit TIMON into his cave\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. His discontents are unremovably\\r\\n Coupled to nature.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. Our hope in him is dead. Let us return\\r\\n And strain what other means is left unto us\\r\\n In our dear peril.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. It requires swift foot. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Before the walls of Athens\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter two other SENATORS with a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Thou hast painfully discover\\'d; are his files\\r\\n As full as thy report?\\r\\n MESSENGER. I have spoke the least.\\r\\n Besides, his expedition promises\\r\\n Present approach.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. We stand much hazard if they bring not Timon.\\r\\n MESSENGER. I met a courier, one mine ancient friend,\\r\\n Whom, though in general part we were oppos\\'d,\\r\\n Yet our old love had a particular force,\\r\\n And made us speak like friends. This man was riding\\r\\n From Alcibiades to Timon\\'s cave\\r\\n With letters of entreaty, which imported\\r\\n His fellowship i\\' th\\' cause against your city,\\r\\n In part for his sake mov\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the other SENATORS, from TIMON\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Here come our brothers.\\r\\n THIRD SENATOR. No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect.\\r\\n The enemies\\' drum is heard, and fearful scouring\\r\\n Doth choke the air with dust. In, and prepare.\\r\\n Ours is the fall, I fear; our foes the snare. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The TIMON\\'s cave, and a rude tomb seen\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a SOLDIER in the woods, seeking TIMON\\r\\n\\r\\n SOLDIER. By all description this should be the place.\\r\\n Who\\'s here? Speak, ho! No answer? What is this?\\r\\n Timon is dead, who hath outstretch\\'d his span.\\r\\n Some beast rear\\'d this; here does not live a man.\\r\\n Dead, sure; and this his grave. What\\'s on this tomb\\r\\n I cannot read; the character I\\'ll take with wax.\\r\\n Our captain hath in every figure skill,\\r\\n An ag\\'d interpreter, though young in days;\\r\\n Before proud Athens he\\'s set down by this,\\r\\n Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Before the walls of Athens\\r\\n\\r\\nTrumpets sound. Enter ALCIBIADES with his powers before Athens\\r\\n\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Sound to this coward and lascivious town\\r\\n Our terrible approach.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound a parley. The SENATORS appear upon the walls\\r\\n\\r\\n Till now you have gone on and fill\\'d the time\\r\\n With all licentious measure, making your wills\\r\\n The scope of justice; till now, myself, and such\\r\\n As slept within the shadow of your power,\\r\\n Have wander\\'d with our travers\\'d arms, and breath\\'d\\r\\n Our sufferance vainly. Now the time is flush,\\r\\n When crouching marrow, in the bearer strong,\\r\\n Cries of itself \\'No more!\\' Now breathless wrong\\r\\n Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease,\\r\\n And pursy insolence shall break his wind\\r\\n With fear and horrid flight.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Noble and young,\\r\\n When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit,\\r\\n Ere thou hadst power or we had cause of fear,\\r\\n We sent to thee, to give thy rages balm,\\r\\n To wipe out our ingratitude with loves\\r\\n Above their quantity.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. So did we woo\\r\\n Transformed Timon to our city\\'s love\\r\\n By humble message and by promis\\'d means.\\r\\n We were not all unkind, nor all deserve\\r\\n The common stroke of war.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. These walls of ours\\r\\n Were not erected by their hands from whom\\r\\n You have receiv\\'d your griefs; nor are they such\\r\\n That these great tow\\'rs, trophies, and schools, should fall\\r\\n For private faults in them.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. Nor are they living\\r\\n Who were the motives that you first went out;\\r\\n Shame, that they wanted cunning, in excess\\r\\n Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord,\\r\\n Into our city with thy banners spread.\\r\\n By decimation and a tithed death-\\r\\n If thy revenges hunger for that food\\r\\n Which nature loathes- take thou the destin\\'d tenth,\\r\\n And by the hazard of the spotted die\\r\\n Let die the spotted.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. All have not offended;\\r\\n For those that were, it is not square to take,\\r\\n On those that are, revenge: crimes, like lands,\\r\\n Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman,\\r\\n Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage;\\r\\n Spare thy Athenian cradle, and those kin\\r\\n Which, in the bluster of thy wrath, must fall\\r\\n With those that have offended. Like a shepherd\\r\\n Approach the fold and cull th\\' infected forth,\\r\\n But kill not all together.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. What thou wilt,\\r\\n Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile\\r\\n Than hew to\\'t with thy sword.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Set but thy foot\\r\\n Against our rampir\\'d gates and they shall ope,\\r\\n So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before\\r\\n To say thou\\'t enter friendly.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. Throw thy glove,\\r\\n Or any token of thine honour else,\\r\\n That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress\\r\\n And not as our confusion, all thy powers\\r\\n Shall make their harbour in our town till we\\r\\n Have seal\\'d thy full desire.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Then there\\'s my glove;\\r\\n Descend, and open your uncharged ports.\\r\\n Those enemies of Timon\\'s and mine own,\\r\\n Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof,\\r\\n Fall, and no more. And, to atone your fears\\r\\n With my more noble meaning, not a man\\r\\n Shall pass his quarter or offend the stream\\r\\n Of regular justice in your city\\'s bounds,\\r\\n But shall be render\\'d to your public laws\\r\\n At heaviest answer.\\r\\n BOTH. \\'Tis most nobly spoken.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Descend, and keep your words.\\r\\n [The SENATORS descend and open the gates]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a SOLDIER as a Messenger\\r\\n\\r\\n SOLDIER. My noble General, Timon is dead;\\r\\n Entomb\\'d upon the very hem o\\' th\\' sea;\\r\\n And on his grave-stone this insculpture, which\\r\\n With wax I brought away, whose soft impression\\r\\n Interprets for my poor ignorance.\\r\\n\\r\\n ALCIBIADES reads the Epitaph\\r\\n\\r\\n \\'Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft;\\r\\n Seek not my name. A plague consume you wicked caitiffs left!\\r\\n Here lie I, Timon, who alive all living men did hate.\\r\\n Pass by, and curse thy fill; but pass, and stay not here thy\\r\\n gait.\\'\\r\\n These well express in thee thy latter spirits.\\r\\n Though thou abhorr\\'dst in us our human griefs,\\r\\n Scorn\\'dst our brain\\'s flow, and those our droplets which\\r\\n From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit\\r\\n Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye\\r\\n On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead\\r\\n Is noble Timon, of whose memory\\r\\n Hereafter more. Bring me into your city,\\r\\n And I will use the olive, with my sword;\\r\\n Make war breed peace, make peace stint war, make each\\r\\n Prescribe to other, as each other\\'s leech.\\r\\n Let our drums strike. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE TRAGEDY OF TITUS ANDRONICUS\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personae\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS, son to the late Emperor of Rome, afterwards Emperor\\r\\n BASSIANUS, brother to Saturninus\\r\\n TITUS ANDRONICUS, a noble Roman\\r\\n MARCUS ANDRONICUS, Tribune of the People, and brother to Titus\\r\\n\\r\\n Sons to Titus Andronicus:\\r\\n LUCIUS\\r\\n QUINTUS\\r\\n MARTIUS\\r\\n MUTIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n YOUNG LUCIUS, a boy, son to Lucius\\r\\n PUBLIUS, son to Marcus Andronicus\\r\\n\\r\\n Kinsmen to Titus:\\r\\n SEMPRONIUS\\r\\n CAIUS\\r\\n VALENTINE\\r\\n\\r\\n AEMILIUS, a noble Roman\\r\\n\\r\\n Sons to Tamora:\\r\\n ALARBUS\\r\\n DEMETRIUS\\r\\n CHIRON\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON, a Moor, beloved by Tamora\\r\\n A CAPTAIN\\r\\n A MESSENGER\\r\\n A CLOWN\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA, Queen of the Goths\\r\\n LAVINIA, daughter to Titus Andronicus\\r\\n A NURSE, and a black CHILD\\r\\n\\r\\n Romans and Goths, Senators, Tribunes, Officers, Soldiers, and\\r\\n Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE: Rome and the neighbourhood\\r\\n\\r\\nACT 1. SCENE I. Rome. Before the Capitol\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter the TRIBUNES and SENATORS aloft; and then enter below\\r\\nSATURNINUS and his followers at one door, and BASSIANUS and his\\r\\nfollowers at the other, with drums and trumpets\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Noble patricians, patrons of my right,\\r\\n Defend the justice of my cause with arms;\\r\\n And, countrymen, my loving followers,\\r\\n Plead my successive title with your swords.\\r\\n I am his first born son that was the last\\r\\n That ware the imperial diadem of Rome;\\r\\n Then let my father\\'s honours live in me,\\r\\n Nor wrong mine age with this indignity.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Romans, friends, followers, favourers of my right,\\r\\n If ever Bassianus, Caesar\\'s son,\\r\\n Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome,\\r\\n Keep then this passage to the Capitol;\\r\\n And suffer not dishonour to approach\\r\\n The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate,\\r\\n To justice, continence, and nobility;\\r\\n But let desert in pure election shine;\\r\\n And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS aloft, with the crown\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCUS. Princes, that strive by factions and by friends\\r\\n Ambitiously for rule and empery,\\r\\n Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand\\r\\n A special party, have by common voice\\r\\n In election for the Roman empery\\r\\n Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius\\r\\n For many good and great deserts to Rome.\\r\\n A nobler man, a braver warrior,\\r\\n Lives not this day within the city walls.\\r\\n He by the Senate is accited home,\\r\\n From weary wars against the barbarous Goths,\\r\\n That with his sons, a terror to our foes,\\r\\n Hath yok\\'d a nation strong, train\\'d up in arms.\\r\\n Ten years are spent since first he undertook\\r\\n This cause of Rome, and chastised with arms\\r\\n Our enemies\\' pride; five times he hath return\\'d\\r\\n Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons\\r\\n In coffins from the field; and at this day\\r\\n To the monument of that Andronici\\r\\n Done sacrifice of expiation,\\r\\n And slain the noblest prisoner of the Goths.\\r\\n And now at last, laden with honour\\'s spoils,\\r\\n Returns the good Andronicus to Rome,\\r\\n Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms.\\r\\n Let us entreat, by honour of his name\\r\\n Whom worthily you would have now succeed,\\r\\n And in the Capitol and Senate\\'s right,\\r\\n Whom you pretend to honour and adore,\\r\\n That you withdraw you and abate your strength,\\r\\n Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should,\\r\\n Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. How fair the Tribune speaks to calm my thoughts.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy\\r\\n In thy uprightness and integrity,\\r\\n And so I love and honour thee and thine,\\r\\n Thy noble brother Titus and his sons,\\r\\n And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all,\\r\\n Gracious Lavinia, Rome\\'s rich ornament,\\r\\n That I will here dismiss my loving friends,\\r\\n And to my fortunes and the people\\'s favour\\r\\n Commit my cause in balance to be weigh\\'d.\\r\\n Exeunt the soldiers of BASSIANUS\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Friends, that have been thus forward in my right,\\r\\n I thank you all and here dismiss you all,\\r\\n And to the love and favour of my country\\r\\n Commit myself, my person, and the cause.\\r\\n Exeunt the soldiers of SATURNINUS\\r\\n Rome, be as just and gracious unto me\\r\\n As I am confident and kind to thee.\\r\\n Open the gates and let me in.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor.\\r\\n [Flourish. They go up into the Senate House]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a CAPTAIN\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPTAIN. Romans, make way. The good Andronicus,\\r\\n Patron of virtue, Rome\\'s best champion,\\r\\n Successful in the battles that he fights,\\r\\n With honour and with fortune is return\\'d\\r\\n From where he circumscribed with his sword\\r\\n And brought to yoke the enemies of Rome.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound drums and trumpets, and then enter MARTIUS and MUTIUS,\\r\\n two of TITUS\\' sons; and then two men bearing a coffin covered\\r\\n with black; then LUCIUS and QUINTUS, two other sons; then TITUS\\r\\n ANDRONICUS; and then TAMORA the Queen of Goths, with her three\\r\\n sons, ALARBUS, DEMETRIUS, and CHIRON, with AARON the Moor, and\\r\\n others, as many as can be. Then set down the coffin and TITUS\\r\\n speaks\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds!\\r\\n Lo, as the bark that hath discharg\\'d her fraught\\r\\n Returns with precious lading to the bay\\r\\n From whence at first she weigh\\'d her anchorage,\\r\\n Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs,\\r\\n To re-salute his country with his tears,\\r\\n Tears of true joy for his return to Rome.\\r\\n Thou great defender of this Capitol,\\r\\n Stand gracious to the rites that we intend!\\r\\n Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons,\\r\\n Half of the number that King Priam had,\\r\\n Behold the poor remains, alive and dead!\\r\\n These that survive let Rome reward with love;\\r\\n These that I bring unto their latest home,\\r\\n With burial amongst their ancestors.\\r\\n Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my sword.\\r\\n Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own,\\r\\n Why suffer\\'st thou thy sons, unburied yet,\\r\\n To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx?\\r\\n Make way to lay them by their brethren.\\r\\n [They open the tomb]\\r\\n There greet in silence, as the dead are wont,\\r\\n And sleep in peace, slain in your country\\'s wars.\\r\\n O sacred receptacle of my joys,\\r\\n Sweet cell of virtue and nobility,\\r\\n How many sons hast thou of mine in store\\r\\n That thou wilt never render to me more!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths,\\r\\n That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile\\r\\n Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh\\r\\n Before this earthy prison of their bones,\\r\\n That so the shadows be not unappeas\\'d,\\r\\n Nor we disturb\\'d with prodigies on earth.\\r\\n TITUS. I give him you- the noblest that survives,\\r\\n The eldest son of this distressed queen.\\r\\n TAMORA. Stay, Roman brethen! Gracious conqueror,\\r\\n Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed,\\r\\n A mother\\'s tears in passion for her son;\\r\\n And if thy sons were ever dear to thee,\\r\\n O, think my son to be as dear to me!\\r\\n Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome\\r\\n To beautify thy triumphs, and return\\r\\n Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke;\\r\\n But must my sons be slaughtered in the streets\\r\\n For valiant doings in their country\\'s cause?\\r\\n O, if to fight for king and commonweal\\r\\n Were piety in thine, it is in these.\\r\\n Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood.\\r\\n Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods?\\r\\n Draw near them then in being merciful.\\r\\n Sweet mercy is nobility\\'s true badge.\\r\\n Thrice-noble Titus, spare my first-born son.\\r\\n TITUS. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me.\\r\\n These are their brethren, whom your Goths beheld\\r\\n Alive and dead; and for their brethren slain\\r\\n Religiously they ask a sacrifice.\\r\\n To this your son is mark\\'d, and die he must\\r\\n T\\' appease their groaning shadows that are gone.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Away with him, and make a fire straight;\\r\\n And with our swords, upon a pile of wood,\\r\\n Let\\'s hew his limbs till they be clean consum\\'d.\\r\\n Exeunt TITUS\\' SONS, with ALARBUS\\r\\n TAMORA. O cruel, irreligious piety!\\r\\n CHIRON. Was never Scythia half so barbarous!\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome.\\r\\n Alarbus goes to rest, and we survive\\r\\n To tremble under Titus\\' threat\\'ning look.\\r\\n Then, madam, stand resolv\\'d, but hope withal\\r\\n The self-same gods that arm\\'d the Queen of Troy\\r\\n With opportunity of sharp revenge\\r\\n Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent\\r\\n May favour Tamora, the Queen of Goths-\\r\\n When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen-\\r\\n To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and\\r\\n MUTIUS, the sons of ANDRONICUS, with their swords bloody\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS. See, lord and father, how we have perform\\'d\\r\\n Our Roman rites: Alarbus\\' limbs are lopp\\'d,\\r\\n And entrails feed the sacrificing fire,\\r\\n Whose smoke like incense doth perfume the sky.\\r\\n Remaineth nought but to inter our brethren,\\r\\n And with loud \\'larums welcome them to Rome.\\r\\n TITUS. Let it be so, and let Andronicus\\r\\n Make this his latest farewell to their souls.\\r\\n [Sound trumpets and lay the coffin in the tomb]\\r\\n In peace and honour rest you here, my sons;\\r\\n Rome\\'s readiest champions, repose you here in rest,\\r\\n Secure from worldly chances and mishaps!\\r\\n Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells,\\r\\n Here grow no damned drugs, here are no storms,\\r\\n No noise, but silence and eternal sleep.\\r\\n In peace and honour rest you here, my sons!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LAVINIA\\r\\n\\r\\n LAVINIA. In peace and honour live Lord Titus long;\\r\\n My noble lord and father, live in fame!\\r\\n Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears\\r\\n I render for my brethren\\'s obsequies;\\r\\n And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy\\r\\n Shed on this earth for thy return to Rome.\\r\\n O, bless me here with thy victorious hand,\\r\\n Whose fortunes Rome\\'s best citizens applaud!\\r\\n TITUS. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserv\\'d\\r\\n The cordial of mine age to glad my heart!\\r\\n Lavinia, live; outlive thy father\\'s days,\\r\\n And fame\\'s eternal date, for virtue\\'s praise!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, above, MARCUS ANDRONICUS and TRIBUNES;\\r\\n re-enter SATURNINUS, BASSIANUS, and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCUS. Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother,\\r\\n Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome!\\r\\n TITUS. Thanks, gentle Tribune, noble brother Marcus.\\r\\n MARCUS. And welcome, nephews, from successful wars,\\r\\n You that survive and you that sleep in fame.\\r\\n Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all\\r\\n That in your country\\'s service drew your swords;\\r\\n But safer triumph is this funeral pomp\\r\\n That hath aspir\\'d to Solon\\'s happiness\\r\\n And triumphs over chance in honour\\'s bed.\\r\\n Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome,\\r\\n Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been,\\r\\n Send thee by me, their Tribune and their trust,\\r\\n This par]iament of white and spotless hue;\\r\\n And name thee in election for the empire\\r\\n With these our late-deceased Emperor\\'s sons:\\r\\n Be candidatus then, and put it on,\\r\\n And help to set a head on headless Rome.\\r\\n TITUS. A better head her glorious body fits\\r\\n Than his that shakes for age and feebleness.\\r\\n What should I don this robe and trouble you?\\r\\n Be chosen with proclamations to-day,\\r\\n To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life,\\r\\n And set abroad new business for you all?\\r\\n Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years,\\r\\n And led my country\\'s strength successfully,\\r\\n And buried one and twenty valiant sons,\\r\\n Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms,\\r\\n In right and service of their noble country.\\r\\n Give me a staff of honour for mine age,\\r\\n But not a sceptre to control the world.\\r\\n Upright he held it, lords, that held it last.\\r\\n MARCUS. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Proud and ambitious Tribune, canst thou tell?\\r\\n TITUS. Patience, Prince Saturninus.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Romans, do me right.\\r\\n Patricians, draw your swords, and sheathe them not\\r\\n Till Saturninus be Rome\\'s Emperor.\\r\\n Andronicus, would thou were shipp\\'d to hell\\r\\n Rather than rob me of the people\\'s hearts!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good\\r\\n That noble-minded Titus means to thee!\\r\\n TITUS. Content thee, Prince; I will restore to thee\\r\\n The people\\'s hearts, and wean them from themselves.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee,\\r\\n But honour thee, and will do till I die.\\r\\n My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends,\\r\\n I will most thankful be; and thanks to men\\r\\n Of noble minds is honourable meed.\\r\\n TITUS. People of Rome, and people\\'s Tribunes here,\\r\\n I ask your voices and your suffrages:\\r\\n Will ye bestow them friendly on Andronicus?\\r\\n TRIBUNES. To gratify the good Andronicus,\\r\\n And gratulate his safe return to Rome,\\r\\n The people will accept whom he admits.\\r\\n TITUS. Tribunes, I thank you; and this suit I make,\\r\\n That you create our Emperor\\'s eldest son,\\r\\n Lord Saturnine; whose virtues will, I hope,\\r\\n Reflect on Rome as Titan\\'s rays on earth,\\r\\n And ripen justice in this commonweal.\\r\\n Then, if you will elect by my advice,\\r\\n Crown him, and say \\'Long live our Emperor!\\'\\r\\n MARCUS. With voices and applause of every sort,\\r\\n Patricians and plebeians, we create\\r\\n Lord Saturninus Rome\\'s great Emperor;\\r\\n And say \\'Long live our Emperor Saturnine!\\'\\r\\n [A long flourish till they come down]\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done\\r\\n To us in our election this day\\r\\n I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts,\\r\\n And will with deeds requite thy gentleness;\\r\\n And for an onset, Titus, to advance\\r\\n Thy name and honourable family,\\r\\n Lavinia will I make my emperess,\\r\\n Rome\\'s royal mistress, mistress of my heart,\\r\\n And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse.\\r\\n Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee?\\r\\n TITUS. It doth, my worthy lord, and in this match\\r\\n I hold me highly honoured of your Grace,\\r\\n And here in sight of Rome, to Saturnine,\\r\\n King and commander of our commonweal,\\r\\n The wide world\\'s Emperor, do I consecrate\\r\\n My sword, my chariot, and my prisoners,\\r\\n Presents well worthy Rome\\'s imperious lord;\\r\\n Receive them then, the tribute that I owe,\\r\\n Mine honour\\'s ensigns humbled at thy feet.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life.\\r\\n How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts\\r\\n Rome shall record; and when I do forget\\r\\n The least of these unspeakable deserts,\\r\\n Romans, forget your fealty to me.\\r\\n TITUS. [To TAMORA] Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor;\\r\\n To him that for your honour and your state\\r\\n Will use you nobly and your followers.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. [Aside] A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue\\r\\n That I would choose, were I to choose anew.-\\r\\n Clear up, fair Queen, that cloudy countenance;\\r\\n Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer,\\r\\n Thou com\\'st not to be made a scorn in Rome-\\r\\n Princely shall be thy usage every way.\\r\\n Rest on my word, and let not discontent\\r\\n Daunt all your hopes. Madam, he comforts you\\r\\n Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths.\\r\\n Lavinia, you are not displeas\\'d with this?\\r\\n LAVINIA. Not I, my lord, sith true nobility\\r\\n Warrants these words in princely courtesy.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go.\\r\\n Ransomless here we set our prisoners free.\\r\\n Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum.\\r\\n [Flourish]\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine.\\r\\n [Seizing LAVINIA]\\r\\n TITUS. How, sir! Are you in earnest then, my lord?\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Ay, noble Titus, and resolv\\'d withal\\r\\n To do myself this reason and this right.\\r\\n MARCUS. Suum cuique is our Roman justice:\\r\\n This prince in justice seizeth but his own.\\r\\n LUCIUS. And that he will and shall, if Lucius live.\\r\\n TITUS. Traitors, avaunt! Where is the Emperor\\'s guard?\\r\\n Treason, my lord- Lavinia is surpris\\'d!\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Surpris\\'d! By whom?\\r\\n BASSIANUS. By him that justly may\\r\\n Bear his betroth\\'d from all the world away.\\r\\n Exeunt BASSIANUS and MARCUS with LAVINIA\\r\\n MUTIUS. Brothers, help to convey her hence away,\\r\\n And with my sword I\\'ll keep this door safe.\\r\\n Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS\\r\\n TITUS. Follow, my lord, and I\\'ll soon bring her back.\\r\\n MUTIUS. My lord, you pass not here.\\r\\n TITUS. What, villain boy!\\r\\n Bar\\'st me my way in Rome?\\r\\n MUTIUS. Help, Lucius, help!\\r\\n TITUS kills him. During the fray, exeunt SATURNINUS,\\r\\n TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, and AARON\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Lucius\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS. My lord, you are unjust, and more than so:\\r\\n In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son.\\r\\n TITUS. Nor thou nor he are any sons of mine;\\r\\n My sons would never so dishonour me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter aloft the EMPEROR\\r\\n with TAMORA and her two Sons, and AARON the Moor\\r\\n\\r\\n Traitor, restore Lavinia to the Emperor.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife,\\r\\n That is another\\'s lawful promis\\'d love. Exit\\r\\n SATURNINUS. No, Titus, no; the Emperor needs her not,\\r\\n Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock.\\r\\n I\\'ll trust by leisure him that mocks me once;\\r\\n Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons,\\r\\n Confederates all thus to dishonour me.\\r\\n Was there none else in Rome to make a stale\\r\\n But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus,\\r\\n Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine\\r\\n That saidst I begg\\'d the empire at thy hands.\\r\\n TITUS. O monstrous! What reproachful words are these?\\r\\n SATURNINUS. But go thy ways; go, give that changing piece\\r\\n To him that flourish\\'d for her with his sword.\\r\\n A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy;\\r\\n One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons,\\r\\n To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome.\\r\\n TITUS. These words are razors to my wounded heart.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. And therefore, lovely Tamora, Queen of Goths,\\r\\n That, like the stately Phoebe \\'mongst her nymphs,\\r\\n Dost overshine the gallant\\'st dames of Rome,\\r\\n If thou be pleas\\'d with this my sudden choice,\\r\\n Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride\\r\\n And will create thee Emperess of Rome.\\r\\n Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice?\\r\\n And here I swear by all the Roman gods-\\r\\n Sith priest and holy water are so near,\\r\\n And tapers burn so bright, and everything\\r\\n In readiness for Hymenaeus stand-\\r\\n I will not re-salute the streets of Rome,\\r\\n Or climb my palace, till from forth this place\\r\\n I lead espous\\'d my bride along with me.\\r\\n TAMORA. And here in sight of heaven to Rome I swear,\\r\\n If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths,\\r\\n She will a handmaid be to his desires,\\r\\n A loving nurse, a mother to his youth.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Ascend, fair Queen, Pantheon. Lords, accompany\\r\\n Your noble Emperor and his lovely bride,\\r\\n Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine,\\r\\n Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered;\\r\\n There shall we consummate our spousal rites.\\r\\n Exeunt all but TITUS\\r\\n TITUS. I am not bid to wait upon this bride.\\r\\n TITUS, when wert thou wont to walk alone,\\r\\n Dishonoured thus, and challenged of wrongs?\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter MARCUS,\\r\\n and TITUS\\' SONS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCUS. O Titus, see, O, see what thou hast done!\\r\\n In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son.\\r\\n TITUS. No, foolish Tribune, no; no son of mine-\\r\\n Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed\\r\\n That hath dishonoured all our family;\\r\\n Unworthy brother and unworthy sons!\\r\\n LUCIUS. But let us give him burial, as becomes;\\r\\n Give Mutius burial with our bretheren.\\r\\n TITUS. Traitors, away! He rests not in this tomb.\\r\\n This monument five hundred years hath stood,\\r\\n Which I have sumptuously re-edified;\\r\\n Here none but soldiers and Rome\\'s servitors\\r\\n Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls.\\r\\n Bury him where you can, he comes not here.\\r\\n MARCUS. My lord, this is impiety in you.\\r\\n My nephew Mutius\\' deeds do plead for him;\\r\\n He must be buried with his bretheren.\\r\\n QUINTUS & MARTIUS. And shall, or him we will accompany.\\r\\n TITUS. \\'And shall!\\' What villain was it spake that word?\\r\\n QUINTUS. He that would vouch it in any place but here.\\r\\n TITUS. What, would you bury him in my despite?\\r\\n MARCUS. No, noble Titus, but entreat of thee\\r\\n To pardon Mutius and to bury him.\\r\\n TITUS. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest,\\r\\n And with these boys mine honour thou hast wounded.\\r\\n My foes I do repute you every one;\\r\\n So trouble me no more, but get you gone.\\r\\n MARTIUS. He is not with himself; let us withdraw.\\r\\n QUINTUS. Not I, till Mutius\\' bones be buried.\\r\\n [The BROTHER and the SONS kneel]\\r\\n MARCUS. Brother, for in that name doth nature plead-\\r\\n QUINTUS. Father, and in that name doth nature speak-\\r\\n TITUS. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed.\\r\\n MARCUS. Renowned Titus, more than half my soul-\\r\\n LUCIUS. Dear father, soul and substance of us all-\\r\\n MARCUS. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter\\r\\n His noble nephew here in virtue\\'s nest,\\r\\n That died in honour and Lavinia\\'s cause.\\r\\n Thou art a Roman- be not barbarous.\\r\\n The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax,\\r\\n That slew himself; and wise Laertes\\' son\\r\\n Did graciously plead for his funerals.\\r\\n Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy,\\r\\n Be barr\\'d his entrance here.\\r\\n TITUS. Rise, Marcus, rise;\\r\\n The dismal\\'st day is this that e\\'er I saw,\\r\\n To be dishonoured by my sons in Rome!\\r\\n Well, bury him, and bury me the next.\\r\\n [They put MUTIUS in the tomb]\\r\\n LUCIUS. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends,\\r\\n Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb.\\r\\n ALL. [Kneeling] No man shed tears for noble Mutius;\\r\\n He lives in fame that died in virtue\\'s cause.\\r\\n MARCUS. My lord- to step out of these dreary dumps-\\r\\n How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths\\r\\n Is of a sudden thus advanc\\'d in Rome?\\r\\n TITUS. I know not, Marcus, but I know it is-\\r\\n Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell.\\r\\n Is she not, then, beholding to the man\\r\\n That brought her for this high good turn so far?\\r\\n MARCUS. Yes, and will nobly him remunerate.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Re-enter the EMPEROR, TAMORA\\r\\n and her two SONS, with the MOOR, at one door;\\r\\n at the other door, BASSIANUS and LAVINIA, with others\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS. So, Bassianus, you have play\\'d your prize:\\r\\n God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride!\\r\\n BASSIANUS. And you of yours, my lord! I say no more,\\r\\n Nor wish no less; and so I take my leave.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Traitor, if Rome have law or we have power,\\r\\n Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own,\\r\\n My true betrothed love, and now my wife?\\r\\n But let the laws of Rome determine all;\\r\\n Meanwhile am I possess\\'d of that is mine.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. \\'Tis good, sir. You are very short with us;\\r\\n But if we live we\\'ll be as sharp with you.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. My lord, what I have done, as best I may,\\r\\n Answer I must, and shall do with my life.\\r\\n Only thus much I give your Grace to know:\\r\\n By all the duties that I owe to Rome,\\r\\n This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here,\\r\\n Is in opinion and in honour wrong\\'d,\\r\\n That, in the rescue of Lavinia,\\r\\n With his own hand did slay his youngest son,\\r\\n In zeal to you, and highly mov\\'d to wrath\\r\\n To be controll\\'d in that he frankly gave.\\r\\n Receive him then to favour, Saturnine,\\r\\n That hath express\\'d himself in all his deeds\\r\\n A father and a friend to thee and Rome.\\r\\n TITUS. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds.\\r\\n \\'Tis thou and those that have dishonoured me.\\r\\n Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge\\r\\n How I have lov\\'d and honoured Saturnine!\\r\\n TAMORA. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora\\r\\n Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine,\\r\\n Then hear me speak indifferently for all;\\r\\n And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. What, madam! be dishonoured openly,\\r\\n And basely put it up without revenge?\\r\\n TAMORA. Not so, my lord; the gods of Rome forfend\\r\\n I should be author to dishonour you!\\r\\n But on mine honour dare I undertake\\r\\n For good Lord Titus\\' innocence in all,\\r\\n Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs.\\r\\n Then at my suit look graciously on him;\\r\\n Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose,\\r\\n Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart.\\r\\n [Aside to SATURNINUS] My lord, be rul\\'d by me,\\r\\n be won at last;\\r\\n Dissemble all your griefs and discontents.\\r\\n You are but newly planted in your throne;\\r\\n Lest, then, the people, and patricians too,\\r\\n Upon a just survey take Titus\\' part,\\r\\n And so supplant you for ingratitude,\\r\\n Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin,\\r\\n Yield at entreats, and then let me alone:\\r\\n I\\'ll find a day to massacre them all,\\r\\n And raze their faction and their family,\\r\\n The cruel father and his traitorous sons,\\r\\n To whom I sued for my dear son\\'s life;\\r\\n And make them know what \\'tis to let a queen\\r\\n Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain.-\\r\\n Come, come, sweet Emperor; come, Andronicus.\\r\\n Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart\\r\\n That dies in tempest of thy angry frown.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Rise, Titus, rise; my Empress hath prevail\\'d.\\r\\n TITUS. I thank your Majesty and her, my lord;\\r\\n These words, these looks, infuse new life in me.\\r\\n TAMORA. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome,\\r\\n A Roman now adopted happily,\\r\\n And must advise the Emperor for his good.\\r\\n This day all quarrels die, Andronicus;\\r\\n And let it be mine honour, good my lord,\\r\\n That I have reconcil\\'d your friends and you.\\r\\n For you, Prince Bassianus, I have pass\\'d\\r\\n My word and promise to the Emperor\\r\\n That you will be more mild and tractable.\\r\\n And fear not, lords- and you, Lavinia.\\r\\n By my advice, all humbled on your knees,\\r\\n You shall ask pardon of his Majesty.\\r\\n LUCIUS. We do, and vow to heaven and to his Highness\\r\\n That what we did was mildly as we might,\\r\\n Tend\\'ring our sister\\'s honour and our own.\\r\\n MARCUS. That on mine honour here do I protest.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Away, and talk not; trouble us no more.\\r\\n TAMORA. Nay, nay, sweet Emperor, we must all be friends.\\r\\n The Tribune and his nephews kneel for grace.\\r\\n I will not be denied. Sweet heart, look back.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Marcus, for thy sake, and thy brother\\'s here,\\r\\n And at my lovely Tamora\\'s entreats,\\r\\n I do remit these young men\\'s heinous faults.\\r\\n Stand up.\\r\\n Lavinia, though you left me like a churl,\\r\\n I found a friend; and sure as death I swore\\r\\n I would not part a bachelor from the priest.\\r\\n Come, if the Emperor\\'s court can feast two brides,\\r\\n You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends.\\r\\n This day shall be a love-day, Tamora.\\r\\n TITUS. To-morrow, and it please your Majesty\\r\\n To hunt the panther and the hart with me,\\r\\n With horn and hound we\\'ll give your Grace bonjour.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too.\\r\\n Exeunt. Sound trumpets\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. Rome. Before the palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter AARON\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus\\' top,\\r\\n Safe out of Fortune\\'s shot, and sits aloft,\\r\\n Secure of thunder\\'s crack or lightning flash,\\r\\n Advanc\\'d above pale envy\\'s threat\\'ning reach.\\r\\n As when the golden sun salutes the morn,\\r\\n And, having gilt the ocean with his beams,\\r\\n Gallops the zodiac in his glistening coach\\r\\n And overlooks the highest-peering hills,\\r\\n So Tamora.\\r\\n Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait,\\r\\n And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown.\\r\\n Then, Aaron, arm thy heart and fit thy thoughts\\r\\n To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress,\\r\\n And mount her pitch whom thou in triumph long.\\r\\n Hast prisoner held, fett\\'red in amorous chains,\\r\\n And faster bound to Aaron\\'s charming eyes\\r\\n Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus.\\r\\n Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts!\\r\\n I will be bright and shine in pearl and gold,\\r\\n To wait upon this new-made emperess.\\r\\n To wait, said I? To wanton with this queen,\\r\\n This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph,\\r\\n This siren that will charm Rome\\'s Saturnine,\\r\\n And see his shipwreck and his commonweal\\'s.\\r\\n Hullo! what storm is this?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CHIRON and DEMETRIUS, braving\\r\\n\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Chiron, thy years wants wit, thy wits wants edge\\r\\n And manners, to intrude where I am grac\\'d,\\r\\n And may, for aught thou knowest, affected be.\\r\\n CHIRON. Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all;\\r\\n And so in this, to bear me down with braves.\\r\\n \\'Tis not the difference of a year or two\\r\\n Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate:\\r\\n I am as able and as fit as thou\\r\\n To serve and to deserve my mistress\\' grace;\\r\\n And that my sword upon thee shall approve,\\r\\n And plead my passions for Lavinia\\'s love.\\r\\n AARON. [Aside] Clubs, clubs! These lovers will not keep the\\r\\n peace.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Why, boy, although our mother, unadvis\\'d,\\r\\n Gave you a dancing rapier by your side,\\r\\n Are you so desperate grown to threat your friends?\\r\\n Go to; have your lath glued within your sheath\\r\\n Till you know better how to handle it.\\r\\n CHIRON. Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I have,\\r\\n Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Ay, boy, grow ye so brave? [They draw]\\r\\n AARON. [Coming forward] Why, how now, lords!\\r\\n So near the Emperor\\'s palace dare ye draw\\r\\n And maintain such a quarrel openly?\\r\\n Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge:\\r\\n I would not for a million of gold\\r\\n The cause were known to them it most concerns;\\r\\n Nor would your noble mother for much more\\r\\n Be so dishonoured in the court of Rome.\\r\\n For shame, put up.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Not I, till I have sheath\\'d\\r\\n My rapier in his bosom, and withal\\r\\n Thrust those reproachful speeches down his throat\\r\\n That he hath breath\\'d in my dishonour here.\\r\\n CHIRON. For that I am prepar\\'d and full resolv\\'d,\\r\\n Foul-spoken coward, that thund\\'rest with thy tongue,\\r\\n And with thy weapon nothing dar\\'st perform.\\r\\n AARON. Away, I say!\\r\\n Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore,\\r\\n This pretty brabble will undo us all.\\r\\n Why, lords, and think you not how dangerous\\r\\n It is to jet upon a prince\\'s right?\\r\\n What, is Lavinia then become so loose,\\r\\n Or Bassianus so degenerate,\\r\\n That for her love such quarrels may be broach\\'d\\r\\n Without controlment, justice, or revenge?\\r\\n Young lords, beware; an should the Empress know\\r\\n This discord\\'s ground, the music would not please.\\r\\n CHIRON. I care not, I, knew she and all the world:\\r\\n I love Lavinia more than all the world.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner choice:\\r\\n Lavina is thine elder brother\\'s hope.\\r\\n AARON. Why, are ye mad, or know ye not in Rome\\r\\n How furious and impatient they be,\\r\\n And cannot brook competitors in love?\\r\\n I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths\\r\\n By this device.\\r\\n CHIRON. Aaron, a thousand deaths\\r\\n Would I propose to achieve her whom I love.\\r\\n AARON. To achieve her- how?\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Why mak\\'st thou it so strange?\\r\\n She is a woman, therefore may be woo\\'d;\\r\\n She is a woman, therefore may be won;\\r\\n She is Lavinia, therefore must be lov\\'d.\\r\\n What, man! more water glideth by the mill\\r\\n Than wots the miller of; and easy it is\\r\\n Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know.\\r\\n Though Bassianus be the Emperor\\'s brother,\\r\\n Better than he have worn Vulcan\\'s badge.\\r\\n AARON. [Aside] Ay, and as good as Saturninus may.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Then why should he despair that knows to court it\\r\\n With words, fair looks, and liberality?\\r\\n What, hast not thou full often struck a doe,\\r\\n And borne her cleanly by the keeper\\'s nose?\\r\\n AARON. Why, then, it seems some certain snatch or so\\r\\n Would serve your turns.\\r\\n CHIRON. Ay, so the turn were served.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Aaron, thou hast hit it.\\r\\n AARON. Would you had hit it too!\\r\\n Then should not we be tir\\'d with this ado.\\r\\n Why, hark ye, hark ye! and are you such fools\\r\\n To square for this? Would it offend you, then,\\r\\n That both should speed?\\r\\n CHIRON. Faith, not me.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Nor me, so I were one.\\r\\n AARON. For shame, be friends, and join for that you jar.\\r\\n \\'Tis policy and stratagem must do\\r\\n That you affect; and so must you resolve\\r\\n That what you cannot as you would achieve,\\r\\n You must perforce accomplish as you may.\\r\\n Take this of me: Lucrece was not more chaste\\r\\n Than this Lavinia, Bassianus\\' love.\\r\\n A speedier course than ling\\'ring languishment\\r\\n Must we pursue, and I have found the path.\\r\\n My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand;\\r\\n There will the lovely Roman ladies troop;\\r\\n The forest walks are wide and spacious,\\r\\n And many unfrequented plots there are\\r\\n Fitted by kind for rape and villainy.\\r\\n Single you thither then this dainty doe,\\r\\n And strike her home by force if not by words.\\r\\n This way, or not at all, stand you in hope.\\r\\n Come, come, our Empress, with her sacred wit\\r\\n To villainy and vengeance consecrate,\\r\\n Will we acquaint with all what we intend;\\r\\n And she shall file our engines with advice\\r\\n That will not suffer you to square yourselves,\\r\\n But to your wishes\\' height advance you both.\\r\\n The Emperor\\'s court is like the house of Fame,\\r\\n The palace full of tongues, of eyes, and ears;\\r\\n The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull.\\r\\n There speak and strike, brave boys, and take your turns;\\r\\n There serve your lust, shadowed from heaven\\'s eye,\\r\\n And revel in Lavinia\\'s treasury.\\r\\n CHIRON. Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream\\r\\n To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits,\\r\\n Per Styga, per manes vehor. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A forest near Rome\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TITUS ANDRONICUS, and his three sons, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS,\\r\\nmaking a noise with hounds and horns; and MARCUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey,\\r\\n The fields are fragrant, and the woods are green.\\r\\n Uncouple here, and let us make a bay,\\r\\n And wake the Emperor and his lovely bride,\\r\\n And rouse the Prince, and ring a hunter\\'s peal,\\r\\n That all the court may echo with the noise.\\r\\n Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours,\\r\\n To attend the Emperor\\'s person carefully.\\r\\n I have been troubled in my sleep this night,\\r\\n But dawning day new comfort hath inspir\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Here a cry of hounds, and wind horns in a peal.\\r\\n Then enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA, BASSIANUS LAVINIA,\\r\\n CHIRON, DEMETRIUS, and their attendants\\r\\n Many good morrows to your Majesty!\\r\\n Madam, to you as many and as good!\\r\\n I promised your Grace a hunter\\'s peal.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. And you have rung it lustily, my lords-\\r\\n Somewhat too early for new-married ladies.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Lavinia, how say you?\\r\\n LAVINIA. I say no;\\r\\n I have been broad awake two hours and more.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Come on then, horse and chariots let us have,\\r\\n And to our sport. [To TAMORA] Madam, now shall ye see\\r\\n Our Roman hunting.\\r\\n MARCUS. I have dogs, my lord,\\r\\n Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase,\\r\\n And climb the highest promontory top.\\r\\n TITUS. And I have horse will follow where the game\\r\\n Makes way, and run like swallows o\\'er the plain.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor hound,\\r\\n But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A lonely part of the forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter AARON alone, with a bag of gold\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON. He that had wit would think that I had none,\\r\\n To bury so much gold under a tree\\r\\n And never after to inherit it.\\r\\n Let him that thinks of me so abjectly\\r\\n Know that this gold must coin a stratagem,\\r\\n Which, cunningly effected, will beget\\r\\n A very excellent piece of villainy.\\r\\n And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest\\r\\n [Hides the gold]\\r\\n That have their alms out of the Empress\\' chest.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TAMORA alone, to the Moor\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look\\'st thou sad\\r\\n When everything does make a gleeful boast?\\r\\n The birds chant melody on every bush;\\r\\n The snakes lie rolled in the cheerful sun;\\r\\n The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind\\r\\n And make a chequer\\'d shadow on the ground;\\r\\n Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit,\\r\\n And while the babbling echo mocks the hounds,\\r\\n Replying shrilly to the well-tun\\'d horns,\\r\\n As if a double hunt were heard at once,\\r\\n Let us sit down and mark their yellowing noise;\\r\\n And- after conflict such as was suppos\\'d\\r\\n The wand\\'ring prince and Dido once enjoyed,\\r\\n When with a happy storm they were surpris\\'d,\\r\\n And curtain\\'d with a counsel-keeping cave-\\r\\n We may, each wreathed in the other\\'s arms,\\r\\n Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber,\\r\\n Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds\\r\\n Be unto us as is a nurse\\'s song\\r\\n Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep.\\r\\n AARON. Madam, though Venus govern your desires,\\r\\n Saturn is dominator over mine.\\r\\n What signifies my deadly-standing eye,\\r\\n My silence and my cloudy melancholy,\\r\\n My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls\\r\\n Even as an adder when she doth unroll\\r\\n To do some fatal execution?\\r\\n No, madam, these are no venereal signs.\\r\\n Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand,\\r\\n Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.\\r\\n Hark, Tamora, the empress of my soul,\\r\\n Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee-\\r\\n This is the day of doom for Bassianus;\\r\\n His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day,\\r\\n Thy sons make pillage of her chastity,\\r\\n And wash their hands in Bassianus\\' blood.\\r\\n Seest thou this letter? Take it up, I pray thee,\\r\\n And give the King this fatal-plotted scroll.\\r\\n Now question me no more; we are espied.\\r\\n Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty,\\r\\n Which dreads not yet their lives\\' destruction.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BASSIANUS and LAVINIA\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA. Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life!\\r\\n AARON. No more, great Empress: Bassianus comes.\\r\\n Be cross with him; and I\\'ll go fetch thy sons\\r\\n To back thy quarrels, whatsoe\\'er they be. Exit\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Who have we here? Rome\\'s royal Emperess,\\r\\n Unfurnish\\'d of her well-beseeming troop?\\r\\n Or is it Dian, habited like her,\\r\\n Who hath abandoned her holy groves\\r\\n To see the general hunting in this forest?\\r\\n TAMORA. Saucy controller of my private steps!\\r\\n Had I the pow\\'r that some say Dian had,\\r\\n Thy temples should be planted presently\\r\\n With horns, as was Actaeon\\'s; and the hounds\\r\\n Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs,\\r\\n Unmannerly intruder as thou art!\\r\\n LAVINIA. Under your patience, gentle Emperess,\\r\\n \\'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning,\\r\\n And to be doubted that your Moor and you\\r\\n Are singled forth to try thy experiments.\\r\\n Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day!\\r\\n \\'Tis pity they should take him for a stag.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Believe me, Queen, your swarth Cimmerian\\r\\n Doth make your honour of his body\\'s hue,\\r\\n Spotted, detested, and abominable.\\r\\n Why are you sequest\\'red from all your train,\\r\\n Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed,\\r\\n And wand\\'red hither to an obscure plot,\\r\\n Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor,\\r\\n If foul desire had not conducted you?\\r\\n LAVINIA. And, being intercepted in your sport,\\r\\n Great reason that my noble lord be rated\\r\\n For sauciness. I pray you let us hence,\\r\\n And let her joy her raven-coloured love;\\r\\n This valley fits the purpose passing well.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. The King my brother shall have notice of this.\\r\\n LAVINIA. Ay, for these slips have made him noted long.\\r\\n Good king, to be so mightily abused!\\r\\n TAMORA. Why, I have patience to endure all this.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CHIRON and DEMETRIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious mother!\\r\\n Why doth your Highness look so pale and wan?\\r\\n TAMORA. Have I not reason, think you, to look pale?\\r\\n These two have \\'ticed me hither to this place.\\r\\n A barren detested vale you see it is:\\r\\n The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean,\\r\\n Overcome with moss and baleful mistletoe;\\r\\n Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds,\\r\\n Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven.\\r\\n And when they show\\'d me this abhorred pit,\\r\\n They told me, here, at dead time of the night,\\r\\n A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes,\\r\\n Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins,\\r\\n Would make such fearful and confused cries\\r\\n As any mortal body hearing it\\r\\n Should straight fall mad or else die suddenly.\\r\\n No sooner had they told this hellish tale\\r\\n But straight they told me they would bind me here\\r\\n Unto the body of a dismal yew,\\r\\n And leave me to this miserable death.\\r\\n And then they call\\'d me foul adulteress,\\r\\n Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms\\r\\n That ever ear did hear to such effect;\\r\\n And had you not by wondrous fortune come,\\r\\n This vengeance on me had they executed.\\r\\n Revenge it, as you love your mother\\'s life,\\r\\n Or be ye not henceforth call\\'d my children.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. This is a witness that I am thy son.\\r\\n [Stabs BASSIANUS]\\r\\n CHIRON. And this for me, struck home to show my strength.\\r\\n [Also stabs]\\r\\n LAVINIA. Ay, come, Semiramis- nay, barbarous Tamora,\\r\\n For no name fits thy nature but thy own!\\r\\n TAMORA. Give me the poniard; you shall know, my boys,\\r\\n Your mother\\'s hand shall right your mother\\'s wrong.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Stay, madam, here is more belongs to her;\\r\\n First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw.\\r\\n This minion stood upon her chastity,\\r\\n Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty,\\r\\n And with that painted hope braves your mightiness;\\r\\n And shall she carry this unto her grave?\\r\\n CHIRON. An if she do, I would I were an eunuch.\\r\\n Drag hence her husband to some secret hole,\\r\\n And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust.\\r\\n TAMORA. But when ye have the honey we desire,\\r\\n Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting.\\r\\n CHIRON. I warrant you, madam, we will make that sure.\\r\\n Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy\\r\\n That nice-preserved honesty of yours.\\r\\n LAVINIA. O Tamora! thou bearest a woman\\'s face-\\r\\n TAMORA. I will not hear her speak; away with her!\\r\\n LAVINIA. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Listen, fair madam: let it be your glory\\r\\n To see her tears; but be your heart to them\\r\\n As unrelenting flint to drops of rain.\\r\\n LAVINIA. When did the tiger\\'s young ones teach the dam?\\r\\n O, do not learn her wrath- she taught it thee;\\r\\n The milk thou suck\\'dst from her did turn to marble,\\r\\n Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny.\\r\\n Yet every mother breeds not sons alike:\\r\\n [To CHIRON] Do thou entreat her show a woman\\'s pity.\\r\\n CHIRON. What, wouldst thou have me prove myself a bastard?\\r\\n LAVINIA. \\'Tis true, the raven doth not hatch a lark.\\r\\n Yet have I heard- O, could I find it now!-\\r\\n The lion, mov\\'d with pity, did endure\\r\\n To have his princely paws par\\'d all away.\\r\\n Some say that ravens foster forlorn children,\\r\\n The whilst their own birds famish in their nests;\\r\\n O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no,\\r\\n Nothing so kind, but something pitiful!\\r\\n TAMORA. I know not what it means; away with her!\\r\\n LAVINIA. O, let me teach thee! For my father\\'s sake,\\r\\n That gave thee life when well he might have slain thee,\\r\\n Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears.\\r\\n TAMORA. Hadst thou in person ne\\'er offended me,\\r\\n Even for his sake am I pitiless.\\r\\n Remember, boys, I pour\\'d forth tears in vain\\r\\n To save your brother from the sacrifice;\\r\\n But fierce Andronicus would not relent.\\r\\n Therefore away with her, and use her as you will;\\r\\n The worse to her the better lov\\'d of me.\\r\\n LAVINIA. O Tamora, be call\\'d a gentle queen,\\r\\n And with thine own hands kill me in this place!\\r\\n For \\'tis not life that I have begg\\'d so long;\\r\\n Poor I was slain when Bassianus died.\\r\\n TAMORA. What beg\\'st thou, then? Fond woman, let me go.\\r\\n LAVINIA. \\'Tis present death I beg; and one thing more,\\r\\n That womanhood denies my tongue to tell:\\r\\n O, keep me from their worse than killing lust,\\r\\n And tumble me into some loathsome pit,\\r\\n Where never man\\'s eye may behold my body;\\r\\n Do this, and be a charitable murderer.\\r\\n TAMORA. So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee;\\r\\n No, let them satisfy their lust on thee.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Away! for thou hast stay\\'d us here too long.\\r\\n LAVINIA. No grace? no womanhood? Ah, beastly creature,\\r\\n The blot and enemy to our general name!\\r\\n Confusion fall-\\r\\n CHIRON. Nay, then I\\'ll stop your mouth. Bring thou her husband.\\r\\n This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him.\\r\\n\\r\\n DEMETRIUS throws the body\\r\\n of BASSIANUS into the pit; then exeunt\\r\\n DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, dragging off LAVINIA\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA. Farewell, my sons; see that you make her sure.\\r\\n Ne\\'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed\\r\\n Till all the Andronici be made away.\\r\\n Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor,\\r\\n And let my spleenful sons this trull deflower. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter AARON, with two\\r\\n of TITUS\\' sons, QUINTUS and MARTIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON. Come on, my lords, the better foot before;\\r\\n Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit\\r\\n Where I espied the panther fast asleep.\\r\\n QUINTUS. My sight is very dull, whate\\'er it bodes.\\r\\n MARTIUS. And mine, I promise you; were it not for shame,\\r\\n Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile.\\r\\n [Falls into the pit]\\r\\n QUINTUS. What, art thou fallen? What subtle hole is this,\\r\\n Whose mouth is covered with rude-growing briers,\\r\\n Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood\\r\\n As fresh as morning dew distill\\'d on flowers?\\r\\n A very fatal place it seems to me.\\r\\n Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall?\\r\\n MARTIUS. O brother, with the dismal\\'st object hurt\\r\\n That ever eye with sight made heart lament!\\r\\n AARON. [Aside] Now will I fetch the King to find them here,\\r\\n That he thereby may have a likely guess\\r\\n How these were they that made away his brother. Exit\\r\\n MARTIUS. Why dost not comfort me, and help me out\\r\\n From this unhallow\\'d and blood-stained hole?\\r\\n QUINTUS. I am surprised with an uncouth fear;\\r\\n A chilling sweat o\\'er-runs my trembling joints;\\r\\n My heart suspects more than mine eye can see.\\r\\n MARTIUS. To prove thou hast a true divining heart,\\r\\n Aaron and thou look down into this den,\\r\\n And see a fearful sight of blood and death.\\r\\n QUINTUS. Aaron is gone, and my compassionate heart\\r\\n Will not permit mine eyes once to behold\\r\\n The thing whereat it trembles by surmise;\\r\\n O, tell me who it is, for ne\\'er till now\\r\\n Was I a child to fear I know not what.\\r\\n MARTIUS. Lord Bassianus lies beray\\'d in blood,\\r\\n All on a heap, like to a slaughtered lamb,\\r\\n In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit.\\r\\n QUINTUS. If it be dark, how dost thou know \\'tis he?\\r\\n MARTIUS. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear\\r\\n A precious ring that lightens all this hole,\\r\\n Which, like a taper in some monument,\\r\\n Doth shine upon the dead man\\'s earthy cheeks,\\r\\n And shows the ragged entrails of this pit;\\r\\n So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus\\r\\n When he by night lay bath\\'d in maiden blood.\\r\\n O brother, help me with thy fainting hand-\\r\\n If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath-\\r\\n Out of this fell devouring receptacle,\\r\\n As hateful as Cocytus\\' misty mouth.\\r\\n QUINTUS. Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out,\\r\\n Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good,\\r\\n I may be pluck\\'d into the swallowing womb\\r\\n Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus\\' grave.\\r\\n I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink.\\r\\n MARTIUS. Nor I no strength to climb without thy help.\\r\\n QUINTUS. Thy hand once more; I will not loose again,\\r\\n Till thou art here aloft, or I below.\\r\\n Thou canst not come to me- I come to thee. [Falls in]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the EMPEROR and AARON the Moor\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Along with me! I\\'ll see what hole is here,\\r\\n And what he is that now is leapt into it.\\r\\n Say, who art thou that lately didst descend\\r\\n Into this gaping hollow of the earth?\\r\\n MARTIUS. The unhappy sons of old Andronicus,\\r\\n Brought hither in a most unlucky hour,\\r\\n To find thy brother Bassianus dead.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. My brother dead! I know thou dost but jest:\\r\\n He and his lady both are at the lodge\\r\\n Upon the north side of this pleasant chase;\\r\\n \\'Tis not an hour since I left them there.\\r\\n MARTIUS. We know not where you left them all alive;\\r\\n But, out alas! here have we found him dead.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter TAMORA, with\\r\\n attendants; TITUS ANDRONICUS and Lucius\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA. Where is my lord the King?\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Here, Tamora; though griev\\'d with killing grief.\\r\\n TAMORA. Where is thy brother Bassianus?\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound;\\r\\n Poor Bassianus here lies murdered.\\r\\n TAMORA. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ,\\r\\n The complot of this timeless tragedy;\\r\\n And wonder greatly that man\\'s face can fold\\r\\n In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny.\\r\\n [She giveth SATURNINE a letter]\\r\\n SATURNINUS. [Reads] \\'An if we miss to meet him handsomely,\\r\\n Sweet huntsman- Bassianus \\'tis we mean-\\r\\n Do thou so much as dig the grave for him.\\r\\n Thou know\\'st our meaning. Look for thy reward\\r\\n Among the nettles at the elder-tree\\r\\n Which overshades the mouth of that same pit\\r\\n Where we decreed to bury Bassianus.\\r\\n Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.\\'\\r\\n O Tamora! was ever heard the like?\\r\\n This is the pit and this the elder-tree.\\r\\n Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out\\r\\n That should have murdered Bassianus here.\\r\\n AARON. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. [To TITUS] Two of thy whelps, fell curs of bloody\\r\\n kind,\\r\\n Have here bereft my brother of his life.\\r\\n Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison;\\r\\n There let them bide until we have devis\\'d\\r\\n Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them.\\r\\n TAMORA. What, are they in this pit? O wondrous thing!\\r\\n How easily murder is discovered!\\r\\n TITUS. High Emperor, upon my feeble knee\\r\\n I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed,\\r\\n That this fell fault of my accursed sons-\\r\\n Accursed if the fault be prov\\'d in them-\\r\\n SATURNINUS. If it be prov\\'d! You see it is apparent.\\r\\n Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you?\\r\\n TAMORA. Andronicus himself did take it up.\\r\\n TITUS. I did, my lord, yet let me be their bail;\\r\\n For, by my fathers\\' reverend tomb, I vow\\r\\n They shall be ready at your Highness\\' will\\r\\n To answer their suspicion with their lives.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Thou shalt not bail them; see thou follow me.\\r\\n Some bring the murdered body, some the murderers;\\r\\n Let them not speak a word- the guilt is plain;\\r\\n For, by my soul, were there worse end than death,\\r\\n That end upon them should be executed.\\r\\n TAMORA. Andronicus, I will entreat the King.\\r\\n Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough.\\r\\n TITUS. Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Another part of the forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the Empress\\' sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, with LAVINIA, her hands\\r\\ncut off, and her tongue cut out, and ravish\\'d\\r\\n\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak,\\r\\n Who \\'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish\\'d thee.\\r\\n CHIRON. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so,\\r\\n An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. See how with signs and tokens she can scrowl.\\r\\n CHIRON. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash;\\r\\n And so let\\'s leave her to her silent walks.\\r\\n CHIRON. An \\'twere my cause, I should go hang myself.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord.\\r\\n Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON\\r\\n\\r\\n Wind horns. Enter MARCUS, from hunting\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCUS. Who is this?- my niece, that flies away so fast?\\r\\n Cousin, a word: where is your husband?\\r\\n If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me!\\r\\n If I do wake, some planet strike me down,\\r\\n That I may slumber an eternal sleep!\\r\\n Speak, gentle niece. What stern ungentle hands\\r\\n Hath lopp\\'d, and hew\\'d, and made thy body bare\\r\\n Of her two branches- those sweet ornaments\\r\\n Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in,\\r\\n And might not gain so great a happiness\\r\\n As half thy love? Why dost not speak to me?\\r\\n Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,\\r\\n Like to a bubbling fountain stirr\\'d with wind,\\r\\n Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips,\\r\\n Coming and going with thy honey breath.\\r\\n But sure some Tereus hath deflowered thee,\\r\\n And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue.\\r\\n Ah, now thou turn\\'st away thy face for shame!\\r\\n And notwithstanding all this loss of blood-\\r\\n As from a conduit with three issuing spouts-\\r\\n Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan\\'s face\\r\\n Blushing to be encount\\'red with a cloud.\\r\\n Shall I speak for thee? Shall I say \\'tis so?\\r\\n O, that I knew thy heart, and knew the beast,\\r\\n That I might rail at him to ease my mind!\\r\\n Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp\\'d,\\r\\n Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.\\r\\n Fair Philomel, why she but lost her tongue,\\r\\n And in a tedious sampler sew\\'d her mind;\\r\\n But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee.\\r\\n A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met,\\r\\n And he hath cut those pretty fingers off\\r\\n That could have better sew\\'d than Philomel.\\r\\n O, had the monster seen those lily hands\\r\\n Tremble like aspen leaves upon a lute\\r\\n And make the silken strings delight to kiss them,\\r\\n He would not then have touch\\'d them for his life!\\r\\n Or had he heard the heavenly harmony\\r\\n Which that sweet tongue hath made,\\r\\n He would have dropp\\'d his knife, and fell asleep,\\r\\n As Cerberus at the Thracian poet\\'s feet.\\r\\n Come, let us go, and make thy father blind,\\r\\n For such a sight will blind a father\\'s eye;\\r\\n One hour\\'s storm will drown the fragrant meads,\\r\\n What will whole months of tears thy father\\'s eyes?\\r\\n Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee;\\r\\n O, could our mourning case thy misery! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. Rome. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the JUDGES, TRIBUNES, and SENATORS, with TITUS\\' two sons MARTIUS\\r\\nand QUINTUS bound, passing on the stage to the place of execution, and\\r\\nTITUS going before, pleading\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Hear me, grave fathers; noble Tribunes, stay!\\r\\n For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent\\r\\n In dangerous wars whilst you securely slept;\\r\\n For all my blood in Rome\\'s great quarrel shed,\\r\\n For all the frosty nights that I have watch\\'d,\\r\\n And for these bitter tears, which now you see\\r\\n Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks,\\r\\n Be pitiful to my condemned sons,\\r\\n Whose souls are not corrupted as \\'tis thought.\\r\\n For two and twenty sons I never wept,\\r\\n Because they died in honour\\'s lofty bed.\\r\\n [ANDRONICUS lieth down, and the judges\\r\\n pass by him with the prisoners, and exeunt]\\r\\n For these, Tribunes, in the dust I write\\r\\n My heart\\'s deep languor and my soul\\'s sad tears.\\r\\n Let my tears stanch the earth\\'s dry appetite;\\r\\n My sons\\' sweet blood will make it shame and blush.\\r\\n O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain\\r\\n That shall distil from these two ancient urns,\\r\\n Than youthful April shall with all his show\\'rs.\\r\\n In summer\\'s drought I\\'ll drop upon thee still;\\r\\n In winter with warm tears I\\'ll melt the snow\\r\\n And keep eternal spring-time on thy face,\\r\\n So thou refuse to drink my dear sons\\' blood.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucius with his weapon drawn\\r\\n\\r\\n O reverend Tribunes! O gentle aged men!\\r\\n Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death,\\r\\n And let me say, that never wept before,\\r\\n My tears are now prevailing orators.\\r\\n LUCIUS. O noble father, you lament in vain;\\r\\n The Tribunes hear you not, no man is by,\\r\\n And you recount your sorrows to a stone.\\r\\n TITUS. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead!\\r\\n Grave Tribunes, once more I entreat of you.\\r\\n LUCIUS. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, \\'tis no matter, man: if they did hear,\\r\\n They would not mark me; if they did mark,\\r\\n They would not pity me; yet plead I must,\\r\\n And bootless unto them.\\r\\n Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones;\\r\\n Who though they cannot answer my distress,\\r\\n Yet in some sort they are better than the Tribunes,\\r\\n For that they will not intercept my tale.\\r\\n When I do weep, they humbly at my feet\\r\\n Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me;\\r\\n And were they but attired in grave weeds,\\r\\n Rome could afford no tribunes like to these.\\r\\n A stone is soft as wax: tribunes more hard than stones.\\r\\n A stone is silent and offendeth not,\\r\\n And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death.\\r\\n [Rises]\\r\\n But wherefore stand\\'st thou with thy weapon drawn?\\r\\n LUCIUS. To rescue my two brothers from their death;\\r\\n For which attempt the judges have pronounc\\'d\\r\\n My everlasting doom of banishment.\\r\\n TITUS. O happy man! they have befriended thee.\\r\\n Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive\\r\\n That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers?\\r\\n Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey\\r\\n But me and mine; how happy art thou then\\r\\n From these devourers to be banished!\\r\\n But who comes with our brother Marcus here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MARCUS with LAVINIA\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCUS. Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep,\\r\\n Or if not so, thy noble heart to break.\\r\\n I bring consuming sorrow to thine age.\\r\\n TITUS. Will it consume me? Let me see it then.\\r\\n MARCUS. This was thy daughter.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, Marcus, so she is.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Ay me! this object kills me.\\r\\n TITUS. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her.\\r\\n Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand\\r\\n Hath made thee handless in thy father\\'s sight?\\r\\n What fool hath added water to the sea,\\r\\n Or brought a fagot to bright-burning Troy?\\r\\n My grief was at the height before thou cam\\'st,\\r\\n And now like Nilus it disdaineth bounds.\\r\\n Give me a sword, I\\'ll chop off my hands too,\\r\\n For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain;\\r\\n And they have nurs\\'d this woe in feeding life;\\r\\n In bootless prayer have they been held up,\\r\\n And they have serv\\'d me to effectless use.\\r\\n Now all the service I require of them\\r\\n Is that the one will help to cut the other.\\r\\n \\'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands;\\r\\n For hands to do Rome service is but vain.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr\\'d thee?\\r\\n MARCUS. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts\\r\\n That blabb\\'d them with such pleasing eloquence\\r\\n Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage,\\r\\n Where like a sweet melodious bird it sung\\r\\n Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear!\\r\\n LUCIUS. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed?\\r\\n MARCUS. O, thus I found her straying in the park,\\r\\n Seeking to hide herself as doth the deer\\r\\n That hath receiv\\'d some unrecuring wound.\\r\\n TITUS. It was my dear, and he that wounded her\\r\\n Hath hurt me more than had he kill\\'d me dead;\\r\\n For now I stand as one upon a rock,\\r\\n Environ\\'d with a wilderness of sea,\\r\\n Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave,\\r\\n Expecting ever when some envious surge\\r\\n Will in his brinish bowels swallow him.\\r\\n This way to death my wretched sons are gone;\\r\\n Here stands my other son, a banish\\'d man,\\r\\n And here my brother, weeping at my woes.\\r\\n But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn\\r\\n Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul.\\r\\n Had I but seen thy picture in this plight,\\r\\n It would have madded me; what shall I do\\r\\n Now I behold thy lively body so?\\r\\n Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears,\\r\\n Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr\\'d thee;\\r\\n Thy husband he is dead, and for his death\\r\\n Thy brothers are condemn\\'d, and dead by this.\\r\\n Look, Marcus! Ah, son Lucius, look on her!\\r\\n When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears\\r\\n Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey dew\\r\\n Upon a gath\\'red lily almost withered.\\r\\n MARCUS. Perchance she weeps because they kill\\'d her husband;\\r\\n Perchance because she knows them innocent.\\r\\n TITUS. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful,\\r\\n Because the law hath ta\\'en revenge on them.\\r\\n No, no, they would not do so foul a deed;\\r\\n Witness the sorrow that their sister makes.\\r\\n Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips,\\r\\n Or make some sign how I may do thee ease.\\r\\n Shall thy good uncle and thy brother Lucius\\r\\n And thou and I sit round about some fountain,\\r\\n Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks\\r\\n How they are stain\\'d, like meadows yet not dry\\r\\n With miry slime left on them by a flood?\\r\\n And in the fountain shall we gaze so long,\\r\\n Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness,\\r\\n And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears?\\r\\n Or shall we cut away our hands like thine?\\r\\n Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows\\r\\n Pass the remainder of our hateful days?\\r\\n What shall we do? Let us that have our tongues\\r\\n Plot some device of further misery\\r\\n To make us wonder\\'d at in time to come.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Sweet father, cease your tears; for at your grief\\r\\n See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps.\\r\\n MARCUS. Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes.\\r\\n TITUS. Ah, Marcus, Marcus! Brother, well I wot\\r\\n Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine,\\r\\n For thou, poor man, hast drown\\'d it with thine own.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks.\\r\\n TITUS. Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs.\\r\\n Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say\\r\\n That to her brother which I said to thee:\\r\\n His napkin, with his true tears all bewet,\\r\\n Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks.\\r\\n O, what a sympathy of woe is this\\r\\n As far from help as Limbo is from bliss!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter AARON the Moor\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON. Titus Andronicus, my lord the Emperor\\r\\n Sends thee this word, that, if thou love thy sons,\\r\\n Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus,\\r\\n Or any one of you, chop off your hand\\r\\n And send it to the King: he for the same\\r\\n Will send thee hither both thy sons alive,\\r\\n And that shall be the ransom for their fault.\\r\\n TITUS. O gracious Emperor! O gentle Aaron!\\r\\n Did ever raven sing so like a lark\\r\\n That gives sweet tidings of the sun\\'s uprise?\\r\\n With all my heart I\\'ll send the Emperor my hand.\\r\\n Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off?\\r\\n LUCIUS. Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine,\\r\\n That hath thrown down so many enemies,\\r\\n Shall not be sent. My hand will serve the turn,\\r\\n My youth can better spare my blood than you,\\r\\n And therefore mine shall save my brothers\\' lives.\\r\\n MARCUS. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome\\r\\n And rear\\'d aloft the bloody battle-axe,\\r\\n Writing destruction on the enemy\\'s castle?\\r\\n O, none of both but are of high desert!\\r\\n My hand hath been but idle; let it serve\\r\\n To ransom my two nephews from their death;\\r\\n Then have I kept it to a worthy end.\\r\\n AARON. Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along,\\r\\n For fear they die before their pardon come.\\r\\n MARCUS. My hand shall go.\\r\\n LUCIUS. By heaven, it shall not go!\\r\\n TITUS. Sirs, strive no more; such with\\'red herbs as these\\r\\n Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son,\\r\\n Let me redeem my brothers both from death.\\r\\n MARCUS. And for our father\\'s sake and mother\\'s care,\\r\\n Now let me show a brother\\'s love to thee.\\r\\n TITUS. Agree between you; I will spare my hand.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Then I\\'ll go fetch an axe.\\r\\n MARCUS. But I will use the axe.\\r\\n Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS\\r\\n TITUS. Come hither, Aaron, I\\'ll deceive them both;\\r\\n Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.\\r\\n AARON. [Aside] If that be call\\'d deceit, I will be honest,\\r\\n And never whilst I live deceive men so;\\r\\n But I\\'ll deceive you in another sort,\\r\\n And that you\\'ll say ere half an hour pass.\\r\\n [He cuts off TITUS\\' hand]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Now stay your strife. What shall be is dispatch\\'d.\\r\\n Good Aaron, give his Majesty my hand;\\r\\n Tell him it was a hand that warded him\\r\\n From thousand dangers; bid him bury it.\\r\\n More hath it merited- that let it have.\\r\\n As for my sons, say I account of them\\r\\n As jewels purchas\\'d at an easy price;\\r\\n And yet dear too, because I bought mine own.\\r\\n AARON. I go, Andronicus; and for thy hand\\r\\n Look by and by to have thy sons with thee.\\r\\n [Aside] Their heads I mean. O, how this villainy\\r\\n Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it!\\r\\n Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace:\\r\\n Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit\\r\\n TITUS. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven,\\r\\n And bow this feeble ruin to the earth;\\r\\n If any power pities wretched tears,\\r\\n To that I call! [To LAVINIA] What, would\\'st thou kneel with me?\\r\\n Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers,\\r\\n Or with our sighs we\\'ll breathe the welkin dim\\r\\n And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds\\r\\n When they do hug him in their melting bosoms.\\r\\n MARCUS. O brother, speak with possibility,\\r\\n And do not break into these deep extremes.\\r\\n TITUS. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom?\\r\\n Then be my passions bottomless with them.\\r\\n MARCUS. But yet let reason govern thy lament.\\r\\n TITUS. If there were reason for these miseries,\\r\\n Then into limits could I bind my woes.\\r\\n When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o\\'erflow?\\r\\n If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,\\r\\n Threat\\'ning the welkin with his big-swol\\'n face?\\r\\n And wilt thou have a reason for this coil?\\r\\n I am the sea; hark how her sighs do blow.\\r\\n She is the weeping welkin, I the earth;\\r\\n Then must my sea be moved with her sighs;\\r\\n Then must my earth with her continual tears\\r\\n Become a deluge, overflow\\'d and drown\\'d;\\r\\n For why my bowels cannot hide her woes,\\r\\n But like a drunkard must I vomit them.\\r\\n Then give me leave; for losers will have leave\\r\\n To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER, with two heads and a hand\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid\\r\\n For that good hand thou sent\\'st the Emperor.\\r\\n Here are the heads of thy two noble sons;\\r\\n And here\\'s thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back-\\r\\n Thy grief their sports, thy resolution mock\\'d,\\r\\n That woe is me to think upon thy woes,\\r\\n More than remembrance of my father\\'s death. Exit\\r\\n MARCUS. Now let hot Aetna cool in Sicily,\\r\\n And be my heart an ever-burning hell!\\r\\n These miseries are more than may be borne.\\r\\n To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal,\\r\\n But sorrow flouted at is double death.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound,\\r\\n And yet detested life not shrink thereat!\\r\\n That ever death should let life bear his name,\\r\\n Where life hath no more interest but to breathe!\\r\\n [LAVINIA kisses TITUS]\\r\\n MARCUS. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless\\r\\n As frozen water to a starved snake.\\r\\n TITUS. When will this fearful slumber have an end?\\r\\n MARCUS. Now farewell, flatt\\'ry; die, Andronicus.\\r\\n Thou dost not slumber: see thy two sons\\' heads,\\r\\n Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here;\\r\\n Thy other banish\\'d son with this dear sight\\r\\n Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I,\\r\\n Even like a stony image, cold and numb.\\r\\n Ah! now no more will I control thy griefs.\\r\\n Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand\\r\\n Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight\\r\\n The closing up of our most wretched eyes.\\r\\n Now is a time to storm; why art thou still?\\r\\n TITUS. Ha, ha, ha!\\r\\n MARCUS. Why dost thou laugh? It fits not with this hour.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, I have not another tear to shed;\\r\\n Besides, this sorrow is an enemy,\\r\\n And would usurp upon my wat\\'ry eyes\\r\\n And make them blind with tributary tears.\\r\\n Then which way shall I find Revenge\\'s cave?\\r\\n For these two heads do seem to speak to me,\\r\\n And threat me I shall never come to bliss\\r\\n Till all these mischiefs be return\\'d again\\r\\n Even in their throats that have committed them.\\r\\n Come, let me see what task I have to do.\\r\\n You heavy people, circle me about,\\r\\n That I may turn me to each one of you\\r\\n And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs.\\r\\n The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head,\\r\\n And in this hand the other will I bear.\\r\\n And, Lavinia, thou shalt be employ\\'d in this;\\r\\n Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth.\\r\\n As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight;\\r\\n Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay.\\r\\n Hie to the Goths and raise an army there;\\r\\n And if ye love me, as I think you do,\\r\\n Let\\'s kiss and part, for we have much to do.\\r\\n Exeunt all but Lucius\\r\\n LUCIUS. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father,\\r\\n The woefull\\'st man that ever liv\\'d in Rome.\\r\\n Farewell, proud Rome; till Lucius come again,\\r\\n He leaves his pledges dearer than his life.\\r\\n Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister;\\r\\n O, would thou wert as thou tofore hast been!\\r\\n But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives\\r\\n But in oblivion and hateful griefs.\\r\\n If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs\\r\\n And make proud Saturnine and his emperess\\r\\n Beg at the gates like Tarquin and his queen.\\r\\n Now will I to the Goths, and raise a pow\\'r\\r\\n To be reveng\\'d on Rome and Saturnine. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Rome. TITUS\\' house\\r\\n\\r\\nA banquet.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TITUS, MARCUS, LAVINIA, and the boy YOUNG LUCIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. So so, now sit; and look you eat no more\\r\\n Than will preserve just so much strength in us\\r\\n As will revenge these bitter woes of ours.\\r\\n Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot;\\r\\n Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands,\\r\\n And cannot passionate our tenfold grief\\r\\n With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine\\r\\n Is left to tyrannize upon my breast;\\r\\n Who, when my heart, all mad with misery,\\r\\n Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,\\r\\n Then thus I thump it down.\\r\\n [To LAVINIA] Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs!\\r\\n When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating,\\r\\n Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still.\\r\\n Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans;\\r\\n Or get some little knife between thy teeth\\r\\n And just against thy heart make thou a hole,\\r\\n That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall\\r\\n May run into that sink and, soaking in,\\r\\n Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears.\\r\\n MARCUS. Fie, brother, fie! Teach her not thus to lay\\r\\n Such violent hands upon her tender life.\\r\\n TITUS. How now! Has sorrow made thee dote already?\\r\\n Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I.\\r\\n What violent hands can she lay on her life?\\r\\n Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands?\\r\\n To bid Aeneas tell the tale twice o\\'er\\r\\n How Troy was burnt and he made miserable?\\r\\n O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands,\\r\\n Lest we remember still that we have none.\\r\\n Fie, fie, how franticly I square my talk,\\r\\n As if we should forget we had no hands,\\r\\n If Marcus did not name the word of hands!\\r\\n Come, let\\'s fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this:\\r\\n Here is no drink. Hark, Marcus, what she says-\\r\\n I can interpret all her martyr\\'d signs;\\r\\n She says she drinks no other drink but tears,\\r\\n Brew\\'d with her sorrow, mesh\\'d upon her cheeks.\\r\\n Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought;\\r\\n In thy dumb action will I be as perfect\\r\\n As begging hermits in their holy prayers.\\r\\n Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven,\\r\\n Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign,\\r\\n But I of these will wrest an alphabet,\\r\\n And by still practice learn to know thy meaning.\\r\\n BOY. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments;\\r\\n Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale.\\r\\n MARCUS. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov\\'d,\\r\\n Doth weep to see his grandsire\\'s heaviness.\\r\\n TITUS. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears,\\r\\n And tears will quickly melt thy life away.\\r\\n [MARCUS strikes the dish with a knife]\\r\\n What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife?\\r\\n MARCUS. At that that I have kill\\'d, my lord- a fly.\\r\\n TITUS. Out on thee, murderer, thou kill\\'st my heart!\\r\\n Mine eyes are cloy\\'d with view of tyranny;\\r\\n A deed of death done on the innocent\\r\\n Becomes not Titus\\' brother. Get thee gone;\\r\\n I see thou art not for my company.\\r\\n MARCUS. Alas, my lord, I have but kill\\'d a fly.\\r\\n TITUS. \\'But!\\' How if that fly had a father and mother?\\r\\n How would he hang his slender gilded wings\\r\\n And buzz lamenting doings in the air!\\r\\n Poor harmless fly,\\r\\n That with his pretty buzzing melody\\r\\n Came here to make us merry! And thou hast kill\\'d him.\\r\\n MARCUS. Pardon me, sir; it was a black ill-favour\\'d fly,\\r\\n Like to the Empress\\' Moor; therefore I kill\\'d him.\\r\\n TITUS. O, O, O!\\r\\n Then pardon me for reprehending thee,\\r\\n For thou hast done a charitable deed.\\r\\n Give me thy knife, I will insult on him,\\r\\n Flattering myself as if it were the Moor\\r\\n Come hither purposely to poison me.\\r\\n There\\'s for thyself, and that\\'s for Tamora.\\r\\n Ah, sirrah!\\r\\n Yet, I think, we are not brought so low\\r\\n But that between us we can kill a fly\\r\\n That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor.\\r\\n MARCUS. Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought on him,\\r\\n He takes false shadows for true substances.\\r\\n TITUS. Come, take away. Lavinia, go with me;\\r\\n I\\'ll to thy closet, and go read with thee\\r\\n Sad stories chanced in the times of old.\\r\\n Come, boy, and go with me; thy sight is young,\\r\\n And thou shalt read when mine begin to dazzle. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I. Rome. TITUS\\' garden\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter YOUNG LUCIUS and LAVINIA running after him, and the boy flies\\r\\nfrom her with his books under his arm.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TITUS and MARCUS\\r\\n\\r\\n BOY. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia\\r\\n Follows me everywhere, I know not why.\\r\\n Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes!\\r\\n Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean.\\r\\n MARCUS. Stand by me, Lucius; do not fear thine aunt.\\r\\n TITUS. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm.\\r\\n BOY. Ay, when my father was in Rome she did.\\r\\n MARCUS. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs?\\r\\n TITUS. Fear her not, Lucius; somewhat doth she mean.\\r\\n See, Lucius, see how much she makes of thee.\\r\\n Somewhither would she have thee go with her.\\r\\n Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care\\r\\n Read to her sons than she hath read to thee\\r\\n Sweet poetry and Tully\\'s Orator.\\r\\n MARCUS. Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus?\\r\\n BOY. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess,\\r\\n Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her;\\r\\n For I have heard my grandsire say full oft\\r\\n Extremity of griefs would make men mad;\\r\\n And I have read that Hecuba of Troy\\r\\n Ran mad for sorrow. That made me to fear;\\r\\n Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt\\r\\n Loves me as dear as e\\'er my mother did,\\r\\n And would not, but in fury, fright my youth;\\r\\n Which made me down to throw my books, and fly-\\r\\n Causeless, perhaps. But pardon me, sweet aunt;\\r\\n And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go,\\r\\n I will most willingly attend your ladyship.\\r\\n MARCUS. Lucius, I will. [LAVINIA turns over with her\\r\\n stumps the books which Lucius has let fall]\\r\\n TITUS. How now, Lavinia! Marcus, what means this?\\r\\n Some book there is that she desires to see.\\r\\n Which is it, girl, of these?- Open them, boy.-\\r\\n But thou art deeper read and better skill\\'d;\\r\\n Come and take choice of all my library,\\r\\n And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens\\r\\n Reveal the damn\\'d contriver of this deed.\\r\\n Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus?\\r\\n MARCUS. I think she means that there were more than one\\r\\n Confederate in the fact; ay, more there was,\\r\\n Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge.\\r\\n TITUS. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so?\\r\\n BOY. Grandsire, \\'tis Ovid\\'s Metamorphoses;\\r\\n My mother gave it me.\\r\\n MARCUS. For love of her that\\'s gone,\\r\\n Perhaps she cull\\'d it from among the rest.\\r\\n TITUS. Soft! So busily she turns the leaves! Help her.\\r\\n What would she find? Lavinia, shall I read?\\r\\n This is the tragic tale of Philomel\\r\\n And treats of Tereus\\' treason and his rape;\\r\\n And rape, I fear, was root of thy annoy.\\r\\n MARCUS. See, brother, see! Note how she quotes the leaves.\\r\\n TITUS. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpris\\'d, sweet girl,\\r\\n Ravish\\'d and wrong\\'d as Philomela was,\\r\\n Forc\\'d in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods?\\r\\n See, see!\\r\\n Ay, such a place there is where we did hunt-\\r\\n O, had we never, never hunted there!-\\r\\n Pattern\\'d by that the poet here describes,\\r\\n By nature made for murders and for rapes.\\r\\n MARCUS. O, why should nature build so foul a den,\\r\\n Unless the gods delight in tragedies?\\r\\n TITUS. Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none but friends,\\r\\n What Roman lord it was durst do the deed.\\r\\n Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst,\\r\\n That left the camp to sin in Lucrece\\' bed?\\r\\n MARCUS. Sit down, sweet niece; brother, sit down by me.\\r\\n Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,\\r\\n Inspire me, that I may this treason find!\\r\\n My lord, look here! Look here, Lavinia!\\r\\n [He writes his name with his\\r\\n staff, and guides it with feet and mouth]\\r\\n This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst,\\r\\n This after me. I have writ my name\\r\\n Without the help of any hand at all.\\r\\n Curs\\'d be that heart that forc\\'d us to this shift!\\r\\n Write thou, good niece, and here display at last\\r\\n What God will have discovered for revenge.\\r\\n Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain,\\r\\n That we may know the traitors and the truth!\\r\\n [She takes the staff in her mouth\\r\\n and guides it with stumps, and writes]\\r\\n O, do ye read, my lord, what she hath writ?\\r\\n TITUS. \\'Stuprum- Chiron- Demetrius.\\'\\r\\n MARCUS. What, what! the lustful sons of Tamora\\r\\n Performers of this heinous bloody deed?\\r\\n TITUS. Magni Dominator poli,\\r\\n Tam lentus audis scelera? tam lentus vides?\\r\\n MARCUS. O, calm thee, gentle lord! although I know\\r\\n There is enough written upon this earth\\r\\n To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts,\\r\\n And arm the minds of infants to exclaims.\\r\\n My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel;\\r\\n And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector\\'s hope;\\r\\n And swear with me- as, with the woeful fere\\r\\n And father of that chaste dishonoured dame,\\r\\n Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece\\' rape-\\r\\n That we will prosecute, by good advice,\\r\\n Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths,\\r\\n And see their blood or die with this reproach.\\r\\n TITUS. \\'Tis sure enough, an you knew how;\\r\\n But if you hunt these bear-whelps, then beware:\\r\\n The dam will wake; and if she wind ye once,\\r\\n She\\'s with the lion deeply still in league,\\r\\n And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back,\\r\\n And when he sleeps will she do what she list.\\r\\n You are a young huntsman, Marcus; let alone;\\r\\n And come, I will go get a leaf of brass,\\r\\n And with a gad of steel will write these words,\\r\\n And lay it by. The angry northern wind\\r\\n Will blow these sands like Sibyl\\'s leaves abroad,\\r\\n And where\\'s our lesson, then? Boy, what say you?\\r\\n BOY. I say, my lord, that if I were a man\\r\\n Their mother\\'s bedchamber should not be safe\\r\\n For these base bondmen to the yoke of Rome.\\r\\n MARCUS. Ay, that\\'s my boy! Thy father hath full oft\\r\\n For his ungrateful country done the like.\\r\\n BOY. And, uncle, so will I, an if I live.\\r\\n TITUS. Come, go with me into mine armoury.\\r\\n Lucius, I\\'ll fit thee; and withal my boy\\r\\n Shall carry from me to the Empress\\' sons\\r\\n Presents that I intend to send them both.\\r\\n Come, come; thou\\'lt do my message, wilt thou not?\\r\\n BOY. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire.\\r\\n TITUS. No, boy, not so; I\\'ll teach thee another course.\\r\\n Lavinia, come. Marcus, look to my house.\\r\\n Lucius and I\\'ll go brave it at the court;\\r\\n Ay, marry, will we, sir! and we\\'ll be waited on.\\r\\n Exeunt TITUS, LAVINIA, and YOUNG LUCIUS\\r\\n MARCUS. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan\\r\\n And not relent, or not compassion him?\\r\\n Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy,\\r\\n That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart\\r\\n Than foemen\\'s marks upon his batt\\'red shield,\\r\\n But yet so just that he will not revenge.\\r\\n Revenge the heavens for old Andronicus! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Rome. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter AARON, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, at one door; and at the other door,\\r\\nYOUNG LUCIUS and another with a bundle of weapons, and verses writ upon\\r\\nthem\\r\\n\\r\\n CHIRON. Demetrius, here\\'s the son of Lucius;\\r\\n He hath some message to deliver us.\\r\\n AARON. Ay, some mad message from his mad grandfather.\\r\\n BOY. My lords, with all the humbleness I may,\\r\\n I greet your honours from Andronicus-\\r\\n [Aside] And pray the Roman gods confound you both!\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Gramercy, lovely Lucius. What\\'s the news?\\r\\n BOY. [Aside] That you are both decipher\\'d, that\\'s the news,\\r\\n For villains mark\\'d with rape.- May it please you,\\r\\n My grandsire, well advis\\'d, hath sent by me\\r\\n The goodliest weapons of his armoury\\r\\n To gratify your honourable youth,\\r\\n The hope of Rome; for so he bid me say;\\r\\n And so I do, and with his gifts present\\r\\n Your lordships, that, whenever you have need,\\r\\n You may be armed and appointed well.\\r\\n And so I leave you both- [Aside] like bloody villains.\\r\\n Exeunt YOUNG LUCIUS and attendant\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. What\\'s here? A scroll, and written round about.\\r\\n Let\\'s see:\\r\\n [Reads] \\'Integer vitae, scelerisque purus,\\r\\n Non eget Mauri iaculis, nec arcu.\\'\\r\\n CHIRON. O, \\'tis a verse in Horace, I know it well;\\r\\n I read it in the grammar long ago.\\r\\n AARON. Ay, just- a verse in Horace. Right, you have it.\\r\\n [Aside] Now, what a thing it is to be an ass!\\r\\n Here\\'s no sound jest! The old man hath found their guilt,\\r\\n And sends them weapons wrapp\\'d about with lines\\r\\n That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick.\\r\\n But were our witty Empress well afoot,\\r\\n She would applaud Andronicus\\' conceit.\\r\\n But let her rest in her unrest awhile-\\r\\n And now, young lords, was\\'t not a happy star\\r\\n Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so,\\r\\n Captives, to be advanced to this height?\\r\\n It did me good before the palace gate\\r\\n To brave the Tribune in his brother\\'s hearing.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. But me more good to see so great a lord\\r\\n Basely insinuate and send us gifts.\\r\\n AARON. Had he not reason, Lord Demetrius?\\r\\n Did you not use his daughter very friendly?\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. I would we had a thousand Roman dames\\r\\n At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust.\\r\\n CHIRON. A charitable wish and full of love.\\r\\n AARON. Here lacks but your mother for to say amen.\\r\\n CHIRON. And that would she for twenty thousand more.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Come, let us go and pray to all the gods\\r\\n For our beloved mother in her pains.\\r\\n AARON. [Aside] Pray to the devils; the gods have given us over.\\r\\n [Trumpets sound]\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Why do the Emperor\\'s trumpets flourish thus?\\r\\n CHIRON. Belike, for joy the Emperor hath a son.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Soft! who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NURSE, with a blackamoor CHILD\\r\\n\\r\\n NURSE. Good morrow, lords.\\r\\n O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor?\\r\\n AARON. Well, more or less, or ne\\'er a whit at all,\\r\\n Here Aaron is; and what with Aaron now?\\r\\n NURSE. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone!\\r\\n Now help, or woe betide thee evermore!\\r\\n AARON. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep!\\r\\n What dost thou wrap and fumble in thy arms?\\r\\n NURSE. O, that which I would hide from heaven\\'s eye:\\r\\n Our Empress\\' shame and stately Rome\\'s disgrace!\\r\\n She is delivered, lord; she is delivered.\\r\\n AARON. To whom?\\r\\n NURSE. I mean she is brought a-bed.\\r\\n AARON. Well, God give her good rest! What hath he sent her?\\r\\n NURSE. A devil.\\r\\n AARON. Why, then she is the devil\\'s dam;\\r\\n A joyful issue.\\r\\n NURSE. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue!\\r\\n Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad\\r\\n Amongst the fair-fac\\'d breeders of our clime;\\r\\n The Empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal,\\r\\n And bids thee christen it with thy dagger\\'s point.\\r\\n AARON. Zounds, ye whore! Is black so base a hue?\\r\\n Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom sure.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Villain, what hast thou done?\\r\\n AARON. That which thou canst not undo.\\r\\n CHIRON. Thou hast undone our mother.\\r\\n AARON. Villain, I have done thy mother.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone her.\\r\\n Woe to her chance, and damn\\'d her loathed choice!\\r\\n Accurs\\'d the offspring of so foul a fiend!\\r\\n CHIRON. It shall not live.\\r\\n AARON. It shall not die.\\r\\n NURSE. Aaron, it must; the mother wills it so.\\r\\n AARON. What, must it, nurse? Then let no man but I\\r\\n Do execution on my flesh and blood.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. I\\'ll broach the tadpole on my rapier\\'s point.\\r\\n Nurse, give it me; my sword shall soon dispatch it.\\r\\n AARON. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels up.\\r\\n [Takes the CHILD from the NURSE, and draws]\\r\\n Stay, murderous villains, will you kill your brother!\\r\\n Now, by the burning tapers of the sky\\r\\n That shone so brightly when this boy was got,\\r\\n He dies upon my scimitar\\'s sharp point\\r\\n That touches this my first-born son and heir.\\r\\n I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus,\\r\\n With all his threat\\'ning band of Typhon\\'s brood,\\r\\n Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war,\\r\\n Shall seize this prey out of his father\\'s hands.\\r\\n What, what, ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys!\\r\\n Ye white-lim\\'d walls! ye alehouse painted signs!\\r\\n Coal-black is better than another hue\\r\\n In that it scorns to bear another hue;\\r\\n For all the water in the ocean\\r\\n Can never turn the swan\\'s black legs to white,\\r\\n Although she lave them hourly in the flood.\\r\\n Tell the Empress from me I am of age\\r\\n To keep mine own- excuse it how she can.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus?\\r\\n AARON. My mistress is my mistress: this my self,\\r\\n The vigour and the picture of my youth.\\r\\n This before all the world do I prefer;\\r\\n This maugre all the world will I keep safe,\\r\\n Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. By this our mother is for ever sham\\'d.\\r\\n CHIRON. Rome will despise her for this foul escape.\\r\\n NURSE. The Emperor in his rage will doom her death.\\r\\n CHIRON. I blush to think upon this ignomy.\\r\\n AARON. Why, there\\'s the privilege your beauty bears:\\r\\n Fie, treacherous hue, that will betray with blushing\\r\\n The close enacts and counsels of thy heart!\\r\\n Here\\'s a young lad fram\\'d of another leer.\\r\\n Look how the black slave smiles upon the father,\\r\\n As who should say \\'Old lad, I am thine own.\\'\\r\\n He is your brother, lords, sensibly fed\\r\\n Of that self-blood that first gave life to you;\\r\\n And from your womb where you imprisoned were\\r\\n He is enfranchised and come to light.\\r\\n Nay, he is your brother by the surer side,\\r\\n Although my seal be stamped in his face.\\r\\n NURSE. Aaron, what shall I say unto the Empress?\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done,\\r\\n And we will all subscribe to thy advice.\\r\\n Save thou the child, so we may all be safe.\\r\\n AARON. Then sit we down and let us all consult.\\r\\n My son and I will have the wind of you:\\r\\n Keep there; now talk at pleasure of your safety.\\r\\n [They sit]\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. How many women saw this child of his?\\r\\n AARON. Why, so, brave lords! When we join in league\\r\\n I am a lamb; but if you brave the Moor,\\r\\n The chafed boar, the mountain lioness,\\r\\n The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms.\\r\\n But say, again, how many saw the child?\\r\\n NURSE. Cornelia the midwife and myself;\\r\\n And no one else but the delivered Empress.\\r\\n AARON. The Emperess, the midwife, and yourself.\\r\\n Two may keep counsel when the third\\'s away:\\r\\n Go to the Empress, tell her this I said. [He kills her]\\r\\n Weeke weeke!\\r\\n So cries a pig prepared to the spit.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. What mean\\'st thou, Aaron? Wherefore didst thou this?\\r\\n AARON. O Lord, sir, \\'tis a deed of policy.\\r\\n Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours-\\r\\n A long-tongu\\'d babbling gossip? No, lords, no.\\r\\n And now be it known to you my full intent:\\r\\n Not far, one Muliteus, my countryman-\\r\\n His wife but yesternight was brought to bed;\\r\\n His child is like to her, fair as you are.\\r\\n Go pack with him, and give the mother gold,\\r\\n And tell them both the circumstance of all,\\r\\n And how by this their child shall be advanc\\'d,\\r\\n And be received for the Emperor\\'s heir\\r\\n And substituted in the place of mine,\\r\\n To calm this tempest whirling in the court;\\r\\n And let the Emperor dandle him for his own.\\r\\n Hark ye, lords. You see I have given her physic,\\r\\n [Pointing to the NURSE]\\r\\n And you must needs bestow her funeral;\\r\\n The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms.\\r\\n This done, see that you take no longer days,\\r\\n But send the midwife presently to me.\\r\\n The midwife and the nurse well made away,\\r\\n Then let the ladies tattle what they please.\\r\\n CHIRON. Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air\\r\\n With secrets.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. For this care of Tamora,\\r\\n Herself and hers are highly bound to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, bearing off the dead NURSE\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies,\\r\\n There to dispose this treasure in mine arms,\\r\\n And secretly to greet the Empress\\' friends.\\r\\n Come on, you thick-lipp\\'d slave, I\\'ll bear you hence;\\r\\n For it is you that puts us to our shifts.\\r\\n I\\'ll make you feed on berries and on roots,\\r\\n And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat,\\r\\n And cabin in a cave, and bring you up\\r\\n To be a warrior and command a camp.\\r\\n Exit with the CHILD\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Rome. A public place\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TITUS, bearing arrows with letters on the ends of them; with him\\r\\nMARCUS, YOUNG LUCIUS, and other gentlemen, PUBLIUS, SEMPRONIUS, and\\r\\nCAIUS, with bows\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Come, Marcus, come; kinsmen, this is the way.\\r\\n Sir boy, let me see your archery;\\r\\n Look ye draw home enough, and \\'tis there straight.\\r\\n Terras Astrea reliquit,\\r\\n Be you rememb\\'red, Marcus; she\\'s gone, she\\'s fled.\\r\\n Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall\\r\\n Go sound the ocean and cast your nets;\\r\\n Happily you may catch her in the sea;\\r\\n Yet there\\'s as little justice as at land.\\r\\n No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it;\\r\\n \\'Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade,\\r\\n And pierce the inmost centre of the earth;\\r\\n Then, when you come to Pluto\\'s region,\\r\\n I pray you deliver him this petition.\\r\\n Tell him it is for justice and for aid,\\r\\n And that it comes from old Andronicus,\\r\\n Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome.\\r\\n Ah, Rome! Well, well, I made thee miserable\\r\\n What time I threw the people\\'s suffrages\\r\\n On him that thus doth tyrannize o\\'er me.\\r\\n Go get you gone; and pray be careful all,\\r\\n And leave you not a man-of-war unsearch\\'d.\\r\\n This wicked Emperor may have shipp\\'d her hence;\\r\\n And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.\\r\\n MARCUS. O Publius, is not this a heavy case,\\r\\n To see thy noble uncle thus distract?\\r\\n PUBLIUS. Therefore, my lords, it highly us concerns\\r\\n By day and night t\\' attend him carefully,\\r\\n And feed his humour kindly as we may\\r\\n Till time beget some careful remedy.\\r\\n MARCUS. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy.\\r\\n Join with the Goths, and with revengeful war\\r\\n Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude,\\r\\n And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.\\r\\n TITUS. Publius, how now? How now, my masters?\\r\\n What, have you met with her?\\r\\n PUBLIUS. No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word,\\r\\n If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall.\\r\\n Marry, for Justice, she is so employ\\'d,\\r\\n He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else,\\r\\n So that perforce you must needs stay a time.\\r\\n TITUS. He doth me wrong to feed me with delays.\\r\\n I\\'ll dive into the burning lake below\\r\\n And pull her out of Acheron by the heels.\\r\\n Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we,\\r\\n No big-bon\\'d men fram\\'d of the Cyclops\\' size;\\r\\n But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back,\\r\\n Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can bear;\\r\\n And, sith there\\'s no justice in earth nor hell,\\r\\n We will solicit heaven, and move the gods\\r\\n To send down justice for to wreak our wrongs.\\r\\n Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus.\\r\\n [He gives them the arrows]\\r\\n \\'Ad Jovem\\' that\\'s for you; here \\'Ad Apollinem.\\'\\r\\n \\'Ad Martem\\' that\\'s for myself.\\r\\n Here, boy, \\'To Pallas\\'; here \\'To Mercury.\\'\\r\\n \\'To Saturn,\\' Caius- not to Saturnine:\\r\\n You were as good to shoot against the wind.\\r\\n To it, boy. Marcus, loose when I bid.\\r\\n Of my word, I have written to effect;\\r\\n There\\'s not a god left unsolicited.\\r\\n MARCUS. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court;\\r\\n We will afflict the Emperor in his pride.\\r\\n TITUS. Now, masters, draw. [They shoot] O, well said, Lucius!\\r\\n Good boy, in Virgo\\'s lap! Give it Pallas.\\r\\n MARCUS. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon;\\r\\n Your letter is with Jupiter by this.\\r\\n TITUS. Ha! ha!\\r\\n Publius, Publius, hast thou done?\\r\\n See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus\\' horns.\\r\\n MARCUS. This was the sport, my lord: when Publius shot,\\r\\n The Bull, being gall\\'d, gave Aries such a knock\\r\\n That down fell both the Ram\\'s horns in the court;\\r\\n And who should find them but the Empress\\' villain?\\r\\n She laugh\\'d, and told the Moor he should not choose\\r\\n But give them to his master for a present.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, there it goes! God give his lordship joy!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the CLOWN, with a basket and two pigeons in it\\r\\n\\r\\n News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come.\\r\\n Sirrah, what tidings? Have you any letters?\\r\\n Shall I have justice? What says Jupiter?\\r\\n CLOWN. Ho, the gibbet-maker? He says that he hath taken them down\\r\\n again, for the man must not be hang\\'d till the next week.\\r\\n TITUS. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee?\\r\\n CLOWN. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank with him in all\\r\\n my life.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?\\r\\n CLOWN. Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, didst thou not come from heaven?\\r\\n CLOWN. From heaven! Alas, sir, I never came there. God forbid I\\r\\n should be so bold to press to heaven in my young days. Why, I am\\r\\n going with my pigeons to the Tribunal Plebs, to take up a matter\\r\\n of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the Emperal\\'s men.\\r\\n MARCUS. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to serve for your\\r\\n oration; and let him deliver the pigeons to the Emperor from you.\\r\\n TITUS. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the Emperor with a\\r\\n grace?\\r\\n CLOWN. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life.\\r\\n TITUS. Sirrah, come hither. Make no more ado,\\r\\n But give your pigeons to the Emperor;\\r\\n By me thou shalt have justice at his hands.\\r\\n Hold, hold! Meanwhile here\\'s money for thy charges.\\r\\n Give me pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver up a\\r\\n supplication?\\r\\n CLOWN. Ay, sir.\\r\\n TITUS. Then here is a supplication for you. And when you come to\\r\\n him, at the first approach you must kneel; then kiss his foot;\\r\\n then deliver up your pigeons; and then look for your reward. I\\'ll\\r\\n be at hand, sir; see you do it bravely.\\r\\n CLOWN. I warrant you, sir; let me alone.\\r\\n TITUS. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come let me see it.\\r\\n Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration;\\r\\n For thou hast made it like a humble suppliant.\\r\\n And when thou hast given it to the Emperor,\\r\\n Knock at my door, and tell me what he says.\\r\\n CLOWN. God be with you, sir; I will.\\r\\n TITUS. Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, follow me. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Rome. Before the palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the EMPEROR, and the EMPRESS and her two sons, DEMETRIUS and\\r\\nCHIRON; LORDS and others. The EMPEROR brings the arrows in his hand\\r\\nthat TITUS shot at him\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Why, lords, what wrongs are these! Was ever seen\\r\\n An emperor in Rome thus overborne,\\r\\n Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent\\r\\n Of egal justice, us\\'d in such contempt?\\r\\n My lords, you know, as know the mightful gods,\\r\\n However these disturbers of our peace\\r\\n Buzz in the people\\'s ears, there nought hath pass\\'d\\r\\n But even with law against the wilful sons\\r\\n Of old Andronicus. And what an if\\r\\n His sorrows have so overwhelm\\'d his wits,\\r\\n Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks,\\r\\n His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness?\\r\\n And now he writes to heaven for his redress.\\r\\n See, here\\'s \\'To Jove\\' and this \\'To Mercury\\';\\r\\n This \\'To Apollo\\'; this \\'To the God of War\\'-\\r\\n Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome!\\r\\n What\\'s this but libelling against the Senate,\\r\\n And blazoning our unjustice every where?\\r\\n A goodly humour, is it not, my lords?\\r\\n As who would say in Rome no justice were.\\r\\n But if I live, his feigned ecstasies\\r\\n Shall be no shelter to these outrages;\\r\\n But he and his shall know that justice lives\\r\\n In Saturninus\\' health; whom, if she sleep,\\r\\n He\\'ll so awake as he in fury shall\\r\\n Cut off the proud\\'st conspirator that lives.\\r\\n TAMORA. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine,\\r\\n Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts,\\r\\n Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus\\' age,\\r\\n Th\\' effects of sorrow for his valiant sons\\r\\n Whose loss hath pierc\\'d him deep and scarr\\'d his heart;\\r\\n And rather comfort his distressed plight\\r\\n Than prosecute the meanest or the best\\r\\n For these contempts. [Aside] Why, thus it shall become\\r\\n High-witted Tamora to gloze with all.\\r\\n But, Titus, I have touch\\'d thee to the quick,\\r\\n Thy life-blood out; if Aaron now be wise,\\r\\n Then is all safe, the anchor in the port.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CLOWN\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, good fellow! Wouldst thou speak with us?\\r\\n CLOWN. Yes, forsooth, an your mistriship be Emperial.\\r\\n TAMORA. Empress I am, but yonder sits the Emperor.\\r\\n CLOWN. \\'Tis he.- God and Saint Stephen give you godden. I have\\r\\n brought you a letter and a couple of pigeons here.\\r\\n [SATURNINUS reads the letter]\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Go take him away, and hang him presently.\\r\\n CLOWN. How much money must I have?\\r\\n TAMORA. Come, sirrah, you must be hang\\'d.\\r\\n CLOWN. Hang\\'d! by\\'r lady, then I have brought up a neck to a fair\\r\\n end. [Exit guarded]\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs!\\r\\n Shall I endure this monstrous villainy?\\r\\n I know from whence this same device proceeds.\\r\\n May this be borne- as if his traitorous sons\\r\\n That died by law for murder of our brother\\r\\n Have by my means been butchered wrongfully?\\r\\n Go drag the villain hither by the hair;\\r\\n Nor age nor honour shall shape privilege.\\r\\n For this proud mock I\\'ll be thy slaughterman,\\r\\n Sly frantic wretch, that holp\\'st to make me great,\\r\\n In hope thyself should govern Rome and me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NUNTIUS AEMILIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n What news with thee, Aemilius?\\r\\n AEMILIUS. Arm, my lords! Rome never had more cause.\\r\\n The Goths have gathered head; and with a power\\r\\n Of high resolved men, bent to the spoil,\\r\\n They hither march amain, under conduct\\r\\n Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus;\\r\\n Who threats in course of this revenge to do\\r\\n As much as ever Coriolanus did.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths?\\r\\n These tidings nip me, and I hang the head\\r\\n As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storms.\\r\\n Ay, now begins our sorrows to approach.\\r\\n \\'Tis he the common people love so much;\\r\\n Myself hath often heard them say-\\r\\n When I have walked like a private man-\\r\\n That Lucius\\' banishment was wrongfully,\\r\\n And they have wish\\'d that Lucius were their emperor.\\r\\n TAMORA. Why should you fear? Is not your city strong?\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius,\\r\\n And will revolt from me to succour him.\\r\\n TAMORA. King, be thy thoughts imperious like thy name!\\r\\n Is the sun dimm\\'d, that gnats do fly in it?\\r\\n The eagle suffers little birds to sing,\\r\\n And is not careful what they mean thereby,\\r\\n Knowing that with the shadow of his wings\\r\\n He can at pleasure stint their melody;\\r\\n Even so mayest thou the giddy men of Rome.\\r\\n Then cheer thy spirit; for know thou, Emperor,\\r\\n I will enchant the old Andronicus\\r\\n With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous,\\r\\n Than baits to fish or honey-stalks to sheep,\\r\\n When as the one is wounded with the bait,\\r\\n The other rotted with delicious feed.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. But he will not entreat his son for us.\\r\\n TAMORA. If Tamora entreat him, then he will;\\r\\n For I can smooth and fill his aged ears\\r\\n With golden promises, that, were his heart\\r\\n Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf,\\r\\n Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue.\\r\\n [To AEMILIUS] Go thou before to be our ambassador;\\r\\n Say that the Emperor requests a parley\\r\\n Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting\\r\\n Even at his father\\'s house, the old Andronicus.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Aemilius, do this message honourably;\\r\\n And if he stand on hostage for his safety,\\r\\n Bid him demand what pledge will please him best.\\r\\n AEMILIUS. Your bidding shall I do effectually. Exit\\r\\n TAMORA. Now will I to that old Andronicus,\\r\\n And temper him with all the art I have,\\r\\n To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths.\\r\\n And now, sweet Emperor, be blithe again,\\r\\n And bury all thy fear in my devices.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Then go successantly, and plead to him.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. Plains near Rome\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter LUCIUS with an army of GOTHS with drums and colours\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS. Approved warriors and my faithful friends,\\r\\n I have received letters from great Rome\\r\\n Which signifies what hate they bear their Emperor\\r\\n And how desirous of our sight they are.\\r\\n Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness,\\r\\n Imperious and impatient of your wrongs;\\r\\n And wherein Rome hath done you any scath,\\r\\n Let him make treble satisfaction.\\r\\n FIRST GOTH. Brave slip, sprung from the great Andronicus,\\r\\n Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort,\\r\\n Whose high exploits and honourable deeds\\r\\n Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt,\\r\\n Be bold in us: we\\'ll follow where thou lead\\'st,\\r\\n Like stinging bees in hottest summer\\'s day,\\r\\n Led by their master to the flow\\'red fields,\\r\\n And be aveng\\'d on cursed Tamora.\\r\\n ALL THE GOTHS. And as he saith, so say we all with him.\\r\\n LUCIUS. I humbly thank him, and I thank you all.\\r\\n But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a GOTH, leading AARON with his CHILD in his arms\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND GOTH. Renowned Lucius, from our troops I stray\\'d\\r\\n To gaze upon a ruinous monastery;\\r\\n And as I earnestly did fix mine eye\\r\\n Upon the wasted building, suddenly\\r\\n I heard a child cry underneath a wall.\\r\\n I made unto the noise, when soon I heard\\r\\n The crying babe controll\\'d with this discourse:\\r\\n \\'Peace, tawny slave, half me and half thy dam!\\r\\n Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art,\\r\\n Had nature lent thee but thy mother\\'s look,\\r\\n Villain, thou mightst have been an emperor;\\r\\n But where the bull and cow are both milk-white,\\r\\n They never do beget a coal-black calf.\\r\\n Peace, villain, peace!\\'- even thus he rates the babe-\\r\\n \\'For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth,\\r\\n Who, when he knows thou art the Empress\\' babe,\\r\\n Will hold thee dearly for thy mother\\'s sake.\\'\\r\\n With this, my weapon drawn, I rush\\'d upon him,\\r\\n Surpris\\'d him suddenly, and brought him hither\\r\\n To use as you think needful of the man.\\r\\n LUCIUS. O worthy Goth, this is the incarnate devil\\r\\n That robb\\'d Andronicus of his good hand;\\r\\n This is the pearl that pleas\\'d your Empress\\' eye;\\r\\n And here\\'s the base fruit of her burning lust.\\r\\n Say, wall-ey\\'d slave, whither wouldst thou convey\\r\\n This growing image of thy fiend-like face?\\r\\n Why dost not speak? What, deaf? Not a word?\\r\\n A halter, soldiers! Hang him on this tree,\\r\\n And by his side his fruit of bastardy.\\r\\n AARON. Touch not the boy, he is of royal blood.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Too like the sire for ever being good.\\r\\n First hang the child, that he may see it sprawl-\\r\\n A sight to vex the father\\'s soul withal.\\r\\n Get me a ladder.\\r\\n [A ladder brought, which AARON is made to climb]\\r\\n AARON. Lucius, save the child,\\r\\n And bear it from me to the Emperess.\\r\\n If thou do this, I\\'ll show thee wondrous things\\r\\n That highly may advantage thee to hear;\\r\\n If thou wilt not, befall what may befall,\\r\\n I\\'ll speak no more but \\'Vengeance rot you all!\\'\\r\\n LUCIUS. Say on; an if it please me which thou speak\\'st,\\r\\n Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourish\\'d.\\r\\n AARON. An if it please thee! Why, assure thee, Lucius,\\r\\n \\'Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak;\\r\\n For I must talk of murders, rapes, and massacres,\\r\\n Acts of black night, abominable deeds,\\r\\n Complots of mischief, treason, villainies,\\r\\n Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perform\\'d;\\r\\n And this shall all be buried in my death,\\r\\n Unless thou swear to me my child shall live.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Tell on thy mind; I say thy child shall live.\\r\\n AARON. Swear that he shall, and then I will begin.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Who should I swear by? Thou believest no god;\\r\\n That granted, how canst thou believe an oath?\\r\\n AARON. What if I do not? as indeed I do not;\\r\\n Yet, for I know thou art religious\\r\\n And hast a thing within thee called conscience,\\r\\n With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies\\r\\n Which I have seen thee careful to observe,\\r\\n Therefore I urge thy oath. For that I know\\r\\n An idiot holds his bauble for a god,\\r\\n And keeps the oath which by that god he swears,\\r\\n To that I\\'ll urge him. Therefore thou shalt vow\\r\\n By that same god- what god soe\\'er it be\\r\\n That thou adorest and hast in reverence-\\r\\n To save my boy, to nourish and bring him up;\\r\\n Or else I will discover nought to thee.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Even by my god I swear to thee I will.\\r\\n AARON. First know thou, I begot him on the Empress.\\r\\n LUCIUS. O most insatiate and luxurious woman!\\r\\n AARON. Tut, Lucius, this was but a deed of charity\\r\\n To that which thou shalt hear of me anon.\\r\\n \\'Twas her two sons that murdered Bassianus;\\r\\n They cut thy sister\\'s tongue, and ravish\\'d her,\\r\\n And cut her hands, and trimm\\'d her as thou sawest.\\r\\n LUCIUS. O detestable villain! Call\\'st thou that trimming?\\r\\n AARON. Why, she was wash\\'d, and cut, and trimm\\'d, and \\'twas\\r\\n Trim sport for them which had the doing of it.\\r\\n LUCIUS. O barbarous beastly villains like thyself!\\r\\n AARON. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them.\\r\\n That codding spirit had they from their mother,\\r\\n As sure a card as ever won the set;\\r\\n That bloody mind, I think, they learn\\'d of me,\\r\\n As true a dog as ever fought at head.\\r\\n Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth.\\r\\n I train\\'d thy brethren to that guileful hole\\r\\n Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay;\\r\\n I wrote the letter that thy father found,\\r\\n And hid the gold within that letter mention\\'d,\\r\\n Confederate with the Queen and her two sons;\\r\\n And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue,\\r\\n Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it?\\r\\n I play\\'d the cheater for thy father\\'s hand,\\r\\n And, when I had it, drew myself apart\\r\\n And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter.\\r\\n I pried me through the crevice of a wall,\\r\\n When, for his hand, he had his two sons\\' heads;\\r\\n Beheld his tears, and laugh\\'d so heartily\\r\\n That both mine eyes were rainy like to his;\\r\\n And when I told the Empress of this sport,\\r\\n She swooned almost at my pleasing tale,\\r\\n And for my tidings gave me twenty kisses.\\r\\n GOTH. What, canst thou say all this and never blush?\\r\\n AARON. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds?\\r\\n AARON. Ay, that I had not done a thousand more.\\r\\n Even now I curse the day- and yet, I think,\\r\\n Few come within the compass of my curse-\\r\\n Wherein I did not some notorious ill;\\r\\n As kill a man, or else devise his death;\\r\\n Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it;\\r\\n Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself;\\r\\n Set deadly enmity between two friends;\\r\\n Make poor men\\'s cattle break their necks;\\r\\n Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night,\\r\\n And bid the owners quench them with their tears.\\r\\n Oft have I digg\\'d up dead men from their graves,\\r\\n And set them upright at their dear friends\\' door\\r\\n Even when their sorrows almost was forgot,\\r\\n And on their skins, as on the bark of trees,\\r\\n Have with my knife carved in Roman letters\\r\\n \\'Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.\\'\\r\\n Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things\\r\\n As willingly as one would kill a fly;\\r\\n And nothing grieves me heartily indeed\\r\\n But that I cannot do ten thousand more.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Bring down the devil, for he must not die\\r\\n So sweet a death as hanging presently.\\r\\n AARON. If there be devils, would I were a devil,\\r\\n To live and burn in everlasting fire,\\r\\n So I might have your company in hell\\r\\n But to torment you with my bitter tongue!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak no more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter AEMILIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n GOTH. My lord, there is a messenger from Rome\\r\\n Desires to be admitted to your presence.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Let him come near.\\r\\n Welcome, Aemilius. What\\'s the news from Rome?\\r\\n AEMILIUS. Lord Lucius, and you Princes of the Goths,\\r\\n The Roman Emperor greets you all by me;\\r\\n And, for he understands you are in arms,\\r\\n He craves a parley at your father\\'s house,\\r\\n Willing you to demand your hostages,\\r\\n And they shall be immediately deliver\\'d.\\r\\n FIRST GOTH. What says our general?\\r\\n LUCIUS. Aemilius, let the Emperor give his pledges\\r\\n Unto my father and my uncle Marcus.\\r\\n And we will come. March away. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Rome. Before TITUS\\' house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TAMORA, and her two sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, disguised\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA. Thus, in this strange and sad habiliment,\\r\\n I will encounter with Andronicus,\\r\\n And say I am Revenge, sent from below\\r\\n To join with him and right his heinous wrongs.\\r\\n Knock at his study, where they say he keeps\\r\\n To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge;\\r\\n Tell him Revenge is come to join with him,\\r\\n And work confusion on his enemies.\\r\\n\\r\\n They knock and TITUS opens his study door, above\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Who doth molest my contemplation?\\r\\n Is it your trick to make me ope the door,\\r\\n That so my sad decrees may fly away\\r\\n And all my study be to no effect?\\r\\n You are deceiv\\'d; for what I mean to do\\r\\n See here in bloody lines I have set down;\\r\\n And what is written shall be executed.\\r\\n TAMORA. Titus, I am come to talk with thee.\\r\\n TITUS. No, not a word. How can I grace my talk,\\r\\n Wanting a hand to give it that accord?\\r\\n Thou hast the odds of me; therefore no more.\\r\\n TAMORA. If thou didst know me, thou wouldst talk with me.\\r\\n TITUS. I am not mad, I know thee well enough:\\r\\n Witness this wretched stump, witness these crimson lines;\\r\\n Witness these trenches made by grief and care;\\r\\n Witness the tiring day and heavy night;\\r\\n Witness all sorrow that I know thee well\\r\\n For our proud Empress, mighty Tamora.\\r\\n Is not thy coming for my other hand?\\r\\n TAMORA. Know thou, sad man, I am not Tamora:\\r\\n She is thy enemy and I thy friend.\\r\\n I am Revenge, sent from th\\' infernal kingdom\\r\\n To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind\\r\\n By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes.\\r\\n Come down and welcome me to this world\\'s light;\\r\\n Confer with me of murder and of death;\\r\\n There\\'s not a hollow cave or lurking-place,\\r\\n No vast obscurity or misty vale,\\r\\n Where bloody murder or detested rape\\r\\n Can couch for fear but I will find them out;\\r\\n And in their ears tell them my dreadful name-\\r\\n Revenge, which makes the foul offender quake.\\r\\n TITUS. Art thou Revenge? and art thou sent to me\\r\\n To be a torment to mine enemies?\\r\\n TAMORA. I am; therefore come down and welcome me.\\r\\n TITUS. Do me some service ere I come to thee.\\r\\n Lo, by thy side where Rape and Murder stands;\\r\\n Now give some surance that thou art Revenge-\\r\\n Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot wheels;\\r\\n And then I\\'ll come and be thy waggoner\\r\\n And whirl along with thee about the globes.\\r\\n Provide thee two proper palfreys, black as jet,\\r\\n To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away,\\r\\n And find out murderers in their guilty caves;\\r\\n And when thy car is loaden with their heads,\\r\\n I will dismount, and by thy waggon wheel\\r\\n Trot, like a servile footman, all day long,\\r\\n Even from Hyperion\\'s rising in the east\\r\\n Until his very downfall in the sea.\\r\\n And day by day I\\'ll do this heavy task,\\r\\n So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there.\\r\\n TAMORA. These are my ministers, and come with me.\\r\\n TITUS. Are they thy ministers? What are they call\\'d?\\r\\n TAMORA. Rape and Murder; therefore called so\\r\\n \\'Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men.\\r\\n TITUS. Good Lord, how like the Empress\\' sons they are!\\r\\n And you the Empress! But we worldly men\\r\\n Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes.\\r\\n O sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee;\\r\\n And, if one arm\\'s embracement will content thee,\\r\\n I will embrace thee in it by and by.\\r\\n TAMORA. This closing with him fits his lunacy.\\r\\n Whate\\'er I forge to feed his brain-sick humours,\\r\\n Do you uphold and maintain in your speeches,\\r\\n For now he firmly takes me for Revenge;\\r\\n And, being credulous in this mad thought,\\r\\n I\\'ll make him send for Lucius his son,\\r\\n And whilst I at a banquet hold him sure,\\r\\n I\\'ll find some cunning practice out of hand\\r\\n To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths,\\r\\n Or, at the least, make them his enemies.\\r\\n See, here he comes, and I must ply my theme.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TITUS, below\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee.\\r\\n Welcome, dread Fury, to my woeful house.\\r\\n Rapine and Murder, you are welcome too.\\r\\n How like the Empress and her sons you are!\\r\\n Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor.\\r\\n Could not all hell afford you such a devil?\\r\\n For well I wot the Empress never wags\\r\\n But in her company there is a Moor;\\r\\n And, would you represent our queen aright,\\r\\n It were convenient you had such a devil.\\r\\n But welcome as you are. What shall we do?\\r\\n TAMORA. What wouldst thou have us do, Andronicus?\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Show me a murderer, I\\'ll deal with him.\\r\\n CHIRON. Show me a villain that hath done a rape,\\r\\n And I am sent to be reveng\\'d on him.\\r\\n TAMORA. Show me a thousand that hath done thee wrong,\\r\\n And I will be revenged on them all.\\r\\n TITUS. Look round about the wicked streets of Rome,\\r\\n And when thou find\\'st a man that\\'s like thyself,\\r\\n Good Murder, stab him; he\\'s a murderer.\\r\\n Go thou with him, and when it is thy hap\\r\\n To find another that is like to thee,\\r\\n Good Rapine, stab him; he is a ravisher.\\r\\n Go thou with them; and in the Emperor\\'s court\\r\\n There is a queen, attended by a Moor;\\r\\n Well shalt thou know her by thine own proportion,\\r\\n For up and down she doth resemble thee.\\r\\n I pray thee, do on them some violent death;\\r\\n They have been violent to me and mine.\\r\\n TAMORA. Well hast thou lesson\\'d us; this shall we do.\\r\\n But would it please thee, good Andronicus,\\r\\n To send for Lucius, thy thrice-valiant son,\\r\\n Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike Goths,\\r\\n And bid him come and banquet at thy house;\\r\\n When he is here, even at thy solemn feast,\\r\\n I will bring in the Empress and her sons,\\r\\n The Emperor himself, and all thy foes;\\r\\n And at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel,\\r\\n And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart.\\r\\n What says Andronicus to this device?\\r\\n TITUS. Marcus, my brother! \\'Tis sad Titus calls.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MARCUS\\r\\n\\r\\n Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius;\\r\\n Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths.\\r\\n Bid him repair to me, and bring with him\\r\\n Some of the chiefest princes of the Goths;\\r\\n Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are.\\r\\n Tell him the Emperor and the Empress too\\r\\n Feast at my house, and he shall feast with them.\\r\\n This do thou for my love; and so let him,\\r\\n As he regards his aged father\\'s life.\\r\\n MARCUS. This will I do, and soon return again. Exit\\r\\n TAMORA. Now will I hence about thy business,\\r\\n And take my ministers along with me.\\r\\n TITUS. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with me,\\r\\n Or else I\\'ll call my brother back again,\\r\\n And cleave to no revenge but Lucius.\\r\\n TAMORA. [Aside to her sons] What say you, boys? Will you abide\\r\\n with him,\\r\\n Whiles I go tell my lord the Emperor\\r\\n How I have govern\\'d our determin\\'d jest?\\r\\n Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair,\\r\\n And tarry with him till I turn again.\\r\\n TITUS. [Aside] I knew them all, though they suppos\\'d me mad,\\r\\n And will o\\'er reach them in their own devices,\\r\\n A pair of cursed hell-hounds and their dam.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Madam, depart at pleasure; leave us here.\\r\\n TAMORA. Farewell, Andronicus, Revenge now goes\\r\\n To lay a complot to betray thy foes.\\r\\n TITUS. I know thou dost; and, sweet Revenge, farewell.\\r\\n Exit TAMORA\\r\\n CHIRON. Tell us, old man, how shall we be employ\\'d?\\r\\n TITUS. Tut, I have work enough for you to do.\\r\\n Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PUBLIUS, CAIUS, and VALENTINE\\r\\n\\r\\n PUBLIUS. What is your will?\\r\\n TITUS. Know you these two?\\r\\n PUBLIUS. The Empress\\' sons, I take them: Chiron, Demetrius.\\r\\n TITUS. Fie, Publius, fie! thou art too much deceiv\\'d.\\r\\n The one is Murder, and Rape is the other\\'s name;\\r\\n And therefore bind them, gentle Publius-\\r\\n Caius and Valentine, lay hands on them.\\r\\n Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour,\\r\\n And now I find it; therefore bind them sure,\\r\\n And stop their mouths if they begin to cry. Exit\\r\\n [They lay hold on CHIRON and DEMETRIUS]\\r\\n CHIRON. Villains, forbear! we are the Empress\\' sons.\\r\\n PUBLIUS. And therefore do we what we are commanded.\\r\\n Stop close their mouths, let them not speak a word.\\r\\n Is he sure bound? Look that you bind them fast.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter TITUS ANDRONICUS\\r\\n with a knife, and LAVINIA, with a basin\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Come, come, Lavinia; look, thy foes are bound.\\r\\n Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to me;\\r\\n But let them hear what fearful words I utter.\\r\\n O villains, Chiron and Demetrius!\\r\\n Here stands the spring whom you have stain\\'d with mud;\\r\\n This goodly summer with your winter mix\\'d.\\r\\n You kill\\'d her husband; and for that vile fault\\r\\n Two of her brothers were condemn\\'d to death,\\r\\n My hand cut off and made a merry jest;\\r\\n Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that more dear\\r\\n Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity,\\r\\n Inhuman traitors, you constrain\\'d and forc\\'d.\\r\\n What would you say, if I should let you speak?\\r\\n Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace.\\r\\n Hark, wretches! how I mean to martyr you.\\r\\n This one hand yet is left to cut your throats,\\r\\n Whiles that Lavinia \\'tween her stumps doth hold\\r\\n The basin that receives your guilty blood.\\r\\n You know your mother means to feast with me,\\r\\n And calls herself Revenge, and thinks me mad.\\r\\n Hark, villains! I will grind your bones to dust,\\r\\n And with your blood and it I\\'ll make a paste;\\r\\n And of the paste a coffin I will rear,\\r\\n And make two pasties of your shameful heads;\\r\\n And bid that strumpet, your unhallowed dam,\\r\\n Like to the earth, swallow her own increase.\\r\\n This is the feast that I have bid her to,\\r\\n And this the banquet she shall surfeit on;\\r\\n For worse than Philomel you us\\'d my daughter,\\r\\n And worse than Progne I will be reveng\\'d.\\r\\n And now prepare your throats. Lavinia, come,\\r\\n Receive the blood; and when that they are dead,\\r\\n Let me go grind their bones to powder small,\\r\\n And with this hateful liquor temper it;\\r\\n And in that paste let their vile heads be bak\\'d.\\r\\n Come, come, be every one officious\\r\\n To make this banquet, which I wish may prove\\r\\n More stern and bloody than the Centaurs\\' feast.\\r\\n [He cuts their throats]\\r\\n So.\\r\\n Now bring them in, for I will play the cook,\\r\\n And see them ready against their mother comes.\\r\\n Exeunt, bearing the dead bodies\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The court of TITUS\\' house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Lucius, MARCUS, and the GOTHS, with AARON prisoner, and his CHILD\\r\\nin the arms of an attendant\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS. Uncle Marcus, since \\'tis my father\\'s mind\\r\\n That I repair to Rome, I am content.\\r\\n FIRST GOTH. And ours with thine, befall what fortune will.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous Moor,\\r\\n This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil;\\r\\n Let him receive no sust\\'nance, fetter him,\\r\\n Till he be brought unto the Empress\\' face\\r\\n For testimony of her foul proceedings.\\r\\n And see the ambush of our friends be strong;\\r\\n I fear the Emperor means no good to us.\\r\\n AARON. Some devil whisper curses in my ear,\\r\\n And prompt me that my tongue may utter forth\\r\\n The venomous malice of my swelling heart!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Away, inhuman dog, unhallowed slave!\\r\\n Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in.\\r\\n Exeunt GOTHS with AARON. Flourish within\\r\\n The trumpets show the Emperor is at hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound trumpets. Enter SATURNINUS and\\r\\n TAMORA, with AEMILIUS, TRIBUNES, SENATORS, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS. What, hath the firmament more suns than one?\\r\\n LUCIUS. What boots it thee to can thyself a sun?\\r\\n MARCUS. Rome\\'s Emperor, and nephew, break the parle;\\r\\n These quarrels must be quietly debated.\\r\\n The feast is ready which the careful Titus\\r\\n Hath ordain\\'d to an honourable end,\\r\\n For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome.\\r\\n Please you, therefore, draw nigh and take your places.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Marcus, we will.\\r\\n [A table brought in. The company sit down]\\r\\n\\r\\n Trumpets sounding, enter TITUS\\r\\n like a cook, placing the dishes, and LAVINIA\\r\\n with a veil over her face; also YOUNG LUCIUS, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Welcome, my lord; welcome, dread Queen;\\r\\n Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lucius;\\r\\n And welcome all. Although the cheer be poor,\\r\\n \\'Twill fill your stomachs; please you eat of it.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Why art thou thus attir\\'d, Andronicus?\\r\\n TITUS. Because I would be sure to have all well\\r\\n To entertain your Highness and your Empress.\\r\\n TAMORA. We are beholding to you, good Andronicus.\\r\\n TITUS. An if your Highness knew my heart, you were.\\r\\n My lord the Emperor, resolve me this:\\r\\n Was it well done of rash Virginius\\r\\n To slay his daughter with his own right hand,\\r\\n Because she was enforc\\'d, stain\\'d, and deflower\\'d?\\r\\n SATURNINUS. It was, Andronicus.\\r\\n TITUS. Your reason, mighty lord.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Because the girl should not survive her shame,\\r\\n And by her presence still renew his sorrows.\\r\\n TITUS. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual;\\r\\n A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant\\r\\n For me, most wretched, to perform the like.\\r\\n Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee; [He kills her]\\r\\n And with thy shame thy father\\'s sorrow die!\\r\\n SATURNINUS. What hast thou done, unnatural and unkind?\\r\\n TITUS. Kill\\'d her for whom my tears have made me blind.\\r\\n I am as woeful as Virginius was,\\r\\n And have a thousand times more cause than he\\r\\n To do this outrage; and it now is done.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. What, was she ravish\\'d? Tell who did the deed.\\r\\n TITUS. Will\\'t please you eat? Will\\'t please your Highness feed?\\r\\n TAMORA. Why hast thou slain thine only daughter thus?\\r\\n TITUS. Not I; \\'twas Chiron and Demetrius.\\r\\n They ravish\\'d her, and cut away her tongue;\\r\\n And they, \\'twas they, that did her all this wrong.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Go, fetch them hither to us presently.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, there they are, both baked in this pie,\\r\\n Whereof their mother daintily hath fed,\\r\\n Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred.\\r\\n \\'Tis true, \\'tis true: witness my knife\\'s sharp point.\\r\\n [He stabs the EMPRESS]\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed!\\r\\n [He stabs TITUS]\\r\\n LUCIUS. Can the son\\'s eye behold his father bleed?\\r\\n There\\'s meed for meed, death for a deadly deed.\\r\\n [He stabs SATURNINUS. A great tumult. LUCIUS,\\r\\n MARCUS, and their friends go up into the balcony]\\r\\n MARCUS. You sad-fac\\'d men, people and sons of Rome,\\r\\n By uproars sever\\'d, as a flight of fowl\\r\\n Scatter\\'d by winds and high tempestuous gusts?\\r\\n O, let me teach you how to knit again\\r\\n This scattered corn into one mutual sheaf,\\r\\n These broken limbs again into one body;\\r\\n Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself,\\r\\n And she whom mighty kingdoms curtsy to,\\r\\n Like a forlorn and desperate castaway,\\r\\n Do shameful execution on herself.\\r\\n But if my frosty signs and chaps of age,\\r\\n Grave witnesses of true experience,\\r\\n Cannot induce you to attend my words,\\r\\n [To Lucius] Speak, Rome\\'s dear friend, as erst our ancestor,\\r\\n When with his solemn tongue he did discourse\\r\\n To love-sick Dido\\'s sad attending ear\\r\\n The story of that baleful burning night,\\r\\n When subtle Greeks surpris\\'d King Priam\\'s Troy.\\r\\n Tell us what Sinon hath bewitch\\'d our ears,\\r\\n Or who hath brought the fatal engine in\\r\\n That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound.\\r\\n My heart is not compact of flint nor steel;\\r\\n Nor can I utter all our bitter grief,\\r\\n But floods of tears will drown my oratory\\r\\n And break my utt\\'rance, even in the time\\r\\n When it should move ye to attend me most,\\r\\n And force you to commiseration.\\r\\n Here\\'s Rome\\'s young Captain, let him tell the tale;\\r\\n While I stand by and weep to hear him speak.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Then, gracious auditory, be it known to you\\r\\n That Chiron and the damn\\'d Demetrius\\r\\n Were they that murd\\'red our Emperor\\'s brother;\\r\\n And they it were that ravished our sister.\\r\\n For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded,\\r\\n Our father\\'s tears despis\\'d, and basely cozen\\'d\\r\\n Of that true hand that fought Rome\\'s quarrel out\\r\\n And sent her enemies unto the grave.\\r\\n Lastly, myself unkindly banished,\\r\\n The gates shut on me, and turn\\'d weeping out,\\r\\n To beg relief among Rome\\'s enemies;\\r\\n Who drown\\'d their enmity in my true tears,\\r\\n And op\\'d their arms to embrace me as a friend.\\r\\n I am the turned forth, be it known to you,\\r\\n That have preserv\\'d her welfare in my blood\\r\\n And from her bosom took the enemy\\'s point,\\r\\n Sheathing the steel in my advent\\'rous body.\\r\\n Alas! you know I am no vaunter, I;\\r\\n My scars can witness, dumb although they are,\\r\\n That my report is just and full of truth.\\r\\n But, soft! methinks I do digress too much,\\r\\n Citing my worthless praise. O, pardon me!\\r\\n For when no friends are by, men praise themselves.\\r\\n MARCUS. Now is my turn to speak. Behold the child.\\r\\n [Pointing to the CHILD in an attendant\\'s arms]\\r\\n Of this was Tamora delivered,\\r\\n The issue of an irreligious Moor,\\r\\n Chief architect and plotter of these woes.\\r\\n The villain is alive in Titus\\' house,\\r\\n Damn\\'d as he is, to witness this is true.\\r\\n Now judge what cause had Titus to revenge\\r\\n These wrongs unspeakable, past patience,\\r\\n Or more than any living man could bear.\\r\\n Now have you heard the truth: what say you, Romans?\\r\\n Have we done aught amiss, show us wherein,\\r\\n And, from the place where you behold us pleading,\\r\\n The poor remainder of Andronici\\r\\n Will, hand in hand, all headlong hurl ourselves,\\r\\n And on the ragged stones beat forth our souls,\\r\\n And make a mutual closure of our house.\\r\\n Speak, Romans, speak; and if you say we shall,\\r\\n Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall.\\r\\n AEMILIUS. Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome,\\r\\n And bring our Emperor gently in thy hand,\\r\\n Lucius our Emperor; for well I know\\r\\n The common voice do cry it shall be so.\\r\\n ALL. Lucius, all hail, Rome\\'s royal Emperor!\\r\\n MARCUS. Go, go into old Titus\\' sorrowful house,\\r\\n And hither hale that misbelieving Moor\\r\\n To be adjudg\\'d some direful slaught\\'ring death,\\r\\n As punishment for his most wicked life. Exeunt some\\r\\n attendants. LUCIUS, MARCUS, and the others descend\\r\\n ALL. Lucius, all hail, Rome\\'s gracious governor!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Thanks, gentle Romans! May I govern so\\r\\n To heal Rome\\'s harms and wipe away her woe!\\r\\n But, gentle people, give me aim awhile,\\r\\n For nature puts me to a heavy task.\\r\\n Stand all aloof; but, uncle, draw you near\\r\\n To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk.\\r\\n O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips. [Kisses TITUS]\\r\\n These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain\\'d face,\\r\\n The last true duties of thy noble son!\\r\\n MARCUS. Tear for tear and loving kiss for kiss\\r\\n Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips.\\r\\n O, were the sum of these that I should pay\\r\\n Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Come hither, boy; come, come, come, and learn of us\\r\\n To melt in showers. Thy grandsire lov\\'d thee well;\\r\\n Many a time he danc\\'d thee on his knee,\\r\\n Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow;\\r\\n Many a story hath he told to thee,\\r\\n And bid thee bear his pretty tales in mind\\r\\n And talk of them when he was dead and gone.\\r\\n MARCUS. How many thousand times hath these poor lips,\\r\\n When they were living, warm\\'d themselves on thine!\\r\\n O, now, sweet boy, give them their latest kiss!\\r\\n Bid him farewell; commit him to the grave;\\r\\n Do them that kindness, and take leave of them.\\r\\n BOY. O grandsire, grandsire! ev\\'n with all my heart\\r\\n Would I were dead, so you did live again!\\r\\n O Lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping;\\r\\n My tears will choke me, if I ope my mouth.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter attendants with AARON\\r\\n\\r\\n A ROMAN. You sad Andronici, have done with woes;\\r\\n Give sentence on the execrable wretch\\r\\n That hath been breeder of these dire events.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish him;\\r\\n There let him stand and rave and cry for food.\\r\\n If any one relieves or pities him,\\r\\n For the offence he dies. This is our doom.\\r\\n Some stay to see him fast\\'ned in the earth.\\r\\n AARON. Ah, why should wrath be mute and fury dumb?\\r\\n I am no baby, I, that with base prayers\\r\\n I should repent the evils I have done;\\r\\n Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did\\r\\n Would I perform, if I might have my will.\\r\\n If one good deed in all my life I did,\\r\\n I do repent it from my very soul.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Some loving friends convey the Emperor hence,\\r\\n And give him burial in his father\\'s grave.\\r\\n My father and Lavinia shall forthwith\\r\\n Be closed in our household\\'s monument.\\r\\n As for that ravenous tiger, Tamora,\\r\\n No funeral rite, nor man in mourning weed,\\r\\n No mournful bell shall ring her burial;\\r\\n But throw her forth to beasts and birds to prey.\\r\\n Her life was beastly and devoid of pity,\\r\\n And being dead, let birds on her take pity. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE HISTORY OF TROILUS AND CRESSIDA\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nPrologue.\\r\\nScene I. Troy. Before PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\nScene II. Troy. A street.\\r\\nScene III. The Grecian camp. Before AGAMEMNON’S tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. The Grecian camp.\\r\\nScene II. Troy. PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\nScene III. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Troy. PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\nScene II. Troy. PANDARUS’ orchard.\\r\\nScene III. The Greek camp.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Troy. A street.\\r\\nScene II. Troy. The court of PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\nScene III. Troy. A street before PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\nScene IV. Troy. PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\nScene V. The Grecian camp. Lists set out.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES.\\r\\nScene II. The Grecian camp. Before CALCHAS’ tent.\\r\\nScene III. Troy. Before PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\nScene IV. The plain between Troy and the Grecian camp.\\r\\nScene V. Another part of the plain.\\r\\nScene VI. Another part of the plain.\\r\\nScene VII. Another part of the plain.\\r\\nScene VIII. Another part of the plain.\\r\\nScene IX. Another part of the plain.\\r\\nScene X. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM, King of Troy\\r\\n\\r\\nHis sons:\\r\\nHECTOR\\r\\nTROILUS\\r\\nPARIS\\r\\nDEIPHOBUS\\r\\nHELENUS\\r\\nMARGARELON, a bastard son of Priam\\r\\n\\r\\nTrojan commanders:\\r\\nAENEAS\\r\\nANTENOR\\r\\n\\r\\nCALCHAS, a Trojan priest, taking part with the Greeks\\r\\nPANDARUS, uncle to Cressida\\r\\nAGAMEMNON, the Greek general\\r\\nMENELAUS, his brother\\r\\n\\r\\nGreek commanders:\\r\\nACHILLES\\r\\nAJAX\\r\\nULYSSES\\r\\nNESTOR\\r\\nDIOMEDES\\r\\nPATROCLUS\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES, a deformed and scurrilous Greek\\r\\nALEXANDER, servant to Cressida\\r\\nSERVANT to Troilus\\r\\nSERVANT to Paris\\r\\nSERVANT to Diomedes\\r\\nHELEN, wife to Menelaus\\r\\nANDROMACHE, wife to Hector\\r\\nCASSANDRA, daughter to Priam, a prophetess\\r\\nCRESSIDA, daughter to Calchas\\r\\n\\r\\nTrojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Troy and the Greek camp before it\\r\\n\\r\\nPROLOGUE\\r\\n\\r\\nIn Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece\\r\\nThe princes orgulous, their high blood chaf’d,\\r\\nHave to the port of Athens sent their ships\\r\\nFraught with the ministers and instruments\\r\\nOf cruel war. Sixty and nine that wore\\r\\nTheir crownets regal from the Athenian bay\\r\\nPut forth toward Phrygia; and their vow is made\\r\\nTo ransack Troy, within whose strong immures\\r\\nThe ravish’d Helen, Menelaus’ queen,\\r\\nWith wanton Paris sleeps—and that’s the quarrel.\\r\\nTo Tenedos they come,\\r\\nAnd the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge\\r\\nTheir war-like fraughtage. Now on Dardan plains\\r\\nThe fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch\\r\\nTheir brave pavilions: Priam’s six-gated city,\\r\\nDardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Troien,\\r\\nAnd Antenorides, with massy staples\\r\\nAnd corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,\\r\\nStir up the sons of Troy.\\r\\nNow expectation, tickling skittish spirits\\r\\nOn one and other side, Trojan and Greek,\\r\\nSets all on hazard. And hither am I come\\r\\nA prologue arm’d, but not in confidence\\r\\nOf author’s pen or actor’s voice, but suited\\r\\nIn like conditions as our argument,\\r\\nTo tell you, fair beholders, that our play\\r\\nLeaps o’er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils,\\r\\nBeginning in the middle; starting thence away,\\r\\nTo what may be digested in a play.\\r\\nLike or find fault; do as your pleasures are;\\r\\nNow good or bad, ’tis but the chance of war.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Troy. Before PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus armed, and Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCall here my varlet; I’ll unarm again.\\r\\nWhy should I war without the walls of Troy\\r\\nThat find such cruel battle here within?\\r\\nEach Trojan that is master of his heart,\\r\\nLet him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWill this gear ne’er be mended?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThe Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength,\\r\\nFierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant;\\r\\nBut I am weaker than a woman’s tear,\\r\\nTamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance,\\r\\nLess valiant than the virgin in the night,\\r\\nAnd skilless as unpractis’d infancy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell, I have told you enough of this; for my part, I’ll not meddle nor\\r\\nmake no farther. He that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry\\r\\nthe grinding.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHave I not tarried?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHave I not tarried?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nStill have I tarried.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, to the leavening; but here’s yet in the word ‘hereafter’ the\\r\\nkneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the\\r\\nbaking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance burn your\\r\\nlips.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nPatience herself, what goddess e’er she be,\\r\\nDoth lesser blench at suff’rance than I do.\\r\\nAt Priam’s royal table do I sit;\\r\\nAnd when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,\\r\\nSo, traitor! ‘when she comes’! when she is thence?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell, she look’d yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any\\r\\nwoman else.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI was about to tell thee: when my heart,\\r\\nAs wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain,\\r\\nLest Hector or my father should perceive me,\\r\\nI have, as when the sun doth light a storm,\\r\\nBuried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile.\\r\\nBut sorrow that is couch’d in seeming gladness\\r\\nIs like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAn her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen’s, well, go to, there\\r\\nwere no more comparison between the women. But, for my part, she is my\\r\\nkinswoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her, but I would\\r\\nsomebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise\\r\\nyour sister Cassandra’s wit; but—\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,\\r\\nWhen I do tell thee there my hopes lie drown’d,\\r\\nReply not in how many fathoms deep\\r\\nThey lie indrench’d. I tell thee I am mad\\r\\nIn Cressid’s love. Thou answer’st ‘She is fair’;\\r\\nPour’st in the open ulcer of my heart\\r\\nHer eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice,\\r\\nHandlest in thy discourse. O! that her hand,\\r\\nIn whose comparison all whites are ink\\r\\nWriting their own reproach; to whose soft seizure\\r\\nThe cygnet’s down is harsh, and spirit of sense\\r\\nHard as the palm of ploughman! This thou tell’st me,\\r\\nAs true thou tell’st me, when I say I love her;\\r\\nBut, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,\\r\\nThou lay’st in every gash that love hath given me\\r\\nThe knife that made it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI speak no more than truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThou dost not speak so much.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFaith, I’ll not meddle in’t. Let her be as she is: if she be fair, ’tis\\r\\nthe better for her; and she be not, she has the mends in her own hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nGood Pandarus! How now, Pandarus!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI have had my labour for my travail, ill thought on of her and ill\\r\\nthought on of you; gone between and between, but small thanks for my\\r\\nlabour.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat! art thou angry, Pandarus? What! with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nBecause she’s kin to me, therefore she’s not so fair as Helen. And she\\r\\nwere not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday as Helen is on\\r\\nSunday. But what care I? I care not and she were a blackamoor; ’tis all\\r\\none to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nSay I she is not fair?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI do not care whether you do or no. She’s a fool to stay behind her\\r\\nfather. Let her to the Greeks; and so I’ll tell her the next time I see\\r\\nher. For my part, I’ll meddle nor make no more i’ the matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nPandarus—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNot I.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nSweet Pandarus—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nPray you, speak no more to me: I will leave all as I found it, and\\r\\nthere an end.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Pandarus. An alarum._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nPeace, you ungracious clamours! Peace, rude sounds!\\r\\nFools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair,\\r\\nWhen with your blood you daily paint her thus.\\r\\nI cannot fight upon this argument;\\r\\nIt is too starv’d a subject for my sword.\\r\\nBut Pandarus, O gods! how do you plague me!\\r\\nI cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar;\\r\\nAnd he’s as tetchy to be woo’d to woo\\r\\nAs she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.\\r\\nTell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne’s love,\\r\\nWhat Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?\\r\\nHer bed is India; there she lies, a pearl;\\r\\nBetween our Ilium and where she resides\\r\\nLet it be call’d the wild and wandering flood;\\r\\nOurself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar\\r\\nOur doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHow now, Prince Troilus! Wherefore not afield?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBecause not there. This woman’s answer sorts,\\r\\nFor womanish it is to be from thence.\\r\\nWhat news, Aeneas, from the field today?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nThat Paris is returned home, and hurt.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBy whom, Aeneas?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nTroilus, by Menelaus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nLet Paris bleed: ’tis but a scar to scorn;\\r\\nParis is gor’d with Menelaus’ horn.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alarum._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHark what good sport is out of town today!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBetter at home, if ‘would I might’ were ‘may.’\\r\\nBut to the sport abroad. Are you bound thither?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nIn all swift haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCome, go we then together.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Troy. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cressida and her man Alexander.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWho were those went by?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nQueen Hecuba and Helen.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAnd whither go they?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nUp to the eastern tower,\\r\\nWhose height commands as subject all the vale,\\r\\nTo see the battle. Hector, whose patience\\r\\nIs as a virtue fix’d, today was mov’d.\\r\\nHe chid Andromache, and struck his armourer;\\r\\nAnd, like as there were husbandry in war,\\r\\nBefore the sun rose he was harness’d light,\\r\\nAnd to the field goes he; where every flower\\r\\nDid as a prophet weep what it foresaw\\r\\nIn Hector’s wrath.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat was his cause of anger?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nThe noise goes, this: there is among the Greeks\\r\\nA lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector;\\r\\nThey call him Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGood; and what of him?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nThey say he is a very man _per se_\\r\\nAnd stands alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSo do all men, unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs.\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nThis man, lady, hath robb’d many beasts of their particular additions:\\r\\nhe is as valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the\\r\\nelephant—a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours that his valour\\r\\nis crush’d into folly, his folly sauced with discretion. There is no\\r\\nman hath a virtue that he hath not a glimpse of, nor any man an attaint\\r\\nbut he carries some stain of it; he is melancholy without cause and\\r\\nmerry against the hair; he hath the joints of everything; but\\r\\neverything so out of joint that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and\\r\\nno use, or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBut how should this man, that makes me smile, make Hector angry?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nThey say he yesterday cop’d Hector in the battle and struck him down,\\r\\nthe disdain and shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and\\r\\nwaking.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWho comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nMadam, your uncle Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHector’s a gallant man.\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nAs may be in the world, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat’s that? What’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGood morrow, uncle Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nGood morrow, cousin Cressid. What do you talk of?—Good morrow,\\r\\nAlexander.—How do you, cousin? When were you at Ilium?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThis morning, uncle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat were you talking of when I came? Was Hector arm’d and gone ere you\\r\\ncame to Ilium? Helen was not up, was she?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHector was gone; but Helen was not up.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nE’en so. Hector was stirring early.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThat were we talking of, and of his anger.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWas he angry?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSo he says here.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nTrue, he was so; I know the cause too; he’ll lay about him today, I can\\r\\ntell them that. And there’s Troilus will not come far behind him; let\\r\\nthem take heed of Troilus, I can tell them that too.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat, is he angry too?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWho, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO Jupiter! there’s no comparison.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a man if you see him?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAy, if I ever saw him before and knew him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell, I say Troilus is Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThen you say as I say, for I am sure he is not Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNo, nor Hector is not Troilus in some degrees.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\n’Tis just to each of them: he is himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHimself! Alas, poor Troilus! I would he were!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSo he is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nCondition I had gone barefoot to India.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHe is not Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHimself! no, he’s not himself. Would a’ were himself! Well, the gods\\r\\nare above; time must friend or end. Well, Troilus, well! I would my\\r\\nheart were in her body! No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nExcuse me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHe is elder.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nPardon me, pardon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nTh’other’s not come to’t; you shall tell me another tale when\\r\\nth’other’s come to’t. Hector shall not have his wit this year.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHe shall not need it if he have his own.\\r\\n\\r\\nANDARUS.\\r\\nNor his qualities.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNo matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNor his beauty.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\n’Twould not become him: his own’s better.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou have no judgement, niece. Helen herself swore th’other day that\\r\\nTroilus, for a brown favour, for so ’tis, I must confess—not brown\\r\\nneither—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNo, but brown.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFaith, to say truth, brown and not brown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nTo say the truth, true and not true.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nShe prais’d his complexion above Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhy, Paris hath colour enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nSo he has.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThen Troilus should have too much. If she prais’d him above, his\\r\\ncomplexion is higher than his; he having colour enough, and the other\\r\\nhigher, is too flaming a praise for a good complexion. I had as lief\\r\\nHelen’s golden tongue had commended Troilus for a copper nose.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI swear to you I think Helen loves him better than Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThen she’s a merry Greek indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNay, I am sure she does. She came to him th’other day into the\\r\\ncompass’d window—and you know he has not past three or four hairs on\\r\\nhis chin—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIndeed a tapster’s arithmetic may soon bring his particulars therein to\\r\\na total.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhy, he is very young, and yet will he within three pound lift as much\\r\\nas his brother Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIs he so young a man and so old a lifter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nBut to prove to you that Helen loves him: she came and puts me her\\r\\nwhite hand to his cloven chin—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nJuno have mercy! How came it cloven?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhy, you know, ’tis dimpled. I think his smiling becomes him better\\r\\nthan any man in all Phrygia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO, he smiles valiantly!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nDoes he not?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO yes, an ’twere a cloud in autumn!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhy, go to, then! But to prove to you that Helen loves Troilus—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nTroilus will stand to the proof, if you’ll prove it so.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nTroilus! Why, he esteems her no more than I esteem an addle egg.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIf you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle head, you would\\r\\neat chickens i’ th’ shell.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI cannot choose but laugh to think how she tickled his chin. Indeed,\\r\\nshe has a marvell’s white hand, I must needs confess.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWithout the rack.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAnd she takes upon her to spy a white hair on his chin.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAlas, poor chin! Many a wart is richer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nBut there was such laughing! Queen Hecuba laugh’d that her eyes ran\\r\\no’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWith millstones.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAnd Cassandra laugh’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBut there was a more temperate fire under the pot of her eyes. Did her\\r\\neyes run o’er too?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAnd Hector laugh’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAt what was all this laughing?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nMarry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus’ chin.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAnd’t had been a green hair I should have laugh’d too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThey laugh’d not so much at the hair as at his pretty answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat was his answer?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nQuoth she ‘Here’s but two and fifty hairs on your chin, and one of them\\r\\nis white.’\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThis is her question.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThat’s true; make no question of that. ‘Two and fifty hairs,’ quoth he\\r\\n‘and one white. That white hair is my father, and all the rest are his\\r\\nsons.’ ‘Jupiter!’ quoth she ‘which of these hairs is Paris my husband?’\\r\\n‘The forked one,’ quoth he, ’pluck’t out and give it him.’ But there\\r\\nwas such laughing! and Helen so blush’d, and Paris so chaf’d; and all\\r\\nthe rest so laugh’d that it pass’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSo let it now; for it has been a great while going by.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; think on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSo I do.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI’ll be sworn ’tis true; he will weep you, and ’twere a man born in\\r\\nApril.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAnd I’ll spring up in his tears, an ’twere a nettle against May.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sound a retreat._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHark! they are coming from the field. Shall we stand up here and see\\r\\nthem as they pass toward Ilium? Good niece, do, sweet niece Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAt your pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHere, here, here’s an excellent place; here we may see most bravely.\\r\\nI’ll tell you them all by their names as they pass by; but mark Troilus\\r\\nabove the rest.\\r\\n\\r\\n [Aeneas _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSpeak not so loud.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThat’s Aeneas. Is not that a brave man? He’s one of the flowers of\\r\\nTroy, I can tell you. But mark Troilus; you shall see anon.\\r\\n\\r\\n [Antenor _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWho’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThat’s Antenor. He has a shrewd wit, I can tell you; and he’s a man\\r\\ngood enough; he’s one o’ th’ soundest judgements in Troy, whosoever,\\r\\nand a proper man of person. When comes Troilus? I’ll show you Troilus\\r\\nanon. If he see me, you shall see him nod at me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWill he give you the nod?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou shall see.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIf he do, the rich shall have more.\\r\\n\\r\\n [Hector _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThat’s Hector, that, that, look you, that; there’s a fellow! Go thy\\r\\nway, Hector! There’s a brave man, niece. O brave Hector! Look how he\\r\\nlooks. There’s a countenance! Is’t not a brave man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO, a brave man!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIs a’ not? It does a man’s heart good. Look you what hacks are on his\\r\\nhelmet! Look you yonder, do you see? Look you there. There’s no\\r\\njesting; there’s laying on; take’t off who will, as they say. There be\\r\\nhacks.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBe those with swords?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nSwords! anything, he cares not; and the devil come to him, it’s all\\r\\none. By God’s lid, it does one’s heart good. Yonder comes Paris, yonder\\r\\ncomes Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\n [Paris _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nLook ye yonder, niece; is’t not a gallant man too, is’t not? Why, this\\r\\nis brave now. Who said he came hurt home today? He’s not hurt. Why,\\r\\nthis will do Helen’s heart good now, ha! Would I could see Troilus now!\\r\\nYou shall see Troilus anon.\\r\\n\\r\\n [Helenus _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWho’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThat’s Helenus. I marvel where Troilus is. That’s\\r\\nHelenus. I think he went not forth today. That’s Helenus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nCan Helenus fight, uncle?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHelenus! no. Yes, he’ll fight indifferent well. I marvel where Troilus\\r\\nis. Hark! do you not hear the people cry ‘Troilus’?—Helenus is a\\r\\npriest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat sneaking fellow comes yonder?\\r\\n\\r\\n [Troilus _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhere? yonder? That’s Deiphobus. ’Tis Troilus. There’s a man, niece.\\r\\nHem! Brave Troilus, the prince of chivalry!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nPeace, for shame, peace!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nMark him; note him. O brave Troilus! Look well upon him, niece; look\\r\\nyou how his sword is bloodied, and his helm more hack’d than Hector’s;\\r\\nand how he looks, and how he goes! O admirable youth! he never saw\\r\\nthree and twenty. Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way. Had I a sister were\\r\\na grace or a daughter a goddess, he should take his choice. O admirable\\r\\nman! Paris? Paris is dirt to him; and, I warrant, Helen, to change,\\r\\nwould give an eye to boot.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHere comes more.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Common soldiers pass_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAsses, fools, dolts! chaff and bran, chaff and bran! porridge after\\r\\nmeat! I could live and die in the eyes of Troilus. Ne’er look, ne’er\\r\\nlook; the eagles are gone. Crows and daws, crows and daws! I had rather\\r\\nbe such a man as Troilus than Agamemnon and all Greece.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThere is amongst the Greeks Achilles, a better man than Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAchilles? A drayman, a porter, a very camel!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWell, well.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell, well! Why, have you any discretion? Have you any eyes? Do you\\r\\nknow what a man is? Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse,\\r\\nmanhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality, and such\\r\\nlike, the spice and salt that season a man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAy, a minc’d man; and then to be bak’d with no date in the pie, for\\r\\nthen the man’s date is out.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou are such a woman! A man knows not at what ward you lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nUpon my back, to defend my belly; upon my wit, to defend my wiles; upon\\r\\nmy secrecy, to defend mine honesty; my mask, to defend my beauty; and\\r\\nyou, to defend all these; and at all these wards I lie, at a thousand\\r\\nwatches.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nSay one of your watches.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNay, I’ll watch you for that; and that’s one of the chiefest of them\\r\\ntoo. If I cannot ward what I would not have hit, I can watch you for\\r\\ntelling how I took the blow; unless it swell past hiding, and then it’s\\r\\npast watching.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou are such another!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus\\' Boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nSir, my lord would instantly speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhere?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nAt your own house; there he unarms him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nGood boy, tell him I come. [_Exit_ Boy.] I doubt he be hurt. Fare ye\\r\\nwell, good niece.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAdieu, uncle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI will be with you, niece, by and by.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nTo bring, uncle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, a token from Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Pandarus.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBy the same token, you are a bawd.\\r\\nWords, vows, gifts, tears, and love’s full sacrifice,\\r\\nHe offers in another’s enterprise;\\r\\nBut more in Troilus thousand-fold I see\\r\\nThan in the glass of Pandar’s praise may be,\\r\\nYet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing:\\r\\nThings won are done; joy’s soul lies in the doing.\\r\\nThat she belov’d knows naught that knows not this:\\r\\nMen prize the thing ungain’d more than it is.\\r\\nThat she was never yet that ever knew\\r\\nLove got so sweet as when desire did sue;\\r\\nTherefore this maxim out of love I teach:\\r\\n‘Achievement is command; ungain’d, beseech.’\\r\\nThen though my heart’s content firm love doth bear,\\r\\nNothing of that shall from mine eyes appear.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The Grecian camp. Before AGAMEMNON’S tent.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sennet. Enter Agamemnon, Nestor, Ulysses, Diomedes, Menelaus and\\r\\n others.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nPrinces,\\r\\nWhat grief hath set these jaundies o’er your cheeks?\\r\\nThe ample proposition that hope makes\\r\\nIn all designs begun on earth below\\r\\nFails in the promis’d largeness; checks and disasters\\r\\nGrow in the veins of actions highest rear’d,\\r\\nAs knots, by the conflux of meeting sap,\\r\\nInfects the sound pine, and diverts his grain\\r\\nTortive and errant from his course of growth.\\r\\nNor, princes, is it matter new to us\\r\\nThat we come short of our suppose so far\\r\\nThat after seven years’ siege yet Troy walls stand;\\r\\nSith every action that hath gone before,\\r\\nWhereof we have record, trial did draw\\r\\nBias and thwart, not answering the aim,\\r\\nAnd that unbodied figure of the thought\\r\\nThat gave’t surmised shape. Why then, you princes,\\r\\nDo you with cheeks abash’d behold our works\\r\\nAnd call them shames, which are, indeed, naught else\\r\\nBut the protractive trials of great Jove\\r\\nTo find persistive constancy in men;\\r\\nThe fineness of which metal is not found\\r\\nIn fortune’s love? For then the bold and coward,\\r\\nThe wise and fool, the artist and unread,\\r\\nThe hard and soft, seem all affin’d and kin.\\r\\nBut in the wind and tempest of her frown\\r\\nDistinction, with a broad and powerful fan,\\r\\nPuffing at all, winnows the light away;\\r\\nAnd what hath mass or matter by itself\\r\\nLies rich in virtue and unmingled.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWith due observance of thy godlike seat,\\r\\nGreat Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply\\r\\nThy latest words. In the reproof of chance\\r\\nLies the true proof of men. The sea being smooth,\\r\\nHow many shallow bauble boats dare sail\\r\\nUpon her patient breast, making their way\\r\\nWith those of nobler bulk!\\r\\nBut let the ruffian Boreas once enrage\\r\\nThe gentle Thetis, and anon behold\\r\\nThe strong-ribb’d bark through liquid mountains cut,\\r\\nBounding between the two moist elements\\r\\nLike Perseus’ horse. Where’s then the saucy boat,\\r\\nWhose weak untimber’d sides but even now\\r\\nCo-rivall’d greatness? Either to harbour fled\\r\\nOr made a toast for Neptune. Even so\\r\\nDoth valour’s show and valour’s worth divide\\r\\nIn storms of fortune; for in her ray and brightness\\r\\nThe herd hath more annoyance by the breeze\\r\\nThan by the tiger; but when the splitting wind\\r\\nMakes flexible the knees of knotted oaks,\\r\\nAnd flies fled under shade—why, then the thing of courage,\\r\\nAs rous’d with rage, with rage doth sympathise,\\r\\nAnd with an accent tun’d in self-same key\\r\\nRetorts to chiding fortune.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAgamemnon,\\r\\nThou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece,\\r\\nHeart of our numbers, soul and only spirit\\r\\nIn whom the tempers and the minds of all\\r\\nShould be shut up—hear what Ulysses speaks.\\r\\nBesides th’applause and approbation\\r\\nThe which, [_To Agamemnon_] most mighty, for thy place and sway,\\r\\n[_To Nestor_] And, thou most reverend, for thy stretch’d-out life,\\r\\nI give to both your speeches—which were such\\r\\nAs Agamemnon and the hand of Greece\\r\\nShould hold up high in brass; and such again\\r\\nAs venerable Nestor, hatch’d in silver,\\r\\nShould with a bond of air, strong as the axle-tree\\r\\nOn which heaven rides, knit all the Greekish ears\\r\\nTo his experienc’d tongue—yet let it please both,\\r\\nThou great, and wise, to hear Ulysses speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nSpeak, Prince of Ithaca; and be’t of less expect\\r\\nThat matter needless, of importless burden,\\r\\nDivide thy lips than we are confident,\\r\\nWhen rank Thersites opes his mastic jaws,\\r\\nWe shall hear music, wit, and oracle.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nTroy, yet upon his basis, had been down,\\r\\nAnd the great Hector’s sword had lack’d a master,\\r\\nBut for these instances:\\r\\nThe specialty of rule hath been neglected;\\r\\nAnd look how many Grecian tents do stand\\r\\nHollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions.\\r\\nWhen that the general is not like the hive,\\r\\nTo whom the foragers shall all repair,\\r\\nWhat honey is expected? Degree being vizarded,\\r\\nTh’unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask.\\r\\nThe heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre,\\r\\nObserve degree, priority, and place,\\r\\nInsisture, course, proportion, season, form,\\r\\nOffice, and custom, in all line of order;\\r\\nAnd therefore is the glorious planet Sol\\r\\nIn noble eminence enthron’d and spher’d\\r\\nAmidst the other, whose med’cinable eye\\r\\nCorrects the influence of evil planets,\\r\\nAnd posts, like the commandment of a king,\\r\\nSans check, to good and bad. But when the planets\\r\\nIn evil mixture to disorder wander,\\r\\nWhat plagues and what portents, what mutiny,\\r\\nWhat raging of the sea, shaking of earth,\\r\\nCommotion in the winds! Frights, changes, horrors,\\r\\nDivert and crack, rend and deracinate,\\r\\nThe unity and married calm of states\\r\\nQuite from their fixture! O, when degree is shak’d,\\r\\nWhich is the ladder of all high designs,\\r\\nThe enterprise is sick! How could communities,\\r\\nDegrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities,\\r\\nPeaceful commerce from dividable shores,\\r\\nThe primogenity and due of birth,\\r\\nPrerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels,\\r\\nBut by degree stand in authentic place?\\r\\nTake but degree away, untune that string,\\r\\nAnd hark what discord follows! Each thing melts\\r\\nIn mere oppugnancy: the bounded waters\\r\\nShould lift their bosoms higher than the shores,\\r\\nAnd make a sop of all this solid globe;\\r\\nStrength should be lord of imbecility,\\r\\nAnd the rude son should strike his father dead;\\r\\nForce should be right; or, rather, right and wrong—\\r\\nBetween whose endless jar justice resides—\\r\\nShould lose their names, and so should justice too.\\r\\nThen everything includes itself in power,\\r\\nPower into will, will into appetite;\\r\\nAnd appetite, an universal wolf,\\r\\nSo doubly seconded with will and power,\\r\\nMust make perforce an universal prey,\\r\\nAnd last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon,\\r\\nThis chaos, when degree is suffocate,\\r\\nFollows the choking.\\r\\nAnd this neglection of degree it is\\r\\nThat by a pace goes backward, with a purpose\\r\\nIt hath to climb. The general’s disdain’d\\r\\nBy him one step below, he by the next,\\r\\nThat next by him beneath; so every step,\\r\\nExampl’d by the first pace that is sick\\r\\nOf his superior, grows to an envious fever\\r\\nOf pale and bloodless emulation.\\r\\nAnd ’tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot,\\r\\nNot her own sinews. To end a tale of length,\\r\\nTroy in our weakness stands, not in her strength.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nMost wisely hath Ulysses here discover’d\\r\\nThe fever whereof all our power is sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nThe nature of the sickness found, Ulysses,\\r\\nWhat is the remedy?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThe great Achilles, whom opinion crowns\\r\\nThe sinew and the forehand of our host,\\r\\nHaving his ear full of his airy fame,\\r\\nGrows dainty of his worth, and in his tent\\r\\nLies mocking our designs; with him Patroclus\\r\\nUpon a lazy bed the livelong day\\r\\nBreaks scurril jests;\\r\\nAnd with ridiculous and awkward action—\\r\\nWhich, slanderer, he imitation calls—\\r\\nHe pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon,\\r\\nThy topless deputation he puts on;\\r\\nAnd like a strutting player whose conceit\\r\\nLies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich\\r\\nTo hear the wooden dialogue and sound\\r\\n’Twixt his stretch’d footing and the scaffoldage—\\r\\nSuch to-be-pitied and o’er-wrested seeming\\r\\nHe acts thy greatness in; and when he speaks\\r\\n’Tis like a chime a-mending; with terms unsquar’d,\\r\\nWhich, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp’d,\\r\\nWould seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff\\r\\nThe large Achilles, on his press’d bed lolling,\\r\\nFrom his deep chest laughs out a loud applause;\\r\\nCries ‘Excellent! ’Tis Agamemnon right!\\r\\nNow play me Nestor; hem, and stroke thy beard,\\r\\nAs he being drest to some oration.’\\r\\nThat’s done—as near as the extremest ends\\r\\nOf parallels, as like as Vulcan and his wife;\\r\\nYet god Achilles still cries ‘Excellent!\\r\\n’Tis Nestor right. Now play him me, Patroclus,\\r\\nArming to answer in a night alarm.’\\r\\nAnd then, forsooth, the faint defects of age\\r\\nMust be the scene of mirth: to cough and spit\\r\\nAnd, with a palsy fumbling on his gorget,\\r\\nShake in and out the rivet. And at this sport\\r\\nSir Valour dies; cries ‘O, enough, Patroclus;\\r\\nOr give me ribs of steel! I shall split all\\r\\nIn pleasure of my spleen.’ And in this fashion\\r\\nAll our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes,\\r\\nSeverals and generals of grace exact,\\r\\nAchievements, plots, orders, preventions,\\r\\nExcitements to the field or speech for truce,\\r\\nSuccess or loss, what is or is not, serves\\r\\nAs stuff for these two to make paradoxes.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nAnd in the imitation of these twain—\\r\\nWho, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns\\r\\nWith an imperial voice—many are infect.\\r\\nAjax is grown self-will’d and bears his head\\r\\nIn such a rein, in full as proud a place\\r\\nAs broad Achilles; keeps his tent like him;\\r\\nMakes factious feasts; rails on our state of war\\r\\nBold as an oracle, and sets Thersites,\\r\\nA slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint,\\r\\nTo match us in comparisons with dirt,\\r\\nTo weaken and discredit our exposure,\\r\\nHow rank soever rounded in with danger.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThey tax our policy and call it cowardice,\\r\\nCount wisdom as no member of the war,\\r\\nForestall prescience, and esteem no act\\r\\nBut that of hand. The still and mental parts\\r\\nThat do contrive how many hands shall strike\\r\\nWhen fitness calls them on, and know, by measure\\r\\nOf their observant toil, the enemies’ weight—\\r\\nWhy, this hath not a finger’s dignity:\\r\\nThey call this bed-work, mapp’ry, closet-war;\\r\\nSo that the ram that batters down the wall,\\r\\nFor the great swinge and rudeness of his poise,\\r\\nThey place before his hand that made the engine,\\r\\nOr those that with the fineness of their souls\\r\\nBy reason guide his execution.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nLet this be granted, and Achilles’ horse\\r\\nMakes many Thetis’ sons.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Tucket_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat trumpet? Look, Menelaus.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nFrom Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat would you fore our tent?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nIs this great Agamemnon’s tent, I pray you?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nEven this.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nMay one that is a herald and a prince\\r\\nDo a fair message to his kingly eyes?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWith surety stronger than Achilles’ arm\\r\\nFore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice\\r\\nCall Agamemnon head and general.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nFair leave and large security. How may\\r\\nA stranger to those most imperial looks\\r\\nKnow them from eyes of other mortals?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHow?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nAy;\\r\\nI ask, that I might waken reverence,\\r\\nAnd bid the cheek be ready with a blush\\r\\nModest as morning when she coldly eyes\\r\\nThe youthful Phoebus.\\r\\nWhich is that god in office, guiding men?\\r\\nWhich is the high and mighty Agamemnon?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nThis Trojan scorns us, or the men of Troy\\r\\nAre ceremonious courtiers.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nCourtiers as free, as debonair, unarm’d,\\r\\nAs bending angels; that’s their fame in peace.\\r\\nBut when they would seem soldiers, they have galls,\\r\\nGood arms, strong joints, true swords; and, Jove’s accord,\\r\\nNothing so full of heart. But peace, Aeneas,\\r\\nPeace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips.\\r\\nThe worthiness of praise distains his worth,\\r\\nIf that the prais’d himself bring the praise forth;\\r\\nBut what the repining enemy commends,\\r\\nThat breath fame blows; that praise, sole pure, transcends.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nSir, you of Troy, call you yourself Aeneas?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nAy, Greek, that is my name.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat’s your affairs, I pray you?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nSir, pardon; ’tis for Agamemnon’s ears.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON\\r\\nHe hears naught privately that comes from Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nNor I from Troy come not to whisper with him;\\r\\nI bring a trumpet to awake his ear,\\r\\nTo set his sense on the attentive bent,\\r\\nAnd then to speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nSpeak frankly as the wind;\\r\\nIt is not Agamemnon’s sleeping hour.\\r\\nThat thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake,\\r\\nHe tells thee so himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nTrumpet, blow loud,\\r\\nSend thy brass voice through all these lazy tents;\\r\\nAnd every Greek of mettle, let him know\\r\\nWhat Troy means fairly shall be spoke aloud.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sound trumpet_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nWe have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy\\r\\nA prince called Hector—Priam is his father—\\r\\nWho in this dull and long-continued truce\\r\\nIs resty grown; he bade me take a trumpet\\r\\nAnd to this purpose speak: Kings, princes, lords!\\r\\nIf there be one among the fair’st of Greece\\r\\nThat holds his honour higher than his ease,\\r\\nThat feeds his praise more than he fears his peril,\\r\\nThat knows his valour and knows not his fear,\\r\\nThat loves his mistress more than in confession\\r\\nWith truant vows to her own lips he loves,\\r\\nAnd dare avow her beauty and her worth\\r\\nIn other arms than hers—to him this challenge.\\r\\nHector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks,\\r\\nShall make it good or do his best to do it:\\r\\nHe hath a lady wiser, fairer, truer,\\r\\nThan ever Greek did couple in his arms;\\r\\nAnd will tomorrow with his trumpet call\\r\\nMid-way between your tents and walls of Troy\\r\\nTo rouse a Grecian that is true in love.\\r\\nIf any come, Hector shall honour him;\\r\\nIf none, he’ll say in Troy, when he retires,\\r\\nThe Grecian dames are sunburnt and not worth\\r\\nThe splinter of a lance. Even so much.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nThis shall be told our lovers, Lord Aeneas.\\r\\nIf none of them have soul in such a kind,\\r\\nWe left them all at home. But we are soldiers;\\r\\nAnd may that soldier a mere recreant prove\\r\\nThat means not, hath not, or is not in love.\\r\\nIf then one is, or hath, or means to be,\\r\\nThat one meets Hector; if none else, I am he.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nTell him of Nestor, one that was a man\\r\\nWhen Hector’s grandsire suck’d. He is old now;\\r\\nBut if there be not in our Grecian host\\r\\nA noble man that hath one spark of fire\\r\\nTo answer for his love, tell him from me\\r\\nI’ll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver,\\r\\nAnd in my vambrace put this wither’d brawns,\\r\\nAnd meeting him, will tell him that my lady\\r\\nWas fairer than his grandam, and as chaste\\r\\nAs may be in the world. His youth in flood,\\r\\nI’ll prove this troth with my three drops of blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nNow heavens forfend such scarcity of youth!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nFair Lord Aeneas, let me touch your hand;\\r\\nTo our pavilion shall I lead you, sir.\\r\\nAchilles shall have word of this intent;\\r\\nSo shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent.\\r\\nYourself shall feast with us before you go,\\r\\nAnd find the welcome of a noble foe.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Ulysses and Nestor_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNestor!\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWhat says Ulysses?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI have a young conception in my brain;\\r\\nBe you my time to bring it to some shape.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWhat is’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThis ’tis:\\r\\nBlunt wedges rive hard knots. The seeded pride\\r\\nThat hath to this maturity blown up\\r\\nIn rank Achilles must or now be cropp’d\\r\\nOr, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil\\r\\nTo overbulk us all.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWell, and how?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThis challenge that the gallant Hector sends,\\r\\nHowever it is spread in general name,\\r\\nRelates in purpose only to Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nTrue. The purpose is perspicuous even as substance\\r\\nWhose grossness little characters sum up;\\r\\nAnd, in the publication, make no strain\\r\\nBut that Achilles, were his brain as barren\\r\\nAs banks of Libya—though, Apollo knows,\\r\\n’Tis dry enough—will with great speed of judgement,\\r\\nAy, with celerity, find Hector’s purpose\\r\\nPointing on him.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAnd wake him to the answer, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWhy, ’tis most meet. Who may you else oppose\\r\\nThat can from Hector bring those honours off,\\r\\nIf not Achilles? Though ’t be a sportful combat,\\r\\nYet in this trial much opinion dwells\\r\\nFor here the Trojans taste our dear’st repute\\r\\nWith their fin’st palate; and trust to me, Ulysses,\\r\\nOur imputation shall be oddly pois’d\\r\\nIn this vile action; for the success,\\r\\nAlthough particular, shall give a scantling\\r\\nOf good or bad unto the general;\\r\\nAnd in such indexes, although small pricks\\r\\nTo their subsequent volumes, there is seen\\r\\nThe baby figure of the giant mass\\r\\nOf things to come at large. It is suppos’d\\r\\nHe that meets Hector issues from our choice;\\r\\nAnd choice, being mutual act of all our souls,\\r\\nMakes merit her election, and doth boil,\\r\\nAs ’twere from forth us all, a man distill’d\\r\\nOut of our virtues; who miscarrying,\\r\\nWhat heart receives from hence a conquering part,\\r\\nTo steel a strong opinion to themselves?\\r\\nWhich entertain’d, limbs are his instruments,\\r\\nIn no less working than are swords and bows\\r\\nDirective by the limbs.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nGive pardon to my speech. Therefore ’tis meet\\r\\nAchilles meet not Hector. Let us, like merchants,\\r\\nFirst show foul wares, and think perchance they’ll sell;\\r\\nIf not, the lustre of the better shall exceed\\r\\nBy showing the worse first. Do not consent\\r\\nThat ever Hector and Achilles meet;\\r\\nFor both our honour and our shame in this\\r\\nAre dogg’d with two strange followers.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nI see them not with my old eyes. What are they?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWhat glory our Achilles shares from Hector,\\r\\nWere he not proud, we all should share with him;\\r\\nBut he already is too insolent;\\r\\nAnd it were better parch in Afric sun\\r\\nThan in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,\\r\\nShould he scape Hector fair. If he were foil’d,\\r\\nWhy, then we do our main opinion crush\\r\\nIn taint of our best man. No, make a lott’ry;\\r\\nAnd, by device, let blockish Ajax draw\\r\\nThe sort to fight with Hector. Among ourselves\\r\\nGive him allowance for the better man;\\r\\nFor that will physic the great Myrmidon,\\r\\nWho broils in loud applause, and make him fall\\r\\nHis crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends.\\r\\nIf the dull brainless Ajax come safe off,\\r\\nWe’ll dress him up in voices; if he fail,\\r\\nYet go we under our opinion still\\r\\nThat we have better men. But, hit or miss,\\r\\nOur project’s life this shape of sense assumes—\\r\\nAjax employ’d plucks down Achilles’ plumes.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nNow, Ulysses, I begin to relish thy advice;\\r\\nAnd I will give a taste thereof forthwith\\r\\nTo Agamemnon. Go we to him straight.\\r\\nTwo curs shall tame each other: pride alone\\r\\nMust tarre the mastiffs on, as ’twere their bone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Grecian camp.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ajax and Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThersites!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAgamemnon—how if he had boils, full, all over, generally?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThersites!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAnd those boils did run—say so. Did not the general run then? Were not\\r\\nthat a botchy core?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nDog!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThen there would come some matter from him;\\r\\nI see none now.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThou bitch-wolf’s son, canst thou not hear? Feel, then.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Strikes him_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThe plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nSpeak, then, thou unsalted leaven, speak. I will beat thee into\\r\\nhandsomeness.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness; but I think thy horse\\r\\nwill sooner con an oration than thou learn a prayer without book. Thou\\r\\ncanst strike, canst thou? A red murrain o’ thy jade’s tricks!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nToadstool, learn me the proclamation.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nDost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest me thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThe proclamation!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThou art proclaim’d fool, I think.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nDo not, porpentine, do not; my fingers itch.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI would thou didst itch from head to foot and I had the scratching of\\r\\nthee; I would make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art\\r\\nforth in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI say, the proclamation.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles; and thou art as full\\r\\nof envy at his greatness as Cerberus is at Proserpina’s beauty—ay, that\\r\\nthou bark’st at him.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nMistress Thersites!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThou shouldst strike him.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nCobloaf!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHe would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a sailor breaks a\\r\\nbiscuit.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nYou whoreson cur!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Strikes him_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nDo, do.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThou stool for a witch!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAy, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! Thou hast no more brain than I\\r\\nhave in mine elbows; an asinico may tutor thee. You scurvy valiant ass!\\r\\nThou art here but to thrash Trojans, and thou art bought and sold among\\r\\nthose of any wit like a barbarian slave. If thou use to beat me, I will\\r\\nbegin at thy heel and tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of no\\r\\nbowels, thou!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nYou dog!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nYou scurvy lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nYou cur!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Strikes him_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nMars his idiot! Do, rudeness; do, camel; do, do.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles and Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhy, how now, Ajax! Wherefore do ye thus?\\r\\nHow now, Thersites! What’s the matter, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nYou see him there, do you?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nAy; what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNay, look upon him.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nSo I do. What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNay, but regard him well.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWell! why, so I do.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nBut yet you look not well upon him; for whosomever you take him to be,\\r\\nhe is Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI know that, fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAy, but that fool knows not himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nTherefore I beat thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nLo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! His evasions have ears\\r\\nthus long. I have bobb’d his brain more than he has beat my bones. I\\r\\nwill buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia mater is not worth the\\r\\nninth part of a sparrow. This lord, Achilles—Ajax, who wears his wit in\\r\\nhis belly and his guts in his head—I’ll tell you what I say of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI say this Ajax—\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Ajax offers to strike him_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nNay, good Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHas not so much wit—\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nNay, I must hold you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAs will stop the eye of Helen’s needle, for whom he comes to fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nPeace, fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI would have peace and quietness, but the fool will not— he there; that\\r\\nhe; look you there.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nO thou damned cur! I shall—\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWill you set your wit to a fool’s?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNo, I warrant you, the fool’s will shame it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nGood words, Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat’s the quarrel?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI bade the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the proclamation, and he\\r\\nrails upon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI serve thee not.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWell, go to, go to.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI serve here voluntary.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nYour last service was suff’rance; ’twas not voluntary. No man is beaten\\r\\nvoluntary. Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nE’en so; a great deal of your wit too lies in your sinews, or else\\r\\nthere be liars. Hector shall have a great catch and knock out either of\\r\\nyour brains: a’ were as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat, with me too, Thersites?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThere’s Ulysses and old Nestor—whose wit was mouldy ere your grandsires\\r\\nhad nails on their toes—yoke you like draught oxen, and make you plough\\r\\nup the wars.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat, what?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nYes, good sooth. To Achilles, to Ajax, to—\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI shall cut out your tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\n’Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as thou afterwards.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nNo more words, Thersites; peace!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI will hold my peace when Achilles’ brach bids me, shall I?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nThere’s for you, Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI will see you hang’d like clotpoles ere I come any more to your tents.\\r\\nI will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of\\r\\nfools.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nA good riddance.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nMarry, this, sir, is proclaim’d through all our host,\\r\\nThat Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun,\\r\\nWill with a trumpet ’twixt our tents and Troy,\\r\\nTomorrow morning, call some knight to arms\\r\\nThat hath a stomach; and such a one that dare\\r\\nMaintain I know not what; ’tis trash. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nFarewell. Who shall answer him?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI know not; ’tis put to lott’ry, otherwise,\\r\\nHe knew his man.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nO, meaning you? I will go learn more of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Troy. PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris and Helenus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nAfter so many hours, lives, speeches spent,\\r\\nThus once again says Nestor from the Greeks:\\r\\n‘Deliver Helen, and all damage else—\\r\\nAs honour, loss of time, travail, expense,\\r\\nWounds, friends, and what else dear that is consum’d\\r\\nIn hot digestion of this cormorant war—\\r\\nShall be struck off.’ Hector, what say you to’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nThough no man lesser fears the Greeks than I,\\r\\nAs far as toucheth my particular,\\r\\nYet, dread Priam,\\r\\nThere is no lady of more softer bowels,\\r\\nMore spongy to suck in the sense of fear,\\r\\nMore ready to cry out ‘Who knows what follows?’\\r\\nThan Hector is. The wound of peace is surety,\\r\\nSurety secure; but modest doubt is call’d\\r\\nThe beacon of the wise, the tent that searches\\r\\nTo th’ bottom of the worst. Let Helen go.\\r\\nSince the first sword was drawn about this question,\\r\\nEvery tithe soul ’mongst many thousand dismes\\r\\nHath been as dear as Helen—I mean, of ours.\\r\\nIf we have lost so many tenths of ours\\r\\nTo guard a thing not ours, nor worth to us,\\r\\nHad it our name, the value of one ten,\\r\\nWhat merit’s in that reason which denies\\r\\nThe yielding of her up?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFie, fie, my brother!\\r\\nWeigh you the worth and honour of a king,\\r\\nSo great as our dread father’s, in a scale\\r\\nOf common ounces? Will you with counters sum\\r\\nThe past-proportion of his infinite,\\r\\nAnd buckle in a waist most fathomless\\r\\nWith spans and inches so diminutive\\r\\nAs fears and reasons? Fie, for godly shame!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENUS.\\r\\nNo marvel though you bite so sharp of reasons,\\r\\nYou are so empty of them. Should not our father\\r\\nBear the great sway of his affairs with reason,\\r\\nBecause your speech hath none that tells him so?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYou are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest;\\r\\nYou fur your gloves with reason. Here are your reasons:\\r\\nYou know an enemy intends you harm;\\r\\nYou know a sword employ’d is perilous,\\r\\nAnd reason flies the object of all harm.\\r\\nWho marvels, then, when Helenus beholds\\r\\nA Grecian and his sword, if he do set\\r\\nThe very wings of reason to his heels\\r\\nAnd fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,\\r\\nOr like a star disorb’d? Nay, if we talk of reason,\\r\\nLet’s shut our gates and sleep. Manhood and honour\\r\\nShould have hare hearts, would they but fat their thoughts\\r\\nWith this cramm’d reason. Reason and respect\\r\\nMake livers pale and lustihood deject.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nBrother, she is not worth what she doth cost the keeping.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat’s aught but as ’tis valued?\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nBut value dwells not in particular will:\\r\\nIt holds his estimate and dignity\\r\\nAs well wherein ’tis precious of itself\\r\\nAs in the prizer. ’Tis mad idolatry\\r\\nTo make the service greater than the god,\\r\\nAnd the will dotes that is attributive\\r\\nTo what infectiously itself affects,\\r\\nWithout some image of th’affected merit.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI take today a wife, and my election\\r\\nIs led on in the conduct of my will;\\r\\nMy will enkindled by mine eyes and ears,\\r\\nTwo traded pilots ’twixt the dangerous shores\\r\\nOf will and judgement: how may I avoid,\\r\\nAlthough my will distaste what it elected,\\r\\nThe wife I chose? There can be no evasion\\r\\nTo blench from this and to stand firm by honour.\\r\\nWe turn not back the silks upon the merchant\\r\\nWhen we have soil’d them; nor the remainder viands\\r\\nWe do not throw in unrespective sieve,\\r\\nBecause we now are full. It was thought meet\\r\\nParis should do some vengeance on the Greeks;\\r\\nYour breath with full consent bellied his sails;\\r\\nThe seas and winds, old wranglers, took a truce,\\r\\nAnd did him service. He touch’d the ports desir’d;\\r\\nAnd for an old aunt whom the Greeks held captive\\r\\nHe brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and freshness\\r\\nWrinkles Apollo’s, and makes stale the morning.\\r\\nWhy keep we her? The Grecians keep our aunt.\\r\\nIs she worth keeping? Why, she is a pearl\\r\\nWhose price hath launch’d above a thousand ships,\\r\\nAnd turn’d crown’d kings to merchants.\\r\\nIf you’ll avouch ’twas wisdom Paris went—\\r\\nAs you must needs, for you all cried ‘Go, go’—\\r\\nIf you’ll confess he brought home worthy prize—\\r\\nAs you must needs, for you all clapp’d your hands,\\r\\nAnd cried ‘Inestimable!’—why do you now\\r\\nThe issue of your proper wisdoms rate,\\r\\nAnd do a deed that never Fortune did—\\r\\nBeggar the estimation which you priz’d\\r\\nRicher than sea and land? O theft most base,\\r\\nThat we have stol’n what we do fear to keep!\\r\\nBut thieves unworthy of a thing so stol’n\\r\\nThat in their country did them that disgrace\\r\\nWe fear to warrant in our native place!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Cry, Trojans, cry.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nWhat noise, what shriek is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\n’Tis our mad sister; I do know her voice.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Cry, Trojans.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nIt is Cassandra.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassandra, raving.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nCry, Trojans, cry. Lend me ten thousand eyes,\\r\\nAnd I will fill them with prophetic tears.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nPeace, sister, peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nVirgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled eld,\\r\\nSoft infancy, that nothing canst but cry,\\r\\nAdd to my clamours. Let us pay betimes\\r\\nA moiety of that mass of moan to come.\\r\\nCry, Trojans, cry. Practise your eyes with tears.\\r\\nTroy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand;\\r\\nOur firebrand brother, Paris, burns us all.\\r\\nCry, Trojans, cry, A Helen and a woe!\\r\\nCry, cry. Troy burns, or else let Helen go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nNow, youthful Troilus, do not these high strains\\r\\nOf divination in our sister work\\r\\nSome touches of remorse? Or is your blood\\r\\nSo madly hot, that no discourse of reason,\\r\\nNor fear of bad success in a bad cause,\\r\\nCan qualify the same?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhy, brother Hector,\\r\\nWe may not think the justness of each act\\r\\nSuch and no other than event doth form it;\\r\\nNor once deject the courage of our minds\\r\\nBecause Cassandra’s mad. Her brain-sick raptures\\r\\nCannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel\\r\\nWhich hath our several honours all engag’d\\r\\nTo make it gracious. For my private part,\\r\\nI am no more touch’d than all Priam’s sons;\\r\\nAnd Jove forbid there should be done amongst us\\r\\nSuch things as might offend the weakest spleen\\r\\nTo fight for and maintain.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nElse might the world convince of levity\\r\\nAs well my undertakings as your counsels;\\r\\nBut I attest the gods, your full consent\\r\\nGave wings to my propension, and cut off\\r\\nAll fears attending on so dire a project.\\r\\nFor what, alas, can these my single arms?\\r\\nWhat propugnation is in one man’s valour\\r\\nTo stand the push and enmity of those\\r\\nThis quarrel would excite? Yet I protest,\\r\\nWere I alone to pass the difficulties,\\r\\nAnd had as ample power as I have will,\\r\\nParis should ne’er retract what he hath done,\\r\\nNor faint in the pursuit.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nParis, you speak\\r\\nLike one besotted on your sweet delights.\\r\\nYou have the honey still, but these the gall;\\r\\nSo to be valiant is no praise at all.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nSir, I propose not merely to myself\\r\\nThe pleasures such a beauty brings with it;\\r\\nBut I would have the soil of her fair rape\\r\\nWip’d off in honourable keeping her.\\r\\nWhat treason were it to the ransack’d queen,\\r\\nDisgrace to your great worths, and shame to me,\\r\\nNow to deliver her possession up\\r\\nOn terms of base compulsion! Can it be,\\r\\nThat so degenerate a strain as this\\r\\nShould once set footing in your generous bosoms?\\r\\nThere’s not the meanest spirit on our party\\r\\nWithout a heart to dare or sword to draw\\r\\nWhen Helen is defended; nor none so noble\\r\\nWhose life were ill bestow’d or death unfam’d,\\r\\nWhere Helen is the subject. Then, I say,\\r\\nWell may we fight for her whom we know well\\r\\nThe world’s large spaces cannot parallel.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nParis and Troilus, you have both said well;\\r\\nAnd on the cause and question now in hand\\r\\nHave gloz’d, but superficially; not much\\r\\nUnlike young men, whom Aristotle thought\\r\\nUnfit to hear moral philosophy.\\r\\nThe reasons you allege do more conduce\\r\\nTo the hot passion of distemp’red blood\\r\\nThan to make up a free determination\\r\\n’Twixt right and wrong; for pleasure and revenge\\r\\nHave ears more deaf than adders to the voice\\r\\nOf any true decision. Nature craves\\r\\nAll dues be rend’red to their owners. Now,\\r\\nWhat nearer debt in all humanity\\r\\nThan wife is to the husband? If this law\\r\\nOf nature be corrupted through affection;\\r\\nAnd that great minds, of partial indulgence\\r\\nTo their benumbed wills, resist the same;\\r\\nThere is a law in each well-order’d nation\\r\\nTo curb those raging appetites that are\\r\\nMost disobedient and refractory.\\r\\nIf Helen, then, be wife to Sparta’s king—\\r\\nAs it is known she is—these moral laws\\r\\nOf nature and of nations speak aloud\\r\\nTo have her back return’d. Thus to persist\\r\\nIn doing wrong extenuates not wrong,\\r\\nBut makes it much more heavy. Hector’s opinion\\r\\nIs this, in way of truth. Yet, ne’ertheless,\\r\\nMy spritely brethren, I propend to you\\r\\nIn resolution to keep Helen still;\\r\\nFor ’tis a cause that hath no mean dependence\\r\\nUpon our joint and several dignities.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhy, there you touch’d the life of our design.\\r\\nWere it not glory that we more affected\\r\\nThan the performance of our heaving spleens,\\r\\nI would not wish a drop of Trojan blood\\r\\nSpent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector,\\r\\nShe is a theme of honour and renown,\\r\\nA spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds,\\r\\nWhose present courage may beat down our foes,\\r\\nAnd fame in time to come canonize us;\\r\\nFor I presume brave Hector would not lose\\r\\nSo rich advantage of a promis’d glory\\r\\nAs smiles upon the forehead of this action\\r\\nFor the wide world’s revenue.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI am yours,\\r\\nYou valiant offspring of great Priamus.\\r\\nI have a roisting challenge sent amongst\\r\\nThe dull and factious nobles of the Greeks\\r\\nWill strike amazement to their drowsy spirits.\\r\\nI was advertis’d their great general slept,\\r\\nWhilst emulation in the army crept.\\r\\nThis, I presume, will wake him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thersites, solus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHow now, Thersites! What, lost in the labyrinth of thy fury? Shall the\\r\\nelephant Ajax carry it thus? He beats me, and I rail at him. O worthy\\r\\nsatisfaction! Would it were otherwise: that I could beat him, whilst he\\r\\nrail’d at me! ‘Sfoot, I’ll learn to conjure and raise devils, but I’ll\\r\\nsee some issue of my spiteful execrations. Then there’s Achilles, a\\r\\nrare engineer! If Troy be not taken till these two undermine it, the\\r\\nwalls will stand till they fall of themselves. O thou great\\r\\nthunder-darter of Olympus, forget that thou art Jove, the king of gods,\\r\\nand, Mercury, lose all the serpentine craft of thy caduceus, if ye take\\r\\nnot that little little less than little wit from them that they have!\\r\\nwhich short-arm’d ignorance itself knows is so abundant scarce, it will\\r\\nnot in circumvention deliver a fly from a spider without drawing their\\r\\nmassy irons and cutting the web. After this, the vengeance on the whole\\r\\ncamp! or, rather, the Neapolitan bone-ache! for that, methinks, is the\\r\\ncurse depending on those that war for a placket. I have said my\\r\\nprayers; and devil Envy say ‘Amen.’ What ho! my Lord Achilles!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWho’s there? Thersites! Good Thersites, come in and rail.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nIf I could a’ rememb’red a gilt counterfeit, thou wouldst not have\\r\\nslipp’d out of my contemplation; but it is no matter; thyself upon\\r\\nthyself! The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in\\r\\ngreat revenue! Heaven bless thee from a tutor, and discipline come not\\r\\nnear thee! Let thy blood be thy direction till thy death. Then if she\\r\\nthat lays thee out says thou art a fair corse, I’ll be sworn and sworn\\r\\nupon’t she never shrouded any but lazars. Amen. Where’s Achilles?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWhat, art thou devout? Wast thou in prayer?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAy, the heavens hear me!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWho’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nThersites, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhere, where? O, where? Art thou come? Why, my cheese, my digestion,\\r\\nwhy hast thou not served thyself in to my table so many meals? Come,\\r\\nwhat’s Agamemnon?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThy commander, Achilles. Then tell me, Patroclus, what’s Achilles?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nThy lord, Thersites. Then tell me, I pray thee, what’s Thersites?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThy knower, Patroclus. Then tell me, Patroclus, what art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nThou must tell that knowest.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nO, tell, tell,\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI’ll decline the whole question. Agamemnon commands Achilles; Achilles\\r\\nis my lord; I am Patroclus’ knower; and Patroclus is a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nYou rascal!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nPeace, fool! I have not done.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nHe is a privileg’d man. Proceed, Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAgamemnon is a fool; Achilles is a fool; Thersites is a fool; and, as\\r\\naforesaid, Patroclus is a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nDerive this; come.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAgamemnon is a fool to offer to command Achilles; Achilles is a fool to\\r\\nbe commanded of Agamemnon; Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool;\\r\\nand this Patroclus is a fool positive.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWhy am I a fool?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nMake that demand of the Creator. It suffices me thou art. Look you, who\\r\\ncomes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Diomedes, Ajax and Calchas.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nCome, Patroclus, I’ll speak with nobody. Come in with me, Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHere is such patchery, such juggling, and such knavery. All the\\r\\nargument is a whore and a cuckold—a good quarrel to draw emulous\\r\\nfactions and bleed to death upon. Now the dry serpigo on the subject,\\r\\nand war and lechery confound all!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhere is Achilles?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWithin his tent; but ill-dispos’d, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nLet it be known to him that we are here.\\r\\nHe sate our messengers; and we lay by\\r\\nOur appertainings, visiting of him.\\r\\nLet him be told so; lest, perchance, he think\\r\\nWe dare not move the question of our place\\r\\nOr know not what we are.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nI shall say so to him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWe saw him at the opening of his tent.\\r\\nHe is not sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nYes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart. You may call it melancholy, if you\\r\\nwill favour the man; but, by my head, ’tis pride. But why, why? Let him\\r\\nshow us a cause. A word, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Takes Agamemnon aside_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWhat moves Ajax thus to bay at him?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAchilles hath inveigled his fool from him.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWho, Thersites?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nHe.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nThen will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his argument.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNo; you see he is his argument that has his argument, Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nAll the better; their fraction is more our wish than their faction. But\\r\\nit was a strong composure a fool could disunite!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThe amity that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nNo Achilles with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThe elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy; his legs are legs for\\r\\nnecessity, not for flexure.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nAchilles bids me say he is much sorry\\r\\nIf any thing more than your sport and pleasure\\r\\nDid move your greatness and this noble state\\r\\nTo call upon him; he hopes it is no other\\r\\nBut for your health and your digestion sake,\\r\\nAn after-dinner’s breath.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHear you, Patroclus.\\r\\nWe are too well acquainted with these answers;\\r\\nBut his evasion, wing’d thus swift with scorn,\\r\\nCannot outfly our apprehensions.\\r\\nMuch attribute he hath, and much the reason\\r\\nWhy we ascribe it to him. Yet all his virtues,\\r\\nNot virtuously on his own part beheld,\\r\\nDo in our eyes begin to lose their gloss;\\r\\nYea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish,\\r\\nAre like to rot untasted. Go and tell him\\r\\nWe come to speak with him; and you shall not sin\\r\\nIf you do say we think him over-proud\\r\\nAnd under-honest, in self-assumption greater\\r\\nThan in the note of judgement; and worthier than himself\\r\\nHere tend the savage strangeness he puts on,\\r\\nDisguise the holy strength of their command,\\r\\nAnd underwrite in an observing kind\\r\\nHis humorous predominance; yea, watch\\r\\nHis course and time, his ebbs and flows, as if\\r\\nThe passage and whole stream of this commencement\\r\\nRode on his tide. Go tell him this, and add\\r\\nThat if he overhold his price so much\\r\\nWe’ll none of him, but let him, like an engine\\r\\nNot portable, lie under this report:\\r\\nBring action hither; this cannot go to war.\\r\\nA stirring dwarf we do allowance give\\r\\nBefore a sleeping giant. Tell him so.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nI shall, and bring his answer presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nIn second voice we’ll not be satisfied;\\r\\nWe come to speak with him. Ulysses, enter you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Ulysses.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWhat is he more than another?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nNo more than what he thinks he is.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nIs he so much? Do you not think he thinks himself a better man than I\\r\\nam?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nNo question.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWill you subscribe his thought and say he is?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nNo, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as valiant, as wise, no less noble,\\r\\nmuch more gentle, and altogether more tractable.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWhy should a man be proud? How doth pride grow? I know not what pride\\r\\nis.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nYour mind is the clearer, Ajax, and your virtues the fairer. He that is\\r\\nproud eats up himself. Pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own\\r\\nchronicle; and whatever praises itself but in the deed devours the deed\\r\\nin the praise.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ulysses.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI do hate a proud man as I do hate the engend’ring of toads.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\n[_Aside._] And yet he loves himself: is’t not strange?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAchilles will not to the field tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat’s his excuse?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nHe doth rely on none;\\r\\nBut carries on the stream of his dispose,\\r\\nWithout observance or respect of any,\\r\\nIn will peculiar and in self-admission.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhy will he not, upon our fair request,\\r\\nUntent his person and share th’air with us?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThings small as nothing, for request’s sake only,\\r\\nHe makes important; possess’d he is with greatness,\\r\\nAnd speaks not to himself but with a pride\\r\\nThat quarrels at self-breath. Imagin’d worth\\r\\nHolds in his blood such swol’n and hot discourse\\r\\nThat ’twixt his mental and his active parts\\r\\nKingdom’d Achilles in commotion rages,\\r\\nAnd batters down himself. What should I say?\\r\\nHe is so plaguy proud that the death tokens of it\\r\\nCry ‘No recovery.’\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nLet Ajax go to him.\\r\\nDear lord, go you and greet him in his tent.\\r\\n’Tis said he holds you well; and will be led\\r\\nAt your request a little from himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nO Agamemnon, let it not be so!\\r\\nWe’ll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes\\r\\nWhen they go from Achilles. Shall the proud lord\\r\\nThat bastes his arrogance with his own seam\\r\\nAnd never suffers matter of the world\\r\\nEnter his thoughts, save such as doth revolve\\r\\nAnd ruminate himself—shall he be worshipp’d\\r\\nOf that we hold an idol more than he?\\r\\nNo, this thrice worthy and right valiant lord\\r\\nShall not so stale his palm, nobly acquir’d,\\r\\nNor, by my will, assubjugate his merit,\\r\\nAs amply titled as Achilles is,\\r\\nBy going to Achilles.\\r\\nThat were to enlard his fat-already pride,\\r\\nAnd add more coals to Cancer when he burns\\r\\nWith entertaining great Hyperion.\\r\\nThis lord go to him! Jupiter forbid,\\r\\nAnd say in thunder ‘Achilles go to him.’\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] O, this is well! He rubs the vein of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] And how his silence drinks up this applause!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nIf I go to him, with my armed fist I’ll pash him o’er the face.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nO, no, you shall not go.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nAn a’ be proud with me I’ll pheeze his pride.\\r\\nLet me go to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNot for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nA paltry, insolent fellow!\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] How he describes himself!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nCan he not be sociable?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] The raven chides blackness.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI’ll let his humours blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] He will be the physician that should be the patient.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nAnd all men were o’ my mind—\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] Wit would be out of fashion.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nA’ should not bear it so, a’ should eat’s words first.\\r\\nShall pride carry it?\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] And ’twould, you’d carry half.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] A’ would have ten shares.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI will knead him, I’ll make him supple.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] He’s not yet through warm. Force him with praises; pour in,\\r\\npour in; his ambition is dry.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n[_To Agamemnon_.] My lord, you feed too much on this dislike.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nOur noble general, do not do so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nYou must prepare to fight without Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWhy ’tis this naming of him does him harm.\\r\\nHere is a man—but ’tis before his face;\\r\\nI will be silent.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWherefore should you so?\\r\\nHe is not emulous, as Achilles is.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nKnow the whole world, he is as valiant.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nA whoreson dog, that shall palter with us thus!\\r\\nWould he were a Trojan!\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWhat a vice were it in Ajax now—\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nIf he were proud.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nOr covetous of praise.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAy, or surly borne.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nOr strange, or self-affected.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet composure\\r\\nPraise him that gat thee, she that gave thee suck;\\r\\nFam’d be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature\\r\\nThrice fam’d beyond, beyond all erudition;\\r\\nBut he that disciplin’d thine arms to fight—\\r\\nLet Mars divide eternity in twain\\r\\nAnd give him half; and, for thy vigour,\\r\\nBull-bearing Milo his addition yield\\r\\nTo sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom,\\r\\nWhich, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines\\r\\nThy spacious and dilated parts. Here’s Nestor,\\r\\nInstructed by the antiquary times—\\r\\nHe must, he is, he cannot but be wise;\\r\\nBut pardon, father Nestor, were your days\\r\\nAs green as Ajax’ and your brain so temper’d,\\r\\nYou should not have the eminence of him,\\r\\nBut be as Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nShall I call you father?\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nAy, my good son.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nBe rul’d by him, Lord Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThere is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles\\r\\nKeeps thicket. Please it our great general\\r\\nTo call together all his state of war;\\r\\nFresh kings are come to Troy. Tomorrow\\r\\nWe must with all our main of power stand fast;\\r\\nAnd here’s a lord—come knights from east to west\\r\\nAnd cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nGo we to council. Let Achilles sleep.\\r\\nLight boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Troy. PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Music sounds within. Enter Pandarus and a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFriend, you—pray you, a word. Do you not follow the young Lord Paris?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nAy, sir, when he goes before me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou depend upon him, I mean?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nSir, I do depend upon the Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou depend upon a notable gentleman; I must needs praise him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThe Lord be praised!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou know me, do you not?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nFaith, sir, superficially.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFriend, know me better: I am the Lord Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI hope I shall know your honour better.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI do desire it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nYou are in the state of grace?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nGrace? Not so, friend; honour and lordship are my titles. What music is\\r\\nthis?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI do but partly know, sir; it is music in parts.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nKnow you the musicians?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nWholly, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWho play they to?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nTo the hearers, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAt whose pleasure, friend?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nAt mine, sir, and theirs that love music.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nCommand, I mean, friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nWho shall I command, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFriend, we understand not one another: I am too courtly, and thou art\\r\\ntoo cunning. At whose request do these men play?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThat’s to’t, indeed, sir. Marry, sir, at the request of Paris my lord,\\r\\nwho is there in person; with him the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of\\r\\nbeauty, love’s invisible soul—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWho, my cousin, Cressida?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nNo, sir, Helen. Could not you find out that by her attributes?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIt should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the Lady Cressida. I\\r\\ncome to speak with Paris from the Prince Troilus; I will make a\\r\\ncomplimental assault upon him, for my business seethes.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nSodden business! There’s a stew’d phrase indeed!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paris and Helen, attended.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair company! Fair desires, in\\r\\nall fair measure, fairly guide them—especially to you, fair queen! Fair\\r\\nthoughts be your fair pillow.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nDear lord, you are full of fair words.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. Fair prince, here is good\\r\\nbroken music.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nYou have broke it, cousin; and by my life, you shall make it whole\\r\\nagain; you shall piece it out with a piece of your performance.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nHe is full of harmony.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nTruly, lady, no.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nO, sir—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nRude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nWell said, my lord. Well, you say so in fits.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI have business to my lord, dear queen. My lord, will you vouchsafe me\\r\\na word?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nNay, this shall not hedge us out. We’ll hear you sing, certainly—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell sweet queen, you are pleasant with me. But, marry, thus, my lord:\\r\\nmy dear lord and most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus—\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nMy Lord Pandarus, honey-sweet lord—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nGo to, sweet queen, go to—commends himself most affectionately to you—\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nYou shall not bob us out of our melody. If you do, our melancholy upon\\r\\nyour head!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nSweet queen, sweet queen; that’s a sweet queen, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nAnd to make a sweet lady sad is a sour offence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall it not, in truth, la.\\r\\nNay, I care not for such words; no, no.—And, my lord, he desires you\\r\\nthat, if the King call for him at supper, you will make his excuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nMy Lord Pandarus!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat says my sweet queen, my very very sweet queen?\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nWhat exploit’s in hand? Where sups he tonight?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nNay, but, my lord—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat says my sweet queen?—My cousin will fall out with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nYou must not know where he sups.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nI’ll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNo, no, no such matter; you are wide. Come, your disposer is sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nWell, I’ll make’s excuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, good my lord. Why should you say Cressida?\\r\\nNo, your poor disposer’s sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nI spy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou spy! What do you spy?—Come, give me an instrument. Now, sweet\\r\\nqueen.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nWhy, this is kindly done.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nMy niece is horribly in love with a thing you have, sweet queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nShe shall have it, my lord, if it be not my Lord Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHe? No, she’ll none of him; they two are twain.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nFalling in, after falling out, may make them three.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nCome, come. I’ll hear no more of this; I’ll sing you a song now.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nAy, ay, prithee now. By my troth, sweet lord, thou hast a fine\\r\\nforehead.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, you may, you may.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nLet thy song be love. This love will undo us all. O Cupid, Cupid,\\r\\nCupid!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nLove! Ay, that it shall, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nAy, good now, love, love, nothing but love.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIn good troth, it begins so.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sings_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n _Love, love, nothing but love, still love, still more!\\r\\n For, oh, love’s bow\\r\\n Shoots buck and doe;\\r\\n The shaft confounds\\r\\n Not that it wounds,\\r\\n But tickles still the sore.\\r\\n These lovers cry, O ho, they die!\\r\\n Yet that which seems the wound to kill\\r\\n Doth turn O ho! to ha! ha! he!\\r\\n So dying love lives still.\\r\\n O ho! a while, but ha! ha! ha!\\r\\n O ho! groans out for ha! ha! ha!—hey ho!_\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nIn love, i’ faith, to the very tip of the nose.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHe eats nothing but doves, love; and that breeds hot blood, and hot\\r\\nblood begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot\\r\\ndeeds is love.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIs this the generation of love: hot blood, hot thoughts, and hot deeds?\\r\\nWhy, they are vipers. Is love a generation of vipers? Sweet lord, who’s\\r\\na-field today?\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the gallantry of Troy. I\\r\\nwould fain have arm’d today, but my Nell would not have it so. How\\r\\nchance my brother Troilus went not?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nHe hangs the lip at something. You know all, Lord Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNot I, honey-sweet queen. I long to hear how they spend today. You’ll\\r\\nremember your brother’s excuse?\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nTo a hair.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFarewell, sweet queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nCommend me to your niece.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI will, sweet queen.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit. Sound a retreat_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThey’re come from the field. Let us to Priam’s hall\\r\\nTo greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you\\r\\nTo help unarm our Hector. His stubborn buckles,\\r\\nWith these your white enchanting fingers touch’d,\\r\\nShall more obey than to the edge of steel\\r\\nOr force of Greekish sinews; you shall do more\\r\\nThan all the island kings—disarm great Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\n’Twill make us proud to be his servant, Paris;\\r\\nYea, what he shall receive of us in duty\\r\\nGives us more palm in beauty than we have,\\r\\nYea, overshines ourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nSweet, above thought I love thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Troy. PANDARUS’ orchard.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus and Troilus’ Boy, meeting.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHow now! Where’s thy master? At my cousin Cressida’s?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nNo, sir; he stays for you to conduct him thither.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nO, here he comes. How now, how now?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nSirrah, walk off.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Boy.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHave you seen my cousin?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNo, Pandarus. I stalk about her door\\r\\nLike a strange soul upon the Stygian banks\\r\\nStaying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon,\\r\\nAnd give me swift transportance to these fields\\r\\nWhere I may wallow in the lily beds\\r\\nPropos’d for the deserver! O gentle Pandar,\\r\\nfrom Cupid’s shoulder pluck his painted wings,\\r\\nand fly with me to Cressid!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWalk here i’ th’ orchard, I’ll bring her straight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI am giddy; expectation whirls me round.\\r\\nTh’imaginary relish is so sweet\\r\\nThat it enchants my sense; what will it be\\r\\nWhen that the wat’ry palate tastes indeed\\r\\nLove’s thrice-repured nectar? Death, I fear me;\\r\\nSounding destruction; or some joy too fine,\\r\\nToo subtle-potent, tun’d too sharp in sweetness,\\r\\nFor the capacity of my ruder powers.\\r\\nI fear it much; and I do fear besides\\r\\nThat I shall lose distinction in my joys;\\r\\nAs doth a battle, when they charge on heaps\\r\\nThe enemy flying.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nShe’s making her ready, she’ll come straight; you must be witty now.\\r\\nShe does so blush, and fetches her wind so short, as if she were fray’d\\r\\nwith a sprite. I’ll fetch her. It is the prettiest villain; she fetches\\r\\nher breath as short as a new-ta’en sparrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nEven such a passion doth embrace my bosom.\\r\\nMy heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse,\\r\\nAnd all my powers do their bestowing lose,\\r\\nLike vassalage at unawares encount’ring\\r\\nThe eye of majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Pandarus with Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nCome, come, what need you blush? Shame’s a baby. Here she is now; swear\\r\\nthe oaths now to her that you have sworn to me.—What, are you gone\\r\\nagain? You must be watch’d ere you be made tame, must you? Come your\\r\\nways, come your ways; and you draw backward, we’ll put you i’ th’\\r\\nfills. Why do you not speak to her? Come, draw this curtain and let’s\\r\\nsee your picture. Alas the day, how loath you are to offend daylight!\\r\\nAnd ’twere dark, you’d close sooner. So, so; rub on, and kiss the\\r\\nmistress. How now, a kiss in fee-farm! Build there, carpenter; the air\\r\\nis sweet. Nay, you shall fight your hearts out ere I part you. The\\r\\nfalcon as the tercel, for all the ducks i’ th’ river. Go to, go to.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYou have bereft me of all words, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWords pay no debts, give her deeds; but she’ll bereave you o’ th’ deeds\\r\\ntoo, if she call your activity in question. What, billing again? Here’s\\r\\n‘In witness whereof the parties interchangeably.’ Come in, come in;\\r\\nI’ll go get a fire.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWill you walk in, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO Cressid, how often have I wish’d me thus!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWish’d, my lord! The gods grant—O my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat should they grant? What makes this pretty abruption? What too\\r\\ncurious dreg espies my sweet lady in the fountain of our love?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nMore dregs than water, if my fears have eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFears make devils of cherubins; they never see truly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBlind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds safer footing than blind\\r\\nreason stumbling without fear. To fear the worst oft cures the worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO, let my lady apprehend no fear! In all Cupid’s pageant there is\\r\\npresented no monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNor nothing monstrous neither?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNothing, but our undertakings when we vow to weep seas, live in fire,\\r\\neat rocks, tame tigers; thinking it harder for our mistress to devise\\r\\nimposition enough than for us to undergo any difficulty imposed. This\\r\\nis the monstruosity in love, lady, that the will is infinite, and the\\r\\nexecution confin’d; that the desire is boundless, and the act a slave\\r\\nto limit.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThey say all lovers swear more performance than they are able, and yet\\r\\nreserve an ability that they never perform; vowing more than the\\r\\nperfection of ten, and discharging less than the tenth part of one.\\r\\nThey that have the voice of lions and the act of hares, are they not\\r\\nmonsters?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAre there such? Such are not we. Praise us as we are tasted, allow us\\r\\nas we prove; our head shall go bare till merit crown it. No perfection\\r\\nin reversion shall have a praise in present. We will not name desert\\r\\nbefore his birth; and, being born, his addition shall be humble. Few\\r\\nwords to fair faith: Troilus shall be such to Cressid as what envy can\\r\\nsay worst shall be a mock for his truth; and what truth can speak\\r\\ntruest not truer than Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWill you walk in, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat, blushing still? Have you not done talking yet?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWell, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI thank you for that; if my lord get a boy of you, you’ll give him me.\\r\\nBe true to my lord; if he flinch, chide me for it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYou know now your hostages: your uncle’s word and my firm faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNay, I’ll give my word for her too: our kindred, though they be long\\r\\nere they are wooed, they are constant being won; they are burs, I can\\r\\ntell you; they’ll stick where they are thrown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBoldness comes to me now and brings me heart.\\r\\nPrince Troilus, I have lov’d you night and day\\r\\nFor many weary months.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhy was my Cressid then so hard to win?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHard to seem won; but I was won, my lord,\\r\\nWith the first glance that ever—pardon me.\\r\\nIf I confess much, you will play the tyrant.\\r\\nI love you now; but till now not so much\\r\\nBut I might master it. In faith, I lie;\\r\\nMy thoughts were like unbridled children, grown\\r\\nToo headstrong for their mother. See, we fools!\\r\\nWhy have I blabb’d? Who shall be true to us,\\r\\nWhen we are so unsecret to ourselves?\\r\\nBut, though I lov’d you well, I woo’d you not;\\r\\nAnd yet, good faith, I wish’d myself a man,\\r\\nOr that we women had men’s privilege\\r\\nOf speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue,\\r\\nFor in this rapture I shall surely speak\\r\\nThe thing I shall repent. See, see, your silence,\\r\\nCunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws\\r\\nMy very soul of counsel. Stop my mouth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAnd shall, albeit sweet music issues thence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nPretty, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nMy lord, I do beseech you, pardon me;\\r\\n’Twas not my purpose thus to beg a kiss.\\r\\nI am asham’d. O heavens! what have I done?\\r\\nFor this time will I take my leave, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYour leave, sweet Cressid!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nLeave! And you take leave till tomorrow morning—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nPray you, content you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat offends you, lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSir, mine own company.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYou cannot shun yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nLet me go and try.\\r\\nI have a kind of self resides with you;\\r\\nBut an unkind self, that itself will leave\\r\\nTo be another’s fool. I would be gone.\\r\\nWhere is my wit? I know not what I speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWell know they what they speak that speak so wisely.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nPerchance, my lord, I show more craft than love;\\r\\nAnd fell so roundly to a large confession\\r\\nTo angle for your thoughts; but you are wise—\\r\\nOr else you love not; for to be wise and love\\r\\nExceeds man’s might; that dwells with gods above.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO that I thought it could be in a woman—\\r\\nAs, if it can, I will presume in you—\\r\\nTo feed for aye her lamp and flames of love;\\r\\nTo keep her constancy in plight and youth,\\r\\nOutliving beauty’s outward, with a mind\\r\\nThat doth renew swifter than blood decays!\\r\\nOr that persuasion could but thus convince me\\r\\nThat my integrity and truth to you\\r\\nMight be affronted with the match and weight\\r\\nOf such a winnowed purity in love.\\r\\nHow were I then uplifted! But, alas,\\r\\nI am as true as truth’s simplicity,\\r\\nAnd simpler than the infancy of truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIn that I’ll war with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO virtuous fight,\\r\\nWhen right with right wars who shall be most right!\\r\\nTrue swains in love shall in the world to come\\r\\nApprove their truth by Troilus, when their rhymes,\\r\\nFull of protest, of oath, and big compare,\\r\\nWant similes, truth tir’d with iteration—\\r\\nAs true as steel, as plantage to the moon,\\r\\nAs sun to day, as turtle to her mate,\\r\\nAs iron to adamant, as earth to th’ centre—\\r\\nYet, after all comparisons of truth,\\r\\nAs truth’s authentic author to be cited,\\r\\n‘As true as Troilus’ shall crown up the verse\\r\\nAnd sanctify the numbers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nProphet may you be!\\r\\nIf I be false, or swerve a hair from truth,\\r\\nWhen time is old and hath forgot itself,\\r\\nWhen waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy,\\r\\nAnd blind oblivion swallow’d cities up,\\r\\nAnd mighty states characterless are grated\\r\\nTo dusty nothing—yet let memory\\r\\nFrom false to false, among false maids in love,\\r\\nUpbraid my falsehood when th’ have said ‘As false\\r\\nAs air, as water, wind, or sandy earth,\\r\\nAs fox to lamb, or wolf to heifer’s calf,\\r\\nPard to the hind, or stepdame to her son’—\\r\\nYea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood,\\r\\n‘As false as Cressid.’\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nGo to, a bargain made; seal it, seal it; I’ll be the witness. Here I\\r\\nhold your hand; here my cousin’s. If ever you prove false one to\\r\\nanother, since I have taken such pains to bring you together, let all\\r\\npitiful goers-between be call’d to the world’s end after my name—call\\r\\nthem all Pandars; let all constant men be Troiluses, all false women\\r\\nCressids, and all brokers between Pandars. Say ‘Amen.’\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAmen. Whereupon I will show you a chamber and a bed; which bed, because\\r\\nit shall not speak of your pretty encounters, press it to death. Away!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus and Cressida_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here,\\r\\nBed, chamber, pander, to provide this gear!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The Greek camp.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Diomedes, Nestor, Ajax, Menelaus\\r\\n and Calchas.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALCHAS.\\r\\nNow, Princes, for the service I have done,\\r\\nTh’advantage of the time prompts me aloud\\r\\nTo call for recompense. Appear it to your mind\\r\\nThat, through the sight I bear in things to come,\\r\\nI have abandon’d Troy, left my possession,\\r\\nIncurr’d a traitor’s name, expos’d myself\\r\\nFrom certain and possess’d conveniences\\r\\nTo doubtful fortunes, sequest’ring from me all\\r\\nThat time, acquaintance, custom, and condition,\\r\\nMade tame and most familiar to my nature;\\r\\nAnd here, to do you service, am become\\r\\nAs new into the world, strange, unacquainted—\\r\\nI do beseech you, as in way of taste,\\r\\nTo give me now a little benefit\\r\\nOut of those many regist’red in promise,\\r\\nWhich you say live to come in my behalf.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat wouldst thou of us, Trojan? Make demand.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALCHAS.\\r\\nYou have a Trojan prisoner call’d Antenor,\\r\\nYesterday took; Troy holds him very dear.\\r\\nOft have you—often have you thanks therefore—\\r\\nDesir’d my Cressid in right great exchange,\\r\\nWhom Troy hath still denied; but this Antenor,\\r\\nI know, is such a wrest in their affairs\\r\\nThat their negotiations all must slack\\r\\nWanting his manage; and they will almost\\r\\nGive us a prince of blood, a son of Priam,\\r\\nIn change of him. Let him be sent, great Princes,\\r\\nAnd he shall buy my daughter; and her presence\\r\\nShall quite strike off all service I have done\\r\\nIn most accepted pain.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nLet Diomedes bear him,\\r\\nAnd bring us Cressid hither. Calchas shall have\\r\\nWhat he requests of us. Good Diomed,\\r\\nFurnish you fairly for this interchange;\\r\\nWithal, bring word if Hector will tomorrow\\r\\nBe answer’d in his challenge. Ajax is ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nThis shall I undertake; and ’tis a burden\\r\\nWhich I am proud to bear.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Diomedes and Calchas_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Achilles and Patroclus stand in their tent_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAchilles stands i’ th’entrance of his tent.\\r\\nPlease it our general pass strangely by him,\\r\\nAs if he were forgot; and, Princes all,\\r\\nLay negligent and loose regard upon him.\\r\\nI will come last. ’Tis like he’ll question me\\r\\nWhy such unplausive eyes are bent, why turn’d on him.\\r\\nIf so, I have derision med’cinable\\r\\nTo use between your strangeness and his pride,\\r\\nWhich his own will shall have desire to drink.\\r\\nIt may do good. Pride hath no other glass\\r\\nTo show itself but pride; for supple knees\\r\\nFeed arrogance and are the proud man’s fees.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWe’ll execute your purpose, and put on\\r\\nA form of strangeness as we pass along.\\r\\nSo do each lord; and either greet him not,\\r\\nOr else disdainfully, which shall shake him more\\r\\nThan if not look’d on. I will lead the way.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat comes the general to speak with me?\\r\\nYou know my mind. I’ll fight no more ’gainst Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat says Achilles? Would he aught with us?\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWould you, my lord, aught with the general?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nNothing, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nThe better.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Agamemnon and Nestor_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nGood day, good day.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nHow do you? How do you?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat, does the cuckold scorn me?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nHow now, Patroclus?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nGood morrow, Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nHa?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nGood morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nAy, and good next day too.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat mean these fellows? Know they not Achilles?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nThey pass by strangely. They were us’d to bend,\\r\\nTo send their smiles before them to Achilles,\\r\\nTo come as humbly as they us’d to creep\\r\\nTo holy altars.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat, am I poor of late?\\r\\n’Tis certain, greatness, once fall’n out with fortune,\\r\\nMust fall out with men too. What the declin’d is,\\r\\nHe shall as soon read in the eyes of others\\r\\nAs feel in his own fall; for men, like butterflies,\\r\\nShow not their mealy wings but to the summer;\\r\\nAnd not a man for being simply man\\r\\nHath any honour, but honour for those honours\\r\\nThat are without him, as place, riches, and favour,\\r\\nPrizes of accident, as oft as merit;\\r\\nWhich when they fall, as being slippery standers,\\r\\nThe love that lean’d on them as slippery too,\\r\\nDoth one pluck down another, and together\\r\\nDie in the fall. But ’tis not so with me:\\r\\nFortune and I are friends; I do enjoy\\r\\nAt ample point all that I did possess\\r\\nSave these men’s looks; who do, methinks, find out\\r\\nSomething not worth in me such rich beholding\\r\\nAs they have often given. Here is Ulysses.\\r\\nI’ll interrupt his reading.\\r\\nHow now, Ulysses!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNow, great Thetis’ son!\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat are you reading?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nA strange fellow here\\r\\nWrites me that man—how dearly ever parted,\\r\\nHow much in having, or without or in—\\r\\nCannot make boast to have that which he hath,\\r\\nNor feels not what he owes, but by reflection;\\r\\nAs when his virtues shining upon others\\r\\nHeat them, and they retort that heat again\\r\\nTo the first giver.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nThis is not strange, Ulysses.\\r\\nThe beauty that is borne here in the face\\r\\nThe bearer knows not, but commends itself\\r\\nTo others’ eyes; nor doth the eye itself—\\r\\nThat most pure spirit of sense—behold itself,\\r\\nNot going from itself; but eye to eye opposed\\r\\nSalutes each other with each other’s form;\\r\\nFor speculation turns not to itself\\r\\nTill it hath travell’d, and is mirror’d there\\r\\nWhere it may see itself. This is not strange at all.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI do not strain at the position—\\r\\nIt is familiar—but at the author’s drift;\\r\\nWho, in his circumstance, expressly proves\\r\\nThat no man is the lord of anything,\\r\\nThough in and of him there be much consisting,\\r\\nTill he communicate his parts to others;\\r\\nNor doth he of himself know them for aught\\r\\nTill he behold them formed in the applause\\r\\nWhere th’are extended; who, like an arch, reverb’rate\\r\\nThe voice again; or, like a gate of steel\\r\\nFronting the sun, receives and renders back\\r\\nHis figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this;\\r\\nAnd apprehended here immediately\\r\\nTh’unknown Ajax. Heavens, what a man is there!\\r\\nA very horse that has he knows not what!\\r\\nNature, what things there are\\r\\nMost abject in regard and dear in use!\\r\\nWhat things again most dear in the esteem\\r\\nAnd poor in worth! Now shall we see tomorrow—\\r\\nAn act that very chance doth throw upon him—\\r\\nAjax renown’d. O heavens, what some men do,\\r\\nWhile some men leave to do!\\r\\nHow some men creep in skittish Fortune’s hall,\\r\\nWhiles others play the idiots in her eyes!\\r\\nHow one man eats into another’s pride,\\r\\nWhile pride is fasting in his wantonness!\\r\\nTo see these Grecian lords!—why, even already\\r\\nThey clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder,\\r\\nAs if his foot were on brave Hector’s breast,\\r\\nAnd great Troy shrieking.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI do believe it; for they pass’d by me\\r\\nAs misers do by beggars, neither gave to me\\r\\nGood word nor look. What, are my deeds forgot?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nTime hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,\\r\\nWherein he puts alms for oblivion,\\r\\nA great-siz’d monster of ingratitudes.\\r\\nThose scraps are good deeds past, which are devour’d\\r\\nAs fast as they are made, forgot as soon\\r\\nAs done. Perseverance, dear my lord,\\r\\nKeeps honour bright. To have done is to hang\\r\\nQuite out of fashion, like a rusty mail\\r\\nIn monumental mock’ry. Take the instant way;\\r\\nFor honour travels in a strait so narrow—\\r\\nWhere one but goes abreast. Keep then the path,\\r\\nFor emulation hath a thousand sons\\r\\nThat one by one pursue; if you give way,\\r\\nOr hedge aside from the direct forthright,\\r\\nLike to an ent’red tide they all rush by\\r\\nAnd leave you hindmost;\\r\\nOr, like a gallant horse fall’n in first rank,\\r\\nLie there for pavement to the abject rear,\\r\\nO’er-run and trampled on. Then what they do in present,\\r\\nThough less than yours in past, must o’ertop yours;\\r\\nFor Time is like a fashionable host,\\r\\nThat slightly shakes his parting guest by th’hand;\\r\\nAnd with his arms out-stretch’d, as he would fly,\\r\\nGrasps in the comer. The welcome ever smiles,\\r\\nAnd farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek\\r\\nRemuneration for the thing it was;\\r\\nFor beauty, wit,\\r\\nHigh birth, vigour of bone, desert in service,\\r\\nLove, friendship, charity, are subjects all\\r\\nTo envious and calumniating Time.\\r\\nOne touch of nature makes the whole world kin—\\r\\nThat all with one consent praise new-born gauds,\\r\\nThough they are made and moulded of things past,\\r\\nAnd give to dust that is a little gilt\\r\\nMore laud than gilt o’er-dusted.\\r\\nThe present eye praises the present object.\\r\\nThen marvel not, thou great and complete man,\\r\\nThat all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax,\\r\\nSince things in motion sooner catch the eye\\r\\nThan what stirs not. The cry went once on thee,\\r\\nAnd still it might, and yet it may again,\\r\\nIf thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive\\r\\nAnd case thy reputation in thy tent,\\r\\nWhose glorious deeds but in these fields of late\\r\\nMade emulous missions ’mongst the gods themselves,\\r\\nAnd drave great Mars to faction.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nOf this my privacy\\r\\nI have strong reasons.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nBut ’gainst your privacy\\r\\nThe reasons are more potent and heroical.\\r\\n’Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love\\r\\nWith one of Priam’s daughters.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nHa! known!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nIs that a wonder?\\r\\nThe providence that’s in a watchful state\\r\\nKnows almost every grain of Plutus’ gold;\\r\\nFinds bottom in th’uncomprehensive deeps;\\r\\nKeeps place with thought, and almost, like the gods,\\r\\nDo thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.\\r\\nThere is a mystery—with whom relation\\r\\nDurst never meddle—in the soul of state,\\r\\nWhich hath an operation more divine\\r\\nThan breath or pen can give expressure to.\\r\\nAll the commerce that you have had with Troy\\r\\nAs perfectly is ours as yours, my lord;\\r\\nAnd better would it fit Achilles much\\r\\nTo throw down Hector than Polyxena.\\r\\nBut it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home,\\r\\nWhen fame shall in our island sound her trump,\\r\\nAnd all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing\\r\\n‘Great Hector’s sister did Achilles win;\\r\\nBut our great Ajax bravely beat down him.’\\r\\nFarewell, my lord. I as your lover speak.\\r\\nThe fool slides o’er the ice that you should break.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nTo this effect, Achilles, have I mov’d you.\\r\\nA woman impudent and mannish grown\\r\\nIs not more loath’d than an effeminate man\\r\\nIn time of action. I stand condemn’d for this;\\r\\nThey think my little stomach to the war\\r\\nAnd your great love to me restrains you thus.\\r\\nSweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid\\r\\nShall from your neck unloose his amorous fold,\\r\\nAnd, like a dew-drop from the lion’s mane,\\r\\nBe shook to air.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nShall Ajax fight with Hector?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nAy, and perhaps receive much honour by him.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI see my reputation is at stake;\\r\\nMy fame is shrewdly gor’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nO, then, beware:\\r\\nThose wounds heal ill that men do give themselves;\\r\\nOmission to do what is necessary\\r\\nSeals a commission to a blank of danger;\\r\\nAnd danger, like an ague, subtly taints\\r\\nEven then when they sit idly in the sun.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nGo call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus.\\r\\nI’ll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him\\r\\nT’invite the Trojan lords, after the combat,\\r\\nTo see us here unarm’d. I have a woman’s longing,\\r\\nAn appetite that I am sick withal,\\r\\nTo see great Hector in his weeds of peace;\\r\\nTo talk with him, and to behold his visage,\\r\\nEven to my full of view.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nA labour sav’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nA wonder!\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAjax goes up and down the field asking for himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nHow so?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHe must fight singly tomorrow with Hector, and is so prophetically\\r\\nproud of an heroical cudgelling that he raves in saying nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nHow can that be?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWhy, a’ stalks up and down like a peacock—a stride and a stand;\\r\\nruminates like an hostess that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set\\r\\ndown her reckoning, bites his lip with a politic regard, as who should\\r\\nsay ‘There were wit in this head, and ’twould out’; and so there is;\\r\\nbut it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not show\\r\\nwithout knocking. The man’s undone for ever; for if Hector break not\\r\\nhis neck i’ th’ combat, he’ll break’t himself in vainglory. He knows\\r\\nnot me. I said ‘Good morrow, Ajax’; and he replies ‘Thanks, Agamemnon.’\\r\\nWhat think you of this man that takes me for the general? He’s grown a\\r\\nvery land fish, languageless, a monster. A plague of opinion! A man may\\r\\nwear it on both sides, like leather jerkin.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nThou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWho, I? Why, he’ll answer nobody; he professes not answering. Speaking\\r\\nis for beggars: he wears his tongue in’s arms. I will put on his\\r\\npresence. Let Patroclus make his demands to me, you shall see the\\r\\npageant of Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nTo him, Patroclus. Tell him I humbly desire the valiant Ajax to invite\\r\\nthe most valorous Hector to come unarm’d to my tent; and to procure\\r\\nsafe conduct for his person of the magnanimous and most illustrious\\r\\nsix-or-seven-times-honour’d Captain General of the Grecian army,\\r\\nAgamemnon. Do this.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nJove bless great Ajax!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHum!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nI come from the worthy Achilles—\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHa!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWho most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his tent—\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHum!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nAnd to procure safe conduct from Agamemnon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAgamemnon?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nAy, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHa!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWhat you say to’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nGod buy you, with all my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nYour answer, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nIf tomorrow be a fair day, by eleven of the clock it will go one way or\\r\\nother. Howsoever, he shall pay for me ere he has me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nYour answer, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nFare ye well, with all my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhy, but he is not in this tune, is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNo, but out of tune thus. What music will be in him when Hector has\\r\\nknock’d out his brains, I know not; but, I am sure, none; unless the\\r\\nfiddler Apollo get his sinews to make catlings on.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nCome, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nLet me bear another to his horse; for that’s the more capable creature.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nMy mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr’d;\\r\\nAnd I myself see not the bottom of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Achilles and Patroclus_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWould the fountain of your mind were clear again, that I might water an\\r\\nass at it. I had rather be a tick in a sheep than such a valiant\\r\\nignorance.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Troy. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, at one side, Aeneas and servant with a torch; at another Paris,\\r\\n Deiphobus, Antenor, Diomedes the Grecian, and others, with torches.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nSee, ho! Who is that there?\\r\\n\\r\\nDEIPHOBUS.\\r\\nIt is the Lord Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nIs the Prince there in person?\\r\\nHad I so good occasion to lie long\\r\\nAs you, Prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business\\r\\nShould rob my bed-mate of my company.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nThat’s my mind too. Good morrow, Lord Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nA valiant Greek, Aeneas—take his hand:\\r\\nWitness the process of your speech, wherein\\r\\nYou told how Diomed, a whole week by days,\\r\\nDid haunt you in the field.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHealth to you, valiant sir,\\r\\nDuring all question of the gentle truce;\\r\\nBut when I meet you arm’d, as black defiance\\r\\nAs heart can think or courage execute.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nThe one and other Diomed embraces.\\r\\nOur bloods are now in calm; and so long health!\\r\\nBut when contention and occasion meet,\\r\\nBy Jove, I’ll play the hunter for thy life\\r\\nWith all my force, pursuit, and policy.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nAnd thou shalt hunt a lion that will fly\\r\\nWith his face backward. In humane gentleness,\\r\\nWelcome to Troy! Now, by Anchises’ life,\\r\\nWelcome indeed! By Venus’ hand I swear\\r\\nNo man alive can love in such a sort\\r\\nThe thing he means to kill, more excellently.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWe sympathise. Jove let Aeneas live,\\r\\nIf to my sword his fate be not the glory,\\r\\nA thousand complete courses of the sun!\\r\\nBut in mine emulous honour let him die\\r\\nWith every joint a wound, and that tomorrow!\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nWe know each other well.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWe do; and long to know each other worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThis is the most despiteful gentle greeting\\r\\nThe noblest hateful love, that e’er I heard of.\\r\\nWhat business, lord, so early?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nI was sent for to the King; but why, I know not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHis purpose meets you: ’twas to bring this Greek\\r\\nTo Calchas’ house, and there to render him,\\r\\nFor the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid.\\r\\nLet’s have your company; or, if you please,\\r\\nHaste there before us. I constantly believe—\\r\\nOr rather call my thought a certain knowledge—\\r\\nMy brother Troilus lodges there tonight.\\r\\nRouse him and give him note of our approach,\\r\\nWith the whole quality wherefore; I fear\\r\\nWe shall be much unwelcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nThat I assure you:\\r\\nTroilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece\\r\\nThan Cressid borne from Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThere is no help;\\r\\nThe bitter disposition of the time\\r\\nWill have it so. On, lord; we’ll follow you.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nGood morrow, all.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with servant_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nAnd tell me, noble Diomed, faith, tell me true,\\r\\nEven in the soul of sound good-fellowship,\\r\\nWho in your thoughts deserves fair Helen best,\\r\\nMyself, or Menelaus?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nBoth alike:\\r\\nHe merits well to have her that doth seek her,\\r\\nNot making any scruple of her soilure,\\r\\nWith such a hell of pain and world of charge;\\r\\nAnd you as well to keep her that defend her,\\r\\nNot palating the taste of her dishonour,\\r\\nWith such a costly loss of wealth and friends.\\r\\nHe like a puling cuckold would drink up\\r\\nThe lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece;\\r\\nYou, like a lecher, out of whorish loins\\r\\nAre pleas’d to breed out your inheritors.\\r\\nBoth merits pois’d, each weighs nor less nor more,\\r\\nBut he as he, the heavier for a whore.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nYou are too bitter to your country-woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nShe’s bitter to her country. Hear me, Paris:\\r\\nFor every false drop in her bawdy veins\\r\\nA Grecian’s life hath sunk; for every scruple\\r\\nOf her contaminated carrion weight\\r\\nA Trojan hath been slain. Since she could speak,\\r\\nShe hath not given so many good words breath\\r\\nAs for her Greeks and Trojans suff’red death.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nFair Diomed, you do as chapmen do,\\r\\nDispraise the thing that you desire to buy;\\r\\nBut we in silence hold this virtue well,\\r\\nWe’ll not commend what we intend to sell.\\r\\nHere lies our way.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Troy. The court of PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus and Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nDear, trouble not yourself; the morn is cold.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThen, sweet my lord, I’ll call mine uncle down;\\r\\nHe shall unbolt the gates.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nTrouble him not;\\r\\nTo bed, to bed! Sleep kill those pretty eyes,\\r\\nAnd give as soft attachment to thy senses\\r\\nAs infants empty of all thought!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGood morrow, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI prithee now, to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAre you aweary of me?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO Cressida! but that the busy day,\\r\\nWak’d by the lark, hath rous’d the ribald crows,\\r\\nAnd dreaming night will hide our joys no longer,\\r\\nI would not from thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNight hath been too brief.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBeshrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays\\r\\nAs tediously as hell, but flies the grasps of love\\r\\nWith wings more momentary-swift than thought.\\r\\nYou will catch cold, and curse me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nPrithee tarry.\\r\\nYou men will never tarry.\\r\\nO foolish Cressid! I might have still held off,\\r\\nAnd then you would have tarried. Hark! there’s one up.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\n[_Within._] What’s all the doors open here?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nIt is your uncle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nA pestilence on him! Now will he be mocking.\\r\\nI shall have such a life!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHow now, how now! How go maidenheads?\\r\\nHere, you maid! Where’s my cousin Cressid?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGo hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle.\\r\\nYou bring me to do, and then you flout me too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nTo do what? to do what? Let her say what.\\r\\nWhat have I brought you to do?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nCome, come, beshrew your heart! You’ll ne’er be good, nor suffer\\r\\nothers.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHa, ha! Alas, poor wretch! Ah, poor capocchia! Hast not slept tonight?\\r\\nWould he not, a naughty man, let it sleep? A bugbear take him!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nDid not I tell you? Would he were knock’d i’ th’ head!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_One knocks_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nWho’s that at door? Good uncle, go and see.\\r\\nMy lord, come you again into my chamber.\\r\\nYou smile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHa! ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nCome, you are deceiv’d, I think of no such thing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knock_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow earnestly they knock! Pray you come in:\\r\\nI would not for half Troy have you seen here.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus and Cressida_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWho’s there? What’s the matter? Will you beat down the door? How now?\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nGood morrow, lord, good morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWho’s there? My lord Aeneas? By my troth,\\r\\nI knew you not. What news with you so early?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nIs not Prince Troilus here?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHere! What should he do here?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nCome, he is here, my lord; do not deny him.\\r\\nIt doth import him much to speak with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIs he here, say you? It’s more than I know, I’ll be sworn. For my own\\r\\npart, I came in late. What should he do here?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nWho, nay then! Come, come, you’ll do him wrong ere you are ware; you’ll\\r\\nbe so true to him to be false to him. Do not you know of him, but yet\\r\\ngo fetch him hither; go.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHow now! What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nMy lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you,\\r\\nMy matter is so rash. There is at hand\\r\\nParis your brother, and Deiphobus,\\r\\nThe Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor\\r\\nDeliver’d to us; and for him forthwith,\\r\\nEre the first sacrifice, within this hour,\\r\\nWe must give up to Diomedes’ hand\\r\\nThe Lady Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nIs it so concluded?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nBy Priam and the general state of Troy.\\r\\nThey are at hand, and ready to effect it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHow my achievements mock me!\\r\\nI will go meet them; and, my Lord Aeneas,\\r\\nWe met by chance; you did not find me here.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nGood, good, my lord, the secrets of neighbour Pandar\\r\\nHave not more gift in taciturnity.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus and Aeneas_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIs’t possible? No sooner got but lost? The devil take Antenor! The\\r\\nyoung prince will go mad. A plague upon Antenor! I would they had\\r\\nbroke’s neck.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHow now! What’s the matter? Who was here?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAh, ah!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhy sigh you so profoundly? Where’s my lord? Gone? Tell me, sweet\\r\\nuncle, what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWould I were as deep under the earth as I am above!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO the gods! What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nPray thee get thee in. Would thou hadst ne’er been born! I knew thou\\r\\nwouldst be his death! O, poor gentleman! A plague upon Antenor!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGood uncle, I beseech you, on my knees I beseech you, what’s the\\r\\nmatter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone; thou art chang’d for\\r\\nAntenor; thou must to thy father, and be gone from Troilus. ’Twill be\\r\\nhis death; ’twill be his bane; he cannot bear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO you immortal gods! I will not go.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThou must.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI will not, uncle. I have forgot my father;\\r\\nI know no touch of consanguinity,\\r\\nNo kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me\\r\\nAs the sweet Troilus. O you gods divine,\\r\\nMake Cressid’s name the very crown of falsehood,\\r\\nIf ever she leave Troilus! Time, force, and death,\\r\\nDo to this body what extremes you can,\\r\\nBut the strong base and building of my love\\r\\nIs as the very centre of the earth,\\r\\nDrawing all things to it. I’ll go in and weep—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nDo, do.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nTear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks,\\r\\nCrack my clear voice with sobs and break my heart,\\r\\nWith sounding ‘Troilus.’ I will not go from Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Troy. A street before PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paris, Troilus, Aeneas, Deiphobus, Antenor and Diomedes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nIt is great morning; and the hour prefix’d\\r\\nFor her delivery to this valiant Greek\\r\\nComes fast upon. Good my brother Troilus,\\r\\nTell you the lady what she is to do\\r\\nAnd haste her to the purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWalk into her house.\\r\\nI’ll bring her to the Grecian presently;\\r\\nAnd to his hand when I deliver her,\\r\\nThink it an altar, and thy brother Troilus\\r\\nA priest, there off’ring to it his own heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nI know what ’tis to love,\\r\\nAnd would, as I shall pity, I could help!\\r\\nPlease you walk in, my lords?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Troy. PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus and Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nBe moderate, be moderate.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhy tell you me of moderation?\\r\\nThe grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste,\\r\\nAnd violenteth in a sense as strong\\r\\nAs that which causeth it. How can I moderate it?\\r\\nIf I could temporize with my affections\\r\\nOr brew it to a weak and colder palate,\\r\\nThe like allayment could I give my grief.\\r\\nMy love admits no qualifying dross;\\r\\nNo more my grief, in such a precious loss.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHere, here, here he comes. Ah, sweet ducks!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\n[_Embracing him_.] O Troilus! Troilus!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat a pair of spectacles is here! Let me embrace too. ‘O heart,’ as\\r\\nthe goodly saying is,—\\r\\n\\r\\n O heart, heavy heart,\\r\\n Why sigh’st thou without breaking?\\r\\n\\r\\nwhere he answers again\\r\\n\\r\\n Because thou canst not ease thy smart\\r\\n By friendship nor by speaking.\\r\\n\\r\\nThere was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast away nothing, for we may\\r\\nlive to have need of such a verse. We see it, we see it. How now,\\r\\nlambs!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCressid, I love thee in so strain’d a purity\\r\\nThat the bless’d gods, as angry with my fancy,\\r\\nMore bright in zeal than the devotion which\\r\\nCold lips blow to their deities, take thee from me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHave the gods envy?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, ay, ay, ay; ’tis too plain a case.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAnd is it true that I must go from Troy?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nA hateful truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat! and from Troilus too?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFrom Troy and Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAnd suddenly; where injury of chance\\r\\nPuts back leave-taking, justles roughly by\\r\\nAll time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips\\r\\nOf all rejoindure, forcibly prevents\\r\\nOur lock’d embrasures, strangles our dear vows\\r\\nEven in the birth of our own labouring breath.\\r\\nWe two, that with so many thousand sighs\\r\\nDid buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves\\r\\nWith the rude brevity and discharge of one.\\r\\nInjurious time now with a robber’s haste\\r\\nCrams his rich thiev’ry up, he knows not how.\\r\\nAs many farewells as be stars in heaven,\\r\\nWith distinct breath and consign’d kisses to them,\\r\\nHe fumbles up into a loose adieu,\\r\\nAnd scants us with a single famish’d kiss,\\r\\nDistasted with the salt of broken tears.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] My lord, is the lady ready?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHark! you are call’d. Some say the Genius\\r\\nCries so to him that instantly must die.\\r\\nBid them have patience; she shall come anon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhere are my tears? Rain, to lay this wind, or my heart will be blown\\r\\nup by my throat!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI must then to the Grecians?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNo remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nA woeful Cressid ’mongst the merry Greeks!\\r\\nWhen shall we see again?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHear me, my love. Be thou but true of heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI true? How now! What wicked deem is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNay, we must use expostulation kindly,\\r\\nFor it is parting from us.\\r\\nI speak not ‘Be thou true’ as fearing thee,\\r\\nFor I will throw my glove to Death himself\\r\\nThat there’s no maculation in thy heart;\\r\\nBut ‘Be thou true’ say I to fashion in\\r\\nMy sequent protestation: be thou true,\\r\\nAnd I will see thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO! you shall be expos’d, my lord, to dangers\\r\\nAs infinite as imminent! But I’ll be true.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAnd I’ll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAnd you this glove. When shall I see you?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI will corrupt the Grecian sentinels\\r\\nTo give thee nightly visitation.\\r\\nBut yet be true.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO heavens! ‘Be true’ again!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHear why I speak it, love.\\r\\nThe Grecian youths are full of quality;\\r\\nThey’re loving, well compos’d, with gifts of nature,\\r\\nFlowing and swelling o’er with arts and exercise.\\r\\nHow novelty may move, and parts with person,\\r\\nAlas, a kind of godly jealousy,\\r\\nWhich, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin,\\r\\nMakes me afear’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO heavens! you love me not!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nDie I a villain then!\\r\\nIn this I do not call your faith in question\\r\\nSo mainly as my merit. I cannot sing,\\r\\nNor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk,\\r\\nNor play at subtle games; fair virtues all,\\r\\nTo which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant;\\r\\nBut I can tell that in each grace of these\\r\\nThere lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil\\r\\nThat tempts most cunningly. But be not tempted.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nDo you think I will?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\nBut something may be done that we will not;\\r\\nAnd sometimes we are devils to ourselves,\\r\\nWhen we will tempt the frailty of our powers,\\r\\nPresuming on their changeful potency.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Nay, good my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCome, kiss; and let us part.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Brother Troilus!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nGood brother, come you hither;\\r\\nAnd bring Aeneas and the Grecian with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nMy lord, will you be true?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWho, I? Alas, it is my vice, my fault!\\r\\nWhiles others fish with craft for great opinion,\\r\\nI with great truth catch mere simplicity;\\r\\nWhilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns,\\r\\nWith truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.\\r\\nFear not my truth: the moral of my wit\\r\\nIs plain and true; there’s all the reach of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Aeneas, Paris, Antenor, Deiphobus and Diomedes.\\r\\n\\r\\nWelcome, Sir Diomed! Here is the lady\\r\\nWhich for Antenor we deliver you;\\r\\nAt the port, lord, I’ll give her to thy hand,\\r\\nAnd by the way possess thee what she is.\\r\\nEntreat her fair; and, by my soul, fair Greek,\\r\\nIf e’er thou stand at mercy of my sword,\\r\\nName Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe\\r\\nAs Priam is in Ilion.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nFair Lady Cressid,\\r\\nSo please you, save the thanks this prince expects.\\r\\nThe lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek,\\r\\nPleads your fair usage; and to Diomed\\r\\nYou shall be mistress, and command him wholly.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nGrecian, thou dost not use me courteously\\r\\nTo shame the zeal of my petition to thee\\r\\nIn praising her. I tell thee, lord of Greece,\\r\\nShe is as far high-soaring o’er thy praises\\r\\nAs thou unworthy to be call’d her servant.\\r\\nI charge thee use her well, even for my charge;\\r\\nFor, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not,\\r\\nThough the great bulk Achilles be thy guard,\\r\\nI’ll cut thy throat.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nO, be not mov’d, Prince Troilus.\\r\\nLet me be privileg’d by my place and message\\r\\nTo be a speaker free: when I am hence\\r\\nI’ll answer to my lust. And know you, lord,\\r\\nI’ll nothing do on charge: to her own worth\\r\\nShe shall be priz’d. But that you say ‘Be’t so,’\\r\\nI speak it in my spirit and honour, ‘No.’\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCome, to the port. I’ll tell thee, Diomed,\\r\\nThis brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head.\\r\\nLady, give me your hand; and, as we walk,\\r\\nTo our own selves bend we our needful talk.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus, Cressida and Diomedes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sound trumpet_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHark! Hector’s trumpet.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHow have we spent this morning!\\r\\nThe Prince must think me tardy and remiss,\\r\\nThat swore to ride before him to the field.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\n’Tis Troilus’ fault. Come, come to field with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEIPHOBUS.\\r\\nLet us make ready straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nYea, with a bridegroom’s fresh alacrity\\r\\nLet us address to tend on Hector’s heels.\\r\\nThe glory of our Troy doth this day lie\\r\\nOn his fair worth and single chivalry.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. The Grecian camp. Lists set out.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ajax, armed; Agamemnon, Achilles, Patroclus, Menelaus, Ulysses,\\r\\n Nestor and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHere art thou in appointment fresh and fair,\\r\\nAnticipating time with starting courage.\\r\\nGive with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy,\\r\\nThou dreadful Ajax, that the appalled air\\r\\nMay pierce the head of the great combatant,\\r\\nAnd hale him hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThou, trumpet, there’s my purse.\\r\\nNow crack thy lungs and split thy brazen pipe;\\r\\nBlow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek\\r\\nOut-swell the colic of puff’d Aquilon.\\r\\nCome, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood:\\r\\nThou blowest for Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Trumpet sounds_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNo trumpet answers.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\n’Tis but early days.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nIs not yond Diomed, with Calchas’ daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n’Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait:\\r\\nHe rises on the toe. That spirit of his\\r\\nIn aspiration lifts him from the earth.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Diomedes and Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nIs this the Lady Cressid?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nEven she.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nMost dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nOur general doth salute you with a kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYet is the kindness but particular;\\r\\n’Twere better she were kiss’d in general.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nAnd very courtly counsel: I’ll begin.\\r\\nSo much for Nestor.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI’ll take that winter from your lips, fair lady.\\r\\nAchilles bids you welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nI had good argument for kissing once.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nBut that’s no argument for kissing now;\\r\\nFor thus popp’d Paris in his hardiment,\\r\\nAnd parted thus you and your argument.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nO deadly gall, and theme of all our scorns!\\r\\nFor which we lose our heads to gild his horns.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nThe first was Menelaus’ kiss; this, mine:\\r\\nPatroclus kisses you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nO, this is trim!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nParis and I kiss evermore for him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nI’ll have my kiss, sir. Lady, by your leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIn kissing, do you render or receive?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nBoth take and give.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI’ll make my match to live,\\r\\nThe kiss you take is better than you give;\\r\\nTherefore no kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nI’ll give you boot; I’ll give you three for one.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nYou are an odd man; give even or give none.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nAn odd man, lady! Every man is odd.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNo, Paris is not; for you know ’tis true\\r\\nThat you are odd, and he is even with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nYou fillip me o’ th’head.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNo, I’ll be sworn.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nIt were no match, your nail against his horn.\\r\\nMay I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nYou may.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI do desire it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhy, beg then.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWhy then, for Venus’ sake give me a kiss\\r\\nWhen Helen is a maid again, and his.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI am your debtor; claim it when ’tis due.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNever’s my day, and then a kiss of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nLady, a word. I’ll bring you to your father.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with_ Cressida.]\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nA woman of quick sense.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nFie, fie upon her!\\r\\nThere’s language in her eye, her cheek, her lip,\\r\\nNay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out\\r\\nAt every joint and motive of her body.\\r\\nO! these encounterers so glib of tongue\\r\\nThat give a coasting welcome ere it comes,\\r\\nAnd wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts\\r\\nTo every tickling reader! Set them down\\r\\nFor sluttish spoils of opportunity,\\r\\nAnd daughters of the game.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Trumpet within_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nThe Trojans’ trumpet.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nYonder comes the troop.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector, armed; Aeneas, Troilus, Paris, Deiphobus and other\\r\\nTrojans, with attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHail, all you state of Greece! What shall be done\\r\\nTo him that victory commands? Or do you purpose\\r\\nA victor shall be known? Will you the knights\\r\\nShall to the edge of all extremity\\r\\nPursue each other, or shall be divided\\r\\nBy any voice or order of the field?\\r\\nHector bade ask.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhich way would Hector have it?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHe cares not; he’ll obey conditions.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\n’Tis done like Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nBut securely done,\\r\\nA little proudly, and great deal misprising\\r\\nThe knight oppos’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nIf not Achilles, sir,\\r\\nWhat is your name?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nIf not Achilles, nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nTherefore Achilles. But whate’er, know this:\\r\\nIn the extremity of great and little\\r\\nValour and pride excel themselves in Hector;\\r\\nThe one almost as infinite as all,\\r\\nThe other blank as nothing. Weigh him well,\\r\\nAnd that which looks like pride is courtesy.\\r\\nThis Ajax is half made of Hector’s blood;\\r\\nIn love whereof half Hector stays at home;\\r\\nHalf heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek\\r\\nThis blended knight, half Trojan and half Greek.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nA maiden battle then? O! I perceive you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Diomedes.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHere is Sir Diomed. Go, gentle knight,\\r\\nStand by our Ajax. As you and Lord Aeneas\\r\\nConsent upon the order of their fight,\\r\\nSo be it; either to the uttermost,\\r\\nOr else a breath. The combatants being kin\\r\\nHalf stints their strife before their strokes begin.\\r\\n\\r\\nAjax and Hector enter the lists.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThey are oppos’d already.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat Trojan is that same that looks so heavy?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThe youngest son of Priam, a true knight;\\r\\nNot yet mature, yet matchless; firm of word;\\r\\nSpeaking in deeds and deedless in his tongue;\\r\\nNot soon provok’d, nor being provok’d soon calm’d;\\r\\nHis heart and hand both open and both free;\\r\\nFor what he has he gives, what thinks he shows,\\r\\nYet gives he not till judgement guide his bounty,\\r\\nNor dignifies an impure thought with breath;\\r\\nManly as Hector, but more dangerous;\\r\\nFor Hector in his blaze of wrath subscribes\\r\\nTo tender objects, but he in heat of action\\r\\nIs more vindicative than jealous love.\\r\\nThey call him Troilus, and on him erect\\r\\nA second hope as fairly built as Hector.\\r\\nThus says Aeneas, one that knows the youth\\r\\nEven to his inches, and, with private soul,\\r\\nDid in great Ilion thus translate him to me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alarum. Hector and Ajax fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nThey are in action.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nNow, Ajax, hold thine own!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHector, thou sleep’st; awake thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHis blows are well dispos’d. There, Ajax!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Trumpets cease_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nYou must no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nPrinces, enough, so please you.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI am not warm yet; let us fight again.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nAs Hector pleases.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWhy, then will I no more.\\r\\nThou art, great lord, my father’s sister’s son,\\r\\nA cousin-german to great Priam’s seed;\\r\\nThe obligation of our blood forbids\\r\\nA gory emulation ’twixt us twain:\\r\\nWere thy commixtion Greek and Trojan so\\r\\nThat thou could’st say ‘This hand is Grecian all,\\r\\nAnd this is Trojan; the sinews of this leg\\r\\nAll Greek, and this all Troy; my mother’s blood\\r\\nRuns on the dexter cheek, and this sinister\\r\\nBounds in my father’s; by Jove multipotent,\\r\\nThou shouldst not bear from me a Greekish member\\r\\nWherein my sword had not impressure made\\r\\nOf our rank feud; but the just gods gainsay\\r\\nThat any drop thou borrow’dst from thy mother,\\r\\nMy sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword\\r\\nBe drained! Let me embrace thee, Ajax.\\r\\nBy him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms;\\r\\nHector would have them fall upon him thus.\\r\\nCousin, all honour to thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI thank thee, Hector.\\r\\nThou art too gentle and too free a man.\\r\\nI came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence\\r\\nA great addition earned in thy death.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nNot Neoptolemus so mirable,\\r\\nOn whose bright crest Fame with her loud’st Oyes\\r\\nCries ‘This is he!’ could promise to himself\\r\\nA thought of added honour torn from Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nThere is expectance here from both the sides\\r\\nWhat further you will do.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWe’ll answer it:\\r\\nThe issue is embracement. Ajax, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nIf I might in entreaties find success,\\r\\nAs seld’ I have the chance, I would desire\\r\\nMy famous cousin to our Grecian tents.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\n’Tis Agamemnon’s wish; and great Achilles\\r\\nDoth long to see unarm’d the valiant Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nAeneas, call my brother Troilus to me,\\r\\nAnd signify this loving interview\\r\\nTo the expecters of our Trojan part;\\r\\nDesire them home. Give me thy hand, my cousin;\\r\\nI will go eat with thee, and see your knights.\\r\\n\\r\\nAgamemnon and the rest of the Greeks come forward.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nGreat Agamemnon comes to meet us here.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nThe worthiest of them tell me name by name;\\r\\nBut for Achilles, my own searching eyes\\r\\nShall find him by his large and portly size.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWorthy all arms! as welcome as to one\\r\\nThat would be rid of such an enemy.\\r\\nBut that’s no welcome. Understand more clear,\\r\\nWhat’s past and what’s to come is strew’d with husks\\r\\nAnd formless ruin of oblivion;\\r\\nBut in this extant moment, faith and troth,\\r\\nStrain’d purely from all hollow bias-drawing,\\r\\nBids thee with most divine integrity,\\r\\nFrom heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI thank thee, most imperious Agamemnon.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\n[_To Troilus._] My well-fam’d lord of Troy, no less to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nLet me confirm my princely brother’s greeting.\\r\\nYou brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWho must we answer?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nThe noble Menelaus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nO you, my lord? By Mars his gauntlet, thanks!\\r\\nMock not that I affect the untraded oath;\\r\\nYour quondam wife swears still by Venus’ glove.\\r\\nShe’s well, but bade me not commend her to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nName her not now, sir; she’s a deadly theme.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nO, pardon; I offend.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nI have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft,\\r\\nLabouring for destiny, make cruel way\\r\\nThrough ranks of Greekish youth; and I have seen thee,\\r\\nAs hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed,\\r\\nDespising many forfeits and subduements,\\r\\nWhen thou hast hung thy advanced sword i’ th’air,\\r\\nNot letting it decline on the declined;\\r\\nThat I have said to some my standers-by\\r\\n‘Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!’\\r\\nAnd I have seen thee pause and take thy breath,\\r\\nWhen that a ring of Greeks have shrap’d thee in,\\r\\nLike an Olympian wrestling. This have I seen;\\r\\nBut this thy countenance, still lock’d in steel,\\r\\nI never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire,\\r\\nAnd once fought with him. He was a soldier good,\\r\\nBut, by great Mars, the captain of us all,\\r\\nNever like thee. O, let an old man embrace thee;\\r\\nAnd, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\n’Tis the old Nestor.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nLet me embrace thee, good old chronicle,\\r\\nThat hast so long walk’d hand in hand with time.\\r\\nMost reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nI would my arms could match thee in contention\\r\\nAs they contend with thee in courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI would they could.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nHa!\\r\\nBy this white beard, I’d fight with thee tomorrow.\\r\\nWell, welcome, welcome! I have seen the time.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI wonder now how yonder city stands,\\r\\nWhen we have here her base and pillar by us.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI know your favour, Lord Ulysses, well.\\r\\nAh, sir, there’s many a Greek and Trojan dead,\\r\\nSince first I saw yourself and Diomed\\r\\nIn Ilion on your Greekish embassy.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nSir, I foretold you then what would ensue.\\r\\nMy prophecy is but half his journey yet;\\r\\nFor yonder walls, that pertly front your town,\\r\\nYon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds,\\r\\nMust kiss their own feet.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI must not believe you.\\r\\nThere they stand yet; and modestly I think\\r\\nThe fall of every Phrygian stone will cost\\r\\nA drop of Grecian blood. The end crowns all;\\r\\nAnd that old common arbitrator, Time,\\r\\nWill one day end it.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nSo to him we leave it.\\r\\nMost gentle and most valiant Hector, welcome.\\r\\nAfter the General, I beseech you next\\r\\nTo feast with me and see me at my tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI shall forestall thee, Lord Ulysses, thou!\\r\\nNow, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee;\\r\\nI have with exact view perus’d thee, Hector,\\r\\nAnd quoted joint by joint.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nIs this Achilles?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI am Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nStand fair, I pray thee; let me look on thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nBehold thy fill.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nNay, I have done already.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nThou art too brief. I will the second time,\\r\\nAs I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nO, like a book of sport thou’lt read me o’er;\\r\\nBut there’s more in me than thou understand’st.\\r\\nWhy dost thou so oppress me with thine eye?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nTell me, you heavens, in which part of his body\\r\\nShall I destroy him? Whether there, or there, or there?\\r\\nThat I may give the local wound a name,\\r\\nAnd make distinct the very breach whereout\\r\\nHector’s great spirit flew. Answer me, heavens.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nIt would discredit the blest gods, proud man,\\r\\nTo answer such a question. Stand again.\\r\\nThink’st thou to catch my life so pleasantly\\r\\nAs to prenominate in nice conjecture\\r\\nWhere thou wilt hit me dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI tell thee yea.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWert thou an oracle to tell me so,\\r\\nI’d not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well;\\r\\nFor I’ll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there;\\r\\nBut, by the forge that stithied Mars his helm,\\r\\nI’ll kill thee everywhere, yea, o’er and o’er.\\r\\nYou wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag.\\r\\nHis insolence draws folly from my lips;\\r\\nBut I’ll endeavour deeds to match these words,\\r\\nOr may I never—\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nDo not chafe thee, cousin;\\r\\nAnd you, Achilles, let these threats alone\\r\\nTill accident or purpose bring you to’t.\\r\\nYou may have every day enough of Hector,\\r\\nIf you have stomach. The general state, I fear,\\r\\nCan scarce entreat you to be odd with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI pray you let us see you in the field;\\r\\nWe have had pelting wars since you refus’d\\r\\nThe Grecians’ cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nDost thou entreat me, Hector?\\r\\nTomorrow do I meet thee, fell as death;\\r\\nTonight all friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nThy hand upon that match.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nFirst, all you peers of Greece, go to my tent;\\r\\nThere in the full convive we; afterwards,\\r\\nAs Hector’s leisure and your bounties shall\\r\\nConcur together, severally entreat him.\\r\\nBeat loud the tambourines, let the trumpets blow,\\r\\nThat this great soldier may his welcome know.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Troilus and Ulysses_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nMy Lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you,\\r\\nIn what place of the field doth Calchas keep?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAt Menelaus’ tent, most princely Troilus.\\r\\nThere Diomed doth feast with him tonight,\\r\\nWho neither looks upon the heaven nor earth,\\r\\nBut gives all gaze and bent of amorous view\\r\\nOn the fair Cressid.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nShall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so much,\\r\\nAfter we part from Agamemnon’s tent,\\r\\nTo bring me thither?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYou shall command me, sir.\\r\\nAs gentle tell me of what honour was\\r\\nThis Cressida in Troy? Had she no lover there\\r\\nThat wails her absence?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO, sir, to such as boasting show their scars\\r\\nA mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord?\\r\\nShe was belov’d, she lov’d; she is, and doth;\\r\\nBut still sweet love is food for fortune’s tooth.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles and Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI’ll heat his blood with Greekish wine tonight,\\r\\nWhich with my scimitar I’ll cool tomorrow.\\r\\nPatroclus, let us feast him to the height.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nHere comes Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nHow now, thou core of envy!\\r\\nThou crusty batch of nature, what’s the news?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWhy, thou picture of what thou seemest, and idol of idiot worshippers,\\r\\nhere’s a letter for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nFrom whence, fragment?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWhy, thou full dish of fool, from Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWho keeps the tent now?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThe surgeon’s box or the patient’s wound.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWell said, adversity! And what needs these tricks?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nPrithee, be silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk; thou art said to be\\r\\nAchilles’ male varlet.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nMale varlet, you rogue! What’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWhy, his masculine whore. Now, the rotten diseases of the south, the\\r\\nguts-griping ruptures, catarrhs, loads o’ gravel in the back,\\r\\nlethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs,\\r\\nbladders full of imposthume, sciaticas, lime-kilns i’ th’ palm,\\r\\nincurable bone-ache, and the rivelled fee-simple of the tetter, take\\r\\nand take again such preposterous discoveries!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWhy, thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest thou to curse thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nDo I curse thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWhy, no, you ruinous butt; you whoreson indistinguishable cur, no.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNo! Why art thou, then, exasperate, thou idle immaterial skein of\\r\\nsleave silk, thou green sarcenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a\\r\\nprodigal’s purse, thou? Ah, how the poor world is pestered with such\\r\\nwater-flies, diminutives of nature!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nOut, gall!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nFinch egg!\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nMy sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite\\r\\nFrom my great purpose in tomorrow’s battle.\\r\\nHere is a letter from Queen Hecuba,\\r\\nA token from her daughter, my fair love,\\r\\nBoth taxing me and gaging me to keep\\r\\nAn oath that I have sworn. I will not break it.\\r\\nFall Greeks; fail fame; honour or go or stay;\\r\\nMy major vow lies here, this I’ll obey.\\r\\nCome, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent;\\r\\nThis night in banqueting must all be spent.\\r\\nAway, Patroclus!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with_ Patroclus.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWith too much blood and too little brain these two may run mad; but, if\\r\\nwith too much brain and too little blood they do, I’ll be a curer of\\r\\nmadmen. Here’s Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough, and one that loves\\r\\nquails, but he has not so much brain as ear-wax; and the goodly\\r\\ntransformation of Jupiter there, his brother, the bull, the primitive\\r\\nstatue and oblique memorial of cuckolds, a thrifty shoeing-horn in a\\r\\nchain at his brother’s leg, to what form but that he is, should wit\\r\\nlarded with malice, and malice forced with wit, turn him to? To an ass,\\r\\nwere nothing: he is both ass and ox. To an ox, were nothing: he is both\\r\\nox and ass. To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchook, a toad, a lizard,\\r\\nan owl, a puttock, or a herring without a roe, I would not care; but to\\r\\nbe Menelaus, I would conspire against destiny. Ask me not what I would\\r\\nbe, if I were not Thersites; for I care not to be the louse of a lazar,\\r\\nso I were not Menelaus. Hey-day! sprites and fires!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajax, Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Menelaus and\\r\\n Diomedes with lights.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWe go wrong, we go wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nNo, yonder ’tis;\\r\\nThere, where we see the lights.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI trouble you.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nNo, not a whit.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nHere comes himself to guide you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWelcome, brave Hector; welcome, Princes all.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nSo now, fair Prince of Troy, I bid good night;\\r\\nAjax commands the guard to tend on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nThanks, and good night to the Greeks’ general.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nGood night, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nGood night, sweet Lord Menelaus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nSweet draught! ‘Sweet’ quoth a’!\\r\\nSweet sink, sweet sewer!\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nGood night and welcome, both at once, to those\\r\\nThat go or tarry.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nGood night.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Agamemnon and Menelaus_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nOld Nestor tarries; and you too, Diomed,\\r\\nKeep Hector company an hour or two.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI cannot, lord; I have important business,\\r\\nThe tide whereof is now. Good night, great Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nGive me your hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n[_Aside to Troilus._] Follow his torch; he goes to\\r\\nCalchas’ tent; I’ll keep you company.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nSweet sir, you honour me.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nAnd so, good night.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Diomedes, Ulysses and Troilus following._]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nCome, come, enter my tent.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but_ Thersites.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThat same Diomed’s a false-hearted rogue, a most unjust knave; I will\\r\\nno more trust him when he leers than I will a serpent when he hisses.\\r\\nHe will spend his mouth and promise, like Brabbler the hound; but when\\r\\nhe performs, astronomers foretell it: it is prodigious, there will come\\r\\nsome change; the sun borrows of the moon when Diomed keeps his word. I\\r\\nwill rather leave to see Hector than not to dog him. They say he keeps\\r\\na Trojan drab, and uses the traitor Calchas’ tent. I’ll after. Nothing\\r\\nbut lechery! All incontinent varlets!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The Grecian camp. Before CALCHAS’ tent.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Diomedes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhat, are you up here, ho! Speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALCHAS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Who calls?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nDiomed. Calchas, I think. Where’s your daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nCALCHAS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] She comes to you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus and Ulysses, at a distance; after them Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nStand where the torch may not discover us.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCressid comes forth to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nHow now, my charge!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNow, my sweet guardian! Hark, a word with you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Whispers_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYea, so familiar?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nShe will sing any man at first sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAnd any man may sing her, if he can take her cliff; she’s noted.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWill you remember?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nRemember! Yes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nNay, but do, then;\\r\\nAnd let your mind be coupled with your words.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat should she remember?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nList!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to folly.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nRoguery!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nNay, then—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI’ll tell you what—\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nFo, fo! come, tell a pin; you are a forsworn.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIn faith, I cannot. What would you have me do?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nA juggling trick, to be secretly open.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhat did you swear you would bestow on me?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI prithee, do not hold me to mine oath;\\r\\nBid me do anything but that, sweet Greek.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nGood night.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHold, patience!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nHow now, Trojan!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nDiomed!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nNo, no, good night; I’ll be your fool no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThy better must.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHark! a word in your ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO plague and madness!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYou are moved, Prince; let us depart, I pray,\\r\\nLest your displeasure should enlarge itself\\r\\nTo wrathful terms. This place is dangerous;\\r\\nThe time right deadly; I beseech you, go.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBehold, I pray you.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNay, good my lord, go off;\\r\\nYou flow to great distraction; come, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI pray thee stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYou have not patience; come.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI pray you, stay; by hell and all hell’s torments,\\r\\nI will not speak a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nAnd so, good night.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNay, but you part in anger.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nDoth that grieve thee? O withered truth!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nHow now, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBy Jove, I will be patient.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGuardian! Why, Greek!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nFo, fo! adieu! you palter.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIn faith, I do not. Come hither once again.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYou shake, my lord, at something; will you go?\\r\\nYou will break out.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nShe strokes his cheek.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nCome, come.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a word:\\r\\nThere is between my will and all offences\\r\\nA guard of patience. Stay a little while.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHow the devil Luxury, with his fat rump and potato finger, tickles\\r\\nthese together! Fry, lechery, fry!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nBut will you, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIn faith, I will, la; never trust me else.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nGive me some token for the surety of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI’ll fetch you one.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYou have sworn patience.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFear me not, my lord;\\r\\nI will not be myself, nor have cognition\\r\\nOf what I feel. I am all patience.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNow the pledge; now, now, now!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHere, Diomed, keep this sleeve.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO beauty! where is thy faith?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nMy lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI will be patient; outwardly I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nYou look upon that sleeve; behold it well.\\r\\nHe lov’d me—O false wench!—Give’t me again.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhose was’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIt is no matter, now I have’t again.\\r\\nI will not meet with you tomorrow night.\\r\\nI prithee, Diomed, visit me no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNow she sharpens. Well said, whetstone.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI shall have it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat, this?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nAy, that.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO all you gods! O pretty, pretty pledge!\\r\\nThy master now lies thinking on his bed\\r\\nOf thee and me, and sighs, and takes my glove,\\r\\nAnd gives memorial dainty kisses to it,\\r\\nAs I kiss thee. Nay, do not snatch it from me;\\r\\nHe that takes that doth take my heart withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI had your heart before; this follows it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI did swear patience.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nYou shall not have it, Diomed; faith, you shall not;\\r\\nI’ll give you something else.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI will have this. Whose was it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIt is no matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nCome, tell me whose it was.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\n’Twas one’s that lov’d me better than you will.\\r\\nBut, now you have it, take it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhose was it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBy all Diana’s waiting women yond,\\r\\nAnd by herself, I will not tell you whose.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nTomorrow will I wear it on my helm,\\r\\nAnd grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWert thou the devil and wor’st it on thy horn,\\r\\nIt should be challeng’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWell, well, ’tis done, ’tis past; and yet it is not;\\r\\nI will not keep my word.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhy, then farewell;\\r\\nThou never shalt mock Diomed again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nYou shall not go. One cannot speak a word\\r\\nBut it straight starts you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI do not like this fooling.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNor I, by Pluto; but that that likes not you\\r\\nPleases me best.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhat, shall I come? The hour?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAy, come; O Jove! Do come. I shall be plagu’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nFarewell till then.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGood night. I prithee come.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Diomedes.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTroilus, farewell! One eye yet looks on thee;\\r\\nBut with my heart the other eye doth see.\\r\\nAh, poor our sex! this fault in us I find,\\r\\nThe error of our eye directs our mind.\\r\\nWhat error leads must err; O, then conclude,\\r\\nMinds sway’d by eyes are full of turpitude.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nA proof of strength she could not publish more,\\r\\nUnless she said ‘My mind is now turn’d whore.’\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAll’s done, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nIt is.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWhy stay we, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nTo make a recordation to my soul\\r\\nOf every syllable that here was spoke.\\r\\nBut if I tell how these two did co-act,\\r\\nShall I not lie in publishing a truth?\\r\\nSith yet there is a credence in my heart,\\r\\nAn esperance so obstinately strong,\\r\\nThat doth invert th’attest of eyes and ears;\\r\\nAs if those organs had deceptious functions\\r\\nCreated only to calumniate.\\r\\nWas Cressid here?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI cannot conjure, Trojan.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nShe was not, sure.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nMost sure she was.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhy, my negation hath no taste of madness.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNor mine, my lord. Cressid was here but now.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nLet it not be believ’d for womanhood.\\r\\nThink, we had mothers; do not give advantage\\r\\nTo stubborn critics, apt, without a theme,\\r\\nFor depravation, to square the general sex\\r\\nBy Cressid’s rule. Rather think this not Cressid.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWhat hath she done, Prince, that can soil our mothers?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNothing at all, unless that this were she.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWill he swagger himself out on’s own eyes?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThis she? No; this is Diomed’s Cressida.\\r\\nIf beauty have a soul, this is not she;\\r\\nIf souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimonies,\\r\\nIf sanctimony be the god’s delight,\\r\\nIf there be rule in unity itself,\\r\\nThis was not she. O madness of discourse,\\r\\nThat cause sets up with and against itself!\\r\\nBi-fold authority! where reason can revolt\\r\\nWithout perdition, and loss assume all reason\\r\\nWithout revolt: this is, and is not, Cressid.\\r\\nWithin my soul there doth conduce a fight\\r\\nOf this strange nature, that a thing inseparate\\r\\nDivides more wider than the sky and earth;\\r\\nAnd yet the spacious breadth of this division\\r\\nAdmits no orifice for a point as subtle\\r\\nAs Ariachne’s broken woof to enter.\\r\\nInstance, O instance! strong as Pluto’s gates:\\r\\nCressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven.\\r\\nInstance, O instance! strong as heaven itself:\\r\\nThe bonds of heaven are slipp’d, dissolv’d, and loos’d;\\r\\nAnd with another knot, five-finger-tied,\\r\\nThe fractions of her faith, orts of her love,\\r\\nThe fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy relics\\r\\nOf her o’er-eaten faith, are given to Diomed.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nMay worthy Troilus be half attach’d\\r\\nWith that which here his passion doth express?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAy, Greek; and that shall be divulged well\\r\\nIn characters as red as Mars his heart\\r\\nInflam’d with Venus. Never did young man fancy\\r\\nWith so eternal and so fix’d a soul.\\r\\nHark, Greek: as much as I do Cressid love,\\r\\nSo much by weight hate I her Diomed.\\r\\nThat sleeve is mine that he’ll bear on his helm;\\r\\nWere it a casque compos’d by Vulcan’s skill\\r\\nMy sword should bite it. Not the dreadful spout\\r\\nWhich shipmen do the hurricano call,\\r\\nConstring’d in mass by the almighty sun,\\r\\nShall dizzy with more clamour Neptune’s ear\\r\\nIn his descent than shall my prompted sword\\r\\nFalling on Diomed.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHe’ll tickle it for his concupy.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO Cressid! O false Cressid! false, false, false!\\r\\nLet all untruths stand by thy stained name,\\r\\nAnd they’ll seem glorious.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nO, contain yourself;\\r\\nYour passion draws ears hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nI have been seeking you this hour, my lord.\\r\\nHector, by this, is arming him in Troy;\\r\\nAjax, your guard, stays to conduct you home.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHave with you, Prince. My courteous lord, adieu.\\r\\nFairwell, revolted fair! and, Diomed,\\r\\nStand fast, and wear a castle on thy head.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI’ll bring you to the gates.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAccept distracted thanks.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus, Aeneas and Ulysses_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES. Would I could meet that rogue Diomed! I would croak like a\\r\\nraven; I would bode, I would bode. Patroclus will give me anything for\\r\\nthe intelligence of this whore; the parrot will not do more for an\\r\\nalmond than he for a commodious drab. Lechery, lechery! Still wars and\\r\\nlechery! Nothing else holds fashion. A burning devil take them!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Troy. Before PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector and Andromache.\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nWhen was my lord so much ungently temper’d\\r\\nTo stop his ears against admonishment?\\r\\nUnarm, unarm, and do not fight today.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nYou train me to offend you; get you in.\\r\\nBy all the everlasting gods, I’ll go.\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nMy dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the day.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nNo more, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassandra.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nWhere is my brother Hector?\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nHere, sister, arm’d, and bloody in intent.\\r\\nConsort with me in loud and dear petition,\\r\\nPursue we him on knees; for I have dreamt\\r\\nOf bloody turbulence, and this whole night\\r\\nHath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nO, ’tis true!\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nHo! bid my trumpet sound.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nNo notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet brother!\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nBe gone, I say. The gods have heard me swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nThe gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows;\\r\\nThey are polluted off’rings, more abhorr’d\\r\\nThan spotted livers in the sacrifice.\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nO, be persuaded! Do not count it holy\\r\\nTo hurt by being just. It is as lawful,\\r\\nFor we would give much, to use violent thefts\\r\\nAnd rob in the behalf of charity.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nIt is the purpose that makes strong the vow;\\r\\nBut vows to every purpose must not hold.\\r\\nUnarm, sweet Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nHold you still, I say.\\r\\nMine honour keeps the weather of my fate.\\r\\nLife every man holds dear; but the dear man\\r\\nHolds honour far more precious dear than life.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, young man! Mean’st thou to fight today?\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nCassandra, call my father to persuade.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Cassandra.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nNo, faith, young Troilus; doff thy harness, youth;\\r\\nI am today i’ th’vein of chivalry.\\r\\nLet grow thy sinews till their knots be strong,\\r\\nAnd tempt not yet the brushes of the war.\\r\\nUnarm thee, go; and doubt thou not, brave boy,\\r\\nI’ll stand today for thee and me and Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBrother, you have a vice of mercy in you,\\r\\nWhich better fits a lion than a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWhat vice is that? Good Troilus, chide me for it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhen many times the captive Grecian falls,\\r\\nEven in the fan and wind of your fair sword,\\r\\nYou bid them rise and live.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nO, ’tis fair play!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFool’s play, by heaven, Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nHow now? how now?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFor th’ love of all the gods,\\r\\nLet’s leave the hermit Pity with our mother;\\r\\nAnd when we have our armours buckled on,\\r\\nThe venom’d vengeance ride upon our swords,\\r\\nSpur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth!\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nFie, savage, fie!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHector, then ’tis wars.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nTroilus, I would not have you fight today.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWho should withhold me?\\r\\nNot fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars\\r\\nBeckoning with fiery truncheon my retire;\\r\\nNot Priamus and Hecuba on knees,\\r\\nTheir eyes o’er-galled with recourse of tears;\\r\\nNor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn,\\r\\nOppos’d to hinder me, should stop my way,\\r\\nBut by my ruin.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Cassandra with Priam.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nLay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast;\\r\\nHe is thy crutch; now if thou lose thy stay,\\r\\nThou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee,\\r\\nFall all together.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nCome, Hector, come, go back.\\r\\nThy wife hath dreamt; thy mother hath had visions;\\r\\nCassandra doth foresee; and I myself\\r\\nAm like a prophet suddenly enrapt\\r\\nTo tell thee that this day is ominous.\\r\\nTherefore, come back.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nAeneas is a-field;\\r\\nAnd I do stand engag’d to many Greeks,\\r\\nEven in the faith of valour, to appear\\r\\nThis morning to them.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nAy, but thou shalt not go.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI must not break my faith.\\r\\nYou know me dutiful; therefore, dear sir,\\r\\nLet me not shame respect; but give me leave\\r\\nTo take that course by your consent and voice\\r\\nWhich you do here forbid me, royal Priam.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nO Priam, yield not to him!\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nDo not, dear father.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nAndromache, I am offended with you.\\r\\nUpon the love you bear me, get you in.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Andromache.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThis foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl\\r\\nMakes all these bodements.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nO, farewell, dear Hector!\\r\\nLook how thou diest. Look how thy eye turns pale.\\r\\nLook how thy wounds do bleed at many vents.\\r\\nHark how Troy roars; how Hecuba cries out;\\r\\nHow poor Andromache shrills her dolours forth;\\r\\nBehold distraction, frenzy, and amazement,\\r\\nLike witless antics, one another meet,\\r\\nAnd all cry, ‘Hector! Hector’s dead! O Hector!’\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAway, away!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nFarewell! yet, soft! Hector, I take my leave.\\r\\nThou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nYou are amaz’d, my liege, at her exclaim.\\r\\nGo in, and cheer the town; we’ll forth, and fight,\\r\\nDo deeds worth praise and tell you them at night.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nFarewell. The gods with safety stand about thee!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt severally Priam and Hector. Alarums._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThey are at it, hark! Proud Diomed, believe,\\r\\nI come to lose my arm or win my sleeve.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nDo you hear, my lord? Do you hear?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat now?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHere’s a letter come from yond poor girl.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nLet me read.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nA whoreson tisick, a whoreson rascally tisick, so troubles me, and the\\r\\nfoolish fortune of this girl, and what one thing, what another, that I\\r\\nshall leave you one o’ these days; and I have a rheum in mine eyes too,\\r\\nand such an ache in my bones that unless a man were curs’d I cannot\\r\\ntell what to think on’t. What says she there?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWords, words, mere words, no matter from the heart;\\r\\nTh’effect doth operate another way.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Tearing the letter_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nGo, wind, to wind, there turn and change together.\\r\\nMy love with words and errors still she feeds,\\r\\nBut edifies another with her deeds.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt severally_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The plain between Troy and the Grecian camp.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarums. Excursions. Enter Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNow they are clapper-clawing one another; I’ll go look on. That\\r\\ndissembling abominable varlet, Diomed, has got that same scurvy doting\\r\\nfoolish young knave’s sleeve of Troy there in his helm. I would fain\\r\\nsee them meet, that that same young Trojan ass that loves the whore\\r\\nthere might send that Greekish whoremasterly villain with the sleeve\\r\\nback to the dissembling luxurious drab of a sleeve-less errand. O’ the\\r\\nother side, the policy of those crafty swearing rascals that stale old\\r\\nmouse-eaten dry cheese, Nestor, and that same dog-fox, Ulysses, is not\\r\\nprov’d worth a blackberry. They set me up, in policy, that mongrel cur,\\r\\nAjax, against that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles; and now is the cur,\\r\\nAjax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not arm today; whereupon\\r\\nthe Grecians begin to proclaim barbarism, and policy grows into an ill\\r\\nopinion.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Diomedes, Troilus following.\\r\\n\\r\\nSoft! here comes sleeve, and t’other.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFly not; for shouldst thou take the river Styx, I would swim after.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nThou dost miscall retire.\\r\\nI do not fly; but advantageous care\\r\\nWithdrew me from the odds of multitude.\\r\\nHave at thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHold thy whore, Grecian; now for thy whore,\\r\\nTrojan! now the sleeve, now the sleeve!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus and Diomedes fighting_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWhat art thou, Greek? Art thou for Hector’s match?\\r\\nArt thou of blood and honour?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNo, no I am a rascal; a scurvy railing knave; a very filthy rogue.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI do believe thee. Live.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nGod-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; but a plague break thy neck for\\r\\nfrighting me! What’s become of the wenching rogues? I think they have\\r\\nswallowed one another. I would laugh at that miracle. Yet, in a sort,\\r\\nlechery eats itself. I’ll seek them.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Diomedes and a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nGo, go, my servant, take thou Troilus’ horse;\\r\\nPresent the fair steed to my lady Cressid.\\r\\nFellow, commend my service to her beauty;\\r\\nTell her I have chastis’d the amorous Trojan,\\r\\nAnd am her knight by proof.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI go, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Agamemnon.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nRenew, renew! The fierce Polydamas\\r\\nHath beat down Menon; bastard Margarelon\\r\\nHath Doreus prisoner,\\r\\nAnd stands colossus-wise, waving his beam,\\r\\nUpon the pashed corses of the kings\\r\\nEpistrophus and Cedius. Polixenes is slain;\\r\\nAmphimacus and Thoas deadly hurt;\\r\\nPatroclus ta’en, or slain; and Palamedes\\r\\nSore hurt and bruis’d. The dreadful Sagittary\\r\\nAppals our numbers. Haste we, Diomed,\\r\\nTo reinforcement, or we perish all.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nestor.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nGo, bear Patroclus’ body to Achilles,\\r\\nAnd bid the snail-pac’d Ajax arm for shame.\\r\\nThere is a thousand Hectors in the field;\\r\\nNow here he fights on Galathe his horse,\\r\\nAnd there lacks work; anon he’s there afoot,\\r\\nAnd there they fly or die, like scaled sculls\\r\\nBefore the belching whale; then is he yonder,\\r\\nAnd there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge,\\r\\nFall down before him like the mower’s swath.\\r\\nHere, there, and everywhere, he leaves and takes;\\r\\nDexterity so obeying appetite\\r\\nThat what he will he does, and does so much\\r\\nThat proof is call’d impossibility.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ulysses.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nO, courage, courage, courage, Princes! Great Achilles\\r\\nIs arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance.\\r\\nPatroclus’ wounds have rous’d his drowsy blood,\\r\\nTogether with his mangled Myrmidons,\\r\\nThat noseless, handless, hack’d and chipp’d, come to him,\\r\\nCrying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend\\r\\nAnd foams at mouth, and he is arm’d and at it,\\r\\nRoaring for Troilus; who hath done today\\r\\nMad and fantastic execution,\\r\\nEngaging and redeeming of himself\\r\\nWith such a careless force and forceless care\\r\\nAs if that lust, in very spite of cunning,\\r\\nBade him win all.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nTroilus! thou coward Troilus!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nAy, there, there.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nSo, so, we draw together.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhere is this Hector?\\r\\nCome, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face;\\r\\nKnow what it is to meet Achilles angry.\\r\\nHector! where’s Hector? I will none but Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nTroilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy head.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Diomedes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nTroilus, I say! Where’s Troilus?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWhat wouldst thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI would correct him.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWere I the general, thou shouldst have my office\\r\\nEre that correction. Troilus, I say! What, Troilus!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO traitor Diomed! Turn thy false face, thou traitor,\\r\\nAnd pay thy life thou owest me for my horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nHa! art thou there?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI’ll fight with him alone. Stand, Diomed.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nHe is my prize. I will not look upon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCome, both, you cogging Greeks; have at you both!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt fighting_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nYea, Troilus? O, well fought, my youngest brother!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nNow do I see thee. Ha! have at thee, Hector!\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nPause, if thou wilt.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan.\\r\\nBe happy that my arms are out of use;\\r\\nMy rest and negligence befriend thee now,\\r\\nBut thou anon shalt hear of me again;\\r\\nTill when, go seek thy fortune.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nFare thee well.\\r\\nI would have been much more a fresher man,\\r\\nHad I expected thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, my brother!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAjax hath ta’en Aeneas. Shall it be?\\r\\nNo, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven,\\r\\nHe shall not carry him; I’ll be ta’en too,\\r\\nOr bring him off. Fate, hear me what I say:\\r\\nI reck not though thou end my life today.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter one in armour.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nStand, stand, thou Greek; thou art a goodly mark.\\r\\nNo? wilt thou not? I like thy armour well;\\r\\nI’ll frush it and unlock the rivets all\\r\\nBut I’ll be master of it. Wilt thou not, beast, abide?\\r\\nWhy then, fly on; I’ll hunt thee for thy hide.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles with Myrmidons.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nCome here about me, you my Myrmidons;\\r\\nMark what I say. Attend me where I wheel;\\r\\nStrike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath;\\r\\nAnd when I have the bloody Hector found,\\r\\nEmpale him with your weapons round about;\\r\\nIn fellest manner execute your arms.\\r\\nFollow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye.\\r\\nIt is decreed Hector the great must die.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Menelaus and Paris, fighting; then Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThe cuckold and the cuckold-maker are at it. Now, bull! Now, dog! ’Loo,\\r\\nParis, ’loo! now my double-hen’d Spartan! ’loo, Paris, ’loo! The bull\\r\\nhas the game. ’Ware horns, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Paris and Menelaus_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Margarelon.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARGARELON.\\r\\nTurn, slave, and fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWhat art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARGARELON.\\r\\nA bastard son of Priam’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI am a bastard too; I love bastards. I am a bastard begot, bastard\\r\\ninstructed, bastard in mind, bastard in valour, in everything\\r\\nillegitimate. One bear will not bite another, and wherefore should one\\r\\nbastard? Take heed, the quarrel’s most ominous to us: if the son of a\\r\\nwhore fight for a whore, he tempts judgement. Farewell, bastard.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMARGARELON.\\r\\nThe devil take thee, coward!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VIII. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nMost putrified core so fair without,\\r\\nThy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life.\\r\\nNow is my day’s work done; I’ll take my breath:\\r\\nRest, sword; thou hast thy fill of blood and death!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Disarms_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles and Myrmidons.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nLook, Hector, how the sun begins to set,\\r\\nHow ugly night comes breathing at his heels;\\r\\nEven with the vail and dark’ning of the sun,\\r\\nTo close the day up, Hector’s life is done.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI am unarm’d; forego this vantage, Greek.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nStrike, fellows, strike; this is the man I seek.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Hector falls_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSo, Ilion, fall thou next! Now, Troy, sink down;\\r\\nHere lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone.\\r\\nOn, Myrmidons, and cry you all amain\\r\\n‘Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.’\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A retreat sounded_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHark! a retire upon our Grecian part.\\r\\n\\r\\nMYRMIDON.\\r\\nThe Trojan trumpets sound the like, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nThe dragon wing of night o’erspreads the earth\\r\\nAnd, stickler-like, the armies separates.\\r\\nMy half-supp’d sword, that frankly would have fed,\\r\\nPleas’d with this dainty bait, thus goes to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sheathes his sword_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, tie his body to my horse’s tail;\\r\\nAlong the field I will the Trojan trail.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IX. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound retreat. Shout. Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Nestor,\\r\\n Diomedes and the rest, marching.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHark! hark! what shout is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nPeace, drums!\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLDIERS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Achilles! Achilles! Hector’s slain. Achilles!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nThe bruit is, Hector’s slain, and by Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nIf it be so, yet bragless let it be;\\r\\nGreat Hector was as good a man as he.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nMarch patiently along. Let one be sent\\r\\nTo pray Achilles see us at our tent.\\r\\nIf in his death the gods have us befriended;\\r\\nGreat Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE X. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Aeneas, Paris, Antenor and Deiphobus.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nStand, ho! yet are we masters of the field.\\r\\nNever go home; here starve we out the night.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHector is slain.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nHector! The gods forbid!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHe’s dead, and at the murderer’s horse’s tail,\\r\\nIn beastly sort, dragg’d through the shameful field.\\r\\nFrown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed.\\r\\nSit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy.\\r\\nI say at once let your brief plagues be mercy,\\r\\nAnd linger not our sure destructions on.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nMy lord, you do discomfort all the host.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYou understand me not that tell me so.\\r\\nI do not speak of flight, of fear of death,\\r\\nBut dare all imminence that gods and men\\r\\nAddress their dangers in. Hector is gone.\\r\\nWho shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba?\\r\\nLet him that will a screech-owl aye be call’d\\r\\nGo in to Troy, and say there ‘Hector’s dead.’\\r\\nThere is a word will Priam turn to stone;\\r\\nMake wells and Niobes of the maids and wives,\\r\\nCold statues of the youth; and, in a word,\\r\\nScare Troy out of itself. But, march away;\\r\\nHector is dead; there is no more to say.\\r\\nStay yet. You vile abominable tents,\\r\\nThus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains,\\r\\nLet Titan rise as early as he dare,\\r\\nI’ll through and through you. And, thou great-siz’d coward,\\r\\nNo space of earth shall sunder our two hates;\\r\\nI’ll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still,\\r\\nThat mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy’s thoughts.\\r\\nStrike a free march to Troy. With comfort go;\\r\\nHope of revenge shall hide our inward woe.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nBut hear you, hear you!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHence, broker-lackey. Ignominy and shame\\r\\nPursue thy life, and live aye with thy name!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but_ Pandarus.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nA goodly medicine for my aching bones! O world! world! Thus is the poor\\r\\nagent despis’d! O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a-work,\\r\\nand how ill requited! Why should our endeavour be so lov’d, and the\\r\\nperformance so loathed? What verse for it? What instance for it? Let me\\r\\nsee—\\r\\n\\r\\n Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing\\r\\n Till he hath lost his honey and his sting;\\r\\n And being once subdu’d in armed trail,\\r\\n Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail.\\r\\n\\r\\nGood traders in the flesh, set this in your painted cloths.\\r\\nAs many as be here of Pandar’s hall,\\r\\nYour eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar’s fall;\\r\\nOr, if you cannot weep, yet give some groans,\\r\\nThough not for me, yet for your aching bones.\\r\\nBrethren and sisters of the hold-door trade,\\r\\nSome two months hence my will shall here be made.\\r\\nIt should be now, but that my fear is this,\\r\\nSome galled goose of Winchester would hiss.\\r\\nTill then I’ll sweat and seek about for eases,\\r\\nAnd at that time bequeath you my diseases.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. An Apartment in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\nScene II. The sea-coast.\\r\\nScene III. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\nScene V. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. The sea-coast.\\r\\nScene II. A street.\\r\\nScene III. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\nScene V. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\nScene II. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene III. A street.\\r\\nScene IV. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. The Street before Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene II. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene III. Olivia’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. The Street before Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nORSINO, Duke of Illyria.\\r\\nVALENTINE, Gentleman attending on the Duke\\r\\nCURIO, Gentleman attending on the Duke\\r\\nVIOLA, in love with the Duke.\\r\\nSEBASTIAN, a young Gentleman, twin brother to Viola.\\r\\nA SEA CAPTAIN, friend to Viola\\r\\nANTONIO, a Sea Captain, friend to Sebastian.\\r\\nOLIVIA, a rich Countess.\\r\\nMARIA, Olivia’s Woman.\\r\\nSIR TOBY BELCH, Uncle of Olivia.\\r\\nSIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.\\r\\nMALVOLIO, Steward to Olivia.\\r\\nFABIAN, Servant to Olivia.\\r\\nCLOWN, Servant to Olivia.\\r\\nPRIEST\\r\\nLords, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and other Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: A City in Illyria; and the Sea-coast near it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. An Apartment in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Orsino, Duke of Illyria, Curio, and other Lords; Musicians\\r\\n attending.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nIf music be the food of love, play on,\\r\\nGive me excess of it; that, surfeiting,\\r\\nThe appetite may sicken and so die.\\r\\nThat strain again, it had a dying fall;\\r\\nO, it came o’er my ear like the sweet sound\\r\\nThat breathes upon a bank of violets,\\r\\nStealing and giving odour. Enough; no more;\\r\\n’Tis not so sweet now as it was before.\\r\\nO spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou,\\r\\nThat notwithstanding thy capacity\\r\\nReceiveth as the sea, nought enters there,\\r\\nOf what validity and pitch soever,\\r\\nBut falls into abatement and low price\\r\\nEven in a minute! So full of shapes is fancy,\\r\\nThat it alone is high fantastical.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURIO.\\r\\nWill you go hunt, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat, Curio?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURIO.\\r\\nThe hart.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhy so I do, the noblest that I have.\\r\\nO, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,\\r\\nMethought she purg’d the air of pestilence;\\r\\nThat instant was I turn’d into a hart,\\r\\nAnd my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,\\r\\nE’er since pursue me. How now? what news from her?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Valentine.\\r\\n\\r\\nVALENTINE.\\r\\nSo please my lord, I might not be admitted,\\r\\nBut from her handmaid do return this answer:\\r\\nThe element itself, till seven years’ heat,\\r\\nShall not behold her face at ample view;\\r\\nBut like a cloistress she will veiled walk,\\r\\nAnd water once a day her chamber round\\r\\nWith eye-offending brine: all this to season\\r\\nA brother’s dead love, which she would keep fresh\\r\\nAnd lasting in her sad remembrance.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO, she that hath a heart of that fine frame\\r\\nTo pay this debt of love but to a brother,\\r\\nHow will she love, when the rich golden shaft\\r\\nHath kill’d the flock of all affections else\\r\\nThat live in her; when liver, brain, and heart,\\r\\nThese sovereign thrones, are all supplied and fill’d\\r\\nHer sweet perfections with one self king!\\r\\nAway before me to sweet beds of flowers,\\r\\nLove-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The sea-coast.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Viola, a Captain and Sailors.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhat country, friends, is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nThis is Illyria, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd what should I do in Illyria?\\r\\nMy brother he is in Elysium.\\r\\nPerchance he is not drown’d. What think you, sailors?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nIt is perchance that you yourself were sav’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nO my poor brother! and so perchance may he be.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nTrue, madam; and to comfort you with chance,\\r\\nAssure yourself, after our ship did split,\\r\\nWhen you, and those poor number sav’d with you,\\r\\nHung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,\\r\\nMost provident in peril, bind himself,\\r\\n(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice)\\r\\nTo a strong mast that liv’d upon the sea;\\r\\nWhere, like Arion on the dolphin’s back,\\r\\nI saw him hold acquaintance with the waves\\r\\nSo long as I could see.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nFor saying so, there’s gold!\\r\\nMine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,\\r\\nWhereto thy speech serves for authority,\\r\\nThe like of him. Know’st thou this country?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nAy, madam, well, for I was bred and born\\r\\nNot three hours’ travel from this very place.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWho governs here?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nA noble duke, in nature as in name.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhat is his name?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nOrsino.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nOrsino! I have heard my father name him.\\r\\nHe was a bachelor then.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nAnd so is now, or was so very late;\\r\\nFor but a month ago I went from hence,\\r\\nAnd then ’twas fresh in murmur, (as, you know,\\r\\nWhat great ones do, the less will prattle of)\\r\\nThat he did seek the love of fair Olivia.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhat’s she?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nA virtuous maid, the daughter of a count\\r\\nThat died some twelvemonth since; then leaving her\\r\\nIn the protection of his son, her brother,\\r\\nWho shortly also died; for whose dear love\\r\\nThey say, she hath abjur’d the company\\r\\nAnd sight of men.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nO that I served that lady,\\r\\nAnd might not be delivered to the world,\\r\\nTill I had made mine own occasion mellow,\\r\\nWhat my estate is.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nThat were hard to compass,\\r\\nBecause she will admit no kind of suit,\\r\\nNo, not the Duke’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThere is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain;\\r\\nAnd though that nature with a beauteous wall\\r\\nDoth oft close in pollution, yet of thee\\r\\nI will believe thou hast a mind that suits\\r\\nWith this thy fair and outward character.\\r\\nI pray thee, and I’ll pay thee bounteously,\\r\\nConceal me what I am, and be my aid\\r\\nFor such disguise as haply shall become\\r\\nThe form of my intent. I’ll serve this duke;\\r\\nThou shalt present me as an eunuch to him.\\r\\nIt may be worth thy pains; for I can sing,\\r\\nAnd speak to him in many sorts of music,\\r\\nThat will allow me very worth his service.\\r\\nWhat else may hap, to time I will commit;\\r\\nOnly shape thou thy silence to my wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nBe you his eunuch and your mute I’ll be;\\r\\nWhen my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI thank thee. Lead me on.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat a plague means my niece to take the death of her brother thus? I\\r\\nam sure care’s an enemy to life.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nBy my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o’ nights; your cousin,\\r\\nmy lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, let her except, before excepted.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAy, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nConfine? I’ll confine myself no finer than I am. These clothes are good\\r\\nenough to drink in, and so be these boots too; and they be not, let\\r\\nthem hang themselves in their own straps.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThat quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard my lady talk of it\\r\\nyesterday; and of a foolish knight that you brought in one night here\\r\\nto be her wooer.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWho? Sir Andrew Aguecheek?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAy, he.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHe’s as tall a man as any’s in Illyria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nWhat’s that to th’ purpose?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, he has three thousand ducats a year.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAy, but he’ll have but a year in all these ducats. He’s a very fool,\\r\\nand a prodigal.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nFie, that you’ll say so! he plays o’ the viol-de-gamboys, and speaks\\r\\nthree or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the\\r\\ngood gifts of nature.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nHe hath indeed, almost natural: for, besides that he’s a fool, he’s a\\r\\ngreat quarreller; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay\\r\\nthe gust he hath in quarrelling, ’tis thought among the prudent he\\r\\nwould quickly have the gift of a grave.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nBy this hand, they are scoundrels and substractors that say so of him.\\r\\nWho are they?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThey that add, moreover, he’s drunk nightly in your company.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWith drinking healths to my niece; I’ll drink to her as long as there\\r\\nis a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria. He’s a coward and a\\r\\ncoystril that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o’ the\\r\\ntoe like a parish top. What, wench! _Castiliano vulgo:_ for here comes\\r\\nSir Andrew Agueface.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGUECHEEK.\\r\\nSir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nSweet Sir Andrew!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBless you, fair shrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAnd you too, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAccost, Sir Andrew, accost.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhat’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMy niece’s chamber-maid.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nGood Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMy name is Mary, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nGood Mistress Mary Accost,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nYou mistake, knight: accost is front her, board her, woo her, assail\\r\\nher.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBy my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the\\r\\nmeaning of accost?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nFare you well, gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never draw sword\\r\\nagain.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair\\r\\nlady, do you think you have fools in hand?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nSir, I have not you by the hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nMarry, but you shall have, and here’s my hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNow, sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring your hand to th’ buttery\\r\\nbar and let it drink.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWherefore, sweetheart? What’s your metaphor?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nIt’s dry, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhy, I think so; I am not such an ass but I can keep my hand dry. But\\r\\nwhat’s your jest?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nA dry jest, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAre you full of them?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAy, sir, I have them at my fingers’ ends: marry, now I let go your\\r\\nhand, I am barren.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nO knight, thou lack’st a cup of canary: When did I see thee so put\\r\\ndown?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNever in your life, I think, unless you see canary put me down.\\r\\nMethinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary\\r\\nman has; but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm\\r\\nto my wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nNo question.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd I thought that, I’d forswear it. I’ll ride home tomorrow, Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Pourquoy_, my dear knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhat is _pourquoy?_ Do, or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in\\r\\nthe tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting. O, had I\\r\\nbut followed the arts!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThen hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhy, would that have mended my hair?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPast question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBut it becomes me well enough, does’t not?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nExcellent, it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I hope to see a\\r\\nhouswife take thee between her legs, and spin it off.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFaith, I’ll home tomorrow, Sir Toby; your niece will not be seen, or if\\r\\nshe be, it’s four to one she’ll none of me; the Count himself here hard\\r\\nby woos her.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nShe’ll none o’ the Count; she’ll not match above her degree, neither in\\r\\nestate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear’t. Tut, there’s life\\r\\nin’t, man.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI’ll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o’ the strangest mind i’ the\\r\\nworld; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nArt thou good at these kick-shawses, knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAs any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my\\r\\nbetters; and yet I will not compare with an old man.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFaith, I can cut a caper.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd I can cut the mutton to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in\\r\\nIllyria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWherefore are these things hid? Wherefore have these gifts a curtain\\r\\nbefore ’em? Are they like to take dust, like Mistress Mall’s picture?\\r\\nWhy dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a\\r\\ncoranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not so much as make\\r\\nwater but in a sink-a-pace. What dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide\\r\\nvirtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it\\r\\nwas formed under the star of a galliard.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAy, ’tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a dam’d-colour’d\\r\\nstock. Shall we set about some revels?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat shall we do else? Were we not born under Taurus?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nTaurus? That’s sides and heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nNo, sir, it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper. Ha, higher: ha,\\r\\nha, excellent!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Valentine and Viola in man’s attire.\\r\\n\\r\\nVALENTINE.\\r\\nIf the duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like\\r\\nto be much advanced; he hath known you but three days, and already you\\r\\nare no stranger.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nYou either fear his humour or my negligence, that you call in question\\r\\nthe continuance of his love. Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours?\\r\\n\\r\\nVALENTINE.\\r\\nNo, believe me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Duke, Curio and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI thank you. Here comes the Count.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWho saw Cesario, ho?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nOn your attendance, my lord, here.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nStand you awhile aloof.—Cesario,\\r\\nThou know’st no less but all; I have unclasp’d\\r\\nTo thee the book even of my secret soul.\\r\\nTherefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her,\\r\\nBe not denied access, stand at her doors,\\r\\nAnd tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow\\r\\nTill thou have audience.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSure, my noble lord,\\r\\nIf she be so abandon’d to her sorrow\\r\\nAs it is spoke, she never will admit me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBe clamorous and leap all civil bounds,\\r\\nRather than make unprofited return.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSay I do speak with her, my lord, what then?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO then unfold the passion of my love,\\r\\nSurprise her with discourse of my dear faith;\\r\\nIt shall become thee well to act my woes;\\r\\nShe will attend it better in thy youth,\\r\\nThan in a nuncio’s of more grave aspect.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI think not so, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nDear lad, believe it;\\r\\nFor they shall yet belie thy happy years,\\r\\nThat say thou art a man: Diana’s lip\\r\\nIs not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe\\r\\nIs as the maiden’s organ, shrill and sound,\\r\\nAnd all is semblative a woman’s part.\\r\\nI know thy constellation is right apt\\r\\nFor this affair. Some four or five attend him:\\r\\nAll, if you will; for I myself am best\\r\\nWhen least in company. Prosper well in this,\\r\\nAnd thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,\\r\\nTo call his fortunes thine.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI’ll do my best\\r\\nTo woo your lady. [_Aside._] Yet, a barful strife!\\r\\nWhoe’er I woo, myself would be his wife.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay; either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips so\\r\\nwide as a bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse: my lady will hang\\r\\nthee for thy absence.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLet her hang me: he that is well hanged in this world needs to fear no\\r\\ncolours.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMake that good.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe shall see none to fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nA good lenten answer. I can tell thee where that saying was born, of I\\r\\nfear no colours.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhere, good Mistress Mary?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nIn the wars, and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWell, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let\\r\\nthem use their talents.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nYet you will be hanged for being so long absent; or to be turned away;\\r\\nis not that as good as a hanging to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMany a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and for turning away, let\\r\\nsummer bear it out.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nYou are resolute then?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot so, neither, but I am resolved on two points.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThat if one break, the other will hold; or if both break, your gaskins\\r\\nfall.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nApt, in good faith, very apt! Well, go thy way; if Sir Toby would leave\\r\\ndrinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve’s flesh as any in Illyria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nPeace, you rogue, no more o’ that. Here comes my lady: make your excuse\\r\\nwisely, you were best.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia with Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWit, and’t be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits that think\\r\\nthey have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I that am sure I lack\\r\\nthee, may pass for a wise man. For what says Quinapalus? Better a witty\\r\\nfool than a foolish wit. God bless thee, lady!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nTake the fool away.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nDo you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGo to, y’are a dry fool; I’ll no more of you. Besides, you grow\\r\\ndishonest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTwo faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend: for give\\r\\nthe dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest man\\r\\nmend himself, if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let\\r\\nthe botcher mend him. Anything that’s mended is but patched; virtue\\r\\nthat transgresses is but patched with sin, and sin that amends is but\\r\\npatched with virtue. If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if\\r\\nit will not, what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so\\r\\nbeauty’s a flower. The lady bade take away the fool, therefore, I say\\r\\nagain, take her away.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSir, I bade them take away you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMisprision in the highest degree! Lady, _cucullus non facit monachum:_\\r\\nthat’s as much to say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna,\\r\\ngive me leave to prove you a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nCan you do it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nDexteriously, good madonna.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nMake your proof.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI must catechize you for it, madonna. Good my mouse of virtue, answer\\r\\nme.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWell sir, for want of other idleness, I’ll ’bide your proof.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGood madonna, why mourn’st thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGood fool, for my brother’s death.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI think his soul is in hell, madonna.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI know his soul is in heaven, fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThe more fool you, madonna, to mourn for your brother’s soul being in\\r\\nheaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nYes; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him. Infirmity, that\\r\\ndecays the wise, doth ever make the better fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGod send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your\\r\\nfolly! Sir Toby will be sworn that I am no fox; but he will not pass\\r\\nhis word for twopence that you are no fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHow say you to that, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal; I saw him\\r\\nput down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain\\r\\nthan a stone. Look you now, he’s out of his guard already; unless you\\r\\nlaugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest I take\\r\\nthese wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than\\r\\nthe fools’ zanies.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered\\r\\nappetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to\\r\\ntake those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon bullets. There is\\r\\nno slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no\\r\\nrailing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNow Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speak’st well of fools!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMadam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much desires to speak\\r\\nwith you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nFrom the Count Orsino, is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nI know not, madam; ’tis a fair young man, and well attended.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWho of my people hold him in delay?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nSir Toby, madam, your kinsman.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nFetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman. Fie on him!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGo you, Malvolio. If it be a suit from the Count, I am sick, or not at\\r\\nhome. What you will, to dismiss it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Malvolio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool:\\r\\nwhose skull Jove cram with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin\\r\\nhas a most weak _pia mater_.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nBy mine honour, half drunk. What is he at the gate, cousin?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nA gentleman? What gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n’Tis a gentleman here. A plague o’ these pickle-herrings! How now, sot?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGood Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nCousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLechery! I defy lechery. There’s one at the gate.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAy, marry, what is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLet him be the devil an he will, I care not: give me faith, say I.\\r\\nWell, it’s all one.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat’s a drunken man like, fool?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLike a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes\\r\\nhim a fool, the second mads him, and a third drowns him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGo thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit o’ my coz; for he’s in\\r\\nthe third degree of drink; he’s drowned. Go, look after him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look to the madman.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMadam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you\\r\\nwere sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes\\r\\nto speak with you. I told him you were asleep; he seems to have a\\r\\nforeknowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What\\r\\nis to be said to him, lady? He’s fortified against any denial.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nTell him, he shall not speak with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nHas been told so; and he says he’ll stand at your door like a sheriff’s\\r\\npost, and be the supporter of a bench, but he’ll speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat kind o’ man is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nWhy, of mankind.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat manner of man?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nOf very ill manner; he’ll speak with you, will you or no.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nOf what personage and years is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nNot yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash\\r\\nis before ’tis a peascod, or a codling, when ’tis almost an apple. ’Tis\\r\\nwith him in standing water, between boy and man. He is very\\r\\nwell-favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly. One would think his\\r\\nmother’s milk were scarce out of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nLet him approach. Call in my gentlewoman.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGentlewoman, my lady calls.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGive me my veil; come, throw it o’er my face.\\r\\nWe’ll once more hear Orsino’s embassy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Viola.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThe honourable lady of the house, which is she?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSpeak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMost radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty,—I pray you, tell me if\\r\\nthis be the lady of the house, for I never saw her. I would be loath to\\r\\ncast away my speech; for besides that it is excellently well penned, I\\r\\nhave taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no\\r\\nscorn; I am very comptible, even to the least sinister usage.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhence came you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI can say little more than I have studied, and that question’s out of\\r\\nmy part. Good gentle one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady\\r\\nof the house, that I may proceed in my speech.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAre you a comedian?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNo, my profound heart: and yet, by the very fangs of malice I swear, I\\r\\nam not that I play. Are you the lady of the house?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIf I do not usurp myself, I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMost certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what is yours\\r\\nto bestow is not yours to reserve. But this is from my commission. I\\r\\nwill on with my speech in your praise, and then show you the heart of\\r\\nmy message.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nCome to what is important in’t: I forgive you the praise.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAlas, I took great pains to study it, and ’tis poetical.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIt is the more like to be feigned; I pray you keep it in. I heard you\\r\\nwere saucy at my gates; and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at\\r\\nyou than to hear you. If you be mad, be gone; if you have reason, be\\r\\nbrief: ’tis not that time of moon with me to make one in so skipping a\\r\\ndialogue.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nWill you hoist sail, sir? Here lies your way.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNo, good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification\\r\\nfor your giant, sweet lady. Tell me your mind. I am a messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it\\r\\nis so fearful. Speak your office.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIt alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of\\r\\nhomage; I hold the olive in my hand: my words are as full of peace as\\r\\nmatter.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nYet you began rudely. What are you? What would you?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThe rudeness that hath appeared in me have I learned from my\\r\\nentertainment. What I am and what I would are as secret as maidenhead:\\r\\nto your ears, divinity; to any other’s, profanation.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGive us the place alone: we will hear this divinity.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, sir, what is your text?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMost sweet lady—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nA comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your\\r\\ntext?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIn Orsino’s bosom.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIn his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nTo answer by the method, in the first of his heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nGood madam, let me see your face.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHave you any commission from your lord to negotiate with my face? You\\r\\nare now out of your text: but we will draw the curtain and show you the\\r\\npicture. [_Unveiling._] Look you, sir, such a one I was this present.\\r\\nIs’t not well done?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nExcellently done, if God did all.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\n’Tis in grain, sir; ’twill endure wind and weather.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n’Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white\\r\\nNature’s own sweet and cunning hand laid on.\\r\\nLady, you are the cruel’st she alive\\r\\nIf you will lead these graces to the grave,\\r\\nAnd leave the world no copy.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give out divers schedules\\r\\nof my beauty. It shall be inventoried and every particle and utensil\\r\\nlabelled to my will: as, item, two lips indifferent red; item, two grey\\r\\neyes with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were\\r\\nyou sent hither to praise me?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI see you what you are, you are too proud;\\r\\nBut, if you were the devil, you are fair.\\r\\nMy lord and master loves you. O, such love\\r\\nCould be but recompens’d though you were crown’d\\r\\nThe nonpareil of beauty!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHow does he love me?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWith adorations, fertile tears,\\r\\nWith groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nYour lord does know my mind, I cannot love him:\\r\\nYet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,\\r\\nOf great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;\\r\\nIn voices well divulg’d, free, learn’d, and valiant,\\r\\nAnd in dimension and the shape of nature,\\r\\nA gracious person. But yet I cannot love him.\\r\\nHe might have took his answer long ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIf I did love you in my master’s flame,\\r\\nWith such a suff’ring, such a deadly life,\\r\\nIn your denial I would find no sense,\\r\\nI would not understand it.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy, what would you?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMake me a willow cabin at your gate,\\r\\nAnd call upon my soul within the house;\\r\\nWrite loyal cantons of contemned love,\\r\\nAnd sing them loud even in the dead of night;\\r\\nHallow your name to the reverberate hills,\\r\\nAnd make the babbling gossip of the air\\r\\nCry out Olivia! O, you should not rest\\r\\nBetween the elements of air and earth,\\r\\nBut you should pity me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nYou might do much.\\r\\nWhat is your parentage?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAbove my fortunes, yet my state is well:\\r\\nI am a gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGet you to your lord;\\r\\nI cannot love him: let him send no more,\\r\\nUnless, perchance, you come to me again,\\r\\nTo tell me how he takes it. Fare you well:\\r\\nI thank you for your pains: spend this for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI am no fee’d post, lady; keep your purse;\\r\\nMy master, not myself, lacks recompense.\\r\\nLove make his heart of flint that you shall love,\\r\\nAnd let your fervour like my master’s be\\r\\nPlac’d in contempt. Farewell, fair cruelty.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat is your parentage?\\r\\n‘Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:\\r\\nI am a gentleman.’ I’ll be sworn thou art;\\r\\nThy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,\\r\\nDo give thee five-fold blazon. Not too fast: soft, soft!\\r\\nUnless the master were the man. How now?\\r\\nEven so quickly may one catch the plague?\\r\\nMethinks I feel this youth’s perfections\\r\\nWith an invisible and subtle stealth\\r\\nTo creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.\\r\\nWhat ho, Malvolio!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nHere, madam, at your service.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nRun after that same peevish messenger\\r\\nThe County’s man: he left this ring behind him,\\r\\nWould I or not; tell him, I’ll none of it.\\r\\nDesire him not to flatter with his lord,\\r\\nNor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him.\\r\\nIf that the youth will come this way tomorrow,\\r\\nI’ll give him reasons for’t. Hie thee, Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMadam, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI do I know not what, and fear to find\\r\\nMine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.\\r\\nFate, show thy force, ourselves we do not owe.\\r\\nWhat is decreed must be; and be this so!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The sea-coast.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio and Sebastian.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWill you stay no longer? Nor will you not that I go with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nBy your patience, no; my stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of\\r\\nmy fate might perhaps distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you\\r\\nyour leave that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompense for\\r\\nyour love, to lay any of them on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLet me know of you whither you are bound.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nNo, sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I\\r\\nperceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not\\r\\nextort from me what I am willing to keep in. Therefore it charges me in\\r\\nmanners the rather to express myself. You must know of me then,\\r\\nAntonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Roderigo; my father was\\r\\nthat Sebastian of Messaline whom I know you have heard of. He left\\r\\nbehind him myself and a sister, both born in an hour. If the heavens\\r\\nhad been pleased, would we had so ended! But you, sir, altered that,\\r\\nfor some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea was my\\r\\nsister drowned.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAlas the day!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many\\r\\naccounted beautiful. But though I could not with such estimable wonder\\r\\noverfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore\\r\\na mind that envy could not but call fair. She is drowned already, sir,\\r\\nwith salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with\\r\\nmore.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nPardon me, sir, your bad entertainment.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nO good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIf you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nIf you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you\\r\\nhave recovered, desire it not. Fare ye well at once; my bosom is full\\r\\nof kindness, and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that upon\\r\\nthe least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to\\r\\nthe Count Orsino’s court: farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe gentleness of all the gods go with thee!\\r\\nI have many enemies in Orsino’s court,\\r\\nElse would I very shortly see thee there:\\r\\nBut come what may, I do adore thee so,\\r\\nThat danger shall seem sport, and I will go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Viola; Malvolio at several doors.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nWere you not even now with the Countess Olivia?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nEven now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nShe returns this ring to you, sir; you might have saved me my pains, to\\r\\nhave taken it away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you should put\\r\\nyour lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him. And one\\r\\nthing more, that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs,\\r\\nunless it be to report your lord’s taking of this. Receive it so.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nShe took the ring of me: I’ll none of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nCome sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is it should be\\r\\nso returned. If it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if\\r\\nnot, be it his that finds it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI left no ring with her; what means this lady?\\r\\nFortune forbid my outside have not charm’d her!\\r\\nShe made good view of me, indeed, so much,\\r\\nThat methought her eyes had lost her tongue,\\r\\nFor she did speak in starts distractedly.\\r\\nShe loves me, sure, the cunning of her passion\\r\\nInvites me in this churlish messenger.\\r\\nNone of my lord’s ring? Why, he sent her none.\\r\\nI am the man; if it be so, as ’tis,\\r\\nPoor lady, she were better love a dream.\\r\\nDisguise, I see thou art a wickedness\\r\\nWherein the pregnant enemy does much.\\r\\nHow easy is it for the proper false\\r\\nIn women’s waxen hearts to set their forms!\\r\\nAlas, our frailty is the cause, not we,\\r\\nFor such as we are made of, such we be.\\r\\nHow will this fadge? My master loves her dearly,\\r\\nAnd I, poor monster, fond as much on him,\\r\\nAnd she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.\\r\\nWhat will become of this? As I am man,\\r\\nMy state is desperate for my master’s love;\\r\\nAs I am woman (now alas the day!)\\r\\nWhat thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe!\\r\\nO time, thou must untangle this, not I,\\r\\nIt is too hard a knot for me t’untie!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nApproach, Sir Andrew; not to be abed after midnight, is to be up\\r\\nbetimes; and _diluculo surgere_, thou know’st.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNay, by my troth, I know not; but I know to be up late is to be up\\r\\nlate.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA false conclusion; I hate it as an unfilled can. To be up after\\r\\nmidnight, and to go to bed then is early: so that to go to bed after\\r\\nmidnight is to go to bed betimes. Does not our lives consist of the\\r\\nfour elements?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFaith, so they say, but I think it rather consists of eating and\\r\\ndrinking.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTh’art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.\\r\\nMarian, I say! a stoup of wine.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nHere comes the fool, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHow now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of “we three”?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWelcome, ass. Now let’s have a catch.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBy my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty\\r\\nshillings I had such a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool\\r\\nhas. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night when thou\\r\\nspok’st of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of\\r\\nQueubus; ’twas very good, i’ faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman.\\r\\nHadst it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio’s nose is no whipstock. My\\r\\nlady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nExcellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a\\r\\nsong.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome on, there is sixpence for you. Let’s have a song.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nThere’s a testril of me too: if one knight give a—\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWould you have a love-song, or a song of good life?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA love-song, a love-song.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAy, ay. I care not for good life.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN. [_sings._]\\r\\n _O mistress mine, where are you roaming?\\r\\n O stay and hear, your true love’s coming,\\r\\n That can sing both high and low.\\r\\n Trip no further, pretty sweeting.\\r\\n Journeys end in lovers meeting,\\r\\n Every wise man’s son doth know._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nExcellent good, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGood, good.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n _What is love? ’Tis not hereafter,\\r\\n Present mirth hath present laughter.\\r\\n What’s to come is still unsure.\\r\\n In delay there lies no plenty,\\r\\n Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty.\\r\\n Youth’s a stuff will not endure._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nA mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA contagious breath.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nVery sweet and contagious, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the\\r\\nwelkin dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch that will\\r\\ndraw three souls out of one weaver? Shall we do that?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd you love me, let’s do’t: I am dog at a catch.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBy’r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nMost certain. Let our catch be, “Thou knave.”\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n“Hold thy peace, thou knave” knight? I shall be constrain’d in’t to\\r\\ncall thee knave, knight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call me knave. Begin,\\r\\nfool; it begins “Hold thy peace.”\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI shall never begin if I hold my peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nGood, i’ faith! Come, begin.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Catch sung._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nWhat a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not called up her\\r\\nsteward Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMy lady’s a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio’s a Peg-a-Ramsey, and\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Three merry men be we._ Am not I consanguineous? Am I not\\r\\nof her blood? Tilly-vally! “Lady”! _There dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady,\\r\\nLady._\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBeshrew me, the knight’s in admirable fooling.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAy, he does well enough if he be disposed, and so do I too; he does it\\r\\nwith a better grace, but I do it more natural.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _O’ the twelfth day of December—_\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nFor the love o’ God, peace!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMy masters, are you mad? Or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor\\r\\nhonesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make\\r\\nan ale-house of my lady’s house, that ye squeak out your coziers’\\r\\ncatches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect\\r\\nof place, persons, nor time, in you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWe did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you that,\\r\\nthough she harbours you as her kinsman she’s nothing allied to your\\r\\ndisorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanours, you are\\r\\nwelcome to the house; if not, and it would please you to take leave of\\r\\nher, she is very willing to bid you farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone._\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay, good Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _His eyes do show his days are almost done._\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nIs’t even so?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _But I will never die._\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Sir Toby, there you lie._\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nThis is much credit to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Shall I bid him go?_\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _What and if you do?_\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Shall I bid him go, and spare not?_\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _O, no, no, no, no, you dare not._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nOut o’ tune? sir, ye lie. Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think,\\r\\nbecause thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i’ the mouth too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTh’art i’ the right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs. A stoup of\\r\\nwine, Maria!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMistress Mary, if you prized my lady’s favour at anything more than\\r\\ncontempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule; she shall\\r\\nknow of it, by this hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nGo shake your ears.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man’s a-hungry, to challenge\\r\\nhim the field, and then to break promise with him and make a fool of\\r\\nhim.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nDo’t, knight. I’ll write thee a challenge; or I’ll deliver thy\\r\\nindignation to him by word of mouth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nSweet Sir Toby, be patient for tonight. Since the youth of the Count’s\\r\\nwas today with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur\\r\\nMalvolio, let me alone with him. If I do not gull him into a nayword,\\r\\nand make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie\\r\\nstraight in my bed. I know I can do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPossess us, possess us, tell us something of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMarry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nO, if I thought that, I’d beat him like a dog.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat, for being a Puritan? Thy exquisite reason, dear knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI have no exquisite reason for’t, but I have reason good enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThe devil a Puritan that he is, or anything constantly but a\\r\\ntime-pleaser, an affectioned ass that cons state without book and\\r\\nutters it by great swarths; the best persuaded of himself, so crammed\\r\\n(as he thinks) with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith that\\r\\nall that look on him love him. And on that vice in him will my revenge\\r\\nfind notable cause to work.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat wilt thou do?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nI will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love, wherein by the\\r\\ncolour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the\\r\\nexpressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself\\r\\nmost feelingly personated. I can write very like my lady your niece; on\\r\\na forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nExcellent! I smell a device.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI have’t in my nose too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHe shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from\\r\\nmy niece, and that she is in love with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMy purpose is indeed a horse of that colour.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd your horse now would make him an ass.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAss, I doubt not.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nO ’twill be admirable!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nSport royal, I warrant you. I know my physic will work with him. I will\\r\\nplant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the\\r\\nletter. Observe his construction of it. For this night, to bed, and\\r\\ndream on the event. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGood night, Penthesilea.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBefore me, she’s a good wench.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nShe’s a beagle true bred, and one that adores me. What o’ that?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI was adored once too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLet’s to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for more money.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nIf I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nSend for money, knight; if thou hast her not i’ th’ end, call me cut.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nIf I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, come, I’ll go burn some sack, ’tis too late to go to bed now.\\r\\nCome, knight, come, knight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Duke, Viola, Curio and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGive me some music. Now, good morrow, friends.\\r\\nNow, good Cesario, but that piece of song,\\r\\nThat old and antique song we heard last night;\\r\\nMethought it did relieve my passion much,\\r\\nMore than light airs and recollected terms\\r\\nOf these most brisk and giddy-paced times.\\r\\nCome, but one verse.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURIO.\\r\\nHe is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWho was it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURIO.\\r\\nFeste, the jester, my lord, a fool that the Lady Olivia’s father took\\r\\nmuch delight in. He is about the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nSeek him out, and play the tune the while.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Curio. Music plays._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome hither, boy. If ever thou shalt love,\\r\\nIn the sweet pangs of it remember me:\\r\\nFor such as I am, all true lovers are,\\r\\nUnstaid and skittish in all motions else,\\r\\nSave in the constant image of the creature\\r\\nThat is belov’d. How dost thou like this tune?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIt gives a very echo to the seat\\r\\nWhere love is throned.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThou dost speak masterly.\\r\\nMy life upon’t, young though thou art, thine eye\\r\\nHath stayed upon some favour that it loves.\\r\\nHath it not, boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nA little, by your favour.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat kind of woman is’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nOf your complexion.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nShe is not worth thee, then. What years, i’ faith?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAbout your years, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nToo old, by heaven! Let still the woman take\\r\\nAn elder than herself; so wears she to him,\\r\\nSo sways she level in her husband’s heart.\\r\\nFor, boy, however we do praise ourselves,\\r\\nOur fancies are more giddy and unfirm,\\r\\nMore longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,\\r\\nThan women’s are.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI think it well, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThen let thy love be younger than thyself,\\r\\nOr thy affection cannot hold the bent:\\r\\nFor women are as roses, whose fair flower\\r\\nBeing once display’d, doth fall that very hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd so they are: alas, that they are so;\\r\\nTo die, even when they to perfection grow!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Curio and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO, fellow, come, the song we had last night.\\r\\nMark it, Cesario, it is old and plain;\\r\\nThe spinsters and the knitters in the sun,\\r\\nAnd the free maids, that weave their thread with bones\\r\\nDo use to chant it: it is silly sooth,\\r\\nAnd dallies with the innocence of love\\r\\nLike the old age.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAre you ready, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAy; prithee, sing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\n The Clown’s song.\\r\\n\\r\\n_ Come away, come away, death.\\r\\n And in sad cypress let me be laid.\\r\\n Fly away, fly away, breath;\\r\\n I am slain by a fair cruel maid.\\r\\n My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,\\r\\n O, prepare it!\\r\\n My part of death no one so true\\r\\n Did share it._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ Not a flower, not a flower sweet,\\r\\n On my black coffin let there be strown:\\r\\n Not a friend, not a friend greet\\r\\n My poor corpse where my bones shall be thrown:\\r\\n A thousand thousand sighs to save,\\r\\n Lay me, O, where\\r\\n Sad true lover never find my grave,\\r\\n To weep there._\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThere’s for thy pains.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI’ll pay thy pleasure, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTruly sir, and pleasure will be paid one time or another.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGive me now leave to leave thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNow the melancholy god protect thee, and the tailor make thy doublet of\\r\\nchangeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal. I would have men of\\r\\nsuch constancy put to sea, that their business might be everything, and\\r\\ntheir intent everywhere, for that’s it that always makes a good voyage\\r\\nof nothing. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nLet all the rest give place.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Curio and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOnce more, Cesario,\\r\\nGet thee to yond same sovereign cruelty.\\r\\nTell her my love, more noble than the world,\\r\\nPrizes not quantity of dirty lands;\\r\\nThe parts that fortune hath bestow’d upon her,\\r\\nTell her I hold as giddily as fortune;\\r\\nBut ’tis that miracle and queen of gems\\r\\nThat nature pranks her in attracts my soul.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nBut if she cannot love you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI cannot be so answer’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSooth, but you must.\\r\\nSay that some lady, as perhaps there is,\\r\\nHath for your love as great a pang of heart\\r\\nAs you have for Olivia: you cannot love her;\\r\\nYou tell her so. Must she not then be answer’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThere is no woman’s sides\\r\\nCan bide the beating of so strong a passion\\r\\nAs love doth give my heart: no woman’s heart\\r\\nSo big, to hold so much; they lack retention.\\r\\nAlas, their love may be called appetite,\\r\\nNo motion of the liver, but the palate,\\r\\nThat suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt;\\r\\nBut mine is all as hungry as the sea,\\r\\nAnd can digest as much. Make no compare\\r\\nBetween that love a woman can bear me\\r\\nAnd that I owe Olivia.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAy, but I know—\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat dost thou know?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nToo well what love women to men may owe.\\r\\nIn faith, they are as true of heart as we.\\r\\nMy father had a daughter loved a man,\\r\\nAs it might be perhaps, were I a woman,\\r\\nI should your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAnd what’s her history?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nA blank, my lord. She never told her love,\\r\\nBut let concealment, like a worm i’ th’ bud,\\r\\nFeed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought,\\r\\nAnd with a green and yellow melancholy\\r\\nShe sat like patience on a monument,\\r\\nSmiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed?\\r\\nWe men may say more, swear more, but indeed,\\r\\nOur shows are more than will; for still we prove\\r\\nMuch in our vows, but little in our love.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBut died thy sister of her love, my boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI am all the daughters of my father’s house,\\r\\nAnd all the brothers too: and yet I know not.\\r\\nSir, shall I to this lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAy, that’s the theme.\\r\\nTo her in haste. Give her this jewel; say\\r\\nMy love can give no place, bide no denay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome thy ways, Signior Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNay, I’ll come. If I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boiled to\\r\\ndeath with melancholy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter\\r\\ncome by some notable shame?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nI would exult, man. You know he brought me out o’ favour with my lady\\r\\nabout a bear-baiting here.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo anger him we’ll have the bear again, and we will fool him black and\\r\\nblue, shall we not, Sir Andrew?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd we do not, it is pity of our lives.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHere comes the little villain. How now, my metal of India?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nGet ye all three into the box-tree. Malvolio’s coming down this walk;\\r\\nhe has been yonder i’ the sun practising behaviour to his own shadow\\r\\nthis half hour: observe him, for the love of mockery; for I know this\\r\\nletter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of\\r\\njesting! [_The men hide themselves._] Lie thou there; [_Throws down a\\r\\nletter_] for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n’Tis but fortune, all is fortune. Maria once told me she did affect me,\\r\\nand I have heard herself come thus near, that should she fancy, it\\r\\nshould be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more\\r\\nexalted respect than anyone else that follows her. What should I think\\r\\non’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHere’s an overweening rogue!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets\\r\\nunder his advanced plumes!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Slight, I could so beat the rogue!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPeace, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nTo be Count Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAh, rogue!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nPistol him, pistol him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPeace, peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nThere is example for’t. The lady of the Strachy married the yeoman of\\r\\nthe wardrobe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFie on him, Jezebel!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO, peace! now he’s deeply in; look how imagination blows him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nHaving been three months married to her, sitting in my state—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nO for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nCalling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown; having come\\r\\nfrom a day-bed, where I have left Olivia sleeping.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nFire and brimstone!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO, peace, peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAnd then to have the humour of state; and after a demure travel of\\r\\nregard, telling them I know my place as I would they should do theirs,\\r\\nto ask for my kinsman Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nBolts and shackles!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO, peace, peace, peace! Now, now.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSeven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him. I frown\\r\\nthe while, and perchance wind up my watch, or play with some rich\\r\\njewel. Toby approaches; curtsies there to me—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nShall this fellow live?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThough our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an\\r\\naustere regard of control—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd does not Toby take you a blow o’ the lips then?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSaying ‘Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me\\r\\nthis prerogative of speech—’\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat, what?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘You must amend your drunkenness.’\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nOut, scab!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight—’\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nThat’s me, I warrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘One Sir Andrew.’\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI knew ’twas I, for many do call me fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n[_Taking up the letter._] What employment have we here?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNow is the woodcock near the gin.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nO, peace! And the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nBy my life, this is my lady’s hand: these be her very C’s, her U’s, and\\r\\nher T’s, and thus makes she her great P’s. It is in contempt of\\r\\nquestion, her hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nHer C’s, her U’s, and her T’s. Why that?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n[_Reads._] _To the unknown beloved, this, and my good wishes._ Her very\\r\\nphrases! By your leave, wax. Soft! and the impressure her Lucrece, with\\r\\nwhich she uses to seal: ’tis my lady. To whom should this be?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThis wins him, liver and all.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n[_Reads._]\\r\\n_ Jove knows I love,\\r\\n But who?\\r\\n Lips, do not move,\\r\\n No man must know._\\r\\n\\r\\n‘No man must know.’ What follows? The numbers alter’d! ‘No man must\\r\\nknow.’—If this should be thee, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMarry, hang thee, brock!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n_ I may command where I adore,\\r\\n But silence, like a Lucrece knife,\\r\\n With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore;\\r\\n M.O.A.I. doth sway my life._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nA fustian riddle!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nExcellent wench, say I.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘M.O.A.I. doth sway my life.’—Nay, but first let me see, let me see,\\r\\nlet me see.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nWhat dish o’ poison has she dressed him!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd with what wing the staniel checks at it!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘I may command where I adore.’ Why, she may command me: I serve her,\\r\\nshe is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There is\\r\\nno obstruction in this. And the end—what should that alphabetical\\r\\nposition portend? If I could make that resemble something in me!\\r\\nSoftly! ‘M.O.A.I.’—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nO, ay, make up that:—he is now at a cold scent.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nSowter will cry upon’t for all this, though it be as rank as a fox.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘M’—Malvolio; ‘M!’ Why, that begins my name!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nDid not I say he would work it out? The cur is excellent at faults.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘M’—But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that suffers under\\r\\nprobation: ‘A’ should follow, but ‘O’ does.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nAnd ‘O’ shall end, I hope.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAy, or I’ll cudgel him, and make him cry ‘O!’\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAnd then ‘I’ comes behind.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nAy, and you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at\\r\\nyour heels than fortunes before you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘M.O.A.I.’ This simulation is not as the former: and yet, to crush this\\r\\na little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my\\r\\nname. Soft, here follows prose.\\r\\n[_Reads._] _If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above\\r\\nthee, but be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve\\r\\ngreatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ’em. Thy fates open\\r\\ntheir hands, let thy blood and spirit embrace them. And, to inure\\r\\nthyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough and appear\\r\\nfresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants. Let thy tongue\\r\\ntang arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity. She\\r\\nthus advises thee that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy\\r\\nyellow stockings, and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered. I say,\\r\\nremember. Go to, thou art made, if thou desir’st to be so. If not, let\\r\\nme see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to\\r\\ntouch Fortune’s fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with\\r\\nthee,\\r\\n The Fortunate Unhappy._\\r\\n\\r\\nDaylight and champian discovers not more! This is open. I will be\\r\\nproud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash\\r\\noff gross acquaintance, I will be point-device, the very man. I do not\\r\\nnow fool myself, to let imagination jade me; for every reason excites\\r\\nto this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of\\r\\nlate, she did praise my leg being cross-gartered, and in this she\\r\\nmanifests herself to my love, and with a kind of injunction, drives me\\r\\nto these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be\\r\\nstrange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even with the\\r\\nswiftness of putting on. Jove and my stars be praised!—Here is yet a\\r\\npostscript. [_Reads._] _Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If\\r\\nthou entertain’st my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles\\r\\nbecome thee well. Therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet,\\r\\nI prithee._ Jove, I thank thee. I will smile, I will do everything that\\r\\nthou wilt have me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nI will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be\\r\\npaid from the Sophy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI could marry this wench for this device.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nSo could I too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd ask no other dowry with her but such another jest.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNor I neither.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nHere comes my noble gull-catcher.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWilt thou set thy foot o’ my neck?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nOr o’ mine either?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nShall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy bond-slave?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI’ faith, or I either?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, thou hast put him in such a dream, that when the image of it\\r\\nleaves him he must run mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay, but say true, does it work upon him?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLike aqua-vitae with a midwife.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nIf you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach\\r\\nbefore my lady: he will come to her in yellow stockings, and ’tis a\\r\\ncolour she abhors, and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests; and he\\r\\nwill smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her\\r\\ndisposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot\\r\\nbut turn him into a notable contempt. If you will see it, follow me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI’ll make one too.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Viola and Clown with a tabor.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSave thee, friend, and thy music. Dost thou live by thy tabor?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, sir, I live by the church.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nArt thou a churchman?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo such matter, sir. I do live by the church, for I do live at my\\r\\nhouse, and my house doth stand by the church.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSo thou mayst say the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near\\r\\nhim; or the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the\\r\\nchurch.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYou have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is but a chev’ril glove\\r\\nto a good wit. How quickly the wrong side may be turned outward!\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNay, that’s certain; they that dally nicely with words may quickly make\\r\\nthem wanton.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI would, therefore, my sister had had no name, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhy, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, sir, her name’s a word; and to dally with that word might make my\\r\\nsister wanton. But indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds\\r\\ndisgraced them.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThy reason, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTroth, sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so\\r\\nfalse, I am loath to prove reason with them.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI warrant thou art a merry fellow, and car’st for nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot so, sir, I do care for something. But in my conscience, sir, I do\\r\\nnot care for you. If that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would\\r\\nmake you invisible.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nArt not thou the Lady Olivia’s fool?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly. She will keep no fool,\\r\\nsir, till she be married, and fools are as like husbands as pilchards\\r\\nare to herrings, the husband’s the bigger. I am indeed not her fool,\\r\\nbut her corrupter of words.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI saw thee late at the Count Orsino’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nFoolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines\\r\\neverywhere. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with\\r\\nyour master as with my mistress. I think I saw your wisdom there.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNay, and thou pass upon me, I’ll no more with thee. Hold, there’s\\r\\nexpenses for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNow Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nBy my troth, I’ll tell thee, I am almost sick for one, though I would\\r\\nnot have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWould not a pair of these have bred, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nYes, being kept together, and put to use.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this\\r\\nTroilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI understand you, sir; ’tis well begged.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThe matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar: Cressida\\r\\nwas a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will conster to them whence you\\r\\ncome; who you are and what you would are out of my welkin. I might say\\r\\n“element”, but the word is overworn.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThis fellow is wise enough to play the fool,\\r\\nAnd to do that well, craves a kind of wit:\\r\\nHe must observe their mood on whom he jests,\\r\\nThe quality of persons, and the time,\\r\\nAnd like the haggard, check at every feather\\r\\nThat comes before his eye. This is a practice\\r\\nAs full of labour as a wise man’s art:\\r\\nFor folly, that he wisely shows, is fit;\\r\\nBut wise men, folly-fall’n, quite taint their wit.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nSave you, gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n_Dieu vous garde, monsieur._\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n_Et vous aussi; votre serviteur._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI hope, sir, you are, and I am yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWill you encounter the house? My niece is desirous you should enter, if\\r\\nyour trade be to her.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI am bound to your niece, sir, I mean, she is the list of my voyage.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTaste your legs, sir, put them to motion.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean\\r\\nby bidding me taste my legs.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI mean, to go, sir, to enter.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI will answer you with gait and entrance: but we are prevented.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMost excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odours on you!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nThat youth’s a rare courtier. ‘Rain odours,’ well.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and\\r\\nvouchsafed car.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n‘Odours,’ ‘pregnant,’ and ‘vouchsafed.’—I’ll get ’em all three ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nLet the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGive me your hand, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy duty, madam, and most humble service.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat is your name?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nCesario is your servant’s name, fair princess.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nMy servant, sir! ’Twas never merry world,\\r\\nSince lowly feigning was call’d compliment:\\r\\nY’are servant to the Count Orsino, youth.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd he is yours, and his must needs be yours.\\r\\nYour servant’s servant is your servant, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nFor him, I think not on him: for his thoughts,\\r\\nWould they were blanks rather than fill’d with me!\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMadam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts\\r\\nOn his behalf.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, by your leave, I pray you.\\r\\nI bade you never speak again of him.\\r\\nBut would you undertake another suit,\\r\\nI had rather hear you to solicit that\\r\\nThan music from the spheres.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nDear lady—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGive me leave, beseech you. I did send,\\r\\nAfter the last enchantment you did here,\\r\\nA ring in chase of you. So did I abuse\\r\\nMyself, my servant, and, I fear me, you.\\r\\nUnder your hard construction must I sit;\\r\\nTo force that on you in a shameful cunning,\\r\\nWhich you knew none of yours. What might you think?\\r\\nHave you not set mine honour at the stake,\\r\\nAnd baited it with all th’ unmuzzled thoughts\\r\\nThat tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving\\r\\nEnough is shown. A cypress, not a bosom,\\r\\nHides my heart: so let me hear you speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI pity you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nThat’s a degree to love.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNo, not a grize; for ’tis a vulgar proof\\r\\nThat very oft we pity enemies.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy then methinks ’tis time to smile again.\\r\\nO world, how apt the poor are to be proud!\\r\\nIf one should be a prey, how much the better\\r\\nTo fall before the lion than the wolf! [_Clock strikes._]\\r\\nThe clock upbraids me with the waste of time.\\r\\nBe not afraid, good youth, I will not have you.\\r\\nAnd yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest,\\r\\nYour wife is like to reap a proper man.\\r\\nThere lies your way, due west.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThen westward ho!\\r\\nGrace and good disposition attend your ladyship!\\r\\nYou’ll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nStay:\\r\\nI prithee tell me what thou think’st of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThat you do think you are not what you are.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIf I think so, I think the same of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThen think you right; I am not what I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI would you were as I would have you be.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWould it be better, madam, than I am?\\r\\nI wish it might, for now I am your fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO what a deal of scorn looks beautiful\\r\\nIn the contempt and anger of his lip!\\r\\nA murd’rous guilt shows not itself more soon\\r\\nThan love that would seem hid. Love’s night is noon.\\r\\nCesario, by the roses of the spring,\\r\\nBy maidhood, honour, truth, and everything,\\r\\nI love thee so, that maugre all thy pride,\\r\\nNor wit nor reason can my passion hide.\\r\\nDo not extort thy reasons from this clause,\\r\\nFor that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause;\\r\\nBut rather reason thus with reason fetter:\\r\\nLove sought is good, but given unsought is better.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nBy innocence I swear, and by my youth,\\r\\nI have one heart, one bosom, and one truth,\\r\\nAnd that no woman has; nor never none\\r\\nShall mistress be of it, save I alone.\\r\\nAnd so adieu, good madam; never more\\r\\nWill I my master’s tears to you deplore.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nYet come again: for thou perhaps mayst move\\r\\nThat heart, which now abhors, to like his love.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNo, faith, I’ll not stay a jot longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nYou must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nMarry, I saw your niece do more favours to the Count’s servingman than\\r\\never she bestowed upon me; I saw’t i’ th’ orchard.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nDid she see thee the while, old boy? Tell me that.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAs plain as I see you now.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThis was a great argument of love in her toward you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Slight! will you make an ass o’ me?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nI will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment and reason.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd they have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a sailor.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nShe did show favour to the youth in your sight only to exasperate you,\\r\\nto awake your dormouse valour, to put fire in your heart and brimstone\\r\\nin your liver. You should then have accosted her, and with some\\r\\nexcellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have banged the\\r\\nyouth into dumbness. This was looked for at your hand, and this was\\r\\nbalked: the double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash off, and\\r\\nyou are now sailed into the north of my lady’s opinion; where you will\\r\\nhang like an icicle on Dutchman’s beard, unless you do redeem it by\\r\\nsome laudable attempt, either of valour or policy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd’t be any way, it must be with valour, for policy I hate; I had as\\r\\nlief be a Brownist as a politician.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valour. Challenge me\\r\\nthe Count’s youth to fight with him. Hurt him in eleven places; my\\r\\nniece shall take note of it, and assure thyself there is no love-broker\\r\\nin the world can more prevail in man’s commendation with woman than\\r\\nreport of valour.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThere is no way but this, Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWill either of you bear me a challenge to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGo, write it in a martial hand, be curst and brief; it is no matter how\\r\\nwitty, so it be eloquent and full of invention. Taunt him with the\\r\\nlicence of ink. If thou ‘thou’st’ him some thrice, it shall not be\\r\\namiss, and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of paper, although the\\r\\nsheet were big enough for the bed of Ware in England, set ’em down. Go\\r\\nabout it. Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou write with a\\r\\ngoose-pen, no matter. About it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhere shall I find you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWe’ll call thee at the cubiculo. Go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Sir Andrew._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThis is a dear manikin to you, Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI have been dear to him, lad, some two thousand strong, or so.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nWe shall have a rare letter from him; but you’ll not deliver it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nNever trust me then. And by all means stir on the youth to an answer. I\\r\\nthink oxen and wainropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he\\r\\nwere opened and you find so much blood in his liver as will clog the\\r\\nfoot of a flea, I’ll eat the rest of th’ anatomy.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nAnd his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage of\\r\\ncruelty.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLook where the youngest wren of nine comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nIf you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches,\\r\\nfollow me. Yond gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very renegado; for\\r\\nthere is no Christian that means to be saved by believing rightly can\\r\\never believe such impossible passages of grossness. He’s in yellow\\r\\nstockings.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd cross-gartered?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMost villainously; like a pedant that keeps a school i’ th’ church. I\\r\\nhave dogged him like his murderer. He does obey every point of the\\r\\nletter that I dropped to betray him. He does smile his face into more\\r\\nlines than is in the new map with the augmentation of the Indies. You\\r\\nhave not seen such a thing as ’tis. I can hardly forbear hurling\\r\\nthings at him. I know my lady will strike him. If she do, he’ll smile\\r\\nand take’t for a great favour.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, bring us, bring us where he is.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian and Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI would not by my will have troubled you,\\r\\nBut since you make your pleasure of your pains,\\r\\nI will no further chide you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI could not stay behind you: my desire,\\r\\nMore sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth;\\r\\nAnd not all love to see you, though so much,\\r\\nAs might have drawn one to a longer voyage,\\r\\nBut jealousy what might befall your travel,\\r\\nBeing skilless in these parts; which to a stranger,\\r\\nUnguided and unfriended, often prove\\r\\nRough and unhospitable. My willing love,\\r\\nThe rather by these arguments of fear,\\r\\nSet forth in your pursuit.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nMy kind Antonio,\\r\\nI can no other answer make but thanks,\\r\\nAnd thanks, and ever thanks; and oft good turns\\r\\nAre shuffled off with such uncurrent pay.\\r\\nBut were my worth, as is my conscience, firm,\\r\\nYou should find better dealing. What’s to do?\\r\\nShall we go see the relics of this town?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTomorrow, sir; best first go see your lodging.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI am not weary, and ’tis long to night;\\r\\nI pray you, let us satisfy our eyes\\r\\nWith the memorials and the things of fame\\r\\nThat do renown this city.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWould you’d pardon me.\\r\\nI do not without danger walk these streets.\\r\\nOnce in a sea-fight, ’gainst the Count his galleys,\\r\\nI did some service, of such note indeed,\\r\\nThat were I ta’en here, it would scarce be answer’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nBelike you slew great number of his people.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTh’ offence is not of such a bloody nature,\\r\\nAlbeit the quality of the time and quarrel\\r\\nMight well have given us bloody argument.\\r\\nIt might have since been answered in repaying\\r\\nWhat we took from them, which for traffic’s sake,\\r\\nMost of our city did. Only myself stood out,\\r\\nFor which, if I be lapsed in this place,\\r\\nI shall pay dear.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nDo not then walk too open.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIt doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here’s my purse.\\r\\nIn the south suburbs, at the Elephant,\\r\\nIs best to lodge. I will bespeak our diet\\r\\nWhiles you beguile the time and feed your knowledge\\r\\nWith viewing of the town. There shall you have me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhy I your purse?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHaply your eye shall light upon some toy\\r\\nYou have desire to purchase; and your store,\\r\\nI think, is not for idle markets, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI’ll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for an hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTo th’ Elephant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI do remember.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI have sent after him. He says he’ll come;\\r\\nHow shall I feast him? What bestow of him?\\r\\nFor youth is bought more oft than begg’d or borrow’d.\\r\\nI speak too loud.—\\r\\nWhere’s Malvolio?—He is sad and civil,\\r\\nAnd suits well for a servant with my fortunes;\\r\\nWhere is Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nHe’s coming, madam:\\r\\nBut in very strange manner. He is sure possessed, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy, what’s the matter? Does he rave?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNo, madam, he does nothing but smile: your ladyship were best to have\\r\\nsome guard about you if he come, for sure the man is tainted in ’s\\r\\nwits.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGo call him hither. I’m as mad as he,\\r\\nIf sad and merry madness equal be.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSweet lady, ho, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSmil’st thou? I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSad, lady? I could be sad: this does make some obstruction in the\\r\\nblood, this cross-gartering. But what of that? If it please the eye of\\r\\none, it is with me as the very true sonnet is: ‘Please one and please\\r\\nall.’\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy, how dost thou, man? What is the matter with thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nNot black in my mind, though yellow in my legs. It did come to his\\r\\nhands, and commands shall be executed. I think we do know the sweet\\r\\nRoman hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nTo bed? Ay, sweetheart, and I’ll come to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGod comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand so oft?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nHow do you, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAt your request? Yes, nightingales answer daws!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nWhy appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Be not afraid of greatness.’ ’Twas well writ.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat mean’st thou by that, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Some are born great’—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHa?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Some achieve greatness’—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat say’st thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘And some have greatness thrust upon them.’\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHeaven restore thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Remember who commended thy yellow stockings’—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nThy yellow stockings?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘And wished to see thee cross-gartered.’\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nCross-gartered?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Go to: thou art made, if thou desir’st to be so:’—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAm I made?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘If not, let me see thee a servant still.’\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy, this is very midsummer madness.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMadam, the young gentleman of the Count Orsino’s is returned; I could\\r\\nhardly entreat him back. He attends your ladyship’s pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI’ll come to him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGood Maria, let this fellow be looked to. Where’s my cousin Toby? Let\\r\\nsome of my people have a special care of him; I would not have him\\r\\nmiscarry for the half of my dowry.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Olivia and Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nO ho, do you come near me now? No worse man than Sir Toby to look to\\r\\nme. This concurs directly with the letter: she sends him on purpose,\\r\\nthat I may appear stubborn to him; for she incites me to that in the\\r\\nletter. ‘Cast thy humble slough,’ says she; ‘be opposite with a\\r\\nkinsman, surly with servants, let thy tongue tang with arguments of\\r\\nstate, put thyself into the trick of singularity,’ and consequently,\\r\\nsets down the manner how: as, a sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow\\r\\ntongue, in the habit of some sir of note, and so forth. I have limed\\r\\nher, but it is Jove’s doing, and Jove make me thankful! And when she\\r\\nwent away now, ‘Let this fellow be looked to;’ ‘Fellow!’ not\\r\\n‘Malvolio’, nor after my degree, but ‘fellow’. Why, everything adheres\\r\\ntogether, that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no\\r\\nobstacle, no incredulous or unsafe circumstance. What can be said?\\r\\nNothing that can be can come between me and the full prospect of my\\r\\nhopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby, Fabian and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhich way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all the devils of hell be\\r\\ndrawn in little, and Legion himself possessed him, yet I’ll speak to\\r\\nhim.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nHere he is, here he is. How is’t with you, sir? How is’t with you, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGo off, I discard you. Let me enjoy my private. Go off.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nLo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! Did not I tell you? Sir\\r\\nToby, my lady prays you to have a care of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAh, ha! does she so?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGo to, go to; peace, peace, we must deal gently with him. Let me alone.\\r\\nHow do you, Malvolio? How is’t with you? What, man! defy the devil!\\r\\nConsider, he’s an enemy to mankind.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nDo you know what you say?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nLa you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at heart! Pray\\r\\nGod he be not bewitched.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nCarry his water to th’ wise woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMarry, and it shall be done tomorrow morning, if I live. My lady would\\r\\nnot lose him for more than I’ll say.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nHow now, mistress!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nO Lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPrithee hold thy peace, this is not the way. Do you not see you move\\r\\nhim? Let me alone with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNo way but gentleness, gently, gently. The fiend is rough, and will not\\r\\nbe roughly used.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, how now, my bawcock? How dost thou, chuck?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAy, biddy, come with me. What, man, ’tis not for gravity to play at\\r\\ncherry-pit with Satan. Hang him, foul collier!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nGet him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, get him to pray.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMy prayers, minx?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNo, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGo, hang yourselves all! You are idle, shallow things. I am not of your\\r\\nelement. You shall know more hereafter.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nIf this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an\\r\\nimprobable fiction.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHis very genius hath taken the infection of the device, man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay, pursue him now, lest the device take air and taint.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nWhy, we shall make him mad indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThe house will be the quieter.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, we’ll have him in a dark room and bound. My niece is already in\\r\\nthe belief that he’s mad. We may carry it thus for our pleasure, and\\r\\nhis penance, till our very pastime, tired out of breath, prompt us to\\r\\nhave mercy on him, at which time we will bring the device to the bar,\\r\\nand crown thee for a finder of madmen. But see, but see!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nMore matter for a May morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nHere’s the challenge, read it. I warrant there’s vinegar and pepper\\r\\nin’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nIs’t so saucy?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAy, is’t, I warrant him. Do but read.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGive me. [_Reads._] _Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art but a scurvy\\r\\nfellow._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nGood, and valiant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, why I do call thee so, for I\\r\\nwill show thee no reason for’t._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nA good note, that keeps you from the blow of the law.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Thou comest to the Lady Olivia, and in my sight she uses thee kindly:\\r\\nbut thou liest in thy throat; that is not the matter I challenge thee\\r\\nfor._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nVery brief, and to exceeding good sense—less.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_I will waylay thee going home; where if it be thy chance to kill me—_\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nGood.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Thou kill’st me like a rogue and a villain._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nStill you keep o’ th’ windy side of the law. Good.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Fare thee well, and God have mercy upon one of our souls! He may have\\r\\nmercy upon mine, but my hope is better, and so look to thyself. Thy\\r\\nfriend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy,\\r\\n Andrew Aguecheek._\\r\\nIf this letter move him not, his legs cannot. I’ll give’t him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nYou may have very fit occasion for’t. He is now in some commerce with\\r\\nmy lady, and will by and by depart.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGo, Sir Andrew. Scout me for him at the corner of the orchard, like a\\r\\nbum-baily. So soon as ever thou seest him, draw, and as thou draw’st,\\r\\nswear horrible, for it comes to pass oft that a terrible oath, with a\\r\\nswaggering accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood more approbation\\r\\nthan ever proof itself would have earned him. Away.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNay, let me alone for swearing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nNow will not I deliver his letter, for the behaviour of the young\\r\\ngentleman gives him out to be of good capacity and breeding; his\\r\\nemployment between his lord and my niece confirms no less. Therefore\\r\\nthis letter, being so excellently ignorant, will breed no terror in the\\r\\nyouth. He will find it comes from a clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver\\r\\nhis challenge by word of mouth, set upon Aguecheek notable report of\\r\\nvalour, and drive the gentleman (as I know his youth will aptly receive\\r\\nit) into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and\\r\\nimpetuosity. This will so fright them both that they will kill one\\r\\nanother by the look, like cockatrices.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and Viola.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nHere he comes with your niece; give them way till he take leave, and\\r\\npresently after him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI will meditate the while upon some horrid message for a challenge.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sir Toby, Fabian and Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI have said too much unto a heart of stone,\\r\\nAnd laid mine honour too unchary on’t:\\r\\nThere’s something in me that reproves my fault:\\r\\nBut such a headstrong potent fault it is,\\r\\nThat it but mocks reproof.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWith the same ’haviour that your passion bears\\r\\nGoes on my master’s griefs.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHere, wear this jewel for me, ’tis my picture.\\r\\nRefuse it not, it hath no tongue to vex you.\\r\\nAnd I beseech you come again tomorrow.\\r\\nWhat shall you ask of me that I’ll deny,\\r\\nThat honour sav’d, may upon asking give?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNothing but this, your true love for my master.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHow with mine honour may I give him that\\r\\nWhich I have given to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI will acquit you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWell, come again tomorrow. Fare thee well;\\r\\nA fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGentleman, God save thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThat defence thou hast, betake thee to’t. Of what nature the wrongs are\\r\\nthou hast done him, I know not, but thy intercepter, full of despite,\\r\\nbloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard end. Dismount thy\\r\\ntuck, be yare in thy preparation, for thy assailant is quick, skilful,\\r\\nand deadly.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nYou mistake, sir; I am sure no man hath any quarrel to me. My\\r\\nremembrance is very free and clear from any image of offence done to\\r\\nany man.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nYou’ll find it otherwise, I assure you. Therefore, if you hold your\\r\\nlife at any price, betake you to your guard, for your opposite hath in\\r\\nhim what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can furnish man withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI pray you, sir, what is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHe is knight, dubbed with unhatched rapier, and on carpet\\r\\nconsideration, but he is a devil in private brawl. Souls and bodies\\r\\nhath he divorced three, and his incensement at this moment is so\\r\\nimplacable that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of death and\\r\\nsepulchre. Hob, nob is his word; give’t or take’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI will return again into the house and desire some conduct of the lady.\\r\\nI am no fighter. I have heard of some kind of men that put quarrels\\r\\npurposely on others to taste their valour: belike this is a man of that\\r\\nquirk.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nSir, no. His indignation derives itself out of a very competent injury;\\r\\ntherefore, get you on and give him his desire. Back you shall not to\\r\\nthe house, unless you undertake that with me which with as much safety\\r\\nyou might answer him. Therefore on, or strip your sword stark naked,\\r\\nfor meddle you must, that’s certain, or forswear to wear iron about\\r\\nyou.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThis is as uncivil as strange. I beseech you, do me this courteous\\r\\noffice, as to know of the knight what my offence to him is. It is\\r\\nsomething of my negligence, nothing of my purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you by this gentleman till my\\r\\nreturn.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Sir Toby._]\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nPray you, sir, do you know of this matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nI know the knight is incensed against you, even to a mortal\\r\\narbitrement, but nothing of the circumstance more.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI beseech you, what manner of man is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNothing of that wonderful promise, to read him by his form, as you are\\r\\nlike to find him in the proof of his valour. He is indeed, sir, the\\r\\nmost skilful, bloody, and fatal opposite that you could possibly have\\r\\nfound in any part of Illyria. Will you walk towards him? I will make\\r\\nyour peace with him if I can.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI shall be much bound to you for’t. I am one that had rather go with\\r\\nsir priest than sir knight: I care not who knows so much of my mettle.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, man, he’s a very devil. I have not seen such a firago. I had a\\r\\npass with him, rapier, scabbard, and all, and he gives me the stuck-in\\r\\nwith such a mortal motion that it is inevitable; and on the answer, he\\r\\npays you as surely as your feet hits the ground they step on. They say\\r\\nhe has been fencer to the Sophy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nPox on’t, I’ll not meddle with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAy, but he will not now be pacified: Fabian can scarce hold him yonder.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nPlague on’t, an I thought he had been valiant, and so cunning in fence,\\r\\nI’d have seen him damned ere I’d have challenged him. Let him let the\\r\\nmatter slip, and I’ll give him my horse, grey Capilet.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI’ll make the motion. Stand here, make a good show on’t. This shall end\\r\\nwithout the perdition of souls. [_Aside._] Marry, I’ll ride your horse\\r\\nas well as I ride you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fabian and Viola.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_To Fabian._] I have his horse to take up the quarrel. I have\\r\\npersuaded him the youth’s a devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nHe is as horribly conceited of him, and pants and looks pale, as if a\\r\\nbear were at his heels.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThere’s no remedy, sir, he will fight with you for’s oath sake. Marry,\\r\\nhe hath better bethought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now\\r\\nscarce to be worth talking of. Therefore, draw for the supportance of\\r\\nhis vow; he protests he will not hurt you.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Pray God defend me! A little thing would make me tell them\\r\\nhow much I lack of a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nGive ground if you see him furious.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, Sir Andrew, there’s no remedy, the gentleman will for his\\r\\nhonour’s sake have one bout with you. He cannot by the duello avoid it;\\r\\nbut he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier, he will not\\r\\nhurt you. Come on: to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n[_Draws._] Pray God he keep his oath!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n[_Draws._] I do assure you ’tis against my will.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nPut up your sword. If this young gentleman\\r\\nHave done offence, I take the fault on me.\\r\\nIf you offend him, I for him defy you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nYou, sir? Why, what are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\n[_Draws._] One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more\\r\\nThan you have heard him brag to you he will.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Draws._] Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Officers.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO good Sir Toby, hold! Here come the officers.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_To Antonio._] I’ll be with you anon.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n[_To Sir Andrew._] Pray, sir, put your sword up, if you please.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nMarry, will I, sir; and for that I promised you, I’ll be as good as my\\r\\nword. He will bear you easily, and reins well.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nThis is the man; do thy office.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND OFFICER.\\r\\nAntonio, I arrest thee at the suit\\r\\nOf Count Orsino.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nYou do mistake me, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nNo, sir, no jot. I know your favour well,\\r\\nThough now you have no sea-cap on your head.—\\r\\nTake him away, he knows I know him well.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI must obey. This comes with seeking you;\\r\\nBut there’s no remedy, I shall answer it.\\r\\nWhat will you do? Now my necessity\\r\\nMakes me to ask you for my purse. It grieves me\\r\\nMuch more for what I cannot do for you,\\r\\nThan what befalls myself. You stand amaz’d,\\r\\nBut be of comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND OFFICER.\\r\\nCome, sir, away.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI must entreat of you some of that money.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhat money, sir?\\r\\nFor the fair kindness you have show’d me here,\\r\\nAnd part being prompted by your present trouble,\\r\\nOut of my lean and low ability\\r\\nI’ll lend you something. My having is not much;\\r\\nI’ll make division of my present with you.\\r\\nHold, there’s half my coffer.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWill you deny me now?\\r\\nIs’t possible that my deserts to you\\r\\nCan lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery,\\r\\nLest that it make me so unsound a man\\r\\nAs to upbraid you with those kindnesses\\r\\nThat I have done for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI know of none,\\r\\nNor know I you by voice or any feature.\\r\\nI hate ingratitude more in a man\\r\\nThan lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness,\\r\\nOr any taint of vice whose strong corruption\\r\\nInhabits our frail blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nO heavens themselves!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND OFFICER.\\r\\nCome, sir, I pray you go.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLet me speak a little. This youth that you see here\\r\\nI snatch’d one half out of the jaws of death,\\r\\nReliev’d him with such sanctity of love;\\r\\nAnd to his image, which methought did promise\\r\\nMost venerable worth, did I devotion.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nWhat’s that to us? The time goes by. Away!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nBut O how vile an idol proves this god!\\r\\nThou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame.\\r\\nIn nature there’s no blemish but the mind;\\r\\nNone can be call’d deform’d but the unkind.\\r\\nVirtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil\\r\\nAre empty trunks, o’erflourished by the devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nThe man grows mad, away with him. Come, come, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLead me on.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Officers with Antonio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMethinks his words do from such passion fly\\r\\nThat he believes himself; so do not I.\\r\\nProve true, imagination, O prove true,\\r\\nThat I, dear brother, be now ta’en for you!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome hither, knight; come hither, Fabian. We’ll whisper o’er a couplet\\r\\nor two of most sage saws.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nHe nam’d Sebastian. I my brother know\\r\\nYet living in my glass; even such and so\\r\\nIn favour was my brother, and he went\\r\\nStill in this fashion, colour, ornament,\\r\\nFor him I imitate. O if it prove,\\r\\nTempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward than a hare. His\\r\\ndishonesty appears in leaving his friend here in necessity, and denying\\r\\nhim; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nA coward, a most devout coward, religious in it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Slid, I’ll after him again and beat him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nDo, cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd I do not—\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nCome, let’s see the event.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI dare lay any money ’twill be nothing yet.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Street before Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWill you make me believe that I am not sent for you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nGo to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow.\\r\\nLet me be clear of thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWell held out, i’ faith! No, I do not know you, nor I am not sent to\\r\\nyou by my lady, to bid you come speak with her; nor your name is not\\r\\nMaster Cesario; nor this is not my nose neither. Nothing that is so, is\\r\\nso.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI prithee vent thy folly somewhere else,\\r\\nThou know’st not me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nVent my folly! He has heard that word of some great man, and now\\r\\napplies it to a fool. Vent my folly! I am afraid this great lubber, the\\r\\nworld, will prove a cockney. I prithee now, ungird thy strangeness, and\\r\\ntell me what I shall vent to my lady. Shall I vent to her that thou art\\r\\ncoming?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me.\\r\\nThere’s money for thee; if you tarry longer\\r\\nI shall give worse payment.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBy my troth, thou hast an open hand. These wise men that give fools\\r\\nmoney get themselves a good report—after fourteen years’ purchase.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNow sir, have I met you again? There’s for you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Striking Sebastian._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhy, there’s for thee, and there, and there.\\r\\nAre all the people mad?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Beating Sir Andrew._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHold, sir, or I’ll throw your dagger o’er the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThis will I tell my lady straight. I would not be in some of your coats\\r\\nfor twopence.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome on, sir, hold!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNay, let him alone, I’ll go another way to work with him. I’ll have an\\r\\naction of battery against him, if there be any law in Illyria. Though I\\r\\nstruck him first, yet it’s no matter for that.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nLet go thy hand!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my young soldier, put up your\\r\\niron: you are well fleshed. Come on.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI will be free from thee. What wouldst thou now?\\r\\nIf thou dar’st tempt me further, draw thy sword.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Draws._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat, what? Nay, then, I must have an ounce or two of this malapert\\r\\nblood from you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Draws._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHold, Toby! On thy life I charge thee hold!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMadam.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWill it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch,\\r\\nFit for the mountains and the barbarous caves,\\r\\nWhere manners ne’er were preach’d! Out of my sight!\\r\\nBe not offended, dear Cesario.\\r\\nRudesby, be gone!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Fabian._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI prithee, gentle friend,\\r\\nLet thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway\\r\\nIn this uncivil and unjust extent\\r\\nAgainst thy peace. Go with me to my house,\\r\\nAnd hear thou there how many fruitless pranks\\r\\nThis ruffian hath botch’d up, that thou thereby\\r\\nMayst smile at this. Thou shalt not choose but go.\\r\\nDo not deny. Beshrew his soul for me,\\r\\nHe started one poor heart of mine, in thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhat relish is in this? How runs the stream?\\r\\nOr I am mad, or else this is a dream.\\r\\nLet fancy still my sense in Lethe steep;\\r\\nIf it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nNay, come, I prithee. Would thou’dst be ruled by me!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nMadam, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, say so, and so be!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay, I prithee, put on this gown and this beard; make him believe thou\\r\\nart Sir Topas the curate. Do it quickly. I’ll call Sir Toby the whilst.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWell, I’ll put it on, and I will dissemble myself in’t, and I would I\\r\\nwere the first that ever dissembled in such a gown. I am not tall\\r\\nenough to become the function well, nor lean enough to be thought a\\r\\ngood student, but to be said, an honest man and a good housekeeper goes\\r\\nas fairly as to say, a careful man and a great scholar. The competitors\\r\\nenter.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nJove bless thee, Master Parson.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n_Bonos dies_, Sir Toby: for as the old hermit of Prague, that never saw\\r\\npen and ink, very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, ‘That that\\r\\nis, is’: so I, being Master Parson, am Master Parson; for what is\\r\\n‘that’ but ‘that’? and ‘is’ but ‘is’?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo him, Sir Topas.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat ho, I say! Peace in this prison!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThe knave counterfeits well. A good knave.\\r\\n\\r\\nMalvolio within.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nWho calls there?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nSir Topas the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio the lunatic.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go to my lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nOut, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest thou this man? Talkest thou nothing\\r\\nbut of ladies?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWell said, Master Parson.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Topas, never was man thus wronged. Good Sir Topas, do not think I\\r\\nam mad. They have laid me here in hideous darkness.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nFie, thou dishonest Satan! I call thee by the most modest terms, for I\\r\\nam one of those gentle ones that will use the devil himself with\\r\\ncourtesy. Say’st thou that house is dark?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAs hell, Sir Topas.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, it hath bay windows transparent as barricadoes, and the\\r\\nclerestories toward the south-north are as lustrous as ebony; and yet\\r\\ncomplainest thou of obstruction?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI am not mad, Sir Topas. I say to you this house is dark.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMadman, thou errest. I say there is no darkness but ignorance, in which\\r\\nthou art more puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI say this house is as dark as ignorance, though ignorance were as dark\\r\\nas hell; and I say there was never man thus abused. I am no more mad\\r\\nthan you are. Make the trial of it in any constant question.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning wildfowl?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nThat the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat think’st thou of his opinion?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI think nobly of the soul, and no way approve his opinion.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nFare thee well. Remain thou still in darkness. Thou shalt hold the\\r\\nopinion of Pythagoras ere I will allow of thy wits, and fear to kill a\\r\\nwoodcock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee well.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Topas, Sir Topas!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMy most exquisite Sir Topas!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNay, I am for all waters.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThou mightst have done this without thy beard and gown. He sees thee\\r\\nnot.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo him in thine own voice, and bring me word how thou find’st him. I\\r\\nwould we were well rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently\\r\\ndelivered, I would he were, for I am now so far in offence with my\\r\\nniece that I cannot pursue with any safety this sport to the upshot.\\r\\nCome by and by to my chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sir Toby and Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Singing._]\\r\\n _Hey, Robin, jolly Robin,\\r\\n Tell me how thy lady does._\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n _My lady is unkind, perdy._\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n _Alas, why is she so?_\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n _She loves another_—\\r\\nWho calls, ha?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGood fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at my hand, help me to a\\r\\ncandle, and pen, ink, and paper. As I am a gentleman, I will live to be\\r\\nthankful to thee for’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMaster Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAy, good fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool, there was never man so notoriously abused. I am as well in my\\r\\nwits, fool, as thou art.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBut as well? Then you are mad indeed, if you be no better in your wits\\r\\nthan a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nThey have here propertied me; keep me in darkness, send ministers to\\r\\nme, asses, and do all they can to face me out of my wits.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAdvise you what you say: the minister is here. [_As Sir Topas_]\\r\\nMalvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens restore. Endeavour thyself to\\r\\nsleep, and leave thy vain bibble-babble.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Topas!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_As Sir Topas_] Maintain no words with him, good fellow. [_As\\r\\nhimself_] Who, I, sir? not I, sir. God buy you, good Sir Topas. [_As\\r\\nSir Topas_] Marry, amen. [_As himself_] I will sir, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool, fool, fool, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? I am shent for speaking to\\r\\nyou.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGood fool, help me to some light and some paper. I tell thee I am as\\r\\nwell in my wits as any man in Illyria.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWell-a-day that you were, sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nBy this hand, I am. Good fool, some ink, paper, and light, and convey\\r\\nwhat I will set down to my lady. It shall advantage thee more than ever\\r\\nthe bearing of letter did.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI will help you to’t. But tell me true, are you not mad indeed? or do\\r\\nyou but counterfeit?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nBelieve me, I am not. I tell thee true.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNay, I’ll ne’er believe a madman till I see his brains. I will fetch\\r\\nyou light, and paper, and ink.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool, I’ll requite it in the highest degree: I prithee be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Singing._]\\r\\n _I am gone, sir, and anon, sir,\\r\\n I’ll be with you again,\\r\\n In a trice, like to the old Vice,\\r\\n Your need to sustain;\\r\\n Who with dagger of lath, in his rage and his wrath,\\r\\n Cries ‘ah, ha!’ to the devil:\\r\\n Like a mad lad, ‘Pare thy nails, dad.\\r\\n Adieu, goodman devil.’_\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Olivia’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nThis is the air; that is the glorious sun,\\r\\nThis pearl she gave me, I do feel’t and see’t,\\r\\nAnd though ’tis wonder that enwraps me thus,\\r\\nYet ’tis not madness. Where’s Antonio, then?\\r\\nI could not find him at the Elephant,\\r\\nYet there he was, and there I found this credit,\\r\\nThat he did range the town to seek me out.\\r\\nHis counsel now might do me golden service.\\r\\nFor though my soul disputes well with my sense\\r\\nThat this may be some error, but no madness,\\r\\nYet doth this accident and flood of fortune\\r\\nSo far exceed all instance, all discourse,\\r\\nThat I am ready to distrust mine eyes\\r\\nAnd wrangle with my reason that persuades me\\r\\nTo any other trust but that I am mad,\\r\\nOr else the lady’s mad; yet if ’twere so,\\r\\nShe could not sway her house, command her followers,\\r\\nTake and give back affairs and their dispatch,\\r\\nWith such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing\\r\\nAs I perceive she does. There’s something in’t\\r\\nThat is deceivable. But here the lady comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and a Priest.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nBlame not this haste of mine. If you mean well,\\r\\nNow go with me and with this holy man\\r\\nInto the chantry by: there, before him\\r\\nAnd underneath that consecrated roof,\\r\\nPlight me the full assurance of your faith,\\r\\nThat my most jealous and too doubtful soul\\r\\nMay live at peace. He shall conceal it\\r\\nWhiles you are willing it shall come to note,\\r\\nWhat time we will our celebration keep\\r\\nAccording to my birth. What do you say?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI’ll follow this good man, and go with you,\\r\\nAnd having sworn truth, ever will be true.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nThen lead the way, good father, and heavens so shine,\\r\\nThat they may fairly note this act of mine!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Street before Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNow, as thou lov’st me, let me see his letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGood Master Fabian, grant me another request.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nAnything.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nDo not desire to see this letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThis is to give a dog, and in recompense desire my dog again.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Duke, Viola, Curio and Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBelong you to the Lady Olivia, friends?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy, sir, we are some of her trappings.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI know thee well. How dost thou, my good fellow?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTruly, sir, the better for my foes, and the worse for my friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nJust the contrary; the better for thy friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, sir, the worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHow can that be?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMarry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass of me. Now my foes tell me\\r\\nplainly I am an ass: so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge\\r\\nof myself, and by my friends I am abused. So that, conclusions to be as\\r\\nkisses, if your four negatives make your two affirmatives, why then,\\r\\nthe worse for my friends, and the better for my foes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhy, this is excellent.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBy my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be one of my friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThou shalt not be the worse for me; there’s gold.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBut that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would you could make it\\r\\nanother.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO, you give me ill counsel.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nPut your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once, and let your flesh\\r\\nand blood obey it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWell, I will be so much a sinner to be a double-dealer: there’s\\r\\nanother.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n_Primo, secundo, tertio_, is a good play, and the old saying is, the\\r\\nthird pays for all; the triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure; or\\r\\nthe bells of Saint Bennet, sir, may put you in mind—one, two, three.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nYou can fool no more money out of me at this throw. If you will let\\r\\nyour lady know I am here to speak with her, and bring her along with\\r\\nyou, it may awake my bounty further.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMarry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come again. I go, sir, but I\\r\\nwould not have you to think that my desire of having is the sin of\\r\\ncovetousness: but as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap, I will\\r\\nawake it anon.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio and Officers.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nHere comes the man, sir, that did rescue me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThat face of his I do remember well.\\r\\nYet when I saw it last it was besmear’d\\r\\nAs black as Vulcan, in the smoke of war.\\r\\nA baubling vessel was he captain of,\\r\\nFor shallow draught and bulk unprizable,\\r\\nWith which such scathful grapple did he make\\r\\nWith the most noble bottom of our fleet,\\r\\nThat very envy and the tongue of loss\\r\\nCried fame and honour on him. What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nOrsino, this is that Antonio\\r\\nThat took the _Phoenix_ and her fraught from Candy,\\r\\nAnd this is he that did the _Tiger_ board\\r\\nWhen your young nephew Titus lost his leg.\\r\\nHere in the streets, desperate of shame and state,\\r\\nIn private brabble did we apprehend him.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nHe did me kindness, sir; drew on my side,\\r\\nBut in conclusion, put strange speech upon me.\\r\\nI know not what ’twas, but distraction.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nNotable pirate, thou salt-water thief,\\r\\nWhat foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies,\\r\\nWhom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear,\\r\\nHast made thine enemies?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nOrsino, noble sir,\\r\\nBe pleased that I shake off these names you give me:\\r\\nAntonio never yet was thief or pirate,\\r\\nThough, I confess, on base and ground enough,\\r\\nOrsino’s enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither:\\r\\nThat most ingrateful boy there by your side\\r\\nFrom the rude sea’s enraged and foamy mouth\\r\\nDid I redeem; a wreck past hope he was.\\r\\nHis life I gave him, and did thereto add\\r\\nMy love, without retention or restraint,\\r\\nAll his in dedication. For his sake\\r\\nDid I expose myself, pure for his love,\\r\\nInto the danger of this adverse town;\\r\\nDrew to defend him when he was beset;\\r\\nWhere being apprehended, his false cunning\\r\\n(Not meaning to partake with me in danger)\\r\\nTaught him to face me out of his acquaintance,\\r\\nAnd grew a twenty years’ removed thing\\r\\nWhile one would wink; denied me mine own purse,\\r\\nWhich I had recommended to his use\\r\\nNot half an hour before.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nHow can this be?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhen came he to this town?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nToday, my lord; and for three months before,\\r\\nNo int’rim, not a minute’s vacancy,\\r\\nBoth day and night did we keep company.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHere comes the Countess, now heaven walks on earth.\\r\\nBut for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness.\\r\\nThree months this youth hath tended upon me;\\r\\nBut more of that anon. Take him aside.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat would my lord, but that he may not have,\\r\\nWherein Olivia may seem serviceable?\\r\\nCesario, you do not keep promise with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMadam?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGracious Olivia—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat do you say, Cesario? Good my lord—\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy lord would speak, my duty hushes me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIf it be aught to the old tune, my lord,\\r\\nIt is as fat and fulsome to mine ear\\r\\nAs howling after music.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nStill so cruel?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nStill so constant, lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat, to perverseness? You uncivil lady,\\r\\nTo whose ingrate and unauspicious altars\\r\\nMy soul the faithfull’st off’rings hath breathed out\\r\\nThat e’er devotion tender’d! What shall I do?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nEven what it please my lord that shall become him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhy should I not, had I the heart to do it,\\r\\nLike to the Egyptian thief at point of death,\\r\\nKill what I love?—a savage jealousy\\r\\nThat sometime savours nobly. But hear me this:\\r\\nSince you to non-regardance cast my faith,\\r\\nAnd that I partly know the instrument\\r\\nThat screws me from my true place in your favour,\\r\\nLive you the marble-breasted tyrant still.\\r\\nBut this your minion, whom I know you love,\\r\\nAnd whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly,\\r\\nHim will I tear out of that cruel eye\\r\\nWhere he sits crowned in his master’s spite.—\\r\\nCome, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief:\\r\\nI’ll sacrifice the lamb that I do love,\\r\\nTo spite a raven’s heart within a dove.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd I, most jocund, apt, and willingly,\\r\\nTo do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhere goes Cesario?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAfter him I love\\r\\nMore than I love these eyes, more than my life,\\r\\nMore, by all mores, than e’er I shall love wife.\\r\\nIf I do feign, you witnesses above\\r\\nPunish my life for tainting of my love.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAh me, detested! how am I beguil’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWho does beguile you? Who does do you wrong?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long?\\r\\nCall forth the holy father.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit an Attendant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\n[_To Viola._] Come, away!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHusband?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAy, husband. Can he that deny?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHer husband, sirrah?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNo, my lord, not I.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAlas, it is the baseness of thy fear\\r\\nThat makes thee strangle thy propriety.\\r\\nFear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up.\\r\\nBe that thou know’st thou art, and then thou art\\r\\nAs great as that thou fear’st.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Priest.\\r\\n\\r\\nO, welcome, father!\\r\\nFather, I charge thee, by thy reverence\\r\\nHere to unfold—though lately we intended\\r\\nTo keep in darkness what occasion now\\r\\nReveals before ’tis ripe—what thou dost know\\r\\nHath newly passed between this youth and me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIEST.\\r\\nA contract of eternal bond of love,\\r\\nConfirmed by mutual joinder of your hands,\\r\\nAttested by the holy close of lips,\\r\\nStrengthen’d by interchangement of your rings,\\r\\nAnd all the ceremony of this compact\\r\\nSealed in my function, by my testimony;\\r\\nSince when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave,\\r\\nI have travelled but two hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO thou dissembling cub! What wilt thou be\\r\\nWhen time hath sowed a grizzle on thy case?\\r\\nOr will not else thy craft so quickly grow\\r\\nThat thine own trip shall be thine overthrow?\\r\\nFarewell, and take her; but direct thy feet\\r\\nWhere thou and I henceforth may never meet.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy lord, I do protest—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, do not swear.\\r\\nHold little faith, though thou has too much fear.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFor the love of God, a surgeon! Send one presently to Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Has broke my head across, and has given Sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too.\\r\\nFor the love of God, your help! I had rather than forty pound I were at\\r\\nhome.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWho has done this, Sir Andrew?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nThe Count’s gentleman, one Cesario. We took him for a coward, but he’s\\r\\nthe very devil incardinate.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nMy gentleman, Cesario?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Od’s lifelings, here he is!—You broke my head for nothing; and that\\r\\nthat I did, I was set on to do’t by Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhy do you speak to me? I never hurt you:\\r\\nYou drew your sword upon me without cause,\\r\\nBut I bespake you fair and hurt you not.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby, drunk, led by the Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nIf a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me. I think you set\\r\\nnothing by a bloody coxcomb. Here comes Sir Toby halting, you shall\\r\\nhear more: but if he had not been in drink, he would have tickled you\\r\\nothergates than he did.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHow now, gentleman? How is’t with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThat’s all one; ’has hurt me, and there’s th’ end on’t. Sot, didst see\\r\\nDick Surgeon, sot?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nO, he’s drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes were set at eight i’\\r\\nth’ morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThen he’s a rogue, and a passy measures pavin. I hate a drunken rogue.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAway with him. Who hath made this havoc with them?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI’ll help you, Sir Toby, because we’ll be dressed together.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWill you help? An ass-head, and a coxcomb, and a knave, a thin-faced\\r\\nknave, a gull?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGet him to bed, and let his hurt be looked to.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Clown, Fabian, Sir Toby and Sir Andrew._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman;\\r\\nBut had it been the brother of my blood,\\r\\nI must have done no less with wit and safety.\\r\\nYou throw a strange regard upon me, and by that\\r\\nI do perceive it hath offended you.\\r\\nPardon me, sweet one, even for the vows\\r\\nWe made each other but so late ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nOne face, one voice, one habit, and two persons!\\r\\nA natural perspective, that is, and is not!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAntonio, O my dear Antonio!\\r\\nHow have the hours rack’d and tortur’d me\\r\\nSince I have lost thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nSebastian are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nFear’st thou that, Antonio?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHow have you made division of yourself?\\r\\nAn apple cleft in two is not more twin\\r\\nThan these two creatures. Which is Sebastian?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nMost wonderful!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nDo I stand there? I never had a brother:\\r\\nNor can there be that deity in my nature\\r\\nOf here and everywhere. I had a sister,\\r\\nWhom the blind waves and surges have devoured.\\r\\nOf charity, what kin are you to me?\\r\\nWhat countryman? What name? What parentage?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nOf Messaline: Sebastian was my father;\\r\\nSuch a Sebastian was my brother too:\\r\\nSo went he suited to his watery tomb.\\r\\nIf spirits can assume both form and suit,\\r\\nYou come to fright us.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA spirit I am indeed,\\r\\nBut am in that dimension grossly clad,\\r\\nWhich from the womb I did participate.\\r\\nWere you a woman, as the rest goes even,\\r\\nI should my tears let fall upon your cheek,\\r\\nAnd say, ‘Thrice welcome, drowned Viola.’\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy father had a mole upon his brow.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAnd so had mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd died that day when Viola from her birth\\r\\nHad numbered thirteen years.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nO, that record is lively in my soul!\\r\\nHe finished indeed his mortal act\\r\\nThat day that made my sister thirteen years.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIf nothing lets to make us happy both\\r\\nBut this my masculine usurp’d attire,\\r\\nDo not embrace me till each circumstance\\r\\nOf place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump\\r\\nThat I am Viola; which to confirm,\\r\\nI’ll bring you to a captain in this town,\\r\\nWhere lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help\\r\\nI was preserv’d to serve this noble count.\\r\\nAll the occurrence of my fortune since\\r\\nHath been between this lady and this lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n[_To Olivia._] So comes it, lady, you have been mistook.\\r\\nBut nature to her bias drew in that.\\r\\nYou would have been contracted to a maid;\\r\\nNor are you therein, by my life, deceived:\\r\\nYou are betroth’d both to a maid and man.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBe not amazed; right noble is his blood.\\r\\nIf this be so, as yet the glass seems true,\\r\\nI shall have share in this most happy wreck.\\r\\n[_To Viola._] Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times\\r\\nThou never shouldst love woman like to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd all those sayings will I over-swear,\\r\\nAnd all those swearings keep as true in soul\\r\\nAs doth that orbed continent the fire\\r\\nThat severs day from night.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGive me thy hand,\\r\\nAnd let me see thee in thy woman’s weeds.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThe captain that did bring me first on shore\\r\\nHath my maid’s garments. He, upon some action,\\r\\nIs now in durance, at Malvolio’s suit,\\r\\nA gentleman and follower of my lady’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHe shall enlarge him. Fetch Malvolio hither.\\r\\nAnd yet, alas, now I remember me,\\r\\nThey say, poor gentleman, he’s much distract.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown, with a letter and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nA most extracting frenzy of mine own\\r\\nFrom my remembrance clearly banished his.\\r\\nHow does he, sirrah?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTruly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the stave’s end as well as a man in\\r\\nhis case may do. Has here writ a letter to you. I should have given it\\r\\nyou today morning, but as a madman’s epistles are no gospels, so it\\r\\nskills not much when they are delivered.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nOpen ’t, and read it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLook then to be well edified, when the fool delivers the madman. _By\\r\\nthe Lord, madam,—_\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHow now, art thou mad?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, madam, I do but read madness: an your ladyship will have it as it\\r\\nought to be, you must allow _vox_.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nPrithee, read i’ thy right wits.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nSo I do, madonna. But to read his right wits is to read thus; therefore\\r\\nperpend, my princess, and give ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\n[_To Fabian._] Read it you, sirrah.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\n[_Reads._] _By the Lord, madam, you wrong me, and the world shall know\\r\\nit. Though you have put me into darkness and given your drunken cousin\\r\\nrule over me, yet have I the benefit of my senses as well as your\\r\\nladyship. I have your own letter that induced me to the semblance I put\\r\\non; with the which I doubt not but to do myself much right or you much\\r\\nshame. Think of me as you please. I leave my duty a little unthought\\r\\nof, and speak out of my injury.\\r\\n The madly-used Malvolio._\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nDid he write this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThis savours not much of distraction.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSee him delivered, Fabian, bring him hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Fabian._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMy lord, so please you, these things further thought on,\\r\\nTo think me as well a sister, as a wife,\\r\\nOne day shall crown th’ alliance on’t, so please you,\\r\\nHere at my house, and at my proper cost.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nMadam, I am most apt t’ embrace your offer.\\r\\n[_To Viola._] Your master quits you; and for your service done him,\\r\\nSo much against the mettle of your sex,\\r\\nSo far beneath your soft and tender breeding,\\r\\nAnd since you call’d me master for so long,\\r\\nHere is my hand; you shall from this time be\\r\\nYou master’s mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nA sister? You are she.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fabian and Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nIs this the madman?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAy, my lord, this same.\\r\\nHow now, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMadam, you have done me wrong,\\r\\nNotorious wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHave I, Malvolio? No.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nLady, you have. Pray you peruse that letter.\\r\\nYou must not now deny it is your hand,\\r\\nWrite from it, if you can, in hand, or phrase,\\r\\nOr say ’tis not your seal, not your invention:\\r\\nYou can say none of this. Well, grant it then,\\r\\nAnd tell me, in the modesty of honour,\\r\\nWhy you have given me such clear lights of favour,\\r\\nBade me come smiling and cross-garter’d to you,\\r\\nTo put on yellow stockings, and to frown\\r\\nUpon Sir Toby, and the lighter people;\\r\\nAnd acting this in an obedient hope,\\r\\nWhy have you suffer’d me to be imprison’d,\\r\\nKept in a dark house, visited by the priest,\\r\\nAnd made the most notorious geck and gull\\r\\nThat e’er invention played on? Tell me why?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAlas, Malvolio, this is not my writing,\\r\\nThough I confess, much like the character:\\r\\nBut out of question, ’tis Maria’s hand.\\r\\nAnd now I do bethink me, it was she\\r\\nFirst told me thou wast mad; then cam’st in smiling,\\r\\nAnd in such forms which here were presuppos’d\\r\\nUpon thee in the letter. Prithee, be content.\\r\\nThis practice hath most shrewdly pass’d upon thee.\\r\\nBut when we know the grounds and authors of it,\\r\\nThou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge\\r\\nOf thine own cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nGood madam, hear me speak,\\r\\nAnd let no quarrel, nor no brawl to come,\\r\\nTaint the condition of this present hour,\\r\\nWhich I have wonder’d at. In hope it shall not,\\r\\nMost freely I confess, myself and Toby\\r\\nSet this device against Malvolio here,\\r\\nUpon some stubborn and uncourteous parts\\r\\nWe had conceiv’d against him. Maria writ\\r\\nThe letter, at Sir Toby’s great importance,\\r\\nIn recompense whereof he hath married her.\\r\\nHow with a sportful malice it was follow’d\\r\\nMay rather pluck on laughter than revenge,\\r\\nIf that the injuries be justly weigh’d\\r\\nThat have on both sides passed.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAlas, poor fool, how have they baffled thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, ‘some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have\\r\\ngreatness thrown upon them.’ I was one, sir, in this interlude, one Sir\\r\\nTopas, sir, but that’s all one. ‘By the Lord, fool, I am not mad.’ But\\r\\ndo you remember? ‘Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal? And you\\r\\nsmile not, he’s gagged’? And thus the whirligig of time brings in his\\r\\nrevenges.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI’ll be revenged on the whole pack of you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHe hath been most notoriously abus’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nPursue him, and entreat him to a peace:\\r\\nHe hath not told us of the captain yet.\\r\\nWhen that is known, and golden time convents,\\r\\nA solemn combination shall be made\\r\\nOf our dear souls.—Meantime, sweet sister,\\r\\nWe will not part from hence.—Cesario, come:\\r\\nFor so you shall be while you are a man;\\r\\nBut when in other habits you are seen,\\r\\nOrsino’s mistress, and his fancy’s queen.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Clown sings.\\r\\n\\r\\n_ When that I was and a little tiny boy,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n A foolish thing was but a toy,\\r\\n For the rain it raineth every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ But when I came to man’s estate,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n ’Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,\\r\\n For the rain it raineth every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ But when I came, alas, to wive,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n By swaggering could I never thrive,\\r\\n For the rain it raineth every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ But when I came unto my beds,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n With toss-pots still had drunken heads,\\r\\n For the rain it raineth every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ A great while ago the world begun,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n But that’s all one, our play is done,\\r\\n And we’ll strive to please you every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE OF MILAN, father to Silvia\\r\\n VALENTINE, one of the two gentlemen\\r\\n PROTEUS, \" \" \" \" \"\\r\\n ANTONIO, father to Proteus\\r\\n THURIO, a foolish rival to Valentine\\r\\n EGLAMOUR, agent for Silvia in her escape\\r\\n SPEED, a clownish servant to Valentine\\r\\n LAUNCE, the like to Proteus\\r\\n PANTHINO, servant to Antonio\\r\\n HOST, where Julia lodges in Milan\\r\\n OUTLAWS, with Valentine\\r\\n\\r\\n JULIA, a lady of Verona, beloved of Proteus\\r\\n SILVIA, the Duke\\'s daughter, beloved of Valentine\\r\\n LUCETTA, waiting-woman to Julia\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANTS MUSICIANS\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Verona; Milan; the frontiers of Mantua\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. Verona. An open place\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter VALENTINE and PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n VALENTINE. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus:\\r\\n Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.\\r\\n Were\\'t not affection chains thy tender days\\r\\n To the sweet glances of thy honour\\'d love,\\r\\n I rather would entreat thy company\\r\\n To see the wonders of the world abroad,\\r\\n Than, living dully sluggardiz\\'d at home,\\r\\n Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.\\r\\n But since thou lov\\'st, love still, and thrive therein,\\r\\n Even as I would, when I to love begin.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu!\\r\\n Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest\\r\\n Some rare noteworthy object in thy travel.\\r\\n Wish me partaker in thy happiness\\r\\n When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger,\\r\\n If ever danger do environ thee,\\r\\n Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,\\r\\n For I will be thy headsman, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. And on a love-book pray for my success?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Upon some book I love I\\'ll pray for thee.\\r\\n VALENTINE. That\\'s on some shallow story of deep love:\\r\\n How young Leander cross\\'d the Hellespont.\\r\\n PROTEUS. That\\'s a deep story of a deeper love;\\r\\n For he was more than over shoes in love.\\r\\n VALENTINE. \\'Tis true; for you are over boots in love,\\r\\n And yet you never swum the Hellespont.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Over the boots! Nay, give me not the boots.\\r\\n VALENTINE. No, I will not, for it boots thee not.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What?\\r\\n VALENTINE. To be in love- where scorn is bought with groans,\\r\\n Coy looks with heart-sore sighs, one fading moment\\'s mirth\\r\\n With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights;\\r\\n If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain;\\r\\n If lost, why then a grievous labour won;\\r\\n However, but a folly bought with wit,\\r\\n Or else a wit by folly vanquished.\\r\\n PROTEUS. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.\\r\\n VALENTINE. So, by your circumstance, I fear you\\'ll prove.\\r\\n PROTEUS. \\'Tis love you cavil at; I am not Love.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Love is your master, for he masters you;\\r\\n And he that is so yoked by a fool,\\r\\n Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud\\r\\n The eating canker dwells, so eating love\\r\\n Inhabits in the finest wits of all.\\r\\n VALENTINE. And writers say, as the most forward bud\\r\\n Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,\\r\\n Even so by love the young and tender wit\\r\\n Is turn\\'d to folly, blasting in the bud,\\r\\n Losing his verdure even in the prime,\\r\\n And all the fair effects of future hopes.\\r\\n But wherefore waste I time to counsel the\\r\\n That art a votary to fond desire?\\r\\n Once more adieu. My father at the road\\r\\n Expects my coming, there to see me shipp\\'d.\\r\\n PROTEUS. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave.\\r\\n To Milan let me hear from thee by letters\\r\\n Of thy success in love, and what news else\\r\\n Betideth here in absence of thy friend;\\r\\n And I likewise will visit thee with mine.\\r\\n PROTEUS. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan!\\r\\n VALENTINE. As much to you at home; and so farewell!\\r\\n Exit VALENTINE\\r\\n PROTEUS. He after honour hunts, I after love;\\r\\n He leaves his friends to dignify them more:\\r\\n I leave myself, my friends, and all for love.\\r\\n Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphis\\'d me,\\r\\n Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,\\r\\n War with good counsel, set the world at nought;\\r\\n Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n SPEED. Sir Proteus, save you! Saw you my master?\\r\\n PROTEUS. But now he parted hence to embark for Milan.\\r\\n SPEED. Twenty to one then he is shipp\\'d already,\\r\\n And I have play\\'d the sheep in losing him.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray,\\r\\n An if the shepherd be awhile away.\\r\\n SPEED. You conclude that my master is a shepherd then, and\\r\\n I a sheep?\\r\\n PROTEUS. I do.\\r\\n SPEED. Why then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep.\\r\\n PROTEUS. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep.\\r\\n SPEED. This proves me still a sheep.\\r\\n PROTEUS. True; and thy master a shepherd.\\r\\n SPEED. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.\\r\\n PROTEUS. It shall go hard but I\\'ll prove it by another.\\r\\n SPEED. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the\\r\\n shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me;\\r\\n therefore, I am no sheep.\\r\\n PROTEUS. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd; the shepherd for\\r\\n food follows not the sheep: thou for wages followest thy master;\\r\\n thy master for wages follows not thee. Therefore, thou art a\\r\\n sheep.\\r\\n SPEED. Such another proof will make me cry \\'baa.\\'\\r\\n PROTEUS. But dost thou hear? Gav\\'st thou my letter to Julia?\\r\\n SPEED. Ay, sir; I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her, a lac\\'d\\r\\n mutton; and she, a lac\\'d mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing\\r\\n for my labour.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Here\\'s too small a pasture for such store of muttons.\\r\\n SPEED. If the ground be overcharg\\'d, you were best stick her.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Nay, in that you are astray: \\'twere best pound you.\\r\\n SPEED. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your\\r\\n letter.\\r\\n PROTEUS. You mistake; I mean the pound- a pinfold.\\r\\n SPEED. From a pound to a pin? Fold it over and over,\\r\\n \\'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But what said she?\\r\\n SPEED. [Nodding] Ay.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Nod- ay. Why, that\\'s \\'noddy.\\'\\r\\n SPEED. You mistook, sir; I say she did nod; and you ask me if she\\r\\n did nod; and I say \\'Ay.\\'\\r\\n PROTEUS. And that set together is \\'noddy.\\'\\r\\n SPEED. Now you have taken the pains to set it together, take it for\\r\\n your pains.\\r\\n PROTEUS. No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter.\\r\\n SPEED. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, sir, how do you bear with me?\\r\\n SPEED. Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly; having nothing but the\\r\\n word \\'noddy\\' for my pains.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.\\r\\n SPEED. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Come, come, open the matter; in brief, what said she?\\r\\n SPEED. Open your purse, that the money and the matter may be both\\r\\n at once delivered.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she?\\r\\n SPEED. Truly, sir, I think you\\'ll hardly win her.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her?\\r\\n SPEED. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; no, not so\\r\\n much as a ducat for delivering your letter; and being so hard to\\r\\n me that brought your mind, I fear she\\'ll prove as hard to you in\\r\\n telling your mind. Give her no token but stones, for she\\'s as\\r\\n hard as steel.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What said she? Nothing?\\r\\n SPEED. No, not so much as \\'Take this for thy pains.\\' To testify\\r\\n your bounty, I thank you, you have testern\\'d me; in requital\\r\\n whereof, henceforth carry your letters yourself; and so, sir,\\r\\n I\\'ll commend you to my master.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck,\\r\\n Which cannot perish, having thee aboard,\\r\\n Being destin\\'d to a drier death on shore. Exit SPEED\\r\\n I must go send some better messenger.\\r\\n I fear my Julia would not deign my lines,\\r\\n Receiving them from such a worthless post. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Verona. The garden Of JULIA\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter JULIA and LUCETTA\\r\\n\\r\\n JULIA. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone,\\r\\n Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Ay, madam; so you stumble not unheedfully.\\r\\n JULIA. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen\\r\\n That every day with parle encounter me,\\r\\n In thy opinion which is worthiest love?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Please you, repeat their names; I\\'ll show my mind\\r\\n According to my shallow simple skill.\\r\\n JULIA. What think\\'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?\\r\\n LUCETTA. As of a knight well-spoken, neat, and fine;\\r\\n But, were I you, he never should be mine.\\r\\n JULIA. What think\\'st thou of the rich Mercatio?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Well of his wealth; but of himself, so so.\\r\\n JULIA. What think\\'st thou of the gentle Proteus?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Lord, Lord! to see what folly reigns in us!\\r\\n JULIA. How now! what means this passion at his name?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Pardon, dear madam; \\'tis a passing shame\\r\\n That I, unworthy body as I am,\\r\\n Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen.\\r\\n JULIA. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Then thus: of many good I think him best.\\r\\n JULIA. Your reason?\\r\\n LUCETTA. I have no other but a woman\\'s reason:\\r\\n I think him so, because I think him so.\\r\\n JULIA. And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away.\\r\\n JULIA. Why, he, of all the rest, hath never mov\\'d me.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye.\\r\\n JULIA. His little speaking shows his love but small.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Fire that\\'s closest kept burns most of all.\\r\\n JULIA. They do not love that do not show their love.\\r\\n LUCETTA. O, they love least that let men know their love.\\r\\n JULIA. I would I knew his mind.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Peruse this paper, madam.\\r\\n JULIA. \\'To Julia\\'- Say, from whom?\\r\\n LUCETTA. That the contents will show.\\r\\n JULIA. Say, say, who gave it thee?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Sir Valentine\\'s page; and sent, I think, from Proteus.\\r\\n He would have given it you; but I, being in the way,\\r\\n Did in your name receive it; pardon the fault, I pray.\\r\\n JULIA. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker!\\r\\n Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines?\\r\\n To whisper and conspire against my youth?\\r\\n Now, trust me, \\'tis an office of great worth,\\r\\n And you an officer fit for the place.\\r\\n There, take the paper; see it be return\\'d;\\r\\n Or else return no more into my sight.\\r\\n LUCETTA. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate.\\r\\n JULIA. Will ye be gone?\\r\\n LUCETTA. That you may ruminate. Exit\\r\\n JULIA. And yet, I would I had o\\'erlook\\'d the letter.\\r\\n It were a shame to call her back again,\\r\\n And pray her to a fault for which I chid her.\\r\\n What fool is she, that knows I am a maid\\r\\n And would not force the letter to my view!\\r\\n Since maids, in modesty, say \\'No\\' to that\\r\\n Which they would have the profferer construe \\'Ay.\\'\\r\\n Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love,\\r\\n That like a testy babe will scratch the nurse,\\r\\n And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod!\\r\\n How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence,\\r\\n When willingly I would have had her here!\\r\\n How angerly I taught my brow to frown,\\r\\n When inward joy enforc\\'d my heart to smile!\\r\\n My penance is to call Lucetta back\\r\\n And ask remission for my folly past.\\r\\n What ho! Lucetta!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter LUCETTA\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCETTA. What would your ladyship?\\r\\n JULIA. Is\\'t near dinner time?\\r\\n LUCETTA. I would it were,\\r\\n That you might kill your stomach on your meat\\r\\n And not upon your maid.\\r\\n JULIA. What is\\'t that you took up so gingerly?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Nothing.\\r\\n JULIA. Why didst thou stoop then?\\r\\n LUCETTA. To take a paper up that I let fall.\\r\\n JULIA. And is that paper nothing?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Nothing concerning me.\\r\\n JULIA. Then let it lie for those that it concerns.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns,\\r\\n Unless it have a false interpreter.\\r\\n JULIA. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme.\\r\\n LUCETTA. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune.\\r\\n Give me a note; your ladyship can set.\\r\\n JULIA. As little by such toys as may be possible.\\r\\n Best sing it to the tune of \\'Light o\\' Love.\\'\\r\\n LUCETTA. It is too heavy for so light a tune.\\r\\n JULIA. Heavy! belike it hath some burden then.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Ay; and melodious were it, would you sing it.\\r\\n JULIA. And why not you?\\r\\n LUCETTA. I cannot reach so high.\\r\\n JULIA. Let\\'s see your song. [LUCETTA withholds the letter]\\r\\n How now, minion!\\r\\n LUCETTA. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out.\\r\\n And yet methinks I do not like this tune.\\r\\n JULIA. You do not!\\r\\n LUCETTA. No, madam; \\'tis too sharp.\\r\\n JULIA. You, minion, are too saucy.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Nay, now you are too flat\\r\\n And mar the concord with too harsh a descant;\\r\\n There wanteth but a mean to fill your song.\\r\\n JULIA. The mean is drown\\'d with your unruly bass.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus.\\r\\n JULIA. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me.\\r\\n Here is a coil with protestation! [Tears the letter]\\r\\n Go, get you gone; and let the papers lie.\\r\\n You would be fing\\'ring them, to anger me.\\r\\n LUCETTA. She makes it strange; but she would be best pleas\\'d\\r\\n To be so ang\\'red with another letter. Exit\\r\\n JULIA. Nay, would I were so ang\\'red with the same!\\r\\n O hateful hands, to tear such loving words!\\r\\n Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey\\r\\n And kill the bees that yield it with your stings!\\r\\n I\\'ll kiss each several paper for amends.\\r\\n Look, here is writ \\'kind Julia.\\' Unkind Julia,\\r\\n As in revenge of thy ingratitude,\\r\\n I throw thy name against the bruising stones,\\r\\n Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain.\\r\\n And here is writ \\'love-wounded Proteus.\\'\\r\\n Poor wounded name! my bosom,,as a bed,\\r\\n Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly heal\\'d;\\r\\n And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss.\\r\\n But twice or thrice was \\'Proteus\\' written down.\\r\\n Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away\\r\\n Till I have found each letter in the letter-\\r\\n Except mine own name; that some whirlwind bear\\r\\n Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock,\\r\\n And throw it thence into the raging sea.\\r\\n Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ:\\r\\n \\'Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus,\\r\\n To the sweet Julia.\\' That I\\'ll tear away;\\r\\n And yet I will not, sith so prettily\\r\\n He couples it to his complaining names.\\r\\n Thus will I fold them one upon another;\\r\\n Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter LUCETTA\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCETTA. Madam,\\r\\n Dinner is ready, and your father stays.\\r\\n JULIA. Well, let us go.\\r\\n LUCETTA. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here?\\r\\n JULIA. If you respect them, best to take them up.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down;\\r\\n Yet here they shall not lie for catching cold.\\r\\n JULIA. I see you have a month\\'s mind to them.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see;\\r\\n I see things too, although you judge I wink.\\r\\n JULIA. Come, come; will\\'t please you go? Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Verona. ANTONIO\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ANTONIO and PANTHINO\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that\\r\\n Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?\\r\\n PANTHINO. \\'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Why, what of him?\\r\\n PANTHINO. He wond\\'red that your lordship\\r\\n Would suffer him to spend his youth at home,\\r\\n While other men, of slender reputation,\\r\\n Put forth their sons to seek preferment out:\\r\\n Some to the wars, to try their fortune there;\\r\\n Some to discover islands far away;\\r\\n Some to the studious universities.\\r\\n For any, or for all these exercises,\\r\\n He said that Proteus, your son, was meet;\\r\\n And did request me to importune you\\r\\n To let him spend his time no more at home,\\r\\n Which would be great impeachment to his age,\\r\\n In having known no travel in his youth.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Nor need\\'st thou much importune me to that\\r\\n Whereon this month I have been hammering.\\r\\n I have consider\\'d well his loss of time,\\r\\n And how he cannot be a perfect man,\\r\\n Not being tried and tutor\\'d in the world:\\r\\n Experience is by industry achiev\\'d,\\r\\n And perfected by the swift course of time.\\r\\n Then tell me whither were I best to send him.\\r\\n PANTHINO. I think your lordship is not ignorant\\r\\n How his companion, youthful Valentine,\\r\\n Attends the Emperor in his royal court.\\r\\n ANTONIO. I know it well.\\r\\n PANTHINO. \\'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither:\\r\\n There shall he practise tilts and tournaments,\\r\\n Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen,\\r\\n And be in eye of every exercise\\r\\n Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth.\\r\\n ANTONIO. I like thy counsel; well hast thou advis\\'d;\\r\\n And that thou mayst perceive how well I like it,\\r\\n The execution of it shall make known:\\r\\n Even with the speediest expedition\\r\\n I will dispatch him to the Emperor\\'s court.\\r\\n PANTHINO. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso\\r\\n With other gentlemen of good esteem\\r\\n Are journeying to salute the Emperor,\\r\\n And to commend their service to his will.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Good company; with them shall Proteus go.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n And- in good time!- now will we break with him.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life!\\r\\n Here is her hand, the agent of her heart;\\r\\n Here is her oath for love, her honour\\'s pawn.\\r\\n O that our fathers would applaud our loves,\\r\\n To seal our happiness with their consents!\\r\\n O heavenly Julia!\\r\\n ANTONIO. How now! What letter are you reading there?\\r\\n PROTEUS. May\\'t please your lordship, \\'tis a word or two\\r\\n Of commendations sent from Valentine,\\r\\n Deliver\\'d by a friend that came from him.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Lend me the letter; let me see what news.\\r\\n PROTEUS. There is no news, my lord; but that he writes\\r\\n How happily he lives, how well-belov\\'d\\r\\n And daily graced by the Emperor;\\r\\n Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune.\\r\\n ANTONIO. And how stand you affected to his wish?\\r\\n PROTEUS. As one relying on your lordship\\'s will,\\r\\n And not depending on his friendly wish.\\r\\n ANTONIO. My will is something sorted with his wish.\\r\\n Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed;\\r\\n For what I will, I will, and there an end.\\r\\n I am resolv\\'d that thou shalt spend some time\\r\\n With Valentinus in the Emperor\\'s court;\\r\\n What maintenance he from his friends receives,\\r\\n Like exhibition thou shalt have from me.\\r\\n To-morrow be in readiness to go-\\r\\n Excuse it not, for I am peremptory.\\r\\n PROTEUS. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided;\\r\\n Please you, deliberate a day or two.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Look what thou want\\'st shall be sent after thee.\\r\\n No more of stay; to-morrow thou must go.\\r\\n Come on, Panthino; you shall be employ\\'d\\r\\n To hasten on his expedition.\\r\\n Exeunt ANTONIO and PANTHINO\\r\\n PROTEUS. Thus have I shunn\\'d the fire for fear of burning,\\r\\n And drench\\'d me in the sea, where I am drown\\'d.\\r\\n I fear\\'d to show my father Julia\\'s letter,\\r\\n Lest he should take exceptions to my love;\\r\\n And with the vantage of mine own excuse\\r\\n Hath he excepted most against my love.\\r\\n O, how this spring of love resembleth\\r\\n The uncertain glory of an April day,\\r\\n Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,\\r\\n And by an by a cloud takes all away!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PANTHINO\\r\\n\\r\\n PANTHINO. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you;\\r\\n He is in haste; therefore, I pray you, go.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, this it is: my heart accords thereto;\\r\\n And yet a thousand times it answers \\'No.\\' Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter VALENTINE and SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n SPEED. Sir, your glove.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Not mine: my gloves are on.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, then, this may be yours; for this is but one.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ha! let me see; ay, give it me, it\\'s mine;\\r\\n Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine!\\r\\n Ah, Silvia! Silvia!\\r\\n SPEED. [Calling] Madam Silvia! Madam Silvia!\\r\\n VALENTINE. How now, sirrah?\\r\\n SPEED. She is not within hearing, sir.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, sir, who bade you call her?\\r\\n SPEED. Your worship, sir; or else I mistook.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Well, you\\'ll still be too forward.\\r\\n SPEED. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Go to, sir; tell me, do you know Madam Silvia?\\r\\n SPEED. She that your worship loves?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, how know you that I am in love?\\r\\n SPEED. Marry, by these special marks: first, you have learn\\'d, like\\r\\n Sir Proteus, to wreath your arms like a malcontent; to relish a\\r\\n love-song, like a robin redbreast; to walk alone, like one that\\r\\n had the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had lost his\\r\\n A B C; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her grandam;\\r\\n to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, like one that fears\\r\\n robbing; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were\\r\\n wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you walk\\'d, to\\r\\n walk like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently\\r\\n after dinner; when you look\\'d sadly, it was for want of money.\\r\\n And now you are metamorphis\\'d with a mistress, that, when I look\\r\\n on you, I can hardly think you my master.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Are all these things perceiv\\'d in me?\\r\\n SPEED. They are all perceiv\\'d without ye.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Without me? They cannot.\\r\\n SPEED. Without you! Nay, that\\'s certain; for, without you were so\\r\\n simple, none else would; but you are so without these follies\\r\\n that these follies are within you, and shine through you like the\\r\\n water in an urinal, that not an eye that sees you but is a\\r\\n physician to comment on your malady.\\r\\n VALENTINE. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia?\\r\\n SPEED. She that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Hast thou observ\\'d that? Even she, I mean.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, sir, I know her not.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet know\\'st\\r\\n her not?\\r\\n SPEED. Is she not hard-favour\\'d, sir?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Not so fair, boy, as well-favour\\'d.\\r\\n SPEED. Sir, I know that well enough.\\r\\n VALENTINE. What dost thou know?\\r\\n SPEED. That she is not so fair as, of you, well-favour\\'d.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I mean that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour\\r\\n infinite.\\r\\n SPEED. That\\'s because the one is painted, and the other out of all\\r\\n count.\\r\\n VALENTINE. How painted? and how out of count?\\r\\n SPEED. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, that no man counts\\r\\n of her beauty.\\r\\n VALENTINE. How esteem\\'st thou me? I account of her beauty.\\r\\n SPEED. You never saw her since she was deform\\'d.\\r\\n VALENTINE. How long hath she been deform\\'d?\\r\\n SPEED. Ever since you lov\\'d her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I have lov\\'d her ever since I saw her, and still\\r\\n I see her beautiful.\\r\\n SPEED. If you love her, you cannot see her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why?\\r\\n SPEED. Because Love is blind. O that you had mine eyes; or your own\\r\\n eyes had the lights they were wont to have when you chid at Sir\\r\\n Proteus for going ungarter\\'d!\\r\\n VALENTINE. What should I see then?\\r\\n SPEED. Your own present folly and her passing deformity; for he,\\r\\n being in love, could not see to garter his hose; and you, being\\r\\n in love, cannot see to put on your hose.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last morning you\\r\\n could not see to wipe my shoes.\\r\\n SPEED. True, sir; I was in love with my bed. I thank you, you\\r\\n swing\\'d me for my love, which makes me the bolder to chide you\\r\\n for yours.\\r\\n VALENTINE. In conclusion, I stand affected to her.\\r\\n SPEED. I would you were set, so your affection would cease.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Last night she enjoin\\'d me to write some lines to one\\r\\n she loves.\\r\\n SPEED. And have you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I have.\\r\\n SPEED. Are they not lamely writ?\\r\\n VALENTINE. No, boy, but as well as I can do them.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA\\r\\n\\r\\n Peace! here she comes.\\r\\n SPEED. [Aside] O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet!\\r\\n Now will he interpret to her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Madam and mistress, a thousand good morrows.\\r\\n SPEED. [Aside] O, give ye good ev\\'n!\\r\\n Here\\'s a million of manners.\\r\\n SILVIA. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand.\\r\\n SPEED. [Aside] He should give her interest, and she gives it him.\\r\\n VALENTINE. As you enjoin\\'d me, I have writ your letter\\r\\n Unto the secret nameless friend of yours;\\r\\n Which I was much unwilling to proceed in,\\r\\n But for my duty to your ladyship.\\r\\n SILVIA. I thank you, gentle servant. \\'Tis very clerkly done.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off;\\r\\n For, being ignorant to whom it goes,\\r\\n I writ at random, very doubtfully.\\r\\n SILVIA. Perchance you think too much of so much pains?\\r\\n VALENTINE. No, madam; so it stead you, I will write,\\r\\n Please you command, a thousand times as much;\\r\\n And yet-\\r\\n SILVIA. A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel;\\r\\n And yet I will not name it- and yet I care not.\\r\\n And yet take this again- and yet I thank you-\\r\\n Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.\\r\\n SPEED. [Aside] And yet you will; and yet another\\' yet.\\'\\r\\n VALENTINE. What means your ladyship? Do you not like it?\\r\\n SILVIA. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ;\\r\\n But, since unwillingly, take them again.\\r\\n Nay, take them. [Gives hack the letter]\\r\\n VALENTINE. Madam, they are for you.\\r\\n SILVIA. Ay, ay, you writ them, sir, at my request;\\r\\n But I will none of them; they are for you:\\r\\n I would have had them writ more movingly.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Please you, I\\'ll write your ladyship another.\\r\\n SILVIA. And when it\\'s writ, for my sake read it over;\\r\\n And if it please you, so; if not, why, so.\\r\\n VALENTINE. If it please me, madam, what then?\\r\\n SILVIA. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour.\\r\\n And so good morrow, servant. Exit SILVIA\\r\\n SPEED. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible,\\r\\n As a nose on a man\\'s face, or a weathercock on a steeple!\\r\\n My master sues to her; and she hath taught her suitor,\\r\\n He being her pupil, to become her tutor.\\r\\n O excellent device! Was there ever heard a better,\\r\\n That my master, being scribe, to himself should write the letter?\\r\\n VALENTINE. How now, sir! What are you reasoning with yourself?\\r\\n SPEED. Nay, I was rhyming: \\'tis you that have the reason.\\r\\n VALENTINE. To do what?\\r\\n SPEED. To be a spokesman from Madam Silvia?\\r\\n VALENTINE. To whom?\\r\\n SPEED. To yourself; why, she woos you by a figure.\\r\\n VALENTINE. What figure?\\r\\n SPEED. By a letter, I should say.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, she hath not writ to me.\\r\\n SPEED. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself?\\r\\n Why, do you not perceive the jest?\\r\\n VALENTINE. No, believe me.\\r\\n SPEED. No believing you indeed, sir. But did you perceive her\\r\\n earnest?\\r\\n VALENTINE. She gave me none except an angry word.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, she hath given you a letter.\\r\\n VALENTINE. That\\'s the letter I writ to her friend.\\r\\n SPEED. And that letter hath she deliver\\'d, and there an end.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I would it were no worse.\\r\\n SPEED. I\\'ll warrant you \\'tis as well.\\r\\n \\'For often have you writ to her; and she, in modesty,\\r\\n Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply;\\r\\n Or fearing else some messenger that might her mind discover,\\r\\n Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.\\'\\r\\n All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. Why muse you,\\r\\n sir? \\'Tis dinner time.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I have din\\'d.\\r\\n SPEED. Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can feed on\\r\\n the air, I am one that am nourish\\'d by my victuals, and would\\r\\n fain have meat. O, be not like your mistress! Be moved, be moved.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Verona. JULIA\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PROTEUS and JULIA\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Have patience, gentle Julia.\\r\\n JULIA. I must, where is no remedy.\\r\\n PROTEUS. When possibly I can, I will return.\\r\\n JULIA. If you turn not, you will return the sooner.\\r\\n Keep this remembrance for thy Julia\\'s sake.\\r\\n [Giving a ring]\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, then, we\\'ll make exchange. Here, take you this.\\r\\n JULIA. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Here is my hand for my true constancy;\\r\\n And when that hour o\\'erslips me in the day\\r\\n Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake,\\r\\n The next ensuing hour some foul mischance\\r\\n Torment me for my love\\'s forgetfulness!\\r\\n My father stays my coming; answer not;\\r\\n The tide is now- nay, not thy tide of tears:\\r\\n That tide will stay me longer than I should.\\r\\n Julia, farewell! Exit JULIA\\r\\n What, gone without a word?\\r\\n Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak;\\r\\n For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PANTHINO\\r\\n\\r\\n PANTHINO. Sir Proteus, you are stay\\'d for.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go; I come, I come.\\r\\n Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Verona. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter LAUNCE, leading a dog\\r\\n\\r\\n LAUNCE. Nay, \\'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping; all the\\r\\n kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have receiv\\'d my\\r\\n proportion, like the Prodigious Son, and am going with Sir Proteus to\\r\\n the Imperial\\'s court. I think Crab my dog be the sourest-natured dog\\r\\n that lives: my mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying,\\r\\n our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a\\r\\n great perplexity; yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear.\\r\\n He is a stone, a very pebble stone, and has no more pity in him than\\r\\n a dog. A Jew would have wept to have seen our parting; why, my\\r\\n grandam having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting.\\r\\n Nay, I\\'ll show you the manner of it. This shoe is my father; no, this\\r\\n left shoe is my father; no, no, left shoe is my mother; nay, that\\r\\n cannot be so neither; yes, it is so, it is so, it hath the worser\\r\\n sole. This shoe with the hole in it is my mother, and this my father.\\r\\n A vengeance on \\'t! There \\'tis. Now, sir, this staff is my sister,\\r\\n for, look you, she is as white as a lily and as small as a wand; this\\r\\n hat is Nan our maid; I am the dog; no, the dog is himself, and I am\\r\\n the dog- O, the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so, so. Now come I to\\r\\n my father: \\'Father, your blessing.\\' Now should not the shoe speak a\\r\\n word for weeping; now should I kiss my father; well, he weeps on. Now\\r\\n come I to my mother. O that she could speak now like a wood woman!\\r\\n Well, I kiss her- why there \\'tis; here\\'s my mother\\'s breath up and\\r\\n down. Now come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes. Now the dog\\r\\n all this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word; but see how I lay\\r\\n the dust with my tears.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PANTHINO\\r\\n\\r\\n PANTHINO. Launce, away, away, aboard! Thy master is shipp\\'d, and\\r\\n thou art to post after with oars. What\\'s the matter? Why weep\\'st\\r\\n thou, man? Away, ass! You\\'ll lose the tide if you tarry any\\r\\n longer.\\r\\n LAUNCE. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the\\r\\n unkindest tied that ever any man tied.\\r\\n PANTHINO. What\\'s the unkindest tide?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, he that\\'s tied here, Crab, my dog.\\r\\n PANTHINO. Tut, man, I mean thou\\'lt lose the flood, and, in losing\\r\\n the flood, lose thy voyage, and, in losing thy voyage, lose thy\\r\\n master, and, in losing thy master, lose thy service, and, in\\r\\n losing thy service- Why dost thou stop my mouth?\\r\\n LAUNCE. For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue.\\r\\n PANTHINO. Where should I lose my tongue?\\r\\n LAUNCE. In thy tale.\\r\\n PANTHINO. In thy tail!\\r\\n LAUNCE. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the\\r\\n service, and the tied! Why, man, if the river were dry, I am able\\r\\n to fill it with my tears; if the wind were down, I could drive\\r\\n the boat with my sighs.\\r\\n PANTHINO. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Sir, call me what thou dar\\'st.\\r\\n PANTHINO. Will thou go?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Well, I will go. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SILVIA, VALENTINE, THURIO, and SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n SILVIA. Servant!\\r\\n VALENTINE. Mistress?\\r\\n SPEED. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, boy, it\\'s for love.\\r\\n SPEED. Not of you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Of my mistress, then.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Twere good you knock\\'d him. Exit\\r\\n SILVIA. Servant, you are sad.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Indeed, madam, I seem so.\\r\\n THURIO. Seem you that you are not?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Haply I do.\\r\\n THURIO. So do counterfeits.\\r\\n VALENTINE. So do you.\\r\\n THURIO. What seem I that I am not?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Wise.\\r\\n THURIO. What instance of the contrary?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Your folly.\\r\\n THURIO. And how quote you my folly?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I quote it in your jerkin.\\r\\n THURIO. My jerkin is a doublet.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Well, then, I\\'ll double your folly.\\r\\n THURIO. How?\\r\\n SILVIA. What, angry, Sir Thurio! Do you change colour?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of chameleon.\\r\\n THURIO. That hath more mind to feed on your blood than live in your\\r\\n air.\\r\\n VALENTINE. You have said, sir.\\r\\n THURIO. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin.\\r\\n SILVIA. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off.\\r\\n VALENTINE. \\'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver.\\r\\n SILVIA. Who is that, servant?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire. Sir Thurio\\r\\n borrows his wit from your ladyship\\'s looks, and spends what he\\r\\n borrows kindly in your company.\\r\\n THURIO. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your\\r\\n wit bankrupt.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I know it well, sir; you have an exchequer of words,\\r\\n and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers; for it\\r\\n appears by their bare liveries that they live by your bare words.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUKE\\r\\n\\r\\n SILVIA. No more, gentlemen, no more. Here comes my father.\\r\\n DUKE. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset.\\r\\n Sir Valentine, your father is in good health.\\r\\n What say you to a letter from your friends\\r\\n Of much good news?\\r\\n VALENTINE. My lord, I will be thankful\\r\\n To any happy messenger from thence.\\r\\n DUKE. Know ye Don Antonio, your countryman?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman\\r\\n To be of worth and worthy estimation,\\r\\n And not without desert so well reputed.\\r\\n DUKE. Hath he not a son?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord; a son that well deserves\\r\\n The honour and regard of such a father.\\r\\n DUKE. You know him well?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I knew him as myself; for from our infancy\\r\\n We have convers\\'d and spent our hours together;\\r\\n And though myself have been an idle truant,\\r\\n Omitting the sweet benefit of time\\r\\n To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection,\\r\\n Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that\\'s his name,\\r\\n Made use and fair advantage of his days:\\r\\n His years but young, but his experience old;\\r\\n His head unmellowed, but his judgment ripe;\\r\\n And, in a word, for far behind his worth\\r\\n Comes all the praises that I now bestow,\\r\\n He is complete in feature and in mind,\\r\\n With all good grace to grace a gentleman.\\r\\n DUKE. Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good,\\r\\n He is as worthy for an empress\\' love\\r\\n As meet to be an emperor\\'s counsellor.\\r\\n Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me\\r\\n With commendation from great potentates,\\r\\n And here he means to spend his time awhile.\\r\\n I think \\'tis no unwelcome news to you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Should I have wish\\'d a thing, it had been he.\\r\\n DUKE. Welcome him, then, according to his worth-\\r\\n Silvia, I speak to you, and you, Sir Thurio;\\r\\n For Valentine, I need not cite him to it.\\r\\n I will send him hither to you presently. Exit DUKE\\r\\n VALENTINE. This is the gentleman I told your ladyship\\r\\n Had come along with me but that his mistresss\\r\\n Did hold his eyes lock\\'d in her crystal looks.\\r\\n SILVIA. Belike that now she hath enfranchis\\'d them\\r\\n Upon some other pawn for fealty.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still.\\r\\n SILVIA. Nay, then, he should be blind; and, being blind,\\r\\n How could he see his way to seek out you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes.\\r\\n THURIO. They say that Love hath not an eye at all.\\r\\n VALENTINE. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself;\\r\\n Upon a homely object Love can wink. Exit THURIO\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n SILVIA. Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Welcome, dear Proteus! Mistress, I beseech you\\r\\n Confirm his welcome with some special favour.\\r\\n SILVIA. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither,\\r\\n If this be he you oft have wish\\'d to hear from.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Mistress, it is; sweet lady, entertain him\\r\\n To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship.\\r\\n SILVIA. Too low a mistress for so high a servant.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant\\r\\n To have a look of such a worthy mistress.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Leave off discourse of disability;\\r\\n Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.\\r\\n PROTEUS. My duty will I boast of, nothing else.\\r\\n SILVIA. And duty never yet did want his meed.\\r\\n Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress.\\r\\n PROTEUS. I\\'ll die on him that says so but yourself.\\r\\n SILVIA. That you are welcome?\\r\\n PROTEUS. That you are worthless.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter THURIO\\r\\n\\r\\n THURIO. Madam, my lord your father would speak with you.\\r\\n SILVIA. I wait upon his pleasure. Come, Sir Thurio,\\r\\n Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome.\\r\\n I\\'ll leave you to confer of home affairs;\\r\\n When you have done we look to hear from you.\\r\\n PROTEUS. We\\'ll both attend upon your ladyship.\\r\\n Exeunt SILVIA and THURIO\\r\\n VALENTINE. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Your friends are well, and have them much commended.\\r\\n VALENTINE. And how do yours?\\r\\n PROTEUS. I left them all in health.\\r\\n VALENTINE. How does your lady, and how thrives your love?\\r\\n PROTEUS. My tales of love were wont to weary you;\\r\\n I know you joy not in a love-discourse.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter\\'d now;\\r\\n I have done penance for contemning Love,\\r\\n Whose high imperious thoughts have punish\\'d me\\r\\n With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,\\r\\n With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs;\\r\\n For, in revenge of my contempt of love,\\r\\n Love hath chas\\'d sleep from my enthralled eyes\\r\\n And made them watchers of mine own heart\\'s sorrow.\\r\\n O gentle Proteus, Love\\'s a mighty lord,\\r\\n And hath so humbled me as I confess\\r\\n There is no woe to his correction,\\r\\n Nor to his service no such joy on earth.\\r\\n Now no discourse, except it be of love;\\r\\n Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep,\\r\\n Upon the very naked name of love.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye.\\r\\n Was this the idol that you worship so?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint?\\r\\n PROTEUS. No; but she is an earthly paragon.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Call her divine.\\r\\n PROTEUS. I will not flatter her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. O, flatter me; for love delights in praises!\\r\\n PROTEUS. When I was sick you gave me bitter pills,\\r\\n And I must minister the like to you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Then speak the truth by her; if not divine,\\r\\n Yet let her be a principality,\\r\\n Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Except my mistress.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Sweet, except not any;\\r\\n Except thou wilt except against my love.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Have I not reason to prefer mine own?\\r\\n VALENTINE. And I will help thee to prefer her too:\\r\\n She shall be dignified with this high honour-\\r\\n To bear my lady\\'s train, lest the base earth\\r\\n Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss\\r\\n And, of so great a favour growing proud,\\r\\n Disdain to root the summer-swelling flow\\'r\\r\\n And make rough winter everlastingly.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Pardon me, Proteus; all I can is nothing\\r\\n To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing;\\r\\n She is alone.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Then let her alone.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Not for the world! Why, man, she is mine own;\\r\\n And I as rich in having such a jewel\\r\\n As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,\\r\\n The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.\\r\\n Forgive me that I do not dream on thee,\\r\\n Because thou seest me dote upon my love.\\r\\n My foolish rival, that her father likes\\r\\n Only for his possessions are so huge,\\r\\n Is gone with her along; and I must after,\\r\\n For love, thou know\\'st, is full of jealousy.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But she loves you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, and we are betroth\\'d; nay more, our marriage-hour,\\r\\n With all the cunning manner of our flight,\\r\\n Determin\\'d of- how I must climb her window,\\r\\n The ladder made of cords, and all the means\\r\\n Plotted and \\'greed on for my happiness.\\r\\n Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber,\\r\\n In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go on before; I shall enquire you forth;\\r\\n I must unto the road to disembark\\r\\n Some necessaries that I needs must use;\\r\\n And then I\\'ll presently attend you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Will you make haste?\\r\\n PROTEUS. I will. Exit VALENTINE\\r\\n Even as one heat another heat expels\\r\\n Or as one nail by strength drives out another,\\r\\n So the remembrance of my former love\\r\\n Is by a newer object quite forgotten.\\r\\n Is it my mind, or Valentinus\\' praise,\\r\\n Her true perfection, or my false transgression,\\r\\n That makes me reasonless to reason thus?\\r\\n She is fair; and so is Julia that I love-\\r\\n That I did love, for now my love is thaw\\'d;\\r\\n Which like a waxen image \\'gainst a fire\\r\\n Bears no impression of the thing it was.\\r\\n Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold,\\r\\n And that I love him not as I was wont.\\r\\n O! but I love his lady too too much,\\r\\n And that\\'s the reason I love him so little.\\r\\n How shall I dote on her with more advice\\r\\n That thus without advice begin to love her!\\r\\n \\'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,\\r\\n And that hath dazzled my reason\\'s light;\\r\\n But when I look on her perfections,\\r\\n There is no reason but I shall be blind.\\r\\n If I can check my erring love, I will;\\r\\n If not, to compass her I\\'ll use my skill. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Milan. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SPEED and LAUNCE severally\\r\\n\\r\\n SPEED. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Padua.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not welcome. I\\r\\n reckon this always, that a man is never undone till he be hang\\'d,\\r\\n nor never welcome to a place till some certain shot be paid, and\\r\\n the hostess say \\'Welcome!\\'\\r\\n SPEED. Come on, you madcap; I\\'ll to the alehouse with you\\r\\n presently; where, for one shot of five pence, thou shalt have\\r\\n five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part with\\r\\n Madam Julia?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Marry, after they clos\\'d in earnest, they parted very\\r\\n fairly in jest.\\r\\n SPEED. But shall she marry him?\\r\\n LAUNCE. No.\\r\\n SPEED. How then? Shall he marry her?\\r\\n LAUNCE. No, neither.\\r\\n SPEED. What, are they broken?\\r\\n LAUNCE. No, they are both as whole as a fish.\\r\\n SPEED. Why then, how stands the matter with them?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Marry, thus: when it stands well with him, it stands well\\r\\n with her.\\r\\n SPEED. What an ass art thou! I understand thee not.\\r\\n LAUNCE. What a block art thou that thou canst not! My staff\\r\\n understands me.\\r\\n SPEED. What thou say\\'st?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Ay, and what I do too; look thee, I\\'ll but lean, and my\\r\\n staff understands me.\\r\\n SPEED. It stands under thee, indeed.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one.\\r\\n SPEED. But tell me true, will\\'t be a match?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Ask my dog. If he say ay, it will; if he say no, it will;\\r\\n if he shake his tail and say nothing, it will.\\r\\n SPEED. The conclusion is, then, that it will.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but by a\\r\\n parable.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how say\\'st thou\\r\\n that my master is become a notable lover?\\r\\n LAUNCE. I never knew him otherwise.\\r\\n SPEED. Than how?\\r\\n LAUNCE. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistak\\'st me.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, fool, I meant not thee, I meant thy master.\\r\\n SPEED. I tell thee my master is become a hot lover.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, I tell thee I care not though he burn himself in love.\\r\\n If thou wilt, go with me to the alehouse; if not, thou art an\\r\\n Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian.\\r\\n SPEED. Why?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Because thou hast not so much charity in thee as to go to\\r\\n the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go?\\r\\n SPEED. At thy service. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Milan. The DUKE\\'s palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn;\\r\\n To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn;\\r\\n To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn;\\r\\n And ev\\'n that pow\\'r which gave me first my oath\\r\\n Provokes me to this threefold perjury:\\r\\n Love bade me swear, and Love bids me forswear.\\r\\n O sweet-suggesting Love, if thou hast sinn\\'d,\\r\\n Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it!\\r\\n At first I did adore a twinkling star,\\r\\n But now I worship a celestial sun.\\r\\n Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken;\\r\\n And he wants wit that wants resolved will\\r\\n To learn his wit t\\' exchange the bad for better.\\r\\n Fie, fie, unreverend tongue, to call her bad\\r\\n Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr\\'d\\r\\n With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths!\\r\\n I cannot leave to love, and yet I do;\\r\\n But there I leave to love where I should love.\\r\\n Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose;\\r\\n If I keep them, I needs must lose myself;\\r\\n If I lose them, thus find I by their loss:\\r\\n For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia.\\r\\n I to myself am dearer than a friend;\\r\\n For love is still most precious in itself;\\r\\n And Silvia- witness heaven, that made her fair!-\\r\\n Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.\\r\\n I will forget that Julia is alive,\\r\\n Rememb\\'ring that my love to her is dead;\\r\\n And Valentine I\\'ll hold an enemy,\\r\\n Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend.\\r\\n I cannot now prove constant to myself\\r\\n Without some treachery us\\'d to Valentine.\\r\\n This night he meaneth with a corded ladder\\r\\n To climb celestial Silvia\\'s chamber window,\\r\\n Myself in counsel, his competitor.\\r\\n Now presently I\\'ll give her father notice\\r\\n Of their disguising and pretended flight,\\r\\n Who, all enrag\\'d, will banish Valentine,\\r\\n For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter;\\r\\n But, Valentine being gone, I\\'ll quickly cross\\r\\n By some sly trick blunt Thurio\\'s dull proceeding.\\r\\n Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift,\\r\\n As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. Verona. JULIA\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter JULIA and LUCETTA\\r\\n\\r\\n JULIA. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me;\\r\\n And, ev\\'n in kind love, I do conjure thee,\\r\\n Who art the table wherein all my thoughts\\r\\n Are visibly character\\'d and engrav\\'d,\\r\\n To lesson me and tell me some good mean\\r\\n How, with my honour, I may undertake\\r\\n A journey to my loving Proteus.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Alas, the way is wearisome and long!\\r\\n JULIA. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary\\r\\n To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps;\\r\\n Much less shall she that hath Love\\'s wings to fly,\\r\\n And when the flight is made to one so dear,\\r\\n Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Better forbear till Proteus make return.\\r\\n JULIA. O, know\\'st thou not his looks are my soul\\'s food?\\r\\n Pity the dearth that I have pined in\\r\\n By longing for that food so long a time.\\r\\n Didst thou but know the inly touch of love.\\r\\n Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow\\r\\n As seek to quench the fire of love with words.\\r\\n LUCETTA. I do not seek to quench your love\\'s hot fire,\\r\\n But qualify the fire\\'s extreme rage,\\r\\n Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.\\r\\n JULIA. The more thou dam\\'st it up, the more it burns.\\r\\n The current that with gentle murmur glides,\\r\\n Thou know\\'st, being stopp\\'d, impatiently doth rage;\\r\\n But when his fair course is not hindered,\\r\\n He makes sweet music with th\\' enamell\\'d stones,\\r\\n Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge\\r\\n He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;\\r\\n And so by many winding nooks he strays,\\r\\n With willing sport, to the wild ocean.\\r\\n Then let me go, and hinder not my course.\\r\\n I\\'ll be as patient as a gentle stream,\\r\\n And make a pastime of each weary step,\\r\\n Till the last step have brought me to my love;\\r\\n And there I\\'ll rest as, after much turmoil,\\r\\n A blessed soul doth in Elysium.\\r\\n LUCETTA. But in what habit will you go along?\\r\\n JULIA. Not like a woman, for I would prevent\\r\\n The loose encounters of lascivious men;\\r\\n Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds\\r\\n As may beseem some well-reputed page.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Why then, your ladyship must cut your hair.\\r\\n JULIA. No, girl; I\\'ll knit it up in silken strings\\r\\n With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots-\\r\\n To be fantastic may become a youth\\r\\n Of greater time than I shall show to be.\\r\\n LUCETTA. What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches?\\r\\n JULIA. That fits as well as \\'Tell me, good my lord,\\r\\n What compass will you wear your farthingale.\\'\\r\\n Why ev\\'n what fashion thou best likes, Lucetta.\\r\\n LUCETTA. You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam.\\r\\n JULIA. Out, out, Lucetta, that will be ill-favour\\'d.\\r\\n LUCETTA. A round hose, madam, now\\'s not worth a pin,\\r\\n Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on.\\r\\n JULIA. Lucetta, as thou lov\\'st me, let me have\\r\\n What thou think\\'st meet, and is most mannerly.\\r\\n But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me\\r\\n For undertaking so unstaid a journey?\\r\\n I fear me it will make me scandaliz\\'d.\\r\\n LUCETTA. If you think so, then stay at home and go not.\\r\\n JULIA. Nay, that I will not.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Then never dream on infamy, but go.\\r\\n If Proteus like your journey when you come,\\r\\n No matter who\\'s displeas\\'d when you are gone.\\r\\n I fear me he will scarce be pleas\\'d withal.\\r\\n JULIA. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear:\\r\\n A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears,\\r\\n And instances of infinite of love,\\r\\n Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.\\r\\n LUCETTA. All these are servants to deceitful men.\\r\\n JULIA. Base men that use them to so base effect!\\r\\n But truer stars did govern Proteus\\' birth;\\r\\n His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles,\\r\\n His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate,\\r\\n His tears pure messengers sent from his heart,\\r\\n His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Pray heav\\'n he prove so when you come to him.\\r\\n JULIA. Now, as thou lov\\'st me, do him not that wrong\\r\\n To bear a hard opinion of his truth;\\r\\n Only deserve my love by loving him.\\r\\n And presently go with me to my chamber,\\r\\n To take a note of what I stand in need of\\r\\n To furnish me upon my longing journey.\\r\\n All that is mine I leave at thy dispose,\\r\\n My goods, my lands, my reputation;\\r\\n Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence.\\r\\n Come, answer not, but to it presently;\\r\\n I am impatient of my tarriance. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile;\\r\\n We have some secrets to confer about. Exit THURIO\\r\\n Now tell me, Proteus, what\\'s your will with me?\\r\\n PROTEUS. My gracious lord, that which I would discover\\r\\n The law of friendship bids me to conceal;\\r\\n But, when I call to mind your gracious favours\\r\\n Done to me, undeserving as I am,\\r\\n My duty pricks me on to utter that\\r\\n Which else no worldly good should draw from me.\\r\\n Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend,\\r\\n This night intends to steal away your daughter;\\r\\n Myself am one made privy to the plot.\\r\\n I know you have determin\\'d to bestow her\\r\\n On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;\\r\\n And should she thus be stol\\'n away from you,\\r\\n It would be much vexation to your age.\\r\\n Thus, for my duty\\'s sake, I rather chose\\r\\n To cross my friend in his intended drift\\r\\n Than, by concealing it, heap on your head\\r\\n A pack of sorrows which would press you down,\\r\\n Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.\\r\\n DUKE. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care,\\r\\n Which to requite, command me while I live.\\r\\n This love of theirs myself have often seen,\\r\\n Haply when they have judg\\'d me fast asleep,\\r\\n And oftentimes have purpos\\'d to forbid\\r\\n Sir Valentine her company and my court;\\r\\n But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err\\r\\n And so, unworthily, disgrace the man,\\r\\n A rashness that I ever yet have shunn\\'d,\\r\\n I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find\\r\\n That which thyself hast now disclos\\'d to me.\\r\\n And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this,\\r\\n Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,\\r\\n I nightly lodge her in an upper tow\\'r,\\r\\n The key whereof myself have ever kept;\\r\\n And thence she cannot be convey\\'d away.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Know, noble lord, they have devis\\'d a mean\\r\\n How he her chamber window will ascend\\r\\n And with a corded ladder fetch her down;\\r\\n For which the youthful lover now is gone,\\r\\n And this way comes he with it presently;\\r\\n Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.\\r\\n But, good my lord, do it so cunningly\\r\\n That my discovery be not aimed at;\\r\\n For love of you, not hate unto my friend,\\r\\n Hath made me publisher of this pretence.\\r\\n DUKE. Upon mine honour, he shall never know\\r\\n That I had any light from thee of this.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Adieu, my lord; Sir Valentine is coming. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter VALENTINE\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Please it your Grace, there is a messenger\\r\\n That stays to bear my letters to my friends,\\r\\n And I am going to deliver them.\\r\\n DUKE. Be they of much import?\\r\\n VALENTINE. The tenour of them doth but signify\\r\\n My health and happy being at your court.\\r\\n DUKE. Nay then, no matter; stay with me awhile;\\r\\n I am to break with thee of some affairs\\r\\n That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret.\\r\\n \\'Tis not unknown to thee that I have sought\\r\\n To match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the match\\r\\n Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman\\r\\n Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities\\r\\n Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter.\\r\\n Cannot your grace win her to fancy him?\\r\\n DUKE. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward,\\r\\n Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty;\\r\\n Neither regarding that she is my child\\r\\n Nor fearing me as if I were her father;\\r\\n And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers,\\r\\n Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her;\\r\\n And, where I thought the remnant of mine age\\r\\n Should have been cherish\\'d by her childlike duty,\\r\\n I now am full resolv\\'d to take a wife\\r\\n And turn her out to who will take her in.\\r\\n Then let her beauty be her wedding-dow\\'r;\\r\\n For me and my possessions she esteems not.\\r\\n VALENTINE. What would your Grace have me to do in this?\\r\\n DUKE. There is a lady, in Verona here,\\r\\n Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy,\\r\\n And nought esteems my aged eloquence.\\r\\n Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor-\\r\\n For long agone I have forgot to court;\\r\\n Besides, the fashion of the time is chang\\'d-\\r\\n How and which way I may bestow myself\\r\\n To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words:\\r\\n Dumb jewels often in their silent kind\\r\\n More than quick words do move a woman\\'s mind.\\r\\n DUKE. But she did scorn a present that I sent her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. A woman sometime scorns what best contents her.\\r\\n Send her another; never give her o\\'er,\\r\\n For scorn at first makes after-love the more.\\r\\n If she do frown, \\'tis not in hate of you,\\r\\n But rather to beget more love in you;\\r\\n If she do chide, \\'tis not to have you gone,\\r\\n For why, the fools are mad if left alone.\\r\\n Take no repulse, whatever she doth say;\\r\\n For \\'Get you gone\\' she doth not mean \\'Away!\\'\\r\\n Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces;\\r\\n Though ne\\'er so black, say they have angels\\' faces.\\r\\n That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man,\\r\\n If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.\\r\\n DUKE. But she I mean is promis\\'d by her friends\\r\\n Unto a youthful gentleman of worth;\\r\\n And kept severely from resort of men,\\r\\n That no man hath access by day to her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why then I would resort to her by night.\\r\\n DUKE. Ay, but the doors be lock\\'d and keys kept safe,\\r\\n That no man hath recourse to her by night.\\r\\n VALENTINE. What lets but one may enter at her window?\\r\\n DUKE. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground,\\r\\n And built so shelving that one cannot climb it\\r\\n Without apparent hazard of his life.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why then a ladder, quaintly made of cords,\\r\\n To cast up with a pair of anchoring hooks,\\r\\n Would serve to scale another Hero\\'s tow\\'r,\\r\\n So bold Leander would adventure it.\\r\\n DUKE. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood,\\r\\n Advise me where I may have such a ladder.\\r\\n VALENTINE. When would you use it? Pray, sir, tell me that.\\r\\n DUKE. This very night; for Love is like a child,\\r\\n That longs for everything that he can come by.\\r\\n VALENTINE. By seven o\\'clock I\\'ll get you such a ladder.\\r\\n DUKE. But, hark thee; I will go to her alone;\\r\\n How shall I best convey the ladder thither?\\r\\n VALENTINE. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it\\r\\n Under a cloak that is of any length.\\r\\n DUKE. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Then let me see thy cloak.\\r\\n I\\'ll get me one of such another length.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?\\r\\n I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.\\r\\n What letter is this same? What\\'s here? \\'To Silvia\\'!\\r\\n And here an engine fit for my proceeding!\\r\\n I\\'ll be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads]\\r\\n \\'My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly,\\r\\n And slaves they are to me, that send them flying.\\r\\n O, could their master come and go as lightly,\\r\\n Himself would lodge where, senseless, they are lying!\\r\\n My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them,\\r\\n While I, their king, that thither them importune,\\r\\n Do curse the grace that with such grace hath blest them,\\r\\n Because myself do want my servants\\' fortune.\\r\\n I curse myself, for they are sent by me,\\r\\n That they should harbour where their lord should be.\\'\\r\\n What\\'s here?\\r\\n \\'Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee.\\'\\r\\n \\'Tis so; and here\\'s the ladder for the purpose.\\r\\n Why, Phaethon- for thou art Merops\\' son-\\r\\n Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car,\\r\\n And with thy daring folly burn the world?\\r\\n Wilt thou reach stars because they shine on thee?\\r\\n Go, base intruder, over-weening slave,\\r\\n Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates;\\r\\n And think my patience, more than thy desert,\\r\\n Is privilege for thy departure hence.\\r\\n Thank me for this more than for all the favours\\r\\n Which, all too much, I have bestow\\'d on thee.\\r\\n But if thou linger in my territories\\r\\n Longer than swiftest expedition\\r\\n Will give thee time to leave our royal court,\\r\\n By heaven! my wrath shall far exceed the love\\r\\n I ever bore my daughter or thyself.\\r\\n Be gone; I will not hear thy vain excuse,\\r\\n But, as thou lov\\'st thy life, make speed from hence. Exit\\r\\n VALENTINE. And why not death rather than living torment?\\r\\n To die is to be banish\\'d from myself,\\r\\n And Silvia is myself; banish\\'d from her\\r\\n Is self from self, a deadly banishment.\\r\\n What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?\\r\\n What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by?\\r\\n Unless it be to think that she is by,\\r\\n And feed upon the shadow of perfection.\\r\\n Except I be by Silvia in the night,\\r\\n There is no music in the nightingale;\\r\\n Unless I look on Silvia in the day,\\r\\n There is no day for me to look upon.\\r\\n She is my essence, and I leave to be\\r\\n If I be not by her fair influence\\r\\n Foster\\'d, illumin\\'d, cherish\\'d, kept alive.\\r\\n I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom:\\r\\n Tarry I here, I but attend on death;\\r\\n But fly I hence, I fly away from life.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Run, boy, run, run, seek him out.\\r\\n LAUNCE. So-ho, so-ho!\\r\\n PROTEUS. What seest thou?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Him we go to find: there\\'s not a hair on \\'s head but \\'tis a\\r\\n Valentine.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Valentine?\\r\\n VALENTINE. No.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Who then? his spirit?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Neither.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What then?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Nothing.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Who wouldst thou strike?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Nothing.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Villain, forbear.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, sir, I\\'ll strike nothing. I pray you-\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, a word.\\r\\n VALENTINE. My ears are stopp\\'d and cannot hear good news,\\r\\n So much of bad already hath possess\\'d them.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine,\\r\\n For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Is Silvia dead?\\r\\n PROTEUS. No, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia.\\r\\n Hath she forsworn me?\\r\\n PROTEUS. No, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me.\\r\\n What is your news?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished.\\r\\n PROTEUS. That thou art banished- O, that\\'s the news!-\\r\\n From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend.\\r\\n VALENTINE. O, I have fed upon this woe already,\\r\\n And now excess of it will make me surfeit.\\r\\n Doth Silvia know that I am banished?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ay, ay; and she hath offered to the doom-\\r\\n Which, unrevers\\'d, stands in effectual force-\\r\\n A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears;\\r\\n Those at her father\\'s churlish feet she tender\\'d;\\r\\n With them, upon her knees, her humble self,\\r\\n Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them\\r\\n As if but now they waxed pale for woe.\\r\\n But neither bended knees, pure hands held up,\\r\\n Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears,\\r\\n Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire-\\r\\n But Valentine, if he be ta\\'en, must die.\\r\\n Besides, her intercession chaf\\'d him so,\\r\\n When she for thy repeal was suppliant,\\r\\n That to close prison he commanded her,\\r\\n With many bitter threats of biding there.\\r\\n VALENTINE. No more; unless the next word that thou speak\\'st\\r\\n Have some malignant power upon my life:\\r\\n If so, I pray thee breathe it in mine ear,\\r\\n As ending anthem of my endless dolour.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help,\\r\\n And study help for that which thou lament\\'st.\\r\\n Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.\\r\\n Here if thou stay thou canst not see thy love;\\r\\n Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life.\\r\\n Hope is a lover\\'s staff; walk hence with that,\\r\\n And manage it against despairing thoughts.\\r\\n Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence,\\r\\n Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver\\'d\\r\\n Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love.\\r\\n The time now serves not to expostulate.\\r\\n Come, I\\'ll convey thee through the city gate;\\r\\n And, ere I part with thee, confer at large\\r\\n Of all that may concern thy love affairs.\\r\\n As thou lov\\'st Silvia, though not for thyself,\\r\\n Regard thy danger, and along with me.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy,\\r\\n Bid him make haste and meet me at the Northgate.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. O my dear Silvia! Hapless Valentine!\\r\\n Exeunt VALENTINE and PROTEUS\\r\\n LAUNCE. I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have the wit to think\\r\\n my master is a kind of a knave; but that\\'s all one if he be but\\r\\n one knave. He lives not now that knows me to be in love; yet I am\\r\\n in love; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me; nor\\r\\n who \\'tis I love; and yet \\'tis a woman; but what woman I will not\\r\\n tell myself; and yet \\'tis a milkmaid; yet \\'tis not a maid, for\\r\\n she hath had gossips; yet \\'tis a maid, for she is her master\\'s\\r\\n maid and serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a\\r\\n water-spaniel- which is much in a bare Christian. Here is the\\r\\n cate-log [Pulling out a paper] of her condition. \\'Inprimis: She\\r\\n can fetch and carry.\\' Why, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse\\r\\n cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore is she better than a\\r\\n jade. \\'Item: She can milk.\\' Look you, a sweet virtue in a maid\\r\\n with clean hands.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n SPEED. How now, Signior Launce! What news with your mastership?\\r\\n LAUNCE. With my master\\'s ship? Why, it is at sea.\\r\\n SPEED. Well, your old vice still: mistake the word. What news,\\r\\n then, in your paper?\\r\\n LAUNCE. The black\\'st news that ever thou heard\\'st.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, man? how black?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, as black as ink.\\r\\n SPEED. Let me read them.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Fie on thee, jolt-head; thou canst not read.\\r\\n SPEED. Thou liest; I can.\\r\\n LAUNCE. I will try thee. Tell me this: Who begot thee?\\r\\n SPEED. Marry, the son of my grandfather.\\r\\n LAUNCE. O illiterate loiterer. It was the son of thy grandmother.\\r\\n This proves that thou canst not read.\\r\\n SPEED. Come, fool, come; try me in thy paper.\\r\\n LAUNCE. [Handing over the paper] There; and Saint Nicholas be thy\\r\\n speed.\\r\\n SPEED. [Reads] \\'Inprimis: She can milk.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Ay, that she can.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She brews good ale.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. And thereof comes the proverb: Blessing of your heart, you\\r\\n brew good ale.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She can sew.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. That\\'s as much as to say \\'Can she so?\\'\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She can knit.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when she can\\r\\n knit him a stock.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She can wash and scour.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. A special virtue; for then she need not be wash\\'d and\\r\\n scour\\'d.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She can spin.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can spin for\\r\\n her living.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath many nameless virtues.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. That\\'s as much as to say \\'bastard virtues\\'; that indeed\\r\\n know not their fathers, and therefore have no names.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Here follow her vices.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Close at the heels of her virtues.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is not to be kiss\\'d fasting, in respect of her\\r\\n breath.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast.\\r\\n Read on.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath a sweet mouth.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. That makes amends for her sour breath.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She doth talk in her sleep.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. It\\'s no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is slow in words.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. O villain, that set this down among her vices! To be slow\\r\\n in words is a woman\\'s only virtue. I pray thee, out with\\'t; and\\r\\n place it for her chief virtue.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is proud.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Out with that too; it was Eve\\'s legacy, and cannot be ta\\'en\\r\\n from her.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath no teeth.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. I care not for that neither, because I love crusts.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is curst.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She will often praise her liquor.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. If her liquor be good, she shall; if she will not, I will;\\r\\n for good things should be praised.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is too liberal.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Of her tongue she cannot, for that\\'s writ down she is slow\\r\\n of; of her purse she shall not, for that I\\'ll keep shut. Now of\\r\\n another thing she may, and that cannot I help. Well, proceed.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath more hair than wit, and more faults\\r\\n than hairs, and more wealth than faults.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Stop there; I\\'ll have her; she was mine, and not mine,\\r\\n twice or thrice in that last article. Rehearse that once more.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath more hair than wit\\'-\\r\\n LAUNCE. More hair than wit. It may be; I\\'ll prove it: the cover of\\r\\n the salt hides the salt, and therefore it is more than the salt;\\r\\n the hair that covers the wit is more than the wit, for the\\r\\n greater hides the less. What\\'s next?\\r\\n SPEED. \\'And more faults than hairs\\'-\\r\\n LAUNCE. That\\'s monstrous. O that that were out!\\r\\n SPEED. \\'And more wealth than faults.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well, I\\'ll have\\r\\n her; an if it be a match, as nothing is impossible-\\r\\n SPEED. What then?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, then will I tell thee- that thy master stays for thee\\r\\n at the Northgate.\\r\\n SPEED. For me?\\r\\n LAUNCE. For thee! ay, who art thou? He hath stay\\'d for a better man\\r\\n than thee.\\r\\n SPEED. And must I go to him?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Thou must run to him, for thou hast stay\\'d so long that\\r\\n going will scarce serve the turn.\\r\\n SPEED. Why didst not tell me sooner? Pox of your love letters!\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n LAUNCE. Now will he be swing\\'d for reading my letter. An unmannerly\\r\\n slave that will thrust himself into secrets! I\\'ll after, to\\r\\n rejoice in the boy\\'s correction. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE and THURIO\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you\\r\\n Now Valentine is banish\\'d from her sight.\\r\\n THURIO. Since his exile she hath despis\\'d me most,\\r\\n Forsworn my company and rail\\'d at me,\\r\\n That I am desperate of obtaining her.\\r\\n DUKE. This weak impress of love is as a figure\\r\\n Trenched in ice, which with an hour\\'s heat\\r\\n Dissolves to water and doth lose his form.\\r\\n A little time will melt her frozen thoughts,\\r\\n And worthless Valentine shall be forgot.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, Sir Proteus! Is your countryman,\\r\\n According to our proclamation, gone?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Gone, my good lord.\\r\\n DUKE. My daughter takes his going grievously.\\r\\n PROTEUS. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief.\\r\\n DUKE. So I believe; but Thurio thinks not so.\\r\\n Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee-\\r\\n For thou hast shown some sign of good desert-\\r\\n Makes me the better to confer with thee.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Longer than I prove loyal to your Grace\\r\\n Let me not live to look upon your Grace.\\r\\n DUKE. Thou know\\'st how willingly I would effect\\r\\n The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter.\\r\\n PROTEUS. I do, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant\\r\\n How she opposes her against my will.\\r\\n PROTEUS. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here.\\r\\n DUKE. Ay, and perversely she persevers so.\\r\\n What might we do to make the girl forget\\r\\n The love of Valentine, and love Sir Thurio?\\r\\n PROTEUS. The best way is to slander Valentine\\r\\n With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent-\\r\\n Three things that women highly hold in hate.\\r\\n DUKE. Ay, but she\\'ll think that it is spoke in hate.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ay, if his enemy deliver it;\\r\\n Therefore it must with circumstance be spoken\\r\\n By one whom she esteemeth as his friend.\\r\\n DUKE. Then you must undertake to slander him.\\r\\n PROTEUS. And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do:\\r\\n \\'Tis an ill office for a gentleman,\\r\\n Especially against his very friend.\\r\\n DUKE. Where your good word cannot advantage him,\\r\\n Your slander never can endamage him;\\r\\n Therefore the office is indifferent,\\r\\n Being entreated to it by your friend.\\r\\n PROTEUS. You have prevail\\'d, my lord; if I can do it\\r\\n By aught that I can speak in his dispraise,\\r\\n She shall not long continue love to him.\\r\\n But say this weed her love from Valentine,\\r\\n It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio.\\r\\n THURIO. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him,\\r\\n Lest it should ravel and be good to none,\\r\\n You must provide to bottom it on me;\\r\\n Which must be done by praising me as much\\r\\n As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine.\\r\\n DUKE. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind,\\r\\n Because we know, on Valentine\\'s report,\\r\\n You are already Love\\'s firm votary\\r\\n And cannot soon revolt and change your mind.\\r\\n Upon this warrant shall you have access\\r\\n Where you with Silvia may confer at large-\\r\\n For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy,\\r\\n And, for your friend\\'s sake, will be glad of you-\\r\\n Where you may temper her by your persuasion\\r\\n To hate young Valentine and love my friend.\\r\\n PROTEUS. As much as I can do I will effect.\\r\\n But you, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough;\\r\\n You must lay lime to tangle her desires\\r\\n By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes\\r\\n Should be full-fraught with serviceable vows.\\r\\n DUKE. Ay,\\r\\n Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Say that upon the altar of her beauty\\r\\n You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart;\\r\\n Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears\\r\\n Moist it again, and frame some feeling line\\r\\n That may discover such integrity;\\r\\n For Orpheus\\' lute was strung with poets\\' sinews,\\r\\n Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,\\r\\n Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans\\r\\n Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.\\r\\n After your dire-lamenting elegies,\\r\\n Visit by night your lady\\'s chamber window\\r\\n With some sweet consort; to their instruments\\r\\n Tune a deploring dump- the night\\'s dead silence\\r\\n Will well become such sweet-complaining grievance.\\r\\n This, or else nothing, will inherit her.\\r\\n DUKE. This discipline shows thou hast been in love.\\r\\n THURIO. And thy advice this night I\\'ll put in practice;\\r\\n Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver,\\r\\n Let us into the city presently\\r\\n To sort some gentlemen well skill\\'d in music.\\r\\n I have a sonnet that will serve the turn\\r\\n To give the onset to thy good advice.\\r\\n DUKE. About it, gentlemen!\\r\\n PROTEUS. We\\'ll wait upon your Grace till after supper,\\r\\n And afterward determine our proceedings.\\r\\n DUKE. Even now about it! I will pardon you. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I. The frontiers of Mantua. A forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter certain OUTLAWS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Fellows, stand fast; I see a passenger.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter VALENTINE and SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about ye;\\r\\n If not, we\\'ll make you sit, and rifle you.\\r\\n SPEED. Sir, we are undone; these are the villains\\r\\n That all the travellers do fear so much.\\r\\n VALENTINE. My friends-\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. That\\'s not so, sir; we are your enemies.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Peace! we\\'ll hear him.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. Ay, by my beard, will we; for he is a proper man.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Then know that I have little wealth to lose;\\r\\n A man I am cross\\'d with adversity;\\r\\n My riches are these poor habiliments,\\r\\n Of which if you should here disfurnish me,\\r\\n You take the sum and substance that I have.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Whither travel you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. To Verona.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Whence came you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. From Milan.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. Have you long sojourn\\'d there?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Some sixteen months, and longer might have stay\\'d,\\r\\n If crooked fortune had not thwarted me.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. What, were you banish\\'d thence?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I was.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. For what offence?\\r\\n VALENTINE. For that which now torments me to rehearse:\\r\\n I kill\\'d a man, whose death I much repent;\\r\\n But yet I slew him manfully in fight,\\r\\n Without false vantage or base treachery.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Why, ne\\'er repent it, if it were done so.\\r\\n But were you banish\\'d for so small a fault?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I was, and held me glad of such a doom.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Have you the tongues?\\r\\n VALENTINE. My youthful travel therein made me happy,\\r\\n Or else I often had been miserable.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood\\'s fat friar,\\r\\n This fellow were a king for our wild faction!\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. We\\'ll have him. Sirs, a word.\\r\\n SPEED. Master, be one of them; it\\'s an honourable kind of thievery.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Peace, villain!\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Tell us this: have you anything to take to?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Nothing but my fortune.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. Know, then, that some of us are gentlemen,\\r\\n Such as the fury of ungovern\\'d youth\\r\\n Thrust from the company of awful men;\\r\\n Myself was from Verona banished\\r\\n For practising to steal away a lady,\\r\\n An heir, and near allied unto the Duke.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman\\r\\n Who, in my mood, I stabb\\'d unto the heart.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. And I for such-like petty crimes as these.\\r\\n But to the purpose- for we cite our faults\\r\\n That they may hold excus\\'d our lawless lives;\\r\\n And, partly, seeing you are beautified\\r\\n With goodly shape, and by your own report\\r\\n A linguist, and a man of such perfection\\r\\n As we do in our quality much want-\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Indeed, because you are a banish\\'d man,\\r\\n Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you.\\r\\n Are you content to be our general-\\r\\n To make a virtue of necessity,\\r\\n And live as we do in this wilderness?\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. What say\\'st thou? Wilt thou be of our consort?\\r\\n Say \\'ay\\' and be the captain of us all.\\r\\n We\\'ll do thee homage, and be rul\\'d by thee,\\r\\n Love thee as our commander and our king.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. But if thou scorn our courtesy thou diest.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offer\\'d.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I take your offer, and will live with you,\\r\\n Provided that you do no outrages\\r\\n On silly women or poor passengers.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. No, we detest such vile base practices.\\r\\n Come, go with us; we\\'ll bring thee to our crews,\\r\\n And show thee all the treasure we have got;\\r\\n Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Milan. Outside the DUKE\\'S palace, under SILVIA\\'S window\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Already have I been false to Valentine,\\r\\n And now I must be as unjust to Thurio.\\r\\n Under the colour of commending him\\r\\n I have access my own love to prefer;\\r\\n But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy,\\r\\n To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.\\r\\n When I protest true loyalty to her,\\r\\n She twits me with my falsehood to my friend;\\r\\n When to her beauty I commend my vows,\\r\\n She bids me think how I have been forsworn\\r\\n In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov\\'d;\\r\\n And notwithstanding all her sudden quips,\\r\\n The least whereof would quell a lover\\'s hope,\\r\\n Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love\\r\\n The more it grows and fawneth on her still.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter THURIO and MUSICIANS\\r\\n\\r\\n But here comes Thurio. Now must we to her window,\\r\\n And give some evening music to her ear.\\r\\n THURIO. How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept before us?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ay, gentle Thurio; for you know that love\\r\\n Will creep in service where it cannot go.\\r\\n THURIO. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence.\\r\\n THURIO. Who? Silvia?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ay, Silvia- for your sake.\\r\\n THURIO. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen,\\r\\n Let\\'s tune, and to it lustily awhile.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter at a distance, HOST, and JULIA in boy\\'s clothes\\r\\n\\r\\n HOST. Now, my young guest, methinks you\\'re allycholly; I pray you,\\r\\n why is it?\\r\\n JULIA. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry.\\r\\n HOST. Come, we\\'ll have you merry; I\\'ll bring you where you shall\\r\\n hear music, and see the gentleman that you ask\\'d for.\\r\\n JULIA. But shall I hear him speak?\\r\\n HOST. Ay, that you shall. [Music plays]\\r\\n JULIA. That will be music.\\r\\n HOST. Hark, hark!\\r\\n JULIA. Is he among these?\\r\\n HOST. Ay; but peace! let\\'s hear \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\n SONG\\r\\n Who is Silvia? What is she,\\r\\n That all our swains commend her?\\r\\n Holy, fair, and wise is she;\\r\\n The heaven such grace did lend her,\\r\\n That she might admired be.\\r\\n\\r\\n Is she kind as she is fair?\\r\\n For beauty lives with kindness.\\r\\n Love doth to her eyes repair,\\r\\n To help him of his blindness;\\r\\n And, being help\\'d, inhabits there.\\r\\n\\r\\n Then to Silvia let us sing\\r\\n That Silvia is excelling;\\r\\n She excels each mortal thing\\r\\n Upon the dull earth dwelling.\\r\\n \\'To her let us garlands bring.\\r\\n\\r\\n HOST. How now, are you sadder than you were before?\\r\\n How do you, man? The music likes you not.\\r\\n JULIA. You mistake; the musician likes me not.\\r\\n HOST. Why, my pretty youth?\\r\\n JULIA. He plays false, father.\\r\\n HOST. How, out of tune on the strings?\\r\\n JULIA. Not so; but yet so false that he grieves my very\\r\\n heart-strings.\\r\\n HOST. You have a quick ear.\\r\\n JULIA. Ay, I would I were deaf; it makes me have a slow heart.\\r\\n HOST. I perceive you delight not in music.\\r\\n JULIA. Not a whit, when it jars so.\\r\\n HOST. Hark, what fine change is in the music!\\r\\n JULIA. Ay, that change is the spite.\\r\\n HOST. You would have them always play but one thing?\\r\\n JULIA. I would always have one play but one thing.\\r\\n But, Host, doth this Sir Proteus, that we talk on,\\r\\n Often resort unto this gentlewoman?\\r\\n HOST. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me: he lov\\'d her out of\\r\\n all nick.\\r\\n JULIA. Where is Launce?\\r\\n HOST. Gone to seek his dog, which to-morrow, by his master\\'s\\r\\n command, he must carry for a present to his lady.\\r\\n JULIA. Peace, stand aside; the company parts.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sir Thurio, fear not you; I will so plead\\r\\n That you shall say my cunning drift excels.\\r\\n THURIO. Where meet we?\\r\\n PROTEUS. At Saint Gregory\\'s well.\\r\\n THURIO. Farewell. Exeunt THURIO and MUSICIANS\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA above, at her window\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Madam, good ev\\'n to your ladyship.\\r\\n SILVIA. I thank you for your music, gentlemen.\\r\\n Who is that that spake?\\r\\n PROTEUS. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart\\'s truth,\\r\\n You would quickly learn to know him by his voice.\\r\\n SILVIA. Sir Proteus, as I take it.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant.\\r\\n SILVIA. What\\'s your will?\\r\\n PROTEUS. That I may compass yours.\\r\\n SILVIA. You have your wish; my will is even this,\\r\\n That presently you hie you home to bed.\\r\\n Thou subtle, perjur\\'d, false, disloyal man,\\r\\n Think\\'st thou I am so shallow, so conceitless,\\r\\n To be seduced by thy flattery\\r\\n That hast deceiv\\'d so many with thy vows?\\r\\n Return, return, and make thy love amends.\\r\\n For me, by this pale queen of night I swear,\\r\\n I am so far from granting thy request\\r\\n That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit,\\r\\n And by and by intend to chide myself\\r\\n Even for this time I spend in talking to thee.\\r\\n PROTEUS. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady;\\r\\n But she is dead.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] \\'Twere false, if I should speak it;\\r\\n For I am sure she is not buried.\\r\\n SILVIA. Say that she be; yet Valentine, thy friend,\\r\\n Survives, to whom, thyself art witness,\\r\\n I am betroth\\'d; and art thou not asham\\'d\\r\\n To wrong him with thy importunacy?\\r\\n PROTEUS. I likewise hear that Valentine is dead.\\r\\n SILVIA. And so suppose am I; for in his grave\\r\\n Assure thyself my love is buried.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth.\\r\\n SILVIA. Go to thy lady\\'s grave, and call hers thence;\\r\\n Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] He heard not that.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate,\\r\\n Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love,\\r\\n The picture that is hanging in your chamber;\\r\\n To that I\\'ll speak, to that I\\'ll sigh and weep;\\r\\n For, since the substance of your perfect self\\r\\n Is else devoted, I am but a shadow;\\r\\n And to your shadow will I make true love.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] If \\'twere a substance, you would, sure, deceive it\\r\\n And make it but a shadow, as I am.\\r\\n SILVIA. I am very loath to be your idol, sir;\\r\\n But since your falsehood shall become you well\\r\\n To worship shadows and adore false shapes,\\r\\n Send to me in the morning, and I\\'ll send it;\\r\\n And so, good rest.\\r\\n PROTEUS. As wretches have o\\'ernight\\r\\n That wait for execution in the morn.\\r\\n Exeunt PROTEUS and SILVIA\\r\\n JULIA. Host, will you go?\\r\\n HOST. By my halidom, I was fast asleep.\\r\\n JULIA. Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus?\\r\\n HOST. Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think \\'tis almost day.\\r\\n JULIA. Not so; but it hath been the longest night\\r\\n That e\\'er I watch\\'d, and the most heaviest. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Under SILVIA\\'S window\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter EGLAMOUR\\r\\n\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. This is the hour that Madam Silvia\\r\\n Entreated me to call and know her mind;\\r\\n There\\'s some great matter she\\'d employ me in.\\r\\n Madam, madam!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA above, at her window\\r\\n\\r\\n SILVIA. Who calls?\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. Your servant and your friend;\\r\\n One that attends your ladyship\\'s command.\\r\\n SILVIA. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow!\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. As many, worthy lady, to yourself!\\r\\n According to your ladyship\\'s impose,\\r\\n I am thus early come to know what service\\r\\n It is your pleasure to command me in.\\r\\n SILVIA. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman-\\r\\n Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not-\\r\\n Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplish\\'d.\\r\\n Thou art not ignorant what dear good will\\r\\n I bear unto the banish\\'d Valentine;\\r\\n Nor how my father would enforce me marry\\r\\n Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhors.\\r\\n Thyself hast lov\\'d; and I have heard thee say\\r\\n No grief did ever come so near thy heart\\r\\n As when thy lady and thy true love died,\\r\\n Upon whose grave thou vow\\'dst pure chastity.\\r\\n Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine,\\r\\n To Mantua, where I hear he makes abode;\\r\\n And, for the ways are dangerous to pass,\\r\\n I do desire thy worthy company,\\r\\n Upon whose faith and honour I repose.\\r\\n Urge not my father\\'s anger, Eglamour,\\r\\n But think upon my grief, a lady\\'s grief,\\r\\n And on the justice of my flying hence\\r\\n To keep me from a most unholy match,\\r\\n Which heaven and fortune still rewards with plagues.\\r\\n I do desire thee, even from a heart\\r\\n As full of sorrows as the sea of sands,\\r\\n To bear me company and go with me;\\r\\n If not, to hide what I have said to thee,\\r\\n That I may venture to depart alone.\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. Madam, I pity much your grievances;\\r\\n Which since I know they virtuously are plac\\'d,\\r\\n I give consent to go along with you,\\r\\n Recking as little what betideth me\\r\\n As much I wish all good befortune you.\\r\\n When will you go?\\r\\n SILVIA. This evening coming.\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. Where shall I meet you?\\r\\n SILVIA. At Friar Patrick\\'s cell,\\r\\n Where I intend holy confession.\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. I will not fail your ladyship. Good morrow, gentle lady.\\r\\n SILVIA. Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Under SILVIA\\'S Window\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter LAUNCE with his dog\\r\\n\\r\\n LAUNCE. When a man\\'s servant shall play the cur with him, look you,\\r\\n it goes hard- one that I brought up of a puppy; one that I sav\\'d from\\r\\n drowning, when three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went\\r\\n to it. I have taught him, even as one would say precisely \\'Thus I\\r\\n would teach a dog.\\' I was sent to deliver him as a present to\\r\\n Mistress Silvia from my master; and I came no sooner into the\\r\\n dining-chamber, but he steps me to her trencher and steals her\\r\\n capon\\'s leg. O, \\'tis a foul thing when a cur cannot keep himself in\\r\\n all companies! I would have, as one should say, one that takes upon\\r\\n him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all things. If I\\r\\n had not had more wit than he, to take a fault upon me that he did, I\\r\\n think verily he had been hang\\'d for\\'t; sure as I live, he had\\r\\n suffer\\'d for\\'t. You shall judge. He thrusts me himself into the\\r\\n company of three or four gentleman-like dogs under the Duke\\'s table;\\r\\n he had not been there, bless the mark, a pissing while but all the\\r\\n chamber smelt him. \\'Out with the dog\\' says one; \\'What cur is that?\\'\\r\\n says another; \\'Whip him out\\' says the third; \\'Hang him up\\' says the\\r\\n Duke. I, having been acquainted with the smell before, knew it was\\r\\n Crab, and goes me to the fellow that whips the dogs. \\'Friend,\\' quoth\\r\\n I \\'you mean to whip the dog.\\' \\'Ay, marry do I\\' quoth he. \\'You do him\\r\\n the more wrong,\\' quoth I; \"twas I did the thing you wot of.\\' He makes\\r\\n me no more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. How many masters\\r\\n would do this for his servant? Nay, I\\'ll be sworn, I have sat in the\\r\\n stock for puddings he hath stol\\'n, otherwise he had been executed; I\\r\\n have stood on the pillory for geese he hath kill\\'d, otherwise he had\\r\\n suffer\\'d for\\'t. Thou think\\'st not of this now. Nay, I remember the\\r\\n trick you serv\\'d me when I took my leave of Madam Silvia. Did not I\\r\\n bid thee still mark me and do as I do? When didst thou see me heave\\r\\n up my leg and make water against a gentlewoman\\'s farthingale? Didst\\r\\n thou ever see me do such a trick?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS, and JULIA in boy\\'s clothes\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well,\\r\\n And will employ thee in some service presently.\\r\\n JULIA. In what you please; I\\'ll do what I can.\\r\\n PROTEUS..I hope thou wilt. [To LAUNCE] How now, you whoreson\\r\\n peasant!\\r\\n Where have you been these two days loitering?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia the dog you bade me.\\r\\n PROTEUS. And what says she to my little jewel?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Marry, she says your dog was a cur, and tells you currish\\r\\n thanks is good enough for such a present.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But she receiv\\'d my dog?\\r\\n LAUNCE. No, indeed, did she not; here have I brought him back\\r\\n again.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What, didst thou offer her this from me?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Ay, sir; the other squirrel was stol\\'n from me by the\\r\\n hangman\\'s boys in the market-place; and then I offer\\'d her mine\\r\\n own, who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift\\r\\n the greater.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go, get thee hence and find my dog again,\\r\\n Or ne\\'er return again into my sight.\\r\\n Away, I say. Stayest thou to vex me here? Exit LAUNCE\\r\\n A slave that still an end turns me to shame!\\r\\n Sebastian, I have entertained thee\\r\\n Partly that I have need of such a youth\\r\\n That can with some discretion do my business,\\r\\n For \\'tis no trusting to yond foolish lout,\\r\\n But chiefly for thy face and thy behaviour,\\r\\n Which, if my augury deceive me not,\\r\\n Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth;\\r\\n Therefore, know thou, for this I entertain thee.\\r\\n Go presently, and take this ring with thee,\\r\\n Deliver it to Madam Silvia-\\r\\n She lov\\'d me well deliver\\'d it to me.\\r\\n JULIA. It seems you lov\\'d not her, to leave her token.\\r\\n She is dead, belike?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Not so; I think she lives.\\r\\n JULIA. Alas!\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why dost thou cry \\'Alas\\'?\\r\\n JULIA. I cannot choose\\r\\n But pity her.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Wherefore shouldst thou pity her?\\r\\n JULIA. Because methinks that she lov\\'d you as well\\r\\n As you do love your lady Silvia.\\r\\n She dreams on him that has forgot her love:\\r\\n You dote on her that cares not for your love.\\r\\n \\'Tis pity love should be so contrary;\\r\\n And thinking on it makes me cry \\'Alas!\\'\\r\\n PROTEUS. Well, give her that ring, and therewithal\\r\\n This letter. That\\'s her chamber. Tell my lady\\r\\n I claim the promise for her heavenly picture.\\r\\n Your message done, hie home unto my chamber,\\r\\n Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary. Exit PROTEUS\\r\\n JULIA. How many women would do such a message?\\r\\n Alas, poor Proteus, thou hast entertain\\'d\\r\\n A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs.\\r\\n Alas, poor fool, why do I pity him\\r\\n That with his very heart despiseth me?\\r\\n Because he loves her, he despiseth me;\\r\\n Because I love him, I must pity him.\\r\\n This ring I gave him, when he parted from me,\\r\\n To bind him to remember my good will;\\r\\n And now am I, unhappy messenger,\\r\\n To plead for that which I would not obtain,\\r\\n To carry that which I would have refus\\'d,\\r\\n To praise his faith, which I would have disprais\\'d.\\r\\n I am my master\\'s true confirmed love,\\r\\n But cannot be true servant to my master\\r\\n Unless I prove false traitor to myself.\\r\\n Yet will I woo for him, but yet so coldly\\r\\n As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA, attended\\r\\n\\r\\n Gentlewoman, good day! I pray you be my mean\\r\\n To bring me where to speak with Madam Silvia.\\r\\n SILVIA. What would you with her, if that I be she?\\r\\n JULIA. If you be she, I do entreat your patience\\r\\n To hear me speak the message I am sent on.\\r\\n SILVIA. From whom?\\r\\n JULIA. From my master, Sir Proteus, madam.\\r\\n SILVIA. O, he sends you for a picture?\\r\\n JULIA. Ay, madam.\\r\\n SILVIA. Ursula, bring my picture there.\\r\\n Go, give your master this. Tell him from me,\\r\\n One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget,\\r\\n Would better fit his chamber than this shadow.\\r\\n JULIA. Madam, please you peruse this letter.\\r\\n Pardon me, madam; I have unadvis\\'d\\r\\n Deliver\\'d you a paper that I should not.\\r\\n This is the letter to your ladyship.\\r\\n SILVIA. I pray thee let me look on that again.\\r\\n JULIA. It may not be; good madam, pardon me.\\r\\n SILVIA. There, hold!\\r\\n I will not look upon your master\\'s lines.\\r\\n I know they are stuff\\'d with protestations,\\r\\n And full of new-found oaths, which he wul break\\r\\n As easily as I do tear his paper.\\r\\n JULIA. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring.\\r\\n SILVIA. The more shame for him that he sends it me;\\r\\n For I have heard him say a thousand times\\r\\n His Julia gave it him at his departure.\\r\\n Though his false finger have profan\\'d the ring,\\r\\n Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong.\\r\\n JULIA. She thanks you.\\r\\n SILVIA. What say\\'st thou?\\r\\n JULIA. I thank you, madam, that you tender her.\\r\\n Poor gentlewoman, my master wrongs her much.\\r\\n SILVIA. Dost thou know her?\\r\\n JULIA. Almost as well as I do know myself.\\r\\n To think upon her woes, I do protest\\r\\n That I have wept a hundred several times.\\r\\n SILVIA. Belike she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her.\\r\\n JULIA. I think she doth, and that\\'s her cause of sorrow.\\r\\n SILVIA. Is she not passing fair?\\r\\n JULIA. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is.\\r\\n When she did think my master lov\\'d her well,\\r\\n She, in my judgment, was as fair as you;\\r\\n But since she did neglect her looking-glass\\r\\n And threw her sun-expelling mask away,\\r\\n The air hath starv\\'d the roses in her cheeks\\r\\n And pinch\\'d the lily-tincture of her face,\\r\\n That now she is become as black as I.\\r\\n SILVIA. How tall was she?\\r\\n JULIA. About my stature; for at Pentecost,\\r\\n When all our pageants of delight were play\\'d,\\r\\n Our youth got me to play the woman\\'s part,\\r\\n And I was trimm\\'d in Madam Julia\\'s gown;\\r\\n Which served me as fit, by all men\\'s judgments,\\r\\n As if the garment had been made for me;\\r\\n Therefore I know she is about my height.\\r\\n And at that time I made her weep a good,\\r\\n For I did play a lamentable part.\\r\\n Madam, \\'twas Ariadne passioning\\r\\n For Theseus\\' perjury and unjust flight;\\r\\n Which I so lively acted with my tears\\r\\n That my poor mistress, moved therewithal,\\r\\n Wept bitterly; and would I might be dead\\r\\n If I in thought felt not her very sorrow.\\r\\n SILVIA. She is beholding to thee, gentle youth.\\r\\n Alas, poor lady, desolate and left!\\r\\n I weep myself, to think upon thy words.\\r\\n Here, youth, there is my purse; I give thee this\\r\\n For thy sweet mistress\\' sake, because thou lov\\'st her.\\r\\n Farewell. Exit SILVIA with ATTENDANTS\\r\\n JULIA. And she shall thank you for\\'t, if e\\'er you know her.\\r\\n A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful!\\r\\n I hope my master\\'s suit will be but cold,\\r\\n Since she respects my mistress\\' love so much.\\r\\n Alas, how love can trifle with itself!\\r\\n Here is her picture; let me see. I think,\\r\\n If I had such a tire, this face of mine\\r\\n Were full as lovely as is this of hers;\\r\\n And yet the painter flatter\\'d her a little,\\r\\n Unless I flatter with myself too much.\\r\\n Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow;\\r\\n If that be all the difference in his love,\\r\\n I\\'ll get me such a colour\\'d periwig.\\r\\n Her eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine;\\r\\n Ay, but her forehead\\'s low, and mine\\'s as high.\\r\\n What should it be that he respects in her\\r\\n But I can make respective in myself,\\r\\n If this fond Love were not a blinded god?\\r\\n Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up,\\r\\n For \\'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form,\\r\\n Thou shalt be worshipp\\'d, kiss\\'d, lov\\'d, and ador\\'d!\\r\\n And were there sense in his idolatry\\r\\n My substance should be statue in thy stead.\\r\\n I\\'ll use thee kindly for thy mistress\\' sake,\\r\\n That us\\'d me so; or else, by Jove I vow,\\r\\n I should have scratch\\'d out your unseeing eyes,\\r\\n To make my master out of love with thee. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. Milan. An abbey\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter EGLAMOUR\\r\\n\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. The sun begins to gild the western sky,\\r\\n And now it is about the very hour\\r\\n That Silvia at Friar Patrick\\'s cell should meet me.\\r\\n She will not fail, for lovers break not hours\\r\\n Unless it be to come before their time,\\r\\n So much they spur their expedition.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA\\r\\n\\r\\n See where she comes. Lady, a happy evening!\\r\\n SILVIA. Amen, amen! Go on, good Eglamour,\\r\\n Out at the postern by the abbey wall;\\r\\n I fear I am attended by some spies.\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. Fear not. The forest is not three leagues off;\\r\\n If we recover that, we are sure enough. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter THURIO, PROTEUS, and JULIA as SEBASTIAN\\r\\n\\r\\n THURIO. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit?\\r\\n PROTEUS. O, sir, I find her milder than she was;\\r\\n And yet she takes exceptions at your person.\\r\\n THURIO. What, that my leg is too long?\\r\\n PROTEUS. No; that it is too little.\\r\\n THURIO. I\\'ll wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] But love will not be spurr\\'d to what it loathes.\\r\\n THURIO. What says she to my face?\\r\\n PROTEUS. She says it is a fair one.\\r\\n THURIO. Nay, then, the wanton lies; my face is black.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But pearls are fair; and the old saying is:\\r\\n Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies\\' eyes.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] \\'Tis true, such pearls as put out ladies\\' eyes;\\r\\n For I had rather wink than look on them.\\r\\n THURIO. How likes she my discourse?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ill, when you talk of war.\\r\\n THURIO. But well when I discourse of love and peace?\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] But better, indeed, when you hold your peace.\\r\\n THURIO. What says she to my valour?\\r\\n PROTEUS. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] She needs not, when she knows it cowardice.\\r\\n THURIO. What says she to my birth?\\r\\n PROTEUS. That you are well deriv\\'d.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] True; from a gentleman to a fool.\\r\\n THURIO. Considers she my possessions?\\r\\n PROTEUS. O, ay; and pities them.\\r\\n THURIO. Wherefore?\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] That such an ass should owe them.\\r\\n PROTEUS. That they are out by lease.\\r\\n JULIA. Here comes the Duke.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUKE\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. How now, Sir Proteus! how now, Thurio!\\r\\n Which of you saw Sir Eglamour of late?\\r\\n THURIO. Not I.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Nor I.\\r\\n DUKE. Saw you my daughter?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Neither.\\r\\n DUKE. Why then,\\r\\n She\\'s fled unto that peasant Valentine;\\r\\n And Eglamour is in her company.\\r\\n \\'Tis true; for Friar Lawrence met them both\\r\\n As he in penance wander\\'d through the forest;\\r\\n Him he knew well, and guess\\'d that it was she,\\r\\n But, being mask\\'d, he was not sure of it;\\r\\n Besides, she did intend confession\\r\\n At Patrick\\'s cell this even; and there she was not.\\r\\n These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence;\\r\\n Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse,\\r\\n But mount you presently, and meet with me\\r\\n Upon the rising of the mountain foot\\r\\n That leads toward Mantua, whither they are fled.\\r\\n Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. Exit\\r\\n THURIO. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl\\r\\n That flies her fortune when it follows her.\\r\\n I\\'ll after, more to be reveng\\'d on Eglamour\\r\\n Than for the love of reckless Silvia. Exit\\r\\n PROTEUS. And I will follow, more for Silvia\\'s love\\r\\n Than hate of Eglamour, that goes with her. Exit\\r\\n JULIA. And I will follow, more to cross that love\\r\\n Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The frontiers of Mantua. The forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter OUTLAWS with SILVA\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Come, come.\\r\\n Be patient; we must bring you to our captain.\\r\\n SILVIA. A thousand more mischances than this one\\r\\n Have learn\\'d me how to brook this patiently.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Come, bring her away.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Where is the gentleman that was with her?\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Being nimble-footed, he hath outrun us,\\r\\n But Moyses and Valerius follow him.\\r\\n Go thou with her to the west end of the wood;\\r\\n There is our captain; we\\'ll follow him that\\'s fled.\\r\\n The thicket is beset; he cannot \\'scape.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Come, I must bring you to our captain\\'s cave;\\r\\n Fear not; he bears an honourable mind,\\r\\n And will not use a woman lawlessly.\\r\\n SILVIA. O Valentine, this I endure for thee! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Another part of the forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter VALENTINE\\r\\n\\r\\n VALENTINE. How use doth breed a habit in a man!\\r\\n This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,\\r\\n I better brook than flourishing peopled towns.\\r\\n Here can I sit alone, unseen of any,\\r\\n And to the nightingale\\'s complaining notes\\r\\n Tune my distresses and record my woes.\\r\\n O thou that dost inhabit in my breast,\\r\\n Leave not the mansion so long tenantless,\\r\\n Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall\\r\\n And leave no memory of what it was!\\r\\n Repair me with thy presence, Silvia:\\r\\n Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain.\\r\\n What halloing and what stir is this to-day?\\r\\n These are my mates, that make their wills their law,\\r\\n Have some unhappy passenger in chase.\\r\\n They love me well; yet I have much to do\\r\\n To keep them from uncivil outrages.\\r\\n Withdraw thee, Valentine. Who\\'s this comes here?\\r\\n [Steps aside]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS, SILVIA, and JULIA as Sebastian\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Madam, this service I have done for you,\\r\\n Though you respect not aught your servant doth,\\r\\n To hazard life, and rescue you from him\\r\\n That would have forc\\'d your honour and your love.\\r\\n Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look;\\r\\n A smaller boon than this I cannot beg,\\r\\n And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give.\\r\\n VALENTINE. [Aside] How like a dream is this I see and hear!\\r\\n Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile.\\r\\n SILVIA. O miserable, unhappy that I am!\\r\\n PROTEUS. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came;\\r\\n But by my coming I have made you happy.\\r\\n SILVIA. By thy approach thou mak\\'st me most unhappy.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] And me, when he approacheth to your presence.\\r\\n SILVIA. Had I been seized by a hungry lion,\\r\\n I would have been a breakfast to the beast\\r\\n Rather than have false Proteus rescue me.\\r\\n O, heaven be judge how I love Valentine,\\r\\n Whose life\\'s as tender to me as my soul!\\r\\n And full as much, for more there cannot be,\\r\\n I do detest false, perjur\\'d Proteus.\\r\\n Therefore be gone; solicit me no more.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What dangerous action, stood it next to death,\\r\\n Would I not undergo for one calm look?\\r\\n O, \\'tis the curse in love, and still approv\\'d,\\r\\n When women cannot love where they\\'re belov\\'d!\\r\\n SILVIA. When Proteus cannot love where he\\'s belov\\'d!\\r\\n Read over Julia\\'s heart, thy first best love,\\r\\n For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith\\r\\n Into a thousand oaths; and all those oaths\\r\\n Descended into perjury, to love me.\\r\\n Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou\\'dst two,\\r\\n And that\\'s far worse than none; better have none\\r\\n Than plural faith, which is too much by one.\\r\\n Thou counterfeit to thy true friend!\\r\\n PROTEUS. In love,\\r\\n Who respects friend?\\r\\n SILVIA. All men but Proteus.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words\\r\\n Can no way change you to a milder form,\\r\\n I\\'ll woo you like a soldier, at arms\\' end,\\r\\n And love you \\'gainst the nature of love- force ye.\\r\\n SILVIA. O heaven!\\r\\n PROTEUS. I\\'ll force thee yield to my desire.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ruffian! let go that rude uncivil touch;\\r\\n Thou friend of an ill fashion!\\r\\n PROTEUS. Valentine!\\r\\n VALENTINE. Thou common friend, that\\'s without faith or love-\\r\\n For such is a friend now; treacherous man,\\r\\n Thou hast beguil\\'d my hopes; nought but mine eye\\r\\n Could have persuaded me. Now I dare not say\\r\\n I have one friend alive: thou wouldst disprove me.\\r\\n Who should be trusted, when one\\'s own right hand\\r\\n Is perjured to the bosom? Proteus,\\r\\n I am sorry I must never trust thee more,\\r\\n But count the world a stranger for thy sake.\\r\\n The private wound is deepest. O time most accurst!\\r\\n \\'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst!\\r\\n PROTEUS. My shame and guilt confounds me.\\r\\n Forgive me, Valentine; if hearty sorrow\\r\\n Be a sufficient ransom for offence,\\r\\n I tender \\'t here; I do as truly suffer\\r\\n As e\\'er I did commit.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Then I am paid;\\r\\n And once again I do receive thee honest.\\r\\n Who by repentance is not satisfied\\r\\n Is nor of heaven nor earth, for these are pleas\\'d;\\r\\n By penitence th\\' Eternal\\'s wrath\\'s appeas\\'d.\\r\\n And, that my love may appear plain and free,\\r\\n All that was mine in Silvia I give thee.\\r\\n JULIA. O me unhappy! [Swoons]\\r\\n PROTEUS. Look to the boy.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, boy! why, wag! how now!\\r\\n What\\'s the matter? Look up; speak.\\r\\n JULIA. O good sir, my master charg\\'d me to deliver a ring to Madam\\r\\n Silvia, which, out of my neglect, was never done.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Where is that ring, boy?\\r\\n JULIA. Here \\'tis; this is it.\\r\\n PROTEUS. How! let me see. Why, this is the ring I gave to Julia.\\r\\n JULIA. O, cry you mercy, sir, I have mistook;\\r\\n This is the ring you sent to Silvia.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But how cam\\'st thou by this ring?\\r\\n At my depart I gave this unto Julia.\\r\\n JULIA. And Julia herself did give it me;\\r\\n And Julia herself have brought it hither.\\r\\n PROTEUS. How! Julia!\\r\\n JULIA. Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths,\\r\\n And entertain\\'d \\'em deeply in her heart.\\r\\n How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root!\\r\\n O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush!\\r\\n Be thou asham\\'d that I have took upon me\\r\\n Such an immodest raiment- if shame live\\r\\n In a disguise of love.\\r\\n It is the lesser blot, modesty finds,\\r\\n Women to change their shapes than men their minds.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Than men their minds! \\'tis true. O heaven, were man\\r\\n But constant, he were perfect! That one error\\r\\n Fills him with faults; makes him run through all th\\' sins:\\r\\n Inconstancy falls off ere it begins.\\r\\n What is in Silvia\\'s face but I may spy\\r\\n More fresh in Julia\\'s with a constant eye?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Come, come, a hand from either.\\r\\n Let me be blest to make this happy close;\\r\\n \\'Twere pity two such friends should be long foes.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish for ever.\\r\\n JULIA. And I mine.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter OUTLAWS, with DUKE and THURIO\\r\\n\\r\\n OUTLAW. A prize, a prize, a prize!\\r\\n VALENTINE. Forbear, forbear, I say; it is my lord the Duke.\\r\\n Your Grace is welcome to a man disgrac\\'d,\\r\\n Banished Valentine.\\r\\n DUKE. Sir Valentine!\\r\\n THURIO. Yonder is Silvia; and Silvia\\'s mine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death;\\r\\n Come not within the measure of my wrath;\\r\\n Do not name Silvia thine; if once again,\\r\\n Verona shall not hold thee. Here she stands\\r\\n Take but possession of her with a touch-\\r\\n I dare thee but to breathe upon my love.\\r\\n THURIO. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I;\\r\\n I hold him but a fool that will endanger\\r\\n His body for a girl that loves him not.\\r\\n I claim her not, and therefore she is thine.\\r\\n DUKE. The more degenerate and base art thou\\r\\n To make such means for her as thou hast done\\r\\n And leave her on such slight conditions.\\r\\n Now, by the honour of my ancestry,\\r\\n I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine,\\r\\n And think thee worthy of an empress\\' love.\\r\\n Know then, I here forget all former griefs,\\r\\n Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again,\\r\\n Plead a new state in thy unrivall\\'d merit,\\r\\n To which I thus subscribe: Sir Valentine,\\r\\n Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv\\'d;\\r\\n Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv\\'d her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I thank your Grace; the gift hath made me happy.\\r\\n I now beseech you, for your daughter\\'s sake,\\r\\n To grant one boon that I shall ask of you.\\r\\n DUKE. I grant it for thine own, whate\\'er it be.\\r\\n VALENTINE. These banish\\'d men, that I have kept withal,\\r\\n Are men endu\\'d with worthy qualities;\\r\\n Forgive them what they have committed here,\\r\\n And let them be recall\\'d from their exile:\\r\\n They are reformed, civil, full of good,\\r\\n And fit for great employment, worthy lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Thou hast prevail\\'d; I pardon them, and thee;\\r\\n Dispose of them as thou know\\'st their deserts.\\r\\n Come, let us go; we will include all jars\\r\\n With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity.\\r\\n VALENTINE. And, as we walk along, I dare be bold\\r\\n With our discourse to make your Grace to smile.\\r\\n What think you of this page, my lord?\\r\\n DUKE. I think the boy hath grace in him; he blushes.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I warrant you, my lord- more grace than boy.\\r\\n DUKE. What mean you by that saying?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Please you, I\\'ll tell you as we pass along,\\r\\n That you will wonder what hath fortuned.\\r\\n Come, Proteus, \\'tis your penance but to hear\\r\\n The story of your loves discovered.\\r\\n That done, our day of marriage shall be yours;\\r\\n One feast, one house, one mutual happiness! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN:\\r\\n\\r\\nPresented at the Blackfriers by the Kings Maiesties servants, with\\r\\ngreat applause:\\r\\n\\r\\nWritten by the memorable Worthies of their time;\\r\\n\\r\\nMr John Fletcher, Gent., and\\r\\nMr William Shakspeare, Gent.\\r\\n\\r\\nPrinted at London by Tho. Cotes, for John Waterson: and are to be sold\\r\\nat the signe of the Crowne in Pauls Church-yard. 1634.\\r\\n\\r\\n(The Persons represented in the Play.\\r\\n\\r\\nHymen,\\r\\nTheseus,\\r\\nHippolita, Bride to Theseus\\r\\nEmelia, Sister to Theseus\\r\\n[Emelia\\'s Woman],\\r\\nNymphs,\\r\\nThree Queens,\\r\\nThree valiant Knights,\\r\\nPalamon, and\\r\\nArcite, The two Noble Kinsmen, in love with fair Emelia\\r\\n[Valerius],\\r\\nPerithous,\\r\\n[A Herald],\\r\\n[A Gentleman],\\r\\n[A Messenger],\\r\\n[A Servant],\\r\\n[Wooer],\\r\\n[Keeper],\\r\\nJaylor,\\r\\nHis Daughter, in love with Palamon\\r\\n[His brother],\\r\\n[A Doctor],\\r\\n[4] Countreymen,\\r\\n[2 Friends of the Jaylor],\\r\\n[3 Knights],\\r\\n[Nel, and other]\\r\\nWenches,\\r\\nA Taborer,\\r\\nGerrold, A Schoolmaster.)\\r\\n\\r\\nPROLOGUE.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\nNew Playes, and Maydenheads, are neare a kin,\\r\\nMuch follow\\'d both, for both much mony g\\'yn,\\r\\nIf they stand sound, and well: And a good Play\\r\\n(Whose modest Sceanes blush on his marriage day,\\r\\nAnd shake to loose his honour) is like hir\\r\\nThat after holy Tye and first nights stir\\r\\nYet still is Modestie, and still retaines\\r\\nMore of the maid to sight, than Husbands paines;\\r\\nWe pray our Play may be so; For I am sure\\r\\nIt has a noble Breeder, and a pure,\\r\\nA learned, and a Poet never went\\r\\nMore famous yet twixt Po and silver Trent:\\r\\nChaucer (of all admir\\'d) the Story gives,\\r\\nThere constant to Eternity it lives.\\r\\nIf we let fall the Noblenesse of this,\\r\\nAnd the first sound this child heare, be a hisse,\\r\\nHow will it shake the bones of that good man,\\r\\nAnd make him cry from under ground, \\'O fan\\r\\nFrom me the witles chaffe of such a wrighter\\r\\nThat blastes my Bayes, and my fam\\'d workes makes lighter\\r\\nThen Robin Hood!\\' This is the feare we bring;\\r\\nFor to say Truth, it were an endlesse thing,\\r\\nAnd too ambitious, to aspire to him,\\r\\nWeake as we are, and almost breathlesse swim\\r\\nIn this deepe water. Do but you hold out\\r\\nYour helping hands, and we shall take about,\\r\\nAnd something doe to save us: You shall heare\\r\\nSceanes, though below his Art, may yet appeare\\r\\nWorth two houres travell. To his bones sweet sleepe:\\r\\nContent to you. If this play doe not keepe\\r\\nA little dull time from us, we perceave\\r\\nOur losses fall so thicke, we must needs leave. [Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (Athens. Before a temple.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Hymen with a Torch burning: a Boy, in a white Robe before\\r\\n singing, and strewing Flowres: After Hymen, a Nimph, encompast\\r\\nin\\r\\n her Tresses, bearing a wheaten Garland. Then Theseus betweene\\r\\n two other Nimphs with wheaten Chaplets on their heades. Then\\r\\n Hipolita the Bride, lead by Pirithous, and another holding a\\r\\n Garland over her head (her Tresses likewise hanging.) After\\r\\n her Emilia holding up her Traine. (Artesius and Attendants.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Song, [Musike.]\\r\\n\\r\\nRoses their sharpe spines being gon,\\r\\nNot royall in their smels alone,\\r\\nBut in their hew.\\r\\nMaiden Pinckes, of odour faint,\\r\\nDazies smel-lesse, yet most quaint\\r\\nAnd sweet Time true.\\r\\n\\r\\nPrim-rose first borne child of Ver,\\r\\nMerry Spring times Herbinger,\\r\\nWith her bels dimme.\\r\\nOxlips, in their Cradles growing,\\r\\nMary-golds, on death beds blowing,\\r\\nLarkes-heeles trymme.\\r\\n\\r\\nAll deere natures children sweete,\\r\\nLy fore Bride and Bridegroomes feete, [Strew Flowers.]\\r\\nBlessing their sence.\\r\\nNot an angle of the aire,\\r\\nBird melodious, or bird faire,\\r\\nIs absent hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Crow, the slaundrous Cuckoe, nor\\r\\nThe boding Raven, nor Chough hore\\r\\nNor chattring Pie,\\r\\nMay on our Bridehouse pearch or sing,\\r\\nOr with them any discord bring,\\r\\nBut from it fly.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter 3. Queenes in Blacke, with vailes staind, with imperiall\\r\\n Crownes. The 1. Queene fals downe at the foote of Theseus; The\\r\\n 2. fals downe at the foote of Hypolita. The 3. before Emilia.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nFor pitties sake and true gentilities,\\r\\nHeare, and respect me.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nFor your Mothers sake,\\r\\nAnd as you wish your womb may thrive with faire ones,\\r\\nHeare and respect me.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN\\r\\nNow for the love of him whom Iove hath markd\\r\\nThe honour of your Bed, and for the sake\\r\\nOf cleere virginity, be Advocate\\r\\nFor us, and our distresses. This good deede\\r\\nShall raze you out o\\'th Booke of Trespasses\\r\\nAll you are set downe there.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSad Lady, rise.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nStand up.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNo knees to me.\\r\\nWhat woman I may steed that is distrest,\\r\\nDoes bind me to her.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat\\'s your request? Deliver you for all.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nWe are 3. Queenes, whose Soveraignes fel before\\r\\nThe wrath of cruell Creon; who endured\\r\\nThe Beakes of Ravens, Tallents of the Kights,\\r\\nAnd pecks of Crowes, in the fowle feilds of Thebs.\\r\\nHe will not suffer us to burne their bones,\\r\\nTo urne their ashes, nor to take th\\' offence\\r\\nOf mortall loathsomenes from the blest eye\\r\\nOf holy Phoebus, but infects the windes\\r\\nWith stench of our slaine Lords. O pitty, Duke:\\r\\nThou purger of the earth, draw thy feard Sword\\r\\nThat does good turnes to\\'th world; give us the Bones\\r\\nOf our dead Kings, that we may Chappell them;\\r\\nAnd of thy boundles goodnes take some note\\r\\nThat for our crowned heades we have no roofe,\\r\\nSave this which is the Lyons, and the Beares,\\r\\nAnd vault to every thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nPray you, kneele not:\\r\\nI was transported with your Speech, and suffer\\'d\\r\\nYour knees to wrong themselves; I have heard the fortunes\\r\\nOf your dead Lords, which gives me such lamenting\\r\\nAs wakes my vengeance, and revenge for\\'em,\\r\\nKing Capaneus was your Lord: the day\\r\\nThat he should marry you, at such a season,\\r\\nAs now it is with me, I met your Groome,\\r\\nBy Marsis Altar; you were that time faire,\\r\\nNot Iunos Mantle fairer then your Tresses,\\r\\nNor in more bounty spread her. Your wheaten wreathe\\r\\nWas then nor threashd, nor blasted; Fortune at you\\r\\nDimpled her Cheeke with smiles: Hercules our kinesman\\r\\n(Then weaker than your eies) laide by his Club,\\r\\nHe tumbled downe upon his Nemean hide\\r\\nAnd swore his sinews thawd: O greife, and time,\\r\\nFearefull consumers, you will all devoure.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nO, I hope some God,\\r\\nSome God hath put his mercy in your manhood\\r\\nWhereto heel infuse powre, and presse you forth\\r\\nOur undertaker.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nO no knees, none, Widdow,\\r\\nVnto the Helmeted Belona use them,\\r\\nAnd pray for me your Souldier.\\r\\nTroubled I am. [turnes away.]\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nHonoured Hypolita,\\r\\nMost dreaded Amazonian, that hast slaine\\r\\nThe Sith-tuskd Bore; that with thy Arme as strong\\r\\nAs it is white, wast neere to make the male\\r\\nTo thy Sex captive, but that this thy Lord,\\r\\nBorne to uphold Creation in that honour\\r\\nFirst nature stilde it in, shrunke thee into\\r\\nThe bownd thou wast ore-flowing, at once subduing\\r\\nThy force, and thy affection: Soldiresse\\r\\nThat equally canst poize sternenes with pitty,\\r\\nWhom now I know hast much more power on him\\r\\nThen ever he had on thee, who ow\\'st his strength\\r\\nAnd his Love too, who is a Servant for\\r\\nThe Tenour of thy Speech: Deere Glasse of Ladies,\\r\\nBid him that we, whom flaming war doth scortch,\\r\\nVnder the shaddow of his Sword may coole us:\\r\\nRequire him he advance it ore our heades;\\r\\nSpeak\\'t in a womans key: like such a woman\\r\\nAs any of us three; weepe ere you faile;\\r\\nLend us a knee;\\r\\nBut touch the ground for us no longer time\\r\\nThen a Doves motion, when the head\\'s pluckt off:\\r\\nTell him if he i\\'th blood cizd field lay swolne,\\r\\nShowing the Sun his Teeth, grinning at the Moone,\\r\\nWhat you would doe.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nPoore Lady, say no more:\\r\\nI had as leife trace this good action with you\\r\\nAs that whereto I am going, and never yet\\r\\nWent I so willing way. My Lord is taken\\r\\nHart deepe with your distresse: Let him consider:\\r\\nIle speake anon.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nO my petition was [kneele to Emilia.]\\r\\nSet downe in yce, which by hot greefe uncandied\\r\\nMelts into drops, so sorrow, wanting forme,\\r\\nIs prest with deeper matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPray stand up,\\r\\nYour greefe is written in your cheeke.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nO woe,\\r\\nYou cannot reade it there, there through my teares—\\r\\nLike wrinckled peobles in a glassie streame\\r\\nYou may behold \\'em. Lady, Lady, alacke,\\r\\nHe that will all the Treasure know o\\'th earth\\r\\nMust know the Center too; he that will fish\\r\\nFor my least minnow, let him lead his line\\r\\nTo catch one at my heart. O pardon me:\\r\\nExtremity, that sharpens sundry wits,\\r\\nMakes me a Foole.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPray you say nothing, pray you:\\r\\nWho cannot feele nor see the raine, being in\\'t,\\r\\nKnowes neither wet nor dry: if that you were\\r\\nThe ground-peece of some Painter, I would buy you\\r\\nT\\'instruct me gainst a Capitall greefe indeed—\\r\\nSuch heart peirc\\'d demonstration; but, alas,\\r\\nBeing a naturall Sifter of our Sex\\r\\nYour sorrow beates so ardently upon me,\\r\\nThat it shall make a counter reflect gainst\\r\\nMy Brothers heart, and warme it to some pitty,\\r\\nThough it were made of stone: pray, have good comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nForward to\\'th Temple, leave not out a Iot\\r\\nO\\'th sacred Ceremony.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nO, This Celebration\\r\\nWill long last, and be more costly then\\r\\nYour Suppliants war: Remember that your Fame\\r\\nKnowles in the eare o\\'th world: what you doe quickly\\r\\nIs not done rashly; your first thought is more\\r\\nThen others laboured meditance: your premeditating\\r\\nMore then their actions: But, oh Iove! your actions,\\r\\nSoone as they mooves, as Asprayes doe the fish,\\r\\nSubdue before they touch: thinke, deere Duke, thinke\\r\\nWhat beds our slaine Kings have.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nWhat greifes our beds,\\r\\nThat our deere Lords have none.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nNone fit for \\'th dead:\\r\\nThose that with Cordes, Knives, drams precipitance,\\r\\nWeary of this worlds light, have to themselves\\r\\nBeene deathes most horrid Agents, humaine grace\\r\\nAffords them dust and shaddow.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nBut our Lords\\r\\nLy blistring fore the visitating Sunne,\\r\\nAnd were good Kings, when living.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nIt is true, and I will give you comfort,\\r\\nTo give your dead Lords graves: the which to doe,\\r\\nMust make some worke with Creon.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nAnd that worke presents it selfe to\\'th doing:\\r\\nNow twill take forme, the heates are gone to morrow.\\r\\nThen, booteles toyle must recompence it selfe\\r\\nWith it\\'s owne sweat; Now he\\'s secure,\\r\\nNot dreames we stand before your puissance\\r\\nWrinching our holy begging in our eyes\\r\\nTo make petition cleere.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nNow you may take him, drunke with his victory.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nAnd his Army full of Bread, and sloth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nArtesius, that best knowest\\r\\nHow to draw out fit to this enterprise\\r\\nThe prim\\'st for this proceeding, and the number\\r\\nTo carry such a businesse, forth and levy\\r\\nOur worthiest Instruments, whilst we despatch\\r\\nThis grand act of our life, this daring deede\\r\\nOf Fate in wedlocke.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nDowagers, take hands;\\r\\nLet us be Widdowes to our woes: delay\\r\\nCommends us to a famishing hope.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nFarewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nWe come unseasonably: But when could greefe\\r\\nCull forth, as unpanged judgement can, fit\\'st time\\r\\nFor best solicitation.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhy, good Ladies,\\r\\nThis is a service, whereto I am going,\\r\\nGreater then any was; it more imports me\\r\\nThen all the actions that I have foregone,\\r\\nOr futurely can cope.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nThe more proclaiming\\r\\nOur suit shall be neglected: when her Armes\\r\\nAble to locke Iove from a Synod, shall\\r\\nBy warranting Moone-light corslet thee, oh, when\\r\\nHer twyning Cherries shall their sweetnes fall\\r\\nVpon thy tastefull lips, what wilt thou thinke\\r\\nOf rotten Kings or blubberd Queenes, what care\\r\\nFor what thou feelst not? what thou feelst being able\\r\\nTo make Mars spurne his Drom. O, if thou couch\\r\\nBut one night with her, every howre in\\'t will\\r\\nTake hostage of thee for a hundred, and\\r\\nThou shalt remember nothing more then what\\r\\nThat Banket bids thee too.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nThough much unlike [Kneeling.]\\r\\nYou should be so transported, as much sorry\\r\\nI should be such a Suitour; yet I thinke,\\r\\nDid I not by th\\'abstayning of my joy,\\r\\nWhich breeds a deeper longing, cure their surfeit\\r\\nThat craves a present medcine, I should plucke\\r\\nAll Ladies scandall on me. Therefore, Sir,\\r\\nAs I shall here make tryall of my prayres,\\r\\nEither presuming them to have some force,\\r\\nOr sentencing for ay their vigour dombe:\\r\\nProrogue this busines we are going about, and hang\\r\\nYour Sheild afore your Heart, about that necke\\r\\nWhich is my ffee, and which I freely lend\\r\\nTo doe these poore Queenes service.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL QUEENS.\\r\\nOh helpe now,\\r\\nOur Cause cries for your knee.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIf you grant not [Kneeling.]\\r\\nMy Sister her petition in that force,\\r\\nWith that Celerity and nature, which\\r\\nShee makes it in, from henceforth ile not dare\\r\\nTo aske you any thing, nor be so hardy\\r\\nEver to take a Husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nPray stand up.\\r\\nI am entreating of my selfe to doe\\r\\nThat which you kneele to have me. Pyrithous,\\r\\nLeade on the Bride; get you and pray the Gods\\r\\nFor successe, and returne; omit not any thing\\r\\nIn the pretended Celebration. Queenes,\\r\\nFollow your Soldier. As before, hence you [to Artesius]\\r\\nAnd at the banckes of Aulis meete us with\\r\\nThe forces you can raise, where we shall finde\\r\\nThe moytie of a number, for a busines\\r\\nMore bigger look\\'t. Since that our Theame is haste,\\r\\nI stamp this kisse upon thy currant lippe;\\r\\nSweete, keepe it as my Token. Set you forward,\\r\\nFor I will see you gone. [Exeunt towards the Temple.]\\r\\nFarewell, my beauteous Sister: Pyrithous,\\r\\nKeepe the feast full, bate not an howre on\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nSir,\\r\\nIle follow you at heeles; The Feasts solempnity\\r\\nShall want till your returne.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nCosen, I charge you\\r\\nBoudge not from Athens; We shall be returning\\r\\nEre you can end this Feast, of which, I pray you,\\r\\nMake no abatement; once more, farewell all.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nThus do\\'st thou still make good the tongue o\\'th world.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nAnd earnst a Deity equal with Mars.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nIf not above him, for\\r\\nThou being but mortall makest affections bend\\r\\nTo Godlike honours; they themselves, some say,\\r\\nGrone under such a Mastry.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAs we are men,\\r\\nThus should we doe; being sensually subdude,\\r\\nWe loose our humane tytle. Good cheere, Ladies. [Florish.]\\r\\nNow turne we towards your Comforts. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (Thebs).\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon, and Arcite.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDeere Palamon, deerer in love then Blood\\r\\nAnd our prime Cosen, yet unhardned in\\r\\nThe Crimes of nature; Let us leave the Citty\\r\\nThebs, and the temptings in\\'t, before we further\\r\\nSully our glosse of youth:\\r\\nAnd here to keepe in abstinence we shame\\r\\nAs in Incontinence; for not to swim\\r\\nI\\'th aide o\\'th Current were almost to sincke,\\r\\nAt least to frustrate striving, and to follow\\r\\nThe common Streame, twold bring us to an Edy\\r\\nWhere we should turne or drowne; if labour through,\\r\\nOur gaine but life, and weakenes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYour advice\\r\\nIs cride up with example: what strange ruins\\r\\nSince first we went to Schoole, may we perceive\\r\\nWalking in Thebs? Skars, and bare weedes\\r\\nThe gaine o\\'th Martialist, who did propound\\r\\nTo his bold ends honour, and golden Ingots,\\r\\nWhich though he won, he had not, and now flurted\\r\\nBy peace for whom he fought: who then shall offer\\r\\nTo Marsis so scornd Altar? I doe bleede\\r\\nWhen such I meete, and wish great Iuno would\\r\\nResume her ancient fit of Ielouzie\\r\\nTo get the Soldier worke, that peace might purge\\r\\nFor her repletion, and retaine anew\\r\\nHer charitable heart now hard, and harsher\\r\\nThen strife or war could be.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nAre you not out?\\r\\nMeete you no ruine but the Soldier in\\r\\nThe Cranckes and turnes of Thebs? you did begin\\r\\nAs if you met decaies of many kindes:\\r\\nPerceive you none, that doe arowse your pitty\\r\\nBut th\\'un-considerd Soldier?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes, I pitty\\r\\nDecaies where ere I finde them, but such most\\r\\nThat, sweating in an honourable Toyle,\\r\\nAre paide with yce to coole \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTis not this\\r\\nI did begin to speake of: This is vertue\\r\\nOf no respect in Thebs; I spake of Thebs\\r\\nHow dangerous if we will keepe our Honours,\\r\\nIt is for our resyding, where every evill\\r\\nHath a good cullor; where eve\\'ry seeming good\\'s\\r\\nA certaine evill, where not to be ev\\'n Iumpe\\r\\nAs they are, here were to be strangers, and\\r\\nSuch things to be, meere Monsters.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTis in our power,\\r\\n(Vnlesse we feare that Apes can Tutor\\'s) to\\r\\nBe Masters of our manners: what neede I\\r\\nAffect anothers gate, which is not catching\\r\\nWhere there is faith, or to be fond upon\\r\\nAnothers way of speech, when by mine owne\\r\\nI may be reasonably conceiv\\'d; sav\\'d too,\\r\\nSpeaking it truly? why am I bound\\r\\nBy any generous bond to follow him\\r\\nFollowes his Taylor, haply so long untill\\r\\nThe follow\\'d make pursuit? or let me know,\\r\\nWhy mine owne Barber is unblest, with him\\r\\nMy poore Chinne too, for tis not Cizard iust\\r\\nTo such a Favorites glasse: What Cannon is there\\r\\nThat does command my Rapier from my hip\\r\\nTo dangle\\'t in my hand, or to go tip toe\\r\\nBefore the streete be foule? Either I am\\r\\nThe fore-horse in the Teame, or I am none\\r\\nThat draw i\\'th sequent trace: these poore sleight sores\\r\\nNeede not a plantin; That which rips my bosome\\r\\nAlmost to\\'th heart\\'s—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nOur Vncle Creon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHe,\\r\\nA most unbounded Tyrant, whose successes\\r\\nMakes heaven unfeard, and villany assured\\r\\nBeyond its power there\\'s nothing, almost puts\\r\\nFaith in a feavour, and deifies alone\\r\\nVoluble chance; who onely attributes\\r\\nThe faculties of other Instruments\\r\\nTo his owne Nerves and act; Commands men service,\\r\\nAnd what they winne in\\'t, boot and glory; on(e)\\r\\nThat feares not to do harm; good, dares not; Let\\r\\nThe blood of mine that\\'s sibbe to him be suckt\\r\\nFrom me with Leeches; Let them breake and fall\\r\\nOff me with that corruption.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nCleere spirited Cozen,\\r\\nLets leave his Court, that we may nothing share\\r\\nOf his lowd infamy: for our milke\\r\\nWill relish of the pasture, and we must\\r\\nBe vile or disobedient, not his kinesmen\\r\\nIn blood, unlesse in quality.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNothing truer:\\r\\nI thinke the Ecchoes of his shames have dea\\'ft\\r\\nThe eares of heav\\'nly Iustice: widdows cryes\\r\\nDescend againe into their throates, and have not\\r\\n\\r\\n[enter Valerius.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDue audience of the Gods.—Valerius!\\r\\n\\r\\nVALERIUS.\\r\\nThe King cals for you; yet be leaden footed,\\r\\nTill his great rage be off him. Phebus, when\\r\\nHe broke his whipstocke and exclaimd against\\r\\nThe Horses of the Sun, but whisperd too\\r\\nThe lowdenesse of his Fury.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nSmall windes shake him:\\r\\nBut whats the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nVALERIUS.\\r\\nTheseus (who where he threates appals,) hath sent\\r\\nDeadly defyance to him, and pronounces\\r\\nRuine to Thebs; who is at hand to seale\\r\\nThe promise of his wrath.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nLet him approach;\\r\\nBut that we feare the Gods in him, he brings not\\r\\nA jot of terrour to us; Yet what man\\r\\nThirds his owne worth (the case is each of ours)\\r\\nWhen that his actions dregd with minde assurd\\r\\nTis bad he goes about?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nLeave that unreasond.\\r\\nOur services stand now for Thebs, not Creon,\\r\\nYet to be neutrall to him were dishonour;\\r\\nRebellious to oppose: therefore we must\\r\\nWith him stand to the mercy of our Fate,\\r\\nWho hath bounded our last minute.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSo we must.\\r\\nIst sed this warres a foote? or it shall be,\\r\\nOn faile of some condition?\\r\\n\\r\\nVALERIUS.\\r\\nTis in motion\\r\\nThe intelligence of state came in the instant\\r\\nWith the defier.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nLets to the king, who, were he\\r\\nA quarter carrier of that honour which\\r\\nHis Enemy come in, the blood we venture\\r\\nShould be as for our health, which were not spent,\\r\\nRather laide out for purchase: but, alas,\\r\\nOur hands advanc\\'d before our hearts, what will\\r\\nThe fall o\\'th stroke doe damage?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nLet th\\'event,\\r\\nThat never erring Arbitratour, tell us\\r\\nWhen we know all our selves, and let us follow\\r\\nThe becking of our chance. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (Before the gates of Athens.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Pirithous, Hipolita, Emilia.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nNo further.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nSir, farewell; repeat my wishes\\r\\nTo our great Lord, of whose succes I dare not\\r\\nMake any timerous question; yet I wish him\\r\\nExces and overflow of power, and\\'t might be,\\r\\nTo dure ill-dealing fortune: speede to him,\\r\\nStore never hurtes good Gouernours.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThough I know\\r\\nHis Ocean needes not my poore drops, yet they\\r\\nMust yeild their tribute there. My precious Maide,\\r\\nThose best affections, that the heavens infuse\\r\\nIn their best temperd peices, keepe enthroand\\r\\nIn your deare heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThanckes, Sir. Remember me\\r\\nTo our all royall Brother, for whose speede\\r\\nThe great Bellona ile sollicite; and\\r\\nSince in our terrene State petitions are not\\r\\nWithout giftes understood, Ile offer to her\\r\\nWhat I shall be advised she likes: our hearts\\r\\nAre in his Army, in his Tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nIn\\'s bosome:\\r\\nWe have bin Soldiers, and wee cannot weepe\\r\\nWhen our Friends don their helmes, or put to sea,\\r\\nOr tell of Babes broachd on the Launce, or women\\r\\nThat have sod their Infants in (and after eate them)\\r\\nThe brine, they wept at killing \\'em; Then if\\r\\nYou stay to see of us such Spincsters, we\\r\\nShould hold you here for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nPeace be to you,\\r\\nAs I pursue this war, which shall be then\\r\\nBeyond further requiring. [Exit Pir.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHow his longing\\r\\nFollowes his Friend! since his depart, his sportes\\r\\nThough craving seriousnes, and skill, past slightly\\r\\nHis careles execution, where nor gaine\\r\\nMade him regard, or losse consider; but\\r\\nPlaying one busines in his hand, another\\r\\nDirecting in his head, his minde, nurse equall\\r\\nTo these so diffring Twyns—have you observ\\'d him,\\r\\nSince our great Lord departed?\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nWith much labour,\\r\\nAnd I did love him fort: they two have Cabind\\r\\nIn many as dangerous, as poore a Corner,\\r\\nPerill and want contending; they have skift\\r\\nTorrents whose roring tyranny and power\\r\\nI\\'th least of these was dreadfull, and they have\\r\\nFought out together, where Deaths-selfe was lodgd,\\r\\nYet fate hath brought them off: Their knot of love,\\r\\nTide, weau\\'d, intangled, with so true, so long,\\r\\nAnd with a finger of so deepe a cunning,\\r\\nMay be outworne, never undone. I thinke\\r\\nTheseus cannot be umpire to himselfe,\\r\\nCleaving his conscience into twaine and doing\\r\\nEach side like Iustice, which he loves best.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nDoubtlesse\\r\\nThere is a best, and reason has no manners\\r\\nTo say it is not you: I was acquainted\\r\\nOnce with a time, when I enjoyd a Play-fellow;\\r\\nYou were at wars, when she the grave enrichd,\\r\\nWho made too proud the Bed, tooke leave o th Moone\\r\\n(Which then lookt pale at parting) when our count\\r\\nWas each eleven.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nTwas Flaui(n)a.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\nYou talke of Pirithous and Theseus love;\\r\\nTheirs has more ground, is more maturely seasond,\\r\\nMore buckled with strong Iudgement and their needes\\r\\nThe one of th\\'other may be said to water [2. Hearses ready\\r\\n with Palamon: and Arcite: the 3. Queenes. Theseus: and his\\r\\n Lordes ready.]\\r\\nTheir intertangled rootes of love; but I\\r\\nAnd shee I sigh and spoke of were things innocent,\\r\\nLou\\'d for we did, and like the Elements\\r\\nThat know not what, nor why, yet doe effect\\r\\nRare issues by their operance, our soules\\r\\nDid so to one another; what she lik\\'d,\\r\\nWas then of me approov\\'d, what not, condemd,\\r\\nNo more arraignment; the flowre that I would plucke\\r\\nAnd put betweene my breasts (then but beginning\\r\\nTo swell about the blossome) oh, she would long\\r\\nTill shee had such another, and commit it\\r\\nTo the like innocent Cradle, where Phenix like\\r\\nThey dide in perfume: on my head no toy\\r\\nBut was her patterne; her affections (pretty,\\r\\nThough, happely, her careles were) I followed\\r\\nFor my most serious decking; had mine eare\\r\\nStolne some new aire, or at adventure humd on\\r\\nFrom musicall Coynadge, why it was a note\\r\\nWhereon her spirits would sojourne (rather dwell on)\\r\\nAnd sing it in her slumbers. This rehearsall\\r\\n(Which ev\\'ry innocent wots well comes in\\r\\nLike old importments bastard) has this end,\\r\\nThat the true love tweene Mayde, and mayde, may be\\r\\nMore then in sex idividuall.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nY\\'are out of breath\\r\\nAnd this high speeded pace, is but to say\\r\\nThat you shall never like the Maide Flavina\\r\\nLove any that\\'s calld Man.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI am sure I shall not.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nNow, alacke, weake Sister,\\r\\nI must no more beleeve thee in this point\\r\\n(Though in\\'t I know thou dost beleeve thy selfe,)\\r\\nThen I will trust a sickely appetite,\\r\\nThat loathes even as it longs; but, sure, my Sister,\\r\\nIf I were ripe for your perswasion, you\\r\\nHave saide enough to shake me from the Arme\\r\\nOf the all noble Theseus, for whose fortunes\\r\\nI will now in, and kneele with great assurance,\\r\\nThat we, more then his Pirothous, possesse\\r\\nThe high throne in his heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI am not\\r\\nAgainst your faith; yet I continew mine. [Exeunt. Cornets.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. (A field before Thebes. Dead bodies lying on the ground.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[A Battaile strooke within: Then a Retrait: Florish. Then\\r\\n Enter Theseus (victor), (Herald and Attendants:) the three\\r\\n Queenes meete him, and fall on their faces before him.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nTo thee no starre be darke.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nBoth heaven and earth\\r\\nFriend thee for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nAll the good that may\\r\\nBe wishd upon thy head, I cry Amen too\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nTh\\'imparciall Gods, who from the mounted heavens\\r\\nView us their mortall Heard, behold who erre,\\r\\nAnd in their time chastice: goe and finde out\\r\\nThe bones of your dead Lords, and honour them\\r\\nWith treble Ceremonie; rather then a gap\\r\\nShould be in their deere rights, we would supply\\'t.\\r\\nBut those we will depute, which shall invest\\r\\nYou in your dignities, and even each thing\\r\\nOur hast does leave imperfect: So, adiew,\\r\\nAnd heavens good eyes looke on you. What are those? [Exeunt\\r\\nQueenes.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nMen of great quality, as may be judgd\\r\\nBy their appointment; Sone of Thebs have told\\'s\\r\\nThey are Sisters children, Nephewes to the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nBy\\'th Helme of Mars, I saw them in the war,\\r\\nLike to a paire of Lions, smeard with prey,\\r\\nMake lanes in troopes agast. I fixt my note\\r\\nConstantly on them; for they were a marke\\r\\nWorth a god\\'s view: what prisoner was\\'t that told me\\r\\nWhen I enquired their names?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nWi\\'leave, they\\'r called Arcite and Palamon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nTis right: those, those. They are not dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nNor in a state of life: had they bin taken,\\r\\nWhen their last hurts were given, twas possible [3. Hearses\\r\\nready.]\\r\\nThey might have bin recovered; Yet they breathe\\r\\nAnd haue the name of men.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThen like men use \\'em.\\r\\nThe very lees of such (millions of rates)\\r\\nExceede the wine of others: all our Surgions\\r\\nConvent in their behoofe; our richest balmes\\r\\nRather then niggard, waft: their lives concerne us\\r\\nMuch more then Thebs is worth: rather then have \\'em\\r\\nFreed of this plight, and in their morning state\\r\\n(Sound and at liberty) I would \\'em dead;\\r\\nBut forty thousand fold we had rather have \\'em\\r\\nPrisoners to us then death. Beare \\'em speedily\\r\\nFrom our kinde aire, to them unkinde, and minister\\r\\nWhat man to man may doe—for our sake more,\\r\\nSince I have knowne frights, fury, friends beheastes,\\r\\nLoves provocations, zeale, a mistris Taske,\\r\\nDesire of liberty, a feavour, madnes,\\r\\nHath set a marke which nature could not reach too\\r\\nWithout some imposition: sicknes in will\\r\\nOr wrastling strength in reason. For our Love\\r\\nAnd great Appollos mercy, all our best\\r\\nTheir best skill tender. Leade into the Citty,\\r\\nWhere having bound things scatterd, we will post [Florish.]\\r\\nTo Athens for(e) our Army [Exeunt. Musicke.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5. (Another part of the same.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter the Queenes with the Hearses of their Knightes, in a\\r\\n Funerall Solempnity, &c.]\\r\\n\\r\\nVrnes and odours bring away,\\r\\nVapours, sighes, darken the day;\\r\\nOur dole more deadly lookes than dying;\\r\\nBalmes, and Gummes, and heavy cheeres,\\r\\nSacred vials fill\\'d with teares,\\r\\nAnd clamors through the wild ayre flying.\\r\\n\\r\\nCome all sad and solempne Showes,\\r\\nThat are quick-eyd pleasures foes;\\r\\nWe convent nought else but woes.\\r\\nWe convent, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nThis funeral path brings to your housholds grave:\\r\\nIoy ceaze on you againe: peace sleepe with him.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nAnd this to yours.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nYours this way: Heavens lend\\r\\nA thousand differing waies to one sure end.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nThis world\\'s a Citty full of straying Streetes, And Death\\'s the market\\r\\nplace, where each one meetes. [Exeunt severally.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (Athens. A garden, with a prison in the background.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iailor, and Wooer.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI may depart with little, while I live; some thing I may cast to you,\\r\\nnot much: Alas, the Prison I keepe, though it be for great ones, yet\\r\\nthey seldome come; Before one Salmon, you shall take a number of\\r\\nMinnowes. I am given out to be better lyn\\'d then it can appeare to me\\r\\nreport is a true Speaker: I would I were really that I am deliverd to\\r\\nbe. Marry, what I have (be it what it will) I will assure upon my\\r\\ndaughter at the day of my death.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nSir, I demaund no more then your owne offer, and I will estate\\r\\nyour\\r\\nDaughter in what I have promised.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWel, we will talke more of this, when the solemnity is past. But have\\r\\nyou a full promise of her? When that shall be seene, I tender my\\r\\nconsent.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Daughter.]\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI have Sir; here shee comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYour Friend and I have chanced to name you here, upon the old busines:\\r\\nBut no more of that now; so soone as the Court hurry is over, we will\\r\\nhave an end of it: I\\'th meane time looke tenderly to the two Prisoners.\\r\\n I can tell you they are princes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nThese strewings are for their Chamber; tis pitty they are in prison,\\r\\nand twer pitty they should be out: I doe thinke they have patience to\\r\\nmake any adversity asham\\'d; the prison it selfe is proud of \\'em; and\\r\\nthey have all the world in their Chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThey are fam\\'d to be a paire of absolute men.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nBy my troth, I think Fame but stammers \\'em; they stand a greise above\\r\\nthe reach of report.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI heard them reported in the Battaile to be the only doers.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nNay, most likely, for they are noble suffrers; I mervaile how they\\r\\nwould have lookd had they beene Victors, that with such a constant\\r\\nNobility enforce a freedome out of Bondage, making misery their Mirth,\\r\\nand affliction a toy to jest at.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nDoe they so?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIt seemes to me they have no more sence of their Captivity, then I of\\r\\nruling Athens: they eate well, looke merrily, discourse of many things,\\r\\nbut nothing of their owne restraint, and disasters: yet sometime a\\r\\ndevided sigh, martyrd as \\'twer i\\'th deliverance, will breake from one\\r\\nof them; when the other presently gives it so sweete a rebuke, that I\\r\\ncould wish my selfe a Sigh to be so chid, or at least a Sigher to be\\r\\ncomforted.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI never saw \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThe Duke himselfe came privately in the night,\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon, and Arcite, above.]\\r\\n\\r\\nand so did they: what the reason of it is, I know not: Looke, yonder\\r\\nthey are! that\\'s Arcite lookes out.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nNo, Sir, no, that\\'s Palamon: Arcite is the lower of the twaine; you may\\r\\nperceive a part of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nGoe too, leave your pointing; they would not make us their object; out\\r\\nof their sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIt is a holliday to looke on them: Lord, the diffrence of men!\\r\\n [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (The prison)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon, and Arcite in prison.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHow doe you, Noble Cosen?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHow doe you, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhy strong inough to laugh at misery,\\r\\nAnd beare the chance of warre, yet we are prisoners,\\r\\nI feare, for ever, Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI beleeve it,\\r\\nAnd to that destiny have patiently\\r\\nLaide up my houre to come.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO Cosen Arcite,\\r\\nWhere is Thebs now? where is our noble Country?\\r\\nWhere are our friends, and kindreds? never more\\r\\nMust we behold those comforts, never see\\r\\nThe hardy youthes strive for the Games of honour\\r\\n(Hung with the painted favours of their Ladies,\\r\\nLike tall Ships under saile) then start among\\'st \\'em\\r\\nAnd as an Eastwind leave \\'en all behinde us,\\r\\nLike lazy Clowdes, whilst Palamon and Arcite,\\r\\nEven in the wagging of a wanton leg\\r\\nOut-stript the peoples praises, won the Garlands,\\r\\nEre they have time to wish \\'em ours. O never\\r\\nShall we two exercise, like Twyns of honour,\\r\\nOur Armes againe, and feele our fyry horses\\r\\nLike proud Seas under us: our good Swords now\\r\\n(Better the red-eyd god of war nev\\'r wore)\\r\\nRavishd our sides, like age must run to rust,\\r\\nAnd decke the Temples of those gods that hate us:\\r\\nThese hands shall never draw\\'em out like lightning,\\r\\nTo blast whole Armies more.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNo, Palamon,\\r\\nThose hopes are Prisoners with us; here we are\\r\\nAnd here the graces of our youthes must wither\\r\\nLike a too-timely Spring; here age must finde us,\\r\\nAnd, which is heaviest, Palamon, unmarried;\\r\\nThe sweete embraces of a loving wife,\\r\\nLoden with kisses, armd with thousand Cupids\\r\\nShall never claspe our neckes, no issue know us,\\r\\nNo figures of our selves shall we ev\\'r see,\\r\\nTo glad our age, and like young Eagles teach \\'em\\r\\nBoldly to gaze against bright armes, and say:\\r\\n\\'Remember what your fathers were, and conquer.\\'\\r\\nThe faire-eyd Maides, shall weepe our Banishments,\\r\\nAnd in their Songs, curse ever-blinded fortune,\\r\\nTill shee for shame see what a wrong she has done\\r\\nTo youth and nature. This is all our world;\\r\\nWe shall know nothing here but one another,\\r\\nHeare nothing but the Clocke that tels our woes.\\r\\nThe Vine shall grow, but we shall never see it:\\r\\nSommer shall come, and with her all delights;\\r\\nBut dead-cold winter must inhabite here still.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTis too true, Arcite. To our Theban houndes,\\r\\nThat shooke the aged Forrest with their ecchoes,\\r\\nNo more now must we halloa, no more shake\\r\\nOur pointed Iavelyns, whilst the angry Swine\\r\\nFlyes like a parthian quiver from our rages,\\r\\nStrucke with our well-steeld Darts: All valiant uses\\r\\n(The foode, and nourishment of noble mindes,)\\r\\nIn us two here shall perish; we shall die\\r\\n(Which is the curse of honour) lastly\\r\\nChildren of greife, and Ignorance.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYet, Cosen,\\r\\nEven from the bottom of these miseries,\\r\\nFrom all that fortune can inflict upon us,\\r\\nI see two comforts rysing, two meere blessings,\\r\\nIf the gods please: to hold here a brave patience,\\r\\nAnd the enjoying of our greefes together.\\r\\nWhilst Palamon is with me, let me perish\\r\\nIf I thinke this our prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nCerteinly,\\r\\nTis a maine goodnes, Cosen, that our fortunes\\r\\nWere twyn\\'d together; tis most true, two soules\\r\\nPut in two noble Bodies—let \\'em suffer\\r\\nThe gaule of hazard, so they grow together—\\r\\nWill never sincke; they must not, say they could:\\r\\nA willing man dies sleeping, and all\\'s done.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nShall we make worthy uses of this place\\r\\nThat all men hate so much?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHow, gentle Cosen?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nLet\\'s thinke this prison holy sanctuary,\\r\\nTo keepe us from corruption of worse men.\\r\\nWe are young and yet desire the waies of honour,\\r\\nThat liberty and common Conversation,\\r\\nThe poyson of pure spirits, might like women\\r\\nWooe us to wander from. What worthy blessing\\r\\nCan be but our Imaginations\\r\\nMay make it ours? And heere being thus together,\\r\\nWe are an endles mine to one another;\\r\\nWe are one anothers wife, ever begetting\\r\\nNew birthes of love; we are father, friends, acquaintance;\\r\\nWe are, in one another, Families,\\r\\nI am your heire, and you are mine: This place\\r\\nIs our Inheritance, no hard Oppressour\\r\\nDare take this from us; here, with a little patience,\\r\\nWe shall live long, and loving: No surfeits seeke us:\\r\\nThe hand of war hurts none here, nor the Seas\\r\\nSwallow their youth: were we at liberty,\\r\\nA wife might part us lawfully, or busines;\\r\\nQuarrels consume us, Envy of ill men\\r\\nGrave our acquaintance; I might sicken, Cosen,\\r\\nWhere you should never know it, and so perish\\r\\nWithout your noble hand to close mine eies,\\r\\nOr praiers to the gods: a thousand chaunces,\\r\\nWere we from hence, would seaver us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou have made me\\r\\n(I thanke you, Cosen Arcite) almost wanton\\r\\nWith my Captivity: what a misery\\r\\nIt is to live abroade, and every where!\\r\\nTis like a Beast, me thinkes: I finde the Court here—\\r\\nI am sure, a more content; and all those pleasures\\r\\nThat wooe the wils of men to vanity,\\r\\nI see through now, and am sufficient\\r\\nTo tell the world, tis but a gaudy shaddow,\\r\\nThat old Time, as he passes by, takes with him.\\r\\nWhat had we bin, old in the Court of Creon,\\r\\nWhere sin is Iustice, lust and ignorance\\r\\nThe vertues of the great ones! Cosen Arcite,\\r\\nHad not the loving gods found this place for us,\\r\\nWe had died as they doe, ill old men, unwept,\\r\\nAnd had their Epitaphes, the peoples Curses:\\r\\nShall I say more?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI would heare you still.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYe shall.\\r\\nIs there record of any two that lov\\'d\\r\\nBetter then we doe, Arcite?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSure, there cannot.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI doe not thinke it possible our friendship\\r\\nShould ever leave us.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTill our deathes it cannot;\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Emilia and her woman (below).]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd after death our spirits shall be led\\r\\nTo those that love eternally. Speake on, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThis garden has a world of pleasures in\\'t.\\r\\nWhat Flowre is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nTis calld Narcissus, Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat was a faire Boy, certaine, but a foole,\\r\\nTo love himselfe; were there not maides enough?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nPray forward.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nOr were they all hard hearted?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nThey could not be to one so faire.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThou wouldst not.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nI thinke I should not, Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat\\'s a good wench:\\r\\nBut take heede to your kindnes though.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nWhy, Madam?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMen are mad things.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWill ye goe forward, Cosen?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nCanst not thou worke such flowers in silke, wench?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIle have a gowne full of \\'em, and of these;\\r\\nThis is a pretty colour, wilt not doe\\r\\nRarely upon a Skirt, wench?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nDeinty, Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nCosen, Cosen, how doe you, Sir? Why, Palamon?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNever till now I was in prison, Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWhy whats the matter, Man?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBehold, and wonder.\\r\\nBy heaven, shee is a Goddesse.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHa.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDoe reverence. She is a Goddesse, Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nOf all Flowres, me thinkes a Rose is best.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nWhy, gentle Madam?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIt is the very Embleme of a Maide.\\r\\nFor when the west wind courts her gently,\\r\\nHow modestly she blowes, and paints the Sun,\\r\\nWith her chaste blushes! When the North comes neere her,\\r\\nRude and impatient, then, like Chastity,\\r\\nShee lockes her beauties in her bud againe,\\r\\nAnd leaves him to base briers.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nYet, good Madam,\\r\\nSometimes her modesty will blow so far\\r\\nShe fals for\\'t: a Mayde,\\r\\nIf shee have any honour, would be loth\\r\\nTo take example by her.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThou art wanton.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nShe is wondrous faire.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nShe is beauty extant.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThe Sun grows high, lets walk in: keep these flowers;\\r\\nWeele see how neere Art can come neere their colours.\\r\\nI am wondrous merry hearted, I could laugh now.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nI could lie downe, I am sure.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAnd take one with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nThat\\'s as we bargaine, Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWell, agree then. [Exeunt Emilia and woman.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhat thinke you of this beauty?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTis a rare one.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIs\\'t but a rare one?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, a matchles beauty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMight not a man well lose himselfe and love her?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI cannot tell what you have done, I have;\\r\\nBeshrew mine eyes for\\'t: now I feele my Shackles.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou love her, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWho would not?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAnd desire her?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBefore my liberty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI saw her first.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat\\'s nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBut it shall be.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI saw her too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes, but you must not love her.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI will not as you doe, to worship her,\\r\\nAs she is heavenly, and a blessed Goddes;\\r\\nI love her as a woman, to enjoy her:\\r\\nSo both may love.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou shall not love at all.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNot love at all!\\r\\nWho shall deny me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI, that first saw her; I, that tooke possession\\r\\nFirst with mine eyes of all those beauties\\r\\nIn her reveald to mankinde: if thou lou\\'st her,\\r\\nOr entertain\\'st a hope to blast my wishes,\\r\\nThou art a Traytour, Arcite, and a fellow\\r\\nFalse as thy Title to her: friendship, blood,\\r\\nAnd all the tyes betweene us I disclaime,\\r\\nIf thou once thinke upon her.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, I love her,\\r\\nAnd if the lives of all my name lay on it,\\r\\nI must doe so; I love her with my soule:\\r\\nIf that will lose ye, farewell, Palamon;\\r\\nI say againe, I love, and in loving her maintaine\\r\\nI am as worthy and as free a lover,\\r\\nAnd have as just a title to her beauty\\r\\nAs any Palamon or any living\\r\\nThat is a mans Sonne.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHave I cald thee friend?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, and have found me so; why are you mov\\'d thus?\\r\\nLet me deale coldly with you: am not I\\r\\nPart of your blood, part of your soule? you have told me\\r\\nThat I was Palamon, and you were Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nAm not I liable to those affections,\\r\\nThose joyes, greifes, angers, feares, my friend shall suffer?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYe may be.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWhy, then, would you deale so cunningly,\\r\\nSo strangely, so vnlike a noble kinesman,\\r\\nTo love alone? speake truely: doe you thinke me\\r\\nVnworthy of her sight?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNo; but unjust,\\r\\nIf thou pursue that sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBecause an other\\r\\nFirst sees the Enemy, shall I stand still\\r\\nAnd let mine honour downe, and never charge?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes, if he be but one.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBut say that one\\r\\nHad rather combat me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nLet that one say so,\\r\\nAnd use thy freedome; els if thou pursuest her,\\r\\nBe as that cursed man that hates his Country,\\r\\nA branded villaine.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou are mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI must be,\\r\\nTill thou art worthy, Arcite; it concernes me,\\r\\nAnd in this madnes, if I hazard thee\\r\\nAnd take thy life, I deale but truely.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nFie, Sir,\\r\\nYou play the Childe extreamely: I will love her,\\r\\nI must, I ought to doe so, and I dare;\\r\\nAnd all this justly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO that now, that now\\r\\nThy false-selfe and thy friend had but this fortune,\\r\\nTo be one howre at liberty, and graspe\\r\\nOur good Swords in our hands! I would quickly teach thee\\r\\nWhat \\'twer to filch affection from another:\\r\\nThou art baser in it then a Cutpurse;\\r\\nPut but thy head out of this window more,\\r\\nAnd as I have a soule, Ile naile thy life too\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThou dar\\'st not, foole, thou canst not, thou art feeble.\\r\\nPut my head out? Ile throw my Body out,\\r\\nAnd leape the garden, when I see her next\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Keeper.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd pitch between her armes to anger thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNo more; the keeper\\'s comming; I shall live\\r\\nTo knocke thy braines out with my Shackles.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDoe.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nBy your leave, Gentlemen—\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNow, honest keeper?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nLord Arcite, you must presently to\\'th Duke;\\r\\nThe cause I know not yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am ready, keeper.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nPrince Palamon, I must awhile bereave you\\r\\nOf your faire Cosens Company. [Exeunt Arcite, and Keeper.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAnd me too,\\r\\nEven when you please, of life. Why is he sent for?\\r\\nIt may be he shall marry her; he\\'s goodly,\\r\\nAnd like enough the Duke hath taken notice\\r\\nBoth of his blood and body: But his falsehood!\\r\\nWhy should a friend be treacherous? If that\\r\\nGet him a wife so noble, and so faire,\\r\\nLet honest men ne\\'re love againe. Once more\\r\\nI would but see this faire One. Blessed Garden,\\r\\nAnd fruite, and flowers more blessed, that still blossom\\r\\nAs her bright eies shine on ye! would I were,\\r\\nFor all the fortune of my life hereafter,\\r\\nYon little Tree, yon blooming Apricocke;\\r\\nHow I would spread, and fling my wanton armes\\r\\nIn at her window; I would bring her fruite\\r\\nFit for the Gods to feed on: youth and pleasure\\r\\nStill as she tasted should be doubled on her,\\r\\nAnd if she be not heavenly, I would make her\\r\\nSo neere the Gods in nature, they should feare her,\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Keeper.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd then I am sure she would love me. How now, keeper.\\r\\nWher\\'s Arcite?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nBanishd: Prince Pirithous\\r\\nObtained his liberty; but never more\\r\\nVpon his oth and life must he set foote\\r\\nVpon this Kingdome.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHees a blessed man!\\r\\nHe shall see Thebs againe, and call to Armes\\r\\nThe bold yong men, that, when he bids \\'em charge,\\r\\nFall on like fire: Arcite shall have a Fortune,\\r\\nIf he dare make himselfe a worthy Lover,\\r\\nYet in the Feild to strike a battle for her;\\r\\nAnd if he lose her then, he\\'s a cold Coward;\\r\\nHow bravely may he beare himselfe to win her\\r\\nIf he be noble Arcite—thousand waies.\\r\\nWere I at liberty, I would doe things\\r\\nOf such a vertuous greatnes, that this Lady,\\r\\nThis blushing virgine, should take manhood to her\\r\\nAnd seeke to ravish me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nMy Lord for you\\r\\nI have this charge too—\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTo discharge my life?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nNo, but from this place to remoove your Lordship:\\r\\nThe windowes are too open.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDevils take \\'em,\\r\\nThat are so envious to me! pre\\'thee kill me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nAnd hang for\\'t afterward.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBy this good light,\\r\\nHad I a sword I would kill thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nWhy, my Lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThou bringst such pelting scuruy news continually\\r\\nThou art not worthy life. I will not goe.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nIndeede, you must, my Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMay I see the garden?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nNoe.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThen I am resolud, I will not goe.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nI must constraine you then: and for you are dangerous,\\r\\nIle clap more yrons on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDoe, good keeper.\\r\\nIle shake \\'em so, ye shall not sleepe;\\r\\nIle make ye a new Morrisse: must I goe?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nThere is no remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nFarewell, kinde window.\\r\\nMay rude winde never hurt thee. O, my Lady,\\r\\nIf ever thou hast felt what sorrow was,\\r\\nDreame how I suffer. Come; now bury me. [Exeunt Palamon, and\\r\\nKeeper.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (The country near Athens.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Arcite.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBanishd the kingdome? tis a benefit,\\r\\nA mercy I must thanke \\'em for, but banishd\\r\\nThe free enjoying of that face I die for,\\r\\nOh twas a studdied punishment, a death\\r\\nBeyond Imagination: Such a vengeance\\r\\nThat, were I old and wicked, all my sins\\r\\nCould never plucke upon me. Palamon,\\r\\nThou ha\\'st the Start now, thou shalt stay and see\\r\\nHer bright eyes breake each morning gainst thy window,\\r\\nAnd let in life into thee; thou shalt feede\\r\\nVpon the sweetenes of a noble beauty,\\r\\nThat nature nev\\'r exceeded, nor nev\\'r shall:\\r\\nGood gods! what happines has Palamon!\\r\\nTwenty to one, hee\\'le come to speake to her,\\r\\nAnd if she be as gentle as she\\'s faire,\\r\\nI know she\\'s his; he has a Tongue will tame\\r\\nTempests, and make the wild Rockes wanton.\\r\\nCome what can come,\\r\\nThe worst is death; I will not leave the Kingdome.\\r\\nI know mine owne is but a heape of ruins,\\r\\nAnd no redresse there; if I goe, he has her.\\r\\nI am resolu\\'d an other shape shall make me,\\r\\nOr end my fortunes. Either way, I am happy:\\r\\nIle see her, and be neere her, or no more.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter 4. Country people, & one with a garlond before them.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nMy Masters, ile be there, that\\'s certaine\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nAnd Ile be there.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nAnd I.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWhy, then, have with ye, Boyes; Tis but a chiding.\\r\\nLet the plough play to day, ile tick\\'lt out\\r\\nOf the Iades tailes to morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nI am sure\\r\\nTo have my wife as jealous as a Turkey:\\r\\nBut that\\'s all one; ile goe through, let her mumble.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nClap her aboard to morrow night, and stoa her,\\r\\nAnd all\\'s made up againe.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nI, doe but put a feskue in her fist, and you shall see her\\r\\nTake a new lesson out, and be a good wench.\\r\\nDoe we all hold against the Maying?\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nHold? what should aile us?\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nArcas will be there.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nAnd Sennois.\\r\\nAnd Rycas, and 3. better lads nev\\'r dancd\\r\\nUnder green Tree. And yee know what wenches: ha?\\r\\nBut will the dainty Domine, the Schoolemaster,\\r\\nKeep touch, doe you thinke? for he do\\'s all, ye know.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nHee\\'l eate a hornebooke ere he faile: goe too, the matter\\'s too farre\\r\\ndriven betweene him and the Tanners daughter, to let slip now, and she\\r\\nmust see the Duke, and she must daunce too.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nShall we be lusty?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nAll the Boyes in Athens blow wind i\\'th breech on\\'s, and heere ile be\\r\\nand there ile be, for our Towne, and here againe, and there againe: ha,\\r\\nBoyes, heigh for the weavers.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nThis must be done i\\'th woods.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nO, pardon me.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nBy any meanes, our thing of learning saies so:\\r\\nWhere he himselfe will edifie the Duke\\r\\nMost parlously in our behalfes: hees excellent i\\'th woods;\\r\\nBring him to\\'th plaines, his learning makes no cry.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWeele see the sports, then; every man to\\'s Tackle:\\r\\nAnd, Sweete Companions, lets rehearse by any meanes,\\r\\nBefore the Ladies see us, and doe sweetly,\\r\\nAnd God knows what May come on\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nContent; the sports once ended, wee\\'l performe.\\r\\nAway, Boyes and hold.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBy your leaves, honest friends: pray you, whither goe you?\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWhither? why, what a question\\'s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, tis a question, to me that know not.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nTo the Games, my Friend.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWhere were you bred, you know it not?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNot farre, Sir,\\r\\nAre there such Games to day?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nYes, marry, are there:\\r\\nAnd such as you neuer saw; The Duke himselfe\\r\\nWill be in person there.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWhat pastimes are they?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWrastling, and Running.—Tis a pretty Fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nThou wilt not goe along?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNot yet, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWell, Sir,\\r\\nTake your owne time: come, Boyes.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nMy minde misgives me;\\r\\nThis fellow has a veng\\'ance tricke o\\'th hip:\\r\\nMarke how his Bodi\\'s made for\\'t\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nIle be hangd, though,\\r\\nIf he dare venture; hang him, plumb porredge,\\r\\nHe wrastle? he rost eggs! Come, lets be gon, Lads. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThis is an offerd oportunity\\r\\nI durst not wish for. Well I could have wrestled,\\r\\nThe best men calld it excellent, and run—\\r\\nSwifter the winde upon a feild of Corne\\r\\n(Curling the wealthy eares) never flew: Ile venture,\\r\\nAnd in some poore disguize be there; who knowes\\r\\nWhether my browes may not be girt with garlands?\\r\\nAnd happines preferre me to a place,\\r\\nWhere I may ever dwell in sight of her. [Exit Arcite.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. (Athens. A room in the prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iailors Daughter alone.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWhy should I love this Gentleman? Tis odds\\r\\nHe never will affect me; I am base,\\r\\nMy Father the meane Keeper of his Prison,\\r\\nAnd he a prince: To marry him is hopelesse;\\r\\nTo be his whore is witles. Out upon\\'t,\\r\\nWhat pushes are we wenches driven to,\\r\\nWhen fifteene once has found us! First, I saw him;\\r\\nI (seeing) thought he was a goodly man;\\r\\nHe has as much to please a woman in him,\\r\\n(If he please to bestow it so) as ever\\r\\nThese eyes yet lookt on. Next, I pittied him,\\r\\nAnd so would any young wench, o\\' my Conscience,\\r\\nThat ever dream\\'d, or vow\\'d her Maydenhead\\r\\nTo a yong hansom Man; Then I lov\\'d him,\\r\\nExtreamely lov\\'d him, infinitely lov\\'d him;\\r\\nAnd yet he had a Cosen, faire as he too.\\r\\nBut in my heart was Palamon, and there,\\r\\nLord, what a coyle he keepes! To heare him\\r\\nSing in an evening, what a heaven it is!\\r\\nAnd yet his Songs are sad ones. Fairer spoken\\r\\nWas never Gentleman. When I come in\\r\\nTo bring him water in a morning, first\\r\\nHe bowes his noble body, then salutes me, thus:\\r\\n\\'Faire, gentle Mayde, good morrow; may thy goodnes\\r\\nGet thee a happy husband.\\' Once he kist me.\\r\\nI lov\\'d my lips the better ten daies after.\\r\\nWould he would doe so ev\\'ry day! He greives much,\\r\\nAnd me as much to see his misery.\\r\\nWhat should I doe, to make him know I love him?\\r\\nFor I would faine enjoy him. Say I ventur\\'d\\r\\nTo set him free? what saies the law then? Thus much\\r\\nFor Law, or kindred! I will doe it,\\r\\nAnd this night, or to morrow, he shall love me. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5. (An open place in Athens.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Pirithous, Emilia: Arcite with a\\r\\nGarland, &c.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[This short florish of Cornets and Showtes within.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou have done worthily; I have not seene,\\r\\nSince Hercules, a man of tougher synewes;\\r\\nWhat ere you are, you run the best, and wrastle,\\r\\nThat these times can allow.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am proud to please you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat Countrie bred you?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThis; but far off, Prince.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAre you a Gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nMy father said so;\\r\\nAnd to those gentle uses gave me life.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAre you his heire?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHis yongest, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYour Father\\r\\nSure is a happy Sire then: what prooves you?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nA little of all noble Quallities:\\r\\nI could have kept a Hawke, and well have holloa\\'d\\r\\nTo a deepe crie of Dogges; I dare not praise\\r\\nMy feat in horsemanship, yet they that knew me\\r\\nWould say it was my best peece: last, and greatest,\\r\\nI would be thought a Souldier.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou are perfect.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nVpon my soule, a proper man.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHe is so.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nHow doe you like him, Ladie?\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nI admire him;\\r\\nI have not seene so yong a man so noble\\r\\n(If he say true,) of his sort.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBeleeve,\\r\\nHis mother was a wondrous handsome woman;\\r\\nHis face, me thinkes, goes that way.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nBut his Body\\r\\nAnd firie minde illustrate a brave Father.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nMarke how his vertue, like a hidden Sun,\\r\\nBreakes through his baser garments.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nHee\\'s well got, sure.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat made you seeke this place, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNoble Theseus,\\r\\nTo purchase name, and doe my ablest service\\r\\nTo such a well-found wonder as thy worth,\\r\\nFor onely in thy Court, of all the world,\\r\\nDwells faire-eyd honor.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nAll his words are worthy.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSir, we are much endebted to your travell,\\r\\nNor shall you loose your wish: Perithous,\\r\\nDispose of this faire Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThankes, Theseus.\\r\\nWhat ere you are y\\'ar mine, and I shall give you\\r\\nTo a most noble service, to this Lady,\\r\\nThis bright yong Virgin; pray, observe her goodnesse;\\r\\nYou have honourd hir faire birth-day with your vertues,\\r\\nAnd as your due y\\'ar hirs: kisse her faire hand, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSir, y\\'ar a noble Giver: dearest Bewtie,\\r\\nThus let me seale my vowd faith: when your Servant\\r\\n(Your most unworthie Creature) but offends you,\\r\\nCommand him die, he shall.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat were too cruell.\\r\\nIf you deserve well, Sir, I shall soone see\\'t:\\r\\nY\\'ar mine, and somewhat better than your rancke\\r\\nIle use you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nIle see you furnish\\'d, and because you say\\r\\nYou are a horseman, I must needs intreat you\\r\\nThis after noone to ride, but tis a rough one.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI like him better, Prince, I shall not then\\r\\nFreeze in my Saddle.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSweet, you must be readie,\\r\\nAnd you, Emilia, and you, Friend, and all,\\r\\nTo morrow by the Sun, to doe observance\\r\\nTo flowry May, in Dians wood: waite well, Sir,\\r\\nVpon your Mistris. Emely, I hope\\r\\nHe shall not goe a foote.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat were a shame, Sir,\\r\\nWhile I have horses: take your choice, and what\\r\\nYou want at any time, let me but know it;\\r\\nIf you serve faithfully, I dare assure you\\r\\nYou\\'l finde a loving Mistris.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf I doe not,\\r\\nLet me finde that my Father ever hated,\\r\\nDisgrace and blowes.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nGo, leade the way; you have won it:\\r\\nIt shall be so; you shall receave all dues\\r\\nFit for the honour you have won; Twer wrong else.\\r\\nSister, beshrew my heart, you have a Servant,\\r\\nThat, if I were a woman, would be Master,\\r\\nBut you are wise. [Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI hope too wise for that, Sir. [Exeunt omnes.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 6. (Before the prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylors Daughter alone.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nLet all the Dukes, and all the divells rore,\\r\\nHe is at liberty: I have venturd for him,\\r\\nAnd out I have brought him to a little wood\\r\\nA mile hence. I have sent him, where a Cedar,\\r\\nHigher than all the rest, spreads like a plane\\r\\nFast by a Brooke, and there he shall keepe close,\\r\\nTill I provide him Fyles and foode, for yet\\r\\nHis yron bracelets are not off. O Love,\\r\\nWhat a stout hearted child thou art! My Father\\r\\nDurst better have indur\\'d cold yron, than done it:\\r\\nI love him beyond love and beyond reason,\\r\\nOr wit, or safetie: I have made him know it.\\r\\nI care not, I am desperate; If the law\\r\\nFinde me, and then condemne me for\\'t, some wenches,\\r\\nSome honest harted Maides, will sing my Dirge,\\r\\nAnd tell to memory my death was noble,\\r\\nDying almost a Martyr: That way he takes,\\r\\nI purpose is my way too: Sure he cannot\\r\\nBe so unmanly, as to leave me here;\\r\\nIf he doe, Maides will not so easily\\r\\nTrust men againe: And yet he has not thank\\'d me\\r\\nFor what I have done: no not so much as kist me,\\r\\nAnd that (me thinkes) is not so well; nor scarcely\\r\\nCould I perswade him to become a Freeman,\\r\\nHe made such scruples of the wrong he did\\r\\nTo me, and to my Father. Yet I hope,\\r\\nWhen he considers more, this love of mine\\r\\nWill take more root within him: Let him doe\\r\\nWhat he will with me, so he use me kindly;\\r\\nFor use me so he shall, or ile proclaime him,\\r\\nAnd to his face, no man. Ile presently\\r\\nProvide him necessaries, and packe my cloathes up,\\r\\nAnd where there is a patch of ground Ile venture,\\r\\nSo hee be with me; By him, like a shadow,\\r\\nIle ever dwell; within this houre the whoobub\\r\\nWill be all ore the prison: I am then\\r\\nKissing the man they looke for: farewell, Father;\\r\\nGet many more such prisoners and such daughters,\\r\\nAnd shortly you may keepe your selfe. Now to him!\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (A forest near Athens.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Cornets in sundry places. Noise and hallowing as people a\\r\\nMaying.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Arcite alone.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThe Duke has lost Hypolita; each tooke\\r\\nA severall land. This is a solemne Right\\r\\nThey owe bloomd May, and the Athenians pay it\\r\\nTo\\'th heart of Ceremony. O Queene Emilia,\\r\\nFresher then May, sweeter\\r\\nThen hir gold Buttons on the bowes, or all\\r\\nTh\\'enamelld knackes o\\'th Meade or garden: yea,\\r\\nWe challenge too the bancke of any Nymph\\r\\nThat makes the streame seeme flowers; thou, o Iewell\\r\\nO\\'th wood, o\\'th world, hast likewise blest a place\\r\\nWith thy sole presence: in thy rumination\\r\\nThat I, poore man, might eftsoones come betweene\\r\\nAnd chop on some cold thought! thrice blessed chance,\\r\\nTo drop on such a Mistris, expectation\\r\\nMost giltlesse on\\'t! tell me, O Lady Fortune,\\r\\n(Next after Emely my Soveraigne) how far\\r\\nI may be prowd. She takes strong note of me,\\r\\nHath made me neere her; and this beuteous Morne\\r\\n(The prim\\'st of all the yeare) presents me with\\r\\nA brace of horses: two such Steeds might well\\r\\nBe by a paire of Kings backt, in a Field\\r\\nThat their crownes titles tride. Alas, alas,\\r\\nPoore Cosen Palamon, poore prisoner, thou\\r\\nSo little dream\\'st upon my fortune, that\\r\\nThou thinkst thy selfe the happier thing, to be\\r\\nSo neare Emilia; me thou deem\\'st at Thebs,\\r\\nAnd therein wretched, although free. But if\\r\\nThou knew\\'st my Mistris breathd on me, and that\\r\\nI ear\\'d her language, livde in her eye, O Coz,\\r\\nWhat passion would enclose thee!\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon as out of a Bush, with his Shackles: bends his fist at\\r\\nArcite.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTraytor kinesman,\\r\\nThou shouldst perceive my passion, if these signes\\r\\nOf prisonment were off me, and this hand\\r\\nBut owner of a Sword: By all othes in one,\\r\\nI and the iustice of my love would make thee\\r\\nA confest Traytor. O thou most perfidious\\r\\nThat ever gently lookd; the voydest of honour,\\r\\nThat eu\\'r bore gentle Token; falsest Cosen\\r\\nThat ever blood made kin, call\\'st thou hir thine?\\r\\nIle prove it in my Shackles, with these hands,\\r\\nVoid of appointment, that thou ly\\'st, and art\\r\\nA very theefe in love, a Chaffy Lord,\\r\\nNor worth the name of villaine: had I a Sword\\r\\nAnd these house clogges away—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDeere Cosin Palamon—\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nCosoner Arcite, give me language such\\r\\nAs thou hast shewd me feate.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNot finding in\\r\\nThe circuit of my breast any grosse stuffe\\r\\nTo forme me like your blazon, holds me to\\r\\nThis gentlenesse of answer; tis your passion\\r\\nThat thus mistakes, the which to you being enemy,\\r\\nCannot to me be kind: honor, and honestie\\r\\nI cherish, and depend on, how so ev\\'r\\r\\nYou skip them in me, and with them, faire Coz,\\r\\nIle maintaine my proceedings; pray, be pleas\\'d\\r\\nTo shew in generous termes your griefes, since that\\r\\nYour question\\'s with your equall, who professes\\r\\nTo cleare his owne way with the minde and Sword\\r\\nOf a true Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThat thou durst, Arcite!\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nMy Coz, my Coz, you have beene well advertis\\'d\\r\\nHow much I dare, y\\'ave seene me use my Sword\\r\\nAgainst th\\'advice of feare: sure, of another\\r\\nYou would not heare me doubted, but your silence\\r\\nShould breake out, though i\\'th Sanctuary.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nSir,\\r\\nI have seene you move in such a place, which well\\r\\nMight justifie your manhood; you were calld\\r\\nA good knight and a bold; But the whole weeke\\'s not faire,\\r\\nIf any day it rayne: Their valiant temper\\r\\nMen loose when they encline to trecherie,\\r\\nAnd then they fight like coupelld Beares, would fly\\r\\nWere they not tyde.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nKinsman, you might as well\\r\\nSpeake this and act it in your Glasse, as to\\r\\nHis eare which now disdaines you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nCome up to me,\\r\\nQuit me of these cold Gyves, give me a Sword,\\r\\nThough it be rustie, and the charity\\r\\nOf one meale lend me; Come before me then,\\r\\nA good Sword in thy hand, and doe but say\\r\\nThat Emily is thine: I will forgive\\r\\nThe trespasse thou hast done me, yea, my life,\\r\\nIf then thou carry\\'t, and brave soules in shades\\r\\nThat have dyde manly, which will seeke of me\\r\\nSome newes from earth, they shall get none but this,\\r\\nThat thou art brave and noble.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBe content:\\r\\nAgaine betake you to your hawthorne house;\\r\\nWith counsaile of the night, I will be here\\r\\nWith wholesome viands; these impediments\\r\\nWill I file off; you shall have garments and\\r\\nPerfumes to kill the smell o\\'th prison; after,\\r\\nWhen you shall stretch your selfe and say but, \\'Arcite,\\r\\nI am in plight,\\' there shall be at your choyce\\r\\nBoth Sword and Armour.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nOh you heavens, dares any\\r\\nSo noble beare a guilty busines! none\\r\\nBut onely Arcite, therefore none but Arcite\\r\\nIn this kinde is so bold.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSweete Palamon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI doe embrace you and your offer,—for\\r\\nYour offer doo\\'t I onely, Sir; your person,\\r\\nWithout hipocrisy I may not wish [Winde hornes of Cornets.]\\r\\nMore then my Swords edge ont.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou heare the Hornes;\\r\\nEnter your Musite least this match between\\'s\\r\\nBe crost, er met: give me your hand; farewell.\\r\\nIle bring you every needfull thing: I pray you,\\r\\nTake comfort and be strong.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nPray hold your promise;\\r\\nAnd doe the deede with a bent brow: most certaine\\r\\nYou love me not, be rough with me, and powre\\r\\nThis oile out of your language; by this ayre,\\r\\nI could for each word give a Cuffe, my stomach\\r\\nNot reconcild by reason.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nPlainely spoken,\\r\\nYet pardon me hard language: when I spur [Winde hornes.]\\r\\nMy horse, I chide him not; content and anger\\r\\nIn me have but one face. Harke, Sir, they call\\r\\nThe scatterd to the Banket; you must guesse\\r\\nI have an office there.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nSir, your attendance\\r\\nCannot please heaven, and I know your office\\r\\nVnjustly is atcheev\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf a good title,\\r\\nI am perswaded this question sicke between\\'s\\r\\nBy bleeding must be cur\\'d. I am a Suitour,\\r\\nThat to your Sword you will bequeath this plea\\r\\nAnd talke of it no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBut this one word:\\r\\nYou are going now to gaze upon my Mistris,\\r\\nFor note you, mine she is—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNay, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNay, pray you,\\r\\nYou talke of feeding me to breed me strength:\\r\\nYou are going now to looke upon a Sun\\r\\nThat strengthens what it lookes on; there\\r\\nYou have a vantage ore me, but enjoy\\'t till\\r\\nI may enforce my remedy. Farewell. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (Another Part of the forest.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylors daughter alone.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nHe has mistooke the Brake I meant, is gone\\r\\nAfter his fancy. Tis now welnigh morning;\\r\\nNo matter, would it were perpetuall night,\\r\\nAnd darkenes Lord o\\'th world. Harke, tis a woolfe:\\r\\nIn me hath greife slaine feare, and but for one thing\\r\\nI care for nothing, and that\\'s Palamon.\\r\\nI wreake not if the wolves would jaw me, so\\r\\nHe had this File: what if I hallowd for him?\\r\\nI cannot hallow: if I whoop\\'d, what then?\\r\\nIf he not answeard, I should call a wolfe,\\r\\nAnd doe him but that service. I have heard\\r\\nStrange howles this live-long night, why may\\'t not be\\r\\nThey have made prey of him? he has no weapons,\\r\\nHe cannot run, the Iengling of his Gives\\r\\nMight call fell things to listen, who have in them\\r\\nA sence to know a man unarmd, and can\\r\\nSmell where resistance is. Ile set it downe\\r\\nHe\\'s torne to peeces; they howld many together\\r\\nAnd then they fed on him: So much for that,\\r\\nBe bold to ring the Bell; how stand I then?\\r\\nAll\\'s char\\'d when he is gone. No, no, I lye,\\r\\nMy Father\\'s to be hang\\'d for his escape;\\r\\nMy selfe to beg, if I prizd life so much\\r\\nAs to deny my act, but that I would not,\\r\\nShould I try death by dussons.—I am mop\\'t,\\r\\nFood tooke I none these two daies,\\r\\nSipt some water. I have not closd mine eyes\\r\\nSave when my lids scowrd off their brine; alas,\\r\\nDissolue my life, Let not my sence unsettle,\\r\\nLeast I should drowne, or stab or hang my selfe.\\r\\nO state of Nature, faile together in me,\\r\\nSince thy best props are warpt! So, which way now?\\r\\nThe best way is the next way to a grave:\\r\\nEach errant step beside is torment. Loe,\\r\\nThe Moone is down, the Cryckets chirpe, the Schreichowle\\r\\nCalls in the dawne; all offices are done\\r\\nSave what I faile in: But the point is this,\\r\\nAn end, and that is all. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (Same as Scene I.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Arcite, with Meate, Wine, and Files.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI should be neere the place: hoa, Cosen Palamon. [Enter\\r\\nPalamon.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nArcite?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThe same: I have brought you foode and files.\\r\\nCome forth and feare not, here\\'s no Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNor none so honest, Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat\\'s no matter,\\r\\nWee\\'l argue that hereafter: Come, take courage;\\r\\nYou shall not dye thus beastly: here, Sir, drinke;\\r\\nI know you are faint: then ile talke further with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nArcite, thou mightst now poyson me.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI might,\\r\\nBut I must feare you first: Sit downe, and, good, now\\r\\nNo more of these vaine parlies; let us not,\\r\\nHaving our ancient reputation with us,\\r\\nMake talke for Fooles and Cowards. To your health, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDoe.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nPray, sit downe then; and let me entreate you,\\r\\nBy all the honesty and honour in you,\\r\\nNo mention of this woman: t\\'will disturbe us;\\r\\nWe shall have time enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWell, Sir, Ile pledge you.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDrinke a good hearty draught; it breeds good blood, man.\\r\\nDoe not you feele it thaw you?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nStay, Ile tell you after a draught or two more.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSpare it not, the Duke has more, Cuz: Eate now.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am glad you have so good a stomach.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI am gladder I have so good meate too\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIs\\'t not mad lodging here in the wild woods, Cosen?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes, for them that have wilde Consciences.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHow tasts your vittails? your hunger needs no sawce, I see.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNot much;\\r\\nBut if it did, yours is too tart, sweete Cosen: what is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nVenison.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTis a lusty meate:\\r\\nGiue me more wine; here, Arcite, to the wenches\\r\\nWe have known in our daies. The Lord Stewards daughter,\\r\\nDoe you remember her?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nAfter you, Cuz.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nShe lov\\'d a black-haird man.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nShe did so; well, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAnd I have heard some call him Arcite, and—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nOut with\\'t, faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nShe met him in an Arbour:\\r\\nWhat did she there, Cuz? play o\\'th virginals?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSomething she did, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMade her groane a moneth for\\'t, or 2. or 3. or 10.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThe Marshals Sister\\r\\nHad her share too, as I remember, Cosen,\\r\\nElse there be tales abroade; you\\'l pledge her?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nA pretty broune wench t\\'is. There was a time\\r\\nWhen yong men went a hunting, and a wood,\\r\\nAnd a broade Beech: and thereby hangs a tale:—heigh ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nFor Emily, upon my life! Foole,\\r\\nAway with this straind mirth; I say againe,\\r\\nThat sigh was breathd for Emily; base Cosen,\\r\\nDar\\'st thou breake first?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou are wide.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBy heaven and earth, ther\\'s nothing in thee honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThen Ile leave you: you are a Beast now.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAs thou makst me, Traytour.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTher\\'s all things needfull, files and shirts, and perfumes:\\r\\nIle come againe some two howres hence, and bring\\r\\nThat that shall quiet all,\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nA Sword and Armour?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nFeare me not; you are now too fowle; farewell.\\r\\nGet off your Trinkets; you shall want nought.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nSir, ha—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIle heare no more. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIf he keepe touch, he dies for\\'t. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. (Another part of the forest.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylors daughter.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI am very cold, and all the Stars are out too,\\r\\nThe little Stars, and all, that looke like aglets:\\r\\nThe Sun has seene my Folly. Palamon!\\r\\nAlas no; hees in heaven. Where am I now?\\r\\nYonder\\'s the sea, and ther\\'s a Ship; how\\'t tumbles!\\r\\nAnd ther\\'s a Rocke lies watching under water;\\r\\nNow, now, it beates upon it; now, now, now,\\r\\nTher\\'s a leak sprung, a sound one, how they cry!\\r\\nSpoon her before the winde, you\\'l loose all els:\\r\\nVp with a course or two, and take about, Boyes.\\r\\nGood night, good night, y\\'ar gone.—I am very hungry.\\r\\nWould I could finde a fine Frog; he would tell me\\r\\nNewes from all parts o\\'th world, then would I make\\r\\nA Carecke of a Cockle shell, and sayle\\r\\nBy east and North East to the King of Pigmes,\\r\\nFor he tels fortunes rarely. Now my Father,\\r\\nTwenty to one, is trust up in a trice\\r\\nTo morrow morning; Ile say never a word.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Sing.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFor ile cut my greene coat a foote above my knee, And ile clip my\\r\\nyellow lockes an inch below mine eie. hey, nonny, nonny, nonny, He\\'s\\r\\nbuy me a white Cut, forth for to ride And ile goe seeke him, throw the\\r\\nworld that is so wide hey nonny, nonny, nonny.\\r\\n\\r\\nO for a pricke now like a Nightingale,\\r\\nTo put my breast against. I shall sleepe like a Top else.\\r\\n[Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5. (Another part of the forest.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter a Schoole master, 4. Countrymen, and Bavian. 2. or 3. wenches,\\r\\nwith a Taborer.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nFy, fy, what tediosity, & disensanity is here among ye? have my\\r\\nRudiments bin labourd so long with ye? milkd unto ye, and by a figure\\r\\neven the very plumbroth & marrow of my understanding laid upon ye? and\\r\\ndo you still cry: where, and how, & wherfore? you most course freeze\\r\\ncapacities, ye jane Iudgements, have I saide: thus let be, and there\\r\\nlet be, and then let be, and no man understand mee? Proh deum, medius\\r\\nfidius, ye are all dunces! For why, here stand I, Here the Duke comes,\\r\\nthere are you close in the Thicket; the Duke appeares, I meete him and\\r\\nunto him I utter learned things and many figures; he heares, and nods,\\r\\nand hums, and then cries: rare, and I goe forward; at length I fling my\\r\\nCap up; marke there; then do you, as once did Meleager and the Bore,\\r\\nbreak comly out before him: like true lovers, cast your selves in a\\r\\nBody decently, and sweetly, by a figure trace and turne, Boyes.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nAnd sweetly we will doe it Master Gerrold.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nDraw up the Company. Where\\'s the Taborour?\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nWhy, Timothy!\\r\\n\\r\\nTABORER.\\r\\nHere, my mad boyes, have at ye.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nBut I say, where\\'s their women?\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nHere\\'s Friz and Maudline.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nAnd little Luce with the white legs, and bouncing Barbery.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nAnd freckeled Nel, that never faild her Master.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nWher be your Ribands, maids? swym with your Bodies\\r\\nAnd carry it sweetly, and deliverly\\r\\nAnd now and then a fauour, and a friske.\\r\\n\\r\\nNEL.\\r\\nLet us alone, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nWher\\'s the rest o\\'th Musicke?\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nDispersd as you commanded.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nCouple, then,\\r\\nAnd see what\\'s wanting; wher\\'s the Bavian?\\r\\nMy friend, carry your taile without offence\\r\\nOr scandall to the Ladies; and be sure\\r\\nYou tumble with audacity and manhood;\\r\\nAnd when you barke, doe it with judgement.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAVIAN.\\r\\nYes, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nQuo usque tandem? Here is a woman wanting.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nWe may goe whistle: all the fat\\'s i\\'th fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nWe have,\\r\\nAs learned Authours utter, washd a Tile,\\r\\nWe have beene FATUUS, and laboured vainely.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nThis is that scornefull peece, that scurvy hilding,\\r\\nThat gave her promise faithfully, she would be here,\\r\\nCicely the Sempsters daughter:\\r\\nThe next gloves that I give her shall be dog skin;\\r\\nNay and she faile me once—you can tell, Arcas,\\r\\nShe swore by wine and bread, she would not breake.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nAn Eele and woman,\\r\\nA learned Poet sayes, unles by\\'th taile\\r\\nAnd with thy teeth thou hold, will either faile.\\r\\nIn manners this was false position\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nA fire ill take her; do\\'s she flinch now?\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nWhat\\r\\nShall we determine, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nNothing.\\r\\nOur busines is become a nullity;\\r\\nYea, and a woefull, and a pittious nullity.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nNow when the credite of our Towne lay on it,\\r\\nNow to be frampall, now to pisse o\\'th nettle!\\r\\nGoe thy waies; ile remember thee, ile fit thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylors daughter.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\n[Sings.]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe George alow came from the South,\\r\\nFrom the coast of Barbary a.\\r\\nAnd there he met with brave gallants of war\\r\\nBy one, by two, by three, a.\\r\\n\\r\\nWell haild, well haild, you jolly gallants,\\r\\nAnd whither now are you bound a?\\r\\nO let me have your company [Chaire and stooles out.]\\r\\nTill (I) come to the sound a.\\r\\n\\r\\nThere was three fooles, fell out about an howlet:\\r\\nThe one sed it was an owle,\\r\\nThe other he sed nay,\\r\\nThe third he sed it was a hawke,\\r\\nAnd her bels wer cut away.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nTher\\'s a dainty mad woman M(aiste)r\\r\\nComes i\\'th Nick, as mad as a march hare:\\r\\nIf wee can get her daunce, wee are made againe:\\r\\nI warrant her, shee\\'l doe the rarest gambols.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nA mad woman? we are made, Boyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nAnd are you mad, good woman?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI would be sorry else;\\r\\nGive me your hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nWhy?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI can tell your fortune.\\r\\nYou are a foole: tell ten. I have pozd him: Buz!\\r\\nFriend you must eate no whitebread; if you doe,\\r\\nYour teeth will bleede extreamely. Shall we dance, ho?\\r\\nI know you, y\\'ar a Tinker: Sirha Tinker,\\r\\nStop no more holes, but what you should.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nDij boni. A Tinker, Damzell?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nOr a Conjurer:\\r\\nRaise me a devill now, and let him play\\r\\nQuipassa o\\'th bels and bones.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nGoe, take her,\\r\\nAnd fluently perswade her to a peace:\\r\\nEt opus exegi, quod nec Iouis ira, nec ignis.\\r\\nStrike up, and leade her in.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nCome, Lasse, lets trip it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIle leade. [Winde Hornes.]\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nDoe, doe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nPerswasively, and cunningly: away, boyes, [Ex. all but\\r\\nSchoolemaster.]\\r\\nI heare the hornes: give me some meditation,\\r\\nAnd marke your Cue.—Pallas inspire me.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Thes. Pir. Hip. Emil. Arcite, and traine.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThis way the Stag tooke.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nStay, and edifie.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat have we here?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nSome Countrey sport, upon my life, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWell, Sir, goe forward, we will edifie.\\r\\nLadies, sit downe, wee\\'l stay it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nThou, doughtie Duke, all haile: all haile, sweet Ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThis is a cold beginning.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nIf you but favour, our Country pastime made is.\\r\\nWe are a few of those collected here,\\r\\nThat ruder Tongues distinguish villager;\\r\\nAnd to say veritie, and not to fable,\\r\\nWe are a merry rout, or else a rable,\\r\\nOr company, or, by a figure, Choris,\\r\\nThat fore thy dignitie will dance a Morris.\\r\\nAnd I, that am the rectifier of all,\\r\\nBy title Pedagogus, that let fall\\r\\nThe Birch upon the breeches of the small ones,\\r\\nAnd humble with a Ferula the tall ones,\\r\\nDoe here present this Machine, or this frame:\\r\\nAnd daintie Duke, whose doughtie dismall fame\\r\\nFrom Dis to Dedalus, from post to pillar,\\r\\nIs blowne abroad, helpe me thy poore well willer,\\r\\nAnd with thy twinckling eyes looke right and straight\\r\\nVpon this mighty MORR—of mickle waight;\\r\\nIS now comes in, which being glewd together,\\r\\nMakes MORRIS, and the cause that we came hether.\\r\\nThe body of our sport, of no small study,\\r\\nI first appeare, though rude, and raw, and muddy,\\r\\nTo speake before thy noble grace this tenner:\\r\\nAt whose great feete I offer up my penner.\\r\\nThe next the Lord of May and Lady bright,\\r\\nThe Chambermaid and Servingman by night\\r\\nThat seeke out silent hanging: Then mine Host\\r\\nAnd his fat Spowse, that welcomes to their cost\\r\\nThe gauled Traveller, and with a beckning\\r\\nInformes the Tapster to inflame the reckning:\\r\\nThen the beast eating Clowne, and next the foole,\\r\\nThe Bavian, with long tayle and eke long toole,\\r\\nCum multis alijs that make a dance:\\r\\nSay \\'I,\\' and all shall presently advance.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI, I, by any meanes, deere Domine.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nProduce.\\r\\n\\r\\n(SCHOOLMASTER.)\\r\\nIntrate, filij; Come forth, and foot it.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Musicke, Dance. Knocke for Schoole.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter the Dance.]\\r\\n\\r\\nLadies, if we have beene merry,\\r\\nAnd have pleasd yee with a derry,\\r\\nAnd a derry, and a downe,\\r\\nSay the Schoolemaster\\'s no Clowne:\\r\\nDuke, if we have pleasd thee too,\\r\\nAnd have done as good Boyes should doe,\\r\\nGive us but a tree or twaine\\r\\nFor a Maypole, and againe,\\r\\nEre another yeare run out,\\r\\nWee\\'l make thee laugh and all this rout.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nTake 20., Domine; how does my sweet heart?\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nNever so pleasd, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nTwas an excellent dance, and for a preface\\r\\nI never heard a better.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSchoolemaster, I thanke you.—One see\\'em all rewarded.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nAnd heer\\'s something to paint your Pole withall.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNow to our sports againe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nMay the Stag thou huntst stand long,\\r\\nAnd thy dogs be swift and strong:\\r\\nMay they kill him without lets,\\r\\nAnd the Ladies eate his dowsets!\\r\\nCome, we are all made. [Winde Hornes.]\\r\\nDij Deoeq(ue) omnes, ye have danc\\'d rarely, wenches. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 6. (Same as Scene III.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon from the Bush.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAbout this houre my Cosen gave his faith\\r\\nTo visit me againe, and with him bring\\r\\nTwo Swords, and two good Armors; if he faile,\\r\\nHe\\'s neither man nor Souldier. When he left me,\\r\\nI did not thinke a weeke could have restord\\r\\nMy lost strength to me, I was growne so low,\\r\\nAnd Crest-falne with my wants: I thanke thee, Arcite,\\r\\nThou art yet a faire Foe; and I feele my selfe\\r\\nWith this refreshing, able once againe\\r\\nTo out dure danger: To delay it longer\\r\\nWould make the world think, when it comes to hearing,\\r\\nThat I lay fatting like a Swine to fight,\\r\\nAnd not a Souldier: Therefore, this blest morning\\r\\nShall be the last; and that Sword he refuses,\\r\\nIf it but hold, I kill him with; tis Iustice:\\r\\nSo love, and Fortune for me!—O, good morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Arcite with Armors and Swords.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nGood morrow, noble kinesman.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI have put you to too much paines, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat too much, faire Cosen,\\r\\nIs but a debt to honour, and my duty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWould you were so in all, Sir; I could wish ye\\r\\nAs kinde a kinsman, as you force me finde\\r\\nA beneficiall foe, that my embraces\\r\\nMight thanke ye, not my blowes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI shall thinke either, well done,\\r\\nA noble recompence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThen I shall quit you.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDefy me in these faire termes, and you show\\r\\nMore then a Mistris to me, no more anger\\r\\nAs you love any thing that\\'s honourable:\\r\\nWe were not bred to talke, man; when we are arm\\'d\\r\\nAnd both upon our guards, then let our fury,\\r\\nLike meeting of two tides, fly strongly from us,\\r\\nAnd then to whom the birthright of this Beauty\\r\\nTruely pertaines (without obbraidings, scornes,\\r\\nDispisings of our persons, and such powtings,\\r\\nFitter for Girles and Schooleboyes) will be seene\\r\\nAnd quickly, yours, or mine: wilt please you arme, Sir,\\r\\nOr if you feele your selfe not fitting yet\\r\\nAnd furnishd with your old strength, ile stay, Cosen,\\r\\nAnd ev\\'ry day discourse you into health,\\r\\nAs I am spard: your person I am friends with,\\r\\nAnd I could wish I had not saide I lov\\'d her,\\r\\nThough I had dide; But loving such a Lady\\r\\nAnd justifying my Love, I must not fly from\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nArcite, thou art so brave an enemy,\\r\\nThat no man but thy Cosen\\'s fit to kill thee:\\r\\nI am well and lusty, choose your Armes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nChoose you, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWilt thou exceede in all, or do\\'st thou doe it\\r\\nTo make me spare thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf you thinke so, Cosen,\\r\\nYou are deceived, for as I am a Soldier,\\r\\nI will not spare you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThat\\'s well said.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou\\'l finde it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThen, as I am an honest man and love\\r\\nWith all the justice of affection,\\r\\nIle pay thee soundly. This ile take.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat\\'s mine, then;\\r\\nIle arme you first.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDo: pray thee, tell me, Cosen,\\r\\nWhere gotst thou this good Armour?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTis the Dukes,\\r\\nAnd to say true, I stole it; doe I pinch you?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNoe.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIs\\'t not too heavie?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI have worne a lighter,\\r\\nBut I shall make it serve.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIle buckl\\'t close.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBy any meanes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou care not for a Grand guard?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNo, no; wee\\'l use no horses: I perceave\\r\\nYou would faine be at that Fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am indifferent.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nFaith, so am I: good Cosen, thrust the buckle\\r\\nThrough far enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI warrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMy Caske now.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWill you fight bare-armd?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWe shall be the nimbler.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBut use your Gauntlets though; those are o\\'th least,\\r\\nPrethee take mine, good Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThanke you, Arcite.\\r\\nHow doe I looke? am I falne much away?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nFaith, very little; love has usd you kindly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIle warrant thee, Ile strike home.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDoe, and spare not;\\r\\nIle give you cause, sweet Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNow to you, Sir:\\r\\nMe thinkes this Armor\\'s very like that, Arcite,\\r\\nThou wor\\'st the day the 3. Kings fell, but lighter.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat was a very good one; and that day,\\r\\nI well remember, you outdid me, Cosen.\\r\\nI never saw such valour: when you chargd\\r\\nVpon the left wing of the Enemie,\\r\\nI spurd hard to come up, and under me\\r\\nI had a right good horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou had indeede; a bright Bay, I remember.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, but all\\r\\nWas vainely labour\\'d in me; you outwent me,\\r\\nNor could my wishes reach you; yet a little\\r\\nI did by imitation.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMore by vertue;\\r\\nYou are modest, Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWhen I saw you charge first,\\r\\nMe thought I heard a dreadfull clap of Thunder\\r\\nBreake from the Troope.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBut still before that flew\\r\\nThe lightning of your valour. Stay a little,\\r\\nIs not this peece too streight?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNo, no, tis well.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI would have nothing hurt thee but my Sword,\\r\\nA bruise would be dishonour.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNow I am perfect.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nStand off, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTake my Sword, I hold it better.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI thanke ye: No, keepe it; your life lyes on it.\\r\\nHere\\'s one; if it but hold, I aske no more\\r\\nFor all my hopes: My Cause and honour guard me! [They bow\\r\\n severall wayes: then advance and stand.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nAnd me my love! Is there ought else to say?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThis onely, and no more: Thou art mine Aunts Son,\\r\\nAnd that blood we desire to shed is mutuall;\\r\\nIn me, thine, and in thee, mine. My Sword\\r\\nIs in my hand, and if thou killst me,\\r\\nThe gods and I forgive thee; If there be\\r\\nA place prepar\\'d for those that sleepe in honour,\\r\\nI wish his wearie soule that falls may win it:\\r\\nFight bravely, Cosen; give me thy noble hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHere, Palamon: This hand shall never more\\r\\nCome neare thee with such friendship.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI commend thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf I fall, curse me, and say I was a coward,\\r\\nFor none but such dare die in these just Tryalls.\\r\\nOnce more farewell, my Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nFarewell, Arcite. [Fight.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Hornes within: they stand.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nLoe, Cosen, loe, our Folly has undon us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhy?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThis is the Duke, a hunting as I told you.\\r\\nIf we be found, we are wretched. O retire\\r\\nFor honours sake, and safety presently\\r\\nInto your Bush agen; Sir, we shall finde\\r\\nToo many howres to dye in: gentle Cosen,\\r\\nIf you be seene you perish instantly\\r\\nFor breaking prison, and I, if you reveale me,\\r\\nFor my contempt. Then all the world will scorne us,\\r\\nAnd say we had a noble difference,\\r\\nBut base disposers of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNo, no, Cosen,\\r\\nI will no more be hidden, nor put off\\r\\nThis great adventure to a second Tryall:\\r\\nI know your cunning, and I know your cause;\\r\\nHe that faints now, shame take him: put thy selfe\\r\\nVpon thy present guard—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou are not mad?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nOr I will make th\\'advantage of this howre\\r\\nMine owne, and what to come shall threaten me,\\r\\nI feare lesse then my fortune: know, weake Cosen,\\r\\nI love Emilia, and in that ile bury\\r\\nThee, and all crosses else.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThen, come what can come,\\r\\nThou shalt know, Palamon, I dare as well\\r\\nDie, as discourse, or sleepe: Onely this feares me,\\r\\nThe law will have the honour of our ends.\\r\\nHave at thy life.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nLooke to thine owne well, Arcite. [Fight againe. Hornes.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Perithous and traine.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat ignorant and mad malicious Traitors,\\r\\nAre you, That gainst the tenor of my Lawes\\r\\nAre making Battaile, thus like Knights appointed,\\r\\nWithout my leave, and Officers of Armes?\\r\\nBy Castor, both shall dye.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHold thy word, Theseus.\\r\\nWe are certainly both Traitors, both despisers\\r\\nOf thee and of thy goodnesse: I am Palamon,\\r\\nThat cannot love thee, he that broke thy Prison;\\r\\nThinke well what that deserves: and this is Arcite,\\r\\nA bolder Traytor never trod thy ground,\\r\\nA Falser neu\\'r seem\\'d friend: This is the man\\r\\nWas begd and banish\\'d; this is he contemnes thee\\r\\nAnd what thou dar\\'st doe, and in this disguise\\r\\nAgainst thy owne Edict followes thy Sister,\\r\\nThat fortunate bright Star, the faire Emilia,\\r\\nWhose servant, (if there be a right in seeing,\\r\\nAnd first bequeathing of the soule to) justly\\r\\nI am, and, which is more, dares thinke her his.\\r\\nThis treacherie, like a most trusty Lover,\\r\\nI call\\'d him now to answer; if thou bee\\'st,\\r\\nAs thou art spoken, great and vertuous,\\r\\nThe true descider of all injuries,\\r\\nSay, \\'Fight againe,\\' and thou shalt see me, Theseus,\\r\\nDoe such a Iustice, thou thy selfe wilt envie.\\r\\nThen take my life; Ile wooe thee too\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nO heaven,\\r\\nWhat more then man is this!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI have sworne.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWe seeke not\\r\\nThy breath of mercy, Theseus. Tis to me\\r\\nA thing as soone to dye, as thee to say it,\\r\\nAnd no more mov\\'d: where this man calls me Traitor,\\r\\nLet me say thus much: if in love be Treason,\\r\\nIn service of so excellent a Beutie,\\r\\nAs I love most, and in that faith will perish,\\r\\nAs I have brought my life here to confirme it,\\r\\nAs I have serv\\'d her truest, worthiest,\\r\\nAs I dare kill this Cosen, that denies it,\\r\\nSo let me be most Traitor, and ye please me.\\r\\nFor scorning thy Edict, Duke, aske that Lady\\r\\nWhy she is faire, and why her eyes command me\\r\\nStay here to love her; and if she say \\'Traytor,\\'\\r\\nI am a villaine fit to lye unburied.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThou shalt have pitty of us both, o Theseus,\\r\\nIf unto neither thou shew mercy; stop\\r\\n(As thou art just) thy noble eare against us.\\r\\nAs thou art valiant, for thy Cosens soule\\r\\nWhose 12. strong labours crowne his memory,\\r\\nLets die together, at one instant, Duke,\\r\\nOnely a little let him fall before me,\\r\\nThat I may tell my Soule he shall not have her.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI grant your wish, for, to say true, your Cosen\\r\\nHas ten times more offended; for I gave him\\r\\nMore mercy then you found, Sir, your offenses\\r\\nBeing no more then his. None here speake for \\'em,\\r\\nFor, ere the Sun set, both shall sleepe for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nAlas the pitty! now or never, Sister,\\r\\nSpeake, not to be denide; That face of yours\\r\\nWill beare the curses else of after ages\\r\\nFor these lost Cosens.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIn my face, deare Sister,\\r\\nI finde no anger to \\'em, nor no ruyn;\\r\\nThe misadventure of their owne eyes kill \\'em;\\r\\nYet that I will be woman, and have pitty,\\r\\nMy knees shall grow to\\'th ground but Ile get mercie.\\r\\nHelpe me, deare Sister; in a deede so vertuous\\r\\nThe powers of all women will be with us.\\r\\nMost royall Brother—\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nSir, by our tye of Marriage—\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBy your owne spotlesse honour—\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nBy that faith,\\r\\nThat faire hand, and that honest heart you gave me.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBy that you would have pitty in another,\\r\\nBy your owne vertues infinite.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nBy valour,\\r\\nBy all the chaste nights I have ever pleasd you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThese are strange Conjurings.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nNay, then, Ile in too:\\r\\nBy all our friendship, Sir, by all our dangers,\\r\\nBy all you love most: warres and this sweet Lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBy that you would have trembled to deny,\\r\\nA blushing Maide.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nBy your owne eyes: By strength,\\r\\nIn which you swore I went beyond all women,\\r\\nAlmost all men, and yet I yeelded, Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nTo crowne all this: By your most noble soule,\\r\\nWhich cannot want due mercie, I beg first.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nNext, heare my prayers.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nLast, let me intreate, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nFor mercy.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nMercy.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMercy on these Princes.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYe make my faith reele: Say I felt\\r\\nCompassion to\\'em both, how would you place it?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nVpon their lives: But with their banishments.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou are a right woman, Sister; you have pitty,\\r\\nBut want the vnderstanding where to use it.\\r\\nIf you desire their lives, invent a way\\r\\nSafer then banishment: Can these two live\\r\\nAnd have the agony of love about \\'em,\\r\\nAnd not kill one another? Every day\\r\\nThey\\'ld fight about you; howrely bring your honour\\r\\nIn publique question with their Swords. Be wise, then,\\r\\nAnd here forget \\'em; it concernes your credit\\r\\nAnd my oth equally: I have said they die;\\r\\nBetter they fall by\\'th law, then one another.\\r\\nBow not my honor.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO my noble Brother,\\r\\nThat oth was rashly made, and in your anger,\\r\\nYour reason will not hold it; if such vowes\\r\\nStand for expresse will, all the world must perish.\\r\\nBeside, I have another oth gainst yours,\\r\\nOf more authority, I am sure more love,\\r\\nNot made in passion neither, but good heede.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat is it, Sister?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nVrge it home, brave Lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat you would nev\\'r deny me any thing\\r\\nFit for my modest suit, and your free granting:\\r\\nI tye you to your word now; if ye fall in\\'t,\\r\\nThinke how you maime your honour,\\r\\n(For now I am set a begging, Sir, I am deafe\\r\\nTo all but your compassion.) How, their lives\\r\\nMight breed the ruine of my name, Opinion!\\r\\nShall any thing that loves me perish for me?\\r\\nThat were a cruell wisedome; doe men proyne\\r\\nThe straight yong Bowes that blush with thousand Blossoms,\\r\\nBecause they may be rotten? O Duke Theseus,\\r\\nThe goodly Mothers that have groand for these,\\r\\nAnd all the longing Maides that ever lov\\'d,\\r\\nIf your vow stand, shall curse me and my Beauty,\\r\\nAnd in their funerall songs for these two Cosens\\r\\nDespise my crueltie, and cry woe worth me,\\r\\nTill I am nothing but the scorne of women;\\r\\nFor heavens sake save their lives, and banish \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nOn what conditions?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nSweare\\'em never more\\r\\nTo make me their Contention, or to know me,\\r\\nTo tread upon thy Dukedome; and to be,\\r\\nWhere ever they shall travel, ever strangers\\r\\nTo one another.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIle be cut a peeces\\r\\nBefore I take this oth: forget I love her?\\r\\nO all ye gods dispise me, then! Thy Banishment\\r\\nI not mislike, so we may fairely carry\\r\\nOur Swords and cause along: else, never trifle,\\r\\nBut take our lives, Duke: I must love and will,\\r\\nAnd for that love must and dare kill this Cosen\\r\\nOn any peece the earth has.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWill you, Arcite,\\r\\nTake these conditions?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHe\\'s a villaine, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThese are men.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNo, never, Duke: Tis worse to me than begging\\r\\nTo take my life so basely; though I thinke\\r\\nI never shall enjoy her, yet ile preserve\\r\\nThe honour of affection, and dye for her,\\r\\nMake death a Devill.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat may be done? for now I feele compassion.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nLet it not fall agen, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSay, Emilia,\\r\\nIf one of them were dead, as one must, are you\\r\\nContent to take th\\'other to your husband?\\r\\nThey cannot both enjoy you; They are Princes\\r\\nAs goodly as your owne eyes, and as noble\\r\\nAs ever fame yet spoke of; looke upon \\'em,\\r\\nAnd if you can love, end this difference.\\r\\nI give consent; are you content too, Princes?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTH.\\r\\nWith all our soules.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nHe that she refuses\\r\\nMust dye, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTH.\\r\\nAny death thou canst invent, Duke.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIf I fall from that mouth, I fall with favour,\\r\\nAnd Lovers yet unborne shall blesse my ashes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf she refuse me, yet my grave will wed me,\\r\\nAnd Souldiers sing my Epitaph.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nMake choice, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI cannot, Sir, they are both too excellent:\\r\\nFor me, a hayre shall never fall of these men.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nWhat will become of \\'em?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThus I ordaine it;\\r\\nAnd by mine honor, once againe, it stands,\\r\\nOr both shall dye:—You shall both to your Countrey,\\r\\nAnd each within this moneth, accompanied\\r\\nWith three faire Knights, appeare againe in this place,\\r\\nIn which Ile plant a Pyramid; and whether,\\r\\nBefore us that are here, can force his Cosen\\r\\nBy fayre and knightly strength to touch the Pillar,\\r\\nHe shall enjoy her: the other loose his head,\\r\\nAnd all his friends; Nor shall he grudge to fall,\\r\\nNor thinke he dies with interest in this Lady:\\r\\nWill this content yee?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes: here, Cosen Arcite,\\r\\nI am friends againe, till that howre.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI embrace ye.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAre you content, Sister?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYes, I must, Sir,\\r\\nEls both miscarry.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nCome, shake hands againe, then;\\r\\nAnd take heede, as you are Gentlemen, this Quarrell\\r\\nSleepe till the howre prefixt; and hold your course.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWe dare not faile thee, Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nCome, Ile give ye\\r\\nNow usage like to Princes, and to Friends:\\r\\nWhen ye returne, who wins, Ile settle heere;\\r\\nWho looses, yet Ile weepe upon his Beere. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (Athens. A room in the prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iailor and his friend.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHeare you no more? was nothing saide of me\\r\\nConcerning the escape of Palamon?\\r\\nGood Sir, remember.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nNothing that I heard,\\r\\nFor I came home before the busines\\r\\nWas fully ended: Yet I might perceive,\\r\\nEre I departed, a great likelihood\\r\\nOf both their pardons: For Hipolita,\\r\\nAnd faire-eyd Emilie, upon their knees\\r\\nBegd with such hansom pitty, that the Duke\\r\\nMe thought stood staggering, whether he should follow\\r\\nHis rash oth, or the sweet compassion\\r\\nOf those two Ladies; and to second them,\\r\\nThat truely noble Prince Perithous,\\r\\nHalfe his owne heart, set in too, that I hope\\r\\nAll shall be well: Neither heard I one question\\r\\nOf your name or his scape.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter 2. Friend.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nPray heaven it hold so.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nBe of good comfort, man; I bring you newes,\\r\\nGood newes.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThey are welcome,\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nPalamon has cleerd you,\\r\\nAnd got your pardon, and discoverd how\\r\\nAnd by whose meanes he escapt, which was your Daughters,\\r\\nWhose pardon is procurd too; and the Prisoner,\\r\\nNot to be held ungratefull to her goodnes,\\r\\nHas given a summe of money to her Marriage,\\r\\nA large one, ile assure you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYe are a good man\\r\\nAnd ever bring good newes.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nHow was it ended?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nWhy, as it should be; they that nev\\'r begd\\r\\nBut they prevaild, had their suites fairely granted,\\r\\nThe prisoners have their lives.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nI knew t\\'would be so.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nBut there be new conditions, which you\\'l heare of\\r\\nAt better time.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI hope they are good.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nThey are honourable,\\r\\nHow good they\\'l prove, I know not.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Wooer.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nT\\'will be knowne.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nAlas, Sir, wher\\'s your Daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWhy doe you aske?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nO, Sir, when did you see her?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nHow he lookes?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThis morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nWas she well? was she in health, Sir?\\r\\nWhen did she sleepe?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nThese are strange Questions.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI doe not thinke she was very well, for now\\r\\nYou make me minde her, but this very day\\r\\nI ask\\'d her questions, and she answered me\\r\\nSo farre from what she was, so childishly,\\r\\nSo sillily, as if she were a foole,\\r\\nAn Inocent, and I was very angry.\\r\\nBut what of her, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nNothing but my pitty;\\r\\nBut you must know it, and as good by me\\r\\nAs by an other that lesse loves her—\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWell, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nNot right?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nNot well?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nNo, Sir, not well.\\r\\nTis too true, she is mad.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nIt cannot be.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nBeleeve, you\\'l finde it so.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI halfe suspected\\r\\nWhat you (have) told me: the gods comfort her:\\r\\nEither this was her love to Palamon,\\r\\nOr feare of my miscarrying on his scape,\\r\\nOr both.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nTis likely.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nBut why all this haste, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nIle tell you quickly. As I late was angling\\r\\nIn the great Lake that lies behind the Pallace,\\r\\nFrom the far shore, thicke set with reedes and Sedges,\\r\\nAs patiently I was attending sport,\\r\\nI heard a voyce, a shrill one, and attentive\\r\\nI gave my eare, when I might well perceive\\r\\nT\\'was one that sung, and by the smallnesse of it\\r\\nA boy or woman. I then left my angle\\r\\nTo his owne skill, came neere, but yet perceivd not\\r\\nWho made the sound, the rushes and the Reeds\\r\\nHad so encompast it: I laide me downe\\r\\nAnd listned to the words she sung, for then,\\r\\nThrough a small glade cut by the Fisher men,\\r\\nI saw it was your Daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nPray, goe on, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nShe sung much, but no sence; onely I heard her\\r\\nRepeat this often: \\'Palamon is gone,\\r\\nIs gone to\\'th wood to gather Mulberies;\\r\\nIle finde him out to morrow.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nPretty soule.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\n\\'His shackles will betray him, hee\\'l be taken,\\r\\nAnd what shall I doe then? Ile bring a beavy,\\r\\nA hundred blacke eyd Maides, that love as I doe,\\r\\nWith Chaplets on their heads of Daffadillies,\\r\\nWith cherry-lips, and cheekes of Damaske Roses,\\r\\nAnd all wee\\'l daunce an Antique fore the Duke,\\r\\nAnd beg his pardon.\\' Then she talk\\'d of you, Sir;\\r\\nThat you must loose your head to morrow morning,\\r\\nAnd she must gather flowers to bury you,\\r\\nAnd see the house made handsome: then she sung\\r\\nNothing but \\'Willow, willow, willow,\\' and betweene\\r\\nEver was, \\'Palamon, faire Palamon,\\'\\r\\nAnd \\'Palamon was a tall yong man.\\' The place\\r\\nWas knee deepe where she sat; her careles Tresses\\r\\nA wreathe of bull-rush rounded; about her stucke\\r\\nThousand fresh water flowers of severall cullors,\\r\\nThat me thought she appeard like the faire Nimph\\r\\nThat feedes the lake with waters, or as Iris\\r\\nNewly dropt downe from heaven; Rings she made\\r\\nOf rushes that grew by, and to \\'em spoke\\r\\nThe prettiest posies: \\'Thus our true love\\'s tide,\\'\\r\\n\\'This you may loose, not me,\\' and many a one:\\r\\nAnd then she wept, and sung againe, and sigh\\'d,\\r\\nAnd with the same breath smil\\'d, and kist her hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nAlas, what pitty it is!\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI made in to her.\\r\\nShe saw me, and straight sought the flood; I sav\\'d her,\\r\\nAnd set her safe to land: when presently\\r\\nShe slipt away, and to the Citty made,\\r\\nWith such a cry and swiftnes, that, beleeve me,\\r\\nShee left me farre behinde her; three or foure\\r\\nI saw from farre off crosse her, one of \\'em\\r\\nI knew to be your brother; where she staid,\\r\\nAnd fell, scarce to be got away: I left them with her, [Enter\\r\\n Brother, Daughter, and others.]\\r\\nAnd hether came to tell you. Here they are.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER. [sings.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMay you never more enjoy the light, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nIs not this a fine Song?\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nO, a very fine one.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI can sing twenty more.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nI thinke you can.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYes, truely, can I; I can sing the Broome,\\r\\nAnd Bony Robin. Are not you a tailour?\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWher\\'s my wedding Gowne?\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nIle bring it to morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nDoe, very rarely; I must be abroad else\\r\\nTo call the Maides, and pay the Minstrels,\\r\\nFor I must loose my Maydenhead by cock-light;\\r\\nTwill never thrive else.\\r\\n[Singes.] O faire, oh sweete, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nYou must ev\\'n take it patiently.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nTis true.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nGood ev\\'n, good men; pray, did you ever heare\\r\\nOf one yong Palamon?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYes, wench, we know him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIs\\'t not a fine yong Gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nTis Love.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nBy no meane crosse her; she is then distemperd\\r\\nFar worse then now she showes.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nYes, he\\'s a fine man.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nO, is he so? you have a Sister?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nBut she shall never have him, tell her so,\\r\\nFor a tricke that I know; y\\'had best looke to her,\\r\\nFor if she see him once, she\\'s gone, she\\'s done,\\r\\nAnd undon in an howre. All the young Maydes\\r\\nOf our Towne are in love with him, but I laugh at \\'em\\r\\nAnd let \\'em all alone; Is\\'t not a wise course?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nThere is at least two hundred now with child by him—\\r\\nThere must be fowre; yet I keepe close for all this,\\r\\nClose as a Cockle; and all these must be Boyes,\\r\\nHe has the tricke on\\'t, and at ten yeares old\\r\\nThey must be all gelt for Musitians,\\r\\nAnd sing the wars of Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nThis is strange.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAs ever you heard, but say nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nThey come from all parts of the Dukedome to him;\\r\\nIle warrant ye, he had not so few last night\\r\\nAs twenty to dispatch: hee\\'l tickl\\'t up\\r\\nIn two howres, if his hand be in.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nShe\\'s lost\\r\\nPast all cure.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nHeaven forbid, man.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nCome hither, you are a wise man.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nDo\\'s she know him?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nNo, would she did.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYou are master of a Ship?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWher\\'s your Compasse?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHeere.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nSet it too\\'th North.\\r\\nAnd now direct your course to\\'th wood, wher Palamon\\r\\nLyes longing for me; For the Tackling\\r\\nLet me alone; Come, waygh, my hearts, cheerely!\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nOwgh, owgh, owgh, tis up, the wind\\'s faire,\\r\\nTop the Bowling, out with the maine saile;\\r\\nWher\\'s your Whistle, Master?\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nLets get her in.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nVp to the top, Boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nWher\\'s the Pilot?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nHeere.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWhat ken\\'st thou?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nA faire wood.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nBeare for it, master: take about! [Singes.]\\r\\nWhen Cinthia with her borrowed light, &c. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (A Room in the Palace.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Emilia alone, with 2. Pictures.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYet I may binde those wounds up, that must open\\r\\nAnd bleed to death for my sake else; Ile choose,\\r\\nAnd end their strife: Two such yong hansom men\\r\\nShall never fall for me, their weeping Mothers,\\r\\nFollowing the dead cold ashes of their Sonnes,\\r\\nShall never curse my cruelty. Good heaven,\\r\\nWhat a sweet face has Arcite! if wise nature,\\r\\nWith all her best endowments, all those beuties\\r\\nShe sowes into the birthes of noble bodies,\\r\\nWere here a mortall woman, and had in her\\r\\nThe coy denialls of yong Maydes, yet doubtles,\\r\\nShe would run mad for this man: what an eye,\\r\\nOf what a fyry sparkle, and quick sweetnes,\\r\\nHas this yong Prince! Here Love himselfe sits smyling,\\r\\nIust such another wanton Ganimead\\r\\nSet Jove a fire with, and enforcd the god\\r\\nSnatch up the goodly Boy, and set him by him\\r\\nA shining constellation: What a brow,\\r\\nOf what a spacious Majesty, he carries!\\r\\nArch\\'d like the great eyd Iuno\\'s, but far sweeter,\\r\\nSmoother then Pelops Shoulder! Fame and honour,\\r\\nMe thinks, from hence, as from a Promontory\\r\\nPointed in heaven, should clap their wings, and sing\\r\\nTo all the under world the Loves and Fights\\r\\nOf gods, and such men neere \\'em. Palamon\\r\\nIs but his foyle, to him a meere dull shadow:\\r\\nHee\\'s swarth and meagre, of an eye as heavy\\r\\nAs if he had lost his mother; a still temper,\\r\\nNo stirring in him, no alacrity,\\r\\nOf all this sprightly sharpenes not a smile;\\r\\nYet these that we count errours may become him:\\r\\nNarcissus was a sad Boy, but a heavenly:—\\r\\nOh who can finde the bent of womans fancy?\\r\\nI am a Foole, my reason is lost in me;\\r\\nI have no choice, and I have ly\\'d so lewdly\\r\\nThat women ought to beate me. On my knees\\r\\nI aske thy pardon, Palamon; thou art alone,\\r\\nAnd only beutifull, and these the eyes,\\r\\nThese the bright lamps of beauty, that command\\r\\nAnd threaten Love, and what yong Mayd dare crosse \\'em?\\r\\nWhat a bold gravity, and yet inviting,\\r\\nHas this browne manly face! O Love, this only\\r\\nFrom this howre is Complexion: Lye there, Arcite,\\r\\nThou art a changling to him, a meere Gipsey,\\r\\nAnd this the noble Bodie. I am sotted,\\r\\nVtterly lost: My Virgins faith has fled me;\\r\\nFor if my brother but even now had ask\\'d me\\r\\nWhether I lov\\'d, I had run mad for Arcite;\\r\\nNow, if my Sister, More for Palamon.\\r\\nStand both together: Now, come aske me, Brother.—\\r\\nAlas, I know not! Aske me now, sweet Sister;—\\r\\nI may goe looke. What a meere child is Fancie,\\r\\nThat, having two faire gawdes of equall sweetnesse,\\r\\nCannot distinguish, but must crie for both.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter (a) Gent(leman.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHow now, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nFrom the Noble Duke your Brother,\\r\\nMadam, I bring you newes: The Knights are come.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nTo end the quarrell?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWould I might end first:\\r\\nWhat sinnes have I committed, chast Diana,\\r\\nThat my unspotted youth must now be soyld\\r\\nWith blood of Princes? and my Chastitie\\r\\nBe made the Altar, where the lives of Lovers\\r\\n(Two greater and two better never yet\\r\\nMade mothers joy) must be the sacrifice\\r\\nTo my unhappy Beautie?\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Perithous and attendants.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nBring \\'em in\\r\\nQuickly, By any meanes; I long to see \\'em.—\\r\\nYour two contending Lovers are return\\'d,\\r\\nAnd with them their faire Knights: Now, my faire Sister,\\r\\nYou must love one of them.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI had rather both,\\r\\nSo neither for my sake should fall untimely.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Messenger. (Curtis.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWho saw \\'em?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nI, a while.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nAnd I.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nFrom whence come you, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nFrom the Knights.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nPray, speake,\\r\\nYou that have seene them, what they are.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nI will, Sir,\\r\\nAnd truly what I thinke: Six braver spirits\\r\\nThen these they have brought, (if we judge by the outside)\\r\\nI never saw, nor read of. He that stands\\r\\nIn the first place with Arcite, by his seeming,\\r\\nShould be a stout man, by his face a Prince,\\r\\n(His very lookes so say him) his complexion,\\r\\nNearer a browne, than blacke, sterne, and yet noble,\\r\\nWhich shewes him hardy, fearelesse, proud of dangers:\\r\\nThe circles of his eyes show fire within him,\\r\\nAnd as a heated Lyon, so he lookes;\\r\\nHis haire hangs long behind him, blacke and shining\\r\\nLike Ravens wings: his shoulders broad and strong,\\r\\nArmd long and round, and on his Thigh a Sword\\r\\nHung by a curious Bauldricke, when he frownes\\r\\nTo seale his will with: better, o\\'my conscience\\r\\nWas never Souldiers friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThou ha\\'st well describde him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nYet a great deale short,\\r\\nMe thinkes, of him that\\'s first with Palamon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nPray, speake him, friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nI ghesse he is a Prince too,\\r\\nAnd, if it may be, greater; for his show\\r\\nHas all the ornament of honour in\\'t:\\r\\nHee\\'s somewhat bigger, then the Knight he spoke of,\\r\\nBut of a face far sweeter; His complexion\\r\\nIs (as a ripe grape) ruddy: he has felt,\\r\\nWithout doubt, what he fights for, and so apter\\r\\nTo make this cause his owne: In\\'s face appeares\\r\\nAll the faire hopes of what he undertakes,\\r\\nAnd when he\\'s angry, then a setled valour\\r\\n(Not tainted with extreames) runs through his body,\\r\\nAnd guides his arme to brave things: Feare he cannot,\\r\\nHe shewes no such soft temper; his head\\'s yellow,\\r\\nHard hayr\\'d, and curld, thicke twind like Ivy tods,\\r\\nNot to undoe with thunder; In his face\\r\\nThe liverie of the warlike Maide appeares,\\r\\nPure red, and white, for yet no beard has blest him.\\r\\nAnd in his rowling eyes sits victory,\\r\\nAs if she ever ment to court his valour:\\r\\nHis Nose stands high, a Character of honour.\\r\\nHis red lips, after fights, are fit for Ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMust these men die too?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nWhen he speakes, his tongue\\r\\nSounds like a Trumpet; All his lyneaments\\r\\nAre as a man would wish \\'em, strong and cleane,\\r\\nHe weares a well-steeld Axe, the staffe of gold;\\r\\nHis age some five and twenty.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nTher\\'s another,\\r\\nA little man, but of a tough soule, seeming\\r\\nAs great as any: fairer promises\\r\\nIn such a Body yet I never look\\'d on.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nO, he that\\'s freckle fac\\'d?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThe same, my Lord;\\r\\nAre they not sweet ones?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nYes, they are well.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nMe thinkes,\\r\\nBeing so few, and well disposd, they show\\r\\nGreat, and fine art in nature: he\\'s white hair\\'d,\\r\\nNot wanton white, but such a manly colour\\r\\nNext to an aborne; tough, and nimble set,\\r\\nWhich showes an active soule; his armes are brawny,\\r\\nLinde with strong sinewes: To the shoulder peece\\r\\nGently they swell, like women new conceav\\'d,\\r\\nWhich speakes him prone to labour, never fainting\\r\\nVnder the waight of Armes; stout harted, still,\\r\\nBut when he stirs, a Tiger; he\\'s gray eyd,\\r\\nWhich yeelds compassion where he conquers: sharpe\\r\\nTo spy advantages, and where he finds \\'em,\\r\\nHe\\'s swift to make \\'em his: He do\\'s no wrongs,\\r\\nNor takes none; he\\'s round fac\\'d, and when he smiles\\r\\nHe showes a Lover, when he frownes, a Souldier:\\r\\nAbout his head he weares the winners oke,\\r\\nAnd in it stucke the favour of his Lady:\\r\\nHis age, some six and thirtie. In his hand\\r\\nHe beares a charging Staffe, embost with silver.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAre they all thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThey are all the sonnes of honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNow, as I have a soule, I long to see\\'em.\\r\\nLady, you shall see men fight now.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nI wish it,\\r\\nBut not the cause, my Lord; They would show\\r\\nBravely about the Titles of two Kingdomes;\\r\\nTis pitty Love should be so tyrannous:\\r\\nO my soft harted Sister, what thinke you?\\r\\nWeepe not, till they weepe blood, Wench; it must be.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou have steel\\'d \\'em with your Beautie.—Honord Friend,\\r\\nTo you I give the Feild; pray, order it\\r\\nFitting the persons that must use it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nYes, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nCome, Ile goe visit \\'em: I cannot stay,\\r\\nTheir fame has fir\\'d me so; Till they appeare.\\r\\nGood Friend, be royall.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThere shall want no bravery.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPoore wench, goe weepe, for whosoever wins,\\r\\nLooses a noble Cosen for thy sins. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (A room in the prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iailor, Wooer, Doctor.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHer distraction is more at some time of the Moone, then at other some,\\r\\nis it not?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nShe is continually in a harmelesse distemper, sleepes little,\\r\\naltogether without appetite, save often drinking, dreaming of another\\r\\nworld, and a better; and what broken peece of matter so\\'ere she\\'s\\r\\nabout, the name Palamon lardes it, that she farces ev\\'ry busines\\r\\nwithall, fyts it to every question.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Daughter.]\\r\\n\\r\\nLooke where shee comes, you shall perceive her behaviour.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI have forgot it quite; The burden on\\'t, was DOWNE A, DOWNE A, and pend\\r\\nby no worse man, then Giraldo, Emilias Schoolemaster; he\\'s as\\r\\nFantasticall too, as ever he may goe upon\\'s legs,—for in the next world\\r\\nwill Dido see Palamon, and then will she be out of love with Eneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWhat stuff\\'s here? pore soule!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nEv\\'n thus all day long.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nNow for this Charme, that I told you of: you must bring a peece of\\r\\nsilver on the tip of your tongue, or no ferry: then, if it be your\\r\\nchance to come where the blessed spirits, as ther\\'s a sight now—we\\r\\nmaids that have our Lyvers perish\\'d, crakt to peeces with Love, we\\r\\nshall come there, and doe nothing all day long but picke flowers with\\r\\nProserpine; then will I make Palamon a Nosegay; then let him marke\\r\\nme,—then—\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHow prettily she\\'s amisse? note her a little further.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nFaith, ile tell you, sometime we goe to Barly breake, we of the\\r\\nblessed; alas, tis a sore life they have i\\'th other place, such\\r\\nburning, frying, boyling, hissing, howling, chattring, cursing, oh they\\r\\nhave shrowd measure! take heede; if one be mad, or hang or drowne\\r\\nthemselves, thither they goe, Iupiter blesse vs, and there shall we be\\r\\nput in a Caldron of lead, and Vsurers grease, amongst a whole million\\r\\nof cutpurses, and there boyle like a Gamon of Bacon that will never be\\r\\nenough. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHow her braine coynes!\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nLords and Courtiers, that have got maids with Child, they are in this\\r\\nplace: they shall stand in fire up to the Nav\\'le, and in yce up to\\'th\\r\\nhart, and there th\\'offending part burnes, and the deceaving part\\r\\nfreezes; in troth, a very greevous punishment, as one would thinke, for\\r\\nsuch a Trifle; beleve me, one would marry a leaprous witch, to be rid\\r\\non\\'t, Ile assure you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHow she continues this fancie! Tis not an engraffed Madnesse, but a\\r\\nmost thicke, and profound mellencholly.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nTo heare there a proud Lady, and a proud Citty wiffe, howle together! I\\r\\nwere a beast and il\\'d call it good sport: one cries, \\'O this smoake!\\'\\r\\nanother, \\'this fire!\\' One cries, \\'O, that ever I did it behind the\\r\\narras!\\' and then howles; th\\'other curses a suing fellow and her garden\\r\\nhouse. [Sings] I will be true, my stars, my fate, &c. [Exit Daugh.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWhat thinke you of her, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nI thinke she has a perturbed minde, which I cannot minister to.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nAlas, what then?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nVnderstand you, she ever affected any man, ere she beheld\\r\\nPalamon?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI was once, Sir, in great hope she had fixd her liking on this\\r\\ngentleman, my friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI did thinke so too, and would account I had a great pen-worth on\\'t, to\\r\\ngive halfe my state, that both she and I at this present stood\\r\\nunfainedly on the same tearmes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nThat intemprat surfeit of her eye hath distemperd the other sences:\\r\\nthey may returne and settle againe to execute their preordaind\\r\\nfaculties, but they are now in a most extravagant vagary. This you\\r\\nmust doe: Confine her to a place, where the light may rather seeme to\\r\\nsteale in, then be permitted; take vpon you (yong Sir, her friend) the\\r\\nname of Palamon; say you come to eate with her, and to commune of Love;\\r\\nthis will catch her attention, for this her minde beates upon; other\\r\\nobjects that are inserted tweene her minde and eye become the prankes\\r\\nand friskins of her madnes; Sing to her such greene songs of Love, as\\r\\nshe sayes Palamon hath sung in prison; Come to her, stucke in as sweet\\r\\nflowers as the season is mistres of, and thereto make an addition of\\r\\nsom other compounded odours, which are grateful to the sence: all this\\r\\nshall become Palamon, for Palamon can sing, and Palamon is sweet, and\\r\\nev\\'ry good thing: desire to eate with her, carve her, drinke to her,\\r\\nand still among, intermingle your petition of grace and acceptance into\\r\\nher favour: Learne what Maides have beene her companions and\\r\\nplay-pheeres, and let them repaire to her with Palamon in their\\r\\nmouthes, and appeare with tokens, as if they suggested for him. It is a\\r\\nfalsehood she is in, which is with falsehood to be combated. This may\\r\\nbring her to eate, to sleepe, and reduce what\\'s now out of square in\\r\\nher, into their former law, and regiment; I have seene it approved, how\\r\\nmany times I know not, but to make the number more, I have great hope\\r\\nin this. I will, betweene the passages of this project, come in with\\r\\nmy applyance: Let us put it in execution, and hasten the successe,\\r\\nwhich, doubt not, will bring forth comfort. [Florish. Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (Before the Temples of Mars, Venus, and Diana.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Thesius, Perithous, Hipolita, attendants.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNow let\\'em enter, and before the gods\\r\\nTender their holy prayers: Let the Temples\\r\\nBurne bright with sacred fires, and the Altars\\r\\nIn hallowed clouds commend their swelling Incense\\r\\nTo those above us: Let no due be wanting; [Florish of Cornets.]\\r\\nThey have a noble worke in hand, will honour\\r\\nThe very powers that love \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon and Arcite, and their Knights.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nSir, they enter.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou valiant and strong harted Enemies,\\r\\nYou royall German foes, that this day come\\r\\nTo blow that furnesse out that flames betweene ye:\\r\\nLay by your anger for an houre, and dove-like,\\r\\nBefore the holy Altars of your helpers,\\r\\n(The all feard gods) bow downe your stubborne bodies.\\r\\nYour ire is more than mortall; So your helpe be,\\r\\nAnd as the gods regard ye, fight with Iustice;\\r\\nIle leave you to your prayers, and betwixt ye\\r\\nI part my wishes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nHonour crowne the worthiest. [Exit Theseus, and his traine.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThe glasse is running now that cannot finish\\r\\nTill one of us expire: Thinke you but thus,\\r\\nThat were there ought in me which strove to show\\r\\nMine enemy in this businesse, wer\\'t one eye\\r\\nAgainst another, Arme opprest by Arme,\\r\\nI would destroy th\\'offender, Coz, I would,\\r\\nThough parcell of my selfe: Then from this gather\\r\\nHow I should tender you.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am in labour\\r\\nTo push your name, your auncient love, our kindred\\r\\nOut of my memory; and i\\'th selfe same place\\r\\nTo seate something I would confound: So hoyst we\\r\\nThe sayles, that must these vessells port even where\\r\\nThe heavenly Lymiter pleases.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou speake well;\\r\\nBefore I turne, Let me embrace thee, Cosen:\\r\\nThis I shall never doe agen.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nOne farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhy, let it be so: Farewell, Coz. [Exeunt Palamon and his\\r\\nKnights.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nFarewell, Sir.—\\r\\nKnights, Kinsemen, Lovers, yea, my Sacrifices,\\r\\nTrue worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in you\\r\\nExpells the seedes of feare, and th\\'apprehension\\r\\nWhich still is farther off it, Goe with me\\r\\nBefore the god of our profession: There\\r\\nRequire of him the hearts of Lyons, and\\r\\nThe breath of Tigers, yea, the fearcenesse too,\\r\\nYea, the speed also,—to goe on, I meane,\\r\\nElse wish we to be Snayles: you know my prize\\r\\nMust be drag\\'d out of blood; force and great feate\\r\\nMust put my Garland on, where she stickes\\r\\nThe Queene of Flowers: our intercession then\\r\\nMust be to him that makes the Campe a Cestron\\r\\nBrymd with the blood of men: give me your aide\\r\\nAnd bend your spirits towards him. [They kneele.]\\r\\nThou mighty one, that with thy power hast turnd\\r\\nGreene Neptune into purple, (whose Approach)\\r\\nComets prewarne, whose havocke in vaste Feild\\r\\nVnearthed skulls proclaime, whose breath blowes downe,\\r\\nThe teeming Ceres foyzon, who doth plucke\\r\\nWith hand armypotent from forth blew clowdes\\r\\nThe masond Turrets, that both mak\\'st and break\\'st\\r\\nThe stony girthes of Citties: me thy puple,\\r\\nYongest follower of thy Drom, instruct this day\\r\\nWith military skill, that to thy lawde\\r\\nI may advance my Streamer, and by thee,\\r\\nBe stil\\'d the Lord o\\'th day: give me, great Mars,\\r\\nSome token of thy pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Here they fall on their faces as formerly, and there is heard\\r\\n clanging of Armor, with a short Thunder as the burst of a\\r\\nBattaile,\\r\\n whereupon they all rise and bow to the Altar.]\\r\\n\\r\\nO Great Corrector of enormous times,\\r\\nShaker of ore-rank States, thou grand decider\\r\\nOf dustie and old tytles, that healst with blood\\r\\nThe earth when it is sicke, and curst the world\\r\\nO\\'th pluresie of people; I doe take\\r\\nThy signes auspiciously, and in thy name\\r\\nTo my designe march boldly. Let us goe. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon and his Knights, with the former observance.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nOur stars must glister with new fire, or be\\r\\nTo daie extinct; our argument is love,\\r\\nWhich if the goddesse of it grant, she gives\\r\\nVictory too: then blend your spirits with mine,\\r\\nYou, whose free noblenesse doe make my cause\\r\\nYour personall hazard; to the goddesse Venus\\r\\nCommend we our proceeding, and implore\\r\\nHer power unto our partie. [Here they kneele as formerly.]\\r\\nHaile, Soveraigne Queene of secrets, who hast power\\r\\nTo call the feircest Tyrant from his rage,\\r\\nAnd weepe unto a Girle; that ha\\'st the might,\\r\\nEven with an ey-glance, to choke Marsis Drom\\r\\nAnd turne th\\'allarme to whispers; that canst make\\r\\nA Criple florish with his Crutch, and cure him\\r\\nBefore Apollo; that may\\'st force the King\\r\\nTo be his subjects vassaile, and induce\\r\\nStale gravitie to daunce; the pould Bachelour—\\r\\nWhose youth, like wonton Boyes through Bonfyres,\\r\\nHave skipt thy flame—at seaventy thou canst catch\\r\\nAnd make him, to the scorne of his hoarse throate,\\r\\nAbuse yong laies of love: what godlike power\\r\\nHast thou not power upon? To Phoebus thou\\r\\nAdd\\'st flames hotter then his; the heavenly fyres\\r\\nDid scortch his mortall Son, thine him; the huntresse\\r\\nAll moyst and cold, some say, began to throw\\r\\nHer Bow away, and sigh. Take to thy grace\\r\\nMe, thy vowd Souldier, who doe beare thy yoke\\r\\nAs t\\'wer a wreath of Roses, yet is heavier\\r\\nThen Lead it selfe, stings more than Nettles.\\r\\nI have never beene foule mouthd against thy law,\\r\\nNev\\'r reveald secret, for I knew none—would not,\\r\\nHad I kend all that were; I never practised\\r\\nVpon mans wife, nor would the Libells reade\\r\\nOf liberall wits; I never at great feastes\\r\\nSought to betray a Beautie, but have blush\\'d\\r\\nAt simpring Sirs that did; I have beene harsh\\r\\nTo large Confessors, and have hotly ask\\'d them\\r\\nIf they had Mothers: I had one, a woman,\\r\\nAnd women t\\'wer they wrong\\'d. I knew a man\\r\\nOf eightie winters, this I told them, who\\r\\nA Lasse of foureteene brided; twas thy power\\r\\nTo put life into dust; the aged Crampe\\r\\nHad screw\\'d his square foote round,\\r\\nThe Gout had knit his fingers into knots,\\r\\nTorturing Convulsions from his globie eyes,\\r\\nHad almost drawne their spheeres, that what was life\\r\\nIn him seem\\'d torture: this Anatomie\\r\\nHad by his yong faire pheare a Boy, and I\\r\\nBeleev\\'d it was him, for she swore it was,\\r\\nAnd who would not beleeve her? briefe, I am\\r\\nTo those that prate and have done no Companion;\\r\\nTo those that boast and have not a defyer;\\r\\nTo those that would and cannot a Rejoycer.\\r\\nYea, him I doe not love, that tells close offices\\r\\nThe fowlest way, nor names concealements in\\r\\nThe boldest language: such a one I am,\\r\\nAnd vow that lover never yet made sigh\\r\\nTruer then I. O, then, most soft, sweet goddesse,\\r\\nGive me the victory of this question, which\\r\\nIs true loves merit, and blesse me with a signe\\r\\nOf thy great pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Here Musicke is heard, Doves are seene to flutter; they fall\\r\\n againe upon their faces, then on their knees.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO thou, that from eleven to ninetie raign\\'st\\r\\nIn mortall bosomes, whose chase is this world,\\r\\nAnd we in heards thy game: I give thee thankes\\r\\nFor this faire Token, which, being layd unto\\r\\nMine innocent true heart, armes in assurance [They bow.]\\r\\nMy body to this businesse. Let us rise\\r\\nAnd bow before the goddesse: Time comes on. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Still Musicke of Records.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Emilia in white, her haire about her shoulders, (wearing) a\\r\\nwheaten wreath: One in white holding up her traine, her haire stucke\\r\\nwith flowers: One before her carrying a silver Hynde, in which is\\r\\nconveyd Incense and sweet odours, which being set upon the Altar (of\\r\\nDiana) her maides standing a loofe, she sets fire to it; then they\\r\\ncurtsey and kneele.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO sacred, shadowie, cold and constant Queene,\\r\\nAbandoner of Revells, mute, contemplative,\\r\\nSweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure\\r\\nAs windefand Snow, who to thy femall knights\\r\\nAlow\\'st no more blood than will make a blush,\\r\\nWhich is their orders robe: I heere, thy Priest,\\r\\nAm humbled fore thine Altar; O vouchsafe,\\r\\nWith that thy rare greene eye, which never yet\\r\\nBeheld thing maculate, looke on thy virgin;\\r\\nAnd, sacred silver Mistris, lend thine eare\\r\\n(Which nev\\'r heard scurrill terme, into whose port\\r\\nNe\\'re entred wanton found,) to my petition\\r\\nSeasond with holy feare: This is my last\\r\\nOf vestall office; I am bride habited,\\r\\nBut mayden harted, a husband I have pointed,\\r\\nBut doe not know him; out of two I should\\r\\nChoose one and pray for his successe, but I\\r\\nAm guiltlesse of election: of mine eyes,\\r\\nWere I to loose one, they are equall precious,\\r\\nI could doombe neither, that which perish\\'d should\\r\\nGoe too\\'t unsentenc\\'d: Therefore, most modest Queene,\\r\\nHe of the two Pretenders, that best loves me\\r\\nAnd has the truest title in\\'t, Let him\\r\\nTake off my wheaten Gerland, or else grant\\r\\nThe fyle and qualitie I hold, I may\\r\\nContinue in thy Band.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Here the Hynde vanishes under the Altar: and in the place ascends\\r\\n a Rose Tree, having one Rose upon it.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSee what our Generall of Ebbs and Flowes\\r\\nOut from the bowells of her holy Altar\\r\\nWith sacred act advances! But one Rose:\\r\\nIf well inspird, this Battaile shal confound\\r\\nBoth these brave Knights, and I, a virgin flowre\\r\\nMust grow alone unpluck\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Here is heard a sodaine twang of Instruments, and the Rose fals\\\\\\r\\n from the Tree (which vanishes under the altar.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe flowre is falne, the Tree descends: O, Mistris,\\r\\nThou here dischargest me; I shall be gather\\'d:\\r\\nI thinke so, but I know not thine owne will;\\r\\nVnclaspe thy Misterie.—I hope she\\'s pleas\\'d,\\r\\nHer Signes were gratious. [They curtsey and Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (A darkened Room in the Prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Doctor, Iaylor and Wooer, in habite of Palamon.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHas this advice I told you, done any good upon her?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nO very much; The maids that kept her company\\r\\nHave halfe perswaded her that I am Palamon;\\r\\nWithin this halfe houre she came smiling to me,\\r\\nAnd asked me what I would eate, and when I would kisse her:\\r\\nI told her presently, and kist her twice.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nTwas well done; twentie times had bin far better,\\r\\nFor there the cure lies mainely.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nThen she told me\\r\\nShe would watch with me to night, for well she knew\\r\\nWhat houre my fit would take me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nLet her doe so,\\r\\nAnd when your fit comes, fit her home,\\r\\nAnd presently.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nShe would have me sing.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYou did so?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nTwas very ill done, then;\\r\\nYou should observe her ev\\'ry way.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nAlas,\\r\\nI have no voice, Sir, to confirme her that way.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nThat\\'s all one, if yee make a noyse;\\r\\nIf she intreate againe, doe any thing,—\\r\\nLye with her, if she aske you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHoa, there, Doctor!\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYes, in the waie of cure.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nBut first, by your leave,\\r\\nI\\'th way of honestie.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nThat\\'s but a nicenesse,\\r\\nNev\\'r cast your child away for honestie;\\r\\nCure her first this way, then if shee will be honest,\\r\\nShe has the path before her.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThanke yee, Doctor.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nPray, bring her in,\\r\\nAnd let\\'s see how shee is.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI will, and tell her\\r\\nHer Palamon staies for her: But, Doctor,\\r\\nMe thinkes you are i\\'th wrong still. [Exit Iaylor.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nGoe, goe:\\r\\nYou Fathers are fine Fooles: her honesty?\\r\\nAnd we should give her physicke till we finde that—\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nWhy, doe you thinke she is not honest, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHow old is she?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nShe\\'s eighteene.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nShe may be,\\r\\nBut that\\'s all one; tis nothing to our purpose.\\r\\nWhat ere her Father saies, if you perceave\\r\\nHer moode inclining that way that I spoke of,\\r\\nVidelicet, the way of flesh—you have me?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nYet, very well, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nPlease her appetite,\\r\\nAnd doe it home; it cures her, ipso facto,\\r\\nThe mellencholly humour that infects her.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI am of your minde, Doctor.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylor, Daughter, Maide.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYou\\'l finde it so; she comes, pray humour her.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nCome, your Love Palamon staies for you, childe,\\r\\nAnd has done this long houre, to visite you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI thanke him for his gentle patience;\\r\\nHe\\'s a kind Gentleman, and I am much bound to him.\\r\\nDid you nev\\'r see the horse he gave me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nHow doe you like him?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHe\\'s a very faire one.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYou never saw him dance?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI have often.\\r\\nHe daunces very finely, very comely,\\r\\nAnd for a Iigge, come cut and long taile to him,\\r\\nHe turnes ye like a Top.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThat\\'s fine, indeede.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nHee\\'l dance the Morris twenty mile an houre,\\r\\nAnd that will founder the best hobby-horse\\r\\n(If I have any skill) in all the parish,\\r\\nAnd gallops to the turne of LIGHT A\\' LOVE:\\r\\nWhat thinke you of this horse?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHaving these vertues,\\r\\nI thinke he might be broght to play at Tennis.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAlas, that\\'s nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nCan he write and reade too?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nA very faire hand, and casts himselfe th\\'accounts\\r\\nOf all his hay and provender: That Hostler\\r\\nMust rise betime that cozens him. You know\\r\\nThe Chestnut Mare the Duke has?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nVery well.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nShe is horribly in love with him, poore beast,\\r\\nBut he is like his master, coy and scornefull.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWhat dowry has she?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nSome two hundred Bottles,\\r\\nAnd twenty strike of Oates; but hee\\'l ne\\'re have her;\\r\\nHe lispes in\\'s neighing, able to entice\\r\\nA Millars Mare: Hee\\'l be the death of her.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWhat stuffe she utters!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nMake curtsie; here your love comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nPretty soule,\\r\\nHow doe ye? that\\'s a fine maide, ther\\'s a curtsie!\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYours to command ith way of honestie.\\r\\nHow far is\\'t now to\\'th end o\\'th world, my Masters?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWhy, a daies Iorney, wench.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWill you goe with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nWhat shall we doe there, wench?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWhy, play at stoole ball:\\r\\nWhat is there else to doe?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI am content,\\r\\nIf we shall keepe our wedding there.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nTis true:\\r\\nFor there, I will assure you, we shall finde\\r\\nSome blind Priest for the purpose, that will venture\\r\\nTo marry us, for here they are nice, and foolish;\\r\\nBesides, my father must be hang\\'d to morrow\\r\\nAnd that would be a blot i\\'th businesse.\\r\\nAre not you Palamon?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nDoe not you know me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYes, but you care not for me; I have nothing\\r\\nBut this pore petticoate, and too corse Smockes.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nThat\\'s all one; I will have you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWill you surely?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nYes, by this faire hand, will I.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWee\\'l to bed, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nEv\\'n when you will. [Kisses her.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nO Sir, you would faine be nibling.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nWhy doe you rub my kisse off?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nTis a sweet one,\\r\\nAnd will perfume me finely against the wedding.\\r\\nIs not this your Cosen Arcite?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYes, sweet heart,\\r\\nAnd I am glad my Cosen Palamon\\r\\nHas made so faire a choice.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nDoe you thinke hee\\'l have me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYes, without doubt.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nDoe you thinke so too?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWe shall have many children:—Lord, how y\\'ar growne!\\r\\nMy Palamon, I hope, will grow, too, finely,\\r\\nNow he\\'s at liberty: Alas, poore Chicken,\\r\\nHe was kept downe with hard meate and ill lodging,\\r\\nBut ile kisse him up againe.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Emter a Messenger.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nWhat doe you here? you\\'l loose the noblest sight\\r\\nThat ev\\'r was seene.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nAre they i\\'th Field?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThey are.\\r\\nYou beare a charge there too.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nIle away straight.\\r\\nI must ev\\'n leave you here.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nNay, wee\\'l goe with you;\\r\\nI will not loose the Fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHow did you like her?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nIle warrant you, within these 3. or 4. daies\\r\\nIle make her right againe. You must not from her,\\r\\nBut still preserve her in this way.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI will.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nLets get her in.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nCome, sweete, wee\\'l goe to dinner;\\r\\nAnd then weele play at Cardes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAnd shall we kisse too?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nA hundred times.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAnd twenty.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI, and twenty.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAnd then wee\\'l sleepe together.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nTake her offer.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nYes, marry, will we.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nBut you shall not hurt me.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI will not, sweete.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIf you doe, Love, ile cry. [Florish. Exeunt]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (A Place near the Lists.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Perithous: and some Attendants,\\r\\n (T. Tucke: Curtis.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIle no step further.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nWill you loose this sight?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI had rather see a wren hawke at a fly\\r\\nThen this decision; ev\\'ry blow that falls\\r\\nThreats a brave life, each stroake laments\\r\\nThe place whereon it fals, and sounds more like\\r\\nA Bell then blade: I will stay here;\\r\\nIt is enough my hearing shall be punishd\\r\\nWith what shall happen—gainst the which there is\\r\\nNo deaffing, but to heare—not taint mine eye\\r\\nWith dread sights, it may shun.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nSir, my good Lord,\\r\\nYour Sister will no further.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nOh, she must.\\r\\nShe shall see deeds of honour in their kinde,\\r\\nWhich sometime show well, pencild. Nature now\\r\\nShall make and act the Story, the beleife\\r\\nBoth seald with eye and eare; you must be present,\\r\\nYou are the victours meede, the price, and garlond\\r\\nTo crowne the Questions title.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPardon me;\\r\\nIf I were there, I\\'ld winke.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou must be there;\\r\\nThis Tryall is as t\\'wer i\\'th night, and you\\r\\nThe onely star to shine.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI am extinct;\\r\\nThere is but envy in that light, which showes\\r\\nThe one the other: darkenes, which ever was\\r\\nThe dam of horrour, who do\\'s stand accurst\\r\\nOf many mortall Millions, may even now,\\r\\nBy casting her blacke mantle over both,\\r\\nThat neither coulde finde other, get her selfe\\r\\nSome part of a good name, and many a murther\\r\\nSet off wherto she\\'s guilty.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nYou must goe.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIn faith, I will not.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhy, the knights must kindle\\r\\nTheir valour at your eye: know, of this war\\r\\nYou are the Treasure, and must needes be by\\r\\nTo give the Service pay.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nSir, pardon me;\\r\\nThe tytle of a kingdome may be tride\\r\\nOut of it selfe.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWell, well, then, at your pleasure;\\r\\nThose that remaine with you could wish their office\\r\\nTo any of their Enemies.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nFarewell, Sister;\\r\\nI am like to know your husband fore your selfe\\r\\nBy some small start of time: he whom the gods\\r\\nDoe of the two know best, I pray them he\\r\\nBe made your Lot.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt Theseus, Hipolita, Perithous, &c.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nArcite is gently visagd; yet his eye\\r\\nIs like an Engyn bent, or a sharpe weapon\\r\\nIn a soft sheath; mercy and manly courage\\r\\nAre bedfellowes in his visage. Palamon\\r\\nHas a most menacing aspect: his brow\\r\\nIs grav\\'d, and seemes to bury what it frownes on;\\r\\nYet sometime tis not so, but alters to\\r\\nThe quallity of his thoughts; long time his eye\\r\\nWill dwell upon his object. Mellencholly\\r\\nBecomes him nobly; So do\\'s Arcites mirth,\\r\\nBut Palamons sadnes is a kinde of mirth,\\r\\nSo mingled, as if mirth did make him sad,\\r\\nAnd sadnes, merry; those darker humours that\\r\\nSticke misbecomingly on others, on them\\r\\nLive in faire dwelling. [Cornets. Trompets sound as to a\\r\\ncharge.]\\r\\nHarke, how yon spurs to spirit doe incite\\r\\nThe Princes to their proofe! Arcite may win me,\\r\\nAnd yet may Palamon wound Arcite to\\r\\nThe spoyling of his figure. O, what pitty\\r\\nEnough for such a chance; if I were by,\\r\\nI might doe hurt, for they would glance their eies\\r\\nToward my Seat, and in that motion might\\r\\nOmit a ward, or forfeit an offence\\r\\nWhich crav\\'d that very time: it is much better\\r\\nI am not there; oh better never borne\\r\\nThen minister to such harme. [Cornets. A great cry and noice within,\\r\\n crying \\'a Palamon\\'.] What is the chance?\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Servant.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThe Crie\\'s \\'a Palamon\\'.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThen he has won! Twas ever likely;\\r\\nHe lookd all grace and successe, and he is\\r\\nDoubtlesse the prim\\'st of men: I pre\\'thee, run\\r\\nAnd tell me how it goes. [Showt, and Cornets: Crying, \\'a\\r\\nPalamon.\\']\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nStill Palamon.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nRun and enquire. Poore Servant, thou hast lost;\\r\\nVpon my right side still I wore thy picture,\\r\\nPalamons on the left: why so, I know not;\\r\\nI had no end in\\'t else, chance would have it so.\\r\\nOn the sinister side the heart lyes; Palamon\\r\\nHad the best boding chance. [Another cry, and showt within, and\\r\\n Cornets.] This burst of clamour\\r\\nIs sure th\\'end o\\'th Combat.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Servant.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThey saide that Palamon had Arcites body\\r\\nWithin an inch o\\'th Pyramid, that the cry\\r\\nWas generall \\'a Palamon\\': But, anon,\\r\\nTh\\'Assistants made a brave redemption, and\\r\\nThe two bold Tytlers, at this instant are\\r\\nHand to hand at it.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWere they metamorphisd\\r\\nBoth into one! oh why? there were no woman\\r\\nWorth so composd a Man: their single share,\\r\\nTheir noblenes peculier to them, gives\\r\\nThe prejudice of disparity, values shortnes, [Cornets. Cry within,\\r\\n Arcite, Arcite.]\\r\\nTo any Lady breathing—More exulting?\\r\\nPalamon still?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nNay, now the sound is Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI pre\\'thee, lay attention to the Cry, [Cornets. A great showt and\\r\\ncry, \\'Arcite, victory!\\'] Set both thine eares to\\'th busines.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThe cry is\\r\\n\\'Arcite\\', and \\'victory\\', harke: \\'Arcite, victory!\\'\\r\\nThe Combats consummation is proclaim\\'d\\r\\nBy the wind Instruments.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHalfe sights saw\\r\\nThat Arcite was no babe; god\\'s lyd, his richnes\\r\\nAnd costlines of spirit look\\'t through him, it could\\r\\nNo more be hid in him then fire in flax,\\r\\nThen humble banckes can goe to law with waters,\\r\\nThat drift windes force to raging: I did thinke\\r\\nGood Palamon would miscarry; yet I knew not\\r\\nWhy I did thinke so; Our reasons are not prophets,\\r\\nWhen oft our fancies are. They are comming off:\\r\\nAlas, poore Palamon! [Cornets.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Pirithous, Arcite as victor, and\\r\\n attendants, &c.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nLo, where our Sister is in expectation,\\r\\nYet quaking, and unsetled.—Fairest Emily,\\r\\nThe gods by their divine arbitrament\\r\\nHave given you this Knight; he is a good one\\r\\nAs ever strooke at head. Give me your hands;\\r\\nReceive you her, you him; be plighted with\\r\\nA love that growes, as you decay.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nEmily,\\r\\nTo buy you, I have lost what\\'s deerest to me,\\r\\nSave what is bought, and yet I purchase cheapely,\\r\\nAs I doe rate your value.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nO loved Sister,\\r\\nHe speakes now of as brave a Knight as ere\\r\\nDid spur a noble Steed: Surely, the gods\\r\\nWould have him die a Batchelour, least his race\\r\\nShould shew i\\'th world too godlike: His behaviour\\r\\nSo charmed me, that me thought Alcides was\\r\\nTo him a sow of lead: if I could praise\\r\\nEach part of him to\\'th all I have spoke, your Arcite\\r\\nDid not loose by\\'t; For he that was thus good\\r\\nEncountred yet his Better. I have heard\\r\\nTwo emulous Philomels beate the eare o\\'th night\\r\\nWith their contentious throates, now one the higher,\\r\\nAnon the other, then againe the first,\\r\\nAnd by and by out breasted, that the sence\\r\\nCould not be judge betweene \\'em: So it far\\'d\\r\\nGood space betweene these kinesmen; till heavens did\\r\\nMake hardly one the winner. Weare the Girlond\\r\\nWith joy that you have won: For the subdude,\\r\\nGive them our present Iustice, since I know\\r\\nTheir lives but pinch \\'em; Let it here be done.\\r\\nThe Sceane\\'s not for our seeing, goe we hence,\\r\\nRight joyfull, with some sorrow.—Arme your prize,\\r\\nI know you will not loose her.—Hipolita,\\r\\nI see one eye of yours conceives a teare\\r\\nThe which it will deliver. [Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIs this wynning?\\r\\nOh all you heavenly powers, where is your mercy?\\r\\nBut that your wils have saide it must be so,\\r\\nAnd charge me live to comfort this unfriended,\\r\\nThis miserable Prince, that cuts away\\r\\nA life more worthy from him then all women,\\r\\nI should, and would, die too.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nInfinite pitty,\\r\\nThat fowre such eies should be so fixd on one\\r\\nThat two must needes be blinde fort.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSo it is. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. (The same; a Block prepared.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon and his Knightes pyniond: Iaylor, Executioner, &c.\\r\\nGard.]\\r\\n\\r\\n(PALAMON.)\\r\\nTher\\'s many a man alive that hath out liv\\'d\\r\\nThe love o\\'th people; yea, i\\'th selfesame state\\r\\nStands many a Father with his childe; some comfort\\r\\nWe have by so considering: we expire\\r\\nAnd not without mens pitty. To live still,\\r\\nHave their good wishes; we prevent\\r\\nThe loathsome misery of age, beguile\\r\\nThe Gowt and Rheume, that in lag howres attend\\r\\nFor grey approachers; we come towards the gods\\r\\nYong and unwapper\\'d, not halting under Crymes\\r\\nMany and stale: that sure shall please the gods,\\r\\nSooner than such, to give us Nectar with \\'em,\\r\\nFor we are more cleare Spirits. My deare kinesmen,\\r\\nWhose lives (for this poore comfort) are laid downe,\\r\\nYou have sould \\'em too too cheape.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. KNIGHT.\\r\\nWhat ending could be\\r\\nOf more content? ore us the victors have\\r\\nFortune, whose title is as momentary,\\r\\nAs to us death is certaine: A graine of honour\\r\\nThey not ore\\'-weigh us.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. KNIGHT.\\r\\nLet us bid farewell;\\r\\nAnd with our patience anger tottring Fortune,\\r\\nWho at her certain\\'st reeles.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. KNIGHT.\\r\\nCome; who begins?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nEv\\'n he that led you to this Banket shall\\r\\nTaste to you all.—Ah ha, my Friend, my Friend,\\r\\nYour gentle daughter gave me freedome once;\\r\\nYou\\'l see\\'t done now for ever: pray, how do\\'es she?\\r\\nI heard she was not well; her kind of ill\\r\\nGave me some sorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nSir, she\\'s well restor\\'d,\\r\\nAnd to be marryed shortly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBy my short life,\\r\\nI am most glad on\\'t; Tis the latest thing\\r\\nI shall be glad of; pre\\'thee tell her so:\\r\\nCommend me to her, and to peece her portion,\\r\\nTender her this. [Gives purse.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. KNIGHT.\\r\\nNay lets be offerers all.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. KNIGHT.\\r\\nIs it a maide?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nVerily, I thinke so,\\r\\nA right good creature, more to me deserving\\r\\nThen I can quight or speake of.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL KNIGHTS.\\r\\nCommend us to her. [They give their purses.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThe gods requight you all,\\r\\nAnd make her thankefull.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAdiew; and let my life be now as short,\\r\\nAs my leave taking. [Lies on the Blocke.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. KNIGHT.\\r\\nLeade, couragious Cosin.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. KNIGHT.\\r\\nWee\\'l follow cheerefully. [A great noise within crying, \\'run, save,\\r\\nhold!\\']\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter in hast a Messenger.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nHold, hold! O hold, hold, hold!\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Pirithous in haste.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nHold! hoa! It is a cursed hast you made,\\r\\nIf you have done so quickly. Noble Palamon,\\r\\nThe gods will shew their glory in a life,\\r\\nThat thou art yet to leade.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nCan that be,\\r\\nWhen Venus, I have said, is false? How doe things fare?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nArise, great Sir, and give the tydings eare\\r\\nThat are most dearly sweet and bitter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhat\\r\\nHath wakt us from our dreame?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nList then: your Cosen,\\r\\nMounted upon a Steed that Emily\\r\\nDid first bestow on him, a blacke one, owing\\r\\nNot a hayre worth of white—which some will say\\r\\nWeakens his price, and many will not buy\\r\\nHis goodnesse with this note: Which superstition\\r\\nHeere findes allowance—On this horse is Arcite\\r\\nTrotting the stones of Athens, which the Calkins\\r\\nDid rather tell then trample; for the horse\\r\\nWould make his length a mile, if\\'t pleas\\'d his Rider\\r\\nTo put pride in him: as he thus went counting\\r\\nThe flinty pavement, dancing, as t\\'wer, to\\'th Musicke\\r\\nHis owne hoofes made; (for as they say from iron\\r\\nCame Musickes origen) what envious Flint,\\r\\nCold as old Saturne, and like him possest\\r\\nWith fire malevolent, darted a Sparke,\\r\\nOr what feirce sulphur else, to this end made,\\r\\nI comment not;—the hot horse, hot as fire,\\r\\nTooke Toy at this, and fell to what disorder\\r\\nHis power could give his will; bounds, comes on end,\\r\\nForgets schoole dooing, being therein traind,\\r\\nAnd of kind mannadge; pig-like he whines\\r\\nAt the sharpe Rowell, which he freats at rather\\r\\nThen any jot obaies; seekes all foule meanes\\r\\nOf boystrous and rough Iadrie, to dis-seate\\r\\nHis Lord, that kept it bravely: when nought serv\\'d,\\r\\nWhen neither Curb would cracke, girth breake nor diffring plunges\\r\\nDis-roote his Rider whence he grew, but that\\r\\nHe kept him tweene his legges, on his hind hoofes on end he stands,\\r\\nThat Arcites leggs, being higher then his head,\\r\\nSeem\\'d with strange art to hand: His victors wreath\\r\\nEven then fell off his head: and presently\\r\\nBackeward the Iade comes ore, and his full poyze\\r\\nBecomes the Riders loade: yet is he living,\\r\\nBut such a vessell tis, that floates but for\\r\\nThe surge that next approaches: he much desires\\r\\nTo have some speech with you: Loe he appeares.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Arcite in a chaire.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO miserable end of our alliance!\\r\\nThe gods are mightie, Arcite: if thy heart,\\r\\nThy worthie, manly heart, be yet unbroken,\\r\\nGive me thy last words; I am Palamon,\\r\\nOne that yet loves thee dying.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTake Emilia\\r\\nAnd with her all the worlds joy: Reach thy hand:\\r\\nFarewell: I have told my last houre. I was false,\\r\\nYet never treacherous: Forgive me, Cosen:—\\r\\nOne kisse from faire Emilia: Tis done:\\r\\nTake her: I die.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThy brave soule seeke Elizium.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIle close thine eyes, Prince; blessed soules be with thee!\\r\\nThou art a right good man, and while I live,\\r\\nThis day I give to teares.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAnd I to honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nIn this place first you fought: ev\\'n very here\\r\\nI sundred you: acknowledge to the gods\\r\\nOur thankes that you are living.\\r\\nHis part is playd, and though it were too short,\\r\\nHe did it well: your day is lengthned, and\\r\\nThe blissefull dew of heaven do\\'s arowze you.\\r\\nThe powerfull Venus well hath grac\\'d her Altar,\\r\\nAnd given you your love: Our Master Mars\\r\\nHath vouch\\'d his Oracle, and to Arcite gave\\r\\nThe grace of the Contention: So the Deities\\r\\nHave shewd due justice: Beare this hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO Cosen,\\r\\nThat we should things desire, which doe cost us\\r\\nThe losse of our desire! That nought could buy\\r\\nDeare love, but losse of deare love!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNever Fortune\\r\\nDid play a subtler Game: The conquerd triumphes,\\r\\nThe victor has the Losse: yet in the passage\\r\\nThe gods have beene most equall: Palamon,\\r\\nYour kinseman hath confest the right o\\'th Lady\\r\\nDid lye in you, for you first saw her, and\\r\\nEven then proclaimd your fancie: He restord her\\r\\nAs your stolne Iewell, and desir\\'d your spirit\\r\\nTo send him hence forgiven; The gods my justice\\r\\nTake from my hand, and they themselves become\\r\\nThe Executioners: Leade your Lady off;\\r\\nAnd call your Lovers from the stage of death,\\r\\nWhom I adopt my Frinds. A day or two\\r\\nLet us looke sadly, and give grace unto\\r\\nThe Funerall of Arcite; in whose end\\r\\nThe visages of Bridegroomes weele put on\\r\\nAnd smile with Palamon; for whom an houre,\\r\\nBut one houre, since, I was as dearely sorry,\\r\\nAs glad of Arcite: and am now as glad,\\r\\nAs for him sorry. O you heavenly Charmers,\\r\\nWhat things you make of us! For what we lacke\\r\\nWe laugh, for what we have, are sorry: still\\r\\nAre children in some kind. Let us be thankefull\\r\\nFor that which is, and with you leave dispute\\r\\nThat are above our question. Let\\'s goe off,\\r\\nAnd beare us like the time. [Florish. Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEPILOGUE\\r\\n\\r\\nI would now aske ye how ye like the Play,\\r\\nBut, as it is with Schoole Boyes, cannot say,\\r\\nI am cruell fearefull: pray, yet stay a while,\\r\\nAnd let me looke upon ye: No man smile?\\r\\nThen it goes hard, I see; He that has\\r\\nLov\\'d a yong hansome wench, then, show his face—\\r\\nTis strange if none be heere—and if he will\\r\\nAgainst his Conscience, let him hisse, and kill\\r\\nOur Market: Tis in vaine, I see, to stay yee;\\r\\nHave at the worst can come, then! Now what say ye?\\r\\nAnd yet mistake me not: I am not bold;\\r\\nWe have no such cause. If the tale we have told\\r\\n(For tis no other) any way content ye\\r\\n(For to that honest purpose it was ment ye)\\r\\nWe have our end; and ye shall have ere long,\\r\\nI dare say, many a better, to prolong\\r\\nYour old loves to us: we, and all our might\\r\\nRest at your service. Gentlemen, good night. [Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE WINTER’S TALE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Sicilia. An Antechamber in Leontes’ Palace.\\r\\nScene II. The same. A Room of State in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. Sicilia. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\nScene II. The same. The outer Room of a Prison.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Sicilia. A Street in some Town.\\r\\nScene II. The same. A Court of Justice.\\r\\nScene III. Bohemia. A desert Country near the Sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Prologue.\\r\\nScene II. Bohemia. A Room in the palace of Polixenes.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A Road near the Shepherd’s cottage.\\r\\nScene IV. The same. A Shepherd’s Cottage.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Sicilia. A Room in the palace of Leontes.\\r\\nScene II. The same. Before the Palace.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A Room in Paulina’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES, King of Sicilia\\r\\nMAMILLIUS, his son\\r\\nCAMILLO, Sicilian Lord\\r\\nANTIGONUS, Sicilian Lord\\r\\nCLEOMENES, Sicilian Lord\\r\\nDION, Sicilian Lord\\r\\nPOLIXENES, King of Bohemia\\r\\nFLORIZEL, his son\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS, a Bohemian Lord\\r\\nAn Old Shepherd, reputed father of Perdita\\r\\nCLOWN, his son\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS, a rogue\\r\\nA Mariner\\r\\nA Gaoler\\r\\nServant to the Old Shepherd\\r\\nOther Sicilian Lords\\r\\nSicilian Gentlemen\\r\\nOfficers of a Court of Judicature\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE, Queen to Leontes\\r\\nPERDITA, daughter to Leontes and Hermione\\r\\nPAULINA, wife to Antigonus\\r\\nEMILIA, a lady attending on the Queen\\r\\nMOPSA, shepherdess\\r\\nDORCAS, shepherdess\\r\\nOther Ladies, attending on the Queen\\r\\n\\r\\nLords, Ladies, and Attendants; Satyrs for a Dance; Shepherds,\\r\\nShepherdesses, Guards, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nTIME, as Chorus\\r\\n\\r\\nScene: Sometimes in Sicilia; sometimes in Bohemia.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Sicilia. An Antechamber in Leontes’ Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Camillo and Archidamus.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nIf you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on the like occasion\\r\\nwhereon my services are now on foot, you shall see, as I have said,\\r\\ngreat difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI think this coming summer the King of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the\\r\\nvisitation which he justly owes him.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nWherein our entertainment shall shame us; we will be justified in our\\r\\nloves. For indeed,—\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBeseech you—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nVerily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge. We cannot with such\\r\\nmagnificence—in so rare—I know not what to say. We will give you sleepy\\r\\ndrinks, that your senses, unintelligent of our insufficience, may,\\r\\nthough they cannot praise us, as little accuse us.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nYou pay a great deal too dear for what’s given freely.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nBelieve me, I speak as my understanding instructs me and as mine\\r\\nhonesty puts it to utterance.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bohemia. They were trained\\r\\ntogether in their childhoods, and there rooted betwixt them then such\\r\\nan affection which cannot choose but branch now. Since their more\\r\\nmature dignities and royal necessities made separation of their\\r\\nsociety, their encounters, though not personal, have been royally\\r\\nattorneyed with interchange of gifts, letters, loving embassies, that\\r\\nthey have seemed to be together, though absent; shook hands, as over a\\r\\nvast; and embraced as it were from the ends of opposed winds. The\\r\\nheavens continue their loves!\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nI think there is not in the world either malice or matter to alter it.\\r\\nYou have an unspeakable comfort of your young Prince Mamillius. It is a\\r\\ngentleman of the greatest promise that ever came into my note.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI very well agree with you in the hopes of him. It is a gallant child;\\r\\none that indeed physics the subject, makes old hearts fresh. They that\\r\\nwent on crutches ere he was born desire yet their life to see him a\\r\\nman.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nWould they else be content to die?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nYes, if there were no other excuse why they should desire to live.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nIf the king had no son, they would desire to live on crutches till he\\r\\nhad one.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. A Room of State in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Hermione, Mamillius, Camillo and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nNine changes of the watery star hath been\\r\\nThe shepherd’s note since we have left our throne\\r\\nWithout a burden. Time as long again\\r\\nWould be fill’d up, my brother, with our thanks;\\r\\nAnd yet we should, for perpetuity,\\r\\nGo hence in debt: and therefore, like a cipher,\\r\\nYet standing in rich place, I multiply\\r\\nWith one “we thank you” many thousands more\\r\\nThat go before it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nStay your thanks a while,\\r\\nAnd pay them when you part.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nSir, that’s tomorrow.\\r\\nI am question’d by my fears, of what may chance\\r\\nOr breed upon our absence; that may blow\\r\\nNo sneaping winds at home, to make us say\\r\\n“This is put forth too truly.” Besides, I have stay’d\\r\\nTo tire your royalty.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWe are tougher, brother,\\r\\nThan you can put us to ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nNo longer stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nOne seve’night longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nVery sooth, tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWe’ll part the time between ’s then: and in that\\r\\nI’ll no gainsaying.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nPress me not, beseech you, so,\\r\\nThere is no tongue that moves, none, none i’ th’ world,\\r\\nSo soon as yours, could win me: so it should now,\\r\\nWere there necessity in your request, although\\r\\n’Twere needful I denied it. My affairs\\r\\nDo even drag me homeward: which to hinder\\r\\nWere, in your love a whip to me; my stay\\r\\nTo you a charge and trouble: to save both,\\r\\nFarewell, our brother.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTongue-tied, our queen? Speak you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nI had thought, sir, to have held my peace until\\r\\nYou had drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir,\\r\\nCharge him too coldly. Tell him you are sure\\r\\nAll in Bohemia’s well: this satisfaction\\r\\nThe by-gone day proclaimed. Say this to him,\\r\\nHe’s beat from his best ward.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWell said, Hermione.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nTo tell he longs to see his son were strong.\\r\\nBut let him say so then, and let him go;\\r\\nBut let him swear so, and he shall not stay,\\r\\nWe’ll thwack him hence with distaffs.\\r\\n[_To Polixenes._] Yet of your royal presence I’ll adventure\\r\\nThe borrow of a week. When at Bohemia\\r\\nYou take my lord, I’ll give him my commission\\r\\nTo let him there a month behind the gest\\r\\nPrefix’d for’s parting:—yet, good deed, Leontes,\\r\\nI love thee not a jar of th’ clock behind\\r\\nWhat lady she her lord. You’ll stay?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nNo, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNay, but you will?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI may not, verily.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nVerily!\\r\\nYou put me off with limber vows; but I,\\r\\nThough you would seek t’ unsphere the stars with oaths,\\r\\nShould yet say “Sir, no going.” Verily,\\r\\nYou shall not go. A lady’s verily is\\r\\nAs potent as a lord’s. Will go yet?\\r\\nForce me to keep you as a prisoner,\\r\\nNot like a guest: so you shall pay your fees\\r\\nWhen you depart, and save your thanks. How say you?\\r\\nMy prisoner or my guest? By your dread “verily,”\\r\\nOne of them you shall be.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nYour guest, then, madam.\\r\\nTo be your prisoner should import offending;\\r\\nWhich is for me less easy to commit\\r\\nThan you to punish.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNot your gaoler then,\\r\\nBut your kind hostess. Come, I’ll question you\\r\\nOf my lord’s tricks and yours when you were boys.\\r\\nYou were pretty lordings then.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWe were, fair queen,\\r\\nTwo lads that thought there was no more behind\\r\\nBut such a day tomorrow as today,\\r\\nAnd to be boy eternal.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWas not my lord\\r\\nThe verier wag o’ th’ two?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWe were as twinn’d lambs that did frisk i’ th’ sun\\r\\nAnd bleat the one at th’ other. What we chang’d\\r\\nWas innocence for innocence; we knew not\\r\\nThe doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream’d\\r\\nThat any did. Had we pursu’d that life,\\r\\nAnd our weak spirits ne’er been higher rear’d\\r\\nWith stronger blood, we should have answer’d heaven\\r\\nBoldly “Not guilty,” the imposition clear’d\\r\\nHereditary ours.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nBy this we gather\\r\\nYou have tripp’d since.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nO my most sacred lady,\\r\\nTemptations have since then been born to ’s! for\\r\\nIn those unfledg’d days was my wife a girl;\\r\\nYour precious self had then not cross’d the eyes\\r\\nOf my young play-fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nGrace to boot!\\r\\nOf this make no conclusion, lest you say\\r\\nYour queen and I are devils. Yet go on;\\r\\nTh’ offences we have made you do we’ll answer,\\r\\nIf you first sinn’d with us, and that with us\\r\\nYou did continue fault, and that you slipp’d not\\r\\nWith any but with us.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nIs he won yet?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nHe’ll stay, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nAt my request he would not.\\r\\nHermione, my dearest, thou never spok’st\\r\\nTo better purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNever?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNever but once.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWhat! have I twice said well? when was’t before?\\r\\nI prithee tell me. Cram ’s with praise, and make ’s\\r\\nAs fat as tame things: one good deed dying tongueless\\r\\nSlaughters a thousand waiting upon that.\\r\\nOur praises are our wages. You may ride ’s\\r\\nWith one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere\\r\\nWith spur we heat an acre. But to th’ goal:\\r\\nMy last good deed was to entreat his stay.\\r\\nWhat was my first? It has an elder sister,\\r\\nOr I mistake you: O, would her name were Grace!\\r\\nBut once before I spoke to the purpose—when?\\r\\nNay, let me have’t; I long.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhy, that was when\\r\\nThree crabbed months had sour’d themselves to death,\\r\\nEre I could make thee open thy white hand\\r\\nAnd clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter\\r\\n“I am yours for ever.”\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\n’Tis Grace indeed.\\r\\nWhy, lo you now, I have spoke to th’ purpose twice.\\r\\nThe one for ever earn’d a royal husband;\\r\\nTh’ other for some while a friend.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Giving her hand to Polixenes._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Too hot, too hot!\\r\\nTo mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.\\r\\nI have _tremor cordis_ on me. My heart dances,\\r\\nBut not for joy,—not joy. This entertainment\\r\\nMay a free face put on, derive a liberty\\r\\nFrom heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom,\\r\\nAnd well become the agent: ’t may, I grant:\\r\\nBut to be paddling palms and pinching fingers,\\r\\nAs now they are, and making practis’d smiles\\r\\nAs in a looking-glass; and then to sigh, as ’twere\\r\\nThe mort o’ th’ deer. O, that is entertainment\\r\\nMy bosom likes not, nor my brows. Mamillius,\\r\\nArt thou my boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nAy, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI’ fecks!\\r\\nWhy, that’s my bawcock. What! hast smutch’d thy nose?\\r\\nThey say it is a copy out of mine. Come, captain,\\r\\nWe must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain:\\r\\nAnd yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf\\r\\nAre all call’d neat.—Still virginalling\\r\\nUpon his palm?—How now, you wanton calf!\\r\\nArt thou my calf?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nYes, if you will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou want’st a rough pash and the shoots that I have\\r\\nTo be full like me:—yet they say we are\\r\\nAlmost as like as eggs; women say so,\\r\\nThat will say anything. But were they false\\r\\nAs o’er-dy’d blacks, as wind, as waters, false\\r\\nAs dice are to be wish’d by one that fixes\\r\\nNo bourn ’twixt his and mine, yet were it true\\r\\nTo say this boy were like me. Come, sir page,\\r\\nLook on me with your welkin eye: sweet villain!\\r\\nMost dear’st! my collop! Can thy dam?—may’t be?\\r\\nAffection! thy intention stabs the centre:\\r\\nThou dost make possible things not so held,\\r\\nCommunicat’st with dreams;—how can this be?—\\r\\nWith what’s unreal thou coactive art,\\r\\nAnd fellow’st nothing: then ’tis very credent\\r\\nThou may’st co-join with something; and thou dost,\\r\\nAnd that beyond commission, and I find it,\\r\\nAnd that to the infection of my brains\\r\\nAnd hardening of my brows.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWhat means Sicilia?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nHe something seems unsettled.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nHow, my lord?\\r\\nWhat cheer? How is’t with you, best brother?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nYou look\\r\\nAs if you held a brow of much distraction:\\r\\nAre you mov’d, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNo, in good earnest.\\r\\nHow sometimes nature will betray its folly,\\r\\nIts tenderness, and make itself a pastime\\r\\nTo harder bosoms! Looking on the lines\\r\\nOf my boy’s face, methoughts I did recoil\\r\\nTwenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech’d,\\r\\nIn my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzled\\r\\nLest it should bite its master, and so prove,\\r\\nAs ornaments oft do, too dangerous.\\r\\nHow like, methought, I then was to this kernel,\\r\\nThis squash, this gentleman. Mine honest friend,\\r\\nWill you take eggs for money?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nNo, my lord, I’ll fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou will? Why, happy man be ’s dole! My brother,\\r\\nAre you so fond of your young prince as we\\r\\nDo seem to be of ours?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nIf at home, sir,\\r\\nHe’s all my exercise, my mirth, my matter:\\r\\nNow my sworn friend, and then mine enemy;\\r\\nMy parasite, my soldier, statesman, all.\\r\\nHe makes a July’s day short as December;\\r\\nAnd with his varying childness cures in me\\r\\nThoughts that would thick my blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nSo stands this squire\\r\\nOffic’d with me. We two will walk, my lord,\\r\\nAnd leave you to your graver steps. Hermione,\\r\\nHow thou lov’st us show in our brother’s welcome;\\r\\nLet what is dear in Sicily be cheap:\\r\\nNext to thyself and my young rover, he’s\\r\\nApparent to my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nIf you would seek us,\\r\\nWe are yours i’ the garden. Shall ’s attend you there?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTo your own bents dispose you: you’ll be found,\\r\\nBe you beneath the sky. [_Aside._] I am angling now,\\r\\nThough you perceive me not how I give line.\\r\\nGo to, go to!\\r\\nHow she holds up the neb, the bill to him!\\r\\nAnd arms her with the boldness of a wife\\r\\nTo her allowing husband!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Polixenes, Hermione and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGone already!\\r\\nInch-thick, knee-deep, o’er head and ears a fork’d one!—\\r\\nGo, play, boy, play. Thy mother plays, and I\\r\\nPlay too; but so disgrac’d a part, whose issue\\r\\nWill hiss me to my grave: contempt and clamour\\r\\nWill be my knell. Go, play, boy, play. There have been,\\r\\nOr I am much deceiv’d, cuckolds ere now;\\r\\nAnd many a man there is, even at this present,\\r\\nNow while I speak this, holds his wife by th’ arm,\\r\\nThat little thinks she has been sluic’d in ’s absence,\\r\\nAnd his pond fish’d by his next neighbour, by\\r\\nSir Smile, his neighbour. Nay, there’s comfort in ’t,\\r\\nWhiles other men have gates, and those gates open’d,\\r\\nAs mine, against their will. Should all despair\\r\\nThat hath revolted wives, the tenth of mankind\\r\\nWould hang themselves. Physic for’t there’s none;\\r\\nIt is a bawdy planet, that will strike\\r\\nWhere ’tis predominant; and ’tis powerful, think it,\\r\\nFrom east, west, north, and south. Be it concluded,\\r\\nNo barricado for a belly. Know’t;\\r\\nIt will let in and out the enemy\\r\\nWith bag and baggage. Many thousand of us\\r\\nHave the disease, and feel’t not.—How now, boy!\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nI am like you, they say.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhy, that’s some comfort.\\r\\nWhat! Camillo there?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nAy, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGo play, Mamillius; thou’rt an honest man.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Mamillius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCamillo, this great sir will yet stay longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nYou had much ado to make his anchor hold:\\r\\nWhen you cast out, it still came home.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nDidst note it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHe would not stay at your petitions; made\\r\\nHis business more material.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nDidst perceive it?\\r\\n[_Aside._] They’re here with me already; whisp’ring, rounding,\\r\\n“Sicilia is a so-forth.” ’Tis far gone\\r\\nWhen I shall gust it last.—How came’t, Camillo,\\r\\nThat he did stay?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nAt the good queen’s entreaty.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nAt the queen’s be’t: “good” should be pertinent,\\r\\nBut so it is, it is not. Was this taken\\r\\nBy any understanding pate but thine?\\r\\nFor thy conceit is soaking, will draw in\\r\\nMore than the common blocks. Not noted, is’t,\\r\\nBut of the finer natures? by some severals\\r\\nOf head-piece extraordinary? lower messes\\r\\nPerchance are to this business purblind? say.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBusiness, my lord? I think most understand\\r\\nBohemia stays here longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHa?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nStays here longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nAy, but why?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nTo satisfy your highness, and the entreaties\\r\\nOf our most gracious mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nSatisfy?\\r\\nTh’ entreaties of your mistress? Satisfy?\\r\\nLet that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo,\\r\\nWith all the nearest things to my heart, as well\\r\\nMy chamber-counsels, wherein, priest-like, thou\\r\\nHast cleans’d my bosom; I from thee departed\\r\\nThy penitent reform’d. But we have been\\r\\nDeceiv’d in thy integrity, deceiv’d\\r\\nIn that which seems so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBe it forbid, my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTo bide upon’t: thou art not honest; or,\\r\\nIf thou inclin’st that way, thou art a coward,\\r\\nWhich hoxes honesty behind, restraining\\r\\nFrom course requir’d; or else thou must be counted\\r\\nA servant grafted in my serious trust,\\r\\nAnd therein negligent; or else a fool\\r\\nThat seest a game play’d home, the rich stake drawn,\\r\\nAnd tak’st it all for jest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nMy gracious lord,\\r\\nI may be negligent, foolish, and fearful;\\r\\nIn every one of these no man is free,\\r\\nBut that his negligence, his folly, fear,\\r\\nAmong the infinite doings of the world,\\r\\nSometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord,\\r\\nIf ever I were wilful-negligent,\\r\\nIt was my folly; if industriously\\r\\nI play’d the fool, it was my negligence,\\r\\nNot weighing well the end; if ever fearful\\r\\nTo do a thing, where I the issue doubted,\\r\\nWhereof the execution did cry out\\r\\nAgainst the non-performance, ’twas a fear\\r\\nWhich oft affects the wisest: these, my lord,\\r\\nAre such allow’d infirmities that honesty\\r\\nIs never free of. But, beseech your Grace,\\r\\nBe plainer with me; let me know my trespass\\r\\nBy its own visage: if I then deny it,\\r\\n’Tis none of mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHa’ not you seen, Camillo?\\r\\n(But that’s past doubt: you have, or your eye-glass\\r\\nIs thicker than a cuckold’s horn) or heard?\\r\\n(For, to a vision so apparent, rumour\\r\\nCannot be mute) or thought? (for cogitation\\r\\nResides not in that man that does not think)\\r\\nMy wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess,\\r\\nOr else be impudently negative,\\r\\nTo have nor eyes nor ears nor thought, then say\\r\\nMy wife’s a hobby-horse, deserves a name\\r\\nAs rank as any flax-wench that puts to\\r\\nBefore her troth-plight: say’t and justify’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI would not be a stander-by to hear\\r\\nMy sovereign mistress clouded so, without\\r\\nMy present vengeance taken: ’shrew my heart,\\r\\nYou never spoke what did become you less\\r\\nThan this; which to reiterate were sin\\r\\nAs deep as that, though true.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nIs whispering nothing?\\r\\nIs leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses?\\r\\nKissing with inside lip? Stopping the career\\r\\nOf laughter with a sigh?—a note infallible\\r\\nOf breaking honesty?—horsing foot on foot?\\r\\nSkulking in corners? Wishing clocks more swift?\\r\\nHours, minutes? Noon, midnight? and all eyes\\r\\nBlind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only,\\r\\nThat would unseen be wicked? Is this nothing?\\r\\nWhy, then the world and all that’s in’t is nothing,\\r\\nThe covering sky is nothing, Bohemia nothing,\\r\\nMy wife is nothing, nor nothing have these nothings,\\r\\nIf this be nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nGood my lord, be cur’d\\r\\nOf this diseas’d opinion, and betimes,\\r\\nFor ’tis most dangerous.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nSay it be, ’tis true.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNo, no, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nIt is; you lie, you lie:\\r\\nI say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee,\\r\\nPronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave,\\r\\nOr else a hovering temporizer that\\r\\nCanst with thine eyes at once see good and evil,\\r\\nInclining to them both. Were my wife’s liver\\r\\nInfected as her life, she would not live\\r\\nThe running of one glass.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nWho does infect her?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhy, he that wears her like her medal, hanging\\r\\nAbout his neck, Bohemia: who, if I\\r\\nHad servants true about me, that bare eyes\\r\\nTo see alike mine honour as their profits,\\r\\nTheir own particular thrifts, they would do that\\r\\nWhich should undo more doing: ay, and thou,\\r\\nHis cupbearer,—whom I from meaner form\\r\\nHave bench’d and rear’d to worship, who mayst see\\r\\nPlainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees heaven,\\r\\nHow I am galled,—mightst bespice a cup,\\r\\nTo give mine enemy a lasting wink;\\r\\nWhich draught to me were cordial.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSir, my lord,\\r\\nI could do this, and that with no rash potion,\\r\\nBut with a ling’ring dram, that should not work\\r\\nMaliciously like poison. But I cannot\\r\\nBelieve this crack to be in my dread mistress,\\r\\nSo sovereignly being honourable.\\r\\nI have lov’d thee,—\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nMake that thy question, and go rot!\\r\\nDost think I am so muddy, so unsettled,\\r\\nTo appoint myself in this vexation; sully\\r\\nThe purity and whiteness of my sheets,\\r\\n(Which to preserve is sleep, which being spotted\\r\\nIs goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps)\\r\\nGive scandal to the blood o’ th’ prince, my son,\\r\\n(Who I do think is mine, and love as mine)\\r\\nWithout ripe moving to’t? Would I do this?\\r\\nCould man so blench?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI must believe you, sir:\\r\\nI do; and will fetch off Bohemia for’t;\\r\\nProvided that, when he’s remov’d, your highness\\r\\nWill take again your queen as yours at first,\\r\\nEven for your son’s sake, and thereby for sealing\\r\\nThe injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms\\r\\nKnown and allied to yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou dost advise me\\r\\nEven so as I mine own course have set down:\\r\\nI’ll give no blemish to her honour, none.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nMy lord,\\r\\nGo then; and with a countenance as clear\\r\\nAs friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia\\r\\nAnd with your queen. I am his cupbearer.\\r\\nIf from me he have wholesome beverage,\\r\\nAccount me not your servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThis is all:\\r\\nDo’t, and thou hast the one half of my heart;\\r\\nDo’t not, thou splitt’st thine own.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI’ll do’t, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI will seem friendly, as thou hast advis’d me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nO miserable lady! But, for me,\\r\\nWhat case stand I in? I must be the poisoner\\r\\nOf good Polixenes, and my ground to do’t\\r\\nIs the obedience to a master; one\\r\\nWho, in rebellion with himself, will have\\r\\nAll that are his so too. To do this deed,\\r\\nPromotion follows. If I could find example\\r\\nOf thousands that had struck anointed kings\\r\\nAnd flourish’d after, I’d not do’t. But since\\r\\nNor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one,\\r\\nLet villainy itself forswear’t. I must\\r\\nForsake the court: to do’t, or no, is certain\\r\\nTo me a break-neck. Happy star reign now!\\r\\nHere comes Bohemia.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Polixenes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThis is strange. Methinks\\r\\nMy favour here begins to warp. Not speak?\\r\\nGood day, Camillo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHail, most royal sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWhat is the news i’ th’ court?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNone rare, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThe king hath on him such a countenance\\r\\nAs he had lost some province, and a region\\r\\nLov’d as he loves himself. Even now I met him\\r\\nWith customary compliment, when he,\\r\\nWafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling\\r\\nA lip of much contempt, speeds from me, and\\r\\nSo leaves me to consider what is breeding\\r\\nThat changes thus his manners.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI dare not know, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nHow, dare not? Do not? Do you know, and dare not?\\r\\nBe intelligent to me? ’Tis thereabouts;\\r\\nFor, to yourself, what you do know, you must,\\r\\nAnd cannot say you dare not. Good Camillo,\\r\\nYour chang’d complexions are to me a mirror\\r\\nWhich shows me mine chang’d too; for I must be\\r\\nA party in this alteration, finding\\r\\nMyself thus alter’d with’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThere is a sickness\\r\\nWhich puts some of us in distemper, but\\r\\nI cannot name the disease, and it is caught\\r\\nOf you that yet are well.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nHow caught of me?\\r\\nMake me not sighted like the basilisk.\\r\\nI have look’d on thousands who have sped the better\\r\\nBy my regard, but kill’d none so. Camillo,—\\r\\nAs you are certainly a gentleman, thereto\\r\\nClerk-like, experienc’d, which no less adorns\\r\\nOur gentry than our parents’ noble names,\\r\\nIn whose success we are gentle,—I beseech you,\\r\\nIf you know aught which does behove my knowledge\\r\\nThereof to be inform’d, imprison’t not\\r\\nIn ignorant concealment.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI may not answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nA sickness caught of me, and yet I well?\\r\\nI must be answer’d. Dost thou hear, Camillo,\\r\\nI conjure thee, by all the parts of man\\r\\nWhich honour does acknowledge, whereof the least\\r\\nIs not this suit of mine, that thou declare\\r\\nWhat incidency thou dost guess of harm\\r\\nIs creeping toward me; how far off, how near;\\r\\nWhich way to be prevented, if to be;\\r\\nIf not, how best to bear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSir, I will tell you;\\r\\nSince I am charg’d in honour, and by him\\r\\nThat I think honourable. Therefore mark my counsel,\\r\\nWhich must be ev’n as swiftly follow’d as\\r\\nI mean to utter it, or both yourself and me\\r\\nCry lost, and so goodnight!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nOn, good Camillo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI am appointed him to murder you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nBy whom, Camillo?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBy the king.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nFor what?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHe thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears,\\r\\nAs he had seen’t or been an instrument\\r\\nTo vice you to’t, that you have touch’d his queen\\r\\nForbiddenly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nO, then my best blood turn\\r\\nTo an infected jelly, and my name\\r\\nBe yok’d with his that did betray the Best!\\r\\nTurn then my freshest reputation to\\r\\nA savour that may strike the dullest nostril\\r\\nWhere I arrive, and my approach be shunn’d,\\r\\nNay, hated too, worse than the great’st infection\\r\\nThat e’er was heard or read!\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSwear his thought over\\r\\nBy each particular star in heaven and\\r\\nBy all their influences, you may as well\\r\\nForbid the sea for to obey the moon\\r\\nAs or by oath remove or counsel shake\\r\\nThe fabric of his folly, whose foundation\\r\\nIs pil’d upon his faith, and will continue\\r\\nThe standing of his body.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nHow should this grow?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI know not: but I am sure ’tis safer to\\r\\nAvoid what’s grown than question how ’tis born.\\r\\nIf therefore you dare trust my honesty,\\r\\nThat lies enclosed in this trunk, which you\\r\\nShall bear along impawn’d, away tonight.\\r\\nYour followers I will whisper to the business,\\r\\nAnd will by twos and threes, at several posterns,\\r\\nClear them o’ th’ city. For myself, I’ll put\\r\\nMy fortunes to your service, which are here\\r\\nBy this discovery lost. Be not uncertain,\\r\\nFor, by the honour of my parents, I\\r\\nHave utter’d truth: which if you seek to prove,\\r\\nI dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer\\r\\nThan one condemned by the king’s own mouth,\\r\\nThereon his execution sworn.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI do believe thee.\\r\\nI saw his heart in ’s face. Give me thy hand,\\r\\nBe pilot to me, and thy places shall\\r\\nStill neighbour mine. My ships are ready, and\\r\\nMy people did expect my hence departure\\r\\nTwo days ago. This jealousy\\r\\nIs for a precious creature: as she’s rare,\\r\\nMust it be great; and, as his person’s mighty,\\r\\nMust it be violent; and as he does conceive\\r\\nHe is dishonour’d by a man which ever\\r\\nProfess’d to him, why, his revenges must\\r\\nIn that be made more bitter. Fear o’ershades me.\\r\\nGood expedition be my friend, and comfort\\r\\nThe gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing\\r\\nOf his ill-ta’en suspicion! Come, Camillo,\\r\\nI will respect thee as a father if\\r\\nThou bear’st my life off hence. Let us avoid.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nIt is in mine authority to command\\r\\nThe keys of all the posterns: please your highness\\r\\nTo take the urgent hour. Come, sir, away.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Sicilia. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hermione, Mamillius and Ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nTake the boy to you: he so troubles me,\\r\\n’Tis past enduring.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LADY.\\r\\nCome, my gracious lord,\\r\\nShall I be your playfellow?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nNo, I’ll none of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LADY.\\r\\nWhy, my sweet lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nYou’ll kiss me hard, and speak to me as if\\r\\nI were a baby still. I love you better.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LADY.\\r\\nAnd why so, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nNot for because\\r\\nYour brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say,\\r\\nBecome some women best, so that there be not\\r\\nToo much hair there, but in a semicircle\\r\\nOr a half-moon made with a pen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LADY.\\r\\nWho taught this?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nI learn’d it out of women’s faces. Pray now,\\r\\nWhat colour are your eyebrows?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LADY.\\r\\nBlue, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nNay, that’s a mock. I have seen a lady’s nose\\r\\nThat has been blue, but not her eyebrows.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LADY.\\r\\nHark ye,\\r\\nThe queen your mother rounds apace. We shall\\r\\nPresent our services to a fine new prince\\r\\nOne of these days, and then you’d wanton with us,\\r\\nIf we would have you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LADY.\\r\\nShe is spread of late\\r\\nInto a goodly bulk: good time encounter her!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWhat wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now\\r\\nI am for you again. Pray you sit by us,\\r\\nAnd tell ’s a tale.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nMerry or sad shall’t be?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nAs merry as you will.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nA sad tale’s best for winter. I have one\\r\\nOf sprites and goblins.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nLet’s have that, good sir.\\r\\nCome on, sit down. Come on, and do your best\\r\\nTo fright me with your sprites: you’re powerful at it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nThere was a man,—\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNay, come, sit down, then on.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nDwelt by a churchyard. I will tell it softly,\\r\\nYond crickets shall not hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nCome on then,\\r\\nAnd give’t me in mine ear.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords and Guards.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWas he met there? his train? Camillo with him?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nBehind the tuft of pines I met them, never\\r\\nSaw I men scour so on their way: I ey’d them\\r\\nEven to their ships.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow blest am I\\r\\nIn my just censure, in my true opinion!\\r\\nAlack, for lesser knowledge! How accurs’d\\r\\nIn being so blest! There may be in the cup\\r\\nA spider steep’d, and one may drink, depart,\\r\\nAnd yet partake no venom, for his knowledge\\r\\nIs not infected; but if one present\\r\\nTh’ abhorr’d ingredient to his eye, make known\\r\\nHow he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides,\\r\\nWith violent hefts. I have drunk, and seen the spider.\\r\\nCamillo was his help in this, his pander.\\r\\nThere is a plot against my life, my crown;\\r\\nAll’s true that is mistrusted. That false villain\\r\\nWhom I employ’d, was pre-employ’d by him.\\r\\nHe has discover’d my design, and I\\r\\nRemain a pinch’d thing; yea, a very trick\\r\\nFor them to play at will. How came the posterns\\r\\nSo easily open?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nBy his great authority,\\r\\nWhich often hath no less prevail’d than so\\r\\nOn your command.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI know’t too well.\\r\\nGive me the boy. I am glad you did not nurse him.\\r\\nThough he does bear some signs of me, yet you\\r\\nHave too much blood in him.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWhat is this? sport?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nBear the boy hence, he shall not come about her,\\r\\nAway with him, and let her sport herself\\r\\nWith that she’s big with; for ’tis Polixenes\\r\\nHas made thee swell thus.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Mamillius with some of the Guards._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nBut I’d say he had not,\\r\\nAnd I’ll be sworn you would believe my saying,\\r\\nHowe’er you learn th’ nayward.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou, my lords,\\r\\nLook on her, mark her well. Be but about\\r\\nTo say, “she is a goodly lady,” and\\r\\nThe justice of your hearts will thereto add\\r\\n“’Tis pity she’s not honest, honourable”:\\r\\nPraise her but for this her without-door form,\\r\\nWhich on my faith deserves high speech, and straight\\r\\nThe shrug, the hum or ha, these petty brands\\r\\nThat calumny doth use—O, I am out,\\r\\nThat mercy does; for calumny will sear\\r\\nVirtue itself—these shrugs, these hum’s, and ha’s,\\r\\nWhen you have said “she’s goodly,” come between,\\r\\nEre you can say “she’s honest”: but be it known,\\r\\nFrom him that has most cause to grieve it should be,\\r\\nShe’s an adultress!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nShould a villain say so,\\r\\nThe most replenish’d villain in the world,\\r\\nHe were as much more villain: you, my lord,\\r\\nDo but mistake.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou have mistook, my lady,\\r\\nPolixenes for Leontes O thou thing,\\r\\nWhich I’ll not call a creature of thy place,\\r\\nLest barbarism, making me the precedent,\\r\\nShould a like language use to all degrees,\\r\\nAnd mannerly distinguishment leave out\\r\\nBetwixt the prince and beggar. I have said\\r\\nShe’s an adultress; I have said with whom:\\r\\nMore, she’s a traitor, and Camillo is\\r\\nA federary with her; and one that knows\\r\\nWhat she should shame to know herself\\r\\nBut with her most vile principal, that she’s\\r\\nA bed-swerver, even as bad as those\\r\\nThat vulgars give bold’st titles; ay, and privy\\r\\nTo this their late escape.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNo, by my life,\\r\\nPrivy to none of this. How will this grieve you,\\r\\nWhen you shall come to clearer knowledge, that\\r\\nYou thus have publish’d me! Gentle my lord,\\r\\nYou scarce can right me throughly then, to say\\r\\nYou did mistake.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNo. If I mistake\\r\\nIn those foundations which I build upon,\\r\\nThe centre is not big enough to bear\\r\\nA school-boy’s top. Away with her to prison!\\r\\nHe who shall speak for her is afar off guilty\\r\\nBut that he speaks.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nThere’s some ill planet reigns:\\r\\nI must be patient till the heavens look\\r\\nWith an aspect more favourable. Good my lords,\\r\\nI am not prone to weeping, as our sex\\r\\nCommonly are; the want of which vain dew\\r\\nPerchance shall dry your pities. But I have\\r\\nThat honourable grief lodg’d here which burns\\r\\nWorse than tears drown: beseech you all, my lords,\\r\\nWith thoughts so qualified as your charities\\r\\nShall best instruct you, measure me; and so\\r\\nThe king’s will be perform’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nShall I be heard?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWho is’t that goes with me? Beseech your highness\\r\\nMy women may be with me, for you see\\r\\nMy plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools;\\r\\nThere is no cause: when you shall know your mistress\\r\\nHas deserv’d prison, then abound in tears\\r\\nAs I come out: this action I now go on\\r\\nIs for my better grace. Adieu, my lord:\\r\\nI never wish’d to see you sorry; now\\r\\nI trust I shall. My women, come; you have leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGo, do our bidding. Hence!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Queen and Ladies with Guards._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nBeseech your highness, call the queen again.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nBe certain what you do, sir, lest your justice\\r\\nProve violence, in the which three great ones suffer,\\r\\nYourself, your queen, your son.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nFor her, my lord,\\r\\nI dare my life lay down, and will do’t, sir,\\r\\nPlease you to accept it, that the queen is spotless\\r\\nI’ th’ eyes of heaven and to you—I mean\\r\\nIn this which you accuse her.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nIf it prove\\r\\nShe’s otherwise, I’ll keep my stables where\\r\\nI lodge my wife; I’ll go in couples with her;\\r\\nThan when I feel and see her no further trust her.\\r\\nFor every inch of woman in the world,\\r\\nAy, every dram of woman’s flesh, is false,\\r\\nIf she be.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHold your peaces.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nGood my lord,—\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nIt is for you we speak, not for ourselves:\\r\\nYou are abus’d, and by some putter-on\\r\\nThat will be damn’d for’t: would I knew the villain,\\r\\nI would land-damn him. Be she honour-flaw’d,\\r\\nI have three daughters; the eldest is eleven;\\r\\nThe second and the third, nine and some five;\\r\\nIf this prove true, they’ll pay for’t. By mine honour,\\r\\nI’ll geld ’em all; fourteen they shall not see,\\r\\nTo bring false generations: they are co-heirs,\\r\\nAnd I had rather glib myself than they\\r\\nShould not produce fair issue.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nCease; no more.\\r\\nYou smell this business with a sense as cold\\r\\nAs is a dead man’s nose: but I do see’t and feel’t,\\r\\nAs you feel doing thus; and see withal\\r\\nThe instruments that feel.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nIf it be so,\\r\\nWe need no grave to bury honesty.\\r\\nThere’s not a grain of it the face to sweeten\\r\\nOf the whole dungy earth.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat! Lack I credit?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nI had rather you did lack than I, my lord,\\r\\nUpon this ground: and more it would content me\\r\\nTo have her honour true than your suspicion,\\r\\nBe blam’d for’t how you might.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhy, what need we\\r\\nCommune with you of this, but rather follow\\r\\nOur forceful instigation? Our prerogative\\r\\nCalls not your counsels, but our natural goodness\\r\\nImparts this; which, if you, or stupified\\r\\nOr seeming so in skill, cannot or will not\\r\\nRelish a truth, like us, inform yourselves\\r\\nWe need no more of your advice: the matter,\\r\\nThe loss, the gain, the ord’ring on’t, is all\\r\\nProperly ours.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nAnd I wish, my liege,\\r\\nYou had only in your silent judgement tried it,\\r\\nWithout more overture.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow could that be?\\r\\nEither thou art most ignorant by age,\\r\\nOr thou wert born a fool. Camillo’s flight,\\r\\nAdded to their familiarity,\\r\\n(Which was as gross as ever touch’d conjecture,\\r\\nThat lack’d sight only, nought for approbation\\r\\nBut only seeing, all other circumstances\\r\\nMade up to th’ deed) doth push on this proceeding.\\r\\nYet, for a greater confirmation\\r\\n(For in an act of this importance, ’twere\\r\\nMost piteous to be wild), I have dispatch’d in post\\r\\nTo sacred Delphos, to Apollo’s temple,\\r\\nCleomenes and Dion, whom you know\\r\\nOf stuff’d sufficiency: now from the oracle\\r\\nThey will bring all, whose spiritual counsel had,\\r\\nShall stop or spur me. Have I done well?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nWell done, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThough I am satisfied, and need no more\\r\\nThan what I know, yet shall the oracle\\r\\nGive rest to the minds of others, such as he\\r\\nWhose ignorant credulity will not\\r\\nCome up to th’ truth. So have we thought it good\\r\\nFrom our free person she should be confin’d,\\r\\nLest that the treachery of the two fled hence\\r\\nBe left her to perform. Come, follow us;\\r\\nWe are to speak in public; for this business\\r\\nWill raise us all.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] To laughter, as I take it,\\r\\nIf the good truth were known.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. The outer Room of a Prison.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paulina a Gentleman and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThe keeper of the prison, call to him;\\r\\nLet him have knowledge who I am.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit the Gentleman._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGood lady!\\r\\nNo court in Europe is too good for thee;\\r\\nWhat dost thou then in prison?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gentleman with the Gaoler.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, good sir,\\r\\nYou know me, do you not?\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nFor a worthy lady\\r\\nAnd one who much I honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nPray you then,\\r\\nConduct me to the queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nI may not, madam.\\r\\nTo the contrary I have express commandment.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nHere’s ado, to lock up honesty and honour from\\r\\nTh’ access of gentle visitors! Is’t lawful, pray you,\\r\\nTo see her women? any of them? Emilia?\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nSo please you, madam,\\r\\nTo put apart these your attendants, I\\r\\nShall bring Emilia forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI pray now, call her.\\r\\nWithdraw yourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Gentleman and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nAnd, madam,\\r\\nI must be present at your conference.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWell, be’t so, prithee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Gaoler._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHere’s such ado to make no stain a stain\\r\\nAs passes colouring.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Gaoler with Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nDear gentlewoman,\\r\\nHow fares our gracious lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAs well as one so great and so forlorn\\r\\nMay hold together: on her frights and griefs,\\r\\n(Which never tender lady hath borne greater)\\r\\nShe is, something before her time, deliver’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nA boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nA daughter; and a goodly babe,\\r\\nLusty, and like to live: the queen receives\\r\\nMuch comfort in ’t; says “My poor prisoner,\\r\\nI am as innocent as you.”\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI dare be sworn.\\r\\nThese dangerous unsafe lunes i’ th’ king, beshrew them!\\r\\nHe must be told on’t, and he shall: the office\\r\\nBecomes a woman best. I’ll take’t upon me.\\r\\nIf I prove honey-mouth’d, let my tongue blister,\\r\\nAnd never to my red-look’d anger be\\r\\nThe trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia,\\r\\nCommend my best obedience to the queen.\\r\\nIf she dares trust me with her little babe,\\r\\nI’ll show’t the king, and undertake to be\\r\\nHer advocate to th’ loud’st. We do not know\\r\\nHow he may soften at the sight o’ th’ child:\\r\\nThe silence often of pure innocence\\r\\nPersuades, when speaking fails.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMost worthy madam,\\r\\nYour honour and your goodness is so evident,\\r\\nThat your free undertaking cannot miss\\r\\nA thriving issue: there is no lady living\\r\\nSo meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship\\r\\nTo visit the next room, I’ll presently\\r\\nAcquaint the queen of your most noble offer,\\r\\nWho but today hammer’d of this design,\\r\\nBut durst not tempt a minister of honour,\\r\\nLest she should be denied.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nTell her, Emilia,\\r\\nI’ll use that tongue I have: if wit flow from ’t\\r\\nAs boldness from my bosom, let’t not be doubted\\r\\nI shall do good.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNow be you blest for it!\\r\\nI’ll to the queen: please you come something nearer.\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nMadam, if ’t please the queen to send the babe,\\r\\nI know not what I shall incur to pass it,\\r\\nHaving no warrant.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nYou need not fear it, sir:\\r\\nThis child was prisoner to the womb, and is,\\r\\nBy law and process of great nature thence\\r\\nFreed and enfranchis’d: not a party to\\r\\nThe anger of the king, nor guilty of,\\r\\nIf any be, the trespass of the queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nI do believe it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nDo not you fear: upon mine honour, I\\r\\nWill stand betwixt you and danger.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords and other Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNor night nor day no rest: it is but weakness\\r\\nTo bear the matter thus, mere weakness. If\\r\\nThe cause were not in being,—part o’ th’ cause,\\r\\nShe th’ adultress; for the harlot king\\r\\nIs quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank\\r\\nAnd level of my brain, plot-proof. But she\\r\\nI can hook to me. Say that she were gone,\\r\\nGiven to the fire, a moiety of my rest\\r\\nMight come to me again. Who’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST ATTENDANT.\\r\\nMy lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow does the boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST ATTENDANT.\\r\\nHe took good rest tonight;\\r\\n’Tis hop’d his sickness is discharg’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTo see his nobleness,\\r\\nConceiving the dishonour of his mother.\\r\\nHe straight declin’d, droop’d, took it deeply,\\r\\nFasten’d and fix’d the shame on’t in himself,\\r\\nThrew off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep,\\r\\nAnd downright languish’d. Leave me solely: go,\\r\\nSee how he fares.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit First Attendant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFie, fie! no thought of him.\\r\\nThe very thought of my revenges that way\\r\\nRecoil upon me: in himself too mighty,\\r\\nAnd in his parties, his alliance. Let him be,\\r\\nUntil a time may serve. For present vengeance,\\r\\nTake it on her. Camillo and Polixenes\\r\\nLaugh at me; make their pastime at my sorrow:\\r\\nThey should not laugh if I could reach them, nor\\r\\nShall she, within my power.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paulina carrying a baby, with Antigonus, lords and servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nYou must not enter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNay, rather, good my lords, be second to me:\\r\\nFear you his tyrannous passion more, alas,\\r\\nThan the queen’s life? a gracious innocent soul,\\r\\nMore free than he is jealous.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nThat’s enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMadam, he hath not slept tonight; commanded\\r\\nNone should come at him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNot so hot, good sir;\\r\\nI come to bring him sleep. ’Tis such as you,\\r\\nThat creep like shadows by him, and do sigh\\r\\nAt each his needless heavings,—such as you\\r\\nNourish the cause of his awaking. I\\r\\nDo come with words as med’cinal as true,\\r\\nHonest as either, to purge him of that humour\\r\\nThat presses him from sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat noise there, ho?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNo noise, my lord; but needful conference\\r\\nAbout some gossips for your highness.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow!\\r\\nAway with that audacious lady! Antigonus,\\r\\nI charg’d thee that she should not come about me.\\r\\nI knew she would.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI told her so, my lord,\\r\\nOn your displeasure’s peril and on mine,\\r\\nShe should not visit you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat, canst not rule her?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nFrom all dishonesty he can. In this,\\r\\nUnless he take the course that you have done,\\r\\nCommit me for committing honour—trust it,\\r\\nHe shall not rule me.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nLa you now, you hear.\\r\\nWhen she will take the rein I let her run;\\r\\nBut she’ll not stumble.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nGood my liege, I come,—\\r\\nAnd, I beseech you hear me, who professes\\r\\nMyself your loyal servant, your physician,\\r\\nYour most obedient counsellor, yet that dares\\r\\nLess appear so, in comforting your evils,\\r\\nThan such as most seem yours—I say I come\\r\\nFrom your good queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGood queen!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nGood queen, my lord, good queen: I say, good queen,\\r\\nAnd would by combat make her good, so were I\\r\\nA man, the worst about you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nForce her hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nLet him that makes but trifles of his eyes\\r\\nFirst hand me: on mine own accord I’ll off;\\r\\nBut first I’ll do my errand. The good queen,\\r\\n(For she is good) hath brought you forth a daughter;\\r\\nHere ’tis; commends it to your blessing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Laying down the child._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nOut!\\r\\nA mankind witch! Hence with her, out o’ door:\\r\\nA most intelligencing bawd!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNot so.\\r\\nI am as ignorant in that as you\\r\\nIn so entitling me; and no less honest\\r\\nThan you are mad; which is enough, I’ll warrant,\\r\\nAs this world goes, to pass for honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTraitors!\\r\\nWill you not push her out? [_To Antigonus._] Give her the bastard,\\r\\nThou dotard! Thou art woman-tir’d, unroosted\\r\\nBy thy Dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard,\\r\\nTake’t up, I say; give’t to thy crone.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nFor ever\\r\\nUnvenerable be thy hands, if thou\\r\\nTak’st up the princess by that forced baseness\\r\\nWhich he has put upon ’t!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHe dreads his wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nSo I would you did; then ’twere past all doubt\\r\\nYou’d call your children yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nA nest of traitors!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI am none, by this good light.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNor I; nor any\\r\\nBut one that’s here, and that’s himself. For he\\r\\nThe sacred honour of himself, his queen’s,\\r\\nHis hopeful son’s, his babe’s, betrays to slander,\\r\\nWhose sting is sharper than the sword’s; and will not,\\r\\n(For, as the case now stands, it is a curse\\r\\nHe cannot be compell’d to’t) once remove\\r\\nThe root of his opinion, which is rotten\\r\\nAs ever oak or stone was sound.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nA callat\\r\\nOf boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband,\\r\\nAnd now baits me! This brat is none of mine;\\r\\nIt is the issue of Polixenes.\\r\\nHence with it, and together with the dam\\r\\nCommit them to the fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nIt is yours;\\r\\nAnd, might we lay th’ old proverb to your charge,\\r\\nSo like you ’tis the worse. Behold, my lords,\\r\\nAlthough the print be little, the whole matter\\r\\nAnd copy of the father: eye, nose, lip,\\r\\nThe trick of ’s frown, his forehead; nay, the valley,\\r\\nThe pretty dimples of his chin and cheek; his smiles;\\r\\nThe very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger:\\r\\nAnd thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it\\r\\nSo like to him that got it, if thou hast\\r\\nThe ordering of the mind too, ’mongst all colours\\r\\nNo yellow in ’t, lest she suspect, as he does,\\r\\nHer children not her husband’s!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nA gross hag!\\r\\nAnd, losel, thou art worthy to be hang’d\\r\\nThat wilt not stay her tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nHang all the husbands\\r\\nThat cannot do that feat, you’ll leave yourself\\r\\nHardly one subject.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nOnce more, take her hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nA most unworthy and unnatural lord\\r\\nCan do no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI’ll have thee burnt.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI care not.\\r\\nIt is an heretic that makes the fire,\\r\\nNot she which burns in ’t. I’ll not call you tyrant;\\r\\nBut this most cruel usage of your queen,\\r\\nNot able to produce more accusation\\r\\nThan your own weak-hing’d fancy, something savours\\r\\nOf tyranny, and will ignoble make you,\\r\\nYea, scandalous to the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nOn your allegiance,\\r\\nOut of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant,\\r\\nWhere were her life? She durst not call me so,\\r\\nIf she did know me one. Away with her!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI pray you, do not push me; I’ll be gone.\\r\\nLook to your babe, my lord; ’tis yours: Jove send her\\r\\nA better guiding spirit! What needs these hands?\\r\\nYou that are thus so tender o’er his follies,\\r\\nWill never do him good, not one of you.\\r\\nSo, so. Farewell; we are gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.\\r\\nMy child? Away with’t. Even thou, that hast\\r\\nA heart so tender o’er it, take it hence,\\r\\nAnd see it instantly consum’d with fire;\\r\\nEven thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight:\\r\\nWithin this hour bring me word ’tis done,\\r\\nAnd by good testimony, or I’ll seize thy life,\\r\\nWith that thou else call’st thine. If thou refuse\\r\\nAnd wilt encounter with my wrath, say so;\\r\\nThe bastard brains with these my proper hands\\r\\nShall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire;\\r\\nFor thou set’st on thy wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI did not, sir:\\r\\nThese lords, my noble fellows, if they please,\\r\\nCan clear me in ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORDS\\r\\nWe can: my royal liege,\\r\\nHe is not guilty of her coming hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou’re liars all.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nBeseech your highness, give us better credit:\\r\\nWe have always truly serv’d you; and beseech\\r\\nSo to esteem of us. And on our knees we beg,\\r\\nAs recompense of our dear services\\r\\nPast and to come, that you do change this purpose,\\r\\nWhich being so horrible, so bloody, must\\r\\nLead on to some foul issue. We all kneel.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI am a feather for each wind that blows.\\r\\nShall I live on to see this bastard kneel\\r\\nAnd call me father? better burn it now\\r\\nThan curse it then. But be it; let it live.\\r\\nIt shall not neither. [_To Antigonus._] You, sir, come you hither,\\r\\nYou that have been so tenderly officious\\r\\nWith Lady Margery, your midwife, there,\\r\\nTo save this bastard’s life—for ’tis a bastard,\\r\\nSo sure as this beard’s grey. What will you adventure\\r\\nTo save this brat’s life?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nAnything, my lord,\\r\\nThat my ability may undergo,\\r\\nAnd nobleness impose: at least thus much:\\r\\nI’ll pawn the little blood which I have left\\r\\nTo save the innocent. Anything possible.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nIt shall be possible. Swear by this sword\\r\\nThou wilt perform my bidding.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nMark, and perform it, seest thou? for the fail\\r\\nOf any point in’t shall not only be\\r\\nDeath to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongu’d wife,\\r\\nWhom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee,\\r\\nAs thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry\\r\\nThis female bastard hence, and that thou bear it\\r\\nTo some remote and desert place, quite out\\r\\nOf our dominions; and that there thou leave it,\\r\\nWithout more mercy, to it own protection\\r\\nAnd favour of the climate. As by strange fortune\\r\\nIt came to us, I do in justice charge thee,\\r\\nOn thy soul’s peril and thy body’s torture,\\r\\nThat thou commend it strangely to some place\\r\\nWhere chance may nurse or end it. Take it up.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI swear to do this, though a present death\\r\\nHad been more merciful. Come on, poor babe:\\r\\nSome powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens\\r\\nTo be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say,\\r\\nCasting their savageness aside, have done\\r\\nLike offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous\\r\\nIn more than this deed does require! And blessing\\r\\nAgainst this cruelty, fight on thy side,\\r\\nPoor thing, condemn’d to loss!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with the child._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNo, I’ll not rear\\r\\nAnother’s issue.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nPlease your highness, posts\\r\\nFrom those you sent to th’ oracle are come\\r\\nAn hour since: Cleomenes and Dion,\\r\\nBeing well arriv’d from Delphos, are both landed,\\r\\nHasting to th’ court.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nSo please you, sir, their speed\\r\\nHath been beyond account.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTwenty-three days\\r\\nThey have been absent: ’tis good speed; foretells\\r\\nThe great Apollo suddenly will have\\r\\nThe truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords;\\r\\nSummon a session, that we may arraign\\r\\nOur most disloyal lady; for, as she hath\\r\\nBeen publicly accus’d, so shall she have\\r\\nA just and open trial. While she lives,\\r\\nMy heart will be a burden to me. Leave me,\\r\\nAnd think upon my bidding.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Sicilia. A Street in some Town.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cleomenes and Dion.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nThe climate’s delicate; the air most sweet,\\r\\nFertile the isle, the temple much surpassing\\r\\nThe common praise it bears.\\r\\n\\r\\nDION.\\r\\nI shall report,\\r\\nFor most it caught me, the celestial habits\\r\\n(Methinks I so should term them) and the reverence\\r\\nOf the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice!\\r\\nHow ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly,\\r\\nIt was i’ th’ offering!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nBut of all, the burst\\r\\nAnd the ear-deaf’ning voice o’ th’ oracle,\\r\\nKin to Jove’s thunder, so surprised my sense\\r\\nThat I was nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nDION.\\r\\nIf the event o’ th’ journey\\r\\nProve as successful to the queen,—O, be’t so!—\\r\\nAs it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy,\\r\\nThe time is worth the use on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nGreat Apollo\\r\\nTurn all to th’ best! These proclamations,\\r\\nSo forcing faults upon Hermione,\\r\\nI little like.\\r\\n\\r\\nDION.\\r\\nThe violent carriage of it\\r\\nWill clear or end the business: when the oracle,\\r\\n(Thus by Apollo’s great divine seal’d up)\\r\\nShall the contents discover, something rare\\r\\nEven then will rush to knowledge. Go. Fresh horses!\\r\\nAnd gracious be the issue!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. A Court of Justice.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Lords and Officers appear, properly seated.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThis sessions (to our great grief we pronounce)\\r\\nEven pushes ’gainst our heart: the party tried\\r\\nThe daughter of a king, our wife, and one\\r\\nOf us too much belov’d. Let us be clear’d\\r\\nOf being tyrannous, since we so openly\\r\\nProceed in justice, which shall have due course,\\r\\nEven to the guilt or the purgation.\\r\\nProduce the prisoner.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nIt is his highness’ pleasure that the queen\\r\\nAppear in person here in court. Silence!\\r\\n\\r\\n Hermione is brought in guarded; Paulina and Ladies attending.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nRead the indictment.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\n[_Reads._] “Hermione, queen to the worthy Leontes, king of Sicilia,\\r\\nthou art here accused and arraigned of high treason, in committing\\r\\nadultery with Polixenes, king of Bohemia; and conspiring with Camillo\\r\\nto take away the life of our sovereign lord the king, thy royal\\r\\nhusband: the pretence whereof being by circumstances partly laid open,\\r\\nthou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance of a true subject,\\r\\ndidst counsel and aid them, for their better safety, to fly away by\\r\\nnight.”\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nSince what I am to say must be but that\\r\\nWhich contradicts my accusation, and\\r\\nThe testimony on my part no other\\r\\nBut what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me\\r\\nTo say “Not guilty”. Mine integrity,\\r\\nBeing counted falsehood, shall, as I express it,\\r\\nBe so receiv’d. But thus, if powers divine\\r\\nBehold our human actions, as they do,\\r\\nI doubt not, then, but innocence shall make\\r\\nFalse accusation blush, and tyranny\\r\\nTremble at patience. You, my lord, best know,\\r\\nWho least will seem to do so, my past life\\r\\nHath been as continent, as chaste, as true,\\r\\nAs I am now unhappy; which is more\\r\\nThan history can pattern, though devis’d\\r\\nAnd play’d to take spectators. For behold me,\\r\\nA fellow of the royal bed, which owe\\r\\nA moiety of the throne, a great king’s daughter,\\r\\nThe mother to a hopeful prince, here standing\\r\\nTo prate and talk for life and honour ’fore\\r\\nWho please to come and hear. For life, I prize it\\r\\nAs I weigh grief, which I would spare. For honour,\\r\\n’Tis a derivative from me to mine,\\r\\nAnd only that I stand for. I appeal\\r\\nTo your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes\\r\\nCame to your court, how I was in your grace,\\r\\nHow merited to be so; since he came,\\r\\nWith what encounter so uncurrent I\\r\\nHave strain’d t’ appear thus: if one jot beyond\\r\\nThe bound of honour, or in act or will\\r\\nThat way inclining, harden’d be the hearts\\r\\nOf all that hear me, and my near’st of kin\\r\\nCry fie upon my grave!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI ne’er heard yet\\r\\nThat any of these bolder vices wanted\\r\\nLess impudence to gainsay what they did\\r\\nThan to perform it first.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nThat’s true enough;\\r\\nThough ’tis a saying, sir, not due to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou will not own it.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nMore than mistress of\\r\\nWhich comes to me in name of fault, I must not\\r\\nAt all acknowledge. For Polixenes,\\r\\nWith whom I am accus’d, I do confess\\r\\nI lov’d him as in honour he requir’d,\\r\\nWith such a kind of love as might become\\r\\nA lady like me; with a love even such,\\r\\nSo and no other, as yourself commanded:\\r\\nWhich not to have done, I think had been in me\\r\\nBoth disobedience and ingratitude\\r\\nTo you and toward your friend, whose love had spoke,\\r\\nEver since it could speak, from an infant, freely,\\r\\nThat it was yours. Now, for conspiracy,\\r\\nI know not how it tastes, though it be dish’d\\r\\nFor me to try how: all I know of it\\r\\nIs that Camillo was an honest man;\\r\\nAnd why he left your court, the gods themselves,\\r\\nWotting no more than I, are ignorant.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou knew of his departure, as you know\\r\\nWhat you have underta’en to do in ’s absence.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nSir,\\r\\nYou speak a language that I understand not:\\r\\nMy life stands in the level of your dreams,\\r\\nWhich I’ll lay down.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYour actions are my dreams.\\r\\nYou had a bastard by Polixenes,\\r\\nAnd I but dream’d it. As you were past all shame\\r\\n(Those of your fact are so) so past all truth,\\r\\nWhich to deny concerns more than avails; for as\\r\\nThy brat hath been cast out, like to itself,\\r\\nNo father owning it (which is, indeed,\\r\\nMore criminal in thee than it), so thou\\r\\nShalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage\\r\\nLook for no less than death.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nSir, spare your threats:\\r\\nThe bug which you would fright me with, I seek.\\r\\nTo me can life be no commodity.\\r\\nThe crown and comfort of my life, your favour,\\r\\nI do give lost, for I do feel it gone,\\r\\nBut know not how it went. My second joy,\\r\\nAnd first-fruits of my body, from his presence\\r\\nI am barr’d, like one infectious. My third comfort,\\r\\nStarr’d most unluckily, is from my breast,\\r\\n(The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth)\\r\\nHal’d out to murder; myself on every post\\r\\nProclaim’d a strumpet; with immodest hatred\\r\\nThe child-bed privilege denied, which ’longs\\r\\nTo women of all fashion; lastly, hurried\\r\\nHere to this place, i’ th’ open air, before\\r\\nI have got strength of limit. Now, my liege,\\r\\nTell me what blessings I have here alive,\\r\\nThat I should fear to die. Therefore proceed.\\r\\nBut yet hear this: mistake me not: no life,\\r\\nI prize it not a straw, but for mine honour,\\r\\nWhich I would free, if I shall be condemn’d\\r\\nUpon surmises, all proofs sleeping else\\r\\nBut what your jealousies awake I tell you\\r\\n’Tis rigour, and not law. Your honours all,\\r\\nI do refer me to the oracle:\\r\\nApollo be my judge!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nThis your request\\r\\nIs altogether just: therefore bring forth,\\r\\nAnd in Apollo’s name, his oracle:\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt certain Officers._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nThe Emperor of Russia was my father.\\r\\nO that he were alive, and here beholding\\r\\nHis daughter’s trial! that he did but see\\r\\nThe flatness of my misery; yet with eyes\\r\\nOf pity, not revenge!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Officers with Cleomenes and Dion.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nYou here shall swear upon this sword of justice,\\r\\nThat you, Cleomenes and Dion, have\\r\\nBeen both at Delphos, and from thence have brought\\r\\nThis seal’d-up oracle, by the hand deliver’d\\r\\nOf great Apollo’s priest; and that since then\\r\\nYou have not dared to break the holy seal,\\r\\nNor read the secrets in’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES, DION.\\r\\nAll this we swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nBreak up the seals and read.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\n[_Reads._] “Hermione is chaste; Polixenes blameless; Camillo a true\\r\\nsubject; Leontes a jealous tyrant; his innocent babe truly begotten;\\r\\nand the king shall live without an heir, if that which is lost be not\\r\\nfound.”\\r\\n\\r\\nLORDS\\r\\nNow blessed be the great Apollo!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nPraised!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHast thou read truth?\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nAy, my lord, even so\\r\\nAs it is here set down.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThere is no truth at all i’ th’ oracle:\\r\\nThe sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant hastily.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMy lord the king, the king!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat is the business?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nO sir, I shall be hated to report it.\\r\\nThe prince your son, with mere conceit and fear\\r\\nOf the queen’s speed, is gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow! gone?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nIs dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nApollo’s angry, and the heavens themselves\\r\\nDo strike at my injustice.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Hermione faints._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now there?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThis news is mortal to the queen. Look down\\r\\nAnd see what death is doing.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTake her hence:\\r\\nHer heart is but o’ercharg’d; she will recover.\\r\\nI have too much believ’d mine own suspicion.\\r\\nBeseech you tenderly apply to her\\r\\nSome remedies for life.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Paulina and Ladies with Hermione._]\\r\\n\\r\\nApollo, pardon\\r\\nMy great profaneness ’gainst thine oracle!\\r\\nI’ll reconcile me to Polixenes,\\r\\nNew woo my queen,\\t recall the good Camillo,\\r\\nWhom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy;\\r\\nFor, being transported by my jealousies\\r\\nTo bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose\\r\\nCamillo for the minister to poison\\r\\nMy friend Polixenes: which had been done,\\r\\nBut that the good mind of Camillo tardied\\r\\nMy swift command, though I with death and with\\r\\nReward did threaten and encourage him,\\r\\nNot doing it and being done. He, most humane\\r\\nAnd fill’d with honour, to my kingly guest\\r\\nUnclasp’d my practice, quit his fortunes here,\\r\\nWhich you knew great, and to the certain hazard\\r\\nOf all incertainties himself commended,\\r\\nNo richer than his honour. How he glisters\\r\\nThorough my rust! And how his piety\\r\\nDoes my deeds make the blacker!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paulina.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWoe the while!\\r\\nO, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,\\r\\nBreak too!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nWhat fit is this, good lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWhat studied torments, tyrant, hast for me?\\r\\nWhat wheels? racks? fires? what flaying? boiling\\r\\nIn leads or oils? What old or newer torture\\r\\nMust I receive, whose every word deserves\\r\\nTo taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny,\\r\\nTogether working with thy jealousies,\\r\\nFancies too weak for boys, too green and idle\\r\\nFor girls of nine. O, think what they have done,\\r\\nAnd then run mad indeed, stark mad! for all\\r\\nThy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.\\r\\nThat thou betray’dst Polixenes, ’twas nothing;\\r\\nThat did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant\\r\\nAnd damnable ingrateful; nor was’t much\\r\\nThou wouldst have poison’d good Camillo’s honour,\\r\\nTo have him kill a king; poor trespasses,\\r\\nMore monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon\\r\\nThe casting forth to crows thy baby daughter,\\r\\nTo be or none or little, though a devil\\r\\nWould have shed water out of fire ere done’t,\\r\\nNor is’t directly laid to thee the death\\r\\nOf the young prince, whose honourable thoughts,\\r\\nThoughts high for one so tender, cleft the heart\\r\\nThat could conceive a gross and foolish sire\\r\\nBlemish’d his gracious dam: this is not, no,\\r\\nLaid to thy answer: but the last—O lords,\\r\\nWhen I have said, cry Woe!—the queen, the queen,\\r\\nThe sweet’st, dear’st creature’s dead, and vengeance for’t\\r\\nNot dropp’d down yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nThe higher powers forbid!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI say she’s dead: I’ll swear’t. If word nor oath\\r\\nPrevail not, go and see: if you can bring\\r\\nTincture, or lustre, in her lip, her eye,\\r\\nHeat outwardly or breath within, I’ll serve you\\r\\nAs I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant!\\r\\nDo not repent these things, for they are heavier\\r\\nThan all thy woes can stir. Therefore betake thee\\r\\nTo nothing but despair. A thousand knees\\r\\nTen thousand years together, naked, fasting,\\r\\nUpon a barren mountain, and still winter\\r\\nIn storm perpetual, could not move the gods\\r\\nTo look that way thou wert.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGo on, go on:\\r\\nThou canst not speak too much; I have deserv’d\\r\\nAll tongues to talk their bitterest.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nSay no more:\\r\\nHowe’er the business goes, you have made fault\\r\\nI’ th’ boldness of your speech.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI am sorry for ’t:\\r\\nAll faults I make, when I shall come to know them,\\r\\nI do repent. Alas, I have show’d too much\\r\\nThe rashness of a woman: he is touch’d\\r\\nTo th’ noble heart. What’s gone and what’s past help,\\r\\nShould be past grief. Do not receive affliction\\r\\nAt my petition; I beseech you, rather\\r\\nLet me be punish’d, that have minded you\\r\\nOf what you should forget. Now, good my liege,\\r\\nSir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman:\\r\\nThe love I bore your queen—lo, fool again!\\r\\nI’ll speak of her no more, nor of your children.\\r\\nI’ll not remember you of my own lord,\\r\\nWho is lost too. Take your patience to you,\\r\\nAnd I’ll say nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou didst speak but well\\r\\nWhen most the truth, which I receive much better\\r\\nThan to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me\\r\\nTo the dead bodies of my queen and son:\\r\\nOne grave shall be for both. Upon them shall\\r\\nThe causes of their death appear, unto\\r\\nOur shame perpetual. Once a day I’ll visit\\r\\nThe chapel where they lie, and tears shed there\\r\\nShall be my recreation. So long as nature\\r\\nWill bear up with this exercise, so long\\r\\nI daily vow to use it. Come, and lead me\\r\\nTo these sorrows.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Bohemia. A desert Country near the Sea.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antigonus with the Child and a Mariner.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nThou art perfect, then, our ship hath touch’d upon\\r\\nThe deserts of Bohemia?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINER.\\r\\nAy, my lord, and fear\\r\\nWe have landed in ill time: the skies look grimly,\\r\\nAnd threaten present blusters. In my conscience,\\r\\nThe heavens with that we have in hand are angry,\\r\\nAnd frown upon ’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nTheir sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard;\\r\\nLook to thy bark: I’ll not be long before\\r\\nI call upon thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINER.\\r\\nMake your best haste, and go not\\r\\nToo far i’ th’ land: ’tis like to be loud weather;\\r\\nBesides, this place is famous for the creatures\\r\\nOf prey that keep upon ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nGo thou away:\\r\\nI’ll follow instantly.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINER.\\r\\nI am glad at heart\\r\\nTo be so rid o’ th’ business.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nCome, poor babe.\\r\\nI have heard, but not believ’d, the spirits of the dead\\r\\nMay walk again: if such thing be, thy mother\\r\\nAppear’d to me last night; for ne’er was dream\\r\\nSo like a waking. To me comes a creature,\\r\\nSometimes her head on one side, some another.\\r\\nI never saw a vessel of like sorrow,\\r\\nSo fill’d and so becoming: in pure white robes,\\r\\nLike very sanctity, she did approach\\r\\nMy cabin where I lay: thrice bow’d before me,\\r\\nAnd, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes\\r\\nBecame two spouts. The fury spent, anon\\r\\nDid this break from her: “Good Antigonus,\\r\\nSince fate, against thy better disposition,\\r\\nHath made thy person for the thrower-out\\r\\nOf my poor babe, according to thine oath,\\r\\nPlaces remote enough are in Bohemia,\\r\\nThere weep, and leave it crying. And, for the babe\\r\\nIs counted lost for ever, Perdita\\r\\nI prithee call’t. For this ungentle business,\\r\\nPut on thee by my lord, thou ne’er shalt see\\r\\nThy wife Paulina more.” And so, with shrieks,\\r\\nShe melted into air. Affrighted much,\\r\\nI did in time collect myself and thought\\r\\nThis was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys,\\r\\nYet for this once, yea, superstitiously,\\r\\nI will be squar’d by this. I do believe\\r\\nHermione hath suffer’d death, and that\\r\\nApollo would, this being indeed the issue\\r\\nOf King Polixenes, it should here be laid,\\r\\nEither for life or death, upon the earth\\r\\nOf its right father. Blossom, speed thee well! There lie; and there thy\\r\\ncharacter: there these;\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Laying down the child and a bundle._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich may if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,\\r\\nAnd still rest thine. The storm begins: poor wretch,\\r\\nThat for thy mother’s fault art thus expos’d\\r\\nTo loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot,\\r\\nBut my heart bleeds, and most accurs’d am I\\r\\nTo be by oath enjoin’d to this. Farewell!\\r\\nThe day frowns more and more. Thou’rt like to have\\r\\nA lullaby too rough. I never saw\\r\\nThe heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour!\\r\\nWell may I get aboard! This is the chase:\\r\\nI am gone for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit, pursued by a bear._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter an old Shepherd.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nI would there were no age between ten and three-and-twenty, or that\\r\\nyouth would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the between but\\r\\ngetting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing,\\r\\nfighting—Hark you now! Would any but these boiled brains of nineteen\\r\\nand two-and-twenty hunt this weather? They have scared away two of my\\r\\nbest sheep, which I fear the wolf will sooner find than the master: if\\r\\nanywhere I have them, ’tis by the sea-side, browsing of ivy. Good luck,\\r\\nan ’t be thy will, what have we here?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Taking up the child._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Mercy on ’s, a bairn! A very pretty bairn! A boy or a child, I wonder?\\r\\n A pretty one; a very pretty one. Sure, some scape. Though I am not\\r\\n bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This has\\r\\n been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work. They\\r\\n were warmer that got this than the poor thing is here. I’ll take it up\\r\\n for pity: yet I’ll tarry till my son come; he halloed but even now.\\r\\n Whoa-ho-hoa!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHilloa, loa!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWhat, art so near? If thou’lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead\\r\\nand rotten, come hither. What ail’st thou, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI have seen two such sights, by sea and by land! But I am not to say it\\r\\nis a sea, for it is now the sky: betwixt the firmament and it, you\\r\\ncannot thrust a bodkin’s point.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWhy, boy, how is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up\\r\\nthe shore! But that’s not to the point. O, the most piteous cry of the\\r\\npoor souls! sometimes to see ’em, and not to see ’em. Now the ship\\r\\nboring the moon with her mainmast, and anon swallowed with yest and\\r\\nfroth, as you’d thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land\\r\\nservice, to see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone, how he cried\\r\\nto me for help, and said his name was Antigonus, a nobleman. But to\\r\\nmake an end of the ship, to see how the sea flap-dragon’d it: but\\r\\nfirst, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them, and how the\\r\\npoor gentleman roared, and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder\\r\\nthan the sea or weather.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nName of mercy, when was this, boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNow, now. I have not winked since I saw these sights: the men are not\\r\\nyet cold under water, nor the bear half dined on the gentleman. He’s at\\r\\nit now.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWould I had been by to have helped the old man!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI would you had been by the ship side, to have helped her: there your\\r\\ncharity would have lacked footing.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nHeavy matters, heavy matters! But look thee here, boy. Now bless\\r\\nthyself: thou met’st with things dying, I with things new-born. Here’s\\r\\na sight for thee. Look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire’s child! Look\\r\\nthee here; take up, take up, boy; open’t. So, let’s see. It was told me\\r\\nI should be rich by the fairies. This is some changeling: open’t.\\r\\nWhat’s within, boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYou’re a made old man. If the sins of your youth are forgiven you,\\r\\nyou’re well to live. Gold! all gold!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nThis is fairy gold, boy, and ’twill prove so. Up with it, keep it\\r\\nclose: home, home, the next way. We are lucky, boy, and to be so still\\r\\nrequires nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep go: come, good boy, the next\\r\\nway home.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGo you the next way with your findings. I’ll go see if the bear be gone\\r\\nfrom the gentleman, and how much he hath eaten. They are never curst\\r\\nbut when they are hungry: if there be any of him left, I’ll bury it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nThat’s a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that which is left of him\\r\\nwhat he is, fetch me to th’ sight of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMarry, will I; and you shall help to put him i’ th’ ground.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\n’Tis a lucky day, boy, and we’ll do good deeds on ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Time, the Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTIME.\\r\\nI that please some, try all: both joy and terror\\r\\nOf good and bad, that makes and unfolds error,\\r\\nNow take upon me, in the name of Time,\\r\\nTo use my wings. Impute it not a crime\\r\\nTo me or my swift passage, that I slide\\r\\nO’er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried\\r\\nOf that wide gap, since it is in my power\\r\\nTo o’erthrow law, and in one self-born hour\\r\\nTo plant and o’erwhelm custom. Let me pass\\r\\nThe same I am, ere ancient’st order was\\r\\nOr what is now received. I witness to\\r\\nThe times that brought them in; so shall I do\\r\\nTo th’ freshest things now reigning, and make stale\\r\\nThe glistering of this present, as my tale\\r\\nNow seems to it. Your patience this allowing,\\r\\nI turn my glass, and give my scene such growing\\r\\nAs you had slept between. Leontes leaving\\r\\nTh’ effects of his fond jealousies, so grieving\\r\\nThat he shuts up himself, imagine me,\\r\\nGentle spectators, that I now may be\\r\\nIn fair Bohemia, and remember well,\\r\\nI mentioned a son o’ th’ king’s, which Florizel\\r\\nI now name to you; and with speed so pace\\r\\nTo speak of Perdita, now grown in grace\\r\\nEqual with wondering. What of her ensues\\r\\nI list not prophesy; but let Time’s news\\r\\nBe known when ’tis brought forth. A shepherd’s daughter,\\r\\nAnd what to her adheres, which follows after,\\r\\nIs th’ argument of Time. Of this allow,\\r\\nIf ever you have spent time worse ere now;\\r\\nIf never, yet that Time himself doth say\\r\\nHe wishes earnestly you never may.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Bohemia. A Room in the palace of Polixenes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Polixenes and Camillo.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: ’tis a sickness\\r\\ndenying thee anything; a death to grant this.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nIt is fifteen years since I saw my country. Though I have for the most\\r\\npart been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the\\r\\npenitent king, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling sorrows I\\r\\nmight be some allay, or I o’erween to think so,—which is another spur\\r\\nto my departure.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nAs thou lov’st me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services by\\r\\nleaving me now: the need I have of thee, thine own goodness hath made;\\r\\nbetter not to have had thee than thus to want thee. Thou, having made\\r\\nme businesses which none without thee can sufficiently manage, must\\r\\neither stay to execute them thyself, or take away with thee the very\\r\\nservices thou hast done, which if I have not enough considered (as too\\r\\nmuch I cannot) to be more thankful to thee shall be my study; and my\\r\\nprofit therein the heaping friendships. Of that fatal country Sicilia,\\r\\nprithee speak no more; whose very naming punishes me with the\\r\\nremembrance of that penitent, as thou call’st him, and reconciled king,\\r\\nmy brother; whose loss of his most precious queen and children are even\\r\\nnow to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when sawest thou the Prince\\r\\nFlorizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not being\\r\\ngracious, than they are in losing them when they have approved their\\r\\nvirtues.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSir, it is three days since I saw the prince. What his happier affairs\\r\\nmay be, are to me unknown, but I have missingly noted he is of late\\r\\nmuch retired from court, and is less frequent to his princely exercises\\r\\nthan formerly he hath appeared.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care; so far that I\\r\\nhave eyes under my service which look upon his removedness; from whom I\\r\\nhave this intelligence, that he is seldom from the house of a most\\r\\nhomely shepherd, a man, they say, that from very nothing, and beyond\\r\\nthe imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of most rare\\r\\nnote: the report of her is extended more than can be thought to begin\\r\\nfrom such a cottage.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThat’s likewise part of my intelligence: but, I fear, the angle that\\r\\nplucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the place, where we\\r\\nwill, not appearing what we are, have some question with the shepherd;\\r\\nfrom whose simplicity I think it not uneasy to get the cause of my\\r\\nson’s resort thither. Prithee, be my present partner in this business,\\r\\nand lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI willingly obey your command.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nMy best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A Road near the Shepherd’s cottage.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Autolycus, singing.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_When daffodils begin to peer,\\r\\n With, hey! the doxy over the dale,\\r\\nWhy, then comes in the sweet o’ the year,\\r\\n For the red blood reigns in the winter’s pale._\\r\\n\\r\\n_The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,\\r\\n With, hey! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!\\r\\nDoth set my pugging tooth on edge;\\r\\n For a quart of ale is a dish for a king._\\r\\n\\r\\n_The lark, that tirra-lirra chants,\\r\\n With, hey! with, hey! the thrush and the jay,\\r\\nAre summer songs for me and my aunts,\\r\\n While we lie tumbling in the hay._\\r\\n\\r\\nI have served Prince Florizel, and in my time wore three-pile, but now\\r\\nI am out of service.\\r\\n\\r\\n_But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?\\r\\n The pale moon shines by night:\\r\\nAnd when I wander here and there,\\r\\n I then do most go right._\\r\\n\\r\\n_If tinkers may have leave to live,\\r\\n And bear the sow-skin budget,\\r\\nThen my account I well may give\\r\\n And in the stocks avouch it._\\r\\n\\r\\nMy traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen. My\\r\\nfather named me Autolycus; who being, I as am, littered under Mercury,\\r\\nwas likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and drab I\\r\\npurchased this caparison, and my revenue is the silly cheat. Gallows\\r\\nand knock are too powerful on the highway. Beating and hanging are\\r\\nterrors to me. For the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. A\\r\\nprize! a prize!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLet me see: every ’leven wether tods; every tod yields pound and odd\\r\\nshilling; fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool to?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] If the springe hold, the cock’s mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI cannot do’t without counters. Let me see; what am I to buy for our\\r\\nsheep-shearing feast? “Three pound of sugar, five pound of currants,\\r\\nrice”—what will this sister of mine do with rice? But my father hath\\r\\nmade her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She hath made me\\r\\nfour-and-twenty nosegays for the shearers, three-man song-men all, and\\r\\nvery good ones; but they are most of them means and basses, but one\\r\\npuritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have\\r\\nsaffron to colour the warden pies; “mace; dates”, none, that’s out of\\r\\nmy note; “nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger”, but that I may beg;\\r\\n“four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o’ th’ sun.”\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Grovelling on the ground._] O that ever I was born!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI’ th’ name of me!\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO, help me, help me! Pluck but off these rags; and then, death, death!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather\\r\\nthan have these off.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more than the stripes I\\r\\nhave received, which are mighty ones and millions.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta’en from me, and\\r\\nthese detestable things put upon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat, by a horseman or a footman?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nA footman, sweet sir, a footman.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIndeed, he should be a footman by the garments he has left with thee:\\r\\nif this be a horseman’s coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me\\r\\nthy hand, I’ll help thee: come, lend me thy hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Helping him up._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO, good sir, tenderly, O!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlas, poor soul!\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO, good sir, softly, good sir. I fear, sir, my shoulder blade is out.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHow now! canst stand?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nSoftly, dear sir! [_Picks his pocket._] good sir, softly. You ha’ done\\r\\nme a charitable office.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nDost lack any money? I have a little money for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nNo, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: I have a kinsman not past\\r\\nthree-quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going. I shall there\\r\\nhave money or anything I want. Offer me no money, I pray you; that\\r\\nkills my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat manner of fellow was he that robbed you?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nA fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-my-dames. I\\r\\nknew him once a servant of the prince; I cannot tell, good sir, for\\r\\nwhich of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the\\r\\ncourt.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHis vices, you would say; there’s no virtue whipped out of the court.\\r\\nThey cherish it to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but\\r\\nabide.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nVices, I would say, sir. I know this man well. He hath been since an\\r\\nape-bearer, then a process-server, a bailiff. Then he compassed a\\r\\nmotion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker’s wife within a mile\\r\\nwhere my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish\\r\\nprofessions, he settled only in rogue. Some call him Autolycus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nOut upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he haunts wakes, fairs, and\\r\\nbear-baitings.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nVery true, sir; he, sir, he; that’s the rogue that put me into this\\r\\napparel.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia. If you had but looked big and\\r\\nspit at him, he’d have run.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter. I am false of heart that\\r\\nway; and that he knew, I warrant him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHow do you now?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nSweet sir, much better than I was. I can stand and walk: I will even\\r\\ntake my leave of you and pace softly towards my kinsman’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nShall I bring thee on the way?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nNo, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThen fare thee well. I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nProsper you, sweet sir!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I’ll be with you\\r\\n at your sheep-shearing too. If I make not this cheat bring out\\r\\n another, and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled, and my name\\r\\n put in the book of virtue!\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n_Jog on, jog on, the footpath way,\\r\\n And merrily hent the stile-a:\\r\\nA merry heart goes all the day,\\r\\n Your sad tires in a mile-a._\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The same. A Shepherd’s Cottage.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Florizel and Perdita.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nThese your unusual weeds to each part of you\\r\\nDo give a life, no shepherdess, but Flora\\r\\nPeering in April’s front. This your sheep-shearing\\r\\nIs as a meeting of the petty gods,\\r\\nAnd you the queen on ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nSir, my gracious lord,\\r\\nTo chide at your extremes it not becomes me;\\r\\nO, pardon that I name them! Your high self,\\r\\nThe gracious mark o’ th’ land, you have obscur’d\\r\\nWith a swain’s wearing, and me, poor lowly maid,\\r\\nMost goddess-like prank’d up. But that our feasts\\r\\nIn every mess have folly, and the feeders\\r\\nDigest it with a custom, I should blush\\r\\nTo see you so attir’d; swoon, I think,\\r\\nTo show myself a glass.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI bless the time\\r\\nWhen my good falcon made her flight across\\r\\nThy father’s ground.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nNow Jove afford you cause!\\r\\nTo me the difference forges dread. Your greatness\\r\\nHath not been us’d to fear. Even now I tremble\\r\\nTo think your father, by some accident,\\r\\nShould pass this way, as you did. O, the Fates!\\r\\nHow would he look to see his work, so noble,\\r\\nVilely bound up? What would he say? Or how\\r\\nShould I, in these my borrow’d flaunts, behold\\r\\nThe sternness of his presence?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nApprehend\\r\\nNothing but jollity. The gods themselves,\\r\\nHumbling their deities to love, have taken\\r\\nThe shapes of beasts upon them. Jupiter\\r\\nBecame a bull and bellow’d; the green Neptune\\r\\nA ram and bleated; and the fire-rob’d god,\\r\\nGolden Apollo, a poor humble swain,\\r\\nAs I seem now. Their transformations\\r\\nWere never for a piece of beauty rarer,\\r\\nNor in a way so chaste, since my desires\\r\\nRun not before mine honour, nor my lusts\\r\\nBurn hotter than my faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nO, but, sir,\\r\\nYour resolution cannot hold when ’tis\\r\\nOppos’d, as it must be, by the power of the king:\\r\\nOne of these two must be necessities,\\r\\nWhich then will speak, that you must change this purpose,\\r\\nOr I my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nThou dearest Perdita,\\r\\nWith these forc’d thoughts, I prithee, darken not\\r\\nThe mirth o’ th’ feast. Or I’ll be thine, my fair,\\r\\nOr not my father’s. For I cannot be\\r\\nMine own, nor anything to any, if\\r\\nI be not thine. To this I am most constant,\\r\\nThough destiny say no. Be merry, gentle.\\r\\nStrangle such thoughts as these with anything\\r\\nThat you behold the while. Your guests are coming:\\r\\nLift up your countenance, as it were the day\\r\\nOf celebration of that nuptial which\\r\\nWe two have sworn shall come.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nO lady Fortune,\\r\\nStand you auspicious!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nSee, your guests approach:\\r\\nAddress yourself to entertain them sprightly,\\r\\nAnd let’s be red with mirth.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Shepherd with Polixenes and Camillo, disguised; Clown, Mopsa,\\r\\n Dorcas with others.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nFie, daughter! When my old wife liv’d, upon\\r\\nThis day she was both pantler, butler, cook,\\r\\nBoth dame and servant; welcom’d all; serv’d all;\\r\\nWould sing her song and dance her turn; now here\\r\\nAt upper end o’ th’ table, now i’ th’ middle;\\r\\nOn his shoulder, and his; her face o’ fire\\r\\nWith labour, and the thing she took to quench it\\r\\nShe would to each one sip. You are retired,\\r\\nAs if you were a feasted one, and not\\r\\nThe hostess of the meeting: pray you, bid\\r\\nThese unknown friends to ’s welcome, for it is\\r\\nA way to make us better friends, more known.\\r\\nCome, quench your blushes, and present yourself\\r\\nThat which you are, mistress o’ th’ feast. Come on,\\r\\nAnd bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,\\r\\nAs your good flock shall prosper.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\n[_To Polixenes._] Sir, welcome.\\r\\nIt is my father’s will I should take on me\\r\\nThe hostess-ship o’ the day.\\r\\n[_To Camillo._] You’re welcome, sir.\\r\\nGive me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs,\\r\\nFor you there’s rosemary and rue; these keep\\r\\nSeeming and savour all the winter long.\\r\\nGrace and remembrance be to you both!\\r\\nAnd welcome to our shearing!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nShepherdess—\\r\\nA fair one are you—well you fit our ages\\r\\nWith flowers of winter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nSir, the year growing ancient,\\r\\nNot yet on summer’s death nor on the birth\\r\\nOf trembling winter, the fairest flowers o’ th’ season\\r\\nAre our carnations and streak’d gillyvors,\\r\\nWhich some call nature’s bastards: of that kind\\r\\nOur rustic garden’s barren; and I care not\\r\\nTo get slips of them.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWherefore, gentle maiden,\\r\\nDo you neglect them?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nFor I have heard it said\\r\\nThere is an art which, in their piedness, shares\\r\\nWith great creating nature.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nSay there be;\\r\\nYet nature is made better by no mean\\r\\nBut nature makes that mean. So, over that art\\r\\nWhich you say adds to nature, is an art\\r\\nThat nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry\\r\\nA gentler scion to the wildest stock,\\r\\nAnd make conceive a bark of baser kind\\r\\nBy bud of nobler race. This is an art\\r\\nWhich does mend nature, change it rather, but\\r\\nThe art itself is nature.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nSo it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThen make your garden rich in gillyvors,\\r\\nAnd do not call them bastards.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nI’ll not put\\r\\nThe dibble in earth to set one slip of them;\\r\\nNo more than, were I painted, I would wish\\r\\nThis youth should say ’twere well, and only therefore\\r\\nDesire to breed by me. Here’s flowers for you:\\r\\nHot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram,\\r\\nThe marigold, that goes to bed with th’ sun\\r\\nAnd with him rises weeping. These are flowers\\r\\nOf middle summer, and I think they are given\\r\\nTo men of middle age. You’re very welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI should leave grazing, were I of your flock,\\r\\nAnd only live by gazing.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nOut, alas!\\r\\nYou’d be so lean that blasts of January\\r\\nWould blow you through and through. [_To Florizel_] Now, my fair’st\\r\\nfriend,\\r\\nI would I had some flowers o’ th’ spring, that might\\r\\nBecome your time of day; and yours, and yours,\\r\\nThat wear upon your virgin branches yet\\r\\nYour maidenheads growing. O Proserpina,\\r\\nFrom the flowers now that, frighted, thou let’st fall\\r\\nFrom Dis’s waggon! daffodils,\\r\\nThat come before the swallow dares, and take\\r\\nThe winds of March with beauty; violets dim,\\r\\nBut sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes\\r\\nOr Cytherea’s breath; pale primroses,\\r\\nThat die unmarried ere they can behold\\r\\nBright Phoebus in his strength (a malady\\r\\nMost incident to maids); bold oxlips and\\r\\nThe crown imperial; lilies of all kinds,\\r\\nThe flower-de-luce being one. O, these I lack,\\r\\nTo make you garlands of; and my sweet friend,\\r\\nTo strew him o’er and o’er!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWhat, like a corse?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nNo, like a bank for love to lie and play on;\\r\\nNot like a corse; or if, not to be buried,\\r\\nBut quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers.\\r\\nMethinks I play as I have seen them do\\r\\nIn Whitsun pastorals. Sure this robe of mine\\r\\nDoes change my disposition.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWhat you do\\r\\nStill betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,\\r\\nI’d have you do it ever. When you sing,\\r\\nI’d have you buy and sell so, so give alms,\\r\\nPray so; and, for the ord’ring your affairs,\\r\\nTo sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you\\r\\nA wave o’ th’ sea, that you might ever do\\r\\nNothing but that, move still, still so,\\r\\nAnd own no other function. Each your doing,\\r\\nSo singular in each particular,\\r\\nCrowns what you are doing in the present deeds,\\r\\nThat all your acts are queens.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nO Doricles,\\r\\nYour praises are too large. But that your youth,\\r\\nAnd the true blood which peeps fairly through ’t,\\r\\nDo plainly give you out an unstained shepherd,\\r\\nWith wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,\\r\\nYou woo’d me the false way.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI think you have\\r\\nAs little skill to fear as I have purpose\\r\\nTo put you to ’t. But, come; our dance, I pray.\\r\\nYour hand, my Perdita. So turtles pair\\r\\nThat never mean to part.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nI’ll swear for ’em.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThis is the prettiest low-born lass that ever\\r\\nRan on the green-sward. Nothing she does or seems\\r\\nBut smacks of something greater than herself,\\r\\nToo noble for this place.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHe tells her something\\r\\nThat makes her blood look out. Good sooth, she is\\r\\nThe queen of curds and cream.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nCome on, strike up.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nMopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic, to mend her kissing with!\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nNow, in good time!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.\\r\\nCome, strike up.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music. Here a dance Of Shepherds and Shepherdesses._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nPray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this\\r\\nWhich dances with your daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nThey call him Doricles; and boasts himself\\r\\nTo have a worthy feeding. But I have it\\r\\nUpon his own report, and I believe it.\\r\\nHe looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter.\\r\\nI think so too; for never gaz’d the moon\\r\\nUpon the water as he’ll stand and read,\\r\\nAs ’twere, my daughter’s eyes. And, to be plain,\\r\\nI think there is not half a kiss to choose\\r\\nWho loves another best.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nShe dances featly.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nSo she does anything, though I report it\\r\\nThat should be silent. If young Doricles\\r\\nDo light upon her, she shall bring him that\\r\\nWhich he not dreams of.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nO master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never\\r\\ndance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you.\\r\\nHe sings several tunes faster than you’ll tell money. He utters them as\\r\\nhe had eaten ballads, and all men’s ears grew to his tunes.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe could never come better: he shall come in. I love a ballad but even\\r\\ntoo well, if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant\\r\\nthing indeed and sung lamentably.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nHe hath songs for man or woman of all sizes. No milliner can so fit his\\r\\ncustomers with gloves. He has the prettiest love-songs for maids, so\\r\\nwithout bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burdens of dildos\\r\\nand fadings, “jump her and thump her”; and where some stretch-mouthed\\r\\nrascal would, as it were, mean mischief and break a foul gap into the\\r\\nmatter, he makes the maid to answer “Whoop, do me no harm, good man”;\\r\\nputs him off, slights him, with “Whoop, do me no harm, good man.”\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThis is a brave fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBelieve me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. Has he any\\r\\nunbraided wares?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nHe hath ribbons of all the colours i’ th’ rainbow; points, more than\\r\\nall the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to\\r\\nhim by th’ gross; inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns; why he sings ’em\\r\\nover as they were gods or goddesses; you would think a smock were a\\r\\nshe-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand and the work about the\\r\\nsquare on ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nPrithee bring him in; and let him approach singing.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nForewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in ’s tunes.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYou have of these pedlars that have more in them than you’d think,\\r\\nsister.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nAy, good brother, or go about to think.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Autolycus, singing.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_Lawn as white as driven snow,\\r\\nCypress black as e’er was crow,\\r\\nGloves as sweet as damask roses,\\r\\nMasks for faces and for noses,\\r\\nBugle-bracelet, necklace amber,\\r\\nPerfume for a lady’s chamber,\\r\\nGolden quoifs and stomachers\\r\\nFor my lads to give their dears,\\r\\nPins and poking-sticks of steel,\\r\\nWhat maids lack from head to heel.\\r\\nCome buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;\\r\\nBuy, lads, or else your lasses cry.\\r\\nCome, buy._\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIf I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no money of me;\\r\\nbut being enthralled as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain\\r\\nribbons and gloves.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nI was promised them against the feast; but they come not too late now.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nHe hath promised you more than that, or there be liars.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nHe hath paid you all he promised you. Maybe he has paid you more, which\\r\\nwill shame you to give him again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIs there no manners left among maids? Will they wear their plackets\\r\\nwhere they should bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you\\r\\nare going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle of these secrets, but you\\r\\nmust be tittle-tattling before all our guests? ’Tis well they are\\r\\nwhispering. Clamour your tongues, and not a word more.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nI have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry lace and a pair of sweet\\r\\ngloves.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHave I not told thee how I was cozened by the way and lost all my\\r\\nmoney?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAnd indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to\\r\\nbe wary.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nFear not thou, man. Thou shalt lose nothing here.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat hast here? Ballads?\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nPray now, buy some. I love a ballad in print alife, for then we are\\r\\nsure they are true.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHere’s one to a very doleful tune. How a usurer’s wife was brought to\\r\\nbed of twenty money-bags at a burden, and how she longed to eat adders’\\r\\nheads and toads carbonadoed.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nIs it true, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nVery true, and but a month old.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nBless me from marrying a usurer!\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHere’s the midwife’s name to’t, one Mistress Taleporter, and five or\\r\\nsix honest wives that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad?\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nPray you now, buy it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nCome on, lay it by; and let’s first see more ballads. We’ll buy the\\r\\nother things anon.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHere’s another ballad, of a fish that appeared upon the coast on\\r\\nWednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water,\\r\\nand sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids. It was thought\\r\\nshe was a woman, and was turned into a cold fish for she would not\\r\\nexchange flesh with one that loved her. The ballad is very pitiful, and\\r\\nas true.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nIs it true too, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nFive justices’ hands at it, and witnesses more than my pack will hold.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLay it by too: another.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nThis is a merry ballad; but a very pretty one.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nLet’s have some merry ones.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nWhy, this is a passing merry one and goes to the tune of “Two maids\\r\\nwooing a man.” There’s scarce a maid westward but she sings it. ’Tis in\\r\\nrequest, I can tell you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nWe can both sing it: if thou’lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; ’tis in\\r\\nthree parts.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nWe had the tune on ’t a month ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI can bear my part; you must know ’tis my occupation: have at it with\\r\\nyou.\\r\\n\\r\\nSONG.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_Get you hence, for I must go\\r\\nWhere it fits not you to know._\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_Whither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\n_O, whither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_Whither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\n_It becomes thy oath full well\\r\\nThou to me thy secrets tell._\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_Me too! Let me go thither._\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nOr thou goest to th’ grange or mill.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_If to either, thou dost ill._\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_Neither._\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_What, neither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_Neither._\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_Thou hast sworn my love to be._\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\n_Thou hast sworn it more to me.\\r\\nThen whither goest? Say, whither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWe’ll have this song out anon by ourselves. My father and the gentlemen\\r\\nare in sad talk, and we’ll not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack\\r\\nafter me. Wenches, I’ll buy for you both. Pedlar, let’s have the first\\r\\nchoice. Follow me, girls.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with Dorcas and Mopsa._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] And you shall pay well for ’em.\\r\\n\\r\\nSONG.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n _Will you buy any tape,\\r\\n Or lace for your cape,\\r\\nMy dainty duck, my dear-a?\\r\\n Any silk, any thread,\\r\\n Any toys for your head,\\r\\nOf the new’st and fin’st, fin’st wear-a?\\r\\n Come to the pedlar;\\r\\n Money’s a meddler\\r\\nThat doth utter all men’s ware-a._\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMaster, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds,\\r\\nthree swine-herds, that have made themselves all men of hair. They call\\r\\nthemselves saltiers, and they have dance which the wenches say is a\\r\\ngallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in ’t; but they themselves\\r\\nare o’ the mind (if it be not too rough for some that know little but\\r\\nbowling) it will please plentifully.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAway! we’ll none on ’t. Here has been too much homely foolery already.\\r\\nI know, sir, we weary you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nYou weary those that refresh us: pray, let’s see these four threes of\\r\\nherdsmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nOne three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danced before the\\r\\nking; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half\\r\\nby th’ square.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nLeave your prating: since these good men are pleased, let them come in;\\r\\nbut quickly now.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nWhy, they stay at door, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Twelve Rustics, habited like Satyrs. They dance, and then\\r\\n exeunt.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nO, father, you’ll know more of that hereafter.\\r\\n[_To Camillo._] Is it not too far gone? ’Tis time to part them.\\r\\nHe’s simple and tells much. [_To Florizel._] How now, fair shepherd!\\r\\nYour heart is full of something that does take\\r\\nYour mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young\\r\\nAnd handed love, as you do, I was wont\\r\\nTo load my she with knacks: I would have ransack’d\\r\\nThe pedlar’s silken treasury and have pour’d it\\r\\nTo her acceptance. You have let him go,\\r\\nAnd nothing marted with him. If your lass\\r\\nInterpretation should abuse, and call this\\r\\nYour lack of love or bounty, you were straited\\r\\nFor a reply, at least if you make a care\\r\\nOf happy holding her.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nOld sir, I know\\r\\nShe prizes not such trifles as these are:\\r\\nThe gifts she looks from me are pack’d and lock’d\\r\\nUp in my heart, which I have given already,\\r\\nBut not deliver’d. O, hear me breathe my life\\r\\nBefore this ancient sir, who, it should seem,\\r\\nHath sometime lov’d. I take thy hand! this hand,\\r\\nAs soft as dove’s down and as white as it,\\r\\nOr Ethiopian’s tooth, or the fann’d snow that’s bolted\\r\\nBy th’ northern blasts twice o’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWhat follows this?\\r\\nHow prettily the young swain seems to wash\\r\\nThe hand was fair before! I have put you out.\\r\\nBut to your protestation. Let me hear\\r\\nWhat you profess.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nDo, and be witness to ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nAnd this my neighbour, too?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nAnd he, and more\\r\\nThan he, and men, the earth, the heavens, and all:\\r\\nThat were I crown’d the most imperial monarch,\\r\\nThereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth\\r\\nThat ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge\\r\\nMore than was ever man’s, I would not prize them\\r\\nWithout her love; for her employ them all;\\r\\nCommend them and condemn them to her service,\\r\\nOr to their own perdition.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nFairly offer’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThis shows a sound affection.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nBut my daughter,\\r\\nSay you the like to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nI cannot speak\\r\\nSo well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better:\\r\\nBy th’ pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out\\r\\nThe purity of his.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nTake hands, a bargain!\\r\\nAnd, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to’t.\\r\\nI give my daughter to him, and will make\\r\\nHer portion equal his.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nO, that must be\\r\\nI’ th’ virtue of your daughter: one being dead,\\r\\nI shall have more than you can dream of yet;\\r\\nEnough then for your wonder. But come on,\\r\\nContract us ’fore these witnesses.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nCome, your hand;\\r\\nAnd, daughter, yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nSoft, swain, awhile, beseech you;\\r\\nHave you a father?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI have; but what of him?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nKnows he of this?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nHe neither does nor shall.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nMethinks a father\\r\\nIs at the nuptial of his son a guest\\r\\nThat best becomes the table. Pray you once more,\\r\\nIs not your father grown incapable\\r\\nOf reasonable affairs? is he not stupid\\r\\nWith age and alt’ring rheums? can he speak? hear?\\r\\nKnow man from man? dispute his own estate?\\r\\nLies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing\\r\\nBut what he did being childish?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nNo, good sir;\\r\\nHe has his health, and ampler strength indeed\\r\\nThan most have of his age.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nBy my white beard,\\r\\nYou offer him, if this be so, a wrong\\r\\nSomething unfilial: reason my son\\r\\nShould choose himself a wife, but as good reason\\r\\nThe father, all whose joy is nothing else\\r\\nBut fair posterity, should hold some counsel\\r\\nIn such a business.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI yield all this;\\r\\nBut for some other reasons, my grave sir,\\r\\nWhich ’tis not fit you know, I not acquaint\\r\\nMy father of this business.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nLet him know ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nHe shall not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nPrithee let him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nNo, he must not.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nLet him, my son: he shall not need to grieve\\r\\nAt knowing of thy choice.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nCome, come, he must not.\\r\\nMark our contract.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\n[_Discovering himself._] Mark your divorce, young sir,\\r\\nWhom son I dare not call; thou art too base\\r\\nTo be acknowledged: thou a sceptre’s heir,\\r\\nThat thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou, old traitor,\\r\\nI am sorry that, by hanging thee, I can\\r\\nBut shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece\\r\\nOf excellent witchcraft, whom of force must know\\r\\nThe royal fool thou cop’st with,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nO, my heart!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI’ll have thy beauty scratch’d with briers and made\\r\\nMore homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy,\\r\\nIf I may ever know thou dost but sigh\\r\\nThat thou no more shalt see this knack (as never\\r\\nI mean thou shalt), we’ll bar thee from succession;\\r\\nNot hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,\\r\\nFar than Deucalion off. Mark thou my words.\\r\\nFollow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time,\\r\\nThough full of our displeasure, yet we free thee\\r\\nFrom the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment,\\r\\nWorthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too\\r\\nThat makes himself, but for our honour therein,\\r\\nUnworthy thee. If ever henceforth thou\\r\\nThese rural latches to his entrance open,\\r\\nOr hoop his body more with thy embraces,\\r\\nI will devise a death as cruel for thee\\r\\nAs thou art tender to ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nEven here undone.\\r\\nI was not much afeard, for once or twice\\r\\nI was about to speak, and tell him plainly\\r\\nThe selfsame sun that shines upon his court\\r\\nHides not his visage from our cottage, but\\r\\nLooks on alike. [_To Florizel._] Will’t please you, sir, be gone?\\r\\nI told you what would come of this. Beseech you,\\r\\nOf your own state take care. This dream of mine—\\r\\nBeing now awake, I’ll queen it no inch farther,\\r\\nBut milk my ewes, and weep.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nWhy, how now, father!\\r\\nSpeak ere thou diest.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nI cannot speak, nor think,\\r\\nNor dare to know that which I know. O sir,\\r\\nYou have undone a man of fourscore three,\\r\\nThat thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea,\\r\\nTo die upon the bed my father died,\\r\\nTo lie close by his honest bones; but now\\r\\nSome hangman must put on my shroud and lay me\\r\\nWhere no priest shovels in dust. O cursed wretch,\\r\\nThat knew’st this was the prince, and wouldst adventure\\r\\nTo mingle faith with him! Undone, undone!\\r\\nIf I might die within this hour, I have liv’d\\r\\nTo die when I desire.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWhy look you so upon me?\\r\\nI am but sorry, not afeard; delay’d,\\r\\nBut nothing alt’red: what I was, I am:\\r\\nMore straining on for plucking back; not following\\r\\nMy leash unwillingly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nGracious my lord,\\r\\nYou know your father’s temper: at this time\\r\\nHe will allow no speech (which I do guess\\r\\nYou do not purpose to him) and as hardly\\r\\nWill he endure your sight as yet, I fear:\\r\\nThen, till the fury of his highness settle,\\r\\nCome not before him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI not purpose it.\\r\\nI think Camillo?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nEven he, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nHow often have I told you ’twould be thus!\\r\\nHow often said my dignity would last\\r\\nBut till ’twere known!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nIt cannot fail but by\\r\\nThe violation of my faith; and then\\r\\nLet nature crush the sides o’ th’ earth together\\r\\nAnd mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks.\\r\\nFrom my succession wipe me, father; I\\r\\nAm heir to my affection.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBe advis’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI am, and by my fancy. If my reason\\r\\nWill thereto be obedient, I have reason;\\r\\nIf not, my senses, better pleas’d with madness,\\r\\nDo bid it welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThis is desperate, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nSo call it: but it does fulfil my vow.\\r\\nI needs must think it honesty. Camillo,\\r\\nNot for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may\\r\\nBe thereat glean’d; for all the sun sees or\\r\\nThe close earth wombs, or the profound seas hides\\r\\nIn unknown fathoms, will I break my oath\\r\\nTo this my fair belov’d. Therefore, I pray you,\\r\\nAs you have ever been my father’s honour’d friend,\\r\\nWhen he shall miss me,—as, in faith, I mean not\\r\\nTo see him any more,—cast your good counsels\\r\\nUpon his passion: let myself and fortune\\r\\nTug for the time to come. This you may know,\\r\\nAnd so deliver, I am put to sea\\r\\nWith her whom here I cannot hold on shore;\\r\\nAnd, most opportune to her need, I have\\r\\nA vessel rides fast by, but not prepar’d\\r\\nFor this design. What course I mean to hold\\r\\nShall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor\\r\\nConcern me the reporting.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nO my lord,\\r\\nI would your spirit were easier for advice,\\r\\nOr stronger for your need.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nHark, Perdita. [_Takes her aside._]\\r\\n[_To Camillo._] I’ll hear you by and by.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHe’s irremovable,\\r\\nResolv’d for flight. Now were I happy if\\r\\nHis going I could frame to serve my turn,\\r\\nSave him from danger, do him love and honour,\\r\\nPurchase the sight again of dear Sicilia\\r\\nAnd that unhappy king, my master, whom\\r\\nI so much thirst to see.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nNow, good Camillo,\\r\\nI am so fraught with curious business that\\r\\nI leave out ceremony.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSir, I think\\r\\nYou have heard of my poor services, i’ th’ love\\r\\nThat I have borne your father?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nVery nobly\\r\\nHave you deserv’d: it is my father’s music\\r\\nTo speak your deeds, not little of his care\\r\\nTo have them recompens’d as thought on.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nWell, my lord,\\r\\nIf you may please to think I love the king,\\r\\nAnd, through him, what’s nearest to him, which is\\r\\nYour gracious self, embrace but my direction,\\r\\nIf your more ponderous and settled project\\r\\nMay suffer alteration. On mine honour,\\r\\nI’ll point you where you shall have such receiving\\r\\nAs shall become your highness; where you may\\r\\nEnjoy your mistress; from the whom, I see,\\r\\nThere’s no disjunction to be made, but by,\\r\\nAs heavens forfend, your ruin. Marry her,\\r\\nAnd with my best endeavours in your absence\\r\\nYour discontenting father strive to qualify\\r\\nAnd bring him up to liking.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nHow, Camillo,\\r\\nMay this, almost a miracle, be done?\\r\\nThat I may call thee something more than man,\\r\\nAnd after that trust to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHave you thought on\\r\\nA place whereto you’ll go?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nNot any yet.\\r\\nBut as th’ unthought-on accident is guilty\\r\\nTo what we wildly do, so we profess\\r\\nOurselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies\\r\\nOf every wind that blows.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThen list to me:\\r\\nThis follows, if you will not change your purpose,\\r\\nBut undergo this flight, make for Sicilia,\\r\\nAnd there present yourself and your fair princess,\\r\\nFor so, I see, she must be, ’fore Leontes:\\r\\nShe shall be habited as it becomes\\r\\nThe partner of your bed. Methinks I see\\r\\nLeontes opening his free arms and weeping\\r\\nHis welcomes forth; asks thee, the son, forgiveness,\\r\\nAs ’twere i’ th’ father’s person; kisses the hands\\r\\nOf your fresh princess; o’er and o’er divides him\\r\\n’Twixt his unkindness and his kindness. Th’ one\\r\\nHe chides to hell, and bids the other grow\\r\\nFaster than thought or time.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWorthy Camillo,\\r\\nWhat colour for my visitation shall I\\r\\nHold up before him?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSent by the king your father\\r\\nTo greet him and to give him comforts. Sir,\\r\\nThe manner of your bearing towards him, with\\r\\nWhat you (as from your father) shall deliver,\\r\\nThings known betwixt us three, I’ll write you down,\\r\\nThe which shall point you forth at every sitting\\r\\nWhat you must say; that he shall not perceive\\r\\nBut that you have your father’s bosom there\\r\\nAnd speak his very heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI am bound to you:\\r\\nThere is some sap in this.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nA course more promising\\r\\nThan a wild dedication of yourselves\\r\\nTo unpath’d waters, undream’d shores, most certain\\r\\nTo miseries enough: no hope to help you,\\r\\nBut as you shake off one to take another:\\r\\nNothing so certain as your anchors, who\\r\\nDo their best office if they can but stay you\\r\\nWhere you’ll be loath to be. Besides, you know\\r\\nProsperity’s the very bond of love,\\r\\nWhose fresh complexion and whose heart together\\r\\nAffliction alters.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nOne of these is true:\\r\\nI think affliction may subdue the cheek,\\r\\nBut not take in the mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nYea, say you so?\\r\\nThere shall not at your father’s house, these seven years\\r\\nBe born another such.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nMy good Camillo,\\r\\nShe is as forward of her breeding as\\r\\nShe is i’ th’ rear our birth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI cannot say ’tis pity\\r\\nShe lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress\\r\\nTo most that teach.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nYour pardon, sir; for this\\r\\nI’ll blush you thanks.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nMy prettiest Perdita!\\r\\nBut, O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo,\\r\\nPreserver of my father, now of me,\\r\\nThe medicine of our house, how shall we do?\\r\\nWe are not furnish’d like Bohemia’s son,\\r\\nNor shall appear in Sicilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nMy lord,\\r\\nFear none of this. I think you know my fortunes\\r\\nDo all lie there: it shall be so my care\\r\\nTo have you royally appointed as if\\r\\nThe scene you play were mine. For instance, sir,\\r\\nThat you may know you shall not want,—one word.\\r\\n[_They talk aside._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Autolycus.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHa, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn brother, a very\\r\\nsimple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery. Not a counterfeit stone,\\r\\nnot a ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape,\\r\\nglove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting.\\r\\nThey throng who should buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallowed\\r\\nand brought a benediction to the buyer: by which means I saw whose\\r\\npurse was best in picture; and what I saw, to my good use I remembered.\\r\\nMy clown (who wants but something to be a reasonable man) grew so in\\r\\nlove with the wenches’ song that he would not stir his pettitoes till\\r\\nhe had both tune and words; which so drew the rest of the herd to me\\r\\nthat all their other senses stuck in ears: you might have pinched a\\r\\nplacket, it was senseless; ’twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse;\\r\\nI would have filed keys off that hung in chains: no hearing, no\\r\\nfeeling, but my sir’s song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that in\\r\\nthis time of lethargy I picked and cut most of their festival purses;\\r\\nand had not the old man come in with a whoobub against his daughter and\\r\\nthe king’s son, and scared my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a\\r\\npurse alive in the whole army.\\r\\n\\r\\n Camillo, Florizel and Perdita come forward.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNay, but my letters, by this means being there\\r\\nSo soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nAnd those that you’ll procure from king Leontes?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nShall satisfy your father.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nHappy be you!\\r\\nAll that you speak shows fair.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\n[_Seeing Autolycus._] Who have we here?\\r\\nWe’ll make an instrument of this; omit\\r\\nNothing may give us aid.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] If they have overheard me now,—why, hanging.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHow now, good fellow! why shakest thou so? Fear not, man; here’s no\\r\\nharm intended to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI am a poor fellow, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nWhy, be so still; here’s nobody will steal that from thee: yet, for the\\r\\noutside of thy poverty we must make an exchange; therefore discase thee\\r\\ninstantly,—thou must think there’s a necessity in’t—and change garments\\r\\nwith this gentleman: though the pennyworth on his side be the worst,\\r\\nyet hold thee, there’s some boot.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Giving money._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI am a poor fellow, sir: [_Aside._] I know ye well enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNay, prithee dispatch: the gentleman is half flayed already.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAre you in earnest, sir? [_Aside._] I smell the trick on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nDispatch, I prithee.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nIndeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot with conscience take it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nUnbuckle, unbuckle.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Florizel and Autolycus exchange garments._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFortunate mistress,—let my prophecy\\r\\nCome home to you!—you must retire yourself\\r\\nInto some covert. Take your sweetheart’s hat\\r\\nAnd pluck it o’er your brows, muffle your face,\\r\\nDismantle you; and, as you can, disliken\\r\\nThe truth of your own seeming; that you may\\r\\n(For I do fear eyes over) to shipboard\\r\\nGet undescried.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nI see the play so lies\\r\\nThat I must bear a part.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNo remedy.\\r\\nHave you done there?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nShould I now meet my father,\\r\\nHe would not call me son.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNay, you shall have no hat. [_Giving it to Perdita._]\\r\\nCome, lady, come. Farewell, my friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAdieu, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nO Perdita, what have we twain forgot?\\r\\nPray you a word.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They converse apart._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] What I do next, shall be to tell the king\\r\\nOf this escape, and whither they are bound;\\r\\nWherein my hope is I shall so prevail\\r\\nTo force him after: in whose company\\r\\nI shall re-view Sicilia; for whose sight\\r\\nI have a woman’s longing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nFortune speed us!\\r\\nThus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThe swifter speed the better.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Florizel, Perdita and Camillo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI understand the business, I hear it. To have an open ear, a quick eye,\\r\\nand a nimble hand, is necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is\\r\\nrequisite also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see this is\\r\\nthe time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an exchange had this\\r\\nbeen without boot! What a boot is here with this exchange! Sure the\\r\\ngods do this year connive at us, and we may do anything extempore. The\\r\\nprince himself is about a piece of iniquity, stealing away from his\\r\\nfather with his clog at his heels: if I thought it were a piece of\\r\\nhonesty to acquaint the king withal, I would not do’t: I hold it the\\r\\nmore knavery to conceal it; and therein am I constant to my profession.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown and Shepherd.\\r\\n\\r\\nAside, aside; here is more matter for a hot brain: every lane’s end,\\r\\nevery shop, church, session, hanging, yields a careful man work.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nSee, see; what a man you are now! There is no other way but to tell the\\r\\nking she’s a changeling, and none of your flesh and blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nNay, but hear me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNay, but hear me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nGo to, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nShe being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood has not\\r\\noffended the king; and so your flesh and blood is not to be punished by\\r\\nhim. Show those things you found about her, those secret things, all\\r\\nbut what she has with her: this being done, let the law go whistle, I\\r\\nwarrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nI will tell the king all, every word, yea, and his son’s pranks too;\\r\\nwho, I may say, is no honest man neither to his father nor to me, to go\\r\\nabout to make me the king’s brother-in-law.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIndeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you could have been to him,\\r\\nand then your blood had been the dearer by I know how much an ounce.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Very wisely, puppies!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWell, let us to the king: there is that in this fardel will make him\\r\\nscratch his beard.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I know not what impediment this complaint may be to the\\r\\nflight of my master.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nPray heartily he be at’ palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by\\r\\nchance. Let me pocket up my pedlar’s excrement. [_Takes off his false\\r\\nbeard._] How now, rustics! whither are you bound?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nTo the palace, an it like your worship.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nYour affairs there, what, with whom, the condition of that fardel, the\\r\\nplace of your dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having,\\r\\nbreeding, and anything that is fitting to be known? discover!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWe are but plain fellows, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nA lie; you are rough and hairy. Let me have no lying. It becomes none\\r\\nbut tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the lie; but we pay them\\r\\nfor it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore they do not\\r\\ngive us the lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYour worship had like to have given us one, if you had not taken\\r\\nyourself with the manner.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAre you a courtier, an ’t like you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nWhether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest thou not the air of\\r\\nthe court in these enfoldings? hath not my gait in it the measure of\\r\\nthe court? receives not thy nose court-odour from me? reflect I not on\\r\\nthy baseness court-contempt? Think’st thou, for that I insinuate, or\\r\\ntoaze from thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier? I am courtier\\r\\n_cap-a-pe_, and one that will either push on or pluck back thy business\\r\\nthere. Whereupon I command thee to open thy affair.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nMy business, sir, is to the king.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nWhat advocate hast thou to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nI know not, an ’t like you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAdvocate’s the court-word for a pheasant. Say you have none.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nNone, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHow bless’d are we that are not simple men!\\r\\nYet nature might have made me as these are,\\r\\nTherefore I will not disdain.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThis cannot be but a great courtier.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nHis garments are rich, but he wears them not handsomely.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe seems to be the more noble in being fantastical: a great man, I’ll\\r\\nwarrant; I know by the picking on’s teeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nThe fardel there? What’s i’ th’ fardel? Wherefore that box?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nSir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box which none must\\r\\nknow but the king; and which he shall know within this hour, if I may\\r\\ncome to th’ speech of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAge, thou hast lost thy labour.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWhy, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nThe king is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a new ship to purge\\r\\nmelancholy and air himself: for, if thou beest capable of things\\r\\nserious, thou must know the king is full of grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nSo ’tis said, sir; about his son, that should have married a shepherd’s\\r\\ndaughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nIf that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly. The curses he shall\\r\\nhave, the tortures he shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart\\r\\nof monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThink you so, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nNot he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy and vengeance bitter;\\r\\nbut those that are germane to him, though removed fifty times, shall\\r\\nall come under the hangman: which, though it be great pity, yet it is\\r\\nnecessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have\\r\\nhis daughter come into grace! Some say he shall be stoned; but that\\r\\ndeath is too soft for him, say I. Draw our throne into a sheepcote! All\\r\\ndeaths are too few, the sharpest too easy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHas the old man e’er a son, sir, do you hear, an ’t like you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHe has a son, who shall be flayed alive; then ’nointed over with honey,\\r\\nset on the head of a wasp’s nest; then stand till he be three quarters\\r\\nand a dram dead; then recovered again with aqua-vitæ or some other hot\\r\\ninfusion; then, raw as he is, and in the hottest day prognostication\\r\\nproclaims, shall he be set against a brick wall, the sun looking with a\\r\\nsouthward eye upon him, where he is to behold him with flies blown to\\r\\ndeath. But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are\\r\\nto be smiled at, their offences being so capital? Tell me (for you seem\\r\\nto be honest plain men) what you have to the king. Being something\\r\\ngently considered, I’ll bring you where he is aboard, tender your\\r\\npersons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfs; and if it be in\\r\\nman besides the king to effect your suits, here is man shall do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe seems to be of great authority: close with him, give him gold; and\\r\\nthough authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with\\r\\ngold: show the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand, and no\\r\\nmore ado. Remember: “ston’d” and “flayed alive”.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAn ’t please you, sir, to undertake the business for us, here is that\\r\\ngold I have. I’ll make it as much more, and leave this young man in\\r\\npawn till I bring it you.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAfter I have done what I promised?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAy, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nWell, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this business?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIn some sort, sir: but though my case be a pitiful one, I hope I shall\\r\\nnot be flayed out of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO, that’s the case of the shepherd’s son. Hang him, he’ll be made an\\r\\nexample.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nComfort, good comfort! We must to the king and show our strange sights.\\r\\nHe must know ’tis none of your daughter nor my sister; we are gone\\r\\nelse. Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does when the\\r\\nbusiness is performed, and remain, as he says, your pawn till it be\\r\\nbrought you.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side; go on the\\r\\nright-hand. I will but look upon the hedge, and follow you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWe are blessed in this man, as I may say, even blessed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nLet’s before, as he bids us. He was provided to do us good.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Shepherd and Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nIf I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would not suffer me: she\\r\\ndrops booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion:\\r\\ngold, and a means to do the prince my master good; which who knows how\\r\\nthat may turn back to my advancement? I will bring these two moles,\\r\\nthese blind ones, aboard him. If he think it fit to shore them again\\r\\nand that the complaint they have to the king concerns him nothing, let\\r\\nhim call me rogue for being so far officious; for I am proof against\\r\\nthat title and what shame else belongs to ’t. To him will I present\\r\\nthem. There may be matter in it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Sicilia. A Room in the palace of Leontes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Cleomenes, Dion, Paulina and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nSir, you have done enough, and have perform’d\\r\\nA saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make\\r\\nWhich you have not redeem’d; indeed, paid down\\r\\nMore penitence than done trespass: at the last,\\r\\nDo as the heavens have done, forget your evil;\\r\\nWith them, forgive yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhilst I remember\\r\\nHer and her virtues, I cannot forget\\r\\nMy blemishes in them; and so still think of\\r\\nThe wrong I did myself: which was so much\\r\\nThat heirless it hath made my kingdom, and\\r\\nDestroy’d the sweet’st companion that e’er man\\r\\nBred his hopes out of.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nTrue, too true, my lord.\\r\\nIf, one by one, you wedded all the world,\\r\\nOr from the all that are took something good,\\r\\nTo make a perfect woman, she you kill’d\\r\\nWould be unparallel’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI think so. Kill’d!\\r\\nShe I kill’d! I did so: but thou strik’st me\\r\\nSorely, to say I did: it is as bitter\\r\\nUpon thy tongue as in my thought. Now, good now,\\r\\nSay so but seldom.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nNot at all, good lady.\\r\\nYou might have spoken a thousand things that would\\r\\nHave done the time more benefit and grac’d\\r\\nYour kindness better.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nYou are one of those\\r\\nWould have him wed again.\\r\\n\\r\\nDION.\\r\\nIf you would not so,\\r\\nYou pity not the state, nor the remembrance\\r\\nOf his most sovereign name; consider little\\r\\nWhat dangers, by his highness’ fail of issue,\\r\\nMay drop upon his kingdom, and devour\\r\\nIncertain lookers-on. What were more holy\\r\\nThan to rejoice the former queen is well?\\r\\nWhat holier than, for royalty’s repair,\\r\\nFor present comfort, and for future good,\\r\\nTo bless the bed of majesty again\\r\\nWith a sweet fellow to ’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThere is none worthy,\\r\\nRespecting her that’s gone. Besides, the gods\\r\\nWill have fulfill’d their secret purposes;\\r\\nFor has not the divine Apollo said,\\r\\nIs ’t not the tenor of his oracle,\\r\\nThat king Leontes shall not have an heir\\r\\nTill his lost child be found? Which that it shall,\\r\\nIs all as monstrous to our human reason\\r\\nAs my Antigonus to break his grave\\r\\nAnd come again to me; who, on my life,\\r\\nDid perish with the infant. ’Tis your counsel\\r\\nMy lord should to the heavens be contrary,\\r\\nOppose against their wills. [_To Leontes._] Care not for issue;\\r\\nThe crown will find an heir. Great Alexander\\r\\nLeft his to th’ worthiest; so his successor\\r\\nWas like to be the best.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGood Paulina,\\r\\nWho hast the memory of Hermione,\\r\\nI know, in honour, O that ever I\\r\\nHad squar’d me to thy counsel! Then, even now,\\r\\nI might have look’d upon my queen’s full eyes,\\r\\nHave taken treasure from her lips,—\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nAnd left them\\r\\nMore rich for what they yielded.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou speak’st truth.\\r\\nNo more such wives; therefore, no wife: one worse,\\r\\nAnd better us’d, would make her sainted spirit\\r\\nAgain possess her corpse, and on this stage,\\r\\n(Where we offenders now appear) soul-vexed,\\r\\nAnd begin “Why to me?”\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nHad she such power,\\r\\nShe had just cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nShe had; and would incense me\\r\\nTo murder her I married.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI should so.\\r\\nWere I the ghost that walk’d, I’d bid you mark\\r\\nHer eye, and tell me for what dull part in ’t\\r\\nYou chose her: then I’d shriek, that even your ears\\r\\nShould rift to hear me; and the words that follow’d\\r\\nShould be “Remember mine.”\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nStars, stars,\\r\\nAnd all eyes else dead coals! Fear thou no wife;\\r\\nI’ll have no wife, Paulina.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWill you swear\\r\\nNever to marry but by my free leave?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNever, Paulina; so be bless’d my spirit!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThen, good my lords, bear witness to his oath.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nYou tempt him over-much.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nUnless another,\\r\\nAs like Hermione as is her picture,\\r\\nAffront his eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nGood madam,—\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI have done.\\r\\nYet, if my lord will marry,—if you will, sir,\\r\\nNo remedy but you will,—give me the office\\r\\nTo choose you a queen: she shall not be so young\\r\\nAs was your former, but she shall be such\\r\\nAs, walk’d your first queen’s ghost, it should take joy\\r\\nTo see her in your arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nMy true Paulina,\\r\\nWe shall not marry till thou bid’st us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThat\\r\\nShall be when your first queen’s again in breath;\\r\\nNever till then.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nOne that gives out himself Prince Florizel,\\r\\nSon of Polixenes, with his princess (she\\r\\nThe fairest I have yet beheld) desires access\\r\\nTo your high presence.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat with him? he comes not\\r\\nLike to his father’s greatness: his approach,\\r\\nSo out of circumstance and sudden, tells us\\r\\n’Tis not a visitation fram’d, but forc’d\\r\\nBy need and accident. What train?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nBut few,\\r\\nAnd those but mean.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHis princess, say you, with him?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nAy, the most peerless piece of earth, I think,\\r\\nThat e’er the sun shone bright on.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nO Hermione,\\r\\nAs every present time doth boast itself\\r\\nAbove a better gone, so must thy grave\\r\\nGive way to what’s seen now! Sir, you yourself\\r\\nHave said and writ so,—but your writing now\\r\\nIs colder than that theme,—‘She had not been,\\r\\nNor was not to be equall’d’; thus your verse\\r\\nFlow’d with her beauty once; ’tis shrewdly ebb’d,\\r\\nTo say you have seen a better.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nPardon, madam:\\r\\nThe one I have almost forgot,—your pardon;—\\r\\nThe other, when she has obtain’d your eye,\\r\\nWill have your tongue too. This is a creature,\\r\\nWould she begin a sect, might quench the zeal\\r\\nOf all professors else; make proselytes\\r\\nOf who she but bid follow.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nHow! not women?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nWomen will love her that she is a woman\\r\\nMore worth than any man; men, that she is\\r\\nThe rarest of all women.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGo, Cleomenes;\\r\\nYourself, assisted with your honour’d friends,\\r\\nBring them to our embracement.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Cleomenes and others._]\\r\\n\\r\\nStill, ’tis strange\\r\\nHe thus should steal upon us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nHad our prince,\\r\\nJewel of children, seen this hour, he had pair’d\\r\\nWell with this lord. There was not full a month\\r\\nBetween their births.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nPrithee no more; cease; Thou know’st\\r\\nHe dies to me again when talk’d of: sure,\\r\\nWhen I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches\\r\\nWill bring me to consider that which may\\r\\nUnfurnish me of reason. They are come.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Florizel, Perdita, Cleomenes and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nYour mother was most true to wedlock, prince;\\r\\nFor she did print your royal father off,\\r\\nConceiving you. Were I but twenty-one,\\r\\nYour father’s image is so hit in you,\\r\\nHis very air, that I should call you brother,\\r\\nAs I did him, and speak of something wildly\\r\\nBy us perform’d before. Most dearly welcome!\\r\\nAnd your fair princess,—goddess! O, alas!\\r\\nI lost a couple that ’twixt heaven and earth\\r\\nMight thus have stood, begetting wonder, as\\r\\nYou, gracious couple, do! And then I lost,—\\r\\nAll mine own folly,—the society,\\r\\nAmity too, of your brave father, whom,\\r\\nThough bearing misery, I desire my life\\r\\nOnce more to look on him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nBy his command\\r\\nHave I here touch’d Sicilia, and from him\\r\\nGive you all greetings that a king, at friend,\\r\\nCan send his brother: and, but infirmity,\\r\\nWhich waits upon worn times, hath something seiz’d\\r\\nHis wish’d ability, he had himself\\r\\nThe lands and waters ’twixt your throne and his\\r\\nMeasur’d, to look upon you; whom he loves,\\r\\nHe bade me say so,—more than all the sceptres\\r\\nAnd those that bear them living.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO my brother,—\\r\\nGood gentleman!—the wrongs I have done thee stir\\r\\nAfresh within me; and these thy offices,\\r\\nSo rarely kind, are as interpreters\\r\\nOf my behind-hand slackness! Welcome hither,\\r\\nAs is the spring to the earth. And hath he too\\r\\nExpos’d this paragon to the fearful usage,\\r\\nAt least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune,\\r\\nTo greet a man not worth her pains, much less\\r\\nTh’ adventure of her person?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nGood, my lord,\\r\\nShe came from Libya.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhere the warlike Smalus,\\r\\nThat noble honour’d lord, is fear’d and lov’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nMost royal sir, from thence; from him, whose daughter\\r\\nHis tears proclaim’d his, parting with her: thence,\\r\\nA prosperous south-wind friendly, we have cross’d,\\r\\nTo execute the charge my father gave me\\r\\nFor visiting your highness: my best train\\r\\nI have from your Sicilian shores dismiss’d;\\r\\nWho for Bohemia bend, to signify\\r\\nNot only my success in Libya, sir,\\r\\nBut my arrival, and my wife’s, in safety\\r\\nHere, where we are.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThe blessed gods\\r\\nPurge all infection from our air whilst you\\r\\nDo climate here! You have a holy father,\\r\\nA graceful gentleman; against whose person,\\r\\nSo sacred as it is, I have done sin,\\r\\nFor which the heavens, taking angry note,\\r\\nHave left me issueless. And your father’s bless’d,\\r\\nAs he from heaven merits it, with you,\\r\\nWorthy his goodness. What might I have been,\\r\\nMight I a son and daughter now have look’d on,\\r\\nSuch goodly things as you!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nMost noble sir,\\r\\nThat which I shall report will bear no credit,\\r\\nWere not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir,\\r\\nBohemia greets you from himself by me;\\r\\nDesires you to attach his son, who has—\\r\\nHis dignity and duty both cast off—\\r\\nFled from his father, from his hopes, and with\\r\\nA shepherd’s daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhere’s Bohemia? speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nHere in your city; I now came from him.\\r\\nI speak amazedly, and it becomes\\r\\nMy marvel and my message. To your court\\r\\nWhiles he was hast’ning—in the chase, it seems,\\r\\nOf this fair couple—meets he on the way\\r\\nThe father of this seeming lady and\\r\\nHer brother, having both their country quitted\\r\\nWith this young prince.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nCamillo has betray’d me;\\r\\nWhose honour and whose honesty till now,\\r\\nEndur’d all weathers.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nLay ’t so to his charge.\\r\\nHe’s with the king your father.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWho? Camillo?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nCamillo, sir; I spake with him; who now\\r\\nHas these poor men in question. Never saw I\\r\\nWretches so quake: they kneel, they kiss the earth;\\r\\nForswear themselves as often as they speak.\\r\\nBohemia stops his ears, and threatens them\\r\\nWith divers deaths in death.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nO my poor father!\\r\\nThe heaven sets spies upon us, will not have\\r\\nOur contract celebrated.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou are married?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWe are not, sir, nor are we like to be.\\r\\nThe stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first.\\r\\nThe odds for high and low’s alike.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nMy lord,\\r\\nIs this the daughter of a king?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nShe is,\\r\\nWhen once she is my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThat “once”, I see by your good father’s speed,\\r\\nWill come on very slowly. I am sorry,\\r\\nMost sorry, you have broken from his liking,\\r\\nWhere you were tied in duty; and as sorry\\r\\nYour choice is not so rich in worth as beauty,\\r\\nThat you might well enjoy her.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nDear, look up:\\r\\nThough Fortune, visible an enemy,\\r\\nShould chase us with my father, power no jot\\r\\nHath she to change our loves. Beseech you, sir,\\r\\nRemember since you ow’d no more to time\\r\\nThan I do now: with thought of such affections,\\r\\nStep forth mine advocate. At your request\\r\\nMy father will grant precious things as trifles.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWould he do so, I’d beg your precious mistress,\\r\\nWhich he counts but a trifle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nSir, my liege,\\r\\nYour eye hath too much youth in ’t: not a month\\r\\n’Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes\\r\\nThan what you look on now.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI thought of her\\r\\nEven in these looks I made. [_To Florizel._] But your petition\\r\\nIs yet unanswer’d. I will to your father.\\r\\nYour honour not o’erthrown by your desires,\\r\\nI am friend to them and you: upon which errand\\r\\nI now go toward him; therefore follow me,\\r\\nAnd mark what way I make. Come, good my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. Before the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Autolycus and a Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nBeseech you, sir, were you present at this relation?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI was by at the opening of the fardel, heard the old shepherd deliver\\r\\nthe manner how he found it: whereupon, after a little amazedness, we\\r\\nwere all commanded out of the chamber; only this, methought I heard the\\r\\nshepherd say he found the child.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI would most gladly know the issue of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI make a broken delivery of the business; but the changes I perceived\\r\\nin the king and Camillo were very notes of admiration. They seemed\\r\\nalmost, with staring on one another, to tear the cases of their eyes.\\r\\nThere was speech in their dumbness, language in their very gesture;\\r\\nthey looked as they had heard of a world ransomed, or one destroyed. A\\r\\nnotable passion of wonder appeared in them; but the wisest beholder,\\r\\nthat knew no more but seeing could not say if th’ importance were joy\\r\\nor sorrow; but in the extremity of the one, it must needs be. Here\\r\\ncomes a gentleman that happily knows more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe news, Rogero?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNothing but bonfires: the oracle is fulfilled: the king’s daughter is\\r\\nfound: such a deal of wonder is broken out within this hour that\\r\\nballad-makers cannot be able to express it. Here comes the Lady\\r\\nPaulina’s steward: he can deliver you more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a third Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\n How goes it now, sir? This news, which is called true, is so like an\\r\\n old tale that the verity of it is in strong suspicion. Has the king\\r\\n found his heir?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nMost true, if ever truth were pregnant by circumstance. That which you\\r\\nhear you’ll swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The\\r\\nmantle of Queen Hermione’s, her jewel about the neck of it, the letters\\r\\nof Antigonus found with it, which they know to be his character; the\\r\\nmajesty of the creature in resemblance of the mother, the affection of\\r\\nnobleness which nature shows above her breeding, and many other\\r\\nevidences proclaim her with all certainty to be the king’s daughter.\\r\\nDid you see the meeting of the two kings?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThen you have lost a sight which was to be seen, cannot be spoken of.\\r\\nThere might you have beheld one joy crown another, so and in such\\r\\nmanner that it seemed sorrow wept to take leave of them, for their joy\\r\\nwaded in tears. There was casting up of eyes, holding up of hands, with\\r\\ncountenance of such distraction that they were to be known by garment,\\r\\nnot by favour. Our king, being ready to leap out of himself for joy of\\r\\nhis found daughter, as if that joy were now become a loss, cries “O,\\r\\nthy mother, thy mother!” then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces\\r\\nhis son-in-law; then again worries he his daughter with clipping her;\\r\\nnow he thanks the old shepherd, which stands by like a weather-bitten\\r\\nconduit of many kings’ reigns. I never heard of such another encounter,\\r\\nwhich lames report to follow it, and undoes description to do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWhat, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried hence the child?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nLike an old tale still, which will have matter to rehearse, though\\r\\ncredit be asleep and not an ear open. He was torn to pieces with a\\r\\nbear: this avouches the shepherd’s son, who has not only his innocence,\\r\\nwhich seems much, to justify him, but a handkerchief and rings of his\\r\\nthat Paulina knows.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWhat became of his bark and his followers?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWrecked the same instant of their master’s death, and in the view of\\r\\nthe shepherd: so that all the instruments which aided to expose the\\r\\nchild were even then lost when it was found. But O, the noble combat\\r\\nthat ’twixt joy and sorrow was fought in Paulina! She had one eye\\r\\ndeclined for the loss of her husband, another elevated that the oracle\\r\\nwas fulfilled. She lifted the princess from the earth, and so locks her\\r\\nin embracing, as if she would pin her to her heart, that she might no\\r\\nmore be in danger of losing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThe dignity of this act was worth the audience of kings and princes;\\r\\nfor by such was it acted.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nOne of the prettiest touches of all, and that which angled for mine\\r\\neyes (caught the water, though not the fish) was, when at the relation\\r\\nof the queen’s death (with the manner how she came to it bravely\\r\\nconfessed and lamented by the king) how attentivenes wounded his\\r\\ndaughter; till, from one sign of dolour to another, she did, with an\\r\\n“Alas,” I would fain say, bleed tears, for I am sure my heart wept\\r\\nblood. Who was most marble there changed colour; some swooned, all\\r\\nsorrowed: if all the world could have seen it, the woe had been\\r\\nuniversal.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nAre they returned to the court?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNo: the princess hearing of her mother’s statue, which is in the\\r\\nkeeping of Paulina,—a piece many years in doing and now newly performed\\r\\nby that rare Italian master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself\\r\\neternity, and could put breath into his work, would beguile Nature of\\r\\nher custom, so perfectly he is her ape: he so near to Hermione hath\\r\\ndone Hermione that they say one would speak to her and stand in hope of\\r\\nanswer. Thither with all greediness of affection are they gone, and\\r\\nthere they intend to sup.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI thought she had some great matter there in hand; for she hath\\r\\nprivately twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione,\\r\\nvisited that removed house. Shall we thither, and with our company\\r\\npiece the rejoicing?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWho would be thence that has the benefit of access? Every wink of an\\r\\neye some new grace will be born. Our absence makes us unthrifty to our\\r\\nknowledge. Let’s along.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Gentlemen._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nNow, had I not the dash of my former life in me, would preferment drop\\r\\non my head. I brought the old man and his son aboard the prince; told\\r\\nhim I heard them talk of a fardel and I know not what. But he at that\\r\\ntime over-fond of the shepherd’s daughter (so he then took her to be),\\r\\nwho began to be much sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity of\\r\\nweather continuing, this mystery remained undiscover’d. But ’tis all\\r\\none to me; for had I been the finder-out of this secret, it would not\\r\\nhave relish’d among my other discredits.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Shepherd and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere come those I have done good to against my will, and already\\r\\nappearing in the blossoms of their fortune.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nCome, boy; I am past more children, but thy sons and daughters will be\\r\\nall gentlemen born.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYou are well met, sir. You denied to fight with me this other day,\\r\\nbecause I was no gentleman born. See you these clothes? Say you see\\r\\nthem not and think me still no gentleman born: you were best say these\\r\\nrobes are not gentlemen born. Give me the lie, do; and try whether I am\\r\\nnot now a gentleman born.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI know you are now, sir, a gentleman born.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy, and have been so any time these four hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAnd so have I, boy!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nSo you have: but I was a gentleman born before my father; for the\\r\\nking’s son took me by the hand and called me brother; and then the two\\r\\nkings called my father brother; and then the prince, my brother, and\\r\\nthe princess, my sister, called my father father; and so we wept; and\\r\\nthere was the first gentleman-like tears that ever we shed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWe may live, son, to shed many more.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy; or else ’twere hard luck, being in so preposterous estate as we\\r\\nare.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the faults I have committed\\r\\nto your worship, and to give me your good report to the prince my\\r\\nmaster.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nPrithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThou wilt amend thy life?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAy, an it like your good worship.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGive me thy hand: I will swear to the prince thou art as honest a true\\r\\nfellow as any is in Bohemia.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nYou may say it, but not swear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and franklins say it,\\r\\nI’ll swear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nHow if it be false, son?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIf it be ne’er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in the behalf of\\r\\nhis friend. And I’ll swear to the prince thou art a tall fellow of thy\\r\\nhands and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art no tall\\r\\nfellow of thy hands and that thou wilt be drunk: but I’ll swear it; and\\r\\nI would thou wouldst be a tall fellow of thy hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI will prove so, sir, to my power.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy, by any means, prove a tall fellow: if I do not wonder how thou\\r\\ndar’st venture to be drunk, not being a tall fellow, trust me not.\\r\\nHark! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see the\\r\\nqueen’s picture. Come, follow us: we’ll be thy good masters.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A Room in Paulina’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Florizel, Perdita, Camillo, Paulina, Lords\\r\\n and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO grave and good Paulina, the great comfort\\r\\nThat I have had of thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWhat, sovereign sir,\\r\\nI did not well, I meant well. All my services\\r\\nYou have paid home: but that you have vouchsaf’d,\\r\\nWith your crown’d brother and these your contracted\\r\\nHeirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit,\\r\\nIt is a surplus of your grace which never\\r\\nMy life may last to answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO Paulina,\\r\\nWe honour you with trouble. But we came\\r\\nTo see the statue of our queen: your gallery\\r\\nHave we pass’d through, not without much content\\r\\nIn many singularities; but we saw not\\r\\nThat which my daughter came to look upon,\\r\\nThe statue of her mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nAs she liv’d peerless,\\r\\nSo her dead likeness, I do well believe,\\r\\nExcels whatever yet you look’d upon\\r\\nOr hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it\\r\\nLonely, apart. But here it is: prepare\\r\\nTo see the life as lively mock’d as ever\\r\\nStill sleep mock’d death. Behold, and say ’tis well.\\r\\n\\r\\n Paulina undraws a curtain, and discovers Hermione standing as a\\r\\n statue.\\r\\n\\r\\nI like your silence, it the more shows off\\r\\nYour wonder: but yet speak. First you, my liege.\\r\\nComes it not something near?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHer natural posture!\\r\\nChide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed\\r\\nThou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she\\r\\nIn thy not chiding; for she was as tender\\r\\nAs infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina,\\r\\nHermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing\\r\\nSo aged as this seems.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nO, not by much!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nSo much the more our carver’s excellence,\\r\\nWhich lets go by some sixteen years and makes her\\r\\nAs she liv’d now.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nAs now she might have done,\\r\\nSo much to my good comfort as it is\\r\\nNow piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood,\\r\\nEven with such life of majesty, warm life,\\r\\nAs now it coldly stands, when first I woo’d her!\\r\\nI am asham’d: does not the stone rebuke me\\r\\nFor being more stone than it? O royal piece,\\r\\nThere’s magic in thy majesty, which has\\r\\nMy evils conjur’d to remembrance and\\r\\nFrom thy admiring daughter took the spirits,\\r\\nStanding like stone with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nAnd give me leave,\\r\\nAnd do not say ’tis superstition, that\\r\\nI kneel, and then implore her blessing. Lady,\\r\\nDear queen, that ended when I but began,\\r\\nGive me that hand of yours to kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nO, patience!\\r\\nThe statue is but newly fix’d, the colour’s\\r\\nNot dry.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nMy lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on,\\r\\nWhich sixteen winters cannot blow away,\\r\\nSo many summers dry. Scarce any joy\\r\\nDid ever so long live; no sorrow\\r\\nBut kill’d itself much sooner.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nDear my brother,\\r\\nLet him that was the cause of this have power\\r\\nTo take off so much grief from you as he\\r\\nWill piece up in himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nIndeed, my lord,\\r\\nIf I had thought the sight of my poor image\\r\\nWould thus have wrought you—for the stone is mine—\\r\\nI’d not have show’d it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nDo not draw the curtain.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNo longer shall you gaze on’t, lest your fancy\\r\\nMay think anon it moves.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nLet be, let be.\\r\\nWould I were dead, but that methinks already—\\r\\nWhat was he that did make it? See, my lord,\\r\\nWould you not deem it breath’d? And that those veins\\r\\nDid verily bear blood?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nMasterly done:\\r\\nThe very life seems warm upon her lip.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThe fixture of her eye has motion in ’t,\\r\\nAs we are mock’d with art.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI’ll draw the curtain:\\r\\nMy lord’s almost so far transported that\\r\\nHe’ll think anon it lives.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO sweet Paulina,\\r\\nMake me to think so twenty years together!\\r\\nNo settled senses of the world can match\\r\\nThe pleasure of that madness. Let ’t alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr’d you: but\\r\\nI could afflict you further.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nDo, Paulina;\\r\\nFor this affliction has a taste as sweet\\r\\nAs any cordial comfort. Still methinks\\r\\nThere is an air comes from her. What fine chisel\\r\\nCould ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me,\\r\\nFor I will kiss her!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nGood my lord, forbear:\\r\\nThe ruddiness upon her lip is wet;\\r\\nYou’ll mar it if you kiss it, stain your own\\r\\nWith oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNo, not these twenty years.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nSo long could I\\r\\nStand by, a looker on.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nEither forbear,\\r\\nQuit presently the chapel, or resolve you\\r\\nFor more amazement. If you can behold it,\\r\\nI’ll make the statue move indeed, descend,\\r\\nAnd take you by the hand. But then you’ll think\\r\\n(Which I protest against) I am assisted\\r\\nBy wicked powers.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat you can make her do\\r\\nI am content to look on: what to speak,\\r\\nI am content to hear; for ’tis as easy\\r\\nTo make her speak as move.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nIt is requir’d\\r\\nYou do awake your faith. Then all stand still;\\r\\nOr those that think it is unlawful business\\r\\nI am about, let them depart.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nProceed:\\r\\nNo foot shall stir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nMusic, awake her: strike! [_Music._]\\r\\n’Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach;\\r\\nStrike all that look upon with marvel. Come;\\r\\nI’ll fill your grave up: stir; nay, come away.\\r\\nBequeath to death your numbness, for from him\\r\\nDear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs.\\r\\n\\r\\n Hermione comes down from the pedestal.\\r\\n\\r\\nStart not; her actions shall be holy as\\r\\nYou hear my spell is lawful. Do not shun her\\r\\nUntil you see her die again; for then\\r\\nYou kill her double. Nay, present your hand:\\r\\nWhen she was young you woo’d her; now in age\\r\\nIs she become the suitor?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\n[_Embracing her._] O, she’s warm!\\r\\nIf this be magic, let it be an art\\r\\nLawful as eating.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nShe embraces him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nShe hangs about his neck.\\r\\nIf she pertain to life, let her speak too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nAy, and make it manifest where she has liv’d,\\r\\nOr how stol’n from the dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThat she is living,\\r\\nWere it but told you, should be hooted at\\r\\nLike an old tale; but it appears she lives,\\r\\nThough yet she speak not. Mark a little while.\\r\\nPlease you to interpose, fair madam. Kneel\\r\\nAnd pray your mother’s blessing. Turn, good lady,\\r\\nOur Perdita is found.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Presenting Perdita who kneels to Hermione._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nYou gods, look down,\\r\\nAnd from your sacred vials pour your graces\\r\\nUpon my daughter’s head! Tell me, mine own,\\r\\nWhere hast thou been preserv’d? where liv’d? how found\\r\\nThy father’s court? for thou shalt hear that I,\\r\\nKnowing by Paulina that the oracle\\r\\nGave hope thou wast in being, have preserv’d\\r\\nMyself to see the issue.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThere’s time enough for that;\\r\\nLest they desire upon this push to trouble\\r\\nYour joys with like relation. Go together,\\r\\nYou precious winners all; your exultation\\r\\nPartake to everyone. I, an old turtle,\\r\\nWill wing me to some wither’d bough, and there\\r\\nMy mate, that’s never to be found again,\\r\\nLament till I am lost.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO peace, Paulina!\\r\\nThou shouldst a husband take by my consent,\\r\\nAs I by thine a wife: this is a match,\\r\\nAnd made between ’s by vows. Thou hast found mine;\\r\\nBut how, is to be question’d; for I saw her,\\r\\nAs I thought, dead; and have in vain said many\\r\\nA prayer upon her grave. I’ll not seek far—\\r\\nFor him, I partly know his mind—to find thee\\r\\nAn honourable husband. Come, Camillo,\\r\\nAnd take her by the hand, whose worth and honesty\\r\\nIs richly noted, and here justified\\r\\nBy us, a pair of kings. Let’s from this place.\\r\\nWhat! look upon my brother: both your pardons,\\r\\nThat e’er I put between your holy looks\\r\\nMy ill suspicion. This your son-in-law,\\r\\nAnd son unto the king, whom heavens directing,\\r\\nIs troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina,\\r\\nLead us from hence; where we may leisurely\\r\\nEach one demand, and answer to his part\\r\\nPerform’d in this wide gap of time, since first\\r\\nWe were dissever’d. Hastily lead away!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nA LOVER’S COMPLAINT\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nFrom off a hill whose concave womb reworded\\r\\nA plaintful story from a sist’ring vale,\\r\\nMy spirits t’attend this double voice accorded,\\r\\nAnd down I laid to list the sad-tun’d tale;\\r\\nEre long espied a fickle maid full pale,\\r\\nTearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,\\r\\nStorming her world with sorrow’s wind and rain.\\r\\n\\r\\nUpon her head a platted hive of straw,\\r\\nWhich fortified her visage from the sun,\\r\\nWhereon the thought might think sometime it saw\\r\\nThe carcass of a beauty spent and done;\\r\\nTime had not scythed all that youth begun,\\r\\nNor youth all quit, but spite of heaven’s fell rage\\r\\nSome beauty peeped through lattice of sear’d age.\\r\\n\\r\\nOft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,\\r\\nWhich on it had conceited characters,\\r\\nLaund’ring the silken figures in the brine\\r\\nThat seasoned woe had pelleted in tears,\\r\\nAnd often reading what contents it bears;\\r\\nAs often shrieking undistinguish’d woe,\\r\\nIn clamours of all size, both high and low.\\r\\n\\r\\nSometimes her levell’d eyes their carriage ride,\\r\\nAs they did batt’ry to the spheres intend;\\r\\nSometime diverted their poor balls are tied\\r\\nTo th’orbed earth; sometimes they do extend\\r\\nTheir view right on; anon their gazes lend\\r\\nTo every place at once, and nowhere fix’d,\\r\\nThe mind and sight distractedly commix’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,\\r\\nProclaim’d in her a careless hand of pride;\\r\\nFor some untuck’d descended her sheav’d hat,\\r\\nHanging her pale and pined cheek beside;\\r\\nSome in her threaden fillet still did bide,\\r\\nAnd, true to bondage, would not break from thence,\\r\\nThough slackly braided in loose negligence.\\r\\n\\r\\nA thousand favours from a maund she drew,\\r\\nOf amber, crystal, and of beaded jet,\\r\\nWhich one by one she in a river threw,\\r\\nUpon whose weeping margent she was set,\\r\\nLike usury applying wet to wet,\\r\\nOr monarchs’ hands, that lets not bounty fall\\r\\nWhere want cries ‘some,’ but where excess begs ‘all’.\\r\\n\\r\\nOf folded schedules had she many a one,\\r\\nWhich she perus’d, sigh’d, tore and gave the flood;\\r\\nCrack’d many a ring of posied gold and bone,\\r\\nBidding them find their sepulchres in mud;\\r\\nFound yet mo letters sadly penn’d in blood,\\r\\nWith sleided silk, feat and affectedly\\r\\nEnswath’d, and seal’d to curious secrecy.\\r\\n\\r\\nThese often bath’d she in her fluxive eyes,\\r\\nAnd often kiss’d, and often gave to tear;\\r\\nCried, ‘O false blood, thou register of lies,\\r\\nWhat unapproved witness dost thou bear!\\r\\nInk would have seem’d more black and damned here!’\\r\\nThis said, in top of rage the lines she rents,\\r\\nBig discontent so breaking their contents.\\r\\n\\r\\nA reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh,\\r\\nSometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew\\r\\nOf court, of city, and had let go by\\r\\nThe swiftest hours observed as they flew,\\r\\nTowards this afflicted fancy fastly drew;\\r\\nAnd, privileg’d by age, desires to know\\r\\nIn brief the grounds and motives of her woe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo slides he down upon his grained bat,\\r\\nAnd comely distant sits he by her side,\\r\\nWhen he again desires her, being sat,\\r\\nHer grievance with his hearing to divide:\\r\\nIf that from him there may be aught applied\\r\\nWhich may her suffering ecstasy assuage,\\r\\n’Tis promised in the charity of age.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Father,’ she says, ‘though in me you behold\\r\\nThe injury of many a blasting hour,\\r\\nLet it not tell your judgement I am old,\\r\\nNot age, but sorrow, over me hath power.\\r\\nI might as yet have been a spreading flower,\\r\\nFresh to myself, if I had self-applied\\r\\nLove to myself, and to no love beside.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘But woe is me! Too early I attended\\r\\nA youthful suit; it was to gain my grace;\\r\\nO one by nature’s outwards so commended,\\r\\nThat maiden’s eyes stuck over all his face,\\r\\nLove lack’d a dwelling and made him her place;\\r\\nAnd when in his fair parts she did abide,\\r\\nShe was new lodg’d and newly deified.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘His browny locks did hang in crooked curls,\\r\\nAnd every light occasion of the wind\\r\\nUpon his lips their silken parcels hurls,\\r\\nWhat’s sweet to do, to do will aptly find,\\r\\nEach eye that saw him did enchant the mind:\\r\\nFor on his visage was in little drawn,\\r\\nWhat largeness thinks in paradise was sawn.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Small show of man was yet upon his chin;\\r\\nHis phoenix down began but to appear,\\r\\nLike unshorn velvet, on that termless skin,\\r\\nWhose bare out-bragg’d the web it seemed to wear.\\r\\nYet show’d his visage by that cost more dear,\\r\\nAnd nice affections wavering stood in doubt\\r\\nIf best were as it was, or best without.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘His qualities were beauteous as his form,\\r\\nFor maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free;\\r\\nYet if men mov’d him, was he such a storm\\r\\nAs oft ’twixt May and April is to see,\\r\\nWhen winds breathe sweet, unruly though they be.\\r\\nHis rudeness so with his authoriz’d youth\\r\\nDid livery falseness in a pride of truth.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Well could he ride, and often men would say\\r\\nThat horse his mettle from his rider takes,\\r\\nProud of subjection, noble by the sway,\\r\\nWhat rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes!\\r\\nAnd controversy hence a question takes,\\r\\nWhether the horse by him became his deed,\\r\\nOr he his manage by th’ well-doing steed.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘But quickly on this side the verdict went,\\r\\nHis real habitude gave life and grace\\r\\nTo appertainings and to ornament,\\r\\nAccomplish’d in himself, not in his case;\\r\\nAll aids, themselves made fairer by their place,\\r\\nCame for additions; yet their purpos’d trim\\r\\nPiec’d not his grace, but were all grac’d by him.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘So on the tip of his subduing tongue\\r\\nAll kind of arguments and question deep,\\r\\nAll replication prompt, and reason strong,\\r\\nFor his advantage still did wake and sleep,\\r\\nTo make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep:\\r\\nHe had the dialect and different skill,\\r\\nCatching all passions in his craft of will.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘That he did in the general bosom reign\\r\\nOf young, of old, and sexes both enchanted,\\r\\nTo dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain\\r\\nIn personal duty, following where he haunted,\\r\\nConsent’s bewitch’d, ere he desire, have granted,\\r\\nAnd dialogued for him what he would say,\\r\\nAsk’d their own wills, and made their wills obey.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Many there were that did his picture get\\r\\nTo serve their eyes, and in it put their mind,\\r\\nLike fools that in th’ imagination set\\r\\nThe goodly objects which abroad they find\\r\\nOf lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign’d,\\r\\nAnd labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them,\\r\\nThan the true gouty landlord which doth owe them.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘So many have, that never touch’d his hand,\\r\\nSweetly suppos’d them mistress of his heart.\\r\\nMy woeful self that did in freedom stand,\\r\\nAnd was my own fee-simple (not in part)\\r\\nWhat with his art in youth, and youth in art,\\r\\nThrew my affections in his charmed power,\\r\\nReserv’d the stalk and gave him all my flower.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Yet did I not, as some my equals did,\\r\\nDemand of him, nor being desired yielded,\\r\\nFinding myself in honour so forbid,\\r\\nWith safest distance I mine honour shielded.\\r\\nExperience for me many bulwarks builded\\r\\nOf proofs new-bleeding, which remain’d the foil\\r\\nOf this false jewel, and his amorous spoil.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘But ah! Who ever shunn’d by precedent\\r\\nThe destin’d ill she must herself assay,\\r\\nOr force’d examples ’gainst her own content,\\r\\nTo put the by-pass’d perils in her way?\\r\\nCounsel may stop a while what will not stay:\\r\\nFor when we rage, advice is often seen\\r\\nBy blunting us to make our wills more keen.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood,\\r\\nThat we must curb it upon others’ proof,\\r\\nTo be forbode the sweets that seems so good,\\r\\nFor fear of harms that preach in our behoof.\\r\\nO appetite, from judgement stand aloof!\\r\\nThe one a palate hath that needs will taste,\\r\\nThough reason weep and cry, “It is thy last.”\\r\\n\\r\\n‘For further I could say, “This man’s untrue”,\\r\\nAnd knew the patterns of his foul beguiling;\\r\\nHeard where his plants in others’ orchards grew,\\r\\nSaw how deceits were gilded in his smiling;\\r\\nKnew vows were ever brokers to defiling;\\r\\nThought characters and words merely but art,\\r\\nAnd bastards of his foul adulterate heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘And long upon these terms I held my city,\\r\\nTill thus he ’gan besiege me: “Gentle maid,\\r\\nHave of my suffering youth some feeling pity,\\r\\nAnd be not of my holy vows afraid:\\r\\nThat’s to ye sworn, to none was ever said,\\r\\nFor feasts of love I have been call’d unto,\\r\\nTill now did ne’er invite, nor never woo.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“All my offences that abroad you see\\r\\nAre errors of the blood, none of the mind:\\r\\nLove made them not; with acture they may be,\\r\\nWhere neither party is nor true nor kind,\\r\\nThey sought their shame that so their shame did find,\\r\\nAnd so much less of shame in me remains,\\r\\nBy how much of me their reproach contains.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Among the many that mine eyes have seen,\\r\\nNot one whose flame my heart so much as warmed,\\r\\nOr my affection put to th’ smallest teen,\\r\\nOr any of my leisures ever charmed:\\r\\nHarm have I done to them, but ne’er was harmed;\\r\\nKept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free,\\r\\nAnd reign’d commanding in his monarchy.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Look here what tributes wounded fancies sent me,\\r\\nOf pallid pearls and rubies red as blood,\\r\\nFiguring that they their passions likewise lent me\\r\\nOf grief and blushes, aptly understood\\r\\nIn bloodless white and the encrimson’d mood;\\r\\nEffects of terror and dear modesty,\\r\\nEncamp’d in hearts, but fighting outwardly.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“And, lo! behold these talents of their hair,\\r\\nWith twisted metal amorously empleach’d,\\r\\nI have receiv’d from many a several fair,\\r\\nTheir kind acceptance weepingly beseech’d,\\r\\nWith th’ annexions of fair gems enrich’d,\\r\\nAnd deep-brain’d sonnets that did amplify\\r\\nEach stone’s dear nature, worth and quality.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“The diamond, why ’twas beautiful and hard,\\r\\nWhereto his invis’d properties did tend,\\r\\nThe deep green emerald, in whose fresh regard\\r\\nWeak sights their sickly radiance do amend;\\r\\nThe heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend\\r\\nWith objects manifold; each several stone,\\r\\nWith wit well blazon’d smil’d, or made some moan.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Lo, all these trophies of affections hot,\\r\\nOf pensiv’d and subdued desires the tender,\\r\\nNature hath charg’d me that I hoard them not,\\r\\nBut yield them up where I myself must render,\\r\\nThat is, to you, my origin and ender:\\r\\nFor these of force must your oblations be,\\r\\nSince I their altar, you empatron me.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“O then advance of yours that phraseless hand,\\r\\nWhose white weighs down the airy scale of praise;\\r\\nTake all these similes to your own command,\\r\\nHallowed with sighs that burning lungs did raise:\\r\\nWhat me, your minister for you, obeys,\\r\\nWorks under you; and to your audit comes\\r\\nTheir distract parcels in combined sums.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Lo, this device was sent me from a nun,\\r\\nOr sister sanctified of holiest note,\\r\\nWhich late her noble suit in court did shun,\\r\\nWhose rarest havings made the blossoms dote;\\r\\nFor she was sought by spirits of richest coat,\\r\\nBut kept cold distance, and did thence remove\\r\\nTo spend her living in eternal love.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“But O, my sweet, what labour is’t to leave\\r\\nThe thing we have not, mast’ring what not strives,\\r\\nPlaning the place which did no form receive,\\r\\nPlaying patient sports in unconstrained gyves,\\r\\nShe that her fame so to herself contrives,\\r\\nThe scars of battle ’scapeth by the flight,\\r\\nAnd makes her absence valiant, not her might.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“O pardon me, in that my boast is true,\\r\\nThe accident which brought me to her eye,\\r\\nUpon the moment did her force subdue,\\r\\nAnd now she would the caged cloister fly:\\r\\nReligious love put out religion’s eye:\\r\\nNot to be tempted would she be immur’d,\\r\\nAnd now to tempt all, liberty procur’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“How mighty then you are, O hear me tell!\\r\\nThe broken bosoms that to me belong\\r\\nHave emptied all their fountains in my well,\\r\\nAnd mine I pour your ocean all among:\\r\\nI strong o’er them, and you o’er me being strong,\\r\\nMust for your victory us all congest,\\r\\nAs compound love to physic your cold breast.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“My parts had pow’r to charm a sacred nun,\\r\\nWho, disciplin’d and dieted in grace,\\r\\nBeliev’d her eyes when they t’assail begun,\\r\\nAll vows and consecrations giving place.\\r\\nO most potential love! Vow, bond, nor space,\\r\\nIn thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine,\\r\\nFor thou art all and all things else are thine.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“When thou impressest, what are precepts worth\\r\\nOf stale example? When thou wilt inflame,\\r\\nHow coldly those impediments stand forth,\\r\\nOf wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame!\\r\\nLove’s arms are peace, ’gainst rule, ’gainst sense, ’gainst shame,\\r\\nAnd sweetens, in the suff’ring pangs it bears,\\r\\nThe aloes of all forces, shocks and fears.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Now all these hearts that do on mine depend,\\r\\nFeeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine,\\r\\nAnd supplicant their sighs to your extend,\\r\\nTo leave the batt’ry that you make ’gainst mine,\\r\\nLending soft audience to my sweet design,\\r\\nAnd credent soul to that strong-bonded oath,\\r\\nThat shall prefer and undertake my troth.”\\r\\n\\r\\n‘This said, his wat’ry eyes he did dismount,\\r\\nWhose sights till then were levell’d on my face;\\r\\nEach cheek a river running from a fount\\r\\nWith brinish current downward flowed apace.\\r\\nO how the channel to the stream gave grace!\\r\\nWho, glaz’d with crystal gate the glowing roses\\r\\nThat flame through water which their hue encloses.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies\\r\\nIn the small orb of one particular tear!\\r\\nBut with the inundation of the eyes\\r\\nWhat rocky heart to water will not wear?\\r\\nWhat breast so cold that is not warmed here?\\r\\nO cleft effect! Cold modesty, hot wrath,\\r\\nBoth fire from hence and chill extincture hath.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘For lo, his passion, but an art of craft,\\r\\nEven there resolv’d my reason into tears;\\r\\nThere my white stole of chastity I daff’d,\\r\\nShook off my sober guards, and civil fears,\\r\\nAppear to him as he to me appears,\\r\\nAll melting, though our drops this diff’rence bore:\\r\\nHis poison’d me, and mine did him restore.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘In him a plenitude of subtle matter,\\r\\nApplied to cautels, all strange forms receives,\\r\\nOf burning blushes, or of weeping water,\\r\\nOr swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves,\\r\\nIn either’s aptness, as it best deceives,\\r\\nTo blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes,\\r\\nOr to turn white and swoon at tragic shows.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘That not a heart which in his level came\\r\\nCould ’scape the hail of his all-hurting aim,\\r\\nShowing fair nature is both kind and tame;\\r\\nAnd veil’d in them, did win whom he would maim.\\r\\nAgainst the thing he sought he would exclaim;\\r\\nWhen he most burned in heart-wish’d luxury,\\r\\nHe preach’d pure maid, and prais’d cold chastity.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Thus merely with the garment of a grace,\\r\\nThe naked and concealed fiend he cover’d,\\r\\nThat th’unexperient gave the tempter place,\\r\\nWhich, like a cherubin, above them hover’d.\\r\\nWho, young and simple, would not be so lover’d?\\r\\nAy me! I fell, and yet do question make\\r\\nWhat I should do again for such a sake.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘O, that infected moisture of his eye,\\r\\nO, that false fire which in his cheek so glow’d!\\r\\nO, that forc’d thunder from his heart did fly,\\r\\nO, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestow’d,\\r\\nO, all that borrowed motion, seeming owed,\\r\\nWould yet again betray the fore-betrayed,\\r\\nAnd new pervert a reconciled maid.’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE PASSIONATE PILGRIM\\r\\n\\r\\nI.\\r\\n\\r\\nDid not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,\\r\\n\\'Gainst whom the world could not hold argument,\\r\\nPersuade my heart to this false perjury?\\r\\nVows for thee broke deserve not punishment.\\r\\nA woman I forswore; but I will prove,\\r\\nThou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:\\r\\nMy vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;\\r\\nThy grace being gain\\'d cures all disgrace in me.\\r\\nMy vow was breath, and breath a vapour is;\\r\\nThen, thou fair sun, that on this earth doth shine,\\r\\nExhale this vapour vow; in thee it is:\\r\\nIf broken, then it is no fault of mine.\\r\\n If by me broke, what fool is not so wise\\r\\n To break an oath, to win a paradise?\\r\\n\\r\\nII.\\r\\n\\r\\nSweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook\\r\\nWith young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green,\\r\\nDid court the lad with many a lovely look,\\r\\nSuch looks as none could look but beauty\\'s queen.\\r\\nShe told him stories to delight his ear;\\r\\nShe show\\'d him favours to allure his eye;\\r\\nTo win his heart, she touch\\'d him here and there:\\r\\nTouches so soft still conquer chastity.\\r\\nBut whether unripe years did want conceit,\\r\\nOr he refus\\'d to take her figur\\'d proffer,\\r\\nThe tender nibbler would not touch the bait,\\r\\nBut smile and jest at every gentle offer:\\r\\n Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward;\\r\\n He rose and ran away; ah, fool too froward!\\r\\n\\r\\nIII.\\r\\n\\r\\nIf love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?\\r\\nO never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow\\'d:\\r\\nThough to myself forsworn, to thee I\\'ll constant prove;\\r\\nThose thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like osiers bow\\'d.\\r\\nStudy his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes,\\r\\nWhere all those pleasures live that art can comprehend.\\r\\nIf knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;\\r\\nWell learned is that tongue that well can thee commend;\\r\\nAll ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;\\r\\nWhich is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire:\\r\\nThy eye Jove\\'s lightning seems, thy voice his dreadful thunder,\\r\\nWhich (not to anger bent) is music and sweet fire.\\r\\n Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong,\\r\\n To sing heavens\\' praise with such an earthly tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nIV.\\r\\n\\r\\nScarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn,\\r\\nAnd scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade,\\r\\nWhen Cytherea, all in love forlorn,\\r\\nA longing tarriance for Adonis made,\\r\\nUnder an osier growing by a brook,\\r\\nA brook where Adon used to cool his spleen.\\r\\nHot was the day; she hotter that did look\\r\\nFor his approach, that often there had been.\\r\\nAnon he comes, and throws his mantle by,\\r\\nAnd stood stark naked on the brook\\'s green brim;\\r\\nThe sun look\\'d on the world with glorious eye,\\r\\nYet not so wistly as this queen on him:\\r\\n He, spying her, bounc\\'d in, whereas he stood;\\r\\n O Jove, quoth she, why was not I a flood?\\r\\n\\r\\nV.\\r\\n\\r\\nFair is my love, but not so fair as fickle;\\r\\nMild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty;\\r\\nBrighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle;\\r\\nSofter than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty:\\r\\n A lily pale, with damask die to grace her,\\r\\n None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer lips to mine how often hath she join\\'d,\\r\\nBetween each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!\\r\\nHow many tales to please me hath she coin\\'d,\\r\\nDreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing!\\r\\n Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings,\\r\\n Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe burn\\'d with love, as straw with fire flameth;\\r\\nShe burn\\'d out love, as soon as straw outburneth;\\r\\nShe fram\\'d the love, and yet she foil\\'d the framing;\\r\\nShe bade love last, and yet she fell a turning.\\r\\n Was this a lover, or a lecher whether?\\r\\n Bad in the best, though excellent in neither.\\r\\n\\r\\nVI.\\r\\n\\r\\nIf music and sweet poetry agree,\\r\\nAs they must needs, the sister and the brother,\\r\\nThen must the love be great \\'twixt thee and me,\\r\\nBecause thou lovest the one, and I the other.\\r\\nDowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch\\r\\nUpon the lute doth ravish human sense;\\r\\nSpenser to me, whose deep conceit is such\\r\\nAs, passing all conceit, needs no defence.\\r\\nThou lov\\'st to hear the sweet melodious sound\\r\\nThat Phoebus\\' lute, the queen of music, makes;\\r\\nAnd I in deep delight am chiefly drown\\'d\\r\\nWhenas himself to singing he betakes.\\r\\n One god is god of both, as poets feign;\\r\\n One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.\\r\\n\\r\\nVII.\\r\\n\\r\\nFair was the morn when the fair queen of love,\\r\\n * * * * * *\\r\\nPaler for sorrow than her milk-white dove,\\r\\nFor Adon\\'s sake, a youngster proud and wild;\\r\\nHer stand she takes upon a steep-up hill:\\r\\nAnon Adonis comes with horn and hounds;\\r\\nShe, silly queen, with more than love\\'s good will,\\r\\nForbade the boy he should not pass those grounds;\\r\\nOnce, quoth she, did I see a fair sweet youth\\r\\nHere in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar,\\r\\nDeep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth!\\r\\nSee, in my thigh, quoth she, here was the sore.\\r\\n She showed hers: he saw more wounds than one,\\r\\n And blushing fled, and left her all alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIII.\\r\\n\\r\\nSweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck\\'d, soon vaded,\\r\\nPluck\\'d in the bud, and vaded in the spring!\\r\\nBright orient pearl, alack! too timely shaded!\\r\\nFair creature, kill\\'d too soon by death\\'s sharp sting!\\r\\n Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree,\\r\\n And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.\\r\\n\\r\\nI weep for thee, and yet no cause I have;\\r\\nFor why? thou left\\'st me nothing in thy will:\\r\\nAnd yet thou left\\'st me more than I did crave;\\r\\nFor why? I craved nothing of thee still:\\r\\n O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee,\\r\\n Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIX.\\r\\n\\r\\nVenus, with young Adonis sitting by her,\\r\\nUnder a myrtle shade, began to woo him:\\r\\nShe told the youngling how god Mars did try her,\\r\\nAnd as he fell to her, so fell she to him.\\r\\nEven thus, quoth she, the warlike god embrac\\'d me,\\r\\nAnd then she clipp\\'d Adonis in her arms;\\r\\nEven thus, quoth she, the warlike god unlaced me;\\r\\nAs if the boy should use like loving charms;\\r\\nEven thus, quoth she, he seized on my lips,\\r\\nAnd with her lips on his did act the seizure;\\r\\nAnd as she fetched breath, away he skips,\\r\\nAnd would not take her meaning nor her pleasure.\\r\\n Ah! that I had my lady at this bay,\\r\\n To kiss and clip me till I run away!\\r\\n\\r\\nX.\\r\\n\\r\\n Crabbed age and youth\\r\\n Cannot live together\\r\\n Youth is full of pleasance,\\r\\n Age is full of care;\\r\\n Youth like summer morn,\\r\\n Age like winter weather;\\r\\n Youth like summer brave,\\r\\n Age like winter bare;\\r\\n Youth is full of sport,\\r\\n Age\\'s breath is short;\\r\\n Youth is nimble, age is lame;\\r\\n Youth is hot and bold,\\r\\n Age is weak and cold;\\r\\n Youth is wild, and age is tame.\\r\\n Age, I do abhor thee;\\r\\n Youth, I do adore thee;\\r\\n O, my love, my love is young!\\r\\n Age, I do defy thee;\\r\\n O, sweet shepherd, hie thee,\\r\\n For methinks thou stay\\'st too long.\\r\\n\\r\\nXI.\\r\\n\\r\\nBeauty is but a vain and doubtful good,\\r\\nA shining gloss that vadeth suddenly;\\r\\nA flower that dies when first it \\'gins to bud;\\r\\nA brittle glass, that\\'s broken presently:\\r\\n A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,\\r\\n Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd as goods lost are seld or never found,\\r\\nAs vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh,\\r\\nAs flowers dead lie wither\\'d on the ground,\\r\\nAs broken glass no cement can redress,\\r\\n So beauty blemish\\'d once, for ever\\'s lost,\\r\\n In spite of physic, painting, pain and cost.\\r\\n\\r\\nXII.\\r\\n\\r\\nGood night, good rest. Ah! neither be my share:\\r\\nShe bade good night that kept my rest away;\\r\\nAnd daff\\'d me to a cabin hang\\'d with care,\\r\\nTo descant on the doubts of my decay.\\r\\n Farewell, quoth she, and come again tomorrow:\\r\\n Fare well I could not, for I supp\\'d with sorrow;\\r\\n\\r\\nYet at my parting sweetly did she smile,\\r\\nIn scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether:\\r\\n\\'T may be, she joy\\'d to jest at my exile,\\r\\n\\'T may be, again to make me wander thither:\\r\\n \\'Wander,\\' a word for shadows like myself,\\r\\n As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.\\r\\n\\r\\nXIII.\\r\\n\\r\\nLord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east!\\r\\nMy heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise\\r\\nDoth cite each moving sense from idle rest.\\r\\nNot daring trust the office of mine eyes,\\r\\n While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,\\r\\n And wish her lays were tuned like the lark;\\r\\n\\r\\nFor she doth welcome daylight with her ditty,\\r\\nAnd drives away dark dismal-dreaming night:\\r\\nThe night so pack\\'d, I post unto my pretty;\\r\\nHeart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight;\\r\\n Sorrow chang\\'d to solace, solace mix\\'d with sorrow;\\r\\n For why, she sigh\\'d and bade me come tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nWere I with her, the night would post too soon;\\r\\nBut now are minutes added to the hours;\\r\\nTo spite me now, each minute seems a moon;\\r\\nYet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers!\\r\\n Pack night, peep day; good day, of night now borrow:\\r\\n Short, night, to-night, and length thyself to-morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nLet the bird of loudest lay,\\r\\nOn the sole Arabian tree,\\r\\nHerald sad and trumpet be,\\r\\nTo whose sound chaste wings obey.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut thou shrieking harbinger,\\r\\nFoul precurrer of the fiend,\\r\\nAugur of the fever’s end,\\r\\nTo this troop come thou not near.\\r\\n\\r\\nFrom this session interdict\\r\\nEvery fowl of tyrant wing,\\r\\nSave the eagle, feather’d king;\\r\\nKeep the obsequy so strict.\\r\\n\\r\\nLet the priest in surplice white,\\r\\nThat defunctive music can,\\r\\nBe the death-divining swan,\\r\\nLest the requiem lack his right.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd thou treble-dated crow,\\r\\nThat thy sable gender mak’st\\r\\nWith the breath thou giv’st and tak’st,\\r\\n’Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere the anthem doth commence:\\r\\nLove and constancy is dead;\\r\\nPhoenix and the turtle fled\\r\\nIn a mutual flame from hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo they lov’d, as love in twain\\r\\nHad the essence but in one;\\r\\nTwo distincts, division none:\\r\\nNumber there in love was slain.\\r\\n\\r\\nHearts remote, yet not asunder;\\r\\nDistance and no space was seen\\r\\n’Twixt this turtle and his queen;\\r\\nBut in them it were a wonder.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo between them love did shine,\\r\\nThat the turtle saw his right\\r\\nFlaming in the phoenix’ sight;\\r\\nEither was the other’s mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nProperty was thus appalled,\\r\\nThat the self was not the same;\\r\\nSingle nature’s double name\\r\\nNeither two nor one was called.\\r\\n\\r\\nReason, in itself confounded,\\r\\nSaw division grow together;\\r\\nTo themselves yet either neither,\\r\\nSimple were so well compounded.\\r\\n\\r\\nThat it cried, How true a twain\\r\\nSeemeth this concordant one!\\r\\nLove hath reason, reason none,\\r\\nIf what parts can so remain.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhereupon it made this threne\\r\\nTo the phoenix and the dove,\\r\\nCo-supremes and stars of love,\\r\\nAs chorus to their tragic scene.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n THRENOS\\r\\n\\r\\nBeauty, truth, and rarity.\\r\\nGrace in all simplicity,\\r\\nHere enclos’d in cinders lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nDeath is now the phoenix’ nest;\\r\\nAnd the turtle’s loyal breast\\r\\nTo eternity doth rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nLeaving no posterity:—\\r\\n’Twas not their infirmity,\\r\\nIt was married chastity.\\r\\n\\r\\nTruth may seem, but cannot be;\\r\\nBeauty brag, but ’tis not she;\\r\\nTruth and beauty buried be.\\r\\n\\r\\nTo this urn let those repair\\r\\nThat are either true or fair;\\r\\nFor these dead birds sigh a prayer.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE RAPE OF LUCRECE\\r\\n\\r\\n TO THE\\r\\n\\r\\n RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,\\r\\n\\r\\n EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TITCHFIELD.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE love I dedicate to your Lordship is without end; whereof this\\r\\npamphlet, without beginning, is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant\\r\\nI have of your honourable disposition, not the worth of my untutored\\r\\nlines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours; what\\r\\nI have to do is yours; being part in all I have, devoted yours. Were\\r\\nmy worth greater, my duty would show greater; meantime, as it is, it is\\r\\nbound to your Lordship, to whom I wish long life, still lengthened with\\r\\nall happiness.\\r\\n\\r\\n Your Lordship\\'s in all duty,\\r\\n WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.\\r\\n\\r\\n THE ARGUMENT.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS TARQUINIUS (for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus), after he\\r\\nhad caused his own father-in-law, Servius Tullius, to be cruelly\\r\\nmurdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not requiring or\\r\\nstaying for the people\\'s suffrages, had possessed himself of the\\r\\nkingdom, went, accompanied with his sons and other noblemen of Rome, to\\r\\nbesiege Ardea. During which siege the principal men of the army\\r\\nmeeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquinius, the king\\'s son,\\r\\nin their discourses after supper, every one commended the virtues of\\r\\nhis own wife; among whom Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity\\r\\nof his wife Lucretia. In that pleasant humour they all posted to Rome;\\r\\nand intending, by their secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of\\r\\nthat which every one had before avouched, only Collatinus finds his\\r\\nwife, though it were late in the night, spinning amongst her maids: the\\r\\nother ladies were all found dancing and revelling, or in several\\r\\ndisports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus the victory, and\\r\\nhis wife the fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius being inflamed with\\r\\nLucrece\\'s beauty, yet smothering his passions for the present, departed\\r\\nwith the rest back to the camp; from whence he shortly after privily\\r\\nwithdrew himself, and was (according to his estate) royally entertained\\r\\nand lodged by Lucrece at Collatium. The same night he treacherously\\r\\nstealeth into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the\\r\\nmorning speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight, hastily\\r\\ndispatched messengers, one to Rome for her father, another to the camp\\r\\nfor Collatine. They came, the one accompanied with Junius Brutus, the\\r\\nother with Publius Valerius; and finding Lucrece attired in mourning\\r\\nhabit, demanded the cause of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of\\r\\nthem for her revenge, revealed the actor, and whole manner of his\\r\\ndealing, and withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one\\r\\nconsent they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the\\r\\nTarquins; and bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted the\\r\\npeople with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a bitter\\r\\ninvective against the tyranny of the king; wherewith the people were so\\r\\nmoved, that with one consent and a general acclamation the Tarquins\\r\\nwere all exiled, and the state government changed from kings to\\r\\nconsuls.\\r\\n\\r\\n_______________________________________________________________\\r\\n\\r\\nFrom the besieged Ardea all in post,\\r\\nBorne by the trustless wings of false desire,\\r\\nLust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host,\\r\\nAnd to Collatium bears the lightless fire\\r\\nWhich, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire\\r\\n And girdle with embracing flames the waist\\r\\n Of Collatine\\'s fair love, Lucrece the chaste.\\r\\n\\r\\nHaply that name of chaste unhapp\\'ly set\\r\\nThis bateless edge on his keen appetite;\\r\\nWhen Collatine unwisely did not let\\r\\nTo praise the clear unmatched red and white\\r\\nWhich triumph\\'d in that sky of his delight,\\r\\n Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven\\'s beauties,\\r\\n With pure aspects did him peculiar duties.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor he the night before, in Tarquin\\'s tent,\\r\\nUnlock\\'d the treasure of his happy state;\\r\\nWhat priceless wealth the heavens had him lent\\r\\nIn the possession of his beauteous mate;\\r\\nReckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate,\\r\\n That kings might be espoused to more fame,\\r\\n But king nor peer to such a peerless dame.\\r\\n\\r\\nO happiness enjoy\\'d but of a few!\\r\\nAnd, if possess\\'d, as soon decay\\'d and done\\r\\nAs is the morning\\'s silver-melting dew\\r\\nAgainst the golden splendour of the sun!\\r\\nAn expir\\'d date, cancell\\'d ere well begun:\\r\\n Honour and beauty, in the owner\\'s arms,\\r\\n Are weakly fortress\\'d from a world of harms.\\r\\n\\r\\nBeauty itself doth of itself persuade\\r\\nThe eyes of men without an orator;\\r\\nWhat needeth then apologies be made,\\r\\nTo set forth that which is so singular?\\r\\nOr why is Collatine the publisher\\r\\n Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown\\r\\n From thievish ears, because it is his own?\\r\\n\\r\\nPerchance his boast of Lucrece\\' sovereignty\\r\\nSuggested this proud issue of a king;\\r\\nFor by our ears our hearts oft tainted be:\\r\\nPerchance that envy of so rich a thing,\\r\\nBraving compare, disdainfully did sting\\r\\n His high-pitch\\'d thoughts, that meaner men should vaunt\\r\\n That golden hap which their superiors want.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut some untimely thought did instigate\\r\\nHis all-too-timeless speed, if none of those;\\r\\nHis honour, his affairs, his friends, his state,\\r\\nNeglected all, with swift intent he goes\\r\\nTo quench the coal which in his liver glows.\\r\\n O rash false heat, wrapp\\'d in repentant cold,\\r\\n Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne\\'er grows old!\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen at Collatium this false lord arriv\\'d,\\r\\nWell was he welcom\\'d by the Roman dame,\\r\\nWithin whose face beauty and virtue striv\\'d\\r\\nWhich of them both should underprop her fame:\\r\\nWhen virtue bragg\\'d, beauty would blush for shame;\\r\\n When beauty boasted blushes, in despite\\r\\n Virtue would stain that or with silver white.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut beauty, in that white intituled,\\r\\nFrom Venus\\' doves doth challenge that fair field:\\r\\nThen virtue claims from beauty beauty\\'s red,\\r\\nWhich virtue gave the golden age, to gild\\r\\nTheir silver cheeks, and call\\'d it then their shield;\\r\\n Teaching them thus to use it in the fight,—\\r\\n When shame assail\\'d, the red should fence the white.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis heraldry in Lucrece\\' face was seen,\\r\\nArgued by beauty\\'s red, and virtue\\'s white:\\r\\nOf either\\'s colour was the other queen,\\r\\nProving from world\\'s minority their right:\\r\\nYet their ambition makes them still to fight;\\r\\n The sovereignty of either being so great,\\r\\n That oft they interchange each other\\'s seat.\\r\\n\\r\\nTheir silent war of lilies and of roses,\\r\\nWhich Tarquin view\\'d in her fair face\\'s field,\\r\\nIn their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses;\\r\\nWhere, lest between them both it should be kill\\'d,\\r\\nThe coward captive vanquish\\'d doth yield\\r\\n To those two armies that would let him go,\\r\\n Rather than triumph in so false a foe.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow thinks he that her husband\\'s shallow tongue,\\r\\n(The niggard prodigal that prais\\'d her so)\\r\\nIn that high task hath done her beauty wrong,\\r\\nWhich far exceeds his barren skill to show:\\r\\nTherefore that praise which Collatine doth owe\\r\\n Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise,\\r\\n In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis earthly saint, adored by this devil,\\r\\nLittle suspecteth the false worshipper;\\r\\nFor unstain\\'d thoughts do seldom dream on evil;\\r\\nBirds never lim\\'d no secret bushes fear:\\r\\nSo guiltless she securely gives good cheer\\r\\n And reverend welcome to her princely guest,\\r\\n Whose inward ill no outward harm express\\'d:\\r\\n\\r\\nFor that he colour\\'d with his high estate,\\r\\nHiding base sin in plaits of majesty;\\r\\nThat nothing in him seem\\'d inordinate,\\r\\nSave sometime too much wonder of his eye,\\r\\nWhich, having all, all could not satisfy;\\r\\n But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store,\\r\\n That, cloy\\'d with much, he pineth still for more.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut she, that never cop\\'d with stranger eyes,\\r\\nCould pick no meaning from their parling looks,\\r\\nNor read the subtle-shining secrecies\\r\\nWrit in the glassy margents of such books;\\r\\nShe touch\\'d no unknown baits, nor fear\\'d no hooks;\\r\\n Nor could she moralize his wanton sight,\\r\\n More than his eyes were open\\'d to the light.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe stories to her ears her husband\\'s fame,\\r\\nWon in the fields of fruitful Italy;\\r\\nAnd decks with praises Collatine\\'s high name,\\r\\nMade glorious by his manly chivalry\\r\\nWith bruised arms and wreaths of victory:\\r\\n Her joy with heav\\'d-up hand she doth express,\\r\\n And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success.\\r\\n\\r\\nFar from the purpose of his coming hither,\\r\\nHe makes excuses for his being there.\\r\\nNo cloudy show of stormy blustering weather\\r\\nDoth yet in his fair welkin once appear;\\r\\nTill sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear,\\r\\n Upon the world dim darkness doth display,\\r\\n And in her vaulty prison stows the day.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor then is Tarquin brought unto his bed,\\r\\nIntending weariness with heavy spright;\\r\\nFor, after supper, long he questioned\\r\\nWith modest Lucrece, and wore out the night:\\r\\nNow leaden slumber with life\\'s strength doth fight;\\r\\n And every one to rest themselves betake,\\r\\n Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds, that wake.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving\\r\\nThe sundry dangers of his will\\'s obtaining;\\r\\nYet ever to obtain his will resolving,\\r\\nThough weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining:\\r\\nDespair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining;\\r\\n And when great treasure is the meed propos\\'d,\\r\\n Though death be adjunct, there\\'s no death suppos\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nThose that much covet are with gain so fond,\\r\\nFor what they have not, that which they possess\\r\\nThey scatter and unloose it from their bond,\\r\\nAnd so, by hoping more, they have but less;\\r\\nOr, gaining more, the profit of excess\\r\\n Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain,\\r\\n That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe aim of all is but to nurse the life\\r\\nWith honour, wealth, and ease, in waning age;\\r\\nAnd in this aim there is such thwarting strife,\\r\\nThat one for all, or all for one we gage;\\r\\nAs life for honour in fell battles\\' rage;\\r\\n Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost\\r\\n The death of all, and all together lost.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo that in vent\\'ring ill we leave to be\\r\\nThe things we are, for that which we expect;\\r\\nAnd this ambitious foul infirmity,\\r\\nIn having much, torments us with defect\\r\\nOf that we have: so then we do neglect\\r\\n The thing we have; and, all for want of wit,\\r\\n Make something nothing, by augmenting it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSuch hazard now must doting Tarquin make,\\r\\nPawning his honour to obtain his lust;\\r\\nAnd for himself himself he must forsake:\\r\\nThen where is truth, if there be no self-trust?\\r\\nWhen shall he think to find a stranger just,\\r\\n When he himself himself confounds, betrays\\r\\n To slanderous tongues and wretched hateful days?\\r\\n\\r\\nNow stole upon the time the dead of night,\\r\\nWhen heavy sleep had closed up mortal eyes:\\r\\nNo comfortable star did lend his light,\\r\\nNo noise but owls\\' and wolves\\' death-boding cries;\\r\\nNow serves the season that they may surprise\\r\\n The silly lambs; pure thoughts are dead and still,\\r\\n While lust and murder wake to stain and kill.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd now this lustful lord leap\\'d from his bed,\\r\\nThrowing his mantle rudely o\\'er his arm;\\r\\nIs madly toss\\'d between desire and dread;\\r\\nTh\\' one sweetly flatters, th\\' other feareth harm;\\r\\nBut honest Fear, bewitch\\'d with lust\\'s foul charm,\\r\\n Doth too too oft betake him to retire,\\r\\n Beaten away by brain-sick rude Desire.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis falchion on a flint he softly smiteth,\\r\\nThat from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly;\\r\\nWhereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth,\\r\\nWhich must be lode-star to his lustful eye;\\r\\nAnd to the flame thus speaks advisedly:\\r\\n \\'As from this cold flint I enforced this fire,\\r\\n So Lucrece must I force to my desire.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere pale with fear he doth premeditate\\r\\nThe dangers of his loathsome enterprise,\\r\\nAnd in his inward mind he doth debate\\r\\nWhat following sorrow may on this arise;\\r\\nThen looking scornfully, he doth despise\\r\\n His naked armour of still-slaughter\\'d lust,\\r\\n And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not\\r\\nTo darken her whose light excelleth thine:\\r\\nAnd die, unhallow\\'d thoughts, before you blot\\r\\nWith your uncleanness that which is divine!\\r\\nOffer pure incense to so pure a shrine:\\r\\n Let fair humanity abhor the deed\\r\\n That spots and stains love\\'s modest snow-white weed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O shame to knighthood and to shining arms!\\r\\nO foul dishonour to my household\\'s grave!\\r\\nO impious act, including all foul harms!\\r\\nA martial man to be soft fancy\\'s slave!\\r\\nTrue valour still a true respect should have;\\r\\n Then my digression is so vile, so base,\\r\\n That it will live engraven in my face.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive,\\r\\nAnd be an eye-sore in my golden coat;\\r\\nSome loathsome dash the herald will contrive,\\r\\nTo cipher me how fondly I did dote;\\r\\nThat my posterity, sham\\'d with the note,\\r\\n Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin\\r\\n To wish that I their father had not been.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'What win I, if I gain the thing I seek?\\r\\nA dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy:\\r\\nWho buys a minute\\'s mirth to wail a week?\\r\\nOr sells eternity to get a toy?\\r\\nFor one sweet grape who will the vine destroy?\\r\\n Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown,\\r\\n Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'If Collatinus dream of my intent,\\r\\nWill he not wake, and in a desperate rage\\r\\nPost hither, this vile purpose to prevent?\\r\\nThis siege that hath engirt his marriage,\\r\\nThis blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage,\\r\\n This dying virtue, this surviving shame,\\r\\n Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O, what excuse can my invention make\\r\\nWhen thou shalt charge me with so black a deed?\\r\\nWill not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake?\\r\\nMine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed?\\r\\nThe guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed;\\r\\n And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly,\\r\\n But, coward-like, with trembling terror die.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Had Collatinus kill\\'d my son or sire,\\r\\nOr lain in ambush to betray my life,\\r\\nOr were he not my dear friend, this desire\\r\\nMight have excuse to work upon his wife;\\r\\nAs in revenge or quittal of such strife:\\r\\n But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend,\\r\\n The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Shameful it is;—ay, if the fact be known:\\r\\nHateful it is:— there is no hate in loving;\\r\\nI\\'ll beg her love;—but she is not her own;\\r\\nThe worst is but denial and reproving:\\r\\nMy will is strong, past reason\\'s weak removing.\\r\\n Who fears a sentence or an old man\\'s saw\\r\\n Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThus, graceless, holds he disputation\\r\\n\\'Tween frozen conscience and hot-burning will,\\r\\nAnd with good thoughts makes dispensation,\\r\\nUrging the worser sense for vantage still;\\r\\nWhich in a moment doth confound and kill\\r\\n All pure effects, and doth so far proceed,\\r\\n That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed.\\r\\n\\r\\nQuoth he, \\'She took me kindly by the hand,\\r\\nAnd gaz\\'d for tidings in my eager eyes,\\r\\nFearing some hard news from the warlike band,\\r\\nWhere her beloved Collatinus lies.\\r\\nO how her fear did make her colour rise!\\r\\n First red as roses that on lawn we lay,\\r\\n Then white as lawn, the roses took away.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And how her hand, in my hand being lock\\'d,\\r\\nForc\\'d it to tremble with her loyal fear;\\r\\nWhich struck her sad, and then it faster rock\\'d,\\r\\nUntil her husband\\'s welfare she did hear;\\r\\nWhereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer,\\r\\n That had Narcissus seen her as she stood,\\r\\n Self-love had never drown\\'d him in the flood.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why hunt I then for colour or excuses?\\r\\nAll orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth;\\r\\nPoor wretches have remorse in poor abuses;\\r\\nLove thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth:\\r\\nAffection is my captain, and he leadeth;\\r\\n And when his gaudy banner is display\\'d,\\r\\n The coward fights and will not be dismay\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Then, childish fear, avaunt! debating, die!\\r\\nRespect and reason wait on wrinkled age!\\r\\nMy heart shall never countermand mine eye;\\r\\nSad pause and deep regard beseem the sage;\\r\\nMy part is youth, and beats these from the stage:\\r\\n Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize;\\r\\n Then who fears sinking where such treasure lies?\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nAs corn o\\'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear\\r\\nIs almost chok\\'d by unresisted lust.\\r\\nAway he steals with opening, listening ear,\\r\\nFull of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust;\\r\\nBoth which, as servitors to the unjust,\\r\\n So cross him with their opposite persuasion,\\r\\n That now he vows a league, and now invasion.\\r\\n\\r\\nWithin his thought her heavenly image sits,\\r\\nAnd in the self-same seat sits Collatine:\\r\\nThat eye which looks on her confounds his wits;\\r\\nThat eye which him beholds, as more divine,\\r\\nUnto a view so false will not incline;\\r\\n But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart,\\r\\n Which once corrupted takes the worser part;\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd therein heartens up his servile powers,\\r\\nWho, flatter\\'d by their leader\\'s jocund show,\\r\\nStuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours;\\r\\nAnd as their captain, so their pride doth grow.\\r\\nPaying more slavish tribute than they owe.\\r\\n By reprobate desire thus madly led,\\r\\n The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece\\' bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe locks between her chamber and his will,\\r\\nEach one by him enforc\\'d retires his ward;\\r\\nBut, as they open they all rate his ill,\\r\\nWhich drives the creeping thief to some regard,\\r\\nThe threshold grates the door to have him heard;\\r\\n Night-wand\\'ring weasels shriek to see him there;\\r\\n They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs each unwilling portal yields him way,\\r\\nThrough little vents and crannies of the place\\r\\nThe wind wars with his torch, to make him stay,\\r\\nAnd blows the smoke of it into his face,\\r\\nExtinguishing his conduct in this case;\\r\\n But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch,\\r\\n Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch:\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd being lighted, by the light he spies\\r\\nLucretia\\'s glove, wherein her needle sticks;\\r\\nHe takes it from the rushes where it lies,\\r\\nAnd griping it, the neeld his finger pricks:\\r\\nAs who should say this glove to wanton tricks\\r\\n Is not inur\\'d: return again in haste;\\r\\n Thou see\\'st our mistress\\' ornaments are chaste.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut all these poor forbiddings could not stay him;\\r\\nHe in the worst sense construes their denial:\\r\\nThe doors, the wind, the glove that did delay him,\\r\\nHe takes for accidental things of trial;\\r\\nOr as those bars which stop the hourly dial,\\r\\n Who with a lingering stay his course doth let,\\r\\n Till every minute pays the hour his debt.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So, so,\\' quoth he, \\'these lets attend the time,\\r\\nLike little frosts that sometime threat the spring.\\r\\nTo add a more rejoicing to the prime,\\r\\nAnd give the sneaped birds more cause to sing.\\r\\nPain pays the income of each precious thing;\\r\\n Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves and sands,\\r\\n The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nNow is he come unto the chamber door,\\r\\nThat shuts him from the heaven of his thought,\\r\\nWhich with a yielding latch, and with no more,\\r\\nHath barr\\'d him from the blessed thing he sought.\\r\\nSo from himself impiety hath wrought,\\r\\n That for his prey to pray he doth begin,\\r\\n As if the heavens should countenance his sin.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut in the midst of his unfruitful prayer,\\r\\nHaving solicited the eternal power,\\r\\nThat his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair,\\r\\nAnd they would stand auspicious to the hour,\\r\\nEven there he starts:—quoth he, \\'I must de-flower;\\r\\n The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact,\\r\\n How can they then assist me in the act?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide!\\r\\nMy will is back\\'d with resolution:\\r\\nThoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried,\\r\\nThe blackest sin is clear\\'d with absolution;\\r\\nAgainst love\\'s fire fear\\'s frost hath dissolution.\\r\\n The eye of heaven is out, and misty night\\r\\n Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, his guilty hand pluck\\'d up the latch,\\r\\nAnd with his knee the door he opens wide:\\r\\nThe dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch;\\r\\nThus treason works ere traitors be espied.\\r\\nWho sees the lurking serpent steps aside;\\r\\n But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing,\\r\\n Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting.\\r\\n\\r\\nInto the chamber wickedly he stalks,\\r\\nAnd gazeth on her yet unstained bed.\\r\\nThe curtains being close, about he walks,\\r\\nRolling his greedy eyeballs in his head:\\r\\nBy their high treason is his heart misled;\\r\\n Which gives the watch-word to his hand full soon\\r\\n To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook, as the fair and fiery-pointed sun,\\r\\nRushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight;\\r\\nEven so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun\\r\\nTo wink, being blinded with a greater light:\\r\\nWhether it is that she reflects so bright,\\r\\n That dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed;\\r\\n But blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed.\\r\\n\\r\\nO, had they in that darksome prison died,\\r\\nThen had they seen the period of their ill!\\r\\nThen Collatine again by Lucrece\\' side\\r\\nIn his clear bed might have reposed still:\\r\\nBut they must ope, this blessed league to kill;\\r\\n And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight\\r\\n Must sell her joy, her life, her world\\'s delight.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer lily hand her rosy cheek lies under,\\r\\nCozening the pillow of a lawful kiss;\\r\\nWho, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder,\\r\\nSwelling on either side to want his bliss;\\r\\nBetween whose hills her head entombed is:\\r\\n Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies,\\r\\n To be admir\\'d of lewd unhallow\\'d eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nWithout the bed her other fair hand was,\\r\\nOn the green coverlet; whose perfect white\\r\\nShow\\'d like an April daisy on the grass,\\r\\nWith pearly sweat, resembling dew of night,\\r\\nHer eyes, like marigolds, had sheath\\'d their light,\\r\\n And canopied in darkness sweetly lay,\\r\\n Till they might open to adorn the day.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer hair, like golden threads, play\\'d with her breath;\\r\\nO modest wantons! wanton modesty!\\r\\nShowing life\\'s triumph in the map of death,\\r\\nAnd death\\'s dim look in life\\'s mortality:\\r\\nEach in her sleep themselves so beautify,\\r\\n As if between them twain there were no strife,\\r\\n But that life liv\\'d in death, and death in life.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue,\\r\\nA pair of maiden worlds unconquered,\\r\\nSave of their lord no bearing yoke they knew,\\r\\nAnd him by oath they truly honoured.\\r\\nThese worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred:\\r\\n Who, like a foul usurper, went about\\r\\n From this fair throne to heave the owner out.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat could he see but mightily he noted?\\r\\nWhat did he note but strongly he desir\\'d?\\r\\nWhat he beheld, on that he firmly doted,\\r\\nAnd in his will his wilful eye he tir\\'d.\\r\\nWith more than admiration he admir\\'d\\r\\n Her azure veins, her alabaster skin,\\r\\n Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs the grim lion fawneth o\\'er his prey,\\r\\nSharp hunger by the conquest satisfied,\\r\\nSo o\\'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay,\\r\\nHis rage of lust by grazing qualified;\\r\\nSlack\\'d, not suppress\\'d; for standing by her side,\\r\\n His eye, which late this mutiny restrains,\\r\\n Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins:\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting,\\r\\nObdurate vassals. fell exploits effecting,\\r\\nIn bloody death and ravishment delighting,\\r\\nNor children\\'s tears nor mothers\\' groans respecting,\\r\\nSwell in their pride, the onset still expecting:\\r\\n Anon his beating heart, alarum striking,\\r\\n Gives the hot charge and bids them do their liking.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis drumming heart cheers up his burning eye,\\r\\nHis eye commends the leading to his hand;\\r\\nHis hand, as proud of such a dignity,\\r\\nSmoking with pride, march\\'d on to make his stand\\r\\nOn her bare breast, the heart of all her land;\\r\\n Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale,\\r\\n Left their round turrets destitute and pale.\\r\\n\\r\\nThey, mustering to the quiet cabinet\\r\\nWhere their dear governess and lady lies,\\r\\nDo tell her she is dreadfully beset,\\r\\nAnd fright her with confusion of their cries:\\r\\nShe, much amaz\\'d, breaks ope her lock\\'d-up eyes,\\r\\n Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold,\\r\\n Are by his flaming torch dimm\\'d and controll\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nImagine her as one in dead of night\\r\\nFrom forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking,\\r\\nThat thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite,\\r\\nWhose grim aspect sets every joint a shaking:\\r\\nWhat terror \\'tis! but she, in worser taking,\\r\\n From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view\\r\\n The sight which makes supposed terror true.\\r\\n\\r\\nWrapp\\'d and confounded in a thousand fears,\\r\\nLike to a new-kill\\'d bird she trembling lies;\\r\\nShe dares not look; yet, winking, there appears\\r\\nQuick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes:\\r\\nSuch shadows are the weak brain\\'s forgeries:\\r\\n Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights,\\r\\n In darkness daunts them with more dreadful sights.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis hand, that yet remains upon her breast,\\r\\n(Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall!)\\r\\nMay feel her heart, poor citizen, distress\\'d,\\r\\nWounding itself to death, rise up and fall,\\r\\nBeating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal.\\r\\n This moves in him more rage, and lesser pity,\\r\\n To make the breach, and enter this sweet city.\\r\\n\\r\\nFirst, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin\\r\\nTo sound a parley to his heartless foe,\\r\\nWho o\\'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin,\\r\\nThe reason of this rash alarm to know,\\r\\nWhich he by dumb demeanour seeks to show;\\r\\n But she with vehement prayers urgeth still\\r\\n Under what colour he commits this ill.\\r\\n\\r\\nThus he replies: \\'The colour in thy face,\\r\\n(That even for anger makes the lily pale,\\r\\nAnd the red rose blush at her own disgrace)\\r\\nShall plead for me and tell my loving tale:\\r\\nUnder that colour am I come to scale\\r\\n Thy never-conquer\\'d fort: the fault is thine,\\r\\n For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide:\\r\\nThy beauty hath ensnared thee to this night,\\r\\nWhere thou with patience must my will abide,\\r\\nMy will that marks thee for my earth\\'s delight,\\r\\nWhich I to conquer sought with all my might;\\r\\n But as reproof and reason beat it dead,\\r\\n By thy bright beauty was it newly bred.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'I see what crosses my attempt will bring;\\r\\nI know what thorns the growing rose defends;\\r\\nI think the honey guarded with a sting;\\r\\nAll this, beforehand, counsel comprehends:\\r\\nBut will is deaf, and hears no heedful friends;\\r\\n Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty,\\r\\n And dotes on what he looks, \\'gainst law or duty.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'I have debated, even in my soul,\\r\\nWhat wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall breed;\\r\\nBut nothing can Affection\\'s course control,\\r\\nOr stop the headlong fury of his speed.\\r\\nI know repentant tears ensue the deed,\\r\\n Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity;\\r\\n Yet strike I to embrace mine infamy.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade,\\r\\nWhich, like a falcon towering in the skies,\\r\\nCoucheth the fowl below with his wings\\' shade,\\r\\nWhose crooked beak threats if he mount he dies:\\r\\nSo under his insulting falchion lies\\r\\n Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells\\r\\n With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon\\'s bells.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Lucrece,\\' quoth he, \\'this night I must enjoy thee:\\r\\nIf thou deny, then force must work my way,\\r\\nFor in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee;\\r\\nThat done, some worthless slave of thine I\\'ll slay.\\r\\nTo kill thine honour with thy life\\'s decay;\\r\\n And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him,\\r\\n Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So thy surviving husband shall remain\\r\\nThe scornful mark of every open eye;\\r\\nThy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain,\\r\\nThy issue blurr\\'d with nameless bastardy:\\r\\nAnd thou, the author of their obloquy,\\r\\n Shalt have thy trespass cited up in rhymes,\\r\\n And sung by children in succeeding times.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend:\\r\\nThe fault unknown is as a thought unacted;\\r\\nA little harm, done to a great good end,\\r\\nFor lawful policy remains enacted.\\r\\nThe poisonous simple sometimes is compacted\\r\\n In a pure compound; being so applied,\\r\\n His venom in effect is purified.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Then, for thy husband and thy children\\'s sake,\\r\\nTender my suit: bequeath not to their lot\\r\\nThe shame that from them no device can take,\\r\\nThe blemish that will never be forgot;\\r\\nWorse than a slavish wipe, or birth-hour\\'s blot:\\r\\n For marks descried in men\\'s nativity\\r\\n Are nature\\'s faults, not their own infamy.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere with a cockatrice\\' dead-killing eye\\r\\nHe rouseth up himself and makes a pause;\\r\\nWhile she, the picture of pure piety,\\r\\nLike a white hind under the grype\\'s sharp claws,\\r\\nPleads in a wilderness where are no laws,\\r\\n To the rough beast that knows no gentle right,\\r\\n Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut when a black-fac\\'d cloud the world doth threat,\\r\\nIn his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding,\\r\\nFrom earth\\'s dark womb some gentle gust doth get,\\r\\nWhich blows these pitchy vapours from their biding,\\r\\nHindering their present fall by this dividing;\\r\\n So his unhallow\\'d haste her words delays,\\r\\n And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays.\\r\\n\\r\\nYet, foul night-working cat, he doth but dally,\\r\\nWhile in his hold-fast foot the weak mouse panteth;\\r\\nHer sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly,\\r\\nA swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth:\\r\\nHis ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth\\r\\n No penetrable entrance to her plaining:\\r\\n Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer pity-pleading eyes are sadly fix\\'d\\r\\nIn the remorseless wrinkles of his face;\\r\\nHer modest eloquence with sighs is mix\\'d,\\r\\nWhich to her oratory adds more grace.\\r\\nShe puts the period often from his place,\\r\\n And midst the sentence so her accent breaks,\\r\\n That twice she doth begin ere once she speaks.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe conjures him by high almighty Jove,\\r\\nBy knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship\\'s oath,\\r\\nBy her untimely tears, her husband\\'s love,\\r\\nBy holy human law, and common troth,\\r\\nBy heaven and earth, and all the power of both,\\r\\n That to his borrow\\'d bed he make retire,\\r\\n And stoop to honour, not to foul desire.\\r\\n\\r\\nQuoth she, \\'Reward not hospitality\\r\\nWith such black payment as thou hast pretended;\\r\\nMud not the fountain that gave drink to thee;\\r\\nMar not the thing that cannot be amended;\\r\\nEnd thy ill aim before the shoot be ended:\\r\\n He is no woodman that doth bend his bow\\r\\n To strike a poor unseasonable doe.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'My husband is thy friend; for his sake spare me;\\r\\nThyself art mighty; for thine own sake leave me;\\r\\nMyself a weakling, do not then ensnare me;\\r\\nThou look\\'st not like deceit; do not deceive me;\\r\\nMy sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave thee.\\r\\n If ever man were mov\\'d with woman\\'s moans,\\r\\n Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'All which together, like a troubled ocean,\\r\\nBeat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening heart;\\r\\nTo soften it with their continual motion;\\r\\nFor stones dissolv\\'d to water do convert.\\r\\nO, if no harder than a stone thou art,\\r\\n Melt at my tears, and be compassionate!\\r\\n Soft pity enters at an iron gate.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'In Tarquin\\'s likeness I did entertain thee;\\r\\nHast thou put on his shape to do him shame?\\r\\nTo all the host of heaven I complain me,\\r\\nThou wrong\\'st his honour, wound\\'st his princely name.\\r\\nThou art not what thou seem\\'st; and if the same,\\r\\n Thou seem\\'st not what thou art, a god, a king;\\r\\n For kings like gods should govern every thing.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'How will thy shame be seeded in thine age,\\r\\nWhen thus thy vices bud before thy spring!\\r\\nIf in thy hope thou dar\\'st do such outrage,\\r\\nWhat dar\\'st thou not when once thou art a king!\\r\\nO, be remember\\'d, no outrageous thing\\r\\n From vassal actors can he wip\\'d away;\\r\\n Then kings\\' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'This deed will make thee only lov\\'d for fear,\\r\\nBut happy monarchs still are fear\\'d for love:\\r\\nWith foul offenders thou perforce must bear,\\r\\nWhen they in thee the like offences prove:\\r\\nIf but for fear of this, thy will remove;\\r\\n For princes are the glass, the school, the book,\\r\\n Where subjects eyes do learn, do read, do look.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall learn?\\r\\nMust he in thee read lectures of such shame:\\r\\nWilt thou be glass, wherein it shall discern\\r\\nAuthority for sin, warrant for blame,\\r\\nTo privilege dishonour in thy name?\\r\\n Thou back\\'st reproach against long-living laud,\\r\\n And mak\\'st fair reputation but a bawd.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Hast thou command? by him that gave it thee,\\r\\nFrom a pure heart command thy rebel will:\\r\\nDraw not thy sword to guard iniquity,\\r\\nFor it was lent thee all that brood to kill.\\r\\nThy princely office how canst thou fulfill,\\r\\n When, pattern\\'d by thy fault, foul Sin may say\\r\\n He learn\\'d to sin, and thou didst teach the way?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Think but how vile a spectacle it were\\r\\nTo view thy present trespass in another.\\r\\nMen\\'s faults do seldom to themselves appear;\\r\\nTheir own transgressions partially they smother:\\r\\nThis guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother.\\r\\n O how are they wrapp\\'d in with infamies\\r\\n That from their own misdeeds askaunce their eyes!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'To thee, to thee, my heav\\'d-up hands appeal,\\r\\nNot to seducing lust, thy rash relier;\\r\\nI sue for exil\\'d majesty\\'s repeal;\\r\\nLet him return, and flattering thoughts retire:\\r\\nHis true respect will \\'prison false desire,\\r\\n And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne,\\r\\n That thou shalt see thy state, and pity mine.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Have done,\\' quoth he: \\'my uncontrolled tide\\r\\nTurns not, but swells the higher by this let.\\r\\nSmall lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide,\\r\\nAnd with the wind in greater fury fret:\\r\\nThe petty streams that pay a daily debt\\r\\n To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls\\' haste,\\r\\n Add to his flow, but alter not his taste.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thou art,\\' quoth she, \\'a sea, a sovereign king;\\r\\nAnd, lo, there falls into thy boundless flood\\r\\nBlack lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning,\\r\\nWho seek to stain the ocean of thy blood.\\r\\nIf all these petty ills shall change thy good,\\r\\n Thy sea within a puddle\\'s womb is hears\\'d,\\r\\n And not the puddle in thy sea dispers\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So shall these slaves be king, and thou their slave;\\r\\nThou nobly base, they basely dignified;\\r\\nThou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave;\\r\\nThou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride:\\r\\nThe lesser thing should not the greater hide;\\r\\n The cedar stoops not to the base shrub\\'s foot,\\r\\n But low shrubs whither at the cedar\\'s root.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state\\'—\\r\\n\\'No more,\\' quoth he; \\'by heaven, I will not hear thee:\\r\\nYield to my love; if not, enforced hate,\\r\\nInstead of love\\'s coy touch, shall rudely tear thee;\\r\\nThat done, despitefully I mean to bear thee\\r\\n Unto the base bed of some rascal groom,\\r\\n To be thy partner in this shameful doom.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, he sets his foot upon the light,\\r\\nFor light and lust are deadly enemies;\\r\\nShame folded up in blind concealing night,\\r\\nWhen most unseen, then most doth tyrannize.\\r\\nThe wolf hath seiz\\'d his prey, the poor lamb cries;\\r\\n Till with her own white fleece her voice controll\\'d\\r\\n Entombs her outcry in her lips\\' sweet fold:\\r\\n\\r\\nFor with the nightly linen that she wears\\r\\nHe pens her piteous clamours in her head;\\r\\nCooling his hot face in the chastest tears\\r\\nThat ever modest eyes with sorrow shed.\\r\\nO, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed!\\r\\n The spots whereof could weeping purify,\\r\\n Her tears should drop on them perpetually.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut she hath lost a dearer thing than life,\\r\\nAnd he hath won what he would lose again.\\r\\nThis forced league doth force a further strife;\\r\\nThis momentary joy breeds months of pain,\\r\\nThis hot desire converts to cold disdain:\\r\\n Pure Chastity is rifled of her store,\\r\\n And Lust, the thief, far poorer than before.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook, as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk,\\r\\nUnapt for tender smell or speedy flight,\\r\\nMake slow pursuit, or altogether balk\\r\\nThe prey wherein by nature they delight;\\r\\nSo surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night:\\r\\n His taste delicious, in digestion souring,\\r\\n Devours his will, that liv\\'d by foul devouring.\\r\\n\\r\\nO deeper sin than bottomless conceit\\r\\nCan comprehend in still imagination!\\r\\nDrunken desire must vomit his receipt,\\r\\nEre he can see his own abomination.\\r\\nWhile lust is in his pride no exclamation\\r\\n Can curb his heat, or rein his rash desire,\\r\\n Till, like a jade, self-will himself doth tire.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd then with lank and lean discolour\\'d cheek,\\r\\nWith heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace,\\r\\nFeeble desire, all recreant, poor, and meek,\\r\\nLike to a bankrupt beggar wails his case:\\r\\nThe flesh being proud, desire doth fight with Grace,\\r\\n For there it revels; and when that decays,\\r\\n The guilty rebel for remission prays.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo fares it with this faultful lord of Rome,\\r\\nWho this accomplishment so hotly chas\\'d;\\r\\nFor now against himself he sounds this doom,\\r\\nThat through the length of times he stands disgrac\\'d:\\r\\nBesides, his soul\\'s fair temple is defac\\'d;\\r\\n To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares,\\r\\n To ask the spotted princess how she fares.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe says, her subjects with foul insurrection\\r\\nHave batter\\'d down her consecrated wall,\\r\\nAnd by their mortal fault brought in subjection\\r\\nHer immortality, and made her thrall\\r\\nTo living death, and pain perpetual;\\r\\n Which in her prescience she controlled still,\\r\\n But her foresight could not forestall their will.\\r\\n\\r\\nEven in this thought through the dark night he stealeth,\\r\\nA captive victor that hath lost in gain;\\r\\nBearing away the wound that nothing healeth,\\r\\nThe scar that will, despite of cure, remain;\\r\\nLeaving his spoil perplex\\'d in greater pain.\\r\\n She hears the load of lust he left behind,\\r\\n And he the burthen of a guilty mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe like a thievish dog creeps sadly thence;\\r\\nShe like a wearied lamb lies panting there;\\r\\nHe scowls, and hates himself for his offence;\\r\\nShe, desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear;\\r\\nHe faintly flies, sweating with guilty fear;\\r\\n She stays, exclaiming on the direful night;\\r\\n He runs, and chides his vanish\\'d, loath\\'d delight.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe thence departs a heavy convertite;\\r\\nShe there remains a hopeless castaway:\\r\\nHe in his speed looks for the morning light;\\r\\nShe prays she never may behold the day;\\r\\n\\'For day,\\' quoth she, \\'night\\'s scapes doth open lay;\\r\\n And my true eyes have never practis\\'d how\\r\\n To cloak offences with a cunning brow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'They think not but that every eye can see\\r\\nThe same disgrace which they themselves behold;\\r\\nAnd therefore would they still in darkness be,\\r\\nTo have their unseen sin remain untold;\\r\\nFor they their guilt with weeping will unfold,\\r\\n And grave, like water that doth eat in steel,\\r\\n Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere she exclaims against repose and rest,\\r\\nAnd bids her eyes hereafter still be blind.\\r\\nShe wakes her heart by beating on her breast,\\r\\nAnd bids it leap from thence, where it may find\\r\\nSome purer chest, to close so pure a mind.\\r\\n Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite\\r\\n Against the unseen secrecy of night:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O comfort-killing night, image of hell!\\r\\nDim register and notary of shame!\\r\\nBlack stage for tragedies and murders fell!\\r\\nVast sin-concealing chaos! nurse of blame!\\r\\nBlind muffled bawd! dark harbour for defame!\\r\\n Grim cave of death, whispering conspirator\\r\\n With close-tongued treason and the ravisher!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O hateful, vaporous, and foggy night!\\r\\nSince thou art guilty of my cureless crime,\\r\\nMuster thy mists to meet the eastern light,\\r\\nMake war against proportion\\'d course of time!\\r\\nOr if thou wilt permit the sun to climb\\r\\n His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed,\\r\\n Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'With rotten damps ravish the morning air;\\r\\nLet their exhal\\'d unwholesome breaths make sick\\r\\nThe life of purity, the supreme fair,\\r\\nEre he arrive his weary noontide prick;\\r\\nAnd let thy misty vapours march so thick,\\r\\n That in their smoky ranks his smother\\'d light\\r\\n May set at noon and make perpetual night.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Were Tarquin night (as he is but night\\'s child),\\r\\nThe silver-shining queen he would distain;\\r\\nHer twinkling handmaids too, by him defil\\'d,\\r\\nThrough Night\\'s black bosom should not peep again:\\r\\nSo should I have co-partners in my pain:\\r\\n And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage,\\r\\n As palmers\\' chat makes short their pilgrimage.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Where now I have no one to blush with me,\\r\\nTo cross their arms and hang their heads with mine,\\r\\nTo mask their brows, and hide their infamy;\\r\\nBut I alone alone must sit and pine,\\r\\nSeasoning the earth with showers of silver brine,\\r\\n Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans,\\r\\n Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke,\\r\\nLet not the jealous day behold that face\\r\\nWhich underneath thy black all-hiding cloak\\r\\nImmodesty lies martyr\\'d with disgrace!\\r\\nKeep still possession of thy gloomy place,\\r\\n That all the faults which in thy reign are made,\\r\\n May likewise be sepulchred in thy shade!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Make me not object to the tell-tale day!\\r\\nThe light will show, character\\'d in my brow,\\r\\nThe story of sweet chastity\\'s decay,\\r\\nThe impious breach of holy wedlock vow:\\r\\nYea, the illiterate, that know not how\\r\\n To cipher what is writ in learned books,\\r\\n Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story\\r\\nAnd fright her crying babe with Tarquin\\'s name;\\r\\nThe orator, to deck his oratory,\\r\\nWill couple my reproach to Tarquin\\'s shame:\\r\\nFeast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame,\\r\\n Will tie the hearers to attend each line,\\r\\n How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Let my good name, that senseless reputation,\\r\\nFor Collatine\\'s dear love be kept unspotted:\\r\\nIf that be made a theme for disputation,\\r\\nThe branches of another root are rotted,\\r\\nAnd undeserved reproach to him allotted,\\r\\n That is as clear from this attaint of mine\\r\\n As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O unseen shame! invisible disgrace!\\r\\nO unfelt sore! crest-wounding, private scar!\\r\\nReproach is stamp\\'d in Collatinus\\' face,\\r\\nAnd Tarquin\\'s eye may read the mot afar,\\r\\nHow he in peace is wounded, not in war.\\r\\n Alas, how many bear such shameful blows,\\r\\n Which not themselves, but he that gives them knows!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me,\\r\\nFrom me by strong assault it is bereft.\\r\\nMy honey lost, and I, a drone-like bee,\\r\\nHave no perfection of my summer left,\\r\\nBut robb\\'d and ransack\\'d by injurious theft:\\r\\n In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept,\\r\\n And suck\\'d the honey which thy chaste bee kept.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Yet am I guilty of thy honour\\'s wrack;—\\r\\nYet for thy honour did I entertain him;\\r\\nComing from thee, I could not put him back,\\r\\nFor it had been dishonour to disdain him:\\r\\nBesides, of weariness he did complain him,\\r\\n And talk\\'d of virtue:—O unlook\\'d-for evil,\\r\\n When virtue is profan\\'d in such a devil!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud?\\r\\nOr hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows\\' nests?\\r\\nOr toads infect fair founts with venom mud?\\r\\nOr tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts?\\r\\nOr kings be breakers of their own behests?\\r\\n But no perfection is so absolute,\\r\\n That some impurity doth not pollute.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'The aged man that coffers up his gold\\r\\nIs plagued with cramps, and gouts, and painful fits;\\r\\nAnd scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold,\\r\\nBut like still-pining Tantalus he sits,\\r\\nAnd useless barns the harvest of his wits;\\r\\n Having no other pleasure of his gain\\r\\n But torment that it cannot cure his pain.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So then he hath it when he cannot use it,\\r\\nAnd leaves it to be master\\'d by his young;\\r\\nWho in their pride do presently abuse it:\\r\\nTheir father was too weak, and they too strong,\\r\\nTo hold their cursed-blessed fortune long.\\r\\n The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours,\\r\\n Even in the moment that we call them ours.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring;\\r\\nUnwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers;\\r\\nThe adder hisses where the sweet birds sing;\\r\\nWhat virtue breeds iniquity devours:\\r\\nWe have no good that we can say is ours,\\r\\n But ill-annexed Opportunity\\r\\n Or kills his life or else his quality.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O Opportunity, thy guilt is great:\\r\\n\\'Tis thou that executest the traitor\\'s treason;\\r\\nThou set\\'st the wolf where he the lamb may get;\\r\\nWhoever plots the sin, thou \\'point\\'st the season;\\r\\n\\'Tis thou that spurn\\'st at right, at law, at reason;\\r\\n And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him,\\r\\n Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thou mak\\'st the vestal violate her oath;\\r\\nThou blow\\'st the fire when temperance is thaw\\'d;\\r\\nThou smother\\'st honesty, thou murther\\'st troth;\\r\\nThou foul abettor! thou notorious bawd!\\r\\nThou plantest scandal and displacest laud:\\r\\n Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief,\\r\\n Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame,\\r\\nThy private feasting to a public fast;\\r\\nThy smoothing titles to a ragged name,\\r\\nThy sugar\\'d tongue to bitter wormwood taste:\\r\\nThy violent vanities can never last.\\r\\n How comes it then, vile Opportunity,\\r\\n Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'When wilt thou be the humble suppliant\\'s friend,\\r\\nAnd bring him where his suit may be obtain\\'d?\\r\\nWhen wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end?\\r\\nOr free that soul which wretchedness hath chain\\'d?\\r\\nGive physic to the sick, ease to the pain\\'d?\\r\\n The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee;\\r\\n But they ne\\'er meet with Opportunity.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'The patient dies while the physician sleeps;\\r\\nThe orphan pines while the oppressor feeds;\\r\\nJustice is feasting while the widow weeps;\\r\\nAdvice is sporting while infection breeds;\\r\\nThou grant\\'st no time for charitable deeds:\\r\\n Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder\\'s rages,\\r\\n Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'When truth and virtue have to do with thee,\\r\\nA thousand crosses keep them from thy aid;\\r\\nThey buy thy help; but Sin ne\\'er gives a fee,\\r\\nHe gratis comes; and thou art well appay\\'d\\r\\nAs well to hear as grant what he hath said.\\r\\n My Collatine would else have come to me\\r\\n When Tarquin did, but he was stay\\'d by thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Guilty thou art of murder and of theft;\\r\\nGuilty of perjury and subornation;\\r\\nGuilty of treason, forgery, and shift;\\r\\nGuilty of incest, that abomination:\\r\\nAn accessory by thine inclination\\r\\n To all sins past, and all that are to come,\\r\\n From the creation to the general doom.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Mis-shapen Time, copesmate of ugly night,\\r\\nSwift subtle post, carrier of grisly care,\\r\\nEater of youth, false slave to false delight,\\r\\nBase watch of woes, sin\\'s pack-horse, virtue\\'s snare;\\r\\nThou nursest all and murtherest all that are:\\r\\n O hear me then, injurious, shifting Time!\\r\\n Be guilty of my death, since of my crime.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why hath thy servant, Opportunity,\\r\\nBetray\\'d the hours thou gav\\'st me to repose?\\r\\nCancell\\'d my fortunes, and enchained me\\r\\nTo endless date of never-ending woes?\\r\\nTime\\'s office is to fine the hate of foes;\\r\\n To eat up errors by opinion bred,\\r\\n Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Time\\'s glory is to calm contending kings,\\r\\nTo unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light,\\r\\nTo stamp the seal of time in aged things,\\r\\nTo wake the morn, and sentinel the night,\\r\\nTo wrong the wronger till he render right;\\r\\n To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours,\\r\\n And smear with dust their glittering golden towers:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'To fill with worm-holes stately monuments,\\r\\nTo feed oblivion with decay of things,\\r\\nTo blot old books and alter their contents,\\r\\nTo pluck the quills from ancient ravens\\' wings,\\r\\nTo dry the old oak\\'s sap and cherish springs;\\r\\n To spoil antiquities of hammer\\'d steel,\\r\\n And turn the giddy round of Fortune\\'s wheel;\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'To show the beldame daughters of her daughter,\\r\\nTo make the child a man, the man a child,\\r\\nTo slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter,\\r\\nTo tame the unicorn and lion wild,\\r\\nTo mock the subtle, in themselves beguil\\'d;\\r\\n To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops,\\r\\n And waste huge stones with little water-drops.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why work\\'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage,\\r\\nUnless thou couldst return to make amends?\\r\\nOne poor retiring minute in an age\\r\\nWould purchase thee a thousand thousand friends,\\r\\nLending him wit that to bad debtors lends:\\r\\n O, this dread night, wouldst thou one hour come back,\\r\\n I could prevent this storm, and shun thy wrack!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thou cease!ess lackey to eternity,\\r\\nWith some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight:\\r\\nDevise extremes beyond extremity,\\r\\nTo make him curse this cursed crimeful night:\\r\\nLet ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright;\\r\\n And the dire thought of his committed evil\\r\\n Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances,\\r\\nAfflict him in his bed with bedrid groans;\\r\\nLet there bechance him pitiful mischances,\\r\\nTo make him moan; but pity not his moans:\\r\\nStone him with harden\\'d hearts, harder than stones;\\r\\n And let mild women to him lose their mildness,\\r\\n Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Let him have time to tear his curled hair,\\r\\nLet him have time against himself to rave,\\r\\nLet him have time of Time\\'s help to despair,\\r\\nLet him have time to live a loathed slave,\\r\\nLet him have time a beggar\\'s orts to crave;\\r\\n And time to see one that by alms doth live\\r\\n Disdain to him disdained scraps to give.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Let him have time to see his friends his foes,\\r\\nAnd merry fools to mock at him resort;\\r\\nLet him have time to mark how slow time goes\\r\\nIn time of sorrow, and how swift and short\\r\\nHis time of folly and his time of sport:\\r\\n And ever let his unrecalling crime\\r\\n Have time to wail the abusing of his time.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad,\\r\\nTeach me to curse him that thou taught\\'st this ill!\\r\\nAt his own shadow let the thief run mad!\\r\\nHimself himself seek every hour to kill!\\r\\nSuch wretched hands such wretched blood should spill:\\r\\n For who so base would such an office have\\r\\n As slanderous deathsman to so base a slave?\\r\\n\\r\\nThe baser is he, coming from a king,\\r\\nTo shame his hope with deeds degenerate.\\r\\nThe mightier man, the mightier is the thing\\r\\nThat makes him honour\\'d, or begets him hate;\\r\\nFor greatest scandal waits on greatest state.\\r\\n The moon being clouded presently is miss\\'d,\\r\\n But little stars may hide them when they list.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire,\\r\\nAnd unperceived fly with the filth away;\\r\\nBut if the like the snow-white swan desire,\\r\\nThe stain upon his silver down will stay.\\r\\nPoor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day:\\r\\n Gnats are unnoted wheresoe\\'er they fly,\\r\\n But eagles gazed upon with every eye.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Out, idle words, servants to shallow fools!\\r\\nUnprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators!\\r\\nBusy yourselves in skill-contending schools;\\r\\nDebate where leisure serves with dull debaters;\\r\\nTo trembling clients be you mediators:\\r\\n For me, I force not argument a straw,\\r\\n Since that my case is past the help of law.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'In vain I rail at Opportunity,\\r\\nAt Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful night;\\r\\nIn vain I cavil with mine infamy,\\r\\nIn vain I spurn at my confirm\\'d despite:\\r\\nThis helpless smoke of words doth me no right.\\r\\n The remedy indeed to do me good\\r\\n Is to let forth my foul-defil\\'d blood.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Poor hand, why quiver\\'st thou at this decree?\\r\\nHonour thyself to rid me of this shame;\\r\\nFor if I die, my honour lives in thee;\\r\\nBut if I live, thou livest in my defame:\\r\\nSince thou couldst not defend thy loyal dame,\\r\\n And wast afear\\'d to scratch her wicked foe,\\r\\n Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, from her be-tumbled couch she starteth,\\r\\nTo find some desperate instrument of death:\\r\\nBut this no slaughter-house no tool imparteth,\\r\\nTo make more vent for passage of her breath;\\r\\nWhich, thronging through her lips, so vanisheth\\r\\n As smoke from Aetna, that in air consumes,\\r\\n Or that which from discharged cannon fumes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'In vain,\\' quoth she, \\'I live, and seek in vain\\r\\nSome happy mean to end a hapless life.\\r\\nI fear\\'d by Tarquin\\'s falchion to be slain,\\r\\nYet for the self-same purpose seek a knife:\\r\\nBut when I fear\\'d I was a loyal wife:\\r\\n So am I now:—O no, that cannot be;\\r\\n Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O! that is gone for which I sought to live,\\r\\nAnd therefore now I need not fear to die.\\r\\nTo clear this spot by death, at least I give\\r\\nA badge of fame to slander\\'s livery;\\r\\nA dying life to living infamy;\\r\\n Poor helpless help, the treasure stolen away,\\r\\n To burn the guiltless casket where it lay!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know\\r\\nThe stained taste of violated troth;\\r\\nI will not wrong thy true affection so,\\r\\nTo flatter thee with an infringed oath;\\r\\nThis bastard graff shall never come to growth:\\r\\n He shall not boast who did thy stock pollute\\r\\n That thou art doting father of his fruit.\\r\\n\\r\\nNor shall he smile at thee in secret thought,\\r\\nNor laugh with his companions at thy state;\\r\\nBut thou shalt know thy interest was not bought\\r\\nBasely with gold, but stolen from forth thy gate.\\r\\nFor me, I am the mistress of my fate,\\r\\n And with my trespass never will dispense,\\r\\n Till life to death acquit my forced offence.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'I will not poison thee with my attaint,\\r\\nNor fold my fault in cleanly-coin\\'d excuses;\\r\\nMy sable ground of sin I will not paint,\\r\\nTo hide the truth of this false night\\'s abuses;\\r\\nMy tongue shall utter all; mine eyes, like sluices,\\r\\n As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale,\\r\\n Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this; lamenting Philomel had ended\\r\\nThe well-tun\\'d warble of her nightly sorrow,\\r\\nAnd solemn night with slow-sad gait descended\\r\\nTo ugly hell; when, lo, the blushing morrow\\r\\nLends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow:\\r\\n But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see,\\r\\n And therefore still in night would cloister\\'d be.\\r\\n\\r\\nRevealing day through every cranny spies,\\r\\nAnd seems to point her out where she sits weeping,\\r\\nTo whom she sobbing speaks: \\'O eye of eyes,\\r\\nWhy pryest thou through my window? leave thy peeping;\\r\\nMock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleeping:\\r\\n Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light,\\r\\n For day hath nought to do what\\'s done by night.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThus cavils she with every thing she sees:\\r\\nTrue grief is fond and testy as a child,\\r\\nWho wayward once, his mood with nought agrees.\\r\\nOld woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild;\\r\\nContinuance tames the one: the other wild,\\r\\n Like an unpractis\\'d swimmer plunging still\\r\\n With too much labour drowns for want of skill.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo she, deep-drenched in a sea of care,\\r\\nHolds disputation with each thing she views,\\r\\nAnd to herself all sorrow doth compare;\\r\\nNo object but her passion\\'s strength renews;\\r\\nAnd as one shifts, another straight ensues:\\r\\n Sometime her grief is dumb and hath no words;\\r\\n Sometime \\'tis mad, and too much talk affords.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe little birds that tune their morning\\'s joy\\r\\nMake her moans mad with their sweet melody.\\r\\nFor mirth doth search the bottom of annoy;\\r\\nSad souls are slain in merry company:\\r\\nGrief best is pleas\\'d with grief\\'s society:\\r\\n True sorrow then is feelingly suffic\\'d\\r\\n When with like semblance it is sympathiz\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Tis double death to drown in ken of shore;\\r\\nHe ten times pines that pines beholding food;\\r\\nTo see the salve doth make the wound ache more;\\r\\nGreat grief grieves most at that would do it good;\\r\\nDeep woes roll forward like a gentle flood;\\r\\n Who, being stopp\\'d, the bounding banks o\\'erflows;\\r\\n Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'You mocking birds,\\' quoth she, \\'your tunes entomb\\r\\nWithin your hollow-swelling feather\\'d breasts,\\r\\nAnd in my hearing be you mute and dumb!\\r\\n(My restless discord loves no stops nor rests;\\r\\nA woeful hostess brooks not merry guests:)\\r\\n Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears;\\r\\n Distress likes dumps when time is kept with tears.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Come, Philomel, that sing\\'st of ravishment,\\r\\nMake thy sad grove in my dishevell\\'d hair:\\r\\nAs the dank earth weeps at thy languishment,\\r\\nSo I at each sad strain will strain a tear,\\r\\nAnd with deep groans the diapason bear:\\r\\n For burthen-wise I\\'ll hum on Tarquin still,\\r\\n While thou on Tereus descant\\'st better skill.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And whiles against a thorn thou bear\\'st thy part,\\r\\nTo keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I,\\r\\nTo imitate thee well, against my heart\\r\\nWill fix a sharp knife, to affright mine eye;\\r\\nWho, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die.\\r\\n These means, as frets upon an instrument,\\r\\n Shall tune our heart-strings to true languishment.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And for, poor bird, thou sing\\'st not in the day,\\r\\nAs shaming any eye should thee behold,\\r\\nSome dark deep desert, seated from the way,\\r\\nThat knows not parching heat nor freezing cold,\\r\\nWill we find out; and there we will unfold\\r\\n To creatures stern sad tunes, to change their kinds:\\r\\n Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nAs the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze,\\r\\nWildly determining which way to fly,\\r\\nOr one encompass\\'d with a winding maze,\\r\\nThat cannot tread the way out readily;\\r\\nSo with herself is she in mutiny,\\r\\n To live or die which of the twain were better,\\r\\n When life is sham\\'d, and Death reproach\\'s debtor.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'To kill myself,\\' quoth she, \\'alack! what were it,\\r\\nBut with my body my poor soul\\'s pollution?\\r\\nThey that lose half with greater patience bear it\\r\\nThan they whose whole is swallow\\'d in confusion.\\r\\nThat mother tries a merciless conclusion\\r\\n Who, having two sweet babes, when death takes one,\\r\\n Will slay the other, and be nurse to none.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'My body or my soul, which was the dearer,\\r\\nWhen the one pure, the other made divine?\\r\\nWhose love of either to myself was nearer?\\r\\nWhen both were kept for heaven and Collatine?\\r\\nAh, me! the bark peel\\'d from the lofty pine,\\r\\n His leaves will wither, and his sap decay;\\r\\n So must my soul, her bark being peel\\'d away.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Her house is sack\\'d, her quiet interrupted,\\r\\nHer mansion batter\\'d by the enemy;\\r\\nHer sacred temple spotted, spoil\\'d, corrupted,\\r\\nGrossly engirt with daring infamy:\\r\\nThen let it not be call\\'d impiety,\\r\\n If in this blemish\\'d fort I make some hole\\r\\n Through which I may convey this troubled soul.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Yet die I will not till my Collatine\\r\\nHave heard the cause of my untimely death;\\r\\nThat he may vow, in that sad hour of mine,\\r\\nRevenge on him that made me stop my breath.\\r\\nMy stained blood to Tarquin I\\'ll bequeath,\\r\\n Which by him tainted shall for him be spent,\\r\\n And as his due writ in my testament.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'My honour I\\'ll bequeath unto the knife\\r\\nThat wounds my body so dishonoured.\\r\\n\\'Tis honour to deprive dishonour\\'d life;\\r\\nThe one will live, the other being dead:\\r\\nSo of shame\\'s ashes shall my fame be bred;\\r\\n For in my death I murther shameful scorn:\\r\\n My shame so dead, mine honour is new-born.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost,\\r\\nWhat legacy shall I bequeath to thee?\\r\\nMy resolution, Love, shall be thy boast,\\r\\nBy whose example thou reveng\\'d mayst be.\\r\\nHow Tarquin must be used, read it in me:\\r\\n Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe,\\r\\n And, for my sake, serve thou false Tarquin so.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'This brief abridgement of my will I make:\\r\\nMy soul and body to the skies and ground;\\r\\nMy resolution, husband, do thou take;\\r\\nMine honour be the knife\\'s that makes my wound;\\r\\nMy shame be his that did my fame confound;\\r\\n And all my fame that lives disburs\\'d be\\r\\n To those that live, and think no shame of me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee this will;\\r\\nHow was I overseen that thou shalt see it!\\r\\nMy blood shall wash the slander of mine ill;\\r\\nMy life\\'s foul deed my life\\'s fair end shall free it.\\r\\nFaint not, faint heart, but stoutly say \"so be it:\"\\r\\n Yield to my hand; my hand shall conquer thee;\\r\\n Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis plot of death when sadly she had laid,\\r\\nAnd wip\\'d the brinish pearl from her bright eyes,\\r\\nWith untun\\'d tongue she hoarsely call\\'d her maid,\\r\\nWhose swift obedience to her mistress hies;\\r\\nFor fleet-wing\\'d duty with thought\\'s feathers flies.\\r\\n Poor Lucrece\\' cheeks unto her maid seem so\\r\\n As winter meads when sun doth melt their snow.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer mistress she doth give demure good-morrow,\\r\\nWith soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty,\\r\\nAnd sorts a sad look to her lady\\'s sorrow,\\r\\n(For why her face wore sorrow\\'s livery,)\\r\\nBut durst not ask of her audaciously\\r\\n Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so,\\r\\n Nor why her fair cheeks over-wash\\'d with woe.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut as the earth doth weep, the sun being set,\\r\\nEach flower moisten\\'d like a melting eye;\\r\\nEven so the maid with swelling drops \\'gan wet\\r\\nHer circled eyne, enforc\\'d by sympathy\\r\\nOf those fair suns, set in her mistress\\' sky,\\r\\n Who in a salt-wav\\'d ocean quench their light,\\r\\n Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night.\\r\\n\\r\\nA pretty while these pretty creatures stand,\\r\\nLike ivory conduits coral cisterns filling:\\r\\nOne justly weeps; the other takes in hand\\r\\nNo cause, but company, of her drops spilling:\\r\\nTheir gentle sex to weep are often willing:\\r\\n Grieving themselves to guess at others\\' smarts,\\r\\n And then they drown their eyes or break their hearts.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor men have marble, women waxen minds,\\r\\nAnd therefore are they form\\'d as marble will;\\r\\nThe weak oppress\\'d, the impression of strange kinds\\r\\nIs form\\'d in them by force, by fraud, or skill:\\r\\nThen call them not the authors of their ill,\\r\\n No more than wax shall be accounted evil,\\r\\n Wherein is stamp\\'d the semblance of a devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nTheir smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain,\\r\\nLays open all the little worms that creep;\\r\\nIn men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain\\r\\nCave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep:\\r\\nThrough crystal walls each little mote will peep:\\r\\n Though men can cover crimes with bold stern looks,\\r\\n Poor women\\'s faces are their own faults\\' books.\\r\\n\\r\\nNo man inveigb against the wither\\'d flower,\\r\\nBut chide rough winter that the flower hath kill\\'d!\\r\\nNot that devour\\'d, but that which doth devour,\\r\\nIs worthy blame. O, let it not be hild\\r\\nPoor women\\'s faults, that they are so fulfill\\'d\\r\\n With men\\'s abuses! those proud lords, to blame,\\r\\n Make weak-made women tenants to their shame.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe precedent whereof in Lucrece view,\\r\\nAssail\\'d by night with circumstances strong\\r\\nOf present death, and shame that might ensue\\r\\nBy that her death, to do her husband wrong:\\r\\nSuch danger to resistance did belong;\\r\\n The dying fear through all her body spread;\\r\\n And who cannot abuse a body dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this, mild Patience bid fair Lucrece speak\\r\\nTo the poor counterfeit of her complaining:\\r\\n\\'My girl,\\' quoth she, \\'on what occasion break\\r\\nThose tears from thee, that down thy cheeks are raining?\\r\\nIf thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining,\\r\\n Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood:\\r\\n If tears could help, mine own would do me good.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'But tell me, girl, when went\\'—(and there she stay\\'d\\r\\nTill after a deep groan) \\'Tarquin from, hence?\\'\\r\\n\\'Madam, ere I was up,\\' replied the maid,\\r\\n\\'The more to blame my sluggard negligence:\\r\\nYet with the fault I thus far can dispense;\\r\\n Myself was stirring ere the break of day,\\r\\n And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'But, lady, if your maid may be so bold,\\r\\nShe would request to know your heaviness.\\'\\r\\n\\'O peace!\\' quoth Lucrece: \\'if it should be told,\\r\\nThe repetition cannot make it less;\\r\\nFor more it is than I can well express:\\r\\n And that deep torture may be call\\'d a hell,\\r\\n When more is felt than one hath power to tell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen—\\r\\nYet save that labour, for I have them here.\\r\\nWhat should I say?—One of my husband\\'s men\\r\\nBid thou be ready, by and by, to bear\\r\\nA letter to my lord, my love, my dear;\\r\\n Bid him with speed prepare to carry it;\\r\\n The cause craves haste, and it will soon be writ.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHer maid is gone, and she prepares to write,\\r\\nFirst hovering o\\'er the paper with her quill:\\r\\nConceit and grief an eager combat fight;\\r\\nWhat wit sets down is blotted straight with will;\\r\\nThis is too curious-good, this blunt and ill:\\r\\n Much like a press of people at a door,\\r\\n Throng her inventions, which shall go before.\\r\\n\\r\\nAt last she thus begins:—\\'Thou worthy lord\\r\\nOf that unworthy wife that greeteth thee,\\r\\nHealth to thy person! next vouchsafe to afford\\r\\n(If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see)\\r\\nSome present speed to come and visit me:\\r\\n So, I commend me from our house in grief:\\r\\n My woes are tedious, though my words are brief.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere folds she up the tenor of her woe,\\r\\nHer certain sorrow writ uncertainly.\\r\\nBy this short schedule Collatine may know\\r\\nHer grief, but not her grief\\'s true quality;\\r\\nShe dares not thereof make discovery,\\r\\n Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse,\\r\\n Ere she with blood had stain\\'d her stain\\'d excuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nBesides, the life and feeling of her passion\\r\\nShe hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her;\\r\\nWhen sighs, and groans, and tears may grace the fashion\\r\\nOf her disgrace, the better so to clear her\\r\\nFrom that suspicion which the world my might bear her.\\r\\n To shun this blot, she would not blot the letter\\r\\n With words, till action might become them better.\\r\\n\\r\\nTo see sad sights moves more than hear them told;\\r\\nFor then the eye interprets to the ear\\r\\nThe heavy motion that it doth behold,\\r\\nWhen every part a part of woe doth bear.\\r\\n\\'Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear:\\r\\n Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow fords,\\r\\n And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of words.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer letter now is seal\\'d, and on it writ\\r\\n\\'At Ardea to my lord with more than haste;\\'\\r\\nThe post attends, and she delivers it,\\r\\nCharging the sour-fac\\'d groom to hie as fast\\r\\nAs lagging fowls before the northern blast.\\r\\n Speed more than speed but dull and slow she deems:\\r\\n Extremely still urgeth such extremes.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe homely villain court\\'sies to her low;\\r\\nAnd, blushing on her, with a steadfast eye\\r\\nReceives the scroll, without or yea or no,\\r\\nAnd forth with bashful innocence doth hie.\\r\\nBut they whose guilt within their bosoms lie\\r\\n Imagine every eye beholds their blame;\\r\\n For Lucrece thought he blush\\'d to see her shame:\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen, silly groom! God wot, it was defect\\r\\nOf spirit, life, and bold audacity.\\r\\nSuch harmless creatures have a true respect\\r\\nTo talk in deeds, while others saucily\\r\\nPromise more speed, but do it leisurely:\\r\\n Even so this pattern of the worn-out age\\r\\n Pawn\\'d honest looks, but laid no words to gage.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis kindled duty kindled her mistrust,\\r\\nThat two red fires in both their faces blaz\\'d;\\r\\nShe thought he blush\\'d, as knowing Tarquin\\'s lust,\\r\\nAnd, blushing with him, wistly on him gaz\\'d;\\r\\nHer earnest eye did make him more amaz\\'d:\\r\\n The more saw the blood his cheeks replenish,\\r\\n The more she thought he spied in her some blemish.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut long she thinks till he return again,\\r\\nAnd yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone.\\r\\nThe weary time she cannot entertain,\\r\\nFor now \\'tis stale to sigh, to weep, to groan:\\r\\nSo woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan,\\r\\n That she her plaints a little while doth stay,\\r\\n Pausing for means to mourn some newer way.\\r\\n\\r\\nAt last she calls to mind where hangs a piece\\r\\nOf skilful painting, made for Priam\\'s Troy;\\r\\nBefore the which is drawn the power of Greece,\\r\\nFor Helen\\'s rape the city to destroy,\\r\\nThreat\\'ning cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy;\\r\\n Which the conceited painter drew so proud,\\r\\n As heaven (it seem\\'d) to kiss the turrets bow\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nA thousand lamentable objects there,\\r\\nIn scorn of Nature, Art gave lifeless life:\\r\\nMany a dry drop seem\\'d a weeping tear,\\r\\nShed for the slaughter\\'d husband by the wife:\\r\\nThe red blood reek\\'d, to show the painter\\'s strife;\\r\\n The dying eyes gleam\\'d forth their ashy lights,\\r\\n Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights.\\r\\n\\r\\nThere might you see the labouring pioner\\r\\nBegrim\\'d with sweat, and smeared all with dust;\\r\\nAnd from the towers of Troy there would appear\\r\\nThe very eyes of men through loopholes thrust,\\r\\nGazing upon the Greeks with little lust:\\r\\n Such sweet observance in this work was had,\\r\\n That one might see those far-off eyes look sad.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn great commanders grace and majesty\\r\\nYou might behold, triumphing in their faces;\\r\\nIn youth, quick bearing and dexterity;\\r\\nAnd here and there the painter interlaces\\r\\nPale cowards, marching on with trembling paces;\\r\\n Which heartless peasants did so well resemble,\\r\\n That one would swear he saw them quake and tremble.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn Ajax and Ulysses, O, what art\\r\\nOf physiognomy might one behold!\\r\\nThe face of either \\'cipher\\'d either\\'s heart;\\r\\nTheir face their manners most expressly told:\\r\\nIn Ajax\\' eyes blunt rage and rigour roll\\'d;\\r\\n But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent\\r\\n Show\\'d deep regard and smiling government.\\r\\n\\r\\nThere pleading might you see grave Nestor stand,\\r\\nAs\\'t were encouraging the Greeks to fight;\\r\\nMaking such sober action with his hand\\r\\nThat it beguiled attention, charm\\'d the sight:\\r\\nIn speech, it seem\\'d, his beard, all silver white,\\r\\n Wagg\\'d up and down, and from his lips did fly\\r\\n Thin winding breath, which purl\\'d up to the sky.\\r\\n\\r\\nAbout him were a press of gaping faces,\\r\\nWhich seem\\'d to swallow up his sound advice;\\r\\nAll jointly listening, but with several graces,\\r\\nAs if some mermaid did their ears entice;\\r\\nSome high, some low, the painter was so nice:\\r\\n The scalps of many, almost hid behind,\\r\\n To jump up higher seem\\'d to mock the mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere one man\\'s hand lean\\'d on another\\'s head,\\r\\nHis nose being shadow\\'d by his neighbour\\'s ear;\\r\\nHere one being throng\\'d bears back, all boll\\'n and red;\\r\\nAnother smother\\'d seems to pelt and swear;\\r\\nAnd in their rage such signs of rage they bear,\\r\\n As, but for loss of Nestor\\'s golden words,\\r\\n It seem\\'d they would debate with angry swords.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor much imaginary work was there;\\r\\nConceit deceitful, so compact, so kind,\\r\\nThat for Achilles\\' image stood his spear,\\r\\nGrip\\'d in an armed hand; himself, behind,\\r\\nWas left unseen, save to the eye of mind:\\r\\n A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head,\\r\\n Stood for the whole to be imagined,\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd from the walls of strong-besieged Troy\\r\\nWhen their brave hope, bold Hector, march\\'d to field,\\r\\nStood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy\\r\\nTo see their youthful sons bright weapons wield;\\r\\nAnd to their hope they such odd action yield,\\r\\n That through their light joy seemed to appear,\\r\\n (Like bright things stain\\'d) a kind of heavy fear,\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd, from the strond of Dardan, where they fought,\\r\\nTo Simois\\' reedy banks, the red blood ran,\\r\\nWhose waves to imitate the battle sought\\r\\nWith swelling ridges; and their ranks began\\r\\nTo break upon the galled shore, and than\\r\\n Retire again, till, meeting greater ranks,\\r\\n They join, and shoot their foam at Simois\\' banks.\\r\\n\\r\\nTo this well-painted piece is Lucrece come,\\r\\nTo find a face where all distress is stell\\'d.\\r\\nMany she sees where cares have carved some,\\r\\nBut none where all distress and dolour dwell\\'d,\\r\\nTill she despairing Hecuba beheld,\\r\\n Staring on Priam\\'s wounds with her old eyes,\\r\\n Which bleeding under Pyrrhus\\' proud foot lies.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn her the painter had anatomiz\\'d\\r\\nTime\\'s ruin, beauty\\'s wrack, and grim care\\'s reign:\\r\\nHer cheeks with chops and wrinkles were disguis\\'d;\\r\\nOf what she was no semblance did remain:\\r\\nHer blue blood, chang\\'d to black in every vein,\\r\\n Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had fed,\\r\\n Show\\'d life imprison\\'d in a body dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nOn this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes,\\r\\nAnd shapes her sorrow to the beldame\\'s woes,\\r\\nWho nothing wants to answer her but cries,\\r\\nAnd bitter words to ban her cruel foes:\\r\\nThe painter was no god to lend her those;\\r\\n And therefore Lucrece swears he did her wrong,\\r\\n To give her so much grief, and not a tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Poor instrument,\\' quoth she, \\'without a sound,\\r\\nI\\'ll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue;\\r\\nAnd drop sweet balm in Priam\\'s painted wound,\\r\\nAnd rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong,\\r\\nAnd with my tears quench Troy that burns so long;\\r\\n And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes\\r\\n Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Show me the strumpet that began this stir,\\r\\nThat with my nails her beauty I may tear.\\r\\nThy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur\\r\\nThis load of wrath that burning Troy doth bear;\\r\\nThy eye kindled the fire that burneth here:\\r\\n And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye,\\r\\n The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter die.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why should the private pleasure of some one\\r\\nBecome the public plague of many mo?\\r\\nLet sin, alone committed, light alone\\r\\nUpon his head that hath transgressed so.\\r\\nLet guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe:\\r\\n For one\\'s offence why should so many fall,\\r\\n To plague a private sin in general?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Lo, here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies,\\r\\nHere manly Hector faints, here Troilus swounds;\\r\\nHere friend by friend in bloody channel lies,\\r\\nAnd friend to friend gives unadvised wounds,\\r\\nAnd one man\\'s lust these many lives confounds:\\r\\n Had doting Priam check\\'d his son\\'s desire,\\r\\n Troy had been bright with fame and not with fire.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere feelingly she weeps Troy\\'s painted woes:\\r\\nFor sorrow, like a heavy-hanging bell,\\r\\nOnce set on ringing, with his own weight goes;\\r\\nThen little strength rings out the doleful knell:\\r\\nSo Lucrece set a-work sad tales doth tell\\r\\n To pencill\\'d pensiveness and colour\\'d sorrow;\\r\\n She lends them words, and she their looks doth borrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe throws her eyes about the painting round,\\r\\nAnd whom she finds forlorn she doth lament:\\r\\nAt last she sees a wretched image bound,\\r\\nThat piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent:\\r\\nHis face, though full of cares, yet show\\'d content;\\r\\n Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes,\\r\\n So mild, that Patience seem\\'d to scorn his woes.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn him the painter labour\\'d with his skill\\r\\nTo hide deceit, and give the harmless show\\r\\nAn humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still,\\r\\nA brow unbent, that seem\\'d to welcome woe;\\r\\nCheeks neither red nor pale, but mingled so\\r\\n That blushing red no guilty instance gave,\\r\\n Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut, like a constant and confirmed devil,\\r\\nHe entertain\\'d a show so seeming just,\\r\\nAnd therein so ensconc\\'d his secret evil,\\r\\nThat jealousy itself cold not mistrust\\r\\nFalse-creeping craft and perjury should thrust\\r\\n Into so bright a day such black-fac\\'d storms,\\r\\n Or blot with hell-born sin such saint-like forms.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe well-skill\\'d workman this mild image drew\\r\\nFor perjur\\'d Sinon, whose enchanting story\\r\\nThe credulous Old Priam after slew;\\r\\nWhose words, like wildfire, burnt the shining glory\\r\\nOf rich-built Ilion, that the skies were sorry,\\r\\n And little stars shot from their fixed places,\\r\\n When their glass fell wherein they view\\'d their faces.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis picture she advisedly perus\\'d,\\r\\nAnd chid the painter for his wondrous skill;\\r\\nSaying, some shape in Sinon\\'s was abus\\'d;\\r\\nSo fair a form lodged not a mind so ill:\\r\\nAnd still on him she gaz\\'d; and gazing still,\\r\\n Such signs of truth in his plain face she spied,\\r\\n That she concludes the picture was belied.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'It cannot be,\\' quoth she, \\'that so much guile\\'—\\r\\n(She would have said) \\'can lurk in such a look;\\'\\r\\nBut Tarquin\\'s shape came in her mind the while,\\r\\nAnd from her tongue \\'can lurk\\' from \\'cannot\\' took;\\r\\n\\'It cannot be\\' she in that sense forsook,\\r\\n And turn\\'d it thus: \\'It cannot be, I find,\\r\\n But such a face should bear a wicked mind:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'For even as subtle Sinon here is painted,\\r\\nSo sober-sad, so weary, and so mild,\\r\\n(As if with grief or travail he had fainted,)\\r\\nTo me came Tarquin armed; so beguil\\'d\\r\\nWith outward honesty, but yet defil\\'d\\r\\n With inward vice: as Priam him did cherish,\\r\\n So did I Tarquin; so my Troy did perish.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes,\\r\\nTo see those borrow\\'d tears that Sinon sheds.\\r\\nPriam, why art thou old and yet not wise?\\r\\nFor every tear he falls a Trojan bleeds;\\r\\nHis eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds;\\r\\n Those round clear pearls of his that move thy pity,\\r\\n Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Such devils steal effects from lightless hell;\\r\\nFor Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold,\\r\\nAnd in that cold hot-burning fire doth dwell;\\r\\nThese contraries such unity do hold,\\r\\nOnly to flatter fools, and make them bold;\\r\\n So Priam\\'s trust false Sinon\\'s tears doth flatter,\\r\\n That he finds means to burn his Troy with water.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere, all enrag\\'d, such passion her assails,\\r\\nThat patience is quite beaten from her breast.\\r\\nShe tears the senseless Sinon with her nails,\\r\\nComparing him to that unhappy guest\\r\\nWhose deed hath made herself herself detest;\\r\\n At last she smilingly with this gives o\\'er;\\r\\n \\'Fool, fool!\\' quoth she, \\'his wounds will not be sore.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow,\\r\\nAnd time doth weary time with her complaining.\\r\\nShe looks for night, and then she longs for morrow,\\r\\nAnd both she thinks too long with her remaining:\\r\\nShort time seems long in sorrow\\'s sharp sustaining.\\r\\n Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps;\\r\\n And they that watch see time how slow it creeps.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich all this time hath overslipp\\'d her thought,\\r\\nThat she with painted images hath spent;\\r\\nBeing from the feeling of her own grief brought\\r\\nBy deep surmise of others\\' detriment:\\r\\nLosing her woes in shows of discontent.\\r\\n It easeth some, though none it ever cur\\'d,\\r\\n To think their dolour others have endur\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut now the mindful messenger, come back,\\r\\nBrings home his lord and other company;\\r\\nWho finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black:\\r\\nAnd round about her tear-distained eye\\r\\nBlue circles stream\\'d, like rainbows in the sky.\\r\\n These water-galls in her dim element\\r\\n Foretell new storms to those already spent.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich when her sad-beholding husband saw,\\r\\nAmazedly in her sad face he stares:\\r\\nHer eyes, though sod in tears, look\\'d red and raw,\\r\\nHer lively colour kill\\'d with deadly cares.\\r\\nHe hath no power to ask her how she fares,\\r\\n Both stood, like old acquaintance in a trance,\\r\\n Met far from home, wondering each other\\'s chance.\\r\\n\\r\\nAt last he takes her by the bloodless hand,\\r\\nAnd thus begins: \\'What uncouth ill event\\r\\nHath thee befall\\'n, that thou dost trembling stand?\\r\\nSweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spent?\\r\\nWhy art thou thus attir\\'d in discontent?\\r\\n Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness,\\r\\n And tell thy grief, that we may give redress.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThree times with sighs she gives her sorrow fire,\\r\\nEre once she can discharge one word of woe:\\r\\nAt length address\\'d to answer his desire,\\r\\nShe modestly prepares to let them know\\r\\nHer honour is ta\\'en prisoner by the foe;\\r\\n While Collatine and his consorted lords\\r\\n With sad attention long to hear her words.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd now this pale swan in her watery nest\\r\\nBegins the sad dirge of her certain ending:\\r\\n\\'Few words,\\' quoth she, \\'shall fit the trespass best,\\r\\nWhere no excuse can give the fault amending:\\r\\nIn me more woes than words are now depending;\\r\\n And my laments would be drawn out too long,\\r\\n To tell them all with one poor tired tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Then be this all the task it hath to say:—\\r\\nDear husband, in the interest of thy bed\\r\\nA stranger came, and on that pillow lay\\r\\nWhere thou wast wont to rest thy weary head;\\r\\nAnd what wrong else may be imagined\\r\\n By foul enforcement might be done to me,\\r\\n From that, alas! thy Lucrece is not free.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight,\\r\\nWith shining falchion in my chamber came\\r\\nA creeping creature, with a flaming light,\\r\\nAnd softly cried Awake, thou Roman dame,\\r\\nAnd entertain my love; else lasting shame\\r\\n On thee and thine this night I will inflict,\\r\\n If thou my love\\'s desire do contradict.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'For some hard-favour\\'d groom of thine, quoth he,\\r\\nUnless thou yoke thy liking to my will,\\r\\nI\\'ll murder straight, and then I\\'ll slaughter thee\\r\\nAnd swear I found you where you did fulfil\\r\\nThe loathsome act of lust, and so did kill\\r\\n The lechers in their deed: this act will be\\r\\n My fame and thy perpetual infamy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'With this, I did begin to start and cry,\\r\\nAnd then against my heart he sets his sword,\\r\\nSwearing, unless I took all patiently,\\r\\nI should not live to speak another word;\\r\\nSo should my shame still rest upon record,\\r\\n And never be forgot in mighty Rome\\r\\n The adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak,\\r\\nAnd far the weaker with so strong a fear:\\r\\nMy bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak;\\r\\nNo rightful plea might plead for justice there:\\r\\nHis scarlet lust came evidence to swear\\r\\n That my poor beauty had purloin\\'d his eyes;\\r\\n And when the judge is robb\\'d the prisoner dies.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O, teach me how to make mine own excuse!\\r\\nOr at the least this refuge let me find;\\r\\nThough my gross blood be stain\\'d with this abuse,\\r\\nImmaculate and spotless is my mind;\\r\\nThat was not forc\\'d; that never was inclin\\'d\\r\\n To accessary yieldings, but still pure\\r\\n Doth in her poison\\'d closet yet endure.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nLo, here, the hopeless merchant of this loss,\\r\\nWith head declin\\'d, and voice damm\\'d up with woe,\\r\\nWith sad set eyes, and wretched arms across,\\r\\nFrom lips new-waxen pale begins to blow\\r\\nThe grief away that stops his answer so:\\r\\n But wretched as he is he strives in vain;\\r\\n What he breathes out his breath drinks up again.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs through an arch the violent roaring tide\\r\\nOutruns the eye that doth behold his haste;\\r\\nYet in the eddy boundeth in his pride\\r\\nBack to the strait that forc\\'d him on so fast;\\r\\nIn rage sent out, recall\\'d in rage, being past:\\r\\n Even so his sighs, his sorrows make a saw.\\r\\n To push grief on, and back the same grief draw.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich speechless woe of his poor she attendeth,\\r\\nAnd his untimely frenzy thus awaketh:\\r\\n\\'Dear Lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth\\r\\nAnother power; no flood by raining slaketh.\\r\\nMy woe too sensible thy passion maketh\\r\\n More feeling-painful: let it then suffice\\r\\n To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And for my sake, when I might charm thee so,\\r\\nFor she that was thy Lucrece,—now attend me;\\r\\nBe suddenly revenged on my foe,\\r\\nThine, mine, his own: suppose thou dost defend me\\r\\nFrom what is past: the help that thou shalt lend me\\r\\n Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die;\\r\\n For sparing justice feeds iniquity.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'But ere I name him, you fair lords,\\' quoth she,\\r\\n(Speaking to those that came with Collatine)\\r\\n\\'Shall plight your honourable faiths to me,\\r\\nWith swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine;\\r\\nFor \\'tis a meritorious fair design\\r\\n To chase injustice with revengeful arms:\\r\\n Knights, by their oaths, should right poor ladies\\' harms.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nAt this request, with noble disposition\\r\\nEach present lord began to promise aid,\\r\\nAs bound in knighthood to her imposition,\\r\\nLonging to hear the hateful foe bewray\\'d.\\r\\nBut she, that yet her sad task hath not said,\\r\\n The protestation stops. \\'O, speak,\\' quoth she,\\r\\n \\'How may this forced stain be wip\\'d from me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'What is the quality of mine offence,\\r\\nBeing constrain\\'d with dreadful circumstance?\\r\\nMay my pure mind with the foul act dispense,\\r\\nMy low-declined honour to advance?\\r\\nMay any terms acquit me from this chance?\\r\\n The poison\\'d fountain clears itself again;\\r\\n And why not I from this compelled stain?\\r\\n\\r\\nWith this, they all at once began to say,\\r\\nHer body\\'s stain her mind untainted clears;\\r\\nWhile with a joyless smile she turns away\\r\\nThe face, that map which deep impression bears\\r\\nOf hard misfortune, carv\\'d in it with tears.\\r\\n \\'No, no,\\' quoth she, \\'no dame, hereafter living,\\r\\n By my excuse shall claim excuse\\'s giving.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere with a sigh, as if her heart would break,\\r\\nShe throws forth Tarquin\\'s name: \\'He, he,\\' she says,\\r\\nBut more than \\'he\\' her poor tongue could not speak;\\r\\nTill after many accents and delays,\\r\\nUntimely breathings, sick and short assays,\\r\\n She utters this: \\'He, he, fair lords, \\'tis he,\\r\\n That guides this hand to give this wound to me.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nEven here she sheathed in her harmless breast\\r\\nA harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheath\\'d:\\r\\nThat blow did bail it from the deep unrest\\r\\nOf that polluted prison where it breath\\'d:\\r\\nHer contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeath\\'d\\r\\n Her winged sprite, and through her wounds doth fly\\r\\n Life\\'s lasting date from cancell\\'d destiny.\\r\\n\\r\\nStone-still, astonish\\'d with this deadly deed,\\r\\nStood Collatine and all his lordly crew;\\r\\nTill Lucrece\\' father that beholds her bleed,\\r\\nHimself on her self-slaughter\\'d body threw;\\r\\nAnd from the purple fountain Brutus drew\\r\\n The murderous knife, and, as it left the place,\\r\\n Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase;\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd bubbling from her breast, it doth divide\\r\\nIn two slow rivers, that the crimson blood\\r\\nCircles her body in on every side,\\r\\nWho, like a late-sack\\'d island, vastly stood\\r\\nBare and unpeopled, in this fearful flood.\\r\\n Some of her blood still pure and red remain\\'d,\\r\\n And some look\\'d black, and that false Tarquin stain\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nAbout the mourning and congealed face\\r\\nOf that black blood a watery rigol goes,\\r\\nWhich seems to weep upon the tainted place:\\r\\nAnd ever since, as pitying Lucrece\\' woes,\\r\\nCorrupted blood some watery token shows;\\r\\n And blood untainted still doth red abide,\\r\\n Blushing at that which is so putrified.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Daughter, dear daughter,\\' old Lucretius cries,\\r\\n\\'That life was mine which thou hast here depriv\\'d.\\r\\nIf in the child the father\\'s image lies,\\r\\nWhere shall I live now Lucrece is unliv\\'d?\\r\\nThou wast not to this end from me deriv\\'d\\r\\n If children pre-decease progenitors,\\r\\n We are their offspring, and they none of ours.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Poor broken glass, I often did behold\\r\\nIn thy sweet semblance my old age new born;\\r\\nBut now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old,\\r\\nShows me a bare-bon\\'d death by time outworn;\\r\\nO, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn!\\r\\n And shiver\\'d all the beauty of my glass,\\r\\n That I no more can see what once I was!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O time, cease thou thy course and last no longer,\\r\\nIf they surcease to be that should survive.\\r\\nShall rotten death make conquest of the stronger,\\r\\nAnd leave the faltering feeble souls alive?\\r\\nThe old bees die, the young possess their hive:\\r\\n Then live, sweet Lucrece, live again, and see\\r\\n Thy father die, and not thy father thee!\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this starts Collatine as from a dream,\\r\\nAnd bids Lucretius give his sorrow place;\\r\\nAnd then in key-cold Lucrece\\' bleeding stream\\r\\nHe falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face,\\r\\nAnd counterfeits to die with her a space;\\r\\n Till manly shame bids him possess his breath,\\r\\n And live, to be revenged on her death.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe deep vexation of his inward soul\\r\\nHath serv\\'d a dumb arrest upon his tongue;\\r\\nWho, mad that sorrow should his use control,\\r\\nOr keep him from heart-easing words so long,\\r\\nBegins to talk; but through his lips do throng\\r\\n Weak words, so thick come in his poor heart\\'s aid,\\r\\n That no man could distinguish what he said.\\r\\n\\r\\nYet sometime \\'Tarquin\\' was pronounced plain,\\r\\nBut through his teeth, as if the name he tore.\\r\\nThis windy tempest, till it blow up rain,\\r\\nHeld back his sorrow\\'s tide, to make it more;\\r\\nAt last it rains, and busy winds give o\\'er:\\r\\n Then son and father weep with equal strife,\\r\\n Who should weep most, for daughter or for wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe one doth call her his, the other his,\\r\\nYet neither may possess the claim they lay,\\r\\nThe father says \\'She\\'s mine,\\' \\'O, mine she is,\\'\\r\\nReplies her husband: \\'do not take away\\r\\nMy sorrow\\'s interest; let no mourner say\\r\\n He weeps for her, for she was only mine,\\r\\n And only must be wail\\'d by Collatine.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O,\\' quoth Lucretius, \\'I did give that life\\r\\nWhich she too early and too late hath spill\\'d.\\'\\r\\n\\'Woe, woe,\\' quoth Collatine, \\'she was my wife,\\r\\nI owed her, and \\'tis mine that she hath kill\\'d.\\'\\r\\n\\'My daughter\\' and \\'my wife\\' with clamours fill\\'d\\r\\n The dispers\\'d air, who, holding Lucrece\\' life,\\r\\n Answer\\'d their cries, \\'My daughter!\\' and \\'My wife!\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nBrutus, who pluck\\'d the knife from Lucrece\\' side,\\r\\nSeeing such emulation in their woe,\\r\\nBegan to clothe his wit in state and pride,\\r\\nBurying in Lucrece\\' wound his folly\\'s show.\\r\\nHe with the Romans was esteemed so\\r\\n As silly-jeering idiots are with kings,\\r\\n For sportive words, and uttering foolish things:\\r\\n\\r\\nBut now he throws that shallow habit by,\\r\\nWherein deep policy did him disguise;\\r\\nAnd arm\\'d his long-hid wits advisedly,\\r\\nTo check the tears in Collatinus\\' eyes.\\r\\n\\'Thou wronged lord of Rome,\\' quoth he, \\'arise;\\r\\n Let my unsounded self, suppos\\'d a fool,\\r\\n Now set thy long-experienc\\'d wit to school.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe?\\r\\nDo wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous deeds?\\r\\nIs it revenge to give thyself a blow,\\r\\nFor his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds?\\r\\nSuch childish humour from weak minds proceeds:\\r\\n Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so,\\r\\n To slay herself, that should have slain her foe.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart\\r\\nIn such relenting dew of lamentations,\\r\\nBut kneel with me, and help to bear thy part,\\r\\nTo rouse our Roman gods with invocations,\\r\\nThat they will suffer these abominations,\\r\\n (Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgrac\\'d,)\\r\\n By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chas\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Now, by the Capitol that we adore,\\r\\nAnd by this chaste blood so unjustly stain\\'d,\\r\\nBy heaven\\'s fair sun that breeds the fat earth\\'s store,\\r\\nBy all our country rights in Rome maintain\\'d,\\r\\nAnd by chaste Lucrece\\' soul that late complain\\'d\\r\\n Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife,\\r\\n We will revenge the death of this true wife.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, he struck his hand upon his breast,\\r\\nAnd kiss\\'d the fatal knife, to end his vow;\\r\\nAnd to his protestation urg\\'d the rest,\\r\\nWho, wondering at him, did his words allow;\\r\\nThen jointly to the ground their knees they bow;\\r\\n And that deep vow, which Brutus made before,\\r\\n He doth again repeat, and that they swore.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen they had sworn to this advised doom,\\r\\nThey did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence;\\r\\nTo show her bleeding body thorough Rome,\\r\\nAnd so to publish Tarquin\\'s foul offence:\\r\\nWhich being done with speedy diligence,\\r\\n The Romans plausibly did give consent\\r\\n To Tarquin\\'s everlasting banishment.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VENUS AND ADONIS\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n _Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo\\r\\n Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua._\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE\\r\\nHENRY WRIOTHESLEY, EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON,\\r\\nand Baron of Titchfield.\\r\\n\\r\\nRight Honourable, I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my\\r\\nunpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will censure me\\r\\nfor choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burthen: only, if\\r\\nyour honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow\\r\\nto take advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some\\r\\ngraver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I\\r\\nshall be sorry it had so noble a godfather, and never after ear so\\r\\nbarren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it\\r\\nto your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart’s content;\\r\\nwhich I wish may always answer your own wish and the world’s hopeful\\r\\nexpectation.\\r\\n\\r\\nYour honour’s in all duty,\\r\\nWILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VENUS AND ADONIS\\r\\n\\r\\nEven as the sun with purple-colour’d face\\r\\nHad ta’en his last leave of the weeping morn,\\r\\nRose-cheek’d Adonis tried him to the chase;\\r\\nHunting he lov’d, but love he laugh’d to scorn; 4\\r\\n Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,\\r\\n And like a bold-fac’d suitor ’gins to woo him.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Thrice fairer than myself,” thus she began,\\r\\n“The field’s chief flower, sweet above compare, 8\\r\\nStain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,\\r\\nMore white and red than doves or roses are:\\r\\n Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,\\r\\n Saith that the world hath ending with thy life. 12\\r\\n\\r\\n“Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,\\r\\nAnd rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;\\r\\nIf thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed\\r\\nA thousand honey secrets shalt thou know: 16\\r\\n Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,\\r\\n And being set, I’ll smother thee with kisses.\\r\\n\\r\\n“And yet not cloy thy lips with loath’d satiety,\\r\\nBut rather famish them amid their plenty, 20\\r\\nMaking them red, and pale, with fresh variety:\\r\\nTen kisses short as one, one long as twenty:\\r\\n A summer’s day will seem an hour but short,\\r\\n Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.” 24\\r\\n\\r\\nWith this she seizeth on his sweating palm,\\r\\nThe precedent of pith and livelihood,\\r\\nAnd trembling in her passion, calls it balm,\\r\\nEarth’s sovereign salve to do a goddess good: 28\\r\\n Being so enrag’d, desire doth lend her force\\r\\n Courageously to pluck him from his horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nOver one arm the lusty courser’s rein,\\r\\nUnder her other was the tender boy, 32\\r\\nWho blush’d and pouted in a dull disdain,\\r\\nWith leaden appetite, unapt to toy;\\r\\n She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,\\r\\n He red for shame, but frosty in desire. 36\\r\\n\\r\\nThe studded bridle on a ragged bough\\r\\nNimbly she fastens;—O! how quick is love!—\\r\\nThe steed is stalled up, and even now\\r\\nTo tie the rider she begins to prove: 40\\r\\n Backward she push’d him, as she would be thrust,\\r\\n And govern’d him in strength, though not in lust.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo soon was she along, as he was down,\\r\\nEach leaning on their elbows and their hips: 44\\r\\nNow doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,\\r\\nAnd ’gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips,\\r\\n And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,\\r\\n “If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.” 48\\r\\n\\r\\nHe burns with bashful shame, she with her tears\\r\\nDoth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;\\r\\nThen with her windy sighs and golden hairs\\r\\nTo fan and blow them dry again she seeks. 52\\r\\n He saith she is immodest, blames her miss;\\r\\n What follows more, she murders with a kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nEven as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,\\r\\nTires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone, 56\\r\\nShaking her wings, devouring all in haste,\\r\\nTill either gorge be stuff’d or prey be gone:\\r\\n Even so she kiss’d his brow, his cheek, his chin,\\r\\n And where she ends she doth anew begin. 60\\r\\n\\r\\nForc’d to content, but never to obey,\\r\\nPanting he lies, and breatheth in her face.\\r\\nShe feedeth on the steam, as on a prey,\\r\\nAnd calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace, 64\\r\\n Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers\\r\\n So they were dew’d with such distilling showers.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook how a bird lies tangled in a net,\\r\\nSo fasten’d in her arms Adonis lies; 68\\r\\nPure shame and aw’d resistance made him fret,\\r\\nWhich bred more beauty in his angry eyes:\\r\\n Rain added to a river that is rank\\r\\n Perforce will force it overflow the bank. 72\\r\\n\\r\\nStill she entreats, and prettily entreats,\\r\\nFor to a pretty ear she tunes her tale.\\r\\nStill is he sullen, still he lours and frets,\\r\\n’Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy pale; 76\\r\\n Being red she loves him best, and being white,\\r\\n Her best is better’d with a more delight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook how he can, she cannot choose but love;\\r\\nAnd by her fair immortal hand she swears, 80\\r\\nFrom his soft bosom never to remove,\\r\\nTill he take truce with her contending tears,\\r\\n Which long have rain’d, making her cheeks all wet;\\r\\n And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.\\r\\n\\r\\nUpon this promise did he raise his chin, 85\\r\\nLike a dive-dapper peering through a wave,\\r\\nWho, being look’d on, ducks as quickly in;\\r\\nSo offers he to give what she did crave, 88\\r\\n But when her lips were ready for his pay,\\r\\n He winks, and turns his lips another way.\\r\\n\\r\\nNever did passenger in summer’s heat\\r\\nMore thirst for drink than she for this good turn. 92\\r\\nHer help she sees, but help she cannot get;\\r\\nShe bathes in water, yet her fire must burn:\\r\\n “O! pity,” ’gan she cry, “flint-hearted boy,\\r\\n ’Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy? 96\\r\\n\\r\\n“I have been woo’d as I entreat thee now,\\r\\nEven by the stern and direful god of war,\\r\\nWhose sinewy neck in battle ne’er did bow,\\r\\nWho conquers where he comes in every jar; 100\\r\\n Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,\\r\\n And begg’d for that which thou unask’d shalt have.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Over my altars hath he hung his lance,\\r\\nHis batter’d shield, his uncontrolled crest, 104\\r\\nAnd for my sake hath learn’d to sport and dance,\\r\\nTo toy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest;\\r\\n Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red\\r\\n Making my arms his field, his tent my bed. 108\\r\\n\\r\\n“Thus he that overrul’d I oversway’d,\\r\\nLeading him prisoner in a red rose chain:\\r\\nStrong-temper’d steel his stronger strength obey’d,\\r\\nYet was he servile to my coy disdain. 112\\r\\n Oh be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,\\r\\n For mast’ring her that foil’d the god of fight.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine,\\r\\nThough mine be not so fair, yet are they red, 116\\r\\nThe kiss shall be thine own as well as mine:\\r\\nWhat see’st thou in the ground? hold up thy head,\\r\\n Look in mine eyeballs, there thy beauty lies;\\r\\n Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes? 120\\r\\n\\r\\n“Art thou asham’d to kiss? then wink again,\\r\\nAnd I will wink; so shall the day seem night.\\r\\nLove keeps his revels where there are but twain;\\r\\nBe bold to play, our sport is not in sight, 124\\r\\n These blue-vein’d violets whereon we lean\\r\\n Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.\\r\\n\\r\\n“The tender spring upon thy tempting lip 127\\r\\nShows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted,\\r\\nMake use of time, let not advantage slip;\\r\\nBeauty within itself should not be wasted,\\r\\n Fair flowers that are not gather’d in their prime\\r\\n Rot, and consume themselves in little time. 132\\r\\n\\r\\n“Were I hard-favour’d, foul, or wrinkled old,\\r\\nIll-nurtur’d, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,\\r\\nO’erworn, despised, rheumatic, and cold,\\r\\nThick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice, 136\\r\\n Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee;\\r\\n But having no defects, why dost abhor me?\\r\\n\\r\\n“Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow, 139\\r\\nMine eyes are grey and bright, and quick in turning;\\r\\nMy beauty as the spring doth yearly grow,\\r\\nMy flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning,\\r\\n My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt,\\r\\n Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt. 144\\r\\n\\r\\n“Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,\\r\\nOr like a fairy, trip upon the green,\\r\\nOr like a nymph, with long dishevell’d hair,\\r\\nDance on the sands, and yet no footing seen. 148\\r\\n Love is a spirit all compact of fire,\\r\\n Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie: 151\\r\\nThese forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me;\\r\\nTwo strengthless doves will draw me through the sky,\\r\\nFrom morn till night, even where I list to sport me.\\r\\n Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be\\r\\n That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee? 156\\r\\n\\r\\n“Is thine own heart to thine own face affected?\\r\\nCan thy right hand seize love upon thy left?\\r\\nThen woo thyself, be of thyself rejected,\\r\\nSteal thine own freedom, and complain on theft. 160\\r\\n Narcissus so himself himself forsook,\\r\\n And died to kiss his shadow in the brook.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Torches are made to light, jewels to wear,\\r\\nDainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use, 164\\r\\nHerbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear;\\r\\nThings growing to themselves are growth’s abuse,\\r\\n Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth beauty;\\r\\n Thou wast begot; to get it is thy duty. 168\\r\\n\\r\\n“Upon the earth’s increase why shouldst thou feed,\\r\\nUnless the earth with thy increase be fed?\\r\\nBy law of nature thou art bound to breed,\\r\\nThat thine may live when thou thyself art dead; 172\\r\\n And so in spite of death thou dost survive,\\r\\n In that thy likeness still is left alive.”\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this the love-sick queen began to sweat,\\r\\nFor where they lay the shadow had forsook them, 176\\r\\nAnd Titan, tired in the midday heat,\\r\\nWith burning eye did hotly overlook them,\\r\\n Wishing Adonis had his team to guide,\\r\\n So he were like him and by Venus’ side. 180\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd now Adonis with a lazy spright,\\r\\nAnd with a heavy, dark, disliking eye,\\r\\nHis louring brows o’erwhelming his fair sight,\\r\\nLike misty vapours when they blot the sky, 184\\r\\n Souring his cheeks, cries, “Fie, no more of love:\\r\\n The sun doth burn my face; I must remove.”\\r\\n\\r\\n“Ay me,” quoth Venus, “young, and so unkind!\\r\\nWhat bare excuses mak’st thou to be gone! 188\\r\\nI’ll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind\\r\\nShall cool the heat of this descending sun:\\r\\n I’ll make a shadow for thee of my hairs;\\r\\n If they burn too, I’ll quench them with my tears. 192\\r\\n\\r\\n“The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm,\\r\\nAnd lo I lie between that sun and thee:\\r\\nThe heat I have from thence doth little harm,\\r\\nThine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me; 196\\r\\n And were I not immortal, life were done,\\r\\n Between this heavenly and earthly sun.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel?\\r\\nNay more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth: 200\\r\\nArt thou a woman’s son and canst not feel\\r\\nWhat ’tis to love, how want of love tormenteth?\\r\\n O had thy mother borne so hard a mind,\\r\\n She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind. 204\\r\\n\\r\\n“What am I that thou shouldst contemn me this?\\r\\nOr what great danger dwells upon my suit?\\r\\nWhat were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss?\\r\\nSpeak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute: 208\\r\\n Give me one kiss, I’ll give it thee again,\\r\\n And one for int’rest, if thou wilt have twain.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,\\r\\nWell-painted idol, image dull and dead, 212\\r\\nStatue contenting but the eye alone,\\r\\nThing like a man, but of no woman bred:\\r\\n Thou art no man, though of a man’s complexion,\\r\\n For men will kiss even by their own direction.” 216\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue,\\r\\nAnd swelling passion doth provoke a pause;\\r\\nRed cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong;\\r\\nBeing judge in love, she cannot right her cause. 220\\r\\n And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak,\\r\\n And now her sobs do her intendments break.\\r\\n\\r\\nSometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand,\\r\\nNow gazeth she on him, now on the ground; 224\\r\\nSometimes her arms infold him like a band:\\r\\nShe would, he will not in her arms be bound;\\r\\n And when from thence he struggles to be gone,\\r\\n She locks her lily fingers one in one. 228\\r\\n\\r\\n“Fondling,” she saith, “since I have hemm’d thee here\\r\\nWithin the circuit of this ivory pale,\\r\\nI’ll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer;\\r\\nFeed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale: 232\\r\\n Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry,\\r\\n Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Within this limit is relief enough,\\r\\nSweet bottom grass and high delightful plain, 236\\r\\nRound rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough,\\r\\nTo shelter thee from tempest and from rain:\\r\\n Then be my deer, since I am such a park, 239\\r\\n No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark.”\\r\\n\\r\\nAt this Adonis smiles as in disdain,\\r\\nThat in each cheek appears a pretty dimple;\\r\\nLove made those hollows, if himself were slain,\\r\\nHe might be buried in a tomb so simple; 244\\r\\n Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie,\\r\\n Why there love liv’d, and there he could not die.\\r\\n\\r\\nThese lovely caves, these round enchanting pits,\\r\\nOpen’d their mouths to swallow Venus’ liking. 248\\r\\nBeing mad before, how doth she now for wits?\\r\\nStruck dead at first, what needs a second striking?\\r\\n Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn,\\r\\n To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn! 252\\r\\n\\r\\nNow which way shall she turn? what shall she say?\\r\\nHer words are done, her woes the more increasing;\\r\\nThe time is spent, her object will away,\\r\\nAnd from her twining arms doth urge releasing: 256\\r\\n “Pity,” she cries; “some favour, some remorse!”\\r\\n Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut lo from forth a copse that neighbours by,\\r\\nA breeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud, 260\\r\\nAdonis’ tramping courser doth espy,\\r\\nAnd forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud:\\r\\n The strong-neck’d steed, being tied unto a tree,\\r\\n Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he. 264\\r\\n\\r\\nImperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,\\r\\nAnd now his woven girths he breaks asunder;\\r\\nThe bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,\\r\\nWhose hollow womb resounds like heaven’s thunder;\\r\\n The iron bit he crusheth ’tween his teeth, 269\\r\\n Controlling what he was controlled with.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis ears up-prick’d; his braided hanging mane\\r\\nUpon his compass’d crest now stand on end; 272\\r\\nHis nostrils drink the air, and forth again,\\r\\nAs from a furnace, vapours doth he send:\\r\\n His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire,\\r\\n Shows his hot courage and his high desire. 276\\r\\n\\r\\nSometime he trots, as if he told the steps,\\r\\nWith gentle majesty and modest pride;\\r\\nAnon he rears upright, curvets and leaps,\\r\\nAs who should say, “Lo thus my strength is tried;\\r\\n And this I do to captivate the eye 281\\r\\n Of the fair breeder that is standing by.”\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat recketh he his rider’s angry stir,\\r\\nHis flattering “Holla”, or his “Stand, I say”? 284\\r\\nWhat cares he now for curb or pricking spur?\\r\\nFor rich caparisons or trappings gay?\\r\\n He sees his love, and nothing else he sees,\\r\\n Nor nothing else with his proud sight agrees. 288\\r\\n\\r\\nLook when a painter would surpass the life,\\r\\nIn limning out a well-proportion’d steed,\\r\\nHis art with nature’s workmanship at strife,\\r\\nAs if the dead the living should exceed: 292\\r\\n So did this horse excel a common one,\\r\\n In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone.\\r\\n\\r\\nRound-hoof’d, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long,\\r\\nBroad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril wide,\\r\\nHigh crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong,\\r\\nThin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide:\\r\\n Look, what a horse should have he did not lack,\\r\\n Save a proud rider on so proud a back. 300\\r\\n\\r\\nSometimes he scuds far off, and there he stares;\\r\\nAnon he starts at stirring of a feather:\\r\\nTo bid the wind a base he now prepares,\\r\\nAnd where he run or fly they know not whether; 304\\r\\n For through his mane and tail the high wind sings,\\r\\n Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather’d wings.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe looks upon his love, and neighs unto her;\\r\\nShe answers him as if she knew his mind, 308\\r\\nBeing proud, as females are, to see him woo her,\\r\\nShe puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind,\\r\\n Spurns at his love and scorns the heat he feels,\\r\\n Beating his kind embracements with her heels. 312\\r\\n\\r\\nThen like a melancholy malcontent,\\r\\nHe vails his tail that like a falling plume,\\r\\nCool shadow to his melting buttock lent:\\r\\nHe stamps, and bites the poor flies in his fume. 316\\r\\n His love, perceiving how he was enrag’d,\\r\\n Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis testy master goeth about to take him,\\r\\nWhen lo the unback’d breeder, full of fear, 320\\r\\nJealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him,\\r\\nWith her the horse, and left Adonis there:\\r\\n As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them,\\r\\n Outstripping crows that strive to overfly them. 324\\r\\n\\r\\nAll swoln with chafing, down Adonis sits,\\r\\nBanning his boisterous and unruly beast;\\r\\nAnd now the happy season once more fits\\r\\nThat love-sick love by pleading may be blest; 328\\r\\n For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong,\\r\\n When it is barr’d the aidance of the tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nAn oven that is stopp’d, or river stay’d,\\r\\nBurneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage: 332\\r\\nSo of concealed sorrow may be said,\\r\\nFree vent of words love’s fire doth assuage;\\r\\n But when the heart’s attorney once is mute,\\r\\n The client breaks, as desperate in his suit. 336\\r\\n\\r\\nHe sees her coming, and begins to glow,\\r\\nEven as a dying coal revives with wind,\\r\\nAnd with his bonnet hides his angry brow,\\r\\nLooks on the dull earth with disturbed mind, 340\\r\\n Taking no notice that she is so nigh,\\r\\n For all askance he holds her in his eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nO what a sight it was, wistly to view\\r\\nHow she came stealing to the wayward boy, 344\\r\\nTo note the fighting conflict of her hue,\\r\\nHow white and red each other did destroy:\\r\\n But now her cheek was pale, and by and by\\r\\n It flash’d forth fire, as lightning from the sky. 348\\r\\n\\r\\nNow was she just before him as he sat,\\r\\nAnd like a lowly lover down she kneels;\\r\\nWith one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,\\r\\nHer other tender hand his fair cheek feels: 352\\r\\n His tend’rer cheek receives her soft hand’s print,\\r\\n As apt as new-fall’n snow takes any dint.\\r\\n\\r\\nOh what a war of looks was then between them,\\r\\nHer eyes petitioners to his eyes suing, 356\\r\\nHis eyes saw her eyes, as they had not seen them,\\r\\nHer eyes woo’d still, his eyes disdain’d the wooing:\\r\\n And all this dumb play had his acts made plain\\r\\n With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain.\\r\\n\\r\\nFull gently now she takes him by the hand, 361\\r\\nA lily prison’d in a gaol of snow,\\r\\nOr ivory in an alabaster band,\\r\\nSo white a friend engirts so white a foe: 364\\r\\n This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling,\\r\\n Show’d like two silver doves that sit a-billing.\\r\\n\\r\\nOnce more the engine of her thoughts began:\\r\\n“O fairest mover on this mortal round, 368\\r\\nWould thou wert as I am, and I a man,\\r\\nMy heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound,\\r\\n For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee,\\r\\n Though nothing but my body’s bane would cure thee.”\\r\\n\\r\\n“Give me my hand,” saith he, “why dost thou feel it?”\\r\\n“Give me my heart,” saith she, “and thou shalt have it.\\r\\nO give it me lest thy hard heart do steel it,\\r\\nAnd being steel’d, soft sighs can never grave it. 376\\r\\n Then love’s deep groans I never shall regard,\\r\\n Because Adonis’ heart hath made mine hard.”\\r\\n\\r\\n“For shame,” he cries, “let go, and let me go,\\r\\nMy day’s delight is past, my horse is gone, 380\\r\\nAnd ’tis your fault I am bereft him so,\\r\\nI pray you hence, and leave me here alone,\\r\\n For all my mind, my thought, my busy care,\\r\\n Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.” 384\\r\\n\\r\\nThus she replies: “Thy palfrey as he should,\\r\\nWelcomes the warm approach of sweet desire,\\r\\nAffection is a coal that must be cool’d;\\r\\nElse, suffer’d, it will set the heart on fire, 388\\r\\n The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none;\\r\\n Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n“How like a jade he stood tied to the tree,\\r\\nServilely master’d with a leathern rein! 392\\r\\nBut when he saw his love, his youth’s fair fee,\\r\\nHe held such petty bondage in disdain;\\r\\n Throwing the base thong from his bending crest,\\r\\n Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast. 396\\r\\n\\r\\n“Who sees his true-love in her naked bed,\\r\\nTeaching the sheets a whiter hue than white,\\r\\nBut when his glutton eye so full hath fed,\\r\\nHis other agents aim at like delight? 400\\r\\n Who is so faint that dare not be so bold\\r\\n To touch the fire, the weather being cold?\\r\\n\\r\\n“Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy,\\r\\nAnd learn of him, I heartily beseech thee, 404\\r\\nTo take advantage on presented joy,\\r\\nThough I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee.\\r\\n O learn to love, the lesson is but plain,\\r\\n And once made perfect, never lost again.” 408\\r\\n\\r\\n“I know not love,” quoth he, “nor will not know it,\\r\\nUnless it be a boar, and then I chase it;\\r\\n’Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it;\\r\\nMy love to love is love but to disgrace it; 412\\r\\n For I have heard, it is a life in death,\\r\\n That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish’d?\\r\\nWho plucks the bud before one leaf put forth? 416\\r\\nIf springing things be any jot diminish’d,\\r\\nThey wither in their prime, prove nothing worth;\\r\\n The colt that’s back’d and burden’d being young,\\r\\n Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong. 420\\r\\n\\r\\n“You hurt my hand with wringing. Let us part,\\r\\nAnd leave this idle theme, this bootless chat:\\r\\nRemove your siege from my unyielding heart,\\r\\nTo love’s alarms it will not ope the gate: 424\\r\\n Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flatt’ry;\\r\\n For where a heart is hard they make no batt’ry.”\\r\\n\\r\\n“What! canst thou talk?” quoth she, “hast thou a tongue?\\r\\nO would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing; 428\\r\\nThy mermaid’s voice hath done me double wrong;\\r\\nI had my load before, now press’d with bearing:\\r\\n Melodious discord, heavenly tune, harsh-sounding,\\r\\n Ear’s deep sweet music, and heart’s deep sore wounding.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love 433\\r\\nThat inward beauty and invisible;\\r\\nOr were I deaf, thy outward parts would move\\r\\nEach part in me that were but sensible: 436\\r\\n Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see,\\r\\n Yet should I be in love by touching thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Say that the sense of feeling were bereft me,\\r\\nAnd that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch, 440\\r\\nAnd nothing but the very smell were left me,\\r\\nYet would my love to thee be still as much;\\r\\n For from the stillitory of thy face excelling\\r\\n Comes breath perfum’d, that breedeth love by smelling.\\r\\n\\r\\n“But oh what banquet wert thou to the taste, 445\\r\\nBeing nurse and feeder of the other four;\\r\\nWould they not wish the feast might ever last,\\r\\nAnd bid suspicion double-lock the door,\\r\\n Lest jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest,\\r\\n Should by his stealing in disturb the feast?” 448\\r\\n\\r\\nOnce more the ruby-colour’d portal open’d,\\r\\nWhich to his speech did honey passage yield, 452\\r\\nLike a red morn that ever yet betoken’d\\r\\nWrack to the seaman, tempest to the field,\\r\\n Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds,\\r\\n Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds. 456\\r\\n\\r\\nThis ill presage advisedly she marketh:\\r\\nEven as the wind is hush’d before it raineth,\\r\\nOr as the wolf doth grin before he barketh,\\r\\nOr as the berry breaks before it staineth, 460\\r\\n Or like the deadly bullet of a gun,\\r\\n His meaning struck her ere his words begun.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd at his look she flatly falleth down\\r\\nFor looks kill love, and love by looks reviveth; 464\\r\\nA smile recures the wounding of a frown;\\r\\nBut blessed bankrout, that by love so thriveth!\\r\\n The silly boy, believing she is dead,\\r\\n Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red. 468\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd all amaz’d brake off his late intent,\\r\\nFor sharply he did think to reprehend her,\\r\\nWhich cunning love did wittily prevent:\\r\\nFair fall the wit that can so well defend her! 472\\r\\n For on the grass she lies as she were slain,\\r\\n Till his breath breatheth life in her again.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks,\\r\\nHe bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard, 476\\r\\nHe chafes her lips; a thousand ways he seeks\\r\\nTo mend the hurt that his unkindness marr’d:\\r\\n He kisses her; and she, by her good will,\\r\\n Will never rise, so he will kiss her still. 480\\r\\n\\r\\nThe night of sorrow now is turn’d to day:\\r\\nHer two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth,\\r\\nLike the fair sun when in his fresh array\\r\\nHe cheers the morn, and all the world relieveth: 484\\r\\n And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,\\r\\n So is her face illumin’d with her eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhose beams upon his hairless face are fix’d,\\r\\nAs if from thence they borrow’d all their shine. 488\\r\\nWere never four such lamps together mix’d,\\r\\nHad not his clouded with his brow’s repine;\\r\\n But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light\\r\\n Shone like the moon in water seen by night. 492\\r\\n\\r\\n“O where am I?” quoth she, “in earth or heaven?\\r\\nOr in the ocean drench’d, or in the fire?\\r\\nWhat hour is this? or morn or weary even?\\r\\nDo I delight to die, or life desire? 496\\r\\n But now I liv’d, and life was death’s annoy;\\r\\n But now I died, and death was lively joy.\\r\\n\\r\\n“O thou didst kill me; kill me once again:\\r\\nThy eyes’ shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine, 500\\r\\nHath taught them scornful tricks, and such disdain,\\r\\nThat they have murder’d this poor heart of mine;\\r\\n And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen,\\r\\n But for thy piteous lips no more had seen. 504\\r\\n\\r\\n“Long may they kiss each other for this cure!\\r\\nOh never let their crimson liveries wear,\\r\\nAnd as they last, their verdure still endure,\\r\\nTo drive infection from the dangerous year: 508\\r\\n That the star-gazers, having writ on death,\\r\\n May say, the plague is banish’d by thy breath.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted,\\r\\nWhat bargains may I make, still to be sealing? 512\\r\\nTo sell myself I can be well contented,\\r\\nSo thou wilt buy, and pay, and use good dealing;\\r\\n Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips,\\r\\n Set thy seal manual on my wax-red lips. 516\\r\\n\\r\\n“A thousand kisses buys my heart from me;\\r\\nAnd pay them at thy leisure, one by one,\\r\\nWhat is ten hundred touches unto thee?\\r\\nAre they not quickly told and quickly gone? 520\\r\\n Say, for non-payment that the debt should double,\\r\\n Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?”\\r\\n\\r\\n“Fair queen,” quoth he, “if any love you owe me,\\r\\nMeasure my strangeness with my unripe years: 524\\r\\nBefore I know myself, seek not to know me;\\r\\nNo fisher but the ungrown fry forbears:\\r\\n The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast,\\r\\n Or being early pluck’d, is sour to taste. 528\\r\\n\\r\\n“Look the world’s comforter, with weary gait\\r\\nHis day’s hot task hath ended in the west;\\r\\nThe owl, night’s herald, shrieks, ’tis very late;\\r\\nThe sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest, 532\\r\\n And coal-black clouds that shadow heaven’s light\\r\\n Do summon us to part, and bid good night.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Now let me say good night, and so say you;\\r\\nIf you will say so, you shall have a kiss.” 536\\r\\n“Good night,” quoth she; and ere he says adieu,\\r\\nThe honey fee of parting tender’d is:\\r\\n Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace;\\r\\n Incorporate then they seem, face grows to face. 540\\r\\n\\r\\nTill breathless he disjoin’d, and backward drew\\r\\nThe heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth,\\r\\nWhose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew,\\r\\nWhereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth, 544\\r\\n He with her plenty press’d, she faint with dearth,\\r\\n Their lips together glued, fall to the earth.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow quick desire hath caught the yielding prey,\\r\\nAnd glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth; 548\\r\\nHer lips are conquerors, his lips obey,\\r\\nPaying what ransom the insulter willeth;\\r\\n Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high,\\r\\n That she will draw his lips’ rich treasure dry. 552\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd having felt the sweetness of the spoil,\\r\\nWith blindfold fury she begins to forage;\\r\\nHer face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil,\\r\\nAnd careless lust stirs up a desperate courage, 556\\r\\n Planting oblivion, beating reason back,\\r\\n Forgetting shame’s pure blush and honour’s wrack.\\r\\n\\r\\nHot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing,\\r\\nLike a wild bird being tam’d with too much handling,\\r\\nOr as the fleet-foot roe that’s tir’d with chasing, 561\\r\\nOr like the froward infant still’d with dandling:\\r\\n He now obeys, and now no more resisteth,\\r\\n While she takes all she can, not all she listeth. 564\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat wax so frozen but dissolves with temp’ring,\\r\\nAnd yields at last to every light impression?\\r\\nThings out of hope are compass’d oft with vent’ring,\\r\\nChiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission: 568\\r\\n Affection faints not like a pale-fac’d coward,\\r\\n But then woos best when most his choice is froward.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen he did frown, O had she then gave over,\\r\\nSuch nectar from his lips she had not suck’d. 572\\r\\nFoul words and frowns must not repel a lover;\\r\\nWhat though the rose have prickles, yet ’tis pluck’d.\\r\\n Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast,\\r\\n Yet love breaks through, and picks them all at last.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor pity now she can no more detain him; 577\\r\\nThe poor fool prays her that he may depart:\\r\\nShe is resolv’d no longer to restrain him,\\r\\nBids him farewell, and look well to her heart, 580\\r\\n The which by Cupid’s bow she doth protest,\\r\\n He carries thence encaged in his breast.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Sweet boy,” she says, “this night I’ll waste in sorrow,\\r\\nFor my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch. 584\\r\\nTell me, love’s master, shall we meet tomorrow\\r\\nSay, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match?”\\r\\n He tells her no, tomorrow he intends\\r\\n To hunt the boar with certain of his friends. 588\\r\\n\\r\\n“The boar!” quoth she; whereat a sudden pale,\\r\\nLike lawn being spread upon the blushing rose,\\r\\nUsurps her cheek, she trembles at his tale,\\r\\nAnd on his neck her yoking arms she throws. 592\\r\\n She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck,\\r\\n He on her belly falls, she on her back.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow is she in the very lists of love,\\r\\nHer champion mounted for the hot encounter: 596\\r\\nAll is imaginary she doth prove,\\r\\nHe will not manage her, although he mount her;\\r\\n That worse than Tantalus’ is her annoy,\\r\\n To clip Elysium and to lack her joy. 600\\r\\n\\r\\nEven as poor birds, deceiv’d with painted grapes,\\r\\nDo surfeit by the eye and pine the maw:\\r\\nEven so she languisheth in her mishaps,\\r\\nAs those poor birds that helpless berries saw. 604\\r\\n The warm effects which she in him finds missing,\\r\\n She seeks to kindle with continual kissing.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut all in vain, good queen, it will not be,\\r\\nShe hath assay’d as much as may be prov’d; 608\\r\\nHer pleading hath deserv’d a greater fee;\\r\\nShe’s love, she loves, and yet she is not lov’d.\\r\\n “Fie, fie,” he says, “you crush me; let me go;\\r\\n You have no reason to withhold me so.” 612\\r\\n\\r\\n“Thou hadst been gone,” quoth she, “sweet boy, ere this,\\r\\nBut that thou told’st me thou wouldst hunt the boar.\\r\\nOh be advis’d; thou know’st not what it is,\\r\\nWith javelin’s point a churlish swine to gore, 616\\r\\n Whose tushes never sheath’d he whetteth still,\\r\\n Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill.\\r\\n\\r\\n“On his bow-back he hath a battle set\\r\\nOf bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes; 620\\r\\nHis eyes like glow-worms shine when he doth fret;\\r\\nHis snout digs sepulchres where’er he goes;\\r\\n Being mov’d, he strikes whate’er is in his way,\\r\\n And whom he strikes his crooked tushes slay. 624\\r\\n\\r\\n“His brawny sides, with hairy bristles armed,\\r\\nAre better proof than thy spear’s point can enter;\\r\\nHis short thick neck cannot be easily harmed;\\r\\nBeing ireful, on the lion he will venture: 628\\r\\n The thorny brambles and embracing bushes,\\r\\n As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Alas! he naught esteems that face of thine,\\r\\nTo which love’s eyes pay tributary gazes; 632\\r\\nNor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne,\\r\\nWhose full perfection all the world amazes;\\r\\n But having thee at vantage, wondrous dread!\\r\\n Would root these beauties as he roots the mead.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Oh let him keep his loathsome cabin still, 637\\r\\nBeauty hath naught to do with such foul fiends:\\r\\nCome not within his danger by thy will;\\r\\nThey that thrive well, take counsel of their friends.\\r\\n When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble,\\r\\n I fear’d thy fortune, and my joints did tremble.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Didst thou not mark my face, was it not white?\\r\\nSaw’st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye? 644\\r\\nGrew I not faint, and fell I not downright?\\r\\nWithin my bosom, whereon thou dost lie,\\r\\n My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest,\\r\\n But like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast.\\r\\n\\r\\n“For where love reigns, disturbing jealousy 649\\r\\nDoth call himself affection’s sentinel;\\r\\nGives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny,\\r\\nAnd in a peaceful hour doth cry “Kill, kill!” 652\\r\\n Distemp’ring gentle love in his desire,\\r\\n As air and water do abate the fire.\\r\\n\\r\\n“This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy,\\r\\nThis canker that eats up love’s tender spring, 656\\r\\nThis carry-tale, dissentious jealousy,\\r\\nThat sometime true news, sometime false doth bring,\\r\\n Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear,\\r\\n That if I love thee, I thy death should fear. 660\\r\\n\\r\\n“And more than so, presenteth to mine eye\\r\\nThe picture of an angry chafing boar,\\r\\nUnder whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie\\r\\nAn image like thyself, all stain’d with gore; 664\\r\\n Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed,\\r\\n Doth make them droop with grief and hang the head.\\r\\n\\r\\n“What should I do, seeing thee so indeed,\\r\\nThat tremble at th’imagination? 668\\r\\nThe thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed,\\r\\nAnd fear doth teach it divination:\\r\\n I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow,\\r\\n If thou encounter with the boar tomorrow. 672\\r\\n\\r\\n“But if thou needs wilt hunt, be rul’d by me;\\r\\nUncouple at the timorous flying hare,\\r\\nOr at the fox which lives by subtilty,\\r\\nOr at the roe which no encounter dare: 676\\r\\n Pursue these fearful creatures o’er the downs,\\r\\n And on thy well-breath’d horse keep with thy hounds.\\r\\n\\r\\n“And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare,\\r\\nMark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles 680\\r\\nHow he outruns the wind, and with what care\\r\\nHe cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles:\\r\\n The many musits through the which he goes\\r\\n Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes. 684\\r\\n\\r\\n“Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep,\\r\\nTo make the cunning hounds mistake their smell,\\r\\nAnd sometime where earth-delving conies keep,\\r\\nTo stop the loud pursuers in their yell, 688\\r\\n And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer;\\r\\n Danger deviseth shifts, wit waits on fear.\\r\\n\\r\\n“For there his smell with others being mingled, 691\\r\\nThe hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt,\\r\\nCeasing their clamorous cry, till they have singled\\r\\nWith much ado the cold fault cleanly out;\\r\\n Then do they spend their mouths: echo replies,\\r\\n As if another chase were in the skies. 696\\r\\n\\r\\n“By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill,\\r\\nStands on his hinder legs with list’ning ear,\\r\\nTo hearken if his foes pursue him still.\\r\\nAnon their loud alarums he doth hear; 700\\r\\n And now his grief may be compared well\\r\\n To one sore sick that hears the passing bell.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch\\r\\nTurn, and return, indenting with the way, 704\\r\\nEach envious briar his weary legs do scratch,\\r\\nEach shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay:\\r\\n For misery is trodden on by many,\\r\\n And being low never reliev’d by any. 708\\r\\n\\r\\n“Lie quietly, and hear a little more;\\r\\nNay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise:\\r\\nTo make thee hate the hunting of the boar,\\r\\nUnlike myself thou hear’st me moralize, 712\\r\\n Applying this to that, and so to so,\\r\\n For love can comment upon every woe.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Where did I leave?” “No matter where,” quoth he\\r\\n“Leave me, and then the story aptly ends: 716\\r\\nThe night is spent.” “Why, what of that?” quoth she.\\r\\n“I am,” quoth he, “expected of my friends;\\r\\n And now ’tis dark, and going I shall fall.”\\r\\n “In night,” quoth she, “desire sees best of all.” 720\\r\\n\\r\\nBut if thou fall, oh then imagine this,\\r\\nThe earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips,\\r\\nAnd all is but to rob thee of a kiss. 723\\r\\nRich preys make true men thieves; so do thy lips\\r\\n Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn,\\r\\n Lest she should steal a kiss and die forsworn.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Now of this dark night I perceive the reason:\\r\\nCynthia for shame obscures her silver shine 728\\r\\nTill forging nature be condemn’d of treason,\\r\\nFor stealing moulds from heaven, that were divine;\\r\\n Wherein she fram’d thee, in high heaven’s despite,\\r\\n To shame the sun by day and her by night. 732\\r\\n\\r\\n“And therefore hath she brib’d the destinies,\\r\\nTo cross the curious workmanship of nature,\\r\\nTo mingle beauty with infirmities,\\r\\nAnd pure perfection with impure defeature, 736\\r\\n Making it subject to the tyranny\\r\\n Of mad mischances and much misery.\\r\\n\\r\\n“As burning fevers, agues pale and faint,\\r\\nLife-poisoning pestilence and frenzies wood, 740\\r\\nThe marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint\\r\\nDisorder breeds by heating of the blood;\\r\\n Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn’d despair,\\r\\n Swear nature’s death, for framing thee so fair. 744\\r\\n\\r\\n“And not the least of all these maladies\\r\\nBut in one minute’s fight brings beauty under:\\r\\nBoth favour, savour, hue and qualities,\\r\\nWhereat th’impartial gazer late did wonder, 748\\r\\n Are on the sudden wasted, thaw’d and done,\\r\\n As mountain snow melts with the midday sun.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Therefore despite of fruitless chastity,\\r\\nLove-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns, 752\\r\\nThat on the earth would breed a scarcity\\r\\nAnd barren dearth of daughters and of sons,\\r\\n Be prodigal: the lamp that burns by night\\r\\n Dries up his oil to lend the world his light. 756\\r\\n\\r\\n“What is thy body but a swallowing grave,\\r\\nSeeming to bury that posterity,\\r\\nWhich by the rights of time thou needs must have,\\r\\nIf thou destroy them not in dark obscurity? 760\\r\\n If so, the world will hold thee in disdain,\\r\\n Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.\\r\\n\\r\\n“So in thyself thyself art made away;\\r\\nA mischief worse than civil home-bred strife, 764\\r\\nOr theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay,\\r\\nOr butcher sire that reeves his son of life.\\r\\n Foul cank’ring rust the hidden treasure frets,\\r\\n But gold that’s put to use more gold begets.” 768\\r\\n\\r\\n“Nay then,” quoth Adon, “you will fall again\\r\\nInto your idle over-handled theme;\\r\\nThe kiss I gave you is bestow’d in vain,\\r\\nAnd all in vain you strive against the stream; 772\\r\\n For by this black-fac’d night, desire’s foul nurse,\\r\\n Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse.\\r\\n\\r\\n“If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues,\\r\\nAnd every tongue more moving than your own, 776\\r\\nBewitching like the wanton mermaid’s songs,\\r\\nYet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown;\\r\\n For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear,\\r\\n And will not let a false sound enter there. 780\\r\\n\\r\\n“Lest the deceiving harmony should run\\r\\nInto the quiet closure of my breast,\\r\\nAnd then my little heart were quite undone,\\r\\nIn his bedchamber to be barr’d of rest. 784\\r\\n No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan,\\r\\n But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.\\r\\n\\r\\n“What have you urg’d that I cannot reprove?\\r\\nThe path is smooth that leadeth on to danger; 790\\r\\nI hate not love, but your device in love\\r\\nThat lends embracements unto every stranger.\\r\\n You do it for increase: O strange excuse!\\r\\n When reason is the bawd to lust’s abuse. 792\\r\\n\\r\\n“Call it not, love, for love to heaven is fled,\\r\\nSince sweating lust on earth usurp’d his name;\\r\\nUnder whose simple semblance he hath fed\\r\\nUpon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame; 796\\r\\n Which the hot tyrant stains and soon bereaves,\\r\\n As caterpillars do the tender leaves.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Love comforteth like sunshine after rain,\\r\\nBut lust’s effect is tempest after sun; 800\\r\\nLove’s gentle spring doth always fresh remain,\\r\\nLust’s winter comes ere summer half be done.\\r\\n Love surfeits not, lust like a glutton dies;\\r\\n Love is all truth, lust full of forged lies. 804\\r\\n\\r\\n“More I could tell, but more I dare not say;\\r\\nThe text is old, the orator too green.\\r\\nTherefore, in sadness, now I will away;\\r\\nMy face is full of shame, my heart of teen, 808\\r\\n Mine ears, that to your wanton talk attended\\r\\n Do burn themselves for having so offended.”\\r\\n\\r\\nWith this he breaketh from the sweet embrace 811\\r\\nOf those fair arms which bound him to her breast,\\r\\nAnd homeward through the dark laund runs apace;\\r\\nLeaves love upon her back deeply distress’d.\\r\\n Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky,\\r\\n So glides he in the night from Venus’ eye. 816\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich after him she darts, as one on shore\\r\\nGazing upon a late embarked friend,\\r\\nTill the wild waves will have him seen no more,\\r\\nWhose ridges with the meeting clouds contend: 820\\r\\n So did the merciless and pitchy night\\r\\n Fold in the object that did feed her sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhereat amaz’d, as one that unaware\\r\\nHath dropp’d a precious jewel in the flood, 824\\r\\nOr ’stonish’d as night-wanderers often are,\\r\\nTheir light blown out in some mistrustful wood;\\r\\n Even so confounded in the dark she lay,\\r\\n Having lost the fair discovery of her way. 828\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd now she beats her heart, whereat it groans,\\r\\nThat all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled,\\r\\nMake verbal repetition of her moans;\\r\\nPassion on passion deeply is redoubled: 832\\r\\n “Ay me!” she cries, and twenty times, “Woe, woe!”\\r\\n And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe marking them, begins a wailing note,\\r\\nAnd sings extemporally a woeful ditty; 836\\r\\nHow love makes young men thrall, and old men dote,\\r\\nHow love is wise in folly foolish witty:\\r\\n Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe,\\r\\n And still the choir of echoes answer so. 840\\r\\n\\r\\nHer song was tedious, and outwore the night,\\r\\nFor lovers’ hours are long, though seeming short,\\r\\nIf pleas’d themselves, others they think, delight\\r\\nIn such like circumstance, with such like sport: 844\\r\\n Their copious stories oftentimes begun,\\r\\n End without audience, and are never done.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor who hath she to spend the night withal,\\r\\nBut idle sounds resembling parasites; 848\\r\\nLike shrill-tongu’d tapsters answering every call,\\r\\nSoothing the humour of fantastic wits?\\r\\n She says, “’Tis so:” they answer all, “’Tis so;”\\r\\n And would say after her, if she said “No.” 852\\r\\n\\r\\nLo here the gentle lark, weary of rest,\\r\\nFrom his moist cabinet mounts up on high,\\r\\nAnd wakes the morning, from whose silver breast\\r\\nThe sun ariseth in his majesty; 856\\r\\n Who doth the world so gloriously behold,\\r\\n That cedar tops and hills seem burnish’d gold.\\r\\n\\r\\nVenus salutes him with this fair good morrow:\\r\\n“Oh thou clear god, and patron of all light, 860\\r\\nFrom whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow\\r\\nThe beauteous influence that makes him bright,\\r\\n There lives a son that suck’d an earthly mother,\\r\\n May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.”\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove, 865\\r\\nMusing the morning is so much o’erworn,\\r\\nAnd yet she hears no tidings of her love;\\r\\nShe hearkens for his hounds and for his horn. 868\\r\\n Anon she hears them chant it lustily,\\r\\n And all in haste she coasteth to the cry.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd as she runs, the bushes in the way\\r\\nSome catch her by the neck, some kiss her face, 872\\r\\nSome twine about her thigh to make her stay:\\r\\nShe wildly breaketh from their strict embrace,\\r\\n Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache,\\r\\n Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake. 876\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this she hears the hounds are at a bay,\\r\\nWhereat she starts like one that spies an adder\\r\\nWreath’d up in fatal folds just in his way,\\r\\nThe fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder; 880\\r\\n Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds\\r\\n Appals her senses, and her spirit confounds.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor now she knows it is no gentle chase,\\r\\nBut the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud, 884\\r\\nBecause the cry remaineth in one place,\\r\\nWhere fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud,\\r\\n Finding their enemy to be so curst,\\r\\n They all strain court’sy who shall cope him first. 888\\r\\n\\r\\nThis dismal cry rings sadly in her ear,\\r\\nThrough which it enters to surprise her heart;\\r\\nWho overcome by doubt and bloodless fear,\\r\\nWith cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part; 892\\r\\n Like soldiers when their captain once doth yield,\\r\\n They basely fly and dare not stay the field.\\r\\n\\r\\nThus stands she in a trembling ecstasy,\\r\\nTill cheering up her senses sore dismay’d, 896\\r\\nShe tells them ’tis a causeless fantasy,\\r\\nAnd childish error, that they are afraid;\\r\\n Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more:\\r\\n And with that word, she spied the hunted boar. 900\\r\\n\\r\\nWhose frothy mouth bepainted all with red,\\r\\nLike milk and blood being mingled both together,\\r\\nA second fear through all her sinews spread,\\r\\nWhich madly hurries her she knows not whither: 904\\r\\n This way she runs, and now she will no further,\\r\\n But back retires, to rate the boar for murther.\\r\\n\\r\\nA thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways,\\r\\nShe treads the path that she untreads again; 908\\r\\nHer more than haste is mated with delays,\\r\\nLike the proceedings of a drunken brain,\\r\\n Full of respects, yet naught at all respecting,\\r\\n In hand with all things, naught at all effecting.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere kennel’d in a brake she finds a hound, 913\\r\\nAnd asks the weary caitiff for his master,\\r\\nAnd there another licking of his wound,\\r\\n’Gainst venom’d sores the only sovereign plaster. 916\\r\\n And here she meets another sadly scowling,\\r\\n To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen he hath ceas’d his ill-resounding noise,\\r\\nAnother flap-mouth’d mourner, black and grim, 920\\r\\nAgainst the welkin volleys out his voice;\\r\\nAnother and another answer him,\\r\\n Clapping their proud tails to the ground below,\\r\\n Shaking their scratch’d ears, bleeding as they go.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook how the world’s poor people are amazed 925\\r\\nAt apparitions, signs, and prodigies,\\r\\nWhereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed,\\r\\nInfusing them with dreadful prophecies; 928\\r\\n So she at these sad sighs draws up her breath,\\r\\n And sighing it again, exclaims on death.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Hard-favour’d tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean, 931\\r\\nHateful divorce of love,” thus chides she death,\\r\\n“Grim-grinning ghost, earth’s worm, what dost thou mean?\\r\\nTo stifle beauty and to steal his breath,\\r\\n Who when he liv’d, his breath and beauty set\\r\\n Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet. 936\\r\\n\\r\\n“If he be dead, O no, it cannot be,\\r\\nSeeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it,\\r\\nO yes, it may, thou hast no eyes to see,\\r\\nBut hatefully at random dost thou hit. 940\\r\\n Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart\\r\\n Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant’s heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke,\\r\\nAnd hearing him, thy power had lost his power. 944\\r\\nThe destinies will curse thee for this stroke;\\r\\nThey bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck’st a flower.\\r\\n Love’s golden arrow at him should have fled,\\r\\n And not death’s ebon dart to strike him dead. 948\\r\\n\\r\\n“Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok’st such weeping?\\r\\nWhat may a heavy groan advantage thee?\\r\\nWhy hast thou cast into eternal sleeping\\r\\nThose eyes that taught all other eyes to see? 952\\r\\n Now nature cares not for thy mortal vigour,\\r\\n Since her best work is ruin’d with thy rigour.”\\r\\n\\r\\nHere overcome, as one full of despair,\\r\\nShe vail’d her eyelids, who like sluices stopp’d 956\\r\\nThe crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair\\r\\nIn the sweet channel of her bosom dropp’d\\r\\n But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain,\\r\\n And with his strong course opens them again. 960\\r\\n\\r\\nO how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow;\\r\\nHer eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye;\\r\\nBoth crystals, where they view’d each other’s sorrow,\\r\\nSorrow that friendly sighs sought still to dry; 964\\r\\n But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain,\\r\\n Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.\\r\\n\\r\\nVariable passions throng her constant woe,\\r\\nAs striving who should best become her grief; 968\\r\\nAll entertain’d, each passion labours so,\\r\\nThat every present sorrow seemeth chief,\\r\\n But none is best, then join they all together,\\r\\n Like many clouds consulting for foul weather. 972\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this, far off she hears some huntsman holla;\\r\\nA nurse’s song ne’er pleas’d her babe so well:\\r\\nThe dire imagination she did follow\\r\\nThis sound of hope doth labour to expel; 976\\r\\n For now reviving joy bids her rejoice,\\r\\n And flatters her it is Adonis’ voice.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhereat her tears began to turn their tide,\\r\\nBeing prison’d in her eye, like pearls in glass; 980\\r\\nYet sometimes falls an orient drop beside,\\r\\nWhich her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass\\r\\n To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground,\\r\\n Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nO hard-believing love, how strange it seems 985\\r\\nNot to believe, and yet too credulous;\\r\\nThy weal and woe are both of them extremes;\\r\\nDespair and hope make thee ridiculous, 988\\r\\n The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,\\r\\n In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow she unweaves the web that she hath wrought,\\r\\nAdonis lives, and death is not to blame; 992\\r\\nIt was not she that call’d him all to naught;\\r\\nNow she adds honours to his hateful name.\\r\\n She clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings,\\r\\n Imperious supreme of all mortal things. 996\\r\\n\\r\\n“No, no,” quoth she, “sweet death, I did but jest;\\r\\nYet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear\\r\\nWhenas I met the boar, that bloody beast,\\r\\nWhich knows no pity, but is still severe; 1000\\r\\n Then, gentle shadow,—truth I must confess—\\r\\n I rail’d on thee, fearing my love’s decease.\\r\\n\\r\\n“’Tis not my fault, the boar provok’d my tongue;\\r\\nBe wreak’d on him, invisible commander; 1004\\r\\n’Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong;\\r\\nI did but act, he’s author of my slander.\\r\\n Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet,\\r\\n Could rule them both, without ten women’s wit.”\\r\\n\\r\\nThus hoping that Adonis is alive, 1009\\r\\nHer rash suspect she doth extenuate;\\r\\nAnd that his beauty may the better thrive,\\r\\nWith death she humbly doth insinuate; 1012\\r\\n Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs and stories\\r\\n His victories, his triumphs and his glories.\\r\\n\\r\\n“O love!” quoth she, “how much a fool was I,\\r\\nTo be of such a weak and silly mind, 1016\\r\\nTo wail his death who lives, and must not die\\r\\nTill mutual overthrow of mortal kind;\\r\\n For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,\\r\\n And beauty dead, black Chaos comes again. 1020\\r\\n\\r\\n“Fie, fie, fond love, thou art as full of fear\\r\\nAs one with treasure laden, hemm’d with thieves,\\r\\nTrifles unwitnessed with eye or ear,\\r\\nThy coward heart with false bethinking grieves.” 1024\\r\\n Even at this word she hears a merry horn,\\r\\n Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs falcon to the lure, away she flies;\\r\\nThe grass stoops not, she treads on it so light, 1028\\r\\nAnd in her haste unfortunately spies\\r\\nThe foul boar’s conquest on her fair delight;\\r\\n Which seen, her eyes, as murder’d with the view,\\r\\n Like stars asham’d of day, themselves withdrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nOr as the snail, whose tender horns being hit, 1033\\r\\nShrinks backwards in his shelly cave with pain,\\r\\nAnd there all smother’d up, in shade doth sit,\\r\\nLong after fearing to creep forth again: 1036\\r\\n So at his bloody view her eyes are fled\\r\\n Into the deep dark cabins of her head.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhere they resign their office and their light\\r\\nTo the disposing of her troubled brain, 1040\\r\\nWho bids them still consort with ugly night,\\r\\nAnd never wound the heart with looks again;\\r\\n Who like a king perplexed in his throne,\\r\\n By their suggestion gives a deadly groan. 1044\\r\\n\\r\\nWhereat each tributary subject quakes,\\r\\nAs when the wind imprison’d in the ground,\\r\\nStruggling for passage, earth’s foundation shakes,\\r\\nWhich with cold terror doth men’s minds confound.\\r\\n This mutiny each part doth so surprise 1049\\r\\n That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd being open’d, threw unwilling light\\r\\nUpon the wide wound that the boar had trench’d\\r\\nIn his soft flank, whose wonted lily white 1053\\r\\nWith purple tears that his wound wept, was drench’d.\\r\\n No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf or weed,\\r\\n But stole his blood and seem’d with him to bleed.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth, 1057\\r\\nOver one shoulder doth she hang her head,\\r\\nDumbly she passions, franticly she doteth;\\r\\nShe thinks he could not die, he is not dead: 1060\\r\\n Her voice is stopp’d, her joints forget to bow,\\r\\n Her eyes are mad, that they have wept till now.\\r\\n\\r\\nUpon his hurt she looks so steadfastly,\\r\\nThat her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three;\\r\\nAnd then she reprehends her mangling eye, 1065\\r\\nThat makes more gashes, where no breach should be:\\r\\n His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled,\\r\\n For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled.\\r\\n\\r\\n“My tongue cannot express my grief for one, 1069\\r\\nAnd yet,” quoth she, “behold two Adons dead!\\r\\nMy sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone,\\r\\nMine eyes are turn’d to fire, my heart to lead: 1072\\r\\n Heavy heart’s lead, melt at mine eyes’ red fire!\\r\\n So shall I die by drops of hot desire.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Alas poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!\\r\\nWhat face remains alive that’s worth the viewing?\\r\\nWhose tongue is music now? what canst thou boast\\r\\nOf things long since, or anything ensuing? 1078\\r\\n The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim,\\r\\n But true sweet beauty liv’d and died with him.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear! 1081\\r\\nNor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you:\\r\\nHaving no fair to lose, you need not fear;\\r\\nThe sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss you.\\r\\n But when Adonis liv’d, sun and sharp air 1085\\r\\n Lurk’d like two thieves, to rob him of his fair.\\r\\n\\r\\n“And therefore would he put his bonnet on,\\r\\nUnder whose brim the gaudy sun would peep; 1088\\r\\nThe wind would blow it off, and being gone,\\r\\nPlay with his locks; then would Adonis weep;\\r\\n And straight, in pity of his tender years,\\r\\n They both would strive who first should dry his tears.\\r\\n\\r\\n“To see his face the lion walk’d along 1093\\r\\nBehind some hedge, because he would not fear him;\\r\\nTo recreate himself when he hath sung,\\r\\nThe tiger would be tame and gently hear him. 1096\\r\\n If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey,\\r\\n And never fright the silly lamb that day.\\r\\n\\r\\n“When he beheld his shadow in the brook,\\r\\nThe fishes spread on it their golden gills; 1100\\r\\nWhen he was by, the birds such pleasure took,\\r\\nThat some would sing, some other in their bills\\r\\n Would bring him mulberries and ripe-red cherries,\\r\\n He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.\\r\\n\\r\\n“But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar, 1105\\r\\nWhose downward eye still looketh for a grave,\\r\\nNe’er saw the beauteous livery that he wore;\\r\\nWitness the entertainment that he gave. 1108\\r\\n If he did see his face, why then I know\\r\\n He thought to kiss him, and hath kill’d him so.\\r\\n\\r\\n“’Tis true, ’tis true; thus was Adonis slain:\\r\\nHe ran upon the boar with his sharp spear, 1112\\r\\nWho did not whet his teeth at him again,\\r\\nBut by a kiss thought to persuade him there;\\r\\n And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine\\r\\n Sheath’d unaware the tusk in his soft groin. 1116\\r\\n\\r\\n“Had I been tooth’d like him, I must confess,\\r\\nWith kissing him I should have kill’d him first;\\r\\nBut he is dead, and never did he bless\\r\\nMy youth with his; the more am I accurst.” 1120\\r\\n With this she falleth in the place she stood,\\r\\n And stains her face with his congealed blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe looks upon his lips, and they are pale;\\r\\nShe takes him by the hand, and that is cold, 1124\\r\\nShe whispers in his ears a heavy tale,\\r\\nAs if they heard the woeful words she told;\\r\\nShe lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes,\\r\\nWhere lo, two lamps burnt out in darkness lies.\\r\\n\\r\\nTwo glasses where herself herself beheld 1129\\r\\nA thousand times, and now no more reflect;\\r\\nTheir virtue lost, wherein they late excell’d,\\r\\nAnd every beauty robb’d of his effect. 1132\\r\\n “Wonder of time,” quoth she, “this is my spite,\\r\\n That thou being dead, the day should yet be light.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Since thou art dead, lo here I prophesy,\\r\\nSorrow on love hereafter shall attend: 1136\\r\\nIt shall be waited on with jealousy,\\r\\nFind sweet beginning, but unsavoury end;\\r\\n Ne’er settled equally, but high or low,\\r\\n That all love’s pleasure shall not match his woe.\\r\\n\\r\\n“It shall be fickle, false and full of fraud, 1141\\r\\nBud, and be blasted in a breathing while;\\r\\nThe bottom poison, and the top o’erstraw’d\\r\\nWith sweets that shall the truest sight beguile. 1144\\r\\n The strongest body shall it make most weak,\\r\\n Strike the wise dumb, and teach the fool to speak.\\r\\n\\r\\n“It shall be sparing, and too full of riot,\\r\\nTeaching decrepit age to tread the measures; 1148\\r\\nThe staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet,\\r\\nPluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures;\\r\\n It shall be raging mad, and silly mild,\\r\\n Make the young old, the old become a child. 1152\\r\\n\\r\\n“It shall suspect where is no cause of fear,\\r\\nIt shall not fear where it should most mistrust;\\r\\nIt shall be merciful, and too severe,\\r\\nAnd most deceiving when it seems most just; 1156\\r\\n Perverse it shall be, where it shows most toward,\\r\\n Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.\\r\\n\\r\\n“It shall be cause of war and dire events,\\r\\nAnd set dissension ’twixt the son and sire; 1160\\r\\nSubject and servile to all discontents,\\r\\nAs dry combustious matter is to fire,\\r\\n Sith in his prime death doth my love destroy,\\r\\n They that love best their love shall not enjoy.” 1164\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this the boy that by her side lay kill’d\\r\\nWas melted like a vapour from her sight,\\r\\nAnd in his blood that on the ground lay spill’d,\\r\\nA purple flower sprung up, chequer’d with white, 1168\\r\\n Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood\\r\\n Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell,\\r\\nComparing it to her Adonis’ breath; 1172\\r\\nAnd says within her bosom it shall dwell,\\r\\nSince he himself is reft from her by death;\\r\\n She drops the stalk, and in the breach appears\\r\\n Green-dropping sap, which she compares to tears.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Poor flower,” quoth she, “this was thy father’s guise,\\r\\nSweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire,\\r\\nFor every little grief to wet his eyes,\\r\\nTo grow unto himself was his desire, 1180\\r\\n And so ’tis thine; but know, it is as good\\r\\n To wither in my breast as in his blood.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Here was thy father’s bed, here in my breast;\\r\\nThou art the next of blood, and ’tis thy right: 1184\\r\\nLo in this hollow cradle take thy rest,\\r\\nMy throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night:\\r\\n There shall not be one minute in an hour\\r\\n Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love’s flower.”\\r\\n\\r\\nThus weary of the world, away she hies, 1189\\r\\nAnd yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid\\r\\nTheir mistress mounted through the empty skies,\\r\\nIn her light chariot quickly is convey’d; 1192\\r\\n Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen\\r\\n Means to immure herself and not be seen.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FINIS\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n* CONTENT NOTE (added in 2017) *\\r\\n\\r\\nThis Project Gutenberg eBook was originally marked as having a copyright.\\r\\nHowever, Project Gutenberg now believes that the eBook\\'s contents does\\r\\nnot actually have a copyright.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis is based on current understanding of copyright law, in which\\r\\n\"authorship\" is required to obtain a copyright. 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Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm\\r\\n\\r\\nProject Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of\\r\\nelectronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers',\n", + " '',\n", + " \"THE LIFE OF KING HENRY V\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nPrologue.\\r\\nScene I. London. An ante-chamber in the King’s palace.\\r\\nScene II. The same. The presence chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nChorus.\\r\\nScene I. London. A street.\\r\\nScene II. Southampton. A council-chamber.\\r\\nScene III. London. Before a tavern.\\r\\nScene IV. France. The King’s palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nChorus.\\r\\nScene I. France. Before Harfleur.\\r\\nScene II. The same.\\r\\nScene III. Before the gates.\\r\\nScene IV. The French King’s palace.\\r\\nScene V. The same.\\r\\nScene VI. The English camp in Picardy.\\r\\nScene VII. The French camp, near Agincourt.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nChorus.\\r\\nScene I. The English camp at Agincourt.\\r\\nScene II. The French camp.\\r\\nScene III. The English camp.\\r\\nScene IV. The field of battle.\\r\\nScene V. Another part of the field.\\r\\nScene VI. Another part of the field.\\r\\nScene VII. Another part of the field.\\r\\nScene VIII. Before King Henry’s pavilion.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nChorus.\\r\\nScene I. France. The English camp.\\r\\nScene II. France. A royal palace.\\r\\nEpilogue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY V.\\r\\nDUKE OF CLARENCE, brother to the King.\\r\\nDUKE OF BEDFORD, brother to the King.\\r\\nDUKE OF GLOUCESTER, brother to the King.\\r\\nDUKE OF EXETER, uncle to the King.\\r\\nDUKE OF YORK, cousin to the King.\\r\\nEARL OF SALISBURY.\\r\\nEARL OF HUNTINGDON.\\r\\nEARL OF WESTMORLAND.\\r\\nEARL OF WARWICK.\\r\\nARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY.\\r\\nBISHOP OF ELY.\\r\\nEARL OF CAMBRIDGE.\\r\\nLORD SCROOP.\\r\\nSIR THOMAS GREY.\\r\\nSIR THOMAS ERPINGHAM, officer in King Henry’s army.\\r\\nGOWER, officer in King Henry’s army.\\r\\nFLUELLEN, officer in King Henry’s army.\\r\\nMACMORRIS, officer in King Henry’s army.\\r\\nJAMY, officer in King Henry’s army.\\r\\nBATES, soldier in the same.\\r\\nCOURT, soldier in the same.\\r\\nWILLIAMS, soldier in the same.\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nA Herald.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHARLES VI, king of France.\\r\\nLEWIS, the Dauphin.\\r\\nDUKE OF BERRY.\\r\\nDUKE OF BRITTANY.\\r\\nDUKE OF BURGUNDY.\\r\\nDUKE OF ORLEANS.\\r\\nDUKE OF BOURBON.\\r\\nThe Constable of France.\\r\\nRAMBURES, French Lord.\\r\\nGRANDPRÉ, French Lord.\\r\\nGovernor of Harfleur\\r\\nMONTJOY, a French herald.\\r\\nAmbassadors to the King of England.\\r\\n\\r\\nISABEL, queen of France.\\r\\nKATHARINE, daughter to Charles and Isabel.\\r\\nALICE, a lady attending on her.\\r\\nHOSTESS of a tavern in Eastcheap, formerly Mistress Nell Quickly, and\\r\\nnow married to Pistol.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\n\\r\\nLords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, and\\r\\nAttendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: England; afterwards France.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nPROLOGUE.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nO for a Muse of fire, that would ascend\\r\\nThe brightest heaven of invention,\\r\\nA kingdom for a stage, princes to act,\\r\\nAnd monarchs to behold the swelling scene!\\r\\nThen should the warlike Harry, like himself,\\r\\nAssume the port of Mars, and at his heels,\\r\\nLeash’d in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire\\r\\nCrouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all,\\r\\nThe flat unraised spirits that hath dar’d\\r\\nOn this unworthy scaffold to bring forth\\r\\nSo great an object. Can this cockpit hold\\r\\nThe vasty fields of France? Or may we cram\\r\\nWithin this wooden O the very casques\\r\\nThat did affright the air at Agincourt?\\r\\nO pardon! since a crooked figure may\\r\\nAttest in little place a million,\\r\\nAnd let us, ciphers to this great accompt,\\r\\nOn your imaginary forces work.\\r\\nSuppose within the girdle of these walls\\r\\nAre now confin’d two mighty monarchies,\\r\\nWhose high upreared and abutting fronts\\r\\nThe perilous narrow ocean parts asunder;\\r\\nPiece out our imperfections with your thoughts.\\r\\nInto a thousand parts divide one man,\\r\\nAnd make imaginary puissance.\\r\\nThink, when we talk of horses, that you see them\\r\\nPrinting their proud hoofs i’ th’ receiving earth.\\r\\nFor ’tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings,\\r\\nCarry them here and there, jumping o’er times,\\r\\nTurning the accomplishment of many years\\r\\nInto an hour-glass: for the which supply,\\r\\nAdmit me Chorus to this history;\\r\\nWho prologue-like your humble patience pray,\\r\\nGently to hear, kindly to judge, our play.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. London. An ante-chamber in the King’s palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of Ely.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nMy lord, I’ll tell you, that self bill is urg’d\\r\\nWhich in the eleventh year of the last king’s reign\\r\\nWas like, and had indeed against us passed\\r\\nBut that the scambling and unquiet time\\r\\nDid push it out of farther question.\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nBut how, my lord, shall we resist it now?\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nIt must be thought on. If it pass against us,\\r\\nWe lose the better half of our possession:\\r\\nFor all the temporal lands, which men devout\\r\\nBy testament have given to the Church,\\r\\nWould they strip from us; being valu’d thus:\\r\\nAs much as would maintain, to the King’s honour,\\r\\nFull fifteen earls and fifteen hundred knights,\\r\\nSix thousand and two hundred good esquires;\\r\\nAnd, to relief of lazars and weak age,\\r\\nOf indigent faint souls past corporal toil,\\r\\nA hundred almshouses right well supplied;\\r\\nAnd to the coffers of the King beside,\\r\\nA thousand pounds by th’ year. Thus runs the bill.\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nThis would drink deep.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\n’Twould drink the cup and all.\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nBut what prevention?\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nThe King is full of grace and fair regard.\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nAnd a true lover of the holy Church.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nThe courses of his youth promis’d it not.\\r\\nThe breath no sooner left his father’s body\\r\\nBut that his wildness, mortified in him,\\r\\nSeemed to die too; yea, at that very moment\\r\\nConsideration like an angel came\\r\\nAnd whipped th’ offending Adam out of him,\\r\\nLeaving his body as a paradise\\r\\nT’ envelope and contain celestial spirits.\\r\\nNever was such a sudden scholar made,\\r\\nNever came reformation in a flood\\r\\nWith such a heady currance scouring faults,\\r\\nNor never Hydra-headed wilfulness\\r\\nSo soon did lose his seat, and all at once,\\r\\nAs in this king.\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nWe are blessed in the change.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nHear him but reason in divinity\\r\\nAnd, all-admiring, with an inward wish\\r\\nYou would desire the King were made a prelate;\\r\\nHear him debate of commonwealth affairs,\\r\\nYou would say it hath been all in all his study;\\r\\nList his discourse of war, and you shall hear\\r\\nA fearful battle rendered you in music;\\r\\nTurn him to any cause of policy,\\r\\nThe Gordian knot of it he will unloose,\\r\\nFamiliar as his garter; that, when he speaks,\\r\\nThe air, a chartered libertine, is still,\\r\\nAnd the mute wonder lurketh in men’s ears\\r\\nTo steal his sweet and honeyed sentences;\\r\\nSo that the art and practic part of life\\r\\nMust be the mistress to this theoric:\\r\\nWhich is a wonder how his Grace should glean it,\\r\\nSince his addiction was to courses vain,\\r\\nHis companies unlettered, rude, and shallow,\\r\\nHis hours filled up with riots, banquets, sports,\\r\\nAnd never noted in him any study,\\r\\nAny retirement, any sequestration\\r\\nFrom open haunts and popularity.\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nThe strawberry grows underneath the nettle,\\r\\nAnd wholesome berries thrive and ripen best\\r\\nNeighboured by fruit of baser quality;\\r\\nAnd so the Prince obscured his contemplation\\r\\nUnder the veil of wildness, which, no doubt,\\r\\nGrew like the summer grass, fastest by night,\\r\\nUnseen, yet crescive in his faculty.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nIt must be so, for miracles are ceased,\\r\\nAnd therefore we must needs admit the means\\r\\nHow things are perfected.\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nBut, my good lord,\\r\\nHow now for mitigation of this bill\\r\\nUrged by the Commons? Doth his Majesty\\r\\nIncline to it, or no?\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nHe seems indifferent,\\r\\nOr rather swaying more upon our part\\r\\nThan cherishing th’ exhibitors against us;\\r\\nFor I have made an offer to his Majesty,\\r\\nUpon our spiritual convocation\\r\\nAnd in regard of causes now in hand,\\r\\nWhich I have opened to his Grace at large,\\r\\nAs touching France, to give a greater sum\\r\\nThan ever at one time the clergy yet\\r\\nDid to his predecessors part withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nHow did this offer seem received, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nWith good acceptance of his Majesty;\\r\\nSave that there was not time enough to hear,\\r\\nAs I perceived his Grace would fain have done,\\r\\nThe severals and unhidden passages\\r\\nOf his true titles to some certain dukedoms,\\r\\nAnd generally to the crown and seat of France,\\r\\nDerived from Edward, his great-grandfather.\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nWhat was th’ impediment that broke this off?\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nThe French ambassador upon that instant\\r\\nCraved audience; and the hour, I think, is come\\r\\nTo give him hearing. Is it four o’clock?\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nIt is.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nThen go we in, to know his embassy,\\r\\nWhich I could with a ready guess declare\\r\\nBefore the Frenchman speak a word of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nI’ll wait upon you, and I long to hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. The presence chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter King Henry, Gloucester, Bedford, Clarence, Warwick, Westmorland,\\r\\n Exeter and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWhere is my gracious Lord of Canterbury?\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nNot here in presence.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nSend for him, good uncle.\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORLAND.\\r\\nShall we call in th’ ambassador, my liege?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNot yet, my cousin. We would be resolved,\\r\\nBefore we hear him, of some things of weight\\r\\nThat task our thoughts concerning us and France.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of Ely.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nGod and his angels guard your sacred throne\\r\\nAnd make you long become it!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nSure, we thank you.\\r\\nMy learned lord, we pray you to proceed\\r\\nAnd justly and religiously unfold\\r\\nWhy the law Salic that they have in France\\r\\nOr should or should not bar us in our claim.\\r\\nAnd God forbid, my dear and faithful lord,\\r\\nThat you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading,\\r\\nOr nicely charge your understanding soul\\r\\nWith opening titles miscreate, whose right\\r\\nSuits not in native colours with the truth;\\r\\nFor God doth know how many now in health\\r\\nShall drop their blood in approbation\\r\\nOf what your reverence shall incite us to.\\r\\nTherefore take heed how you impawn our person,\\r\\nHow you awake our sleeping sword of war.\\r\\nWe charge you in the name of God, take heed;\\r\\nFor never two such kingdoms did contend\\r\\nWithout much fall of blood, whose guiltless drops\\r\\nAre every one a woe, a sore complaint\\r\\n’Gainst him whose wrongs gives edge unto the swords\\r\\nThat makes such waste in brief mortality.\\r\\nUnder this conjuration speak, my lord,\\r\\nFor we will hear, note, and believe in heart\\r\\nThat what you speak is in your conscience washed\\r\\nAs pure as sin with baptism.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nThen hear me, gracious sovereign, and you peers,\\r\\nThat owe yourselves, your lives, and services\\r\\nTo this imperial throne. There is no bar\\r\\nTo make against your Highness’ claim to France\\r\\nBut this, which they produce from Pharamond:\\r\\n_In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant_,\\r\\n“No woman shall succeed in Salic land;”\\r\\nWhich Salic land the French unjustly gloze\\r\\nTo be the realm of France, and Pharamond\\r\\nThe founder of this law and female bar.\\r\\nYet their own authors faithfully affirm\\r\\nThat the land Salic is in Germany,\\r\\nBetween the floods of Sala and of Elbe;\\r\\nWhere Charles the Great, having subdu’d the Saxons,\\r\\nThere left behind and settled certain French;\\r\\nWho, holding in disdain the German women\\r\\nFor some dishonest manners of their life,\\r\\nEstablish’d then this law, to wit, no female\\r\\nShould be inheritrix in Salic land;\\r\\nWhich Salic, as I said, ’twixt Elbe and Sala,\\r\\nIs at this day in Germany call’d Meissen.\\r\\nThen doth it well appear the Salic law\\r\\nWas not devised for the realm of France;\\r\\nNor did the French possess the Salic land\\r\\nUntil four hundred one and twenty years\\r\\nAfter defunction of King Pharamond,\\r\\nIdly suppos’d the founder of this law,\\r\\nWho died within the year of our redemption\\r\\nFour hundred twenty-six; and Charles the Great\\r\\nSubdu’d the Saxons, and did seat the French\\r\\nBeyond the river Sala, in the year\\r\\nEight hundred five. Besides, their writers say,\\r\\nKing Pepin, which deposed Childeric,\\r\\nDid, as heir general, being descended\\r\\nOf Blithild, which was daughter to King Clothair,\\r\\nMake claim and title to the crown of France.\\r\\nHugh Capet also, who usurp’d the crown\\r\\nOf Charles the Duke of Lorraine, sole heir male\\r\\nOf the true line and stock of Charles the Great,\\r\\nTo find his title with some shows of truth,\\r\\nThough, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught,\\r\\nConvey’d himself as the heir to the Lady Lingare,\\r\\nDaughter to Charlemain, who was the son\\r\\nTo Lewis the Emperor, and Lewis the son\\r\\nOf Charles the Great. Also, King Lewis the Tenth,\\r\\nWho was sole heir to the usurper Capet,\\r\\nCould not keep quiet in his conscience,\\r\\nWearing the crown of France, till satisfied\\r\\nThat fair Queen Isabel, his grandmother,\\r\\nWas lineal of the Lady Ermengare,\\r\\nDaughter to Charles, the foresaid Duke of Lorraine;\\r\\nBy the which marriage the line of Charles the Great\\r\\nWas re-united to the crown of France.\\r\\nSo that, as clear as is the summer’s sun,\\r\\nKing Pepin’s title and Hugh Capet’s claim,\\r\\nKing Lewis his satisfaction, all appear\\r\\nTo hold in right and title of the female.\\r\\nSo do the kings of France unto this day,\\r\\nHowbeit they would hold up this Salic law\\r\\nTo bar your Highness claiming from the female,\\r\\nAnd rather choose to hide them in a net\\r\\nThan amply to imbar their crooked titles\\r\\nUsurp’d from you and your progenitors.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nMay I with right and conscience make this claim?\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nThe sin upon my head, dread sovereign!\\r\\nFor in the Book of Numbers is it writ,\\r\\n“When the man dies, let the inheritance\\r\\nDescend unto the daughter.” Gracious lord,\\r\\nStand for your own! Unwind your bloody flag!\\r\\nLook back into your mighty ancestors!\\r\\nGo, my dread lord, to your great-grandsire’s tomb,\\r\\nFrom whom you claim; invoke his warlike spirit,\\r\\nAnd your great-uncle’s, Edward the Black Prince,\\r\\nWho on the French ground play’d a tragedy,\\r\\nMaking defeat on the full power of France,\\r\\nWhiles his most mighty father on a hill\\r\\nStood smiling to behold his lion’s whelp\\r\\nForage in blood of French nobility.\\r\\nO noble English, that could entertain\\r\\nWith half their forces the full pride of France\\r\\nAnd let another half stand laughing by,\\r\\nAll out of work and cold for action!\\r\\n\\r\\nELY.\\r\\nAwake remembrance of these valiant dead,\\r\\nAnd with your puissant arm renew their feats.\\r\\nYou are their heir; you sit upon their throne;\\r\\nThe blood and courage that renowned them\\r\\nRuns in your veins; and my thrice-puissant liege\\r\\nIs in the very May-morn of his youth,\\r\\nRipe for exploits and mighty enterprises.\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nYour brother kings and monarchs of the earth\\r\\nDo all expect that you should rouse yourself,\\r\\nAs did the former lions of your blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORLAND.\\r\\nThey know your Grace hath cause and means and might;\\r\\nSo hath your Highness. Never King of England\\r\\nHad nobles richer, and more loyal subjects,\\r\\nWhose hearts have left their bodies here in England\\r\\nAnd lie pavilion’d in the fields of France.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nO, let their bodies follow, my dear liege,\\r\\nWith blood and sword and fire to win your right;\\r\\nIn aid whereof we of the spiritualty\\r\\nWill raise your Highness such a mighty sum\\r\\nAs never did the clergy at one time\\r\\nBring in to any of your ancestors.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWe must not only arm to invade the French,\\r\\nBut lay down our proportions to defend\\r\\nAgainst the Scot, who will make road upon us\\r\\nWith all advantages.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nThey of those marches, gracious sovereign,\\r\\nShall be a wall sufficient to defend\\r\\nOur inland from the pilfering borderers.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWe do not mean the coursing snatchers only,\\r\\nBut fear the main intendment of the Scot,\\r\\nWho hath been still a giddy neighbour to us;\\r\\nFor you shall read that my great-grandfather\\r\\nNever went with his forces into France\\r\\nBut that the Scot on his unfurnish’d kingdom\\r\\nCame pouring, like the tide into a breach,\\r\\nWith ample and brim fullness of his force,\\r\\nGalling the gleaned land with hot assays,\\r\\nGirdling with grievous siege castles and towns;\\r\\nThat England, being empty of defence,\\r\\nHath shook and trembled at the ill neighbourhood.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nShe hath been then more fear’d than harm’d, my liege;\\r\\nFor hear her but exampl’d by herself:\\r\\nWhen all her chivalry hath been in France,\\r\\nAnd she a mourning widow of her nobles,\\r\\nShe hath herself not only well defended\\r\\nBut taken and impounded as a stray\\r\\nThe King of Scots; whom she did send to France\\r\\nTo fill King Edward’s fame with prisoner kings,\\r\\nAnd make her chronicle as rich with praise\\r\\nAs is the ooze and bottom of the sea\\r\\nWith sunken wreck and sumless treasuries.\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORLAND.\\r\\nBut there’s a saying very old and true,\\r\\n“If that you will France win,\\r\\nThen with Scotland first begin.”\\r\\nFor once the eagle England being in prey,\\r\\nTo her unguarded nest the weasel Scot\\r\\nComes sneaking and so sucks her princely eggs,\\r\\nPlaying the mouse in absence of the cat,\\r\\nTo tear and havoc more than she can eat.\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nIt follows then the cat must stay at home;\\r\\nYet that is but a crush’d necessity,\\r\\nSince we have locks to safeguard necessaries,\\r\\nAnd pretty traps to catch the petty thieves.\\r\\nWhile that the armed hand doth fight abroad,\\r\\nThe advised head defends itself at home;\\r\\nFor government, though high and low and lower,\\r\\nPut into parts, doth keep in one consent,\\r\\nCongreeing in a full and natural close,\\r\\nLike music.\\r\\n\\r\\nCANTERBURY.\\r\\nTherefore doth heaven divide\\r\\nThe state of man in divers functions,\\r\\nSetting endeavour in continual motion,\\r\\nTo which is fixed, as an aim or butt,\\r\\nObedience; for so work the honey-bees,\\r\\nCreatures that by a rule in nature teach\\r\\nThe act of order to a peopled kingdom.\\r\\nThey have a king and officers of sorts,\\r\\nWhere some, like magistrates, correct at home,\\r\\nOthers like merchants, venture trade abroad,\\r\\nOthers, like soldiers, armed in their stings,\\r\\nMake boot upon the summer’s velvet buds,\\r\\nWhich pillage they with merry march bring home\\r\\nTo the tent-royal of their emperor;\\r\\nWho, busied in his majesty, surveys\\r\\nThe singing masons building roofs of gold,\\r\\nThe civil citizens kneading up the honey,\\r\\nThe poor mechanic porters crowding in\\r\\nTheir heavy burdens at his narrow gate,\\r\\nThe sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum,\\r\\nDelivering o’er to executors pale\\r\\nThe lazy yawning drone. I this infer,\\r\\nThat many things, having full reference\\r\\nTo one consent, may work contrariously.\\r\\nAs many arrows, loosed several ways,\\r\\nCome to one mark; as many ways meet in one town;\\r\\nAs many fresh streams meet in one salt sea;\\r\\nAs many lines close in the dial’s centre;\\r\\nSo many a thousand actions, once afoot,\\r\\nEnd in one purpose, and be all well borne\\r\\nWithout defeat. Therefore to France, my liege!\\r\\nDivide your happy England into four,\\r\\nWhereof take you one quarter into France,\\r\\nAnd you withal shall make all Gallia shake.\\r\\nIf we, with thrice such powers left at home,\\r\\nCannot defend our own doors from the dog,\\r\\nLet us be worried and our nation lose\\r\\nThe name of hardiness and policy.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nCall in the messengers sent from the Dauphin.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt some Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow are we well resolv’d; and, by God’s help,\\r\\nAnd yours, the noble sinews of our power,\\r\\nFrance being ours, we’ll bend it to our awe,\\r\\nOr break it all to pieces. Or there we’ll sit,\\r\\nRuling in large and ample empery\\r\\nO’er France and all her almost kingly dukedoms,\\r\\nOr lay these bones in an unworthy urn,\\r\\nTombless, with no remembrance over them.\\r\\nEither our history shall with full mouth\\r\\nSpeak freely of our acts, or else our grave,\\r\\nLike Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth,\\r\\nNot worshipp’d with a waxen epitaph.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ambassadors of France.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow are we well prepar’d to know the pleasure\\r\\nOf our fair cousin Dauphin; for we hear\\r\\nYour greeting is from him, not from the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST AMBASSADOR.\\r\\nMay’t please your Majesty to give us leave\\r\\nFreely to render what we have in charge,\\r\\nOr shall we sparingly show you far off\\r\\nThe Dauphin’s meaning and our embassy?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWe are no tyrant, but a Christian king,\\r\\nUnto whose grace our passion is as subject\\r\\nAs is our wretches fett’red in our prisons;\\r\\nTherefore with frank and with uncurbed plainness\\r\\nTell us the Dauphin’s mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nAMBASSADOR.\\r\\nThus, then, in few.\\r\\nYour Highness, lately sending into France,\\r\\nDid claim some certain dukedoms, in the right\\r\\nOf your great predecessor, King Edward the Third.\\r\\nIn answer of which claim, the prince our master\\r\\nSays that you savour too much of your youth,\\r\\nAnd bids you be advis’d there’s nought in France\\r\\nThat can be with a nimble galliard won.\\r\\nYou cannot revel into dukedoms there.\\r\\nHe therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit,\\r\\nThis tun of treasure; and, in lieu of this,\\r\\nDesires you let the dukedoms that you claim\\r\\nHear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWhat treasure, uncle?\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nTennis-balls, my liege.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWe are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us.\\r\\nHis present and your pains we thank you for.\\r\\nWhen we have match’d our rackets to these balls,\\r\\nWe will, in France, by God’s grace, play a set\\r\\nShall strike his father’s crown into the hazard.\\r\\nTell him he hath made a match with such a wrangler\\r\\nThat all the courts of France will be disturb’d\\r\\nWith chaces. And we understand him well,\\r\\nHow he comes o’er us with our wilder days,\\r\\nNot measuring what use we made of them.\\r\\nWe never valu’d this poor seat of England;\\r\\nAnd therefore, living hence, did give ourself\\r\\nTo barbarous licence; as ’tis ever common\\r\\nThat men are merriest when they are from home.\\r\\nBut tell the Dauphin I will keep my state,\\r\\nBe like a king, and show my sail of greatness\\r\\nWhen I do rouse me in my throne of France.\\r\\nFor that I have laid by my majesty\\r\\nAnd plodded like a man for working days,\\r\\nBut I will rise there with so full a glory\\r\\nThat I will dazzle all the eyes of France,\\r\\nYea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us.\\r\\nAnd tell the pleasant prince this mock of his\\r\\nHath turn’d his balls to gun-stones, and his soul\\r\\nShall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance\\r\\nThat shall fly with them; for many a thousand widows\\r\\nShall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands,\\r\\nMock mothers from their sons, mock castles down;\\r\\nAnd some are yet ungotten and unborn\\r\\nThat shall have cause to curse the Dauphin’s scorn.\\r\\nBut this lies all within the will of God,\\r\\nTo whom I do appeal; and in whose name\\r\\nTell you the Dauphin I am coming on\\r\\nTo venge me as I may, and to put forth\\r\\nMy rightful hand in a well-hallow’d cause.\\r\\nSo get you hence in peace; and tell the Dauphin\\r\\nHis jest will savour but of shallow wit,\\r\\nWhen thousands weep more than did laugh at it.—\\r\\nConvey them with safe conduct.—Fare you well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Ambassadors._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nThis was a merry message.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWe hope to make the sender blush at it.\\r\\nTherefore, my lords, omit no happy hour\\r\\nThat may give furtherance to our expedition;\\r\\nFor we have now no thought in us but France,\\r\\nSave those to God, that run before our business.\\r\\nTherefore, let our proportions for these wars\\r\\nBe soon collected, and all things thought upon\\r\\nThat may with reasonable swiftness add\\r\\nMore feathers to our wings; for, God before,\\r\\nWe’ll chide this Dauphin at his father’s door.\\r\\nTherefore let every man now task his thought,\\r\\nThat this fair action may on foot be brought.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Enter Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nNow all the youth of England are on fire,\\r\\nAnd silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies.\\r\\nNow thrive the armourers, and honour’s thought\\r\\nReigns solely in the breast of every man.\\r\\nThey sell the pasture now to buy the horse,\\r\\nFollowing the mirror of all Christian kings,\\r\\nWith winged heels, as English Mercuries.\\r\\nFor now sits Expectation in the air,\\r\\nAnd hides a sword from hilts unto the point\\r\\nWith crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets,\\r\\nPromis’d to Harry and his followers.\\r\\nThe French, advis’d by good intelligence\\r\\nOf this most dreadful preparation,\\r\\nShake in their fear, and with pale policy\\r\\nSeek to divert the English purposes.\\r\\nO England! model to thy inward greatness,\\r\\nLike little body with a mighty heart,\\r\\nWhat mightst thou do, that honour would thee do,\\r\\nWere all thy children kind and natural!\\r\\nBut see thy fault! France hath in thee found out\\r\\nA nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills\\r\\nWith treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men,\\r\\nOne, Richard Earl of Cambridge, and the second,\\r\\nHenry Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third,\\r\\nSir Thomas Grey, knight of Northumberland,\\r\\nHave, for the gilt of France,—O guilt indeed!—\\r\\nConfirm’d conspiracy with fearful France;\\r\\nAnd by their hands this grace of kings must die,\\r\\nIf hell and treason hold their promises,\\r\\nEre he take ship for France, and in Southampton.\\r\\nLinger your patience on, and we’ll digest\\r\\nThe abuse of distance, force a play.\\r\\nThe sum is paid; the traitors are agreed;\\r\\nThe King is set from London; and the scene\\r\\nIs now transported, gentles, to Southampton.\\r\\nThere is the playhouse now, there must you sit;\\r\\nAnd thence to France shall we convey you safe,\\r\\nAnd bring you back, charming the narrow seas\\r\\nTo give you gentle pass; for, if we may,\\r\\nWe’ll not offend one stomach with our play.\\r\\nBut, till the King come forth, and not till then,\\r\\nUnto Southampton do we shift our scene.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. London. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Corporal Nym and Lieutenant Bardolph.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nWell met, Corporal Nym.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nGood morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nWhat, are Ancient Pistol and you friends yet?\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nFor my part, I care not. I say little; but when time shall serve, there\\r\\nshall be smiles; but that shall be as it may. I dare not fight, but I\\r\\nwill wink and hold out mine iron. It is a simple one, but what though?\\r\\nIt will toast cheese, and it will endure cold as another man’s sword\\r\\nwill; and there’s an end.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nI will bestow a breakfast to make you friends; and we’ll be all three\\r\\nsworn brothers to France. Let it be so, good Corporal Nym.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nFaith, I will live so long as I may, that’s the certain of it; and when\\r\\nI cannot live any longer, I will do as I may. That is my rest, that is\\r\\nthe rendezvous of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nIt is certain, corporal, that he is married to Nell Quickly; and\\r\\ncertainly she did you wrong, for you were troth-plight to her.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nI cannot tell. Things must be as they may. Men may sleep, and they may\\r\\nhave their throats about them at that time; and some say knives have\\r\\nedges. It must be as it may. Though patience be a tired mare, yet she\\r\\nwill plod. There must be conclusions. Well, I cannot tell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pistol and Hostess.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nHere comes Ancient Pistol and his wife. Good Corporal, be patient here.\\r\\nHow now, mine host Pistol!\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nBase tike, call’st thou me host?\\r\\nNow, by this hand, I swear I scorn the term;\\r\\nNor shall my Nell keep lodgers.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nNo, by my troth, not long; for we cannot lodge and board a dozen or\\r\\nfourteen gentlewomen that live honestly by the prick of their needles,\\r\\nbut it will be thought we keep a bawdy house straight. [_Nym and Pistol\\r\\ndraw._] O well a day, Lady, if he be not drawn now! We shall see wilful\\r\\nadultery and murder committed.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nGood Lieutenant! good corporal! offer nothing here.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nPish!\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nPish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-ear’d cur of Iceland!\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nGood Corporal Nym, show thy valour, and put up your sword.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nWill you shog off? I would have you _solus_.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\n_Solus_, egregious dog! O viper vile!\\r\\nThe _solus_ in thy most mervailous face;\\r\\nThe _solus_ in thy teeth, and in thy throat,\\r\\nAnd in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy,\\r\\nAnd, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth!\\r\\nI do retort the _solus_ in thy bowels;\\r\\nFor I can take, and Pistol’s cock is up,\\r\\nAnd flashing fire will follow.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nI am not Barbason; you cannot conjure me. I have an humour to knock you\\r\\nindifferently well. If you grow foul with me, Pistol, I will scour you\\r\\nwith my rapier, as I may, in fair terms. If you would walk off, I would\\r\\nprick your guts a little, in good terms, as I may; and that’s the\\r\\nhumour of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nO braggart vile and damned furious wight!\\r\\nThe grave doth gape, and doting death is near,\\r\\nTherefore exhale.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nHear me, hear me what I say. He that strikes the first stroke I’ll run\\r\\nhim up to the hilts, as I am a soldier.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Draws._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nAn oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate.\\r\\nGive me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give.\\r\\nThy spirits are most tall.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nI will cut thy throat, one time or other, in fair terms: that is the\\r\\nhumour of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\n“Couple a gorge!”\\r\\nThat is the word. I thee defy again.\\r\\nO hound of Crete, think’st thou my spouse to get?\\r\\nNo! to the spital go,\\r\\nAnd from the powdering tub of infamy\\r\\nFetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid’s kind,\\r\\nDoll Tearsheet she by name, and her espouse.\\r\\nI have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly\\r\\nFor the only she; and _pauca_, there’s enough.\\r\\nGo to.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the Boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nMine host Pistol, you must come to my master, and you, hostess. He is\\r\\nvery sick, and would to bed. Good Bardolph, put thy face between his\\r\\nsheets, and do the office of a warming-pan. Faith, he’s very ill.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nAway, you rogue!\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nBy my troth, he’ll yield the crow a pudding one of these days.\\r\\nThe King has kill’d his heart.\\r\\nGood husband, come home presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Hostess and Boy._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nCome, shall I make you two friends? We must to France together; why the\\r\\ndevil should we keep knives to cut one another’s throats?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nLet floods o’erswell, and fiends for food howl on!\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nYou’ll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nBase is the slave that pays.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nThat now I will have: that’s the humour of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nAs manhood shall compound. Push home.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They draw._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nBy this sword, he that makes the first thrust, I’ll kill him; by this\\r\\nsword, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nSword is an oath, and oaths must have their course.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nCorporal Nym, and thou wilt be friends, be friends; an thou wilt not,\\r\\nwhy, then, be enemies with me too. Prithee, put up.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nI shall have my eight shillings I won from you at betting?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nA noble shalt thou have, and present pay;\\r\\nAnd liquor likewise will I give to thee,\\r\\nAnd friendship shall combine, and brotherhood.\\r\\nI’ll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me.\\r\\nIs not this just? For I shall sutler be\\r\\nUnto the camp, and profits will accrue.\\r\\nGive me thy hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nI shall have my noble?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nIn cash most justly paid.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nWell, then, that’s the humour of’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hostess.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nAs ever you come of women, come in quickly to Sir John.\\r\\nAh, poor heart! he is so shak’d of a burning quotidian tertian,\\r\\nthat it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nThe King hath run bad humours on the knight; that’s the even of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nNym, thou hast spoke the right.\\r\\nHis heart is fracted and corroborate.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nThe King is a good king; but it must be as it may; he passes some\\r\\nhumours and careers.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nLet us condole the knight; for, lambkins, we will live.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Southampton. A council-chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Exeter, Bedford and Westmorland.\\r\\n\\r\\nBEDFORD.\\r\\n’Fore God, his Grace is bold, to trust these traitors.\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nThey shall be apprehended by and by.\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORLAND.\\r\\nHow smooth and even they do bear themselves!\\r\\nAs if allegiance in their bosoms sat\\r\\nCrowned with faith and constant loyalty.\\r\\n\\r\\nBEDFORD.\\r\\nThe King hath note of all that they intend,\\r\\nBy interception which they dream not of.\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nNay, but the man that was his bed-fellow,\\r\\nWhom he hath dull’d and cloy’d with gracious favours,\\r\\nThat he should, for a foreign purse, so sell\\r\\nHis sovereign’s life to death and treachery.\\r\\n\\r\\n Trumpets sound. Enter King Henry, Scroop, Cambridge and Grey.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNow sits the wind fair, and we will aboard.\\r\\nMy Lord of Cambridge, and my kind Lord of Masham,\\r\\nAnd you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts.\\r\\nThink you not that the powers we bear with us\\r\\nWill cut their passage through the force of France,\\r\\nDoing the execution and the act\\r\\nFor which we have in head assembled them?\\r\\n\\r\\nSCROOP.\\r\\nNo doubt, my liege, if each man do his best.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI doubt not that, since we are well persuaded\\r\\nWe carry not a heart with us from hence\\r\\nThat grows not in a fair consent with ours,\\r\\nNor leave not one behind that doth not wish\\r\\nSuccess and conquest to attend on us.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMBRIDGE.\\r\\nNever was monarch better fear’d and lov’d\\r\\nThan is your Majesty. There’s not, I think, a subject\\r\\nThat sits in heart-grief and uneasiness\\r\\nUnder the sweet shade of your government.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREY.\\r\\nTrue; those that were your father’s enemies\\r\\nHave steep’d their galls in honey, and do serve you\\r\\nWith hearts create of duty and of zeal.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWe therefore have great cause of thankfulness,\\r\\nAnd shall forget the office of our hand\\r\\nSooner than quittance of desert and merit\\r\\nAccording to the weight and worthiness.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCROOP.\\r\\nSo service shall with steeled sinews toil,\\r\\nAnd labour shall refresh itself with hope,\\r\\nTo do your Grace incessant services.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWe judge no less. Uncle of Exeter,\\r\\nEnlarge the man committed yesterday,\\r\\nThat rail’d against our person. We consider\\r\\nIt was excess of wine that set him on,\\r\\nAnd on his more advice we pardon him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCROOP.\\r\\nThat’s mercy, but too much security.\\r\\nLet him be punish’d, sovereign, lest example\\r\\nBreed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nO, let us yet be merciful.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMBRIDGE.\\r\\nSo may your Highness, and yet punish too.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREY.\\r\\nSir,\\r\\nYou show great mercy if you give him life\\r\\nAfter the taste of much correction.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nAlas, your too much love and care of me\\r\\nAre heavy orisons ’gainst this poor wretch!\\r\\nIf little faults, proceeding on distemper,\\r\\nShall not be wink’d at, how shall we stretch our eye\\r\\nWhen capital crimes, chew’d, swallow’d, and digested,\\r\\nAppear before us? We’ll yet enlarge that man,\\r\\nThough Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, in their dear care\\r\\nAnd tender preservation of our person,\\r\\nWould have him punish’d. And now to our French causes.\\r\\nWho are the late commissioners?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMBRIDGE.\\r\\nI one, my lord.\\r\\nYour Highness bade me ask for it today.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCROOP.\\r\\nSo did you me, my liege.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREY.\\r\\nAnd I, my royal sovereign.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThen, Richard Earl of Cambridge, there is yours;\\r\\nThere yours, Lord Scroop of Masham; and, sir knight,\\r\\nGrey of Northumberland, this same is yours.\\r\\nRead them, and know I know your worthiness.\\r\\nMy Lord of Westmorland, and uncle Exeter,\\r\\nWe will aboard tonight.—Why, how now, gentlemen!\\r\\nWhat see you in those papers that you lose\\r\\nSo much complexion?—Look ye, how they change!\\r\\nTheir cheeks are paper.—Why, what read you there,\\r\\nThat have so cowarded and chas’d your blood\\r\\nOut of appearance?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMBRIDGE.\\r\\nI do confess my fault,\\r\\nAnd do submit me to your Highness’ mercy.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREY, SCROOP.\\r\\nTo which we all appeal.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThe mercy that was quick in us but late,\\r\\nBy your own counsel is suppress’d and kill’d.\\r\\nYou must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy,\\r\\nFor your own reasons turn into your bosoms,\\r\\nAs dogs upon their masters, worrying you.\\r\\nSee you, my princes and my noble peers,\\r\\nThese English monsters! My Lord of Cambridge here,\\r\\nYou know how apt our love was to accord\\r\\nTo furnish him with an appertinents\\r\\nBelonging to his honour; and this man\\r\\nHath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir’d\\r\\nAnd sworn unto the practices of France\\r\\nTo kill us here in Hampton; to the which\\r\\nThis knight, no less for bounty bound to us\\r\\nThan Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. But, O\\r\\nWhat shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop? thou cruel,\\r\\nIngrateful, savage, and inhuman creature!\\r\\nThou that didst bear the key of all my counsels,\\r\\nThat knew’st the very bottom of my soul,\\r\\nThat almost mightst have coin’d me into gold,\\r\\nWouldst thou have practis’d on me for thy use,—\\r\\nMay it be possible that foreign hire\\r\\nCould out of thee extract one spark of evil\\r\\nThat might annoy my finger? ’Tis so strange,\\r\\nThat, though the truth of it stands off as gross\\r\\nAs black and white, my eye will scarcely see it.\\r\\nTreason and murder ever kept together,\\r\\nAs two yoke-devils sworn to either’s purpose,\\r\\nWorking so grossly in a natural cause\\r\\nThat admiration did not whoop at them;\\r\\nBut thou, ’gainst all proportion, didst bring in\\r\\nWonder to wait on treason and on murder;\\r\\nAnd whatsoever cunning fiend it was\\r\\nThat wrought upon thee so preposterously\\r\\nHath got the voice in hell for excellence;\\r\\nAnd other devils that suggest by treasons\\r\\nDo botch and bungle up damnation\\r\\nWith patches, colours, and with forms being fetch’d\\r\\nFrom glist’ring semblances of piety.\\r\\nBut he that temper’d thee bade thee stand up,\\r\\nGave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason,\\r\\nUnless to dub thee with the name of traitor.\\r\\nIf that same demon that hath gull’d thee thus\\r\\nShould with his lion gait walk the whole world,\\r\\nHe might return to vasty Tartar back,\\r\\nAnd tell the legions, “I can never win\\r\\nA soul so easy as that Englishman’s.”\\r\\nO, how hast thou with jealousy infected\\r\\nThe sweetness of affiance! Show men dutiful?\\r\\nWhy, so didst thou. Seem they grave and learned?\\r\\nWhy, so didst thou. Come they of noble family?\\r\\nWhy, so didst thou. Seem they religious?\\r\\nWhy, so didst thou. Or are they spare in diet,\\r\\nFree from gross passion or of mirth or anger,\\r\\nConstant in spirit, not swerving with the blood,\\r\\nGarnish’d and deck’d in modest complement,\\r\\nNot working with the eye without the ear,\\r\\nAnd but in purged judgement trusting neither?\\r\\nSuch and so finely bolted didst thou seem.\\r\\nAnd thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot\\r\\nTo mark the full-fraught man and best indued\\r\\nWith some suspicion. I will weep for thee;\\r\\nFor this revolt of thine, methinks, is like\\r\\nAnother fall of man. Their faults are open.\\r\\nArrest them to the answer of the law;\\r\\nAnd God acquit them of their practices!\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nI arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Richard Earl of\\r\\nCambridge.\\r\\nI arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Henry Lord Scroop of\\r\\nMasham.\\r\\nI arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Thomas Grey, knight, of\\r\\nNorthumberland.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCROOP.\\r\\nOur purposes God justly hath discover’d,\\r\\nAnd I repent my fault more than my death,\\r\\nWhich I beseech your Highness to forgive,\\r\\nAlthough my body pay the price of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMBRIDGE.\\r\\nFor me, the gold of France did not seduce,\\r\\nAlthough I did admit it as a motive\\r\\nThe sooner to effect what I intended.\\r\\nBut God be thanked for prevention,\\r\\nWhich I in sufferance heartily will rejoice,\\r\\nBeseeching God and you to pardon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREY.\\r\\nNever did faithful subject more rejoice\\r\\nAt the discovery of most dangerous treason\\r\\nThan I do at this hour joy o’er myself,\\r\\nPrevented from a damned enterprise.\\r\\nMy fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nGod quit you in his mercy! Hear your sentence.\\r\\nYou have conspir’d against our royal person,\\r\\nJoin’d with an enemy proclaim’d, and from his coffers\\r\\nReceived the golden earnest of our death;\\r\\nWherein you would have sold your king to slaughter,\\r\\nHis princes and his peers to servitude,\\r\\nHis subjects to oppression and contempt,\\r\\nAnd his whole kingdom into desolation.\\r\\nTouching our person seek we no revenge;\\r\\nBut we our kingdom’s safety must so tender,\\r\\nWhose ruin you have sought, that to her laws\\r\\nWe do deliver you. Get you therefore hence,\\r\\nPoor miserable wretches, to your death,\\r\\nThe taste whereof God of his mercy give\\r\\nYou patience to endure, and true repentance\\r\\nOf all your dear offences! Bear them hence.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Cambridge, Scroop and Grey, guarded._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, lords, for France; the enterprise whereof\\r\\nShall be to you, as us, like glorious.\\r\\nWe doubt not of a fair and lucky war,\\r\\nSince God so graciously hath brought to light\\r\\nThis dangerous treason lurking in our way\\r\\nTo hinder our beginnings. We doubt not now\\r\\nBut every rub is smoothed on our way.\\r\\nThen forth, dear countrymen! Let us deliver\\r\\nOur puissance into the hand of God,\\r\\nPutting it straight in expedition.\\r\\nCheerly to sea! The signs of war advance!\\r\\nNo king of England, if not king of France!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Flourish. Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. London. Before a tavern.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pistol, Nym, Bardolph, Boy and Hostess.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nPrithee, honey, sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nNo; for my manly heart doth yearn.\\r\\nBardolph, be blithe; Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins;\\r\\nBoy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead,\\r\\nAnd we must yearn therefore.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nWould I were with him, wheresome’er he is, either in heaven or in hell!\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nNay, sure, he’s not in hell. He’s in Arthur’s bosom, if ever man went\\r\\nto Arthur’s bosom. ’A made a finer end and went away an it had been any\\r\\nchristom child. ’A parted even just between twelve and one, even at the\\r\\nturning o’ the tide: for after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and\\r\\nplay with flowers, and smile upon his fingers’ ends, I knew there was\\r\\nbut one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and ’a babbled of\\r\\ngreen fields. “How now, Sir John!” quoth I; “what, man! be o’ good\\r\\ncheer.” So ’a cried out, “God, God, God!” three or four times. Now I,\\r\\nto comfort him, bid him ’a should not think of God; I hop’d there was\\r\\nno need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So ’a bade me\\r\\nlay more clothes on his feet. I put my hand into the bed and felt them,\\r\\nand they were as cold as any stone. Then I felt to his knees, and so\\r\\nupward and upward, and all was as cold as any stone.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nThey say he cried out of sack.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nAy, that ’a did.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nAnd of women.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nNay, that ’a did not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nYes, that ’a did; and said they were devils incarnate.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\n’A could never abide carnation; ’twas a colour he never liked.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\n’A said once, the devil would have him about women.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\n’A did in some sort, indeed, handle women; but then he was rheumatic,\\r\\nand talk’d of the whore of Babylon.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nDo you not remember, ’a saw a flea stick upon Bardolph’s nose, and ’a\\r\\nsaid it was a black soul burning in hell-fire?\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nWell, the fuel is gone that maintain’d that fire. That’s all the riches\\r\\nI got in his service.\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nShall we shog? The King will be gone from Southampton.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nCome, let’s away. My love, give me thy lips.\\r\\nLook to my chattels and my movables.\\r\\nLet senses rule; the word is “Pitch and Pay.”\\r\\nTrust none;\\r\\nFor oaths are straws, men’s faiths are wafer-cakes\\r\\nAnd hold-fast is the only dog, my duck;\\r\\nTherefore, _Caveto_ be thy counsellor.\\r\\nGo, clear thy crystals. Yoke-fellows in arms,\\r\\nLet us to France; like horse-leeches, my boys,\\r\\nTo suck, to suck, the very blood to suck!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nAnd that’s but unwholesome food, they say.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nTouch her soft mouth, and march.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nFarewell, hostess.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kissing her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nI cannot kiss; that is the humour of it; but, adieu.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nLet housewifery appear. Keep close, I thee command.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nFarewell; adieu.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. France. The King’s palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Enter the French King, the Dauphin, the Dukes of Berry and\\r\\n Brittany, the Constable and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nThus comes the English with full power upon us,\\r\\nAnd more than carefully it us concerns\\r\\nTo answer royally in our defences.\\r\\nTherefore the Dukes of Berry and of Brittany,\\r\\nOf Brabant and of Orleans, shall make forth,\\r\\nAnd you, Prince Dauphin, with all swift dispatch,\\r\\nTo line and new repair our towns of war\\r\\nWith men of courage and with means defendant;\\r\\nFor England his approaches makes as fierce\\r\\nAs waters to the sucking of a gulf.\\r\\nIt fits us then to be as provident\\r\\nAs fears may teach us out of late examples\\r\\nLeft by the fatal and neglected English\\r\\nUpon our fields.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nMy most redoubted father,\\r\\nIt is most meet we arm us ’gainst the foe;\\r\\nFor peace itself should not so dull a kingdom,\\r\\nThough war nor no known quarrel were in question,\\r\\nBut that defences, musters, preparations,\\r\\nShould be maintain’d, assembled, and collected,\\r\\nAs were a war in expectation.\\r\\nTherefore, I say, ’tis meet we all go forth\\r\\nTo view the sick and feeble parts of France.\\r\\nAnd let us do it with no show of fear;\\r\\nNo, with no more than if we heard that England\\r\\nWere busied with a Whitsun morris-dance;\\r\\nFor, my good liege, she is so idly king’d,\\r\\nHer sceptre so fantastically borne\\r\\nBy a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth,\\r\\nThat fear attends her not.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nO peace, Prince Dauphin!\\r\\nYou are too much mistaken in this king.\\r\\nQuestion your Grace the late ambassadors\\r\\nWith what great state he heard their embassy,\\r\\nHow well supplied with noble counsellors,\\r\\nHow modest in exception, and withal\\r\\nHow terrible in constant resolution,\\r\\nAnd you shall find his vanities forespent\\r\\nWere but the outside of the Roman Brutus,\\r\\nCovering discretion with a coat of folly;\\r\\nAs gardeners do with ordure hide those roots\\r\\nThat shall first spring and be most delicate.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nWell, ’tis not so, my Lord High Constable;\\r\\nBut though we think it so, it is no matter.\\r\\nIn cases of defence ’tis best to weigh\\r\\nThe enemy more mighty than he seems,\\r\\nSo the proportions of defence are fill’d;\\r\\nWhich, of a weak and niggardly projection,\\r\\nDoth, like a miser, spoil his coat with scanting\\r\\nA little cloth.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nThink we King Harry strong;\\r\\nAnd, Princes, look you strongly arm to meet him.\\r\\nThe kindred of him hath been flesh’d upon us;\\r\\nAnd he is bred out of that bloody strain\\r\\nThat haunted us in our familiar paths.\\r\\nWitness our too much memorable shame\\r\\nWhen Cressy battle fatally was struck,\\r\\nAnd all our princes captiv’d by the hand\\r\\nOf that black name, Edward, Black Prince of Wales;\\r\\nWhiles that his mountain sire, on mountain standing,\\r\\nUp in the air, crown’d with the golden sun,\\r\\nSaw his heroical seed, and smil’d to see him,\\r\\nMangle the work of nature and deface\\r\\nThe patterns that by God and by French fathers\\r\\nHad twenty years been made. This is a stem\\r\\nOf that victorious stock; and let us fear\\r\\nThe native mightiness and fate of him.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nAmbassadors from Harry King of England\\r\\nDo crave admittance to your Majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nWe’ll give them present audience. Go, and bring them.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Messenger and certain Lords._]\\r\\n\\r\\nYou see this chase is hotly follow’d, friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nTurn head and stop pursuit; for coward dogs\\r\\nMost spend their mouths when what they seem to threaten\\r\\nRuns far before them. Good my sovereign,\\r\\nTake up the English short, and let them know\\r\\nOf what a monarchy you are the head.\\r\\nSelf-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin\\r\\nAs self-neglecting.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Exeter.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nFrom our brother of England?\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nFrom him; and thus he greets your Majesty:\\r\\nHe wills you, in the name of God Almighty,\\r\\nThat you divest yourself, and lay apart\\r\\nThe borrowed glories that by gift of heaven,\\r\\nBy law of nature and of nations, ’longs\\r\\nTo him and to his heirs; namely, the crown\\r\\nAnd all wide-stretched honours that pertain\\r\\nBy custom and the ordinance of times\\r\\nUnto the crown of France. That you may know\\r\\n’Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim\\r\\nPick’d from the worm-holes of long-vanish’d days,\\r\\nNor from the dust of old oblivion rak’d,\\r\\nHe sends you this most memorable line,\\r\\nIn every branch truly demonstrative;\\r\\nWilling you overlook this pedigree;\\r\\nAnd when you find him evenly deriv’d\\r\\nFrom his most fam’d of famous ancestors,\\r\\nEdward the Third, he bids you then resign\\r\\nYour crown and kingdom, indirectly held\\r\\nFrom him, the native and true challenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nOr else what follows?\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nBloody constraint; for if you hide the crown\\r\\nEven in your hearts, there will he rake for it.\\r\\nTherefore in fierce tempest is he coming,\\r\\nIn thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove,\\r\\nThat, if requiring fail, he will compel;\\r\\nAnd bids you, in the bowels of the Lord,\\r\\nDeliver up the crown, and to take mercy\\r\\nOn the poor souls for whom this hungry war\\r\\nOpens his vasty jaws; and on your head\\r\\nTurning the widows’ tears, the orphans’ cries,\\r\\nThe dead men’s blood, the pining maidens’ groans,\\r\\nFor husbands, fathers, and betrothed lovers,\\r\\nThat shall be swallowed in this controversy.\\r\\nThis is his claim, his threat’ning, and my message;\\r\\nUnless the Dauphin be in presence here,\\r\\nTo whom expressly I bring greeting too.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nFor us, we will consider of this further.\\r\\nTomorrow shall you bear our full intent\\r\\nBack to our brother of England.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nFor the Dauphin,\\r\\nI stand here for him. What to him from England?\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nScorn and defiance. Slight regard, contempt,\\r\\nAnd anything that may not misbecome\\r\\nThe mighty sender, doth he prize you at.\\r\\nThus says my king: an if your father’s Highness\\r\\nDo not, in grant of all demands at large,\\r\\nSweeten the bitter mock you sent his Majesty,\\r\\nHe’ll call you to so hot an answer of it\\r\\nThat caves and womby vaultages of France\\r\\nShall chide your trespass and return your mock\\r\\nIn second accent of his ordinance.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nSay, if my father render fair return,\\r\\nIt is against my will; for I desire\\r\\nNothing but odds with England. To that end,\\r\\nAs matching to his youth and vanity,\\r\\nI did present him with the Paris balls.\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nHe’ll make your Paris Louvre shake for it,\\r\\nWere it the mistress-court of mighty Europe;\\r\\nAnd, be assur’d, you’ll find a difference,\\r\\nAs we his subjects have in wonder found,\\r\\nBetween the promise of his greener days\\r\\nAnd these he masters now. Now he weighs time\\r\\nEven to the utmost grain. That you shall read\\r\\nIn your own losses, if he stay in France.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nTomorrow shall you know our mind at full.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Flourish._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nDispatch us with all speed, lest that our king\\r\\nCome here himself to question our delay;\\r\\nFor he is footed in this land already.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nYou shall be soon dispatch’d with fair conditions.\\r\\nA night is but small breath and little pause\\r\\nTo answer matters of this consequence.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Enter Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nThus with imagin’d wing our swift scene flies,\\r\\nIn motion of no less celerity\\r\\nThan that of thought. Suppose that you have seen\\r\\nThe well-appointed king at Hampton pier\\r\\nEmbark his royalty, and his brave fleet\\r\\nWith silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning.\\r\\nPlay with your fancies; and in them behold\\r\\nUpon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing;\\r\\nHear the shrill whistle which doth order give\\r\\nTo sounds confus’d; behold the threaden sails,\\r\\nBorne with the invisible and creeping wind,\\r\\nDraw the huge bottoms through the furrow’d sea,\\r\\nBreasting the lofty surge. O, do but think\\r\\nYou stand upon the rivage and behold\\r\\nA city on the inconstant billows dancing;\\r\\nFor so appears this fleet majestical,\\r\\nHolding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow!\\r\\nGrapple your minds to sternage of this navy,\\r\\nAnd leave your England, as dead midnight still,\\r\\nGuarded with grandsires, babies, and old women,\\r\\nEither past or not arriv’d to pith and puissance.\\r\\nFor who is he, whose chin is but enrich’d\\r\\nWith one appearing hair, that will not follow\\r\\nThese cull’d and choice-drawn cavaliers to France?\\r\\nWork, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege;\\r\\nBehold the ordnance on their carriages,\\r\\nWith fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur.\\r\\nSuppose the ambassador from the French comes back,\\r\\nTells Harry that the King doth offer him\\r\\nKatharine his daughter, and with her, to dowry,\\r\\nSome petty and unprofitable dukedoms.\\r\\nThe offer likes not; and the nimble gunner\\r\\nWith linstock now the devilish cannon touches,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alarum, and chambers go off._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd down goes all before them. Still be kind,\\r\\nAnd eke out our performance with your mind.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. France. Before Harfleur.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, Gloucester and Soldiers,\\r\\n with scaling-ladders.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nOnce more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,\\r\\nOr close the wall up with our English dead.\\r\\nIn peace there’s nothing so becomes a man\\r\\nAs modest stillness and humility;\\r\\nBut when the blast of war blows in our ears,\\r\\nThen imitate the action of the tiger;\\r\\nStiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,\\r\\nDisguise fair nature with hard-favour’d rage;\\r\\nThen lend the eye a terrible aspect;\\r\\nLet it pry through the portage of the head\\r\\nLike the brass cannon; let the brow o’erwhelm it\\r\\nAs fearfully as does a galled rock\\r\\nO’erhang and jutty his confounded base,\\r\\nSwill’d with the wild and wasteful ocean.\\r\\nNow set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,\\r\\nHold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit\\r\\nTo his full height. On, on, you noblest English,\\r\\nWhose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!\\r\\nFathers that, like so many Alexanders,\\r\\nHave in these parts from morn till even fought,\\r\\nAnd sheath’d their swords for lack of argument.\\r\\nDishonour not your mothers; now attest\\r\\nThat those whom you call’d fathers did beget you.\\r\\nBe copy now to men of grosser blood,\\r\\nAnd teach them how to war. And you, good yeomen,\\r\\nWhose limbs were made in England, show us here\\r\\nThe mettle of your pasture; let us swear\\r\\nThat you are worth your breeding, which I doubt not;\\r\\nFor there is none of you so mean and base,\\r\\nThat hath not noble lustre in your eyes.\\r\\nI see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,\\r\\nStraining upon the start. The game’s afoot!\\r\\nFollow your spirit, and upon this charge\\r\\nCry, “God for Harry! England and Saint George!”\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nym, Bardolph, Pistol and Boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBARDOLPH.\\r\\nOn, on, on, on, on! To the breach, to the breach!\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nPray thee, corporal, stay. The knocks are too hot; and, for mine own\\r\\npart, I have not a case of lives. The humour of it is too hot; that is\\r\\nthe very plain-song of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nThe plain-song is most just, for humours do abound.\\r\\nKnocks go and come; God’s vassals drop and die;\\r\\n And sword and shield,\\r\\n In bloody field,\\r\\n Doth win immortal fame.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nWould I were in an alehouse in London! I would give all my fame for a\\r\\npot of ale and safety.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nAnd I.\\r\\n If wishes would prevail with me,\\r\\n My purpose should not fail with me,\\r\\n But thither would I hie.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\n As duly,\\r\\n But not as truly,\\r\\n As bird doth sing on bough.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fluellen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nUp to the breach, you dogs! Avaunt, you cullions!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Driving them forward._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nBe merciful, great Duke, to men of mould.\\r\\nAbate thy rage, abate thy manly rage,\\r\\nAbate thy rage, great Duke!\\r\\nGood bawcock, bate thy rage; use lenity, sweet chuck!\\r\\n\\r\\nNYM.\\r\\nThese be good humours! Your honour wins bad humours.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Boy._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nAs young as I am, I have observ’d these three swashers. I am boy to\\r\\nthem all three; but all they three, though they would serve me, could\\r\\nnot be man to me; for indeed three such antics do not amount to a man.\\r\\nFor Bardolph, he is white-liver’d and red-fac’d; by the means whereof\\r\\n’a faces it out, but fights not. For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue\\r\\nand a quiet sword; by the means whereof ’a breaks words, and keeps\\r\\nwhole weapons. For Nym, he hath heard that men of few words are the\\r\\nbest men; and therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest ’a should be\\r\\nthought a coward. But his few bad words are match’d with as few good\\r\\ndeeds; for ’a never broke any man’s head but his own, and that was\\r\\nagainst a post when he was drunk. They will steal anything, and call it\\r\\npurchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold\\r\\nit for three half-pence. Nym and Bardolph are sworn brothers in\\r\\nfilching, and in Calais they stole a fire-shovel. I knew by that piece\\r\\nof service the men would carry coals. They would have me as familiar\\r\\nwith men’s pockets as their gloves or their handkerchers; which makes\\r\\nmuch against my manhood, if I should take from another’s pocket to put\\r\\ninto mine; for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them,\\r\\nand seek some better service. Their villainy goes against my weak\\r\\nstomach, and therefore I must cast it up.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower and Fluellen.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nCaptain Fluellen, you must come presently to the mines.\\r\\nThe Duke of Gloucester would speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nTo the mines! Tell you the Duke, it is not so good to come to the\\r\\nmines; for, look you, the mines is not according to the disciplines of\\r\\nthe war. The concavities of it is not sufficient; for, look you, the\\r\\nathversary, you may discuss unto the Duke, look you, is digt himself\\r\\nfour yard under the countermines. By Cheshu, I think ’a will plow up\\r\\nall, if there is not better directions.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nThe Duke of Gloucester, to whom the order of the siege is given, is\\r\\naltogether directed by an Irishman, a very valiant gentleman, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nIt is Captain Macmorris, is it not?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nI think it be.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nBy Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the world. I will verify as much in his\\r\\nbeard. He has no more directions in the true disciplines of the wars,\\r\\nlook you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macmorris and Captain Jamy.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nHere ’a comes; and the Scots captain, Captain Jamy, with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nCaptain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gentleman, that is certain; and\\r\\nof great expedition and knowledge in the anchient wars, upon my\\r\\nparticular knowledge of his directions. By Cheshu, he will maintain his\\r\\nargument as well as any military man in the world, in the disciplines\\r\\nof the pristine wars of the Romans.\\r\\n\\r\\nJAMY.\\r\\nI say gud-day, Captain Fluellen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nGod-den to your worship, good Captain James.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nHow now, Captain Macmorris! have you quit the mines?\\r\\nHave the pioneers given o’er?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACMORRIS.\\r\\nBy Chrish, la! ’tish ill done! The work ish give over, the trompet\\r\\nsound the retreat. By my hand I swear, and my father’s soul, the work\\r\\nish ill done; it ish give over. I would have blowed up the town, so\\r\\nChrish save me, la! in an hour. O, ’tish ill done, ’tish ill done; by\\r\\nmy hand, ’tish ill done!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nCaptain Macmorris, I beseech you now, will you voutsafe me, look you, a\\r\\nfew disputations with you, as partly touching or concerning the\\r\\ndisciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, look\\r\\nyou, and friendly communication; partly to satisfy my opinion, and\\r\\npartly for the satisfaction, look you, of my mind, as touching the\\r\\ndirection of the military discipline; that is the point.\\r\\n\\r\\nJAMY.\\r\\nIt sall be vary gud, gud feith, gud captains bath: and I sall quit you\\r\\nwith gud leve, as I may pick occasion; that sall I, marry.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACMORRIS.\\r\\nIt is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me. The day is hot, and the\\r\\nweather, and the wars, and the King, and the Dukes. It is no time to\\r\\ndiscourse. The town is beseech’d, and the trumpet call us to the\\r\\nbreach, and we talk, and, be Chrish, do nothing. ’Tis shame for us all.\\r\\nSo God sa’ me, ’tis shame to stand still; it is shame, by my hand; and\\r\\nthere is throats to be cut, and works to be done; and there ish nothing\\r\\ndone, so Chrish sa’ me, la!\\r\\n\\r\\nJAMY.\\r\\nBy the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take themselves to slomber, I’ll\\r\\nde gud service, or I’ll lig i’ the grund for it; ay, or go to death;\\r\\nand I’ll pay’t as valorously as I may, that sall I suerly do, that is\\r\\nthe breff and the long. Marry, I wad full fain heard some question\\r\\n’tween you tway.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nCaptain Macmorris, I think, look you, under your correction, there is\\r\\nnot many of your nation—\\r\\n\\r\\nMACMORRIS.\\r\\nOf my nation! What ish my nation? Ish a villain, and a bastard, and a\\r\\nknave, and a rascal? What ish my nation? Who talks of my nation?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nLook you, if you take the matter otherwise than is meant, Captain\\r\\nMacmorris, peradventure I shall think you do not use me with that\\r\\naffability as in discretion you ought to use me, look you, being as\\r\\ngood a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of war, and in the\\r\\nderivation of my birth, and in other particularities.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACMORRIS.\\r\\nI do not know you so good a man as myself. So Chrish save me,\\r\\nI will cut off your head.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nGentlemen both, you will mistake each other.\\r\\n\\r\\nJAMY.\\r\\nAh! that’s a foul fault.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A parley sounded._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nThe town sounds a parley.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nCaptain Macmorris, when there is more better opportunity to be\\r\\nrequired, look you, I will be so bold as to tell you I know the\\r\\ndisciplines of war; and there is an end.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Before the gates.\\r\\n\\r\\n The Governor and some citizens on the walls; the English forces below.\\r\\n Enter King Henry and his train.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nHow yet resolves the governor of the town?\\r\\nThis is the latest parle we will admit;\\r\\nTherefore to our best mercy give yourselves,\\r\\nOr like to men proud of destruction\\r\\nDefy us to our worst; for, as I am a soldier,\\r\\nA name that in my thoughts becomes me best,\\r\\nIf I begin the battery once again,\\r\\nI will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur\\r\\nTill in her ashes she lie buried.\\r\\nThe gates of mercy shall be all shut up,\\r\\nAnd the flesh’d soldier, rough and hard of heart,\\r\\nIn liberty of bloody hand shall range\\r\\nWith conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass\\r\\nYour fresh fair virgins and your flow’ring infants.\\r\\nWhat is it then to me, if impious War,\\r\\nArray’d in flames like to the prince of fiends,\\r\\nDo with his smirch’d complexion all fell feats\\r\\nEnlink’d to waste and desolation?\\r\\nWhat is’t to me, when you yourselves are cause,\\r\\nIf your pure maidens fall into the hand\\r\\nOf hot and forcing violation?\\r\\nWhat rein can hold licentious wickedness\\r\\nWhen down the hill he holds his fierce career?\\r\\nWe may as bootless spend our vain command\\r\\nUpon the enraged soldiers in their spoil\\r\\nAs send precepts to the leviathan\\r\\nTo come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur,\\r\\nTake pity of your town and of your people,\\r\\nWhiles yet my soldiers are in my command,\\r\\nWhiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace\\r\\nO’erblows the filthy and contagious clouds\\r\\nOf heady murder, spoil, and villainy.\\r\\nIf not, why, in a moment look to see\\r\\nThe blind and bloody soldier with foul hand\\r\\nDefile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters;\\r\\nYour fathers taken by the silver beards,\\r\\nAnd their most reverend heads dash’d to the walls;\\r\\nYour naked infants spitted upon pikes,\\r\\nWhiles the mad mothers with their howls confus’d\\r\\nDo break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry\\r\\nAt Herod’s bloody-hunting slaughtermen.\\r\\nWhat say you? Will you yield, and this avoid,\\r\\nOr, guilty in defence, be thus destroy’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOVERNOR.\\r\\nOur expectation hath this day an end.\\r\\nThe Dauphin, whom of succours we entreated,\\r\\nReturns us that his powers are yet not ready\\r\\nTo raise so great a siege. Therefore, great King,\\r\\nWe yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy.\\r\\nEnter our gates; dispose of us and ours;\\r\\nFor we no longer are defensible.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nOpen your gates. Come, uncle Exeter,\\r\\nGo you and enter Harfleur; there remain,\\r\\nAnd fortify it strongly ’gainst the French.\\r\\nUse mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle,\\r\\nThe winter coming on, and sickness growing\\r\\nUpon our soldiers, we will retire to Calais.\\r\\nTonight in Harfleur will we be your guest;\\r\\nTomorrow for the march are we addrest.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. The King and his train enter the town.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The French King’s palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Katharine and Alice, an old Gentlewoman.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Alice, tu as été en Angleterre, et tu parles bien le langage._\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_Un peu, madame._\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Je te prie, m’enseignez; il faut que j’apprenne à parler.\\r\\nComment appelez-vous la main en anglais?_\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_La main? Elle est appelée_ de hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nDe hand. _Et les doigts?_\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_Les doigts? Ma foi, j’oublie les doigts; mais je me souviendrai. Les\\r\\ndoigts? Je pense qu’ils sont appelés_ de fingres; _oui_, de fingres.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_La main_, de hand; _les doigts_, de fingres. _Je pense que je suis le\\r\\nbon écolier; j’ai gagné deux mots d’anglais vitement. Comment\\r\\nappelez-vous les ongles?_\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_Les ongles? Nous les appelons_ de nails.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nDe nails. _Écoutez; dites-moi, si je parle bien:_ de hand, de fingres,\\r\\n_et_ de nails.\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_C’est bien dit, madame; il est fort bon anglais._\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Dites-moi l’anglais pour le bras._\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\nDe arm, _madame._\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Et le coude?_\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\nD’elbow.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nD’elbow. _Je m’en fais la répétition de tous les mots que vous m’avez\\r\\nappris dès à présent._\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_Il est trop difficile, madame, comme je pense._\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Excusez-moi, Alice. Écoutez:_ d’hand, de fingres, de nails, d’arm, de\\r\\nbilbow.\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\nD’elbow, _madame._\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_O Seigneur Dieu, je m’en oublie!_ D’elbow.\\r\\n_Comment appelez-vous le col?_\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\nDe nick, _madame._\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nDe nick. _Et le menton?_\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\nDe chin.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nDe sin. _Le col_, de nick; _le menton_, de sin.\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_Oui. Sauf votre honneur, en vérité, vous prononcez les mots aussi\\r\\ndroit que les natifs d’Angleterre._\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Je ne doute point d’apprendre, par la grâce de Dieu, et en peu de\\r\\ntemps._\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_N’avez-vous pas déjà oublié ce que je vous ai enseigné?_\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Non, je réciterai à vous promptement:_ d’hand, de fingres, de mails,—\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\nDe nails, _madame._\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nDe nails, de arm, de ilbow.\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_Sauf votre honneur_, de elbow.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Ainsi dis-je_, d’elbow, de nick, _et_ de sin. _Comment appelez-vous le\\r\\npied et la robe?_\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\nDe foot, _madame; et_ de coun.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nDe foot _et_ de coun! _O Seigneur Dieu! ils sont les mots de son\\r\\nmauvais, corruptible, gros, et impudique, et non pour les dames\\r\\nd’honneur d’user. Je ne voudrais prononcer ces mots devant les\\r\\nseigneurs de France pour tout le monde. Foh!_ le foot _et_ le coun!\\r\\n_Néanmoins, je réciterai une autre fois ma leçon ensemble:_ d’hand, de\\r\\nfingres, de nails, d’arm, d’elbow, de nick, de sin, de foot, de coun.\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_Excellent, madame!_\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_C’est assez pour une fois. Allons-nous à dîner._\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the King of France, the Dauphin, the Duke of Bourbon, the\\r\\n Constable of France and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\n’Tis certain he hath pass’d the river Somme.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nAnd if he be not fought withal, my lord,\\r\\nLet us not live in France; let us quit all\\r\\nAnd give our vineyards to a barbarous people.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\n_O Dieu vivant_! shall a few sprays of us,\\r\\nThe emptying of our fathers’ luxury,\\r\\nOur scions put in wild and savage stock,\\r\\nSpirt up so suddenly into the clouds,\\r\\nAnd overlook their grafters?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOURBON.\\r\\nNormans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards!\\r\\n_Mort de ma vie_, if they march along\\r\\nUnfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom,\\r\\nTo buy a slobbery and a dirty farm\\r\\nIn that nook-shotten isle of Albion.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\n_Dieu de batailles_, where have they this mettle?\\r\\nIs not their climate foggy, raw, and dull,\\r\\nOn whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale,\\r\\nKilling their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water,\\r\\nA drench for sur-rein’d jades, their barley-broth,\\r\\nDecoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?\\r\\nAnd shall our quick blood, spirited with wine,\\r\\nSeem frosty? O, for honour of our land,\\r\\nLet us not hang like roping icicles\\r\\nUpon our houses’ thatch, whiles a more frosty people\\r\\nSweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields!\\r\\nPoor we may call them in their native lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nBy faith and honour,\\r\\nOur madams mock at us, and plainly say\\r\\nOur mettle is bred out, and they will give\\r\\nTheir bodies to the lust of English youth\\r\\nTo new-store France with bastard warriors.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOURBON.\\r\\nThey bid us to the English dancing-schools,\\r\\nAnd teach lavoltas high, and swift corantos;\\r\\nSaying our grace is only in our heels,\\r\\nAnd that we are most lofty runaways.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nWhere is Montjoy the herald? Speed him hence.\\r\\nLet him greet England with our sharp defiance.\\r\\nUp, princes! and, with spirit of honour edged\\r\\nMore sharper than your swords, hie to the field!\\r\\nCharles Delabreth, High Constable of France;\\r\\nYou Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berry,\\r\\nAlençon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy;\\r\\nJacques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont,\\r\\nBeaumont, Grandpré, Roussi, and Fauconbridge,\\r\\nFoix, Lestrale, Boucicault, and Charolois;\\r\\nHigh dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and knights,\\r\\nFor your great seats now quit you of great shames.\\r\\nBar Harry England, that sweeps through our land\\r\\nWith pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur.\\r\\nRush on his host, as doth the melted snow\\r\\nUpon the valleys, whose low vassal seat\\r\\nThe Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon.\\r\\nGo down upon him, you have power enough,\\r\\nAnd in a captive chariot into Rouen\\r\\nBring him our prisoner.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nThis becomes the great.\\r\\nSorry am I his numbers are so few,\\r\\nHis soldiers sick and famish’d in their march;\\r\\nFor I am sure, when he shall see our army,\\r\\nHe’ll drop his heart into the sink of fear\\r\\nAnd for achievement offer us his ransom.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nTherefore, Lord Constable, haste on Montjoy,\\r\\nAnd let him say to England that we send\\r\\nTo know what willing ransom he will give.\\r\\nPrince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nNot so, I do beseech your Majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nBe patient, for you shall remain with us.\\r\\nNow forth, Lord Constable and princes all,\\r\\nAnd quickly bring us word of England’s fall.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. The English camp in Picardy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower and Fluellen, meeting.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nHow now, Captain Fluellen! come you from the bridge?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nI assure you, there is very excellent services committed at the bridge.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nIs the Duke of Exeter safe?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nThe Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon; and a man that I\\r\\nlove and honour with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my life,\\r\\nand my living, and my uttermost power. He is not—God be praised and\\r\\nblessed!—any hurt in the world; but keeps the bridge most valiantly,\\r\\nwith excellent discipline. There is an anchient lieutenant there at the\\r\\npridge, I think in my very conscience he is as valiant a man as Mark\\r\\nAntony; and he is a man of no estimation in the world, but I did see\\r\\nhim do as gallant service.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nWhat do you call him?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nHe is call’d Anchient Pistol.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nI know him not.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pistol.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nHere is the man.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nCaptain, I thee beseech to do me favours.\\r\\nThe Duke of Exeter doth love thee well.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nAy, I praise God; and I have merited some love at his hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nBardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart,\\r\\nAnd of buxom valour, hath by cruel fate\\r\\nAnd giddy Fortune’s furious fickle wheel,\\r\\nThat goddess blind,\\r\\nThat stands upon the rolling restless stone—\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nBy your patience, Anchient Pistol. Fortune is painted blind, with a\\r\\nmuffler afore his eyes, to signify to you that Fortune is blind; and\\r\\nshe is painted also with a wheel, to signify to you, which is the moral\\r\\nof it, that she is turning, and inconstant, and mutability, and\\r\\nvariation; and her foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone,\\r\\nwhich rolls, and rolls, and rolls. In good truth, the poet makes a most\\r\\nexcellent description of it. Fortune is an excellent moral.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nFortune is Bardolph’s foe, and frowns on him;\\r\\nFor he hath stolen a pax, and hanged must ’a be,—\\r\\nA damned death!\\r\\nLet gallows gape for dog; let man go free,\\r\\nAnd let not hemp his windpipe suffocate.\\r\\nBut Exeter hath given the doom of death\\r\\nFor pax of little price.\\r\\nTherefore, go speak; the Duke will hear thy voice;\\r\\nAnd let not Bardolph’s vital thread be cut\\r\\nWith edge of penny cord and vile reproach.\\r\\nSpeak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nAnchient Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nWhy then, rejoice therefore.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nCertainly, anchient, it is not a thing to rejoice at; for if, look you,\\r\\nhe were my brother, I would desire the Duke to use his good pleasure,\\r\\nand put him to execution; for discipline ought to be used.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nDie and be damn’d! and _fico_ for thy friendship!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nIt is well.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nThe fig of Spain.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nVery good.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nWhy, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal. I remember him now; a bawd,\\r\\na cutpurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nI’ll assure you, ’a uttered as prave words at the pridge as you shall\\r\\nsee in a summer’s day. But it is very well; what he has spoke to me,\\r\\nthat is well, I warrant you, when time is serve.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nWhy, ’t is a gull, a fool, a rogue, that now and then goes to the wars,\\r\\nto grace himself at his return into London under the form of a soldier.\\r\\nAnd such fellows are perfect in the great commanders’ names; and they\\r\\nwill learn you by rote where services were done; at such and such a\\r\\nsconce, at such a breach, at such a convoy; who came off bravely, who\\r\\nwas shot, who disgrac’d, what terms the enemy stood on; and this they\\r\\ncon perfectly in the phrase of war, which they trick up with new-tuned\\r\\noaths: and what a beard of the general’s cut and a horrid suit of the\\r\\ncamp will do among foaming bottles and ale-wash’d wits, is wonderful to\\r\\nbe thought on. But you must learn to know such slanders of the age, or\\r\\nelse you may be marvellously mistook.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nI tell you what, Captain Gower; I do perceive he is not the man that he\\r\\nwould gladly make show to the world he is. If I find a hole in his\\r\\ncoat, I will tell him my mind. [_Drum heard._] Hark you, the King is\\r\\ncoming, and I must speak with him from the pridge.\\r\\n\\r\\n Drum and colours. Enter King Henry, Gloucester and his poor soldiers.\\r\\n\\r\\nGod bless your Majesty!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nHow now, Fluellen! cam’st thou from the bridge?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nAy, so please your Majesty. The Duke of Exeter has very gallantly\\r\\nmaintain’d the pridge. The French is gone off, look you; and there is\\r\\ngallant and most prave passages. Marry, th’ athversary was have\\r\\npossession of the pridge; but he is enforced to retire, and the Duke of\\r\\nExeter is master of the pridge. I can tell your Majesty, the Duke is a\\r\\nprave man.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWhat men have you lost, Fluellen?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nThe perdition of the athversary hath been very great, reasonable great.\\r\\nMarry, for my part, I think the Duke hath lost never a man, but one\\r\\nthat is like to be executed for robbing a church, one Bardolph, if your\\r\\nMajesty know the man. His face is all bubukles, and whelks, and knobs,\\r\\nand flames o’ fire; and his lips blows at his nose, and it is like a\\r\\ncoal of fire, sometimes plue and sometimes red; but his nose is\\r\\nexecuted, and his fire’s out.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWe would have all such offenders so cut off; and we give express\\r\\ncharge, that in our marches through the country, there be nothing\\r\\ncompell’d from the villages, nothing taken but paid for, none of the\\r\\nFrench upbraided or abused in disdainful language; for when lenity and\\r\\ncruelty play for a kingdom, the gentler gamester is the soonest winner.\\r\\n\\r\\n Tucket. Enter Montjoy.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTJOY.\\r\\nYou know me by my habit.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWell then I know thee. What shall I know of thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTJOY.\\r\\nMy master’s mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nUnfold it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTJOY.\\r\\nThus says my King: Say thou to Harry of England: Though we seem’d dead,\\r\\nwe did but sleep; advantage is a better soldier than rashness. Tell him\\r\\nwe could have rebuk’d him at Harfleur, but that we thought not good to\\r\\nbruise an injury till it were full ripe. Now we speak upon our cue, and\\r\\nour voice is imperial. England shall repent his folly, see his\\r\\nweakness, and admire our sufferance. Bid him therefore consider of his\\r\\nransom; which must proportion the losses we have borne, the subjects we\\r\\nhave lost, the disgrace we have digested; which in weight to re-answer,\\r\\nhis pettishness would bow under. For our losses, his exchequer is too\\r\\npoor; for the effusion of our blood, the muster of his kingdom too\\r\\nfaint a number; and for our disgrace, his own person, kneeling at our\\r\\nfeet, but a weak and worthless satisfaction. To this add defiance; and\\r\\ntell him, for conclusion, he hath betrayed his followers, whose\\r\\ncondemnation is pronounc’d. So far my King and master; so much my\\r\\noffice.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWhat is thy name? I know thy quality.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTJOY.\\r\\nMontjoy.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee back,\\r\\nAnd tell thy King I do not seek him now,\\r\\nBut could be willing to march on to Calais\\r\\nWithout impeachment; for, to say the sooth,\\r\\nThough ’tis no wisdom to confess so much\\r\\nUnto an enemy of craft and vantage,\\r\\nMy people are with sickness much enfeebled,\\r\\nMy numbers lessen’d, and those few I have\\r\\nAlmost no better than so many French;\\r\\nWho when they were in health, I tell thee, herald,\\r\\nI thought upon one pair of English legs\\r\\nDid march three Frenchmen. Yet, forgive me, God,\\r\\nThat I do brag thus! This your air of France\\r\\nHath blown that vice in me. I must repent.\\r\\nGo therefore, tell thy master here I am;\\r\\nMy ransom is this frail and worthless trunk,\\r\\nMy army but a weak and sickly guard;\\r\\nYet, God before, tell him we will come on,\\r\\nThough France himself and such another neighbour\\r\\nStand in our way. There’s for thy labour, Montjoy.\\r\\nGo, bid thy master well advise himself.\\r\\nIf we may pass, we will; if we be hind’red,\\r\\nWe shall your tawny ground with your red blood\\r\\nDiscolour; and so, Montjoy, fare you well.\\r\\nThe sum of all our answer is but this:\\r\\nWe would not seek a battle, as we are;\\r\\nNor, as we are, we say we will not shun it.\\r\\nSo tell your master.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTJOY.\\r\\nI shall deliver so. Thanks to your Highness.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI hope they will not come upon us now.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWe are in God’s hands, brother, not in theirs.\\r\\nMarch to the bridge; it now draws toward night.\\r\\nBeyond the river we’ll encamp ourselves,\\r\\nAnd on tomorrow bid them march away.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. The French camp, near Agincourt.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the Constable of France, the Lord Rambures, Orleans, Dauphin\\r\\n with others.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nTut! I have the best armour of the world.\\r\\nWould it were day!\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nYou have an excellent armour; but let my horse have his due.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nIt is the best horse of Europe.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nWill it never be morning?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nMy Lord of Orleans, and my Lord High Constable, you talk of horse and\\r\\narmour?\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nYou are as well provided of both as any prince in the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nWhat a long night is this! I will not change my horse with any that\\r\\ntreads but on four pasterns. Ch’ha! He bounds from the earth, as if his\\r\\nentrails were hairs; _le cheval volant_, the Pegasus, _qui a les\\r\\nnarines de feu!_ When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk. He trots the\\r\\nair; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is\\r\\nmore musical than the pipe of Hermes.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nHe’s of the colour of the nutmeg.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nAnd of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast for Perseus. He is pure\\r\\nair and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in\\r\\nhim, but only in patient stillness while his rider mounts him. He is\\r\\nindeed a horse, and all other jades you may call beasts.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nIndeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and excellent horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nIt is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is like the bidding of a\\r\\nmonarch, and his countenance enforces homage.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nNo more, cousin.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nNay, the man hath no wit that cannot, from the rising of the lark to\\r\\nthe lodging of the lamb, vary deserved praise on my palfrey. It is a\\r\\ntheme as fluent as the sea; turn the sands into eloquent tongues, and\\r\\nmy horse is argument for them all. ’Tis a subject for a sovereign to\\r\\nreason on, and for a sovereign’s sovereign to ride on; and for the\\r\\nworld, familiar to us and unknown, to lay apart their particular\\r\\nfunctions and wonder at him. I once writ a sonnet in his praise and\\r\\nbegan thus: “Wonder of nature,”—\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nI have heard a sonnet begin so to one’s mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nThen did they imitate that which I compos’d to my courser, for my horse\\r\\nis my mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nYour mistress bears well.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nMe well; which is the prescript praise and perfection of a good and\\r\\nparticular mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nNay, for methought yesterday your mistress shrewdly shook your back.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nSo perhaps did yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nMine was not bridled.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nO then belike she was old and gentle; and you rode, like a kern of\\r\\nIreland, your French hose off, and in your strait strossers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nYou have good judgment in horsemanship.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nBe warn’d by me, then; they that ride so and ride not warily, fall into\\r\\nfoul bogs. I had rather have my horse to my mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nI had as lief have my mistress a jade.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nI tell thee, Constable, my mistress wears his own hair.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nI could make as true a boast as that, if I had a sow to my mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\n“_Le chien est retourné à son propre vomissement, et la truie lavée au\\r\\nbourbier_.” Thou mak’st use of anything.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nYet do I not use my horse for my mistress, or any such proverb so\\r\\nlittle kin to the purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\nRAMBURES.\\r\\nMy Lord Constable, the armour that I saw in your tent tonight, are\\r\\nthose stars or suns upon it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nStars, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nSome of them will fall tomorrow, I hope.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nAnd yet my sky shall not want.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nThat may be, for you bear a many superfluously, and ’twere more honour\\r\\nsome were away.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nEven as your horse bears your praises; who would trot as well, were\\r\\nsome of your brags dismounted.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nWould I were able to load him with his desert! Will it never be day? I\\r\\nwill trot tomorrow a mile, and my way shall be paved with English\\r\\nfaces.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nI will not say so, for fear I should be fac’d out of my way. But I\\r\\nwould it were morning; for I would fain be about the ears of the\\r\\nEnglish.\\r\\n\\r\\nRAMBURES.\\r\\nWho will go to hazard with me for twenty prisoners?\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nYou must first go yourself to hazard, ere you have them.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\n’Tis midnight; I’ll go arm myself.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nThe Dauphin longs for morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nRAMBURES.\\r\\nHe longs to eat the English.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nI think he will eat all he kills.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nBy the white hand of my lady, he’s a gallant prince.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nSwear by her foot that she may tread out the oath.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nHe is simply the most active gentleman of France.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nDoing is activity; and he will still be doing.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nHe never did harm, that I heard of.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nNor will do none tomorrow. He will keep that good name still.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nI know him to be valiant.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nI was told that by one that knows him better than you.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nWhat’s he?\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nMarry, he told me so himself; and he said he car’d not who knew it.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nHe needs not; it is no hidden virtue in him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nBy my faith, sir, but it is; never anybody saw it but his lackey. ’Tis\\r\\na hooded valour; and when it appears, it will bate.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\n“Ill will never said well.”\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nI will cap that proverb with “There is flattery in friendship.”\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nAnd I will take up that with “Give the devil his due.”\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nWell plac’d. There stands your friend for the devil; have at the very\\r\\neye of that proverb with “A pox of the devil.”\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nYou are the better at proverbs, by how much “A fool’s bolt is soon\\r\\nshot.”\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nYou have shot over.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\n’Tis not the first time you were overshot.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nMy Lord High Constable, the English lie within fifteen hundred paces of\\r\\nyour tents.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nWho hath measur’d the ground?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThe Lord Grandpré.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nA valiant and most expert gentleman. Would it were day! Alas, poor\\r\\nHarry of England, he longs not for the dawning as we do.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nWhat a wretched and peevish fellow is this King of England, to mope\\r\\nwith his fat-brain’d followers so far out of his knowledge!\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nIf the English had any apprehension, they would run away.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nThat they lack; for if their heads had any intellectual armour, they\\r\\ncould never wear such heavy head-pieces.\\r\\n\\r\\nRAMBURES.\\r\\nThat island of England breeds very valiant creatures. Their mastiffs\\r\\nare of unmatchable courage.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nFoolish curs, that run winking into the mouth of a Russian bear and\\r\\nhave their heads crush’d like rotten apples! You may as well say,\\r\\nthat’s a valiant flea that dare eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nJust, just; and the men do sympathize with the mastiffs in robustious\\r\\nand rough coming on, leaving their wits with their wives; and then,\\r\\ngive them great meals of beef and iron and steel, they will eat like\\r\\nwolves and fight like devils.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nAy, but these English are shrewdly out of beef.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nThen shall we find tomorrow they have only stomachs to eat and none to\\r\\nfight. Now is it time to arm. Come, shall we about it?\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nIt is now two o’clock; but, let me see, by ten\\r\\nWe shall have each a hundred Englishmen.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nNow entertain conjecture of a time\\r\\nWhen creeping murmur and the poring dark\\r\\nFills the wide vessel of the universe.\\r\\nFrom camp to camp through the foul womb of night\\r\\nThe hum of either army stilly sounds,\\r\\nThat the fix’d sentinels almost receive\\r\\nThe secret whispers of each other’s watch;\\r\\nFire answers fire, and through their paly flames\\r\\nEach battle sees the other’s umber’d face;\\r\\nSteed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs\\r\\nPiercing the night’s dull ear; and from the tents\\r\\nThe armourers, accomplishing the knights,\\r\\nWith busy hammers closing rivets up,\\r\\nGive dreadful note of preparation.\\r\\nThe country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll,\\r\\nAnd the third hour of drowsy morning name.\\r\\nProud of their numbers and secure in soul,\\r\\nThe confident and over-lusty French\\r\\nDo the low-rated English play at dice;\\r\\nAnd chide the cripple tardy-gaited Night\\r\\nWho, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp\\r\\nSo tediously away. The poor condemned English,\\r\\nLike sacrifices, by their watchful fires\\r\\nSit patiently and inly ruminate\\r\\nThe morning’s danger; and their gesture sad,\\r\\nInvesting lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats,\\r\\nPresented them unto the gazing moon\\r\\nSo many horrid ghosts. O now, who will behold\\r\\nThe royal captain of this ruin’d band\\r\\nWalking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,\\r\\nLet him cry, “Praise and glory on his head!”\\r\\nFor forth he goes and visits all his host,\\r\\nBids them good morrow with a modest smile,\\r\\nAnd calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen.\\r\\nUpon his royal face there is no note\\r\\nHow dread an army hath enrounded him;\\r\\nNor doth he dedicate one jot of colour\\r\\nUnto the weary and all-watched night,\\r\\nBut freshly looks, and over-bears attaint\\r\\nWith cheerful semblance and sweet majesty;\\r\\nThat every wretch, pining and pale before,\\r\\nBeholding him, plucks comfort from his looks.\\r\\nA largess universal like the sun\\r\\nHis liberal eye doth give to everyone,\\r\\nThawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all\\r\\nBehold, as may unworthiness define,\\r\\nA little touch of Harry in the night.\\r\\nAnd so our scene must to the battle fly,\\r\\nWhere—O for pity!—we shall much disgrace\\r\\nWith four or five most vile and ragged foils,\\r\\nRight ill-dispos’d in brawl ridiculous,\\r\\nThe name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see,\\r\\nMinding true things by what their mock’ries be.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The English camp at Agincourt.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter King Henry, Bedford and Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nGloucester, ’tis true that we are in great danger;\\r\\nThe greater therefore should our courage be.\\r\\nGood morrow, brother Bedford. God Almighty!\\r\\nThere is some soul of goodness in things evil,\\r\\nWould men observingly distil it out;\\r\\nFor our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers,\\r\\nWhich is both healthful and good husbandry.\\r\\nBesides, they are our outward consciences,\\r\\nAnd preachers to us all, admonishing\\r\\nThat we should dress us fairly for our end.\\r\\nThus may we gather honey from the weed,\\r\\nAnd make a moral of the devil himself.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Erpingham.\\r\\n\\r\\nGood morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham:\\r\\nA good soft pillow for that good white head\\r\\nWere better than a churlish turf of France.\\r\\n\\r\\nERPINGHAM.\\r\\nNot so, my liege; this lodging likes me better,\\r\\nSince I may say, “Now lie I like a king.”\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\n’Tis good for men to love their present pains\\r\\nUpon example; so the spirit is eased;\\r\\nAnd when the mind is quick’ned, out of doubt,\\r\\nThe organs, though defunct and dead before,\\r\\nBreak up their drowsy grave and newly move,\\r\\nWith casted slough and fresh legerity.\\r\\nLend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas. Brothers both,\\r\\nCommend me to the princes in our camp;\\r\\nDo my good morrow to them, and anon\\r\\nDesire them all to my pavilion.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWe shall, my liege.\\r\\n\\r\\nERPINGHAM.\\r\\nShall I attend your Grace?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNo, my good knight;\\r\\nGo with my brothers to my lords of England.\\r\\nI and my bosom must debate a while,\\r\\nAnd then I would no other company.\\r\\n\\r\\nERPINGHAM.\\r\\nThe Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but King._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nGod-a-mercy, old heart! thou speak’st cheerfully.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pistol.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\n_Qui vous là?_\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nA friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nDiscuss unto me; art thou officer?\\r\\nOr art thou base, common, and popular?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI am a gentleman of a company.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nTrail’st thou the puissant pike?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nEven so. What are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nAs good a gentleman as the Emperor.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThen you are a better than the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nThe King’s a bawcock, and a heart of gold,\\r\\nA lad of life, an imp of fame;\\r\\nOf parents good, of fist most valiant.\\r\\nI kiss his dirty shoe, and from heart-string\\r\\nI love the lovely bully. What is thy name?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nHarry le Roy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nLe Roy! a Cornish name. Art thou of Cornish crew?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNo, I am a Welshman.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nKnow’st thou Fluellen?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nTell him I’ll knock his leek about his pate\\r\\nUpon Saint Davy’s day.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nDo not you wear your dagger in your cap that day, lest he knock that\\r\\nabout yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nArt thou his friend?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nAnd his kinsman too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nThe _fico_ for thee, then!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI thank you. God be with you!\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nMy name is Pistol call’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nIt sorts well with your fierceness.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fluellen and Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nCaptain Fluellen!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nSo! in the name of Jesu Christ, speak lower. It is the greatest\\r\\nadmiration in the universal world, when the true and anchient\\r\\nprerogatifes and laws of the wars is not kept. If you would take the\\r\\npains but to examine the wars of Pompey the Great, you shall find, I\\r\\nwarrant you, that there is no tiddle taddle nor pibble pabble in\\r\\nPompey’s camp. I warrant you, you shall find the ceremonies of the\\r\\nwars, and the cares of it, and the forms of it, and the sobriety of it,\\r\\nand the modesty of it, to be otherwise.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nWhy, the enemy is loud; you hear him all night.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nIf the enemy is an ass and a fool and a prating coxcomb, is it meet,\\r\\nthink you, that we should also, look you, be an ass and a fool and a\\r\\nprating coxcomb? In your own conscience, now?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nI will speak lower.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nI pray you and beseech you that you will.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Gower and Fluellen._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThough it appear a little out of fashion,\\r\\nThere is much care and valour in this Welshman.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter three soldiers, John Bates, Alexander Court and Michael\\r\\n Williams.\\r\\n\\r\\nCOURT.\\r\\nBrother John Bates, is not that the morning which breaks yonder?\\r\\n\\r\\nBATES.\\r\\nI think it be; but we have no great cause to desire the approach of\\r\\nday.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nWe see yonder the beginning of the day, but I think we shall never see\\r\\nthe end of it. Who goes there?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nA friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nUnder what captain serve you?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nUnder Sir Thomas Erpingham.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nA good old commander and a most kind gentleman. I pray you, what thinks\\r\\nhe of our estate?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nEven as men wreck’d upon a sand, that look to be wash’d off the next\\r\\ntide.\\r\\n\\r\\nBATES.\\r\\nHe hath not told his thought to the King?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNo; nor it is not meet he should. For though I speak it to you, I think\\r\\nthe King is but a man as I am. The violet smells to him as it doth to\\r\\nme; the element shows to him as it doth to me; all his senses have but\\r\\nhuman conditions. His ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness he appears\\r\\nbut a man; and though his affections are higher mounted than ours, yet,\\r\\nwhen they stoop, they stoop with the like wing. Therefore, when he sees\\r\\nreason of fears as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same\\r\\nrelish as ours are; yet, in reason, no man should possess him with any\\r\\nappearance of fear, lest he, by showing it, should dishearten his army.\\r\\n\\r\\nBATES.\\r\\nHe may show what outward courage he will; but I believe, as cold a\\r\\nnight as ’tis, he could wish himself in Thames up to the neck; and so I\\r\\nwould he were, and I by him, at all adventures, so we were quit here.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nBy my troth, I will speak my conscience of the King: I think he would\\r\\nnot wish himself anywhere but where he is.\\r\\n\\r\\nBATES.\\r\\nThen I would he were here alone; so should he be sure to be ransomed,\\r\\nand a many poor men’s lives saved.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI dare say you love him not so ill, to wish him here alone, howsoever\\r\\nyou speak this to feel other men’s minds. Methinks I could not die\\r\\nanywhere so contented as in the King’s company, his cause being just\\r\\nand his quarrel honourable.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nThat’s more than we know.\\r\\n\\r\\nBATES.\\r\\nAy, or more than we should seek after; for we know enough, if we know\\r\\nwe are the King’s subjects. If his cause be wrong, our obedience to the\\r\\nKing wipes the crime of it out of us.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nBut if the cause be not good, the King himself hath a heavy reckoning\\r\\nto make, when all those legs and arms and heads, chopp’d off in a\\r\\nbattle, shall join together at the latter day and cry all, “We died at\\r\\nsuch a place”; some swearing, some crying for a surgeon, some upon\\r\\ntheir wives left poor behind them, some upon the debts they owe, some\\r\\nupon their children rawly left. I am afeard there are few die well that\\r\\ndie in a battle; for how can they charitably dispose of anything, when\\r\\nblood is their argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it will be\\r\\na black matter for the King that led them to it; who to disobey were\\r\\nagainst all proportion of subjection.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nSo, if a son that is by his father sent about merchandise do sinfully\\r\\nmiscarry upon the sea, the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule,\\r\\nshould be imposed upon his father that sent him; or if a servant, under\\r\\nhis master’s command transporting a sum of money, be assailed by\\r\\nrobbers and die in many irreconcil’d iniquities, you may call the\\r\\nbusiness of the master the author of the servant’s damnation. But this\\r\\nis not so. The King is not bound to answer the particular endings of\\r\\nhis soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of his servant; for\\r\\nthey purpose not their death, when they purpose their services.\\r\\nBesides, there is no king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come\\r\\nto the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all unspotted\\r\\nsoldiers. Some peradventure have on them the guilt of premeditated and\\r\\ncontrived murder; some, of beguiling virgins with the broken seals of\\r\\nperjury; some, making the wars their bulwark, that have before gored\\r\\nthe gentle bosom of Peace with pillage and robbery. Now, if these men\\r\\nhave defeated the law and outrun native punishment, though they can\\r\\noutstrip men, they have no wings to fly from God. War is his beadle,\\r\\nwar is his vengeance; so that here men are punish’d for before-breach\\r\\nof the King’s laws in now the King’s quarrel. Where they feared the\\r\\ndeath, they have borne life away; and where they would be safe, they\\r\\nperish. Then if they die unprovided, no more is the King guilty of\\r\\ntheir damnation than he was before guilty of those impieties for the\\r\\nwhich they are now visited. Every subject’s duty is the King’s; but\\r\\nevery subject’s soul is his own. Therefore should every soldier in the\\r\\nwars do as every sick man in his bed, wash every mote out of his\\r\\nconscience; and dying so, death is to him advantage; or not dying, the\\r\\ntime was blessedly lost wherein such preparation was gained; and in him\\r\\nthat escapes, it were not sin to think that, making God so free an\\r\\noffer, He let him outlive that day to see His greatness and to teach\\r\\nothers how they should prepare.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\n’Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill upon his own head, the\\r\\nKing is not to answer for it.\\r\\n\\r\\nBATES.\\r\\nI do not desire he should answer for me; and yet I determine to fight\\r\\nlustily for him.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI myself heard the King say he would not be ransom’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nAy, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully; but when our throats are\\r\\ncut, he may be ransom’d, and we ne’er the wiser.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nIf I live to see it, I will never trust his word after.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nYou pay him then. That’s a perilous shot out of an elder-gun, that a\\r\\npoor and a private displeasure can do against a monarch! You may as\\r\\nwell go about to turn the sun to ice with fanning in his face with a\\r\\npeacock’s feather. You’ll never trust his word after! Come, ’tis a\\r\\nfoolish saying.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nYour reproof is something too round. I should be angry with you, if the\\r\\ntime were convenient.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nLet it be a quarrel between us if you live.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI embrace it.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nHow shall I know thee again?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nGive me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my bonnet; then, if\\r\\never thou dar’st acknowledge it, I will make it my quarrel.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nHere’s my glove; give me another of thine.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThere.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nThis will I also wear in my cap. If ever thou come to me and say, after\\r\\ntomorrow, “This is my glove,” by this hand I will take thee a box on\\r\\nthe ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nIf ever I live to see it, I will challenge it.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nThou dar’st as well be hang’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWell, I will do it, though I take thee in the King’s company.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nKeep thy word; fare thee well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBATES.\\r\\nBe friends, you English fools, be friends. We have French quarrels\\r\\nenough, if you could tell how to reckon.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nIndeed, the French may lay twenty French crowns to one they will beat\\r\\nus, for they bear them on their shoulders; but it is no English treason\\r\\nto cut French crowns, and tomorrow the King himself will be a clipper.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt soldiers._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Upon the King! Let us our lives, our souls,\\r\\nOur debts, our careful wives,\\r\\nOur children, and our sins lay on the King!\\r\\nWe must bear all. O hard condition,\\r\\nTwin-born with greatness, subject to the breath\\r\\nOf every fool, whose sense no more can feel\\r\\nBut his own wringing! What infinite heart’s ease\\r\\nMust kings neglect, that private men enjoy!\\r\\nAnd what have kings, that privates have not too,\\r\\nSave ceremony, save general ceremony?\\r\\nAnd what art thou, thou idol Ceremony?\\r\\nWhat kind of god art thou, that suffer’st more\\r\\nOf mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?\\r\\nWhat are thy rents? What are thy comings in?\\r\\nO Ceremony, show me but thy worth!\\r\\nWhat is thy soul of adoration?\\r\\nArt thou aught else but place, degree, and form,\\r\\nCreating awe and fear in other men?\\r\\nWherein thou art less happy being fear’d\\r\\nThan they in fearing.\\r\\nWhat drink’st thou oft, instead of homage sweet,\\r\\nBut poison’d flattery? O, be sick, great greatness,\\r\\nAnd bid thy Ceremony give thee cure!\\r\\nThink’st thou the fiery fever will go out\\r\\nWith titles blown from adulation?\\r\\nWill it give place to flexure and low bending?\\r\\nCanst thou, when thou command’st the beggar’s knee,\\r\\nCommand the health of it? No, thou proud dream,\\r\\nThat play’st so subtly with a king’s repose;\\r\\nI am a king that find thee, and I know\\r\\n’Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball,\\r\\nThe sword, the mace, the crown imperial,\\r\\nThe intertissued robe of gold and pearl,\\r\\nThe farced title running ’fore the King,\\r\\nThe throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp\\r\\nThat beats upon the high shore of this world,\\r\\nNo, not all these, thrice-gorgeous Ceremony,—\\r\\nNot all these, laid in bed majestical,\\r\\nCan sleep so soundly as the wretched slave,\\r\\nWho with a body fill’d and vacant mind\\r\\nGets him to rest, cramm’d with distressful bread,\\r\\nNever sees horrid night, the child of hell,\\r\\nBut, like a lackey, from the rise to set\\r\\nSweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night\\r\\nSleeps in Elysium; next day after dawn,\\r\\nDoth rise and help Hyperion to his horse,\\r\\nAnd follows so the ever-running year,\\r\\nWith profitable labour, to his grave:\\r\\nAnd, but for ceremony, such a wretch,\\r\\nWinding up days with toil and nights with sleep,\\r\\nHad the fore-hand and vantage of a king.\\r\\nThe slave, a member of the country’s peace,\\r\\nEnjoys it, but in gross brain little wots\\r\\nWhat watch the King keeps to maintain the peace,\\r\\nWhose hours the peasant best advantages.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Erpingham.\\r\\n\\r\\nERPINGHAM.\\r\\nMy lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence,\\r\\nSeek through your camp to find you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nGood old knight,\\r\\nCollect them all together at my tent.\\r\\nI’ll be before thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nERPINGHAM.\\r\\nI shall do’t, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nO God of battles! steel my soldiers’ hearts.\\r\\nPossess them not with fear. Take from them now\\r\\nThe sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers\\r\\nPluck their hearts from them. Not today, O Lord,\\r\\nO, not today, think not upon the fault\\r\\nMy father made in compassing the crown!\\r\\nI Richard’s body have interred new,\\r\\nAnd on it have bestow’d more contrite tears\\r\\nThan from it issued forced drops of blood.\\r\\nFive hundred poor I have in yearly pay,\\r\\nWho twice a day their wither’d hands hold up\\r\\nToward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built\\r\\nTwo chantries, where the sad and solemn priests\\r\\nSing still for Richard’s soul. More will I do;\\r\\nThough all that I can do is nothing worth,\\r\\nSince that my penitence comes after all,\\r\\nImploring pardon.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nMy liege!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nMy brother Gloucester’s voice? Ay;\\r\\nI know thy errand, I will go with thee.\\r\\nThe day, my friends, and all things stay for me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The French camp.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the Dauphin, Orleans, Rambures and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nThe sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords!\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\n_Monte à cheval!_ My horse, _varlet! laquais_, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nO brave spirit!\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\n_Via, les eaux et terre!_\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\n_Rien puis? L’air et feu?_\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\n_Cieux_, cousin Orleans.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Constable.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, my Lord Constable!\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nHark, how our steeds for present service neigh!\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nMount them, and make incision in their hides,\\r\\nThat their hot blood may spin in English eyes,\\r\\nAnd dout them with superfluous courage, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nRAMBURES.\\r\\nWhat, will you have them weep our horses’ blood?\\r\\nHow shall we, then, behold their natural tears?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThe English are embattl’d, you French peers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nTo horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse!\\r\\nDo but behold yon poor and starved band,\\r\\nAnd your fair show shall suck away their souls,\\r\\nLeaving them but the shales and husks of men.\\r\\nThere is not work enough for all our hands;\\r\\nScarce blood enough in all their sickly veins\\r\\nTo give each naked curtle-axe a stain,\\r\\nThat our French gallants shall today draw out,\\r\\nAnd sheathe for lack of sport. Let us but blow on them,\\r\\nThe vapour of our valour will o’erturn them.\\r\\n’Tis positive ’gainst all exceptions, lords,\\r\\nThat our superfluous lackeys and our peasants,\\r\\nWho in unnecessary action swarm\\r\\nAbout our squares of battle, were enough\\r\\nTo purge this field of such a hilding foe,\\r\\nThough we upon this mountain’s basis by\\r\\nTook stand for idle speculation,\\r\\nBut that our honours must not. What’s to say?\\r\\nA very little little let us do,\\r\\nAnd all is done. Then let the trumpets sound\\r\\nThe tucket sonance and the note to mount;\\r\\nFor our approach shall so much dare the field\\r\\nThat England shall crouch down in fear and yield.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Grandpré.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRANDPRÉ.\\r\\nWhy do you stay so long, my lords of France?\\r\\nYond island carrions, desperate of their bones,\\r\\nIll-favouredly become the morning field.\\r\\nTheir ragged curtains poorly are let loose,\\r\\nAnd our air shakes them passing scornfully.\\r\\nBig Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar’d host,\\r\\nAnd faintly through a rusty beaver peeps;\\r\\nThe horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks\\r\\nWith torch-staves in their hand; and their poor jades\\r\\nLob down their heads, drooping the hides and hips,\\r\\nThe gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes,\\r\\nAnd in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit\\r\\nLies foul with chew’d grass, still, and motionless;\\r\\nAnd their executors, the knavish crows,\\r\\nFly o’er them, all impatient for their hour.\\r\\nDescription cannot suit itself in words\\r\\nTo demonstrate the life of such a battle,\\r\\nIn life so lifeless as it shows itself.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nThey have said their prayers, and they stay for death.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nShall we go send them dinners and fresh suits\\r\\nAnd give their fasting horses provender,\\r\\nAnd after fight with them?\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nI stay but for my guard; on to the field!\\r\\nI will the banner from a trumpet take,\\r\\nAnd use it for my haste. Come, come, away!\\r\\nThe sun is high, and we outwear the day.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The English camp.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester, Bedford, Exeter, Erpingham, with all his host:\\r\\n Salisbury and Westmorland.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWhere is the King?\\r\\n\\r\\nBEDFORD.\\r\\nThe King himself is rode to view their battle.\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORLAND.\\r\\nOf fighting men they have full three-score thousand.\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nThere’s five to one; besides, they all are fresh.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALISBURY.\\r\\nGod’s arm strike with us! ’tis a fearful odds.\\r\\nGod be wi’ you, princes all; I’ll to my charge.\\r\\nIf we no more meet till we meet in heaven,\\r\\nThen, joyfully, my noble Lord of Bedford,\\r\\nMy dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord Exeter,\\r\\nAnd my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu!\\r\\n\\r\\nBEDFORD.\\r\\nFarewell, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nFarewell, kind lord; fight valiantly today!\\r\\nAnd yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it,\\r\\nFor thou art fram’d of the firm truth of valour.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Salisbury._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBEDFORD.\\r\\nHe is as full of valour as of kindness,\\r\\nPrincely in both.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORLAND.\\r\\nO that we now had here\\r\\nBut one ten thousand of those men in England\\r\\nThat do no work today!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING.\\r\\nWhat’s he that wishes so?\\r\\nMy cousin Westmorland? No, my fair cousin.\\r\\nIf we are mark’d to die, we are enough\\r\\nTo do our country loss; and if to live,\\r\\nThe fewer men, the greater share of honour.\\r\\nGod’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.\\r\\nBy Jove, I am not covetous for gold,\\r\\nNor care I who doth feed upon my cost;\\r\\nIt yearns me not if men my garments wear;\\r\\nSuch outward things dwell not in my desires;\\r\\nBut if it be a sin to covet honour,\\r\\nI am the most offending soul alive.\\r\\nNo, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.\\r\\nGod’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour\\r\\nAs one man more, methinks, would share from me\\r\\nFor the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!\\r\\nRather proclaim it, Westmorland, through my host,\\r\\nThat he which hath no stomach to this fight,\\r\\nLet him depart. His passport shall be made,\\r\\nAnd crowns for convoy put into his purse.\\r\\nWe would not die in that man’s company\\r\\nThat fears his fellowship to die with us.\\r\\nThis day is call’d the feast of Crispian.\\r\\nHe that outlives this day, and comes safe home,\\r\\nWill stand a tip-toe when this day is named,\\r\\nAnd rouse him at the name of Crispian.\\r\\nHe that shall live this day, and see old age,\\r\\nWill yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,\\r\\nAnd say, “Tomorrow is Saint Crispian.”\\r\\nThen will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,\\r\\nAnd say, “These wounds I had on Crispian’s day.”\\r\\nOld men forget; yet all shall be forgot,\\r\\nBut he’ll remember with advantages\\r\\nWhat feats he did that day. Then shall our names,\\r\\nFamiliar in his mouth as household words,\\r\\nHarry the King, Bedford, and Exeter,\\r\\nWarwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,\\r\\nBe in their flowing cups freshly remembered.\\r\\nThis story shall the good man teach his son;\\r\\nAnd Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,\\r\\nFrom this day to the ending of the world,\\r\\nBut we in it shall be remembered,\\r\\nWe few, we happy few, we band of brothers.\\r\\nFor he today that sheds his blood with me\\r\\nShall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,\\r\\nThis day shall gentle his condition;\\r\\nAnd gentlemen in England now abed\\r\\nShall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,\\r\\nAnd hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks\\r\\nThat fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Salisbury.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALISBURY.\\r\\nMy sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed.\\r\\nThe French are bravely in their battles set,\\r\\nAnd will with all expedience charge on us.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nAll things are ready, if our minds be so.\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORLAND.\\r\\nPerish the man whose mind is backward now!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThou dost not wish more help from England, coz?\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORLAND.\\r\\nGod’s will! my liege, would you and I alone,\\r\\nWithout more help, could fight this royal battle!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWhy, now thou hast unwish’d five thousand men,\\r\\nWhich likes me better than to wish us one.\\r\\nYou know your places. God be with you all!\\r\\n\\r\\n Tucket. Enter Montjoy.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTJOY.\\r\\nOnce more I come to know of thee, King Harry,\\r\\nIf for thy ransom thou wilt now compound,\\r\\nBefore thy most assured overthrow;\\r\\nFor certainly thou art so near the gulf,\\r\\nThou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy,\\r\\nThe Constable desires thee thou wilt mind\\r\\nThy followers of repentance; that their souls\\r\\nMay make a peaceful and a sweet retire\\r\\nFrom off these fields, where, wretches, their poor bodies\\r\\nMust lie and fester.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWho hath sent thee now?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTJOY.\\r\\nThe Constable of France.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI pray thee, bear my former answer back:\\r\\nBid them achieve me and then sell my bones.\\r\\nGood God! why should they mock poor fellows thus?\\r\\nThe man that once did sell the lion’s skin\\r\\nWhile the beast liv’d, was kill’d with hunting him.\\r\\nA many of our bodies shall no doubt\\r\\nFind native graves, upon the which, I trust,\\r\\nShall witness live in brass of this day’s work;\\r\\nAnd those that leave their valiant bones in France,\\r\\nDying like men, though buried in your dunghills,\\r\\nThey shall be fam’d; for there the sun shall greet them,\\r\\nAnd draw their honours reeking up to heaven;\\r\\nLeaving their earthly parts to choke your clime,\\r\\nThe smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.\\r\\nMark then abounding valour in our English,\\r\\nThat being dead, like to the bullet’s grazing,\\r\\nBreak out into a second course of mischief,\\r\\nKilling in relapse of mortality.\\r\\nLet me speak proudly: tell the Constable\\r\\nWe are but warriors for the working-day.\\r\\nOur gayness and our gilt are all besmirch’d\\r\\nWith rainy marching in the painful field;\\r\\nThere’s not a piece of feather in our host—\\r\\nGood argument, I hope, we will not fly—\\r\\nAnd time hath worn us into slovenry;\\r\\nBut, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim;\\r\\nAnd my poor soldiers tell me, yet ere night\\r\\nThey’ll be in fresher robes, or they will pluck\\r\\nThe gay new coats o’er the French soldiers’ heads\\r\\nAnd turn them out of service. If they do this—\\r\\nAs, if God please, they shall,—my ransom then\\r\\nWill soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour.\\r\\nCome thou no more for ransom, gentle herald.\\r\\nThey shall have none, I swear, but these my joints;\\r\\nWhich if they have as I will leave ’em them,\\r\\nShall yield them little, tell the Constable.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTJOY.\\r\\nI shall, King Harry. And so fare thee well;\\r\\nThou never shalt hear herald any more.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI fear thou’lt once more come again for ransom.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter York.\\r\\n\\r\\nYORK.\\r\\nMy lord, most humbly on my knee I beg\\r\\nThe leading of the vaward.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nTake it, brave York. Now, soldiers, march away;\\r\\nAnd how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The field of battle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Excursions. Enter Pistol, French Soldier and Boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nYield, cur!\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH SOLDIER.\\r\\n_Je pense que vous êtes le gentilhomme de bonne qualité._\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\n_Qualité? Caleno custore me!_\\r\\nArt thou a gentleman?\\r\\nWhat is thy name? Discuss.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH SOLDIER.\\r\\n_O Seigneur Dieu!_\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nO, Signieur Dew should be a gentleman.\\r\\nPerpend my words, O Signieur Dew, and mark:\\r\\nO Signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox,\\r\\nExcept, O signieur, thou do give to me\\r\\nEgregious ransom.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH SOLDIER.\\r\\n_O, prenez miséricorde! Ayez pitié de moi!_\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nMoy shall not serve; I will have forty moys,\\r\\nOr I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat\\r\\nIn drops of crimson blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH SOLDIER.\\r\\n_Est-il impossible d’échapper la force de ton bras?_\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nBrass, cur!\\r\\nThou damned and luxurious mountain goat,\\r\\nOffer’st me brass?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH SOLDIER.\\r\\n_O pardonnez-moi!_\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nSay’st thou me so? Is that a ton of moys?\\r\\nCome hither, boy; ask me this slave in French\\r\\nWhat is his name.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\n_Écoutez. Comment êtes-vous appelé?_\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH SOLDIER.\\r\\n_Monsieur le Fer._\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nHe says his name is Master Fer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nMaster Fer! I’ll fer him, and firk him, and ferret him.\\r\\nDiscuss the same in French unto him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nI do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and firk.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nBid him prepare; for I will cut his throat.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH SOLDIER.\\r\\n_Que dit-il, monsieur?_\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\n_Il me commande à vous dire que vous faites vous prêt, car ce soldat\\r\\nici est disposé tout à cette heure de couper votre gorge._\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nOwy, cuppele gorge, permafoy,\\r\\nPeasant, unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns;\\r\\nOr mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH SOLDIER.\\r\\n_O, je vous supplie, pour l’amour de Dieu, me pardonner! Je suis le\\r\\ngentilhomme de bonne maison; gardez ma vie, et je vous donnerai deux\\r\\ncents écus._\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nWhat are his words?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nHe prays you to save his life. He is a gentleman of a good house; and\\r\\nfor his ransom he will give you two hundred crowns.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nTell him my fury shall abate, and I\\r\\nThe crowns will take.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH SOLDIER.\\r\\n_Petit monsieur, que dit-il?_\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\n_Encore qu’il est contre son jurement de pardonner aucun prisonnier;\\r\\nnéanmoins, pour les écus que vous lui avez promis, il est content à\\r\\nvous donner la liberté, le franchisement._\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH SOLDIER.\\r\\n_Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille remerciements; et je m’estime\\r\\nheureux que je suis tombé entre les mains d’un chevalier, je pense, le\\r\\nplus brave, vaillant, et très distingué seigneur d’Angleterre._\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nExpound unto me, boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nHe gives you upon his knees, a thousand thanks; and he esteems himself\\r\\nhappy that he hath fallen into the hands of one, as he thinks, the most\\r\\nbrave, valorous, and thrice-worthy _seigneur_ of England.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nAs I suck blood, I will some mercy show.\\r\\nFollow me!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\n_Suivez-vous le grand capitaine._\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Pistol and French Soldier._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart; but the\\r\\nsaying is true, “The empty vessel makes the greatest sound.” Bardolph\\r\\nand Nym had ten times more valour than this roaring devil i’ the old\\r\\nplay, that everyone may pare his nails with a wooden dagger; and they\\r\\nare both hang’d; and so would this be, if he durst steal anything\\r\\nadventurously. I must stay with the lackeys with the luggage of our\\r\\ncamp. The French might have a good prey of us, if he knew of it; for\\r\\nthere is none to guard it but boys.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Another part of the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Constable, Orleans, Bourbon, Dauphin and Rambures.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\n_O diable!_\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\n_O Seigneur! le jour est perdu, tout est perdu!_\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\n_Mort de ma vie!_ all is confounded, all!\\r\\nReproach and everlasting shame\\r\\nSits mocking in our plumes.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A short alarum._]\\r\\n\\r\\n_O méchante Fortune!_ Do not run away.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nWhy, all our ranks are broke.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUPHIN.\\r\\nO perdurable shame! Let’s stab ourselves,\\r\\nBe these the wretches that we play’d at dice for?\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nIs this the king we sent to for his ransom?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOURBON.\\r\\nShame and eternal shame, nothing but shame!\\r\\nLet’s die in honour! Once more back again!\\r\\nAnd he that will not follow Bourbon now,\\r\\nLet him go hence, and with his cap in hand,\\r\\nLike a base pandar, hold the chamber door\\r\\nWhilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog,\\r\\nHis fairest daughter is contaminated.\\r\\n\\r\\nCONSTABLE.\\r\\nDisorder, that hath spoil’d us, friend us now!\\r\\nLet us on heaps go offer up our lives.\\r\\n\\r\\nORLEANS.\\r\\nWe are enough yet living in the field\\r\\nTo smother up the English in our throngs,\\r\\nIf any order might be thought upon.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOURBON.\\r\\nThe devil take order now! I’ll to the throng.\\r\\nLet life be short, else shame will be too long.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Another part of the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter King Henry and his train, with prisoners.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWell have we done, thrice valiant countrymen.\\r\\nBut all’s not done; yet keep the French the field.\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nThe Duke of York commends him to your Majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nLives he, good uncle? Thrice within this hour\\r\\nI saw him down; thrice up again, and fighting.\\r\\nFrom helmet to the spur all blood he was.\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nIn which array, brave soldier, doth he lie,\\r\\nLarding the plain; and by his bloody side,\\r\\nYoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds,\\r\\nThe noble Earl of Suffolk also lies.\\r\\nSuffolk first died; and York, all haggled over,\\r\\nComes to him, where in gore he lay insteeped,\\r\\nAnd takes him by the beard; kisses the gashes\\r\\nThat bloodily did yawn upon his face.\\r\\nHe cries aloud, “Tarry, my cousin Suffolk!\\r\\nMy soul shall thine keep company to heaven;\\r\\nTarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast,\\r\\nAs in this glorious and well-foughten field\\r\\nWe kept together in our chivalry.”\\r\\nUpon these words I came and cheer’d him up.\\r\\nHe smil’d me in the face, raught me his hand,\\r\\nAnd, with a feeble gripe, says, “Dear my lord,\\r\\nCommend my service to my sovereign.”\\r\\nSo did he turn and over Suffolk’s neck\\r\\nHe threw his wounded arm and kiss’d his lips;\\r\\nAnd so espous’d to death, with blood he seal’d\\r\\nA testament of noble-ending love.\\r\\nThe pretty and sweet manner of it forc’d\\r\\nThose waters from me which I would have stopp’d;\\r\\nBut I had not so much of man in me,\\r\\nAnd all my mother came into mine eyes\\r\\nAnd gave me up to tears.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI blame you not;\\r\\nFor, hearing this, I must perforce compound\\r\\nWith mistful eyes, or they will issue too.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alarum._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBut hark! what new alarum is this same?\\r\\nThe French have reinforc’d their scatter’d men.\\r\\nThen every soldier kill his prisoners;\\r\\nGive the word through.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. Another part of the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fluellen and Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nKill the poys and the luggage! ’Tis expressly against the law of arms.\\r\\n’Tis as arrant a piece of knavery, mark you now, as can be offer’t; in\\r\\nyour conscience, now, is it not?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\n’Tis certain there’s not a boy left alive; and the cowardly rascals\\r\\nthat ran from the battle ha’ done this slaughter. Besides, they have\\r\\nburned and carried away all that was in the King’s tent; wherefore the\\r\\nKing, most worthily, hath caus’d every soldier to cut his prisoner’s\\r\\nthroat. O, ’tis a gallant king!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nAy, he was porn at Monmouth, Captain Gower. What call you the town’s\\r\\nname where Alexander the Pig was born?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nAlexander the Great.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nWhy, I pray you, is not pig great? The pig, or the great, or the\\r\\nmighty, or the huge, or the magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save\\r\\nthe phrase is a little variations.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nI think Alexander the Great was born in Macedon. His father was called\\r\\nPhilip of Macedon, as I take it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nI think it is in Macedon where Alexander is porn. I tell you, Captain,\\r\\nif you look in the maps of the ’orld, I warrant you sall find, in the\\r\\ncomparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, that the situations, look\\r\\nyou, is both alike. There is a river in Macedon; and there is also\\r\\nmoreover a river at Monmouth; it is call’d Wye at Monmouth; but it is\\r\\nout of my prains what is the name of the other river; but ’tis all one,\\r\\n’tis alike as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in\\r\\nboth. If you mark Alexander’s life well, Harry of Monmouth’s life is\\r\\ncome after it indifferent well; for there is figures in all things.\\r\\nAlexander, God knows, and you know, in his rages, and his furies, and\\r\\nhis wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and his displeasures, and\\r\\nhis indignations, and also being a little intoxicates in his prains,\\r\\ndid, in his ales and his angers, look you, kill his best friend,\\r\\nCleitus.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nOur King is not like him in that. He never kill’d any of his friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nIt is not well done, mark you now, to take the tales out of my mouth,\\r\\nere it is made and finished. I speak but in the figures and comparisons\\r\\nof it. As Alexander kill’d his friend Cleitus, being in his ales and\\r\\nhis cups; so also Harry Monmouth, being in his right wits and his good\\r\\njudgements, turn’d away the fat knight with the great belly doublet. He\\r\\nwas full of jests, and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks; I have forgot\\r\\nhis name.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nSir John Falstaff.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nThat is he. I’ll tell you there is good men porn at Monmouth.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nHere comes his Majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter King Henry and forces; Warwick, Gloucester, Exeter with\\r\\n prisoners. Flourish.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI was not angry since I came to France\\r\\nUntil this instant. Take a trumpet, herald;\\r\\nRide thou unto the horsemen on yond hill.\\r\\nIf they will fight with us, bid them come down,\\r\\nOr void the field; they do offend our sight.\\r\\nIf they’ll do neither, we will come to them,\\r\\nAnd make them skirr away, as swift as stones\\r\\nEnforced from the old Assyrian slings.\\r\\nBesides, we’ll cut the throats of those we have,\\r\\nAnd not a man of them that we shall take\\r\\nShall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Montjoy.\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nHere comes the herald of the French, my liege.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHis eyes are humbler than they us’d to be.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nHow now! what means this, herald? Know’st thou not\\r\\nThat I have fin’d these bones of mine for ransom?\\r\\nCom’st thou again for ransom?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTJOY.\\r\\nNo, great King;\\r\\nI come to thee for charitable license,\\r\\nThat we may wander o’er this bloody field\\r\\nTo book our dead, and then to bury them;\\r\\nTo sort our nobles from our common men.\\r\\nFor many of our princes—woe the while!—\\r\\nLie drown’d and soak’d in mercenary blood;\\r\\nSo do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs\\r\\nIn blood of princes; and their wounded steeds\\r\\nFret fetlock deep in gore, and with wild rage\\r\\nYerk out their armed heels at their dead masters,\\r\\nKilling them twice. O, give us leave, great King,\\r\\nTo view the field in safety, and dispose\\r\\nOf their dead bodies!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI tell thee truly, herald,\\r\\nI know not if the day be ours or no;\\r\\nFor yet a many of your horsemen peer\\r\\nAnd gallop o’er the field.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTJOY.\\r\\nThe day is yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nPraised be God, and not our strength, for it!\\r\\nWhat is this castle call’d that stands hard by?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTJOY.\\r\\nThey call it Agincourt.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThen call we this the field of Agincourt,\\r\\nFought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nYour grandfather of famous memory, an’t please your Majesty, and your\\r\\ngreat-uncle Edward the Plack Prince of Wales, as I have read in the\\r\\nchronicles, fought a most prave pattle here in France.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThey did, Fluellen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nYour Majesty says very true. If your Majesties is rememb’red of it, the\\r\\nWelshmen did good service in garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks\\r\\nin their Monmouth caps; which, your Majesty know, to this hour is an\\r\\nhonourable badge of the service; and I do believe your Majesty takes no\\r\\nscorn to wear the leek upon Saint Tavy’s day.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI wear it for a memorable honour;\\r\\nFor I am Welsh, you know, good countryman.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nAll the water in Wye cannot wash your Majesty’s Welsh plood out of your\\r\\npody, I can tell you that. Got pless it and preserve it, as long as it\\r\\npleases His grace, and His majesty too!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThanks, good my countryman.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nBy Jeshu, I am your Majesty’s countryman, I care not who know it. I\\r\\nwill confess it to all the ’orld. I need not be asham’d of your\\r\\nMajesty, praised be God, so long as your Majesty is an honest man.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nGod keep me so!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Williams.\\r\\n\\r\\nOur heralds go with him;\\r\\nBring me just notice of the numbers dead\\r\\nOn both our parts. Call yonder fellow hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Heralds with Montjoy._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nSoldier, you must come to the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nSoldier, why wear’st thou that glove in thy cap?\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nAn’t please your Majesty, ’tis the gage of one that I should fight\\r\\nwithal, if he be alive.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nAn Englishman?\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nAn’t please your Majesty, a rascal that swagger’d with me last night;\\r\\nwho, if alive and ever dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn to\\r\\ntake him a box o’ the ear; or if I can see my glove in his cap, which\\r\\nhe swore, as he was a soldier, he would wear if alive, I will strike it\\r\\nout soundly.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWhat think you, Captain Fluellen, is it fit this soldier keep his oath?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nHe is a craven and a villain else, an’t please your Majesty, in my\\r\\nconscience.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nIt may be his enemy is a gentlemen of great sort, quite from the answer\\r\\nof his degree.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nThough he be as good a gentleman as the devil is, as Lucifier and\\r\\nBelzebub himself, it is necessary, look your Grace, that he keep his\\r\\nvow and his oath. If he be perjur’d, see you now, his reputation is as\\r\\narrant a villain and a Jacksauce, as ever his black shoe trod upon\\r\\nGod’s ground and His earth, in my conscience, la!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThen keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou meet’st the fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nSo I will, my liege, as I live.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWho serv’st thou under?\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nUnder Captain Gower, my liege.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nGower is a good captain, and is good knowledge and literatured in the\\r\\nwars.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nCall him hither to me, soldier.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nI will, my liege.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nHere, Fluellen; wear thou this favour for me and stick it in thy cap.\\r\\nWhen Alençon and myself were down together, I pluck’d this glove from\\r\\nhis helm. If any man challenge this, he is a friend to Alençon, and an\\r\\nenemy to our person. If thou encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou\\r\\ndost me love.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nYour Grace does me as great honours as can be desir’d in the hearts of\\r\\nhis subjects. I would fain see the man, that has but two legs, that\\r\\nshall find himself aggrief’d at this glove; that is all. But I would\\r\\nfain see it once, an please God of His grace that I might see.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nKnow’st thou Gower?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nHe is my dear friend, an please you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nPray thee, go seek him, and bring him to my tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nI will fetch him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nMy Lord of Warwick, and my brother Gloucester,\\r\\nFollow Fluellen closely at the heels.\\r\\nThe glove which I have given him for a favour\\r\\nMay haply purchase him a box o’ the ear.\\r\\nIt is the soldier’s; I by bargain should\\r\\nWear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick.\\r\\nIf that the soldier strike him, as I judge\\r\\nBy his blunt bearing he will keep his word,\\r\\nSome sudden mischief may arise of it;\\r\\nFor I do know Fluellen valiant\\r\\nAnd, touch’d with choler, hot as gunpowder,\\r\\nAnd quickly will return an injury.\\r\\nFollow, and see there be no harm between them.\\r\\nGo you with me, uncle of Exeter.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VIII. Before King Henry’s pavilion.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower and Williams.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nI warrant it is to knight you, Captain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fluellen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nGod’s will and his pleasure, captain, I beseech you now, come apace to\\r\\nthe King. There is more good toward you peradventure than is in your\\r\\nknowledge to dream of.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nSir, know you this glove?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nKnow the glove! I know the glove is a glove.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nI know this; and thus I challenge it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Strikes him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\n’Sblood! an arrant traitor as any is in the universal world, or in\\r\\nFrance, or in England!\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nHow now, sir! you villain!\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nDo you think I’ll be forsworn?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nStand away, Captain Gower. I will give treason his payment into plows,\\r\\nI warrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nI am no traitor.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nThat’s a lie in thy throat. I charge you in his Majesty’s name,\\r\\napprehend him; he’s a friend of the Duke Alençon’s.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Warwick and Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\nWARWICK.\\r\\nHow now, how now! what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nMy lord of Warwick, here is—praised be God for it!—a most contagious\\r\\ntreason come to light, look you, as you shall desire in a summer’s day.\\r\\nHere is his Majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter King Henry and Exeter.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nHow now! what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nMy liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that, look your Grace, has\\r\\nstruck the glove which your Majesty is take out of the helmet of\\r\\nAlençon.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nMy liege, this was my glove; here is the fellow of it; and he that I\\r\\ngave it to in change promis’d to wear it in his cap. I promis’d to\\r\\nstrike him, if he did. I met this man with my glove in his cap, and I\\r\\nhave been as good as my word.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nYour Majesty hear now, saving your Majesty’s manhood, what an arrant,\\r\\nrascally, beggarly, lousy knave it is. I hope your Majesty is pear me\\r\\ntestimony and witness, and will avouchment, that this is the glove of\\r\\nAlençon that your Majesty is give me; in your conscience, now?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nGive me thy glove, soldier. Look, here is the fellow of it.\\r\\n’Twas I, indeed, thou promisedst to strike;\\r\\nAnd thou hast given me most bitter terms.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nAn it please your Majesty, let his neck answer for it, if there is any\\r\\nmartial law in the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nHow canst thou make me satisfaction?\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nAll offences, my lord, come from the heart. Never came any from mine\\r\\nthat might offend your Majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nIt was ourself thou didst abuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nYour Majesty came not like yourself. You appear’d to me but as a common\\r\\nman; witness the night, your garments, your lowliness; and what your\\r\\nHighness suffer’d under that shape, I beseech you take it for your own\\r\\nfault and not mine; for had you been as I took you for, I made no\\r\\noffence; therefore, I beseech your Highness, pardon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nHere, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns,\\r\\nAnd give it to this fellow. Keep it, fellow;\\r\\nAnd wear it for an honour in thy cap\\r\\nTill I do challenge it. Give him his crowns;\\r\\nAnd, captain, you must needs be friends with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nBy this day and this light, the fellow has mettle enough in his belly.\\r\\nHold, there is twelve pence for you; and I pray you to serve God, and\\r\\nkeep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels, and dissensions,\\r\\nand, I warrant you, it is the better for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nWILLIAMS.\\r\\nI will none of your money.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nIt is with a good will; I can tell you, it will serve you to mend your\\r\\nshoes. Come, wherefore should you be so pashful? Your shoes is not so\\r\\ngood. ’Tis a good silling, I warrant you, or I will change it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter an English Herald.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNow, herald, are the dead numb’red?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nHere is the number of the slaught’red French.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWhat prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle?\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nCharles Duke of Orleans, nephew to the King;\\r\\nJohn Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Boucicault:\\r\\nOf other lords and barons, knights and squires,\\r\\nFull fifteen hundred, besides common men.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThis note doth tell me of ten thousand French\\r\\nThat in the field lie slain; of princes, in this number,\\r\\nAnd nobles bearing banners, there lie dead\\r\\nOne hundred twenty-six; added to these,\\r\\nOf knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen,\\r\\nEight thousand and four hundred; of the which,\\r\\nFive hundred were but yesterday dubb’d knights;\\r\\nSo that, in these ten thousand they have lost,\\r\\nThere are but sixteen hundred mercenaries;\\r\\nThe rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, squires,\\r\\nAnd gentlemen of blood and quality.\\r\\nThe names of those their nobles that lie dead:\\r\\nCharles Delabreth, High Constable of France;\\r\\nJacques of Chatillon, Admiral of France;\\r\\nThe master of the Crossbows, Lord Rambures;\\r\\nGreat Master of France, the brave Sir Guichard Dauphin,\\r\\nJohn, Duke of Alençon, Anthony, Duke of Brabant,\\r\\nThe brother to the Duke of Burgundy,\\r\\nAnd Edward, Duke of Bar; of lusty earls,\\r\\nGrandpré and Roussi, Fauconbridge and Foix,\\r\\nBeaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Lestrale.\\r\\nHere was a royal fellowship of death!\\r\\nWhere is the number of our English dead?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Herald gives him another paper._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEdward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk,\\r\\nSir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire;\\r\\nNone else of name; and of all other men\\r\\nBut five and twenty.—O God, thy arm was here;\\r\\nAnd not to us, but to thy arm alone,\\r\\nAscribe we all! When, without stratagem,\\r\\nBut in plain shock and even play of battle,\\r\\nWas ever known so great and little loss\\r\\nOn one part and on the other? Take it, God,\\r\\nFor it is none but thine!\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\n’Tis wonderful!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nCome, go we in procession to the village;\\r\\nAnd be it death proclaimed through our host\\r\\nTo boast of this or take that praise from God\\r\\nWhich is His only.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nIs it not lawful, an please your Majesty, to tell how many is kill’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nYes, Captain; but with this acknowledgment,\\r\\nThat God fought for us.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nYes, my conscience, He did us great good.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nDo we all holy rites.\\r\\nLet there be sung _Non nobis_ and _Te Deum_,\\r\\nThe dead with charity enclos’d in clay,\\r\\nAnd then to Calais; and to England then,\\r\\nWhere ne’er from France arriv’d more happy men.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nVouchsafe to those that have not read the story,\\r\\nThat I may prompt them; and of such as have,\\r\\nI humbly pray them to admit the excuse\\r\\nOf time, of numbers, and due course of things,\\r\\nWhich cannot in their huge and proper life\\r\\nBe here presented. Now we bear the King\\r\\nToward Calais; grant him there; there seen,\\r\\nHeave him away upon your winged thoughts\\r\\nAthwart the sea. Behold, the English beach\\r\\nPales in the flood with men, with wives and boys,\\r\\nWhose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth’d sea,\\r\\nWhich like a mighty whiffler ’fore the King\\r\\nSeems to prepare his way. So let him land,\\r\\nAnd solemnly see him set on to London.\\r\\nSo swift a pace hath thought that even now\\r\\nYou may imagine him upon Blackheath,\\r\\nWhere that his lords desire him to have borne\\r\\nHis bruised helmet and his bended sword\\r\\nBefore him through the city. He forbids it,\\r\\nBeing free from vainness and self-glorious pride;\\r\\nGiving full trophy, signal, and ostent\\r\\nQuite from himself to God. But now behold,\\r\\nIn the quick forge and working-house of thought,\\r\\nHow London doth pour out her citizens!\\r\\nThe mayor and all his brethren in best sort,\\r\\nLike to the senators of th’ antique Rome,\\r\\nWith the plebeians swarming at their heels,\\r\\nGo forth and fetch their conquering Caesar in;\\r\\nAs, by a lower but loving likelihood,\\r\\nWere now the general of our gracious empress,\\r\\nAs in good time he may, from Ireland coming,\\r\\nBringing rebellion broached on his sword,\\r\\nHow many would the peaceful city quit,\\r\\nTo welcome him! Much more, and much more cause,\\r\\nDid they this Harry. Now in London place him;\\r\\nAs yet the lamentation of the French\\r\\nInvites the King of England’s stay at home,\\r\\nThe Emperor’s coming in behalf of France,\\r\\nTo order peace between them;—and omit\\r\\nAll the occurrences, whatever chanc’d,\\r\\nTill Harry’s back-return again to France.\\r\\nThere must we bring him; and myself have play’d\\r\\nThe interim, by rememb’ring you ’tis past.\\r\\nThen brook abridgement, and your eyes advance\\r\\nAfter your thoughts, straight back again to France.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. France. The English camp.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fluellen and Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nNay, that’s right; but why wear you your leek today?\\r\\nSaint Davy’s day is past.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nThere is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all things. I will\\r\\ntell you ass my friend, Captain Gower. The rascally, scald, beggarly,\\r\\nlousy, pragging knave, Pistol, which you and yourself and all the world\\r\\nknow to be no petter than a fellow, look you now, of no merits, he is\\r\\ncome to me and prings me pread and salt yesterday, look you, and bid me\\r\\neat my leek. It was in a place where I could not breed no contention\\r\\nwith him; but I will be so bold as to wear it in my cap till I see him\\r\\nonce again, and then I will tell him a little piece of my desires.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pistol.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nWhy, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\n’Tis no matter for his swellings nor his turkey-cocks. God pless you,\\r\\nAnchient Pistol! you scurvy, lousy knave, God pless you!\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nHa! art thou bedlam? Dost thou thirst, base Trojan,\\r\\nTo have me fold up Parca’s fatal web?\\r\\nHence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nI peseech you heartily, scurfy, lousy knave, at my desires, and my\\r\\nrequests, and my petitions, to eat, look you, this leek. Because, look\\r\\nyou, you do not love it, nor your affections and your appetites and\\r\\nyour digestions does not agree with it, I would desire you to eat it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nNot for Cadwallader and all his goats.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nThere is one goat for you. [_Strikes him._] Will you be so good, scald\\r\\nknave, as eat it?\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nBase Trojan, thou shalt die.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nYou say very true, scald knave, when God’s will is. I will desire you\\r\\nto live in the mean time, and eat your victuals. Come, there is sauce\\r\\nfor it. [_Strikes him._] You call’d me yesterday mountain-squire; but I\\r\\nwill make you today a squire of low degree. I pray you, fall to; if you\\r\\ncan mock a leek, you can eat a leek.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nEnough, captain; you have astonish’d him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nI say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I will peat his\\r\\npate four days. Bite, I pray you; it is good for your green wound and\\r\\nyour ploody coxcomb.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nMust I bite?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nYes, certainly, and out of doubt and out of question too, and\\r\\nambiguities.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nBy this leek, I will most horribly revenge. I eat and eat, I swear—\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nEat, I pray you. Will you have some more sauce to your leek? There is\\r\\nnot enough leek to swear by.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nQuiet thy cudgel; thou dost see I eat.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nMuch good do you, scald knave, heartily. Nay, pray you, throw none\\r\\naway; the skin is good for your broken coxcomb. When you take occasions\\r\\nto see leeks hereafter, I pray you, mock at ’em; that is all.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nGood.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nAy, leeks is good. Hold you, there is a groat to heal your pate.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nMe a groat!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nYes, verily and in truth you shall take it; or I have another leek in\\r\\nmy pocket, which you shall eat.\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nI take thy groat in earnest of revenge.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUELLEN.\\r\\nIf I owe you anything I will pay you in cudgels. You shall be a\\r\\nwoodmonger, and buy nothing of me but cudgels. God be wi’ you, and keep\\r\\nyou, and heal your pate.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nAll hell shall stir for this.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nGo, go; you are a couterfeit cowardly knave. Will you mock at an\\r\\nancient tradition, begun upon an honourable respect, and worn as a\\r\\nmemorable trophy of predeceased valour, and dare not avouch in your\\r\\ndeeds any of your words? I have seen you gleeking and galling at this\\r\\ngentleman twice or thrice. You thought, because he could not speak\\r\\nEnglish in the native garb, he could not therefore handle an English\\r\\ncudgel. You find it otherwise; and henceforth let a Welsh correction\\r\\nteach you a good English condition. Fare ye well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPISTOL.\\r\\nDoth Fortune play the huswife with me now?\\r\\nNews have I, that my Doll is dead i’ the spital\\r\\nOf malady of France;\\r\\nAnd there my rendezvous is quite cut off.\\r\\nOld I do wax; and from my weary limbs\\r\\nHonour is cudgell’d. Well, bawd I’ll turn,\\r\\nAnd something lean to cutpurse of quick hand.\\r\\nTo England will I steal, and there I’ll steal;\\r\\nAnd patches will I get unto these cudgell’d scars,\\r\\nAnd swear I got them in the Gallia wars.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. France. A royal palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter at one door, King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, Warwick, Gloucester,\\r\\n Westmorland, Clarence, Huntingdon and other Lords. At another, Queen\\r\\n Isabel, the French King, the Princess Katharine, Alice, and other\\r\\n Ladies; the Duke of Burgundy and other French.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nPeace to this meeting, wherefore we are met!\\r\\nUnto our brother France, and to our sister,\\r\\nHealth and fair time of day; joy and good wishes\\r\\nTo our most fair and princely cousin Katharine;\\r\\nAnd, as a branch and member of this royalty,\\r\\nBy whom this great assembly is contriv’d,\\r\\nWe do salute you, Duke of Burgundy;\\r\\nAnd, princes French, and peers, health to you all!\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nRight joyous are we to behold your face,\\r\\nMost worthy brother England; fairly met!\\r\\nSo are you, princes English, every one.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN ISABEL.\\r\\nSo happy be the issue, brother England,\\r\\nOf this good day and of this gracious meeting\\r\\nAs we are now glad to behold your eyes;\\r\\nYour eyes, which hitherto have borne in them\\r\\nAgainst the French that met them in their bent\\r\\nThe fatal balls of murdering basilisks.\\r\\nThe venom of such looks, we fairly hope,\\r\\nHave lost their quality; and that this day\\r\\nShall change all griefs and quarrels into love.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nTo cry amen to that, thus we appear.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN ISABEL.\\r\\nYou English princes all, I do salute you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nMy duty to you both, on equal love,\\r\\nGreat Kings of France and England! That I have labour’d,\\r\\nWith all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavours,\\r\\nTo bring your most imperial Majesties\\r\\nUnto this bar and royal interview,\\r\\nYour mightiness on both parts best can witness.\\r\\nSince then my office hath so far prevail’d\\r\\nThat, face to face and royal eye to eye,\\r\\nYou have congreeted, let it not disgrace me\\r\\nIf I demand, before this royal view,\\r\\nWhat rub or what impediment there is,\\r\\nWhy that the naked, poor, and mangled Peace,\\r\\nDear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births,\\r\\nShould not in this best garden of the world,\\r\\nOur fertile France, put up her lovely visage?\\r\\nAlas, she hath from France too long been chas’d,\\r\\nAnd all her husbandry doth lie on heaps,\\r\\nCorrupting in it own fertility.\\r\\nHer vine, the merry cheerer of the heart,\\r\\nUnpruned dies; her hedges even-pleach’d,\\r\\nLike prisoners wildly overgrown with hair,\\r\\nPut forth disorder’d twigs; her fallow leas\\r\\nThe darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory,\\r\\nDoth root upon, while that the coulter rusts\\r\\nThat should deracinate such savagery;\\r\\nThe even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth\\r\\nThe freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover,\\r\\nWanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank,\\r\\nConceives by idleness, and nothing teems\\r\\nBut hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs,\\r\\nLosing both beauty and utility;\\r\\nAnd as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges,\\r\\nDefective in their natures, grow to wildness.\\r\\nEven so our houses and ourselves and children\\r\\nHave lost, or do not learn for want of time,\\r\\nThe sciences that should become our country;\\r\\nBut grow like savages,—as soldiers will\\r\\nThat nothing do but meditate on blood,—\\r\\nTo swearing and stern looks, diffus’d attire,\\r\\nAnd everything that seems unnatural.\\r\\nWhich to reduce into our former favour\\r\\nYou are assembled; and my speech entreats\\r\\nThat I may know the let, why gentle Peace\\r\\nShould not expel these inconveniences\\r\\nAnd bless us with her former qualities.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nIf, Duke of Burgundy, you would the peace,\\r\\nWhose want gives growth to the imperfections\\r\\nWhich you have cited, you must buy that peace\\r\\nWith full accord to all our just demands;\\r\\nWhose tenours and particular effects\\r\\nYou have enschedul’d briefly in your hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nThe King hath heard them; to the which as yet\\r\\nThere is no answer made.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWell, then, the peace,\\r\\nWhich you before so urg’d, lies in his answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nI have but with a cursorary eye\\r\\nO’erglanc’d the articles. Pleaseth your Grace\\r\\nTo appoint some of your council presently\\r\\nTo sit with us once more, with better heed\\r\\nTo re-survey them, we will suddenly\\r\\nPass our accept and peremptory answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nBrother, we shall. Go, uncle Exeter,\\r\\nAnd brother Clarence, and you, brother Gloucester,\\r\\nWarwick, and Huntington, go with the King;\\r\\nAnd take with you free power to ratify,\\r\\nAugment, or alter, as your wisdoms best\\r\\nShall see advantageable for our dignity,\\r\\nAnything in or out of our demands,\\r\\nAnd we’ll consign thereto. Will you, fair sister,\\r\\nGo with the princes, or stay here with us?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN ISABEL.\\r\\nOur gracious brother, I will go with them.\\r\\nHaply a woman’s voice may do some good,\\r\\nWhen articles too nicely urg’d be stood on.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nYet leave our cousin Katharine here with us:\\r\\nShe is our capital demand, compris’d\\r\\nWithin the fore-rank of our articles.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN ISABEL.\\r\\nShe hath good leave.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all except Henry, Katharine and Alice._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nFair Katharine, and most fair,\\r\\nWill you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms\\r\\nSuch as will enter at a lady’s ear\\r\\nAnd plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nYour Majesty shall mock me; I cannot speak your England.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nO fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly with your French heart, I\\r\\nwill be glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your English tongue.\\r\\nDo you like me, Kate?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Pardonnez-moi_, I cannot tell wat is “like me.”\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nAn angel is like you, Kate, and you are like an angel.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Que dit-il? Que je suis semblable à les anges?_\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_Oui, vraiment, sauf votre Grâce, ainsi dit-il._\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI said so, dear Katharine; and I must not blush to affirm it.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_O bon Dieu! les langues des hommes sont pleines de tromperies._\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nWhat says she, fair one? That the tongues of men are full of deceits?\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_Oui_, dat de tongues of de mans is be full of deceits: dat is de\\r\\nPrincess.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThe Princess is the better Englishwoman. I’ faith, Kate, my wooing is\\r\\nfit for thy understanding. I am glad thou canst speak no better\\r\\nEnglish; for if thou couldst, thou wouldst find me such a plain king\\r\\nthat thou wouldst think I had sold my farm to buy my crown. I know no\\r\\nways to mince it in love, but directly to say, “I love you”; then if\\r\\nyou urge me farther than to say, “Do you in faith?” I wear out my suit.\\r\\nGive me your answer; i’ faith, do; and so clap hands and a bargain. How\\r\\nsay you, lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Sauf votre honneur_, me understand well.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nMarry, if you would put me to verses, or to dance for your sake, Kate,\\r\\nwhy you undid me; for the one, I have neither words nor measure, and\\r\\nfor the other I have no strength in measure, yet a reasonable measure\\r\\nin strength. If I could win a lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my\\r\\nsaddle with my armour on my back, under the correction of bragging be\\r\\nit spoken, I should quickly leap into a wife. Or if I might buffet for\\r\\nmy love, or bound my horse for her favours, I could lay on like a\\r\\nbutcher and sit like a jack-an-apes, never off. But, before God, Kate,\\r\\nI cannot look greenly, nor gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning\\r\\nin protestation; only downright oaths, which I never use till urg’d,\\r\\nnor never break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of this temper,\\r\\nKate, whose face is not worth sunburning, that never looks in his glass\\r\\nfor love of anything he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook. I speak\\r\\nto thee plain soldier. If thou canst love me for this, take me; if not,\\r\\nto say to thee that I shall die, is true; but for thy love, by the\\r\\nLord, no; yet I love thee too. And while thou liv’st, dear Kate, take a\\r\\nfellow of plain and uncoined constancy; for he perforce must do thee\\r\\nright, because he hath not the gift to woo in other places; for these\\r\\nfellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies’\\r\\nfavours, they do always reason themselves out again. What! a speaker is\\r\\nbut a prater: a rhyme is but a ballad. A good leg will fall; a straight\\r\\nback will stoop; a black beard will turn white; a curl’d pate will grow\\r\\nbald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow; but a good\\r\\nheart, Kate, is the sun and the moon; or rather the sun and not the\\r\\nmoon; for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps his course\\r\\ntruly. If thou would have such a one, take me; and take me, take a\\r\\nsoldier; take a soldier, take a king. And what say’st thou then to my\\r\\nlove? Speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nIs it possible dat I should love de enemy of France?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNo; it is not possible you should love the enemy of France, Kate; but,\\r\\nin loving me, you should love the friend of France; for I love France\\r\\nso well that I will not part with a village of it, I will have it all\\r\\nmine; and, Kate, when France is mine and I am yours, then yours is\\r\\nFrance and you are mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nI cannot tell wat is dat.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNo, Kate? I will tell thee in French; which I am sure will hang upon my\\r\\ntongue like a new-married wife about her husband’s neck, hardly to be\\r\\nshook off. _Je quand sur le possession de France, et quand vous avez le\\r\\npossession de moi_,—let me see, what then? Saint Denis be my\\r\\nspeed!—_donc votre est France, et vous êtes mienne._ It is as easy for\\r\\nme, Kate, to conquer the kingdom as to speak so much more French. I\\r\\nshall never move thee in French, unless it be to laugh at me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Sauf votre honneur, le français que vous parlez, il est meilleur que\\r\\nl’anglais lequel je parle._\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNo, faith, is’t not, Kate; but thy speaking of my tongue, and I thine,\\r\\nmost truly-falsely, must needs be granted to be much at one. But, Kate,\\r\\ndost thou understand thus much English: canst thou love me?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nI cannot tell.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nCan any of your neighbours tell, Kate? I’ll ask them. Come, I know thou\\r\\nlovest me; and at night, when you come into your closet, you’ll\\r\\nquestion this gentlewoman about me; and I know, Kate, you will to her\\r\\ndispraise those parts in me that you love with your heart. But, good\\r\\nKate, mock me mercifully; the rather, gentle princess, because I love\\r\\nthee cruelly. If ever thou beest mine, Kate, as I have a saving faith\\r\\nwithin me tells me thou shalt, I get thee with scambling, and thou must\\r\\ntherefore needs prove a good soldier-breeder. Shall not thou and I,\\r\\nbetween Saint Denis and Saint George, compound a boy, half French, half\\r\\nEnglish, that shall go to Constantinople and take the Turk by the\\r\\nbeard? Shall we not? What say’st thou, my fair flower-de-luce?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nI do not know dat.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNo; ’tis hereafter to know, but now to promise. Do but now promise,\\r\\nKate, you will endeavour for your French part of such a boy; and for my\\r\\nEnglish moiety, take the word of a king and a bachelor. How answer you,\\r\\n_la plus belle Katherine du monde, mon très cher et divin déesse?_\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nYour Majestee ’ave _fausse_ French enough to deceive de most _sage\\r\\ndemoiselle_ dat is _en France_.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNow, fie upon my false French! By mine honour, in true English, I love\\r\\nthee, Kate; by which honour I dare not swear thou lovest me; yet my\\r\\nblood begins to flatter me that thou dost, notwithstanding the poor and\\r\\nuntempering effect of my visage. Now, beshrew my father’s ambition! He\\r\\nwas thinking of civil wars when he got me; therefore was I created with\\r\\na stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, that, when I come to woo\\r\\nladies, I fright them. But, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the better\\r\\nI shall appear. My comfort is, that old age, that ill layer up of\\r\\nbeauty, can do no more spoil upon my face. Thou hast me, if thou hast\\r\\nme, at the worst; and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and\\r\\nbetter; and therefore tell me, most fair Katharine, will you have me?\\r\\nPut off your maiden blushes; avouch the thoughts of your heart with the\\r\\nlooks of an empress; take me by the hand, and say, Harry of England, I\\r\\nam thine; which word thou shalt no sooner bless mine ear withal, but I\\r\\nwill tell thee aloud, England is thine, Ireland is thine, France is\\r\\nthine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine; who, though I speak it before\\r\\nhis face, if he be not fellow with the best king, thou shalt find the\\r\\nbest king of good fellows. Come, your answer in broken music; for thy\\r\\nvoice is music and thy English broken; therefore, queen of all,\\r\\nKatharine, break thy mind to me in broken English. Wilt thou have me?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nDat is as it shall please _le roi mon père_.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNay, it will please him well, Kate; it shall please him, Kate.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\nDen it sall also content me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nUpon that I kiss your hand, and call you my queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez! Ma foi, je ne veux point que\\r\\nvous abaissiez votre grandeur en baisant la main d’une—Notre\\r\\nSeigneur!—indigne serviteur. Excusez-moi, je vous supplie, mon\\r\\ntrès-puissant seigneur._\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThen I will kiss your lips, Kate.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHARINE.\\r\\n_Les dames et demoiselles pour être baisées devant leurs noces, il\\r\\nn’est pas la coutume de France._\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nMadame my interpreter, what says she?\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\nDat it is not be de fashion _pour les_ ladies of France,—I cannot tell\\r\\nwat is _baiser en_ Anglish.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nTo kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\nYour Majestee _entend_ bettre _que moi_.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nIt is not a fashion for the maids in France to kiss before they are\\r\\nmarried, would she say?\\r\\n\\r\\nALICE.\\r\\n_Oui, vraiment._\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nO Kate, nice customs curtsy to great kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot\\r\\nbe confined within the weak list of a country’s fashion. We are the\\r\\nmakers of manners, Kate; and the liberty that follows our places stops\\r\\nthe mouth of all find-faults, as I will do yours, for upholding the\\r\\nnice fashion of your country in denying me a kiss; therefore, patiently\\r\\nand yielding. [_Kissing her._] You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate;\\r\\nthere is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in the tongues of\\r\\nthe French council; and they should sooner persuade Harry of England\\r\\nthan a general petition of monarchs. Here comes your father.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the French Power and the English Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nGod save your Majesty! My royal cousin, teach you our princess English?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI would have her learn, my fair cousin, how perfectly I love her; and\\r\\nthat is good English.\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nIs she not apt?\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nOur tongue is rough, coz, and my condition is not smooth; so that,\\r\\nhaving neither the voice nor the heart of flattery about me, I cannot\\r\\nso conjure up the spirit of love in her, that he will appear in his\\r\\ntrue likeness.\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nPardon the frankness of my mirth, if I answer you for that. If you\\r\\nwould conjure in her, you must make a circle; if conjure up Love in her\\r\\nin his true likeness, he must appear naked and blind. Can you blame her\\r\\nthen, being a maid yet ros’d over with the virgin crimson of modesty,\\r\\nif she deny the appearance of a naked blind boy in her naked seeing\\r\\nself? It were, my lord, a hard condition for a maid to consign to.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nYet they do wink and yield, as love is blind and enforces.\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nThey are then excus’d, my lord, when they see not what they do.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThen, good my lord, teach your cousin to consent winking.\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nI will wink on her to consent, my lord, if you will teach her to know\\r\\nmy meaning; for maids, well summer’d and warm kept, are like flies at\\r\\nBartholomew-tide, blind, though they have their eyes; and then they\\r\\nwill endure handling, which before would not abide looking on.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nThis moral ties me over to time and a hot summer; and so I shall catch\\r\\nthe fly, your cousin, in the latter end, and she must be blind too.\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nAs love is, my lord, before it loves.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nIt is so; and you may, some of you, thank love for my blindness, who\\r\\ncannot see many a fair French city for one fair French maid that stands\\r\\nin my way.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nYes, my lord, you see them perspectively, the cities turn’d into a\\r\\nmaid; for they are all girdled with maiden walls that no war hath\\r\\nentered.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nShall Kate be my wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nSo please you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI am content, so the maiden cities you talk of may wait on her; so the\\r\\nmaid that stood in the way for my wish shall show me the way to my\\r\\nwill.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nWe have consented to all terms of reason.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nIs’t so, my lords of England?\\r\\n\\r\\nWESTMORLAND.\\r\\nThe king hath granted every article;\\r\\nHis daughter first, and then in sequel all,\\r\\nAccording to their firm proposed natures.\\r\\n\\r\\nEXETER.\\r\\nOnly he hath not yet subscribed this: where your Majesty demands, that\\r\\nthe King of France, having any occasion to write for matter of grant,\\r\\nshall name your Highness in this form and with this addition, in\\r\\nFrench, _Notre très-cher fils Henri, Roi d’Angleterre, Héritier de\\r\\nFrance_; and thus in Latin, _Praeclarissimus filius noster Henricus,\\r\\nrex Angliae et haeres Franciae._\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nNor this I have not, brother, so denied\\r\\nBut our request shall make me let it pass.\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nI pray you then, in love and dear alliance,\\r\\nLet that one article rank with the rest;\\r\\nAnd thereupon give me your daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRENCH KING.\\r\\nTake her, fair son, and from her blood raise up\\r\\nIssue to me; that the contending kingdoms\\r\\nOf France and England, whose very shores look pale\\r\\nWith envy of each other’s happiness,\\r\\nMay cease their hatred; and this dear conjunction\\r\\nPlant neighbourhood and Christian-like accord\\r\\nIn their sweet bosoms, that never war advance\\r\\nHis bleeding sword ’twixt England and fair France.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORDS.\\r\\nAmen!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nNow, welcome, Kate; and bear me witness all,\\r\\nThat here I kiss her as my sovereign queen.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Flourish._]\\r\\n\\r\\nQUEEN ISABEL.\\r\\nGod, the best maker of all marriages,\\r\\nCombine your hearts in one, your realms in one!\\r\\nAs man and wife, being two, are one in love,\\r\\nSo be there ’twixt your kingdoms such a spousal,\\r\\nThat never may ill office, or fell jealousy,\\r\\nWhich troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage,\\r\\nThrust in between the paction of these kingdoms,\\r\\nTo make divorce of their incorporate league;\\r\\nThat English may as French, French Englishmen,\\r\\nReceive each other. God speak this Amen!\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nAmen!\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY.\\r\\nPrepare we for our marriage; on which day,\\r\\nMy Lord of Burgundy, we’ll take your oath,\\r\\nAnd all the peers’, for surety of our leagues,\\r\\nThen shall I swear to Kate, and you to me;\\r\\nAnd may our oaths well kept and prosperous be!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sennet. Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEPILOGUE.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nThus far, with rough and all-unable pen,\\r\\nOur bending author hath pursu’d the story,\\r\\nIn little room confining mighty men,\\r\\nMangling by starts the full course of their glory.\\r\\nSmall time, but in that small most greatly lived\\r\\nThis star of England. Fortune made his sword,\\r\\nBy which the world’s best garden he achieved,\\r\\nAnd of it left his son imperial lord.\\r\\nHenry the Sixth, in infant bands crown’d King\\r\\nOf France and England, did this king succeed;\\r\\nWhose state so many had the managing,\\r\\nThat they lost France and made his England bleed:\\r\\nWhich oft our stage hath shown; and, for their sake,\\r\\nIn your fair minds let this acceptance take.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE FIRST PART OF HENRY THE SIXTH\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personae\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY THE SIXTH\\r\\n DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, uncle to the King, and Protector\\r\\n DUKE OF BEDFORD, uncle to the King, and Regent of France\\r\\n THOMAS BEAUFORT, DUKE OF EXETER, great-uncle to the king\\r\\n HENRY BEAUFORT, great-uncle to the King, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER,\\r\\n and afterwards CARDINAL\\r\\n JOHN BEAUFORT, EARL OF SOMERSET, afterwards Duke\\r\\n RICHARD PLANTAGENET, son of Richard late Earl of Cambridge,\\r\\n afterwards DUKE OF YORK\\r\\n EARL OF WARWICK\\r\\n EARL OF SALISBURY\\r\\n EARL OF SUFFOLK\\r\\n LORD TALBOT, afterwards EARL OF SHREWSBURY\\r\\n JOHN TALBOT, his son\\r\\n EDMUND MORTIMER, EARL OF MARCH\\r\\n SIR JOHN FASTOLFE\\r\\n SIR WILLIAM LUCY\\r\\n SIR WILLIAM GLANSDALE\\r\\n SIR THOMAS GARGRAVE\\r\\n MAYOR of LONDON\\r\\n WOODVILLE, Lieutenant of the Tower\\r\\n VERNON, of the White Rose or York faction\\r\\n BASSET, of the Red Rose or Lancaster faction\\r\\n A LAWYER\\r\\n GAOLERS, to Mortimer\\r\\n CHARLES, Dauphin, and afterwards King of France\\r\\n REIGNIER, DUKE OF ANJOU, and titular King of Naples\\r\\n DUKE OF BURGUNDY\\r\\n DUKE OF ALENCON\\r\\n BASTARD OF ORLEANS\\r\\n GOVERNOR OF PARIS\\r\\n MASTER-GUNNER OF ORLEANS, and his SON\\r\\n GENERAL OF THE FRENCH FORCES in Bordeaux\\r\\n A FRENCH SERGEANT\\r\\n A PORTER\\r\\n AN OLD SHEPHERD, father to Joan la Pucelle\\r\\n MARGARET, daughter to Reignier, afterwards married to\\r\\n King Henry\\r\\n COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE\\r\\n JOAN LA PUCELLE, Commonly called JOAN OF ARC\\r\\n\\r\\n Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers,\\r\\n Messengers, English and French Attendants. Fiends appearing\\r\\n to La Pucelle\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: England and France\\r\\n\\r\\nThe First Part of King Henry the Sixth\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nWestminster Abbey\\r\\n\\r\\nDead March. Enter the funeral of KING HENRY THE FIFTH, attended on by\\r\\nthe DUKE OF BEDFORD, Regent of France, the DUKE OF GLOUCESTER,\\r\\nProtector, the DUKE OF EXETER, the EARL OF WARWICK, the BISHOP OF\\r\\nWINCHESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n BEDFORD. Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to\\r\\n night! Comets, importing change of times and states,\\r\\n Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky\\r\\n And with them scourge the bad revolting stars\\r\\n That have consented unto Henry's death!\\r\\n King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long!\\r\\n England ne'er lost a king of so much worth.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. England ne'er had a king until his time.\\r\\n Virtue he had, deserving to command;\\r\\n His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams;\\r\\n His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings;\\r\\n His sparkling eyes, replete with wrathful fire,\\r\\n More dazzled and drove back his enemies\\r\\n Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces.\\r\\n What should I say? His deeds exceed all speech:\\r\\n He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered.\\r\\n EXETER. We mourn in black; why mourn we not in blood?\\r\\n Henry is dead and never shall revive.\\r\\n Upon a wooden coffin we attend;\\r\\n And death's dishonourable victory\\r\\n We with our stately presence glorify,\\r\\n Like captives bound to a triumphant car.\\r\\n What! shall we curse the planets of mishap\\r\\n That plotted thus our glory's overthrow?\\r\\n Or shall we think the subtle-witted French\\r\\n Conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him,\\r\\n By magic verses have contriv'd his end?\\r\\n WINCHESTER. He was a king bless'd of the King of kings;\\r\\n Unto the French the dreadful judgment-day\\r\\n So dreadful will not be as was his sight.\\r\\n The battles of the Lord of Hosts he fought;\\r\\n The Church's prayers made him so prosperous.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The Church! Where is it? Had not churchmen\\r\\n pray'd,\\r\\n His thread of life had not so soon decay'd.\\r\\n None do you like but an effeminate prince,\\r\\n Whom like a school-boy you may overawe.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Gloucester, whate'er we like, thou art\\r\\n Protector\\r\\n And lookest to command the Prince and realm.\\r\\n Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe\\r\\n More than God or religious churchmen may.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Name not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh;\\r\\n And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st,\\r\\n Except it be to pray against thy foes.\\r\\n BEDFORD. Cease, cease these jars and rest your minds in peace;\\r\\n Let's to the altar. Heralds, wait on us.\\r\\n Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms,\\r\\n Since arms avail not, now that Henry's dead.\\r\\n Posterity, await for wretched years,\\r\\n When at their mothers' moist'ned eyes babes shall suck,\\r\\n Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears,\\r\\n And none but women left to wail the dead.\\r\\n HENRY the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate:\\r\\n Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils,\\r\\n Combat with adverse planets in the heavens.\\r\\n A far more glorious star thy soul will make\\r\\n Than Julius Caesar or bright\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. My honourable lords, health to you all!\\r\\n Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,\\r\\n Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture:\\r\\n Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans,\\r\\n Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost.\\r\\n BEDFORD. What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse?\\r\\n Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns\\r\\n Will make him burst his lead and rise from death.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Is Paris lost? Is Rouen yielded up?\\r\\n If Henry were recall'd to life again,\\r\\n These news would cause him once more yield the ghost.\\r\\n EXETER. How were they lost? What treachery was us'd?\\r\\n MESSENGER. No treachery, but want of men and money.\\r\\n Amongst the soldiers this is muttered\\r\\n That here you maintain several factions;\\r\\n And whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought,\\r\\n You are disputing of your generals:\\r\\n One would have ling'ring wars, with little cost;\\r\\n Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings;\\r\\n A third thinks, without expense at all,\\r\\n By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd.\\r\\n Awake, awake, English nobility!\\r\\n Let not sloth dim your honours, new-begot.\\r\\n Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms;\\r\\n Of England's coat one half is cut away.\\r\\n EXETER. Were our tears wanting to this funeral,\\r\\n These tidings would call forth their flowing tides.\\r\\n BEDFORD. Me they concern; Regent I am of France.\\r\\n Give me my steeled coat; I'll fight for France.\\r\\n Away with these disgraceful wailing robes!\\r\\n Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes,\\r\\n To weep their intermissive miseries.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a second MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND MESSENGER. Lords, view these letters full of bad\\r\\n mischance.\\r\\n France is revolted from the English quite,\\r\\n Except some petty towns of no import.\\r\\n The Dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheims;\\r\\n The Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd;\\r\\n Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part;\\r\\n The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side.\\r\\n EXETER. The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him!\\r\\n O, whither shall we fly from this reproach?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. We will not fly but to our enemies' throats.\\r\\n Bedford, if thou be slack I'll fight it out.\\r\\n BEDFORD. Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness?\\r\\n An army have I muster'd in my thoughts,\\r\\n Wherewith already France is overrun.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a third MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n THIRD MESSENGER. My gracious lords, to add to your\\r\\n laments,\\r\\n Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's hearse,\\r\\n I must inform you of a dismal fight\\r\\n Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. What! Wherein Talbot overcame? Is't so?\\r\\n THIRD MESSENGER. O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was\\r\\n o'erthrown.\\r\\n The circumstance I'll tell you more at large.\\r\\n The tenth of August last this dreadful lord,\\r\\n Retiring from the siege of Orleans,\\r\\n Having full scarce six thousand in his troop,\\r\\n By three and twenty thousand of the French\\r\\n Was round encompassed and set upon.\\r\\n No leisure had he to enrank his men;\\r\\n He wanted pikes to set before his archers;\\r\\n Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck'd out of hedges\\r\\n They pitched in the ground confusedly\\r\\n To keep the horsemen off from breaking in.\\r\\n More than three hours the fight continued;\\r\\n Where valiant Talbot, above human thought,\\r\\n Enacted wonders with his sword and lance:\\r\\n Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him;\\r\\n Here, there, and everywhere, enrag'd he slew\\r\\n The French exclaim'd the devil was in arms;\\r\\n All the whole army stood agaz'd on him.\\r\\n His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit,\\r\\n 'A Talbot! a Talbot!' cried out amain,\\r\\n And rush'd into the bowels of the battle.\\r\\n Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up\\r\\n If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward.\\r\\n He, being in the vaward plac'd behind\\r\\n With purpose to relieve and follow them-\\r\\n Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke;\\r\\n Hence grew the general wreck and massacre.\\r\\n Enclosed were they with their enemies.\\r\\n A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace,\\r\\n Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back;\\r\\n Whom all France, with their chief assembled strength,\\r\\n Durst not presume to look once in the face.\\r\\n BEDFORD. Is Talbot slain? Then I will slay myself,\\r\\n For living idly here in pomp and ease,\\r\\n Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid,\\r\\n Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd.\\r\\n THIRD MESSENGER. O no, he lives, but is took prisoner,\\r\\n And Lord Scales with him, and Lord Hungerford;\\r\\n Most of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise.\\r\\n BEDFORD. His ransom there is none but I shall pay.\\r\\n I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne;\\r\\n His crown shall be the ransom of my friend;\\r\\n Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours.\\r\\n Farewell, my masters; to my task will I;\\r\\n Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make\\r\\n To keep our great Saint George's feast withal.\\r\\n Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take,\\r\\n Whose bloody deeds shall make an Europe quake.\\r\\n THIRD MESSENGER. So you had need; for Orleans is besieg'd;\\r\\n The English army is grown weak and faint;\\r\\n The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply\\r\\n And hardly keeps his men from mutiny,\\r\\n Since they, so few, watch such a multitude.\\r\\n EXETER. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn,\\r\\n Either to quell the Dauphin utterly,\\r\\n Or bring him in obedience to your yoke.\\r\\n BEDFORD. I do remember it, and here take my leave\\r\\n To go about my preparation. Exit\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can\\r\\n To view th' artillery and munition;\\r\\n And then I will proclaim young Henry king. Exit\\r\\n EXETER. To Eltham will I, where the young King is,\\r\\n Being ordain'd his special governor;\\r\\n And for his safety there I'll best devise. Exit\\r\\n WINCHESTER. [Aside] Each hath his place and function to\\r\\n attend:\\r\\n I am left out; for me nothing remains.\\r\\n But long I will not be Jack out of office.\\r\\n The King from Eltham I intend to steal,\\r\\n And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\n France. Before Orleans\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound a flourish. Enter CHARLES THE DAUPHIN, ALENCON,\\r\\n and REIGNIER, marching with drum and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n CHARLES. Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens\\r\\n So in the earth, to this day is not known.\\r\\n Late did he shine upon the English side;\\r\\n Now we are victors, upon us he smiles.\\r\\n What towns of any moment but we have?\\r\\n At pleasure here we lie near Orleans;\\r\\n Otherwhiles the famish'd English, like pale ghosts,\\r\\n Faintly besiege us one hour in a month.\\r\\n ALENCON. They want their porridge and their fat bull\\r\\n beeves.\\r\\n Either they must be dieted like mules\\r\\n And have their provender tied to their mouths,\\r\\n Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice.\\r\\n REIGNIER. Let's raise the siege. Why live we idly here?\\r\\n Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear;\\r\\n Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury,\\r\\n And he may well in fretting spend his gall\\r\\n Nor men nor money hath he to make war.\\r\\n CHARLES. Sound, sound alarum; we will rush on them.\\r\\n Now for the honour of the forlorn French!\\r\\n Him I forgive my death that killeth me,\\r\\n When he sees me go back one foot or flee. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Here alarum. They are beaten hack by the English, with\\r\\n great loss. Re-enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER\\r\\n\\r\\n CHARLES. Who ever saw the like? What men have I!\\r\\n Dogs! cowards! dastards! I would ne'er have fled\\r\\n But that they left me midst my enemies.\\r\\n REIGNIER. Salisbury is a desperate homicide;\\r\\n He fighteth as one weary of his life.\\r\\n The other lords, like lions wanting food,\\r\\n Do rush upon us as their hungry prey.\\r\\n ALENCON. Froissart, a countryman of ours, records\\r\\n England all Olivers and Rowlands bred\\r\\n During the time Edward the Third did reign.\\r\\n More truly now may this be verified;\\r\\n For none but Samsons and Goliases\\r\\n It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten!\\r\\n Lean raw-bon'd rascals! Who would e'er suppose\\r\\n They had such courage and audacity?\\r\\n CHARLES. Let's leave this town; for they are hare-brain'd\\r\\n slaves,\\r\\n And hunger will enforce them to be more eager.\\r\\n Of old I know them; rather with their teeth\\r\\n The walls they'll tear down than forsake the siege.\\r\\n REIGNIER. I think by some odd gimmers or device\\r\\n Their arms are set, like clocks, still to strike on;\\r\\n Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do.\\r\\n By my consent, we'll even let them alone.\\r\\n ALENCON. Be it so.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS\\r\\n\\r\\n BASTARD. Where's the Prince Dauphin? I have news for him.\\r\\n CHARLES. Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us.\\r\\n BASTARD. Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd.\\r\\n Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence?\\r\\n Be not dismay'd, for succour is at hand.\\r\\n A holy maid hither with me I bring,\\r\\n Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven,\\r\\n Ordained is to raise this tedious siege\\r\\n And drive the English forth the bounds of France.\\r\\n The spirit of deep prophecy she hath,\\r\\n Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome:\\r\\n What's past and what's to come she can descry.\\r\\n Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words,\\r\\n For they are certain and unfallible.\\r\\n CHARLES. Go, call her in. [Exit BASTARD]\\r\\n But first, to try her skill,\\r\\n Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place;\\r\\n Question her proudly; let thy looks be stern;\\r\\n By this means shall we sound what skill she hath.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS with\\r\\n JOAN LA PUCELLE\\r\\n\\r\\n REIGNIER. Fair maid, is 't thou wilt do these wondrous feats?\\r\\n PUCELLE. Reignier, is 't thou that thinkest to beguile me?\\r\\n Where is the Dauphin? Come, come from behind;\\r\\n I know thee well, though never seen before.\\r\\n Be not amaz'd, there's nothing hid from me.\\r\\n In private will I talk with thee apart.\\r\\n Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile.\\r\\n REIGNIER. She takes upon her bravely at first dash.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter,\\r\\n My wit untrain'd in any kind of art.\\r\\n Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleas'd\\r\\n To shine on my contemptible estate.\\r\\n Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs\\r\\n And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks,\\r\\n God's Mother deigned to appear to me,\\r\\n And in a vision full of majesty\\r\\n Will'd me to leave my base vocation\\r\\n And free my country from calamity\\r\\n Her aid she promis'd and assur'd success.\\r\\n In complete glory she reveal'd herself;\\r\\n And whereas I was black and swart before,\\r\\n With those clear rays which she infus'd on me\\r\\n That beauty am I bless'd with which you may see.\\r\\n Ask me what question thou canst possible,\\r\\n And I will answer unpremeditated.\\r\\n My courage try by combat if thou dar'st,\\r\\n And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex.\\r\\n Resolve on this: thou shalt be fortunate\\r\\n If thou receive me for thy warlike mate.\\r\\n CHARLES. Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms.\\r\\n Only this proof I'll of thy valour make\\r\\n In single combat thou shalt buckle with me;\\r\\n And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true;\\r\\n Otherwise I renounce all confidence.\\r\\n PUCELLE. I am prepar'd; here is my keen-edg'd sword,\\r\\n Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side,\\r\\n The which at Touraine, in Saint Katherine's churchyard,\\r\\n Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth.\\r\\n CHARLES. Then come, o' God's name; I fear no woman.\\r\\n PUCELLE. And while I live I'll ne'er fly from a man.\\r\\n [Here they fight and JOAN LA PUCELLE overcomes]\\r\\n CHARLES. Stay, stay thy hands; thou art an Amazon,\\r\\n And fightest with the sword of Deborah.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Christ's Mother helps me, else I were too weak.\\r\\n CHARLES. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me.\\r\\n Impatiently I burn with thy desire;\\r\\n My heart and hands thou hast at once subdu'd.\\r\\n Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so,\\r\\n Let me thy servant and not sovereign be.\\r\\n 'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus.\\r\\n PUCELLE. I must not yield to any rites of love,\\r\\n For my profession's sacred from above.\\r\\n When I have chased all thy foes from hence,\\r\\n Then will I think upon a recompense.\\r\\n CHARLES. Meantime look gracious on thy prostrate thrall.\\r\\n REIGNIER. My lord, methinks, is very long in talk.\\r\\n ALENCON. Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock;\\r\\n Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech.\\r\\n REIGNIER. Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean?\\r\\n ALENCON. He may mean more than we poor men do know;\\r\\n These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues.\\r\\n REIGNIER. My lord, where are you? What devise you on?\\r\\n Shall we give o'er Orleans, or no?\\r\\n PUCELLE. Why, no, I say; distrustful recreants!\\r\\n Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard.\\r\\n CHARLES. What she says I'll confirm; we'll fight it out.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Assign'd am I to be the English scourge.\\r\\n This night the siege assuredly I'll raise.\\r\\n Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days,\\r\\n Since I have entered into these wars.\\r\\n Glory is like a circle in the water,\\r\\n Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself\\r\\n Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought.\\r\\n With Henry's death the English circle ends;\\r\\n Dispersed are the glories it included.\\r\\n Now am I like that proud insulting ship\\r\\n Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once.\\r\\n CHARLES. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove?\\r\\n Thou with an eagle art inspired then.\\r\\n Helen, the mother of great Constantine,\\r\\n Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters were like thee.\\r\\n Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth,\\r\\n How may I reverently worship thee enough?\\r\\n ALENCON. Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege.\\r\\n REIGNIER. Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours;\\r\\n Drive them from Orleans, and be immortaliz'd.\\r\\n CHARLES. Presently we'll try. Come, let's away about it.\\r\\n No prophet will I trust if she prove false. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\n London. Before the Tower gates\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, with his serving-men\\r\\n in blue coats\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I am come to survey the Tower this day;\\r\\n Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance.\\r\\n Where be these warders that they wait not here?\\r\\n Open the gates; 'tis Gloucester that calls.\\r\\n FIRST WARDER. [Within] Who's there that knocks so\\r\\n imperiously?\\r\\n FIRST SERVING-MAN. It is the noble Duke of Gloucester.\\r\\n SECOND WARDER. [Within] Whoe'er he be, you may not be\\r\\n let in.\\r\\n FIRST SERVING-MAN. Villains, answer you so the Lord\\r\\n Protector?\\r\\n FIRST WARDER. [Within] The Lord protect him! so we\\r\\n answer him.\\r\\n We do no otherwise than we are will'd.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Who willed you, or whose will stands but\\r\\n mine?\\r\\n There's none Protector of the realm but I.\\r\\n Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize.\\r\\n Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms?\\r\\n [GLOUCESTER'S men rush at the Tower gates, and\\r\\n WOODVILLE the Lieutenant speaks within]\\r\\n WOODVILLE. [Within] What noise is this? What traitors\\r\\n have we here?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear?\\r\\n Open the gates; here's Gloucester that would enter.\\r\\n WOODVILLE. [Within] Have patience, noble Duke, I may\\r\\n not open;\\r\\n The Cardinal of Winchester forbids.\\r\\n From him I have express commandment\\r\\n That thou nor none of thine shall be let in.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Faint-hearted Woodville, prizest him fore me?\\r\\n Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate\\r\\n Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook!\\r\\n Thou art no friend to God or to the King.\\r\\n Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly.\\r\\n SERVING-MEN. Open the gates unto the Lord Protector,\\r\\n Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter to the PROTECTOR at the Tower gates WINCHESTER\\r\\n and his men in tawny coats\\r\\n\\r\\n WINCHESTER. How now, ambitious Humphry! What means\\r\\n this?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Peel'd priest, dost thou command me to be\\r\\n shut out?\\r\\n WINCHESTER. I do, thou most usurping proditor,\\r\\n And not Protector of the King or realm.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Stand back, thou manifest conspirator,\\r\\n Thou that contrived'st to murder our dead lord;\\r\\n Thou that giv'st whores indulgences to sin.\\r\\n I'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat,\\r\\n If thou proceed in this thy insolence.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Nay, stand thou back; I will not budge a foot.\\r\\n This be Damascus; be thou cursed Cain,\\r\\n To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back.\\r\\n Thy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth\\r\\n I'll use to carry thee out of this place.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Do what thou dar'st; I beard thee to thy face.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What! am I dar'd and bearded to my face?\\r\\n Draw, men, for all this privileged place\\r\\n Blue-coats to tawny-coats. Priest, beware your beard;\\r\\n I mean to tug it, and to cuff you soundly;\\r\\n Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat;\\r\\n In spite of Pope or dignities of church,\\r\\n Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Gloucester, thou wilt answer this before the\\r\\n Pope.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Winchester goose! I cry 'A rope, a rope!'\\r\\n Now beat them hence; why do you let them stay?\\r\\n Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array.\\r\\n Out, tawny-coats! Out, scarlet hypocrite!\\r\\n\\r\\n Here GLOUCESTER'S men beat out the CARDINAL'S\\r\\n men; and enter in the hurly burly the MAYOR OF\\r\\n LONDON and his OFFICERS\\r\\n\\r\\n MAYOR. Fie, lords! that you, being supreme magistrates,\\r\\n Thus contumeliously should break the peace!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Peace, Mayor! thou know'st little of my wrongs:\\r\\n Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor King,\\r\\n Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Here's Gloucester, a foe to citizens;\\r\\n One that still motions war and never peace,\\r\\n O'ercharging your free purses with large fines;\\r\\n That seeks to overthrow religion,\\r\\n Because he is Protector of the realm,\\r\\n And would have armour here out of the Tower,\\r\\n To crown himself King and suppress the Prince.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I Will not answer thee with words, but blows.\\r\\n [Here they skirmish again]\\r\\n MAYOR. Nought rests for me in this tumultuous strife\\r\\n But to make open proclamation.\\r\\n Come, officer, as loud as e'er thou canst,\\r\\n Cry.\\r\\n OFFICER. [Cries] All manner of men assembled here in arms\\r\\n this day against God's peace and the King's, we charge\\r\\n and command you, in his Highness' name, to repair to\\r\\n your several dwelling-places; and not to wear, handle, or\\r\\n use, any sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon\\r\\n pain of death.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law;\\r\\n But we shall meet and break our minds at large.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Gloucester, we'll meet to thy cost, be sure;\\r\\n Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work.\\r\\n MAYOR. I'll call for clubs if you will not away.\\r\\n This Cardinal's more haughty than the devil.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Mayor, farewell; thou dost but what thou\\r\\n mayst.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Abominable Gloucester, guard thy head,\\r\\n For I intend to have it ere long.\\r\\n Exeunt, severally, GLOUCESTER and WINCHESTER\\r\\n with their servants\\r\\n MAYOR. See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart.\\r\\n Good God, these nobles should such stomachs bear!\\r\\n I myself fight not once in forty year. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\n France. Before Orleans\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, on the walls, the MASTER-GUNNER\\r\\n OF ORLEANS and his BOY\\r\\n\\r\\n MASTER-GUNNER. Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is\\r\\n besieg'd,\\r\\n And how the English have the suburbs won.\\r\\n BOY. Father, I know; and oft have shot at them,\\r\\n Howe'er unfortunate I miss'd my aim.\\r\\n MASTER-GUNNER. But now thou shalt not. Be thou rul'd\\r\\n by me.\\r\\n Chief master-gunner am I of this town;\\r\\n Something I must do to procure me grace.\\r\\n The Prince's espials have informed me\\r\\n How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd,\\r\\n Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars\\r\\n In yonder tower, to overpeer the city,\\r\\n And thence discover how with most advantage\\r\\n They may vex us with shot or with assault.\\r\\n To intercept this inconvenience,\\r\\n A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have plac'd;\\r\\n And even these three days have I watch'd\\r\\n If I could see them. Now do thou watch,\\r\\n For I can stay no longer.\\r\\n If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word;\\r\\n And thou shalt find me at the Governor's. Exit\\r\\n BOY. Father, I warrant you; take you no care;\\r\\n I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SALISBURY and TALBOT on the turrets, with\\r\\n SIR WILLIAM GLANSDALE, SIR THOMAS GARGRAVE,\\r\\n and others\\r\\n\\r\\n SALISBURY. Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd!\\r\\n How wert thou handled being prisoner?\\r\\n Or by what means got'st thou to be releas'd?\\r\\n Discourse, I prithee, on this turret's top.\\r\\n TALBOT. The Earl of Bedford had a prisoner\\r\\n Call'd the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles;\\r\\n For him was I exchang'd and ransomed.\\r\\n But with a baser man of arms by far\\r\\n Once, in contempt, they would have barter'd me;\\r\\n Which I disdaining scorn'd, and craved death\\r\\n Rather than I would be so vile esteem'd.\\r\\n In fine, redeem'd I was as I desir'd.\\r\\n But, O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart\\r\\n Whom with my bare fists I would execute,\\r\\n If I now had him brought into my power.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Yet tell'st thou not how thou wert entertain'd.\\r\\n TALBOT. With scoffs, and scorns, and contumelious taunts,\\r\\n In open market-place produc'd they me\\r\\n To be a public spectacle to all;\\r\\n Here, said they, is the terror of the French,\\r\\n The scarecrow that affrights our children so.\\r\\n Then broke I from the officers that led me,\\r\\n And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground\\r\\n To hurl at the beholders of my shame;\\r\\n My grisly countenance made others fly;\\r\\n None durst come near for fear of sudden death.\\r\\n In iron walls they deem'd me not secure;\\r\\n So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread\\r\\n That they suppos'd I could rend bars of steel\\r\\n And spurn in pieces posts of adamant;\\r\\n Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had\\r\\n That walk'd about me every minute-while;\\r\\n And if I did but stir out of my bed,\\r\\n Ready they were to shoot me to the heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the BOY with a linstock\\r\\n\\r\\n SALISBURY. I grieve to hear what torments you endur'd;\\r\\n But we will be reveng'd sufficiently.\\r\\n Now it is supper-time in Orleans:\\r\\n Here, through this grate, I count each one\\r\\n And view the Frenchmen how they fortify.\\r\\n Let us look in; the sight will much delight thee.\\r\\n Sir Thomas Gargrave and Sir William Glansdale,\\r\\n Let me have your express opinions\\r\\n Where is best place to make our batt'ry next.\\r\\n GARGRAVE. I think at the North Gate; for there stand lords.\\r\\n GLANSDALE. And I here, at the bulwark of the bridge.\\r\\n TALBOT. For aught I see, this city must be famish'd,\\r\\n Or with light skirmishes enfeebled.\\r\\n [Here they shoot and SALISBURY and GARGRAVE\\r\\n fall down]\\r\\n SALISBURY. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners!\\r\\n GARGRAVE. O Lord, have mercy on me, woeful man!\\r\\n TALBOT. What chance is this that suddenly hath cross'd us?\\r\\n Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak.\\r\\n How far'st thou, mirror of all martial men?\\r\\n One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off!\\r\\n Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand\\r\\n That hath contriv'd this woeful tragedy!\\r\\n In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame;\\r\\n Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars;\\r\\n Whilst any trump did sound or drum struck up,\\r\\n His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field.\\r\\n Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury? Though thy speech doth fail,\\r\\n One eye thou hast to look to heaven for grace;\\r\\n The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.\\r\\n Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive\\r\\n If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands!\\r\\n Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it.\\r\\n Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life?\\r\\n Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him.\\r\\n Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort,\\r\\n Thou shalt not die whiles\\r\\n He beckons with his hand and smiles on me,\\r\\n As who should say 'When I am dead and gone,\\r\\n Remember to avenge me on the French.'\\r\\n Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero,\\r\\n Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn.\\r\\n Wretched shall France be only in my name.\\r\\n [Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens]\\r\\n What stir is this? What tumult's in the heavens?\\r\\n Whence cometh this alarum and the noise?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. My lord, my lord, the French have gather'd\\r\\n head\\r\\n The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd,\\r\\n A holy prophetess new risen up,\\r\\n Is come with a great power to raise the siege.\\r\\n [Here SALISBURY lifteth himself up and groans]\\r\\n TALBOT. Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan.\\r\\n It irks his heart he cannot be reveng'd.\\r\\n Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you.\\r\\n Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish,\\r\\n Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels\\r\\n And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.\\r\\n Convey me Salisbury into his tent,\\r\\n And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare.\\r\\n Alarum. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\n Before Orleans\\r\\n\\r\\n Here an alarum again, and TALBOT pursueth the\\r\\n DAUPHIN and driveth him. Then enter JOAN LA PUCELLE\\r\\n driving Englishmen before her. Then enter TALBOT\\r\\n\\r\\n TALBOT. Where is my strength, my valour, and my force?\\r\\n Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them;\\r\\n A woman clad in armour chaseth them.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LA PUCELLE\\r\\n\\r\\n Here, here she comes. I'll have a bout with thee.\\r\\n Devil or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee;\\r\\n Blood will I draw on thee-thou art a witch\\r\\n And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee.\\r\\n [Here they fight]\\r\\n TALBOT. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail?\\r\\n My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage.\\r\\n And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder,\\r\\n But I will chastise this high minded strumpet.\\r\\n [They fight again]\\r\\n PUCELLE. Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come.\\r\\n I must go victual Orleans forthwith.\\r\\n [A short alarum; then enter the town with soldiers]\\r\\n O'ertake me if thou canst; I scorn thy strength.\\r\\n Go, go, cheer up thy hungry starved men;\\r\\n Help Salisbury to make his testament.\\r\\n This day is ours, as many more shall be. Exit\\r\\n TALBOT. My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel;\\r\\n I know not where I am nor what I do.\\r\\n A witch by fear, not force, like Hannibal,\\r\\n Drives back our troops and conquers as she lists.\\r\\n So bees with smoke and doves with noisome stench\\r\\n Are from their hives and houses driven away.\\r\\n They call'd us, for our fierceness, English dogs;\\r\\n Now like to whelps we crying run away.\\r\\n [A short alarum]\\r\\n Hark, countrymen! Either renew the fight\\r\\n Or tear the lions out of England's coat;\\r\\n Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead:\\r\\n Sheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf,\\r\\n Or horse or oxen from the leopard,\\r\\n As you fly from your oft subdued slaves.\\r\\n [Alarum. Here another skirmish]\\r\\n It will not be-retire into your trenches.\\r\\n You all consented unto Salisbury's death,\\r\\n For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.\\r\\n Pucelle is ent'red into Orleans\\r\\n In spite of us or aught that we could do.\\r\\n O, would I were to die with Salisbury!\\r\\n The shame hereof will make me hide my head.\\r\\n Exit TALBOT. Alarum; retreat\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 6.\\r\\n\\r\\n ORLEANS\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Enter on the walls, LA PUCELLE, CHARLES,\\r\\n REIGNIER, ALENCON, and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n PUCELLE. Advance our waving colours on the walls;\\r\\n Rescu'd is Orleans from the English.\\r\\n Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word.\\r\\n CHARLES. Divinest creature, Astraea's daughter,\\r\\n How shall I honour thee for this success?\\r\\n Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens,\\r\\n That one day bloom'd and fruitful were the next.\\r\\n France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess.\\r\\n Recover'd is the town of Orleans.\\r\\n More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state.\\r\\n REIGNIER. Why ring not out the bells aloud throughout the\\r\\n town?\\r\\n Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires\\r\\n And feast and banquet in the open streets\\r\\n To celebrate the joy that God hath given us.\\r\\n ALENCON. All France will be replete with mirth and joy\\r\\n When they shall hear how we have play'd the men.\\r\\n CHARLES. 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won;\\r\\n For which I will divide my crown with her;\\r\\n And all the priests and friars in my realm\\r\\n Shall in procession sing her endless praise.\\r\\n A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear\\r\\n Than Rhodope's of Memphis ever was.\\r\\n In memory of her, when she is dead,\\r\\n Her ashes, in an urn more precious\\r\\n Than the rich jewel'd coffer of Darius,\\r\\n Transported shall be at high festivals\\r\\n Before the kings and queens of France.\\r\\n No longer on Saint Denis will we cry,\\r\\n But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint.\\r\\n Come in, and let us banquet royally\\r\\n After this golden day of victory. Flourish. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nBefore Orleans\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a FRENCH SERGEANT and two SENTINELS\\r\\n\\r\\n SERGEANT. Sirs, take your places and be vigilant.\\r\\n If any noise or soldier you perceive\\r\\n Near to the walls, by some apparent sign\\r\\n Let us have knowledge at the court of guard.\\r\\n FIRST SENTINEL. Sergeant, you shall. [Exit SERGEANT]\\r\\n Thus are poor servitors,\\r\\n When others sleep upon their quiet beds,\\r\\n Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, and forces,\\r\\n with scaling-ladders; their drums beating a dead\\r\\n march\\r\\n\\r\\n TALBOT. Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy,\\r\\n By whose approach the regions of Artois,\\r\\n Wallon, and Picardy, are friends to us,\\r\\n This happy night the Frenchmen are secure,\\r\\n Having all day carous'd and banqueted;\\r\\n Embrace we then this opportunity,\\r\\n As fitting best to quittance their deceit,\\r\\n Contriv'd by art and baleful sorcery.\\r\\n BEDFORD. Coward of France, how much he wrongs his fame,\\r\\n Despairing of his own arm's fortitude,\\r\\n To join with witches and the help of hell!\\r\\n BURGUNDY. Traitors have never other company.\\r\\n But what's that Pucelle whom they term so pure?\\r\\n TALBOT. A maid, they say.\\r\\n BEDFORD. A maid! and be so martial!\\r\\n BURGUNDY. Pray God she prove not masculine ere long,\\r\\n If underneath the standard of the French\\r\\n She carry armour as she hath begun.\\r\\n TALBOT. Well, let them practise and converse with spirits:\\r\\n God is our fortress, in whose conquering name\\r\\n Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.\\r\\n BEDFORD. Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.\\r\\n TALBOT. Not all together; better far, I guess,\\r\\n That we do make our entrance several ways;\\r\\n That if it chance the one of us do fail\\r\\n The other yet may rise against their force.\\r\\n BEDFORD. Agreed; I'll to yond corner.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. And I to this.\\r\\n TALBOT. And here will Talbot mount or make his grave.\\r\\n Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right\\r\\n Of English Henry, shall this night appear\\r\\n How much in duty I am bound to both.\\r\\n [The English scale the walls and cry 'Saint George!\\r\\n a Talbot!']\\r\\n SENTINEL. Arm! arm! The enemy doth make assault.\\r\\n\\r\\n The French leap o'er the walls in their shirts.\\r\\n Enter, several ways, BASTARD, ALENCON, REIGNIER,\\r\\n half ready and half unready\\r\\n\\r\\n ALENCON. How now, my lords? What, all unready so?\\r\\n BASTARD. Unready! Ay, and glad we 'scap'd so well.\\r\\n REIGNIER. 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds,\\r\\n Hearing alarums at our chamber doors.\\r\\n ALENCON. Of all exploits since first I follow'd arms\\r\\n Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise\\r\\n More venturous or desperate than this.\\r\\n BASTARD. I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell.\\r\\n REIGNIER. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him\\r\\n ALENCON. Here cometh Charles; I marvel how he sped.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CHARLES and LA PUCELLE\\r\\n\\r\\n BASTARD. Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard.\\r\\n CHARLES. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame?\\r\\n Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal,\\r\\n Make us partakers of a little gain\\r\\n That now our loss might be ten times so much?\\r\\n PUCELLE. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend?\\r\\n At all times will you have my power alike?\\r\\n Sleeping or waking, must I still prevail\\r\\n Or will you blame and lay the fault on me?\\r\\n Improvident soldiers! Had your watch been good\\r\\n This sudden mischief never could have fall'n.\\r\\n CHARLES. Duke of Alencon, this was your default\\r\\n That, being captain of the watch to-night,\\r\\n Did look no better to that weighty charge.\\r\\n ALENCON. Had all your quarters been as safely kept\\r\\n As that whereof I had the government,\\r\\n We had not been thus shamefully surpris'd.\\r\\n BASTARD. Mine was secure.\\r\\n REIGNIER. And so was mine, my lord.\\r\\n CHARLES. And, for myself, most part of all this night,\\r\\n Within her quarter and mine own precinct\\r\\n I was employ'd in passing to and fro\\r\\n About relieving of the sentinels.\\r\\n Then how or which way should they first break in?\\r\\n PUCELLE. Question, my lords, no further of the case,\\r\\n How or which way; 'tis sure they found some place\\r\\n But weakly guarded, where the breach was made.\\r\\n And now there rests no other shift but this\\r\\n To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispers'd,\\r\\n And lay new platforms to endamage them.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter an ENGLISH SOLDIER, crying\\r\\n 'A Talbot! A Talbot!' They fly, leaving their\\r\\n clothes behind\\r\\n\\r\\n SOLDIER. I'll be so bold to take what they have left.\\r\\n The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword;\\r\\n For I have loaden me with many spoils,\\r\\n Using no other weapon but his name. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\n ORLEANS. Within the town\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, a CAPTAIN,\\r\\n and others\\r\\n\\r\\n BEDFORD. The day begins to break, and night is fled\\r\\n Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth.\\r\\n Here sound retreat and cease our hot pursuit.\\r\\n [Retreat sounded]\\r\\n TALBOT. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury\\r\\n And here advance it in the market-place,\\r\\n The middle centre of this cursed town.\\r\\n Now have I paid my vow unto his soul;\\r\\n For every drop of blood was drawn from him\\r\\n There hath at least five Frenchmen died to-night.\\r\\n And that hereafter ages may behold\\r\\n What ruin happened in revenge of him,\\r\\n Within their chiefest temple I'll erect\\r\\n A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd;\\r\\n Upon the which, that every one may read,\\r\\n Shall be engrav'd the sack of Orleans,\\r\\n The treacherous manner of his mournful death,\\r\\n And what a terror he had been to France.\\r\\n But, lords, in all our bloody massacre,\\r\\n I muse we met not with the Dauphin's grace,\\r\\n His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc,\\r\\n Nor any of his false confederates.\\r\\n BEDFORD. 'Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began,\\r\\n Rous'd on the sudden from their drowsy beds,\\r\\n They did amongst the troops of armed men\\r\\n Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. Myself, as far as I could well discern\\r\\n For smoke and dusky vapours of the night,\\r\\n Am sure I scar'd the Dauphin and his trull,\\r\\n When arm in arm they both came swiftly running,\\r\\n Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves\\r\\n That could not live asunder day or night.\\r\\n After that things are set in order here,\\r\\n We'll follow them with all the power we have.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. All hail, my lords! Which of this princely train\\r\\n Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts\\r\\n So much applauded through the realm of France?\\r\\n TALBOT. Here is the Talbot; who would speak with him?\\r\\n MESSENGER. The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne,\\r\\n With modesty admiring thy renown,\\r\\n By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe\\r\\n To visit her poor castle where she lies,\\r\\n That she may boast she hath beheld the man\\r\\n Whose glory fills the world with loud report.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. Is it even so? Nay, then I see our wars\\r\\n Will turn into a peaceful comic sport,\\r\\n When ladies crave to be encount'red with.\\r\\n You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit.\\r\\n TALBOT. Ne'er trust me then; for when a world of men\\r\\n Could not prevail with all their oratory,\\r\\n Yet hath a woman's kindness overrul'd;\\r\\n And therefore tell her I return great thanks\\r\\n And in submission will attend on her.\\r\\n Will not your honours bear me company?\\r\\n BEDFORD. No, truly; 'tis more than manners will;\\r\\n And I have heard it said unbidden guests\\r\\n Are often welcomest when they are gone.\\r\\n TALBOT. Well then, alone, since there's no remedy,\\r\\n I mean to prove this lady's courtesy.\\r\\n Come hither, Captain. [Whispers] You perceive my mind?\\r\\n CAPTAIN. I do, my lord, and mean accordingly. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\n AUVERGNE. The Castle\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the COUNTESS and her PORTER\\r\\n\\r\\n COUNTESS. Porter, remember what I gave in charge;\\r\\n And when you have done so, bring the keys to me.\\r\\n PORTER. Madam, I will.\\r\\n COUNTESS. The plot is laid; if all things fall out right,\\r\\n I shall as famous be by this exploit.\\r\\n As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death.\\r\\n Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight,\\r\\n And his achievements of no less account.\\r\\n Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears\\r\\n To give their censure of these rare reports.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MESSENGER and TALBOT.\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. Madam, according as your ladyship desir'd,\\r\\n By message crav'd, so is Lord Talbot come.\\r\\n COUNTESS. And he is welcome. What! is this the man?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Madam, it is.\\r\\n COUNTESS. Is this the scourge of France?\\r\\n Is this Talbot, so much fear'd abroad\\r\\n That with his name the mothers still their babes?\\r\\n I see report is fabulous and false.\\r\\n I thought I should have seen some Hercules,\\r\\n A second Hector, for his grim aspect\\r\\n And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.\\r\\n Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf!\\r\\n It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp\\r\\n Should strike such terror to his enemies.\\r\\n TALBOT. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you;\\r\\n But since your ladyship is not at leisure,\\r\\n I'll sort some other time to visit you. [Going]\\r\\n COUNTESS. What means he now? Go ask him whither he\\r\\n goes.\\r\\n MESSENGER. Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves\\r\\n To know the cause of your abrupt departure.\\r\\n TALBOT. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief,\\r\\n I go to certify her Talbot's here.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PORTER With keys\\r\\n\\r\\n COUNTESS. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner.\\r\\n TALBOT. Prisoner! To whom?\\r\\n COUNTESS. To me, blood-thirsty lord\\r\\n And for that cause I train'd thee to my house.\\r\\n Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me,\\r\\n For in my gallery thy picture hangs;\\r\\n But now the substance shall endure the like\\r\\n And I will chain these legs and arms of thine\\r\\n That hast by tyranny these many years\\r\\n Wasted our country, slain our citizens,\\r\\n And sent our sons and husbands captivate.\\r\\n TALBOT. Ha, ha, ha!\\r\\n COUNTESS. Laughest thou, wretch? Thy mirth shall turn to\\r\\n moan.\\r\\n TALBOT. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond\\r\\n To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow\\r\\n Whereon to practise your severity.\\r\\n COUNTESS. Why, art not thou the man?\\r\\n TALBOT. I am indeed.\\r\\n COUNTESS. Then have I substance too.\\r\\n TALBOT. No, no, I am but shadow of myself.\\r\\n You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here;\\r\\n For what you see is but the smallest part\\r\\n And least proportion of humanity.\\r\\n I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here,\\r\\n It is of such a spacious lofty pitch\\r\\n Your roof were not sufficient to contain 't.\\r\\n COUNTESS. This is a riddling merchant for the nonce;\\r\\n He will be here, and yet he is not here.\\r\\n How can these contrarieties agree?\\r\\n TALBOT. That will I show you presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n Winds his horn; drums strike up;\\r\\n a peal of ordnance. Enter soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n How say you, madam? Are you now persuaded\\r\\n That Talbot is but shadow of himself?\\r\\n These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength,\\r\\n With which he yoketh your rebellious necks,\\r\\n Razeth your cities, and subverts your towns,\\r\\n And in a moment makes them desolate.\\r\\n COUNTESS. Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse.\\r\\n I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited,\\r\\n And more than may be gathered by thy shape.\\r\\n Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath,\\r\\n For I am sorry that with reverence\\r\\n I did not entertain thee as thou art.\\r\\n TALBOT. Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconster\\r\\n The mind of Talbot as you did mistake\\r\\n The outward composition of his body.\\r\\n What you have done hath not offended me.\\r\\n Nor other satisfaction do I crave\\r\\n But only, with your patience, that we may\\r\\n Taste of your wine and see what cates you have,\\r\\n For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well.\\r\\n COUNTESS. With all my heart, and think me honoured\\r\\n To feast so great a warrior in my house. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\n London. The Temple garden\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the EARLS OF SOMERSET, SUFFOLK, and WARWICK;\\r\\n RICHARD PLANTAGENET, VERNON, and another LAWYER\\r\\n\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Great lords and gentlemen, what means this\\r\\n silence?\\r\\n Dare no man answer in a case of truth?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Within the Temple Hall we were too loud;\\r\\n The garden here is more convenient.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Then say at once if I maintain'd the truth;\\r\\n Or else was wrangling Somerset in th' error?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Faith, I have been a truant in the law\\r\\n And never yet could frame my will to it;\\r\\n And therefore frame the law unto my will.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Judge you, my Lord of Warwick, then, between us.\\r\\n WARWICK. Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch;\\r\\n Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth;\\r\\n Between two blades, which bears the better temper;\\r\\n Between two horses, which doth bear him best;\\r\\n Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye\\r\\n I have perhaps some shallow spirit of judgment;\\r\\n But in these nice sharp quillets of the law,\\r\\n Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance:\\r\\n The truth appears so naked on my side\\r\\n That any purblind eye may find it out.\\r\\n SOMERSET. And on my side it is so well apparell'd,\\r\\n So clear, so shining, and so evident,\\r\\n That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Since you are tongue-tied and so loath to speak,\\r\\n In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts.\\r\\n Let him that is a true-born gentleman\\r\\n And stands upon the honour of his birth,\\r\\n If he suppose that I have pleaded truth,\\r\\n From off this brier pluck a white rose with me.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer,\\r\\n But dare maintain the party of the truth,\\r\\n Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.\\r\\n WARWICK. I love no colours; and, without all colour\\r\\n Of base insinuating flattery,\\r\\n I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. I pluck this red rose with young Somerset,\\r\\n And say withal I think he held the right.\\r\\n VERNON. Stay, lords and gentlemen, and pluck no more\\r\\n Till you conclude that he upon whose side\\r\\n The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree\\r\\n Shall yield the other in the right opinion.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Good Master Vernon, it is well objected;\\r\\n If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. And I.\\r\\n VERNON. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case,\\r\\n I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here,\\r\\n Giving my verdict on the white rose side.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off,\\r\\n Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red,\\r\\n And fall on my side so, against your will.\\r\\n VERNON. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed,\\r\\n Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt\\r\\n And keep me on the side where still I am.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Well, well, come on; who else?\\r\\n LAWYER. [To Somerset] Unless my study and my books be\\r\\n false,\\r\\n The argument you held was wrong in you;\\r\\n In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Now, Somerset, where is your argument?\\r\\n SOMERSET. Here in my scabbard, meditating that\\r\\n Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Meantime your cheeks do counterfeit our\\r\\n roses;\\r\\n For pale they look with fear, as witnessing\\r\\n The truth on our side.\\r\\n SOMERSET. No, Plantagenet,\\r\\n 'Tis not for fear but anger that thy cheeks\\r\\n Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses,\\r\\n And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?\\r\\n SOMERSET. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth;\\r\\n Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding roses,\\r\\n That shall maintain what I have said is true,\\r\\n Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand,\\r\\n I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Proud Pole, I will, and scorn both him and\\r\\n thee.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Away, away, good William de la Pole!\\r\\n We grace the yeoman by conversing with him.\\r\\n WARWICK. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, Somerset;\\r\\n His grandfather was Lionel Duke of Clarence,\\r\\n Third son to the third Edward, King of England.\\r\\n Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root?\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. He bears him on the place's privilege,\\r\\n Or durst not for his craven heart say thus.\\r\\n SOMERSET. By Him that made me, I'll maintain my words\\r\\n On any plot of ground in Christendom.\\r\\n Was not thy father, Richard Earl of Cambridge,\\r\\n For treason executed in our late king's days?\\r\\n And by his treason stand'st not thou attainted,\\r\\n Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry?\\r\\n His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood;\\r\\n And till thou be restor'd thou art a yeoman.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. My father was attached, not attainted;\\r\\n Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor;\\r\\n And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset,\\r\\n Were growing time once ripened to my will.\\r\\n For your partaker Pole, and you yourself,\\r\\n I'll note you in my book of memory\\r\\n To scourge you for this apprehension.\\r\\n Look to it well, and say you are well warn'd.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still;\\r\\n And know us by these colours for thy foes\\r\\n For these my friends in spite of thee shall wear.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose,\\r\\n As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate,\\r\\n Will I for ever, and my faction, wear,\\r\\n Until it wither with me to my grave,\\r\\n Or flourish to the height of my degree.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambition!\\r\\n And so farewell until I meet thee next. Exit\\r\\n SOMERSET. Have with thee, Pole. Farewell, ambitious\\r\\n Richard. Exit\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. How I am brav'd, and must perforce endure\\r\\n it!\\r\\n WARWICK. This blot that they object against your house\\r\\n Shall be wip'd out in the next Parliament,\\r\\n Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloucester;\\r\\n And if thou be not then created York,\\r\\n I will not live to be accounted Warwick.\\r\\n Meantime, in signal of my love to thee,\\r\\n Against proud Somerset and William Pole,\\r\\n Will I upon thy party wear this rose;\\r\\n And here I prophesy: this brawl to-day,\\r\\n Grown to this faction in the Temple Garden,\\r\\n Shall send between the Red Rose and the White\\r\\n A thousand souls to death and deadly night.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Good Master Vernon, I am bound to you\\r\\n That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.\\r\\n VERNON. In your behalf still will I wear the same.\\r\\n LAWYER. And so will I.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Thanks, gentle sir.\\r\\n Come, let us four to dinner. I dare say\\r\\n This quarrel will drink blood another day. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\n The Tower of London\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MORTIMER, brought in a chair, and GAOLERS\\r\\n\\r\\n MORTIMER. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age,\\r\\n Let dying Mortimer here rest himself.\\r\\n Even like a man new haled from the rack,\\r\\n So fare my limbs with long imprisonment;\\r\\n And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death,\\r\\n Nestor-like aged in an age of care,\\r\\n Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.\\r\\n These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent,\\r\\n Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent;\\r\\n Weak shoulders, overborne with burdening grief,\\r\\n And pithless arms, like to a withered vine\\r\\n That droops his sapless branches to the ground.\\r\\n Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb,\\r\\n Unable to support this lump of clay,\\r\\n Swift-winged with desire to get a grave,\\r\\n As witting I no other comfort have.\\r\\n But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?\\r\\n FIRST KEEPER. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come.\\r\\n We sent unto the Temple, unto his chamber;\\r\\n And answer was return'd that he will come.\\r\\n MORTIMER. Enough; my soul shall then be satisfied.\\r\\n Poor gentleman! his wrong doth equal mine.\\r\\n Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign,\\r\\n Before whose glory I was great in arms,\\r\\n This loathsome sequestration have I had;\\r\\n And even since then hath Richard been obscur'd,\\r\\n Depriv'd of honour and inheritance.\\r\\n But now the arbitrator of despairs,\\r\\n Just Death, kind umpire of men's miseries,\\r\\n With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence.\\r\\n I would his troubles likewise were expir'd,\\r\\n That so he might recover what was lost.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter RICHARD PLANTAGENET\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST KEEPER. My lord, your loving nephew now is come.\\r\\n MORTIMER. Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come?\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd,\\r\\n Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes.\\r\\n MORTIMER. Direct mine arms I may embrace his neck\\r\\n And in his bosom spend my latter gasp.\\r\\n O, tell me when my lips do touch his cheeks,\\r\\n That I may kindly give one fainting kiss.\\r\\n And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock,\\r\\n Why didst thou say of late thou wert despis'd?\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. First, lean thine aged back against mine arm;\\r\\n And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease.\\r\\n This day, in argument upon a case,\\r\\n Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me;\\r\\n Among which terms he us'd his lavish tongue\\r\\n And did upbraid me with my father's death;\\r\\n Which obloquy set bars before my tongue,\\r\\n Else with the like I had requited him.\\r\\n Therefore, good uncle, for my father's sake,\\r\\n In honour of a true Plantagenet,\\r\\n And for alliance sake, declare the cause\\r\\n My father, Earl of Cambridge, lost his head.\\r\\n MORTIMER. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me\\r\\n And hath detain'd me all my flow'ring youth\\r\\n Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine,\\r\\n Was cursed instrument of his decease.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Discover more at large what cause that was,\\r\\n For I am ignorant and cannot guess.\\r\\n MORTIMER. I will, if that my fading breath permit\\r\\n And death approach not ere my tale be done.\\r\\n Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king,\\r\\n Depos'd his nephew Richard, Edward's son,\\r\\n The first-begotten and the lawful heir\\r\\n Of Edward king, the third of that descent;\\r\\n During whose reign the Percies of the north,\\r\\n Finding his usurpation most unjust,\\r\\n Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne.\\r\\n The reason mov'd these warlike lords to this\\r\\n Was, for that-young Richard thus remov'd,\\r\\n Leaving no heir begotten of his body-\\r\\n I was the next by birth and parentage;\\r\\n For by my mother I derived am\\r\\n From Lionel Duke of Clarence, third son\\r\\n To King Edward the Third; whereas he\\r\\n From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree,\\r\\n Being but fourth of that heroic line.\\r\\n But mark: as in this haughty great attempt\\r\\n They laboured to plant the rightful heir,\\r\\n I lost my liberty, and they their lives.\\r\\n Long after this, when Henry the Fifth,\\r\\n Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign,\\r\\n Thy father, Earl of Cambridge, then deriv'd\\r\\n From famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York,\\r\\n Marrying my sister, that thy mother was,\\r\\n Again, in pity of my hard distress,\\r\\n Levied an army, weening to redeem\\r\\n And have install'd me in the diadem;\\r\\n But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl,\\r\\n And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers,\\r\\n In whom the title rested, were suppress'd.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Of Which, my lord, your honour is the last.\\r\\n MORTIMER. True; and thou seest that I no issue have,\\r\\n And that my fainting words do warrant death.\\r\\n Thou art my heir; the rest I wish thee gather;\\r\\n But yet be wary in thy studious care.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Thy grave admonishments prevail with me.\\r\\n But yet methinks my father's execution\\r\\n Was nothing less than bloody tyranny.\\r\\n MORTIMER. With silence, nephew, be thou politic;\\r\\n Strong fixed is the house of Lancaster\\r\\n And like a mountain not to be remov'd.\\r\\n But now thy uncle is removing hence,\\r\\n As princes do their courts when they are cloy'd\\r\\n With long continuance in a settled place.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. O uncle, would some part of my young years\\r\\n Might but redeem the passage of your age!\\r\\n MORTIMER. Thou dost then wrong me, as that slaughterer\\r\\n doth\\r\\n Which giveth many wounds when one will kill.\\r\\n Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good;\\r\\n Only give order for my funeral.\\r\\n And so, farewell; and fair be all thy hopes,\\r\\n And prosperous be thy life in peace and war! [Dies]\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. And peace, no war, befall thy parting soul!\\r\\n In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage,\\r\\n And like a hermit overpass'd thy days.\\r\\n Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast;\\r\\n And what I do imagine, let that rest.\\r\\n Keepers, convey him hence; and I myself\\r\\n Will see his burial better than his life.\\r\\n Exeunt GAOLERS, hearing out the body of MORTIMER\\r\\n Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer,\\r\\n Chok'd with ambition of the meaner sort;\\r\\n And for those wrongs, those bitter injuries,\\r\\n Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house,\\r\\n I doubt not but with honour to redress;\\r\\n And therefore haste I to the Parliament,\\r\\n Either to be restored to my blood,\\r\\n Or make my ill th' advantage of my good. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The Parliament House\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter the KING, EXETER, GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, SOMERSET, and\\r\\nSUFFOLK; the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, RICHARD PLANTAGENET, and others.\\r\\nGLOUCESTER offers to put up a bill; WINCHESTER snatches it, and tears\\r\\nit\\r\\n\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines,\\r\\n With written pamphlets studiously devis'd?\\r\\n Humphrey of Gloucester, if thou canst accuse\\r\\n Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge,\\r\\n Do it without invention, suddenly;\\r\\n I with sudden and extemporal speech\\r\\n Purpose to answer what thou canst object.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Presumptuous priest, this place commands my\\r\\n patience,\\r\\n Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonour'd me.\\r\\n Think not, although in writing I preferr'd\\r\\n The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes,\\r\\n That therefore I have forg'd, or am not able\\r\\n Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen.\\r\\n No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness,\\r\\n Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks,\\r\\n As very infants prattle of thy pride.\\r\\n Thou art a most pernicious usurer;\\r\\n Froward by nature, enemy to peace;\\r\\n Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems\\r\\n A man of thy profession and degree;\\r\\n And for thy treachery, what's more manifest\\r\\n In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life,\\r\\n As well at London Bridge as at the Tower?\\r\\n Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted,\\r\\n The King, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt\\r\\n From envious malice of thy swelling heart.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Gloucester, I do defy thee. Lords, vouchsafe\\r\\n To give me hearing what I shall reply.\\r\\n If I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse,\\r\\n As he will have me, how am I so poor?\\r\\n Or how haps it I seek not to advance\\r\\n Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling?\\r\\n And for dissension, who preferreth peace\\r\\n More than I do, except I be provok'd?\\r\\n No, my good lords, it is not that offends;\\r\\n It is not that that incens'd hath incens'd the Duke:\\r\\n It is because no one should sway but he;\\r\\n No one but he should be about the King;\\r\\n And that engenders thunder in his breast\\r\\n And makes him roar these accusations forth.\\r\\n But he shall know I am as good\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. As good!\\r\\n Thou bastard of my grandfather!\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray,\\r\\n But one imperious in another's throne?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Am I not Protector, saucy priest?\\r\\n WINCHESTER. And am not I a prelate of the church?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps,\\r\\n And useth it to patronage his theft.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Unreverent Gloucester!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Thou art reverend\\r\\n Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Rome shall remedy this.\\r\\n WARWICK. Roam thither then.\\r\\n SOMERSET. My lord, it were your duty to forbear.\\r\\n WARWICK. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Methinks my lord should be religious,\\r\\n And know the office that belongs to such.\\r\\n WARWICK. Methinks his lordship should be humbler;\\r\\n It fitteth not a prelate so to plead.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near.\\r\\n WARWICK. State holy or unhallow'd, what of that?\\r\\n Is not his Grace Protector to the King?\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. [Aside] Plantagenet, I see, must hold his\\r\\n tongue,\\r\\n Lest it be said 'Speak, sirrah, when you should;\\r\\n Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords?'\\r\\n Else would I have a fling at Winchester.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Uncles of Gloucester and of Winchester,\\r\\n The special watchmen of our English weal,\\r\\n I would prevail, if prayers might prevail\\r\\n To join your hearts in love and amity.\\r\\n O, what a scandal is it to our crown\\r\\n That two such noble peers as ye should jar!\\r\\n Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell\\r\\n Civil dissension is a viperous worm\\r\\n That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.\\r\\n [A noise within: 'Down with the tawny coats!']\\r\\n What tumult's this?\\r\\n WARWICK. An uproar, I dare warrant,\\r\\n Begun through malice of the Bishop's men.\\r\\n [A noise again: 'Stones! Stones!']\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the MAYOR OF LONDON, attended\\r\\n\\r\\n MAYOR. O, my good lords, and virtuous Henry,\\r\\n Pity the city of London, pity us!\\r\\n The Bishop and the Duke of Gloucester's men,\\r\\n Forbidden late to carry any weapon,\\r\\n Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble stones\\r\\n And, banding themselves in contrary parts,\\r\\n Do pelt so fast at one another's pate\\r\\n That many have their giddy brains knock'd out.\\r\\n Our windows are broke down in every street,\\r\\n And we for fear compell'd to shut our shops.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter in skirmish, the retainers of GLOUCESTER and\\r\\n WINCHESTER, with bloody pates\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. We charge you, on allegiance to ourself,\\r\\n To hold your slaught'ring hands and keep the peace.\\r\\n Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife.\\r\\n FIRST SERVING-MAN. Nay, if we be forbidden stones, we'll\\r\\n fall to it with our teeth.\\r\\n SECOND SERVING-MAN. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute.\\r\\n [Skirmish again]\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. You of my household, leave this peevish broil,\\r\\n And set this unaccustom'd fight aside.\\r\\n THIRD SERVING-MAN. My lord, we know your Grace to be a\\r\\n man\\r\\n Just and upright, and for your royal birth\\r\\n Inferior to none but to his Majesty;\\r\\n And ere that we will suffer such a prince,\\r\\n So kind a father of the commonweal,\\r\\n To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate,\\r\\n We and our wives and children all will fight\\r\\n And have our bodies slaught'red by thy foes.\\r\\n FIRST SERVING-MAN. Ay, and the very parings of our nails\\r\\n Shall pitch a field when we are dead. [Begin again]\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Stay, stay, I say!\\r\\n And if you love me, as you say you do,\\r\\n Let me persuade you to forbear awhile.\\r\\n KING HENRY. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul!\\r\\n Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold\\r\\n My sighs and tears and will not once relent?\\r\\n Who should be pitiful, if you be not?\\r\\n Or who should study to prefer a peace,\\r\\n If holy churchmen take delight in broils?\\r\\n WARWICK. Yield, my Lord Protector; yield, Winchester;\\r\\n Except you mean with obstinate repulse\\r\\n To slay your sovereign and destroy the realm.\\r\\n You see what mischief, and what murder too,\\r\\n Hath been enacted through your enmity;\\r\\n Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. He shall submit, or I will never yield.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Compassion on the King commands me stoop,\\r\\n Or I would see his heart out ere the priest\\r\\n Should ever get that privilege of me.\\r\\n WARWICK. Behold, my Lord of Winchester, the Duke\\r\\n Hath banish'd moody discontented fury,\\r\\n As by his smoothed brows it doth appear;\\r\\n Why look you still so stem and tragical?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Fie, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you preach\\r\\n That malice was a great and grievous sin;\\r\\n And will not you maintain the thing you teach,\\r\\n But prove a chief offender in the same?\\r\\n WARWICK. Sweet King! The Bishop hath a kindly gird.\\r\\n For shame, my Lord of Winchester, relent;\\r\\n What, shall a child instruct you what to do?\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Well, Duke of Gloucester, I will yield to thee;\\r\\n Love for thy love and hand for hand I give.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER [Aside] Ay, but, I fear me, with a hollow\\r\\n heart.\\r\\n See here, my friends and loving countrymen:\\r\\n This token serveth for a flag of truce\\r\\n Betwixt ourselves and all our followers.\\r\\n So help me God, as I dissemble not!\\r\\n WINCHESTER [Aside] So help me God, as I intend it not!\\r\\n KING HENRY. O loving uncle, kind Duke of Gloucester,\\r\\n How joyful am I made by this contract!\\r\\n Away, my masters! trouble us no more;\\r\\n But join in friendship, as your lords have done.\\r\\n FIRST SERVING-MAN. Content: I'll to the surgeon's.\\r\\n SECOND SERVING-MAN. And so will I.\\r\\n THIRD SERVING-MAN. And I will see what physic the tavern\\r\\n affords. Exeunt servants, MAYOR, &C.\\r\\n WARWICK. Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign;\\r\\n Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet\\r\\n We do exhibit to your Majesty.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Well urg'd, my Lord of Warwick; for, sweet\\r\\n prince,\\r\\n An if your Grace mark every circumstance,\\r\\n You have great reason to do Richard right;\\r\\n Especially for those occasions\\r\\n At Eltham Place I told your Majesty.\\r\\n KING HENRY. And those occasions, uncle, were of force;\\r\\n Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is\\r\\n That Richard be restored to his blood.\\r\\n WARWICK. Let Richard be restored to his blood;\\r\\n So shall his father's wrongs be recompens'd.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. As will the rest, so willeth Winchester.\\r\\n KING HENRY. If Richard will be true, not that alone\\r\\n But all the whole inheritance I give\\r\\n That doth belong unto the house of York,\\r\\n From whence you spring by lineal descent.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. Thy humble servant vows obedience\\r\\n And humble service till the point of death.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Stoop then and set your knee against my foot;\\r\\n And in reguerdon of that duty done\\r\\n I girt thee with the valiant sword of York.\\r\\n Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet,\\r\\n And rise created princely Duke of York.\\r\\n PLANTAGENET. And so thrive Richard as thy foes may fall!\\r\\n And as my duty springs, so perish they\\r\\n That grudge one thought against your Majesty!\\r\\n ALL. Welcome, high Prince, the mighty Duke of York!\\r\\n SOMERSET. [Aside] Perish, base Prince, ignoble Duke of\\r\\n York!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Now will it best avail your Majesty\\r\\n To cross the seas and to be crown'd in France:\\r\\n The presence of a king engenders love\\r\\n Amongst his subjects and his loyal friends,\\r\\n As it disanimates his enemies.\\r\\n KING HENRY. When Gloucester says the word, King Henry\\r\\n goes;\\r\\n For friendly counsel cuts off many foes.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Your ships already are in readiness.\\r\\n Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but EXETER\\r\\n EXETER. Ay, we may march in England or in France,\\r\\n Not seeing what is likely to ensue.\\r\\n This late dissension grown betwixt the peers\\r\\n Burns under feigned ashes of forg'd love\\r\\n And will at last break out into a flame;\\r\\n As fest'red members rot but by degree\\r\\n Till bones and flesh and sinews fall away,\\r\\n So will this base and envious discord breed.\\r\\n And now I fear that fatal prophecy.\\r\\n Which in the time of Henry nam'd the Fifth\\r\\n Was in the mouth of every sucking babe:\\r\\n That Henry born at Monmouth should win all,\\r\\n And Henry born at Windsor should lose all.\\r\\n Which is so plain that Exeter doth wish\\r\\n His days may finish ere that hapless time. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\n France. Before Rouen\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LA PUCELLE disguis'd, with four soldiers dressed\\r\\n like countrymen, with sacks upon their backs\\r\\n\\r\\n PUCELLE. These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen,\\r\\n Through which our policy must make a breach.\\r\\n Take heed, be wary how you place your words;\\r\\n Talk like the vulgar sort of market-men\\r\\n That come to gather money for their corn.\\r\\n If we have entrance, as I hope we shall,\\r\\n And that we find the slothful watch but weak,\\r\\n I'll by a sign give notice to our friends,\\r\\n That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them.\\r\\n FIRST SOLDIER. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city,\\r\\n And we be lords and rulers over Rouen;\\r\\n Therefore we'll knock. [Knocks]\\r\\n WATCH. [Within] Qui est la?\\r\\n PUCELLE. Paysans, pauvres gens de France\\r\\n Poor market-folks that come to sell their corn.\\r\\n WATCH. Enter, go in; the market-bell is rung.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Now, Rouen, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the\\r\\n ground.\\r\\n\\r\\n [LA PUCELLE, &c., enter the town]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CHARLES, BASTARD, ALENCON, REIGNIER, and forces\\r\\n\\r\\n CHARLES. Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem!\\r\\n And once again we'll sleep secure in Rouen.\\r\\n BASTARD. Here ent'red Pucelle and her practisants;\\r\\n Now she is there, how will she specify\\r\\n Here is the best and safest passage in?\\r\\n ALENCON. By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower;\\r\\n Which once discern'd shows that her meaning is\\r\\n No way to that, for weakness, which she ent'red.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LA PUCELLE, on the top, thrusting out\\r\\n a torch burning\\r\\n\\r\\n PUCELLE. Behold, this is the happy wedding torch\\r\\n That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen,\\r\\n But burning fatal to the Talbotites. Exit\\r\\n BASTARD. See, noble Charles, the beacon of our friend;\\r\\n The burning torch in yonder turret stands.\\r\\n CHARLES. Now shine it like a comet of revenge,\\r\\n A prophet to the fall of all our foes!\\r\\n ALENCON. Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends;\\r\\n Enter, and cry 'The Dauphin!' presently,\\r\\n And then do execution on the watch. Alarum. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n An alarum. Enter TALBOT in an excursion\\r\\n\\r\\n TALBOT. France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy tears,\\r\\n If Talbot but survive thy treachery.\\r\\n PUCELLE, that witch, that damned sorceress,\\r\\n Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares,\\r\\n That hardly we escap'd the pride of France. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n An alarum; excursions. BEDFORD brought in sick in\\r\\n a chair. Enter TALBOT and BURGUNDY without;\\r\\n within, LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, BASTARD, ALENCON,\\r\\n and REIGNIER, on the walls\\r\\n\\r\\n PUCELLE. Good morrow, gallants! Want ye corn for bread?\\r\\n I think the Duke of Burgundy will fast\\r\\n Before he'll buy again at such a rate.\\r\\n 'Twas full of darnel-do you like the taste?\\r\\n BURGUNDY. Scoff on, vile fiend and shameless courtezan.\\r\\n I trust ere long to choke thee with thine own,\\r\\n And make thee curse the harvest of that corn.\\r\\n CHARLES. Your Grace may starve, perhaps, before that time.\\r\\n BEDFORD. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason!\\r\\n PUCELLE. What you do, good grey beard? Break a\\r\\n lance,\\r\\n And run a tilt at death within a chair?\\r\\n TALBOT. Foul fiend of France and hag of all despite,\\r\\n Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours,\\r\\n Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age\\r\\n And twit with cowardice a man half dead?\\r\\n Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again,\\r\\n Or else let Talbot perish with this shame.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Are ye so hot, sir? Yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace;\\r\\n If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow.\\r\\n [The English party whisper together in council]\\r\\n God speed the parliament! Who shall be the Speaker?\\r\\n TALBOT. Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field?\\r\\n PUCELLE. Belike your lordship takes us then for fools,\\r\\n To try if that our own be ours or no.\\r\\n TALBOT. I speak not to that railing Hecate,\\r\\n But unto thee, Alencon, and the rest.\\r\\n Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out?\\r\\n ALENCON. Signior, no.\\r\\n TALBOT. Signior, hang! Base muleteers of France!\\r\\n Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls,\\r\\n And dare not take up arms like gentlemen.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Away, captains! Let's get us from the walls;\\r\\n For Talbot means no goodness by his looks.\\r\\n God b'uy, my lord; we came but to tell you\\r\\n That we are here. Exeunt from the walls\\r\\n TALBOT. And there will we be too, ere it be long,\\r\\n Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame!\\r\\n Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house,\\r\\n Prick'd on by public wrongs sustain'd in France,\\r\\n Either to get the town again or die;\\r\\n And I, as sure as English Henry lives\\r\\n And as his father here was conqueror,\\r\\n As sure as in this late betrayed town\\r\\n Great Coeur-de-lion's heart was buried\\r\\n So sure I swear to get the town or die.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. My vows are equal partners with thy vows.\\r\\n TALBOT. But ere we go, regard this dying prince,\\r\\n The valiant Duke of Bedford. Come, my lord,\\r\\n We will bestow you in some better place,\\r\\n Fitter for sickness and for crazy age.\\r\\n BEDFORD. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me;\\r\\n Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen,\\r\\n And will be partner of your weal or woe.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you.\\r\\n BEDFORD. Not to be gone from hence; for once I read\\r\\n That stout Pendragon in his litter sick\\r\\n Came to the field, and vanquished his foes.\\r\\n Methinks I should revive the soldiers' hearts,\\r\\n Because I ever found them as myself.\\r\\n TALBOT. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast!\\r\\n Then be it so. Heavens keep old Bedford safe!\\r\\n And now no more ado, brave Burgundy,\\r\\n But gather we our forces out of hand\\r\\n And set upon our boasting enemy.\\r\\n Exeunt against the town all but BEDFORD and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n An alarum; excursions. Enter SIR JOHN FASTOLFE,\\r\\n and a CAPTAIN\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPTAIN. Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in such haste?\\r\\n FASTOLFE. Whither away? To save myself by flight:\\r\\n We are like to have the overthrow again.\\r\\n CAPTAIN. What! Will you and leave Lord Talbot?\\r\\n FASTOLFE. Ay,\\r\\n All the Talbots in the world, to save my life. Exit\\r\\n CAPTAIN. Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow thee!\\r\\n Exit into the town\\r\\n\\r\\n Retreat; excursions. LA PUCELLE, ALENCON,\\r\\n and CHARLES fly\\r\\n\\r\\n BEDFORD. Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please,\\r\\n For I have seen our enemies' overthrow.\\r\\n What is the trust or strength of foolish man?\\r\\n They that of late were daring with their scoffs\\r\\n Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves.\\r\\n [BEDFORD dies and is carried in by two in his chair]\\r\\n\\r\\n An alarum. Re-enter TALBOT, BURGUNDY, and the rest\\r\\n\\r\\n TALBOT. Lost and recovered in a day again!\\r\\n This is a double honour, Burgundy.\\r\\n Yet heavens have glory for this victory!\\r\\n BURGUNDY. Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy\\r\\n Enshrines thee in his heart, and there erects\\r\\n Thy noble deeds as valour's monuments.\\r\\n TALBOT. Thanks, gentle Duke. But where is Pucelle now?\\r\\n I think her old familiar is asleep.\\r\\n Now where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his gleeks?\\r\\n What, all amort? Rouen hangs her head for grief\\r\\n That such a valiant company are fled.\\r\\n Now will we take some order in the town,\\r\\n Placing therein some expert officers;\\r\\n And then depart to Paris to the King,\\r\\n For there young Henry with his nobles lie.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. What Lord Talbot pleaseth Burgundy.\\r\\n TALBOT. But yet, before we go, let's not forget\\r\\n The noble Duke of Bedford, late deceas'd,\\r\\n But see his exequies fulfill'd in Rouen.\\r\\n A braver soldier never couched lance,\\r\\n A gentler heart did never sway in court;\\r\\n But kings and mightiest potentates must die,\\r\\n For that's the end of human misery. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\n The plains near Rouen\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CHARLES, the BASTARD, ALENCON, LA PUCELLE,\\r\\n and forces\\r\\n\\r\\n PUCELLE. Dismay not, Princes, at this accident,\\r\\n Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered.\\r\\n Care is no cure, but rather corrosive,\\r\\n For things that are not to be remedied.\\r\\n Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while\\r\\n And like a peacock sweep along his tail;\\r\\n We'll pull his plumes and take away his train,\\r\\n If Dauphin and the rest will be but rul'd.\\r\\n CHARLES. We have guided by thee hitherto,\\r\\n And of thy cunning had no diffidence;\\r\\n One sudden foil shall never breed distrust\\r\\n BASTARD. Search out thy wit for secret policies,\\r\\n And we will make thee famous through the world.\\r\\n ALENCON. We'll set thy statue in some holy place,\\r\\n And have thee reverenc'd like a blessed saint.\\r\\n Employ thee, then, sweet virgin, for our good.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise:\\r\\n By fair persuasions, mix'd with sug'red words,\\r\\n We will entice the Duke of Burgundy\\r\\n To leave the Talbot and to follow us.\\r\\n CHARLES. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that,\\r\\n France were no place for Henry's warriors;\\r\\n Nor should that nation boast it so with us,\\r\\n But be extirped from our provinces.\\r\\n ALENCON. For ever should they be expuls'd from France,\\r\\n And not have tide of an earldom here.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Your honours shall perceive how I will work\\r\\n To bring this matter to the wished end.\\r\\n [Drum sounds afar off]\\r\\n Hark! by the sound of drum you may perceive\\r\\n Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward.\\r\\n\\r\\n Here sound an English march. Enter, and pass over\\r\\n at a distance, TALBOT and his forces\\r\\n\\r\\n There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread,\\r\\n And all the troops of English after him.\\r\\n\\r\\n French march. Enter the DUKE OF BURGUNDY and\\r\\n his forces\\r\\n\\r\\n Now in the rearward comes the Duke and his.\\r\\n Fortune in favour makes him lag behind.\\r\\n Summon a parley; we will talk with him.\\r\\n [Trumpets sound a parley]\\r\\n CHARLES. A parley with the Duke of Burgundy!\\r\\n BURGUNDY. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy?\\r\\n PUCELLE. The princely Charles of France, thy countryman.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. What say'st thou, Charles? for I am marching\\r\\n hence.\\r\\n CHARLES. Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy words.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France!\\r\\n Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. Speak on; but be not over-tedious.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Look on thy country, look on fertile France,\\r\\n And see the cities and the towns defac'd\\r\\n By wasting ruin of the cruel foe;\\r\\n As looks the mother on her lowly babe\\r\\n When death doth close his tender dying eyes,\\r\\n See, see the pining malady of France;\\r\\n Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds,\\r\\n Which thou thyself hast given her woeful breast.\\r\\n O, turn thy edged sword another way;\\r\\n Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help!\\r\\n One drop of blood drawn from thy country's bosom\\r\\n Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore.\\r\\n Return thee therefore with a flood of tears,\\r\\n And wash away thy country's stained spots.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. Either she hath bewitch'd me with her words,\\r\\n Or nature makes me suddenly relent.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee,\\r\\n Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny.\\r\\n Who join'st thou with but with a lordly nation\\r\\n That will not trust thee but for profit's sake?\\r\\n When Talbot hath set footing once in France,\\r\\n And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill,\\r\\n Who then but English Henry will be lord,\\r\\n And thou be thrust out like a fugitive?\\r\\n Call we to mind-and mark but this for proof:\\r\\n Was not the Duke of Orleans thy foe?\\r\\n And was he not in England prisoner?\\r\\n But when they heard he was thine enemy\\r\\n They set him free without his ransom paid,\\r\\n In spite of Burgundy and all his friends.\\r\\n See then, thou fight'st against thy countrymen,\\r\\n And join'st with them will be thy slaughtermen.\\r\\n Come, come, return; return, thou wandering lord;\\r\\n Charles and the rest will take thee in their arms.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. I am vanquished; these haughty words of hers\\r\\n Have batt'red me like roaring cannon-shot\\r\\n And made me almost yield upon my knees.\\r\\n Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen\\r\\n And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace.\\r\\n My forces and my power of men are yours;\\r\\n So, farewell, Talbot; I'll no longer trust thee.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Done like a Frenchman- [Aside] turn and turn\\r\\n again.\\r\\n CHARLES. Welcome, brave Duke! Thy friendship makes us\\r\\n fresh.\\r\\n BASTARD. And doth beget new courage in our breasts.\\r\\n ALENCON. Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in this,\\r\\n And doth deserve a coronet of gold.\\r\\n CHARLES. Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers,\\r\\n And seek how we may prejudice the foe. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\n Paris. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the KING, GLOUCESTER, WINCHESTER, YORK,\\r\\n SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WARWICK, EXETER,\\r\\n VERNON, BASSET, and others. To them, with\\r\\n his soldiers, TALBOT\\r\\n\\r\\n TALBOT. My gracious Prince, and honourable peers,\\r\\n Hearing of your arrival in this realm,\\r\\n I have awhile given truce unto my wars\\r\\n To do my duty to my sovereign;\\r\\n In sign whereof, this arm that hath reclaim'd\\r\\n To your obedience fifty fortresses,\\r\\n Twelve cities, and seven walled towns of strength,\\r\\n Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem,\\r\\n Lets fall his sword before your Highness' feet,\\r\\n And with submissive loyalty of heart\\r\\n Ascribes the glory of his conquest got\\r\\n First to my God and next unto your Grace. [Kneels]\\r\\n KING HENRY. Is this the Lord Talbot, uncle Gloucester,\\r\\n That hath so long been resident in France?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Yes, if it please your Majesty, my liege.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Welcome, brave captain and victorious lord!\\r\\n When I was young, as yet I am not old,\\r\\n I do remember how my father said\\r\\n A stouter champion never handled sword.\\r\\n Long since we were resolved of your truth,\\r\\n Your faithful service, and your toil in war;\\r\\n Yet never have you tasted our reward,\\r\\n Or been reguerdon'd with so much as thanks,\\r\\n Because till now we never saw your face.\\r\\n Therefore stand up; and for these good deserts\\r\\n We here create you Earl of Shrewsbury;\\r\\n And in our coronation take your place.\\r\\n Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but VERNON and BASSET\\r\\n VERNON. Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea,\\r\\n Disgracing of these colours that I wear\\r\\n In honour of my noble Lord of York\\r\\n Dar'st thou maintain the former words thou spak'st?\\r\\n BASSET. Yes, sir; as well as you dare patronage\\r\\n The envious barking of your saucy tongue\\r\\n Against my lord the Duke of Somerset.\\r\\n VERNON. Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is.\\r\\n BASSET. Why, what is he? As good a man as York!\\r\\n VERNON. Hark ye: not so. In witness, take ye that.\\r\\n [Strikes him]\\r\\n BASSET. Villain, thou knowest the law of arms is such\\r\\n That whoso draws a sword 'tis present death,\\r\\n Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood.\\r\\n But I'll unto his Majesty and crave\\r\\n I may have liberty to venge this wrong;\\r\\n When thou shalt see I'll meet thee to thy cost.\\r\\n VERNON. Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon as you;\\r\\n And, after, meet you sooner than you would. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nPark. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the KING, GLOUCESTER, WINCHESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, SOMERSET,\\r\\nWARWICK,\\r\\nTALBOT, EXETER, the GOVERNOR OF PARIS, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Lord Bishop, set the crown upon his head.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. God save King Henry, of that name the Sixth!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Now, Governor of Paris, take your oath\\r\\n [GOVERNOR kneels]\\r\\n That you elect no other king but him,\\r\\n Esteem none friends but such as are his friends,\\r\\n And none your foes but such as shall pretend\\r\\n Malicious practices against his state.\\r\\n This shall ye do, so help you righteous God!\\r\\n Exeunt GOVERNOR and his train\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR JOHN FASTOLFE\\r\\n\\r\\n FASTOLFE. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais,\\r\\n To haste unto your coronation,\\r\\n A letter was deliver'd to my hands,\\r\\n Writ to your Grace from th' Duke of Burgundy.\\r\\n TALBOT. Shame to the Duke of Burgundy and thee!\\r\\n I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next\\r\\n To tear the Garter from thy craven's leg, [Plucking it off]\\r\\n Which I have done, because unworthily\\r\\n Thou wast installed in that high degree.\\r\\n Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest:\\r\\n This dastard, at the battle of Patay,\\r\\n When but in all I was six thousand strong,\\r\\n And that the French were almost ten to one,\\r\\n Before we met or that a stroke was given,\\r\\n Like to a trusty squire did run away;\\r\\n In which assault we lost twelve hundred men;\\r\\n Myself and divers gentlemen beside\\r\\n Were there surpris'd and taken prisoners.\\r\\n Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss,\\r\\n Or whether that such cowards ought to wear\\r\\n This ornament of knighthood-yea or no.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. To say the truth, this fact was infamous\\r\\n And ill beseeming any common man,\\r\\n Much more a knight, a captain, and a leader.\\r\\n TALBOT. When first this order was ordain'd, my lords,\\r\\n Knights of the Garter were of noble birth,\\r\\n Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty courage,\\r\\n Such as were grown to credit by the wars;\\r\\n Not fearing death nor shrinking for distress,\\r\\n But always resolute in most extremes.\\r\\n He then that is not furnish'd in this sort\\r\\n Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight,\\r\\n Profaning this most honourable order,\\r\\n And should, if I were worthy to be judge,\\r\\n Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain\\r\\n That doth presume to boast of gentle blood.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Stain to thy countrymen, thou hear'st thy\\r\\n doom.\\r\\n Be packing, therefore, thou that wast a knight;\\r\\n Henceforth we banish thee on pain of death.\\r\\n Exit FASTOLFE\\r\\n And now, my Lord Protector, view the letter\\r\\n Sent from our uncle Duke of Burgundy.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Viewing the superscription] What means his\\r\\n Grace, that he hath chang'd his style?\\r\\n No more but plain and bluntly 'To the King!'\\r\\n Hath he forgot he is his sovereign?\\r\\n Or doth this churlish superscription\\r\\n Pretend some alteration in good-will?\\r\\n What's here? [Reads] 'I have, upon especial cause,\\r\\n Mov'd with compassion of my country's wreck,\\r\\n Together with the pitiful complaints\\r\\n Of such as your oppression feeds upon,\\r\\n Forsaken your pernicious faction,\\r\\n And join'd with Charles, the rightful King of France.'\\r\\n O monstrous treachery! Can this be so\\r\\n That in alliance, amity, and oaths,\\r\\n There should be found such false dissembling guile?\\r\\n KING HENRY. What! Doth my uncle Burgundy revolt?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He doth, my lord, and is become your foe.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Is that the worst this letter doth contain?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Why then Lord Talbot there shall talk with\\r\\n him\\r\\n And give him chastisement for this abuse.\\r\\n How say you, my lord, are you not content?\\r\\n TALBOT. Content, my liege! Yes; but that I am prevented,\\r\\n I should have begg'd I might have been employ'd.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Then gather strength and march unto him\\r\\n straight;\\r\\n Let him perceive how ill we brook his treason.\\r\\n And what offence it is to flout his friends.\\r\\n TALBOT. I go, my lord, in heart desiring still\\r\\n You may behold confusion of your foes. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter VERNON and BASSET\\r\\n\\r\\n VERNON. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign.\\r\\n BASSET. And me, my lord, grant me the combat too.\\r\\n YORK. This is my servant: hear him, noble Prince.\\r\\n SOMERSET. And this is mine: sweet Henry, favour him.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Be patient, lords, and give them leave to speak.\\r\\n Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim,\\r\\n And wherefore crave you combat, or with whom?\\r\\n VERNON. With him, my lord; for he hath done me wrong.\\r\\n BASSET. And I with him; for he hath done me wrong.\\r\\n KING HENRY. What is that wrong whereof you both\\r\\n complain? First let me know, and then I'll answer you.\\r\\n BASSET. Crossing the sea from England into France,\\r\\n This fellow here, with envious carping tongue,\\r\\n Upbraided me about the rose I wear,\\r\\n Saying the sanguine colour of the leaves\\r\\n Did represent my master's blushing cheeks\\r\\n When stubbornly he did repugn the truth\\r\\n About a certain question in the law\\r\\n Argu'd betwixt the Duke of York and him;\\r\\n With other vile and ignominious terms\\r\\n In confutation of which rude reproach\\r\\n And in defence of my lord's worthiness,\\r\\n I crave the benefit of law of arms.\\r\\n VERNON. And that is my petition, noble lord;\\r\\n For though he seem with forged quaint conceit\\r\\n To set a gloss upon his bold intent,\\r\\n Yet know, my lord, I was provok'd by him,\\r\\n And he first took exceptions at this badge,\\r\\n Pronouncing that the paleness of this flower\\r\\n Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart.\\r\\n YORK. Will not this malice, Somerset, be left?\\r\\n SOMERSET. Your private grudge, my Lord of York, will out,\\r\\n Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Good Lord, what madness rules in brainsick\\r\\n men, When for so slight and frivolous a cause\\r\\n Such factious emulations shall arise!\\r\\n Good cousins both, of York and Somerset,\\r\\n Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace.\\r\\n YORK. Let this dissension first be tried by fight,\\r\\n And then your Highness shall command a peace.\\r\\n SOMERSET. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone;\\r\\n Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then.\\r\\n YORK. There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset.\\r\\n VERNON. Nay, let it rest where it began at first.\\r\\n BASSET. Confirm it so, mine honourable lord.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Confirm it so? Confounded be your strife;\\r\\n And perish ye, with your audacious prate!\\r\\n Presumptuous vassals, are you not asham'd\\r\\n With this immodest clamorous outrage\\r\\n To trouble and disturb the King and us?\\r\\n And you, my lords- methinks you do not well\\r\\n To bear with their perverse objections,\\r\\n Much less to take occasion from their mouths\\r\\n To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves.\\r\\n Let me persuade you take a better course.\\r\\n EXETER. It grieves his Highness. Good my lords, be friends.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Come hither, you that would be combatants:\\r\\n Henceforth I charge you, as you love our favour,\\r\\n Quite to forget this quarrel and the cause.\\r\\n And you, my lords, remember where we are:\\r\\n In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation;\\r\\n If they perceive dissension in our looks\\r\\n And that within ourselves we disagree,\\r\\n How will their grudging stomachs be provok'd\\r\\n To wilful disobedience, and rebel!\\r\\n Beside, what infamy will there arise\\r\\n When foreign princes shall be certified\\r\\n That for a toy, a thing of no regard,\\r\\n King Henry's peers and chief nobility\\r\\n Destroy'd themselves and lost the realm of France!\\r\\n O, think upon the conquest of my father,\\r\\n My tender years; and let us not forgo\\r\\n That for a trifle that was bought with blood!\\r\\n Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife.\\r\\n I see no reason, if I wear this rose,\\r\\n [Putting on a red rose]\\r\\n That any one should therefore be suspicious\\r\\n I more incline to Somerset than York:\\r\\n Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both.\\r\\n As well they may upbraid me with my crown,\\r\\n Because, forsooth, the King of Scots is crown'd.\\r\\n But your discretions better can persuade\\r\\n Than I am able to instruct or teach;\\r\\n And, therefore, as we hither came in peace,\\r\\n So let us still continue peace and love.\\r\\n Cousin of York, we institute your Grace\\r\\n To be our Regent in these parts of France.\\r\\n And, good my Lord of Somerset, unite\\r\\n Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot;\\r\\n And like true subjects, sons of your progenitors,\\r\\n Go cheerfully together and digest\\r\\n Your angry choler on your enemies.\\r\\n Ourself, my Lord Protector, and the rest,\\r\\n After some respite will return to Calais;\\r\\n From thence to England, where I hope ere long\\r\\n To be presented by your victories\\r\\n With Charles, Alencon, and that traitorous rout.\\r\\n Flourish. Exeunt all but YORK, WARWICK,\\r\\n EXETER, VERNON\\r\\n WARWICK. My Lord of York, I promise you, the King\\r\\n Prettily, methought, did play the orator.\\r\\n YORK. And so he did; but yet I like it not,\\r\\n In that he wears the badge of Somerset.\\r\\n WARWICK. Tush, that was but his fancy; blame him not;\\r\\n I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm.\\r\\n YORK. An if I wist he did-but let it rest;\\r\\n Other affairs must now be managed.\\r\\n Exeunt all but EXETER\\r\\n EXETER. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice;\\r\\n For had the passions of thy heart burst out,\\r\\n I fear we should have seen decipher'd there\\r\\n More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils,\\r\\n Than yet can be imagin'd or suppos'd.\\r\\n But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees\\r\\n This jarring discord of nobility,\\r\\n This shouldering of each other in the court,\\r\\n This factious bandying of their favourites,\\r\\n But that it doth presage some ill event.\\r\\n 'Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands;\\r\\n But more when envy breeds unkind division:\\r\\n There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\n France. Before Bordeaux\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TALBOT, with trump and drum\\r\\n\\r\\n TALBOT. Go to the gates of Bordeaux, trumpeter;\\r\\n Summon their general unto the wall.\\r\\n\\r\\n Trumpet sounds a parley. Enter, aloft, the\\r\\n GENERAL OF THE FRENCH, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n English John Talbot, Captains, calls you forth,\\r\\n Servant in arms to Harry King of England;\\r\\n And thus he would open your city gates,\\r\\n Be humble to us, call my sovereignvours\\r\\n And do him homage as obedient subjects,\\r\\n And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power;\\r\\n But if you frown upon this proffer'd peace,\\r\\n You tempt the fury of my three attendants,\\r\\n Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire;\\r\\n Who in a moment even with the earth\\r\\n Shall lay your stately and air braving towers,\\r\\n If you forsake the offer of their love.\\r\\n GENERAL OF THE FRENCH. Thou ominous and fearful owl of\\r\\n death,\\r\\n Our nation's terror and their bloody scourge!\\r\\n The period of thy tyranny approacheth.\\r\\n On us thou canst not enter but by death;\\r\\n For, I protest, we are well fortified,\\r\\n And strong enough to issue out and fight.\\r\\n If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed,\\r\\n Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee.\\r\\n On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd\\r\\n To wall thee from the liberty of flight,\\r\\n And no way canst thou turn thee for redress\\r\\n But death doth front thee with apparent spoil\\r\\n And pale destruction meets thee in the face.\\r\\n Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament\\r\\n To rive their dangerous artillery\\r\\n Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot.\\r\\n Lo, there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man,\\r\\n Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit!\\r\\n This is the latest glory of thy praise\\r\\n That I, thy enemy, due thee withal;\\r\\n For ere the glass that now begins to run\\r\\n Finish the process of his sandy hour,\\r\\n These eyes that see thee now well coloured\\r\\n Shall see thee withered, bloody, pale, and dead.\\r\\n [Drum afar off]\\r\\n Hark! hark! The Dauphin's drum, a warning bell,\\r\\n Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul;\\r\\n And mine shall ring thy dire departure out. Exit\\r\\n TALBOT. He fables not; I hear the enemy.\\r\\n Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.\\r\\n O, negligent and heedless discipline!\\r\\n How are we park'd and bounded in a pale\\r\\n A little herd of England's timorous deer,\\r\\n Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs!\\r\\n If we be English deer, be then in blood;\\r\\n Not rascal-like to fall down with a pinch,\\r\\n But rather, moody-mad and desperate stags,\\r\\n Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel\\r\\n And make the cowards stand aloof at bay.\\r\\n Sell every man his life as dear as mine,\\r\\n And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends.\\r\\n God and Saint George, Talbot and England's right,\\r\\n Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\n Plains in Gascony\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YORK, with trumpet and many soldiers. A\\r\\n MESSENGER meets him\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. Are not the speedy scouts return'd again\\r\\n That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin?\\r\\n MESSENGER. They are return'd, my lord, and give it out\\r\\n That he is march'd to Bordeaux with his power\\r\\n To fight with Talbot; as he march'd along,\\r\\n By your espials were discovered\\r\\n Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led,\\r\\n Which join'd with him and made their march for\\r\\n Bordeaux.\\r\\n YORK. A plague upon that villain Somerset\\r\\n That thus delays my promised supply\\r\\n Of horsemen that were levied for this siege!\\r\\n Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid,\\r\\n And I am louted by a traitor villain\\r\\n And cannot help the noble chevalier.\\r\\n God comfort him in this necessity!\\r\\n If he miscarry, farewell wars in France.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR WILLIAM LUCY\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCY. Thou princely leader of our English strength,\\r\\n Never so needful on the earth of France,\\r\\n Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot,\\r\\n Who now is girdled with a waist of iron\\r\\n And hemm'd about with grim destruction.\\r\\n To Bordeaux, warlike Duke! to Bordeaux, York!\\r\\n Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honour.\\r\\n YORK. O God, that Somerset, who in proud heart\\r\\n Doth stop my cornets, were in Talbot's place!\\r\\n So should we save a valiant gentleman\\r\\n By forfeiting a traitor and a coward.\\r\\n Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep\\r\\n That thus we die while remiss traitors sleep.\\r\\n LUCY. O, send some succour to the distress'd lord!\\r\\n YORK. He dies; we lose; I break my warlike word.\\r\\n We mourn: France smiles. We lose: they daily get-\\r\\n All long of this vile traitor Somerset.\\r\\n LUCY. Then God take mercy on brave Talbot's soul,\\r\\n And on his son, young John, who two hours since\\r\\n I met in travel toward his warlike father.\\r\\n This seven years did not Talbot see his son;\\r\\n And now they meet where both their lives are done.\\r\\n YORK. Alas, what joy shall noble Talbot have\\r\\n To bid his young son welcome to his grave?\\r\\n Away! vexation almost stops my breath,\\r\\n That sund'red friends greet in the hour of death.\\r\\n Lucy, farewell; no more my fortune can\\r\\n But curse the cause I cannot aid the man.\\r\\n Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away\\r\\n Long all of Somerset and his delay. Exit with forces\\r\\n LUCY. Thus, while the vulture of sedition\\r\\n Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders,\\r\\n Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss\\r\\n The conquest of our scarce cold conqueror,\\r\\n That ever-living man of memory,\\r\\n Henry the Fifth. Whiles they each other cross,\\r\\n Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\n Other plains of Gascony\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SOMERSET, With his forces; an OFFICER of\\r\\n TALBOT'S with him\\r\\n\\r\\n SOMERSET. It is too late; I cannot send them now.\\r\\n This expedition was by York and Talbot\\r\\n Too rashly plotted; all our general force\\r\\n Might with a sally of the very town\\r\\n Be buckled with. The over daring Talbot\\r\\n Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour\\r\\n By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure.\\r\\n York set him on to fight and die in shame.\\r\\n That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name.\\r\\n OFFICER. Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me\\r\\n Set from our o'er-match'd forces forth for aid.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR WILLIAM LUCY\\r\\n\\r\\n SOMERSET. How now, Sir William! Whither were you sent?\\r\\n LUCY. Whither, my lord! From bought and sold Lord\\r\\n Talbot,\\r\\n Who, ring'd about with bold adversity,\\r\\n Cries out for noble York and Somerset\\r\\n To beat assailing death from his weak legions;\\r\\n And whiles the honourable captain there\\r\\n Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs\\r\\n And, in advantage ling'ring, looks for rescue,\\r\\n You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour,\\r\\n Keep off aloof with worthless emulation.\\r\\n Let not your private discord keep away\\r\\n The levied succours that should lend him aid,\\r\\n While he, renowned noble gentleman,\\r\\n Yield up his life unto a world of odds.\\r\\n Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy,\\r\\n Alencon, Reignier, compass him about,\\r\\n And Talbot perisheth by your default.\\r\\n SOMERSET. York set him on; York should have sent him aid.\\r\\n LUCY. And York as fast upon your Grace exclaims,\\r\\n Swearing that you withhold his levied host,\\r\\n Collected for this expedition.\\r\\n SOMERSET. York lies; he might have sent and had the horse.\\r\\n I owe him little duty and less love,\\r\\n And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending.\\r\\n LUCY. The fraud of England, not the force of France,\\r\\n Hath now entrapp'd the noble minded Talbot.\\r\\n Never to England shall he bear his life,\\r\\n But dies betray'd to fortune by your strife.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen straight;\\r\\n Within six hours they will be at his aid.\\r\\n LUCY. Too late comes rescue; he is ta'en or slain,\\r\\n For fly he could not if he would have fled;\\r\\n And fly would Talbot never, though he might.\\r\\n SOMERSET. If he be dead, brave Talbot, then, adieu!\\r\\n LUCY. His fame lives in the world, his shame in you. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\n The English camp near Bordeaux\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TALBOT and JOHN his son\\r\\n\\r\\n TALBOT. O young John Talbot! I did send for thee\\r\\n To tutor thee in stratagems of war,\\r\\n That Talbot's name might be in thee reviv'd\\r\\n When sapless age and weak unable limbs\\r\\n Should bring thy father to his drooping chair.\\r\\n But, O malignant and ill-boding stars!\\r\\n Now thou art come unto a feast of death,\\r\\n A terrible and unavoided danger;\\r\\n Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse,\\r\\n And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape\\r\\n By sudden flight. Come, dally not, be gone.\\r\\n JOHN. Is my name Talbot, and am I your son?\\r\\n And shall I fly? O, if you love my mother,\\r\\n Dishonour not her honourable name,\\r\\n To make a bastard and a slave of me!\\r\\n The world will say he is not Talbot's blood\\r\\n That basely fled when noble Talbot stood.\\r\\n TALBOT. Fly to revenge my death, if I be slain.\\r\\n JOHN. He that flies so will ne'er return again.\\r\\n TALBOT. If we both stay, we both are sure to die.\\r\\n JOHN. Then let me stay; and, father, do you fly.\\r\\n Your loss is great, so your regard should be;\\r\\n My worth unknown, no loss is known in me;\\r\\n Upon my death the French can little boast;\\r\\n In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost.\\r\\n Flight cannot stain the honour you have won;\\r\\n But mine it will, that no exploit have done;\\r\\n You fled for vantage, every one will swear;\\r\\n But if I bow, they'll say it was for fear.\\r\\n There is no hope that ever I will stay\\r\\n If the first hour I shrink and run away.\\r\\n Here, on my knee, I beg mortality,\\r\\n Rather than life preserv'd with infamy.\\r\\n TALBOT. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb?\\r\\n JOHN. Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's womb.\\r\\n TALBOT. Upon my blessing I command thee go.\\r\\n JOHN. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe.\\r\\n TALBOT. Part of thy father may be sav'd in thee.\\r\\n JOHN. No part of him but will be shame in me.\\r\\n TALBOT. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it.\\r\\n JOHN. Yes, your renowned name; shall flight abuse it?\\r\\n TALBOT. Thy father's charge shall clear thee from that stain.\\r\\n JOHN. You cannot witness for me, being slain.\\r\\n If death be so apparent, then both fly.\\r\\n TALBOT. And leave my followers here to fight and die?\\r\\n My age was never tainted with such shame.\\r\\n JOHN. And shall my youth be guilty of such blame?\\r\\n No more can I be severed from your side\\r\\n Than can yourself yourself yourself in twain divide.\\r\\n Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I;\\r\\n For live I will not if my father die.\\r\\n TALBOT. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son,\\r\\n Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon.\\r\\n Come, side by side together live and die;\\r\\n And soul with soul from France to heaven fly. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 6.\\r\\n\\r\\n A field of battle\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum: excursions wherein JOHN TALBOT is hemm'd\\r\\n about, and TALBOT rescues him\\r\\n\\r\\n TALBOT. Saint George and victory! Fight, soldiers, fight.\\r\\n The Regent hath with Talbot broke his word\\r\\n And left us to the rage of France his sword.\\r\\n Where is John Talbot? Pause and take thy breath;\\r\\n I gave thee life and rescu'd thee from death.\\r\\n JOHN. O, twice my father, twice am I thy son!\\r\\n The life thou gav'st me first was lost and done\\r\\n Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate,\\r\\n To my determin'd time thou gav'st new date.\\r\\n TALBOT. When from the Dauphin's crest thy sword struck\\r\\n fire,\\r\\n It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire\\r\\n Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age,\\r\\n Quicken'd with youthful spleen and warlike rage,\\r\\n Beat down Alencon, Orleans, Burgundy,\\r\\n And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee.\\r\\n The ireful bastard Orleans, that drew blood\\r\\n From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood\\r\\n Of thy first fight, I soon encountered\\r\\n And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed\\r\\n Some of his bastard blood; and in disgrace\\r\\n Bespoke him thus: 'Contaminated, base,\\r\\n And misbegotten blood I spill of thine,\\r\\n Mean and right poor, for that pure blood of mine\\r\\n Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy.'\\r\\n Here purposing the Bastard to destroy,\\r\\n Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care;\\r\\n Art thou not weary, John? How dost thou fare?\\r\\n Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly,\\r\\n Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry?\\r\\n Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead:\\r\\n The help of one stands me in little stead.\\r\\n O, too much folly is it, well I wot,\\r\\n To hazard all our lives in one small boat!\\r\\n If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage,\\r\\n To-morrow I shall die with mickle age.\\r\\n By me they nothing gain an if I stay:\\r\\n 'Tis but the short'ning of my life one day.\\r\\n In thee thy mother dies, our household's name,\\r\\n My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame.\\r\\n All these and more we hazard by thy stay;\\r\\n All these are sav'd if thou wilt fly away.\\r\\n JOHN. The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart;\\r\\n These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart.\\r\\n On that advantage, bought with such a shame,\\r\\n To save a paltry life and slay bright fame,\\r\\n Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly,\\r\\n The coward horse that bears me fall and die!\\r\\n And like me to the peasant boys of France,\\r\\n To be shame's scorn and subject of mischance!\\r\\n Surely, by all the glory you have won,\\r\\n An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son;\\r\\n Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot;\\r\\n If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot.\\r\\n TALBOT. Then follow thou thy desp'rate sire of Crete,\\r\\n Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet.\\r\\n If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side;\\r\\n And, commendable prov'd, let's die in pride. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 7.\\r\\n\\r\\n Another part of the field\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum; excursions. Enter old TALBOT led by a SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n TALBOT. Where is my other life? Mine own is gone.\\r\\n O, where's young Talbot? Where is valiant John?\\r\\n Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity,\\r\\n Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee.\\r\\n When he perceiv'd me shrink and on my knee,\\r\\n His bloody sword he brandish'd over me,\\r\\n And like a hungry lion did commence\\r\\n Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience;\\r\\n But when my angry guardant stood alone,\\r\\n Tend'ring my ruin and assail'd of none,\\r\\n Dizzy-ey'd fury and great rage of heart\\r\\n Suddenly made him from my side to start\\r\\n Into the clust'ring battle of the French;\\r\\n And in that sea of blood my boy did drench\\r\\n His overmounting spirit; and there died,\\r\\n My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter soldiers, bearing the body of JOHN TALBOT\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. O my dear lord, lo where your son is borne!\\r\\n TALBOT. Thou antic Death, which laugh'st us here to scorn,\\r\\n Anon, from thy insulting tyranny,\\r\\n Coupled in bonds of perpetuity,\\r\\n Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky,\\r\\n In thy despite shall scape mortality.\\r\\n O thou whose wounds become hard-favoured Death,\\r\\n Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath!\\r\\n Brave Death by speaking, whether he will or no;\\r\\n Imagine him a Frenchman and thy foe.\\r\\n Poor boy! he smiles, methinks, as who should say,\\r\\n Had Death been French, then Death had died to-day.\\r\\n Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms.\\r\\n My spirit can no longer bear these harms.\\r\\n Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have,\\r\\n Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave. [Dies]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BURGUNDY, BASTARD,\\r\\n LA PUCELLE, and forces\\r\\n\\r\\n CHARLES. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in,\\r\\n We should have found a bloody day of this.\\r\\n BASTARD. How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging wood,\\r\\n Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood!\\r\\n PUCELLE. Once I encount'red him, and thus I said:\\r\\n 'Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a maid.'\\r\\n But with a proud majestical high scorn\\r\\n He answer'd thus: 'Young Talbot was not born\\r\\n To be the pillage of a giglot wench.'\\r\\n So, rushing in the bowels of the French,\\r\\n He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. Doubtless he would have made a noble knight.\\r\\n See where he lies inhearsed in the arms\\r\\n Of the most bloody nurser of his harms!\\r\\n BASTARD. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder,\\r\\n Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder.\\r\\n CHARLES. O, no; forbear! For that which we have fled\\r\\n During the life, let us not wrong it dead.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR WILLIAM Lucy, attended; a FRENCH\\r\\n HERALD preceding\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCY. Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's tent,\\r\\n To know who hath obtain'd the glory of the day.\\r\\n CHARLES. On what submissive message art thou sent?\\r\\n LUCY. Submission, Dauphin! 'Tis a mere French word:\\r\\n We English warriors wot not what it means.\\r\\n I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en,\\r\\n And to survey the bodies of the dead.\\r\\n CHARLES. For prisoners ask'st thou? Hell our prison is.\\r\\n But tell me whom thou seek'st.\\r\\n LUCY. But where's the great Alcides of the field,\\r\\n Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury,\\r\\n Created for his rare success in arms\\r\\n Great Earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence,\\r\\n Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield,\\r\\n Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of Alton,\\r\\n Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of Sheffield,\\r\\n The thrice victorious Lord of Falconbridge,\\r\\n Knight of the noble order of Saint George,\\r\\n Worthy Saint Michael, and the Golden Fleece,\\r\\n Great Marshal to Henry the Sixth\\r\\n Of all his wars within the realm of France?\\r\\n PUCELLE. Here's a silly-stately style indeed!\\r\\n The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath,\\r\\n Writes not so tedious a style as this.\\r\\n Him that thou magnifi'st with all these tides,\\r\\n Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet.\\r\\n LUCY. Is Talbot slain-the Frenchmen's only scourge,\\r\\n Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis?\\r\\n O, were mine eye-bans into bullets turn'd,\\r\\n That I in rage might shoot them at your faces!\\r\\n O that I could but can these dead to life!\\r\\n It were enough to fright the realm of France.\\r\\n Were but his picture left amongst you here,\\r\\n It would amaze the proudest of you all.\\r\\n Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence\\r\\n And give them burial as beseems their worth.\\r\\n PUCELLE. I think this upstart is old Talbot's ghost,\\r\\n He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit.\\r\\n For God's sake, let him have them; to keep them here,\\r\\n They would but stink, and putrefy the air.\\r\\n CHARLES. Go, take their bodies hence.\\r\\n LUCY. I'll bear them hence; but from their ashes shall be\\r\\n rear'd\\r\\n A phoenix that shall make all France afeard.\\r\\n CHARLES. So we be rid of them, do with them what thou\\r\\n wilt.\\r\\n And now to Paris in this conquering vein!\\r\\n All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nSennet. Enter the KING, GLOUCESTER, and EXETER\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. Have you perus'd the letters from the Pope,\\r\\n The Emperor, and the Earl of Armagnac?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I have, my lord; and their intent is this:\\r\\n They humbly sue unto your Excellence\\r\\n To have a godly peace concluded of\\r\\n Between the realms of England and of France.\\r\\n KING HENRY. How doth your Grace affect their motion?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Well, my good lord, and as the only means\\r\\n To stop effusion of our Christian blood\\r\\n And stablish quietness on every side.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Ay, marry, uncle; for I always thought\\r\\n It was both impious and unnatural\\r\\n That such immanity and bloody strife\\r\\n Should reign among professors of one faith.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Beside, my lord, the sooner to effect\\r\\n And surer bind this knot of amity,\\r\\n The Earl of Armagnac, near knit to Charles,\\r\\n A man of great authority in France,\\r\\n Proffers his only daughter to your Grace\\r\\n In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Marriage, uncle! Alas, my years are young\\r\\n And fitter is my study and my books\\r\\n Than wanton dalliance with a paramour.\\r\\n Yet call th' ambassadors, and, as you please,\\r\\n So let them have their answers every one.\\r\\n I shall be well content with any choice\\r\\n Tends to God's glory and my country's weal.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter in Cardinal's habit\\r\\n BEAUFORT, the PAPAL LEGATE, and two AMBASSADORS\\r\\n\\r\\n EXETER. What! Is my Lord of Winchester install'd\\r\\n And call'd unto a cardinal's degree?\\r\\n Then I perceive that will be verified\\r\\n Henry the Fifth did sometime prophesy:\\r\\n 'If once he come to be a cardinal,\\r\\n He'll make his cap co-equal with the crown.'\\r\\n KING HENRY. My Lords Ambassadors, your several suits\\r\\n Have been consider'd and debated on.\\r\\n Your purpose is both good and reasonable,\\r\\n And therefore are we certainly resolv'd\\r\\n To draw conditions of a friendly peace,\\r\\n Which by my Lord of Winchester we mean\\r\\n Shall be transported presently to France.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And for the proffer of my lord your master,\\r\\n I have inform'd his Highness so at large,\\r\\n As, liking of the lady's virtuous gifts,\\r\\n Her beauty, and the value of her dower,\\r\\n He doth intend she shall be England's Queen.\\r\\n KING HENRY. [To AMBASSADOR] In argument and proof of\\r\\n which contract,\\r\\n Bear her this jewel, pledge of my affection.\\r\\n And so, my Lord Protector, see them guarded\\r\\n And safely brought to Dover; where inshipp'd,\\r\\n Commit them to the fortune of the sea.\\r\\n\\r\\n Exeunt all but WINCHESTER and the LEGATE\\r\\n WINCHESTER. Stay, my Lord Legate; you shall first receive\\r\\n The sum of money which I promised\\r\\n Should be delivered to his Holiness\\r\\n For clothing me in these grave ornaments.\\r\\n LEGATE. I will attend upon your lordship's leisure.\\r\\n WINCHESTER. [Aside] Now Winchester will not submit, I\\r\\n trow,\\r\\n Or be inferior to the proudest peer.\\r\\n Humphrey of Gloucester, thou shalt well perceive\\r\\n That neither in birth or for authority\\r\\n The Bishop will be overborne by thee.\\r\\n I'll either make thee stoop and bend thy knee,\\r\\n Or sack this country with a mutiny. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\n France. Plains in Anjou\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CHARLES, BURGUNDY, ALENCON, BASTARD,\\r\\n REIGNIER, LA PUCELLE, and forces\\r\\n\\r\\n CHARLES. These news, my lords, may cheer our drooping\\r\\n spirits:\\r\\n 'Tis said the stout Parisians do revolt\\r\\n And turn again unto the warlike French.\\r\\n ALENCON. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France,\\r\\n And keep not back your powers in dalliance.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us;\\r\\n Else ruin combat with their palaces!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a SCOUT\\r\\n\\r\\n SCOUT. Success unto our valiant general,\\r\\n And happiness to his accomplices!\\r\\n CHARLES. What tidings send our scouts? I prithee speak.\\r\\n SCOUT. The English army, that divided was\\r\\n Into two parties, is now conjoin'd in one,\\r\\n And means to give you battle presently.\\r\\n CHARLES. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is;\\r\\n But we will presently provide for them.\\r\\n BURGUNDY. I trust the ghost of Talbot is not there.\\r\\n Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Of all base passions fear is most accurs'd.\\r\\n Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine,\\r\\n Let Henry fret and all the world repine.\\r\\n CHARLES. Then on, my lords; and France be fortunate!\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\n Before Angiers\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum, excursions. Enter LA PUCELLE\\r\\n\\r\\n PUCELLE. The Regent conquers and the Frenchmen fly.\\r\\n Now help, ye charming spells and periapts;\\r\\n And ye choice spirits that admonish me\\r\\n And give me signs of future accidents; [Thunder]\\r\\n You speedy helpers that are substitutes\\r\\n Under the lordly monarch of the north,\\r\\n Appear and aid me in this enterprise!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FIENDS\\r\\n\\r\\n This speedy and quick appearance argues proof\\r\\n Of your accustom'd diligence to me.\\r\\n Now, ye familiar spirits that are cull'd\\r\\n Out of the powerful regions under earth,\\r\\n Help me this once, that France may get the field.\\r\\n [They walk and speak not]\\r\\n O, hold me not with silence over-long!\\r\\n Where I was wont to feed you with my blood,\\r\\n I'll lop a member off and give it you\\r\\n In earnest of a further benefit,\\r\\n So you do condescend to help me now.\\r\\n [They hang their heads]\\r\\n No hope to have redress? My body shall\\r\\n Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit.\\r\\n [They shake their heads]\\r\\n Cannot my body nor blood sacrifice\\r\\n Entreat you to your wonted furtherance?\\r\\n Then take my soul-my body, soul, and all,\\r\\n Before that England give the French the foil.\\r\\n [They depart]\\r\\n See! they forsake me. Now the time is come\\r\\n That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest\\r\\n And let her head fall into England's lap.\\r\\n My ancient incantations are too weak,\\r\\n And hell too strong for me to buckle with.\\r\\n Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Excursions. Enter French and English, fighting.\\r\\n LA PUCELLE and YORK fight hand to hand; LA PUCELLE\\r\\n is taken. The French fly\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. Damsel of France, I think I have you fast.\\r\\n Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms,\\r\\n And try if they can gain your liberty.\\r\\n A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace!\\r\\n See how the ugly witch doth bend her brows\\r\\n As if, with Circe, she would change my shape!\\r\\n PUCELLE. Chang'd to a worser shape thou canst not be.\\r\\n YORK. O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man:\\r\\n No shape but his can please your dainty eye.\\r\\n PUCELLE. A plaguing mischief fight on Charles and thee!\\r\\n And may ye both be suddenly surpris'd\\r\\n By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds!\\r\\n YORK. Fell banning hag; enchantress, hold thy tongue.\\r\\n PUCELLE. I prithee give me leave to curse awhile.\\r\\n YORK. Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to the stake.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter SUFFOLK, with MARGARET in his hand\\r\\n\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner.\\r\\n [Gazes on her]\\r\\n O fairest beauty, do not fear nor fly!\\r\\n For I will touch thee but with reverent hands;\\r\\n I kiss these fingers for eternal peace,\\r\\n And lay them gently on thy tender side.\\r\\n Who art thou? Say, that I may honour thee.\\r\\n MARGARET. Margaret my name, and daughter to a king,\\r\\n The King of Naples-whosoe'er thou art.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd.\\r\\n Be not offended, nature's miracle,\\r\\n Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me.\\r\\n So doth the swan her downy cygnets save,\\r\\n Keeping them prisoner underneath her wings.\\r\\n Yet, if this servile usage once offend,\\r\\n Go and be free again as Suffolk's friend. [She is going]\\r\\n O, stay! [Aside] I have no power to let her pass;\\r\\n My hand would free her, but my heart says no.\\r\\n As plays the sun upon the glassy streams,\\r\\n Twinkling another counterfeited beam,\\r\\n So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes.\\r\\n Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak.\\r\\n I'll call for pen and ink, and write my mind.\\r\\n Fie, de la Pole! disable not thyself;\\r\\n Hast not a tongue? Is she not here thy prisoner?\\r\\n Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight?\\r\\n Ay, beauty's princely majesty is such\\r\\n Confounds the tongue and makes the senses rough.\\r\\n MARGARET. Say, Earl of Suffolk, if thy name be so,\\r\\n What ransom must I pay before I pass?\\r\\n For I perceive I am thy prisoner.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. [Aside] How canst thou tell she will deny thy\\r\\n suit,\\r\\n Before thou make a trial of her love?\\r\\n MARGARET. Why speak'st thou not? What ransom must I\\r\\n pay?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. [Aside] She's beautiful, and therefore to be woo'd;\\r\\n She is a woman, therefore to be won.\\r\\n MARGARET. Wilt thou accept of ransom-yea or no?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. [Aside] Fond man, remember that thou hast a\\r\\n wife;\\r\\n Then how can Margaret be thy paramour?\\r\\n MARGARET. I were best leave him, for he will not hear.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. [Aside] There all is marr'd; there lies a cooling\\r\\n card.\\r\\n MARGARET. He talks at random; sure, the man is mad.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. [Aside] And yet a dispensation may be had.\\r\\n MARGARET. And yet I would that you would answer me.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. [Aside] I'll win this Lady Margaret. For whom?\\r\\n Why, for my King! Tush, that's a wooden thing!\\r\\n MARGARET. He talks of wood. It is some carpenter.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. [Aside] Yet so my fancy may be satisfied,\\r\\n And peace established between these realms.\\r\\n But there remains a scruple in that too;\\r\\n For though her father be the King of Naples,\\r\\n Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor,\\r\\n And our nobility will scorn the match.\\r\\n MARGARET. Hear ye, Captain-are you not at leisure?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. [Aside] It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so much.\\r\\n Henry is youthful, and will quickly yield.\\r\\n Madam, I have a secret to reveal.\\r\\n MARGARET. [Aside] What though I be enthrall'd? He seems\\r\\n a knight,\\r\\n And will not any way dishonour me.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say.\\r\\n MARGARET. [Aside] Perhaps I shall be rescu'd by the French;\\r\\n And then I need not crave his courtesy.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause\\r\\n MARGARET. [Aside] Tush! women have been captivate ere\\r\\n now.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Lady, wherefore talk you so?\\r\\n MARGARET. I cry you mercy, 'tis but quid for quo.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Say, gentle Princess, would you not suppose\\r\\n Your bondage happy, to be made a queen?\\r\\n MARGARET. To be a queen in bondage is more vile\\r\\n Than is a slave in base servility;\\r\\n For princes should be free.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. And so shall you,\\r\\n If happy England's royal king be free.\\r\\n MARGARET. Why, what concerns his freedom unto me?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. I'll undertake to make thee Henry's queen,\\r\\n To put a golden sceptre in thy hand\\r\\n And set a precious crown upon thy head,\\r\\n If thou wilt condescend to be my-\\r\\n MARGARET. What?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. His love.\\r\\n MARGARET. I am unworthy to be Henry's wife.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. No, gentle madam; I unworthy am\\r\\n To woo so fair a dame to be his wife\\r\\n And have no portion in the choice myself.\\r\\n How say you, madam? Are ye so content?\\r\\n MARGARET. An if my father please, I am content.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Then call our captains and our colours forth!\\r\\n And, madam, at your father's castle walls\\r\\n We'll crave a parley to confer with him.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound a parley. Enter REIGNIER on the walls\\r\\n\\r\\n See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner!\\r\\n REIGNIER. To whom?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. To me.\\r\\n REIGNIER. Suffolk, what remedy?\\r\\n I am a soldier and unapt to weep\\r\\n Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord.\\r\\n Consent, and for thy honour give consent,\\r\\n Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king,\\r\\n Whom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto;\\r\\n And this her easy-held imprisonment\\r\\n Hath gain'd thy daughter princely liberty.\\r\\n REIGNIER. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Fair Margaret knows\\r\\n That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign.\\r\\n REIGNIER. Upon thy princely warrant I descend\\r\\n To give thee answer of thy just demand.\\r\\n Exit REIGNIER from the walls\\r\\n SUFFOLK. And here I will expect thy coming.\\r\\n\\r\\n Trumpets sound. Enter REIGNIER below\\r\\n\\r\\n REIGNIER. Welcome, brave Earl, into our territories;\\r\\n Command in Anjou what your Honour pleases.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child,\\r\\n Fit to be made companion with a king.\\r\\n What answer makes your Grace unto my suit?\\r\\n REIGNIER. Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth\\r\\n To be the princely bride of such a lord,\\r\\n Upon condition I may quietly\\r\\n Enjoy mine own, the country Maine and Anjou,\\r\\n Free from oppression or the stroke of war,\\r\\n My daughter shall be Henry's, if he please.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. That is her ransom; I deliver her.\\r\\n And those two counties I will undertake\\r\\n Your Grace shall well and quietly enjoy.\\r\\n REIGNIER. And I again, in Henry's royal name,\\r\\n As deputy unto that gracious king,\\r\\n Give thee her hand for sign of plighted faith.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks,\\r\\n Because this is in traffic of a king.\\r\\n [Aside] And yet, methinks, I could be well content\\r\\n To be mine own attorney in this case.\\r\\n I'll over then to England with this news,\\r\\n And make this marriage to be solemniz'd.\\r\\n So, farewell, Reignier. Set this diamond safe\\r\\n In golden palaces, as it becomes.\\r\\n REIGNIER. I do embrace thee as I would embrace\\r\\n The Christian prince, King Henry, were he here.\\r\\n MARGARET. Farewell, my lord. Good wishes, praise, and\\r\\n prayers,\\r\\n Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret. [She is going]\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Farewell, sweet madam. But hark you, Margaret\\r\\n No princely commendations to my king?\\r\\n MARGARET. Such commendations as becomes a maid,\\r\\n A virgin, and his servant, say to him.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Words sweetly plac'd and modestly directed.\\r\\n But, madam, I must trouble you again\\r\\n No loving token to his Majesty?\\r\\n MARGARET. Yes, my good lord: a pure unspotted heart,\\r\\n Never yet taint with love, I send the King.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. And this withal. [Kisses her]\\r\\n MARGARET. That for thyself, I will not so presume\\r\\n To send such peevish tokens to a king.\\r\\n Exeunt REIGNIER and MARGARET\\r\\n SUFFOLK. O, wert thou for myself! But, Suffolk, stay;\\r\\n Thou mayst not wander in that labyrinth:\\r\\n There Minotaurs and ugly treasons lurk.\\r\\n Solicit Henry with her wondrous praise.\\r\\n Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount,\\r\\n And natural graces that extinguish art;\\r\\n Repeat their semblance often on the seas,\\r\\n That, when thou com'st to kneel at Henry's feet,\\r\\n Thou mayst bereave him of his wits with wonder. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\n Camp of the DUKE OF YORK in Anjou\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YORK, WARWICK, and others\\r\\n YORK. Bring forth that sorceress, condemn'd to burn.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LA PUCELLE, guarded, and a SHEPHERD\\r\\n\\r\\n SHEPHERD. Ah, Joan, this kills thy father's heart outright!\\r\\n Have I sought every country far and near,\\r\\n And, now it is my chance to find thee out,\\r\\n Must I behold thy timeless cruel death?\\r\\n Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I'll die with thee!\\r\\n PUCELLE. Decrepit miser! base ignoble wretch!\\r\\n I am descended of a gentler blood;\\r\\n Thou art no father nor no friend of mine.\\r\\n SHEPHERD. Out, out! My lords, an please you, 'tis not so;\\r\\n I did beget her, all the parish knows.\\r\\n Her mother liveth yet, can testify\\r\\n She was the first fruit of my bach'lorship.\\r\\n WARWICK. Graceless, wilt thou deny thy parentage?\\r\\n YORK. This argues what her kind of life hath been-\\r\\n Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes.\\r\\n SHEPHERD. Fie, Joan, that thou wilt be so obstacle!\\r\\n God knows thou art a collop of my flesh;\\r\\n And for thy sake have I shed many a tear.\\r\\n Deny me not, I prithee, gentle Joan.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Peasant, avaunt! You have suborn'd this man\\r\\n Of purpose to obscure my noble birth.\\r\\n SHEPHERD. 'Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest\\r\\n The morn that I was wedded to her mother.\\r\\n Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl.\\r\\n Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time\\r\\n Of thy nativity. I would the milk\\r\\n Thy mother gave thee when thou suck'dst her breast\\r\\n Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake.\\r\\n Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs afield,\\r\\n I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee.\\r\\n Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab?\\r\\n O, burn her, burn her! Hanging is too good. Exit\\r\\n YORK. Take her away; for she hath liv'd too long,\\r\\n To fill the world with vicious qualities.\\r\\n PUCELLE. First let me tell you whom you have condemn'd:\\r\\n Not me begotten of a shepherd swain,\\r\\n But issued from the progeny of kings;\\r\\n Virtuous and holy, chosen from above\\r\\n By inspiration of celestial grace,\\r\\n To work exceeding miracles on earth.\\r\\n I never had to do with wicked spirits.\\r\\n But you, that are polluted with your lusts,\\r\\n Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents,\\r\\n Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices,\\r\\n Because you want the grace that others have,\\r\\n You judge it straight a thing impossible\\r\\n To compass wonders but by help of devils.\\r\\n No, misconceived! Joan of Arc hath been\\r\\n A virgin from her tender infancy,\\r\\n Chaste and immaculate in very thought;\\r\\n Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effus'd,\\r\\n Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven.\\r\\n YORK. Ay, ay. Away with her to execution!\\r\\n WARWICK. And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid,\\r\\n Spare for no fagots, let there be enow.\\r\\n Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake,\\r\\n That so her torture may be shortened.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts?\\r\\n Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity\\r\\n That warranteth by law to be thy privilege:\\r\\n I am with child, ye bloody homicides;\\r\\n Murder not then the fruit within my womb,\\r\\n Although ye hale me to a violent death.\\r\\n YORK. Now heaven forfend! The holy maid with child!\\r\\n WARWICK. The greatest miracle that e'er ye wrought:\\r\\n Is all your strict preciseness come to this?\\r\\n YORK. She and the Dauphin have been juggling.\\r\\n I did imagine what would be her refuge.\\r\\n WARWICK. Well, go to; we'll have no bastards live;\\r\\n Especially since Charles must father it.\\r\\n PUCELLE. You are deceiv'd; my child is none of his:\\r\\n It was Alencon that enjoy'd my love.\\r\\n YORK. Alencon, that notorious Machiavel!\\r\\n It dies, an if it had a thousand lives.\\r\\n PUCELLE. O, give me leave, I have deluded you.\\r\\n 'Twas neither Charles nor yet the Duke I nam'd,\\r\\n But Reignier, King of Naples, that prevail'd.\\r\\n WARWICK. A married man! That's most intolerable.\\r\\n YORK. Why, here's a girl! I think she knows not well\\r\\n There were so many-whom she may accuse.\\r\\n WARWICK. It's sign she hath been liberal and free.\\r\\n YORK. And yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure.\\r\\n Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat and thee.\\r\\n Use no entreaty, for it is in vain.\\r\\n PUCELLE. Then lead me hence-with whom I leave my\\r\\n curse:\\r\\n May never glorious sun reflex his beams\\r\\n Upon the country where you make abode;\\r\\n But darkness and the gloomy shade of death\\r\\n Environ you, till mischief and despair\\r\\n Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves!\\r\\n Exit, guarded\\r\\n YORK. Break thou in pieces and consume to ashes,\\r\\n Thou foul accursed minister of hell!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CARDINAL BEAUFORT, attended\\r\\n\\r\\n CARDINAL. Lord Regent, I do greet your Excellence\\r\\n With letters of commission from the King.\\r\\n For know, my lords, the states of Christendom,\\r\\n Mov'd with remorse of these outrageous broils,\\r\\n Have earnestly implor'd a general peace\\r\\n Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French;\\r\\n And here at hand the Dauphin and his train\\r\\n Approacheth, to confer about some matter.\\r\\n YORK. Is all our travail turn'd to this effect?\\r\\n After the slaughter of so many peers,\\r\\n So many captains, gentlemen, and soldiers,\\r\\n That in this quarrel have been overthrown\\r\\n And sold their bodies for their country's benefit,\\r\\n Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace?\\r\\n Have we not lost most part of all the towns,\\r\\n By treason, falsehood, and by treachery,\\r\\n Our great progenitors had conquered?\\r\\n O Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with grief\\r\\n The utter loss of all the realm of France.\\r\\n WARWICK. Be patient, York. If we conclude a peace,\\r\\n It shall be with such strict and severe covenants\\r\\n As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BASTARD, REIGNIER, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n CHARLES. Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed\\r\\n That peaceful truce shall be proclaim'd in France,\\r\\n We come to be informed by yourselves\\r\\n What the conditions of that league must be.\\r\\n YORK. Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler chokes\\r\\n The hollow passage of my poison'd voice,\\r\\n By sight of these our baleful enemies.\\r\\n CARDINAL. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus:\\r\\n That, in regard King Henry gives consent,\\r\\n Of mere compassion and of lenity,\\r\\n To ease your country of distressful war,\\r\\n An suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace,\\r\\n You shall become true liegemen to his crown;\\r\\n And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear\\r\\n To pay him tribute and submit thyself,\\r\\n Thou shalt be plac'd as viceroy under him,\\r\\n And still enjoy thy regal dignity.\\r\\n ALENCON. Must he be then as shadow of himself?\\r\\n Adorn his temples with a coronet\\r\\n And yet, in substance and authority,\\r\\n Retain but privilege of a private man?\\r\\n This proffer is absurd and reasonless.\\r\\n CHARLES. 'Tis known already that I am possess'd\\r\\n With more than half the Gallian territories,\\r\\n And therein reverenc'd for their lawful king.\\r\\n Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish'd,\\r\\n Detract so much from that prerogative\\r\\n As to be call'd but viceroy of the whole?\\r\\n No, Lord Ambassador; I'll rather keep\\r\\n That which I have than, coveting for more,\\r\\n Be cast from possibility of all.\\r\\n YORK. Insulting Charles! Hast thou by secret means\\r\\n Us'd intercession to obtain a league,\\r\\n And now the matter grows to compromise\\r\\n Stand'st thou aloof upon comparison?\\r\\n Either accept the title thou usurp'st,\\r\\n Of benefit proceeding from our king\\r\\n And not of any challenge of desert,\\r\\n Or we will plague thee with incessant wars.\\r\\n REIGNIER. [To CHARLES] My lord, you do not well in\\r\\n obstinacy\\r\\n To cavil in the course of this contract.\\r\\n If once it be neglected, ten to one\\r\\n We shall not find like opportunity.\\r\\n ALENCON. [To CHARLES] To say the truth, it is your policy\\r\\n To save your subjects from such massacre\\r\\n And ruthless slaughters as are daily seen\\r\\n By our proceeding in hostility;\\r\\n And therefore take this compact of a truce,\\r\\n Although you break it when your pleasure serves.\\r\\n WARWICK. How say'st thou, Charles? Shall our condition\\r\\n stand?\\r\\n CHARLES. It shall;\\r\\n Only reserv'd, you claim no interest\\r\\n In any of our towns of garrison.\\r\\n YORK. Then swear allegiance to his Majesty:\\r\\n As thou art knight, never to disobey\\r\\n Nor be rebellious to the crown of England\\r\\n Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England.\\r\\n [CHARLES and the rest give tokens of fealty]\\r\\n So, now dismiss your army when ye please;\\r\\n Hang up your ensigns, let your drums be still,\\r\\n For here we entertain a solemn peace. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\n London. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SUFFOLK, in conference with the KING,\\r\\n GLOUCESTER and EXETER\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. Your wondrous rare description, noble Earl,\\r\\n Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish'd me.\\r\\n Her virtues, graced with external gifts,\\r\\n Do breed love's settled passions in my heart;\\r\\n And like as rigour of tempestuous gusts\\r\\n Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide,\\r\\n So am I driven by breath of her renown\\r\\n Either to suffer shipwreck or arrive\\r\\n Where I may have fruition of her love.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Tush, my good lord! This superficial tale\\r\\n Is but a preface of her worthy praise.\\r\\n The chief perfections of that lovely dame,\\r\\n Had I sufficient skill to utter them,\\r\\n Would make a volume of enticing lines,\\r\\n Able to ravish any dull conceit;\\r\\n And, which is more, she is not so divine,\\r\\n So full-replete with choice of all delights,\\r\\n But with as humble lowliness of mind\\r\\n She is content to be at your command\\r\\n Command, I mean, of virtuous intents,\\r\\n To love and honour Henry as her lord.\\r\\n KING HENRY. And otherwise will Henry ne'er presume.\\r\\n Therefore, my Lord Protector, give consent\\r\\n That Margaret may be England's royal Queen.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. So should I give consent to flatter sin.\\r\\n You know, my lord, your Highness is betroth'd\\r\\n Unto another lady of esteem.\\r\\n How shall we then dispense with that contract,\\r\\n And not deface your honour with reproach?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths;\\r\\n Or one that at a triumph, having vow'd\\r\\n To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists\\r\\n By reason of his adversary's odds:\\r\\n A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds,\\r\\n And therefore may be broke without offence.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more than\\r\\n that?\\r\\n Her father is no better than an earl,\\r\\n Although in glorious titles he excel.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Yes, my lord, her father is a king,\\r\\n The King of Naples and Jerusalem;\\r\\n And of such great authority in France\\r\\n As his alliance will confirm our peace,\\r\\n And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And so the Earl of Armagnac may do,\\r\\n Because he is near kinsman unto Charles.\\r\\n EXETER. Beside, his wealth doth warrant a liberal dower;\\r\\n Where Reignier sooner will receive than give.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. A dow'r, my lords! Disgrace not so your king,\\r\\n That he should be so abject, base, and poor,\\r\\n To choose for wealth and not for perfect love.\\r\\n Henry is able to enrich his queen,\\r\\n And not to seek a queen to make him rich.\\r\\n So worthless peasants bargain for their wives,\\r\\n As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse.\\r\\n Marriage is a matter of more worth\\r\\n Than to be dealt in by attorneyship;\\r\\n Not whom we will, but whom his Grace affects,\\r\\n Must be companion of his nuptial bed.\\r\\n And therefore, lords, since he affects her most,\\r\\n It most of all these reasons bindeth us\\r\\n In our opinions she should be preferr'd;\\r\\n For what is wedlock forced but a hell,\\r\\n An age of discord and continual strife?\\r\\n Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss,\\r\\n And is a pattern of celestial peace.\\r\\n Whom should we match with Henry, being a king,\\r\\n But Margaret, that is daughter to a king?\\r\\n Her peerless feature, joined with her birth,\\r\\n Approves her fit for none but for a king;\\r\\n Her valiant courage and undaunted spirit,\\r\\n More than in women commonly is seen,\\r\\n Will answer our hope in issue of a king;\\r\\n For Henry, son unto a conqueror,\\r\\n Is likely to beget more conquerors,\\r\\n If with a lady of so high resolve\\r\\n As is fair Margaret he be link'd in love.\\r\\n Then yield, my lords; and here conclude with me\\r\\n That Margaret shall be Queen, and none but she.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Whether it be through force of your report,\\r\\n My noble Lord of Suffolk, or for that\\r\\n My tender youth was never yet attaint\\r\\n With any passion of inflaming love,\\r\\n I cannot tell; but this I am assur'd,\\r\\n I feel such sharp dissension in my breast,\\r\\n Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear,\\r\\n As I am sick with working of my thoughts.\\r\\n Take therefore shipping; post, my lord, to France;\\r\\n Agree to any covenants; and procure\\r\\n That Lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come\\r\\n To cross the seas to England, and be crown'd\\r\\n King Henry's faithful and anointed queen.\\r\\n For your expenses and sufficient charge,\\r\\n Among the people gather up a tenth.\\r\\n Be gone, I say; for till you do return\\r\\n I rest perplexed with a thousand cares.\\r\\n And you, good uncle, banish all offence:\\r\\n If you do censure me by what you were,\\r\\n Not what you are, I know it will excuse\\r\\n This sudden execution of my will.\\r\\n And so conduct me where, from company,\\r\\n I may revolve and ruminate my grief. Exit\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last.\\r\\n Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EXETER\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd; and thus he goes,\\r\\n As did the youthful Paris once to Greece,\\r\\n With hope to find the like event in love\\r\\n But prosper better than the Troyan did.\\r\\n Margaret shall now be Queen, and rule the King;\\r\\n But I will rule both her, the King, and realm. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\",\n", + " \"THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personae\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY THE SIXTH\\r\\n HUMPHREY, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, his uncle\\r\\n CARDINAL BEAUFORT, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, great-uncle to the King\\r\\n RICHARD PLANTAGENET, DUKE OF YORK\\r\\n EDWARD and RICHARD, his sons\\r\\n DUKE OF SOMERSET\\r\\n DUKE OF SUFFOLK\\r\\n DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n LORD CLIFFORD\\r\\n YOUNG CLIFFORD, his son\\r\\n EARL OF SALISBURY\\r\\n EARL OF WARWICK\\r\\n LORD SCALES\\r\\n LORD SAY\\r\\n SIR HUMPHREY STAFFORD\\r\\n WILLIAM STAFFORD, his brother\\r\\n SIR JOHN STANLEY\\r\\n VAUX\\r\\n MATTHEW GOFFE\\r\\n A LIEUTENANT, a SHIPMASTER, a MASTER'S MATE, and WALTER WHITMORE\\r\\n TWO GENTLEMEN, prisoners with Suffolk\\r\\n JOHN HUME and JOHN SOUTHWELL, two priests\\r\\n ROGER BOLINGBROKE, a conjurer\\r\\n A SPIRIT raised by him\\r\\n THOMAS HORNER, an armourer\\r\\n PETER, his man\\r\\n CLERK OF CHATHAM\\r\\n MAYOR OF SAINT ALBANS\\r\\n SAUNDER SIMPCOX, an impostor\\r\\n ALEXANDER IDEN, a Kentish gentleman\\r\\n JACK CADE, a rebel\\r\\n GEORGE BEVIS, JOHN HOLLAND, DICK THE BUTCHER, SMITH THE WEAVER,\\r\\n MICHAEL, &c., followers of Cade\\r\\n TWO MURDERERS\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET, Queen to King Henry\\r\\n ELEANOR, Duchess of Gloucester\\r\\n MARGERY JOURDAIN, a witch\\r\\n WIFE to SIMPCOX\\r\\n\\r\\n Lords, Ladies, and Attendants; Petitioners, Aldermen, a Herald,\\r\\n a Beadle, a Sheriff, Officers, Citizens, Prentices, Falconers,\\r\\n Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: England\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. London. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish of trumpets; then hautboys. Enter the KING, DUKE HUMPHREY OF\\r\\nGLOUCESTER, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and CARDINAL BEAUFORT, on the one side;\\r\\nthe QUEEN, SUFFOLK, YORK, SOMERSET, and BUCKINGHAM, on the other\\r\\n\\r\\n SUFFOLK. As by your high imperial Majesty\\r\\n I had in charge at my depart for France,\\r\\n As procurator to your Excellence,\\r\\n To marry Princess Margaret for your Grace;\\r\\n So, in the famous ancient city Tours,\\r\\n In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil,\\r\\n The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne, and Alencon,\\r\\n Seven earls, twelve barons, and twenty reverend bishops,\\r\\n I have perform'd my task, and was espous'd;\\r\\n And humbly now upon my bended knee,\\r\\n In sight of England and her lordly peers,\\r\\n Deliver up my title in the Queen\\r\\n To your most gracious hands, that are the substance\\r\\n Of that great shadow I did represent:\\r\\n The happiest gift that ever marquis gave,\\r\\n The fairest queen that ever king receiv'd.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Suffolk, arise. Welcome, Queen Margaret:\\r\\n I can express no kinder sign of love\\r\\n Than this kind kiss. O Lord, that lends me life,\\r\\n Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!\\r\\n For thou hast given me in this beauteous face\\r\\n A world of earthly blessings to my soul,\\r\\n If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.\\r\\n QUEEN. Great King of England, and my gracious lord,\\r\\n The mutual conference that my mind hath had,\\r\\n By day, by night, waking and in my dreams,\\r\\n In courtly company or at my beads,\\r\\n With you, mine alder-liefest sovereign,\\r\\n Makes me the bolder to salute my king\\r\\n With ruder terms, such as my wit affords\\r\\n And over-joy of heart doth minister.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Her sight did ravish, but her grace in speech,\\r\\n Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty,\\r\\n Makes me from wond'ring fall to weeping joys,\\r\\n Such is the fulness of my heart's content.\\r\\n Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love.\\r\\n ALL. [Kneeling] Long live Queen Margaret, England's happiness!\\r\\n QUEEN. We thank you all. [Flourish]\\r\\n SUFFOLK. My Lord Protector, so it please your Grace,\\r\\n Here are the articles of contracted peace\\r\\n Between our sovereign and the French King Charles,\\r\\n For eighteen months concluded by consent.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Reads] 'Imprimis: It is agreed between the French King\\r\\n Charles and William de la Pole, Marquess of Suffolk, ambassador\\r\\n for Henry King of England, that the said Henry shall espouse the\\r\\n Lady Margaret, daughter unto Reignier King of Naples, Sicilia,\\r\\n and Jerusalem, and crown her Queen of England ere the thirtieth\\r\\n of May next ensuing.\\r\\n Item: That the duchy of Anjou and the county of Maine shall be\\r\\n released and delivered to the King her father'-\\r\\n [Lets the paper fall]\\r\\n KING HENRY. Uncle, how now!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Pardon me, gracious lord;\\r\\n Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart,\\r\\n And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no further.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Uncle of Winchester, I pray read on.\\r\\n CARDINAL. [Reads] 'Item: It is further agreed between them that the\\r\\n duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be released and delivered over\\r\\n to the King her father, and she sent over of the King of\\r\\n England's own proper cost and charges, without having any dowry.'\\r\\n KING HENRY. They please us well. Lord Marquess, kneel down.\\r\\n We here create thee the first Duke of Suffolk,\\r\\n And girt thee with the sword. Cousin of York,\\r\\n We here discharge your Grace from being Regent\\r\\n I' th' parts of France, till term of eighteen months\\r\\n Be full expir'd. Thanks, uncle Winchester,\\r\\n Gloucester, York, Buckingham, Somerset,\\r\\n Salisbury, and Warwick;\\r\\n We thank you all for this great favour done\\r\\n In entertainment to my princely queen.\\r\\n Come, let us in, and with all speed provide\\r\\n To see her coronation be perform'd.\\r\\n Exeunt KING, QUEEN, and SUFFOLK\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Brave peers of England, pillars of the state,\\r\\n To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief\\r\\n Your grief, the common grief of all the land.\\r\\n What! did my brother Henry spend his youth,\\r\\n His valour, coin, and people, in the wars?\\r\\n Did he so often lodge in open field,\\r\\n In winter's cold and summer's parching heat,\\r\\n To conquer France, his true inheritance?\\r\\n And did my brother Bedford toil his wits\\r\\n To keep by policy what Henry got?\\r\\n Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham,\\r\\n Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick,\\r\\n Receiv'd deep scars in France and Normandy?\\r\\n Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself,\\r\\n With all the learned Council of the realm,\\r\\n Studied so long, sat in the Council House\\r\\n Early and late, debating to and fro\\r\\n How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe?\\r\\n And had his Highness in his infancy\\r\\n Crowned in Paris, in despite of foes?\\r\\n And shall these labours and these honours die?\\r\\n Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance,\\r\\n Your deeds of war, and all our counsel die?\\r\\n O peers of England, shameful is this league!\\r\\n Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame,\\r\\n Blotting your names from books of memory,\\r\\n Razing the characters of your renown,\\r\\n Defacing monuments of conquer'd France,\\r\\n Undoing all, as all had never been!\\r\\n CARDINAL. Nephew, what means this passionate discourse,\\r\\n This peroration with such circumstance?\\r\\n For France, 'tis ours; and we will keep it still.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ay, uncle, we will keep it if we can;\\r\\n But now it is impossible we should.\\r\\n Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast,\\r\\n Hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine\\r\\n Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style\\r\\n Agrees not with the leanness of his purse.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Now, by the death of Him that died for all,\\r\\n These counties were the keys of Normandy!\\r\\n But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son?\\r\\n WARWICK. For grief that they are past recovery;\\r\\n For were there hope to conquer them again\\r\\n My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears.\\r\\n Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both;\\r\\n Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer;\\r\\n And are the cities that I got with wounds\\r\\n Deliver'd up again with peaceful words?\\r\\n Mort Dieu!\\r\\n YORK. For Suffolk's duke, may he be suffocate,\\r\\n That dims the honour of this warlike isle!\\r\\n France should have torn and rent my very heart\\r\\n Before I would have yielded to this league.\\r\\n I never read but England's kings have had\\r\\n Large sums of gold and dowries with their wives;\\r\\n And our King Henry gives away his own\\r\\n To match with her that brings no vantages.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. A proper jest, and never heard before,\\r\\n That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth\\r\\n For costs and charges in transporting her!\\r\\n She should have stay'd in France, and starv'd in France,\\r\\n Before-\\r\\n CARDINAL. My Lord of Gloucester, now ye grow too hot:\\r\\n It was the pleasure of my lord the King.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My Lord of Winchester, I know your mind;\\r\\n 'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike,\\r\\n But 'tis my presence that doth trouble ye.\\r\\n Rancour will out: proud prelate, in thy face\\r\\n I see thy fury; if I longer stay\\r\\n We shall begin our ancient bickerings.\\r\\n Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone,\\r\\n I prophesied France will be lost ere long. Exit\\r\\n CARDINAL. So, there goes our Protector in a rage.\\r\\n 'Tis known to you he is mine enemy;\\r\\n Nay, more, an enemy unto you all,\\r\\n And no great friend, I fear me, to the King.\\r\\n Consider, lords, he is the next of blood\\r\\n And heir apparent to the English crown.\\r\\n Had Henry got an empire by his marriage\\r\\n And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west,\\r\\n There's reason he should be displeas'd at it.\\r\\n Look to it, lords; let not his smoothing words\\r\\n Bewitch your hearts; be wise and circumspect.\\r\\n What though the common people favour him,\\r\\n Calling him 'Humphrey, the good Duke of Gloucester,'\\r\\n Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice\\r\\n 'Jesu maintain your royal excellence!'\\r\\n With 'God preserve the good Duke Humphrey!'\\r\\n I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss,\\r\\n He will be found a dangerous Protector.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Why should he then protect our sovereign,\\r\\n He being of age to govern of himself?\\r\\n Cousin of Somerset, join you with me,\\r\\n And all together, with the Duke of Suffolk,\\r\\n We'll quickly hoise Duke Humphrey from his seat.\\r\\n CARDINAL. This weighty business will not brook delay;\\r\\n I'll to the Duke of Suffolk presently. Exit\\r\\n SOMERSET. Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's pride\\r\\n And greatness of his place be grief to us,\\r\\n Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal;\\r\\n His insolence is more intolerable\\r\\n Than all the princes in the land beside;\\r\\n If Gloucester be displac'd, he'll be Protector.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Or thou or I, Somerset, will be Protector,\\r\\n Despite Duke Humphrey or the Cardinal.\\r\\n Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and SOMERSET\\r\\n SALISBURY. Pride went before, ambition follows him.\\r\\n While these do labour for their own preferment,\\r\\n Behoves it us to labour for the realm.\\r\\n I never saw but Humphrey Duke of Gloucester\\r\\n Did bear him like a noble gentleman.\\r\\n Oft have I seen the haughty Cardinal-\\r\\n More like a soldier than a man o' th' church,\\r\\n As stout and proud as he were lord of all-\\r\\n Swear like a ruffian and demean himself\\r\\n Unlike the ruler of a commonweal.\\r\\n Warwick my son, the comfort of my age,\\r\\n Thy deeds, thy plainness, and thy housekeeping,\\r\\n Hath won the greatest favour of the commons,\\r\\n Excepting none but good Duke Humphrey.\\r\\n And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland,\\r\\n In bringing them to civil discipline,\\r\\n Thy late exploits done in the heart of France\\r\\n When thou wert Regent for our sovereign,\\r\\n Have made thee fear'd and honour'd of the people:\\r\\n Join we together for the public good,\\r\\n In what we can, to bridle and suppress\\r\\n The pride of Suffolk and the Cardinal,\\r\\n With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition;\\r\\n And, as we may, cherish Duke Humphrey's deeds\\r\\n While they do tend the profit of the land.\\r\\n WARWICK. So God help Warwick, as he loves the land\\r\\n And common profit of his country!\\r\\n YORK. And so says York- [Aside] for he hath greatest cause.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Then let's make haste away and look unto the main.\\r\\n WARWICK. Unto the main! O father, Maine is lost-\\r\\n That Maine which by main force Warwick did win,\\r\\n And would have kept so long as breath did last.\\r\\n Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine,\\r\\n Which I will win from France, or else be slain.\\r\\n Exeunt WARWICK and SALISBURY\\r\\n YORK. Anjou and Maine are given to the French;\\r\\n Paris is lost; the state of Normandy\\r\\n Stands on a tickle point now they are gone.\\r\\n Suffolk concluded on the articles;\\r\\n The peers agreed; and Henry was well pleas'd\\r\\n To changes two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter.\\r\\n I cannot blame them all: what is't to them?\\r\\n 'Tis thine they give away, and not their own.\\r\\n Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage,\\r\\n And purchase friends, and give to courtezans,\\r\\n Still revelling like lords till all be gone;\\r\\n While as the silly owner of the goods\\r\\n Weeps over them and wrings his hapless hands\\r\\n And shakes his head and trembling stands aloof,\\r\\n While all is shar'd and all is borne away,\\r\\n Ready to starve and dare not touch his own.\\r\\n So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue,\\r\\n While his own lands are bargain'd for and sold.\\r\\n Methinks the realms of England, France, and Ireland,\\r\\n Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood\\r\\n As did the fatal brand Althaea burnt\\r\\n Unto the prince's heart of Calydon.\\r\\n Anjou and Maine both given unto the French!\\r\\n Cold news for me, for I had hope of France,\\r\\n Even as I have of fertile England's soil.\\r\\n A day will come when York shall claim his own;\\r\\n And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts,\\r\\n And make a show of love to proud Duke Humphrey,\\r\\n And when I spy advantage, claim the crown,\\r\\n For that's the golden mark I seek to hit.\\r\\n Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right,\\r\\n Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist,\\r\\n Nor wear the diadem upon his head,\\r\\n Whose church-like humours fits not for a crown.\\r\\n Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve;\\r\\n Watch thou and wake, when others be asleep,\\r\\n To pry into the secrets of the state;\\r\\n Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love\\r\\n With his new bride and England's dear-bought queen,\\r\\n And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars;\\r\\n Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose,\\r\\n With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfum'd,\\r\\n And in my standard bear the arms of York,\\r\\n To grapple with the house of Lancaster;\\r\\n And force perforce I'll make him yield the crown,\\r\\n Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair England down. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The DUKE OF GLOUCESTER'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE and his wife ELEANOR\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn\\r\\n Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load?\\r\\n Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows,\\r\\n As frowning at the favours of the world?\\r\\n Why are thine eyes fix'd to the sullen earth,\\r\\n Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight?\\r\\n What see'st thou there? King Henry's diadem,\\r\\n Enchas'd with all the honours of the world?\\r\\n If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face\\r\\n Until thy head be circled with the same.\\r\\n Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.\\r\\n What, is't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine;\\r\\n And having both together heav'd it up,\\r\\n We'll both together lift our heads to heaven,\\r\\n And never more abase our sight so low\\r\\n As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord,\\r\\n Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts!\\r\\n And may that thought, when I imagine ill\\r\\n Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry,\\r\\n Be my last breathing in this mortal world!\\r\\n My troublous dreams this night doth make me sad.\\r\\n DUCHESS. What dream'd my lord? Tell me, and I'll requite it\\r\\n With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Methought this staff, mine office-badge in court,\\r\\n Was broke in twain; by whom I have forgot,\\r\\n But, as I think, it was by th' Cardinal;\\r\\n And on the pieces of the broken wand\\r\\n Were plac'd the heads of Edmund Duke of Somerset\\r\\n And William de la Pole, first Duke of Suffolk.\\r\\n This was my dream; what it doth bode God knows.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Tut, this was nothing but an argument\\r\\n That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester's grove\\r\\n Shall lose his head for his presumption.\\r\\n But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet Duke:\\r\\n Methought I sat in seat of majesty\\r\\n In the cathedral church of Westminster,\\r\\n And in that chair where kings and queens were crown'd;\\r\\n Where Henry and Dame Margaret kneel'd to me,\\r\\n And on my head did set the diadem.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright.\\r\\n Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtur'd Eleanor!\\r\\n Art thou not second woman in the realm,\\r\\n And the Protector's wife, belov'd of him?\\r\\n Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command\\r\\n Above the reach or compass of thy thought?\\r\\n And wilt thou still be hammering treachery\\r\\n To tumble down thy husband and thyself\\r\\n From top of honour to disgrace's feet?\\r\\n Away from me, and let me hear no more!\\r\\n DUCHESS. What, what, my lord! Are you so choleric\\r\\n With Eleanor for telling but her dream?\\r\\n Next time I'll keep my dreams unto myself\\r\\n And not be check'd.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Nay, be not angry; I am pleas'd again.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. My Lord Protector, 'tis his Highness' pleasure\\r\\n You do prepare to ride unto Saint Albans,\\r\\n Where as the King and Queen do mean to hawk.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us?\\r\\n DUCHESS. Yes, my good lord, I'll follow presently.\\r\\n Exeunt GLOUCESTER and MESSENGER\\r\\n Follow I must; I cannot go before,\\r\\n While Gloucester bears this base and humble mind.\\r\\n Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood,\\r\\n I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks\\r\\n And smooth my way upon their headless necks;\\r\\n And, being a woman, I will not be slack\\r\\n To play my part in Fortune's pageant.\\r\\n Where are you there, Sir John? Nay, fear not, man,\\r\\n We are alone; here's none but thee and I.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HUME\\r\\n\\r\\n HUME. Jesus preserve your royal Majesty!\\r\\n DUCHESS. What say'st thou? Majesty! I am but Grace.\\r\\n HUME. But, by the grace of God and Hume's advice,\\r\\n Your Grace's title shall be multiplied.\\r\\n DUCHESS. What say'st thou, man? Hast thou as yet conferr'd\\r\\n With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch of Eie,\\r\\n With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer?\\r\\n And will they undertake to do me good?\\r\\n HUME. This they have promised, to show your Highness\\r\\n A spirit rais'd from depth of underground\\r\\n That shall make answer to such questions\\r\\n As by your Grace shall be propounded him\\r\\n DUCHESS. It is enough; I'll think upon the questions;\\r\\n When from Saint Albans we do make return\\r\\n We'll see these things effected to the full.\\r\\n Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man,\\r\\n With thy confederates in this weighty cause. Exit\\r\\n HUME. Hume must make merry with the Duchess' gold;\\r\\n Marry, and shall. But, how now, Sir John Hume!\\r\\n Seal up your lips and give no words but mum:\\r\\n The business asketh silent secrecy.\\r\\n Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch:\\r\\n Gold cannot come amiss were she a devil.\\r\\n Yet have I gold flies from another coast-\\r\\n I dare not say from the rich Cardinal,\\r\\n And from the great and new-made Duke of Suffolk;\\r\\n Yet I do find it so; for, to be plain,\\r\\n They, knowing Dame Eleanor's aspiring humour,\\r\\n Have hired me to undermine the Duchess,\\r\\n And buzz these conjurations in her brain.\\r\\n They say 'A crafty knave does need no broker';\\r\\n Yet am I Suffolk and the Cardinal's broker.\\r\\n Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near\\r\\n To call them both a pair of crafty knaves.\\r\\n Well, so its stands; and thus, I fear, at last\\r\\n Hume's knavery will be the Duchess' wreck,\\r\\n And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall\\r\\n Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. London. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter three or four PETITIONERS, PETER, the Armourer's man, being one\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST PETITIONER. My masters, let's stand close; my Lord Protector\\r\\n will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver our\\r\\n supplications in the quill.\\r\\n SECOND PETITIONER. Marry, the Lord protect him, for he's a good\\r\\n man, Jesu bless him!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SUFFOLK and QUEEN\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST PETITIONER. Here 'a comes, methinks, and the Queen with him.\\r\\n I'll be the first, sure.\\r\\n SECOND PETITIONER. Come back, fool; this is the Duke of Suffolk and\\r\\n not my Lord Protector.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. How now, fellow! Wouldst anything with me?\\r\\n FIRST PETITIONER. I pray, my lord, pardon me; I took ye for my Lord\\r\\n Protector.\\r\\n QUEEN. [Reads] 'To my Lord Protector!' Are your supplications to\\r\\n his lordship? Let me see them. What is thine?\\r\\n FIRST PETITIONER. Mine is, an't please your Grace, against John\\r\\n Goodman, my Lord Cardinal's man, for keeping my house and lands,\\r\\n and wife and all, from me.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Thy wife too! That's some wrong indeed. What's yours?\\r\\n What's here! [Reads] 'Against the Duke of Suffolk, for enclosing\\r\\n the commons of Melford.' How now, sir knave!\\r\\n SECOND PETITIONER. Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our\\r\\n whole township.\\r\\n PETER. [Presenting his petition] Against my master, Thomas Horner,\\r\\n for saying that the Duke of York was rightful heir to the crown.\\r\\n QUEEN. What say'st thou? Did the Duke of York say he was rightful\\r\\n heir to the crown?\\r\\n PETER. That my master was? No, forsooth. My master said that he\\r\\n was, and that the King was an usurper.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Who is there? [Enter servant] Take this fellow in, and\\r\\n send for his master with a pursuivant presently. We'll hear more\\r\\n of your matter before the King.\\r\\n Exit servant with PETER\\r\\n QUEEN. And as for you, that love to be protected\\r\\n Under the wings of our Protector's grace,\\r\\n Begin your suits anew, and sue to him.\\r\\n [Tears the supplications]\\r\\n Away, base cullions! Suffolk, let them go.\\r\\n ALL. Come, let's be gone. Exeunt\\r\\n QUEEN. My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise,\\r\\n Is this the fashions in the court of England?\\r\\n Is this the government of Britain's isle,\\r\\n And this the royalty of Albion's king?\\r\\n What, shall King Henry be a pupil still,\\r\\n Under the surly Gloucester's governance?\\r\\n Am I a queen in title and in style,\\r\\n And must be made a subject to a duke?\\r\\n I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours\\r\\n Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love\\r\\n And stol'st away the ladies' hearts of France,\\r\\n I thought King Henry had resembled thee\\r\\n In courage, courtship, and proportion;\\r\\n But all his mind is bent to holiness,\\r\\n To number Ave-Maries on his beads;\\r\\n His champions are the prophets and apostles;\\r\\n His weapons, holy saws of sacred writ;\\r\\n His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves\\r\\n Are brazen images of canonized saints.\\r\\n I would the college of the Cardinals\\r\\n Would choose him Pope, and carry him to Rome,\\r\\n And set the triple crown upon his head;\\r\\n That were a state fit for his holiness.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Madam, be patient. As I was cause\\r\\n Your Highness came to England, so will I\\r\\n In England work your Grace's full content.\\r\\n QUEEN. Beside the haughty Protector, have we Beaufort\\r\\n The imperious churchman; Somerset, Buckingham,\\r\\n And grumbling York; and not the least of these\\r\\n But can do more in England than the King.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. And he of these that can do most of all\\r\\n Cannot do more in England than the Nevils;\\r\\n Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers.\\r\\n QUEEN. Not all these lords do vex me half so much\\r\\n As that proud dame, the Lord Protector's wife.\\r\\n She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies,\\r\\n More like an empress than Duke Humphrey's wife.\\r\\n Strangers in court do take her for the Queen.\\r\\n She bears a duke's revenues on her back,\\r\\n And in her heart she scorns our poverty;\\r\\n Shall I not live to be aveng'd on her?\\r\\n Contemptuous base-born callet as she is,\\r\\n She vaunted 'mongst her minions t' other day\\r\\n The very train of her worst wearing gown\\r\\n Was better worth than all my father's lands,\\r\\n Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Madam, myself have lim'd a bush for her,\\r\\n And plac'd a quire of such enticing birds\\r\\n That she will light to listen to the lays,\\r\\n And never mount to trouble you again.\\r\\n So, let her rest. And, madam, list to me,\\r\\n For I am bold to counsel you in this:\\r\\n Although we fancy not the Cardinal,\\r\\n Yet must we join with him and with the lords,\\r\\n Till we have brought Duke Humphrey in disgrace.\\r\\n As for the Duke of York, this late complaint\\r\\n Will make but little for his benefit.\\r\\n So one by one we'll weed them all at last,\\r\\n And you yourself shall steer the happy helm.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound a sennet. Enter the KING, DUKE HUMPHREY,\\r\\n CARDINAL BEAUFORT, BUCKINGHAM, YORK, SOMERSET, SALISBURY,\\r\\n WARWICK, and the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. For my part, noble lords, I care not which:\\r\\n Or Somerset or York, all's one to me.\\r\\n YORK. If York have ill demean'd himself in France,\\r\\n Then let him be denay'd the regentship.\\r\\n SOMERSET. If Somerset be unworthy of the place,\\r\\n Let York be Regent; I will yield to him.\\r\\n WARWICK. Whether your Grace be worthy, yea or no,\\r\\n Dispute not that; York is the worthier.\\r\\n CARDINAL. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak.\\r\\n WARWICK. The Cardinal's not my better in the field.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick.\\r\\n WARWICK. Warwick may live to be the best of all.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Peace, son! And show some reason, Buckingham,\\r\\n Why Somerset should be preferr'd in this.\\r\\n QUEEN. Because the King, forsooth, will have it so.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Madam, the King is old enough himself\\r\\n To give his censure. These are no women's matters.\\r\\n QUEEN. If he be old enough, what needs your Grace\\r\\n To be Protector of his Excellence?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Madam, I am Protector of the realm;\\r\\n And at his pleasure will resign my place.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Resign it then, and leave thine insolence.\\r\\n Since thou wert king- as who is king but thou?-\\r\\n The commonwealth hath daily run to wrack,\\r\\n The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas,\\r\\n And all the peers and nobles of the realm\\r\\n Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty.\\r\\n CARDINAL. The commons hast thou rack'd; the clergy's bags\\r\\n Are lank and lean with thy extortions.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Thy sumptuous buildings and thy wife's attire\\r\\n Have cost a mass of public treasury.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Thy cruelty in execution\\r\\n Upon offenders hath exceeded law,\\r\\n And left thee to the mercy of the law.\\r\\n QUEEN. Thy sale of offices and towns in France,\\r\\n If they were known, as the suspect is great,\\r\\n Would make thee quickly hop without thy head.\\r\\n Exit GLOUCESTER. The QUEEN drops QUEEN her fan\\r\\n Give me my fan. What, minion, can ye not?\\r\\n [She gives the DUCHESS a box on the ear]\\r\\n I cry your mercy, madam; was it you?\\r\\n DUCHESS. Was't I? Yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman.\\r\\n Could I come near your beauty with my nails,\\r\\n I could set my ten commandments in your face.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Sweet aunt, be quiet; 'twas against her will.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Against her will, good King? Look to 't in time;\\r\\n She'll hamper thee and dandle thee like a baby.\\r\\n Though in this place most master wear no breeches,\\r\\n She shall not strike Dame Eleanor unreveng'd. Exit\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Lord Cardinal, I will follow Eleanor,\\r\\n And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds.\\r\\n She's tickled now; her fume needs no spurs,\\r\\n She'll gallop far enough to her destruction. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter GLOUCESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Now, lords, my choler being overblown\\r\\n With walking once about the quadrangle,\\r\\n I come to talk of commonwealth affairs.\\r\\n As for your spiteful false objections,\\r\\n Prove them, and I lie open to the law;\\r\\n But God in mercy so deal with my soul\\r\\n As I in duty love my king and country!\\r\\n But to the matter that we have in hand:\\r\\n I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man\\r\\n To be your Regent in the realm of France.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Before we make election, give me leave\\r\\n To show some reason, of no little force,\\r\\n That York is most unmeet of any man.\\r\\n YORK. I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet:\\r\\n First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride;\\r\\n Next, if I be appointed for the place,\\r\\n My Lord of Somerset will keep me here\\r\\n Without discharge, money, or furniture,\\r\\n Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands.\\r\\n Last time I danc'd attendance on his will\\r\\n Till Paris was besieg'd, famish'd, and lost.\\r\\n WARWICK. That can I witness; and a fouler fact\\r\\n Did never traitor in the land commit.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Peace, headstrong Warwick!\\r\\n WARWICK. Image of pride, why should I hold my peace?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HORNER, the Armourer, and his man PETER, guarded\\r\\n\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Because here is a man accus'd of treason:\\r\\n Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself!\\r\\n YORK. Doth any one accuse York for a traitor?\\r\\n KING HENRY. What mean'st thou, Suffolk? Tell me, what are these?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Please it your Majesty, this is the man\\r\\n That doth accuse his master of high treason;\\r\\n His words were these: that Richard Duke of York\\r\\n Was rightful heir unto the English crown,\\r\\n And that your Majesty was an usurper.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Say, man, were these thy words?\\r\\n HORNER. An't shall please your Majesty, I never said nor thought\\r\\n any such matter. God is my witness, I am falsely accus'd by the\\r\\n villain.\\r\\n PETER. [Holding up his hands] By these ten bones, my lords, he did\\r\\n speak them to me in the garret one night, as we were scouring my\\r\\n Lord of York's armour.\\r\\n YORK. Base dunghill villain and mechanical,\\r\\n I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech.\\r\\n I do beseech your royal Majesty,\\r\\n Let him have all the rigour of the law.\\r\\n HORNER`. Alas, my lord, hang me if ever I spake the words. My\\r\\n accuser is my prentice; and when I did correct him for his fault\\r\\n the other day, he did vow upon his knees he would be even with\\r\\n me. I have good witness of this; therefore I beseech your\\r\\n Majesty, do not cast away an honest man for a villain's\\r\\n accusation.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Uncle, what shall we say to this in law?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. This doom, my lord, if I may judge:\\r\\n Let Somerset be Regent o'er the French,\\r\\n Because in York this breeds suspicion;\\r\\n And let these have a day appointed them\\r\\n For single combat in convenient place,\\r\\n For he hath witness of his servant's malice.\\r\\n This is the law, and this Duke Humphrey's doom.\\r\\n SOMERSET. I humbly thank your royal Majesty.\\r\\n HORNER. And I accept the combat willingly.\\r\\n PETER. Alas, my lord, I cannot fight; for God's sake, pity my case!\\r\\n The spite of man prevaileth against me. O Lord, have mercy upon\\r\\n me, I shall never be able to fight a blow! O Lord, my heart!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Sirrah, or you must fight or else be hang'd.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Away with them to prison; and the day of combat shall\\r\\n be the last of the next month.\\r\\n Come, Somerset, we'll see thee sent away. Flourish. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. London. The DUKE OF GLOUCESTER'S garden\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MARGERY JOURDAIN, the witch; the two priests, HUME and SOUTHWELL;\\r\\nand BOLINGBROKE\\r\\n\\r\\n HUME. Come, my masters; the Duchess, I tell you, expects\\r\\n performance of your promises.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Master Hume, we are therefore provided; will her\\r\\n ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms?\\r\\n HUME. Ay, what else? Fear you not her courage.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I have heard her reported to be a woman of an\\r\\n invincible spirit; but it shall be convenient, Master Hume, that\\r\\n you be by her aloft while we be busy below; and so I pray you go,\\r\\n in God's name, and leave us. [Exit HUME] Mother Jourdain, be you\\r\\n prostrate and grovel on the earth; John Southwell, read you; and\\r\\n let us to our work.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUCHESS aloft, followed by HUME\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. Well said, my masters; and welcome all. To this gear, the\\r\\n sooner the better.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Patience, good lady; wizards know their times:\\r\\n Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night,\\r\\n The time of night when Troy was set on fire;\\r\\n The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl,\\r\\n And spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves-\\r\\n That time best fits the work we have in hand.\\r\\n Madam, sit you, and fear not: whom we raise\\r\\n We will make fast within a hallow'd verge.\\r\\n\\r\\n [Here they do the ceremonies belonging, and make the circle;\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE or SOUTHWELL reads: 'Conjuro te,' &c.\\r\\n It thunders and lightens terribly; then the SPIRIT riseth]\\r\\n\\r\\n SPIRIT. Adsum.\\r\\n MARGERY JOURDAIN. Asmath,\\r\\n By the eternal God, whose name and power\\r\\n Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask;\\r\\n For till thou speak thou shalt not pass from hence.\\r\\n SPIRIT. Ask what thou wilt; that I had said and done.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. [Reads] 'First of the king: what shall of him become?'\\r\\n SPIRIT. The Duke yet lives that Henry shall depose;\\r\\n But him outlive, and die a violent death.\\r\\n [As the SPIRIT speaks, SOUTHWELL writes the answer]\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. 'What fates await the Duke of Suffolk?'\\r\\n SPIRIT. By water shall he die and take his end.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. 'What shall befall the Duke of Somerset?'\\r\\n SPIRIT. Let him shun castles:\\r\\n Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains\\r\\n Than where castles mounted stand.\\r\\n Have done, for more I hardly can endure.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Descend to darkness and the burning lake;\\r\\n False fiend, avoid! Thunder and lightning. Exit SPIRIT\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the DUKE OF YORK and the DUKE OF\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM with guard, and break in\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. Lay hands upon these traitors and their trash.\\r\\n Beldam, I think we watch'd you at an inch.\\r\\n What, madam, are you there? The King and commonweal\\r\\n Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains;\\r\\n My Lord Protector will, I doubt it not,\\r\\n See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Not half so bad as thine to England's king,\\r\\n Injurious Duke, that threatest where's no cause.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. True, madam, none at all. What can you this?\\r\\n Away with them! let them be clapp'd up close,\\r\\n And kept asunder. You, madam, shall with us.\\r\\n Stafford, take her to thee.\\r\\n We'll see your trinkets here all forthcoming.\\r\\n All, away!\\r\\n Exeunt, above, DUCHESS and HUME, guarded; below,\\r\\n WITCH, SOUTHWELL and BOLINGBROKE, guarded\\r\\n YORK. Lord Buckingham, methinks you watch'd her well.\\r\\n A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon!\\r\\n Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ.\\r\\n What have we here? [Reads]\\r\\n 'The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose;\\r\\n But him outlive, and die a violent death.'\\r\\n Why, this is just\\r\\n 'Aio te, Aeacida, Romanos vincere posse.'\\r\\n Well, to the rest:\\r\\n 'Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk?'\\r\\n 'By water shall he die and take his end.'\\r\\n 'What shall betide the Duke of Somerset?'\\r\\n 'Let him shun castles;\\r\\n Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains\\r\\n Than where castles mounted stand.'\\r\\n Come, come, my lords;\\r\\n These oracles are hardly attain'd,\\r\\n And hardly understood.\\r\\n The King is now in progress towards Saint Albans,\\r\\n With him the husband of this lovely lady;\\r\\n Thither go these news as fast as horse can carry them-\\r\\n A sorry breakfast for my Lord Protector.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Your Grace shall give me leave, my Lord of York,\\r\\n To be the post, in hope of his reward.\\r\\n YORK. At your pleasure, my good lord.\\r\\n Who's within there, ho?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a serving-man\\r\\n\\r\\n Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick\\r\\n To sup with me to-morrow night. Away! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. Saint Albans\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the KING, QUEEN, GLOUCESTER, CARDINAL, and SUFFOLK, with\\r\\nFalconers halloing\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN. Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook,\\r\\n I saw not better sport these seven years' day;\\r\\n Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high,\\r\\n And ten to one old Joan had not gone out.\\r\\n KING HENRY. But what a point, my lord, your falcon made,\\r\\n And what a pitch she flew above the rest!\\r\\n To see how God in all His creatures works!\\r\\n Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. No marvel, an it like your Majesty,\\r\\n My Lord Protector's hawks do tow'r so well;\\r\\n They know their master loves to be aloft,\\r\\n And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind\\r\\n That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.\\r\\n CARDINAL. I thought as much; he would be above the clouds.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ay, my lord Cardinal, how think you by that?\\r\\n Were it not good your Grace could fly to heaven?\\r\\n KING HENRY. The treasury of everlasting joy!\\r\\n CARDINAL. Thy heaven is on earth; thine eyes and thoughts\\r\\n Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart;\\r\\n Pernicious Protector, dangerous peer,\\r\\n That smooth'st it so with King and commonweal.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What, Cardinal, is your priesthood grown peremptory?\\r\\n Tantaene animis coelestibus irae?\\r\\n Churchmen so hot? Good uncle, hide such malice;\\r\\n With such holiness can you do it?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. No malice, sir; no more than well becomes\\r\\n So good a quarrel and so bad a peer.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. As who, my lord?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Why, as you, my lord,\\r\\n An't like your lordly Lord's Protectorship.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence.\\r\\n QUEEN. And thy ambition, Gloucester.\\r\\n KING HENRY. I prithee, peace,\\r\\n Good Queen, and whet not on these furious peers;\\r\\n For blessed are the peacemakers on earth.\\r\\n CARDINAL. Let me be blessed for the peace I make\\r\\n Against this proud Protector with my sword!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CARDINAL] Faith, holy uncle, would 'twere\\r\\n come to that!\\r\\n CARDINAL. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Marry, when thou dar'st.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CARDINAL] Make up no factious numbers for the\\r\\n matter;\\r\\n In thine own person answer thy abuse.\\r\\n CARDINAL. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Ay, where thou dar'st not peep; an\\r\\n if thou dar'st,\\r\\n This evening on the east side of the grove.\\r\\n KING HENRY. How now, my lords!\\r\\n CARDINAL. Believe me, cousin Gloucester,\\r\\n Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly,\\r\\n We had had more sport. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Come with thy\\r\\n two-hand sword.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. True, uncle.\\r\\n CARDINAL. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Are ye advis'd? The east side of\\r\\n the grove?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CARDINAL] Cardinal, I am with you.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Why, how now, uncle Gloucester!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord.\\r\\n [Aside to CARDINAL] Now, by God's Mother, priest,\\r\\n I'll shave your crown for this,\\r\\n Or all my fence shall fail.\\r\\n CARDINAL. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Medice, teipsum;\\r\\n Protector, see to't well; protect yourself.\\r\\n KING HENRY. The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, lords.\\r\\n How irksome is this music to my heart!\\r\\n When such strings jar, what hope of harmony?\\r\\n I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a TOWNSMAN of Saint Albans, crying 'A miracle!'\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What means this noise?\\r\\n Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim?\\r\\n TOWNSMAN. A miracle! A miracle!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Come to the King, and tell him what miracle.\\r\\n TOWNSMAN. Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Albans shrine\\r\\n Within this half hour hath receiv'd his sight;\\r\\n A man that ne'er saw in his life before.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Now God be prais'd that to believing souls\\r\\n Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the MAYOR OF SAINT ALBANS and his brethren,\\r\\n bearing Simpcox between two in a chair;\\r\\n his WIFE and a multitude following\\r\\n\\r\\n CARDINAL. Here comes the townsmen on procession\\r\\n To present your Highness with the man.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale,\\r\\n Although by his sight his sin be multiplied.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Stand by, my masters; bring him near the King;\\r\\n His Highness' pleasure is to talk with him.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance,\\r\\n That we for thee may glorify the Lord.\\r\\n What, hast thou been long blind and now restor'd?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. Born blind, an't please your Grace.\\r\\n WIFE. Ay indeed was he.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. What woman is this?\\r\\n WIFE. His wife, an't like your worship.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Hadst thou been his mother, thou couldst have better\\r\\n told.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Where wert thou born?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. At Berwick in the north, an't like your Grace.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Poor soul, God's goodness hath been great to thee.\\r\\n Let never day nor night unhallowed pass,\\r\\n But still remember what the Lord hath done.\\r\\n QUEEN. Tell me, good fellow, cam'st thou here by chance,\\r\\n Or of devotion, to this holy shrine?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd\\r\\n A hundred times and oft'ner, in my sleep,\\r\\n By good Saint Alban, who said 'Simpcox, come,\\r\\n Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.'\\r\\n WIFE. Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft\\r\\n Myself have heard a voice to call him so.\\r\\n CARDINAL. What, art thou lame?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. Ay, God Almighty help me!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. How cam'st thou so?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. A fall off of a tree.\\r\\n WIFE. A plum tree, master.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. How long hast thou been blind?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. O, born so, master!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What, and wouldst climb a tree?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. But that in all my life, when I was a youth.\\r\\n WIFE. Too true; and bought his climbing very dear.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Mass, thou lov'dst plums well, that wouldst venture so.\\r\\n SIMPCOX. Alas, good master, my wife desir'd some damsons\\r\\n And made me climb, With danger of my life.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. A subtle knave! But yet it shall not serve:\\r\\n Let me see thine eyes; wink now; now open them;\\r\\n In my opinion yet thou seest not well.\\r\\n SIMPCOX. Yes, master, clear as day, I thank God and Saint Alban.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Say'st thou me so? What colour is this cloak of?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. Red, master; red as blood.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, that's well said. What colour is my gown of?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. Black, forsooth; coal-black as jet.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Why, then, thou know'st what colour jet is of?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. And yet, I think, jet did he never see.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. But cloaks and gowns before this day a many.\\r\\n WIFE. Never before this day in all his life.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Tell me, sirrah, what's my name?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. Alas, master, I know not.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What's his name?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. I know not.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Nor his?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. No, indeed, master.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What's thine own name?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Then, Saunder, sit there, the lying'st knave in\\r\\n Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, thou mightst as well\\r\\n have known all our names as thus to name the several colours we\\r\\n do wear. Sight may distinguish of colours; but suddenly to\\r\\n nominate them all, it is impossible. My lords, Saint Alban here\\r\\n hath done a miracle; and would ye not think his cunning to be\\r\\n great that could restore this cripple to his legs again?\\r\\n SIMPCOX. O master, that you could!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My masters of Saint Albans, have you not beadles in\\r\\n your town, and things call'd whips?\\r\\n MAYOR. Yes, my lord, if it please your Grace.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Then send for one presently.\\r\\n MAYOR. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight.\\r\\n Exit an attendant\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. [A stool\\r\\n brought] Now, sirrah, if you mean to save yourself from whipping,\\r\\n leap me over this stool and run away.\\r\\n SIMPCOX. Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone!\\r\\n You go about to torture me in vain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a BEADLE with whips\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Well, sir, we must have you find your legs.\\r\\n Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same stool.\\r\\n BEADLE. I will, my lord. Come on, sirrah; off with your doublet\\r\\n quickly.\\r\\n SIMPCOX. Alas, master, what shall I do? I am not able to stand.\\r\\n\\r\\n After the BEADLE hath hit him once, he leaps over\\r\\n the stool and runs away; and they follow and cry\\r\\n 'A miracle!'\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. O God, seest Thou this, and bearest so long?\\r\\n QUEEN. It made me laugh to see the villain run.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Follow the knave, and take this drab away.\\r\\n WIFE. Alas, sir, we did it for pure need!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Let them be whipp'd through every market town till they\\r\\n come to Berwick, from whence they came.\\r\\n Exeunt MAYOR, BEADLE, WIFE, &c.\\r\\n CARDINAL. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. True; made the lame to leap and fly away.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. But you have done more miracles than I:\\r\\n You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. What tidings with our cousin Buckingham?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold:\\r\\n A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent,\\r\\n Under the countenance and confederacy\\r\\n Of Lady Eleanor, the Protector's wife,\\r\\n The ringleader and head of all this rout,\\r\\n Have practis'd dangerously against your state,\\r\\n Dealing with witches and with conjurers,\\r\\n Whom we have apprehended in the fact,\\r\\n Raising up wicked spirits from under ground,\\r\\n Demanding of King Henry's life and death\\r\\n And other of your Highness' Privy Council,\\r\\n As more at large your Grace shall understand.\\r\\n CARDINAL. And so, my Lord Protector, by this means\\r\\n Your lady is forthcoming yet at London.\\r\\n This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge;\\r\\n 'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart.\\r\\n Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers;\\r\\n And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to the\\r\\n Or to the meanest groom.\\r\\n KING HENRY. O God, what mischiefs work the wicked ones,\\r\\n Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby!\\r\\n QUEEN. Gloucester, see here the tainture of thy nest;\\r\\n And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal\\r\\n How I have lov'd my King and commonweal;\\r\\n And for my wife I know not how it stands.\\r\\n Sorry I am to hear what I have heard.\\r\\n Noble she is; but if she have forgot\\r\\n Honour and virtue, and convers'd with such\\r\\n As, like to pitch, defile nobility,\\r\\n I banish her my bed and company\\r\\n And give her as a prey to law and shame,\\r\\n That hath dishonoured Gloucester's honest name.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Well, for this night we will repose us here.\\r\\n To-morrow toward London back again\\r\\n To look into this business thoroughly\\r\\n And call these foul offenders to their answers,\\r\\n And poise the cause in justice' equal scales,\\r\\n Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails.\\r\\n Flourish. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. London. The DUKE OF YORK'S garden\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter YORK, SALISBURY, and WARWICK\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. Now, my good Lords of Salisbury and Warwick,\\r\\n Our simple supper ended, give me leave\\r\\n In this close walk to satisfy myself\\r\\n In craving your opinion of my tide,\\r\\n Which is infallible, to England's crown.\\r\\n SALISBURY. My lord, I long to hear it at full.\\r\\n WARWICK. Sweet York, begin; and if thy claim be good,\\r\\n The Nevils are thy subjects to command.\\r\\n YORK. Then thus:\\r\\n Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons;\\r\\n The first, Edward the Black Prince, Prince of Wales;\\r\\n The second, William of Hatfield; and the third,\\r\\n Lionel Duke of Clarence; next to whom\\r\\n Was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster;\\r\\n The fifth was Edmund Langley, Duke of York;\\r\\n The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester;\\r\\n William of Windsor was the seventh and last.\\r\\n Edward the Black Prince died before his father\\r\\n And left behind him Richard, his only son,\\r\\n Who, after Edward the Third's death, reign'd as king\\r\\n Till Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster,\\r\\n The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt,\\r\\n Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth,\\r\\n Seiz'd on the realm, depos'd the rightful king,\\r\\n Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she came.\\r\\n And him to Pomfret, where, as all you know,\\r\\n Harmless Richard was murdered traitorously.\\r\\n WARWICK. Father, the Duke hath told the truth;\\r\\n Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown.\\r\\n YORK. Which now they hold by force, and not by right;\\r\\n For Richard, the first son's heir, being dead,\\r\\n The issue of the next son should have reign'd.\\r\\n SALISBURY. But William of Hatfield died without an heir.\\r\\n YORK. The third son, Duke of Clarence, from whose line\\r\\n I claim the crown, had issue Philippe, a daughter,\\r\\n Who married Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March;\\r\\n Edmund had issue, Roger Earl of March;\\r\\n Roger had issue, Edmund, Anne, and Eleanor.\\r\\n SALISBURY. This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke,\\r\\n As I have read, laid claim unto the crown;\\r\\n And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king,\\r\\n Who kept him in captivity till he died.\\r\\n But, to the rest.\\r\\n YORK. His eldest sister, Anne,\\r\\n My mother, being heir unto the crown,\\r\\n Married Richard Earl of Cambridge, who was\\r\\n To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third's fifth son, son.\\r\\n By her I claim the kingdom: she was heir\\r\\n To Roger Earl of March, who was the son\\r\\n Of Edmund Mortimer, who married Philippe,\\r\\n Sole daughter unto Lionel Duke of Clarence;\\r\\n So, if the issue of the elder son\\r\\n Succeed before the younger, I am King.\\r\\n WARWICK. What plain proceedings is more plain than this?\\r\\n Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt,\\r\\n The fourth son: York claims it from the third.\\r\\n Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign.\\r\\n It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee\\r\\n And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock.\\r\\n Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together,\\r\\n And in this private plot be we the first\\r\\n That shall salute our rightful sovereign\\r\\n With honour of his birthright to the crown.\\r\\n BOTH. Long live our sovereign Richard, England's King!\\r\\n YORK. We thank you, lords. But I am not your king\\r\\n Till I be crown'd, and that my sword be stain'd\\r\\n With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster;\\r\\n And that's not suddenly to be perform'd,\\r\\n But with advice and silent secrecy.\\r\\n Do you as I do in these dangerous days:\\r\\n Wink at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence,\\r\\n At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition,\\r\\n At Buckingham, and all the crew of them,\\r\\n Till they have snar'd the shepherd of the flock,\\r\\n That virtuous prince, the good Duke Humphrey;\\r\\n 'Tis that they seek; and they, in seeking that,\\r\\n Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy.\\r\\n SALISBURY. My lord, break we off; we know your mind at full.\\r\\n WARWICK. My heart assures me that the Earl of Warwick\\r\\n Shall one day make the Duke of York a king.\\r\\n YORK. And, Nevil, this I do assure myself,\\r\\n Richard shall live to make the Earl of Warwick\\r\\n The greatest man in England but the King. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. London. A hall of justice\\r\\n\\r\\nSound trumpets. Enter the KING and State: the QUEEN, GLOUCESTER, YORK,\\r\\nSUFFOLK, and SALISBURY, with guard, to banish the DUCHESS. Enter,\\r\\nguarded, the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER, MARGERY JOURDAIN, HUME, SOUTHWELL,\\r\\nand BOLINGBROKE\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. Stand forth, Dame Eleanor Cobham, Gloucester's wife:\\r\\n In sight of God and us, your guilt is great;\\r\\n Receive the sentence of the law for sins\\r\\n Such as by God's book are adjudg'd to death.\\r\\n You four, from hence to prison back again;\\r\\n From thence unto the place of execution:\\r\\n The witch in Smithfield shall be burnt to ashes,\\r\\n And you three shall be strangled on the gallows.\\r\\n You, madam, for you are more nobly born,\\r\\n Despoiled of your honour in your life,\\r\\n Shall, after three days' open penance done,\\r\\n Live in your country here in banishment\\r\\n With Sir John Stanley in the Isle of Man.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Welcome is banishment; welcome were my death.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Eleanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged thee.\\r\\n I cannot justify whom the law condemns.\\r\\n Exeunt the DUCHESS and the other prisoners, guarded\\r\\n Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.\\r\\n Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age\\r\\n Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground!\\r\\n I beseech your Majesty give me leave to go;\\r\\n Sorrow would solace, and mine age would ease.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester; ere thou go,\\r\\n Give up thy staff; Henry will to himself\\r\\n Protector be; and God shall be my hope,\\r\\n My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet.\\r\\n And go in peace, Humphrey, no less belov'd\\r\\n Than when thou wert Protector to thy King.\\r\\n QUEEN. I see no reason why a king of years\\r\\n Should be to be protected like a child.\\r\\n God and King Henry govern England's realm!\\r\\n Give up your staff, sir, and the King his realm.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My staff! Here, noble Henry, is my staff.\\r\\n As willingly do I the same resign\\r\\n As ere thy father Henry made it mine;\\r\\n And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it\\r\\n As others would ambitiously receive it.\\r\\n Farewell, good King; when I am dead and gone,\\r\\n May honourable peace attend thy throne! Exit\\r\\n QUEEN. Why, now is Henry King, and Margaret Queen,\\r\\n And Humphrey Duke of Gloucester scarce himself,\\r\\n That bears so shrewd a maim: two pulls at once-\\r\\n His lady banish'd and a limb lopp'd off.\\r\\n This staff of honour raught, there let it stand\\r\\n Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Thus droops this lofty pine and hangs his sprays;\\r\\n Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days.\\r\\n YORK. Lords, let him go. Please it your Majesty,\\r\\n This is the day appointed for the combat;\\r\\n And ready are the appellant and defendant,\\r\\n The armourer and his man, to enter the lists,\\r\\n So please your Highness to behold the fight.\\r\\n QUEEN. Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore\\r\\n Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried.\\r\\n KING HENRY. A God's name, see the lists and all things fit;\\r\\n Here let them end it, and God defend the right!\\r\\n YORK. I never saw a fellow worse bested,\\r\\n Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant,\\r\\n The servant of his armourer, my lords.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter at one door, HORNER, the Armourer, and his\\r\\n NEIGHBOURS, drinking to him so much that he is\\r\\n drunk; and he enters with a drum before him and\\r\\n his staff with a sand-bag fastened to it; and at the\\r\\n other door PETER, his man, with a drum and sandbag,\\r\\n and PRENTICES drinking to him\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST NEIGHBOUR. Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of\\r\\n sack; and fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough.\\r\\n SECOND NEIGHBOUR. And here, neighbour, here's a cup of charneco.\\r\\n THIRD NEIGHBOUR. And here's a pot of good double beer, neighbour;\\r\\n drink, and fear not your man.\\r\\n HORNER. Let it come, i' faith, and I'll pledge you all; and a fig\\r\\n for Peter!\\r\\n FIRST PRENTICE. Here, Peter, I drink to thee; and be not afraid.\\r\\n SECOND PRENTICE. Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master: fight\\r\\n for credit of the prentices.\\r\\n PETER. I thank you all. Drink, and pray for me, I pray you; for I\\r\\n think I have taken my last draught in this world. Here, Robin, an\\r\\n if I die, I give thee my apron; and, Will, thou shalt have my\\r\\n hammer; and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. O Lord\\r\\n bless me, I pray God! for I am never able to deal with my master,\\r\\n he hath learnt so much fence already.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Come, leave your drinking and fall to blows.\\r\\n Sirrah, what's thy name?\\r\\n PETER. Peter, forsooth.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Peter? What more?\\r\\n PETER. Thump.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Thump? Then see thou thump thy master well.\\r\\n HORNER. Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon my man's\\r\\n instigation, to prove him a knave and myself an honest man; and\\r\\n touching the Duke of York, I will take my death I never meant him\\r\\n any ill, nor the King, nor the Queen; and therefore, Peter, have\\r\\n at thee with a down right blow!\\r\\n YORK. Dispatch- this knave's tongue begins to double.\\r\\n Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants!\\r\\n [Alarum. They fight and PETER strikes him down]\\r\\n HORNER. Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess treason.\\r\\n [Dies]\\r\\n YORK. Take away his weapon. Fellow, thank God, and the good wine in\\r\\n thy master's way.\\r\\n PETER. O God, have I overcome mine enemies in this presence? O\\r\\n Peter, thou hast prevail'd in right!\\r\\n KING HENRY. Go, take hence that traitor from our sight,\\r\\n For by his death we do perceive his guilt;\\r\\n And God in justice hath reveal'd to us\\r\\n The truth and innocence of this poor fellow,\\r\\n Which he had thought to have murder'd wrongfully.\\r\\n Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward.\\r\\n Sound a flourish. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. London. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE HUMPHREY and his men, in mourning cloaks\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud,\\r\\n And after summer evermore succeeds\\r\\n Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold;\\r\\n So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet.\\r\\n Sirs, what's o'clock?\\r\\n SERVING-MAN. Ten, my lord.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ten is the hour that was appointed me\\r\\n To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess.\\r\\n Uneath may she endure the flinty streets\\r\\n To tread them with her tender-feeling feet.\\r\\n Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook\\r\\n The abject people gazing on thy face,\\r\\n With envious looks, laughing at thy shame,\\r\\n That erst did follow thy proud chariot wheels\\r\\n When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets.\\r\\n But, soft! I think she comes, and I'll prepare\\r\\n My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER in a white sheet,\\r\\n and a taper burning in her hand, with SIR JOHN\\r\\n STANLEY, the SHERIFF, and OFFICERS\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVING-MAN. So please your Grace, we'll take her from the sheriff.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. No, stir not for your lives; let her pass by.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Come you, my lord, to see my open shame?\\r\\n Now thou dost penance too. Look how they gaze!\\r\\n See how the giddy multitude do point\\r\\n And nod their heads and throw their eyes on thee;\\r\\n Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks,\\r\\n And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame\\r\\n And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself!\\r\\n For whilst I think I am thy married wife\\r\\n And thou a prince, Protector of this land,\\r\\n Methinks I should not thus be led along,\\r\\n Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back,\\r\\n And follow'd with a rabble that rejoice\\r\\n To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans.\\r\\n The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet,\\r\\n And when I start, the envious people laugh\\r\\n And bid me be advised how I tread.\\r\\n Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke?\\r\\n Trowest thou that e'er I'll look upon the world\\r\\n Or count them happy that enjoy the sun?\\r\\n No; dark shall be my light and night my day;\\r\\n To think upon my pomp shall be my hell.\\r\\n Sometimes I'll say I am Duke Humphrey's wife,\\r\\n And he a prince, and ruler of the land;\\r\\n Yet so he rul'd, and such a prince he was,\\r\\n As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess,\\r\\n Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock\\r\\n To every idle rascal follower.\\r\\n But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame,\\r\\n Nor stir at nothing till the axe of death\\r\\n Hang over thee, as sure it shortly will.\\r\\n For Suffolk- he that can do all in all\\r\\n With her that hateth thee and hates us all-\\r\\n And York, and impious Beaufort, that false priest,\\r\\n Have all lim'd bushes to betray thy wings,\\r\\n And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee.\\r\\n But fear not thou until thy foot be snar'd,\\r\\n Nor never seek prevention of thy foes.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ah, Nell, forbear! Thou aimest all awry.\\r\\n I must offend before I be attainted;\\r\\n And had I twenty times so many foes,\\r\\n And each of them had twenty times their power,\\r\\n All these could not procure me any scathe\\r\\n So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless.\\r\\n Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach?\\r\\n Why, yet thy scandal were not wip'd away,\\r\\n But I in danger for the breach of law.\\r\\n Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell.\\r\\n I pray thee sort thy heart to patience;\\r\\n These few days' wonder will be quickly worn.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a HERALD\\r\\n\\r\\n HERALD. I summon your Grace to his Majesty's Parliament,\\r\\n Holden at Bury the first of this next month.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before!\\r\\n This is close dealing. Well, I will be there. Exit HERALD\\r\\n My Nell, I take my leave- and, master sheriff,\\r\\n Let not her penance exceed the King's commission.\\r\\n SHERIFF. An't please your Grace, here my commission stays;\\r\\n And Sir John Stanley is appointed now\\r\\n To take her with him to the Isle of Man.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Must you, Sir John, protect my lady here?\\r\\n STANLEY. So am I given in charge, may't please your Grace.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Entreat her not the worse in that I pray\\r\\n You use her well; the world may laugh again,\\r\\n And I may live to do you kindness if\\r\\n You do it her. And so, Sir John, farewell.\\r\\n DUCHESS. What, gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak.\\r\\n Exeunt GLOUCESTER and servants\\r\\n DUCHESS. Art thou gone too? All comfort go with thee!\\r\\n For none abides with me. My joy is death-\\r\\n Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard,\\r\\n Because I wish'd this world's eternity.\\r\\n Stanley, I prithee go, and take me hence;\\r\\n I care not whither, for I beg no favour,\\r\\n Only convey me where thou art commanded.\\r\\n STANLEY. Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man,\\r\\n There to be us'd according to your state.\\r\\n DUCHESS. That's bad enough, for I am but reproach-\\r\\n And shall I then be us'd reproachfully?\\r\\n STANLEY. Like to a duchess and Duke Humphrey's lady;\\r\\n According to that state you shall be us'd.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare,\\r\\n Although thou hast been conduct of my shame.\\r\\n SHERIFF. It is my office; and, madam, pardon me.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharg'd.\\r\\n Come, Stanley, shall we go?\\r\\n STANLEY. Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet,\\r\\n And go we to attire you for our journey.\\r\\n DUCHESS. My shame will not be shifted with my sheet.\\r\\n No, it will hang upon my richest robes\\r\\n And show itself, attire me how I can.\\r\\n Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. The Abbey at Bury St. Edmunds\\r\\n\\r\\nSound a sennet. Enter the KING, the QUEEN, CARDINAL, SUFFOLK, YORK,\\r\\nBUCKINGHAM, SALISBURY, and WARWICK, to the Parliament\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. I muse my Lord of Gloucester is not come.\\r\\n 'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man,\\r\\n Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now.\\r\\n QUEEN. Can you not see, or will ye not observe\\r\\n The strangeness of his alter'd countenance?\\r\\n With what a majesty he bears himself;\\r\\n How insolent of late he is become,\\r\\n How proud, how peremptory, and unlike himself?\\r\\n We know the time since he was mild and affable,\\r\\n And if we did but glance a far-off look\\r\\n Immediately he was upon his knee,\\r\\n That all the court admir'd him for submission.\\r\\n But meet him now and be it in the morn,\\r\\n When every one will give the time of day,\\r\\n He knits his brow and shows an angry eye\\r\\n And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee,\\r\\n Disdaining duty that to us belongs.\\r\\n Small curs are not regarded when they grin,\\r\\n But great men tremble when the lion roars,\\r\\n And Humphrey is no little man in England.\\r\\n First note that he is near you in descent,\\r\\n And should you fall he is the next will mount;\\r\\n Me seemeth, then, it is no policy-\\r\\n Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears,\\r\\n And his advantage following your decease-\\r\\n That he should come about your royal person\\r\\n Or be admitted to your Highness' Council.\\r\\n By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts;\\r\\n And when he please to make commotion,\\r\\n 'Tis to be fear'd they all will follow him.\\r\\n Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted;\\r\\n Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden\\r\\n And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.\\r\\n The reverent care I bear unto my lord\\r\\n Made me collect these dangers in the Duke.\\r\\n If it be fond, can it a woman's fear;\\r\\n Which fear if better reasons can supplant,\\r\\n I will subscribe, and say I wrong'd the Duke.\\r\\n My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York,\\r\\n Reprove my allegation if you can,\\r\\n Or else conclude my words effectual.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Well hath your Highness seen into this duke;\\r\\n And had I first been put to speak my mind,\\r\\n I think I should have told your Grace's tale.\\r\\n The Duchess, by his subornation,\\r\\n Upon my life, began her devilish practices;\\r\\n Or if he were not privy to those faults,\\r\\n Yet by reputing of his high descent-\\r\\n As next the King he was successive heir-\\r\\n And such high vaunts of his nobility,\\r\\n Did instigate the bedlam brainsick Duchess\\r\\n By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall.\\r\\n Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep,\\r\\n And in his simple show he harbours treason.\\r\\n The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb.\\r\\n No, no, my sovereign, Gloucester is a man\\r\\n Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit.\\r\\n CARDINAL. Did he not, contrary to form of law,\\r\\n Devise strange deaths for small offences done?\\r\\n YORK. And did he not, in his protectorship,\\r\\n Levy great sums of money through the realm\\r\\n For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it?\\r\\n By means whereof the towns each day revolted.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Tut, these are petty faults to faults unknown\\r\\n Which time will bring to light in smooth Duke Humphrey.\\r\\n KING HENRY. My lords, at once: the care you have of us,\\r\\n To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot,\\r\\n Is worthy praise; but shall I speak my conscience?\\r\\n Our kinsman Gloucester is as innocent\\r\\n From meaning treason to our royal person\\r\\n As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove:\\r\\n The Duke is virtuous, mild, and too well given\\r\\n To dream on evil or to work my downfall.\\r\\n QUEEN. Ah, what's more dangerous than this fond affiance?\\r\\n Seems he a dove? His feathers are but borrow'd,\\r\\n For he's disposed as the hateful raven.\\r\\n Is he a lamb? His skin is surely lent him,\\r\\n For he's inclin'd as is the ravenous wolf.\\r\\n Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit?\\r\\n Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all\\r\\n Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SOMERSET\\r\\n\\r\\n SOMERSET. All health unto my gracious sovereign!\\r\\n KING HENRY. Welcome, Lord Somerset. What news from France?\\r\\n SOMERSET. That all your interest in those territories\\r\\n Is utterly bereft you; all is lost.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Cold news, Lord Somerset; but God's will be done!\\r\\n YORK. [Aside] Cold news for me; for I had hope of France\\r\\n As firmly as I hope for fertile England.\\r\\n Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud,\\r\\n And caterpillars eat my leaves away;\\r\\n But I will remedy this gear ere long,\\r\\n Or sell my title for a glorious grave.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. All happiness unto my lord the King!\\r\\n Pardon, my liege, that I have stay'd so long.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Nay, Gloucester, know that thou art come too soon,\\r\\n Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art.\\r\\n I do arrest thee of high treason here.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Well, Suffolk, thou shalt not see me blush\\r\\n Nor change my countenance for this arrest:\\r\\n A heart unspotted is not easily daunted.\\r\\n The purest spring is not so free from mud\\r\\n As I am clear from treason to my sovereign.\\r\\n Who can accuse me? Wherein am I guilty?\\r\\n YORK. 'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes of France\\r\\n And, being Protector, stay'd the soldiers' pay;\\r\\n By means whereof his Highness hath lost France.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Is it but thought so? What are they that think it?\\r\\n I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay\\r\\n Nor ever had one penny bribe from France.\\r\\n So help me God, as I have watch'd the night-\\r\\n Ay, night by night- in studying good for England!\\r\\n That doit that e'er I wrested from the King,\\r\\n Or any groat I hoarded to my use,\\r\\n Be brought against me at my trial-day!\\r\\n No; many a pound of mine own proper store,\\r\\n Because I would not tax the needy commons,\\r\\n Have I dispursed to the garrisons,\\r\\n And never ask'd for restitution.\\r\\n CARDINAL. It serves you well, my lord, to say so much.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I say no more than truth, so help me God!\\r\\n YORK. In your protectorship you did devise\\r\\n Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of,\\r\\n That England was defam'd by tyranny.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, 'tis well known that whiles I was Protector\\r\\n Pity was all the fault that was in me;\\r\\n For I should melt at an offender's tears,\\r\\n And lowly words were ransom for their fault.\\r\\n Unless it were a bloody murderer,\\r\\n Or foul felonious thief that fleec'd poor passengers,\\r\\n I never gave them condign punishment.\\r\\n Murder indeed, that bloody sin, I tortur'd\\r\\n Above the felon or what trespass else.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. My lord, these faults are easy, quickly answer'd;\\r\\n But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge,\\r\\n Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself.\\r\\n I do arrest you in His Highness' name,\\r\\n And here commit you to my Lord Cardinal\\r\\n To keep until your further time of trial.\\r\\n KING HENRY. My Lord of Gloucester, 'tis my special hope\\r\\n That you will clear yourself from all suspense.\\r\\n My conscience tells me you are innocent.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous!\\r\\n Virtue is chok'd with foul ambition,\\r\\n And charity chas'd hence by rancour's hand;\\r\\n Foul subornation is predominant,\\r\\n And equity exil'd your Highness' land.\\r\\n I know their complot is to have my life;\\r\\n And if my death might make this island happy\\r\\n And prove the period of their tyranny,\\r\\n I would expend it with all willingness.\\r\\n But mine is made the prologue to their play;\\r\\n For thousands more that yet suspect no peril\\r\\n Will not conclude their plotted tragedy.\\r\\n Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice,\\r\\n And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate;\\r\\n Sharp Buckingham unburdens with his tongue\\r\\n The envious load that lies upon his heart;\\r\\n And dogged York, that reaches at the moon,\\r\\n Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back,\\r\\n By false accuse doth level at my life.\\r\\n And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest,\\r\\n Causeless have laid disgraces on my head,\\r\\n And with your best endeavour have stirr'd up\\r\\n My liefest liege to be mine enemy;\\r\\n Ay, all of you have laid your heads together-\\r\\n Myself had notice of your conventicles-\\r\\n And all to make away my guiltless life.\\r\\n I shall not want false witness to condemn me\\r\\n Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt.\\r\\n The ancient proverb will be well effected:\\r\\n 'A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.'\\r\\n CARDINAL. My liege, his railing is intolerable.\\r\\n If those that care to keep your royal person\\r\\n From treason's secret knife and traitor's rage\\r\\n Be thus upbraided, chid, and rated at,\\r\\n And the offender granted scope of speech,\\r\\n 'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your Grace.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here\\r\\n With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd,\\r\\n As if she had suborned some to swear\\r\\n False allegations to o'erthrow his state?\\r\\n QUEEN. But I can give the loser leave to chide.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Far truer spoke than meant: I lose indeed.\\r\\n Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false!\\r\\n And well such losers may have leave to speak.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. He'll wrest the sense, and hold us here all day.\\r\\n Lord Cardinal, he is your prisoner.\\r\\n CARDINAL. Sirs, take away the Duke, and guard him sure.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ah, thus King Henry throws away his crutch\\r\\n Before his legs be firm to bear his body!\\r\\n Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side,\\r\\n And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first.\\r\\n Ah, that my fear were false! ah, that it were!\\r\\n For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear. Exit, guarded\\r\\n KING HENRY. My lords, what to your wisdoms seemeth best\\r\\n Do or undo, as if ourself were here.\\r\\n QUEEN. What, will your Highness leave the Parliament?\\r\\n KING HENRY. Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd with grief,\\r\\n Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes;\\r\\n My body round engirt with misery-\\r\\n For what's more miserable than discontent?\\r\\n Ah, uncle Humphrey, in thy face I see\\r\\n The map of honour, truth, and loyalty!\\r\\n And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come\\r\\n That e'er I prov'd thee false or fear'd thy faith.\\r\\n What louring star now envies thy estate\\r\\n That these great lords, and Margaret our Queen,\\r\\n Do seek subversion of thy harmless life?\\r\\n Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong;\\r\\n And as the butcher takes away the calf,\\r\\n And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays,\\r\\n Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house,\\r\\n Even so, remorseless, have they borne him hence;\\r\\n And as the dam runs lowing up and down,\\r\\n Looking the way her harmless young one went,\\r\\n And can do nought but wail her darling's loss,\\r\\n Even so myself bewails good Gloucester's case\\r\\n With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimm'd eyes\\r\\n Look after him, and cannot do him good,\\r\\n So mighty are his vowed enemies.\\r\\n His fortunes I will weep, and 'twixt each groan\\r\\n Say 'Who's a traitor? Gloucester he is none.' Exit\\r\\n QUEEN. Free lords, cold snow melts with the sun's hot beams:\\r\\n Henry my lord is cold in great affairs,\\r\\n Too full of foolish pity; and Gloucester's show\\r\\n Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile\\r\\n With sorrow snares relenting passengers;\\r\\n Or as the snake, roll'd in a flow'ring bank,\\r\\n With shining checker'd slough, doth sting a child\\r\\n That for the beauty thinks it excellent.\\r\\n Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I-\\r\\n And yet herein I judge mine own wit good-\\r\\n This Gloucester should be quickly rid the world\\r\\n To rid us from the fear we have of him.\\r\\n CARDINAL. That he should die is worthy policy;\\r\\n But yet we want a colour for his death.\\r\\n 'Tis meet he be condemn'd by course of law.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. But, in my mind, that were no policy:\\r\\n The King will labour still to save his life;\\r\\n The commons haply rise to save his life;\\r\\n And yet we have but trivial argument,\\r\\n More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death.\\r\\n YORK. So that, by this, you would not have him die.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I!\\r\\n YORK. 'Tis York that hath more reason for his death.\\r\\n But, my Lord Cardinal, and you, my Lord of Suffolk,\\r\\n Say as you think, and speak it from your souls:\\r\\n Were't not all one an empty eagle were set\\r\\n To guard the chicken from a hungry kite\\r\\n As place Duke Humphrey for the King's Protector?\\r\\n QUEEN. So the poor chicken should be sure of death.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Madam, 'tis true; and were't not madness then\\r\\n To make the fox surveyor of the fold?\\r\\n Who being accus'd a crafty murderer,\\r\\n His guilt should be but idly posted over,\\r\\n Because his purpose is not executed.\\r\\n No; let him die, in that he is a fox,\\r\\n By nature prov'd an enemy to the flock,\\r\\n Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood,\\r\\n As Humphrey, prov'd by reasons, to my liege.\\r\\n And do not stand on quillets how to slay him;\\r\\n Be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety,\\r\\n Sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how,\\r\\n So he be dead; for that is good deceit\\r\\n Which mates him first that first intends deceit.\\r\\n QUEEN. Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely spoke.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Not resolute, except so much were done,\\r\\n For things are often spoke and seldom meant;\\r\\n But that my heart accordeth with my tongue,\\r\\n Seeing the deed is meritorious,\\r\\n And to preserve my sovereign from his foe,\\r\\n Say but the word, and I will be his priest.\\r\\n CARDINAL. But I would have him dead, my Lord of Suffolk,\\r\\n Ere you can take due orders for a priest;\\r\\n Say you consent and censure well the deed,\\r\\n And I'll provide his executioner-\\r\\n I tender so the safety of my liege.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Here is my hand the deed is worthy doing.\\r\\n QUEEN. And so say I.\\r\\n YORK. And I. And now we three have spoke it,\\r\\n It skills not greatly who impugns our doom.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a POST\\r\\n\\r\\n POST. Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain\\r\\n To signify that rebels there are up\\r\\n And put the Englishmen unto the sword.\\r\\n Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime,\\r\\n Before the wound do grow uncurable;\\r\\n For, being green, there is great hope of help.\\r\\n CARDINAL. A breach that craves a quick expedient stop!\\r\\n What counsel give you in this weighty cause?\\r\\n YORK. That Somerset be sent as Regent thither;\\r\\n 'Tis meet that lucky ruler be employ'd,\\r\\n Witness the fortune he hath had in France.\\r\\n SOMERSET. If York, with all his far-fet policy,\\r\\n Had been the Regent there instead of me,\\r\\n He never would have stay'd in France so long.\\r\\n YORK. No, not to lose it all as thou hast done.\\r\\n I rather would have lost my life betimes\\r\\n Than bring a burden of dishonour home\\r\\n By staying there so long till all were lost.\\r\\n Show me one scar character'd on thy skin:\\r\\n Men's flesh preserv'd so whole do seldom win.\\r\\n QUEEN. Nay then, this spark will prove a raging fire,\\r\\n If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with;\\r\\n No more, good York; sweet Somerset, be still.\\r\\n Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been Regent there,\\r\\n Might happily have prov'd far worse than his.\\r\\n YORK. What, worse than nought? Nay, then a shame take all!\\r\\n SOMERSET. And in the number, thee that wishest shame!\\r\\n CARDINAL. My Lord of York, try what your fortune is.\\r\\n Th' uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms\\r\\n And temper clay with blood of Englishmen;\\r\\n To Ireland will you lead a band of men,\\r\\n Collected choicely, from each county some,\\r\\n And try your hap against the Irishmen?\\r\\n YORK. I will, my lord, so please his Majesty.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Why, our authority is his consent,\\r\\n And what we do establish he confirms;\\r\\n Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand.\\r\\n YORK. I am content; provide me soldiers, lords,\\r\\n Whiles I take order for mine own affairs.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. A charge, Lord York, that I will see perform'd.\\r\\n But now return we to the false Duke Humphrey.\\r\\n CARDINAL. No more of him; for I will deal with him\\r\\n That henceforth he shall trouble us no more.\\r\\n And so break off; the day is almost spent.\\r\\n Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event.\\r\\n YORK. My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days\\r\\n At Bristol I expect my soldiers;\\r\\n For there I'll ship them all for Ireland.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. I'll see it truly done, my Lord of York.\\r\\n Exeunt all but YORK\\r\\n YORK. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts\\r\\n And change misdoubt to resolution;\\r\\n Be that thou hop'st to be; or what thou art\\r\\n Resign to death- it is not worth th' enjoying.\\r\\n Let pale-fac'd fear keep with the mean-born man\\r\\n And find no harbour in a royal heart.\\r\\n Faster than spring-time show'rs comes thought on thought,\\r\\n And not a thought but thinks on dignity.\\r\\n My brain, more busy than the labouring spider,\\r\\n Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.\\r\\n Well, nobles, well, 'tis politicly done\\r\\n To send me packing with an host of men.\\r\\n I fear me you but warm the starved snake,\\r\\n Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting your hearts.\\r\\n 'Twas men I lack'd, and you will give them me;\\r\\n I take it kindly. Yet be well assur'd\\r\\n You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands.\\r\\n Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,\\r\\n I will stir up in England some black storm\\r\\n Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell;\\r\\n And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage\\r\\n Until the golden circuit on my head,\\r\\n Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams,\\r\\n Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.\\r\\n And for a minister of my intent\\r\\n I have seduc'd a headstrong Kentishman,\\r\\n John Cade of Ashford,\\r\\n To make commotion, as full well he can,\\r\\n Under the tide of John Mortimer.\\r\\n In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade\\r\\n Oppose himself against a troop of kerns,\\r\\n And fought so long tiff that his thighs with darts\\r\\n Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porpentine;\\r\\n And in the end being rescu'd, I have seen\\r\\n Him caper upright like a wild Morisco,\\r\\n Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells.\\r\\n Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kern,\\r\\n Hath he conversed with the enemy,\\r\\n And undiscover'd come to me again\\r\\n And given me notice of their villainies.\\r\\n This devil here shall be my substitute;\\r\\n For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,\\r\\n In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble.\\r\\n By this I shall perceive the commons' mind,\\r\\n How they affect the house and claim of York.\\r\\n Say he be taken, rack'd, and tortured;\\r\\n I know no pain they can inflict upon him\\r\\n Will make him say I mov'd him to those arms.\\r\\n Say that he thrive, as 'tis great like he will,\\r\\n Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength,\\r\\n And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd;\\r\\n For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,\\r\\n And Henry put apart, the next for me. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Bury St. Edmunds. A room of state\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter two or three MURDERERS running over the stage, from the murder of\\r\\nDUKE HUMPHREY\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Run to my Lord of Suffolk; let him know\\r\\n We have dispatch'd the Duke, as he commanded.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. O that it were to do! What have we done?\\r\\n Didst ever hear a man so penitent?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SUFFOLK\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Here comes my lord.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Now, sirs, have you dispatch'd this thing?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Ay, my good lord, he's dead.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my house;\\r\\n I will reward you for this venturous deed.\\r\\n The King and all the peers are here at hand.\\r\\n Have you laid fair the bed? Is all things well,\\r\\n According as I gave directions?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. 'Tis, my good lord.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Away! be gone. Exeunt MURDERERS\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound trumpets. Enter the KING, the QUEEN,\\r\\n CARDINAL, SOMERSET, with attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. Go call our uncle to our presence straight;\\r\\n Say we intend to try his Grace to-day,\\r\\n If he be guilty, as 'tis published.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. I'll call him presently, my noble lord. Exit\\r\\n KING HENRY. Lords, take your places; and, I pray you all,\\r\\n Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloucester\\r\\n Than from true evidence, of good esteem,\\r\\n He be approv'd in practice culpable.\\r\\n QUEEN. God forbid any malice should prevail\\r\\n That faultless may condemn a nobleman!\\r\\n Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion!\\r\\n KING HENRY. I thank thee, Meg; these words content me much.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter SUFFOLK\\r\\n\\r\\n How now! Why look'st thou pale? Why tremblest thou?\\r\\n Where is our uncle? What's the matter, Suffolk?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloucester is dead.\\r\\n QUEEN. Marry, God forfend!\\r\\n CARDINAL. God's secret judgment! I did dream to-night\\r\\n The Duke was dumb and could not speak a word.\\r\\n [The KING swoons]\\r\\n QUEEN. How fares my lord? Help, lords! The King is dead.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Rear up his body; wring him by the nose.\\r\\n QUEEN. Run, go, help, help! O Henry, ope thine eyes!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. He doth revive again; madam, be patient.\\r\\n KING. O heavenly God!\\r\\n QUEEN. How fares my gracious lord?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Comfort, my sovereign! Gracious Henry, comfort!\\r\\n KING HENRY. What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me?\\r\\n Came he right now to sing a raven's note,\\r\\n Whose dismal tune bereft my vital pow'rs;\\r\\n And thinks he that the chirping of a wren,\\r\\n By crying comfort from a hollow breast,\\r\\n Can chase away the first conceived sound?\\r\\n Hide not thy poison with such sug'red words;\\r\\n Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say,\\r\\n Their touch affrights me as a serpent's sting.\\r\\n Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight!\\r\\n Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny\\r\\n Sits in grim majesty to fright the world.\\r\\n Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding;\\r\\n Yet do not go away; come, basilisk,\\r\\n And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight;\\r\\n For in the shade of death I shall find joy-\\r\\n In life but double death,'now Gloucester's dead.\\r\\n QUEEN. Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus?\\r\\n Although the Duke was enemy to him,\\r\\n Yet he most Christian-like laments his death;\\r\\n And for myself- foe as he was to me-\\r\\n Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans,\\r\\n Or blood-consuming sighs, recall his life,\\r\\n I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans,\\r\\n Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs,\\r\\n And all to have the noble Duke alive.\\r\\n What know I how the world may deem of me?\\r\\n For it is known we were but hollow friends:\\r\\n It may be judg'd I made the Duke away;\\r\\n So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded,\\r\\n And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach.\\r\\n This get I by his death. Ay me, unhappy!\\r\\n To be a queen and crown'd with infamy!\\r\\n KING HENRY. Ah, woe is me for Gloucester, wretched man!\\r\\n QUEEN. Be woe for me, more wretched than he is.\\r\\n What, dost thou turn away, and hide thy face?\\r\\n I am no loathsome leper- look on me.\\r\\n What, art thou like the adder waxen deaf?\\r\\n Be poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn Queen.\\r\\n Is all thy comfort shut in Gloucester's tomb?\\r\\n Why, then Dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy.\\r\\n Erect his statue and worship it,\\r\\n And make my image but an alehouse sign.\\r\\n Was I for this nigh wreck'd upon the sea,\\r\\n And twice by awkward wind from England's bank\\r\\n Drove back again unto my native clime?\\r\\n What boded this but well-forewarning wind\\r\\n Did seem to say 'Seek not a scorpion's nest,\\r\\n Nor set no footing on this unkind shore'?\\r\\n What did I then but curs'd the gentle gusts,\\r\\n And he that loos'd them forth their brazen caves;\\r\\n And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore,\\r\\n Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock?\\r\\n Yet Aeolus would not be a murderer,\\r\\n But left that hateful office unto thee.\\r\\n The pretty-vaulting sea refus'd to drown me,\\r\\n Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown'd on shore\\r\\n With tears as salt as sea through thy unkindness;\\r\\n The splitting rocks cow'r'd in the sinking sands\\r\\n And would not dash me with their ragged sides,\\r\\n Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they,\\r\\n Might in thy palace perish Margaret.\\r\\n As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs,\\r\\n When from thy shore the tempest beat us back,\\r\\n I stood upon the hatches in the storm;\\r\\n And when the dusky sky began to rob\\r\\n My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view,\\r\\n I took a costly jewel from my neck-\\r\\n A heart it was, bound in with diamonds-\\r\\n And threw it towards thy land. The sea receiv'd it;\\r\\n And so I wish'd thy body might my heart.\\r\\n And even with this I lost fair England's view,\\r\\n And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart,\\r\\n And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles\\r\\n For losing ken of Albion's wished coast.\\r\\n How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue-\\r\\n The agent of thy foul inconstancy-\\r\\n To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did\\r\\n When he to madding Dido would unfold\\r\\n His father's acts commenc'd in burning Troy!\\r\\n Am I not witch'd like her? Or thou not false like him?\\r\\n Ay me, I can no more! Die, Margaret,\\r\\n For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long.\\r\\n\\r\\n Noise within. Enter WARWICK, SALISBURY,\\r\\n and many commons\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. It is reported, mighty sovereign,\\r\\n That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is murd'red\\r\\n By Suffolk and the Cardinal Beaufort's means.\\r\\n The commons, like an angry hive of bees\\r\\n That want their leader, scatter up and down\\r\\n And care not who they sting in his revenge.\\r\\n Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny\\r\\n Until they hear the order of his death.\\r\\n KING HENRY. That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis too true;\\r\\n But how he died God knows, not Henry.\\r\\n Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse,\\r\\n And comment then upon his sudden death.\\r\\n WARWICK. That shall I do, my liege. Stay, Salisbury,\\r\\n With the rude multitude till I return. Exit\\r\\n Exit SALISBURY with the commons\\r\\n KING HENRY. O Thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts-\\r\\n My thoughts that labour to persuade my soul\\r\\n Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life!\\r\\n If my suspect be false, forgive me, God;\\r\\n For judgment only doth belong to Thee.\\r\\n Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips\\r\\n With twenty thousand kisses and to drain\\r\\n Upon his face an ocean of salt tears\\r\\n To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk;\\r\\n And with my fingers feel his hand un-feeling;\\r\\n But all in vain are these mean obsequies;\\r\\n And to survey his dead and earthy image,\\r\\n What were it but to make my sorrow greater?\\r\\n\\r\\n Bed put forth with the body. Enter WARWICK\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this body.\\r\\n KING HENRY. That is to see how deep my grave is made;\\r\\n For with his soul fled all my worldly solace,\\r\\n For, seeing him, I see my life in death.\\r\\n WARWICK. As surely as my soul intends to live\\r\\n With that dread King that took our state upon Him\\r\\n To free us from his Father's wrathful curse,\\r\\n I do believe that violent hands were laid\\r\\n Upon the life of this thrice-famed Duke.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue!\\r\\n What instance gives Lord Warwick for his vow?\\r\\n WARWICK. See how the blood is settled in his face.\\r\\n Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost,\\r\\n Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless,\\r\\n Being all descended to the labouring heart,\\r\\n Who, in the conflict that it holds with death,\\r\\n Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy,\\r\\n Which with the heart there cools, and ne'er returneth\\r\\n To blush and beautify the cheek again.\\r\\n But see, his face is black and full of blood;\\r\\n His eye-balls further out than when he liv'd,\\r\\n Staring full ghastly like a strangled man;\\r\\n His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretch'd with struggling;\\r\\n His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd\\r\\n And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdu'd.\\r\\n Look, on the sheets his hair, you see, is sticking;\\r\\n His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged,\\r\\n Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodged.\\r\\n It cannot be but he was murd'red here:\\r\\n The least of all these signs were probable.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Why, Warwick, who should do the Duke to death?\\r\\n Myself and Beaufort had him in protection;\\r\\n And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers.\\r\\n WARWICK. But both of you were vow'd Duke Humphrey's foes;\\r\\n And you, forsooth, had the good Duke to keep.\\r\\n 'Tis like you would not feast him like a friend;\\r\\n And 'tis well seen he found an enemy.\\r\\n QUEEN. Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen\\r\\n As guilty of Duke Humphrey's timeless death.\\r\\n WARWICK. Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh,\\r\\n And sees fast by a butcher with an axe,\\r\\n But will suspect 'twas he that made the slaughter?\\r\\n Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest\\r\\n But may imagine how the bird was dead,\\r\\n Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak?\\r\\n Even so suspicious is this tragedy.\\r\\n QUEEN. Are you the butcher, Suffolk? Where's your knife?\\r\\n Is Beaufort term'd a kite? Where are his talons?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping men;\\r\\n But here's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease,\\r\\n That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart\\r\\n That slanders me with murder's crimson badge.\\r\\n Say if thou dar'st, proud Lord of Warwickshire,\\r\\n That I am faulty in Duke Humphrey's death.\\r\\n Exeunt CARDINAL, SOMERSET, and others\\r\\n WARWICK. What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare him?\\r\\n QUEEN. He dares not calm his contumelious spirit,\\r\\n Nor cease to be an arrogant controller,\\r\\n Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times.\\r\\n WARWICK. Madam, be still- with reverence may I say;\\r\\n For every word you speak in his behalf\\r\\n Is slander to your royal dignity.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanour,\\r\\n If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much,\\r\\n Thy mother took into her blameful bed\\r\\n Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock\\r\\n Was graft with crab-tree slip, whose fruit thou art,\\r\\n And never of the Nevils' noble race.\\r\\n WARWICK. But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee,\\r\\n And I should rob the deathsman of his fee,\\r\\n Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames,\\r\\n And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild,\\r\\n I would, false murd'rous coward, on thy knee\\r\\n Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech\\r\\n And say it was thy mother that thou meant'st,\\r\\n That thou thyself was born in bastardy;\\r\\n And, after all this fearful homage done,\\r\\n Give thee thy hire and send thy soul to hell,\\r\\n Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Thou shalt be waking while I shed thy blood,\\r\\n If from this presence thou dar'st go with me.\\r\\n WARWICK. Away even now, or I will drag thee hence.\\r\\n Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee,\\r\\n And do some service to Duke Humphrey's ghost.\\r\\n Exeunt SUFFOLK and WARWICK\\r\\n KING HENRY. What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted?\\r\\n Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just;\\r\\n And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel,\\r\\n Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.\\r\\n [A noise within]\\r\\n QUEEN. What noise is this?\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter SUFFOLK and WARWICK, with their weapons drawn\\r\\n\\r\\n KING. Why, how now, lords, your wrathful weapons drawn\\r\\n Here in our presence! Dare you be so bold?\\r\\n Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. The trait'rous Warwick, with the men of Bury,\\r\\n Set all upon me, mighty sovereign.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter SALISBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n SALISBURY. [To the Commons within] Sirs, stand apart, the King\\r\\n shall know your mind.\\r\\n Dread lord, the commons send you word by me\\r\\n Unless Lord Suffolk straight be done to death,\\r\\n Or banished fair England's territories,\\r\\n They will by violence tear him from your palace\\r\\n And torture him with grievous ling'ring death.\\r\\n They say by him the good Duke Humphrey died;\\r\\n They say in him they fear your Highness' death;\\r\\n And mere instinct of love and loyalty,\\r\\n Free from a stubborn opposite intent,\\r\\n As being thought to contradict your liking,\\r\\n Makes them thus forward in his banishment.\\r\\n They say, in care of your most royal person,\\r\\n That if your Highness should intend to sleep\\r\\n And charge that no man should disturb your rest,\\r\\n In pain of your dislike or pain of death,\\r\\n Yet, notwithstanding such a strait edict,\\r\\n Were there a serpent seen with forked tongue\\r\\n That slily glided towards your Majesty,\\r\\n It were but necessary you were wak'd,\\r\\n Lest, being suffer'd in that harmful slumber,\\r\\n The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal.\\r\\n And therefore do they cry, though you forbid,\\r\\n That they will guard you, whe'er you will or no,\\r\\n From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is;\\r\\n With whose envenomed and fatal sting\\r\\n Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth,\\r\\n They say, is shamefully bereft of life.\\r\\n COMMONS. [Within] An answer from the King, my Lord of Salisbury!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. 'Tis like the commons, rude unpolish'd hinds,\\r\\n Could send such message to their sovereign;\\r\\n But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd,\\r\\n To show how quaint an orator you are.\\r\\n But all the honour Salisbury hath won\\r\\n Is that he was the lord ambassador\\r\\n Sent from a sort of tinkers to the King.\\r\\n COMMONS. [Within] An answer from the King, or we will all break in!\\r\\n KING HENRY. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me\\r\\n I thank them for their tender loving care;\\r\\n And had I not been cited so by them,\\r\\n Yet did I purpose as they do entreat;\\r\\n For sure my thoughts do hourly prophesy\\r\\n Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means.\\r\\n And therefore by His Majesty I swear,\\r\\n Whose far unworthy deputy I am,\\r\\n He shall not breathe infection in this air\\r\\n But three days longer, on the pain of death.\\r\\n Exit SALISBURY\\r\\n QUEEN. O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk!\\r\\n KING HENRY. Ungentle Queen, to call him gentle Suffolk!\\r\\n No more, I say; if thou dost plead for him,\\r\\n Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath.\\r\\n Had I but said, I would have kept my word;\\r\\n But when I swear, it is irrevocable.\\r\\n If after three days' space thou here be'st found\\r\\n On any ground that I am ruler of,\\r\\n The world shall not be ransom for thy life.\\r\\n Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me;\\r\\n I have great matters to impart to thee.\\r\\n Exeunt all but QUEEN and SUFFOLK\\r\\n QUEEN. Mischance and sorrow go along with you!\\r\\n Heart's discontent and sour affliction\\r\\n Be playfellows to keep you company!\\r\\n There's two of you; the devil make a third,\\r\\n And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Cease, gentle Queen, these execrations,\\r\\n And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.\\r\\n QUEEN. Fie, coward woman and soft-hearted wretch,\\r\\n Has thou not spirit to curse thine enemy?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. A plague upon them! Wherefore should I curse them?\\r\\n Would curses kill as doth the mandrake's groan,\\r\\n I would invent as bitter searching terms,\\r\\n As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear,\\r\\n Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth,\\r\\n With full as many signs of deadly hate,\\r\\n As lean-fac'd Envy in her loathsome cave.\\r\\n My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words,\\r\\n Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint,\\r\\n Mine hair be fix'd an end, as one distract;\\r\\n Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban;\\r\\n And even now my burden'd heart would break,\\r\\n Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink!\\r\\n Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste!\\r\\n Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees!\\r\\n Their chiefest prospect murd'ring basilisks!\\r\\n Their softest touch as smart as lizards' stings!\\r\\n Their music frightful as the serpent's hiss,\\r\\n And boding screech-owls make the consort full!\\r\\n all the foul terrors in dark-seated hell-\\r\\n QUEEN. Enough, sweet Suffolk, thou torment'st thyself;\\r\\n And these dread curses, like the sun 'gainst glass,\\r\\n Or like an overcharged gun, recoil,\\r\\n And turns the force of them upon thyself.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave?\\r\\n Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from,\\r\\n Well could I curse away a winter's night,\\r\\n Though standing naked on a mountain top\\r\\n Where biting cold would never let grass grow,\\r\\n And think it but a minute spent in sport.\\r\\n QUEEN. O, let me entreat thee cease! Give me thy hand,\\r\\n That I may dew it with my mournful tears;\\r\\n Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place\\r\\n To wash away my woeful monuments.\\r\\n O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand,\\r\\n That thou might'st think upon these by the seal,\\r\\n Through whom a thousand sighs are breath'd for thee!\\r\\n So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief;\\r\\n 'Tis but surmis'd whiles thou art standing by,\\r\\n As one that surfeits thinking on a want.\\r\\n I will repeal thee or, be well assur'd,\\r\\n Adventure to be banished myself;\\r\\n And banished I am, if but from thee.\\r\\n Go, speak not to me; even now be gone.\\r\\n O, go not yet! Even thus two friends condemn'd\\r\\n Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves,\\r\\n Loather a hundred times to part than die.\\r\\n Yet now, farewell; and farewell life with thee!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished,\\r\\n Once by the King and three times thrice by thee,\\r\\n 'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou thence;\\r\\n A wilderness is populous enough,\\r\\n So Suffolk had thy heavenly company;\\r\\n For where thou art, there is the world itself,\\r\\n With every several pleasure in the world;\\r\\n And where thou art not, desolation.\\r\\n I can no more: Live thou to joy thy life;\\r\\n Myself no joy in nought but that thou liv'st.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter VAUX\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN. Whither goes Vaux so fast? What news, I prithee?\\r\\n VAUX. To signify unto his Majesty\\r\\n That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death;\\r\\n For suddenly a grievous sickness took him\\r\\n That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air,\\r\\n Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth.\\r\\n Sometime he talks as if Duke Humphrey's ghost\\r\\n Were by his side; sometime he calls the King\\r\\n And whispers to his pillow, as to him,\\r\\n The secrets of his overcharged soul;\\r\\n And I am sent to tell his Majesty\\r\\n That even now he cries aloud for him.\\r\\n QUEEN. Go tell this heavy message to the King. Exit VAUX\\r\\n Ay me! What is this world! What news are these!\\r\\n But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss,\\r\\n Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure?\\r\\n Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee,\\r\\n And with the southern clouds contend in tears-\\r\\n Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my sorrows?\\r\\n Now get thee hence: the King, thou know'st, is coming;\\r\\n If thou be found by me; thou art but dead.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. If I depart from thee I cannot live;\\r\\n And in thy sight to die, what were it else\\r\\n But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap?\\r\\n Here could I breathe my soul into the air,\\r\\n As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe\\r\\n Dying with mother's dug between its lips;\\r\\n Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad\\r\\n And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes,\\r\\n To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth;\\r\\n So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul,\\r\\n Or I should breathe it so into thy body,\\r\\n And then it liv'd in sweet Elysium.\\r\\n To die by thee were but to die in jest:\\r\\n From thee to die were torture more than death.\\r\\n O, let me stay, befall what may befall!\\r\\n QUEEN. Away! Though parting be a fretful corrosive,\\r\\n It is applied to a deathful wound.\\r\\n To France, sweet Suffolk. Let me hear from thee;\\r\\n For whereso'er thou art in this world's globe\\r\\n I'll have an Iris that shall find thee out.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. I go.\\r\\n QUEEN. And take my heart with thee. [She kisses him]\\r\\n SUFFOLK. A jewel, lock'd into the woefull'st cask\\r\\n That ever did contain a thing of worth.\\r\\n Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we:\\r\\n This way fall I to death.\\r\\n QUEEN. This way for me. Exeunt severally\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. London. CARDINAL BEAUFORT'S bedchamber\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the KING, SALISBURY, and WARWICK, to the CARDINAL in bed\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. How fares my lord? Speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign.\\r\\n CARDINAL. If thou be'st Death I'll give thee England's treasure,\\r\\n Enough to purchase such another island,\\r\\n So thou wilt let me live and feel no pain.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life\\r\\n Where death's approach is seen so terrible!\\r\\n WARWICK. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.\\r\\n CARDINAL. Bring me unto my trial when you will.\\r\\n Died he not in his bed? Where should he die?\\r\\n Can I make men live, whe'er they will or no?\\r\\n O, torture me no more! I will confess.\\r\\n Alive again? Then show me where he is;\\r\\n I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him.\\r\\n He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.\\r\\n Comb down his hair; look, look! it stands upright,\\r\\n Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul!\\r\\n Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary\\r\\n Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.\\r\\n KING HENRY. O Thou eternal Mover of the heavens,\\r\\n Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch!\\r\\n O, beat away the busy meddling fiend\\r\\n That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul,\\r\\n And from his bosom purge this black despair!\\r\\n WARWICK. See how the pangs of death do make him grin\\r\\n SALISBURY. Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be!\\r\\n Lord Card'nal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss,\\r\\n Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.\\r\\n He dies, and makes no sign: O God, forgive him!\\r\\n WARWICK. So bad a death argues a monstrous life.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.\\r\\n Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close;\\r\\n And let us all to meditation. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I. The coast of Kent\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum. Fight at sea. Ordnance goes off. Enter a LIEUTENANT, a\\r\\nSHIPMASTER and his MATE, and WALTER WHITMORE, with sailors; SUFFOLK and\\r\\nother GENTLEMEN, as prisoners\\r\\n\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day\\r\\n Is crept into the bosom of the sea;\\r\\n And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades\\r\\n That drag the tragic melancholy night;\\r\\n Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings\\r\\n Clip dead men's graves, and from their misty jaws\\r\\n Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.\\r\\n Therefore bring forth the soldiers of our prize;\\r\\n For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs,\\r\\n Here shall they make their ransom on the sand,\\r\\n Or with their blood stain this discoloured shore.\\r\\n Master, this prisoner freely give I thee;\\r\\n And thou that art his mate make boot of this;\\r\\n The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. What is my ransom, master, let me know?\\r\\n MASTER. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.\\r\\n MATE. And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns,\\r\\n And bear the name and port of gentlemen?\\r\\n Cut both the villains' throats- for die you shall;\\r\\n The lives of those which we have lost in fight\\r\\n Be counterpois'd with such a petty sum!\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. I'll give it, sir: and therefore spare my life.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. And so will I, and write home for it straight.\\r\\n WHITMORE. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,\\r\\n [To SUFFOLK] And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die;\\r\\n And so should these, if I might have my will.\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Look on my George, I am a gentleman:\\r\\n Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.\\r\\n WHITMORE. And so am I: my name is Walter Whitmore.\\r\\n How now! Why start'st thou? What, doth death affright?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.\\r\\n A cunning man did calculate my birth\\r\\n And told me that by water I should die;\\r\\n Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded;\\r\\n Thy name is Gualtier, being rightly sounded.\\r\\n WHITMORE. Gualtier or Walter, which it is I care not:\\r\\n Never yet did base dishonour blur our name\\r\\n But with our sword we wip'd away the blot;\\r\\n Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge,\\r\\n Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defac'd,\\r\\n And I proclaim'd a coward through the world.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Stay, Whitmore, for thy prisoner is a prince,\\r\\n The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole.\\r\\n WHITMORE. The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Ay, but these rags are no part of the Duke:\\r\\n Jove sometime went disguis'd, and why not I?\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Obscure and lowly swain, King Henry's blood,\\r\\n The honourable blood of Lancaster,\\r\\n Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.\\r\\n Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand and held my stirrup,\\r\\n Bareheaded plodded by my foot-cloth mule,\\r\\n And thought thee happy when I shook my head?\\r\\n How often hast thou waited at my cup,\\r\\n Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board,\\r\\n When I have feasted with Queen Margaret?\\r\\n Remember it, and let it make thee crestfall'n,\\r\\n Ay, and allay thus thy abortive pride,\\r\\n How in our voiding-lobby hast thou stood\\r\\n And duly waited for my coming forth.\\r\\n This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf,\\r\\n And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue.\\r\\n WHITMORE. Speak, Captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain?\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. First let my words stab him, as he hath me.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Base slave, thy words are blunt, and so art thou.\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. Convey him hence, and on our longboat's side\\r\\n Strike off his head.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Thou dar'st not, for thy own.\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. Poole!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Poole?\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. Ay, kennel, puddle, sink, whose filth and dirt\\r\\n Troubles the silver spring where England drinks;\\r\\n Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth\\r\\n For swallowing the treasure of the realm.\\r\\n Thy lips, that kiss'd the Queen, shall sweep the ground;\\r\\n And thou that smil'dst at good Duke Humphrey's death\\r\\n Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain,\\r\\n Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again;\\r\\n And wedded be thou to the hags of hell\\r\\n For daring to affy a mighty lord\\r\\n Unto the daughter of a worthless king,\\r\\n Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem.\\r\\n By devilish policy art thou grown great,\\r\\n And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorg'd\\r\\n With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart.\\r\\n By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France;\\r\\n The false revolting Normans thorough thee\\r\\n Disdain to call us lord; and Picardy\\r\\n Hath slain their governors, surpris'd our forts,\\r\\n And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home.\\r\\n The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all,\\r\\n Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain,\\r\\n As hating thee, are rising up in arms;\\r\\n And now the house of York- thrust from the crown\\r\\n By shameful murder of a guiltless king\\r\\n And lofty proud encroaching tyranny-\\r\\n Burns with revenging fire, whose hopeful colours\\r\\n Advance our half-fac'd sun, striving to shine,\\r\\n Under the which is writ 'Invitis nubibus.'\\r\\n The commons here in Kent are up in arms;\\r\\n And to conclude, reproach and beggary\\r\\n Is crept into the palace of our King,\\r\\n And all by thee. Away! convey him hence.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder\\r\\n Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges!\\r\\n Small things make base men proud: this villain here,\\r\\n Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more\\r\\n Than Bargulus, the strong Illyrian pirate.\\r\\n Drones suck not eagles' blood but rob beehives.\\r\\n It is impossible that I should die\\r\\n By such a lowly vassal as thyself.\\r\\n Thy words move rage and not remorse in me.\\r\\n I go of message from the Queen to France:\\r\\n I charge thee waft me safely cross the Channel.\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. Walter-\\r\\n WHITMORE. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Gelidus timor occupat artus: it is thee I fear.\\r\\n WHITMORE. Thou shalt have cause to fear before I leave thee.\\r\\n What, are ye daunted now? Now will ye stoop?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stem and rough,\\r\\n Us'd to command, untaught to plead for favour.\\r\\n Far be it we should honour such as these\\r\\n With humble suit: no, rather let my head\\r\\n Stoop to the block than these knees bow to any\\r\\n Save to the God of heaven and to my king;\\r\\n And sooner dance upon a bloody pole\\r\\n Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom.\\r\\n True nobility is exempt from fear:\\r\\n More can I bear than you dare execute.\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. Hale him away, and let him talk no more.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can,\\r\\n That this my death may never be forgot-\\r\\n Great men oft die by vile bezonians:\\r\\n A Roman sworder and banditto slave\\r\\n Murder'd sweet Tully; Brutus' bastard hand\\r\\n Stabb'd Julius Caesar; savage islanders\\r\\n Pompey the Great; and Suffolk dies by pirates.\\r\\n Exit WALTER with SUFFOLK\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. And as for these, whose ransom we have set,\\r\\n It is our pleasure one of them depart;\\r\\n Therefore come you with us, and let him go.\\r\\n Exeunt all but the FIRST GENTLEMAN\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter WHITMORE with SUFFOLK'S body\\r\\n\\r\\n WHITMORE. There let his head and lifeless body lie,\\r\\n Until the Queen his mistress bury it. Exit\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. O barbarous and bloody spectacle!\\r\\n His body will I bear unto the King.\\r\\n If he revenge it not, yet will his friends;\\r\\n So will the Queen, that living held him dear.\\r\\n Exit with the body\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Blackheath\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter GEORGE BEVIS and JOHN HOLLAND\\r\\n\\r\\n GEORGE. Come and get thee a sword, though made of a lath; they have\\r\\n been up these two days.\\r\\n JOHN. They have the more need to sleep now, then.\\r\\n GEORGE. I tell thee Jack Cade the clothier means to dress the\\r\\n commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it.\\r\\n JOHN. So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well, I say it was never\\r\\n merry world in England since gentlemen came up.\\r\\n GEORGE. O miserable age! Virtue is not regarded in handicraftsmen.\\r\\n JOHN. The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons.\\r\\n GEORGE. Nay, more, the King's Council are no good workmen.\\r\\n JOHN. True; and yet it is said 'Labour in thy vocation'; which is\\r\\n as much to say as 'Let the magistrates be labouring men'; and\\r\\n therefore should we be magistrates.\\r\\n GEORGE. Thou hast hit it; for there's no better sign of a brave\\r\\n mind than a hard hand.\\r\\n JOHN. I see them! I see them! There's Best's son, the tanner of\\r\\n Wingham-\\r\\n GEORGE. He shall have the skins of our enemies to make dog's\\r\\n leather of.\\r\\n JOHN. And Dick the butcher-\\r\\n GEORGE. Then is sin struck down, like an ox, and iniquity's throat\\r\\n cut like a calf.\\r\\n JOHN. And Smith the weaver-\\r\\n GEORGE. Argo, their thread of life is spun.\\r\\n JOHN. Come, come, let's fall in with them.\\r\\n\\r\\n Drum. Enter CADE, DICK THE BUTCHER, SMITH\\r\\n THE WEAVER, and a SAWYER, with infinite numbers\\r\\n\\r\\n CADE. We John Cade, so term'd of our supposed father-\\r\\n DICK. [Aside] Or rather, of stealing a cade of herrings.\\r\\n CADE. For our enemies shall fall before us, inspired with the\\r\\n spirit of putting down kings and princes- command silence.\\r\\n DICK. Silence!\\r\\n CADE. My father was a Mortimer-\\r\\n DICK. [Aside] He was an honest man and a good bricklayer.\\r\\n CADE. My mother a Plantagenet-\\r\\n DICK. [Aside] I knew her well; she was a midwife.\\r\\n CADE. My wife descended of the Lacies-\\r\\n DICK. [Aside] She was, indeed, a pedlar's daughter, and sold many\\r\\n laces.\\r\\n SMITH. [Aside] But now of late, not able to travel with her furr'd\\r\\n pack, she washes bucks here at home.\\r\\n CADE. Therefore am I of an honourable house.\\r\\n DICK. [Aside] Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable, and there\\r\\n was he born, under a hedge, for his father had never a house but\\r\\n the cage.\\r\\n CADE. Valiant I am.\\r\\n SMITH. [Aside] 'A must needs; for beggary is valiant.\\r\\n CADE. I am able to endure much.\\r\\n DICK. [Aside] No question of that; for I have seen him whipt three\\r\\n market days together.\\r\\n CADE. I fear neither sword nor fire.\\r\\n SMITH. [Aside] He need not fear the sword, for his coat is of\\r\\n proof.\\r\\n DICK. [Aside] But methinks he should stand in fear of fire, being\\r\\n burnt i' th' hand for stealing of sheep.\\r\\n CADE. Be brave, then, for your captain is brave, and vows\\r\\n reformation. There shall be in England seven halfpenny loaves\\r\\n sold for a penny; the three-hoop'd pot shall have ten hoops; and\\r\\n I will make it felony to drink small beer. All the realm shall be\\r\\n in common, and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to grass. And\\r\\n when I am king- as king I will be\\r\\n ALL. God save your Majesty!\\r\\n CADE. I thank you, good people- there shall be no money; all shall\\r\\n eat and drink on my score, and I will apparel them all in one\\r\\n livery, that they may agree like brothers and worship me their\\r\\n lord.\\r\\n DICK. The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers.\\r\\n CADE. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a lamentable thing, that\\r\\n of the skin of an innocent lamb should be made parchment? That\\r\\n parchment, being scribbl'd o'er, should undo a man? Some say the\\r\\n bee stings; but I say 'tis the bee's wax; for I did but seal once\\r\\n to a thing, and I was never mine own man since. How now! Who's\\r\\n there?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter some, bringing in the CLERK OF CHATHAM\\r\\n\\r\\n SMITH. The clerk of Chatham. He can write and read and cast\\r\\n accompt.\\r\\n CADE. O monstrous!\\r\\n SMITH. We took him setting of boys' copies.\\r\\n CADE. Here's a villain!\\r\\n SMITH. Has a book in his pocket with red letters in't.\\r\\n CADE. Nay, then he is a conjurer.\\r\\n DICK. Nay, he can make obligations and write court-hand.\\r\\n CADE. I am sorry for't; the man is a proper man, of mine honour;\\r\\n unless I find him guilty, he shall not die. Come hither, sirrah,\\r\\n I must examine thee. What is thy name?\\r\\n CLERK. Emmanuel.\\r\\n DICK. They use to write it on the top of letters; 'twill go hard\\r\\n with you.\\r\\n CADE. Let me alone. Dost thou use to write thy name, or hast thou a\\r\\n mark to thyself, like a honest plain-dealing man?\\r\\n CLERK. Sir, I thank God, I have been so well brought up that I can\\r\\n write my name.\\r\\n ALL. He hath confess'd. Away with him! He's a villain and a\\r\\n traitor.\\r\\n CADE. Away with him, I say! Hang him with his pen and inkhorn about\\r\\n his neck. Exit one with the CLERK\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MICHAEL\\r\\n\\r\\n MICHAEL. Where's our General?\\r\\n CADE. Here I am, thou particular fellow.\\r\\n MICHAEL. Fly, fly, fly! Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother are\\r\\n hard by, with the King's forces.\\r\\n CADE. Stand, villain, stand, or I'll fell thee down. He shall be\\r\\n encount'red with a man as good as himself. He is but a knight,\\r\\n is 'a?\\r\\n MICHAEL. No.\\r\\n CADE. To equal him, I will make myself a knight presently.\\r\\n [Kneels] Rise up, Sir John Mortimer. [Rises] Now have at him!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR HUMPHREY STAFFORD and WILLIAM\\r\\n his brother, with drum and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n STAFFORD. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent,\\r\\n Mark'd for the gallows, lay your weapons down;\\r\\n Home to your cottages, forsake this groom;\\r\\n The King is merciful if you revolt.\\r\\n WILLIAM STAFFORD. But angry, wrathful, and inclin'd to blood,\\r\\n If you go forward; therefore yield or die.\\r\\n CADE. As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass not;\\r\\n It is to you, good people, that I speak,\\r\\n O'er whom, in time to come, I hope to reign;\\r\\n For I am rightful heir unto the crown.\\r\\n STAFFORD. Villain, thy father was a plasterer;\\r\\n And thou thyself a shearman, art thou not?\\r\\n CADE. And Adam was a gardener.\\r\\n WILLIAM STAFFORD. And what of that?\\r\\n CADE. Marry, this: Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March,\\r\\n Married the Duke of Clarence' daughter, did he not?\\r\\n STAFFORD. Ay, sir.\\r\\n CADE. By her he had two children at one birth.\\r\\n WILLIAM STAFFORD. That's false.\\r\\n CADE. Ay, there's the question; but I say 'tis true.\\r\\n The elder of them being put to nurse,\\r\\n Was by a beggar-woman stol'n away,\\r\\n And, ignorant of his birth and parentage,\\r\\n Became a bricklayer when he came to age.\\r\\n His son am I; deny it if you can.\\r\\n DICK. Nay, 'tis too true; therefore he shall be king.\\r\\n SMITH. Sir, he made a chimney in my father's house, and the bricks\\r\\n are alive at this day to testify it; therefore deny it not.\\r\\n STAFFORD. And will you credit this base drudge's words\\r\\n That speaks he knows not what?\\r\\n ALL. Ay, marry, will we; therefore get ye gone.\\r\\n WILLIAM STAFFORD. Jack Cade, the Duke of York hath taught you this.\\r\\n CADE. [Aside] He lies, for I invented it myself- Go to, sirrah,\\r\\n tell the King from me that for his father's sake, Henry the\\r\\n Fifth, in whose time boys went to span-counter for French crowns,\\r\\n I am content he shall reign; but I'll be Protector over him.\\r\\n DICK. And furthermore, we'll have the Lord Say's head for selling\\r\\n the dukedom of Maine.\\r\\n CADE. And good reason; for thereby is England main'd and fain to go\\r\\n with a staff, but that my puissance holds it up. Fellow kings, I\\r\\n tell you that that Lord Say hath gelded the commonwealth and made\\r\\n it an eunuch; and more than that, he can speak French, and\\r\\n therefore he is a traitor.\\r\\n STAFFORD. O gross and miserable ignorance!\\r\\n CADE. Nay, answer if you can; the Frenchmen are our enemies. Go to,\\r\\n then, I ask but this: can he that speaks with the tongue of an\\r\\n enemy be a good counsellor, or no?\\r\\n ALL. No, no; and therefore we'll have his head.\\r\\n WILLIAM STAFFORD. Well, seeing gentle words will not prevail,\\r\\n Assail them with the army of the King.\\r\\n STAFFORD. Herald, away; and throughout every town\\r\\n Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade;\\r\\n That those which fly before the battle ends\\r\\n May, even in their wives'and children's sight,\\r\\n Be hang'd up for example at their doors.\\r\\n And you that be the King's friends, follow me.\\r\\n Exeunt the TWO STAFFORDS and soldiers\\r\\n CADE. And you that love the commons follow me.\\r\\n Now show yourselves men; 'tis for liberty.\\r\\n We will not leave one lord, one gentleman;\\r\\n Spare none but such as go in clouted shoon,\\r\\n For they are thrifty honest men and such\\r\\n As would- but that they dare not- take our parts.\\r\\n DICK. They are all in order, and march toward us.\\r\\n CADE. But then are we in order when we are most out of order. Come,\\r\\n march forward. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Another part of Blackheath\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarums to the fight, wherein both the STAFFORDS are slain.\\r\\nEnter CADE and the rest\\r\\n\\r\\n CADE. Where's Dick, the butcher of Ashford?\\r\\n DICK. Here, sir.\\r\\n CADE. They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, and thou behavedst\\r\\n thyself as if thou hadst been in thine own slaughter-house;\\r\\n therefore thus will I reward thee- the Lent shall be as long\\r\\n again as it is, and thou shalt have a licence to kill for a\\r\\n hundred lacking one.\\r\\n DICK. I desire no more.\\r\\n CADE. And, to speak truth, thou deserv'st no less. [Putting on SIR\\r\\n HUMPHREY'S brigandine] This monument of the victory will I bear,\\r\\n and the bodies shall be dragged at my horse heels till I do come\\r\\n to London, where we will have the mayor's sword borne before us.\\r\\n DICK. If we mean to thrive and do good, break open the gaols and\\r\\n let out the prisoners.\\r\\n CADE. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, let's march towards\\r\\n London. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. London. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the KING with a supplication, and the QUEEN with SUFFOLK'S head;\\r\\nthe DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, and the LORD SAY\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN. Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind\\r\\n And makes it fearful and degenerate;\\r\\n Think therefore on revenge and cease to weep.\\r\\n But who can cease to weep, and look on this?\\r\\n Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast;\\r\\n But where's the body that I should embrace?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. What answer makes your Grace to the rebels'\\r\\n supplication?\\r\\n KING HENRY. I'll send some holy bishop to entreat;\\r\\n For God forbid so many simple souls\\r\\n Should perish by the sword! And I myself,\\r\\n Rather than bloody war shall cut them short,\\r\\n Will parley with Jack Cade their general.\\r\\n But stay, I'll read it over once again.\\r\\n QUEEN. Ah, barbarous villains! Hath this lovely face\\r\\n Rul'd like a wandering planet over me,\\r\\n And could it not enforce them to relent\\r\\n That were unworthy to behold the same?\\r\\n KING HENRY. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have thy head.\\r\\n SAY. Ay, but I hope your Highness shall have his.\\r\\n KING HENRY. How now, madam!\\r\\n Still lamenting and mourning for Suffolk's death?\\r\\n I fear me, love, if that I had been dead,\\r\\n Thou wouldst not have mourn'd so much for me.\\r\\n QUEEN. No, my love, I should not mourn, but die for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter A MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. How now! What news? Why com'st thou in such haste?\\r\\n MESSENGER. The rebels are in Southwark; fly, my lord!\\r\\n Jack Cade proclaims himself Lord Mortimer,\\r\\n Descended from the Duke of Clarence' house,\\r\\n And calls your Grace usurper, openly,\\r\\n And vows to crown himself in Westminster.\\r\\n His army is a ragged multitude\\r\\n Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless;\\r\\n Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's death\\r\\n Hath given them heart and courage to proceed.\\r\\n All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen,\\r\\n They call false caterpillars and intend their death.\\r\\n KING HENRY. O graceless men! they know not what they do.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My gracious lord, retire to Killingworth\\r\\n Until a power be rais'd to put them down.\\r\\n QUEEN. Ah, were the Duke of Suffolk now alive,\\r\\n These Kentish rebels would be soon appeas'd!\\r\\n KING HENRY. Lord Say, the traitors hate thee;\\r\\n Therefore away with us to Killingworth.\\r\\n SAY. So might your Grace's person be in danger.\\r\\n The sight of me is odious in their eyes;\\r\\n And therefore in this city will I stay\\r\\n And live alone as secret as I may.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND MESSENGER. Jack Cade hath gotten London Bridge.\\r\\n The citizens fly and forsake their houses;\\r\\n The rascal people, thirsting after prey,\\r\\n Join with the traitor; and they jointly swear\\r\\n To spoil the city and your royal court.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Then linger not, my lord; away, take horse.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Come Margaret; God, our hope, will succour us.\\r\\n QUEEN. My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceas'd.\\r\\n KING HENRY. [To LORD SAY] Farewell, my lord, trust not the Kentish\\r\\n rebels.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Trust nobody, for fear you be betray'd.\\r\\n SAY. The trust I have is in mine innocence,\\r\\n And therefore am I bold and resolute. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. London. The Tower\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter LORD SCALES Upon the Tower, walking. Then enter two or three\\r\\nCITIZENS, below\\r\\n\\r\\n SCALES. How now! Is Jack Cade slain?\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. No, my lord, nor likely to be slain; for they have\\r\\n won the bridge, killing all those that withstand them.\\r\\n The Lord Mayor craves aid of your honour from the\\r\\n Tower, to defend the city from the rebels.\\r\\n SCALES. Such aid as I can spare you shall command,\\r\\n But I am troubled here with them myself;\\r\\n The rebels have assay'd to win the Tower.\\r\\n But get you to Smithfield, and gather head,\\r\\n And thither I will send you Matthew Goffe;\\r\\n Fight for your King, your country, and your lives;\\r\\n And so, farewell, for I must hence again. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. London. Cannon street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter JACK CADE and the rest, and strikes his staff on London Stone\\r\\n\\r\\n CADE. Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And here, sitting upon\\r\\n London Stone, I charge and command that, of the city's cost, the\\r\\n pissing conduit run nothing but claret wine this first year of our\\r\\n reign. And now henceforward it shall be treason for any that calls me\\r\\n other than Lord Mortimer.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a SOLDIER, running\\r\\n\\r\\n SOLDIER. Jack Cade! Jack Cade!\\r\\n CADE. Knock him down there. [They kill him]\\r\\n SMITH. If this fellow be wise, he'll never call ye Jack Cade more;\\r\\n I think he hath a very fair warning.\\r\\n DICK. My lord, there's an army gathered together in Smithfield.\\r\\n CADE. Come then, let's go fight with them. But first go and set\\r\\n London Bridge on fire; and, if you can, burn down the Tower too.\\r\\n Come, let's away. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. London. Smithfield\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarums. MATTHEW GOFFE is slain, and all the rest. Then enter JACK\\r\\nCADE, with his company\\r\\n\\r\\n CADE. So, sirs. Now go some and pull down the Savoy; others to th'\\r\\n Inns of Court; down with them all.\\r\\n DICK. I have a suit unto your lordship.\\r\\n CADE. Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for that word.\\r\\n DICK. Only that the laws of England may come out of your mouth.\\r\\n JOHN. [Aside] Mass, 'twill be sore law then; for he was thrust in\\r\\n the mouth with a spear, and 'tis not whole yet.\\r\\n SMITH. [Aside] Nay, John, it will be stinking law; for his breath\\r\\n stinks with eating toasted cheese.\\r\\n CADE. I have thought upon it; it shall be so. Away, burn all the\\r\\n records of the realm. My mouth shall be the Parliament of\\r\\n England.\\r\\n JOHN. [Aside] Then we are like to have biting statutes, unless his\\r\\n teeth be pull'd out.\\r\\n CADE. And henceforward all things shall be in common.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. My lord, a prize, a prize! Here's the Lord Say, which sold\\r\\n the towns in France; he that made us pay one and twenty fifteens, and\\r\\n one shining to the pound, the last subsidy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GEORGE BEVIS, with the LORD SAY\\r\\n\\r\\n CADE. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times. Ah, thou say,\\r\\n thou serge, nay, thou buckram lord! Now art thou within point\\r\\n blank of our jurisdiction regal. What canst thou answer to my\\r\\n Majesty for giving up of Normandy unto Mounsieur Basimecu the\\r\\n Dauphin of France? Be it known unto thee by these presence, even\\r\\n the presence of Lord Mortimer, that I am the besom that must\\r\\n sweep the court clean of such filth as thou art. Thou hast most\\r\\n traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a\\r\\n grammar school; and whereas, before, our forefathers had no other\\r\\n books but the score and the tally, thou hast caused printing to\\r\\n be us'd, and, contrary to the King, his crown, and dignity, thou\\r\\n hast built a paper-mill. It will be proved to thy face that thou\\r\\n hast men about thee that usually talk of a noun and a verb, and\\r\\n such abominable words as no Christian ear can endure to hear.\\r\\n Thou hast appointed justices of peace, to call poor men before\\r\\n them about matters they were not able to answer. Moreover, thou\\r\\n hast put them in prison, and because they could not read, thou\\r\\n hast hang'd them, when, indeed, only for that cause they have\\r\\n been most worthy to live. Thou dost ride in a foot-cloth, dost\\r\\n thou not?\\r\\n SAY. What of that?\\r\\n CADE. Marry, thou ought'st not to let thy horse wear a cloak, when\\r\\n honester men than thou go in their hose and doublets.\\r\\n DICK. And work in their shirt too, as myself, for example, that am\\r\\n a butcher.\\r\\n SAY. You men of Kent-\\r\\n DICK. What say you of Kent?\\r\\n SAY. Nothing but this: 'tis 'bona terra, mala gens.'\\r\\n CADE. Away with him, away with him! He speaks Latin.\\r\\n SAY. Hear me but speak, and bear me where you will.\\r\\n Kent, in the Commentaries Caesar writ,\\r\\n Is term'd the civil'st place of all this isle.\\r\\n Sweet is the country, because full of riches;\\r\\n The people liberal valiant, active, wealthy;\\r\\n Which makes me hope you are not void of pity.\\r\\n I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy;\\r\\n Yet, to recover them, would lose my life.\\r\\n Justice with favour have I always done;\\r\\n Pray'rs and tears have mov'd me, gifts could never.\\r\\n When have I aught exacted at your hands,\\r\\n But to maintain the King, the realm, and you?\\r\\n Large gifts have I bestow'd on learned clerks,\\r\\n Because my book preferr'd me to the King,\\r\\n And seeing ignorance is the curse of God,\\r\\n Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven,\\r\\n Unless you be possess'd with devilish spirits\\r\\n You cannot but forbear to murder me.\\r\\n This tongue hath parley'd unto foreign kings\\r\\n For your behoof.\\r\\n CADE. Tut, when struck'st thou one blow in the field?\\r\\n SAY. Great men have reaching hands. Oft have I struck\\r\\n Those that I never saw, and struck them dead.\\r\\n GEORGE. O monstrous coward! What, to come behind folks?\\r\\n SAY. These cheeks are pale for watching for your good.\\r\\n CADE. Give him a box o' th' ear, and that will make 'em red again.\\r\\n SAY. Long sitting to determine poor men's causes\\r\\n Hath made me full of sickness and diseases.\\r\\n CADE. Ye shall have a hempen caudle then, and the help of hatchet.\\r\\n DICK. Why dost thou quiver, man?\\r\\n SAY. The palsy, and not fear, provokes me.\\r\\n CADE. Nay, he nods at us, as who should say 'I'll be even with\\r\\n you'; I'll see if his head will stand steadier on a pole, or no.\\r\\n Take him away, and behead him.\\r\\n SAY. Tell me: wherein have I offended most?\\r\\n Have I affected wealth or honour? Speak.\\r\\n Are my chests fill'd up with extorted gold?\\r\\n Is my apparel sumptuous to behold?\\r\\n Whom have I injur'd, that ye seek my death?\\r\\n These hands are free from guiltless bloodshedding,\\r\\n This breast from harbouring foul deceitful thoughts.\\r\\n O, let me live!\\r\\n CADE. [Aside] I feel remorse in myself with his words; but I'll\\r\\n bridle it. He shall die, an it be but for pleading so well for\\r\\n his life.- Away with him! He has a familiar under his tongue; he\\r\\n speaks not o' God's name. Go, take him away, I say, and strike\\r\\n off his head presently, and then break into his son-in-law's\\r\\n house, Sir James Cromer, and strike off his head, and bring them\\r\\n both upon two poles hither.\\r\\n ALL. It shall be done.\\r\\n SAY. Ah, countrymen! if when you make your pray'rs,\\r\\n God should be so obdurate as yourselves,\\r\\n How would it fare with your departed souls?\\r\\n And therefore yet relent and save my life.\\r\\n CADE. Away with him, and do as I command ye. [Exeunt some with\\r\\n LORD SAY] The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a head\\r\\n on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute; there shall not a\\r\\n maid be married, but she shall pay to me her maidenhead ere they\\r\\n have it. Men shall hold of me in capite; and we charge and\\r\\n command that their wives be as free as heart can wish or tongue\\r\\n can tell.\\r\\n DICK. My lord, when shall we go to Cheapside, and take up\\r\\n commodities upon our bills?\\r\\n CADE. Marry, presently.\\r\\n ALL. O, brave!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter one with the heads\\r\\n\\r\\n CADE. But is not this braver? Let them kiss one another, for they\\r\\n lov'd well when they were alive. Now part them again, lest they\\r\\n consult about the giving up of some more towns in France. Soldiers,\\r\\n defer the spoil of the city until night; for with these borne before\\r\\n us instead of maces will we ride through the streets, and at every\\r\\n corner have them kiss. Away! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VIII. Southwark\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum and retreat. Enter again CADE and all his rabblement\\r\\n\\r\\n CADE. Up Fish Street! down Saint Magnus' Corner! Kill and knock down!\\r\\n Throw them into Thames! [Sound a parley] What noise is\\r\\n this I hear? Dare any be so bold to sound retreat or parley when I\\r\\n command them kill?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BUCKINGHAM and old CLIFFORD, attended\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Ay, here they be that dare and will disturb thee.\\r\\n And therefore yet relent, and save my life.\\r\\n Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the King\\r\\n Unto the commons whom thou hast misled;\\r\\n And here pronounce free pardon to them all\\r\\n That will forsake thee and go home in peace.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. What say ye, countrymen? Will ye relent\\r\\n And yield to mercy whilst 'tis offer'd you,\\r\\n Or let a rebel lead you to your deaths?\\r\\n Who loves the King, and will embrace his pardon,\\r\\n Fling up his cap and say 'God save his Majesty!'\\r\\n Who hateth him and honours not his father,\\r\\n Henry the Fifth, that made all France to quake,\\r\\n Shake he his weapon at us and pass by.\\r\\n ALL. God save the King! God save the King!\\r\\n CADE. What, Buckingham and Clifford, are ye so brave?\\r\\n And you, base peasants, do ye believe him? Will you needs be\\r\\n hang'd with your about your necks? Hath my sword therefore broke\\r\\n through London gates, that you should leave me at the White Hart\\r\\n in Southwark? I thought ye would never have given out these arms\\r\\n till you had recovered your ancient freedom. But you are all\\r\\n recreants and dastards, and delight to live in slavery to the\\r\\n nobility. Let them break your backs with burdens, take your\\r\\n houses over your heads, ravish your wives and daughters before\\r\\n your faces. For me, I will make shift for one; and so God's curse\\r\\n light upon you all!\\r\\n ALL. We'll follow Cade, we'll follow Cade!\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Is Cade the son of Henry the Fifth,\\r\\n That thus you do exclaim you'll go with him?\\r\\n Will he conduct you through the heart of France,\\r\\n And make the meanest of you earls and dukes?\\r\\n Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to;\\r\\n Nor knows he how to live but by the spoil,\\r\\n Unless by robbing of your friends and us.\\r\\n Were't not a shame that whilst you live at jar\\r\\n The fearful French, whom you late vanquished,\\r\\n Should make a start o'er seas and vanquish you?\\r\\n Methinks already in this civil broil\\r\\n I see them lording it in London streets,\\r\\n Crying 'Villiago!' unto all they meet.\\r\\n Better ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry\\r\\n Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy.\\r\\n To France, to France, and get what you have lost;\\r\\n Spare England, for it is your native coast.\\r\\n Henry hath money; you are strong and manly.\\r\\n God on our side, doubt not of victory.\\r\\n ALL. A Clifford! a Clifford! We'll follow the King and Clifford.\\r\\n CADE. Was ever feather so lightly blown to and fro as this\\r\\n multitude? The name of Henry the Fifth hales them to an hundred\\r\\n mischiefs, and makes them leave me desolate. I see them lay their\\r\\n heads together to surprise me. My sword make way for me for here\\r\\n is no staying. In despite of the devils and hell, have through\\r\\n the very middest of you! and heavens and honour be witness that\\r\\n no want of resolution in me, but only my followers' base and\\r\\n ignominious treasons, makes me betake me to my heels.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. What, is he fled? Go some, and follow him;\\r\\n And he that brings his head unto the King\\r\\n Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward.\\r\\n Exeunt some of them\\r\\n Follow me, soldiers; we'll devise a mean\\r\\n To reconcile you all unto the King. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IX. Killing, worth Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nSound trumpets. Enter KING, QUEEN, and SOMERSET, on the terrace\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. Was ever king that joy'd an earthly throne\\r\\n And could command no more content than I?\\r\\n No sooner was I crept out of my cradle\\r\\n But I was made a king, at nine months old.\\r\\n Was never subject long'd to be a King\\r\\n As I do long and wish to be a subject.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BUCKINGHAM and old CLIFFORD\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Health and glad tidings to your Majesty!\\r\\n KING HENRY. Why, Buckingham, is the traitor Cade surpris'd?\\r\\n Or is he but retir'd to make him strong?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, below, multitudes, with halters about their necks\\r\\n\\r\\n CLIFFORD. He is fled, my lord, and all his powers do yield,\\r\\n And humbly thus, with halters on their necks,\\r\\n Expect your Highness' doom of life or death.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting gates,\\r\\n To entertain my vows of thanks and praise!\\r\\n Soldiers, this day have you redeem'd your lives,\\r\\n And show'd how well you love your Prince and country.\\r\\n Continue still in this so good a mind,\\r\\n And Henry, though he be infortunate,\\r\\n Assure yourselves, will never be unkind.\\r\\n And so, with thanks and pardon to you all,\\r\\n I do dismiss you to your several countries.\\r\\n ALL. God save the King! God save the King!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. Please it your Grace to be advertised\\r\\n The Duke of York is newly come from Ireland\\r\\n And with a puissant and a mighty power\\r\\n Of gallowglasses and stout kerns\\r\\n Is marching hitherward in proud array,\\r\\n And still proclaimeth, as he comes along,\\r\\n His arms are only to remove from thee\\r\\n The Duke of Somerset, whom he terms a traitor.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade and York distress'd;\\r\\n Like to a ship that, having scap'd a tempest,\\r\\n Is straightway calm'd, and boarded with a pirate;\\r\\n But now is Cade driven back, his men dispers'd,\\r\\n And now is York in arms to second him.\\r\\n I pray thee, Buckingham, go and meet him\\r\\n And ask him what's the reason of these arms.\\r\\n Tell him I'll send Duke Edmund to the Tower-\\r\\n And Somerset, we will commit thee thither\\r\\n Until his army be dismiss'd from him.\\r\\n SOMERSET. My lord,\\r\\n I'll yield myself to prison willingly,\\r\\n Or unto death, to do my country good.\\r\\n KING HENRY. In any case be not too rough in terms,\\r\\n For he is fierce and cannot brook hard language.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I will, my lord, and doubt not so to deal\\r\\n As all things shall redound unto your good.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Come, wife, let's in, and learn to govern better;\\r\\n For yet may England curse my wretched reign.\\r\\n Flourish. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE X. Kent. Iden's garden\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter CADE\\r\\n\\r\\n CADE. Fie on ambitions! Fie on myself, that have a sword and yet am\\r\\n ready to famish! These five days have I hid me in these woods and\\r\\n durst not peep out, for all the country is laid for me; but now am I\\r\\n so hungry that, if I might have a lease of my life for a thousand\\r\\n years, I could stay no longer. Wherefore, on a brick wall have I\\r\\n climb'd into this garden, to see if I can eat grass or pick a sallet\\r\\n another while, which is not amiss to cool a man's stomach this hot\\r\\n weather. And I think this word 'sallet' was born to do me good; for\\r\\n many a time, but for a sallet, my brain-pain had been cleft with a\\r\\n brown bill; and many a time, when I have been dry, and bravely\\r\\n marching, it hath serv'd me instead of a quart-pot to drink in; and\\r\\n now the word 'sallet' must serve me to feed on.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter IDEN\\r\\n\\r\\n IDEN. Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court\\r\\n And may enjoy such quiet walks as these?\\r\\n This small inheritance my father left me\\r\\n Contenteth me, and worth a monarchy.\\r\\n I seek not to wax great by others' waning\\r\\n Or gather wealth I care not with what envy;\\r\\n Sufficeth that I have maintains my state,\\r\\n And sends the poor well pleased from my gate.\\r\\n CADE. Here's the lord of the soil come to seize me for a stray, for\\r\\n entering his fee-simple without leave. Ah, villain, thou wilt\\r\\n betray me, and get a thousand crowns of the King by carrying my\\r\\n head to him; but I'll make thee eat iron like an ostrich and\\r\\n swallow my sword like a great pin ere thou and I part.\\r\\n IDEN. Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er thou be,\\r\\n I know thee not; why then should I betray thee?\\r\\n Is't not enough to break into my garden\\r\\n And like a thief to come to rob my grounds,\\r\\n Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner,\\r\\n But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms?\\r\\n CADE. Brave thee? Ay, by the best blood that ever was broach'd, and\\r\\n beard thee too. Look on me well: I have eat no meat these five\\r\\n days, yet come thou and thy five men and if I do not leave you\\r\\n all as dead as a door-nail, I pray God I may never eat grass\\r\\n more.\\r\\n IDEN. Nay, it shall ne'er be said, while England stands,\\r\\n That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent,\\r\\n Took odds to combat a poor famish'd man.\\r\\n Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine;\\r\\n See if thou canst outface me with thy looks;\\r\\n Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser;\\r\\n Thy hand is but a finger to my fist,\\r\\n Thy leg a stick compared with this truncheon;\\r\\n My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast,\\r\\n And if mine arm be heaved in the air,\\r\\n Thy grave is digg'd already in the earth.\\r\\n As for words, whose greatness answers words,\\r\\n Let this my sword report what speech forbears.\\r\\n CADE. By my valour, the most complete champion that ever I heard!\\r\\n Steel, if thou turn the edge, or cut not out the burly bon'd\\r\\n clown in chines of beef ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I beseech\\r\\n God on my knees thou mayst be turn'd to hobnails. [Here they\\r\\n fight; CADE falls] O, I am slain! famine and no other hath slain\\r\\n me. Let ten thousand devils come against me, and give me but the\\r\\n ten meals I have lost, and I'd defy them all. Wither, garden, and\\r\\n be henceforth a burying place to all that do dwell in this house,\\r\\n because the unconquered soul of Cade is fled.\\r\\n IDEN. Is't Cade that I have slain, that monstrous traitor?\\r\\n Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed\\r\\n And hang thee o'er my tomb when I am dead.\\r\\n Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point,\\r\\n But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat\\r\\n To emblaze the honour that thy master got.\\r\\n CADE. Iden, farewell; and be proud of thy victory. Tell Kent from\\r\\n me she hath lost her best man, and exhort all the world to be\\r\\n cowards; for I, that never feared any, am vanquished by famine,\\r\\n not by valour. [Dies]\\r\\n IDEN. How much thou wrong'st me, heaven be my judge.\\r\\n Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee!\\r\\n And as I thrust thy body in with my sword,\\r\\n So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell.\\r\\n Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels\\r\\n Unto a dunghill, which shall be thy grave,\\r\\n And there cut off thy most ungracious head,\\r\\n Which I will bear in triumph to the King,\\r\\n Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. Fields between Dartford and Blackheath\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter YORK, and his army of Irish, with drum and colours\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. From Ireland thus comes York to claim his right\\r\\n And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head:\\r\\n Ring bells aloud, burn bonfires clear and bright,\\r\\n To entertain great England's lawful king.\\r\\n Ah, sancta majestas! who would not buy thee dear?\\r\\n Let them obey that knows not how to rule;\\r\\n This hand was made to handle nought but gold.\\r\\n I cannot give due action to my words\\r\\n Except a sword or sceptre balance it.\\r\\n A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul\\r\\n On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n\\r\\n [Aside] Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me?\\r\\n The King hath sent him, sure: I must dissemble.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. York, if thou meanest well I greet thee well.\\r\\n YORK. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy greeting.\\r\\n Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. A messenger from Henry, our dread liege,\\r\\n To know the reason of these arms in peace;\\r\\n Or why thou, being a subject as I am,\\r\\n Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn,\\r\\n Should raise so great a power without his leave,\\r\\n Or dare to bring thy force so near the court.\\r\\n YORK. [Aside] Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great.\\r\\n O, I could hew up rocks and fight with flint,\\r\\n I am so angry at these abject terms;\\r\\n And now, like Ajax Telamonius,\\r\\n On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury.\\r\\n I am far better born than is the King,\\r\\n More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts;\\r\\n But I must make fair weather yet awhile,\\r\\n Till Henry be more weak and I more strong.-\\r\\n Buckingham, I prithee, pardon me\\r\\n That I have given no answer all this while;\\r\\n My mind was troubled with deep melancholy.\\r\\n The cause why I have brought this army hither\\r\\n Is to remove proud Somerset from the King,\\r\\n Seditious to his Grace and to the state.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. That is too much presumption on thy part;\\r\\n But if thy arms be to no other end,\\r\\n The King hath yielded unto thy demand:\\r\\n The Duke of Somerset is in the Tower.\\r\\n YORK. Upon thine honour, is he prisoner?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Upon mine honour, he is prisoner.\\r\\n YORK. Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my pow'rs.\\r\\n Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves;\\r\\n Meet me to-morrow in Saint George's field,\\r\\n You shall have pay and everything you wish.\\r\\n And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry,\\r\\n Command my eldest son, nay, all my sons,\\r\\n As pledges of my fealty and love.\\r\\n I'll send them all as willing as I live:\\r\\n Lands, goods, horse, armour, anything I have,\\r\\n Is his to use, so Somerset may die.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. York, I commend this kind submission.\\r\\n We twain will go into his Highness' tent.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the KING, and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. Buckingham, doth York intend no harm to us,\\r\\n That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm?\\r\\n YORK. In all submission and humility\\r\\n York doth present himself unto your Highness.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Then what intends these forces thou dost bring?\\r\\n YORK. To heave the traitor Somerset from hence,\\r\\n And fight against that monstrous rebel Cade,\\r\\n Who since I heard to be discomfited.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter IDEN, with CADE's head\\r\\n\\r\\n IDEN. If one so rude and of so mean condition\\r\\n May pass into the presence of a king,\\r\\n Lo, I present your Grace a traitor's head,\\r\\n The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew.\\r\\n KING HENRY. The head of Cade! Great God, how just art Thou!\\r\\n O, let me view his visage, being dead,\\r\\n That living wrought me such exceeding trouble.\\r\\n Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him?\\r\\n IDEN. I was, an't like your Majesty.\\r\\n KING HENRY. How art thou call'd? And what is thy degree?\\r\\n IDEN. Alexander Iden, that's my name;\\r\\n A poor esquire of Kent that loves his king.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. So please it you, my lord, 'twere not amiss\\r\\n He were created knight for his good service.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Iden, kneel down. [He kneels] Rise up a knight.\\r\\n We give thee for reward a thousand marks,\\r\\n And will that thou thenceforth attend on us.\\r\\n IDEN. May Iden live to merit such a bounty,\\r\\n And never live but true unto his liege!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the QUEEN and SOMERSET\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. See, Buckingham! Somerset comes with th' Queen:\\r\\n Go, bid her hide him quickly from the Duke.\\r\\n QUEEN. For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his head,\\r\\n But boldly stand and front him to his face.\\r\\n YORK. How now! Is Somerset at liberty?\\r\\n Then, York, unloose thy long-imprisoned thoughts\\r\\n And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart.\\r\\n Shall I endure the sight of Somerset?\\r\\n False king, why hast thou broken faith with me,\\r\\n Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse?\\r\\n King did I call thee? No, thou art not king;\\r\\n Not fit to govern and rule multitudes,\\r\\n Which dar'st not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor.\\r\\n That head of thine doth not become a crown;\\r\\n Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff,\\r\\n And not to grace an awful princely sceptre.\\r\\n That gold must round engirt these brows of mine,\\r\\n Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear,\\r\\n Is able with the change to kill and cure.\\r\\n Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up,\\r\\n And with the same to act controlling laws.\\r\\n Give place. By heaven, thou shalt rule no more\\r\\n O'er him whom heaven created for thy ruler.\\r\\n SOMERSET. O monstrous traitor! I arrest thee, York,\\r\\n Of capital treason 'gainst the King and crown.\\r\\n Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for grace.\\r\\n YORK. Wouldst have me kneel? First let me ask of these,\\r\\n If they can brook I bow a knee to man.\\r\\n Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail: Exit attendant\\r\\n I know, ere thy will have me go to ward,\\r\\n They'll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement.\\r\\n QUEEN. Call hither Clifford; bid him come amain,\\r\\n To say if that the bastard boys of York\\r\\n Shall be the surety for their traitor father.\\r\\n Exit BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n YORK. O blood-bespotted Neapolitan,\\r\\n Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge!\\r\\n The sons of York, thy betters in their birth,\\r\\n Shall be their father's bail; and bane to those\\r\\n That for my surety will refuse the boys!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter EDWARD and RICHARD PLANTAGENET\\r\\n\\r\\n See where they come: I'll warrant they'll make it good.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CLIFFORD and his SON\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN. And here comes Clifford to deny their bail.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Health and all happiness to my lord the King!\\r\\n [Kneels]\\r\\n YORK. I thank thee, Clifford. Say, what news with thee?\\r\\n Nay, do not fright us with an angry look.\\r\\n We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again;\\r\\n For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. This is my King, York, I do not mistake;\\r\\n But thou mistakes me much to think I do.\\r\\n To Bedlam with him! Is the man grown mad?\\r\\n KING HENRY. Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious humour\\r\\n Makes him oppose himself against his king.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. He is a traitor; let him to the Tower,\\r\\n And chop away that factious pate of his.\\r\\n QUEEN. He is arrested, but will not obey;\\r\\n His sons, he says, shall give their words for him.\\r\\n YORK. Will you not, sons?\\r\\n EDWARD. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve.\\r\\n RICHARD. And if words will not, then our weapons shall.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Why, what a brood of traitors have we here!\\r\\n YORK. Look in a glass, and call thy image so:\\r\\n I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor.\\r\\n Call hither to the stake my two brave bears,\\r\\n That with the very shaking of their chains\\r\\n They may astonish these fell-lurking curs.\\r\\n Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the EARLS OF WARWICK and SALISBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Are these thy bears? We'll bait thy bears to death,\\r\\n And manacle the berard in their chains,\\r\\n If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting-place.\\r\\n RICHARD. Oft have I seen a hot o'er weening cur\\r\\n Run back and bite, because he was withheld;\\r\\n Who, being suffer'd, with the bear's fell paw,\\r\\n Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs and cried;\\r\\n And such a piece of service will you do,\\r\\n If you oppose yourselves to match Lord Warwick.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump,\\r\\n As crooked in thy manners as thy shape!\\r\\n YORK. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Take heed, lest by your heat you burn yourselves.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to bow?\\r\\n Old Salisbury, shame to thy silver hair,\\r\\n Thou mad misleader of thy brainsick son!\\r\\n What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian\\r\\n And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles?\\r\\n O, where is faith? O, where is loyalty?\\r\\n If it be banish'd from the frosty head,\\r\\n Where shall it find a harbour in the earth?\\r\\n Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war\\r\\n And shame thine honourable age with blood?\\r\\n Why art thou old, and want'st experience?\\r\\n Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it?\\r\\n For shame! In duty bend thy knee to me,\\r\\n That bows unto the grave with mickle age.\\r\\n SALISBURY. My lord, I have considered with myself\\r\\n The tide of this most renowned duke,\\r\\n And in my conscience do repute his Grace\\r\\n The rightful heir to England's royal seat.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me?\\r\\n SALISBURY. I have.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Canst thou dispense with heaven for such an oath?\\r\\n SALISBURY. It is great sin to swear unto a sin;\\r\\n But greater sin to keep a sinful oath.\\r\\n Who can be bound by any solemn vow\\r\\n To do a murd'rous deed, to rob a man,\\r\\n To force a spotless virgin's chastity,\\r\\n To reave the orphan of his patrimony,\\r\\n To wring the widow from her custom'd right,\\r\\n And have no other reason for this wrong\\r\\n But that he was bound by a solemn oath?\\r\\n QUEEN. A subtle traitor needs no sophister.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself.\\r\\n YORK. Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast,\\r\\n I am resolv'd for death or dignity.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true.\\r\\n WARWICK. You were best to go to bed and dream again\\r\\n To keep thee from the tempest of the field.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. I am resolv'd to bear a greater storm\\r\\n Than any thou canst conjure up to-day;\\r\\n And that I'll write upon thy burgonet,\\r\\n Might I but know thee by thy household badge.\\r\\n WARWICK. Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's crest,\\r\\n The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staff,\\r\\n This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet,\\r\\n As on a mountain-top the cedar shows,\\r\\n That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm,\\r\\n Even to affright thee with the view thereof.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear\\r\\n And tread it under foot with all contempt,\\r\\n Despite the berard that protects the bear.\\r\\n YOUNG CLIFFORD. And so to arms, victorious father,\\r\\n To quell the rebels and their complices.\\r\\n RICHARD. Fie! charity, for shame! Speak not in spite,\\r\\n For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night.\\r\\n YOUNG CLIFFORD. Foul stigmatic, that's more than thou canst tell.\\r\\n RICHARD. If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell.\\r\\n Exeunt severally\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Saint Albans\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarums to the battle. Enter WARWICK\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls;\\r\\n And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear,\\r\\n Now, when the angry trumpet sounds alarum\\r\\n And dead men's cries do fill the empty air,\\r\\n Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me.\\r\\n Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland,\\r\\n WARWICK is hoarse with calling thee to arms.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YORK\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, my noble lord! what, all a-foot?\\r\\n YORK. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed;\\r\\n But match to match I have encount'red him,\\r\\n And made a prey for carrion kites and crows\\r\\n Even of the bonny beast he lov'd so well.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter OLD CLIFFORD\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. Of one or both of us the time is come.\\r\\n YORK. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chase,\\r\\n For I myself must hunt this deer to death.\\r\\n WARWICK. Then, nobly, York; 'tis for a crown thou fight'st.\\r\\n As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day,\\r\\n It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd. Exit\\r\\n CLIFFORD. What seest thou in me, York? Why dost thou pause?\\r\\n YORK. With thy brave bearing should I be in love\\r\\n But that thou art so fast mine enemy.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem\\r\\n But that 'tis shown ignobly and in treason.\\r\\n YORK. So let it help me now against thy sword,\\r\\n As I in justice and true right express it!\\r\\n CLIFFORD. My soul and body on the action both!\\r\\n YORK. A dreadful lay! Address thee instantly.\\r\\n [They fight and CLIFFORD falls]\\r\\n CLIFFORD. La fin couronne les oeuvres. [Dies]\\r\\n YORK. Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still.\\r\\n Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YOUNG CLIFFORD\\r\\n\\r\\n YOUNG CLIFFORD. Shame and confusion! All is on the rout;\\r\\n Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds\\r\\n Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell,\\r\\n Whom angry heavens do make their minister,\\r\\n Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part\\r\\n Hot coals of vengeance! Let no soldier fly.\\r\\n He that is truly dedicate to war\\r\\n Hath no self-love; nor he that loves himself\\r\\n Hath not essentially, but by circumstance,\\r\\n The name of valour. [Sees his father's body]\\r\\n O, let the vile world end\\r\\n And the premised flames of the last day\\r\\n Knit earth and heaven together!\\r\\n Now let the general trumpet blow his blast,\\r\\n Particularities and petty sounds\\r\\n To cease! Wast thou ordain'd, dear father,\\r\\n To lose thy youth in peace and to achieve\\r\\n The silver livery of advised age,\\r\\n And in thy reverence and thy chair-days thus\\r\\n To die in ruffian battle? Even at this sight\\r\\n My heart is turn'd to stone; and while 'tis mine\\r\\n It shall be stony. York not our old men spares;\\r\\n No more will I their babes. Tears virginal\\r\\n Shall be to me even as the dew to fire;\\r\\n And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims,\\r\\n Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax.\\r\\n Henceforth I will not have to do with pity:\\r\\n Meet I an infant of the house of York,\\r\\n Into as many gobbets will I cut it\\r\\n As wild Medea young Absyrtus did;\\r\\n In cruelty will I seek out my fame.\\r\\n Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house;\\r\\n As did Aeneas old Anchises bear,\\r\\n So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders;\\r\\n But then Aeneas bare a living load,\\r\\n Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine.\\r\\n Exit with the body\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter RICHARD and SOMERSET to fight. SOMERSET is killed\\r\\n\\r\\n RICHARD. So, lie thou there;\\r\\n For underneath an alehouse' paltry sign,\\r\\n The Castle in Saint Albans, Somerset\\r\\n Hath made the wizard famous in his death.\\r\\n Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still:\\r\\n Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Fight. Excursions. Enter KING, QUEEN, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN. Away, my lord! You are slow; for shame, away!\\r\\n KING HENRY. Can we outrun the heavens? Good Margaret, stay.\\r\\n QUEEN. What are you made of? You'll nor fight nor fly.\\r\\n Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence,\\r\\n To give the enemy way, and to secure us\\r\\n By what we can, which can no more but fly.\\r\\n [Alarum afar off]\\r\\n If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom\\r\\n Of all our fortunes; but if we haply scape-\\r\\n As well we may, if not through your neglect-\\r\\n We shall to London get, where you are lov'd,\\r\\n And where this breach now in our fortunes made\\r\\n May readily be stopp'd.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter YOUNG CLIFFORD\\r\\n\\r\\n YOUNG CLIFFORD. But that my heart's on future mischief set,\\r\\n I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly;\\r\\n But fly you must; uncurable discomfit\\r\\n Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts.\\r\\n Away, for your relief! and we will live\\r\\n To see their day and them our fortune give.\\r\\n Away, my lord, away! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Fields near Saint Albans\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum. Retreat. Enter YORK, RICHARD, WARWICK, and soldiers, with drum\\r\\nand colours\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. Of Salisbury, who can report of him,\\r\\n That winter lion, who in rage forgets\\r\\n Aged contusions and all brush of time\\r\\n And, like a gallant in the brow of youth,\\r\\n Repairs him with occasion? This happy day\\r\\n Is not itself, nor have we won one foot,\\r\\n If Salisbury be lost.\\r\\n RICHARD. My noble father,\\r\\n Three times to-day I holp him to his horse,\\r\\n Three times bestrid him, thrice I led him off,\\r\\n Persuaded him from any further act;\\r\\n But still where danger was, still there I met him;\\r\\n And like rich hangings in a homely house,\\r\\n So was his will in his old feeble body.\\r\\n But, noble as he is, look where he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SALISBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n SALISBURY. Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought to-day!\\r\\n By th' mass, so did we all. I thank you, Richard:\\r\\n God knows how long it is I have to live,\\r\\n And it hath pleas'd Him that three times to-day\\r\\n You have defended me from imminent death.\\r\\n Well, lords, we have not got that which we have;\\r\\n 'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled,\\r\\n Being opposites of such repairing nature.\\r\\n YORK. I know our safety is to follow them;\\r\\n For, as I hear, the King is fled to London\\r\\n To call a present court of Parliament.\\r\\n Let us pursue him ere the writs go forth.\\r\\n What says Lord Warwick? Shall we after them?\\r\\n WARWICK. After them? Nay, before them, if we can.\\r\\n Now, by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day:\\r\\n Saint Albans' battle, won by famous York,\\r\\n Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come.\\r\\n Sound drum and trumpets and to London all;\\r\\n And more such days as these to us befall! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\",\n", + " \"THE THIRD PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY THE SIXTH\\r\\n EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES, his son\\r\\n LEWIS XI, King of France DUKE OF SOMERSET\\r\\n DUKE OF EXETER EARL OF OXFORD\\r\\n EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND EARL OF WESTMORELAND\\r\\n LORD CLIFFORD\\r\\n RICHARD PLANTAGENET, DUKE OF YORK\\r\\n EDWARD, EARL OF MARCH, afterwards KING EDWARD IV, his son\\r\\n EDMUND, EARL OF RUTLAND, his son\\r\\n GEORGE, afterwards DUKE OF CLARENCE, his son\\r\\n RICHARD, afterwards DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, his son\\r\\n DUKE OF NORFOLK MARQUIS OF MONTAGUE\\r\\n EARL OF WARWICK EARL OF PEMBROKE\\r\\n LORD HASTINGS LORD STAFFORD\\r\\n SIR JOHN MORTIMER, uncle to the Duke of York\\r\\n SIR HUGH MORTIMER, uncle to the Duke of York\\r\\n HENRY, EARL OF RICHMOND, a youth\\r\\n LORD RIVERS, brother to Lady Grey\\r\\n SIR WILLIAM STANLEY SIR JOHN MONTGOMERY\\r\\n SIR JOHN SOMERVILLE TUTOR, to Rutland\\r\\n MAYOR OF YORK LIEUTENANT OF THE TOWER\\r\\n A NOBLEMAN TWO KEEPERS\\r\\n A HUNTSMAN\\r\\n A SON that has killed his father\\r\\n A FATHER that has killed his son\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET\\r\\n LADY GREY, afterwards QUEEN to Edward IV\\r\\n BONA, sister to the French Queen\\r\\n\\r\\n Soldiers, Attendants, Messengers, Watchmen, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: England and France\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. London. The Parliament House\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum. Enter DUKE OF YORK, EDWARD, RICHARD, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE,\\r\\nWARWICK, and soldiers, with white roses in their hats\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. I wonder how the King escap'd our hands.\\r\\n YORK. While we pursu'd the horsemen of the north,\\r\\n He slily stole away and left his men;\\r\\n Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland,\\r\\n Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat,\\r\\n Cheer'd up the drooping army, and himself,\\r\\n Lord Clifford, and Lord Stafford, all abreast,\\r\\n Charg'd our main battle's front, and, breaking in,\\r\\n Were by the swords of common soldiers slain.\\r\\n EDWARD. Lord Stafford's father, Duke of Buckingham,\\r\\n Is either slain or wounded dangerous;\\r\\n I cleft his beaver with a downright blow.\\r\\n That this is true, father, behold his blood.\\r\\n MONTAGUE. And, brother, here's the Earl of Wiltshire's blood,\\r\\n Whom I encount'red as the battles join'd.\\r\\n RICHARD. Speak thou for me, and tell them what I did.\\r\\n [Throwing down SOMERSET'S head]\\r\\n YORK. Richard hath best deserv'd of all my sons.\\r\\n But is your Grace dead, my Lord of Somerset?\\r\\n NORFOLK. Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt!\\r\\n RICHARD. Thus do I hope to shake King Henry's head.\\r\\n WARWICK. And so do I. Victorious Prince of York,\\r\\n Before I see thee seated in that throne\\r\\n Which now the house of Lancaster usurps,\\r\\n I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close.\\r\\n This is the palace of the fearful King,\\r\\n And this the regal seat. Possess it, York;\\r\\n For this is thine, and not King Henry's heirs'.\\r\\n YORK. Assist me then, sweet Warwick, and I will;\\r\\n For hither we have broken in by force.\\r\\n NORFOLK. We'll all assist you; he that flies shall die.\\r\\n YORK. Thanks, gentle Norfolk. Stay by me, my lords;\\r\\n And, soldiers, stay and lodge by me this night.\\r\\n [They go up]\\r\\n WARWICK. And when the King comes, offer him no violence.\\r\\n Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce.\\r\\n YORK. The Queen this day here holds her parliament,\\r\\n But little thinks we shall be of her council.\\r\\n By words or blows here let us win our right.\\r\\n RICHARD. Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house.\\r\\n WARWICK. The bloody parliament shall this be call'd,\\r\\n Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be King,\\r\\n And bashful Henry depos'd, whose cowardice\\r\\n Hath made us by-words to our enemies.\\r\\n YORK. Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute:\\r\\n I mean to take possession of my right.\\r\\n WARWICK. Neither the King, nor he that loves him best,\\r\\n The proudest he that holds up Lancaster,\\r\\n Dares stir a wing if Warwick shake his bells.\\r\\n I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares.\\r\\n Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown.\\r\\n [YORK occupies the throne]\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND,\\r\\n WESTMORELAND, EXETER, and others, with red roses in\\r\\n their hats\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits,\\r\\n Even in the chair of state! Belike he means,\\r\\n Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer,\\r\\n To aspire unto the crown and reign as king.\\r\\n Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father;\\r\\n And thine, Lord Clifford; and you both have vow'd revenge\\r\\n On him, his sons, his favourites, and his friends.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. If I be not, heavens be reveng'd on me!\\r\\n CLIFFORD. The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel.\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. What, shall we suffer this? Let's pluck him down;\\r\\n My heart for anger burns; I cannot brook it.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmoreland.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Patience is for poltroons such as he;\\r\\n He durst not sit there had your father liv'd.\\r\\n My gracious lord, here in the parliament\\r\\n Let us assail the family of York.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Well hast thou spoken, cousin; be it so.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Ah, know you not the city favours them,\\r\\n And they have troops of soldiers at their beck?\\r\\n EXETER. But when the Duke is slain they'll quickly fly.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Far be the thought of this from Henry's heart,\\r\\n To make a shambles of the parliament house!\\r\\n Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words, and threats,\\r\\n Shall be the war that Henry means to use.\\r\\n Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne\\r\\n And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet;\\r\\n I am thy sovereign.\\r\\n YORK. I am thine.\\r\\n EXETER. For shame, come down; he made thee Duke of York.\\r\\n YORK. 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was.\\r\\n EXETER. Thy father was a traitor to the crown.\\r\\n WARWICK. Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown\\r\\n In following this usurping Henry.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Whom should he follow but his natural king?\\r\\n WARWICK. True, Clifford; and that's Richard Duke of York.\\r\\n KING HENRY. And shall I stand, and thou sit in my throne?\\r\\n YORK. It must and shall be so; content thyself.\\r\\n WARWICK. Be Duke of Lancaster; let him be King.\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. He is both King and Duke of Lancaster;\\r\\n And that the Lord of Westmoreland shall maintain.\\r\\n WARWICK. And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget\\r\\n That we are those which chas'd you from the field,\\r\\n And slew your fathers, and with colours spread\\r\\n March'd through the city to the palace gates.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief;\\r\\n And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it.\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. Plantagenet, of thee, and these thy sons,\\r\\n Thy kinsmen, and thy friends, I'll have more lives\\r\\n Than drops of blood were in my father's veins.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Urge it no more; lest that instead of words\\r\\n I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger\\r\\n As shall revenge his death before I stir.\\r\\n WARWICK. Poor Clifford, how I scorn his worthless threats!\\r\\n YORK. Will you we show our title to the crown?\\r\\n If not, our swords shall plead it in the field.\\r\\n KING HENRY. What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown?\\r\\n Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York;\\r\\n Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March:\\r\\n I am the son of Henry the Fifth,\\r\\n Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop,\\r\\n And seiz'd upon their towns and provinces.\\r\\n WARWICK. Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all.\\r\\n KING HENRY. The Lord Protector lost it, and not I:\\r\\n When I was crown'd, I was but nine months old.\\r\\n RICHARD. You are old enough now, and yet methinks you lose.\\r\\n Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head.\\r\\n EDWARD. Sweet father, do so; set it on your head.\\r\\n MONTAGUE. Good brother, as thou lov'st and honourest arms,\\r\\n Let's fight it out and not stand cavilling thus.\\r\\n RICHARD. Sound drums and trumpets, and the King will fly.\\r\\n YORK. Sons, peace!\\r\\n KING HENRY. Peace thou! and give King Henry leave to speak.\\r\\n WARWICK. Plantagenet shall speak first. Hear him, lords;\\r\\n And be you silent and attentive too,\\r\\n For he that interrupts him shall not live.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Think'st thou that I will leave my kingly throne,\\r\\n Wherein my grandsire and my father sat?\\r\\n No; first shall war unpeople this my realm;\\r\\n Ay, and their colours, often borne in France,\\r\\n And now in England to our heart's great sorrow,\\r\\n Shall be my winding-sheet. Why faint you, lords?\\r\\n My title's good, and better far than his.\\r\\n WARWICK. Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be King.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown.\\r\\n YORK. 'Twas by rebellion against his king.\\r\\n KING HENRY. [Aside] I know not what to say; my title's weak.-\\r\\n Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir?\\r\\n YORK. What then?\\r\\n KING HENRY. An if he may, then am I lawful King;\\r\\n For Richard, in the view of many lords,\\r\\n Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth,\\r\\n Whose heir my father was, and I am his.\\r\\n YORK. He rose against him, being his sovereign,\\r\\n And made him to resign his crown perforce.\\r\\n WARWICK. Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd,\\r\\n Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown?\\r\\n EXETER. No; for he could not so resign his crown\\r\\n But that the next heir should succeed and reign.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter?\\r\\n EXETER. His is the right, and therefore pardon me.\\r\\n YORK. Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not?\\r\\n EXETER. My conscience tells me he is lawful King.\\r\\n KING HENRY. [Aside] All will revolt from me, and turn to him.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st,\\r\\n Think not that Henry shall be so depos'd.\\r\\n WARWICK. Depos'd he shall be, in despite of all.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Thou art deceiv'd. 'Tis not thy southern power\\r\\n Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent,\\r\\n Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud,\\r\\n Can set the Duke up in despite of me.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. King Henry, be thy title right or wrong,\\r\\n Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence.\\r\\n May that ground gape, and swallow me alive,\\r\\n Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father!\\r\\n KING HENRY. O Clifford, how thy words revive my heart!\\r\\n YORK. Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown.\\r\\n What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords?\\r\\n WARWICK. Do right unto this princely Duke of York;\\r\\n Or I will fill the house with armed men,\\r\\n And over the chair of state, where now he sits,\\r\\n Write up his title with usurping blood.\\r\\n [He stamps with his foot and the\\r\\n soldiers show themselves]\\r\\n KING HENRY. My Lord of Warwick, hear but one word:\\r\\n Let me for this my life-time reign as king.\\r\\n YORK. Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs,\\r\\n And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou liv'st.\\r\\n KING HENRY. I am content. Richard Plantagenet,\\r\\n Enjoy the kingdom after my decease.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. What wrong is this unto the Prince your son!\\r\\n WARWICK. What good is this to England and himself!\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. Base, fearful, and despairing Henry!\\r\\n CLIFFORD. How hast thou injur'd both thyself and or us!\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. I cannot stay to hear these articles.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Nor I.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Come, cousin, let us tell the Queen these news.\\r\\n WESTMORELAND. Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king,\\r\\n In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Be thou a prey unto the house of York\\r\\n And die in bands for this unmanly deed!\\r\\n CLIFFORD. In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome,\\r\\n Or live in peace abandon'd and despis'd!\\r\\n Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, CLIFFORD,\\r\\n and WESTMORELAND\\r\\n WARWICK. Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not.\\r\\n EXETER. They seek revenge, and therefore will not yield.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Ah, Exeter!\\r\\n WARWICK. Why should you sigh, my lord?\\r\\n KING HENRY. Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son,\\r\\n Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit.\\r\\n But be it as it may. [To YORK] I here entail\\r\\n The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever;\\r\\n Conditionally, that here thou take an oath\\r\\n To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live,\\r\\n To honour me as thy king and sovereign,\\r\\n And neither by treason nor hostility\\r\\n To seek to put me down and reign thyself.\\r\\n YORK. This oath I willingly take, and will perform.\\r\\n [Coming from the throne]\\r\\n WARWICK. Long live King Henry! Plantagenet, embrace him.\\r\\n KING HENRY. And long live thou, and these thy forward sons!\\r\\n YORK. Now York and Lancaster are reconcil'd.\\r\\n EXETER. Accurs'd be he that seeks to make them foes!\\r\\n [Sennet. Here they come down]\\r\\n YORK. Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my castle.\\r\\n WARWICK. And I'll keep London with my soldiers.\\r\\n NORFOLK. And I to Norfolk with my followers.\\r\\n MONTAGUE. And I unto the sea, from whence I came.\\r\\n Exeunt the YORKISTS\\r\\n KING HENRY. And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter QUEEN MARGARET and the PRINCE OF WALES\\r\\n\\r\\n EXETER. Here comes the Queen, whose looks bewray her anger.\\r\\n I'll steal away.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Exeter, so will I.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Nay, go not from me; I will follow thee.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Who can be patient in such extremes?\\r\\n Ah, wretched man! Would I had died a maid,\\r\\n And never seen thee, never borne thee son,\\r\\n Seeing thou hast prov'd so unnatural a father!\\r\\n Hath he deserv'd to lose his birthright thus?\\r\\n Hadst thou but lov'd him half so well as I,\\r\\n Or felt that pain which I did for him once,\\r\\n Or nourish'd him as I did with my blood,\\r\\n Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there\\r\\n Rather than have made that savage duke thine heir,\\r\\n And disinherited thine only son.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. Father, you cannot disinherit me.\\r\\n If you be King, why should not I succeed?\\r\\n KING HENRY. Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet son.\\r\\n The Earl of Warwick and the Duke enforc'd me.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Enforc'd thee! Art thou King and wilt be\\r\\n forc'd?\\r\\n I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch!\\r\\n Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me;\\r\\n And giv'n unto the house of York such head\\r\\n As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance.\\r\\n To entail him and his heirs unto the crown,\\r\\n What is it but to make thy sepulchre\\r\\n And creep into it far before thy time?\\r\\n Warwick is Chancellor and the lord of Calais;\\r\\n Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas;\\r\\n The Duke is made Protector of the realm;\\r\\n And yet shalt thou be safe? Such safety finds\\r\\n The trembling lamb environed with wolves.\\r\\n Had I been there, which am a silly woman,\\r\\n The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes\\r\\n Before I would have granted to that act.\\r\\n But thou prefer'st thy life before thine honour;\\r\\n And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself,\\r\\n Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,\\r\\n Until that act of parliament be repeal'd\\r\\n Whereby my son is disinherited.\\r\\n The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours\\r\\n Will follow mine, if once they see them spread;\\r\\n And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace\\r\\n And utter ruin of the house of York.\\r\\n Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let's away;\\r\\n Our army is ready; come, we'll after them.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Thou hast spoke too much already; get thee gone.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. When I return with victory from the field\\r\\n I'll see your Grace; till then I'll follow her.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Come, son, away; we may not linger thus.\\r\\n Exeunt QUEEN MARGARET and the PRINCE\\r\\n KING HENRY. Poor queen! How love to me and to her son\\r\\n Hath made her break out into terms of rage!\\r\\n Reveng'd may she be on that hateful Duke,\\r\\n Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire,\\r\\n Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle\\r\\n Tire on the flesh of me and of my son!\\r\\n The loss of those three lords torments my heart.\\r\\n I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair;\\r\\n Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger.\\r\\n EXETER. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Sandal Castle, near Wakefield, in Yorkshire\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and MONTAGUE\\r\\n\\r\\n RICHARD. Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave.\\r\\n EDWARD. No, I can better play the orator.\\r\\n MONTAGUE. But I have reasons strong and forcible.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the DUKE OF YORK\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. Why, how now, sons and brother! at a strife?\\r\\n What is your quarrel? How began it first?\\r\\n EDWARD. No quarrel, but a slight contention.\\r\\n YORK. About what?\\r\\n RICHARD. About that which concerns your Grace and us-\\r\\n The crown of England, father, which is yours.\\r\\n YORK. Mine, boy? Not till King Henry be dead.\\r\\n RICHARD. Your right depends not on his life or death.\\r\\n EDWARD. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now.\\r\\n By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe,\\r\\n It will outrun you, father, in the end.\\r\\n YORK. I took an oath that he should quietly reign.\\r\\n EDWARD. But for a kingdom any oath may be broken:\\r\\n I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year.\\r\\n RICHARD. No; God forbid your Grace should be forsworn.\\r\\n YORK. I shall be, if I claim by open war.\\r\\n RICHARD. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak.\\r\\n YORK. Thou canst not, son; it is impossible.\\r\\n RICHARD. An oath is of no moment, being not took\\r\\n Before a true and lawful magistrate\\r\\n That hath authority over him that swears.\\r\\n Henry had none, but did usurp the place;\\r\\n Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose,\\r\\n Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous.\\r\\n Therefore, to arms. And, father, do but think\\r\\n How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown,\\r\\n Within whose circuit is Elysium\\r\\n And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.\\r\\n Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest\\r\\n Until the white rose that I wear be dy'd\\r\\n Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart.\\r\\n YORK. Richard, enough; I will be King, or die.\\r\\n Brother, thou shalt to London presently\\r\\n And whet on Warwick to this enterprise.\\r\\n Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk\\r\\n And tell him privily of our intent.\\r\\n You, Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham,\\r\\n With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise;\\r\\n In them I trust, for they are soldiers,\\r\\n Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit.\\r\\n While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more\\r\\n But that I seek occasion how to rise,\\r\\n And yet the King not privy to my drift,\\r\\n Nor any of the house of Lancaster?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n But, stay. What news? Why com'st thou in such post?\\r\\n MESSENGER. The Queen with all the northern earls and lords\\r\\n Intend here to besiege you in your castle.\\r\\n She is hard by with twenty thousand men;\\r\\n And therefore fortify your hold, my lord.\\r\\n YORK. Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou that we fear them?\\r\\n Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me;\\r\\n My brother Montague shall post to London.\\r\\n Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,\\r\\n Whom we have left protectors of the King,\\r\\n With pow'rful policy strengthen themselves\\r\\n And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths.\\r\\n MONTAGUE. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not.\\r\\n And thus most humbly I do take my leave. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR JOHN and SIR HUGH MORTIMER\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. Sir john and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles!\\r\\n You are come to Sandal in a happy hour;\\r\\n The army of the Queen mean to besiege us.\\r\\n SIR JOHN. She shall not need; we'll meet her in the field.\\r\\n YORK. What, with five thousand men?\\r\\n RICHARD. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need.\\r\\n A woman's general; what should we fear?\\r\\n [A march afar off]\\r\\n EDWARD. I hear their drums. Let's set our men in order,\\r\\n And issue forth and bid them battle straight.\\r\\n YORK. Five men to twenty! Though the odds be great,\\r\\n I doubt not, uncle, of our victory.\\r\\n Many a battle have I won in France,\\r\\n When as the enemy hath been ten to one;\\r\\n Why should I not now have the like success? Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Field of battle between Sandal Castle and Wakefield\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum. Enter RUTLAND and his TUTOR\\r\\n\\r\\n RUTLAND. Ah, whither shall I fly to scape their hands?\\r\\n Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CLIFFORD and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Chaplain, away! Thy priesthood saves thy life.\\r\\n As for the brat of this accursed duke,\\r\\n Whose father slew my father, he shall die.\\r\\n TUTOR. And I, my lord, will bear him company.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Soldiers, away with him!\\r\\n TUTOR. Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child,\\r\\n Lest thou be hated both of God and man.\\r\\n Exit, forced off by soldiers\\r\\n CLIFFORD. How now, is he dead already? Or is it fear\\r\\n That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them.\\r\\n RUTLAND. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch\\r\\n That trembles under his devouring paws;\\r\\n And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey,\\r\\n And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder.\\r\\n Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword,\\r\\n And not with such a cruel threat'ning look!\\r\\n Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die.\\r\\n I am too mean a subject for thy wrath;\\r\\n Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood\\r\\n Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter.\\r\\n RUTLAND. Then let my father's blood open it again:\\r\\n He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine\\r\\n Were not revenge sufficient for me;\\r\\n No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves\\r\\n And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,\\r\\n It could not slake mine ire nor ease my heart.\\r\\n The sight of any of the house of York\\r\\n Is as a fury to torment my soul;\\r\\n And till I root out their accursed line\\r\\n And leave not one alive, I live in hell.\\r\\n Therefore-\\r\\n RUTLAND. O, let me pray before I take my death!\\r\\n To thee I pray: sweet Clifford, pity me.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Such pity as my rapier's point affords.\\r\\n RUTLAND. I never did thee harm; why wilt thou slay me?\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Thy father hath.\\r\\n RUTLAND. But 'twas ere I was born.\\r\\n Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me,\\r\\n Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just,\\r\\n He be as miserably slain as I.\\r\\n Ah, let me live in prison all my days;\\r\\n And when I give occasion of offence\\r\\n Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. No cause!\\r\\n Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. [Stabs him]\\r\\n RUTLAND. Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae! [Dies]\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Plantagenet, I come, Plantagenet;\\r\\n And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade\\r\\n Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood,\\r\\n Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Another part of the field\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum. Enter the DUKE OF YORK\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. The army of the Queen hath got the field.\\r\\n My uncles both are slain in rescuing me;\\r\\n And all my followers to the eager foe\\r\\n Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind,\\r\\n Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves.\\r\\n My sons- God knows what hath bechanced them;\\r\\n But this I know- they have demean'd themselves\\r\\n Like men born to renown by life or death.\\r\\n Three times did Richard make a lane to me,\\r\\n And thrice cried 'Courage, father! fight it out.'\\r\\n And full as oft came Edward to my side\\r\\n With purple falchion, painted to the hilt\\r\\n In blood of those that had encount'red him.\\r\\n And when the hardiest warriors did retire,\\r\\n Richard cried 'Charge, and give no foot of ground!'\\r\\n And cried 'A crown, or else a glorious tomb!\\r\\n A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!'\\r\\n With this we charg'd again; but out alas!\\r\\n We bodg'd again; as I have seen a swan\\r\\n With bootless labour swim against the tide\\r\\n And spend her strength with over-matching waves.\\r\\n [A short alarum within]\\r\\n Ah, hark! The fatal followers do pursue,\\r\\n And I am faint and cannot fly their fury;\\r\\n And were I strong, I would not shun their fury.\\r\\n The sands are numb'red that make up my life;\\r\\n Here must I stay, and here my life must end.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND,\\r\\n the PRINCE OF WALES, and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,\\r\\n I dare your quenchless fury to more rage;\\r\\n I am your butt, and I abide your shot.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm\\r\\n With downright payment show'd unto my father.\\r\\n Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car,\\r\\n And made an evening at the noontide prick.\\r\\n YORK. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth\\r\\n A bird that will revenge upon you all;\\r\\n And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven,\\r\\n Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.\\r\\n Why come you not? What! multitudes, and fear?\\r\\n CLIFFORD. So cowards fight when they can fly no further;\\r\\n So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons;\\r\\n So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,\\r\\n Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers.\\r\\n YORK. O Clifford, but bethink thee once again,\\r\\n And in thy thought o'errun my former time;\\r\\n And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face,\\r\\n And bite thy tongue that slanders him with cowardice\\r\\n Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this!\\r\\n CLIFFORD. I will not bandy with thee word for word,\\r\\n But buckler with thee blows, twice two for one.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Hold, valiant Clifford; for a thousand causes\\r\\n I would prolong awhile the traitor's life.\\r\\n Wrath makes him deaf; speak thou, Northumberland.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much\\r\\n To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart.\\r\\n What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,\\r\\n For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,\\r\\n When he might spurn him with his foot away?\\r\\n It is war's prize to take all vantages;\\r\\n And ten to one is no impeach of valour.\\r\\n [They lay hands on YORK, who struggles]\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. So doth the cony struggle in the net.\\r\\n YORK. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty;\\r\\n So true men yield, with robbers so o'er-match'd.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. What would your Grace have done unto him now?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland,\\r\\n Come, make him stand upon this molehill here\\r\\n That raught at mountains with outstretched arms,\\r\\n Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.\\r\\n What, was it you that would be England's king?\\r\\n Was't you that revell'd in our parliament\\r\\n And made a preachment of your high descent?\\r\\n Where are your mess of sons to back you now?\\r\\n The wanton Edward and the lusty George?\\r\\n And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy,\\r\\n Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice\\r\\n Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?\\r\\n Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland?\\r\\n Look, York: I stain'd this napkin with the blood\\r\\n That valiant Clifford with his rapier's point\\r\\n Made issue from the bosom of the boy;\\r\\n And if thine eyes can water for his death,\\r\\n I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.\\r\\n Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly,\\r\\n I should lament thy miserable state.\\r\\n I prithee grieve to make me merry, York.\\r\\n What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails\\r\\n That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?\\r\\n Why art thou patient, man? Thou shouldst be mad;\\r\\n And I to make thee mad do mock thee thus.\\r\\n Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.\\r\\n Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport;\\r\\n York cannot speak unless he wear a crown.\\r\\n A crown for York!-and, lords, bow low to him.\\r\\n Hold you his hands whilst I do set it on.\\r\\n [Putting a paper crown on his head]\\r\\n Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king!\\r\\n Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair,\\r\\n And this is he was his adopted heir.\\r\\n But how is it that great Plantagenet\\r\\n Is crown'd so soon and broke his solemn oath?\\r\\n As I bethink me, you should not be King\\r\\n Till our King Henry had shook hands with death.\\r\\n And will you pale your head in Henry's glory,\\r\\n And rob his temples of the diadem,\\r\\n Now in his life, against your holy oath?\\r\\n O, 'tis a fault too too\\r\\n Off with the crown and with the crown his head;\\r\\n And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. That is my office, for my father's sake.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Nay, stay; let's hear the orisons he makes.\\r\\n YORK. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France,\\r\\n Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth!\\r\\n How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex\\r\\n To triumph like an Amazonian trull\\r\\n Upon their woes whom fortune captivates!\\r\\n But that thy face is visard-like, unchanging,\\r\\n Made impudent with use of evil deeds,\\r\\n I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush.\\r\\n To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom deriv'd,\\r\\n Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless.\\r\\n Thy father bears the type of King of Naples,\\r\\n Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem,\\r\\n Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.\\r\\n Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult?\\r\\n It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen;\\r\\n Unless the adage must be verified,\\r\\n That beggars mounted run their horse to death.\\r\\n 'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud;\\r\\n But, God He knows, thy share thereof is small.\\r\\n 'Tis virtue that doth make them most admir'd;\\r\\n The contrary doth make thee wond'red at.\\r\\n 'Tis government that makes them seem divine;\\r\\n The want thereof makes thee abominable.\\r\\n Thou art as opposite to every good\\r\\n As the Antipodes are unto us,\\r\\n Or as the south to the septentrion.\\r\\n O tiger's heart wrapp'd in a woman's hide!\\r\\n How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child,\\r\\n To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,\\r\\n And yet be seen to bear a woman's face?\\r\\n Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible:\\r\\n Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.\\r\\n Bid'st thou me rage? Why, now thou hast thy wish;\\r\\n Wouldst have me weep? Why, now thou hast thy will;\\r\\n For raging wind blows up incessant showers,\\r\\n And when the rage allays, the rain begins.\\r\\n These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies;\\r\\n And every drop cries vengeance for his death\\r\\n 'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false Frenchwoman.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Beshrew me, but his passions move me so\\r\\n That hardly can I check my eyes from tears.\\r\\n YORK. That face of his the hungry cannibals\\r\\n Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood;\\r\\n But you are more inhuman, more inexorable-\\r\\n O, ten times more- than tigers of Hyrcania.\\r\\n See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears.\\r\\n This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy,\\r\\n And I with tears do wash the blood away.\\r\\n Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this;\\r\\n And if thou tell'st the heavy story right,\\r\\n Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;\\r\\n Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears\\r\\n And say 'Alas, it was a piteous deed!'\\r\\n There, take the crown, and with the crown my curse;\\r\\n And in thy need such comfort come to thee\\r\\n As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!\\r\\n Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world;\\r\\n My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,\\r\\n I should not for my life but weep with him,\\r\\n To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland?\\r\\n Think but upon the wrong he did us all,\\r\\n And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death.\\r\\n [Stabbing him]\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. And here's to right our gentle-hearted king.\\r\\n [Stabbing him]\\r\\n YORK. Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God!\\r\\n My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee.\\r\\n [Dies]\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Off with his head, and set it on York gates;\\r\\n So York may overlook the town of York.\\r\\n Flourish. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. A plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire\\r\\n\\r\\nA march. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and their power\\r\\n\\r\\n EDWARD. I wonder how our princely father scap'd,\\r\\n Or whether he be scap'd away or no\\r\\n From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit.\\r\\n Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news;\\r\\n Had he been slain, we should have heard the news;\\r\\n Or had he scap'd, methinks we should have heard\\r\\n The happy tidings of his good escape.\\r\\n How fares my brother? Why is he so sad?\\r\\n RICHARD. I cannot joy until I be resolv'd\\r\\n Where our right valiant father is become.\\r\\n I saw him in the battle range about,\\r\\n And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth.\\r\\n Methought he bore him in the thickest troop\\r\\n As doth a lion in a herd of neat;\\r\\n Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs,\\r\\n Who having pinch'd a few and made them cry,\\r\\n The rest stand all aloof and bark at him.\\r\\n So far'd our father with his enemies;\\r\\n So fled his enemies my warlike father.\\r\\n Methinks 'tis prize enough to be his son.\\r\\n See how the morning opes her golden gates\\r\\n And takes her farewell of the glorious sun.\\r\\n How well resembles it the prime of youth,\\r\\n Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love!\\r\\n EDWARD. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?\\r\\n RICHARD. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;\\r\\n Not separated with the racking clouds,\\r\\n But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.\\r\\n See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,\\r\\n As if they vow'd some league inviolable.\\r\\n Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.\\r\\n In this the heaven figures some event.\\r\\n EDWARD. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of.\\r\\n I think it cites us, brother, to the field,\\r\\n That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,\\r\\n Each one already blazing by our meeds,\\r\\n Should notwithstanding join our lights together\\r\\n And overshine the earth, as this the world.\\r\\n Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear\\r\\n Upon my target three fair shining suns.\\r\\n RICHARD. Nay, bear three daughters- by your leave I speak it,\\r\\n You love the breeder better than the male.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER, blowing\\r\\n\\r\\n But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell\\r\\n Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Ah, one that was a woeful looker-on\\r\\n When as the noble Duke of York was slain,\\r\\n Your princely father and my loving lord!\\r\\n EDWARD. O, speak no more! for I have heard too much.\\r\\n RICHARD. Say how he died, for I will hear it all.\\r\\n MESSENGER. Environed he was with many foes,\\r\\n And stood against them as the hope of Troy\\r\\n Against the Greeks that would have ent'red Troy.\\r\\n But Hercules himself must yield to odds;\\r\\n And many strokes, though with a little axe,\\r\\n Hews down and fells the hardest-timber'd oak.\\r\\n By many hands your father was subdu'd;\\r\\n But only slaught'red by the ireful arm\\r\\n Of unrelenting Clifford and the Queen,\\r\\n Who crown'd the gracious Duke in high despite,\\r\\n Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he wept,\\r\\n The ruthless Queen gave him to dry his cheeks\\r\\n A napkin steeped in the harmless blood\\r\\n Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain;\\r\\n And after many scorns, many foul taunts,\\r\\n They took his head, and on the gates of York\\r\\n They set the same; and there it doth remain,\\r\\n The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd.\\r\\n EDWARD. Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon,\\r\\n Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay.\\r\\n O Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain\\r\\n The flow'r of Europe for his chivalry;\\r\\n And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him,\\r\\n For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd thee.\\r\\n Now my soul's palace is become a prison.\\r\\n Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body\\r\\n Might in the ground be closed up in rest!\\r\\n For never henceforth shall I joy again;\\r\\n Never, O never, shall I see more joy.\\r\\n RICHARD. I cannot weep, for all my body's moisture\\r\\n Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart;\\r\\n Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden,\\r\\n For self-same wind that I should speak withal\\r\\n Is kindling coals that fires all my breast,\\r\\n And burns me up with flames that tears would quench.\\r\\n To weep is to make less the depth of grief.\\r\\n Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me!\\r\\n Richard, I bear thy name; I'll venge thy death,\\r\\n Or die renowned by attempting it.\\r\\n EDWARD. His name that valiant duke hath left with thee;\\r\\n His dukedom and his chair with me is left.\\r\\n RICHARD. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird,\\r\\n Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun;\\r\\n For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom, say:\\r\\n Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his.\\r\\n\\r\\n March. Enter WARWICK, MONTAGUE, and their army\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. How now, fair lords! What fare? What news abroad?\\r\\n RICHARD. Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount\\r\\n Our baleful news and at each word's deliverance\\r\\n Stab poinards in our flesh till all were told,\\r\\n The words would add more anguish than the wounds.\\r\\n O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain!\\r\\n EDWARD. O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet\\r\\n Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemption\\r\\n Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death.\\r\\n WARWICK. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears;\\r\\n And now, to add more measure to your woes,\\r\\n I come to tell you things sith then befall'n.\\r\\n After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,\\r\\n Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp,\\r\\n Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,\\r\\n Were brought me of your loss and his depart.\\r\\n I, then in London, keeper of the King,\\r\\n Muster'd my soldiers, gathered flocks of friends,\\r\\n And very well appointed, as I thought,\\r\\n March'd toward Saint Albans to intercept the Queen,\\r\\n Bearing the King in my behalf along;\\r\\n For by my scouts I was advertised\\r\\n That she was coming with a full intent\\r\\n To dash our late decree in parliament\\r\\n Touching King Henry's oath and your succession.\\r\\n Short tale to make- we at Saint Albans met,\\r\\n Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought;\\r\\n But whether 'twas the coldness of the King,\\r\\n Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen,\\r\\n That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen,\\r\\n Or whether 'twas report of her success,\\r\\n Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour,\\r\\n Who thunders to his captives blood and death,\\r\\n I cannot judge; but, to conclude with truth,\\r\\n Their weapons like to lightning came and went:\\r\\n Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight\\r\\n Or like an idle thresher with a flail,\\r\\n Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.\\r\\n I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,\\r\\n With promise of high pay and great rewards,\\r\\n But all in vain; they had no heart to fight,\\r\\n And we in them no hope to win the day;\\r\\n So that we fled: the King unto the Queen;\\r\\n Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself,\\r\\n In haste post-haste are come to join with you;\\r\\n For in the marches here we heard you were\\r\\n Making another head to fight again.\\r\\n EDWARD. Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick?\\r\\n And when came George from Burgundy to England?\\r\\n WARWICK. Some six miles off the Duke is with the soldiers;\\r\\n And for your brother, he was lately sent\\r\\n From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy,\\r\\n With aid of soldiers to this needful war.\\r\\n RICHARD. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled.\\r\\n Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,\\r\\n But ne'er till now his scandal of retire.\\r\\n WARWICK. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear;\\r\\n For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine\\r\\n Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head\\r\\n And wring the awful sceptre from his fist,\\r\\n Were he as famous and as bold in war\\r\\n As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer.\\r\\n RICHARD. I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not.\\r\\n 'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak.\\r\\n But in this troublous time what's to be done?\\r\\n Shall we go throw away our coats of steel\\r\\n And wrap our bodies in black mourning-gowns,\\r\\n Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads?\\r\\n Or shall we on the helmets of our foes\\r\\n Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?\\r\\n If for the last, say 'Ay,' and to it, lords.\\r\\n WARWICK. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out;\\r\\n And therefore comes my brother Montague.\\r\\n Attend me, lords. The proud insulting Queen,\\r\\n With Clifford and the haught Northumberland,\\r\\n And of their feather many moe proud birds,\\r\\n Have wrought the easy-melting King like wax.\\r\\n He swore consent to your succession,\\r\\n His oath enrolled in the parliament;\\r\\n And now to London all the crew are gone\\r\\n To frustrate both his oath and what beside\\r\\n May make against the house of Lancaster.\\r\\n Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong.\\r\\n Now if the help of Norfolk and myself,\\r\\n With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March,\\r\\n Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,\\r\\n Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,\\r\\n Why, Via! to London will we march amain,\\r\\n And once again bestride our foaming steeds,\\r\\n And once again cry 'Charge upon our foes!'\\r\\n But never once again turn back and fly.\\r\\n RICHARD. Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak.\\r\\n Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day\\r\\n That cries 'Retire!' if Warwick bid him stay.\\r\\n EDWARD. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean;\\r\\n And when thou fail'st- as God forbid the hour!-\\r\\n Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend.\\r\\n WARWICK. No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York;\\r\\n The next degree is England's royal throne,\\r\\n For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd\\r\\n In every borough as we pass along;\\r\\n And he that throws not up his cap for joy\\r\\n Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.\\r\\n King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague,\\r\\n Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown,\\r\\n But sound the trumpets and about our task.\\r\\n RICHARD. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel,\\r\\n As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,\\r\\n I come to pierce it or to give thee mine.\\r\\n EDWARD. Then strike up drums. God and Saint George for us!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. How now! what news?\\r\\n MESSENGER. The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me\\r\\n The Queen is coming with a puissant host,\\r\\n And craves your company for speedy counsel.\\r\\n WARWICK. Why, then it sorts; brave warriors, let's away.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Before York\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter KING HENRY, QUEEN MARGARET, the PRINCE OF WALES,\\r\\nCLIFFORD,\\r\\nNORTHUMBERLAND, with drum and trumpets\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York.\\r\\n Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy\\r\\n That sought to be encompass'd with your crown.\\r\\n Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord?\\r\\n KING HENRY. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck-\\r\\n To see this sight, it irks my very soul.\\r\\n Withhold revenge, dear God; 'tis not my fault,\\r\\n Nor wittingly have I infring'd my vow.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. My gracious liege, this too much lenity\\r\\n And harmful pity must be laid aside.\\r\\n To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?\\r\\n Not to the beast that would usurp their den.\\r\\n Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick?\\r\\n Not his that spoils her young before her face.\\r\\n Who scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting?\\r\\n Not he that sets his foot upon her back,\\r\\n The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on,\\r\\n And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood.\\r\\n Ambitious York did level at thy crown,\\r\\n Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows.\\r\\n He, but a Duke, would have his son a king,\\r\\n And raise his issue like a loving sire:\\r\\n Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son,\\r\\n Didst yield consent to disinherit him,\\r\\n Which argued thee a most unloving father.\\r\\n Unreasonable creatures feed their young;\\r\\n And though man's face be fearful to their eyes,\\r\\n Yet, in protection of their tender ones,\\r\\n Who hath not seen them- even with those wings\\r\\n Which sometime they have us'd with fearful flight-\\r\\n Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest,\\r\\n Offering their own lives in their young's defence\\r\\n For shame, my liege, make them your precedent!\\r\\n Were it not pity that this goodly boy\\r\\n Should lose his birthright by his father's fault,\\r\\n And long hereafter say unto his child\\r\\n 'What my great-grandfather and grandsire got\\r\\n My careless father fondly gave away'?\\r\\n Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy;\\r\\n And let his manly face, which promiseth\\r\\n Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart\\r\\n To hold thine own and leave thine own with him.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator,\\r\\n Inferring arguments of mighty force.\\r\\n But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear\\r\\n That things ill got had ever bad success?\\r\\n And happy always was it for that son\\r\\n Whose father for his hoarding went to hell?\\r\\n I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind;\\r\\n And would my father had left me no more!\\r\\n For all the rest is held at such a rate\\r\\n As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep\\r\\n Than in possession any jot of pleasure.\\r\\n Ah, cousin York! would thy best friends did know\\r\\n How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foes are nigh,\\r\\n And this soft courage makes your followers faint.\\r\\n You promis'd knighthood to our forward son:\\r\\n Unsheathe your sword and dub him presently.\\r\\n Edward, kneel down.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight;\\r\\n And learn this lesson: Draw thy sword in right.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. My gracious father, by your kingly leave,\\r\\n I'll draw it as apparent to the crown,\\r\\n And in that quarrel use it to the death.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. Royal commanders, be in readiness;\\r\\n For with a band of thirty thousand men\\r\\n Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York,\\r\\n And in the towns, as they do march along,\\r\\n Proclaims him king, and many fly to him.\\r\\n Darraign your battle, for they are at hand.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. I would your Highness would depart the field:\\r\\n The Queen hath best success when you are absent.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Be it with resolution, then, to fight.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. My royal father, cheer these noble lords,\\r\\n And hearten those that fight in your defence.\\r\\n Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry 'Saint George!'\\r\\n\\r\\n March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK,\\r\\n NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n EDWARD. Now, perjur'd Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace\\r\\n And set thy diadem upon my head,\\r\\n Or bide the mortal fortune of the field?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Go rate thy minions, proud insulting boy.\\r\\n Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms\\r\\n Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king?\\r\\n EDWARD. I am his king, and he should bow his knee.\\r\\n I was adopted heir by his consent:\\r\\n Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear,\\r\\n You that are King, though he do wear the crown,\\r\\n Have caus'd him by new act of parliament\\r\\n To blot out me and put his own son in.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. And reason too:\\r\\n Who should succeed the father but the son?\\r\\n RICHARD. Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak!\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee,\\r\\n Or any he, the proudest of thy sort.\\r\\n RICHARD. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not?\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.\\r\\n RICHARD. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight.\\r\\n WARWICK. What say'st thou, Henry? Wilt thou yield the crown?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick! Dare you speak?\\r\\n When you and I met at Saint Albans last\\r\\n Your legs did better service than your hands.\\r\\n WARWICK. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. You said so much before, and yet you fled.\\r\\n WARWICK. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay.\\r\\n RICHARD. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently.\\r\\n Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain\\r\\n The execution of my big-swol'n heart\\r\\n Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. I slew thy father; call'st thou him a child?\\r\\n RICHARD. Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward,\\r\\n As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland;\\r\\n But ere sunset I'll make thee curse the deed.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips.\\r\\n KING HENRY. I prithee give no limits to my tongue:\\r\\n I am a king, and privileg'd to speak.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here\\r\\n Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be still.\\r\\n RICHARD. Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword.\\r\\n By Him that made us all, I am resolv'd\\r\\n That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue.\\r\\n EDWARD. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no?\\r\\n A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day\\r\\n That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the crown.\\r\\n WARWICK. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head;\\r\\n For York in justice puts his armour on.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. If that be right which Warwick says is right,\\r\\n There is no wrong, but every thing is right.\\r\\n RICHARD. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands;\\r\\n For well I wot thou hast thy mother's tongue.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam;\\r\\n But like a foul misshapen stigmatic,\\r\\n Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided,\\r\\n As venom toads or lizards' dreadful stings.\\r\\n RICHARD. Iron of Naples hid with English gilt,\\r\\n Whose father bears the title of a king-\\r\\n As if a channel should be call'd the sea-\\r\\n Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught,\\r\\n To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart?\\r\\n EDWARD. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns\\r\\n To make this shameless callet know herself.\\r\\n Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou,\\r\\n Although thy husband may be Menelaus;\\r\\n And ne'er was Agamemmon's brother wrong'd\\r\\n By that false woman as this king by thee.\\r\\n His father revell'd in the heart of France,\\r\\n And tam'd the King, and made the Dauphin stoop;\\r\\n And had he match'd according to his state,\\r\\n He might have kept that glory to this day;\\r\\n But when he took a beggar to his bed\\r\\n And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day,\\r\\n Even then that sunshine brew'd a show'r for him\\r\\n That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France\\r\\n And heap'd sedition on his crown at home.\\r\\n For what hath broach'd this tumult but thy pride?\\r\\n Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept;\\r\\n And we, in pity of the gentle King,\\r\\n Had slipp'd our claim until another age.\\r\\n GEORGE. But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring,\\r\\n And that thy summer bred us no increase,\\r\\n We set the axe to thy usurping root;\\r\\n And though the edge hath something hit ourselves,\\r\\n Yet know thou, since we have begun to strike,\\r\\n We'll never leave till we have hewn thee down,\\r\\n Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods.\\r\\n EDWARD. And in this resolution I defy thee;\\r\\n Not willing any longer conference,\\r\\n Since thou deniest the gentle King to speak.\\r\\n Sound trumpets; let our bloody colours wave,\\r\\n And either victory or else a grave!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Stay, Edward.\\r\\n EDWARD. No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer stay;\\r\\n These words will cost ten thousand lives this day.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum; excursions. Enter WARWICK\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race,\\r\\n I lay me down a little while to breathe;\\r\\n For strokes receiv'd and many blows repaid\\r\\n Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength,\\r\\n And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter EDWARD, running\\r\\n\\r\\n EDWARD. Smile, gentle heaven, or strike, ungentle death;\\r\\n For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded.\\r\\n WARWICK. How now, my lord. What hap? What hope of good?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GEORGE\\r\\n\\r\\n GEORGE. Our hap is lost, our hope but sad despair;\\r\\n Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us.\\r\\n What counsel give you? Whither shall we fly?\\r\\n EDWARD. Bootless is flight: they follow us with wings;\\r\\n And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter RICHARD\\r\\n\\r\\n RICHARD. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself?\\r\\n Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,\\r\\n Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance;\\r\\n And in the very pangs of death he cried,\\r\\n Like to a dismal clangor heard from far,\\r\\n 'Warwick, revenge! Brother, revenge my death.'\\r\\n So, underneath the belly of their steeds,\\r\\n That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood,\\r\\n The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.\\r\\n WARWICK. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood.\\r\\n I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.\\r\\n Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,\\r\\n Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage,\\r\\n And look upon, as if the tragedy\\r\\n Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors?\\r\\n Here on my knee I vow to God above\\r\\n I'll never pause again, never stand still,\\r\\n Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine\\r\\n Or fortune given me measure of revenge.\\r\\n EDWARD. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine,\\r\\n And in this vow do chain my soul to thine!\\r\\n And ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face\\r\\n I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to Thee,\\r\\n Thou setter-up and plucker-down of kings,\\r\\n Beseeching Thee, if with Thy will it stands\\r\\n That to my foes this body must be prey,\\r\\n Yet that Thy brazen gates of heaven may ope\\r\\n And give sweet passage to my sinful soul.\\r\\n Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,\\r\\n Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth.\\r\\n RICHARD. Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick,\\r\\n Let me embrace thee in my weary arms.\\r\\n I that did never weep now melt with woe\\r\\n That winter should cut off our spring-time so.\\r\\n WARWICK. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farewell.\\r\\n GEORGE. Yet let us all together to our troops,\\r\\n And give them leave to fly that will not stay,\\r\\n And call them pillars that will stand to us;\\r\\n And if we thrive, promise them such rewards\\r\\n As victors wear at the Olympian games.\\r\\n This may plant courage in their quailing breasts,\\r\\n For yet is hope of life and victory.\\r\\n Forslow no longer; make we hence amain. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Another part of the field\\r\\n\\r\\nExcursions. Enter RICHARD and CLIFFORD\\r\\n\\r\\n RICHARD. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone.\\r\\n Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York,\\r\\n And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge,\\r\\n Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall.\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone.\\r\\n This is the hand that stabbed thy father York;\\r\\n And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland;\\r\\n And here's the heart that triumphs in their death\\r\\n And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother\\r\\n To execute the like upon thyself;\\r\\n And so, have at thee! [They fight]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter WARWICK; CLIFFORD flies\\r\\n\\r\\n RICHARD. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase;\\r\\n For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Another part of the field\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum. Enter KING HENRY alone\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. This battle fares like to the morning's war,\\r\\n When dying clouds contend with growing light,\\r\\n What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,\\r\\n Can neither call it perfect day nor night.\\r\\n Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea\\r\\n Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind;\\r\\n Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea\\r\\n Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind.\\r\\n Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind;\\r\\n Now one the better, then another best;\\r\\n Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,\\r\\n Yet neither conqueror nor conquered.\\r\\n So is the equal poise of this fell war.\\r\\n Here on this molehill will I sit me down.\\r\\n To whom God will, there be the victory!\\r\\n For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,\\r\\n Have chid me from the battle, swearing both\\r\\n They prosper best of all when I am thence.\\r\\n Would I were dead, if God's good will were so!\\r\\n For what is in this world but grief and woe?\\r\\n O God! methinks it were a happy life\\r\\n To be no better than a homely swain;\\r\\n To sit upon a hill, as I do now,\\r\\n To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,\\r\\n Thereby to see the minutes how they run-\\r\\n How many makes the hour full complete,\\r\\n How many hours brings about the day,\\r\\n How many days will finish up the year,\\r\\n How many years a mortal man may live.\\r\\n When this is known, then to divide the times-\\r\\n So many hours must I tend my flock;\\r\\n So many hours must I take my rest;\\r\\n So many hours must I contemplate;\\r\\n So many hours must I sport myself;\\r\\n So many days my ewes have been with young;\\r\\n So many weeks ere the poor fools will can;\\r\\n So many years ere I shall shear the fleece:\\r\\n So minutes, hours, days, months, and years,\\r\\n Pass'd over to the end they were created,\\r\\n Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.\\r\\n Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely!\\r\\n Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade\\r\\n To shepherds looking on their silly sheep,\\r\\n Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy\\r\\n To kings that fear their subjects' treachery?\\r\\n O yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth.\\r\\n And to conclude: the shepherd's homely curds,\\r\\n His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,\\r\\n His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,\\r\\n All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,\\r\\n Is far beyond a prince's delicates-\\r\\n His viands sparkling in a golden cup,\\r\\n His body couched in a curious bed,\\r\\n When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter a son that hath kill'd his Father, at\\r\\n one door; and a FATHER that hath kill'd his Son, at\\r\\n another door\\r\\n\\r\\n SON. Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.\\r\\n This man whom hand to hand I slew in fight\\r\\n May be possessed with some store of crowns;\\r\\n And I, that haply take them from him now,\\r\\n May yet ere night yield both my life and them\\r\\n To some man else, as this dead man doth me.\\r\\n Who's this? O God! It is my father's face,\\r\\n Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd.\\r\\n O heavy times, begetting such events!\\r\\n From London by the King was I press'd forth;\\r\\n My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man,\\r\\n Came on the part of York, press'd by his master;\\r\\n And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life,\\r\\n Have by my hands of life bereaved him.\\r\\n Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did.\\r\\n And pardon, father, for I knew not thee.\\r\\n My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks;\\r\\n And no more words till they have flow'd their fill.\\r\\n KING HENRY. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!\\r\\n Whiles lions war and battle for their dens,\\r\\n Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.\\r\\n Weep, wretched man; I'll aid thee tear for tear;\\r\\n And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war,\\r\\n Be blind with tears and break o'ercharg'd with grief.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FATHER, bearing of his SON\\r\\n\\r\\n FATHER. Thou that so stoutly hath resisted me,\\r\\n Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold;\\r\\n For I have bought it with an hundred blows.\\r\\n But let me see. Is this our foeman's face?\\r\\n Ah, no, no, no, no, it is mine only son!\\r\\n Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,\\r\\n Throw up thine eye! See, see what show'rs arise,\\r\\n Blown with the windy tempest of my heart\\r\\n Upon thy wounds, that kills mine eye and heart!\\r\\n O, pity, God, this miserable age!\\r\\n What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly,\\r\\n Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural,\\r\\n This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!\\r\\n O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,\\r\\n And hath bereft thee of thy life too late!\\r\\n KING HENRY. Woe above woe! grief more than common grief!\\r\\n O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!\\r\\n O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!\\r\\n The red rose and the white are on his face,\\r\\n The fatal colours of our striving houses:\\r\\n The one his purple blood right well resembles;\\r\\n The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth.\\r\\n Wither one rose, and let the other flourish!\\r\\n If you contend, a thousand lives must perish.\\r\\n SON. How will my mother for a father's death\\r\\n Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied!\\r\\n FATHER. How will my wife for slaughter of my son\\r\\n Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied!\\r\\n KING HENRY. How will the country for these woeful chances\\r\\n Misthink the King, and not be satisfied!\\r\\n SON. Was ever son so rued a father's death?\\r\\n FATHER. Was ever father so bemoan'd his son?\\r\\n KING HENRY. Was ever king so griev'd for subjects' woe?\\r\\n Much is your sorrow; mine ten times so much.\\r\\n SON. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill.\\r\\n Exit with the body\\r\\n FATHER. These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet;\\r\\n My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre,\\r\\n For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go;\\r\\n My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;\\r\\n And so obsequious will thy father be,\\r\\n Even for the loss of thee, having no more,\\r\\n As Priam was for all his valiant sons.\\r\\n I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will,\\r\\n For I have murdered where I should not kill.\\r\\n Exit with the body\\r\\n KING HENRY. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care,\\r\\n Here sits a king more woeful than you are.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarums, excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET,\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES, and EXETER\\r\\n\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. Fly, father, fly; for all your friends are fled,\\r\\n And Warwick rages like a chafed bull.\\r\\n Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain.\\r\\n Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds\\r\\n Having the fearful flying hare in sight,\\r\\n With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath,\\r\\n And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands,\\r\\n Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.\\r\\n EXETER. Away! for vengeance comes along with them.\\r\\n Nay, stay not to expostulate; make speed;\\r\\n Or else come after. I'll away before.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter.\\r\\n Not that I fear to stay, but love to go\\r\\n Whither the Queen intends. Forward; away! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Another part of the field\\r\\n\\r\\nA loud alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded\\r\\n\\r\\n CLIFFORD. Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies,\\r\\n Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light.\\r\\n O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow\\r\\n More than my body's parting with my soul!\\r\\n My love and fear glu'd many friends to thee;\\r\\n And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts,\\r\\n Impairing Henry, strength'ning misproud York.\\r\\n The common people swarm like summer flies;\\r\\n And whither fly the gnats but to the sun?\\r\\n And who shines now but Henry's enemies?\\r\\n O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent\\r\\n That Phaethon should check thy fiery steeds,\\r\\n Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth!\\r\\n And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do,\\r\\n Or as thy father and his father did,\\r\\n Giving no ground unto the house of York,\\r\\n They never then had sprung like summer flies;\\r\\n I and ten thousand in this luckless realm\\r\\n Had left no mourning widows for our death;\\r\\n And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.\\r\\n For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air?\\r\\n And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity?\\r\\n Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds.\\r\\n No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight.\\r\\n The foe is merciless and will not pity;\\r\\n For at their hands I have deserv'd no pity.\\r\\n The air hath got into my deadly wounds,\\r\\n And much effuse of blood doth make me faint.\\r\\n Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest;\\r\\n I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms: split my breast.\\r\\n [He faints]\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD\\r\\n MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n EDWARD. Now breathe we, lords. Good fortune bids us pause\\r\\n And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.\\r\\n Some troops pursue the bloody-minded Queen\\r\\n That led calm Henry, though he were a king,\\r\\n As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust,\\r\\n Command an argosy to stern the waves.\\r\\n But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them?\\r\\n WARWICK. No, 'tis impossible he should escape;\\r\\n For, though before his face I speak the words,\\r\\n Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave;\\r\\n And, whereso'er he is, he's surely dead.\\r\\n [CLIFFORD groans, and dies]\\r\\n RICHARD. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave?\\r\\n A deadly groan, like life and death's departing.\\r\\n See who it is.\\r\\n EDWARD. And now the battle's ended,\\r\\n If friend or foe, let him be gently used.\\r\\n RICHARD. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford;\\r\\n Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch\\r\\n In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth,\\r\\n But set his murd'ring knife unto the root\\r\\n From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring-\\r\\n I mean our princely father, Duke of York.\\r\\n WARWICK. From off the gates of York fetch down the head,\\r\\n Your father's head, which Clifford placed there;\\r\\n Instead whereof let this supply the room.\\r\\n Measure for measure must be answered.\\r\\n EDWARD. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house,\\r\\n That nothing sung but death to us and ours.\\r\\n Now death shall stop his dismal threat'ning sound,\\r\\n And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.\\r\\n WARWICK. I think his understanding is bereft.\\r\\n Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee?\\r\\n Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life,\\r\\n And he nor sees nor hears us what we say.\\r\\n RICHARD. O, would he did! and so, perhaps, he doth.\\r\\n 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit,\\r\\n Because he would avoid such bitter taunts\\r\\n Which in the time of death he gave our father.\\r\\n GEORGE. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words.\\r\\n RICHARD. Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace.\\r\\n EDWARD. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.\\r\\n WARWICK. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.\\r\\n GEORGE. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.\\r\\n RICHARD. Thou didst love York, and I am son to York.\\r\\n EDWARD. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee.\\r\\n GEORGE. Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you now?\\r\\n WARWICK. They mock thee, Clifford; swear as thou wast wont.\\r\\n RICHARD. What, not an oath? Nay, then the world goes hard\\r\\n When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath.\\r\\n I know by that he's dead; and by my soul,\\r\\n If this right hand would buy two hours' life,\\r\\n That I in all despite might rail at him,\\r\\n This hand should chop it off, and with the issuing blood\\r\\n Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst\\r\\n York and young Rutland could not satisfy.\\r\\n WARWICK. Ay, but he's dead. Off with the traitor's head,\\r\\n And rear it in the place your father's stands.\\r\\n And now to London with triumphant march,\\r\\n There to be crowned England's royal King;\\r\\n From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France,\\r\\n And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen.\\r\\n So shalt thou sinew both these lands together;\\r\\n And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread\\r\\n The scatt'red foe that hopes to rise again;\\r\\n For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,\\r\\n Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears.\\r\\n First will I see the coronation;\\r\\n And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea\\r\\n To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.\\r\\n EDWARD. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be;\\r\\n For in thy shoulder do I build my seat,\\r\\n And never will I undertake the thing\\r\\n Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting.\\r\\n Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester;\\r\\n And George, of Clarence; Warwick, as ourself,\\r\\n Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best.\\r\\n RICHARD. Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester;\\r\\n For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous.\\r\\n WARWICK. Tut, that's a foolish observation.\\r\\n Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London\\r\\n To see these honours in possession. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. A chase in the north of England\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter two KEEPERS, with cross-bows in their hands\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST KEEPER. Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves,\\r\\n For through this laund anon the deer will come;\\r\\n And in this covert will we make our stand,\\r\\n Culling the principal of all the deer.\\r\\n SECOND KEEPER. I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot.\\r\\n FIRST KEEPER. That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow\\r\\n Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost.\\r\\n Here stand we both, and aim we at the best;\\r\\n And, for the time shall not seem tedious,\\r\\n I'll tell thee what befell me on a day\\r\\n In this self-place where now we mean to stand.\\r\\n SECOND KEEPER. Here comes a man; let's stay till he be past.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING HENRY, disguised, with a prayer-book\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love,\\r\\n To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.\\r\\n No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine;\\r\\n Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee,\\r\\n Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast anointed.\\r\\n No bending knee will call thee Caesar now,\\r\\n No humble suitors press to speak for right,\\r\\n No, not a man comes for redress of thee;\\r\\n For how can I help them and not myself?\\r\\n FIRST KEEPER. Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee.\\r\\n This is the quondam King; let's seize upon him.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Let me embrace thee, sour adversity,\\r\\n For wise men say it is the wisest course.\\r\\n SECOND KEEPER. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.\\r\\n FIRST KEEPER. Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little more.\\r\\n KING HENRY. My Queen and son are gone to France for aid;\\r\\n And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick\\r\\n Is thither gone to crave the French King's sister\\r\\n To wife for Edward. If this news be true,\\r\\n Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost;\\r\\n For Warwick is a subtle orator,\\r\\n And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words.\\r\\n By this account, then, Margaret may win him;\\r\\n For she's a woman to be pitied much.\\r\\n Her sighs will make a batt'ry in his breast;\\r\\n Her tears will pierce into a marble heart;\\r\\n The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn;\\r\\n And Nero will be tainted with remorse\\r\\n To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears.\\r\\n Ay, but she's come to beg: Warwick, to give.\\r\\n She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry:\\r\\n He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward.\\r\\n She weeps, and says her Henry is depos'd:\\r\\n He smiles, and says his Edward is install'd;\\r\\n That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more;\\r\\n Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong,\\r\\n Inferreth arguments of mighty strength,\\r\\n And in conclusion wins the King from her\\r\\n With promise of his sister, and what else,\\r\\n To strengthen and support King Edward's place.\\r\\n O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul,\\r\\n Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn!\\r\\n SECOND KEEPER. Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings and queens?\\r\\n KING HENRY. More than I seem, and less than I was born to:\\r\\n A man at least, for less I should not be;\\r\\n And men may talk of kings, and why not I?\\r\\n SECOND KEEPER. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Why, so I am- in mind; and that's enough.\\r\\n SECOND KEEPER. But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown?\\r\\n KING HENRY. My crown is in my heart, not on my head;\\r\\n Not deck'd with diamonds and Indian stones,\\r\\n Not to be seen. My crown is call'd content;\\r\\n A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.\\r\\n SECOND KEEPER. Well, if you be a king crown'd with content,\\r\\n Your crown content and you must be contented\\r\\n To go along with us; for as we think,\\r\\n You are the king King Edward hath depos'd;\\r\\n And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance,\\r\\n Will apprehend you as his enemy.\\r\\n KING HENRY. But did you never swear, and break an oath?\\r\\n SECOND KEEPER. No, never such an oath; nor will not now.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Where did you dwell when I was King of England?\\r\\n SECOND KEEPER. Here in this country, where we now remain.\\r\\n KING HENRY. I was anointed king at nine months old;\\r\\n My father and my grandfather were kings;\\r\\n And you were sworn true subjects unto me;\\r\\n And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths?\\r\\n FIRST KEEPER. No;\\r\\n For we were subjects but while you were king.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Why, am I dead? Do I not breathe a man?\\r\\n Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear!\\r\\n Look, as I blow this feather from my face,\\r\\n And as the air blows it to me again,\\r\\n Obeying with my wind when I do blow,\\r\\n And yielding to another when it blows,\\r\\n Commanded always by the greater gust,\\r\\n Such is the lightness of you common men.\\r\\n But do not break your oaths; for of that sin\\r\\n My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty.\\r\\n Go where you will, the King shall be commanded;\\r\\n And be you kings: command, and I'll obey.\\r\\n FIRST KEEPER. We are true subjects to the King, King Edward.\\r\\n KING HENRY. So would you be again to Henry,\\r\\n If he were seated as King Edward is.\\r\\n FIRST KEEPER. We charge you, in God's name and the King's,\\r\\n To go with us unto the officers.\\r\\n KING HENRY. In God's name, lead; your King's name be obey'd;\\r\\n And what God will, that let your King perform;\\r\\n And what he will, I humbly yield unto. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. London. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and LADY GREY\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Brother of Gloucester, at Saint Albans' field\\r\\n This lady's husband, Sir Richard Grey, was slain,\\r\\n His land then seiz'd on by the conqueror.\\r\\n Her suit is now to repossess those lands;\\r\\n Which we in justice cannot well deny,\\r\\n Because in quarrel of the house of York\\r\\n The worthy gentleman did lose his life.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Your Highness shall do well to grant her suit;\\r\\n It were dishonour to deny it her.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] Yea, is it so?\\r\\n I see the lady hath a thing to grant,\\r\\n Before the King will grant her humble suit.\\r\\n CLARENCE. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] He knows the game; how true he\\r\\n keeps the wind!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] Silence!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Widow, we will consider of your suit;\\r\\n And come some other time to know our mind.\\r\\n LADY GREY. Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay.\\r\\n May it please your Highness to resolve me now;\\r\\n And what your pleasure is shall satisfy me.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Ay, widow? Then I'll warrant you all your\\r\\n lands,\\r\\n An if what pleases him shall pleasure you.\\r\\n Fight closer or, good faith, you'll catch a blow.\\r\\n CLARENCE. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] I fear her not, unless she chance\\r\\n to fall.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] God forbid that, for he'll take\\r\\n vantages.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. How many children hast thou, widow, tell me.\\r\\n CLARENCE. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] I think he means to beg a child of\\r\\n her.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] Nay, then whip me; he'll rather\\r\\n give her two.\\r\\n LADY GREY. Three, my most gracious lord.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside] You shall have four if you'll be rul'd by him.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. 'Twere pity they should lose their father's lands.\\r\\n LADY GREY. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it, then.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Lords, give us leave; I'll try this widow's wit.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Ay, good leave have you; for you will have\\r\\n leave\\r\\n Till youth take leave and leave you to the crutch.\\r\\n [GLOUCESTER and CLARENCE withdraw]\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Now tell me, madam, do you love your children?\\r\\n LADY GREY. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. And would you not do much to do them good?\\r\\n LADY GREY. To do them good I would sustain some harm.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Then get your husband's lands, to do them good.\\r\\n LADY GREY. Therefore I came unto your Majesty.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. I'll tell you how these lands are to be got.\\r\\n LADY GREY. So shall you bind me to your Highness' service.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. What service wilt thou do me if I give them?\\r\\n LADY GREY. What you command that rests in me to do.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. But you will take exceptions to my boon.\\r\\n LADY GREY. No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask.\\r\\n LADY GREY. Why, then I will do what your Grace commands.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He plies her hard; and much rain wears the marble.\\r\\n CLARENCE. As red as fire! Nay, then her wax must melt.\\r\\n LADY GREY. Why stops my lord? Shall I not hear my task?\\r\\n KING EDWARD. An easy task; 'tis but to love a king.\\r\\n LADY GREY. That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Why, then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee.\\r\\n LADY GREY. I take my leave with many thousand thanks.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The match is made; she seals it with a curtsy.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. But stay thee- 'tis the fruits of love I mean.\\r\\n LADY GREY. The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense.\\r\\n What love, thinkst thou, I sue so much to get?\\r\\n LADY GREY. My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers;\\r\\n That love which virtue begs and virtue grants.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. No, by my troth, I did not mean such love.\\r\\n LADY GREY. Why, then you mean not as I thought you did.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. But now you partly may perceive my mind.\\r\\n LADY GREY. My mind will never grant what I perceive\\r\\n Your Highness aims at, if I aim aright.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee.\\r\\n LADY GREY. To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Why, then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands.\\r\\n LADY GREY. Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower;\\r\\n For by that loss I will not purchase them.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily.\\r\\n LADY GREY. Herein your Highness wrongs both them and me.\\r\\n But, mighty lord, this merry inclination\\r\\n Accords not with the sadness of my suit.\\r\\n Please you dismiss me, either with ay or no.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Ay, if thou wilt say ay to my request;\\r\\n No, if thou dost say no to my demand.\\r\\n LADY GREY. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The widow likes him not; she knits her brows.\\r\\n CLARENCE. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. [Aside] Her looks doth argue her replete with modesty;\\r\\n Her words doth show her wit incomparable;\\r\\n All her perfections challenge sovereignty.\\r\\n One way or other, she is for a king;\\r\\n And she shall be my love, or else my queen.\\r\\n Say that King Edward take thee for his queen?\\r\\n LADY GREY. 'Tis better said than done, my gracious lord.\\r\\n I am a subject fit to jest withal,\\r\\n But far unfit to be a sovereign.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee\\r\\n I speak no more than what my soul intends;\\r\\n And that is to enjoy thee for my love.\\r\\n LADY GREY. And that is more than I will yield unto.\\r\\n I know I am too mean to be your queen,\\r\\n And yet too good to be your concubine.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. You cavil, widow; I did mean my queen.\\r\\n LADY GREY. 'Twill grieve your Grace my sons should call you father.\\r\\n KING EDWARD.No more than when my daughters call thee mother.\\r\\n Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children;\\r\\n And, by God's Mother, I, being but a bachelor,\\r\\n Have other some. Why, 'tis a happy thing\\r\\n To be the father unto many sons.\\r\\n Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The ghostly father now hath done his shrift.\\r\\n CLARENCE. When he was made a shriver, 'twas for shrift.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. You'd think it strange if I should marry her.\\r\\n CLARENCE. To who, my lord?\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Why, Clarence, to myself.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. That would be ten days' wonder at the least.\\r\\n CLARENCE. That's a day longer than a wonder lasts.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. By so much is the wonder in extremes.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Well, jest on, brothers; I can tell you both\\r\\n Her suit is granted for her husband's lands.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a NOBLEMAN\\r\\n\\r\\n NOBLEMAN. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken\\r\\n And brought your prisoner to your palace gate.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. See that he be convey'd unto the Tower.\\r\\n And go we, brothers, to the man that took him\\r\\n To question of his apprehension.\\r\\n Widow, go you along. Lords, use her honourably.\\r\\n Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ay, Edward will use women honourably.\\r\\n Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all,\\r\\n That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring\\r\\n To cross me from the golden time I look for!\\r\\n And yet, between my soul's desire and me-\\r\\n The lustful Edward's title buried-\\r\\n Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward,\\r\\n And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies,\\r\\n To take their rooms ere I can place myself.\\r\\n A cold premeditation for my purpose!\\r\\n Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty;\\r\\n Like one that stands upon a promontory\\r\\n And spies a far-off shore where he would tread,\\r\\n Wishing his foot were equal with his eye;\\r\\n And chides the sea that sunders him from thence,\\r\\n Saying he'll lade it dry to have his way-\\r\\n So do I wish the crown, being so far off;\\r\\n And so I chide the means that keeps me from it;\\r\\n And so I say I'll cut the causes off,\\r\\n Flattering me with impossibilities.\\r\\n My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much,\\r\\n Unless my hand and strength could equal them.\\r\\n Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard;\\r\\n What other pleasure can the world afford?\\r\\n I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,\\r\\n And deck my body in gay ornaments,\\r\\n And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.\\r\\n O miserable thought! and more unlikely\\r\\n Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns.\\r\\n Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb;\\r\\n And, for I should not deal in her soft laws,\\r\\n She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe\\r\\n To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub\\r\\n To make an envious mountain on my back,\\r\\n Where sits deformity to mock my body;\\r\\n To shape my legs of an unequal size;\\r\\n To disproportion me in every part,\\r\\n Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp\\r\\n That carries no impression like the dam.\\r\\n And am I, then, a man to be belov'd?\\r\\n O monstrous fault to harbour such a thought!\\r\\n Then, since this earth affords no joy to me\\r\\n But to command, to check, to o'erbear such\\r\\n As are of better person than myself,\\r\\n I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown,\\r\\n And whiles I live t' account this world but hell,\\r\\n Until my misshap'd trunk that bear this head\\r\\n Be round impaled with a glorious crown.\\r\\n And yet I know not how to get the crown,\\r\\n For many lives stand between me and home;\\r\\n And I- like one lost in a thorny wood\\r\\n That rents the thorns and is rent with the thorns,\\r\\n Seeking a way and straying from the way\\r\\n Not knowing how to find the open air,\\r\\n But toiling desperately to find it out-\\r\\n Torment myself to catch the English crown;\\r\\n And from that torment I will free myself\\r\\n Or hew my way out with a bloody axe.\\r\\n Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile,\\r\\n And cry 'Content!' to that which grieves my heart,\\r\\n And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,\\r\\n And frame my face to all occasions.\\r\\n I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall;\\r\\n I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk;\\r\\n I'll play the orator as well as Nestor,\\r\\n Deceive more slily than Ulysses could,\\r\\n And, like a Sinon, take another Troy.\\r\\n I can add colours to the chameleon,\\r\\n Change shapes with Protheus for advantages,\\r\\n And set the murderous Machiavel to school.\\r\\n Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?\\r\\n Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. France. The KING'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter LEWIS the French King, his sister BONA, his Admiral\\r\\ncall'd BOURBON; PRINCE EDWARD, QUEEN MARGARET, and the EARL of OXFORD.\\r\\nLEWIS sits, and riseth up again\\r\\n\\r\\n LEWIS. Fair Queen of England, worthy Margaret,\\r\\n Sit down with us. It ill befits thy state\\r\\n And birth that thou shouldst stand while Lewis doth sit.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. No, mighty King of France. Now Margaret\\r\\n Must strike her sail and learn a while to serve\\r\\n Where kings command. I was, I must confess,\\r\\n Great Albion's Queen in former golden days;\\r\\n But now mischance hath trod my title down\\r\\n And with dishonour laid me on the ground,\\r\\n Where I must take like seat unto my fortune,\\r\\n And to my humble seat conform myself.\\r\\n LEWIS. Why, say, fair Queen, whence springs this deep despair?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears\\r\\n And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares.\\r\\n LEWIS. Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself,\\r\\n And sit thee by our side. [Seats her by him] Yield not thy neck\\r\\n To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind\\r\\n Still ride in triumph over all mischance.\\r\\n Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief;\\r\\n It shall be eas'd, if France can yield relief.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Those gracious words revive my drooping thoughts\\r\\n And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak.\\r\\n Now therefore be it known to noble Lewis\\r\\n That Henry, sole possessor of my love,\\r\\n Is, of a king, become a banish'd man,\\r\\n And forc'd to live in Scotland a forlorn;\\r\\n While proud ambitious Edward Duke of York\\r\\n Usurps the regal title and the seat\\r\\n Of England's true-anointed lawful King.\\r\\n This is the cause that I, poor Margaret,\\r\\n With this my son, Prince Edward, Henry's heir,\\r\\n Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid;\\r\\n And if thou fail us, all our hope is done.\\r\\n Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help;\\r\\n Our people and our peers are both misled,\\r\\n Our treasure seiz'd, our soldiers put to flight,\\r\\n And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight.\\r\\n LEWIS. Renowned Queen, with patience calm the storm,\\r\\n While we bethink a means to break it off.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe.\\r\\n LEWIS. The more I stay, the more I'll succour thee.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow.\\r\\n And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter WARWICK\\r\\n\\r\\n LEWIS. What's he approacheth boldly to our presence?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Our Earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest friend.\\r\\n LEWIS. Welcome, brave Warwick! What brings thee to France?\\r\\n [He descends. She ariseth]\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, now begins a second storm to rise;\\r\\n For this is he that moves both wind and tide.\\r\\n WARWICK. From worthy Edward, King of Albion,\\r\\n My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend,\\r\\n I come, in kindness and unfeigned love,\\r\\n First to do greetings to thy royal person,\\r\\n And then to crave a league of amity,\\r\\n And lastly to confirm that amity\\r\\n With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant\\r\\n That virtuous Lady Bona, thy fair sister,\\r\\n To England's King in lawful marriage.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. [Aside] If that go forward, Henry's hope is done.\\r\\n WARWICK. [To BONA] And, gracious madam, in our king's behalf,\\r\\n I am commanded, with your leave and favour,\\r\\n Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue\\r\\n To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart;\\r\\n Where fame, late ent'ring at his heedful ears,\\r\\n Hath plac'd thy beauty's image and thy virtue.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. King Lewis and Lady Bona, hear me speak\\r\\n Before you answer Warwick. His demand\\r\\n Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love,\\r\\n But from deceit bred by necessity;\\r\\n For how can tyrants safely govern home\\r\\n Unless abroad they purchase great alliance?\\r\\n To prove him tyrant this reason may suffice,\\r\\n That Henry liveth still; but were he dead,\\r\\n Yet here Prince Edward stands, King Henry's son.\\r\\n Look therefore, Lewis, that by this league and marriage\\r\\n Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour;\\r\\n For though usurpers sway the rule a while\\r\\n Yet heav'ns are just, and time suppresseth wrongs.\\r\\n WARWICK. Injurious Margaret!\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. And why not Queen?\\r\\n WARWICK. Because thy father Henry did usurp;\\r\\n And thou no more art prince than she is queen.\\r\\n OXFORD. Then Warwick disannuls great John of Gaunt,\\r\\n Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain;\\r\\n And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth,\\r\\n Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest;\\r\\n And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth,\\r\\n Who by his prowess conquered all France.\\r\\n From these our Henry lineally descends.\\r\\n WARWICK. Oxford, how haps it in this smooth discourse\\r\\n You told not how Henry the Sixth hath lost\\r\\n All that which Henry the Fifth had gotten?\\r\\n Methinks these peers of France should smile at that.\\r\\n But for the rest: you tell a pedigree\\r\\n Of threescore and two years- a silly time\\r\\n To make prescription for a kingdom's worth.\\r\\n OXFORD. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy liege,\\r\\n Whom thou obeyed'st thirty and six years,\\r\\n And not betray thy treason with a blush?\\r\\n WARWICK. Can Oxford that did ever fence the right\\r\\n Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree?\\r\\n For shame! Leave Henry, and call Edward king.\\r\\n OXFORD. Call him my king by whose injurious doom\\r\\n My elder brother, the Lord Aubrey Vere,\\r\\n Was done to death; and more than so, my father,\\r\\n Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years,\\r\\n When nature brought him to the door of death?\\r\\n No, Warwick, no; while life upholds this arm,\\r\\n This arm upholds the house of Lancaster.\\r\\n WARWICK. And I the house of York.\\r\\n LEWIS. Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, and Oxford,\\r\\n Vouchsafe at our request to stand aside\\r\\n While I use further conference with Warwick.\\r\\n [They stand aloof]\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Heavens grant that Warwick's words bewitch him not!\\r\\n LEWIS. Now, Warwick, tell me, even upon thy conscience,\\r\\n Is Edward your true king? for I were loath\\r\\n To link with him that were not lawful chosen.\\r\\n WARWICK. Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour.\\r\\n LEWIS. But is he gracious in the people's eye?\\r\\n WARWICK. The more that Henry was unfortunate.\\r\\n LEWIS. Then further: all dissembling set aside,\\r\\n Tell me for truth the measure of his love\\r\\n Unto our sister Bona.\\r\\n WARWICK. Such it seems\\r\\n As may beseem a monarch like himself.\\r\\n Myself have often heard him say and swear\\r\\n That this his love was an eternal plant\\r\\n Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground,\\r\\n The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun,\\r\\n Exempt from envy, but not from disdain,\\r\\n Unless the Lady Bona quit his pain.\\r\\n LEWIS. Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve.\\r\\n BONA. Your grant or your denial shall be mine.\\r\\n [To WARWICK] Yet I confess that often ere this day,\\r\\n When I have heard your king's desert recounted,\\r\\n Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire.\\r\\n LEWIS. Then, Warwick, thus: our sister shall be Edward's.\\r\\n And now forthwith shall articles be drawn\\r\\n Touching the jointure that your king must make,\\r\\n Which with her dowry shall be counterpois'd.\\r\\n Draw near, Queen Margaret, and be a witness\\r\\n That Bona shall be wife to the English king.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. To Edward, but not to the English king.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Deceitful Warwick, it was thy device\\r\\n By this alliance to make void my suit.\\r\\n Before thy coming, Lewis was Henry's friend.\\r\\n LEWIS. And still is friend to him and Margaret.\\r\\n But if your title to the crown be weak,\\r\\n As may appear by Edward's good success,\\r\\n Then 'tis but reason that I be releas'd\\r\\n From giving aid which late I promised.\\r\\n Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand\\r\\n That your estate requires and mine can yield.\\r\\n WARWICK. Henry now lives in Scotland at his case,\\r\\n Where having nothing, nothing can he lose.\\r\\n And as for you yourself, our quondam queen,\\r\\n You have a father able to maintain you,\\r\\n And better 'twere you troubled him than France.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick,\\r\\n Proud setter up and puller down of kings!\\r\\n I will not hence till with my talk and tears,\\r\\n Both full of truth, I make King Lewis behold\\r\\n Thy sly conveyance and thy lord's false love;\\r\\n For both of you are birds of self-same feather.\\r\\n [POST blowing a horn within]\\r\\n LEWIS. Warwick, this is some post to us or thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the POST\\r\\n\\r\\n POST. My lord ambassador, these letters are for you,\\r\\n Sent from your brother, Marquis Montague.\\r\\n These from our King unto your Majesty.\\r\\n And, madam, these for you; from whom I know not.\\r\\n [They all read their letters]\\r\\n OXFORD. I like it well that our fair Queen and mistress\\r\\n Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. Nay, mark how Lewis stamps as he were nettled.\\r\\n I hope all's for the best.\\r\\n LEWIS. Warwick, what are thy news? And yours, fair Queen?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Mine such as fill my heart with unhop'd joys.\\r\\n WARWICK. Mine, full of sorrow and heart's discontent.\\r\\n LEWIS. What, has your king married the Lady Grey?\\r\\n And now, to soothe your forgery and his,\\r\\n Sends me a paper to persuade me patience?\\r\\n Is this th' alliance that he seeks with France?\\r\\n Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. I told your Majesty as much before.\\r\\n This proveth Edward's love and Warwick's honesty.\\r\\n WARWICK. King Lewis, I here protest in sight of heaven,\\r\\n And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss,\\r\\n That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's-\\r\\n No more my king, for he dishonours me,\\r\\n But most himself, if he could see his shame.\\r\\n Did I forget that by the house of York\\r\\n My father came untimely to his death?\\r\\n Did I let pass th' abuse done to my niece?\\r\\n Did I impale him with the regal crown?\\r\\n Did I put Henry from his native right?\\r\\n And am I guerdon'd at the last with shame?\\r\\n Shame on himself! for my desert is honour;\\r\\n And to repair my honour lost for him\\r\\n I here renounce him and return to Henry.\\r\\n My noble Queen, let former grudges pass,\\r\\n And henceforth I am thy true servitor.\\r\\n I will revenge his wrong to Lady Bona,\\r\\n And replant Henry in his former state.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Warwick, these words have turn'd my hate to love;\\r\\n And I forgive and quite forget old faults,\\r\\n And joy that thou becom'st King Henry's friend.\\r\\n WARWICK. So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend,\\r\\n That if King Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us\\r\\n With some few bands of chosen soldiers,\\r\\n I'll undertake to land them on our coast\\r\\n And force the tyrant from his seat by war.\\r\\n 'Tis not his new-made bride shall succour him;\\r\\n And as for Clarence, as my letters tell me,\\r\\n He's very likely now to fall from him\\r\\n For matching more for wanton lust than honour\\r\\n Or than for strength and safety of our country.\\r\\n BONA. Dear brother, how shall Bona be reveng'd\\r\\n But by thy help to this distressed queen?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Renowned Prince, how shall poor Henry live\\r\\n Unless thou rescue him from foul despair?\\r\\n BONA. My quarrel and this English queen's are one.\\r\\n WARWICK. And mine, fair Lady Bona, joins with yours.\\r\\n LEWIS. And mine with hers, and thine, and Margaret's.\\r\\n Therefore, at last, I firmly am resolv'd\\r\\n You shall have aid.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Let me give humble thanks for all at once.\\r\\n LEWIS. Then, England's messenger, return in post\\r\\n And tell false Edward, thy supposed king,\\r\\n That Lewis of France is sending over masquers\\r\\n To revel it with him and his new bride.\\r\\n Thou seest what's past; go fear thy king withal.\\r\\n BONA. Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly,\\r\\n I'll wear the willow-garland for his sake.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Tell him my mourning weeds are laid aside,\\r\\n And I am ready to put armour on.\\r\\n WARWICK. Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong,\\r\\n And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.\\r\\n There's thy reward; be gone. Exit POST\\r\\n LEWIS. But, Warwick,\\r\\n Thou and Oxford, with five thousand men,\\r\\n Shall cross the seas and bid false Edward battle:\\r\\n And, as occasion serves, this noble Queen\\r\\n And Prince shall follow with a fresh supply.\\r\\n Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt:\\r\\n What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty?\\r\\n WARWICK. This shall assure my constant loyalty:\\r\\n That if our Queen and this young Prince agree,\\r\\n I'll join mine eldest daughter and my joy\\r\\n To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Yes, I agree, and thank you for your motion.\\r\\n Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous,\\r\\n Therefore delay not- give thy hand to Warwick;\\r\\n And with thy hand thy faith irrevocable\\r\\n That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it;\\r\\n And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand.\\r\\n [He gives his hand to WARWICK]\\r\\n LEWIS. stay we now? These soldiers shall be levied;\\r\\n And thou, Lord Bourbon, our High Admiral,\\r\\n Shall waft them over with our royal fleet.\\r\\n I long till Edward fall by war's mischance\\r\\n For mocking marriage with a dame of France.\\r\\n Exeunt all but WARWICK\\r\\n WARWICK. I came from Edward as ambassador,\\r\\n But I return his sworn and mortal foe.\\r\\n Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me,\\r\\n But dreadful war shall answer his demand.\\r\\n Had he none else to make a stale but me?\\r\\n Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow.\\r\\n I was the chief that rais'd him to the crown,\\r\\n And I'll be chief to bring him down again;\\r\\n Not that I pity Henry's misery,\\r\\n But seek revenge on Edward's mockery. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I. London. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, SOMERSET, and MONTAGUE\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you\\r\\n Of this new marriage with the Lady Grey?\\r\\n Hath not our brother made a worthy choice?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Alas, you know 'tis far from hence to France!\\r\\n How could he stay till Warwick made return?\\r\\n SOMERSET. My lords, forbear this talk; here comes the King.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, attended; LADY\\r\\n GREY, as Queen; PEMBROKE, STAFFORD, HASTINGS,\\r\\n and others. Four stand on one side, and four on the other\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And his well-chosen bride.\\r\\n CLARENCE. I mind to tell him plainly what I think.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Now, brother of Clarence, how like you our choice\\r\\n That you stand pensive as half malcontent?\\r\\n CLARENCE. As well as Lewis of France or the Earl of Warwick,\\r\\n Which are so weak of courage and in judgment\\r\\n That they'll take no offence at our abuse.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Suppose they take offence without a cause;\\r\\n They are but Lewis and Warwick: I am Edward,\\r\\n Your King and Warwick's and must have my will.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And shall have your will, because our King.\\r\\n Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Not I.\\r\\n No, God forbid that I should wish them sever'd\\r\\n Whom God hath join'd together; ay, and 'twere pity\\r\\n To sunder them that yoke so well together.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Setting your scorns and your mislike aside,\\r\\n Tell me some reason why the Lady Grey\\r\\n Should not become my wife and England's Queen.\\r\\n And you too, Somerset and Montague,\\r\\n Speak freely what you think.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Then this is mine opinion: that King Lewis\\r\\n Becomes your enemy for mocking him\\r\\n About the marriage of the Lady Bona.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge,\\r\\n Is now dishonoured by this new marriage.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. What if both Lewis and Warwick be appeas'd\\r\\n By such invention as I can devise?\\r\\n MONTAGUE. Yet to have join'd with France in such alliance\\r\\n Would more have strength'ned this our commonwealth\\r\\n 'Gainst foreign storms than any home-bred marriage.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Why, knows not Montague that of itself\\r\\n England is safe, if true within itself?\\r\\n MONTAGUE. But the safer when 'tis back'd with France.\\r\\n HASTINGS. 'Tis better using France than trusting France.\\r\\n Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas\\r\\n Which He hath giv'n for fence impregnable,\\r\\n And with their helps only defend ourselves.\\r\\n In them and in ourselves our safety lies.\\r\\n CLARENCE. For this one speech Lord Hastings well deserves\\r\\n To have the heir of the Lord Hungerford.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Ay, what of that? it was my will and grant;\\r\\n And for this once my will shall stand for law.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And yet methinks your Grace hath not done well\\r\\n To give the heir and daughter of Lord Scales\\r\\n Unto the brother of your loving bride.\\r\\n She better would have fitted me or Clarence;\\r\\n But in your bride you bury brotherhood.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Or else you would not have bestow'd the heir\\r\\n Of the Lord Bonville on your new wife's son,\\r\\n And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Alas, poor Clarence! Is it for a wife\\r\\n That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee.\\r\\n CLARENCE. In choosing for yourself you show'd your judgment,\\r\\n Which being shallow, you shall give me leave\\r\\n To play the broker in mine own behalf;\\r\\n And to that end I shortly mind to leave you.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Leave me or tarry, Edward will be King,\\r\\n And not be tied unto his brother's will.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. My lords, before it pleas'd his Majesty\\r\\n To raise my state to title of a queen,\\r\\n Do me but right, and you must all confess\\r\\n That I was not ignoble of descent:\\r\\n And meaner than myself have had like fortune.\\r\\n But as this title honours me and mine,\\r\\n So your dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing,\\r\\n Doth cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. My love, forbear to fawn upon their frowns.\\r\\n What danger or what sorrow can befall thee,\\r\\n So long as Edward is thy constant friend\\r\\n And their true sovereign whom they must obey?\\r\\n Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too,\\r\\n Unless they seek for hatred at my hands;\\r\\n Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe,\\r\\n And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside] I hear, yet say not much, but think the more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a POST\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Now, messenger, what letters or what news\\r\\n From France?\\r\\n MESSENGER. My sovereign liege, no letters, and few words,\\r\\n But such as I, without your special pardon,\\r\\n Dare not relate.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Go to, we pardon thee; therefore, in brief,\\r\\n Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them.\\r\\n What answer makes King Lewis unto our letters?\\r\\n MESSENGER. At my depart, these were his very words:\\r\\n 'Go tell false Edward, the supposed king,\\r\\n That Lewis of France is sending over masquers\\r\\n To revel it with him and his new bride.'\\r\\n KING EDWARD. IS Lewis so brave? Belike he thinks me Henry.\\r\\n But what said Lady Bona to my marriage?\\r\\n MESSENGER. These were her words, utt'red with mild disdain:\\r\\n 'Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly,\\r\\n I'll wear the willow-garland for his sake.'\\r\\n KING EDWARD. I blame not her: she could say little less;\\r\\n She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen?\\r\\n For I have heard that she was there in place.\\r\\n MESSENGER. 'Tell him' quoth she 'my mourning weeds are done,\\r\\n And I am ready to put armour on.'\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Belike she minds to play the Amazon.\\r\\n But what said Warwick to these injuries?\\r\\n MESSENGER. He, more incens'd against your Majesty\\r\\n Than all the rest, discharg'd me with these words:\\r\\n 'Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong;\\r\\n And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.'\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Ha! durst the traitor breathe out so proud words?\\r\\n Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd.\\r\\n They shall have wars and pay for their presumption.\\r\\n But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Ay, gracious sovereign; they are so link'd in friendship\\r\\n That young Prince Edward marries Warwick's daughter.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Belike the elder; Clarence will have the younger.\\r\\n Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast,\\r\\n For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter;\\r\\n That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage\\r\\n I may not prove inferior to yourself.\\r\\n You that love me and Warwick, follow me.\\r\\n Exit, and SOMERSET follows\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Not I.\\r\\n My thoughts aim at a further matter; I\\r\\n Stay not for the love of Edward but the crown.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Clarence and Somerset both gone to Warwick!\\r\\n Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen;\\r\\n And haste is needful in this desp'rate case.\\r\\n Pembroke and Stafford, you in our behalf\\r\\n Go levy men and make prepare for war;\\r\\n They are already, or quickly will be landed.\\r\\n Myself in person will straight follow you.\\r\\n Exeunt PEMBROKE and STAFFORD\\r\\n But ere I go, Hastings and Montague,\\r\\n Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest,\\r\\n Are near to Warwick by blood and by alliance.\\r\\n Tell me if you love Warwick more than me?\\r\\n If it be so, then both depart to him:\\r\\n I rather wish you foes than hollow friends.\\r\\n But if you mind to hold your true obedience,\\r\\n Give me assurance with some friendly vow,\\r\\n That I may never have you in suspect.\\r\\n MONTAGUE. So God help Montague as he proves true!\\r\\n HASTINGS. And Hastings as he favours Edward's cause!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Why, so! then am I sure of victory.\\r\\n Now therefore let us hence, and lose no hour\\r\\n Till we meet Warwick with his foreign pow'r. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A plain in Warwickshire\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter WARWICK and OXFORD, with French soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well;\\r\\n The common people by numbers swarm to us.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CLARENCE and SOMERSET\\r\\n\\r\\n But see where Somerset and Clarence comes.\\r\\n Speak suddenly, my lords- are we all friends?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Fear not that, my lord.\\r\\n WARWICK. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick;\\r\\n And welcome, Somerset. I hold it cowardice\\r\\n To rest mistrustful where a noble heart\\r\\n Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love;\\r\\n Else might I think that Clarence, Edward's brother,\\r\\n Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings.\\r\\n But welcome, sweet Clarence; my daughter shall be thine.\\r\\n And now what rests but, in night's coverture,\\r\\n Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd,\\r\\n His soldiers lurking in the towns about,\\r\\n And but attended by a simple guard,\\r\\n We may surprise and take him at our pleasure?\\r\\n Our scouts have found the adventure very easy;\\r\\n That as Ulysses and stout Diomede\\r\\n With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents,\\r\\n And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds,\\r\\n So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle,\\r\\n At unawares may beat down Edward's guard\\r\\n And seize himself- I say not 'slaughter him,'\\r\\n For I intend but only to surprise him.\\r\\n You that will follow me to this attempt,\\r\\n Applaud the name of Henry with your leader.\\r\\n [They all cry 'Henry!']\\r\\n Why then, let's on our way in silent sort.\\r\\n For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Edward's camp, near Warwick\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter three WATCHMEN, to guard the KING'S tent\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST WATCHMAN. Come on, my masters, each man take his stand;\\r\\n The King by this is set him down to sleep.\\r\\n SECOND WATCHMAN. What, will he not to bed?\\r\\n FIRST WATCHMAN. Why, no; for he hath made a solemn vow\\r\\n Never to lie and take his natural rest\\r\\n Till Warwick or himself be quite suppress'd.\\r\\n SECOND WATCHMAN. To-morrow then, belike, shall be the day,\\r\\n If Warwick be so near as men report.\\r\\n THIRD WATCHMAN. But say, I pray, what nobleman is that\\r\\n That with the King here resteth in his tent?\\r\\n FIRST WATCHMAN. 'Tis the Lord Hastings, the King's chiefest friend.\\r\\n THIRD WATCHMAN. O, is it So? But why commands the King\\r\\n That his chief followers lodge in towns about him,\\r\\n While he himself keeps in the cold field?\\r\\n SECOND WATCHMAN. 'Tis the more honour, because more dangerous.\\r\\n THIRD WATCHMAN. Ay, but give me worship and quietness;\\r\\n I like it better than dangerous honour.\\r\\n If Warwick knew in what estate he stands,\\r\\n 'Tis to be doubted he would waken him.\\r\\n FIRST WATCHMAN. Unless our halberds did shut up his passage.\\r\\n SECOND WATCHMAN. Ay, wherefore else guard we his royal tent\\r\\n But to defend his person from night-foes?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter WARWICK, CLARENCE, OXFORD, SOMERSET,\\r\\n and French soldiers, silent all\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. This is his tent; and see where stand his guard.\\r\\n Courage, my masters! Honour now or never!\\r\\n But follow me, and Edward shall be ours.\\r\\n FIRST WATCHMAN. Who goes there?\\r\\n SECOND WATCHMAN. Stay, or thou diest.\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK and the rest cry all 'Warwick! Warwick!' and\\r\\n set upon the guard, who fly, crying 'Arm! Arm!' WARWICK\\r\\n and the rest following them\\r\\n\\r\\n The drum playing and trumpet sounding, re-enter WARWICK\\r\\n and the rest, bringing the KING out in his gown,\\r\\n sitting in a chair. GLOUCESTER and HASTINGS fly over the stage\\r\\n\\r\\n SOMERSET. What are they that fly there?\\r\\n WARWICK. Richard and Hastings. Let them go; here is the Duke.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. The Duke! Why, Warwick, when we parted,\\r\\n Thou call'dst me King?\\r\\n WARWICK. Ay, but the case is alter'd.\\r\\n When you disgrac'd me in my embassade,\\r\\n Then I degraded you from being King,\\r\\n And come now to create you Duke of York.\\r\\n Alas, how should you govern any kingdom\\r\\n That know not how to use ambassadors,\\r\\n Nor how to be contented with one wife,\\r\\n Nor how to use your brothers brotherly,\\r\\n Nor how to study for the people's welfare,\\r\\n Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies?\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Yea, brother of Clarence, art thou here too?\\r\\n Nay, then I see that Edward needs must down.\\r\\n Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance,\\r\\n Of thee thyself and all thy complices,\\r\\n Edward will always bear himself as King.\\r\\n Though fortune's malice overthrow my state,\\r\\n My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel.\\r\\n WARWICK. Then, for his mind, be Edward England's king;\\r\\n [Takes off his crown]\\r\\n But Henry now shall wear the English crown\\r\\n And be true King indeed; thou but the shadow.\\r\\n My Lord of Somerset, at my request,\\r\\n See that forthwith Duke Edward be convey'd\\r\\n Unto my brother, Archbishop of York.\\r\\n When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows,\\r\\n I'll follow you and tell what answer\\r\\n Lewis and the Lady Bona send to him.\\r\\n Now for a while farewell, good Duke of York.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. What fates impose, that men must needs abide;\\r\\n It boots not to resist both wind and tide.\\r\\n [They lead him out forcibly]\\r\\n OXFORD. What now remains, my lords, for us to do\\r\\n But march to London with our soldiers?\\r\\n WARWICK. Ay, that's the first thing that we have to do;\\r\\n To free King Henry from imprisonment,\\r\\n And see him seated in the regal throne. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. London. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter QUEEN ELIZABETH and RIVERS\\r\\n\\r\\n RIVERS. Madam, what makes you in this sudden change?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to learn\\r\\n What late misfortune is befall'n King Edward?\\r\\n RIVERS. What, loss of some pitch'd battle against Warwick?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. No, but the loss of his own royal person.\\r\\n RIVERS. Then is my sovereign slain?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner;\\r\\n Either betray'd by falsehood of his guard\\r\\n Or by his foe surpris'd at unawares;\\r\\n And, as I further have to understand,\\r\\n Is new committed to the Bishop of York,\\r\\n Fell Warwick's brother, and by that our foe.\\r\\n RIVERS. These news, I must confess, are full of grief;\\r\\n Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may:\\r\\n Warwick may lose that now hath won the day.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Till then, fair hope must hinder life's decay.\\r\\n And I the rather wean me from despair\\r\\n For love of Edward's offspring in my womb.\\r\\n This is it that makes me bridle passion\\r\\n And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross;\\r\\n Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear\\r\\n And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs,\\r\\n Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown\\r\\n King Edward's fruit, true heir to th' English crown.\\r\\n RIVERS. But, madam, where is Warwick then become?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. I am inform'd that he comes towards London\\r\\n To set the crown once more on Henry's head.\\r\\n Guess thou the rest: King Edward's friends must down.\\r\\n But to prevent the tyrant's violence-\\r\\n For trust not him that hath once broken faith-\\r\\n I'll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary\\r\\n To save at least the heir of Edward's right.\\r\\n There shall I rest secure from force and fraud.\\r\\n Come, therefore, let us fly while we may fly:\\r\\n If Warwick take us, we are sure to die. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. A park near Middleham Castle in Yorkshire\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter GLOUCESTER, LORD HASTINGS, SIR WILLIAM STANLEY, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Now, my Lord Hastings and Sir William Stanley,\\r\\n Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither\\r\\n Into this chiefest thicket of the park.\\r\\n Thus stands the case: you know our King, my brother,\\r\\n Is prisoner to the Bishop here, at whose hands\\r\\n He hath good usage and great liberty;\\r\\n And often but attended with weak guard\\r\\n Comes hunting this way to disport himself.\\r\\n I have advertis'd him by secret means\\r\\n That if about this hour he make this way,\\r\\n Under the colour of his usual game,\\r\\n He shall here find his friends, with horse and men,\\r\\n To set him free from his captivity.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING EDWARD and a HUNTSMAN with him\\r\\n\\r\\n HUNTSMAN. This way, my lord; for this way lies the game.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Nay, this way, man. See where the huntsmen stand.\\r\\n Now, brother of Gloucester, Lord Hastings, and the rest,\\r\\n Stand you thus close to steal the Bishop's deer?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Brother, the time and case requireth haste;\\r\\n Your horse stands ready at the park corner.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. But whither shall we then?\\r\\n HASTINGS. To Lynn, my lord; and shipt from thence to Flanders.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Well guess'd, believe me; for that was my meaning.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. But wherefore stay we? 'Tis no time to talk.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Huntsman, what say'st thou? Wilt thou go along?\\r\\n HUNTSMAN. Better do so than tarry and be hang'd.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Come then, away; let's ha' no more ado.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Bishop, farewell. Shield thee from Warwick's frown,\\r\\n And pray that I may repossess the crown. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. London. The Tower\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter KING HENRY, CLARENCE, WARWICK, SOMERSET, young HENRY,\\r\\nEARL OF RICHMOND, OXFORD, MONTAGUE, LIEUTENANT OF THE TOWER, and\\r\\nattendants\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY. Master Lieutenant, now that God and friends\\r\\n Have shaken Edward from the regal seat\\r\\n And turn'd my captive state to liberty,\\r\\n My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys,\\r\\n At our enlargement what are thy due fees?\\r\\n LIEUTENANT. Subjects may challenge nothing of their sov'reigns;\\r\\n But if an humble prayer may prevail,\\r\\n I then crave pardon of your Majesty.\\r\\n KING HENRY. For what, Lieutenant? For well using me?\\r\\n Nay, be thou sure I'll well requite thy kindness,\\r\\n For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure;\\r\\n Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds\\r\\n Conceive when, after many moody thoughts,\\r\\n At last by notes of household harmony\\r\\n They quite forget their loss of liberty.\\r\\n But, Warwick, after God, thou set'st me free,\\r\\n And chiefly therefore I thank God and thee;\\r\\n He was the author, thou the instrument.\\r\\n Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite\\r\\n By living low where fortune cannot hurt me,\\r\\n And that the people of this blessed land\\r\\n May not be punish'd with my thwarting stars,\\r\\n Warwick, although my head still wear the crown,\\r\\n I here resign my government to thee,\\r\\n For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds.\\r\\n WARWICK. Your Grace hath still been fam'd for virtuous,\\r\\n And now may seem as wise as virtuous\\r\\n By spying and avoiding fortune's malice,\\r\\n For few men rightly temper with the stars;\\r\\n Yet in this one thing let me blame your Grace,\\r\\n For choosing me when Clarence is in place.\\r\\n CLARENCE. No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway,\\r\\n To whom the heav'ns in thy nativity\\r\\n Adjudg'd an olive branch and laurel crown,\\r\\n As likely to be blest in peace and war;\\r\\n And therefore I yield thee my free consent.\\r\\n WARWICK. And I choose Clarence only for Protector.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Warwick and Clarence, give me both your hands.\\r\\n Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts,\\r\\n That no dissension hinder government.\\r\\n I make you both Protectors of this land,\\r\\n While I myself will lead a private life\\r\\n And in devotion spend my latter days,\\r\\n To sin's rebuke and my Creator's praise.\\r\\n WARWICK. What answers Clarence to his sovereign's will?\\r\\n CLARENCE. That he consents, if Warwick yield consent,\\r\\n For on thy fortune I repose myself.\\r\\n WARWICK. Why, then, though loath, yet must I be content.\\r\\n We'll yoke together, like a double shadow\\r\\n To Henry's body, and supply his place;\\r\\n I mean, in bearing weight of government,\\r\\n While he enjoys the honour and his ease.\\r\\n And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful\\r\\n Forthwith that Edward be pronounc'd a traitor,\\r\\n And all his lands and goods confiscated.\\r\\n CLARENCE. What else? And that succession be determin'd.\\r\\n WARWICK. Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his part.\\r\\n KING HENRY. But, with the first of all your chief affairs,\\r\\n Let me entreat- for I command no more-\\r\\n That Margaret your Queen and my son Edward\\r\\n Be sent for to return from France with speed;\\r\\n For till I see them here, by doubtful fear\\r\\n My joy of liberty is half eclips'd.\\r\\n CLARENCE. It shall be done, my sovereign, with all speed.\\r\\n KING HENRY. My Lord of Somerset, what youth is that,\\r\\n Of whom you seem to have so tender care?\\r\\n SOMERSET. My liege, it is young Henry, Earl of Richmond.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Come hither, England's hope.\\r\\n [Lays his hand on his head]\\r\\n If secret powers\\r\\n Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts,\\r\\n This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss.\\r\\n His looks are full of peaceful majesty;\\r\\n His head by nature fram'd to wear a crown,\\r\\n His hand to wield a sceptre; and himself\\r\\n Likely in time to bless a regal throne.\\r\\n Make much of him, my lords; for this is he\\r\\n Must help you more than you are hurt by me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a POST\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. What news, my friend?\\r\\n POST. That Edward is escaped from your brother\\r\\n And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy.\\r\\n WARWICK. Unsavoury news! But how made he escape?\\r\\n POST. He was convey'd by Richard Duke of Gloucester\\r\\n And the Lord Hastings, who attended him\\r\\n In secret ambush on the forest side\\r\\n And from the Bishop's huntsmen rescu'd him;\\r\\n For hunting was his daily exercise.\\r\\n WARWICK. My brother was too careless of his charge.\\r\\n But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide\\r\\n A salve for any sore that may betide.\\r\\n Exeunt all but SOMERSET, RICHMOND, and OXFORD\\r\\n SOMERSET. My lord, I like not of this flight of Edward's;\\r\\n For doubtless Burgundy will yield him help,\\r\\n And we shall have more wars befor't be long.\\r\\n As Henry's late presaging prophecy\\r\\n Did glad my heart with hope of this young Richmond,\\r\\n So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts,\\r\\n What may befall him to his harm and ours.\\r\\n Therefore, Lord Oxford, to prevent the worst,\\r\\n Forthwith we'll send him hence to Brittany,\\r\\n Till storms be past of civil enmity.\\r\\n OXFORD. Ay, for if Edward repossess the crown,\\r\\n 'Tis like that Richmond with the rest shall down.\\r\\n SOMERSET. It shall be so; he shall to Brittany.\\r\\n Come therefore, let's about it speedily. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. Before York\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Now, brother Richard, Lord Hastings, and the rest,\\r\\n Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends,\\r\\n And says that once more I shall interchange\\r\\n My waned state for Henry's regal crown.\\r\\n Well have we pass'd and now repass'd the seas,\\r\\n And brought desired help from Burgundy;\\r\\n What then remains, we being thus arriv'd\\r\\n From Ravenspurgh haven before the gates of York,\\r\\n But that we enter, as into our dukedom?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The gates made fast! Brother, I like not this;\\r\\n For many men that stumble at the threshold\\r\\n Are well foretold that danger lurks within.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Tush, man, abodements must not now affright us.\\r\\n By fair or foul means we must enter in,\\r\\n For hither will our friends repair to us.\\r\\n HASTINGS. My liege, I'll knock once more to summon them.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, on the walls, the MAYOR OF YORK and\\r\\n his BRETHREN\\r\\n\\r\\n MAYOR. My lords, we were forewarned of your coming\\r\\n And shut the gates for safety of ourselves,\\r\\n For now we owe allegiance unto Henry.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. But, Master Mayor, if Henry be your King,\\r\\n Yet Edward at the least is Duke of York.\\r\\n MAYOR. True, my good lord; I know you for no less.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Why, and I challenge nothing but my dukedom,\\r\\n As being well content with that alone.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside] But when the fox hath once got in his nose,\\r\\n He'll soon find means to make the body follow.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Why, Master Mayor, why stand you in a doubt?\\r\\n Open the gates; we are King Henry's friends.\\r\\n MAYOR. Ay, say you so? The gates shall then be open'd.\\r\\n [He descends]\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. A wise stout captain, and soon persuaded!\\r\\n HASTINGS. The good old man would fain that all were well,\\r\\n So 'twere not long of him; but being ent'red,\\r\\n I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade\\r\\n Both him and all his brothers unto reason.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, below, the MAYOR and two ALDERMEN\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. So, Master Mayor. These gates must not be shut\\r\\n But in the night or in the time of war.\\r\\n What! fear not, man, but yield me up the keys;\\r\\n [Takes his keys]\\r\\n For Edward will defend the town and thee,\\r\\n And all those friends that deign to follow me.\\r\\n\\r\\n March. Enter MONTGOMERY with drum and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Brother, this is Sir John Montgomery,\\r\\n Our trusty friend, unless I be deceiv'd.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Welcome, Sir john! But why come you in arms?\\r\\n MONTGOMERY. To help King Edward in his time of storm,\\r\\n As every loyal subject ought to do.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Thanks, good Montgomery; but we now forget\\r\\n Our title to the crown, and only claim\\r\\n Our dukedom till God please to send the rest.\\r\\n MONTGOMERY. Then fare you well, for I will hence again.\\r\\n I came to serve a king and not a duke.\\r\\n Drummer, strike up, and let us march away.\\r\\n [The drum begins to march]\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Nay, stay, Sir John, a while, and we'll debate\\r\\n By what safe means the crown may be recover'd.\\r\\n MONTGOMERY. What talk you of debating? In few words:\\r\\n If you'll not here proclaim yourself our King,\\r\\n I'll leave you to your fortune and be gone\\r\\n To keep them back that come to succour you.\\r\\n Why shall we fight, if you pretend no title?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice points?\\r\\n KING EDWARD. When we grow stronger, then we'll make our claim;\\r\\n Till then 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Away with scrupulous wit! Now arms must rule.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns.\\r\\n Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand;\\r\\n The bruit thereof will bring you many friends.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Then be it as you will; for 'tis my right,\\r\\n And Henry but usurps the diadem.\\r\\n MONTGOMERY. Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like himself;\\r\\n And now will I be Edward's champion.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Sound trumpet; Edward shall be here proclaim'd.\\r\\n Come, fellow soldier, make thou proclamation.\\r\\n [Gives him a paper. Flourish]\\r\\n SOLDIER. [Reads] 'Edward the Fourth, by the grace of God,\\r\\n King of England and France, and Lord of Ireland, &c.'\\r\\n MONTGOMERY. And whoso'er gainsays King Edward's right,\\r\\n By this I challenge him to single fight.\\r\\n [Throws down gauntlet]\\r\\n ALL. Long live Edward the Fourth!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Thanks, brave Montgomery, and thanks unto you all;\\r\\n If fortune serve me, I'll requite this kindness.\\r\\n Now for this night let's harbour here in York;\\r\\n And when the morning sun shall raise his car\\r\\n Above the border of this horizon,\\r\\n We'll forward towards Warwick and his mates;\\r\\n For well I wot that Henry is no soldier.\\r\\n Ah, froward Clarence, how evil it beseems the\\r\\n To flatter Henry and forsake thy brother!\\r\\n Yet, as we may, we'll meet both thee and Warwick.\\r\\n Come on, brave soldiers; doubt not of the day,\\r\\n And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VIII. London. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter KING HENRY, WARWICK, MONTAGUE, CLARENCE, OXFORD, and\\r\\nEXETER\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. What counsel, lords? Edward from Belgia,\\r\\n With hasty Germans and blunt Hollanders,\\r\\n Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow seas\\r\\n And with his troops doth march amain to London;\\r\\n And many giddy people flock to him.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Let's levy men and beat him back again.\\r\\n CLARENCE. A little fire is quickly trodden out,\\r\\n Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench.\\r\\n WARWICK. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends,\\r\\n Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war;\\r\\n Those will I muster up, and thou, son Clarence,\\r\\n Shalt stir up in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent,\\r\\n The knights and gentlemen to come with thee.\\r\\n Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham,\\r\\n Northampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find\\r\\n Men well inclin'd to hear what thou command'st.\\r\\n And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well belov'd,\\r\\n In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends.\\r\\n My sovereign, with the loving citizens,\\r\\n Like to his island girt in with the ocean\\r\\n Or modest Dian circled with her nymphs,\\r\\n Shall rest in London till we come to him.\\r\\n Fair lords, take leave and stand not to reply.\\r\\n Farewell, my sovereign.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Farewell, my Hector and my Troy's true hope.\\r\\n CLARENCE. In sign of truth, I kiss your Highness' hand.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate!\\r\\n MONTAGUE. Comfort, my lord; and so I take my leave.\\r\\n OXFORD. [Kissing the KING'S band] And thus I seal my truth and bid\\r\\n adieu.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague,\\r\\n And all at once, once more a happy farewell.\\r\\n WARWICK. Farewell, sweet lords; let's meet at Coventry.\\r\\n Exeunt all but the KING and EXETER\\r\\n KING HENRY. Here at the palace will I rest a while.\\r\\n Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship?\\r\\n Methinks the power that Edward hath in field\\r\\n Should not be able to encounter mine.\\r\\n EXETER. The doubt is that he will seduce the rest.\\r\\n KING HENRY. That's not my fear; my meed hath got me fame:\\r\\n I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands,\\r\\n Nor posted off their suits with slow delays;\\r\\n My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds,\\r\\n My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs,\\r\\n My mercy dried their water-flowing tears;\\r\\n I have not been desirous of their wealth,\\r\\n Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies,\\r\\n Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd.\\r\\n Then why should they love Edward more than me?\\r\\n No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace;\\r\\n And, when the lion fawns upon the lamb,\\r\\n The lamb will never cease to follow him.\\r\\n [Shout within 'A Lancaster! A Lancaster!']\\r\\n EXETER. Hark, hark, my lord! What shouts are these?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Seize on the shame-fac'd Henry, bear him hence;\\r\\n And once again proclaim us King of England.\\r\\n You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow.\\r\\n Now stops thy spring; my sea shall suck them dry,\\r\\n And swell so much the higher by their ebb.\\r\\n Hence with him to the Tower: let him not speak.\\r\\n Exeunt some with KING HENRY\\r\\n And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course,\\r\\n Where peremptory Warwick now remains.\\r\\n The sun shines hot; and, if we use delay,\\r\\n Cold biting winter mars our hop'd-for hay.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Away betimes, before his forces join,\\r\\n And take the great-grown traitor unawares.\\r\\n Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. Coventry\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter WARWICK, the MAYOR OF COVENTRY, two MESSENGERS, and others upon\\r\\nthe walls\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. Where is the post that came from valiant Oxford?\\r\\n How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow?\\r\\n FIRST MESSENGER. By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward.\\r\\n WARWICK. How far off is our brother Montague?\\r\\n Where is the post that came from Montague?\\r\\n SECOND MESSENGER. By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR JOHN SOMERVILLE\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. Say, Somerville, what says my loving son?\\r\\n And by thy guess how nigh is Clarence now?\\r\\n SOMERVILLE. At Southam I did leave him with his forces,\\r\\n And do expect him here some two hours hence.\\r\\n [Drum heard]\\r\\n WARWICK. Then Clarence is at hand; I hear his drum.\\r\\n SOMERVILLE. It is not his, my lord; here Southam lies.\\r\\n The drum your Honour hears marcheth from Warwick.\\r\\n WARWICK. Who should that be? Belike unlook'd for friends.\\r\\n SOMERVILLE. They are at hand, and you shall quickly know.\\r\\n\\r\\n March. Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER,\\r\\n and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a parle.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. See how the surly Warwick mans the wall.\\r\\n WARWICK. O unbid spite! Is sportful Edward come?\\r\\n Where slept our scouts or how are they seduc'd\\r\\n That we could hear no news of his repair?\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city gates,\\r\\n Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee,\\r\\n Call Edward King, and at his hands beg mercy?\\r\\n And he shall pardon thee these outrages.\\r\\n WARWICK. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence,\\r\\n Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down,\\r\\n Call Warwick patron, and be penitent?\\r\\n And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I thought, at least, he would have said the King;\\r\\n Or did he make the jest against his will?\\r\\n WARWICK. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give.\\r\\n I'll do thee service for so good a gift.\\r\\n WARWICK. 'Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy brother.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Why then 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's gift.\\r\\n WARWICK. Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight;\\r\\n And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again;\\r\\n And Henry is my King, Warwick his subject.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. But Warwick's king is Edward's prisoner.\\r\\n And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this:\\r\\n What is the body when the head is off?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast,\\r\\n But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten,\\r\\n The king was slily finger'd from the deck!\\r\\n You left poor Henry at the Bishop's palace,\\r\\n And ten to one you'll meet him in the Tower.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. 'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Come, Warwick, take the time; kneel down, kneel down.\\r\\n Nay, when? Strike now, or else the iron cools.\\r\\n WARWICK. I had rather chop this hand off at a blow,\\r\\n And with the other fling it at thy face,\\r\\n Than bear so low a sail to strike to thee.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide thy friend,\\r\\n This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair,\\r\\n Shall, whiles thy head is warm and new cut off,\\r\\n Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood:\\r\\n 'Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more.'\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter OXFORD, with drum and colours\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. O cheerful colours! See where Oxford comes.\\r\\n OXFORD. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster!\\r\\n [He and his forces enter the city]\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The gates are open, let us enter too.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. So other foes may set upon our backs.\\r\\n Stand we in good array, for they no doubt\\r\\n Will issue out again and bid us battle;\\r\\n If not, the city being but of small defence,\\r\\n We'll quietly rouse the traitors in the same.\\r\\n WARWICK. O, welcome, Oxford! for we want thy help.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MONTAGUE, with drum and colours\\r\\n\\r\\n MONTAGUE. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster!\\r\\n [He and his forces enter the city]\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Thou and thy brother both shall buy this treason\\r\\n Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. The harder match'd, the greater victory.\\r\\n My mind presageth happy gain and conquest.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SOMERSET, with drum and colours\\r\\n\\r\\n SOMERSET. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster!\\r\\n [He and his forces enter the city]\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset,\\r\\n Have sold their lives unto the house of York;\\r\\n And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CLARENCE, with drum and colours\\r\\n\\r\\n WARWICK. And lo where George of Clarence sweeps along,\\r\\n Of force enough to bid his brother battle;\\r\\n With whom an upright zeal to right prevails\\r\\n More than the nature of a brother's love.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Clarence, Clarence, for Lancaster!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Et tu Brute- wilt thou stab Caesar too?\\r\\n A parley, sirrah, to George of Clarence.\\r\\n [Sound a parley. RICHARD and CLARENCE whisper]\\r\\n WARWICK. Come, Clarence, come. Thou wilt if Warwick call.\\r\\n CLARENCE. [Taking the red rose from his hat and throwing\\r\\n it at WARWICK]\\r\\n Father of Warwick, know you what this means?\\r\\n Look here, I throw my infamy at thee.\\r\\n I will not ruinate my father's house,\\r\\n Who gave his blood to lime the stones together,\\r\\n And set up Lancaster. Why, trowest thou, Warwick,\\r\\n That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural,\\r\\n To bend the fatal instruments of war\\r\\n Against his brother and his lawful King?\\r\\n Perhaps thou wilt object my holy oath.\\r\\n To keep that oath were more impiety\\r\\n Than Jephtha when he sacrific'd his daughter.\\r\\n I am so sorry for my trespass made\\r\\n That, to deserve well at my brother's hands,\\r\\n I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe;\\r\\n With resolution whereso'er I meet thee-\\r\\n As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad-\\r\\n To plague thee for thy foul misleading me.\\r\\n And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee,\\r\\n And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks.\\r\\n Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends;\\r\\n And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults,\\r\\n For I will henceforth be no more unconstant.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Now welcome more, and ten times more belov'd,\\r\\n Than if thou never hadst deserv'd our hate.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Welcome, good Clarence; this is brother-like.\\r\\n WARWICK. O passing traitor, perjur'd and unjust!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave die town and fight?\\r\\n Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears?\\r\\n WARWICK. Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence!\\r\\n I will away towards Barnet presently\\r\\n And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar'st.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares and leads the way.\\r\\n Lords, to the field; Saint George and victory!\\r\\n Exeunt YORKISTS\\r\\n [March. WARWICK and his company follow]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A field of battle near Barnet\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum and excursions. Enter KING EDWARD, bringing forth WARWICK,\\r\\nwounded\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. So, lie thou there. Die thou, and die our fear;\\r\\n For Warwick was a bug that fear'd us all.\\r\\n Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee,\\r\\n That Warwick's bones may keep thine company. Exit\\r\\n WARWICK. Ah, who is nigh? Come to me, friend or foe,\\r\\n And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick?\\r\\n Why ask I that? My mangled body shows,\\r\\n My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows,\\r\\n That I must yield my body to the earth\\r\\n And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe.\\r\\n Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge,\\r\\n Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle,\\r\\n Under whose shade the ramping lion slept,\\r\\n Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree\\r\\n And kept low shrubs from winter's pow'rful wind.\\r\\n These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's black veil,\\r\\n Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun\\r\\n To search the secret treasons of the world;\\r\\n The wrinkles in my brows, now fill'd with blood,\\r\\n Were lik'ned oft to kingly sepulchres;\\r\\n For who liv'd King, but I could dig his grave?\\r\\n And who durst smile when Warwick bent his brow?\\r\\n Lo now my glory smear'd in dust and blood!\\r\\n My parks, my walks, my manors, that I had,\\r\\n Even now forsake me; and of all my lands\\r\\n Is nothing left me but my body's length.\\r\\n what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?\\r\\n And live we how we can, yet die we must.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter OXFORD and SOMERSET\\r\\n\\r\\n SOMERSET. Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as we are,\\r\\n We might recover all our loss again.\\r\\n The Queen from France hath brought a puissant power;\\r\\n Even now we heard the news. Ah, couldst thou fly!\\r\\n WARWICK. Why then, I would not fly. Ah, Montague,\\r\\n If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand,\\r\\n And with thy lips keep in my soul a while!\\r\\n Thou lov'st me not; for, brother, if thou didst,\\r\\n Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood\\r\\n That glues my lips and will not let me speak.\\r\\n Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Ah, Warwick! Montague hath breath'd his last;\\r\\n And to the latest gasp cried out for Warwick,\\r\\n And said 'Commend me to my valiant brother.'\\r\\n And more he would have said; and more he spoke,\\r\\n Which sounded like a clamour in a vault,\\r\\n That mought not be distinguish'd; but at last,\\r\\n I well might hear, delivered with a groan,\\r\\n 'O farewell, Warwick!'\\r\\n WARWICK. Sweet rest his soul! Fly, lords, and save yourselves:\\r\\n For Warwick bids you all farewell, to meet in heaven.\\r\\n [Dies]\\r\\n OXFORD. Away, away, to meet the Queen's great power!\\r\\n [Here they bear away his body]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Another part of the field\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter KING in triumph; with GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and the\\r\\nrest\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course,\\r\\n And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory.\\r\\n But in the midst of this bright-shining day\\r\\n I spy a black, suspicious, threat'ning cloud\\r\\n That will encounter with our glorious sun\\r\\n Ere he attain his easeful western bed-\\r\\n I mean, my lords, those powers that the Queen\\r\\n Hath rais'd in Gallia have arriv'd our coast\\r\\n And, as we hear, march on to fight with us.\\r\\n CLARENCE. A little gale will soon disperse that cloud\\r\\n And blow it to the source from whence it came;\\r\\n Thy very beams will dry those vapours up,\\r\\n For every cloud engenders not a storm.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The Queen is valued thirty thousand strong,\\r\\n And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her.\\r\\n If she have time to breathe, be well assur'd\\r\\n Her faction will be full as strong as ours.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. are advertis'd by our loving friends\\r\\n That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury;\\r\\n We, having now the best at Barnet field,\\r\\n Will thither straight, for willingness rids way;\\r\\n And as we march our strength will be augmented\\r\\n In every county as we go along.\\r\\n Strike up the drum; cry 'Courage!' and away. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Plains wear Tewksbury\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. March. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD, SOMERSET, OXFORD,\\r\\nand SOLDIERS\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their\\r\\n loss,\\r\\n But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.\\r\\n What though the mast be now blown overboard,\\r\\n The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost,\\r\\n And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood;\\r\\n Yet lives our pilot still. Is't meet that he\\r\\n Should leave the helm and, like a fearful lad,\\r\\n With tearful eyes add water to the sea\\r\\n And give more strength to that which hath too much;\\r\\n Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock,\\r\\n Which industry and courage might have sav'd?\\r\\n Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this!\\r\\n Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that?\\r\\n And Montague our top-mast; what of him?\\r\\n Our slaught'red friends the tackles; what of these?\\r\\n Why, is not Oxford here another anchor?\\r\\n And Somerset another goodly mast?\\r\\n The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings?\\r\\n And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I\\r\\n For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge?\\r\\n We will not from the helm to sit and weep,\\r\\n But keep our course, though the rough wind say no,\\r\\n From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck,\\r\\n As good to chide the waves as speak them fair.\\r\\n And what is Edward but a ruthless sea?\\r\\n What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit?\\r\\n And Richard but a ragged fatal rock?\\r\\n All these the enemies to our poor bark.\\r\\n Say you can swim; alas, 'tis but a while!\\r\\n Tread on the sand; why, there you quickly sink.\\r\\n Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off,\\r\\n Or else you famish- that's a threefold death.\\r\\n This speak I, lords, to let you understand,\\r\\n If case some one of you would fly from us,\\r\\n That there's no hop'd-for mercy with the brothers\\r\\n More than with ruthless waves, with sands, and rocks.\\r\\n Why, courage then! What cannot be avoided\\r\\n 'Twere childish weakness to lament or fear.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. Methinks a woman of this valiant spirit\\r\\n Should, if a coward hear her speak these words,\\r\\n Infuse his breast with magnanimity\\r\\n And make him naked foil a man-at-arms.\\r\\n I speak not this as doubting any here;\\r\\n For did I but suspect a fearful man,\\r\\n He should have leave to go away betimes,\\r\\n Lest in our need he might infect another\\r\\n And make him of the like spirit to himself.\\r\\n If any such be here- as God forbid!-\\r\\n Let him depart before we need his help.\\r\\n OXFORD. Women and children of so high a courage,\\r\\n And warriors faint! Why, 'twere perpetual shame.\\r\\n O brave young Prince! thy famous grandfather\\r\\n Doth live again in thee. Long mayst thou Eve\\r\\n To bear his image and renew his glories!\\r\\n SOMERSET. And he that will not fight for such a hope,\\r\\n Go home to bed and, like the owl by day,\\r\\n If he arise, be mock'd and wond'red at.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Thanks, gentle Somerset; sweet Oxford, thanks.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. And take his thanks that yet hath nothing else.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand\\r\\n Ready to fight; therefore be resolute.\\r\\n OXFORD. I thought no less. It is his policy\\r\\n To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided.\\r\\n SOMERSET. But he's deceiv'd; we are in readiness.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. This cheers my heart, to see your forwardness.\\r\\n OXFORD. Here pitch our battle; hence we will not budge.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish and march. Enter, at a distance, KING EDWARD,\\r\\n GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood\\r\\n Which, by the heavens' assistance and your strength,\\r\\n Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night.\\r\\n I need not add more fuel to your fire,\\r\\n For well I wot ye blaze to burn them out.\\r\\n Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say\\r\\n My tears gainsay; for every word I speak,\\r\\n Ye see, I drink the water of my eye.\\r\\n Therefore, no more but this: Henry, your sovereign,\\r\\n Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp'd,\\r\\n His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain,\\r\\n His statutes cancell'd, and his treasure spent;\\r\\n And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil.\\r\\n You fight in justice. Then, in God's name, lords,\\r\\n Be valiant, and give signal to the fight.\\r\\n Alarum, retreat, excursions. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Another part of the field\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and forces,\\r\\nWith QUEEN MARGARET, OXFORD, and SOMERSET, prisoners\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Now here a period of tumultuous broils.\\r\\n Away with Oxford to Hames Castle straight;\\r\\n For Somerset, off with his guilty head.\\r\\n Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak.\\r\\n OXFORD. For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words.\\r\\n SOMERSET. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune.\\r\\n Exeunt OXFORD and SOMERSET, guarded\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. So part we sadly in this troublous world,\\r\\n To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Is proclamation made that who finds Edward\\r\\n Shall have a high reward, and he his life?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. It is; and lo where youthful Edward comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter soldiers, with PRINCE EDWARD\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Bring forth the gallant; let us hear him speak.\\r\\n What, can so young a man begin to prick?\\r\\n Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make\\r\\n For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects,\\r\\n And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to?\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. Speak like a subject, proud ambitious York.\\r\\n Suppose that I am now my father's mouth;\\r\\n Resign thy chair, and where I stand kneel thou,\\r\\n Whilst I propose the self-same words to the\\r\\n Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Ah, that thy father had been so resolv'd!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. That you might still have worn the petticoat\\r\\n And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. Let Aesop fable in a winter's night;\\r\\n His currish riddle sorts not with this place.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. By heaven, brat, I'll plague ye for that word.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. For God's sake, take away this captive scold.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. Nay, take away this scolding crookback rather.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your tongue.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert.\\r\\n PRINCE OF WALES. I know my duty; you are all undutiful.\\r\\n Lascivious Edward, and thou perjur'd George,\\r\\n And thou misshapen Dick, I tell ye all\\r\\n I am your better, traitors as ye are;\\r\\n And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Take that, the likeness of this railer here.\\r\\n [Stabs him]\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Sprawl'st thou? Take that, to end thy agony.\\r\\n [Stabs him]\\r\\n CLARENCE. And there's for twitting me with perjury.\\r\\n [Stabs him]\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. O, kill me too!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Marry, and shall. [Offers to kill her]\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Hold, Richard, hold; for we have done to much.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why should she live to fill the world with words?\\r\\n KING EDWARD. What, doth she swoon? Use means for her recovery.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Clarence, excuse me to the King my brother.\\r\\n I'll hence to London on a serious matter;\\r\\n Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news.\\r\\n CLARENCE. What? what?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The Tower! the Tower! Exit\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. O Ned, sweet Ned, speak to thy mother, boy!\\r\\n Canst thou not speak? O traitors! murderers!\\r\\n They that stabb'd Caesar shed no blood at all,\\r\\n Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame,\\r\\n If this foul deed were by to equal it.\\r\\n He was a man: this, in respect, a child;\\r\\n And men ne'er spend their fury on a child.\\r\\n What's worse than murderer, that I may name it?\\r\\n No, no, my heart will burst, an if I speak-\\r\\n And I will speak, that so my heart may burst.\\r\\n Butchers and villains! bloody cannibals!\\r\\n How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd!\\r\\n You have no children, butchers, if you had,\\r\\n The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse.\\r\\n But if you ever chance to have a child,\\r\\n Look in his youth to have him so cut off\\r\\n As, deathsmen, you have rid this sweet young prince!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Away with her; go, bear her hence perforce.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Nay, never bear me hence; dispatch me here.\\r\\n Here sheathe thy sword; I'll pardon thee my death.\\r\\n What, wilt thou not? Then, Clarence, do it thou.\\r\\n CLARENCE. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou do it.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Didst thou not hear me swear I would not do it?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself.\\r\\n 'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity.\\r\\n What! wilt thou not? Where is that devil's butcher,\\r\\n Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thou?\\r\\n Thou art not here. Murder is thy alms-deed;\\r\\n Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Away, I say; I charge ye bear her hence.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. So come to you and yours as to this prince.\\r\\n Exit, led out forcibly\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Where's Richard gone?\\r\\n CLARENCE. To London, all in post; and, as I guess,\\r\\n To make a bloody supper in the Tower.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. He's sudden, if a thing comes in his head.\\r\\n Now march we hence. Discharge the common sort\\r\\n With pay and thanks; and let's away to London\\r\\n And see our gentle queen how well she fares.\\r\\n By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. London. The Tower\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter KING HENRY and GLOUCESTER with the LIEUTENANT, on the walls\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard?\\r\\n KING HENRY. Ay, my good lord- my lord, I should say rather.\\r\\n 'Tis sin to flatter; 'good' was little better.\\r\\n 'Good Gloucester' and 'good devil' were alike,\\r\\n And both preposterous; therefore, not 'good lord.'\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves; we must confer.\\r\\n Exit LIEUTENANT\\r\\n KING HENRY. So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf;\\r\\n So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece,\\r\\n And next his throat unto the butcher's knife.\\r\\n What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind:\\r\\n The thief doth fear each bush an officer.\\r\\n KING HENRY. The bird that hath been limed in a bush\\r\\n With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush;\\r\\n And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird,\\r\\n Have now the fatal object in my eye\\r\\n Where my poor young was lim'd, was caught, and kill'd.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete\\r\\n That taught his son the office of a fowl!\\r\\n And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd.\\r\\n KING HENRY. I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus;\\r\\n Thy father, Minos, that denied our course;\\r\\n The sun that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy,\\r\\n Thy brother Edward; and thyself, the sea\\r\\n Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life.\\r\\n Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words!\\r\\n My breast can better brook thy dagger's point\\r\\n Than can my ears that tragic history.\\r\\n But wherefore dost thou come? Is't for my life?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Think'st thou I am an executioner?\\r\\n KING HENRY. A persecutor I am sure thou art.\\r\\n If murdering innocents be executing,\\r\\n Why, then thou are an executioner.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Hadst thou been kill'd when first thou didst presume,\\r\\n Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine.\\r\\n And thus I prophesy, that many a thousand\\r\\n Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear,\\r\\n And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's,\\r\\n And many an orphan's water-standing eye-\\r\\n Men for their sons, wives for their husbands,\\r\\n Orphans for their parents' timeless death-\\r\\n Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.\\r\\n The owl shriek'd at thy birth- an evil sign;\\r\\n The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time;\\r\\n Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempest shook down trees;\\r\\n The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top,\\r\\n And chatt'ring pies in dismal discords sung;\\r\\n Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain,\\r\\n And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope,\\r\\n To wit, an indigest deformed lump,\\r\\n Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.\\r\\n Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born,\\r\\n To signify thou cam'st to bite the world;\\r\\n And if the rest be true which I have heard,\\r\\n Thou cam'st-\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I'll hear no more. Die, prophet, in thy speech.\\r\\n [Stabs him]\\r\\n For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Ay, and for much more slaughter after this.\\r\\n O, God forgive my sins and pardon thee! [Dies]\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster\\r\\n Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted.\\r\\n See how my sword weeps for the poor King's death.\\r\\n O, may such purple tears be always shed\\r\\n From those that wish the downfall of our house!\\r\\n If any spark of life be yet remaining,\\r\\n Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither-\\r\\n [Stabs him again]\\r\\n I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear.\\r\\n Indeed, 'tis true that Henry told me of;\\r\\n For I have often heard my mother say\\r\\n I came into the world with my legs forward.\\r\\n Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste\\r\\n And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right?\\r\\n The midwife wonder'd; and the women cried\\r\\n 'O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!'\\r\\n And so I was, which plainly signified\\r\\n That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog.\\r\\n Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body so,\\r\\n Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it.\\r\\n I have no brother, I am like no brother;\\r\\n And this word 'love,' which greybeards call divine,\\r\\n Be resident in men like one another,\\r\\n And not in me! I am myself alone.\\r\\n Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light,\\r\\n But I will sort a pitchy day for thee;\\r\\n For I will buzz abroad such prophecies\\r\\n That Edward shall be fearful of his life;\\r\\n And then to purge his fear, I'll be thy death.\\r\\n King Henry and the Prince his son are gone.\\r\\n Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest;\\r\\n Counting myself but bad till I be best.\\r\\n I'll throw thy body in another room,\\r\\n And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom.\\r\\n Exit with the body\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. London. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter KING EDWARD, QUEEN ELIZABETH, CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER,\\r\\nHASTINGS, NURSE, with the Young PRINCE, and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Once more we sit in England's royal throne,\\r\\n Repurchas'd with the blood of enemies.\\r\\n What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn,\\r\\n Have we mow'd down in tops of all their pride!\\r\\n Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd\\r\\n For hardy and undoubted champions;\\r\\n Two Cliffords, as the father and the son;\\r\\n And two Northumberlands- two braver men\\r\\n Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound;\\r\\n With them the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague,\\r\\n That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion\\r\\n And made the forest tremble when they roar'd.\\r\\n Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat\\r\\n And made our footstool of security.\\r\\n Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy.\\r\\n Young Ned, for thee thine uncles and myself\\r\\n Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night,\\r\\n Went all afoot in summer's scalding heat,\\r\\n That thou might'st repossess the crown in peace;\\r\\n And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside] I'll blast his harvest if your head were laid;\\r\\n For yet I am not look'd on in the world.\\r\\n This shoulder was ordain'd so thick to heave;\\r\\n And heave it shall some weight or break my back.\\r\\n Work thou the way- and that shall execute.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Clarence and Gloucester, love my lovely queen;\\r\\n And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.\\r\\n CLARENCE. The duty that I owe unto your Majesty\\r\\n I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, thanks.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And that I love the tree from whence thou sprang'st,\\r\\n Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit.\\r\\n [Aside] To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master\\r\\n And cried 'All hail!' when as he meant all harm.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Now am I seated as my soul delights,\\r\\n Having my country's peace and brothers' loves.\\r\\n CLARENCE. What will your Grace have done with Margaret?\\r\\n Reignier, her father, to the King of France\\r\\n Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem,\\r\\n And hither have they sent it for her ransom.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Away with her, and waft her hence to France.\\r\\n And now what rests but that we spend the time\\r\\n With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows,\\r\\n Such as befits the pleasure of the court?\\r\\n Sound drums and trumpets. Farewell, sour annoy!\\r\\n For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nKING HENRY THE EIGHTH\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\\r\\n\\r\\n KING HENRY THE EIGHTH\\r\\n CARDINAL WOLSEY CARDINAL CAMPEIUS\\r\\n CAPUCIUS, Ambassador from the Emperor Charles V\\r\\n CRANMER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY\\r\\n DUKE OF NORFOLK DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n DUKE OF SUFFOLK EARL OF SURREY\\r\\n LORD CHAMBERLAIN LORD CHANCELLOR\\r\\n GARDINER, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER\\r\\n BISHOP OF LINCOLN LORD ABERGAVENNY\\r\\n LORD SANDYS SIR HENRY GUILDFORD\\r\\n SIR THOMAS LOVELL SIR ANTHONY DENNY\\r\\n SIR NICHOLAS VAUX SECRETARIES to Wolsey\\r\\n CROMWELL, servant to Wolsey\\r\\n GRIFFITH, gentleman-usher to Queen Katharine\\r\\n THREE GENTLEMEN\\r\\n DOCTOR BUTTS, physician to the King\\r\\n GARTER KING-AT-ARMS\\r\\n SURVEYOR to the Duke of Buckingham\\r\\n BRANDON, and a SERGEANT-AT-ARMS\\r\\n DOORKEEPER Of the Council chamber\\r\\n PORTER, and his MAN PAGE to Gardiner\\r\\n A CRIER\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE, wife to King Henry, afterwards divorced\\r\\n ANNE BULLEN, her Maid of Honour, afterwards Queen\\r\\n AN OLD LADY, friend to Anne Bullen\\r\\n PATIENCE, woman to Queen Katharine\\r\\n\\r\\n Lord Mayor, Aldermen, Lords and Ladies in the Dumb\\r\\n Shows; Women attending upon the Queen; Scribes,\\r\\n Officers, Guards, and other Attendants; Spirits\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE:\\r\\n\\r\\n London; Westminster; Kimbolton\",\n", + " ' KING HENRY THE EIGHTH\\r\\n\\r\\n THE PROLOGUE.\\r\\n\\r\\n I come no more to make you laugh; things now\\r\\n That bear a weighty and a serious brow,\\r\\n Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,\\r\\n Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,\\r\\n We now present. Those that can pity here\\r\\n May, if they think it well, let fall a tear:\\r\\n The subject will deserve it. Such as give\\r\\n Their money out of hope they may believe\\r\\n May here find truth too. Those that come to see\\r\\n Only a show or two, and so agree\\r\\n The play may pass, if they be still and willing,\\r\\n I\\'ll undertake may see away their shilling\\r\\n Richly in two short hours. Only they\\r\\n That come to hear a merry bawdy play,\\r\\n A noise of targets, or to see a fellow\\r\\n In a long motley coat guarded with yellow,\\r\\n Will be deceiv\\'d; for, gentle hearers, know,\\r\\n To rank our chosen truth with such a show\\r\\n As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting\\r\\n Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring\\r\\n To make that only true we now intend,\\r\\n Will leave us never an understanding friend.\\r\\n Therefore, for goodness sake, and as you are known\\r\\n The first and happiest hearers of the town,\\r\\n Be sad, as we would make ye. Think ye see\\r\\n The very persons of our noble story\\r\\n As they were living; think you see them great,\\r\\n And follow\\'d with the general throng and sweat\\r\\n Of thousand friends; then, in a moment, see\\r\\n How soon this mightiness meets misery.\\r\\n And if you can be merry then, I\\'ll say\\r\\n A man may weep upon his wedding-day.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the DUKE OF NORFOLK at one door; at the other, the DUKE OF\\r\\nBUCKINGHAM and the LORD ABERGAVENNY\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done\\r\\n Since last we saw in France?\\r\\n NORFOLK. I thank your Grace,\\r\\n Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer\\r\\n Of what I saw there.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. An untimely ague\\r\\n Stay\\'d me a prisoner in my chamber when\\r\\n Those suns of glory, those two lights of men,\\r\\n Met in the vale of Andren.\\r\\n NORFOLK. \\'Twixt Guynes and Arde-\\r\\n I was then present, saw them salute on horseback;\\r\\n Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung\\r\\n In their embracement, as they grew together;\\r\\n Which had they, what four thron\\'d ones could have weigh\\'d\\r\\n Such a compounded one?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. All the whole time\\r\\n I was my chamber\\'s prisoner.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Then you lost\\r\\n The view of earthly glory; men might say,\\r\\n Till this time pomp was single, but now married\\r\\n To one above itself. Each following day\\r\\n Became the next day\\'s master, till the last\\r\\n Made former wonders its. To-day the French,\\r\\n All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,\\r\\n Shone down the English; and to-morrow they\\r\\n Made Britain India: every man that stood\\r\\n Show\\'d like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were\\r\\n As cherubins, an gilt; the madams too,\\r\\n Not us\\'d to toil, did almost sweat to bear\\r\\n The pride upon them, that their very labour\\r\\n Was to them as a painting. Now this masque\\r\\n Was cried incomparable; and th\\' ensuing night\\r\\n Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings,\\r\\n Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst,\\r\\n As presence did present them: him in eye\\r\\n still him in praise; and being present both,\\r\\n \\'Twas said they saw but one, and no discerner\\r\\n Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns-\\r\\n For so they phrase \\'em-by their heralds challeng\\'d\\r\\n The noble spirits to arms, they did perform\\r\\n Beyond thought\\'s compass, that former fabulous story,\\r\\n Being now seen possible enough, got credit,\\r\\n That Bevis was believ\\'d.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. O, you go far!\\r\\n NORFOLK. As I belong to worship, and affect\\r\\n In honour honesty, the tract of ev\\'rything\\r\\n Would by a good discourser lose some life\\r\\n Which action\\'s self was tongue to. All was royal:\\r\\n To the disposing of it nought rebell\\'d;\\r\\n Order gave each thing view. The office did\\r\\n Distinctly his full function.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Who did guide-\\r\\n I mean, who set the body and the limbs\\r\\n Of this great sport together, as you guess?\\r\\n NORFOLK. One, certes, that promises no element\\r\\n In such a business.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I pray you, who, my lord?\\r\\n NORFOLK. All this was ord\\'red by the good discretion\\r\\n Of the right reverend Cardinal of York.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. The devil speed him! No man\\'s pie is freed\\r\\n From his ambitious finger. What had he\\r\\n To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder\\r\\n That such a keech can with his very bulk\\r\\n Take up the rays o\\' th\\' beneficial sun,\\r\\n And keep it from the earth.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Surely, sir,\\r\\n There\\'s in him stuff that puts him to these ends;\\r\\n For, being not propp\\'d by ancestry, whose grace\\r\\n Chalks successors their way, nor call\\'d upon\\r\\n For high feats done to th\\' crown, neither allied\\r\\n To eminent assistants, but spider-like,\\r\\n Out of his self-drawing web, \\'a gives us note\\r\\n The force of his own merit makes his way-\\r\\n A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys\\r\\n A place next to the King.\\r\\n ABERGAVENNY. I cannot tell\\r\\n What heaven hath given him-let some graver eye\\r\\n Pierce into that; but I can see his pride\\r\\n Peep through each part of him. Whence has he that?\\r\\n If not from hell, the devil is a niggard\\r\\n Or has given all before, and he begins\\r\\n A new hell in himself.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Why the devil,\\r\\n Upon this French going out, took he upon him-\\r\\n Without the privity o\\' th\\' King-t\\' appoint\\r\\n Who should attend on him? He makes up the file\\r\\n Of all the gentry; for the most part such\\r\\n To whom as great a charge as little honour\\r\\n He meant to lay upon; and his own letter,\\r\\n The honourable board of council out,\\r\\n Must fetch him in he papers.\\r\\n ABERGAVENNY. I do know\\r\\n Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have\\r\\n By this so sicken\\'d their estates that never\\r\\n They shall abound as formerly.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. O, many\\r\\n Have broke their backs with laying manors on \\'em\\r\\n For this great journey. What did this vanity\\r\\n But minister communication of\\r\\n A most poor issue?\\r\\n NORFOLK. Grievingly I think\\r\\n The peace between the French and us not values\\r\\n The cost that did conclude it.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Every man,\\r\\n After the hideous storm that follow\\'d, was\\r\\n A thing inspir\\'d, and, not consulting, broke\\r\\n Into a general prophecy-that this tempest,\\r\\n Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded\\r\\n The sudden breach on\\'t.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Which is budded out;\\r\\n For France hath flaw\\'d the league, and hath attach\\'d\\r\\n Our merchants\\' goods at Bordeaux.\\r\\n ABERGAVENNY. Is it therefore\\r\\n Th\\' ambassador is silenc\\'d?\\r\\n NORFOLK. Marry, is\\'t.\\r\\n ABERGAVENNY. A proper tide of a peace, and purchas\\'d\\r\\n At a superfluous rate!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Why, all this business\\r\\n Our reverend Cardinal carried.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Like it your Grace,\\r\\n The state takes notice of the private difference\\r\\n Betwixt you and the Cardinal. I advise you-\\r\\n And take it from a heart that wishes towards you\\r\\n Honour and plenteous safety-that you read\\r\\n The Cardinal\\'s malice and his potency\\r\\n Together; to consider further, that\\r\\n What his high hatred would effect wants not\\r\\n A minister in his power. You know his nature,\\r\\n That he\\'s revengeful; and I know his sword\\r\\n Hath a sharp edge-it\\'s long and\\'t may be said\\r\\n It reaches far, and where \\'twill not extend,\\r\\n Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel\\r\\n You\\'ll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock\\r\\n That I advise your shunning.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, the purse borne before him, certain of the\\r\\n guard, and two SECRETARIES with papers. The CARDINAL in his\\r\\n passage fixeth his eye on BUCKINGHAM, and BUCKINGHAM on him, both\\r\\n full of disdain\\r\\n\\r\\n WOLSEY. The Duke of Buckingham\\'s surveyor? Ha!\\r\\n Where\\'s his examination?\\r\\n SECRETARY. Here, so please you.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Is he in person ready?\\r\\n SECRETARY. Ay, please your Grace.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Well, we shall then know more, and Buckingham\\r\\n shall lessen this big look.\\r\\n Exeunt WOLSEY and his train\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. This butcher\\'s cur is venom-mouth\\'d, and I\\r\\n Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best\\r\\n Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar\\'s book\\r\\n Outworths a noble\\'s blood.\\r\\n NORFOLK. What, are you chaf\\'d?\\r\\n Ask God for temp\\'rance; that\\'s th\\' appliance only\\r\\n Which your disease requires.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I read in\\'s looks\\r\\n Matter against me, and his eye revil\\'d\\r\\n Me as his abject object. At this instant\\r\\n He bores me with some trick. He\\'s gone to th\\' King;\\r\\n I\\'ll follow, and outstare him.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Stay, my lord,\\r\\n And let your reason with your choler question\\r\\n What \\'tis you go about. To climb steep hills\\r\\n Requires slow pace at first. Anger is like\\r\\n A full hot horse, who being allow\\'d his way,\\r\\n Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England\\r\\n Can advise me like you; be to yourself\\r\\n As you would to your friend.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I\\'ll to the King,\\r\\n And from a mouth of honour quite cry down\\r\\n This Ipswich fellow\\'s insolence; or proclaim\\r\\n There\\'s difference in no persons.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Be advis\\'d:\\r\\n Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot\\r\\n That it do singe yourself. We may outrun\\r\\n By violent swiftness that which we run at,\\r\\n And lose by over-running. Know you not\\r\\n The fire that mounts the liquor till\\'t run o\\'er\\r\\n In seeming to augment it wastes it? Be advis\\'d.\\r\\n I say again there is no English soul\\r\\n More stronger to direct you than yourself,\\r\\n If with the sap of reason you would quench\\r\\n Or but allay the fire of passion.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Sir,\\r\\n I am thankful to you, and I\\'ll go along\\r\\n By your prescription; but this top-proud fellow-\\r\\n Whom from the flow of gan I name not, but\\r\\n From sincere motions, by intelligence,\\r\\n And proofs as clear as founts in July when\\r\\n We see each grain of gravel-I do know\\r\\n To be corrupt and treasonous.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Say not treasonous.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. To th\\' King I\\'ll say\\'t, and make my vouch as strong\\r\\n As shore of rock. Attend: this holy fox,\\r\\n Or wolf, or both-for he is equal rav\\'nous\\r\\n As he is subtle, and as prone to mischief\\r\\n As able to perform\\'t, his mind and place\\r\\n Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally-\\r\\n Only to show his pomp as well in France\\r\\n As here at home, suggests the King our master\\r\\n To this last costly treaty, th\\' interview\\r\\n That swallowed so much treasure and like a glass\\r\\n Did break i\\' th\\' wrenching.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Faith, and so it did.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Pray, give me favour, sir; this cunning cardinal\\r\\n The articles o\\' th\\' combination drew\\r\\n As himself pleas\\'d; and they were ratified\\r\\n As he cried \\'Thus let be\\' to as much end\\r\\n As give a crutch to th\\' dead. But our Count-Cardinal\\r\\n Has done this, and \\'tis well; for worthy Wolsey,\\r\\n Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows,\\r\\n Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy\\r\\n To th\\' old dam treason: Charles the Emperor,\\r\\n Under pretence to see the Queen his aunt-\\r\\n For \\'twas indeed his colour, but he came\\r\\n To whisper Wolsey-here makes visitation-\\r\\n His fears were that the interview betwixt\\r\\n England and France might through their amity\\r\\n Breed him some prejudice; for from this league\\r\\n Peep\\'d harms that menac\\'d him-privily\\r\\n Deals with our Cardinal; and, as I trow-\\r\\n Which I do well, for I am sure the Emperor\\r\\n Paid ere he promis\\'d; whereby his suit was granted\\r\\n Ere it was ask\\'d-but when the way was made,\\r\\n And pav\\'d with gold, the Emperor thus desir\\'d,\\r\\n That he would please to alter the King\\'s course,\\r\\n And break the foresaid peace. Let the King know,\\r\\n As soon he shall by me, that thus the Cardinal\\r\\n Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases,\\r\\n And for his own advantage.\\r\\n NORFOLK. I am sorry\\r\\n To hear this of him, and could wish he were\\r\\n Something mistaken in\\'t.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. No, not a syllable:\\r\\n I do pronounce him in that very shape\\r\\n He shall appear in proof.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BRANDON, a SERGEANT-AT-ARMS before him,\\r\\n and two or three of the guard\\r\\n\\r\\n BRANDON. Your office, sergeant: execute it.\\r\\n SERGEANT. Sir,\\r\\n My lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl\\r\\n Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I\\r\\n Arrest thee of high treason, in the name\\r\\n Of our most sovereign King.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Lo you, my lord,\\r\\n The net has fall\\'n upon me! I shall perish\\r\\n Under device and practice.\\r\\n BRANDON. I am sorry\\r\\n To see you ta\\'en from liberty, to look on\\r\\n The business present; \\'tis his Highness\\' pleasure\\r\\n You shall to th\\' Tower.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. It will help nothing\\r\\n To plead mine innocence; for that dye is on me\\r\\n Which makes my whit\\'st part black. The will of heav\\'n\\r\\n Be done in this and all things! I obey.\\r\\n O my Lord Aberga\\'ny, fare you well!\\r\\n BRANDON. Nay, he must bear you company.\\r\\n [To ABERGAVENNY] The King\\r\\n Is pleas\\'d you shall to th\\' Tower, till you know\\r\\n How he determines further.\\r\\n ABERGAVENNY. As the Duke said,\\r\\n The will of heaven be done, and the King\\'s pleasure\\r\\n By me obey\\'d.\\r\\n BRANDON. Here is warrant from\\r\\n The King t\\' attach Lord Montacute and the bodies\\r\\n Of the Duke\\'s confessor, John de la Car,\\r\\n One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor-\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. So, so!\\r\\n These are the limbs o\\' th\\' plot; no more, I hope.\\r\\n BRANDON. A monk o\\' th\\' Chartreux.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. O, Nicholas Hopkins?\\r\\n BRANDON. He.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My surveyor is false. The o\\'er-great Cardinal\\r\\n Hath show\\'d him gold; my life is spann\\'d already.\\r\\n I am the shadow of poor Buckingham,\\r\\n Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on\\r\\n By dark\\'ning my clear sun. My lord, farewell.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The Council Chamber\\r\\n\\r\\nCornets. Enter KING HENRY, leaning on the CARDINAL\\'S shoulder, the\\r\\nNOBLES, and SIR THOMAS LOVELL, with others. The CARDINAL places himself\\r\\nunder the KING\\'S feet on his right side\\r\\n\\r\\n KING. My life itself, and the best heart of it,\\r\\n Thanks you for this great care; I stood i\\' th\\' level\\r\\n Of a full-charg\\'d confederacy, and give thanks\\r\\n To you that chok\\'d it. Let be call\\'d before us\\r\\n That gentleman of Buckingham\\'s. In person\\r\\n I\\'ll hear his confessions justify;\\r\\n And point by point the treasons of his master\\r\\n He shall again relate.\\r\\n\\r\\n A noise within, crying \\'Room for the Queen!\\' Enter the QUEEN,\\r\\n usher\\'d by the DUKES OF NORFOLK and SUFFOLK; she kneels. The KING\\r\\n riseth from his state, takes her up, kisses and placeth her by\\r\\n him\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Nay, we must longer kneel: I am suitor.\\r\\n KING. Arise, and take place by us. Half your suit\\r\\n Never name to us: you have half our power.\\r\\n The other moiety ere you ask is given;\\r\\n Repeat your will, and take it.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Thank your Majesty.\\r\\n That you would love yourself, and in that love\\r\\n Not unconsidered leave your honour nor\\r\\n The dignity of your office, is the point\\r\\n Of my petition.\\r\\n KING. Lady mine, proceed.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. I am solicited, not by a few,\\r\\n And those of true condition, that your subjects\\r\\n Are in great grievance: there have been commissions\\r\\n Sent down among \\'em which hath flaw\\'d the heart\\r\\n Of all their loyalties; wherein, although,\\r\\n My good Lord Cardinal, they vent reproaches\\r\\n Most bitterly on you as putter-on\\r\\n Of these exactions, yet the King our master-\\r\\n Whose honour Heaven shield from soil!-even he escapes not\\r\\n Language unmannerly; yea, such which breaks\\r\\n The sides of loyalty, and almost appears\\r\\n In loud rebellion.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Not almost appears-\\r\\n It doth appear; for, upon these taxations,\\r\\n The clothiers all, not able to maintain\\r\\n The many to them \\'longing, have put of\\r\\n The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who\\r\\n Unfit for other life, compell\\'d by hunger\\r\\n And lack of other means, in desperate manner\\r\\n Daring th\\' event to th\\' teeth, are all in uproar,\\r\\n And danger serves among them.\\r\\n KING. Taxation!\\r\\n Wherein? and what taxation? My Lord Cardinal,\\r\\n You that are blam\\'d for it alike with us,\\r\\n Know you of this taxation?\\r\\n WOLSEY. Please you, sir,\\r\\n I know but of a single part in aught\\r\\n Pertains to th\\' state, and front but in that file\\r\\n Where others tell steps with me.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. No, my lord!\\r\\n You know no more than others! But you frame\\r\\n Things that are known alike, which are not wholesome\\r\\n To those which would not know them, and yet must\\r\\n Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions,\\r\\n Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are\\r\\n Most pestilent to th\\' hearing; and to bear \\'em\\r\\n The back is sacrifice to th\\' load. They say\\r\\n They are devis\\'d by you, or else you suffer\\r\\n Too hard an exclamation.\\r\\n KING. Still exaction!\\r\\n The nature of it? In what kind, let\\'s know,\\r\\n Is this exaction?\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. I am much too venturous\\r\\n In tempting of your patience, but am bold\\'ned\\r\\n Under your promis\\'d pardon. The subjects\\' grief\\r\\n Comes through commissions, which compels from each\\r\\n The sixth part of his substance, to be levied\\r\\n Without delay; and the pretence for this\\r\\n Is nam\\'d your wars in France. This makes bold mouths;\\r\\n Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze\\r\\n Allegiance in them; their curses now\\r\\n Live where their prayers did; and it\\'s come to pass\\r\\n This tractable obedience is a slave\\r\\n To each incensed will. I would your Highness\\r\\n Would give it quick consideration, for\\r\\n There is no primer business.\\r\\n KING. By my life,\\r\\n This is against our pleasure.\\r\\n WOLSEY. And for me,\\r\\n I have no further gone in this than by\\r\\n A single voice; and that not pass\\'d me but\\r\\n By learned approbation of the judges. If I am\\r\\n Traduc\\'d by ignorant tongues, which neither know\\r\\n My faculties nor person, yet will be\\r\\n The chronicles of my doing, let me say\\r\\n \\'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake\\r\\n That virtue must go through. We must not stint\\r\\n Our necessary actions in the fear\\r\\n To cope malicious censurers, which ever\\r\\n As rav\\'nous fishes do a vessel follow\\r\\n That is new-trimm\\'d, but benefit no further\\r\\n Than vainly longing. What we oft do best,\\r\\n By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is\\r\\n Not ours, or not allow\\'d; what worst, as oft\\r\\n Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up\\r\\n For our best act. If we shall stand still,\\r\\n In fear our motion will be mock\\'d or carp\\'d at,\\r\\n We should take root here where we sit, or sit\\r\\n State-statues only.\\r\\n KING. Things done well\\r\\n And with a care exempt themselves from fear:\\r\\n Things done without example, in their issue\\r\\n Are to be fear\\'d. Have you a precedent\\r\\n Of this commission? I believe, not any.\\r\\n We must not rend our subjects from our laws,\\r\\n And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each?\\r\\n A trembling contribution! Why, we take\\r\\n From every tree lop, bark, and part o\\' th\\' timber;\\r\\n And though we leave it with a root, thus hack\\'d,\\r\\n The air will drink the sap. To every county\\r\\n Where this is question\\'d send our letters with\\r\\n Free pardon to each man that has denied\\r\\n The force of this commission. Pray, look tot;\\r\\n I put it to your care.\\r\\n WOLSEY. [Aside to the SECRETARY] A word with you.\\r\\n Let there be letters writ to every shire\\r\\n Of the King\\'s grace and pardon. The grieved commons\\r\\n Hardly conceive of me-let it be nois\\'d\\r\\n That through our intercession this revokement\\r\\n And pardon comes. I shall anon advise you\\r\\n Further in the proceeding. Exit SECRETARY\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SURVEYOR\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. I am sorry that the Duke of Buckingham\\r\\n Is run in your displeasure.\\r\\n KING. It grieves many.\\r\\n The gentleman is learn\\'d and a most rare speaker;\\r\\n To nature none more bound; his training such\\r\\n That he may furnish and instruct great teachers\\r\\n And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet see,\\r\\n When these so noble benefits shall prove\\r\\n Not well dispos\\'d, the mind growing once corrupt,\\r\\n They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly\\r\\n Than ever they were fair. This man so complete,\\r\\n Who was enroll\\'d \\'mongst wonders, and when we,\\r\\n Almost with ravish\\'d list\\'ning, could not find\\r\\n His hour of speech a minute-he, my lady,\\r\\n Hath into monstrous habits put the graces\\r\\n That once were his, and is become as black\\r\\n As if besmear\\'d in hell. Sit by us; you shall hear-\\r\\n This was his gentleman in trust-of him\\r\\n Things to strike honour sad. Bid him recount\\r\\n The fore-recited practices, whereof\\r\\n We cannot feel too little, hear too much.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate what you,\\r\\n Most like a careful subject, have collected\\r\\n Out of the Duke of Buckingham.\\r\\n KING. Speak freely.\\r\\n SURVEYOR. First, it was usual with him-every day\\r\\n It would infect his speech-that if the King\\r\\n Should without issue die, he\\'ll carry it so\\r\\n To make the sceptre his. These very words\\r\\n I\\'ve heard him utter to his son-in-law,\\r\\n Lord Aberga\\'ny, to whom by oath he menac\\'d\\r\\n Revenge upon the Cardinal.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Please your Highness, note\\r\\n This dangerous conception in this point:\\r\\n Not friended by his wish, to your high person\\r\\n His will is most malignant, and it stretches\\r\\n Beyond you to your friends.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. My learn\\'d Lord Cardinal,\\r\\n Deliver all with charity.\\r\\n KING. Speak on.\\r\\n How grounded he his title to the crown\\r\\n Upon our fail? To this point hast thou heard him\\r\\n At any time speak aught?\\r\\n SURVEYOR. He was brought to this\\r\\n By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Henton.\\r\\n KING. What was that Henton?\\r\\n SURVEYOR. Sir, a Chartreux friar,\\r\\n His confessor, who fed him every minute\\r\\n With words of sovereignty.\\r\\n KING. How know\\'st thou this?\\r\\n SURVEYOR. Not long before your Highness sped to France,\\r\\n The Duke being at the Rose, within the parish\\r\\n Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand\\r\\n What was the speech among the Londoners\\r\\n Concerning the French journey. I replied\\r\\n Men fear\\'d the French would prove perfidious,\\r\\n To the King\\'s danger. Presently the Duke\\r\\n Said \\'twas the fear indeed and that he doubted\\r\\n \\'Twould prove the verity of certain words\\r\\n Spoke by a holy monk \\'that oft\\' says he\\r\\n \\'Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit\\r\\n John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour\\r\\n To hear from him a matter of some moment;\\r\\n Whom after under the confession\\'s seal\\r\\n He solemnly had sworn that what he spoke\\r\\n My chaplain to no creature living but\\r\\n To me should utter, with demure confidence\\r\\n This pausingly ensu\\'d: \"Neither the King nor\\'s heirs,\\r\\n Tell you the Duke, shall prosper; bid him strive\\r\\n To gain the love o\\' th\\' commonalty; the Duke\\r\\n Shall govern England.\"\\'\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. If I know you well,\\r\\n You were the Duke\\'s surveyor, and lost your office\\r\\n On the complaint o\\' th\\' tenants. Take good heed\\r\\n You charge not in your spleen a noble person\\r\\n And spoil your nobler soul. I say, take heed;\\r\\n Yes, heartily beseech you.\\r\\n KING. Let him on.\\r\\n Go forward.\\r\\n SURVEYOR. On my soul, I\\'ll speak but truth.\\r\\n I told my lord the Duke, by th\\' devil\\'s illusions\\r\\n The monk might be deceiv\\'d, and that \\'twas dangerous\\r\\n for him\\r\\n To ruminate on this so far, until\\r\\n It forg\\'d him some design, which, being believ\\'d,\\r\\n It was much like to do. He answer\\'d \\'Tush,\\r\\n It can do me no damage\\'; adding further\\r\\n That, had the King in his last sickness fail\\'d,\\r\\n The Cardinal\\'s and Sir Thomas Lovell\\'s heads\\r\\n Should have gone off.\\r\\n KING. Ha! what, so rank? Ah ha!\\r\\n There\\'s mischief in this man. Canst thou say further?\\r\\n SURVEYOR. I can, my liege.\\r\\n KING. Proceed.\\r\\n SURVEYOR. Being at Greenwich,\\r\\n After your Highness had reprov\\'d the Duke\\r\\n About Sir William Bulmer-\\r\\n KING. I remember\\r\\n Of such a time: being my sworn servant,\\r\\n The Duke retain\\'d him his. But on: what hence?\\r\\n SURVEYOR. \\'If\\' quoth he \\'I for this had been committed-\\r\\n As to the Tower I thought-I would have play\\'d\\r\\n The part my father meant to act upon\\r\\n Th\\' usurper Richard; who, being at Salisbury,\\r\\n Made suit to come in\\'s presence, which if granted,\\r\\n As he made semblance of his duty, would\\r\\n Have put his knife into him.\\'\\r\\n KING. A giant traitor!\\r\\n WOLSEY. Now, madam, may his Highness live in freedom,\\r\\n And this man out of prison?\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. God mend all!\\r\\n KING. There\\'s something more would out of thee: what say\\'st?\\r\\n SURVEYOR. After \\'the Duke his father\\' with the \\'knife,\\'\\r\\n He stretch\\'d him, and, with one hand on his dagger,\\r\\n Another spread on\\'s breast, mounting his eyes,\\r\\n He did discharge a horrible oath, whose tenour\\r\\n Was, were he evil us\\'d, he would outgo\\r\\n His father by as much as a performance\\r\\n Does an irresolute purpose.\\r\\n KING. There\\'s his period,\\r\\n To sheath his knife in us. He is attach\\'d;\\r\\n Call him to present trial. If he may\\r\\n Find mercy in the law, \\'tis his; if none,\\r\\n Let him not seek\\'t of us. By day and night!\\r\\n He\\'s traitor to th\\' height. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN and LORD SANDYS\\r\\n\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Is\\'t possible the spells of France should juggle\\r\\n Men into such strange mysteries?\\r\\n SANDYS. New customs,\\r\\n Though they be never so ridiculous,\\r\\n Nay, let \\'em be unmanly, yet are follow\\'d.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. As far as I see, all the good our English\\r\\n Have got by the late voyage is but merely\\r\\n A fit or two o\\' th\\' face; but they are shrewd ones;\\r\\n For when they hold \\'em, you would swear directly\\r\\n Their very noses had been counsellors\\r\\n To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep state so.\\r\\n SANDYS. They have all new legs, and lame ones. One would take it,\\r\\n That never saw \\'em pace before, the spavin\\r\\n Or springhalt reign\\'d among \\'em.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Death! my lord,\\r\\n Their clothes are after such a pagan cut to\\'t,\\r\\n That sure th\\' have worn out Christendom.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR THOMAS LOVELL\\r\\n\\r\\n How now?\\r\\n What news, Sir Thomas Lovell?\\r\\n LOVELL. Faith, my lord,\\r\\n I hear of none but the new proclamation\\r\\n That\\'s clapp\\'d upon the court gate.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. What is\\'t for?\\r\\n LOVELL. The reformation of our travell\\'d gallants,\\r\\n That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. I am glad \\'tis there. Now I would pray our monsieurs\\r\\n To think an English courtier may be wise,\\r\\n And never see the Louvre.\\r\\n LOVELL. They must either,\\r\\n For so run the conditions, leave those remnants\\r\\n Of fool and feather that they got in France,\\r\\n With all their honourable points of ignorance\\r\\n Pertaining thereunto-as fights and fireworks;\\r\\n Abusing better men than they can be,\\r\\n Out of a foreign wisdom-renouncing clean\\r\\n The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings,\\r\\n Short blist\\'red breeches, and those types of travel\\r\\n And understand again like honest men,\\r\\n Or pack to their old playfellows. There, I take it,\\r\\n They may, cum privilegio, wear away\\r\\n The lag end of their lewdness and be laugh\\'d at.\\r\\n SANDYS. \\'Tis time to give \\'em physic, their diseases\\r\\n Are grown so catching.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. What a loss our ladies\\r\\n Will have of these trim vanities!\\r\\n LOVELL. Ay, marry,\\r\\n There will be woe indeed, lords: the sly whoresons\\r\\n Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies.\\r\\n A French song and a fiddle has no fellow.\\r\\n SANDYS. The devil fiddle \\'em! I am glad they are going,\\r\\n For sure there\\'s no converting \\'em. Now\\r\\n An honest country lord, as I am, beaten\\r\\n A long time out of play, may bring his plainsong\\r\\n And have an hour of hearing; and, by\\'r Lady,\\r\\n Held current music too.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Well said, Lord Sandys;\\r\\n Your colt\\'s tooth is not cast yet.\\r\\n SANDYS. No, my lord,\\r\\n Nor shall not while I have a stamp.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Sir Thomas,\\r\\n Whither were you a-going?\\r\\n LOVELL. To the Cardinal\\'s;\\r\\n Your lordship is a guest too.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. O, \\'tis true;\\r\\n This night he makes a supper, and a great one,\\r\\n To many lords and ladies; there will be\\r\\n The beauty of this kingdom, I\\'ll assure you.\\r\\n LOVELL. That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed,\\r\\n A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us;\\r\\n His dews fall everywhere.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. No doubt he\\'s noble;\\r\\n He had a black mouth that said other of him.\\r\\n SANDYS. He may, my lord; has wherewithal. In him\\r\\n Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine:\\r\\n Men of his way should be most liberal,\\r\\n They are set here for examples.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. True, they are so;\\r\\n But few now give so great ones. My barge stays;\\r\\n Your lordship shall along. Come, good Sir Thomas,\\r\\n We shall be late else; which I would not be,\\r\\n For I was spoke to, with Sir Henry Guildford,\\r\\n This night to be comptrollers.\\r\\n SANDYS. I am your lordship\\'s. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The Presence Chamber in York Place\\r\\n\\r\\nHautboys. A small table under a state for the Cardinal, a longer table\\r\\nfor the guests. Then enter ANNE BULLEN, and divers other LADIES and\\r\\nGENTLEMEN, as guests, at one door; at another door enter SIR HENRY\\r\\nGUILDFORD\\r\\n\\r\\n GUILDFORD. Ladies, a general welcome from his Grace\\r\\n Salutes ye all; this night he dedicates\\r\\n To fair content and you. None here, he hopes,\\r\\n In all this noble bevy, has brought with her\\r\\n One care abroad; he would have all as merry\\r\\n As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome,\\r\\n Can make good people.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD CHAMBERLAIN, LORD SANDYS, and SIR\\r\\n THOMAS LOVELL\\r\\n\\r\\n O, my lord, y\\'are tardy,\\r\\n The very thought of this fair company\\r\\n Clapp\\'d wings to me.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. You are young, Sir Harry Guildford.\\r\\n SANDYS. Sir Thomas Lovell, had the Cardinal\\r\\n But half my lay thoughts in him, some of these\\r\\n Should find a running banquet ere they rested\\r\\n I think would better please \\'em. By my life,\\r\\n They are a sweet society of fair ones.\\r\\n LOVELL. O that your lordship were but now confessor\\r\\n To one or two of these!\\r\\n SANDYS. I would I were;\\r\\n They should find easy penance.\\r\\n LOVELL. Faith, how easy?\\r\\n SANDYS. As easy as a down bed would afford it.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir Harry,\\r\\n Place you that side; I\\'ll take the charge of this.\\r\\n His Grace is ent\\'ring. Nay, you must not freeze:\\r\\n Two women plac\\'d together makes cold weather.\\r\\n My Lord Sandys, you are one will keep \\'em waking:\\r\\n Pray sit between these ladies.\\r\\n SANDYS. By my faith,\\r\\n And thank your lordship. By your leave, sweet ladies.\\r\\n [Seats himself between ANNE BULLEN and another lady]\\r\\n If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me;\\r\\n I had it from my father.\\r\\n ANNE. Was he mad, sir?\\r\\n SANDYS. O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too.\\r\\n But he would bite none; just as I do now,\\r\\n He would kiss you twenty with a breath. [Kisses her]\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Well said, my lord.\\r\\n So, now y\\'are fairly seated. Gentlemen,\\r\\n The penance lies on you if these fair ladies\\r\\n Pass away frowning.\\r\\n SANDYS. For my little cure,\\r\\n Let me alone.\\r\\n\\r\\n Hautboys. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, attended; and\\r\\n takes his state\\r\\n\\r\\n WOLSEY. Y\\'are welcome, my fair guests. That noble lady\\r\\n Or gentleman that is not freely merry\\r\\n Is not my friend. This, to confirm my welcome-\\r\\n And to you all, good health! [Drinks]\\r\\n SANDYS. Your Grace is noble.\\r\\n Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks\\r\\n And save me so much talking.\\r\\n WOLSEY. My Lord Sandys,\\r\\n I am beholding to you. Cheer your neighbours.\\r\\n Ladies, you are not merry. Gentlemen,\\r\\n Whose fault is this?\\r\\n SANDYS. The red wine first must rise\\r\\n In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have \\'em\\r\\n Talk us to silence.\\r\\n ANNE. You are a merry gamester,\\r\\n My Lord Sandys.\\r\\n SANDYS. Yes, if I make my play.\\r\\n Here\\'s to your ladyship; and pledge it, madam,\\r\\n For \\'tis to such a thing-\\r\\n ANNE. You cannot show me.\\r\\n SANDYS. I told your Grace they would talk anon.\\r\\n [Drum and trumpet. Chambers discharg\\'d]\\r\\n WOLSEY. What\\'s that?\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Look out there, some of ye. Exit a SERVANT\\r\\n WOLSEY. What warlike voice,\\r\\n And to what end, is this? Nay, ladies, fear not:\\r\\n By all the laws of war y\\'are privileg\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. How now! what is\\'t?\\r\\n SERVANT. A noble troop of strangers-\\r\\n For so they seem. Th\\' have left their barge and landed,\\r\\n And hither make, as great ambassadors\\r\\n From foreign princes.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Good Lord Chamberlain,\\r\\n Go, give \\'em welcome; you can speak the French tongue;\\r\\n And pray receive \\'em nobly and conduct \\'em\\r\\n Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty\\r\\n Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him.\\r\\n Exit CHAMBERLAIN attended. All rise, and tables remov\\'d\\r\\n You have now a broken banquet, but we\\'ll mend it.\\r\\n A good digestion to you all; and once more\\r\\n I show\\'r a welcome on ye; welcome all.\\r\\n\\r\\n Hautboys. Enter the KING, and others, as maskers,\\r\\n habited like shepherds, usher\\'d by the LORD CHAMBERLAIN.\\r\\n They pass directly before the CARDINAL,\\r\\n and gracefully salute him\\r\\n\\r\\n A noble company! What are their pleasures?\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Because they speak no English, thus they pray\\'d\\r\\n To tell your Grace, that, having heard by fame\\r\\n Of this so noble and so fair assembly\\r\\n This night to meet here, they could do no less,\\r\\n Out of the great respect they bear to beauty,\\r\\n But leave their flocks and, under your fair conduct,\\r\\n Crave leave to view these ladies and entreat\\r\\n An hour of revels with \\'em.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Say, Lord Chamberlain,\\r\\n They have done my poor house grace; for which I pay \\'em\\r\\n A thousand thanks, and pray \\'em take their pleasures.\\r\\n [They choose ladies. The KING chooses ANNE BULLEN]\\r\\n KING. The fairest hand I ever touch\\'d! O beauty,\\r\\n Till now I never knew thee! [Music. Dance]\\r\\n WOLSEY. My lord!\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Your Grace?\\r\\n WOLSEY. Pray tell \\'em thus much from me:\\r\\n There should be one amongst \\'em, by his person,\\r\\n More worthy this place than myself; to whom,\\r\\n If I but knew him, with my love and duty\\r\\n I would surrender it.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. I will, my lord.\\r\\n [He whispers to the maskers]\\r\\n WOLSEY. What say they?\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Such a one, they all confess,\\r\\n There is indeed; which they would have your Grace\\r\\n Find out, and he will take it.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Let me see, then. [Comes from his state]\\r\\n By all your good leaves, gentlemen, here I\\'ll make\\r\\n My royal choice.\\r\\n KING. [Unmasking] Ye have found him, Cardinal.\\r\\n You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord.\\r\\n You are a churchman, or, I\\'ll tell you, Cardinal,\\r\\n I should judge now unhappily.\\r\\n WOLSEY. I am glad\\r\\n Your Grace is grown so pleasant.\\r\\n KING. My Lord Chamberlain,\\r\\n Prithee come hither: what fair lady\\'s that?\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. An\\'t please your Grace, Sir Thomas Bullen\\'s\\r\\n daughter-\\r\\n The Viscount Rochford-one of her Highness\\' women.\\r\\n KING. By heaven, she is a dainty one. Sweet heart,\\r\\n I were unmannerly to take you out\\r\\n And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen!\\r\\n Let it go round.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready\\r\\n I\\' th\\' privy chamber?\\r\\n LOVELL. Yes, my lord.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Your Grace,\\r\\n I fear, with dancing is a little heated.\\r\\n KING. I fear, too much.\\r\\n WOLSEY. There\\'s fresher air, my lord,\\r\\n In the next chamber.\\r\\n KING. Lead in your ladies, ev\\'ry one. Sweet partner,\\r\\n I must not yet forsake you. Let\\'s be merry:\\r\\n Good my Lord Cardinal, I have half a dozen healths\\r\\n To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure\\r\\n To lead \\'em once again; and then let\\'s dream\\r\\n Who\\'s best in favour. Let the music knock it.\\r\\n Exeunt, with trumpets\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nWestminster. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter two GENTLEMEN, at several doors\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Whither away so fast?\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. O, God save ye!\\r\\n Ev\\'n to the Hall, to hear what shall become\\r\\n Of the great Duke of Buckingham.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. I\\'ll save you\\r\\n That labour, sir. All\\'s now done but the ceremony\\r\\n Of bringing back the prisoner.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Were you there?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes, indeed, was I.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Pray, speak what has happen\\'d.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. You may guess quickly what.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Is he found guilty?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes, truly is he, and condemn\\'d upon\\'t.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. I am sorry for\\'t.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. So are a number more.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. But, pray, how pass\\'d it?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. I\\'ll tell you in a little. The great Duke.\\r\\n Came to the bar; where to his accusations\\r\\n He pleaded still not guilty, and alleged\\r\\n Many sharp reasons to defeat the law.\\r\\n The King\\'s attorney, on the contrary,\\r\\n Urg\\'d on the examinations, proofs, confessions,\\r\\n Of divers witnesses; which the Duke desir\\'d\\r\\n To have brought, viva voce, to his face;\\r\\n At which appear\\'d against him his surveyor,\\r\\n Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor, and John Car,\\r\\n Confessor to him, with that devil-monk,\\r\\n Hopkins, that made this mischief.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. That was he\\r\\n That fed him with his prophecies?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. The same.\\r\\n All these accus\\'d him strongly, which he fain\\r\\n Would have flung from him; but indeed he could not;\\r\\n And so his peers, upon this evidence,\\r\\n Have found him guilty of high treason. Much\\r\\n He spoke, and learnedly, for life; but all\\r\\n Was either pitied in him or forgotten.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. After all this, how did he bear him-self\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. When he was brought again to th\\' bar to hear\\r\\n His knell rung out, his judgment, he was stirr\\'d\\r\\n With such an agony he sweat extremely,\\r\\n And something spoke in choler, ill and hasty;\\r\\n But he fell to himself again, and sweetly\\r\\n In all the rest show\\'d a most noble patience.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. I do not think he fears death.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Sure, he does not;\\r\\n He never was so womanish; the cause\\r\\n He may a little grieve at.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Certainly\\r\\n The Cardinal is the end of this.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. \\'Tis likely,\\r\\n By all conjectures: first, Kildare\\'s attainder,\\r\\n Then deputy of Ireland, who remov\\'d,\\r\\n Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too,\\r\\n Lest he should help his father.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. That trick of state\\r\\n Was a deep envious one.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. At his return\\r\\n No doubt he will requite it. This is noted,\\r\\n And generally: whoever the King favours\\r\\n The Cardinal instantly will find employment,\\r\\n And far enough from court too.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. All the commons\\r\\n Hate him perniciously, and, o\\' my conscience,\\r\\n Wish him ten fathom deep: this Duke as much\\r\\n They love and dote on; call him bounteous Buckingham,\\r\\n The mirror of all courtesy-\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BUCKINGHAM from his arraignment, tip-staves\\r\\n before him; the axe with the edge towards him; halberds\\r\\n on each side; accompanied with SIR THOMAS\\r\\n LOVELL, SIR NICHOLAS VAUX, SIR WILLIAM SANDYS,\\r\\n and common people, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Stay there, sir,\\r\\n And see the noble ruin\\'d man you speak of.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Let\\'s stand close, and behold him.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. All good people,\\r\\n You that thus far have come to pity me,\\r\\n Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me.\\r\\n I have this day receiv\\'d a traitor\\'s judgment,\\r\\n And by that name must die; yet, heaven bear witness,\\r\\n And if I have a conscience, let it sink me\\r\\n Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful!\\r\\n The law I bear no malice for my death:\\r\\n \\'T has done, upon the premises, but justice.\\r\\n But those that sought it I could wish more Christians.\\r\\n Be what they will, I heartily forgive \\'em;\\r\\n Yet let \\'em look they glory not in mischief\\r\\n Nor build their evils on the graves of great men,\\r\\n For then my guiltless blood must cry against \\'em.\\r\\n For further life in this world I ne\\'er hope\\r\\n Nor will I sue, although the King have mercies\\r\\n More than I dare make faults. You few that lov\\'d me\\r\\n And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham,\\r\\n His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave\\r\\n Is only bitter to him, only dying,\\r\\n Go with me like good angels to my end;\\r\\n And as the long divorce of steel falls on me\\r\\n Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice,\\r\\n And lift my soul to heaven. Lead on, a God\\'s name.\\r\\n LOVELL. I do beseech your Grace, for charity,\\r\\n If ever any malice in your heart\\r\\n Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you\\r\\n As I would be forgiven. I forgive all.\\r\\n There cannot be those numberless offences\\r\\n \\'Gainst me that I cannot take peace with. No black envy\\r\\n Shall mark my grave. Commend me to his Grace;\\r\\n And if he speak of Buckingham, pray tell him\\r\\n You met him half in heaven. My vows and prayers\\r\\n Yet are the King\\'s, and, till my soul forsake,\\r\\n Shall cry for blessings on him. May he live\\r\\n Longer than I have time to tell his years;\\r\\n Ever belov\\'d and loving may his rule be;\\r\\n And when old time Shall lead him to his end,\\r\\n Goodness and he fill up one monument!\\r\\n LOVELL. To th\\' water side I must conduct your Grace;\\r\\n Then give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux,\\r\\n Who undertakes you to your end.\\r\\n VAUX. Prepare there;\\r\\n The Duke is coming; see the barge be ready;\\r\\n And fit it with such furniture as suits\\r\\n The greatness of his person.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Nay, Sir Nicholas,\\r\\n Let it alone; my state now will but mock me.\\r\\n When I came hither I was Lord High Constable\\r\\n And Duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward Bohun.\\r\\n Yet I am richer than my base accusers\\r\\n That never knew what truth meant; I now seal it;\\r\\n And with that blood will make \\'em one day groan fort.\\r\\n My noble father, Henry of Buckingham,\\r\\n Who first rais\\'d head against usurping Richard,\\r\\n Flying for succour to his servant Banister,\\r\\n Being distress\\'d, was by that wretch betray\\'d\\r\\n And without trial fell; God\\'s peace be with him!\\r\\n Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying\\r\\n My father\\'s loss, like a most royal prince,\\r\\n Restor\\'d me to my honours, and out of ruins\\r\\n Made my name once more noble. Now his son,\\r\\n Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name, and all\\r\\n That made me happy, at one stroke has taken\\r\\n For ever from the world. I had my trial,\\r\\n And must needs say a noble one; which makes me\\r\\n A little happier than my wretched father;\\r\\n Yet thus far we are one in fortunes: both\\r\\n Fell by our servants, by those men we lov\\'d most-\\r\\n A most unnatural and faithless service.\\r\\n Heaven has an end in all. Yet, you that hear me,\\r\\n This from a dying man receive as certain:\\r\\n Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels,\\r\\n Be sure you be not loose; for those you make friends\\r\\n And give your hearts to, when they once perceive\\r\\n The least rub in your fortunes, fall away\\r\\n Like water from ye, never found again\\r\\n But where they mean to sink ye. All good people,\\r\\n Pray for me! I must now forsake ye; the last hour\\r\\n Of my long weary life is come upon me.\\r\\n Farewell;\\r\\n And when you would say something that is sad,\\r\\n Speak how I fell. I have done; and God forgive me!\\r\\n Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and train\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. O, this is full of pity! Sir, it calls,\\r\\n I fear, too many curses on their heads\\r\\n That were the authors.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. If the Duke be guiltless,\\r\\n \\'Tis full of woe; yet I can give you inkling\\r\\n Of an ensuing evil, if it fall,\\r\\n Greater than this.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Good angels keep it from us!\\r\\n What may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir?\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. This secret is so weighty, \\'twill require\\r\\n A strong faith to conceal it.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Let me have it;\\r\\n I do not talk much.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. I am confident.\\r\\n You shall, sir. Did you not of late days hear\\r\\n A buzzing of a separation\\r\\n Between the King and Katharine?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes, but it held not;\\r\\n For when the King once heard it, out of anger\\r\\n He sent command to the Lord Mayor straight\\r\\n To stop the rumour and allay those tongues\\r\\n That durst disperse it.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. But that slander, sir,\\r\\n Is found a truth now; for it grows again\\r\\n Fresher than e\\'er it was, and held for certain\\r\\n The King will venture at it. Either the Cardinal\\r\\n Or some about him near have, out of malice\\r\\n To the good Queen, possess\\'d him with a scruple\\r\\n That will undo her. To confirm this too,\\r\\n Cardinal Campeius is arriv\\'d and lately;\\r\\n As all think, for this business.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. \\'Tis the Cardinal;\\r\\n And merely to revenge him on the Emperor\\r\\n For not bestowing on him at his asking\\r\\n The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purpos\\'d.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. I think you have hit the mark; but is\\'t\\r\\n not cruel\\r\\n That she should feel the smart of this? The Cardinal\\r\\n Will have his will, and she must fall.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. \\'Tis woeful.\\r\\n We are too open here to argue this;\\r\\n Let\\'s think in private more. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN reading this letter\\r\\n\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. \\'My lord,\\r\\n \\'The horses your lordship sent for, with all the care\\r\\n had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and furnish\\'d. They were\\r\\n young and handsome, and of the best breed in the north.\\r\\n When they were ready to set out for London, a man of\\r\\n my Lord Cardinal\\'s, by commission, and main power, took\\r\\n \\'em from me, with this reason: his master would be serv\\'d\\r\\n before a subject, if not before the King; which stopp\\'d\\r\\n our mouths, sir.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n I fear he will indeed. Well, let him have them.\\r\\n He will have all, I think.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter to the LORD CHAMBERLAIN the DUKES OF NORFOLK and SUFFOLK\\r\\n\\r\\n NORFOLK. Well met, my Lord Chamberlain.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Good day to both your Graces.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. How is the King employ\\'d?\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. I left him private,\\r\\n Full of sad thoughts and troubles.\\r\\n NORFOLK. What\\'s the cause?\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. It seems the marriage with his brother\\'s wife\\r\\n Has crept too near his conscience.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. No, his conscience\\r\\n Has crept too near another lady.\\r\\n NORFOLK. \\'Tis so;\\r\\n This is the Cardinal\\'s doing; the King-Cardinal,\\r\\n That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune,\\r\\n Turns what he list. The King will know him one day.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Pray God he do! He\\'ll never know himself else.\\r\\n NORFOLK. How holily he works in all his business!\\r\\n And with what zeal! For, now he has crack\\'d the league\\r\\n Between us and the Emperor, the Queen\\'s great nephew,\\r\\n He dives into the King\\'s soul and there scatters\\r\\n Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience,\\r\\n Fears, and despairs-and all these for his marriage;\\r\\n And out of all these to restore the King,\\r\\n He counsels a divorce, a loss of her\\r\\n That like a jewel has hung twenty years\\r\\n About his neck, yet never lost her lustre;\\r\\n Of her that loves him with that excellence\\r\\n That angels love good men with; even of her\\r\\n That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls,\\r\\n Will bless the King-and is not this course pious?\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Heaven keep me from such counsel! \\'Tis most true\\r\\n These news are everywhere; every tongue speaks \\'em,\\r\\n And every true heart weeps for \\'t. All that dare\\r\\n Look into these affairs see this main end-\\r\\n The French King\\'s sister. Heaven will one day open\\r\\n The King\\'s eyes, that so long have slept upon\\r\\n This bold bad man.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. And free us from his slavery.\\r\\n NORFOLK. We had need pray, and heartily, for our deliverance;\\r\\n Or this imperious man will work us an\\r\\n From princes into pages. All men\\'s honours\\r\\n Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion\\'d\\r\\n Into what pitch he please.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. For me, my lords,\\r\\n I love him not, nor fear him-there\\'s my creed;\\r\\n As I am made without him, so I\\'ll stand,\\r\\n If the King please; his curses and his blessings\\r\\n Touch me alike; th\\' are breath I not believe in.\\r\\n I knew him, and I know him; so I leave him\\r\\n To him that made him proud-the Pope.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Let\\'s in;\\r\\n And with some other business put the King\\r\\n From these sad thoughts that work too much upon him.\\r\\n My lord, you\\'ll bear us company?\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Excuse me,\\r\\n The King has sent me otherwhere; besides,\\r\\n You\\'ll find a most unfit time to disturb him.\\r\\n Health to your lordships!\\r\\n NORFOLK. Thanks, my good Lord Chamberlain.\\r\\n Exit LORD CHAMBERLAIN; and the KING draws\\r\\n the curtain and sits reading pensively\\r\\n SUFFOLK. How sad he looks; sure, he is much afflicted.\\r\\n KING. Who\\'s there, ha?\\r\\n NORFOLK. Pray God he be not angry.\\r\\n KING HENRY. Who\\'s there, I say? How dare you thrust yourselves\\r\\n Into my private meditations?\\r\\n Who am I, ha?\\r\\n NORFOLK. A gracious king that pardons all offences\\r\\n Malice ne\\'er meant. Our breach of duty this way\\r\\n Is business of estate, in which we come\\r\\n To know your royal pleasure.\\r\\n KING. Ye are too bold.\\r\\n Go to; I\\'ll make ye know your times of business.\\r\\n Is this an hour for temporal affairs, ha?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS with a commission\\r\\n\\r\\n Who\\'s there? My good Lord Cardinal? O my Wolsey,\\r\\n The quiet of my wounded conscience,\\r\\n Thou art a cure fit for a King. [To CAMPEIUS] You\\'re\\r\\n welcome,\\r\\n Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom.\\r\\n Use us and it. [To WOLSEY] My good lord, have great care\\r\\n I be not found a talker.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Sir, you cannot.\\r\\n I would your Grace would give us but an hour\\r\\n Of private conference.\\r\\n KING. [To NORFOLK and SUFFOLK] We are busy; go.\\r\\n NORFOLK. [Aside to SUFFOLK] This priest has no pride in him!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. [Aside to NORFOLK] Not to speak of!\\r\\n I would not be so sick though for his place.\\r\\n But this cannot continue.\\r\\n NORFOLK. [Aside to SUFFOLK] If it do,\\r\\n I\\'ll venture one have-at-him.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. [Aside to NORFOLK] I another.\\r\\n Exeunt NORFOLK and SUFFOLK\\r\\n WOLSEY. Your Grace has given a precedent of wisdom\\r\\n Above all princes, in committing freely\\r\\n Your scruple to the voice of Christendom.\\r\\n Who can be angry now? What envy reach you?\\r\\n The Spaniard, tied by blood and favour to her,\\r\\n Must now confess, if they have any goodness,\\r\\n The trial just and noble. All the clerks,\\r\\n I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms\\r\\n Have their free voices. Rome the nurse of judgment,\\r\\n Invited by your noble self, hath sent\\r\\n One general tongue unto us, this good man,\\r\\n This just and learned priest, Cardinal Campeius,\\r\\n Whom once more I present unto your Highness.\\r\\n KING. And once more in mine arms I bid him welcome,\\r\\n And thank the holy conclave for their loves.\\r\\n They have sent me such a man I would have wish\\'d for.\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. Your Grace must needs deserve an strangers\\' loves,\\r\\n You are so noble. To your Highness\\' hand\\r\\n I tender my commission; by whose virtue-\\r\\n The court of Rome commanding-you, my Lord\\r\\n Cardinal of York, are join\\'d with me their servant\\r\\n In the unpartial judging of this business.\\r\\n KING. Two equal men. The Queen shall be acquainted\\r\\n Forthwith for what you come. Where\\'s Gardiner?\\r\\n WOLSEY. I know your Majesty has always lov\\'d her\\r\\n So dear in heart not to deny her that\\r\\n A woman of less place might ask by law-\\r\\n Scholars allow\\'d freely to argue for her.\\r\\n KING. Ay, and the best she shall have; and my favour\\r\\n To him that does best. God forbid else. Cardinal,\\r\\n Prithee call Gardiner to me, my new secretary;\\r\\n I find him a fit fellow. Exit WOLSEY\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter WOLSEY with GARDINER\\r\\n\\r\\n WOLSEY. [Aside to GARDINER] Give me your hand: much\\r\\n joy and favour to you;\\r\\n You are the King\\'s now.\\r\\n GARDINER. [Aside to WOLSEY] But to be commanded\\r\\n For ever by your Grace, whose hand has rais\\'d me.\\r\\n KING. Come hither, Gardiner. [Walks and whispers]\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. My Lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace\\r\\n In this man\\'s place before him?\\r\\n WOLSEY. Yes, he was.\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. Was he not held a learned man?\\r\\n WOLSEY. Yes, surely.\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. Believe me, there\\'s an ill opinion spread then,\\r\\n Even of yourself, Lord Cardinal.\\r\\n WOLSEY. How! Of me?\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. They will not stick to say you envied him\\r\\n And, fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous,\\r\\n Kept him a foreign man still; which so griev\\'d him\\r\\n That he ran mad and died.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Heav\\'n\\'s peace be with him!\\r\\n That\\'s Christian care enough. For living murmurers\\r\\n There\\'s places of rebuke. He was a fool,\\r\\n For he would needs be virtuous: that good fellow,\\r\\n If I command him, follows my appointment.\\r\\n I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother,\\r\\n We live not to be grip\\'d by meaner persons.\\r\\n KING. Deliver this with modesty to th\\' Queen.\\r\\n Exit GARDINER\\r\\n The most convenient place that I can think of\\r\\n For such receipt of learning is Blackfriars;\\r\\n There ye shall meet about this weighty business-\\r\\n My Wolsey, see it furnish\\'d. O, my lord,\\r\\n Would it not grieve an able man to leave\\r\\n So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, conscience!\\r\\n O, \\'tis a tender place! and I must leave her. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ANNE BULLEN and an OLD LADY\\r\\n\\r\\n ANNE. Not for that neither. Here\\'s the pang that pinches:\\r\\n His Highness having liv\\'d so long with her, and she\\r\\n So good a lady that no tongue could ever\\r\\n Pronounce dishonour of her-by my life,\\r\\n She never knew harm-doing-O, now, after\\r\\n So many courses of the sun enthroned,\\r\\n Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which\\r\\n To leave a thousand-fold more bitter than\\r\\n \\'Tis sweet at first t\\' acquire-after this process,\\r\\n To give her the avaunt, it is a pity\\r\\n Would move a monster.\\r\\n OLD LADY. Hearts of most hard temper\\r\\n Melt and lament for her.\\r\\n ANNE. O, God\\'s will! much better\\r\\n She ne\\'er had known pomp; though\\'t be temporal,\\r\\n Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce\\r\\n It from the bearer, \\'tis a sufferance panging\\r\\n As soul and body\\'s severing.\\r\\n OLD LADY. Alas, poor lady!\\r\\n She\\'s a stranger now again.\\r\\n ANNE. So much the more\\r\\n Must pity drop upon her. Verily,\\r\\n I swear \\'tis better to be lowly born\\r\\n And range with humble livers in content\\r\\n Than to be perk\\'d up in a glist\\'ring grief\\r\\n And wear a golden sorrow.\\r\\n OLD LADY. Our content\\r\\n Is our best having.\\r\\n ANNE. By my troth and maidenhead,\\r\\n I would not be a queen.\\r\\n OLD LADY. Beshrew me, I would,\\r\\n And venture maidenhead for \\'t; and so would you,\\r\\n For all this spice of your hypocrisy.\\r\\n You that have so fair parts of woman on you\\r\\n Have too a woman\\'s heart, which ever yet\\r\\n Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty;\\r\\n Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts,\\r\\n Saving your mincing, the capacity\\r\\n Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive\\r\\n If you might please to stretch it.\\r\\n ANNE. Nay, good troth.\\r\\n OLD LADY. Yes, troth and troth. You would not be a queen!\\r\\n ANNE. No, not for all the riches under heaven.\\r\\n OLD LADY. \\'Tis strange: a threepence bow\\'d would hire me,\\r\\n Old as I am, to queen it. But, I pray you,\\r\\n What think you of a duchess? Have you limbs\\r\\n To bear that load of title?\\r\\n ANNE. No, in truth.\\r\\n OLD LADY. Then you are weakly made. Pluck off a little;\\r\\n I would not be a young count in your way\\r\\n For more than blushing comes to. If your back\\r\\n Cannot vouchsafe this burden, \\'tis too weak\\r\\n Ever to get a boy.\\r\\n ANNE. How you do talk!\\r\\n I swear again I would not be a queen\\r\\n For all the world.\\r\\n OLD LADY. In faith, for little England\\r\\n You\\'d venture an emballing. I myself\\r\\n Would for Carnarvonshire, although there long\\'d\\r\\n No more to th\\' crown but that. Lo, who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN\\r\\n\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Good morrow, ladies. What were\\'t worth to know\\r\\n The secret of your conference?\\r\\n ANNE. My good lord,\\r\\n Not your demand; it values not your asking.\\r\\n Our mistress\\' sorrows we were pitying.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. It was a gentle business and becoming\\r\\n The action of good women; there is hope\\r\\n All will be well.\\r\\n ANNE. Now, I pray God, amen!\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. You bear a gentle mind, and heav\\'nly blessings\\r\\n Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady,\\r\\n Perceive I speak sincerely and high notes\\r\\n Ta\\'en of your many virtues, the King\\'s Majesty\\r\\n Commends his good opinion of you to you, and\\r\\n Does purpose honour to you no less flowing\\r\\n Than Marchioness of Pembroke; to which tide\\r\\n A thousand pound a year, annual support,\\r\\n Out of his grace he adds.\\r\\n ANNE. I do not know\\r\\n What kind of my obedience I should tender;\\r\\n More than my all is nothing, nor my prayers\\r\\n Are not words duly hallowed, nor my wishes\\r\\n More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers and wishes\\r\\n Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship,\\r\\n Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience,\\r\\n As from a blushing handmaid, to his Highness;\\r\\n Whose health and royalty I pray for.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Lady,\\r\\n I shall not fail t\\' approve the fair conceit\\r\\n The King hath of you. [Aside] I have perus\\'d her well:\\r\\n Beauty and honour in her are so mingled\\r\\n That they have caught the King; and who knows yet\\r\\n But from this lady may proceed a gem\\r\\n To lighten all this isle?-I\\'ll to the King\\r\\n And say I spoke with you.\\r\\n ANNE. My honour\\'d lord! Exit LORD CHAMBERLAIN\\r\\n OLD LADY. Why, this it is: see, see!\\r\\n I have been begging sixteen years in court-\\r\\n Am yet a courtier beggarly-nor could\\r\\n Come pat betwixt too early and too late\\r\\n For any suit of pounds; and you, O fate!\\r\\n A very fresh-fish here-fie, fie, fie upon\\r\\n This compell\\'d fortune!-have your mouth fill\\'d up\\r\\n Before you open it.\\r\\n ANNE. This is strange to me.\\r\\n OLD LADY. How tastes it? Is it bitter? Forty pence, no.\\r\\n There was a lady once-\\'tis an old story-\\r\\n That would not be a queen, that would she not,\\r\\n For all the mud in Egypt. Have you heard it?\\r\\n ANNE. Come, you are pleasant.\\r\\n OLD LADY. With your theme I could\\r\\n O\\'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke!\\r\\n A thousand pounds a year for pure respect!\\r\\n No other obligation! By my life,\\r\\n That promises moe thousands: honour\\'s train\\r\\n Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time\\r\\n I know your back will bear a duchess. Say,\\r\\n Are you not stronger than you were?\\r\\n ANNE. Good lady,\\r\\n Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy,\\r\\n And leave me out on\\'t. Would I had no being,\\r\\n If this salute my blood a jot; it faints me\\r\\n To think what follows.\\r\\n The Queen is comfortless, and we forgetful\\r\\n In our long absence. Pray, do not deliver\\r\\n What here y\\' have heard to her.\\r\\n OLD LADY. What do you think me? Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. A hall in Blackfriars\\r\\n\\r\\nTrumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter two VERGERS, with short silver\\r\\nwands; next them, two SCRIBES, in the habit of doctors; after them, the\\r\\nARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY alone; after him, the BISHOPS OF LINCOLN, ELY,\\r\\nROCHESTER, and SAINT ASAPH; next them, with some small distance,\\r\\nfollows a GENTLEMAN bearing the purse, with the great seal, and a\\r\\nCardinal\\'s hat; then two PRIESTS, bearing each silver cross; then a\\r\\nGENTLEMAN USHER bareheaded, accompanied with a SERGEANT-AT-ARMS bearing\\r\\na silver mace; then two GENTLEMEN bearing two great silver pillars;\\r\\nafter them, side by side, the two CARDINALS, WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS; two\\r\\nNOBLEMEN with the sword and mace. Then enter the KING and QUEEN and\\r\\ntheir trains. The KING takes place under the cloth of state; the two\\r\\nCARDINALS sit under him as judges. The QUEEN takes place some distance\\r\\nfrom the KING. The BISHOPS place themselves on each side of the court,\\r\\nin manner of consistory; below them the SCRIBES. The LORDS sit next the\\r\\nBISHOPS. The rest of the attendants stand in convenient order about the\\r\\nstage\\r\\n\\r\\n WOLSEY. Whilst our commission from Rome is read,\\r\\n Let silence be commanded.\\r\\n KING. What\\'s the need?\\r\\n It hath already publicly been read,\\r\\n And on all sides th\\' authority allow\\'d;\\r\\n You may then spare that time.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Be\\'t so; proceed.\\r\\n SCRIBE. Say \\'Henry King of England, come into the court.\\'\\r\\n CRIER. Henry King of England, &c.\\r\\n KING. Here.\\r\\n SCRIBE. Say \\'Katharine Queen of England, come into the court.\\'\\r\\n CRIER. Katharine Queen of England, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\n The QUEEN makes no answer, rises out of her chair,\\r\\n goes about the court, comes to the KING, and kneels\\r\\n at his feet; then speaks\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Sir, I desire you do me right and justice,\\r\\n And to bestow your pity on me; for\\r\\n I am a most poor woman and a stranger,\\r\\n Born out of your dominions, having here\\r\\n No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance\\r\\n Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir,\\r\\n In what have I offended you? What cause\\r\\n Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure\\r\\n That thus you should proceed to put me of\\r\\n And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness,\\r\\n I have been to you a true and humble wife,\\r\\n At all times to your will conformable,\\r\\n Ever in fear to kindle your dislike,\\r\\n Yea, subject to your countenance-glad or sorry\\r\\n As I saw it inclin\\'d. When was the hour\\r\\n I ever contradicted your desire\\r\\n Or made it not mine too? Or which of your friends\\r\\n Have I not strove to love, although I knew\\r\\n He were mine enemy? What friend of mine\\r\\n That had to him deriv\\'d your anger did\\r\\n Continue in my liking? Nay, gave notice\\r\\n He was from thence discharg\\'d? Sir, call to mind\\r\\n That I have been your wife in this obedience\\r\\n Upward of twenty years, and have been blest\\r\\n With many children by you. If, in the course\\r\\n And process of this time, you can report,\\r\\n And prove it too against mine honour, aught,\\r\\n My bond to wedlock or my love and duty,\\r\\n Against your sacred person, in God\\'s name,\\r\\n Turn me away and let the foul\\'st contempt\\r\\n Shut door upon me, and so give me up\\r\\n To the sharp\\'st kind of justice. Please you, sir,\\r\\n The King, your father, was reputed for\\r\\n A prince most prudent, of an excellent\\r\\n And unmatch\\'d wit and judgment; Ferdinand,\\r\\n My father, King of Spain, was reckon\\'d one\\r\\n The wisest prince that there had reign\\'d by many\\r\\n A year before. It is not to be question\\'d\\r\\n That they had gather\\'d a wise council to them\\r\\n Of every realm, that did debate this business,\\r\\n Who deem\\'d our marriage lawful. Wherefore I humbly\\r\\n Beseech you, sir, to spare me till I may\\r\\n Be by my friends in Spain advis\\'d, whose counsel\\r\\n I will implore. If not, i\\' th\\' name of God,\\r\\n Your pleasure be fulfill\\'d!\\r\\n WOLSEY. You have here, lady,\\r\\n And of your choice, these reverend fathers-men\\r\\n Of singular integrity and learning,\\r\\n Yea, the elect o\\' th\\' land, who are assembled\\r\\n To plead your cause. It shall be therefore bootless\\r\\n That longer you desire the court, as well\\r\\n For your own quiet as to rectify\\r\\n What is unsettled in the King.\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. His Grace\\r\\n Hath spoken well and justly; therefore, madam,\\r\\n It\\'s fit this royal session do proceed\\r\\n And that, without delay, their arguments\\r\\n Be now produc\\'d and heard.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Lord Cardinal,\\r\\n To you I speak.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Your pleasure, madam?\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Sir,\\r\\n I am about to weep; but, thinking that\\r\\n We are a queen, or long have dream\\'d so, certain\\r\\n The daughter of a king, my drops of tears\\r\\n I\\'ll turn to sparks of fire.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Be patient yet.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. I Will, when you are humble; nay, before\\r\\n Or God will punish me. I do believe,\\r\\n Induc\\'d by potent circumstances, that\\r\\n You are mine enemy, and make my challenge\\r\\n You shall not be my judge; for it is you\\r\\n Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me-\\r\\n Which God\\'s dew quench! Therefore I say again,\\r\\n I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul\\r\\n Refuse you for my judge, whom yet once more\\r\\n I hold my most malicious foe and think not\\r\\n At all a friend to truth.\\r\\n WOLSEY. I do profess\\r\\n You speak not like yourself, who ever yet\\r\\n Have stood to charity and display\\'d th\\' effects\\r\\n Of disposition gentle and of wisdom\\r\\n O\\'ertopping woman\\'s pow\\'r. Madam, you do me wrong:\\r\\n I have no spleen against you, nor injustice\\r\\n For you or any; how far I have proceeded,\\r\\n Or how far further shall, is warranted\\r\\n By a commission from the Consistory,\\r\\n Yea, the whole Consistory of Rome. You charge me\\r\\n That I have blown this coal: I do deny it.\\r\\n The King is present; if it be known to him\\r\\n That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound,\\r\\n And worthily, my falsehood! Yea, as much\\r\\n As you have done my truth. If he know\\r\\n That I am free of your report, he knows\\r\\n I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him\\r\\n It lies to cure me, and the cure is to\\r\\n Remove these thoughts from you; the which before\\r\\n His Highness shall speak in, I do beseech\\r\\n You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking\\r\\n And to say so no more.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. My lord, my lord,\\r\\n I am a simple woman, much too weak\\r\\n T\\' oppose your cunning. Y\\'are meek and humble-mouth\\'d;\\r\\n You sign your place and calling, in full seeming,\\r\\n With meekness and humility; but your heart\\r\\n Is cramm\\'d with arrogancy, spleen, and pride.\\r\\n You have, by fortune and his Highness\\' favours,\\r\\n Gone slightly o\\'er low steps, and now are mounted\\r\\n Where pow\\'rs are your retainers, and your words,\\r\\n Domestics to you, serve your will as\\'t please\\r\\n Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you\\r\\n You tender more your person\\'s honour than\\r\\n Your high profession spiritual; that again\\r\\n I do refuse you for my judge and here,\\r\\n Before you all, appeal unto the Pope,\\r\\n To bring my whole cause \\'fore his Holiness\\r\\n And to be judg\\'d by him.\\r\\n [She curtsies to the KING, and offers to depart]\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. The Queen is obstinate,\\r\\n Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and\\r\\n Disdainful to be tried by\\'t; \\'tis not well.\\r\\n She\\'s going away.\\r\\n KING. Call her again.\\r\\n CRIER. Katharine Queen of England, come into the court.\\r\\n GENTLEMAN USHER. Madam, you are call\\'d back.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. What need you note it? Pray you keep your way;\\r\\n When you are call\\'d, return. Now the Lord help!\\r\\n They vex me past my patience. Pray you pass on.\\r\\n I will not tarry; no, nor ever more\\r\\n Upon this business my appearance make\\r\\n In any of their courts. Exeunt QUEEN and her attendants\\r\\n KING. Go thy ways, Kate.\\r\\n That man i\\' th\\' world who shall report he has\\r\\n A better wife, let him in nought be trusted\\r\\n For speaking false in that. Thou art, alone-\\r\\n If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness,\\r\\n Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government,\\r\\n Obeying in commanding, and thy parts\\r\\n Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out-\\r\\n The queen of earthly queens. She\\'s noble born;\\r\\n And like her true nobility she has\\r\\n Carried herself towards me.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Most gracious sir,\\r\\n In humblest manner I require your Highness\\r\\n That it shall please you to declare in hearing\\r\\n Of all these ears-for where I am robb\\'d and bound,\\r\\n There must I be unloos\\'d, although not there\\r\\n At once and fully satisfied-whether ever I\\r\\n Did broach this business to your Highness, or\\r\\n Laid any scruple in your way which might\\r\\n Induce you to the question on\\'t, or ever\\r\\n Have to you, but with thanks to God for such\\r\\n A royal lady, spake one the least word that might\\r\\n Be to the prejudice of her present state,\\r\\n Or touch of her good person?\\r\\n KING. My Lord Cardinal,\\r\\n I do excuse you; yea, upon mine honour,\\r\\n I free you from\\'t. You are not to be taught\\r\\n That you have many enemies that know not\\r\\n Why they are so, but, like to village curs,\\r\\n Bark when their fellows do. By some of these\\r\\n The Queen is put in anger. Y\\'are excus\\'d.\\r\\n But will you be more justified? You ever\\r\\n Have wish\\'d the sleeping of this business; never desir\\'d\\r\\n It to be stirr\\'d; but oft have hind\\'red, oft,\\r\\n The passages made toward it. On my honour,\\r\\n I speak my good Lord Cardinal to this point,\\r\\n And thus far clear him. Now, what mov\\'d me to\\'t,\\r\\n I will be bold with time and your attention.\\r\\n Then mark th\\' inducement. Thus it came-give heed to\\'t:\\r\\n My conscience first receiv\\'d a tenderness,\\r\\n Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter\\'d\\r\\n By th\\' Bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador,\\r\\n Who had been hither sent on the debating\\r\\n A marriage \\'twixt the Duke of Orleans and\\r\\n Our daughter Mary. I\\' th\\' progress of this business,\\r\\n Ere a determinate resolution, he-\\r\\n I mean the Bishop-did require a respite\\r\\n Wherein he might the King his lord advertise\\r\\n Whether our daughter were legitimate,\\r\\n Respecting this our marriage with the dowager,\\r\\n Sometimes our brother\\'s wife. This respite shook\\r\\n The bosom of my conscience, enter\\'d me,\\r\\n Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble\\r\\n The region of my breast, which forc\\'d such way\\r\\n That many maz\\'d considerings did throng\\r\\n And press\\'d in with this caution. First, methought\\r\\n I stood not in the smile of heaven, who had\\r\\n Commanded nature that my lady\\'s womb,\\r\\n If it conceiv\\'d a male child by me, should\\r\\n Do no more offices of life to\\'t than\\r\\n The grave does to the dead; for her male issue\\r\\n Or died where they were made, or shortly after\\r\\n This world had air\\'d them. Hence I took a thought\\r\\n This was a judgment on me, that my kingdom,\\r\\n Well worthy the best heir o\\' th\\' world, should not\\r\\n Be gladded in\\'t by me. Then follows that\\r\\n I weigh\\'d the danger which my realms stood in\\r\\n By this my issue\\'s fail, and that gave to me\\r\\n Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in\\r\\n The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer\\r\\n Toward this remedy, whereupon we are\\r\\n Now present here together; that\\'s to say\\r\\n I meant to rectify my conscience, which\\r\\n I then did feel full sick, and yet not well,\\r\\n By all the reverend fathers of the land\\r\\n And doctors learn\\'d. First, I began in private\\r\\n With you, my Lord of Lincoln; you remember\\r\\n How under my oppression I did reek,\\r\\n When I first mov\\'d you.\\r\\n LINCOLN. Very well, my liege.\\r\\n KING. I have spoke long; be pleas\\'d yourself to say\\r\\n How far you satisfied me.\\r\\n LINCOLN. So please your Highness,\\r\\n The question did at first so stagger me-\\r\\n Bearing a state of mighty moment in\\'t\\r\\n And consequence of dread-that I committed\\r\\n The daring\\'st counsel which I had to doubt,\\r\\n And did entreat your Highness to this course\\r\\n Which you are running here.\\r\\n KING. I then mov\\'d you,\\r\\n My Lord of Canterbury, and got your leave\\r\\n To make this present summons. Unsolicited\\r\\n I left no reverend person in this court,\\r\\n But by particular consent proceeded\\r\\n Under your hands and seals; therefore, go on,\\r\\n For no dislike i\\' th\\' world against the person\\r\\n Of the good Queen, but the sharp thorny points\\r\\n Of my alleged reasons, drives this forward.\\r\\n Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life\\r\\n And kingly dignity, we are contented\\r\\n To wear our moral state to come with her,\\r\\n Katharine our queen, before the primest creature\\r\\n That\\'s paragon\\'d o\\' th\\' world.\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. So please your Highness,\\r\\n The Queen being absent, \\'tis a needful fitness\\r\\n That we adjourn this court till further day;\\r\\n Meanwhile must be an earnest motion\\r\\n Made to the Queen to call back her appeal\\r\\n She intends unto his Holiness.\\r\\n KING. [Aside] I may perceive\\r\\n These cardinals trifle with me. I abhor\\r\\n This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome.\\r\\n My learn\\'d and well-beloved servant, Cranmer,\\r\\n Prithee return. With thy approach I know\\r\\n My comfort comes along. -Break up the court;\\r\\n I say, set on. Exuent in manner as they entered\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The QUEEN\\'S apartments\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the QUEEN and her women, as at work\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Take thy lute, wench. My soul grows\\r\\n sad with troubles;\\r\\n Sing and disperse \\'em, if thou canst. Leave working.\\r\\n\\r\\n SONG\\r\\n\\r\\n Orpheus with his lute made trees,\\r\\n And the mountain tops that freeze,\\r\\n Bow themselves when he did sing;\\r\\n To his music plants and flowers\\r\\n Ever sprung, as sun and showers\\r\\n There had made a lasting spring.\\r\\n\\r\\n Every thing that heard him play,\\r\\n Even the billows of the sea,\\r\\n Hung their heads and then lay by.\\r\\n In sweet music is such art,\\r\\n Killing care and grief of heart\\r\\n Fall asleep or hearing die.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a GENTLEMAN\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. How now?\\r\\n GENTLEMAN. An\\'t please your Grace, the two great Cardinals\\r\\n Wait in the presence.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Would they speak with me?\\r\\n GENTLEMAN. They will\\'d me say so, madam.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Pray their Graces\\r\\n To come near. [Exit GENTLEMAN] What can be their business\\r\\n With me, a poor weak woman, fall\\'n from favour?\\r\\n I do not like their coming. Now I think on\\'t,\\r\\n They should be good men, their affairs as righteous;\\r\\n But all hoods make not monks.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the two CARDINALS, WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n WOLSEY. Peace to your Highness!\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Your Graces find me here part of housewife;\\r\\n I would be all, against the worst may happen.\\r\\n What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords?\\r\\n WOLSEY. May it please you, noble madam, to withdraw\\r\\n Into your private chamber, we shall give you\\r\\n The full cause of our coming.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Speak it here;\\r\\n There\\'s nothing I have done yet, o\\' my conscience,\\r\\n Deserves a corner. Would all other women\\r\\n Could speak this with as free a soul as I do!\\r\\n My lords, I care not-so much I am happy\\r\\n Above a number-if my actions\\r\\n Were tried by ev\\'ry tongue, ev\\'ry eye saw \\'em,\\r\\n Envy and base opinion set against \\'em,\\r\\n I know my life so even. If your business\\r\\n Seek me out, and that way I am wife in,\\r\\n Out with it boldly; truth loves open dealing.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina serenis-sima-\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. O, good my lord, no Latin!\\r\\n I am not such a truant since my coming,\\r\\n As not to know the language I have liv\\'d in;\\r\\n A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, suspicious;\\r\\n Pray speak in English. Here are some will thank you,\\r\\n If you speak truth, for their poor mistress\\' sake:\\r\\n Believe me, she has had much wrong. Lord Cardinal,\\r\\n The willing\\'st sin I ever yet committed\\r\\n May be absolv\\'d in English.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Noble lady,\\r\\n I am sorry my integrity should breed,\\r\\n And service to his Majesty and you,\\r\\n So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant\\r\\n We come not by the way of accusation\\r\\n To taint that honour every good tongue blesses,\\r\\n Nor to betray you any way to sorrow-\\r\\n You have too much, good lady; but to know\\r\\n How you stand minded in the weighty difference\\r\\n Between the King and you, and to deliver,\\r\\n Like free and honest men, our just opinions\\r\\n And comforts to your cause.\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. Most honour\\'d madam,\\r\\n My Lord of York, out of his noble nature,\\r\\n Zeal and obedience he still bore your Grace,\\r\\n Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure\\r\\n Both of his truth and him-which was too far-\\r\\n Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace,\\r\\n His service and his counsel.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. [Aside] To betray me.-\\r\\n My lords, I thank you both for your good wins;\\r\\n Ye speak like honest men-pray God ye prove so!\\r\\n But how to make ye suddenly an answer,\\r\\n In such a point of weight, so near mine honour,\\r\\n More near my life, I fear, with my weak wit,\\r\\n And to such men of gravity and learning,\\r\\n In truth I know not. I was set at work\\r\\n Among my maids, full little, God knows, looking\\r\\n Either for such men or such business.\\r\\n For her sake that I have been-for I feel\\r\\n The last fit of my greatness-good your Graces,\\r\\n Let me have time and counsel for my cause.\\r\\n Alas, I am a woman, friendless, hopeless!\\r\\n WOLSEY. Madam, you wrong the King\\'s love with these fears;\\r\\n Your hopes and friends are infinite.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. In England\\r\\n But little for my profit; can you think, lords,\\r\\n That any Englishman dare give me counsel?\\r\\n Or be a known friend, \\'gainst his Highness\\' pleasure-\\r\\n Though he be grown so desperate to be honest-\\r\\n And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends,\\r\\n They that must weigh out my afflictions,\\r\\n They that my trust must grow to, live not here;\\r\\n They are, as all my other comforts, far hence,\\r\\n In mine own country, lords.\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. I would your Grace\\r\\n Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. How, sir?\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. Put your main cause into the King\\'s protection;\\r\\n He\\'s loving and most gracious. \\'Twill be much\\r\\n Both for your honour better and your cause;\\r\\n For if the trial of the law o\\'ertake ye\\r\\n You\\'ll part away disgrac\\'d.\\r\\n WOLSEY. He tells you rightly.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Ye tell me what ye wish for both-my ruin.\\r\\n Is this your Christian counsel? Out upon ye!\\r\\n Heaven is above all yet: there sits a Judge\\r\\n That no king can corrupt.\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. Your rage mistakes us.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. The more shame for ye; holy men I thought ye,\\r\\n Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues;\\r\\n But cardinal sins and hollow hearts I fear ye.\\r\\n Mend \\'em, for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort?\\r\\n The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady-\\r\\n A woman lost among ye, laugh\\'d at, scorn\\'d?\\r\\n I will not wish ye half my miseries:\\r\\n I have more charity; but say I warned ye.\\r\\n Take heed, for heaven\\'s sake take heed, lest at once\\r\\n The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Madam, this is a mere distraction;\\r\\n You turn the good we offer into envy.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Ye turn me into nothing. Woe upon ye,\\r\\n And all such false professors! Would you have me-\\r\\n If you have any justice, any pity,\\r\\n If ye be any thing but churchmen\\'s habits-\\r\\n Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me?\\r\\n Alas! has banish\\'d me his bed already,\\r\\n His love too long ago! I am old, my lords,\\r\\n And all the fellowship I hold now with him\\r\\n Is only my obedience. What can happen\\r\\n To me above this wretchedness? All your studies\\r\\n Make me a curse like this.\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. Your fears are worse.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Have I liv\\'d thus long-let me speak myself,\\r\\n Since virtue finds no friends-a wife, a true one?\\r\\n A woman, I dare say without vain-glory,\\r\\n Never yet branded with suspicion?\\r\\n Have I with all my full affections\\r\\n Still met the King, lov\\'d him next heav\\'n, obey\\'d him,\\r\\n Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him,\\r\\n Almost forgot my prayers to content him,\\r\\n And am I thus rewarded? \\'Tis not well, lords.\\r\\n Bring me a constant woman to her husband,\\r\\n One that ne\\'er dream\\'d a joy beyond his pleasure,\\r\\n And to that woman, when she has done most,\\r\\n Yet will I add an honour-a great patience.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Madam, you wander from the good we aim at.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty,\\r\\n To give up willingly that noble title\\r\\n Your master wed me to: nothing but death\\r\\n Shall e\\'er divorce my dignities.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Pray hear me.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Would I had never trod this English earth,\\r\\n Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it!\\r\\n Ye have angels\\' faces, but heaven knows your hearts.\\r\\n What will become of me now, wretched lady?\\r\\n I am the most unhappy woman living.\\r\\n [To her WOMEN] Alas, poor wenches, where are now\\r\\n your fortunes?\\r\\n Shipwreck\\'d upon a kingdom, where no pity,\\r\\n No friends, no hope; no kindred weep for me;\\r\\n Almost no grave allow\\'d me. Like the My,\\r\\n That once was mistress of the field, and flourish\\'d,\\r\\n I\\'ll hang my head and perish.\\r\\n WOLSEY. If your Grace\\r\\n Could but be brought to know our ends are honest,\\r\\n You\\'d feel more comfort. Why should we, good lady,\\r\\n Upon what cause, wrong you? Alas, our places,\\r\\n The way of our profession is against it;\\r\\n We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow \\'em.\\r\\n For goodness\\' sake, consider what you do;\\r\\n How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly\\r\\n Grow from the King\\'s acquaintance, by this carriage.\\r\\n The hearts of princes kiss obedience,\\r\\n So much they love it; but to stubborn spirits\\r\\n They swell and grow as terrible as storms.\\r\\n I know you have a gentle, noble temper,\\r\\n A soul as even as a calm. Pray think us\\r\\n Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and servants.\\r\\n CAMPEIUS. Madam, you\\'ll find it so. You wrong your virtues\\r\\n With these weak women\\'s fears. A noble spirit,\\r\\n As yours was put into you, ever casts\\r\\n Such doubts as false coin from it. The King loves you;\\r\\n Beware you lose it not. For us, if you please\\r\\n To trust us in your business, we are ready\\r\\n To use our utmost studies in your service.\\r\\n QUEEN KATHARINE. Do what ye will my lords; and pray\\r\\n forgive me\\r\\n If I have us\\'d myself unmannerly;\\r\\n You know I am a woman, lacking wit\\r\\n To make a seemly answer to such persons.\\r\\n Pray do my service to his Majesty;\\r\\n He has my heart yet, and shall have my prayers\\r\\n While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers,\\r\\n Bestow your counsels on me; she now begs\\r\\n That little thought, when she set footing here,\\r\\n She should have bought her dignities so dear. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III.SCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the DUKE OF NORFOLK, the DUKE OF SUFFOLK, the EARL OF SURREY, and\\r\\nthe LORD CHAMBERLAIN\\r\\n\\r\\n NORFOLK. If you will now unite in your complaints\\r\\n And force them with a constancy, the Cardinal\\r\\n Cannot stand under them: if you omit\\r\\n The offer of this time, I cannot promise\\r\\n But that you shall sustain moe new disgraces\\r\\n With these you bear already.\\r\\n SURREY. I am joyful\\r\\n To meet the least occasion that may give me\\r\\n Remembrance of my father-in-law, the Duke,\\r\\n To be reveng\\'d on him.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Which of the peers\\r\\n Have uncontemn\\'d gone by him, or at least\\r\\n Strangely neglected? When did he regard\\r\\n The stamp of nobleness in any person\\r\\n Out of himself?\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. My lords, you speak your pleasures.\\r\\n What he deserves of you and me I know;\\r\\n What we can do to him-though now the time\\r\\n Gives way to us-I much fear. If you cannot\\r\\n Bar his access to th\\' King, never attempt\\r\\n Anything on him; for he hath a witchcraft\\r\\n Over the King in\\'s tongue.\\r\\n NORFOLK. O, fear him not!\\r\\n His spell in that is out; the King hath found\\r\\n Matter against him that for ever mars\\r\\n The honey of his language. No, he\\'s settled,\\r\\n Not to come off, in his displeasure.\\r\\n SURREY. Sir,\\r\\n I should be glad to hear such news as this\\r\\n Once every hour.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Believe it, this is true:\\r\\n In the divorce his contrary proceedings\\r\\n Are all unfolded; wherein he appears\\r\\n As I would wish mine enemy.\\r\\n SURREY. How came\\r\\n His practices to light?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Most Strangely.\\r\\n SURREY. O, how, how?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. The Cardinal\\'s letters to the Pope miscarried,\\r\\n And came to th\\' eye o\\' th\\' King; wherein was read\\r\\n How that the Cardinal did entreat his Holiness\\r\\n To stay the judgment o\\' th\\' divorce; for if\\r\\n It did take place, \\'I do\\' quoth he \\'perceive\\r\\n My king is tangled in affection to\\r\\n A creature of the Queen\\'s, Lady Anne Bullen.\\'\\r\\n SURREY. Has the King this?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Believe it.\\r\\n SURREY. Will this work?\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. The King in this perceives him how he coasts\\r\\n And hedges his own way. But in this point\\r\\n All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic\\r\\n After his patient\\'s death: the King already\\r\\n Hath married the fair lady.\\r\\n SURREY. Would he had!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. May you be happy in your wish, my lord!\\r\\n For, I profess, you have it.\\r\\n SURREY. Now, all my joy\\r\\n Trace the conjunction!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. My amen to\\'t!\\r\\n NORFOLK. An men\\'s!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. There\\'s order given for her coronation;\\r\\n Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left\\r\\n To some ears unrecounted. But, my lords,\\r\\n She is a gallant creature, and complete\\r\\n In mind and feature. I persuade me from her\\r\\n Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall\\r\\n In it be memoriz\\'d.\\r\\n SURREY. But will the King\\r\\n Digest this letter of the Cardinal\\'s?\\r\\n The Lord forbid!\\r\\n NORFOLK. Marry, amen!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. No, no;\\r\\n There be moe wasps that buzz about his nose\\r\\n Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius\\r\\n Is stol\\'n away to Rome; hath ta\\'en no leave;\\r\\n Has left the cause o\\' th\\' King unhandled, and\\r\\n Is posted, as the agent of our Cardinal,\\r\\n To second all his plot. I do assure you\\r\\n The King cried \\'Ha!\\' at this.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Now, God incense him,\\r\\n And let him cry \\'Ha!\\' louder!\\r\\n NORFOLK. But, my lord,\\r\\n When returns Cranmer?\\r\\n SUFFOLK. He is return\\'d in his opinions; which\\r\\n Have satisfied the King for his divorce,\\r\\n Together with all famous colleges\\r\\n Almost in Christendom. Shortly, I believe,\\r\\n His second marriage shall be publish\\'d, and\\r\\n Her coronation. Katharine no more\\r\\n Shall be call\\'d queen, but princess dowager\\r\\n And widow to Prince Arthur.\\r\\n NORFOLK. This same Cranmer\\'s\\r\\n A worthy fellow, and hath ta\\'en much pain\\r\\n In the King\\'s business.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. He has; and we shall see him\\r\\n For it an archbishop.\\r\\n NORFOLK. So I hear.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. \\'Tis so.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter WOLSEY and CROMWELL\\r\\n\\r\\n The Cardinal!\\r\\n NORFOLK. Observe, observe, he\\'s moody.\\r\\n WOLSEY. The packet, Cromwell,\\r\\n Gave\\'t you the King?\\r\\n CROMWELL. To his own hand, in\\'s bedchamber.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Look\\'d he o\\' th\\' inside of the paper?\\r\\n CROMWELL. Presently\\r\\n He did unseal them; and the first he view\\'d,\\r\\n He did it with a serious mind; a heed\\r\\n Was in his countenance. You he bade\\r\\n Attend him here this morning.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Is he ready\\r\\n To come abroad?\\r\\n CROMWELL. I think by this he is.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Leave me awhile. Exit CROMWELL\\r\\n [Aside] It shall be to the Duchess of Alencon,\\r\\n The French King\\'s sister; he shall marry her.\\r\\n Anne Bullen! No, I\\'ll no Anne Bullens for him;\\r\\n There\\'s more in\\'t than fair visage. Bullen!\\r\\n No, we\\'ll no Bullens. Speedily I wish\\r\\n To hear from Rome. The Marchioness of Pembroke!\\r\\n NORFOLK. He\\'s discontented.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. May be he hears the King\\r\\n Does whet his anger to him.\\r\\n SURREY. Sharp enough,\\r\\n Lord, for thy justice!\\r\\n WOLSEY. [Aside] The late Queen\\'s gentlewoman, a knight\\'s\\r\\n daughter,\\r\\n To be her mistress\\' mistress! The Queen\\'s queen!\\r\\n This candle burns not clear. \\'Tis I must snuff it;\\r\\n Then out it goes. What though I know her virtuous\\r\\n And well deserving? Yet I know her for\\r\\n A spleeny Lutheran; and not wholesome to\\r\\n Our cause that she should lie i\\' th\\' bosom of\\r\\n Our hard-rul\\'d King. Again, there is sprung up\\r\\n An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one\\r\\n Hath crawl\\'d into the favour of the King,\\r\\n And is his oracle.\\r\\n NORFOLK. He is vex\\'d at something.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the KING, reading of a schedule, and LOVELL\\r\\n\\r\\n SURREY. I would \\'twere something that would fret the string,\\r\\n The master-cord on\\'s heart!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. The King, the King!\\r\\n KING. What piles of wealth hath he accumulated\\r\\n To his own portion! And what expense by th\\' hour\\r\\n Seems to flow from him! How, i\\' th\\' name of thrift,\\r\\n Does he rake this together?-Now, my lords,\\r\\n Saw you the Cardinal?\\r\\n NORFOLK. My lord, we have\\r\\n Stood here observing him. Some strange commotion\\r\\n Is in his brain: he bites his lip and starts,\\r\\n Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground,\\r\\n Then lays his finger on his temple; straight\\r\\n Springs out into fast gait; then stops again,\\r\\n Strikes his breast hard; and anon he casts\\r\\n His eye against the moon. In most strange postures\\r\\n We have seen him set himself.\\r\\n KING. It may well be\\r\\n There is a mutiny in\\'s mind. This morning\\r\\n Papers of state he sent me to peruse,\\r\\n As I requir\\'d; and wot you what I found\\r\\n There-on my conscience, put unwittingly?\\r\\n Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing\\r\\n The several parcels of his plate, his treasure,\\r\\n Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household; which\\r\\n I find at such proud rate that it outspeaks\\r\\n Possession of a subject.\\r\\n NORFOLK. It\\'s heaven\\'s will;\\r\\n Some spirit put this paper in the packet\\r\\n To bless your eye withal.\\r\\n KING. If we did think\\r\\n His contemplation were above the earth\\r\\n And fix\\'d on spiritual object, he should still\\r\\n dwell in his musings; but I am afraid\\r\\n His thinkings are below the moon, not worth\\r\\n His serious considering.\\r\\n [The KING takes his seat and whispers LOVELL,\\r\\n who goes to the CARDINAL]\\r\\n WOLSEY. Heaven forgive me!\\r\\n Ever God bless your Highness!\\r\\n KING. Good, my lord,\\r\\n You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the inventory\\r\\n Of your best graces in your mind; the which\\r\\n You were now running o\\'er. You have scarce time\\r\\n To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span\\r\\n To keep your earthly audit; sure, in that\\r\\n I deem you an ill husband, and am glad\\r\\n To have you therein my companion.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Sir,\\r\\n For holy offices I have a time; a time\\r\\n To think upon the part of business which\\r\\n I bear i\\' th\\' state; and nature does require\\r\\n Her times of preservation, which perforce\\r\\n I, her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal,\\r\\n Must give my tendance to.\\r\\n KING. You have said well.\\r\\n WOLSEY. And ever may your Highness yoke together,\\r\\n As I will lend you cause, my doing well\\r\\n With my well saying!\\r\\n KING. \\'Tis well said again;\\r\\n And \\'tis a kind of good deed to say well;\\r\\n And yet words are no deeds. My father lov\\'d you:\\r\\n He said he did; and with his deed did crown\\r\\n His word upon you. Since I had my office\\r\\n I have kept you next my heart; have not alone\\r\\n Employ\\'d you where high profits might come home,\\r\\n But par\\'d my present havings to bestow\\r\\n My bounties upon you.\\r\\n WOLSEY. [Aside] What should this mean?\\r\\n SURREY. [Aside] The Lord increase this business!\\r\\n KING. Have I not made you\\r\\n The prime man of the state? I pray you tell me\\r\\n If what I now pronounce you have found true;\\r\\n And, if you may confess it, say withal\\r\\n If you are bound to us or no. What say you?\\r\\n WOLSEY. My sovereign, I confess your royal graces,\\r\\n Show\\'r\\'d on me daily, have been more than could\\r\\n My studied purposes requite; which went\\r\\n Beyond all man\\'s endeavours. My endeavours,\\r\\n Have ever come too short of my desires,\\r\\n Yet fil\\'d with my abilities; mine own ends\\r\\n Have been mine so that evermore they pointed\\r\\n To th\\' good of your most sacred person and\\r\\n The profit of the state. For your great graces\\r\\n Heap\\'d upon me, poor undeserver, I\\r\\n Can nothing render but allegiant thanks;\\r\\n My pray\\'rs to heaven for you; my loyalty,\\r\\n Which ever has and ever shall be growing,\\r\\n Till death, that winter, kill it.\\r\\n KING. Fairly answer\\'d!\\r\\n A loyal and obedient subject is\\r\\n Therein illustrated; the honour of it\\r\\n Does pay the act of it, as, i\\' th\\' contrary,\\r\\n The foulness is the punishment. I presume\\r\\n That, as my hand has open\\'d bounty to you,\\r\\n My heart dropp\\'d love, my pow\\'r rain\\'d honour, more\\r\\n On you than any, so your hand and heart,\\r\\n Your brain, and every function of your power,\\r\\n Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty,\\r\\n As \\'twere in love\\'s particular, be more\\r\\n To me, your friend, than any.\\r\\n WOLSEY. I do profess\\r\\n That for your Highness\\' good I ever labour\\'d\\r\\n More than mine own; that am, have, and will be-\\r\\n Though all the world should crack their duty to you,\\r\\n And throw it from their soul; though perils did\\r\\n Abound as thick as thought could make \\'em, and\\r\\n Appear in forms more horrid-yet my duty,\\r\\n As doth a rock against the chiding flood,\\r\\n Should the approach of this wild river break,\\r\\n And stand unshaken yours.\\r\\n KING. \\'Tis nobly spoken.\\r\\n Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast,\\r\\n For you have seen him open \\'t. Read o\\'er this;\\r\\n [Giving him papers]\\r\\n And after, this; and then to breakfast with\\r\\n What appetite you have.\\r\\n Exit the KING, frowning upon the CARDINAL; the NOBLES\\r\\n throng after him, smiling and whispering\\r\\n WOLSEY. What should this mean?\\r\\n What sudden anger\\'s this? How have I reap\\'d it?\\r\\n He parted frowning from me, as if ruin\\r\\n Leap\\'d from his eyes; so looks the chafed lion\\r\\n Upon the daring huntsman that has gall\\'d him-\\r\\n Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper;\\r\\n I fear, the story of his anger. \\'Tis so;\\r\\n This paper has undone me. \\'Tis th\\' account\\r\\n Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together\\r\\n For mine own ends; indeed to gain the popedom,\\r\\n And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence,\\r\\n Fit for a fool to fall by! What cross devil\\r\\n Made me put this main secret in the packet\\r\\n I sent the King? Is there no way to cure this?\\r\\n No new device to beat this from his brains?\\r\\n I know \\'twill stir him strongly; yet I know\\r\\n A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune,\\r\\n Will bring me off again. What\\'s this? \\'To th\\' Pope.\\'\\r\\n The letter, as I live, with all the business\\r\\n I writ to\\'s Holiness. Nay then, farewell!\\r\\n I have touch\\'d the highest point of all my greatness,\\r\\n And from that full meridian of my glory\\r\\n I haste now to my setting. I shall fall\\r\\n Like a bright exhalation in the evening,\\r\\n And no man see me more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter to WOLSEY the DUKES OF NORFOLK and\\r\\n SUFFOLK, the EARL OF SURREY, and the LORD\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN\\r\\n\\r\\n NORFOLK. Hear the King\\'s pleasure, Cardinal, who commands you\\r\\n To render up the great seal presently\\r\\n Into our hands, and to confine yourself\\r\\n To Asher House, my Lord of Winchester\\'s,\\r\\n Till you hear further from his Highness.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Stay:\\r\\n Where\\'s your commission, lords? Words cannot carry\\r\\n Authority so weighty.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Who dares cross \\'em,\\r\\n Bearing the King\\'s will from his mouth expressly?\\r\\n WOLSEY. Till I find more than will or words to do it-\\r\\n I mean your malice-know, officious lords,\\r\\n I dare and must deny it. Now I feel\\r\\n Of what coarse metal ye are moulded-envy;\\r\\n How eagerly ye follow my disgraces,\\r\\n As if it fed ye; and how sleek and wanton\\r\\n Ye appear in every thing may bring my ruin!\\r\\n Follow your envious courses, men of malice;\\r\\n You have Christian warrant for \\'em, and no doubt\\r\\n In time will find their fit rewards. That seal\\r\\n You ask with such a violence, the King-\\r\\n Mine and your master-with his own hand gave me;\\r\\n Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours,\\r\\n During my life; and, to confirm his goodness,\\r\\n Tied it by letters-patents. Now, who\\'ll take it?\\r\\n SURREY. The King, that gave it.\\r\\n WOLSEY. It must be himself then.\\r\\n SURREY. Thou art a proud traitor, priest.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Proud lord, thou liest.\\r\\n Within these forty hours Surrey durst better\\r\\n Have burnt that tongue than said so.\\r\\n SURREY. Thy ambition,\\r\\n Thou scarlet sin, robb\\'d this bewailing land\\r\\n Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law.\\r\\n The heads of all thy brother cardinals,\\r\\n With thee and all thy best parts bound together,\\r\\n Weigh\\'d not a hair of his. Plague of your policy!\\r\\n You sent me deputy for Ireland;\\r\\n Far from his succour, from the King, from all\\r\\n That might have mercy on the fault thou gav\\'st him;\\r\\n Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity,\\r\\n Absolv\\'d him with an axe.\\r\\n WOLSEY. This, and all else\\r\\n This talking lord can lay upon my credit,\\r\\n I answer is most false. The Duke by law\\r\\n Found his deserts; how innocent I was\\r\\n From any private malice in his end,\\r\\n His noble jury and foul cause can witness.\\r\\n If I lov\\'d many words, lord, I should tell you\\r\\n You have as little honesty as honour,\\r\\n That in the way of loyalty and truth\\r\\n Toward the King, my ever royal master,\\r\\n Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be\\r\\n And an that love his follies.\\r\\n SURREY. By my soul,\\r\\n Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou shouldst feel\\r\\n My sword i\\' the life-blood of thee else. My lords\\r\\n Can ye endure to hear this arrogance?\\r\\n And from this fellow? If we live thus tamely,\\r\\n To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet,\\r\\n Farewell nobility! Let his Grace go forward\\r\\n And dare us with his cap like larks.\\r\\n WOLSEY. All goodness\\r\\n Is poison to thy stomach.\\r\\n SURREY. Yes, that goodness\\r\\n Of gleaning all the land\\'s wealth into one,\\r\\n Into your own hands, Cardinal, by extortion;\\r\\n The goodness of your intercepted packets\\r\\n You writ to th\\' Pope against the King; your goodness,\\r\\n Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious.\\r\\n My Lord of Norfolk, as you are truly noble,\\r\\n As you respect the common good, the state\\r\\n Of our despis\\'d nobility, our issues,\\r\\n Whom, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen-\\r\\n Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles\\r\\n Collected from his life. I\\'ll startle you\\r\\n Worse than the sacring bell, when the brown wench\\r\\n Lay kissing in your arms, Lord Cardinal.\\r\\n WOLSEY. How much, methinks, I could despise this man,\\r\\n But that I am bound in charity against it!\\r\\n NORFOLK. Those articles, my lord, are in the King\\'s hand;\\r\\n But, thus much, they are foul ones.\\r\\n WOLSEY. So much fairer\\r\\n And spotless shall mine innocence arise,\\r\\n When the King knows my truth.\\r\\n SURREY. This cannot save you.\\r\\n I thank my memory I yet remember\\r\\n Some of these articles; and out they shall.\\r\\n Now, if you can blush and cry guilty, Cardinal,\\r\\n You\\'ll show a little honesty.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Speak on, sir;\\r\\n I dare your worst objections. If I blush,\\r\\n It is to see a nobleman want manners.\\r\\n SURREY. I had rather want those than my head. Have at you!\\r\\n First, that without the King\\'s assent or knowledge\\r\\n You wrought to be a legate; by which power\\r\\n You maim\\'d the jurisdiction of all bishops.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Then, that in all you writ to Rome, or else\\r\\n To foreign princes, \\'Ego et Rex meus\\'\\r\\n Was still inscrib\\'d; in which you brought the King\\r\\n To be your servant.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Then, that without the knowledge\\r\\n Either of King or Council, when you went\\r\\n Ambassador to the Emperor, you made bold\\r\\n To carry into Flanders the great seal.\\r\\n SURREY. Item, you sent a large commission\\r\\n To Gregory de Cassado, to conclude,\\r\\n Without the King\\'s will or the state\\'s allowance,\\r\\n A league between his Highness and Ferrara.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. That out of mere ambition you have caus\\'d\\r\\n Your holy hat to be stamp\\'d on the King\\'s coin.\\r\\n SURREY. Then, that you have sent innumerable substance,\\r\\n By what means got I leave to your own conscience,\\r\\n To furnish Rome and to prepare the ways\\r\\n You have for dignities, to the mere undoing\\r\\n Of all the kingdom. Many more there are,\\r\\n Which, since they are of you, and odious,\\r\\n I will not taint my mouth with.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. O my lord,\\r\\n Press not a falling man too far! \\'Tis virtue.\\r\\n His faults lie open to the laws; let them,\\r\\n Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him\\r\\n So little of his great self.\\r\\n SURREY. I forgive him.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Lord Cardinal, the King\\'s further pleasure is-\\r\\n Because all those things you have done of late,\\r\\n By your power legatine within this kingdom,\\r\\n Fall into th\\' compass of a praemunire-\\r\\n That therefore such a writ be sued against you:\\r\\n To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements,\\r\\n Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be\\r\\n Out of the King\\'s protection. This is my charge.\\r\\n NORFOLK. And so we\\'ll leave you to your meditations\\r\\n How to live better. For your stubborn answer\\r\\n About the giving back the great seal to us,\\r\\n The King shall know it, and, no doubt, shall thank you.\\r\\n So fare you well, my little good Lord Cardinal.\\r\\n Exeunt all but WOLSEY\\r\\n WOLSEY. So farewell to the little good you bear me.\\r\\n Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!\\r\\n This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth\\r\\n The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms\\r\\n And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;\\r\\n The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,\\r\\n And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely\\r\\n His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,\\r\\n And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur\\'d,\\r\\n Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,\\r\\n This many summers in a sea of glory;\\r\\n But far beyond my depth. My high-blown pride\\r\\n At length broke under me, and now has left me,\\r\\n Weary and old with service, to the mercy\\r\\n Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.\\r\\n Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye;\\r\\n I feel my heart new open\\'d. O, how wretched\\r\\n Is that poor man that hangs on princes\\' favours!\\r\\n There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,\\r\\n That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin\\r\\n More pangs and fears than wars or women have;\\r\\n And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,\\r\\n Never to hope again.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CROMWELL, standing amazed\\r\\n\\r\\n Why, how now, Cromwell!\\r\\n CROMWELL. I have no power to speak, sir.\\r\\n WOLSEY. What, amaz\\'d\\r\\n At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder\\r\\n A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep,\\r\\n I am fall\\'n indeed.\\r\\n CROMWELL. How does your Grace?\\r\\n WOLSEY. Why, well;\\r\\n Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.\\r\\n I know myself now, and I feel within me\\r\\n A peace above all earthly dignities,\\r\\n A still and quiet conscience. The King has cur\\'d me,\\r\\n I humbly thank his Grace; and from these shoulders,\\r\\n These ruin\\'d pillars, out of pity, taken\\r\\n A load would sink a navy-too much honour.\\r\\n O, \\'tis a burden, Cromwell, \\'tis a burden\\r\\n Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven!\\r\\n CROMWELL. I am glad your Grace has made that right use of it.\\r\\n WOLSEY. I hope I have. I am able now, methinks,\\r\\n Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,\\r\\n To endure more miseries and greater far\\r\\n Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.\\r\\n What news abroad?\\r\\n CROMWELL. The heaviest and the worst\\r\\n Is your displeasure with the King.\\r\\n WOLSEY. God bless him!\\r\\n CROMWELL. The next is that Sir Thomas More is chosen\\r\\n Lord Chancellor in your place.\\r\\n WOLSEY. That\\'s somewhat sudden.\\r\\n But he\\'s a learned man. May he continue\\r\\n Long in his Highness\\' favour, and do justice\\r\\n For truth\\'s sake and his conscience; that his bones\\r\\n When he has run his course and sleeps in blessings,\\r\\n May have a tomb of orphans\\' tears wept on him!\\r\\n What more?\\r\\n CROMWELL. That Cranmer is return\\'d with welcome,\\r\\n Install\\'d Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.\\r\\n WOLSEY. That\\'s news indeed.\\r\\n CROMWELL. Last, that the Lady Anne,\\r\\n Whom the King hath in secrecy long married,\\r\\n This day was view\\'d in open as his queen,\\r\\n Going to chapel; and the voice is now\\r\\n Only about her coronation.\\r\\n WOLSEY. There was the weight that pull\\'d me down.\\r\\n O Cromwell,\\r\\n The King has gone beyond me. All my glories\\r\\n In that one woman I have lost for ever.\\r\\n No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours,\\r\\n Or gild again the noble troops that waited\\r\\n Upon my smiles. Go get thee from me, Cromwell;\\r\\n I am a poor fall\\'n man, unworthy now\\r\\n To be thy lord and master. Seek the King;\\r\\n That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him\\r\\n What and how true thou art. He will advance thee;\\r\\n Some little memory of me will stir him-\\r\\n I know his noble nature-not to let\\r\\n Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell,\\r\\n Neglect him not; make use now, and provide\\r\\n For thine own future safety.\\r\\n CROMWELL. O my lord,\\r\\n Must I then leave you? Must I needs forgo\\r\\n So good, so noble, and so true a master?\\r\\n Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron,\\r\\n With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord.\\r\\n The King shall have my service; but my prayers\\r\\n For ever and for ever shall be yours.\\r\\n WOLSEY. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear\\r\\n In all my miseries; but thou hast forc\\'d me,\\r\\n Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.\\r\\n Let\\'s dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell,\\r\\n And when I am forgotten, as I shall be,\\r\\n And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention\\r\\n Of me more must be heard of, say I taught thee-\\r\\n Say Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,\\r\\n And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,\\r\\n Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in-\\r\\n A sure and safe one, though thy master miss\\'d it.\\r\\n Mark but my fall and that that ruin\\'d me.\\r\\n Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition:\\r\\n By that sin fell the angels. How can man then,\\r\\n The image of his Maker, hope to win by it?\\r\\n Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee;\\r\\n Corruption wins not more than honesty.\\r\\n Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace\\r\\n To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not;\\r\\n Let all the ends thou aim\\'st at be thy country\\'s,\\r\\n Thy God\\'s, and truth\\'s; then, if thou fall\\'st, O Cromwell,\\r\\n Thou fall\\'st a blessed martyr!\\r\\n Serve the King, and-prithee lead me in.\\r\\n There take an inventory of all I have\\r\\n To the last penny; \\'tis the King\\'s. My robe,\\r\\n And my integrity to heaven, is all\\r\\n I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell!\\r\\n Had I but serv\\'d my God with half the zeal\\r\\n I serv\\'d my King, he would not in mine age\\r\\n Have left me naked to mine enemies.\\r\\n CROMWELL. Good sir, have patience.\\r\\n WOLSEY. So I have. Farewell\\r\\n The hopes of court! My hopes in heaven do dwell. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nA street in Westminster\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter two GENTLEMEN, meeting one another\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Y\\'are well met once again.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. So are you.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. You come to take your stand here, and\\r\\n behold\\r\\n The Lady Anne pass from her coronation?\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. \\'Tis all my business. At our last encounter\\r\\n The Duke of Buckingham came from his trial.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. \\'Tis very true. But that time offer\\'d\\r\\n sorrow;\\r\\n This, general joy.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. \\'Tis well. The citizens,\\r\\n I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds-\\r\\n As, let \\'em have their rights, they are ever forward-\\r\\n In celebration of this day with shows,\\r\\n Pageants, and sights of honour.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Never greater,\\r\\n Nor, I\\'ll assure you, better taken, sir.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. May I be bold to ask what that contains,\\r\\n That paper in your hand?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes; \\'tis the list\\r\\n Of those that claim their offices this day,\\r\\n By custom of the coronation.\\r\\n The Duke of Suffolk is the first, and claims\\r\\n To be High Steward; next, the Duke of Norfolk,\\r\\n He to be Earl Marshal. You may read the rest.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. I thank you, sir; had I not known\\r\\n those customs,\\r\\n I should have been beholding to your paper.\\r\\n But, I beseech you, what\\'s become of Katharine,\\r\\n The Princess Dowager? How goes her business?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. That I can tell you too. The Archbishop\\r\\n Of Canterbury, accompanied with other\\r\\n Learned and reverend fathers of his order,\\r\\n Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles of\\r\\n From Ampthill, where the Princess lay; to which\\r\\n She was often cited by them, but appear\\'d not.\\r\\n And, to be short, for not appearance and\\r\\n The King\\'s late scruple, by the main assent\\r\\n Of all these learned men, she was divorc\\'d,\\r\\n And the late marriage made of none effect;\\r\\n Since which she was removed to Kimbolton,\\r\\n Where she remains now sick.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Alas, good lady! [Trumpets]\\r\\n The trumpets sound. Stand close, the Queen is coming.\\r\\n[Hautboys]\\r\\n\\r\\n THE ORDER OF THE CORONATION.\\r\\n\\r\\n 1. A lively flourish of trumpets.\\r\\n 2. Then two JUDGES.\\r\\n 3. LORD CHANCELLOR, with purse and mace before him.\\r\\n 4. CHORISTERS singing. [Music]\\r\\n 5. MAYOR OF LONDON, bearing the mace. Then GARTER, in\\r\\n his coat of arms, and on his head he wore a gilt copper\\r\\n crown.\\r\\n 6. MARQUIS DORSET, bearing a sceptre of gold, on his head a\\r\\n demi-coronal of gold. With him, the EARL OF SURREY,\\r\\n bearing the rod of silver with the dove, crowned with an\\r\\n earl\\'s coronet. Collars of Esses.\\r\\n 7. DUKE OF SUFFOLK, in his robe of estate, his coronet on\\r\\n his head, bearing a long white wand, as High Steward.\\r\\n With him, the DUKE OF NORFOLK, with the rod of\\r\\n marshalship, a coronet on his head. Collars of Esses.\\r\\n 8. A canopy borne by four of the CINQUE-PORTS; under it\\r\\n the QUEEN in her robe; in her hair richly adorned with\\r\\n pearl, crowned. On each side her, the BISHOPS OF LONDON\\r\\n and WINCHESTER.\\r\\n 9. The old DUCHESS OF NORFOLK, in a coronal of gold\\r\\n wrought with flowers, bearing the QUEEN\\'S train.\\r\\n 10. Certain LADIES or COUNTESSES, with plain circlets of gold\\r\\n without flowers.\\r\\n\\r\\n Exeunt, first passing over the stage in order and state,\\r\\n and then a great flourish of trumpets\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. A royal train, believe me. These know.\\r\\n Who\\'s that that bears the sceptre?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Marquis Dorset;\\r\\n And that the Earl of Surrey, with the rod.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. A bold brave gentleman. That should be\\r\\n The Duke of Suffolk?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. \\'Tis the same-High Steward.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. And that my Lord of Norfolk?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. [Looking on the QUEEN] Heaven\\r\\n bless thee!\\r\\n Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look\\'d on.\\r\\n Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel;\\r\\n Our king has all the Indies in his arms,\\r\\n And more and richer, when he strains that lady;\\r\\n I cannot blame his conscience.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. They that bear\\r\\n The cloth of honour over her are four barons\\r\\n Of the Cinque-ports.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Those men are happy; and so are all\\r\\n are near her.\\r\\n I take it she that carries up the train\\r\\n Is that old noble lady, Duchess of Norfolk.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. It is; and all the rest are countesses.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Their coronets say so. These are stars indeed,\\r\\n And sometimes falling ones.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. No more of that.\\r\\n Exit Procession, with a great flourish of trumpets\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a third GENTLEMAN\\r\\n\\r\\n God save you, sir! Where have you been broiling?\\r\\n THIRD GENTLEMAN. Among the crowds i\\' th\\' Abbey, where a finger\\r\\n Could not be wedg\\'d in more; I am stifled\\r\\n With the mere rankness of their joy.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. You saw\\r\\n The ceremony?\\r\\n THIRD GENTLEMAN. That I did.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. How was it?\\r\\n THIRD GENTLEMAN. Well worth the seeing.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Good sir, speak it to us.\\r\\n THIRD GENTLEMAN. As well as I am able. The rich stream\\r\\n Of lords and ladies, having brought the Queen\\r\\n To a prepar\\'d place in the choir, fell of\\r\\n A distance from her, while her Grace sat down\\r\\n To rest awhile, some half an hour or so,\\r\\n In a rich chair of state, opposing freely\\r\\n The beauty of her person to the people.\\r\\n Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman\\r\\n That ever lay by man; which when the people\\r\\n Had the full view of, such a noise arose\\r\\n As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest,\\r\\n As loud, and to as many tunes; hats, cloaks-\\r\\n Doublets, I think-flew up, and had their faces\\r\\n Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy\\r\\n I never saw before. Great-bellied women,\\r\\n That had not half a week to go, like rams\\r\\n In the old time of war, would shake the press,\\r\\n And make \\'em reel before \\'em. No man living\\r\\n Could say \\'This is my wife\\' there, all were woven\\r\\n So strangely in one piece.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. But what follow\\'d?\\r\\n THIRD GENTLEMAN. At length her Grace rose, and with\\r\\n modest paces\\r\\n Came to the altar, where she kneel\\'d, and saintlike\\r\\n Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray\\'d devoutly.\\r\\n Then rose again, and bow\\'d her to the people;\\r\\n When by the Archbishop of Canterbury\\r\\n She had all the royal makings of a queen:\\r\\n As holy oil, Edward Confessor\\'s crown,\\r\\n The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems\\r\\n Laid nobly on her; which perform\\'d, the choir,\\r\\n With all the choicest music of the kingdom,\\r\\n Together sung \\'Te Deum.\\' So she parted,\\r\\n And with the same full state pac\\'d back again\\r\\n To York Place, where the feast is held.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Sir,\\r\\n You must no more call it York Place: that\\'s past:\\r\\n For since the Cardinal fell that title\\'s lost.\\r\\n \\'Tis now the King\\'s, and called Whitehall.\\r\\n THIRD GENTLEMAN. I know it;\\r\\n But \\'tis so lately alter\\'d that the old name\\r\\n Is fresh about me.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. What two reverend bishops\\r\\n Were those that went on each side of the Queen?\\r\\n THIRD GENTLEMAN. Stokesly and Gardiner: the one of Winchester,\\r\\n Newly preferr\\'d from the King\\'s secretary;\\r\\n The other, London.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. He of Winchester\\r\\n Is held no great good lover of the Archbishop\\'s,\\r\\n The virtuous Cranmer.\\r\\n THIRD GENTLEMAN. All the land knows that;\\r\\n However, yet there is no great breach. When it comes,\\r\\n Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Who may that be, I pray you?\\r\\n THIRD GENTLEMAN. Thomas Cromwell,\\r\\n A man in much esteem with th\\' King, and truly\\r\\n A worthy friend. The King has made him Master\\r\\n O\\' th\\' jewel House,\\r\\n And one, already, of the Privy Council.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. He will deserve more.\\r\\n THIRD GENTLEMAN. Yes, without all doubt.\\r\\n Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which\\r\\n Is to th\\' court, and there ye shall be my guests:\\r\\n Something I can command. As I walk thither,\\r\\n I\\'ll tell ye more.\\r\\n BOTH. You may command us, sir. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nKimbolton\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter KATHARINE, Dowager, sick; led between GRIFFITH, her Gentleman\\r\\nUsher, and PATIENCE, her woman\\r\\n\\r\\n GRIFFITH. How does your Grace?\\r\\n KATHARINE. O Griffith, sick to death!\\r\\n My legs like loaden branches bow to th\\' earth,\\r\\n Willing to leave their burden. Reach a chair.\\r\\n So-now, methinks, I feel a little ease.\\r\\n Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led\\'st me,\\r\\n That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey,\\r\\n Was dead?\\r\\n GRIFFITH. Yes, madam; but I think your Grace,\\r\\n Out of the pain you suffer\\'d, gave no ear to\\'t.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died.\\r\\n If well, he stepp\\'d before me, happily,\\r\\n For my example.\\r\\n GRIFFITH. Well, the voice goes, madam;\\r\\n For after the stout Earl Northumberland\\r\\n Arrested him at York and brought him forward,\\r\\n As a man sorely tainted, to his answer,\\r\\n He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill\\r\\n He could not sit his mule.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Alas, poor man!\\r\\n GRIFFITH. At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester,\\r\\n Lodg\\'d in the abbey; where the reverend abbot,\\r\\n With all his covent, honourably receiv\\'d him;\\r\\n To whom he gave these words: \\'O father Abbot,\\r\\n An old man, broken with the storms of state,\\r\\n Is come to lay his weary bones among ye;\\r\\n Give him a little earth for charity!\\'\\r\\n So went to bed; where eagerly his sickness\\r\\n Pursu\\'d him still And three nights after this,\\r\\n About the hour of eight-which he himself\\r\\n Foretold should be his last-full of repentance,\\r\\n Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows,\\r\\n He gave his honours to the world again,\\r\\n His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.\\r\\n KATHARINE. So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him!\\r\\n Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him,\\r\\n And yet with charity. He was a man\\r\\n Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking\\r\\n Himself with princes; one that, by suggestion,\\r\\n Tied all the kingdom. Simony was fair play;\\r\\n His own opinion was his law. I\\' th\\' presence\\r\\n He would say untruths, and be ever double\\r\\n Both in his words and meaning. He was never,\\r\\n But where he meant to ruin, pitiful.\\r\\n His promises were, as he then was, mighty;\\r\\n But his performance, as he is now, nothing.\\r\\n Of his own body he was ill, and gave\\r\\n The clergy ill example.\\r\\n GRIFFITH. Noble madam,\\r\\n Men\\'s evil manners live in brass: their virtues\\r\\n We write in water. May it please your Highness\\r\\n To hear me speak his good now?\\r\\n KATHARINE. Yes, good Griffith;\\r\\n I were malicious else.\\r\\n GRIFFITH. This Cardinal,\\r\\n Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly\\r\\n Was fashion\\'d to much honour from his cradle.\\r\\n He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one;\\r\\n Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading;\\r\\n Lofty and sour to them that lov\\'d him not,\\r\\n But to those men that sought him sweet as summer.\\r\\n And though he were unsatisfied in getting-\\r\\n Which was a sin-yet in bestowing, madam,\\r\\n He was most princely: ever witness for him\\r\\n Those twins of learning that he rais\\'d in you,\\r\\n Ipswich and Oxford! One of which fell with him,\\r\\n Unwilling to outlive the good that did it;\\r\\n The other, though unfinish\\'d, yet so famous,\\r\\n So excellent in art, and still so rising,\\r\\n That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue.\\r\\n His overthrow heap\\'d happiness upon him;\\r\\n For then, and not till then, he felt himself,\\r\\n And found the blessedness of being little.\\r\\n And, to add greater honours to his age\\r\\n Than man could give him, he died fearing God.\\r\\n KATHARINE. After my death I wish no other herald,\\r\\n No other speaker of my living actions,\\r\\n To keep mine honour from corruption,\\r\\n But such an honest chronicler as Griffith.\\r\\n Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me,\\r\\n With thy religious truth and modesty,\\r\\n Now in his ashes honour. Peace be with him!\\r\\n patience, be near me still, and set me lower:\\r\\n I have not long to trouble thee. Good Griffith,\\r\\n Cause the musicians play me that sad note\\r\\n I nam\\'d my knell, whilst I sit meditating\\r\\n On that celestial harmony I go to.\\r\\n [Sad and solemn music]\\r\\n GRIFFITH. She is asleep. Good wench, let\\'s sit down quiet,\\r\\n For fear we wake her. Softly, gentle Patience.\\r\\n\\r\\n THE VISION.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, solemnly tripping one after another, six PERSONAGES clad\\r\\n in white robes, wearing on their heads garlands of bays, and\\r\\n golden vizards on their faces; branches of bays or palm in their\\r\\n hands. They first congee unto her, then dance; and, at certain\\r\\n changes, the first two hold a spare garland over her head, at\\r\\n which the other four make reverent curtsies. Then the two that\\r\\n held the garland deliver the same to the other next two, who\\r\\n observe the same order in their changes, and holding the garland\\r\\n over her head; which done, they deliver the same garland to the\\r\\n last two, who likewise observe the same order; at which, as it\\r\\n were by inspiration, she makes in her sleep signs of rejoicing,\\r\\n and holdeth up her hands to heaven. And so in their dancing\\r\\n vanish, carrying the garland with them. The music continues\\r\\n\\r\\n KATHARINE. Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye all gone?\\r\\n And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye?\\r\\n GRIFFITH. Madam, we are here.\\r\\n KATHARINE. It is not you I call for.\\r\\n Saw ye none enter since I slept?\\r\\n GRIFFITH. None, madam.\\r\\n KATHARINE. No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop\\r\\n Invite me to a banquet; whose bright faces\\r\\n Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun?\\r\\n They promis\\'d me eternal happiness,\\r\\n And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel\\r\\n I am not worthy yet to wear. I shall, assuredly.\\r\\n GRIFFITH. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams\\r\\n Possess your fancy.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Bid the music leave,\\r\\n They are harsh and heavy to me. [Music ceases]\\r\\n PATIENCE. Do you note\\r\\n How much her Grace is alter\\'d on the sudden?\\r\\n How long her face is drawn! How pale she looks,\\r\\n And of an earthly cold! Mark her eyes.\\r\\n GRIFFITH. She is going, wench. Pray, pray.\\r\\n PATIENCE. Heaven comfort her!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. An\\'t like your Grace-\\r\\n KATHARINE. You are a saucy fellow.\\r\\n Deserve we no more reverence?\\r\\n GRIFFITH. You are to blame,\\r\\n Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness,\\r\\n To use so rude behaviour. Go to, kneel.\\r\\n MESSENGER. I humbly do entreat your Highness\\' pardon;\\r\\n My haste made me unmannerly. There is staying\\r\\n A gentleman, sent from the King, to see you.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Admit him entrance, Griffith; but this fellow\\r\\n Let me ne\\'er see again. Exit MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD CAPUCIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n If my sight fail not,\\r\\n You should be Lord Ambassador from the Emperor,\\r\\n My royal nephew, and your name Capucius.\\r\\n CAPUCIUS. Madam, the same-your servant.\\r\\n KATHARINE. O, my Lord,\\r\\n The times and titles now are alter\\'d strangely\\r\\n With me since first you knew me. But, I pray you,\\r\\n What is your pleasure with me?\\r\\n CAPUCIUS. Noble lady,\\r\\n First, mine own service to your Grace; the next,\\r\\n The King\\'s request that I would visit you,\\r\\n Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me\\r\\n Sends you his princely commendations\\r\\n And heartily entreats you take good comfort.\\r\\n KATHARINE. O my good lord, that comfort comes too late,\\r\\n \\'Tis like a pardon after execution:\\r\\n That gentle physic, given in time, had cur\\'d me;\\r\\n But now I am past all comforts here, but prayers.\\r\\n How does his Highness?\\r\\n CAPUCIUS. Madam, in good health.\\r\\n KATHARINE. So may he ever do! and ever flourish\\r\\n When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name\\r\\n Banish\\'d the kingdom! Patience, is that letter\\r\\n I caus\\'d you write yet sent away?\\r\\n PATIENCE. No, madam. [Giving it to KATHARINE]\\r\\n KATHARINE. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver\\r\\n This to my lord the King.\\r\\n CAPUCIUS. Most willing, madam.\\r\\n KATHARINE. In which I have commended to his goodness\\r\\n The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter-\\r\\n The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her!-\\r\\n Beseeching him to give her virtuous breeding-\\r\\n She is young, and of a noble modest nature;\\r\\n I hope she will deserve well-and a little\\r\\n To love her for her mother\\'s sake, that lov\\'d him,\\r\\n Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition\\r\\n Is that his noble Grace would have some pity\\r\\n Upon my wretched women that so long\\r\\n Have follow\\'d both my fortunes faithfully;\\r\\n Of which there is not one, I dare avow-\\r\\n And now I should not lie-but will deserve,\\r\\n For virtue and true beauty of the soul,\\r\\n For honesty and decent carriage,\\r\\n A right good husband, let him be a noble;\\r\\n And sure those men are happy that shall have \\'em.\\r\\n The last is for my men-they are the poorest,\\r\\n But poverty could never draw \\'em from me-\\r\\n That they may have their wages duly paid \\'em,\\r\\n And something over to remember me by.\\r\\n If heaven had pleas\\'d to have given me longer life\\r\\n And able means, we had not parted thus.\\r\\n These are the whole contents; and, good my lord,\\r\\n By that you love the dearest in this world,\\r\\n As you wish Christian peace to souls departed,\\r\\n Stand these poor people\\'s friend, and urge the King\\r\\n To do me this last right.\\r\\n CAPUCIUS. By heaven, I will,\\r\\n Or let me lose the fashion of a man!\\r\\n KATHARINE. I thank you, honest lord. Remember me\\r\\n In all humility unto his Highness;\\r\\n Say his long trouble now is passing\\r\\n Out of this world. Tell him in death I bless\\'d him,\\r\\n For so I will. Mine eyes grow dim. Farewell,\\r\\n My lord. Griffith, farewell. Nay, Patience,\\r\\n You must not leave me yet. I must to bed;\\r\\n Call in more women. When I am dead, good wench,\\r\\n Let me be us\\'d with honour; strew me over\\r\\n With maiden flowers, that all the world may know\\r\\n I was a chaste wife to my grave. Embalm me,\\r\\n Then lay me forth; although unqueen\\'d, yet like\\r\\n A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me.\\r\\n I can no more. Exeunt, leading KATHARINE\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. A gallery in the palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter GARDINER, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, a PAGE with a torch before him,\\r\\nmet by SIR THOMAS LOVELL\\r\\n\\r\\n GARDINER. It\\'s one o\\'clock, boy, is\\'t not?\\r\\n BOY. It hath struck.\\r\\n GARDINER. These should be hours for necessities,\\r\\n Not for delights; times to repair our nature\\r\\n With comforting repose, and not for us\\r\\n To waste these times. Good hour of night, Sir Thomas!\\r\\n Whither so late?\\r\\n LOVELL. Came you from the King, my lord?\\r\\n GARDINER. I did, Sir Thomas, and left him at primero\\r\\n With the Duke of Suffolk.\\r\\n LOVELL. I must to him too,\\r\\n Before he go to bed. I\\'ll take my leave.\\r\\n GARDINER. Not yet, Sir Thomas Lovell. What\\'s the matter?\\r\\n It seems you are in haste. An if there be\\r\\n No great offence belongs to\\'t, give your friend\\r\\n Some touch of your late business. Affairs that walk-\\r\\n As they say spirits do-at midnight, have\\r\\n In them a wilder nature than the business\\r\\n That seeks despatch by day.\\r\\n LOVELL. My lord, I love you;\\r\\n And durst commend a secret to your ear\\r\\n Much weightier than this work. The Queen\\'s in labour,\\r\\n They say in great extremity, and fear\\'d\\r\\n She\\'ll with the labour end.\\r\\n GARDINER. The fruit she goes with\\r\\n I pray for heartily, that it may find\\r\\n Good time, and live; but for the stock, Sir Thomas,\\r\\n I wish it grubb\\'d up now.\\r\\n LOVELL. Methinks I could\\r\\n Cry thee amen; and yet my conscience says\\r\\n She\\'s a good creature, and, sweet lady, does\\r\\n Deserve our better wishes.\\r\\n GARDINER. But, sir, sir-\\r\\n Hear me, Sir Thomas. Y\\'are a gentleman\\r\\n Of mine own way; I know you wise, religious;\\r\\n And, let me tell you, it will ne\\'er be well-\\r\\n \\'Twill not, Sir Thomas Lovell, take\\'t of me-\\r\\n Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she,\\r\\n Sleep in their graves.\\r\\n LOVELL. Now, sir, you speak of two\\r\\n The most remark\\'d i\\' th\\' kingdom. As for Cromwell,\\r\\n Beside that of the Jewel House, is made Master\\r\\n O\\' th\\' Rolls, and the King\\'s secretary; further, sir,\\r\\n Stands in the gap and trade of moe preferments,\\r\\n With which the time will load him. Th\\' Archbishop\\r\\n Is the King\\'s hand and tongue, and who dare speak\\r\\n One syllable against him?\\r\\n GARDINER. Yes, yes, Sir Thomas,\\r\\n There are that dare; and I myself have ventur\\'d\\r\\n To speak my mind of him; and indeed this day,\\r\\n Sir-I may tell it you-I think I have\\r\\n Incens\\'d the lords o\\' th\\' Council, that he is-\\r\\n For so I know he is, they know he is-\\r\\n A most arch heretic, a pestilence\\r\\n That does infect the land; with which they moved\\r\\n Have broken with the King, who hath so far\\r\\n Given ear to our complaint-of his great grace\\r\\n And princely care, foreseeing those fell mischiefs\\r\\n Our reasons laid before him-hath commanded\\r\\n To-morrow morning to the Council board\\r\\n He be convented. He\\'s a rank weed, Sir Thomas,\\r\\n And we must root him out. From your affairs\\r\\n I hinder you too long-good night, Sir Thomas.\\r\\n LOVELL. Many good nights, my lord; I rest your servant.\\r\\n Exeunt GARDINER and PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the KING and the DUKE OF SUFFOLK\\r\\n\\r\\n KING. Charles, I will play no more to-night;\\r\\n My mind\\'s not on\\'t; you are too hard for me.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Sir, I did never win of you before.\\r\\n KING. But little, Charles;\\r\\n Nor shall not, when my fancy\\'s on my play.\\r\\n Now, Lovell, from the Queen what is the news?\\r\\n LOVELL. I could not personally deliver to her\\r\\n What you commanded me, but by her woman\\r\\n I sent your message; who return\\'d her thanks\\r\\n In the great\\'st humbleness, and desir\\'d your Highness\\r\\n Most heartily to pray for her.\\r\\n KING. What say\\'st thou, ha?\\r\\n To pray for her? What, is she crying out?\\r\\n LOVELL. So said her woman; and that her suff\\'rance made\\r\\n Almost each pang a death.\\r\\n KING. Alas, good lady!\\r\\n SUFFOLK. God safely quit her of her burden, and\\r\\n With gentle travail, to the gladding of\\r\\n Your Highness with an heir!\\r\\n KING. \\'Tis midnight, Charles;\\r\\n Prithee to bed; and in thy pray\\'rs remember\\r\\n Th\\' estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone,\\r\\n For I must think of that which company\\r\\n Will not be friendly to.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. I wish your Highness\\r\\n A quiet night, and my good mistress will\\r\\n Remember in my prayers.\\r\\n KING. Charles, good night. Exit SUFFOLK\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR ANTHONY DENNY\\r\\n\\r\\n Well, sir, what follows?\\r\\n DENNY. Sir, I have brought my lord the Archbishop,\\r\\n As you commanded me.\\r\\n KING. Ha! Canterbury?\\r\\n DENNY. Ay, my good lord.\\r\\n KING. \\'Tis true. Where is he, Denny?\\r\\n DENNY. He attends your Highness\\' pleasure.\\r\\n KING. Bring him to us. Exit DENNY\\r\\n LOVELL. [Aside] This is about that which the bishop spake.\\r\\n I am happily come hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter DENNY, With CRANMER\\r\\n\\r\\n KING. Avoid the gallery. [LOVELL seems to stay]\\r\\n Ha! I have said. Be gone.\\r\\n What! Exeunt LOVELL and DENNY\\r\\n CRANMER. [Aside] I am fearful-wherefore frowns he thus?\\r\\n \\'Tis his aspect of terror. All\\'s not well.\\r\\n KING. How now, my lord? You do desire to know\\r\\n Wherefore I sent for you.\\r\\n CRANMER. [Kneeling] It is my duty\\r\\n T\\'attend your Highness\\' pleasure.\\r\\n KING. Pray you, arise,\\r\\n My good and gracious Lord of Canterbury.\\r\\n Come, you and I must walk a turn together;\\r\\n I have news to tell you; come, come, me your hand.\\r\\n Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak,\\r\\n And am right sorry to repeat what follows.\\r\\n I have, and most unwillingly, of late\\r\\n Heard many grievous-I do say, my lord,\\r\\n Grievous-complaints of you; which, being consider\\'d,\\r\\n Have mov\\'d us and our Council that you shall\\r\\n This morning come before us; where I know\\r\\n You cannot with such freedom purge yourself\\r\\n But that, till further trial in those charges\\r\\n Which will require your answer, you must take\\r\\n Your patience to you and be well contented\\r\\n To make your house our Tow\\'r. You a brother of us,\\r\\n It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness\\r\\n Would come against you.\\r\\n CRANMER. I humbly thank your Highness\\r\\n And am right glad to catch this good occasion\\r\\n Most throughly to be winnowed where my chaff\\r\\n And corn shall fly asunder; for I know\\r\\n There\\'s none stands under more calumnious tongues\\r\\n Than I myself, poor man.\\r\\n KING. Stand up, good Canterbury;\\r\\n Thy truth and thy integrity is rooted\\r\\n In us, thy friend. Give me thy hand, stand up;\\r\\n Prithee let\\'s walk. Now, by my holidame,\\r\\n What manner of man are you? My lord, I look\\'d\\r\\n You would have given me your petition that\\r\\n I should have ta\\'en some pains to bring together\\r\\n Yourself and your accusers, and to have heard you\\r\\n Without indurance further.\\r\\n CRANMER. Most dread liege,\\r\\n The good I stand on is my truth and honesty;\\r\\n If they shall fail, I with mine enemies\\r\\n Will triumph o\\'er my person; which I weigh not,\\r\\n Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing\\r\\n What can be said against me.\\r\\n KING. Know you not\\r\\n How your state stands i\\' th\\' world, with the whole world?\\r\\n Your enemies are many, and not small; their practices\\r\\n Must bear the same proportion; and not ever\\r\\n The justice and the truth o\\' th\\' question carries\\r\\n The due o\\' th\\' verdict with it; at what ease\\r\\n Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt\\r\\n To swear against you? Such things have been done.\\r\\n You are potently oppos\\'d, and with a malice\\r\\n Of as great size. Ween you of better luck,\\r\\n I mean in perjur\\'d witness, than your Master,\\r\\n Whose minister you are, whiles here He liv\\'d\\r\\n Upon this naughty earth? Go to, go to;\\r\\n You take a precipice for no leap of danger,\\r\\n And woo your own destruction.\\r\\n CRANMER. God and your Majesty\\r\\n Protect mine innocence, or I fall into\\r\\n The trap is laid for me!\\r\\n KING. Be of good cheer;\\r\\n They shall no more prevail than we give way to.\\r\\n Keep comfort to you, and this morning see\\r\\n You do appear before them; if they shall chance,\\r\\n In charging you with matters, to commit you,\\r\\n The best persuasions to the contrary\\r\\n Fail not to use, and with what vehemency\\r\\n Th\\' occasion shall instruct you. If entreaties\\r\\n Will render you no remedy, this ring\\r\\n Deliver them, and your appeal to us\\r\\n There make before them. Look, the good man weeps!\\r\\n He\\'s honest, on mine honour. God\\'s blest Mother!\\r\\n I swear he is true-hearted, and a soul\\r\\n None better in my kingdom. Get you gone,\\r\\n And do as I have bid you.\\r\\n Exit CRANMER\\r\\n He has strangled his language in his tears.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter OLD LADY\\r\\n\\r\\n GENTLEMAN. [Within] Come back; what mean you?\\r\\n OLD LADY. I\\'ll not come back; the tidings that I bring\\r\\n Will make my boldness manners. Now, good angels\\r\\n Fly o\\'er thy royal head, and shade thy person\\r\\n Under their blessed wings!\\r\\n KING. Now, by thy looks\\r\\n I guess thy message. Is the Queen deliver\\'d?\\r\\n Say ay, and of a boy.\\r\\n OLD LADY. Ay, ay, my liege;\\r\\n And of a lovely boy. The God of Heaven\\r\\n Both now and ever bless her! \\'Tis a girl,\\r\\n Promises boys hereafter. Sir, your queen\\r\\n Desires your visitation, and to be\\r\\n Acquainted with this stranger; \\'tis as like you\\r\\n As cherry is to cherry.\\r\\n KING. Lovell!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LOVELL\\r\\n\\r\\n LOVELL. Sir?\\r\\n KING. Give her an hundred marks. I\\'ll to the Queen. Exit\\r\\n OLD LADY. An hundred marks? By this light, I\\'ll ha\\' more!\\r\\n An ordinary groom is for such payment.\\r\\n I will have more, or scold it out of him.\\r\\n Said I for this the girl was like to him! I\\'ll\\r\\n Have more, or else unsay\\'t; and now, while \\'tis hot,\\r\\n I\\'ll put it to the issue. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nLobby before the Council Chamber\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter CRANMER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n CRANMER. I hope I am not too late; and yet the gentleman\\r\\n That was sent to me from the Council pray\\'d me\\r\\n To make great haste. All fast? What means this? Ho!\\r\\n Who waits there? Sure you know me?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KEEPER\\r\\n\\r\\n KEEPER. Yes, my lord;\\r\\n But yet I cannot help you.\\r\\n CRANMER. Why?\\r\\n KEEPER. Your Grace must wait till you be call\\'d for.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DOCTOR BUTTS\\r\\n\\r\\n CRANMER. So.\\r\\n BUTTS. [Aside] This is a piece of malice. I am glad\\r\\n I came this way so happily; the King\\r\\n Shall understand it presently. Exit\\r\\n CRANMER. [Aside] \\'Tis Butts,\\r\\n The King\\'s physician; as he pass\\'d along,\\r\\n How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me!\\r\\n Pray heaven he sound not my disgrace! For certain,\\r\\n This is of purpose laid by some that hate me-\\r\\n God turn their hearts! I never sought their malice-\\r\\n To quench mine honour; they would shame to make me\\r\\n Wait else at door, a fellow councillor,\\r\\n \\'Mong boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their pleasures\\r\\n Must be fulfill\\'d, and I attend with patience.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the KING and BUTTS at window above\\r\\n\\r\\n BUTTS. I\\'ll show your Grace the strangest sight-\\r\\n KING. What\\'s that, Butts?\\r\\n BUTTS. I think your Highness saw this many a day.\\r\\n KING. Body a me, where is it?\\r\\n BUTTS. There my lord:\\r\\n The high promotion of his Grace of Canterbury;\\r\\n Who holds his state at door, \\'mongst pursuivants,\\r\\n Pages, and footboys.\\r\\n KING. Ha, \\'tis he indeed.\\r\\n Is this the honour they do one another?\\r\\n \\'Tis well there\\'s one above \\'em yet. I had thought\\r\\n They had parted so much honesty among \\'em-\\r\\n At least good manners-as not thus to suffer\\r\\n A man of his place, and so near our favour,\\r\\n To dance attendance on their lordships\\' pleasures,\\r\\n And at the door too, like a post with packets.\\r\\n By holy Mary, Butts, there\\'s knavery!\\r\\n Let \\'em alone, and draw the curtain close;\\r\\n We shall hear more anon. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Council Chamber\\r\\n\\r\\nA Council table brought in, with chairs and stools, and placed under\\r\\nthe state. Enter LORD CHANCELLOR, places himself at the upper end of\\r\\nthe table on the left band, a seat being left void above him, as for\\r\\nCanterbury\\'s seat. DUKE OF SUFFOLK, DUKE OF NORFOLK, SURREY, LORD\\r\\nCHAMBERLAIN, GARDINER, seat themselves in order on each side; CROMWELL\\r\\nat lower end, as secretary. KEEPER at the door\\r\\n\\r\\n CHANCELLOR. Speak to the business, master secretary;\\r\\n Why are we met in council?\\r\\n CROMWELL. Please your honours,\\r\\n The chief cause concerns his Grace of Canterbury.\\r\\n GARDINER. Has he had knowledge of it?\\r\\n CROMWELL. Yes.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Who waits there?\\r\\n KEEPER. Without, my noble lords?\\r\\n GARDINER. Yes.\\r\\n KEEPER. My Lord Archbishop;\\r\\n And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures.\\r\\n CHANCELLOR. Let him come in.\\r\\n KEEPER. Your Grace may enter now.\\r\\n\\r\\n CRANMER approaches the Council table\\r\\n\\r\\n CHANCELLOR. My good Lord Archbishop, I am very sorry\\r\\n To sit here at this present, and behold\\r\\n That chair stand empty; but we all are men,\\r\\n In our own natures frail and capable\\r\\n Of our flesh; few are angels; out of which frailty\\r\\n And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us,\\r\\n Have misdemean\\'d yourself, and not a little,\\r\\n Toward the King first, then his laws, in filling\\r\\n The whole realm by your teaching and your chaplains-\\r\\n For so we are inform\\'d-with new opinions,\\r\\n Divers and dangerous; which are heresies,\\r\\n And, not reform\\'d, may prove pernicious.\\r\\n GARDINER. Which reformation must be sudden too,\\r\\n My noble lords; for those that tame wild horses\\r\\n Pace \\'em not in their hands to make \\'em gentle,\\r\\n But stop their mouth with stubborn bits and spur \\'em\\r\\n Till they obey the manage. If we suffer,\\r\\n Out of our easiness and childish pity\\r\\n To one man\\'s honour, this contagious sickness,\\r\\n Farewell all physic; and what follows then?\\r\\n Commotions, uproars, with a general taint\\r\\n Of the whole state; as of late days our neighbours,\\r\\n The upper Germany, can dearly witness,\\r\\n Yet freshly pitied in our memories.\\r\\n CRANMER. My good lords, hitherto in all the progress\\r\\n Both of my life and office, I have labour\\'d,\\r\\n And with no little study, that my teaching\\r\\n And the strong course of my authority\\r\\n Might go one way, and safely; and the end\\r\\n Was ever to do well. Nor is there living-\\r\\n I speak it with a single heart, my lords-\\r\\n A man that more detests, more stirs against,\\r\\n Both in his private conscience and his place,\\r\\n Defacers of a public peace than I do.\\r\\n Pray heaven the King may never find a heart\\r\\n With less allegiance in it! Men that make\\r\\n Envy and crooked malice nourishment\\r\\n Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships\\r\\n That, in this case of justice, my accusers,\\r\\n Be what they will, may stand forth face to face\\r\\n And freely urge against me.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. Nay, my lord,\\r\\n That cannot be; you are a councillor,\\r\\n And by that virtue no man dare accuse you.\\r\\n GARDINER. My lord, because we have business of more moment,\\r\\n We will be short with you. \\'Tis his Highness\\' pleasure\\r\\n And our consent, for better trial of you,\\r\\n From hence you be committed to the Tower;\\r\\n Where, being but a private man again,\\r\\n You shall know many dare accuse you boldly,\\r\\n More than, I fear, you are provided for.\\r\\n CRANMER. Ah, my good Lord of Winchester, I thank you;\\r\\n You are always my good friend; if your will pass,\\r\\n I shall both find your lordship judge and juror,\\r\\n You are so merciful. I see your end-\\r\\n \\'Tis my undoing. Love and meekness, lord,\\r\\n Become a churchman better than ambition;\\r\\n Win straying souls with modesty again,\\r\\n Cast none away. That I shall clear myself,\\r\\n Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience,\\r\\n I make as little doubt as you do conscience\\r\\n In doing daily wrongs. I could say more,\\r\\n But reverence to your calling makes me modest.\\r\\n GARDINER. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary;\\r\\n That\\'s the plain truth. Your painted gloss discovers,\\r\\n To men that understand you, words and weakness.\\r\\n CROMWELL. My Lord of Winchester, y\\'are a little,\\r\\n By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble,\\r\\n However faulty, yet should find respect\\r\\n For what they have been; \\'tis a cruelty\\r\\n To load a falling man.\\r\\n GARDINER. Good Master Secretary,\\r\\n I cry your honour mercy; you may, worst\\r\\n Of all this table, say so.\\r\\n CROMWELL. Why, my lord?\\r\\n GARDINER. Do not I know you for a favourer\\r\\n Of this new sect? Ye are not sound.\\r\\n CROMWELL. Not sound?\\r\\n GARDINER. Not sound, I say.\\r\\n CROMWELL. Would you were half so honest!\\r\\n Men\\'s prayers then would seek you, not their fears.\\r\\n GARDINER. I shall remember this bold language.\\r\\n CROMWELL. Do.\\r\\n Remember your bold life too.\\r\\n CHANCELLOR. This is too much;\\r\\n Forbear, for shame, my lords.\\r\\n GARDINER. I have done.\\r\\n CROMWELL. And I.\\r\\n CHANCELLOR. Then thus for you, my lord: it stands agreed,\\r\\n I take it, by all voices, that forthwith\\r\\n You be convey\\'d to th\\' Tower a prisoner;\\r\\n There to remain till the King\\'s further pleasure\\r\\n Be known unto us. Are you all agreed, lords?\\r\\n ALL. We are.\\r\\n CRANMER. Is there no other way of mercy,\\r\\n But I must needs to th\\' Tower, my lords?\\r\\n GARDINER. What other\\r\\n Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome.\\r\\n Let some o\\' th\\' guard be ready there.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the guard\\r\\n\\r\\n CRANMER. For me?\\r\\n Must I go like a traitor thither?\\r\\n GARDINER. Receive him,\\r\\n And see him safe i\\' th\\' Tower.\\r\\n CRANMER. Stay, good my lords,\\r\\n I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords;\\r\\n By virtue of that ring I take my cause\\r\\n Out of the gripes of cruel men and give it\\r\\n To a most noble judge, the King my master.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. This is the King\\'s ring.\\r\\n SURREY. \\'Tis no counterfeit.\\r\\n SUFFOLK. \\'Tis the right ring, by heav\\'n. I told ye all,\\r\\n When we first put this dangerous stone a-rolling,\\r\\n \\'Twould fall upon ourselves.\\r\\n NORFOLK. Do you think, my lords,\\r\\n The King will suffer but the little finger\\r\\n Of this man to be vex\\'d?\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. \\'Tis now too certain;\\r\\n How much more is his life in value with him!\\r\\n Would I were fairly out on\\'t!\\r\\n CROMWELL. My mind gave me,\\r\\n In seeking tales and informations\\r\\n Against this man-whose honesty the devil\\r\\n And his disciples only envy at-\\r\\n Ye blew the fire that burns ye. Now have at ye!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the KING frowning on them; he takes his seat\\r\\n\\r\\n GARDINER. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to heaven\\r\\n In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince;\\r\\n Not only good and wise but most religious;\\r\\n One that in all obedience makes the church\\r\\n The chief aim of his honour and, to strengthen\\r\\n That holy duty, out of dear respect,\\r\\n His royal self in judgment comes to hear\\r\\n The cause betwixt her and this great offender.\\r\\n KING. You were ever good at sudden commendations,\\r\\n Bishop of Winchester. But know I come not\\r\\n To hear such flattery now, and in my presence\\r\\n They are too thin and bare to hide offences.\\r\\n To me you cannot reach you play the spaniel,\\r\\n And think with wagging of your tongue to win me;\\r\\n But whatsoe\\'er thou tak\\'st me for, I\\'m sure\\r\\n Thou hast a cruel nature and a bloody.\\r\\n [To CRANMER] Good man, sit down. Now let me see the proudest\\r\\n He that dares most but wag his finger at thee.\\r\\n By all that\\'s holy, he had better starve\\r\\n Than but once think this place becomes thee not.\\r\\n SURREY. May it please your Grace-\\r\\n KING. No, sir, it does not please me.\\r\\n I had thought I had had men of some understanding\\r\\n And wisdom of my Council; but I find none.\\r\\n Was it discretion, lords, to let this man,\\r\\n This good man-few of you deserve that title-\\r\\n This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy\\r\\n At chamber door? and one as great as you are?\\r\\n Why, what a shame was this! Did my commission\\r\\n Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye\\r\\n Power as he was a councillor to try him,\\r\\n Not as a groom. There\\'s some of ye, I see,\\r\\n More out of malice than integrity,\\r\\n Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean;\\r\\n Which ye shall never have while I live.\\r\\n CHANCELLOR. Thus far,\\r\\n My most dread sovereign, may it like your Grace\\r\\n To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos\\'d\\r\\n concerning his imprisonment was rather-\\r\\n If there be faith in men-meant for his trial\\r\\n And fair purgation to the world, than malice,\\r\\n I\\'m sure, in me.\\r\\n KING. Well, well, my lords, respect him;\\r\\n Take him, and use him well, he\\'s worthy of it.\\r\\n I will say thus much for him: if a prince\\r\\n May be beholding to a subject,\\r\\n Am for his love and service so to him.\\r\\n Make me no more ado, but all embrace him;\\r\\n Be friends, for shame, my lords! My Lord of Canterbury,\\r\\n I have a suit which you must not deny me:\\r\\n That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism;\\r\\n You must be godfather, and answer for her.\\r\\n CRANMER. The greatest monarch now alive may glory\\r\\n In such an honour; how may I deserve it,\\r\\n That am a poor and humble subject to you?\\r\\n KING. Come, come, my lord, you\\'d spare your spoons. You\\r\\n shall have\\r\\n Two noble partners with you: the old Duchess of Norfolk\\r\\n And Lady Marquis Dorset. Will these please you?\\r\\n Once more, my Lord of Winchester, I charge you,\\r\\n Embrace and love this man.\\r\\n GARDINER. With a true heart\\r\\n And brother-love I do it.\\r\\n CRANMER. And let heaven\\r\\n Witness how dear I hold this confirmation.\\r\\n KING. Good man, those joyful tears show thy true heart.\\r\\n The common voice, I see, is verified\\r\\n Of thee, which says thus: \\'Do my Lord of Canterbury\\r\\n A shrewd turn and he\\'s your friend for ever.\\'\\r\\n Come, lords, we trifle time away; I long\\r\\n To have this young one made a Christian.\\r\\n As I have made ye one, lords, one remain;\\r\\n So I grow stronger, you more honour gain. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe palace yard\\r\\n\\r\\nNoise and tumult within. Enter PORTER and his MAN\\r\\n\\r\\n PORTER. You\\'ll leave your noise anon, ye rascals. Do you\\r\\n take the court for Paris garden? Ye rude slaves, leave your\\r\\n gaping.\\r\\n [Within: Good master porter, I belong to th\\' larder.]\\r\\n PORTER. Belong to th\\' gallows, and be hang\\'d, ye rogue! Is\\r\\n this a place to roar in? Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves,\\r\\n and strong ones; these are but switches to \\'em. I\\'ll scratch\\r\\n your heads. You must be seeing christenings? Do you look\\r\\n for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals?\\r\\n MAN. Pray, sir, be patient; \\'tis as much impossible,\\r\\n Unless we sweep \\'em from the door with cannons,\\r\\n To scatter \\'em as \\'tis to make \\'em sleep\\r\\n On May-day morning; which will never be.\\r\\n We may as well push against Paul\\'s as stir \\'em.\\r\\n PORTER. How got they in, and be hang\\'d?\\r\\n MAN. Alas, I know not: how gets the tide in?\\r\\n As much as one sound cudgel of four foot-\\r\\n You see the poor remainder-could distribute,\\r\\n I made no spare, sir.\\r\\n PORTER. You did nothing, sir.\\r\\n MAN. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand,\\r\\n To mow \\'em down before me; but if I spar\\'d any\\r\\n That had a head to hit, either young or old,\\r\\n He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker,\\r\\n Let me ne\\'er hope to see a chine again;\\r\\n And that I would not for a cow, God save her!\\r\\n [ Within: Do you hear, master porter?]\\r\\n PORTER. I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.\\r\\n Keep the door close, sirrah.\\r\\n MAN. What would you have me do?\\r\\n PORTER. What should you do, but knock \\'em down by th\\'\\r\\n dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? Or have we some\\r\\n strange Indian with the great tool come to court, the\\r\\n women so besiege us? Bless me, what a fry of fornication\\r\\n is at door! On my Christian conscience, this one christening\\r\\n will beget a thousand: here will be father, godfather,\\r\\n and all together.\\r\\n MAN. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a fellow\\r\\n somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier by his\\r\\n face, for, o\\' my conscience, twenty of the dog-days now\\r\\n reign in\\'s nose; all that stand about him are under the line,\\r\\n they need no other penance. That fire-drake did I hit three\\r\\n times on the head, and three times was his nose discharged\\r\\n against me; he stands there like a mortar-piece, to blow us.\\r\\n There was a haberdasher\\'s wife of small wit near him, that\\r\\n rail\\'d upon me till her pink\\'d porringer fell off her head,\\r\\n for kindling such a combustion in the state. I miss\\'d the\\r\\n meteor once, and hit that woman, who cried out \\'Clubs!\\'\\r\\n when I might see from far some forty truncheoners draw\\r\\n to her succour, which were the hope o\\' th\\' Strand, where\\r\\n she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my place.\\r\\n At length they came to th\\' broomstaff to me; I defied \\'em\\r\\n still; when suddenly a file of boys behind \\'em, loose shot,\\r\\n deliver\\'d such a show\\'r of pebbles that I was fain to draw\\r\\n mine honour in and let \\'em win the work: the devil was\\r\\n amongst \\'em, I think surely.\\r\\n PORTER. These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse\\r\\n and fight for bitten apples; that no audience but the tribulation\\r\\n of Tower-hill or the limbs of Limehouse, their dear\\r\\n brothers, are able to endure. I have some of \\'em in Limbo\\r\\n Patrum, and there they are like to dance these three days;\\r\\n besides the running banquet of two beadles that is to come.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN\\r\\n\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. Mercy o\\' me, what a multitude are here!\\r\\n They grow still too; from all parts they are coming,\\r\\n As if we kept a fair here! Where are these porters,\\r\\n These lazy knaves? Y\\'have made a fine hand, fellows.\\r\\n There\\'s a trim rabble let in: are all these\\r\\n Your faithful friends o\\' th\\' suburbs? We shall have\\r\\n Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,\\r\\n When they pass back from the christening.\\r\\n PORTER. An\\'t please your honour,\\r\\n We are but men; and what so many may do,\\r\\n Not being torn a pieces, we have done.\\r\\n An army cannot rule \\'em.\\r\\n CHAMBERLAIN. As I live,\\r\\n If the King blame me for\\'t, I\\'ll lay ye an\\r\\n By th\\' heels, and suddenly; and on your heads\\r\\n Clap round fines for neglect. Y\\'are lazy knaves;\\r\\n And here ye lie baiting of bombards, when\\r\\n Ye should do service. Hark! the trumpets sound;\\r\\n Th\\' are come already from the christening.\\r\\n Go break among the press and find a way out\\r\\n To let the troops pass fairly, or I\\'ll find\\r\\n A Marshalsea shall hold ye play these two months.\\r\\n PORTER. Make way there for the Princess.\\r\\n MAN. You great fellow,\\r\\n Stand close up, or I\\'ll make your head ache.\\r\\n PORTER. You i\\' th\\' camlet, get up o\\' th\\' rail;\\r\\n I\\'ll peck you o\\'er the pales else. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TRUMPETS, sounding; then two ALDERMEN, LORD MAYOR, GARTER,\\r\\nCRANMER, DUKE OF NORFOLK, with his marshal\\'s staff, DUKE OF SUFFOLK,\\r\\ntwo Noblemen bearing great standing-bowls for the christening gifts;\\r\\nthen four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the DUCHESS OF\\r\\nNORFOLK, godmother, bearing the CHILD richly habited in a mantle, etc.,\\r\\ntrain borne by a LADY; then follows the MARCHIONESS DORSET, the other\\r\\ngodmother, and LADIES. The troop pass once about the stage, and GARTER\\r\\nspeaks\\r\\n\\r\\n GARTER. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send prosperous life, long\\r\\n and ever-happy, to the high and mighty Princess of England,\\r\\n Elizabeth!\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Enter KING and guard\\r\\n\\r\\n CRANMER. [Kneeling] And to your royal Grace and the\\r\\n good Queen!\\r\\n My noble partners and myself thus pray:\\r\\n All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady,\\r\\n Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy,\\r\\n May hourly fall upon ye!\\r\\n KING. Thank you, good Lord Archbishop.\\r\\n What is her name?\\r\\n CRANMER. Elizabeth.\\r\\n KING. Stand up, lord. [The KING kisses the child]\\r\\n With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee!\\r\\n Into whose hand I give thy life.\\r\\n CRANMER. Amen.\\r\\n KING. My noble gossips, y\\'have been too prodigal;\\r\\n I thank ye heartily. So shall this lady,\\r\\n When she has so much English.\\r\\n CRANMER. Let me speak, sir,\\r\\n For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter\\r\\n Let none think flattery, for they\\'ll find \\'em truth.\\r\\n This royal infant-heaven still move about her!-\\r\\n Though in her cradle, yet now promises\\r\\n Upon this land a thousand blessings,\\r\\n Which time shall bring to ripeness. She shall be-\\r\\n But few now living can behold that goodness-\\r\\n A pattern to all princes living with her,\\r\\n And all that shall succeed. Saba was never\\r\\n More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue\\r\\n Than this pure soul shall be. All princely graces\\r\\n That mould up such a mighty piece as this is,\\r\\n With all the virtues that attend the good,\\r\\n Shall still be doubled on her. Truth shall nurse her,\\r\\n Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her;\\r\\n She shall be lov\\'d and fear\\'d. Her own shall bless her:\\r\\n Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,\\r\\n And hang their heads with sorrow. Good grows with her;\\r\\n In her days every man shall eat in safety\\r\\n Under his own vine what he plants, and sing\\r\\n The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours.\\r\\n God shall be truly known; and those about her\\r\\n From her shall read the perfect ways of honour,\\r\\n And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.\\r\\n Nor shall this peace sleep with her; but as when\\r\\n The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix\\r\\n Her ashes new create another heir\\r\\n As great in admiration as herself,\\r\\n So shall she leave her blessedness to one-\\r\\n When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness-\\r\\n Who from the sacred ashes of her honour\\r\\n Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was,\\r\\n And so stand fix\\'d. Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror,\\r\\n That were the servants to this chosen infant,\\r\\n Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him;\\r\\n Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine,\\r\\n His honour and the greatness of his name\\r\\n Shall be, and make new nations; he shall flourish,\\r\\n And like a mountain cedar reach his branches\\r\\n To all the plains about him; our children\\'s children\\r\\n Shall see this and bless heaven.\\r\\n KING. Thou speakest wonders.\\r\\n CRANMER. She shall be, to the happiness of England,\\r\\n An aged princess; many days shall see her,\\r\\n And yet no day without a deed to crown it.\\r\\n Would I had known no more! But she must die-\\r\\n She must, the saints must have her-yet a virgin;\\r\\n A most unspotted lily shall she pass\\r\\n To th\\' ground, and all the world shall mourn her.\\r\\n KING. O Lord Archbishop,\\r\\n Thou hast made me now a man; never before\\r\\n This happy child did I get anything.\\r\\n This oracle of comfort has so pleas\\'d me\\r\\n That when I am in heaven I shall desire\\r\\n To see what this child does, and praise my Maker.\\r\\n I thank ye all. To you, my good Lord Mayor,\\r\\n And you, good brethren, I am much beholding;\\r\\n I have receiv\\'d much honour by your presence,\\r\\n And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords;\\r\\n Ye must all see the Queen, and she must thank ye,\\r\\n She will be sick else. This day, no man think\\r\\n Has business at his house; for all shall stay.\\r\\n This little one shall make it holiday. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nKING_HENRY_VIII|EPILOGUE THE EPILOGUE.\\r\\n\\r\\n \\'Tis ten to one this play can never please\\r\\n All that are here. Some come to take their ease\\r\\n And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear,\\r\\n W\\'have frighted with our trumpets; so, \\'tis clear,\\r\\n They\\'ll say \\'tis nought; others to hear the city\\r\\n Abus\\'d extremely, and to cry \\'That\\'s witty!\\'\\r\\n Which we have not done neither; that, I fear,\\r\\n All the expected good w\\'are like to hear\\r\\n For this play at this time is only in\\r\\n The merciful construction of good women;\\r\\n For such a one we show\\'d \\'em. If they smile\\r\\n And say \\'twill do, I know within a while\\r\\n All the best men are ours; for \\'tis ill hap\\r\\n If they hold when their ladies bid \\'em clap.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nKING JOHN\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\\r\\n\\r\\n KING JOHN\\r\\n PRINCE HENRY, his son\\r\\n ARTHUR, DUKE OF BRITAINE, son of Geffrey, late Duke of\\r\\n Britaine, the elder brother of King John\\r\\n EARL OF PEMBROKE\\r\\n EARL OF ESSEX\\r\\n EARL OF SALISBURY\\r\\n LORD BIGOT\\r\\n HUBERT DE BURGH\\r\\n ROBERT FAULCONBRIDGE, son to Sir Robert Faulconbridge\\r\\n PHILIP THE BASTARD, his half-brother\\r\\n JAMES GURNEY, servant to Lady Faulconbridge\\r\\n PETER OF POMFRET, a prophet\\r\\n\\r\\n KING PHILIP OF FRANCE\\r\\n LEWIS, the Dauphin\\r\\n LYMOGES, Duke of Austria\\r\\n CARDINAL PANDULPH, the Pope\\'s legate\\r\\n MELUN, a French lord\\r\\n CHATILLON, ambassador from France to King John\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN ELINOR, widow of King Henry II and mother to\\r\\n King John\\r\\n CONSTANCE, Mother to Arthur\\r\\n BLANCH OF SPAIN, daughter to the King of Castile\\r\\n and niece to King John\\r\\n LADY FAULCONBRIDGE, widow of Sir Robert Faulconbridge\\r\\n\\r\\n Lords, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds, Officers,\\r\\n Soldiers, Executioners, Messengers, Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: England and France\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE 1\\r\\n\\r\\nKING JOHN\\'s palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, PEMBROKE, ESSEX, SALISBURY, and others,\\r\\nwith CHATILLON\\r\\n\\r\\n KING JOHN. Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us?\\r\\n CHATILLON. Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France\\r\\n In my behaviour to the majesty,\\r\\n The borrowed majesty, of England here.\\r\\n ELINOR. A strange beginning- \\'borrowed majesty\\'!\\r\\n KING JOHN. Silence, good mother; hear the embassy.\\r\\n CHATILLON. Philip of France, in right and true behalf\\r\\n Of thy deceased brother Geffrey\\'s son,\\r\\n Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim\\r\\n To this fair island and the territories,\\r\\n To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,\\r\\n Desiring thee to lay aside the sword\\r\\n Which sways usurpingly these several titles,\\r\\n And put the same into young Arthur\\'s hand,\\r\\n Thy nephew and right royal sovereign.\\r\\n KING JOHN. What follows if we disallow of this?\\r\\n CHATILLON. The proud control of fierce and bloody war,\\r\\n To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Here have we war for war, and blood for blood,\\r\\n Controlment for controlment- so answer France.\\r\\n CHATILLON. Then take my king\\'s defiance from my mouth-\\r\\n The farthest limit of my embassy.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace;\\r\\n Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France;\\r\\n For ere thou canst report I will be there,\\r\\n The thunder of my cannon shall be heard.\\r\\n So hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath\\r\\n And sullen presage of your own decay.\\r\\n An honourable conduct let him have-\\r\\n Pembroke, look to \\'t. Farewell, Chatillon.\\r\\n Exeunt CHATILLON and PEMBROKE\\r\\n ELINOR. What now, my son! Have I not ever said\\r\\n How that ambitious Constance would not cease\\r\\n Till she had kindled France and all the world\\r\\n Upon the right and party of her son?\\r\\n This might have been prevented and made whole\\r\\n With very easy arguments of love,\\r\\n Which now the manage of two kingdoms must\\r\\n With fearful bloody issue arbitrate.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Our strong possession and our right for us!\\r\\n ELINOR. Your strong possession much more than your right,\\r\\n Or else it must go wrong with you and me;\\r\\n So much my conscience whispers in your ear,\\r\\n Which none but heaven and you and I shall hear.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a SHERIFF\\r\\n\\r\\n ESSEX. My liege, here is the strangest controversy\\r\\n Come from the country to be judg\\'d by you\\r\\n That e\\'er I heard. Shall I produce the men?\\r\\n KING JOHN. Let them approach. Exit SHERIFF\\r\\n Our abbeys and our priories shall pay\\r\\n This expedition\\'s charge.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ROBERT FAULCONBRIDGE and PHILIP, his bastard\\r\\n brother\\r\\n\\r\\n What men are you?\\r\\n BASTARD. Your faithful subject I, a gentleman\\r\\n Born in Northamptonshire, and eldest son,\\r\\n As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge-\\r\\n A soldier by the honour-giving hand\\r\\n Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field.\\r\\n KING JOHN. What art thou?\\r\\n ROBERT. The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Is that the elder, and art thou the heir?\\r\\n You came not of one mother then, it seems.\\r\\n BASTARD. Most certain of one mother, mighty king-\\r\\n That is well known- and, as I think, one father;\\r\\n But for the certain knowledge of that truth\\r\\n I put you o\\'er to heaven and to my mother.\\r\\n Of that I doubt, as all men\\'s children may.\\r\\n ELINOR. Out on thee, rude man! Thou dost shame thy mother,\\r\\n And wound her honour with this diffidence.\\r\\n BASTARD. I, madam? No, I have no reason for it-\\r\\n That is my brother\\'s plea, and none of mine;\\r\\n The which if he can prove, \\'a pops me out\\r\\n At least from fair five hundred pound a year.\\r\\n Heaven guard my mother\\'s honour and my land!\\r\\n KING JOHN. A good blunt fellow. Why, being younger born,\\r\\n Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance?\\r\\n BASTARD. I know not why, except to get the land.\\r\\n But once he slander\\'d me with bastardy;\\r\\n But whe\\'er I be as true begot or no,\\r\\n That still I lay upon my mother\\'s head;\\r\\n But that I am as well begot, my liege-\\r\\n Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!-\\r\\n Compare our faces and be judge yourself.\\r\\n If old Sir Robert did beget us both\\r\\n And were our father, and this son like him-\\r\\n O old Sir Robert, father, on my knee\\r\\n I give heaven thanks I was not like to thee!\\r\\n KING JOHN. Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here!\\r\\n ELINOR. He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion\\'s face;\\r\\n The accent of his tongue affecteth him.\\r\\n Do you not read some tokens of my son\\r\\n In the large composition of this man?\\r\\n KING JOHN. Mine eye hath well examined his parts\\r\\n And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak,\\r\\n What doth move you to claim your brother\\'s land?\\r\\n BASTARD. Because he hath a half-face, like my father.\\r\\n With half that face would he have all my land:\\r\\n A half-fac\\'d groat five hundred pound a year!\\r\\n ROBERT. My gracious liege, when that my father liv\\'d,\\r\\n Your brother did employ my father much-\\r\\n BASTARD. Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land:\\r\\n Your tale must be how he employ\\'d my mother.\\r\\n ROBERT. And once dispatch\\'d him in an embassy\\r\\n To Germany, there with the Emperor\\r\\n To treat of high affairs touching that time.\\r\\n Th\\' advantage of his absence took the King,\\r\\n And in the meantime sojourn\\'d at my father\\'s;\\r\\n Where how he did prevail I shame to speak-\\r\\n But truth is truth: large lengths of seas and shores\\r\\n Between my father and my mother lay,\\r\\n As I have heard my father speak himself,\\r\\n When this same lusty gentleman was got.\\r\\n Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath\\'d\\r\\n His lands to me, and took it on his death\\r\\n That this my mother\\'s son was none of his;\\r\\n And if he were, he came into the world\\r\\n Full fourteen weeks before the course of time.\\r\\n Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine,\\r\\n My father\\'s land, as was my father\\'s will.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate:\\r\\n Your father\\'s wife did after wedlock bear him,\\r\\n And if she did play false, the fault was hers;\\r\\n Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands\\r\\n That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother,\\r\\n Who, as you say, took pains to get this son,\\r\\n Had of your father claim\\'d this son for his?\\r\\n In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept\\r\\n This calf, bred from his cow, from all the world;\\r\\n In sooth, he might; then, if he were my brother\\'s,\\r\\n My brother might not claim him; nor your father,\\r\\n Being none of his, refuse him. This concludes:\\r\\n My mother\\'s son did get your father\\'s heir;\\r\\n Your father\\'s heir must have your father\\'s land.\\r\\n ROBERT. Shall then my father\\'s will be of no force\\r\\n To dispossess that child which is not his?\\r\\n BASTARD. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir,\\r\\n Than was his will to get me, as I think.\\r\\n ELINOR. Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge,\\r\\n And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land,\\r\\n Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion,\\r\\n Lord of thy presence and no land beside?\\r\\n BASTARD. Madam, an if my brother had my shape\\r\\n And I had his, Sir Robert\\'s his, like him;\\r\\n And if my legs were two such riding-rods,\\r\\n My arms such eel-skins stuff\\'d, my face so thin\\r\\n That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose\\r\\n Lest men should say \\'Look where three-farthings goes!\\'\\r\\n And, to his shape, were heir to all this land-\\r\\n Would I might never stir from off this place,\\r\\n I would give it every foot to have this face!\\r\\n I would not be Sir Nob in any case.\\r\\n ELINOR. I like thee well. Wilt thou forsake thy fortune,\\r\\n Bequeath thy land to him and follow me?\\r\\n I am a soldier and now bound to France.\\r\\n BASTARD. Brother, take you my land, I\\'ll take my chance.\\r\\n Your face hath got five hundred pound a year,\\r\\n Yet sell your face for fivepence and \\'tis dear.\\r\\n Madam, I\\'ll follow you unto the death.\\r\\n ELINOR. Nay, I would have you go before me thither.\\r\\n BASTARD. Our country manners give our betters way.\\r\\n KING JOHN. What is thy name?\\r\\n BASTARD. Philip, my liege, so is my name begun:\\r\\n Philip, good old Sir Robert\\'s wife\\'s eldest son.\\r\\n KING JOHN. From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bearest:\\r\\n Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great-\\r\\n Arise Sir Richard and Plantagenet.\\r\\n BASTARD. Brother by th\\' mother\\'s side, give me your hand;\\r\\n My father gave me honour, yours gave land.\\r\\n Now blessed be the hour, by night or day,\\r\\n When I was got, Sir Robert was away!\\r\\n ELINOR. The very spirit of Plantagenet!\\r\\n I am thy grandam, Richard: call me so.\\r\\n BASTARD. Madam, by chance, but not by truth; what though?\\r\\n Something about, a little from the right,\\r\\n In at the window, or else o\\'er the hatch;\\r\\n Who dares not stir by day must walk by night;\\r\\n And have is have, however men do catch.\\r\\n Near or far off, well won is still well shot;\\r\\n And I am I, howe\\'er I was begot.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Go, Faulconbridge; now hast thou thy desire:\\r\\n A landless knight makes thee a landed squire.\\r\\n Come, madam, and come, Richard, we must speed\\r\\n For France, for France, for it is more than need.\\r\\n BASTARD. Brother, adieu. Good fortune come to thee!\\r\\n For thou wast got i\\' th\\' way of honesty.\\r\\n Exeunt all but the BASTARD\\r\\n A foot of honour better than I was;\\r\\n But many a many foot of land the worse.\\r\\n Well, now can I make any Joan a lady.\\r\\n \\'Good den, Sir Richard!\\'-\\'God-a-mercy, fellow!\\'\\r\\n And if his name be George, I\\'ll call him Peter;\\r\\n For new-made honour doth forget men\\'s names:\\r\\n \\'Tis too respective and too sociable\\r\\n For your conversion. Now your traveller,\\r\\n He and his toothpick at my worship\\'s mess-\\r\\n And when my knightly stomach is suffic\\'d,\\r\\n Why then I suck my teeth and catechize\\r\\n My picked man of countries: \\'My dear sir,\\'\\r\\n Thus leaning on mine elbow I begin\\r\\n \\'I shall beseech you\\'-That is question now;\\r\\n And then comes answer like an Absey book:\\r\\n \\'O sir,\\' says answer \\'at your best command,\\r\\n At your employment, at your service, sir!\\'\\r\\n \\'No, sir,\\' says question \\'I, sweet sir, at yours.\\'\\r\\n And so, ere answer knows what question would,\\r\\n Saving in dialogue of compliment,\\r\\n And talking of the Alps and Apennines,\\r\\n The Pyrenean and the river Po-\\r\\n It draws toward supper in conclusion so.\\r\\n But this is worshipful society,\\r\\n And fits the mounting spirit like myself;\\r\\n For he is but a bastard to the time\\r\\n That doth not smack of observation-\\r\\n And so am I, whether I smack or no;\\r\\n And not alone in habit and device,\\r\\n Exterior form, outward accoutrement,\\r\\n But from the inward motion to deliver\\r\\n Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age\\'s tooth;\\r\\n Which, though I will not practise to deceive,\\r\\n Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn;\\r\\n For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising.\\r\\n But who comes in such haste in riding-robes?\\r\\n What woman-post is this? Hath she no husband\\r\\n That will take pains to blow a horn before her?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LADY FAULCONBRIDGE, and JAMES GURNEY\\r\\n\\r\\n O me, \\'tis my mother! How now, good lady!\\r\\n What brings you here to court so hastily?\\r\\n LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Where is that slave, thy brother?\\r\\n Where is he\\r\\n That holds in chase mine honour up and down?\\r\\n BASTARD. My brother Robert, old Sir Robert\\'s son?\\r\\n Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man?\\r\\n Is it Sir Robert\\'s son that you seek so?\\r\\n LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Sir Robert\\'s son! Ay, thou unreverend boy,\\r\\n Sir Robert\\'s son! Why scorn\\'st thou at Sir Robert?\\r\\n He is Sir Robert\\'s son, and so art thou.\\r\\n BASTARD. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile?\\r\\n GURNEY. Good leave, good Philip.\\r\\n BASTARD. Philip-Sparrow! James,\\r\\n There\\'s toys abroad-anon I\\'ll tell thee more.\\r\\n Exit GURNEY\\r\\n Madam, I was not old Sir Robert\\'s son;\\r\\n Sir Robert might have eat his part in me\\r\\n Upon Good Friday, and ne\\'er broke his fast.\\r\\n Sir Robert could do: well-marry, to confess-\\r\\n Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it:\\r\\n We know his handiwork. Therefore, good mother,\\r\\n To whom am I beholding for these limbs?\\r\\n Sir Robert never holp to make this leg.\\r\\n LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Hast thou conspired with thy brother too,\\r\\n That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour?\\r\\n What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave?\\r\\n BASTARD. Knight, knight, good mother, Basilisco-like.\\r\\n What! I am dubb\\'d; I have it on my shoulder.\\r\\n But, mother, I am not Sir Robert\\'s son:\\r\\n I have disclaim\\'d Sir Robert and my land;\\r\\n Legitimation, name, and all is gone.\\r\\n Then, good my mother, let me know my father-\\r\\n Some proper man, I hope. Who was it, mother?\\r\\n LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge?\\r\\n BASTARD. As faithfully as I deny the devil.\\r\\n LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father.\\r\\n By long and vehement suit I was seduc\\'d\\r\\n To make room for him in my husband\\'s bed.\\r\\n Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge!\\r\\n Thou art the issue of my dear offence,\\r\\n Which was so strongly urg\\'d past my defence.\\r\\n BASTARD. Now, by this light, were I to get again,\\r\\n Madam, I would not wish a better father.\\r\\n Some sins do bear their privilege on earth,\\r\\n And so doth yours: your fault was not your folly;\\r\\n Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose,\\r\\n Subjected tribute to commanding love,\\r\\n Against whose fury and unmatched force\\r\\n The aweless lion could not wage the fight\\r\\n Nor keep his princely heart from Richard\\'s hand.\\r\\n He that perforce robs lions of their hearts\\r\\n May easily win a woman\\'s. Ay, my mother,\\r\\n With all my heart I thank thee for my father!\\r\\n Who lives and dares but say thou didst not well\\r\\n When I was got, I\\'ll send his soul to hell.\\r\\n Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin;\\r\\n And they shall say when Richard me begot,\\r\\n If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin.\\r\\n Who says it was, he lies; I say \\'twas not. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE 1\\r\\n\\r\\nFrance. Before Angiers\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter, on one side, AUSTRIA and forces; on the other, KING PHILIP OF\\r\\nFRANCE,\\r\\nLEWIS the Dauphin, CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and forces\\r\\n\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Before Angiers well met, brave Austria.\\r\\n Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood,\\r\\n Richard, that robb\\'d the lion of his heart\\r\\n And fought the holy wars in Palestine,\\r\\n By this brave duke came early to his grave;\\r\\n And for amends to his posterity,\\r\\n At our importance hither is he come\\r\\n To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf;\\r\\n And to rebuke the usurpation\\r\\n Of thy unnatural uncle, English John.\\r\\n Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither.\\r\\n ARTHUR. God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion\\'s death\\r\\n The rather that you give his offspring life,\\r\\n Shadowing their right under your wings of war.\\r\\n I give you welcome with a powerless hand,\\r\\n But with a heart full of unstained love;\\r\\n Welcome before the gates of Angiers, Duke.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. A noble boy! Who would not do thee right?\\r\\n AUSTRIA. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss\\r\\n As seal to this indenture of my love:\\r\\n That to my home I will no more return\\r\\n Till Angiers and the right thou hast in France,\\r\\n Together with that pale, that white-fac\\'d shore,\\r\\n Whose foot spurns back the ocean\\'s roaring tides\\r\\n And coops from other lands her islanders-\\r\\n Even till that England, hedg\\'d in with the main,\\r\\n That water-walled bulwark, still secure\\r\\n And confident from foreign purposes-\\r\\n Even till that utmost corner of the west\\r\\n Salute thee for her king. Till then, fair boy,\\r\\n Will I not think of home, but follow arms.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. O, take his mother\\'s thanks, a widow\\'s thanks,\\r\\n Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength\\r\\n To make a more requital to your love!\\r\\n AUSTRIA. The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords\\r\\n In such a just and charitable war.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Well then, to work! Our cannon shall be bent\\r\\n Against the brows of this resisting town;\\r\\n Call for our chiefest men of discipline,\\r\\n To cull the plots of best advantages.\\r\\n We\\'ll lay before this town our royal bones,\\r\\n Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen\\'s blood,\\r\\n But we will make it subject to this boy.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Stay for an answer to your embassy,\\r\\n Lest unadvis\\'d you stain your swords with blood;\\r\\n My Lord Chatillon may from England bring\\r\\n That right in peace which here we urge in war,\\r\\n And then we shall repent each drop of blood\\r\\n That hot rash haste so indirectly shed.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CHATILLON\\r\\n\\r\\n KING PHILIP. A wonder, lady! Lo, upon thy wish,\\r\\n Our messenger Chatillon is arriv\\'d.\\r\\n What England says, say briefly, gentle lord;\\r\\n We coldly pause for thee. Chatillon, speak.\\r\\n CHATILLON. Then turn your forces from this paltry siege\\r\\n And stir them up against a mightier task.\\r\\n England, impatient of your just demands,\\r\\n Hath put himself in arms. The adverse winds,\\r\\n Whose leisure I have stay\\'d, have given him time\\r\\n To land his legions all as soon as I;\\r\\n His marches are expedient to this town,\\r\\n His forces strong, his soldiers confident.\\r\\n With him along is come the mother-queen,\\r\\n An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife;\\r\\n With her the Lady Blanch of Spain;\\r\\n With them a bastard of the king\\'s deceas\\'d;\\r\\n And all th\\' unsettled humours of the land-\\r\\n Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries,\\r\\n With ladies\\' faces and fierce dragons\\' spleens-\\r\\n Have sold their fortunes at their native homes,\\r\\n Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs,\\r\\n To make a hazard of new fortunes here.\\r\\n In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits\\r\\n Than now the English bottoms have waft o\\'er\\r\\n Did never float upon the swelling tide\\r\\n To do offence and scathe in Christendom. [Drum beats]\\r\\n The interruption of their churlish drums\\r\\n Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand;\\r\\n To parley or to fight, therefore prepare.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. How much unlook\\'d for is this expedition!\\r\\n AUSTRIA. By how much unexpected, by so much\\r\\n We must awake endeavour for defence,\\r\\n For courage mounteth with occasion.\\r\\n Let them be welcome then; we are prepar\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING JOHN, ELINOR, BLANCH, the BASTARD,\\r\\n PEMBROKE, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n KING JOHN. Peace be to France, if France in peace permit\\r\\n Our just and lineal entrance to our own!\\r\\n If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven,\\r\\n Whiles we, God\\'s wrathful agent, do correct\\r\\n Their proud contempt that beats His peace to heaven!\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Peace be to England, if that war return\\r\\n From France to England, there to live in peace!\\r\\n England we love, and for that England\\'s sake\\r\\n With burden of our armour here we sweat.\\r\\n This toil of ours should be a work of thine;\\r\\n But thou from loving England art so far\\r\\n That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king,\\r\\n Cut off the sequence of posterity,\\r\\n Outfaced infant state, and done a rape\\r\\n Upon the maiden virtue of the crown.\\r\\n Look here upon thy brother Geffrey\\'s face:\\r\\n These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his;\\r\\n This little abstract doth contain that large\\r\\n Which died in Geffrey, and the hand of time\\r\\n Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume.\\r\\n That Geffrey was thy elder brother born,\\r\\n And this his son; England was Geffrey\\'s right,\\r\\n And this is Geffrey\\'s. In the name of God,\\r\\n How comes it then that thou art call\\'d a king,\\r\\n When living blood doth in these temples beat\\r\\n Which owe the crown that thou o\\'er-masterest?\\r\\n KING JOHN. From whom hast thou this great commission, France,\\r\\n To draw my answer from thy articles?\\r\\n KING PHILIP. From that supernal judge that stirs good thoughts\\r\\n In any breast of strong authority\\r\\n To look into the blots and stains of right.\\r\\n That judge hath made me guardian to this boy,\\r\\n Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong,\\r\\n And by whose help I mean to chastise it.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Alack, thou dost usurp authority.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Excuse it is to beat usurping down.\\r\\n ELINOR. Who is it thou dost call usurper, France?\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Let me make answer: thy usurping son.\\r\\n ELINOR. Out, insolent! Thy bastard shall be king,\\r\\n That thou mayst be a queen and check the world!\\r\\n CONSTANCE. My bed was ever to thy son as true\\r\\n As thine was to thy husband; and this boy\\r\\n Liker in feature to his father Geffrey\\r\\n Than thou and John in manners-being as Eke\\r\\n As rain to water, or devil to his dam.\\r\\n My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think\\r\\n His father never was so true begot;\\r\\n It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother.\\r\\n ELINOR. There\\'s a good mother, boy, that blots thy father.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. There\\'s a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee.\\r\\n AUSTRIA. Peace!\\r\\n BASTARD. Hear the crier.\\r\\n AUSTRIA. What the devil art thou?\\r\\n BASTARD. One that will play the devil, sir, with you,\\r\\n An \\'a may catch your hide and you alone.\\r\\n You are the hare of whom the proverb goes,\\r\\n Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard;\\r\\n I\\'ll smoke your skin-coat an I catch you right;\\r\\n Sirrah, look to \\'t; i\\' faith I will, i\\' faith.\\r\\n BLANCH. O, well did he become that lion\\'s robe\\r\\n That did disrobe the lion of that robe!\\r\\n BASTARD. It lies as sightly on the back of him\\r\\n As great Alcides\\' shows upon an ass;\\r\\n But, ass, I\\'ll take that burden from your back,\\r\\n Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack.\\r\\n AUSTRIA. What cracker is this same that deafs our ears\\r\\n With this abundance of superfluous breath?\\r\\n King Philip, determine what we shall do straight.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Women and fools, break off your conference.\\r\\n King John, this is the very sum of all:\\r\\n England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,\\r\\n In right of Arthur, do I claim of thee;\\r\\n Wilt thou resign them and lay down thy arms?\\r\\n KING JOHN. My life as soon. I do defy thee, France.\\r\\n Arthur of Britaine, yield thee to my hand,\\r\\n And out of my dear love I\\'ll give thee more\\r\\n Than e\\'er the coward hand of France can win.\\r\\n Submit thee, boy.\\r\\n ELINOR. Come to thy grandam, child.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Do, child, go to it grandam, child;\\r\\n Give grandam kingdom, and it grandam will\\r\\n Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig.\\r\\n There\\'s a good grandam!\\r\\n ARTHUR. Good my mother, peace!\\r\\n I would that I were low laid in my grave:\\r\\n I am not worth this coil that\\'s made for me.\\r\\n ELINOR. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Now shame upon you, whe\\'er she does or no!\\r\\n His grandam\\'s wrongs, and not his mother\\'s shames,\\r\\n Draws those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes,\\r\\n Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee;\\r\\n Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be brib\\'d\\r\\n To do him justice and revenge on you.\\r\\n ELINOR. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth!\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth,\\r\\n Call not me slanderer! Thou and thine usurp\\r\\n The dominations, royalties, and rights,\\r\\n Of this oppressed boy; this is thy eldest son\\'s son,\\r\\n Infortunate in nothing but in thee.\\r\\n Thy sins are visited in this poor child;\\r\\n The canon of the law is laid on him,\\r\\n Being but the second generation\\r\\n Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Bedlam, have done.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. I have but this to say-\\r\\n That he is not only plagued for her sin,\\r\\n But God hath made her sin and her the plague\\r\\n On this removed issue, plagued for her\\r\\n And with her plague; her sin his injury,\\r\\n Her injury the beadle to her sin;\\r\\n All punish\\'d in the person of this child,\\r\\n And all for her-a plague upon her!\\r\\n ELINOR. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce\\r\\n A will that bars the title of thy son.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Ay, who doubts that? A will, a wicked will;\\r\\n A woman\\'s will; a cank\\'red grandam\\'s will!\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Peace, lady! pause, or be more temperate.\\r\\n It ill beseems this presence to cry aim\\r\\n To these ill-tuned repetitions.\\r\\n Some trumpet summon hither to the walls\\r\\n These men of Angiers; let us hear them speak\\r\\n Whose title they admit, Arthur\\'s or John\\'s.\\r\\n\\r\\n Trumpet sounds. Enter citizens upon the walls\\r\\n\\r\\n CITIZEN. Who is it that hath warn\\'d us to the walls?\\r\\n KING PHILIP. \\'Tis France, for England.\\r\\n KING JOHN. England for itself.\\r\\n You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects-\\r\\n KING PHILIP. You loving men of Angiers, Arthur\\'s subjects,\\r\\n Our trumpet call\\'d you to this gentle parle-\\r\\n KING JOHN. For our advantage; therefore hear us first.\\r\\n These flags of France, that are advanced here\\r\\n Before the eye and prospect of your town,\\r\\n Have hither march\\'d to your endamagement;\\r\\n The cannons have their bowels full of wrath,\\r\\n And ready mounted are they to spit forth\\r\\n Their iron indignation \\'gainst your walls;\\r\\n All preparation for a bloody siege\\r\\n And merciless proceeding by these French\\r\\n Confront your city\\'s eyes, your winking gates;\\r\\n And but for our approach those sleeping stones\\r\\n That as a waist doth girdle you about\\r\\n By the compulsion of their ordinance\\r\\n By this time from their fixed beds of lime\\r\\n Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made\\r\\n For bloody power to rush upon your peace.\\r\\n But on the sight of us your lawful king,\\r\\n Who painfully with much expedient march\\r\\n Have brought a countercheck before your gates,\\r\\n To save unscratch\\'d your city\\'s threat\\'ned cheeks-\\r\\n Behold, the French amaz\\'d vouchsafe a parle;\\r\\n And now, instead of bullets wrapp\\'d in fire,\\r\\n To make a shaking fever in your walls,\\r\\n They shoot but calm words folded up in smoke,\\r\\n To make a faithless error in your cars;\\r\\n Which trust accordingly, kind citizens,\\r\\n And let us in-your King, whose labour\\'d spirits,\\r\\n Forwearied in this action of swift speed,\\r\\n Craves harbourage within your city walls.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. When I have said, make answer to us both.\\r\\n Lo, in this right hand, whose protection\\r\\n Is most divinely vow\\'d upon the right\\r\\n Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet,\\r\\n Son to the elder brother of this man,\\r\\n And king o\\'er him and all that he enjoys;\\r\\n For this down-trodden equity we tread\\r\\n In warlike march these greens before your town,\\r\\n Being no further enemy to you\\r\\n Than the constraint of hospitable zeal\\r\\n In the relief of this oppressed child\\r\\n Religiously provokes. Be pleased then\\r\\n To pay that duty which you truly owe\\r\\n To him that owes it, namely, this young prince;\\r\\n And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear,\\r\\n Save in aspect, hath all offence seal\\'d up;\\r\\n Our cannons\\' malice vainly shall be spent\\r\\n Against th\\' invulnerable clouds of heaven;\\r\\n And with a blessed and unvex\\'d retire,\\r\\n With unhack\\'d swords and helmets all unbruis\\'d,\\r\\n We will bear home that lusty blood again\\r\\n Which here we came to spout against your town,\\r\\n And leave your children, wives, and you, in peace.\\r\\n But if you fondly pass our proffer\\'d offer,\\r\\n \\'Tis not the roundure of your old-fac\\'d walls\\r\\n Can hide you from our messengers of war,\\r\\n Though all these English and their discipline\\r\\n Were harbour\\'d in their rude circumference.\\r\\n Then tell us, shall your city call us lord\\r\\n In that behalf which we have challeng\\'d it;\\r\\n Or shall we give the signal to our rage,\\r\\n And stalk in blood to our possession?\\r\\n CITIZEN. In brief: we are the King of England\\'s subjects;\\r\\n For him, and in his right, we hold this town.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Acknowledge then the King, and let me in.\\r\\n CITIZEN. That can we not; but he that proves the King,\\r\\n To him will we prove loyal. Till that time\\r\\n Have we ramm\\'d up our gates against the world.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Doth not the crown of England prove the King?\\r\\n And if not that, I bring you witnesses:\\r\\n Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England\\'s breed-\\r\\n BASTARD. Bastards and else.\\r\\n KING JOHN. To verify our title with their lives.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. As many and as well-born bloods as those-\\r\\n BASTARD. Some bastards too.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Stand in his face to contradict his claim.\\r\\n CITIZEN. Till you compound whose right is worthiest,\\r\\n We for the worthiest hold the right from both.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Then God forgive the sin of all those souls\\r\\n That to their everlasting residence,\\r\\n Before the dew of evening fall shall fleet\\r\\n In dreadful trial of our kingdom\\'s king!\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Amen, Amen! Mount, chevaliers; to arms!\\r\\n BASTARD. Saint George, that swing\\'d the dragon, and e\\'er since\\r\\n Sits on\\'s horse back at mine hostess\\' door,\\r\\n Teach us some fence! [To AUSTRIA] Sirrah, were I at home,\\r\\n At your den, sirrah, with your lioness,\\r\\n I would set an ox-head to your lion\\'s hide,\\r\\n And make a monster of you.\\r\\n AUSTRIA. Peace! no more.\\r\\n BASTARD. O, tremble, for you hear the lion roar!\\r\\n KING JOHN. Up higher to the plain, where we\\'ll set forth\\r\\n In best appointment all our regiments.\\r\\n BASTARD. Speed then to take advantage of the field.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. It shall be so; and at the other hill\\r\\n Command the rest to stand. God and our right! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Here, after excursions, enter the HERALD OF FRANCE,\\r\\n with trumpets, to the gates\\r\\n\\r\\n FRENCH HERALD. You men of Angiers, open wide your gates\\r\\n And let young Arthur, Duke of Britaine, in,\\r\\n Who by the hand of France this day hath made\\r\\n Much work for tears in many an English mother,\\r\\n Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground;\\r\\n Many a widow\\'s husband grovelling lies,\\r\\n Coldly embracing the discoloured earth;\\r\\n And victory with little loss doth play\\r\\n Upon the dancing banners of the French,\\r\\n Who are at hand, triumphantly displayed,\\r\\n To enter conquerors, and to proclaim\\r\\n Arthur of Britaine England\\'s King and yours.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ENGLISH HERALD, with trumpet\\r\\n\\r\\n ENGLISH HERALD. Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells:\\r\\n King John, your king and England\\'s, doth approach,\\r\\n Commander of this hot malicious day.\\r\\n Their armours that march\\'d hence so silver-bright\\r\\n Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen\\'s blood.\\r\\n There stuck no plume in any English crest\\r\\n That is removed by a staff of France;\\r\\n Our colours do return in those same hands\\r\\n That did display them when we first march\\'d forth;\\r\\n And like a jolly troop of huntsmen come\\r\\n Our lusty English, all with purpled hands,\\r\\n Dy\\'d in the dying slaughter of their foes.\\r\\n Open your gates and give the victors way.\\r\\n CITIZEN. Heralds, from off our tow\\'rs we might behold\\r\\n From first to last the onset and retire\\r\\n Of both your armies, whose equality\\r\\n By our best eyes cannot be censured.\\r\\n Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answer\\'d blows;\\r\\n Strength match\\'d with strength, and power confronted power;\\r\\n Both are alike, and both alike we like.\\r\\n One must prove greatest. While they weigh so even,\\r\\n We hold our town for neither, yet for both.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the two KINGS, with their powers, at several doors\\r\\n\\r\\n KING JOHN. France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away?\\r\\n Say, shall the current of our right run on?\\r\\n Whose passage, vex\\'d with thy impediment,\\r\\n Shall leave his native channel and o\\'erswell\\r\\n With course disturb\\'d even thy confining shores,\\r\\n Unless thou let his silver water keep\\r\\n A peaceful progress to the ocean.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. England, thou hast not sav\\'d one drop of blood\\r\\n In this hot trial more than we of France;\\r\\n Rather, lost more. And by this hand I swear,\\r\\n That sways the earth this climate overlooks,\\r\\n Before we will lay down our just-borne arms,\\r\\n We\\'ll put thee down, \\'gainst whom these arms we bear,\\r\\n Or add a royal number to the dead,\\r\\n Gracing the scroll that tells of this war\\'s loss\\r\\n With slaughter coupled to the name of kings.\\r\\n BASTARD. Ha, majesty! how high thy glory tow\\'rs\\r\\n When the rich blood of kings is set on fire!\\r\\n O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel;\\r\\n The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs;\\r\\n And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men,\\r\\n In undetermin\\'d differences of kings.\\r\\n Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus?\\r\\n Cry \\'havoc!\\' kings; back to the stained field,\\r\\n You equal potents, fiery kindled spirits!\\r\\n Then let confusion of one part confirm\\r\\n The other\\'s peace. Till then, blows, blood, and death!\\r\\n KING JOHN. Whose party do the townsmen yet admit?\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Speak, citizens, for England; who\\'s your king?\\r\\n CITIZEN. The King of England, when we know the King.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Know him in us that here hold up his right.\\r\\n KING JOHN. In us that are our own great deputy\\r\\n And bear possession of our person here,\\r\\n Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you.\\r\\n CITIZEN. A greater pow\\'r than we denies all this;\\r\\n And till it be undoubted, we do lock\\r\\n Our former scruple in our strong-barr\\'d gates;\\r\\n King\\'d of our fears, until our fears, resolv\\'d,\\r\\n Be by some certain king purg\\'d and depos\\'d.\\r\\n BASTARD. By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings,\\r\\n And stand securely on their battlements\\r\\n As in a theatre, whence they gape and point\\r\\n At your industrious scenes and acts of death.\\r\\n Your royal presences be rul\\'d by me:\\r\\n Do like the mutines of Jerusalem,\\r\\n Be friends awhile, and both conjointly bend\\r\\n Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town.\\r\\n By east and west let France and England mount\\r\\n Their battering cannon, charged to the mouths,\\r\\n Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl\\'d down\\r\\n The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city.\\r\\n I\\'d play incessantly upon these jades,\\r\\n Even till unfenced desolation\\r\\n Leave them as naked as the vulgar air.\\r\\n That done, dissever your united strengths\\r\\n And part your mingled colours once again,\\r\\n Turn face to face and bloody point to point;\\r\\n Then in a moment Fortune shall cull forth\\r\\n Out of one side her happy minion,\\r\\n To whom in favour she shall give the day,\\r\\n And kiss him with a glorious victory.\\r\\n How like you this wild counsel, mighty states?\\r\\n Smacks it not something of the policy?\\r\\n KING JOHN. Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads,\\r\\n I like it well. France, shall we knit our pow\\'rs\\r\\n And lay this Angiers even with the ground;\\r\\n Then after fight who shall be king of it?\\r\\n BASTARD. An if thou hast the mettle of a king,\\r\\n Being wrong\\'d as we are by this peevish town,\\r\\n Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery,\\r\\n As we will ours, against these saucy walls;\\r\\n And when that we have dash\\'d them to the ground,\\r\\n Why then defy each other, and pell-mell\\r\\n Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Let it be so. Say, where will you assault?\\r\\n KING JOHN. We from the west will send destruction\\r\\n Into this city\\'s bosom.\\r\\n AUSTRIA. I from the north.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Our thunder from the south\\r\\n Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town.\\r\\n BASTARD. [Aside] O prudent discipline! From north to south,\\r\\n Austria and France shoot in each other\\'s mouth.\\r\\n I\\'ll stir them to it.-Come, away, away!\\r\\n CITIZEN. Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe awhile to stay,\\r\\n And I shall show you peace and fair-fac\\'d league;\\r\\n Win you this city without stroke or wound;\\r\\n Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds\\r\\n That here come sacrifices for the field.\\r\\n Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Speak on with favour; we are bent to hear.\\r\\n CITIZEN. That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanch,\\r\\n Is niece to England; look upon the years\\r\\n Of Lewis the Dauphin and that lovely maid.\\r\\n If lusty love should go in quest of beauty,\\r\\n Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch?\\r\\n If zealous love should go in search of virtue,\\r\\n Where should he find it purer than in Blanch?\\r\\n If love ambitious sought a match of birth,\\r\\n Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanch?\\r\\n Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth,\\r\\n Is the young Dauphin every way complete-\\r\\n If not complete of, say he is not she;\\r\\n And she again wants nothing, to name want,\\r\\n If want it be not that she is not he.\\r\\n He is the half part of a blessed man,\\r\\n Left to be finished by such as she;\\r\\n And she a fair divided excellence,\\r\\n Whose fulness of perfection lies in him.\\r\\n O, two such silver currents, when they join,\\r\\n Do glorify the banks that bound them in;\\r\\n And two such shores to two such streams made one,\\r\\n Two such controlling bounds, shall you be, Kings,\\r\\n To these two princes, if you marry them.\\r\\n This union shall do more than battery can\\r\\n To our fast-closed gates; for at this match\\r\\n With swifter spleen than powder can enforce,\\r\\n The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope\\r\\n And give you entrance; but without this match,\\r\\n The sea enraged is not half so deaf,\\r\\n Lions more confident, mountains and rocks\\r\\n More free from motion-no, not Death himself\\r\\n In mortal fury half so peremptory\\r\\n As we to keep this city.\\r\\n BASTARD. Here\\'s a stay\\r\\n That shakes the rotten carcass of old Death\\r\\n Out of his rags! Here\\'s a large mouth, indeed,\\r\\n That spits forth death and mountains, rocks and seas;\\r\\n Talks as familiarly of roaring lions\\r\\n As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs!\\r\\n What cannoneer begot this lusty blood?\\r\\n He speaks plain cannon-fire, and smoke and bounce;\\r\\n He gives the bastinado with his tongue;\\r\\n Our ears are cudgell\\'d; not a word of his\\r\\n But buffets better than a fist of France.\\r\\n Zounds! I was never so bethump\\'d with words\\r\\n Since I first call\\'d my brother\\'s father dad.\\r\\n ELINOR. Son, list to this conjunction, make this match;\\r\\n Give with our niece a dowry large enough;\\r\\n For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie\\r\\n Thy now unsur\\'d assurance to the crown\\r\\n That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe\\r\\n The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit.\\r\\n I see a yielding in the looks of France;\\r\\n Mark how they whisper. Urge them while their souls\\r\\n Are capable of this ambition,\\r\\n Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath\\r\\n Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse,\\r\\n Cool and congeal again to what it was.\\r\\n CITIZEN. Why answer not the double majesties\\r\\n This friendly treaty of our threat\\'ned town?\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Speak England first, that hath been forward first\\r\\n To speak unto this city: what say you?\\r\\n KING JOHN. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son,\\r\\n Can in this book of beauty read \\'I love,\\'\\r\\n Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen;\\r\\n For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers,\\r\\n And all that we upon this side the sea-\\r\\n Except this city now by us besieg\\'d-\\r\\n Find liable to our crown and dignity,\\r\\n Shall gild her bridal bed, and make her rich\\r\\n In titles, honours, and promotions,\\r\\n As she in beauty, education, blood,\\r\\n Holds hand with any princess of the world.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. What say\\'st thou, boy? Look in the lady\\'s face.\\r\\n LEWIS. I do, my lord, and in her eye I find\\r\\n A wonder, or a wondrous miracle,\\r\\n The shadow of myself form\\'d in her eye;\\r\\n Which, being but the shadow of your son,\\r\\n Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow.\\r\\n I do protest I never lov\\'d myself\\r\\n Till now infixed I beheld myself\\r\\n Drawn in the flattering table of her eye.\\r\\n [Whispers with BLANCH]\\r\\n BASTARD. [Aside] Drawn in the flattering table of her eye,\\r\\n Hang\\'d in the frowning wrinkle of her brow,\\r\\n And quarter\\'d in her heart-he doth espy\\r\\n Himself love\\'s traitor. This is pity now,\\r\\n That hang\\'d and drawn and quarter\\'d there should be\\r\\n In such a love so vile a lout as he.\\r\\n BLANCH. My uncle\\'s will in this respect is mine.\\r\\n If he see aught in you that makes him like,\\r\\n That anything he sees which moves his liking\\r\\n I can with ease translate it to my will;\\r\\n Or if you will, to speak more properly,\\r\\n I will enforce it eas\\'ly to my love.\\r\\n Further I will not flatter you, my lord,\\r\\n That all I see in you is worthy love,\\r\\n Than this: that nothing do I see in you-\\r\\n Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your judge-\\r\\n That I can find should merit any hate.\\r\\n KING JOHN. What say these young ones? What say you, my niece?\\r\\n BLANCH. That she is bound in honour still to do\\r\\n What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Speak then, Prince Dauphin; can you love this lady?\\r\\n LEWIS. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love;\\r\\n For I do love her most unfeignedly.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine,\\r\\n Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces,\\r\\n With her to thee; and this addition more,\\r\\n Full thirty thousand marks of English coin.\\r\\n Philip of France, if thou be pleas\\'d withal,\\r\\n Command thy son and daughter to join hands.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. It likes us well; young princes, close your hands.\\r\\n AUSTRIA. And your lips too; for I am well assur\\'d\\r\\n That I did so when I was first assur\\'d.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates,\\r\\n Let in that amity which you have made;\\r\\n For at Saint Mary\\'s chapel presently\\r\\n The rites of marriage shall be solemniz\\'d.\\r\\n Is not the Lady Constance in this troop?\\r\\n I know she is not; for this match made up\\r\\n Her presence would have interrupted much.\\r\\n Where is she and her son? Tell me, who knows.\\r\\n LEWIS. She is sad and passionate at your Highness\\' tent.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. And, by my faith, this league that we have made\\r\\n Will give her sadness very little cure.\\r\\n Brother of England, how may we content\\r\\n This widow lady? In her right we came;\\r\\n Which we, God knows, have turn\\'d another way,\\r\\n To our own vantage.\\r\\n KING JOHN. We will heal up all,\\r\\n For we\\'ll create young Arthur Duke of Britaine,\\r\\n And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town\\r\\n We make him lord of. Call the Lady Constance;\\r\\n Some speedy messenger bid her repair\\r\\n To our solemnity. I trust we shall,\\r\\n If not fill up the measure of her will,\\r\\n Yet in some measure satisfy her so\\r\\n That we shall stop her exclamation.\\r\\n Go we as well as haste will suffer us\\r\\n To this unlook\\'d-for, unprepared pomp.\\r\\n Exeunt all but the BASTARD\\r\\n BASTARD. Mad world! mad kings! mad composition!\\r\\n John, to stop Arthur\\'s tide in the whole,\\r\\n Hath willingly departed with a part;\\r\\n And France, whose armour conscience buckled on,\\r\\n Whom zeal and charity brought to the field\\r\\n As God\\'s own soldier, rounded in the ear\\r\\n With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil,\\r\\n That broker that still breaks the pate of faith,\\r\\n That daily break-vow, he that wins of all,\\r\\n Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids,\\r\\n Who having no external thing to lose\\r\\n But the word \\'maid,\\' cheats the poor maid of that;\\r\\n That smooth-fac\\'d gentleman, tickling commodity,\\r\\n Commodity, the bias of the world-\\r\\n The world, who of itself is peised well,\\r\\n Made to run even upon even ground,\\r\\n Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias,\\r\\n This sway of motion, this commodity,\\r\\n Makes it take head from all indifferency,\\r\\n From all direction, purpose, course, intent-\\r\\n And this same bias, this commodity,\\r\\n This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word,\\r\\n Clapp\\'d on the outward eye of fickle France,\\r\\n Hath drawn him from his own determin\\'d aid,\\r\\n From a resolv\\'d and honourable war,\\r\\n To a most base and vile-concluded peace.\\r\\n And why rail I on this commodity?\\r\\n But for because he hath not woo\\'d me yet;\\r\\n Not that I have the power to clutch my hand\\r\\n When his fair angels would salute my palm,\\r\\n But for my hand, as unattempted yet,\\r\\n Like a poor beggar raileth on the rich.\\r\\n Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail\\r\\n And say there is no sin but to be rich;\\r\\n And being rich, my virtue then shall be\\r\\n To say there is no vice but beggary.\\r\\n Since kings break faith upon commodity,\\r\\n Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nFrance. The FRENCH KING\\'S camp\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and SALISBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Gone to be married! Gone to swear a peace!\\r\\n False blood to false blood join\\'d! Gone to be friends!\\r\\n Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those provinces?\\r\\n It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard;\\r\\n Be well advis\\'d, tell o\\'er thy tale again.\\r\\n It cannot be; thou dost but say \\'tis so;\\r\\n I trust I may not trust thee, for thy word\\r\\n Is but the vain breath of a common man:\\r\\n Believe me I do not believe thee, man;\\r\\n I have a king\\'s oath to the contrary.\\r\\n Thou shalt be punish\\'d for thus frighting me,\\r\\n For I am sick and capable of fears,\\r\\n Oppress\\'d with wrongs, and therefore full of fears;\\r\\n A widow, husbandless, subject to fears;\\r\\n A woman, naturally born to fears;\\r\\n And though thou now confess thou didst but jest,\\r\\n With my vex\\'d spirits I cannot take a truce,\\r\\n But they will quake and tremble all this day.\\r\\n What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head?\\r\\n Why dost thou look so sadly on my son?\\r\\n What means that hand upon that breast of thine?\\r\\n Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,\\r\\n Like a proud river peering o\\'er his bounds?\\r\\n Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words?\\r\\n Then speak again-not all thy former tale,\\r\\n But this one word, whether thy tale be true.\\r\\n SALISBURY. As true as I believe you think them false\\r\\n That give you cause to prove my saying true.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow,\\r\\n Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die;\\r\\n And let belief and life encounter so\\r\\n As doth the fury of two desperate men\\r\\n Which in the very meeting fall and die!\\r\\n Lewis marry Blanch! O boy, then where art thou?\\r\\n France friend with England; what becomes of me?\\r\\n Fellow, be gone: I cannot brook thy sight;\\r\\n This news hath made thee a most ugly man.\\r\\n SALISBURY. What other harm have I, good lady, done\\r\\n But spoke the harm that is by others done?\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Which harm within itself so heinous is\\r\\n As it makes harmful all that speak of it.\\r\\n ARTHUR. I do beseech you, madam, be content.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. If thou that bid\\'st me be content wert grim,\\r\\n Ugly, and sland\\'rous to thy mother\\'s womb,\\r\\n Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains,\\r\\n Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious,\\r\\n Patch\\'d with foul moles and eye-offending marks,\\r\\n I would not care, I then would be content;\\r\\n For then I should not love thee; no, nor thou\\r\\n Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown.\\r\\n But thou art fair, and at thy birth, dear boy,\\r\\n Nature and Fortune join\\'d to make thee great:\\r\\n Of Nature\\'s gifts thou mayst with lilies boast,\\r\\n And with the half-blown rose; but Fortune, O!\\r\\n She is corrupted, chang\\'d, and won from thee;\\r\\n Sh\\' adulterates hourly with thine uncle John,\\r\\n And with her golden hand hath pluck\\'d on France\\r\\n To tread down fair respect of sovereignty,\\r\\n And made his majesty the bawd to theirs.\\r\\n France is a bawd to Fortune and King John-\\r\\n That strumpet Fortune, that usurping John!\\r\\n Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn?\\r\\n Envenom him with words, or get thee gone\\r\\n And leave those woes alone which I alone\\r\\n Am bound to under-bear.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Pardon me, madam,\\r\\n I may not go without you to the kings.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Thou mayst, thou shalt; I will not go with thee;\\r\\n I will instruct my sorrows to be proud,\\r\\n For grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop.\\r\\n To me, and to the state of my great grief,\\r\\n Let kings assemble; for my grief\\'s so great\\r\\n That no supporter but the huge firm earth\\r\\n Can hold it up. [Seats herself on the ground]\\r\\n Here I and sorrows sit;\\r\\n Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING JOHN, KING PHILIP, LEWIS, BLANCH,\\r\\n ELINOR, the BASTARD, AUSTRIA, and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n KING PHILIP. \\'Tis true, fair daughter, and this blessed day\\r\\n Ever in France shall be kept festival.\\r\\n To solemnize this day the glorious sun\\r\\n Stays in his course and plays the alchemist,\\r\\n Turning with splendour of his precious eye\\r\\n The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold.\\r\\n The yearly course that brings this day about\\r\\n Shall never see it but a holiday.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. [Rising] A wicked day, and not a holy day!\\r\\n What hath this day deserv\\'d? what hath it done\\r\\n That it in golden letters should be set\\r\\n Among the high tides in the calendar?\\r\\n Nay, rather turn this day out of the week,\\r\\n This day of shame, oppression, perjury;\\r\\n Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child\\r\\n Pray that their burdens may not fall this day,\\r\\n Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross\\'d;\\r\\n But on this day let seamen fear no wreck;\\r\\n No bargains break that are not this day made;\\r\\n This day, all things begun come to ill end,\\r\\n Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change!\\r\\n KING PHILIP. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause\\r\\n To curse the fair proceedings of this day.\\r\\n Have I not pawn\\'d to you my majesty?\\r\\n CONSTANCE. You have beguil\\'d me with a counterfeit\\r\\n Resembling majesty, which, being touch\\'d and tried,\\r\\n Proves valueless; you are forsworn, forsworn;\\r\\n You came in arms to spill mine enemies\\' blood,\\r\\n But now in arms you strengthen it with yours.\\r\\n The grappling vigour and rough frown of war\\r\\n Is cold in amity and painted peace,\\r\\n And our oppression hath made up this league.\\r\\n Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjur\\'d kings!\\r\\n A widow cries: Be husband to me, heavens!\\r\\n Let not the hours of this ungodly day\\r\\n Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset,\\r\\n Set armed discord \\'twixt these perjur\\'d kings!\\r\\n Hear me, O, hear me!\\r\\n AUSTRIA. Lady Constance, peace!\\r\\n CONSTANCE. War! war! no peace! Peace is to me a war.\\r\\n O Lymoges! O Austria! thou dost shame\\r\\n That bloody spoil. Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward!\\r\\n Thou little valiant, great in villainy!\\r\\n Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!\\r\\n Thou Fortune\\'s champion that dost never fight\\r\\n But when her humorous ladyship is by\\r\\n To teach thee safety! Thou art perjur\\'d too,\\r\\n And sooth\\'st up greatness. What a fool art thou,\\r\\n A ramping fool, to brag and stamp and swear\\r\\n Upon my party! Thou cold-blooded slave,\\r\\n Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side,\\r\\n Been sworn my soldier, bidding me depend\\r\\n Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength,\\r\\n And dost thou now fall over to my foes?\\r\\n Thou wear a lion\\'s hide! Doff it for shame,\\r\\n And hang a calf\\'s-skin on those recreant limbs.\\r\\n AUSTRIA. O that a man should speak those words to me!\\r\\n BASTARD. And hang a calf\\'s-skin on those recreant limbs.\\r\\n AUSTRIA. Thou dar\\'st not say so, villain, for thy life.\\r\\n BASTARD. And hang a calf\\'s-skin on those recreant limbs.\\r\\n KING JOHN. We like not this: thou dost forget thyself.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PANDULPH\\r\\n\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Here comes the holy legate of the Pope.\\r\\n PANDULPH. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven!\\r\\n To thee, King John, my holy errand is.\\r\\n I Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal,\\r\\n And from Pope Innocent the legate here,\\r\\n Do in his name religiously demand\\r\\n Why thou against the Church, our holy mother,\\r\\n So wilfully dost spurn; and force perforce\\r\\n Keep Stephen Langton, chosen Archbishop\\r\\n Of Canterbury, from that holy see?\\r\\n This, in our foresaid holy father\\'s name,\\r\\n Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee.\\r\\n KING JOHN. What earthly name to interrogatories\\r\\n Can task the free breath of a sacred king?\\r\\n Thou canst not, Cardinal, devise a name\\r\\n So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous,\\r\\n To charge me to an answer, as the Pope.\\r\\n Tell him this tale, and from the mouth of England\\r\\n Add thus much more, that no Italian priest\\r\\n Shall tithe or toll in our dominions;\\r\\n But as we under heaven are supreme head,\\r\\n So, under Him that great supremacy,\\r\\n Where we do reign we will alone uphold,\\r\\n Without th\\' assistance of a mortal hand.\\r\\n So tell the Pope, all reverence set apart\\r\\n To him and his usurp\\'d authority.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Though you and all the kings of Christendom\\r\\n Are led so grossly by this meddling priest,\\r\\n Dreading the curse that money may buy out,\\r\\n And by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust,\\r\\n Purchase corrupted pardon of a man,\\r\\n Who in that sale sells pardon from himself-\\r\\n Though you and all the rest, so grossly led,\\r\\n This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish;\\r\\n Yet I alone, alone do me oppose\\r\\n Against the Pope, and count his friends my foes.\\r\\n PANDULPH. Then by the lawful power that I have\\r\\n Thou shalt stand curs\\'d and excommunicate;\\r\\n And blessed shall he be that doth revolt\\r\\n From his allegiance to an heretic;\\r\\n And meritorious shall that hand be call\\'d,\\r\\n Canonized, and worshipp\\'d as a saint,\\r\\n That takes away by any secret course\\r\\n Thy hateful life.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. O, lawful let it be\\r\\n That I have room with Rome to curse awhile!\\r\\n Good father Cardinal, cry thou \\'amen\\'\\r\\n To my keen curses; for without my wrong\\r\\n There is no tongue hath power to curse him right.\\r\\n PANDULPH. There\\'s law and warrant, lady, for my curse.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. And for mine too; when law can do no right,\\r\\n Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong;\\r\\n Law cannot give my child his kingdom here,\\r\\n For he that holds his kingdom holds the law;\\r\\n Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong,\\r\\n How can the law forbid my tongue to curse?\\r\\n PANDULPH. Philip of France, on peril of a curse,\\r\\n Let go the hand of that arch-heretic,\\r\\n And raise the power of France upon his head,\\r\\n Unless he do submit himself to Rome.\\r\\n ELINOR. Look\\'st thou pale, France? Do not let go thy hand.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Look to that, devil, lest that France repent\\r\\n And by disjoining hands hell lose a soul.\\r\\n AUSTRIA. King Philip, listen to the Cardinal.\\r\\n BASTARD. And hang a calf\\'s-skin on his recreant limbs.\\r\\n AUSTRIA. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs,\\r\\n Because-\\r\\n BASTARD. Your breeches best may carry them.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Philip, what say\\'st thou to the Cardinal?\\r\\n CONSTANCE. What should he say, but as the Cardinal?\\r\\n LEWIS. Bethink you, father; for the difference\\r\\n Is purchase of a heavy curse from Rome\\r\\n Or the light loss of England for a friend.\\r\\n Forgo the easier.\\r\\n BLANCH. That\\'s the curse of Rome.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. O Lewis, stand fast! The devil tempts thee here\\r\\n In likeness of a new untrimmed bride.\\r\\n BLANCH. The Lady Constance speaks not from her faith,\\r\\n But from her need.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. O, if thou grant my need,\\r\\n Which only lives but by the death of faith,\\r\\n That need must needs infer this principle-\\r\\n That faith would live again by death of need.\\r\\n O then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up:\\r\\n Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down!\\r\\n KING JOHN. The King is mov\\'d, and answers not to this.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. O be remov\\'d from him, and answer well!\\r\\n AUSTRIA. Do so, King Philip; hang no more in doubt.\\r\\n BASTARD. Hang nothing but a calf\\'s-skin, most sweet lout.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. I am perplex\\'d and know not what to say.\\r\\n PANDULPH. What canst thou say but will perplex thee more,\\r\\n If thou stand excommunicate and curs\\'d?\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Good reverend father, make my person yours,\\r\\n And tell me how you would bestow yourself.\\r\\n This royal hand and mine are newly knit,\\r\\n And the conjunction of our inward souls\\r\\n Married in league, coupled and link\\'d together\\r\\n With all religious strength of sacred vows;\\r\\n The latest breath that gave the sound of words\\r\\n Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love,\\r\\n Between our kingdoms and our royal selves;\\r\\n And even before this truce, but new before,\\r\\n No longer than we well could wash our hands,\\r\\n To clap this royal bargain up of peace,\\r\\n Heaven knows, they were besmear\\'d and overstain\\'d\\r\\n With slaughter\\'s pencil, where revenge did paint\\r\\n The fearful difference of incensed kings.\\r\\n And shall these hands, so lately purg\\'d of blood,\\r\\n So newly join\\'d in love, so strong in both,\\r\\n Unyoke this seizure and this kind regreet?\\r\\n Play fast and loose with faith? so jest with heaven,\\r\\n Make such unconstant children of ourselves,\\r\\n As now again to snatch our palm from palm,\\r\\n Unswear faith sworn, and on the marriage-bed\\r\\n Of smiling peace to march a bloody host,\\r\\n And make a riot on the gentle brow\\r\\n Of true sincerity? O, holy sir,\\r\\n My reverend father, let it not be so!\\r\\n Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose,\\r\\n Some gentle order; and then we shall be blest\\r\\n To do your pleasure, and continue friends.\\r\\n PANDULPH. All form is formless, order orderless,\\r\\n Save what is opposite to England\\'s love.\\r\\n Therefore, to arms! be champion of our church,\\r\\n Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse-\\r\\n A mother\\'s curse-on her revolting son.\\r\\n France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue,\\r\\n A chafed lion by the mortal paw,\\r\\n A fasting tiger safer by the tooth,\\r\\n Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith.\\r\\n PANDULPH. So mak\\'st thou faith an enemy to faith;\\r\\n And like. a civil war set\\'st oath to oath.\\r\\n Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow\\r\\n First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform\\'d,\\r\\n That is, to be the champion of our Church.\\r\\n What since thou swor\\'st is sworn against thyself\\r\\n And may not be performed by thyself,\\r\\n For that which thou hast sworn to do amiss\\r\\n Is not amiss when it is truly done;\\r\\n And being not done, where doing tends to ill,\\r\\n The truth is then most done not doing it;\\r\\n The better act of purposes mistook\\r\\n Is to mistake again; though indirect,\\r\\n Yet indirection thereby grows direct,\\r\\n And falsehood cures, as fire cools fire\\r\\n Within the scorched veins of one new-burn\\'d.\\r\\n It is religion that doth make vows kept;\\r\\n But thou hast sworn against religion\\r\\n By what thou swear\\'st against the thing thou swear\\'st,\\r\\n And mak\\'st an oath the surety for thy truth\\r\\n Against an oath; the truth thou art unsure\\r\\n To swear swears only not to be forsworn;\\r\\n Else what a mockery should it be to swear!\\r\\n But thou dost swear only to be forsworn;\\r\\n And most forsworn to keep what thou dost swear.\\r\\n Therefore thy later vows against thy first\\r\\n Is in thyself rebellion to thyself;\\r\\n And better conquest never canst thou make\\r\\n Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts\\r\\n Against these giddy loose suggestions;\\r\\n Upon which better part our pray\\'rs come in,\\r\\n If thou vouchsafe them. But if not, then know\\r\\n The peril of our curses fight on thee\\r\\n So heavy as thou shalt not shake them off,\\r\\n But in despair die under the black weight.\\r\\n AUSTRIA. Rebellion, flat rebellion!\\r\\n BASTARD. Will\\'t not be?\\r\\n Will not a calf\\'s-skin stop that mouth of thine?\\r\\n LEWIS. Father, to arms!\\r\\n BLANCH. Upon thy wedding-day?\\r\\n Against the blood that thou hast married?\\r\\n What, shall our feast be kept with slaughtered men?\\r\\n Shall braying trumpets and loud churlish drums,\\r\\n Clamours of hell, be measures to our pomp?\\r\\n O husband, hear me! ay, alack, how new\\r\\n Is \\'husband\\' in my mouth! even for that name,\\r\\n Which till this time my tongue did ne\\'er pronounce,\\r\\n Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms\\r\\n Against mine uncle.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. O, upon my knee,\\r\\n Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee,\\r\\n Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom\\r\\n Forethought by heaven!\\r\\n BLANCH. Now shall I see thy love. What motive may\\r\\n Be stronger with thee than the name of wife?\\r\\n CONSTANCE. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds,\\r\\n His honour. O, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour!\\r\\n LEWIS. I muse your Majesty doth seem so cold,\\r\\n When such profound respects do pull you on.\\r\\n PANDULPH. I will denounce a curse upon his head.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Thou shalt not need. England, I will fall from thee.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. O fair return of banish\\'d majesty!\\r\\n ELINOR. O foul revolt of French inconstancy!\\r\\n KING JOHN. France, thou shalt rue this hour within this hour.\\r\\n BASTARD. Old Time the clock-setter, that bald sexton Time,\\r\\n Is it as he will? Well then, France shall rue.\\r\\n BLANCH. The sun\\'s o\\'ercast with blood. Fair day, adieu!\\r\\n Which is the side that I must go withal?\\r\\n I am with both: each army hath a hand;\\r\\n And in their rage, I having hold of both,\\r\\n They whirl asunder and dismember me.\\r\\n Husband, I cannot pray that thou mayst win;\\r\\n Uncle, I needs must pray that thou mayst lose;\\r\\n Father, I may not wish the fortune thine;\\r\\n Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive.\\r\\n Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose:\\r\\n Assured loss before the match be play\\'d.\\r\\n LEWIS. Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies.\\r\\n BLANCH. There where my fortune lives, there my life dies.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Cousin, go draw our puissance together.\\r\\n Exit BASTARD\\r\\n France, I am burn\\'d up with inflaming wrath,\\r\\n A rage whose heat hath this condition\\r\\n That nothing can allay, nothing but blood,\\r\\n The blood, and dearest-valu\\'d blood, of France.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou shalt turn\\r\\n To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire.\\r\\n Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy.\\r\\n KING JOHN. No more than he that threats. To arms let\\'s hie!\\r\\n Exeunt severally\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nFrance. Plains near Angiers\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarums, excursions. Enter the BASTARD with AUSTRIA\\'S head\\r\\n\\r\\n BASTARD. Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot;\\r\\n Some airy devil hovers in the sky\\r\\n And pours down mischief. Austria\\'s head lie there,\\r\\n While Philip breathes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING JOHN, ARTHUR, and HUBERT\\r\\n\\r\\n KING JOHN. Hubert, keep this boy. Philip, make up:\\r\\n My mother is assailed in our tent,\\r\\n And ta\\'en, I fear.\\r\\n BASTARD. My lord, I rescued her;\\r\\n Her Highness is in safety, fear you not;\\r\\n But on, my liege, for very little pains\\r\\n Will bring this labour to an happy end. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nFrance. Plains near Angiers\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarums, excursions, retreat. Enter KING JOHN, ELINOR, ARTHUR, the\\r\\nBASTARD, HUBERT, and LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n KING JOHN. [To ELINOR] So shall it be; your Grace shall stay\\r\\n behind,\\r\\n So strongly guarded. [To ARTHUR] Cousin, look not sad;\\r\\n Thy grandam loves thee, and thy uncle will\\r\\n As dear be to thee as thy father was.\\r\\n ARTHUR. O, this will make my mother die with grief!\\r\\n KING JOHN. [To the BASTARD] Cousin, away for England! haste\\r\\n before,\\r\\n And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags\\r\\n Of hoarding abbots; imprisoned angels\\r\\n Set at liberty; the fat ribs of peace\\r\\n Must by the hungry now be fed upon.\\r\\n Use our commission in his utmost force.\\r\\n BASTARD. Bell, book, and candle, shall not drive me back,\\r\\n When gold and silver becks me to come on.\\r\\n I leave your Highness. Grandam, I will pray,\\r\\n If ever I remember to be holy,\\r\\n For your fair safety. So, I kiss your hand.\\r\\n ELINOR. Farewell, gentle cousin.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Coz, farewell.\\r\\n Exit BASTARD\\r\\n ELINOR. Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert,\\r\\n We owe thee much! Within this wall of flesh\\r\\n There is a soul counts thee her creditor,\\r\\n And with advantage means to pay thy love;\\r\\n And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath\\r\\n Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished.\\r\\n Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say-\\r\\n But I will fit it with some better time.\\r\\n By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham\\'d\\r\\n To say what good respect I have of thee.\\r\\n HUBERT. I am much bounden to your Majesty.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet,\\r\\n But thou shalt have; and creep time ne\\'er so slow,\\r\\n Yet it shall come for me to do thee good.\\r\\n I had a thing to say-but let it go:\\r\\n The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day,\\r\\n Attended with the pleasures of the world,\\r\\n Is all too wanton and too full of gawds\\r\\n To give me audience. If the midnight bell\\r\\n Did with his iron tongue and brazen mouth\\r\\n Sound on into the drowsy race of night;\\r\\n If this same were a churchyard where we stand,\\r\\n And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs;\\r\\n Or if that surly spirit, melancholy,\\r\\n Had bak\\'d thy blood and made it heavy-thick,\\r\\n Which else runs tickling up and down the veins,\\r\\n Making that idiot, laughter, keep men\\'s eyes\\r\\n And strain their cheeks to idle merriment,\\r\\n A passion hateful to my purposes;\\r\\n Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes,\\r\\n Hear me without thine cars, and make reply\\r\\n Without a tongue, using conceit alone,\\r\\n Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words-\\r\\n Then, in despite of brooded watchful day,\\r\\n I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts.\\r\\n But, ah, I will not! Yet I love thee well;\\r\\n And, by my troth, I think thou lov\\'st me well.\\r\\n HUBERT. So well that what you bid me undertake,\\r\\n Though that my death were adjunct to my act,\\r\\n By heaven, I would do it.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Do not I know thou wouldst?\\r\\n Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye\\r\\n On yon young boy. I\\'ll tell thee what, my friend,\\r\\n He is a very serpent in my way;\\r\\n And wheresoe\\'er this foot of mine doth tread,\\r\\n He lies before me. Dost thou understand me?\\r\\n Thou art his keeper.\\r\\n HUBERT. And I\\'ll keep him so\\r\\n That he shall not offend your Majesty.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Death.\\r\\n HUBERT. My lord?\\r\\n KING JOHN. A grave.\\r\\n HUBERT. He shall not live.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Enough!\\r\\n I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee.\\r\\n Well, I\\'ll not say what I intend for thee.\\r\\n Remember. Madam, fare you well;\\r\\n I\\'ll send those powers o\\'er to your Majesty.\\r\\n ELINOR. My blessing go with thee!\\r\\n KING JOHN. [To ARTHUR] For England, cousin, go;\\r\\n Hubert shall be your man, attend on you\\r\\n With all true duty. On toward Calais, ho! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nFrance. The FRENCH KING\\'s camp\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter KING PHILIP, LEWIS, PANDULPH, and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n KING PHILIP. So by a roaring tempest on the flood\\r\\n A whole armado of convicted sail\\r\\n Is scattered and disjoin\\'d from fellowship.\\r\\n PANDULPH. Courage and comfort! All shall yet go well.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. What can go well, when we have run so ill.\\r\\n Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost?\\r\\n Arthur ta\\'en prisoner? Divers dear friends slain?\\r\\n And bloody England into England gone,\\r\\n O\\'erbearing interruption, spite of France?\\r\\n LEWIS. he hath won, that hath he fortified;\\r\\n So hot a speed with such advice dispos\\'d,\\r\\n Such temperate order in so fierce a cause,\\r\\n Doth want example; who hath read or heard\\r\\n Of any kindred action like to this?\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Well could I bear that England had this praise,\\r\\n So we could find some pattern of our shame.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CONSTANCE\\r\\n\\r\\n Look who comes here! a grave unto a soul;\\r\\n Holding th\\' eternal spirit, against her will,\\r\\n In the vile prison of afflicted breath.\\r\\n I prithee, lady, go away with me.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Lo now! now see the issue of your peace!\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Patience, good lady! Comfort, gentle Constance!\\r\\n CONSTANCE. No, I defy all counsel, all redress,\\r\\n But that which ends all counsel, true redress-\\r\\n Death, death; O amiable lovely death!\\r\\n Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness!\\r\\n Arise forth from the couch of lasting night,\\r\\n Thou hate and terror to prosperity,\\r\\n And I will kiss thy detestable bones,\\r\\n And put my eyeballs in thy vaulty brows,\\r\\n And ring these fingers with thy household worms,\\r\\n And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust,\\r\\n And be a carrion monster like thyself.\\r\\n Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smil\\'st,\\r\\n And buss thee as thy wife. Misery\\'s love,\\r\\n O, come to me!\\r\\n KING PHILIP. O fair affliction, peace!\\r\\n CONSTANCE. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry.\\r\\n O that my tongue were in the thunder\\'s mouth!\\r\\n Then with a passion would I shake the world,\\r\\n And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy\\r\\n Which cannot hear a lady\\'s feeble voice,\\r\\n Which scorns a modern invocation.\\r\\n PANDULPH. Lady, you utter madness and not sorrow.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Thou art not holy to belie me so.\\r\\n I am not mad: this hair I tear is mine;\\r\\n My name is Constance; I was Geffrey\\'s wife;\\r\\n Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost.\\r\\n I am not mad-I would to heaven I were!\\r\\n For then \\'tis like I should forget myself.\\r\\n O, if I could, what grief should I forget!\\r\\n Preach some philosophy to make me mad,\\r\\n And thou shalt be canoniz\\'d, Cardinal;\\r\\n For, being not mad, but sensible of grief,\\r\\n My reasonable part produces reason\\r\\n How I may be deliver\\'d of these woes,\\r\\n And teaches me to kill or hang myself.\\r\\n If I were mad I should forget my son,\\r\\n Or madly think a babe of clouts were he.\\r\\n I am not mad; too well, too well I feel\\r\\n The different plague of each calamity.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Bind up those tresses. O, what love I note\\r\\n In the fair multitude of those her hairs!\\r\\n Where but by a chance a silver drop hath fall\\'n,\\r\\n Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends\\r\\n Do glue themselves in sociable grief,\\r\\n Like true, inseparable, faithful loves,\\r\\n Sticking together in calamity.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. To England, if you will.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. Bind up your hairs.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Yes, that I will; and wherefore will I do it?\\r\\n I tore them from their bonds, and cried aloud\\r\\n \\'O that these hands could so redeem my son,\\r\\n As they have given these hairs their liberty!\\'\\r\\n But now I envy at their liberty,\\r\\n And will again commit them to their bonds,\\r\\n Because my poor child is a prisoner.\\r\\n And, father Cardinal, I have heard you say\\r\\n That we shall see and know our friends in heaven;\\r\\n If that be true, I shall see my boy again;\\r\\n For since the birth of Cain, the first male child,\\r\\n To him that did but yesterday suspire,\\r\\n There was not such a gracious creature born.\\r\\n But now will canker sorrow eat my bud\\r\\n And chase the native beauty from his cheek,\\r\\n And he will look as hollow as a ghost,\\r\\n As dim and meagre as an ague\\'s fit;\\r\\n And so he\\'ll die; and, rising so again,\\r\\n When I shall meet him in the court of heaven\\r\\n I shall not know him. Therefore never, never\\r\\n Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.\\r\\n PANDULPH. You hold too heinous a respect of grief.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. He talks to me that never had a son.\\r\\n KING PHILIP. You are as fond of grief as of your child.\\r\\n CONSTANCE. Grief fills the room up of my absent child,\\r\\n Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,\\r\\n Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,\\r\\n Remembers me of all his gracious parts,\\r\\n Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;\\r\\n Then have I reason to be fond of grief.\\r\\n Fare you well; had you such a loss as I,\\r\\n I could give better comfort than you do.\\r\\n I will not keep this form upon my head,\\r\\n [Tearing her hair]\\r\\n When there is such disorder in my wit.\\r\\n O Lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son!\\r\\n My life, my joy, my food, my ail the world!\\r\\n My widow-comfort, and my sorrows\\' cure! Exit\\r\\n KING PHILIP. I fear some outrage, and I\\'ll follow her. Exit\\r\\n LEWIS. There\\'s nothing in this world can make me joy.\\r\\n Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale\\r\\n Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man;\\r\\n And bitter shame hath spoil\\'d the sweet world\\'s taste,\\r\\n That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.\\r\\n PANDULPH. Before the curing of a strong disease,\\r\\n Even in the instant of repair and health,\\r\\n The fit is strongest; evils that take leave\\r\\n On their departure most of all show evil;\\r\\n What have you lost by losing of this day?\\r\\n LEWIS. All days of glory, joy, and happiness.\\r\\n PANDULPH. If you had won it, certainly you had.\\r\\n No, no; when Fortune means to men most good,\\r\\n She looks upon them with a threat\\'ning eye.\\r\\n \\'Tis strange to think how much King John hath lost\\r\\n In this which he accounts so clearly won.\\r\\n Are not you griev\\'d that Arthur is his prisoner?\\r\\n LEWIS. As heartily as he is glad he hath him.\\r\\n PANDULPH. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood.\\r\\n Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit;\\r\\n For even the breath of what I mean to speak\\r\\n Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub,\\r\\n Out of the path which shall directly lead\\r\\n Thy foot to England\\'s throne. And therefore mark:\\r\\n John hath seiz\\'d Arthur; and it cannot be\\r\\n That, whiles warm life plays in that infant\\'s veins,\\r\\n The misplac\\'d John should entertain an hour,\\r\\n One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest.\\r\\n A sceptre snatch\\'d with an unruly hand\\r\\n Must be boisterously maintain\\'d as gain\\'d,\\r\\n And he that stands upon a slipp\\'ry place\\r\\n Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up;\\r\\n That John may stand then, Arthur needs must fall;\\r\\n So be it, for it cannot be but so.\\r\\n LEWIS. But what shall I gain by young Arthur\\'s fall?\\r\\n PANDULPH. You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife,\\r\\n May then make all the claim that Arthur did.\\r\\n LEWIS. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did.\\r\\n PANDULPH. How green you are and fresh in this old world!\\r\\n John lays you plots; the times conspire with you;\\r\\n For he that steeps his safety in true blood\\r\\n Shall find but bloody safety and untrue.\\r\\n This act, so evilly borne, shall cool the hearts\\r\\n Of all his people and freeze up their zeal,\\r\\n That none so small advantage shall step forth\\r\\n To check his reign but they will cherish it;\\r\\n No natural exhalation in the sky,\\r\\n No scope of nature, no distemper\\'d day,\\r\\n No common wind, no customed event,\\r\\n But they will pluck away his natural cause\\r\\n And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs,\\r\\n Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven,\\r\\n Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.\\r\\n LEWIS. May be he will not touch young Arthur\\'s life,\\r\\n But hold himself safe in his prisonment.\\r\\n PANDULPH. O, Sir, when he shall hear of your approach,\\r\\n If that young Arthur be not gone already,\\r\\n Even at that news he dies; and then the hearts\\r\\n Of all his people shall revolt from him,\\r\\n And kiss the lips of unacquainted change,\\r\\n And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath\\r\\n Out of the bloody fingers\\' ends of john.\\r\\n Methinks I see this hurly all on foot;\\r\\n And, O, what better matter breeds for you\\r\\n Than I have nam\\'d! The bastard Faulconbridge\\r\\n Is now in England ransacking the Church,\\r\\n Offending charity; if but a dozen French\\r\\n Were there in arms, they would be as a can\\r\\n To train ten thousand English to their side;\\r\\n Or as a little snow, tumbled about,\\r\\n Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin,\\r\\n Go with me to the King. \\'Tis wonderful\\r\\n What may be wrought out of their discontent,\\r\\n Now that their souls are topful of offence.\\r\\n For England go; I will whet on the King.\\r\\n LEWIS. Strong reasons makes strong actions. Let us go;\\r\\n If you say ay, the King will not say no. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nEngland. A castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter HUBERT and EXECUTIONERS\\r\\n\\r\\n HUBERT. Heat me these irons hot; and look thou stand\\r\\n Within the arras. When I strike my foot\\r\\n Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth\\r\\n And bind the boy which you shall find with me\\r\\n Fast to the chair. Be heedful; hence, and watch.\\r\\n EXECUTIONER. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.\\r\\n HUBERT. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you. Look to\\'t.\\r\\n Exeunt EXECUTIONERS\\r\\n Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ARTHUR\\r\\n\\r\\n ARTHUR. Good morrow, Hubert.\\r\\n HUBERT. Good morrow, little Prince.\\r\\n ARTHUR. As little prince, having so great a tide\\r\\n To be more prince, as may be. You are sad.\\r\\n HUBERT. Indeed I have been merrier.\\r\\n ARTHUR. Mercy on me!\\r\\n Methinks no body should be sad but I;\\r\\n Yet, I remember, when I was in France,\\r\\n Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,\\r\\n Only for wantonness. By my christendom,\\r\\n So I were out of prison and kept sheep,\\r\\n I should be as merry as the day is long;\\r\\n And so I would be here but that I doubt\\r\\n My uncle practises more harm to me;\\r\\n He is afraid of me, and I of him.\\r\\n Is it my fault that I was Geffrey\\'s son?\\r\\n No, indeed, ist not; and I would to heaven\\r\\n I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.\\r\\n HUBERT. [Aside] If I talk to him, with his innocent prate\\r\\n He will awake my mercy, which lies dead;\\r\\n Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch.\\r\\n ARTHUR. Are you sick, Hubert? You look pale to-day;\\r\\n In sooth, I would you were a little sick,\\r\\n That I might sit all night and watch with you.\\r\\n I warrant I love you more than you do me.\\r\\n HUBERT. [Aside] His words do take possession of my bosom.-\\r\\n Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper]\\r\\n [Aside] How now, foolish rheum!\\r\\n Turning dispiteous torture out of door!\\r\\n I must be brief, lest resolution drop\\r\\n Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.-\\r\\n Can you not read it? Is it not fair writ?\\r\\n ARTHUR. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect.\\r\\n Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?\\r\\n HUBERT. Young boy, I must.\\r\\n ARTHUR. And will you?\\r\\n HUBERT. And I will.\\r\\n ARTHUR. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,\\r\\n I knit my handkerchief about your brows-\\r\\n The best I had, a princess wrought it me-\\r\\n And I did never ask it you again;\\r\\n And with my hand at midnight held your head;\\r\\n And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,\\r\\n Still and anon cheer\\'d up the heavy time,\\r\\n Saying \\'What lack you?\\' and \\'Where lies your grief?\\'\\r\\n Or \\'What good love may I perform for you?\\'\\r\\n Many a poor man\\'s son would have lyen still,\\r\\n And ne\\'er have spoke a loving word to you;\\r\\n But you at your sick service had a prince.\\r\\n Nay, you may think my love was crafty love,\\r\\n And call it cunning. Do, an if you will.\\r\\n If heaven be pleas\\'d that you must use me ill,\\r\\n Why, then you must. Will you put out mine eyes,\\r\\n These eyes that never did nor never shall\\r\\n So much as frown on you?\\r\\n HUBERT. I have sworn to do it;\\r\\n And with hot irons must I burn them out.\\r\\n ARTHUR. Ah, none but in this iron age would do it!\\r\\n The iron of itself, though heat red-hot,\\r\\n Approaching near these eyes would drink my tears,\\r\\n And quench his fiery indignation\\r\\n Even in the matter of mine innocence;\\r\\n Nay, after that, consume away in rust\\r\\n But for containing fire to harm mine eye.\\r\\n Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer\\'d iron?\\r\\n An if an angel should have come to me\\r\\n And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,\\r\\n I would not have believ\\'d him-no tongue but Hubert\\'s.\\r\\n HUBERT. [Stamps] Come forth.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter EXECUTIONERS, With cord, irons, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\n Do as I bid you do.\\r\\n ARTHUR. O, save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are out\\r\\n Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.\\r\\n HUBERT. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.\\r\\n ARTHUR. Alas, what need you be so boist\\'rous rough?\\r\\n I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.\\r\\n For heaven sake, Hubert, let me not be bound!\\r\\n Nay, hear me, Hubert! Drive these men away,\\r\\n And I will sit as quiet as a lamb;\\r\\n I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,\\r\\n Nor look upon the iron angrily;\\r\\n Thrust but these men away, and I\\'ll forgive you,\\r\\n Whatever torment you do put me to.\\r\\n HUBERT. Go, stand within; let me alone with him.\\r\\n EXECUTIONER. I am best pleas\\'d to be from such a deed.\\r\\n Exeunt EXECUTIONERS\\r\\n ARTHUR. Alas, I then have chid away my friend!\\r\\n He hath a stern look but a gentle heart.\\r\\n Let him come back, that his compassion may\\r\\n Give life to yours.\\r\\n HUBERT. Come, boy, prepare yourself.\\r\\n ARTHUR. Is there no remedy?\\r\\n HUBERT. None, but to lose your eyes.\\r\\n ARTHUR. O heaven, that there were but a mote in yours,\\r\\n A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,\\r\\n Any annoyance in that precious sense!\\r\\n Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there,\\r\\n Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.\\r\\n HUBERT. Is this your promise? Go to, hold your tongue.\\r\\n ARTHUR. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues\\r\\n Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes.\\r\\n Let me not hold my tongue, let me not, Hubert;\\r\\n Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue,\\r\\n So I may keep mine eyes. O, spare mine eyes,\\r\\n Though to no use but still to look on you!\\r\\n Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold\\r\\n And would not harm me.\\r\\n HUBERT. I can heat it, boy.\\r\\n ARTHUR. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief,\\r\\n Being create for comfort, to be us\\'d\\r\\n In undeserved extremes. See else yourself:\\r\\n There is no malice in this burning coal;\\r\\n The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out,\\r\\n And strew\\'d repentant ashes on his head.\\r\\n HUBERT. But with my breath I can revive it, boy.\\r\\n ARTHUR. An if you do, you will but make it blush\\r\\n And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert.\\r\\n Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes,\\r\\n And, like a dog that is compell\\'d to fight,\\r\\n Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on.\\r\\n All things that you should use to do me wrong\\r\\n Deny their office; only you do lack\\r\\n That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends,\\r\\n Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses.\\r\\n HUBERT. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eye\\r\\n For all the treasure that thine uncle owes.\\r\\n Yet I am sworn, and I did purpose, boy,\\r\\n With this same very iron to burn them out.\\r\\n ARTHUR. O, now you look like Hubert! All this while\\r\\n You were disguis\\'d.\\r\\n HUBERT. Peace; no more. Adieu.\\r\\n Your uncle must not know but you are dead:\\r\\n I\\'ll fill these dogged spies with false reports;\\r\\n And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure\\r\\n That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,\\r\\n Will not offend thee.\\r\\n ARTHUR. O heaven! I thank you, Hubert.\\r\\n HUBERT. Silence; no more. Go closely in with me.\\r\\n Much danger do I undergo for thee. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nEngland. KING JOHN\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter KING JOHN, PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and other LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n KING JOHN. Here once again we sit, once again crown\\'d,\\r\\n And look\\'d upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. This once again, but that your Highness pleas\\'d,\\r\\n Was once superfluous: you were crown\\'d before,\\r\\n And that high royalty was ne\\'er pluck\\'d off,\\r\\n The faiths of men ne\\'er stained with revolt;\\r\\n Fresh expectation troubled not the land\\r\\n With any long\\'d-for change or better state.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Therefore, to be possess\\'d with double pomp,\\r\\n To guard a title that was rich before,\\r\\n To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,\\r\\n To throw a perfume on the violet,\\r\\n To smooth the ice, or add another hue\\r\\n Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light\\r\\n To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,\\r\\n Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. But that your royal pleasure must be done,\\r\\n This act is as an ancient tale new told\\r\\n And, in the last repeating, troublesome,\\r\\n Being urged at a time unseasonable.\\r\\n SALISBURY. In this the antique and well-noted face\\r\\n Of plain old form is much disfigured;\\r\\n And like a shifted wind unto a sail\\r\\n It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about,\\r\\n Startles and frights consideration,\\r\\n Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected,\\r\\n For putting on so new a fashion\\'d robe.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. When workmen strive to do better than well,\\r\\n They do confound their skill in covetousness;\\r\\n And oftentimes excusing of a fault\\r\\n Doth make the fault the worse by th\\' excuse,\\r\\n As patches set upon a little breach\\r\\n Discredit more in hiding of the fault\\r\\n Than did the fault before it was so patch\\'d.\\r\\n SALISBURY. To this effect, before you were new-crown\\'d,\\r\\n We breath\\'d our counsel; but it pleas\\'d your Highness\\r\\n To overbear it; and we are all well pleas\\'d,\\r\\n Since all and every part of what we would\\r\\n Doth make a stand at what your Highness will.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Some reasons of this double coronation\\r\\n I have possess\\'d you with, and think them strong;\\r\\n And more, more strong, when lesser is my fear,\\r\\n I shall indue you with. Meantime but ask\\r\\n What you would have reform\\'d that is not well,\\r\\n And well shall you perceive how willingly\\r\\n I will both hear and grant you your requests.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. Then I, as one that am the tongue of these,\\r\\n To sound the purposes of all their hearts,\\r\\n Both for myself and them- but, chief of all,\\r\\n Your safety, for the which myself and them\\r\\n Bend their best studies, heartily request\\r\\n Th\\' enfranchisement of Arthur, whose restraint\\r\\n Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent\\r\\n To break into this dangerous argument:\\r\\n If what in rest you have in right you hold,\\r\\n Why then your fears-which, as they say, attend\\r\\n The steps of wrong-should move you to mew up\\r\\n Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days\\r\\n With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth\\r\\n The rich advantage of good exercise?\\r\\n That the time\\'s enemies may not have this\\r\\n To grace occasions, let it be our suit\\r\\n That you have bid us ask his liberty;\\r\\n Which for our goods we do no further ask\\r\\n Than whereupon our weal, on you depending,\\r\\n Counts it your weal he have his liberty.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Let it be so. I do commit his youth\\r\\n To your direction.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HUBERT\\r\\n\\r\\n [Aside] Hubert, what news with you?\\r\\n PEMBROKE. This is the man should do the bloody deed:\\r\\n He show\\'d his warrant to a friend of mine;\\r\\n The image of a wicked heinous fault\\r\\n Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his\\r\\n Doth show the mood of a much troubled breast,\\r\\n And I do fearfully believe \\'tis done\\r\\n What we so fear\\'d he had a charge to do.\\r\\n SALISBURY. The colour of the King doth come and go\\r\\n Between his purpose and his conscience,\\r\\n Like heralds \\'twixt two dreadful battles set.\\r\\n His passion is so ripe it needs must break.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence\\r\\n The foul corruption of a sweet child\\'s death.\\r\\n KING JOHN. We cannot hold mortality\\'s strong hand.\\r\\n Good lords, although my will to give is living,\\r\\n The suit which you demand is gone and dead:\\r\\n He tells us Arthur is deceas\\'d to-night.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Indeed, we fear\\'d his sickness was past cure.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. Indeed, we heard how near his death he was,\\r\\n Before the child himself felt he was sick.\\r\\n This must be answer\\'d either here or hence.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Why do you bend such solemn brows on me?\\r\\n Think you I bear the shears of destiny?\\r\\n Have I commandment on the pulse of life?\\r\\n SALISBURY. It is apparent foul-play; and \\'tis shame\\r\\n That greatness should so grossly offer it.\\r\\n So thrive it in your game! and so, farewell.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. Stay yet, Lord Salisbury, I\\'ll go with thee\\r\\n And find th\\' inheritance of this poor child,\\r\\n His little kingdom of a forced grave.\\r\\n That blood which ow\\'d the breadth of all this isle\\r\\n Three foot of it doth hold-bad world the while!\\r\\n This must not be thus borne: this will break out\\r\\n To all our sorrows, and ere long I doubt. Exeunt LORDS\\r\\n KING JOHN. They burn in indignation. I repent.\\r\\n There is no sure foundation set on blood,\\r\\n No certain life achiev\\'d by others\\' death.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n A fearful eye thou hast; where is that blood\\r\\n That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks?\\r\\n So foul a sky clears not without a storm.\\r\\n Pour down thy weather-how goes all in France?\\r\\n MESSENGER. From France to England. Never such a pow\\'r\\r\\n For any foreign preparation\\r\\n Was levied in the body of a land.\\r\\n The copy of your speed is learn\\'d by them,\\r\\n For when you should be told they do prepare,\\r\\n The tidings comes that they are all arriv\\'d.\\r\\n KING JOHN. O, where hath our intelligence been drunk?\\r\\n Where hath it slept? Where is my mother\\'s care,\\r\\n That such an army could be drawn in France,\\r\\n And she not hear of it?\\r\\n MESSENGER. My liege, her ear\\r\\n Is stopp\\'d with dust: the first of April died\\r\\n Your noble mother; and as I hear, my lord,\\r\\n The Lady Constance in a frenzy died\\r\\n Three days before; but this from rumour\\'s tongue\\r\\n I idly heard-if true or false I know not.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion!\\r\\n O, make a league with me, till I have pleas\\'d\\r\\n My discontented peers! What! mother dead!\\r\\n How wildly then walks my estate in France!\\r\\n Under whose conduct came those pow\\'rs of France\\r\\n That thou for truth giv\\'st out are landed here?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Under the Dauphin.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Thou hast made me giddy\\r\\n With these in tidings.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the BASTARD and PETER OF POMFRET\\r\\n\\r\\n Now! What says the world\\r\\n To your proceedings? Do not seek to stuff\\r\\n My head with more ill news, for it is full.\\r\\n BASTARD. But if you be afear\\'d to hear the worst,\\r\\n Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Bear with me, cousin, for I was amaz\\'d\\r\\n Under the tide; but now I breathe again\\r\\n Aloft the flood, and can give audience\\r\\n To any tongue, speak it of what it will.\\r\\n BASTARD. How I have sped among the clergymen\\r\\n The sums I have collected shall express.\\r\\n But as I travell\\'d hither through the land,\\r\\n I find the people strangely fantasied;\\r\\n Possess\\'d with rumours, full of idle dreams.\\r\\n Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear;\\r\\n And here\\'s a prophet that I brought with me\\r\\n From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found\\r\\n With many hundreds treading on his heels;\\r\\n To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes,\\r\\n That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon,\\r\\n Your Highness should deliver up your crown.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so?\\r\\n PETER. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Hubert, away with him; imprison him;\\r\\n And on that day at noon whereon he says\\r\\n I shall yield up my crown let him be hang\\'d.\\r\\n Deliver him to safety; and return,\\r\\n For I must use thee.\\r\\n Exit HUBERT with PETER\\r\\n O my gentle cousin,\\r\\n Hear\\'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv\\'d?\\r\\n BASTARD. The French, my lord; men\\'s mouths are full of it;\\r\\n Besides, I met Lord Bigot and Lord Salisbury,\\r\\n With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire,\\r\\n And others more, going to seek the grave\\r\\n Of Arthur, whom they say is kill\\'d to-night\\r\\n On your suggestion.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Gentle kinsman, go\\r\\n And thrust thyself into their companies.\\r\\n I have a way to will their loves again;\\r\\n Bring them before me.\\r\\n BASTARD. I Will seek them out.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Nay, but make haste; the better foot before.\\r\\n O, let me have no subject enemies\\r\\n When adverse foreigners affright my towns\\r\\n With dreadful pomp of stout invasion!\\r\\n Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels,\\r\\n And fly like thought from them to me again.\\r\\n BASTARD. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Spoke like a sprightful noble gentleman.\\r\\n Exit BASTARD\\r\\n Go after him; for he perhaps shall need\\r\\n Some messenger betwixt me and the peers;\\r\\n And be thou he.\\r\\n MESSENGER. With all my heart, my liege. Exit\\r\\n KING JOHN. My mother dead!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter HUBERT\\r\\n\\r\\n HUBERT. My lord, they say five moons were seen to-night;\\r\\n Four fixed, and the fifth did whirl about\\r\\n The other four in wondrous motion.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Five moons!\\r\\n HUBERT. Old men and beldams in the streets\\r\\n Do prophesy upon it dangerously;\\r\\n Young Arthur\\'s death is common in their mouths;\\r\\n And when they talk of him, they shake their heads,\\r\\n And whisper one another in the ear;\\r\\n And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer\\'s wrist,\\r\\n Whilst he that hears makes fearful action\\r\\n With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes.\\r\\n I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,\\r\\n The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,\\r\\n With open mouth swallowing a tailor\\'s news;\\r\\n Who, with his shears and measure in his hand,\\r\\n Standing on slippers, which his nimble haste\\r\\n Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,\\r\\n Told of a many thousand warlike French\\r\\n That were embattailed and rank\\'d in Kent.\\r\\n Another lean unwash\\'d artificer\\r\\n Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur\\'s death.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Why seek\\'st thou to possess me with these fears?\\r\\n Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur\\'s death?\\r\\n Thy hand hath murd\\'red him. I had a mighty cause\\r\\n To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him.\\r\\n HUBERT. No had, my lord! Why, did you not provoke me?\\r\\n KING JOHN. It is the curse of kings to be attended\\r\\n By slaves that take their humours for a warrant\\r\\n To break within the bloody house of life,\\r\\n And on the winking of authority\\r\\n To understand a law; to know the meaning\\r\\n Of dangerous majesty, when perchance it frowns\\r\\n More upon humour than advis\\'d respect.\\r\\n HUBERT. Here is your hand and seal for what I did.\\r\\n KING JOHN. O, when the last account \\'twixt heaven and earth\\r\\n Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal\\r\\n Witness against us to damnation!\\r\\n How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds\\r\\n Make deeds ill done! Hadst not thou been by,\\r\\n A fellow by the hand of nature mark\\'d,\\r\\n Quoted and sign\\'d to do a deed of shame,\\r\\n This murder had not come into my mind;\\r\\n But, taking note of thy abhorr\\'d aspect,\\r\\n Finding thee fit for bloody villainy,\\r\\n Apt, liable to be employ\\'d in danger,\\r\\n I faintly broke with thee of Arthur\\'s death;\\r\\n And thou, to be endeared to a king,\\r\\n Made it no conscience to destroy a prince.\\r\\n HUBERT. My lord-\\r\\n KING JOHN. Hadst thou but shook thy head or made pause,\\r\\n When I spake darkly what I purposed,\\r\\n Or turn\\'d an eye of doubt upon my face,\\r\\n As bid me tell my tale in express words,\\r\\n Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off,\\r\\n And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me.\\r\\n But thou didst understand me by my signs,\\r\\n And didst in signs again parley with sin;\\r\\n Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent,\\r\\n And consequently thy rude hand to act\\r\\n The deed which both our tongues held vile to name.\\r\\n Out of my sight, and never see me more!\\r\\n My nobles leave me; and my state is braved,\\r\\n Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign pow\\'rs;\\r\\n Nay, in the body of the fleshly land,\\r\\n This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath,\\r\\n Hostility and civil tumult reigns\\r\\n Between my conscience and my cousin\\'s death.\\r\\n HUBERT. Arm you against your other enemies,\\r\\n I\\'ll make a peace between your soul and you.\\r\\n Young Arthur is alive. This hand of mine\\r\\n Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand,\\r\\n Not painted with the crimson spots of blood.\\r\\n Within this bosom never ent\\'red yet\\r\\n The dreadful motion of a murderous thought\\r\\n And you have slander\\'d nature in my form,\\r\\n Which, howsoever rude exteriorly,\\r\\n Is yet the cover of a fairer mind\\r\\n Than to be butcher of an innocent child.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to the peers,\\r\\n Throw this report on their incensed rage\\r\\n And make them tame to their obedience!\\r\\n Forgive the comment that my passion made\\r\\n Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind,\\r\\n And foul imaginary eyes of blood\\r\\n Presented thee more hideous than thou art.\\r\\n O, answer not; but to my closet bring\\r\\n The angry lords with all expedient haste.\\r\\n I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nEngland. Before the castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ARTHUR, on the walls\\r\\n\\r\\n ARTHUR. The wall is high, and yet will I leap down.\\r\\n Good ground, be pitiful and hurt me not!\\r\\n There\\'s few or none do know me; if they did,\\r\\n This ship-boy\\'s semblance hath disguis\\'d me quite.\\r\\n I am afraid; and yet I\\'ll venture it.\\r\\n If I get down and do not break my limbs,\\r\\n I\\'ll find a thousand shifts to get away.\\r\\n As good to die and go, as die and stay. [Leaps down]\\r\\n O me! my uncle\\'s spirit is in these stones.\\r\\n Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!\\r\\n [Dies]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and BIGOT\\r\\n\\r\\n SALISBURY. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmundsbury;\\r\\n It is our safety, and we must embrace\\r\\n This gentle offer of the perilous time.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. Who brought that letter from the Cardinal?\\r\\n SALISBURY. The Count Melun, a noble lord of France,\\r\\n Whose private with me of the Dauphin\\'s love\\r\\n Is much more general than these lines import.\\r\\n BIGOT. To-morrow morning let us meet him then.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Or rather then set forward; for \\'twill be\\r\\n Two long days\\' journey, lords, or ere we meet.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the BASTARD\\r\\n\\r\\n BASTARD. Once more to-day well met, distemper\\'d lords!\\r\\n The King by me requests your presence straight.\\r\\n SALISBURY. The King hath dispossess\\'d himself of us.\\r\\n We will not line his thin bestained cloak\\r\\n With our pure honours, nor attend the foot\\r\\n That leaves the print of blood where\\'er it walks.\\r\\n Return and tell him so. We know the worst.\\r\\n BASTARD. Whate\\'er you think, good words, I think, were best.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now.\\r\\n BASTARD. But there is little reason in your grief;\\r\\n Therefore \\'twere reason you had manners now.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege.\\r\\n BASTARD. \\'Tis true-to hurt his master, no man else.\\r\\n SALISBURY. This is the prison. What is he lies here?\\r\\n PEMBROKE. O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!\\r\\n The earth had not a hole to hide this deed.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Murder, as hating what himself hath done,\\r\\n Doth lay it open to urge on revenge.\\r\\n BIGOT. Or, when he doom\\'d this beauty to a grave,\\r\\n Found it too precious-princely for a grave.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Sir Richard, what think you? Have you beheld,\\r\\n Or have you read or heard, or could you think?\\r\\n Or do you almost think, although you see,\\r\\n That you do see? Could thought, without this object,\\r\\n Form such another? This is the very top,\\r\\n The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest,\\r\\n Of murder\\'s arms; this is the bloodiest shame,\\r\\n The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke,\\r\\n That ever wall-ey\\'d wrath or staring rage\\r\\n Presented to the tears of soft remorse.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. All murders past do stand excus\\'d in this;\\r\\n And this, so sole and so unmatchable,\\r\\n Shall give a holiness, a purity,\\r\\n To the yet unbegotten sin of times,\\r\\n And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,\\r\\n Exampled by this heinous spectacle.\\r\\n BASTARD. It is a damned and a bloody work;\\r\\n The graceless action of a heavy hand,\\r\\n If that it be the work of any hand.\\r\\n SALISBURY. If that it be the work of any hand!\\r\\n We had a kind of light what would ensue.\\r\\n It is the shameful work of Hubert\\'s hand;\\r\\n The practice and the purpose of the King;\\r\\n From whose obedience I forbid my soul\\r\\n Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life,\\r\\n And breathing to his breathless excellence\\r\\n The incense of a vow, a holy vow,\\r\\n Never to taste the pleasures of the world,\\r\\n Never to be infected with delight,\\r\\n Nor conversant with ease and idleness,\\r\\n Till I have set a glory to this hand\\r\\n By giving it the worship of revenge.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. and BIGOT. Our souls religiously confirm thy words.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HUBERT\\r\\n\\r\\n HUBERT. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you.\\r\\n Arthur doth live; the King hath sent for you.\\r\\n SALISBURY. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death!\\r\\n Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!\\r\\n HUBERT. I am no villain.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Must I rob the law? [Drawing his sword]\\r\\n BASTARD. Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Not till I sheathe it in a murderer\\'s skin.\\r\\n HUBERT. Stand back, Lord Salisbury, stand back, I say;\\r\\n By heaven, I think my sword\\'s as sharp as yours.\\r\\n I would not have you, lord, forget yourself,\\r\\n Nor tempt the danger of my true defence;\\r\\n Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget\\r\\n Your worth, your greatness and nobility.\\r\\n BIGOT. Out, dunghill! Dar\\'st thou brave a nobleman?\\r\\n HUBERT. Not for my life; but yet I dare defend\\r\\n My innocent life against an emperor.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Thou art a murderer.\\r\\n HUBERT. Do not prove me so.\\r\\n Yet I am none. Whose tongue soe\\'er speaks false,\\r\\n Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. Cut him to pieces.\\r\\n BASTARD. Keep the peace, I say.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge.\\r\\n BASTARD. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury.\\r\\n If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,\\r\\n Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,\\r\\n I\\'ll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime;\\r\\n Or I\\'ll so maul you and your toasting-iron\\r\\n That you shall think the devil is come from hell.\\r\\n BIGOT. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge?\\r\\n Second a villain and a murderer?\\r\\n HUBERT. Lord Bigot, I am none.\\r\\n BIGOT. Who kill\\'d this prince?\\r\\n HUBERT. \\'Tis not an hour since I left him well.\\r\\n I honour\\'d him, I lov\\'d him, and will weep\\r\\n My date of life out for his sweet life\\'s loss.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,\\r\\n For villainy is not without such rheum;\\r\\n And he, long traded in it, makes it seem\\r\\n Like rivers of remorse and innocency.\\r\\n Away with me, all you whose souls abhor\\r\\n Th\\' uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house;\\r\\n For I am stifled with this smell of sin.\\r\\n BIGOT. Away toward Bury, to the Dauphin there!\\r\\n PEMBROKE. There tell the King he may inquire us out.\\r\\n Exeunt LORDS\\r\\n BASTARD. Here\\'s a good world! Knew you of this fair work?\\r\\n Beyond the infinite and boundless reach\\r\\n Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,\\r\\n Art thou damn\\'d, Hubert.\\r\\n HUBERT. Do but hear me, sir.\\r\\n BASTARD. Ha! I\\'ll tell thee what:\\r\\n Thou\\'rt damn\\'d as black-nay, nothing is so black-\\r\\n Thou art more deep damn\\'d than Prince Lucifer;\\r\\n There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell\\r\\n As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.\\r\\n HUBERT. Upon my soul-\\r\\n BASTARD. If thou didst but consent\\r\\n To this most cruel act, do but despair;\\r\\n And if thou want\\'st a cord, the smallest thread\\r\\n That ever spider twisted from her womb\\r\\n Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be a beam\\r\\n To hang thee on; or wouldst thou drown thyself,\\r\\n Put but a little water in a spoon\\r\\n And it shall be as all the ocean,\\r\\n Enough to stifle such a villain up\\r\\n I do suspect thee very grievously.\\r\\n HUBERT. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought,\\r\\n Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath\\r\\n Which was embounded in this beauteous clay,\\r\\n Let hell want pains enough to torture me!\\r\\n I left him well.\\r\\n BASTARD. Go, bear him in thine arms.\\r\\n I am amaz\\'d, methinks, and lose my way\\r\\n Among the thorns and dangers of this world.\\r\\n How easy dost thou take all England up!\\r\\n From forth this morsel of dead royalty\\r\\n The life, the right, and truth of all this realm\\r\\n Is fled to heaven; and England now is left\\r\\n To tug and scamble, and to part by th\\' teeth\\r\\n The unowed interest of proud-swelling state.\\r\\n Now for the bare-pick\\'d bone of majesty\\r\\n Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest\\r\\n And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace;\\r\\n Now powers from home and discontents at home\\r\\n Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits,\\r\\n As doth a raven on a sick-fall\\'n beast,\\r\\n The imminent decay of wrested pomp.\\r\\n Now happy he whose cloak and cincture can\\r\\n Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child,\\r\\n And follow me with speed. I\\'ll to the King;\\r\\n A thousand businesses are brief in hand,\\r\\n And heaven itself doth frown upon the land. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 1. England. KING JOHN\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter KING JOHN, PANDULPH, and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n KING JOHN. Thus have I yielded up into your hand\\r\\n The circle of my glory.\\r\\n PANDULPH. [Gives back the crown] Take again\\r\\n From this my hand, as holding of the Pope,\\r\\n Your sovereign greatness and authority.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Now keep your holy word; go meet the French;\\r\\n And from his Holiness use all your power\\r\\n To stop their marches fore we are inflam\\'d.\\r\\n Our discontented counties do revolt;\\r\\n Our people quarrel with obedience,\\r\\n Swearing allegiance and the love of soul\\r\\n To stranger blood, to foreign royalty.\\r\\n This inundation of mistemp\\'red humour\\r\\n Rests by you only to be qualified.\\r\\n Then pause not; for the present time\\'s so sick\\r\\n That present med\\'cine must be minist\\'red\\r\\n Or overthrow incurable ensues.\\r\\n PANDULPH. It was my breath that blew this tempest up,\\r\\n Upon your stubborn usage of the Pope;\\r\\n But since you are a gentle convertite,\\r\\n My tongue shall hush again this storm of war\\r\\n And make fair weather in your blust\\'ring land.\\r\\n On this Ascension-day, remember well,\\r\\n Upon your oath of service to the Pope,\\r\\n Go I to make the French lay down their arms. Exit\\r\\n KING JOHN. Is this Ascension-day? Did not the prophet\\r\\n Say that before Ascension-day at noon\\r\\n My crown I should give off? Even so I have.\\r\\n I did suppose it should be on constraint;\\r\\n But, heaven be thank\\'d, it is but voluntary.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the BASTARD\\r\\n\\r\\n BASTARD. All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds out\\r\\n But Dover Castle. London hath receiv\\'d,\\r\\n Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers.\\r\\n Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone\\r\\n To offer service to your enemy;\\r\\n And wild amazement hurries up and down\\r\\n The little number of your doubtful friends.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Would not my lords return to me again\\r\\n After they heard young Arthur was alive?\\r\\n BASTARD. They found him dead, and cast into the streets,\\r\\n An empty casket, where the jewel of life\\r\\n By some damn\\'d hand was robbed and ta\\'en away.\\r\\n KING JOHN. That villain Hubert told me he did live.\\r\\n BASTARD. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew.\\r\\n But wherefore do you droop? Why look you sad?\\r\\n Be great in act, as you have been in thought;\\r\\n Let not the world see fear and sad distrust\\r\\n Govern the motion of a kingly eye.\\r\\n Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire;\\r\\n Threaten the threat\\'ner, and outface the brow\\r\\n Of bragging horror; so shall inferior eyes,\\r\\n That borrow their behaviours from the great,\\r\\n Grow great by your example and put on\\r\\n The dauntless spirit of resolution.\\r\\n Away, and glister like the god of war\\r\\n When he intendeth to become the field;\\r\\n Show boldness and aspiring confidence.\\r\\n What, shall they seek the lion in his den,\\r\\n And fright him there, and make him tremble there?\\r\\n O, let it not be said! Forage, and run\\r\\n To meet displeasure farther from the doors\\r\\n And grapple with him ere he come so nigh.\\r\\n KING JOHN. The legate of the Pope hath been with me,\\r\\n And I have made a happy peace with him;\\r\\n And he hath promis\\'d to dismiss the powers\\r\\n Led by the Dauphin.\\r\\n BASTARD. O inglorious league!\\r\\n Shall we, upon the footing of our land,\\r\\n Send fair-play orders, and make compromise,\\r\\n Insinuation, parley, and base truce,\\r\\n To arms invasive? Shall a beardless boy,\\r\\n A cock\\'red silken wanton, brave our fields\\r\\n And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil,\\r\\n Mocking the air with colours idly spread,\\r\\n And find no check? Let us, my liege, to arms.\\r\\n Perchance the Cardinal cannot make your peace;\\r\\n Or, if he do, let it at least be said\\r\\n They saw we had a purpose of defence.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Have thou the ordering of this present time.\\r\\n BASTARD. Away, then, with good courage!\\r\\n Yet, I know\\r\\n Our party may well meet a prouder foe. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. England. The DAUPHIN\\'S camp at Saint Edmundsbury\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter, in arms, LEWIS, SALISBURY, MELUN, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n LEWIS. My Lord Melun, let this be copied out\\r\\n And keep it safe for our remembrance;\\r\\n Return the precedent to these lords again,\\r\\n That, having our fair order written down,\\r\\n Both they and we, perusing o\\'er these notes,\\r\\n May know wherefore we took the sacrament,\\r\\n And keep our faiths firm and inviolable.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Upon our sides it never shall be broken.\\r\\n And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear\\r\\n A voluntary zeal and an unurg\\'d faith\\r\\n To your proceedings; yet, believe me, Prince,\\r\\n I am not glad that such a sore of time\\r\\n Should seek a plaster by contemn\\'d revolt,\\r\\n And heal the inveterate canker of one wound\\r\\n By making many. O, it grieves my soul\\r\\n That I must draw this metal from my side\\r\\n To be a widow-maker! O, and there\\r\\n Where honourable rescue and defence\\r\\n Cries out upon the name of Salisbury!\\r\\n But such is the infection of the time\\r\\n That, for the health and physic of our right,\\r\\n We cannot deal but with the very hand\\r\\n Of stern injustice and confused wrong.\\r\\n And is\\'t not pity, O my grieved friends!\\r\\n That we, the sons and children of this isle,\\r\\n Were born to see so sad an hour as this;\\r\\n Wherein we step after a stranger-march\\r\\n Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up\\r\\n Her enemies\\' ranks-I must withdraw and weep\\r\\n Upon the spot of this enforced cause-\\r\\n To grace the gentry of a land remote\\r\\n And follow unacquainted colours here?\\r\\n What, here? O nation, that thou couldst remove!\\r\\n That Neptune\\'s arms, who clippeth thee about,\\r\\n Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself\\r\\n And grapple thee unto a pagan shore,\\r\\n Where these two Christian armies might combine\\r\\n The blood of malice in a vein of league,\\r\\n And not to spend it so unneighbourly!\\r\\n LEWIS. A noble temper dost thou show in this;\\r\\n And great affections wrestling in thy bosom\\r\\n Doth make an earthquake of nobility.\\r\\n O, what a noble combat hast thou fought\\r\\n Between compulsion and a brave respect!\\r\\n Let me wipe off this honourable dew\\r\\n That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks.\\r\\n My heart hath melted at a lady\\'s tears,\\r\\n Being an ordinary inundation;\\r\\n But this effusion of such manly drops,\\r\\n This show\\'r, blown up by tempest of the soul,\\r\\n Startles mine eyes and makes me more amaz\\'d\\r\\n Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven\\r\\n Figur\\'d quite o\\'er with burning meteors.\\r\\n Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,\\r\\n And with a great heart heave away this storm;\\r\\n Commend these waters to those baby eyes\\r\\n That never saw the giant world enrag\\'d,\\r\\n Nor met with fortune other than at feasts,\\r\\n Full of warm blood, of mirth, of gossiping.\\r\\n Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep\\r\\n Into the purse of rich prosperity\\r\\n As Lewis himself. So, nobles, shall you all,\\r\\n That knit your sinews to the strength of mine.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PANDULPH\\r\\n\\r\\n And even there, methinks, an angel spake:\\r\\n Look where the holy legate comes apace,\\r\\n To give us warrant from the hand of heaven\\r\\n And on our actions set the name of right\\r\\n With holy breath.\\r\\n PANDULPH. Hail, noble prince of France!\\r\\n The next is this: King John hath reconcil\\'d\\r\\n Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in,\\r\\n That so stood out against the holy Church,\\r\\n The great metropolis and see of Rome.\\r\\n Therefore thy threat\\'ning colours now wind up\\r\\n And tame the savage spirit of wild war,\\r\\n That, like a lion fostered up at hand,\\r\\n It may lie gently at the foot of peace\\r\\n And be no further harmful than in show.\\r\\n LEWIS. Your Grace shall pardon me, I will not back:\\r\\n I am too high-born to be propertied,\\r\\n To be a secondary at control,\\r\\n Or useful serving-man and instrument\\r\\n To any sovereign state throughout the world.\\r\\n Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars\\r\\n Between this chastis\\'d kingdom and myself\\r\\n And brought in matter that should feed this fire;\\r\\n And now \\'tis far too huge to be blown out\\r\\n With that same weak wind which enkindled it.\\r\\n You taught me how to know the face of right,\\r\\n Acquainted me with interest to this land,\\r\\n Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart;\\r\\n And come ye now to tell me John hath made\\r\\n His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me?\\r\\n I, by the honour of my marriage-bed,\\r\\n After young Arthur, claim this land for mine;\\r\\n And, now it is half-conquer\\'d, must I back\\r\\n Because that John hath made his peace with Rome?\\r\\n Am I Rome\\'s slave? What penny hath Rome borne,\\r\\n What men provided, what munition sent,\\r\\n To underprop this action? Is \\'t not I\\r\\n That undergo this charge? Who else but I,\\r\\n And such as to my claim are liable,\\r\\n Sweat in this business and maintain this war?\\r\\n Have I not heard these islanders shout out\\r\\n \\'Vive le roi!\\' as I have bank\\'d their towns?\\r\\n Have I not here the best cards for the game\\r\\n To will this easy match, play\\'d for a crown?\\r\\n And shall I now give o\\'er the yielded set?\\r\\n No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said.\\r\\n PANDULPH. You look but on the outside of this work.\\r\\n LEWIS. Outside or inside, I will not return\\r\\n Till my attempt so much be glorified\\r\\n As to my ample hope was promised\\r\\n Before I drew this gallant head of war,\\r\\n And cull\\'d these fiery spirits from the world\\r\\n To outlook conquest, and to will renown\\r\\n Even in the jaws of danger and of death.\\r\\n [Trumpet sounds]\\r\\n What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the BASTARD, attended\\r\\n\\r\\n BASTARD. According to the fair play of the world,\\r\\n Let me have audience: I am sent to speak.\\r\\n My holy lord of Milan, from the King\\r\\n I come, to learn how you have dealt for him;\\r\\n And, as you answer, I do know the scope\\r\\n And warrant limited unto my tongue.\\r\\n PANDULPH. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite,\\r\\n And will not temporize with my entreaties;\\r\\n He flatly says he\\'ll not lay down his arms.\\r\\n BASTARD. By all the blood that ever fury breath\\'d,\\r\\n The youth says well. Now hear our English King;\\r\\n For thus his royalty doth speak in me.\\r\\n He is prepar\\'d, and reason too he should.\\r\\n This apish and unmannerly approach,\\r\\n This harness\\'d masque and unadvised revel\\r\\n This unhair\\'d sauciness and boyish troops,\\r\\n The King doth smile at; and is well prepar\\'d\\r\\n To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms,\\r\\n From out the circle of his territories.\\r\\n That hand which had the strength, even at your door.\\r\\n To cudgel you and make you take the hatch,\\r\\n To dive like buckets in concealed wells,\\r\\n To crouch in litter of your stable planks,\\r\\n To lie like pawns lock\\'d up in chests and trunks,\\r\\n To hug with swine, to seek sweet safety out\\r\\n In vaults and prisons, and to thrill and shake\\r\\n Even at the crying of your nation\\'s crow,\\r\\n Thinking this voice an armed Englishman-\\r\\n Shall that victorious hand be feebled here\\r\\n That in your chambers gave you chastisement?\\r\\n No. Know the gallant monarch is in arms\\r\\n And like an eagle o\\'er his aery tow\\'rs\\r\\n To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.\\r\\n And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts,\\r\\n You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb\\r\\n Of your dear mother England, blush for shame;\\r\\n For your own ladies and pale-visag\\'d maids,\\r\\n Like Amazons, come tripping after drums,\\r\\n Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change,\\r\\n Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts\\r\\n To fierce and bloody inclination.\\r\\n LEWIS. There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace;\\r\\n We grant thou canst outscold us. Fare thee well;\\r\\n We hold our time too precious to be spent\\r\\n With such a brabbler.\\r\\n PANDULPH. Give me leave to speak.\\r\\n BASTARD. No, I will speak.\\r\\n LEWIS. We will attend to neither.\\r\\n Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war,\\r\\n Plead for our interest and our being here.\\r\\n BASTARD. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out;\\r\\n And so shall you, being beaten. Do but start\\r\\n And echo with the clamour of thy drum,\\r\\n And even at hand a drum is ready brac\\'d\\r\\n That shall reverberate all as loud as thine:\\r\\n Sound but another, and another shall,\\r\\n As loud as thine, rattle the welkin\\'s ear\\r\\n And mock the deep-mouth\\'d thunder; for at hand-\\r\\n Not trusting to this halting legate here,\\r\\n Whom he hath us\\'d rather for sport than need-\\r\\n Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits\\r\\n A bare-ribb\\'d death, whose office is this day\\r\\n To feast upon whole thousands of the French.\\r\\n LEWIS. Strike up our drums to find this danger out.\\r\\n BASTARD. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nEngland. The field of battle\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarums. Enter KING JOHN and HUBERT\\r\\n\\r\\n KING JOHN. How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert.\\r\\n HUBERT. Badly, I fear. How fares your Majesty?\\r\\n KING JOHN. This fever that hath troubled me so long\\r\\n Lies heavy on me. O, my heart is sick!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge,\\r\\n Desires your Majesty to leave the field\\r\\n And send him word by me which way you go.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey there.\\r\\n MESSENGER. Be of good comfort; for the great supply\\r\\n That was expected by the Dauphin here\\r\\n Are wreck\\'d three nights ago on Goodwin Sands;\\r\\n This news was brought to Richard but even now.\\r\\n The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.\\r\\n KING JOHN. Ay me, this tyrant fever burns me up\\r\\n And will not let me welcome this good news.\\r\\n Set on toward Swinstead; to my litter straight;\\r\\n Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nEngland. Another part of the battlefield\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, and BIGOT\\r\\n\\r\\n SALISBURY. I did not think the King so stor\\'d with friends.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. Up once again; put spirit in the French;\\r\\n If they miscarry, we miscarry too.\\r\\n SALISBURY. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge,\\r\\n In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. They say King John, sore sick, hath left the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MELUN, wounded\\r\\n\\r\\n MELUN. Lead me to the revolts of England here.\\r\\n SALISBURY. When we were happy we had other names.\\r\\n PEMBROKE. It is the Count Melun.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Wounded to death.\\r\\n MELUN. Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold;\\r\\n Unthread the rude eye of rebellion,\\r\\n And welcome home again discarded faith.\\r\\n Seek out King John, and fall before his feet;\\r\\n For if the French be lords of this loud day,\\r\\n He means to recompense the pains you take\\r\\n By cutting off your heads. Thus hath he sworn,\\r\\n And I with him, and many moe with me,\\r\\n Upon the altar at Saint Edmundsbury;\\r\\n Even on that altar where we swore to you\\r\\n Dear amity and everlasting love.\\r\\n SALISBURY. May this be possible? May this be true?\\r\\n MELUN. Have I not hideous death within my view,\\r\\n Retaining but a quantity of life,\\r\\n Which bleeds away even as a form of wax\\r\\n Resolveth from his figure \\'gainst the fire?\\r\\n What in the world should make me now deceive,\\r\\n Since I must lose the use of all deceit?\\r\\n Why should I then be false, since it is true\\r\\n That I must die here, and live hence by truth?\\r\\n I say again, if Lewis do will the day,\\r\\n He is forsworn if e\\'er those eyes of yours\\r\\n Behold another day break in the east;\\r\\n But even this night, whose black contagious breath\\r\\n Already smokes about the burning crest\\r\\n Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun,\\r\\n Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire,\\r\\n Paying the fine of rated treachery\\r\\n Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives.\\r\\n If Lewis by your assistance win the day.\\r\\n Commend me to one Hubert, with your King;\\r\\n The love of him-and this respect besides,\\r\\n For that my grandsire was an Englishman-\\r\\n Awakes my conscience to confess all this.\\r\\n In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence\\r\\n From forth the noise and rumour of the field,\\r\\n Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts\\r\\n In peace, and part this body and my soul\\r\\n With contemplation and devout desires.\\r\\n SALISBURY. We do believe thee; and beshrew my soul\\r\\n But I do love the favour and the form\\r\\n Of this most fair occasion, by the which\\r\\n We will untread the steps of damned flight,\\r\\n And like a bated and retired flood,\\r\\n Leaving our rankness and irregular course,\\r\\n Stoop low within those bounds we have o\\'erlook\\'d,\\r\\n And calmly run on in obedience\\r\\n Even to our ocean, to great King John.\\r\\n My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;\\r\\n For I do see the cruel pangs of death\\r\\n Right in thine eye. Away, my friends! New flight,\\r\\n And happy newness, that intends old right.\\r\\n Exeunt, leading off MELUN\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nEngland. The French camp\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter LEWIS and his train\\r\\n\\r\\n LEWIS. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set,\\r\\n But stay\\'d and made the western welkin blush,\\r\\n When English measure backward their own ground\\r\\n In faint retire. O, bravely came we off,\\r\\n When with a volley of our needless shot,\\r\\n After such bloody toil, we bid good night;\\r\\n And wound our tott\\'ring colours clearly up,\\r\\n Last in the field and almost lords of it!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. Where is my prince, the Dauphin?\\r\\n LEWIS. Here; what news?\\r\\n MESSENGER. The Count Melun is slain; the English lords\\r\\n By his persuasion are again fall\\'n off,\\r\\n And your supply, which you have wish\\'d so long,\\r\\n Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands.\\r\\n LEWIS. Ah, foul shrewd news! Beshrew thy very heart!\\r\\n I did not think to be so sad to-night\\r\\n As this hath made me. Who was he that said\\r\\n King John did fly an hour or two before\\r\\n The stumbling night did part our weary pow\\'rs?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.\\r\\n LEWIS. keep good quarter and good care to-night;\\r\\n The day shall not be up so soon as I\\r\\n To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 6.\\r\\n\\r\\nAn open place wear Swinstead Abbey\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the BASTARD and HUBERT, severally\\r\\n\\r\\n HUBERT. Who\\'s there? Speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot.\\r\\n BASTARD. A friend. What art thou?\\r\\n HUBERT. Of the part of England.\\r\\n BASTARD. Whither dost thou go?\\r\\n HUBERT. What\\'s that to thee? Why may I not demand\\r\\n Of thine affairs as well as thou of mine?\\r\\n BASTARD. Hubert, I think.\\r\\n HUBERT. Thou hast a perfect thought.\\r\\n I will upon all hazards well believe\\r\\n Thou art my friend that know\\'st my tongue so well.\\r\\n Who art thou?\\r\\n BASTARD. Who thou wilt. And if thou please,\\r\\n Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think\\r\\n I come one way of the Plantagenets.\\r\\n HUBERT. Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless night\\r\\n Have done me shame. Brave soldier, pardon me\\r\\n That any accent breaking from thy tongue\\r\\n Should scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.\\r\\n BASTARD. Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad?\\r\\n HUBERT. Why, here walk I in the black brow of night\\r\\n To find you out.\\r\\n BASTARD. Brief, then; and what\\'s the news?\\r\\n HUBERT. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,\\r\\n Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.\\r\\n BASTARD. Show me the very wound of this ill news;\\r\\n I am no woman, I\\'ll not swoon at it.\\r\\n HUBERT. The King, I fear, is poison\\'d by a monk;\\r\\n I left him almost speechless and broke out\\r\\n To acquaint you with this evil, that you might\\r\\n The better arm you to the sudden time\\r\\n Than if you had at leisure known of this.\\r\\n BASTARD. How did he take it; who did taste to him?\\r\\n HUBERT. A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain,\\r\\n Whose bowels suddenly burst out. The King\\r\\n Yet speaks, and peradventure may recover.\\r\\n BASTARD. Who didst thou leave to tend his Majesty?\\r\\n HUBERT. Why, know you not? The lords are all come back,\\r\\n And brought Prince Henry in their company;\\r\\n At whose request the King hath pardon\\'d them,\\r\\n And they are all about his Majesty.\\r\\n BASTARD. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven,\\r\\n And tempt us not to bear above our power!\\r\\n I\\'ll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night,\\r\\n Passing these flats, are taken by the tide-\\r\\n These Lincoln Washes have devoured them;\\r\\n Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap\\'d.\\r\\n Away, before! conduct me to the King;\\r\\n I doubt he will be dead or ere I come. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 7.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe orchard at Swinstead Abbey\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT\\r\\n\\r\\n PRINCE HENRY. It is too late; the life of all his blood\\r\\n Is touch\\'d corruptibly, and his pure brain.\\r\\n Which some suppose the soul\\'s frail dwelling-house,\\r\\n Doth by the idle comments that it makes\\r\\n Foretell the ending of mortality.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PEMBROKE\\r\\n\\r\\n PEMBROKE. His Highness yet doth speak, and holds belief\\r\\n That, being brought into the open air,\\r\\n It would allay the burning quality\\r\\n Of that fell poison which assaileth him.\\r\\n PRINCE HENRY. Let him be brought into the orchard here.\\r\\n Doth he still rage? Exit BIGOT\\r\\n PEMBROKE. He is more patient\\r\\n Than when you left him; even now he sung.\\r\\n PRINCE HENRY. O vanity of sickness! Fierce extremes\\r\\n In their continuance will not feel themselves.\\r\\n Death, having prey\\'d upon the outward parts,\\r\\n Leaves them invisible, and his siege is now\\r\\n Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds\\r\\n With many legions of strange fantasies,\\r\\n Which, in their throng and press to that last hold,\\r\\n Confound themselves. \\'Tis strange that death should sing.\\r\\n I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan\\r\\n Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,\\r\\n And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings\\r\\n His soul and body to their lasting rest.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Be of good comfort, Prince; for you are born\\r\\n To set a form upon that indigest\\r\\n Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter BIGOT and attendants, who bring in\\r\\n KING JOHN in a chair\\r\\n\\r\\n KING JOHN. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room;\\r\\n It would not out at windows nor at doors.\\r\\n There is so hot a summer in my bosom\\r\\n That all my bowels crumble up to dust.\\r\\n I am a scribbled form drawn with a pen\\r\\n Upon a parchment, and against this fire\\r\\n Do I shrink up.\\r\\n PRINCE HENRY. How fares your Majesty?\\r\\n KING JOHN. Poison\\'d-ill-fare! Dead, forsook, cast off;\\r\\n And none of you will bid the winter come\\r\\n To thrust his icy fingers in my maw,\\r\\n Nor let my kingdom\\'s rivers take their course\\r\\n Through my burn\\'d bosom, nor entreat the north\\r\\n To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips\\r\\n And comfort me with cold. I do not ask you much;\\r\\n I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait\\r\\n And so ingrateful you deny me that.\\r\\n PRINCE HENRY. O that there were some virtue in my tears,\\r\\n That might relieve you!\\r\\n KING JOHN. The salt in them is hot.\\r\\n Within me is a hell; and there the poison\\r\\n Is as a fiend confin\\'d to tyrannize\\r\\n On unreprievable condemned blood.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the BASTARD\\r\\n\\r\\n BASTARD. O, I am scalded with my violent motion',\n", + " \" KING JOHN. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye!\\r\\n The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burnt,\\r\\n And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail\\r\\n Are turned to one thread, one little hair;\\r\\n My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,\\r\\n Which holds but till thy news be uttered;\\r\\n And then all this thou seest is but a clod\\r\\n And module of confounded royalty.\\r\\n BASTARD. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward,\\r\\n Where God He knows how we shall answer him;\\r\\n For in a night the best part of my pow'r,\\r\\n As I upon advantage did remove,\\r\\n Were in the Washes all unwarily\\r\\n Devoured by the unexpected flood. [The KING dies]\\r\\n SALISBURY. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.\\r\\n My liege! my lord! But now a king-now thus.\\r\\n PRINCE HENRY. Even so must I run on, and even so stop.\\r\\n What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,\\r\\n When this was now a king, and now is clay?\\r\\n BASTARD. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind\\r\\n To do the office for thee of revenge,\\r\\n And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven,\\r\\n As it on earth hath been thy servant still.\\r\\n Now, now, you stars that move in your right spheres,\\r\\n Where be your pow'rs? Show now your mended faiths,\\r\\n And instantly return with me again\\r\\n To push destruction and perpetual shame\\r\\n Out of the weak door of our fainting land.\\r\\n Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought;\\r\\n The Dauphin rages at our very heels.\\r\\n SALISBURY. It seems you know not, then, so much as we:\\r\\n The Cardinal Pandulph is within at rest,\\r\\n Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin,\\r\\n And brings from him such offers of our peace\\r\\n As we with honour and respect may take,\\r\\n With purpose presently to leave this war.\\r\\n BASTARD. He will the rather do it when he sees\\r\\n Ourselves well sinewed to our defence.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Nay, 'tis in a manner done already;\\r\\n For many carriages he hath dispatch'd\\r\\n To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel\\r\\n To the disposing of the Cardinal;\\r\\n With whom yourself, myself, and other lords,\\r\\n If you think meet, this afternoon will post\\r\\n To consummate this business happily.\\r\\n BASTARD. Let it be so. And you, my noble Prince,\\r\\n With other princes that may best be spar'd,\\r\\n Shall wait upon your father's funeral.\\r\\n PRINCE HENRY. At Worcester must his body be interr'd;\\r\\n For so he will'd it.\\r\\n BASTARD. Thither shall it, then;\\r\\n And happily may your sweet self put on\\r\\n The lineal state and glory of the land!\\r\\n To whom, with all submission, on my knee\\r\\n I do bequeath my faithful services\\r\\n And true subjection everlastingly.\\r\\n SALISBURY. And the like tender of our love we make,\\r\\n To rest without a spot for evermore.\\r\\n PRINCE HENRY. I have a kind soul that would give you thanks,\\r\\n And knows not how to do it but with tears.\\r\\n BASTARD. O, let us pay the time but needful woe,\\r\\n Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.\\r\\n This England never did, nor never shall,\\r\\n Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,\\r\\n But when it first did help to wound itself.\\r\\n Now these her princes are come home again,\\r\\n Come the three corners of the world in arms,\\r\\n And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue,\\r\\n If England to itself do rest but true. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\",\n", + " 'THE TRAGEDY OF JULIUS CAESAR\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Rome. A street.\\r\\nScene II. The same. A public place.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. Rome. Brutus’ orchard.\\r\\nScene II. A room in Caesar’s palace.\\r\\nScene III. A street near the Capitol.\\r\\nScene IV. Another part of the same street, before the house of Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Rome. Before the Capitol; the Senate sitting.\\r\\nScene II. The same. The Forum.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. A room in Antony’s house.\\r\\nScene II. Before Brutus’ tent, in the camp near Sardis.\\r\\nScene III. Within the tent of Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. The plains of Philippi.\\r\\nScene II. The same. The field of battle.\\r\\nScene III. Another part of the field.\\r\\nScene IV. Another part of the field.\\r\\nScene V. Another part of the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIUS CAESAR\\r\\nOCTAVIUS CAESAR, Triumvir after his death.\\r\\nMARCUS ANTONIUS, ” ” ”\\r\\nM. AEMILIUS LEPIDUS, ” ” ”\\r\\nCICERO, PUBLIUS, POPILIUS LENA, Senators.\\r\\nMARCUS BRUTUS, Conspirator against Caesar.\\r\\nCASSIUS, ” ” ”\\r\\nCASCA, ” ” ”\\r\\nTREBONIUS, ” ” ”\\r\\nLIGARIUS,” ” ”\\r\\nDECIUS BRUTUS, ” ” ”\\r\\nMETELLUS CIMBER, ” ” ”\\r\\nCINNA, ” ” ”\\r\\nFLAVIUS, tribune\\r\\nMARULLUS, tribune\\r\\nARTEMIDORUS, a Sophist of Cnidos.\\r\\nA Soothsayer\\r\\nCINNA, a poet.\\r\\nAnother Poet.\\r\\nLUCILIUS, TITINIUS, MESSALA, young CATO, and VOLUMNIUS, Friends to\\r\\nBrutus and Cassius.\\r\\nVARRO, CLITUS, CLAUDIUS, STRATO, LUCIUS, DARDANIUS, Servants to Brutus\\r\\nPINDARUS, Servant to Cassius\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nCALPHURNIA, wife to Caesar\\r\\nPORTIA, wife to Brutus\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Ghost of Caesar\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSenators, Citizens, Soldiers, Commoners, Messengers, and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Rome, the conspirators’ camp near Sardis, and the plains of\\r\\nPhilippi.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Rome. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Flavius, Marullus and a throng of Citizens.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLAVIUS.\\r\\nHence! home, you idle creatures, get you home.\\r\\nIs this a holiday? What, know you not,\\r\\nBeing mechanical, you ought not walk\\r\\nUpon a labouring day without the sign\\r\\nOf your profession? Speak, what trade art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nCARPENTER.\\r\\nWhy, sir, a carpenter.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARULLUS.\\r\\nWhere is thy leather apron and thy rule?\\r\\nWhat dost thou with thy best apparel on?\\r\\nYou, sir, what trade are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBBLER.\\r\\nTruly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a\\r\\ncobbler.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARULLUS.\\r\\nBut what trade art thou? Answer me directly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBBLER.\\r\\nA trade, sir, that I hope I may use with a safe conscience, which is\\r\\nindeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARULLUS.\\r\\nWhat trade, thou knave? Thou naughty knave, what trade?\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBBLER.\\r\\nNay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me; yet, if you be out, sir, I\\r\\ncan mend you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARULLUS.\\r\\nWhat mean’st thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow!\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBBLER.\\r\\nWhy, sir, cobble you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLAVIUS.\\r\\nThou art a cobbler, art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBBLER.\\r\\nTruly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl; I meddle with no\\r\\ntradesman’s matters, nor women’s matters, but withal I am indeed, sir,\\r\\na surgeon to old shoes: when they are in great danger, I recover them.\\r\\nAs proper men as ever trod upon neat’s leather have gone upon my\\r\\nhandiwork.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLAVIUS.\\r\\nBut wherefore art not in thy shop today?\\r\\nWhy dost thou lead these men about the streets?\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBBLER.\\r\\nTruly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But\\r\\nindeed, sir, we make holiday to see Caesar, and to rejoice in his\\r\\ntriumph.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARULLUS.\\r\\nWherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home?\\r\\nWhat tributaries follow him to Rome,\\r\\nTo grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels?\\r\\nYou blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!\\r\\nO you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,\\r\\nKnew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft\\r\\nHave you climb’d up to walls and battlements,\\r\\nTo towers and windows, yea, to chimney tops,\\r\\nYour infants in your arms, and there have sat\\r\\nThe livelong day with patient expectation,\\r\\nTo see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome.\\r\\nAnd when you saw his chariot but appear,\\r\\nHave you not made an universal shout,\\r\\nThat Tiber trembled underneath her banks\\r\\nTo hear the replication of your sounds\\r\\nMade in her concave shores?\\r\\nAnd do you now put on your best attire?\\r\\nAnd do you now cull out a holiday?\\r\\nAnd do you now strew flowers in his way,\\r\\nThat comes in triumph over Pompey’s blood?\\r\\nBe gone!\\r\\nRun to your houses, fall upon your knees,\\r\\nPray to the gods to intermit the plague\\r\\nThat needs must light on this ingratitude.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLAVIUS.\\r\\nGo, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault\\r\\nAssemble all the poor men of your sort,\\r\\nDraw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears\\r\\nInto the channel, till the lowest stream\\r\\nDo kiss the most exalted shores of all.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Citizens._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSee whether their basest metal be not mov’d;\\r\\nThey vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.\\r\\nGo you down that way towards the Capitol;\\r\\nThis way will I. Disrobe the images,\\r\\nIf you do find them deck’d with ceremonies.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARULLUS.\\r\\nMay we do so?\\r\\nYou know it is the feast of Lupercal.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLAVIUS.\\r\\nIt is no matter; let no images\\r\\nBe hung with Caesar’s trophies. I’ll about\\r\\nAnd drive away the vulgar from the streets;\\r\\nSo do you too, where you perceive them thick.\\r\\nThese growing feathers pluck’d from Caesar’s wing\\r\\nWill make him fly an ordinary pitch,\\r\\nWho else would soar above the view of men,\\r\\nAnd keep us all in servile fearfulness.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. A public place.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, in procession, with music, Caesar; Antony, for the course;\\r\\n Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius and Casca; a great\\r\\n crowd following, among them a Soothsayer.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nCalphurnia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nPeace, ho! Caesar speaks.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music ceases._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nCalphurnia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALPHURNIA.\\r\\nHere, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nStand you directly in Antonius’ way,\\r\\nWhen he doth run his course. Antonius.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nCaesar, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nForget not in your speed, Antonius,\\r\\nTo touch Calphurnia; for our elders say,\\r\\nThe barren, touched in this holy chase,\\r\\nShake off their sterile curse.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nI shall remember.\\r\\nWhen Caesar says “Do this,” it is perform’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nSet on; and leave no ceremony out.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSOOTHSAYER.\\r\\nCaesar!\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nHa! Who calls?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nBid every noise be still; peace yet again!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music ceases._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nWho is it in the press that calls on me?\\r\\nI hear a tongue shriller than all the music,\\r\\nCry “Caesar”! Speak. Caesar is turn’d to hear.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOOTHSAYER.\\r\\nBeware the Ides of March.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nWhat man is that?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nA soothsayer bids you beware the Ides of March.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nSet him before me; let me see his face.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nFellow, come from the throng; look upon Caesar.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nWhat say’st thou to me now? Speak once again.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOOTHSAYER.\\r\\nBeware the Ides of March.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nHe is a dreamer; let us leave him. Pass.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sennet. Exeunt all but Brutus and Cassius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWill you go see the order of the course?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNot I.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI pray you, do.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI am not gamesome: I do lack some part\\r\\nOf that quick spirit that is in Antony.\\r\\nLet me not hinder, Cassius, your desires;\\r\\nI’ll leave you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nBrutus, I do observe you now of late:\\r\\nI have not from your eyes that gentleness\\r\\nAnd show of love as I was wont to have.\\r\\nYou bear too stubborn and too strange a hand\\r\\nOver your friend that loves you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nCassius,\\r\\nBe not deceived: if I have veil’d my look,\\r\\nI turn the trouble of my countenance\\r\\nMerely upon myself. Vexed I am\\r\\nOf late with passions of some difference,\\r\\nConceptions only proper to myself,\\r\\nWhich give some soil perhaps to my behaviors;\\r\\nBut let not therefore my good friends be grieved\\r\\n(Among which number, Cassius, be you one)\\r\\nNor construe any further my neglect,\\r\\nThan that poor Brutus, with himself at war,\\r\\nForgets the shows of love to other men.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThen, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion;\\r\\nBy means whereof this breast of mine hath buried\\r\\nThoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.\\r\\nTell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNo, Cassius, for the eye sees not itself\\r\\nBut by reflection, by some other thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\n’Tis just:\\r\\nAnd it is very much lamented, Brutus,\\r\\nThat you have no such mirrors as will turn\\r\\nYour hidden worthiness into your eye,\\r\\nThat you might see your shadow. I have heard\\r\\nWhere many of the best respect in Rome,\\r\\n(Except immortal Caesar) speaking of Brutus,\\r\\nAnd groaning underneath this age’s yoke,\\r\\nHave wish’d that noble Brutus had his eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nInto what dangers would you lead me, Cassius,\\r\\nThat you would have me seek into myself\\r\\nFor that which is not in me?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nTherefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear;\\r\\nAnd since you know you cannot see yourself\\r\\nSo well as by reflection, I, your glass,\\r\\nWill modestly discover to yourself\\r\\nThat of yourself which you yet know not of.\\r\\nAnd be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus:\\r\\nWere I a common laugher, or did use\\r\\nTo stale with ordinary oaths my love\\r\\nTo every new protester; if you know\\r\\nThat I do fawn on men, and hug them hard,\\r\\nAnd after scandal them; or if you know\\r\\nThat I profess myself in banqueting,\\r\\nTo all the rout, then hold me dangerous.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Flourish and shout._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhat means this shouting? I do fear the people\\r\\nChoose Caesar for their king.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nAy, do you fear it?\\r\\nThen must I think you would not have it so.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI would not, Cassius; yet I love him well,\\r\\nBut wherefore do you hold me here so long?\\r\\nWhat is it that you would impart to me?\\r\\nIf it be aught toward the general good,\\r\\nSet honour in one eye and death i’ the other,\\r\\nAnd I will look on both indifferently;\\r\\nFor let the gods so speed me as I love\\r\\nThe name of honour more than I fear death.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,\\r\\nAs well as I do know your outward favour.\\r\\nWell, honour is the subject of my story.\\r\\nI cannot tell what you and other men\\r\\nThink of this life; but, for my single self,\\r\\nI had as lief not be as live to be\\r\\nIn awe of such a thing as I myself.\\r\\nI was born free as Caesar; so were you;\\r\\nWe both have fed as well, and we can both\\r\\nEndure the winter’s cold as well as he:\\r\\nFor once, upon a raw and gusty day,\\r\\nThe troubled Tiber chafing with her shores,\\r\\nCaesar said to me, “Dar’st thou, Cassius, now\\r\\nLeap in with me into this angry flood,\\r\\nAnd swim to yonder point?” Upon the word,\\r\\nAccoutred as I was, I plunged in,\\r\\nAnd bade him follow: so indeed he did.\\r\\nThe torrent roar’d, and we did buffet it\\r\\nWith lusty sinews, throwing it aside\\r\\nAnd stemming it with hearts of controversy.\\r\\nBut ere we could arrive the point propos’d,\\r\\nCaesar cried, “Help me, Cassius, or I sink!”\\r\\nI, as Aeneas, our great ancestor,\\r\\nDid from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder\\r\\nThe old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber\\r\\nDid I the tired Caesar. And this man\\r\\nIs now become a god; and Cassius is\\r\\nA wretched creature, and must bend his body,\\r\\nIf Caesar carelessly but nod on him.\\r\\nHe had a fever when he was in Spain,\\r\\nAnd when the fit was on him I did mark\\r\\nHow he did shake: ’tis true, this god did shake:\\r\\nHis coward lips did from their colour fly,\\r\\nAnd that same eye whose bend doth awe the world\\r\\nDid lose his lustre. I did hear him groan:\\r\\nAy, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans\\r\\nMark him, and write his speeches in their books,\\r\\nAlas, it cried, “Give me some drink, Titinius,”\\r\\nAs a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me,\\r\\nA man of such a feeble temper should\\r\\nSo get the start of the majestic world,\\r\\nAnd bear the palm alone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Shout. Flourish._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nAnother general shout?\\r\\nI do believe that these applauses are\\r\\nFor some new honours that are heap’d on Caesar.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWhy, man, he doth bestride the narrow world\\r\\nLike a Colossus, and we petty men\\r\\nWalk under his huge legs, and peep about\\r\\nTo find ourselves dishonourable graves.\\r\\nMen at some time are masters of their fates:\\r\\nThe fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,\\r\\nBut in ourselves, that we are underlings.\\r\\n“Brutus” and “Caesar”: what should be in that “Caesar”?\\r\\nWhy should that name be sounded more than yours?\\r\\nWrite them together, yours is as fair a name;\\r\\nSound them, it doth become the mouth as well;\\r\\nWeigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with ’em,\\r\\n“Brutus” will start a spirit as soon as “Caesar.”\\r\\nNow in the names of all the gods at once,\\r\\nUpon what meat doth this our Caesar feed,\\r\\nThat he is grown so great? Age, thou art sham’d!\\r\\nRome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods!\\r\\nWhen went there by an age since the great flood,\\r\\nBut it was fam’d with more than with one man?\\r\\nWhen could they say, till now, that talk’d of Rome,\\r\\nThat her wide walls encompass’d but one man?\\r\\nNow is it Rome indeed, and room enough,\\r\\nWhen there is in it but one only man.\\r\\nO, you and I have heard our fathers say,\\r\\nThere was a Brutus once that would have brook’d\\r\\nTh’ eternal devil to keep his state in Rome,\\r\\nAs easily as a king!\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThat you do love me, I am nothing jealous;\\r\\nWhat you would work me to, I have some aim:\\r\\nHow I have thought of this, and of these times,\\r\\nI shall recount hereafter. For this present,\\r\\nI would not, so with love I might entreat you,\\r\\nBe any further mov’d. What you have said,\\r\\nI will consider; what you have to say\\r\\nI will with patience hear; and find a time\\r\\nBoth meet to hear and answer such high things.\\r\\nTill then, my noble friend, chew upon this:\\r\\nBrutus had rather be a villager\\r\\nThan to repute himself a son of Rome\\r\\nUnder these hard conditions as this time\\r\\nIs like to lay upon us.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI am glad that my weak words\\r\\nHave struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Caesar and his Train.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThe games are done, and Caesar is returning.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nAs they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve,\\r\\nAnd he will, after his sour fashion, tell you\\r\\nWhat hath proceeded worthy note today.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI will do so. But, look you, Cassius,\\r\\nThe angry spot doth glow on Caesar’s brow,\\r\\nAnd all the rest look like a chidden train:\\r\\nCalphurnia’s cheek is pale; and Cicero\\r\\nLooks with such ferret and such fiery eyes\\r\\nAs we have seen him in the Capitol,\\r\\nBeing cross’d in conference by some senators.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nCasca will tell us what the matter is.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nAntonius.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nCaesar?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nLet me have men about me that are fat,\\r\\nSleek-headed men, and such as sleep a-nights:\\r\\nYond Cassius has a lean and hungry look;\\r\\nHe thinks too much: such men are dangerous.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nFear him not, Caesar; he’s not dangerous;\\r\\nHe is a noble Roman and well given.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nWould he were fatter! But I fear him not:\\r\\nYet if my name were liable to fear,\\r\\nI do not know the man I should avoid\\r\\nSo soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much,\\r\\nHe is a great observer, and he looks\\r\\nQuite through the deeds of men. He loves no plays,\\r\\nAs thou dost, Antony; he hears no music.\\r\\nSeldom he smiles; and smiles in such a sort\\r\\nAs if he mock’d himself and scorn’d his spirit\\r\\nThat could be mov’d to smile at anything.\\r\\nSuch men as he be never at heart’s ease\\r\\nWhiles they behold a greater than themselves,\\r\\nAnd therefore are they very dangerous.\\r\\nI rather tell thee what is to be fear’d\\r\\nThan what I fear; for always I am Caesar.\\r\\nCome on my right hand, for this ear is deaf,\\r\\nAnd tell me truly what thou think’st of him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Caesar and his Train. Casca stays._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nYou pull’d me by the cloak; would you speak with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nAy, Casca, tell us what hath chanc’d today,\\r\\nThat Caesar looks so sad.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nWhy, you were with him, were you not?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI should not then ask Casca what had chanc’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nWhy, there was a crown offer’d him; and being offer’d him, he put it by\\r\\nwith the back of his hand, thus; and then the people fell a-shouting.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhat was the second noise for?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nWhy, for that too.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThey shouted thrice: what was the last cry for?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nWhy, for that too.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWas the crown offer’d him thrice?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nAy, marry, was’t, and he put it by thrice, every time gentler than\\r\\nother; and at every putting-by mine honest neighbours shouted.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWho offer’d him the crown?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nWhy, Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nTell us the manner of it, gentle Casca.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nI can as well be hang’d, as tell the manner of it: it was mere foolery;\\r\\nI did not mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown; yet ’twas not a\\r\\ncrown neither, ’twas one of these coronets; and, as I told you, he put\\r\\nit by once: but, for all that, to my thinking, he would fain have had\\r\\nit. Then he offered it to him again: then he put it by again: but, to\\r\\nmy thinking, he was very loath to lay his fingers off it. And then he\\r\\noffered it the third time; he put it the third time by; and still, as\\r\\nhe refus’d it, the rabblement hooted, and clapp’d their chopt hands,\\r\\nand threw up their sweaty night-caps, and uttered such a deal of\\r\\nstinking breath because Caesar refus’d the crown, that it had, almost,\\r\\nchoked Caesar, for he swooned, and fell down at it. And for mine own\\r\\npart, I durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips and receiving the\\r\\nbad air.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nBut, soft! I pray you. What, did Caesar swoon?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nHe fell down in the market-place, and foam’d at mouth, and was\\r\\nspeechless.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\n’Tis very like: he hath the falling-sickness.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nNo, Caesar hath it not; but you, and I,\\r\\nAnd honest Casca, we have the falling-sickness.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nI know not what you mean by that; but I am sure Caesar fell down. If\\r\\nthe tag-rag people did not clap him and hiss him, according as he\\r\\npleased and displeased them, as they use to do the players in the\\r\\ntheatre, I am no true man.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhat said he when he came unto himself?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nMarry, before he fell down, when he perceived the common herd was glad\\r\\nhe refused the crown, he pluck’d me ope his doublet, and offer’d them\\r\\nhis throat to cut. And I had been a man of any occupation, if I would\\r\\nnot have taken him at a word, I would I might go to hell among the\\r\\nrogues. And so he fell. When he came to himself again, he said, if he\\r\\nhad done or said anything amiss, he desir’d their worships to think it\\r\\nwas his infirmity. Three or four wenches where I stood cried, “Alas,\\r\\ngood soul!” and forgave him with all their hearts. But there’s no heed\\r\\nto be taken of them: if Caesar had stabb’d their mothers, they would\\r\\nhave done no less.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nAnd, after that, he came thus sad away?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nAy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nDid Cicero say anything?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nAy, he spoke Greek.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nTo what effect?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nNay, and I tell you that, I’ll ne’er look you i’ the face again. But\\r\\nthose that understood him smil’d at one another and shook their heads;\\r\\nbut for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell you more news\\r\\ntoo: Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarfs off Caesar’s images, are\\r\\nput to silence. Fare you well. There was more foolery yet, if I could\\r\\nremember it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWill you sup with me tonight, Casca?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nNo, I am promis’d forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWill you dine with me tomorrow?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nAy, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and your dinner worth the\\r\\neating.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nGood. I will expect you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nDo so; farewell both.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Casca._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhat a blunt fellow is this grown to be!\\r\\nHe was quick mettle when he went to school.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nSo is he now in execution\\r\\nOf any bold or noble enterprise,\\r\\nHowever he puts on this tardy form.\\r\\nThis rudeness is a sauce to his good wit,\\r\\nWhich gives men stomach to digest his words\\r\\nWith better appetite.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nAnd so it is. For this time I will leave you:\\r\\nTomorrow, if you please to speak with me,\\r\\nI will come home to you; or, if you will,\\r\\nCome home to me, and I will wait for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI will do so: till then, think of the world.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Brutus._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWell, Brutus, thou art noble; yet I see,\\r\\nThy honourable metal may be wrought\\r\\nFrom that it is dispos’d: therefore ’tis meet\\r\\nThat noble minds keep ever with their likes;\\r\\nFor who so firm that cannot be seduc’d?\\r\\nCaesar doth bear me hard, but he loves Brutus.\\r\\nIf I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius,\\r\\nHe should not humour me. I will this night,\\r\\nIn several hands, in at his windows throw,\\r\\nAs if they came from several citizens,\\r\\nWritings, all tending to the great opinion\\r\\nThat Rome holds of his name; wherein obscurely\\r\\nCaesar’s ambition shall be glanced at.\\r\\nAnd after this, let Caesar seat him sure,\\r\\nFor we will shake him, or worse days endure.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Thunder and lightning. Enter, from opposite sides, Casca with his\\r\\n sword drawn, and Cicero.\\r\\n\\r\\nCICERO.\\r\\nGood even, Casca: brought you Caesar home?\\r\\nWhy are you breathless, and why stare you so?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nAre not you moved, when all the sway of earth\\r\\nShakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero,\\r\\nI have seen tempests, when the scolding winds\\r\\nHave riv’d the knotty oaks; and I have seen\\r\\nTh’ ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam,\\r\\nTo be exalted with the threatening clouds:\\r\\nBut never till tonight, never till now,\\r\\nDid I go through a tempest dropping fire.\\r\\nEither there is a civil strife in heaven,\\r\\nOr else the world too saucy with the gods,\\r\\nIncenses them to send destruction.\\r\\n\\r\\nCICERO.\\r\\nWhy, saw you anything more wonderful?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nA common slave, you’d know him well by sight,\\r\\nHeld up his left hand, which did flame and burn\\r\\nLike twenty torches join’d, and yet his hand,\\r\\nNot sensible of fire remain’d unscorch’d.\\r\\nBesides, I ha’ not since put up my sword,\\r\\nAgainst the Capitol I met a lion,\\r\\nWho glared upon me, and went surly by,\\r\\nWithout annoying me. And there were drawn\\r\\nUpon a heap a hundred ghastly women,\\r\\nTransformed with their fear; who swore they saw\\r\\nMen, all in fire, walk up and down the streets.\\r\\nAnd yesterday the bird of night did sit,\\r\\nEven at noonday upon the marketplace,\\r\\nHooting and shrieking. When these prodigies\\r\\nDo so conjointly meet, let not men say,\\r\\n“These are their reasons; they are natural”;\\r\\nFor I believe, they are portentous things\\r\\nUnto the climate that they point upon.\\r\\n\\r\\nCICERO.\\r\\nIndeed, it is a strange-disposed time.\\r\\nBut men may construe things after their fashion,\\r\\nClean from the purpose of the things themselves.\\r\\nComes Caesar to the Capitol tomorrow?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nHe doth, for he did bid Antonius\\r\\nSend word to you he would be there tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nCICERO.\\r\\nGoodnight then, Casca: this disturbed sky\\r\\nIs not to walk in.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nFarewell, Cicero.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Cicero._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassius.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWho’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nA Roman.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nCasca, by your voice.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nYour ear is good. Cassius, what night is this!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nA very pleasing night to honest men.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nWho ever knew the heavens menace so?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThose that have known the earth so full of faults.\\r\\nFor my part, I have walk’d about the streets,\\r\\nSubmitting me unto the perilous night;\\r\\nAnd, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see,\\r\\nHave bar’d my bosom to the thunder-stone;\\r\\nAnd when the cross blue lightning seem’d to open\\r\\nThe breast of heaven, I did present myself\\r\\nEven in the aim and very flash of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nBut wherefore did you so much tempt the Heavens?\\r\\nIt is the part of men to fear and tremble,\\r\\nWhen the most mighty gods by tokens send\\r\\nSuch dreadful heralds to astonish us.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nYou are dull, Casca; and those sparks of life\\r\\nThat should be in a Roman you do want,\\r\\nOr else you use not. You look pale and gaze,\\r\\nAnd put on fear and cast yourself in wonder,\\r\\nTo see the strange impatience of the Heavens:\\r\\nBut if you would consider the true cause\\r\\nWhy all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts,\\r\\nWhy birds and beasts, from quality and kind;\\r\\nWhy old men, fools, and children calculate,\\r\\nWhy all these things change from their ordinance,\\r\\nTheir natures, and pre-formed faculties,\\r\\nTo monstrous quality; why, you shall find\\r\\nThat Heaven hath infus’d them with these spirits,\\r\\nTo make them instruments of fear and warning\\r\\nUnto some monstrous state.\\r\\nNow could I, Casca, name to thee a man\\r\\nMost like this dreadful night,\\r\\nThat thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars,\\r\\nAs doth the lion in the Capitol;\\r\\nA man no mightier than thyself, or me,\\r\\nIn personal action; yet prodigious grown,\\r\\nAnd fearful, as these strange eruptions are.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\n’Tis Caesar that you mean; is it not, Cassius?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nLet it be who it is: for Romans now\\r\\nHave thews and limbs like to their ancestors;\\r\\nBut, woe the while! our fathers’ minds are dead,\\r\\nAnd we are govern’d with our mothers’ spirits;\\r\\nOur yoke and sufferance show us womanish.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nIndeed, they say the senators tomorrow\\r\\nMean to establish Caesar as a king;\\r\\nAnd he shall wear his crown by sea and land,\\r\\nIn every place, save here in Italy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI know where I will wear this dagger then;\\r\\nCassius from bondage will deliver Cassius:\\r\\nTherein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong;\\r\\nTherein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat.\\r\\nNor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass,\\r\\nNor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron,\\r\\nCan be retentive to the strength of spirit;\\r\\nBut life, being weary of these worldly bars,\\r\\nNever lacks power to dismiss itself.\\r\\nIf I know this, know all the world besides,\\r\\nThat part of tyranny that I do bear\\r\\nI can shake off at pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Thunder still._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nSo can I:\\r\\nSo every bondman in his own hand bears\\r\\nThe power to cancel his captivity.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nAnd why should Caesar be a tyrant then?\\r\\nPoor man! I know he would not be a wolf,\\r\\nBut that he sees the Romans are but sheep:\\r\\nHe were no lion, were not Romans hinds.\\r\\nThose that with haste will make a mighty fire\\r\\nBegin it with weak straws. What trash is Rome,\\r\\nWhat rubbish, and what offal, when it serves\\r\\nFor the base matter to illuminate\\r\\nSo vile a thing as Caesar! But, O grief,\\r\\nWhere hast thou led me? I, perhaps, speak this\\r\\nBefore a willing bondman: then I know\\r\\nMy answer must be made; but I am arm’d,\\r\\nAnd dangers are to me indifferent.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nYou speak to Casca, and to such a man\\r\\nThat is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand:\\r\\nBe factious for redress of all these griefs,\\r\\nAnd I will set this foot of mine as far\\r\\nAs who goes farthest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThere’s a bargain made.\\r\\nNow know you, Casca, I have mov’d already\\r\\nSome certain of the noblest-minded Romans\\r\\nTo undergo with me an enterprise\\r\\nOf honourable-dangerous consequence;\\r\\nAnd I do know by this, they stay for me\\r\\nIn Pompey’s Porch: for now, this fearful night,\\r\\nThere is no stir or walking in the streets;\\r\\nAnd the complexion of the element\\r\\nIn favour’s like the work we have in hand,\\r\\nMost bloody, fiery, and most terrible.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cinna.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nStand close awhile, for here comes one in haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\n’Tis Cinna; I do know him by his gait;\\r\\nHe is a friend. Cinna, where haste you so?\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nTo find out you. Who’s that? Metellus Cimber?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nNo, it is Casca, one incorporate\\r\\nTo our attempts. Am I not stay’d for, Cinna?\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nI am glad on’t. What a fearful night is this!\\r\\nThere’s two or three of us have seen strange sights.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nAm I not stay’d for? tell me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nYes, you are. O Cassius, if you could\\r\\nBut win the noble Brutus to our party—\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nBe you content. Good Cinna, take this paper,\\r\\nAnd look you lay it in the praetor’s chair,\\r\\nWhere Brutus may but find it; and throw this\\r\\nIn at his window; set this up with wax\\r\\nUpon old Brutus’ statue: all this done,\\r\\nRepair to Pompey’s Porch, where you shall find us.\\r\\nIs Decius Brutus and Trebonius there?\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nAll but Metellus Cimber, and he’s gone\\r\\nTo seek you at your house. Well, I will hie,\\r\\nAnd so bestow these papers as you bade me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThat done, repair to Pompey’s theatre.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Cinna._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, Casca, you and I will yet, ere day,\\r\\nSee Brutus at his house: three parts of him\\r\\nIs ours already, and the man entire\\r\\nUpon the next encounter, yields him ours.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nO, he sits high in all the people’s hearts!\\r\\nAnd that which would appear offence in us,\\r\\nHis countenance, like richest alchemy,\\r\\nWill change to virtue and to worthiness.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nHim, and his worth, and our great need of him,\\r\\nYou have right well conceited. Let us go,\\r\\nFor it is after midnight; and ere day,\\r\\nWe will awake him, and be sure of him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Rome. Brutus’ orchard.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhat, Lucius, ho!\\r\\nI cannot, by the progress of the stars,\\r\\nGive guess how near to day.—Lucius, I say!\\r\\nI would it were my fault to sleep so soundly.\\r\\nWhen, Lucius, when? Awake, I say! What, Lucius!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucius.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nCall’d you, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGet me a taper in my study, Lucius:\\r\\nWhen it is lighted, come and call me here.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nI will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nIt must be by his death: and for my part,\\r\\nI know no personal cause to spurn at him,\\r\\nBut for the general. He would be crown’d:\\r\\nHow that might change his nature, there’s the question.\\r\\nIt is the bright day that brings forth the adder,\\r\\nAnd that craves wary walking. Crown him?—that;\\r\\nAnd then, I grant, we put a sting in him,\\r\\nThat at his will he may do danger with.\\r\\nTh’ abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins\\r\\nRemorse from power; and, to speak truth of Caesar,\\r\\nI have not known when his affections sway’d\\r\\nMore than his reason. But ’tis a common proof,\\r\\nThat lowliness is young ambition’s ladder,\\r\\nWhereto the climber-upward turns his face;\\r\\nBut when he once attains the upmost round,\\r\\nHe then unto the ladder turns his back,\\r\\nLooks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees\\r\\nBy which he did ascend. So Caesar may;\\r\\nThen lest he may, prevent. And since the quarrel\\r\\nWill bear no colour for the thing he is,\\r\\nFashion it thus: that what he is, augmented,\\r\\nWould run to these and these extremities:\\r\\nAnd therefore think him as a serpent’s egg\\r\\nWhich hatch’d, would, as his kind grow mischievous;\\r\\nAnd kill him in the shell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucius.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nThe taper burneth in your closet, sir.\\r\\nSearching the window for a flint, I found\\r\\nThis paper, thus seal’d up, and I am sure\\r\\nIt did not lie there when I went to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Gives him the letter._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGet you to bed again; it is not day.\\r\\nIs not tomorrow, boy, the Ides of March?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nI know not, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nLook in the calendar, and bring me word.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nI will, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThe exhalations, whizzing in the air\\r\\nGive so much light that I may read by them.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Opens the letter and reads._]\\r\\n\\r\\n_Brutus, thou sleep’st: awake and see thyself.\\r\\nShall Rome, &c. Speak, strike, redress!_\\r\\n“Brutus, thou sleep’st: awake!”\\r\\nSuch instigations have been often dropp’d\\r\\nWhere I have took them up.\\r\\n“Shall Rome, &c.” Thus must I piece it out:\\r\\nShall Rome stand under one man’s awe? What, Rome?\\r\\nMy ancestors did from the streets of Rome\\r\\nThe Tarquin drive, when he was call’d a king.\\r\\n“Speak, strike, redress!” Am I entreated\\r\\nTo speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee promise,\\r\\nIf the redress will follow, thou receivest\\r\\nThy full petition at the hand of Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucius.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nSir, March is wasted fifteen days.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knock within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\n’Tis good. Go to the gate, somebody knocks.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lucius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSince Cassius first did whet me against Caesar,\\r\\nI have not slept.\\r\\nBetween the acting of a dreadful thing\\r\\nAnd the first motion, all the interim is\\r\\nLike a phantasma, or a hideous dream:\\r\\nThe genius and the mortal instruments\\r\\nAre then in council; and the state of man,\\r\\nLike to a little kingdom, suffers then\\r\\nThe nature of an insurrection.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucius.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nSir, ’tis your brother Cassius at the door,\\r\\nWho doth desire to see you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nIs he alone?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nNo, sir, there are moe with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nDo you know them?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nNo, sir, their hats are pluck’d about their ears,\\r\\nAnd half their faces buried in their cloaks,\\r\\nThat by no means I may discover them\\r\\nBy any mark of favour.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nLet ’em enter.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lucius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThey are the faction. O conspiracy,\\r\\nSham’st thou to show thy dangerous brow by night,\\r\\nWhen evils are most free? O, then, by day\\r\\nWhere wilt thou find a cavern dark enough\\r\\nTo mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, conspiracy;\\r\\nHide it in smiles and affability:\\r\\nFor if thou path, thy native semblance on,\\r\\nNot Erebus itself were dim enough\\r\\nTo hide thee from prevention.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassius, Casca, Decius, Cinna, Metellus Cimber and Trebonius.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI think we are too bold upon your rest:\\r\\nGood morrow, Brutus; do we trouble you?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI have been up this hour, awake all night.\\r\\nKnow I these men that come along with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nYes, every man of them; and no man here\\r\\nBut honours you; and everyone doth wish\\r\\nYou had but that opinion of yourself\\r\\nWhich every noble Roman bears of you.\\r\\nThis is Trebonius.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHe is welcome hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThis Decius Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHe is welcome too.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThis, Casca; this, Cinna; and this, Metellus Cimber.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThey are all welcome.\\r\\nWhat watchful cares do interpose themselves\\r\\nBetwixt your eyes and night?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nShall I entreat a word?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They whisper._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nHere lies the east: doth not the day break here?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nO, pardon, sir, it doth; and yon grey lines\\r\\nThat fret the clouds are messengers of day.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nYou shall confess that you are both deceiv’d.\\r\\nHere, as I point my sword, the Sun arises;\\r\\nWhich is a great way growing on the South,\\r\\nWeighing the youthful season of the year.\\r\\nSome two months hence, up higher toward the North\\r\\nHe first presents his fire; and the high East\\r\\nStands, as the Capitol, directly here.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGive me your hands all over, one by one.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nAnd let us swear our resolution.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNo, not an oath. If not the face of men,\\r\\nThe sufferance of our souls, the time’s abuse—\\r\\nIf these be motives weak, break off betimes,\\r\\nAnd every man hence to his idle bed.\\r\\nSo let high-sighted tyranny range on,\\r\\nTill each man drop by lottery. But if these,\\r\\nAs I am sure they do, bear fire enough\\r\\nTo kindle cowards, and to steel with valour\\r\\nThe melting spirits of women; then, countrymen,\\r\\nWhat need we any spur but our own cause\\r\\nTo prick us to redress? what other bond\\r\\nThan secret Romans, that have spoke the word,\\r\\nAnd will not palter? and what other oath\\r\\nThan honesty to honesty engag’d,\\r\\nThat this shall be, or we will fall for it?\\r\\nSwear priests and cowards, and men cautelous,\\r\\nOld feeble carrions, and such suffering souls\\r\\nThat welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear\\r\\nSuch creatures as men doubt; but do not stain\\r\\nThe even virtue of our enterprise,\\r\\nNor th’ insuppressive mettle of our spirits,\\r\\nTo think that or our cause or our performance\\r\\nDid need an oath; when every drop of blood\\r\\nThat every Roman bears, and nobly bears,\\r\\nIs guilty of a several bastardy,\\r\\nIf he do break the smallest particle\\r\\nOf any promise that hath pass’d from him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nBut what of Cicero? Shall we sound him?\\r\\nI think he will stand very strong with us.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nLet us not leave him out.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nNo, by no means.\\r\\n\\r\\nMETELLUS.\\r\\nO, let us have him, for his silver hairs\\r\\nWill purchase us a good opinion,\\r\\nAnd buy men’s voices to commend our deeds.\\r\\nIt shall be said, his judgment rul’d our hands;\\r\\nOur youths and wildness shall no whit appear,\\r\\nBut all be buried in his gravity.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nO, name him not; let us not break with him;\\r\\nFor he will never follow anything\\r\\nThat other men begin.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThen leave him out.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nIndeed, he is not fit.\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nShall no man else be touch’d but only Caesar?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nDecius, well urg’d. I think it is not meet,\\r\\nMark Antony, so well belov’d of Caesar,\\r\\nShould outlive Caesar: we shall find of him\\r\\nA shrewd contriver; and you know, his means,\\r\\nIf he improve them, may well stretch so far\\r\\nAs to annoy us all; which to prevent,\\r\\nLet Antony and Caesar fall together.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nOur course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius,\\r\\nTo cut the head off, and then hack the limbs,\\r\\nLike wrath in death, and envy afterwards;\\r\\nFor Antony is but a limb of Caesar.\\r\\nLet us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius.\\r\\nWe all stand up against the spirit of Caesar,\\r\\nAnd in the spirit of men there is no blood.\\r\\nO, that we then could come by Caesar’s spirit,\\r\\nAnd not dismember Caesar! But, alas,\\r\\nCaesar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends,\\r\\nLet’s kill him boldly, but not wrathfully;\\r\\nLet’s carve him as a dish fit for the gods,\\r\\nNot hew him as a carcass fit for hounds.\\r\\nAnd let our hearts, as subtle masters do,\\r\\nStir up their servants to an act of rage,\\r\\nAnd after seem to chide ’em. This shall mark\\r\\nOur purpose necessary, and not envious;\\r\\nWhich so appearing to the common eyes,\\r\\nWe shall be call’d purgers, not murderers.\\r\\nAnd for Mark Antony, think not of him;\\r\\nFor he can do no more than Caesar’s arm\\r\\nWhen Caesar’s head is off.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nYet I fear him;\\r\\nFor in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar—\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nAlas, good Cassius, do not think of him:\\r\\nIf he love Caesar, all that he can do\\r\\nIs to himself; take thought and die for Caesar.\\r\\nAnd that were much he should; for he is given\\r\\nTo sports, to wildness, and much company.\\r\\n\\r\\nTREBONIUS.\\r\\nThere is no fear in him; let him not die;\\r\\nFor he will live, and laugh at this hereafter.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Clock strikes._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nPeace! count the clock.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThe clock hath stricken three.\\r\\n\\r\\nTREBONIUS.\\r\\n’Tis time to part.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nBut it is doubtful yet\\r\\nWhether Caesar will come forth today or no;\\r\\nFor he is superstitious grown of late,\\r\\nQuite from the main opinion he held once\\r\\nOf fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies.\\r\\nIt may be these apparent prodigies,\\r\\nThe unaccustom’d terror of this night,\\r\\nAnd the persuasion of his augurers,\\r\\nMay hold him from the Capitol today.\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nNever fear that: if he be so resolved,\\r\\nI can o’ersway him, for he loves to hear\\r\\nThat unicorns may be betray’d with trees,\\r\\nAnd bears with glasses, elephants with holes,\\r\\nLions with toils, and men with flatterers.\\r\\nBut when I tell him he hates flatterers,\\r\\nHe says he does, being then most flattered.\\r\\nLet me work;\\r\\nFor I can give his humour the true bent,\\r\\nAnd I will bring him to the Capitol.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nNay, we will all of us be there to fetch him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nBy the eighth hour: is that the uttermost?\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nBe that the uttermost; and fail not then.\\r\\n\\r\\nMETELLUS.\\r\\nCaius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard,\\r\\nWho rated him for speaking well of Pompey;\\r\\nI wonder none of you have thought of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNow, good Metellus, go along by him:\\r\\nHe loves me well, and I have given him reason;\\r\\nSend him but hither, and I’ll fashion him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThe morning comes upon’s. We’ll leave you, Brutus.\\r\\nAnd, friends, disperse yourselves; but all remember\\r\\nWhat you have said, and show yourselves true Romans.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGood gentlemen, look fresh and merrily;\\r\\nLet not our looks put on our purposes,\\r\\nBut bear it as our Roman actors do,\\r\\nWith untired spirits and formal constancy.\\r\\nAnd so, good morrow to you everyone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Brutus._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBoy! Lucius! Fast asleep? It is no matter;\\r\\nEnjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber:\\r\\nThou hast no figures nor no fantasies,\\r\\nWhich busy care draws in the brains of men;\\r\\nTherefore thou sleep’st so sound.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Portia.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nBrutus, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nPortia, what mean you? Wherefore rise you now?\\r\\nIt is not for your health thus to commit\\r\\nYour weak condition to the raw cold morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nNor for yours neither. Y’ have ungently, Brutus,\\r\\nStole from my bed; and yesternight at supper,\\r\\nYou suddenly arose, and walk’d about,\\r\\nMusing and sighing, with your arms across;\\r\\nAnd when I ask’d you what the matter was,\\r\\nYou star’d upon me with ungentle looks.\\r\\nI urg’d you further; then you scratch’d your head,\\r\\nAnd too impatiently stamp’d with your foot;\\r\\nYet I insisted, yet you answer’d not,\\r\\nBut with an angry wafture of your hand\\r\\nGave sign for me to leave you. So I did,\\r\\nFearing to strengthen that impatience\\r\\nWhich seem’d too much enkindled; and withal\\r\\nHoping it was but an effect of humour,\\r\\nWhich sometime hath his hour with every man.\\r\\nIt will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep;\\r\\nAnd could it work so much upon your shape\\r\\nAs it hath much prevail’d on your condition,\\r\\nI should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord,\\r\\nMake me acquainted with your cause of grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI am not well in health, and that is all.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nBrutus is wise, and, were he not in health,\\r\\nHe would embrace the means to come by it.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhy, so I do. Good Portia, go to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIs Brutus sick, and is it physical\\r\\nTo walk unbraced and suck up the humours\\r\\nOf the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick,\\r\\nAnd will he steal out of his wholesome bed\\r\\nTo dare the vile contagion of the night,\\r\\nAnd tempt the rheumy and unpurged air\\r\\nTo add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus;\\r\\nYou have some sick offence within your mind,\\r\\nWhich, by the right and virtue of my place,\\r\\nI ought to know of: and, upon my knees,\\r\\nI charm you, by my once commended beauty,\\r\\nBy all your vows of love, and that great vow\\r\\nWhich did incorporate and make us one,\\r\\nThat you unfold to me, your self, your half,\\r\\nWhy you are heavy, and what men tonight\\r\\nHave had resort to you; for here have been\\r\\nSome six or seven, who did hide their faces\\r\\nEven from darkness.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nKneel not, gentle Portia.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI should not need, if you were gentle Brutus.\\r\\nWithin the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus,\\r\\nIs it excepted I should know no secrets\\r\\nThat appertain to you? Am I your self\\r\\nBut, as it were, in sort or limitation,\\r\\nTo keep with you at meals, comfort your bed,\\r\\nAnd talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs\\r\\nOf your good pleasure? If it be no more,\\r\\nPortia is Brutus’ harlot, not his wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nYou are my true and honourable wife,\\r\\nAs dear to me as are the ruddy drops\\r\\nThat visit my sad heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIf this were true, then should I know this secret.\\r\\nI grant I am a woman; but withal\\r\\nA woman that Lord Brutus took to wife;\\r\\nI grant I am a woman; but withal\\r\\nA woman well reputed, Cato’s daughter.\\r\\nThink you I am no stronger than my sex,\\r\\nBeing so father’d and so husbanded?\\r\\nTell me your counsels, I will not disclose ’em.\\r\\nI have made strong proof of my constancy,\\r\\nGiving myself a voluntary wound\\r\\nHere, in the thigh: can I bear that with patience\\r\\nAnd not my husband’s secrets?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nO ye gods,\\r\\nRender me worthy of this noble wife!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knock._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHark, hark, one knocks. Portia, go in awhile;\\r\\nAnd by and by thy bosom shall partake\\r\\nThe secrets of my heart.\\r\\nAll my engagements I will construe to thee,\\r\\nAll the charactery of my sad brows.\\r\\nLeave me with haste.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Portia._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucius with Ligarius.\\r\\n\\r\\nLucius, who’s that knocks?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nHere is a sick man that would speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nCaius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of.\\r\\nBoy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius, how?\\r\\n\\r\\nLIGARIUS.\\r\\nVouchsafe good-morrow from a feeble tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nO, what a time have you chose out, brave Caius,\\r\\nTo wear a kerchief! Would you were not sick!\\r\\n\\r\\nLIGARIUS.\\r\\nI am not sick, if Brutus have in hand\\r\\nAny exploit worthy the name of honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nSuch an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius,\\r\\nHad you a healthful ear to hear of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLIGARIUS.\\r\\nBy all the gods that Romans bow before,\\r\\nI here discard my sickness. Soul of Rome!\\r\\nBrave son, derived from honourable loins!\\r\\nThou, like an exorcist, hast conjur’d up\\r\\nMy mortified spirit. Now bid me run,\\r\\nAnd I will strive with things impossible,\\r\\nYea, get the better of them. What’s to do?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nA piece of work that will make sick men whole.\\r\\n\\r\\nLIGARIUS.\\r\\nBut are not some whole that we must make sick?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThat must we also. What it is, my Caius,\\r\\nI shall unfold to thee, as we are going,\\r\\nTo whom it must be done.\\r\\n\\r\\nLIGARIUS.\\r\\nSet on your foot,\\r\\nAnd with a heart new-fir’d I follow you,\\r\\nTo do I know not what; but it sufficeth\\r\\nThat Brutus leads me on.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Thunder._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nFollow me then.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A room in Caesar’s palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Thunder and lightning. Enter Caesar, in his nightgown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nNor heaven nor earth have been at peace tonight:\\r\\nThrice hath Calphurnia in her sleep cried out,\\r\\n“Help, ho! They murder Caesar!” Who’s within?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nGo bid the priests do present sacrifice,\\r\\nAnd bring me their opinions of success.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Calphurnia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALPHURNIA.\\r\\nWhat mean you, Caesar? Think you to walk forth?\\r\\nYou shall not stir out of your house today.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nCaesar shall forth. The things that threaten’d me\\r\\nNe’er look’d but on my back; when they shall see\\r\\nThe face of Caesar, they are vanished.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALPHURNIA.\\r\\nCaesar, I never stood on ceremonies,\\r\\nYet now they fright me. There is one within,\\r\\nBesides the things that we have heard and seen,\\r\\nRecounts most horrid sights seen by the watch.\\r\\nA lioness hath whelped in the streets,\\r\\nAnd graves have yawn’d, and yielded up their dead;\\r\\nFierce fiery warriors fight upon the clouds\\r\\nIn ranks and squadrons and right form of war,\\r\\nWhich drizzled blood upon the Capitol;\\r\\nThe noise of battle hurtled in the air,\\r\\nHorses did neigh, and dying men did groan,\\r\\nAnd ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets.\\r\\nO Caesar, these things are beyond all use,\\r\\nAnd I do fear them!\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nWhat can be avoided\\r\\nWhose end is purpos’d by the mighty gods?\\r\\nYet Caesar shall go forth; for these predictions\\r\\nAre to the world in general as to Caesar.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALPHURNIA.\\r\\nWhen beggars die, there are no comets seen;\\r\\nThe heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nCowards die many times before their deaths;\\r\\nThe valiant never taste of death but once.\\r\\nOf all the wonders that I yet have heard,\\r\\nIt seems to me most strange that men should fear,\\r\\nSeeing that death, a necessary end,\\r\\nWill come when it will come.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat say the augurers?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThey would not have you to stir forth today.\\r\\nPlucking the entrails of an offering forth,\\r\\nThey could not find a heart within the beast.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nThe gods do this in shame of cowardice:\\r\\nCaesar should be a beast without a heart\\r\\nIf he should stay at home today for fear.\\r\\nNo, Caesar shall not. Danger knows full well\\r\\nThat Caesar is more dangerous than he.\\r\\nWe are two lions litter’d in one day,\\r\\nAnd I the elder and more terrible,\\r\\nAnd Caesar shall go forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALPHURNIA.\\r\\nAlas, my lord,\\r\\nYour wisdom is consum’d in confidence.\\r\\nDo not go forth today: call it my fear\\r\\nThat keeps you in the house, and not your own.\\r\\nWe’ll send Mark Antony to the Senate-house,\\r\\nAnd he shall say you are not well today.\\r\\nLet me upon my knee prevail in this.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nMark Antony shall say I am not well,\\r\\nAnd for thy humour, I will stay at home.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Decius.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere’s Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nCaesar, all hail! Good morrow, worthy Caesar.\\r\\nI come to fetch you to the Senate-house.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nAnd you are come in very happy time\\r\\nTo bear my greeting to the Senators,\\r\\nAnd tell them that I will not come today.\\r\\nCannot, is false; and that I dare not, falser:\\r\\nI will not come today. Tell them so, Decius.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALPHURNIA.\\r\\nSay he is sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nShall Caesar send a lie?\\r\\nHave I in conquest stretch’d mine arm so far,\\r\\nTo be afeard to tell grey-beards the truth?\\r\\nDecius, go tell them Caesar will not come.\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nMost mighty Caesar, let me know some cause,\\r\\nLest I be laugh’d at when I tell them so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nThe cause is in my will; I will not come.\\r\\nThat is enough to satisfy the Senate.\\r\\nBut for your private satisfaction,\\r\\nBecause I love you, I will let you know:\\r\\nCalphurnia here, my wife, stays me at home.\\r\\nShe dreamt tonight she saw my statue,\\r\\nWhich like a fountain with an hundred spouts\\r\\nDid run pure blood; and many lusty Romans\\r\\nCame smiling, and did bathe their hands in it.\\r\\nAnd these does she apply for warnings and portents\\r\\nAnd evils imminent; and on her knee\\r\\nHath begg’d that I will stay at home today.\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nThis dream is all amiss interpreted:\\r\\nIt was a vision fair and fortunate.\\r\\nYour statue spouting blood in many pipes,\\r\\nIn which so many smiling Romans bath’d,\\r\\nSignifies that from you great Rome shall suck\\r\\nReviving blood, and that great men shall press\\r\\nFor tinctures, stains, relics, and cognizance.\\r\\nThis by Calphurnia’s dream is signified.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nAnd this way have you well expounded it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nI have, when you have heard what I can say;\\r\\nAnd know it now. The Senate have concluded\\r\\nTo give this day a crown to mighty Caesar.\\r\\nIf you shall send them word you will not come,\\r\\nTheir minds may change. Besides, it were a mock\\r\\nApt to be render’d, for someone to say,\\r\\n“Break up the Senate till another time,\\r\\nWhen Caesar’s wife shall meet with better dreams.”\\r\\nIf Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper\\r\\n“Lo, Caesar is afraid”?\\r\\nPardon me, Caesar; for my dear dear love\\r\\nTo your proceeding bids me tell you this,\\r\\nAnd reason to my love is liable.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nHow foolish do your fears seem now, Calphurnia!\\r\\nI am ashamed I did yield to them.\\r\\nGive me my robe, for I will go.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus, Casca, Trebonius, Cinna and Publius.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd look where Publius is come to fetch me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUBLIUS.\\r\\nGood morrow, Caesar.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nWelcome, Publius.\\r\\nWhat, Brutus, are you stirr’d so early too?\\r\\nGood morrow, Casca. Caius Ligarius,\\r\\nCaesar was ne’er so much your enemy\\r\\nAs that same ague which hath made you lean.\\r\\nWhat is’t o’clock?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nCaesar, ’tis strucken eight.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nI thank you for your pains and courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nSee! Antony, that revels long a-nights,\\r\\nIs notwithstanding up. Good morrow, Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nSo to most noble Caesar.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nBid them prepare within.\\r\\nI am to blame to be thus waited for.\\r\\nNow, Cinna; now, Metellus; what, Trebonius!\\r\\nI have an hour’s talk in store for you:\\r\\nRemember that you call on me today;\\r\\nBe near me, that I may remember you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTREBONIUS.\\r\\nCaesar, I will. [_Aside._] and so near will I be,\\r\\nThat your best friends shall wish I had been further.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nGood friends, go in, and taste some wine with me;\\r\\nAnd we, like friends, will straightway go together.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] That every like is not the same, O Caesar,\\r\\nThe heart of Brutus yearns to think upon.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A street near the Capitol.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Artemidorus, reading a paper.\\r\\n\\r\\nARTEMIDORUS.\\r\\n_“Caesar, beware of Brutus; take heed of Cassius; come not near Casca;\\r\\nhave an eye to Cinna; trust not Trebonius; mark well Metellus Cimber;\\r\\nDecius Brutus loves thee not; thou hast wrong’d Caius Ligarius. There\\r\\nis but one mind in all these men, and it is bent against Caesar. If\\r\\nthou be’st not immortal, look about you: security gives way to\\r\\nconspiracy. The mighty gods defend thee!\\r\\nThy lover, Artemidorus.”_\\r\\nHere will I stand till Caesar pass along,\\r\\nAnd as a suitor will I give him this.\\r\\nMy heart laments that virtue cannot live\\r\\nOut of the teeth of emulation.\\r\\nIf thou read this, O Caesar, thou mayest live;\\r\\nIf not, the Fates with traitors do contrive.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Another part of the same street, before the house of Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Portia and Lucius.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI pr’ythee, boy, run to the Senate-house;\\r\\nStay not to answer me, but get thee gone.\\r\\nWhy dost thou stay?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nTo know my errand, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI would have had thee there and here again,\\r\\nEre I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there.\\r\\n[_Aside._] O constancy, be strong upon my side,\\r\\nSet a huge mountain ’tween my heart and tongue!\\r\\nI have a man’s mind, but a woman’s might.\\r\\nHow hard it is for women to keep counsel!\\r\\nArt thou here yet?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nMadam, what should I do?\\r\\nRun to the Capitol, and nothing else?\\r\\nAnd so return to you, and nothing else?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well,\\r\\nFor he went sickly forth: and take good note\\r\\nWhat Caesar doth, what suitors press to him.\\r\\nHark, boy, what noise is that?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nI hear none, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nPr’ythee, listen well.\\r\\nI heard a bustling rumour, like a fray,\\r\\nAnd the wind brings it from the Capitol.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nSooth, madam, I hear nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the Soothsayer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nCome hither, fellow:\\r\\nWhich way hast thou been?\\r\\n\\r\\nSOOTHSAYER.\\r\\nAt mine own house, good lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhat is’t o’clock?\\r\\n\\r\\nSOOTHSAYER.\\r\\nAbout the ninth hour, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIs Caesar yet gone to the Capitol?\\r\\n\\r\\nSOOTHSAYER.\\r\\nMadam, not yet. I go to take my stand,\\r\\nTo see him pass on to the Capitol.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not?\\r\\n\\r\\nSOOTHSAYER.\\r\\nThat I have, lady, if it will please Caesar\\r\\nTo be so good to Caesar as to hear me,\\r\\nI shall beseech him to befriend himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhy, know’st thou any harm’s intended towards him?\\r\\n\\r\\nSOOTHSAYER.\\r\\nNone that I know will be, much that I fear may chance.\\r\\nGood morrow to you. Here the street is narrow.\\r\\nThe throng that follows Caesar at the heels,\\r\\nOf Senators, of Praetors, common suitors,\\r\\nWill crowd a feeble man almost to death:\\r\\nI’ll get me to a place more void, and there\\r\\nSpeak to great Caesar as he comes along.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI must go in.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Ay me, how weak a thing\\r\\nThe heart of woman is! O Brutus,\\r\\nThe heavens speed thee in thine enterprise!\\r\\nSure, the boy heard me. Brutus hath a suit\\r\\nThat Caesar will not grant. O, I grow faint.\\r\\nRun, Lucius, and commend me to my lord;\\r\\nSay I am merry; come to me again,\\r\\nAnd bring me word what he doth say to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Rome. Before the Capitol; the Senate sitting.\\r\\n\\r\\n A crowd of people in the street leading to the Capitol. Flourish.\\r\\n Enter Caesar, Brutus, Cassius, Casca, Decius, Metellus, Trebonius,\\r\\n Cinna, Antony, Lepidus, Artemidorus, Publius, Popilius and the\\r\\n Soothsayer.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nThe Ides of March are come.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOOTHSAYER.\\r\\nAy, Caesar; but not gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nARTEMIDORUS.\\r\\nHail, Caesar! Read this schedule.\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nTrebonius doth desire you to o’er-read,\\r\\nAt your best leisure, this his humble suit.\\r\\n\\r\\nARTEMIDORUS.\\r\\nO Caesar, read mine first; for mine’s a suit\\r\\nThat touches Caesar nearer. Read it, great Caesar.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nWhat touches us ourself shall be last serv’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nARTEMIDORUS.\\r\\nDelay not, Caesar. Read it instantly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nWhat, is the fellow mad?\\r\\n\\r\\nPUBLIUS.\\r\\nSirrah, give place.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWhat, urge you your petitions in the street?\\r\\nCome to the Capitol.\\r\\n\\r\\nCaesar enters the Capitol, the rest following. All the Senators rise.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOPILIUS.\\r\\nI wish your enterprise today may thrive.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWhat enterprise, Popilius?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOPILIUS.\\r\\nFare you well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Advances to Caesar._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhat said Popilius Lena?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nHe wish’d today our enterprise might thrive.\\r\\nI fear our purpose is discovered.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nLook how he makes to Caesar: mark him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nCasca, be sudden, for we fear prevention.\\r\\nBrutus, what shall be done? If this be known,\\r\\nCassius or Caesar never shall turn back,\\r\\nFor I will slay myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nCassius, be constant:\\r\\nPopilius Lena speaks not of our purposes;\\r\\nFor look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nTrebonius knows his time, for look you, Brutus,\\r\\nHe draws Mark Antony out of the way.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Antony and Trebonius. Caesar and the Senators take their\\r\\n seats._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nWhere is Metellus Cimber? Let him go,\\r\\nAnd presently prefer his suit to Caesar.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHe is address’d; press near and second him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nCasca, you are the first that rears your hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nAre we all ready? What is now amiss\\r\\nThat Caesar and his Senate must redress?\\r\\n\\r\\nMETELLUS.\\r\\nMost high, most mighty, and most puissant Caesar,\\r\\nMetellus Cimber throws before thy seat\\r\\nAn humble heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kneeling._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nI must prevent thee, Cimber.\\r\\nThese couchings and these lowly courtesies\\r\\nMight fire the blood of ordinary men,\\r\\nAnd turn pre-ordinance and first decree\\r\\nInto the law of children. Be not fond,\\r\\nTo think that Caesar bears such rebel blood\\r\\nThat will be thaw’d from the true quality\\r\\nWith that which melteth fools; I mean sweet words,\\r\\nLow-crooked curtsies, and base spaniel fawning.\\r\\nThy brother by decree is banished:\\r\\nIf thou dost bend, and pray, and fawn for him,\\r\\nI spurn thee like a cur out of my way.\\r\\nKnow, Caesar dost not wrong, nor without cause\\r\\nWill he be satisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\nMETELLUS.\\r\\nIs there no voice more worthy than my own,\\r\\nTo sound more sweetly in great Caesar’s ear\\r\\nFor the repealing of my banish’d brother?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar;\\r\\nDesiring thee that Publius Cimber may\\r\\nHave an immediate freedom of repeal.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nWhat, Brutus?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nPardon, Caesar; Caesar, pardon:\\r\\nAs low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall,\\r\\nTo beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nI could be well mov’d, if I were as you;\\r\\nIf I could pray to move, prayers would move me:\\r\\nBut I am constant as the northern star,\\r\\nOf whose true-fix’d and resting quality\\r\\nThere is no fellow in the firmament.\\r\\nThe skies are painted with unnumber’d sparks,\\r\\nThey are all fire, and every one doth shine;\\r\\nBut there’s but one in all doth hold his place.\\r\\nSo in the world; ’tis furnish’d well with men,\\r\\nAnd men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive;\\r\\nYet in the number I do know but one\\r\\nThat unassailable holds on his rank,\\r\\nUnshak’d of motion: and that I am he,\\r\\nLet me a little show it, even in this,\\r\\nThat I was constant Cimber should be banish’d,\\r\\nAnd constant do remain to keep him so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nO Caesar,—\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nHence! wilt thou lift up Olympus?\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nGreat Caesar,—\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\nDoth not Brutus bootless kneel?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nSpeak, hands, for me!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Casca stabs Caesar in the neck. Caesar catches hold of his arm. He\\r\\n is then stabbed by several other Conspirators, and at last by Marcus\\r\\n Brutus._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAESAR.\\r\\n_Et tu, Brute?_—Then fall, Caesar!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies. The Senators and People retire in confusion._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nLiberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead!\\r\\nRun hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nSome to the common pulpits and cry out,\\r\\n“Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement!”\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nPeople and Senators, be not affrighted.\\r\\nFly not; stand still; ambition’s debt is paid.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nGo to the pulpit, Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nAnd Cassius too.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhere’s Publius?\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nHere, quite confounded with this mutiny.\\r\\n\\r\\nMETELLUS.\\r\\nStand fast together, lest some friend of Caesar’s\\r\\nShould chance—\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nTalk not of standing. Publius, good cheer!\\r\\nThere is no harm intended to your person,\\r\\nNor to no Roman else. So tell them, Publius.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nAnd leave us, Publius; lest that the people\\r\\nRushing on us, should do your age some mischief.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nDo so; and let no man abide this deed\\r\\nBut we the doers.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Trebonius.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWhere’s Antony?\\r\\n\\r\\nTREBONIUS.\\r\\nFled to his house amaz’d.\\r\\nMen, wives, and children stare, cry out, and run,\\r\\nAs it were doomsday.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nFates, we will know your pleasures.\\r\\nThat we shall die, we know; ’tis but the time\\r\\nAnd drawing days out, that men stand upon.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASCA.\\r\\nWhy, he that cuts off twenty years of life\\r\\nCuts off so many years of fearing death.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGrant that, and then is death a benefit:\\r\\nSo are we Caesar’s friends, that have abridg’d\\r\\nHis time of fearing death. Stoop, Romans, stoop,\\r\\nAnd let us bathe our hands in Caesar’s blood\\r\\nUp to the elbows, and besmear our swords:\\r\\nThen walk we forth, even to the market-place,\\r\\nAnd waving our red weapons o’er our heads,\\r\\nLet’s all cry, “Peace, freedom, and liberty!”\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nStoop then, and wash. How many ages hence\\r\\nShall this our lofty scene be acted over\\r\\nIn States unborn, and accents yet unknown!\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHow many times shall Caesar bleed in sport,\\r\\nThat now on Pompey’s basis lies along,\\r\\nNo worthier than the dust!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nSo oft as that shall be,\\r\\nSo often shall the knot of us be call’d\\r\\nThe men that gave their country liberty.\\r\\n\\r\\nDECIUS.\\r\\nWhat, shall we forth?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nAy, every man away.\\r\\nBrutus shall lead; and we will grace his heels\\r\\nWith the most boldest and best hearts of Rome.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nSoft, who comes here? A friend of Antony’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel;\\r\\nThus did Mark Antony bid me fall down;\\r\\nAnd, being prostrate, thus he bade me say:\\r\\nBrutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest;\\r\\nCaesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving;\\r\\nSay I love Brutus and I honour him;\\r\\nSay I fear’d Caesar, honour’d him, and lov’d him.\\r\\nIf Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony\\r\\nMay safely come to him, and be resolv’d\\r\\nHow Caesar hath deserv’d to lie in death,\\r\\nMark Antony shall not love Caesar dead\\r\\nSo well as Brutus living; but will follow\\r\\nThe fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus\\r\\nThorough the hazards of this untrod state,\\r\\nWith all true faith. So says my master Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThy master is a wise and valiant Roman;\\r\\nI never thought him worse.\\r\\nTell him, so please him come unto this place,\\r\\nHe shall be satisfied and, by my honour,\\r\\nDepart untouch’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI’ll fetch him presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI know that we shall have him well to friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI wish we may: but yet have I a mind\\r\\nThat fears him much; and my misgiving still\\r\\nFalls shrewdly to the purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nBut here comes Antony. Welcome, Mark Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nO mighty Caesar! Dost thou lie so low?\\r\\nAre all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils,\\r\\nShrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well.\\r\\nI know not, gentlemen, what you intend,\\r\\nWho else must be let blood, who else is rank:\\r\\nIf I myself, there is no hour so fit\\r\\nAs Caesar’s death’s hour; nor no instrument\\r\\nOf half that worth as those your swords, made rich\\r\\nWith the most noble blood of all this world.\\r\\nI do beseech ye, if you bear me hard,\\r\\nNow, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke,\\r\\nFulfill your pleasure. Live a thousand years,\\r\\nI shall not find myself so apt to die.\\r\\nNo place will please me so, no means of death,\\r\\nAs here by Caesar, and by you cut off,\\r\\nThe choice and master spirits of this age.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nO Antony, beg not your death of us.\\r\\nThough now we must appear bloody and cruel,\\r\\nAs by our hands and this our present act\\r\\nYou see we do; yet see you but our hands\\r\\nAnd this the bleeding business they have done.\\r\\nOur hearts you see not; they are pitiful;\\r\\nAnd pity to the general wrong of Rome—\\r\\nAs fire drives out fire, so pity pity—\\r\\nHath done this deed on Caesar. For your part,\\r\\nTo you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony;\\r\\nOur arms in strength of malice, and our hearts\\r\\nOf brothers’ temper, do receive you in\\r\\nWith all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nYour voice shall be as strong as any man’s\\r\\nIn the disposing of new dignities.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nOnly be patient till we have appeas’d\\r\\nThe multitude, beside themselves with fear,\\r\\nAnd then we will deliver you the cause\\r\\nWhy I, that did love Caesar when I struck him,\\r\\nHave thus proceeded.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nI doubt not of your wisdom.\\r\\nLet each man render me his bloody hand.\\r\\nFirst, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you;\\r\\nNext, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand.\\r\\nNow, Decius Brutus, yours; now yours, Metellus;\\r\\nYours, Cinna; and, my valiant Casca, yours;\\r\\nThough last, not least in love, yours, good Trebonius.\\r\\nGentlemen all—alas, what shall I say?\\r\\nMy credit now stands on such slippery ground,\\r\\nThat one of two bad ways you must conceit me,\\r\\nEither a coward or a flatterer.\\r\\nThat I did love thee, Caesar, O, ’tis true:\\r\\nIf then thy spirit look upon us now,\\r\\nShall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death,\\r\\nTo see thy Antony making his peace,\\r\\nShaking the bloody fingers of thy foes,\\r\\nMost noble, in the presence of thy corse?\\r\\nHad I as many eyes as thou hast wounds,\\r\\nWeeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood,\\r\\nIt would become me better than to close\\r\\nIn terms of friendship with thine enemies.\\r\\nPardon me, Julius! Here wast thou bay’d, brave hart;\\r\\nHere didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand,\\r\\nSign’d in thy spoil, and crimson’d in thy lethe.\\r\\nO world, thou wast the forest to this hart;\\r\\nAnd this indeed, O world, the heart of thee.\\r\\nHow like a deer strucken by many princes,\\r\\nDost thou here lie!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nMark Antony,—\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nPardon me, Caius Cassius:\\r\\nThe enemies of Caesar shall say this;\\r\\nThen, in a friend, it is cold modesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI blame you not for praising Caesar so;\\r\\nBut what compact mean you to have with us?\\r\\nWill you be prick’d in number of our friends,\\r\\nOr shall we on, and not depend on you?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nTherefore I took your hands; but was indeed\\r\\nSway’d from the point, by looking down on Caesar.\\r\\nFriends am I with you all, and love you all,\\r\\nUpon this hope, that you shall give me reasons\\r\\nWhy, and wherein, Caesar was dangerous.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nOr else were this a savage spectacle.\\r\\nOur reasons are so full of good regard\\r\\nThat were you, Antony, the son of Caesar,\\r\\nYou should be satisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nThat’s all I seek,\\r\\nAnd am moreover suitor that I may\\r\\nProduce his body to the market-place;\\r\\nAnd in the pulpit, as becomes a friend,\\r\\nSpeak in the order of his funeral.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nYou shall, Mark Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nBrutus, a word with you.\\r\\n[_Aside to Brutus._] You know not what you do. Do not consent\\r\\nThat Antony speak in his funeral.\\r\\nKnow you how much the people may be mov’d\\r\\nBy that which he will utter?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\n[_Aside to Cassius._] By your pardon:\\r\\nI will myself into the pulpit first,\\r\\nAnd show the reason of our Caesar’s death.\\r\\nWhat Antony shall speak, I will protest\\r\\nHe speaks by leave and by permission;\\r\\nAnd that we are contented Caesar shall\\r\\nHave all true rights and lawful ceremonies.\\r\\nIt shall advantage more than do us wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\n[_Aside to Brutus._] I know not what may fall; I like it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nMark Antony, here, take you Caesar’s body.\\r\\nYou shall not in your funeral speech blame us,\\r\\nBut speak all good you can devise of Caesar,\\r\\nAnd say you do’t by our permission;\\r\\nElse shall you not have any hand at all\\r\\nAbout his funeral. And you shall speak\\r\\nIn the same pulpit whereto I am going,\\r\\nAfter my speech is ended.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nBe it so;\\r\\nI do desire no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nPrepare the body, then, and follow us.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Antony._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nO, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,\\r\\nThat I am meek and gentle with these butchers.\\r\\nThou art the ruins of the noblest man\\r\\nThat ever lived in the tide of times.\\r\\nWoe to the hand that shed this costly blood!\\r\\nOver thy wounds now do I prophesy,\\r\\nWhich, like dumb mouths do ope their ruby lips\\r\\nTo beg the voice and utterance of my tongue,\\r\\nA curse shall light upon the limbs of men;\\r\\nDomestic fury and fierce civil strife\\r\\nShall cumber all the parts of Italy;\\r\\nBlood and destruction shall be so in use,\\r\\nAnd dreadful objects so familiar,\\r\\nThat mothers shall but smile when they behold\\r\\nTheir infants quartered with the hands of war;\\r\\nAll pity chok’d with custom of fell deeds:\\r\\nAnd Caesar’s spirit, ranging for revenge,\\r\\nWith Ate by his side come hot from Hell,\\r\\nShall in these confines with a monarch’s voice\\r\\nCry havoc and let slip the dogs of war,\\r\\nThat this foul deed shall smell above the earth\\r\\nWith carrion men, groaning for burial.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nYou serve Octavius Caesar, do you not?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI do, Mark Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nCaesar did write for him to come to Rome.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nHe did receive his letters, and is coming,\\r\\nAnd bid me say to you by word of mouth,—\\r\\n[_Seeing the body._] O Caesar!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nThy heart is big, get thee apart and weep.\\r\\nPassion, I see, is catching; for mine eyes,\\r\\nSeeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine,\\r\\nBegan to water. Is thy master coming?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nHe lies tonight within seven leagues of Rome.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nPost back with speed, and tell him what hath chanc’d.\\r\\nHere is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome,\\r\\nNo Rome of safety for Octavius yet.\\r\\nHie hence, and tell him so. Yet stay awhile;\\r\\nThou shalt not back till I have borne this corse\\r\\nInto the market-place: there shall I try,\\r\\nIn my oration, how the people take\\r\\nThe cruel issue of these bloody men;\\r\\nAccording to the which thou shalt discourse\\r\\nTo young Octavius of the state of things.\\r\\nLend me your hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt with Caesar’s body._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. The Forum.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Brutus and goes into the pulpit, and Cassius, with a throng of\\r\\n Citizens.\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nWe will be satisfied; let us be satisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThen follow me, and give me audience, friends.\\r\\nCassius, go you into the other street\\r\\nAnd part the numbers.\\r\\nThose that will hear me speak, let ’em stay here;\\r\\nThose that will follow Cassius, go with him;\\r\\nAnd public reasons shall be rendered\\r\\nOf Caesar’s death.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nI will hear Brutus speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nI will hear Cassius; and compare their reasons,\\r\\nWhen severally we hear them rendered.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Cassius, with some of the Citizens. Brutus goes into the\\r\\n rostrum._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nThe noble Brutus is ascended: silence!\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nBe patient till the last.\\r\\nRomans, countrymen, and lovers, hear me for my cause; and be silent,\\r\\nthat you may hear. Believe me for mine honour, and have respect to mine\\r\\nhonour, that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom, and awake your\\r\\nsenses, that you may the better judge. If there be any in this\\r\\nassembly, any dear friend of Caesar’s, to him I say that Brutus’ love\\r\\nto Caesar was no less than his. If then that friend demand why Brutus\\r\\nrose against Caesar, this is my answer: Not that I loved Caesar less,\\r\\nbut that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were living, and die\\r\\nall slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all free men? As Caesar\\r\\nloved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he\\r\\nwas valiant, I honour him; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him. There\\r\\nis tears, for his love; joy for his fortune; honour for his valour; and\\r\\ndeath, for his ambition. Who is here so base, that would be a bondman?\\r\\nIf any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude, that would\\r\\nnot be a Roman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so\\r\\nvile, that will not love his country? If any, speak; for him have I\\r\\noffended. I pause for a reply.\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nNone, Brutus, none.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThen none have I offended. I have done no more to Caesar than you shall\\r\\ndo to Brutus. The question of his death is enroll’d in the Capitol, his\\r\\nglory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy; nor his offences enforc’d,\\r\\nfor which he suffered death.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antony and others, with Caesar’s body.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony, who, though he had no hand\\r\\nin his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the\\r\\ncommonwealth; as which of you shall not? With this I depart, that, as I\\r\\nslew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for\\r\\nmyself, when it shall please my country to need my death.\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nLive, Brutus! live, live!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nBring him with triumph home unto his house.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nGive him a statue with his ancestors.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nLet him be Caesar.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nCaesar’s better parts\\r\\nShall be crown’d in Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nWe’ll bring him to his house with shouts and clamours.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nMy countrymen,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nPeace! Silence! Brutus speaks.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nPeace, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGood countrymen, let me depart alone,\\r\\nAnd, for my sake, stay here with Antony.\\r\\nDo grace to Caesar’s corpse, and grace his speech\\r\\nTending to Caesar’s glories, which Mark Antony,\\r\\nBy our permission, is allow’d to make.\\r\\nI do entreat you, not a man depart,\\r\\nSave I alone, till Antony have spoke.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nStay, ho! and let us hear Mark Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nLet him go up into the public chair.\\r\\nWe’ll hear him. Noble Antony, go up.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nFor Brutus’ sake, I am beholding to you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Goes up._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nWhat does he say of Brutus?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nHe says, for Brutus’ sake\\r\\nHe finds himself beholding to us all.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\n’Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nThis Caesar was a tyrant.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nNay, that’s certain.\\r\\nWe are blest that Rome is rid of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nPeace! let us hear what Antony can say.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nYou gentle Romans,—\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nPeace, ho! let us hear him.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nFriends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;\\r\\nI come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.\\r\\nThe evil that men do lives after them,\\r\\nThe good is oft interred with their bones;\\r\\nSo let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus\\r\\nHath told you Caesar was ambitious.\\r\\nIf it were so, it was a grievous fault,\\r\\nAnd grievously hath Caesar answer’d it.\\r\\nHere, under leave of Brutus and the rest,\\r\\nFor Brutus is an honourable man,\\r\\nSo are they all, all honourable men,\\r\\nCome I to speak in Caesar’s funeral.\\r\\nHe was my friend, faithful and just to me;\\r\\nBut Brutus says he was ambitious,\\r\\nAnd Brutus is an honourable man.\\r\\nHe hath brought many captives home to Rome,\\r\\nWhose ransoms did the general coffers fill:\\r\\nDid this in Caesar seem ambitious?\\r\\nWhen that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept;\\r\\nAmbition should be made of sterner stuff:\\r\\nYet Brutus says he was ambitious;\\r\\nAnd Brutus is an honourable man.\\r\\nYou all did see that on the Lupercal\\r\\nI thrice presented him a kingly crown,\\r\\nWhich he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?\\r\\nYet Brutus says he was ambitious;\\r\\nAnd sure he is an honourable man.\\r\\nI speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,\\r\\nBut here I am to speak what I do know.\\r\\nYou all did love him once, not without cause;\\r\\nWhat cause withholds you then to mourn for him?\\r\\nO judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts,\\r\\nAnd men have lost their reason. Bear with me.\\r\\nMy heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,\\r\\nAnd I must pause till it come back to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nMethinks there is much reason in his sayings.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nIf thou consider rightly of the matter,\\r\\nCaesar has had great wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nHas he, masters?\\r\\nI fear there will a worse come in his place.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nMark’d ye his words? He would not take the crown;\\r\\nTherefore ’tis certain he was not ambitious.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nIf it be found so, some will dear abide it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nPoor soul, his eyes are red as fire with weeping.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nThere’s not a nobler man in Rome than Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nNow mark him; he begins again to speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nBut yesterday the word of Caesar might\\r\\nHave stood against the world; now lies he there,\\r\\nAnd none so poor to do him reverence.\\r\\nO masters! If I were dispos’d to stir\\r\\nYour hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,\\r\\nI should do Brutus wrong and Cassius wrong,\\r\\nWho, you all know, are honourable men.\\r\\nI will not do them wrong; I rather choose\\r\\nTo wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you,\\r\\nThan I will wrong such honourable men.\\r\\nBut here’s a parchment with the seal of Caesar,\\r\\nI found it in his closet; ’tis his will:\\r\\nLet but the commons hear this testament,\\r\\nWhich, pardon me, I do not mean to read,\\r\\nAnd they would go and kiss dead Caesar’s wounds,\\r\\nAnd dip their napkins in his sacred blood;\\r\\nYea, beg a hair of him for memory,\\r\\nAnd, dying, mention it within their wills,\\r\\nBequeathing it as a rich legacy\\r\\nUnto their issue.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nWe’ll hear the will. Read it, Mark Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nThe will, the will! We will hear Caesar’s will.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nHave patience, gentle friends, I must not read it.\\r\\nIt is not meet you know how Caesar loved you.\\r\\nYou are not wood, you are not stones, but men;\\r\\nAnd being men, hearing the will of Caesar,\\r\\nIt will inflame you, it will make you mad.\\r\\n’Tis good you know not that you are his heirs;\\r\\nFor if you should, O, what would come of it?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nRead the will! We’ll hear it, Antony;\\r\\nYou shall read us the will, Caesar’s will!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nWill you be patient? Will you stay awhile?\\r\\nI have o’ershot myself to tell you of it.\\r\\nI fear I wrong the honourable men\\r\\nWhose daggers have stabb’d Caesar; I do fear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nThey were traitors. Honourable men!\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nThe will! The testament!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nThey were villains, murderers. The will! Read the will!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nYou will compel me then to read the will?\\r\\nThen make a ring about the corpse of Caesar,\\r\\nAnd let me show you him that made the will.\\r\\nShall I descend? and will you give me leave?\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nCome down.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nDescend.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He comes down._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nYou shall have leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nA ring! Stand round.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nStand from the hearse, stand from the body.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nRoom for Antony, most noble Antony!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nNay, press not so upon me; stand far off.\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nStand back; room! bear back.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nIf you have tears, prepare to shed them now.\\r\\nYou all do know this mantle. I remember\\r\\nThe first time ever Caesar put it on;\\r\\n’Twas on a Summer’s evening, in his tent,\\r\\nThat day he overcame the Nervii.\\r\\nLook, in this place ran Cassius’ dagger through:\\r\\nSee what a rent the envious Casca made:\\r\\nThrough this the well-beloved Brutus stabb’d;\\r\\nAnd as he pluck’d his cursed steel away,\\r\\nMark how the blood of Caesar follow’d it,\\r\\nAs rushing out of doors, to be resolv’d\\r\\nIf Brutus so unkindly knock’d, or no;\\r\\nFor Brutus, as you know, was Caesar’s angel.\\r\\nJudge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar lov’d him.\\r\\nThis was the most unkindest cut of all;\\r\\nFor when the noble Caesar saw him stab,\\r\\nIngratitude, more strong than traitors’ arms,\\r\\nQuite vanquish’d him: then burst his mighty heart;\\r\\nAnd in his mantle muffling up his face,\\r\\nEven at the base of Pompey’s statue\\r\\nWhich all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell.\\r\\nO, what a fall was there, my countrymen!\\r\\nThen I, and you, and all of us fell down,\\r\\nWhilst bloody treason flourish’d over us.\\r\\nO, now you weep; and I perceive you feel\\r\\nThe dint of pity. These are gracious drops.\\r\\nKind souls, what weep you when you but behold\\r\\nOur Caesar’s vesture wounded? Look you here,\\r\\nHere is himself, marr’d, as you see, with traitors.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nO piteous spectacle!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nO noble Caesar!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nO woeful day!\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nO traitors, villains!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nO most bloody sight!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nWe will be revenged.\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nRevenge,—about,—seek,—burn,—fire,—kill,—slay,—let not a traitor live!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nStay, countrymen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nPeace there! Hear the noble Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nWe’ll hear him, we’ll follow him, we’ll die with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nGood friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up\\r\\nTo such a sudden flood of mutiny.\\r\\nThey that have done this deed are honourable.\\r\\nWhat private griefs they have, alas, I know not,\\r\\nThat made them do it. They’re wise and honourable,\\r\\nAnd will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.\\r\\nI come not, friends, to steal away your hearts.\\r\\nI am no orator, as Brutus is;\\r\\nBut, as you know me all, a plain blunt man,\\r\\nThat love my friend; and that they know full well\\r\\nThat gave me public leave to speak of him.\\r\\nFor I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,\\r\\nAction, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,\\r\\nTo stir men’s blood. I only speak right on.\\r\\nI tell you that which you yourselves do know,\\r\\nShow you sweet Caesar’s wounds, poor poor dumb mouths,\\r\\nAnd bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus,\\r\\nAnd Brutus Antony, there were an Antony\\r\\nWould ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue\\r\\nIn every wound of Caesar, that should move\\r\\nThe stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nWe’ll mutiny.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nWe’ll burn the house of Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nAway, then! come, seek the conspirators.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nYet hear me, countrymen; yet hear me speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nPeace, ho! Hear Antony; most noble Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nWhy, friends, you go to do you know not what.\\r\\nWherein hath Caesar thus deserved your loves?\\r\\nAlas, you know not; I must tell you then.\\r\\nYou have forgot the will I told you of.\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nMost true; the will!—let’s stay, and hear the will.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nHere is the will, and under Caesar’s seal.\\r\\nTo every Roman citizen he gives,\\r\\nTo every several man, seventy-five drachmas.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nMost noble Caesar! We’ll revenge his death.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nO, royal Caesar!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nHear me with patience.\\r\\n\\r\\nCITIZENS.\\r\\nPeace, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nMoreover, he hath left you all his walks,\\r\\nHis private arbors, and new-planted orchards,\\r\\nOn this side Tiber; he hath left them you,\\r\\nAnd to your heirs forever; common pleasures,\\r\\nTo walk abroad, and recreate yourselves.\\r\\nHere was a Caesar! when comes such another?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nNever, never. Come, away, away!\\r\\nWe’ll burn his body in the holy place,\\r\\nAnd with the brands fire the traitors’ houses.\\r\\nTake up the body.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nGo, fetch fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nPluck down benches.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nPluck down forms, windows, anything.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Citizens, with the body._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nNow let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot,\\r\\nTake thou what course thou wilt!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, fellow?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nSir, Octavius is already come to Rome.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nWhere is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nHe and Lepidus are at Caesar’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nAnd thither will I straight to visit him.\\r\\nHe comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry,\\r\\nAnd in this mood will give us anything.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI heard him say Brutus and Cassius\\r\\nAre rid like madmen through the gates of Rome.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nBelike they had some notice of the people,\\r\\nHow I had moved them. Bring me to Octavius.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cinna, the poet, and after him the citizens.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nI dreamt tonight that I did feast with Caesar,\\r\\nAnd things unluckily charge my fantasy.\\r\\nI have no will to wander forth of doors,\\r\\nYet something leads me forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nWhat is your name?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nWhither are you going?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nWhere do you dwell?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nAre you a married man or a bachelor?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nAnswer every man directly.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nAy, and briefly.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nAy, and wisely.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nAy, and truly, you were best.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nWhat is my name? Whither am I going? Where do I dwell? Am I a married\\r\\nman or a bachelor? Then, to answer every man directly and briefly,\\r\\nwisely and truly. Wisely I say I am a bachelor.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nThat’s as much as to say they are fools that marry; you’ll bear me a\\r\\nbang for that, I fear. Proceed, directly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nDirectly, I am going to Caesar’s funeral.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nAs a friend, or an enemy?\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nAs a friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND CITIZEN.\\r\\nThat matter is answered directly.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nFor your dwelling, briefly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nBriefly, I dwell by the Capitol.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nYour name, sir, truly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nTruly, my name is Cinna.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nTear him to pieces! He’s a conspirator.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nI am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nTear him for his bad verses, tear him for his bad verses.\\r\\n\\r\\nCINNA.\\r\\nI am not Cinna the conspirator.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOURTH CITIZEN.\\r\\nIt is no matter, his name’s Cinna; pluck but his name out of his heart,\\r\\nand turn him going.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD CITIZEN.\\r\\nTear him, tear him! Come; brands, ho! firebrands. To Brutus’, to\\r\\nCassius’; burn all. Some to Decius’ house, and some to Casca’s, some to\\r\\nLigarius’. Away, go!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Rome. A room in Antony’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antony, Octavius and Lepidus, seated at a table.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nThese many then shall die; their names are prick’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nYour brother too must die; consent you, Lepidus?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEPIDUS.\\r\\nI do consent,—\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nPrick him down, Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEPIDUS.\\r\\nUpon condition Publius shall not live,\\r\\nWho is your sister’s son, Mark Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nHe shall not live; look, with a spot I damn him.\\r\\nBut, Lepidus, go you to Caesar’s house;\\r\\nFetch the will hither, and we shall determine\\r\\nHow to cut off some charge in legacies.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEPIDUS.\\r\\nWhat, shall I find you here?\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nOr here, or at the Capitol.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lepidus._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nThis is a slight unmeritable man,\\r\\nMeet to be sent on errands. Is it fit,\\r\\nThe three-fold world divided, he should stand\\r\\nOne of the three to share it?\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nSo you thought him,\\r\\nAnd took his voice who should be prick’d to die\\r\\nIn our black sentence and proscription.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nOctavius, I have seen more days than you;\\r\\nAnd though we lay these honours on this man,\\r\\nTo ease ourselves of divers sland’rous loads,\\r\\nHe shall but bear them as the ass bears gold,\\r\\nTo groan and sweat under the business,\\r\\nEither led or driven, as we point the way;\\r\\nAnd having brought our treasure where we will,\\r\\nThen take we down his load, and turn him off,\\r\\nLike to the empty ass, to shake his ears,\\r\\nAnd graze in commons.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nYou may do your will;\\r\\nBut he’s a tried and valiant soldier.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nSo is my horse, Octavius; and for that\\r\\nI do appoint him store of provender.\\r\\nIt is a creature that I teach to fight,\\r\\nTo wind, to stop, to run directly on,\\r\\nHis corporal motion govern’d by my spirit.\\r\\nAnd, in some taste, is Lepidus but so:\\r\\nHe must be taught, and train’d, and bid go forth:\\r\\nA barren-spirited fellow; one that feeds\\r\\nOn objects, arts, and imitations,\\r\\nWhich, out of use and stal’d by other men,\\r\\nBegin his fashion. Do not talk of him\\r\\nBut as a property. And now, Octavius,\\r\\nListen great things. Brutus and Cassius\\r\\nAre levying powers; we must straight make head.\\r\\nTherefore let our alliance be combin’d,\\r\\nOur best friends made, our means stretch’d;\\r\\nAnd let us presently go sit in council,\\r\\nHow covert matters may be best disclos’d,\\r\\nAnd open perils surest answered.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nLet us do so: for we are at the stake,\\r\\nAnd bay’d about with many enemies;\\r\\nAnd some that smile have in their hearts, I fear,\\r\\nMillions of mischiefs.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Before Brutus’ tent, in the camp near Sardis.\\r\\n\\r\\n Drum. Enter Brutus, Lucilius, Titinius and Soldiers; Pindarus meeting\\r\\n them; Lucius at some distance.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nStand, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCILIUS.\\r\\nGive the word, ho! and stand.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhat now, Lucilius! is Cassius near?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCILIUS.\\r\\nHe is at hand, and Pindarus is come\\r\\nTo do you salutation from his master.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Pindarus gives a letter to Brutus._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHe greets me well. Your master, Pindarus,\\r\\nIn his own change, or by ill officers,\\r\\nHath given me some worthy cause to wish\\r\\nThings done, undone: but, if he be at hand,\\r\\nI shall be satisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\nPINDARUS.\\r\\nI do not doubt\\r\\nBut that my noble master will appear\\r\\nSuch as he is, full of regard and honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHe is not doubted. A word, Lucilius;\\r\\nHow he received you, let me be resolv’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCILIUS.\\r\\nWith courtesy and with respect enough,\\r\\nBut not with such familiar instances,\\r\\nNor with such free and friendly conference,\\r\\nAs he hath us’d of old.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThou hast describ’d\\r\\nA hot friend cooling. Ever note, Lucilius,\\r\\nWhen love begins to sicken and decay\\r\\nIt useth an enforced ceremony.\\r\\nThere are no tricks in plain and simple faith;\\r\\nBut hollow men, like horses hot at hand,\\r\\nMake gallant show and promise of their mettle;\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Low march within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBut when they should endure the bloody spur,\\r\\nThey fall their crests, and like deceitful jades\\r\\nSink in the trial. Comes his army on?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCILIUS.\\r\\nThey meant this night in Sardis to be quarter’d;\\r\\nThe greater part, the horse in general,\\r\\nAre come with Cassius.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassius and Soldiers.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHark! he is arriv’d.\\r\\nMarch gently on to meet him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nStand, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nStand, ho! Speak the word along.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SOLDIER.\\r\\nStand!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SOLDIER.\\r\\nStand!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD SOLDIER.\\r\\nStand!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nMost noble brother, you have done me wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nJudge me, you gods; wrong I mine enemies?\\r\\nAnd if not so, how should I wrong a brother?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nBrutus, this sober form of yours hides wrongs;\\r\\nAnd when you do them—\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nCassius, be content.\\r\\nSpeak your griefs softly, I do know you well.\\r\\nBefore the eyes of both our armies here,\\r\\nWhich should perceive nothing but love from us,\\r\\nLet us not wrangle. Bid them move away;\\r\\nThen in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs,\\r\\nAnd I will give you audience.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nPindarus,\\r\\nBid our commanders lead their charges off\\r\\nA little from this ground.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nLucilius, do you the like; and let no man\\r\\nCome to our tent till we have done our conference.\\r\\nLucius and Titinius, guard our door.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Within the tent of Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Brutus and Cassius.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThat you have wrong’d me doth appear in this:\\r\\nYou have condemn’d and noted Lucius Pella\\r\\nFor taking bribes here of the Sardians;\\r\\nWherein my letters, praying on his side\\r\\nBecause I knew the man, were slighted off.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nYou wrong’d yourself to write in such a case.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nIn such a time as this it is not meet\\r\\nThat every nice offence should bear his comment.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nLet me tell you, Cassius, you yourself\\r\\nAre much condemn’d to have an itching palm,\\r\\nTo sell and mart your offices for gold\\r\\nTo undeservers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI an itching palm!\\r\\nYou know that you are Brutus that speak this,\\r\\nOr, by the gods, this speech were else your last.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThe name of Cassius honours this corruption,\\r\\nAnd chastisement doth therefore hide his head.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nChastisement!\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nRemember March, the Ides of March remember:\\r\\nDid not great Julius bleed for justice’ sake?\\r\\nWhat villain touch’d his body, that did stab,\\r\\nAnd not for justice? What! Shall one of us,\\r\\nThat struck the foremost man of all this world\\r\\nBut for supporting robbers, shall we now\\r\\nContaminate our fingers with base bribes,\\r\\nAnd sell the mighty space of our large honours\\r\\nFor so much trash as may be grasped thus?\\r\\nI had rather be a dog, and bay the moon,\\r\\nThan such a Roman.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nBrutus, bait not me,\\r\\nI’ll not endure it. You forget yourself,\\r\\nTo hedge me in. I am a soldier, I,\\r\\nOlder in practice, abler than yourself\\r\\nTo make conditions.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGo to; you are not, Cassius.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI am.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI say you are not.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nUrge me no more, I shall forget myself;\\r\\nHave mind upon your health, tempt me no farther.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nAway, slight man!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHear me, for I will speak.\\r\\nMust I give way and room to your rash choler?\\r\\nShall I be frighted when a madman stares?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nO ye gods, ye gods! Must I endure all this?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nAll this? ay, more: fret till your proud heart break;\\r\\nGo show your slaves how choleric you are,\\r\\nAnd make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge?\\r\\nMust I observe you? Must I stand and crouch\\r\\nUnder your testy humour? By the gods,\\r\\nYou shall digest the venom of your spleen,\\r\\nThough it do split you; for, from this day forth,\\r\\nI’ll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,\\r\\nWhen you are waspish.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nIs it come to this?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nYou say you are a better soldier:\\r\\nLet it appear so; make your vaunting true,\\r\\nAnd it shall please me well. For mine own part,\\r\\nI shall be glad to learn of noble men.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nYou wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus.\\r\\nI said, an elder soldier, not a better:\\r\\nDid I say better?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nIf you did, I care not.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWhen Caesar liv’d, he durst not thus have mov’d me.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nPeace, peace! you durst not so have tempted him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI durst not?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWhat? durst not tempt him?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nFor your life you durst not.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nDo not presume too much upon my love.\\r\\nI may do that I shall be sorry for.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nYou have done that you should be sorry for.\\r\\nThere is no terror, Cassius, in your threats,\\r\\nFor I am arm’d so strong in honesty,\\r\\nThat they pass by me as the idle wind,\\r\\nWhich I respect not. I did send to you\\r\\nFor certain sums of gold, which you denied me;\\r\\nFor I can raise no money by vile means:\\r\\nBy Heaven, I had rather coin my heart,\\r\\nAnd drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring\\r\\nFrom the hard hands of peasants their vile trash\\r\\nBy any indirection. I did send\\r\\nTo you for gold to pay my legions,\\r\\nWhich you denied me: was that done like Cassius?\\r\\nShould I have answer’d Caius Cassius so?\\r\\nWhen Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,\\r\\nTo lock such rascal counters from his friends,\\r\\nBe ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,\\r\\nDash him to pieces!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI denied you not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nYou did.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI did not. He was but a fool\\r\\nThat brought my answer back. Brutus hath riv’d my heart.\\r\\nA friend should bear his friend’s infirmities;\\r\\nBut Brutus makes mine greater than they are.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI do not, till you practise them on me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nYou love me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI do not like your faults.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nA friendly eye could never see such faults.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nA flatterer’s would not, though they do appear\\r\\nAs huge as high Olympus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nCome, Antony, and young Octavius, come,\\r\\nRevenge yourselves alone on Cassius,\\r\\nFor Cassius is a-weary of the world:\\r\\nHated by one he loves; brav’d by his brother;\\r\\nCheck’d like a bondman; all his faults observ’d,\\r\\nSet in a note-book, learn’d and conn’d by rote,\\r\\nTo cast into my teeth. O, I could weep\\r\\nMy spirit from mine eyes! There is my dagger,\\r\\nAnd here my naked breast; within, a heart\\r\\nDearer than Plutus’ mine, richer than gold:\\r\\nIf that thou be’st a Roman, take it forth.\\r\\nI, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:\\r\\nStrike as thou didst at Caesar; for I know,\\r\\nWhen thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better\\r\\nThan ever thou lovedst Cassius.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nSheathe your dagger.\\r\\nBe angry when you will, it shall have scope;\\r\\nDo what you will, dishonour shall be humour.\\r\\nO Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb\\r\\nThat carries anger as the flint bears fire,\\r\\nWho, much enforced, shows a hasty spark,\\r\\nAnd straight is cold again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nHath Cassius liv’d\\r\\nTo be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,\\r\\nWhen grief and blood ill-temper’d vexeth him?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhen I spoke that, I was ill-temper’d too.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nDo you confess so much? Give me your hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nAnd my heart too.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nO Brutus!\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nHave not you love enough to bear with me,\\r\\nWhen that rash humour which my mother gave me\\r\\nMakes me forgetful?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nYes, Cassius; and from henceforth,\\r\\nWhen you are over-earnest with your Brutus,\\r\\nHe’ll think your mother chides, and leave you so.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Poet, followed by Lucilius, Titinius and Lucius.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOET.\\r\\n[_Within._] Let me go in to see the generals,\\r\\nThere is some grudge between ’em; ’tis not meet\\r\\nThey be alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCILIUS.\\r\\n[_Within._] You shall not come to them.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOET.\\r\\n[_Within._] Nothing but death shall stay me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nHow now! What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOET.\\r\\nFor shame, you generals! What do you mean?\\r\\nLove, and be friends, as two such men should be;\\r\\nFor I have seen more years, I’m sure, than ye.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nHa, ha! How vilely doth this cynic rhyme!\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGet you hence, sirrah. Saucy fellow, hence!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nBear with him, Brutus; ’tis his fashion.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI’ll know his humour when he knows his time.\\r\\nWhat should the wars do with these jigging fools?\\r\\nCompanion, hence!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nAway, away, be gone!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Poet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nLucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders\\r\\nPrepare to lodge their companies tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nAnd come yourselves and bring Messala with you\\r\\nImmediately to us.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nLucius, a bowl of wine.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lucius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI did not think you could have been so angry.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nO Cassius, I am sick of many griefs.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nOf your philosophy you make no use,\\r\\nIf you give place to accidental evils.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNo man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nHa? Portia?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nShe is dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nHow ’scap’d I killing, when I cross’d you so?\\r\\nO insupportable and touching loss!\\r\\nUpon what sickness?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nImpatient of my absence,\\r\\nAnd grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony\\r\\nHave made themselves so strong; for with her death\\r\\nThat tidings came. With this she fell distract,\\r\\nAnd, her attendants absent, swallow’d fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nAnd died so?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nEven so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nO ye immortal gods!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucius, with wine and a taper.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nSpeak no more of her. Give me a bowl of wine.\\r\\nIn this I bury all unkindness, Cassius.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Drinks._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nMy heart is thirsty for that noble pledge.\\r\\nFill, Lucius, till the wine o’erswell the cup.\\r\\nI cannot drink too much of Brutus’ love.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Drinks._]\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lucius._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Titinius and Messala.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nCome in, Titinius!\\r\\nWelcome, good Messala.\\r\\nNow sit we close about this taper here,\\r\\nAnd call in question our necessities.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nPortia, art thou gone?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNo more, I pray you.\\r\\nMessala, I have here received letters,\\r\\nThat young Octavius and Mark Antony\\r\\nCome down upon us with a mighty power,\\r\\nBending their expedition toward Philippi.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nMyself have letters of the selfsame tenor.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWith what addition?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nThat by proscription and bills of outlawry\\r\\nOctavius, Antony, and Lepidus\\r\\nHave put to death an hundred Senators.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nTherein our letters do not well agree.\\r\\nMine speak of seventy Senators that died\\r\\nBy their proscriptions, Cicero being one.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nCicero one!\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nCicero is dead,\\r\\nAnd by that order of proscription.\\r\\nHad you your letters from your wife, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNo, Messala.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nNor nothing in your letters writ of her?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNothing, Messala.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nThat, methinks, is strange.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhy ask you? Hear you aught of her in yours?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nNo, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNow as you are a Roman, tell me true.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nThen like a Roman bear the truth I tell,\\r\\nFor certain she is dead, and by strange manner.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhy, farewell, Portia. We must die, Messala.\\r\\nWith meditating that she must die once,\\r\\nI have the patience to endure it now.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nEven so great men great losses should endure.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI have as much of this in art as you,\\r\\nBut yet my nature could not bear it so.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWell, to our work alive. What do you think\\r\\nOf marching to Philippi presently?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI do not think it good.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nYour reason?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThis it is:\\r\\n’Tis better that the enemy seek us;\\r\\nSo shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers,\\r\\nDoing himself offence, whilst we, lying still,\\r\\nAre full of rest, defence, and nimbleness.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGood reasons must of force give place to better.\\r\\nThe people ’twixt Philippi and this ground\\r\\nDo stand but in a forced affection;\\r\\nFor they have grudg’d us contribution.\\r\\nThe enemy, marching along by them,\\r\\nBy them shall make a fuller number up,\\r\\nCome on refresh’d, new-added, and encourag’d;\\r\\nFrom which advantage shall we cut him off\\r\\nIf at Philippi we do face him there,\\r\\nThese people at our back.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nHear me, good brother.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nUnder your pardon. You must note besides,\\r\\nThat we have tried the utmost of our friends,\\r\\nOur legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe.\\r\\nThe enemy increaseth every day;\\r\\nWe, at the height, are ready to decline.\\r\\nThere is a tide in the affairs of men,\\r\\nWhich, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;\\r\\nOmitted, all the voyage of their life\\r\\nIs bound in shallows and in miseries.\\r\\nOn such a full sea are we now afloat,\\r\\nAnd we must take the current when it serves,\\r\\nOr lose our ventures.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThen, with your will, go on:\\r\\nWe’ll along ourselves, and meet them at Philippi.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThe deep of night is crept upon our talk,\\r\\nAnd nature must obey necessity,\\r\\nWhich we will niggard with a little rest.\\r\\nThere is no more to say?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nNo more. Good night:\\r\\nEarly tomorrow will we rise, and hence.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucius.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nLucius! My gown.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lucius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFarewell now, good Messala.\\r\\nGood night, Titinius. Noble, noble Cassius,\\r\\nGood night, and good repose.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nO my dear brother!\\r\\nThis was an ill beginning of the night.\\r\\nNever come such division ’tween our souls!\\r\\nLet it not, Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucius with the gown.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nEverything is well.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nGood night, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGood night, good brother.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITINIUS and MESSALA.\\r\\nGood night, Lord Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nFarewell, everyone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Cassius, Titinius and Messala._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGive me the gown. Where is thy instrument?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nHere in the tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhat, thou speak’st drowsily?\\r\\nPoor knave, I blame thee not, thou art o’er-watch’d.\\r\\nCall Claudius and some other of my men;\\r\\nI’ll have them sleep on cushions in my tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nVarro and Claudius!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Varro and Claudius.\\r\\n\\r\\nVARRO.\\r\\nCalls my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI pray you, sirs, lie in my tent and sleep;\\r\\nIt may be I shall raise you by-and-by\\r\\nOn business to my brother Cassius.\\r\\n\\r\\nVARRO.\\r\\nSo please you, we will stand and watch your pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI will not have it so; lie down, good sirs,\\r\\nIt may be I shall otherwise bethink me.\\r\\nLook, Lucius, here’s the book I sought for so;\\r\\nI put it in the pocket of my gown.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Servants lie down._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nI was sure your lordship did not give it me.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nBear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful.\\r\\nCanst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile,\\r\\nAnd touch thy instrument a strain or two?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nAy, my lord, an’t please you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nIt does, my boy.\\r\\nI trouble thee too much, but thou art willing.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nIt is my duty, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nI should not urge thy duty past thy might;\\r\\nI know young bloods look for a time of rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nI have slept, my lord, already.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nIt was well done, and thou shalt sleep again;\\r\\nI will not hold thee long. If I do live,\\r\\nI will be good to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Lucius plays and sings till he falls asleep._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThis is a sleepy tune. O murd’rous slumber,\\r\\nLayest thou thy leaden mace upon my boy,\\r\\nThat plays thee music? Gentle knave, good night;\\r\\nI will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee.\\r\\nIf thou dost nod, thou break’st thy instrument;\\r\\nI’ll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night.\\r\\nLet me see, let me see; is not the leaf turn’d down\\r\\nWhere I left reading? Here it is, I think.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the Ghost of Caesar.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here?\\r\\nI think it is the weakness of mine eyes\\r\\nThat shapes this monstrous apparition.\\r\\nIt comes upon me. Art thou anything?\\r\\nArt thou some god, some angel, or some devil,\\r\\nThat mak’st my blood cold and my hair to stare?\\r\\nSpeak to me what thou art.\\r\\n\\r\\nGHOST.\\r\\nThy evil spirit, Brutus.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhy com’st thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nGHOST.\\r\\nTo tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWell; then I shall see thee again?\\r\\n\\r\\nGHOST.\\r\\nAy, at Philippi.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhy, I will see thee at Philippi then.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Ghost vanishes._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow I have taken heart, thou vanishest.\\r\\nIll spirit, I would hold more talk with thee.\\r\\nBoy! Lucius! Varro! Claudius! Sirs, awake! Claudius!\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nThe strings, my lord, are false.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHe thinks he still is at his instrument.\\r\\nLucius, awake!\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nDidst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so criedst out?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nMy lord, I do not know that I did cry.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nYes, that thou didst. Didst thou see anything?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS.\\r\\nNothing, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nSleep again, Lucius. Sirrah Claudius!\\r\\nFellow thou, awake!\\r\\n\\r\\nVARRO.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLAUDIUS.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhy did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep?\\r\\n\\r\\nVARRO. CLAUDIUS.\\r\\nDid we, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nAy. Saw you anything?\\r\\n\\r\\nVARRO.\\r\\nNo, my lord, I saw nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLAUDIUS.\\r\\nNor I, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGo and commend me to my brother Cassius;\\r\\nBid him set on his powers betimes before,\\r\\nAnd we will follow.\\r\\n\\r\\nVARRO. CLAUDIUS.\\r\\nIt shall be done, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The plains of Philippi.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Octavius, Antony and their Army.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nNow, Antony, our hopes are answered.\\r\\nYou said the enemy would not come down,\\r\\nBut keep the hills and upper regions.\\r\\nIt proves not so; their battles are at hand,\\r\\nThey mean to warn us at Philippi here,\\r\\nAnswering before we do demand of them.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nTut, I am in their bosoms, and I know\\r\\nWherefore they do it. They could be content\\r\\nTo visit other places, and come down\\r\\nWith fearful bravery, thinking by this face\\r\\nTo fasten in our thoughts that they have courage;\\r\\nBut ’tis not so.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nPrepare you, generals.\\r\\nThe enemy comes on in gallant show;\\r\\nTheir bloody sign of battle is hung out,\\r\\nAnd something to be done immediately.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nOctavius, lead your battle softly on\\r\\nUpon the left hand of the even field.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nUpon the right hand I. Keep thou the left.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nWhy do you cross me in this exigent?\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nI do not cross you; but I will do so.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_March._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDrum. Enter Brutus, Cassius and their Army; Lucilius, Titinius, Messala\\r\\nand others.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nThey stand, and would have parley.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nStand fast, Titinius; we must out and talk.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nMark Antony, shall we give sign of battle?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nNo, Caesar, we will answer on their charge.\\r\\nMake forth; the generals would have some words.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nStir not until the signal.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWords before blows: is it so, countrymen?\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nNot that we love words better, as you do.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nGood words are better than bad strokes, Octavius.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nIn your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good words;\\r\\nWitness the hole you made in Caesar’s heart,\\r\\nCrying, “Long live! Hail, Caesar!”\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nAntony,\\r\\nThe posture of your blows are yet unknown;\\r\\nBut for your words, they rob the Hybla bees,\\r\\nAnd leave them honeyless.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nNot stingless too.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nO yes, and soundless too,\\r\\nFor you have stol’n their buzzing, Antony,\\r\\nAnd very wisely threat before you sting.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nVillains, you did not so when your vile daggers\\r\\nHack’d one another in the sides of Caesar:\\r\\nYou show’d your teeth like apes, and fawn’d like hounds,\\r\\nAnd bow’d like bondmen, kissing Caesar’s feet;\\r\\nWhilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind\\r\\nStruck Caesar on the neck. O you flatterers!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nFlatterers! Now, Brutus, thank yourself.\\r\\nThis tongue had not offended so today,\\r\\nIf Cassius might have rul’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nCome, come, the cause. If arguing makes us sweat,\\r\\nThe proof of it will turn to redder drops.\\r\\nLook, I draw a sword against conspirators.\\r\\nWhen think you that the sword goes up again?\\r\\nNever, till Caesar’s three and thirty wounds\\r\\nBe well aveng’d; or till another Caesar\\r\\nHave added slaughter to the sword of traitors.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nCaesar, thou canst not die by traitors’ hands,\\r\\nUnless thou bring’st them with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nSo I hope.\\r\\nI was not born to die on Brutus’ sword.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nO, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain,\\r\\nYoung man, thou couldst not die more honourable.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nA peevish school-boy, worthless of such honour,\\r\\nJoin’d with a masker and a reveller.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nOld Cassius still!\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nCome, Antony; away!\\r\\nDefiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth.\\r\\nIf you dare fight today, come to the field;\\r\\nIf not, when you have stomachs.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Octavius, Antony and their Army._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWhy now, blow wind, swell billow, and swim bark!\\r\\nThe storm is up, and all is on the hazard.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHo, Lucilius! Hark, a word with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCILIUS.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Brutus and Lucilius talk apart._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nMessala.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nWhat says my General?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nMessala,\\r\\nThis is my birth-day; as this very day\\r\\nWas Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala:\\r\\nBe thou my witness that against my will\\r\\nAs Pompey was, am I compell’d to set\\r\\nUpon one battle all our liberties.\\r\\nYou know that I held Epicurus strong,\\r\\nAnd his opinion. Now I change my mind,\\r\\nAnd partly credit things that do presage.\\r\\nComing from Sardis, on our former ensign\\r\\nTwo mighty eagles fell, and there they perch’d,\\r\\nGorging and feeding from our soldiers’ hands,\\r\\nWho to Philippi here consorted us.\\r\\nThis morning are they fled away and gone,\\r\\nAnd in their steads do ravens, crows, and kites\\r\\nFly o’er our heads, and downward look on us,\\r\\nAs we were sickly prey: their shadows seem\\r\\nA canopy most fatal, under which\\r\\nOur army lies, ready to give up the ghost.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nBelieve not so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nI but believe it partly,\\r\\nFor I am fresh of spirit, and resolv’d\\r\\nTo meet all perils very constantly.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nEven so, Lucilius.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nNow, most noble Brutus,\\r\\nThe gods today stand friendly, that we may,\\r\\nLovers in peace, lead on our days to age!\\r\\nBut, since the affairs of men rest still incertain,\\r\\nLet’s reason with the worst that may befall.\\r\\nIf we do lose this battle, then is this\\r\\nThe very last time we shall speak together:\\r\\nWhat are you then determined to do?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nEven by the rule of that philosophy\\r\\nBy which I did blame Cato for the death\\r\\nWhich he did give himself, I know not how,\\r\\nBut I do find it cowardly and vile,\\r\\nFor fear of what might fall, so to prevent\\r\\nThe time of life, arming myself with patience\\r\\nTo stay the providence of some high powers\\r\\nThat govern us below.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThen, if we lose this battle,\\r\\nYou are contented to be led in triumph\\r\\nThorough the streets of Rome?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNo, Cassius, no: think not, thou noble Roman,\\r\\nThat ever Brutus will go bound to Rome;\\r\\nHe bears too great a mind. But this same day\\r\\nMust end that work the Ides of March begun;\\r\\nAnd whether we shall meet again I know not.\\r\\nTherefore our everlasting farewell take.\\r\\nFor ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius.\\r\\nIf we do meet again, why, we shall smile;\\r\\nIf not, why then this parting was well made.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nFor ever and for ever farewell, Brutus.\\r\\nIf we do meet again, we’ll smile indeed;\\r\\nIf not, ’tis true this parting was well made.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhy then, lead on. O, that a man might know\\r\\nThe end of this day’s business ere it come!\\r\\nBut it sufficeth that the day will end,\\r\\nAnd then the end is known. Come, ho! away!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. The field of battle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter Brutus and Messala.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nRide, ride, Messala, ride, and give these bills\\r\\nUnto the legions on the other side.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Loud alarum._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLet them set on at once; for I perceive\\r\\nBut cold demeanor in Octavius’ wing,\\r\\nAnd sudden push gives them the overthrow.\\r\\nRide, ride, Messala; let them all come down.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Another part of the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter Cassius and Titinius.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nO, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly!\\r\\nMyself have to mine own turn’d enemy:\\r\\nThis ensign here of mine was turning back;\\r\\nI slew the coward, and did take it from him.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITINIUS.\\r\\nO Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early,\\r\\nWho, having some advantage on Octavius,\\r\\nTook it too eagerly: his soldiers fell to spoil,\\r\\nWhilst we by Antony are all enclos’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pindarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPINDARUS.\\r\\nFly further off, my lord, fly further off;\\r\\nMark Antony is in your tents, my lord.\\r\\nFly, therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nThis hill is far enough. Look, look, Titinius;\\r\\nAre those my tents where I perceive the fire?\\r\\n\\r\\nTITINIUS.\\r\\nThey are, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nTitinius, if thou lovest me,\\r\\nMount thou my horse and hide thy spurs in him,\\r\\nTill he have brought thee up to yonder troops\\r\\nAnd here again, that I may rest assur’d\\r\\nWhether yond troops are friend or enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITINIUS.\\r\\nI will be here again, even with a thought.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nGo, Pindarus, get higher on that hill,\\r\\nMy sight was ever thick. Regard Titinius,\\r\\nAnd tell me what thou notest about the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Pindarus goes up._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThis day I breathed first. Time is come round,\\r\\nAnd where I did begin, there shall I end.\\r\\nMy life is run his compass. Sirrah, what news?\\r\\n\\r\\nPINDARUS.\\r\\n[_Above._] O my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nWhat news?\\r\\n\\r\\nPINDARUS.\\r\\n[_Above._] Titinius is enclosed round about\\r\\nWith horsemen, that make to him on the spur,\\r\\nYet he spurs on. Now they are almost on him.\\r\\nNow, Titinius! Now some light. O, he lights too.\\r\\nHe’s ta’en!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Shout._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd, hark! they shout for joy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIUS.\\r\\nCome down; behold no more.\\r\\nO, coward that I am, to live so long,\\r\\nTo see my best friend ta’en before my face!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Pindarus descends._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome hither, sirrah.\\r\\nIn Parthia did I take thee prisoner;\\r\\nAnd then I swore thee, saving of thy life,\\r\\nThat whatsoever I did bid thee do,\\r\\nThou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep thine oath.\\r\\nNow be a freeman; and with this good sword,\\r\\nThat ran through Caesar’s bowels, search this bosom.\\r\\nStand not to answer. Here, take thou the hilts;\\r\\nAnd when my face is cover’d, as ’tis now,\\r\\nGuide thou the sword.—Caesar, thou art reveng’d,\\r\\nEven with the sword that kill’d thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPINDARUS.\\r\\nSo, I am free, yet would not so have been,\\r\\nDurst I have done my will. O Cassius!\\r\\nFar from this country Pindarus shall run,\\r\\nWhere never Roman shall take note of him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Titinius with Messala.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nIt is but change, Titinius; for Octavius\\r\\nIs overthrown by noble Brutus’ power,\\r\\nAs Cassius’ legions are by Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITINIUS.\\r\\nThese tidings would well comfort Cassius.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nWhere did you leave him?\\r\\n\\r\\nTITINIUS.\\r\\nAll disconsolate,\\r\\nWith Pindarus his bondman, on this hill.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nIs not that he that lies upon the ground?\\r\\n\\r\\nTITINIUS.\\r\\nHe lies not like the living. O my heart!\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nIs not that he?\\r\\n\\r\\nTITINIUS.\\r\\nNo, this was he, Messala,\\r\\nBut Cassius is no more. O setting sun,\\r\\nAs in thy red rays thou dost sink to night,\\r\\nSo in his red blood Cassius’ day is set.\\r\\nThe sun of Rome is set. Our day is gone;\\r\\nClouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are done.\\r\\nMistrust of my success hath done this deed.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nMistrust of good success hath done this deed.\\r\\nO hateful Error, Melancholy’s child!\\r\\nWhy dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men\\r\\nThe things that are not? O Error, soon conceiv’d,\\r\\nThou never com’st unto a happy birth,\\r\\nBut kill’st the mother that engender’d thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nTITINIUS.\\r\\nWhat, Pindarus! where art thou, Pindarus?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nSeek him, Titinius, whilst I go to meet\\r\\nThe noble Brutus, thrusting this report\\r\\nInto his ears. I may say thrusting it;\\r\\nFor piercing steel and darts envenomed\\r\\nShall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus\\r\\nAs tidings of this sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITINIUS.\\r\\nHie you, Messala,\\r\\nAnd I will seek for Pindarus the while.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Messala._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhy didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius?\\r\\nDid I not meet thy friends? And did not they\\r\\nPut on my brows this wreath of victory,\\r\\nAnd bid me give it thee? Didst thou not hear their shouts?\\r\\nAlas, thou hast misconstrued everything!\\r\\nBut, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow;\\r\\nThy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I\\r\\nWill do his bidding. Brutus, come apace,\\r\\nAnd see how I regarded Caius Cassius.\\r\\nBy your leave, gods. This is a Roman’s part.\\r\\nCome, Cassius’ sword, and find Titinius’ heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter Brutus, Messala, young Cato, Strato, Volumnius and\\r\\n Lucilius.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhere, where, Messala, doth his body lie?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nLo, yonder, and Titinius mourning it.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nTitinius’ face is upward.\\r\\n\\r\\nCATO.\\r\\nHe is slain.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nO Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet!\\r\\nThy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords\\r\\nIn our own proper entrails.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Low alarums._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCATO.\\r\\nBrave Titinius!\\r\\nLook whether he have not crown’d dead Cassius!\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nAre yet two Romans living such as these?\\r\\nThe last of all the Romans, fare thee well!\\r\\nIt is impossible that ever Rome\\r\\nShould breed thy fellow. Friends, I owe more tears\\r\\nTo this dead man than you shall see me pay.\\r\\nI shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time.\\r\\nCome therefore, and to Thassos send his body.\\r\\nHis funerals shall not be in our camp,\\r\\nLest it discomfort us. Lucilius, come;\\r\\nAnd come, young Cato; let us to the field.\\r\\nLabeo and Flavius, set our battles on.\\r\\n’Tis three o’clock; and Romans, yet ere night\\r\\nWe shall try fortune in a second fight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Another part of the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter fighting soldiers of both armies; then Brutus, Messala,\\r\\n young Cato, Lucilius, Flavius and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nYet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your heads!\\r\\n\\r\\nCATO.\\r\\nWhat bastard doth not? Who will go with me?\\r\\nI will proclaim my name about the field.\\r\\nI am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!\\r\\nA foe to tyrants, and my country’s friend.\\r\\nI am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Charges the enemy._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCILIUS.\\r\\nAnd I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I;\\r\\nBrutus, my country’s friend; know me for Brutus!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit, charging the enemy. Cato is overpowered, and falls._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCILIUS.\\r\\nO young and noble Cato, art thou down?\\r\\nWhy, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius,\\r\\nAnd mayst be honour’d, being Cato’s son.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SOLDIER.\\r\\nYield, or thou diest.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCILIUS.\\r\\nOnly I yield to die:\\r\\nThere is so much that thou wilt kill me straight;\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Offering money_]\\r\\n\\r\\nKill Brutus, and be honour’d in his death.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SOLDIER.\\r\\nWe must not. A noble prisoner!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SOLDIER.\\r\\nRoom, ho! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta’en.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SOLDIER.\\r\\nI’ll tell the news. Here comes the General.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antony.\\r\\n\\r\\nBrutus is ta’en, Brutus is ta’en, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nWhere is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCILIUS.\\r\\nSafe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough.\\r\\nI dare assure thee that no enemy\\r\\nShall ever take alive the noble Brutus.\\r\\nThe gods defend him from so great a shame!\\r\\nWhen you do find him, or alive or dead,\\r\\nHe will be found like Brutus, like himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nThis is not Brutus, friend; but, I assure you,\\r\\nA prize no less in worth. Keep this man safe,\\r\\nGive him all kindness. I had rather have\\r\\nSuch men my friends than enemies. Go on,\\r\\nAnd see whether Brutus be alive or dead;\\r\\nAnd bring us word unto Octavius’ tent\\r\\nHow everything is chanc’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Another part of the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato and Volumnius.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nCome, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLITUS.\\r\\nStatilius show’d the torch-light; but, my lord,\\r\\nHe came not back: he is or ta’en or slain.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nSit thee down, Clitus. Slaying is the word;\\r\\nIt is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Whispering._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLITUS.\\r\\nWhat, I, my lord? No, not for all the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nPeace then, no words.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLITUS.\\r\\nI’ll rather kill myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHark thee, Dardanius.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Whispers him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDARDANIUS.\\r\\nShall I do such a deed?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLITUS.\\r\\nO Dardanius!\\r\\n\\r\\nDARDANIUS.\\r\\nO Clitus!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLITUS.\\r\\nWhat ill request did Brutus make to thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nDARDANIUS.\\r\\nTo kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLITUS.\\r\\nNow is that noble vessel full of grief,\\r\\nThat it runs over even at his eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nCome hither, good Volumnius; list a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nVOLUMNIUS.\\r\\nWhat says my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nWhy, this, Volumnius:\\r\\nThe ghost of Caesar hath appear’d to me\\r\\nTwo several times by night; at Sardis once,\\r\\nAnd this last night here in Philippi fields.\\r\\nI know my hour is come.\\r\\n\\r\\nVOLUMNIUS.\\r\\nNot so, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nNay I am sure it is, Volumnius.\\r\\nThou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes;\\r\\nOur enemies have beat us to the pit.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Low alarums._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIt is more worthy to leap in ourselves\\r\\nThan tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius,\\r\\nThou know’st that we two went to school together;\\r\\nEven for that our love of old, I pr’ythee\\r\\nHold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it.\\r\\n\\r\\nVOLUMNIUS.\\r\\nThat’s not an office for a friend, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alarums still._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLITUS.\\r\\nFly, fly, my lord! there is no tarrying here.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nFarewell to you; and you; and you, Volumnius.\\r\\nStrato, thou hast been all this while asleep;\\r\\nFarewell to thee too, Strato.—Countrymen,\\r\\nMy heart doth joy, that yet in all my life\\r\\nI found no man but he was true to me.\\r\\nI shall have glory by this losing day\\r\\nMore than Octavius and Mark Antony\\r\\nBy this vile conquest shall attain unto.\\r\\nSo fare you well at once; for Brutus’ tongue\\r\\nHath almost ended his life’s history.\\r\\nNight hangs upon mine eyes; my bones would rest,\\r\\nThat have but labour’d to attain this hour.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alarums. Cry within, “Fly, fly, fly!”._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLITUS.\\r\\nFly, my lord, fly!\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nHence! I will follow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Clitus, Dardanius and Volumnius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI pr’ythee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord.\\r\\nThou art a fellow of a good respect;\\r\\nThy life hath had some smatch of honour in it.\\r\\nHold then my sword, and turn away thy face,\\r\\nWhile I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTRATO.\\r\\nGive me your hand first. Fare you well, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRUTUS.\\r\\nFarewell, good Strato.—Caesar, now be still:\\r\\nI kill’d not thee with half so good a will.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He runs on his sword, and dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Retreat. Enter Antony, Octavius, Messala, Lucilius and the\\r\\n Army.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nWhat man is that?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nMy master’s man. Strato, where is thy master?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTRATO.\\r\\nFree from the bondage you are in, Messala.\\r\\nThe conquerors can but make a fire of him;\\r\\nFor Brutus only overcame himself,\\r\\nAnd no man else hath honour by his death.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCILIUS.\\r\\nSo Brutus should be found. I thank thee, Brutus,\\r\\nThat thou hast prov’d Lucilius’ saying true.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nAll that serv’d Brutus, I will entertain them.\\r\\nFellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTRATO.\\r\\nAy, if Messala will prefer me to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nDo so, good Messala.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nHow died my master, Strato?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTRATO.\\r\\nI held the sword, and he did run on it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSALA.\\r\\nOctavius, then take him to follow thee,\\r\\nThat did the latest service to my master.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONY.\\r\\nThis was the noblest Roman of them all.\\r\\nAll the conspirators save only he,\\r\\nDid that they did in envy of great Caesar;\\r\\nHe only, in a general honest thought\\r\\nAnd common good to all, made one of them.\\r\\nHis life was gentle, and the elements\\r\\nSo mix’d in him that Nature might stand up\\r\\nAnd say to all the world, “This was a man!”\\r\\n\\r\\nOCTAVIUS.\\r\\nAccording to his virtue let us use him\\r\\nWith all respect and rites of burial.\\r\\nWithin my tent his bones tonight shall lie,\\r\\nMost like a soldier, order’d honourably.\\r\\nSo call the field to rest, and let’s away,\\r\\nTo part the glories of this happy day.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n',\n", + " 'THE TRAGEDY OF KING LEAR\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. A Room of State in King Lear’s Palace.\\r\\nScene II. A Hall in the Earl of Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\nScene III. A Room in the Duke of Albany’s Palace.\\r\\nScene IV. A Hall in Albany’s Palace.\\r\\nScene V. Court before the Duke of Albany’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. A court within the Castle of the Earl of Gloucester.\\r\\nScene II. Before Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\nScene III. The open Country.\\r\\nScene IV. Before Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. A Heath.\\r\\nScene II. Another part of the heath.\\r\\nScene III. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\nScene IV. A part of the Heath with a Hovel.\\r\\nScene V. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\nScene VI. A Chamber in a Farmhouse adjoining the Castle.\\r\\nScene VII. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. The heath.\\r\\nScene II. Before the Duke of Albany’s Palace.\\r\\nScene III. The French camp near Dover.\\r\\nScene IV. The French camp. A Tent.\\r\\nScene V. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\nScene VI. The country near Dover.\\r\\nScene VII. A Tent in the French Camp.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. The Camp of the British Forces near Dover.\\r\\nScene II. A field between the two Camps.\\r\\nScene III. The British Camp near Dover.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR, King of Britain.\\r\\nGONERIL, eldest daughter to Lear.\\r\\nREGAN, second daughter to Lear.\\r\\nCORDELIA, youngest daughter to Lear.\\r\\nDUKE of ALBANY, married to Goneril.\\r\\nDUKE of CORNWALL, married to Regan.\\r\\nKING of FRANCE.\\r\\nDUKE of BURGUNDY.\\r\\nEARL of GLOUCESTER.\\r\\nEDGAR, elder son to Gloucester.\\r\\nEDMUND, younger bastard son to Gloucester.\\r\\nEARL of KENT.\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nOSWALD, steward to Goneril.\\r\\nCURAN, a Courtier.\\r\\nOLD MAN, Tenant to Gloucester.\\r\\nPhysician.\\r\\nAn Officer employed by Edmund.\\r\\nGentleman, attendant on Cordelia.\\r\\nA Herald.\\r\\nServants to Cornwall.\\r\\n\\r\\nKnights attending on the King, Officers, Messengers, Soldiers and\\r\\nAttendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Britain.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A Room of State in King Lear’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Kent, Gloucester and Edmund.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nIt did always seem so to us; but now, in the division of the kingdom,\\r\\nit appears not which of the Dukes he values most, for qualities are so\\r\\nweighed that curiosity in neither can make choice of either’s moiety.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nIs not this your son, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHis breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have so often blush’d to\\r\\nacknowledge him that now I am braz’d to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI cannot conceive you.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nSir, this young fellow’s mother could; whereupon she grew round-wombed,\\r\\nand had indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a husband for her\\r\\nbed. Do you smell a fault?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nBut I have a son, sir, by order of law, some year elder than this, who\\r\\nyet is no dearer in my account: though this knave came something\\r\\nsaucily to the world before he was sent for, yet was his mother fair;\\r\\nthere was good sport at his making, and the whoreson must be\\r\\nacknowledged. Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nNo, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nMy Lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my honourable friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nMy services to your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI must love you, and sue to know you better.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nSir, I shall study deserving.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHe hath been out nine years, and away he shall again. The King is\\r\\ncoming.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sennet within._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nAttend the lords of France and Burgundy,\\r\\nGloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI shall, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Gloucester and Edmund._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nMeantime we shall express our darker purpose.\\r\\nGive me the map there. Know that we have divided\\r\\nIn three our kingdom: and ’tis our fast intent\\r\\nTo shake all cares and business from our age;\\r\\nConferring them on younger strengths, while we\\r\\nUnburden’d crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall,\\r\\nAnd you, our no less loving son of Albany,\\r\\nWe have this hour a constant will to publish\\r\\nOur daughters’ several dowers, that future strife\\r\\nMay be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy,\\r\\nGreat rivals in our youngest daughter’s love,\\r\\nLong in our court have made their amorous sojourn,\\r\\nAnd here are to be answer’d. Tell me, my daughters,—\\r\\nSince now we will divest us both of rule,\\r\\nInterest of territory, cares of state,—\\r\\nWhich of you shall we say doth love us most?\\r\\nThat we our largest bounty may extend\\r\\nWhere nature doth with merit challenge.—Goneril,\\r\\nOur eldest born, speak first.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nSir, I love you more than word can wield the matter;\\r\\nDearer than eyesight, space, and liberty;\\r\\nBeyond what can be valu’d, rich or rare;\\r\\nNo less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour;\\r\\nAs much as child e’er lov’d, or father found;\\r\\nA love that makes breath poor and speech unable;\\r\\nBeyond all manner of so much I love you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\n[_Aside._] What shall Cordelia speak? Love, and be silent.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nOf all these bounds, even from this line to this,\\r\\nWith shadowy forests and with champains rich’d,\\r\\nWith plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads,\\r\\nWe make thee lady: to thine and Albany’s issue\\r\\nBe this perpetual.—What says our second daughter,\\r\\nOur dearest Regan, wife of Cornwall? Speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nSir, I am made of the self mettle as my sister,\\r\\nAnd prize me at her worth. In my true heart\\r\\nI find she names my very deed of love;\\r\\nOnly she comes too short, that I profess\\r\\nMyself an enemy to all other joys\\r\\nWhich the most precious square of sense possesses,\\r\\nAnd find I am alone felicitate\\r\\nIn your dear highness’ love.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Then poor Cordelia,\\r\\nAnd yet not so; since, I am sure, my love’s\\r\\nMore ponderous than my tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nTo thee and thine hereditary ever\\r\\nRemain this ample third of our fair kingdom;\\r\\nNo less in space, validity, and pleasure\\r\\nThan that conferr’d on Goneril.—Now, our joy,\\r\\nAlthough the last and least; to whose young love\\r\\nThe vines of France and milk of Burgundy\\r\\nStrive to be interess’d; what can you say to draw\\r\\nA third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nNothing, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNothing?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nNothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNothing will come of nothing: speak again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nUnhappy that I am, I cannot heave\\r\\nMy heart into my mouth: I love your majesty\\r\\nAccording to my bond; no more nor less.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHow, how, Cordelia? Mend your speech a little,\\r\\nLest you may mar your fortunes.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nGood my lord,\\r\\nYou have begot me, bred me, lov’d me: I\\r\\nReturn those duties back as are right fit,\\r\\nObey you, love you, and most honour you.\\r\\nWhy have my sisters husbands if they say\\r\\nThey love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,\\r\\nThat lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry\\r\\nHalf my love with him, half my care and duty:\\r\\nSure I shall never marry like my sisters,\\r\\nTo love my father all.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nBut goes thy heart with this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nAy, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nSo young, and so untender?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nSo young, my lord, and true.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nLet it be so, thy truth then be thy dower:\\r\\nFor, by the sacred radiance of the sun,\\r\\nThe mysteries of Hecate and the night;\\r\\nBy all the operation of the orbs,\\r\\nFrom whom we do exist and cease to be;\\r\\nHere I disclaim all my paternal care,\\r\\nPropinquity and property of blood,\\r\\nAnd as a stranger to my heart and me\\r\\nHold thee from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian,\\r\\nOr he that makes his generation messes\\r\\nTo gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom\\r\\nBe as well neighbour’d, pitied, and reliev’d,\\r\\nAs thou my sometime daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nGood my liege,—\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nPeace, Kent!\\r\\nCome not between the dragon and his wrath.\\r\\nI lov’d her most, and thought to set my rest\\r\\nOn her kind nursery. [_To Cordelia._] Hence and avoid my sight!\\r\\nSo be my grave my peace, as here I give\\r\\nHer father’s heart from her! Call France. Who stirs?\\r\\nCall Burgundy! Cornwall and Albany,\\r\\nWith my two daughters’ dowers digest this third:\\r\\nLet pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.\\r\\nI do invest you jointly with my power,\\r\\nPre-eminence, and all the large effects\\r\\nThat troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course,\\r\\nWith reservation of an hundred knights,\\r\\nBy you to be sustain’d, shall our abode\\r\\nMake with you by due turn. Only we shall retain\\r\\nThe name, and all the addition to a king; the sway,\\r\\nRevenue, execution of the rest,\\r\\nBeloved sons, be yours; which to confirm,\\r\\nThis coronet part between you.\\r\\n [_Giving the crown._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nRoyal Lear,\\r\\nWhom I have ever honour’d as my king,\\r\\nLov’d as my father, as my master follow’d,\\r\\nAs my great patron thought on in my prayers.—\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThe bow is bent and drawn; make from the shaft.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nLet it fall rather, though the fork invade\\r\\nThe region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly\\r\\nWhen Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old man?\\r\\nThink’st thou that duty shall have dread to speak,\\r\\nWhen power to flattery bows? To plainness honour’s bound\\r\\nWhen majesty falls to folly. Reverse thy state;\\r\\nAnd in thy best consideration check\\r\\nThis hideous rashness: answer my life my judgement,\\r\\nThy youngest daughter does not love thee least;\\r\\nNor are those empty-hearted, whose low sounds\\r\\nReverb no hollowness.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nKent, on thy life, no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nMy life I never held but as a pawn\\r\\nTo wage against thine enemies; ne’er fear to lose it,\\r\\nThy safety being the motive.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nOut of my sight!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nSee better, Lear; and let me still remain\\r\\nThe true blank of thine eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNow, by Apollo,—\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNow by Apollo, King,\\r\\nThou swear’st thy gods in vain.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nO vassal! Miscreant!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Laying his hand on his sword._]\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY and CORNWALL.\\r\\nDear sir, forbear!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nKill thy physician, and the fee bestow\\r\\nUpon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift,\\r\\nOr, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat,\\r\\nI’ll tell thee thou dost evil.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHear me, recreant! on thine allegiance, hear me!\\r\\nSince thou hast sought to make us break our vows,\\r\\nWhich we durst never yet, and with strain’d pride\\r\\nTo come betwixt our sentences and our power,\\r\\nWhich nor our nature, nor our place can bear,\\r\\nOur potency made good, take thy reward.\\r\\nFive days we do allot thee for provision,\\r\\nTo shield thee from disasters of the world;\\r\\nAnd on the sixth to turn thy hated back\\r\\nUpon our kingdom: if, on the next day following,\\r\\nThy banish’d trunk be found in our dominions,\\r\\nThe moment is thy death. Away! By Jupiter,\\r\\nThis shall not be revok’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nFare thee well, King: sith thus thou wilt appear,\\r\\nFreedom lives hence, and banishment is here.\\r\\n[_To Cordelia._] The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid,\\r\\nThat justly think’st and hast most rightly said!\\r\\n[_To Goneril and Regan._] And your large speeches may your deeds\\r\\napprove,\\r\\nThat good effects may spring from words of love.\\r\\nThus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu;\\r\\nHe’ll shape his old course in a country new.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Re-enter Gloucester, with France, Burgundy and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nHere’s France and Burgundy, my noble lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nMy Lord of Burgundy,\\r\\nWe first address toward you, who with this king\\r\\nHath rivall’d for our daughter: what in the least\\r\\nWill you require in present dower with her,\\r\\nOr cease your quest of love?\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nMost royal majesty,\\r\\nI crave no more than hath your highness offer’d,\\r\\nNor will you tender less?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nRight noble Burgundy,\\r\\nWhen she was dear to us, we did hold her so;\\r\\nBut now her price is fall’n. Sir, there she stands:\\r\\nIf aught within that little-seeming substance,\\r\\nOr all of it, with our displeasure piec’d,\\r\\nAnd nothing more, may fitly like your grace,\\r\\nShe’s there, and she is yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nI know no answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWill you, with those infirmities she owes,\\r\\nUnfriended, new adopted to our hate,\\r\\nDower’d with our curse, and stranger’d with our oath,\\r\\nTake her or leave her?\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nPardon me, royal sir;\\r\\nElection makes not up in such conditions.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThen leave her, sir; for, by the power that made me,\\r\\nI tell you all her wealth. [_To France_] For you, great king,\\r\\nI would not from your love make such a stray\\r\\nTo match you where I hate; therefore beseech you\\r\\nT’avert your liking a more worthier way\\r\\nThan on a wretch whom nature is asham’d\\r\\nAlmost t’acknowledge hers.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCE.\\r\\nThis is most strange,\\r\\nThat she, who even but now was your best object,\\r\\nThe argument of your praise, balm of your age,\\r\\nThe best, the dearest, should in this trice of time\\r\\nCommit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle\\r\\nSo many folds of favour. Sure her offence\\r\\nMust be of such unnatural degree\\r\\nThat monsters it, or your fore-vouch’d affection\\r\\nFall into taint; which to believe of her\\r\\nMust be a faith that reason without miracle\\r\\nShould never plant in me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nI yet beseech your majesty,\\r\\nIf for I want that glib and oily art\\r\\nTo speak and purpose not; since what I well intend,\\r\\nI’ll do’t before I speak,—that you make known\\r\\nIt is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness,\\r\\nNo unchaste action or dishonour’d step,\\r\\nThat hath depriv’d me of your grace and favour;\\r\\nBut even for want of that for which I am richer,\\r\\nA still soliciting eye, and such a tongue\\r\\nAs I am glad I have not, though not to have it\\r\\nHath lost me in your liking.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nBetter thou hadst\\r\\nNot been born than not to have pleas’d me better.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCE.\\r\\nIs it but this?—a tardiness in nature\\r\\nWhich often leaves the history unspoke\\r\\nThat it intends to do? My lord of Burgundy,\\r\\nWhat say you to the lady? Love’s not love\\r\\nWhen it is mingled with regards that stands\\r\\nAloof from the entire point. Will you have her?\\r\\nShe is herself a dowry.\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nRoyal King,\\r\\nGive but that portion which yourself propos’d,\\r\\nAnd here I take Cordelia by the hand,\\r\\nDuchess of Burgundy.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNothing: I have sworn; I am firm.\\r\\n\\r\\nBURGUNDY.\\r\\nI am sorry, then, you have so lost a father\\r\\nThat you must lose a husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nPeace be with Burgundy!\\r\\nSince that respects of fortunes are his love,\\r\\nI shall not be his wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCE.\\r\\nFairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;\\r\\nMost choice forsaken; and most lov’d, despis’d!\\r\\nThee and thy virtues here I seize upon:\\r\\nBe it lawful, I take up what’s cast away.\\r\\nGods, gods! ’Tis strange that from their cold’st neglect\\r\\nMy love should kindle to inflam’d respect.\\r\\nThy dowerless daughter, King, thrown to my chance,\\r\\nIs queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:\\r\\nNot all the dukes of waterish Burgundy\\r\\nCan buy this unpriz’d precious maid of me.\\r\\nBid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind:\\r\\nThou losest here, a better where to find.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThou hast her, France: let her be thine; for we\\r\\nHave no such daughter, nor shall ever see\\r\\nThat face of hers again. Therefore be gone\\r\\nWithout our grace, our love, our benison.\\r\\nCome, noble Burgundy.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, Cornwall, Albany, Gloucester and\\r\\n Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCE.\\r\\nBid farewell to your sisters.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nThe jewels of our father, with wash’d eyes\\r\\nCordelia leaves you: I know you what you are;\\r\\nAnd like a sister am most loath to call\\r\\nYour faults as they are nam’d. Love well our father:\\r\\nTo your professed bosoms I commit him:\\r\\nBut yet, alas, stood I within his grace,\\r\\nI would prefer him to a better place.\\r\\nSo farewell to you both.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nPrescribe not us our duties.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nLet your study\\r\\nBe to content your lord, who hath receiv’d you\\r\\nAt fortune’s alms. You have obedience scanted,\\r\\nAnd well are worth the want that you have wanted.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nTime shall unfold what plighted cunning hides:\\r\\nWho covers faults, at last shame derides.\\r\\nWell may you prosper.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCE.\\r\\nCome, my fair Cordelia.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt France and Cordelia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nSister, it is not little I have to say of what most nearly appertains\\r\\nto us both. I think our father will hence tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nThat’s most certain, and with you; next month with us.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nYou see how full of changes his age is; the observation we have made of\\r\\nit hath not been little: he always loved our sister most; and with what\\r\\npoor judgement he hath now cast her off appears too grossly.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\n’Tis the infirmity of his age: yet he hath ever but slenderly known\\r\\nhimself.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nThe best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then must we look\\r\\nfrom his age to receive not alone the imperfections of long-engrafted\\r\\ncondition, but therewithal the unruly waywardness that infirm and\\r\\ncholeric years bring with them.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nSuch unconstant starts are we like to have from him as this of Kent’s\\r\\nbanishment.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nThere is further compliment of leave-taking between France and him.\\r\\nPray you let us hit together: if our father carry authority with such\\r\\ndisposition as he bears, this last surrender of his will but offend us.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nWe shall further think of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nWe must do something, and i’ th’ heat.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Hall in the Earl of Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Edmund with a letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nThou, Nature, art my goddess; to thy law\\r\\nMy services are bound. Wherefore should I\\r\\nStand in the plague of custom, and permit\\r\\nThe curiosity of nations to deprive me?\\r\\nFor that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines\\r\\nLag of a brother? Why bastard? Wherefore base?\\r\\nWhen my dimensions are as well compact,\\r\\nMy mind as generous, and my shape as true\\r\\nAs honest madam’s issue? Why brand they us\\r\\nWith base? With baseness? bastardy? Base, base?\\r\\nWho, in the lusty stealth of nature, take\\r\\nMore composition and fierce quality\\r\\nThan doth within a dull stale tired bed\\r\\nGo to the creating a whole tribe of fops\\r\\nGot ’tween asleep and wake? Well then,\\r\\nLegitimate Edgar, I must have your land:\\r\\nOur father’s love is to the bastard Edmund\\r\\nAs to the legitimate: fine word: legitimate!\\r\\nWell, my legitimate, if this letter speed,\\r\\nAnd my invention thrive, Edmund the base\\r\\nShall top the legitimate. I grow, I prosper.\\r\\nNow, gods, stand up for bastards!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nKent banish’d thus! and France in choler parted!\\r\\nAnd the King gone tonight! Prescrib’d his pow’r!\\r\\nConfin’d to exhibition! All this done\\r\\nUpon the gad!—Edmund, how now! What news?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nSo please your lordship, none.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Putting up the letter._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWhy so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI know no news, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWhat paper were you reading?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nNothing, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nNo? What needed then that terrible dispatch of it into your pocket? The\\r\\nquality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself. Let’s see. Come,\\r\\nif it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI beseech you, sir, pardon me. It is a letter from my brother that I\\r\\nhave not all o’er-read; and for so much as I have perus’d, I find it\\r\\nnot fit for your o’er-looking.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nGive me the letter, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI shall offend, either to detain or give it. The contents, as in part I\\r\\nunderstand them, are to blame.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nLet’s see, let’s see!\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI hope, for my brother’s justification, he wrote this but as an essay,\\r\\nor taste of my virtue.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\n[_Reads._] ‘This policy and reverence of age makes the world bitter to\\r\\nthe best of our times; keeps our fortunes from us till our oldness\\r\\ncannot relish them. I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the\\r\\noppression of aged tyranny; who sways not as it hath power, but as it\\r\\nis suffered. Come to me, that of this I may speak more. If our father\\r\\nwould sleep till I waked him, you should enjoy half his revenue for\\r\\never, and live the beloved of your brother EDGAR.’\\r\\nHum! Conspiracy? ‘Sleep till I wake him, you should enjoy half his\\r\\nrevenue.’—My son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this? A heart and brain\\r\\nto breed it in? When came this to you? Who brought it?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nIt was not brought me, my lord, there’s the cunning of it. I found it\\r\\nthrown in at the casement of my closet.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nYou know the character to be your brother’s?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nIf the matter were good, my lord, I durst swear it were his; but in\\r\\nrespect of that, I would fain think it were not.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nIt is his.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nIt is his hand, my lord; but I hope his heart is not in the contents.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHas he never before sounded you in this business?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nNever, my lord. But I have heard him oft maintain it to be fit that,\\r\\nsons at perfect age, and fathers declined, the father should be as ward\\r\\nto the son, and the son manage his revenue.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nO villain, villain! His very opinion in the letter! Abhorred villain!\\r\\nUnnatural, detested, brutish villain! worse than brutish! Go, sirrah,\\r\\nseek him; I’ll apprehend him. Abominable villain, Where is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI do not well know, my lord. If it shall please you to suspend your\\r\\nindignation against my brother till you can derive from him better\\r\\ntestimony of his intent, you should run a certain course; where, if you\\r\\nviolently proceed against him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a\\r\\ngreat gap in your own honour, and shake in pieces the heart of his\\r\\nobedience. I dare pawn down my life for him, that he hath writ this to\\r\\nfeel my affection to your honour, and to no other pretence of danger.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nThink you so?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nIf your honour judge it meet, I will place you where you shall hear us\\r\\nconfer of this, and by an auricular assurance have your satisfaction,\\r\\nand that without any further delay than this very evening.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHe cannot be such a monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nNor is not, sure.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nTo his father, that so tenderly and entirely loves him. Heaven and\\r\\nearth! Edmund, seek him out; wind me into him, I pray you: frame the\\r\\nbusiness after your own wisdom. I would unstate myself to be in a due\\r\\nresolution.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI will seek him, sir, presently; convey the business as I shall find\\r\\nmeans, and acquaint you withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nThese late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to us: though\\r\\nthe wisdom of Nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds\\r\\nitself scourged by the sequent effects. Love cools, friendship falls\\r\\noff, brothers divide: in cities, mutinies; in countries, discord; in\\r\\npalaces, treason; and the bond cracked ’twixt son and father. This\\r\\nvillain of mine comes under the prediction; there’s son against father:\\r\\nthe King falls from bias of nature; there’s father against child. We\\r\\nhave seen the best of our time. Machinations, hollowness, treachery,\\r\\nand all ruinous disorders follow us disquietly to our graves. Find out\\r\\nthis villain, Edmund; it shall lose thee nothing; do it carefully.—And\\r\\nthe noble and true-hearted Kent banished! his offence, honesty! ’Tis\\r\\nstrange.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nThis is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in\\r\\nfortune, often the surfeits of our own behaviour, we make guilty of our\\r\\ndisasters the sun, the moon, and the stars; as if we were villains on\\r\\nnecessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers\\r\\nby spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers by an\\r\\nenforced obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in,\\r\\nby a divine thrusting on. An admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to\\r\\nlay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star. My father\\r\\ncompounded with my mother under the dragon’s tail, and my nativity was\\r\\nunder Ursa Major, so that it follows I am rough and lecherous. Fut! I\\r\\nshould have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament\\r\\ntwinkled on my bastardizing.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Edgar.\\r\\n\\r\\nPat! he comes, like the catastrophe of the old comedy: my cue is\\r\\nvillainous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o’Bedlam.—O, these eclipses\\r\\ndo portend these divisions! Fa, sol, la, mi.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nHow now, brother Edmund, what serious contemplation are you in?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other day, what\\r\\nshould follow these eclipses.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nDo you busy yourself with that?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI promise you, the effects he writes of succeed unhappily: as of\\r\\nunnaturalness between the child and the parent; death, dearth,\\r\\ndissolutions of ancient amities; divisions in state, menaces and\\r\\nmaledictions against King and nobles; needless diffidences, banishment\\r\\nof friends, dissipation of cohorts, nuptial breaches, and I know not\\r\\nwhat.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nHow long have you been a sectary astronomical?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nCome, come! when saw you my father last?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nThe night gone by.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nSpake you with him?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nAy, two hours together.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nParted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him, by word nor\\r\\ncountenance?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nNone at all.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nBethink yourself wherein you may have offended him: and at my entreaty\\r\\nforbear his presence until some little time hath qualified the heat of\\r\\nhis displeasure; which at this instant so rageth in him that with the\\r\\nmischief of your person it would scarcely allay.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nSome villain hath done me wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nThat’s my fear. I pray you have a continent forbearance till the speed\\r\\nof his rage goes slower; and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging,\\r\\nfrom whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak: pray ye, go;\\r\\nthere’s my key. If you do stir abroad, go armed.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nArmed, brother?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nBrother, I advise you to the best; I am no honest man if there be any\\r\\ngood meaning toward you: I have told you what I have seen and heard.\\r\\nBut faintly; nothing like the image and horror of it: pray you, away!\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nShall I hear from you anon?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI do serve you in this business.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Edgar._]\\r\\n\\r\\nA credulous father! and a brother noble,\\r\\nWhose nature is so far from doing harms\\r\\nThat he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty\\r\\nMy practices ride easy! I see the business.\\r\\nLet me, if not by birth, have lands by wit;\\r\\nAll with me’s meet that I can fashion fit.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A Room in the Duke of Albany’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Goneril and Oswald.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nDid my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nAy, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nBy day and night, he wrongs me; every hour\\r\\nHe flashes into one gross crime or other,\\r\\nThat sets us all at odds; I’ll not endure it:\\r\\nHis knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us\\r\\nOn every trifle. When he returns from hunting,\\r\\nI will not speak with him; say I am sick.\\r\\nIf you come slack of former services,\\r\\nYou shall do well; the fault of it I’ll answer.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Horns within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nHe’s coming, madam; I hear him.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nPut on what weary negligence you please,\\r\\nYou and your fellows; I’d have it come to question:\\r\\nIf he distaste it, let him to our sister,\\r\\nWhose mind and mine, I know, in that are one,\\r\\nNot to be overruled. Idle old man,\\r\\nThat still would manage those authorities\\r\\nThat he hath given away! Now, by my life,\\r\\nOld fools are babes again; and must be us’d\\r\\nWith checks as flatteries, when they are seen abus’d.\\r\\nRemember what I have said.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nVery well, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nAnd let his knights have colder looks among you;\\r\\nWhat grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows so;\\r\\nI would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,\\r\\nThat I may speak. I’ll write straight to my sister\\r\\nTo hold my very course. Prepare for dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Hall in Albany’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Kent, disguised.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nIf but as well I other accents borrow,\\r\\nThat can my speech defuse, my good intent\\r\\nMay carry through itself to that full issue\\r\\nFor which I rais’d my likeness. Now, banish’d Kent,\\r\\nIf thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn’d,\\r\\nSo may it come, thy master, whom thou lov’st,\\r\\nShall find thee full of labours.\\r\\n\\r\\n Horns within. Enter King Lear, Knights and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nLet me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit an Attendant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now! what art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nA man, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat dost thou profess? What wouldst thou with us?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI do profess to be no less than I seem; to serve him truly that will\\r\\nput me in trust; to love him that is honest; to converse with him that\\r\\nis wise and says little; to fear judgement; to fight when I cannot\\r\\nchoose; and to eat no fish.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nA very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nIf thou be’st as poor for a subject as he’s for a king, thou art poor\\r\\nenough. What wouldst thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nService.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWho wouldst thou serve?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nYou.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nDost thou know me, fellow?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNo, sir; but you have that in your countenance which I would fain call\\r\\nmaster.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nAuthority.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat services canst thou do?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in telling it\\r\\nand deliver a plain message bluntly. That which ordinary men are fit\\r\\nfor, I am qualified in, and the best of me is diligence.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHow old art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNot so young, sir, to love a woman for singing; nor so old to dote on\\r\\nher for anything: I have years on my back forty-eight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nFollow me; thou shalt serve me. If I like thee no worse after dinner, I\\r\\nwill not part from thee yet. Dinner, ho, dinner! Where’s my knave? my\\r\\nfool? Go you and call my fool hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit an Attendant._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Oswald.\\r\\n\\r\\nYou, you, sirrah, where’s my daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nSo please you,—\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit a Knight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhere’s my fool? Ho, I think the world’s asleep.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Knight.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now! where’s that mongrel?\\r\\n\\r\\nKNIGHT.\\r\\nHe says, my lord, your daughter is not well.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhy came not the slave back to me when I called him?\\r\\n\\r\\nKNIGHT.\\r\\nSir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHe would not?\\r\\n\\r\\nKNIGHT.\\r\\nMy lord, I know not what the matter is; but to my judgement your\\r\\nhighness is not entertained with that ceremonious affection as you were\\r\\nwont; there’s a great abatement of kindness appears as well in the\\r\\ngeneral dependants as in the Duke himself also, and your daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHa! say’st thou so?\\r\\n\\r\\nKNIGHT.\\r\\nI beseech you pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken; for my duty cannot\\r\\nbe silent when I think your highness wronged.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThou but rememberest me of mine own conception: I have perceived a most\\r\\nfaint neglect of late; which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous\\r\\ncuriosity than as a very pretence and purpose of unkindness: I will\\r\\nlook further into’t. But where’s my fool? I have not seen him this two\\r\\ndays.\\r\\n\\r\\nKNIGHT.\\r\\nSince my young lady’s going into France, sir, the fool hath much pined\\r\\naway.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo more of that; I have noted it well. Go you and tell my daughter I\\r\\nwould speak with her.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Attendant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGo you, call hither my fool.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit another Attendant._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Oswald.\\r\\n\\r\\nO, you, sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nMy lady’s father.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nMy lady’s father! my lord’s knave: you whoreson dog! you slave! you\\r\\ncur!\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nI am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nDo you bandy looks with me, you rascal?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Striking him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nI’ll not be struck, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNor tripp’d neither, you base football player.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Tripping up his heels._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI thank thee, fellow. Thou serv’st me, and I’ll love thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nCome, sir, arise, away! I’ll teach you differences: away, away! If you\\r\\nwill measure your lubber’s length again, tarry; but away! go to; have\\r\\nyou wisdom? So.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Pushes Oswald out._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNow, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there’s earnest of thy service.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Giving Kent money._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nLet me hire him too; here’s my coxcomb.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Giving Kent his cap._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHow now, my pretty knave, how dost thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nSirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWhy, fool?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nWhy, for taking one’s part that’s out of favour. Nay, an thou canst not\\r\\nsmile as the wind sits, thou’lt catch cold shortly: there, take my\\r\\ncoxcomb: why, this fellow has banish’d two on’s daughters, and did the\\r\\nthird a blessing against his will; if thou follow him, thou must needs\\r\\nwear my coxcomb. How now, nuncle! Would I had two coxcombs and two\\r\\ndaughters!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhy, my boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nIf I gave them all my living, I’d keep my coxcombs myself. There’s\\r\\nmine; beg another of thy daughters.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nTake heed, sirrah, the whip.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nTruth’s a dog must to kennel; he must be whipped out, when the Lady\\r\\nBrach may stand by the fire and stink.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nA pestilent gall to me!\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nSirrah, I’ll teach thee a speech.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nDo.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nMark it, nuncle:\\r\\n Have more than thou showest,\\r\\n Speak less than thou knowest,\\r\\n Lend less than thou owest,\\r\\n Ride more than thou goest,\\r\\n Learn more than thou trowest,\\r\\n Set less than thou throwest;\\r\\n Leave thy drink and thy whore,\\r\\n And keep in-a-door,\\r\\n And thou shalt have more\\r\\n Than two tens to a score.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nThis is nothing, fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nThen ’tis like the breath of an unfee’d lawyer, you gave me nothing\\r\\nfor’t. Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhy, no, boy; nothing can be made out of nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\n[_to Kent._] Prythee tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to:\\r\\nhe will not believe a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nA bitter fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nDost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a\\r\\nsweet one?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo, lad; teach me.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\n That lord that counsell’d thee\\r\\n To give away thy land,\\r\\n Come place him here by me,\\r\\n Do thou for him stand.\\r\\n The sweet and bitter fool\\r\\n Will presently appear;\\r\\n The one in motley here,\\r\\n The other found out there.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nDost thou call me fool, boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nAll thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast born with.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nThis is not altogether fool, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nNo, faith; lords and great men will not let me; if I had a monopoly\\r\\nout, they would have part on’t and ladies too, they will not let me\\r\\nhave all the fool to myself; they’ll be snatching. Nuncle, give me an\\r\\negg, and I’ll give thee two crowns.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat two crowns shall they be?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nWhy, after I have cut the egg i’ the middle and eat up the meat, the\\r\\ntwo crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i’ the middle and\\r\\ngav’st away both parts, thou bor’st thine ass on thy back o’er the\\r\\ndirt: thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown when thou gav’st thy\\r\\ngolden one away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be whipped\\r\\nthat first finds it so.\\r\\n[_Singing._]\\r\\n Fools had ne’er less grace in a year;\\r\\n For wise men are grown foppish,\\r\\n And know not how their wits to wear,\\r\\n Their manners are so apish.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhen were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nI have used it, nuncle, e’er since thou mad’st thy daughters thy\\r\\nmothers; for when thou gav’st them the rod, and put’st down thine own\\r\\nbreeches,\\r\\n[_Singing._]\\r\\n Then they for sudden joy did weep,\\r\\n And I for sorrow sung,\\r\\n That such a king should play bo-peep,\\r\\n And go the fools among.\\r\\nPrythee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie; I\\r\\nwould fain learn to lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nAn you lie, sirrah, we’ll have you whipped.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nI marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are: they’ll have me whipped\\r\\nfor speaking true; thou’lt have me whipped for lying; and sometimes I\\r\\nam whipped for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind o’thing than\\r\\na fool: and yet I would not be thee, nuncle: thou hast pared thy wit\\r\\no’both sides, and left nothing i’ the middle: here comes one o’ the\\r\\nparings.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Goneril.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHow now, daughter? What makes that frontlet on? Methinks you are too\\r\\nmuch of late i’ the frown.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nThou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her\\r\\nfrowning. Now thou art an O without a figure: I am better than thou art\\r\\nnow. I am a fool, thou art nothing. [_To Goneril._] Yes, forsooth, I\\r\\nwill hold my tongue. So your face bids me, though you say nothing. Mum,\\r\\nmum,\\r\\n He that keeps nor crust nor crum,\\r\\n Weary of all, shall want some.\\r\\n[_Pointing to Lear_.] That’s a shealed peascod.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nNot only, sir, this your all-licens’d fool,\\r\\nBut other of your insolent retinue\\r\\nDo hourly carp and quarrel; breaking forth\\r\\nIn rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir,\\r\\nI had thought, by making this well known unto you,\\r\\nTo have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful,\\r\\nBy what yourself too late have spoke and done,\\r\\nThat you protect this course, and put it on\\r\\nBy your allowance; which if you should, the fault\\r\\nWould not scape censure, nor the redresses sleep,\\r\\nWhich, in the tender of a wholesome weal,\\r\\nMight in their working do you that offence\\r\\nWhich else were shame, that then necessity\\r\\nWill call discreet proceeding.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nFor you know, nuncle,\\r\\n The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long\\r\\n That it’s had it head bit off by it young.\\r\\nSo out went the candle, and we were left darkling.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nAre you our daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nCome, sir,\\r\\nI would you would make use of that good wisdom,\\r\\nWhereof I know you are fraught; and put away\\r\\nThese dispositions, which of late transform you\\r\\nFrom what you rightly are.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nMay not an ass know when the cart draws the horse? Whoop, Jug! I love\\r\\nthee!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nDoth any here know me? This is not Lear;\\r\\nDoth Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes?\\r\\nEither his notion weakens, his discernings\\r\\nAre lethargied. Ha! waking? ’Tis not so!\\r\\nWho is it that can tell me who I am?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nLear’s shadow.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI would learn that; for by the marks of sovereignty, knowledge and\\r\\nreason, I should be false persuaded I had daughters.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nWhich they will make an obedient father.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nYour name, fair gentlewoman?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nThis admiration, sir, is much o’ the favour\\r\\nOf other your new pranks. I do beseech you\\r\\nTo understand my purposes aright:\\r\\nAs you are old and reverend, you should be wise.\\r\\nHere do you keep a hundred knights and squires;\\r\\nMen so disorder’d, so debosh’d and bold\\r\\nThat this our court, infected with their manners,\\r\\nShows like a riotous inn. Epicurism and lust\\r\\nMakes it more like a tavern or a brothel\\r\\nThan a grac’d palace. The shame itself doth speak\\r\\nFor instant remedy. Be, then, desir’d\\r\\nBy her that else will take the thing she begs\\r\\nA little to disquantity your train;\\r\\nAnd the remainder that shall still depend,\\r\\nTo be such men as may besort your age,\\r\\nWhich know themselves, and you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nDarkness and devils!\\r\\nSaddle my horses; call my train together.\\r\\nDegenerate bastard! I’ll not trouble thee:\\r\\nYet have I left a daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nYou strike my people; and your disorder’d rabble\\r\\nMake servants of their betters.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Albany.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWoe that too late repents!—\\r\\n[_To Albany._] O, sir, are you come?\\r\\nIs it your will? Speak, sir.—Prepare my horses.\\r\\nIngratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,\\r\\nMore hideous when thou show’st thee in a child\\r\\nThan the sea-monster!\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nPray, sir, be patient.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\n[_to Goneril._] Detested kite, thou liest.\\r\\nMy train are men of choice and rarest parts,\\r\\nThat all particulars of duty know;\\r\\nAnd in the most exact regard support\\r\\nThe worships of their name. O most small fault,\\r\\nHow ugly didst thou in Cordelia show!\\r\\nWhich, like an engine, wrench’d my frame of nature\\r\\nFrom the fix’d place; drew from my heart all love,\\r\\nAnd added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear!\\r\\n[_Striking his head._] Beat at this gate that let thy folly in\\r\\nAnd thy dear judgement out! Go, go, my people.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nMy lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant\\r\\nOf what hath moved you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nIt may be so, my lord.\\r\\nHear, nature, hear; dear goddess, hear\\r\\nSuspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend\\r\\nTo make this creature fruitful!\\r\\nInto her womb convey sterility!\\r\\nDry up in her the organs of increase;\\r\\nAnd from her derogate body never spring\\r\\nA babe to honour her! If she must teem,\\r\\nCreate her child of spleen, that it may live\\r\\nAnd be a thwart disnatur’d torment to her!\\r\\nLet it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth;\\r\\nWith cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks;\\r\\nTurn all her mother’s pains and benefits\\r\\nTo laughter and contempt; that she may feel\\r\\nHow sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is\\r\\nTo have a thankless child! Away, away!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nNow, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nNever afflict yourself to know more of it;\\r\\nBut let his disposition have that scope\\r\\nThat dotage gives it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Lear.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat, fifty of my followers at a clap?\\r\\nWithin a fortnight?\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI’ll tell thee. [_To Goneril._] Life and death! I am asham’d\\r\\nThat thou hast power to shake my manhood thus;\\r\\nThat these hot tears, which break from me perforce,\\r\\nShould make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee!\\r\\nTh’untented woundings of a father’s curse\\r\\nPierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes,\\r\\nBeweep this cause again, I’ll pluck ye out,\\r\\nAnd cast you with the waters that you lose\\r\\nTo temper clay. Ha! Let it be so.\\r\\nI have another daughter,\\r\\nWho, I am sure, is kind and comfortable:\\r\\nWhen she shall hear this of thee, with her nails\\r\\nShe’ll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find\\r\\nThat I’ll resume the shape which thou dost think\\r\\nI have cast off for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lear, Kent and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nDo you mark that?\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nI cannot be so partial, Goneril,\\r\\nTo the great love I bear you,—\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nPray you, content. What, Oswald, ho!\\r\\n[_To the Fool._] You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nNuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry and take the fool with thee.\\r\\n A fox when one has caught her,\\r\\n And such a daughter,\\r\\n Should sure to the slaughter,\\r\\n If my cap would buy a halter;\\r\\n So the fool follows after.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nThis man hath had good counsel.—A hundred knights!\\r\\n’Tis politic and safe to let him keep\\r\\nAt point a hundred knights: yes, that on every dream,\\r\\nEach buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,\\r\\nHe may enguard his dotage with their powers,\\r\\nAnd hold our lives in mercy. Oswald, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nWell, you may fear too far.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nSafer than trust too far:\\r\\nLet me still take away the harms I fear,\\r\\nNot fear still to be taken: I know his heart.\\r\\nWhat he hath utter’d I have writ my sister:\\r\\nIf she sustain him and his hundred knights,\\r\\nWhen I have show’d th’unfitness,—\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Oswald.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Oswald!\\r\\nWhat, have you writ that letter to my sister?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nAy, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nTake you some company, and away to horse:\\r\\nInform her full of my particular fear;\\r\\nAnd thereto add such reasons of your own\\r\\nAs may compact it more. Get you gone;\\r\\nAnd hasten your return.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Oswald._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNo, no, my lord!\\r\\nThis milky gentleness and course of yours,\\r\\nThough I condemn not, yet, under pardon,\\r\\nYou are much more attask’d for want of wisdom\\r\\nThan prais’d for harmful mildness.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nHow far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell:\\r\\nStriving to better, oft we mar what’s well.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nNay then,—\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nWell, well; the event.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Court before the Duke of Albany’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lear, Kent and Fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nGo you before to Gloucester with these letters: acquaint my daughter no\\r\\nfurther with anything you know than comes from her demand out of the\\r\\nletter. If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered your letter.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nIf a man’s brains were in’s heels, were’t not in danger of kibes?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nAy, boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nThen I prythee be merry; thy wit shall not go slipshod.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHa, ha, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nShalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly, for though she’s as\\r\\nlike this as a crab’s like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat canst tell, boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nShe’ll taste as like this as a crab does to a crab. Thou canst tell why\\r\\none’s nose stands i’the middle on’s face?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nWhy, to keep one’s eyes of either side’s nose, that what a man cannot\\r\\nsmell out, he may spy into.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI did her wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nCanst tell how an oyster makes his shell?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nNor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhy?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nWhy, to put’s head in; not to give it away to his daughters, and leave\\r\\nhis horns without a case.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI will forget my nature. So kind a father! Be my horses ready?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nThy asses are gone about ’em. The reason why the seven stars are no\\r\\nmore than seven is a pretty reason.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nBecause they are not eight?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nYes indeed: thou wouldst make a good fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nTo tak’t again perforce!—Monster ingratitude!\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nIf thou wert my fool, nuncle, I’ld have thee beaten for being old\\r\\nbefore thy time.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHow’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nThou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nO, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!\\r\\nKeep me in temper; I would not be mad!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now? are the horses ready?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nReady, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nCome, boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nShe that’s a maid now, and laughs at my departure,\\r\\nShall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A court within the Castle of the Earl of Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Edmund and Curan, meeting.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nSave thee, Curan.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURAN.\\r\\nAnd you, sir. I have been with your father, and given him notice that\\r\\nthe Duke of Cornwall and Regan his Duchess will be here with him this\\r\\nnight.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nHow comes that?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURAN.\\r\\nNay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad; I mean the\\r\\nwhispered ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nNot I: pray you, what are they?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURAN.\\r\\nHave you heard of no likely wars toward, ’twixt the two dukes of\\r\\nCornwall and Albany?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nNot a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURAN.\\r\\nYou may do, then, in time. Fare you well, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nThe Duke be here tonight? The better! best!\\r\\nThis weaves itself perforce into my business.\\r\\nMy father hath set guard to take my brother;\\r\\nAnd I have one thing, of a queasy question,\\r\\nWhich I must act. Briefness and fortune work!\\r\\nBrother, a word, descend, brother, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Edgar.\\r\\n\\r\\nMy father watches: O sir, fly this place;\\r\\nIntelligence is given where you are hid;\\r\\nYou have now the good advantage of the night.\\r\\nHave you not spoken ’gainst the Duke of Cornwall?\\r\\nHe’s coming hither; now, i’ the night, i’ the haste,\\r\\nAnd Regan with him: have you nothing said\\r\\nUpon his party ’gainst the Duke of Albany?\\r\\nAdvise yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nI am sure on’t, not a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI hear my father coming:—pardon me;\\r\\nIn cunning I must draw my sword upon you:\\r\\nDraw: seem to defend yourself: now quit you well.\\r\\nYield: come before my father. Light, ho, here!\\r\\nFly, brother. Torches, torches!—So farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Edgar._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSome blood drawn on me would beget opinion\\r\\nOf my more fierce endeavour: [_Wounds his arm._]\\r\\nI have seen drunkards\\r\\nDo more than this in sport. Father, father!\\r\\nStop, stop! No help?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester and Servants with torches.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nNow, Edmund, where’s the villain?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nHere stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,\\r\\nMumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon\\r\\nTo stand auspicious mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nBut where is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nLook, sir, I bleed.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWhere is the villain, Edmund?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nFled this way, sir. When by no means he could,—\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nPursue him, ho! Go after.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Servants._]\\r\\n\\r\\n—By no means what?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nPersuade me to the murder of your lordship;\\r\\nBut that I told him the revenging gods\\r\\n’Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend;\\r\\nSpoke with how manifold and strong a bond\\r\\nThe child was bound to the father; sir, in fine,\\r\\nSeeing how loathly opposite I stood\\r\\nTo his unnatural purpose, in fell motion\\r\\nWith his prepared sword, he charges home\\r\\nMy unprovided body, latch’d mine arm;\\r\\nBut when he saw my best alarum’d spirits,\\r\\nBold in the quarrel’s right, rous’d to th’encounter,\\r\\nOr whether gasted by the noise I made,\\r\\nFull suddenly he fled.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nLet him fly far;\\r\\nNot in this land shall he remain uncaught;\\r\\nAnd found—dispatch’d. The noble Duke my master,\\r\\nMy worthy arch and patron, comes tonight:\\r\\nBy his authority I will proclaim it,\\r\\nThat he which finds him shall deserve our thanks,\\r\\nBringing the murderous coward to the stake;\\r\\nHe that conceals him, death.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nWhen I dissuaded him from his intent,\\r\\nAnd found him pight to do it, with curst speech\\r\\nI threaten’d to discover him: he replied,\\r\\n‘Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think,\\r\\nIf I would stand against thee, would the reposal\\r\\nOf any trust, virtue, or worth in thee\\r\\nMake thy words faith’d? No: what I should deny\\r\\nAs this I would; ay, though thou didst produce\\r\\nMy very character, I’d turn it all\\r\\nTo thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice:\\r\\nAnd thou must make a dullard of the world,\\r\\nIf they not thought the profits of my death\\r\\nWere very pregnant and potential spurs\\r\\nTo make thee seek it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nO strange and fast’ned villain!\\r\\nWould he deny his letter, said he? I never got him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Tucket within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHark, the Duke’s trumpets! I know not why he comes.\\r\\nAll ports I’ll bar; the villain shall not scape;\\r\\nThe Duke must grant me that: besides, his picture\\r\\nI will send far and near, that all the kingdom\\r\\nMay have due note of him; and of my land,\\r\\nLoyal and natural boy, I’ll work the means\\r\\nTo make thee capable.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cornwall, Regan and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nHow now, my noble friend! since I came hither,\\r\\nWhich I can call but now, I have heard strange news.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nIf it be true, all vengeance comes too short\\r\\nWhich can pursue th’offender. How dost, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nO madam, my old heart is crack’d, it’s crack’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nWhat, did my father’s godson seek your life?\\r\\nHe whom my father nam’d? your Edgar?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nO lady, lady, shame would have it hid!\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nWas he not companion with the riotous knights\\r\\nThat tend upon my father?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI know not, madam; ’tis too bad, too bad.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nYes, madam, he was of that consort.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nNo marvel then though he were ill affected:\\r\\n’Tis they have put him on the old man’s death,\\r\\nTo have the expense and waste of his revenues.\\r\\nI have this present evening from my sister\\r\\nBeen well inform’d of them; and with such cautions\\r\\nThat if they come to sojourn at my house,\\r\\nI’ll not be there.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nNor I, assure thee, Regan.\\r\\nEdmund, I hear that you have shown your father\\r\\nA childlike office.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nIt was my duty, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHe did bewray his practice; and receiv’d\\r\\nThis hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nIs he pursued?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nAy, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nIf he be taken, he shall never more\\r\\nBe fear’d of doing harm: make your own purpose,\\r\\nHow in my strength you please. For you, Edmund,\\r\\nWhose virtue and obedience doth this instant\\r\\nSo much commend itself, you shall be ours:\\r\\nNatures of such deep trust we shall much need;\\r\\nYou we first seize on.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI shall serve you, sir, truly, however else.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nFor him I thank your grace.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nYou know not why we came to visit you?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nThus out of season, threading dark-ey’d night:\\r\\nOccasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise,\\r\\nWherein we must have use of your advice.\\r\\nOur father he hath writ, so hath our sister,\\r\\nOf differences, which I best thought it fit\\r\\nTo answer from our home; the several messengers\\r\\nFrom hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend,\\r\\nLay comforts to your bosom; and bestow\\r\\nYour needful counsel to our business,\\r\\nWhich craves the instant use.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI serve you, madam:\\r\\nYour graces are right welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt. Flourish._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Before Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Kent and Oswald, severally.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nGood dawning to thee, friend: art of this house?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nAy.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nWhere may we set our horses?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI’ the mire.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nPrythee, if thou lov’st me, tell me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI love thee not.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nWhy then, I care not for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nIf I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nWhy dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nFellow, I know thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nWhat dost thou know me for?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nA knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow,\\r\\nbeggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave;\\r\\na lily-livered, action-taking, whoreson, glass-gazing,\\r\\nsuper-serviceable, finical rogue; one trunk-inheriting slave; one that\\r\\nwouldst be a bawd in way of good service, and art nothing but the\\r\\ncomposition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of\\r\\na mongrel bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou\\r\\ndeniest the least syllable of thy addition.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nWhy, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one that’s\\r\\nneither known of thee nor knows thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWhat a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me! Is it two\\r\\ndays ago since I tripped up thy heels and beat thee before the King?\\r\\nDraw, you rogue: for, though it be night, yet the moon shines; I’ll\\r\\nmake a sop o’ the moonshine of you: draw, you whoreson cullionly\\r\\nbarber-monger, draw!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Drawing his sword._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nAway! I have nothing to do with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nDraw, you rascal: you come with letters against the King; and take\\r\\nvanity the puppet’s part against the royalty of her father: draw, you\\r\\nrogue, or I’ll so carbonado your shanks:—draw, you rascal; come your\\r\\nways!\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nHelp, ho! murder! help!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nStrike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat slave, strike!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Beating him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nHelp, ho! murder! murder!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Gloucester and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nHow now! What’s the matter? Part!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWith you, goodman boy, if you please: come, I’ll flesh ye; come on,\\r\\nyoung master.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWeapons! arms! What’s the matter here?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nKeep peace, upon your lives, he dies that strikes again. What is the\\r\\nmatter?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nThe messengers from our sister and the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nWhat is your difference? Speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nI am scarce in breath, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNo marvel, you have so bestirr’d your valour. You cowardly rascal,\\r\\nnature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nThou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a man?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nAy, a tailor, sir: a stonecutter or a painter could not have made him\\r\\nso ill, though he had been but two years at the trade.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nSpeak yet, how grew your quarrel?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nThis ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared at suit of his grey\\r\\nbeard,—\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nThou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you’ll give me\\r\\nleave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar and daub the\\r\\nwalls of a jakes with him. Spare my grey beard, you wagtail?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nPeace, sirrah!\\r\\nYou beastly knave, know you no reverence?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nYes, sir; but anger hath a privilege.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nWhy art thou angry?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nThat such a slave as this should wear a sword,\\r\\nWho wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,\\r\\nLike rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain\\r\\nWhich are too intrince t’unloose; smooth every passion\\r\\nThat in the natures of their lords rebel;\\r\\nBring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;\\r\\nRenege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks\\r\\nWith every gale and vary of their masters,\\r\\nKnowing naught, like dogs, but following.\\r\\nA plague upon your epileptic visage!\\r\\nSmile you my speeches, as I were a fool?\\r\\nGoose, if I had you upon Sarum plain,\\r\\nI’d drive ye cackling home to Camelot.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nWhat, art thou mad, old fellow?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHow fell you out? Say that.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNo contraries hold more antipathy\\r\\nThan I and such a knave.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nWhy dost thou call him knave? What is his fault?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nHis countenance likes me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nNo more perchance does mine, or his, or hers.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nSir, ’tis my occupation to be plain:\\r\\nI have seen better faces in my time\\r\\nThan stands on any shoulder that I see\\r\\nBefore me at this instant.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nThis is some fellow\\r\\nWho, having been prais’d for bluntness, doth affect\\r\\nA saucy roughness, and constrains the garb\\r\\nQuite from his nature: he cannot flatter, he,\\r\\nAn honest mind and plain, he must speak truth!\\r\\nAn they will take it, so; if not, he’s plain.\\r\\nThese kind of knaves I know which in this plainness\\r\\nHarbour more craft and more corrupter ends\\r\\nThan twenty silly-ducking observants\\r\\nThat stretch their duties nicely.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nSir, in good faith, in sincere verity,\\r\\nUnder th’allowance of your great aspect,\\r\\nWhose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire\\r\\nOn flickering Phoebus’ front,—\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nWhat mean’st by this?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nTo go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much. I know, sir, I\\r\\nam no flatterer: he that beguiled you in a plain accent was a plain\\r\\nknave; which, for my part, I will not be, though I should win your\\r\\ndispleasure to entreat me to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nWhat was the offence you gave him?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nI never gave him any:\\r\\nIt pleas’d the King his master very late\\r\\nTo strike at me, upon his misconstruction;\\r\\nWhen he, compact, and flattering his displeasure,\\r\\nTripp’d me behind; being down, insulted, rail’d\\r\\nAnd put upon him such a deal of man,\\r\\nThat worthied him, got praises of the King\\r\\nFor him attempting who was self-subdu’d;\\r\\nAnd, in the fleshment of this dread exploit,\\r\\nDrew on me here again.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNone of these rogues and cowards\\r\\nBut Ajax is their fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nFetch forth the stocks!\\r\\nYou stubborn ancient knave, you reverent braggart,\\r\\nWe’ll teach you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nSir, I am too old to learn:\\r\\nCall not your stocks for me: I serve the King;\\r\\nOn whose employment I was sent to you:\\r\\nYou shall do small respect, show too bold malice\\r\\nAgainst the grace and person of my master,\\r\\nStocking his messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nFetch forth the stocks!\\r\\nAs I have life and honour, there shall he sit till noon.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nTill noon! Till night, my lord; and all night too!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWhy, madam, if I were your father’s dog,\\r\\nYou should not use me so.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nSir, being his knave, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Stocks brought out._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nThis is a fellow of the selfsame colour\\r\\nOur sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks!\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nLet me beseech your grace not to do so:\\r\\nHis fault is much, and the good King his master\\r\\nWill check him for’t: your purpos’d low correction\\r\\nIs such as basest and contemned’st wretches\\r\\nFor pilferings and most common trespasses,\\r\\nAre punish’d with. The King must take it ill\\r\\nThat he, so slightly valued in his messenger,\\r\\nShould have him thus restrained.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nI’ll answer that.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nMy sister may receive it much more worse,\\r\\nTo have her gentleman abus’d, assaulted,\\r\\nFor following her affairs. Put in his legs.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kent is put in the stocks._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nCome, my good lord, away.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Gloucester and Kent._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI am sorry for thee, friend; ’tis the Duke’s pleasure,\\r\\nWhose disposition, all the world well knows,\\r\\nWill not be rubb’d nor stopp’d; I’ll entreat for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nPray do not, sir: I have watch’d, and travell’d hard;\\r\\nSome time I shall sleep out, the rest I’ll whistle.\\r\\nA good man’s fortune may grow out at heels:\\r\\nGive you good morrow!\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nThe Duke’s to blame in this: ’twill be ill taken.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nGood King, that must approve the common saw,\\r\\nThou out of heaven’s benediction com’st\\r\\nTo the warm sun.\\r\\nApproach, thou beacon to this under globe,\\r\\nThat by thy comfortable beams I may\\r\\nPeruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles\\r\\nBut misery. I know ’tis from Cordelia,\\r\\nWho hath most fortunately been inform’d\\r\\nOf my obscured course. And shall find time\\r\\nFrom this enormous state, seeking to give\\r\\nLosses their remedies. All weary and o’erwatch’d,\\r\\nTake vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold\\r\\nThis shameful lodging.\\r\\nFortune, good night: smile once more, turn thy wheel!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The open Country.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Edgar.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nI heard myself proclaim’d,\\r\\nAnd by the happy hollow of a tree\\r\\nEscap’d the hunt. No port is free, no place\\r\\nThat guard and most unusual vigilance\\r\\nDoes not attend my taking. While I may scape\\r\\nI will preserve myself: and am bethought\\r\\nTo take the basest and most poorest shape\\r\\nThat ever penury in contempt of man,\\r\\nBrought near to beast: my face I’ll grime with filth,\\r\\nBlanket my loins; elf all my hair in knots,\\r\\nAnd with presented nakedness outface\\r\\nThe winds and persecutions of the sky.\\r\\nThe country gives me proof and precedent\\r\\nOf Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices,\\r\\nStrike in their numb’d and mortified bare arms\\r\\nPins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary;\\r\\nAnd with this horrible object, from low farms,\\r\\nPoor pelting villages, sheep-cotes, and mills,\\r\\nSometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers,\\r\\nEnforce their charity. Poor Turlygod! poor Tom,\\r\\nThat’s something yet: Edgar I nothing am.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Before Gloucester’s Castle; Kent in the stocks.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lear, Fool and Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\n’Tis strange that they should so depart from home,\\r\\nAnd not send back my messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nAs I learn’d,\\r\\nThe night before there was no purpose in them\\r\\nOf this remove.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nHail to thee, noble master!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHa! Mak’st thou this shame thy pastime?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNo, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nHa, ha! he wears cruel garters. Horses are tied by the heads; dogs and\\r\\nbears by the neck, monkeys by the loins, and men by the legs: when a\\r\\nman is overlusty at legs, then he wears wooden nether-stocks.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat’s he that hath so much thy place mistook\\r\\nTo set thee here?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nIt is both he and she,\\r\\nYour son and daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI say, yea.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo, no; they would not.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nYes, they have.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nBy Jupiter, I swear no.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nBy Juno, I swear ay.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThey durst not do’t.\\r\\nThey could not, would not do’t; ’tis worse than murder,\\r\\nTo do upon respect such violent outrage:\\r\\nResolve me, with all modest haste, which way\\r\\nThou mightst deserve or they impose this usage,\\r\\nComing from us.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nMy lord, when at their home\\r\\nI did commend your highness’ letters to them,\\r\\nEre I was risen from the place that show’d\\r\\nMy duty kneeling, came there a reeking post,\\r\\nStew’d in his haste, half breathless, panting forth\\r\\nFrom Goneril his mistress salutations;\\r\\nDeliver’d letters, spite of intermission,\\r\\nWhich presently they read; on those contents,\\r\\nThey summon’d up their meiny, straight took horse;\\r\\nCommanded me to follow and attend\\r\\nThe leisure of their answer; gave me cold looks:\\r\\nAnd meeting here the other messenger,\\r\\nWhose welcome I perceiv’d had poison’d mine,\\r\\nBeing the very fellow which of late\\r\\nDisplay’d so saucily against your highness,\\r\\nHaving more man than wit about me, drew;\\r\\nHe rais’d the house with loud and coward cries.\\r\\nYour son and daughter found this trespass worth\\r\\nThe shame which here it suffers.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nWinter’s not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way.\\r\\n Fathers that wear rags\\r\\n Do make their children blind,\\r\\n But fathers that bear bags\\r\\n Shall see their children kind.\\r\\n Fortune, that arrant whore,\\r\\n Ne’er turns the key to th’ poor.\\r\\nBut for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours for thy daughters as\\r\\nthou canst tell in a year.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nO, how this mother swells up toward my heart!\\r\\n_Hysterica passio_, down, thou climbing sorrow,\\r\\nThy element’s below! Where is this daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWith the earl, sir, here within.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nFollow me not; stay here.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nMade you no more offence but what you speak of?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNone.\\r\\nHow chance the King comes with so small a number?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nAn thou hadst been set i’ the stocks for that question, thou hadst well\\r\\ndeserved it.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWhy, fool?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nWe’ll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there’s no labouring\\r\\ni’the winter. All that follow their noses are led by their eyes but\\r\\nblind men; and there’s not a nose among twenty but can smell him that’s\\r\\nstinking. Let go thy hold when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it\\r\\nbreak thy neck with following it; but the great one that goes upward,\\r\\nlet him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel,\\r\\ngive me mine again: I would have none but knaves follow it, since a\\r\\nfool gives it.\\r\\n That sir which serves and seeks for gain,\\r\\n And follows but for form,\\r\\n Will pack when it begins to rain,\\r\\n And leave thee in the storm.\\r\\n But I will tarry; the fool will stay,\\r\\n And let the wise man fly:\\r\\n The knave turns fool that runs away;\\r\\n The fool no knave perdy.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWhere learn’d you this, fool?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nNot i’ the stocks, fool.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lear and Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nDeny to speak with me? They are sick? they are weary?\\r\\nThey have travell’d all the night? Mere fetches;\\r\\nThe images of revolt and flying off.\\r\\nFetch me a better answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nMy dear lord,\\r\\nYou know the fiery quality of the Duke;\\r\\nHow unremovable and fix’d he is\\r\\nIn his own course.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nVengeance! plague! death! confusion!\\r\\nFiery? What quality? Why, Gloucester, Gloucester,\\r\\nI’d speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWell, my good lord, I have inform’d them so.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nInform’d them! Dost thou understand me, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nAy, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThe King would speak with Cornwall; the dear father\\r\\nWould with his daughter speak, commands, tends, service,\\r\\nAre they inform’d of this? My breath and blood!\\r\\nFiery? The fiery Duke, tell the hot Duke that—\\r\\nNo, but not yet: maybe he is not well:\\r\\nInfirmity doth still neglect all office\\r\\nWhereto our health is bound: we are not ourselves\\r\\nWhen nature, being oppress’d, commands the mind\\r\\nTo suffer with the body: I’ll forbear;\\r\\nAnd am fallen out with my more headier will,\\r\\nTo take the indispos’d and sickly fit\\r\\nFor the sound man. [_Looking on Kent._]\\r\\nDeath on my state! Wherefore\\r\\nShould he sit here? This act persuades me\\r\\nThat this remotion of the Duke and her\\r\\nIs practice only. Give me my servant forth.\\r\\nGo tell the Duke and’s wife I’d speak with them,\\r\\nNow, presently: bid them come forth and hear me,\\r\\nOr at their chamber door I’ll beat the drum\\r\\nTill it cry sleep to death.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI would have all well betwixt you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nO me, my heart, my rising heart! But down!\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nCry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels when she put ’em i’\\r\\nthe paste alive; she knapped ’em o’ the coxcombs with a stick and cried\\r\\n‘Down, wantons, down!’ ’Twas her brother that, in pure kindness to his\\r\\nhorse buttered his hay.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gloucester and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nGood morrow to you both.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nHail to your grace!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kent here set at liberty._]\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nI am glad to see your highness.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nRegan, I think you are; I know what reason\\r\\nI have to think so: if thou shouldst not be glad,\\r\\nI would divorce me from thy mother’s tomb,\\r\\nSepulchring an adultress. [_To Kent_] O, are you free?\\r\\nSome other time for that.—Beloved Regan,\\r\\nThy sister’s naught: O Regan, she hath tied\\r\\nSharp-tooth’d unkindness, like a vulture, here.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Points to his heart._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI can scarce speak to thee; thou’lt not believe\\r\\nWith how deprav’d a quality—O Regan!\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nI pray you, sir, take patience. I have hope\\r\\nYou less know how to value her desert\\r\\nThan she to scant her duty.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nSay, how is that?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nI cannot think my sister in the least\\r\\nWould fail her obligation. If, sir, perchance\\r\\nShe have restrain’d the riots of your followers,\\r\\n’Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end,\\r\\nAs clears her from all blame.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nMy curses on her.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nO, sir, you are old;\\r\\nNature in you stands on the very verge\\r\\nOf her confine: you should be rul’d and led\\r\\nBy some discretion, that discerns your state\\r\\nBetter than you yourself. Therefore I pray you,\\r\\nThat to our sister you do make return;\\r\\nSay you have wrong’d her, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nAsk her forgiveness?\\r\\nDo you but mark how this becomes the house?\\r\\n‘Dear daughter, I confess that I am old;\\r\\n[_Kneeling._]\\r\\nAge is unnecessary: on my knees I beg\\r\\nThat you’ll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.’\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nGood sir, no more! These are unsightly tricks:\\r\\nReturn you to my sister.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\n[_Rising._] Never, Regan:\\r\\nShe hath abated me of half my train;\\r\\nLook’d black upon me; struck me with her tongue,\\r\\nMost serpent-like, upon the very heart.\\r\\nAll the stor’d vengeances of heaven fall\\r\\nOn her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones,\\r\\nYou taking airs, with lameness!\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nFie, sir, fie!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nYou nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames\\r\\nInto her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty,\\r\\nYou fen-suck’d fogs, drawn by the powerful sun,\\r\\nTo fall and blast her pride!\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nO the blest gods!\\r\\nSo will you wish on me when the rash mood is on.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse.\\r\\nThy tender-hefted nature shall not give\\r\\nThee o’er to harshness. Her eyes are fierce; but thine\\r\\nDo comfort, and not burn. ’Tis not in thee\\r\\nTo grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,\\r\\nTo bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes,\\r\\nAnd, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt\\r\\nAgainst my coming in. Thou better know’st\\r\\nThe offices of nature, bond of childhood,\\r\\nEffects of courtesy, dues of gratitude;\\r\\nThy half o’ the kingdom hast thou not forgot,\\r\\nWherein I thee endow’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nGood sir, to the purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWho put my man i’ the stocks?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Tucket within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nWhat trumpet’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nI know’t, my sister’s: this approves her letter,\\r\\nThat she would soon be here.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Oswald.\\r\\n\\r\\nIs your lady come?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThis is a slave, whose easy borrowed pride\\r\\nDwells in the fickle grace of her he follows.\\r\\nOut, varlet, from my sight!\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nWhat means your grace?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWho stock’d my servant? Regan, I have good hope\\r\\nThou didst not know on’t. Who comes here? O heavens!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Goneril.\\r\\n\\r\\nIf you do love old men, if your sweet sway\\r\\nAllow obedience, if yourselves are old,\\r\\nMake it your cause; send down, and take my part!\\r\\n[_To Goneril._] Art not asham’d to look upon this beard?\\r\\nO Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nWhy not by the hand, sir? How have I offended?\\r\\nAll’s not offence that indiscretion finds\\r\\nAnd dotage terms so.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nO sides, you are too tough!\\r\\nWill you yet hold? How came my man i’ the stocks?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nI set him there, sir: but his own disorders\\r\\nDeserv’d much less advancement.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nYou? Did you?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nI pray you, father, being weak, seem so.\\r\\nIf, till the expiration of your month,\\r\\nYou will return and sojourn with my sister,\\r\\nDismissing half your train, come then to me:\\r\\nI am now from home, and out of that provision\\r\\nWhich shall be needful for your entertainment.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nReturn to her, and fifty men dismiss’d?\\r\\nNo, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose\\r\\nTo wage against the enmity o’ the air;\\r\\nTo be a comrade with the wolf and owl,\\r\\nNecessity’s sharp pinch! Return with her?\\r\\nWhy, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took\\r\\nOur youngest born, I could as well be brought\\r\\nTo knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg\\r\\nTo keep base life afoot. Return with her?\\r\\nPersuade me rather to be slave and sumpter\\r\\nTo this detested groom.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Pointing to Oswald._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nAt your choice, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI prythee, daughter, do not make me mad:\\r\\nI will not trouble thee, my child; farewell:\\r\\nWe’ll no more meet, no more see one another.\\r\\nBut yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter;\\r\\nOr rather a disease that’s in my flesh,\\r\\nWhich I must needs call mine. Thou art a boil,\\r\\nA plague sore, or embossed carbuncle\\r\\nIn my corrupted blood. But I’ll not chide thee;\\r\\nLet shame come when it will, I do not call it:\\r\\nI do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,\\r\\nNor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove:\\r\\nMend when thou canst; be better at thy leisure:\\r\\nI can be patient; I can stay with Regan,\\r\\nI and my hundred knights.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nNot altogether so,\\r\\nI look’d not for you yet, nor am provided\\r\\nFor your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my sister;\\r\\nFor those that mingle reason with your passion\\r\\nMust be content to think you old, and so—\\r\\nBut she knows what she does.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nIs this well spoken?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nI dare avouch it, sir: what, fifty followers?\\r\\nIs it not well? What should you need of more?\\r\\nYea, or so many, sith that both charge and danger\\r\\nSpeak ’gainst so great a number? How in one house\\r\\nShould many people, under two commands,\\r\\nHold amity? ’Tis hard; almost impossible.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nWhy might not you, my lord, receive attendance\\r\\nFrom those that she calls servants, or from mine?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nWhy not, my lord? If then they chanc’d to slack ye,\\r\\nWe could control them. If you will come to me,—\\r\\nFor now I spy a danger,—I entreat you\\r\\nTo bring but five-and-twenty: to no more\\r\\nWill I give place or notice.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI gave you all,—\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nAnd in good time you gave it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nMade you my guardians, my depositaries;\\r\\nBut kept a reservation to be followed\\r\\nWith such a number. What, must I come to you\\r\\nWith five-and-twenty, Regan, said you so?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nAnd speak’t again my lord; no more with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThose wicked creatures yet do look well-favour’d\\r\\nWhen others are more wicked; not being the worst\\r\\nStands in some rank of praise.\\r\\n[_To Goneril._] I’ll go with thee:\\r\\nThy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty,\\r\\nAnd thou art twice her love.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nHear me, my lord:\\r\\nWhat need you five-and-twenty? Ten? Or five?\\r\\nTo follow in a house where twice so many\\r\\nHave a command to tend you?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nWhat need one?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nO, reason not the need: our basest beggars\\r\\nAre in the poorest thing superfluous:\\r\\nAllow not nature more than nature needs,\\r\\nMan’s life is cheap as beast’s. Thou art a lady;\\r\\nIf only to go warm were gorgeous,\\r\\nWhy, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear’st\\r\\nWhich scarcely keeps thee warm. But, for true need,—\\r\\nYou heavens, give me that patience, patience I need!\\r\\nYou see me here, you gods, a poor old man,\\r\\nAs full of grief as age; wretched in both!\\r\\nIf it be you that stirs these daughters’ hearts\\r\\nAgainst their father, fool me not so much\\r\\nTo bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger,\\r\\nAnd let not women’s weapons, water-drops,\\r\\nStain my man’s cheeks! No, you unnatural hags,\\r\\nI will have such revenges on you both\\r\\nThat all the world shall,—I will do such things,—\\r\\nWhat they are yet, I know not; but they shall be\\r\\nThe terrors of the earth. You think I’ll weep;\\r\\nNo, I’ll not weep:— [_Storm and tempest._]\\r\\nI have full cause of weeping; but this heart\\r\\nShall break into a hundred thousand flaws\\r\\nOr ere I’ll weep.—O fool, I shall go mad!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lear, Gloucester, Kent and Fool._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nLet us withdraw; ’twill be a storm.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nThis house is little: the old man and his people\\r\\nCannot be well bestow’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\n’Tis his own blame; hath put himself from rest\\r\\nAnd must needs taste his folly.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nFor his particular, I’ll receive him gladly,\\r\\nBut not one follower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nSo am I purpos’d.\\r\\nWhere is my lord of Gloucester?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nFollowed the old man forth, he is return’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nThe King is in high rage.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nWhither is he going?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHe calls to horse; but will I know not whither.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\n’Tis best to give him way; he leads himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nMy lord, entreat him by no means to stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nAlack, the night comes on, and the high winds\\r\\nDo sorely ruffle; for many miles about\\r\\nThere’s scarce a bush.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nO, sir, to wilful men\\r\\nThe injuries that they themselves procure\\r\\nMust be their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors.\\r\\nHe is attended with a desperate train,\\r\\nAnd what they may incense him to, being apt\\r\\nTo have his ear abus’d, wisdom bids fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nShut up your doors, my lord; ’tis a wild night.\\r\\nMy Regan counsels well: come out o’ the storm.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A Heath.\\r\\n\\r\\n A storm with thunder and lightning. Enter Kent and a Gentleman,\\r\\n severally.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWho’s there, besides foul weather?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nOne minded like the weather, most unquietly.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI know you. Where’s the King?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nContending with the fretful elements;\\r\\nBids the wind blow the earth into the sea,\\r\\nOr swell the curled waters ’bove the main,\\r\\nThat things might change or cease; tears his white hair,\\r\\nWhich the impetuous blasts with eyeless rage,\\r\\nCatch in their fury and make nothing of;\\r\\nStrives in his little world of man to outscorn\\r\\nThe to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain.\\r\\nThis night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch,\\r\\nThe lion and the belly-pinched wolf\\r\\nKeep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs,\\r\\nAnd bids what will take all.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nBut who is with him?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNone but the fool, who labours to out-jest\\r\\nHis heart-struck injuries.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nSir, I do know you;\\r\\nAnd dare, upon the warrant of my note\\r\\nCommend a dear thing to you. There is division,\\r\\nAlthough as yet the face of it be cover’d\\r\\nWith mutual cunning, ’twixt Albany and Cornwall;\\r\\nWho have, as who have not, that their great stars\\r\\nThrone’d and set high; servants, who seem no less,\\r\\nWhich are to France the spies and speculations\\r\\nIntelligent of our state. What hath been seen,\\r\\nEither in snuffs and packings of the Dukes;\\r\\nOr the hard rein which both of them have borne\\r\\nAgainst the old kind King; or something deeper,\\r\\nWhereof, perchance, these are but furnishings;—\\r\\nBut, true it is, from France there comes a power\\r\\nInto this scatter’d kingdom; who already,\\r\\nWise in our negligence, have secret feet\\r\\nIn some of our best ports, and are at point\\r\\nTo show their open banner.—Now to you:\\r\\nIf on my credit you dare build so far\\r\\nTo make your speed to Dover, you shall find\\r\\nSome that will thank you making just report\\r\\nOf how unnatural and bemadding sorrow\\r\\nThe King hath cause to plain.\\r\\nI am a gentleman of blood and breeding;\\r\\nAnd from some knowledge and assurance\\r\\nOffer this office to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI will talk further with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNo, do not.\\r\\nFor confirmation that I am much more\\r\\nThan my out-wall, open this purse, and take\\r\\nWhat it contains. If you shall see Cordelia,\\r\\nAs fear not but you shall, show her this ring;\\r\\nAnd she will tell you who your fellow is\\r\\nThat yet you do not know. Fie on this storm!\\r\\nI will go seek the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nGive me your hand: have you no more to say?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nFew words, but, to effect, more than all yet:\\r\\nThat, when we have found the King, in which your pain\\r\\nThat way, I’ll this; he that first lights on him\\r\\nHolla the other.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another part of the heath.\\r\\n\\r\\n Storm continues. Enter Lear and Fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nBlow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage! blow!\\r\\nYou cataracts and hurricanoes, spout\\r\\nTill you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks!\\r\\nYou sulphurous and thought-executing fires,\\r\\nVaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,\\r\\nSinge my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,\\r\\nStrike flat the thick rotundity o’ the world!\\r\\nCrack nature’s moulds, all germens spill at once,\\r\\nThat make ingrateful man!\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nO nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house is better than this\\r\\nrain-water out o’ door. Good nuncle, in; and ask thy daughters\\r\\nblessing: here’s a night pities neither wise men nor fools.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nRumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain!\\r\\nNor rain, wind, thunder, fire are my daughters;\\r\\nI tax not you, you elements, with unkindness.\\r\\nI never gave you kingdom, call’d you children;\\r\\nYou owe me no subscription: then let fall\\r\\nYour horrible pleasure. Here I stand your slave,\\r\\nA poor, infirm, weak, and despis’d old man:\\r\\nBut yet I call you servile ministers,\\r\\nThat will with two pernicious daughters join\\r\\nYour high-engender’d battles ’gainst a head\\r\\nSo old and white as this! O! O! ’tis foul!\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nHe that has a house to put’s head in has a good head-piece.\\r\\n The codpiece that will house\\r\\n Before the head has any,\\r\\n The head and he shall louse:\\r\\n So beggars marry many.\\r\\n The man that makes his toe\\r\\n What he his heart should make\\r\\n Shall of a corn cry woe,\\r\\n And turn his sleep to wake.\\r\\nFor there was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo, I will be the pattern of all patience;\\r\\nI will say nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Kent.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWho’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nMarry, here’s grace and a codpiece; that’s a wise man and a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nAlas, sir, are you here? Things that love night\\r\\nLove not such nights as these; the wrathful skies\\r\\nGallow the very wanderers of the dark,\\r\\nAnd make them keep their caves. Since I was man,\\r\\nSuch sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder,\\r\\nSuch groans of roaring wind and rain I never\\r\\nRemember to have heard. Man’s nature cannot carry\\r\\nTh’affliction, nor the fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nLet the great gods,\\r\\nThat keep this dreadful pudder o’er our heads,\\r\\nFind out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,\\r\\nThat hast within thee undivulged crimes\\r\\nUnwhipp’d of justice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand;\\r\\nThou perjur’d, and thou simular of virtue\\r\\nThat art incestuous. Caitiff, to pieces shake\\r\\nThat under covert and convenient seeming\\r\\nHast practis’d on man’s life: close pent-up guilts,\\r\\nRive your concealing continents, and cry\\r\\nThese dreadful summoners grace. I am a man\\r\\nMore sinn’d against than sinning.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nAlack, bareheaded!\\r\\nGracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel;\\r\\nSome friendship will it lend you ’gainst the tempest:\\r\\nRepose you there, whilst I to this hard house,—\\r\\nMore harder than the stones whereof ’tis rais’d;\\r\\nWhich even but now, demanding after you,\\r\\nDenied me to come in,—return, and force\\r\\nTheir scanted courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nMy wits begin to turn.\\r\\nCome on, my boy. How dost, my boy? Art cold?\\r\\nI am cold myself. Where is this straw, my fellow?\\r\\nThe art of our necessities is strange,\\r\\nThat can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel.\\r\\nPoor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart\\r\\nThat’s sorry yet for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\n[_Singing._]\\r\\n He that has and a little tiny wit,\\r\\n With heigh-ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n Must make content with his fortunes fit,\\r\\n Though the rain it raineth every day.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nTrue, boy. Come, bring us to this hovel.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lear and Kent._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nThis is a brave night to cool a courtezan. I’ll speak a prophecy ere I\\r\\ngo:\\r\\n When priests are more in word than matter;\\r\\n When brewers mar their malt with water;\\r\\n When nobles are their tailors’ tutors;\\r\\n No heretics burn’d, but wenches’ suitors;\\r\\n When every case in law is right;\\r\\n No squire in debt, nor no poor knight;\\r\\n When slanders do not live in tongues;\\r\\n Nor cut-purses come not to throngs;\\r\\n When usurers tell their gold i’ the field;\\r\\n And bawds and whores do churches build,\\r\\n Then shall the realm of Albion\\r\\n Come to great confusion:\\r\\n Then comes the time, who lives to see’t,\\r\\n That going shall be us’d with feet.\\r\\nThis prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live before his time.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester and Edmund.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nAlack, alack, Edmund, I like not this unnatural dealing. When I desired\\r\\ntheir leave that I might pity him, they took from me the use of mine\\r\\nown house; charged me on pain of perpetual displeasure, neither to\\r\\nspeak of him, entreat for him, or any way sustain him.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nMost savage and unnatural!\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nGo to; say you nothing. There is division between the Dukes, and a\\r\\nworse matter than that: I have received a letter this night;—’tis\\r\\ndangerous to be spoken;—I have locked the letter in my closet: these\\r\\ninjuries the King now bears will be revenged home; there’s part of a\\r\\npower already footed: we must incline to the King. I will look him, and\\r\\nprivily relieve him: go you and maintain talk with the Duke, that my\\r\\ncharity be not of him perceived: if he ask for me, I am ill, and gone\\r\\nto bed. If I die for it, as no less is threatened me, the King my old\\r\\nmaster must be relieved. There is some strange thing toward, Edmund;\\r\\npray you be careful.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nThis courtesy, forbid thee, shall the Duke\\r\\nInstantly know; and of that letter too.\\r\\nThis seems a fair deserving, and must draw me\\r\\nThat which my father loses, no less than all:\\r\\nThe younger rises when the old doth fall.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A part of the Heath with a Hovel.\\r\\n\\r\\n Storm continues. Enter Lear, Kent and Fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nHere is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter:\\r\\nThe tyranny of the open night’s too rough\\r\\nFor nature to endure.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nLet me alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nGood my lord, enter here.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWilt break my heart?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI had rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThou think’st ’tis much that this contentious storm\\r\\nInvades us to the skin: so ’tis to thee,\\r\\nBut where the greater malady is fix’d,\\r\\nThe lesser is scarce felt. Thou’dst shun a bear;\\r\\nBut if thy flight lay toward the raging sea,\\r\\nThou’dst meet the bear i’ the mouth. When the mind’s free,\\r\\nThe body’s delicate: the tempest in my mind\\r\\nDoth from my senses take all feeling else\\r\\nSave what beats there. Filial ingratitude!\\r\\nIs it not as this mouth should tear this hand\\r\\nFor lifting food to’t? But I will punish home;\\r\\nNo, I will weep no more. In such a night\\r\\nTo shut me out! Pour on; I will endure:\\r\\nIn such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril!\\r\\nYour old kind father, whose frank heart gave all,\\r\\nO, that way madness lies; let me shun that;\\r\\nNo more of that.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nGood my lord, enter here.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nPrythee go in thyself; seek thine own ease:\\r\\nThis tempest will not give me leave to ponder\\r\\nOn things would hurt me more. But I’ll go in.\\r\\n[_To the Fool._] In, boy; go first. You houseless poverty,\\r\\nNay, get thee in. I’ll pray, and then I’ll sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Fool goes in._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPoor naked wretches, wheresoe’er you are,\\r\\nThat bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,\\r\\nHow shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,\\r\\nYour loop’d and window’d raggedness, defend you\\r\\nFrom seasons such as these? O, I have ta’en\\r\\nToo little care of this! Take physic, pomp;\\r\\nExpose thyself to feel what wretches feel,\\r\\nThat thou mayst shake the superflux to them\\r\\nAnd show the heavens more just.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\n[_Within._] Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Fool runs out from the hovel._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nCome not in here, nuncle, here’s a spirit.\\r\\nHelp me, help me!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nGive me thy hand. Who’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nA spirit, a spirit: he says his name’s poor Tom.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWhat art thou that dost grumble there i’ the straw?\\r\\nCome forth.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Edgar, disguised as a madman.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nAway! the foul fiend follows me! Through the sharp hawthorn blows the\\r\\ncold wind. Humh! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nDidst thou give all to thy two daughters?\\r\\nAnd art thou come to this?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nWho gives anything to poor Tom? Whom the foul fiend hath led through\\r\\nfire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, o’er bog and\\r\\nquagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow and halters in his\\r\\npew, set ratsbane by his porridge; made him proud of heart, to ride on\\r\\na bay trotting horse over four-inched bridges, to course his own shadow\\r\\nfor a traitor. Bless thy five wits! \\tTom’s a-cold. O, do, de, do,\\r\\nde, do, de. Bless thee from whirlwinds, star-blasting, and taking! Do\\r\\npoor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes. There could I have\\r\\nhim now, and there,—and there again, and there.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Storm continues._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat, have his daughters brought him to this pass?\\r\\nCouldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give ’em all?\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nNay, he reserv’d a blanket, else we had been all shamed.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNow all the plagues that in the pendulous air\\r\\nHang fated o’er men’s faults light on thy daughters!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nHe hath no daughters, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nDeath, traitor! nothing could have subdu’d nature\\r\\nTo such a lowness but his unkind daughters.\\r\\nIs it the fashion that discarded fathers\\r\\nShould have thus little mercy on their flesh?\\r\\nJudicious punishment! ’twas this flesh begot\\r\\nThose pelican daughters.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\n Pillicock sat on Pillicock hill,\\r\\n Alow, alow, loo loo!\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nThis cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nTake heed o’ th’ foul fiend: obey thy parents; keep thy word justly;\\r\\nswear not; commit not with man’s sworn spouse; set not thy sweet-heart\\r\\non proud array. Tom’s a-cold.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat hast thou been?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nA serving-man, proud in heart and mind; that curled my hair; wore\\r\\ngloves in my cap; served the lust of my mistress’ heart, and did the\\r\\nact of darkness with her; swore as many oaths as I spake words, and\\r\\nbroke them in the sweet face of heaven. One that slept in the\\r\\ncontriving of lust, and waked to do it. Wine loved I deeply, dice\\r\\ndearly; and in woman out-paramour’d the Turk. False of heart, light of\\r\\near, bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness,\\r\\ndog in madness, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of shoes nor the\\r\\nrustling of silks betray thy poor heart to woman. Keep thy foot out of\\r\\nbrothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lender’s book, and\\r\\ndefy the foul fiend. Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind:\\r\\nsays suum, mun, nonny. Dolphin my boy, boy, sessa! let him trot by.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Storm still continues._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhy, thou wert better in thy grave than to answer with thy uncovered\\r\\nbody this extremity of the skies. Is man no more than this? Consider\\r\\nhim well. Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no\\r\\nwool, the cat no perfume. Ha! here’s three on’s are sophisticated! Thou\\r\\nart the thing itself: unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor,\\r\\nbare, forked animal as thou art. Off, off, you lendings! Come, unbutton\\r\\nhere.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Tears off his clothes._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nPrythee, nuncle, be contented; ’tis a naughty night to swim in. Now a\\r\\nlittle fire in a wild field were like an old lecher’s heart, a small\\r\\nspark, all the rest on’s body cold. Look, here comes a walking fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nThis is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he begins at curfew, and walks\\r\\ntill the first cock; he gives the web and the pin, squints the eye, and\\r\\nmakes the harelip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the poor creature\\r\\nof earth.\\r\\n Swithold footed thrice the old;\\r\\n He met the nightmare, and her nine-fold;\\r\\n Bid her alight and her troth plight,\\r\\n And aroint thee, witch, aroint thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nHow fares your grace?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester with a torch.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat’s he?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWho’s there? What is’t you seek?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWhat are you there? Your names?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nPoor Tom; that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the todpole, the\\r\\nwall-newt and the water; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul\\r\\nfiend rages, eats cow-dung for sallets; swallows the old rat and the\\r\\nditch-dog; drinks the green mantle of the standing pool; who is whipped\\r\\nfrom tithing to tithing, and stocked, punished, and imprisoned; who\\r\\nhath had three suits to his back, six shirts to his body,\\r\\n Horse to ride, and weapon to wear.\\r\\n But mice and rats and such small deer,\\r\\n Have been Tom’s food for seven long year.\\r\\nBeware my follower. Peace, Smulkin; peace, thou fiend!\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWhat, hath your grace no better company?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nThe prince of darkness is a gentleman:\\r\\nModo he’s call’d, and Mahu.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nOur flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile\\r\\nThat it doth hate what gets it.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nPoor Tom’s a-cold.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nGo in with me: my duty cannot suffer\\r\\nT’obey in all your daughters’ hard commands;\\r\\nThough their injunction be to bar my doors,\\r\\nAnd let this tyrannous night take hold upon you,\\r\\nYet have I ventur’d to come seek you out,\\r\\nAnd bring you where both fire and food is ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nFirst let me talk with this philosopher.\\r\\nWhat is the cause of thunder?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nGood my lord, take his offer; go into the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI’ll talk a word with this same learned Theban.\\r\\nWhat is your study?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nHow to prevent the fiend and to kill vermin.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nLet me ask you one word in private.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nImportune him once more to go, my lord;\\r\\nHis wits begin t’unsettle.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nCanst thou blame him?\\r\\nHis daughters seek his death. Ah, that good Kent!\\r\\nHe said it would be thus, poor banish’d man!\\r\\nThou sayest the King grows mad; I’ll tell thee, friend,\\r\\nI am almost mad myself. I had a son,\\r\\nNow outlaw’d from my blood; he sought my life\\r\\nBut lately, very late: I lov’d him, friend,\\r\\nNo father his son dearer: true to tell thee,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Storm continues._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe grief hath craz’d my wits. What a night’s this!\\r\\nI do beseech your grace.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nO, cry you mercy, sir.\\r\\nNoble philosopher, your company.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nTom’s a-cold.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nIn, fellow, there, into the hovel; keep thee warm.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nCome, let’s in all.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nThis way, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWith him;\\r\\nI will keep still with my philosopher.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nGood my lord, soothe him; let him take the fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nTake him you on.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nSirrah, come on; go along with us.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nCome, good Athenian.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nNo words, no words, hush.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\n Child Rowland to the dark tower came,\\r\\n His word was still—Fie, foh, and fum,\\r\\n I smell the blood of a British man.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cornwall and Edmund.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nI will have my revenge ere I depart his house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nHow, my lord, I may be censured, that nature thus gives way to loyalty,\\r\\nsomething fears me to think of.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nI now perceive it was not altogether your brother’s evil disposition\\r\\nmade him seek his death; but a provoking merit, set a-work by a\\r\\nreproveable badness in himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nHow malicious is my fortune, that I must repent to be just! This is the\\r\\nletter he spoke of, which approves him an intelligent party to the\\r\\nadvantages of France. O heavens! that this treason were not; or not I\\r\\nthe detector!\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nGo with me to the Duchess.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nIf the matter of this paper be certain, you have mighty business in\\r\\nhand.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nTrue or false, it hath made thee Earl of Gloucester. Seek out where thy\\r\\nfather is, that he may be ready for our apprehension.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\n[_Aside._] If I find him comforting the King, it will stuff his\\r\\nsuspicion more fully. I will persever in my course of loyalty, though\\r\\nthe conflict be sore between that and my blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nI will lay trust upon thee; and thou shalt find a dearer father in my\\r\\nlove.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. A Chamber in a Farmhouse adjoining the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester, Lear, Kent, Fool and Edgar.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHere is better than the open air; take it thankfully. I will piece out\\r\\nthe comfort with what addition I can: I will not be long from you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nAll the power of his wits have given way to his impatience:— the gods\\r\\nreward your kindness!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Gloucester._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nFrateretto calls me; and tells me Nero is an angler in the lake of\\r\\ndarkness. Pray, innocent, and beware the foul fiend.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nPrythee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a gentleman or a yeoman.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nA king, a king!\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nNo, he’s a yeoman that has a gentleman to his son; for he’s a mad\\r\\nyeoman that sees his son a gentleman before him.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nTo have a thousand with red burning spits\\r\\nCome hissing in upon ’em.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nThe foul fiend bites my back.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nHe’s mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse’s health, a\\r\\nboy’s love, or a whore’s oath.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nIt shall be done; I will arraign them straight.\\r\\n[_To Edgar._] Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer;\\r\\n[_To the Fool._] Thou, sapient sir, sit here. Now, you she-foxes!—\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nLook, where he stands and glares! Want’st thou eyes at trial, madam?\\r\\n Come o’er the bourn, Bessy, to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\n Her boat hath a leak,\\r\\n And she must not speak\\r\\n Why she dares not come over to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nThe foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice of a nightingale.\\r\\nHoppedance cries in Tom’s belly for two white herring. Croak not, black\\r\\nangel; I have no food for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nHow do you, sir? Stand you not so amaz’d;\\r\\nWill you lie down and rest upon the cushions?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI’ll see their trial first. Bring in their evidence.\\r\\n[_To Edgar._] Thou, robed man of justice, take thy place.\\r\\n[_To the Fool._] And thou, his yokefellow of equity,\\r\\nBench by his side. [_To Kent._] You are o’ the commission,\\r\\nSit you too.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\n Let us deal justly.\\r\\n Sleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd?\\r\\n Thy sheep be in the corn;\\r\\n And for one blast of thy minikin mouth\\r\\n Thy sheep shall take no harm.\\r\\nPurr! the cat is grey.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nArraign her first; ’tis Goneril. I here take my oath before this\\r\\nhonourable assembly, she kicked the poor King her father.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nCome hither, mistress. Is your name Goneril?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nShe cannot deny it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nCry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nAnd here’s another, whose warp’d looks proclaim\\r\\nWhat store her heart is made on. Stop her there!\\r\\nArms, arms! sword! fire! Corruption in the place!\\r\\nFalse justicer, why hast thou let her ’scape?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nBless thy five wits!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nO pity! Sir, where is the patience now\\r\\nThat you so oft have boasted to retain?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\n[_Aside._] My tears begin to take his part so much\\r\\nThey mar my counterfeiting.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThe little dogs and all,\\r\\nTrey, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see, they bark at me.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nTom will throw his head at them. Avaunt, you curs!\\r\\n Be thy mouth or black or white,\\r\\n Tooth that poisons if it bite;\\r\\n Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim,\\r\\n Hound or spaniel, brach or him,\\r\\n Or bobtail tike or trundle-tail,\\r\\n Tom will make them weep and wail;\\r\\n For, with throwing thus my head,\\r\\n Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled.\\r\\nDo, de, de, de. Sessa! Come, march to wakes and fairs and market towns.\\r\\nPoor Tom, thy horn is dry.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThen let them anatomize Regan; see what breeds about her heart. Is\\r\\nthere any cause in nature that makes these hard hearts? [_To Edgar._]\\r\\nYou, sir, I entertain you for one of my hundred; only I do not like the\\r\\nfashion of your garments. You’ll say they are Persian; but let them be\\r\\nchanged.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNow, good my lord, lie here and rest awhile.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nMake no noise, make no noise; draw the curtains.\\r\\nSo, so. We’ll go to supper i’ the morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nFOOL.\\r\\nAnd I’ll go to bed at noon.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nCome hither, friend;\\r\\nWhere is the King my master?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nHere, sir; but trouble him not, his wits are gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nGood friend, I prythee, take him in thy arms;\\r\\nI have o’erheard a plot of death upon him;\\r\\nThere is a litter ready; lay him in’t\\r\\nAnd drive towards Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet\\r\\nBoth welcome and protection. Take up thy master;\\r\\nIf thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life,\\r\\nWith thine, and all that offer to defend him,\\r\\nStand in assured loss. Take up, take up;\\r\\nAnd follow me, that will to some provision\\r\\nGive thee quick conduct.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nOppressed nature sleeps.\\r\\nThis rest might yet have balm’d thy broken sinews,\\r\\nWhich, if convenience will not allow,\\r\\nStand in hard cure. Come, help to bear thy master;\\r\\n[_To the Fool._] Thou must not stay behind.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nCome, come, away!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Kent, Gloucester and the Fool bearing off Lear._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nWhen we our betters see bearing our woes,\\r\\nWe scarcely think our miseries our foes.\\r\\nWho alone suffers, suffers most i’ the mind,\\r\\nLeaving free things and happy shows behind:\\r\\nBut then the mind much sufferance doth o’erskip\\r\\nWhen grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship.\\r\\nHow light and portable my pain seems now,\\r\\nWhen that which makes me bend makes the King bow;\\r\\nHe childed as I fathered! Tom, away!\\r\\nMark the high noises; and thyself bewray,\\r\\nWhen false opinion, whose wrong thoughts defile thee,\\r\\nIn thy just proof repeals and reconciles thee.\\r\\nWhat will hap more tonight, safe ’scape the King!\\r\\nLurk, lurk.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, Edmund and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nPost speedily to my lord your husband, show him this letter: the army\\r\\nof France is landed. Seek out the traitor Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt some of the Servants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nHang him instantly.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nPluck out his eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nLeave him to my displeasure. Edmund, keep you our sister company: the\\r\\nrevenges we are bound to take upon your traitorous father are not fit\\r\\nfor your beholding. Advise the Duke where you are going, to a most\\r\\nfestinate preparation: we are bound to the like. Our posts shall be\\r\\nswift and intelligent betwixt us. Farewell, dear sister, farewell, my\\r\\nlord of Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Oswald.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now! Where’s the King?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nMy lord of Gloucester hath convey’d him hence:\\r\\nSome five or six and thirty of his knights,\\r\\nHot questrists after him, met him at gate;\\r\\nWho, with some other of the lord’s dependants,\\r\\nAre gone with him toward Dover: where they boast\\r\\nTo have well-armed friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nGet horses for your mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nFarewell, sweet lord, and sister.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nEdmund, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Goneril, Edmund and Oswald._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGo seek the traitor Gloucester,\\r\\nPinion him like a thief, bring him before us.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt other Servants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThough well we may not pass upon his life\\r\\nWithout the form of justice, yet our power\\r\\nShall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men\\r\\nMay blame, but not control. Who’s there? The traitor?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nIngrateful fox! ’tis he.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nBind fast his corky arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWhat mean your graces?\\r\\nGood my friends, consider you are my guests.\\r\\nDo me no foul play, friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nBind him, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Servants bind him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nHard, hard. O filthy traitor!\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nUnmerciful lady as you are, I’m none.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nTo this chair bind him. Villain, thou shalt find—\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Regan plucks his beard._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nBy the kind gods, ’tis most ignobly done\\r\\nTo pluck me by the beard.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nSo white, and such a traitor!\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nNaughty lady,\\r\\nThese hairs which thou dost ravish from my chin\\r\\nWill quicken, and accuse thee. I am your host:\\r\\nWith robber’s hands my hospitable favours\\r\\nYou should not ruffle thus. What will you do?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nCome, sir, what letters had you late from France?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nBe simple answer’d, for we know the truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nAnd what confederacy have you with the traitors,\\r\\nLate footed in the kingdom?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nTo whose hands have you sent the lunatic King?\\r\\nSpeak.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI have a letter guessingly set down,\\r\\nWhich came from one that’s of a neutral heart,\\r\\nAnd not from one oppos’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nCunning.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nAnd false.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nWhere hast thou sent the King?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nTo Dover.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nWherefore to Dover? Wast thou not charg’d at peril,—\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nWherefore to Dover? Let him first answer that.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI am tied to the stake, and I must stand the course.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nWherefore to Dover, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nBecause I would not see thy cruel nails\\r\\nPluck out his poor old eyes; nor thy fierce sister\\r\\nIn his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs.\\r\\nThe sea, with such a storm as his bare head\\r\\nIn hell-black night endur’d, would have buoy’d up,\\r\\nAnd quench’d the stelled fires;\\r\\nYet, poor old heart, he holp the heavens to rain.\\r\\nIf wolves had at thy gate howl’d that stern time,\\r\\nThou shouldst have said, ‘Good porter, turn the key.’\\r\\nAll cruels else subscrib’d: but I shall see\\r\\nThe winged vengeance overtake such children.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nSee’t shalt thou never. Fellows, hold the chair.\\r\\nUpon these eyes of thine I’ll set my foot.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Gloucester is held down in his chair, while Cornwall plucks out one\\r\\n of his eyes and sets his foot on it._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHe that will think to live till he be old,\\r\\nGive me some help!—O cruel! O you gods!\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nOne side will mock another; the other too!\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nIf you see vengeance—\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nHold your hand, my lord:\\r\\nI have serv’d you ever since I was a child;\\r\\nBut better service have I never done you\\r\\nThan now to bid you hold.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nHow now, you dog!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nIf you did wear a beard upon your chin,\\r\\nI’d shake it on this quarrel. What do you mean?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nMy villain?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Draws, and runs at him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nNay, then, come on, and take the chance of anger.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Draws. They fight. Cornwall is wounded._]\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\n[_To another servant._] Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Snatches a sword, comes behind, and stabs him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nO, I am slain! My lord, you have one eye left\\r\\nTo see some mischief on him. O!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nLest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly!\\r\\nWhere is thy lustre now?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Tears out Gloucester’s other eye and throws it on the ground._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nAll dark and comfortless. Where’s my son Edmund?\\r\\nEdmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature\\r\\nTo quit this horrid act.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nOut, treacherous villain!\\r\\nThou call’st on him that hates thee: it was he\\r\\nThat made the overture of thy treasons to us;\\r\\nWho is too good to pity thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nO my follies! Then Edgar was abus’d.\\r\\nKind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him!\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nGo thrust him out at gates, and let him smell\\r\\nHis way to Dover. How is’t, my lord? How look you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORNWALL.\\r\\nI have receiv’d a hurt: follow me, lady.\\r\\nTurn out that eyeless villain. Throw this slave\\r\\nUpon the dunghill. Regan, I bleed apace:\\r\\nUntimely comes this hurt: give me your arm.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Cornwall, led by Regan; Servants unbind Gloucester and lead him\\r\\n out._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nI’ll never care what wickedness I do,\\r\\nIf this man come to good.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD SERVANT.\\r\\nIf she live long,\\r\\nAnd in the end meet the old course of death,\\r\\nWomen will all turn monsters.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nLet’s follow the old Earl, and get the bedlam\\r\\nTo lead him where he would: his roguish madness\\r\\nAllows itself to anything.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD SERVANT.\\r\\nGo thou: I’ll fetch some flax and whites of eggs\\r\\nTo apply to his bleeding face. Now heaven help him!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The heath.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Edgar.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nYet better thus, and known to be contemn’d,\\r\\nThan still contemn’d and flatter’d. To be worst,\\r\\nThe lowest and most dejected thing of fortune,\\r\\nStands still in esperance, lives not in fear:\\r\\nThe lamentable change is from the best;\\r\\nThe worst returns to laughter. Welcome then,\\r\\nThou unsubstantial air that I embrace;\\r\\nThe wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst\\r\\nOwes nothing to thy blasts.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester, led by an Old Man.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut who comes here? My father, poorly led?\\r\\nWorld, world, O world!\\r\\nBut that thy strange mutations make us hate thee,\\r\\nLife would not yield to age.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\nO my good lord, I have been your tenant, and your father’s tenant these\\r\\nfourscore years.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nAway, get thee away; good friend, be gone.\\r\\nThy comforts can do me no good at all;\\r\\nThee they may hurt.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\nYou cannot see your way.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI have no way, and therefore want no eyes;\\r\\nI stumbled when I saw. Full oft ’tis seen\\r\\nOur means secure us, and our mere defects\\r\\nProve our commodities. O dear son Edgar,\\r\\nThe food of thy abused father’s wrath!\\r\\nMight I but live to see thee in my touch,\\r\\nI’d say I had eyes again!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\nHow now! Who’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\n[_Aside._] O gods! Who is’t can say ‘I am at the worst’?\\r\\nI am worse than e’er I was.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\n’Tis poor mad Tom.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\n[_Aside._] And worse I may be yet. The worst is not\\r\\nSo long as we can say ‘This is the worst.’\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\nFellow, where goest?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nIs it a beggar-man?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\nMadman, and beggar too.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHe has some reason, else he could not beg.\\r\\nI’ the last night’s storm I such a fellow saw;\\r\\nWhich made me think a man a worm. My son\\r\\nCame then into my mind, and yet my mind\\r\\nWas then scarce friends with him.\\r\\nI have heard more since.\\r\\nAs flies to wanton boys are we to the gods,\\r\\nThey kill us for their sport.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\n[_Aside._] How should this be?\\r\\nBad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow,\\r\\nAngering itself and others. Bless thee, master!\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nIs that the naked fellow?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\nAy, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nThen prythee get thee away. If for my sake\\r\\nThou wilt o’ertake us hence a mile or twain,\\r\\nI’ the way toward Dover, do it for ancient love,\\r\\nAnd bring some covering for this naked soul,\\r\\nWhich I’ll entreat to lead me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\nAlack, sir, he is mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\n’Tis the time’s plague when madmen lead the blind.\\r\\nDo as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure;\\r\\nAbove the rest, be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\nI’ll bring him the best ’parel that I have,\\r\\nCome on’t what will.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nSirrah naked fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nPoor Tom’s a-cold.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I cannot daub it further.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nCome hither, fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\n[_Aside._] And yet I must. Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nKnow’st thou the way to Dover?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nBoth stile and gate, horseway and footpath. Poor Tom hath been scared\\r\\nout of his good wits. Bless thee, good man’s son, from the foul fiend!\\r\\nFive fiends have been in poor Tom at once; of lust, as Obidicut;\\r\\nHobbididence, prince of darkness; Mahu, of stealing; Modo, of murder;\\r\\nFlibbertigibbet, of mopping and mowing, who since possesses\\r\\nchambermaids and waiting women. So, bless thee, master!\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHere, take this purse, thou whom the heaven’s plagues\\r\\nHave humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched\\r\\nMakes thee the happier. Heavens deal so still!\\r\\nLet the superfluous and lust-dieted man,\\r\\nThat slaves your ordinance, that will not see\\r\\nBecause he does not feel, feel your power quickly;\\r\\nSo distribution should undo excess,\\r\\nAnd each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nAy, master.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nThere is a cliff, whose high and bending head\\r\\nLooks fearfully in the confined deep:\\r\\nBring me but to the very brim of it,\\r\\nAnd I’ll repair the misery thou dost bear\\r\\nWith something rich about me: from that place\\r\\nI shall no leading need.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nGive me thy arm:\\r\\nPoor Tom shall lead thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Before the Duke of Albany’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Goneril, Edmund; Oswald meeting them.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nWelcome, my lord. I marvel our mild husband\\r\\nNot met us on the way. Now, where’s your master?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nMadam, within; but never man so chang’d.\\r\\nI told him of the army that was landed;\\r\\nHe smil’d at it: I told him you were coming;\\r\\nHis answer was, ‘The worse.’ Of Gloucester’s treachery\\r\\nAnd of the loyal service of his son\\r\\nWhen I inform’d him, then he call’d me sot,\\r\\nAnd told me I had turn’d the wrong side out.\\r\\nWhat most he should dislike seems pleasant to him;\\r\\nWhat like, offensive.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\n[_To Edmund._] Then shall you go no further.\\r\\nIt is the cowish terror of his spirit,\\r\\nThat dares not undertake. He’ll not feel wrongs\\r\\nWhich tie him to an answer. Our wishes on the way\\r\\nMay prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother;\\r\\nHasten his musters and conduct his powers.\\r\\nI must change names at home, and give the distaff\\r\\nInto my husband’s hands. This trusty servant\\r\\nShall pass between us. Ere long you are like to hear,\\r\\nIf you dare venture in your own behalf,\\r\\nA mistress’s command. [_Giving a favour._]\\r\\nWear this; spare speech;\\r\\nDecline your head. This kiss, if it durst speak,\\r\\nWould stretch thy spirits up into the air.\\r\\nConceive, and fare thee well.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nYours in the ranks of death.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Edmund._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nMy most dear Gloucester.\\r\\nO, the difference of man and man!\\r\\nTo thee a woman’s services are due;\\r\\nMy fool usurps my body.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nMadam, here comes my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Albany.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nI have been worth the whistle.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nO Goneril!\\r\\nYou are not worth the dust which the rude wind\\r\\nBlows in your face! I fear your disposition;\\r\\nThat nature which contemns its origin\\r\\nCannot be bordered certain in itself.\\r\\nShe that herself will sliver and disbranch\\r\\nFrom her material sap, perforce must wither\\r\\nAnd come to deadly use.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nNo more; the text is foolish.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nWisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile;\\r\\nFilths savour but themselves. What have you done?\\r\\nTigers, not daughters, what have you perform’d?\\r\\nA father, and a gracious aged man,\\r\\nWhose reverence even the head-lugg’d bear would lick,\\r\\nMost barbarous, most degenerate, have you madded.\\r\\nCould my good brother suffer you to do it?\\r\\nA man, a prince, by him so benefitted!\\r\\nIf that the heavens do not their visible spirits\\r\\nSend quickly down to tame these vile offences,\\r\\nIt will come,\\r\\nHumanity must perforce prey on itself,\\r\\nLike monsters of the deep.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nMilk-liver’d man!\\r\\nThat bear’st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs;\\r\\nWho hast not in thy brows an eye discerning\\r\\nThine honour from thy suffering; that not know’st\\r\\nFools do those villains pity who are punish’d\\r\\nEre they have done their mischief. Where’s thy drum?\\r\\nFrance spreads his banners in our noiseless land;\\r\\nWith plumed helm thy state begins to threat,\\r\\nWhilst thou, a moral fool, sitt’st still, and criest\\r\\n‘Alack, why does he so?’\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nSee thyself, devil!\\r\\nProper deformity seems not in the fiend\\r\\nSo horrid as in woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nO vain fool!\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nThou changed and self-cover’d thing, for shame!\\r\\nBe-monster not thy feature! Were’t my fitness\\r\\nTo let these hands obey my blood.\\r\\nThey are apt enough to dislocate and tear\\r\\nThy flesh and bones. Howe’er thou art a fiend,\\r\\nA woman’s shape doth shield thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nMarry, your manhood, mew!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nWhat news?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nO, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall’s dead;\\r\\nSlain by his servant, going to put out\\r\\nThe other eye of Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nGloucester’s eyes!\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nA servant that he bred, thrill’d with remorse,\\r\\nOppos’d against the act, bending his sword\\r\\nTo his great master; who, thereat enrag’d,\\r\\nFlew on him, and amongst them fell’d him dead;\\r\\nBut not without that harmful stroke which since\\r\\nHath pluck’d him after.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nThis shows you are above,\\r\\nYou justicers, that these our nether crimes\\r\\nSo speedily can venge! But, O poor Gloucester!\\r\\nLost he his other eye?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nBoth, both, my lord.\\r\\nThis letter, madam, craves a speedy answer;\\r\\n’Tis from your sister.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\n[_Aside._] One way I like this well;\\r\\nBut being widow, and my Gloucester with her,\\r\\nMay all the building in my fancy pluck\\r\\nUpon my hateful life. Another way\\r\\nThe news is not so tart. I’ll read, and answer.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nWhere was his son when they did take his eyes?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nCome with my lady hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nHe is not here.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nNo, my good lord; I met him back again.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nKnows he the wickedness?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nAy, my good lord. ’Twas he inform’d against him;\\r\\nAnd quit the house on purpose, that their punishment\\r\\nMight have the freer course.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nGloucester, I live\\r\\nTo thank thee for the love thou show’dst the King,\\r\\nAnd to revenge thine eyes. Come hither, friend,\\r\\nTell me what more thou know’st.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The French camp near Dover.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Kent and a Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWhy the King of France is so suddenly gone back, know you no reason?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nSomething he left imperfect in the state, which since his coming forth\\r\\nis thought of, which imports to the kingdom so much fear and danger\\r\\nthat his personal return was most required and necessary.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWho hath he left behind him general?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThe Mareschal of France, Monsieur La Far.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nDid your letters pierce the queen to any demonstration of grief?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nAy, sir; she took them, read them in my presence;\\r\\nAnd now and then an ample tear trill’d down\\r\\nHer delicate cheek. It seem’d she was a queen\\r\\nOver her passion; who, most rebel-like,\\r\\nSought to be king o’er her.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nO, then it mov’d her.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNot to a rage: patience and sorrow strove\\r\\nWho should express her goodliest. You have seen\\r\\nSunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears\\r\\nWere like a better day. Those happy smilets\\r\\nThat play’d on her ripe lip seem’d not to know\\r\\nWhat guests were in her eyes; which parted thence\\r\\nAs pearls from diamonds dropp’d. In brief,\\r\\nSorrow would be a rarity most belov’d,\\r\\nIf all could so become it.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nMade she no verbal question?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nFaith, once or twice she heav’d the name of ‘father’\\r\\nPantingly forth, as if it press’d her heart;\\r\\nCried ‘Sisters, sisters! Shame of ladies! sisters!\\r\\nKent! father! sisters! What, i’ the storm? i’ the night?\\r\\nLet pity not be believ’d!’ There she shook\\r\\nThe holy water from her heavenly eyes,\\r\\nAnd clamour master’d her: then away she started\\r\\nTo deal with grief alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nIt is the stars,\\r\\nThe stars above us govern our conditions;\\r\\nElse one self mate and make could not beget\\r\\nSuch different issues. You spoke not with her since?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWas this before the King return’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNo, since.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWell, sir, the poor distressed Lear’s i’ the town;\\r\\nWho sometime, in his better tune, remembers\\r\\nWhat we are come about, and by no means\\r\\nWill yield to see his daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWhy, good sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nA sovereign shame so elbows him. His own unkindness,\\r\\nThat stripp’d her from his benediction, turn’d her\\r\\nTo foreign casualties, gave her dear rights\\r\\nTo his dog-hearted daughters, these things sting\\r\\nHis mind so venomously that burning shame\\r\\nDetains him from Cordelia.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nAlack, poor gentleman!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nOf Albany’s and Cornwall’s powers you heard not?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\n’Tis so; they are afoot.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nWell, sir, I’ll bring you to our master Lear\\r\\nAnd leave you to attend him. Some dear cause\\r\\nWill in concealment wrap me up awhile;\\r\\nWhen I am known aright, you shall not grieve\\r\\nLending me this acquaintance.\\r\\nI pray you, go along with me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The French camp. A Tent.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter with drum and colours, Cordelia, Physician and Soldiers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nAlack, ’tis he: why, he was met even now\\r\\nAs mad as the vex’d sea; singing aloud;\\r\\nCrown’d with rank fumiter and furrow weeds,\\r\\nWith harlocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,\\r\\nDarnel, and all the idle weeds that grow\\r\\nIn our sustaining corn. A century send forth;\\r\\nSearch every acre in the high-grown field,\\r\\nAnd bring him to our eye.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit an Officer._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat can man’s wisdom\\r\\nIn the restoring his bereaved sense,\\r\\nHe that helps him take all my outward worth.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHYSICIAN.\\r\\nThere is means, madam:\\r\\nOur foster nurse of nature is repose,\\r\\nThe which he lacks; that to provoke in him\\r\\nAre many simples operative, whose power\\r\\nWill close the eye of anguish.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nAll bless’d secrets,\\r\\nAll you unpublish’d virtues of the earth,\\r\\nSpring with my tears! Be aidant and remediate\\r\\nIn the good man’s distress! Seek, seek for him;\\r\\nLest his ungovern’d rage dissolve the life\\r\\nThat wants the means to lead it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nNews, madam;\\r\\nThe British powers are marching hitherward.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\n’Tis known before. Our preparation stands\\r\\nIn expectation of them. O dear father,\\r\\nIt is thy business that I go about;\\r\\nTherefore great France\\r\\nMy mourning and important tears hath pitied.\\r\\nNo blown ambition doth our arms incite,\\r\\nBut love, dear love, and our ag’d father’s right:\\r\\nSoon may I hear and see him!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Regan and Oswald.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nBut are my brother’s powers set forth?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nAy, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nHimself in person there?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nMadam, with much ado.\\r\\nYour sister is the better soldier.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nLord Edmund spake not with your lord at home?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nNo, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nWhat might import my sister’s letter to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nI know not, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nFaith, he is posted hence on serious matter.\\r\\nIt was great ignorance, Gloucester’s eyes being out,\\r\\nTo let him live. Where he arrives he moves\\r\\nAll hearts against us. Edmund, I think, is gone\\r\\nIn pity of his misery, to dispatch\\r\\nHis nighted life; moreover to descry\\r\\nThe strength o’ th’enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nI must needs after him, madam, with my letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nOur troops set forth tomorrow; stay with us;\\r\\nThe ways are dangerous.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nI may not, madam:\\r\\nMy lady charg’d my duty in this business.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nWhy should she write to Edmund? Might not you\\r\\nTransport her purposes by word? Belike,\\r\\nSomethings, I know not what, I’ll love thee much.\\r\\nLet me unseal the letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nMadam, I had rather—\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nI know your lady does not love her husband;\\r\\nI am sure of that; and at her late being here\\r\\nShe gave strange oeillades and most speaking looks\\r\\nTo noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosom.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nI, madam?\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nI speak in understanding; y’are, I know’t:\\r\\nTherefore I do advise you take this note:\\r\\nMy lord is dead; Edmund and I have talk’d,\\r\\nAnd more convenient is he for my hand\\r\\nThan for your lady’s. You may gather more.\\r\\nIf you do find him, pray you give him this;\\r\\nAnd when your mistress hears thus much from you,\\r\\nI pray desire her call her wisdom to her.\\r\\nSo, fare you well.\\r\\nIf you do chance to hear of that blind traitor,\\r\\nPreferment falls on him that cuts him off.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nWould I could meet him, madam! I should show\\r\\nWhat party I do follow.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nFare thee well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. The country near Dover.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gloucester, and Edgar dressed like a peasant.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWhen shall I come to the top of that same hill?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nYou do climb up it now. Look how we labour.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nMethinks the ground is even.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nHorrible steep.\\r\\nHark, do you hear the sea?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nNo, truly.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nWhy, then, your other senses grow imperfect\\r\\nBy your eyes’ anguish.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nSo may it be indeed.\\r\\nMethinks thy voice is alter’d; and thou speak’st\\r\\nIn better phrase and matter than thou didst.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nY’are much deceiv’d: in nothing am I chang’d\\r\\nBut in my garments.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nMethinks you’re better spoken.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nCome on, sir; here’s the place. Stand still. How fearful\\r\\nAnd dizzy ’tis to cast one’s eyes so low!\\r\\nThe crows and choughs that wing the midway air\\r\\nShow scarce so gross as beetles. Half way down\\r\\nHangs one that gathers samphire—dreadful trade!\\r\\nMethinks he seems no bigger than his head.\\r\\nThe fishermen that walk upon the beach\\r\\nAppear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark,\\r\\nDiminish’d to her cock; her cock a buoy\\r\\nAlmost too small for sight: the murmuring surge\\r\\nThat on th’unnumber’d idle pebble chafes\\r\\nCannot be heard so high. I’ll look no more;\\r\\nLest my brain turn, and the deficient sight\\r\\nTopple down headlong.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nSet me where you stand.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nGive me your hand.\\r\\nYou are now within a foot of th’extreme verge.\\r\\nFor all beneath the moon would I not leap upright.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nLet go my hand.\\r\\nHere, friend, ’s another purse; in it a jewel\\r\\nWell worth a poor man’s taking. Fairies and gods\\r\\nProsper it with thee! Go thou further off;\\r\\nBid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nNow fare ye well, good sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Seems to go._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWith all my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Why I do trifle thus with his despair\\r\\nIs done to cure it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nO you mighty gods!\\r\\nThis world I do renounce, and in your sights,\\r\\nShake patiently my great affliction off:\\r\\nIf I could bear it longer, and not fall\\r\\nTo quarrel with your great opposeless wills,\\r\\nMy snuff and loathed part of nature should\\r\\nBurn itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless him!\\r\\nNow, fellow, fare thee well.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nGone, sir, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Gloucester leaps, and falls along_]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd yet I know not how conceit may rob\\r\\nThe treasury of life when life itself\\r\\nYields to the theft. Had he been where he thought,\\r\\nBy this had thought been past. Alive or dead?\\r\\nHo you, sir! friend! Hear you, sir? speak!\\r\\nThus might he pass indeed: yet he revives.\\r\\nWhat are you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nAway, and let me die.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nHadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air,\\r\\nSo many fathom down precipitating,\\r\\nThou’dst shiver’d like an egg: but thou dost breathe;\\r\\nHast heavy substance; bleed’st not; speak’st; art sound.\\r\\nTen masts at each make not the altitude\\r\\nWhich thou hast perpendicularly fell.\\r\\nThy life is a miracle. Speak yet again.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nBut have I fall’n, or no?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nFrom the dread summit of this chalky bourn.\\r\\nLook up a-height, the shrill-gorg’d lark so far\\r\\nCannot be seen or heard. Do but look up.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nAlack, I have no eyes.\\r\\nIs wretchedness depriv’d that benefit\\r\\nTo end itself by death? ’Twas yet some comfort\\r\\nWhen misery could beguile the tyrant’s rage\\r\\nAnd frustrate his proud will.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nGive me your arm.\\r\\nUp, so. How is’t? Feel you your legs? You stand.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nToo well, too well.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nThis is above all strangeness.\\r\\nUpon the crown o’ the cliff what thing was that\\r\\nWhich parted from you?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nA poor unfortunate beggar.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nAs I stood here below, methought his eyes\\r\\nWere two full moons; he had a thousand noses,\\r\\nHorns whelk’d and waved like the enraged sea.\\r\\nIt was some fiend. Therefore, thou happy father,\\r\\nThink that the clearest gods, who make them honours\\r\\nOf men’s impossibilities, have preserv’d thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI do remember now: henceforth I’ll bear\\r\\nAffliction till it do cry out itself\\r\\n‘Enough, enough,’ and die. That thing you speak of,\\r\\nI took it for a man; often ’twould say,\\r\\n‘The fiend, the fiend’; he led me to that place.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nBear free and patient thoughts. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lear, fantastically dressed up with flowers.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe safer sense will ne’er accommodate\\r\\nHis master thus.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo, they cannot touch me for coining. I am the King himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nO thou side-piercing sight!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNature’s above art in that respect. There’s your press money. That\\r\\nfellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper: draw me a clothier’s yard.\\r\\nLook, look, a mouse! Peace, peace, this piece of toasted cheese will\\r\\ndo’t. There’s my gauntlet; I’ll prove it on a giant. Bring up the brown\\r\\nbills. O, well flown, bird! i’ the clout, i’ the clout. Hewgh! Give the\\r\\nword.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nSweet marjoram.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nPass.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI know that voice.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHa! Goneril with a white beard! They flattered me like a dog; and told\\r\\nme I had white hairs in my beard ere the black ones were there. To say\\r\\n‘ay’ and ‘no’ to everything I said ‘ay’ and ‘no’ to was no good\\r\\ndivinity. When the rain came to wet me once, and the wind to make me\\r\\nchatter; when the thunder would not peace at my bidding; there I found\\r\\n’em, there I smelt ’em out. Go to, they are not men o’ their words:\\r\\nthey told me I was everything; ’tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nThe trick of that voice I do well remember:\\r\\nIs’t not the King?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nAy, every inch a king.\\r\\nWhen I do stare, see how the subject quakes.\\r\\nI pardon that man’s life. What was thy cause?\\r\\nAdultery? Thou shalt not die: die for adultery! No:\\r\\nThe wren goes to’t, and the small gilded fly\\r\\nDoes lecher in my sight. Let copulation thrive;\\r\\nFor Gloucester’s bastard son was kinder to his father\\r\\nThan my daughters got ’tween the lawful sheets.\\r\\nTo’t, luxury, pell-mell! for I lack soldiers.\\r\\nBehold yond simp’ring dame,\\r\\nWhose face between her forks presages snow;\\r\\nThat minces virtue, and does shake the head\\r\\nTo hear of pleasure’s name.\\r\\nThe fitchew nor the soiled horse goes to’t with a more riotous\\r\\nappetite. Down from the waist they are centaurs, though women all\\r\\nabove. But to the girdle do the gods inherit, beneath is all the\\r\\nfiend’s; there’s hell, there’s darkness, there is the sulphurous pit;\\r\\nburning, scalding, stench, consumption. Fie, fie, fie! pah, pah! Give\\r\\nme an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination.\\r\\nThere’s money for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nO, let me kiss that hand!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nLet me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nO ruin’d piece of nature, this great world\\r\\nShall so wear out to naught. Dost thou know me?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou squiny at me?\\r\\nNo, do thy worst, blind Cupid; I’ll not love.\\r\\nRead thou this challenge; mark but the penning of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWere all the letters suns, I could not see one.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nI would not take this from report,\\r\\nIt is, and my heart breaks at it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nRead.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWhat, with the case of eyes?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nO, ho, are you there with me? No eyes in your head, nor no money in\\r\\nyour purse? Your eyes are in a heavy case, your purse in a light, yet\\r\\nyou see how this world goes.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nI see it feelingly.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhat, art mad? A man may see how the world goes with no eyes. Look with\\r\\nthine ears. See how yon justice rails upon yon simple thief. Hark, in\\r\\nthine ear: change places; and, handy-dandy, which is the justice, which\\r\\nis the thief? Thou hast seen a farmer’s dog bark at a beggar?\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nAy, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nAnd the creature run from the cur? There thou mightst behold the great\\r\\nimage of authority: a dog’s obeyed in office.\\r\\nThou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand!\\r\\nWhy dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back;\\r\\nThou hotly lusts to use her in that kind\\r\\nFor which thou whipp’st her. The usurer hangs the cozener.\\r\\nThrough tatter’d clothes great vices do appear;\\r\\nRobes and furr’d gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold,\\r\\nAnd the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks;\\r\\nArm it in rags, a pygmy’s straw does pierce it.\\r\\nNone does offend, none, I say none; I’ll able ’em;\\r\\nTake that of me, my friend, who have the power\\r\\nTo seal the accuser’s lips. Get thee glass eyes,\\r\\nAnd like a scurvy politician, seem\\r\\nTo see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now:\\r\\nPull off my boots: harder, harder, so.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nO, matter and impertinency mix’d!\\r\\nReason in madness!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nIf thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes.\\r\\nI know thee well enough, thy name is Gloucester.\\r\\nThou must be patient; we came crying hither:\\r\\nThou know’st the first time that we smell the air\\r\\nWe wawl and cry. I will preach to thee: mark.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nAlack, alack the day!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhen we are born, we cry that we are come\\r\\nTo this great stage of fools. This a good block:\\r\\nIt were a delicate stratagem to shoe\\r\\nA troop of horse with felt. I’ll put’t in proof\\r\\nAnd when I have stol’n upon these son-in-laws,\\r\\nThen kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Gentleman with Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nO, here he is: lay hand upon him. Sir,\\r\\nYour most dear daughter—\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even\\r\\nThe natural fool of fortune. Use me well;\\r\\nYou shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons;\\r\\nI am cut to the brains.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nYou shall have anything.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo seconds? All myself?\\r\\nWhy, this would make a man a man of salt,\\r\\nTo use his eyes for garden water-pots,\\r\\nAy, and for laying autumn’s dust.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nGood sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI will die bravely, like a smug bridegroom.\\r\\nWhat! I will be jovial. Come, come,\\r\\nI am a king, my masters, know you that.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nYou are a royal one, and we obey you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThen there’s life in’t. Come, and you get it,\\r\\nYou shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit running. Attendants follow._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nA sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch,\\r\\nPast speaking of in a king! Thou hast one daughter\\r\\nWho redeems nature from the general curse\\r\\nWhich twain have brought her to.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nHail, gentle sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nSir, speed you. What’s your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nDo you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nMost sure and vulgar.\\r\\nEveryone hears that, which can distinguish sound.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nBut, by your favour,\\r\\nHow near’s the other army?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNear and on speedy foot; the main descry\\r\\nStands on the hourly thought.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nI thank you sir, that’s all.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThough that the queen on special cause is here,\\r\\nHer army is mov’d on.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nI thank you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Gentleman._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nYou ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me;\\r\\nLet not my worser spirit tempt me again\\r\\nTo die before you please.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nWell pray you, father.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nNow, good sir, what are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nA most poor man, made tame to fortune’s blows;\\r\\nWho, by the art of known and feeling sorrows,\\r\\nAm pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand,\\r\\nI’ll lead you to some biding.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nHearty thanks:\\r\\nThe bounty and the benison of heaven\\r\\nTo boot, and boot.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Oswald.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nA proclaim’d prize! Most happy!\\r\\nThat eyeless head of thine was first fram’d flesh\\r\\nTo raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor,\\r\\nBriefly thyself remember. The sword is out\\r\\nThat must destroy thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nNow let thy friendly hand\\r\\nPut strength enough to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Edgar interposes._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nWherefore, bold peasant,\\r\\nDar’st thou support a publish’d traitor? Hence;\\r\\nLest that th’infection of his fortune take\\r\\nLike hold on thee. Let go his arm.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nChill not let go, zir, without vurther ’casion.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nLet go, slave, or thou diest!\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nGood gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volke pass. An chud ha’ bin\\r\\nzwaggered out of my life, ’twould not ha’ bin zo long as ’tis by a\\r\\nvortnight. Nay, come not near th’old man; keep out, che vor ye, or ise\\r\\ntry whether your costard or my ballow be the harder: chill be plain\\r\\nwith you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nOut, dunghill!\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nChill pick your teeth, zir. Come! No matter vor your foins.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight, and Edgar knocks him down._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOSWALD.\\r\\nSlave, thou hast slain me. Villain, take my purse.\\r\\nIf ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body;\\r\\nAnd give the letters which thou find’st about me\\r\\nTo Edmund, Earl of Gloucester. Seek him out\\r\\nUpon the British party. O, untimely death!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nI know thee well. A serviceable villain,\\r\\nAs duteous to the vices of thy mistress\\r\\nAs badness would desire.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nWhat, is he dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nSit you down, father; rest you.\\r\\nLet’s see these pockets; the letters that he speaks of\\r\\nMay be my friends. He’s dead; I am only sorry\\r\\nHe had no other deathsman. Let us see:\\r\\nLeave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not.\\r\\nTo know our enemies’ minds, we rip their hearts,\\r\\nTheir papers is more lawful.\\r\\n[_Reads._] ‘Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. You have many\\r\\nopportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, time and place\\r\\nwill be fruitfully offered. There is nothing done if he return the\\r\\nconqueror: then am I the prisoner, and his bed my gaol; from the\\r\\nloathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the place for your\\r\\nlabour. ‘Your (wife, so I would say) affectionate servant, ‘Goneril.’\\r\\nO indistinguish’d space of woman’s will!\\r\\nA plot upon her virtuous husband’s life,\\r\\nAnd the exchange my brother! Here in the sands\\r\\nThee I’ll rake up, the post unsanctified\\r\\nOf murderous lechers: and in the mature time,\\r\\nWith this ungracious paper strike the sight\\r\\nOf the death-practis’d Duke: for him ’tis well\\r\\nThat of thy death and business I can tell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Edgar, dragging out the body._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nThe King is mad: how stiff is my vile sense,\\r\\nThat I stand up, and have ingenious feeling\\r\\nOf my huge sorrows! Better I were distract:\\r\\nSo should my thoughts be sever’d from my griefs,\\r\\nAnd woes by wrong imaginations lose\\r\\nThe knowledge of themselves.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A drum afar off._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nGive me your hand.\\r\\nFar off methinks I hear the beaten drum.\\r\\nCome, father, I’ll bestow you with a friend.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. A Tent in the French Camp.\\r\\n\\r\\nLear on a bed, asleep, soft music playing; Physician, Gentleman and\\r\\nothers attending.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cordelia and Kent.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nO thou good Kent, how shall I live and work\\r\\nTo match thy goodness? My life will be too short,\\r\\nAnd every measure fail me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nTo be acknowledg’d, madam, is o’erpaid.\\r\\nAll my reports go with the modest truth;\\r\\nNor more, nor clipp’d, but so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nBe better suited,\\r\\nThese weeds are memories of those worser hours:\\r\\nI prythee put them off.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nPardon, dear madam;\\r\\nYet to be known shortens my made intent.\\r\\nMy boon I make it that you know me not\\r\\nTill time and I think meet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nThen be’t so, my good lord. [_To the Physician._] How, does the King?\\r\\n\\r\\nPHYSICIAN.\\r\\nMadam, sleeps still.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nO you kind gods,\\r\\nCure this great breach in his abused nature!\\r\\nThe untun’d and jarring senses, O, wind up\\r\\nOf this child-changed father.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHYSICIAN.\\r\\nSo please your majesty\\r\\nThat we may wake the King: he hath slept long.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nBe govern’d by your knowledge, and proceed\\r\\nI’ the sway of your own will. Is he array’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nPHYSICIAN.\\r\\nAy, madam. In the heaviness of sleep\\r\\nWe put fresh garments on him.\\r\\nBe by, good madam, when we do awake him;\\r\\nI doubt not of his temperance.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nVery well.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHYSICIAN.\\r\\nPlease you draw near. Louder the music there!\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nO my dear father! Restoration hang\\r\\nThy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss\\r\\nRepair those violent harms that my two sisters\\r\\nHave in thy reverence made!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nKind and dear princess!\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nHad you not been their father, these white flakes\\r\\nDid challenge pity of them. Was this a face\\r\\nTo be oppos’d against the warring winds?\\r\\nTo stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder?\\r\\nIn the most terrible and nimble stroke\\r\\nOf quick cross lightning? to watch, poor perdu!\\r\\nWith this thin helm? Mine enemy’s dog,\\r\\nThough he had bit me, should have stood that night\\r\\nAgainst my fire; and wast thou fain, poor father,\\r\\nTo hovel thee with swine and rogues forlorn\\r\\nIn short and musty straw? Alack, alack!\\r\\n’Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once\\r\\nHad not concluded all. He wakes; speak to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHYSICIAN.\\r\\nMadam, do you; ’tis fittest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nHow does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nYou do me wrong to take me out o’ the grave.\\r\\nThou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound\\r\\nUpon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears\\r\\nDo scald like molten lead.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nSir, do you know me?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nYou are a spirit, I know: when did you die?\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nStill, still, far wide!\\r\\n\\r\\nPHYSICIAN.\\r\\nHe’s scarce awake: let him alone awhile.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nWhere have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight?\\r\\nI am mightily abus’d. I should e’en die with pity,\\r\\nTo see another thus. I know not what to say.\\r\\nI will not swear these are my hands: let’s see;\\r\\nI feel this pin prick. Would I were assur’d\\r\\nOf my condition!\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nO, look upon me, sir,\\r\\nAnd hold your hands in benediction o’er me.\\r\\nNo, sir, you must not kneel.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nPray, do not mock me:\\r\\nI am a very foolish fond old man,\\r\\nFourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less;\\r\\nAnd to deal plainly,\\r\\nI fear I am not in my perfect mind.\\r\\nMethinks I should know you, and know this man;\\r\\nYet I am doubtful: for I am mainly ignorant\\r\\nWhat place this is; and all the skill I have\\r\\nRemembers not these garments; nor I know not\\r\\nWhere I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me;\\r\\nFor, as I am a man, I think this lady\\r\\nTo be my child Cordelia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nAnd so I am. I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nBe your tears wet? Yes, faith. I pray weep not:\\r\\nIf you have poison for me, I will drink it.\\r\\nI know you do not love me; for your sisters\\r\\nHave, as I do remember, done me wrong.\\r\\nYou have some cause, they have not.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nNo cause, no cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nAm I in France?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nIn your own kingdom, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nDo not abuse me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHYSICIAN.\\r\\nBe comforted, good madam, the great rage,\\r\\nYou see, is kill’d in him: and yet it is danger\\r\\nTo make him even o’er the time he has lost.\\r\\nDesire him to go in; trouble him no more\\r\\nTill further settling.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nWill’t please your highness walk?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nYou must bear with me:\\r\\nPray you now, forget and forgive: I am old and foolish.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lear, Cordelia, Physician and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nHolds it true, sir, that the Duke of Cornwall was so slain?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nMost certain, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWho is conductor of his people?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nAs ’tis said, the bastard son of Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThey say Edgar, his banished son, is with the Earl of Kent in Germany.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nReport is changeable. ’Tis time to look about; the powers of the\\r\\nkingdom approach apace.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThe arbitrement is like to be bloody.\\r\\nFare you well, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nMy point and period will be throughly wrought,\\r\\nOr well or ill, as this day’s battle’s fought.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Camp of the British Forces near Dover.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, with drum and colours Edmund, Regan, Officers, Soldiers and\\r\\n others.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nKnow of the Duke if his last purpose hold,\\r\\nOr whether since he is advis’d by aught\\r\\nTo change the course, he’s full of alteration\\r\\nAnd self-reproving, bring his constant pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_To an Officer, who goes out._]\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nOur sister’s man is certainly miscarried.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\n’Tis to be doubted, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nNow, sweet lord,\\r\\nYou know the goodness I intend upon you:\\r\\nTell me but truly, but then speak the truth,\\r\\nDo you not love my sister?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nIn honour’d love.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nBut have you never found my brother’s way\\r\\nTo the forfended place?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nThat thought abuses you.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nI am doubtful that you have been conjunct\\r\\nAnd bosom’d with her, as far as we call hers.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nNo, by mine honour, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nI never shall endure her, dear my lord,\\r\\nBe not familiar with her.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nFear not,\\r\\nShe and the Duke her husband!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter with drum and colours Albany, Goneril and Soldiers.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I had rather lose the battle than that sister\\r\\nShould loosen him and me.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nOur very loving sister, well be-met.\\r\\nSir, this I heard: the King is come to his daughter,\\r\\nWith others whom the rigour of our state\\r\\nForc’d to cry out. Where I could not be honest,\\r\\nI never yet was valiant. For this business,\\r\\nIt toucheth us as France invades our land,\\r\\nNot bolds the King, with others whom I fear\\r\\nMost just and heavy causes make oppose.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nSir, you speak nobly.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nWhy is this reason’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nCombine together ’gainst the enemy;\\r\\nFor these domestic and particular broils\\r\\nAre not the question here.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nLet’s, then, determine with the ancient of war\\r\\nOn our proceeding.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI shall attend you presently at your tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nSister, you’ll go with us?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\n’Tis most convenient; pray you, go with us.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] O, ho, I know the riddle. I will go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Edmund, Regan, Goneril, Officers, Soldiers and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\n As they are going out, enter Edgar disguised.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nIf e’er your grace had speech with man so poor,\\r\\nHear me one word.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nI’ll overtake you. Speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nBefore you fight the battle, ope this letter.\\r\\nIf you have victory, let the trumpet sound\\r\\nFor him that brought it: wretched though I seem,\\r\\nI can produce a champion that will prove\\r\\nWhat is avouched there. If you miscarry,\\r\\nYour business of the world hath so an end,\\r\\nAnd machination ceases. Fortune love you!\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nStay till I have read the letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nI was forbid it.\\r\\nWhen time shall serve, let but the herald cry,\\r\\nAnd I’ll appear again.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nWhy, fare thee well. I will o’erlook thy paper.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Edgar._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Edmund.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nThe enemy’s in view; draw up your powers.\\r\\nHere is the guess of their true strength and forces\\r\\nBy diligent discovery; but your haste\\r\\nIs now urg’d on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nWe will greet the time.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nTo both these sisters have I sworn my love;\\r\\nEach jealous of the other, as the stung\\r\\nAre of the adder. Which of them shall I take?\\r\\nBoth? One? Or neither? Neither can be enjoy’d,\\r\\nIf both remain alive. To take the widow\\r\\nExasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril;\\r\\nAnd hardly shall I carry out my side,\\r\\nHer husband being alive. Now, then, we’ll use\\r\\nHis countenance for the battle; which being done,\\r\\nLet her who would be rid of him devise\\r\\nHis speedy taking off. As for the mercy\\r\\nWhich he intends to Lear and to Cordelia,\\r\\nThe battle done, and they within our power,\\r\\nShall never see his pardon: for my state\\r\\nStands on me to defend, not to debate.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A field between the two Camps.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum within. Enter with drum and colours, Lear, Cordelia and their\\r\\n Forces, and exeunt.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Edgar and Gloucester.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nHere, father, take the shadow of this tree\\r\\nFor your good host; pray that the right may thrive:\\r\\nIf ever I return to you again,\\r\\nI’ll bring you comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nGrace go with you, sir!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Edgar._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum and retreat within. Enter Edgar.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nAway, old man, give me thy hand, away!\\r\\nKing Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta’en:\\r\\nGive me thy hand; come on!\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nNo further, sir; a man may rot even here.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nWhat, in ill thoughts again? Men must endure\\r\\nTheir going hence, even as their coming hither;\\r\\nRipeness is all. Come on.\\r\\n\\r\\nGLOUCESTER.\\r\\nAnd that’s true too.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The British Camp near Dover.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter in conquest with drum and colours, Edmund, Lear and Cordelia as\\r\\n prisoners; Officers, Soldiers, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nSome officers take them away: good guard\\r\\nUntil their greater pleasures first be known\\r\\nThat are to censure them.\\r\\n\\r\\nCORDELIA.\\r\\nWe are not the first\\r\\nWho with best meaning have incurr’d the worst.\\r\\nFor thee, oppressed King, I am cast down;\\r\\nMyself could else out-frown false fortune’s frown.\\r\\nShall we not see these daughters and these sisters?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nNo, no, no, no. Come, let’s away to prison:\\r\\nWe two alone will sing like birds i’ the cage:\\r\\nWhen thou dost ask me blessing I’ll kneel down\\r\\nAnd ask of thee forgiveness. So we’ll live,\\r\\nAnd pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh\\r\\nAt gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues\\r\\nTalk of court news; and we’ll talk with them too,\\r\\nWho loses and who wins; who’s in, who’s out;\\r\\nAnd take upon’s the mystery of things,\\r\\nAs if we were God’s spies. And we’ll wear out,\\r\\nIn a wall’d prison, packs and sects of great ones\\r\\nThat ebb and flow by the moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nTake them away.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nUpon such sacrifices, my Cordelia,\\r\\nThe gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee?\\r\\nHe that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven,\\r\\nAnd fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes;\\r\\nThe good years shall devour them, flesh and fell,\\r\\nEre they shall make us weep!\\r\\nWe’ll see ’em starve first: come.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lear and Cordelia, guarded._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nCome hither, captain, hark.\\r\\nTake thou this note [_giving a paper_]; go follow them to prison.\\r\\nOne step I have advanc’d thee; if thou dost\\r\\nAs this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way\\r\\nTo noble fortunes: know thou this, that men\\r\\nAre as the time is; to be tender-minded\\r\\nDoes not become a sword. Thy great employment\\r\\nWill not bear question; either say thou’lt do’t,\\r\\nOr thrive by other means.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nI’ll do’t, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nAbout it; and write happy when thou hast done.\\r\\nMark, I say, instantly; and carry it so\\r\\nAs I have set it down.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nI cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried oats;\\r\\nIf it be man’s work, I’ll do’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Enter Albany, Goneril, Regan, Officers and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nSir, you have show’d today your valiant strain,\\r\\nAnd fortune led you well: you have the captives\\r\\nWho were the opposites of this day’s strife:\\r\\nI do require them of you, so to use them\\r\\nAs we shall find their merits and our safety\\r\\nMay equally determine.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nSir, I thought it fit\\r\\nTo send the old and miserable King\\r\\nTo some retention and appointed guard;\\r\\nWhose age has charms in it, whose title more,\\r\\nTo pluck the common bosom on his side,\\r\\nAnd turn our impress’d lances in our eyes\\r\\nWhich do command them. With him I sent the queen;\\r\\nMy reason all the same; and they are ready\\r\\nTomorrow, or at further space, to appear\\r\\nWhere you shall hold your session. At this time\\r\\nWe sweat and bleed: the friend hath lost his friend;\\r\\nAnd the best quarrels in the heat are curs’d\\r\\nBy those that feel their sharpness.\\r\\nThe question of Cordelia and her father\\r\\nRequires a fitter place.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nSir, by your patience,\\r\\nI hold you but a subject of this war,\\r\\nNot as a brother.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nThat’s as we list to grace him.\\r\\nMethinks our pleasure might have been demanded\\r\\nEre you had spoke so far. He led our powers;\\r\\nBore the commission of my place and person;\\r\\nThe which immediacy may well stand up\\r\\nAnd call itself your brother.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nNot so hot:\\r\\nIn his own grace he doth exalt himself,\\r\\nMore than in your addition.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nIn my rights,\\r\\nBy me invested, he compeers the best.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nThat were the most, if he should husband you.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nJesters do oft prove prophets.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nHolla, holla!\\r\\nThat eye that told you so look’d but asquint.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nLady, I am not well; else I should answer\\r\\nFrom a full-flowing stomach. General,\\r\\nTake thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony;\\r\\nDispose of them, of me; the walls are thine:\\r\\nWitness the world that I create thee here\\r\\nMy lord and master.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nMean you to enjoy him?\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nThe let-alone lies not in your good will.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nNor in thine, lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nHalf-blooded fellow, yes.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\n[_To Edmund._] Let the drum strike, and prove my title thine.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nStay yet; hear reason: Edmund, I arrest thee\\r\\nOn capital treason; and, in thine arrest,\\r\\nThis gilded serpent. [_pointing to Goneril._]\\r\\nFor your claim, fair sister,\\r\\nI bar it in the interest of my wife;\\r\\n’Tis she is sub-contracted to this lord,\\r\\nAnd I her husband contradict your bans.\\r\\nIf you will marry, make your loves to me,\\r\\nMy lady is bespoke.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nAn interlude!\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nThou art arm’d, Gloucester. Let the trumpet sound:\\r\\nIf none appear to prove upon thy person\\r\\nThy heinous, manifest, and many treasons,\\r\\nThere is my pledge. [_Throwing down a glove._]\\r\\nI’ll make it on thy heart,\\r\\nEre I taste bread, thou art in nothing less\\r\\nThan I have here proclaim’d thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nSick, O, sick!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\n[_Aside._] If not, I’ll ne’er trust medicine.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nThere’s my exchange. [_Throwing down a glove._]\\r\\nWhat in the world he is\\r\\nThat names me traitor, villain-like he lies.\\r\\nCall by thy trumpet: he that dares approach,\\r\\nOn him, on you, who not? I will maintain\\r\\nMy truth and honour firmly.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nA herald, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Herald.\\r\\n\\r\\nTrust to thy single virtue; for thy soldiers,\\r\\nAll levied in my name, have in my name\\r\\nTook their discharge.\\r\\n\\r\\nREGAN.\\r\\nMy sickness grows upon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nShe is not well. Convey her to my tent.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Regan, led._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome hither, herald. Let the trumpet sound\\r\\nAnd read out this.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nSound, trumpet!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A trumpet sounds._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\n[_Reads._] ‘If any man of quality or degree within the lists of the\\r\\narmy will maintain upon Edmund, supposed Earl of Gloucester, that he is\\r\\na manifold traitor, let him appear by the third sound of the trumpet.\\r\\nHe is bold in his defence.’\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nSound!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_First trumpet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nAgain!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Second trumpet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nAgain!\\r\\n\\r\\n Third trumpet. Trumpet answers within. Enter Edgar, armed, preceded by\\r\\n a trumpet.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nAsk him his purposes, why he appears\\r\\nUpon this call o’ the trumpet.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nWhat are you?\\r\\nYour name, your quality? and why you answer\\r\\nThis present summons?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nKnow my name is lost;\\r\\nBy treason’s tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit.\\r\\nYet am I noble as the adversary\\r\\nI come to cope.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nWhich is that adversary?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nWhat’s he that speaks for Edmund, Earl of Gloucester?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nHimself, what say’st thou to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nDraw thy sword,\\r\\nThat if my speech offend a noble heart,\\r\\nThy arm may do thee justice: here is mine.\\r\\nBehold, it is the privilege of mine honours,\\r\\nMy oath, and my profession: I protest,\\r\\nMaugre thy strength, youth, place, and eminence,\\r\\nDespite thy victor sword and fire-new fortune,\\r\\nThy valour and thy heart, thou art a traitor;\\r\\nFalse to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father;\\r\\nConspirant ’gainst this high illustrious prince;\\r\\nAnd, from the extremest upward of thy head\\r\\nTo the descent and dust beneath thy foot,\\r\\nA most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou ‘No,’\\r\\nThis sword, this arm, and my best spirits are bent\\r\\nTo prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak,\\r\\nThou liest.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nIn wisdom I should ask thy name;\\r\\nBut since thy outside looks so fair and warlike,\\r\\nAnd that thy tongue some say of breeding breathes,\\r\\nWhat safe and nicely I might well delay\\r\\nBy rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn.\\r\\nBack do I toss those treasons to thy head,\\r\\nWith the hell-hated lie o’erwhelm thy heart;\\r\\nWhich for they yet glance by and scarcely bruise,\\r\\nThis sword of mine shall give them instant way,\\r\\nWhere they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, speak!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alarums. They fight. Edmund falls._]\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nSave him, save him!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nThis is mere practice, Gloucester:\\r\\nBy the law of arms thou wast not bound to answer\\r\\nAn unknown opposite; thou art not vanquish’d,\\r\\nBut cozen’d and beguil’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nShut your mouth, dame,\\r\\nOr with this paper shall I stop it. Hold, sir;\\r\\nThou worse than any name, read thine own evil.\\r\\nNo tearing, lady; I perceive you know it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Gives the letter to Edmund._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONERIL.\\r\\nSay if I do, the laws are mine, not thine:\\r\\nWho can arraign me for’t?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nMost monstrous! O!\\r\\nKnow’st thou this paper?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nAsk me not what I know.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\n[_To an Officer, who goes out._] Go after her; she’s desperate; govern\\r\\nher.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nWhat you have charg’d me with, that have I done;\\r\\nAnd more, much more; the time will bring it out.\\r\\n’Tis past, and so am I. But what art thou\\r\\nThat hast this fortune on me? If thou’rt noble,\\r\\nI do forgive thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nLet’s exchange charity.\\r\\nI am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund;\\r\\nIf more, the more thou hast wrong’d me.\\r\\nMy name is Edgar and thy father’s son.\\r\\nThe gods are just, and of our pleasant vices\\r\\nMake instruments to plague us:\\r\\nThe dark and vicious place where thee he got\\r\\nCost him his eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nThou hast spoken right, ’tis true;\\r\\nThe wheel is come full circle; I am here.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nMethought thy very gait did prophesy\\r\\nA royal nobleness. I must embrace thee.\\r\\nLet sorrow split my heart if ever I\\r\\nDid hate thee or thy father.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nWorthy prince, I know’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nWhere have you hid yourself?\\r\\nHow have you known the miseries of your father?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nBy nursing them, my lord. List a brief tale;\\r\\nAnd when ’tis told, O that my heart would burst!\\r\\nThe bloody proclamation to escape\\r\\nThat follow’d me so near,—O, our lives’ sweetness!\\r\\nThat with the pain of death we’d hourly die\\r\\nRather than die at once!—taught me to shift\\r\\nInto a madman’s rags; t’assume a semblance\\r\\nThat very dogs disdain’d; and in this habit\\r\\nMet I my father with his bleeding rings,\\r\\nTheir precious stones new lost; became his guide,\\r\\nLed him, begg’d for him, sav’d him from despair;\\r\\nNever,—O fault!—reveal’d myself unto him\\r\\nUntil some half hour past, when I was arm’d;\\r\\nNot sure, though hoping of this good success,\\r\\nI ask’d his blessing, and from first to last\\r\\nTold him my pilgrimage. But his flaw’d heart,\\r\\nAlack, too weak the conflict to support!\\r\\n’Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief,\\r\\nBurst smilingly.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nThis speech of yours hath mov’d me,\\r\\nAnd shall perchance do good, but speak you on;\\r\\nYou look as you had something more to say.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nIf there be more, more woeful, hold it in;\\r\\nFor I am almost ready to dissolve,\\r\\nHearing of this.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nThis would have seem’d a period\\r\\nTo such as love not sorrow; but another,\\r\\nTo amplify too much, would make much more,\\r\\nAnd top extremity.\\r\\nWhilst I was big in clamour, came there a man\\r\\nWho, having seen me in my worst estate,\\r\\nShunn’d my abhorr’d society; but then finding\\r\\nWho ’twas that so endur’d, with his strong arms\\r\\nHe fastened on my neck, and bellow’d out\\r\\nAs he’d burst heaven; threw him on my father;\\r\\nTold the most piteous tale of Lear and him\\r\\nThat ever ear receiv’d, which in recounting\\r\\nHis grief grew puissant, and the strings of life\\r\\nBegan to crack. Twice then the trumpets sounded,\\r\\nAnd there I left him tranc’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nBut who was this?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nKent, sir, the banish’d Kent; who in disguise\\r\\nFollow’d his enemy king and did him service\\r\\nImproper for a slave.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Gentleman hastily, with a bloody knife.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nHelp, help! O, help!\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nWhat kind of help?\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nSpeak, man.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nWhat means this bloody knife?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\n’Tis hot, it smokes;\\r\\nIt came even from the heart of—O! she’s dead!\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nWho dead? Speak, man.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nYour lady, sir, your lady; and her sister\\r\\nBy her is poisoned; she hath confesses it.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI was contracted to them both, all three\\r\\nNow marry in an instant.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nHere comes Kent.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Kent.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nProduce their bodies, be they alive or dead.\\r\\nThis judgement of the heavens that makes us tremble\\r\\nTouches us not with pity. O, is this he?\\r\\nThe time will not allow the compliment\\r\\nWhich very manners urges.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI am come\\r\\nTo bid my King and master aye good night:\\r\\nIs he not here?\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nGreat thing of us forgot!\\r\\nSpeak, Edmund, where’s the King? and where’s Cordelia?\\r\\n\\r\\n The bodies of Goneril and Regan are brought in.\\r\\n\\r\\nSeest thou this object, Kent?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nAlack, why thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nYet Edmund was belov’d.\\r\\nThe one the other poisoned for my sake,\\r\\nAnd after slew herself.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nEven so. Cover their faces.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nI pant for life. Some good I mean to do,\\r\\nDespite of mine own nature. Quickly send,\\r\\nBe brief in it, to the castle; for my writ\\r\\nIs on the life of Lear and on Cordelia;\\r\\nNay, send in time.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nRun, run, O, run!\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nTo who, my lord? Who has the office? Send\\r\\nThy token of reprieve.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nWell thought on: take my sword,\\r\\nGive it the captain.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nHaste thee for thy life.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Edgar._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEDMUND.\\r\\nHe hath commission from thy wife and me\\r\\nTo hang Cordelia in the prison, and\\r\\nTo lay the blame upon her own despair,\\r\\nThat she fordid herself.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nThe gods defend her! Bear him hence awhile.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Edmund is borne off._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lear with Cordelia dead in his arms; Edgar, Officer and others\\r\\n following.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHowl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stone.\\r\\nHad I your tongues and eyes, I’ld use them so\\r\\nThat heaven’s vault should crack. She’s gone for ever!\\r\\nI know when one is dead, and when one lives;\\r\\nShe’s dead as earth. Lend me a looking glass;\\r\\nIf that her breath will mist or stain the stone,\\r\\nWhy, then she lives.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nIs this the promis’d end?\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nOr image of that horror?\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nFall, and cease!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThis feather stirs; she lives! If it be so,\\r\\nIt is a chance which does redeem all sorrows\\r\\nThat ever I have felt.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nO, my good master! [_Kneeling._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nPrythee, away!\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\n’Tis noble Kent, your friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nA plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!\\r\\nI might have sav’d her; now she’s gone for ever!\\r\\nCordelia, Cordelia! stay a little. Ha!\\r\\nWhat is’t thou say’st? Her voice was ever soft,\\r\\nGentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.\\r\\nI kill’d the slave that was a-hanging thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\n’Tis true, my lords, he did.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nDid I not, fellow?\\r\\nI have seen the day, with my good biting falchion\\r\\nI would have made them skip. I am old now,\\r\\nAnd these same crosses spoil me. Who are you?\\r\\nMine eyes are not o’ the best, I’ll tell you straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nIf Fortune brag of two she lov’d and hated,\\r\\nOne of them we behold.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nThis is a dull sight. Are you not Kent?\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nThe same,\\r\\nYour servant Kent. Where is your servant Caius?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nHe’s a good fellow, I can tell you that;\\r\\nHe’ll strike, and quickly too:. He’s dead and rotten.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNo, my good lord; I am the very man.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nI’ll see that straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nThat from your first of difference and decay\\r\\nHave follow’d your sad steps.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nYou are welcome hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nNor no man else. All’s cheerless, dark and deadly.\\r\\nYour eldest daughters have fordone themselves,\\r\\nAnd desperately are dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nAy, so I think.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nHe knows not what he says; and vain is it\\r\\nThat we present us to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nVery bootless.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter an Officer.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nEdmund is dead, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nThat’s but a trifle here.\\r\\nYou lords and noble friends, know our intent.\\r\\nWhat comfort to this great decay may come\\r\\nShall be applied For us, we will resign,\\r\\nDuring the life of this old majesty,\\r\\nTo him our absolute power;\\r\\n[_to Edgar and Kent_] you to your rights;\\r\\nWith boot and such addition as your honours\\r\\nHave more than merited. All friends shall taste\\r\\nThe wages of their virtue and all foes\\r\\nThe cup of their deservings. O, see, see!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEAR.\\r\\nAnd my poor fool is hang’d! No, no, no life!\\r\\nWhy should a dog, a horse, a rat have life,\\r\\nAnd thou no breath at all? Thou’lt come no more,\\r\\nNever, never, never, never, never!\\r\\nPray you undo this button. Thank you, sir.\\r\\nDo you see this? Look on her: look, her lips,\\r\\nLook there, look there!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nHe faints! My lord, my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nBreak, heart; I prythee break!\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nLook up, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nVex not his ghost: O, let him pass! He hates him\\r\\nThat would upon the rack of this rough world\\r\\nStretch him out longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nHe is gone indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nThe wonder is, he hath endur’d so long:\\r\\nHe but usurp’d his life.\\r\\n\\r\\nALBANY.\\r\\nBear them from hence. Our present business\\r\\nIs general woe. [_To Edgar and Kent._] Friends of my soul, you twain,\\r\\nRule in this realm and the gor’d state sustain.\\r\\n\\r\\nKENT.\\r\\nI have a journey, sir, shortly to go;\\r\\nMy master calls me, I must not say no.\\r\\n\\r\\nEDGAR.\\r\\nThe weight of this sad time we must obey;\\r\\nSpeak what we feel, not what we ought to say.\\r\\nThe oldest hath borne most; we that are young\\r\\nShall never see so much, nor live so long.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt with a dead march._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n',\n", + " 'LOVE’S LABOUR’S LOST\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personae.\\r\\n\\r\\n FERDINAND, King of Navarre\\r\\n BEROWNE, lord attending on the King\\r\\n LONGAVILLE, \" \" \" \" \"\\r\\n DUMAIN, \" \" \" \" \"\\r\\n BOYET, lord attending on the Princess of France\\r\\n MARCADE, \" \" \" \" \" \" \"\\r\\n DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO, fantastical Spaniard\\r\\n SIR NATHANIEL, a curate\\r\\n HOLOFERNES, a schoolmaster\\r\\n DULL, a constable\\r\\n COSTARD, a clown\\r\\n MOTH, page to Armado\\r\\n A FORESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n THE PRINCESS OF FRANCE\\r\\n ROSALINE, lady attending on the Princess\\r\\n MARIA, \" \" \" \" \"\\r\\n KATHARINE, lady attending on the Princess\\r\\n JAQUENETTA, a country wench\\r\\n\\r\\n Lords, Attendants, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Navarre\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. Navarre. The King\\'s park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the King, BEROWNE, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN\\r\\n\\r\\n KING. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives,\\r\\n Live regist\\'red upon our brazen tombs,\\r\\n And then grace us in the disgrace of death;\\r\\n When, spite of cormorant devouring Time,\\r\\n Th\\' endeavour of this present breath may buy\\r\\n That honour which shall bate his scythe\\'s keen edge,\\r\\n And make us heirs of all eternity.\\r\\n Therefore, brave conquerors- for so you are\\r\\n That war against your own affections\\r\\n And the huge army of the world\\'s desires-\\r\\n Our late edict shall strongly stand in force:\\r\\n Navarre shall be the wonder of the world;\\r\\n Our court shall be a little Academe,\\r\\n Still and contemplative in living art.\\r\\n You three, Berowne, Dumain, and Longaville,\\r\\n Have sworn for three years\\' term to live with me\\r\\n My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes\\r\\n That are recorded in this schedule here.\\r\\n Your oaths are pass\\'d; and now subscribe your names,\\r\\n That his own hand may strike his honour down\\r\\n That violates the smallest branch herein.\\r\\n If you are arm\\'d to do as sworn to do,\\r\\n Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. I am resolv\\'d; \\'tis but a three years\\' fast.\\r\\n The mind shall banquet, though the body pine.\\r\\n Fat paunches have lean pates; and dainty bits\\r\\n Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits.\\r\\n DUMAIN. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified.\\r\\n The grosser manner of these world\\'s delights\\r\\n He throws upon the gross world\\'s baser slaves;\\r\\n To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die,\\r\\n With all these living in philosophy.\\r\\n BEROWNE. I can but say their protestation over;\\r\\n So much, dear liege, I have already sworn,\\r\\n That is, to live and study here three years.\\r\\n But there are other strict observances,\\r\\n As: not to see a woman in that term,\\r\\n Which I hope well is not enrolled there;\\r\\n And one day in a week to touch no food,\\r\\n And but one meal on every day beside,\\r\\n The which I hope is not enrolled there;\\r\\n And then to sleep but three hours in the night\\r\\n And not be seen to wink of all the day-\\r\\n When I was wont to think no harm all night,\\r\\n And make a dark night too of half the day-\\r\\n Which I hope well is not enrolled there.\\r\\n O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep,\\r\\n Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep!\\r\\n KING. Your oath is pass\\'d to pass away from these.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Let me say no, my liege, an if you please:\\r\\n I only swore to study with your Grace,\\r\\n And stay here in your court for three years\\' space.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. You swore to that, Berowne, and to the rest.\\r\\n BEROWNE. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest.\\r\\n What is the end of study, let me know.\\r\\n KING. Why, that to know which else we should not know.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Things hid and barr\\'d, you mean, from common sense?\\r\\n KING. Ay, that is study\\'s god-like recompense.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Come on, then; I will swear to study so,\\r\\n To know the thing I am forbid to know,\\r\\n As thus: to study where I well may dine,\\r\\n When I to feast expressly am forbid;\\r\\n Or study where to meet some mistress fine,\\r\\n When mistresses from common sense are hid;\\r\\n Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath,\\r\\n Study to break it, and not break my troth.\\r\\n If study\\'s gain be thus, and this be so,\\r\\n Study knows that which yet it doth not know.\\r\\n Swear me to this, and I will ne\\'er say no.\\r\\n KING. These be the stops that hinder study quite,\\r\\n And train our intellects to vain delight.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain\\r\\n Which, with pain purchas\\'d, doth inherit pain,\\r\\n As painfully to pore upon a book\\r\\n To seek the light of truth; while truth the while\\r\\n Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look.\\r\\n Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile;\\r\\n So, ere you find where light in darkness lies,\\r\\n Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.\\r\\n Study me how to please the eye indeed,\\r\\n By fixing it upon a fairer eye;\\r\\n Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed,\\r\\n And give him light that it was blinded by.\\r\\n Study is like the heaven\\'s glorious sun,\\r\\n That will not be deep-search\\'d with saucy looks;\\r\\n Small have continual plodders ever won,\\r\\n Save base authority from others\\' books.\\r\\n These earthly godfathers of heaven\\'s lights\\r\\n That give a name to every fixed star\\r\\n Have no more profit of their shining nights\\r\\n Than those that walk and wot not what they are.\\r\\n Too much to know is to know nought but fame;\\r\\n And every godfather can give a name.\\r\\n KING. How well he\\'s read, to reason against reading!\\r\\n DUMAIN. Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding!\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the weeding.\\r\\n BEROWNE. The spring is near, when green geese are a-breeding.\\r\\n DUMAIN. How follows that?\\r\\n BEROWNE. Fit in his place and time.\\r\\n DUMAIN. In reason nothing.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Something then in rhyme.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Berowne is like an envious sneaping frost\\r\\n That bites the first-born infants of the spring.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Well, say I am; why should proud summer boast\\r\\n Before the birds have any cause to sing?\\r\\n Why should I joy in any abortive birth?\\r\\n At Christmas I no more desire a rose\\r\\n Than wish a snow in May\\'s new-fangled shows;\\r\\n But like of each thing that in season grows;\\r\\n So you, to study now it is too late,\\r\\n Climb o\\'er the house to unlock the little gate.\\r\\n KING. Well, sit out; go home, Berowne; adieu.\\r\\n BEROWNE. No, my good lord; I have sworn to stay with you;\\r\\n And though I have for barbarism spoke more\\r\\n Than for that angel knowledge you can say,\\r\\n Yet confident I\\'ll keep what I have swore,\\r\\n And bide the penance of each three years\\' day.\\r\\n Give me the paper; let me read the same;\\r\\n And to the strictest decrees I\\'ll write my name.\\r\\n KING. How well this yielding rescues thee from shame!\\r\\n BEROWNE. [Reads] \\'Item. That no woman shall come within a mile of\\r\\n my court\\'- Hath this been proclaimed?\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Four days ago.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Let\\'s see the penalty. [Reads] \\'-on pain of losing her\\r\\n tongue.\\' Who devis\\'d this penalty?\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Marry, that did I.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Sweet lord, and why?\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. To fright them hence with that dread penalty.\\r\\n BEROWNE. A dangerous law against gentility.\\r\\n [Reads] \\'Item. If any man be seen to talk with a woman within\\r\\n the term of three years, he shall endure such public shame as the\\r\\n rest of the court can possibly devise.\\'\\r\\n This article, my liege, yourself must break;\\r\\n For well you know here comes in embassy\\r\\n The French king\\'s daughter, with yourself to speak-\\r\\n A mild of grace and complete majesty-\\r\\n About surrender up of Aquitaine\\r\\n To her decrepit, sick, and bedrid father;\\r\\n Therefore this article is made in vain,\\r\\n Or vainly comes th\\' admired princess hither.\\r\\n KING. What say you, lords? Why, this was quite forgot.\\r\\n BEROWNE. So study evermore is over-shot.\\r\\n While it doth study to have what it would,\\r\\n It doth forget to do the thing it should;\\r\\n And when it hath the thing it hunteth most,\\r\\n \\'Tis won as towns with fire- so won, so lost.\\r\\n KING. We must of force dispense with this decree;\\r\\n She must lie here on mere necessity.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Necessity will make us all forsworn\\r\\n Three thousand times within this three years\\' space;\\r\\n For every man with his affects is born,\\r\\n Not by might mast\\'red, but by special grace.\\r\\n If I break faith, this word shall speak for me:\\r\\n I am forsworn on mere necessity.\\r\\n So to the laws at large I write my name; [Subscribes]\\r\\n And he that breaks them in the least degree\\r\\n Stands in attainder of eternal shame.\\r\\n Suggestions are to other as to me;\\r\\n But I believe, although I seem so loath,\\r\\n I am the last that will last keep his oath.\\r\\n But is there no quick recreation granted?\\r\\n KING. Ay, that there is. Our court, you know, is haunted\\r\\n With a refined traveller of Spain,\\r\\n A man in all the world\\'s new fashion planted,\\r\\n That hath a mint of phrases in his brain;\\r\\n One who the music of his own vain tongue\\r\\n Doth ravish like enchanting harmony;\\r\\n A man of complements, whom right and wrong\\r\\n Have chose as umpire of their mutiny.\\r\\n This child of fancy, that Armado hight,\\r\\n For interim to our studies shall relate,\\r\\n In high-born words, the worth of many a knight\\r\\n From tawny Spain lost in the world\\'s debate.\\r\\n How you delight, my lords, I know not, I;\\r\\n But I protest I love to hear him lie,\\r\\n And I will use him for my minstrelsy.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Armado is a most illustrious wight,\\r\\n A man of fire-new words, fashion\\'s own knight.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Costard the swain and he shall be our sport;\\r\\n And so to study three years is but short.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DULL, a constable, with a letter, and COSTARD\\r\\n\\r\\n DULL. Which is the Duke\\'s own person?\\r\\n BEROWNE. This, fellow. What wouldst?\\r\\n DULL. I myself reprehend his own person, for I am his Grace\\'s\\r\\n farborough; but I would see his own person in flesh and blood.\\r\\n BEROWNE. This is he.\\r\\n DULL. Signior Arme- Arme- commends you. There\\'s villainy abroad;\\r\\n this letter will tell you more.\\r\\n COSTARD. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me.\\r\\n KING. A letter from the magnificent Armado.\\r\\n BEROWNE. How low soever the matter, I hope in God for high words.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. A high hope for a low heaven. God grant us patience!\\r\\n BEROWNE. To hear, or forbear hearing?\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh moderately; or, to\\r\\n forbear both.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Well, sir, be it as the style shall give us cause to climb\\r\\n in the merriness.\\r\\n COSTARD. The matter is to me, sir, as concerning Jaquenetta.\\r\\n The manner of it is, I was taken with the manner.\\r\\n BEROWNE. In what manner?\\r\\n COSTARD. In manner and form following, sir; all those three: I was\\r\\n seen with her in the manor-house, sitting with her upon the form,\\r\\n and taken following her into the park; which, put together, is in\\r\\n manner and form following. Now, sir, for the manner- it is the\\r\\n manner of a man to speak to a woman. For the form- in some form.\\r\\n BEROWNE. For the following, sir?\\r\\n COSTARD. As it shall follow in my correction; and God defend the\\r\\n right!\\r\\n KING. Will you hear this letter with attention?\\r\\n BEROWNE. As we would hear an oracle.\\r\\n COSTARD. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken after the flesh.\\r\\n KING. [Reads] \\'Great deputy, the welkin\\'s vicegerent and sole\\r\\n dominator of Navarre, my soul\\'s earth\\'s god and body\\'s fost\\'ring\\r\\n patron\\'-\\r\\n COSTARD. Not a word of Costard yet.\\r\\n KING. [Reads] \\'So it is\\'-\\r\\n COSTARD. It may be so; but if he say it is so, he is, in telling\\r\\n true, but so.\\r\\n KING. Peace!\\r\\n COSTARD. Be to me, and every man that dares not fight!\\r\\n KING. No words!\\r\\n COSTARD. Of other men\\'s secrets, I beseech you.\\r\\n KING. [Reads] \\'So it is, besieged with sable-coloured melancholy, I\\r\\n did commend the black oppressing humour to the most wholesome\\r\\n physic of thy health-giving air; and, as I am a gentleman, betook\\r\\n myself to walk. The time When? About the sixth hour; when beasts\\r\\n most graze, birds best peck, and men sit down to that nourishment\\r\\n which is called supper. So much for the time When. Now for the\\r\\n ground Which? which, I mean, I upon; it is ycleped thy park. Then\\r\\n for the place Where? where, I mean, I did encounter that obscene\\r\\n and most prepost\\'rous event that draweth from my snow-white pen\\r\\n the ebon-coloured ink which here thou viewest, beholdest,\\r\\n surveyest, or seest. But to the place Where? It standeth\\r\\n north-north-east and by east from the west corner of thy\\r\\n curious-knotted garden. There did I see that low-spirited swain,\\r\\n that base minnow of thy mirth,\\'\\r\\n COSTARD. Me?\\r\\n KING. \\'that unlettered small-knowing soul,\\'\\r\\n COSTARD. Me?\\r\\n KING. \\'that shallow vassal,\\'\\r\\n COSTARD. Still me?\\r\\n KING. \\'which, as I remember, hight Costard,\\'\\r\\n COSTARD. O, me!\\r\\n KING. \\'sorted and consorted, contrary to thy established proclaimed\\r\\n edict and continent canon; which, with, O, with- but with this I\\r\\n passion to say wherewith-\\'\\r\\n COSTARD. With a wench.\\r\\n King. \\'with a child of our grandmother Eve, a female; or, for thy\\r\\n more sweet understanding, a woman. Him I, as my ever-esteemed\\r\\n duty pricks me on, have sent to thee, to receive the meed of\\r\\n punishment, by thy sweet Grace\\'s officer, Antony Dull, a man of\\r\\n good repute, carriage, bearing, and estimation.\\'\\r\\n DULL. Me, an\\'t shall please you; I am Antony Dull.\\r\\n KING. \\'For Jaquenetta- so is the weaker vessel called, which I\\r\\n apprehended with the aforesaid swain- I keep her as a vessel of\\r\\n thy law\\'s fury; and shall, at the least of thy sweet notice,\\r\\n bring her to trial. Thine, in all compliments of devoted and\\r\\n heart-burning heat of duty,\\r\\n DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n BEROWNE. This is not so well as I look\\'d for, but the best that\\r\\n ever I heard.\\r\\n KING. Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, what say you to\\r\\n this?\\r\\n COSTARD. Sir, I confess the wench.\\r\\n KING. Did you hear the proclamation?\\r\\n COSTARD. I do confess much of the hearing it, but little of the\\r\\n marking of it.\\r\\n KING. It was proclaimed a year\\'s imprisonment to be taken with a\\r\\n wench.\\r\\n COSTARD. I was taken with none, sir; I was taken with a damsel.\\r\\n KING. Well, it was proclaimed damsel.\\r\\n COSTARD. This was no damsel neither, sir; she was a virgin.\\r\\n KING. It is so varied too, for it was proclaimed virgin.\\r\\n COSTARD. If it were, I deny her virginity; I was taken with a maid.\\r\\n KING. This \\'maid\\' not serve your turn, sir.\\r\\n COSTARD. This maid will serve my turn, sir.\\r\\n KING. Sir, I will pronounce your sentence: you shall fast a week\\r\\n with bran and water.\\r\\n COSTARD. I had rather pray a month with mutton and porridge.\\r\\n KING. And Don Armado shall be your keeper.\\r\\n My Lord Berowne, see him delivered o\\'er;\\r\\n And go we, lords, to put in practice that\\r\\n Which each to other hath so strongly sworn.\\r\\n Exeunt KING, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN\\r\\n BEROWNE. I\\'ll lay my head to any good man\\'s hat\\r\\n These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn.\\r\\n Sirrah, come on.\\r\\n COSTARD. I suffer for the truth, sir; for true it is I was taken\\r\\n with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true girl; and therefore\\r\\n welcome the sour cup of prosperity! Affliction may one day smile\\r\\n again; and till then, sit thee down, sorrow.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ARMADO and MOTH, his page\\r\\n\\r\\n ARMADO. Boy, what sign is it when a man of great spirit grows\\r\\n melancholy?\\r\\n MOTH. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad.\\r\\n ARMADO. Why, sadness is one and the self-same thing, dear imp.\\r\\n MOTH. No, no; O Lord, sir, no!\\r\\n ARMADO. How canst thou part sadness and melancholy, my tender\\r\\n juvenal?\\r\\n MOTH. By a familiar demonstration of the working, my tough signior.\\r\\n ARMADO. Why tough signior? Why tough signior?\\r\\n MOTH. Why tender juvenal? Why tender juvenal?\\r\\n ARMADO. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent epitheton\\r\\n appertaining to thy young days, which we may nominate tender.\\r\\n MOTH. And I, tough signior, as an appertinent title to your old\\r\\n time, which we may name tough.\\r\\n ARMADO. Pretty and apt.\\r\\n MOTH. How mean you, sir? I pretty, and my saying apt? or I apt, and\\r\\n my saying pretty?\\r\\n ARMADO. Thou pretty, because little.\\r\\n MOTH. Little pretty, because little. Wherefore apt?\\r\\n ARMADO. And therefore apt, because quick.\\r\\n MOTH. Speak you this in my praise, master?\\r\\n ARMADO. In thy condign praise.\\r\\n MOTH. I will praise an eel with the same praise.\\r\\n ARMADO. that an eel is ingenious?\\r\\n MOTH. That an eel is quick.\\r\\n ARMADO. I do say thou art quick in answers; thou heat\\'st my blood.\\r\\n MOTH. I am answer\\'d, sir.\\r\\n ARMADO. I love not to be cross\\'d.\\r\\n MOTH. [Aside] He speaks the mere contrary: crosses love not him.\\r\\n ARMADO. I have promised to study three years with the Duke.\\r\\n MOTH. You may do it in an hour, sir.\\r\\n ARMADO. Impossible.\\r\\n MOTH. How many is one thrice told?\\r\\n ARMADO. I am ill at reck\\'ning; it fitteth the spirit of a tapster.\\r\\n MOTH. You are a gentleman and a gamester, sir.\\r\\n ARMADO. I confess both; they are both the varnish of a complete\\r\\n man.\\r\\n MOTH. Then I am sure you know how much the gross sum of deuce-ace\\r\\n amounts to.\\r\\n ARMADO. It doth amount to one more than two.\\r\\n MOTH. Which the base vulgar do call three.\\r\\n ARMADO. True.\\r\\n MOTH. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? Now here is three\\r\\n studied ere ye\\'ll thrice wink; and how easy it is to put \\'years\\'\\r\\n to the word \\'three,\\' and study three years in two words, the\\r\\n dancing horse will tell you.\\r\\n ARMADO. A most fine figure!\\r\\n MOTH. [Aside] To prove you a cipher.\\r\\n ARMADO. I will hereupon confess I am in love. And as it is base for\\r\\n a soldier to love, so am I in love with a base wench. If drawing\\r\\n my sword against the humour of affection would deliver me from\\r\\n the reprobate thought of it, I would take Desire prisoner, and\\r\\n ransom him to any French courtier for a new-devis\\'d curtsy. I\\r\\n think scorn to sigh; methinks I should out-swear Cupid. Comfort\\r\\n me, boy; what great men have been in love?\\r\\n MOTH. Hercules, master.\\r\\n ARMADO. Most sweet Hercules! More authority, dear boy, name more;\\r\\n and, sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage.\\r\\n MOTH. Samson, master; he was a man of good carriage, great\\r\\n carriage, for he carried the town gates on his back like a\\r\\n porter; and he was in love.\\r\\n ARMADO. O well-knit Samson! strong-jointed Samson! I do excel thee\\r\\n in my rapier as much as thou didst me in carrying gates. I am in\\r\\n love too. Who was Samson\\'s love, my dear Moth?\\r\\n MOTH. A woman, master.\\r\\n ARMADO. Of what complexion?\\r\\n MOTH. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the\\r\\n four.\\r\\n ARMADO. Tell me precisely of what complexion.\\r\\n MOTH. Of the sea-water green, sir.\\r\\n ARMADO. Is that one of the four complexions?\\r\\n MOTH. As I have read, sir; and the best of them too.\\r\\n ARMADO. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers; but to have a love\\r\\n of that colour, methinks Samson had small reason for it. He\\r\\n surely affected her for her wit.\\r\\n MOTH. It was so, sir; for she had a green wit.\\r\\n ARMADO. My love is most immaculate white and red.\\r\\n MOTH. Most maculate thoughts, master, are mask\\'d under such\\r\\n colours.\\r\\n ARMADO. Define, define, well-educated infant.\\r\\n MOTH. My father\\'s wit my mother\\'s tongue assist me!\\r\\n ARMADO. Sweet invocation of a child; most pretty, and pathetical!\\r\\n MOTH. If she be made of white and red,\\r\\n Her faults will ne\\'er be known;\\r\\n For blushing cheeks by faults are bred,\\r\\n And fears by pale white shown.\\r\\n Then if she fear, or be to blame,\\r\\n By this you shall not know;\\r\\n For still her cheeks possess the same\\r\\n Which native she doth owe.\\r\\n A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of white and red.\\r\\n ARMADO. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar?\\r\\n MOTH. The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages\\r\\n since; but I think now \\'tis not to be found; or if it were, it\\r\\n would neither serve for the writing nor the tune.\\r\\n ARMADO. I will have that subject newly writ o\\'er, that I may\\r\\n example my digression by some mighty precedent. Boy, I do love\\r\\n that country girl that I took in the park with the rational hind\\r\\n Costard; she deserves well.\\r\\n MOTH. [Aside] To be whipt; and yet a better love than my master.\\r\\n ARMADO. Sing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in love.\\r\\n MOTH. And that\\'s great marvel, loving a light wench.\\r\\n ARMADO. I say, sing.\\r\\n MOTH. Forbear till this company be past.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DULL, COSTARD, and JAQUENETTA\\r\\n\\r\\n DULL. Sir, the Duke\\'s pleasure is that you keep Costard safe; and\\r\\n you must suffer him to take no delight nor no penance; but \\'a\\r\\n must fast three days a week. For this damsel, I must keep her at\\r\\n the park; she is allow\\'d for the day-woman. Fare you well.\\r\\n ARMADO. I do betray myself with blushing. Maid!\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. Man!\\r\\n ARMADO. I will visit thee at the lodge.\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. That\\'s hereby.\\r\\n ARMADO. I know where it is situate.\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. Lord, how wise you are!\\r\\n ARMADO. I will tell thee wonders.\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. With that face?\\r\\n ARMADO. I love thee.\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. So I heard you say.\\r\\n ARMADO. And so, farewell.\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. Fair weather after you!\\r\\n DULL. Come, Jaquenetta, away. Exit with JAQUENETTA\\r\\n ARMADO. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences ere thou be\\r\\n pardoned.\\r\\n COSTARD. Well, sir, I hope when I do it I shall do it on a full\\r\\n stomach.\\r\\n ARMADO. Thou shalt be heavily punished.\\r\\n COSTARD. I am more bound to you than your fellows, for they are but\\r\\n lightly rewarded.\\r\\n ARMADO. Take away this villain; shut him up.\\r\\n MOTH. Come, you transgressing slave, away.\\r\\n COSTARD. Let me not be pent up, sir; I will fast, being loose.\\r\\n MOTH. No, sir; that were fast, and loose. Thou shalt to prison.\\r\\n COSTARD. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation that I\\r\\n have seen, some shall see.\\r\\n MOTH. What shall some see?\\r\\n COSTARD. Nay, nothing, Master Moth, but what they look upon. It is\\r\\n not for prisoners to be too silent in their words, and therefore\\r\\n I will say nothing. I thank God I have as little patience as\\r\\n another man, and therefore I can be quiet.\\r\\n Exeunt MOTH and COSTARD\\r\\n ARMADO. I do affect the very ground, which is base, where her shoe,\\r\\n which is baser, guided by her foot, which is basest, doth tread.\\r\\n I shall be forsworn- which is a great argument of falsehood- if I\\r\\n love. And how can that be true love which is falsely attempted?\\r\\n Love is a familiar; Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but\\r\\n Love. Yet was Samson so tempted, and he had an excellent\\r\\n strength; yet was Solomon so seduced, and he had a very good wit.\\r\\n Cupid\\'s butt-shaft is too hard for Hercules\\' club, and therefore\\r\\n too much odds for a Spaniard\\'s rapier. The first and second cause\\r\\n will not serve my turn; the passado he respects not, the duello\\r\\n he regards not; his disgrace is to be called boy, but his glory\\r\\n is to subdue men. Adieu, valour; rust, rapier; be still, drum;\\r\\n for your manager is in love; yea, he loveth. Assist me, some\\r\\n extemporal god of rhyme, for I am sure I shall turn sonnet.\\r\\n Devise, wit; write, pen; for I am for whole volumes in folio.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE II. The park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the PRINCESS OF FRANCE, with three attending ladies,\\r\\nROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET, and two other LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n BOYET. Now, madam, summon up your dearest spirits.\\r\\n Consider who the King your father sends,\\r\\n To whom he sends, and what\\'s his embassy:\\r\\n Yourself, held precious in the world\\'s esteem,\\r\\n To parley with the sole inheritor\\r\\n Of all perfections that a man may owe,\\r\\n Matchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight\\r\\n Than Aquitaine, a dowry for a queen.\\r\\n Be now as prodigal of all dear grace\\r\\n As Nature was in making graces dear,\\r\\n When she did starve the general world beside\\r\\n And prodigally gave them all to you.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean,\\r\\n Needs not the painted flourish of your praise.\\r\\n Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye,\\r\\n Not utt\\'red by base sale of chapmen\\'s tongues;\\r\\n I am less proud to hear you tell my worth\\r\\n Than you much willing to be counted wise\\r\\n In spending your wit in the praise of mine.\\r\\n But now to task the tasker: good Boyet,\\r\\n You are not ignorant all-telling fame\\r\\n Doth noise abroad Navarre hath made a vow,\\r\\n Till painful study shall outwear three years,\\r\\n No woman may approach his silent court.\\r\\n Therefore to\\'s seemeth it a needful course,\\r\\n Before we enter his forbidden gates,\\r\\n To know his pleasure; and in that behalf,\\r\\n Bold of your worthiness, we single you\\r\\n As our best-moving fair solicitor.\\r\\n Tell him the daughter of the King of France,\\r\\n On serious business, craving quick dispatch,\\r\\n Importunes personal conference with his Grace.\\r\\n Haste, signify so much; while we attend,\\r\\n Like humble-visag\\'d suitors, his high will.\\r\\n BOYET. Proud of employment, willingly I go.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so.\\r\\n Exit BOYET\\r\\n Who are the votaries, my loving lords,\\r\\n That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke?\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Lord Longaville is one.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Know you the man?\\r\\n MARIA. I know him, madam; at a marriage feast,\\r\\n Between Lord Perigort and the beauteous heir\\r\\n Of Jaques Falconbridge, solemnized\\r\\n In Normandy, saw I this Longaville.\\r\\n A man of sovereign parts, peerless esteem\\'d,\\r\\n Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms;\\r\\n Nothing becomes him ill that he would well.\\r\\n The only soil of his fair virtue\\'s gloss,\\r\\n If virtue\\'s gloss will stain with any soil,\\r\\n Is a sharp wit match\\'d with too blunt a will,\\r\\n Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills\\r\\n It should none spare that come within his power.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Some merry mocking lord, belike; is\\'t so?\\r\\n MARIA. They say so most that most his humours know.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Such short-liv\\'d wits do wither as they grow.\\r\\n Who are the rest?\\r\\n KATHARINE. The young Dumain, a well-accomplish\\'d youth,\\r\\n Of all that virtue love for virtue loved;\\r\\n Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill,\\r\\n For he hath wit to make an ill shape good,\\r\\n And shape to win grace though he had no wit.\\r\\n I saw him at the Duke Alencon\\'s once;\\r\\n And much too little of that good I saw\\r\\n Is my report to his great worthiness.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Another of these students at that time\\r\\n Was there with him, if I have heard a truth.\\r\\n Berowne they call him; but a merrier man,\\r\\n Within the limit of becoming mirth,\\r\\n I never spent an hour\\'s talk withal.\\r\\n His eye begets occasion for his wit,\\r\\n For every object that the one doth catch\\r\\n The other turns to a mirth-moving jest,\\r\\n Which his fair tongue, conceit\\'s expositor,\\r\\n Delivers in such apt and gracious words\\r\\n That aged ears play truant at his tales,\\r\\n And younger hearings are quite ravished;\\r\\n So sweet and voluble is his discourse.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. God bless my ladies! Are they all in love,\\r\\n That every one her own hath garnished\\r\\n With such bedecking ornaments of praise?\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Here comes Boyet.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter BOYET\\r\\n\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Now, what admittance, lord?\\r\\n BOYET. Navarre had notice of your fair approach,\\r\\n And he and his competitors in oath\\r\\n Were all address\\'d to meet you, gentle lady,\\r\\n Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt:\\r\\n He rather means to lodge you in the field,\\r\\n Like one that comes here to besiege his court,\\r\\n Than seek a dispensation for his oath,\\r\\n To let you enter his unpeopled house.\\r\\n [The LADIES-IN-WAITING mask]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING, LONGAVILLE, DUMAIN, BEROWNE,\\r\\n and ATTENDANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n Here comes Navarre.\\r\\n KING. Fair Princess, welcome to the court of Navarre.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. \\'Fair\\' I give you back again; and \\'welcome\\' I\\r\\n have not yet. The roof of this court is too high to be yours, and\\r\\n welcome to the wide fields too base to be mine.\\r\\n KING. You shall be welcome, madam, to my court.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I will be welcome then; conduct me thither.\\r\\n KING. Hear me, dear lady: I have sworn an oath-\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Our Lady help my lord! He\\'ll be forsworn.\\r\\n KING. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Why, will shall break it; will, and nothing\\r\\n else.\\r\\n KING. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise,\\r\\n Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance.\\r\\n I hear your Grace hath sworn out house-keeping.\\r\\n \\'Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord,\\r\\n And sin to break it.\\r\\n But pardon me, I am too sudden bold;\\r\\n To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me.\\r\\n Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming,\\r\\n And suddenly resolve me in my suit. [Giving a paper]\\r\\n KING. Madam, I will, if suddenly I may.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. YOU Will the sooner that I were away,\\r\\n For you\\'ll prove perjur\\'d if you make me stay.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?\\r\\n KATHARINE. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?\\r\\n BEROWNE. I know you did.\\r\\n KATHARINE. How needless was it then to ask the question!\\r\\n BEROWNE. You must not be so quick.\\r\\n KATHARINE. \\'Tis long of you, that spur me with such questions.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Your wit \\'s too hot, it speeds too fast, \\'twill tire.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Not till it leave the rider in the mire.\\r\\n BEROWNE. What time o\\' day?\\r\\n KATHARINE. The hour that fools should ask.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Now fair befall your mask!\\r\\n KATHARINE. Fair fall the face it covers!\\r\\n BEROWNE. And send you many lovers!\\r\\n KATHARINE. Amen, so you be none.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Nay, then will I be gone.\\r\\n KING. Madam, your father here doth intimate\\r\\n The payment of a hundred thousand crowns;\\r\\n Being but the one half of an entire sum\\r\\n Disbursed by my father in his wars.\\r\\n But say that he or we, as neither have,\\r\\n Receiv\\'d that sum, yet there remains unpaid\\r\\n A hundred thousand more, in surety of the which,\\r\\n One part of Aquitaine is bound to us,\\r\\n Although not valued to the money\\'s worth.\\r\\n If then the King your father will restore\\r\\n But that one half which is unsatisfied,\\r\\n We will give up our right in Aquitaine,\\r\\n And hold fair friendship with his Majesty.\\r\\n But that, it seems, he little purposeth,\\r\\n For here he doth demand to have repaid\\r\\n A hundred thousand crowns; and not demands,\\r\\n On payment of a hundred thousand crowns,\\r\\n To have his title live in Aquitaine;\\r\\n Which we much rather had depart withal,\\r\\n And have the money by our father lent,\\r\\n Than Aquitaine so gelded as it is.\\r\\n Dear Princess, were not his requests so far\\r\\n From reason\\'s yielding, your fair self should make\\r\\n A yielding \\'gainst some reason in my breast,\\r\\n And go well satisfied to France again.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. You do the King my father too much wrong,\\r\\n And wrong the reputation of your name,\\r\\n In so unseeming to confess receipt\\r\\n Of that which hath so faithfully been paid.\\r\\n KING. I do protest I never heard of it;\\r\\n And, if you prove it, I\\'ll repay it back\\r\\n Or yield up Aquitaine.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We arrest your word.\\r\\n Boyet, you can produce acquittances\\r\\n For such a sum from special officers\\r\\n Of Charles his father.\\r\\n KING. Satisfy me so.\\r\\n BOYET. So please your Grace, the packet is not come,\\r\\n Where that and other specialties are bound;\\r\\n To-morrow you shall have a sight of them.\\r\\n KING. It shall suffice me; at which interview\\r\\n All liberal reason I will yield unto.\\r\\n Meantime receive such welcome at my hand\\r\\n As honour, without breach of honour, may\\r\\n Make tender of to thy true worthiness.\\r\\n You may not come, fair Princess, within my gates;\\r\\n But here without you shall be so receiv\\'d\\r\\n As you shall deem yourself lodg\\'d in my heart,\\r\\n Though so denied fair harbour in my house.\\r\\n Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell.\\r\\n To-morrow shall we visit you again.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Sweet health and fair desires consort your\\r\\n Grace!\\r\\n KING. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place.\\r\\n Exit with attendants\\r\\n BEROWNE. Lady, I will commend you to mine own heart.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Pray you, do my commendations;\\r\\n I would be glad to see it.\\r\\n BEROWNE. I would you heard it groan.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Is the fool sick?\\r\\n BEROWNE. Sick at the heart.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Alack, let it blood.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Would that do it good?\\r\\n ROSALINE. My physic says \\'ay.\\'\\r\\n BEROWNE. Will YOU prick\\'t with your eye?\\r\\n ROSALINE. No point, with my knife.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Now, God save thy life!\\r\\n ROSALINE. And yours from long living!\\r\\n BEROWNE. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [Retiring]\\r\\n DUMAIN. Sir, I pray you, a word: what lady is that same?\\r\\n BOYET. The heir of Alencon, Katharine her name.\\r\\n DUMAIN. A gallant lady! Monsieur, fare you well. Exit\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. I beseech you a word: what is she in the white?\\r\\n BOYET. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the light.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Perchance light in the light. I desire her name.\\r\\n BOYET. She hath but one for herself; to desire that were a shame.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Pray you, sir, whose daughter?\\r\\n BOYET. Her mother\\'s, I have heard.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. God\\'s blessing on your beard!\\r\\n BOYET. Good sir, be not offended;\\r\\n She is an heir of Falconbridge.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Nay, my choler is ended.\\r\\n She is a most sweet lady.\\r\\n BOYET. Not unlike, sir; that may be. Exit LONGAVILLE\\r\\n BEROWNE. What\\'s her name in the cap?\\r\\n BOYET. Rosaline, by good hap.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Is she wedded or no?\\r\\n BOYET. To her will, sir, or so.\\r\\n BEROWNE. You are welcome, sir; adieu!\\r\\n BOYET. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you.\\r\\n Exit BEROWNE. LADIES Unmask\\r\\n MARIA. That last is Berowne, the merry mad-cap lord;\\r\\n Not a word with him but a jest.\\r\\n BOYET. And every jest but a word.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. It was well done of you to take him at his\\r\\n word.\\r\\n BOYET. I was as willing to grapple as he was to board.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Two hot sheeps, marry!\\r\\n BOYET. And wherefore not ships?\\r\\n No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips.\\r\\n KATHARINE. You sheep and I pasture- shall that finish the jest?\\r\\n BOYET. So you grant pasture for me. [Offering to kiss her]\\r\\n KATHARINE. Not so, gentle beast;\\r\\n My lips are no common, though several they be.\\r\\n BOYET. Belonging to whom?\\r\\n KATHARINE. To my fortunes and me.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles,\\r\\n agree;\\r\\n This civil war of wits were much better used\\r\\n On Navarre and his book-men, for here \\'tis abused.\\r\\n BOYET. If my observation, which very seldom lies,\\r\\n By the heart\\'s still rhetoric disclosed with eyes,\\r\\n Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. With what?\\r\\n BOYET. With that which we lovers entitle \\'affected.\\'\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Your reason?\\r\\n BOYET. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire\\r\\n To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire.\\r\\n His heart, like an agate, with your print impressed,\\r\\n Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed;\\r\\n His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,\\r\\n Did stumble with haste in his eyesight to be;\\r\\n All senses to that sense did make their repair,\\r\\n To feel only looking on fairest of fair.\\r\\n Methought all his senses were lock\\'d in his eye,\\r\\n As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy;\\r\\n Who, tend\\'ring their own worth from where they were glass\\'d,\\r\\n Did point you to buy them, along as you pass\\'d.\\r\\n His face\\'s own margent did quote such amazes\\r\\n That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes.\\r\\n I\\'ll give you Aquitaine and all that is his,\\r\\n An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Come, to our pavilion. Boyet is dispos\\'d.\\r\\n BOYET. But to speak that in words which his eye hath disclos\\'d;\\r\\n I only have made a mouth of his eye,\\r\\n By adding a tongue which I know will not lie.\\r\\n MARIA. Thou art an old love-monger, and speakest skilfully.\\r\\n KATHARINE. He is Cupid\\'s grandfather, and learns news of him.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Then was Venus like her mother; for her father is but\\r\\n grim.\\r\\n BOYET. Do you hear, my mad wenches?\\r\\n MARIA. No.\\r\\n BOYET. What, then; do you see?\\r\\n MARIA. Ay, our way to be gone.\\r\\n BOYET. You are too hard for me. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. The park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ARMADO and MOTH\\r\\n\\r\\n ARMADO. Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing.\\r\\n [MOTH sings Concolinel]\\r\\n ARMADO. Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years, take this key, give\\r\\n enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither; I must\\r\\n employ him in a letter to my love.\\r\\n MOTH. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl?\\r\\n ARMADO. How meanest thou? Brawling in French?\\r\\n MOTH. No, my complete master; but to jig off a tune at the tongue\\'s\\r\\n end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your\\r\\n eyelids, sigh a note and sing a note, sometime through the\\r\\n throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love, sometime\\r\\n through the nose, as if you snuff\\'d up love by smelling love,\\r\\n with your hat penthouse-like o\\'er the shop of your eyes, with\\r\\n your arms cross\\'d on your thin-belly doublet, like a rabbit on a\\r\\n spit, or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old\\r\\n painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away.\\r\\n These are complements, these are humours; these betray nice\\r\\n wenches, that would be betrayed without these; and make them men\\r\\n of note- do you note me?- that most are affected to these.\\r\\n ARMADO. How hast thou purchased this experience?\\r\\n MOTH. By my penny of observation.\\r\\n ARMADO. But O- but O-\\r\\n MOTH. The hobby-horse is forgot.\\r\\n ARMADO. Call\\'st thou my love \\'hobby-horse\\'?\\r\\n MOTH. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love\\r\\n perhaps a hackney. But have you forgot your love?\\r\\n ARMADO. Almost I had.\\r\\n MOTH. Negligent student! learn her by heart.\\r\\n ARMADO. By heart and in heart, boy.\\r\\n MOTH. And out of heart, master; all those three I will prove.\\r\\n ARMADO. What wilt thou prove?\\r\\n MOTH. A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and without, upon the\\r\\n instant. By heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by\\r\\n her; in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with\\r\\n her; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you\\r\\n cannot enjoy her.\\r\\n ARMADO. I am all these three.\\r\\n MOTH. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all.\\r\\n ARMADO. Fetch hither the swain; he must carry me a letter.\\r\\n MOTH. A message well sympathiz\\'d- a horse to be ambassador for an\\r\\n ass.\\r\\n ARMADO. Ha, ha, what sayest thou?\\r\\n MOTH. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is\\r\\n very slow-gaited. But I go.\\r\\n ARMADO. The way is but short; away.\\r\\n MOTH. As swift as lead, sir.\\r\\n ARMADO. The meaning, pretty ingenious?\\r\\n Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow?\\r\\n MOTH. Minime, honest master; or rather, master, no.\\r\\n ARMADO. I say lead is slow.\\r\\n MOTH. You are too swift, sir, to say so:\\r\\n Is that lead slow which is fir\\'d from a gun?\\r\\n ARMADO. Sweet smoke of rhetoric!\\r\\n He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that\\'s he;\\r\\n I shoot thee at the swain.\\r\\n MOTH. Thump, then, and I flee. Exit\\r\\n ARMADO. A most acute juvenal; volable and free of grace!\\r\\n By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face;\\r\\n Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place.\\r\\n My herald is return\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter MOTH with COSTARD\\r\\n\\r\\n MOTH. A wonder, master! here\\'s a costard broken in a shin.\\r\\n ARMADO. Some enigma, some riddle; come, thy l\\'envoy; begin.\\r\\n COSTARD. No egma, no riddle, no l\\'envoy; no salve in the mail, sir.\\r\\n O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain; no l\\'envoy, no l\\'envoy; no\\r\\n salve, sir, but a plantain!\\r\\n ARMADO. By virtue thou enforcest laughter; thy silly thought, my\\r\\n spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous\\r\\n smiling. O, pardon me, my stars! Doth the inconsiderate take\\r\\n salve for l\\'envoy, and the word \\'l\\'envoy\\' for a salve?\\r\\n MOTH. Do the wise think them other? Is not l\\'envoy a salve?\\r\\n ARMADO. No, page; it is an epilogue or discourse to make plain\\r\\n Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain.\\r\\n I will example it:\\r\\n The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,\\r\\n Were still at odds, being but three.\\r\\n There\\'s the moral. Now the l\\'envoy.\\r\\n MOTH. I will add the l\\'envoy. Say the moral again.\\r\\n ARMADO. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,\\r\\n Were still at odds, being but three.\\r\\n MOTH. Until the goose came out of door,\\r\\n And stay\\'d the odds by adding four.\\r\\n Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my l\\'envoy.\\r\\n The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,\\r\\n Were still at odds, being but three.\\r\\n ARMADO. Until the goose came out of door,\\r\\n Staying the odds by adding four.\\r\\n MOTH. A good l\\'envoy, ending in the goose; would you desire more?\\r\\n COSTARD. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, that\\'s flat.\\r\\n Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat.\\r\\n To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose;\\r\\n Let me see: a fat l\\'envoy; ay, that\\'s a fat goose.\\r\\n ARMADO. Come hither, come hither. How did this argument begin?\\r\\n MOTH. By saying that a costard was broken in a shin.\\r\\n Then call\\'d you for the l\\'envoy.\\r\\n COSTARD. True, and I for a plantain. Thus came your argument in;\\r\\n Then the boy\\'s fat l\\'envoy, the goose that you bought;\\r\\n And he ended the market.\\r\\n ARMADO. But tell me: how was there a costard broken in a shin?\\r\\n MOTH. I will tell you sensibly.\\r\\n COSTARD. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth; I will speak that\\r\\n l\\'envoy.\\r\\n I, Costard, running out, that was safely within,\\r\\n Fell over the threshold and broke my shin.\\r\\n ARMADO. We will talk no more of this matter.\\r\\n COSTARD. Till there be more matter in the shin.\\r\\n ARMADO. Sirrah Costard. I will enfranchise thee.\\r\\n COSTARD. O, Marry me to one Frances! I smell some l\\'envoy, some\\r\\n goose, in this.\\r\\n ARMADO. By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at liberty,\\r\\n enfreedoming thy person; thou wert immured, restrained,\\r\\n captivated, bound.\\r\\n COSTARD. True, true; and now you will be my purgation, and let me\\r\\n loose.\\r\\n ARMADO. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance; and, in\\r\\n lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this: bear this\\r\\n significant [giving a letter] to the country maid Jaquenetta;\\r\\n there is remuneration, for the best ward of mine honour is\\r\\n rewarding my dependents. Moth, follow. Exit\\r\\n MOTH. Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu.\\r\\n COSTARD. My sweet ounce of man\\'s flesh, my incony Jew!\\r\\n Exit MOTH\\r\\n Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration! O, that\\'s the\\r\\n Latin word for three farthings. Three farthings- remuneration.\\r\\n \\'What\\'s the price of this inkle?\\'- \\'One penny.\\'- \\'No, I\\'ll give\\r\\n you a remuneration.\\' Why, it carries it. Remuneration! Why, it is\\r\\n a fairer name than French crown. I will never buy and sell out of\\r\\n this word.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BEROWNE\\r\\n\\r\\n BEROWNE. My good knave Costard, exceedingly well met!\\r\\n COSTARD. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for\\r\\n a remuneration?\\r\\n BEROWNE. What is a remuneration?\\r\\n COSTARD. Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Why, then, three-farthing worth of silk.\\r\\n COSTARD. I thank your worship. God be wi\\' you!\\r\\n BEROWNE. Stay, slave; I must employ thee.\\r\\n As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave,\\r\\n Do one thing for me that I shall entreat.\\r\\n COSTARD. When would you have it done, sir?\\r\\n BEROWNE. This afternoon.\\r\\n COSTARD. Well, I will do it, sir; fare you well.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Thou knowest not what it is.\\r\\n COSTARD. I shall know, sir, when I have done it.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Why, villain, thou must know first.\\r\\n COSTARD. I will come to your worship to-morrow morning.\\r\\n BEROWNE. It must be done this afternoon.\\r\\n Hark, slave, it is but this:\\r\\n The Princess comes to hunt here in the park,\\r\\n And in her train there is a gentle lady;\\r\\n When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name,\\r\\n And Rosaline they call her. Ask for her,\\r\\n And to her white hand see thou do commend\\r\\n This seal\\'d-up counsel. There\\'s thy guerdon; go.\\r\\n [Giving him a shilling]\\r\\n COSTARD. Gardon, O sweet gardon! better than remuneration; a\\r\\n \\'leven-pence farthing better; most sweet gardon! I will do it,\\r\\n sir, in print. Gardon- remuneration! Exit\\r\\n BEROWNE. And I, forsooth, in love; I, that have been love\\'s whip;\\r\\n A very beadle to a humorous sigh;\\r\\n A critic, nay, a night-watch constable;\\r\\n A domineering pedant o\\'er the boy,\\r\\n Than whom no mortal so magnificent!\\r\\n This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy,\\r\\n This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid;\\r\\n Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms,\\r\\n Th\\' anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,\\r\\n Liege of all loiterers and malcontents,\\r\\n Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces,\\r\\n Sole imperator, and great general\\r\\n Of trotting paritors. O my little heart!\\r\\n And I to be a corporal of his field,\\r\\n And wear his colours like a tumbler\\'s hoop!\\r\\n What! I love, I sue, I seek a wife-\\r\\n A woman, that is like a German clock,\\r\\n Still a-repairing, ever out of frame,\\r\\n And never going aright, being a watch,\\r\\n But being watch\\'d that it may still go right!\\r\\n Nay, to be perjur\\'d, which is worst of all;\\r\\n And, among three, to love the worst of all,\\r\\n A whitely wanton with a velvet brow,\\r\\n With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes;\\r\\n Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed,\\r\\n Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard.\\r\\n And I to sigh for her! to watch for her!\\r\\n To pray for her! Go to; it is a plague\\r\\n That Cupid will impose for my neglect\\r\\n Of his almighty dreadful little might.\\r\\n Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan:\\r\\n Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I. The park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the PRINCESS, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET, LORDS,\\r\\nATTENDANTS, and a FORESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Was that the King that spurr\\'d his horse so\\r\\n hard\\r\\n Against the steep uprising of the hill?\\r\\n BOYET. I know not; but I think it was not he.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Whoe\\'er \\'a was, \\'a show\\'d a mounting mind.\\r\\n Well, lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch;\\r\\n On Saturday we will return to France.\\r\\n Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush\\r\\n That we must stand and play the murderer in?\\r\\n FORESTER. Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice;\\r\\n A stand where you may make the fairest shoot.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I thank my beauty I am fair that shoot,\\r\\n And thereupon thou speak\\'st the fairest shoot.\\r\\n FORESTER. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. What, what? First praise me, and again say no?\\r\\n O short-liv\\'d pride! Not fair? Alack for woe!\\r\\n FORESTER. Yes, madam, fair.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Nay, never paint me now;\\r\\n Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.\\r\\n Here, good my glass, take this for telling true:\\r\\n [ Giving him money]\\r\\n Fair payment for foul words is more than due.\\r\\n FORESTER. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. See, see, my beauty will be sav\\'d by merit.\\r\\n O heresy in fair, fit for these days!\\r\\n A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.\\r\\n But come, the bow. Now mercy goes to kill,\\r\\n And shooting well is then accounted ill;\\r\\n Thus will I save my credit in the shoot:\\r\\n Not wounding, pity would not let me do\\'t;\\r\\n If wounding, then it was to show my skill,\\r\\n That more for praise than purpose meant to kill.\\r\\n And, out of question, so it is sometimes:\\r\\n Glory grows guilty of detested crimes,\\r\\n When, for fame\\'s sake, for praise, an outward part,\\r\\n We bend to that the working of the heart;\\r\\n As I for praise alone now seek to spill\\r\\n The poor deer\\'s blood that my heart means no ill.\\r\\n BOYET. Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty\\r\\n Only for praise sake, when they strive to be\\r\\n Lords o\\'er their lords?\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Only for praise; and praise we may afford\\r\\n To any lady that subdues a lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter COSTARD\\r\\n\\r\\n BOYET. Here comes a member of the commonwealth.\\r\\n COSTARD. God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the head lady?\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that\\r\\n have no heads.\\r\\n COSTARD. Which is the greatest lady, the highest?\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. The thickest and the tallest.\\r\\n COSTARD. The thickest and the tallest! It is so; truth is truth.\\r\\n An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit,\\r\\n One o\\' these maids\\' girdles for your waist should be fit.\\r\\n Are not you the chief woman? You are the thickest here.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. What\\'s your will, sir? What\\'s your will?\\r\\n COSTARD. I have a letter from Monsieur Berowne to one\\r\\n Lady Rosaline.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. O, thy letter, thy letter! He\\'s a good friend\\r\\n of mine.\\r\\n Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve.\\r\\n Break up this capon.\\r\\n BOYET. I am bound to serve.\\r\\n This letter is mistook; it importeth none here.\\r\\n It is writ to Jaquenetta.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We will read it, I swear.\\r\\n Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.\\r\\n BOYET. [Reads] \\'By heaven, that thou art fair is most infallible;\\r\\n true that thou art beauteous; truth itself that thou art lovely.\\r\\n More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth\\r\\n itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal. The\\r\\n magnanimous and most illustrate king Cophetua set eye upon the\\r\\n pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and he it was that\\r\\n might rightly say, \\'Veni, vidi, vici\\'; which to annothanize in\\r\\n the vulgar,- O base and obscure vulgar!- videlicet, He came, saw,\\r\\n and overcame. He came, one; saw, two; overcame, three. Who came?-\\r\\n the king. Why did he come?- to see. Why did he see?-to overcome.\\r\\n To whom came he?- to the beggar. What saw he?- the beggar. Who\\r\\n overcame he?- the beggar. The conclusion is victory; on whose\\r\\n side?- the king\\'s. The captive is enrich\\'d; on whose side?- the\\r\\n beggar\\'s. The catastrophe is a nuptial; on whose side?- the\\r\\n king\\'s. No, on both in one, or one in both. I am the king, for so\\r\\n stands the comparison; thou the beggar, for so witnesseth thy\\r\\n lowliness. Shall I command thy love? I may. Shall I enforce thy\\r\\n love? I could. Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shalt thou\\r\\n exchange for rags?- robes, for tittles?- titles, for thyself?\\r\\n -me. Thus expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot, my\\r\\n eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy every part.\\r\\n Thine in the dearest design of industry,\\r\\n DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.\\r\\n\\r\\n \\'Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar\\r\\n \\'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey;\\r\\n Submissive fall his princely feet before,\\r\\n And he from forage will incline to play.\\r\\n But if thou strive, poor soul, what are thou then?\\r\\n Food for his rage, repasture for his den.\\'\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. What plume of feathers is he that indited this\\r\\n letter?\\r\\n What vane? What weathercock? Did you ever hear better?\\r\\n BOYET. I am much deceived but I remember the style.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Else your memory is bad, going o\\'er it\\r\\n erewhile.\\r\\n BOYET. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in court;\\r\\n A phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport\\r\\n To the Prince and his book-mates.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thou fellow, a word.\\r\\n Who gave thee this letter?\\r\\n COSTARD. I told you: my lord.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. To whom shouldst thou give it?\\r\\n COSTARD. From my lord to my lady.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. From which lord to which lady?\\r\\n COSTARD. From my Lord Berowne, a good master of mine,\\r\\n To a lady of France that he call\\'d Rosaline.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords,\\r\\n away.\\r\\n [To ROSALINE] Here, sweet, put up this; \\'twill be thine another\\r\\n day. Exeunt PRINCESS and TRAIN\\r\\n BOYET. Who is the shooter? who is the shooter?\\r\\n ROSALINE. Shall I teach you to know?\\r\\n BOYET. Ay, my continent of beauty.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Why, she that bears the bow.\\r\\n Finely put off!\\r\\n BOYET. My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marry,\\r\\n Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry.\\r\\n Finely put on!\\r\\n ROSALINE. Well then, I am the shooter.\\r\\n BOYET. And who is your deer?\\r\\n ROSALINE. If we choose by the horns, yourself come not near.\\r\\n Finely put on indeed!\\r\\n MARIA. You Still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the\\r\\n brow.\\r\\n BOYET. But she herself is hit lower. Have I hit her now?\\r\\n ROSALINE. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was a man\\r\\n when King Pepin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit\\r\\n it?\\r\\n BOYET. So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a woman when\\r\\n Queen Guinever of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit\\r\\n it.\\r\\n ROSALINE. [Singing]\\r\\n Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it,\\r\\n Thou canst not hit it, my good man.\\r\\n BOYET. An I cannot, cannot, cannot,\\r\\n An I cannot, another can.\\r\\n Exeunt ROSALINE and KATHARINE\\r\\n COSTARD. By my troth, most pleasant! How both did fit it!\\r\\n MARIA. A mark marvellous well shot; for they both did hit it.\\r\\n BOYET. A mark! O, mark but that mark! A mark, says my lady!\\r\\n Let the mark have a prick in\\'t, to mete at, if it may be.\\r\\n MARIA. Wide o\\' the bow-hand! I\\' faith, your hand is out.\\r\\n COSTARD. Indeed, \\'a must shoot nearer, or he\\'ll ne\\'er hit the\\r\\n clout.\\r\\n BOYET. An if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in.\\r\\n COSTARD. Then will she get the upshoot by cleaving the pin.\\r\\n MARIA. Come, come, you talk greasily; your lips grow foul.\\r\\n COSTARD. She\\'s too hard for you at pricks, sir; challenge her to\\r\\n bowl.\\r\\n BOYET. I fear too much rubbing; good-night, my good owl.\\r\\n Exeunt BOYET and MARIA\\r\\n COSTARD. By my soul, a swain, a most simple clown!\\r\\n Lord, Lord! how the ladies and I have put him down!\\r\\n O\\' my troth, most sweet jests, most incony vulgar wit!\\r\\n When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it were, so fit.\\r\\n Armado a th\\' t\\'one side- O, a most dainty man!\\r\\n To see him walk before a lady and to bear her fan!\\r\\n To see him kiss his hand, and how most sweetly \\'a will swear!\\r\\n And his page a t\\' other side, that handful of wit!\\r\\n Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit!\\r\\n Sola, sola! Exit COSTARD\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The park\\r\\n\\r\\nFrom the shooting within, enter HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, and DULL\\r\\n\\r\\n NATHANIEL. Very reverent sport, truly; and done in the testimony of\\r\\n a good conscience.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. The deer was, as you know, sanguis, in blood; ripe as\\r\\n the pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of caelo,\\r\\n the sky, the welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth like a crab on\\r\\n the face of terra, the soil, the land, the earth.\\r\\n NATHANIEL. Truly, Master Holofernes, the epithets are sweetly\\r\\n varied, like a scholar at the least; but, sir, I assure ye it was\\r\\n a buck of the first head.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.\\r\\n DULL. \\'Twas not a haud credo; \\'twas a pricket.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Most barbarous intimation! yet a kind of insinuation,\\r\\n as it were, in via, in way, of explication; facere, as it were,\\r\\n replication, or rather, ostentare, to show, as it were, his\\r\\n inclination, after his undressed, unpolished, uneducated,\\r\\n unpruned, untrained, or rather unlettered, or ratherest\\r\\n unconfirmed fashion, to insert again my haud credo for a deer.\\r\\n DULL. I Said the deer was not a haud credo; \\'twas a pricket.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Twice-sod simplicity, bis coctus!\\r\\n O thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost thou look!\\r\\n NATHANIEL. Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in\\r\\n a book;\\r\\n He hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink; his\\r\\n intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible\\r\\n in the duller parts;\\r\\n And such barren plants are set before us that we thankful should\\r\\n be-\\r\\n Which we of taste and feeling are- for those parts that do\\r\\n fructify in us more than he.\\r\\n For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, or a fool,\\r\\n So, were there a patch set on learning, to see him in a school.\\r\\n But, omne bene, say I, being of an old father\\'s mind:\\r\\n Many can brook the weather that love not the wind.\\r\\n DULL. You two are book-men: can you tell me by your wit\\r\\n What was a month old at Cain\\'s birth that\\'s not five weeks old as\\r\\n yet?\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Dictynna, goodman Dull; Dictynna, goodman Dull.\\r\\n DULL. What is Dictynna?\\r\\n NATHANIEL. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. The moon was a month old when Adam was no more,\\r\\n And raught not to five weeks when he came to five-score.\\r\\n Th\\' allusion holds in the exchange.\\r\\n DULL. \\'Tis true, indeed; the collusion holds in the exchange.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. God comfort thy capacity! I say th\\' allusion holds in\\r\\n the exchange.\\r\\n DULL. And I say the polusion holds in the exchange; for the moon is\\r\\n never but a month old; and I say, beside, that \\'twas a pricket\\r\\n that the Princess kill\\'d.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph on\\r\\n the death of the deer? And, to humour the ignorant, call the deer\\r\\n the Princess kill\\'d a pricket.\\r\\n NATHANIEL. Perge, good Master Holofernes, perge, so it shall please\\r\\n you to abrogate scurrility.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. I Will something affect the letter, for it argues\\r\\n facility.\\r\\n\\r\\n The preyful Princess pierc\\'d and prick\\'d a pretty pleasing\\r\\n pricket.\\r\\n Some say a sore; but not a sore till now made sore with shooting.\\r\\n The dogs did yell; put el to sore, then sorel jumps from thicket-\\r\\n Or pricket sore, or else sorel; the people fall a-hooting.\\r\\n If sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores o\\' sorel.\\r\\n Of one sore I an hundred make by adding but one more L.\\r\\n\\r\\n NATHANIEL. A rare talent!\\r\\n DULL. [Aside] If a talent be a claw, look how he claws him with a\\r\\n talent.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a foolish\\r\\n extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, objects,\\r\\n ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions. These are begot in\\r\\n the ventricle of memory, nourish\\'d in the womb of pia mater, and\\r\\n delivered upon the mellowing of occasion. But the gift is good in\\r\\n those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it.\\r\\n NATHANIEL. Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and so may my\\r\\n parishioners; for their sons are well tutor\\'d by you, and their\\r\\n daughters profit very greatly under you. You are a good member of\\r\\n the commonwealth.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Mehercle, if their sons be ingenious, they shall want\\r\\n no instruction; if their daughters be capable, I will put it to\\r\\n them; but, vir sapit qui pauca loquitur. A soul feminine saluteth\\r\\n us.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD\\r\\n\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. God give you good morrow, Master Person.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Master Person, quasi pers-one. And if one should be\\r\\n pierc\\'d which is the one?\\r\\n COSTARD. Marry, Master Schoolmaster, he that is likest to a\\r\\n hogshead.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Piercing a hogshead! A good lustre of conceit in a turf\\r\\n of earth; fire enough for a flint, pearl enough for a swine; \\'tis\\r\\n pretty; it is well.\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. Good Master Parson, be so good as read me this letter;\\r\\n it was given me by Costard, and sent me from Don Armado. I\\r\\n beseech you read it.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Fauste, precor gelida quando pecus omne sub umbra\\r\\n Ruminat-\\r\\n and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan! I may speak of thee as\\r\\n the traveller doth of Venice:\\r\\n Venetia, Venetia,\\r\\n Chi non ti vede, non ti pretia.\\r\\n Old Mantuan, old Mantuan! Who understandeth thee not,\\r\\n loves thee not-\\r\\n Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa.\\r\\n Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? or rather as\\r\\n Horace says in his- What, my soul, verses?\\r\\n NATHANIEL. Ay, sir, and very learned.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Let me hear a staff, a stanze, a verse; lege, domine.\\r\\n NATHANIEL. [Reads] \\'If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to\\r\\n love?\\r\\n Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed!\\r\\n Though to myself forsworn, to thee I\\'ll faithful prove;\\r\\n Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bowed.\\r\\n Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes,\\r\\n Where all those pleasures live that art would comprehend.\\r\\n If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;\\r\\n Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend;\\r\\n All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;\\r\\n Which is to me some praise that I thy parts admire.\\r\\n Thy eye Jove\\'s lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful thunder,\\r\\n Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire.\\r\\n Celestial as thou art, O, pardon love this wrong,\\r\\n That singes heaven\\'s praise with such an earthly tongue.\\'\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. You find not the apostrophas, and so miss the accent:\\r\\n let me supervise the canzonet. Here are only numbers ratified;\\r\\n but, for the elegancy, facility, and golden cadence of poesy,\\r\\n caret. Ovidius Naso was the man. And why, indeed, \\'Naso\\' but for\\r\\n smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, the jerks of\\r\\n invention? Imitari is nothing: so doth the hound his master, the\\r\\n ape his keeper, the tired horse his rider. But, damosella virgin,\\r\\n was this directed to you?\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Berowne, one of the strange\\r\\n queen\\'s lords.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. I will overglance the superscript: \\'To the snow-white\\r\\n hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline.\\' I will look again on\\r\\n the intellect of the letter, for the nomination of the party\\r\\n writing to the person written unto: \\'Your Ladyship\\'s in all\\r\\n desired employment, Berowne.\\' Sir Nathaniel, this Berowne is one\\r\\n of the votaries with the King; and here he hath framed a letter\\r\\n to a sequent of the stranger queen\\'s which accidentally, or by\\r\\n the way of progression, hath miscarried. Trip and go, my sweet;\\r\\n deliver this paper into the royal hand of the King; it may\\r\\n concern much. Stay not thy compliment; I forgive thy duty. Adieu.\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. Good Costard, go with me. Sir, God save your life!\\r\\n COSTARD. Have with thee, my girl.\\r\\n Exeunt COSTARD and JAQUENETTA\\r\\n NATHANIEL. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very\\r\\n religiously; and, as a certain father saith-\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Sir, tell not me of the father; I do fear colourable\\r\\n colours. But to return to the verses: did they please you, Sir\\r\\n Nathaniel?\\r\\n NATHANIEL. Marvellous well for the pen.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. I do dine to-day at the father\\'s of a certain pupil of\\r\\n mine; where, if, before repast, it shall please you to gratify\\r\\n the table with a grace, I will, on my privilege I have with the\\r\\n parents of the foresaid child or pupil, undertake your ben\\r\\n venuto; where I will prove those verses to be very unlearned,\\r\\n neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention. I beseech your\\r\\n society.\\r\\n NATHANIEL. And thank you too; for society, saith the text, is the\\r\\n happiness of life.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. And certes, the text most infallibly concludes it.\\r\\n [To DULL] Sir, I do invite you too; you shall not say me nay:\\r\\n pauca verba. Away; the gentles are at their game, and we will to\\r\\n our recreation. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter BEROWNE, with a paper his band, alone\\r\\n\\r\\n BEROWNE. The King he is hunting the deer: I am coursing myself. They\\r\\n have pitch\\'d a toil: I am tolling in a pitch- pitch that defiles.\\r\\n Defile! a foul word. Well, \\'set thee down, sorrow!\\' for so they say\\r\\n the fool said, and so say I, and I am the fool. Well proved, wit. By\\r\\n the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax: it kills sheep; it kills me- I\\r\\n a sheep. Well proved again o\\' my side. I will not love; if I do, hang\\r\\n me. I\\' faith, I will not. O, but her eye! By this light, but for her\\r\\n eye, I would not love her- yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing\\r\\n in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love; and\\r\\n it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be melancholy; and here is part of\\r\\n my rhyme, and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o\\' my sonnets\\r\\n already; the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it:\\r\\n sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I would not\\r\\n care a pin if the other three were in. Here comes one with a paper;\\r\\n God give him grace to groan! [Climbs into a tree]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the KING, with a paper\\r\\n\\r\\n KING. Ay me!\\r\\n BEROWNE. Shot, by heaven! Proceed, sweet Cupid; thou hast thump\\'d\\r\\n him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap. In faith, secrets!\\r\\n KING. [Reads]\\r\\n \\'So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not\\r\\n To those fresh morning drops upon the rose,\\r\\n As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote\\r\\n The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows;\\r\\n Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright\\r\\n Through the transparent bosom of the deep,\\r\\n As doth thy face through tears of mine give light.\\r\\n Thou shin\\'st in every tear that I do weep;\\r\\n No drop but as a coach doth carry thee;\\r\\n So ridest thou triumphing in my woe.\\r\\n Do but behold the tears that swell in me,\\r\\n And they thy glory through my grief will show.\\r\\n But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep\\r\\n My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.\\r\\n O queen of queens! how far dost thou excel\\r\\n No thought can think nor tongue of mortal tell.\\'\\r\\n How shall she know my griefs? I\\'ll drop the paper-\\r\\n Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here?\\r\\n [Steps aside]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LONGAVILLE, with a paper\\r\\n\\r\\n What, Longaville, and reading! Listen, car.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool appear!\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Ay me, I am forsworn!\\r\\n BEROWNE. Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing papers.\\r\\n KING. In love, I hope; sweet fellowship in shame!\\r\\n BEROWNE. One drunkard loves another of the name.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Am I the first that have been perjur\\'d so?\\r\\n BEROWNE. I could put thee in comfort: not by two that I know;\\r\\n Thou makest the triumviry, the corner-cap of society,\\r\\n The shape of Love\\'s Tyburn that hangs up simplicity.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move.\\r\\n O sweet Maria, empress of my love!\\r\\n These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.\\r\\n BEROWNE. O, rhymes are guards on wanton Cupid\\'s hose:\\r\\n Disfigure not his slop.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. This same shall go. [He reads the sonnet]\\r\\n \\'Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,\\r\\n \\'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,\\r\\n Persuade my heart to this false perjury?\\r\\n Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.\\r\\n A woman I forswore; but I will prove,\\r\\n Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:\\r\\n My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;\\r\\n Thy grace being gain\\'d cures all disgrace in me.\\r\\n Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is;\\r\\n Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine,\\r\\n Exhal\\'st this vapour-vow; in thee it is.\\r\\n If broken, then it is no fault of mine;\\r\\n If by me broke, what fool is not so wise\\r\\n To lose an oath to win a paradise?\\'\\r\\n BEROWNE. This is the liver-vein, which makes flesh a deity,\\r\\n A green goose a goddess- pure, pure idolatry.\\r\\n God amend us, God amend! We are much out o\\' th\\' way.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUMAIN, with a paper\\r\\n\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. By whom shall I send this?- Company! Stay.\\r\\n [Steps aside]\\r\\n BEROWNE. \\'All hid, all hid\\'- an old infant play.\\r\\n Like a demigod here sit I in the sky,\\r\\n And wretched fools\\' secrets heedfully o\\'er-eye.\\r\\n More sacks to the mill! O heavens, I have my wish!\\r\\n Dumain transformed! Four woodcocks in a dish!\\r\\n DUMAIN. O most divine Kate!\\r\\n BEROWNE. O most profane coxcomb!\\r\\n DUMAIN. By heaven, the wonder in a mortal eye!\\r\\n BEROWNE. By earth, she is not, corporal: there you lie.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Her amber hairs for foul hath amber quoted.\\r\\n BEROWNE. An amber-colour\\'d raven was well noted.\\r\\n DUMAIN. As upright as the cedar.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Stoop, I say;\\r\\n Her shoulder is with child.\\r\\n DUMAIN. As fair as day.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Ay, as some days; but then no sun must shine.\\r\\n DUMAIN. O that I had my wish!\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. And I had mine!\\r\\n KING. And I mine too,.good Lord!\\r\\n BEROWNE. Amen, so I had mine! Is not that a good word?\\r\\n DUMAIN. I would forget her; but a fever she\\r\\n Reigns in my blood, and will rememb\\'red be.\\r\\n BEROWNE. A fever in your blood? Why, then incision\\r\\n Would let her out in saucers. Sweet misprision!\\r\\n DUMAIN. Once more I\\'ll read the ode that I have writ.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Once more I\\'ll mark how love can vary wit.\\r\\n DUMAIN. [Reads]\\r\\n \\'On a day-alack the day!-\\r\\n Love, whose month is ever May,\\r\\n Spied a blossom passing fair\\r\\n Playing in the wanton air.\\r\\n Through the velvet leaves the wind,\\r\\n All unseen, can passage find;\\r\\n That the lover, sick to death,\\r\\n Wish\\'d himself the heaven\\'s breath.\\r\\n \"Air,\" quoth he \"thy cheeks may blow;\\r\\n Air, would I might triumph so!\\r\\n But, alack, my hand is sworn\\r\\n Ne\\'er to pluck thee from thy thorn;\\r\\n Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,\\r\\n Youth so apt to pluck a sweet.\\r\\n Do not call it sin in me\\r\\n That I am forsworn for thee;\\r\\n Thou for whom Jove would swear\\r\\n Juno but an Ethiope were;\\r\\n And deny himself for Jove,\\r\\n Turning mortal for thy love.\"\\'\\r\\n This will I send; and something else more plain\\r\\n That shall express my true love\\'s fasting pain.\\r\\n O, would the King, Berowne and Longaville,\\r\\n Were lovers too! Ill, to example ill,\\r\\n Would from my forehead wipe a perjur\\'d note;\\r\\n For none offend where all alike do dote.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. [Advancing] Dumain, thy love is far from charity,\\r\\n That in love\\'s grief desir\\'st society;\\r\\n You may look pale, but I should blush, I know,\\r\\n To be o\\'erheard and taken napping so.\\r\\n KING. [Advancing] Come, sir, you blush; as his, your case is such.\\r\\n You chide at him, offending twice as much:\\r\\n You do not love Maria! Longaville\\r\\n Did never sonnet for her sake compile;\\r\\n Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart\\r\\n His loving bosom, to keep down his heart.\\r\\n I have been closely shrouded in this bush,\\r\\n And mark\\'d you both, and for you both did blush.\\r\\n I heard your guilty rhymes, observ\\'d your fashion,\\r\\n Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion.\\r\\n \\'Ay me!\\' says one. \\'O Jove!\\' the other cries.\\r\\n One, her hairs were gold; crystal the other\\'s eyes.\\r\\n [To LONGAVILLE] You would for paradise break faith and troth;\\r\\n [To Dumain] And Jove for your love would infringe an oath.\\r\\n What will Berowne say when that he shall hear\\r\\n Faith infringed which such zeal did swear?\\r\\n How will he scorn, how will he spend his wit!\\r\\n How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it!\\r\\n For all the wealth that ever I did see,\\r\\n I would not have him know so much by me.\\r\\n BEROWNE. [Descending] Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy,\\r\\n Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me.\\r\\n Good heart, what grace hast thou thus to reprove\\r\\n These worms for loving, that art most in love?\\r\\n Your eyes do make no coaches; in your tears\\r\\n There is no certain princess that appears;\\r\\n You\\'ll not be perjur\\'d; \\'tis a hateful thing;\\r\\n Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting.\\r\\n But are you not ashamed? Nay, are you not,\\r\\n All three of you, to be thus much o\\'ershot?\\r\\n You found his mote; the King your mote did see;\\r\\n But I a beam do find in each of three.\\r\\n O, what a scene of fool\\'ry have I seen,\\r\\n Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen!\\r\\n O, me, with what strict patience have I sat,\\r\\n To see a king transformed to a gnat!\\r\\n To see great Hercules whipping a gig,\\r\\n And profound Solomon to tune a jig,\\r\\n And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys,\\r\\n And critic Timon laugh at idle toys!\\r\\n Where lies thy grief, O, tell me, good Dumain?\\r\\n And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain?\\r\\n And where my liege\\'s? All about the breast.\\r\\n A caudle, ho!\\r\\n KING. Too bitter is thy jest.\\r\\n Are we betrayed thus to thy over-view?\\r\\n BEROWNE. Not you by me, but I betrayed to you.\\r\\n I that am honest, I that hold it sin\\r\\n To break the vow I am engaged in;\\r\\n I am betrayed by keeping company\\r\\n With men like you, men of inconstancy.\\r\\n When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme?\\r\\n Or groan for Joan? or spend a minute\\'s time\\r\\n In pruning me? When shall you hear that I\\r\\n Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye,\\r\\n A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist,\\r\\n A leg, a limb-\\r\\n KING. Soft! whither away so fast?\\r\\n A true man or a thief that gallops so?\\r\\n BEROWNE. I post from love; good lover, let me go.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD\\r\\n\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. God bless the King!\\r\\n KING. What present hast thou there?\\r\\n COSTARD. Some certain treason.\\r\\n KING. What makes treason here?\\r\\n COSTARD. Nay, it makes nothing, sir.\\r\\n KING. If it mar nothing neither,\\r\\n The treason and you go in peace away together.\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. I beseech your Grace, let this letter be read;\\r\\n Our person misdoubts it: \\'twas treason, he said.\\r\\n KING. Berowne, read it over. [BEROWNE reads the letter]\\r\\n Where hadst thou it?\\r\\n JAQUENETTA. Of Costard.\\r\\n KING. Where hadst thou it?\\r\\n COSTARD. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.\\r\\n [BEROWNE tears the letter]\\r\\n KING. How now! What is in you? Why dost thou tear it?\\r\\n BEROWNE. A toy, my liege, a toy! Your Grace needs not fear it.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. It did move him to passion, and therefore let\\'s hear\\r\\n it.\\r\\n DUMAIN. It is Berowne\\'s writing, and here is his name.\\r\\n [Gathering up the pieces]\\r\\n BEROWNE. [ To COSTARD] Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, you were born\\r\\n to do me shame.\\r\\n Guilty, my lord, guilty! I confess, I confess.\\r\\n KING. What?\\r\\n BEROWNE. That you three fools lack\\'d me fool to make up the mess;\\r\\n He, he, and you- and you, my liege!- and I\\r\\n Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die.\\r\\n O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Now the number is even.\\r\\n BEROWNE. True, true, we are four.\\r\\n Will these turtles be gone?\\r\\n KING. Hence, sirs, away.\\r\\n COSTARD. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay.\\r\\n Exeunt COSTARD and JAQUENETTA\\r\\n BEROWNE. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us embrace!\\r\\n As true we are as flesh and blood can be.\\r\\n The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face;\\r\\n Young blood doth not obey an old decree.\\r\\n We cannot cross the cause why we were born,\\r\\n Therefore of all hands must we be forsworn.\\r\\n KING. What, did these rent lines show some love of thine?\\r\\n BEROWNE. \\'Did they?\\' quoth you. Who sees the heavenly Rosaline\\r\\n That, like a rude and savage man of Inde\\r\\n At the first op\\'ning of the gorgeous east,\\r\\n Bows not his vassal head and, strucken blind,\\r\\n Kisses the base ground with obedient breast?\\r\\n What peremptory eagle-sighted eye\\r\\n Dares look upon the heaven of her brow\\r\\n That is not blinded by her majesty?\\r\\n KING. What zeal, what fury hath inspir\\'d thee now?\\r\\n My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon;\\r\\n She, an attending star, scarce seen a light.\\r\\n BEROWNE. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Berowne.\\r\\n O, but for my love, day would turn to night!\\r\\n Of all complexions the cull\\'d sovereignty\\r\\n Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek,\\r\\n Where several worthies make one dignity,\\r\\n Where nothing wants that want itself doth seek.\\r\\n Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues-\\r\\n Fie, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not!\\r\\n To things of sale a seller\\'s praise belongs:\\r\\n She passes praise; then praise too short doth blot.\\r\\n A wither\\'d hermit, five-score winters worn,\\r\\n Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye.\\r\\n Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born,\\r\\n And gives the crutch the cradle\\'s infancy.\\r\\n O, \\'tis the sun that maketh all things shine!\\r\\n KING. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Is ebony like her? O wood divine!\\r\\n A wife of such wood were felicity.\\r\\n O, who can give an oath? Where is a book?\\r\\n That I may swear beauty doth beauty lack,\\r\\n If that she learn not of her eye to look.\\r\\n No face is fair that is not full so black.\\r\\n KING. O paradox! Black is the badge of hell,\\r\\n The hue of dungeons, and the school of night;\\r\\n And beauty\\'s crest becomes the heavens well.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light.\\r\\n O, if in black my lady\\'s brows be deckt,\\r\\n It mourns that painting and usurping hair\\r\\n Should ravish doters with a false aspect;\\r\\n And therefore is she born to make black fair.\\r\\n Her favour turns the fashion of the days;\\r\\n For native blood is counted painting now;\\r\\n And therefore red that would avoid dispraise\\r\\n Paints itself black, to imitate her brow.\\r\\n DUMAIN. To look like her are chimney-sweepers black.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. And since her time are colliers counted bright.\\r\\n KING. And Ethiopes of their sweet complexion crack.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Your mistresses dare never come in rain\\r\\n For fear their colours should be wash\\'d away.\\r\\n KING. \\'Twere good yours did; for, sir, to tell you plain,\\r\\n I\\'ll find a fairer face not wash\\'d to-day.\\r\\n BEROWNE. I\\'ll prove her fair, or talk till doomsday here.\\r\\n KING. No devil will fright thee then so much as she.\\r\\n DUMAIN. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Look, here\\'s thy love: my foot and her face see.\\r\\n [Showing his shoe]\\r\\n BEROWNE. O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes,\\r\\n Her feet were much too dainty for such tread!\\r\\n DUMAIN. O vile! Then, as she goes, what upward lies\\r\\n The street should see as she walk\\'d overhead.\\r\\n KING. But what of this? Are we not all in love?\\r\\n BEROWNE. Nothing so sure; and thereby all forsworn.\\r\\n KING. Then leave this chat; and, good Berowne, now prove\\r\\n Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Ay, marry, there; some flattery for this evil.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. O, some authority how to proceed;\\r\\n Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil!\\r\\n DUMAIN. Some salve for perjury.\\r\\n BEROWNE. \\'Tis more than need.\\r\\n Have at you, then, affection\\'s men-at-arms.\\r\\n Consider what you first did swear unto:\\r\\n To fast, to study, and to see no woman-\\r\\n Flat treason \\'gainst the kingly state of youth.\\r\\n Say, can you fast? Your stomachs are too young,\\r\\n And abstinence engenders maladies.\\r\\n And, where that you you have vow\\'d to study, lords,\\r\\n In that each of you have forsworn his book,\\r\\n Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look?\\r\\n For when would you, my lord, or you, or you,\\r\\n Have found the ground of study\\'s excellence\\r\\n Without the beauty of a woman\\'s face?\\r\\n From women\\'s eyes this doctrine I derive:\\r\\n They are the ground, the books, the academes,\\r\\n From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire.\\r\\n Why, universal plodding poisons up\\r\\n The nimble spirits in the arteries,\\r\\n As motion and long-during action tires\\r\\n The sinewy vigour of the traveller.\\r\\n Now, for not looking on a woman\\'s face,\\r\\n You have in that forsworn the use of eyes,\\r\\n And study too, the causer of your vow;\\r\\n For where is author in the world\\r\\n Teaches such beauty as a woman\\'s eye?\\r\\n Learning is but an adjunct to ourself,\\r\\n And where we are our learning likewise is;\\r\\n Then when ourselves we see in ladies\\' eyes,\\r\\n With ourselves.\\r\\n Do we not likewise see our learning there?\\r\\n O, we have made a vow to study, lords,\\r\\n And in that vow we have forsworn our books.\\r\\n For when would you, my liege, or you, or you,\\r\\n In leaden contemplation have found out\\r\\n Such fiery numbers as the prompting eyes\\r\\n Of beauty\\'s tutors have enrich\\'d you with?\\r\\n Other slow arts entirely keep the brain;\\r\\n And therefore, finding barren practisers,\\r\\n Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil;\\r\\n But love, first learned in a lady\\'s eyes,\\r\\n Lives not alone immured in the brain,\\r\\n But with the motion of all elements\\r\\n Courses as swift as thought in every power,\\r\\n And gives to every power a double power,\\r\\n Above their functions and their offices.\\r\\n It adds a precious seeing to the eye:\\r\\n A lover\\'s eyes will gaze an eagle blind.\\r\\n A lover\\'s ear will hear the lowest sound,\\r\\n When the suspicious head of theft is stopp\\'d.\\r\\n Love\\'s feeling is more soft and sensible\\r\\n Than are the tender horns of cockled snails:\\r\\n Love\\'s tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste.\\r\\n For valour, is not Love a Hercules,\\r\\n Still climbing trees in the Hesperides?\\r\\n Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet and musical\\r\\n As bright Apollo\\'s lute, strung with his hair.\\r\\n And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods\\r\\n Make heaven drowsy with the harmony.\\r\\n Never durst poet touch a pen to write\\r\\n Until his ink were temp\\'red with Love\\'s sighs;\\r\\n O, then his lines would ravish savage ears,\\r\\n And plant in tyrants mild humility.\\r\\n From women\\'s eyes this doctrine I derive.\\r\\n They sparkle still the right Promethean fire;\\r\\n They are the books, the arts, the academes,\\r\\n That show, contain, and nourish, all the world,\\r\\n Else none at all in aught proves excellent.\\r\\n Then fools you were these women to forswear;\\r\\n Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools.\\r\\n For wisdom\\'s sake, a word that all men love;\\r\\n Or for Love\\'s sake, a word that loves all men;\\r\\n Or for men\\'s sake, the authors of these women;\\r\\n Or women\\'s sake, by whom we men are men-\\r\\n Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves,\\r\\n Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths.\\r\\n It is religion to be thus forsworn;\\r\\n For charity itself fulfils the law,\\r\\n And who can sever love from charity?\\r\\n KING. Saint Cupid, then! and, soldiers, to the field!\\r\\n BEROWNE. Advance your standards, and upon them, lords;\\r\\n Pell-mell, down with them! be first advis\\'d,\\r\\n In conflict, that you get the sun of them.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Now to plain-dealing; lay these glozes by.\\r\\n Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France?\\r\\n KING. And win them too; therefore let us devise\\r\\n Some entertainment for them in their tents.\\r\\n BEROWNE. First, from the park let us conduct them thither;\\r\\n Then homeward every man attach the hand\\r\\n Of his fair mistress. In the afternoon\\r\\n We will with some strange pastime solace them,\\r\\n Such as the shortness of the time can shape;\\r\\n For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours,\\r\\n Forerun fair Love, strewing her way with flowers.\\r\\n KING. Away, away! No time shall be omitted\\r\\n That will betime, and may by us be fitted.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Allons! allons! Sow\\'d cockle reap\\'d no corn,\\r\\n And justice always whirls in equal measure.\\r\\n Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn;\\r\\n If so, our copper buys no better treasure. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. The park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, and DULL\\r\\n\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Satis quod sufficit.\\r\\n NATHANIEL. I praise God for you, sir. Your reasons at dinner have\\r\\n been sharp and sententious; pleasant without scurrility, witty\\r\\n without affection, audacious without impudency, learned without\\r\\n opinion, and strange without heresy. I did converse this quondam\\r\\n day with a companion of the King\\'s who is intituled, nominated,\\r\\n or called, Don Adriano de Armado.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Novi hominem tanquam te. His humour is lofty, his\\r\\n discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his eye ambitious, his\\r\\n gait majestical and his general behaviour vain, ridiculous, and\\r\\n thrasonical. He is too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd,\\r\\n as it were, too peregrinate, as I may call it.\\r\\n NATHANIEL. A most singular and choice epithet.\\r\\n [Draws out his table-book]\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than\\r\\n the staple of his argument. I abhor such fanatical phantasimes,\\r\\n such insociable and point-devise companions; such rackers of\\r\\n orthography, as to speak \\'dout\\' fine, when he should say \\'doubt\\';\\r\\n \\'det\\' when he should pronounce \\'debt\\'- d, e, b, t, not d, e, t.\\r\\n He clepeth a calf \\'cauf,\\' half \\'hauf\\'; neighbour vocatur\\r\\n \\'nebour\\'; \\'neigh\\' abbreviated \\'ne.\\' This is abhominable- which he\\r\\n would call \\'abbominable.\\' It insinuateth me of insanie: ne\\r\\n intelligis, domine? to make frantic, lunatic.\\r\\n NATHANIEL. Laus Deo, bone intelligo.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. \\'Bone\\'?- \\'bone\\' for \\'bene.\\' Priscian a little\\r\\n scratch\\'d; \\'twill serve.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ARMADO, MOTH, and COSTARD\\r\\n\\r\\n NATHANIEL. Videsne quis venit?\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Video, et gaudeo.\\r\\n ARMADO. [To MOTH] Chirrah!\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Quare \\'chirrah,\\' not \\'sirrah\\'?\\r\\n ARMADO. Men of peace, well encount\\'red.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Most military sir, salutation.\\r\\n MOTH. [Aside to COSTARD] They have been at a great feast of\\r\\n languages and stol\\'n the scraps.\\r\\n COSTARD. O, they have liv\\'d long on the alms-basket of words. I\\r\\n marvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a word, for thou are\\r\\n not so long by the head as honorificabilitudinitatibus; thou art\\r\\n easier swallowed than a flap-dragon.\\r\\n MOTH. Peace! the peal begins.\\r\\n ARMADO. [To HOLOFERNES] Monsieur, are you not lett\\'red?\\r\\n MOTH. Yes, yes; he teaches boys the hornbook. What is a, b, spelt\\r\\n backward with the horn on his head?\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Ba, pueritia, with a horn added.\\r\\n MOTH. Ba, most silly sheep with a horn. You hear his learning.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Quis, quis, thou consonant?\\r\\n MOTH. The third of the five vowels, if You repeat them; or the\\r\\n fifth, if I.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. I will repeat them: a, e, I-\\r\\n MOTH. The sheep; the other two concludes it: o, U.\\r\\n ARMADO. Now, by the salt wave of the Mediterraneum, a sweet touch,\\r\\n a quick venue of wit- snip, snap, quick and home. It rejoiceth my\\r\\n intellect. True wit!\\r\\n MOTH. Offer\\'d by a child to an old man; which is wit-old.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. What is the figure? What is the figure?\\r\\n MOTH. Horns.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Thou disputes like an infant; go whip thy gig.\\r\\n MOTH. Lend me your horn to make one, and I will whip about your\\r\\n infamy circum circa- a gig of a cuckold\\'s horn.\\r\\n COSTARD. An I had but one penny in the world, thou shouldst have it\\r\\n to buy ginger-bread. Hold, there is the very remuneration I had\\r\\n of thy master, thou halfpenny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of\\r\\n discretion. O, an the heavens were so pleased that thou wert but\\r\\n my bastard, what a joyful father wouldst thou make me! Go to;\\r\\n thou hast it ad dunghill, at the fingers\\' ends, as they say.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. O, I smell false Latin; \\'dunghill\\' for unguem.\\r\\n ARMADO. Arts-man, preambulate; we will be singuled from the\\r\\n barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the charge-house on the\\r\\n top of the mountain?\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Or mons, the hill.\\r\\n ARMADO. At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. I do, sans question.\\r\\n ARMADO. Sir, it is the King\\'s most sweet pleasure and affection to\\r\\n congratulate the Princess at her pavilion, in the posteriors of\\r\\n this day; which the rude multitude call the afternoon.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. The posterior of the day, most generous sir, is liable,\\r\\n congruent, and measurable, for the afternoon. The word is well\\r\\n cull\\'d, chose, sweet, and apt, I do assure you, sir, I do assure.\\r\\n ARMADO. Sir, the King is a noble gentleman, and my familiar, I do\\r\\n assure ye, very good friend. For what is inward between us, let\\r\\n it pass. I do beseech thee, remember thy courtesy. I beseech\\r\\n thee, apparel thy head. And among other importunate and most\\r\\n serious designs, and of great import indeed, too- but let that\\r\\n pass; for I must tell thee it will please his Grace, by the\\r\\n world, sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder, and with his royal\\r\\n finger thus dally with my excrement, with my mustachio; but,\\r\\n sweet heart, let that pass. By the world, I recount no fable:\\r\\n some certain special honours it pleaseth his greatness to impart\\r\\n to Armado, a soldier, a man of travel, that hath seen the world;\\r\\n but let that pass. The very all of all is- but, sweet heart, I do\\r\\n implore secrecy- that the King would have me present the\\r\\n Princess, sweet chuck, with some delightful ostentation, or show,\\r\\n or pageant, or antic, or firework. Now, understanding that the\\r\\n curate and your sweet self are good at such eruptions and sudden\\r\\n breaking-out of mirth, as it were, I have acquainted you withal,\\r\\n to the end to crave your assistance.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Sir, you shall present before her the Nine Worthies.\\r\\n Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some entertainment of time, some\\r\\n show in the posterior of this day, to be rend\\'red by our\\r\\n assistance, the King\\'s command, and this most gallant,\\r\\n illustrate, and learned gentleman, before the Princess- I say\\r\\n none so fit as to present the Nine Worthies.\\r\\n NATHANIEL. Where will you find men worthy enough to present them?\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Joshua, yourself; myself, Alexander; this gallant\\r\\n gentleman, Judas Maccabaeus; this swain, because of his great\\r\\n limb or joint, shall pass Pompey the Great; the page, Hercules.\\r\\n ARMADO. Pardon, sir; error: he is not quantity enough for that\\r\\n Worthy\\'s thumb; he is not so big as the end of his club.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Shall I have audience? He shall present Hercules in\\r\\n minority: his enter and exit shall be strangling a snake; and I\\r\\n will have an apology for that purpose.\\r\\n MOTH. An excellent device! So, if any of the audience hiss, you may\\r\\n cry \\'Well done, Hercules; now thou crushest the snake!\\' That is\\r\\n the way to make an offence gracious, though few have the grace to\\r\\n do it.\\r\\n ARMADO. For the rest of the Worthies?\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. I will play three myself.\\r\\n MOTH. Thrice-worthy gentleman!\\r\\n ARMADO. Shall I tell you a thing?\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. We attend.\\r\\n ARMADO. We will have, if this fadge not, an antic. I beseech you,\\r\\n follow.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Via, goodman Dull! Thou has spoken no word all this\\r\\n while.\\r\\n DULL. Nor understood none neither, sir.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Allons! we will employ thee.\\r\\n DULL. I\\'ll make one in a dance, or so, or I will play\\r\\n On the tabor to the Worthies, and let them dance the hay.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Most dull, honest Dull! To our sport, away.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the PRINCESS, MARIA, KATHARINE, and ROSALINE\\r\\n\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart,\\r\\n If fairings come thus plentifully in.\\r\\n A lady wall\\'d about with diamonds!\\r\\n Look you what I have from the loving King.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Madam, came nothing else along with that?\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Nothing but this! Yes, as much love in rhyme\\r\\n As would be cramm\\'d up in a sheet of paper\\r\\n Writ o\\' both sides the leaf, margent and all,\\r\\n That he was fain to seal on Cupid\\'s name.\\r\\n ROSALINE. That was the way to make his godhead wax;\\r\\n For he hath been five thousand year a boy.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too.\\r\\n ROSALINE. You\\'ll ne\\'er be friends with him: \\'a kill\\'d your sister.\\r\\n KATHARINE. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy;\\r\\n And so she died. Had she been light, like you,\\r\\n Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit,\\r\\n She might \\'a been a grandam ere she died.\\r\\n And so may you; for a light heart lives long.\\r\\n ROSALINE. What\\'s your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word?\\r\\n KATHARINE. A light condition in a beauty dark.\\r\\n ROSALINE. We need more light to find your meaning out.\\r\\n KATHARINE. You\\'ll mar the light by taking it in snuff;\\r\\n Therefore I\\'ll darkly end the argument.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Look what you do, you do it still i\\' th\\' dark.\\r\\n KATHARINE. So do not you; for you are a light wench.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Indeed, I weigh not you; and therefore light.\\r\\n KATHARINE. You weigh me not? O, that\\'s you care not for me.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Great reason; for \\'past cure is still past care.\\'\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Well bandied both; a set of wit well play\\'d.\\r\\n But, Rosaline, you have a favour too?\\r\\n Who sent it? and what is it?\\r\\n ROSALINE. I would you knew.\\r\\n An if my face were but as fair as yours,\\r\\n My favour were as great: be witness this.\\r\\n Nay, I have verses too, I thank Berowne;\\r\\n The numbers true, and, were the numb\\'ring too,\\r\\n I were the fairest goddess on the ground.\\r\\n I am compar\\'d to twenty thousand fairs.\\r\\n O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter!\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Anything like?\\r\\n ROSALINE. Much in the letters; nothing in the praise.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Beauteous as ink- a good conclusion.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Fair as a text B in a copy-book.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Ware pencils, ho! Let me not die your debtor,\\r\\n My red dominical, my golden letter:\\r\\n O that your face were not so full of O\\'s!\\r\\n KATHARINE. A pox of that jest! and I beshrew all shrows!\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. But, Katharine, what was sent to you from fair\\r\\n Dumain?\\r\\n KATHARINE. Madam, this glove.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Did he not send you twain?\\r\\n KATHARINE. Yes, madam; and, moreover,\\r\\n Some thousand verses of a faithful lover;\\r\\n A huge translation of hypocrisy,\\r\\n Vilely compil\\'d, profound simplicity.\\r\\n MARIA. This, and these pearl, to me sent Longaville;\\r\\n The letter is too long by half a mile.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I think no less. Dost thou not wish in heart\\r\\n The chain were longer and the letter short?\\r\\n MARIA. Ay, or I would these hands might never part.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We are wise girls to mock our lovers so.\\r\\n ROSALINE. They are worse fools to purchase mocking so.\\r\\n That same Berowne I\\'ll torture ere I go.\\r\\n O that I knew he were but in by th\\' week!\\r\\n How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek,\\r\\n And wait the season, and observe the times,\\r\\n And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes,\\r\\n And shape his service wholly to my hests,\\r\\n And make him proud to make me proud that jests!\\r\\n So pertaunt-like would I o\\'ersway his state\\r\\n That he should be my fool, and I his fate.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. None are so surely caught, when they are\\r\\n catch\\'d,\\r\\n As wit turn\\'d fool; folly, in wisdom hatch\\'d,\\r\\n Hath wisdom\\'s warrant and the help of school,\\r\\n And wit\\'s own grace to grace a learned fool.\\r\\n ROSALINE. The blood of youth burns not with such excess\\r\\n As gravity\\'s revolt to wantonness.\\r\\n MARIA. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note\\r\\n As fool\\'ry in the wise when wit doth dote,\\r\\n Since all the power thereof it doth apply\\r\\n To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BOYET\\r\\n\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face.\\r\\n BOYET. O, I am stabb\\'d with laughter! Where\\'s her Grace?\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thy news, Boyet?\\r\\n BOYET. Prepare, madam, prepare!\\r\\n Arm, wenches, arm! Encounters mounted are\\r\\n Against your peace. Love doth approach disguis\\'d,\\r\\n Armed in arguments; you\\'ll be surpris\\'d.\\r\\n Muster your wits; stand in your own defence;\\r\\n Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Saint Dennis to Saint Cupid! What are they\\r\\n That charge their breath against us? Say, scout, say.\\r\\n BOYET. Under the cool shade of a sycamore\\r\\n I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour;\\r\\n When, lo, to interrupt my purpos\\'d rest,\\r\\n Toward that shade I might behold addrest\\r\\n The King and his companions; warily\\r\\n I stole into a neighbour thicket by,\\r\\n And overheard what you shall overhear-\\r\\n That, by and by, disguis\\'d they will be here.\\r\\n Their herald is a pretty knavish page,\\r\\n That well by heart hath conn\\'d his embassage.\\r\\n Action and accent did they teach him there:\\r\\n \\'Thus must thou speak\\' and \\'thus thy body bear,\\'\\r\\n And ever and anon they made a doubt\\r\\n Presence majestical would put him out;\\r\\n \\'For\\' quoth the King \\'an angel shalt thou see;\\r\\n Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.\\'\\r\\n The boy replied \\'An angel is not evil;\\r\\n I should have fear\\'d her had she been a devil.\\'\\r\\n With that all laugh\\'d, and clapp\\'d him on the shoulder,\\r\\n Making the bold wag by their praises bolder.\\r\\n One rubb\\'d his elbow, thus, and fleer\\'d, and swore\\r\\n A better speech was never spoke before.\\r\\n Another with his finger and his thumb\\r\\n Cried \\'Via! we will do\\'t, come what will come.\\'\\r\\n The third he caper\\'d, and cried \\'All goes well.\\'\\r\\n The fourth turn\\'d on the toe, and down he fell.\\r\\n With that they all did tumble on the ground,\\r\\n With such a zealous laughter, so profound,\\r\\n That in this spleen ridiculous appears,\\r\\n To check their folly, passion\\'s solemn tears.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. But what, but what, come they to visit us?\\r\\n BOYET. They do, they do, and are apparell\\'d thus,\\r\\n Like Muscovites or Russians, as I guess.\\r\\n Their purpose is to parley, court, and dance;\\r\\n And every one his love-feat will advance\\r\\n Unto his several mistress; which they\\'ll know\\r\\n By favours several which they did bestow.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. And will they so? The gallants shall be task\\'d,\\r\\n For, ladies, we will every one be mask\\'d;\\r\\n And not a man of them shall have the grace,\\r\\n Despite of suit, to see a lady\\'s face.\\r\\n Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear,\\r\\n And then the King will court thee for his dear;\\r\\n Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine,\\r\\n So shall Berowne take me for Rosaline.\\r\\n And change you favours too; so shall your loves\\r\\n Woo contrary, deceiv\\'d by these removes.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Come on, then, wear the favours most in sight.\\r\\n KATHARINE. But, in this changing, what is your intent?\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. The effect of my intent is to cross theirs.\\r\\n They do it but in mocking merriment,\\r\\n And mock for mock is only my intent.\\r\\n Their several counsels they unbosom shall\\r\\n To loves mistook, and so be mock\\'d withal\\r\\n Upon the next occasion that we meet\\r\\n With visages display\\'d to talk and greet.\\r\\n ROSALINE. But shall we dance, if they desire us to\\'t?\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. No, to the death, we will not move a foot,\\r\\n Nor to their penn\\'d speech render we no grace;\\r\\n But while \\'tis spoke each turn away her face.\\r\\n BOYET. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker\\'s heart,\\r\\n And quite divorce his memory from his part.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Therefore I do it; and I make no doubt\\r\\n The rest will ne\\'er come in, if he be out.\\r\\n There\\'s no such sport as sport by sport o\\'erthrown,\\r\\n To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own;\\r\\n So shall we stay, mocking intended game,\\r\\n And they well mock\\'d depart away with shame.\\r\\n [Trumpet sounds within]\\r\\n BOYET. The trumpet sounds; be mask\\'d; the maskers come.\\r\\n [The LADIES mask]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BLACKAMOORS music, MOTH as Prologue, the\\r\\n KING and his LORDS as maskers, in the guise of Russians\\r\\n\\r\\n MOTH. All hail, the richest heauties on the earth!\\r\\n BOYET. Beauties no richer than rich taffeta.\\r\\n MOTH. A holy parcel of the fairest dames\\r\\n [The LADIES turn their backs to him]\\r\\n That ever turn\\'d their- backs- to mortal views!\\r\\n BEROWNE. Their eyes, villain, their eyes.\\r\\n MOTH. That ever turn\\'d their eyes to mortal views!\\r\\n Out-\\r\\n BOYET. True; out indeed.\\r\\n MOTH. Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe\\r\\n Not to behold-\\r\\n BEROWNE. Once to behold, rogue.\\r\\n MOTH. Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes- with your\\r\\n sun-beamed eyes-\\r\\n BOYET. They will not answer to that epithet;\\r\\n You were best call it \\'daughter-beamed eyes.\\'\\r\\n MOTH. They do not mark me, and that brings me out.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Is this your perfectness? Be gone, you rogue.\\r\\n Exit MOTH\\r\\n ROSALINE. What would these strangers? Know their minds, Boyet.\\r\\n If they do speak our language, \\'tis our will\\r\\n That some plain man recount their purposes.\\r\\n Know what they would.\\r\\n BOYET. What would you with the Princess?\\r\\n BEROWNE. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.\\r\\n ROSALINE. What would they, say they?\\r\\n BOYET. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Why, that they have; and bid them so be gone.\\r\\n BOYET. She says you have it, and you may be gone.\\r\\n KING. Say to her we have measur\\'d many miles\\r\\n To tread a measure with her on this grass.\\r\\n BOYET. They say that they have measur\\'d many a mile\\r\\n To tread a measure with you on this grass.\\r\\n ROSALINE. It is not so. Ask them how many inches\\r\\n Is in one mile? If they have measured many,\\r\\n The measure, then, of one is eas\\'ly told.\\r\\n BOYET. If to come hither you have measur\\'d miles,\\r\\n And many miles, the Princess bids you tell\\r\\n How many inches doth fill up one mile.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Tell her we measure them by weary steps.\\r\\n BOYET. She hears herself.\\r\\n ROSALINE. How many weary steps\\r\\n Of many weary miles you have o\\'ergone\\r\\n Are numb\\'red in the travel of one mile?\\r\\n BEROWNE. We number nothing that we spend for you;\\r\\n Our duty is so rich, so infinite,\\r\\n That we may do it still without accompt.\\r\\n Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face,\\r\\n That we, like savages, may worship it.\\r\\n ROSALINE. My face is but a moon, and clouded too.\\r\\n KING. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do.\\r\\n Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine,\\r\\n Those clouds removed, upon our watery eyne.\\r\\n ROSALINE. O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter;\\r\\n Thou now requests but moonshine in the water.\\r\\n KING. Then in our measure do but vouchsafe one change.\\r\\n Thou bid\\'st me beg; this begging is not strange.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Play, music, then. Nay, you must do it soon.\\r\\n Not yet? No dance! Thus change I like the moon.\\r\\n KING. Will you not dance? How come you thus estranged?\\r\\n ROSALINE. You took the moon at full; but now she\\'s changed.\\r\\n KING. Yet still she is the Moon, and I the Man.\\r\\n The music plays; vouchsafe some motion to it.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Our ears vouchsafe it.\\r\\n KING. But your legs should do it.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Since you are strangers, and come here by chance,\\r\\n We\\'ll not be nice; take hands. We will not dance.\\r\\n KING. Why take we hands then?\\r\\n ROSALINE. Only to part friends.\\r\\n Curtsy, sweet hearts; and so the measure ends.\\r\\n KING. More measure of this measure; be not nice.\\r\\n ROSALINE. We can afford no more at such a price.\\r\\n KING. Price you yourselves. What buys your company?\\r\\n ROSALINE. Your absence only.\\r\\n KING. That can never be.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Then cannot we be bought; and so adieu-\\r\\n Twice to your visor and half once to you.\\r\\n KING. If you deny to dance, let\\'s hold more chat.\\r\\n ROSALINE. In private then.\\r\\n KING. I am best pleas\\'d with that. [They converse apart]\\r\\n BEROWNE. White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is three.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Nay, then, two treys, an if you grow so nice,\\r\\n Metheglin, wort, and malmsey; well run dice!\\r\\n There\\'s half a dozen sweets.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Seventh sweet, adieu!\\r\\n Since you can cog, I\\'ll play no more with you.\\r\\n BEROWNE. One word in secret.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Let it not be sweet.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Thou grievest my gall.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Gall! bitter.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Therefore meet. [They converse apart]\\r\\n DUMAIN. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word?\\r\\n MARIA. Name it.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Fair lady-\\r\\n MARIA. Say you so? Fair lord-\\r\\n Take that for your fair lady.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Please it you,\\r\\n As much in private, and I\\'ll bid adieu.\\r\\n [They converse apart]\\r\\n KATHARINE. What, was your vizard made without a tongue?\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. I know the reason, lady, why you ask.\\r\\n KATHARINE. O for your reason! Quickly, sir; I long.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. You have a double tongue within your mask,\\r\\n And would afford my speechless vizard half.\\r\\n KATHARINE. \\'Veal\\' quoth the Dutchman. Is not \\'veal\\' a calf?\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. A calf, fair lady!\\r\\n KATHARINE. No, a fair lord calf.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Let\\'s part the word.\\r\\n KATHARINE. No, I\\'ll not be your half.\\r\\n Take all and wean it; it may prove an ox.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Look how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks!\\r\\n Will you give horns, chaste lady? Do not so.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. One word in private with you ere I die.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Bleat softly, then; the butcher hears you cry.\\r\\n [They converse apart]\\r\\n BOYET. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen\\r\\n As is the razor\\'s edge invisible,\\r\\n Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen,\\r\\n Above the sense of sense; so sensible\\r\\n Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings,\\r\\n Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off.\\r\\n BEROWNE. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff!\\r\\n KING. Farewell, mad wenches; you have simple wits.\\r\\n Exeunt KING, LORDS, and BLACKAMOORS\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovits.\\r\\n Are these the breed of wits so wondered at?\\r\\n BOYET. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puff\\'d out.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat, fat.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout!\\r\\n Will they not, think you, hang themselves to-night?\\r\\n Or ever but in vizards show their faces?\\r\\n This pert Berowne was out of count\\'nance quite.\\r\\n ROSALINE. They were all in lamentable cases!\\r\\n The King was weeping-ripe for a good word.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Berowne did swear himself out of all suit.\\r\\n MARIA. Dumain was at my service, and his sword.\\r\\n \\'No point\\' quoth I; my servant straight was mute.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Lord Longaville said I came o\\'er his heart;\\r\\n And trow you what he call\\'d me?\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Qualm, perhaps.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Yes, in good faith.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Go, sickness as thou art!\\r\\n ROSALINE. Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps.\\r\\n But will you hear? The King is my love sworn.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. And quick Berowne hath plighted faith to me.\\r\\n KATHARINE. And Longaville was for my service born.\\r\\n MARIA. Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree.\\r\\n BOYET. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear:\\r\\n Immediately they will again be here\\r\\n In their own shapes; for it can never be\\r\\n They will digest this harsh indignity.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Will they return?\\r\\n BOYET. They will, they will, God knows,\\r\\n And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows;\\r\\n Therefore, change favours; and, when they repair,\\r\\n Blow like sweet roses in this summer air.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. How blow? how blow? Speak to be understood.\\r\\n BOYET. Fair ladies mask\\'d are roses in their bud:\\r\\n Dismask\\'d, their damask sweet commixture shown,\\r\\n Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do\\r\\n If they return in their own shapes to woo?\\r\\n ROSALINE. Good madam, if by me you\\'ll be advis\\'d,\\r\\n Let\\'s mock them still, as well known as disguis\\'d.\\r\\n Let us complain to them what fools were here,\\r\\n Disguis\\'d like Muscovites, in shapeless gear;\\r\\n And wonder what they were, and to what end\\r\\n Their shallow shows and prologue vilely penn\\'d,\\r\\n And their rough carriage so ridiculous,\\r\\n Should be presented at our tent to us.\\r\\n BOYET. Ladies, withdraw; the gallants are at hand.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Whip to our tents, as roes run o\\'er land.\\r\\n Exeunt PRINCESS, ROSALINE, KATHARINE, and MARIA\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter the KING, BEROWNE, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN,\\r\\n in their proper habits\\r\\n\\r\\n KING. Fair sir, God save you! Where\\'s the Princess?\\r\\n BOYET. Gone to her tent. Please it your Majesty\\r\\n Command me any service to her thither?\\r\\n KING. That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.\\r\\n BOYET. I will; and so will she, I know, my lord. Exit\\r\\n BEROWNE. This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons pease,\\r\\n And utters it again when God doth please.\\r\\n He is wit\\'s pedlar, and retails his wares\\r\\n At wakes, and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs;\\r\\n And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know,\\r\\n Have not the grace to grace it with such show.\\r\\n This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve;\\r\\n Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve.\\r\\n \\'A can carve too, and lisp; why this is he\\r\\n That kiss\\'d his hand away in courtesy;\\r\\n This is the ape of form, Monsieur the Nice,\\r\\n That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice\\r\\n In honourable terms; nay, he can sing\\r\\n A mean most meanly; and in ushering,\\r\\n Mend him who can. The ladies call him sweet;\\r\\n The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet.\\r\\n This is the flow\\'r that smiles on every one,\\r\\n To show his teeth as white as whales-bone;\\r\\n And consciences that will not die in debt\\r\\n Pay him the due of \\'honey-tongued Boyet.\\'\\r\\n KING. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart,\\r\\n That put Armado\\'s page out of his part!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter the PRINCESS, ushered by BOYET; ROSALINE,\\r\\n MARIA, and KATHARINE\\r\\n\\r\\n BEROWNE. See where it comes! Behaviour, what wert thou\\r\\n Till this man show\\'d thee? And what art thou now?\\r\\n KING. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day!\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. \\'Fair\\' in \\'all hail\\' is foul, as I conceive.\\r\\n KING. Construe my speeches better, if you may.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Then wish me better; I will give you leave.\\r\\n KING. We came to visit you, and purpose now\\r\\n To lead you to our court; vouchsafe it then.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. This field shall hold me, and so hold your vow:\\r\\n Nor God, nor I, delights in perjur\\'d men.\\r\\n KING. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke.\\r\\n The virtue of your eye must break my oath.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. You nickname virtue: vice you should have\\r\\n spoke;\\r\\n For virtue\\'s office never breaks men\\'s troth.\\r\\n Now by my maiden honour, yet as pure\\r\\n As the unsullied lily, I protest,\\r\\n A world of torments though I should endure,\\r\\n I would not yield to be your house\\'s guest;\\r\\n So much I hate a breaking cause to be\\r\\n Of heavenly oaths, vowed with integrity.\\r\\n KING. O, you have liv\\'d in desolation here,\\r\\n Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Not so, my lord; it is not so, I swear;\\r\\n We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game;\\r\\n A mess of Russians left us but of late.\\r\\n KING. How, madam! Russians!\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Ay, in truth, my lord;\\r\\n Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Madam, speak true. It is not so, my lord.\\r\\n My lady, to the manner of the days,\\r\\n In courtesy gives undeserving praise.\\r\\n We four indeed confronted were with four\\r\\n In Russian habit; here they stayed an hour\\r\\n And talk\\'d apace; and in that hour, my lord,\\r\\n They did not bless us with one happy word.\\r\\n I dare not call them fools; but this I think,\\r\\n When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink.\\r\\n BEROWNE. This jest is dry to me. Fair gentle sweet,\\r\\n Your wit makes wise things foolish; when we greet,\\r\\n With eyes best seeing, heaven\\'s fiery eye,\\r\\n By light we lose light; your capacity\\r\\n Is of that nature that to your huge store\\r\\n Wise things seem foolish and rich things but poor.\\r\\n ROSALINE. This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye-\\r\\n BEROWNE. I am a fool, and full of poverty.\\r\\n ROSALINE. But that you take what doth to you belong,\\r\\n It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue.\\r\\n BEROWNE. O, I am yours, and all that I possess.\\r\\n ROSALINE. All the fool mine?\\r\\n BEROWNE. I cannot give you less.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Which of the vizards was it that you wore?\\r\\n BEROWNE. Where? when? what vizard? Why demand you this?\\r\\n ROSALINE. There, then, that vizard; that superfluous case\\r\\n That hid the worse and show\\'d the better face.\\r\\n KING. We were descried; they\\'ll mock us now downright.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Amaz\\'d, my lord? Why looks your Highness sad?\\r\\n ROSALINE. Help, hold his brows! he\\'ll swoon! Why look you pale?\\r\\n Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Thus pour the stars down plagues for perjury.\\r\\n Can any face of brass hold longer out?\\r\\n Here stand I, lady- dart thy skill at me,\\r\\n Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout,\\r\\n Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance,\\r\\n Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit;\\r\\n And I will wish thee never more to dance,\\r\\n Nor never more in Russian habit wait.\\r\\n O, never will I trust to speeches penn\\'d,\\r\\n Nor to the motion of a school-boy\\'s tongue,\\r\\n Nor never come in vizard to my friend,\\r\\n Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper\\'s song.\\r\\n Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise,\\r\\n Three-pil\\'d hyperboles, spruce affectation,\\r\\n Figures pedantical- these summer-flies\\r\\n Have blown me full of maggot ostentation.\\r\\n I do forswear them; and I here protest,\\r\\n By this white glove- how white the hand, God knows!-\\r\\n Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express\\'d\\r\\n In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes.\\r\\n And, to begin, wench- so God help me, law!-\\r\\n My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Sans \\'sans,\\' I pray you.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Yet I have a trick\\r\\n Of the old rage; bear with me, I am sick;\\r\\n I\\'ll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see-\\r\\n Write \\'Lord have mercy on us\\' on those three;\\r\\n They are infected; in their hearts it lies;\\r\\n They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes.\\r\\n These lords are visited; you are not free,\\r\\n For the Lord\\'s tokens on you do I see.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. No, they are free that gave these tokens to us.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Our states are forfeit; seek not to undo us.\\r\\n ROSALINE. It is not so; for how can this be true,\\r\\n That you stand forfeit, being those that sue?\\r\\n BEROWNE. Peace; for I will not have to do with you.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Speak for yourselves; my wit is at an end.\\r\\n KING. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude transgression\\r\\n Some fair excuse.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. The fairest is confession.\\r\\n Were not you here but even now, disguis\\'d?\\r\\n KING. Madam, I was.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. And were you well advis\\'d?\\r\\n KING. I was, fair madam.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. When you then were here,\\r\\n What did you whisper in your lady\\'s ear?\\r\\n KING. That more than all the world I did respect her.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. When she shall challenge this, you will reject\\r\\n her.\\r\\n KING. Upon mine honour, no.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Peace, peace, forbear;\\r\\n Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear.\\r\\n KING. Despise me when I break this oath of mine.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I will; and therefore keep it. Rosaline,\\r\\n What did the Russian whisper in your ear?\\r\\n ROSALINE. Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear\\r\\n As precious eyesight, and did value me\\r\\n Above this world; adding thereto, moreover,\\r\\n That he would wed me, or else die my lover.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. God give thee joy of him! The noble lord\\r\\n Most honourably doth uphold his word.\\r\\n KING. What mean you, madam? By my life, my troth,\\r\\n I never swore this lady such an oath.\\r\\n ROSALINE. By heaven, you did; and, to confirm it plain,\\r\\n You gave me this; but take it, sir, again.\\r\\n KING. My faith and this the Princess I did give;\\r\\n I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear;\\r\\n And Lord Berowne, I thank him, is my dear.\\r\\n What, will you have me, or your pearl again?\\r\\n BEROWNE. Neither of either; I remit both twain.\\r\\n I see the trick on\\'t: here was a consent,\\r\\n Knowing aforehand of our merriment,\\r\\n To dash it like a Christmas comedy.\\r\\n Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany,\\r\\n Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some Dick,\\r\\n That smiles his cheek in years and knows the trick\\r\\n To make my lady laugh when she\\'s dispos\\'d,\\r\\n Told our intents before; which once disclos\\'d,\\r\\n The ladies did change favours; and then we,\\r\\n Following the signs, woo\\'d but the sign of she.\\r\\n Now, to our perjury to add more terror,\\r\\n We are again forsworn in will and error.\\r\\n Much upon this it is; [To BOYET] and might not you\\r\\n Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue?\\r\\n Do not you know my lady\\'s foot by th\\' squier,\\r\\n And laugh upon the apple of her eye?\\r\\n And stand between her back, sir, and the fire,\\r\\n Holding a trencher, jesting merrily?\\r\\n You put our page out. Go, you are allow\\'d;\\r\\n Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud.\\r\\n You leer upon me, do you? There\\'s an eye\\r\\n Wounds like a leaden sword.\\r\\n BOYET. Full merrily\\r\\n Hath this brave manage, this career, been run.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Lo, he is tilting straight! Peace; I have done.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter COSTARD\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, pure wit! Thou part\\'st a fair fray.\\r\\n COSTARD. O Lord, sir, they would know\\r\\n Whether the three Worthies shall come in or no?\\r\\n BEROWNE. What, are there but three?\\r\\n COSTARD. No, sir; but it is vara fine,\\r\\n For every one pursents three.\\r\\n BEROWNE. And three times thrice is nine.\\r\\n COSTARD. Not so, sir; under correction, sir,\\r\\n I hope it is not so.\\r\\n You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir; we know what we\\r\\n know;\\r\\n I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir-\\r\\n BEROWNE. Is not nine.\\r\\n COSTARD. Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount.\\r\\n BEROWNE. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine.\\r\\n COSTARD. O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get your living by\\r\\n reck\\'ning, sir.\\r\\n BEROWNE. How much is it?\\r\\n COSTARD. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, sir, will\\r\\n show whereuntil it doth amount. For mine own part, I am, as they\\r\\n say, but to parfect one man in one poor man, Pompion the Great,\\r\\n sir.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Art thou one of the Worthies?\\r\\n COSTARD. It pleased them to think me worthy of Pompey the Great;\\r\\n for mine own part, I know not the degree of the Worthy; but I am\\r\\n to stand for him.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Go, bid them prepare.\\r\\n COSTARD. We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take some care.\\r\\n Exit COSTARD\\r\\n KING. Berowne, they will shame us; let them not approach.\\r\\n BEROWNE. We are shame-proof, my lord, and \\'tis some policy\\r\\n To have one show worse than the King\\'s and his company.\\r\\n KING. I say they shall not come.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Nay, my good lord, let me o\\'errule you now.\\r\\n That sport best pleases that doth least know how;\\r\\n Where zeal strives to content, and the contents\\r\\n Dies in the zeal of that which it presents.\\r\\n Their form confounded makes most form in mirth,\\r\\n When great things labouring perish in their birth.\\r\\n BEROWNE. A right description of our sport, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ARMADO\\r\\n\\r\\n ARMADO. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet\\r\\n breath as will utter a brace of words.\\r\\n [Converses apart with the KING, and delivers a paper]\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Doth this man serve God?\\r\\n BEROWNE. Why ask you?\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. \\'A speaks not like a man of God his making.\\r\\n ARMADO. That is all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch; for, I\\r\\n protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical; too too vain,\\r\\n too too vain; but we will put it, as they say, to fortuna de la\\r\\n guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement!\\r\\n Exit ARMADO\\r\\n KING. Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies. He presents\\r\\n Hector of Troy; the swain, Pompey the Great; the parish curate,\\r\\n Alexander; Arinado\\'s page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas\\r\\n Maccabaeus.\\r\\n And if these four Worthies in their first show thrive,\\r\\n These four will change habits and present the other five.\\r\\n BEROWNE. There is five in the first show.\\r\\n KING. You are deceived, \\'tis not so.\\r\\n BEROWNE. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the fool, and\\r\\n the boy:\\r\\n Abate throw at novum, and the whole world again\\r\\n Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his vein.\\r\\n KING. The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter COSTARD, armed for POMPEY\\r\\n\\r\\n COSTARD. I Pompey am-\\r\\n BEROWNE. You lie, you are not he.\\r\\n COSTARD. I Pompey am-\\r\\n BOYET. With libbard\\'s head on knee.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Well said, old mocker; I must needs be friends with thee.\\r\\n COSTARD. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam\\'d the Big-\\r\\n DUMAIN. The Great.\\r\\n COSTARD. It is Great, sir.\\r\\n Pompey surnam\\'d the Great,\\r\\n That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my foe to\\r\\n sweat;\\r\\n And travelling along this coast, I bere am come by chance,\\r\\n And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France.\\r\\n\\r\\n If your ladyship would say \\'Thanks, Pompey,\\' I had done.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Great thanks, great Pompey.\\r\\n COSTARD. \\'Tis not so much worth; but I hope I was perfect.\\r\\n I made a little fault in Great.\\r\\n BEROWNE. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best Worthy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR NATHANIEL, for ALEXANDER\\r\\n\\r\\n NATHANIEL. When in the world I liv\\'d, I was the world\\'s commander;\\r\\n By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquering might.\\r\\n My scutcheon plain declares that I am Alisander-\\r\\n BOYET. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands to right.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Your nose smells \\'no\\' in this, most tender-smelling\\r\\n knight.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. The conqueror is dismay\\'d. Proceed, good\\r\\n Alexander.\\r\\n NATHANIEL. When in the world I liv\\'d, I was the world\\'s commander-\\r\\n BOYET. Most true, \\'tis right, you were so, Alisander.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Pompey the Great!\\r\\n COSTARD. Your servant, and Costard.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Take away the conqueror, take away Alisander.\\r\\n COSTARD. [To Sir Nathaniel] O, Sir, you have overthrown Alisander\\r\\n the conqueror! You will be scrap\\'d out of the painted cloth for\\r\\n this. Your lion, that holds his poleaxe sitting on a close-stool,\\r\\n will be given to Ajax. He will be the ninth Worthy. A conqueror\\r\\n and afeard to speak! Run away for shame, Alisander.\\r\\n [Sir Nathaniel retires] There, an\\'t shall please you, a foolish\\r\\n mild man; an honest man, look you, and soon dash\\'d. He is a\\r\\n marvellous good neighbour, faith, and a very good bowler; but for\\r\\n Alisander- alas! you see how \\'tis- a little o\\'erparted. But there\\r\\n are Worthies a-coming will speak their mind in some other sort.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Stand aside, good Pompey.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HOLOFERNES, for JUDAS; and MOTH, for HERCULES\\r\\n\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Great Hercules is presented by this imp,\\r\\n Whose club kill\\'d Cerberus, that three-headed canus;\\r\\n And when be was a babe, a child, a shrimp,\\r\\n Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus.\\r\\n Quoniam he seemeth in minority,\\r\\n Ergo I come with this apology.\\r\\n Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish. [MOTH retires]\\r\\n Judas I am-\\r\\n DUMAIN. A Judas!\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Not Iscariot, sir.\\r\\n Judas I am, ycliped Maccabaeus.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Judas Maccabaeus clipt is plain Judas.\\r\\n BEROWNE. A kissing traitor. How art thou prov\\'d Judas?\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Judas I am-\\r\\n DUMAIN. The more shame for you, Judas!\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. What mean you, sir?\\r\\n BOYET. To make Judas hang himself.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. Begin, sir; you are my elder.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Well followed: Judas was hanged on an elder.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. I will not be put out of countenance.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Because thou hast no face.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. What is this?\\r\\n BOYET. A cittern-head.\\r\\n DUMAIN. The head of a bodkin.\\r\\n BEROWNE. A death\\'s face in a ring.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen.\\r\\n BOYET. The pommel of Coesar\\'s falchion.\\r\\n DUMAIN. The carv\\'d-bone face on a flask.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Saint George\\'s half-cheek in a brooch.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Ay, and in a brooch of lead.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer. And now,\\r\\n forward; for we have put thee in countenance.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. You have put me out of countenance.\\r\\n BEROWNE. False: we have given thee faces.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. But you have outfac\\'d them all.\\r\\n BEROWNE. An thou wert a lion we would do so.\\r\\n BOYET. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go.\\r\\n And so adieu, sweet Jude! Nay, why dost thou stay?\\r\\n DUMAIN. For the latter end of his name.\\r\\n BEROWNE. For the ass to the Jude; give it him- Jud-as, away.\\r\\n HOLOFERNES. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.\\r\\n BOYET. A light for Monsieur Judas! It grows dark, he may stumble.\\r\\n [HOLOFERNES retires]\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Alas, poor Maccabaeus, how hath he been baited!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ARMADO, for HECTOR\\r\\n\\r\\n BEROWNE. Hide thy head, Achilles; here comes Hector in arms.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry.\\r\\n KING. Hector was but a Troyan in respect of this.\\r\\n BOYET. But is this Hector?\\r\\n DUMAIN. I think Hector was not so clean-timber\\'d.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. His leg is too big for Hector\\'s.\\r\\n DUMAIN. More calf, certain.\\r\\n BOYET. No; he is best indued in the small.\\r\\n BEROWNE. This cannot be Hector.\\r\\n DUMAIN. He\\'s a god or a painter, for he makes faces.\\r\\n ARMADO. The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,\\r\\n Gave Hector a gift-\\r\\n DUMAIN. A gilt nutmeg.\\r\\n BEROWNE. A lemon.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. Stuck with cloves.\\r\\n DUMAIN. No, cloven.\\r\\n ARMADO. Peace!\\r\\n The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,\\r\\n Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;\\r\\n A man so breathed that certain he would fight ye,\\r\\n From morn till night out of his pavilion.\\r\\n I am that flower-\\r\\n DUMAIN. That mint.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. That columbine.\\r\\n ARMADO. Sweet Lord Longaville, rein thy tongue.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. I must rather give it the rein, for it runs against\\r\\n Hector.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Ay, and Hector\\'s a greyhound.\\r\\n ARMADO. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet chucks, beat\\r\\n not the bones of the buried; when he breathed, he was a man. But\\r\\n I will forward with my device. [To the PRINCESS] Sweet royalty,\\r\\n bestow on me the sense of hearing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [BEROWNE steps forth, and speaks to COSTARD]\\r\\n\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Speak, brave Hector; we are much delighted.\\r\\n ARMADO. I do adore thy sweet Grace\\'s slipper.\\r\\n BOYET. [Aside to DUMAIN] Loves her by the foot.\\r\\n DUMAIN. [Aside to BOYET] He may not by the yard.\\r\\n ARMADO. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal-\\r\\n COSTARD. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two\\r\\n months on her way.\\r\\n ARMADO. What meanest thou?\\r\\n COSTARD. Faith, unless you play the honest Troyan, the poor wench\\r\\n is cast away. She\\'s quick; the child brags in her belly already;\\r\\n \\'tis yours.\\r\\n ARMADO. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? Thou shalt die.\\r\\n COSTARD. Then shall Hector be whipt for Jaquenetta that is quick by\\r\\n him, and hang\\'d for Pompey that is dead by him.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Most rare Pompey!\\r\\n BOYET. Renowned Pompey!\\r\\n BEROWNE. Greater than Great! Great, great, great Pompey! Pompey the\\r\\n Huge!\\r\\n DUMAIN. Hector trembles.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Pompey is moved. More Ates, more Ates! Stir them on! stir\\r\\n them on!\\r\\n DUMAIN. Hector will challenge him.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Ay, if \\'a have no more man\\'s blood in his belly than will\\r\\n sup a flea.\\r\\n ARMADO. By the North Pole, I do challenge thee.\\r\\n COSTARD. I will not fight with a pole, like a Northern man; I\\'ll\\r\\n slash; I\\'ll do it by the sword. I bepray you, let me borrow my\\r\\n arms again.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Room for the incensed Worthies!\\r\\n COSTARD. I\\'ll do it in my shirt.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Most resolute Pompey!\\r\\n MOTH. Master, let me take you a buttonhole lower. Do you not see\\r\\n Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What mean you? You will lose\\r\\n your reputation.\\r\\n ARMADO. Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat in my\\r\\n shirt.\\r\\n DUMAIN. You may not deny it: Pompey hath made the challenge.\\r\\n ARMADO. Sweet bloods, I both may and will.\\r\\n BEROWNE. What reason have you for \\'t?\\r\\n ARMADO. The naked truth of it is: I have no shirt; I go woolward\\r\\n for penance.\\r\\n BOYET. True, and it was enjoined him in Rome for want of linen;\\r\\n since when, I\\'ll be sworn, he wore none but a dishclout of\\r\\n Jaquenetta\\'s, and that \\'a wears next his heart for a favour.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter as messenger, MONSIEUR MARCADE\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCADE. God save you, madam!\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Welcome, Marcade;\\r\\n But that thou interruptest our merriment.\\r\\n MARCADE. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring\\r\\n Is heavy in my tongue. The King your father-\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Dead, for my life!\\r\\n MARCADE. Even so; my tale is told.\\r\\n BEROWNE. WOrthies away; the scene begins to cloud.\\r\\n ARMADO. For mine own part, I breathe free breath. I have seen the\\r\\n day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will\\r\\n right myself like a soldier. Exeunt WORTHIES\\r\\n KING. How fares your Majesty?\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night.\\r\\n KING. Madam, not so; I do beseech you stay.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords,\\r\\n For all your fair endeavours, and entreat,\\r\\n Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe\\r\\n In your rich wisdom to excuse or hide\\r\\n The liberal opposition of our spirits,\\r\\n If over-boldly we have borne ourselves\\r\\n In the converse of breath- your gentleness\\r\\n Was guilty of it. Farewell, worthy lord.\\r\\n A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue.\\r\\n Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks\\r\\n For my great suit so easily obtain\\'d.\\r\\n KING. The extreme parts of time extremely forms\\r\\n All causes to the purpose of his speed;\\r\\n And often at his very loose decides\\r\\n That which long process could not arbitrate.\\r\\n And though the mourning brow of progeny\\r\\n Forbid the smiling courtesy of love\\r\\n The holy suit which fain it would convince,\\r\\n Yet, since love\\'s argument was first on foot,\\r\\n Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it\\r\\n From what it purpos\\'d; since to wail friends lost\\r\\n Is not by much so wholesome-profitable\\r\\n As to rejoice at friends but newly found.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I understand you not; my griefs are double.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief;\\r\\n And by these badges understand the King.\\r\\n For your fair sakes have we neglected time,\\r\\n Play\\'d foul play with our oaths; your beauty, ladies,\\r\\n Hath much deformed us, fashioning our humours\\r\\n Even to the opposed end of our intents;\\r\\n And what in us hath seem\\'d ridiculous,\\r\\n As love is full of unbefitting strains,\\r\\n All wanton as a child, skipping and vain;\\r\\n Form\\'d by the eye and therefore, like the eye,\\r\\n Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms,\\r\\n Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll\\r\\n To every varied object in his glance;\\r\\n Which parti-coated presence of loose love\\r\\n Put on by us, if in your heavenly eyes\\r\\n Have misbecom\\'d our oaths and gravities,\\r\\n Those heavenly eyes that look into these faults\\r\\n Suggested us to make. Therefore, ladies,\\r\\n Our love being yours, the error that love makes\\r\\n Is likewise yours. We to ourselves prove false,\\r\\n By being once false for ever to be true\\r\\n To those that make us both- fair ladies, you;\\r\\n And even that falsehood, in itself a sin,\\r\\n Thus purifies itself and turns to grace.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We have receiv\\'d your letters, full of love;\\r\\n Your favours, the ambassadors of love;\\r\\n And, in our maiden council, rated them\\r\\n At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy,\\r\\n As bombast and as lining to the time;\\r\\n But more devout than this in our respects\\r\\n Have we not been; and therefore met your loves\\r\\n In their own fashion, like a merriment.\\r\\n DUMAIN. Our letters, madam, show\\'d much more than jest.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. So did our looks.\\r\\n ROSALINE. We did not quote them so.\\r\\n KING. Now, at the latest minute of the hour,\\r\\n Grant us your loves.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. A time, methinks, too short\\r\\n To make a world-without-end bargain in.\\r\\n No, no, my lord, your Grace is perjur\\'d much,\\r\\n Full of dear guiltiness; and therefore this,\\r\\n If for my love, as there is no such cause,\\r\\n You will do aught- this shall you do for me:\\r\\n Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed\\r\\n To some forlorn and naked hermitage,\\r\\n Remote from all the pleasures of the world;\\r\\n There stay until the twelve celestial signs\\r\\n Have brought about the annual reckoning.\\r\\n If this austere insociable life\\r\\n Change not your offer made in heat of blood,\\r\\n If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds,\\r\\n Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love,\\r\\n But that it bear this trial, and last love,\\r\\n Then, at the expiration of the year,\\r\\n Come, challenge me, challenge me by these deserts;\\r\\n And, by this virgin palm now kissing thine,\\r\\n I will be thine; and, till that instant, shut\\r\\n My woeful self up in a mournful house,\\r\\n Raining the tears of lamentation\\r\\n For the remembrance of my father\\'s death.\\r\\n If this thou do deny, let our hands part,\\r\\n Neither intitled in the other\\'s heart.\\r\\n KING. If this, or more than this, I would deny,\\r\\n To flatter up these powers of mine with rest,\\r\\n The sudden hand of death close up mine eye!\\r\\n Hence hermit then, my heart is in thy breast.\\r\\n BEROWNE. And what to me, my love? and what to me?\\r\\n ROSALINE. You must he purged too, your sins are rack\\'d;\\r\\n You are attaint with faults and perjury;\\r\\n Therefore, if you my favour mean to get,\\r\\n A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest,\\r\\n But seek the weary beds of people sick.\\r\\n DUMAIN. But what to me, my love? but what to me?\\r\\n A wife?\\r\\n KATHARINE. A beard, fair health, and honesty;\\r\\n With threefold love I wish you all these three.\\r\\n DUMAIN. O, shall I say I thank you, gentle wife?\\r\\n KATHARINE. No so, my lord; a twelvemonth and a day\\r\\n I\\'ll mark no words that smooth-fac\\'d wooers say.\\r\\n Come when the King doth to my lady come;\\r\\n Then, if I have much love, I\\'ll give you some.\\r\\n DUMAIN. I\\'ll serve thee true and faithfully till then.\\r\\n KATHARINE. Yet swear not, lest ye be forsworn again.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. What says Maria?\\r\\n MARIA. At the twelvemonth\\'s end\\r\\n I\\'ll change my black gown for a faithful friend.\\r\\n LONGAVILLE. I\\'ll stay with patience; but the time is long.\\r\\n MARIA. The liker you; few taller are so young.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Studies my lady? Mistress, look on me;\\r\\n Behold the window of my heart, mine eye,\\r\\n What humble suit attends thy answer there.\\r\\n Impose some service on me for thy love.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Oft have I heard of you, my Lord Berowne,\\r\\n Before I saw you; and the world\\'s large tongue\\r\\n Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks,\\r\\n Full of comparisons and wounding flouts,\\r\\n Which you on all estates will execute\\r\\n That lie within the mercy of your wit.\\r\\n To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain,\\r\\n And therewithal to win me, if you please,\\r\\n Without the which I am not to be won,\\r\\n You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day\\r\\n Visit the speechless sick, and still converse\\r\\n With groaning wretches; and your task shall be,\\r\\n With all the fierce endeavour of your wit,\\r\\n To enforce the pained impotent to smile.\\r\\n BEROWNE. To move wild laughter in the throat of death?\\r\\n It cannot be; it is impossible;\\r\\n Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.\\r\\n ROSALINE. Why, that\\'s the way to choke a gibing spirit,\\r\\n Whose influence is begot of that loose grace\\r\\n Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools.\\r\\n A jest\\'s prosperity lies in the ear\\r\\n Of him that hears it, never in the tongue\\r\\n Of him that makes it; then, if sickly ears,\\r\\n Deaf\\'d with the clamours of their own dear groans,\\r\\n Will hear your idle scorns, continue then,\\r\\n And I will have you and that fault withal.\\r\\n But if they will not, throw away that spirit,\\r\\n And I shall find you empty of that fault,\\r\\n Right joyful of your reformation.\\r\\n BEROWNE. A twelvemonth? Well, befall what will befall,\\r\\n I\\'ll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital.\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. [ To the King] Ay, sweet my lord, and so I take\\r\\n my leave.\\r\\n KING. No, madam; we will bring you on your way.\\r\\n BEROWNE. Our wooing doth not end like an old play:\\r\\n Jack hath not Jill. These ladies\\' courtesy\\r\\n Might well have made our sport a comedy.\\r\\n KING. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth an\\' a day,\\r\\n And then \\'twill end.\\r\\n BEROWNE. That\\'s too long for a play.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter ARMADO\\r\\n\\r\\n ARMADO. Sweet Majesty, vouchsafe me-\\r\\n PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Was not that not Hector?\\r\\n DUMAIN. The worthy knight of Troy.\\r\\n ARMADO. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a\\r\\n votary: I have vow\\'d to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her\\r\\n sweet love three year. But, most esteemed greatness, will you\\r\\n hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled in\\r\\n praise of the Owl and the Cuckoo? It should have followed in the\\r\\n end of our show.\\r\\n KING. Call them forth quickly; we will do so.\\r\\n ARMADO. Holla! approach.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter All\\r\\n\\r\\n This side is Hiems, Winter; this Ver, the Spring- the one\\r\\n maintained by the Owl, th\\' other by the Cuckoo. Ver, begin.\\r\\n\\r\\n SPRING\\r\\n When daisies pied and violets blue\\r\\n And lady-smocks all silver-white\\r\\n And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue\\r\\n Do paint the meadows with delight,\\r\\n The cuckoo then on every tree\\r\\n Mocks married men, for thus sings he:\\r\\n \\'Cuckoo;\\r\\n Cuckoo, cuckoo\\'- O word of fear,\\r\\n Unpleasing to a married ear!\\r\\n\\r\\n When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,\\r\\n And merry larks are ploughmen\\'s clocks;\\r\\n When turtles tread, and rooks and daws,\\r\\n And maidens bleach their summer smocks;\\r\\n The cuckoo then on every tree\\r\\n Mocks married men, for thus sings he:\\r\\n \\'Cuckoo;\\r\\n Cuckoo, cuckoo\\'- O word of fear,\\r\\n Unpleasing to a married ear!\\r\\n\\r\\n WINTER\\r\\n\\r\\n When icicles hang by the wall,\\r\\n And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,\\r\\n And Tom bears logs into the hall,\\r\\n And milk comes frozen home in pail,\\r\\n When blood is nipp\\'d, and ways be foul,\\r\\n Then nightly sings the staring owl:\\r\\n \\'Tu-who;\\r\\n Tu-whit, Tu-who\\'- A merry note,\\r\\n While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.\\r\\n\\r\\n When all aloud the wind doth blow,\\r\\n And coughing drowns the parson\\'s saw,\\r\\n And birds sit brooding in the snow,\\r\\n And Marian\\'s nose looks red and raw,\\r\\n When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,\\r\\n Then nightly sings the staring owl:\\r\\n \\'Tu-who;\\r\\n Tu-whit, To-who\\'- A merry note,\\r\\n While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.\\r\\n\\r\\n ARMADO. The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.\\r\\n You that way: we this way. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. An open Place.\\r\\nScene II. A Camp near Forres.\\r\\nScene III. A heath.\\r\\nScene IV. Forres. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\nScene V. Inverness. A Room in Macbeth’s Castle.\\r\\nScene VI. The same. Before the Castle.\\r\\nScene VII. The same. A Lobby in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. Inverness. Court within the Castle.\\r\\nScene II. The same.\\r\\nScene III. The same.\\r\\nScene IV. The same. Without the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Forres. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\nScene II. The same. Another Room in the Palace.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A Park or Lawn, with a gate leading to the Palace.\\r\\nScene IV. The same. A Room of state in the Palace.\\r\\nScene V. The heath.\\r\\nScene VI. Forres. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. A dark Cave. In the middle, a Cauldron Boiling.\\r\\nScene II. Fife. A Room in Macduff’s Castle.\\r\\nScene III. England. Before the King’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\nScene II. The Country near Dunsinane.\\r\\nScene III. Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\nScene IV. Country near Dunsinane: a Wood in view.\\r\\nScene V. Dunsinane. Within the castle.\\r\\nScene VI. The same. A Plain before the Castle.\\r\\nScene VII. The same. Another part of the Plain.\\r\\nScene VIII. The same. Another part of the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN, King of Scotland.\\r\\nMALCOLM, his Son.\\r\\nDONALBAIN, his Son.\\r\\nMACBETH, General in the King’s Army.\\r\\nBANQUO, General in the King’s Army.\\r\\nMACDUFF, Nobleman of Scotland.\\r\\nLENNOX, Nobleman of Scotland.\\r\\nROSS, Nobleman of Scotland.\\r\\nMENTEITH, Nobleman of Scotland.\\r\\nANGUS, Nobleman of Scotland.\\r\\nCAITHNESS, Nobleman of Scotland.\\r\\nFLEANCE, Son to Banquo.\\r\\nSIWARD, Earl of Northumberland, General of the English Forces.\\r\\nYOUNG SIWARD, his Son.\\r\\nSEYTON, an Officer attending on Macbeth.\\r\\nBOY, Son to Macduff.\\r\\nAn English Doctor.\\r\\nA Scottish Doctor.\\r\\nA Soldier.\\r\\nA Porter.\\r\\nAn Old Man.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nGentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth.\\r\\nHECATE, and three Witches.\\r\\n\\r\\nLords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderers, Attendants and\\r\\nMessengers.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Ghost of Banquo and several other Apparitions.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: In the end of the Fourth Act, in England; through the rest of\\r\\nthe Play, in Scotland; and chiefly at Macbeth’s Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. An open Place.\\r\\n\\r\\n Thunder and Lightning. Enter three Witches.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nWhen shall we three meet again?\\r\\nIn thunder, lightning, or in rain?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nWhen the hurlyburly’s done,\\r\\nWhen the battle’s lost and won.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nThat will be ere the set of sun.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nWhere the place?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nUpon the heath.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nThere to meet with Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nI come, Graymalkin!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nPaddock calls.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nAnon.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nFair is foul, and foul is fair:\\r\\nHover through the fog and filthy air.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Camp near Forres.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum within. Enter King Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lennox, with\\r\\n Attendants, meeting a bleeding Captain.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nWhat bloody man is that? He can report,\\r\\nAs seemeth by his plight, of the revolt\\r\\nThe newest state.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nThis is the sergeant\\r\\nWho, like a good and hardy soldier, fought\\r\\n’Gainst my captivity.—Hail, brave friend!\\r\\nSay to the King the knowledge of the broil\\r\\nAs thou didst leave it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLDIER.\\r\\nDoubtful it stood;\\r\\nAs two spent swimmers that do cling together\\r\\nAnd choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald\\r\\n(Worthy to be a rebel, for to that\\r\\nThe multiplying villainies of nature\\r\\nDo swarm upon him) from the Western Isles\\r\\nOf kerns and gallowglasses is supplied;\\r\\nAnd Fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling,\\r\\nShow’d like a rebel’s whore. But all’s too weak;\\r\\nFor brave Macbeth (well he deserves that name),\\r\\nDisdaining Fortune, with his brandish’d steel,\\r\\nWhich smok’d with bloody execution,\\r\\nLike Valour’s minion, carv’d out his passage,\\r\\nTill he fac’d the slave;\\r\\nWhich ne’er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him,\\r\\nTill he unseam’d him from the nave to the chops,\\r\\nAnd fix’d his head upon our battlements.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nO valiant cousin! worthy gentleman!\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLDIER.\\r\\nAs whence the sun ’gins his reflection\\r\\nShipwracking storms and direful thunders break,\\r\\nSo from that spring, whence comfort seem’d to come\\r\\nDiscomfort swells. Mark, King of Scotland, mark:\\r\\nNo sooner justice had, with valour arm’d,\\r\\nCompell’d these skipping kerns to trust their heels,\\r\\nBut the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage,\\r\\nWith furbish’d arms and new supplies of men,\\r\\nBegan a fresh assault.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nDismay’d not this\\r\\nOur captains, Macbeth and Banquo?\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLDIER.\\r\\nYes;\\r\\nAs sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion.\\r\\nIf I say sooth, I must report they were\\r\\nAs cannons overcharg’d with double cracks;\\r\\nSo they\\r\\nDoubly redoubled strokes upon the foe:\\r\\nExcept they meant to bathe in reeking wounds,\\r\\nOr memorize another Golgotha,\\r\\nI cannot tell—\\r\\nBut I am faint, my gashes cry for help.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nSo well thy words become thee as thy wounds:\\r\\nThey smack of honour both.—Go, get him surgeons.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Captain, attended._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ross and Angus.\\r\\n\\r\\nWho comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nThe worthy Thane of Ross.\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nWhat a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look\\r\\nThat seems to speak things strange.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nGod save the King!\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nWhence cam’st thou, worthy thane?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nFrom Fife, great King,\\r\\nWhere the Norweyan banners flout the sky\\r\\nAnd fan our people cold.\\r\\nNorway himself, with terrible numbers,\\r\\nAssisted by that most disloyal traitor,\\r\\nThe Thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict;\\r\\nTill that Bellona’s bridegroom, lapp’d in proof,\\r\\nConfronted him with self-comparisons,\\r\\nPoint against point, rebellious arm ’gainst arm,\\r\\nCurbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude,\\r\\nThe victory fell on us.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nGreat happiness!\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nThat now\\r\\nSweno, the Norways’ king, craves composition;\\r\\nNor would we deign him burial of his men\\r\\nTill he disbursed at Saint Colme’s Inch\\r\\nTen thousand dollars to our general use.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nNo more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceive\\r\\nOur bosom interest. Go pronounce his present death,\\r\\nAnd with his former title greet Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nI’ll see it done.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nWhat he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A heath.\\r\\n\\r\\n Thunder. Enter the three Witches.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nWhere hast thou been, sister?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nKilling swine.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nSister, where thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nA sailor’s wife had chestnuts in her lap,\\r\\nAnd mounch’d, and mounch’d, and mounch’d. “Give me,” quoth I.\\r\\n“Aroint thee, witch!” the rump-fed ronyon cries.\\r\\nHer husband’s to Aleppo gone, master o’ th’ _Tiger:_\\r\\nBut in a sieve I’ll thither sail,\\r\\nAnd, like a rat without a tail,\\r\\nI’ll do, I’ll do, and I’ll do.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nI’ll give thee a wind.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nTh’art kind.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nAnd I another.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nI myself have all the other,\\r\\nAnd the very ports they blow,\\r\\nAll the quarters that they know\\r\\nI’ the shipman’s card.\\r\\nI will drain him dry as hay:\\r\\nSleep shall neither night nor day\\r\\nHang upon his pent-house lid;\\r\\nHe shall live a man forbid.\\r\\nWeary sev’n-nights nine times nine,\\r\\nShall he dwindle, peak, and pine:\\r\\nThough his bark cannot be lost,\\r\\nYet it shall be tempest-tost.\\r\\nLook what I have.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nShow me, show me.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nHere I have a pilot’s thumb,\\r\\nWrack’d as homeward he did come.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Drum within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nA drum, a drum!\\r\\nMacbeth doth come.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nThe Weird Sisters, hand in hand,\\r\\nPosters of the sea and land,\\r\\nThus do go about, about:\\r\\nThrice to thine, and thrice to mine,\\r\\nAnd thrice again, to make up nine.\\r\\nPeace!—the charm’s wound up.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macbeth and Banquo.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nSo foul and fair a day I have not seen.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nHow far is’t call’d to Forres?—What are these,\\r\\nSo wither’d, and so wild in their attire,\\r\\nThat look not like the inhabitants o’ th’ earth,\\r\\nAnd yet are on’t?—Live you? or are you aught\\r\\nThat man may question? You seem to understand me,\\r\\nBy each at once her choppy finger laying\\r\\nUpon her skinny lips. You should be women,\\r\\nAnd yet your beards forbid me to interpret\\r\\nThat you are so.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nSpeak, if you can;—what are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nAll hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, Thane of Glamis!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nAll hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nAll hail, Macbeth! that shalt be king hereafter!\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nGood sir, why do you start and seem to fear\\r\\nThings that do sound so fair?—I’ th’ name of truth,\\r\\nAre ye fantastical, or that indeed\\r\\nWhich outwardly ye show? My noble partner\\r\\nYou greet with present grace and great prediction\\r\\nOf noble having and of royal hope,\\r\\nThat he seems rapt withal. To me you speak not.\\r\\nIf you can look into the seeds of time,\\r\\nAnd say which grain will grow, and which will not,\\r\\nSpeak then to me, who neither beg nor fear\\r\\nYour favours nor your hate.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nHail!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nHail!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nHail!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nLesser than Macbeth, and greater.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nNot so happy, yet much happier.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nThou shalt get kings, though thou be none:\\r\\nSo all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nBanquo and Macbeth, all hail!\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nStay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more.\\r\\nBy Sinel’s death I know I am Thane of Glamis;\\r\\nBut how of Cawdor? The Thane of Cawdor lives,\\r\\nA prosperous gentleman; and to be king\\r\\nStands not within the prospect of belief,\\r\\nNo more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence\\r\\nYou owe this strange intelligence? or why\\r\\nUpon this blasted heath you stop our way\\r\\nWith such prophetic greeting?—Speak, I charge you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Witches vanish._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nThe earth hath bubbles, as the water has,\\r\\nAnd these are of them. Whither are they vanish’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nInto the air; and what seem’d corporal,\\r\\nMelted as breath into the wind.\\r\\nWould they had stay’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nWere such things here as we do speak about?\\r\\nOr have we eaten on the insane root\\r\\nThat takes the reason prisoner?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nYour children shall be kings.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nYou shall be king.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nAnd Thane of Cawdor too; went it not so?\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nTo the selfsame tune and words. Who’s here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ross and Angus.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nThe King hath happily receiv’d, Macbeth,\\r\\nThe news of thy success, and when he reads\\r\\nThy personal venture in the rebels’ fight,\\r\\nHis wonders and his praises do contend\\r\\nWhich should be thine or his: silenc’d with that,\\r\\nIn viewing o’er the rest o’ th’ selfsame day,\\r\\nHe finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,\\r\\nNothing afeard of what thyself didst make,\\r\\nStrange images of death. As thick as tale\\r\\nCame post with post; and everyone did bear\\r\\nThy praises in his kingdom’s great defence,\\r\\nAnd pour’d them down before him.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGUS.\\r\\nWe are sent\\r\\nTo give thee from our royal master thanks;\\r\\nOnly to herald thee into his sight,\\r\\nNot pay thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nAnd, for an earnest of a greater honour,\\r\\nHe bade me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor:\\r\\nIn which addition, hail, most worthy thane,\\r\\nFor it is thine.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nWhat, can the devil speak true?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThe Thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress me\\r\\nIn borrow’d robes?\\r\\n\\r\\nANGUS.\\r\\nWho was the Thane lives yet,\\r\\nBut under heavy judgement bears that life\\r\\nWhich he deserves to lose. Whether he was combin’d\\r\\nWith those of Norway, or did line the rebel\\r\\nWith hidden help and vantage, or that with both\\r\\nHe labour’d in his country’s wrack, I know not;\\r\\nBut treasons capital, confess’d and prov’d,\\r\\nHave overthrown him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Glamis, and Thane of Cawdor:\\r\\nThe greatest is behind. [_To Ross and Angus._] Thanks for your pains.\\r\\n[_To Banquo._] Do you not hope your children shall be kings,\\r\\nWhen those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me\\r\\nPromis’d no less to them?\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nThat, trusted home,\\r\\nMight yet enkindle you unto the crown,\\r\\nBesides the Thane of Cawdor. But ’tis strange:\\r\\nAnd oftentimes to win us to our harm,\\r\\nThe instruments of darkness tell us truths;\\r\\nWin us with honest trifles, to betray’s\\r\\nIn deepest consequence.—\\r\\nCousins, a word, I pray you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Two truths are told,\\r\\nAs happy prologues to the swelling act\\r\\nOf the imperial theme.—I thank you, gentlemen.—\\r\\n[_Aside._] This supernatural soliciting\\r\\nCannot be ill; cannot be good. If ill,\\r\\nWhy hath it given me earnest of success,\\r\\nCommencing in a truth? I am Thane of Cawdor:\\r\\nIf good, why do I yield to that suggestion\\r\\nWhose horrid image doth unfix my hair,\\r\\nAnd make my seated heart knock at my ribs,\\r\\nAgainst the use of nature? Present fears\\r\\nAre less than horrible imaginings.\\r\\nMy thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,\\r\\nShakes so my single state of man\\r\\nThat function is smother’d in surmise,\\r\\nAnd nothing is but what is not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nLook, how our partner’s rapt.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\n[_Aside._] If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me\\r\\nWithout my stir.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nNew honours come upon him,\\r\\nLike our strange garments, cleave not to their mould\\r\\nBut with the aid of use.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Come what come may,\\r\\nTime and the hour runs through the roughest day.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nWorthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nGive me your favour. My dull brain was wrought\\r\\nWith things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains\\r\\nAre register’d where every day I turn\\r\\nThe leaf to read them.—Let us toward the King.—\\r\\nThink upon what hath chanc’d; and at more time,\\r\\nThe interim having weigh’d it, let us speak\\r\\nOur free hearts each to other.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nVery gladly.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nTill then, enough.—Come, friends.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Forres. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lennox and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nIs execution done on Cawdor? Are not\\r\\nThose in commission yet return’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nMy liege,\\r\\nThey are not yet come back. But I have spoke\\r\\nWith one that saw him die, who did report,\\r\\nThat very frankly he confess’d his treasons,\\r\\nImplor’d your Highness’ pardon, and set forth\\r\\nA deep repentance. Nothing in his life\\r\\nBecame him like the leaving it; he died\\r\\nAs one that had been studied in his death,\\r\\nTo throw away the dearest thing he ow’d\\r\\nAs ’twere a careless trifle.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nThere’s no art\\r\\nTo find the mind’s construction in the face:\\r\\nHe was a gentleman on whom I built\\r\\nAn absolute trust.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Ross and Angus.\\r\\n\\r\\nO worthiest cousin!\\r\\nThe sin of my ingratitude even now\\r\\nWas heavy on me. Thou art so far before,\\r\\nThat swiftest wing of recompense is slow\\r\\nTo overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserv’d;\\r\\nThat the proportion both of thanks and payment\\r\\nMight have been mine! only I have left to say,\\r\\nMore is thy due than more than all can pay.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThe service and the loyalty I owe,\\r\\nIn doing it, pays itself. Your Highness’ part\\r\\nIs to receive our duties: and our duties\\r\\nAre to your throne and state, children and servants;\\r\\nWhich do but what they should, by doing everything\\r\\nSafe toward your love and honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nWelcome hither:\\r\\nI have begun to plant thee, and will labour\\r\\nTo make thee full of growing.—Noble Banquo,\\r\\nThat hast no less deserv’d, nor must be known\\r\\nNo less to have done so, let me infold thee\\r\\nAnd hold thee to my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nThere if I grow,\\r\\nThe harvest is your own.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nMy plenteous joys,\\r\\nWanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves\\r\\nIn drops of sorrow.—Sons, kinsmen, thanes,\\r\\nAnd you whose places are the nearest, know,\\r\\nWe will establish our estate upon\\r\\nOur eldest, Malcolm; whom we name hereafter\\r\\nThe Prince of Cumberland: which honour must\\r\\nNot unaccompanied invest him only,\\r\\nBut signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine\\r\\nOn all deservers.—From hence to Inverness,\\r\\nAnd bind us further to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThe rest is labour, which is not us’d for you:\\r\\nI’ll be myself the harbinger, and make joyful\\r\\nThe hearing of my wife with your approach;\\r\\nSo, humbly take my leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nMy worthy Cawdor!\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\n[_Aside._] The Prince of Cumberland!—That is a step\\r\\nOn which I must fall down, or else o’erleap,\\r\\nFor in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires!\\r\\nLet not light see my black and deep desires.\\r\\nThe eye wink at the hand, yet let that be,\\r\\nWhich the eye fears, when it is done, to see.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nTrue, worthy Banquo! He is full so valiant;\\r\\nAnd in his commendations I am fed.\\r\\nIt is a banquet to me. Let’s after him,\\r\\nWhose care is gone before to bid us welcome:\\r\\nIt is a peerless kinsman.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Flourish. Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Inverness. A Room in Macbeth’s Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\n“They met me in the day of success; and I have learned by the\\r\\nperfect’st report they have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I\\r\\nburned in desire to question them further, they made themselves air,\\r\\ninto which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came\\r\\nmissives from the King, who all-hailed me, ‘Thane of Cawdor’; by which\\r\\ntitle, before, these Weird Sisters saluted me, and referred me to the\\r\\ncoming on of time, with ‘Hail, king that shalt be!’ This have I thought\\r\\ngood to deliver thee (my dearest partner of greatness) that thou\\r\\nmight’st not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what\\r\\ngreatness is promis’d thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell.”\\r\\n\\r\\nGlamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be\\r\\nWhat thou art promis’d. Yet do I fear thy nature;\\r\\nIt is too full o’ th’ milk of human kindness\\r\\nTo catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great;\\r\\nArt not without ambition, but without\\r\\nThe illness should attend it. What thou wouldst highly,\\r\\nThat wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false,\\r\\nAnd yet wouldst wrongly win. Thou’dst have, great Glamis,\\r\\nThat which cries, “Thus thou must do,” if thou have it;\\r\\nAnd that which rather thou dost fear to do,\\r\\nThan wishest should be undone. Hie thee hither,\\r\\nThat I may pour my spirits in thine ear,\\r\\nAnd chastise with the valour of my tongue\\r\\nAll that impedes thee from the golden round,\\r\\nWhich fate and metaphysical aid doth seem\\r\\nTo have thee crown’d withal.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat is your tidings?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThe King comes here tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nThou’rt mad to say it.\\r\\nIs not thy master with him? who, were’t so,\\r\\nWould have inform’d for preparation.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nSo please you, it is true. Our thane is coming.\\r\\nOne of my fellows had the speed of him,\\r\\nWho, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more\\r\\nThan would make up his message.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nGive him tending.\\r\\nHe brings great news.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Messenger._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe raven himself is hoarse\\r\\nThat croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan\\r\\nUnder my battlements. Come, you spirits\\r\\nThat tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,\\r\\nAnd fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full\\r\\nOf direst cruelty! make thick my blood,\\r\\nStop up th’ access and passage to remorse,\\r\\nThat no compunctious visitings of nature\\r\\nShake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between\\r\\nTh’ effect and it! Come to my woman’s breasts,\\r\\nAnd take my milk for gall, your murd’ring ministers,\\r\\nWherever in your sightless substances\\r\\nYou wait on nature’s mischief! Come, thick night,\\r\\nAnd pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell\\r\\nThat my keen knife see not the wound it makes,\\r\\nNor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark\\r\\nTo cry, “Hold, hold!”\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nGreat Glamis, worthy Cawdor!\\r\\nGreater than both, by the all-hail hereafter!\\r\\nThy letters have transported me beyond\\r\\nThis ignorant present, and I feel now\\r\\nThe future in the instant.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nMy dearest love,\\r\\nDuncan comes here tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nAnd when goes hence?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nTomorrow, as he purposes.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nO, never\\r\\nShall sun that morrow see!\\r\\nYour face, my thane, is as a book where men\\r\\nMay read strange matters. To beguile the time,\\r\\nLook like the time; bear welcome in your eye,\\r\\nYour hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower,\\r\\nBut be the serpent under’t. He that’s coming\\r\\nMust be provided for; and you shall put\\r\\nThis night’s great business into my dispatch;\\r\\nWhich shall to all our nights and days to come\\r\\nGive solely sovereign sway and masterdom.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWe will speak further.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nOnly look up clear;\\r\\nTo alter favour ever is to fear.\\r\\nLeave all the rest to me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. The same. Before the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Hautboys. Servants of Macbeth attending.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Banquo, Lennox, Macduff, Ross, Angus\\r\\n and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nThis castle hath a pleasant seat. The air\\r\\nNimbly and sweetly recommends itself\\r\\nUnto our gentle senses.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nThis guest of summer,\\r\\nThe temple-haunting martlet, does approve,\\r\\nBy his loved mansionry, that the heaven’s breath\\r\\nSmells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze,\\r\\nButtress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird\\r\\nhath made his pendant bed and procreant cradle.\\r\\nWhere they most breed and haunt, I have observ’d\\r\\nThe air is delicate.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nSee, see, our honour’d hostess!—\\r\\nThe love that follows us sometime is our trouble,\\r\\nWhich still we thank as love. Herein I teach you\\r\\nHow you shall bid God ’ild us for your pains,\\r\\nAnd thank us for your trouble.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nAll our service,\\r\\nIn every point twice done, and then done double,\\r\\nWere poor and single business to contend\\r\\nAgainst those honours deep and broad wherewith\\r\\nYour Majesty loads our house: for those of old,\\r\\nAnd the late dignities heap’d up to them,\\r\\nWe rest your hermits.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nWhere’s the Thane of Cawdor?\\r\\nWe cours’d him at the heels, and had a purpose\\r\\nTo be his purveyor: but he rides well;\\r\\nAnd his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him\\r\\nTo his home before us. Fair and noble hostess,\\r\\nWe are your guest tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nYour servants ever\\r\\nHave theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, in compt,\\r\\nTo make their audit at your Highness’ pleasure,\\r\\nStill to return your own.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUNCAN.\\r\\nGive me your hand;\\r\\nConduct me to mine host: we love him highly,\\r\\nAnd shall continue our graces towards him.\\r\\nBy your leave, hostess.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. The same. A Lobby in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Hautboys and torches. Enter, and pass over, a Sewer and divers\\r\\n Servants with dishes and service. Then enter Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nIf it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well\\r\\nIt were done quickly. If th’ assassination\\r\\nCould trammel up the consequence, and catch\\r\\nWith his surcease success; that but this blow\\r\\nMight be the be-all and the end-all—here,\\r\\nBut here, upon this bank and shoal of time,\\r\\nWe’d jump the life to come. But in these cases\\r\\nWe still have judgement here; that we but teach\\r\\nBloody instructions, which being taught, return\\r\\nTo plague th’ inventor. This even-handed justice\\r\\nCommends th’ ingredience of our poison’d chalice\\r\\nTo our own lips. He’s here in double trust:\\r\\nFirst, as I am his kinsman and his subject,\\r\\nStrong both against the deed; then, as his host,\\r\\nWho should against his murderer shut the door,\\r\\nNot bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan\\r\\nHath borne his faculties so meek, hath been\\r\\nSo clear in his great office, that his virtues\\r\\nWill plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against\\r\\nThe deep damnation of his taking-off;\\r\\nAnd pity, like a naked new-born babe,\\r\\nStriding the blast, or heaven’s cherubin, hors’d\\r\\nUpon the sightless couriers of the air,\\r\\nShall blow the horrid deed in every eye,\\r\\nThat tears shall drown the wind.—I have no spur\\r\\nTo prick the sides of my intent, but only\\r\\nVaulting ambition, which o’erleaps itself\\r\\nAnd falls on th’ other—\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now! what news?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nHe has almost supp’d. Why have you left the chamber?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nHath he ask’d for me?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nKnow you not he has?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWe will proceed no further in this business:\\r\\nHe hath honour’d me of late; and I have bought\\r\\nGolden opinions from all sorts of people,\\r\\nWhich would be worn now in their newest gloss,\\r\\nNot cast aside so soon.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nWas the hope drunk\\r\\nWherein you dress’d yourself? Hath it slept since?\\r\\nAnd wakes it now, to look so green and pale\\r\\nAt what it did so freely? From this time\\r\\nSuch I account thy love. Art thou afeard\\r\\nTo be the same in thine own act and valour\\r\\nAs thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that\\r\\nWhich thou esteem’st the ornament of life,\\r\\nAnd live a coward in thine own esteem,\\r\\nLetting “I dare not” wait upon “I would,”\\r\\nLike the poor cat i’ th’ adage?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nPr’ythee, peace!\\r\\nI dare do all that may become a man;\\r\\nWho dares do more is none.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nWhat beast was’t, then,\\r\\nThat made you break this enterprise to me?\\r\\nWhen you durst do it, then you were a man;\\r\\nAnd, to be more than what you were, you would\\r\\nBe so much more the man. Nor time nor place\\r\\nDid then adhere, and yet you would make both:\\r\\nThey have made themselves, and that their fitness now\\r\\nDoes unmake you. I have given suck, and know\\r\\nHow tender ’tis to love the babe that milks me:\\r\\nI would, while it was smiling in my face,\\r\\nHave pluck’d my nipple from his boneless gums\\r\\nAnd dash’d the brains out, had I so sworn as you\\r\\nHave done to this.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nIf we should fail?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nWe fail?\\r\\nBut screw your courage to the sticking-place,\\r\\nAnd we’ll not fail. When Duncan is asleep\\r\\n(Whereto the rather shall his day’s hard journey\\r\\nSoundly invite him), his two chamberlains\\r\\nWill I with wine and wassail so convince\\r\\nThat memory, the warder of the brain,\\r\\nShall be a fume, and the receipt of reason\\r\\nA limbeck only: when in swinish sleep\\r\\nTheir drenched natures lie as in a death,\\r\\nWhat cannot you and I perform upon\\r\\nTh’ unguarded Duncan? what not put upon\\r\\nHis spongy officers; who shall bear the guilt\\r\\nOf our great quell?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nBring forth men-children only;\\r\\nFor thy undaunted mettle should compose\\r\\nNothing but males. Will it not be receiv’d,\\r\\nWhen we have mark’d with blood those sleepy two\\r\\nOf his own chamber, and us’d their very daggers,\\r\\nThat they have done’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nWho dares receive it other,\\r\\nAs we shall make our griefs and clamour roar\\r\\nUpon his death?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI am settled, and bend up\\r\\nEach corporal agent to this terrible feat.\\r\\nAway, and mock the time with fairest show:\\r\\nFalse face must hide what the false heart doth know.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Inverness. Court within the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Banquo and Fleance with a torch before him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nHow goes the night, boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLEANCE.\\r\\nThe moon is down; I have not heard the clock.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nAnd she goes down at twelve.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLEANCE.\\r\\nI take’t, ’tis later, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nHold, take my sword.—There’s husbandry in heaven;\\r\\nTheir candles are all out. Take thee that too.\\r\\nA heavy summons lies like lead upon me,\\r\\nAnd yet I would not sleep. Merciful powers,\\r\\nRestrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature\\r\\nGives way to in repose!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macbeth and a Servant with a torch.\\r\\n\\r\\nGive me my sword.—Who’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nA friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nWhat, sir, not yet at rest? The King’s abed:\\r\\nHe hath been in unusual pleasure and\\r\\nSent forth great largess to your offices.\\r\\nThis diamond he greets your wife withal,\\r\\nBy the name of most kind hostess, and shut up\\r\\nIn measureless content.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nBeing unprepar’d,\\r\\nOur will became the servant to defect,\\r\\nWhich else should free have wrought.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nAll’s well.\\r\\nI dreamt last night of the three Weird Sisters:\\r\\nTo you they have show’d some truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI think not of them:\\r\\nYet, when we can entreat an hour to serve,\\r\\nWe would spend it in some words upon that business,\\r\\nIf you would grant the time.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nAt your kind’st leisure.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nIf you shall cleave to my consent, when ’tis,\\r\\nIt shall make honour for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nSo I lose none\\r\\nIn seeking to augment it, but still keep\\r\\nMy bosom franchis’d, and allegiance clear,\\r\\nI shall be counsell’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nGood repose the while!\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nThanks, sir: the like to you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Banquo and Fleance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nGo bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready,\\r\\nShe strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIs this a dagger which I see before me,\\r\\nThe handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee:—\\r\\nI have thee not, and yet I see thee still.\\r\\nArt thou not, fatal vision, sensible\\r\\nTo feeling as to sight? or art thou but\\r\\nA dagger of the mind, a false creation,\\r\\nProceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?\\r\\nI see thee yet, in form as palpable\\r\\nAs this which now I draw.\\r\\nThou marshall’st me the way that I was going;\\r\\nAnd such an instrument I was to use.\\r\\nMine eyes are made the fools o’ the other senses,\\r\\nOr else worth all the rest: I see thee still;\\r\\nAnd on thy blade and dudgeon, gouts of blood,\\r\\nWhich was not so before.—There’s no such thing.\\r\\nIt is the bloody business which informs\\r\\nThus to mine eyes.—Now o’er the one half-world\\r\\nNature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse\\r\\nThe curtain’d sleep. Witchcraft celebrates\\r\\nPale Hecate’s off’rings; and wither’d murder,\\r\\nAlarum’d by his sentinel, the wolf,\\r\\nWhose howl’s his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,\\r\\nWith Tarquin’s ravishing strides, towards his design\\r\\nMoves like a ghost.—Thou sure and firm-set earth,\\r\\nHear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear\\r\\nThy very stones prate of my whereabout,\\r\\nAnd take the present horror from the time,\\r\\nWhich now suits with it.—Whiles I threat, he lives.\\r\\nWords to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A bell rings._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI go, and it is done. The bell invites me.\\r\\nHear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell\\r\\nThat summons thee to heaven or to hell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nThat which hath made them drunk hath made me bold:\\r\\nWhat hath quench’d them hath given me fire.—Hark!—Peace!\\r\\nIt was the owl that shriek’d, the fatal bellman,\\r\\nWhich gives the stern’st good night. He is about it.\\r\\nThe doors are open; and the surfeited grooms\\r\\nDo mock their charge with snores: I have drugg’d their possets,\\r\\nThat death and nature do contend about them,\\r\\nWhether they live or die.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\n[_Within._] Who’s there?—what, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nAlack! I am afraid they have awak’d,\\r\\nAnd ’tis not done. Th’ attempt and not the deed\\r\\nConfounds us.—Hark!—I laid their daggers ready;\\r\\nHe could not miss ’em.—Had he not resembled\\r\\nMy father as he slept, I had done’t.—My husband!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI have done the deed.—Didst thou not hear a noise?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nI heard the owl scream and the crickets cry.\\r\\nDid not you speak?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWhen?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nNow.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nAs I descended?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nAy.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nHark!—Who lies i’ th’ second chamber?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nDonalbain.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThis is a sorry sight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Looking on his hands._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nA foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThere’s one did laugh in’s sleep, and one cried, “Murder!”\\r\\nThat they did wake each other: I stood and heard them.\\r\\nBut they did say their prayers, and address’d them\\r\\nAgain to sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nThere are two lodg’d together.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nOne cried, “God bless us!” and, “Amen,” the other,\\r\\nAs they had seen me with these hangman’s hands.\\r\\nList’ning their fear, I could not say “Amen,”\\r\\nWhen they did say, “God bless us.”\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nConsider it not so deeply.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nBut wherefore could not I pronounce “Amen”?\\r\\nI had most need of blessing, and “Amen”\\r\\nStuck in my throat.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nThese deeds must not be thought\\r\\nAfter these ways; so, it will make us mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nMethought I heard a voice cry, “Sleep no more!\\r\\nMacbeth does murder sleep,”—the innocent sleep;\\r\\nSleep that knits up the ravell’d sleave of care,\\r\\nThe death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath,\\r\\nBalm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,\\r\\nChief nourisher in life’s feast.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nWhat do you mean?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nStill it cried, “Sleep no more!” to all the house:\\r\\n“Glamis hath murder’d sleep, and therefore Cawdor\\r\\nShall sleep no more. Macbeth shall sleep no more!”\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nWho was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane,\\r\\nYou do unbend your noble strength to think\\r\\nSo brainsickly of things. Go get some water,\\r\\nAnd wash this filthy witness from your hand.—\\r\\nWhy did you bring these daggers from the place?\\r\\nThey must lie there: go carry them, and smear\\r\\nThe sleepy grooms with blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI’ll go no more:\\r\\nI am afraid to think what I have done;\\r\\nLook on’t again I dare not.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nInfirm of purpose!\\r\\nGive me the daggers. The sleeping and the dead\\r\\nAre but as pictures. ’Tis the eye of childhood\\r\\nThat fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,\\r\\nI’ll gild the faces of the grooms withal,\\r\\nFor it must seem their guilt.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit. Knocking within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWhence is that knocking?\\r\\nHow is’t with me, when every noise appals me?\\r\\nWhat hands are here? Ha, they pluck out mine eyes!\\r\\nWill all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood\\r\\nClean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather\\r\\nThe multitudinous seas incarnadine,\\r\\nMaking the green one red.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nMy hands are of your color, but I shame\\r\\nTo wear a heart so white. [_Knocking within._] I hear knocking\\r\\nAt the south entry:—retire we to our chamber.\\r\\nA little water clears us of this deed:\\r\\nHow easy is it then! Your constancy\\r\\nHath left you unattended.—[_Knocking within._] Hark, more knocking.\\r\\nGet on your nightgown, lest occasion call us\\r\\nAnd show us to be watchers. Be not lost\\r\\nSo poorly in your thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nTo know my deed, ’twere best not know myself. [_Knocking within._]\\r\\nWake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Porter. Knocking within.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTER.\\r\\nHere’s a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of hell gate, he should\\r\\nhave old turning the key. [_Knocking._] Knock, knock, knock. Who’s\\r\\nthere, i’ th’ name of Belzebub? Here’s a farmer that hanged himself on\\r\\nthe expectation of plenty: come in time; have napkins enow about you;\\r\\nhere you’ll sweat for’t. [_Knocking._] Knock, knock! Who’s there, i’\\r\\nth’ other devil’s name? Faith, here’s an equivocator, that could swear\\r\\nin both the scales against either scale, who committed treason enough\\r\\nfor God’s sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven: O, come in,\\r\\nequivocator. [_Knocking._] Knock, knock, knock! Who’s there? Faith,\\r\\nhere’s an English tailor come hither, for stealing out of a French\\r\\nhose: come in, tailor; here you may roast your goose. [_Knocking._]\\r\\nKnock, knock. Never at quiet! What are you?—But this place is too cold\\r\\nfor hell. I’ll devil-porter it no further: I had thought to have let in\\r\\nsome of all professions, that go the primrose way to th’ everlasting\\r\\nbonfire. [_Knocking._] Anon, anon! I pray you, remember the porter.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Opens the gate._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macduff and Lennox.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nWas it so late, friend, ere you went to bed,\\r\\nThat you do lie so late?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTER.\\r\\nFaith, sir, we were carousing till the second cock; and drink, sir, is\\r\\na great provoker of three things.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nWhat three things does drink especially provoke?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTER.\\r\\nMarry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes\\r\\nand unprovokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes away the\\r\\nperformance. Therefore much drink may be said to be an equivocator with\\r\\nlechery: it makes him, and it mars him; it sets him on, and it takes\\r\\nhim off; it persuades him, and disheartens him; makes him stand to, and\\r\\nnot stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and giving him\\r\\nthe lie, leaves him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nI believe drink gave thee the lie last night.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTER.\\r\\nThat it did, sir, i’ the very throat on me; but I requited him for his\\r\\nlie; and (I think) being too strong for him, though he took up my legs\\r\\nsometime, yet I made a shift to cast him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nIs thy master stirring?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nOur knocking has awak’d him; here he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nGood morrow, noble sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nGood morrow, both!\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nIs the King stirring, worthy thane?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nNot yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nHe did command me to call timely on him.\\r\\nI have almost slipp’d the hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI’ll bring you to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nI know this is a joyful trouble to you;\\r\\nBut yet ’tis one.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThe labour we delight in physics pain.\\r\\nThis is the door.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nI’ll make so bold to call.\\r\\nFor ’tis my limited service.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Macduff._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nGoes the King hence today?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nHe does. He did appoint so.\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nThe night has been unruly: where we lay,\\r\\nOur chimneys were blown down and, as they say,\\r\\nLamentings heard i’ th’ air, strange screams of death,\\r\\nAnd prophesying, with accents terrible,\\r\\nOf dire combustion and confus’d events,\\r\\nNew hatch’d to the woeful time. The obscure bird\\r\\nClamour’d the live-long night. Some say the earth\\r\\nWas feverous, and did shake.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\n’Twas a rough night.\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nMy young remembrance cannot parallel\\r\\nA fellow to it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macduff.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nO horror, horror, horror!\\r\\nTongue nor heart cannot conceive nor name thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH, LENNOX.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nConfusion now hath made his masterpiece!\\r\\nMost sacrilegious murder hath broke ope\\r\\nThe Lord’s anointed temple, and stole thence\\r\\nThe life o’ th’ building.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWhat is’t you say? the life?\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nMean you his majesty?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nApproach the chamber, and destroy your sight\\r\\nWith a new Gorgon. Do not bid me speak.\\r\\nSee, and then speak yourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Macbeth and Lennox._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAwake, awake!—\\r\\nRing the alarum bell.—Murder and treason!\\r\\nBanquo and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake!\\r\\nShake off this downy sleep, death’s counterfeit,\\r\\nAnd look on death itself! Up, up, and see\\r\\nThe great doom’s image. Malcolm! Banquo!\\r\\nAs from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites\\r\\nTo countenance this horror!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alarum-bell rings._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nWhat’s the business,\\r\\nThat such a hideous trumpet calls to parley\\r\\nThe sleepers of the house? Speak, speak!\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nO gentle lady,\\r\\n’Tis not for you to hear what I can speak:\\r\\nThe repetition, in a woman’s ear,\\r\\nWould murder as it fell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Banquo.\\r\\n\\r\\nO Banquo, Banquo!\\r\\nOur royal master’s murder’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nWoe, alas!\\r\\nWhat, in our house?\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nToo cruel anywhere.—\\r\\nDear Duff, I pr’ythee, contradict thyself,\\r\\nAnd say it is not so.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macbeth and Lennox with Ross.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nHad I but died an hour before this chance,\\r\\nI had liv’d a blessed time; for, from this instant\\r\\nThere’s nothing serious in mortality.\\r\\nAll is but toys: renown and grace is dead;\\r\\nThe wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees\\r\\nIs left this vault to brag of.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malcolm and Donalbain.\\r\\n\\r\\nDONALBAIN.\\r\\nWhat is amiss?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nYou are, and do not know’t:\\r\\nThe spring, the head, the fountain of your blood\\r\\nIs stopp’d; the very source of it is stopp’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nYour royal father’s murder’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nO, by whom?\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nThose of his chamber, as it seem’d, had done’t:\\r\\nTheir hands and faces were all badg’d with blood;\\r\\nSo were their daggers, which, unwip’d, we found\\r\\nUpon their pillows. They star’d, and were distracted;\\r\\nNo man’s life was to be trusted with them.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nO, yet I do repent me of my fury,\\r\\nThat I did kill them.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nWherefore did you so?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWho can be wise, amaz’d, temperate, and furious,\\r\\nLoyal and neutral, in a moment? No man:\\r\\nTh’ expedition of my violent love\\r\\nOutrun the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan,\\r\\nHis silver skin lac’d with his golden blood;\\r\\nAnd his gash’d stabs look’d like a breach in nature\\r\\nFor ruin’s wasteful entrance: there, the murderers,\\r\\nSteep’d in the colours of their trade, their daggers\\r\\nUnmannerly breech’d with gore. Who could refrain,\\r\\nThat had a heart to love, and in that heart\\r\\nCourage to make’s love known?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nHelp me hence, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nLook to the lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nWhy do we hold our tongues,\\r\\nThat most may claim this argument for ours?\\r\\n\\r\\nDONALBAIN.\\r\\nWhat should be spoken here, where our fate,\\r\\nHid in an auger hole, may rush, and seize us?\\r\\nLet’s away. Our tears are not yet brew’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nNor our strong sorrow\\r\\nUpon the foot of motion.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nLook to the lady:—\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Lady Macbeth is carried out._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd when we have our naked frailties hid,\\r\\nThat suffer in exposure, let us meet,\\r\\nAnd question this most bloody piece of work\\r\\nTo know it further. Fears and scruples shake us:\\r\\nIn the great hand of God I stand; and thence\\r\\nAgainst the undivulg’d pretence I fight\\r\\nOf treasonous malice.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nAnd so do I.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nSo all.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nLet’s briefly put on manly readiness,\\r\\nAnd meet i’ th’ hall together.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nWell contented.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Malcolm and Donalbain._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nWhat will you do? Let’s not consort with them:\\r\\nTo show an unfelt sorrow is an office\\r\\nWhich the false man does easy. I’ll to England.\\r\\n\\r\\nDONALBAIN.\\r\\nTo Ireland, I. Our separated fortune\\r\\nShall keep us both the safer. Where we are,\\r\\nThere’s daggers in men’s smiles: the near in blood,\\r\\nThe nearer bloody.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nThis murderous shaft that’s shot\\r\\nHath not yet lighted; and our safest way\\r\\nIs to avoid the aim. Therefore to horse;\\r\\nAnd let us not be dainty of leave-taking,\\r\\nBut shift away. There’s warrant in that theft\\r\\nWhich steals itself, when there’s no mercy left.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The same. Without the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ross and an Old Man.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\nThreescore and ten I can remember well,\\r\\nWithin the volume of which time I have seen\\r\\nHours dreadful and things strange, but this sore night\\r\\nHath trifled former knowings.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nHa, good father,\\r\\nThou seest the heavens, as troubled with man’s act,\\r\\nThreatens his bloody stage: by the clock ’tis day,\\r\\nAnd yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp.\\r\\nIs’t night’s predominance, or the day’s shame,\\r\\nThat darkness does the face of earth entomb,\\r\\nWhen living light should kiss it?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\n’Tis unnatural,\\r\\nEven like the deed that’s done. On Tuesday last,\\r\\nA falcon, towering in her pride of place,\\r\\nWas by a mousing owl hawk’d at and kill’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nAnd Duncan’s horses (a thing most strange and certain)\\r\\nBeauteous and swift, the minions of their race,\\r\\nTurn’d wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out,\\r\\nContending ’gainst obedience, as they would make\\r\\nWar with mankind.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\n’Tis said they eat each other.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nThey did so; to the amazement of mine eyes,\\r\\nThat look’d upon’t.\\r\\nHere comes the good Macduff.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macduff.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow goes the world, sir, now?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nWhy, see you not?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nIs’t known who did this more than bloody deed?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nThose that Macbeth hath slain.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nAlas, the day!\\r\\nWhat good could they pretend?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nThey were suborn’d.\\r\\nMalcolm and Donalbain, the King’s two sons,\\r\\nAre stol’n away and fled; which puts upon them\\r\\nSuspicion of the deed.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\n’Gainst nature still:\\r\\nThriftless ambition, that will ravin up\\r\\nThine own life’s means!—Then ’tis most like\\r\\nThe sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nHe is already nam’d; and gone to Scone\\r\\nTo be invested.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nWhere is Duncan’s body?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nCarried to Colmekill,\\r\\nThe sacred storehouse of his predecessors,\\r\\nAnd guardian of their bones.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nWill you to Scone?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nNo, cousin, I’ll to Fife.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nWell, I will thither.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nWell, may you see things well done there. Adieu!\\r\\nLest our old robes sit easier than our new!\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nFarewell, father.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLD MAN.\\r\\nGod’s benison go with you; and with those\\r\\nThat would make good of bad, and friends of foes!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Forres. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Banquo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nThou hast it now, King, Cawdor, Glamis, all,\\r\\nAs the Weird Women promis’d; and, I fear,\\r\\nThou play’dst most foully for’t; yet it was said\\r\\nIt should not stand in thy posterity;\\r\\nBut that myself should be the root and father\\r\\nOf many kings. If there come truth from them\\r\\n(As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine)\\r\\nWhy, by the verities on thee made good,\\r\\nMay they not be my oracles as well,\\r\\nAnd set me up in hope? But hush; no more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sennet sounded. Enter Macbeth as King, Lady Macbeth as Queen; Lennox,\\r\\n Ross, Lords, and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nHere’s our chief guest.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nIf he had been forgotten,\\r\\nIt had been as a gap in our great feast,\\r\\nAnd all-thing unbecoming.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nTonight we hold a solemn supper, sir,\\r\\nAnd I’ll request your presence.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nLet your Highness\\r\\nCommand upon me, to the which my duties\\r\\nAre with a most indissoluble tie\\r\\nFor ever knit.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nRide you this afternoon?\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nAy, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWe should have else desir’d your good advice\\r\\n(Which still hath been both grave and prosperous)\\r\\nIn this day’s council; but we’ll take tomorrow.\\r\\nIs’t far you ride?\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nAs far, my lord, as will fill up the time\\r\\n’Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better,\\r\\nI must become a borrower of the night,\\r\\nFor a dark hour or twain.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nFail not our feast.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nMy lord, I will not.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWe hear our bloody cousins are bestow’d\\r\\nIn England and in Ireland; not confessing\\r\\nTheir cruel parricide, filling their hearers\\r\\nWith strange invention. But of that tomorrow,\\r\\nWhen therewithal we shall have cause of state\\r\\nCraving us jointly. Hie you to horse: adieu,\\r\\nTill you return at night. Goes Fleance with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nAy, my good lord: our time does call upon’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI wish your horses swift and sure of foot;\\r\\nAnd so I do commend you to their backs.\\r\\nFarewell.—\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Banquo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLet every man be master of his time\\r\\nTill seven at night; to make society\\r\\nThe sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself\\r\\nTill supper time alone: while then, God be with you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lady Macbeth, Lords, &c._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSirrah, a word with you. Attend those men\\r\\nOur pleasure?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThey are, my lord, without the palace gate.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nBring them before us.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTo be thus is nothing,\\r\\nBut to be safely thus. Our fears in Banquo\\r\\nStick deep, and in his royalty of nature\\r\\nReigns that which would be fear’d: ’tis much he dares;\\r\\nAnd, to that dauntless temper of his mind,\\r\\nHe hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour\\r\\nTo act in safety. There is none but he\\r\\nWhose being I do fear: and under him\\r\\nMy genius is rebuk’d; as, it is said,\\r\\nMark Antony’s was by Caesar. He chid the sisters\\r\\nWhen first they put the name of king upon me,\\r\\nAnd bade them speak to him; then, prophet-like,\\r\\nThey hail’d him father to a line of kings:\\r\\nUpon my head they plac’d a fruitless crown,\\r\\nAnd put a barren sceptre in my gripe,\\r\\nThence to be wrench’d with an unlineal hand,\\r\\nNo son of mine succeeding. If’t be so,\\r\\nFor Banquo’s issue have I fil’d my mind;\\r\\nFor them the gracious Duncan have I murder’d;\\r\\nPut rancours in the vessel of my peace\\r\\nOnly for them; and mine eternal jewel\\r\\nGiven to the common enemy of man,\\r\\nTo make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings!\\r\\nRather than so, come, fate, into the list,\\r\\nAnd champion me to th’ utterance!—Who’s there?—\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Servant with two Murderers.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow go to the door, and stay there till we call.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWas it not yesterday we spoke together?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nIt was, so please your Highness.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWell then, now\\r\\nHave you consider’d of my speeches? Know\\r\\nThat it was he, in the times past, which held you\\r\\nSo under fortune, which you thought had been\\r\\nOur innocent self? This I made good to you\\r\\nIn our last conference, pass’d in probation with you\\r\\nHow you were borne in hand, how cross’d, the instruments,\\r\\nWho wrought with them, and all things else that might\\r\\nTo half a soul and to a notion craz’d\\r\\nSay, “Thus did Banquo.”\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nYou made it known to us.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI did so; and went further, which is now\\r\\nOur point of second meeting. Do you find\\r\\nYour patience so predominant in your nature,\\r\\nThat you can let this go? Are you so gospell’d,\\r\\nTo pray for this good man and for his issue,\\r\\nWhose heavy hand hath bow’d you to the grave,\\r\\nAnd beggar’d yours forever?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nWe are men, my liege.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nAy, in the catalogue ye go for men;\\r\\nAs hounds, and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs,\\r\\nShoughs, water-rugs, and demi-wolves are clept\\r\\nAll by the name of dogs: the valu’d file\\r\\nDistinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle,\\r\\nThe housekeeper, the hunter, every one\\r\\nAccording to the gift which bounteous nature\\r\\nHath in him clos’d; whereby he does receive\\r\\nParticular addition, from the bill\\r\\nThat writes them all alike: and so of men.\\r\\nNow, if you have a station in the file,\\r\\nNot i’ th’ worst rank of manhood, say’t;\\r\\nAnd I will put that business in your bosoms,\\r\\nWhose execution takes your enemy off,\\r\\nGrapples you to the heart and love of us,\\r\\nWho wear our health but sickly in his life,\\r\\nWhich in his death were perfect.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MURDERER.\\r\\nI am one, my liege,\\r\\nWhom the vile blows and buffets of the world\\r\\nHath so incens’d that I am reckless what\\r\\nI do to spite the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nAnd I another,\\r\\nSo weary with disasters, tugg’d with fortune,\\r\\nThat I would set my life on any chance,\\r\\nTo mend it or be rid on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nBoth of you\\r\\nKnow Banquo was your enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTH MURDERERS.\\r\\nTrue, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nSo is he mine; and in such bloody distance,\\r\\nThat every minute of his being thrusts\\r\\nAgainst my near’st of life; and though I could\\r\\nWith barefac’d power sweep him from my sight,\\r\\nAnd bid my will avouch it, yet I must not,\\r\\nFor certain friends that are both his and mine,\\r\\nWhose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall\\r\\nWho I myself struck down: and thence it is\\r\\nThat I to your assistance do make love,\\r\\nMasking the business from the common eye\\r\\nFor sundry weighty reasons.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MURDERER.\\r\\nWe shall, my lord,\\r\\nPerform what you command us.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nThough our lives—\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nYour spirits shine through you. Within this hour at most,\\r\\nI will advise you where to plant yourselves,\\r\\nAcquaint you with the perfect spy o’ th’ time,\\r\\nThe moment on’t; for’t must be done tonight\\r\\nAnd something from the palace; always thought\\r\\nThat I require a clearness. And with him\\r\\n(To leave no rubs nor botches in the work)\\r\\nFleance his son, that keeps him company,\\r\\nWhose absence is no less material to me\\r\\nThan is his father’s, must embrace the fate\\r\\nOf that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart.\\r\\nI’ll come to you anon.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTH MURDERERS.\\r\\nWe are resolv’d, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI’ll call upon you straight: abide within.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Murderers._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIt is concluded. Banquo, thy soul’s flight,\\r\\nIf it find heaven, must find it out tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. Another Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Macbeth and a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nIs Banquo gone from court?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nAy, madam, but returns again tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nSay to the King, I would attend his leisure\\r\\nFor a few words.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMadam, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nNaught’s had, all’s spent,\\r\\nWhere our desire is got without content:\\r\\n’Tis safer to be that which we destroy,\\r\\nThan by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, my lord, why do you keep alone,\\r\\nOf sorriest fancies your companions making,\\r\\nUsing those thoughts which should indeed have died\\r\\nWith them they think on? Things without all remedy\\r\\nShould be without regard: what’s done is done.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWe have scorch’d the snake, not kill’d it.\\r\\nShe’ll close, and be herself; whilst our poor malice\\r\\nRemains in danger of her former tooth.\\r\\nBut let the frame of things disjoint,\\r\\nBoth the worlds suffer,\\r\\nEre we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep\\r\\nIn the affliction of these terrible dreams\\r\\nThat shake us nightly. Better be with the dead,\\r\\nWhom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace,\\r\\nThan on the torture of the mind to lie\\r\\nIn restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave;\\r\\nAfter life’s fitful fever he sleeps well;\\r\\nTreason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison,\\r\\nMalice domestic, foreign levy, nothing\\r\\nCan touch him further.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nCome on,\\r\\nGently my lord, sleek o’er your rugged looks;\\r\\nBe bright and jovial among your guests tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nSo shall I, love; and so, I pray, be you.\\r\\nLet your remembrance apply to Banquo;\\r\\nPresent him eminence, both with eye and tongue:\\r\\nUnsafe the while, that we\\r\\nMust lave our honours in these flattering streams,\\r\\nAnd make our faces vizards to our hearts,\\r\\nDisguising what they are.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nYou must leave this.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nO, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!\\r\\nThou know’st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nBut in them nature’s copy’s not eterne.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThere’s comfort yet; they are assailable.\\r\\nThen be thou jocund. Ere the bat hath flown\\r\\nHis cloister’d flight, ere to black Hecate’s summons\\r\\nThe shard-born beetle, with his drowsy hums,\\r\\nHath rung night’s yawning peal, there shall be done\\r\\nA deed of dreadful note.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nWhat’s to be done?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nBe innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck,\\r\\nTill thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night,\\r\\nScarf up the tender eye of pitiful day,\\r\\nAnd with thy bloody and invisible hand\\r\\nCancel and tear to pieces that great bond\\r\\nWhich keeps me pale!—Light thickens; and the crow\\r\\nMakes wing to th’ rooky wood.\\r\\nGood things of day begin to droop and drowse,\\r\\nWhiles night’s black agents to their preys do rouse.\\r\\nThou marvell’st at my words: but hold thee still;\\r\\nThings bad begun make strong themselves by ill.\\r\\nSo, pr’ythee, go with me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A Park or Lawn, with a gate leading to the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter three Murderers.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nBut who did bid thee join with us?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD MURDERER.\\r\\nMacbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MURDERER.\\r\\nHe needs not our mistrust; since he delivers\\r\\nOur offices and what we have to do\\r\\nTo the direction just.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nThen stand with us.\\r\\nThe west yet glimmers with some streaks of day.\\r\\nNow spurs the lated traveller apace,\\r\\nTo gain the timely inn; and near approaches\\r\\nThe subject of our watch.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD MURDERER.\\r\\nHark! I hear horses.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\n[_Within._] Give us a light there, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MURDERER.\\r\\nThen ’tis he; the rest\\r\\nThat are within the note of expectation\\r\\nAlready are i’ th’ court.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nHis horses go about.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD MURDERER.\\r\\nAlmost a mile; but he does usually,\\r\\nSo all men do, from hence to the palace gate\\r\\nMake it their walk.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Banquo and Fleance with a torch.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MURDERER.\\r\\nA light, a light!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD MURDERER.\\r\\n’Tis he.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nStand to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nIt will be rain tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nLet it come down.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Assaults Banquo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBANQUO.\\r\\nO, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly!\\r\\nThou mayst revenge—O slave!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies. Fleance escapes._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD MURDERER.\\r\\nWho did strike out the light?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nWas’t not the way?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD MURDERER.\\r\\nThere’s but one down: the son is fled.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MURDERER.\\r\\nWe have lost best half of our affair.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nWell, let’s away, and say how much is done.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The same. A Room of state in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n A banquet prepared. Enter Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Ross, Lennox, Lords\\r\\n and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nYou know your own degrees, sit down. At first\\r\\nAnd last the hearty welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORDS.\\r\\nThanks to your Majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nOurself will mingle with society,\\r\\nAnd play the humble host.\\r\\nOur hostess keeps her state; but, in best time,\\r\\nWe will require her welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nPronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends;\\r\\nFor my heart speaks they are welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter first Murderer to the door.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nSee, they encounter thee with their hearts’ thanks.\\r\\nBoth sides are even: here I’ll sit i’ th’ midst.\\r\\n\\r\\nBe large in mirth; anon we’ll drink a measure\\r\\nThe table round. There’s blood upon thy face.\\r\\n\\r\\nMURDERER.\\r\\n’Tis Banquo’s then.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\n’Tis better thee without than he within.\\r\\nIs he dispatch’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nMURDERER.\\r\\nMy lord, his throat is cut. That I did for him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThou art the best o’ th’ cut-throats;\\r\\nYet he’s good that did the like for Fleance:\\r\\nIf thou didst it, thou art the nonpareil.\\r\\n\\r\\nMURDERER.\\r\\nMost royal sir,\\r\\nFleance is ’scap’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThen comes my fit again: I had else been perfect;\\r\\nWhole as the marble, founded as the rock,\\r\\nAs broad and general as the casing air:\\r\\nBut now I am cabin’d, cribb’d, confin’d, bound in\\r\\nTo saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo’s safe?\\r\\n\\r\\nMURDERER.\\r\\nAy, my good lord. Safe in a ditch he bides,\\r\\nWith twenty trenched gashes on his head;\\r\\nThe least a death to nature.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThanks for that.\\r\\nThere the grown serpent lies; the worm that’s fled\\r\\nHath nature that in time will venom breed,\\r\\nNo teeth for th’ present.—Get thee gone; tomorrow\\r\\nWe’ll hear, ourselves, again.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Murderer._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nMy royal lord,\\r\\nYou do not give the cheer: the feast is sold\\r\\nThat is not often vouch’d, while ’tis a-making,\\r\\n’Tis given with welcome. To feed were best at home;\\r\\nFrom thence the sauce to meat is ceremony;\\r\\nMeeting were bare without it.\\r\\n\\r\\n The Ghost of Banquo rises, and sits in Macbeth’s place.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nSweet remembrancer!—\\r\\nNow, good digestion wait on appetite,\\r\\nAnd health on both!\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nMay’t please your Highness sit.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nHere had we now our country’s honour roof’d,\\r\\nWere the grac’d person of our Banquo present;\\r\\nWho may I rather challenge for unkindness\\r\\nThan pity for mischance!\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nHis absence, sir,\\r\\nLays blame upon his promise. Please’t your Highness\\r\\nTo grace us with your royal company?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThe table’s full.\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nHere is a place reserv’d, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWhere?\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nHere, my good lord. What is’t that moves your Highness?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWhich of you have done this?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORDS.\\r\\nWhat, my good lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThou canst not say I did it. Never shake\\r\\nThy gory locks at me.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nGentlemen, rise; his Highness is not well.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nSit, worthy friends. My lord is often thus,\\r\\nAnd hath been from his youth: pray you, keep seat;\\r\\nThe fit is momentary; upon a thought\\r\\nHe will again be well. If much you note him,\\r\\nYou shall offend him, and extend his passion.\\r\\nFeed, and regard him not.—Are you a man?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nAy, and a bold one, that dare look on that\\r\\nWhich might appal the devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nO proper stuff!\\r\\nThis is the very painting of your fear:\\r\\nThis is the air-drawn dagger which you said,\\r\\nLed you to Duncan. O, these flaws, and starts\\r\\n(Impostors to true fear), would well become\\r\\nA woman’s story at a winter’s fire,\\r\\nAuthoris’d by her grandam. Shame itself!\\r\\nWhy do you make such faces? When all’s done,\\r\\nYou look but on a stool.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nPr’ythee, see there!\\r\\nBehold! look! lo! how say you?\\r\\nWhy, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too.—\\r\\nIf charnel houses and our graves must send\\r\\nThose that we bury back, our monuments\\r\\nShall be the maws of kites.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Ghost disappears._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nWhat, quite unmann’d in folly?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nIf I stand here, I saw him.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nFie, for shame!\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nBlood hath been shed ere now, i’ th’ olden time,\\r\\nEre humane statute purg’d the gentle weal;\\r\\nAy, and since too, murders have been perform’d\\r\\nToo terrible for the ear: the time has been,\\r\\nThat, when the brains were out, the man would die,\\r\\nAnd there an end; but now they rise again,\\r\\nWith twenty mortal murders on their crowns,\\r\\nAnd push us from our stools. This is more strange\\r\\nThan such a murder is.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nMy worthy lord,\\r\\nYour noble friends do lack you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI do forget.—\\r\\nDo not muse at me, my most worthy friends.\\r\\nI have a strange infirmity, which is nothing\\r\\nTo those that know me. Come, love and health to all;\\r\\nThen I’ll sit down.—Give me some wine, fill full.—\\r\\nI drink to the general joy o’ th’ whole table,\\r\\nAnd to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss:\\r\\nWould he were here.\\r\\n\\r\\n Ghost rises again.\\r\\n\\r\\nTo all, and him, we thirst,\\r\\nAnd all to all.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORDS.\\r\\nOur duties, and the pledge.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nAvaunt! and quit my sight! let the earth hide thee!\\r\\nThy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;\\r\\nThou hast no speculation in those eyes\\r\\nWhich thou dost glare with!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nThink of this, good peers,\\r\\nBut as a thing of custom: ’tis no other,\\r\\nOnly it spoils the pleasure of the time.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWhat man dare, I dare:\\r\\nApproach thou like the rugged Russian bear,\\r\\nThe arm’d rhinoceros, or th’ Hyrcan tiger;\\r\\nTake any shape but that, and my firm nerves\\r\\nShall never tremble: or be alive again,\\r\\nAnd dare me to the desert with thy sword;\\r\\nIf trembling I inhabit then, protest me\\r\\nThe baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow!\\r\\nUnreal mock’ry, hence!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Ghost disappears._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhy, so;—being gone,\\r\\nI am a man again.—Pray you, sit still.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nYou have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting\\r\\nWith most admir’d disorder.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nCan such things be,\\r\\nAnd overcome us like a summer’s cloud,\\r\\nWithout our special wonder? You make me strange\\r\\nEven to the disposition that I owe,\\r\\nWhen now I think you can behold such sights,\\r\\nAnd keep the natural ruby of your cheeks,\\r\\nWhen mine are blanch’d with fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nWhat sights, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nI pray you, speak not; he grows worse and worse;\\r\\nQuestion enrages him. At once, good night:—\\r\\nStand not upon the order of your going,\\r\\nBut go at once.\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nGood night; and better health\\r\\nAttend his Majesty!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nA kind good night to all!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all Lords and Atendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nIt will have blood, they say, blood will have blood.\\r\\nStones have been known to move, and trees to speak;\\r\\nAugurs, and understood relations, have\\r\\nBy magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought forth\\r\\nThe secret’st man of blood.—What is the night?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nAlmost at odds with morning, which is which.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nHow say’st thou, that Macduff denies his person\\r\\nAt our great bidding?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nDid you send to him, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI hear it by the way; but I will send.\\r\\nThere’s not a one of them but in his house\\r\\nI keep a servant fee’d. I will tomorrow\\r\\n(And betimes I will) to the Weird Sisters:\\r\\nMore shall they speak; for now I am bent to know,\\r\\nBy the worst means, the worst. For mine own good,\\r\\nAll causes shall give way: I am in blood\\r\\nStepp’d in so far that, should I wade no more,\\r\\nReturning were as tedious as go o’er.\\r\\nStrange things I have in head, that will to hand,\\r\\nWhich must be acted ere they may be scann’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nYou lack the season of all natures, sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nCome, we’ll to sleep. My strange and self-abuse\\r\\nIs the initiate fear that wants hard use.\\r\\nWe are yet but young in deed.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. The heath.\\r\\n\\r\\n Thunder. Enter the three Witches meeting Hecate.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nWhy, how now, Hecate? you look angerly.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECATE.\\r\\nHave I not reason, beldams as you are,\\r\\nSaucy and overbold? How did you dare\\r\\nTo trade and traffic with Macbeth\\r\\nIn riddles and affairs of death;\\r\\nAnd I, the mistress of your charms,\\r\\nThe close contriver of all harms,\\r\\nWas never call’d to bear my part,\\r\\nOr show the glory of our art?\\r\\nAnd, which is worse, all you have done\\r\\nHath been but for a wayward son,\\r\\nSpiteful and wrathful; who, as others do,\\r\\nLoves for his own ends, not for you.\\r\\nBut make amends now: get you gone,\\r\\nAnd at the pit of Acheron\\r\\nMeet me i’ th’ morning: thither he\\r\\nWill come to know his destiny.\\r\\nYour vessels and your spells provide,\\r\\nYour charms, and everything beside.\\r\\nI am for th’ air; this night I’ll spend\\r\\nUnto a dismal and a fatal end.\\r\\nGreat business must be wrought ere noon.\\r\\nUpon the corner of the moon\\r\\nThere hangs a vap’rous drop profound;\\r\\nI’ll catch it ere it come to ground:\\r\\nAnd that, distill’d by magic sleights,\\r\\nShall raise such artificial sprites,\\r\\nAs, by the strength of their illusion,\\r\\nShall draw him on to his confusion.\\r\\nHe shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear\\r\\nHis hopes ’bove wisdom, grace, and fear.\\r\\nAnd you all know, security\\r\\nIs mortals’ chiefest enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music and song within, “Come away, come away” &c._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHark! I am call’d; my little spirit, see,\\r\\nSits in a foggy cloud and stays for me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nCome, let’s make haste; she’ll soon be back again.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Forres. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lennox and another Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nMy former speeches have but hit your thoughts,\\r\\nWhich can interpret farther: only, I say,\\r\\nThing’s have been strangely borne. The gracious Duncan\\r\\nWas pitied of Macbeth:—marry, he was dead:—\\r\\nAnd the right valiant Banquo walk’d too late;\\r\\nWhom, you may say, if’t please you, Fleance kill’d,\\r\\nFor Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late.\\r\\nWho cannot want the thought, how monstrous\\r\\nIt was for Malcolm and for Donalbain\\r\\nTo kill their gracious father? damned fact!\\r\\nHow it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight,\\r\\nIn pious rage, the two delinquents tear\\r\\nThat were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep?\\r\\nWas not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too;\\r\\nFor ’twould have anger’d any heart alive,\\r\\nTo hear the men deny’t. So that, I say,\\r\\nHe has borne all things well: and I do think,\\r\\nThat had he Duncan’s sons under his key\\r\\n(As, and’t please heaven, he shall not) they should find\\r\\nWhat ’twere to kill a father; so should Fleance.\\r\\nBut, peace!—for from broad words, and ’cause he fail’d\\r\\nHis presence at the tyrant’s feast, I hear,\\r\\nMacduff lives in disgrace. Sir, can you tell\\r\\nWhere he bestows himself?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nThe son of Duncan,\\r\\nFrom whom this tyrant holds the due of birth,\\r\\nLives in the English court and is receiv’d\\r\\nOf the most pious Edward with such grace\\r\\nThat the malevolence of fortune nothing\\r\\nTakes from his high respect. Thither Macduff\\r\\nIs gone to pray the holy king, upon his aid\\r\\nTo wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward\\r\\nThat, by the help of these (with Him above\\r\\nTo ratify the work), we may again\\r\\nGive to our tables meat, sleep to our nights;\\r\\nFree from our feasts and banquets bloody knives,\\r\\nDo faithful homage, and receive free honours,\\r\\nAll which we pine for now. And this report\\r\\nHath so exasperate the King that he\\r\\nPrepares for some attempt of war.\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nSent he to Macduff?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nHe did: and with an absolute “Sir, not I,”\\r\\nThe cloudy messenger turns me his back,\\r\\nAnd hums, as who should say, “You’ll rue the time\\r\\nThat clogs me with this answer.”\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nAnd that well might\\r\\nAdvise him to a caution, t’ hold what distance\\r\\nHis wisdom can provide. Some holy angel\\r\\nFly to the court of England, and unfold\\r\\nHis message ere he come, that a swift blessing\\r\\nMay soon return to this our suffering country\\r\\nUnder a hand accurs’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nI’ll send my prayers with him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A dark Cave. In the middle, a Cauldron Boiling.\\r\\n\\r\\n Thunder. Enter the three Witches.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nThrice the brinded cat hath mew’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nThrice, and once the hedge-pig whin’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nHarpier cries:—’Tis time, ’tis time.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nRound about the cauldron go;\\r\\nIn the poison’d entrails throw.—\\r\\nToad, that under cold stone\\r\\nDays and nights has thirty-one\\r\\nSwelter’d venom sleeping got,\\r\\nBoil thou first i’ th’ charmed pot!\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nDouble, double, toil and trouble;\\r\\nFire, burn; and cauldron, bubble.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nFillet of a fenny snake,\\r\\nIn the cauldron boil and bake;\\r\\nEye of newt, and toe of frog,\\r\\nWool of bat, and tongue of dog,\\r\\nAdder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting,\\r\\nLizard’s leg, and howlet’s wing,\\r\\nFor a charm of powerful trouble,\\r\\nLike a hell-broth boil and bubble.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nDouble, double, toil and trouble;\\r\\nFire, burn; and cauldron, bubble.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nScale of dragon, tooth of wolf,\\r\\nWitch’s mummy, maw and gulf\\r\\nOf the ravin’d salt-sea shark,\\r\\nRoot of hemlock digg’d i’ th’ dark,\\r\\nLiver of blaspheming Jew,\\r\\nGall of goat, and slips of yew\\r\\nSliver’d in the moon’s eclipse,\\r\\nNose of Turk, and Tartar’s lips,\\r\\nFinger of birth-strangled babe\\r\\nDitch-deliver’d by a drab,\\r\\nMake the gruel thick and slab:\\r\\nAdd thereto a tiger’s chaudron,\\r\\nFor th’ ingredients of our cauldron.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nDouble, double, toil and trouble;\\r\\nFire, burn; and cauldron, bubble.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nCool it with a baboon’s blood.\\r\\nThen the charm is firm and good.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hecate.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECATE.\\r\\nO, well done! I commend your pains,\\r\\nAnd everyone shall share i’ th’ gains.\\r\\nAnd now about the cauldron sing,\\r\\nLike elves and fairies in a ring,\\r\\nEnchanting all that you put in.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music and a song: “Black Spirits,” &c._]\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Hecate._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nBy the pricking of my thumbs,\\r\\nSomething wicked this way comes.\\r\\nOpen, locks,\\r\\nWhoever knocks!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nHow now, you secret, black, and midnight hags!\\r\\nWhat is’t you do?\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nA deed without a name.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI conjure you, by that which you profess,\\r\\n(Howe’er you come to know it) answer me:\\r\\nThough you untie the winds, and let them fight\\r\\nAgainst the churches; though the yesty waves\\r\\nConfound and swallow navigation up;\\r\\nThough bladed corn be lodg’d, and trees blown down;\\r\\nThough castles topple on their warders’ heads;\\r\\nThough palaces and pyramids do slope\\r\\nTheir heads to their foundations; though the treasure\\r\\nOf nature’s germens tumble all together,\\r\\nEven till destruction sicken, answer me\\r\\nTo what I ask you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nSpeak.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nDemand.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nWe’ll answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nSay, if thou’dst rather hear it from our mouths,\\r\\nOr from our masters?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nCall ’em, let me see ’em.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nPour in sow’s blood, that hath eaten\\r\\nHer nine farrow; grease that’s sweaten\\r\\nFrom the murderer’s gibbet throw\\r\\nInto the flame.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nCome, high or low;\\r\\nThyself and office deftly show!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Thunder. An Apparition of an armed Head rises._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nTell me, thou unknown power,—\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nHe knows thy thought:\\r\\nHear his speech, but say thou naught.\\r\\n\\r\\nAPPARITION.\\r\\nMacbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! Beware Macduff;\\r\\nBeware the Thane of Fife.—Dismiss me.—Enough.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Descends._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWhate’er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks;\\r\\nThou hast harp’d my fear aright.—But one word more.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nHe will not be commanded. Here’s another,\\r\\nMore potent than the first.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Thunder. An Apparition of a bloody Child rises._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAPPARITION.\\r\\nMacbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nHad I three ears, I’d hear thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nAPPARITION.\\r\\nBe bloody, bold, and resolute. Laugh to scorn\\r\\nThe power of man, for none of woman born\\r\\nShall harm Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Descends._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThen live, Macduff: what need I fear of thee?\\r\\nBut yet I’ll make assurance double sure,\\r\\nAnd take a bond of fate. Thou shalt not live;\\r\\nThat I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies,\\r\\nAnd sleep in spite of thunder.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Thunder. An Apparition of a Child crowned, with a tree in his hand,\\r\\n rises._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat is this,\\r\\nThat rises like the issue of a king,\\r\\nAnd wears upon his baby brow the round\\r\\nAnd top of sovereignty?\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nListen, but speak not to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nAPPARITION.\\r\\nBe lion-mettled, proud, and take no care\\r\\nWho chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are:\\r\\nMacbeth shall never vanquish’d be, until\\r\\nGreat Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill\\r\\nShall come against him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Descends._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThat will never be:\\r\\nWho can impress the forest; bid the tree\\r\\nUnfix his earth-bound root? Sweet bodements, good!\\r\\nRebellious head, rise never till the wood\\r\\nOf Birnam rise, and our high-plac’d Macbeth\\r\\nShall live the lease of nature, pay his breath\\r\\nTo time and mortal custom.—Yet my heart\\r\\nThrobs to know one thing: tell me, if your art\\r\\nCan tell so much, shall Banquo’s issue ever\\r\\nReign in this kingdom?\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nSeek to know no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI will be satisfied: deny me this,\\r\\nAnd an eternal curse fall on you! Let me know.\\r\\nWhy sinks that cauldron? and what noise is this?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Hautboys._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nShow!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WITCH.\\r\\nShow!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WITCH.\\r\\nShow!\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nShow his eyes, and grieve his heart;\\r\\nCome like shadows, so depart!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A show of eight kings appear, and pass over in order, the last with\\r\\n a glass in his hand; Banquo following._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThou are too like the spirit of Banquo. Down!\\r\\nThy crown does sear mine eyeballs:—and thy hair,\\r\\nThou other gold-bound brow, is like the first.\\r\\nA third is like the former.—Filthy hags!\\r\\nWhy do you show me this?—A fourth!—Start, eyes!\\r\\nWhat, will the line stretch out to th’ crack of doom?\\r\\nAnother yet!—A seventh!—I’ll see no more:—\\r\\nAnd yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass\\r\\nWhich shows me many more; and some I see\\r\\nThat twofold balls and treble sceptres carry.\\r\\nHorrible sight!—Now I see ’tis true;\\r\\nFor the blood-bolter’d Banquo smiles upon me,\\r\\nAnd points at them for his.—What! is this so?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WITCH.\\r\\nAy, sir, all this is so:—but why\\r\\nStands Macbeth thus amazedly?—\\r\\nCome, sisters, cheer we up his sprites,\\r\\nAnd show the best of our delights.\\r\\nI’ll charm the air to give a sound,\\r\\nWhile you perform your antic round;\\r\\nThat this great king may kindly say,\\r\\nOur duties did his welcome pay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music. The Witches dance, and vanish._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWhere are they? Gone?—Let this pernicious hour\\r\\nStand aye accursed in the calendar!—\\r\\nCome in, without there!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lennox.\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nWhat’s your Grace’s will?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nSaw you the Weird Sisters?\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nNo, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nCame they not by you?\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nNo, indeed, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nInfected be the air whereon they ride;\\r\\nAnd damn’d all those that trust them!—I did hear\\r\\nThe galloping of horse: who was’t came by?\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\n’Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word\\r\\nMacduff is fled to England.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nFled to England!\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nAy, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nTime, thou anticipat’st my dread exploits:\\r\\nThe flighty purpose never is o’ertook\\r\\nUnless the deed go with it. From this moment\\r\\nThe very firstlings of my heart shall be\\r\\nThe firstlings of my hand. And even now,\\r\\nTo crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done:\\r\\nThe castle of Macduff I will surprise;\\r\\nSeize upon Fife; give to th’ edge o’ th’ sword\\r\\nHis wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls\\r\\nThat trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool;\\r\\nThis deed I’ll do before this purpose cool:\\r\\nBut no more sights!—Where are these gentlemen?\\r\\nCome, bring me where they are.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Fife. A Room in Macduff’s Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Macduff her Son and Ross.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nWhat had he done, to make him fly the land?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nYou must have patience, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nHe had none:\\r\\nHis flight was madness: when our actions do not,\\r\\nOur fears do make us traitors.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nYou know not\\r\\nWhether it was his wisdom or his fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nWisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes,\\r\\nHis mansion, and his titles, in a place\\r\\nFrom whence himself does fly? He loves us not:\\r\\nHe wants the natural touch; for the poor wren,\\r\\nThe most diminutive of birds, will fight,\\r\\nHer young ones in her nest, against the owl.\\r\\nAll is the fear, and nothing is the love;\\r\\nAs little is the wisdom, where the flight\\r\\nSo runs against all reason.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nMy dearest coz,\\r\\nI pray you, school yourself: but, for your husband,\\r\\nHe is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows\\r\\nThe fits o’ th’ season. I dare not speak much further:\\r\\nBut cruel are the times, when we are traitors,\\r\\nAnd do not know ourselves; when we hold rumour\\r\\nFrom what we fear, yet know not what we fear,\\r\\nBut float upon a wild and violent sea\\r\\nEach way and move—I take my leave of you:\\r\\nShall not be long but I’ll be here again.\\r\\nThings at the worst will cease, or else climb upward\\r\\nTo what they were before.—My pretty cousin,\\r\\nBlessing upon you!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nFather’d he is, and yet he’s fatherless.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nI am so much a fool, should I stay longer,\\r\\nIt would be my disgrace and your discomfort:\\r\\nI take my leave at once.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nSirrah, your father’s dead.\\r\\nAnd what will you do now? How will you live?\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nAs birds do, mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nWhat, with worms and flies?\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nWith what I get, I mean; and so do they.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nPoor bird! thou’dst never fear the net nor lime,\\r\\nThe pit-fall nor the gin.\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nWhy should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for.\\r\\nMy father is not dead, for all your saying.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nYes, he is dead: how wilt thou do for a father?\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nNay, how will you do for a husband?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nWhy, I can buy me twenty at any market.\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nThen you’ll buy ’em to sell again.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nThou speak’st with all thy wit;\\r\\nAnd yet, i’ faith, with wit enough for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nWas my father a traitor, mother?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nAy, that he was.\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nWhat is a traitor?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nWhy, one that swears and lies.\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nAnd be all traitors that do so?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nEvery one that does so is a traitor, and must be hanged.\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nAnd must they all be hanged that swear and lie?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nEvery one.\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nWho must hang them?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nWhy, the honest men.\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nThen the liars and swearers are fools: for there are liars and swearers\\r\\nenow to beat the honest men and hang up them.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nNow, God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do for a father?\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nIf he were dead, you’ld weep for him: if you would not, it were a good\\r\\nsign that I should quickly have a new father.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nPoor prattler, how thou talk’st!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nBless you, fair dame! I am not to you known,\\r\\nThough in your state of honour I am perfect.\\r\\nI doubt some danger does approach you nearly:\\r\\nIf you will take a homely man’s advice,\\r\\nBe not found here; hence, with your little ones.\\r\\nTo fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage;\\r\\nTo do worse to you were fell cruelty,\\r\\nWhich is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you!\\r\\nI dare abide no longer.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nWhither should I fly?\\r\\nI have done no harm. But I remember now\\r\\nI am in this earthly world, where to do harm\\r\\nIs often laudable; to do good sometime\\r\\nAccounted dangerous folly: why then, alas,\\r\\nDo I put up that womanly defence,\\r\\nTo say I have done no harm? What are these faces?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Murderers.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nWhere is your husband?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACDUFF.\\r\\nI hope, in no place so unsanctified\\r\\nWhere such as thou mayst find him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nHe’s a traitor.\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nThou liest, thou shag-ear’d villain!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MURDERER.\\r\\nWhat, you egg!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Stabbing him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nYoung fry of treachery!\\r\\n\\r\\nSON.\\r\\nHe has kill’d me, mother:\\r\\nRun away, I pray you!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies. Exit Lady Macduff, crying “Murder!” and pursued by the\\r\\n Murderers._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. England. Before the King’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malcolm and Macduff.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nLet us seek out some desolate shade and there\\r\\nWeep our sad bosoms empty.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nLet us rather\\r\\nHold fast the mortal sword, and, like good men,\\r\\nBestride our down-fall’n birthdom. Each new morn\\r\\nNew widows howl, new orphans cry; new sorrows\\r\\nStrike heaven on the face, that it resounds\\r\\nAs if it felt with Scotland, and yell’d out\\r\\nLike syllable of dolour.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nWhat I believe, I’ll wail;\\r\\nWhat know, believe; and what I can redress,\\r\\nAs I shall find the time to friend, I will.\\r\\nWhat you have spoke, it may be so, perchance.\\r\\nThis tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,\\r\\nWas once thought honest: you have loved him well;\\r\\nHe hath not touch’d you yet. I am young; but something\\r\\nYou may deserve of him through me; and wisdom\\r\\nTo offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb\\r\\nTo appease an angry god.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nI am not treacherous.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nBut Macbeth is.\\r\\nA good and virtuous nature may recoil\\r\\nIn an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon.\\r\\nThat which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose.\\r\\nAngels are bright still, though the brightest fell:\\r\\nThough all things foul would wear the brows of grace,\\r\\nYet grace must still look so.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nI have lost my hopes.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nPerchance even there where I did find my doubts.\\r\\nWhy in that rawness left you wife and child,\\r\\nThose precious motives, those strong knots of love,\\r\\nWithout leave-taking?—I pray you,\\r\\nLet not my jealousies be your dishonours,\\r\\nBut mine own safeties. You may be rightly just,\\r\\nWhatever I shall think.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nBleed, bleed, poor country!\\r\\nGreat tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,\\r\\nFor goodness dare not check thee! wear thou thy wrongs;\\r\\nThe title is affeer’d.—Fare thee well, lord:\\r\\nI would not be the villain that thou think’st\\r\\nFor the whole space that’s in the tyrant’s grasp\\r\\nAnd the rich East to boot.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nBe not offended:\\r\\nI speak not as in absolute fear of you.\\r\\nI think our country sinks beneath the yoke;\\r\\nIt weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash\\r\\nIs added to her wounds. I think, withal,\\r\\nThere would be hands uplifted in my right;\\r\\nAnd here, from gracious England, have I offer\\r\\nOf goodly thousands: but, for all this,\\r\\nWhen I shall tread upon the tyrant’s head,\\r\\nOr wear it on my sword, yet my poor country\\r\\nShall have more vices than it had before,\\r\\nMore suffer, and more sundry ways than ever,\\r\\nBy him that shall succeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nWhat should he be?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nIt is myself I mean; in whom I know\\r\\nAll the particulars of vice so grafted\\r\\nThat, when they shall be open’d, black Macbeth\\r\\nWill seem as pure as snow; and the poor state\\r\\nEsteem him as a lamb, being compar’d\\r\\nWith my confineless harms.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nNot in the legions\\r\\nOf horrid hell can come a devil more damn’d\\r\\nIn evils to top Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nI grant him bloody,\\r\\nLuxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,\\r\\nSudden, malicious, smacking of every sin\\r\\nThat has a name: but there’s no bottom, none,\\r\\nIn my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters,\\r\\nYour matrons, and your maids, could not fill up\\r\\nThe cistern of my lust; and my desire\\r\\nAll continent impediments would o’erbear,\\r\\nThat did oppose my will: better Macbeth\\r\\nThan such an one to reign.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nBoundless intemperance\\r\\nIn nature is a tyranny; it hath been\\r\\nTh’ untimely emptying of the happy throne,\\r\\nAnd fall of many kings. But fear not yet\\r\\nTo take upon you what is yours: you may\\r\\nConvey your pleasures in a spacious plenty,\\r\\nAnd yet seem cold—the time you may so hoodwink.\\r\\nWe have willing dames enough; there cannot be\\r\\nThat vulture in you, to devour so many\\r\\nAs will to greatness dedicate themselves,\\r\\nFinding it so inclin’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nWith this there grows\\r\\nIn my most ill-compos’d affection such\\r\\nA staunchless avarice, that, were I king,\\r\\nI should cut off the nobles for their lands;\\r\\nDesire his jewels, and this other’s house:\\r\\nAnd my more-having would be as a sauce\\r\\nTo make me hunger more; that I should forge\\r\\nQuarrels unjust against the good and loyal,\\r\\nDestroying them for wealth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nThis avarice\\r\\nSticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root\\r\\nThan summer-seeming lust; and it hath been\\r\\nThe sword of our slain kings: yet do not fear;\\r\\nScotland hath foisons to fill up your will,\\r\\nOf your mere own. All these are portable,\\r\\nWith other graces weigh’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nBut I have none: the king-becoming graces,\\r\\nAs justice, verity, temp’rance, stableness,\\r\\nBounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness,\\r\\nDevotion, patience, courage, fortitude,\\r\\nI have no relish of them; but abound\\r\\nIn the division of each several crime,\\r\\nActing it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should\\r\\nPour the sweet milk of concord into hell,\\r\\nUproar the universal peace, confound\\r\\nAll unity on earth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nO Scotland, Scotland!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nIf such a one be fit to govern, speak:\\r\\nI am as I have spoken.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nFit to govern?\\r\\nNo, not to live.—O nation miserable,\\r\\nWith an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter’d,\\r\\nWhen shalt thou see thy wholesome days again,\\r\\nSince that the truest issue of thy throne\\r\\nBy his own interdiction stands accus’d,\\r\\nAnd does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal father\\r\\nWas a most sainted king. The queen that bore thee,\\r\\nOft’ner upon her knees than on her feet,\\r\\nDied every day she lived. Fare thee well!\\r\\nThese evils thou repeat’st upon thyself\\r\\nHave banish’d me from Scotland.—O my breast,\\r\\nThy hope ends here!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nMacduff, this noble passion,\\r\\nChild of integrity, hath from my soul\\r\\nWiped the black scruples, reconcil’d my thoughts\\r\\nTo thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth\\r\\nBy many of these trains hath sought to win me\\r\\nInto his power, and modest wisdom plucks me\\r\\nFrom over-credulous haste: but God above\\r\\nDeal between thee and me! for even now\\r\\nI put myself to thy direction, and\\r\\nUnspeak mine own detraction; here abjure\\r\\nThe taints and blames I laid upon myself,\\r\\nFor strangers to my nature. I am yet\\r\\nUnknown to woman; never was forsworn;\\r\\nScarcely have coveted what was mine own;\\r\\nAt no time broke my faith; would not betray\\r\\nThe devil to his fellow; and delight\\r\\nNo less in truth than life: my first false speaking\\r\\nWas this upon myself. What I am truly,\\r\\nIs thine and my poor country’s to command:\\r\\nWhither, indeed, before thy here-approach,\\r\\nOld Siward, with ten thousand warlike men,\\r\\nAlready at a point, was setting forth.\\r\\nNow we’ll together, and the chance of goodness\\r\\nBe like our warranted quarrel. Why are you silent?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nSuch welcome and unwelcome things at once\\r\\n’Tis hard to reconcile.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Doctor.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nWell; more anon.—Comes the King forth, I pray you?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nAy, sir. There are a crew of wretched souls\\r\\nThat stay his cure: their malady convinces\\r\\nThe great assay of art; but at his touch,\\r\\nSuch sanctity hath heaven given his hand,\\r\\nThey presently amend.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nI thank you, doctor.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Doctor._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nWhat’s the disease he means?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\n’Tis call’d the evil:\\r\\nA most miraculous work in this good king;\\r\\nWhich often, since my here-remain in England,\\r\\nI have seen him do. How he solicits heaven,\\r\\nHimself best knows, but strangely-visited people,\\r\\nAll swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,\\r\\nThe mere despair of surgery, he cures;\\r\\nHanging a golden stamp about their necks,\\r\\nPut on with holy prayers: and ’tis spoken,\\r\\nTo the succeeding royalty he leaves\\r\\nThe healing benediction. With this strange virtue,\\r\\nHe hath a heavenly gift of prophecy;\\r\\nAnd sundry blessings hang about his throne,\\r\\nThat speak him full of grace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ross.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nSee, who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nMy countryman; but yet I know him not.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nMy ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nI know him now. Good God, betimes remove\\r\\nThe means that makes us strangers!\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nSir, amen.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nStands Scotland where it did?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nAlas, poor country,\\r\\nAlmost afraid to know itself! It cannot\\r\\nBe call’d our mother, but our grave, where nothing,\\r\\nBut who knows nothing, is once seen to smile;\\r\\nWhere sighs, and groans, and shrieks, that rent the air,\\r\\nAre made, not mark’d; where violent sorrow seems\\r\\nA modern ecstasy. The dead man’s knell\\r\\nIs there scarce ask’d for who; and good men’s lives\\r\\nExpire before the flowers in their caps,\\r\\nDying or ere they sicken.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nO, relation\\r\\nToo nice, and yet too true!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nWhat’s the newest grief?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nThat of an hour’s age doth hiss the speaker;\\r\\nEach minute teems a new one.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nHow does my wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nWhy, well.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nAnd all my children?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nWell too.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nThe tyrant has not batter’d at their peace?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nNo; they were well at peace when I did leave ’em.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nBe not a niggard of your speech: how goes’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nWhen I came hither to transport the tidings,\\r\\nWhich I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour\\r\\nOf many worthy fellows that were out;\\r\\nWhich was to my belief witness’d the rather,\\r\\nFor that I saw the tyrant’s power afoot.\\r\\nNow is the time of help. Your eye in Scotland\\r\\nWould create soldiers, make our women fight,\\r\\nTo doff their dire distresses.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nBe’t their comfort\\r\\nWe are coming thither. Gracious England hath\\r\\nLent us good Siward and ten thousand men;\\r\\nAn older and a better soldier none\\r\\nThat Christendom gives out.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nWould I could answer\\r\\nThis comfort with the like! But I have words\\r\\nThat would be howl’d out in the desert air,\\r\\nWhere hearing should not latch them.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nWhat concern they?\\r\\nThe general cause? or is it a fee-grief\\r\\nDue to some single breast?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nNo mind that’s honest\\r\\nBut in it shares some woe, though the main part\\r\\nPertains to you alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nIf it be mine,\\r\\nKeep it not from me, quickly let me have it.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nLet not your ears despise my tongue for ever,\\r\\nWhich shall possess them with the heaviest sound\\r\\nThat ever yet they heard.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nHumh! I guess at it.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nYour castle is surpris’d; your wife and babes\\r\\nSavagely slaughter’d. To relate the manner\\r\\nWere, on the quarry of these murder’d deer,\\r\\nTo add the death of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nMerciful heaven!—\\r\\nWhat, man! ne’er pull your hat upon your brows.\\r\\nGive sorrow words. The grief that does not speak\\r\\nWhispers the o’er-fraught heart, and bids it break.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nMy children too?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nWife, children, servants, all\\r\\nThat could be found.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nAnd I must be from thence!\\r\\nMy wife kill’d too?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nI have said.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nBe comforted:\\r\\nLet’s make us med’cines of our great revenge,\\r\\nTo cure this deadly grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nHe has no children.—All my pretty ones?\\r\\nDid you say all?—O hell-kite!—All?\\r\\nWhat, all my pretty chickens and their dam\\r\\nAt one fell swoop?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nDispute it like a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nI shall do so;\\r\\nBut I must also feel it as a man:\\r\\nI cannot but remember such things were,\\r\\nThat were most precious to me.—Did heaven look on,\\r\\nAnd would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,\\r\\nThey were all struck for thee! Naught that I am,\\r\\nNot for their own demerits, but for mine,\\r\\nFell slaughter on their souls: heaven rest them now!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nBe this the whetstone of your sword. Let grief\\r\\nConvert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nO, I could play the woman with mine eyes,\\r\\nAnd braggart with my tongue!—But, gentle heavens,\\r\\nCut short all intermission; front to front,\\r\\nBring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself;\\r\\nWithin my sword’s length set him; if he ’scape,\\r\\nHeaven forgive him too!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nThis tune goes manly.\\r\\nCome, go we to the King. Our power is ready;\\r\\nOur lack is nothing but our leave. Macbeth\\r\\nIs ripe for shaking, and the powers above\\r\\nPut on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may;\\r\\nThe night is long that never finds the day.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Doctor of Physic and a Waiting-Gentlewoman.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nI have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your\\r\\nreport. When was it she last walked?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEWOMAN.\\r\\nSince his Majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her\\r\\nbed, throw her nightgown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper,\\r\\nfold it, write upon’t, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to\\r\\nbed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nA great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the benefit of\\r\\nsleep, and do the effects of watching. In this slumbery agitation,\\r\\nbesides her walking and other actual performances, what, at any time,\\r\\nhave you heard her say?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEWOMAN.\\r\\nThat, sir, which I will not report after her.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYou may to me; and ’tis most meet you should.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEWOMAN.\\r\\nNeither to you nor anyone; having no witness to confirm my speech.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Macbeth with a taper.\\r\\n\\r\\nLo you, here she comes! This is her very guise; and, upon my life, fast\\r\\nasleep. Observe her; stand close.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHow came she by that light?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEWOMAN.\\r\\nWhy, it stood by her: she has light by her continually; ’tis her\\r\\ncommand.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYou see, her eyes are open.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEWOMAN.\\r\\nAy, but their sense are shut.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWhat is it she does now? Look how she rubs her hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEWOMAN.\\r\\nIt is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands. I\\r\\nhave known her continue in this a quarter of an hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nYet here’s a spot.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHark, she speaks. I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my\\r\\nremembrance the more strongly.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nOut, damned spot! out, I say! One; two. Why, then ’tis time to do’t.\\r\\nHell is murky! Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard? What need we\\r\\nfear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? Yet who\\r\\nwould have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nDo you mark that?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nThe Thane of Fife had a wife. Where is she now?—What, will these hands\\r\\nne’er be clean? No more o’ that, my lord, no more o’ that: you mar all\\r\\nwith this starting.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nGo to, go to. You have known what you should not.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEWOMAN.\\r\\nShe has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: heaven knows what\\r\\nshe has known.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nHere’s the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will\\r\\nnot sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh!\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWhat a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEWOMAN.\\r\\nI would not have such a heart in my bosom for the dignity of the whole\\r\\nbody.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWell, well, well.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEWOMAN.\\r\\nPray God it be, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nThis disease is beyond my practice: yet I have known those which have\\r\\nwalked in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nWash your hands, put on your nightgown; look not so pale. I tell you\\r\\nyet again, Banquo’s buried; he cannot come out on’s grave.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nEven so?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MACBETH.\\r\\nTo bed, to bed. There’s knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come,\\r\\ngive me your hand. What’s done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to\\r\\nbed.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWill she go now to bed?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEWOMAN.\\r\\nDirectly.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nFoul whisp’rings are abroad. Unnatural deeds\\r\\nDo breed unnatural troubles: infected minds\\r\\nTo their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.\\r\\nMore needs she the divine than the physician.—\\r\\nGod, God, forgive us all! Look after her;\\r\\nRemove from her the means of all annoyance,\\r\\nAnd still keep eyes upon her. So, good night:\\r\\nMy mind she has mated, and amaz’d my sight.\\r\\nI think, but dare not speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEWOMAN.\\r\\nGood night, good doctor.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The Country near Dunsinane.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, with drum and colours Menteith, Caithness, Angus, Lennox and\\r\\n Soldiers.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENTEITH.\\r\\nThe English power is near, led on by Malcolm,\\r\\nHis uncle Siward, and the good Macduff.\\r\\nRevenges burn in them; for their dear causes\\r\\nWould to the bleeding and the grim alarm\\r\\nExcite the mortified man.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGUS.\\r\\nNear Birnam wood\\r\\nShall we well meet them. That way are they coming.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAITHNESS.\\r\\nWho knows if Donalbain be with his brother?\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nFor certain, sir, he is not. I have a file\\r\\nOf all the gentry: there is Siward’s son\\r\\nAnd many unrough youths, that even now\\r\\nProtest their first of manhood.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENTEITH.\\r\\nWhat does the tyrant?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAITHNESS.\\r\\nGreat Dunsinane he strongly fortifies.\\r\\nSome say he’s mad; others, that lesser hate him,\\r\\nDo call it valiant fury: but, for certain,\\r\\nHe cannot buckle his distemper’d cause\\r\\nWithin the belt of rule.\\r\\n\\r\\nANGUS.\\r\\nNow does he feel\\r\\nHis secret murders sticking on his hands;\\r\\nNow minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach;\\r\\nThose he commands move only in command,\\r\\nNothing in love: now does he feel his title\\r\\nHang loose about him, like a giant’s robe\\r\\nUpon a dwarfish thief.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENTEITH.\\r\\nWho, then, shall blame\\r\\nHis pester’d senses to recoil and start,\\r\\nWhen all that is within him does condemn\\r\\nItself for being there?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAITHNESS.\\r\\nWell, march we on,\\r\\nTo give obedience where ’tis truly ow’d:\\r\\nMeet we the med’cine of the sickly weal;\\r\\nAnd with him pour we, in our country’s purge,\\r\\nEach drop of us.\\r\\n\\r\\nLENNOX.\\r\\nOr so much as it needs\\r\\nTo dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds.\\r\\nMake we our march towards Birnam.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt, marching._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macbeth, Doctor and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nBring me no more reports; let them fly all:\\r\\nTill Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane\\r\\nI cannot taint with fear. What’s the boy Malcolm?\\r\\nWas he not born of woman? The spirits that know\\r\\nAll mortal consequences have pronounc’d me thus:\\r\\n“Fear not, Macbeth; no man that’s born of woman\\r\\nShall e’er have power upon thee.”—Then fly, false thanes,\\r\\nAnd mingle with the English epicures:\\r\\nThe mind I sway by, and the heart I bear,\\r\\nShall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac’d loon!\\r\\nWhere gott’st thou that goose look?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThere is ten thousand—\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nGeese, villain?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nSoldiers, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nGo prick thy face and over-red thy fear,\\r\\nThou lily-liver’d boy. What soldiers, patch?\\r\\nDeath of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine\\r\\nAre counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThe English force, so please you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nTake thy face hence.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSeyton!—I am sick at heart,\\r\\nWhen I behold—Seyton, I say!—This push\\r\\nWill cheer me ever or disseat me now.\\r\\nI have liv’d long enough: my way of life\\r\\nIs fall’n into the sere, the yellow leaf;\\r\\nAnd that which should accompany old age,\\r\\nAs honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,\\r\\nI must not look to have; but, in their stead,\\r\\nCurses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath,\\r\\nWhich the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.\\r\\nSeyton!—\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Seyton.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEYTON.\\r\\nWhat’s your gracious pleasure?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWhat news more?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEYTON.\\r\\nAll is confirm’d, my lord, which was reported.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI’ll fight till from my bones my flesh be hack’d.\\r\\nGive me my armour.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEYTON.\\r\\n’Tis not needed yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI’ll put it on.\\r\\nSend out more horses, skirr the country round;\\r\\nHang those that talk of fear. Give me mine armour.—\\r\\nHow does your patient, doctor?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nNot so sick, my lord,\\r\\nAs she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,\\r\\nThat keep her from her rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nCure her of that:\\r\\nCanst thou not minister to a mind diseas’d,\\r\\nPluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,\\r\\nRaze out the written troubles of the brain,\\r\\nAnd with some sweet oblivious antidote\\r\\nCleanse the stuff’d bosom of that perilous stuff\\r\\nWhich weighs upon the heart?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nTherein the patient\\r\\nMust minister to himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThrow physic to the dogs, I’ll none of it.\\r\\nCome, put mine armour on; give me my staff:\\r\\nSeyton, send out.—Doctor, the Thanes fly from me.—\\r\\nCome, sir, despatch.—If thou couldst, doctor, cast\\r\\nThe water of my land, find her disease,\\r\\nAnd purge it to a sound and pristine health,\\r\\nI would applaud thee to the very echo,\\r\\nThat should applaud again.—Pull’t off, I say.—\\r\\nWhat rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug,\\r\\nWould scour these English hence? Hear’st thou of them?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nAy, my good lord. Your royal preparation\\r\\nMakes us hear something.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nBring it after me.—\\r\\nI will not be afraid of death and bane,\\r\\nTill Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all except Doctor._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWere I from Dunsinane away and clear,\\r\\nProfit again should hardly draw me here.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Country near Dunsinane: a Wood in view.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, with drum and colours Malcolm, old Siward and his Son, Macduff,\\r\\n Menteith, Caithness, Angus, Lennox, Ross and Soldiers, marching.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nCousins, I hope the days are near at hand\\r\\nThat chambers will be safe.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENTEITH.\\r\\nWe doubt it nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nWhat wood is this before us?\\r\\n\\r\\nMENTEITH.\\r\\nThe wood of Birnam.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nLet every soldier hew him down a bough,\\r\\nAnd bear’t before him. Thereby shall we shadow\\r\\nThe numbers of our host, and make discovery\\r\\nErr in report of us.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLDIERS.\\r\\nIt shall be done.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nWe learn no other but the confident tyrant\\r\\nKeeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure\\r\\nOur setting down before’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\n’Tis his main hope;\\r\\nFor where there is advantage to be given,\\r\\nBoth more and less have given him the revolt,\\r\\nAnd none serve with him but constrained things,\\r\\nWhose hearts are absent too.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nLet our just censures\\r\\nAttend the true event, and put we on\\r\\nIndustrious soldiership.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nThe time approaches,\\r\\nThat will with due decision make us know\\r\\nWhat we shall say we have, and what we owe.\\r\\nThoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate,\\r\\nBut certain issue strokes must arbitrate;\\r\\nTowards which advance the war.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt, marching._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Dunsinane. Within the castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter with drum and colours, Macbeth, Seyton and Soldiers.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nHang out our banners on the outward walls;\\r\\nThe cry is still, “They come!” Our castle’s strength\\r\\nWill laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie\\r\\nTill famine and the ague eat them up.\\r\\nWere they not forc’d with those that should be ours,\\r\\nWe might have met them dareful, beard to beard,\\r\\nAnd beat them backward home.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A cry of women within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat is that noise?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEYTON.\\r\\nIt is the cry of women, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI have almost forgot the taste of fears.\\r\\nThe time has been, my senses would have cool’d\\r\\nTo hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair\\r\\nWould at a dismal treatise rouse and stir\\r\\nAs life were in’t. I have supp’d full with horrors;\\r\\nDireness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts,\\r\\nCannot once start me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Seyton.\\r\\n\\r\\nWherefore was that cry?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEYTON.\\r\\nThe Queen, my lord, is dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nShe should have died hereafter.\\r\\nThere would have been a time for such a word.\\r\\nTomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,\\r\\nCreeps in this petty pace from day to day,\\r\\nTo the last syllable of recorded time;\\r\\nAnd all our yesterdays have lighted fools\\r\\nThe way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!\\r\\nLife’s but a walking shadow; a poor player,\\r\\nThat struts and frets his hour upon the stage,\\r\\nAnd then is heard no more: it is a tale\\r\\nTold by an idiot, full of sound and fury,\\r\\nSignifying nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nThou com’st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nGracious my lord,\\r\\nI should report that which I say I saw,\\r\\nBut know not how to do’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWell, say, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nAs I did stand my watch upon the hill,\\r\\nI look’d toward Birnam, and anon, methought,\\r\\nThe wood began to move.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nLiar, and slave!\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nLet me endure your wrath, if’t be not so.\\r\\nWithin this three mile may you see it coming;\\r\\nI say, a moving grove.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nIf thou speak’st false,\\r\\nUpon the next tree shalt thou hang alive,\\r\\nTill famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth,\\r\\nI care not if thou dost for me as much.—\\r\\nI pull in resolution; and begin\\r\\nTo doubt th’ equivocation of the fiend,\\r\\nThat lies like truth. “Fear not, till Birnam wood\\r\\nDo come to Dunsinane;” and now a wood\\r\\nComes toward Dunsinane.—Arm, arm, and out!—\\r\\nIf this which he avouches does appear,\\r\\nThere is nor flying hence nor tarrying here.\\r\\nI ’gin to be aweary of the sun,\\r\\nAnd wish th’ estate o’ th’ world were now undone.—\\r\\nRing the alarum bell!—Blow, wind! come, wrack!\\r\\nAt least we’ll die with harness on our back.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. The same. A Plain before the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, with drum and colours, Malcolm, old Siward, Macduff and their\\r\\n Army, with boughs.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nNow near enough. Your leafy screens throw down,\\r\\nAnd show like those you are.—You, worthy uncle,\\r\\nShall with my cousin, your right noble son,\\r\\nLead our first battle: worthy Macduff and we\\r\\nShall take upon’s what else remains to do,\\r\\nAccording to our order.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nFare you well.—\\r\\nDo we but find the tyrant’s power tonight,\\r\\nLet us be beaten, if we cannot fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nMake all our trumpets speak; give them all breath,\\r\\nThose clamorous harbingers of blood and death.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. The same. Another part of the Plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarums. Enter Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThey have tied me to a stake. I cannot fly,\\r\\nBut, bear-like I must fight the course.—What’s he\\r\\nThat was not born of woman? Such a one\\r\\nAm I to fear, or none.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter young Siward.\\r\\n\\r\\nYOUNG SIWARD.\\r\\nWhat is thy name?\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThou’lt be afraid to hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nYOUNG SIWARD.\\r\\nNo; though thou call’st thyself a hotter name\\r\\nThan any is in hell.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nMy name’s Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nYOUNG SIWARD.\\r\\nThe devil himself could not pronounce a title\\r\\nMore hateful to mine ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nNo, nor more fearful.\\r\\n\\r\\nYOUNG SIWARD.\\r\\nThou liest, abhorred tyrant. With my sword\\r\\nI’ll prove the lie thou speak’st.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight, and young Siward is slain._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThou wast born of woman.\\r\\nBut swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn,\\r\\nBrandish’d by man that’s of a woman born.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarums. Enter Macduff.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nThat way the noise is.—Tyrant, show thy face!\\r\\nIf thou be’st slain and with no stroke of mine,\\r\\nMy wife and children’s ghosts will haunt me still.\\r\\nI cannot strike at wretched kerns, whose arms\\r\\nAre hired to bear their staves. Either thou, Macbeth,\\r\\nOr else my sword, with an unbatter’d edge,\\r\\nI sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst be;\\r\\nBy this great clatter, one of greatest note\\r\\nSeems bruited. Let me find him, Fortune!\\r\\nAnd more I beg not.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit. Alarums._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malcolm and old Siward.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nThis way, my lord;—the castle’s gently render’d:\\r\\nThe tyrant’s people on both sides do fight;\\r\\nThe noble thanes do bravely in the war,\\r\\nThe day almost itself professes yours,\\r\\nAnd little is to do.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nWe have met with foes\\r\\nThat strike beside us.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nEnter, sir, the castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt. Alarums._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VIII. The same. Another part of the field.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macbeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nWhy should I play the Roman fool, and die\\r\\nOn mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes\\r\\nDo better upon them.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macduff.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nTurn, hell-hound, turn!\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nOf all men else I have avoided thee:\\r\\nBut get thee back; my soul is too much charg’d\\r\\nWith blood of thine already.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nI have no words;\\r\\nMy voice is in my sword: thou bloodier villain\\r\\nThan terms can give thee out!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nThou losest labour:\\r\\nAs easy mayst thou the intrenchant air\\r\\nWith thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed:\\r\\nLet fall thy blade on vulnerable crests;\\r\\nI bear a charmed life, which must not yield\\r\\nTo one of woman born.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nDespair thy charm;\\r\\nAnd let the angel whom thou still hast serv’d\\r\\nTell thee, Macduff was from his mother’s womb\\r\\nUntimely ripp’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nAccursed be that tongue that tells me so,\\r\\nFor it hath cow’d my better part of man!\\r\\nAnd be these juggling fiends no more believ’d,\\r\\nThat palter with us in a double sense;\\r\\nThat keep the word of promise to our ear,\\r\\nAnd break it to our hope!—I’ll not fight with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nThen yield thee, coward,\\r\\nAnd live to be the show and gaze o’ th’ time.\\r\\nWe’ll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,\\r\\nPainted upon a pole, and underwrit,\\r\\n“Here may you see the tyrant.”\\r\\n\\r\\nMACBETH.\\r\\nI will not yield,\\r\\nTo kiss the ground before young Malcolm’s feet,\\r\\nAnd to be baited with the rabble’s curse.\\r\\nThough Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane,\\r\\nAnd thou oppos’d, being of no woman born,\\r\\nYet I will try the last. Before my body\\r\\nI throw my warlike shield: lay on, Macduff;\\r\\nAnd damn’d be him that first cries, “Hold, enough!”\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt fighting. Alarums._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and colours, Malcolm, old Siward,\\r\\n Ross, Thanes and Soldiers.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nI would the friends we miss were safe arriv’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nSome must go off; and yet, by these I see,\\r\\nSo great a day as this is cheaply bought.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nMacduff is missing, and your noble son.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nYour son, my lord, has paid a soldier’s debt:\\r\\nHe only liv’d but till he was a man;\\r\\nThe which no sooner had his prowess confirm’d\\r\\nIn the unshrinking station where he fought,\\r\\nBut like a man he died.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nThen he is dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLEANCE.\\r\\nAy, and brought off the field. Your cause of sorrow\\r\\nMust not be measur’d by his worth, for then\\r\\nIt hath no end.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nHad he his hurts before?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nAy, on the front.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nWhy then, God’s soldier be he!\\r\\nHad I as many sons as I have hairs,\\r\\nI would not wish them to a fairer death:\\r\\nAnd so his knell is knoll’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nHe’s worth more sorrow,\\r\\nAnd that I’ll spend for him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nHe’s worth no more.\\r\\nThey say he parted well and paid his score:\\r\\nAnd so, God be with him!—Here comes newer comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macduff with Macbeth’s head.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nHail, King, for so thou art. Behold, where stands\\r\\nTh’ usurper’s cursed head: the time is free.\\r\\nI see thee compass’d with thy kingdom’s pearl,\\r\\nThat speak my salutation in their minds;\\r\\nWhose voices I desire aloud with mine,—\\r\\nHail, King of Scotland!\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nHail, King of Scotland!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Flourish._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nWe shall not spend a large expense of time\\r\\nBefore we reckon with your several loves,\\r\\nAnd make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen,\\r\\nHenceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland\\r\\nIn such an honour nam’d. What’s more to do,\\r\\nWhich would be planted newly with the time,—\\r\\nAs calling home our exil’d friends abroad,\\r\\nThat fled the snares of watchful tyranny;\\r\\nProducing forth the cruel ministers\\r\\nOf this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen,\\r\\nWho, as ’tis thought, by self and violent hands\\r\\nTook off her life;—this, and what needful else\\r\\nThat calls upon us, by the grace of Grace,\\r\\nWe will perform in measure, time, and place.\\r\\nSo thanks to all at once, and to each one,\\r\\nWhom we invite to see us crown’d at Scone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Flourish. Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nMEASURE FOR MEASURE\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\\r\\n\\r\\n VINCENTIO, the Duke\\r\\n ANGELO, the Deputy\\r\\n ESCALUS, an ancient Lord\\r\\n CLAUDIO, a young gentleman\\r\\n LUCIO, a fantastic\\r\\n Two other like Gentlemen\\r\\n VARRIUS, a gentleman, servant to the Duke\\r\\n PROVOST\\r\\n THOMAS, friar\\r\\n PETER, friar\\r\\n A JUSTICE\\r\\n ELBOW, a simple constable\\r\\n FROTH, a foolish gentleman\\r\\n POMPEY, a clown and servant to Mistress Overdone\\r\\n ABHORSON, an executioner\\r\\n BARNARDINE, a dissolute prisoner\\r\\n\\r\\n ISABELLA, sister to Claudio\\r\\n MARIANA, betrothed to Angelo\\r\\n JULIET, beloved of Claudio\\r\\n FRANCISCA, a nun\\r\\n MISTRESS OVERDONE, a bawd\\r\\n\\r\\n Lords, Officers, Citizens, Boy, and Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Vienna\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE, ESCALUS, LORDS, and ATTENDANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Escalus!\\r\\n ESCALUS. My lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Of government the properties to unfold\\r\\n Would seem in me t\\' affect speech and discourse,\\r\\n Since I am put to know that your own science\\r\\n Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice\\r\\n My strength can give you; then no more remains\\r\\n But that to your sufficiency- as your worth is able-\\r\\n And let them work. The nature of our people,\\r\\n Our city\\'s institutions, and the terms\\r\\n For common justice, y\\'are as pregnant in\\r\\n As art and practice hath enriched any\\r\\n That we remember. There is our commission,\\r\\n From which we would not have you warp. Call hither,\\r\\n I say, bid come before us, Angelo. Exit an ATTENDANT\\r\\n What figure of us think you he will bear?\\r\\n For you must know we have with special soul\\r\\n Elected him our absence to supply;\\r\\n Lent him our terror, dress\\'d him with our love,\\r\\n And given his deputation all the organs\\r\\n Of our own power. What think you of it?\\r\\n ESCALUS. If any in Vienna be of worth\\r\\n To undergo such ample grace and honour,\\r\\n It is Lord Angelo.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ANGELO\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Look where he comes.\\r\\n ANGELO. Always obedient to your Grace\\'s will,\\r\\n I come to know your pleasure.\\r\\n DUKE. Angelo,\\r\\n There is a kind of character in thy life\\r\\n That to th\\' observer doth thy history\\r\\n Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings\\r\\n Are not thine own so proper as to waste\\r\\n Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee.\\r\\n Heaven doth with us as we with torches do,\\r\\n Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues\\r\\n Did not go forth of us, \\'twere all alike\\r\\n As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch\\'d\\r\\n But to fine issues; nor Nature never lends\\r\\n The smallest scruple of her excellence\\r\\n But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines\\r\\n Herself the glory of a creditor,\\r\\n Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech\\r\\n To one that can my part in him advertise.\\r\\n Hold, therefore, Angelo-\\r\\n In our remove be thou at full ourself;\\r\\n Mortality and mercy in Vienna\\r\\n Live in thy tongue and heart. Old Escalus,\\r\\n Though first in question, is thy secondary.\\r\\n Take thy commission.\\r\\n ANGELO. Now, good my lord,\\r\\n Let there be some more test made of my metal,\\r\\n Before so noble and so great a figure\\r\\n Be stamp\\'d upon it.\\r\\n DUKE. No more evasion!\\r\\n We have with a leaven\\'d and prepared choice\\r\\n Proceeded to you; therefore take your honours.\\r\\n Our haste from hence is of so quick condition\\r\\n That it prefers itself, and leaves unquestion\\'d\\r\\n Matters of needful value. We shall write to you,\\r\\n As time and our concernings shall importune,\\r\\n How it goes with us, and do look to know\\r\\n What doth befall you here. So, fare you well.\\r\\n To th\\' hopeful execution do I leave you\\r\\n Of your commissions.\\r\\n ANGELO. Yet give leave, my lord,\\r\\n That we may bring you something on the way.\\r\\n DUKE. My haste may not admit it;\\r\\n Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do\\r\\n With any scruple: your scope is as mine own,\\r\\n So to enforce or qualify the laws\\r\\n As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand;\\r\\n I\\'ll privily away. I love the people,\\r\\n But do not like to stage me to their eyes;\\r\\n Though it do well, I do not relish well\\r\\n Their loud applause and Aves vehement;\\r\\n Nor do I think the man of safe discretion\\r\\n That does affect it. Once more, fare you well.\\r\\n ANGELO. The heavens give safety to your purposes!\\r\\n ESCALUS. Lead forth and bring you back in happiness!\\r\\n DUKE. I thank you. Fare you well. Exit\\r\\n ESCALUS. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave\\r\\n To have free speech with you; and it concerns me\\r\\n To look into the bottom of my place:\\r\\n A pow\\'r I have, but of what strength and nature\\r\\n I am not yet instructed.\\r\\n ANGELO. \\'Tis so with me. Let us withdraw together,\\r\\n And we may soon our satisfaction have\\r\\n Touching that point.\\r\\n ESCALUS. I\\'ll wait upon your honour. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Lucio and two other GENTLEMEN\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIO. If the Duke, with the other dukes, come not to composition\\r\\n with the King of Hungary, why then all the dukes fall upon the\\r\\n King.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Heaven grant us its peace, but not the King of\\r\\n Hungary\\'s!\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Amen.\\r\\n LUCIO. Thou conclud\\'st like the sanctimonious pirate that went to\\r\\n sea with the Ten Commandments, but scrap\\'d one out of the table.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. \\'Thou shalt not steal\\'?\\r\\n LUCIO. Ay, that he raz\\'d.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Why, \\'twas a commandment to command the captain\\r\\n and all the rest from their functions: they put forth to steal.\\r\\n There\\'s not a soldier of us all that, in the thanksgiving before\\r\\n meat, do relish the petition well that prays for peace.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. I never heard any soldier dislike it.\\r\\n LUCIO. I believe thee; for I think thou never wast where grace was\\r\\n said.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. No? A dozen times at least.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. What, in metre?\\r\\n LUCIO. In any proportion or in any language.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. I think, or in any religion.\\r\\n LUCIO. Ay, why not? Grace is grace, despite of all controversy; as,\\r\\n for example, thou thyself art a wicked villain, despite of all\\r\\n grace.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Well, there went but a pair of shears between us.\\r\\n LUCIO. I grant; as there may between the lists and the velvet.\\r\\n Thou art the list.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. And thou the velvet; thou art good velvet; thou\\'rt\\r\\n a three-pil\\'d piece, I warrant thee. I had as lief be a list of\\r\\n an English kersey as be pil\\'d, as thou art pil\\'d, for a French\\r\\n velvet. Do I speak feelingly now?\\r\\n LUCIO. I think thou dost; and, indeed, with most painful feeling of\\r\\n thy speech. I will, out of thine own confession, learn to begin\\r\\n thy health; but, whilst I live, forget to drink after thee.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. I think I have done myself wrong, have I not?\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Yes, that thou hast, whether thou art tainted or\\r\\n free.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS OVERDONE\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIO. Behold, behold, where Madam Mitigation comes! I have\\r\\n purchas\\'d as many diseases under her roof as come to-\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. To what, I pray?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Judge.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. To three thousand dolours a year.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Ay, and more.\\r\\n LUCIO. A French crown more.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Thou art always figuring diseases in me, but thou\\r\\n art full of error; I am sound.\\r\\n LUCIO. Nay, not, as one would say, healthy; but so sound as things\\r\\n that are hollow: thy bones are hollow; impiety has made a feast\\r\\n of thee.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. How now! which of your hips has the most profound\\r\\n sciatica?\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. Well, well! there\\'s one yonder arrested and carried\\r\\n to prison was worth five thousand of you all.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Who\\'s that, I pray thee?\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. Marry, sir, that\\'s Claudio, Signior Claudio.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Claudio to prison? \\'Tis not so.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. Nay, but I know \\'tis so: I saw him arrested; saw him\\r\\n carried away; and, which is more, within these three days his\\r\\n head to be chopp\\'d off.\\r\\n LUCIO. But, after all this fooling, I would not have it so. Art\\r\\n thou sure of this?\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. I am too sure of it; and it is for getting Madam\\r\\n Julietta with child.\\r\\n LUCIO. Believe me, this may be; he promis\\'d to meet me two hours\\r\\n since, and he was ever precise in promise-keeping.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Besides, you know, it draws something near to the\\r\\n speech we had to such a purpose.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. But most of all agreeing with the proclamation.\\r\\n LUCIO. Away; let\\'s go learn the truth of it.\\r\\n Exeunt Lucio and GENTLEMEN\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. Thus, what with the war, what with the sweat, what\\r\\n with the gallows, and what with poverty, I am custom-shrunk.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter POMPEY\\r\\n\\r\\n How now! what\\'s the news with you?\\r\\n POMPEY. Yonder man is carried to prison.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. Well, what has he done?\\r\\n POMPEY. A woman.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. But what\\'s his offence?\\r\\n POMPEY. Groping for trouts in a peculiar river.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. What! is there a maid with child by him?\\r\\n POMPEY. No; but there\\'s a woman with maid by him. You have not\\r\\n heard of the proclamation, have you?\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. What proclamation, man?\\r\\n POMPEY. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be pluck\\'d down.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. And what shall become of those in the city?\\r\\n POMPEY. They shall stand for seed; they had gone down too, but that\\r\\n a wise burgher put in for them.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. But shall all our houses of resort in the suburbs be\\r\\n pull\\'d down?\\r\\n POMPEY. To the ground, mistress.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. Why, here\\'s a change indeed in the commonwealth!\\r\\n What shall become of me?\\r\\n POMPEY. Come, fear not you: good counsellors lack no clients.\\r\\n Though you change your place you need not change your trade; I\\'ll\\r\\n be your tapster still. Courage, there will be pity taken on you;\\r\\n you that have worn your eyes almost out in the service, you will\\r\\n be considered.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. What\\'s to do here, Thomas Tapster? Let\\'s withdraw.\\r\\n POMPEY. Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the provost to prison;\\r\\n and there\\'s Madam Juliet. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROVOST, CLAUDIO, JULIET, and OFFICERS;\\r\\n LUCIO following\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to th\\' world?\\r\\n Bear me to prison, where I am committed.\\r\\n PROVOST. I do it not in evil disposition,\\r\\n But from Lord Angelo by special charge.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Thus can the demigod Authority\\r\\n Make us pay down for our offence by weight\\r\\n The words of heaven: on whom it will, it will;\\r\\n On whom it will not, so; yet still \\'tis just.\\r\\n LUCIO. Why, how now, Claudio, whence comes this restraint?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty;\\r\\n As surfeit is the father of much fast,\\r\\n So every scope by the immoderate use\\r\\n Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue,\\r\\n Like rats that ravin down their proper bane,\\r\\n A thirsty evil; and when we drink we die.\\r\\n LUCIO. If I could speak so wisely under an arrest, I would send for\\r\\n certain of my creditors; and yet, to say the truth, I had as lief\\r\\n have the foppery of freedom as the morality of imprisonment.\\r\\n What\\'s thy offence, Claudio?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. What but to speak of would offend again.\\r\\n LUCIO. What, is\\'t murder?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. No.\\r\\n LUCIO. Lechery?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Call it so.\\r\\n PROVOST. Away, sir; you must go.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. One word, good friend. Lucio, a word with you.\\r\\n LUCIO. A hundred, if they\\'ll do you any good. Is lechery so look\\'d\\r\\n after?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Thus stands it with me: upon a true contract\\r\\n I got possession of Julietta\\'s bed.\\r\\n You know the lady; she is fast my wife,\\r\\n Save that we do the denunciation lack\\r\\n Of outward order; this we came not to,\\r\\n Only for propagation of a dow\\'r\\r\\n Remaining in the coffer of her friends.\\r\\n From whom we thought it meet to hide our love\\r\\n Till time had made them for us. But it chances\\r\\n The stealth of our most mutual entertainment,\\r\\n With character too gross, is writ on Juliet.\\r\\n LUCIO. With child, perhaps?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Unhappily, even so.\\r\\n And the new deputy now for the Duke-\\r\\n Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness,\\r\\n Or whether that the body public be\\r\\n A horse whereon the governor doth ride,\\r\\n Who, newly in the seat, that it may know\\r\\n He can command, lets it straight feel the spur;\\r\\n Whether the tyranny be in his place,\\r\\n Or in his eminence that fills it up,\\r\\n I stagger in. But this new governor\\r\\n Awakes me all the enrolled penalties\\r\\n Which have, like unscour\\'d armour, hung by th\\' wall\\r\\n So long that nineteen zodiacs have gone round\\r\\n And none of them been worn; and, for a name,\\r\\n Now puts the drowsy and neglected act\\r\\n Freshly on me. \\'Tis surely for a name.\\r\\n LUCIO. I warrant it is; and thy head stands so tickle on thy\\r\\n shoulders that a milkmaid, if she be in love, may sigh it off.\\r\\n Send after the Duke, and appeal to him.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. I have done so, but he\\'s not to be found.\\r\\n I prithee, Lucio, do me this kind service:\\r\\n This day my sister should the cloister enter,\\r\\n And there receive her approbation;\\r\\n Acquaint her with the danger of my state;\\r\\n Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends\\r\\n To the strict deputy; bid herself assay him.\\r\\n I have great hope in that; for in her youth\\r\\n There is a prone and speechless dialect\\r\\n Such as move men; beside, she hath prosperous art\\r\\n When she will play with reason and discourse,\\r\\n And well she can persuade.\\r\\n LUCIO. I pray she may; as well for the encouragement of the like,\\r\\n which else would stand under grievous imposition, as for the\\r\\n enjoying of thy life, who I would be sorry should be thus\\r\\n foolishly lost at a game of tick-tack. I\\'ll to her.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. I thank you, good friend Lucio.\\r\\n LUCIO. Within two hours.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Come, officer, away. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A monastery\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE and FRIAR THOMAS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. No, holy father; throw away that thought;\\r\\n Believe not that the dribbling dart of love\\r\\n Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee\\r\\n To give me secret harbour hath a purpose\\r\\n More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends\\r\\n Of burning youth.\\r\\n FRIAR. May your Grace speak of it?\\r\\n DUKE. My holy sir, none better knows than you\\r\\n How I have ever lov\\'d the life removed,\\r\\n And held in idle price to haunt assemblies\\r\\n Where youth, and cost, a witless bravery keeps.\\r\\n I have deliver\\'d to Lord Angelo,\\r\\n A man of stricture and firm abstinence,\\r\\n My absolute power and place here in Vienna,\\r\\n And he supposes me travell\\'d to Poland;\\r\\n For so I have strew\\'d it in the common ear,\\r\\n And so it is received. Now, pious sir,\\r\\n You will demand of me why I do this.\\r\\n FRIAR. Gladly, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. We have strict statutes and most biting laws,\\r\\n The needful bits and curbs to headstrong steeds,\\r\\n Which for this fourteen years we have let slip;\\r\\n Even like an o\\'ergrown lion in a cave,\\r\\n That goes not out to prey. Now, as fond fathers,\\r\\n Having bound up the threat\\'ning twigs of birch,\\r\\n Only to stick it in their children\\'s sight\\r\\n For terror, not to use, in time the rod\\r\\n Becomes more mock\\'d than fear\\'d; so our decrees,\\r\\n Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead;\\r\\n And liberty plucks justice by the nose;\\r\\n The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart\\r\\n Goes all decorum.\\r\\n FRIAR. It rested in your Grace\\r\\n To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleas\\'d;\\r\\n And it in you more dreadful would have seem\\'d\\r\\n Than in Lord Angelo.\\r\\n DUKE. I do fear, too dreadful.\\r\\n Sith \\'twas my fault to give the people scope,\\r\\n \\'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them\\r\\n For what I bid them do; for we bid this be done,\\r\\n When evil deeds have their permissive pass\\r\\n And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, my father,\\r\\n I have on Angelo impos\\'d the office;\\r\\n Who may, in th\\' ambush of my name, strike home,\\r\\n And yet my nature never in the fight\\r\\n To do in slander. And to behold his sway,\\r\\n I will, as \\'twere a brother of your order,\\r\\n Visit both prince and people. Therefore, I prithee,\\r\\n Supply me with the habit, and instruct me\\r\\n How I may formally in person bear me\\r\\n Like a true friar. Moe reasons for this action\\r\\n At our more leisure shall I render you.\\r\\n Only, this one: Lord Angelo is precise;\\r\\n Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses\\r\\n That his blood flows, or that his appetite\\r\\n Is more to bread than stone. Hence shall we see,\\r\\n If power change purpose, what our seemers be. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A nunnery\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ISABELLA and FRANCISCA\\r\\n\\r\\n ISABELLA. And have you nuns no farther privileges?\\r\\n FRANCISCA. Are not these large enough?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Yes, truly; I speak not as desiring more,\\r\\n But rather wishing a more strict restraint\\r\\n Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare.\\r\\n LUCIO. [ Within] Ho! Peace be in this place!\\r\\n ISABELLA. Who\\'s that which calls?\\r\\n FRANCISCA. It is a man\\'s voice. Gentle Isabella,\\r\\n Turn you the key, and know his business of him:\\r\\n You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn;\\r\\n When you have vow\\'d, you must not speak with men\\r\\n But in the presence of the prioress;\\r\\n Then, if you speak, you must not show your face,\\r\\n Or, if you show your face, you must not speak.\\r\\n He calls again; I pray you answer him. Exit FRANCISCA\\r\\n ISABELLA. Peace and prosperity! Who is\\'t that calls?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LUCIO\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIO. Hail, virgin, if you be, as those cheek-roses\\r\\n Proclaim you are no less. Can you so stead me\\r\\n As bring me to the sight of Isabella,\\r\\n A novice of this place, and the fair sister\\r\\n To her unhappy brother Claudio?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Why her \\'unhappy brother\\'? Let me ask\\r\\n The rather, for I now must make you know\\r\\n I am that Isabella, and his sister.\\r\\n LUCIO. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you.\\r\\n Not to be weary with you, he\\'s in prison.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Woe me! For what?\\r\\n LUCIO. For that which, if myself might be his judge,\\r\\n He should receive his punishment in thanks:\\r\\n He hath got his friend with child.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Sir, make me not your story.\\r\\n LUCIO. It is true.\\r\\n I would not- though \\'tis my familiar sin\\r\\n With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest,\\r\\n Tongue far from heart- play with all virgins so:\\r\\n I hold you as a thing enskied and sainted,\\r\\n By your renouncement an immortal spirit,\\r\\n And to be talk\\'d with in sincerity,\\r\\n As with a saint.\\r\\n ISABELLA. You do blaspheme the good in mocking me.\\r\\n LUCIO. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, \\'tis thus:\\r\\n Your brother and his lover have embrac\\'d.\\r\\n As those that feed grow full, as blossoming time\\r\\n That from the seedness the bare fallow brings\\r\\n To teeming foison, even so her plenteous womb\\r\\n Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Some one with child by him? My cousin Juliet?\\r\\n LUCIO. Is she your cousin?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Adoptedly, as school-maids change their names\\r\\n By vain though apt affection.\\r\\n LUCIO. She it is.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, let him marry her!\\r\\n LUCIO. This is the point.\\r\\n The Duke is very strangely gone from hence;\\r\\n Bore many gentlemen, myself being one,\\r\\n In hand, and hope of action; but we do learn,\\r\\n By those that know the very nerves of state,\\r\\n His givings-out were of an infinite distance\\r\\n From his true-meant design. Upon his place,\\r\\n And with full line of his authority,\\r\\n Governs Lord Angelo, a man whose blood\\r\\n Is very snow-broth, one who never feels\\r\\n The wanton stings and motions of the sense,\\r\\n But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge\\r\\n With profits of the mind, study and fast.\\r\\n He- to give fear to use and liberty,\\r\\n Which have for long run by the hideous law,\\r\\n As mice by lions- hath pick\\'d out an act\\r\\n Under whose heavy sense your brother\\'s life\\r\\n Falls into forfeit; he arrests him on it,\\r\\n And follows close the rigour of the statute\\r\\n To make him an example. All hope is gone,\\r\\n Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer\\r\\n To soften Angelo. And that\\'s my pith of business\\r\\n \\'Twixt you and your poor brother.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Doth he so seek his life?\\r\\n LUCIO. Has censur\\'d him\\r\\n Already, and, as I hear, the Provost hath\\r\\n A warrant for his execution.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Alas! what poor ability\\'s in me\\r\\n To do him good?\\r\\n LUCIO. Assay the pow\\'r you have.\\r\\n ISABELLA. My power, alas, I doubt!\\r\\n LUCIO. Our doubts are traitors,\\r\\n And make us lose the good we oft might win\\r\\n By fearing to attempt. Go to Lord Angelo,\\r\\n And let him learn to know, when maidens sue,\\r\\n Men give like gods; but when they weep and kneel,\\r\\n All their petitions are as freely theirs\\r\\n As they themselves would owe them.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I\\'ll see what I can do.\\r\\n LUCIO. But speedily.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I will about it straight;\\r\\n No longer staying but to give the Mother\\r\\n Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you.\\r\\n Commend me to my brother; soon at night\\r\\n I\\'ll send him certain word of my success.\\r\\n LUCIO. I take my leave of you.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Good sir, adieu. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. Scene I. A hall in ANGELO\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ANGELO, ESCALUS, a JUSTICE, PROVOST, OFFICERS, and other\\r\\nATTENDANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n ANGELO. We must not make a scarecrow of the law,\\r\\n Setting it up to fear the birds of prey,\\r\\n And let it keep one shape till custom make it\\r\\n Their perch, and not their terror.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Ay, but yet\\r\\n Let us be keen, and rather cut a little\\r\\n Than fall and bruise to death. Alas! this gentleman,\\r\\n Whom I would save, had a most noble father.\\r\\n Let but your honour know,\\r\\n Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue,\\r\\n That, in the working of your own affections,\\r\\n Had time coher\\'d with place, or place with wishing,\\r\\n Or that the resolute acting of our blood\\r\\n Could have attain\\'d th\\' effect of your own purpose\\r\\n Whether you had not sometime in your life\\r\\n Err\\'d in this point which now you censure him,\\r\\n And pull\\'d the law upon you.\\r\\n ANGELO. \\'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus,\\r\\n Another thing to fall. I not deny\\r\\n The jury, passing on the prisoner\\'s life,\\r\\n May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two\\r\\n Guiltier than him they try. What\\'s open made to justice,\\r\\n That justice seizes. What knows the laws\\r\\n That thieves do pass on thieves? \\'Tis very pregnant,\\r\\n The jewel that we find, we stoop and take\\'t,\\r\\n Because we see it; but what we do not see\\r\\n We tread upon, and never think of it.\\r\\n You may not so extenuate his offence\\r\\n For I have had such faults; but rather tell me,\\r\\n When I, that censure him, do so offend,\\r\\n Let mine own judgment pattern out my death,\\r\\n And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Be it as your wisdom will.\\r\\n ANGELO. Where is the Provost?\\r\\n PROVOST. Here, if it like your honour.\\r\\n ANGELO. See that Claudio\\r\\n Be executed by nine to-morrow morning;\\r\\n Bring him his confessor; let him be prepar\\'d;\\r\\n For that\\'s the utmost of his pilgrimage. Exit PROVOST\\r\\n ESCALUS. [Aside] Well, heaven forgive him! and forgive us all!\\r\\n Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall;\\r\\n Some run from breaks of ice, and answer none,\\r\\n And some condemned for a fault alone.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ELBOW and OFFICERS with FROTH and POMPEY\\r\\n\\r\\n ELBOW. Come, bring them away; if these be good people in a\\r\\n commonweal that do nothing but use their abuses in common houses,\\r\\n I know no law; bring them away.\\r\\n ANGELO. How now, sir! What\\'s your name, and what\\'s the matter?\\r\\n ELBOW. If it please your honour, I am the poor Duke\\'s constable,\\r\\n and my name is Elbow; I do lean upon justice, sir, and do bring\\r\\n in here before your good honour two notorious benefactors.\\r\\n ANGELO. Benefactors! Well- what benefactors are they? Are they not\\r\\n malefactors?\\r\\n ELBOW. If it please your honour, I know not well what they are; but\\r\\n precise villains they are, that I am sure of, and void of all\\r\\n profanation in the world that good Christians ought to have.\\r\\n ESCALUS. This comes off well; here\\'s a wise officer.\\r\\n ANGELO. Go to; what quality are they of? Elbow is your name? Why\\r\\n dost thou not speak, Elbow?\\r\\n POMPEY. He cannot, sir; he\\'s out at elbow.\\r\\n ANGELO. What are you, sir?\\r\\n ELBOW. He, sir? A tapster, sir; parcel-bawd; one that serves a bad\\r\\n woman; whose house, sir, was, as they say, pluck\\'d down in the\\r\\n suburbs; and now she professes a hot-house, which, I think, is a\\r\\n very ill house too.\\r\\n ESCALUS. How know you that?\\r\\n ELBOW. My Wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven and your honour-\\r\\n ESCALUS. How! thy wife!\\r\\n ELBOW. Ay, sir; whom I thank heaven, is an honest woman-\\r\\n ESCALUS. Dost thou detest her therefore?\\r\\n ELBOW. I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well as she, that\\r\\n this house, if it be not a bawd\\'s house, it is pity of her life,\\r\\n for it is a naughty house.\\r\\n ESCALUS. How dost thou know that, constable?\\r\\n ELBOW. Marry, sir, by my wife; who, if she had been a woman\\r\\n cardinally given, might have been accus\\'d in fornication,\\r\\n adultery, and all uncleanliness there.\\r\\n ESCALUS. By the woman\\'s means?\\r\\n ELBOW. Ay, sir, by Mistress Overdone\\'s means; but as she spit in\\r\\n his face, so she defied him.\\r\\n POMPEY. Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so.\\r\\n ELBOW. Prove it before these varlets here, thou honourable man,\\r\\n prove it.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Do you hear how he misplaces?\\r\\n POMPEY. Sir, she came in great with child; and longing, saving your\\r\\n honour\\'s reverence, for stew\\'d prunes. Sir, we had but two in the\\r\\n house, which at that very distant time stood, as it were, in a\\r\\n fruit dish, a dish of some three pence; your honours have seen\\r\\n such dishes; they are not China dishes, but very good dishes.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Go to, go to; no matter for the dish, sir.\\r\\n POMPEY. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin; you are therein in the\\r\\n right; but to the point. As I say, this Mistress Elbow, being, as\\r\\n I say, with child, and being great-bellied, and longing, as I\\r\\n said, for prunes; and having but two in the dish, as I said,\\r\\n Master Froth here, this very man, having eaten the rest, as I\\r\\n said, and, as I say, paying for them very honestly; for, as you\\r\\n know, Master Froth, I could not give you three pence again-\\r\\n FROTH. No, indeed.\\r\\n POMPEY. Very well; you being then, if you be rememb\\'red, cracking\\r\\n the stones of the foresaid prunes-\\r\\n FROTH. Ay, so I did indeed.\\r\\n POMPEY. Why, very well; I telling you then, if you be rememb\\'red,\\r\\n that such a one and such a one were past cure of the thing you\\r\\n wot of, unless they kept very good diet, as I told you-\\r\\n FROTH. All this is true.\\r\\n POMPEY. Why, very well then-\\r\\n ESCALUS. Come, you are a tedious fool. To the purpose: what was\\r\\n done to Elbow\\'s wife that he hath cause to complain of? Come me\\r\\n to what was done to her.\\r\\n POMPEY. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet.\\r\\n ESCALUS. No, sir, nor I mean it not.\\r\\n POMPEY. Sir, but you shall come to it, by your honour\\'s leave. And,\\r\\n I beseech you, look into Master Froth here, sir, a man of\\r\\n fourscore pound a year; whose father died at Hallowmas- was\\'t not\\r\\n at Hallowmas, Master Froth?\\r\\n FROTH. All-hallond eve.\\r\\n POMPEY. Why, very well; I hope here be truths. He, sir, sitting, as\\r\\n I say, in a lower chair, sir; \\'twas in the Bunch of Grapes,\\r\\n where, indeed, you have a delight to sit, have you not?\\r\\n FROTH. I have so; because it is an open room, and good for winter.\\r\\n POMPEY. Why, very well then; I hope here be truths.\\r\\n ANGELO. This will last out a night in Russia,\\r\\n When nights are longest there; I\\'ll take my leave,\\r\\n And leave you to the hearing of the cause,\\r\\n Hoping you\\'ll find good cause to whip them all.\\r\\n ESCALUS. I think no less. Good morrow to your lordship.\\r\\n [Exit ANGELO] Now, sir, come on; what was done to Elbow\\'s wife,\\r\\n once more?\\r\\n POMPEY. Once?- sir. There was nothing done to her once.\\r\\n ELBOW. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did to my wife.\\r\\n POMPEY. I beseech your honour, ask me.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Well, sir, what did this gentleman to her?\\r\\n POMPEY. I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman\\'s face. Good\\r\\n Master Froth, look upon his honour; \\'tis for a good purpose. Doth\\r\\n your honour mark his face?\\r\\n ESCALUS. Ay, sir, very well.\\r\\n POMPEY. Nay, I beseech you, mark it well.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Well, I do so.\\r\\n POMPEY. Doth your honour see any harm in his face?\\r\\n ESCALUS. Why, no.\\r\\n POMPEY. I\\'ll be suppos\\'d upon a book his face is the worst thing\\r\\n about him. Good then; if his face be the worst thing about him,\\r\\n how could Master Froth do the constable\\'s wife any harm? I would\\r\\n know that of your honour.\\r\\n ESCALUS. He\\'s in the right, constable; what say you to it?\\r\\n ELBOW. First, an it like you, the house is a respected house; next,\\r\\n this is a respected fellow; and his mistress is a respected\\r\\n woman.\\r\\n POMPEY. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected person than\\r\\n any of us all.\\r\\n ELBOW. Varlet, thou liest; thou liest, wicket varlet; the time is\\r\\n yet to come that she was ever respected with man, woman, or\\r\\n child.\\r\\n POMPEY. Sir, she was respected with him before he married with her.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Which is the wiser here, Justice or Iniquity? Is this\\r\\n true?\\r\\n ELBOW. O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou wicked Hannibal! I\\r\\n respected with her before I was married to her! If ever I was\\r\\n respected with her, or she with me, let not your worship think me\\r\\n the poor Duke\\'s officer. Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, or\\r\\n I\\'ll have mine action of batt\\'ry on thee.\\r\\n ESCALUS. If he took you a box o\\' th\\' ear, you might have your\\r\\n action of slander too.\\r\\n ELBOW. Marry, I thank your good worship for it. What is\\'t your\\r\\n worship\\'s pleasure I shall do with this wicked caitiff?\\r\\n ESCALUS. Truly, officer, because he hath some offences in him that\\r\\n thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, let him continue in his\\r\\n courses till thou know\\'st what they are.\\r\\n ELBOW. Marry, I thank your worship for it. Thou seest, thou wicked\\r\\n varlet, now, what\\'s come upon thee: thou art to continue now,\\r\\n thou varlet; thou art to continue.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Where were you born, friend?\\r\\n FROTH. Here in Vienna, sir.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Are you of fourscore pounds a year?\\r\\n FROTH. Yes, an\\'t please you, sir.\\r\\n ESCALUS. So. What trade are you of, sir?\\r\\n POMPEY. A tapster, a poor widow\\'s tapster.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Your mistress\\' name?\\r\\n POMPEY. Mistress Overdone.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Hath she had any more than one husband?\\r\\n POMPEY. Nine, sir; Overdone by the last.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Nine! Come hither to me, Master Froth. Master Froth, I\\r\\n would not have you acquainted with tapsters: they will draw you,\\r\\n Master Froth, and you will hang them. Get you gone, and let me\\r\\n hear no more of you.\\r\\n FROTH. I thank your worship. For mine own part, I never come into\\r\\n any room in a taphouse but I am drawn in.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Well, no more of it, Master Froth; farewell. [Exit FROTH]\\r\\n Come you hither to me, Master Tapster; what\\'s your name, Master\\r\\n Tapster?\\r\\n POMPEY. Pompey.\\r\\n ESCALUS. What else?\\r\\n POMPEY. Bum, sir.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you; so\\r\\n that, in the beastliest sense, you are Pompey the Great. Pompey,\\r\\n you are partly a bawd, Pompey, howsoever you colour it in being a\\r\\n tapster. Are you not? Come, tell me true; it shall be the better\\r\\n for you.\\r\\n POMPEY. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would live.\\r\\n ESCALUS. How would you live, Pompey- by being a bawd? What do you\\r\\n think of the trade, Pompey? Is it a lawful trade?\\r\\n POMPEY. If the law would allow it, sir.\\r\\n ESCALUS. But the law will not allow it, Pompey; nor it shall not be\\r\\n allowed in Vienna.\\r\\n POMPEY. Does your worship mean to geld and splay all the youth of\\r\\n the city?\\r\\n ESCALUS. No, Pompey.\\r\\n POMPEY. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to\\'t then. If\\r\\n your worship will take order for the drabs and the knaves, you\\r\\n need not to fear the bawds.\\r\\n ESCALUS. There is pretty orders beginning, I can tell you: but it\\r\\n is but heading and hanging.\\r\\n POMPEY. If you head and hang all that offend that way but for ten\\r\\n year together, you\\'ll be glad to give out a commission for more\\r\\n heads; if this law hold in Vienna ten year, I\\'ll rent the fairest\\r\\n house in it, after threepence a bay. If you live to see this come\\r\\n to pass, say Pompey told you so.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Thank you, good Pompey; and, in requital of your prophecy,\\r\\n hark you: I advise you, let me not find you before me again upon\\r\\n any complaint whatsoever- no, not for dwelling where you do; if I\\r\\n do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, and prove a shrewd\\r\\n Caesar to you; in plain dealing, Pompey, I shall have you whipt.\\r\\n So for this time, Pompey, fare you well.\\r\\n POMPEY. I thank your worship for your good counsel; [Aside] but I\\r\\n shall follow it as the flesh and fortune shall better determine.\\r\\n Whip me? No, no; let carman whip his jade;\\r\\n The valiant heart\\'s not whipt out of his trade. Exit\\r\\n ESCALUS. Come hither to me, Master Elbow; come hither, Master\\r\\n Constable. How long have you been in this place of constable?\\r\\n ELBOW. Seven year and a half, sir.\\r\\n ESCALUS. I thought, by the readiness in the office, you had\\r\\n continued in it some time. You say seven years together?\\r\\n ELBOW. And a half, sir.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Alas, it hath been great pains to you! They do you wrong\\r\\n to put you so oft upon\\'t. Are there not men in your ward\\r\\n sufficient to serve it?\\r\\n ELBOW. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters; as they are\\r\\n chosen, they are glad to choose me for them; I do it for some\\r\\n piece of money, and go through with all.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Look you, bring me in the names of some six or seven, the\\r\\n most sufficient of your parish.\\r\\n ELBOW. To your worship\\'s house, sir?\\r\\n ESCALUS. To my house. Fare you well. [Exit ELBOW]\\r\\n What\\'s o\\'clock, think you?\\r\\n JUSTICE. Eleven, sir.\\r\\n ESCALUS. I pray you home to dinner with me.\\r\\n JUSTICE. I humbly thank you.\\r\\n ESCALUS. It grieves me for the death of Claudio;\\r\\n But there\\'s no remedy.\\r\\n JUSTICE. Lord Angelo is severe.\\r\\n ESCALUS. It is but needful:\\r\\n Mercy is not itself that oft looks so;\\r\\n Pardon is still the nurse of second woe.\\r\\n But yet, poor Claudio! There is no remedy.\\r\\n Come, sir. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another room in ANGELO\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PROVOST and a SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. He\\'s hearing of a cause; he will come straight.\\r\\n I\\'ll tell him of you.\\r\\n PROVOST. Pray you do. [Exit SERVANT] I\\'ll know\\r\\n His pleasure; may be he will relent. Alas,\\r\\n He hath but as offended in a dream!\\r\\n All sects, all ages, smack of this vice; and he\\r\\n To die for \\'t!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ANGELO\\r\\n\\r\\n ANGELO. Now, what\\'s the matter, Provost?\\r\\n PROVOST. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow?\\r\\n ANGELO. Did not I tell thee yea? Hadst thou not order?\\r\\n Why dost thou ask again?\\r\\n PROVOST. Lest I might be too rash;\\r\\n Under your good correction, I have seen\\r\\n When, after execution, judgment hath\\r\\n Repented o\\'er his doom.\\r\\n ANGELO. Go to; let that be mine.\\r\\n Do you your office, or give up your place,\\r\\n And you shall well be spar\\'d.\\r\\n PROVOST. I crave your honour\\'s pardon.\\r\\n What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet?\\r\\n She\\'s very near her hour.\\r\\n ANGELO. Dispose of her\\r\\n To some more fitter place, and that with speed.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. Here is the sister of the man condemn\\'d\\r\\n Desires access to you.\\r\\n ANGELO. Hath he a sister?\\r\\n PROVOST. Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid,\\r\\n And to be shortly of a sisterhood,\\r\\n If not already.\\r\\n ANGELO. Well, let her be admitted. Exit SERVANT\\r\\n See you the fornicatress be remov\\'d;\\r\\n Let her have needful but not lavish means;\\r\\n There shall be order for\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucio and ISABELLA\\r\\n\\r\\n PROVOST. [Going] Save your honour!\\r\\n ANGELO. Stay a little while. [To ISABELLA] Y\\'are welcome; what\\'s\\r\\n your will?\\r\\n ISABELLA. I am a woeful suitor to your honour,\\r\\n Please but your honour hear me.\\r\\n ANGELO. Well; what\\'s your suit?\\r\\n ISABELLA. There is a vice that most I do abhor,\\r\\n And most desire should meet the blow of justice;\\r\\n For which I would not plead, but that I must;\\r\\n For which I must not plead, but that I am\\r\\n At war \\'twixt will and will not.\\r\\n ANGELO. Well; the matter?\\r\\n ISABELLA. I have a brother is condemn\\'d to die;\\r\\n I do beseech you, let it be his fault,\\r\\n And not my brother.\\r\\n PROVOST. [Aside] Heaven give thee moving graces.\\r\\n ANGELO. Condemn the fault and not the actor of it!\\r\\n Why, every fault\\'s condemn\\'d ere it be done;\\r\\n Mine were the very cipher of a function,\\r\\n To fine the faults whose fine stands in record,\\r\\n And let go by the actor.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O just but severe law!\\r\\n I had a brother, then. Heaven keep your honour!\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Give\\'t not o\\'er so; to him again, entreat him,\\r\\n Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown;\\r\\n You are too cold: if you should need a pin,\\r\\n You could not with more tame a tongue desire it.\\r\\n To him, I say.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Must he needs die?\\r\\n ANGELO. Maiden, no remedy.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him.\\r\\n And neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy.\\r\\n ANGELO. I will not do\\'t.\\r\\n ISABELLA. But can you, if you would?\\r\\n ANGELO. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.\\r\\n ISABELLA. But might you do\\'t, and do the world no wrong,\\r\\n If so your heart were touch\\'d with that remorse\\r\\n As mine is to him?\\r\\n ANGELO. He\\'s sentenc\\'d; \\'tis too late.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] You are too cold.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Too late? Why, no; I, that do speak a word,\\r\\n May call it back again. Well, believe this:\\r\\n No ceremony that to great ones longs,\\r\\n Not the king\\'s crown nor the deputed sword,\\r\\n The marshal\\'s truncheon nor the judge\\'s robe,\\r\\n Become them with one half so good a grace\\r\\n As mercy does.\\r\\n If he had been as you, and you as he,\\r\\n You would have slipp\\'d like him; but he, like you,\\r\\n Would not have been so stern.\\r\\n ANGELO. Pray you be gone.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I would to heaven I had your potency,\\r\\n And you were Isabel! Should it then be thus?\\r\\n No; I would tell what \\'twere to be a judge\\r\\n And what a prisoner.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Ay, touch him; there\\'s the vein.\\r\\n ANGELO. Your brother is a forfeit of the law,\\r\\n And you but waste your words.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Alas! Alas!\\r\\n Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once;\\r\\n And He that might the vantage best have took\\r\\n Found out the remedy. How would you be\\r\\n If He, which is the top of judgment, should\\r\\n But judge you as you are? O, think on that;\\r\\n And mercy then will breathe within your lips,\\r\\n Like man new made.\\r\\n ANGELO. Be you content, fair maid.\\r\\n It is the law, not I condemn your brother.\\r\\n Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son,\\r\\n It should be thus with him. He must die to-morrow.\\r\\n ISABELLA. To-morrow! O, that\\'s sudden! Spare him, spare him.\\r\\n He\\'s not prepar\\'d for death. Even for our kitchens\\r\\n We kill the fowl of season; shall we serve heaven\\r\\n With less respect than we do minister\\r\\n To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink you.\\r\\n Who is it that hath died for this offence?\\r\\n There\\'s many have committed it.\\r\\n LUCIO. [Aside] Ay, well said.\\r\\n ANGELO. The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept.\\r\\n Those many had not dar\\'d to do that evil\\r\\n If the first that did th\\' edict infringe\\r\\n Had answer\\'d for his deed. Now \\'tis awake,\\r\\n Takes note of what is done, and, like a prophet,\\r\\n Looks in a glass that shows what future evils-\\r\\n Either now or by remissness new conceiv\\'d,\\r\\n And so in progress to be hatch\\'d and born-\\r\\n Are now to have no successive degrees,\\r\\n But here they live to end.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Yet show some pity.\\r\\n ANGELO. I show it most of all when I show justice;\\r\\n For then I pity those I do not know,\\r\\n Which a dismiss\\'d offence would after gall,\\r\\n And do him right that, answering one foul wrong,\\r\\n Lives not to act another. Be satisfied;\\r\\n Your brother dies to-morrow; be content.\\r\\n ISABELLA. So you must be the first that gives this sentence,\\r\\n And he that suffers. O, it is excellent\\r\\n To have a giant\\'s strength! But it is tyrannous\\r\\n To use it like a giant.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] That\\'s well said.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Could great men thunder\\r\\n As Jove himself does, Jove would never be quiet,\\r\\n For every pelting petty officer\\r\\n Would use his heaven for thunder,\\r\\n Nothing but thunder. Merciful Heaven,\\r\\n Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt,\\r\\n Splits the unwedgeable and gnarled oak\\r\\n Than the soft myrtle. But man, proud man,\\r\\n Dress\\'d in a little brief authority,\\r\\n Most ignorant of what he\\'s most assur\\'d,\\r\\n His glassy essence, like an angry ape,\\r\\n Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven\\r\\n As makes the angels weep; who, with our speens,\\r\\n Would all themselves laugh mortal.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] O, to him, to him, wench! He will relent;\\r\\n He\\'s coming; I perceive \\'t.\\r\\n PROVOST. [Aside] Pray heaven she win him.\\r\\n ISABELLA. We cannot weigh our brother with ourself.\\r\\n Great men may jest with saints: \\'tis wit in them;\\r\\n But in the less foul profanation.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Thou\\'rt i\\' th\\' right, girl; more o\\' that.\\r\\n ISABELLA. That in the captain\\'s but a choleric word\\r\\n Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Art avis\\'d o\\' that? More on\\'t.\\r\\n ANGELO. Why do you put these sayings upon me?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Because authority, though it err like others,\\r\\n Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself\\r\\n That skins the vice o\\' th\\' top. Go to your bosom,\\r\\n Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know\\r\\n That\\'s like my brother\\'s fault. If it confess\\r\\n A natural guiltiness such as is his,\\r\\n Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue\\r\\n Against my brother\\'s life.\\r\\n ANGELO. [Aside] She speaks, and \\'tis\\r\\n Such sense that my sense breeds with it.- Fare you well.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Gentle my lord, turn back.\\r\\n ANGELO. I will bethink me. Come again to-morrow.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Hark how I\\'ll bribe you; good my lord, turn back.\\r\\n ANGELO. How, bribe me?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Ay, with such gifts that heaven shall share with you.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA) You had marr\\'d all else.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Not with fond sicles of the tested gold,\\r\\n Or stones, whose rate are either rich or poor\\r\\n As fancy values them; but with true prayers\\r\\n That shall be up at heaven and enter there\\r\\n Ere sun-rise, prayers from preserved souls,\\r\\n From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate\\r\\n To nothing temporal.\\r\\n ANGELO. Well; come to me to-morrow.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Go to; \\'tis well; away.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Heaven keep your honour safe!\\r\\n ANGELO. [Aside] Amen; for I\\r\\n Am that way going to temptation\\r\\n Where prayers cross.\\r\\n ISABELLA. At what hour to-morrow\\r\\n Shall I attend your lordship?\\r\\n ANGELO. At any time \\'fore noon.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Save your honour! Exeunt all but ANGELO\\r\\n ANGELO. From thee; even from thy virtue!\\r\\n What\\'s this, what\\'s this? Is this her fault or mine?\\r\\n The tempter or the tempted, who sins most?\\r\\n Ha!\\r\\n Not she; nor doth she tempt; but it is I\\r\\n That, lying by the violet in the sun,\\r\\n Do as the carrion does, not as the flow\\'r,\\r\\n Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be\\r\\n That modesty may more betray our sense\\r\\n Than woman\\'s lightness? Having waste ground enough,\\r\\n Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary,\\r\\n And pitch our evils there? O, fie, fie, fie!\\r\\n What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo?\\r\\n Dost thou desire her foully for those things\\r\\n That make her good? O, let her brother live!\\r\\n Thieves for their robbery have authority\\r\\n When judges steal themselves. What, do I love her,\\r\\n That I desire to hear her speak again,\\r\\n And feast upon her eyes? What is\\'t I dream on?\\r\\n O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint,\\r\\n With saints dost bait thy hook! Most dangerous\\r\\n Is that temptation that doth goad us on\\r\\n To sin in loving virtue. Never could the strumpet,\\r\\n With all her double vigour, art and nature,\\r\\n Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid\\r\\n Subdues me quite. Ever till now,\\r\\n When men were fond, I smil\\'d and wond\\'red how. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A prison\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter, severally, DUKE, disguised as a FRIAR, and PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Hail to you, Provost! so I think you are.\\r\\n PROVOST. I am the Provost. What\\'s your will, good friar?\\r\\n DUKE. Bound by my charity and my blest order,\\r\\n I come to visit the afflicted spirits\\r\\n Here in the prison. Do me the common right\\r\\n To let me see them, and to make me know\\r\\n The nature of their crimes, that I may minister\\r\\n To them accordingly.\\r\\n PROVOST. I would do more than that, if more were needful.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter JULIET\\r\\n\\r\\n Look, here comes one; a gentlewoman of mine,\\r\\n Who, falling in the flaws of her own youth,\\r\\n Hath blister\\'d her report. She is with child;\\r\\n And he that got it, sentenc\\'d- a young man\\r\\n More fit to do another such offence\\r\\n Than die for this.\\r\\n DUKE. When must he die?\\r\\n PROVOST. As I do think, to-morrow.\\r\\n [To JULIET] I have provided for you; stay awhile\\r\\n And you shall be conducted.\\r\\n DUKE. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry?\\r\\n JULIET. I do; and bear the shame most patiently.\\r\\n DUKE. I\\'ll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience,\\r\\n And try your penitence, if it be sound\\r\\n Or hollowly put on.\\r\\n JULIET. I\\'ll gladly learn.\\r\\n DUKE. Love you the man that wrong\\'d you?\\r\\n JULIET. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong\\'d him.\\r\\n DUKE. So then, it seems, your most offenceful act\\r\\n Was mutually committed.\\r\\n JULIET. Mutually.\\r\\n DUKE. Then was your sin of heavier kind than his.\\r\\n JULIET. I do confess it, and repent it, father.\\r\\n DUKE. \\'Tis meet so, daughter; but lest you do repent\\r\\n As that the sin hath brought you to this shame,\\r\\n Which sorrow is always toward ourselves, not heaven,\\r\\n Showing we would not spare heaven as we love it,\\r\\n But as we stand in fear-\\r\\n JULIET. I do repent me as it is an evil,\\r\\n And take the shame with joy.\\r\\n DUKE. There rest.\\r\\n Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow,\\r\\n And I am going with instruction to him.\\r\\n Grace go with you! Benedicite! Exit\\r\\n JULIET. Must die to-morrow! O, injurious law,\\r\\n That respites me a life whose very comfort\\r\\n Is still a dying horror!\\r\\n PROVOST. \\'Tis pity of him. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. ANGELO\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ANGELO\\r\\n\\r\\n ANGELO. When I would pray and think, I think and pray\\r\\n To several subjects. Heaven hath my empty words,\\r\\n Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue,\\r\\n Anchors on Isabel. Heaven in my mouth,\\r\\n As if I did but only chew his name,\\r\\n And in my heart the strong and swelling evil\\r\\n Of my conception. The state whereon I studied\\r\\n Is, like a good thing being often read,\\r\\n Grown sere and tedious; yea, my gravity,\\r\\n Wherein- let no man hear me- I take pride,\\r\\n Could I with boot change for an idle plume\\r\\n Which the air beats for vain. O place, O form,\\r\\n How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit,\\r\\n Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls\\r\\n To thy false seeming! Blood, thou art blood.\\r\\n Let\\'s write \\'good angel\\' on the devil\\'s horn;\\r\\n \\'Tis not the devil\\'s crest.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, who\\'s there?\\r\\n SERVANT. One Isabel, a sister, desires access to you.\\r\\n ANGELO. Teach her the way. [Exit SERVANT] O heavens!\\r\\n Why does my blood thus muster to my heart,\\r\\n Making both it unable for itself\\r\\n And dispossessing all my other parts\\r\\n Of necessary fitness?\\r\\n So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons;\\r\\n Come all to help him, and so stop the air\\r\\n By which he should revive; and even so\\r\\n The general subject to a well-wish\\'d king\\r\\n Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness\\r\\n Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love\\r\\n Must needs appear offence.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ISABELLA\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, fair maid?\\r\\n ISABELLA. I am come to know your pleasure.\\r\\n ANGELO. That you might know it would much better please me\\r\\n Than to demand what \\'tis. Your brother cannot live.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Even so! Heaven keep your honour!\\r\\n ANGELO. Yet may he live awhile, and, it may be,\\r\\n As long as you or I; yet he must die.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Under your sentence?\\r\\n ANGELO. Yea.\\r\\n ISABELLA. When? I beseech you; that in his reprieve,\\r\\n Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted\\r\\n That his soul sicken not.\\r\\n ANGELO. Ha! Fie, these filthy vices! It were as good\\r\\n To pardon him that hath from nature stol\\'n\\r\\n A man already made, as to remit\\r\\n Their saucy sweetness that do coin heaven\\'s image\\r\\n In stamps that are forbid; \\'tis all as easy\\r\\n Falsely to take away a life true made\\r\\n As to put metal in restrained means\\r\\n To make a false one.\\r\\n ISABELLA. \\'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth.\\r\\n ANGELO. Say you so? Then I shall pose you quickly.\\r\\n Which had you rather- that the most just law\\r\\n Now took your brother\\'s life; or, to redeem him,\\r\\n Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness\\r\\n As she that he hath stain\\'d?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Sir, believe this:\\r\\n I had rather give my body than my soul.\\r\\n ANGELO. I talk not of your soul; our compell\\'d sins\\r\\n Stand more for number than for accompt.\\r\\n ISABELLA. How say you?\\r\\n ANGELO. Nay, I\\'ll not warrant that; for I can speak\\r\\n Against the thing I say. Answer to this:\\r\\n I, now the voice of the recorded law,\\r\\n Pronounce a sentence on your brother\\'s life;\\r\\n Might there not be a charity in sin\\r\\n To save this brother\\'s life?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Please you to do\\'t,\\r\\n I\\'ll take it as a peril to my soul\\r\\n It is no sin at all, but charity.\\r\\n ANGELO. Pleas\\'d you to do\\'t at peril of your soul,\\r\\n Were equal poise of sin and charity.\\r\\n ISABELLA. That I do beg his life, if it be sin,\\r\\n Heaven let me bear it! You granting of my suit,\\r\\n If that be sin, I\\'ll make it my morn prayer\\r\\n To have it added to the faults of mine,\\r\\n And nothing of your answer.\\r\\n ANGELO. Nay, but hear me;\\r\\n Your sense pursues not mine; either you are ignorant\\r\\n Or seem so, craftily; and that\\'s not good.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good\\r\\n But graciously to know I am no better.\\r\\n ANGELO. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright\\r\\n When it doth tax itself; as these black masks\\r\\n Proclaim an enshielded beauty ten times louder\\r\\n Than beauty could, display\\'d. But mark me:\\r\\n To be received plain, I\\'ll speak more gross-\\r\\n Your brother is to die.\\r\\n ISABELLA. So.\\r\\n ANGELO. And his offence is so, as it appears,\\r\\n Accountant to the law upon that pain.\\r\\n ISABELLA. True.\\r\\n ANGELO. Admit no other way to save his life,\\r\\n As I subscribe not that, nor any other,\\r\\n But, in the loss of question, that you, his sister,\\r\\n Finding yourself desir\\'d of such a person\\r\\n Whose credit with the judge, or own great place,\\r\\n Could fetch your brother from the manacles\\r\\n Of the all-binding law; and that there were\\r\\n No earthly mean to save him but that either\\r\\n You must lay down the treasures of your body\\r\\n To this supposed, or else to let him suffer-\\r\\n What would you do?\\r\\n ISABELLA. As much for my poor brother as myself;\\r\\n That is, were I under the terms of death,\\r\\n Th\\' impression of keen whips I\\'d wear as rubies,\\r\\n And strip myself to death as to a bed\\r\\n That longing have been sick for, ere I\\'d yield\\r\\n My body up to shame.\\r\\n ANGELO. Then must your brother die.\\r\\n ISABELLA. And \\'twere the cheaper way:\\r\\n Better it were a brother died at once\\r\\n Than that a sister, by redeeming him,\\r\\n Should die for ever.\\r\\n ANGELO. Were not you, then, as cruel as the sentence\\r\\n That you have slander\\'d so?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Ignominy in ransom and free pardon\\r\\n Are of two houses: lawful mercy\\r\\n Is nothing kin to foul redemption.\\r\\n ANGELO. You seem\\'d of late to make the law a tyrant;\\r\\n And rather prov\\'d the sliding of your brother\\r\\n A merriment than a vice.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, pardon me, my lord! It oft falls out,\\r\\n To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean:\\r\\n I something do excuse the thing I hate\\r\\n For his advantage that I dearly love.\\r\\n ANGELO. We are all frail.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Else let my brother die,\\r\\n If not a fedary but only he\\r\\n Owe and succeed thy weakness.\\r\\n ANGELO. Nay, women are frail too.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves,\\r\\n Which are as easy broke as they make forms.\\r\\n Women, help heaven! Men their creation mar\\r\\n In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail;\\r\\n For we are soft as our complexions are,\\r\\n And credulous to false prints.\\r\\n ANGELO. I think it well;\\r\\n And from this testimony of your own sex,\\r\\n Since I suppose we are made to be no stronger\\r\\n Than faults may shake our frames, let me be bold.\\r\\n I do arrest your words. Be that you are,\\r\\n That is, a woman; if you be more, you\\'re none;\\r\\n If you be one, as you are well express\\'d\\r\\n By all external warrants, show it now\\r\\n By putting on the destin\\'d livery.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I have no tongue but one; gentle, my lord,\\r\\n Let me intreat you speak the former language.\\r\\n ANGELO. Plainly conceive, I love you.\\r\\n ISABELLA. My brother did love Juliet,\\r\\n And you tell me that he shall die for\\'t.\\r\\n ANGELO. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I know your virtue hath a license in\\'t,\\r\\n Which seems a little fouler than it is,\\r\\n To pluck on others.\\r\\n ANGELO. Believe me, on mine honour,\\r\\n My words express my purpose.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Ha! little honour to be much believ\\'d,\\r\\n And most pernicious purpose! Seeming, seeming!\\r\\n I will proclaim thee, Angelo, look for\\'t.\\r\\n Sign me a present pardon for my brother\\r\\n Or, with an outstretch\\'d throat, I\\'ll tell the world aloud\\r\\n What man thou art.\\r\\n ANGELO. Who will believe thee, Isabel?\\r\\n My unsoil\\'d name, th\\' austereness of my life,\\r\\n My vouch against you, and my place i\\' th\\' state,\\r\\n Will so your accusation overweigh\\r\\n That you shall stifle in your own report,\\r\\n And smell of calumny. I have begun,\\r\\n And now I give my sensual race the rein:\\r\\n Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite;\\r\\n Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes\\r\\n That banish what they sue for; redeem thy brother\\r\\n By yielding up thy body to my will;\\r\\n Or else he must not only die the death,\\r\\n But thy unkindness shall his death draw out\\r\\n To ling\\'ring sufferance. Answer me to-morrow,\\r\\n Or, by the affection that now guides me most,\\r\\n I\\'ll prove a tyrant to him. As for you,\\r\\n Say what you can: my false o\\'erweighs your true. Exit\\r\\n ISABELLA. To whom should I complain? Did I tell this,\\r\\n Who would believe me? O perilous mouths\\r\\n That bear in them one and the self-same tongue\\r\\n Either of condemnation or approof,\\r\\n Bidding the law make curtsy to their will;\\r\\n Hooking both right and wrong to th\\' appetite,\\r\\n To follow as it draws! I\\'ll to my brother.\\r\\n Though he hath fall\\'n by prompture of the blood,\\r\\n Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour\\r\\n That, had he twenty heads to tender down\\r\\n On twenty bloody blocks, he\\'d yield them up\\r\\n Before his sister should her body stoop\\r\\n To such abhorr\\'d pollution.\\r\\n Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die:\\r\\n More than our brother is our chastity.\\r\\n I\\'ll tell him yet of Angelo\\'s request,\\r\\n And fit his mind to death, for his soul\\'s rest. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. The prison\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE, disguised as before, CLAUDIO, and PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. So, then you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. The miserable have no other medicine\\r\\n But only hope:\\r\\n I have hope to Eve, and am prepar\\'d to die.\\r\\n DUKE. Be absolute for death; either death or life\\r\\n Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life.\\r\\n If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing\\r\\n That none but fools would keep. A breath thou art,\\r\\n Servile to all the skyey influences,\\r\\n That dost this habitation where thou keep\\'st\\r\\n Hourly afflict. Merely, thou art Death\\'s fool;\\r\\n For him thou labour\\'st by thy flight to shun\\r\\n And yet run\\'st toward him still. Thou art not noble;\\r\\n For all th\\' accommodations that thou bear\\'st\\r\\n Are nurs\\'d by baseness. Thou \\'rt by no means valiant;\\r\\n For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork\\r\\n Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep,\\r\\n And that thou oft provok\\'st; yet grossly fear\\'st\\r\\n Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself;\\r\\n For thou exists on many a thousand grains\\r\\n That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not;\\r\\n For what thou hast not, still thou striv\\'st to get,\\r\\n And what thou hast, forget\\'st. Thou art not certain;\\r\\n For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,\\r\\n After the moon. If thou art rich, thou\\'rt poor;\\r\\n For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows,\\r\\n Thou bear\\'st thy heavy riches but a journey,\\r\\n And Death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none;\\r\\n For thine own bowels which do call thee sire,\\r\\n The mere effusion of thy proper loins,\\r\\n Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum,\\r\\n For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth nor age,\\r\\n But, as it were, an after-dinner\\'s sleep,\\r\\n Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth\\r\\n Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms\\r\\n Of palsied eld; and when thou art old and rich,\\r\\n Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,\\r\\n To make thy riches pleasant. What\\'s yet in this\\r\\n That bears the name of life? Yet in this life\\r\\n Lie hid moe thousand deaths; yet death we fear,\\r\\n That makes these odds all even.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. I humbly thank you.\\r\\n To sue to live, I find I seek to die;\\r\\n And, seeking death, find life. Let it come on.\\r\\n ISABELLA. [Within] What, ho! Peace here; grace and good company!\\r\\n PROVOST. Who\\'s there? Come in; the wish deserves a welcome.\\r\\n DUKE. Dear sir, ere long I\\'ll visit you again.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Most holy sir, I thank you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ISABELLA\\r\\n\\r\\n ISABELLA. My business is a word or two with Claudio.\\r\\n PROVOST. And very welcome. Look, signior, here\\'s your sister.\\r\\n DUKE. Provost, a word with you.\\r\\n PROVOST. As many as you please.\\r\\n DUKE. Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be conceal\\'d.\\r\\n Exeunt DUKE and PROVOST\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Now, sister, what\\'s the comfort?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Why,\\r\\n As all comforts are; most good, most good, indeed.\\r\\n Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven,\\r\\n Intends you for his swift ambassador,\\r\\n Where you shall be an everlasting leiger.\\r\\n Therefore, your best appointment make with speed;\\r\\n To-morrow you set on.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Is there no remedy?\\r\\n ISABELLA. None, but such remedy as, to save a head,\\r\\n To cleave a heart in twain.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. But is there any?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Yes, brother, you may live:\\r\\n There is a devilish mercy in the judge,\\r\\n If you\\'ll implore it, that will free your life,\\r\\n But fetter you till death.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Perpetual durance?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Ay, just; perpetual durance, a restraint,\\r\\n Though all the world\\'s vastidity you had,\\r\\n To a determin\\'d scope.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. But in what nature?\\r\\n ISABELLA. In such a one as, you consenting to\\'t,\\r\\n Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear,\\r\\n And leave you naked.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Let me know the point.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake,\\r\\n Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain,\\r\\n And six or seven winters more respect\\r\\n Than a perpetual honour. Dar\\'st thou die?\\r\\n The sense of death is most in apprehension;\\r\\n And the poor beetle that we tread upon\\r\\n In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great\\r\\n As when a giant dies.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Why give you me this shame?\\r\\n Think you I can a resolution fetch\\r\\n From flow\\'ry tenderness? If I must die,\\r\\n I will encounter darkness as a bride\\r\\n And hug it in mine arms.\\r\\n ISABELLA. There spake my brother; there my father\\'s grave\\r\\n Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die:\\r\\n Thou art too noble to conserve a life\\r\\n In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy,\\r\\n Whose settled visage and deliberate word\\r\\n Nips youth i\\' th\\' head, and follies doth enew\\r\\n As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil;\\r\\n His filth within being cast, he would appear\\r\\n A pond as deep as hell.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. The precise Angelo!\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, \\'tis the cunning livery of hell\\r\\n The damned\\'st body to invest and cover\\r\\n In precise guards! Dost thou think, Claudio,\\r\\n If I would yield him my virginity\\r\\n Thou mightst be freed?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. O heavens! it cannot be.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Yes, he would give\\'t thee, from this rank offence,\\r\\n So to offend him still. This night\\'s the time\\r\\n That I should do what I abhor to name,\\r\\n Or else thou diest to-morrow.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Thou shalt not do\\'t.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, were it but my life!\\r\\n I\\'d throw it down for your deliverance\\r\\n As frankly as a pin.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Thanks, dear Isabel.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Yes. Has he affections in him\\r\\n That thus can make him bite the law by th\\' nose\\r\\n When he would force it? Sure it is no sin;\\r\\n Or of the deadly seven it is the least.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Which is the least?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. If it were damnable, he being so wise,\\r\\n Why would he for the momentary trick\\r\\n Be perdurably fin\\'d?- O Isabel!\\r\\n ISABELLA. What says my brother?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Death is a fearful thing.\\r\\n ISABELLA. And shamed life a hateful.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;\\r\\n To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot;\\r\\n This sensible warm motion to become\\r\\n A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit\\r\\n To bathe in fiery floods or to reside\\r\\n In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice;\\r\\n To be imprison\\'d in the viewless winds,\\r\\n And blown with restless violence round about\\r\\n The pendent world; or to be worse than worst\\r\\n Of those that lawless and incertain thought\\r\\n Imagine howling- \\'tis too horrible.\\r\\n The weariest and most loathed worldly life\\r\\n That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment,\\r\\n Can lay on nature is a paradise\\r\\n To what we fear of death.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Alas, alas!\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Sweet sister, let me live.\\r\\n What sin you do to save a brother\\'s life,\\r\\n Nature dispenses with the deed so far\\r\\n That it becomes a virtue.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O you beast!\\r\\n O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch!\\r\\n Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice?\\r\\n Is\\'t not a kind of incest to take life\\r\\n From thine own sister\\'s shame? What should I think?\\r\\n Heaven shield my mother play\\'d my father fair!\\r\\n For such a warped slip of wilderness\\r\\n Ne\\'er issu\\'d from his blood. Take my defiance;\\r\\n Die; perish. Might but my bending down\\r\\n Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed.\\r\\n I\\'ll pray a thousand prayers for thy death,\\r\\n No word to save thee.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Nay, hear me, Isabel.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O fie, fie, fie!\\r\\n Thy sin\\'s not accidental, but a trade.\\r\\n Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd;\\r\\n \\'Tis best that thou diest quickly.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. O, hear me, Isabella.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter DUKE\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one word.\\r\\n ISABELLA. What is your will?\\r\\n DUKE. Might you dispense with your leisure, I would by and by have\\r\\n some speech with you; the satisfaction I would require is\\r\\n likewise your own benefit.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must be stolen out\\r\\n of other affairs; but I will attend you awhile.\\r\\n [Walks apart]\\r\\n DUKE. Son, I have overheard what hath pass\\'d between you and your\\r\\n sister. Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; only he hath\\r\\n made an assay of her virtue to practise his judgment with the\\r\\n disposition of natures. She, having the truth of honour in her,\\r\\n hath made him that gracious denial which he is most glad to\\r\\n receive. I am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be true;\\r\\n therefore prepare yourself to death. Do not satisfy your\\r\\n resolution with hopes that are fallible; to-morrow you must die;\\r\\n go to your knees and make ready.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out of love with life\\r\\n that I will sue to be rid of it.\\r\\n DUKE. Hold you there. Farewell. [Exit CLAUDIO] Provost, a word with\\r\\n you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n PROVOST. What\\'s your will, father?\\r\\n DUKE. That, now you are come, you will be gone. Leave me a while\\r\\n with the maid; my mind promises with my habit no loss shall touch\\r\\n her by my company.\\r\\n PROVOST. In good time. Exit PROVOST\\r\\n DUKE. The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good; the\\r\\n goodness that is cheap in beauty makes beauty brief in goodness;\\r\\n but grace, being the soul of your complexion, shall keep the body\\r\\n of it ever fair. The assault that Angelo hath made to you,\\r\\n fortune hath convey\\'d to my understanding; and, but that frailty\\r\\n hath examples for his falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How\\r\\n will you do to content this substitute, and to save your brother?\\r\\n ISABELLA. I am now going to resolve him; I had rather my brother\\r\\n die by the law than my son should be unlawfully born. But, O, how\\r\\n much is the good Duke deceiv\\'d in Angelo! If ever he return, and\\r\\n I can speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or discover his\\r\\n government.\\r\\n DUKE. That shall not be much amiss; yet, as the matter now stands,\\r\\n he will avoid your accusation: he made trial of you only.\\r\\n Therefore fasten your ear on my advisings; to the love I have in\\r\\n doing good a remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe\\r\\n that you may most uprighteously do a poor wronged lady a merited\\r\\n benefit; redeem your brother from the angry law; do no stain to\\r\\n your own gracious person; and much please the absent Duke, if\\r\\n peradventure he shall ever return to have hearing of this\\r\\n business.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Let me hear you speak farther; I have spirit to do\\r\\n anything that appears not foul in the truth of my spirit.\\r\\n DUKE. Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. Have you not\\r\\n heard speak of Mariana, the sister of Frederick, the great\\r\\n soldier who miscarried at sea?\\r\\n ISABELLA. I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her\\r\\n name.\\r\\n DUKE. She should this Angelo have married; was affianced to her by\\r\\n oath, and the nuptial appointed; between which time of the\\r\\n contract and limit of the solemnity her brother Frederick was\\r\\n wreck\\'d at sea, having in that perished vessel the dowry of his\\r\\n sister. But mark how heavily this befell to the poor gentlewoman:\\r\\n there she lost a noble and renowned brother, in his love toward\\r\\n her ever most kind and natural; with him the portion and sinew of\\r\\n her fortune, her marriage-dowry; with both, her combinate\\r\\n husband, this well-seeming Angelo.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Can this be so? Did Angelo so leave her?\\r\\n DUKE. Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them with his\\r\\n comfort; swallowed his vows whole, pretending in her discoveries\\r\\n of dishonour; in few, bestow\\'d her on her own lamentation, which\\r\\n she yet wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her tears, is\\r\\n washed with them, but relents not.\\r\\n ISABELLA. What a merit were it in death to take this poor maid from\\r\\n the world! What corruption in this life that it will let this man\\r\\n live! But how out of this can she avail?\\r\\n DUKE. It is a rupture that you may easily heal; and the cure of it\\r\\n not only saves your brother, but keeps you from dishonour in\\r\\n doing it.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Show me how, good father.\\r\\n DUKE. This forenamed maid hath yet in her the continuance of her\\r\\n first affection; his unjust unkindness, that in all reason should\\r\\n have quenched her love, hath, like an impediment in the current,\\r\\n made it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo; answer his\\r\\n requiring with a plausible obedience; agree with his demands to\\r\\n the point; only refer yourself to this advantage: first, that\\r\\n your stay with him may not be long; that the time may have all\\r\\n shadow and silence in it; and the place answer to convenience.\\r\\n This being granted in course- and now follows all: we shall\\r\\n advise this wronged maid to stead up your appointment, go in your\\r\\n place. If the encounter acknowledge itself hereafter, it may\\r\\n compel him to her recompense; and here, by this, is your brother\\r\\n saved, your honour untainted, the poor Mariana advantaged, and\\r\\n the corrupt deputy scaled. The maid will I frame and make fit for\\r\\n his attempt. If you think well to carry this as you may, the\\r\\n doubleness of the benefit defends the deceit from reproof. What\\r\\n think you of it?\\r\\n ISABELLA. The image of it gives me content already; and I trust it\\r\\n will grow to a most prosperous perfection.\\r\\n DUKE. It lies much in your holding up. Haste you speedily to\\r\\n Angelo; if for this night he entreat you to his bed, give him\\r\\n promise of satisfaction. I will presently to Saint Luke\\'s; there,\\r\\n at the moated grange, resides this dejected Mariana. At that\\r\\n place call upon me; and dispatch with Angelo, that it may be\\r\\n quickly.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, good father.\\r\\n Exeunt severally\\r\\n\\r\\nScene II. The street before the prison\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter, on one side, DUKE disguised as before; on the other, ELBOW, and\\r\\nOFFICERS with POMPEY\\r\\n\\r\\n ELBOW. Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that you will needs\\r\\n buy and sell men and women like beasts, we shall have all the\\r\\n world drink brown and white bastard.\\r\\n DUKE. O heavens! what stuff is here?\\r\\n POMPEY. \\'Twas never merry world since, of two usuries, the merriest\\r\\n was put down, and the worser allow\\'d by order of law a furr\\'d\\r\\n gown to keep him warm; and furr\\'d with fox on lamb-skins too, to\\r\\n signify that craft, being richer than innocency, stands for the\\r\\n facing.\\r\\n ELBOW. Come your way, sir. Bless you, good father friar.\\r\\n DUKE. And you, good brother father. What offence hath this man made\\r\\n you, sir?\\r\\n ELBOW. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law; and, sir, we take him\\r\\n to be a thief too, sir, for we have found upon him, sir, a\\r\\n strange picklock, which we have sent to the deputy.\\r\\n DUKE. Fie, sirrah, a bawd, a wicked bawd!\\r\\n The evil that thou causest to be done,\\r\\n That is thy means to live. Do thou but think\\r\\n What \\'tis to cram a maw or clothe a back\\r\\n From such a filthy vice; say to thyself\\r\\n \\'From their abominable and beastly touches\\r\\n I drink, I eat, array myself, and live.\\'\\r\\n Canst thou believe thy living is a life,\\r\\n So stinkingly depending? Go mend, go mend.\\r\\n POMPEY. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir; but yet, sir,\\r\\n I would prove-\\r\\n DUKE. Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for sin,\\r\\n Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer;\\r\\n Correction and instruction must both work\\r\\n Ere this rude beast will profit.\\r\\n ELBOW. He must before the deputy, sir; he has given him warning.\\r\\n The deputy cannot abide a whoremaster; if he be a whoremonger,\\r\\n and comes before him, he were as good go a mile on his errand.\\r\\n DUKE. That we were all, as some would seem to be,\\r\\n From our faults, as his faults from seeming, free.\\r\\n ELBOW. His neck will come to your waist- a cord, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LUCIO\\r\\n\\r\\n POMPEY. I spy comfort; I cry bail. Here\\'s a gentleman, and a friend\\r\\n of mine.\\r\\n LUCIO. How now, noble Pompey! What, at the wheels of Caesar? Art\\r\\n thou led in triumph? What, is there none of Pygmalion\\'s images,\\r\\n newly made woman, to be had now for putting the hand in the\\r\\n pocket and extracting it clutch\\'d? What reply, ha? What say\\'st\\r\\n thou to this tune, matter, and method? Is\\'t not drown\\'d i\\' th\\'\\r\\n last rain, ha? What say\\'st thou, trot? Is the world as it was,\\r\\n man? Which is the way? Is it sad, and few words? or how? The\\r\\n trick of it?\\r\\n DUKE. Still thus, and thus; still worse!\\r\\n LUCIO. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? Procures she still,\\r\\n ha?\\r\\n POMPEY. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and she is\\r\\n herself in the tub.\\r\\n LUCIO. Why, \\'tis good; it is the right of it; it must be so; ever\\r\\n your fresh whore and your powder\\'d bawd- an unshunn\\'d\\r\\n consequence; it must be so. Art going to prison, Pompey?\\r\\n POMPEY. Yes, faith, sir.\\r\\n LUCIO. Why, \\'tis not amiss, Pompey. Farewell; go, say I sent thee\\r\\n thither. For debt, Pompey- or how?\\r\\n ELBOW. For being a bawd, for being a bawd.\\r\\n LUCIO. Well, then, imprison him. If imprisonment be the due of a\\r\\n bawd, why, \\'tis his right. Bawd is he doubtless, and of\\r\\n antiquity, too; bawd-born. Farewell, good Pompey. Commend me to\\r\\n the prison, Pompey. You will turn good husband now, Pompey; you\\r\\n will keep the house.\\r\\n POMPEY. I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail.\\r\\n LUCIO. No, indeed, will I not, Pompey; it is not the wear. I will\\r\\n pray, Pompey, to increase your bondage. If you take it not\\r\\n patiently, why, your mettle is the more. Adieu trusty Pompey.\\r\\n Bless you, friar.\\r\\n DUKE. And you.\\r\\n LUCIO. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, ha?\\r\\n ELBOW. Come your ways, sir; come.\\r\\n POMPEY. You will not bail me then, sir?\\r\\n LUCIO. Then, Pompey, nor now. What news abroad, friar? what news?\\r\\n ELBOW. Come your ways, sir; come.\\r\\n LUCIO. Go to kennel, Pompey, go.\\r\\n\\r\\n Exeunt ELBOW, POMPEY and OFFICERS\\r\\n\\r\\n What news, friar, of the Duke?\\r\\n DUKE. I know none. Can you tell me of any?\\r\\n LUCIO. Some say he is with the Emperor of Russia; other some, he is\\r\\n in Rome; but where is he, think you?\\r\\n DUKE. I know not where; but wheresoever, I wish him well.\\r\\n LUCIO. It was a mad fantastical trick of him to steal from the\\r\\n state and usurp the beggary he was never born to. Lord Angelo\\r\\n dukes it well in his absence; he puts transgression to\\'t.\\r\\n DUKE. He does well in\\'t.\\r\\n LUCIO. A little more lenity to lechery would do no harm in him;\\r\\n something too crabbed that way, friar.\\r\\n DUKE. It is too general a vice, and severity must cure it.\\r\\n LUCIO. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great kindred; it is\\r\\n well allied; but it is impossible to extirp it quite, friar, till\\r\\n eating and drinking be put down. They say this Angelo was not\\r\\n made by man and woman after this downright way of creation. Is it\\r\\n true, think you?\\r\\n DUKE. How should he be made, then?\\r\\n LUCIO. Some report a sea-maid spawn\\'d him; some, that he was begot\\r\\n between two stock-fishes. But it is certain that when he makes\\r\\n water his urine is congeal\\'d ice; that I know to be true. And he\\r\\n is a motion generative; that\\'s infallible.\\r\\n DUKE. You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace.\\r\\n LUCIO. Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him, for the rebellion\\r\\n of a codpiece to take away the life of a man! Would the Duke that\\r\\n is absent have done this? Ere he would have hang\\'d a man for the\\r\\n getting a hundred bastards, he would have paid for the nursing a\\r\\n thousand. He had some feeling of the sport; he knew the service,\\r\\n and that instructed him to mercy.\\r\\n DUKE. I never heard the absent Duke much detected for women; he was\\r\\n not inclin\\'d that way.\\r\\n LUCIO. O, sir, you are deceiv\\'d.\\r\\n DUKE. \\'Tis not possible.\\r\\n LUCIO. Who- not the Duke? Yes, your beggar of fifty; and his use\\r\\n was to put a ducat in her clack-dish. The Duke had crotchets in\\r\\n him. He would be drunk too; that let me inform you.\\r\\n DUKE. You do him wrong, surely.\\r\\n LUCIO. Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy fellow was the Duke; and\\r\\n I believe I know the cause of his withdrawing.\\r\\n DUKE. What, I prithee, might be the cause?\\r\\n LUCIO. No, pardon; \\'tis a secret must be lock\\'d within the teeth\\r\\n and the lips; but this I can let you understand: the greater file\\r\\n of the subject held the Duke to be wise.\\r\\n DUKE. Wise? Why, no question but he was.\\r\\n LUCIO. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow.\\r\\n DUKE. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mistaking; the very\\r\\n stream of his life, and the business he hath helmed, must, upon a\\r\\n warranted need, give him a better proclamation. Let him be but\\r\\n testimonied in his own bringings-forth, and he shall appear to\\r\\n the envious a scholar, a statesman, and a soldier. Therefore you\\r\\n speak unskilfully; or, if your knowledge be more, it is much\\r\\n dark\\'ned in your malice.\\r\\n LUCIO. Sir, I know him, and I love him.\\r\\n DUKE. Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dearer\\r\\n love.\\r\\n LUCIO. Come, sir, I know what I know.\\r\\n DUKE. I can hardly believe that, since you know not what you speak.\\r\\n But, if ever the Duke return, as our prayers are he may, let me\\r\\n desire you to make your answer before him. If it be honest you\\r\\n have spoke, you have courage to maintain it; I am bound to call\\r\\n upon you; and I pray you your name?\\r\\n LUCIO. Sir, my name is Lucio, well known to the Duke.\\r\\n DUKE. He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to report you.\\r\\n LUCIO. I fear you not.\\r\\n DUKE. O, you hope the Duke will return no more; or you imagine me\\r\\n too unhurtful an opposite. But, indeed, I can do you little harm:\\r\\n you\\'ll forswear this again.\\r\\n LUCIO. I\\'ll be hang\\'d first. Thou art deceiv\\'d in me, friar. But no\\r\\n more of this. Canst thou tell if Claudio die to-morrow or no?\\r\\n DUKE. Why should he die, sir?\\r\\n LUCIO. Why? For filling a bottle with a tun-dish. I would the Duke\\r\\n we talk of were return\\'d again. This ungenitur\\'d agent will\\r\\n unpeople the province with continency; sparrows must not build in\\r\\n his house-eaves because they are lecherous. The Duke yet would\\r\\n have dark deeds darkly answered; he would never bring them to\\r\\n light. Would he were return\\'d! Marry, this Claudio is condemned\\r\\n for untrussing. Farewell, good friar; I prithee pray for me. The\\r\\n Duke, I say to thee again, would eat mutton on Fridays. He\\'s not\\r\\n past it yet; and, I say to thee, he would mouth with a beggar\\r\\n though she smelt brown bread and garlic. Say that I said so.\\r\\n Farewell. Exit\\r\\n DUKE. No might nor greatness in mortality\\r\\n Can censure scape; back-wounding calumny\\r\\n The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong\\r\\n Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue?\\r\\n But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ESCALUS, PROVOST, and OFFICERS with\\r\\n MISTRESS OVERDONE\\r\\n\\r\\n ESCALUS. Go, away with her to prison.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. Good my lord, be good to me; your honour is\\r\\n accounted a merciful man; good my lord.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Double and treble admonition, and still forfeit in the\\r\\n same kind! This would make mercy swear and play the tyrant.\\r\\n PROVOST. A bawd of eleven years\\' continuance, may it please your\\r\\n honour.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. My lord, this is one Lucio\\'s information against me.\\r\\n Mistress Kate Keepdown was with child by him in the Duke\\'s time;\\r\\n he promis\\'d her marriage. His child is a year and a quarter old\\r\\n come Philip and Jacob; I have kept it myself; and see how he goes\\r\\n about to abuse me.\\r\\n ESCALUS. That fellow is a fellow of much license. Let him be call\\'d\\r\\n before us. Away with her to prison. Go to; no more words. [Exeunt\\r\\n OFFICERS with MISTRESS OVERDONE] Provost, my brother Angelo will\\r\\n not be alter\\'d: Claudio must die to-morrow. Let him be furnish\\'d\\r\\n with divines, and have all charitable preparation. If my brother\\r\\n wrought by my pity, it should not be so with him.\\r\\n PROVOST. So please you, this friar hath been with him, and advis\\'d\\r\\n him for th\\' entertainment of death.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Good even, good father.\\r\\n DUKE. Bliss and goodness on you!\\r\\n ESCALUS. Of whence are you?\\r\\n DUKE. Not of this country, though my chance is now\\r\\n To use it for my time. I am a brother\\r\\n Of gracious order, late come from the See\\r\\n In special business from his Holiness.\\r\\n ESCALUS. What news abroad i\\' th\\' world?\\r\\n DUKE. None, but that there is so great a fever on goodness that the\\r\\n dissolution of it must cure it. Novelty is only in request; and,\\r\\n as it is, as dangerous to be aged in any kind of course as it is\\r\\n virtuous to be constant in any undertakeing. There is scarce\\r\\n truth enough alive to make societies secure; but security enough\\r\\n to make fellowships accurst. Much upon this riddle runs the\\r\\n wisdom of the world. This news is old enough, yet it is every\\r\\n day\\'s news. I pray you, sir, of what disposition was the Duke?\\r\\n ESCALUS. One that, above all other strifes, contended especially to\\r\\n know himself.\\r\\n DUKE. What pleasure was he given to?\\r\\n ESCALUS. Rather rejoicing to see another merry than merry at\\r\\n anything which profess\\'d to make him rejoice; a gentleman of all\\r\\n temperance. But leave we him to his events, with a prayer they\\r\\n may prove prosperous; and let me desire to know how you find\\r\\n Claudio prepar\\'d. I am made to understand that you have lent him\\r\\n visitation.\\r\\n DUKE. He professes to have received no sinister measure from his\\r\\n judge, but most willingly humbles himself to the determination of\\r\\n justice. Yet had he framed to himself, by the instruction of his\\r\\n frailty, many deceiving promises of life; which I, by my good\\r\\n leisure, have discredited to him, and now he is resolv\\'d to die.\\r\\n ESCALUS. You have paid the heavens your function, and the prisoner\\r\\n the very debt of your calling. I have labour\\'d for the poor\\r\\n gentleman to the extremest shore of my modesty; but my brother\\r\\n justice have I found so severe that he hath forc\\'d me to tell him\\r\\n he is indeed Justice.\\r\\n DUKE. If his own life answer the straitness of his proceeding, it\\r\\n shall become him well; wherein if he chance to fail, he hath\\r\\n sentenc\\'d himself.\\r\\n ESCALUS. I am going to visit the prisoner. Fare you well.\\r\\n DUKE. Peace be with you! Exeunt ESCALUS and PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n He who the sword of heaven will bear\\r\\n Should be as holy as severe;\\r\\n Pattern in himself to know,\\r\\n Grace to stand, and virtue go;\\r\\n More nor less to others paying\\r\\n Than by self-offences weighing.\\r\\n Shame to him whose cruel striking\\r\\n Kills for faults of his own liking!\\r\\n Twice treble shame on Angelo,\\r\\n To weed my vice and let his grow!\\r\\n O, what may man within him hide,\\r\\n Though angel on the outward side!\\r\\n How may likeness, made in crimes,\\r\\n Make a practice on the times,\\r\\n To draw with idle spiders\\' strings\\r\\n Most ponderous and substantial things!\\r\\n Craft against vice I must apply.\\r\\n With Angelo to-night shall lie\\r\\n His old betrothed but despised;\\r\\n So disguise shall, by th\\' disguised,\\r\\n Pay with falsehood false exacting,\\r\\n And perform an old contracting. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. Scene I. The moated grange at Saint Duke\\'s\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MARIANA; and BOY singing\\r\\n\\r\\n SONG\\r\\n\\r\\n Take, O, take those lips away,\\r\\n That so sweetly were forsworn;\\r\\n And those eyes, the break of day,\\r\\n Lights that do mislead the morn;\\r\\n But my kisses bring again, bring again;\\r\\n Seals of love, but seal\\'d in vain, seal\\'d in vain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUKE, disguised as before\\r\\n\\r\\n MARIANA. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick away;\\r\\n Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice\\r\\n Hath often still\\'d my brawling discontent. Exit BOY\\r\\n I cry you mercy, sir, and well could wish\\r\\n You had not found me here so musical.\\r\\n Let me excuse me, and believe me so,\\r\\n My mirth it much displeas\\'d, but pleas\\'d my woe.\\r\\n DUKE. \\'Tis good; though music oft hath such a charm\\r\\n To make bad good and good provoke to harm.\\r\\n I pray you tell me hath anybody inquir\\'d for me here to-day. Much\\r\\n upon this time have I promis\\'d here to meet.\\r\\n MARIANA. You have not been inquir\\'d after; I have sat here all day.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ISABELLA\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. I do constantly believe you. The time is come even now. I\\r\\n shall crave your forbearance a little. May be I will call upon\\r\\n you anon, for some advantage to yourself.\\r\\n MARIANA. I am always bound to you. Exit\\r\\n DUKE. Very well met, and well come.\\r\\n What is the news from this good deputy?\\r\\n ISABELLA. He hath a garden circummur\\'d with brick,\\r\\n Whose western side is with a vineyard back\\'d;\\r\\n And to that vineyard is a planched gate\\r\\n That makes his opening with this bigger key;\\r\\n This other doth command a little door\\r\\n Which from the vineyard to the garden leads.\\r\\n There have I made my promise\\r\\n Upon the heavy middle of the night\\r\\n To call upon him.\\r\\n DUKE. But shall you on your knowledge find this way?\\r\\n ISABELLA. I have ta\\'en a due and wary note upon\\'t;\\r\\n With whispering and most guilty diligence,\\r\\n In action all of precept, he did show me\\r\\n The way twice o\\'er.\\r\\n DUKE. Are there no other tokens\\r\\n Between you \\'greed concerning her observance?\\r\\n ISABELLA. No, none, but only a repair i\\' th\\' dark;\\r\\n And that I have possess\\'d him my most stay\\r\\n Can be but brief; for I have made him know\\r\\n I have a servant comes with me along,\\r\\n That stays upon me; whose persuasion is\\r\\n I come about my brother.\\r\\n DUKE. \\'Tis well borne up.\\r\\n I have not yet made known to Mariana\\r\\n A word of this. What ho, within! come forth.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter MARIANA\\r\\n\\r\\n I pray you be acquainted with this maid;\\r\\n She comes to do you good.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I do desire the like.\\r\\n DUKE. Do you persuade yourself that I respect you?\\r\\n MARIANA. Good friar, I know you do, and have found it.\\r\\n DUKE. Take, then, this your companion by the hand,\\r\\n Who hath a story ready for your ear.\\r\\n I shall attend your leisure; but make haste;\\r\\n The vaporous night approaches.\\r\\n MARIANA. Will\\'t please you walk aside?\\r\\n Exeunt MARIANA and ISABELLA\\r\\n DUKE. O place and greatness! Millions of false eyes\\r\\n Are stuck upon thee. Volumes of report\\r\\n Run with these false, and most contrarious quest\\r\\n Upon thy doings. Thousand escapes of wit\\r\\n Make thee the father of their idle dream,\\r\\n And rack thee in their fancies.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter MARIANA and ISABELLA\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, how agreed?\\r\\n ISABELLA. She\\'ll take the enterprise upon her, father,\\r\\n If you advise it.\\r\\n DUKE. It is not my consent,\\r\\n But my entreaty too.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Little have you to say,\\r\\n When you depart from him, but, soft and low,\\r\\n \\'Remember now my brother.\\'\\r\\n MARIANA. Fear me not.\\r\\n DUKE. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all.\\r\\n He is your husband on a pre-contract.\\r\\n To bring you thus together \\'tis no sin,\\r\\n Sith that the justice of your title to him\\r\\n Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go;\\r\\n Our corn\\'s to reap, for yet our tithe\\'s to sow. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The prison\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PROVOST and POMPEY\\r\\n\\r\\n PROVOST. Come hither, sirrah. Can you cut off a man\\'s head?\\r\\n POMPEY. If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can; but if he be a\\r\\n married man, he\\'s his wife\\'s head, and I can never cut of a\\r\\n woman\\'s head.\\r\\n PROVOST. Come, sir, leave me your snatches and yield me a direct\\r\\n answer. To-morrow morning are to die Claudio and Barnardine. Here\\r\\n is in our prison a common executioner, who in his office lacks a\\r\\n helper; if you will take it on you to assist him, it shall redeem\\r\\n you from your gyves; if not, you shall have your full time of\\r\\n imprisonment, and your deliverance with an unpitied whipping, for\\r\\n you have been a notorious bawd.\\r\\n POMPEY. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd time out of mind; but yet\\r\\n I will be content to be a lawful hangman. I would be glad to\\r\\n receive some instructions from my fellow partner.\\r\\n PROVOST. What ho, Abhorson! Where\\'s Abhorson there?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ABHORSON\\r\\n\\r\\n ABHORSON. Do you call, sir?\\r\\n PROVOST. Sirrah, here\\'s a fellow will help you to-morrow in your\\r\\n execution. If you think it meet, compound with him by the year,\\r\\n and let him abide here with you; if not, use him for the present,\\r\\n and dismiss him. He cannot plead his estimation with you; he hath\\r\\n been a bawd.\\r\\n ABHORSON. A bawd, sir? Fie upon him! He will discredit our mystery.\\r\\n PROVOST. Go to, sir; you weigh equally; a feather will turn the\\r\\n scale. Exit\\r\\n POMPEY. Pray, sir, by your good favour- for surely, sir, a good\\r\\n favour you have but that you have a hanging look- do you call,\\r\\n sir, your occupation a mystery?\\r\\n ABHORSON. Ay, sir; a mystery.\\r\\n POMPEY. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery; and your\\r\\n whores, sir, being members of my occupation, using painting, do\\r\\n prove my occupation a mystery; but what mystery there should be\\r\\n in hanging, if I should be hang\\'d, I cannot imagine.\\r\\n ABHORSON. Sir, it is a mystery.\\r\\n POMPEY. Proof?\\r\\n ABHORSON. Every true man\\'s apparel fits your thief: if it be too\\r\\n little for your thief, your true man thinks it big enough; if it\\r\\n be too big for your thief, your thief thinks it little enough; so\\r\\n every true man\\'s apparel fits your thief.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n PROVOST. Are you agreed?\\r\\n POMPEY. Sir, I will serve him; for I do find your hangman is a more\\r\\n penitent trade than your bawd; he doth oftener ask forgiveness.\\r\\n PROVOST. You, sirrah, provide your block and your axe to-morrow\\r\\n four o\\'clock.\\r\\n ABHORSON. Come on, bawd; I will instruct thee in my trade; follow.\\r\\n POMPEY. I do desire to learn, sir; and I hope, if you have occasion\\r\\n to use me for your own turn, you shall find me yare; for truly,\\r\\n sir, for your kindness I owe you a good turn.\\r\\n PROVOST. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio.\\r\\n Exeunt ABHORSON and POMPEY\\r\\n Th\\' one has my pity; not a jot the other,\\r\\n Being a murderer, though he were my brother.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CLAUDIO\\r\\n\\r\\n Look, here\\'s the warrant, Claudio, for thy death;\\r\\n \\'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow\\r\\n Thou must be made immortal. Where\\'s Barnardine?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. As fast lock\\'d up in sleep as guiltless labour\\r\\n When it lies starkly in the traveller\\'s bones.\\r\\n He will not wake.\\r\\n PROVOST. Who can do good on him?\\r\\n Well, go, prepare yourself. [Knocking within] But hark, what\\r\\n noise?\\r\\n Heaven give your spirits comfort! Exit CLAUDIO\\r\\n [Knocking continues] By and by.\\r\\n I hope it is some pardon or reprieve\\r\\n For the most gentle Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUKE, disguised as before\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, father.\\r\\n DUKE. The best and wholesom\\'st spirits of the night\\r\\n Envelop you, good Provost! Who call\\'d here of late?\\r\\n PROVOST. None, since the curfew rung.\\r\\n DUKE. Not Isabel?\\r\\n PROVOST. No.\\r\\n DUKE. They will then, ere\\'t be long.\\r\\n PROVOST. What comfort is for Claudio?\\r\\n DUKE. There\\'s some in hope.\\r\\n PROVOST. It is a bitter deputy.\\r\\n DUKE. Not so, not so; his life is parallel\\'d\\r\\n Even with the stroke and line of his great justice;\\r\\n He doth with holy abstinence subdue\\r\\n That in himself which he spurs on his pow\\'r\\r\\n To qualify in others. Were he meal\\'d with that\\r\\n Which he corrects, then were he tyrannous;\\r\\n But this being so, he\\'s just. [Knocking within] Now are they\\r\\n come. Exit PROVOST\\r\\n This is a gentle provost; seldom when\\r\\n The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. [Knocking within]\\r\\n How now, what noise! That spirit\\'s possess\\'d with haste\\r\\n That wounds th\\' unsisting postern with these strokes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n PROVOST. There he must stay until the officer\\r\\n Arise to let him in; he is call\\'d up.\\r\\n DUKE. Have you no countermand for Claudio yet\\r\\n But he must die to-morrow?\\r\\n PROVOST. None, sir, none.\\r\\n DUKE. As near the dawning, Provost, as it is,\\r\\n You shall hear more ere morning.\\r\\n PROVOST. Happily\\r\\n You something know; yet I believe there comes\\r\\n No countermand; no such example have we.\\r\\n Besides, upon the very siege of justice,\\r\\n Lord Angelo hath to the public ear\\r\\n Profess\\'d the contrary.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n This is his lordship\\'s man.\\r\\n DUKE. And here comes Claudio\\'s pardon.\\r\\n MESSENGER. My lord hath sent you this note; and by me this further\\r\\n charge, that you swerve not from the smallest article of it,\\r\\n neither in time, matter, or other circumstance. Good morrow; for\\r\\n as I take it, it is almost day.\\r\\n PROVOST. I shall obey him. Exit MESSENGER\\r\\n DUKE. [Aside] This is his pardon, purchas\\'d by such sin\\r\\n For which the pardoner himself is in;\\r\\n Hence hath offence his quick celerity,\\r\\n When it is borne in high authority.\\r\\n When vice makes mercy, mercy\\'s so extended\\r\\n That for the fault\\'s love is th\\' offender friended.\\r\\n Now, sir, what news?\\r\\n PROVOST. I told you: Lord Angelo, belike thinking me remiss in mine\\r\\n office, awakens me with this unwonted putting-on; methinks\\r\\n strangely, for he hath not us\\'d it before.\\r\\n DUKE. Pray you, let\\'s hear.\\r\\n PROVOST. [Reads] \\'Whatsoever you may hear to the contrary, let\\r\\n Claudio be executed by four of the clock, and, in the afternoon,\\r\\n Barnardine. For my better satisfaction, let me have Claudio\\'s\\r\\n head sent me by five. Let this be duly performed, with a thought\\r\\n that more depends on it than we must yet deliver. Thus fail not\\r\\n to do your office, as you will answer it at your peril.\\'\\r\\n What say you to this, sir?\\r\\n DUKE. What is that Barnardine who is to be executed in th\\'\\r\\n afternoon?\\r\\n PROVOST. A Bohemian born; but here nurs\\'d up and bred.\\r\\n One that is a prisoner nine years old.\\r\\n DUKE. How came it that the absent Duke had not either deliver\\'d him\\r\\n to his liberty or executed him? I have heard it was ever his\\r\\n manner to do so.\\r\\n PROVOST. His friends still wrought reprieves for him; and, indeed,\\r\\n his fact, till now in the government of Lord Angelo, came not to\\r\\n an undoubted proof.\\r\\n DUKE. It is now apparent?\\r\\n PROVOST. Most manifest, and not denied by himself.\\r\\n DUKE. Hath he borne himself penitently in prison? How seems he to\\r\\n be touch\\'d?\\r\\n PROVOST. A man that apprehends death no more dreadfully but as a\\r\\n drunken sleep; careless, reckless, and fearless, of what\\'s past,\\r\\n present, or to come; insensible of mortality and desperately\\r\\n mortal.\\r\\n DUKE. He wants advice.\\r\\n PROVOST. He will hear none. He hath evermore had the liberty of the\\r\\n prison; give him leave to escape hence, he would not; drunk many\\r\\n times a day, if not many days entirely drunk. We have very oft\\r\\n awak\\'d him, as if to carry him to execution, and show\\'d him a\\r\\n seeming warrant for it; it hath not moved him at all.\\r\\n DUKE. More of him anon. There is written in your brow, Provost,\\r\\n honesty and constancy. If I read it not truly, my ancient skill\\r\\n beguiles me; but in the boldness of my cunning I will lay myself\\r\\n in hazard. Claudio, whom here you have warrant to execute, is no\\r\\n greater forfeit to the law than Angelo who hath sentenc\\'d him. To\\r\\n make you understand this in a manifested effect, I crave but four\\r\\n days\\' respite; for the which you are to do me both a present and\\r\\n a dangerous courtesy.\\r\\n PROVOST. Pray, sir, in what?\\r\\n DUKE. In the delaying death.\\r\\n PROVOST. Alack! How may I do it, having the hour limited, and an\\r\\n express command, under penalty, to deliver his head in the view\\r\\n of Angelo? I may make my case as Claudio\\'s, to cross this in the\\r\\n smallest.\\r\\n DUKE. By the vow of mine order, I warrant you, if my instructions\\r\\n may be your guide. Let this Barnardine be this morning executed,\\r\\n and his head borne to Angelo.\\r\\n PROVOST. Angelo hath seen them both, and will discover the favour.\\r\\n DUKE. O, death\\'s a great disguiser; and you may add to it. Shave\\r\\n the head and tie the beard; and say it was the desire of the\\r\\n penitent to be so bar\\'d before his death. You know the course is\\r\\n common. If anything fall to you upon this more than thanks and\\r\\n good fortune, by the saint whom I profess, I will plead against\\r\\n it with my life.\\r\\n PROVOST. Pardon me, good father; it is against my oath.\\r\\n DUKE. Were you sworn to the Duke, or to the deputy?\\r\\n PROVOST. To him and to his substitutes.\\r\\n DUKE. You will think you have made no offence if the Duke avouch\\r\\n the justice of your dealing?\\r\\n PROVOST. But what likelihood is in that?\\r\\n DUKE. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet since I see you\\r\\n fearful, that neither my coat, integrity, nor persuasion, can\\r\\n with ease attempt you, I will go further than I meant, to pluck\\r\\n all fears out of you. Look you, sir, here is the hand and seal of\\r\\n the Duke. You know the character, I doubt not; and the signet is\\r\\n not strange to you.\\r\\n PROVOST. I know them both.\\r\\n DUKE. The contents of this is the return of the Duke; you shall\\r\\n anon over-read it at your pleasure, where you shall find within\\r\\n these two days he will be here. This is a thing that Angelo knows\\r\\n not; for he this very day receives letters of strange tenour,\\r\\n perchance of the Duke\\'s death, perchance entering into some\\r\\n monastery; but, by chance, nothing of what is writ. Look, th\\'\\r\\n unfolding star calls up the shepherd. Put not yourself into\\r\\n amazement how these things should be: all difficulties are but\\r\\n easy when they are known. Call your executioner, and off with\\r\\n Barnardine\\'s head. I will give him a present shrift, and advise\\r\\n him for a better place. Yet you are amaz\\'d, but this shall\\r\\n absolutely resolve you. Come away; it is almost clear dawn.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The prison\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter POMPEY\\r\\n\\r\\n POMPEY. I am as well acquainted here as I was in our house of\\r\\n profession; one would think it were Mistress Overdone\\'s own house,\\r\\n for here be many of her old customers. First, here\\'s young Master\\r\\n Rash; he\\'s in for a commodity of brown paper and old ginger, nine\\r\\n score and seventeen pounds, of which he made five marks ready money.\\r\\n Marry, then ginger was not much in request, for the old women were\\r\\n all dead. Then is there here one Master Caper, at the suit of Master\\r\\n Threepile the mercer, for some four suits of peach-colour\\'d satin,\\r\\n which now peaches him a beggar. Then have we here young Dizy, and\\r\\n young Master Deepvow, and Master Copperspur, and Master Starvelackey,\\r\\n the rapier and dagger man, and young Dropheir that kill\\'d lusty\\r\\n Pudding, and Master Forthlight the tilter, and brave Master Shootie\\r\\n the great traveller, and wild Halfcan that stabb\\'d Pots, and, I\\r\\n think, forty more- all great doers in our trade, and are now \\'for the\\r\\n Lord\\'s sake.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ABHORSON\\r\\n\\r\\n ABHORSON. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither.\\r\\n POMPEY. Master Barnardine! You must rise and be hang\\'d, Master\\r\\n Barnardine!\\r\\n ABHORSON. What ho, Barnardine!\\r\\n BARNARDINE. [Within] A pox o\\' your throats! Who makes that noise\\r\\n there? What are you?\\r\\n POMPEY. Your friends, sir; the hangman. You must be so good, sir,\\r\\n to rise and be put to death.\\r\\n BARNARDINE. [ Within ] Away, you rogue, away; I am sleepy.\\r\\n ABHORSON. Tell him he must awake, and that quickly too.\\r\\n POMPEY. Pray, Master Barnardine, awake till you are executed, and\\r\\n sleep afterwards.\\r\\n ABHORSON. Go in to him, and fetch him out.\\r\\n POMPEY. He is coming, sir, he is coming; I hear his straw rustle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BARNARDINE\\r\\n\\r\\n ABHORSON. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah?\\r\\n POMPEY. Very ready, sir.\\r\\n BARNARDINE. How now, Abhorson, what\\'s the news with you?\\r\\n ABHORSON. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into your prayers;\\r\\n for, look you, the warrant\\'s come.\\r\\n BARNARDINE. You rogue, I have been drinking all night; I am not\\r\\n fitted for\\'t.\\r\\n POMPEY. O, the better, sir! For he that drinks all night and is\\r\\n hanged betimes in the morning may sleep the sounder all the next\\r\\n day.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUKE, disguised as before\\r\\n\\r\\n ABHORSON. Look you, sir, here comes your ghostly father.\\r\\n Do we jest now, think you?\\r\\n DUKE. Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing how hastily you are\\r\\n to depart, I am come to advise you, comfort you, and pray with\\r\\n you.\\r\\n BARNARDINE. Friar, not I; I have been drinking hard all night, and\\r\\n I will have more time to prepare me, or they shall beat out my\\r\\n brains with billets. I will not consent to die this day, that\\'s\\r\\n certain.\\r\\n DUKE. O, Sir, you must; and therefore I beseech you\\r\\n Look forward on the journey you shall go.\\r\\n BARNARDINE. I swear I will not die to-day for any man\\'s persuasion.\\r\\n DUKE. But hear you-\\r\\n BARNARDINE. Not a word; if you have anything to say to me, come to\\r\\n my ward; for thence will not I to-day. Exit\\r\\n DUKE. Unfit to live or die. O gravel heart!\\r\\n After him, fellows; bring him to the block.\\r\\n Exeunt ABHORSON and POMPEY\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n PROVOST. Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner?\\r\\n DUKE. A creature unprepar\\'d, unmeet for death;\\r\\n And to transport him in the mind he is\\r\\n Were damnable.\\r\\n PROVOST. Here in the prison, father,\\r\\n There died this morning of a cruel fever\\r\\n One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate,\\r\\n A man of Claudio\\'s years; his beard and head\\r\\n Just of his colour. What if we do omit\\r\\n This reprobate till he were well inclin\\'d,\\r\\n And satisfy the deputy with the visage\\r\\n Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio?\\r\\n DUKE. O, \\'tis an accident that heaven provides!\\r\\n Dispatch it presently; the hour draws on\\r\\n Prefix\\'d by Angelo. See this be done,\\r\\n And sent according to command; whiles I\\r\\n Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die.\\r\\n PROVOST. This shall be done, good father, presently.\\r\\n But Barnardine must die this afternoon;\\r\\n And how shall we continue Claudio,\\r\\n To save me from the danger that might come\\r\\n If he were known alive?\\r\\n DUKE. Let this be done:\\r\\n Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and Claudio.\\r\\n Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting\\r\\n To the under generation, you shall find\\r\\n Your safety manifested.\\r\\n PROVOST. I am your free dependant.\\r\\n DUKE. Quick, dispatch, and send the head to Angelo.\\r\\n Exit PROVOST\\r\\n Now will I write letters to Angelo-\\r\\n The Provost, he shall bear them- whose contents\\r\\n Shall witness to him I am near at home,\\r\\n And that, by great injunctions, I am bound\\r\\n To enter publicly. Him I\\'ll desire\\r\\n To meet me at the consecrated fount,\\r\\n A league below the city; and from thence,\\r\\n By cold gradation and well-balanc\\'d form.\\r\\n We shall proceed with Angelo.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n PROVOST. Here is the head; I\\'ll carry it myself.\\r\\n DUKE. Convenient is it. Make a swift return;\\r\\n For I would commune with you of such things\\r\\n That want no ear but yours.\\r\\n PROVOST. I\\'ll make all speed. Exit\\r\\n ISABELLA. [ Within ] Peace, ho, be here!\\r\\n DUKE. The tongue of Isabel. She\\'s come to know\\r\\n If yet her brother\\'s pardon be come hither;\\r\\n But I will keep her ignorant of her good,\\r\\n To make her heavenly comforts of despair\\r\\n When it is least expected.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ISABELLA\\r\\n\\r\\n ISABELLA. Ho, by your leave!\\r\\n DUKE. Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter.\\r\\n ISABELLA. The better, given me by so holy a man.\\r\\n Hath yet the deputy sent my brother\\'s pardon?\\r\\n DUKE. He hath releas\\'d him, Isabel, from the world.\\r\\n His head is off and sent to Angelo.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Nay, but it is not so.\\r\\n DUKE. It is no other.\\r\\n Show your wisdom, daughter, in your close patience,\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, I will to him and pluck out his eyes!\\r\\n DUKE. You shall not be admitted to his sight.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Unhappy Claudio! Wretched Isabel!\\r\\n Injurious world! Most damned Angelo!\\r\\n DUKE. This nor hurts him nor profits you a jot;\\r\\n Forbear it, therefore; give your cause to heaven.\\r\\n Mark what I say, which you shall find\\r\\n By every syllable a faithful verity.\\r\\n The Duke comes home to-morrow. Nay, dry your eyes.\\r\\n One of our covent, and his confessor,\\r\\n Gives me this instance. Already he hath carried\\r\\n Notice to Escalus and Angelo,\\r\\n Who do prepare to meet him at the gates,\\r\\n There to give up their pow\\'r. If you can, pace your wisdom\\r\\n In that good path that I would wish it go,\\r\\n And you shall have your bosom on this wretch,\\r\\n Grace of the Duke, revenges to your heart,\\r\\n And general honour.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I am directed by you.\\r\\n DUKE. This letter, then, to Friar Peter give;\\r\\n \\'Tis that he sent me of the Duke\\'s return.\\r\\n Say, by this token, I desire his company\\r\\n At Mariana\\'s house to-night. Her cause and yours\\r\\n I\\'ll perfect him withal; and he shall bring you\\r\\n Before the Duke; and to the head of Angelo\\r\\n Accuse him home and home. For my poor self,\\r\\n I am combined by a sacred vow,\\r\\n And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter.\\r\\n Command these fretting waters from your eyes\\r\\n With a light heart; trust not my holy order,\\r\\n If I pervert your course. Who\\'s here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LUCIO\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIO. Good even. Friar, where\\'s the Provost?\\r\\n DUKE. Not within, sir.\\r\\n LUCIO. O pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart to see thine eyes\\r\\n so red. Thou must be patient. I am fain to dine and sup with\\r\\n water and bran; I dare not for my head fill my belly; one\\r\\n fruitful meal would set me to\\'t. But they say the Duke will be\\r\\n here to-morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I lov\\'d thy brother. If the\\r\\n old fantastical Duke of dark corners had been at home, he had\\r\\n lived. Exit ISABELLA\\r\\n DUKE. Sir, the Duke is marvellous little beholding to your reports;\\r\\n but the best is, he lives not in them.\\r\\n LUCIO. Friar, thou knowest not the Duke so well as I do; he\\'s a\\r\\n better woodman than thou tak\\'st him for.\\r\\n DUKE. Well, you\\'ll answer this one day. Fare ye well.\\r\\n LUCIO. Nay, tarry; I\\'ll go along with thee; I can tell thee pretty\\r\\n tales of the Duke.\\r\\n DUKE. You have told me too many of him already, sir, if they be\\r\\n true; if not true, none were enough.\\r\\n LUCIO. I was once before him for getting a wench with child.\\r\\n DUKE. Did you such a thing?\\r\\n LUCIO. Yes, marry, did I; but I was fain to forswear it: they would\\r\\n else have married me to the rotten medlar.\\r\\n DUKE. Sir, your company is fairer than honest. Rest you well.\\r\\n LUCIO. By my troth, I\\'ll go with thee to the lane\\'s end. If bawdy\\r\\n talk offend you, we\\'ll have very little of it. Nay, friar, I am a\\r\\n kind of burr; I shall stick. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. ANGELO\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ANGELO and ESCALUS\\r\\n\\r\\n ESCALUS. Every letter he hath writ hath disvouch\\'d other.\\r\\n ANGELO. In most uneven and distracted manner. His actions show much\\r\\n like to madness; pray heaven his wisdom be not tainted! And why\\r\\n meet him at the gates, and redeliver our authorities there?\\r\\n ESCALUS. I guess not.\\r\\n ANGELO. And why should we proclaim it in an hour before his\\r\\n ent\\'ring that, if any crave redress of injustice, they should\\r\\n exhibit their petitions in the street?\\r\\n ESCALUS. He shows his reason for that: to have a dispatch of\\r\\n complaints; and to deliver us from devices hereafter, which\\r\\n shall then have no power to stand against us.\\r\\n ANGELO. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaim\\'d;\\r\\n Betimes i\\' th\\' morn I\\'ll call you at your house;\\r\\n Give notice to such men of sort and suit\\r\\n As are to meet him.\\r\\n ESCALUS. I shall, sir; fare you well.\\r\\n ANGELO. Good night. Exit ESCALUS\\r\\n This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant\\r\\n And dull to all proceedings. A deflow\\'red maid!\\r\\n And by an eminent body that enforc\\'d\\r\\n The law against it! But that her tender shame\\r\\n Will not proclaim against her maiden loss,\\r\\n How might she tongue me! Yet reason dares her no;\\r\\n For my authority bears a so credent bulk\\r\\n That no particular scandal once can touch\\r\\n But it confounds the breather. He should have liv\\'d,\\r\\n Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense,\\r\\n Might in the times to come have ta\\'en revenge,\\r\\n By so receiving a dishonour\\'d life\\r\\n With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had liv\\'d!\\r\\n Alack, when once our grace we have forgot,\\r\\n Nothing goes right; we would, and we would not. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Fields without the town\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE in his own habit, and Friar PETER\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. These letters at fit time deliver me. [Giving letters]\\r\\n The Provost knows our purpose and our plot.\\r\\n The matter being afoot, keep your instruction\\r\\n And hold you ever to our special drift;\\r\\n Though sometimes you do blench from this to that\\r\\n As cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavius\\' house,\\r\\n And tell him where I stay; give the like notice\\r\\n To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus,\\r\\n And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate;\\r\\n But send me Flavius first.\\r\\n PETER. It shall be speeded well. Exit FRIAR\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter VARRIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. I thank thee, Varrius; thou hast made good haste.\\r\\n Come, we will walk. There\\'s other of our friends\\r\\n Will greet us here anon. My gentle Varrius! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. A street near the city gate\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ISABELLA and MARIANA\\r\\n\\r\\n ISABELLA. To speak so indirectly I am loath;\\r\\n I would say the truth; but to accuse him so,\\r\\n That is your part. Yet I am advis\\'d to do it;\\r\\n He says, to veil full purpose.\\r\\n MARIANA. Be rul\\'d by him.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Besides, he tells me that, if peradventure\\r\\n He speak against me on the adverse side,\\r\\n I should not think it strange; for \\'tis a physic\\r\\n That\\'s bitter to sweet end.\\r\\n MARIANA. I would Friar Peter-\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FRIAR PETER\\r\\n\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, peace! the friar is come.\\r\\n PETER. Come, I have found you out a stand most fit,\\r\\n Where you may have such vantage on the Duke\\r\\n He shall not pass you. Twice have the trumpets sounded;\\r\\n The generous and gravest citizens\\r\\n Have hent the gates, and very near upon\\r\\n The Duke is ent\\'ring; therefore, hence, away. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. The city gate\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter at several doors DUKE, VARRIUS, LORDS; ANGELO, ESCALUS, Lucio,\\r\\nPROVOST, OFFICERS, and CITIZENS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. My very worthy cousin, fairly met!\\r\\n Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you.\\r\\n ANGELO, ESCALUS. Happy return be to your royal Grace!\\r\\n DUKE. Many and hearty thankings to you both.\\r\\n We have made inquiry of you, and we hear\\r\\n Such goodness of your justice that our soul\\r\\n Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks,\\r\\n Forerunning more requital.\\r\\n ANGELO. You make my bonds still greater.\\r\\n DUKE. O, your desert speaks loud; and I should wrong it\\r\\n To lock it in the wards of covert bosom,\\r\\n When it deserves, with characters of brass,\\r\\n A forted residence \\'gainst the tooth of time\\r\\n And razure of oblivion. Give me your hand.\\r\\n And let the subject see, to make them know\\r\\n That outward courtesies would fain proclaim\\r\\n Favours that keep within. Come, Escalus,\\r\\n You must walk by us on our other hand,\\r\\n And good supporters are you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FRIAR PETER and ISABELLA\\r\\n\\r\\n PETER. Now is your time; speak loud, and kneel before him.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Justice, O royal Duke! Vail your regard\\r\\n Upon a wrong\\'d- I would fain have said a maid!\\r\\n O worthy Prince, dishonour not your eye\\r\\n By throwing it on any other object\\r\\n Till you have heard me in my true complaint,\\r\\n And given me justice, justice, justice, justice.\\r\\n DUKE. Relate your wrongs. In what? By whom? Be brief.\\r\\n Here is Lord Angelo shall give you justice;\\r\\n Reveal yourself to him.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O worthy Duke,\\r\\n You bid me seek redemption of the devil!\\r\\n Hear me yourself; for that which I must speak\\r\\n Must either punish me, not being believ\\'d,\\r\\n Or wring redress from you. Hear me, O, hear me, here!\\r\\n ANGELO. My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm;\\r\\n She hath been a suitor to me for her brother,\\r\\n Cut off by course of justice-\\r\\n ISABELLA. By course of justice!\\r\\n ANGELO. And she will speak most bitterly and strange.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Most strange, but yet most truly, will I speak.\\r\\n That Angelo\\'s forsworn, is it not strange?\\r\\n That Angelo\\'s a murderer, is\\'t not strange?\\r\\n That Angelo is an adulterous thief,\\r\\n An hypocrite, a virgin-violator,\\r\\n Is it not strange and strange?\\r\\n DUKE. Nay, it is ten times strange.\\r\\n ISABELLA. It is not truer he is Angelo\\r\\n Than this is all as true as it is strange;\\r\\n Nay, it is ten times true; for truth is truth\\r\\n To th\\' end of reck\\'ning.\\r\\n DUKE. Away with her. Poor soul,\\r\\n She speaks this in th\\' infirmity of sense.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O Prince! I conjure thee, as thou believ\\'st\\r\\n There is another comfort than this world,\\r\\n That thou neglect me not with that opinion\\r\\n That I am touch\\'d with madness. Make not impossible\\r\\n That which but seems unlike: \\'tis not impossible\\r\\n But one, the wicked\\'st caitiff on the ground,\\r\\n May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute,\\r\\n As Angelo; even so may Angelo,\\r\\n In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms,\\r\\n Be an arch-villain. Believe it, royal Prince,\\r\\n If he be less, he\\'s nothing; but he\\'s more,\\r\\n Had I more name for badness.\\r\\n DUKE. By mine honesty,\\r\\n If she be mad, as I believe no other,\\r\\n Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense,\\r\\n Such a dependency of thing on thing,\\r\\n As e\\'er I heard in madness.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O gracious Duke,\\r\\n Harp not on that; nor do not banish reason\\r\\n For inequality; but let your reason serve\\r\\n To make the truth appear where it seems hid,\\r\\n And hide the false seems true.\\r\\n DUKE. Many that are not mad\\r\\n Have, sure, more lack of reason. What would you say?\\r\\n ISABELLA. I am the sister of one Claudio,\\r\\n Condemn\\'d upon the act of fornication\\r\\n To lose his head; condemn\\'d by Angelo.\\r\\n I, in probation of a sisterhood,\\r\\n Was sent to by my brother; one Lucio\\r\\n As then the messenger-\\r\\n LUCIO. That\\'s I, an\\'t like your Grace.\\r\\n I came to her from Claudio, and desir\\'d her\\r\\n To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo\\r\\n For her poor brother\\'s pardon.\\r\\n ISABELLA. That\\'s he, indeed.\\r\\n DUKE. You were not bid to speak.\\r\\n LUCIO. No, my good lord;\\r\\n Nor wish\\'d to hold my peace.\\r\\n DUKE. I wish you now, then;\\r\\n Pray you take note of it; and when you have\\r\\n A business for yourself, pray heaven you then\\r\\n Be perfect.\\r\\n LUCIO. I warrant your honour.\\r\\n DUKE. The warrant\\'s for yourself; take heed to\\'t.\\r\\n ISABELLA. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale.\\r\\n LUCIO. Right.\\r\\n DUKE. It may be right; but you are i\\' the wrong\\r\\n To speak before your time. Proceed.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I went\\r\\n To this pernicious caitiff deputy.\\r\\n DUKE. That\\'s somewhat madly spoken.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Pardon it;\\r\\n The phrase is to the matter.\\r\\n DUKE. Mended again. The matter- proceed.\\r\\n ISABELLA. In brief- to set the needless process by,\\r\\n How I persuaded, how I pray\\'d, and kneel\\'d,\\r\\n How he refell\\'d me, and how I replied,\\r\\n For this was of much length- the vile conclusion\\r\\n I now begin with grief and shame to utter:\\r\\n He would not, but by gift of my chaste body\\r\\n To his concupiscible intemperate lust,\\r\\n Release my brother; and, after much debatement,\\r\\n My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour,\\r\\n And I did yield to him. But the next morn betimes,\\r\\n His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant\\r\\n For my poor brother\\'s head.\\r\\n DUKE. This is most likely!\\r\\n ISABELLA. O that it were as like as it is true!\\r\\n DUKE. By heaven, fond wretch, thou know\\'st not what thou speak\\'st,\\r\\n Or else thou art suborn\\'d against his honour\\r\\n In hateful practice. First, his integrity\\r\\n Stands without blemish; next, it imports no reason\\r\\n That with such vehemency he should pursue\\r\\n Faults proper to himself. If he had so offended,\\r\\n He would have weigh\\'d thy brother by himself,\\r\\n And not have cut him off. Some one hath set you on;\\r\\n Confess the truth, and say by whose advice\\r\\n Thou cam\\'st here to complain.\\r\\n ISABELLA. And is this all?\\r\\n Then, O you blessed ministers above,\\r\\n Keep me in patience; and, with ripened time,\\r\\n Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up\\r\\n In countenance! Heaven shield your Grace from woe,\\r\\n As I, thus wrong\\'d, hence unbelieved go!\\r\\n DUKE. I know you\\'d fain be gone. An officer!\\r\\n To prison with her! Shall we thus permit\\r\\n A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall\\r\\n On him so near us? This needs must be a practice.\\r\\n Who knew of your intent and coming hither?\\r\\n ISABELLA. One that I would were here, Friar Lodowick.\\r\\n DUKE. A ghostly father, belike. Who knows that Lodowick?\\r\\n LUCIO. My lord, I know him; \\'tis a meddling friar.\\r\\n I do not like the man; had he been lay, my lord,\\r\\n For certain words he spake against your Grace\\r\\n In your retirement, I had swing\\'d him soundly.\\r\\n DUKE. Words against me? This\\'s a good friar, belike!\\r\\n And to set on this wretched woman here\\r\\n Against our substitute! Let this friar be found.\\r\\n LUCIO. But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar,\\r\\n I saw them at the prison; a saucy friar,\\r\\n A very scurvy fellow.\\r\\n PETER. Blessed be your royal Grace!\\r\\n I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard\\r\\n Your royal ear abus\\'d. First, hath this woman\\r\\n Most wrongfully accus\\'d your substitute;\\r\\n Who is as free from touch or soil with her\\r\\n As she from one ungot.\\r\\n DUKE. We did believe no less.\\r\\n Know you that Friar Lodowick that she speaks of?\\r\\n PETER. I know him for a man divine and holy;\\r\\n Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler,\\r\\n As he\\'s reported by this gentleman;\\r\\n And, on my trust, a man that never yet\\r\\n Did, as he vouches, misreport your Grace.\\r\\n LUCIO. My lord, most villainously; believe it.\\r\\n PETER. Well, he in time may come to clear himself;\\r\\n But at this instant he is sick, my lord,\\r\\n Of a strange fever. Upon his mere request-\\r\\n Being come to knowledge that there was complaint\\r\\n Intended \\'gainst Lord Angelo- came I hither\\r\\n To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know\\r\\n Is true and false; and what he, with his oath\\r\\n And all probation, will make up full clear,\\r\\n Whensoever he\\'s convented. First, for this woman-\\r\\n To justify this worthy nobleman,\\r\\n So vulgarly and personally accus\\'d-\\r\\n Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes,\\r\\n Till she herself confess it.\\r\\n DUKE. Good friar, let\\'s hear it. Exit ISABELLA guarded\\r\\n Do you not smile at this, Lord Angelo?\\r\\n O heaven, the vanity of wretched fools!\\r\\n Give us some seats. Come, cousin Angelo;\\r\\n In this I\\'ll be impartial; be you judge\\r\\n Of your own cause.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MARIANA veiled\\r\\n\\r\\n Is this the witness, friar?\\r\\n FIRST let her show her face, and after speak.\\r\\n MARIANA. Pardon, my lord; I will not show my face\\r\\n Until my husband bid me.\\r\\n DUKE. What, are you married?\\r\\n MARIANA. No, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Are you a maid?\\r\\n MARIANA. No, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. A widow, then?\\r\\n MARIANA. Neither, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Why, you are nothing then; neither maid, widow, nor wife.\\r\\n LUCIO. My lord, she may be a punk; for many of them are neither\\r\\n maid, widow, nor wife.\\r\\n DUKE. Silence that fellow. I would he had some cause\\r\\n To prattle for himself.\\r\\n LUCIO. Well, my lord.\\r\\n MARIANA. My lord, I do confess I ne\\'er was married,\\r\\n And I confess, besides, I am no maid.\\r\\n I have known my husband; yet my husband\\r\\n Knows not that ever he knew me.\\r\\n LUCIO. He was drunk, then, my lord; it can be no better.\\r\\n DUKE. For the benefit of silence, would thou wert so too!\\r\\n LUCIO. Well, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. This is no witness for Lord Angelo.\\r\\n MARIANA. Now I come to\\'t, my lord:\\r\\n She that accuses him of fornication,\\r\\n In self-same manner doth accuse my husband;\\r\\n And charges him, my lord, with such a time\\r\\n When I\\'ll depose I had him in mine arms,\\r\\n With all th\\' effect of love.\\r\\n ANGELO. Charges she moe than me?\\r\\n MARIANA. Not that I know.\\r\\n DUKE. No? You say your husband.\\r\\n MARIANA. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo,\\r\\n Who thinks he knows that he ne\\'er knew my body,\\r\\n But knows he thinks that he knows Isabel\\'s.\\r\\n ANGELO. This is a strange abuse. Let\\'s see thy face.\\r\\n MARIANA. My husband bids me; now I will unmask.\\r\\n [Unveiling]\\r\\n This is that face, thou cruel Angelo,\\r\\n Which once thou swor\\'st was worth the looking on;\\r\\n This is the hand which, with a vow\\'d contract,\\r\\n Was fast belock\\'d in thine; this is the body\\r\\n That took away the match from Isabel,\\r\\n And did supply thee at thy garden-house\\r\\n In her imagin\\'d person.\\r\\n DUKE. Know you this woman?\\r\\n LUCIO. Carnally, she says.\\r\\n DUKE. Sirrah, no more.\\r\\n LUCIO. Enough, my lord.\\r\\n ANGELO. My lord, I must confess I know this woman;\\r\\n And five years since there was some speech of marriage\\r\\n Betwixt myself and her; which was broke off,\\r\\n Partly for that her promised proportions\\r\\n Came short of composition; but in chief\\r\\n For that her reputation was disvalued\\r\\n In levity. Since which time of five years\\r\\n I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her,\\r\\n Upon my faith and honour.\\r\\n MARIANA. Noble Prince,\\r\\n As there comes light from heaven and words from breath,\\r\\n As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue,\\r\\n I am affianc\\'d this man\\'s wife as strongly\\r\\n As words could make up vows. And, my good lord,\\r\\n But Tuesday night last gone, in\\'s garden-house,\\r\\n He knew me as a wife. As this is true,\\r\\n Let me in safety raise me from my knees,\\r\\n Or else for ever be confixed here,\\r\\n A marble monument!\\r\\n ANGELO. I did but smile till now.\\r\\n Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice;\\r\\n My patience here is touch\\'d. I do perceive\\r\\n These poor informal women are no more\\r\\n But instruments of some more mightier member\\r\\n That sets them on. Let me have way, my lord,\\r\\n To find this practice out.\\r\\n DUKE. Ay, with my heart;\\r\\n And punish them to your height of pleasure.\\r\\n Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman,\\r\\n Compact with her that\\'s gone, think\\'st thou thy oaths,\\r\\n Though they would swear down each particular saint,\\r\\n Were testimonies against his worth and credit,\\r\\n That\\'s seal\\'d in approbation? You, Lord Escalus,\\r\\n Sit with my cousin; lend him your kind pains\\r\\n To find out this abuse, whence \\'tis deriv\\'d.\\r\\n There is another friar that set them on;\\r\\n Let him be sent for.\\r\\n PETER. Would lie were here, my lord! For he indeed\\r\\n Hath set the women on to this complaint.\\r\\n Your provost knows the place where he abides,\\r\\n And he may fetch him.\\r\\n DUKE. Go, do it instantly. Exit PROVOST\\r\\n And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin,\\r\\n Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth,\\r\\n Do with your injuries as seems you best\\r\\n In any chastisement. I for a while will leave you;\\r\\n But stir not you till you have well determin\\'d\\r\\n Upon these slanderers.\\r\\n ESCALUS. My lord, we\\'ll do it throughly. Exit DUKE\\r\\n Signior Lucio, did not you say you knew that Friar Lodowick to be\\r\\n a dishonest person?\\r\\n LUCIO. \\'Cucullus non facit monachum\\': honest in nothing but in his\\r\\n clothes; and one that hath spoke most villainous speeches of the\\r\\n Duke.\\r\\n ESCALUS. We shall entreat you to abide here till he come and\\r\\n enforce them against him. We shall find this friar a notable\\r\\n fellow.\\r\\n LUCIO. As any in Vienna, on my word.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Call that same Isabel here once again; I would speak with\\r\\n her. [Exit an ATTENDANT] Pray you, my lord, give me leave to\\r\\n question; you shall see how I\\'ll handle her.\\r\\n LUCIO. Not better than he, by her own report.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Say you?\\r\\n LUCIO. Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her privately, she would\\r\\n sooner confess; perchance, publicly, she\\'ll be asham\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter OFFICERS with ISABELLA; and PROVOST with the\\r\\n DUKE in his friar\\'s habit\\r\\n\\r\\n ESCALUS. I will go darkly to work with her.\\r\\n LUCIO. That\\'s the way; for women are light at midnight.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Come on, mistress; here\\'s a gentlewoman denies all that\\r\\n you have said.\\r\\n LUCIO. My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke of, here with the\\r\\n Provost.\\r\\n ESCALUS. In very good time. Speak not you to him till we call upon\\r\\n you.\\r\\n LUCIO. Mum.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Come, sir; did you set these women on to slander Lord\\r\\n Angelo? They have confess\\'d you did.\\r\\n DUKE. \\'Tis false.\\r\\n ESCALUS. How! Know you where you are?\\r\\n DUKE. Respect to your great place! and let the devil\\r\\n Be sometime honour\\'d for his burning throne!\\r\\n Where is the Duke? \\'Tis he should hear me speak.\\r\\n ESCALUS. The Duke\\'s in us; and we will hear you speak;\\r\\n Look you speak justly.\\r\\n DUKE. Boldly, at least. But, O, poor souls,\\r\\n Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox,\\r\\n Good night to your redress! Is the Duke gone?\\r\\n Then is your cause gone too. The Duke\\'s unjust\\r\\n Thus to retort your manifest appeal,\\r\\n And put your trial in the villain\\'s mouth\\r\\n Which here you come to accuse.\\r\\n LUCIO. This is the rascal; this is he I spoke of.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Why, thou unreverend and unhallowed friar,\\r\\n Is\\'t not enough thou hast suborn\\'d these women\\r\\n To accuse this worthy man, but, in foul mouth,\\r\\n And in the witness of his proper ear,\\r\\n To call him villain; and then to glance from him\\r\\n To th\\' Duke himself, to tax him with injustice?\\r\\n Take him hence; to th\\' rack with him! We\\'ll touze you\\r\\n Joint by joint, but we will know his purpose.\\r\\n What, \\'unjust\\'!\\r\\n DUKE. Be not so hot; the Duke\\r\\n Dare no more stretch this finger of mine than he\\r\\n Dare rack his own; his subject am I not,\\r\\n Nor here provincial. My business in this state\\r\\n Made me a looker-on here in Vienna,\\r\\n Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble\\r\\n Till it o\\'errun the stew: laws for all faults,\\r\\n But faults so countenanc\\'d that the strong statutes\\r\\n Stand like the forfeits in a barber\\'s shop,\\r\\n As much in mock as mark.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Slander to th\\' state! Away with him to prison!\\r\\n ANGELO. What can you vouch against him, Signior Lucio?\\r\\n Is this the man that you did tell us of?\\r\\n LUCIO. \\'Tis he, my lord. Come hither, good-man bald-pate.\\r\\n Do you know me?\\r\\n DUKE. I remember you, sir, by the sound of your voice. I met you at\\r\\n the prison, in the absence of the Duke.\\r\\n LUCIO. O did you so? And do you remember what you said of the Duke?\\r\\n DUKE. Most notedly, sir.\\r\\n LUCIO. Do you so, sir? And was the Duke a fleshmonger, a fool, and\\r\\n a coward, as you then reported him to be?\\r\\n DUKE. You must, sir, change persons with me ere you make that my\\r\\n report; you, indeed, spoke so of him; and much more, much worse.\\r\\n LUCIO. O thou damnable fellow! Did not I pluck thee by the nose for\\r\\n thy speeches?\\r\\n DUKE. I protest I love the Duke as I love myself.\\r\\n ANGELO. Hark how the villain would close now, after his treasonable\\r\\n abuses!\\r\\n ESCALUS. Such a fellow is not to be talk\\'d withal. Away with him to\\r\\n prison! Where is the Provost? Away with him to prison! Lay bolts\\r\\n enough upon him; let him speak no more. Away with those giglets\\r\\n too, and with the other confederate companion!\\r\\n [The PROVOST lays bands on the DUKE]\\r\\n DUKE. Stay, sir; stay awhile.\\r\\n ANGELO. What, resists he? Help him, Lucio.\\r\\n LUCIO. Come, sir; come, sir; come, sir; foh, sir! Why, you\\r\\n bald-pated lying rascal, you must be hooded, must you? Show your\\r\\n knave\\'s visage, with a pox to you! Show your sheep-biting face,\\r\\n and be hang\\'d an hour! Will\\'t not off?\\r\\n [Pulls off the FRIAR\\'S bood and discovers the DUKE]\\r\\n DUKE. Thou art the first knave that e\\'er mad\\'st a duke.\\r\\n First, Provost, let me bail these gentle three.\\r\\n [To Lucio] Sneak not away, sir, for the friar and you\\r\\n Must have a word anon. Lay hold on him.\\r\\n LUCIO. This may prove worse than hanging.\\r\\n DUKE. [To ESCALUS] What you have spoke I pardon; sit you down.\\r\\n We\\'ll borrow place of him. [To ANGELO] Sir, by your leave.\\r\\n Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence,\\r\\n That yet can do thee office? If thou hast,\\r\\n Rely upon it till my tale be heard,\\r\\n And hold no longer out.\\r\\n ANGELO. O my dread lord,\\r\\n I should be guiltier than my guiltiness,\\r\\n To think I can be undiscernible,\\r\\n When I perceive your Grace, like pow\\'r divine,\\r\\n Hath look\\'d upon my passes. Then, good Prince,\\r\\n No longer session hold upon my shame,\\r\\n But let my trial be mine own confession;\\r\\n Immediate sentence then, and sequent death,\\r\\n Is all the grace I beg.\\r\\n DUKE. Come hither, Mariana.\\r\\n Say, wast thou e\\'er contracted to this woman?\\r\\n ANGELO. I was, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Go, take her hence and marry her instantly.\\r\\n Do you the office, friar; which consummate,\\r\\n Return him here again. Go with him, Provost.\\r\\n Exeunt ANGELO, MARIANA, FRIAR PETER, and PROVOST\\r\\n ESCALUS. My lord, I am more amaz\\'d at his dishonour\\r\\n Than at the strangeness of it.\\r\\n DUKE. Come hither, Isabel.\\r\\n Your friar is now your prince. As I was then\\r\\n Advertising and holy to your business,\\r\\n Not changing heart with habit, I am still\\r\\n Attorney\\'d at your service.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, give me pardon,\\r\\n That I, your vassal have employ\\'d and pain\\'d\\r\\n Your unknown sovereignty.\\r\\n DUKE. You are pardon\\'d, Isabel.\\r\\n And now, dear maid, be you as free to us.\\r\\n Your brother\\'s death, I know, sits at your heart;\\r\\n And you may marvel why I obscur\\'d myself,\\r\\n Labouring to save his life, and would not rather\\r\\n Make rash remonstrance of my hidden pow\\'r\\r\\n Than let him so be lost. O most kind maid,\\r\\n It was the swift celerity of his death,\\r\\n Which I did think with slower foot came on,\\r\\n That brain\\'d my purpose. But peace be with him!\\r\\n That life is better life, past fearing death,\\r\\n Than that which lives to fear. Make it your comfort,\\r\\n So happy is your brother.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I do, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter ANGELO, MARIANA, FRIAR PETER, and PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. For this new-married man approaching here,\\r\\n Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong\\'d\\r\\n Your well-defended honour, you must pardon\\r\\n For Mariana\\'s sake; but as he adjudg\\'d your brother-\\r\\n Being criminal in double violation\\r\\n Of sacred chastity and of promise-breach,\\r\\n Thereon dependent, for your brother\\'s life-\\r\\n The very mercy of the law cries out\\r\\n Most audible, even from his proper tongue,\\r\\n \\'An Angelo for Claudio, death for death!\\'\\r\\n Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure;\\r\\n Like doth quit like, and Measure still for Measure.\\r\\n Then, Angelo, thy fault\\'s thus manifested,\\r\\n Which, though thou wouldst deny, denies thee vantage.\\r\\n We do condemn thee to the very block\\r\\n Where Claudio stoop\\'d to death, and with like haste.\\r\\n Away with him!\\r\\n MARIANA. O my most gracious lord,\\r\\n I hope you will not mock me with a husband.\\r\\n DUKE. It is your husband mock\\'d you with a husband.\\r\\n Consenting to the safeguard of your honour,\\r\\n I thought your marriage fit; else imputation,\\r\\n For that he knew you, might reproach your life,\\r\\n And choke your good to come. For his possessions,\\r\\n Although by confiscation they are ours,\\r\\n We do instate and widow you withal\\r\\n To buy you a better husband.\\r\\n MARIANA. O my dear lord,\\r\\n I crave no other, nor no better man.\\r\\n DUKE. Never crave him; we are definitive.\\r\\n MARIANA. Gentle my liege- [Kneeling]\\r\\n DUKE. You do but lose your labour.\\r\\n Away with him to death! [To LUCIO] Now, sir, to you.\\r\\n MARIANA. O my good lord! Sweet Isabel, take my part;\\r\\n Lend me your knees, and all my life to come\\r\\n I\\'ll lend you all my life to do you service.\\r\\n DUKE. Against all sense you do importune her.\\r\\n Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact,\\r\\n Her brother\\'s ghost his paved bed would break,\\r\\n And take her hence in horror.\\r\\n MARIANA. Isabel,\\r\\n Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me;\\r\\n Hold up your hands, say nothing; I\\'ll speak all.\\r\\n They say best men moulded out of faults;\\r\\n And, for the most, become much more the better\\r\\n For being a little bad; so may my husband.\\r\\n O Isabel, will you not lend a knee?\\r\\n DUKE. He dies for Claudio\\'s death.\\r\\n ISABELLA. [Kneeling] Most bounteous sir,\\r\\n Look, if it please you, on this man condemn\\'d,\\r\\n As if my brother liv\\'d. I partly think\\r\\n A due sincerity govern\\'d his deeds\\r\\n Till he did look on me; since it is so,\\r\\n Let him not die. My brother had but justice,\\r\\n In that he did the thing for which he died;\\r\\n For Angelo,\\r\\n His act did not o\\'ertake his bad intent,\\r\\n And must be buried but as an intent\\r\\n That perish\\'d by the way. Thoughts are no subjects;\\r\\n Intents but merely thoughts.\\r\\n MARIANA. Merely, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Your suit\\'s unprofitable; stand up, I say.\\r\\n I have bethought me of another fault.\\r\\n Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded\\r\\n At an unusual hour?\\r\\n PROVOST. It was commanded so.\\r\\n DUKE. Had you a special warrant for the deed?\\r\\n PROVOST. No, my good lord; it was by private message.\\r\\n DUKE. For which I do discharge you of your office;\\r\\n Give up your keys.\\r\\n PROVOST. Pardon me, noble lord;\\r\\n I thought it was a fault, but knew it not;\\r\\n Yet did repent me, after more advice;\\r\\n For testimony whereof, one in the prison,\\r\\n That should by private order else have died,\\r\\n I have reserv\\'d alive.\\r\\n DUKE. What\\'s he?\\r\\n PROVOST. His name is Barnardine.\\r\\n DUKE. I would thou hadst done so by Claudio.\\r\\n Go fetch him hither; let me look upon him. Exit PROVOST\\r\\n ESCALUS. I am sorry one so learned and so wise\\r\\n As you, Lord Angelo, have still appear\\'d,\\r\\n Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood\\r\\n And lack of temper\\'d judgment afterward.\\r\\n ANGELO. I am sorry that such sorrow I procure;\\r\\n And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart\\r\\n That I crave death more willingly than mercy;\\r\\n \\'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PROVOST, with BARNARDINE, CLAUDIO (muffled)\\r\\n and JULIET\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Which is that Barnardine?\\r\\n PROVOST. This, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. There was a friar told me of this man.\\r\\n Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul,\\r\\n That apprehends no further than this world,\\r\\n And squar\\'st thy life according. Thou\\'rt condemn\\'d;\\r\\n But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all,\\r\\n And pray thee take this mercy to provide\\r\\n For better times to come. Friar, advise him;\\r\\n I leave him to your hand. What muffl\\'d fellow\\'s that?\\r\\n PROVOST. This is another prisoner that I sav\\'d,\\r\\n Who should have died when Claudio lost his head;\\r\\n As like almost to Claudio as himself. [Unmuffles CLAUDIO]\\r\\n DUKE. [To ISABELLA] If he be like your brother, for his sake\\r\\n Is he pardon\\'d; and for your lovely sake,\\r\\n Give me your hand and say you will be mine,\\r\\n He is my brother too. But fitter time for that.\\r\\n By this Lord Angelo perceives he\\'s safe;\\r\\n Methinks I see a quick\\'ning in his eye.\\r\\n Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well.\\r\\n Look that you love your wife; her worth worth yours.\\r\\n I find an apt remission in myself;\\r\\n And yet here\\'s one in place I cannot pardon.\\r\\n To Lucio] You, sirrah, that knew me for a fool, a coward,\\r\\n One all of luxury, an ass, a madman!\\r\\n Wherein have I so deserv\\'d of you\\r\\n That you extol me thus?\\r\\n LUCIO. Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according to the trick.\\r\\n If you will hang me for it, you may; but I had rather it would\\r\\n please you I might be whipt.\\r\\n DUKE. Whipt first, sir, and hang\\'d after.\\r\\n Proclaim it, Provost, round about the city,\\r\\n If any woman wrong\\'d by this lewd fellow-\\r\\n As I have heard him swear himself there\\'s one\\r\\n Whom he begot with child, let her appear,\\r\\n And he shall marry her. The nuptial finish\\'d,\\r\\n Let him be whipt and hang\\'d.\\r\\n LUCIO. I beseech your Highness, do not marry me to a whore. Your\\r\\n Highness said even now I made you a duke; good my lord, do not\\r\\n recompense me in making me a cuckold.\\r\\n DUKE. Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her.\\r\\n Thy slanders I forgive; and therewithal\\r\\n Remit thy other forfeits. Take him to prison;\\r\\n And see our pleasure herein executed.\\r\\n LUCIO. Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to death, whipping,\\r\\n and hanging.\\r\\n DUKE. Slandering a prince deserves it.\\r\\n Exeunt OFFICERS with LUCIO\\r\\n She, Claudio, that you wrong\\'d, look you restore.\\r\\n Joy to you, Mariana! Love her, Angelo;\\r\\n I have confess\\'d her, and I know her virtue.\\r\\n Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much goodness;\\r\\n There\\'s more behind that is more gratulate.\\r\\n Thanks, Provost, for thy care and secrecy;\\r\\n We shall employ thee in a worthier place.\\r\\n Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home\\r\\n The head of Ragozine for Claudio\\'s:\\r\\n Th\\' offence pardons itself. Dear Isabel,\\r\\n I have a motion much imports your good;\\r\\n Whereto if you\\'ll a willing ear incline,\\r\\n What\\'s mine is yours, and what is yours is mine.\\r\\n So, bring us to our palace, where we\\'ll show\\r\\n What\\'s yet behind that\\'s meet you all should know.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE MERCHANT OF VENICE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Venice. A street.\\r\\nScene II. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\nScene III. Venice. A public place.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\nScene II. Venice. A street.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A room in Shylock’s house.\\r\\nScene IV. The same. A street.\\r\\nScene V. The same. Before Shylock’s house.\\r\\nScene VI. The same.\\r\\nScene VII. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\nScene VIII. Venice. A street.\\r\\nScene IX. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Venice. A street.\\r\\nScene II. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\nScene III. Venice. A street.\\r\\nScene IV. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\nScene V. The same. A garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Venice. A court of justice.\\r\\nScene II. The same. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Belmont. The avenue to Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE DUKE OF VENICE\\r\\nTHE PRINCE OF MOROCCO, suitor to Portia\\r\\nTHE PRINCE OF ARRAGON, suitor to Portia\\r\\nANTONIO, a merchant of Venice\\r\\nBASSANIO, his friend, suitor to Portia\\r\\nGRATIANO, friend to Antonio and Bassanio\\r\\nSOLANIO, friend to Antonio and Bassanio\\r\\nSALARINO, friend to Antonio and Bassanio\\r\\nLORENZO, in love with Jessica\\r\\nSHYLOCK, a rich Jew\\r\\nTUBAL, a Jew, his friend\\r\\nLAUNCELET GOBBO, a clown, servant to Shylock\\r\\nOLD GOBBO, father to Launcelet\\r\\nLEONARDO, servant to Bassanio\\r\\nBALTHAZAR, servant to Portia\\r\\nSTEPHANO, servant to Portia\\r\\nSALERIO, a messenger from Venice\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA, a rich heiress\\r\\nNERISSA, her waiting-woman\\r\\nJESSICA, daughter to Shylock\\r\\n\\r\\nMagnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, a Gaoler,\\r\\nServants and other Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the seat of Portia on\\r\\nthe Continent\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Venice. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio, Salarino and Solanio.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIn sooth I know not why I am so sad,\\r\\nIt wearies me. you say it wearies you;\\r\\nBut how I caught it, found it, or came by it,\\r\\nWhat stuff ’tis made of, whereof it is born,\\r\\nI am to learn.\\r\\nAnd such a want-wit sadness makes of me,\\r\\nThat I have much ado to know myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nYour mind is tossing on the ocean,\\r\\nThere where your argosies, with portly sail\\r\\nLike signiors and rich burghers on the flood,\\r\\nOr as it were the pageants of the sea,\\r\\nDo overpeer the petty traffickers\\r\\nThat curtsy to them, do them reverence,\\r\\nAs they fly by them with their woven wings.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nBelieve me, sir, had I such venture forth,\\r\\nThe better part of my affections would\\r\\nBe with my hopes abroad. I should be still\\r\\nPlucking the grass to know where sits the wind,\\r\\nPeering in maps for ports, and piers and roads;\\r\\nAnd every object that might make me fear\\r\\nMisfortune to my ventures, out of doubt\\r\\nWould make me sad.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nMy wind cooling my broth\\r\\nWould blow me to an ague when I thought\\r\\nWhat harm a wind too great might do at sea.\\r\\nI should not see the sandy hour-glass run\\r\\nBut I should think of shallows and of flats,\\r\\nAnd see my wealthy Andrew dock’d in sand,\\r\\nVailing her high top lower than her ribs\\r\\nTo kiss her burial. Should I go to church\\r\\nAnd see the holy edifice of stone\\r\\nAnd not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,\\r\\nWhich, touching but my gentle vessel’s side,\\r\\nWould scatter all her spices on the stream,\\r\\nEnrobe the roaring waters with my silks,\\r\\nAnd, in a word, but even now worth this,\\r\\nAnd now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought\\r\\nTo think on this, and shall I lack the thought\\r\\nThat such a thing bechanc’d would make me sad?\\r\\nBut tell not me, I know Antonio\\r\\nIs sad to think upon his merchandise.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nBelieve me, no. I thank my fortune for it,\\r\\nMy ventures are not in one bottom trusted,\\r\\nNor to one place; nor is my whole estate\\r\\nUpon the fortune of this present year.\\r\\nTherefore my merchandise makes me not sad.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWhy then you are in love.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nFie, fie!\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nNot in love neither? Then let us say you are sad\\r\\nBecause you are not merry; and ’twere as easy\\r\\nFor you to laugh and leap and say you are merry\\r\\nBecause you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus,\\r\\nNature hath fram’d strange fellows in her time:\\r\\nSome that will evermore peep through their eyes,\\r\\nAnd laugh like parrots at a bagpiper.\\r\\nAnd other of such vinegar aspect\\r\\nThat they’ll not show their teeth in way of smile\\r\\nThough Nestor swear the jest be laughable.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo and Gratiano.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nHere comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,\\r\\nGratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare ye well.\\r\\nWe leave you now with better company.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nI would have stay’d till I had made you merry,\\r\\nIf worthier friends had not prevented me.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nYour worth is very dear in my regard.\\r\\nI take it your own business calls on you,\\r\\nAnd you embrace th’ occasion to depart.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nGood morrow, my good lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nGood signiors both, when shall we laugh? Say, when?\\r\\nYou grow exceeding strange. Must it be so?\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWe’ll make our leisures to attend on yours.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Salarino and Solanio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nMy Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio,\\r\\nWe two will leave you, but at dinner-time\\r\\nI pray you have in mind where we must meet.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nI will not fail you.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nYou look not well, Signior Antonio,\\r\\nYou have too much respect upon the world.\\r\\nThey lose it that do buy it with much care.\\r\\nBelieve me, you are marvellously chang’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI hold the world but as the world, Gratiano,\\r\\nA stage, where every man must play a part,\\r\\nAnd mine a sad one.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nLet me play the fool,\\r\\nWith mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come,\\r\\nAnd let my liver rather heat with wine\\r\\nThan my heart cool with mortifying groans.\\r\\nWhy should a man whose blood is warm within\\r\\nSit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?\\r\\nSleep when he wakes? And creep into the jaundice\\r\\nBy being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio,\\r\\n(I love thee, and ’tis my love that speaks):\\r\\nThere are a sort of men whose visages\\r\\nDo cream and mantle like a standing pond,\\r\\nAnd do a wilful stillness entertain,\\r\\nWith purpose to be dress’d in an opinion\\r\\nOf wisdom, gravity, profound conceit,\\r\\nAs who should say, “I am Sir Oracle,\\r\\nAnd when I ope my lips, let no dog bark.”\\r\\nO my Antonio, I do know of these\\r\\nThat therefore only are reputed wise\\r\\nFor saying nothing; when, I am very sure,\\r\\nIf they should speak, would almost damn those ears\\r\\nWhich, hearing them, would call their brothers fools.\\r\\nI’ll tell thee more of this another time.\\r\\nBut fish not with this melancholy bait\\r\\nFor this fool gudgeon, this opinion.\\r\\nCome, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well a while.\\r\\nI’ll end my exhortation after dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nWell, we will leave you then till dinner-time.\\r\\nI must be one of these same dumb wise men,\\r\\nFor Gratiano never lets me speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWell, keep me company but two years moe,\\r\\nThou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nFare you well. I’ll grow a talker for this gear.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nThanks, i’ faith, for silence is only commendable\\r\\nIn a neat’s tongue dried, and a maid not vendible.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIs that anything now?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nGratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all\\r\\nVenice. His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of\\r\\nchaff: you shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you have them\\r\\nthey are not worth the search.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWell, tell me now what lady is the same\\r\\nTo whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,\\r\\nThat you today promis’d to tell me of?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\n’Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,\\r\\nHow much I have disabled mine estate\\r\\nBy something showing a more swelling port\\r\\nThan my faint means would grant continuance.\\r\\nNor do I now make moan to be abridg’d\\r\\nFrom such a noble rate, but my chief care\\r\\nIs to come fairly off from the great debts\\r\\nWherein my time, something too prodigal,\\r\\nHath left me gag’d. To you, Antonio,\\r\\nI owe the most in money and in love,\\r\\nAnd from your love I have a warranty\\r\\nTo unburden all my plots and purposes\\r\\nHow to get clear of all the debts I owe.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;\\r\\nAnd if it stand, as you yourself still do,\\r\\nWithin the eye of honour, be assur’d\\r\\nMy purse, my person, my extremest means\\r\\nLie all unlock’d to your occasions.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nIn my school-days, when I had lost one shaft,\\r\\nI shot his fellow of the self-same flight\\r\\nThe self-same way, with more advised watch\\r\\nTo find the other forth; and by adventuring both\\r\\nI oft found both. I urge this childhood proof\\r\\nBecause what follows is pure innocence.\\r\\nI owe you much, and, like a wilful youth,\\r\\nThat which I owe is lost. But if you please\\r\\nTo shoot another arrow that self way\\r\\nWhich you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,\\r\\nAs I will watch the aim, or to find both,\\r\\nOr bring your latter hazard back again,\\r\\nAnd thankfully rest debtor for the first.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nYou know me well, and herein spend but time\\r\\nTo wind about my love with circumstance;\\r\\nAnd out of doubt you do me now more wrong\\r\\nIn making question of my uttermost\\r\\nThan if you had made waste of all I have.\\r\\nThen do but say to me what I should do\\r\\nThat in your knowledge may by me be done,\\r\\nAnd I am prest unto it. Therefore, speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nIn Belmont is a lady richly left,\\r\\nAnd she is fair, and, fairer than that word,\\r\\nOf wondrous virtues. Sometimes from her eyes\\r\\nI did receive fair speechless messages:\\r\\nHer name is Portia, nothing undervalu’d\\r\\nTo Cato’s daughter, Brutus’ Portia.\\r\\nNor is the wide world ignorant of her worth,\\r\\nFor the four winds blow in from every coast\\r\\nRenowned suitors, and her sunny locks\\r\\nHang on her temples like a golden fleece,\\r\\nWhich makes her seat of Belmont Colchos’ strond,\\r\\nAnd many Jasons come in quest of her.\\r\\nO my Antonio, had I but the means\\r\\nTo hold a rival place with one of them,\\r\\nI have a mind presages me such thrift\\r\\nThat I should questionless be fortunate.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThou know’st that all my fortunes are at sea;\\r\\nNeither have I money nor commodity\\r\\nTo raise a present sum, therefore go forth\\r\\nTry what my credit can in Venice do;\\r\\nThat shall be rack’d even to the uttermost,\\r\\nTo furnish thee to Belmont to fair Portia.\\r\\nGo presently inquire, and so will I,\\r\\nWhere money is, and I no question make\\r\\nTo have it of my trust or for my sake.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Portia with her waiting-woman Nerissa.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nBy my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this great world.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nYou would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance\\r\\nas your good fortunes are. And yet, for aught I see, they are as sick\\r\\nthat surfeit with too much as they that starve with nothing. It is no\\r\\nmean happiness, therefore, to be seated in the mean. Superfluity come\\r\\nsooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nGood sentences, and well pronounc’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nThey would be better if well followed.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIf to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been\\r\\nchurches, and poor men’s cottages princes’ palaces. It is a good divine\\r\\nthat follows his own instructions; I can easier teach twenty what were\\r\\ngood to be done than to be one of the twenty to follow mine own\\r\\nteaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper\\r\\nleaps o’er a cold decree; such a hare is madness the youth, to skip\\r\\no’er the meshes of good counsel the cripple. But this reasoning is not\\r\\nin the fashion to choose me a husband. O me, the word “choose”! I may\\r\\nneither choose who I would nor refuse who I dislike, so is the will of\\r\\na living daughter curb’d by the will of a dead father. Is it not hard,\\r\\nNerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none?\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nYour father was ever virtuous, and holy men at their death have good\\r\\ninspirations. Therefore the lott’ry that he hath devised in these three\\r\\nchests of gold, silver, and lead, whereof who chooses his meaning\\r\\nchooses you, will no doubt never be chosen by any rightly but one who\\r\\nyou shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in your affection\\r\\ntowards any of these princely suitors that are already come?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI pray thee over-name them, and as thou namest them, I will describe\\r\\nthem, and according to my description level at my affection.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nFirst, there is the Neapolitan prince.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nAy, that’s a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of his horse,\\r\\nand he makes it a great appropriation to his own good parts that he can\\r\\nshoe him himself. I am much afeard my lady his mother play’d false with\\r\\na smith.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nThen is there the County Palatine.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nHe doth nothing but frown, as who should say “And you will not have me,\\r\\nchoose.” He hears merry tales and smiles not. I fear he will prove the\\r\\nweeping philosopher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly\\r\\nsadness in his youth. I had rather be married to a death’s-head with a\\r\\nbone in his mouth than to either of these. God defend me from these\\r\\ntwo!\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nHow say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nGod made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. In truth, I know it\\r\\nis a sin to be a mocker, but he! why, he hath a horse better than the\\r\\nNeapolitan’s, a better bad habit of frowning than the Count Palatine.\\r\\nHe is every man in no man. If a throstle sing, he falls straight\\r\\na-cap’ring. He will fence with his own shadow. If I should marry him, I\\r\\nshould marry twenty husbands. If he would despise me, I would forgive\\r\\nhim, for if he love me to madness, I shall never requite him.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nWhat say you then to Falconbridge, the young baron of England?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYou know I say nothing to him, for he understands not me, nor I him: he\\r\\nhath neither Latin, French, nor Italian, and you will come into the\\r\\ncourt and swear that I have a poor pennyworth in the English. He is a\\r\\nproper man’s picture; but alas, who can converse with a dumb-show? How\\r\\noddly he is suited! I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round\\r\\nhose in France, his bonnet in Germany, and his behaviour everywhere.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nWhat think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThat he hath a neighbourly charity in him, for he borrowed a box of the\\r\\near of the Englishman, and swore he would pay him again when he was\\r\\nable. I think the Frenchman became his surety, and seal’d under for\\r\\nanother.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nHow like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony’s nephew?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nVery vilely in the morning when he is sober, and most vilely in the\\r\\nafternoon when he is drunk: when he is best, he is a little worse than\\r\\na man, and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast. And the\\r\\nworst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall make shift to go without him.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nIf he should offer to choose, and choose the right casket, you should\\r\\nrefuse to perform your father’s will, if you should refuse to accept\\r\\nhim.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nTherefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee set a deep glass of\\r\\nRhenish wine on the contrary casket, for if the devil be within and\\r\\nthat temptation without, I know he will choose it. I will do anything,\\r\\nNerissa, ere I will be married to a sponge.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nYou need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords. They have\\r\\nacquainted me with their determinations, which is indeed to return to\\r\\ntheir home, and to trouble you with no more suit, unless you may be won\\r\\nby some other sort than your father’s imposition, depending on the\\r\\ncaskets.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIf I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as chaste as Diana,\\r\\nunless I be obtained by the manner of my father’s will. I am glad this\\r\\nparcel of wooers are so reasonable, for there is not one among them but\\r\\nI dote on his very absence. And I pray God grant them a fair departure.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nDo you not remember, lady, in your father’s time, a Venetian, a scholar\\r\\nand a soldier, that came hither in company of the Marquis of\\r\\nMontferrat?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYes, yes, it was Bassanio, as I think, so was he call’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nTrue, madam. He, of all the men that ever my foolish eyes look’d upon,\\r\\nwas the best deserving a fair lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI remember him well, and I remember him worthy of thy praise.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servingman.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now! what news?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVINGMAN.\\r\\nThe four strangers seek for you, madam, to take their leave. And there\\r\\nis a forerunner come from a fifth, the Prince of Morocco, who brings\\r\\nword the Prince his master will be here tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIf I could bid the fifth welcome with so good heart as I can bid the\\r\\nother four farewell, I should be glad of his approach. If he have the\\r\\ncondition of a saint and the complexion of a devil, I had rather he\\r\\nshould shrive me than wive me. Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before. Whiles\\r\\nwe shut the gate upon one wooer, another knocks at the door.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Venice. A public place.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bassanio with Shylock the Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThree thousand ducats, well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nAy, sir, for three months.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nFor three months, well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nFor the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nAntonio shall become bound, well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nMay you stead me? Will you pleasure me? Shall I know your answer?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThree thousand ducats for three months, and Antonio bound.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nYour answer to that.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nAntonio is a good man.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nHave you heard any imputation to the contrary?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nHo, no, no, no, no: my meaning in saying he is a good man is to have\\r\\nyou understand me that he is sufficient. Yet his means are in\\r\\nsupposition: he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the\\r\\nIndies. I understand, moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a third at\\r\\nMexico, a fourth for England, and other ventures he hath squandered\\r\\nabroad. But ships are but boards, sailors but men; there be land-rats\\r\\nand water-rats, water-thieves and land-thieves—I mean pirates—and then\\r\\nthere is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks. The man is,\\r\\nnotwithstanding, sufficient. Three thousand ducats. I think I may take\\r\\nhis bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nBe assured you may.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI will be assured I may. And that I may be assured, I will bethink me.\\r\\nMay I speak with Antonio?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nIf it please you to dine with us.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nYes, to smell pork, to eat of the habitation which your prophet, the\\r\\nNazarite, conjured the devil into. I will buy with you, sell with you,\\r\\ntalk with you, walk with you, and so following; but I will not eat with\\r\\nyou, drink with you, nor pray with you. What news on the Rialto? Who is\\r\\nhe comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nThis is Signior Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\n[_Aside._] How like a fawning publican he looks!\\r\\nI hate him for he is a Christian,\\r\\nBut more for that in low simplicity\\r\\nHe lends out money gratis, and brings down\\r\\nThe rate of usance here with us in Venice.\\r\\nIf I can catch him once upon the hip,\\r\\nI will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.\\r\\nHe hates our sacred nation, and he rails,\\r\\nEven there where merchants most do congregate,\\r\\nOn me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift,\\r\\nWhich he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe\\r\\nIf I forgive him!\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nShylock, do you hear?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI am debating of my present store,\\r\\nAnd by the near guess of my memory\\r\\nI cannot instantly raise up the gross\\r\\nOf full three thousand ducats. What of that?\\r\\nTubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe,\\r\\nWill furnish me. But soft! how many months\\r\\nDo you desire? [_To Antonio._] Rest you fair, good signior,\\r\\nYour worship was the last man in our mouths.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nShylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow\\r\\nBy taking nor by giving of excess,\\r\\nYet to supply the ripe wants of my friend,\\r\\nI’ll break a custom. [_To Bassanio._] Is he yet possess’d\\r\\nHow much ye would?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nAy, ay, three thousand ducats.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd for three months.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI had forgot, three months, you told me so.\\r\\nWell then, your bond. And let me see, but hear you,\\r\\nMethought you said you neither lend nor borrow\\r\\nUpon advantage.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI do never use it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhen Jacob graz’d his uncle Laban’s sheep,—\\r\\nThis Jacob from our holy Abram was\\r\\nAs his wise mother wrought in his behalf,\\r\\nThe third possessor; ay, he was the third.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd what of him? Did he take interest?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nNo, not take interest, not, as you would say,\\r\\nDirectly interest; mark what Jacob did.\\r\\nWhen Laban and himself were compromis’d\\r\\nThat all the eanlings which were streak’d and pied\\r\\nShould fall as Jacob’s hire, the ewes being rank\\r\\nIn end of autumn turned to the rams,\\r\\nAnd when the work of generation was\\r\\nBetween these woolly breeders in the act,\\r\\nThe skilful shepherd pill’d me certain wands,\\r\\nAnd in the doing of the deed of kind,\\r\\nHe stuck them up before the fulsome ewes,\\r\\nWho then conceiving did in eaning time\\r\\nFall parti-colour’d lambs, and those were Jacob’s.\\r\\nThis was a way to thrive, and he was blest;\\r\\nAnd thrift is blessing if men steal it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThis was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv’d for,\\r\\nA thing not in his power to bring to pass,\\r\\nBut sway’d and fashion’d by the hand of heaven.\\r\\nWas this inserted to make interest good?\\r\\nOr is your gold and silver ewes and rams?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI cannot tell; I make it breed as fast.\\r\\nBut note me, signior.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nMark you this, Bassanio,\\r\\nThe devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.\\r\\nAn evil soul producing holy witness\\r\\nIs like a villain with a smiling cheek,\\r\\nA goodly apple rotten at the heart.\\r\\nO, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThree thousand ducats, ’tis a good round sum.\\r\\nThree months from twelve, then let me see the rate.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWell, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nSignior Antonio, many a time and oft\\r\\nIn the Rialto you have rated me\\r\\nAbout my moneys and my usances.\\r\\nStill have I borne it with a patient shrug,\\r\\n(For suff’rance is the badge of all our tribe.)\\r\\nYou call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog,\\r\\nAnd spet upon my Jewish gaberdine,\\r\\nAnd all for use of that which is mine own.\\r\\nWell then, it now appears you need my help.\\r\\nGo to, then, you come to me, and you say\\r\\n“Shylock, we would have moneys.” You say so:\\r\\nYou that did void your rheum upon my beard,\\r\\nAnd foot me as you spurn a stranger cur\\r\\nOver your threshold, moneys is your suit.\\r\\nWhat should I say to you? Should I not say\\r\\n“Hath a dog money? Is it possible\\r\\nA cur can lend three thousand ducats?” Or\\r\\nShall I bend low and, in a bondman’s key,\\r\\nWith bated breath and whisp’ring humbleness,\\r\\nSay this:\\r\\n“Fair sir, you spet on me on Wednesday last;\\r\\nYou spurn’d me such a day; another time\\r\\nYou call’d me dog; and for these courtesies\\r\\nI’ll lend you thus much moneys”?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI am as like to call thee so again,\\r\\nTo spet on thee again, to spurn thee too.\\r\\nIf thou wilt lend this money, lend it not\\r\\nAs to thy friends, for when did friendship take\\r\\nA breed for barren metal of his friend?\\r\\nBut lend it rather to thine enemy,\\r\\nWho if he break, thou mayst with better face\\r\\nExact the penalty.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhy, look you how you storm!\\r\\nI would be friends with you, and have your love,\\r\\nForget the shames that you have stain’d me with,\\r\\nSupply your present wants, and take no doit\\r\\nOf usance for my moneys, and you’ll not hear me,\\r\\nThis is kind I offer.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nThis were kindness.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThis kindness will I show.\\r\\nGo with me to a notary, seal me there\\r\\nYour single bond; and in a merry sport,\\r\\nIf you repay me not on such a day,\\r\\nIn such a place, such sum or sums as are\\r\\nExpress’d in the condition, let the forfeit\\r\\nBe nominated for an equal pound\\r\\nOf your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken\\r\\nIn what part of your body pleaseth me.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nContent, in faith, I’ll seal to such a bond,\\r\\nAnd say there is much kindness in the Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nYou shall not seal to such a bond for me,\\r\\nI’ll rather dwell in my necessity.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWhy, fear not, man, I will not forfeit it,\\r\\nWithin these two months, that’s a month before\\r\\nThis bond expires, I do expect return\\r\\nOf thrice three times the value of this bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nO father Abram, what these Christians are,\\r\\nWhose own hard dealings teaches them suspect\\r\\nThe thoughts of others. Pray you, tell me this,\\r\\nIf he should break his day, what should I gain\\r\\nBy the exaction of the forfeiture?\\r\\nA pound of man’s flesh, taken from a man,\\r\\nIs not so estimable, profitable neither,\\r\\nAs flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say,\\r\\nTo buy his favour, I extend this friendship.\\r\\nIf he will take it, so. If not, adieu,\\r\\nAnd for my love I pray you wrong me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nYes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThen meet me forthwith at the notary’s,\\r\\nGive him direction for this merry bond,\\r\\nAnd I will go and purse the ducats straight,\\r\\nSee to my house left in the fearful guard\\r\\nOf an unthrifty knave, and presently\\r\\nI’ll be with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHie thee, gentle Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Shylock._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThis Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nI like not fair terms and a villain’s mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nCome on; in this there can be no dismay;\\r\\nMy ships come home a month before the day.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince of Morocco, a tawny Moor all in\\r\\n white, and three or four followers accordingly, with Portia, Nerissa\\r\\n and their train.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE OF MOROCCO.\\r\\nMislike me not for my complexion,\\r\\nThe shadowed livery of the burnish’d sun,\\r\\nTo whom I am a neighbour, and near bred.\\r\\nBring me the fairest creature northward born,\\r\\nWhere Phœbus’ fire scarce thaws the icicles,\\r\\nAnd let us make incision for your love\\r\\nTo prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine.\\r\\nI tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine\\r\\nHath fear’d the valiant; by my love I swear\\r\\nThe best-regarded virgins of our clime\\r\\nHave lov’d it too. I would not change this hue,\\r\\nExcept to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIn terms of choice I am not solely led\\r\\nBy nice direction of a maiden’s eyes;\\r\\nBesides, the lott’ry of my destiny\\r\\nBars me the right of voluntary choosing.\\r\\nBut if my father had not scanted me\\r\\nAnd hedg’d me by his wit to yield myself\\r\\nHis wife who wins me by that means I told you,\\r\\nYourself, renowned Prince, then stood as fair\\r\\nAs any comer I have look’d on yet\\r\\nFor my affection.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE OF MOROCCO.\\r\\nEven for that I thank you.\\r\\nTherefore I pray you lead me to the caskets\\r\\nTo try my fortune. By this scimitar\\r\\nThat slew the Sophy and a Persian prince,\\r\\nThat won three fields of Sultan Solyman,\\r\\nI would o’erstare the sternest eyes that look,\\r\\nOutbrave the heart most daring on the earth,\\r\\nPluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear,\\r\\nYea, mock the lion when he roars for prey,\\r\\nTo win thee, lady. But, alas the while!\\r\\nIf Hercules and Lichas play at dice\\r\\nWhich is the better man, the greater throw\\r\\nMay turn by fortune from the weaker hand:\\r\\nSo is Alcides beaten by his rage,\\r\\nAnd so may I, blind Fortune leading me,\\r\\nMiss that which one unworthier may attain,\\r\\nAnd die with grieving.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYou must take your chance,\\r\\nAnd either not attempt to choose at all,\\r\\nOr swear before you choose, if you choose wrong\\r\\nNever to speak to lady afterward\\r\\nIn way of marriage. Therefore be advis’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE OF MOROCCO.\\r\\nNor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nFirst, forward to the temple. After dinner\\r\\nYour hazard shall be made.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE OF MOROCCO.\\r\\nGood fortune then,\\r\\nTo make me blest or cursed’st among men!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Cornets. Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Venice. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Launcelet Gobbo, the clown, alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nCertainly my conscience will serve me to run from this Jew my master.\\r\\nThe fiend is at mine elbow and tempts me, saying to me “Gobbo,\\r\\nLauncelet Gobbo, good Launcelet” or “good Gobbo,” or “good Launcelet\\r\\nGobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away.” My conscience says\\r\\n“No; take heed, honest Launcelet, take heed, honest Gobbo” or, as\\r\\naforesaid, “honest Launcelet Gobbo, do not run, scorn running with thy\\r\\nheels.” Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack. “Fia!” says the\\r\\nfiend, “away!” says the fiend. “For the heavens, rouse up a brave\\r\\nmind,” says the fiend “and run.” Well, my conscience, hanging about the\\r\\nneck of my heart, says very wisely to me “My honest friend Launcelet,\\r\\nbeing an honest man’s son”—or rather an honest woman’s son, for indeed\\r\\nmy father did something smack, something grow to, he had a kind of\\r\\ntaste;—well, my conscience says “Launcelet, budge not.” “Budge,” says\\r\\nthe fiend. “Budge not,” says my conscience. “Conscience,” say I, “you\\r\\ncounsel well.” “Fiend,” say I, “you counsel well.” To be ruled by my\\r\\nconscience, I should stay with the Jew my master, who, (God bless the\\r\\nmark) is a kind of devil; and, to run away from the Jew, I should be\\r\\nruled by the fiend, who (saving your reverence) is the devil himself.\\r\\nCertainly the Jew is the very devil incarnation, and, in my conscience,\\r\\nmy conscience is but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel me\\r\\nto stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly counsel. I will\\r\\nrun, fiend, my heels are at your commandment, I will run.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Old Gobbo with a basket.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nMaster young man, you, I pray you; which is the way to Master Jew’s?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\n[_Aside._] O heavens, this is my true-begotten father, who being more\\r\\nthan sand-blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not. I will try confusions\\r\\nwith him.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nMaster young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to Master Jew’s?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nTurn up on your right hand at the next turning, but at the next turning\\r\\nof all on your left; marry, at the very next turning, turn of no hand,\\r\\nbut turn down indirectly to the Jew’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nBe God’s sonties, ’twill be a hard way to hit. Can you tell me whether\\r\\none Launcelet, that dwells with him, dwell with him or no?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nTalk you of young Master Launcelet? [_Aside._] Mark me now, now will I\\r\\nraise the waters. Talk you of young Master Launcelet?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nNo master, sir, but a poor man’s son, his father, though I say’t, is an\\r\\nhonest exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well to live.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nWell, let his father be what he will, we talk of young Master\\r\\nLauncelet.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nYour worship’s friend, and Launcelet, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nBut I pray you, _ergo_, old man, _ergo_, I beseech you, talk you of\\r\\nyoung Master Launcelet?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nOf Launcelet, an’t please your mastership.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\n_Ergo_, Master Launcelet. Talk not of Master Launcelet, father, for the\\r\\nyoung gentleman, according to Fates and Destinies, and such odd\\r\\nsayings, the Sisters Three and such branches of learning, is indeed\\r\\ndeceased, or, as you would say in plain terms, gone to heaven.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nMarry, God forbid! The boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or a prop?\\r\\nDo you know me, father?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nAlack the day! I know you not, young gentleman, but I pray you tell me,\\r\\nis my boy, God rest his soul, alive or dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nDo you not know me, father?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nAlack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nNay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the knowing me: it\\r\\nis a wise father that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will tell\\r\\nyou news of your son. Give me your blessing, truth will come to light,\\r\\nmurder cannot be hid long, a man’s son may, but in the end truth will\\r\\nout.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nPray you, sir, stand up, I am sure you are not Launcelet my boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nPray you, let’s have no more fooling about it, but give me your\\r\\nblessing. I am Launcelet, your boy that was, your son that is, your\\r\\nchild that shall be.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nI cannot think you are my son.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nI know not what I shall think of that; but I am Launcelet, the Jew’s\\r\\nman, and I am sure Margery your wife is my mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nHer name is Margery, indeed. I’ll be sworn if thou be Launcelet, thou\\r\\nart mine own flesh and blood. Lord worshipped might he be, what a beard\\r\\nhast thou got! Thou hast got more hair on thy chin than Dobbin my\\r\\nfill-horse has on his tail.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nIt should seem, then, that Dobbin’s tail grows backward. I am sure he\\r\\nhad more hair on his tail than I have on my face when I last saw him.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nLord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy master agree? I have\\r\\nbrought him a present. How ’gree you now?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nWell, well. But for mine own part, as I have set up my rest to run\\r\\naway, so I will not rest till I have run some ground. My master’s a\\r\\nvery Jew. Give him a present! Give him a halter. I am famished in his\\r\\nservice. You may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am\\r\\nglad you are come, give me your present to one Master Bassanio, who\\r\\nindeed gives rare new liveries. If I serve not him, I will run as far\\r\\nas God has any ground. O rare fortune, here comes the man! To him,\\r\\nfather; for I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bassanio with Leonardo and a follower or two.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nYou may do so, but let it be so hasted that supper be ready at the\\r\\nfarthest by five of the clock. See these letters delivered, put the\\r\\nliveries to making, and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit a Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nTo him, father.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nGod bless your worship!\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nGramercy, wouldst thou aught with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nHere’s my son, sir, a poor boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nNot a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew’s man, that would, sir, as my\\r\\nfather shall specify.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nHe hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nIndeed the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and have a desire,\\r\\nas my father shall specify.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nHis master and he (saving your worship’s reverence) are scarce\\r\\ncater-cousins.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nTo be brief, the very truth is that the Jew, having done me wrong, doth\\r\\ncause me, as my father, being I hope an old man, shall frutify unto\\r\\nyou.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nI have here a dish of doves that I would bestow upon your worship, and\\r\\nmy suit is—\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nIn very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself, as your worship shall\\r\\nknow by this honest old man, and though I say it, though old man, yet\\r\\npoor man, my father.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nOne speak for both. What would you?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nServe you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nThat is the very defect of the matter, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nI know thee well; thou hast obtain’d thy suit.\\r\\nShylock thy master spoke with me this day,\\r\\nAnd hath preferr’d thee, if it be preferment\\r\\nTo leave a rich Jew’s service to become\\r\\nThe follower of so poor a gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nThe old proverb is very well parted between my master Shylock and you,\\r\\nsir: you have “the grace of God”, sir, and he hath “enough”.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nThou speak’st it well. Go, father, with thy son.\\r\\nTake leave of thy old master, and inquire\\r\\nMy lodging out. [_To a Servant._] Give him a livery\\r\\nMore guarded than his fellows’; see it done.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nFather, in. I cannot get a service, no! I have ne’er a tongue in my\\r\\nhead! [_Looking on his palm._] Well, if any man in Italy have a fairer\\r\\ntable which doth offer to swear upon a book, I shall have good fortune;\\r\\ngo to, here’s a simple line of life. Here’s a small trifle of wives,\\r\\nalas, fifteen wives is nothing; eleven widows and nine maids is a\\r\\nsimple coming-in for one man. And then to scape drowning thrice, and to\\r\\nbe in peril of my life with the edge of a feather-bed; here are simple\\r\\n’scapes. Well, if Fortune be a woman, she’s a good wench for this gear.\\r\\nFather, come; I’ll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Launcelet and Old Gobbo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nI pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this.\\r\\nThese things being bought and orderly bestow’d,\\r\\nReturn in haste, for I do feast tonight\\r\\nMy best esteem’d acquaintance; hie thee, go.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONARDO.\\r\\nMy best endeavours shall be done herein.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gratiano.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWhere’s your master?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONARDO.\\r\\nYonder, sir, he walks.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nSignior Bassanio!\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nGratiano!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nI have suit to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nYou have obtain’d it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nYou must not deny me, I must go with you to Belmont.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nWhy, then you must. But hear thee, Gratiano,\\r\\nThou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice,\\r\\nParts that become thee happily enough,\\r\\nAnd in such eyes as ours appear not faults;\\r\\nBut where thou art not known, why there they show\\r\\nSomething too liberal. Pray thee, take pain\\r\\nTo allay with some cold drops of modesty\\r\\nThy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild behaviour\\r\\nI be misconst’red in the place I go to,\\r\\nAnd lose my hopes.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nSignior Bassanio, hear me.\\r\\nIf I do not put on a sober habit,\\r\\nTalk with respect, and swear but now and then,\\r\\nWear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely,\\r\\nNay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes\\r\\nThus with my hat, and sigh, and say “amen”;\\r\\nUse all the observance of civility\\r\\nLike one well studied in a sad ostent\\r\\nTo please his grandam, never trust me more.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nWell, we shall see your bearing.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nNay, but I bar tonight, you shall not gauge me\\r\\nBy what we do tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nNo, that were pity.\\r\\nI would entreat you rather to put on\\r\\nYour boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends\\r\\nThat purpose merriment. But fare you well,\\r\\nI have some business.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nAnd I must to Lorenzo and the rest,\\r\\nBut we will visit you at supper-time.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A room in Shylock’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Jessica and Launcelet.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nI am sorry thou wilt leave my father so.\\r\\nOur house is hell, and thou, a merry devil,\\r\\nDidst rob it of some taste of tediousness.\\r\\nBut fare thee well, there is a ducat for thee,\\r\\nAnd, Launcelet, soon at supper shalt thou see\\r\\nLorenzo, who is thy new master’s guest.\\r\\nGive him this letter, do it secretly.\\r\\nAnd so farewell. I would not have my father\\r\\nSee me in talk with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nAdieu! tears exhibit my tongue, most beautiful pagan, most sweet Jew!\\r\\nIf a Christian do not play the knave and get thee, I am much deceived.\\r\\nBut, adieu! These foolish drops do something drown my manly spirit.\\r\\nAdieu!\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nFarewell, good Launcelet.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Launcelet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAlack, what heinous sin is it in me\\r\\nTo be ashamed to be my father’s child!\\r\\nBut though I am a daughter to his blood,\\r\\nI am not to his manners. O Lorenzo,\\r\\nIf thou keep promise, I shall end this strife,\\r\\nBecome a Christian and thy loving wife.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The same. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino and Solanio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nNay, we will slink away in supper-time,\\r\\nDisguise us at my lodging, and return\\r\\nAll in an hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWe have not made good preparation.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWe have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\n’Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order’d,\\r\\nAnd better in my mind not undertook.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\n’Tis now but four o’clock, we have two hours\\r\\nTo furnish us.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Launcelet with a letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nFriend Launcelet, what’s the news?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nAnd it shall please you to break up this, it shall seem to signify.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nI know the hand, in faith ’tis a fair hand,\\r\\nAnd whiter than the paper it writ on\\r\\nIs the fair hand that writ.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nLove news, in faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nBy your leave, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nWhither goest thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nMarry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew to sup tonight with my new\\r\\nmaster the Christian.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nHold here, take this. Tell gentle Jessica\\r\\nI will not fail her, speak it privately.\\r\\nGo, gentlemen,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Launcelet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWill you prepare you for this masque tonight?\\r\\nI am provided of a torch-bearer.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nAy, marry, I’ll be gone about it straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nAnd so will I.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nMeet me and Gratiano\\r\\nAt Gratiano’s lodging some hour hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\n’Tis good we do so.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Salarino and Solanio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWas not that letter from fair Jessica?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nI must needs tell thee all. She hath directed\\r\\nHow I shall take her from her father’s house,\\r\\nWhat gold and jewels she is furnish’d with,\\r\\nWhat page’s suit she hath in readiness.\\r\\nIf e’er the Jew her father come to heaven,\\r\\nIt will be for his gentle daughter’s sake;\\r\\nAnd never dare misfortune cross her foot,\\r\\nUnless she do it under this excuse,\\r\\nThat she is issue to a faithless Jew.\\r\\nCome, go with me, peruse this as thou goest;\\r\\nFair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. The same. Before Shylock’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Shylock the Jew and Launcelet his man that was the clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWell, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge,\\r\\nThe difference of old Shylock and Bassanio.—\\r\\nWhat, Jessica!—Thou shalt not gormandize\\r\\nAs thou hast done with me;—What, Jessica!—\\r\\nAnd sleep, and snore, and rend apparel out.\\r\\nWhy, Jessica, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nWhy, Jessica!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWho bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nYour worship was wont to tell me I could do nothing without bidding.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Jessica.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nCall you? What is your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI am bid forth to supper, Jessica.\\r\\nThere are my keys. But wherefore should I go?\\r\\nI am not bid for love, they flatter me.\\r\\nBut yet I’ll go in hate, to feed upon\\r\\nThe prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl,\\r\\nLook to my house. I am right loath to go;\\r\\nThere is some ill a-brewing towards my rest,\\r\\nFor I did dream of money-bags tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nI beseech you, sir, go. My young master doth expect your reproach.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nSo do I his.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nAnd they have conspired together. I will not say you shall see a\\r\\nmasque, but if you do, then it was not for nothing that my nose fell\\r\\na-bleeding on Black Monday last at six o’clock i’ th’ morning, falling\\r\\nout that year on Ash-Wednesday was four year in th’ afternoon.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhat, are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica,\\r\\nLock up my doors, and when you hear the drum\\r\\nAnd the vile squealing of the wry-neck’d fife,\\r\\nClamber not you up to the casements then,\\r\\nNor thrust your head into the public street\\r\\nTo gaze on Christian fools with varnish’d faces,\\r\\nBut stop my house’s ears, I mean my casements.\\r\\nLet not the sound of shallow fopp’ry enter\\r\\nMy sober house. By Jacob’s staff I swear\\r\\nI have no mind of feasting forth tonight.\\r\\nBut I will go. Go you before me, sirrah.\\r\\nSay I will come.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nI will go before, sir.\\r\\nMistress, look out at window for all this.\\r\\n There will come a Christian by\\r\\n Will be worth a Jewess’ eye.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Launcelet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhat says that fool of Hagar’s offspring, ha?\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nHis words were “Farewell, mistress,” nothing else.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThe patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder,\\r\\nSnail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day\\r\\nMore than the wild-cat. Drones hive not with me,\\r\\nTherefore I part with him, and part with him\\r\\nTo one that I would have him help to waste\\r\\nHis borrowed purse. Well, Jessica, go in.\\r\\nPerhaps I will return immediately:\\r\\nDo as I bid you, shut doors after you,\\r\\n“Fast bind, fast find.”\\r\\nA proverb never stale in thrifty mind.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nFarewell, and if my fortune be not crost,\\r\\nI have a father, you a daughter, lost.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the masquers, Gratiano and Salarino.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nThis is the penthouse under which Lorenzo\\r\\nDesired us to make stand.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nHis hour is almost past.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nAnd it is marvel he out-dwells his hour,\\r\\nFor lovers ever run before the clock.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nO ten times faster Venus’ pigeons fly\\r\\nTo seal love’s bonds new-made than they are wont\\r\\nTo keep obliged faith unforfeited!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nThat ever holds: who riseth from a feast\\r\\nWith that keen appetite that he sits down?\\r\\nWhere is the horse that doth untread again\\r\\nHis tedious measures with the unbated fire\\r\\nThat he did pace them first? All things that are,\\r\\nAre with more spirit chased than enjoy’d.\\r\\nHow like a younger or a prodigal\\r\\nThe scarfed bark puts from her native bay,\\r\\nHugg’d and embraced by the strumpet wind!\\r\\nHow like the prodigal doth she return\\r\\nWith over-weather’d ribs and ragged sails,\\r\\nLean, rent, and beggar’d by the strumpet wind!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lorenzo.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nHere comes Lorenzo, more of this hereafter.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nSweet friends, your patience for my long abode.\\r\\nNot I but my affairs have made you wait.\\r\\nWhen you shall please to play the thieves for wives,\\r\\nI’ll watch as long for you then. Approach.\\r\\nHere dwells my father Jew. Ho! who’s within?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Jessica above, in boy’s clothes.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nWho are you? Tell me, for more certainty,\\r\\nAlbeit I’ll swear that I do know your tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nLorenzo, and thy love.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nLorenzo certain, and my love indeed,\\r\\nFor who love I so much? And now who knows\\r\\nBut you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nHeaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nHere, catch this casket; it is worth the pains.\\r\\nI am glad ’tis night, you do not look on me,\\r\\nFor I am much asham’d of my exchange.\\r\\nBut love is blind, and lovers cannot see\\r\\nThe pretty follies that themselves commit,\\r\\nFor if they could, Cupid himself would blush\\r\\nTo see me thus transformed to a boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nDescend, for you must be my torch-bearer.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nWhat! must I hold a candle to my shames?\\r\\nThey in themselves, good sooth, are too too light.\\r\\nWhy, ’tis an office of discovery, love,\\r\\nAnd I should be obscur’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nSo are you, sweet,\\r\\nEven in the lovely garnish of a boy.\\r\\nBut come at once,\\r\\nFor the close night doth play the runaway,\\r\\nAnd we are stay’d for at Bassanio’s feast.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nI will make fast the doors, and gild myself\\r\\nWith some moe ducats, and be with you straight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit above._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nNow, by my hood, a gentle, and no Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nBeshrew me but I love her heartily,\\r\\nFor she is wise, if I can judge of her,\\r\\nAnd fair she is, if that mine eyes be true,\\r\\nAnd true she is, as she hath prov’d herself.\\r\\nAnd therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true,\\r\\nShall she be placed in my constant soul.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Jessica.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat, art thou come? On, gentlemen, away!\\r\\nOur masquing mates by this time for us stay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with Jessica and Salarino._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWho’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nSignior Antonio!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nFie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest?\\r\\n’Tis nine o’clock, our friends all stay for you.\\r\\nNo masque tonight, the wind is come about;\\r\\nBassanio presently will go aboard.\\r\\nI have sent twenty out to seek for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nI am glad on’t. I desire no more delight\\r\\nThan to be under sail and gone tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish of cornets. Enter Portia with the Prince of Morocco and both\\r\\n their trains.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nGo, draw aside the curtains and discover\\r\\nThe several caskets to this noble prince.\\r\\nNow make your choice.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE OF MOROCCO.\\r\\nThe first, of gold, who this inscription bears,\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.”\\r\\nThe second, silver, which this promise carries,\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.”\\r\\nThis third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt,\\r\\n“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.”\\r\\nHow shall I know if I do choose the right?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThe one of them contains my picture, prince.\\r\\nIf you choose that, then I am yours withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE OF MOROCCO.\\r\\nSome god direct my judgment! Let me see.\\r\\nI will survey the inscriptions back again.\\r\\nWhat says this leaden casket?\\r\\n“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.”\\r\\nMust give, for what? For lead? Hazard for lead!\\r\\nThis casket threatens; men that hazard all\\r\\nDo it in hope of fair advantages:\\r\\nA golden mind stoops not to shows of dross,\\r\\nI’ll then nor give nor hazard aught for lead.\\r\\nWhat says the silver with her virgin hue?\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.”\\r\\nAs much as he deserves! Pause there, Morocco,\\r\\nAnd weigh thy value with an even hand.\\r\\nIf thou be’st rated by thy estimation\\r\\nThou dost deserve enough, and yet enough\\r\\nMay not extend so far as to the lady.\\r\\nAnd yet to be afeard of my deserving\\r\\nWere but a weak disabling of myself.\\r\\nAs much as I deserve! Why, that’s the lady:\\r\\nI do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes,\\r\\nIn graces, and in qualities of breeding;\\r\\nBut more than these, in love I do deserve.\\r\\nWhat if I stray’d no farther, but chose here?\\r\\nLet’s see once more this saying grav’d in gold:\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.”\\r\\nWhy, that’s the lady, all the world desires her.\\r\\nFrom the four corners of the earth they come\\r\\nTo kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint.\\r\\nThe Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds\\r\\nOf wide Arabia are as throughfares now\\r\\nFor princes to come view fair Portia.\\r\\nThe watery kingdom, whose ambitious head\\r\\nSpets in the face of heaven, is no bar\\r\\nTo stop the foreign spirits, but they come\\r\\nAs o’er a brook to see fair Portia.\\r\\nOne of these three contains her heavenly picture.\\r\\nIs’t like that lead contains her? ’Twere damnation\\r\\nTo think so base a thought. It were too gross\\r\\nTo rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave.\\r\\nOr shall I think in silver she’s immur’d\\r\\nBeing ten times undervalued to tried gold?\\r\\nO sinful thought! Never so rich a gem\\r\\nWas set in worse than gold. They have in England\\r\\nA coin that bears the figure of an angel\\r\\nStamped in gold; but that’s insculp’d upon;\\r\\nBut here an angel in a golden bed\\r\\nLies all within. Deliver me the key.\\r\\nHere do I choose, and thrive I as I may.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThere, take it, prince, and if my form lie there,\\r\\nThen I am yours.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He unlocks the golden casket._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE OF MOROCCO.\\r\\nO hell! what have we here?\\r\\nA carrion Death, within whose empty eye\\r\\nThere is a written scroll. I’ll read the writing.\\r\\n\\r\\n _All that glisters is not gold,\\r\\n Often have you heard that told.\\r\\n Many a man his life hath sold\\r\\n But my outside to behold.\\r\\n Gilded tombs do worms infold.\\r\\n Had you been as wise as bold,\\r\\n Young in limbs, in judgment old,\\r\\n Your answer had not been inscroll’d,\\r\\n Fare you well, your suit is cold._\\r\\n\\r\\n Cold indeed and labour lost,\\r\\n Then farewell heat, and welcome frost.\\r\\nPortia, adieu! I have too griev’d a heart\\r\\nTo take a tedious leave. Thus losers part.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nA gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go.\\r\\nLet all of his complexion choose me so.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VIII. Venice. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Salarino and Solanio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWhy, man, I saw Bassanio under sail;\\r\\nWith him is Gratiano gone along;\\r\\nAnd in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nThe villain Jew with outcries rais’d the Duke,\\r\\nWho went with him to search Bassanio’s ship.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nHe came too late, the ship was under sail;\\r\\nBut there the Duke was given to understand\\r\\nThat in a gondola were seen together\\r\\nLorenzo and his amorous Jessica.\\r\\nBesides, Antonio certified the Duke\\r\\nThey were not with Bassanio in his ship.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nI never heard a passion so confus’d,\\r\\nSo strange, outrageous, and so variable\\r\\nAs the dog Jew did utter in the streets.\\r\\n“My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter!\\r\\nFled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats!\\r\\nJustice! the law! my ducats and my daughter!\\r\\nA sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,\\r\\nOf double ducats, stol’n from me by my daughter!\\r\\nAnd jewels, two stones, two rich and precious stones,\\r\\nStol’n by my daughter! Justice! find the girl,\\r\\nShe hath the stones upon her and the ducats.”\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWhy, all the boys in Venice follow him,\\r\\nCrying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nLet good Antonio look he keep his day\\r\\nOr he shall pay for this.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nMarry, well rememb’red.\\r\\nI reason’d with a Frenchman yesterday,\\r\\nWho told me, in the narrow seas that part\\r\\nThe French and English, there miscarried\\r\\nA vessel of our country richly fraught.\\r\\nI thought upon Antonio when he told me,\\r\\nAnd wish’d in silence that it were not his.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nYou were best to tell Antonio what you hear,\\r\\nYet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nA kinder gentleman treads not the earth.\\r\\nI saw Bassanio and Antonio part,\\r\\nBassanio told him he would make some speed\\r\\nOf his return. He answered “Do not so,\\r\\nSlubber not business for my sake, Bassanio,\\r\\nBut stay the very riping of the time,\\r\\nAnd for the Jew’s bond which he hath of me,\\r\\nLet it not enter in your mind of love:\\r\\nBe merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts\\r\\nTo courtship, and such fair ostents of love\\r\\nAs shall conveniently become you there.”\\r\\nAnd even there, his eye being big with tears,\\r\\nTurning his face, he put his hand behind him,\\r\\nAnd with affection wondrous sensible\\r\\nHe wrung Bassanio’s hand, and so they parted.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nI think he only loves the world for him.\\r\\nI pray thee, let us go and find him out\\r\\nAnd quicken his embraced heaviness\\r\\nWith some delight or other.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nDo we so.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IX. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nerissa and a Servitor.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nQuick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtain straight.\\r\\nThe Prince of Arragon hath ta’en his oath,\\r\\nAnd comes to his election presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince of Arragon, his train, and\\r\\n Portia.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nBehold, there stand the caskets, noble Prince,\\r\\nIf you choose that wherein I am contain’d,\\r\\nStraight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz’d.\\r\\nBut if you fail, without more speech, my lord,\\r\\nYou must be gone from hence immediately.\\r\\n\\r\\nARRAGON.\\r\\nI am enjoin’d by oath to observe three things:\\r\\nFirst, never to unfold to anyone\\r\\nWhich casket ’twas I chose; next, if I fail\\r\\nOf the right casket, never in my life\\r\\nTo woo a maid in way of marriage;\\r\\nLastly,\\r\\nIf I do fail in fortune of my choice,\\r\\nImmediately to leave you and be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nTo these injunctions everyone doth swear\\r\\nThat comes to hazard for my worthless self.\\r\\n\\r\\nARRAGON.\\r\\nAnd so have I address’d me. Fortune now\\r\\nTo my heart’s hope! Gold, silver, and base lead.\\r\\n“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.”\\r\\nYou shall look fairer ere I give or hazard.\\r\\nWhat says the golden chest? Ha! let me see:\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.”\\r\\nWhat many men desire! that “many” may be meant\\r\\nBy the fool multitude, that choose by show,\\r\\nNot learning more than the fond eye doth teach,\\r\\nWhich pries not to th’ interior, but like the martlet\\r\\nBuilds in the weather on the outward wall,\\r\\nEven in the force and road of casualty.\\r\\nI will not choose what many men desire,\\r\\nBecause I will not jump with common spirits\\r\\nAnd rank me with the barbarous multitudes.\\r\\nWhy, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house,\\r\\nTell me once more what title thou dost bear.\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.”\\r\\nAnd well said too; for who shall go about\\r\\nTo cozen fortune, and be honourable\\r\\nWithout the stamp of merit? Let none presume\\r\\nTo wear an undeserved dignity.\\r\\nO that estates, degrees, and offices\\r\\nWere not deriv’d corruptly, and that clear honour\\r\\nWere purchas’d by the merit of the wearer!\\r\\nHow many then should cover that stand bare?\\r\\nHow many be commanded that command?\\r\\nHow much low peasantry would then be gleaned\\r\\nFrom the true seed of honour? And how much honour\\r\\nPick’d from the chaff and ruin of the times,\\r\\nTo be new varnish’d? Well, but to my choice.\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.”\\r\\nI will assume desert. Give me a key for this,\\r\\nAnd instantly unlock my fortunes here.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He opens the silver casket._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nToo long a pause for that which you find there.\\r\\n\\r\\nARRAGON.\\r\\nWhat’s here? The portrait of a blinking idiot\\r\\nPresenting me a schedule! I will read it.\\r\\nHow much unlike art thou to Portia!\\r\\nHow much unlike my hopes and my deservings!\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserves.”\\r\\nDid I deserve no more than a fool’s head?\\r\\nIs that my prize? Are my deserts no better?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nTo offend and judge are distinct offices,\\r\\nAnd of opposed natures.\\r\\n\\r\\nARRAGON.\\r\\nWhat is here?\\r\\n\\r\\n _The fire seven times tried this;\\r\\n Seven times tried that judgment is\\r\\n That did never choose amiss.\\r\\n Some there be that shadows kiss;\\r\\n Such have but a shadow’s bliss.\\r\\n There be fools alive, I wis,\\r\\n Silver’d o’er, and so was this.\\r\\n Take what wife you will to bed,\\r\\n I will ever be your head:\\r\\n So be gone; you are sped._\\r\\n\\r\\nStill more fool I shall appear\\r\\nBy the time I linger here.\\r\\nWith one fool’s head I came to woo,\\r\\nBut I go away with two.\\r\\nSweet, adieu! I’ll keep my oath,\\r\\nPatiently to bear my wroth.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Aragon with his train._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThus hath the candle sing’d the moth.\\r\\nO, these deliberate fools! When they do choose,\\r\\nThey have the wisdom by their wit to lose.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nThe ancient saying is no heresy:\\r\\nHanging and wiving goes by destiny.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nCome, draw the curtain, Nerissa.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nWhere is my lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nHere, what would my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nMadam, there is alighted at your gate\\r\\nA young Venetian, one that comes before\\r\\nTo signify th’ approaching of his lord,\\r\\nFrom whom he bringeth sensible regreets;\\r\\nTo wit (besides commends and courteous breath)\\r\\nGifts of rich value; yet I have not seen\\r\\nSo likely an ambassador of love.\\r\\nA day in April never came so sweet,\\r\\nTo show how costly summer was at hand,\\r\\nAs this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nNo more, I pray thee. I am half afeard\\r\\nThou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee,\\r\\nThou spend’st such high-day wit in praising him.\\r\\nCome, come, Nerissa, for I long to see\\r\\nQuick Cupid’s post that comes so mannerly.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nBassanio, Lord Love, if thy will it be!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Venice. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Solanio and Salarino.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nNow, what news on the Rialto?\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWhy, yet it lives there unchecked that Antonio hath a ship of rich\\r\\nlading wrack’d on the narrow seas; the Goodwins, I think they call the\\r\\nplace, a very dangerous flat and fatal, where the carcasses of many a\\r\\ntall ship lie buried, as they say, if my gossip Report be an honest\\r\\nwoman of her word.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nI would she were as lying a gossip in that as ever knapped ginger or\\r\\nmade her neighbours believe she wept for the death of a third husband.\\r\\nBut it is true, without any slips of prolixity or crossing the plain\\r\\nhighway of talk, that the good Antonio, the honest Antonio,—O that I\\r\\nhad a title good enough to keep his name company!—\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nCome, the full stop.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nHa, what sayest thou? Why, the end is, he hath lost a ship.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nI would it might prove the end of his losses.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nLet me say “amen” betimes, lest the devil cross my prayer, for here he\\r\\ncomes in the likeness of a Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Shylock.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Shylock, what news among the merchants?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nYou knew, none so well, none so well as you, of my daughter’s flight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nThat’s certain, I, for my part, knew the tailor that made the wings she\\r\\nflew withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nAnd Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was fledged; and then it\\r\\nis the complexion of them all to leave the dam.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nShe is damn’d for it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nThat’s certain, if the devil may be her judge.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nMy own flesh and blood to rebel!\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nOut upon it, old carrion! Rebels it at these years?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI say my daughter is my flesh and my blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nThere is more difference between thy flesh and hers than between jet\\r\\nand ivory, more between your bloods than there is between red wine and\\r\\nRhenish. But tell us, do you hear whether Antonio have had any loss at\\r\\nsea or no?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThere I have another bad match, a bankrupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce\\r\\nshow his head on the Rialto, a beggar that used to come so smug upon\\r\\nthe mart; let him look to his bond. He was wont to call me usurer; let\\r\\nhim look to his bond: he was wont to lend money for a Christian cur’sy;\\r\\nlet him look to his bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWhy, I am sure if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his flesh! What’s that\\r\\ngood for?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nTo bait fish withal; if it will feed nothing else, it will feed my\\r\\nrevenge. He hath disgrac’d me and hind’red me half a million, laugh’d\\r\\nat my losses, mock’d at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my\\r\\nbargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies. And what’s his\\r\\nreason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs,\\r\\ndimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt\\r\\nwith the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same\\r\\nmeans, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian\\r\\nis? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not\\r\\nlaugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we\\r\\nnot revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in\\r\\nthat. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a\\r\\nChristian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian\\r\\nexample? Why, revenge! The villainy you teach me I will execute, and it\\r\\nshall go hard but I will better the instruction.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a man from Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nGentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house, and desires to speak with\\r\\nyou both.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWe have been up and down to seek him.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Tubal.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nHere comes another of the tribe; a third cannot be match’d, unless the\\r\\ndevil himself turn Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Solanio, Salarino and the Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nHow now, Tubal, what news from Genoa? Hast thou found my daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\nI often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhy there, there, there, there! A diamond gone cost me two thousand\\r\\nducats in Frankfort! The curse never fell upon our nation till now, I\\r\\nnever felt it till now. Two thousand ducats in that, and other\\r\\nprecious, precious jewels. I would my daughter were dead at my foot,\\r\\nand the jewels in her ear; would she were hearsed at my foot, and the\\r\\nducats in her coffin. No news of them? Why so? And I know not what’s\\r\\nspent in the search. Why, thou—loss upon loss! The thief gone with so\\r\\nmuch, and so much to find the thief, and no satisfaction, no revenge,\\r\\nnor no ill luck stirring but what lights o’ my shoulders, no sighs but\\r\\no’ my breathing, no tears but o’ my shedding.\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\nYes, other men have ill luck too. Antonio, as I heard in Genoa—\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhat, what, what? Ill luck, ill luck?\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\n—hath an argosy cast away coming from Tripolis.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI thank God! I thank God! Is it true, is it true?\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\nI spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wrack.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI thank thee, good Tubal. Good news, good news! Ha, ha, heard in Genoa?\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\nYour daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, one night, fourscore ducats.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThou stick’st a dagger in me. I shall never see my gold again.\\r\\nFourscore ducats at a sitting! Fourscore ducats!\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\nThere came divers of Antonio’s creditors in my company to Venice that\\r\\nswear he cannot choose but break.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI am very glad of it. I’ll plague him, I’ll torture him. I am glad of\\r\\nit.\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\nOne of them showed me a ring that he had of your daughter for a monkey.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nOut upon her! Thou torturest me, Tubal. It was my turquoise, I had it\\r\\nof Leah when I was a bachelor. I would not have given it for a\\r\\nwilderness of monkeys.\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\nBut Antonio is certainly undone.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nNay, that’s true, that’s very true. Go, Tubal, fee me an officer;\\r\\nbespeak him a fortnight before. I will have the heart of him if he\\r\\nforfeit, for were he out of Venice I can make what merchandise I will.\\r\\nGo, Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue. Go, good Tubal, at our\\r\\nsynagogue, Tubal.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, Nerissa and all their trains.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI pray you tarry, pause a day or two\\r\\nBefore you hazard, for in choosing wrong\\r\\nI lose your company; therefore forbear a while.\\r\\nThere’s something tells me (but it is not love)\\r\\nI would not lose you, and you know yourself\\r\\nHate counsels not in such a quality.\\r\\nBut lest you should not understand me well,—\\r\\nAnd yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought,—\\r\\nI would detain you here some month or two\\r\\nBefore you venture for me. I could teach you\\r\\nHow to choose right, but then I am forsworn.\\r\\nSo will I never be. So may you miss me.\\r\\nBut if you do, you’ll make me wish a sin,\\r\\nThat I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes,\\r\\nThey have o’erlook’d me and divided me.\\r\\nOne half of me is yours, the other half yours,\\r\\nMine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours,\\r\\nAnd so all yours. O these naughty times\\r\\nPuts bars between the owners and their rights!\\r\\nAnd so though yours, not yours. Prove it so,\\r\\nLet Fortune go to hell for it, not I.\\r\\nI speak too long, but ’tis to peise the time,\\r\\nTo eche it, and to draw it out in length,\\r\\nTo stay you from election.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nLet me choose,\\r\\nFor as I am, I live upon the rack.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nUpon the rack, Bassanio! Then confess\\r\\nWhat treason there is mingled with your love.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nNone but that ugly treason of mistrust,\\r\\nWhich makes me fear th’ enjoying of my love.\\r\\nThere may as well be amity and life\\r\\n’Tween snow and fire as treason and my love.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nAy, but I fear you speak upon the rack\\r\\nWhere men enforced do speak anything.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nPromise me life, and I’ll confess the truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWell then, confess and live.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\n“Confess and love”\\r\\nHad been the very sum of my confession:\\r\\nO happy torment, when my torturer\\r\\nDoth teach me answers for deliverance!\\r\\nBut let me to my fortune and the caskets.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nAway, then! I am lock’d in one of them.\\r\\nIf you do love me, you will find me out.\\r\\nNerissa and the rest, stand all aloof.\\r\\nLet music sound while he doth make his choice.\\r\\nThen if he lose he makes a swan-like end,\\r\\nFading in music. That the comparison\\r\\nMay stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream\\r\\nAnd wat’ry death-bed for him. He may win,\\r\\nAnd what is music then? Then music is\\r\\nEven as the flourish when true subjects bow\\r\\nTo a new-crowned monarch. Such it is\\r\\nAs are those dulcet sounds in break of day\\r\\nThat creep into the dreaming bridegroom’s ear\\r\\nAnd summon him to marriage. Now he goes,\\r\\nWith no less presence, but with much more love\\r\\nThan young Alcides when he did redeem\\r\\nThe virgin tribute paid by howling Troy\\r\\nTo the sea-monster: I stand for sacrifice;\\r\\nThe rest aloof are the Dardanian wives,\\r\\nWith bleared visages come forth to view\\r\\nThe issue of th’ exploit. Go, Hercules!\\r\\nLive thou, I live. With much much more dismay\\r\\nI view the fight than thou that mak’st the fray.\\r\\n\\r\\n A song, whilst Bassanio comments on the caskets to himself.\\r\\n\\r\\n _Tell me where is fancy bred,\\r\\n Or in the heart or in the head?\\r\\n How begot, how nourished?\\r\\n Reply, reply.\\r\\n It is engend’red in the eyes,\\r\\n With gazing fed, and fancy dies\\r\\n In the cradle where it lies.\\r\\n Let us all ring fancy’s knell:\\r\\n I’ll begin it.—Ding, dong, bell._\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\n _Ding, dong, bell._\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nSo may the outward shows be least themselves.\\r\\nThe world is still deceiv’d with ornament.\\r\\nIn law, what plea so tainted and corrupt\\r\\nBut, being season’d with a gracious voice,\\r\\nObscures the show of evil? In religion,\\r\\nWhat damned error but some sober brow\\r\\nWill bless it, and approve it with a text,\\r\\nHiding the grossness with fair ornament?\\r\\nThere is no vice so simple but assumes\\r\\nSome mark of virtue on his outward parts.\\r\\nHow many cowards, whose hearts are all as false\\r\\nAs stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins\\r\\nThe beards of Hercules and frowning Mars,\\r\\nWho inward search’d, have livers white as milk,\\r\\nAnd these assume but valour’s excrement\\r\\nTo render them redoubted. Look on beauty,\\r\\nAnd you shall see ’tis purchas’d by the weight,\\r\\nWhich therein works a miracle in nature,\\r\\nMaking them lightest that wear most of it:\\r\\nSo are those crisped snaky golden locks\\r\\nWhich make such wanton gambols with the wind\\r\\nUpon supposed fairness, often known\\r\\nTo be the dowry of a second head,\\r\\nThe skull that bred them in the sepulchre.\\r\\nThus ornament is but the guiled shore\\r\\nTo a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf\\r\\nVeiling an Indian beauty; in a word,\\r\\nThe seeming truth which cunning times put on\\r\\nTo entrap the wisest. Therefore thou gaudy gold,\\r\\nHard food for Midas, I will none of thee,\\r\\nNor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge\\r\\n’Tween man and man: but thou, thou meagre lead,\\r\\nWhich rather threaten’st than dost promise aught,\\r\\nThy palenness moves me more than eloquence,\\r\\nAnd here choose I, joy be the consequence!\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\n[_Aside._] How all the other passions fleet to air,\\r\\nAs doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac’d despair,\\r\\nAnd shudd’ring fear, and green-ey’d jealousy.\\r\\nO love, be moderate; allay thy ecstasy,\\r\\nIn measure rain thy joy; scant this excess!\\r\\nI feel too much thy blessing, make it less,\\r\\nFor fear I surfeit.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nWhat find I here? [_Opening the leaden casket_.]\\r\\nFair Portia’s counterfeit! What demi-god\\r\\nHath come so near creation? Move these eyes?\\r\\nOr whether, riding on the balls of mine,\\r\\nSeem they in motion? Here are sever’d lips,\\r\\nParted with sugar breath, so sweet a bar\\r\\nShould sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hairs\\r\\nThe painter plays the spider, and hath woven\\r\\nA golden mesh t’entrap the hearts of men\\r\\nFaster than gnats in cobwebs. But her eyes!—\\r\\nHow could he see to do them? Having made one,\\r\\nMethinks it should have power to steal both his\\r\\nAnd leave itself unfurnish’d. Yet look how far\\r\\nThe substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow\\r\\nIn underprizing it, so far this shadow\\r\\nDoth limp behind the substance. Here’s the scroll,\\r\\nThe continent and summary of my fortune.\\r\\n\\r\\n _You that choose not by the view\\r\\n Chance as fair and choose as true!\\r\\n Since this fortune falls to you,\\r\\n Be content and seek no new.\\r\\n If you be well pleas’d with this,\\r\\n And hold your fortune for your bliss,\\r\\n Turn to where your lady is,\\r\\n And claim her with a loving kiss._\\r\\n\\r\\nA gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave, [_Kissing her_.]\\r\\nI come by note to give and to receive.\\r\\nLike one of two contending in a prize\\r\\nThat thinks he hath done well in people’s eyes,\\r\\nHearing applause and universal shout,\\r\\nGiddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt\\r\\nWhether those peals of praise be his or no,\\r\\nSo, thrice-fair lady, stand I even so,\\r\\nAs doubtful whether what I see be true,\\r\\nUntil confirm’d, sign’d, ratified by you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYou see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,\\r\\nSuch as I am; though for myself alone\\r\\nI would not be ambitious in my wish\\r\\nTo wish myself much better, yet for you\\r\\nI would be trebled twenty times myself,\\r\\nA thousand times more fair, ten thousand times\\r\\nMore rich,\\r\\nThat only to stand high in your account,\\r\\nI might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends,\\r\\nExceed account. But the full sum of me\\r\\nIs sum of something, which, to term in gross,\\r\\nIs an unlesson’d girl, unschool’d, unpractis’d;\\r\\nHappy in this, she is not yet so old\\r\\nBut she may learn; happier than this,\\r\\nShe is not bred so dull but she can learn;\\r\\nHappiest of all, is that her gentle spirit\\r\\nCommits itself to yours to be directed,\\r\\nAs from her lord, her governor, her king.\\r\\nMyself, and what is mine, to you and yours\\r\\nIs now converted. But now I was the lord\\r\\nOf this fair mansion, master of my servants,\\r\\nQueen o’er myself; and even now, but now,\\r\\nThis house, these servants, and this same myself\\r\\nAre yours,—my lord’s. I give them with this ring,\\r\\nWhich when you part from, lose, or give away,\\r\\nLet it presage the ruin of your love,\\r\\nAnd be my vantage to exclaim on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nMadam, you have bereft me of all words,\\r\\nOnly my blood speaks to you in my veins,\\r\\nAnd there is such confusion in my powers\\r\\nAs after some oration fairly spoke\\r\\nBy a beloved prince, there doth appear\\r\\nAmong the buzzing pleased multitude,\\r\\nWhere every something being blent together,\\r\\nTurns to a wild of nothing, save of joy\\r\\nExpress’d and not express’d. But when this ring\\r\\nParts from this finger, then parts life from hence.\\r\\nO then be bold to say Bassanio’s dead!\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nMy lord and lady, it is now our time,\\r\\nThat have stood by and seen our wishes prosper,\\r\\nTo cry, good joy. Good joy, my lord and lady!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nMy Lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady,\\r\\nI wish you all the joy that you can wish;\\r\\nFor I am sure you can wish none from me.\\r\\nAnd when your honours mean to solemnize\\r\\nThe bargain of your faith, I do beseech you\\r\\nEven at that time I may be married too.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nWith all my heart, so thou canst get a wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nI thank your lordship, you have got me one.\\r\\nMy eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours:\\r\\nYou saw the mistress, I beheld the maid.\\r\\nYou lov’d, I lov’d; for intermission\\r\\nNo more pertains to me, my lord, than you.\\r\\nYour fortune stood upon the caskets there,\\r\\nAnd so did mine too, as the matter falls.\\r\\nFor wooing here until I sweat again,\\r\\nAnd swearing till my very roof was dry\\r\\nWith oaths of love, at last, (if promise last)\\r\\nI got a promise of this fair one here\\r\\nTo have her love, provided that your fortune\\r\\nAchiev’d her mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIs this true, Nerissa?\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nMadam, it is, so you stand pleas’d withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nAnd do you, Gratiano, mean good faith?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nYes, faith, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nOur feast shall be much honoured in your marriage.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWe’ll play with them the first boy for a thousand ducats.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nWhat! and stake down?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nNo, we shall ne’er win at that sport and stake down.\\r\\nBut who comes here? Lorenzo and his infidel?\\r\\nWhat, and my old Venetian friend, Salerio!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lorenzo, Jessica and Salerio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nLorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither,\\r\\nIf that the youth of my new int’rest here\\r\\nHave power to bid you welcome. By your leave,\\r\\nI bid my very friends and countrymen,\\r\\nSweet Portia, welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nSo do I, my lord,\\r\\nThey are entirely welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nI thank your honour. For my part, my lord,\\r\\nMy purpose was not to have seen you here,\\r\\nBut meeting with Salerio by the way,\\r\\nHe did entreat me, past all saying nay,\\r\\nTo come with him along.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALERIO.\\r\\nI did, my lord,\\r\\nAnd I have reason for it. Signior Antonio\\r\\nCommends him to you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Gives Bassanio a letter._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nEre I ope his letter,\\r\\nI pray you tell me how my good friend doth.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALERIO.\\r\\nNot sick, my lord, unless it be in mind,\\r\\nNor well, unless in mind. His letter there\\r\\nWill show you his estate.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Bassanio opens the letter._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nNerissa, cheer yond stranger, bid her welcome.\\r\\nYour hand, Salerio. What’s the news from Venice?\\r\\nHow doth that royal merchant, good Antonio?\\r\\nI know he will be glad of our success.\\r\\nWe are the Jasons, we have won the fleece.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALERIO.\\r\\nI would you had won the fleece that he hath lost.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThere are some shrewd contents in yond same paper\\r\\nThat steals the colour from Bassanio’s cheek.\\r\\nSome dear friend dead, else nothing in the world\\r\\nCould turn so much the constitution\\r\\nOf any constant man. What, worse and worse?\\r\\nWith leave, Bassanio, I am half yourself,\\r\\nAnd I must freely have the half of anything\\r\\nThat this same paper brings you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nO sweet Portia,\\r\\nHere are a few of the unpleasant’st words\\r\\nThat ever blotted paper. Gentle lady,\\r\\nWhen I did first impart my love to you,\\r\\nI freely told you all the wealth I had\\r\\nRan in my veins, I was a gentleman.\\r\\nAnd then I told you true. And yet, dear lady,\\r\\nRating myself at nothing, you shall see\\r\\nHow much I was a braggart. When I told you\\r\\nMy state was nothing, I should then have told you\\r\\nThat I was worse than nothing; for indeed\\r\\nI have engag’d myself to a dear friend,\\r\\nEngag’d my friend to his mere enemy,\\r\\nTo feed my means. Here is a letter, lady,\\r\\nThe paper as the body of my friend,\\r\\nAnd every word in it a gaping wound\\r\\nIssuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio?\\r\\nHath all his ventures fail’d? What, not one hit?\\r\\nFrom Tripolis, from Mexico, and England,\\r\\nFrom Lisbon, Barbary, and India,\\r\\nAnd not one vessel scape the dreadful touch\\r\\nOf merchant-marring rocks?\\r\\n\\r\\nSALERIO.\\r\\nNot one, my lord.\\r\\nBesides, it should appear, that if he had\\r\\nThe present money to discharge the Jew,\\r\\nHe would not take it. Never did I know\\r\\nA creature that did bear the shape of man\\r\\nSo keen and greedy to confound a man.\\r\\nHe plies the Duke at morning and at night,\\r\\nAnd doth impeach the freedom of the state\\r\\nIf they deny him justice. Twenty merchants,\\r\\nThe Duke himself, and the magnificoes\\r\\nOf greatest port have all persuaded with him,\\r\\nBut none can drive him from the envious plea\\r\\nOf forfeiture, of justice, and his bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nWhen I was with him, I have heard him swear\\r\\nTo Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen,\\r\\nThat he would rather have Antonio’s flesh\\r\\nThan twenty times the value of the sum\\r\\nThat he did owe him. And I know, my lord,\\r\\nIf law, authority, and power deny not,\\r\\nIt will go hard with poor Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIs it your dear friend that is thus in trouble?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nThe dearest friend to me, the kindest man,\\r\\nThe best condition’d and unwearied spirit\\r\\nIn doing courtesies, and one in whom\\r\\nThe ancient Roman honour more appears\\r\\nThan any that draws breath in Italy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhat sum owes he the Jew?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nFor me three thousand ducats.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhat, no more?\\r\\nPay him six thousand, and deface the bond.\\r\\nDouble six thousand, and then treble that,\\r\\nBefore a friend of this description\\r\\nShall lose a hair through Bassanio’s fault.\\r\\nFirst go with me to church and call me wife,\\r\\nAnd then away to Venice to your friend.\\r\\nFor never shall you lie by Portia’s side\\r\\nWith an unquiet soul. You shall have gold\\r\\nTo pay the petty debt twenty times over.\\r\\nWhen it is paid, bring your true friend along.\\r\\nMy maid Nerissa and myself meantime,\\r\\nWill live as maids and widows. Come, away!\\r\\nFor you shall hence upon your wedding day.\\r\\nBid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer;\\r\\nSince you are dear bought, I will love you dear.\\r\\nBut let me hear the letter of your friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\n_Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all miscarried, my creditors grow cruel,\\r\\nmy estate is very low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit, and since in\\r\\npaying it, it is impossible I should live, all debts are clear’d\\r\\nbetween you and I, if I might but see you at my death. Notwithstanding,\\r\\nuse your pleasure. If your love do not persuade you to come, let not my\\r\\nletter._\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nO love, dispatch all business and be gone!\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nSince I have your good leave to go away,\\r\\nI will make haste; but, till I come again,\\r\\nNo bed shall e’er be guilty of my stay,\\r\\nNor rest be interposer ’twixt us twain.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Venice. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Shylock, Salarino, Antonio and Gaoler.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nGaoler, look to him. Tell not me of mercy.\\r\\nThis is the fool that lent out money gratis.\\r\\nGaoler, look to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHear me yet, good Shylock.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI’ll have my bond, speak not against my bond.\\r\\nI have sworn an oath that I will have my bond.\\r\\nThou call’dst me dog before thou hadst a cause,\\r\\nBut since I am a dog, beware my fangs;\\r\\nThe Duke shall grant me justice. I do wonder,\\r\\nThou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond\\r\\nTo come abroad with him at his request.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI pray thee hear me speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI’ll have my bond. I will not hear thee speak.\\r\\nI’ll have my bond, and therefore speak no more.\\r\\nI’ll not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool,\\r\\nTo shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield\\r\\nTo Christian intercessors. Follow not,\\r\\nI’ll have no speaking, I will have my bond.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nIt is the most impenetrable cur\\r\\nThat ever kept with men.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLet him alone.\\r\\nI’ll follow him no more with bootless prayers.\\r\\nHe seeks my life, his reason well I know:\\r\\nI oft deliver’d from his forfeitures\\r\\nMany that have at times made moan to me.\\r\\nTherefore he hates me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nI am sure the Duke\\r\\nWill never grant this forfeiture to hold.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe Duke cannot deny the course of law,\\r\\nFor the commodity that strangers have\\r\\nWith us in Venice, if it be denied,\\r\\n’Twill much impeach the justice of the state,\\r\\nSince that the trade and profit of the city\\r\\nConsisteth of all nations. Therefore, go.\\r\\nThese griefs and losses have so bated me\\r\\nThat I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh\\r\\nTomorrow to my bloody creditor.\\r\\nWell, gaoler, on, pray God Bassanio come\\r\\nTo see me pay his debt, and then I care not.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica and Balthazar.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nMadam, although I speak it in your presence,\\r\\nYou have a noble and a true conceit\\r\\nOf godlike amity, which appears most strongly\\r\\nIn bearing thus the absence of your lord.\\r\\nBut if you knew to whom you show this honour,\\r\\nHow true a gentleman you send relief,\\r\\nHow dear a lover of my lord your husband,\\r\\nI know you would be prouder of the work\\r\\nThan customary bounty can enforce you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI never did repent for doing good,\\r\\nNor shall not now; for in companions\\r\\nThat do converse and waste the time together,\\r\\nWhose souls do bear an equal yoke of love,\\r\\nThere must be needs a like proportion\\r\\nOf lineaments, of manners, and of spirit;\\r\\nWhich makes me think that this Antonio,\\r\\nBeing the bosom lover of my lord,\\r\\nMust needs be like my lord. If it be so,\\r\\nHow little is the cost I have bestowed\\r\\nIn purchasing the semblance of my soul\\r\\nFrom out the state of hellish cruelty!\\r\\nThis comes too near the praising of myself;\\r\\nTherefore no more of it. Hear other things.\\r\\nLorenzo, I commit into your hands\\r\\nThe husbandry and manage of my house\\r\\nUntil my lord’s return. For mine own part,\\r\\nI have toward heaven breath’d a secret vow\\r\\nTo live in prayer and contemplation,\\r\\nOnly attended by Nerissa here,\\r\\nUntil her husband and my lord’s return.\\r\\nThere is a monastery two miles off,\\r\\nAnd there we will abide. I do desire you\\r\\nNot to deny this imposition,\\r\\nThe which my love and some necessity\\r\\nNow lays upon you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nMadam, with all my heart\\r\\nI shall obey you in all fair commands.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nMy people do already know my mind,\\r\\nAnd will acknowledge you and Jessica\\r\\nIn place of Lord Bassanio and myself.\\r\\nSo fare you well till we shall meet again.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nFair thoughts and happy hours attend on you!\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nI wish your ladyship all heart’s content.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI thank you for your wish, and am well pleas’d\\r\\nTo wish it back on you. Fare you well, Jessica.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Jessica and Lorenzo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, Balthazar,\\r\\nAs I have ever found thee honest-true,\\r\\nSo let me find thee still. Take this same letter,\\r\\nAnd use thou all th’ endeavour of a man\\r\\nIn speed to Padua, see thou render this\\r\\nInto my cousin’s hands, Doctor Bellario;\\r\\nAnd look what notes and garments he doth give thee,\\r\\nBring them, I pray thee, with imagin’d speed\\r\\nUnto the traject, to the common ferry\\r\\nWhich trades to Venice. Waste no time in words,\\r\\nBut get thee gone. I shall be there before thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHAZAR.\\r\\nMadam, I go with all convenient speed.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nCome on, Nerissa, I have work in hand\\r\\nThat you yet know not of; we’ll see our husbands\\r\\nBefore they think of us.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nShall they see us?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThey shall, Nerissa, but in such a habit\\r\\nThat they shall think we are accomplished\\r\\nWith that we lack. I’ll hold thee any wager,\\r\\nWhen we are both accoutered like young men,\\r\\nI’ll prove the prettier fellow of the two,\\r\\nAnd wear my dagger with the braver grace,\\r\\nAnd speak between the change of man and boy\\r\\nWith a reed voice; and turn two mincing steps\\r\\nInto a manly stride; and speak of frays\\r\\nLike a fine bragging youth; and tell quaint lies\\r\\nHow honourable ladies sought my love,\\r\\nWhich I denying, they fell sick and died;\\r\\nI could not do withal. Then I’ll repent,\\r\\nAnd wish for all that, that I had not kill’d them.\\r\\nAnd twenty of these puny lies I’ll tell,\\r\\nThat men shall swear I have discontinued school\\r\\nAbout a twelvemonth. I have within my mind\\r\\nA thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks,\\r\\nWhich I will practise.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nWhy, shall we turn to men?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nFie, what a question’s that,\\r\\nIf thou wert near a lewd interpreter!\\r\\nBut come, I’ll tell thee all my whole device\\r\\nWhen I am in my coach, which stays for us\\r\\nAt the park gate; and therefore haste away,\\r\\nFor we must measure twenty miles today.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. The same. A garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Launcelet and Jessica.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nYes, truly, for look you, the sins of the father are to be laid upon\\r\\nthe children, therefore, I promise you, I fear you. I was always plain\\r\\nwith you, and so now I speak my agitation of the matter. Therefore be\\r\\nof good cheer, for truly I think you are damn’d. There is but one hope\\r\\nin it that can do you any good, and that is but a kind of bastard hope\\r\\nneither.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nAnd what hope is that, I pray thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nMarry, you may partly hope that your father got you not, that you are\\r\\nnot the Jew’s daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nThat were a kind of bastard hope indeed; so the sins of my mother\\r\\nshould be visited upon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nTruly then I fear you are damn’d both by father and mother; thus when I\\r\\nshun Scylla your father, I fall into Charybdis your mother. Well, you\\r\\nare gone both ways.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nI shall be saved by my husband. He hath made me a Christian.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nTruly the more to blame he, we were Christians enow before, e’en as\\r\\nmany as could well live one by another. This making of Christians will\\r\\nraise the price of hogs; if we grow all to be pork-eaters, we shall not\\r\\nshortly have a rasher on the coals for money.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lorenzo.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nI’ll tell my husband, Launcelet, what you say. Here he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nI shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launcelet, if you thus get my wife\\r\\ninto corners!\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nNay, you need nor fear us, Lorenzo. Launcelet and I are out. He tells\\r\\nme flatly there’s no mercy for me in heaven, because I am a Jew’s\\r\\ndaughter; and he says you are no good member of the commonwealth, for\\r\\nin converting Jews to Christians you raise the price of pork.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nI shall answer that better to the commonwealth than you can the getting\\r\\nup of the negro’s belly! The Moor is with child by you, Launcelet.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nIt is much that the Moor should be more than reason; but if she be less\\r\\nthan an honest woman, she is indeed more than I took her for.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nHow every fool can play upon the word! I think the best grace of wit\\r\\nwill shortly turn into silence, and discourse grow commendable in none\\r\\nonly but parrots. Go in, sirrah; bid them prepare for dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nThat is done, sir, they have all stomachs.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nGoodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are you! Then bid them prepare dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nThat is done too, sir, only “cover” is the word.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nWill you cover, then, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nNot so, sir, neither. I know my duty.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nYet more quarrelling with occasion! Wilt thou show the whole wealth of\\r\\nthy wit in an instant? I pray thee understand a plain man in his plain\\r\\nmeaning: go to thy fellows, bid them cover the table, serve in the\\r\\nmeat, and we will come in to dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nFor the table, sir, it shall be served in; for the meat, sir, it shall\\r\\nbe covered; for your coming in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as\\r\\nhumours and conceits shall govern.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nO dear discretion, how his words are suited!\\r\\nThe fool hath planted in his memory\\r\\nAn army of good words, and I do know\\r\\nA many fools that stand in better place,\\r\\nGarnish’d like him, that for a tricksy word\\r\\nDefy the matter. How cheer’st thou, Jessica?\\r\\nAnd now, good sweet, say thy opinion,\\r\\nHow dost thou like the Lord Bassanio’s wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nPast all expressing. It is very meet\\r\\nThe Lord Bassanio live an upright life,\\r\\nFor having such a blessing in his lady,\\r\\nHe finds the joys of heaven here on earth,\\r\\nAnd if on earth he do not merit it,\\r\\nIn reason he should never come to heaven.\\r\\nWhy, if two gods should play some heavenly match,\\r\\nAnd on the wager lay two earthly women,\\r\\nAnd Portia one, there must be something else\\r\\nPawn’d with the other, for the poor rude world\\r\\nHath not her fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nEven such a husband\\r\\nHast thou of me as she is for a wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nNay, but ask my opinion too of that.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nI will anon. First let us go to dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nNay, let me praise you while I have a stomach.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nNo pray thee, let it serve for table-talk.\\r\\nThen howsome’er thou speak’st, ’mong other things\\r\\nI shall digest it.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nWell, I’ll set you forth.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Venice. A court of justice.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the Duke, the Magnificoes, Antonio, Bassanio, Gratiano, Salerio\\r\\n and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat, is Antonio here?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nReady, so please your Grace.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI am sorry for thee, thou art come to answer\\r\\nA stony adversary, an inhuman wretch,\\r\\nUncapable of pity, void and empty\\r\\nFrom any dram of mercy.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI have heard\\r\\nYour Grace hath ta’en great pains to qualify\\r\\nHis rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate,\\r\\nAnd that no lawful means can carry me\\r\\nOut of his envy’s reach, I do oppose\\r\\nMy patience to his fury, and am arm’d\\r\\nTo suffer with a quietness of spirit\\r\\nThe very tyranny and rage of his.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGo one and call the Jew into the court.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nHe is ready at the door. He comes, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Shylock.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nMake room, and let him stand before our face.\\r\\nShylock, the world thinks, and I think so too,\\r\\nThat thou but leadest this fashion of thy malice\\r\\nTo the last hour of act, and then, ’tis thought,\\r\\nThou’lt show thy mercy and remorse more strange\\r\\nThan is thy strange apparent cruelty;\\r\\nAnd where thou now exacts the penalty,\\r\\nWhich is a pound of this poor merchant’s flesh,\\r\\nThou wilt not only loose the forfeiture,\\r\\nBut, touch’d with human gentleness and love,\\r\\nForgive a moiety of the principal,\\r\\nGlancing an eye of pity on his losses\\r\\nThat have of late so huddled on his back,\\r\\nEnow to press a royal merchant down,\\r\\nAnd pluck commiseration of his state\\r\\nFrom brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint,\\r\\nFrom stubborn Turks and Tartars never train’d\\r\\nTo offices of tender courtesy.\\r\\nWe all expect a gentle answer, Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI have possess’d your Grace of what I purpose,\\r\\nAnd by our holy Sabbath have I sworn\\r\\nTo have the due and forfeit of my bond.\\r\\nIf you deny it, let the danger light\\r\\nUpon your charter and your city’s freedom!\\r\\nYou’ll ask me why I rather choose to have\\r\\nA weight of carrion flesh than to receive\\r\\nThree thousand ducats. I’ll not answer that,\\r\\nBut say it is my humour. Is it answer’d?\\r\\nWhat if my house be troubled with a rat,\\r\\nAnd I be pleas’d to give ten thousand ducats\\r\\nTo have it ban’d? What, are you answer’d yet?\\r\\nSome men there are love not a gaping pig;\\r\\nSome that are mad if they behold a cat;\\r\\nAnd others, when the bagpipe sings i’ the nose,\\r\\nCannot contain their urine; for affection\\r\\nMistress of passion, sways it to the mood\\r\\nOf what it likes or loathes. Now, for your answer:\\r\\nAs there is no firm reason to be render’d\\r\\nWhy he cannot abide a gaping pig,\\r\\nWhy he a harmless necessary cat,\\r\\nWhy he a woollen bagpipe, but of force\\r\\nMust yield to such inevitable shame\\r\\nAs to offend, himself being offended,\\r\\nSo can I give no reason, nor I will not,\\r\\nMore than a lodg’d hate and a certain loathing\\r\\nI bear Antonio, that I follow thus\\r\\nA losing suit against him. Are you answered?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nThis is no answer, thou unfeeling man,\\r\\nTo excuse the current of thy cruelty.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI am not bound to please thee with my answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nDo all men kill the things they do not love?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nHates any man the thing he would not kill?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nEvery offence is not a hate at first.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhat, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI pray you, think you question with the Jew.\\r\\nYou may as well go stand upon the beach\\r\\nAnd bid the main flood bate his usual height;\\r\\nYou may as well use question with the wolf,\\r\\nWhy he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb;\\r\\nYou may as well forbid the mountain pines\\r\\nTo wag their high tops and to make no noise\\r\\nWhen they are fretten with the gusts of heaven;\\r\\nYou may as well do anything most hard\\r\\nAs seek to soften that—than which what’s harder?—\\r\\nHis Jewish heart. Therefore, I do beseech you,\\r\\nMake no moe offers, use no farther means,\\r\\nBut with all brief and plain conveniency.\\r\\nLet me have judgment, and the Jew his will.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nFor thy three thousand ducats here is six.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nIf every ducat in six thousand ducats\\r\\nWere in six parts, and every part a ducat,\\r\\nI would not draw them, I would have my bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHow shalt thou hope for mercy, rend’ring none?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhat judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong?\\r\\nYou have among you many a purchas’d slave,\\r\\nWhich, like your asses and your dogs and mules,\\r\\nYou use in abject and in slavish parts,\\r\\nBecause you bought them. Shall I say to you\\r\\n“Let them be free, marry them to your heirs?\\r\\nWhy sweat they under burdens? Let their beds\\r\\nBe made as soft as yours, and let their palates\\r\\nBe season’d with such viands”? You will answer\\r\\n“The slaves are ours.” So do I answer you:\\r\\nThe pound of flesh which I demand of him\\r\\nIs dearly bought; ’tis mine and I will have it.\\r\\nIf you deny me, fie upon your law!\\r\\nThere is no force in the decrees of Venice.\\r\\nI stand for judgment. Answer; shall I have it?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nUpon my power I may dismiss this court,\\r\\nUnless Bellario, a learned doctor,\\r\\nWhom I have sent for to determine this,\\r\\nCome here today.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nMy lord, here stays without\\r\\nA messenger with letters from the doctor,\\r\\nNew come from Padua.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBring us the letters. Call the messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nGood cheer, Antonio! What, man, courage yet!\\r\\nThe Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all,\\r\\nEre thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI am a tainted wether of the flock,\\r\\nMeetest for death, the weakest kind of fruit\\r\\nDrops earliest to the ground, and so let me.\\r\\nYou cannot better be employ’d, Bassanio,\\r\\nThan to live still, and write mine epitaph.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nerissa dressed like a lawyer’s clerk.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nCame you from Padua, from Bellario?\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nFrom both, my lord. Bellario greets your Grace.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Presents a letter._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nWhy dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nTo cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nNot on thy sole but on thy soul, harsh Jew,\\r\\nThou mak’st thy knife keen. But no metal can,\\r\\nNo, not the hangman’s axe, bear half the keenness\\r\\nOf thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nNo, none that thou hast wit enough to make.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nO, be thou damn’d, inexecrable dog!\\r\\nAnd for thy life let justice be accus’d;\\r\\nThou almost mak’st me waver in my faith,\\r\\nTo hold opinion with Pythagoras\\r\\nThat souls of animals infuse themselves\\r\\nInto the trunks of men. Thy currish spirit\\r\\nGovern’d a wolf who, hang’d for human slaughter,\\r\\nEven from the gallows did his fell soul fleet,\\r\\nAnd whilst thou layest in thy unhallowed dam,\\r\\nInfus’d itself in thee; for thy desires\\r\\nAre wolfish, bloody, starv’d and ravenous.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nTill thou canst rail the seal from off my bond,\\r\\nThou but offend’st thy lungs to speak so loud.\\r\\nRepair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall\\r\\nTo cureless ruin. I stand here for law.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThis letter from Bellario doth commend\\r\\nA young and learned doctor to our court.\\r\\nWhere is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nHe attendeth here hard by,\\r\\nTo know your answer, whether you’ll admit him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE OF VENICE.\\r\\nWith all my heart: some three or four of you\\r\\nGo give him courteous conduct to this place.\\r\\nMeantime, the court shall hear Bellario’s letter.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Reads._] _Your Grace shall understand that at the receipt of your\\r\\nletter I am very sick, but in the instant that your messenger came, in\\r\\nloving visitation was with me a young doctor of Rome. His name is\\r\\nBalthazar. I acquainted him with the cause in controversy between the\\r\\nJew and Antonio the merchant. We turn’d o’er many books together. He is\\r\\nfurnished with my opinion, which, bettered with his own learning (the\\r\\ngreatness whereof I cannot enough commend), comes with him at my\\r\\nimportunity to fill up your Grace’s request in my stead. I beseech you\\r\\nlet his lack of years be no impediment to let him lack a reverend\\r\\nestimation, for I never knew so young a body with so old a head. I\\r\\nleave him to your gracious acceptance, whose trial shall better publish\\r\\nhis commendation._\\r\\n\\r\\nYou hear the learn’d Bellario what he writes,\\r\\nAnd here, I take it, is the doctor come.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Portia dressed like a doctor of laws.\\r\\n\\r\\nGive me your hand. Come you from old Bellario?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI did, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nYou are welcome. Take your place.\\r\\nAre you acquainted with the difference\\r\\nThat holds this present question in the court?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI am informed throughly of the cause.\\r\\nWhich is the merchant here? And which the Jew?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAntonio and old Shylock, both stand forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIs your name Shylock?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nShylock is my name.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nOf a strange nature is the suit you follow,\\r\\nYet in such rule that the Venetian law\\r\\nCannot impugn you as you do proceed.\\r\\n[_To Antonio_.] You stand within his danger, do you not?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAy, so he says.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nDo you confess the bond?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI do.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThen must the Jew be merciful.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nOn what compulsion must I? Tell me that.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThe quality of mercy is not strain’d,\\r\\nIt droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven\\r\\nUpon the place beneath. It is twice blest,\\r\\nIt blesseth him that gives and him that takes.\\r\\n’Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes\\r\\nThe throned monarch better than his crown.\\r\\nHis sceptre shows the force of temporal power,\\r\\nThe attribute to awe and majesty,\\r\\nWherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;\\r\\nBut mercy is above this sceptred sway,\\r\\nIt is enthroned in the hearts of kings,\\r\\nIt is an attribute to God himself;\\r\\nAnd earthly power doth then show likest God’s\\r\\nWhen mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,\\r\\nThough justice be thy plea, consider this,\\r\\nThat in the course of justice none of us\\r\\nShould see salvation. We do pray for mercy,\\r\\nAnd that same prayer doth teach us all to render\\r\\nThe deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much\\r\\nTo mitigate the justice of thy plea,\\r\\nWhich if thou follow, this strict court of Venice\\r\\nMust needs give sentence ’gainst the merchant there.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nMy deeds upon my head! I crave the law,\\r\\nThe penalty and forfeit of my bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIs he not able to discharge the money?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nYes, here I tender it for him in the court,\\r\\nYea, twice the sum, if that will not suffice,\\r\\nI will be bound to pay it ten times o’er\\r\\nOn forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart.\\r\\nIf this will not suffice, it must appear\\r\\nThat malice bears down truth. And I beseech you,\\r\\nWrest once the law to your authority.\\r\\nTo do a great right, do a little wrong,\\r\\nAnd curb this cruel devil of his will.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIt must not be, there is no power in Venice\\r\\nCan alter a decree established;\\r\\n’Twill be recorded for a precedent,\\r\\nAnd many an error by the same example\\r\\nWill rush into the state. It cannot be.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nA Daniel come to judgment! Yea, a Daniel!\\r\\nO wise young judge, how I do honour thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI pray you let me look upon the bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nHere ’tis, most reverend doctor, here it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nShylock, there’s thrice thy money offered thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nAn oath, an oath! I have an oath in heaven.\\r\\nShall I lay perjury upon my soul?\\r\\nNo, not for Venice.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhy, this bond is forfeit,\\r\\nAnd lawfully by this the Jew may claim\\r\\nA pound of flesh, to be by him cut off\\r\\nNearest the merchant’s heart. Be merciful,\\r\\nTake thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhen it is paid according to the tenour.\\r\\nIt doth appear you are a worthy judge;\\r\\nYou know the law; your exposition\\r\\nHath been most sound. I charge you by the law,\\r\\nWhereof you are a well-deserving pillar,\\r\\nProceed to judgment. By my soul I swear\\r\\nThere is no power in the tongue of man\\r\\nTo alter me. I stay here on my bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nMost heartily I do beseech the court\\r\\nTo give the judgment.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhy then, thus it is:\\r\\nYou must prepare your bosom for his knife.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nO noble judge! O excellent young man!\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nFor the intent and purpose of the law\\r\\nHath full relation to the penalty,\\r\\nWhich here appeareth due upon the bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\n’Tis very true. O wise and upright judge,\\r\\nHow much more elder art thou than thy looks!\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nTherefore lay bare your bosom.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nAy, his breast\\r\\nSo says the bond, doth it not, noble judge?\\r\\n“Nearest his heart”: those are the very words.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIt is so. Are there balance here to weigh\\r\\nThe flesh?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI have them ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nHave by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,\\r\\nTo stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nIs it so nominated in the bond?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIt is not so express’d, but what of that?\\r\\n’Twere good you do so much for charity.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI cannot find it; ’tis not in the bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYou, merchant, have you anything to say?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nBut little. I am arm’d and well prepar’d.\\r\\nGive me your hand, Bassanio. Fare you well,\\r\\nGrieve not that I am fallen to this for you,\\r\\nFor herein Fortune shows herself more kind\\r\\nThan is her custom: it is still her use\\r\\nTo let the wretched man outlive his wealth,\\r\\nTo view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow\\r\\nAn age of poverty, from which ling’ring penance\\r\\nOf such misery doth she cut me off.\\r\\nCommend me to your honourable wife,\\r\\nTell her the process of Antonio’s end,\\r\\nSay how I lov’d you, speak me fair in death.\\r\\nAnd when the tale is told, bid her be judge\\r\\nWhether Bassanio had not once a love.\\r\\nRepent but you that you shall lose your friend\\r\\nAnd he repents not that he pays your debt.\\r\\nFor if the Jew do cut but deep enough,\\r\\nI’ll pay it instantly with all my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nAntonio, I am married to a wife\\r\\nWhich is as dear to me as life itself,\\r\\nBut life itself, my wife, and all the world,\\r\\nAre not with me esteem’d above thy life.\\r\\nI would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all\\r\\nHere to this devil, to deliver you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYour wife would give you little thanks for that\\r\\nIf she were by to hear you make the offer.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nI have a wife who I protest I love.\\r\\nI would she were in heaven, so she could\\r\\nEntreat some power to change this currish Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\n’Tis well you offer it behind her back,\\r\\nThe wish would make else an unquiet house.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThese be the Christian husbands! I have a daughter—\\r\\nWould any of the stock of Barabbas\\r\\nHad been her husband, rather than a Christian!\\r\\nWe trifle time, I pray thee, pursue sentence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nA pound of that same merchant’s flesh is thine,\\r\\nThe court awards it and the law doth give it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nMost rightful judge!\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nAnd you must cut this flesh from off his breast.\\r\\nThe law allows it and the court awards it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nMost learned judge! A sentence! Come, prepare.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nTarry a little, there is something else.\\r\\nThis bond doth give thee here no jot of blood.\\r\\nThe words expressly are “a pound of flesh”:\\r\\nTake then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh,\\r\\nBut in the cutting it, if thou dost shed\\r\\nOne drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods\\r\\nAre, by the laws of Venice, confiscate\\r\\nUnto the state of Venice.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nO upright judge! Mark, Jew. O learned judge!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nIs that the law?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThyself shalt see the act.\\r\\nFor, as thou urgest justice, be assur’d\\r\\nThou shalt have justice more than thou desir’st.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nO learned judge! Mark, Jew, a learned judge!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI take this offer then. Pay the bond thrice\\r\\nAnd let the Christian go.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nHere is the money.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nSoft!\\r\\nThe Jew shall have all justice. Soft! no haste!\\r\\nHe shall have nothing but the penalty.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nO Jew, an upright judge, a learned judge!\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nTherefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh.\\r\\nShed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor more,\\r\\nBut just a pound of flesh: if thou tak’st more\\r\\nOr less than a just pound, be it but so much\\r\\nAs makes it light or heavy in the substance,\\r\\nOr the division of the twentieth part\\r\\nOf one poor scruple, nay, if the scale do turn\\r\\nBut in the estimation of a hair,\\r\\nThou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nA second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew!\\r\\nNow, infidel, I have you on the hip.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhy doth the Jew pause? Take thy forfeiture.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nGive me my principal, and let me go.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nI have it ready for thee. Here it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nHe hath refus’d it in the open court,\\r\\nHe shall have merely justice and his bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nA Daniel still say I, a second Daniel!\\r\\nI thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nShall I not have barely my principal?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture\\r\\nTo be so taken at thy peril, Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhy, then the devil give him good of it!\\r\\nI’ll stay no longer question.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nTarry, Jew.\\r\\nThe law hath yet another hold on you.\\r\\nIt is enacted in the laws of Venice,\\r\\nIf it be proved against an alien\\r\\nThat by direct or indirect attempts\\r\\nHe seek the life of any citizen,\\r\\nThe party ’gainst the which he doth contrive\\r\\nShall seize one half his goods; the other half\\r\\nComes to the privy coffer of the state,\\r\\nAnd the offender’s life lies in the mercy\\r\\nOf the Duke only, ’gainst all other voice.\\r\\nIn which predicament I say thou stand’st;\\r\\nFor it appears by manifest proceeding\\r\\nThat indirectly, and directly too,\\r\\nThou hast contrived against the very life\\r\\nOf the defendant; and thou hast incurr’d\\r\\nThe danger formerly by me rehears’d.\\r\\nDown, therefore, and beg mercy of the Duke.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nBeg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself,\\r\\nAnd yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state,\\r\\nThou hast not left the value of a cord;\\r\\nTherefore thou must be hang’d at the state’s charge.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThat thou shalt see the difference of our spirit,\\r\\nI pardon thee thy life before thou ask it.\\r\\nFor half thy wealth, it is Antonio’s;\\r\\nThe other half comes to the general state,\\r\\nWhich humbleness may drive unto a fine.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nAy, for the state, not for Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nNay, take my life and all, pardon not that.\\r\\nYou take my house when you do take the prop\\r\\nThat doth sustain my house; you take my life\\r\\nWhen you do take the means whereby I live.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhat mercy can you render him, Antonio?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nA halter gratis, nothing else, for God’s sake!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nSo please my lord the Duke and all the court\\r\\nTo quit the fine for one half of his goods,\\r\\nI am content, so he will let me have\\r\\nThe other half in use, to render it\\r\\nUpon his death unto the gentleman\\r\\nThat lately stole his daughter.\\r\\nTwo things provided more, that for this favour,\\r\\nHe presently become a Christian;\\r\\nThe other, that he do record a gift,\\r\\nHere in the court, of all he dies possess’d\\r\\nUnto his son Lorenzo and his daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHe shall do this, or else I do recant\\r\\nThe pardon that I late pronounced here.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nArt thou contented, Jew? What dost thou say?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI am content.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nClerk, draw a deed of gift.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI pray you give me leave to go from hence;\\r\\nI am not well; send the deed after me\\r\\nAnd I will sign it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGet thee gone, but do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nIn christ’ning shalt thou have two god-fathers.\\r\\nHad I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more,\\r\\nTo bring thee to the gallows, not to the font.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Shylock._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nSir, I entreat you home with me to dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI humbly do desire your Grace of pardon,\\r\\nI must away this night toward Padua,\\r\\nAnd it is meet I presently set forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI am sorry that your leisure serves you not.\\r\\nAntonio, gratify this gentleman,\\r\\nFor in my mind you are much bound to him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Duke and his train._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nMost worthy gentleman, I and my friend\\r\\nHave by your wisdom been this day acquitted\\r\\nOf grievous penalties, in lieu whereof,\\r\\nThree thousand ducats due unto the Jew\\r\\nWe freely cope your courteous pains withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd stand indebted, over and above\\r\\nIn love and service to you evermore.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nHe is well paid that is well satisfied,\\r\\nAnd I delivering you, am satisfied,\\r\\nAnd therein do account myself well paid,\\r\\nMy mind was never yet more mercenary.\\r\\nI pray you know me when we meet again,\\r\\nI wish you well, and so I take my leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nDear sir, of force I must attempt you further.\\r\\nTake some remembrance of us as a tribute,\\r\\nNot as fee. Grant me two things, I pray you,\\r\\nNot to deny me, and to pardon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYou press me far, and therefore I will yield.\\r\\n[_To Antonio_.] Give me your gloves, I’ll wear them for your sake.\\r\\n[_To Bassanio_.] And, for your love, I’ll take this ring from you.\\r\\nDo not draw back your hand; I’ll take no more,\\r\\nAnd you in love shall not deny me this.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nThis ring, good sir? Alas, it is a trifle,\\r\\nI will not shame myself to give you this.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI will have nothing else but only this,\\r\\nAnd now methinks I have a mind to it.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nThere’s more depends on this than on the value.\\r\\nThe dearest ring in Venice will I give you,\\r\\nAnd find it out by proclamation,\\r\\nOnly for this I pray you pardon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI see, sir, you are liberal in offers.\\r\\nYou taught me first to beg, and now methinks\\r\\nYou teach me how a beggar should be answer’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nGood sir, this ring was given me by my wife,\\r\\nAnd when she put it on, she made me vow\\r\\nThat I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThat ’scuse serves many men to save their gifts.\\r\\nAnd if your wife be not a mad-woman,\\r\\nAnd know how well I have deserv’d this ring,\\r\\nShe would not hold out enemy for ever\\r\\nFor giving it to me. Well, peace be with you!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Portia and Nerissa._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nMy Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring.\\r\\nLet his deservings and my love withal\\r\\nBe valued ’gainst your wife’s commandment.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nGo, Gratiano, run and overtake him;\\r\\nGive him the ring, and bring him if thou canst\\r\\nUnto Antonio’s house. Away, make haste.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Gratiano._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, you and I will thither presently,\\r\\nAnd in the morning early will we both\\r\\nFly toward Belmont. Come, Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Portia and Nerissa.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nInquire the Jew’s house out, give him this deed,\\r\\nAnd let him sign it, we’ll away tonight,\\r\\nAnd be a day before our husbands home.\\r\\nThis deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gratiano.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nFair sir, you are well o’erta’en.\\r\\nMy Lord Bassanio upon more advice,\\r\\nHath sent you here this ring, and doth entreat\\r\\nYour company at dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThat cannot be;\\r\\nHis ring I do accept most thankfully,\\r\\nAnd so I pray you tell him. Furthermore,\\r\\nI pray you show my youth old Shylock’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nThat will I do.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nSir, I would speak with you.\\r\\n[_Aside to Portia_.]\\r\\nI’ll see if I can get my husband’s ring,\\r\\nWhich I did make him swear to keep for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\n[_To Nerissa_.] Thou mayst, I warrant. We shall have old swearing\\r\\nThat they did give the rings away to men;\\r\\nBut we’ll outface them, and outswear them too.\\r\\nAway! make haste! Thou know’st where I will tarry.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nCome, good sir, will you show me to this house?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Belmont. The avenue to Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lorenzo and Jessica.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nThe moon shines bright. In such a night as this,\\r\\nWhen the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees,\\r\\nAnd they did make no noise, in such a night,\\r\\nTroilus methinks mounted the Trojan walls,\\r\\nAnd sigh’d his soul toward the Grecian tents\\r\\nWhere Cressid lay that night.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nIn such a night\\r\\nDid Thisby fearfully o’ertrip the dew,\\r\\nAnd saw the lion’s shadow ere himself,\\r\\nAnd ran dismay’d away.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nIn such a night\\r\\nStood Dido with a willow in her hand\\r\\nUpon the wild sea-banks, and waft her love\\r\\nTo come again to Carthage.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nIn such a night\\r\\nMedea gathered the enchanted herbs\\r\\nThat did renew old Æson.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nIn such a night\\r\\nDid Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew,\\r\\nAnd with an unthrift love did run from Venice\\r\\nAs far as Belmont.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nIn such a night\\r\\nDid young Lorenzo swear he loved her well,\\r\\nStealing her soul with many vows of faith,\\r\\nAnd ne’er a true one.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nIn such a night\\r\\nDid pretty Jessica, like a little shrew,\\r\\nSlander her love, and he forgave it her.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nI would out-night you did no body come;\\r\\nBut hark, I hear the footing of a man.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Stephano.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nWho comes so fast in silence of the night?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nA friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nA friend! What friend? Your name, I pray you, friend?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nStephano is my name, and I bring word\\r\\nMy mistress will before the break of day\\r\\nBe here at Belmont. She doth stray about\\r\\nBy holy crosses where she kneels and prays\\r\\nFor happy wedlock hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nWho comes with her?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nNone but a holy hermit and her maid.\\r\\nI pray you is my master yet return’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nHe is not, nor we have not heard from him.\\r\\nBut go we in, I pray thee, Jessica,\\r\\nAnd ceremoniously let us prepare\\r\\nSome welcome for the mistress of the house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Launcelet.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET. Sola, sola! wo ha, ho! sola, sola!\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nWho calls?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nSola! Did you see Master Lorenzo? Master Lorenzo! Sola, sola!\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nLeave holloaing, man. Here!\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nSola! Where, where?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nHere!\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nTell him there’s a post come from my master with his horn full of good\\r\\nnews. My master will be here ere morning.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nSweet soul, let’s in, and there expect their coming.\\r\\nAnd yet no matter; why should we go in?\\r\\nMy friend Stephano, signify, I pray you,\\r\\nWithin the house, your mistress is at hand,\\r\\nAnd bring your music forth into the air.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Stephano._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!\\r\\nHere will we sit and let the sounds of music\\r\\nCreep in our ears; soft stillness and the night\\r\\nBecome the touches of sweet harmony.\\r\\nSit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven\\r\\nIs thick inlaid with patens of bright gold.\\r\\nThere’s not the smallest orb which thou behold’st\\r\\nBut in his motion like an angel sings,\\r\\nStill quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;\\r\\nSuch harmony is in immortal souls,\\r\\nBut whilst this muddy vesture of decay\\r\\nDoth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Musicians.\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn.\\r\\nWith sweetest touches pierce your mistress’ ear,\\r\\nAnd draw her home with music.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nI am never merry when I hear sweet music.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nThe reason is, your spirits are attentive.\\r\\nFor do but note a wild and wanton herd\\r\\nOr race of youthful and unhandled colts,\\r\\nFetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud,\\r\\nWhich is the hot condition of their blood,\\r\\nIf they but hear perchance a trumpet sound,\\r\\nOr any air of music touch their ears,\\r\\nYou shall perceive them make a mutual stand,\\r\\nTheir savage eyes turn’d to a modest gaze\\r\\nBy the sweet power of music: therefore the poet\\r\\nDid feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods,\\r\\nSince naught so stockish, hard, and full of rage,\\r\\nBut music for the time doth change his nature.\\r\\nThe man that hath no music in himself,\\r\\nNor is not mov’d with concord of sweet sounds,\\r\\nIs fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;\\r\\nThe motions of his spirit are dull as night,\\r\\nAnd his affections dark as Erebus.\\r\\nLet no such man be trusted. Mark the music.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Portia and Nerissa.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThat light we see is burning in my hall.\\r\\nHow far that little candle throws his beams!\\r\\nSo shines a good deed in a naughty world.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nWhen the moon shone we did not see the candle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nSo doth the greater glory dim the less.\\r\\nA substitute shines brightly as a king\\r\\nUntil a king be by, and then his state\\r\\nEmpties itself, as doth an inland brook\\r\\nInto the main of waters. Music! hark!\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nIt is your music, madam, of the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nNothing is good, I see, without respect.\\r\\nMethinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nSilence bestows that virtue on it, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThe crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark\\r\\nWhen neither is attended; and I think\\r\\nThe nightingale, if she should sing by day\\r\\nWhen every goose is cackling, would be thought\\r\\nNo better a musician than the wren.\\r\\nHow many things by season season’d are\\r\\nTo their right praise and true perfection!\\r\\nPeace! How the moon sleeps with Endymion,\\r\\nAnd would not be awak’d!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music ceases._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nThat is the voice,\\r\\nOr I am much deceiv’d, of Portia.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nHe knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo,\\r\\nBy the bad voice.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nDear lady, welcome home.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWe have been praying for our husbands’ welfare,\\r\\nWhich speed, we hope, the better for our words.\\r\\nAre they return’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nMadam, they are not yet;\\r\\nBut there is come a messenger before\\r\\nTo signify their coming.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nGo in, Nerissa.\\r\\nGive order to my servants, that they take\\r\\nNo note at all of our being absent hence,\\r\\nNor you, Lorenzo; Jessica, nor you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A tucket sounds._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nYour husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet.\\r\\nWe are no tell-tales, madam, fear you not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThis night methinks is but the daylight sick,\\r\\nIt looks a little paler. ’Tis a day\\r\\nSuch as the day is when the sun is hid.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Gratiano and their Followers.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nWe should hold day with the Antipodes,\\r\\nIf you would walk in absence of the sun.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nLet me give light, but let me not be light,\\r\\nFor a light wife doth make a heavy husband,\\r\\nAnd never be Bassanio so for me.\\r\\nBut God sort all! You are welcome home, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nI thank you, madam. Give welcome to my friend.\\r\\nThis is the man, this is Antonio,\\r\\nTo whom I am so infinitely bound.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYou should in all sense be much bound to him,\\r\\nFor, as I hear, he was much bound for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nNo more than I am well acquitted of.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nSir, you are very welcome to our house.\\r\\nIt must appear in other ways than words,\\r\\nTherefore I scant this breathing courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\n[_To Nerissa_.] By yonder moon I swear you do me wrong,\\r\\nIn faith, I gave it to the judge’s clerk.\\r\\nWould he were gelt that had it, for my part,\\r\\nSince you do take it, love, so much at heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nA quarrel, ho, already! What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nAbout a hoop of gold, a paltry ring\\r\\nThat she did give me, whose posy was\\r\\nFor all the world like cutlers’ poetry\\r\\nUpon a knife, “Love me, and leave me not.”\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nWhat talk you of the posy, or the value?\\r\\nYou swore to me when I did give it you,\\r\\nThat you would wear it till your hour of death,\\r\\nAnd that it should lie with you in your grave.\\r\\nThough not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,\\r\\nYou should have been respective and have kept it.\\r\\nGave it a judge’s clerk! No, God’s my judge,\\r\\nThe clerk will ne’er wear hair on’s face that had it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nHe will, and if he live to be a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nAy, if a woman live to be a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nNow, by this hand, I gave it to a youth,\\r\\nA kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy,\\r\\nNo higher than thyself, the judge’s clerk,\\r\\nA prating boy that begg’d it as a fee,\\r\\nI could not for my heart deny it him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYou were to blame,—I must be plain with you,—\\r\\nTo part so slightly with your wife’s first gift,\\r\\nA thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger,\\r\\nAnd so riveted with faith unto your flesh.\\r\\nI gave my love a ring, and made him swear\\r\\nNever to part with it, and here he stands.\\r\\nI dare be sworn for him he would not leave it\\r\\nNor pluck it from his finger for the wealth\\r\\nThat the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano,\\r\\nYou give your wife too unkind a cause of grief,\\r\\nAn ’twere to me I should be mad at it.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Why, I were best to cut my left hand off,\\r\\nAnd swear I lost the ring defending it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nMy Lord Bassanio gave his ring away\\r\\nUnto the judge that begg’d it, and indeed\\r\\nDeserv’d it too. And then the boy, his clerk,\\r\\nThat took some pains in writing, he begg’d mine,\\r\\nAnd neither man nor master would take aught\\r\\nBut the two rings.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhat ring gave you, my lord?\\r\\nNot that, I hope, which you receiv’d of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nIf I could add a lie unto a fault,\\r\\nI would deny it, but you see my finger\\r\\nHath not the ring upon it, it is gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nEven so void is your false heart of truth.\\r\\nBy heaven, I will ne’er come in your bed\\r\\nUntil I see the ring.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nNor I in yours\\r\\nTill I again see mine!\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nSweet Portia,\\r\\nIf you did know to whom I gave the ring,\\r\\nIf you did know for whom I gave the ring,\\r\\nAnd would conceive for what I gave the ring,\\r\\nAnd how unwillingly I left the ring,\\r\\nWhen nought would be accepted but the ring,\\r\\nYou would abate the strength of your displeasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIf you had known the virtue of the ring,\\r\\nOr half her worthiness that gave the ring,\\r\\nOr your own honour to contain the ring,\\r\\nYou would not then have parted with the ring.\\r\\nWhat man is there so much unreasonable,\\r\\nIf you had pleas’d to have defended it\\r\\nWith any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty\\r\\nTo urge the thing held as a ceremony?\\r\\nNerissa teaches me what to believe:\\r\\nI’ll die for’t but some woman had the ring.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nNo, by my honour, madam, by my soul,\\r\\nNo woman had it, but a civil doctor,\\r\\nWhich did refuse three thousand ducats of me,\\r\\nAnd begg’d the ring, the which I did deny him,\\r\\nAnd suffer’d him to go displeas’d away,\\r\\nEven he that had held up the very life\\r\\nOf my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady?\\r\\nI was enforc’d to send it after him.\\r\\nI was beset with shame and courtesy.\\r\\nMy honour would not let ingratitude\\r\\nSo much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady;\\r\\nFor by these blessed candles of the night,\\r\\nHad you been there, I think you would have begg’d\\r\\nThe ring of me to give the worthy doctor.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nLet not that doctor e’er come near my house,\\r\\nSince he hath got the jewel that I loved,\\r\\nAnd that which you did swear to keep for me,\\r\\nI will become as liberal as you,\\r\\nI’ll not deny him anything I have,\\r\\nNo, not my body, nor my husband’s bed.\\r\\nKnow him I shall, I am well sure of it.\\r\\nLie not a night from home. Watch me like Argus,\\r\\nIf you do not, if I be left alone,\\r\\nNow by mine honour which is yet mine own,\\r\\nI’ll have that doctor for mine bedfellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nAnd I his clerk. Therefore be well advis’d\\r\\nHow you do leave me to mine own protection.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWell, do you so. Let not me take him then,\\r\\nFor if I do, I’ll mar the young clerk’s pen.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI am th’ unhappy subject of these quarrels.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nSir, grieve not you. You are welcome notwithstanding.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nPortia, forgive me this enforced wrong,\\r\\nAnd in the hearing of these many friends\\r\\nI swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes,\\r\\nWherein I see myself—\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nMark you but that!\\r\\nIn both my eyes he doubly sees himself,\\r\\nIn each eye one. Swear by your double self,\\r\\nAnd there’s an oath of credit.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nNay, but hear me.\\r\\nPardon this fault, and by my soul I swear\\r\\nI never more will break an oath with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI once did lend my body for his wealth,\\r\\nWhich but for him that had your husband’s ring\\r\\nHad quite miscarried. I dare be bound again,\\r\\nMy soul upon the forfeit, that your lord\\r\\nWill never more break faith advisedly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThen you shall be his surety. Give him this,\\r\\nAnd bid him keep it better than the other.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHere, Lord Bassanio, swear to keep this ring.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nBy heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor!\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio,\\r\\nFor by this ring, the doctor lay with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nAnd pardon me, my gentle Gratiano,\\r\\nFor that same scrubbed boy, the doctor’s clerk,\\r\\nIn lieu of this, last night did lie with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWhy, this is like the mending of highways\\r\\nIn summer, where the ways are fair enough.\\r\\nWhat, are we cuckolds ere we have deserv’d it?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nSpeak not so grossly. You are all amaz’d.\\r\\nHere is a letter; read it at your leisure.\\r\\nIt comes from Padua from Bellario.\\r\\nThere you shall find that Portia was the doctor,\\r\\nNerissa there, her clerk. Lorenzo here\\r\\nShall witness I set forth as soon as you,\\r\\nAnd even but now return’d. I have not yet\\r\\nEnter’d my house. Antonio, you are welcome,\\r\\nAnd I have better news in store for you\\r\\nThan you expect: unseal this letter soon.\\r\\nThere you shall find three of your argosies\\r\\nAre richly come to harbour suddenly.\\r\\nYou shall not know by what strange accident\\r\\nI chanced on this letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI am dumb.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nWere you the doctor, and I knew you not?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWere you the clerk that is to make me cuckold?\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nAy, but the clerk that never means to do it,\\r\\nUnless he live until he be a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nSweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow.\\r\\nWhen I am absent, then lie with my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nSweet lady, you have given me life and living;\\r\\nFor here I read for certain that my ships\\r\\nAre safely come to road.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nHow now, Lorenzo!\\r\\nMy clerk hath some good comforts too for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nAy, and I’ll give them him without a fee.\\r\\nThere do I give to you and Jessica,\\r\\nFrom the rich Jew, a special deed of gift,\\r\\nAfter his death, of all he dies possess’d of.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nFair ladies, you drop manna in the way\\r\\nOf starved people.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIt is almost morning,\\r\\nAnd yet I am sure you are not satisfied\\r\\nOf these events at full. Let us go in,\\r\\nAnd charge us there upon inter’gatories,\\r\\nAnd we will answer all things faithfully.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nLet it be so. The first inter’gatory\\r\\nThat my Nerissa shall be sworn on is,\\r\\nWhether till the next night she had rather stay,\\r\\nOr go to bed now, being two hours to day.\\r\\nBut were the day come, I should wish it dark\\r\\nTill I were couching with the doctor’s clerk.\\r\\nWell, while I live, I’ll fear no other thing\\r\\nSo sore as keeping safe Nerissa’s ring.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personae\\r\\n\\r\\n SIR JOHN FALSTAFF\\r\\n FENTON, a young gentleman\\r\\n SHALLOW, a country justice\\r\\n SLENDER, cousin to Shallow\\r\\n\\r\\n Gentlemen of Windsor\\r\\n FORD\\r\\n PAGE\\r\\n WILLIAM PAGE, a boy, son to Page\\r\\n SIR HUGH EVANS, a Welsh parson\\r\\n DOCTOR CAIUS, a French physician\\r\\n HOST of the Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\n Followers of Falstaff\\r\\n BARDOLPH\\r\\n PISTOL\\r\\n NYM\\r\\n ROBIN, page to Falstaff\\r\\n SIMPLE, servant to Slender\\r\\n RUGBY, servant to Doctor Caius\\r\\n\\r\\n MISTRESS FORD\\r\\n MISTRESS PAGE\\r\\n MISTRESS ANNE PAGE, her daughter\\r\\n MISTRESS QUICKLY, servant to Doctor Caius\\r\\n SERVANTS to Page, Ford, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Windsor, and the neighbourhood\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nWindsor. Before PAGE\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter JUSTICE SHALLOW, SLENDER, and SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n SHALLOW. Sir Hugh, persuade me not; I will make a Star\\r\\n Chamber matter of it; if he were twenty Sir John Falstaffs,\\r\\n he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, esquire.\\r\\n SLENDER. In the county of Gloucester, Justice of Peace, and\\r\\n Coram.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Ay, cousin Slender, and Custalorum.\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, and Ratolorum too; and a gentleman born,\\r\\n Master Parson, who writes himself \\'Armigero\\' in any bill,\\r\\n warrant, quittance, or obligation-\\'Armigero.\\'\\r\\n SHALLOW. Ay, that I do; and have done any time these three\\r\\n hundred years.\\r\\n SLENDER. All his successors, gone before him, hath done\\'t;\\r\\n and all his ancestors, that come after him, may: they may\\r\\n give the dozen white luces in their coat.\\r\\n SHALLOW. It is an old coat.\\r\\n EVANS. The dozen white louses do become an old coat well;\\r\\n it agrees well, passant; it is a familiar beast to man, and\\r\\n signifies love.\\r\\n SHALLOW. The luce is the fresh fish; the salt fish is an old\\r\\n coat.\\r\\n SLENDER. I may quarter, coz.\\r\\n SHALLOW. You may, by marrying.\\r\\n EVANS. It is marring indeed, if he quarter it.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Not a whit.\\r\\n EVANS. Yes, py\\'r lady! If he has a quarter of your coat, there\\r\\n is but three skirts for yourself, in my simple conjectures;\\r\\n but that is all one. If Sir John Falstaff have committed\\r\\n disparagements unto you, I am of the church, and will be\\r\\n glad to do my benevolence, to make atonements and\\r\\n compremises between you.\\r\\n SHALLOW. The Council shall hear it; it is a riot.\\r\\n EVANS. It is not meet the Council hear a riot; there is no\\r\\n fear of Got in a riot; the Council, look you, shall desire\\r\\n to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear a riot; take your\\r\\n vizaments in that.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Ha! o\\' my life, if I were young again, the sword\\r\\n should end it.\\r\\n EVANS. It is petter that friends is the sword and end it;\\r\\n and there is also another device in my prain, which\\r\\n peradventure prings goot discretions with it. There is Anne\\r\\n Page, which is daughter to Master George Page, which is\\r\\n pretty virginity.\\r\\n SLENDER. Mistress Anne Page? She has brown hair, and\\r\\n speaks small like a woman.\\r\\n EVANS. It is that fery person for all the orld, as just as you\\r\\n will desire; and seven hundred pounds of moneys, and\\r\\n gold, and silver, is her grandsire upon his death\\'s-bed-Got\\r\\n deliver to a joyful resurrections!-give, when she is able to\\r\\n overtake seventeen years old. It were a goot motion if we\\r\\n leave our pribbles and prabbles, and desire a marriage\\r\\n between Master Abraham and Mistress Anne Page.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Did her grandsire leave her seven hundred pound?\\r\\n EVANS. Ay, and her father is make her a petter penny.\\r\\n SHALLOW. I know the young gentlewoman; she has good\\r\\n gifts.\\r\\n EVANS. Seven hundred pounds, and possibilities, is goot gifts.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Well, let us see honest Master Page. Is Falstaff\\r\\n there?\\r\\n EVANS. Shall I tell you a lie? I do despise a liar as I do\\r\\n despise one that is false; or as I despise one that is not\\r\\n true. The knight Sir John is there; and, I beseech you, be\\r\\n ruled by your well-willers. I will peat the door for Master\\r\\n Page.\\r\\n [Knocks] What, hoa! Got pless your house here!\\r\\n PAGE. [Within] Who\\'s there?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n EVANS. Here is Got\\'s plessing, and your friend, and Justice\\r\\n Shallow; and here young Master Slender, that peradventures\\r\\n shall tell you another tale, if matters grow to your\\r\\n likings.\\r\\n PAGE. I am glad to see your worships well. I thank you for\\r\\n my venison, Master Shallow.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Master Page, I am glad to see you; much good do\\r\\n it your good heart! I wish\\'d your venison better; it was ill\\r\\n kill\\'d. How doth good Mistress Page?-and I thank you\\r\\n always with my heart, la! with my heart.\\r\\n PAGE. Sir, I thank you.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Sir, I thank you; by yea and no, I do.\\r\\n PAGE. I am glad to see you, good Master Slender.\\r\\n SLENDER. How does your fallow greyhound, sir? I heard say\\r\\n he was outrun on Cotsall.\\r\\n PAGE. It could not be judg\\'d, sir.\\r\\n SLENDER. You\\'ll not confess, you\\'ll not confess.\\r\\n SHALLOW. That he will not. \\'Tis your fault; \\'tis your fault;\\r\\n \\'tis a good dog.\\r\\n PAGE. A cur, sir.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Sir, he\\'s a good dog, and a fair dog. Can there be\\r\\n more said? He is good, and fair. Is Sir John Falstaff here?\\r\\n PAGE. Sir, he is within; and I would I could do a good office\\r\\n between you.\\r\\n EVANS. It is spoke as a Christians ought to speak.\\r\\n SHALLOW. He hath wrong\\'d me, Master Page.\\r\\n PAGE. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it.\\r\\n SHALLOW. If it be confessed, it is not redressed; is not that\\r\\n so, Master Page? He hath wrong\\'d me; indeed he hath; at a\\r\\n word, he hath, believe me; Robert Shallow, esquire, saith\\r\\n he is wronged.\\r\\n PAGE. Here comes Sir John.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR JOHN FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, NYM, and PISTOL\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Now, Master Shallow, you\\'ll complain of me to\\r\\n the King?\\r\\n SHALLOW. Knight, you have beaten my men, kill\\'d my deer,\\r\\n and broke open my lodge.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. But not kiss\\'d your keeper\\'s daughter.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Tut, a pin! this shall be answer\\'d.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I will answer it straight: I have done all this.\\r\\n That is now answer\\'d.\\r\\n SHALLOW. The Council shall know this.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. \\'Twere better for you if it were known in counsel:\\r\\n you\\'ll be laugh\\'d at.\\r\\n EVANS. Pauca verba, Sir John; goot worts.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Good worts! good cabbage! Slender, I broke your\\r\\n head; what matter have you against me?\\r\\n SLENDER. Marry, sir, I have matter in my head against you;\\r\\n and against your cony-catching rascals, Bardolph, Nym,\\r\\n and Pistol. They carried me to the tavern, and made me\\r\\n drunk, and afterwards pick\\'d my pocket.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. You Banbury cheese!\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, it is no matter.\\r\\n PISTOL. How now, Mephostophilus!\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, it is no matter.\\r\\n NYM. Slice, I say! pauca, pauca; slice! That\\'s my humour.\\r\\n SLENDER. Where\\'s Simple, my man? Can you tell, cousin?\\r\\n EVANS. Peace, I pray you. Now let us understand. There is\\r\\n three umpires in this matter, as I understand: that is,\\r\\n Master Page, fidelicet Master Page; and there is myself,\\r\\n fidelicet myself; and the three party is, lastly and\\r\\n finally, mine host of the Garter.\\r\\n PAGE. We three to hear it and end it between them.\\r\\n EVANS. Fery goot. I will make a prief of it in my note-book;\\r\\n and we will afterwards ork upon the cause with as great\\r\\n discreetly as we can.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Pistol!\\r\\n PISTOL. He hears with ears.\\r\\n EVANS. The tevil and his tam! What phrase is this, \\'He hears\\r\\n with ear\\'? Why, it is affectations.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Pistol, did you pick Master Slender\\'s purse?\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, by these gloves, did he-or I would I might\\r\\n never come in mine own great chamber again else!-of\\r\\n seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two Edward\\r\\n shovel-boards that cost me two shilling and two pence apiece\\r\\n of Yead Miller, by these gloves.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Is this true, Pistol?\\r\\n EVANS. No, it is false, if it is a pick-purse.\\r\\n PISTOL. Ha, thou mountain-foreigner! Sir John and master\\r\\n mine,\\r\\n I combat challenge of this latten bilbo.\\r\\n Word of denial in thy labras here!\\r\\n Word of denial! Froth and scum, thou liest.\\r\\n SLENDER. By these gloves, then, \\'twas he.\\r\\n NYM. Be avis\\'d, sir, and pass good humours; I will say\\r\\n \\'marry trap\\' with you, if you run the nuthook\\'s humour on\\r\\n me; that is the very note of it.\\r\\n SLENDER. By this hat, then, he in the red face had it; for\\r\\n though I cannot remember what I did when you made me\\r\\n drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What say you, Scarlet and John?\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Why, sir, for my part, I say the gentleman had\\r\\n drunk himself out of his five sentences.\\r\\n EVANS. It is his five senses; fie, what the ignorance is!\\r\\n BARDOLPH. And being fap, sir, was, as they say, cashier\\'d;\\r\\n and so conclusions pass\\'d the careers.\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, you spake in Latin then too; but \\'tis no matter;\\r\\n I\\'ll ne\\'er be drunk whilst I live again, but in honest,\\r\\n civil, godly company, for this trick. If I be drunk, I\\'ll be\\r\\n drunk with those that have the fear of God, and not with\\r\\n drunken knaves.\\r\\n EVANS. So Got udge me, that is a virtuous mind.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. You hear all these matters deni\\'d, gentlemen; you\\r\\n hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS ANNE PAGE with wine; MISTRESS\\r\\n FORD and MISTRESS PAGE, following\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. Nay, daughter, carry the wine in; we\\'ll drink within.\\r\\n Exit ANNE PAGE\\r\\n SLENDER. O heaven! this is Mistress Anne Page.\\r\\n PAGE. How now, Mistress Ford!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well\\r\\n met; by your leave, good mistress. [Kisses her]\\r\\n PAGE. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome. Come, we have a\\r\\n hot venison pasty to dinner; come, gentlemen, I hope we\\r\\n shall drink down all unkindness.\\r\\n Exeunt all but SHALLOW, SLENDER, and EVANS\\r\\n SLENDER. I had rather than forty shillings I had my Book of\\r\\n Songs and Sonnets here.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIMPLE\\r\\n\\r\\n How, Simple! Where have you been? I must wait on\\r\\n myself, must I? You have not the Book of Riddles about you,\\r\\n have you?\\r\\n SIMPLE. Book of Riddles! Why, did you not lend it to Alice\\r\\n Shortcake upon Allhallowmas last, a fortnight afore\\r\\n Michaelmas?\\r\\n SHALLOW. Come, coz; come, coz; we stay for you. A word\\r\\n with you, coz; marry, this, coz: there is, as \\'twere, a\\r\\n tender, a kind of tender, made afar off by Sir Hugh here. Do\\r\\n you understand me?\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable; if it be so, I\\r\\n shall do that that is reason.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Nay, but understand me.\\r\\n SLENDER. So I do, sir.\\r\\n EVANS. Give ear to his motions: Master Slender, I will\\r\\n description the matter to you, if you be capacity of it.\\r\\n SLENDER. Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says; I pray\\r\\n you pardon me; he\\'s a justice of peace in his country,\\r\\n simple though I stand here.\\r\\n EVANS. But that is not the question. The question is\\r\\n concerning your marriage.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Ay, there\\'s the point, sir.\\r\\n EVANS. Marry is it; the very point of it; to Mistress Anne\\r\\n Page.\\r\\n SLENDER. Why, if it be so, I will marry her upon any\\r\\n reasonable demands.\\r\\n EVANS. But can you affection the oman? Let us command to\\r\\n know that of your mouth or of your lips; for divers philosophers\\r\\n hold that the lips is parcel of the mouth. Therefore,\\r\\n precisely, can you carry your good will to the maid?\\r\\n SHALLOW. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her?\\r\\n SLENDER. I hope, sir, I will do as it shall become one that\\r\\n would do reason.\\r\\n EVANS. Nay, Got\\'s lords and his ladies! you must speak possitable,\\r\\n if you can carry her your desires towards her.\\r\\n SHALLOW. That you must. Will you, upon good dowry,\\r\\n marry her?\\r\\n SLENDER. I will do a greater thing than that upon your request,\\r\\n cousin, in any reason.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz; what\\r\\n I do is to pleasure you, coz. Can you love the maid?\\r\\n SLENDER. I will marry her, sir, at your request; but if there\\r\\n be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease\\r\\n it upon better acquaintance, when we are married and\\r\\n have more occasion to know one another. I hope upon\\r\\n familiarity will grow more contempt. But if you say\\r\\n \\'marry her,\\' I will marry her; that I am freely dissolved,\\r\\n and dissolutely.\\r\\n EVANS. It is a fery discretion answer, save the fall is in the\\r\\n ord \\'dissolutely\\': the ort is, according to our meaning,\\r\\n \\'resolutely\\'; his meaning is good.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Ay, I think my cousin meant well.\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, or else I would I might be hang\\'d, la!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter ANNE PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n SHALLOW. Here comes fair Mistress Anne. Would I were\\r\\n young for your sake, Mistress Anne!\\r\\n ANNE. The dinner is on the table; my father desires your\\r\\n worships\\' company.\\r\\n SHALLOW. I will wait on him, fair Mistress Anne!\\r\\n EVANS. Od\\'s plessed will! I will not be absence at the grace.\\r\\n Exeunt SHALLOW and EVANS\\r\\n ANNE. Will\\'t please your worship to come in, sir?\\r\\n SLENDER. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily; I am very\\r\\n well.\\r\\n ANNE. The dinner attends you, sir.\\r\\n SLENDER. I am not a-hungry, I thank you, forsooth. Go,\\r\\n sirrah, for all you are my man, go wait upon my cousin\\r\\n Shallow. [Exit SIMPLE] A justice of peace sometime may\\r\\n be beholding to his friend for a man. I keep but three men\\r\\n and a boy yet, till my mother be dead. But what though?\\r\\n Yet I live like a poor gentleman born.\\r\\n ANNE. I may not go in without your worship; they will not\\r\\n sit till you come.\\r\\n SLENDER. I\\' faith, I\\'ll eat nothing; I thank you as much as\\r\\n though I did.\\r\\n ANNE. I pray you, sir, walk in.\\r\\n SLENDER. I had rather walk here, I thank you. I bruis\\'d my\\r\\n shin th\\' other day with playing at sword and dagger with\\r\\n a master of fence-three veneys for a dish of stew\\'d prunes\\r\\n -and, I with my ward defending my head, he hot my shin,\\r\\n and, by my troth, I cannot abide the smell of hot meat\\r\\n since. Why do your dogs bark so? Be there bears i\\' th\\'\\r\\n town?\\r\\n ANNE. I think there are, sir; I heard them talk\\'d of.\\r\\n SLENDER. I love the sport well; but I shall as soon quarrel at\\r\\n it as any man in England. You are afraid, if you see the\\r\\n bear loose, are you not?\\r\\n ANNE. Ay, indeed, sir.\\r\\n SLENDER. That\\'s meat and drink to me now. I have seen\\r\\n Sackerson loose twenty times, and have taken him by the\\r\\n chain; but I warrant you, the women have so cried and\\r\\n shriek\\'d at it that it pass\\'d; but women, indeed, cannot\\r\\n abide \\'em; they are very ill-favour\\'d rough things.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. Come, gentle Master Slender, come; we stay for you.\\r\\n SLENDER. I\\'ll eat nothing, I thank you, sir.\\r\\n PAGE. By cock and pie, you shall not choose, sir! Come,\\r\\n come.\\r\\n SLENDER. Nay, pray you lead the way.\\r\\n PAGE. Come on, sir.\\r\\n SLENDER. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first.\\r\\n ANNE. Not I, sir; pray you keep on.\\r\\n SLENDER. Truly, I will not go first; truly, la! I will not do\\r\\n you that wrong.\\r\\n ANNE. I pray you, sir.\\r\\n SLENDER. I\\'ll rather be unmannerly than troublesome. You\\r\\n do yourself wrong indeed, la! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nBefore PAGE\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SIR HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE\\r\\n\\r\\n EVANS. Go your ways, and ask of Doctor Caius\\' house which\\r\\n is the way; and there dwells one Mistress Quickly, which\\r\\n is in the manner of his nurse, or his dry nurse, or his cook,\\r\\n or his laundry, his washer, and his wringer.\\r\\n SIMPLE. Well, sir.\\r\\n EVANS. Nay, it is petter yet. Give her this letter; for it is a\\r\\n oman that altogether\\'s acquaintance with Mistress Anne\\r\\n Page; and the letter is to desire and require her to solicit\\r\\n your master\\'s desires to Mistress Anne Page. I pray you\\r\\n be gone. I will make an end of my dinner; there\\'s pippins\\r\\n and cheese to come. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FALSTAFF, HOST, BARDOLPH, NYM, PISTOL, and ROBIN\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Mine host of the Garter!\\r\\n HOST. What says my bully rook? Speak scholarly and\\r\\n wisely.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of my\\r\\n followers.\\r\\n HOST. Discard, bully Hercules; cashier; let them wag; trot,\\r\\n trot.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I sit at ten pounds a week.\\r\\n HOST. Thou\\'rt an emperor-Caesar, Keiser, and Pheazar. I\\r\\n will entertain Bardolph; he shall draw, he shall tap; said I\\r\\n well, bully Hector?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Do so, good mine host.\\r\\n HOST. I have spoke; let him follow. [To BARDOLPH] Let me\\r\\n see thee froth and lime. I am at a word; follow. Exit HOST\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Bardolph, follow him. A tapster is a good trade;\\r\\n an old cloak makes a new jerkin; a wither\\'d serving-man a\\r\\n fresh tapster. Go; adieu.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. It is a life that I have desir\\'d; I will thrive.\\r\\n PISTOL. O base Hungarian wight! Wilt thou the spigot\\r\\n wield? Exit BARDOLPH\\r\\n NYM. He was gotten in drink. Is not the humour conceited?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I am glad I am so acquit of this tinder-box: his\\r\\n thefts were too open; his filching was like an unskilful\\r\\n singer-he kept not time.\\r\\n NYM. The good humour is to steal at a minute\\'s rest.\\r\\n PISTOL. \\'Convey\\' the wise it call. \\'Steal\\' foh! A fico for the\\r\\n phrase!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels.\\r\\n PISTOL. Why, then, let kibes ensue.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. There is no remedy; I must cony-catch; I must\\r\\n shift.\\r\\n PISTOL. Young ravens must have food.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Which of you know Ford of this town?\\r\\n PISTOL. I ken the wight; he is of substance good.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about.\\r\\n PISTOL. Two yards, and more.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. No quips now, Pistol. Indeed, I am in the waist\\r\\n two yards about; but I am now about no waste; I am about\\r\\n thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make love to Ford\\'s wife; I\\r\\n spy entertainment in her; she discourses, she carves, she\\r\\n gives the leer of invitation; I can construe the action of her\\r\\n familiar style; and the hardest voice of her behaviour, to be\\r\\n English\\'d rightly, is \\'I am Sir John Falstaff\\'s.\\'\\r\\n PISTOL. He hath studied her well, and translated her will out\\r\\n of honesty into English.\\r\\n NYM. The anchor is deep; will that humour pass?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Now, the report goes she has all the rule of her\\r\\n husband\\'s purse; he hath a legion of angels.\\r\\n PISTOL. As many devils entertain; and \\'To her, boy,\\' say I.\\r\\n NYM. The humour rises; it is good; humour me the angels.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I have writ me here a letter to her; and here\\r\\n another to Page\\'s wife, who even now gave me good eyes\\r\\n too, examin\\'d my parts with most judicious oeillades;\\r\\n sometimes the beam of her view gilded my foot, sometimes my\\r\\n portly belly.\\r\\n PISTOL. Then did the sun on dunghill shine.\\r\\n NYM. I thank thee for that humour.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. O, she did so course o\\'er my exteriors with such\\r\\n a greedy intention that the appetite of her eye did seem to\\r\\n scorch me up like a burning-glass! Here\\'s another letter to\\r\\n her. She bears the purse too; she is a region in Guiana, all\\r\\n gold and bounty. I will be cheaters to them both, and they\\r\\n shall be exchequers to me; they shall be my East and West\\r\\n Indies, and I will trade to them both. Go, bear thou this\\r\\n letter to Mistress Page; and thou this to Mistress Ford. We\\r\\n will thrive, lads, we will thrive.\\r\\n PISTOL. Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become,\\r\\n And by my side wear steel? Then Lucifer take all!\\r\\n NYM. I will run no base humour. Here, take the\\r\\n humour-letter; I will keep the haviour of reputation.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. [To ROBIN] Hold, sirrah; bear you these letters\\r\\n tightly;\\r\\n Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores.\\r\\n Rogues, hence, avaunt! vanish like hailstones, go;\\r\\n Trudge, plod away i\\' th\\' hoof; seek shelter, pack!\\r\\n Falstaff will learn the humour of the age;\\r\\n French thrift, you rogues; myself, and skirted page.\\r\\n Exeunt FALSTAFF and ROBIN\\r\\n PISTOL. Let vultures gripe thy guts! for gourd and fullam\\r\\n holds,\\r\\n And high and low beguiles the rich and poor;\\r\\n Tester I\\'ll have in pouch when thou shalt lack,\\r\\n Base Phrygian Turk!\\r\\n NYM. I have operations in my head which be humours of\\r\\n revenge.\\r\\n PISTOL. Wilt thou revenge?\\r\\n NYM. By welkin and her star!\\r\\n PISTOL. With wit or steel?\\r\\n NYM. With both the humours, I.\\r\\n I will discuss the humour of this love to Page.\\r\\n PISTOL. And I to Ford shall eke unfold\\r\\n How Falstaff, varlet vile,\\r\\n His dove will prove, his gold will hold,\\r\\n And his soft couch defile.\\r\\n NYM. My humour shall not cool; I will incense Page to deal\\r\\n with poison; I will possess him with yellowness; for the\\r\\n revolt of mine is dangerous. That is my true humour.\\r\\n PISTOL. Thou art the Mars of malcontents; I second thee;\\r\\n troop on. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR CAIUS\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MISTRESS QUICKLY, SIMPLE, and RUGBY\\r\\n\\r\\n QUICKLY. What, John Rugby! I pray thee go to the casement\\r\\n and see if you can see my master, Master Doctor\\r\\n Caius, coming. If he do, i\\' faith, and find anybody in the\\r\\n house, here will be an old abusing of God\\'s patience and\\r\\n the King\\'s English.\\r\\n RUGBY. I\\'ll go watch.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Go; and we\\'ll have a posset for\\'t soon at night, in\\r\\n faith, at the latter end of a sea-coal fire. [Exit RUGBY] An\\r\\n honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant shall come in\\r\\n house withal; and, I warrant you, no tell-tale nor no\\r\\n breed-bate; his worst fault is that he is given to prayer; he is\\r\\n something peevish that way; but nobody but has his fault;\\r\\n but let that pass. Peter Simple you say your name is?\\r\\n SIMPLE. Ay, for fault of a better.\\r\\n QUICKLY. And Master Slender\\'s your master?\\r\\n SIMPLE. Ay, forsooth.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Does he not wear a great round beard, like a\\r\\n glover\\'s paring-knife?\\r\\n SIMPLE. No, forsooth; he hath but a little whey face, with a\\r\\n little yellow beard, a Cain-colour\\'d beard.\\r\\n QUICKLY. A softly-sprighted man, is he not?\\r\\n SIMPLE. Ay, forsooth; but he is as tall a man of his hands as\\r\\n any is between this and his head; he hath fought with a\\r\\n warrener.\\r\\n QUICKLY. How say you? O, I should remember him. Does\\r\\n he not hold up his head, as it were, and strut in his gait?\\r\\n SIMPLE. Yes, indeed, does he.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse fortune!\\r\\n Tell Master Parson Evans I will do what I can for your\\r\\n master. Anne is a good girl, and I wish-\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter RUGBY\\r\\n\\r\\n RUGBY. Out, alas! here comes my master.\\r\\n QUICKLY. We shall all be shent. Run in here, good young\\r\\n man; go into this closet. [Shuts SIMPLE in the closet] He\\r\\n will not stay long. What, John Rugby! John! what, John,\\r\\n I say! Go, John, go inquire for my master; I doubt he be\\r\\n not well that he comes not home. [Singing]\\r\\n And down, down, adown-a, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DOCTOR CAIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n CAIUS. Vat is you sing? I do not like des toys. Pray you, go\\r\\n and vetch me in my closet un boitier vert-a box, a green-a\\r\\n box. Do intend vat I speak? A green-a box.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Ay, forsooth, I\\'ll fetch it you. [Aside] I am glad\\r\\n he went not in himself; if he had found the young man,\\r\\n he would have been horn-mad.\\r\\n CAIUS. Fe, fe, fe fe! ma foi, il fait fort chaud. Je m\\'en vais a\\r\\n la cour-la grande affaire.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Is it this, sir?\\r\\n CAIUS. Oui; mette le au mon pocket: depeche, quickly. Vere\\r\\n is dat knave, Rugby?\\r\\n QUICKLY. What, John Rugby? John!\\r\\n RUGBY. Here, sir.\\r\\n CAIUS. You are John Rugby, and you are Jack Rugby.\\r\\n Come, take-a your rapier, and come after my heel to the\\r\\n court.\\r\\n RUGBY. \\'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch.\\r\\n CAIUS. By my trot, I tarry too long. Od\\'s me! Qu\\'ai j\\'oublie?\\r\\n Dere is some simples in my closet dat I vill not for the\\r\\n varld I shall leave behind.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Ay me, he\\'ll find the young man there, and be\\r\\n mad!\\r\\n CAIUS. O diable, diable! vat is in my closet? Villainy! larron!\\r\\n [Pulling SIMPLE out] Rugby, my rapier!\\r\\n QUICKLY. Good master, be content.\\r\\n CAIUS. Wherefore shall I be content-a?\\r\\n QUICKLY. The young man is an honest man.\\r\\n CAIUS. What shall de honest man do in my closet? Dere is\\r\\n no honest man dat shall come in my closet.\\r\\n QUICKLY. I beseech you, be not so phlegmatic; hear the\\r\\n truth of it. He came of an errand to me from Parson Hugh.\\r\\n CAIUS. Vell?\\r\\n SIMPLE. Ay, forsooth, to desire her to-\\r\\n QUICKLY. Peace, I pray you.\\r\\n CAIUS. Peace-a your tongue. Speak-a your tale.\\r\\n SIMPLE. To desire this honest gentlewoman, your maid, to\\r\\n speak a good word to Mistress Anne Page for my master,\\r\\n in the way of marriage.\\r\\n QUICKLY. This is all, indeed, la! but I\\'ll ne\\'er put my finger\\r\\n in the fire, and need not.\\r\\n CAIUS. Sir Hugh send-a you? Rugby, baillez me some paper.\\r\\n Tarry you a little-a-while. [Writes]\\r\\n QUICKLY. [Aside to SIMPLE] I am glad he is so quiet; if he\\r\\n had been throughly moved, you should have heard him\\r\\n so loud and so melancholy. But notwithstanding, man, I\\'ll\\r\\n do you your master what good I can; and the very yea and\\r\\n the no is, the French doctor, my master-I may call him\\r\\n my master, look you, for I keep his house; and I wash,\\r\\n wring, brew, bake, scour, dress meat and drink, make the\\r\\n beds, and do all myself-\\r\\n SIMPLE. [Aside to QUICKLY] \\'Tis a great charge to come\\r\\n under one body\\'s hand.\\r\\n QUICKLY. [Aside to SIMPLE] Are you avis\\'d o\\' that? You\\r\\n shall find it a great charge; and to be up early and down\\r\\n late; but notwithstanding-to tell you in your ear, I would\\r\\n have no words of it-my master himself is in love with\\r\\n Mistress Anne Page; but notwithstanding that, I know\\r\\n Anne\\'s mind-that\\'s neither here nor there.\\r\\n CAIUS. You jack\\'nape; give-a this letter to Sir Hugh; by gar,\\r\\n it is a shallenge; I will cut his troat in de park; and I will\\r\\n teach a scurvy jack-a-nape priest to meddle or make. You\\r\\n may be gone; it is not good you tarry here. By gar, I will\\r\\n cut all his two stones; by gar, he shall not have a stone\\r\\n to throw at his dog. Exit SIMPLE\\r\\n QUICKLY. Alas, he speaks but for his friend.\\r\\n CAIUS. It is no matter-a ver dat. Do not you tell-a me dat I\\r\\n shall have Anne Page for myself? By gar, I vill kill de Jack\\r\\n priest; and I have appointed mine host of de Jarteer to\\r\\n measure our weapon. By gar, I will myself have Anne\\r\\n Page.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be well. We\\r\\n must give folks leave to prate. What the good-year!\\r\\n CAIUS. Rugby, come to the court with me. By gar, if I have\\r\\n not Anne Page, I shall turn your head out of my door.\\r\\n Follow my heels, Rugby. Exeunt CAIUS and RUGBY\\r\\n QUICKLY. You shall have-An fool\\'s-head of your own. No,\\r\\n I know Anne\\'s mind for that; never a woman in Windsor\\r\\n knows more of Anne\\'s mind than I do; nor can do more\\r\\n than I do with her, I thank heaven.\\r\\n FENTON. [Within] Who\\'s within there? ho!\\r\\n QUICKLY. Who\\'s there, I trow? Come near the house, I pray\\r\\n you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FENTON\\r\\n\\r\\n FENTON. How now, good woman, how dost thou?\\r\\n QUICKLY. The better that it pleases your good worship to\\r\\n ask.\\r\\n FENTON. What news? How does pretty Mistress Anne?\\r\\n QUICKLY. In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and honest, and\\r\\n gentle; and one that is your friend, I can tell you that by\\r\\n the way; I praise heaven for it.\\r\\n FENTON. Shall I do any good, think\\'st thou? Shall I not lose\\r\\n my suit?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Troth, sir, all is in His hands above; but\\r\\n notwithstanding, Master Fenton, I\\'ll be sworn on a book\\r\\n she loves you. Have not your worship a wart above your eye?\\r\\n FENTON. Yes, marry, have I; what of that?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Well, thereby hangs a tale; good faith, it is such\\r\\n another Nan; but, I detest, an honest maid as ever broke\\r\\n bread. We had an hour\\'s talk of that wart; I shall never\\r\\n laugh but in that maid\\'s company! But, indeed, she is\\r\\n given too much to allicholy and musing; but for you-well,\\r\\n go to.\\r\\n FENTON. Well, I shall see her to-day. Hold, there\\'s money\\r\\n for thee; let me have thy voice in my behalf. If thou seest\\r\\n her before me, commend me.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Will I? I\\' faith, that we will; and I will tell your\\r\\n worship more of the wart the next time we have confidence;\\r\\n and of other wooers.\\r\\n FENTON. Well, farewell; I am in great haste now.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Farewell to your worship. [Exit FENTON] Truly,\\r\\n an honest gentleman; but Anne loves him not; for I know\\r\\n Anne\\'s mind as well as another does. Out upon \\'t, what\\r\\n have I forgot? Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nBefore PAGE\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MISTRESS PAGE, with a letter\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. What! have I scap\\'d love-letters in the holiday-time\\r\\n of my beauty, and am I now a subject for them? Let\\r\\n me see. [Reads]\\r\\n \\'Ask me no reason why I love you; for though Love use\\r\\n Reason for his precisian, he admits him not for his counsellor.\\r\\n You are not young, no more am I; go to, then, there\\'s\\r\\n sympathy. You are merry, so am I; ha! ha! then there\\'s\\r\\n more sympathy. You love sack, and so do I; would you\\r\\n desire better sympathy? Let it suffice thee, Mistress Page\\r\\n at the least, if the love of soldier can suffice-that I love\\r\\n thee. I will not say, Pity me: \\'tis not a soldier-like phrase;\\r\\n but I say, Love me. By me,\\r\\n Thine own true knight,\\r\\n By day or night,\\r\\n Or any kind of light,\\r\\n With all his might,\\r\\n For thee to fight,\\r\\n JOHN FALSTAFF.\\'\\r\\n What a Herod of Jewry is this! O wicked, wicked world!\\r\\n One that is well-nigh worn to pieces with age to show\\r\\n himself a young gallant! What an unweighed behaviour\\r\\n hath this Flemish drunkard pick\\'d-with the devil\\'s name!\\r\\n -out of my conversation, that he dares in this manner\\r\\n assay me? Why, he hath not been thrice in my company!\\r\\n What should I say to him? I was then frugal of my mirth.\\r\\n Heaven forgive me! Why, I\\'ll exhibit a bill in the parliament\\r\\n for the putting down of men. How shall I be\\r\\n reveng\\'d on him? for reveng\\'d I will be, as sure as his guts\\r\\n are made of puddings.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS FORD\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Mistress Page! trust me, I was going to your\\r\\n house.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. And, trust me, I was coming to you. You look\\r\\n very ill.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Nay, I\\'ll ne\\'er believe that; I have to show to\\r\\n the contrary.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Faith, but you do, in my mind.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Well, I do, then; yet, I say, I could show you to\\r\\n the contrary. O Mistress Page, give me some counsel.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. What\\'s the matter, woman?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. O woman, if it were not for one trifling respect,\\r\\n I could come to such honour!\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Hang the trifle, woman; take the honour. What\\r\\n is it? Dispense with trifles; what is it?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. If I would but go to hell for an eternal moment\\r\\n or so, I could be knighted.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. What? Thou liest. Sir Alice Ford! These knights\\r\\n will hack; and so thou shouldst not alter the article of thy\\r\\n gentry.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. We burn daylight. Here, read, read; perceive\\r\\n how I might be knighted. I shall think the worse of fat\\r\\n men as long as I have an eye to make difference of men\\'s\\r\\n liking. And yet he would not swear; prais\\'d women\\'s\\r\\n modesty, and gave such orderly and well-behaved reproof\\r\\n to all uncomeliness that I would have sworn his disposition\\r\\n would have gone to the truth of his words; but they do no\\r\\n more adhere and keep place together than the Hundredth\\r\\n Psalm to the tune of \\'Greensleeves.\\' What tempest, I trow,\\r\\n threw this whale, with so many tuns of oil in his belly,\\r\\n ashore at Windsor? How shall I be revenged on him? I\\r\\n think the best way were to entertain him with hope, till\\r\\n the wicked fire of lust have melted him in his own grease.\\r\\n Did you ever hear the like?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Letter for letter, but that the name of Page and\\r\\n Ford differs. To thy great comfort in this mystery of ill\\r\\n opinions, here\\'s the twin-brother of thy letter; but let thine\\r\\n inherit first, for, I protest, mine never shall. I warrant he\\r\\n hath a thousand of these letters, writ with blank space for\\r\\n different names-sure, more!-and these are of the second\\r\\n edition. He will print them, out of doubt; for he cares not\\r\\n what he puts into the press when he would put us two. I\\r\\n had rather be a giantess and lie under Mount Pelion. Well,\\r\\n I will find you twenty lascivious turtles ere one chaste\\r\\n man.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why, this is the very same; the very hand, the\\r\\n very words. What doth he think of us?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Nay, I know not; it makes me almost ready to\\r\\n wrangle with mine own honesty. I\\'ll entertain myself like\\r\\n one that I am not acquainted withal; for, sure, unless he\\r\\n know some strain in me that I know not myself, he would\\r\\n never have boarded me in this fury.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. \\'Boarding\\' call you it? I\\'ll be sure to keep him\\r\\n above deck.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. So will I; if he come under my hatches, I\\'ll never\\r\\n to sea again. Let\\'s be reveng\\'d on him; let\\'s appoint him a\\r\\n meeting, give him a show of comfort in his suit, and lead\\r\\n him on with a fine-baited delay, till he hath pawn\\'d his\\r\\n horses to mine host of the Garter.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Nay, I will consent to act any villainy against\\r\\n him that may not sully the chariness of our honesty. O\\r\\n that my husband saw this letter! It would give eternal food\\r\\n to his jealousy.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Why, look where he comes; and my good man\\r\\n too; he\\'s as far from jealousy as I am from giving him\\r\\n cause; and that, I hope, is an unmeasurable distance.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. You are the happier woman.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Let\\'s consult together against this greasy knight.\\r\\n Come hither. [They retire]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FORD with PISTOL, and PAGE with Nym\\r\\n\\r\\n FORD. Well, I hope it be not so.\\r\\n PISTOL. Hope is a curtal dog in some affairs.\\r\\n Sir John affects thy wife.\\r\\n FORD. Why, sir, my wife is not young.\\r\\n PISTOL. He woos both high and low, both rich and poor,\\r\\n Both young and old, one with another, Ford;\\r\\n He loves the gallimaufry. Ford, perpend.\\r\\n FORD. Love my wife!\\r\\n PISTOL. With liver burning hot. Prevent, or go thou,\\r\\n Like Sir Actaeon he, with Ringwood at thy heels.\\r\\n O, odious is the name!\\r\\n FORD. What name, sir?\\r\\n PISTOL. The horn, I say. Farewell.\\r\\n Take heed, have open eye, for thieves do foot by night;\\r\\n Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo birds do sing.\\r\\n Away, Sir Corporal Nym.\\r\\n Believe it, Page; he speaks sense. Exit PISTOL\\r\\n FORD. [Aside] I will be patient; I will find out this.\\r\\n NYM. [To PAGE] And this is true; I like not the humour of\\r\\n lying. He hath wronged me in some humours; I should\\r\\n have borne the humour\\'d letter to her; but I have a sword,\\r\\n and it shall bite upon my necessity. He loves your wife;\\r\\n there\\'s the short and the long.\\r\\n My name is Corporal Nym; I speak, and I avouch;\\r\\n \\'Tis true. My name is Nym, and Falstaff loves your wife.\\r\\n Adieu! I love not the humour of bread and cheese; and\\r\\n there\\'s the humour of it. Adieu. Exit Nym\\r\\n PAGE. \\'The humour of it,\\' quoth \\'a! Here\\'s a fellow frights\\r\\n English out of his wits.\\r\\n FORD. I will seek out Falstaff.\\r\\n PAGE. I never heard such a drawling, affecting rogue.\\r\\n FORD. If I do find it-well.\\r\\n PAGE. I will not believe such a Cataian though the priest o\\'\\r\\n th\\' town commended him for a true man.\\r\\n FORD. \\'Twas a good sensible fellow. Well.\\r\\n\\r\\n MISTRESS PAGE and MISTRESS FORD come forward\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. How now, Meg!\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Whither go you, George? Hark you.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. How now, sweet Frank, why art thou melancholy?\\r\\n FORD. I melancholy! I am not melancholy. Get you home;\\r\\n go.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy head now.\\r\\n Will you go, Mistress Page?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Have with you. You\\'ll come to dinner, George?\\r\\n [Aside to MRS. FORD] Look who comes yonder; she shall\\r\\n be our messenger to this paltry knight.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. [Aside to MRS. PAGE] Trust me, I thought on\\r\\n her; she\\'ll fit it.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. You are come to see my daughter Anne?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Ay, forsooth; and, I pray, how does good Mistress Anne?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Go in with us and see; we have an hour\\'s talk\\r\\n with you. Exeunt MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and\\r\\n MISTRESS QUICKLY\\r\\n PAGE. How now, Master Ford!\\r\\n FORD. You heard what this knave told me, did you not?\\r\\n PAGE. Yes; and you heard what the other told me?\\r\\n FORD. Do you think there is truth in them?\\r\\n PAGE. Hang \\'em, slaves! I do not think the knight would offer it;\\r\\n but these that accuse him in his intent towards our\\r\\n wives are a yoke of his discarded men; very rogues, now\\r\\n they be out of service.\\r\\n FORD. Were they his men?\\r\\n PAGE. Marry, were they.\\r\\n FORD. I like it never the better for that. Does he lie at the\\r\\n Garter?\\r\\n PAGE. Ay, marry, does he. If he should intend this voyage\\r\\n toward my wife, I would turn her loose to him; and what\\r\\n he gets more of her than sharp words, let it lie on my head.\\r\\n FORD. I do not misdoubt my wife; but I would be loath to\\r\\n turn them together. A man may be too confident. I would\\r\\n have nothing lie on my head. I cannot be thus satisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HOST\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. Look where my ranting host of the Garter comes.\\r\\n There is either liquor in his pate or money in his purse\\r\\n when he looks so merrily. How now, mine host!\\r\\n HOST. How now, bully rook! Thou\\'rt a gentleman. [To\\r\\n SHALLOW following] Cavaleiro Justice, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SHALLOW\\r\\n\\r\\n SHALLOW. I follow, mine host, I follow. Good even and\\r\\n twenty, good Master Page! Master Page, will you go with\\r\\n us? We have sport in hand.\\r\\n HOST. Tell him, Cavaleiro Justice; tell him, bully rook.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Sir, there is a fray to be fought between Sir Hugh\\r\\n the Welsh priest and Caius the French doctor.\\r\\n FORD. Good mine host o\\' th\\' Garter, a word with you.\\r\\n HOST. What say\\'st thou, my bully rook? [They go aside]\\r\\n SHALLOW. [To PAGE] Will you go with us to behold it? My\\r\\n merry host hath had the measuring of their weapons; and,\\r\\n I think, hath appointed them contrary places; for, believe\\r\\n me, I hear the parson is no jester. Hark, I will tell you\\r\\n what our sport shall be. [They converse apart]\\r\\n HOST. Hast thou no suit against my knight, my guest-cavaleiro.\\r\\n FORD. None, I protest; but I\\'ll give you a pottle of burnt\\r\\n sack to give me recourse to him, and tell him my name is\\r\\n Brook-only for a jest.\\r\\n HOST. My hand, bully; thou shalt have egress and regress-\\r\\n said I well?-and thy name shall be Brook. It is a merry\\r\\n knight. Will you go, Mynheers?\\r\\n SHALLOW. Have with you, mine host.\\r\\n PAGE. I have heard the Frenchman hath good skill in his\\r\\n rapier.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Tut, sir, I could have told you more. In these\\r\\n times you stand on distance, your passes, stoccadoes, and\\r\\n I know not what. \\'Tis the heart, Master Page; \\'tis here,\\r\\n \\'tis here. I have seen the time with my long sword I would\\r\\n have made you four tall fellows skip like rats.\\r\\n HOST. Here, boys, here, here! Shall we wag?\\r\\n PAGE. Have with you. I had rather hear them scold than\\r\\n fight. Exeunt all but FORD\\r\\n FORD. Though Page be a secure fool, and stands so firmly on\\r\\n his wife\\'s frailty, yet I cannot put off my opinion so\\r\\n easily. She was in his company at Page\\'s house, and what\\r\\n they made there I know not. Well, I will look further into\\r\\n \\'t, and I have a disguise to sound Falstaff. If I find her\\r\\n honest, I lose not my labour; if she be otherwise, \\'tis labour\\r\\n well bestowed. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nA room in the Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FALSTAFF and PISTOL\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I will not lend thee a penny.\\r\\n PISTOL. I will retort the sum in equipage.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Not a penny.\\r\\n PISTOL. Why, then the world\\'s mine oyster. Which I with\\r\\n sword will open.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you should\\r\\n lay my countenance to pawn. I have grated upon my good\\r\\n friends for three reprieves for you and your coach-fellow,\\r\\n Nym; or else you had look\\'d through the grate, like a\\r\\n geminy of baboons. I am damn\\'d in hell for swearing to\\r\\n gentlemen my friends you were good soldiers and tall fellows;\\r\\n and when Mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan,\\r\\n I took \\'t upon mine honour thou hadst it not.\\r\\n PISTOL. Didst not thou share? Hadst thou not fifteen pence?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Reason, you rogue, reason. Think\\'st thou I\\'ll\\r\\n endanger my soul gratis? At a word, hang no more about me,\\r\\n I am no gibbet for you. Go-a short knife and a throng!-\\r\\n to your manor of Pickt-hatch; go. You\\'ll not bear a letter\\r\\n for me, you rogue! You stand upon your honour! Why,\\r\\n thou unconfinable baseness, it is as much as I can do to\\r\\n keep the terms of my honour precise. I, I, I myself\\r\\n sometimes, leaving the fear of God on the left hand, and hiding\\r\\n mine honour in my necessity, am fain to shuffle, to hedge,\\r\\n and to lurch; and yet you, rogue, will ensconce your rags,\\r\\n your cat-a-mountain looks, your red-lattice phrases, and\\r\\n your bold-beating oaths, under the shelter of your honour!\\r\\n You will not do it, you!\\r\\n PISTOL. I do relent; what would thou more of man?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ROBIN\\r\\n\\r\\n ROBIN. Sir, here\\'s a woman would speak with you.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Let her approach.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY\\r\\n\\r\\n QUICKLY. Give your worship good morrow.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Good morrow, good wife.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Not so, an\\'t please your worship.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Good maid, then.\\r\\n QUICKLY. I\\'ll be sworn;\\r\\n As my mother was, the first hour I was born.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I do believe the swearer. What with me?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word or two?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Two thousand, fair woman; and I\\'ll vouchsafe\\r\\n thee the hearing.\\r\\n QUICKLY. There is one Mistress Ford, sir-I pray, come a little\\r\\n nearer this ways. I myself dwell with Master Doctor\\r\\n Caius.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Well, on: Mistress Ford, you say-\\r\\n QUICKLY. Your worship says very true. I pray your worship\\r\\n come a little nearer this ways.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I warrant thee nobody hears-mine own people,\\r\\n mine own people.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Are they so? God bless them, and make them his\\r\\n servants!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Well; Mistress Ford, what of her?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Why, sir, she\\'s a good creature. Lord, Lord, your\\r\\n worship\\'s a wanton! Well, heaven forgive you, and all of\\r\\n us, I pray.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford; come, Mistress Ford-\\r\\n QUICKLY. Marry, this is the short and the long of it: you\\r\\n have brought her into such a canaries as \\'tis wonderful.\\r\\n The best courtier of them all, when the court lay at Windsor,\\r\\n could never have brought her to such a canary. Yet\\r\\n there has been knights, and lords, and gentlemen, with\\r\\n their coaches; I warrant you, coach after coach, letter after\\r\\n letter, gift after gift; smelling so sweetly, all musk, and so\\r\\n rushling, I warrant you, in silk and gold; and in such alligant\\r\\n terms; and in such wine and sugar of the best and the\\r\\n fairest, that would have won any woman\\'s heart; and I\\r\\n warrant you, they could never get an eye-wink of her.\\r\\n I had myself twenty angels given me this morning; but I\\r\\n defy all angels, in any such sort, as they say, but in the\\r\\n way of honesty; and, I warrant you, they could never get\\r\\n her so much as sip on a cup with the proudest of them all;\\r\\n and yet there has been earls, nay, which is more,\\r\\n pensioners; but, I warrant you, all is one with her.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. But what says she to me? Be brief, my good she-\\r\\n Mercury.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Marry, she hath receiv\\'d your letter; for the\\r\\n which she thanks you a thousand times; and she gives you\\r\\n to notify that her husband will be absence from his house\\r\\n between ten and eleven.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Ten and eleven?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Ay, forsooth; and then you may come and see\\r\\n the picture, she says, that you wot of. Master Ford, her\\r\\n husband, will be from home. Alas, the sweet woman leads\\r\\n an ill life with him! He\\'s a very jealousy man; she leads a\\r\\n very frampold life with him, good heart.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Ten and eleven. Woman, commend me to her; I\\r\\n will not fail her.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Why, you say well. But I have another messenger\\r\\n to your worship. Mistress Page hath her hearty commendations\\r\\n to you too; and let me tell you in your ear, she\\'s as\\r\\n fartuous a civil modest wife, and one, I tell you, that will\\r\\n not miss you morning nor evening prayer, as any is in\\r\\n Windsor, whoe\\'er be the other; and she bade me tell your\\r\\n worship that her husband is seldom from home, but she\\r\\n hopes there will come a time. I never knew a woman so\\r\\n dote upon a man: surely I think you have charms, la! Yes,\\r\\n in truth.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Not I, I assure thee; setting the attraction of my\\r\\n good parts aside, I have no other charms.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Blessing on your heart for \\'t!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. But, I pray thee, tell me this: has Ford\\'s wife and\\r\\n Page\\'s wife acquainted each other how they love me?\\r\\n QUICKLY. That were a jest indeed! They have not so little\\r\\n grace, I hope-that were a trick indeed! But Mistress Page\\r\\n would desire you to send her your little page of all loves.\\r\\n Her husband has a marvellous infection to the little page;\\r\\n and truly Master Page is an honest man. Never a wife in\\r\\n Windsor leads a better life than she does; do what she will,\\r\\n say what she will, take all, pay all, go to bed when she\\r\\n list, rise when she list, all is as she will; and truly she\\r\\n deserves it; for if there be a kind woman in Windsor, she\\r\\n is one. You must send her your page; no remedy.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Why, I will.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Nay, but do so then; and, look you, he may come\\r\\n and go between you both; and in any case have a\\r\\n nay-word, that you may know one another\\'s mind, and the boy\\r\\n never need to understand any thing; for \\'tis not good that\\r\\n children should know any wickedness. Old folks, you\\r\\n know, have discretion, as they say, and know the world.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Fare thee well; commend me to them both.\\r\\n There\\'s my purse; I am yet thy debtor. Boy, go along with\\r\\n this woman. [Exeunt QUICKLY and ROBIN] This news\\r\\n distracts me.\\r\\n PISTOL. [Aside] This punk is one of Cupid\\'s carriers;\\r\\n Clap on more sails; pursue; up with your fights;\\r\\n Give fire; she is my prize, or ocean whelm them all! Exit\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Say\\'st thou so, old Jack; go thy ways; I\\'ll make\\r\\n more of thy old body than I have done. Will they yet look\\r\\n after thee? Wilt thou, after the expense of so much money,\\r\\n be now a gainer? Good body, I thank thee. Let them say\\r\\n \\'tis grossly done; so it be fairly done, no matter.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BARDOLPH\\r\\n\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Sir John, there\\'s one Master Brook below would\\r\\n fain speak with you, and be acquainted with you; and hath\\r\\n sent your worship a moming\\'s draught of sack.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Brook is his name?\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Ay, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Call him in. [Exit BARDOLPH] Such Brooks are\\r\\n welcome to me, that o\\'erflows such liquor. Ah, ha! Mistress\\r\\n Ford and Mistress Page, have I encompass\\'d you? Go to;\\r\\n via!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter BARDOLPH, with FORD disguised\\r\\n\\r\\n FORD. Bless you, sir! FALSTAFF. And you, sir! Would you speak with\\r\\n me? FORD. I make bold to press with so little preparation upon you.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. You\\'re welcome. What\\'s your will? Give us leave, drawer.\\r\\n Exit BARDOLPH FORD. Sir, I am a\\r\\n gentleman that have spent much; my name is Brook. FALSTAFF. Good\\r\\n Master Brook, I desire more acquaintance of you. FORD. Good Sir John,\\r\\n I sue for yours-not to charge you; for I must let you understand I\\r\\n think myself in better plight for a lender than you are; the which\\r\\n hath something embold\\'ned me to this unseason\\'d intrusion; for they\\r\\n say, if money go before, all ways do lie open. FALSTAFF. Money is a\\r\\n good soldier, sir, and will on. FORD. Troth, and I have a bag of\\r\\n money here troubles me; if you will help to bear it, Sir John, take\\r\\n all, or half, for easing me of the carriage. FALSTAFF. Sir, I know\\r\\n not how I may deserve to be your porter. FORD. I will tell you, sir,\\r\\n if you will give me the hearing. FALSTAFF. Speak, good Master Brook;\\r\\n I shall be glad to be your servant. FORD. Sir, I hear you are a\\r\\n scholar-I will be brief with you -and you have been a man long known\\r\\n to me, though I had never so good means as desire to make myself\\r\\n acquainted with you. I shall discover a thing to you, wherein I must\\r\\n very much lay open mine own imperfection; but, good Sir John, as you\\r\\n have one eye upon my follies, as you hear them unfolded, turn another\\r\\n into the register of your own, that I may pass with a reproof the\\r\\n easier, sith you yourself know how easy is it to be such an offender.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Very well, sir; proceed. FORD. There is a gentlewoman in\\r\\n this town, her husband\\'s name is Ford. FALSTAFF. Well, sir. FORD. I\\r\\n have long lov\\'d her, and, I protest to you, bestowed much on her;\\r\\n followed her with a doting observance; engross\\'d opportunities to\\r\\n meet her; fee\\'d every slight occasion that could but niggardly give\\r\\n me sight of her; not only bought many presents to give her, but have\\r\\n given largely to many to know what she would have given; briefly, I\\r\\n have pursu\\'d her as love hath pursued me; which hath been on the wing\\r\\n of all occasions. But whatsoever I have merited, either in my mind or\\r\\n in my means, meed, I am sure, I have received none, unless experience\\r\\n be a jewel; that I have purchased at an infinite rate, and that hath\\r\\n taught me to say this: \\'Love like a shadow flies when substance love\\r\\n pursues; Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.\\'\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Have you receiv\\'d no promise of satisfaction at her hands?\\r\\n FORD. Never. FALSTAFF. Have you importun\\'d her to such a purpose?\\r\\n FORD. Never. FALSTAFF. Of what quality was your love, then? FORD.\\r\\n Like a fair house built on another man\\'s ground; so that I have lost\\r\\n my edifice by mistaking the place where erected it. FALSTAFF. To what\\r\\n purpose have you unfolded this to me? FORD. When I have told you\\r\\n that, I have told you all. Some say that though she appear honest to\\r\\n me, yet in other places she enlargeth her mirth so far that there is\\r\\n shrewd construction made of her. Now, Sir John, here is the heart of\\r\\n my purpose: you are a gentleman of excellent breeding, admirable\\r\\n discourse, of great admittance, authentic in your place and person,\\r\\n generally allow\\'d for your many war-like, courtlike, and learned\\r\\n preparations. FALSTAFF. O, sir! FORD. Believe it, for you know it.\\r\\n There is money; spend it, spend it; spend more; spend all I have;\\r\\n only give me so much of your time in exchange of it as to lay an\\r\\n amiable siege to the honesty of this Ford\\'s wife; use your art of\\r\\n wooing, win her to consent to you; if any man may, you may as soon as\\r\\n any. FALSTAFF. Would it apply well to the vehemency of your\\r\\n affection, that I should win what you would enjoy? Methinks you\\r\\n prescribe to yourself very preposterously. FORD. O, understand my\\r\\n drift. She dwells so securely on the excellency of her honour that\\r\\n the folly of my soul dares not present itself; she is too bright to\\r\\n be look\\'d against. Now, could I come to her with any detection in my\\r\\n hand, my desires had instance and argument to commend themselves; I\\r\\n could drive her then from the ward of her purity, her reputation, her\\r\\n marriage vow, and a thousand other her defences, which now are too\\r\\n too strongly embattl\\'d against me. What say you to\\'t, Sir John?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Master Brook, I will first make bold with your money; next,\\r\\n give me your hand; and last, as I am a gentleman, you shall, if you\\r\\n will, enjoy Ford\\'s wife. FORD. O good sir! FALSTAFF. I say you shall.\\r\\n FORD. Want no money, Sir John; you shall want none. FALSTAFF. Want no\\r\\n Mistress Ford, Master Brook; you shall want none. I shall be with\\r\\n her, I may tell you, by her own appointment; even as you came in to\\r\\n me her assistant, or go-between, parted from me; I say I shall be\\r\\n with her between ten and eleven; for at that time the jealous\\r\\n rascally knave, her husband, will be forth. Come you to me at night;\\r\\n you shall know how I speed. FORD. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do\\r\\n you know Ford, Sir? FALSTAFF. Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave! I know\\r\\n him not; yet I wrong him to call him poor; they say the jealous\\r\\n wittolly knave hath masses of money; for the which his wife seems to\\r\\n me well-favour\\'d. I will use her as the key of the cuckoldly rogue\\'s\\r\\n coffer; and there\\'s my harvest-home. FORD. I would you knew Ford,\\r\\n sir, that you might avoid him if you saw him. FALSTAFF. Hang him,\\r\\n mechanical salt-butter rogue! I will stare him out of his wits; I\\r\\n will awe him with my cudgel; it shall hang like a meteor o\\'er the\\r\\n cuckold\\'s horns. Master Brook, thou shalt know I will predominate\\r\\n over the peasant, and thou shalt lie with his wife. Come to me soon\\r\\n at night. Ford\\'s a knave, and I will aggravate his style; thou,\\r\\n Master Brook, shalt know him for knave and cuckold. Come to me soon\\r\\n at night. Exit FORD. What a damn\\'d\\r\\n Epicurean rascal is this! My heart is ready to crack with impatience.\\r\\n Who says this is improvident jealousy? My wife hath sent to him; the\\r\\n hour is fix\\'d; the match is made. Would any man have thought this?\\r\\n See the hell of having a false woman! My bed shall be abus\\'d, my\\r\\n coffers ransack\\'d, my reputation gnawn at; and I shall not only\\r\\n receive this villainous wrong, but stand under the adoption of\\r\\n abominable terms, and by him that does me this wrong. Terms! names!\\r\\n Amaimon sounds well; Lucifer, well; Barbason, well; yet they are\\r\\n devils\\' additions, the names of fiends. But cuckold! Wittol! Cuckold!\\r\\n the devil himself hath not such a name. Page is an ass, a secure ass;\\r\\n he will trust his wife; he will not be jealous; I will rather trust a\\r\\n Fleming with my butter, Parson Hugh the Welshman with my cheese, an\\r\\n Irishman with my aqua-vitae bottle, or a thief to walk my ambling\\r\\n gelding, than my wife with herself. Then she plots, then she\\r\\n ruminates, then she devises; and what they think in their hearts they\\r\\n may effect, they will break their hearts but they will effect. God be\\r\\n prais\\'d for my jealousy! Eleven o\\'clock the hour. I will prevent\\r\\n this, detect my wife, be reveng\\'d on Falstaff, and laugh at Page. I\\r\\n will about it; better three hours too soon than a minute too late.\\r\\n Fie, fie, fie! cuckold! cuckold! cuckold! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nA field near Windsor\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter CAIUS and RUGBY\\r\\n\\r\\n CAIUS. Jack Rugby!\\r\\n RUGBY. Sir?\\r\\n CAIUS. Vat is de clock, Jack?\\r\\n RUGBY. \\'Tis past the hour, sir, that Sir Hugh promis\\'d to\\r\\n meet.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, he has save his soul dat he is no come; he has\\r\\n pray his Pible well dat he is no come; by gar, Jack Rugby,\\r\\n he is dead already, if he be come.\\r\\n RUGBY. He is wise, sir; he knew your worship would kill\\r\\n him if he came.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, de herring is no dead so as I vill kill him. Take\\r\\n your rapier, Jack; I vill tell you how I vill kill him.\\r\\n RUGBY. Alas, sir, I cannot fence!\\r\\n CAIUS. Villainy, take your rapier.\\r\\n RUGBY. Forbear; here\\'s company.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HOST, SHALLOW, SLENDER, and PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n HOST. Bless thee, bully doctor!\\r\\n SHALLOW. Save you, Master Doctor Caius!\\r\\n PAGE. Now, good Master Doctor!\\r\\n SLENDER. Give you good morrow, sir.\\r\\n CAIUS. Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, come for?\\r\\n HOST. To see thee fight, to see thee foin, to see thee traverse;\\r\\n to see thee here, to see thee there; to see thee pass thy\\r\\n punto, thy stock, thy reverse, thy distance, thy montant.\\r\\n Is he dead, my Ethiopian? Is he dead, my Francisco? Ha,\\r\\n bully! What says my Aesculapius? my Galen? my heart\\r\\n of elder? Ha! is he dead, bully stale? Is he dead?\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, he is de coward Jack priest of de world; he is\\r\\n not show his face.\\r\\n HOST. Thou art a Castalion-King-Urinal. Hector of Greece,\\r\\n my boy!\\r\\n CAIUS. I pray you, bear witness that me have stay six or\\r\\n seven, two tree hours for him, and he is no come.\\r\\n SHALLOW. He is the wiser man, Master Doctor: he is a curer\\r\\n of souls, and you a curer of bodies; if you should fight,\\r\\n you go against the hair of your professions. Is it not true,\\r\\n Master Page?\\r\\n PAGE. Master Shallow, you have yourself been a great fighter,\\r\\n though now a man of peace.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Bodykins, Master Page, though I now be old, and\\r\\n of the peace, if I see a sword out, my finger itches to make\\r\\n one. Though we are justices, and doctors, and churchmen,\\r\\n Master Page, we have some salt of our youth in us; we are\\r\\n the sons of women, Master Page.\\r\\n PAGE. \\'Tis true, Master Shallow.\\r\\n SHALLOW. It will be found so, Master Page. Master Doctor\\r\\n CAIUS, I come to fetch you home. I am sworn of the peace;\\r\\n you have show\\'d yourself a wise physician, and Sir Hugh\\r\\n hath shown himself a wise and patient churchman. You\\r\\n must go with me, Master Doctor.\\r\\n HOST. Pardon, Guest Justice. A word, Mounseur Mockwater.\\r\\n CAIUS. Mock-vater! Vat is dat?\\r\\n HOST. Mockwater, in our English tongue, is valour, bully.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, then I have as much mockvater as de Englishman.\\r\\n Scurvy jack-dog priest! By gar, me vill cut his ears.\\r\\n HOST. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully.\\r\\n CAIUS. Clapper-de-claw! Vat is dat?\\r\\n HOST. That is, he will make thee amends.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, me do look he shall clapper-de-claw me; for,\\r\\n by gar, me vill have it.\\r\\n HOST. And I will provoke him to\\'t, or let him wag.\\r\\n CAIUS. Me tank you for dat.\\r\\n HOST. And, moreover, bully-but first: [Aside to the others]\\r\\n Master Guest, and Master Page, and eke Cavaleiro Slender,\\r\\n go you through the town to Frogmore.\\r\\n PAGE. [Aside] Sir Hugh is there, is he?\\r\\n HOST. [Aside] He is there. See what humour he is in; and\\r\\n I will bring the doctor about by the fields. Will it do well?\\r\\n SHALLOW. [Aside] We will do it.\\r\\n PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER. Adieu, good Master Doctor.\\r\\n Exeunt PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, me vill kill de priest; for he speak for a jack-\\r\\n an-ape to Anne Page.\\r\\n HOST. Let him die. Sheathe thy impatience; throw cold water\\r\\n on thy choler; go about the fields with me through Frogmore;\\r\\n I will bring thee where Mistress Anne Page is, at a a\\r\\n farm-house, a-feasting; and thou shalt woo her. Cried\\r\\n game! Said I well?\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, me dank you vor dat; by gar, I love you; and\\r\\n I shall procure-a you de good guest, de earl, de knight, de\\r\\n lords, de gentlemen, my patients.\\r\\n HOST. For the which I will be thy adversary toward Anne\\r\\n Page. Said I well?\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, \\'tis good; vell said.\\r\\n HOST. Let us wag, then.\\r\\n CAIUS. Come at my heels, Jack Rugby. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nA field near Frogmore\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SIR HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE\\r\\n\\r\\n EVANS. I pray you now, good Master Slender\\'s serving-man,\\r\\n and friend Simple by your name, which way have you\\r\\n look\\'d for Master Caius, that calls himself Doctor of\\r\\n Physic?\\r\\n SIMPLE. Marry, sir, the pittie-ward, the park-ward; every\\r\\n way; old Windsor way, and every way but the town way.\\r\\n EVANS. I most fehemently desire you you will also look that\\r\\n way.\\r\\n SIMPLE. I will, Sir. Exit\\r\\n EVANS. Pless my soul, how full of chollors I am, and trempling\\r\\n of mind! I shall be glad if he have deceived me. How\\r\\n melancholies I am! I will knog his urinals about his knave\\'s\\r\\n costard when I have goot opportunities for the ork. Pless\\r\\n my soul! [Sings]\\r\\n To shallow rivers, to whose falls\\r\\n Melodious birds sings madrigals;\\r\\n There will we make our peds of roses,\\r\\n And a thousand fragrant posies.\\r\\n To shallow-\\r\\n Mercy on me! I have a great dispositions to cry. [Sings]\\r\\n Melodious birds sing madrigals-\\r\\n Whenas I sat in Pabylon-\\r\\n And a thousand vagram posies.\\r\\n To shallow, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter SIMPLE\\r\\n\\r\\n SIMPLE. Yonder he is, coming this way, Sir Hugh.\\r\\n EVANS. He\\'s welcome. [Sings]\\r\\n To shallow rivers, to whose falls-\\r\\n Heaven prosper the right! What weapons is he?\\r\\n SIMPLE. No weapons, sir. There comes my master, Master\\r\\n Shallow, and another gentleman, from Frogmore, over the\\r\\n stile, this way.\\r\\n EVANS. Pray you give me my gown; or else keep it in your\\r\\n arms. [Takes out a book]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER\\r\\n\\r\\n SHALLOW. How now, Master Parson! Good morrow, good\\r\\n Sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dice, and a good student\\r\\n from his book, and it is wonderful.\\r\\n SLENDER. [Aside] Ah, sweet Anne Page!\\r\\n PAGE. Save you, good Sir Hugh!\\r\\n EVANS. Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you!\\r\\n SHALLOW. What, the sword and the word! Do you study\\r\\n them both, Master Parson?\\r\\n PAGE. And youthful still, in your doublet and hose, this raw\\r\\n rheumatic day!\\r\\n EVANS. There is reasons and causes for it.\\r\\n PAGE. We are come to you to do a good office, Master\\r\\n Parson.\\r\\n EVANS. Fery well; what is it?\\r\\n PAGE. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who, belike having\\r\\n received wrong by some person, is at most odds with\\r\\n his own gravity and patience that ever you saw.\\r\\n SHALLOW. I have lived fourscore years and upward; I never\\r\\n heard a man of his place, gravity, and learning, so wide of\\r\\n his own respect.\\r\\n EVANS. What is he?\\r\\n PAGE. I think you know him: Master Doctor Caius, the\\r\\n renowned French physician.\\r\\n EVANS. Got\\'s will and his passion of my heart! I had as lief\\r\\n you would tell me of a mess of porridge.\\r\\n PAGE. Why?\\r\\n EVANS. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and\\r\\n Galen, and he is a knave besides-a cowardly knave as you\\r\\n would desires to be acquainted withal.\\r\\n PAGE. I warrant you, he\\'s the man should fight with him.\\r\\n SLENDER. [Aside] O sweet Anne Page!\\r\\n SHALLOW. It appears so, by his weapons. Keep them asunder;\\r\\n here comes Doctor Caius.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HOST, CAIUS, and RUGBY\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. Nay, good Master Parson, keep in your weapon.\\r\\n SHALLOW. So do you, good Master Doctor.\\r\\n HOST. Disarm them, and let them question; let them keep\\r\\n their limbs whole and hack our English.\\r\\n CAIUS. I pray you, let-a me speak a word with your ear.\\r\\n Verefore will you not meet-a me?\\r\\n EVANS. [Aside to CAIUS] Pray you use your patience; in\\r\\n good time.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, John ape.\\r\\n EVANS. [Aside to CAIUS] Pray you, let us not be\\r\\n laughing-stocks to other men\\'s humours; I desire you in\\r\\n friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends.\\r\\n [Aloud] I will knog your urinals about your knave\\'s cogscomb\\r\\n for missing your meetings and appointments.\\r\\n CAIUS. Diable! Jack Rugby-mine Host de Jarteer-have I\\r\\n not stay for him to kill him? Have I not, at de place I did\\r\\n appoint?\\r\\n EVANS. As I am a Christians soul, now, look you, this is the\\r\\n place appointed. I\\'ll be judgment by mine host of the\\r\\n Garter.\\r\\n HOST. Peace, I say, Gallia and Gaul, French and Welsh,\\r\\n soul-curer and body-curer.\\r\\n CAIUS. Ay, dat is very good! excellent!\\r\\n HOST. Peace, I say. Hear mine host of the Garter. Am I\\r\\n politic? am I subtle? am I a Machiavel? Shall I lose my\\r\\n doctor? No; he gives me the potions and the motions. Shall I\\r\\n lose my parson, my priest, my Sir Hugh? No; he gives me\\r\\n the proverbs and the noverbs. Give me thy hand, terrestrial;\\r\\n so. Give me thy hand, celestial; so. Boys of art, I have\\r\\n deceiv\\'d you both; I have directed you to wrong places;\\r\\n your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole, and let burnt\\r\\n sack be the issue. Come, lay their swords to pawn. Follow\\r\\n me, lads of peace; follow, follow, follow.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Trust me, a mad host. Follow, gentlemen, follow.\\r\\n SLENDER. [Aside] O sweet Anne Page!\\r\\n Exeunt all but CAIUS and EVANS\\r\\n CAIUS. Ha, do I perceive dat? Have you make-a de sot of us,\\r\\n ha, ha?\\r\\n EVANS. This is well; he has made us his vlouting-stog. I\\r\\n desire you that we may be friends; and let us knog our prains\\r\\n together to be revenge on this same scall, scurvy, cogging\\r\\n companion, the host of the Garter.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, with all my heart. He promise to bring me\\r\\n where is Anne Page; by gar, he deceive me too.\\r\\n EVANS. Well, I will smite his noddles. Pray you follow.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe street in Windsor\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MISTRESS PAGE and ROBIN\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Nay, keep your way, little gallant; you were\\r\\n wont to be a follower, but now you are a leader. Whether\\r\\n had you rather lead mine eyes, or eye your master\\'s heels?\\r\\n ROBIN. I had rather, forsooth, go before you like a man than\\r\\n follow him like a dwarf.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. O, you are a flattering boy; now I see you\\'ll be a\\r\\n courtier.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FORD\\r\\n\\r\\n FORD. Well met, Mistress Page. Whither go you?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Truly, sir, to see your wife. Is she at home?\\r\\n FORD. Ay; and as idle as she may hang together, for want of\\r\\n company. I think, if your husbands were dead, you two\\r\\n would marry.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Be sure of that-two other husbands.\\r\\n FORD. Where had you this pretty weathercock?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. I cannot tell what the dickens his name is my\\r\\n husband had him of. What do you call your knight\\'s\\r\\n name, sirrah?\\r\\n ROBIN. Sir John Falstaff.\\r\\n FORD. Sir John Falstaff!\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. He, he; I can never hit on\\'s name. There is such\\r\\n a league between my good man and he! Is your wife at\\r\\n home indeed?\\r\\n FORD. Indeed she is.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. By your leave, sir. I am sick till I see her.\\r\\n Exeunt MRS. PAGE and ROBIN\\r\\n FORD. Has Page any brains? Hath he any eyes? Hath he any\\r\\n thinking? Sure, they sleep; he hath no use of them. Why,\\r\\n this boy will carry a letter twenty mile as easy as a cannon\\r\\n will shoot pointblank twelve score. He pieces out his wife\\'s\\r\\n inclination; he gives her folly motion and advantage; and\\r\\n now she\\'s going to my wife, and Falstaff\\'s boy with her. A\\r\\n man may hear this show\\'r sing in the wind. And Falstaff\\'s\\r\\n boy with her! Good plots! They are laid; and our revolted\\r\\n wives share damnation together. Well; I will take him,\\r\\n then torture my wife, pluck the borrowed veil of modesty\\r\\n from the so seeming Mistress Page, divulge Page himself\\r\\n for a secure and wilful Actaeon; and to these violent proceedings\\r\\n all my neighbours shall cry aim. [Clock strikes]\\r\\n The clock gives me my cue, and my assurance bids me\\r\\n search; there I shall find Falstaff. I shall be rather prais\\'d\\r\\n for this than mock\\'d; for it is as positive as the earth is firm\\r\\n that Falstaff is there. I will go.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, SLENDER, HOST, SIR HUGH EVANS,\\r\\n CAIUS, and RUGBY\\r\\n\\r\\n SHALLOW, PAGE, &C. Well met, Master Ford.\\r\\n FORD. Trust me, a good knot; I have good cheer at home,\\r\\n and I pray you all go with me.\\r\\n SHALLOW. I must excuse myself, Master Ford.\\r\\n SLENDER. And so must I, sir; we have appointed to dine with\\r\\n Mistress Anne, and I would not break with her for more\\r\\n money than I\\'ll speak of.\\r\\n SHALLOW. We have linger\\'d about a match between Anne\\r\\n Page and my cousin Slender, and this day we shall have\\r\\n our answer.\\r\\n SLENDER. I hope I have your good will, father Page.\\r\\n PAGE. You have, Master Slender; I stand wholly for you. But\\r\\n my wife, Master Doctor, is for you altogether.\\r\\n CAIUS. Ay, be-gar; and de maid is love-a me; my nursh-a\\r\\n Quickly tell me so mush.\\r\\n HOST. What say you to young Master Fenton? He capers,\\r\\n he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes verses, he speaks\\r\\n holiday, he smells April and May; he will carry \\'t, he will\\r\\n carry \\'t; \\'tis in his buttons; he will carry \\'t.\\r\\n PAGE. Not by my consent, I promise you. The gentleman is\\r\\n of no having: he kept company with the wild Prince and\\r\\n Poins; he is of too high a region, he knows too much. No,\\r\\n he shall not knit a knot in his fortunes with the finger of\\r\\n my substance; if he take her, let him take her simply; the\\r\\n wealth I have waits on my consent, and my consent goes\\r\\n not that way.\\r\\n FORD. I beseech you, heartily, some of you go home with me\\r\\n to dinner: besides your cheer, you shall have sport; I will\\r\\n show you a monster. Master Doctor, you shall go; so shall\\r\\n you, Master Page; and you, Sir Hugh.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Well, fare you well; we shall have the freer\\r\\n wooing at Master Page\\'s. Exeunt SHALLOW and SLENDER\\r\\n CAIUS. Go home, John Rugby; I come anon. Exit RUGBY\\r\\n HOST. Farewell, my hearts; I will to my honest knight\\r\\n Falstaff, and drink canary with him. Exit HOST\\r\\n FORD. [Aside] I think I shall drink in pipe-wine first with\\r\\n him. I\\'ll make him dance. Will you go, gentles?\\r\\n ALL. Have with you to see this monster. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nFORD\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MISTRESS FORD and MISTRESS PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. FORD. What, John! what, Robert!\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Quickly, quickly! Is the buck-basket-\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I warrant. What, Robin, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SERVANTS with a basket\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Come, come, come.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Here, set it down.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Give your men the charge; we must be brief.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Marry, as I told you before, John and Robert, be\\r\\n ready here hard by in the brew-house; and when I suddenly\\r\\n call you, come forth, and, without any pause or\\r\\n staggering, take this basket on your shoulders. That done,\\r\\n trudge with it in all haste, and carry it among the whitsters\\r\\n in Datchet Mead, and there empty it in the muddy ditch\\r\\n close by the Thames side.\\r\\n Mrs. PAGE. You will do it?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I ha\\' told them over and over; they lack no\\r\\n direction. Be gone, and come when you are call\\'d.\\r\\n Exeunt SERVANTS\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Here comes little Robin.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ROBIN\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. FORD. How now, my eyas-musket, what news with\\r\\n you?\\r\\n ROBIN. My Master Sir John is come in at your back-door,\\r\\n Mistress Ford, and requests your company.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. You little Jack-a-Lent, have you been true to us?\\r\\n ROBIN. Ay, I\\'ll be sworn. My master knows not of your\\r\\n being here, and hath threat\\'ned to put me into everlasting\\r\\n liberty, if I tell you of it; for he swears he\\'ll turn me away.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Thou \\'rt a good boy; this secrecy of thine shall\\r\\n be a tailor to thee, and shall make thee a new doublet and\\r\\n hose. I\\'ll go hide me.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Do so. Go tell thy master I am alone. [Exit\\r\\n ROBIN] Mistress Page, remember you your cue.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. I warrant thee; if I do not act it, hiss me.\\r\\n Exit MRS. PAGE\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Go to, then; we\\'ll use this unwholesome\\r\\n humidity, this gross wat\\'ry pumpion; we\\'ll teach him to\\r\\n know turtles from jays.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FALSTAFF\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel?\\r\\n Why, now let me die, for I have liv\\'d long enough; this is\\r\\n the period of my ambition. O this blessed hour!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. O sweet Sir John!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate,\\r\\n Mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish; I would thy\\r\\n husband were dead; I\\'ll speak it before the best lord, I\\r\\n would make thee my lady.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I your lady, Sir John? Alas, I should be a pitiful\\r\\n lady.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Let the court of France show me such another. I\\r\\n see how thine eye would emulate the diamond; thou hast\\r\\n the right arched beauty of the brow that becomes the\\r\\n ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any tire of Venetian admittance.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. A plain kerchief, Sir John; my brows become\\r\\n nothing else, nor that well neither.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. By the Lord, thou art a tyrant to say so; thou\\r\\n wouldst make an absolute courtier, and the firm fixture of\\r\\n thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gait in a\\r\\n semi-circled farthingale. I see what thou wert, if Fortune\\r\\n thy foe were, not Nature, thy friend. Come, thou canst not\\r\\n hide it.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Believe me, there\\'s no such thing in me.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What made me love thee? Let that persuade thee\\r\\n there\\'s something extra-ordinary in thee. Come, I cannot\\r\\n cog, and say thou art this and that, like a many of these\\r\\n lisping hawthorn-buds that come like women in men\\'s\\r\\n apparel, and smell like Bucklersbury in simple time; I\\r\\n cannot; but I love thee, none but thee; and thou deserv\\'st it.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Do not betray me, sir; I fear you love Mistress\\r\\n Page.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Thou mightst as well say I love to walk by the\\r\\n Counter-gate, which is as hateful to me as the reek of a\\r\\n lime-kiln.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Well, heaven knows how I love you; and you\\r\\n shall one day find it.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Keep in that mind; I\\'ll deserve it.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Nay, I must tell you, so you do; or else I could\\r\\n not be in that mind.\\r\\n ROBIN. [Within] Mistress Ford, Mistress Ford! here\\'s\\r\\n Mistress Page at the door, sweating and blowing and looking\\r\\n wildly, and would needs speak with you presently.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. She shall not see me; I will ensconce me behind\\r\\n the arras.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Pray you, do so; she\\'s a very tattling woman.\\r\\n [FALSTAFF hides himself]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter MISTRESS PAGE and ROBIN\\r\\n\\r\\n What\\'s the matter? How now!\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. O Mistress Ford, what have you done? You\\'re\\r\\n sham\\'d, y\\'are overthrown, y\\'are undone for ever.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. What\\'s the matter, good Mistress Page?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. O well-a-day, Mistress Ford, having an honest\\r\\n man to your husband, to give him such cause of suspicion!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. What cause of suspicion?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. What cause of suspicion? Out upon you, how\\r\\n am I mistook in you!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why, alas, what\\'s the matter?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Your husband\\'s coming hither, woman, with all\\r\\n the officers in Windsor, to search for a gentleman that he\\r\\n says is here now in the house, by your consent, to take an\\r\\n ill advantage of his absence. You are undone.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. \\'Tis not so, I hope.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Pray heaven it be not so that you have such a\\r\\n man here; but \\'tis most certain your husband\\'s coming,\\r\\n with half Windsor at his heels, to search for such a one. I\\r\\n come before to tell you. If you know yourself clear, why,\\r\\n I am glad of it; but if you have a friend here, convey,\\r\\n convey him out. Be not amaz\\'d; call all your senses to you;\\r\\n defend your reputation, or bid farewell to your good life\\r\\n for ever.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. What shall I do? There is a gentleman, my dear\\r\\n friend; and I fear not mine own shame as much as his peril.\\r\\n I had rather than a thousand pound he were out of the\\r\\n house.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. For shame, never stand \\'you had rather\\' and \\'you\\r\\n had rather\\'! Your husband\\'s here at hand; bethink you of\\r\\n some conveyance; in the house you cannot hide him. O,\\r\\n how have you deceiv\\'d me! Look, here is a basket; if he be\\r\\n of any reasonable stature, he may creep in here; and throw\\r\\n foul linen upon him, as if it were going to bucking, or-it is\\r\\n whiting-time-send him by your two men to Datchet\\r\\n Mead.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. He\\'s too big to go in there. What shall I do?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. [Coming forward] Let me see \\'t, let me see \\'t. O,\\r\\n let me see \\'t! I\\'ll in, I\\'ll in; follow your friend\\'s counsel;\\r\\n I\\'ll in.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. What, Sir John Falstaff! [Aside to FALSTAFF]\\r\\n Are these your letters, knight?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. [Aside to MRS. PAGE] I love thee and none but\\r\\n thee; help me away.-Let me creep in here; I\\'ll never-\\r\\n [Gets into the basket; they cover him with foul linen]\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Help to cover your master, boy. Call your men,\\r\\n Mistress Ford. You dissembling knight!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. What, John! Robert! John! Exit ROBIN\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter SERVANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n Go, take up these clothes here, quickly; where\\'s the cowl-staff?\\r\\n Look how you drumble. Carry them to the laundress in Datchet Mead;\\r\\n quickly, come.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FORD, PAGE, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n FORD. Pray you come near. If I suspect without cause, why\\r\\n then make sport at me, then let me be your jest; I deserve\\r\\n it. How now, whither bear you this?\\r\\n SERVANT. To the laundress, forsooth.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why, what have you to do whither they bear it?\\r\\n You were best meddle with buck-washing.\\r\\n FORD. Buck? I would I could wash myself of the buck!\\r\\n Buck, buck, buck! ay, buck! I warrant you, buck; and of\\r\\n the season too, it shall appear. [Exeunt SERVANTS with\\r\\n basket] Gentlemen, I have dream\\'d to-night; I\\'ll tell you my\\r\\n dream. Here, here, here be my keys; ascend my chambers,\\r\\n search, seek, find out. I\\'ll warrant we\\'ll unkennel the fox.\\r\\n Let me stop this way first. [Locking the door] So, now\\r\\n uncape.\\r\\n PAGE. Good Master Ford, be contented; you wrong yourself\\r\\n too much.\\r\\n FORD. True, Master Page. Up, gentlemen, you shall see sport\\r\\n anon; follow me, gentlemen. Exit\\r\\n EVANS. This is fery fantastical humours and jealousies.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, \\'tis no the fashion of France; it is not jealous\\r\\n in France.\\r\\n PAGE. Nay, follow him, gentlemen; see the issue of his\\r\\n search. Exeunt EVANS, PAGE, and CAIUS\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Is there not a double excellency in this?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I know not which pleases me better, that my\\r\\n husband is deceived, or Sir John.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. What a taking was he in when your husband\\r\\n ask\\'d who was in the basket!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I am half afraid he will have need of washing; so\\r\\n throwing him into the water will do him a benefit.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Hang him, dishonest rascal! I would all of the\\r\\n same strain were in the same distress.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I think my husband hath some special suspicion\\r\\n of Falstaff\\'s being here, for I never saw him so gross in his\\r\\n jealousy till now.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. I Will lay a plot to try that, and we will yet have\\r\\n more tricks with Falstaff. His dissolute disease will scarce\\r\\n obey this medicine.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Shall we send that foolish carrion, Mistress\\r\\n Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing into the water,\\r\\n and give him another hope, to betray him to another\\r\\n punishment?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. We will do it; let him be sent for to-morrow\\r\\n eight o\\'clock, to have amends.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter FORD, PAGE, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n FORD. I cannot find him; may be the knave bragg\\'d of that\\r\\n he could not compass.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. [Aside to MRS. FORD] Heard you that?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. You use me well, Master Ford, do you?\\r\\n FORD. Ay, I do so.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Heaven make you better than your thoughts!\\r\\n FORD. Amen.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. You do yourself mighty wrong, Master Ford.\\r\\n FORD. Ay, ay; I must bear it.\\r\\n EVANS. If there be any pody in the house, and in the\\r\\n chambers, and in the coffers, and in the presses, heaven forgive\\r\\n my sins at the day of judgment!\\r\\n CAIUS. Be gar, nor I too; there is no bodies.\\r\\n PAGE. Fie, fie, Master Ford, are you not asham\\'d? What\\r\\n spirit, what devil suggests this imagination? I would not ha\\'\\r\\n your distemper in this kind for the wealth of Windsor\\r\\n Castle.\\r\\n FORD. \\'Tis my fault, Master Page; I suffer for it.\\r\\n EVANS. You suffer for a pad conscience. Your wife is as\\r\\n honest a omans as I will desires among five thousand, and five\\r\\n hundred too.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, I see \\'tis an honest woman.\\r\\n FORD. Well, I promis\\'d you a dinner. Come, come, walk in\\r\\n the Park. I pray you pardon me; I will hereafter make\\r\\n known to you why I have done this. Come, wife, come,\\r\\n Mistress Page; I pray you pardon me; pray heartly,\\r\\n pardon me.\\r\\n PAGE. Let\\'s go in, gentlemen; but, trust me, we\\'ll mock him.\\r\\n I do invite you to-morrow morning to my house to breakfast;\\r\\n after, we\\'ll a-birding together; I have a fine hawk for\\r\\n the bush. Shall it be so?\\r\\n FORD. Any thing.\\r\\n EVANS. If there is one, I shall make two in the company.\\r\\n CAIUS. If there be one or two, I shall make-a the turd.\\r\\n FORD. Pray you go, Master Page.\\r\\n EVANS. I pray you now, remembrance to-morrow on the\\r\\n lousy knave, mine host.\\r\\n CAIUS. Dat is good; by gar, with all my heart.\\r\\n EVANS. A lousy knave, to have his gibes and his mockeries!\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nBefore PAGE\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FENTON and ANNE PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n FENTON. I see I cannot get thy father\\'s love;\\r\\n Therefore no more turn me to him, sweet Nan.\\r\\n ANNE. Alas, how then?\\r\\n FENTON. Why, thou must be thyself.\\r\\n He doth object I am too great of birth;\\r\\n And that, my state being gall\\'d with my expense,\\r\\n I seek to heal it only by his wealth.\\r\\n Besides these, other bars he lays before me,\\r\\n My riots past, my wild societies;\\r\\n And tells me \\'tis a thing impossible\\r\\n I should love thee but as a property.\\r\\n ANNE.. May be he tells you true.\\r\\n FENTON. No, heaven so speed me in my time to come!\\r\\n Albeit I will confess thy father\\'s wealth\\r\\n Was the first motive that I woo\\'d thee, Anne;\\r\\n Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value\\r\\n Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags;\\r\\n And \\'tis the very riches of thyself\\r\\n That now I aim at.\\r\\n ANNE. Gentle Master Fenton,\\r\\n Yet seek my father\\'s love; still seek it, sir.\\r\\n If opportunity and humblest suit\\r\\n Cannot attain it, why then-hark you hither.\\r\\n [They converse apart]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SHALLOW, SLENDER, and MISTRESS QUICKLY\\r\\n\\r\\n SHALLOW. Break their talk, Mistress Quickly; my kinsman\\r\\n shall speak for himself.\\r\\n SLENDER. I\\'ll make a shaft or a bolt on \\'t; \\'slid, \\'tis but\\r\\n venturing.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Be not dismay\\'d.\\r\\n SLENDER. No, she shall not dismay me. I care not for that,\\r\\n but that I am afeard.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Hark ye, Master Slender would speak a word\\r\\n with you.\\r\\n ANNE. I come to him. [Aside] This is my father\\'s choice.\\r\\n O, what a world of vile ill-favour\\'d faults\\r\\n Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year!\\r\\n QUICKLY. And how does good Master Fenton? Pray you, a\\r\\n word with you.\\r\\n SHALLOW. She\\'s coming; to her, coz. O boy, thou hadst a\\r\\n father!\\r\\n SLENDER. I had a father, Mistress Anne; my uncle can tell\\r\\n you good jests of him. Pray you, uncle, tell Mistress Anne\\r\\n the jest how my father stole two geese out of a pen, good\\r\\n uncle.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you.\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, that I do; as well as I love any woman in\\r\\n Gloucestershire.\\r\\n SHALLOW. He will maintain you like a gentlewoman.\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, that I will come cut and longtail, under the\\r\\n degree of a squire.\\r\\n SHALLOW. He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds\\r\\n jointure.\\r\\n ANNE. Good Master Shallow, let him woo for himself.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Marry, I thank you for it; I thank you for that\\r\\n good comfort. She calls you, coz; I\\'ll leave you.\\r\\n ANNE. Now, Master Slender-\\r\\n SLENDER. Now, good Mistress Anne-\\r\\n ANNE. What is your will?\\r\\n SLENDER. My Will! \\'Od\\'s heartlings, that\\'s a pretty jest\\r\\n indeed! I ne\\'er made my will yet, I thank heaven; I am not\\r\\n such a sickly creature, I give heaven praise.\\r\\n ANNE. I mean, Master Slender, what would you with me?\\r\\n SLENDER. Truly, for mine own part I would little or nothing\\r\\n with you. Your father and my uncle hath made motions;\\r\\n if it be my luck, so; if not, happy man be his dole! They\\r\\n can tell you how things go better than I can. You may ask\\r\\n your father; here he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PAGE and MISTRESS PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. Now, Master Slender! Love him, daughter Anne-\\r\\n Why, how now, what does Master Fenton here?\\r\\n You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house.\\r\\n I told you, sir, my daughter is dispos\\'d of.\\r\\n FENTON. Nay, Master Page, be not impatient.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Good Master Fenton, come not to my child.\\r\\n PAGE. She is no match for you.\\r\\n FENTON. Sir, will you hear me?\\r\\n PAGE. No, good Master Fenton.\\r\\n Come, Master Shallow; come, son Slender; in.\\r\\n Knowing my mind, you wrong me, Master Fenton.\\r\\n Exeunt PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER\\r\\n QUICKLY. Speak to Mistress Page.\\r\\n FENTON. Good Mistress Page, for that I love your daughter\\r\\n In such a righteous fashion as I do,\\r\\n Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and manners,\\r\\n I must advance the colours of my love,\\r\\n And not retire. Let me have your good will.\\r\\n ANNE. Good mother, do not marry me to yond fool.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. I mean it not; I seek you a better husband.\\r\\n QUICKLY. That\\'s my master, Master Doctor.\\r\\n ANNE. Alas, I had rather be set quick i\\' th\\' earth.\\r\\n And bowl\\'d to death with turnips.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Come, trouble not yourself. Good Master\\r\\n Fenton,\\r\\n I will not be your friend, nor enemy;\\r\\n My daughter will I question how she loves you,\\r\\n And as I find her, so am I affected;\\r\\n Till then, farewell, sir; she must needs go in;\\r\\n Her father will be angry.\\r\\n FENTON. Farewell, gentle mistress; farewell, Nan.\\r\\n Exeunt MRS. PAGE and ANNE\\r\\n QUICKLY. This is my doing now: \\'Nay,\\' said I \\'will you cast\\r\\n away your child on a fool, and a physician? Look on\\r\\n Master Fenton.\\' This is my doing.\\r\\n FENTON. I thank thee; and I pray thee, once to-night\\r\\n Give my sweet Nan this ring. There\\'s for thy pains.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Now Heaven send thee good fortune! [Exit\\r\\n FENTON] A kind heart he hath; a woman would run through\\r\\n fire and water for such a kind heart. But yet I would my\\r\\n master had Mistress Anne; or I would Master Slender had\\r\\n her; or, in sooth, I would Master Fenton had her; I will\\r\\n do what I can for them all three, for so I have promis\\'d,\\r\\n and I\\'ll be as good as my word; but speciously for Master\\r\\n Fenton. Well, I must of another errand to Sir John Falstaff\\r\\n from my two mistresses. What a beast am I to slack it!\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Bardolph, I say!\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Here, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Go fetch me a quart of sack; put a toast in \\'t.\\r\\n Exit BARDOLPH\\r\\n Have I liv\\'d to be carried in a basket, like a barrow of\\r\\n butcher\\'s offal, and to be thrown in the Thames? Well, if\\r\\n I be serv\\'d such another trick, I\\'ll have my brains ta\\'en out\\r\\n and butter\\'d, and give them to a dog for a new-year\\'s gift.\\r\\n The rogues slighted me into the river with as little remorse\\r\\n as they would have drown\\'d a blind bitch\\'s puppies, fifteen\\r\\n i\\' th\\' litter; and you may know by my size that I have\\r\\n a kind of alacrity in sinking; if the bottom were as deep as\\r\\n hell I should down. I had been drown\\'d but that the shore\\r\\n was shelvy and shallow-a death that I abhor; for the water\\r\\n swells a man; and what a thing should I have been when\\r\\n had been swell\\'d! I should have been a mountain of\\r\\n mummy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter BARDOLPH, with sack\\r\\n\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Here\\'s Mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with you\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Come, let me pour in some sack to the Thames\\r\\n water; for my belly\\'s as cold as if I had swallow\\'d\\r\\n snowballs for pills to cool the reins. Call her in.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Come in, woman.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY\\r\\n\\r\\n QUICKLY. By your leave; I cry you mercy. Give your\\r\\n worship good morrow.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Take away these chalices. Go, brew me a pottle\\r\\n of sack finely.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. With eggs, sir?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Simple of itself; I\\'ll no pullet-sperm in my\\r\\n brewage. [Exit BARDOLPH] How now!\\r\\n QUICKLY. Marry, sir, I come to your worship from Mistress\\r\\n Ford.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford! I have had ford enough; I was\\r\\n thrown into the ford; I have my belly full of ford.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Alas the day, good heart, that was not her fault!\\r\\n She does so take on with her men; they mistook their\\r\\n erection.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish woman\\'s\\r\\n promise.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would yearn\\r\\n your heart to see it. Her husband goes this morning\\r\\n a-birding; she desires you once more to come to her between\\r\\n eight and nine; I must carry her word quickly. She\\'ll make\\r\\n you amends, I warrant you.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Well, I Will visit her. Tell her so; and bid her\\r\\n think what a man is. Let her consider his frailty, and then\\r\\n judge of my merit.\\r\\n QUICKLY. I will tell her.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Do so. Between nine and ten, say\\'st thou?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Eight and nine, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Well, be gone; I will not miss her.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Peace be with you, sir. Exit\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I marvel I hear not of Master Brook; he sent me\\r\\n word to stay within. I like his money well. O, here he\\r\\n comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FORD disguised\\r\\n\\r\\n FORD. Bless you, sir!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Now, Master Brook, you come to know what\\r\\n hath pass\\'d between me and Ford\\'s wife?\\r\\n FORD. That, indeed, Sir John, is my business.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Master Brook, I will not lie to you; I was at her\\r\\n house the hour she appointed me.\\r\\n FORD. And sped you, sir?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Very ill-favouredly, Master Brook.\\r\\n FORD. How so, sir; did she change her determination?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. No. Master Brook; but the peaking cornuto her\\r\\n husband, Master Brook, dwelling in a continual \\'larum of\\r\\n jealousy, comes me in the instant of our, encounter, after\\r\\n we had embrac\\'d, kiss\\'d, protested, and, as it were, spoke\\r\\n the prologue of our comedy; and at his heels a rabble of his\\r\\n companions, thither provoked and instigated by his\\r\\n distemper, and, forsooth, to search his house for his wife\\'s\\r\\n love.\\r\\n FORD. What, while you were there?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. While I was there.\\r\\n FORD. And did he search for you, and could not find you?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. You shall hear. As good luck would have it, comes\\r\\n in one Mistress Page, gives intelligence of Ford\\'s approach;\\r\\n and, in her invention and Ford\\'s wife\\'s distraction, they\\r\\n convey\\'d me into a buck-basket.\\r\\n FORD. A buck-basket!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. By the Lord, a buck-basket! Ramm\\'d me in with\\r\\n foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul stockings, greasy\\r\\n napkins, that, Master Brook, there was the rankest compound\\r\\n of villainous smell that ever offended nostril.\\r\\n FORD. And how long lay you there?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Nay, you shall hear, Master Brook, what I have\\r\\n suffer\\'d to bring this woman to evil for your good. Being\\r\\n thus cramm\\'d in the basket, a couple of Ford\\'s knaves, his\\r\\n hinds, were call\\'d forth by their mistress to carry me in\\r\\n the name of foul clothes to Datchet Lane; they took me on\\r\\n their shoulders; met the jealous knave their master in the\\r\\n door; who ask\\'d them once or twice what they had in their\\r\\n basket. I quak\\'d for fear lest the lunatic knave would have\\r\\n search\\'d it; but Fate, ordaining he should be a cuckold,\\r\\n held his hand. Well, on went he for a search, and away\\r\\n went I for foul clothes. But mark the sequel, Master\\r\\n Brook-I suffered the pangs of three several deaths: first,\\r\\n an intolerable fright to be detected with a jealous rotten\\r\\n bell-wether; next, to be compass\\'d like a good bilbo in the\\r\\n circumference of a peck, hilt to point, heel to head; and\\r\\n then, to be stopp\\'d in, like a strong distillation, with\\r\\n stinking clothes that fretted in their own grease. Think of that\\r\\n -a man of my kidney. Think of that-that am as subject to\\r\\n heat as butter; a man of continual dissolution and thaw. It\\r\\n was a miracle to scape suffocation. And in the height of\\r\\n this bath, when I was more than half-stew\\'d in grease, like\\r\\n a Dutch dish, to be thrown into the Thames, and cool\\'d,\\r\\n glowing hot, in that surge, like a horse-shoe; think of that\\r\\n -hissing hot. Think of that, Master Brook.\\r\\n FORD. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for my sake you\\r\\n have suffer\\'d all this. My suit, then, is desperate;\\r\\n you\\'ll undertake her no more.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Master Brook, I will be thrown into Etna, as I\\r\\n have been into Thames, ere I will leave her thus. Her\\r\\n husband is this morning gone a-birding; I have received from\\r\\n her another embassy of meeting; \\'twixt eight and nine is\\r\\n the hour, Master Brook.\\r\\n FORD. \\'Tis past eight already, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Is it? I Will then address me to my appointment.\\r\\n Come to me at your convenient leisure, and you shall\\r\\n know how I speed; and the conclusion shall be crowned\\r\\n with your enjoying her. Adieu. You shall have her, Master\\r\\n Brook; Master Brook, you shall cuckold Ford. Exit\\r\\n FORD. Hum! ha! Is this a vision? Is this a dream? Do I sleep?\\r\\n Master Ford, awake; awake, Master Ford. There\\'s a hole\\r\\n made in your best coat, Master Ford. This \\'tis to be\\r\\n married; this \\'tis to have linen and buck-baskets! Well, I will\\r\\n proclaim myself what I am; I will now take the lecher; he\\r\\n is at my house. He cannot scape me; \\'tis impossible he\\r\\n should; he cannot creep into a halfpenny purse nor into\\r\\n a pepper box. But, lest the devil that guides him should aid\\r\\n him, I will search impossible places. Though what I am I\\r\\n cannot avoid, yet to be what I would not shall not make\\r\\n me tame. If I have horns to make one mad, let the proverb\\r\\n go with me-I\\'ll be horn mad. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I.\\r\\n\\r\\nWindsor. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS QUICKLY, and WILLIAM\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Is he at Master Ford\\'s already, think\\'st thou?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Sure he is by this; or will be presently; but truly\\r\\n he is very courageous mad about his throwing into the\\r\\n water. Mistress Ford desires you to come suddenly.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. I\\'ll be with her by and by; I\\'ll but bring my\\r\\n young man here to school. Look where his master comes;\\r\\n \\'tis a playing day, I see.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, Sir Hugh, no school to-day?\\r\\n EVANS. No; Master Slender is let the boys leave to play.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Blessing of his heart!\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Sir Hugh, my husband says my son profits\\r\\n nothing in the world at his book; I pray you ask him some\\r\\n questions in his accidence.\\r\\n EVANS. Come hither, William; hold up your head; come.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Come on, sirrah; hold up your head; answer your\\r\\n master; be not afraid.\\r\\n EVANS. William, how many numbers is in nouns?\\r\\n WILLIAM. Two.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Truly, I thought there had been one number\\r\\n more, because they say \\'Od\\'s nouns.\\'\\r\\n EVANS. Peace your tattlings. What is \\'fair,\\' William?\\r\\n WILLIAM. Pulcher.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Polecats! There are fairer things than polecats,\\r\\n sure.\\r\\n EVANS. You are a very simplicity oman; I pray you, peace.\\r\\n What is \\'lapis,\\' William?\\r\\n WILLIAM. A stone.\\r\\n EVANS. And what is \\'a stone,\\' William?\\r\\n WILLIAM. A pebble.\\r\\n EVANS. No, it is \\'lapis\\'; I pray you remember in your prain.\\r\\n WILLIAM. Lapis.\\r\\n EVANS. That is a good William. What is he, William, that\\r\\n does lend articles?\\r\\n WILLIAM. Articles are borrowed of the pronoun, and be\\r\\n thus declined: Singulariter, nominativo; hic, haec, hoc.\\r\\n EVANS. Nominativo, hig, hag, hog; pray you, mark: genitivo,\\r\\n hujus. Well, what is your accusative case?\\r\\n WILLIAM. Accusativo, hinc.\\r\\n EVANS. I pray you, have your remembrance, child.\\r\\n Accusativo, hung, hang, hog.\\r\\n QUICKLY. \\'Hang-hog\\' is Latin for bacon, I warrant you.\\r\\n EVANS. Leave your prabbles, oman. What is the focative\\r\\n case, William?\\r\\n WILLIAM. O-vocativo, O.\\r\\n EVANS. Remember, William: focative is caret.\\r\\n QUICKLY. And that\\'s a good root.\\r\\n EVANS. Oman, forbear.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Peace.\\r\\n EVANS. What is your genitive case plural, William?\\r\\n WILLIAM. Genitive case?\\r\\n EVANS. Ay.\\r\\n WILLIAM. Genitive: horum, harum, horum.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Vengeance of Jenny\\'s case; fie on her! Never\\r\\n name her, child, if she be a whore.\\r\\n EVANS. For shame, oman.\\r\\n QUICKLY. YOU do ill to teach the child such words. He\\r\\n teaches him to hick and to hack, which they\\'ll do fast\\r\\n enough of themselves; and to call \\'horum\\'; fie upon you!\\r\\n EVANS. Oman, art thou lunatics? Hast thou no understandings\\r\\n for thy cases, and the numbers of the genders? Thou\\r\\n art as foolish Christian creatures as I would desires.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Prithee hold thy peace.\\r\\n EVANS. Show me now, William, some declensions of your\\r\\n pronouns.\\r\\n WILLIAM. Forsooth, I have forgot.\\r\\n EVANS. It is qui, quae, quod; if you forget your qui\\'s, your\\r\\n quae\\'s, and your quod\\'s, you must be preeches. Go your\\r\\n ways and play; go.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. He is a better scholar than I thought he was.\\r\\n EVANS. He is a good sprag memory. Farewell, Mistress Page.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Adieu, good Sir Hugh. Exit SIR HUGH\\r\\n Get you home, boy. Come, we stay too long. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nFORD\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FALSTAFF and MISTRESS FORD\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up my\\r\\n sufferance. I see you are obsequious in your love, and I\\r\\n profess requital to a hair\\'s breadth; not only, Mistress Ford, in\\r\\n the simple office of love, but in all the accoutrement,\\r\\n complement, and ceremony of it. But are you sure of your\\r\\n husband now?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. He\\'s a-birding, sweet Sir John.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. [Within] What hoa, gossip Ford, what hoa!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Step into th\\' chamber, Sir John. Exit FALSTAFF\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. How now, sweetheart, who\\'s at home besides\\r\\n yourself?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why, none but mine own people.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Indeed?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. No, certainly. [Aside to her] Speak louder.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Truly, I am so glad you have nobody here.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Why, woman, your husband is in his old lunes\\r\\n again. He so takes on yonder with my husband; so rails\\r\\n against all married mankind; so curses an Eve\\'s daughters,\\r\\n of what complexion soever; and so buffets himself on the\\r\\n forehead, crying \\'Peer-out, peer-out!\\' that any madness I\\r\\n ever yet beheld seem\\'d but tameness, civility, and patience,\\r\\n to this his distemper he is in now. I am glad the fat knight\\r\\n is not here.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why, does he talk of him?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Of none but him; and swears he was carried out,\\r\\n the last time he search\\'d for him, in a basket; protests to\\r\\n my husband he is now here; and hath drawn him and the\\r\\n rest of their company from their sport, to make another\\r\\n experiment of his suspicion. But I am glad the knight is not\\r\\n here; now he shall see his own foolery.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. How near is he, Mistress Page?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Hard by, at street end; he will be here anon.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I am undone: the knight is here.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Why, then, you are utterly sham\\'d, and he\\'s but\\r\\n a dead man. What a woman are you! Away with him,\\r\\n away with him; better shame than murder.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Which way should he go? How should I bestow\\r\\n him? Shall I put him into the basket again?\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter FALSTAFF\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. No, I\\'ll come no more i\\' th\\' basket. May I not go\\r\\n out ere he come?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Alas, three of Master Ford\\'s brothers watch the\\r\\n door with pistols, that none shall issue out; otherwise you\\r\\n might slip away ere he came. But what make you here?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What shall I do? I\\'ll creep up into the chimney.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. There they always use to discharge their\\r\\n birding-pieces.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Creep into the kiln-hole.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Where is it?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. He will seek there, on my word. Neither press,\\r\\n coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but he hath an abstract for\\r\\n the remembrance of such places, and goes to them by his\\r\\n note. There is no hiding you in the house.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I\\'ll go out then.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. If you go out in your own semblance, you die,\\r\\n Sir John. Unless you go out disguis\\'d.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. How might we disguise him?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Alas the day, I know not! There is no woman\\'s\\r\\n gown big enough for him; otherwise he might put on a\\r\\n hat, a muffler, and a kerchief, and so escape.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Good hearts, devise something; any extremity\\r\\n rather than a mischief.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. My Maid\\'s aunt, the fat woman of Brainford, has\\r\\n a gown above.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. On my word, it will serve him; she\\'s as big as he\\r\\n is; and there\\'s her thrumm\\'d hat, and her muffler too. Run\\r\\n up, Sir John.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Go, go, sweet Sir John. Mistress Page and I will\\r\\n look some linen for your head.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Quick, quick; we\\'ll come dress you straight. Put\\r\\n on the gown the while. Exit FALSTAFF\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I would my husband would meet him in this\\r\\n shape; he cannot abide the old woman of Brainford; he\\r\\n swears she\\'s a witch, forbade her my house, and hath\\r\\n threat\\'ned to beat her.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Heaven guide him to thy husband\\'s cudgel; and\\r\\n the devil guide his cudgel afterwards!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. But is my husband coming?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Ay, in good sadness is he; and talks of the basket\\r\\n too, howsoever he hath had intelligence.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. We\\'ll try that; for I\\'ll appoint my men to carry\\r\\n the basket again, to meet him at the door with it as they\\r\\n did last time.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Nay, but he\\'ll be here presently; let\\'s go dress\\r\\n him like the witch of Brainford.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I\\'ll first direct my men what they shall do with\\r\\n the basket. Go up; I\\'ll bring linen for him straight. Exit\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Hang him, dishonest varlet! we cannot misuse\\r\\n him enough.\\r\\n We\\'ll leave a proof, by that which we will do,\\r\\n Wives may be merry and yet honest too.\\r\\n We do not act that often jest and laugh;\\r\\n \\'Tis old but true: Still swine eats all the draff. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter MISTRESS FORD, with two SERVANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Go, sirs, take the basket again on your shoulders;\\r\\n your master is hard at door; if he bid you set it down, obey\\r\\n him; quickly, dispatch. Exit\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. Come, come, take it up.\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. Pray heaven it be not full of knight again.\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. I hope not; I had lief as bear so much lead.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FORD, PAGE, SHALLOW, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n FORD. Ay, but if it prove true, Master Page, have you any\\r\\n way then to unfool me again? Set down the basket, villain!\\r\\n Somebody call my wife. Youth in a basket! O you panderly\\r\\n rascals, there\\'s a knot, a ging, a pack, a conspiracy\\r\\n against me. Now shall the devil be sham\\'d. What, wife, I\\r\\n say! Come, come forth; behold what honest clothes you\\r\\n send forth to bleaching.\\r\\n PAGE. Why, this passes, Master Ford; you are not to go loose\\r\\n any longer; you must be pinion\\'d.\\r\\n EVANS. Why, this is lunatics. This is mad as a mad dog.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Indeed, Master Ford, this is not well, indeed.\\r\\n FORD. So say I too, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter MISTRESS FORD\\r\\n\\r\\n Come hither, Mistress Ford; Mistress Ford, the honest\\r\\n woman, the modest wife, the virtuous creature, that hath\\r\\n the jealous fool to her husband! I suspect without cause,\\r\\n Mistress, do I?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Heaven be my witness, you do, if you suspect\\r\\n me in any dishonesty.\\r\\n FORD. Well said, brazen-face; hold it out. Come forth, sirrah.\\r\\n [Pulling clothes out of the basket]\\r\\n PAGE. This passes!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Are you not asham\\'d? Let the clothes alone.\\r\\n FORD. I shall find you anon.\\r\\n EVANS. \\'Tis unreasonable. Will you take up your wife\\'s\\r\\n clothes? Come away.\\r\\n FORD. Empty the basket, I say.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why, man, why?\\r\\n FORD. Master Page, as I am a man, there was one convey\\'d\\r\\n out of my house yesterday in this basket. Why may not\\r\\n he be there again? In my house I am sure he is; my\\r\\n intelligence is true; my jealousy is reasonable.\\r\\n Pluck me out all the linen.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. If you find a man there, he shall die a flea\\'s\\r\\n death.\\r\\n PAGE. Here\\'s no man.\\r\\n SHALLOW. By my fidelity, this is not well, Master Ford; this\\r\\n wrongs you.\\r\\n EVANS. Master Ford, you must pray, and not follow the\\r\\n imaginations of your own heart; this is jealousies.\\r\\n FORD. Well, he\\'s not here I seek for.\\r\\n PAGE. No, nor nowhere else but in your brain.\\r\\n FORD. Help to search my house this one time. If I find not\\r\\n what I seek, show no colour for my extremity; let me for\\r\\n ever be your table sport; let them say of me \\'As jealous as\\r\\n Ford, that search\\'d a hollow walnut for his wife\\'s leman.\\'\\r\\n Satisfy me once more; once more search with me.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. What, hoa, Mistress Page! Come you and the old\\r\\n woman down; my husband will come into the chamber.\\r\\n FORD. Old woman? what old woman\\'s that?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why, it is my maid\\'s aunt of Brainford.\\r\\n FORD. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean! Have I not\\r\\n forbid her my house? She comes of errands, does she? We\\r\\n are simple men; we do not know what\\'s brought to pass\\r\\n under the profession of fortune-telling. She works by\\r\\n charms, by spells, by th\\' figure, and such daub\\'ry as this\\r\\n is, beyond our element. We know nothing. Come down, you\\r\\n witch, you hag you; come down, I say.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Nay, good sweet husband! Good gentlemen, let\\r\\n him not strike the old woman.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter FALSTAFF in woman\\'s clothes, and MISTRESS PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Come, Mother Prat; come. give me your hand.\\r\\n FORD. I\\'ll prat her. [Beating him] Out of my door, you\\r\\n witch, you hag, you. baggage, you polecat, you ronyon!\\r\\n Out, out! I\\'ll conjure you, I\\'ll fortune-tell you.\\r\\n Exit FALSTAFF\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Are you not asham\\'d? I think you have kill\\'d the\\r\\n poor woman.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Nay, he will do it. \\'Tis a goodly credit for you.\\r\\n FORD. Hang her, witch!\\r\\n EVANS. By yea and no, I think the oman is a witch indeed; I\\r\\n like not when a oman has a great peard; I spy a great peard\\r\\n under his muffler.\\r\\n FORD. Will you follow, gentlemen? I beseech you follow;\\r\\n see but the issue of my jealousy; if I cry out thus upon no\\r\\n trail, never trust me when I open again.\\r\\n PAGE. Let\\'s obey his humour a little further. Come,\\r\\n gentlemen. Exeunt all but MRS. FORD and MRS. PAGE\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Trust me, he beat him most pitifully.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Nay, by th\\' mass, that he did not; he beat him\\r\\n most unpitifully methought.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. I\\'ll have the cudgel hallow\\'d and hung o\\'er the\\r\\n altar; it hath done meritorious service.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. What think you? May we, with the warrant of\\r\\n womanhood and the witness of a good conscience, pursue\\r\\n him with any further revenge?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. The spirit of wantonness is sure scar\\'d out of\\r\\n him; if the devil have him not in fee-simple, with fine and\\r\\n recovery, he will never, I think, in the way of waste,\\r\\n attempt us again.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Shall we tell our husbands how we have serv\\'d\\r\\n him?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Yes, by all means; if it be but to scrape the\\r\\n figures out of your husband\\'s brains. If they can find in their\\r\\n hearts the poor unvirtuous fat knight shall be any further\\r\\n afflicted, we two will still be the ministers.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I\\'ll warrant they\\'ll have him publicly sham\\'d;\\r\\n and methinks there would be no period to the jest, should\\r\\n he not be publicly sham\\'d.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Come, to the forge with it then; shape it. I\\r\\n would not have things cool. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter HOST and BARDOLPH\\r\\n\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Sir, the Germans desire to have three of your\\r\\n horses; the Duke himself will be to-morrow at court, and\\r\\n they are going to meet him.\\r\\n HOST. What duke should that be comes so secretly? I hear\\r\\n not of him in the court. Let me speak with the gentlemen;\\r\\n they speak English?\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Ay, sir; I\\'ll call them to you.\\r\\n HOST. They shall have my horses, but I\\'ll make them pay;\\r\\n I\\'ll sauce them; they have had my house a week at\\r\\n command; I have turn\\'d away my other guests. They must\\r\\n come off; I\\'ll sauce them. Come. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4\\r\\n\\r\\nFORD\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PAGE, FORD, MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n EVANS. \\'Tis one of the best discretions of a oman as ever\\r\\n did look upon.\\r\\n PAGE. And did he send you both these letters at an instant?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Within a quarter of an hour.\\r\\n FORD. Pardon me, wife. Henceforth, do what thou wilt;\\r\\n I rather will suspect the sun with cold\\r\\n Than thee with wantonness. Now doth thy honour stand,\\r\\n In him that was of late an heretic,\\r\\n As firm as faith.\\r\\n PAGE. \\'Tis well, \\'tis well; no more.\\r\\n Be not as extreme in submission as in offence;\\r\\n But let our plot go forward. Let our wives\\r\\n Yet once again, to make us public sport,\\r\\n Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow,\\r\\n Where we may take him and disgrace him for it.\\r\\n FORD. There is no better way than that they spoke of.\\r\\n PAGE. How? To send him word they\\'ll meet him in the Park\\r\\n at midnight? Fie, fie! he\\'ll never come!\\r\\n EVANS. You say he has been thrown in the rivers; and has\\r\\n been grievously peaten as an old oman; methinks there\\r\\n should be terrors in him, that he should not come;\\r\\n methinks his flesh is punish\\'d; he shall have no desires.\\r\\n PAGE. So think I too.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Devise but how you\\'ll use him when he comes,\\r\\n And let us two devise to bring him thither.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. There is an old tale goes that Heme the Hunter,\\r\\n Sometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest,\\r\\n Doth all the winter-time, at still midnight,\\r\\n Walk round about an oak, with great ragg\\'d horns;\\r\\n And there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle,\\r\\n And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a chain\\r\\n In a most hideous and dreadful manner.\\r\\n You have heard of such a spirit, and well you know\\r\\n The superstitious idle-headed eld\\r\\n Receiv\\'d, and did deliver to our age,\\r\\n This tale of Heme the Hunter for a truth.\\r\\n PAGE. Why yet there want not many that do fear\\r\\n In deep of night to walk by this Herne\\'s oak.\\r\\n But what of this?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Marry, this is our device-\\r\\n That Falstaff at that oak shall meet with us,\\r\\n Disguis\\'d, like Heme, with huge horns on his head.\\r\\n PAGE. Well, let it not be doubted but he\\'ll come,\\r\\n And in this shape. When you have brought him thither,\\r\\n What shall be done with him? What is your plot?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. That likewise have we thought upon, and\\r\\n thus:\\r\\n Nan Page my daughter, and my little son,\\r\\n And three or four more of their growth, we\\'ll dress\\r\\n Like urchins, ouphes, and fairies, green and white,\\r\\n With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads,\\r\\n And rattles in their hands; upon a sudden,\\r\\n As Falstaff, she, and I, are newly met,\\r\\n Let them from forth a sawpit rush at once\\r\\n With some diffused song; upon their sight\\r\\n We two in great amazedness will fly.\\r\\n Then let them all encircle him about,\\r\\n And fairy-like, to pinch the unclean knight;\\r\\n And ask him why, that hour of fairy revel,\\r\\n In their so sacred paths he dares to tread\\r\\n In shape profane.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. And till he tell the truth,\\r\\n Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound,\\r\\n And burn him with their tapers.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. The truth being known,\\r\\n We\\'ll all present ourselves; dis-horn the spirit,\\r\\n And mock him home to Windsor.\\r\\n FORD. The children must\\r\\n Be practis\\'d well to this or they\\'ll nev\\'r do \\'t.\\r\\n EVANS. I will teach the children their behaviours; and I will\\r\\n be like a jack-an-apes also, to burn the knight with my\\r\\n taber.\\r\\n FORD. That will be excellent. I\\'ll go buy them vizards.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. My Nan shall be the Queen of all the Fairies,\\r\\n Finely attired in a robe of white.\\r\\n PAGE. That silk will I go buy. [Aside] And in that time\\r\\n Shall Master Slender steal my Nan away,\\r\\n And marry her at Eton.-Go, send to Falstaff straight.\\r\\n FORD. Nay, I\\'ll to him again, in name of Brook;\\r\\n He\\'ll tell me all his purpose. Sure, he\\'ll come.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Fear not you that. Go get us properties\\r\\n And tricking for our fairies.\\r\\n EVANS. Let us about it. It is admirable pleasures, and fery\\r\\n honest knaveries. Exeunt PAGE, FORD, and EVANS\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Go, Mistress Ford.\\r\\n Send Quickly to Sir John to know his mind.\\r\\n Exit MRS. FORD\\r\\n I\\'ll to the Doctor; he hath my good will,\\r\\n And none but he, to marry with Nan Page.\\r\\n That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot;\\r\\n And he my husband best of all affects.\\r\\n The Doctor is well money\\'d, and his friends\\r\\n Potent at court; he, none but he, shall have her,\\r\\n Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave her. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter HOST and SIMPLE\\r\\n\\r\\n HOST. What wouldst thou have, boor? What, thick-skin?\\r\\n Speak, breathe, discuss; brief, short, quick, snap.\\r\\n SIMPLE. Marry, sir, I come to speak with Sir John Falstaff\\r\\n from Master Slender.\\r\\n HOST. There\\'s his chamber, his house, his castle, his\\r\\n standing-bed and truckle-bed; \\'tis painted about with the\\r\\n story of the Prodigal, fresh and new. Go, knock and can; he\\'ll\\r\\n speak like an Anthropophaginian unto thee. Knock, I say.\\r\\n SIMPLE. There\\'s an old woman, a fat woman, gone up into\\r\\n his chamber; I\\'ll be so bold as stay, sir, till she come down;\\r\\n I come to speak with her, indeed.\\r\\n HOST. Ha! a fat woman? The knight may be robb\\'d. I\\'ll call.\\r\\n Bully knight! Bully Sir John! Speak from thy lungs\\r\\n military. Art thou there? It is thine host, thine Ephesian, calls.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. [Above] How now, mine host?\\r\\n HOST. Here\\'s a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the coming down of\\r\\n thy fat woman. Let her descend, bully, let her descend;\\r\\n my chambers are honourible. Fie, privacy, fie!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FALSTAFF\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. There was, mine host, an old fat woman even\\r\\n now with, me; but she\\'s gone.\\r\\n SIMPLE. Pray you, sir, was\\'t not the wise woman of\\r\\n Brainford?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Ay, marry was it, mussel-shell. What would you\\r\\n with her?\\r\\n SIMPLE. My master, sir, my Master Slender, sent to her,\\r\\n seeing her go thorough the streets, to know, sir, whether one\\r\\n Nym, sir, that beguil\\'d him of a chain, had the chain or no.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I spake with the old woman about it.\\r\\n SIMPLE. And what says she, I pray, sir?\\r\\n FALSTAFF Marry, she says that the very same man that\\r\\n beguil\\'d Master Slender of his chain cozen\\'d him of it.\\r\\n SIMPLE. I would I could have spoken with the woman\\r\\n herself; I had other things to have spoken with her too,\\r\\n from him.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What are they? Let us know.\\r\\n HOST. Ay, come; quick.\\r\\n SIMPLE. I may not conceal them, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Conceal them, or thou diest.\\r\\n SIMPLE.. Why, sir, they were nothing but about Mistress\\r\\n Anne Page: to know if it were my master\\'s fortune to\\r\\n have her or no.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. \\'Tis, \\'tis his fortune.\\r\\n SIMPLE. What sir?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. To have her, or no. Go; say the woman told me\\r\\n so.\\r\\n SIMPLE. May I be bold to say so, sir?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Ay, sir, like who more bold?\\r\\n SIMPLE., I thank your worship; I shall make my master glad\\r\\n with these tidings. Exit SIMPLE\\r\\n HOST. Thou art clerkly, thou art clerkly, Sir John. Was\\r\\n there a wise woman with thee?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Ay, that there was, mine host; one that hath\\r\\n taught me more wit than ever I learn\\'d before in my life;\\r\\n and I paid nothing for it neither, but was paid for my\\r\\n learning.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BARDOLPH\\r\\n\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Out, alas, sir, cozenage, mere cozenage!\\r\\n HOST. Where be my horses? Speak well of them, varletto.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Run away with the cozeners; for so soon as I\\r\\n came beyond Eton, they threw me off from behind one of\\r\\n them, in a slough of mire; and set spurs and away, like\\r\\n three German devils, three Doctor Faustuses.\\r\\n HOST. They are gone but to meet the Duke, villain; do not\\r\\n say they be fled. Germans are honest men.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n EVANS. Where is mine host?\\r\\n HOST. What is the matter, sir?\\r\\n EVANS. Have a care of your entertainments. There is a friend\\r\\n of mine come to town tells me there is three\\r\\n cozen-germans that has cozen\\'d all the hosts of Readins,\\r\\n of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, of horses and money. I tell you for\\r\\n good will, look you; you are wise, and full of gibes and\\r\\n vlouting-stogs, and \\'tis not convenient you should be\\r\\n cozened. Fare you well. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DOCTOR CAIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n CAIUS. Vere is mine host de Jarteer?\\r\\n HOST. Here, Master Doctor, in perplexity and doubtful\\r\\n dilemma.\\r\\n CAIUS. I cannot tell vat is dat; but it is tell-a me dat you\\r\\n make grand preparation for a Duke de Jamany. By my\\r\\n trot, dere is no duke that the court is know to come; I\\r\\n tell you for good will. Adieu. Exit\\r\\n HOST. Hue and cry, villain, go! Assist me, knight; I am\\r\\n undone. Fly, run, hue and cry, villain; I am undone.\\r\\n Exeunt HOST and BARDOLPH\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I would all the world might be cozen\\'d, for I have\\r\\n been cozen\\'d and beaten too. If it should come to the car\\r\\n of the court how I have been transformed, and how my\\r\\n transformation hath been wash\\'d and cudgell\\'d, they\\r\\n would melt me out of my fat, drop by drop, and liquor\\r\\n fishermen\\'s boots with me; I warrant they would whip me\\r\\n with their fine wits till I were as crestfall\\'n as a dried pear.\\r\\n I never prosper\\'d since I forswore myself at primero. Well,\\r\\n if my wind were but long enough to say my prayers,\\r\\n would repent.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY\\r\\n\\r\\n Now! whence come you?\\r\\n QUICKLY. From the two parties, forsooth.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. The devil take one party and his dam the other!\\r\\n And so they shall be both bestowed. I have suffer\\'d more\\r\\n for their sakes, more than the villainous inconstancy of\\r\\n man\\'s disposition is able to bear.\\r\\n QUICKLY. And have not they suffer\\'d? Yes, I warrant;\\r\\n speciously one of them; Mistress Ford, good heart, is beaten\\r\\n black and blue, that you cannot see a white spot about her.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What tell\\'st thou me of black and blue? I was\\r\\n beaten myself into all the colours of the rainbow; and\\r\\n was like to be apprehended for the witch of Brainford. But\\r\\n that my admirable dexterity of wit, my counterfeiting the\\r\\n action of an old woman, deliver\\'d me, the knave constable\\r\\n had set me i\\' th\\' stocks, i\\' th\\' common stocks, for a witch.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Sir, let me speak with you in your chamber; you\\r\\n shall hear how things go, and, I warrant, to your content.\\r\\n Here is a letter will say somewhat. Good hearts, what ado\\r\\n here is to bring you together! Sure, one of you does not\\r\\n serve heaven well, that you are so cross\\'d.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Come up into my chamber. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 6.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FENTON and HOST\\r\\n\\r\\n HOST. Master Fenton, talk not to me; my mind is heavy; I\\r\\n will give over all.\\r\\n FENTON. Yet hear me speak. Assist me in my purpose,\\r\\n And, as I am a gentleman, I\\'ll give the\\r\\n A hundred pound in gold more than your loss.\\r\\n HOST. I will hear you, Master Fenton; and I will, at the least,\\r\\n keep your counsel.\\r\\n FENTON. From time to time I have acquainted you\\r\\n With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page;\\r\\n Who, mutually, hath answer\\'d my affection,\\r\\n So far forth as herself might be her chooser,\\r\\n Even to my wish. I have a letter from her\\r\\n Of such contents as you will wonder at;\\r\\n The mirth whereof so larded with my matter\\r\\n That neither, singly, can be manifested\\r\\n Without the show of both. Fat Falstaff\\r\\n Hath a great scene. The image of the jest\\r\\n I\\'ll show you here at large. Hark, good mine host:\\r\\n To-night at Heme\\'s oak, just \\'twixt twelve and one,\\r\\n Must my sweet Nan present the Fairy Queen-\\r\\n The purpose why is here-in which disguise,\\r\\n While other jests are something rank on foot,\\r\\n Her father hath commanded her to slip\\r\\n Away with Slender, and with him at Eton\\r\\n Immediately to marry; she hath consented.\\r\\n Now, sir,\\r\\n Her mother, even strong against that match\\r\\n And firm for Doctor Caius, hath appointed\\r\\n That he shall likewise shuffle her away\\r\\n While other sports are tasking of their minds,\\r\\n And at the dean\\'ry, where a priest attends,\\r\\n Straight marry her. To this her mother\\'s plot\\r\\n She seemingly obedient likewise hath\\r\\n Made promise to the doctor. Now thus it rests:\\r\\n Her father means she shall be all in white;\\r\\n And in that habit, when Slender sees his time\\r\\n To take her by the hand and bid her go,\\r\\n She shall go with him; her mother hath intended\\r\\n The better to denote her to the doctor-\\r\\n For they must all be mask\\'d and vizarded-\\r\\n That quaint in green she shall be loose enrob\\'d,\\r\\n With ribands pendent, flaring \\'bout her head;\\r\\n And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe,\\r\\n To pinch her by the hand, and, on that token,\\r\\n The maid hath given consent to go with him.\\r\\n HOST. Which means she to deceive, father or mother?\\r\\n FENTON. Both, my good host, to go along with me.\\r\\n And here it rests-that you\\'ll procure the vicar\\r\\n To stay for me at church, \\'twixt twelve and one,\\r\\n And in the lawful name of marrying,\\r\\n To give our hearts united ceremony.\\r\\n HOST. Well, husband your device; I\\'ll to the vicar.\\r\\n Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest.\\r\\n FENTON. So shall I evermore be bound to thee;\\r\\n Besides, I\\'ll make a present recompense. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FALSTAFF and MISTRESS QUICKLY\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Prithee, no more prattling; go. I\\'ll, hold. This is\\r\\n the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers.\\r\\n Away, go; they say there is divinity in odd numbers, either\\r\\n in nativity, chance, or death. Away.\\r\\n QUICKLY. I\\'ll provide you a chain, and I\\'ll do what I can to\\r\\n get you a pair of horns.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Away, I say; time wears; hold up your head, and\\r\\n mince. Exit MRS. QUICKLY\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FORD disguised\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, Master Brook. Master Brook, the matter will\\r\\n be known tonight or never. Be you in the Park about\\r\\n midnight, at Herne\\'s oak, and you shall see wonders.\\r\\n FORD. Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you told me\\r\\n you had appointed?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I went to her, Master Brook, as you see, like a\\r\\n poor old man; but I came from her, Master Brook, like a\\r\\n poor old woman. That same knave Ford, her husband, hath\\r\\n the finest mad devil of jealousy in him, Master Brook, that\\r\\n ever govern\\'d frenzy. I will tell you-he beat me grievously\\r\\n in the shape of a woman; for in the shape of man, Master\\r\\n Brook, I fear not Goliath with a weaver\\'s beam; because\\r\\n I know also life is a shuttle. I am in haste; go along with\\r\\n me; I\\'ll. tell you all, Master Brook. Since I pluck\\'d geese,\\r\\n play\\'d truant, and whipp\\'d top, I knew not what \\'twas to\\r\\n be beaten till lately. Follow me. I\\'ll tell you strange things\\r\\n of this knave-Ford, on whom to-night I will be revenged,\\r\\n and I will deliver his wife into your hand. Follow. Strange\\r\\n things in hand, Master Brook! Follow. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nWindsor Park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. Come, come; we\\'ll couch i\\' th\\' Castle ditch till we\\r\\n see the light of our fairies. Remember, son Slender, my daughter.\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, forsooth; I have spoke with her, and we have\\r\\n a nay-word how to know one another. I come to her in\\r\\n white and cry \\'mum\\'; she cries \\'budget,\\' and by that we\\r\\n know one another.\\r\\n SHALLOW. That\\'s good too; but what needs either your mum\\r\\n or her budget? The white will decipher her well enough.\\r\\n It hath struck ten o\\'clock.\\r\\n PAGE. The night is dark; light and spirits will become it well.\\r\\n Heaven prosper our sport! No man means evil but the\\r\\n devil, and we shall know him by his horns. Let\\'s away;\\r\\n follow me. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nA street leading to the Park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and DOCTOR CAIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Master Doctor, my daughter is in green; when\\r\\n you see your time, take her by the hand, away with her to\\r\\n the deanery, and dispatch it quickly. Go before into the\\r\\n Park; we two must go together.\\r\\n CAIUS. I know vat I have to do; adieu.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Fare you well, sir. [Exit CAIUS] My husband\\r\\n will not rejoice so much at the abuse of Falstaff as he will\\r\\n chafe at the doctor\\'s marrying my daughter; but \\'tis no\\r\\n matter; better a little chiding than a great deal of\\r\\n heartbreak.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Where is Nan now, and her troop of fairies, and\\r\\n the Welsh devil, Hugh?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. They are all couch\\'d in a pit hard by Heme\\'s\\r\\n oak, with obscur\\'d lights; which, at the very instant of\\r\\n Falstaff\\'s and our meeting, they will at once display to the\\r\\n night.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. That cannot choose but amaze him.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. If he be not amaz\\'d, he will be mock\\'d; if he be\\r\\n amaz\\'d, he will every way be mock\\'d.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. We\\'ll betray him finely.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Against such lewdsters and their lechery,\\r\\n Those that betray them do no treachery.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. The hour draws on. To the oak, to the oak!\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nWindsor Park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SIR HUGH EVANS like a satyr, with OTHERS as fairies\\r\\n\\r\\n EVANS. Trib, trib, fairies; come; and remember your parts. Be pold, I\\r\\n pray you; follow me into the pit; and when I give the watch-ords, do\\r\\n as I pid you. Come, come; trib, trib.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnother part of the Park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FALSTAFF disguised as HERNE\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve; the minute draws on.\\r\\n Now the hot-blooded gods assist me! Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull\\r\\n for thy Europa; love set on thy horns. O powerful love! that in some\\r\\n respects makes a beast a man; in some other a man a beast. You were\\r\\n also, Jupiter, a swan, for the love of Leda. O omnipotent love! how\\r\\n near the god drew to the complexion of a goose! A fault done first in\\r\\n the form of a beast-O Jove, a beastly fault!-and then another fault\\r\\n in the semblance of a fowl- think on\\'t, Jove, a foul fault! When gods\\r\\n have hot backs what shall poor men do? For me, I am here a Windsor\\r\\n stag; and the fattest, I think, i\\' th\\' forest. Send me a cool\\r\\n rut-time, Jove, or who can blame me to piss my tallow? Who comes\\r\\n here? my doe?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS FORD and MISTRESS PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Sir John! Art thou there, my deer, my male deer.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. My doe with the black scut! Let the sky rain\\r\\n potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of Greensleeves, hail\\r\\n kissing-comfits, and snow eringoes; let there come a tempest\\r\\n of provocation, I will shelter me here. [Embracing her]\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Mistress Page is come with me, sweetheart.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Divide me like a brib\\'d buck, each a haunch; I\\r\\n will keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the fellow\\r\\n of this walk, and my horns I bequeath your husbands. Am\\r\\n I a woodman, ha? Speak I like Heme the Hunter? Why,\\r\\n now is Cupid a child of conscience; he makes restitution.\\r\\n As I am a true spirit, welcome! [A noise of horns]\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Alas, what noise?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Heaven forgive our sins!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What should this be?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. } Away, away.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. } Away, away. [They run off]\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I think the devil will not have me damn\\'d, lest the\\r\\n oil that\\'s in me should set hell on fire; he would never else\\r\\n cross me thus.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR HUGH EVANS like a satyr, ANNE PAGE as\\r\\n a fairy, and OTHERS as the Fairy Queen, fairies, and\\r\\n Hobgoblin; all with tapers\\r\\n\\r\\n FAIRY QUEEN. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white,\\r\\n You moonshine revellers, and shades of night,\\r\\n You orphan heirs of fixed destiny,\\r\\n Attend your office and your quality.\\r\\n Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy oyes.\\r\\n PUCK. Elves, list your names; silence, you airy toys.\\r\\n Cricket, to Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap;\\r\\n Where fires thou find\\'st unrak\\'d, and hearths unswept,\\r\\n There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry;\\r\\n Our radiant Queen hates sluts and sluttery.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. They are fairies; he that speaks to them shall die.\\r\\n I\\'ll wink and couch; no man their works must eye.\\r\\n [Lies down upon his face]\\r\\n EVANS. Where\\'s Pede? Go you, and where you find a maid\\r\\n That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said,\\r\\n Raise up the organs of her fantasy\\r\\n Sleep she as sound as careless infancy;\\r\\n But those as sleep and think not on their sins,\\r\\n Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and shins.\\r\\n FAIRY QUEEN. About, about;\\r\\n Search Windsor castle, elves, within and out;\\r\\n Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room,\\r\\n That it may stand till the perpetual doom\\r\\n In state as wholesome as in state \\'tis fit,\\r\\n Worthy the owner and the owner it.\\r\\n The several chairs of order look you scour\\r\\n With juice of balm and every precious flower;\\r\\n Each fair instalment, coat, and sev\\'ral crest,\\r\\n With loyal blazon, evermore be blest!\\r\\n And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing,\\r\\n Like to the Garter\\'s compass, in a ring;\\r\\n Th\\' expressure that it bears, green let it be,\\r\\n More fertile-fresh than all the field to see;\\r\\n And \\'Honi soit qui mal y pense\\' write\\r\\n In em\\'rald tufts, flow\\'rs purple, blue and white;\\r\\n Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery,\\r\\n Buckled below fair knighthood\\'s bending knee.\\r\\n Fairies use flow\\'rs for their charactery.\\r\\n Away, disperse; but till \\'tis one o\\'clock,\\r\\n Our dance of custom round about the oak\\r\\n Of Herne the Hunter let us not forget.\\r\\n EVANS. Pray you, lock hand in hand; yourselves in order set;\\r\\n And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be,\\r\\n To guide our measure round about the tree.\\r\\n But, stay. I smell a man of middle earth.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy, lest he\\r\\n transform me to a piece of cheese!\\r\\n PUCK. Vile worm, thou wast o\\'erlook\\'d even in thy birth.\\r\\n FAIRY QUEEN. With trial-fire touch me his finger-end;\\r\\n If he be chaste, the flame will back descend,\\r\\n And turn him to no pain; but if he start,\\r\\n It is the flesh of a corrupted heart.\\r\\n PUCK. A trial, come.\\r\\n EVANS. Come, will this wood take fire?\\r\\n [They put the tapers to his fingers, and he starts]\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Oh, oh, oh!\\r\\n FAIRY QUEEN. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire!\\r\\n About him, fairies; sing a scornful rhyme;\\r\\n And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time.\\r\\n THE SONG.\\r\\n Fie on sinful fantasy!\\r\\n Fie on lust and luxury!\\r\\n Lust is but a bloody fire,\\r\\n Kindled with unchaste desire,\\r\\n Fed in heart, whose flames aspire,\\r\\n As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher.\\r\\n Pinch him, fairies, mutually;\\r\\n Pinch him for his villainy;\\r\\n Pinch him and burn him and turn him about,\\r\\n Till candles and star-light and moonshine be out.\\r\\n\\r\\n During this song they pinch FALSTAFF. DOCTOR\\r\\n CAIUS comes one way, and steals away a fairy in\\r\\n green; SLENDER another way, and takes off a fairy in\\r\\n white; and FENTON steals away ANNE PAGE. A noise\\r\\n of hunting is heard within. All the fairies run away.\\r\\n FALSTAFF pulls off his buck\\'s head, and rises\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PAGE, FORD, MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and\\r\\n SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. Nay, do not fly; I think we have watch\\'d you now.\\r\\n Will none but Heme the Hunter serve your turn?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. I pray you, come, hold up the jest no higher.\\r\\n Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor wives?\\r\\n See you these, husband? Do not these fair yokes\\r\\n Become the forest better than the town?\\r\\n FORD. Now, sir, who\\'s a cuckold now? Master Brook,\\r\\n Falstaff\\'s a knave, a cuckoldly knave; here are his horns,\\r\\n Master Brook; and, Master Brook, he hath enjoyed nothing of\\r\\n Ford\\'s but his buck-basket, his cudgel, and twenty pounds\\r\\n of money, which must be paid to Master Brook; his horses\\r\\n are arrested for it, Master Brook.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Sir John, we have had ill luck; we could never\\r\\n meet. I will never take you for my love again; but I will\\r\\n always count you my deer.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass.\\r\\n FORD. Ay, and an ox too; both the proofs are extant.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. And these are not fairies? I was three or four\\r\\n times in the thought they were not fairies; and yet the\\r\\n guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprise of my powers,\\r\\n drove the grossness of the foppery into a receiv\\'d belief,\\r\\n in despite of the teeth of all rhyme and reason, that they\\r\\n were fairies. See now how wit may be made a Jack-a-Lent\\r\\n when \\'tis upon ill employment.\\r\\n EVANS. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your desires,\\r\\n and fairies will not pinse you.\\r\\n FORD. Well said, fairy Hugh.\\r\\n EVANS. And leave you your jealousies too, I pray you.\\r\\n FORD. I will never mistrust my wife again, till thou art able\\r\\n to woo her in good English.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried it, that\\r\\n it wants matter to prevent so gross, o\\'er-reaching as this?\\r\\n Am I ridden with a Welsh goat too? Shall I have a cox-comb\\r\\n of frieze? \\'Tis time I were chok\\'d with a piece of\\r\\n toasted cheese.\\r\\n EVANS. Seese is not good to give putter; your belly is all\\r\\n putter.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. \\'Seese\\' and \\'putter\\'! Have I liv\\'d to stand at the\\r\\n taunt of one that makes fritters of English? This is enough\\r\\n to be the decay of lust and late-walking through the realm.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Why, Sir John, do you think, though we would\\r\\n have thrust virtue out of our hearts by the head and\\r\\n shoulders, and have given ourselves without scruple to hell,\\r\\n that ever the devil could have made you our delight?\\r\\n FORD. What, a hodge-pudding? a bag of flax?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. A puff\\'d man?\\r\\n PAGE. Old, cold, wither\\'d, and of intolerable entrails?\\r\\n FORD. And one that is as slanderous as Satan?\\r\\n PAGE. And as poor as Job?\\r\\n FORD. And as wicked as his wife?\\r\\n EVANS. And given to fornications, and to taverns, and sack,\\r\\n and wine, and metheglins, and to drinkings, and swearings,\\r\\n and starings, pribbles and prabbles?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Well, I am your theme; you have the start of me;\\r\\n I am dejected; I am not able to answer the Welsh flannel;\\r\\n ignorance itself is a plummet o\\'er me; use me as you will.\\r\\n FORD. Marry, sir, we\\'ll bring you to Windsor, to one Master\\r\\n Brook, that you have cozen\\'d of money, to whom you\\r\\n should have been a pander. Over and above that you have\\r\\n suffer\\'d, I think to repay that money will be a biting\\r\\n affliction.\\r\\n PAGE. Yet be cheerful, knight; thou shalt eat a posset\\r\\n tonight at my house, where I will desire thee to laugh at my\\r\\n wife, that now laughs at thee. Tell her Master Slender hath\\r\\n married her daughter.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. [Aside] Doctors doubt that; if Anne Page be\\r\\n my daughter, she is, by this, Doctor Caius\\' wife.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SLENDER\\r\\n\\r\\n SLENDER. Whoa, ho, ho, father Page!\\r\\n PAGE. Son, how now! how now, son! Have you dispatch\\'d\\'?\\r\\n SLENDER. Dispatch\\'d! I\\'ll make the best in Gloucestershire\\r\\n know on\\'t; would I were hang\\'d, la, else!\\r\\n PAGE. Of what, son?\\r\\n SLENDER. I came yonder at Eton to marry Mistress Anne\\r\\n Page, and she\\'s a great lubberly boy. If it had not been i\\'\\r\\n th\\' church, I would have swing\\'d him, or he should have\\r\\n swing\\'d me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page,\\r\\n would I might never stir!-and \\'tis a postmaster\\'s boy.\\r\\n PAGE. Upon my life, then, you took the wrong.\\r\\n SLENDER. What need you tell me that? I think so, when I\\r\\n took a boy for a girl. If I had been married to him, for all\\r\\n he was in woman\\'s apparel, I would not have had him.\\r\\n PAGE. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell you how\\r\\n you should know my daughter by her garments?\\r\\n SLENDER. I went to her in white and cried \\'mum\\' and she\\r\\n cried \\'budget\\' as Anne and I had appointed; and yet it was\\r\\n not Anne, but a postmaster\\'s boy.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Good George, be not angry. I knew of your\\r\\n purpose; turn\\'d my daughter into green; and, indeed, she\\r\\n is now with the Doctor at the dean\\'ry, and there married.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CAIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n CAIUS. Vere is Mistress Page? By gar, I am cozened; I ha\\'\\r\\n married un garcon, a boy; un paysan, by gar, a boy; it is\\r\\n not Anne Page; by gar, I am cozened.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Why, did you take her in green?\\r\\n CAIUS. Ay, be gar, and \\'tis a boy; be gar, I\\'ll raise all\\r\\n Windsor. Exit CAIUS\\r\\n FORD. This is strange. Who hath got the right Anne?\\r\\n PAGE. My heart misgives me; here comes Master Fenton.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, Master Fenton!\\r\\n ANNE. Pardon, good father. Good my mother, pardon.\\r\\n PAGE. Now, Mistress, how chance you went not with Master\\r\\n Slender?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Why went you not with Master Doctor, maid?\\r\\n FENTON. You do amaze her. Hear the truth of it.\\r\\n You would have married her most shamefully,\\r\\n Where there was no proportion held in love.\\r\\n The truth is, she and I, long since contracted,\\r\\n Are now so sure that nothing can dissolve us.\\r\\n Th\\' offence is holy that she hath committed;\\r\\n And this deceit loses the name of craft,\\r\\n Of disobedience, or unduteous title,\\r\\n Since therein she doth evitate and shun\\r\\n A thousand irreligious cursed hours,\\r\\n Which forced marriage would have brought upon her.\\r\\n FORD. Stand not amaz\\'d; here is no remedy.\\r\\n In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state;\\r\\n Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I am glad, though you have ta\\'en a special stand\\r\\n to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanc\\'d.\\r\\n PAGE. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give thee joy!\\r\\n What cannot be eschew\\'d must be embrac\\'d.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chas\\'d.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Well, I will muse no further. Master Fenton,\\r\\n Heaven give you many, many merry days!\\r\\n Good husband, let us every one go home,\\r\\n And laugh this sport o\\'er by a country fire;\\r\\n Sir John and all.\\r\\n FORD. Let it be so. Sir John,\\r\\n To Master Brook you yet shall hold your word;\\r\\n For he, to-night, shall lie with Mistress Ford. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nA MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Athens. A room in the Palace of Theseus\\r\\nScene II. The Same. A Room in a Cottage\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. A wood near Athens\\r\\nScene II. Another part of the wood\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. The Wood.\\r\\nScene II. Another part of the wood\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. The Wood\\r\\nScene II. Athens. A Room in Quince’s House\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Athens. An Apartment in the Palace of Theseus\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS, Duke of Athens\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA, Queen of the Amazons, bethrothed to Theseus\\r\\nEGEUS, Father to Hermia\\r\\nHERMIA, daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander\\r\\nHELENA, in love with Demetrius\\r\\nLYSANDER, in love with Hermia\\r\\nDEMETRIUS, in love with Hermia\\r\\nPHILOSTRATE, Master of the Revels to Theseus\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE, the Carpenter\\r\\nSNUG, the Joiner\\r\\nBOTTOM, the Weaver\\r\\nFLUTE, the Bellows-mender\\r\\nSNOUT, the Tinker\\r\\nSTARVELING, the Tailor\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON, King of the Fairies\\r\\nTITANIA, Queen of the Fairies\\r\\nPUCK, or ROBIN GOODFELLOW, a Fairy\\r\\nPEASEBLOSSOM, Fairy\\r\\nCOBWEB, Fairy\\r\\nMOTH, Fairy\\r\\nMUSTARDSEED, Fairy\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS, THISBE, WALL, MOONSHINE, LION; Characters in the Interlude\\r\\nperformed by the Clowns\\r\\n\\r\\nOther Fairies attending their King and Queen\\r\\nAttendants on Theseus and Hippolyta\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Athens, and a wood not far from it\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Athens. A room in the Palace of Theseus\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNow, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour\\r\\nDraws on apace; four happy days bring in\\r\\nAnother moon; but oh, methinks, how slow\\r\\nThis old moon wanes! She lingers my desires,\\r\\nLike to a step-dame or a dowager,\\r\\nLong withering out a young man’s revenue.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nFour days will quickly steep themselves in night;\\r\\nFour nights will quickly dream away the time;\\r\\nAnd then the moon, like to a silver bow\\r\\nNew bent in heaven, shall behold the night\\r\\nOf our solemnities.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nGo, Philostrate,\\r\\nStir up the Athenian youth to merriments;\\r\\nAwake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth;\\r\\nTurn melancholy forth to funerals;\\r\\nThe pale companion is not for our pomp.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Philostrate._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHippolyta, I woo’d thee with my sword,\\r\\nAnd won thy love doing thee injuries;\\r\\nBut I will wed thee in another key,\\r\\nWith pomp, with triumph, and with revelling.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander and Demetrius.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEUS.\\r\\nHappy be Theseus, our renownèd Duke!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThanks, good Egeus. What’s the news with thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEUS.\\r\\nFull of vexation come I, with complaint\\r\\nAgainst my child, my daughter Hermia.\\r\\nStand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord,\\r\\nThis man hath my consent to marry her.\\r\\nStand forth, Lysander. And, my gracious Duke,\\r\\nThis man hath bewitch’d the bosom of my child.\\r\\nThou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes,\\r\\nAnd interchang’d love-tokens with my child.\\r\\nThou hast by moonlight at her window sung,\\r\\nWith feigning voice, verses of feigning love;\\r\\nAnd stol’n the impression of her fantasy\\r\\nWith bracelets of thy hair, rings, gauds, conceits,\\r\\nKnacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats (messengers\\r\\nOf strong prevailment in unharden’d youth)\\r\\nWith cunning hast thou filch’d my daughter’s heart,\\r\\nTurn’d her obedience (which is due to me)\\r\\nTo stubborn harshness. And, my gracious Duke,\\r\\nBe it so she will not here before your grace\\r\\nConsent to marry with Demetrius,\\r\\nI beg the ancient privilege of Athens:\\r\\nAs she is mine I may dispose of her;\\r\\nWhich shall be either to this gentleman\\r\\nOr to her death, according to our law\\r\\nImmediately provided in that case.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat say you, Hermia? Be advis’d, fair maid.\\r\\nTo you your father should be as a god;\\r\\nOne that compos’d your beauties, yea, and one\\r\\nTo whom you are but as a form in wax\\r\\nBy him imprinted, and within his power\\r\\nTo leave the figure, or disfigure it.\\r\\nDemetrius is a worthy gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nSo is Lysander.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nIn himself he is.\\r\\nBut in this kind, wanting your father’s voice,\\r\\nThe other must be held the worthier.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI would my father look’d but with my eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nRather your eyes must with his judgment look.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI do entreat your Grace to pardon me.\\r\\nI know not by what power I am made bold,\\r\\nNor how it may concern my modesty\\r\\nIn such a presence here to plead my thoughts:\\r\\nBut I beseech your Grace that I may know\\r\\nThe worst that may befall me in this case,\\r\\nIf I refuse to wed Demetrius.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nEither to die the death, or to abjure\\r\\nFor ever the society of men.\\r\\nTherefore, fair Hermia, question your desires,\\r\\nKnow of your youth, examine well your blood,\\r\\nWhether, if you yield not to your father’s choice,\\r\\nYou can endure the livery of a nun,\\r\\nFor aye to be in shady cloister mew’d,\\r\\nTo live a barren sister all your life,\\r\\nChanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.\\r\\nThrice-blessèd they that master so their blood\\r\\nTo undergo such maiden pilgrimage,\\r\\nBut earthlier happy is the rose distill’d\\r\\nThan that which, withering on the virgin thorn,\\r\\nGrows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nSo will I grow, so live, so die, my lord,\\r\\nEre I will yield my virgin patent up\\r\\nUnto his lordship, whose unwishèd yoke\\r\\nMy soul consents not to give sovereignty.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nTake time to pause; and by the next new moon\\r\\nThe sealing-day betwixt my love and me\\r\\nFor everlasting bond of fellowship,\\r\\nUpon that day either prepare to die\\r\\nFor disobedience to your father’s will,\\r\\nOr else to wed Demetrius, as he would,\\r\\nOr on Diana’s altar to protest\\r\\nFor aye austerity and single life.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nRelent, sweet Hermia; and, Lysander, yield\\r\\nThy crazèd title to my certain right.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nYou have her father’s love, Demetrius.\\r\\nLet me have Hermia’s. Do you marry him.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEUS.\\r\\nScornful Lysander, true, he hath my love;\\r\\nAnd what is mine my love shall render him;\\r\\nAnd she is mine, and all my right of her\\r\\nI do estate unto Demetrius.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nI am, my lord, as well deriv’d as he,\\r\\nAs well possess’d; my love is more than his;\\r\\nMy fortunes every way as fairly rank’d,\\r\\nIf not with vantage, as Demetrius’;\\r\\nAnd, which is more than all these boasts can be,\\r\\nI am belov’d of beauteous Hermia.\\r\\nWhy should not I then prosecute my right?\\r\\nDemetrius, I’ll avouch it to his head,\\r\\nMade love to Nedar’s daughter, Helena,\\r\\nAnd won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes,\\r\\nDevoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry,\\r\\nUpon this spotted and inconstant man.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI must confess that I have heard so much,\\r\\nAnd with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof;\\r\\nBut, being over-full of self-affairs,\\r\\nMy mind did lose it.—But, Demetrius, come,\\r\\nAnd come, Egeus; you shall go with me.\\r\\nI have some private schooling for you both.—\\r\\nFor you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself\\r\\nTo fit your fancies to your father’s will,\\r\\nOr else the law of Athens yields you up\\r\\n(Which by no means we may extenuate)\\r\\nTo death, or to a vow of single life.\\r\\nCome, my Hippolyta. What cheer, my love?\\r\\nDemetrius and Egeus, go along;\\r\\nI must employ you in some business\\r\\nAgainst our nuptial, and confer with you\\r\\nOf something nearly that concerns yourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEUS.\\r\\nWith duty and desire we follow you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Lysander and Hermia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nHow now, my love? Why is your cheek so pale?\\r\\nHow chance the roses there do fade so fast?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nBelike for want of rain, which I could well\\r\\nBeteem them from the tempest of my eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nAy me! For aught that I could ever read,\\r\\nCould ever hear by tale or history,\\r\\nThe course of true love never did run smooth.\\r\\nBut either it was different in blood—\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nO cross! Too high to be enthrall’d to low.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nOr else misgraffèd in respect of years—\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nO spite! Too old to be engag’d to young.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nOr else it stood upon the choice of friends—\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nO hell! to choose love by another’s eyes!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nOr, if there were a sympathy in choice,\\r\\nWar, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,\\r\\nMaking it momentany as a sound,\\r\\nSwift as a shadow, short as any dream,\\r\\nBrief as the lightning in the collied night\\r\\nThat, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,\\r\\nAnd, ere a man hath power to say, ‘Behold!’\\r\\nThe jaws of darkness do devour it up:\\r\\nSo quick bright things come to confusion.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nIf then true lovers have ever cross’d,\\r\\nIt stands as an edict in destiny.\\r\\nThen let us teach our trial patience,\\r\\nBecause it is a customary cross,\\r\\nAs due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs,\\r\\nWishes and tears, poor fancy’s followers.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nA good persuasion; therefore, hear me, Hermia.\\r\\nI have a widow aunt, a dowager\\r\\nOf great revenue, and she hath no child.\\r\\nFrom Athens is her house remote seven leagues,\\r\\nAnd she respects me as her only son.\\r\\nThere, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee,\\r\\nAnd to that place the sharp Athenian law\\r\\nCannot pursue us. If thou lovest me then,\\r\\nSteal forth thy father’s house tomorrow night;\\r\\nAnd in the wood, a league without the town\\r\\n(Where I did meet thee once with Helena\\r\\nTo do observance to a morn of May),\\r\\nThere will I stay for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nMy good Lysander!\\r\\nI swear to thee by Cupid’s strongest bow,\\r\\nBy his best arrow with the golden head,\\r\\nBy the simplicity of Venus’ doves,\\r\\nBy that which knitteth souls and prospers loves,\\r\\nAnd by that fire which burn’d the Carthage queen\\r\\nWhen the false Trojan under sail was seen,\\r\\nBy all the vows that ever men have broke\\r\\n(In number more than ever women spoke),\\r\\nIn that same place thou hast appointed me,\\r\\nTomorrow truly will I meet with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nKeep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nGod speed fair Helena! Whither away?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nCall you me fair? That fair again unsay.\\r\\nDemetrius loves your fair. O happy fair!\\r\\nYour eyes are lode-stars and your tongue’s sweet air\\r\\nMore tuneable than lark to shepherd’s ear,\\r\\nWhen wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.\\r\\nSickness is catching. O were favour so,\\r\\nYours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go.\\r\\nMy ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye,\\r\\nMy tongue should catch your tongue’s sweet melody.\\r\\nWere the world mine, Demetrius being bated,\\r\\nThe rest I’d give to be to you translated.\\r\\nO, teach me how you look, and with what art\\r\\nYou sway the motion of Demetrius’ heart!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI frown upon him, yet he loves me still.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI give him curses, yet he gives me love.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO that my prayers could such affection move!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nThe more I hate, the more he follows me.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nThe more I love, the more he hateth me.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nHis folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nNone but your beauty; would that fault were mine!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nTake comfort: he no more shall see my face;\\r\\nLysander and myself will fly this place.\\r\\nBefore the time I did Lysander see,\\r\\nSeem’d Athens as a paradise to me.\\r\\nO, then, what graces in my love do dwell,\\r\\nThat he hath turn’d a heaven into hell!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nHelen, to you our minds we will unfold:\\r\\nTomorrow night, when Phoebe doth behold\\r\\nHer silver visage in the watery glass,\\r\\nDecking with liquid pearl the bladed grass\\r\\n(A time that lovers’ flights doth still conceal),\\r\\nThrough Athens’ gates have we devis’d to steal.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nAnd in the wood where often you and I\\r\\nUpon faint primrose beds were wont to lie,\\r\\nEmptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet,\\r\\nThere my Lysander and myself shall meet,\\r\\nAnd thence from Athens turn away our eyes,\\r\\nTo seek new friends and stranger companies.\\r\\nFarewell, sweet playfellow. Pray thou for us,\\r\\nAnd good luck grant thee thy Demetrius!\\r\\nKeep word, Lysander. We must starve our sight\\r\\nFrom lovers’ food, till morrow deep midnight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nI will, my Hermia.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Hermia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHelena, adieu.\\r\\nAs you on him, Demetrius dote on you!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lysander._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nHow happy some o’er other some can be!\\r\\nThrough Athens I am thought as fair as she.\\r\\nBut what of that? Demetrius thinks not so;\\r\\nHe will not know what all but he do know.\\r\\nAnd as he errs, doting on Hermia’s eyes,\\r\\nSo I, admiring of his qualities.\\r\\nThings base and vile, holding no quantity,\\r\\nLove can transpose to form and dignity.\\r\\nLove looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;\\r\\nAnd therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind.\\r\\nNor hath love’s mind of any judgment taste.\\r\\nWings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste.\\r\\nAnd therefore is love said to be a child,\\r\\nBecause in choice he is so oft beguil’d.\\r\\nAs waggish boys in game themselves forswear,\\r\\nSo the boy Love is perjur’d everywhere.\\r\\nFor, ere Demetrius look’d on Hermia’s eyne,\\r\\nHe hail’d down oaths that he was only mine;\\r\\nAnd when this hail some heat from Hermia felt,\\r\\nSo he dissolv’d, and showers of oaths did melt.\\r\\nI will go tell him of fair Hermia’s flight.\\r\\nThen to the wood will he tomorrow night\\r\\nPursue her; and for this intelligence\\r\\nIf I have thanks, it is a dear expense.\\r\\nBut herein mean I to enrich my pain,\\r\\nTo have his sight thither and back again.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Helena._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The Same. A Room in a Cottage\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout and Starveling.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nIs all our company here?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nYou were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the\\r\\nscrip.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nHere is the scroll of every man’s name, which is thought fit through\\r\\nall Athens, to play in our interlude before the Duke and Duchess, on\\r\\nhis wedding-day at night.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nFirst, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on; then read the\\r\\nnames of the actors; and so grow to a point.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nMarry, our play is _The most lamentable comedy and most cruel death of\\r\\nPyramus and Thisbe_.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nA very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry. Now, good Peter\\r\\nQuince, call forth your actors by the scroll. Masters, spread\\r\\nyourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nAnswer, as I call you. Nick Bottom, the weaver.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nReady. Name what part I am for, and proceed.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nYou, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWhat is Pyramus—a lover, or a tyrant?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nA lover, that kills himself most gallantly for love.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nThat will ask some tears in the true performing of it. If I do it, let\\r\\nthe audience look to their eyes. I will move storms; I will condole in\\r\\nsome measure. To the rest—yet my chief humour is for a tyrant. I could\\r\\nplay Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split.\\r\\n\\r\\n The raging rocks\\r\\n And shivering shocks\\r\\n Shall break the locks\\r\\n Of prison gates,\\r\\n And Phibbus’ car\\r\\n Shall shine from far,\\r\\n And make and mar\\r\\n The foolish Fates.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis was lofty. Now name the rest of the players. This is Ercles’ vein,\\r\\na tyrant’s vein; a lover is more condoling.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nFrancis Flute, the bellows-mender.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUTE.\\r\\nHere, Peter Quince.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nFlute, you must take Thisbe on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUTE.\\r\\nWhat is Thisbe? A wandering knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nIt is the lady that Pyramus must love.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUTE.\\r\\nNay, faith, let not me play a woman. I have a beard coming.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nThat’s all one. You shall play it in a mask, and you may speak as small\\r\\nas you will.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nAnd I may hide my face, let me play Thisbe too. I’ll speak in a\\r\\nmonstrous little voice; ‘Thisne, Thisne!’—‘Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear!\\r\\nthy Thisbe dear! and lady dear!’\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nNo, no, you must play Pyramus; and, Flute, you Thisbe.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWell, proceed.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nRobin Starveling, the tailor.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTARVELING.\\r\\nHere, Peter Quince.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nRobin Starveling, you must play Thisbe’s mother.\\r\\nTom Snout, the tinker.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNOUT\\r\\nHere, Peter Quince.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nYou, Pyramus’ father; myself, Thisbe’s father;\\r\\nSnug, the joiner, you, the lion’s part. And, I hope here is a play\\r\\nfitted.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNUG\\r\\nHave you the lion’s part written? Pray you, if it be, give it me, for I\\r\\nam slow of study.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nYou may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nLet me play the lion too. I will roar that I will do any man’s heart\\r\\ngood to hear me. I will roar that I will make the Duke say ‘Let him\\r\\nroar again, let him roar again.’\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nIf you should do it too terribly, you would fright the Duchess and the\\r\\nladies, that they would shriek; and that were enough to hang us all.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL\\r\\nThat would hang us every mother’s son.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI grant you, friends, if you should fright the ladies out of their\\r\\nwits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us. But I will\\r\\naggravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any sucking\\r\\ndove; I will roar you an ’twere any nightingale.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nYou can play no part but Pyramus, for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man; a\\r\\nproper man as one shall see in a summer’s day; a most lovely\\r\\ngentleman-like man. Therefore you must needs play Pyramus.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWell, I will undertake it. What beard were I best to play it in?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nWhy, what you will.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI will discharge it in either your straw-colour beard, your\\r\\norange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain beard, or your\\r\\nFrench-crown-colour beard, your perfect yellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nSome of your French crowns have no hair at all, and then you will play\\r\\nbare-faced. But, masters, here are your parts, and I am to entreat you,\\r\\nrequest you, and desire you, to con them by tomorrow night; and meet me\\r\\nin the palace wood, a mile without the town, by moonlight; there will\\r\\nwe rehearse, for if we meet in the city, we shall be dogg’d with\\r\\ncompany, and our devices known. In the meantime I will draw a bill of\\r\\nproperties, such as our play wants. I pray you fail me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWe will meet, and there we may rehearse most obscenely and\\r\\ncourageously. Take pains, be perfect; adieu.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nAt the Duke’s oak we meet.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nEnough. Hold, or cut bow-strings.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A wood near Athens\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Fairy at one door, and Puck at another.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nHow now, spirit! Whither wander you?\\r\\n\\r\\nFAIRY\\r\\n Over hill, over dale,\\r\\n Thorough bush, thorough brier,\\r\\n Over park, over pale,\\r\\n Thorough flood, thorough fire,\\r\\n I do wander everywhere,\\r\\n Swifter than the moon’s sphere;\\r\\n And I serve the Fairy Queen,\\r\\n To dew her orbs upon the green.\\r\\n The cowslips tall her pensioners be,\\r\\n In their gold coats spots you see;\\r\\n Those be rubies, fairy favours,\\r\\n In those freckles live their savours.\\r\\nI must go seek some dew-drops here,\\r\\nAnd hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear.\\r\\nFarewell, thou lob of spirits; I’ll be gone.\\r\\nOur Queen and all her elves come here anon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nThe King doth keep his revels here tonight;\\r\\nTake heed the Queen come not within his sight,\\r\\nFor Oberon is passing fell and wrath,\\r\\nBecause that she, as her attendant, hath\\r\\nA lovely boy, stol’n from an Indian king;\\r\\nShe never had so sweet a changeling.\\r\\nAnd jealous Oberon would have the child\\r\\nKnight of his train, to trace the forests wild:\\r\\nBut she perforce withholds the lovèd boy,\\r\\nCrowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy.\\r\\nAnd now they never meet in grove or green,\\r\\nBy fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen,\\r\\nBut they do square; that all their elves for fear\\r\\nCreep into acorn cups, and hide them there.\\r\\n\\r\\nFAIRY\\r\\nEither I mistake your shape and making quite,\\r\\nOr else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite\\r\\nCall’d Robin Goodfellow. Are not you he\\r\\nThat frights the maidens of the villagery,\\r\\nSkim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern,\\r\\nAnd bootless make the breathless housewife churn,\\r\\nAnd sometime make the drink to bear no barm,\\r\\nMislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm?\\r\\nThose that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck,\\r\\nYou do their work, and they shall have good luck.\\r\\nAre not you he?\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nThou speak’st aright;\\r\\nI am that merry wanderer of the night.\\r\\nI jest to Oberon, and make him smile,\\r\\nWhen I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,\\r\\nNeighing in likeness of a filly foal;\\r\\nAnd sometime lurk I in a gossip’s bowl\\r\\nIn very likeness of a roasted crab,\\r\\nAnd, when she drinks, against her lips I bob,\\r\\nAnd on her withered dewlap pour the ale.\\r\\nThe wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale,\\r\\nSometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me;\\r\\nThen slip I from her bum, down topples she,\\r\\nAnd ‘tailor’ cries, and falls into a cough;\\r\\nAnd then the whole quire hold their hips and loffe\\r\\nAnd waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear\\r\\nA merrier hour was never wasted there.\\r\\nBut room, fairy. Here comes Oberon.\\r\\n\\r\\nFAIRY\\r\\nAnd here my mistress. Would that he were gone!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Oberon at one door, with his Train, and Titania at another, with\\r\\n hers.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nIll met by moonlight, proud Titania.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nWhat, jealous Oberon! Fairies, skip hence;\\r\\nI have forsworn his bed and company.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nTarry, rash wanton; am not I thy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nThen I must be thy lady; but I know\\r\\nWhen thou hast stol’n away from fairyland,\\r\\nAnd in the shape of Corin sat all day\\r\\nPlaying on pipes of corn, and versing love\\r\\nTo amorous Phillida. Why art thou here,\\r\\nCome from the farthest steep of India,\\r\\nBut that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon,\\r\\nYour buskin’d mistress and your warrior love,\\r\\nTo Theseus must be wedded; and you come\\r\\nTo give their bed joy and prosperity?\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nHow canst thou thus, for shame, Titania,\\r\\nGlance at my credit with Hippolyta,\\r\\nKnowing I know thy love to Theseus?\\r\\nDidst not thou lead him through the glimmering night\\r\\nFrom Perigenia, whom he ravished?\\r\\nAnd make him with fair Aegles break his faith,\\r\\nWith Ariadne and Antiopa?\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nThese are the forgeries of jealousy:\\r\\nAnd never, since the middle summer’s spring,\\r\\nMet we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead,\\r\\nBy pavèd fountain, or by rushy brook,\\r\\nOr on the beachèd margent of the sea,\\r\\nTo dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,\\r\\nBut with thy brawls thou hast disturb’d our sport.\\r\\nTherefore the winds, piping to us in vain,\\r\\nAs in revenge, have suck’d up from the sea\\r\\nContagious fogs; which, falling in the land,\\r\\nHath every pelting river made so proud\\r\\nThat they have overborne their continents.\\r\\nThe ox hath therefore stretch’d his yoke in vain,\\r\\nThe ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn\\r\\nHath rotted ere his youth attain’d a beard.\\r\\nThe fold stands empty in the drownèd field,\\r\\nAnd crows are fatted with the murrion flock;\\r\\nThe nine-men’s-morris is fill’d up with mud,\\r\\nAnd the quaint mazes in the wanton green,\\r\\nFor lack of tread, are undistinguishable.\\r\\nThe human mortals want their winter here.\\r\\nNo night is now with hymn or carol blest.\\r\\nTherefore the moon, the governess of floods,\\r\\nPale in her anger, washes all the air,\\r\\nThat rheumatic diseases do abound.\\r\\nAnd thorough this distemperature we see\\r\\nThe seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts\\r\\nFall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose;\\r\\nAnd on old Hiems’ thin and icy crown\\r\\nAn odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds\\r\\nIs, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer,\\r\\nThe childing autumn, angry winter, change\\r\\nTheir wonted liveries; and the mazed world,\\r\\nBy their increase, now knows not which is which.\\r\\nAnd this same progeny of evils comes\\r\\nFrom our debate, from our dissension;\\r\\nWe are their parents and original.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nDo you amend it, then. It lies in you.\\r\\nWhy should Titania cross her Oberon?\\r\\nI do but beg a little changeling boy\\r\\nTo be my henchman.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nSet your heart at rest;\\r\\nThe fairyland buys not the child of me.\\r\\nHis mother was a vot’ress of my order,\\r\\nAnd in the spicèd Indian air, by night,\\r\\nFull often hath she gossip’d by my side;\\r\\nAnd sat with me on Neptune’s yellow sands,\\r\\nMarking th’ embarkèd traders on the flood,\\r\\nWhen we have laugh’d to see the sails conceive,\\r\\nAnd grow big-bellied with the wanton wind;\\r\\nWhich she, with pretty and with swimming gait\\r\\nFollowing (her womb then rich with my young squire),\\r\\nWould imitate, and sail upon the land,\\r\\nTo fetch me trifles, and return again,\\r\\nAs from a voyage, rich with merchandise.\\r\\nBut she, being mortal, of that boy did die;\\r\\nAnd for her sake do I rear up her boy,\\r\\nAnd for her sake I will not part with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nHow long within this wood intend you stay?\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nPerchance till after Theseus’ wedding-day.\\r\\nIf you will patiently dance in our round,\\r\\nAnd see our moonlight revels, go with us;\\r\\nIf not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nGive me that boy and I will go with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nNot for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away.\\r\\nWe shall chide downright if I longer stay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Titania with her Train._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nWell, go thy way. Thou shalt not from this grove\\r\\nTill I torment thee for this injury.—\\r\\nMy gentle Puck, come hither. Thou rememb’rest\\r\\nSince once I sat upon a promontory,\\r\\nAnd heard a mermaid on a dolphin’s back\\r\\nUttering such dulcet and harmonious breath\\r\\nThat the rude sea grew civil at her song\\r\\nAnd certain stars shot madly from their spheres\\r\\nTo hear the sea-maid’s music.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nI remember.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nThat very time I saw, (but thou couldst not),\\r\\nFlying between the cold moon and the earth,\\r\\nCupid all arm’d: a certain aim he took\\r\\nAt a fair vestal, thronèd by the west,\\r\\nAnd loos’d his love-shaft smartly from his bow\\r\\nAs it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts.\\r\\nBut I might see young Cupid’s fiery shaft\\r\\nQuench’d in the chaste beams of the watery moon;\\r\\nAnd the imperial votress passed on,\\r\\nIn maiden meditation, fancy-free.\\r\\nYet mark’d I where the bolt of Cupid fell:\\r\\nIt fell upon a little western flower,\\r\\nBefore milk-white, now purple with love’s wound,\\r\\nAnd maidens call it love-in-idleness.\\r\\nFetch me that flower, the herb I showed thee once:\\r\\nThe juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid\\r\\nWill make or man or woman madly dote\\r\\nUpon the next live creature that it sees.\\r\\nFetch me this herb, and be thou here again\\r\\nEre the leviathan can swim a league.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nI’ll put a girdle round about the earth\\r\\nIn forty minutes.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Puck._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nHaving once this juice,\\r\\nI’ll watch Titania when she is asleep,\\r\\nAnd drop the liquor of it in her eyes:\\r\\nThe next thing then she waking looks upon\\r\\n(Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull,\\r\\nOn meddling monkey, or on busy ape)\\r\\nShe shall pursue it with the soul of love.\\r\\nAnd ere I take this charm from off her sight\\r\\n(As I can take it with another herb)\\r\\nI’ll make her render up her page to me.\\r\\nBut who comes here? I am invisible;\\r\\nAnd I will overhear their conference.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Demetrius, Helena following him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nI love thee not, therefore pursue me not.\\r\\nWhere is Lysander and fair Hermia?\\r\\nThe one I’ll slay, the other slayeth me.\\r\\nThou told’st me they were stol’n into this wood,\\r\\nAnd here am I, and wode within this wood\\r\\nBecause I cannot meet with Hermia.\\r\\nHence, get thee gone, and follow me no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nYou draw me, you hard-hearted adamant,\\r\\nBut yet you draw not iron, for my heart\\r\\nIs true as steel. Leave you your power to draw,\\r\\nAnd I shall have no power to follow you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nDo I entice you? Do I speak you fair?\\r\\nOr rather do I not in plainest truth\\r\\nTell you I do not, nor I cannot love you?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nAnd even for that do I love you the more.\\r\\nI am your spaniel; and, Demetrius,\\r\\nThe more you beat me, I will fawn on you.\\r\\nUse me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me,\\r\\nNeglect me, lose me; only give me leave,\\r\\nUnworthy as I am, to follow you.\\r\\nWhat worser place can I beg in your love,\\r\\n(And yet a place of high respect with me)\\r\\nThan to be usèd as you use your dog?\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nTempt not too much the hatred of my spirit;\\r\\nFor I am sick when I do look on thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nAnd I am sick when I look not on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nYou do impeach your modesty too much\\r\\nTo leave the city and commit yourself\\r\\nInto the hands of one that loves you not,\\r\\nTo trust the opportunity of night.\\r\\nAnd the ill counsel of a desert place,\\r\\nWith the rich worth of your virginity.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nYour virtue is my privilege: for that.\\r\\nIt is not night when I do see your face,\\r\\nTherefore I think I am not in the night;\\r\\nNor doth this wood lack worlds of company,\\r\\nFor you, in my respect, are all the world.\\r\\nThen how can it be said I am alone\\r\\nWhen all the world is here to look on me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nI’ll run from thee and hide me in the brakes,\\r\\nAnd leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nThe wildest hath not such a heart as you.\\r\\nRun when you will, the story shall be chang’d;\\r\\nApollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase;\\r\\nThe dove pursues the griffin, the mild hind\\r\\nMakes speed to catch the tiger. Bootless speed,\\r\\nWhen cowardice pursues and valour flies!\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nI will not stay thy questions. Let me go,\\r\\nOr if thou follow me, do not believe\\r\\nBut I shall do thee mischief in the wood.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nAy, in the temple, in the town, the field,\\r\\nYou do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius!\\r\\nYour wrongs do set a scandal on my sex.\\r\\nWe cannot fight for love as men may do.\\r\\nWe should be woo’d, and were not made to woo.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Demetrius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI’ll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell,\\r\\nTo die upon the hand I love so well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Helena._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nFare thee well, nymph. Ere he do leave this grove,\\r\\nThou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck.\\r\\n\\r\\nHast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nAy, there it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nI pray thee give it me.\\r\\nI know a bank where the wild thyme blows,\\r\\nWhere oxlips and the nodding violet grows,\\r\\nQuite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,\\r\\nWith sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine.\\r\\nThere sleeps Titania sometime of the night,\\r\\nLull’d in these flowers with dances and delight;\\r\\nAnd there the snake throws her enamell’d skin,\\r\\nWeed wide enough to wrap a fairy in.\\r\\nAnd with the juice of this I’ll streak her eyes,\\r\\nAnd make her full of hateful fantasies.\\r\\nTake thou some of it, and seek through this grove:\\r\\nA sweet Athenian lady is in love\\r\\nWith a disdainful youth. Anoint his eyes;\\r\\nBut do it when the next thing he espies\\r\\nMay be the lady. Thou shalt know the man\\r\\nBy the Athenian garments he hath on.\\r\\nEffect it with some care, that he may prove\\r\\nMore fond on her than she upon her love:\\r\\nAnd look thou meet me ere the first cock crow.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nFear not, my lord, your servant shall do so.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another part of the wood\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Titania with her Train.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nCome, now a roundel and a fairy song;\\r\\nThen for the third part of a minute, hence;\\r\\nSome to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds;\\r\\nSome war with reremice for their leathern wings,\\r\\nTo make my small elves coats; and some keep back\\r\\nThe clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders\\r\\nAt our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep;\\r\\nThen to your offices, and let me rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nFairies sing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FAIRY.\\r\\n You spotted snakes with double tongue,\\r\\n Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;\\r\\n Newts and blind-worms do no wrong,\\r\\n Come not near our Fairy Queen:\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\n Philomel, with melody,\\r\\n Sing in our sweet lullaby:\\r\\nLulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby.\\r\\n Never harm, nor spell, nor charm,\\r\\n Come our lovely lady nigh;\\r\\n So good night, with lullaby.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FAIRY.\\r\\n Weaving spiders, come not here;\\r\\n Hence, you long-legg’d spinners, hence.\\r\\n Beetles black, approach not near;\\r\\n Worm nor snail do no offence.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\n Philomel with melody, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FAIRY.\\r\\nHence away! Now all is well.\\r\\nOne aloof stand sentinel.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Fairies. Titania sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Oberon.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nWhat thou seest when thou dost wake,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Squeezes the flower on Titania’s eyelids._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDo it for thy true love take;\\r\\nLove and languish for his sake.\\r\\nBe it ounce, or cat, or bear,\\r\\nPard, or boar with bristled hair,\\r\\nIn thy eye that shall appear\\r\\nWhen thou wak’st, it is thy dear.\\r\\nWake when some vile thing is near.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lysander and Hermia.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nFair love, you faint with wand’ring in the wood.\\r\\nAnd, to speak troth, I have forgot our way.\\r\\nWe’ll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good,\\r\\nAnd tarry for the comfort of the day.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nBe it so, Lysander: find you out a bed,\\r\\nFor I upon this bank will rest my head.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nOne turf shall serve as pillow for us both;\\r\\nOne heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nNay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear,\\r\\nLie further off yet, do not lie so near.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nO take the sense, sweet, of my innocence!\\r\\nLove takes the meaning in love’s conference.\\r\\nI mean that my heart unto yours is knit,\\r\\nSo that but one heart we can make of it:\\r\\nTwo bosoms interchainèd with an oath,\\r\\nSo then two bosoms and a single troth.\\r\\nThen by your side no bed-room me deny;\\r\\nFor lying so, Hermia, I do not lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nLysander riddles very prettily.\\r\\nNow much beshrew my manners and my pride,\\r\\nIf Hermia meant to say Lysander lied!\\r\\nBut, gentle friend, for love and courtesy\\r\\nLie further off, in human modesty,\\r\\nSuch separation as may well be said\\r\\nBecomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid,\\r\\nSo far be distant; and good night, sweet friend:\\r\\nThy love ne’er alter till thy sweet life end!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nAmen, amen, to that fair prayer say I;\\r\\nAnd then end life when I end loyalty!\\r\\nHere is my bed. Sleep give thee all his rest!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nWith half that wish the wisher’s eyes be pressed!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They sleep._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nThrough the forest have I gone,\\r\\nBut Athenian found I none,\\r\\nOn whose eyes I might approve\\r\\nThis flower’s force in stirring love.\\r\\nNight and silence! Who is here?\\r\\nWeeds of Athens he doth wear:\\r\\nThis is he, my master said,\\r\\nDespisèd the Athenian maid;\\r\\nAnd here the maiden, sleeping sound,\\r\\nOn the dank and dirty ground.\\r\\nPretty soul, she durst not lie\\r\\nNear this lack-love, this kill-courtesy.\\r\\nChurl, upon thy eyes I throw\\r\\nAll the power this charm doth owe;\\r\\nWhen thou wak’st let love forbid\\r\\nSleep his seat on thy eyelid.\\r\\nSo awake when I am gone;\\r\\nFor I must now to Oberon.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Demetrius and Helena, running.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nStay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nI charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO, wilt thou darkling leave me? Do not so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nStay, on thy peril; I alone will go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Demetrius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO, I am out of breath in this fond chase!\\r\\nThe more my prayer, the lesser is my grace.\\r\\nHappy is Hermia, wheresoe’er she lies,\\r\\nFor she hath blessèd and attractive eyes.\\r\\nHow came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears.\\r\\nIf so, my eyes are oftener wash’d than hers.\\r\\nNo, no, I am as ugly as a bear,\\r\\nFor beasts that meet me run away for fear:\\r\\nTherefore no marvel though Demetrius\\r\\nDo, as a monster, fly my presence thus.\\r\\nWhat wicked and dissembling glass of mine\\r\\nMade me compare with Hermia’s sphery eyne?\\r\\nBut who is here? Lysander, on the ground!\\r\\nDead or asleep? I see no blood, no wound.\\r\\nLysander, if you live, good sir, awake.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\n[_Waking._] And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake.\\r\\nTransparent Helena! Nature shows art,\\r\\nThat through thy bosom makes me see thy heart.\\r\\nWhere is Demetrius? O, how fit a word\\r\\nIs that vile name to perish on my sword!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nDo not say so, Lysander, say not so.\\r\\nWhat though he love your Hermia? Lord, what though?\\r\\nYet Hermia still loves you. Then be content.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nContent with Hermia? No, I do repent\\r\\nThe tedious minutes I with her have spent.\\r\\nNot Hermia, but Helena I love.\\r\\nWho will not change a raven for a dove?\\r\\nThe will of man is by his reason sway’d,\\r\\nAnd reason says you are the worthier maid.\\r\\nThings growing are not ripe until their season;\\r\\nSo I, being young, till now ripe not to reason;\\r\\nAnd touching now the point of human skill,\\r\\nReason becomes the marshal to my will,\\r\\nAnd leads me to your eyes, where I o’erlook\\r\\nLove’s stories, written in love’s richest book.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nWherefore was I to this keen mockery born?\\r\\nWhen at your hands did I deserve this scorn?\\r\\nIs’t not enough, is’t not enough, young man,\\r\\nThat I did never, no, nor never can\\r\\nDeserve a sweet look from Demetrius’ eye,\\r\\nBut you must flout my insufficiency?\\r\\nGood troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do,\\r\\nIn such disdainful manner me to woo.\\r\\nBut fare you well; perforce I must confess,\\r\\nI thought you lord of more true gentleness.\\r\\nO, that a lady of one man refus’d,\\r\\nShould of another therefore be abus’d!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nShe sees not Hermia. Hermia, sleep thou there,\\r\\nAnd never mayst thou come Lysander near!\\r\\nFor, as a surfeit of the sweetest things\\r\\nThe deepest loathing to the stomach brings;\\r\\nOr as the heresies that men do leave\\r\\nAre hated most of those they did deceive;\\r\\nSo thou, my surfeit and my heresy,\\r\\nOf all be hated, but the most of me!\\r\\nAnd, all my powers, address your love and might\\r\\nTo honour Helen, and to be her knight!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\n[_Starting._] Help me, Lysander, help me! Do thy best\\r\\nTo pluck this crawling serpent from my breast!\\r\\nAy me, for pity! What a dream was here!\\r\\nLysander, look how I do quake with fear.\\r\\nMethought a serpent eat my heart away,\\r\\nAnd you sat smiling at his cruel prey.\\r\\nLysander! What, removed? Lysander! lord!\\r\\nWhat, out of hearing? Gone? No sound, no word?\\r\\nAlack, where are you? Speak, and if you hear;\\r\\nSpeak, of all loves! I swoon almost with fear.\\r\\nNo? Then I well perceive you are not nigh.\\r\\nEither death or you I’ll find immediately.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Wood.\\r\\n\\r\\n The Queen of Fairies still lying asleep.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bottom, Quince, Snout, Starveling, Snug and Flute.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nAre we all met?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nPat, pat; and here’s a marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal.\\r\\nThis green plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn brake our\\r\\ntiring-house; and we will do it in action, as we will do it before the\\r\\nDuke.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nPeter Quince?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nWhat sayest thou, bully Bottom?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nThere are things in this comedy of Pyramus and Thisbe that will never\\r\\nplease. First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself; which the\\r\\nladies cannot abide. How answer you that?\\r\\n\\r\\nSNOUT\\r\\nBy’r lakin, a parlous fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTARVELING.\\r\\nI believe we must leave the killing out, when all is done.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nNot a whit; I have a device to make all well. Write me a prologue, and\\r\\nlet the prologue seem to say we will do no harm with our swords, and\\r\\nthat Pyramus is not killed indeed; and for the more better assurance,\\r\\ntell them that I Pyramus am not Pyramus but Bottom the weaver. This\\r\\nwill put them out of fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nWell, we will have such a prologue; and it shall be written in eight\\r\\nand six.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nNo, make it two more; let it be written in eight and eight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNOUT\\r\\nWill not the ladies be afeard of the lion?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTARVELING.\\r\\nI fear it, I promise you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nMasters, you ought to consider with yourselves, to bring in (God shield\\r\\nus!) a lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing. For there is not a\\r\\nmore fearful wild-fowl than your lion living; and we ought to look to\\r\\nit.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNOUT\\r\\nTherefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nNay, you must name his name, and half his face must be seen through the\\r\\nlion’s neck; and he himself must speak through, saying thus, or to the\\r\\nsame defect: ‘Ladies,’ or, ‘Fair ladies, I would wish you,’ or, ‘I\\r\\nwould request you,’ or, ’I would entreat you, not to fear, not to\\r\\ntremble: my life for yours. If you think I come hither as a lion, it\\r\\nwere pity of my life. No, I am no such thing; I am a man as other men\\r\\nare’: and there, indeed, let him name his name, and tell them plainly\\r\\nhe is Snug the joiner.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nWell, it shall be so. But there is two hard things: that is, to bring\\r\\nthe moonlight into a chamber, for you know, Pyramus and Thisbe meet by\\r\\nmoonlight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNOUT\\r\\nDoth the moon shine that night we play our play?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nA calendar, a calendar! Look in the almanack; find out moonshine, find\\r\\nout moonshine.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nYes, it doth shine that night.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWhy, then may you leave a casement of the great chamber window, where\\r\\nwe play, open; and the moon may shine in at the casement.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nAy; or else one must come in with a bush of thorns and a lantern, and\\r\\nsay he comes to disfigure or to present the person of Moonshine. Then\\r\\nthere is another thing: we must have a wall in the great chamber; for\\r\\nPyramus and Thisbe, says the story, did talk through the chink of a\\r\\nwall.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNOUT\\r\\nYou can never bring in a wall. What say you, Bottom?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nSome man or other must present Wall. And let him have some plaster, or\\r\\nsome loam, or some rough-cast about him, to signify wall; and let him\\r\\nhold his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall Pyramus and Thisbe\\r\\nwhisper.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nIf that may be, then all is well. Come, sit down, every mother’s son,\\r\\nand rehearse your parts. Pyramus, you begin: when you have spoken your\\r\\nspeech, enter into that brake; and so everyone according to his cue.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck behind.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nWhat hempen homespuns have we swaggering here,\\r\\nSo near the cradle of the Fairy Queen?\\r\\nWhat, a play toward? I’ll be an auditor;\\r\\nAn actor too perhaps, if I see cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nSpeak, Pyramus.—Thisbe, stand forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\n_Thisbe, the flowers of odious savours sweet_\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nOdours, odours.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\n_. . . odours savours sweet.\\r\\nSo hath thy breath, my dearest Thisbe dear.\\r\\nBut hark, a voice! Stay thou but here awhile,\\r\\nAnd by and by I will to thee appear._\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nA stranger Pyramus than e’er played here!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nMust I speak now?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nAy, marry, must you, For you must understand he goes but to see a noise\\r\\nthat he heard, and is to come again.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\n_Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue,\\r\\nOf colour like the red rose on triumphant brier,\\r\\nMost brisky juvenal, and eke most lovely Jew,\\r\\nAs true as truest horse, that yet would never tire,\\r\\nI’ll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny’s tomb._\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nNinus’ tomb, man! Why, you must not speak that yet. That you answer to\\r\\nPyramus. You speak all your part at once, cues, and all.—Pyramus enter!\\r\\nYour cue is past; it is ‘never tire.’\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nO, _As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire._\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck and Bottom with an ass’s head.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\n_If I were fair, Thisbe, I were only thine._\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nO monstrous! O strange! We are haunted. Pray, masters, fly, masters!\\r\\nHelp!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Clowns._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nI’ll follow you. I’ll lead you about a round,\\r\\n Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier;\\r\\nSometime a horse I’ll be, sometime a hound,\\r\\n A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire;\\r\\nAnd neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn,\\r\\nLike horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWhy do they run away? This is a knavery of them to make me afeard.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Snout.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNOUT\\r\\nO Bottom, thou art changed! What do I see on thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWhat do you see? You see an ass-head of your own, do you?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Snout._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Quince.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nBless thee, Bottom! bless thee! Thou art translated.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI see their knavery. This is to make an ass of me, to fright me, if\\r\\nthey could. But I will not stir from this place, do what they can. I\\r\\nwill walk up and down here, and I will sing, that they shall hear I am\\r\\nnot afraid.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n The ousel cock, so black of hue,\\r\\n With orange-tawny bill,\\r\\n The throstle with his note so true,\\r\\n The wren with little quill.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\n[_Waking._] What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,\\r\\n The plain-song cuckoo gray,\\r\\n Whose note full many a man doth mark,\\r\\n And dares not answer nay.\\r\\nfor, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird? Who would give\\r\\na bird the lie, though he cry ‘cuckoo’ never so?\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nI pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again.\\r\\nMine ear is much enamour’d of thy note.\\r\\nSo is mine eye enthrallèd to thy shape;\\r\\nAnd thy fair virtue’s force perforce doth move me,\\r\\nOn the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nMethinks, mistress, you should have little reason for that. And yet, to\\r\\nsay the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays.\\r\\nThe more the pity that some honest neighbours will not make them\\r\\nfriends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nThou art as wise as thou art beautiful.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nNot so, neither; but if I had wit enough to get out of this wood, I\\r\\nhave enough to serve mine own turn.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nOut of this wood do not desire to go.\\r\\nThou shalt remain here whether thou wilt or no.\\r\\nI am a spirit of no common rate.\\r\\nThe summer still doth tend upon my state;\\r\\nAnd I do love thee: therefore, go with me.\\r\\nI’ll give thee fairies to attend on thee;\\r\\nAnd they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,\\r\\nAnd sing, while thou on pressèd flowers dost sleep.\\r\\nAnd I will purge thy mortal grossness so\\r\\nThat thou shalt like an airy spirit go.—\\r\\nPeaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter four Fairies.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEASEBLOSSOM.\\r\\nReady.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBWEB.\\r\\nAnd I.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nMOTH.\\r\\nAnd I.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nMUSTARDSEED.\\r\\nAnd I.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nWhere shall we go?\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nBe kind and courteous to this gentleman;\\r\\nHop in his walks and gambol in his eyes;\\r\\nFeed him with apricocks and dewberries,\\r\\nWith purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries;\\r\\nThe honey-bags steal from the humble-bees,\\r\\nAnd for night-tapers, crop their waxen thighs,\\r\\nAnd light them at the fiery glow-worm’s eyes,\\r\\nTo have my love to bed and to arise;\\r\\nAnd pluck the wings from painted butterflies,\\r\\nTo fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.\\r\\nNod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nPEASEBLOSSOM.\\r\\nHail, mortal!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBWEB.\\r\\nHail!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nMOTH.\\r\\nHail!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nMUSTARDSEED.\\r\\nHail!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI cry your worships mercy, heartily.—I beseech your worship’s name.\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBWEB.\\r\\nCobweb.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI shall desire you of more acquaintance, good Master Cobweb. If I cut\\r\\nmy finger, I shall make bold with you.—Your name, honest gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEASEBLOSSOM.\\r\\nPeaseblossom.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI pray you, commend me to Mistress Squash, your mother, and to Master\\r\\nPeascod, your father. Good Master Peaseblossom, I shall desire you of\\r\\nmore acquaintance too.—Your name, I beseech you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nMUSTARDSEED.\\r\\nMustardseed.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nGood Master Mustardseed, I know your patience well. That same cowardly\\r\\ngiant-like ox-beef hath devoured many a gentleman of your house. I\\r\\npromise you, your kindred hath made my eyes water ere now. I desire you\\r\\nof more acquaintance, good Master Mustardseed.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nCome, wait upon him; lead him to my bower.\\r\\n The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye,\\r\\nAnd when she weeps, weeps every little flower,\\r\\n Lamenting some enforced chastity.\\r\\nTie up my love’s tongue, bring him silently.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another part of the wood\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Oberon.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nI wonder if Titania be awak’d;\\r\\nThen, what it was that next came in her eye,\\r\\nWhich she must dote on in extremity.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes my messenger. How now, mad spirit?\\r\\nWhat night-rule now about this haunted grove?\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nMy mistress with a monster is in love.\\r\\nNear to her close and consecrated bower,\\r\\nWhile she was in her dull and sleeping hour,\\r\\nA crew of patches, rude mechanicals,\\r\\nThat work for bread upon Athenian stalls,\\r\\nWere met together to rehearse a play\\r\\nIntended for great Theseus’ nuptial day.\\r\\nThe shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort\\r\\nWho Pyramus presented in their sport,\\r\\nForsook his scene and enter’d in a brake.\\r\\nWhen I did him at this advantage take,\\r\\nAn ass’s nole I fixed on his head.\\r\\nAnon, his Thisbe must be answerèd,\\r\\nAnd forth my mimic comes. When they him spy,\\r\\nAs wild geese that the creeping fowler eye,\\r\\nOr russet-pated choughs, many in sort,\\r\\nRising and cawing at the gun’s report,\\r\\nSever themselves and madly sweep the sky,\\r\\nSo at his sight away his fellows fly,\\r\\nAnd at our stamp, here o’er and o’er one falls;\\r\\nHe murder cries, and help from Athens calls.\\r\\nTheir sense thus weak, lost with their fears, thus strong,\\r\\nMade senseless things begin to do them wrong;\\r\\nFor briers and thorns at their apparel snatch;\\r\\nSome sleeves, some hats, from yielders all things catch.\\r\\nI led them on in this distracted fear,\\r\\nAnd left sweet Pyramus translated there.\\r\\nWhen in that moment, so it came to pass,\\r\\nTitania wak’d, and straightway lov’d an ass.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nThis falls out better than I could devise.\\r\\nBut hast thou yet latch’d the Athenian’s eyes\\r\\nWith the love-juice, as I did bid thee do?\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nI took him sleeping—that is finish’d too—\\r\\nAnd the Athenian woman by his side,\\r\\nThat, when he wak’d, of force she must be ey’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Demetrius and Hermia.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nStand close. This is the same Athenian.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nThis is the woman, but not this the man.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nO why rebuke you him that loves you so?\\r\\nLay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nNow I but chide, but I should use thee worse,\\r\\nFor thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse.\\r\\nIf thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep,\\r\\nBeing o’er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep,\\r\\nAnd kill me too.\\r\\nThe sun was not so true unto the day\\r\\nAs he to me. Would he have stol’n away\\r\\nFrom sleeping Hermia? I’ll believe as soon\\r\\nThis whole earth may be bor’d, and that the moon\\r\\nMay through the centre creep and so displease\\r\\nHer brother’s noontide with th’ Antipodes.\\r\\nIt cannot be but thou hast murder’d him.\\r\\nSo should a murderer look, so dead, so grim.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nSo should the murder’d look, and so should I,\\r\\nPierc’d through the heart with your stern cruelty.\\r\\nYet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear,\\r\\nAs yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nWhat’s this to my Lysander? Where is he?\\r\\nAh, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nI had rather give his carcass to my hounds.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nOut, dog! Out, cur! Thou driv’st me past the bounds\\r\\nOf maiden’s patience. Hast thou slain him, then?\\r\\nHenceforth be never number’d among men!\\r\\nO once tell true; tell true, even for my sake!\\r\\nDurst thou have look’d upon him, being awake,\\r\\nAnd hast thou kill’d him sleeping? O brave touch!\\r\\nCould not a worm, an adder, do so much?\\r\\nAn adder did it; for with doubler tongue\\r\\nThan thine, thou serpent, never adder stung.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nYou spend your passion on a mispris’d mood:\\r\\nI am not guilty of Lysander’s blood;\\r\\nNor is he dead, for aught that I can tell.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI pray thee, tell me then that he is well.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nAnd if I could, what should I get therefore?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nA privilege never to see me more.\\r\\nAnd from thy hated presence part I so:\\r\\nSee me no more, whether he be dead or no.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nThere is no following her in this fierce vein.\\r\\nHere, therefore, for a while I will remain.\\r\\nSo sorrow’s heaviness doth heavier grow\\r\\nFor debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe;\\r\\nWhich now in some slight measure it will pay,\\r\\nIf for his tender here I make some stay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Lies down._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nWhat hast thou done? Thou hast mistaken quite,\\r\\nAnd laid the love-juice on some true-love’s sight.\\r\\nOf thy misprision must perforce ensue\\r\\nSome true love turn’d, and not a false turn’d true.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nThen fate o’er-rules, that, one man holding troth,\\r\\nA million fail, confounding oath on oath.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nAbout the wood go swifter than the wind,\\r\\nAnd Helena of Athens look thou find.\\r\\nAll fancy-sick she is, and pale of cheer\\r\\nWith sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood dear.\\r\\nBy some illusion see thou bring her here;\\r\\nI’ll charm his eyes against she do appear.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nI go, I go; look how I go,\\r\\nSwifter than arrow from the Tartar’s bow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\n Flower of this purple dye,\\r\\n Hit with Cupid’s archery,\\r\\n Sink in apple of his eye.\\r\\n When his love he doth espy,\\r\\n Let her shine as gloriously\\r\\n As the Venus of the sky.—\\r\\n When thou wak’st, if she be by,\\r\\n Beg of her for remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n Captain of our fairy band,\\r\\n Helena is here at hand,\\r\\n And the youth mistook by me,\\r\\n Pleading for a lover’s fee.\\r\\n Shall we their fond pageant see?\\r\\n Lord, what fools these mortals be!\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\n Stand aside. The noise they make\\r\\n Will cause Demetrius to awake.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n Then will two at once woo one.\\r\\n That must needs be sport alone;\\r\\n And those things do best please me\\r\\n That befall prepost’rously.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lysander and Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nWhy should you think that I should woo in scorn?\\r\\nScorn and derision never come in tears.\\r\\nLook when I vow, I weep; and vows so born,\\r\\nIn their nativity all truth appears.\\r\\nHow can these things in me seem scorn to you,\\r\\nBearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nYou do advance your cunning more and more.\\r\\nWhen truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray!\\r\\nThese vows are Hermia’s: will you give her o’er?\\r\\nWeigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh:\\r\\nYour vows to her and me, put in two scales,\\r\\nWill even weigh; and both as light as tales.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nI had no judgment when to her I swore.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nNor none, in my mind, now you give her o’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nDemetrius loves her, and he loves not you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\n[_Waking._] O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine!\\r\\nTo what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne?\\r\\nCrystal is muddy. O how ripe in show\\r\\nThy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!\\r\\nThat pure congealèd white, high Taurus’ snow,\\r\\nFann’d with the eastern wind, turns to a crow\\r\\nWhen thou hold’st up thy hand. O, let me kiss\\r\\nThis princess of pure white, this seal of bliss!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO spite! O hell! I see you all are bent\\r\\nTo set against me for your merriment.\\r\\nIf you were civil, and knew courtesy,\\r\\nYou would not do me thus much injury.\\r\\nCan you not hate me, as I know you do,\\r\\nBut you must join in souls to mock me too?\\r\\nIf you were men, as men you are in show,\\r\\nYou would not use a gentle lady so;\\r\\nTo vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts,\\r\\nWhen I am sure you hate me with your hearts.\\r\\nYou both are rivals, and love Hermia;\\r\\nAnd now both rivals, to mock Helena.\\r\\nA trim exploit, a manly enterprise,\\r\\nTo conjure tears up in a poor maid’s eyes\\r\\nWith your derision! None of noble sort\\r\\nWould so offend a virgin, and extort\\r\\nA poor soul’s patience, all to make you sport.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nYou are unkind, Demetrius; be not so,\\r\\nFor you love Hermia; this you know I know.\\r\\nAnd here, with all good will, with all my heart,\\r\\nIn Hermia’s love I yield you up my part;\\r\\nAnd yours of Helena to me bequeath,\\r\\nWhom I do love and will do till my death.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nNever did mockers waste more idle breath.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nLysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none.\\r\\nIf e’er I lov’d her, all that love is gone.\\r\\nMy heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn’d;\\r\\nAnd now to Helen is it home return’d,\\r\\nThere to remain.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nHelen, it is not so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nDisparage not the faith thou dost not know,\\r\\nLest to thy peril thou aby it dear.\\r\\nLook where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hermia.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nDark night, that from the eye his function takes,\\r\\nThe ear more quick of apprehension makes;\\r\\nWherein it doth impair the seeing sense,\\r\\nIt pays the hearing double recompense.\\r\\nThou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found;\\r\\nMine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound.\\r\\nBut why unkindly didst thou leave me so?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nWhy should he stay whom love doth press to go?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nWhat love could press Lysander from my side?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nLysander’s love, that would not let him bide,\\r\\nFair Helena, who more engilds the night\\r\\nThan all yon fiery oes and eyes of light.\\r\\nWhy seek’st thou me? Could not this make thee know\\r\\nThe hate I bare thee made me leave thee so?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nYou speak not as you think; it cannot be.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nLo, she is one of this confederacy!\\r\\nNow I perceive they have conjoin’d all three\\r\\nTo fashion this false sport in spite of me.\\r\\nInjurious Hermia, most ungrateful maid!\\r\\nHave you conspir’d, have you with these contriv’d,\\r\\nTo bait me with this foul derision?\\r\\nIs all the counsel that we two have shar’d,\\r\\nThe sisters’ vows, the hours that we have spent,\\r\\nWhen we have chid the hasty-footed time\\r\\nFor parting us—O, is all forgot?\\r\\nAll school-days’ friendship, childhood innocence?\\r\\nWe, Hermia, like two artificial gods,\\r\\nHave with our needles created both one flower,\\r\\nBoth on one sampler, sitting on one cushion,\\r\\nBoth warbling of one song, both in one key,\\r\\nAs if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds,\\r\\nHad been incorporate. So we grew together,\\r\\nLike to a double cherry, seeming parted,\\r\\nBut yet a union in partition,\\r\\nTwo lovely berries moulded on one stem;\\r\\nSo, with two seeming bodies, but one heart;\\r\\nTwo of the first, like coats in heraldry,\\r\\nDue but to one, and crownèd with one crest.\\r\\nAnd will you rent our ancient love asunder,\\r\\nTo join with men in scorning your poor friend?\\r\\nIt is not friendly, ’tis not maidenly.\\r\\nOur sex, as well as I, may chide you for it,\\r\\nThough I alone do feel the injury.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI am amazèd at your passionate words:\\r\\nI scorn you not; it seems that you scorn me.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nHave you not set Lysander, as in scorn,\\r\\nTo follow me, and praise my eyes and face?\\r\\nAnd made your other love, Demetrius,\\r\\nWho even but now did spurn me with his foot,\\r\\nTo call me goddess, nymph, divine and rare,\\r\\nPrecious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this\\r\\nTo her he hates? And wherefore doth Lysander\\r\\nDeny your love, so rich within his soul,\\r\\nAnd tender me, forsooth, affection,\\r\\nBut by your setting on, by your consent?\\r\\nWhat though I be not so in grace as you,\\r\\nSo hung upon with love, so fortunate,\\r\\nBut miserable most, to love unlov’d?\\r\\nThis you should pity rather than despise.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI understand not what you mean by this.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nAy, do. Persever, counterfeit sad looks,\\r\\nMake mouths upon me when I turn my back,\\r\\nWink each at other; hold the sweet jest up.\\r\\nThis sport, well carried, shall be chronicled.\\r\\nIf you have any pity, grace, or manners,\\r\\nYou would not make me such an argument.\\r\\nBut fare ye well. ’Tis partly my own fault,\\r\\nWhich death, or absence, soon shall remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nStay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse;\\r\\nMy love, my life, my soul, fair Helena!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO excellent!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nSweet, do not scorn her so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nIf she cannot entreat, I can compel.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nThou canst compel no more than she entreat;\\r\\nThy threats have no more strength than her weak prayers.\\r\\nHelen, I love thee, by my life I do;\\r\\nI swear by that which I will lose for thee\\r\\nTo prove him false that says I love thee not.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nI say I love thee more than he can do.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nIf thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nQuick, come.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nLysander, whereto tends all this?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nAway, you Ethiope!\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nNo, no. He will\\r\\nSeem to break loose. Take on as you would follow,\\r\\nBut yet come not. You are a tame man, go!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nHang off, thou cat, thou burr! Vile thing, let loose,\\r\\nOr I will shake thee from me like a serpent.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nWhy are you grown so rude? What change is this,\\r\\nSweet love?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nThy love? Out, tawny Tartar, out!\\r\\nOut, loathèd medicine! O hated potion, hence!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nDo you not jest?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nYes, sooth, and so do you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nDemetrius, I will keep my word with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nI would I had your bond; for I perceive\\r\\nA weak bond holds you; I’ll not trust your word.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nWhat, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead?\\r\\nAlthough I hate her, I’ll not harm her so.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nWhat, can you do me greater harm than hate?\\r\\nHate me? Wherefore? O me! what news, my love?\\r\\nAm not I Hermia? Are not you Lysander?\\r\\nI am as fair now as I was erewhile.\\r\\nSince night you lov’d me; yet since night you left me.\\r\\nWhy then, you left me—O, the gods forbid!—\\r\\nIn earnest, shall I say?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nAy, by my life;\\r\\nAnd never did desire to see thee more.\\r\\nTherefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt;\\r\\nBe certain, nothing truer; ’tis no jest\\r\\nThat I do hate thee and love Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nO me! You juggler! You cankerblossom!\\r\\nYou thief of love! What! have you come by night\\r\\nAnd stol’n my love’s heart from him?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nFine, i’ faith!\\r\\nHave you no modesty, no maiden shame,\\r\\nNo touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear\\r\\nImpatient answers from my gentle tongue?\\r\\nFie, fie, you counterfeit, you puppet, you!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nPuppet! Why so? Ay, that way goes the game.\\r\\nNow I perceive that she hath made compare\\r\\nBetween our statures; she hath urg’d her height;\\r\\nAnd with her personage, her tall personage,\\r\\nHer height, forsooth, she hath prevail’d with him.\\r\\nAnd are you grown so high in his esteem\\r\\nBecause I am so dwarfish and so low?\\r\\nHow low am I, thou painted maypole? Speak,\\r\\nHow low am I? I am not yet so low\\r\\nBut that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nI pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen,\\r\\nLet her not hurt me. I was never curst;\\r\\nI have no gift at all in shrewishness;\\r\\nI am a right maid for my cowardice;\\r\\nLet her not strike me. You perhaps may think,\\r\\nBecause she is something lower than myself,\\r\\nThat I can match her.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nLower! Hark, again.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nGood Hermia, do not be so bitter with me.\\r\\nI evermore did love you, Hermia,\\r\\nDid ever keep your counsels, never wrong’d you,\\r\\nSave that, in love unto Demetrius,\\r\\nI told him of your stealth unto this wood.\\r\\nHe follow’d you; for love I follow’d him;\\r\\nBut he hath chid me hence, and threaten’d me\\r\\nTo strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too:\\r\\nAnd now, so you will let me quiet go,\\r\\nTo Athens will I bear my folly back,\\r\\nAnd follow you no further. Let me go:\\r\\nYou see how simple and how fond I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nWhy, get you gone. Who is’t that hinders you?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nA foolish heart that I leave here behind.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nWhat! with Lysander?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nWith Demetrius.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nBe not afraid; she shall not harm thee, Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nNo, sir, she shall not, though you take her part.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO, when she’s angry, she is keen and shrewd.\\r\\nShe was a vixen when she went to school,\\r\\nAnd though she be but little, she is fierce.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nLittle again! Nothing but low and little?\\r\\nWhy will you suffer her to flout me thus?\\r\\nLet me come to her.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nGet you gone, you dwarf;\\r\\nYou minimus, of hind’ring knot-grass made;\\r\\nYou bead, you acorn.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nYou are too officious\\r\\nIn her behalf that scorns your services.\\r\\nLet her alone. Speak not of Helena;\\r\\nTake not her part; for if thou dost intend\\r\\nNever so little show of love to her,\\r\\nThou shalt aby it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nNow she holds me not.\\r\\nNow follow, if thou dar’st, to try whose right,\\r\\nOf thine or mine, is most in Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nFollow! Nay, I’ll go with thee, cheek by jole.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lysander and Demetrius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nYou, mistress, all this coil is long of you.\\r\\nNay, go not back.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nI will not trust you, I,\\r\\nNor longer stay in your curst company.\\r\\nYour hands than mine are quicker for a fray.\\r\\nMy legs are longer though, to run away.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI am amaz’d, and know not what to say.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit, pursuing Helena._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nThis is thy negligence: still thou mistak’st,\\r\\nOr else commit’st thy knaveries willfully.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nBelieve me, king of shadows, I mistook.\\r\\nDid not you tell me I should know the man\\r\\nBy the Athenian garments he had on?\\r\\nAnd so far blameless proves my enterprise\\r\\nThat I have ’nointed an Athenian’s eyes:\\r\\nAnd so far am I glad it so did sort,\\r\\nAs this their jangling I esteem a sport.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nThou seest these lovers seek a place to fight.\\r\\nHie therefore, Robin, overcast the night;\\r\\nThe starry welkin cover thou anon\\r\\nWith drooping fog, as black as Acheron,\\r\\nAnd lead these testy rivals so astray\\r\\nAs one come not within another’s way.\\r\\nLike to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue,\\r\\nThen stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong;\\r\\nAnd sometime rail thou like Demetrius.\\r\\nAnd from each other look thou lead them thus,\\r\\nTill o’er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep\\r\\nWith leaden legs and batty wings doth creep.\\r\\nThen crush this herb into Lysander’s eye,\\r\\nWhose liquor hath this virtuous property,\\r\\nTo take from thence all error with his might\\r\\nAnd make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight.\\r\\nWhen they next wake, all this derision\\r\\nShall seem a dream and fruitless vision;\\r\\nAnd back to Athens shall the lovers wend,\\r\\nWith league whose date till death shall never end.\\r\\nWhiles I in this affair do thee employ,\\r\\nI’ll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy;\\r\\nAnd then I will her charmèd eye release\\r\\nFrom monster’s view, and all things shall be peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nMy fairy lord, this must be done with haste,\\r\\nFor night’s swift dragons cut the clouds full fast;\\r\\nAnd yonder shines Aurora’s harbinger,\\r\\nAt whose approach, ghosts wandering here and there\\r\\nTroop home to churchyards. Damnèd spirits all,\\r\\nThat in cross-ways and floods have burial,\\r\\nAlready to their wormy beds are gone;\\r\\nFor fear lest day should look their shames upon,\\r\\nThey wilfully themselves exile from light,\\r\\nAnd must for aye consort with black-brow’d night.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nBut we are spirits of another sort:\\r\\nI with the morning’s love have oft made sport;\\r\\nAnd, like a forester, the groves may tread\\r\\nEven till the eastern gate, all fiery-red,\\r\\nOpening on Neptune with fair blessèd beams,\\r\\nTurns into yellow gold his salt-green streams.\\r\\nBut, notwithstanding, haste, make no delay.\\r\\nWe may effect this business yet ere day.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Oberon._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n Up and down, up and down,\\r\\n I will lead them up and down.\\r\\n I am fear’d in field and town.\\r\\n Goblin, lead them up and down.\\r\\nHere comes one.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lysander.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nWhere art thou, proud Demetrius? Speak thou now.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nHere, villain, drawn and ready. Where art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nI will be with thee straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nFollow me then to plainer ground.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lysander as following the voice._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Demetrius.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nLysander, speak again.\\r\\nThou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled?\\r\\nSpeak. In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy head?\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nThou coward, art thou bragging to the stars,\\r\\nTelling the bushes that thou look’st for wars,\\r\\nAnd wilt not come? Come, recreant, come, thou child!\\r\\nI’ll whip thee with a rod. He is defil’d\\r\\nThat draws a sword on thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nYea, art thou there?\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nFollow my voice; we’ll try no manhood here.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lysander.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nHe goes before me, and still dares me on;\\r\\nWhen I come where he calls, then he is gone.\\r\\nThe villain is much lighter-heel’d than I:\\r\\nI follow’d fast, but faster he did fly,\\r\\nThat fallen am I in dark uneven way,\\r\\nAnd here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day!\\r\\n[_Lies down._] For if but once thou show me thy grey light,\\r\\nI’ll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck and Demetrius.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nHo, ho, ho! Coward, why com’st thou not?\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nAbide me, if thou dar’st; for well I wot\\r\\nThou runn’st before me, shifting every place,\\r\\nAnd dar’st not stand, nor look me in the face.\\r\\nWhere art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nCome hither; I am here.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nNay, then, thou mock’st me. Thou shalt buy this dear\\r\\nIf ever I thy face by daylight see:\\r\\nNow go thy way. Faintness constraineth me\\r\\nTo measure out my length on this cold bed.\\r\\nBy day’s approach look to be visited.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Lies down and sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO weary night, O long and tedious night,\\r\\n Abate thy hours! Shine, comforts, from the east,\\r\\nThat I may back to Athens by daylight,\\r\\n From these that my poor company detest.\\r\\nAnd sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow’s eye,\\r\\nSteal me awhile from mine own company.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n Yet but three? Come one more.\\r\\n Two of both kinds makes up four.\\r\\n Here she comes, curst and sad.\\r\\n Cupid is a knavish lad\\r\\n Thus to make poor females mad.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hermia.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nNever so weary, never so in woe,\\r\\n Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers,\\r\\nI can no further crawl, no further go;\\r\\n My legs can keep no pace with my desires.\\r\\nHere will I rest me till the break of day.\\r\\nHeavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Lies down._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n On the ground\\r\\n Sleep sound.\\r\\n I’ll apply\\r\\n To your eye,\\r\\n Gentle lover, remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Squeezing the juice on Lysander’s eye._]\\r\\n\\r\\n When thou wak’st,\\r\\n Thou tak’st\\r\\n True delight\\r\\n In the sight\\r\\n Of thy former lady’s eye.\\r\\n And the country proverb known,\\r\\n That every man should take his own,\\r\\n In your waking shall be shown:\\r\\n Jack shall have Jill;\\r\\n Nought shall go ill;\\r\\nThe man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Puck._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Wood\\r\\n\\r\\n Lysander, Demetrius, Helena and Hermia still asleep.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Titania and Bottom; Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth, Mustardseed and\\r\\n other Fairies attending; Oberon behind, unseen.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nCome, sit thee down upon this flowery bed,\\r\\n While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,\\r\\nAnd stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head,\\r\\n And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWhere’s Peaseblossom?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEASEBLOSSOM.\\r\\nReady.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nScratch my head, Peaseblossom. Where’s Monsieur Cobweb?\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBWEB.\\r\\nReady.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nMonsieur Cobweb; good monsieur, get you your weapons in your hand and\\r\\nkill me a red-hipped humble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good\\r\\nmonsieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret yourself too much in the\\r\\naction, monsieur; and, good monsieur, have a care the honey-bag break\\r\\nnot; I would be loath to have you overflown with a honey-bag, signior.\\r\\nWhere’s Monsieur Mustardseed?\\r\\n\\r\\nMUSTARDSEED.\\r\\nReady.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nGive me your neaf, Monsieur Mustardseed. Pray you, leave your courtesy,\\r\\ngood monsieur.\\r\\n\\r\\nMUSTARDSEED.\\r\\nWhat’s your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nNothing, good monsieur, but to help Cavalery Cobweb to scratch. I must\\r\\nto the barber’s, monsieur, for methinks I am marvellous hairy about the\\r\\nface; and I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must\\r\\nscratch.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nWhat, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI have a reasonable good ear in music. Let us have the tongs and the\\r\\nbones.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nOr say, sweet love, what thou desirest to eat.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nTruly, a peck of provender; I could munch your good dry oats. Methinks\\r\\nI have a great desire to a bottle of hay: good hay, sweet hay, hath no\\r\\nfellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nI have a venturous fairy that shall seek\\r\\nThe squirrel’s hoard, and fetch thee new nuts.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI had rather have a handful or two of dried peas. But, I pray you, let\\r\\nnone of your people stir me; I have an exposition of sleep come upon\\r\\nme.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nSleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms.\\r\\nFairies, be gone, and be all ways away.\\r\\nSo doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle\\r\\nGently entwist, the female ivy so\\r\\nEnrings the barky fingers of the elm.\\r\\nO, how I love thee! How I dote on thee!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They sleep._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Oberon advances. Enter Puck.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nWelcome, good Robin. Seest thou this sweet sight?\\r\\nHer dotage now I do begin to pity.\\r\\nFor, meeting her of late behind the wood,\\r\\nSeeking sweet favours for this hateful fool,\\r\\nI did upbraid her and fall out with her:\\r\\nFor she his hairy temples then had rounded\\r\\nWith coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers;\\r\\nAnd that same dew, which sometime on the buds\\r\\nWas wont to swell like round and orient pearls,\\r\\nStood now within the pretty flouriets’ eyes,\\r\\nLike tears that did their own disgrace bewail.\\r\\nWhen I had at my pleasure taunted her,\\r\\nAnd she in mild terms begg’d my patience,\\r\\nI then did ask of her her changeling child;\\r\\nWhich straight she gave me, and her fairy sent\\r\\nTo bear him to my bower in fairyland.\\r\\nAnd now I have the boy, I will undo\\r\\nThis hateful imperfection of her eyes.\\r\\nAnd, gentle Puck, take this transformèd scalp\\r\\nFrom off the head of this Athenian swain,\\r\\nThat he awaking when the other do,\\r\\nMay all to Athens back again repair,\\r\\nAnd think no more of this night’s accidents\\r\\nBut as the fierce vexation of a dream.\\r\\nBut first I will release the Fairy Queen.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Touching her eyes with an herb._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Be as thou wast wont to be;\\r\\n See as thou was wont to see.\\r\\n Dian’s bud o’er Cupid’s flower\\r\\n Hath such force and blessed power.\\r\\nNow, my Titania, wake you, my sweet queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nMy Oberon, what visions have I seen!\\r\\nMethought I was enamour’d of an ass.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nThere lies your love.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nHow came these things to pass?\\r\\nO, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now!\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nSilence awhile.—Robin, take off this head.\\r\\nTitania, music call; and strike more dead\\r\\nThan common sleep, of all these five the sense.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nMusic, ho, music, such as charmeth sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nNow when thou wak’st, with thine own fool’s eyes peep.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nSound, music.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Still mucic._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, my queen, take hands with me,\\r\\nAnd rock the ground whereon these sleepers be.\\r\\nNow thou and I are new in amity,\\r\\nAnd will tomorrow midnight solemnly\\r\\nDance in Duke Theseus’ house triumphantly,\\r\\nAnd bless it to all fair prosperity:\\r\\nThere shall the pairs of faithful lovers be\\r\\nWedded, with Theseus, all in jollity.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n Fairy king, attend and mark.\\r\\n I do hear the morning lark.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\n Then, my queen, in silence sad,\\r\\n Trip we after night’s shade.\\r\\n We the globe can compass soon,\\r\\n Swifter than the wand’ring moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\n Come, my lord, and in our flight,\\r\\n Tell me how it came this night\\r\\n That I sleeping here was found\\r\\n With these mortals on the ground.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt. Horns sound within._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus and Train.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nGo, one of you, find out the forester;\\r\\nFor now our observation is perform’d;\\r\\nAnd since we have the vaward of the day,\\r\\nMy love shall hear the music of my hounds.\\r\\nUncouple in the western valley; let them go.\\r\\nDispatch I say, and find the forester.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit an Attendant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWe will, fair queen, up to the mountain’s top,\\r\\nAnd mark the musical confusion\\r\\nOf hounds and echo in conjunction.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nI was with Hercules and Cadmus once,\\r\\nWhen in a wood of Crete they bay’d the bear\\r\\nWith hounds of Sparta. Never did I hear\\r\\nSuch gallant chiding; for, besides the groves,\\r\\nThe skies, the fountains, every region near\\r\\nSeem’d all one mutual cry. I never heard\\r\\nSo musical a discord, such sweet thunder.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nMy hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind,\\r\\nSo flew’d, so sanded; and their heads are hung\\r\\nWith ears that sweep away the morning dew;\\r\\nCrook-knee’d and dewlap’d like Thessalian bulls;\\r\\nSlow in pursuit, but match’d in mouth like bells,\\r\\nEach under each. A cry more tuneable\\r\\nWas never holla’d to, nor cheer’d with horn,\\r\\nIn Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly.\\r\\nJudge when you hear.—But, soft, what nymphs are these?\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEUS.\\r\\nMy lord, this is my daughter here asleep,\\r\\nAnd this Lysander; this Demetrius is;\\r\\nThis Helena, old Nedar’s Helena:\\r\\nI wonder of their being here together.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNo doubt they rose up early to observe\\r\\nThe rite of May; and, hearing our intent,\\r\\nCame here in grace of our solemnity.\\r\\nBut speak, Egeus; is not this the day\\r\\nThat Hermia should give answer of her choice?\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEUS.\\r\\nIt is, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nGo, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns.\\r\\n\\r\\n Horns, and shout within. Demetrius, Lysander, Hermia and Helena wake\\r\\n and start up.\\r\\n\\r\\nGood morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past.\\r\\nBegin these wood-birds but to couple now?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nPardon, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n He and the rest kneel to Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI pray you all, stand up.\\r\\nI know you two are rival enemies.\\r\\nHow comes this gentle concord in the world,\\r\\nThat hatred is so far from jealousy\\r\\nTo sleep by hate, and fear no enmity?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nMy lord, I shall reply amazedly,\\r\\nHalf sleep, half waking; but as yet, I swear,\\r\\nI cannot truly say how I came here.\\r\\nBut, as I think (for truly would I speak)\\r\\nAnd now I do bethink me, so it is:\\r\\nI came with Hermia hither. Our intent\\r\\nWas to be gone from Athens, where we might be,\\r\\nWithout the peril of the Athenian law.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEUS.\\r\\nEnough, enough, my lord; you have enough.\\r\\nI beg the law, the law upon his head.\\r\\nThey would have stol’n away, they would, Demetrius,\\r\\nThereby to have defeated you and me:\\r\\nYou of your wife, and me of my consent,\\r\\nOf my consent that she should be your wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nMy lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth,\\r\\nOf this their purpose hither to this wood;\\r\\nAnd I in fury hither follow’d them,\\r\\nFair Helena in fancy following me.\\r\\nBut, my good lord, I wot not by what power,\\r\\n(But by some power it is) my love to Hermia,\\r\\nMelted as the snow, seems to me now\\r\\nAs the remembrance of an idle gaud\\r\\nWhich in my childhood I did dote upon;\\r\\nAnd all the faith, the virtue of my heart,\\r\\nThe object and the pleasure of mine eye,\\r\\nIs only Helena. To her, my lord,\\r\\nWas I betroth’d ere I saw Hermia.\\r\\nBut like a sickness did I loathe this food.\\r\\nBut, as in health, come to my natural taste,\\r\\nNow I do wish it, love it, long for it,\\r\\nAnd will for evermore be true to it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nFair lovers, you are fortunately met.\\r\\nOf this discourse we more will hear anon.\\r\\nEgeus, I will overbear your will;\\r\\nFor in the temple, by and by with us,\\r\\nThese couples shall eternally be knit.\\r\\nAnd, for the morning now is something worn,\\r\\nOur purpos’d hunting shall be set aside.\\r\\nAway with us to Athens. Three and three,\\r\\nWe’ll hold a feast in great solemnity.\\r\\nCome, Hippolyta.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus and Train._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nThese things seem small and undistinguishable,\\r\\nLike far-off mountains turnèd into clouds.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nMethinks I see these things with parted eye,\\r\\nWhen everything seems double.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nSo methinks.\\r\\nAnd I have found Demetrius like a jewel,\\r\\nMine own, and not mine own.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nAre you sure\\r\\nThat we are awake? It seems to me\\r\\nThat yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think\\r\\nThe Duke was here, and bid us follow him?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nYea, and my father.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nAnd Hippolyta.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nAnd he did bid us follow to the temple.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nWhy, then, we are awake: let’s follow him,\\r\\nAnd by the way let us recount our dreams.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\n[_Waking._] When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer. My next is\\r\\n‘Most fair Pyramus.’ Heigh-ho! Peter Quince! Flute, the bellows-mender!\\r\\nSnout, the tinker! Starveling! God’s my life! Stol’n hence, and left me\\r\\nasleep! I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit\\r\\nof man to say what dream it was. Man is but an ass if he go about to\\r\\nexpound this dream. Methought I was—there is no man can tell what.\\r\\nMethought I was, and methought I had—but man is but a patched fool if\\r\\nhe will offer to say what methought I had. The eye of man hath not\\r\\nheard, the ear of man hath not seen, man’s hand is not able to taste,\\r\\nhis tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I\\r\\nwill get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream: it shall be\\r\\ncalled ‘Bottom’s Dream’, because it hath no bottom; and I will sing it\\r\\nin the latter end of a play, before the Duke. Peradventure, to make it\\r\\nthe more gracious, I shall sing it at her death.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Athens. A Room in Quince’s House\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Quince, Flute, Snout and Starveling.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nHave you sent to Bottom’s house? Is he come home yet?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTARVELING.\\r\\nHe cannot be heard of. Out of doubt he is transported.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUTE.\\r\\nIf he come not, then the play is marred. It goes not forward, doth it?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nIt is not possible. You have not a man in all Athens able to discharge\\r\\nPyramus but he.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUTE.\\r\\nNo, he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft man in Athens.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nYea, and the best person too, and he is a very paramour for a sweet\\r\\nvoice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUTE.\\r\\nYou must say paragon. A paramour is, God bless us, a thing of naught.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Snug.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNUG\\r\\nMasters, the Duke is coming from the temple, and there is two or three\\r\\nlords and ladies more married. If our sport had gone forward, we had\\r\\nall been made men.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUTE.\\r\\nO sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost sixpence a day during his life;\\r\\nhe could not have ’scaped sixpence a day. An the Duke had not given him\\r\\nsixpence a day for playing Pyramus, I’ll be hanged. He would have\\r\\ndeserved it: sixpence a day in Pyramus, or nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bottom.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWhere are these lads? Where are these hearts?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nBottom! O most courageous day! O most happy hour!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nMasters, I am to discourse wonders: but ask me not what; for if I tell\\r\\nyou, I am not true Athenian. I will tell you everything, right as it\\r\\nfell out.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nLet us hear, sweet Bottom.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nNot a word of me. All that I will tell you is, that the Duke hath\\r\\ndined. Get your apparel together, good strings to your beards, new\\r\\nribbons to your pumps; meet presently at the palace; every man look\\r\\no’er his part. For the short and the long is, our play is preferred. In\\r\\nany case, let Thisbe have clean linen; and let not him that plays the\\r\\nlion pare his nails, for they shall hang out for the lion’s claws. And\\r\\nmost dear actors, eat no onions nor garlick, for we are to utter sweet\\r\\nbreath; and I do not doubt but to hear them say it is a sweet comedy.\\r\\nNo more words. Away! Go, away!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Athens. An Apartment in the Palace of Theseus\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, Lords and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\n’Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak of.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nMore strange than true. I never may believe\\r\\nThese antique fables, nor these fairy toys.\\r\\nLovers and madmen have such seething brains,\\r\\nSuch shaping fantasies, that apprehend\\r\\nMore than cool reason ever comprehends.\\r\\nThe lunatic, the lover, and the poet\\r\\nAre of imagination all compact:\\r\\nOne sees more devils than vast hell can hold;\\r\\nThat is the madman: the lover, all as frantic,\\r\\nSees Helen’s beauty in a brow of Egypt:\\r\\nThe poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,\\r\\nDoth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;\\r\\nAnd as imagination bodies forth\\r\\nThe forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen\\r\\nTurns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing\\r\\nA local habitation and a name.\\r\\nSuch tricks hath strong imagination,\\r\\nThat if it would but apprehend some joy,\\r\\nIt comprehends some bringer of that joy.\\r\\nOr in the night, imagining some fear,\\r\\nHow easy is a bush supposed a bear?\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nBut all the story of the night told over,\\r\\nAnd all their minds transfigur’d so together,\\r\\nMore witnesseth than fancy’s images,\\r\\nAnd grows to something of great constancy;\\r\\nBut, howsoever, strange and admirable.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter lovers: Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia and Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nHere come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.\\r\\nJoy, gentle friends, joy and fresh days of love\\r\\nAccompany your hearts!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nMore than to us\\r\\nWait in your royal walks, your board, your bed!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nCome now; what masques, what dances shall we have,\\r\\nTo wear away this long age of three hours\\r\\nBetween our after-supper and bed-time?\\r\\nWhere is our usual manager of mirth?\\r\\nWhat revels are in hand? Is there no play\\r\\nTo ease the anguish of a torturing hour?\\r\\nCall Philostrate.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILOSTRATE.\\r\\nHere, mighty Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSay, what abridgment have you for this evening?\\r\\nWhat masque? What music? How shall we beguile\\r\\nThe lazy time, if not with some delight?\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILOSTRATE.\\r\\nThere is a brief how many sports are ripe.\\r\\nMake choice of which your Highness will see first.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Giving a paper._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\n[_Reads_] ‘The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung\\r\\nBy an Athenian eunuch to the harp.’\\r\\nWe’ll none of that. That have I told my love\\r\\nIn glory of my kinsman Hercules.\\r\\n‘The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals,\\r\\nTearing the Thracian singer in their rage?’\\r\\nThat is an old device, and it was play’d\\r\\nWhen I from Thebes came last a conqueror.\\r\\n‘The thrice three Muses mourning for the death\\r\\nOf learning, late deceas’d in beggary.’\\r\\nThat is some satire, keen and critical,\\r\\nNot sorting with a nuptial ceremony.\\r\\n‘A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus\\r\\nAnd his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth.’\\r\\nMerry and tragical? Tedious and brief?\\r\\nThat is hot ice and wondrous strange snow.\\r\\nHow shall we find the concord of this discord?\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILOSTRATE.\\r\\nA play there is, my lord, some ten words long,\\r\\nWhich is as brief as I have known a play;\\r\\nBut by ten words, my lord, it is too long,\\r\\nWhich makes it tedious. For in all the play\\r\\nThere is not one word apt, one player fitted.\\r\\nAnd tragical, my noble lord, it is.\\r\\nFor Pyramus therein doth kill himself,\\r\\nWhich, when I saw rehears’d, I must confess,\\r\\nMade mine eyes water; but more merry tears\\r\\nThe passion of loud laughter never shed.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat are they that do play it?\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILOSTRATE.\\r\\nHard-handed men that work in Athens here,\\r\\nWhich never labour’d in their minds till now;\\r\\nAnd now have toil’d their unbreath’d memories\\r\\nWith this same play against your nuptial.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAnd we will hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILOSTRATE.\\r\\nNo, my noble lord,\\r\\nIt is not for you: I have heard it over,\\r\\nAnd it is nothing, nothing in the world;\\r\\nUnless you can find sport in their intents,\\r\\nExtremely stretch’d and conn’d with cruel pain\\r\\nTo do you service.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI will hear that play;\\r\\nFor never anything can be amiss\\r\\nWhen simpleness and duty tender it.\\r\\nGo, bring them in: and take your places, ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Philostrate._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nI love not to see wretchedness o’ercharged,\\r\\nAnd duty in his service perishing.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhy, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nHe says they can do nothing in this kind.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThe kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing.\\r\\nOur sport shall be to take what they mistake:\\r\\nAnd what poor duty cannot do, noble respect\\r\\nTakes it in might, not merit.\\r\\nWhere I have come, great clerks have purposed\\r\\nTo greet me with premeditated welcomes;\\r\\nWhere I have seen them shiver and look pale,\\r\\nMake periods in the midst of sentences,\\r\\nThrottle their practis’d accent in their fears,\\r\\nAnd, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off,\\r\\nNot paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet,\\r\\nOut of this silence yet I pick’d a welcome;\\r\\nAnd in the modesty of fearful duty\\r\\nI read as much as from the rattling tongue\\r\\nOf saucy and audacious eloquence.\\r\\nLove, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity\\r\\nIn least speak most to my capacity.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Philostrate.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILOSTRATE.\\r\\nSo please your grace, the Prologue is address’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nLet him approach.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish of trumpets. Enter the Prologue.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROLOGUE\\r\\nIf we offend, it is with our good will.\\r\\nThat you should think, we come not to offend,\\r\\nBut with good will. To show our simple skill,\\r\\nThat is the true beginning of our end.\\r\\nConsider then, we come but in despite.\\r\\nWe do not come, as minding to content you,\\r\\nOur true intent is. All for your delight\\r\\nWe are not here. That you should here repent you,\\r\\nThe actors are at hand, and, by their show,\\r\\nYou shall know all that you are like to know.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThis fellow doth not stand upon points.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nHe hath rid his prologue like a rough colt; he knows not the stop. A\\r\\ngood moral, my lord: it is not enough to speak, but to speak true.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nIndeed he hath played on this prologue like a child on a recorder; a\\r\\nsound, but not in government.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nHis speech was like a tangled chain; nothing impaired, but all\\r\\ndisordered. Who is next?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine and Lion as in dumb show.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROLOGUE\\r\\nGentles, perchance you wonder at this show;\\r\\nBut wonder on, till truth make all things plain.\\r\\nThis man is Pyramus, if you would know;\\r\\nThis beauteous lady Thisbe is certain.\\r\\nThis man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present\\r\\nWall, that vile wall which did these lovers sunder;\\r\\nAnd through Wall’s chink, poor souls, they are content\\r\\nTo whisper, at the which let no man wonder.\\r\\nThis man, with lanthern, dog, and bush of thorn,\\r\\nPresenteth Moonshine, for, if you will know,\\r\\nBy moonshine did these lovers think no scorn\\r\\nTo meet at Ninus’ tomb, there, there to woo.\\r\\nThis grisly beast (which Lion hight by name)\\r\\nThe trusty Thisbe, coming first by night,\\r\\nDid scare away, or rather did affright;\\r\\nAnd as she fled, her mantle she did fall;\\r\\nWhich Lion vile with bloody mouth did stain.\\r\\nAnon comes Pyramus, sweet youth, and tall,\\r\\nAnd finds his trusty Thisbe’s mantle slain;\\r\\nWhereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade,\\r\\nHe bravely broach’d his boiling bloody breast;\\r\\nAnd Thisbe, tarrying in mulberry shade,\\r\\nHis dagger drew, and died. For all the rest,\\r\\nLet Lion, Moonshine, Wall, and lovers twain,\\r\\nAt large discourse while here they do remain.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Prologue, Pyramus, Thisbe, Lion and Moonshine._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI wonder if the lion be to speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nNo wonder, my lord. One lion may, when many asses do.\\r\\n\\r\\nWALL.\\r\\nIn this same interlude it doth befall\\r\\nThat I, one Snout by name, present a wall:\\r\\nAnd such a wall as I would have you think\\r\\nThat had in it a crannied hole or chink,\\r\\nThrough which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisbe,\\r\\nDid whisper often very secretly.\\r\\nThis loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth show\\r\\nThat I am that same wall; the truth is so:\\r\\nAnd this the cranny is, right and sinister,\\r\\nThrough which the fearful lovers are to whisper.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWould you desire lime and hair to speak better?\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nIt is the wittiest partition that ever I heard discourse, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nPyramus draws near the wall; silence.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pyramus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nO grim-look’d night! O night with hue so black!\\r\\nO night, which ever art when day is not!\\r\\nO night, O night, alack, alack, alack,\\r\\nI fear my Thisbe’s promise is forgot!\\r\\nAnd thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall,\\r\\nThat stand’st between her father’s ground and mine;\\r\\nThou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall,\\r\\nShow me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Wall holds up his fingers._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well for this!\\r\\nBut what see I? No Thisbe do I see.\\r\\nO wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss,\\r\\nCurs’d be thy stones for thus deceiving me!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThe wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nNo, in truth, sir, he should not. ‘Deceiving me’ is Thisbe’s cue: she\\r\\nis to enter now, and I am to spy her through the wall. You shall see it\\r\\nwill fall pat as I told you. Yonder she comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thisbe.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nO wall, full often hast thou heard my moans,\\r\\nFor parting my fair Pyramus and me.\\r\\nMy cherry lips have often kiss’d thy stones,\\r\\nThy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nI see a voice; now will I to the chink,\\r\\nTo spy an I can hear my Thisbe’s face.\\r\\nThisbe?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nMy love thou art, my love I think.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nThink what thou wilt, I am thy lover’s grace;\\r\\nAnd like Limander am I trusty still.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nAnd I like Helen, till the fates me kill.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nNot Shafalus to Procrus was so true.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nAs Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nO kiss me through the hole of this vile wall.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nI kiss the wall’s hole, not your lips at all.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nWilt thou at Ninny’s tomb meet me straightway?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\n’Tide life, ’tide death, I come without delay.\\r\\n\\r\\nWALL.\\r\\nThus have I, Wall, my part discharged so;\\r\\nAnd, being done, thus Wall away doth go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Wall, Pyramus and Thisbe._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNow is the mural down between the two neighbours.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nNo remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear without warning.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nThis is the silliest stuff that ever I heard.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThe best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst are no worse, if\\r\\nimagination amend them.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nIt must be your imagination then, and not theirs.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nIf we imagine no worse of them than they of themselves, they may pass\\r\\nfor excellent men. Here come two noble beasts in, a man and a lion.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lion and Moonshine.\\r\\n\\r\\nLION.\\r\\nYou, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear\\r\\nThe smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,\\r\\nMay now, perchance, both quake and tremble here,\\r\\nWhen lion rough in wildest rage doth roar.\\r\\nThen know that I, one Snug the joiner, am\\r\\nA lion fell, nor else no lion’s dam;\\r\\nFor if I should as lion come in strife\\r\\nInto this place, ’twere pity on my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nA very gentle beast, and of a good conscience.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nThe very best at a beast, my lord, that e’er I saw.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nThis lion is a very fox for his valour.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nTrue; and a goose for his discretion.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nNot so, my lord, for his valour cannot carry his discretion, and the\\r\\nfox carries the goose.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nHis discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour; for the goose\\r\\ncarries not the fox. It is well; leave it to his discretion, and let us\\r\\nlisten to the moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOONSHINE.\\r\\nThis lanthorn doth the hornèd moon present.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nHe should have worn the horns on his head.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nHe is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the\\r\\ncircumference.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOONSHINE.\\r\\nThis lanthorn doth the hornèd moon present;\\r\\nMyself the man i’ the moon do seem to be.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThis is the greatest error of all the rest; the man should be put into\\r\\nthe lantern. How is it else the man i’ the moon?\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nHe dares not come there for the candle, for you see, it is already in\\r\\nsnuff.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nI am aweary of this moon. Would he would change!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nIt appears by his small light of discretion that he is in the wane; but\\r\\nyet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nProceed, Moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOON\\r\\nAll that I have to say, is to tell you that the lantern is the moon; I\\r\\nthe man i’ the moon; this thorn-bush my thorn-bush; and this dog my\\r\\ndog.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nWhy, all these should be in the lantern, for all these are in the moon.\\r\\nBut silence; here comes Thisbe.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thisbe.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nThis is old Ninny’s tomb. Where is my love?\\r\\n\\r\\nLION.\\r\\nOh!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Lion roars, Thisbe runs off._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nWell roared, Lion.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWell run, Thisbe.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nWell shone, Moon. Truly, the moon shines with a good grace.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Lion tears Thisbe’s mantle, and exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWell moused, Lion.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nAnd then came Pyramus.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nAnd so the lion vanished.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pyramus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nSweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;\\r\\nI thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright;\\r\\nFor, by thy gracious golden, glittering gleams,\\r\\nI trust to take of truest Thisbe sight.\\r\\n But stay! O spite!\\r\\n But mark, poor knight,\\r\\n What dreadful dole is here!\\r\\n Eyes, do you see?\\r\\n How can it be?\\r\\n O dainty duck! O dear!\\r\\n Thy mantle good,\\r\\n What, stained with blood?\\r\\n Approach, ye Furies fell!\\r\\n O Fates, come, come;\\r\\n Cut thread and thrum;\\r\\n Quail, rush, conclude, and quell!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThis passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a\\r\\nman look sad.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nBeshrew my heart, but I pity the man.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nO wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame,\\r\\nSince lion vile hath here deflower’d my dear?\\r\\nWhich is—no, no—which was the fairest dame\\r\\nThat liv’d, that lov’d, that lik’d, that look’d with cheer.\\r\\n Come, tears, confound!\\r\\n Out, sword, and wound\\r\\n The pap of Pyramus;\\r\\n Ay, that left pap,\\r\\n Where heart doth hop:\\r\\n Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.\\r\\n Now am I dead,\\r\\n Now am I fled;\\r\\n My soul is in the sky.\\r\\n Tongue, lose thy light!\\r\\n Moon, take thy flight!\\r\\n Now die, die, die, die, die.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies. Exit Moonshine._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nNo die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nLess than an ace, man; for he is dead, he is nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWith the help of a surgeon he might yet recover and prove an ass.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nHow chance Moonshine is gone before Thisbe comes back and finds her\\r\\nlover?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nShe will find him by starlight.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thisbe.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere she comes, and her passion ends the play.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nMethinks she should not use a long one for such a Pyramus. I hope she\\r\\nwill be brief.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nA mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which Thisbe, is the\\r\\nbetter: he for a man, God warrant us; she for a woman, God bless us!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nShe hath spied him already with those sweet eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nAnd thus she means, _videlicet_—\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\n Asleep, my love?\\r\\n What, dead, my dove?\\r\\n O Pyramus, arise,\\r\\n Speak, speak. Quite dumb?\\r\\n Dead, dead? A tomb\\r\\n Must cover thy sweet eyes.\\r\\n These lily lips,\\r\\n This cherry nose,\\r\\n These yellow cowslip cheeks,\\r\\n Are gone, are gone!\\r\\n Lovers, make moan;\\r\\n His eyes were green as leeks.\\r\\n O Sisters Three,\\r\\n Come, come to me,\\r\\n With hands as pale as milk;\\r\\n Lay them in gore,\\r\\n Since you have shore\\r\\n With shears his thread of silk.\\r\\n Tongue, not a word:\\r\\n Come, trusty sword,\\r\\n Come, blade, my breast imbrue;\\r\\n And farewell, friends.\\r\\n Thus Thisbe ends.\\r\\n Adieu, adieu, adieu.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nMoonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nAy, and Wall too.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nNo, I assure you; the wall is down that parted their fathers. Will it\\r\\nplease you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance between\\r\\ntwo of our company?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNo epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse;\\r\\nfor when the players are all dead there need none to be blamed. Marry,\\r\\nif he that writ it had played Pyramus, and hanged himself in Thisbe’s\\r\\ngarter, it would have been a fine tragedy; and so it is, truly; and\\r\\nvery notably discharged. But come, your Bergomask; let your epilogue\\r\\nalone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Here a dance of Clowns._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve.\\r\\nLovers, to bed; ’tis almost fairy time.\\r\\nI fear we shall outsleep the coming morn\\r\\nAs much as we this night have overwatch’d.\\r\\nThis palpable-gross play hath well beguil’d\\r\\nThe heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed.\\r\\nA fortnight hold we this solemnity\\r\\nIn nightly revels and new jollity.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n Now the hungry lion roars,\\r\\n And the wolf behowls the moon;\\r\\n Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,\\r\\n All with weary task fordone.\\r\\n Now the wasted brands do glow,\\r\\n Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud,\\r\\n Puts the wretch that lies in woe\\r\\n In remembrance of a shroud.\\r\\n Now it is the time of night\\r\\n That the graves, all gaping wide,\\r\\n Every one lets forth his sprite,\\r\\n In the church-way paths to glide.\\r\\n And we fairies, that do run\\r\\n By the triple Hecate’s team\\r\\n From the presence of the sun,\\r\\n Following darkness like a dream,\\r\\n Now are frolic; not a mouse\\r\\n Shall disturb this hallow’d house.\\r\\n I am sent with broom before,\\r\\n To sweep the dust behind the door.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Oberon and Titania with their Train.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\n Through the house give glimmering light,\\r\\n By the dead and drowsy fire.\\r\\n Every elf and fairy sprite\\r\\n Hop as light as bird from brier,\\r\\n And this ditty after me,\\r\\n Sing and dance it trippingly.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\n First rehearse your song by rote,\\r\\n To each word a warbling note;\\r\\n Hand in hand, with fairy grace,\\r\\n Will we sing, and bless this place.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Song and Dance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\n Now, until the break of day,\\r\\n Through this house each fairy stray.\\r\\n To the best bride-bed will we,\\r\\n Which by us shall blessèd be;\\r\\n And the issue there create\\r\\n Ever shall be fortunate.\\r\\n So shall all the couples three\\r\\n Ever true in loving be;\\r\\n And the blots of Nature’s hand\\r\\n Shall not in their issue stand:\\r\\n Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar,\\r\\n Nor mark prodigious, such as are\\r\\n Despised in nativity,\\r\\n Shall upon their children be.\\r\\n With this field-dew consecrate,\\r\\n Every fairy take his gait,\\r\\n And each several chamber bless,\\r\\n Through this palace, with sweet peace;\\r\\n And the owner of it blest.\\r\\n Ever shall it in safety rest,\\r\\n Trip away. Make no stay;\\r\\n Meet me all by break of day.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Oberon, Titania and Train._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n If we shadows have offended,\\r\\n Think but this, and all is mended,\\r\\n That you have but slumber’d here\\r\\n While these visions did appear.\\r\\n And this weak and idle theme,\\r\\n No more yielding but a dream,\\r\\n Gentles, do not reprehend.\\r\\n If you pardon, we will mend.\\r\\n And, as I am an honest Puck,\\r\\n If we have unearnèd luck\\r\\n Now to ’scape the serpent’s tongue,\\r\\n We will make amends ere long;\\r\\n Else the Puck a liar call.\\r\\n So, good night unto you all.\\r\\n Give me your hands, if we be friends,\\r\\n And Robin shall restore amends.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Before Leonato’s House.\\r\\nScene II. A room in Leonato’s house.\\r\\nScene III. Another room in Leonato’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. A hall in Leonato’s house.\\r\\nScene II. Another room in Leonato’s house.\\r\\nScene III. Leonato’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Leonato’s Garden.\\r\\nScene II. A Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\nScene III. A Street.\\r\\nScene IV. A Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\nScene V. Another Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. The Inside of a Church.\\r\\nScene II. A Prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Before Leonato’s House.\\r\\nScene II. Leonato’s Garden.\\r\\nScene III. The Inside of a Church.\\r\\nScene IV. A Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO, Prince of Arragon.\\r\\n DON JOHN, his bastard Brother.\\r\\n CLAUDIO, a young Lord of Florence.\\r\\n BENEDICK, a young Lord of Padua.\\r\\n LEONATO, Governor of Messina.\\r\\n ANTONIO, his Brother.\\r\\n BALTHASAR, Servant to Don Pedro.\\r\\n BORACHIO, follower of Don John.\\r\\n CONRADE, follower of Don John.\\r\\n DOGBERRY, a Constable.\\r\\n VERGES, a Headborough.\\r\\n FRIAR FRANCIS.\\r\\n A Sexton.\\r\\n A Boy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO, Daughter to Leonato.\\r\\n BEATRICE, Niece to Leonato.\\r\\n MARGARET, Waiting gentlewoman attending on Hero.\\r\\n URSULA, Waiting gentlewoman attending on Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Messengers, Watch, Attendants, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE. Messina.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Before Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leonato, Hero, Beatrice and others, with a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I learn in this letter that Don Pedro of Arragon comes this night\\r\\n to Messina.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n He is very near by this: he was not three leagues off when I left\\r\\n him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n How many gentlemen have you lost in this action?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n But few of any sort, and none of name.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full\\r\\n numbers. I find here that Don Pedro hath bestowed much honour on\\r\\n a young Florentine called Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n Much deserved on his part, and equally remembered by Don Pedro.\\r\\n He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age, doing in the\\r\\n figure of a lamb the feats of a lion: he hath indeed better\\r\\n bettered expectation than you must expect of me to tell you how.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much glad of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n I have already delivered him letters, and there appears much joy\\r\\n in him; even so much that joy could not show itself modest enough\\r\\n without a badge of bitterness.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Did he break out into tears?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n In great measure.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n A kind overflow of kindness. There are no faces truer than those\\r\\n that are so washed; how much better is it to weep at joy than to\\r\\n joy at weeping!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I pray you, is Signior Mountanto returned from the wars or no?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n I know none of that name, lady: there was none such in the army\\r\\n of any sort.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n What is he that you ask for, niece?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n My cousin means Signior Benedick of Padua.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n O! he is returned, and as pleasant as ever he was.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n He set up his bills here in Messina and challenged Cupid at the\\r\\n flight; and my uncle’s fool, reading the challenge, subscribed\\r\\n for Cupid, and challenged him at the bird-bolt. I pray you, how\\r\\n many hath he killed and eaten in these wars? But how many hath he\\r\\n killed? for, indeed, I promised to eat all of his killing.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too much; but he’ll be\\r\\n meet with you, I doubt it not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n He hath done good service, lady, in these wars.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it; he is a very\\r\\n valiant trencher-man; he hath an excellent stomach.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n And a good soldier too, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n And a good soldier to a lady; but what is he to a lord?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with all honourable\\r\\n virtues.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n It is so indeed; he is no less than a stuffed man; but for the\\r\\n stuffing,—well, we are all mortal.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n You must not, sir, mistake my niece. There is a kind of merry war\\r\\n betwixt Signior Benedick and her; they never meet but there’s a\\r\\n skirmish of wit between them.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Alas! he gets nothing by that. In our last conflict four of his\\r\\n five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed\\r\\n with one! so that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let\\r\\n him bear it for a difference between himself and his horse; for\\r\\n it is all the wealth that he hath left to be known a reasonable\\r\\n creature. Who is his companion now? He hath every month a new\\r\\n sworn brother.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n Is’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Very easily possible: he wears his faith but as the fashion of\\r\\n his hat; it ever changes with the next block.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n No; and he were, I would burn my study. But I pray you, who is\\r\\n his companion? Is there no young squarer now that will make a\\r\\n voyage with him to the devil?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n O Lord, he will hang upon him like a disease: he is sooner caught\\r\\n than the pestilence, and the taker runs presently mad. God help\\r\\n the noble Claudio! If he have caught the Benedick, it will cost\\r\\n him a thousand pound ere he be cured.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n I will hold friends with you, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Do, good friend.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n You will never run mad, niece.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n No, not till a hot January.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n Don Pedro is approached.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Claudio, Benedick, Balthasar and\\r\\n Others.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet your trouble: the\\r\\n fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of your Grace, for\\r\\n trouble being gone, comfort should remain; but when you depart\\r\\n from me, sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n You embrace your charge too willingly. I think this is your\\r\\n daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Her mother hath many times told me so.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a child.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n You have it full, Benedick: we may guess by this what you are,\\r\\n being a man. Truly the lady fathers herself. Be happy, lady, for\\r\\n you are like an honourable father.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not have his head on\\r\\n her shoulders for all Messina, as like him as she is.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick: nobody\\r\\n marks you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n What! my dear Lady Disdain, are you yet living?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Is it possible Disdain should die while she hath such meet food\\r\\n to feed it as Signior Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to\\r\\n disdain if you come in her presence.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I am loved of all\\r\\n ladies, only you excepted; and I would I could find in my heart\\r\\n that I had not a hard heart; for, truly, I love none.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n A dear happiness to women: they would else have been troubled\\r\\n with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood, I am of\\r\\n your humour for that. I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow\\r\\n than a man swear he loves me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n God keep your Ladyship still in that mind; so some gentleman or\\r\\n other shall scape a predestinate scratched face.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Scratching could not make it worse, and ’twere such a face as\\r\\n yours were.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a\\r\\n continuer. But keep your way, i’ God’s name; I have done.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n You always end with a jade’s trick: I know you of old.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n That is the sum of all, Leonato: Signior Claudio, and Signior\\r\\n Benedick, my dear friend Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him\\r\\n we shall stay here at the least a month, and he heartly prays\\r\\n some occasion may detain us longer: I dare swear he is no\\r\\n hypocrite, but prays from his heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n If you swear, my lord, you shall not be forsworn. [_To Don John_]\\r\\n Let me bid you welcome, my lord: being reconciled to the Prince\\r\\n your brother, I owe you all duty.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I thank you: I am not of many words, but I thank you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Please it your Grace lead on?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Your hand, Leonato; we will go together.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Benedick and Claudio._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Signior Leonato?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I noted her not; but I looked on her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Is she not a modest young lady?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Do you question me, as an honest man should do, for my simple\\r\\n true judgment; or would you have me speak after my custom, as\\r\\n being a professed tyrant to their sex?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n No; I pray thee speak in sober judgment.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Why, i’ faith, methinks she’s too low for a high praise, too\\r\\n brown for a fair praise, and too little for a great praise; only\\r\\n this commendation I can afford her, that were she other than she\\r\\n is, she were unhandsome, and being no other but as she is, I do\\r\\n not like her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Thou thinkest I am in sport: I pray thee tell me truly how thou\\r\\n likest her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Would you buy her, that you enquire after her?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Can the world buy such a jewel?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you this with a sad\\r\\n brow, or do you play the flouting Jack, to tell us Cupid is a\\r\\n good hare-finder, and Vulcan a rare carpenter? Come, in what key\\r\\n shall a man take you, to go in the song?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that ever I looked on.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I can see yet without spectacles and I see no such matter:\\r\\n there’s her cousin and she were not possessed with a fury,\\r\\n exceeds her as much in beauty as the first of May doth the last\\r\\n of December. But I hope you have no intent to turn husband, have\\r\\n you?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I would scarce trust myself, though I had sworn to the contrary,\\r\\n if Hero would be my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Is’t come to this, in faith? Hath not the world one man but he\\r\\n will wear his cap with suspicion? Shall I never see a bachelor of\\r\\n threescore again? Go to, i’ faith; and thou wilt needs thrust thy\\r\\n neck into a yoke, wear the print of it and sigh away Sundays.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Don Pedro.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Look! Don Pedro is returned to seek you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n What secret hath held you here, that you followed not to\\r\\n Leonato’s?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I would your Grace would constrain me to tell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I charge thee on thy allegiance.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n You hear, Count Claudio: I can be secret as a dumb man; I would\\r\\n have you think so; but on my allegiance mark you this, on my\\r\\n allegiance: he is in love. With who? now that is your Grace’s\\r\\n part. Mark how short his answer is: with Hero, Leonato’s short\\r\\n daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If this were so, so were it uttered.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Like the old tale, my lord: ‘it is not so, nor ’twas not so; but\\r\\n indeed, God forbid it should be so.’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If my passion change not shortly, God forbid it should be\\r\\n otherwise.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Amen, if you love her; for the lady is very well worthy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n You speak this to fetch me in, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n By my troth, I speak my thought.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And in faith, my lord, I spoke mine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n And by my two faiths and troths, my lord, I spoke mine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n That I love her, I feel.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n That she is worthy, I know.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n That I neither feel how she should be loved, nor know how she\\r\\n should be worthy, is the opinion that fire cannot melt out of me:\\r\\n I will die in it at the stake.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in the despite of beauty.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And never could maintain his part but in the force of his will.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n That a woman conceived me, I thank her; that she brought me up, I\\r\\n likewise give her most humble thanks; but that I will have a\\r\\n recheat winded in my forehead, or hang my bugle in an invisible\\r\\n baldrick, all women shall pardon me. Because I will not do them\\r\\n the wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the right to trust\\r\\n none; and the fine is,—for the which I may go the finer,—I will\\r\\n live a bachelor.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, my lord; not with\\r\\n love: prove that ever I lose more blood with love than I will get\\r\\n again with drinking, pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker’s pen\\r\\n and hang me up at the door of a brothel-house for the sign of\\r\\n blind Cupid.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou wilt prove a\\r\\n notable argument.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat and shoot at me; and he\\r\\n that hits me, let him be clapped on the shoulder and called Adam.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Well, as time shall try: ‘In time the savage bull doth bear the\\r\\n yoke.’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n The savage bull may; but if ever the sensible Benedick bear it,\\r\\n pluck off the bull’s horns and set them in my forehead; and let\\r\\n me be vilely painted, and in such great letters as they write,\\r\\n ‘Here is good horse to hire,’ let them signify under my sign\\r\\n ‘Here you may see Benedick the married man.’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If this should ever happen, thou wouldst be horn-mad.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver in Venice, thou wilt\\r\\n quake for this shortly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I look for an earthquake too then.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Well, you will temporize with the hours. In the meantime, good\\r\\n Signior Benedick, repair to Leonato’s: commend me to him and tell\\r\\n him I will not fail him at supper; for indeed he hath made great\\r\\n preparation.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I have almost matter enough in me for such an embassage; and so I\\r\\n commit you—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n To the tuition of God: from my house, if I had it,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n The sixth of July: your loving friend, Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Nay, mock not, mock not. The body of your discourse is sometime\\r\\n guarded with fragments, and the guards are but slightly basted on\\r\\n neither: ere you flout old ends any further, examine your\\r\\n conscience: and so I leave you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n My liege, your Highness now may do me good.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n My love is thine to teach: teach it but how,\\r\\n And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn\\r\\n Any hard lesson that may do thee good.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Hath Leonato any son, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n No child but Hero; she’s his only heir.\\r\\n Dost thou affect her, Claudio?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n O! my lord,\\r\\n When you went onward on this ended action,\\r\\n I looked upon her with a soldier’s eye,\\r\\n That lik’d, but had a rougher task in hand\\r\\n Than to drive liking to the name of love;\\r\\n But now I am return’d, and that war-thoughts\\r\\n Have left their places vacant, in their rooms\\r\\n Come thronging soft and delicate desires,\\r\\n All prompting me how fair young Hero is,\\r\\n Saying, I lik’d her ere I went to wars.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Thou wilt be like a lover presently,\\r\\n And tire the hearer with a book of words.\\r\\n If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it,\\r\\n And I will break with her, and with her father,\\r\\n And thou shalt have her. Was’t not to this end\\r\\n That thou began’st to twist so fine a story?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n How sweetly you do minister to love,\\r\\n That know love’s grief by his complexion!\\r\\n But lest my liking might too sudden seem,\\r\\n I would have salv’d it with a longer treatise.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n What need the bridge much broader than the flood?\\r\\n The fairest grant is the necessity.\\r\\n Look, what will serve is fit: ’tis once, thou lov’st,\\r\\n And I will fit thee with the remedy.\\r\\n I know we shall have revelling tonight:\\r\\n I will assume thy part in some disguise,\\r\\n And tell fair Hero I am Claudio;\\r\\n And in her bosom I’ll unclasp my heart,\\r\\n And take her hearing prisoner with the force\\r\\n And strong encounter of my amorous tale:\\r\\n Then after to her father will I break;\\r\\n And the conclusion is, she shall be thine.\\r\\n In practice let us put it presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A room in Leonato’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leonato and Antonio, meeting.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n How now, brother? Where is my cousin your son? Hath he provided\\r\\n this music?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can tell you strange\\r\\n news that you yet dreamt not of.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Are they good?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n As the event stamps them: but they have a good cover; they show\\r\\n well outward. The Prince and Count Claudio, walking in a\\r\\n thick-pleached alley in my orchard, were thus much overheard by a\\r\\n man of mine: the Prince discovered to Claudio that he loved my\\r\\n niece your daughter and meant to acknowledge it this night in a\\r\\n dance; and if he found her accordant, he meant to take the\\r\\n present time by the top and instantly break with you of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO. Hath the fellow any wit that told you this?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n A good sharp fellow: I will send for him; and question him\\r\\n yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n No, no; we will hold it as a dream till it appear itself: but I\\r\\n will acquaint my daughter withal, that she may be the better\\r\\n prepared for an answer, if peradventure this be true. Go you and\\r\\n tell her of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Several persons cross the stage._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Cousins, you know what you have to do. O! I cry you mercy,\\r\\n friend; go you with me, and I will use your skill. Good cousin,\\r\\n have a care this busy time.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Another room in Leonato’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don John and Conrade.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n What the good-year, my lord! why are you thus out of measure sad?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n There is no measure in the occasion that breeds; therefore the\\r\\n sadness is without limit.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n You should hear reason.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n And when I have heard it, what blessings brings it?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n If not a present remedy, at least a patient sufferance.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I wonder that thou (being as thou say’st thou art, born under\\r\\n Saturn) goest about to apply a moral medicine to a mortifying\\r\\n mischief. I cannot hide what I am: I must be sad when I have\\r\\n cause, and smile at no man’s jests; eat when I have stomach, and\\r\\n wait for no man’s leisure; sleep when I am drowsy, and tend on no\\r\\n man’s business; laugh when I am merry, and claw no man in his\\r\\n humour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Yea; but you must not make the full show of this till you may do\\r\\n it without controlment. You have of late stood out against your\\r\\n brother, and he hath ta’en you newly into his grace; where it is\\r\\n impossible you should take true root but by the fair weather that\\r\\n you make yourself: it is needful that you frame the season for\\r\\n your own harvest.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I had rather be a canker in a hedge than a rose in his grace; and\\r\\n it better fits my blood to be disdained of all than to fashion a\\r\\n carriage to rob love from any: in this, though I cannot be said\\r\\n to be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied but I am a\\r\\n plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with a muzzle and\\r\\n enfranchised with a clog; therefore I have decreed not to sing in\\r\\n my cage. If I had my mouth, I would bite; if I had my liberty, I\\r\\n would do my liking: in the meantime, let me be that I am, and\\r\\n seek not to alter me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE. Can you make no use of your discontent?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN. I make all use of it, for I use it only. Who comes\\r\\n here?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Borachio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n What news, Borachio?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n I came yonder from a great supper: the Prince your brother is\\r\\n royally entertained by Leonato; and I can give you intelligence\\r\\n of an intended marriage.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Will it serve for any model to build mischief on? What is he for\\r\\n a fool that betroths himself to unquietness?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Marry, it is your brother’s right hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Who? the most exquisite Claudio?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Even he.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n A proper squire! And who, and who? which way looks he?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of Leonato.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n A very forward March-chick! How came you to this?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was smoking a musty room,\\r\\n comes me the Prince and Claudio, hand in hand, in sad conference:\\r\\n I whipt me behind the arras, and there heard it agreed upon that\\r\\n the Prince should woo Hero for himself, and having obtained her,\\r\\n give her to Count Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Come, come; let us thither: this may prove food to my\\r\\n displeasure. That young start-up hath all the glory of my\\r\\n overthrow: if I can cross him any way, I bless myself every way.\\r\\n You are both sure, and will assist me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE. To the death, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Let us to the great supper: their cheer is the greater that I am\\r\\n subdued. Would the cook were of my mind! Shall we go to prove\\r\\n what’s to be done?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n We’ll wait upon your Lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A hall in Leonato’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice and others.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Was not Count John here at supper?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n I saw him not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n How tartly that gentleman looks! I never can see him but I am\\r\\n heart-burned an hour after.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n He is of a very melancholy disposition.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n He were an excellent man that were made just in the mid-way\\r\\n between him and Benedick: the one is too like an image, and says\\r\\n nothing; and the other too like my lady’s eldest son, evermore\\r\\n tattling.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Then half Signior Benedick’s tongue in Count John’s mouth, and\\r\\n half Count John’s melancholy in Signior Benedick’s face—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n With a good leg and a good foot, uncle, and money enough in his\\r\\n purse, such a man would win any woman in the world if a’ could\\r\\n get her good will.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband, if thou\\r\\n be so shrewd of thy tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n In faith, she’s too curst.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Too curst is more than curst: I shall lessen God’s sending that\\r\\n way; for it is said, ‘God sends a curst cow short horns;’ but to\\r\\n a cow too curst he sends none.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n So, by being too curst, God will send you no horns?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Just, if he send me no husband; for the which blessing I am at\\r\\n him upon my knees every morning and evening. Lord! I could not\\r\\n endure a husband with a beard on his face: I had rather lie in\\r\\n the woollen.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n You may light on a husband that hath no beard.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n What should I do with him? dress him in my apparel and make him\\r\\n my waiting gentlewoman? He that hath a beard is more than a\\r\\n youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man; and he that\\r\\n is more than a youth is not for me; and he that is less than a\\r\\n man, I am not for him: therefore I will even take sixpence in\\r\\n earnest of the bear-ward, and lead his apes into hell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Well then, go you into hell?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n No; but to the gate; and there will the Devil meet me, like an\\r\\n old cuckold, with horns on his head, and say, ‘Get you to heaven,\\r\\n Beatrice, get you to heaven; here’s no place for you maids.’ So\\r\\n deliver I up my apes, and away to Saint Peter for the heavens: he\\r\\n shows me where the bachelors sit, and there live we as merry as\\r\\n the day is long.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n [_To Hero_.] Well, niece, I trust you will be ruled by your\\r\\n father.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Yes, faith; it is my cousin’s duty to make curtsy, and say,\\r\\n ‘Father, as it please you:’— but yet for all that, cousin, let\\r\\n him be a handsome fellow, or else make another curtsy, and say,\\r\\n ‘Father, as it please me.’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Not till God make men of some other metal than earth. Would it\\r\\n not grieve a woman to be over-mastered with a piece of valiant\\r\\n dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl?\\r\\n No, uncle, I’ll none: Adam’s sons are my brethren; and truly, I\\r\\n hold it a sin to match in my kindred.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Daughter, remember what I told you: if the Prince do solicit you\\r\\n in that kind, you know your answer.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be not wooed in\\r\\n good time: if the Prince be too important, tell him there is\\r\\n measure in everything, and so dance out the answer. For, hear me,\\r\\n Hero: wooing, wedding, and repenting is as a Scotch jig, a\\r\\n measure, and a cinquepace: the first suit is hot and hasty, like\\r\\n a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly\\r\\n modest, as a measure, full of state and ancientry; and then comes\\r\\n Repentance, and with his bad legs, falls into the cinquepace\\r\\n faster and faster, till he sink into his grave.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I have a good eye, uncle: I can see a church by daylight.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n The revellers are entering, brother: make good room.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthasar, Don John,\\r\\n Borachio, Margaret, Ursula and Others, masked.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Lady, will you walk about with your friend?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n So you walk softly and look sweetly and say nothing, I am yours\\r\\n for the walk; and especially when I walk away.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n With me in your company?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n I may say so, when I please.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n And when please you to say so?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n When I like your favour; for God defend the lute should be like\\r\\n the case!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n My visor is Philemon’s roof; within the house is Jove.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Why, then, your visor should be thatch’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Speak low, if you speak love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Takes her aside._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n Well, I would you did like me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n So would not I, for your own sake; for I have many ill qualities.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n Which is one?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n I say my prayers aloud.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n I love you the better; the hearers may cry Amen.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n God match me with a good dancer!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n Amen.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n And God keep him out of my sight when the dance is done! Answer,\\r\\n clerk.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n No more words: the clerk is answered.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n I know you well enough: you are Signior Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n At a word, I am not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n I know you by the waggling of your head.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n To tell you true, I counterfeit him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n You could never do him so ill-well, unless you were the very man.\\r\\n Here’s his dry hand up and down: you are he, you are he.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n At a word, I am not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Come, come; do you think I do not know you by your excellent wit?\\r\\n Can virtue hide itself? Go to, mum, you are he: graces will\\r\\n appear, and there’s an end.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Will you not tell me who told you so?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n No, you shall pardon me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Nor will you not tell me who you are?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Not now.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n That I was disdainful, and that I had my good wit out of the\\r\\n ‘Hundred Merry Tales.’ Well, this was Signior Benedick that said\\r\\n so.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n What’s he?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I am sure you know him well enough.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Not I, believe me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Did he never make you laugh?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I pray you, what is he?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Why, he is the Prince’s jester: a very dull fool; only his gift\\r\\n is in devising impossible slanders: none but libertines delight\\r\\n in him; and the commendation is not in his wit, but in his\\r\\n villainy; for he both pleases men and angers them, and then they\\r\\n laugh at him and beat him. I am sure he is in the fleet: I would\\r\\n he had boarded me!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n When I know the gentleman, I’ll tell him what you say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Do, do: he’ll but break a comparison or two on me; which,\\r\\n peradventure not marked or not laughed at, strikes him into\\r\\n melancholy; and then there’s a partridge wing saved, for the fool\\r\\n will eat no supper that night. [_Music within_.] We must follow\\r\\n the leaders.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n In every good thing.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at the next\\r\\n turning.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dance. Then exeunt all but Don John, Borachio and Claudio._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Sure my brother is amorous on Hero, and hath withdrawn her father\\r\\n to break with him about it. The ladies follow her and but one\\r\\n visor remains.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n And that is Claudio: I know him by his bearing.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Are you not Signior Benedick?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n You know me well; I am he.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Signior, you are very near my brother in his love: he is\\r\\n enamoured on Hero; I pray you, dissuade him from her; she is no\\r\\n equal for his birth: you may do the part of an honest man in it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n How know you he loves her?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I heard him swear his affection.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n So did I too; and he swore he would marry her tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Come, let us to the banquet.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Don John and Borachio._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Thus answer I in name of Benedick,\\r\\n But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio.\\r\\n ’Tis certain so; the Prince wooes for himself.\\r\\n Friendship is constant in all other things\\r\\n Save in the office and affairs of love:\\r\\n Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues;\\r\\n Let every eye negotiate for itself\\r\\n And trust no agent; for beauty is a witch\\r\\n Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.\\r\\n This is an accident of hourly proof,\\r\\n Which I mistrusted not. Farewell, therefore, Hero!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Count Claudio?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Yea, the same.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Come, will you go with me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Whither?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Even to the next willow, about your own business, Count. What\\r\\n fashion will you wear the garland of? About your neck, like a\\r\\n usurer’s chain? or under your arm, like a lieutenant’s scarf? You\\r\\n must wear it one way, for the Prince hath got your Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I wish him joy of her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Why, that’s spoken like an honest drovier: so they sell bullocks.\\r\\n But did you think the Prince would have served you thus?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I pray you, leave me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Ho! now you strike like the blind man: ’twas the boy that stole\\r\\n your meat, and you’ll beat the post.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If it will not be, I’ll leave you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Alas! poor hurt fowl. Now will he creep into sedges. But, that my\\r\\n Lady Beatrice should know me, and not know me! The Prince’s fool!\\r\\n Ha! it may be I go under that title because I am merry. Yea, but\\r\\n so I am apt to do myself wrong; I am not so reputed: it is the\\r\\n base though bitter disposition of Beatrice that puts the world\\r\\n into her person, and so gives me out. Well, I’ll be revenged as I\\r\\n may.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Don Pedro.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Now, signior, where’s the Count? Did you see him?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Troth, my lord, I have played the part of Lady Fame. I found him\\r\\n here as melancholy as a lodge in a warren. I told him, and I\\r\\n think I told him true, that your Grace had got the good will of\\r\\n this young lady; and I offered him my company to a willow tree,\\r\\n either to make him a garland, as being forsaken, or to bind him\\r\\n up a rod, as being worthy to be whipped.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n To be whipped! What’s his fault?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n The flat transgression of a school-boy, who, being overjoy’d with\\r\\n finding a bird’s nest, shows it his companion, and he steals it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? The transgression is in\\r\\n the stealer.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Yet it had not been amiss the rod had been made, and the garland\\r\\n too; for the garland he might have worn himself, and the rod he\\r\\n might have bestowed on you, who, as I take it, have stolen his\\r\\n bird’s nest.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I will but teach them to sing, and restore them to the owner.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n If their singing answer your saying, by my faith, you say\\r\\n honestly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you: the gentleman that\\r\\n danced with her told her she is much wronged by you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n O! she misused me past the endurance of a block: an oak but with\\r\\n one green leaf on it would have answered her: my very visor began\\r\\n to assume life and scold with her. She told me, not thinking I\\r\\n had been myself, that I was the Prince’s jester, that I was\\r\\n duller than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest with such\\r\\n impossible conveyance upon me, that I stood like a man at a mark,\\r\\n with a whole army shooting at me. She speaks poniards, and every\\r\\n word stabs: if her breath were as terrible as her terminations,\\r\\n there were no living near her; she would infect to the north\\r\\n star. I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all\\r\\n that Adam had left him before he transgressed: she would have\\r\\n made Hercules have turned spit, yea, and have cleft his club to\\r\\n make the fire too. Come, talk not of her; you shall find her the\\r\\n infernal Ate in good apparel. I would to God some scholar would\\r\\n conjure her, for certainly, while she is here, a man may live as\\r\\n quiet in hell as in a sanctuary; and people sin upon purpose\\r\\n because they would go thither; so indeed, all disquiet, horror\\r\\n and perturbation follow her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Claudio, Beatrice, Hero and Leonato.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Look! here she comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Will your Grace command me any service to the world’s end? I will\\r\\n go on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes that you can\\r\\n devise to send me on; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the\\r\\n furthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of Prester John’s\\r\\n foot; fetch you a hair off the Great Cham’s beard; do you any\\r\\n embassage to the Pygmies, rather than hold three words’\\r\\n conference with this harpy. You have no employment for me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n None, but to desire your good company.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n O God, sir, here’s a dish I love not: I cannot endure my Lady\\r\\n Tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of Signior Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile; and I gave him use for it,\\r\\n a double heart for a single one: marry, once before he won it of\\r\\n me with false dice, therefore your Grace may well say I have lost\\r\\n it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n You have put him down, lady, you have put him down.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I should prove the\\r\\n mother of fools. I have brought Count Claudio, whom you sent me\\r\\n to seek.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Why, how now, Count! wherefore are you sad?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Not sad, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n How then? Sick?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Neither, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n The Count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well; but\\r\\n civil Count, civil as an orange, and something of that jealous\\r\\n complexion.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I’ faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true; though, I’ll be\\r\\n sworn, if he be so, his conceit is false. Here, Claudio, I have\\r\\n wooed in thy name, and fair Hero is won; I have broke with her\\r\\n father, and, his good will obtained; name the day of marriage,\\r\\n and God give thee joy!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes: his\\r\\n Grace hath made the match, and all grace say Amen to it!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Speak, Count, ’tis your cue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy,\\r\\n if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I\\r\\n give away myself for you and dote upon the exchange.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth with a kiss, and\\r\\n let not him speak neither.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n In faith, lady, you have a merry heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Yea, my lord; I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on the windy side\\r\\n of care. My cousin tells him in his ear that he is in her heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And so she doth, cousin.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Good Lord, for alliance! Thus goes everyone to the world but I,\\r\\n and I am sunburnt. I may sit in a corner and cry heigh-ho for a\\r\\n husband!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I would rather have one of your father’s getting. Hath your Grace\\r\\n ne’er a brother like you? Your father got excellent husbands, if\\r\\n a maid could come by them.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Will you have me, lady?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n No, my lord, unless I might have another for working days: your\\r\\n Grace is too costly to wear every day. But, I beseech your Grace,\\r\\n pardon me; I was born to speak all mirth and no matter.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best becomes you;\\r\\n for out of question, you were born in a merry hour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there was a star\\r\\n danced, and under that was I born. Cousins, God give you joy!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Niece, will you look to those things I told you of?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I cry you mercy, uncle. By your Grace’s pardon.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n By my troth, a pleasant spirited lady.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n There’s little of the melancholy element in her, my lord: she is\\r\\n never sad but when she sleeps; and not ever sad then, for I have\\r\\n heard my daughter say, she hath often dreamed of unhappiness and\\r\\n waked herself with laughing.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n O! by no means: she mocks all her wooers out of suit.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n She were an excellent wife for Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n O Lord! my lord, if they were but a week married, they would talk\\r\\n themselves mad.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Count Claudio, when mean you to go to church?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Tomorrow, my lord. Time goes on crutches till love have all his\\r\\n rites.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a just seven-night;\\r\\n and a time too brief too, to have all things answer my mind.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Come, you shake the head at so long a breathing; but, I warrant\\r\\n thee, Claudio, the time shall not go dully by us. I will in the\\r\\n interim undertake one of Hercules’ labours, which is, to bring\\r\\n Signior Benedick and the Lady Beatrice into a mountain of\\r\\n affection the one with the other. I would fain have it a match;\\r\\n and I doubt not but to fashion it, if you three will but minister\\r\\n such assistance as I shall give you direction.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights’ watchings.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And I, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n And you too, gentle Hero?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n I will do any modest office, my lord, to help my cousin to a good\\r\\n husband.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n And Benedick is not the unhopefullest husband that I know. Thus\\r\\n far can I praise him; he is of a noble strain, of approved\\r\\n valour, and confirmed honesty. I will teach you how to humour\\r\\n your cousin, that she shall fall in love with Benedick; and I,\\r\\n with your two helps, will so practise on Benedick that, in\\r\\n despite of his quick wit and his queasy stomach, he shall fall in\\r\\n love with Beatrice. If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an\\r\\n archer: his glory shall be ours, for we are the only love-gods.\\r\\n Go in with me, and I will tell you my drift.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another room in Leonato’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don John and Borachio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n It is so; the Count Claudio shall marry the daughter of Leonato.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Yea, my lord; but I can cross it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be medicinable to me: I\\r\\n am sick in displeasure to him, and whatsoever comes athwart his\\r\\n affection ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou cross this\\r\\n marriage?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly that no dishonesty shall\\r\\n appear in me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Show me briefly how.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n I think I told your lordship, a year since, how much I am in the\\r\\n favour of Margaret, the waiting gentlewoman to Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I remember.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night, appoint her to\\r\\n look out at her lady’s chamber window.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN. What life is in that, to be the death of this marriage?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go you to the Prince\\r\\n your brother; spare not to tell him, that he hath wronged his\\r\\n honour in marrying the renowned Claudio,—whose estimation do you\\r\\n mightily hold up,—to a contaminated stale, such a one as Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n What proof shall I make of that?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Proof enough to misuse the Prince, to vex Claudio, to undo Hero,\\r\\n and kill Leonato. Look you for any other issue?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Only to despite them, I will endeavour anything.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Go then; find me a meet hour to draw Don Pedro and the Count\\r\\n Claudio alone: tell them that you know that Hero loves me; intend\\r\\n a kind of zeal both to the Prince and Claudio, as—in love of your\\r\\n brother’s honour, who hath made this match, and his friend’s\\r\\n reputation, who is thus like to be cozened with the semblance of\\r\\n a maid,—that you have discovered thus. They will scarcely believe\\r\\n this without trial: offer them instances, which shall bear no\\r\\n less likelihood than to see me at her chamber window, hear me\\r\\n call Margaret Hero, hear Margaret term me Claudio; and bring them\\r\\n to see this the very night before the intended wedding: for in\\r\\n the meantime I will so fashion the matter that Hero shall be\\r\\n absent; and there shall appear such seeming truth of Hero’s\\r\\n disloyalty, that jealousy shall be called assurance, and all the\\r\\n preparation overthrown.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will put it in\\r\\n practice. Be cunning in the working this, and thy fee is a\\r\\n thousand ducats.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not shame\\r\\n me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I will presently go learn their day of marriage.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Leonato’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Boy!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Boy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BOY.\\r\\n Signior?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n In my chamber window lies a book; bring it hither to me in the\\r\\n orchard.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BOY.\\r\\n I am here already, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I know that; but I would have thee hence, and here again.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Boy._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n I do much wonder that one man, seeing how much another man is a\\r\\n fool when he dedicates his behaviours to love, will, after he\\r\\n hath laughed at such shallow follies in others, become the\\r\\n argument of his own scorn by falling in love: and such a man is\\r\\n Claudio. I have known, when there was no music with him but the\\r\\n drum and the fife; and now had he rather hear the tabor and the\\r\\n pipe: I have known when he would have walked ten mile afoot to\\r\\n see a good armour; and now will he lie ten nights awake, carving\\r\\n the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain and to\\r\\n the purpose, like an honest man and a soldier; and now is he\\r\\n turned orthography; his words are a very fantastical banquet,\\r\\n just so many strange dishes. May I be so converted, and see with\\r\\n these eyes? I cannot tell; I think not: I will not be sworn but\\r\\n love may transform me to an oyster; but I’ll take my oath on it,\\r\\n till he have made an oyster of me, he shall never make me such a\\r\\n fool. One woman is fair, yet I am well; another is wise, yet I am\\r\\n well; another virtuous, yet I am well; but till all graces be in\\r\\n one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace. Rich she shall\\r\\n be, that’s certain; wise, or I’ll none; virtuous, or I’ll never\\r\\n cheapen her; fair, or I’ll never look on her; mild, or come not\\r\\n near me; noble, or not I for an angel; of good discourse, an\\r\\n excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what colour it\\r\\n please God. Ha! the Prince and Monsieur Love! I will hide me in\\r\\n the arbour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Withdraws._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro, Leonato and Claudio, followed by Balthasar and\\r\\n Musicians.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Come, shall we hear this music?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Yea, my good lord. How still the evening is,\\r\\n As hush’d on purpose to grace harmony!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n See you where Benedick hath hid himself?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n O! very well, my lord: the music ended,\\r\\n We’ll fit the kid-fox with a penny-worth.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Come, Balthasar, we’ll hear that song again.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n O! good my lord, tax not so bad a voice\\r\\n To slander music any more than once.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n It is the witness still of excellency,\\r\\n To put a strange face on his own perfection.\\r\\n I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n Because you talk of wooing, I will sing;\\r\\n Since many a wooer doth commence his suit\\r\\n To her he thinks not worthy; yet he wooes;\\r\\n Yet will he swear he loves.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Nay, pray thee come;\\r\\n Or if thou wilt hold longer argument,\\r\\n Do it in notes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n Note this before my notes;\\r\\n There’s not a note of mine that’s worth the noting.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Why these are very crotchets that he speaks;\\r\\n Notes, notes, forsooth, and nothing!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Now, divine air! now is his soul ravished! Is it not strange that\\r\\n sheep’s guts should hale souls out of men’s bodies? Well, a horn\\r\\n for my money, when all’s done.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR [_sings_.]\\r\\n Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,\\r\\n Men were deceivers ever;\\r\\n One foot in sea, and one on shore,\\r\\n To one thing constant never.\\r\\n Then sigh not so, but let them go,\\r\\n And be you blithe and bonny,\\r\\n Converting all your sounds of woe\\r\\n Into Hey nonny, nonny.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Sing no more ditties, sing no mo\\r\\n Of dumps so dull and heavy;\\r\\n The fraud of men was ever so,\\r\\n Since summer first was leavy.\\r\\n Then sigh not so, but let them go,\\r\\n And be you blithe and bonny,\\r\\n Converting all your sounds of woe\\r\\n Into Hey nonny, nonny.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n By my troth, a good song.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n And an ill singer, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Ha, no, no, faith; thou singest well enough for a shift.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n [_Aside_] And he had been a dog that should have howled thus,\\r\\n they would have hanged him; and I pray God his bad voice bode no\\r\\n mischief. I had as lief have heard the night-raven, come what\\r\\n plague could have come after it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO. Yea, marry; dost thou hear, Balthasar? I pray thee,\\r\\n get us some excellent music, for tomorrow night we would have it\\r\\n at the Lady Hero’s chamber window.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR. The best I can, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO. Do so: farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Balthasar and Musicians._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Come hither, Leonato: what was it you told me of today, that your\\r\\n niece Beatrice was in love with Signior Benedick?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n O! ay:—[_Aside to Don Pedro_] Stalk on, stalk on; the fowl sits.\\r\\n I did never think that lady would have loved any man.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n No, nor I neither; but most wonderful that she should so dote on\\r\\n Signior Benedick, whom she hath in all outward behaviours seemed\\r\\n ever to abhor.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n [_Aside_] Is’t possible? Sits the wind in that corner?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think of it but that\\r\\n she loves him with an enraged affection: it is past the infinite\\r\\n of thought.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Maybe she doth but counterfeit.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Faith, like enough.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n O God! counterfeit! There was never counterfeit of passion came\\r\\n so near the life of passion as she discovers it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Why, what effects of passion shows she?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO. [_Aside_] Bait the hook well: this fish will bite.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n What effects, my lord? She will sit you; [_To Claudio_] You heard\\r\\n my daughter tell you how.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n She did, indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n How, how, I pray you? You amaze me: I would have thought her\\r\\n spirit had been invincible against all assaults of affection.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I would have sworn it had, my lord; especially against Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n [_Aside_] I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded\\r\\n fellow speaks it: knavery cannot, sure, hide itself in such\\r\\n reverence.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n [_Aside_] He hath ta’en the infection: hold it up.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n No; and swears she never will: that’s her torment.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n ’Tis true, indeed; so your daughter says: ‘Shall I,’ says she,\\r\\n ‘that have so oft encountered him with scorn, write to him that I\\r\\n love him?’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n This says she now when she is beginning to write to him; for\\r\\n she’ll be up twenty times a night, and there will she sit in her\\r\\n smock till she have writ a sheet of paper: my daughter tells us\\r\\n all.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a pretty jest your\\r\\n daughter told us of.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n O! when she had writ it, and was reading it over, she found\\r\\n Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n That.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n O! she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence; railed at\\r\\n herself, that she should be so immodest to write to one that she\\r\\n knew would flout her: ‘I measure him,’ says she, ‘by my own\\r\\n spirit; for I should flout him, if he writ to me; yea, though I\\r\\n love him, I should.’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats her heart,\\r\\n tears her hair, prays, curses; ‘O sweet Benedick! God give me\\r\\n patience!’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n She doth indeed; my daughter says so; and the ecstasy hath so\\r\\n much overborne her, that my daughter is sometimes afeard she will\\r\\n do a desperate outrage to herself. It is very true.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n It were good that Benedick knew of it by some other, if she will\\r\\n not discover it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n To what end? he would make but a sport of it and torment the poor\\r\\n lady worse.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n And he should, it were an alms to hang him. She’s an excellent\\r\\n sweet lady, and, out of all suspicion, she is virtuous.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And she is exceeding wise.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n In everything but in loving Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n O! my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so tender a body, we\\r\\n have ten proofs to one that blood hath the victory. I am sorry\\r\\n for her, as I have just cause, being her uncle and her guardian.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I would she had bestowed this dotage on me; I would have daffed\\r\\n all other respects and made her half myself. I pray you, tell\\r\\n Benedick of it, and hear what he will say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Were it good, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Hero thinks surely she will die; for she says she will die if he\\r\\n love her not, and she will die ere she make her love known, and\\r\\n she will die if he woo her, rather than she will bate one breath\\r\\n of her accustomed crossness.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n She doth well: if she should make tender of her love, ’tis very\\r\\n possible he’ll scorn it; for the man,—as you know all,—hath a\\r\\n contemptible spirit.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n He is a very proper man.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n He hath indeed a good outward happiness.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n ’Fore God, and in my mind, very wise.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n He doth indeed show some sparks that are like wit.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And I take him to be valiant.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n As Hector, I assure you: and in the managing of quarrels you may\\r\\n say he is wise; for either he avoids them with great discretion,\\r\\n or undertakes them with a most Christian-like fear.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n If he do fear God, a’ must necessarily keep peace: if he break\\r\\n the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and\\r\\n trembling.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n And so will he do; for the man doth fear God, howsoever it seems\\r\\n not in him by some large jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for\\r\\n your niece. Shall we go seek Benedick and tell him of her love?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Never tell him, my lord: let her wear it out with good counsel.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Nay, that’s impossible: she may wear her heart out first.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Well, we will hear further of it by your daughter: let it cool\\r\\n the while. I love Benedick well, and I could wish he would\\r\\n modestly examine himself, to see how much he is unworthy so good\\r\\n a lady.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n [_Aside_] If he do not dote on her upon this, I will never trust\\r\\n my expectation.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n [_Aside_] Let there be the same net spread for her; and that must\\r\\n your daughter and her gentlewoman carry. The sport will be, when\\r\\n they hold one an opinion of another’s dotage, and no such matter:\\r\\n that’s the scene that I would see, which will be merely a dumb\\r\\n show. Let us send her to call him in to dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio and Leonato._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n [_Advancing from the arbour._] This can be no trick: the\\r\\n conference was sadly borne. They have the truth of this from\\r\\n Hero. They seem to pity the lady: it seems her affections have\\r\\n their full bent. Love me? why, it must be requited. I hear how I\\r\\n am censured: they say I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive\\r\\n the love come from her; they say too that she will rather die\\r\\n than give any sign of affection. I did never think to marry: I\\r\\n must not seem proud: happy are they that hear their detractions,\\r\\n and can put them to mending. They say the lady is fair: ’tis a\\r\\n truth, I can bear them witness; and virtuous: ’tis so, I cannot\\r\\n reprove it; and wise, but for loving me: by my troth, it is no\\r\\n addition to her wit, nor no great argument of her folly, for I\\r\\n will be horribly in love with her. I may chance have some odd\\r\\n quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed so\\r\\n long against marriage; but doth not the appetite alter? A man\\r\\n loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age.\\r\\n Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets of the brain\\r\\n awe a man from the career of his humour? No; the world must be\\r\\n peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I\\r\\n should live till I were married. Here comes Beatrice. By this\\r\\n day! she’s a fair lady: I do spy some marks of love in her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I took no more pains for those thanks than you take pains to\\r\\n thank me: if it had been painful, I would not have come.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n You take pleasure then in the message?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife’s point, and choke\\r\\n a daw withal. You have no stomach, signior: fare you well.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Ha! ‘Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner,’\\r\\n there’s a double meaning in that. ‘I took no more pains for those\\r\\n thanks than you took pains to thank me,’ that’s as much as to\\r\\n say, Any pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks. If I do\\r\\n not take pity of her, I am a villain; if I do not love her, I am\\r\\n a Jew. I will go get her picture.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Leonato’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hero, Margaret and Ursula.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Good Margaret, run thee to the parlour;\\r\\n There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice\\r\\n Proposing with the Prince and Claudio:\\r\\n Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursala\\r\\n Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse\\r\\n Is all of her; say that thou overheard’st us,\\r\\n And bid her steal into the pleached bower,\\r\\n Where honey-suckles, ripen’d by the sun,\\r\\n Forbid the sun to enter; like favourites,\\r\\n Made proud by princes, that advance their pride\\r\\n Against that power that bred it. There will she hide her,\\r\\n To listen our propose. This is thy office;\\r\\n Bear thee well in it and leave us alone.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n I’ll make her come, I warrant you, presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come,\\r\\n As we do trace this alley up and down,\\r\\n Our talk must only be of Benedick:\\r\\n When I do name him, let it be thy part\\r\\n To praise him more than ever man did merit.\\r\\n My talk to thee must be how Benedick\\r\\n Is sick in love with Beatrice: of this matter\\r\\n Is little Cupid’s crafty arrow made,\\r\\n That only wounds by hearsay.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Beatrice behind.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Now begin;\\r\\n For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs\\r\\n Close by the ground, to hear our conference.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n The pleasant’st angling is to see the fish\\r\\n Cut with her golden oars the silver stream,\\r\\n And greedily devour the treacherous bait:\\r\\n So angle we for Beatrice; who even now\\r\\n Is couched in the woodbine coverture.\\r\\n Fear you not my part of the dialogue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing\\r\\n Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They advance to the bower._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful;\\r\\n I know her spirits are as coy and wild\\r\\n As haggards of the rock.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n But are you sure\\r\\n That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n So says the Prince, and my new-trothed lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n And did they bid you tell her of it, madam?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n They did entreat me to acquaint her of it;\\r\\n But I persuaded them, if they lov’d Benedick,\\r\\n To wish him wrestle with affection,\\r\\n And never to let Beatrice know of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman\\r\\n Deserve as full as fortunate a bed\\r\\n As ever Beatrice shall couch upon?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n O god of love! I know he doth deserve\\r\\n As much as may be yielded to a man;\\r\\n But Nature never fram’d a woman’s heart\\r\\n Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice;\\r\\n Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,\\r\\n Misprising what they look on, and her wit\\r\\n Values itself so highly, that to her\\r\\n All matter else seems weak. She cannot love,\\r\\n Nor take no shape nor project of affection,\\r\\n She is so self-endear’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Sure I think so;\\r\\n And therefore certainly it were not good\\r\\n She knew his love, lest she make sport at it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Why, you speak truth. I never yet saw man,\\r\\n How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur’d,\\r\\n But she would spell him backward: if fair-fac’d,\\r\\n She would swear the gentleman should be her sister;\\r\\n If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antick,\\r\\n Made a foul blot; if tall, a lance ill-headed;\\r\\n If low, an agate very vilely cut;\\r\\n If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds;\\r\\n If silent, why, a block moved with none.\\r\\n So turns she every man the wrong side out,\\r\\n And never gives to truth and virtue that\\r\\n Which simpleness and merit purchaseth.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n No; not to be so odd, and from all fashions,\\r\\n As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable.\\r\\n But who dare tell her so? If I should speak,\\r\\n She would mock me into air: O! she would laugh me\\r\\n Out of myself, press me to death with wit.\\r\\n Therefore let Benedick, like cover’d fire,\\r\\n Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly:\\r\\n It were a better death than die with mocks,\\r\\n Which is as bad as die with tickling.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Yet tell her of it: hear what she will say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n No; rather I will go to Benedick,\\r\\n And counsel him to fight against his passion.\\r\\n And, truly, I’ll devise some honest slanders\\r\\n To stain my cousin with. One doth not know\\r\\n How much an ill word may empoison liking.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n O! do not do your cousin such a wrong.\\r\\n She cannot be so much without true judgment,—\\r\\n Having so swift and excellent a wit\\r\\n As she is priz’d to have,—as to refuse\\r\\n So rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n He is the only man of Italy,\\r\\n Always excepted my dear Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n I pray you, be not angry with me, madam,\\r\\n Speaking my fancy: Signior Benedick,\\r\\n For shape, for bearing, argument and valour,\\r\\n Goes foremost in report through Italy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Indeed, he hath an excellent good name.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n His excellence did earn it, ere he had it.\\r\\n When are you married, madam?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Why, every day, tomorrow. Come, go in:\\r\\n I’ll show thee some attires, and have thy counsel\\r\\n Which is the best to furnish me tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n She’s lim’d, I warrant you,\\r\\n We have caught her, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n If it prove so, then loving goes by haps:\\r\\n Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Hero and Ursula._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n [_Advancing._] What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true?\\r\\n Stand I condemn’d for pride and scorn so much?\\r\\n Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu!\\r\\n No glory lives behind the back of such.\\r\\n And, Benedick, love on; I will requite thee,\\r\\n Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand:\\r\\n If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee\\r\\n To bind our loves up in a holy band;\\r\\n For others say thou dost deserve, and I\\r\\n Believe it better than reportingly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick and Leonato.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I do but stay till your marriage be consummate, and then go I\\r\\n toward Arragon.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I’ll bring you thither, my lord, if you’ll vouchsafe me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Nay, that would be as great a soil in the new gloss of your\\r\\n marriage, as to show a child his new coat and forbid him to wear\\r\\n it. I will only be bold with Benedick for his company; for, from\\r\\n the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth;\\r\\n he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid’s bowstring, and the little\\r\\n hangman dare not shoot at him. He hath a heart as sound as a\\r\\n bell, and his tongue is the clapper; for what his heart thinks,\\r\\n his tongue speaks.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Gallants, I am not as I have been.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n So say I: methinks you are sadder.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I hope he be in love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Hang him, truant! there’s no true drop of blood in him to be\\r\\n truly touched with love. If he be sad, he wants money.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I have the tooth-ache.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Draw it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Hang it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n What! sigh for the tooth-ache?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Where is but a humour or a worm?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Well, everyone can master a grief but he that has it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Yet say I, he is in love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless it be a fancy that\\r\\n he hath to strange disguises; as to be a Dutchman today, a\\r\\n Frenchman tomorrow; or in the shape of two countries at once, as\\r\\n a German from the waist downward, all slops, and a Spaniard from\\r\\n the hip upward, no doublet. Unless he have a fancy to this\\r\\n foolery, as it appears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you\\r\\n would have it appear he is.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If he be not in love with some woman, there is no believing old\\r\\n signs: a’ brushes his hat a mornings; what should that bode?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Hath any man seen him at the barber’s?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n No, but the barber’s man hath been seen with him; and the old\\r\\n ornament of his cheek hath already stuffed tennis balls.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Indeed he looks younger than he did, by the loss of a beard.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Nay, a’ rubs himself with civet: can you smell him out by that?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n That’s as much as to say the sweet youth’s in love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n The greatest note of it is his melancholy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And when was he wont to wash his face?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, I hear what they say of\\r\\n him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Nay, but his jesting spirit; which is now crept into a\\r\\n lute-string, and now governed by stops.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him. Conclude, conclude he is\\r\\n in love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Nay, but I know who loves him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n That would I know too: I warrant, one that knows him not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Yes, and his ill conditions; and in despite of all, dies for him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n She shall be buried with her face upwards.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ache. Old signior, walk aside\\r\\n with me: I have studied eight or nine wise words to speak to you,\\r\\n which these hobby-horses must not hear.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Benedick and Leonato._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n For my life, to break with him about Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n ’Tis even so. Hero and Margaret have by this played their parts\\r\\n with Beatrice, and then the two bears will not bite one another\\r\\n when they meet.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don John.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n My lord and brother, God save you!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Good den, brother.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n If your leisure served, I would speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n In private?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n If it please you; yet Count Claudio may hear, for what I would\\r\\n speak of concerns him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n [_To Claudio._] Means your lordship to be married tomorrow?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n You know he does.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I know not that, when he knows what I know.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If there be any impediment, I pray you discover it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n You may think I love you not: let that appear hereafter, and aim\\r\\n better at me by that I now will manifest. For my brother, I think\\r\\n he holds you well, and in dearness of heart hath holp to effect\\r\\n your ensuing marriage; surely suit ill-spent and labour ill\\r\\n bestowed!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Why, what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I came hither to tell you; and circumstances shortened,—for she\\r\\n has been too long a talking of,—the lady is disloyal.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Who, Hero?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Even she: Leonato’s Hero, your Hero, every man’s Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Disloyal?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n The word’s too good to paint out her wickedness; I could say, she\\r\\n were worse: think you of a worse title, and I will fit her to it.\\r\\n Wonder not till further warrant: go but with me tonight, you\\r\\n shall see her chamber window entered, even the night before her\\r\\n wedding-day: if you love her then, tomorrow wed her; but it would\\r\\n better fit your honour to change your mind.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n May this be so?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I will not think it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n If you dare not trust that you see, confess not that you know. If\\r\\n you will follow me, I will show you enough; and when you have\\r\\n seen more and heard more, proceed accordingly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If I see anything tonight why I should not marry her tomorrow, in\\r\\n the congregation, where I should wed, there will I shame her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I will join with thee to\\r\\n disgrace her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I will disparage her no farther till you are my witnesses: bear\\r\\n it coldly but till midnight, and let the issue show itself.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n O day untowardly turned!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n O mischief strangely thwarting!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n O plague right well prevented! So will you say when you have seen\\r\\n the sequel.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nScene III. A Street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Dogberry and Verges, with the Watch.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Are you good men and true?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer salvation, body\\r\\n and soul.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Nay, that were a punishment too good for them, if they should\\r\\n have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the Prince’s watch.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dogberry.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n First, who think you the most desartless man to be constable?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST WATCH.\\r\\n Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal; for they can write and\\r\\n read.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Come hither, neighbour Seacoal. God hath blessed you with a good\\r\\n name: to be a well-favoured man is the gift of Fortune; but to\\r\\n write and read comes by Nature.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n Both which, Master Constable,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n You have: I knew it would be your answer. Well, for your favour,\\r\\n sir, why, give God thanks, and make no boast of it; and for your\\r\\n writing and reading, let that appear when there is no need of\\r\\n such vanity. You are thought here to be the most senseless and\\r\\n fit man for the constable of the watch; therefore bear you the\\r\\n lanthorn. This is your charge: you shall comprehend all vagrom\\r\\n men; you are to bid any man stand, in the Prince’s name.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n How, if a’ will not stand?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Why, then, take no note of him, but let him go; and presently\\r\\n call the rest of the watch together, and thank God you are rid of\\r\\n a knave.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the\\r\\n Prince’s subjects.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n True, and they are to meddle with none but the Prince’s subjects.\\r\\n You shall also make no noise in the streets: for, for the watch\\r\\n to babble and to talk is most tolerable and not to be endured.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n We will rather sleep than talk: we know what belongs to a watch.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet watchman, for I\\r\\n cannot see how sleeping should offend; only have a care that your\\r\\n bills be not stolen. Well, you are to call at all the alehouses,\\r\\n and bid those that are drunk get them to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n How if they will not?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Why then, let them alone till they are sober: if they make you\\r\\n not then the better answer, you may say they are not the men you\\r\\n took them for.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n Well, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue of your\\r\\n office, to be no true man; and, for such kind of men, the less\\r\\n you meddle or make with them, why, the more is for your honesty.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Truly, by your office, you may; but I think they that touch pitch\\r\\n will be defiled. The most peaceable way for you, if you do take a\\r\\n thief, is to let him show himself what he is and steal out of\\r\\n your company.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n You have been always called a merciful man, partner.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will, much more a man who\\r\\n hath any honesty in him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the nurse\\r\\n and bid her still it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n How if the nurse be asleep and will not hear us?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Why then, depart in peace, and let the child wake her with\\r\\n crying; for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it baes,\\r\\n will never answer a calf when he bleats.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n ’Tis very true.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n This is the end of the charge. You constable, are to present the\\r\\n Prince’s own person: if you meet the Prince in the night, you may\\r\\n stay him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Nay, by’r lady, that I think, a’ cannot.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Five shillings to one on’t, with any man that knows the statutes,\\r\\n he may stay him: marry, not without the Prince be willing; for,\\r\\n indeed, the watch ought to offend no man, and it is an offence to\\r\\n stay a man against his will.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n By’r lady, I think it be so.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Ha, ah, ha! Well, masters, good night: an there be any matter of\\r\\n weight chances, call up me: keep your fellows’ counsels and your\\r\\n own, and good night. Come, neighbour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n Well, masters, we hear our charge: let us go sit here upon the\\r\\n church bench till two, and then all to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n One word more, honest neighbours. I pray you, watch about Signior\\r\\n Leonato’s door; for the wedding being there tomorrow, there is a\\r\\n great coil tonight. Adieu; be vigitant, I beseech you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Dogberry and Verges._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Borachio and Conrade.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n What, Conrade!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n WATCH.\\r\\n [_Aside_] Peace! stir not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Conrade, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Here, man. I am at thy elbow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Mass, and my elbow itched; I thought there would a scab follow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n I will owe thee an answer for that; and now forward with thy\\r\\n tale.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Stand thee close then under this penthouse, for it drizzles rain,\\r\\n and I will, like a true drunkard, utter all to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n WATCH.\\r\\n [_Aside_] Some treason, masters; yet stand close.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Therefore know, I have earned of Don John a thousand ducats.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Is it possible that any villainy should be so dear?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Thou shouldst rather ask if it were possible any villainy should\\r\\n be so rich; for when rich villains have need of poor ones, poor\\r\\n ones may make what price they will.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n I wonder at it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n That shows thou art unconfirmed. Thou knowest that the fashion of\\r\\n a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak, is nothing to a man.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Yes, it is apparel.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n I mean, the fashion.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Yes, the fashion is the fashion.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Tush! I may as well say the fool’s the fool. But seest thou not\\r\\n what a deformed thief this fashion is?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n WATCH.\\r\\n [_Aside_] I know that Deformed; a’ has been a vile thief this\\r\\n seven years; a’ goes up and down like a gentleman: I remember his\\r\\n name.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Didst thou not hear somebody?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n No: ’twas the vane on the house.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this fashion is? how\\r\\n giddily he turns about all the hot bloods between fourteen and\\r\\n five-and-thirty? sometime fashioning them like Pharaoh’s soldiers\\r\\n in the reechy painting; sometime like god Bel’s priests in the\\r\\n old church window; sometime like the shaven Hercules in the\\r\\n smirched worm-eaten tapestry, where his codpiece seems as massy\\r\\n as his club?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n All this I see, and I see that the fashion wears out more apparel\\r\\n than the man. But art not thou thyself giddy with the fashion\\r\\n too, that thou hast shifted out of thy tale into telling me of\\r\\n the fashion?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Not so neither; but know, that I have tonight wooed Margaret, the\\r\\n Lady Hero’s gentlewoman, by the name of Hero: she leans me out at\\r\\n her mistress’ chamber window, bids me a thousand times good\\r\\n night,—I tell this tale vilely:—I should first tell thee how the\\r\\n Prince, Claudio, and my master, planted and placed and possessed\\r\\n by my master Don John, saw afar off in the orchard this amiable\\r\\n encounter.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n And thought they Margaret was Hero?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio; but the devil my master,\\r\\n knew she was Margaret; and partly by his oaths, which first\\r\\n possessed them, partly by the dark night, which did deceive them,\\r\\n but chiefly by my villainy, which did confirm any slander that\\r\\n Don John had made, away went Claudio enraged; swore he would meet\\r\\n her, as he was appointed, next morning at the temple, and there,\\r\\n before the whole congregation, shame her with what he saw o’er\\r\\n night, and send her home again without a husband.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST WATCH.\\r\\n We charge you in the Prince’s name, stand!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n Call up the right Master Constable. We have here recovered the\\r\\n most dangerous piece of lechery that ever was known in the\\r\\n commonwealth.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST WATCH.\\r\\n And one Deformed is one of them: I know him, a’ wears a lock.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Masters, masters!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n You’ll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Masters,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST WATCH.\\r\\n Never speak: we charge you let us obey you to go with us.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO. We are like to prove a goodly commodity, being taken up\\r\\n of these men’s bills.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n A commodity in question, I warrant you. Come, we’ll obey you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nScene IV. A Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hero, Margaret and Ursula.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and desire her to rise.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n I will, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n And bid her come hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Well.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Troth, I think your other rebato were better.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n No, pray thee, good Meg, I’ll wear this.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n By my troth’s not so good; and I warrant your cousin will say so.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n My cousin ’s a fool, and thou art another: I’ll wear none but\\r\\n this.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n I like the new tire within excellently, if the hair were a\\r\\n thought browner; and your gown ’s a most rare fashion, i’ faith.\\r\\n I saw the Duchess of Milan’s gown that they praise so.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n O! that exceeds, they say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n By my troth ’s but a night-gown in respect of yours: cloth o’\\r\\n gold, and cuts, and laced with silver, set with pearls, down\\r\\n sleeves, side sleeves, and skirts round, underborne with a bluish\\r\\n tinsel; but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excellent fashion,\\r\\n yours is worth ten on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n God give me joy to wear it! for my heart is exceeding heavy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n ’Twill be heavier soon by the weight of a man.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Fie upon thee! art not ashamed?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Of what, lady? of speaking honourably? Is not marriage honourable\\r\\n in a beggar? Is not your lord honourable without marriage? I\\r\\n think you would have me say, saving your reverence, ‘a husband:’\\r\\n an bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, I’ll offend nobody.\\r\\n Is there any harm in ‘the heavier for a husband’? None, I think,\\r\\n and it be the right husband and the right wife; otherwise ’tis\\r\\n light, and not heavy: ask my Lady Beatrice else; here she comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Good morrow, coz.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Good morrow, sweet Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Why, how now? do you speak in the sick tune?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I am out of all other tune, methinks.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Clap’s into ‘Light o’ love’; that goes without a burden: do you\\r\\n sing it, and I’ll dance it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Ye, light o’ love with your heels! then, if your husband have\\r\\n stables enough, you’ll see he shall lack no barnes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n O illegitimate construction! I scorn that with my heels.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n ’Tis almost five o’clock, cousin; ’tis time you were ready. By my\\r\\n troth, I am exceeding ill. Heigh-ho!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n For a hawk, a horse, or a husband?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n For the letter that begins them all, H.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Well, and you be not turned Turk, there’s no more sailing by the\\r\\n star.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n What means the fool, trow?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Nothing I; but God send everyone their heart’s desire!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n These gloves the Count sent me; they are an excellent perfume.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I am stuffed, cousin, I cannot smell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n A maid, and stuffed! there’s goodly catching of cold.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n O, God help me! God help me! how long have you professed\\r\\n apprehension?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Ever since you left it. Doth not my wit become me rarely!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n It is not seen enough, you should wear it in your cap. By my\\r\\n troth, I am sick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Get you some of this distilled _Carduus benedictus_, and lay it\\r\\n to your heart: it is the only thing for a qualm.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n There thou prick’st her with a thistle.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n _Benedictus!_ why _benedictus?_ you have some moral in this\\r\\n _benedictus_.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Moral! no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning; I meant, plain\\r\\n holy thistle. You may think, perchance, that I think you are in\\r\\n love: nay, by’r Lady, I am not such a fool to think what I list;\\r\\n nor I list not to think what I can; nor, indeed, I cannot think,\\r\\n if I would think my heart out of thinking, that you are in love,\\r\\n or that you will be in love, or that you can be in love. Yet\\r\\n Benedick was such another, and now is he become a man: he swore\\r\\n he would never marry; and yet now, in despite of his heart, he\\r\\n eats his meat without grudging: and how you may be converted, I\\r\\n know not; but methinks you look with your eyes as other women do.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n What pace is this that thy tongue keeps?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Not a false gallop.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ursula.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Madam, withdraw: the Prince, the Count, Signior Benedick, Don\\r\\n John, and all the gallants of the town are come to fetch you to\\r\\n church.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good Ursula.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nScene V. Another Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leonato and Dogberry and Verges.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n What would you with me, honest neighbour?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Marry, sir, I would have some confidence with you, that decerns\\r\\n you nearly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Brief, I pray you; for you see it is a busy time with me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Marry, this it is, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Yes, in truth it is, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n What is it, my good friends?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off the matter: an old man,\\r\\n sir, and his wits are not so blunt as, God help, I would desire\\r\\n they were; but, in faith, honest as the skin between his brows.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Yes, I thank God, I am as honest as any man living, that is an\\r\\n old man and no honester than I.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Comparisons are odorous: palabras, neighbour Verges.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Neighbours, you are tedious.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n It pleases your worship to say so, but we are the poor Duke’s\\r\\n officers; but truly, for mine own part, if I were as tedious as a\\r\\n king, I could find in my heart to bestow it all of your worship.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n All thy tediousness on me! ah?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Yea, and ’twere a thousand pound more than ’tis; for I hear as\\r\\n good exclamation on your worship, as of any man in the city, and\\r\\n though I be but a poor man, I am glad to hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n And so am I.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I would fain know what you have to say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Marry, sir, our watch tonight, excepting your worship’s presence,\\r\\n ha’ ta’en a couple of as arrant knaves as any in Messina.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n A good old man, sir; he will be talking; as they say, ‘when the\\r\\n age is in, the wit is out.’ God help us! it is a world to see!\\r\\n Well said, i’ faith, neighbour Verges: well, God’s a good man;\\r\\n and two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind. An honest\\r\\n soul, i’ faith, sir; by my troth he is, as ever broke bread; but\\r\\n God is to be worshipped: all men are not alike; alas! good\\r\\n neighbour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Gifts that God gives.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I must leave you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n One word, sir: our watch, sir, have indeed comprehended two\\r\\n aspicious persons, and we would have them this morning examined\\r\\n before your worship.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Take their examination yourself, and bring it me: I am now in\\r\\n great haste, as may appear unto you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n It shall be suffigance.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Drink some wine ere you go: fare you well.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n My lord, they stay for you to give your daughter to her husband.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I’ll wait upon them: I am ready.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Leonato and Messenger._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Go, good partner, go get you to Francis Seacoal; bid him bring\\r\\n his pen and inkhorn to the gaol: we are now to examination these\\r\\n men.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n And we must do it wisely.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n We will spare for no wit, I warrant you; here’s that shall drive\\r\\n some of them to a non-come: only get the learned writer to set\\r\\n down our excommunication, and meet me at the gaol.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Inside of a Church.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Leonato, Friar Francis, Claudio,\\r\\n Benedick, Hero, Beatrice &c.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Come, Friar Francis, be brief: only to the plain form of\\r\\n marriage, and you shall recount their particular duties\\r\\n afterwards.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n No.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n To be married to her, friar; you come to marry her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Lady, you come hither to be married to this Count?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n I do.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n If either of you know any inward impediment, why you should not\\r\\n be conjoined, I charge you, on your souls, to utter it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Know you any, Hero?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n None, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Know you any, Count?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I dare make his answer; none.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n O! what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, not\\r\\n knowing what they do!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n How now! Interjections? Why then, some be of laughing, as ah! ha!\\r\\n he!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Stand thee by, Friar. Father, by your leave:\\r\\n Will you with free and unconstrained soul\\r\\n Give me this maid, your daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n As freely, son, as God did give her me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And what have I to give you back whose worth\\r\\n May counterpoise this rich and precious gift?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Nothing, unless you render her again.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Sweet Prince, you learn me noble thankfulness.\\r\\n There, Leonato, take her back again:\\r\\n Give not this rotten orange to your friend;\\r\\n She’s but the sign and semblance of her honour.\\r\\n Behold! how like a maid she blushes here.\\r\\n O! what authority and show of truth\\r\\n Can cunning sin cover itself withal.\\r\\n Comes not that blood as modest evidence\\r\\n To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear,\\r\\n All you that see her, that she were a maid,\\r\\n By these exterior shows? But she is none:\\r\\n She knows the heat of a luxurious bed;\\r\\n Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n What do you mean, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Not to be married,\\r\\n Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof,\\r\\n Have vanquish’d the resistance of her youth,\\r\\n And made defeat of her virginity,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I know what you would say: if I have known her,\\r\\n You will say she did embrace me as a husband,\\r\\n And so extenuate the forehand sin: No, Leonato,\\r\\n I never tempted her with word too large;\\r\\n But as a brother to his sister show’d\\r\\n Bashful sincerity and comely love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n And seem’d I ever otherwise to you?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Out on thee! Seeming! I will write against it:\\r\\n You seem to me as Dian in her orb,\\r\\n As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown;\\r\\n But you are more intemperate in your blood\\r\\n Than Venus, or those pamper’d animals\\r\\n That rage in savage sensuality.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Sweet Prince, why speak not you?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n What should I speak?\\r\\n I stand dishonour’d, that have gone about\\r\\n To link my dear friend to a common stale.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Are these things spoken, or do I but dream?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n This looks not like a nuptial.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n True! O God!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Leonato, stand I here?\\r\\n Is this the Prince? Is this the Prince’s brother?\\r\\n Is this face Hero’s? Are our eyes our own?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n All this is so; but what of this, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Let me but move one question to your daughter,\\r\\n And by that fatherly and kindly power\\r\\n That you have in her, bid her answer truly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I charge thee do so, as thou art my child.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n O, God defend me! how am I beset!\\r\\n What kind of catechizing call you this?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n To make you answer truly to your name.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name\\r\\n With any just reproach?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Marry, that can Hero:\\r\\n Hero itself can blot out Hero’s virtue.\\r\\n What man was he talk’d with you yesternight\\r\\n Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one?\\r\\n Now, if you are a maid, answer to this.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n I talk’d with no man at that hour, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Why, then are you no maiden.\\r\\n Leonato, I am sorry you must hear: upon my honour,\\r\\n Myself, my brother, and this grieved Count,\\r\\n Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night,\\r\\n Talk with a ruffian at her chamber window;\\r\\n Who hath indeed, most like a liberal villain,\\r\\n Confess’d the vile encounters they have had\\r\\n A thousand times in secret.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Fie, fie! they are not to be nam’d, my lord,\\r\\n Not to be spoke of;\\r\\n There is not chastity enough in language\\r\\n Without offence to utter them. Thus, pretty lady,\\r\\n I am sorry for thy much misgovernment.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been,\\r\\n If half thy outward graces had been plac’d\\r\\n About thy thoughts and counsels of thy heart!\\r\\n But fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell,\\r\\n Thou pure impiety, and impious purity!\\r\\n For thee I’ll lock up all the gates of love,\\r\\n And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang,\\r\\n To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm,\\r\\n And never shall it more be gracious.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Hath no man’s dagger here a point for me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Hero swoons._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Why, how now, cousin! wherefore sink you down?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Come, let us go. These things, come thus to light,\\r\\n Smother her spirits up.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John and Claudio._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n How doth the lady?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Dead, I think! Help, uncle! Hero! why, Hero! Uncle! Signior\\r\\n Benedick! Friar!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n O Fate! take not away thy heavy hand:\\r\\n Death is the fairest cover for her shame\\r\\n That may be wish’d for.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n How now, cousin Hero?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Have comfort, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Dost thou look up?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Yea; wherefore should she not?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Wherefore! Why, doth not every earthly thing\\r\\n Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny\\r\\n The story that is printed in her blood?\\r\\n Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes;\\r\\n For, did I think thou wouldst not quickly die,\\r\\n Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames,\\r\\n Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches,\\r\\n Strike at thy life. Griev’d I, I had but one?\\r\\n Chid I for that at frugal Nature’s frame?\\r\\n O! one too much by thee. Why had I one?\\r\\n Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes?\\r\\n Why had I not with charitable hand\\r\\n Took up a beggar’s issue at my gates,\\r\\n Who smirched thus, and mir’d with infamy,\\r\\n I might have said, ‘No part of it is mine;\\r\\n This shame derives itself from unknown loins?’\\r\\n But mine, and mine I lov’d, and mine I prais’d,\\r\\n And mine that I was proud on, mine so much\\r\\n That I myself was to myself not mine,\\r\\n Valuing of her; why, she—O! she is fallen\\r\\n Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea\\r\\n Hath drops too few to wash her clean again,\\r\\n And salt too little which may season give\\r\\n To her foul tainted flesh.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Sir, sir, be patient.\\r\\n For my part, I am so attir’d in wonder,\\r\\n I know not what to say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n O! on my soul, my cousin is belied!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n No, truly, not; although, until last night,\\r\\n I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Confirm’d, confirm’d! O! that is stronger made,\\r\\n Which was before barr’d up with ribs of iron.\\r\\n Would the two princes lie? and Claudio lie,\\r\\n Who lov’d her so, that, speaking of her foulness,\\r\\n Wash’d it with tears? Hence from her! let her die.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Hear me a little;\\r\\n For I have only been silent so long,\\r\\n And given way unto this course of fortune,\\r\\n By noting of the lady: I have mark’d\\r\\n A thousand blushing apparitions\\r\\n To start into her face; a thousand innocent shames\\r\\n In angel whiteness bear away those blushes;\\r\\n And in her eye there hath appear’d a fire,\\r\\n To burn the errors that these princes hold\\r\\n Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool;\\r\\n Trust not my reading nor my observations,\\r\\n Which with experimental seal doth warrant\\r\\n The tenure of my book; trust not my age,\\r\\n My reverence, calling, nor divinity,\\r\\n If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here\\r\\n Under some biting error.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Friar, it cannot be.\\r\\n Thou seest that all the grace that she hath left\\r\\n Is that she will not add to her damnation\\r\\n A sin of perjury: she not denies it.\\r\\n Why seek’st thou then to cover with excuse\\r\\n That which appears in proper nakedness?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Lady, what man is he you are accus’d of?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n They know that do accuse me, I know none;\\r\\n If I know more of any man alive\\r\\n Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant,\\r\\n Let all my sins lack mercy! O, my father!\\r\\n Prove you that any man with me convers’d\\r\\n At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight\\r\\n Maintain’d the change of words with any creature,\\r\\n Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n There is some strange misprision in the princes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Two of them have the very bent of honour;\\r\\n And if their wisdoms be misled in this,\\r\\n The practice of it lives in John the bastard,\\r\\n Whose spirits toil in frame of villainies.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I know not. If they speak but truth of her,\\r\\n These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honour,\\r\\n The proudest of them shall well hear of it.\\r\\n Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine,\\r\\n Nor age so eat up my invention,\\r\\n Nor fortune made such havoc of my means,\\r\\n Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends,\\r\\n But they shall find, awak’d in such a kind,\\r\\n Both strength of limb and policy of mind,\\r\\n Ability in means and choice of friends,\\r\\n To quit me of them throughly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Pause awhile,\\r\\n And let my counsel sway you in this case.\\r\\n Your daughter here the princes left for dead;\\r\\n Let her awhile be secretly kept in,\\r\\n And publish it that she is dead indeed:\\r\\n Maintain a mourning ostentation;\\r\\n And on your family’s old monument\\r\\n Hang mournful epitaphs and do all rites\\r\\n That appertain unto a burial.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n What shall become of this? What will this do?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Marry, this well carried shall on her behalf\\r\\n Change slander to remorse; that is some good.\\r\\n But not for that dream I on this strange course,\\r\\n But on this travail look for greater birth.\\r\\n She dying, as it must be so maintain’d,\\r\\n Upon the instant that she was accus’d,\\r\\n Shall be lamented, pitied and excus’d\\r\\n Of every hearer; for it so falls out\\r\\n That what we have we prize not to the worth\\r\\n Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack’d and lost,\\r\\n Why, then we rack the value, then we find\\r\\n The virtue that possession would not show us\\r\\n Whiles it was ours. So will it fare with Claudio:\\r\\n When he shall hear she died upon his words,\\r\\n The idea of her life shall sweetly creep\\r\\n Into his study of imagination,\\r\\n And every lovely organ of her life\\r\\n Shall come apparell’d in more precious habit,\\r\\n More moving, delicate, and full of life\\r\\n Into the eye and prospect of his soul,\\r\\n Than when she liv’d indeed: then shall he mourn,—\\r\\n If ever love had interest in his liver,—\\r\\n And wish he had not so accused her,\\r\\n No, though he thought his accusation true.\\r\\n Let this be so, and doubt not but success\\r\\n Will fashion the event in better shape\\r\\n Than I can lay it down in likelihood.\\r\\n But if all aim but this be levell’d false,\\r\\n The supposition of the lady’s death\\r\\n Will quench the wonder of her infamy:\\r\\n And if it sort not well, you may conceal her,—\\r\\n As best befits her wounded reputation,—\\r\\n In some reclusive and religious life,\\r\\n Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you:\\r\\n And though you know my inwardness and love\\r\\n Is very much unto the Prince and Claudio,\\r\\n Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this\\r\\n As secretly and justly as your soul\\r\\n Should with your body.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Being that I flow in grief,\\r\\n The smallest twine may lead me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n ’Tis well consented: presently away;\\r\\n For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure.\\r\\n Come, lady, die to live: this wedding day\\r\\n Perhaps is but prolong’d: have patience and endure.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Friar, Hero and Leonato._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Yea, and I will weep a while longer.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I will not desire that.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n You have no reason; I do it freely.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wronged.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Ah! how much might the man deserve of me that would right her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Is there any way to show such friendship?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n A very even way, but no such friend.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n May a man do it?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n It is a man’s office, but not yours.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that\\r\\n strange?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n As strange as the thing I know not. It were as possible for me to\\r\\n say I loved nothing so well as you; but believe me not, and yet I\\r\\n lie not; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am sorry for my\\r\\n cousin.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Do not swear by it, and eat it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I will swear by it that you love me; and I will make him eat it\\r\\n that says I love not you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Will you not eat your word?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest I love thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Why then, God forgive me!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n What offence, sweet Beatrice?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about to protest I\\r\\n loved you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n And do it with all thy heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Come, bid me do anything for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Kill Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Ha! not for the wide world.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n You kill me to deny it. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Tarry, sweet Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I am gone, though I am here: there is no love in you: nay, I pray\\r\\n you, let me go.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Beatrice,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n In faith, I will go.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n We’ll be friends first.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n You dare easier be friends with me than fight with mine enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Is Claudio thine enemy?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath slandered,\\r\\n scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman? O! that I were a man. What!\\r\\n bear her in hand until they come to take hands, and then, with\\r\\n public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour,—O God,\\r\\n that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Hear me, Beatrice,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Talk with a man out at a window! a proper saying!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Nay, but Beatrice,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Sweet Hero! she is wronged, she is slandered, she is undone.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Beat—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Princes and Counties! Surely, a princely testimony, a goodly\\r\\n Count Comfect; a sweet gallant, surely! O! that I were a man for\\r\\n his sake, or that I had any friend would be a man for my sake!\\r\\n But manhood is melted into curtsies, valour into compliment, and\\r\\n men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones too: he is now as\\r\\n valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lie and swears it. I\\r\\n cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with\\r\\n grieving.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I love thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Think you in your soul the Count Claudio hath wronged Hero?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Yea, as sure is I have a thought or a soul.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Enough! I am engaged, I will challenge him. I will kiss your\\r\\n hand, and so leave you. By this hand, Claudio shall render me a\\r\\n dear account. As you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort your\\r\\n cousin: I must say she is dead; and so, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nScene II. A Prison.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Dogberry, Verges, and Sexton, in gowns; and the Watch, with\\r\\n Conrade and Borachio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Is our whole dissembly appeared?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n O! a stool and a cushion for the sexton.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SEXTON.\\r\\n Which be the malefactors?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Marry, that am I and my partner.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Nay, that’s certain: we have the exhibition to examine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SEXTON.\\r\\n But which are the offenders that are to be examined? let them\\r\\n come before Master Constable.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Yea, marry, let them come before me. What is your name, friend?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Borachio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Pray write down Borachio. Yours, sirrah?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Write down Master gentleman Conrade. Masters, do you serve God?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BOTH.\\r\\n Yea, sir, we hope.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Write down that they hope they serve God: and write God first;\\r\\n for God defend but God should go before such villains! Masters,\\r\\n it is proved already that you are little better than false\\r\\n knaves, and it will go near to be thought so shortly. How answer\\r\\n you for yourselves?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Marry, sir, we say we are none.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you; but I will go about with\\r\\n him. Come you hither, sirrah; a word in your ear: sir, I say to\\r\\n you, it is thought you are false knaves.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Sir, I say to you we are none.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Well, stand aside. Fore God, they are both in a tale. Have you\\r\\n writ down, that they are none?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SEXTON.\\r\\n Master Constable, you go not the way to examine: you must call\\r\\n forth the watch that are their accusers.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Yea, marry, that’s the eftest way. Let the watch come forth.\\r\\n Masters, I charge you, in the Prince’s name, accuse these men.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST WATCH.\\r\\n This man said, sir, that Don John, the Prince’s brother, was a\\r\\n villain.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Write down Prince John a villain. Why, this is flat perjury, to\\r\\n call a Prince’s brother villain.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Master Constable,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Pray thee, fellow, peace: I do not like thy look, I promise thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SEXTON.\\r\\n What heard you him say else?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n Marry, that he had received a thousand ducats of Don John for\\r\\n accusing the Lady Hero wrongfully.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Flat burglary as ever was committed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Yea, by the mass, that it is.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SEXTON.\\r\\n What else, fellow?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST WATCH.\\r\\n And that Count Claudio did mean, upon his words, to disgrace Hero\\r\\n before the whole assembly, and not marry her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n O villain! thou wilt be condemned into everlasting redemption for\\r\\n this.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SEXTON.\\r\\n What else?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n This is all.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SEXTON.\\r\\n And this is more, masters, than you can deny. Prince John is this\\r\\n morning secretly stolen away: Hero was in this manner accused, in\\r\\n this manner refused, and, upon the grief of this, suddenly died.\\r\\n Master Constable, let these men be bound, and brought to\\r\\n Leonato’s: I will go before and show him their examination.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Come, let them be opinioned.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Let them be in the hands—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Off, coxcomb!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n God’s my life! where’s the sexton? let him write down the\\r\\n Prince’s officer coxcomb. Come, bind them. Thou naughty varlet!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Away! you are an ass; you are an ass.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not suspect my years? O\\r\\n that he were here to write me down an ass! but, masters, remember\\r\\n that I am an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not\\r\\n that I am an ass. No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as\\r\\n shall be proved upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow;\\r\\n and, which is more, an officer; and, which is more, a\\r\\n householder; and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as\\r\\n any in Messina; and one that knows the law, go to; and a rich\\r\\n fellow enough, go to; and a fellow that hath had losses; and one\\r\\n that hath two gowns, and everything handsome about him. Bring him\\r\\n away. O that I had been writ down an ass!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Before Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leonato and Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n If you go on thus, you will kill yourself\\r\\n And ’tis not wisdom thus to second grief\\r\\n Against yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I pray thee, cease thy counsel,\\r\\n Which falls into mine ears as profitless\\r\\n As water in a sieve: give not me counsel;\\r\\n Nor let no comforter delight mine ear\\r\\n But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine:\\r\\n Bring me a father that so lov’d his child,\\r\\n Whose joy of her is overwhelm’d like mine,\\r\\n And bid him speak of patience;\\r\\n Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine,\\r\\n And let it answer every strain for strain,\\r\\n As thus for thus and such a grief for such,\\r\\n In every lineament, branch, shape, and form:\\r\\n If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard;\\r\\n Bid sorrow wag, cry ‘hem’ when he should groan,\\r\\n Patch grief with proverbs; make misfortune drunk\\r\\n With candle-wasters; bring him yet to me,\\r\\n And I of him will gather patience.\\r\\n But there is no such man; for, brother, men\\r\\n Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief\\r\\n Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it,\\r\\n Their counsel turns to passion, which before\\r\\n Would give preceptial medicine to rage,\\r\\n Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,\\r\\n Charm ache with air and agony with words.\\r\\n No, no; ’tis all men’s office to speak patience\\r\\n To those that wring under the load of sorrow,\\r\\n But no man’s virtue nor sufficiency\\r\\n To be so moral when he shall endure\\r\\n The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel:\\r\\n My griefs cry louder than advertisement.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Therein do men from children nothing differ.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I pray thee peace! I will be flesh and blood;\\r\\n For there was never yet philosopher\\r\\n That could endure the toothache patiently,\\r\\n However they have writ the style of gods\\r\\n And made a push at chance and sufferance.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself;\\r\\n Make those that do offend you suffer too.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n There thou speak’st reason: nay, I will do so.\\r\\n My soul doth tell me Hero is belied;\\r\\n And that shall Claudio know; so shall the Prince,\\r\\n And all of them that thus dishonour her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Here comes the Prince and Claudio hastily.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro and Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Good den, good den.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Good day to both of you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Hear you, my lords,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n We have some haste, Leonato.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Some haste, my lord! well, fare you well, my lord:\\r\\n Are you so hasty now?—well, all is one.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n If he could right himself with quarrelling,\\r\\n Some of us would lie low.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Who wrongs him?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Marry, thou dost wrong me; thou dissembler, thou.\\r\\n Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword;\\r\\n I fear thee not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Marry, beshrew my hand,\\r\\n If it should give your age such cause of fear.\\r\\n In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Tush, tush, man! never fleer and jest at me:\\r\\n I speak not like a dotard nor a fool,\\r\\n As, under privilege of age, to brag\\r\\n What I have done being young, or what would do,\\r\\n Were I not old. Know, Claudio, to thy head,\\r\\n Thou hast so wrong’d mine innocent child and me\\r\\n That I am forc’d to lay my reverence by,\\r\\n And, with grey hairs and bruise of many days,\\r\\n Do challenge thee to trial of a man.\\r\\n I say thou hast belied mine innocent child:\\r\\n Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart,\\r\\n And she lies buried with her ancestors;\\r\\n O! in a tomb where never scandal slept,\\r\\n Save this of hers, fram’d by thy villainy!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n My villainy?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Thine, Claudio; thine, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n You say not right, old man,\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n My lord, my lord, I’ll prove it on his body, if he dare,\\r\\n Despite his nice fence and his active practice,\\r\\n His May of youth and bloom of lustihood.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Away! I will not have to do with you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Canst thou so daff me? Thou hast kill’d my child;\\r\\n If thou kill’st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n He shall kill two of us, and men indeed:\\r\\n But that’s no matter; let him kill one first:\\r\\n Win me and wear me; let him answer me.\\r\\n Come, follow me, boy; come, sir boy, come, follow me.\\r\\n Sir boy, I’ll whip you from your foining fence;\\r\\n Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Brother,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Content yourself. God knows I lov’d my niece;\\r\\n And she is dead, slander’d to death by villains,\\r\\n That dare as well answer a man indeed\\r\\n As I dare take a serpent by the tongue.\\r\\n Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Brother Anthony,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Hold you content. What, man! I know them, yea,\\r\\n And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple,\\r\\n Scambling, out-facing, fashion-monging boys,\\r\\n That lie and cog and flout, deprave and slander,\\r\\n Go antickly, show outward hideousness,\\r\\n And speak off half a dozen dangerous words,\\r\\n How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst;\\r\\n And this is all!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n But, brother Anthony,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Come, ’tis no matter:\\r\\n Do not you meddle, let me deal in this.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience.\\r\\n My heart is sorry for your daughter’s death;\\r\\n But, on my honour, she was charg’d with nothing\\r\\n But what was true and very full of proof.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n My lord, my lord—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I will not hear you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n No? Come, brother, away. I will be heard.—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n And shall, or some of us will smart for it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Leonato and Antonio._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n See, see; here comes the man we went to seek.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Now, signior, what news?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Good day, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Welcome, signior: you are almost come to part almost a fray.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n We had like to have had our two noses snapped off with two old\\r\\n men without teeth.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Leonato and his brother. What think’st thou? Had we fought, I\\r\\n doubt we should have been too young for them.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n In a false quarrel there is no true valour. I came to seek you\\r\\n both.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n We have been up and down to seek thee; for we are high-proof\\r\\n melancholy, and would fain have it beaten away. Wilt thou use thy\\r\\n wit?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n It is in my scabbard; shall I draw it?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Never any did so, though very many have been beside their wit. I\\r\\n will bid thee draw, as we do the minstrels; draw, to pleasure us.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n As I am an honest man, he looks pale. Art thou sick, or angry?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n What, courage, man! What though care killed a cat, thou hast\\r\\n mettle enough in thee to kill care.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, and you charge it\\r\\n against me. I pray you choose another subject.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Nay then, give him another staff: this last was broke cross.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n By this light, he changes more and more: I think he be angry\\r\\n indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Shall I speak a word in your ear?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n God bless me from a challenge!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n [_Aside to Claudio._] You are a villain, I jest not: I will make\\r\\n it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare. Do\\r\\n me right, or I will protest your cowardice. You have killed a\\r\\n sweet lady, and her death shall fall heavy on you. Let me hear\\r\\n from you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Well I will meet you, so I may have good cheer.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n What, a feast, a feast?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I’ faith, I thank him; he hath bid me to a calf’s-head and a\\r\\n capon, the which if I do not carve most curiously, say my knife’s\\r\\n naught. Shall I not find a woodcock too?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I’ll tell thee how Beatrice praised thy wit the other day. I\\r\\n said, thou hadst a fine wit. ‘True,’ says she, ‘a fine little\\r\\n one.’ ‘No,’ said I, ‘a great wit.’ ‘Right,’ said she, ‘a great\\r\\n gross one.’ ‘Nay,’ said I, ‘a good wit.’ ‘Just,’ said she, ‘it\\r\\n hurts nobody.’ ‘Nay,’ said I, ‘the gentleman is wise.’ ‘Certain,’\\r\\n said she, ‘a wise gentleman.’ ‘Nay,’ said I, ‘he hath the\\r\\n tongues.’ ‘That I believe’ said she, ‘for he swore a thing to me\\r\\n on Monday night, which he forswore on Tuesday morning: there’s a\\r\\n double tongue; there’s two tongues.’ Thus did she, an hour\\r\\n together, trans-shape thy particular virtues; yet at last she\\r\\n concluded with a sigh, thou wast the properest man in Italy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n For the which she wept heartily and said she cared not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Yea, that she did; but yet, for all that, an if she did not hate\\r\\n him deadly, she would love him dearly. The old man’s daughter\\r\\n told us all.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n All, all; and moreover, God saw him when he was hid in the\\r\\n garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n But when shall we set the savage bull’s horns on the sensible\\r\\n Benedick’s head?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Yea, and text underneath, ‘Here dwells Benedick the married man!’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Fare you well, boy: you know my mind. I will leave you now to\\r\\n your gossip-like humour; you break jests as braggarts do their\\r\\n blades, which, God be thanked, hurt not. My lord, for your many\\r\\n courtesies I thank you: I must discontinue your company. Your\\r\\n brother the bastard is fled from Messina: you have, among you,\\r\\n killed a sweet and innocent lady. For my Lord Lack-beard there,\\r\\n he and I shall meet; and till then, peace be with him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n He is in earnest.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n In most profound earnest; and, I’ll warrant you, for the love of\\r\\n Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n And hath challenged thee?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Most sincerely.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n What a pretty thing man is when he goes in his doublet and hose\\r\\n and leaves off his wit!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n He is then a giant to an ape; but then is an ape a doctor to such\\r\\n a man.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n But, soft you; let me be: pluck up, my heart, and be sad! Did he\\r\\n not say my brother was fled?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Dogberry, Verges, and the Watch, with Conrade and\\r\\n Borachio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Come you, sir: if justice cannot tame you, she shall ne’er weigh\\r\\n more reasons in her balance. Nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite\\r\\n once, you must be looked to.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n How now! two of my brother’s men bound! Borachio, one!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Hearken after their offence, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Officers, what offence have these men done?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Marry, sir, they have committed false report; moreover, they have\\r\\n spoken untruths; secondarily, they are slanders; sixth and\\r\\n lastly, they have belied a lady; thirdly, they have verified\\r\\n unjust things; and to conclude, they are lying knaves.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n First, I ask thee what they have done; thirdly, I ask thee what’s\\r\\n their offence; sixth and lastly, why they are committed; and, to\\r\\n conclude, what you lay to their charge?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Rightly reasoned, and in his own division; and, by my troth,\\r\\n there’s one meaning well suited.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Who have you offended, masters, that you are thus bound to your\\r\\n answer? This learned constable is too cunning to be understood.\\r\\n What’s your offence?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Sweet Prince, let me go no farther to mine answer: do you hear\\r\\n me, and let this Count kill me. I have deceived even your very\\r\\n eyes: what your wisdoms could not discover, these shallow fools\\r\\n have brought to light; who, in the night overheard me confessing\\r\\n to this man how Don John your brother incensed me to slander the\\r\\n Lady Hero; how you were brought into the orchard and saw me court\\r\\n Margaret in Hero’s garments; how you disgraced her, when you\\r\\n should marry her. My villainy they have upon record; which I had\\r\\n rather seal with my death than repeat over to my shame. The lady\\r\\n is dead upon mine and my master’s false accusation; and, briefly,\\r\\n I desire nothing but the reward of a villain.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Runs not this speech like iron through your blood?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I have drunk poison whiles he utter’d it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n But did my brother set thee on to this?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Yea; and paid me richly for the practice of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n He is compos’d and fram’d of treachery: And fled he is upon this\\r\\n villainy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Sweet Hero! now thy image doth appear\\r\\n In the rare semblance that I lov’d it first.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Come, bring away the plaintiffs: by this time our sexton hath\\r\\n reformed Signior Leonato of the matter. And masters, do not\\r\\n forget to specify, when time and place shall serve, that I am an\\r\\n ass.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Here, here comes Master Signior Leonato, and the sexton too.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Leonato, Antonio and the Sexton.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Which is the villain? Let me see his eyes,\\r\\n That, when I note another man like him,\\r\\n I may avoid him. Which of these is he?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n If you would know your wronger, look on me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Art thou the slave that with thy breath hast kill’d\\r\\n Mine innocent child?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Yea, even I alone.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n No, not so, villain; thou beliest thyself:\\r\\n Here stand a pair of honourable men;\\r\\n A third is fled, that had a hand in it.\\r\\n I thank you, princes, for my daughter’s death:\\r\\n Record it with your high and worthy deeds.\\r\\n ’Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I know not how to pray your patience;\\r\\n Yet I must speak. Choose your revenge yourself;\\r\\n Impose me to what penance your invention\\r\\n Can lay upon my sin: yet sinn’d I not\\r\\n But in mistaking.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n By my soul, nor I:\\r\\n And yet, to satisfy this good old man,\\r\\n I would bend under any heavy weight\\r\\n That he’ll enjoin me to.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I cannot bid you bid my daughter live;\\r\\n That were impossible; but, I pray you both,\\r\\n Possess the people in Messina here\\r\\n How innocent she died; and if your love\\r\\n Can labour aught in sad invention,\\r\\n Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb,\\r\\n And sing it to her bones: sing it tonight.\\r\\n Tomorrow morning come you to my house,\\r\\n And since you could not be my son-in-law,\\r\\n Be yet my nephew. My brother hath a daughter,\\r\\n Almost the copy of my child that’s dead,\\r\\n And she alone is heir to both of us:\\r\\n Give her the right you should have given her cousin,\\r\\n And so dies my revenge.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n O noble sir,\\r\\n Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me!\\r\\n I do embrace your offer; and dispose\\r\\n For henceforth of poor Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Tomorrow then I will expect your coming;\\r\\n Tonight I take my leave. This naughty man\\r\\n Shall face to face be brought to Margaret,\\r\\n Who, I believe, was pack’d in all this wrong,\\r\\n Hir’d to it by your brother.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n No, by my soul she was not;\\r\\n Nor knew not what she did when she spoke to me;\\r\\n But always hath been just and virtuous\\r\\n In anything that I do know by her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Moreover, sir,—which, indeed, is not under white and black,— this\\r\\n plaintiff here, the offender, did call me ass: I beseech you, let\\r\\n it be remembered in his punishment. And also, the watch heard\\r\\n them talk of one Deformed: they say he wears a key in his ear and\\r\\n a lock hanging by it, and borrows money in God’s name, the which\\r\\n he hath used so long and never paid, that now men grow\\r\\n hard-hearted, and will lend nothing for God’s sake. Pray you,\\r\\n examine him upon that point.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I thank thee for thy care and honest pains.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Your worship speaks like a most thankful and reverent youth, and\\r\\n I praise God for you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n There’s for thy pains.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n God save the foundation!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n I leave an arrant knave with your worship; which I beseech your\\r\\n worship to correct yourself, for the example of others. God keep\\r\\n your worship! I wish your worship well; God restore you to\\r\\n health! I humbly give you leave to depart, and if a merry meeting\\r\\n may be wished, God prohibit it! Come, neighbour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Dogberry and Verges._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Until tomorrow morning, lords, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Farewell, my lords: we look for you tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n We will not fail.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Tonight I’ll mourn with Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Don Pedro and Claudio._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n [_To the Watch._] Bring you these fellows on. We’ll talk with\\r\\n Margaret,\\r\\n How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Leonato’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benedick and Margaret, meeting.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Pray thee, sweet Mistress Margaret, deserve well at my hands by\\r\\n helping me to the speech of Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come over\\r\\n it; for, in most comely truth, thou deservest it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n To have no man come over me! why, shall I always keep below\\r\\n stairs?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound’s mouth; it catches.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n And yours as blunt as the fencer’s foils, which hit, but hurt\\r\\n not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n A most manly wit, Margaret; it will not hurt a woman: and so, I\\r\\n pray thee, call Beatrice. I give thee the bucklers.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Give us the swords, we have bucklers of our own.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the pikes with a vice;\\r\\n and they are dangerous weapons for maids.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I think hath legs.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n And therefore will come.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Margaret._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n The god of love,\\r\\n That sits above,\\r\\n And knows me, and knows me,\\r\\n How pitiful I deserve,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n I mean, in singing: but in loving, Leander the good swimmer,\\r\\n Troilus the first employer of panders, and a whole book full of\\r\\n these quondam carpet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the\\r\\n even road of a blank verse, why, they were never so truly turned\\r\\n over and over as my poor self in love. Marry, I cannot show it in\\r\\n rime; I have tried: I can find out no rime to ‘lady’ but ‘baby’,\\r\\n an innocent rime; for ‘scorn,’ ‘horn’, a hard rime; for ‘school’,\\r\\n ‘fool’, a babbling rime; very ominous endings: no, I was not born\\r\\n under a riming planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called thee?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Yea, signior; and depart when you bid me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n O, stay but till then!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n ‘Then’ is spoken; fare you well now: and yet, ere I go, let me go\\r\\n with that I came for; which is, with knowing what hath passed\\r\\n between you and Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath,\\r\\n and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sense, so forcible\\r\\n is thy wit. But I must tell thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my\\r\\n challenge, and either I must shortly hear from him, or I will\\r\\n subscribe him a coward. And, I pray thee now, tell me, for which\\r\\n of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n For them all together; which maintained so politic a state of\\r\\n evil that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with\\r\\n them. But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love\\r\\n for me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n ‘Suffer love,’ a good epithet! I do suffer love indeed, for I\\r\\n love thee against my will.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n In spite of your heart, I think. Alas, poor heart! If you spite\\r\\n it for my sake, I will spite it for yours; for I will never love\\r\\n that which my friend hates.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n It appears not in this confession: there’s not one wise man among\\r\\n twenty that will praise himself.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived in the time of good\\r\\n neighbours. If a man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere he\\r\\n dies, he shall live no longer in monument than the bell rings and\\r\\n the widow weeps.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE. And how long is that think you?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Question: why, an hour in clamour and a quarter in rheum:\\r\\n therefore is it most expedient for the wise,—if Don Worm, his\\r\\n conscience, find no impediment to the contrary,—to be the trumpet\\r\\n of his own virtues, as I am to myself. So much for praising\\r\\n myself, who, I myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy. And now\\r\\n tell me, how doth your cousin?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Very ill.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n And how do you?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Very ill too.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Serve God, love me, and mend. There will I leave you too, for\\r\\n here comes one in haste.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ursula.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder’s old coil at home: it\\r\\n is proved, my Lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the Prince and\\r\\n Claudio mightily abused; and Don John is the author of all, who\\r\\n is fled and gone. Will you come presently?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Will you go hear this news, signior?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy\\r\\n eyes; and moreover I will go with thee to thy uncle’s.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The Inside of a Church.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro, Claudio and Attendants, with music and tapers.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Is this the monument of Leonato?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n A LORD.\\r\\n It is, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n [_Reads from a scroll._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Epitaph.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Done to death by slanderous tongues\\r\\n Was the Hero that here lies:\\r\\n Death, in guerdon of her wrongs,\\r\\n Gives her fame which never dies.\\r\\n So the life that died with shame\\r\\n Lives in death with glorious fame.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Hang thou there upon the tomb,\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Praising her when I am dumb.\\r\\n Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Song.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Pardon, goddess of the night,\\r\\n Those that slew thy virgin knight;\\r\\n For the which, with songs of woe,\\r\\n Round about her tomb they go.\\r\\n Midnight, assist our moan;\\r\\n Help us to sigh and groan,\\r\\n Heavily, heavily:\\r\\n Graves, yawn and yield your dead,\\r\\n Till death be uttered,\\r\\n Heavily, heavily.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Now, unto thy bones good night!\\r\\n Yearly will I do this rite.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Good morrow, masters: put your torches out.\\r\\n The wolves have prey’d; and look, the gentle day,\\r\\n Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about\\r\\n Dapples the drowsy East with spots of grey.\\r\\n Thanks to you all, and leave us: fare you well.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Good morrow, masters: each his several way.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds;\\r\\n And then to Leonato’s we will go.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And Hymen now with luckier issue speed’s,\\r\\n Than this for whom we rend’red up this woe!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leonato, Antonio, Benedick, Beatrice, Margaret, Ursula,\\r\\n Friar Francis and Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Did I not tell you she was innocent?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n So are the Prince and Claudio, who accus’d her\\r\\n Upon the error that you heard debated:\\r\\n But Margaret was in some fault for this,\\r\\n Although against her will, as it appears\\r\\n In the true course of all the question.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Well, I am glad that all things sort so well.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n And so am I, being else by faith enforc’d\\r\\n To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all,\\r\\n Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves,\\r\\n And when I send for you, come hither mask’d:\\r\\n The Prince and Claudio promis’d by this hour\\r\\n To visit me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Ladies._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n You know your office, brother;\\r\\n You must be father to your brother’s daughter,\\r\\n And give her to young Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Which I will do with confirm’d countenance.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n To do what, signior?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n To bind me, or undo me; one of them.\\r\\n Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior,\\r\\n Your niece regards me with an eye of favour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n That eye my daughter lent her. ’Tis most true.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n And I do with an eye of love requite her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n The sight whereof I think, you had from me,\\r\\n From Claudio, and the Prince. But what’s your will?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Your answer, sir, is enigmatical:\\r\\n But, for my will, my will is your good will\\r\\n May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin’d\\r\\n In the state of honourable marriage:\\r\\n In which, good friar, I shall desire your help.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n My heart is with your liking.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n And my help. Here comes the Prince and Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, with Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Good morrow to this fair assembly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Good morrow, Prince; good morrow, Claudio:\\r\\n We here attend you. Are you yet determin’d\\r\\n Today to marry with my brother’s daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I’ll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Call her forth, brother: here’s the friar ready.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Antonio._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Good morrow, Benedick. Why, what’s the matter,\\r\\n That you have such a February face,\\r\\n So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I think he thinks upon the savage bull.\\r\\n Tush! fear not, man, we’ll tip thy horns with gold,\\r\\n And all Europa shall rejoice at thee,\\r\\n As once Europa did at lusty Jove,\\r\\n When he would play the noble beast in love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low:\\r\\n And some such strange bull leap’d your father’s cow,\\r\\n And got a calf in that same noble feat,\\r\\n Much like to you, for you have just his bleat.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n For this I owe you: here comes other reckonings.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Antonio, with the ladies masked.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Which is the lady I must seize upon?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n This same is she, and I do give you her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Why then, she’s mine. Sweet, let me see your face.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n No, that you shall not, till you take her hand\\r\\n Before this friar, and swear to marry her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Give me your hand: before this holy friar,\\r\\n I am your husband, if you like of me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n And when I liv’d, I was your other wife:\\r\\n [_Unmasking._] And when you lov’d, you were my other husband.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Another Hero!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Nothing certainer:\\r\\n One Hero died defil’d, but I do live,\\r\\n And surely as I live, I am a maid.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n The former Hero! Hero that is dead!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n She died, my lord, but whiles her slander liv’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n All this amazement can I qualify:\\r\\n When after that the holy rites are ended,\\r\\n I’ll tell you largely of fair Hero’s death:\\r\\n Meantime, let wonder seem familiar,\\r\\n And to the chapel let us presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Soft and fair, friar. Which is Beatrice?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n [_Unmasking._] I answer to that name. What is your will?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Do not you love me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Why, no; no more than reason.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Why, then, your uncle and the Prince and Claudio\\r\\n Have been deceived; for they swore you did.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Do not you love me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Troth, no; no more than reason.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula,\\r\\n Are much deceiv’d; for they did swear you did.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n They swore that you were almost sick for me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n ’Tis no such matter. Then you do not love me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n No, truly, but in friendly recompense.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And I’ll be sworn upon ’t that he loves her;\\r\\n For here’s a paper written in his hand,\\r\\n A halting sonnet of his own pure brain,\\r\\n Fashion’d to Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n And here’s another,\\r\\n Writ in my cousin’s hand, stolen from her pocket,\\r\\n Containing her affection unto Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n A miracle! here’s our own hands against our hearts. Come, I will\\r\\n have thee; but, by this light, I take thee for pity.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I would not deny you; but, by this good day, I yield upon great\\r\\n persuasion, and partly to save your life, for I was told you were\\r\\n in a consumption.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Peace! I will stop your mouth. [_Kisses her._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n How dost thou, Benedick, the married man?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I’ll tell thee what, Prince; a college of witcrackers cannout\\r\\n flout me out of my humour. Dost thou think I care for a satire or\\r\\n an epigram? No; if man will be beaten with brains, a’ shall wear\\r\\n nothing handsome about him. In brief, since I do purpose to\\r\\n marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say\\r\\n against it; and therefore never flout at me for what I have said\\r\\n against it, for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion.\\r\\n For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee; but, in\\r\\n that thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruised, and love my\\r\\n cousin.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I had well hoped thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that I might\\r\\n have cudgelled thee out of thy single life, to make thee a\\r\\n double-dealer; which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin\\r\\n do not look exceeding narrowly to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Come, come, we are friends. Let’s have a dance ere we are\\r\\n married, that we may lighten our own hearts and our wives’ heels.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n We’ll have dancing afterward.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n First, of my word; therefore play, music! Prince, thou art sad;\\r\\n get thee a wife, get thee a wife: there is no staff more reverent\\r\\n than one tipped with horn.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n My lord, your brother John is ta’en in flight,\\r\\n And brought with armed men back to Messina.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Think not on him till tomorrow: I’ll devise thee brave\\r\\n punishments for him. Strike up, pipers!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dance. Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Venice. A street.\\r\\nScene II. Venice. Another street.\\r\\nScene III. Venice. A council chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. A seaport in Cyprus. A Platform.\\r\\nScene II. A street.\\r\\nScene III. A Hall in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\nScene II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\nScene III. Cyprus. The Garden of the Castle.\\r\\nScene IV. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\nScene II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\nScene III. Cyprus. Another Room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Cyprus. A Street.\\r\\nScene II. Cyprus. A Bedchamber in the castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE OF VENICE\\r\\nBRABANTIO, a Senator of Venice and Desdemona’s father\\r\\nOther Senators\\r\\nGRATIANO, Brother to Brabantio\\r\\nLODOVICO, Kinsman to Brabantio\\r\\nOTHELLO, a noble Moor in the service of Venice\\r\\nCASSIO, his Lieutenant\\r\\nIAGO, his Ancient\\r\\nMONTANO, Othello’s predecessor in the government of Cyprus\\r\\nRODERIGO, a Venetian Gentleman\\r\\nCLOWN, Servant to Othello\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA, Daughter to Brabantio and Wife to Othello\\r\\nEMILIA, Wife to Iago\\r\\nBIANCA, Mistress to Cassio\\r\\n\\r\\nOfficers, Gentlemen, Messenger, Musicians, Herald, Sailor, Attendants,\\r\\n&c.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: The First Act in Venice; during the rest of the Play at a\\r\\nSeaport in Cyprus.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Venice. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Roderigo and Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nTush, never tell me, I take it much unkindly\\r\\nThat thou, Iago, who hast had my purse,\\r\\nAs if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n’Sblood, but you will not hear me.\\r\\nIf ever I did dream of such a matter,\\r\\nAbhor me.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nThou told’st me, thou didst hold him in thy hate.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDespise me if I do not. Three great ones of the city,\\r\\nIn personal suit to make me his lieutenant,\\r\\nOff-capp’d to him; and by the faith of man,\\r\\nI know my price, I am worth no worse a place.\\r\\nBut he, as loving his own pride and purposes,\\r\\nEvades them, with a bombast circumstance,\\r\\nHorribly stuff’d with epithets of war:\\r\\nAnd in conclusion,\\r\\nNonsuits my mediators: for “Certes,” says he,\\r\\n“I have already chose my officer.”\\r\\nAnd what was he?\\r\\nForsooth, a great arithmetician,\\r\\nOne Michael Cassio, a Florentine,\\r\\nA fellow almost damn’d in a fair wife,\\r\\nThat never set a squadron in the field,\\r\\nNor the division of a battle knows\\r\\nMore than a spinster, unless the bookish theoric,\\r\\nWherein the toged consuls can propose\\r\\nAs masterly as he: mere prattle without practice\\r\\nIs all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election,\\r\\nAnd I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof\\r\\nAt Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds,\\r\\nChristian and heathen, must be belee’d and calm’d\\r\\nBy debitor and creditor, this counter-caster,\\r\\nHe, in good time, must his lieutenant be,\\r\\nAnd I, God bless the mark, his Moorship’s ancient.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nBy heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, there’s no remedy. ’Tis the curse of service,\\r\\nPreferment goes by letter and affection,\\r\\nAnd not by old gradation, where each second\\r\\nStood heir to the first. Now sir, be judge yourself\\r\\nWhether I in any just term am affin’d\\r\\nTo love the Moor.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI would not follow him, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, sir, content you.\\r\\nI follow him to serve my turn upon him:\\r\\nWe cannot all be masters, nor all masters\\r\\nCannot be truly follow’d. You shall mark\\r\\nMany a duteous and knee-crooking knave\\r\\nThat, doting on his own obsequious bondage,\\r\\nWears out his time, much like his master’s ass,\\r\\nFor nought but provender, and when he’s old, cashier’d.\\r\\nWhip me such honest knaves. Others there are\\r\\nWho, trimm’d in forms, and visages of duty,\\r\\nKeep yet their hearts attending on themselves,\\r\\nAnd throwing but shows of service on their lords,\\r\\nDo well thrive by them, and when they have lin’d their coats,\\r\\nDo themselves homage. These fellows have some soul,\\r\\nAnd such a one do I profess myself. For, sir,\\r\\nIt is as sure as you are Roderigo,\\r\\nWere I the Moor, I would not be Iago:\\r\\nIn following him, I follow but myself.\\r\\nHeaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,\\r\\nBut seeming so for my peculiar end.\\r\\nFor when my outward action doth demonstrate\\r\\nThe native act and figure of my heart\\r\\nIn complement extern, ’tis not long after\\r\\nBut I will wear my heart upon my sleeve\\r\\nFor daws to peck at: I am not what I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhat a full fortune does the thick-lips owe,\\r\\nIf he can carry’t thus!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCall up her father,\\r\\nRouse him, make after him, poison his delight,\\r\\nProclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen,\\r\\nAnd though he in a fertile climate dwell,\\r\\nPlague him with flies: though that his joy be joy,\\r\\nYet throw such changes of vexation on’t,\\r\\nAs it may lose some color.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nHere is her father’s house, I’ll call aloud.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo, with like timorous accent and dire yell\\r\\nAs when, by night and negligence, the fire\\r\\nIs spied in populous cities.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhat ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAwake! what ho, Brabantio! Thieves, thieves!\\r\\nLook to your house, your daughter, and your bags!\\r\\nThieves, thieves!\\r\\n\\r\\n Brabantio appears above at a window.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nWhat is the reason of this terrible summons?\\r\\nWhat is the matter there?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nSignior, is all your family within?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAre your doors locked?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nWhy, wherefore ask you this?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nZounds, sir, you’re robb’d, for shame put on your gown,\\r\\nYour heart is burst, you have lost half your soul;\\r\\nEven now, now, very now, an old black ram\\r\\nIs tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise,\\r\\nAwake the snorting citizens with the bell,\\r\\nOr else the devil will make a grandsire of you:\\r\\nArise, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nWhat, have you lost your wits?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nMost reverend signior, do you know my voice?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nNot I. What are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nMy name is Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nThe worser welcome.\\r\\nI have charg’d thee not to haunt about my doors;\\r\\nIn honest plainness thou hast heard me say\\r\\nMy daughter is not for thee; and now in madness,\\r\\nBeing full of supper and distempering draughts,\\r\\nUpon malicious bravery, dost thou come\\r\\nTo start my quiet.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nSir, sir, sir,—\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nBut thou must needs be sure\\r\\nMy spirit and my place have in them power\\r\\nTo make this bitter to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nPatience, good sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nWhat tell’st thou me of robbing?\\r\\nThis is Venice. My house is not a grange.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nMost grave Brabantio,\\r\\nIn simple and pure soul I come to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nZounds, sir, you are one of those that will not serve God if the devil\\r\\nbid you. Because we come to do you service, and you think we are\\r\\nruffians, you’ll have your daughter cover’d with a Barbary horse;\\r\\nyou’ll have your nephews neigh to you; you’ll have coursers for cousins\\r\\nand gennets for germans.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nWhat profane wretch art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are\\r\\nnow making the beast with two backs.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nThou art a villain.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou are a senator.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nThis thou shalt answer. I know thee, Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nSir, I will answer anything. But I beseech you,\\r\\nIf ’t be your pleasure, and most wise consent,\\r\\n(As partly I find it is) that your fair daughter,\\r\\nAt this odd-even and dull watch o’ the night,\\r\\nTransported with no worse nor better guard,\\r\\nBut with a knave of common hire, a gondolier,\\r\\nTo the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor:\\r\\nIf this be known to you, and your allowance,\\r\\nWe then have done you bold and saucy wrongs.\\r\\nBut if you know not this, my manners tell me,\\r\\nWe have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe\\r\\nThat from the sense of all civility,\\r\\nI thus would play and trifle with your reverence.\\r\\nYour daughter (if you have not given her leave)\\r\\nI say again, hath made a gross revolt,\\r\\nTying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes\\r\\nIn an extravagant and wheeling stranger\\r\\nOf here and everywhere. Straight satisfy yourself:\\r\\nIf she be in her chamber or your house,\\r\\nLet loose on me the justice of the state\\r\\nFor thus deluding you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nStrike on the tinder, ho!\\r\\nGive me a taper! Call up all my people!\\r\\nThis accident is not unlike my dream,\\r\\nBelief of it oppresses me already.\\r\\nLight, I say, light!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit from above._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFarewell; for I must leave you:\\r\\nIt seems not meet nor wholesome to my place\\r\\nTo be produc’d, as if I stay I shall,\\r\\nAgainst the Moor. For I do know the state,\\r\\nHowever this may gall him with some check,\\r\\nCannot with safety cast him, for he’s embark’d\\r\\nWith such loud reason to the Cyprus wars,\\r\\nWhich even now stand in act, that, for their souls,\\r\\nAnother of his fathom they have none\\r\\nTo lead their business. In which regard,\\r\\nThough I do hate him as I do hell pains,\\r\\nYet, for necessity of present life,\\r\\nI must show out a flag and sign of love,\\r\\nWhich is indeed but sign. That you shall surely find him,\\r\\nLead to the Sagittary the raised search,\\r\\nAnd there will I be with him. So, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Brabantio with Servants and torches.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nIt is too true an evil. Gone she is,\\r\\nAnd what’s to come of my despised time,\\r\\nIs naught but bitterness. Now Roderigo,\\r\\nWhere didst thou see her? (O unhappy girl!)\\r\\nWith the Moor, say’st thou? (Who would be a father!)\\r\\nHow didst thou know ’twas she? (O, she deceives me\\r\\nPast thought.) What said she to you? Get more tapers,\\r\\nRaise all my kindred. Are they married, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nTruly I think they are.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nO heaven! How got she out? O treason of the blood!\\r\\nFathers, from hence trust not your daughters’ minds\\r\\nBy what you see them act. Is there not charms\\r\\nBy which the property of youth and maidhood\\r\\nMay be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo,\\r\\nOf some such thing?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nYes, sir, I have indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nCall up my brother. O, would you had had her!\\r\\nSome one way, some another. Do you know\\r\\nWhere we may apprehend her and the Moor?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI think I can discover him, if you please\\r\\nTo get good guard, and go along with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nPray you lead on. At every house I’ll call,\\r\\nI may command at most. Get weapons, ho!\\r\\nAnd raise some special officers of night.\\r\\nOn, good Roderigo. I will deserve your pains.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Venice. Another street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello, Iago and Attendants with torches.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThough in the trade of war I have slain men,\\r\\nYet do I hold it very stuff o’ the conscience\\r\\nTo do no contriv’d murder; I lack iniquity\\r\\nSometimes to do me service: nine or ten times\\r\\nI had thought to have yerk’d him here under the ribs.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n’Tis better as it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, but he prated,\\r\\nAnd spoke such scurvy and provoking terms\\r\\nAgainst your honour,\\r\\nThat with the little godliness I have,\\r\\nI did full hard forbear him. But I pray you, sir,\\r\\nAre you fast married? Be assur’d of this,\\r\\nThat the magnifico is much belov’d\\r\\nAnd hath in his effect a voice potential\\r\\nAs double as the duke’s; he will divorce you,\\r\\nOr put upon you what restraint and grievance\\r\\nThe law (with all his might to enforce it on)\\r\\nWill give him cable.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nLet him do his spite;\\r\\nMy services, which I have done the signiory,\\r\\nShall out-tongue his complaints. ’Tis yet to know,—\\r\\nWhich, when I know that boasting is an honour,\\r\\nI shall promulgate,—I fetch my life and being\\r\\nFrom men of royal siege. And my demerits\\r\\nMay speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune\\r\\nAs this that I have reach’d. For know, Iago,\\r\\nBut that I love the gentle Desdemona,\\r\\nI would not my unhoused free condition\\r\\nPut into circumscription and confine\\r\\nFor the sea’s worth. But look, what lights come yond?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThose are the raised father and his friends:\\r\\nYou were best go in.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNot I; I must be found.\\r\\nMy parts, my title, and my perfect soul\\r\\nShall manifest me rightly. Is it they?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBy Janus, I think no.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio and Officers with torches.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe servants of the duke and my lieutenant.\\r\\nThe goodness of the night upon you, friends!\\r\\nWhat is the news?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThe duke does greet you, general,\\r\\nAnd he requires your haste-post-haste appearance\\r\\nEven on the instant.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat is the matter, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nSomething from Cyprus, as I may divine.\\r\\nIt is a business of some heat. The galleys\\r\\nHave sent a dozen sequent messengers\\r\\nThis very night at one another’s heels;\\r\\nAnd many of the consuls, rais’d and met,\\r\\nAre at the duke’s already. You have been hotly call’d for,\\r\\nWhen, being not at your lodging to be found,\\r\\nThe senate hath sent about three several quests\\r\\nTo search you out.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n’Tis well I am found by you.\\r\\nI will but spend a word here in the house,\\r\\nAnd go with you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAncient, what makes he here?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFaith, he tonight hath boarded a land carrack:\\r\\nIf it prove lawful prize, he’s made forever.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI do not understand.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHe’s married.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nTo who?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMarry to—Come, captain, will you go?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHave with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHere comes another troop to seek for you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Brabantio, Roderigo and Officers with torches and weapons.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIt is Brabantio. General, be advis’d,\\r\\nHe comes to bad intent.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHolla, stand there!\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nSignior, it is the Moor.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nDown with him, thief!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They draw on both sides._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou, Roderigo! Come, sir, I am for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nKeep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.\\r\\nGood signior, you shall more command with years\\r\\nThan with your weapons.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nO thou foul thief, where hast thou stow’d my daughter?\\r\\nDamn’d as thou art, thou hast enchanted her,\\r\\nFor I’ll refer me to all things of sense,\\r\\n(If she in chains of magic were not bound)\\r\\nWhether a maid so tender, fair, and happy,\\r\\nSo opposite to marriage, that she shunn’d\\r\\nThe wealthy curled darlings of our nation,\\r\\nWould ever have, to incur a general mock,\\r\\nRun from her guardage to the sooty bosom\\r\\nOf such a thing as thou—to fear, not to delight.\\r\\nJudge me the world, if ’tis not gross in sense,\\r\\nThat thou hast practis’d on her with foul charms,\\r\\nAbus’d her delicate youth with drugs or minerals\\r\\nThat weakens motion. I’ll have’t disputed on;\\r\\n’Tis probable, and palpable to thinking.\\r\\nI therefore apprehend and do attach thee\\r\\nFor an abuser of the world, a practiser\\r\\nOf arts inhibited and out of warrant.—\\r\\nLay hold upon him, if he do resist,\\r\\nSubdue him at his peril.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHold your hands,\\r\\nBoth you of my inclining and the rest:\\r\\nWere it my cue to fight, I should have known it\\r\\nWithout a prompter. Where will you that I go\\r\\nTo answer this your charge?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nTo prison, till fit time\\r\\nOf law and course of direct session\\r\\nCall thee to answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat if I do obey?\\r\\nHow may the duke be therewith satisfied,\\r\\nWhose messengers are here about my side,\\r\\nUpon some present business of the state,\\r\\nTo bring me to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\n’Tis true, most worthy signior,\\r\\nThe duke’s in council, and your noble self,\\r\\nI am sure is sent for.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nHow? The duke in council?\\r\\nIn this time of the night? Bring him away;\\r\\nMine’s not an idle cause. The duke himself,\\r\\nOr any of my brothers of the state,\\r\\nCannot but feel this wrong as ’twere their own.\\r\\nFor if such actions may have passage free,\\r\\nBond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Venice. A council chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\n The Duke and Senators sitting at a table; Officers attending.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThere is no composition in these news\\r\\nThat gives them credit.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nIndeed, they are disproportion’d;\\r\\nMy letters say a hundred and seven galleys.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAnd mine a hundred and forty.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SENATOR\\r\\nAnd mine two hundred:\\r\\nBut though they jump not on a just account,\\r\\n(As in these cases, where the aim reports,\\r\\n’Tis oft with difference,) yet do they all confirm\\r\\nA Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nNay, it is possible enough to judgement:\\r\\nI do not so secure me in the error,\\r\\nBut the main article I do approve\\r\\nIn fearful sense.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAILOR.\\r\\n[_Within._] What, ho! what, ho! what, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nA messenger from the galleys.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sailor.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nNow,—what’s the business?\\r\\n\\r\\nSAILOR.\\r\\nThe Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes,\\r\\nSo was I bid report here to the state\\r\\nBy Signior Angelo.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHow say you by this change?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nThis cannot be\\r\\nBy no assay of reason. ’Tis a pageant\\r\\nTo keep us in false gaze. When we consider\\r\\nThe importancy of Cyprus to the Turk;\\r\\nAnd let ourselves again but understand\\r\\nThat, as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes,\\r\\nSo may he with more facile question bear it,\\r\\nFor that it stands not in such warlike brace,\\r\\nBut altogether lacks the abilities\\r\\nThat Rhodes is dress’d in. If we make thought of this,\\r\\nWe must not think the Turk is so unskilful\\r\\nTo leave that latest which concerns him first,\\r\\nNeglecting an attempt of ease and gain,\\r\\nTo wake and wage a danger profitless.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nNay, in all confidence, he’s not for Rhodes.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nHere is more news.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThe Ottomites, reverend and gracious,\\r\\nSteering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes,\\r\\nHave there injointed them with an after fleet.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nAy, so I thought. How many, as you guess?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nOf thirty sail, and now they do re-stem\\r\\nTheir backward course, bearing with frank appearance\\r\\nTheir purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Montano,\\r\\nYour trusty and most valiant servitor,\\r\\nWith his free duty recommends you thus,\\r\\nAnd prays you to believe him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\n’Tis certain, then, for Cyprus.\\r\\nMarcus Luccicos, is not he in town?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nHe’s now in Florence.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWrite from us to him; post-post-haste dispatch.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nHere comes Brabantio and the valiant Moor.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Brabantio, Othello, Iago, Roderigo and Officers.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nValiant Othello, we must straight employ you\\r\\nAgainst the general enemy Ottoman.\\r\\n[_To Brabantio._] I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior,\\r\\nWe lack’d your counsel and your help tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nSo did I yours. Good your grace, pardon me.\\r\\nNeither my place, nor aught I heard of business\\r\\nHath rais’d me from my bed, nor doth the general care\\r\\nTake hold on me; for my particular grief\\r\\nIs of so flood-gate and o’erbearing nature\\r\\nThat it engluts and swallows other sorrows,\\r\\nAnd it is still itself.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhy, what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nMy daughter! O, my daughter!\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE and SENATORS.\\r\\nDead?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nAy, to me.\\r\\nShe is abused, stol’n from me, and corrupted\\r\\nBy spells and medicines bought of mountebanks;\\r\\nFor nature so preposterously to err,\\r\\nBeing not deficient, blind, or lame of sense,\\r\\nSans witchcraft could not.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhoe’er he be, that in this foul proceeding,\\r\\nHath thus beguil’d your daughter of herself,\\r\\nAnd you of her, the bloody book of law\\r\\nYou shall yourself read in the bitter letter,\\r\\nAfter your own sense, yea, though our proper son\\r\\nStood in your action.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nHumbly I thank your grace.\\r\\nHere is the man, this Moor, whom now it seems\\r\\nYour special mandate for the state affairs\\r\\nHath hither brought.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nWe are very sorry for ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\n[_To Othello._] What, in your own part, can you say to this?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nNothing, but this is so.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nMost potent, grave, and reverend signiors,\\r\\nMy very noble and approv’d good masters:\\r\\nThat I have ta’en away this old man’s daughter,\\r\\nIt is most true; true, I have married her.\\r\\nThe very head and front of my offending\\r\\nHath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech,\\r\\nAnd little bless’d with the soft phrase of peace;\\r\\nFor since these arms of mine had seven years’ pith,\\r\\nTill now some nine moons wasted, they have us’d\\r\\nTheir dearest action in the tented field,\\r\\nAnd little of this great world can I speak,\\r\\nMore than pertains to feats of broil and battle,\\r\\nAnd therefore little shall I grace my cause\\r\\nIn speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,\\r\\nI will a round unvarnish’d tale deliver\\r\\nOf my whole course of love: what drugs, what charms,\\r\\nWhat conjuration, and what mighty magic,\\r\\n(For such proceeding I am charged withal)\\r\\nI won his daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nA maiden never bold:\\r\\nOf spirit so still and quiet that her motion\\r\\nBlush’d at herself; and she, in spite of nature,\\r\\nOf years, of country, credit, everything,\\r\\nTo fall in love with what she fear’d to look on!\\r\\nIt is judgement maim’d and most imperfect\\r\\nThat will confess perfection so could err\\r\\nAgainst all rules of nature, and must be driven\\r\\nTo find out practices of cunning hell,\\r\\nWhy this should be. I therefore vouch again,\\r\\nThat with some mixtures powerful o’er the blood,\\r\\nOr with some dram conjur’d to this effect,\\r\\nHe wrought upon her.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nTo vouch this is no proof;\\r\\nWithout more wider and more overt test\\r\\nThan these thin habits and poor likelihoods\\r\\nOf modern seeming do prefer against him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nBut, Othello, speak:\\r\\nDid you by indirect and forced courses\\r\\nSubdue and poison this young maid’s affections?\\r\\nOr came it by request, and such fair question\\r\\nAs soul to soul affordeth?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI do beseech you,\\r\\nSend for the lady to the Sagittary,\\r\\nAnd let her speak of me before her father.\\r\\nIf you do find me foul in her report,\\r\\nThe trust, the office I do hold of you,\\r\\nNot only take away, but let your sentence\\r\\nEven fall upon my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nFetch Desdemona hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAncient, conduct them, you best know the place.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Iago and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd till she come, as truly as to heaven\\r\\nI do confess the vices of my blood,\\r\\nSo justly to your grave ears I’ll present\\r\\nHow I did thrive in this fair lady’s love,\\r\\nAnd she in mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nSay it, Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHer father lov’d me, oft invited me,\\r\\nStill question’d me the story of my life,\\r\\nFrom year to year—the battles, sieges, fortunes,\\r\\nThat I have pass’d.\\r\\nI ran it through, even from my boyish days\\r\\nTo the very moment that he bade me tell it,\\r\\nWherein I spake of most disastrous chances,\\r\\nOf moving accidents by flood and field;\\r\\nOf hair-breadth scapes i’ th’ imminent deadly breach;\\r\\nOf being taken by the insolent foe,\\r\\nAnd sold to slavery, of my redemption thence,\\r\\nAnd portance in my traveler’s history,\\r\\nWherein of antres vast and deserts idle,\\r\\nRough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven,\\r\\nIt was my hint to speak,—such was the process;\\r\\nAnd of the Cannibals that each other eat,\\r\\nThe Anthropophagi, and men whose heads\\r\\nDo grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear\\r\\nWould Desdemona seriously incline.\\r\\nBut still the house affairs would draw her thence,\\r\\nWhich ever as she could with haste dispatch,\\r\\nShe’d come again, and with a greedy ear\\r\\nDevour up my discourse; which I observing,\\r\\nTook once a pliant hour, and found good means\\r\\nTo draw from her a prayer of earnest heart\\r\\nThat I would all my pilgrimage dilate,\\r\\nWhereof by parcels she had something heard,\\r\\nBut not intentively. I did consent,\\r\\nAnd often did beguile her of her tears,\\r\\nWhen I did speak of some distressful stroke\\r\\nThat my youth suffer’d. My story being done,\\r\\nShe gave me for my pains a world of sighs.\\r\\nShe swore, in faith, ’twas strange, ’twas passing strange;\\r\\n’Twas pitiful, ’twas wondrous pitiful.\\r\\nShe wish’d she had not heard it, yet she wish’d\\r\\nThat heaven had made her such a man: she thank’d me,\\r\\nAnd bade me, if I had a friend that lov’d her,\\r\\nI should but teach him how to tell my story,\\r\\nAnd that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake:\\r\\nShe lov’d me for the dangers I had pass’d,\\r\\nAnd I lov’d her that she did pity them.\\r\\nThis only is the witchcraft I have us’d.\\r\\nHere comes the lady. Let her witness it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona, Iago and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI think this tale would win my daughter too.\\r\\nGood Brabantio,\\r\\nTake up this mangled matter at the best.\\r\\nMen do their broken weapons rather use\\r\\nThan their bare hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nI pray you hear her speak.\\r\\nIf she confess that she was half the wooer,\\r\\nDestruction on my head, if my bad blame\\r\\nLight on the man!—Come hither, gentle mistress:\\r\\nDo you perceive in all this noble company\\r\\nWhere most you owe obedience?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy noble father,\\r\\nI do perceive here a divided duty:\\r\\nTo you I am bound for life and education.\\r\\nMy life and education both do learn me\\r\\nHow to respect you. You are the lord of duty,\\r\\nI am hitherto your daughter: but here’s my husband.\\r\\nAnd so much duty as my mother show’d\\r\\nTo you, preferring you before her father,\\r\\nSo much I challenge that I may profess\\r\\nDue to the Moor my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nGod be with you! I have done.\\r\\nPlease it your grace, on to the state affairs.\\r\\nI had rather to adopt a child than get it.—\\r\\nCome hither, Moor:\\r\\nI here do give thee that with all my heart\\r\\nWhich, but thou hast already, with all my heart\\r\\nI would keep from thee.—For your sake, jewel,\\r\\nI am glad at soul I have no other child,\\r\\nFor thy escape would teach me tyranny,\\r\\nTo hang clogs on them.—I have done, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nLet me speak like yourself, and lay a sentence,\\r\\nWhich as a grise or step may help these lovers\\r\\nInto your favour.\\r\\nWhen remedies are past, the griefs are ended\\r\\nBy seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended.\\r\\nTo mourn a mischief that is past and gone\\r\\nIs the next way to draw new mischief on.\\r\\nWhat cannot be preserved when fortune takes,\\r\\nPatience her injury a mockery makes.\\r\\nThe robb’d that smiles steals something from the thief;\\r\\nHe robs himself that spends a bootless grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nSo let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile,\\r\\nWe lose it not so long as we can smile;\\r\\nHe bears the sentence well, that nothing bears\\r\\nBut the free comfort which from thence he hears;\\r\\nBut he bears both the sentence and the sorrow\\r\\nThat, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow.\\r\\nThese sentences to sugar or to gall,\\r\\nBeing strong on both sides, are equivocal:\\r\\nBut words are words; I never yet did hear\\r\\nThat the bruis’d heart was pierced through the ear.\\r\\nI humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThe Turk with a most mighty preparation makes for Cyprus. Othello, the\\r\\nfortitude of the place is best known to you. And though we have there a\\r\\nsubstitute of most allowed sufficiency, yet opinion, a sovereign\\r\\nmistress of effects, throws a more safer voice on you: you must\\r\\ntherefore be content to slubber the gloss of your new fortunes with\\r\\nthis more stubborn and boisterous expedition.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe tyrant custom, most grave senators,\\r\\nHath made the flinty and steel couch of war\\r\\nMy thrice-driven bed of down: I do agnize\\r\\nA natural and prompt alacrity\\r\\nI find in hardness, and do undertake\\r\\nThis present wars against the Ottomites.\\r\\nMost humbly, therefore, bending to your state,\\r\\nI crave fit disposition for my wife,\\r\\nDue reference of place and exhibition,\\r\\nWith such accommodation and besort\\r\\nAs levels with her breeding.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nIf you please,\\r\\nBe’t at her father’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nI’ll not have it so.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNor I.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNor I. I would not there reside,\\r\\nTo put my father in impatient thoughts,\\r\\nBy being in his eye. Most gracious duke,\\r\\nTo my unfolding lend your prosperous ear,\\r\\nAnd let me find a charter in your voice\\r\\nT’ assist my simpleness.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat would you, Desdemona?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThat I did love the Moor to live with him,\\r\\nMy downright violence and storm of fortunes\\r\\nMay trumpet to the world: my heart’s subdued\\r\\nEven to the very quality of my lord.\\r\\nI saw Othello’s visage in his mind,\\r\\nAnd to his honours and his valiant parts\\r\\nDid I my soul and fortunes consecrate.\\r\\nSo that, dear lords, if I be left behind,\\r\\nA moth of peace, and he go to the war,\\r\\nThe rites for which I love him are bereft me,\\r\\nAnd I a heavy interim shall support\\r\\nBy his dear absence. Let me go with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nLet her have your voice.\\r\\nVouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not\\r\\nTo please the palate of my appetite,\\r\\nNor to comply with heat, the young affects\\r\\nIn me defunct, and proper satisfaction,\\r\\nBut to be free and bounteous to her mind.\\r\\nAnd heaven defend your good souls that you think\\r\\nI will your serious and great business scant\\r\\nFor she is with me. No, when light-wing’d toys\\r\\nOf feather’d Cupid seel with wanton dullness\\r\\nMy speculative and offic’d instruments,\\r\\nThat my disports corrupt and taint my business,\\r\\nLet housewives make a skillet of my helm,\\r\\nAnd all indign and base adversities\\r\\nMake head against my estimation.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBe it as you shall privately determine,\\r\\nEither for her stay or going. The affair cries haste,\\r\\nAnd speed must answer it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nYou must away tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWith all my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAt nine i’ the morning here we’ll meet again.\\r\\nOthello, leave some officer behind,\\r\\nAnd he shall our commission bring to you,\\r\\nWith such things else of quality and respect\\r\\nAs doth import you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nSo please your grace, my ancient,\\r\\nA man he is of honesty and trust,\\r\\nTo his conveyance I assign my wife,\\r\\nWith what else needful your good grace shall think\\r\\nTo be sent after me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nLet it be so.\\r\\nGood night to everyone. [_To Brabantio._] And, noble signior,\\r\\nIf virtue no delighted beauty lack,\\r\\nYour son-in-law is far more fair than black.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nAdieu, brave Moor, use Desdemona well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nLook to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see:\\r\\nShe has deceiv’d her father, and may thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Duke, Senators, Officers, &c._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nMy life upon her faith! Honest Iago,\\r\\nMy Desdemona must I leave to thee.\\r\\nI prithee, let thy wife attend on her,\\r\\nAnd bring them after in the best advantage.—\\r\\nCome, Desdemona, I have but an hour\\r\\nOf love, of worldly matters, and direction,\\r\\nTo spend with thee. We must obey the time.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Othello and Desdemona._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nIago—\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat sayst thou, noble heart?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhat will I do, thinkest thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, go to bed and sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI will incontinently drown myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIf thou dost, I shall never love thee after. Why, thou silly gentleman!\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nIt is silliness to live, when to live is torment; and then have we a\\r\\nprescription to die when death is our physician.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO villainous! I have looked upon the world for four times seven years,\\r\\nand since I could distinguish betwixt a benefit and an injury, I never\\r\\nfound man that knew how to love himself. Ere I would say I would drown\\r\\nmyself for the love of a guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with a\\r\\nbaboon.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhat should I do? I confess it is my shame to be so fond, but it is not\\r\\nin my virtue to amend it.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nVirtue! a fig! ’Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies\\r\\nare gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners. So that if we will\\r\\nplant nettles or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up thyme, supply it\\r\\nwith one gender of herbs or distract it with many, either to have it\\r\\nsterile with idleness or manured with industry, why, the power and\\r\\ncorrigible authority of this lies in our wills. If the balance of our\\r\\nlives had not one scale of reason to poise another of sensuality, the\\r\\nblood and baseness of our natures would conduct us to most preposterous\\r\\nconclusions. But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal\\r\\nstings, our unbitted lusts; whereof I take this, that you call love, to\\r\\nbe a sect, or scion.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nIt cannot be.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIt is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will. Come, be\\r\\na man. Drown thyself? Drown cats and blind puppies. I have professed me\\r\\nthy friend, and I confess me knit to thy deserving with cables of\\r\\nperdurable toughness; I could never better stead thee than now. Put\\r\\nmoney in thy purse; follow thou the wars; defeat thy favour with an\\r\\nusurped beard; I say, put money in thy purse. It cannot be that\\r\\nDesdemona should long continue her love to the Moor,—put money in thy\\r\\npurse,—nor he his to her. It was a violent commencement, and thou shalt\\r\\nsee an answerable sequestration—put but money in thy purse. These Moors\\r\\nare changeable in their wills. Fill thy purse with money. The food that\\r\\nto him now is as luscious as locusts shall be to him shortly as acerb\\r\\nas the coloquintida. She must change for youth. When she is sated with\\r\\nhis body, she will find the error of her choice. She must have change,\\r\\nshe must. Therefore put money in thy purse. If thou wilt needs damn\\r\\nthyself, do it a more delicate way than drowning. Make all the money\\r\\nthou canst. If sanctimony and a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian\\r\\nand a supersubtle Venetian be not too hard for my wits and all the\\r\\ntribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy her; therefore make money. A pox of\\r\\ndrowning thyself! It is clean out of the way: seek thou rather to be\\r\\nhanged in compassing thy joy than to be drowned and go without her.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWilt thou be fast to my hopes if I depend on the issue?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThou art sure of me. Go, make money. I have told thee often, and I\\r\\nretell thee again and again, I hate the Moor. My cause is hearted;\\r\\nthine hath no less reason. Let us be conjunctive in our revenge against\\r\\nhim: if thou canst cuckold him, thou dost thyself a pleasure, me a\\r\\nsport. There are many events in the womb of time which will be\\r\\ndelivered. Traverse, go, provide thy money. We will have more of this\\r\\ntomorrow. Adieu.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhere shall we meet i’ the morning?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAt my lodging.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI’ll be with thee betimes.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGo to, farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhat say you?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNo more of drowning, do you hear?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI am changed. I’ll sell all my land.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThus do I ever make my fool my purse.\\r\\nFor I mine own gain’d knowledge should profane\\r\\nIf I would time expend with such a snipe\\r\\nBut for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor,\\r\\nAnd it is thought abroad that ’twixt my sheets\\r\\nHe has done my office. I know not if ’t be true,\\r\\nBut I, for mere suspicion in that kind,\\r\\nWill do as if for surety. He holds me well,\\r\\nThe better shall my purpose work on him.\\r\\nCassio’s a proper man. Let me see now,\\r\\nTo get his place, and to plume up my will\\r\\nIn double knavery. How, how? Let’s see.\\r\\nAfter some time, to abuse Othello’s ear\\r\\nThat he is too familiar with his wife.\\r\\nHe hath a person and a smooth dispose,\\r\\nTo be suspected, fram’d to make women false.\\r\\nThe Moor is of a free and open nature\\r\\nThat thinks men honest that but seem to be so,\\r\\nAnd will as tenderly be led by the nose\\r\\nAs asses are.\\r\\nI have’t. It is engender’d. Hell and night\\r\\nMust bring this monstrous birth to the world’s light.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A seaport in Cyprus. A Platform.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Montano and two Gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nWhat from the cape can you discern at sea?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNothing at all, it is a high-wrought flood.\\r\\nI cannot ’twixt the heaven and the main\\r\\nDescry a sail.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nMethinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land.\\r\\nA fuller blast ne’er shook our battlements.\\r\\nIf it hath ruffian’d so upon the sea,\\r\\nWhat ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them,\\r\\nCan hold the mortise? What shall we hear of this?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nA segregation of the Turkish fleet.\\r\\nFor do but stand upon the foaming shore,\\r\\nThe chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds,\\r\\nThe wind-shak’d surge, with high and monstrous main,\\r\\nSeems to cast water on the burning Bear,\\r\\nAnd quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole;\\r\\nI never did like molestation view\\r\\nOn the enchafed flood.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nIf that the Turkish fleet\\r\\nBe not enshelter’d, and embay’d, they are drown’d.\\r\\nIt is impossible to bear it out.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a third Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNews, lads! Our wars are done.\\r\\nThe desperate tempest hath so bang’d the Turks\\r\\nThat their designment halts. A noble ship of Venice\\r\\nHath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance\\r\\nOn most part of their fleet.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nHow? Is this true?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThe ship is here put in,\\r\\nA Veronessa; Michael Cassio,\\r\\nLieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello,\\r\\nIs come on shore; the Moor himself at sea,\\r\\nAnd is in full commission here for Cyprus.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nI am glad on’t. ’Tis a worthy governor.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nBut this same Cassio, though he speak of comfort\\r\\nTouching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly,\\r\\nAnd prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted\\r\\nWith foul and violent tempest.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nPray heavens he be;\\r\\nFor I have serv’d him, and the man commands\\r\\nLike a full soldier. Let’s to the sea-side, ho!\\r\\nAs well to see the vessel that’s come in\\r\\nAs to throw out our eyes for brave Othello,\\r\\nEven till we make the main and the aerial blue\\r\\nAn indistinct regard.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nCome, let’s do so;\\r\\nFor every minute is expectancy\\r\\nOf more arrivance.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThanks you, the valiant of this warlike isle,\\r\\nThat so approve the Moor! O, let the heavens\\r\\nGive him defence against the elements,\\r\\nFor I have lost him on a dangerous sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nIs he well shipp’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHis bark is stoutly timber’d, and his pilot\\r\\nOf very expert and approv’d allowance;\\r\\nTherefore my hopes, not surfeited to death,\\r\\nStand in bold cure.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Within._] A sail, a sail, a sail!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhat noise?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThe town is empty; on the brow o’ the sea\\r\\nStand ranks of people, and they cry “A sail!”\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMy hopes do shape him for the governor.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A shot._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThey do discharge their shot of courtesy.\\r\\nOur friends at least.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI pray you, sir, go forth,\\r\\nAnd give us truth who ’tis that is arriv’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI shall.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nBut, good lieutenant, is your general wiv’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMost fortunately: he hath achiev’d a maid\\r\\nThat paragons description and wild fame,\\r\\nOne that excels the quirks of blazoning pens,\\r\\nAnd in the essential vesture of creation\\r\\nDoes tire the ingener.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter second Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now? Who has put in?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\n’Tis one Iago, ancient to the general.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHe has had most favourable and happy speed:\\r\\nTempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds,\\r\\nThe gutter’d rocks, and congregated sands,\\r\\nTraitors ensteep’d to clog the guiltless keel,\\r\\nAs having sense of beauty, do omit\\r\\nTheir mortal natures, letting go safely by\\r\\nThe divine Desdemona.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nWhat is she?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nShe that I spake of, our great captain’s captain,\\r\\nLeft in the conduct of the bold Iago;\\r\\nWhose footing here anticipates our thoughts\\r\\nA se’nnight’s speed. Great Jove, Othello guard,\\r\\nAnd swell his sail with thine own powerful breath,\\r\\nThat he may bless this bay with his tall ship,\\r\\nMake love’s quick pants in Desdemona’s arms,\\r\\nGive renew’d fire to our extincted spirits,\\r\\nAnd bring all Cyprus comfort!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona, Iago, Roderigo, and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nO, behold,\\r\\nThe riches of the ship is come on shore!\\r\\nYe men of Cyprus, let her have your knees.\\r\\nHail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven,\\r\\nBefore, behind thee, and on every hand,\\r\\nEnwheel thee round!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI thank you, valiant Cassio.\\r\\nWhat tidings can you tell me of my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHe is not yet arrived, nor know I aught\\r\\nBut that he’s well, and will be shortly here.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, but I fear—How lost you company?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Within._] A sail, a sail!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThe great contention of the sea and skies\\r\\nParted our fellowship. But, hark! a sail.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Guns within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThey give their greeting to the citadel.\\r\\nThis likewise is a friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nSee for the news.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Gentleman._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGood ancient, you are welcome. [_To Emilia._] Welcome, mistress.\\r\\nLet it not gall your patience, good Iago,\\r\\nThat I extend my manners; ’tis my breeding\\r\\nThat gives me this bold show of courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kissing her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSir, would she give you so much of her lips\\r\\nAs of her tongue she oft bestows on me,\\r\\nYou would have enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas, she has no speech.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIn faith, too much.\\r\\nI find it still when I have list to sleep.\\r\\nMarry, before your ladyship, I grant,\\r\\nShe puts her tongue a little in her heart,\\r\\nAnd chides with thinking.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYou have little cause to say so.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCome on, come on; you are pictures out of doors,\\r\\nBells in your parlours, wild-cats in your kitchens,\\r\\nSaints in your injuries, devils being offended,\\r\\nPlayers in your housewifery, and housewives in your beds.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, fie upon thee, slanderer!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, it is true, or else I am a Turk.\\r\\nYou rise to play, and go to bed to work.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYou shall not write my praise.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNo, let me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst praise me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO gentle lady, do not put me to’t,\\r\\nFor I am nothing if not critical.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nCome on, assay.—There’s one gone to the harbour?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAy, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI am not merry, but I do beguile\\r\\nThe thing I am, by seeming otherwise.—\\r\\nCome, how wouldst thou praise me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am about it, but indeed, my invention\\r\\nComes from my pate as birdlime does from frieze,\\r\\nIt plucks out brains and all: but my Muse labours,\\r\\nAnd thus she is deliver’d.\\r\\nIf she be fair and wise, fairness and wit,\\r\\nThe one’s for use, the other useth it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWell prais’d! How if she be black and witty?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIf she be black, and thereto have a wit,\\r\\nShe’ll find a white that shall her blackness fit.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWorse and worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHow if fair and foolish?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShe never yet was foolish that was fair,\\r\\nFor even her folly help’d her to an heir.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThese are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh i’ the alehouse. What\\r\\nmiserable praise hast thou for her that’s foul and foolish?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThere’s none so foul and foolish thereunto,\\r\\nBut does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO heavy ignorance! Thou praisest the worst best. But what praise\\r\\ncouldst thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed, one that in the\\r\\nauthority of her merit did justly put on the vouch of very malice\\r\\nitself?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShe that was ever fair and never proud,\\r\\nHad tongue at will and yet was never loud,\\r\\nNever lack’d gold and yet went never gay,\\r\\nFled from her wish, and yet said, “Now I may”;\\r\\nShe that, being anger’d, her revenge being nigh,\\r\\nBade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly;\\r\\nShe that in wisdom never was so frail\\r\\nTo change the cod’s head for the salmon’s tail;\\r\\nShe that could think and ne’er disclose her mind,\\r\\nSee suitors following and not look behind;\\r\\nShe was a wight, if ever such wight were—\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nTo do what?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nTo suckle fools and chronicle small beer.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO most lame and impotent conclusion!—Do not learn of him, Emilia,\\r\\nthough he be thy husband.—How say you, Cassio? is he not a most profane\\r\\nand liberal counsellor?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHe speaks home, madam. You may relish him more in the soldier than in\\r\\nthe scholar.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] He takes her by the palm. Ay, well said, whisper. With as\\r\\nlittle a web as this will I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile\\r\\nupon her, do. I will gyve thee in thine own courtship. You say true,\\r\\n’tis so, indeed. If such tricks as these strip you out of your\\r\\nlieutenantry, it had been better you had not kissed your three fingers\\r\\nso oft, which now again you are most apt to play the sir in. Very good;\\r\\nwell kissed, an excellent courtesy! ’Tis so, indeed. Yet again your\\r\\nfingers to your lips? Would they were clyster-pipes for your sake!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Trumpets within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Moor! I know his trumpet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Tis truly so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nLet’s meet him, and receive him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nLo, where he comes!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO my fair warrior!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy dear Othello!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIt gives me wonder great as my content\\r\\nTo see you here before me. O my soul’s joy!\\r\\nIf after every tempest come such calms,\\r\\nMay the winds blow till they have waken’d death!\\r\\nAnd let the labouring bark climb hills of seas\\r\\nOlympus-high, and duck again as low\\r\\nAs hell’s from heaven! If it were now to die,\\r\\n’Twere now to be most happy, for I fear\\r\\nMy soul hath her content so absolute\\r\\nThat not another comfort like to this\\r\\nSucceeds in unknown fate.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThe heavens forbid\\r\\nBut that our loves and comforts should increase\\r\\nEven as our days do grow!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAmen to that, sweet powers!\\r\\nI cannot speak enough of this content.\\r\\nIt stops me here; it is too much of joy:\\r\\nAnd this, and this, the greatest discords be [_They kiss._]\\r\\nThat e’er our hearts shall make!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] O, you are well tun’d now,\\r\\nBut I’ll set down the pegs that make this music,\\r\\nAs honest as I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nCome, let us to the castle.—\\r\\nNews, friends, our wars are done, the Turks are drown’d.\\r\\nHow does my old acquaintance of this isle?\\r\\nHoney, you shall be well desir’d in Cyprus;\\r\\nI have found great love amongst them. O my sweet,\\r\\nI prattle out of fashion, and I dote\\r\\nIn mine own comforts.—I prithee, good Iago,\\r\\nGo to the bay and disembark my coffers.\\r\\nBring thou the master to the citadel;\\r\\nHe is a good one, and his worthiness\\r\\nDoes challenge much respect.—Come, Desdemona,\\r\\nOnce more well met at Cyprus.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Othello, Desdemona and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo thou meet me presently at the harbour. Come hither. If thou be’st\\r\\nvaliant—as, they say, base men being in love have then a nobility in\\r\\ntheir natures more than is native to them—list me. The lieutenant\\r\\ntonight watches on the court of guard: first, I must tell thee this:\\r\\nDesdemona is directly in love with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWith him? Why, ’tis not possible.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLay thy finger thus, and let thy soul be instructed. Mark me with what\\r\\nviolence she first loved the Moor, but for bragging, and telling her\\r\\nfantastical lies. And will she love him still for prating? Let not thy\\r\\ndiscreet heart think it. Her eye must be fed. And what delight shall\\r\\nshe have to look on the devil? When the blood is made dull with the act\\r\\nof sport, there should be, again to inflame it and to give satiety a\\r\\nfresh appetite, loveliness in favour, sympathy in years, manners, and\\r\\nbeauties; all which the Moor is defective in: now, for want of these\\r\\nrequired conveniences, her delicate tenderness will find itself abused,\\r\\nbegin to heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the Moor, very nature\\r\\nwill instruct her in it, and compel her to some second choice. Now sir,\\r\\nthis granted (as it is a most pregnant and unforced position) who\\r\\nstands so eminently in the degree of this fortune as Cassio does? a\\r\\nknave very voluble; no further conscionable than in putting on the mere\\r\\nform of civil and humane seeming, for the better compassing of his salt\\r\\nand most hidden loose affection? Why, none, why, none! A slipper and\\r\\nsubtle knave, a finder out of occasions; that has an eye can stamp and\\r\\ncounterfeit advantages, though true advantage never present itself: a\\r\\ndevilish knave! Besides, the knave is handsome, young, and hath all\\r\\nthose requisites in him that folly and green minds look after. A\\r\\npestilent complete knave, and the woman hath found him already.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI cannot believe that in her, she is full of most blessed condition.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBlest fig’s end! the wine she drinks is made of grapes: if she had been\\r\\nblessed, she would never have loved the Moor. Blessed pudding! Didst\\r\\nthou not see her paddle with the palm of his hand? Didst not mark that?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nYes, that I did. But that was but courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLechery, by this hand. An index and obscure prologue to the history of\\r\\nlust and foul thoughts. They met so near with their lips that their\\r\\nbreaths embrac’d together. Villainous thoughts, Roderigo! When these\\r\\nmutualities so marshal the way, hard at hand comes the master and main\\r\\nexercise, the incorporate conclusion. Pish! But, sir, be you ruled by\\r\\nme. I have brought you from Venice. Watch you tonight. For the command,\\r\\nI’ll lay’t upon you. Cassio knows you not. I’ll not be far from you. Do\\r\\nyou find some occasion to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud, or\\r\\ntainting his discipline, or from what other course you please, which\\r\\nthe time shall more favourably minister.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWell.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSir, he is rash, and very sudden in choler, and haply with his\\r\\ntruncheon may strike at you: provoke him that he may, for even out of\\r\\nthat will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny, whose qualification shall\\r\\ncome into no true taste again but by the displanting of Cassio. So\\r\\nshall you have a shorter journey to your desires by the means I shall\\r\\nthen have to prefer them, and the impediment most profitably removed,\\r\\nwithout the which there were no expectation of our prosperity.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI will do this, if I can bring it to any opportunity.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the citadel: I must fetch his\\r\\nnecessaries ashore. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nAdieu.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThat Cassio loves her, I do well believe it;\\r\\nThat she loves him, ’tis apt, and of great credit:\\r\\nThe Moor, howbeit that I endure him not,\\r\\nIs of a constant, loving, noble nature;\\r\\nAnd, I dare think, he’ll prove to Desdemona\\r\\nA most dear husband. Now, I do love her too,\\r\\nNot out of absolute lust (though peradventure\\r\\nI stand accountant for as great a sin)\\r\\nBut partly led to diet my revenge,\\r\\nFor that I do suspect the lusty Moor\\r\\nHath leap’d into my seat. The thought whereof\\r\\nDoth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards,\\r\\nAnd nothing can or shall content my soul\\r\\nTill I am even’d with him, wife for wife,\\r\\nOr, failing so, yet that I put the Moor\\r\\nAt least into a jealousy so strong\\r\\nThat judgement cannot cure. Which thing to do,\\r\\nIf this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash\\r\\nFor his quick hunting, stand the putting on,\\r\\nI’ll have our Michael Cassio on the hip,\\r\\nAbuse him to the Moor in the rank garb\\r\\n(For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too)\\r\\nMake the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me\\r\\nFor making him egregiously an ass\\r\\nAnd practicing upon his peace and quiet\\r\\nEven to madness. ’Tis here, but yet confus’d.\\r\\nKnavery’s plain face is never seen till us’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello’s Herald with a proclamation.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nIt is Othello’s pleasure, our noble and valiant general, that upon\\r\\ncertain tidings now arrived, importing the mere perdition of the\\r\\nTurkish fleet, every man put himself into triumph: some to dance, some\\r\\nto make bonfires, each man to what sport and revels his addition leads\\r\\nhim. For besides these beneficial news, it is the celebration of his\\r\\nnuptial. So much was his pleasure should be proclaimed. All offices are\\r\\nopen, and there is full liberty of feasting from this present hour of\\r\\nfive till the bell have told eleven. Heaven bless the isle of Cyprus\\r\\nand our noble general Othello!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A Hall in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello, Desdemona, Cassio and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGood Michael, look you to the guard tonight.\\r\\nLet’s teach ourselves that honourable stop,\\r\\nNot to outsport discretion.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nIago hath direction what to do.\\r\\nBut notwithstanding with my personal eye\\r\\nWill I look to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIago is most honest.\\r\\nMichael, good night. Tomorrow with your earliest\\r\\nLet me have speech with you. [_To Desdemona._] Come, my dear love,\\r\\nThe purchase made, the fruits are to ensue;\\r\\nThat profit’s yet to come ’tween me and you.—\\r\\nGood night.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Othello, Desdemona and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWelcome, Iago. We must to the watch.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNot this hour, lieutenant. ’Tis not yet ten o’ th’ clock. Our general\\r\\ncast us thus early for the love of his Desdemona; who let us not\\r\\ntherefore blame: he hath not yet made wanton the night with her; and\\r\\nshe is sport for Jove.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nShe’s a most exquisite lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd, I’ll warrant her, full of game.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nIndeed, she is a most fresh and delicate creature.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat an eye she has! methinks it sounds a parley to provocation.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAn inviting eye, and yet methinks right modest.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd when she speaks, is it not an alarm to love?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nShe is indeed perfection.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWell, happiness to their sheets! Come, lieutenant, I have a stoup of\\r\\nwine; and here without are a brace of Cyprus gallants that would fain\\r\\nhave a measure to the health of black Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nNot tonight, good Iago. I have very poor and unhappy brains for\\r\\ndrinking. I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of\\r\\nentertainment.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, they are our friends; but one cup: I’ll drink for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI have drunk but one cup tonight, and that was craftily qualified too,\\r\\nand behold, what innovation it makes here: I am unfortunate in the\\r\\ninfirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any more.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat, man! ’Tis a night of revels. The gallants desire it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhere are they?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHere at the door. I pray you, call them in.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI’ll do’t; but it dislikes me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIf I can fasten but one cup upon him,\\r\\nWith that which he hath drunk tonight already,\\r\\nHe’ll be as full of quarrel and offence\\r\\nAs my young mistress’ dog. Now my sick fool Roderigo,\\r\\nWhom love hath turn’d almost the wrong side out,\\r\\nTo Desdemona hath tonight carous’d\\r\\nPotations pottle-deep; and he’s to watch:\\r\\nThree lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits,\\r\\nThat hold their honours in a wary distance,\\r\\nThe very elements of this warlike isle,\\r\\nHave I tonight fluster’d with flowing cups,\\r\\nAnd they watch too. Now, ’mongst this flock of drunkards,\\r\\nAm I to put our Cassio in some action\\r\\nThat may offend the isle. But here they come:\\r\\nIf consequence do but approve my dream,\\r\\nMy boat sails freely, both with wind and stream.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio, Montano and Gentlemen; followed by Servant with wine.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Fore God, they have given me a rouse already.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nGood faith, a little one; not past a pint, as I am a soldier.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSome wine, ho!\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n\\r\\n _And let me the cannikin clink, clink,\\r\\n And let me the cannikin clink, clink:\\r\\n A soldier’s a man,\\r\\n O, man’s life’s but a span,\\r\\n Why then let a soldier drink._\\r\\n\\r\\nSome wine, boys!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Fore God, an excellent song.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI learned it in England, where indeed they are most potent in potting:\\r\\nyour Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander,—drink, ho!—are\\r\\nnothing to your English.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nIs your Englishman so expert in his drinking?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane dead drunk; he sweats not\\r\\nto overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit ere the next\\r\\npottle can be filled.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nTo the health of our general!\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nI am for it, lieutenant; and I’ll do you justice.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO sweet England!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n\\r\\n _King Stephen was a worthy peer,\\r\\n His breeches cost him but a crown;\\r\\n He held them sixpence all too dear,\\r\\n With that he call’d the tailor lown.\\r\\n He was a wight of high renown,\\r\\n And thou art but of low degree:\\r\\n ’Tis pride that pulls the country down,\\r\\n Then take thine auld cloak about thee._\\r\\n\\r\\nSome wine, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Fore God, this is a more exquisite song than the other.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWill you hear ’t again?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nNo, for I hold him to be unworthy of his place that does those things.\\r\\nWell, God’s above all, and there be souls must be saved, and there be\\r\\nsouls must not be saved.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIt’s true, good lieutenant.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nFor mine own part, no offence to the general, nor any man of quality, I\\r\\nhope to be saved.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd so do I too, lieutenant.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAy, but, by your leave, not before me; the lieutenant is to be saved\\r\\nbefore the ancient. Let’s have no more of this; let’s to our affairs.\\r\\nForgive us our sins! Gentlemen, let’s look to our business. Do not\\r\\nthink, gentlemen, I am drunk. This is my ancient, this is my right\\r\\nhand, and this is my left. I am not drunk now. I can stand well enough,\\r\\nand I speak well enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nExcellent well.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhy, very well then. You must not think, then, that I am drunk.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nTo the platform, masters. Come, let’s set the watch.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou see this fellow that is gone before,\\r\\nHe is a soldier fit to stand by Cæsar\\r\\nAnd give direction: and do but see his vice,\\r\\n’Tis to his virtue a just equinox,\\r\\nThe one as long as th’ other. ’Tis pity of him.\\r\\nI fear the trust Othello puts him in,\\r\\nOn some odd time of his infirmity,\\r\\nWill shake this island.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nBut is he often thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n’Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep:\\r\\nHe’ll watch the horologe a double set\\r\\nIf drink rock not his cradle.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nIt were well\\r\\nThe general were put in mind of it.\\r\\nPerhaps he sees it not, or his good nature\\r\\nPrizes the virtue that appears in Cassio,\\r\\nAnd looks not on his evils: is not this true?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Aside to him._] How now, Roderigo?\\r\\nI pray you, after the lieutenant; go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nAnd ’tis great pity that the noble Moor\\r\\nShould hazard such a place as his own second\\r\\nWith one of an ingraft infirmity:\\r\\nIt were an honest action to say so\\r\\nTo the Moor.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNot I, for this fair island.\\r\\nI do love Cassio well and would do much\\r\\nTo cure him of this evil. But, hark! What noise?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Cry within_: “Help! help!”]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio, driving in Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nZounds, you rogue, you rascal!\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter, lieutenant?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nA knave teach me my duty! I’ll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nBeat me?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nDost thou prate, rogue?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Striking Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nNay, good lieutenant;\\r\\nI pray you, sir, hold your hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nLet me go, sir,\\r\\nOr I’ll knock you o’er the mazard.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nCome, come, you’re drunk.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nDrunk?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Roderigo._] Away, I say! Go out and cry a mutiny.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNay, good lieutenant, God’s will, gentlemen.\\r\\nHelp, ho!—Lieutenant,—sir,—Montano,—sir:—\\r\\nHelp, masters! Here’s a goodly watch indeed!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A bell rings._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWho’s that which rings the bell?—Diablo, ho!\\r\\nThe town will rise. God’s will, lieutenant, hold,\\r\\nYou will be sham’d forever.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat is the matter here?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nZounds, I bleed still, I am hurt to the death.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHold, for your lives!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHold, ho! lieutenant,—sir,—Montano,—gentlemen,—\\r\\nHave you forgot all place of sense and duty?\\r\\nHold! The general speaks to you; hold, hold, for shame!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy, how now, ho! From whence ariseth this?\\r\\nAre we turn’d Turks, and to ourselves do that\\r\\nWhich heaven hath forbid the Ottomites?\\r\\nFor Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl:\\r\\nHe that stirs next to carve for his own rage\\r\\nHolds his soul light; he dies upon his motion.\\r\\nSilence that dreadful bell, it frights the isle\\r\\nFrom her propriety. What is the matter, masters?\\r\\nHonest Iago, that looks dead with grieving,\\r\\nSpeak, who began this? On thy love, I charge thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI do not know. Friends all but now, even now,\\r\\nIn quarter, and in terms like bride and groom\\r\\nDevesting them for bed; and then, but now,\\r\\nAs if some planet had unwitted men,\\r\\nSwords out, and tilting one at other’s breast,\\r\\nIn opposition bloody. I cannot speak\\r\\nAny beginning to this peevish odds;\\r\\nAnd would in action glorious I had lost\\r\\nThose legs that brought me to a part of it!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHow comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI pray you, pardon me; I cannot speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWorthy Montano, you were wont be civil.\\r\\nThe gravity and stillness of your youth\\r\\nThe world hath noted, and your name is great\\r\\nIn mouths of wisest censure: what’s the matter,\\r\\nThat you unlace your reputation thus,\\r\\nAnd spend your rich opinion for the name\\r\\nOf a night-brawler? Give me answer to it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nWorthy Othello, I am hurt to danger.\\r\\nYour officer, Iago, can inform you,\\r\\nWhile I spare speech, which something now offends me,\\r\\nOf all that I do know; nor know I aught\\r\\nBy me that’s said or done amiss this night,\\r\\nUnless self-charity be sometimes a vice,\\r\\nAnd to defend ourselves it be a sin\\r\\nWhen violence assails us.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNow, by heaven,\\r\\nMy blood begins my safer guides to rule,\\r\\nAnd passion, having my best judgement collied,\\r\\nAssays to lead the way. Zounds, if I stir,\\r\\nOr do but lift this arm, the best of you\\r\\nShall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know\\r\\nHow this foul rout began, who set it on,\\r\\nAnd he that is approv’d in this offence,\\r\\nThough he had twinn’d with me, both at a birth,\\r\\nShall lose me. What! in a town of war,\\r\\nYet wild, the people’s hearts brimful of fear,\\r\\nTo manage private and domestic quarrel,\\r\\nIn night, and on the court and guard of safety?\\r\\n’Tis monstrous. Iago, who began’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nIf partially affin’d, or leagu’d in office,\\r\\nThou dost deliver more or less than truth,\\r\\nThou art no soldier.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nTouch me not so near.\\r\\nI had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth\\r\\nThan it should do offence to Michael Cassio.\\r\\nYet I persuade myself, to speak the truth\\r\\nShall nothing wrong him. Thus it is, general:\\r\\nMontano and myself being in speech,\\r\\nThere comes a fellow crying out for help,\\r\\nAnd Cassio following him with determin’d sword,\\r\\nTo execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman\\r\\nSteps in to Cassio and entreats his pause.\\r\\nMyself the crying fellow did pursue,\\r\\nLest by his clamour (as it so fell out)\\r\\nThe town might fall in fright: he, swift of foot,\\r\\nOutran my purpose: and I return’d the rather\\r\\nFor that I heard the clink and fall of swords,\\r\\nAnd Cassio high in oath, which till tonight\\r\\nI ne’er might say before. When I came back,\\r\\n(For this was brief) I found them close together,\\r\\nAt blow and thrust, even as again they were\\r\\nWhen you yourself did part them.\\r\\nMore of this matter cannot I report.\\r\\nBut men are men; the best sometimes forget;\\r\\nThough Cassio did some little wrong to him,\\r\\nAs men in rage strike those that wish them best,\\r\\nYet surely Cassio, I believe, receiv’d\\r\\nFrom him that fled some strange indignity,\\r\\nWhich patience could not pass.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI know, Iago,\\r\\nThy honesty and love doth mince this matter,\\r\\nMaking it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee,\\r\\nBut never more be officer of mine.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona, attended.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook, if my gentle love be not rais’d up!\\r\\nI’ll make thee an example.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAll’s well now, sweeting; come away to bed.\\r\\nSir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon.\\r\\nLead him off.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Montano is led off._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIago, look with care about the town,\\r\\nAnd silence those whom this vile brawl distracted.\\r\\nCome, Desdemona: ’tis the soldiers’ life\\r\\nTo have their balmy slumbers wak’d with strife.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Iago and Cassio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat, are you hurt, lieutenant?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAy, past all surgery.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMarry, Heaven forbid!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nReputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my reputation! I\\r\\nhave lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial. My\\r\\nreputation, Iago, my reputation!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAs I am an honest man, I thought you had received some bodily wound;\\r\\nthere is more sense in that than in reputation. Reputation is an idle\\r\\nand most false imposition, oft got without merit and lost without\\r\\ndeserving. You have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute\\r\\nyourself such a loser. What, man, there are ways to recover the general\\r\\nagain: you are but now cast in his mood, a punishment more in policy\\r\\nthan in malice, even so as one would beat his offenceless dog to\\r\\naffright an imperious lion: sue to him again, and he’s yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI will rather sue to be despised than to deceive so good a commander\\r\\nwith so slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk? and\\r\\nspeak parrot? and squabble? swagger? swear? and discourse fustian with\\r\\none’s own shadow? O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name\\r\\nto be known by, let us call thee devil!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat was he that you followed with your sword? What had he done to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI know not.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quarrel, but\\r\\nnothing wherefore. O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths\\r\\nto steal away their brains! That we should with joy, pleasance, revel,\\r\\nand applause, transform ourselves into beasts!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, but you are now well enough: how came you thus recovered?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nIt hath pleased the devil drunkenness to give place to the devil wrath.\\r\\nOne unperfectness shows me another, to make me frankly despise myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCome, you are too severe a moraler. As the time, the place, and the\\r\\ncondition of this country stands, I could heartily wish this had not\\r\\nbefallen; but since it is as it is, mend it for your own good.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI will ask him for my place again; he shall tell me I am a drunkard!\\r\\nHad I as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To\\r\\nbe now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast! O\\r\\nstrange! Every inordinate cup is unbless’d, and the ingredient is a\\r\\ndevil.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCome, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well used.\\r\\nExclaim no more against it. And, good lieutenant, I think you think I\\r\\nlove you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI have well approved it, sir.—I drunk!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou, or any man living, may be drunk at a time, man. I’ll tell you what\\r\\nyou shall do. Our general’s wife is now the general; I may say so in\\r\\nthis respect, for that he hath devoted and given up himself to the\\r\\ncontemplation, mark, and denotement of her parts and graces. Confess\\r\\nyourself freely to her. Importune her help to put you in your place\\r\\nagain. She is of so free, so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition,\\r\\nshe holds it a vice in her goodness not to do more than she is\\r\\nrequested. This broken joint between you and her husband entreat her to\\r\\nsplinter, and, my fortunes against any lay worth naming, this crack of\\r\\nyour love shall grow stronger than it was before.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nYou advise me well.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI protest, in the sincerity of love and honest kindness.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI think it freely; and betimes in the morning I will beseech the\\r\\nvirtuous Desdemona to undertake for me; I am desperate of my fortunes\\r\\nif they check me here.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou are in the right. Good night, lieutenant, I must to the watch.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nGood night, honest Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd what’s he then, that says I play the villain?\\r\\nWhen this advice is free I give and honest,\\r\\nProbal to thinking, and indeed the course\\r\\nTo win the Moor again? For ’tis most easy\\r\\nThe inclining Desdemona to subdue\\r\\nIn any honest suit. She’s fram’d as fruitful\\r\\nAs the free elements. And then for her\\r\\nTo win the Moor, were’t to renounce his baptism,\\r\\nAll seals and symbols of redeemed sin,\\r\\nHis soul is so enfetter’d to her love\\r\\nThat she may make, unmake, do what she list,\\r\\nEven as her appetite shall play the god\\r\\nWith his weak function. How am I then, a villain\\r\\nTo counsel Cassio to this parallel course,\\r\\nDirectly to his good? Divinity of hell!\\r\\nWhen devils will the blackest sins put on,\\r\\nThey do suggest at first with heavenly shows,\\r\\nAs I do now: for whiles this honest fool\\r\\nPlies Desdemona to repair his fortune,\\r\\nAnd she for him pleads strongly to the Moor,\\r\\nI’ll pour this pestilence into his ear,\\r\\nThat she repeals him for her body’s lust;\\r\\nAnd by how much she strives to do him good,\\r\\nShe shall undo her credit with the Moor.\\r\\nSo will I turn her virtue into pitch,\\r\\nAnd out of her own goodness make the net\\r\\nThat shall enmesh them all.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Roderigo?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI do follow here in the chase, not like a hound that hunts, but one\\r\\nthat fills up the cry. My money is almost spent, I have been tonight\\r\\nexceedingly well cudgelled; and I think the issue will be, I shall have\\r\\nso much experience for my pains, and so, with no money at all and a\\r\\nlittle more wit, return again to Venice.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHow poor are they that have not patience!\\r\\nWhat wound did ever heal but by degrees?\\r\\nThou know’st we work by wit, and not by witchcraft,\\r\\nAnd wit depends on dilatory time.\\r\\nDoes’t not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee,\\r\\nAnd thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier’d Cassio;\\r\\nThough other things grow fair against the sun,\\r\\nYet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe.\\r\\nContent thyself awhile. By the mass, ’tis morning;\\r\\nPleasure and action make the hours seem short.\\r\\nRetire thee; go where thou art billeted.\\r\\nAway, I say, thou shalt know more hereafter.\\r\\nNay, get thee gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTwo things are to be done,\\r\\nMy wife must move for Cassio to her mistress.\\r\\nI’ll set her on;\\r\\nMyself the while to draw the Moor apart,\\r\\nAnd bring him jump when he may Cassio find\\r\\nSoliciting his wife. Ay, that’s the way.\\r\\nDull not device by coldness and delay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio and some Musicians.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMasters, play here, I will content your pains,\\r\\nSomething that’s brief; and bid “Good morrow, general.”\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, masters, have your instruments been in Naples, that they speak i’\\r\\nthe nose thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nHow, sir, how?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAre these, I pray you, wind instruments?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nAy, marry, are they, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nO, thereby hangs a tail.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWhereby hangs a tale, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMarry, sir, by many a wind instrument that I know. But, masters, here’s\\r\\nmoney for you: and the general so likes your music, that he desires\\r\\nyou, for love’s sake, to make no more noise with it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWell, sir, we will not.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIf you have any music that may not be heard, to’t again. But, as they\\r\\nsay, to hear music the general does not greatly care.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWe have none such, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThen put up your pipes in your bag, for I’ll away. Go, vanish into air,\\r\\naway!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Musicians._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nDost thou hear, mine honest friend?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, I hear not your honest friend. I hear you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nPrithee, keep up thy quillets. There’s a poor piece of gold for thee:\\r\\nif the gentlewoman that attends the general’s wife be stirring, tell\\r\\nher there’s one Cassio entreats her a little favour of speech. Wilt\\r\\nthou do this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nShe is stirring, sir; if she will stir hither, I shall seem to notify\\r\\nunto her.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nDo, good my friend.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn happy time, Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou have not been a-bed, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhy, no. The day had broke\\r\\nBefore we parted. I have made bold, Iago,\\r\\nTo send in to your wife. My suit to her\\r\\nIs, that she will to virtuous Desdemona\\r\\nProcure me some access.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI’ll send her to you presently,\\r\\nAnd I’ll devise a mean to draw the Moor\\r\\nOut of the way, that your converse and business\\r\\nMay be more free.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI humbly thank you for’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Iago._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI never knew\\r\\nA Florentine more kind and honest.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nGood morrow, good lieutenant; I am sorry\\r\\nFor your displeasure, but all will sure be well.\\r\\nThe general and his wife are talking of it,\\r\\nAnd she speaks for you stoutly: the Moor replies\\r\\nThat he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus\\r\\nAnd great affinity, and that in wholesome wisdom\\r\\nHe might not but refuse you; but he protests he loves you\\r\\nAnd needs no other suitor but his likings\\r\\nTo take the safest occasion by the front\\r\\nTo bring you in again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nYet, I beseech you,\\r\\nIf you think fit, or that it may be done,\\r\\nGive me advantage of some brief discourse\\r\\nWith Desdemona alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPray you, come in.\\r\\nI will bestow you where you shall have time\\r\\nTo speak your bosom freely.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI am much bound to you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello, Iago and Gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThese letters give, Iago, to the pilot,\\r\\nAnd by him do my duties to the senate.\\r\\nThat done, I will be walking on the works,\\r\\nRepair there to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWell, my good lord, I’ll do’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThis fortification, gentlemen, shall we see’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMEN.\\r\\nWe’ll wait upon your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Cyprus. The Garden of the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona, Cassio and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBe thou assured, good Cassio, I will do\\r\\nAll my abilities in thy behalf.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nGood madam, do. I warrant it grieves my husband\\r\\nAs if the cause were his.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, that’s an honest fellow. Do not doubt, Cassio,\\r\\nBut I will have my lord and you again\\r\\nAs friendly as you were.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nBounteous madam,\\r\\nWhatever shall become of Michael Cassio,\\r\\nHe’s never anything but your true servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI know’t. I thank you. You do love my lord.\\r\\nYou have known him long; and be you well assur’d\\r\\nHe shall in strangeness stand no farther off\\r\\nThan in a politic distance.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAy, but, lady,\\r\\nThat policy may either last so long,\\r\\nOr feed upon such nice and waterish diet,\\r\\nOr breed itself so out of circumstance,\\r\\nThat, I being absent, and my place supplied,\\r\\nMy general will forget my love and service.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nDo not doubt that. Before Emilia here\\r\\nI give thee warrant of thy place. Assure thee,\\r\\nIf I do vow a friendship, I’ll perform it\\r\\nTo the last article. My lord shall never rest,\\r\\nI’ll watch him tame, and talk him out of patience;\\r\\nHis bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift;\\r\\nI’ll intermingle everything he does\\r\\nWith Cassio’s suit. Therefore be merry, Cassio,\\r\\nFor thy solicitor shall rather die\\r\\nThan give thy cause away.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello and Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMadam, here comes my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMadam, I’ll take my leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, stay, and hear me speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMadam, not now. I am very ill at ease,\\r\\nUnfit for mine own purposes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWell, do your discretion.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Cassio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHa, I like not that.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat dost thou say?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNothing, my lord; or if—I know not what.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWas not that Cassio parted from my wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCassio, my lord? No, sure, I cannot think it,\\r\\nThat he would steal away so guilty-like,\\r\\nSeeing you coming.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI do believe ’twas he.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHow now, my lord?\\r\\nI have been talking with a suitor here,\\r\\nA man that languishes in your displeasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWho is’t you mean?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good my lord,\\r\\nIf I have any grace or power to move you,\\r\\nHis present reconciliation take;\\r\\nFor if he be not one that truly loves you,\\r\\nThat errs in ignorance and not in cunning,\\r\\nI have no judgement in an honest face.\\r\\nI prithee call him back.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWent he hence now?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAy, sooth; so humbled\\r\\nThat he hath left part of his grief with me\\r\\nTo suffer with him. Good love, call him back.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNot now, sweet Desdemon, some other time.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBut shall’t be shortly?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe sooner, sweet, for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nShall’t be tonight at supper?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNo, not tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nTomorrow dinner then?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI shall not dine at home;\\r\\nI meet the captains at the citadel.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy then tomorrow night, or Tuesday morn,\\r\\nOn Tuesday noon, or night; on Wednesday morn.\\r\\nI prithee name the time, but let it not\\r\\nExceed three days. In faith, he’s penitent;\\r\\nAnd yet his trespass, in our common reason,\\r\\n(Save that, they say, the wars must make examples\\r\\nOut of their best) is not almost a fault\\r\\nTo incur a private check. When shall he come?\\r\\nTell me, Othello: I wonder in my soul,\\r\\nWhat you would ask me, that I should deny,\\r\\nOr stand so mammering on. What? Michael Cassio,\\r\\nThat came a-wooing with you, and so many a time,\\r\\nWhen I have spoke of you dispraisingly,\\r\\nHath ta’en your part, to have so much to do\\r\\nTo bring him in! Trust me, I could do much.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nPrithee no more. Let him come when he will;\\r\\nI will deny thee nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, this is not a boon;\\r\\n’Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves,\\r\\nOr feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm,\\r\\nOr sue to you to do a peculiar profit\\r\\nTo your own person: nay, when I have a suit\\r\\nWherein I mean to touch your love indeed,\\r\\nIt shall be full of poise and difficult weight,\\r\\nAnd fearful to be granted.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI will deny thee nothing.\\r\\nWhereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this,\\r\\nTo leave me but a little to myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nShall I deny you? No, farewell, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFarewell, my Desdemona. I’ll come to thee straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nEmilia, come. Be as your fancies teach you.\\r\\nWhate’er you be, I am obedient.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nExcellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul,\\r\\nBut I do love thee! And when I love thee not,\\r\\nChaos is come again.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy noble lord,—\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat dost thou say, Iago?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDid Michael Cassio, when you woo’d my lady,\\r\\nKnow of your love?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHe did, from first to last. Why dost thou ask?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBut for a satisfaction of my thought.\\r\\nNo further harm.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy of thy thought, Iago?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI did not think he had been acquainted with her.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO yes, and went between us very oft.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIndeed?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIndeed? Ay, indeed. Discern’st thou aught in that?\\r\\nIs he not honest?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHonest, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHonest? ay, honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy lord, for aught I know.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat dost thou think?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThink, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThink, my lord? By heaven, he echoes me,\\r\\nAs if there were some monster in his thought\\r\\nToo hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something.\\r\\nI heard thee say even now, thou lik’st not that,\\r\\nWhen Cassio left my wife. What didst not like?\\r\\nAnd when I told thee he was of my counsel\\r\\nIn my whole course of wooing, thou criedst, “Indeed?”\\r\\nAnd didst contract and purse thy brow together,\\r\\nAs if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain\\r\\nSome horrible conceit: if thou dost love me,\\r\\nShow me thy thought.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy lord, you know I love you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI think thou dost;\\r\\nAnd for I know thou’rt full of love and honesty\\r\\nAnd weigh’st thy words before thou giv’st them breath,\\r\\nTherefore these stops of thine fright me the more:\\r\\nFor such things in a false disloyal knave\\r\\nAre tricks of custom; but in a man that’s just,\\r\\nThey’re close dilations, working from the heart,\\r\\nThat passion cannot rule.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFor Michael Cassio,\\r\\nI dare be sworn I think that he is honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI think so too.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMen should be what they seem;\\r\\nOr those that be not, would they might seem none!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nCertain, men should be what they seem.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy then, I think Cassio’s an honest man.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNay, yet there’s more in this:\\r\\nI prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings,\\r\\nAs thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts\\r\\nThe worst of words.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGood my lord, pardon me.\\r\\nThough I am bound to every act of duty,\\r\\nI am not bound to that all slaves are free to.\\r\\nUtter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile and false:\\r\\nAs where’s that palace whereinto foul things\\r\\nSometimes intrude not? Who has a breast so pure\\r\\nBut some uncleanly apprehensions\\r\\nKeep leets and law-days, and in session sit\\r\\nWith meditations lawful?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago,\\r\\nIf thou but think’st him wrong’d and mak’st his ear\\r\\nA stranger to thy thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI do beseech you,\\r\\nThough I perchance am vicious in my guess,\\r\\nAs, I confess, it is my nature’s plague\\r\\nTo spy into abuses, and of my jealousy\\r\\nShapes faults that are not,—that your wisdom\\r\\nFrom one that so imperfectly conceits,\\r\\nWould take no notice; nor build yourself a trouble\\r\\nOut of his scattering and unsure observance.\\r\\nIt were not for your quiet nor your good,\\r\\nNor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom,\\r\\nTo let you know my thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat dost thou mean?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGood name in man and woman, dear my lord,\\r\\nIs the immediate jewel of their souls.\\r\\nWho steals my purse steals trash. ’Tis something, nothing;\\r\\n’Twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands.\\r\\nBut he that filches from me my good name\\r\\nRobs me of that which not enriches him\\r\\nAnd makes me poor indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBy heaven, I’ll know thy thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou cannot, if my heart were in your hand,\\r\\nNor shall not, whilst ’tis in my custody.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHa?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, beware, my lord, of jealousy;\\r\\nIt is the green-ey’d monster which doth mock\\r\\nThe meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss\\r\\nWho, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;\\r\\nBut O, what damned minutes tells he o’er\\r\\nWho dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO misery!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nPoor and content is rich, and rich enough;\\r\\nBut riches fineless is as poor as winter\\r\\nTo him that ever fears he shall be poor.\\r\\nGood heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend\\r\\nFrom jealousy!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy, why is this?\\r\\nThink’st thou I’d make a life of jealousy,\\r\\nTo follow still the changes of the moon\\r\\nWith fresh suspicions? No. To be once in doubt\\r\\nIs once to be resolv’d: exchange me for a goat\\r\\nWhen I shall turn the business of my soul\\r\\nTo such exsufflicate and blown surmises,\\r\\nMatching thy inference. ’Tis not to make me jealous,\\r\\nTo say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company,\\r\\nIs free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well;\\r\\nWhere virtue is, these are more virtuous:\\r\\nNor from mine own weak merits will I draw\\r\\nThe smallest fear or doubt of her revolt,\\r\\nFor she had eyes, and chose me. No, Iago,\\r\\nI’ll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove;\\r\\nAnd on the proof, there is no more but this:\\r\\nAway at once with love or jealousy!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am glad of it, for now I shall have reason\\r\\nTo show the love and duty that I bear you\\r\\nWith franker spirit: therefore, as I am bound,\\r\\nReceive it from me. I speak not yet of proof.\\r\\nLook to your wife; observe her well with Cassio;\\r\\nWear your eye thus, not jealous nor secure.\\r\\nI would not have your free and noble nature,\\r\\nOut of self-bounty, be abus’d. Look to’t.\\r\\nI know our country disposition well;\\r\\nIn Venice they do let heaven see the pranks\\r\\nThey dare not show their husbands. Their best conscience\\r\\nIs not to leave undone, but keep unknown.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDost thou say so?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShe did deceive her father, marrying you;\\r\\nAnd when she seem’d to shake and fear your looks,\\r\\nShe loved them most.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAnd so she did.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, go to then.\\r\\nShe that so young could give out such a seeming,\\r\\nTo seal her father’s eyes up close as oak,\\r\\nHe thought ’twas witchcraft. But I am much to blame.\\r\\nI humbly do beseech you of your pardon\\r\\nFor too much loving you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI am bound to thee for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI see this hath a little dash’d your spirits.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNot a jot, not a jot.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nTrust me, I fear it has.\\r\\nI hope you will consider what is spoke\\r\\nComes from my love. But I do see you’re mov’d.\\r\\nI am to pray you not to strain my speech\\r\\nTo grosser issues nor to larger reach\\r\\nThan to suspicion.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI will not.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShould you do so, my lord,\\r\\nMy speech should fall into such vile success\\r\\nWhich my thoughts aim’d not. Cassio’s my worthy friend.\\r\\nMy lord, I see you’re mov’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNo, not much mov’d.\\r\\nI do not think but Desdemona’s honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLong live she so! And long live you to think so!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAnd yet, how nature erring from itself—\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAy, there’s the point. As, to be bold with you,\\r\\nNot to affect many proposed matches,\\r\\nOf her own clime, complexion, and degree,\\r\\nWhereto we see in all things nature tends;\\r\\nFoh! One may smell in such a will most rank,\\r\\nFoul disproportion, thoughts unnatural.\\r\\nBut pardon me: I do not in position\\r\\nDistinctly speak of her, though I may fear\\r\\nHer will, recoiling to her better judgement,\\r\\nMay fall to match you with her country forms,\\r\\nAnd happily repent.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFarewell, farewell:\\r\\nIf more thou dost perceive, let me know more;\\r\\nSet on thy wife to observe. Leave me, Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Going._] My lord, I take my leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy did I marry? This honest creature doubtless\\r\\nSees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Returning._] My lord, I would I might entreat your honour\\r\\nTo scan this thing no further. Leave it to time:\\r\\nThough it be fit that Cassio have his place,\\r\\nFor sure he fills it up with great ability,\\r\\nYet if you please to hold him off awhile,\\r\\nYou shall by that perceive him and his means.\\r\\nNote if your lady strain his entertainment\\r\\nWith any strong or vehement importunity,\\r\\nMuch will be seen in that. In the meantime,\\r\\nLet me be thought too busy in my fears\\r\\n(As worthy cause I have to fear I am)\\r\\nAnd hold her free, I do beseech your honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFear not my government.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI once more take my leave.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThis fellow’s of exceeding honesty,\\r\\nAnd knows all qualities, with a learned spirit,\\r\\nOf human dealings. If I do prove her haggard,\\r\\nThough that her jesses were my dear heartstrings,\\r\\nI’d whistle her off, and let her down the wind\\r\\nTo prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black,\\r\\nAnd have not those soft parts of conversation\\r\\nThat chamberers have, or for I am declin’d\\r\\nInto the vale of years,—yet that’s not much—\\r\\nShe’s gone, I am abus’d, and my relief\\r\\nMust be to loathe her. O curse of marriage,\\r\\nThat we can call these delicate creatures ours,\\r\\nAnd not their appetites! I had rather be a toad,\\r\\nAnd live upon the vapour of a dungeon,\\r\\nThan keep a corner in the thing I love\\r\\nFor others’ uses. Yet, ’tis the plague of great ones,\\r\\nPrerogativ’d are they less than the base,\\r\\n’Tis destiny unshunnable, like death:\\r\\nEven then this forked plague is fated to us\\r\\nWhen we do quicken. Desdemona comes.\\r\\nIf she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself!\\r\\nI’ll not believe’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHow now, my dear Othello?\\r\\nYour dinner, and the generous islanders\\r\\nBy you invited, do attend your presence.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI am to blame.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy do you speak so faintly?\\r\\nAre you not well?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI have a pain upon my forehead here.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nFaith, that’s with watching, ’twill away again;\\r\\nLet me but bind it hard, within this hour\\r\\nIt will be well.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYour napkin is too little;\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He puts the handkerchief from him, and she drops it._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLet it alone. Come, I’ll go in with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI am very sorry that you are not well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Othello and Desdemona._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI am glad I have found this napkin;\\r\\nThis was her first remembrance from the Moor.\\r\\nMy wayward husband hath a hundred times\\r\\nWoo’d me to steal it. But she so loves the token,\\r\\nFor he conjur’d her she should ever keep it,\\r\\nThat she reserves it evermore about her\\r\\nTo kiss and talk to. I’ll have the work ta’en out,\\r\\nAnd give’t Iago. What he will do with it\\r\\nHeaven knows, not I,\\r\\nI nothing but to please his fantasy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHow now? What do you here alone?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nDo not you chide. I have a thing for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nA thing for me? It is a common thing—\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHa?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nTo have a foolish wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, is that all? What will you give me now\\r\\nFor that same handkerchief?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat handkerchief?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhat handkerchief?\\r\\nWhy, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona,\\r\\nThat which so often you did bid me steal.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHast stol’n it from her?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNo, faith, she let it drop by negligence,\\r\\nAnd, to the advantage, I being here, took ’t up.\\r\\nLook, here it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nA good wench, give it me.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhat will you do with’t, that you have been so earnest\\r\\nTo have me filch it?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Snatching it._] Why, what’s that to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIf it be not for some purpose of import,\\r\\nGive ’t me again. Poor lady, she’ll run mad\\r\\nWhen she shall lack it.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBe not acknown on’t, I have use for it.\\r\\nGo, leave me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI will in Cassio’s lodging lose this napkin,\\r\\nAnd let him find it. Trifles light as air\\r\\nAre to the jealous confirmations strong\\r\\nAs proofs of holy writ. This may do something.\\r\\nThe Moor already changes with my poison:\\r\\nDangerous conceits are in their natures poisons,\\r\\nWhich at the first are scarce found to distaste,\\r\\nBut with a little act upon the blood\\r\\nBurn like the mines of sulphur. I did say so.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook, where he comes. Not poppy, nor mandragora,\\r\\nNor all the drowsy syrups of the world,\\r\\nShall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep\\r\\nWhich thou ow’dst yesterday.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHa! ha! false to me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, how now, general? No more of that.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAvaunt! be gone! Thou hast set me on the rack.\\r\\nI swear ’tis better to be much abus’d\\r\\nThan but to know’t a little.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHow now, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat sense had I of her stol’n hours of lust?\\r\\nI saw’t not, thought it not, it harm’d not me.\\r\\nI slept the next night well, was free and merry;\\r\\nI found not Cassio’s kisses on her lips.\\r\\nHe that is robb’d, not wanting what is stol’n,\\r\\nLet him not know’t, and he’s not robb’d at all.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am sorry to hear this.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI had been happy if the general camp,\\r\\nPioners and all, had tasted her sweet body,\\r\\nSo I had nothing known. O, now, for ever\\r\\nFarewell the tranquil mind! Farewell content!\\r\\nFarewell the plumed troops and the big wars\\r\\nThat make ambition virtue! O, farewell,\\r\\nFarewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump,\\r\\nThe spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,\\r\\nThe royal banner, and all quality,\\r\\nPride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!\\r\\nAnd, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats\\r\\nThe immortal Jove’s dread clamours counterfeit,\\r\\nFarewell! Othello’s occupation’s gone!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIs’t possible, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nVillain, be sure thou prove my love a whore;\\r\\nBe sure of it. Give me the ocular proof,\\r\\nOr, by the worth of man’s eternal soul,\\r\\nThou hadst been better have been born a dog\\r\\nThan answer my wak’d wrath.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIs’t come to this?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nMake me to see’t, or at the least so prove it,\\r\\nThat the probation bear no hinge nor loop\\r\\nTo hang a doubt on, or woe upon thy life!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy noble lord,—\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIf thou dost slander her and torture me,\\r\\nNever pray more. Abandon all remorse;\\r\\nOn horror’s head horrors accumulate;\\r\\nDo deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz’d;\\r\\nFor nothing canst thou to damnation add\\r\\nGreater than that.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO grace! O heaven defend me!\\r\\nAre you a man? Have you a soul or sense?\\r\\nGod be wi’ you. Take mine office.—O wretched fool,\\r\\nThat liv’st to make thine honesty a vice!\\r\\nO monstrous world! Take note, take note, O world,\\r\\nTo be direct and honest is not safe.\\r\\nI thank you for this profit, and from hence\\r\\nI’ll love no friend, sith love breeds such offence.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNay, stay. Thou shouldst be honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI should be wise; for honesty’s a fool,\\r\\nAnd loses that it works for.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBy the world,\\r\\nI think my wife be honest, and think she is not.\\r\\nI think that thou art just, and think thou art not.\\r\\nI’ll have some proof: her name, that was as fresh\\r\\nAs Dian’s visage, is now begrim’d and black\\r\\nAs mine own face. If there be cords or knives,\\r\\nPoison or fire, or suffocating streams,\\r\\nI’ll not endure ’t. Would I were satisfied!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI see, sir, you are eaten up with passion.\\r\\nI do repent me that I put it to you.\\r\\nYou would be satisfied?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWould? Nay, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd may; but how? How satisfied, my lord?\\r\\nWould you, the supervisor, grossly gape on,\\r\\nBehold her topp’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDeath and damnation! O!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIt were a tedious difficulty, I think,\\r\\nTo bring them to that prospect. Damn them then,\\r\\nIf ever mortal eyes do see them bolster\\r\\nMore than their own! What then? How then?\\r\\nWhat shall I say? Where’s satisfaction?\\r\\nIt is impossible you should see this,\\r\\nWere they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys,\\r\\nAs salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross\\r\\nAs ignorance made drunk. But yet I say,\\r\\nIf imputation and strong circumstances,\\r\\nWhich lead directly to the door of truth,\\r\\nWill give you satisfaction, you may have’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGive me a living reason she’s disloyal.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI do not like the office,\\r\\nBut sith I am enter’d in this cause so far,\\r\\nPrick’d to ’t by foolish honesty and love,\\r\\nI will go on. I lay with Cassio lately,\\r\\nAnd being troubled with a raging tooth,\\r\\nI could not sleep.\\r\\nThere are a kind of men so loose of soul,\\r\\nThat in their sleeps will mutter their affairs.\\r\\nOne of this kind is Cassio:\\r\\nIn sleep I heard him say, “Sweet Desdemona,\\r\\nLet us be wary, let us hide our loves;”\\r\\nAnd then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand,\\r\\nCry “O sweet creature!” and then kiss me hard,\\r\\nAs if he pluck’d up kisses by the roots,\\r\\nThat grew upon my lips, then laid his leg\\r\\nOver my thigh, and sigh’d and kiss’d, and then\\r\\nCried “Cursed fate that gave thee to the Moor!”\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO monstrous! monstrous!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, this was but his dream.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBut this denoted a foregone conclusion.\\r\\n’Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd this may help to thicken other proofs\\r\\nThat do demonstrate thinly.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI’ll tear her all to pieces.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, but be wise. Yet we see nothing done,\\r\\nShe may be honest yet. Tell me but this,\\r\\nHave you not sometimes seen a handkerchief\\r\\nSpotted with strawberries in your wife’s hand?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI gave her such a one, ’twas my first gift.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI know not that: but such a handkerchief\\r\\n(I am sure it was your wife’s) did I today\\r\\nSee Cassio wipe his beard with.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIf it be that,—\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIf it be that, or any that was hers,\\r\\nIt speaks against her with the other proofs.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, that the slave had forty thousand lives!\\r\\nOne is too poor, too weak for my revenge!\\r\\nNow do I see ’tis true. Look here, Iago;\\r\\nAll my fond love thus do I blow to heaven.\\r\\n’Tis gone.\\r\\nArise, black vengeance, from thy hollow hell!\\r\\nYield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne\\r\\nTo tyrannous hate! Swell, bosom, with thy fraught,\\r\\nFor ’tis of aspics’ tongues!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYet be content.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, blood, Iago, blood!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nPatience, I say. Your mind perhaps may change.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNever, Iago. Like to the Pontic Sea,\\r\\nWhose icy current and compulsive course\\r\\nNe’er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on\\r\\nTo the Propontic and the Hellespont;\\r\\nEven so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace\\r\\nShall ne’er look back, ne’er ebb to humble love,\\r\\nTill that a capable and wide revenge\\r\\nSwallow them up. Now by yond marble heaven,\\r\\nIn the due reverence of a sacred vow [_Kneels._]\\r\\nI here engage my words.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo not rise yet. [_Kneels._]\\r\\nWitness, you ever-burning lights above,\\r\\nYou elements that clip us round about,\\r\\nWitness that here Iago doth give up\\r\\nThe execution of his wit, hands, heart,\\r\\nTo wrong’d Othello’s service! Let him command,\\r\\nAnd to obey shall be in me remorse,\\r\\nWhat bloody business ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They rise._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI greet thy love,\\r\\nNot with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous,\\r\\nAnd will upon the instant put thee to ’t.\\r\\nWithin these three days let me hear thee say\\r\\nThat Cassio’s not alive.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy friend is dead. ’Tis done at your request.\\r\\nBut let her live.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDamn her, lewd minx! O, damn her, damn her!\\r\\nCome, go with me apart, I will withdraw\\r\\nTo furnish me with some swift means of death\\r\\nFor the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am your own for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona, Emilia and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nDo you know, sirrah, where Lieutenant Cassio lies?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI dare not say he lies anywhere.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe’s a soldier; and for one to say a soldier lies is stabbing.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nGo to. Where lodges he?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTo tell you where he lodges is to tell you where I lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nCan anything be made of this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI know not where he lodges; and for me to devise a lodging, and say he\\r\\nlies here, or he lies there, were to lie in mine own throat.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nCan you inquire him out, and be edified by report?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI will catechize the world for him, that is, make questions and by them\\r\\nanswer.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nSeek him, bid him come hither. Tell him I have moved my lord on his\\r\\nbehalf, and hope all will be well.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTo do this is within the compass of man’s wit, and therefore I will\\r\\nattempt the doing it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhere should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI know not, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBelieve me, I had rather have lost my purse\\r\\nFull of crusadoes. And but my noble Moor\\r\\nIs true of mind and made of no such baseness\\r\\nAs jealous creatures are, it were enough\\r\\nTo put him to ill thinking.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIs he not jealous?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWho, he? I think the sun where he was born\\r\\nDrew all such humours from him.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nLook, where he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI will not leave him now till Cassio\\r\\nBe call’d to him. How is’t with you, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWell, my good lady. [_Aside._] O, hardness to dissemble!\\r\\nHow do you, Desdemona?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWell, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGive me your hand. This hand is moist, my lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIt yet hath felt no age nor known no sorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThis argues fruitfulness and liberal heart.\\r\\nHot, hot, and moist. This hand of yours requires\\r\\nA sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer,\\r\\nMuch castigation, exercise devout;\\r\\nFor here’s a young and sweating devil here\\r\\nThat commonly rebels. ’Tis a good hand,\\r\\nA frank one.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nYou may indeed say so,\\r\\nFor ’twas that hand that gave away my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nA liberal hand. The hearts of old gave hands,\\r\\nBut our new heraldry is hands, not hearts.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI cannot speak of this. Come now, your promise.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat promise, chuck?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI have a salt and sorry rheum offends me.\\r\\nLend me thy handkerchief.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHere, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat which I gave you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI have it not about me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNot?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, faith, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat is a fault. That handkerchief\\r\\nDid an Egyptian to my mother give.\\r\\nShe was a charmer, and could almost read\\r\\nThe thoughts of people. She told her, while she kept it,\\r\\n’Twould make her amiable and subdue my father\\r\\nEntirely to her love. But if she lost it,\\r\\nOr made a gift of it, my father’s eye\\r\\nShould hold her loathed, and his spirits should hunt\\r\\nAfter new fancies: she, dying, gave it me,\\r\\nAnd bid me, when my fate would have me wive,\\r\\nTo give it her. I did so; and take heed on’t,\\r\\nMake it a darling like your precious eye.\\r\\nTo lose’t or give’t away were such perdition\\r\\nAs nothing else could match.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n’Tis true. There’s magic in the web of it.\\r\\nA sibyl, that had number’d in the world\\r\\nThe sun to course two hundred compasses,\\r\\nIn her prophetic fury sew’d the work;\\r\\nThe worms were hallow’d that did breed the silk,\\r\\nAnd it was dyed in mummy, which the skillful\\r\\nConserv’d of maiden’s hearts.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIndeed? Is’t true?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nMost veritable, therefore look to ’t well.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThen would to God that I had never seen ’t!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHa? wherefore?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy do you speak so startingly and rash?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIs’t lost? is’t gone? speak, is it out of the way?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHeaven bless us!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nSay you?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIt is not lost, but what and if it were?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHow?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI say it is not lost.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFetch’t, let me see ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, so I can, sir, but I will not now.\\r\\nThis is a trick to put me from my suit.\\r\\nPray you, let Cassio be receiv’d again.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFetch me the handkerchief! My mind misgives.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nCome, come.\\r\\nYou’ll never meet a more sufficient man.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe handkerchief!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI pray, talk me of Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe handkerchief!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nA man that all his time\\r\\nHath founded his good fortunes on your love,\\r\\nShar’d dangers with you,—\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe handkerchief!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIn sooth, you are to blame.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAway!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIs not this man jealous?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI ne’er saw this before.\\r\\nSure there’s some wonder in this handkerchief,\\r\\nI am most unhappy in the loss of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n’Tis not a year or two shows us a man:\\r\\nThey are all but stomachs and we all but food;\\r\\nThey eat us hungerly, and when they are full,\\r\\nThey belch us.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio and Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook you, Cassio and my husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThere is no other way; ’tis she must do ’t,\\r\\nAnd, lo, the happiness! Go and importune her.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHow now, good Cassio, what’s the news with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMadam, my former suit: I do beseech you\\r\\nThat by your virtuous means I may again\\r\\nExist, and be a member of his love,\\r\\nWhom I, with all the office of my heart,\\r\\nEntirely honour. I would not be delay’d.\\r\\nIf my offence be of such mortal kind\\r\\nThat nor my service past, nor present sorrows,\\r\\nNor purpos’d merit in futurity,\\r\\nCan ransom me into his love again,\\r\\nBut to know so must be my benefit;\\r\\nSo shall I clothe me in a forc’d content,\\r\\nAnd shut myself up in some other course\\r\\nTo fortune’s alms.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas, thrice-gentle Cassio,\\r\\nMy advocation is not now in tune;\\r\\nMy lord is not my lord; nor should I know him\\r\\nWere he in favour as in humour alter’d.\\r\\nSo help me every spirit sanctified,\\r\\nAs I have spoken for you all my best,\\r\\nAnd stood within the blank of his displeasure\\r\\nFor my free speech! You must awhile be patient.\\r\\nWhat I can do I will; and more I will\\r\\nThan for myself I dare. Let that suffice you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIs my lord angry?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHe went hence but now,\\r\\nAnd certainly in strange unquietness.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCan he be angry? I have seen the cannon,\\r\\nWhen it hath blown his ranks into the air\\r\\nAnd, like the devil, from his very arm\\r\\nPuff’d his own brother, and can he be angry?\\r\\nSomething of moment then. I will go meet him.\\r\\nThere’s matter in’t indeed if he be angry.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI prithee do so.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Iago._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSomething sure of state,\\r\\nEither from Venice, or some unhatch’d practice\\r\\nMade demonstrable here in Cyprus to him,\\r\\nHath puddled his clear spirit, and in such cases\\r\\nMen’s natures wrangle with inferior things,\\r\\nThough great ones are their object. ’Tis even so.\\r\\nFor let our finger ache, and it indues\\r\\nOur other healthful members even to that sense\\r\\nOf pain. Nay, we must think men are not gods,\\r\\nNor of them look for such observancy\\r\\nAs fits the bridal. Beshrew me much, Emilia,\\r\\nI was (unhandsome warrior as I am)\\r\\nArraigning his unkindness with my soul;\\r\\nBut now I find I had suborn’d the witness,\\r\\nAnd he’s indicted falsely.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPray heaven it be state matters, as you think,\\r\\nAnd no conception nor no jealous toy\\r\\nConcerning you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas the day, I never gave him cause!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBut jealous souls will not be answer’d so;\\r\\nThey are not ever jealous for the cause,\\r\\nBut jealous for they are jealous: ’tis a monster\\r\\nBegot upon itself, born on itself.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHeaven keep that monster from Othello’s mind!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nLady, amen.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI will go seek him. Cassio, walk hereabout:\\r\\nIf I do find him fit, I’ll move your suit,\\r\\nAnd seek to effect it to my uttermost.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI humbly thank your ladyship.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nSave you, friend Cassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhat make you from home?\\r\\nHow is it with you, my most fair Bianca?\\r\\nI’ faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nAnd I was going to your lodging, Cassio.\\r\\nWhat, keep a week away? Seven days and nights?\\r\\nEight score eight hours, and lovers’ absent hours,\\r\\nMore tedious than the dial eight score times?\\r\\nO weary reckoning!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nPardon me, Bianca.\\r\\nI have this while with leaden thoughts been press’d,\\r\\nBut I shall in a more continuate time\\r\\nStrike off this score of absence. Sweet Bianca,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Giving her Desdemona’s handkerchief._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTake me this work out.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nO Cassio, whence came this?\\r\\nThis is some token from a newer friend.\\r\\nTo the felt absence now I feel a cause.\\r\\nIs’t come to this? Well, well.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nGo to, woman!\\r\\nThrow your vile guesses in the devil’s teeth,\\r\\nFrom whence you have them. You are jealous now\\r\\nThat this is from some mistress, some remembrance.\\r\\nNo, in good troth, Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhy, whose is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI know not neither. I found it in my chamber.\\r\\nI like the work well. Ere it be demanded,\\r\\nAs like enough it will, I’d have it copied.\\r\\nTake it, and do ’t, and leave me for this time.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nLeave you, wherefore?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI do attend here on the general,\\r\\nAnd think it no addition, nor my wish,\\r\\nTo have him see me woman’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhy, I pray you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nNot that I love you not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nBut that you do not love me.\\r\\nI pray you bring me on the way a little,\\r\\nAnd say if I shall see you soon at night.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Tis but a little way that I can bring you,\\r\\nFor I attend here. But I’ll see you soon.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\n’Tis very good; I must be circumstanc’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello and Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWill you think so?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThink so, Iago?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat,\\r\\nTo kiss in private?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAn unauthoriz’d kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nOr to be naked with her friend in bed\\r\\nAn hour or more, not meaning any harm?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNaked in bed, Iago, and not mean harm?\\r\\nIt is hypocrisy against the devil:\\r\\nThey that mean virtuously and yet do so,\\r\\nThe devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt heaven.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSo they do nothing, ’tis a venial slip.\\r\\nBut if I give my wife a handkerchief—\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat then?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy then, ’tis hers, my lord, and being hers,\\r\\nShe may, I think, bestow’t on any man.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nShe is protectress of her honour too.\\r\\nMay she give that?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHer honour is an essence that’s not seen;\\r\\nThey have it very oft that have it not:\\r\\nBut for the handkerchief—\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBy heaven, I would most gladly have forgot it.\\r\\nThou said’st (O, it comes o’er my memory,\\r\\nAs doth the raven o’er the infected house,\\r\\nBoding to all) he had my handkerchief.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAy, what of that?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat’s not so good now.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat\\r\\nIf I had said I had seen him do you wrong?\\r\\nOr heard him say (as knaves be such abroad,\\r\\nWho having, by their own importunate suit,\\r\\nOr voluntary dotage of some mistress,\\r\\nConvinced or supplied them, cannot choose\\r\\nBut they must blab.)\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHath he said anything?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHe hath, my lord, but be you well assur’d,\\r\\nNo more than he’ll unswear.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat hath he said?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFaith, that he did—I know not what he did.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat? What?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLie.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWith her?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWith her, on her, what you will.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nLie with her! lie on her!—We say lie on her when they belie her.—Lie\\r\\nwith her! that’s fulsome. Handkerchief—confessions—handkerchief! To\\r\\nconfess, and be hanged for his labour. First, to be hanged, and then to\\r\\nconfess. I tremble at it. Nature would not invest herself in such\\r\\nshadowing passion without some instruction. It is not words that shake\\r\\nme thus. Pish! Noses, ears, and lips. Is’t\\r\\npossible?—Confess?—handkerchief?—O devil!—\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Falls in a trance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWork on,\\r\\nMy medicine, work! Thus credulous fools are caught,\\r\\nAnd many worthy and chaste dames even thus,\\r\\nAll guiltless, meet reproach. What, ho! my lord!\\r\\nMy lord, I say! Othello!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Cassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy lord is fallen into an epilepsy.\\r\\nThis is his second fit. He had one yesterday.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nRub him about the temples.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNo, forbear;\\r\\nThe lethargy must have his quiet course.\\r\\nIf not, he foams at mouth, and by and by\\r\\nBreaks out to savage madness. Look, he stirs:\\r\\nDo you withdraw yourself a little while,\\r\\nHe will recover straight. When he is gone,\\r\\nI would on great occasion speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Cassio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow is it, general? Have you not hurt your head?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDost thou mock me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI mock you? No, by heaven.\\r\\nWould you would bear your fortune like a man!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nA horned man’s a monster and a beast.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThere’s many a beast, then, in a populous city,\\r\\nAnd many a civil monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDid he confess it?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGood sir, be a man.\\r\\nThink every bearded fellow that’s but yok’d\\r\\nMay draw with you. There’s millions now alive\\r\\nThat nightly lie in those unproper beds\\r\\nWhich they dare swear peculiar: your case is better.\\r\\nO, ’tis the spite of hell, the fiend’s arch-mock,\\r\\nTo lip a wanton in a secure couch,\\r\\nAnd to suppose her chaste! No, let me know,\\r\\nAnd knowing what I am, I know what she shall be.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, thou art wise, ’tis certain.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nStand you awhile apart,\\r\\nConfine yourself but in a patient list.\\r\\nWhilst you were here o’erwhelmed with your grief,\\r\\n(A passion most unsuiting such a man)\\r\\nCassio came hither. I shifted him away,\\r\\nAnd laid good ’scuse upon your ecstasy,\\r\\nBade him anon return, and here speak with me,\\r\\nThe which he promis’d. Do but encave yourself,\\r\\nAnd mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable scorns,\\r\\nThat dwell in every region of his face;\\r\\nFor I will make him tell the tale anew,\\r\\nWhere, how, how oft, how long ago, and when\\r\\nHe hath, and is again to cope your wife:\\r\\nI say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience,\\r\\nOr I shall say you are all in all in spleen,\\r\\nAnd nothing of a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDost thou hear, Iago?\\r\\nI will be found most cunning in my patience;\\r\\nBut,—dost thou hear?—most bloody.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThat’s not amiss.\\r\\nBut yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Othello withdraws._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow will I question Cassio of Bianca,\\r\\nA housewife that by selling her desires\\r\\nBuys herself bread and clothes: it is a creature\\r\\nThat dotes on Cassio, (as ’tis the strumpet’s plague\\r\\nTo beguile many and be beguil’d by one.)\\r\\nHe, when he hears of her, cannot refrain\\r\\nFrom the excess of laughter. Here he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs he shall smile Othello shall go mad,\\r\\nAnd his unbookish jealousy must construe\\r\\nPoor Cassio’s smiles, gestures, and light behaviour\\r\\nQuite in the wrong. How do you now, lieutenant?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThe worser that you give me the addition\\r\\nWhose want even kills me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nPly Desdemona well, and you are sure on’t.\\r\\n[_Speaking lower._] Now, if this suit lay in Bianca’s power,\\r\\nHow quickly should you speed!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAlas, poor caitiff!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Look how he laughs already!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI never knew a woman love man so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAlas, poor rogue! I think, i’ faith, she loves me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Now he denies it faintly and laughs it out.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo you hear, Cassio?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNow he importunes him\\r\\nTo tell it o’er. Go to, well said, well said.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShe gives it out that you shall marry her.\\r\\nDo you intend it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHa, ha, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDo you triumph, Roman? Do you triumph?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI marry her? What? A customer? I prithee, bear some charity to my wit,\\r\\ndo not think it so unwholesome. Ha, ha, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nSo, so, so, so. They laugh that wins.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFaith, the cry goes that you shall marry her.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nPrithee say true.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am a very villain else.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHave you scored me? Well.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThis is the monkey’s own giving out. She is persuaded I will marry her,\\r\\nout of her own love and flattery, not out of my promise.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIago beckons me. Now he begins the story.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nShe was here even now. She haunts me in every place. I was the other\\r\\nday talking on the sea-bank with certain Venetians, and thither comes\\r\\nthe bauble, and falls thus about my neck.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nCrying, “O dear Cassio!” as it were: his gesture imports it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nSo hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon me; so hales and pulls me. Ha, ha,\\r\\nha!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNow he tells how she plucked him to my chamber. O, I see that nose of\\r\\nyours, but not that dog I shall throw it to.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWell, I must leave her company.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBefore me! look where she comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Tis such another fitchew! Marry, a perfum’d one.\\r\\nWhat do you mean by this haunting of me?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nLet the devil and his dam haunt you! What did you mean by that same\\r\\nhandkerchief you gave me even now? I was a fine fool to take it. I must\\r\\ntake out the work? A likely piece of work, that you should find it in\\r\\nyour chamber and not know who left it there! This is some minx’s token,\\r\\nand I must take out the work? There, give it your hobby-horse.\\r\\nWheresoever you had it, I’ll take out no work on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHow now, my sweet Bianca? How now, how now?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBy heaven, that should be my handkerchief!\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nIf you’ll come to supper tonight, you may. If you will not, come when\\r\\nyou are next prepared for.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAfter her, after her.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nFaith, I must; she’ll rail in the street else.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWill you sup there?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nFaith, I intend so.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWell, I may chance to see you, for I would very fain speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nPrithee come, will you?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGo to; say no more.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Cassio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_Coming forward._] How shall I murder him, Iago?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDid you perceive how he laughed at his vice?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO Iago!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd did you see the handkerchief?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWas that mine?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYours, by this hand: and to see how he prizes the foolish woman your\\r\\nwife! she gave it him, and he hath given it his whore.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI would have him nine years a-killing. A fine woman, a fair woman, a\\r\\nsweet woman!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, you must forget that.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, let her rot, and perish, and be damned tonight, for she shall not\\r\\nlive. No, my heart is turned to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my\\r\\nhand. O, the world hath not a sweeter creature. She might lie by an\\r\\nemperor’s side, and command him tasks.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, that’s not your way.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHang her, I do but say what she is. So delicate with her needle, an\\r\\nadmirable musician! O, she will sing the savageness out of a bear! Of\\r\\nso high and plenteous wit and invention!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShe’s the worse for all this.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, a thousand, a thousand times: and then of so gentle a condition!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAy, too gentle.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNay, that’s certain. But yet the pity of it, Iago! O Iago, the pity of\\r\\nit, Iago!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIf you are so fond over her iniquity, give her patent to offend, for if\\r\\nit touch not you, it comes near nobody.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI will chop her into messes. Cuckold me!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, ’tis foul in her.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWith mine officer!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThat’s fouler.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGet me some poison, Iago; this night. I’ll not expostulate with her,\\r\\nlest her body and beauty unprovide my mind again. This night, Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo it not with poison, strangle her in her bed, even the bed she hath\\r\\ncontaminated.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGood, good. The justice of it pleases. Very good.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd for Cassio, let me be his undertaker. You shall hear more by\\r\\nmidnight.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nExcellent good. [_A trumpet within._] What trumpet is that same?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lodovico, Desdemona and Attendant.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSomething from Venice, sure. ’Tis Lodovico\\r\\nCome from the duke. See, your wife is with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nSave you, worthy general!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWith all my heart, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nThe duke and senators of Venice greet you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Gives him a packet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI kiss the instrument of their pleasures.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Opens the packet and reads._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAnd what’s the news, good cousin Lodovico?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am very glad to see you, signior.\\r\\nWelcome to Cyprus.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nI thank you. How does Lieutenant Cassio?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLives, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nCousin, there’s fall’n between him and my lord\\r\\nAn unkind breach, but you shall make all well.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAre you sure of that?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_Reads._] “This fail you not to do, as you will—”\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nHe did not call; he’s busy in the paper.\\r\\nIs there division ’twixt my lord and Cassio?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nA most unhappy one. I would do much\\r\\nTo atone them, for the love I bear to Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFire and brimstone!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAre you wise?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat, is he angry?\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nMay be the letter mov’d him;\\r\\nFor, as I think, they do command him home,\\r\\nDeputing Cassio in his government.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nTrust me, I am glad on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIndeed!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI am glad to see you mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, sweet Othello?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDevil!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Striking her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI have not deserv’d this.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nMy lord, this would not be believ’d in Venice,\\r\\nThough I should swear I saw’t: ’tis very much.\\r\\nMake her amends. She weeps.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO devil, devil!\\r\\nIf that the earth could teem with woman’s tears,\\r\\nEach drop she falls would prove a crocodile.\\r\\nOut of my sight!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI will not stay to offend you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Going._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nTruly, an obedient lady.\\r\\nI do beseech your lordship, call her back.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nMistress!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat would you with her, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWho, I, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, you did wish that I would make her turn.\\r\\nSir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on,\\r\\nAnd turn again. And she can weep, sir, weep;\\r\\nAnd she’s obedient, as you say, obedient,\\r\\nVery obedient. Proceed you in your tears.\\r\\nConcerning this, sir,—O well-painted passion!\\r\\nI am commanded home.—Get you away;\\r\\nI’ll send for you anon.—Sir, I obey the mandate,\\r\\nAnd will return to Venice.—Hence, avaunt!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Desdemona._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCassio shall have my place. And, sir, tonight,\\r\\nI do entreat that we may sup together.\\r\\nYou are welcome, sir, to Cyprus. Goats and monkeys!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nIs this the noble Moor, whom our full senate\\r\\nCall all in all sufficient? Is this the nature\\r\\nWhom passion could not shake? whose solid virtue\\r\\nThe shot of accident nor dart of chance\\r\\nCould neither graze nor pierce?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHe is much chang’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nAre his wits safe? Is he not light of brain?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHe’s that he is. I may not breathe my censure\\r\\nWhat he might be. If what he might he is not,\\r\\nI would to heaven he were!\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWhat, strike his wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFaith, that was not so well; yet would I knew\\r\\nThat stroke would prove the worst!\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nIs it his use?\\r\\nOr did the letters work upon his blood,\\r\\nAnd new-create this fault?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAlas, alas!\\r\\nIt is not honesty in me to speak\\r\\nWhat I have seen and known. You shall observe him,\\r\\nAnd his own courses will denote him so\\r\\nThat I may save my speech: do but go after,\\r\\nAnd mark how he continues.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nI am sorry that I am deceiv’d in him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYou have seen nothing, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNor ever heard, nor ever did suspect.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYes, you have seen Cassio and she together.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBut then I saw no harm, and then I heard\\r\\nEach syllable that breath made up between them.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat, did they never whisper?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNever, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNor send you out o’ the way?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNever.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nTo fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor nothing?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNever, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat’s strange.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI durst, my lord, to wager she is honest,\\r\\nLay down my soul at stake: if you think other,\\r\\nRemove your thought, it doth abuse your bosom.\\r\\nIf any wretch have put this in your head,\\r\\nLet heaven requite it with the serpent’s curse,\\r\\nFor if she be not honest, chaste, and true,\\r\\nThere’s no man happy. The purest of their wives\\r\\nIs foul as slander.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBid her come hither. Go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nShe says enough. Yet she’s a simple bawd\\r\\nThat cannot say as much. This is a subtle whore,\\r\\nA closet lock and key of villainous secrets.\\r\\nAnd yet she’ll kneel and pray. I have seen her do ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord, what is your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nPray, chuck, come hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat is your pleasure?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nLet me see your eyes.\\r\\nLook in my face.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat horrible fancy’s this?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_To Emilia._] Some of your function, mistress,\\r\\nLeave procreants alone, and shut the door.\\r\\nCough, or cry hem, if anybody come.\\r\\nYour mystery, your mystery. Nay, dispatch.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nUpon my knees, what doth your speech import?\\r\\nI understand a fury in your words,\\r\\nBut not the words.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy, what art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nYour wife, my lord, your true and loyal wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nCome, swear it, damn thyself,\\r\\nLest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves\\r\\nShould fear to seize thee. Therefore be double-damn’d.\\r\\nSwear thou art honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHeaven doth truly know it.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHeaven truly knows that thou art false as hell.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nTo whom, my lord? With whom? How am I false?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO Desdemona, away! away! away!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas the heavy day, why do you weep?\\r\\nAm I the motive of these tears, my lord?\\r\\nIf haply you my father do suspect\\r\\nAn instrument of this your calling back,\\r\\nLay not your blame on me. If you have lost him,\\r\\nWhy, I have lost him too.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHad it pleas’d heaven\\r\\nTo try me with affliction, had they rain’d\\r\\nAll kinds of sores and shames on my bare head,\\r\\nSteep’d me in poverty to the very lips,\\r\\nGiven to captivity me and my utmost hopes,\\r\\nI should have found in some place of my soul\\r\\nA drop of patience. But, alas, to make me\\r\\nA fixed figure for the time of scorn\\r\\nTo point his slow unmoving finger at.\\r\\nYet could I bear that too, well, very well:\\r\\nBut there, where I have garner’d up my heart,\\r\\nWhere either I must live or bear no life,\\r\\nThe fountain from the which my current runs,\\r\\nOr else dries up, to be discarded thence,\\r\\nOr keep it as a cistern for foul toads\\r\\nTo knot and gender in!—turn thy complexion there,\\r\\nPatience, thou young and rose-lipp’d cherubin,\\r\\nAy, there, look grim as hell!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI hope my noble lord esteems me honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, ay, as summer flies are in the shambles,\\r\\nThat quicken even with blowing. O thou weed,\\r\\nWho art so lovely fair, and smell’st so sweet,\\r\\nThat the sense aches at thee,\\r\\nWould thou hadst ne’er been born!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas, what ignorant sin have I committed?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWas this fair paper, this most goodly book,\\r\\nMade to write “whore” upon? What committed?\\r\\nCommitted! O thou public commoner!\\r\\nI should make very forges of my cheeks,\\r\\nThat would to cinders burn up modesty,\\r\\nDid I but speak thy deeds. What committed!\\r\\nHeaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks;\\r\\nThe bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets,\\r\\nIs hush’d within the hollow mine of earth,\\r\\nAnd will not hear it. What committed!\\r\\nImpudent strumpet!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBy heaven, you do me wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAre not you a strumpet?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, as I am a Christian:\\r\\nIf to preserve this vessel for my lord\\r\\nFrom any other foul unlawful touch\\r\\nBe not to be a strumpet, I am none.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat, not a whore?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, as I shall be sav’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, heaven forgive us!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI cry you mercy then.\\r\\nI took you for that cunning whore of Venice\\r\\nThat married with Othello.—You, mistress,\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nThat have the office opposite to Saint Peter,\\r\\nAnd keeps the gate of hell. You, you, ay, you!\\r\\nWe have done our course; there’s money for your pains.\\r\\nI pray you turn the key, and keep our counsel.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAlas, what does this gentleman conceive?\\r\\nHow do you, madam? How do you, my good lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nFaith, half asleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nGood madam, what’s the matter with my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWith who?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhy, with my lord, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWho is thy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHe that is yours, sweet lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI have none. Do not talk to me, Emilia,\\r\\nI cannot weep, nor answer have I none\\r\\nBut what should go by water. Prithee, tonight\\r\\nLay on my bed my wedding sheets, remember,\\r\\nAnd call thy husband hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHere’s a change indeed!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\n’Tis meet I should be us’d so, very meet.\\r\\nHow have I been behav’d, that he might stick\\r\\nThe small’st opinion on my least misuse?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat is your pleasure, madam? How is’t with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI cannot tell. Those that do teach young babes\\r\\nDo it with gentle means and easy tasks.\\r\\nHe might have chid me so, for, in good faith,\\r\\nI am a child to chiding.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter, lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAlas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhor’d her,\\r\\nThrown such despite and heavy terms upon her,\\r\\nAs true hearts cannot bear.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAm I that name, Iago?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat name, fair lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nSuch as she says my lord did say I was.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHe call’d her whore: a beggar in his drink\\r\\nCould not have laid such terms upon his callet.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy did he so?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI do not know. I am sure I am none such.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo not weep, do not weep: alas the day!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHath she forsook so many noble matches,\\r\\nHer father, and her country, and her friends,\\r\\nTo be call’d whore? would it not make one weep?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIt is my wretched fortune.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBeshrew him for’t!\\r\\nHow comes this trick upon him?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNay, heaven doth know.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI will be hang’d, if some eternal villain,\\r\\nSome busy and insinuating rogue,\\r\\nSome cogging, cozening slave, to get some office,\\r\\nHave not devis’d this slander. I’ll be hang’d else.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFie, there is no such man. It is impossible.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIf any such there be, heaven pardon him!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nA halter pardon him, and hell gnaw his bones!\\r\\nWhy should he call her whore? who keeps her company?\\r\\nWhat place? what time? what form? what likelihood?\\r\\nThe Moor’s abused by some most villainous knave,\\r\\nSome base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow.\\r\\nO heaven, that such companions thou’dst unfold,\\r\\nAnd put in every honest hand a whip\\r\\nTo lash the rascals naked through the world\\r\\nEven from the east to the west!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSpeak within door.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, fie upon them! Some such squire he was\\r\\nThat turn’d your wit the seamy side without,\\r\\nAnd made you to suspect me with the Moor.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou are a fool. Go to.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas, Iago,\\r\\nWhat shall I do to win my lord again?\\r\\nGood friend, go to him. For by this light of heaven,\\r\\nI know not how I lost him. Here I kneel.\\r\\nIf e’er my will did trespass ’gainst his love,\\r\\nEither in discourse of thought or actual deed,\\r\\nOr that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense,\\r\\nDelighted them in any other form,\\r\\nOr that I do not yet, and ever did,\\r\\nAnd ever will, (though he do shake me off\\r\\nTo beggarly divorcement) love him dearly,\\r\\nComfort forswear me! Unkindness may do much;\\r\\nAnd his unkindness may defeat my life,\\r\\nBut never taint my love. I cannot say “whore,”\\r\\nIt does abhor me now I speak the word;\\r\\nTo do the act that might the addition earn\\r\\nNot the world’s mass of vanity could make me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI pray you, be content. ’Tis but his humour.\\r\\nThe business of the state does him offence,\\r\\nAnd he does chide with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIf ’twere no other,—\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n’Tis but so, I warrant.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Trumpets within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHark, how these instruments summon to supper.\\r\\nThe messengers of Venice stay the meat.\\r\\nGo in, and weep not. All things shall be well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Roderigo?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI do not find that thou dealest justly with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat in the contrary?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nEvery day thou daffest me with some device, Iago, and rather, as it\\r\\nseems to me now, keepest from me all conveniency than suppliest me with\\r\\nthe least advantage of hope. I will indeed no longer endure it. Nor am\\r\\nI yet persuaded to put up in peace what already I have foolishly\\r\\nsuffered.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWill you hear me, Roderigo?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nFaith, I have heard too much, for your words and performances are no\\r\\nkin together.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou charge me most unjustly.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWith naught but truth. I have wasted myself out of my means. The jewels\\r\\nyou have had from me to deliver to Desdemona would half have corrupted\\r\\na votarist: you have told me she hath received them, and returned me\\r\\nexpectations and comforts of sudden respect and acquaintance, but I\\r\\nfind none.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWell, go to, very well.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nVery well, go to, I cannot go to, man, nor ’tis not very well. Nay, I\\r\\nsay ’tis very scurvy, and begin to find myself fopped in it.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nVery well.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI tell you ’tis not very well. I will make myself known to Desdemona.\\r\\nIf she will return me my jewels, I will give over my suit and repent my\\r\\nunlawful solicitation. If not, assure yourself I will seek satisfaction\\r\\nof you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou have said now.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nAy, and said nothing but what I protest intendment of doing.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, now I see there’s mettle in thee, and even from this instant do\\r\\nbuild on thee a better opinion than ever before. Give me thy hand,\\r\\nRoderigo. Thou hast taken against me a most just exception, but yet I\\r\\nprotest, I have dealt most directly in thy affair.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nIt hath not appeared.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI grant indeed it hath not appeared, and your suspicion is not without\\r\\nwit and judgement. But, Roderigo, if thou hast that in thee indeed,\\r\\nwhich I have greater reason to believe now than ever,—I mean purpose,\\r\\ncourage, and valour,—this night show it. If thou the next night\\r\\nfollowing enjoy not Desdemona, take me from this world with treachery\\r\\nand devise engines for my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWell, what is it? Is it within reason and compass?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSir, there is especial commission come from Venice to depute Cassio in\\r\\nOthello’s place.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nIs that true? Why then Othello and Desdemona return again to Venice.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, no; he goes into Mauritania, and takes away with him the fair\\r\\nDesdemona, unless his abode be lingered here by some accident: wherein\\r\\nnone can be so determinate as the removing of Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nHow do you mean “removing” of him?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, by making him uncapable of Othello’s place: knocking out his\\r\\nbrains.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nAnd that you would have me to do?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAy, if you dare do yourself a profit and a right. He sups tonight with\\r\\na harlotry, and thither will I go to him. He knows not yet of his\\r\\nhonourable fortune. If you will watch his going thence, which I will\\r\\nfashion to fall out between twelve and one, you may take him at your\\r\\npleasure: I will be near to second your attempt, and he shall fall\\r\\nbetween us. Come, stand not amazed at it, but go along with me. I will\\r\\nshow you such a necessity in his death that you shall think yourself\\r\\nbound to put it on him. It is now high supper-time, and the night grows\\r\\nto waste. About it.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI will hear further reason for this.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd you shall be satisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Cyprus. Another Room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Emilia and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nI do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no further.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, pardon me; ’twill do me good to walk.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nMadam, good night. I humbly thank your ladyship.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nYour honour is most welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWill you walk, sir?—\\r\\nO, Desdemona,—\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGet you to bed on th’ instant, I will be return’d forthwith. Dismiss\\r\\nyour attendant there. Look ’t be done.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Othello, Lodovico and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHow goes it now? He looks gentler than he did.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHe says he will return incontinent,\\r\\nHe hath commanded me to go to bed,\\r\\nAnd bade me to dismiss you.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nDismiss me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIt was his bidding. Therefore, good Emilia,\\r\\nGive me my nightly wearing, and adieu.\\r\\nWe must not now displease him.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI would you had never seen him!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nSo would not I. My love doth so approve him,\\r\\nThat even his stubbornness, his checks, his frowns,—\\r\\nPrithee, unpin me,—have grace and favour in them.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI have laid those sheets you bade me on the bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAll’s one. Good faith, how foolish are our minds!\\r\\nIf I do die before thee, prithee, shroud me\\r\\nIn one of those same sheets.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nCome, come, you talk.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy mother had a maid call’d Barbary,\\r\\nShe was in love, and he she lov’d prov’d mad\\r\\nAnd did forsake her. She had a song of “willow”,\\r\\nAn old thing ’twas, but it express’d her fortune,\\r\\nAnd she died singing it. That song tonight\\r\\nWill not go from my mind. I have much to do\\r\\nBut to go hang my head all at one side\\r\\nAnd sing it like poor Barbary. Prithee dispatch.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nShall I go fetch your night-gown?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, unpin me here.\\r\\nThis Lodovico is a proper man.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nA very handsome man.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHe speaks well.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot to Palestine for a\\r\\ntouch of his nether lip.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\n[_Singing._]\\r\\n _The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,\\r\\n Sing all a green willow.\\r\\n Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,\\r\\n Sing willow, willow, willow.\\r\\n The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur’d her moans,\\r\\n Sing willow, willow, willow;\\r\\n Her salt tears fell from her, and soften’d the stones;—_\\r\\n\\r\\nLay by these:—\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n _Sing willow, willow, willow._\\r\\n\\r\\nPrithee hie thee. He’ll come anon.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n _Sing all a green willow must be my garland.\\r\\nLet nobody blame him, his scorn I approve,—_\\r\\n\\r\\nNay, that’s not next. Hark! who is’t that knocks?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIt’s the wind.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n _I call’d my love false love; but what said he then?\\r\\n Sing willow, willow, willow:\\r\\n If I court mo women, you’ll couch with mo men._\\r\\n\\r\\nSo get thee gone; good night. Mine eyes do itch;\\r\\nDoth that bode weeping?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n’Tis neither here nor there.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI have heard it said so. O, these men, these men!\\r\\nDost thou in conscience think,—tell me, Emilia,—\\r\\nThat there be women do abuse their husbands\\r\\nIn such gross kind?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThere be some such, no question.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhy, would not you?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, by this heavenly light!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNor I neither by this heavenly light,\\r\\nI might do’t as well i’ the dark.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThe world’s a huge thing. It is a great price\\r\\nFor a small vice.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIn troth, I think thou wouldst not.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIn troth, I think I should, and undo’t when I had done. Marry, I would\\r\\nnot do such a thing for a joint-ring, nor for measures of lawn, nor for\\r\\ngowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor any petty exhibition; but, for the\\r\\nwhole world—why, who would not make her husband a cuckold to make him a\\r\\nmonarch? I should venture purgatory for ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBeshrew me, if I would do such a wrong for the whole world.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhy, the wrong is but a wrong i’ the world; and having the world for\\r\\nyour labour, ’tis a wrong in your own world, and you might quickly make\\r\\nit right.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI do not think there is any such woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYes, a dozen; and as many to the vantage as would store the world they\\r\\nplayed for.\\r\\nBut I do think it is their husbands’ faults\\r\\nIf wives do fall: say that they slack their duties,\\r\\nAnd pour our treasures into foreign laps;\\r\\nOr else break out in peevish jealousies,\\r\\nThrowing restraint upon us. Or say they strike us,\\r\\nOr scant our former having in despite.\\r\\nWhy, we have galls; and though we have some grace,\\r\\nYet have we some revenge. Let husbands know\\r\\nTheir wives have sense like them: they see, and smell\\r\\nAnd have their palates both for sweet and sour,\\r\\nAs husbands have. What is it that they do\\r\\nWhen they change us for others? Is it sport?\\r\\nI think it is. And doth affection breed it?\\r\\nI think it doth. Is’t frailty that thus errs?\\r\\nIt is so too. And have not we affections,\\r\\nDesires for sport, and frailty, as men have?\\r\\nThen let them use us well: else let them know,\\r\\nThe ills we do, their ills instruct us so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nGood night, good night. Heaven me such usage send,\\r\\nNot to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Cyprus. A Street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago and Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHere, stand behind this bulk. Straight will he come.\\r\\nWear thy good rapier bare, and put it home.\\r\\nQuick, quick, fear nothing; I’ll be at thy elbow.\\r\\nIt makes us, or it mars us, think on that,\\r\\nAnd fix most firm thy resolution.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nBe near at hand, I may miscarry in ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHere, at thy hand. Be bold, and take thy stand.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Retires to a little distance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI have no great devotion to the deed;\\r\\nAnd yet he hath given me satisfying reasons.\\r\\n’Tis but a man gone. Forth, my sword; he dies.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Goes to his stand._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI have rubb’d this young quat almost to the sense,\\r\\nAnd he grows angry. Now, whether he kill Cassio,\\r\\nOr Cassio him, or each do kill the other,\\r\\nEvery way makes my gain. Live Roderigo,\\r\\nHe calls me to a restitution large\\r\\nOf gold and jewels that I bobb’d from him,\\r\\nAs gifts to Desdemona.\\r\\nIt must not be. If Cassio do remain,\\r\\nHe hath a daily beauty in his life\\r\\nThat makes me ugly. And besides, the Moor\\r\\nMay unfold me to him; there stand I in much peril.\\r\\nNo, he must die. But so, I hear him coming.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI know his gait; ’tis he. Villain, thou diest!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Rushes out, and makes a pass at Cassio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThat thrust had been mine enemy indeed,\\r\\nBut that my coat is better than thou know’st.\\r\\nI will make proof of thine.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Draws, and wounds Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nO, I am slain!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Iago rushes from his post, cuts Cassio behind in the leg, and\\r\\n exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI am maim’d forever. Help, ho! murder, murder!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Falls._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe voice of Cassio. Iago keeps his word.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nO, villain that I am!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIt is even so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nO, help, ho! light! a surgeon!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n’Tis he. O brave Iago, honest and just,\\r\\nThat hast such noble sense of thy friend’s wrong!\\r\\nThou teachest me,—minion, your dear lies dead,\\r\\nAnd your unbless’d fate hies. Strumpet, I come!\\r\\nForth of my heart those charms, thine eyes, are blotted;\\r\\nThy bed, lust-stain’d, shall with lust’s blood be spotted.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lodovico and Gratiano.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhat, ho! No watch? No passage? murder, murder!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\n’Tis some mischance; the cry is very direful.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nO, help!\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nHark!\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nO wretched villain!\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nTwo or three groan. It is a heavy night.\\r\\nThese may be counterfeits. Let’s think’t unsafe\\r\\nTo come in to the cry without more help.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nNobody come? Then shall I bleed to death.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago with a light.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nHark!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nHere’s one comes in his shirt, with light and weapons.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWho’s there? Whose noise is this that cries on murder?\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWe do not know.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDid not you hear a cry?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHere, here! for heaven’s sake, help me!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nThis is Othello’s ancient, as I take it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nThe same indeed, a very valiant fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat are you here that cry so grievously?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nIago? O, I am spoil’d, undone by villains!\\r\\nGive me some help.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO me, lieutenant! What villains have done this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI think that one of them is hereabout,\\r\\nAnd cannot make away.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO treacherous villains!\\r\\n[_To Lodovico and Gratiano._] What are you there?\\r\\nCome in and give some help.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nO, help me here!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThat’s one of them.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO murderous slave! O villain!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Stabs Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nO damn’d Iago! O inhuman dog!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nKill men i’ the dark! Where be these bloody thieves?\\r\\nHow silent is this town! Ho! murder! murder!\\r\\nWhat may you be? Are you of good or evil?\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nAs you shall prove us, praise us.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSignior Lodovico?\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nHe, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI cry you mercy. Here’s Cassio hurt by villains.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nCassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHow is’t, brother?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMy leg is cut in two.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMarry, heaven forbid!\\r\\nLight, gentlemen, I’ll bind it with my shirt.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhat is the matter, ho? Who is’t that cried?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWho is’t that cried?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nO my dear Cassio, my sweet Cassio! O Cassio, Cassio, Cassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO notable strumpet! Cassio, may you suspect\\r\\nWho they should be that have thus mangled you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nI am sorry to find you thus; I have been to seek you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLend me a garter. So.—O, for a chair,\\r\\nTo bear him easily hence!\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nAlas, he faints! O Cassio, Cassio, Cassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGentlemen all, I do suspect this trash\\r\\nTo be a party in this injury.\\r\\nPatience awhile, good Cassio. Come, come;\\r\\nLend me a light. Know we this face or no?\\r\\nAlas, my friend and my dear countryman\\r\\nRoderigo? No. Yes, sure; O heaven! Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWhat, of Venice?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nEven he, sir. Did you know him?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nKnow him? Ay.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSignior Gratiano? I cry you gentle pardon.\\r\\nThese bloody accidents must excuse my manners,\\r\\nThat so neglected you.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nI am glad to see you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHow do you, Cassio? O, a chair, a chair!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nRoderigo!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHe, he, ’tis he.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A chair brought in._]\\r\\n\\r\\nO, that’s well said; the chair.\\r\\nSome good man bear him carefully from hence,\\r\\nI’ll fetch the general’s surgeon. [_To Bianca_] For you, mistress,\\r\\nSave you your labour. He that lies slain here, Cassio,\\r\\nWas my dear friend. What malice was between you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nNone in the world. Nor do I know the man.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_To Bianca._] What, look you pale?—O, bear him out o’ the air.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Cassio and Roderigo are borne off._]\\r\\n\\r\\nStay you, good gentlemen.—Look you pale, mistress?\\r\\nDo you perceive the gastness of her eye?\\r\\nNay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon.\\r\\nBehold her well. I pray you, look upon her.\\r\\nDo you see, gentlemen? Nay, guiltiness will speak\\r\\nThough tongues were out of use.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n’Las, what’s the matter? What’s the matter, husband?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCassio hath here been set on in the dark\\r\\nBy Roderigo, and fellows that are ’scap’d.\\r\\nHe’s almost slain, and Roderigo dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAlas, good gentleman! alas, good Cassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThis is the fruit of whoring. Prithee, Emilia,\\r\\nGo know of Cassio where he supp’d tonight.\\r\\nWhat, do you shake at that?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nHe supp’d at my house, but I therefore shake not.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, did he so? I charge you go with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nFie, fie upon thee, strumpet!\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nI am no strumpet, but of life as honest\\r\\nAs you that thus abuse me.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAs I? Foh! fie upon thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nKind gentlemen, let’s go see poor Cassio dress’d.\\r\\nCome, mistress, you must tell’s another tale.\\r\\nEmilia, run you to the citadel,\\r\\nAnd tell my lord and lady what hath happ’d.\\r\\nWill you go on afore? [_Aside._] This is the night\\r\\nThat either makes me or fordoes me quite.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Cyprus. A Bedchamber in the castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nDesdemona in bed asleep; a light burning.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIt is the cause, it is the cause, my soul,\\r\\nLet me not name it to you, you chaste stars!\\r\\nIt is the cause. Yet I’ll not shed her blood,\\r\\nNor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow,\\r\\nAnd smooth as monumental alabaster.\\r\\nYet she must die, else she’ll betray more men.\\r\\nPut out the light, and then put out the light:\\r\\nIf I quench thee, thou flaming minister,\\r\\nI can again thy former light restore,\\r\\nShould I repent me. But once put out thy light,\\r\\nThou cunning’st pattern of excelling nature,\\r\\nI know not where is that Promethean heat\\r\\nThat can thy light relume. When I have pluck’d thy rose,\\r\\nI cannot give it vital growth again,\\r\\nIt must needs wither. I’ll smell it on the tree.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kissing her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nO, balmy breath, that dost almost persuade\\r\\nJustice to break her sword! One more, one more.\\r\\nBe thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,\\r\\nAnd love thee after. One more, and this the last.\\r\\nSo sweet was ne’er so fatal. I must weep,\\r\\nBut they are cruel tears. This sorrow’s heavenly,\\r\\nIt strikes where it doth love. She wakes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWho’s there? Othello?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, Desdemona.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWill you come to bed, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHave you pray’d tonight, Desdemona?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAy, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIf you bethink yourself of any crime\\r\\nUnreconcil’d as yet to heaven and grace,\\r\\nSolicit for it straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlack, my lord, what may you mean by that?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWell, do it, and be brief, I will walk by.\\r\\nI would not kill thy unprepared spirit,\\r\\nNo, heaven forfend! I would not kill thy soul.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nTalk you of killing?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, I do.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThen heaven have mercy on me!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAmen, with all my heart!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIf you say so, I hope you will not kill me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHum!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAnd yet I fear you, for you are fatal then\\r\\nWhen your eyes roll so: why I should fear I know not,\\r\\nSince guiltiness I know not, but yet I feel I fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThink on thy sins.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThey are loves I bear to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, and for that thou diest.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThat death’s unnatural that kills for loving.\\r\\nAlas, why gnaw you so your nether lip?\\r\\nSome bloody passion shakes your very frame.\\r\\nThese are portents; but yet I hope, I hope,\\r\\nThey do not point on me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nPeace, and be still!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI will so. What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat handkerchief which I so loved and gave thee,\\r\\nThou gav’st to Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, by my life and soul!\\r\\nSend for the man and ask him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nSweet soul, take heed, take heed of perjury,\\r\\nThou’rt on thy death-bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAy, but not yet to die.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYes, presently:\\r\\nTherefore confess thee freely of thy sin.\\r\\nFor to deny each article with oath\\r\\nCannot remove nor choke the strong conception\\r\\nThat I do groan withal. Thou art to die.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThen, Lord have mercy on me!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI say, amen.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAnd have you mercy too! I never did\\r\\nOffend you in my life,\\t never lov’d Cassio\\r\\nBut with such general warranty of heaven\\r\\nAs I might love. I never gave him token.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBy heaven, I saw my handkerchief in ’s hand.\\r\\nO perjur’d woman, thou dost stone my heart,\\r\\nAnd mak’st me call what I intend to do\\r\\nA murder, which I thought a sacrifice.\\r\\nI saw the handkerchief.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHe found it then.\\r\\nI never gave it him. Send for him hither.\\r\\nLet him confess a truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHe hath confess’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat he hath us’d thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHow? Unlawfully?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHe will not say so.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNo, his mouth is stopp’d.\\r\\nHonest Iago hath ta’en order for ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, my fear interprets! What, is he dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHad all his hairs been lives, my great revenge\\r\\nHad stomach for them all.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas, he is betray’d, and I undone!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nOut, strumpet! Weep’st thou for him to my face?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, banish me, my lord, but kill me not!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDown, strumpet!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nKill me tomorrow, let me live tonight!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNay, if you strive,—\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBut half an hour!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBeing done, there is no pause.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBut while I say one prayer!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIt is too late.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Smothers her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n[_Within._] My lord, my lord! what, ho! my lord, my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat noise is this? Not dead? Not yet quite dead?\\r\\nI that am cruel am yet merciful,\\r\\nI would not have thee linger in thy pain.\\r\\nSo, so.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n[_Within._] What, ho! my lord, my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWho’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n[_Within._] O, good my lord, I would speak a word with you!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYes. ’Tis Emilia, by and by. She’s dead.\\r\\n’Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio’s death;\\r\\nThe noise was high.—Ha! no more moving?\\r\\nStill as the grave. Shall she come in? Were’t good?\\r\\nI think she stirs again; no. What’s best to do?\\r\\nIf she come in, she’ll sure speak to my wife.\\r\\nMy wife! my wife! what wife? I have no wife.\\r\\nO, insupportable! O heavy hour!\\r\\nMethinks it should be now a huge eclipse\\r\\nOf sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe\\r\\nShould yawn at alteration.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n[_Within._] I do beseech you\\r\\nThat I may speak with you, O, good my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI had forgot thee: O, come in, Emilia.\\r\\nSoft, by and by; let me the curtains draw.\\r\\nWhere art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Unlocks the door._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat’s the matter with thee now?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, my good lord, yonder’s foul murders done!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat, now?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBut now, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIt is the very error of the moon,\\r\\nShe comes more nearer earth than she was wont\\r\\nAnd makes men mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nCassio, my lord, hath kill’d a young Venetian\\r\\nCall’d Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nRoderigo kill’d?\\r\\nAnd Cassio kill’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNo, Cassio is not kill’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNot Cassio kill’d! Then murder’s out of tune,\\r\\nAnd sweet revenge grows harsh.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, falsely, falsely murder’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAlas, what cry is that?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat? What?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nOut, and alas! That was my lady’s voice.\\r\\nHelp! help, ho! help! O lady, speak again,\\r\\nSweet Desdemona! O sweet mistress, speak!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nA guiltless death I die.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, who hath done this deed?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNobody; I myself. Farewell.\\r\\nCommend me to my kind lord. O, farewell!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_She dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy, how should she be murder’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAlas, who knows?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYou heard her say herself, it was not I.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nShe said so. I must needs report the truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nShe’s like a liar, gone to burning hell.\\r\\n’Twas I that kill’d her.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, the more angel she,\\r\\nAnd you the blacker devil!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nShe turn’d to folly, and she was a whore.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThou dost belie her, and thou art a devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nShe was false as water.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThou art rash as fire, to say\\r\\nThat she was false: O, she was heavenly true!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nCassio did top her; ask thy husband else.\\r\\nO, I were damn’d beneath all depth in hell,\\r\\nBut that I did proceed upon just grounds\\r\\nTo this extremity. Thy husband knew it all.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMy husband?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThy husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat she was false to wedlock?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, with Cassio. Nay, had she been true,\\r\\nIf heaven would make me such another world\\r\\nOf one entire and perfect chrysolite,\\r\\nI’d not have sold her for it.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMy husband?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, ’twas he that told me first.\\r\\nAn honest man he is, and hates the slime\\r\\nThat sticks on filthy deeds.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMy husband?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat needs this iterance, woman? I say thy husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO mistress, villainy hath made mocks with love!\\r\\nMy husband say that she was false?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHe, woman;\\r\\nI say thy husband: dost understand the word?\\r\\nMy friend, thy husband, honest, honest Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIf he say so, may his pernicious soul\\r\\nRot half a grain a day! he lies to the heart.\\r\\nShe was too fond of her most filthy bargain.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHa!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nDo thy worst:\\r\\nThis deed of thine is no more worthy heaven\\r\\nThan thou wast worthy her.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nPeace, you were best.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThou hast not half that power to do me harm\\r\\nAs I have to be hurt. O gull! O dolt!\\r\\nAs ignorant as dirt! Thou hast done a deed\\r\\n(I care not for thy sword) I’ll make thee known,\\r\\nThough I lost twenty lives. Help! help, ho! help!\\r\\nThe Moor hath kill’d my mistress! Murder, murder!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Montano, Gratiano and Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nWhat is the matter? How now, general?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, are you come, Iago? You have done well,\\r\\nThat men must lay their murders on your neck.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWhat is the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nDisprove this villain, if thou be’st a man.\\r\\nHe says thou told’st him that his wife was false.\\r\\nI know thou didst not, thou’rt not such a villain.\\r\\nSpeak, for my heart is full.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI told him what I thought, and told no more\\r\\nThan what he found himself was apt and true.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBut did you ever tell him she was false?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI did.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYou told a lie, an odious, damned lie;\\r\\nUpon my soul, a lie; a wicked lie.\\r\\nShe false with Cassio? Did you say with Cassio?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWith Cassio, mistress. Go to, charm your tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI will not charm my tongue; I am bound to speak.\\r\\nMy mistress here lies murder’d in her bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nO heavens forfend!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAnd your reports have set the murder on.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNay, stare not, masters, it is true indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\n’Tis a strange truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nO monstrous act!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nVillany, villany, villany!\\r\\nI think upon’t, I think I smell’t; O villany!\\r\\nI thought so then. I’ll kill myself for grief.\\r\\nO villany, villany!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat, are you mad? I charge you, get you home.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nGood gentlemen, let me have leave to speak.\\r\\n’Tis proper I obey him, but not now.\\r\\nPerchance, Iago, I will ne’er go home.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO! O! O!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Hanging over his wife._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNay, lay thee down and roar;\\r\\nFor thou hast kill’d the sweetest innocent\\r\\nThat e’er did lift up eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_Rising._] O, she was foul!\\r\\nI scarce did know you, uncle, there lies your niece,\\r\\nWhose breath indeed these hands have newly stopp’d.\\r\\nI know this act shows horrible and grim.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nPoor Desdemona! I am glad thy father’s dead.\\r\\nThy match was mortal to him, and pure grief\\r\\nShore his old thread in twain: did he live now,\\r\\nThis sight would make him do a desperate turn,\\r\\nYea, curse his better angel from his side,\\r\\nAnd fall to reprobance.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n’Tis pitiful. But yet Iago knows\\r\\nThat she with Cassio hath the act of shame\\r\\nA thousand times committed; Cassio confess’d it,\\r\\nAnd she did gratify his amorous works\\r\\nWith that recognizance and pledge of love\\r\\nWhich I first gave her; I saw it in his hand.\\r\\nIt was a handkerchief, an antique token\\r\\nMy father gave my mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO heaven! O heavenly powers!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCome, hold your peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n’Twill out, ’twill out. I peace?\\r\\nNo, I will speak as liberal as the north.\\r\\nLet heaven and men and devils, let them all,\\r\\nAll, all, cry shame against me, yet I’ll speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBe wise, and get you home.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI will not.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Iago offers to stab his wife._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nFie!\\r\\nYour sword upon a woman?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO thou dull Moor, that handkerchief thou speak’st of\\r\\nI found by fortune and did give my husband;\\r\\nFor often with a solemn earnestness,\\r\\nMore than indeed belong’d to such a trifle,\\r\\nHe begg’d of me to steal it.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nVillanous whore!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nShe give it Cassio! no, alas, I found it,\\r\\nAnd I did give’t my husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFilth, thou liest!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBy heaven, I do not, I do not, gentlemen.\\r\\nO murderous coxcomb! What should such a fool\\r\\nDo with so good a wife?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO\\r\\nAre there not stones in heaven\\r\\nBut what serve for thunder? Precious villain!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Iago stabs Emilia and then runs out._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nThe woman falls. Sure, he hath kill’d his wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAy, ay. O, lay me by my mistress’ side.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nHe’s gone, but his wife’s kill’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\n’Tis a notorious villain. Take you this weapon,\\r\\nWhich I have here recover’d from the Moor.\\r\\nCome, guard the door without, let him not pass,\\r\\nBut kill him rather. I’ll after that same villain,\\r\\nFor ’tis a damned slave.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Montano and Gratiano._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI am not valiant neither,\\r\\nBut every puny whipster gets my sword.\\r\\nBut why should honour outlive honesty?\\r\\nLet it go all.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhat did thy song bode, lady?\\r\\nHark, canst thou hear me? I will play the swan,\\r\\nAnd die in music.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Willow, willow, willow._\\r\\nMoor, she was chaste. She lov’d thee, cruel Moor,\\r\\nSo come my soul to bliss, as I speak true;\\r\\nSo speaking as I think, I die, I die.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_She dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI have another weapon in this chamber,\\r\\nIt is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook’s temper.\\r\\nO, here it is. Uncle, I must come forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\n[_Within._] If thou attempt it, it will cost thee dear;\\r\\nThou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nLook in upon me then, and speak with me,\\r\\nOr, naked as I am, I will assault thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gratiano.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWhat is the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBehold, I have a weapon.\\r\\nA better never did itself sustain\\r\\nUpon a soldier’s thigh: I have seen the day\\r\\nThat with this little arm and this good sword\\r\\nI have made my way through more impediments\\r\\nThan twenty times your stop. But, O vain boast!\\r\\nWho can control his fate? ’Tis not so now.\\r\\nBe not afraid, though you do see me weapon’d.\\r\\nHere is my journey’s end, here is my butt,\\r\\nAnd very sea-mark of my utmost sail.\\r\\nDo you go back dismay’d? ’Tis a lost fear.\\r\\nMan but a rush against Othello’s breast,\\r\\nAnd he retires. Where should Othello go?\\r\\nNow, how dost thou look now? O ill-starr’d wench,\\r\\nPale as thy smock, when we shall meet at compt,\\r\\nThis look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven,\\r\\nAnd fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl!\\r\\nEven like thy chastity.\\r\\nO cursed, cursed slave! Whip me, ye devils,\\r\\nFrom the possession of this heavenly sight!\\r\\nBlow me about in winds, roast me in sulphur,\\r\\nWash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire!\\r\\nO Desdemon! Dead, Desdemon! dead! Oh, oh!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lodovico, Montano, Cassio carried in a chair, and Officers with\\r\\n Iago prisoner.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWhere is this rash and most unfortunate man?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat’s he that was Othello. Here I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWhere is that viper? Bring the villain forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI look down towards his feet; but that’s a fable.\\r\\nIf that thou be’st a devil, I cannot kill thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Wounds Iago._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWrench his sword from him.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI bleed, sir, but not kill’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI am not sorry neither. I’d have thee live,\\r\\nFor in my sense ’tis happiness to die.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nO thou Othello, that wert once so good,\\r\\nFall’n in the practice of a damned slave,\\r\\nWhat shall be said to thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy, anything;\\r\\nAn honourable murderer, if you will.\\r\\nFor naught did I in hate, but all in honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nThis wretch hath part confess’d his villany.\\r\\nDid you and he consent in Cassio’s death?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nDear general, I never gave you cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI do believe it, and I ask your pardon.\\r\\nWill you, I pray, demand that demi-devil\\r\\nWhy he hath thus ensnar’d my soul and body?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDemand me nothing. What you know, you know.\\r\\nFrom this time forth I never will speak word.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWhat, not to pray?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nTorments will ope your lips.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWell, thou dost best.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nSir, you shall understand what hath befall’n,\\r\\nWhich, as I think, you know not. Here is a letter\\r\\nFound in the pocket of the slain Roderigo,\\r\\nAnd here another. The one of them imports\\r\\nThe death of Cassio, to be undertook\\r\\nBy Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO villain!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMost heathenish and most gross!\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nNow here’s another discontented paper,\\r\\nFound in his pocket too; and this, it seems,\\r\\nRoderigo meant to have sent this damned villain,\\r\\nBut that, belike, Iago in the interim\\r\\nCame in and satisfied him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO the pernicious caitiff!\\r\\nHow came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief\\r\\nThat was my wife’s?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI found it in my chamber.\\r\\nAnd he himself confess’d but even now,\\r\\nThat there he dropp’d it for a special purpose\\r\\nWhich wrought to his desire.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO fool! fool! fool!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThere is besides in Roderigo’s letter,\\r\\nHow he upbraids Iago, that he made him\\r\\nBrave me upon the watch, whereon it came\\r\\nThat I was cast. And even but now he spake,\\r\\nAfter long seeming dead, Iago hurt him,\\r\\nIago set him on.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nYou must forsake this room, and go with us.\\r\\nYour power and your command is taken off,\\r\\nAnd Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave,\\r\\nIf there be any cunning cruelty\\r\\nThat can torment him much and hold him long,\\r\\nIt shall be his. You shall close prisoner rest,\\r\\nTill that the nature of your fault be known\\r\\nTo the Venetian state. Come, bring away.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nSoft you; a word or two before you go.\\r\\nI have done the state some service, and they know’t.\\r\\nNo more of that. I pray you, in your letters,\\r\\nWhen you shall these unlucky deeds relate,\\r\\nSpeak of me as I am. Nothing extenuate,\\r\\nNor set down aught in malice. Then must you speak\\r\\nOf one that loved not wisely, but too well;\\r\\nOf one not easily jealous, but being wrought,\\r\\nPerplex’d in the extreme; of one whose hand,\\r\\nLike the base Judean, threw a pearl away\\r\\nRicher than all his tribe; of one whose subdu’d eyes,\\r\\nAlbeit unused to the melting mood,\\r\\nDrop tears as fast as the Arabian trees\\r\\nTheir medicinal gum. Set you down this.\\r\\nAnd say besides, that in Aleppo once,\\r\\nWhere a malignant and a turban’d Turk\\r\\nBeat a Venetian and traduc’d the state,\\r\\nI took by the throat the circumcised dog,\\r\\nAnd smote him, thus.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Stabs himself._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nO bloody period!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nAll that’s spoke is marr’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI kiss’d thee ere I kill’d thee. No way but this,\\r\\nKilling myself, to die upon a kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Falling upon Desdemona._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThis did I fear, but thought he had no weapon,\\r\\nFor he was great of heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\n[_To Iago._] O Spartan dog,\\r\\nMore fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea,\\r\\nLook on the tragic loading of this bed.\\r\\nThis is thy work. The object poisons sight,\\r\\nLet it be hid. Gratiano, keep the house,\\r\\nAnd seize upon the fortunes of the Moor,\\r\\nFor they succeed on you. To you, lord governor,\\r\\nRemains the censure of this hellish villain.\\r\\nThe time, the place, the torture, O, enforce it!\\r\\nMyself will straight aboard, and to the state\\r\\nThis heavy act with heavy heart relate.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nChorus. Before the palace of Antioch.\\r\\nScene I. Antioch. A room in the palace.\\r\\nScene II. Tyre. A room in the palace.\\r\\nScene III. Tyre. An ante-chamber in the Palace.\\r\\nScene IV. Tarsus. A room in the Governor’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nChorus. Chorus.\\r\\nScene I. Pentapolis. An open place by the seaside.\\r\\nScene II. The same. A public way, or platform leading to the lists.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A hall of state: a banquet prepared.\\r\\nScene IV. Tyre. A room in the Governor’s house.\\r\\nScene V. Pentapolis. A room in the palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nChorus. Chorus.\\r\\nScene I. On shipboard.\\r\\nScene II. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon’s house.\\r\\nScene III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon’s house.\\r\\nScene IV. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nChorus. Chorus.\\r\\nScene I. Tarsus. An open place near the seashore.\\r\\nScene II. Mytilene. A room in a brothel.\\r\\nScene III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon’s house.\\r\\nScene IV. Before the monument of Marina at Tarsus.\\r\\nScene V. Mytilene. A street before the brothel.\\r\\nScene VI. The same. A room in the brothel.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nChorus. Chorus.\\r\\nScene I. On board Pericles’ ship, off Mytilene.\\r\\nScene II. Before the temple of Diana at Ephesus.\\r\\nScene III. The temple of Diana at Ephesus.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS, king of Antioch.\\r\\nPERICLES, prince of Tyre.\\r\\nHELICANUS, ESCANES, two lords of Tyre.\\r\\nSIMONIDES, king of Pentapolis.\\r\\nCLEON, governor of Tarsus.\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS, governor of Mytilene.\\r\\nCERIMON, a lord of Ephesus.\\r\\nTHALIARD, a lord of Antioch.\\r\\nPHILEMON, servant to Cerimon.\\r\\nLEONINE, servant to Dionyza.\\r\\nMarshal.\\r\\nA Pandar.\\r\\nBOULT, his servant.\\r\\nThe Daughter of Antiochus.\\r\\nDIONYZA, wife to Cleon.\\r\\nTHAISA, daughter to Simonides.\\r\\nMARINA, daughter to Pericles and Thaisa.\\r\\nLYCHORIDA, nurse to Marina.\\r\\nA Bawd.\\r\\nLords, Knights, Gentlemen, Sailors, Pirates, Fishermen, and Messengers.\\r\\nDIANA.\\r\\nGOWER, as Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Dispersedly in various countries.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\n Before the palace of Antioch.\\r\\n\\r\\nTo sing a song that old was sung,\\r\\nFrom ashes ancient Gower is come;\\r\\nAssuming man’s infirmities,\\r\\nTo glad your ear, and please your eyes.\\r\\nIt hath been sung at festivals,\\r\\nOn ember-eves and holy-ales;\\r\\nAnd lords and ladies in their lives\\r\\nHave read it for restoratives:\\r\\nThe purchase is to make men glorious,\\r\\n_Et bonum quo antiquius eo melius._\\r\\nIf you, born in these latter times,\\r\\nWhen wit’s more ripe, accept my rhymes,\\r\\nAnd that to hear an old man sing\\r\\nMay to your wishes pleasure bring,\\r\\nI life would wish, and that I might\\r\\nWaste it for you, like taper-light.\\r\\nThis Antioch, then, Antiochus the Great\\r\\nBuilt up, this city, for his chiefest seat;\\r\\nThe fairest in all Syria.\\r\\nI tell you what mine authors say:\\r\\nThis king unto him took a fere,\\r\\nWho died and left a female heir,\\r\\nSo buxom, blithe, and full of face,\\r\\nAs heaven had lent her all his grace;\\r\\nWith whom the father liking took,\\r\\nAnd her to incest did provoke.\\r\\nBad child; worse father! to entice his own\\r\\nTo evil should be done by none:\\r\\nBut custom what they did begin\\r\\nWas with long use account’d no sin.\\r\\nThe beauty of this sinful dame\\r\\nMade many princes thither frame,\\r\\nTo seek her as a bedfellow,\\r\\nIn marriage pleasures playfellow:\\r\\nWhich to prevent he made a law,\\r\\nTo keep her still, and men in awe,\\r\\nThat whoso ask’d her for his wife,\\r\\nHis riddle told not, lost his life:\\r\\nSo for her many a wight did die,\\r\\nAs yon grim looks do testify.\\r\\nWhat now ensues, to the judgement your eye\\r\\nI give, my cause who best can justify.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Antioch. A room in the palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antiochus, Prince Pericles and followers.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nYoung prince of Tyre, you have at large received\\r\\nThe danger of the task you undertake.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI have, Antiochus, and, with a soul\\r\\nEmboldened with the glory of her praise,\\r\\nThink death no hazard in this enterprise.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nMusic! Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride,\\r\\nFor the embracements even of Jove himself;\\r\\nAt whose conception, till Lucina reigned,\\r\\nNature this dowry gave, to glad her presence,\\r\\nThe senate house of planets all did sit,\\r\\nTo knit in her their best perfections.\\r\\n\\r\\n Music. Enter the Daughter of Antiochus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nSee where she comes, apparell’d like the spring,\\r\\nGraces her subjects, and her thoughts the king\\r\\nOf every virtue gives renown to men!\\r\\nHer face the book of praises, where is read\\r\\nNothing but curious pleasures, as from thence\\r\\nSorrow were ever razed, and testy wrath\\r\\nCould never be her mild companion.\\r\\nYou gods that made me man, and sway in love,\\r\\nThat have inflamed desire in my breast\\r\\nTo taste the fruit of yon celestial tree,\\r\\nOr die in the adventure, be my helps,\\r\\nAs I am son and servant to your will,\\r\\nTo compass such a boundless happiness!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nPrince Pericles, —\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThat would be son to great Antiochus.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nBefore thee stands this fair Hesperides,\\r\\nWith golden fruit, but dangerous to be touch’d;\\r\\nFor death-like dragons here affright thee hard:\\r\\nHer face, like heaven, enticeth thee to view\\r\\nHer countless glory, which desert must gain;\\r\\nAnd which, without desert, because thine eye\\r\\nPresumes to reach, all the whole heap must die.\\r\\nYon sometimes famous princes, like thyself,\\r\\nDrawn by report, adventurous by desire,\\r\\nTell thee, with speechless tongues and semblance pale,\\r\\nThat without covering, save yon field of stars,\\r\\nHere they stand Martyrs, slain in Cupid’s wars;\\r\\nAnd with dead cheeks advise thee to desist\\r\\nFor going on death’s net, whom none resist.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAntiochus, I thank thee, who hath taught\\r\\nMy frail mortality to know itself,\\r\\nAnd by those fearful objects to prepare\\r\\nThis body, like to them, to what I must;\\r\\nFor death remember’d should be like a mirror,\\r\\nWho tells us life’s but breath, to trust it error.\\r\\nI’ll make my will then, and, as sick men do\\r\\nWho know the world, see heaven, but, feeling woe,\\r\\nGripe not at earthly joys as erst they did;\\r\\nSo I bequeath a happy peace to you\\r\\nAnd all good men, as every prince should do;\\r\\nMy riches to the earth from whence they came;\\r\\n[_To the daughter of Antiochus._] But my unspotted fire of love to you.\\r\\nThus ready for the way of life or death,\\r\\nI wait the sharpest blow, Antiochus.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nScorning advice, read the conclusion, then:\\r\\nWhich read and not expounded, ’tis decreed,\\r\\nAs these before thee thou thyself shalt bleed.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nOf all ’ssayed yet, mayst thou prove prosperous!\\r\\nOf all ’ssayed yet, I wish thee happiness!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES\\r\\nLike a bold champion, I assume the lists,\\r\\nNor ask advice of any other thought\\r\\nBut faithfulness and courage.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He reads the riddle._]\\r\\n\\r\\n _I am no viper, yet I feed\\r\\n On mother’s flesh which did me breed.\\r\\n I sought a husband, in which labour\\r\\n I found that kindness in a father:\\r\\n He’s father, son, and husband mild;\\r\\n I mother, wife, and yet his child.\\r\\n How they may be, and yet in two,\\r\\n As you will live resolve it you._\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSharp physic is the last: but, O you powers\\r\\nThat give heaven countless eyes to view men’s acts,\\r\\nWhy cloud they not their sights perpetually,\\r\\nIf this be true, which makes me pale to read it?\\r\\nFair glass of light, I loved you, and could still,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Takes hold of the hand of the Princess._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWere not this glorious casket stored with ill:\\r\\nBut I must tell you, now my thoughts revolt;\\r\\nFor he’s no man on whom perfections wait\\r\\nThat, knowing sin within, will touch the gate,\\r\\nYou are a fair viol, and your sense the strings;\\r\\nWho, finger’d to make man his lawful music,\\r\\nWould draw heaven down, and all the gods to hearken;\\r\\nBut being play’d upon before your time,\\r\\nHell only danceth at so harsh a chime.\\r\\nGood sooth, I care not for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nPrince Pericles, touch not, upon thy life,\\r\\nFor that’s an article within our law,\\r\\nAs dangerous as the rest. Your time’s expired:\\r\\nEither expound now, or receive your sentence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nGreat king,\\r\\nFew love to hear the sins they love to act;\\r\\n’Twould braid yourself too near for me to tell it.\\r\\nWho has a book of all that monarchs do,\\r\\nHe’s more secure to keep it shut than shown:\\r\\nFor vice repeated is like the wandering wind,\\r\\nBlows dust in others’ eyes, to spread itself;\\r\\nAnd yet the end of all is bought thus dear,\\r\\nThe breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear.\\r\\nTo stop the air would hurt them. The blind mole casts\\r\\nCopp’d hills towards heaven, to tell the earth is throng’d\\r\\nBy man’s oppression; and the poor worm doth die for’t.\\r\\nKind are earth’s gods; in vice their law’s their will;\\r\\nAnd if Jove stray, who dares say Jove doth ill?\\r\\nIt is enough you know; and it is fit,\\r\\nWhat being more known grows worse, to smother it.\\r\\nAll love the womb that their first bred,\\r\\nThen give my tongue like leave to love my head.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\n[_Aside_] Heaven, that I had thy head! He has found the meaning:\\r\\nBut I will gloze with him. — Young prince of Tyre.\\r\\nThough by the tenour of our strict edict,\\r\\nYour exposition misinterpreting,\\r\\nWe might proceed to cancel of your days;\\r\\nYet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree\\r\\nAs your fair self, doth tune us otherwise:\\r\\nForty days longer we do respite you;\\r\\nIf by which time our secret be undone,\\r\\nThis mercy shows we’ll joy in such a son:\\r\\nAnd until then your entertain shall be\\r\\nAs doth befit our honour and your worth.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Pericles._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHow courtesy would seem to cover sin,\\r\\nWhen what is done is like an hypocrite,\\r\\nThe which is good in nothing but in sight!\\r\\nIf it be true that I interpret false,\\r\\nThen were it certain you were not so bad\\r\\nAs with foul incest to abuse your soul;\\r\\nWhere now you’re both a father and a son,\\r\\nBy your untimely claspings with your child,\\r\\nWhich pleasures fits a husband, not a father;\\r\\nAnd she an eater of her mother’s flesh,\\r\\nBy the defiling of her parent’s bed;\\r\\nAnd both like serpents are, who though they feed\\r\\nOn sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed.\\r\\nAntioch, farewell! for wisdom sees, those men\\r\\nBlush not in actions blacker than the night,\\r\\nWill ’schew no course to keep them from the light.\\r\\nOne sin, I know, another doth provoke;\\r\\nMurder’s as near to lust as flame to smoke:\\r\\nPoison and treason are the hands of sin,\\r\\nAy, and the targets, to put off the shame:\\r\\nThen, lest my life be cropp’d to keep you clear,\\r\\nBy flight I’ll shun the danger which I fear.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Antiochus.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nHe hath found the meaning,\\r\\nFor which we mean to have his head.\\r\\nHe must not live to trumpet forth my infamy,\\r\\nNor tell the world Antiochus doth sin\\r\\nIn such a loathed manner;\\r\\nAnd therefore instantly this prince must die;\\r\\nFor by his fall my honour must keep high.\\r\\nWho attends us there?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thaliard.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\nDoth your highness call?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nThaliard, you are of our chamber,\\r\\nAnd our mind partakes her private actions\\r\\nTo your secrecy; and for your faithfulness\\r\\nWe will advance you. Thaliard,\\r\\nBehold, here’s poison, and here’s gold;\\r\\nWe hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill him:\\r\\nIt fits thee not to ask the reason why,\\r\\nBecause we bid it. Say, is it done?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\nMy lord, ’tis done.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nEnough.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nLet your breath cool yourself, telling your haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nMy lord, Prince Pericles is fled.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nAs thou wilt live, fly after: and like an arrow shot\\r\\nFrom a well-experienced archer hits the mark\\r\\nHis eye doth level at, so thou ne’er return\\r\\nUnless thou say ‘Prince Pericles is dead.’\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\nMy lord, if I can get him within my pistol’s length, I’ll make him sure\\r\\nenough: so, farewell to your highness.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nThaliard! adieu!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Thaliard._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTill Pericles be dead,\\r\\nMy heart can lend no succour to my head.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Tyre. A room in the palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles with his Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_To Lords without._] Let none disturb us. — Why should this change of\\r\\nthoughts,\\r\\nThe sad companion, dull-eyed melancholy,\\r\\nBe my so used a guest as not an hour\\r\\nIn the day’s glorious walk or peaceful night,\\r\\nThe tomb where grief should sleep, can breed me quiet?\\r\\nHere pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes shun them,\\r\\nAnd danger, which I fear’d, is at Antioch,\\r\\nWhose arm seems far too short to hit me here:\\r\\nYet neither pleasure’s art can joy my spirits,\\r\\nNor yet the other’s distance comfort me.\\r\\nThen it is thus: the passions of the mind,\\r\\nThat have their first conception by misdread,\\r\\nHave after-nourishment and life by care;\\r\\nAnd what was first but fear what might be done,\\r\\nGrows elder now and cares it be not done.\\r\\nAnd so with me: the great Antiochus,\\r\\n’Gainst whom I am too little to contend,\\r\\nSince he’s so great can make his will his act,\\r\\nWill think me speaking, though I swear to silence;\\r\\nNor boots it me to say I honour him.\\r\\nIf he suspect I may dishonour him:\\r\\nAnd what may make him blush in being known,\\r\\nHe’ll stop the course by which it might be known;\\r\\nWith hostile forces he’ll o’erspread the land,\\r\\nAnd with the ostent of war will look so huge,\\r\\nAmazement shall drive courage from the state;\\r\\nOur men be vanquish’d ere they do resist,\\r\\nAnd subjects punish’d that ne’er thought offence:\\r\\nWhich care of them, not pity of myself,\\r\\nWho am no more but as the tops of trees,\\r\\nWhich fence the roots they grow by and defend them,\\r\\nMakes both my body pine and soul to languish,\\r\\nAnd punish that before that he would punish.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Helicanus with other Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nJoy and all comfort in your sacred breast!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\nAnd keep your mind, till you return to us,\\r\\nPeaceful and comfortable!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nPeace, peace, and give experience tongue.\\r\\nThey do abuse the king that flatter him:\\r\\nFor flattery is the bellows blows up sin;\\r\\nThe thing the which is flatter’d, but a spark,\\r\\nTo which that spark gives heat and stronger glowing:\\r\\nWhereas reproof, obedient and in order,\\r\\nFits kings, as they are men, for they may err.\\r\\nWhen Signior Sooth here does proclaim peace,\\r\\nHe flatters you, makes war upon your life.\\r\\nPrince, pardon me, or strike me, if you please;\\r\\nI cannot be much lower than my knees.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAll leave us else, but let your cares o’erlook\\r\\nWhat shipping and what lading’s in our haven,\\r\\nAnd then return to us.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lords._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHelicanus, thou\\r\\nHast moved us: what seest thou in our looks?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nAn angry brow, dread lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nIf there be such a dart in princes’ frowns,\\r\\nHow durst thy tongue move anger to our face?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nHow dares the plants look up to heaven, from whence\\r\\nThey have their nourishment?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThou know’st I have power\\r\\nTo take thy life from thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS. [_Kneeling._]\\r\\nI have ground the axe myself;\\r\\nDo but you strike the blow.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nRise, prithee, rise.\\r\\nSit down: thou art no flatterer:\\r\\nI thank thee for it; and heaven forbid\\r\\nThat kings should let their ears hear their faults hid!\\r\\nFit counsellor and servant for a prince,\\r\\nWho by thy wisdom makest a prince thy servant,\\r\\nWhat wouldst thou have me do?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nTo bear with patience\\r\\nSuch griefs as you yourself do lay upon yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThou speak’st like a physician, Helicanus,\\r\\nThat ministers a potion unto me\\r\\nThat thou wouldst tremble to receive thyself.\\r\\nAttend me, then: I went to Antioch,\\r\\nWhere, as thou know’st, against the face of death,\\r\\nI sought the purchase of a glorious beauty,\\r\\nFrom whence an issue I might propagate,\\r\\nAre arms to princes, and bring joys to subjects.\\r\\nHer face was to mine eye beyond all wonder;\\r\\nThe rest — hark in thine ear — as black as incest,\\r\\nWhich by my knowledge found, the sinful father\\r\\nSeem’d not to strike, but smooth: but thou know’st this,\\r\\n’Tis time to fear when tyrants seems to kiss.\\r\\nWhich fear so grew in me I hither fled,\\r\\nUnder the covering of a careful night,\\r\\nWho seem’d my good protector; and, being here,\\r\\nBethought me what was past, what might succeed.\\r\\nI knew him tyrannous; and tyrants’ fears\\r\\nDecrease not, but grow faster than the years:\\r\\nAnd should he doubt, as no doubt he doth,\\r\\nThat I should open to the listening air\\r\\nHow many worthy princes’ bloods were shed,\\r\\nTo keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope,\\r\\nTo lop that doubt, he’ll fill this land with arms,\\r\\nAnd make pretence of wrong that I have done him;\\r\\nWhen all, for mine, if I may call offence,\\r\\nMust feel war’s blow, who spares not innocence:\\r\\nWhich love to all, of which thyself art one,\\r\\nWho now reprovest me for it, —\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nAlas, sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nDrew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from my cheeks,\\r\\nMusings into my mind, with thousand doubts\\r\\nHow I might stop this tempest ere it came;\\r\\nAnd finding little comfort to relieve them,\\r\\nI thought it princely charity to grieve them.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nWell, my lord, since you have given me leave to speak,\\r\\nFreely will I speak. Antiochus you fear,\\r\\nAnd justly too, I think, you fear the tyrant,\\r\\nWho either by public war or private treason\\r\\nWill take away your life.\\r\\nTherefore, my lord, go travel for a while,\\r\\nTill that his rage and anger be forgot,\\r\\nOr till the Destinies do cut his thread of life.\\r\\nYour rule direct to any; if to me,\\r\\nDay serves not light more faithful than I’ll be.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI do not doubt thy faith;\\r\\nBut should he wrong my liberties in my absence?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELCANUS.\\r\\nWe’ll mingle our bloods together in the earth,\\r\\nFrom whence we had our being and our birth.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nTyre, I now look from thee then, and to Tarsus\\r\\nIntend my travel, where I’ll hear from thee;\\r\\nAnd by whose letters I’ll dispose myself.\\r\\nThe care I had and have of subjects’ good\\r\\nOn thee I lay, whose wisdom’s strength can bear it.\\r\\nI’ll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath:\\r\\nWho shuns not to break one will sure crack both:\\r\\nBut in our orbs we’ll live so round and safe,\\r\\nThat time of both this truth shall ne’er convince,\\r\\nThou show’dst a subject’s shine, I a true prince.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Tyre. An ante-chamber in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thaliard.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\nSo, this is Tyre, and this the court. Here must I kill King Pericles;\\r\\nand if I do it not, I am sure to be hanged at home: ’tis dangerous.\\r\\nWell, I perceive he was a wise fellow, and had good discretion, that,\\r\\nbeing bid to ask what he would of the king, desired he might know none\\r\\nof his secrets: now do I see he had some reason for’t; for if a king\\r\\nbid a man be a villain, he’s bound by the indenture of his oath to be\\r\\none. Husht, here come the lords of Tyre.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Helicanus and Escanes with other Lords of Tyre.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nYou shall not need, my fellow peers of Tyre,\\r\\nFurther to question me of your king’s departure:\\r\\nHis seal’d commission, left in trust with me,\\r\\nDoth speak sufficiently he’s gone to travel.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] How? the king gone?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nIf further yet you will be satisfied,\\r\\nWhy, as it were unlicensed of your loves,\\r\\nHe would depart, I’ll give some light unto you.\\r\\nBeing at Antioch —\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] What from Antioch?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nRoyal Antiochus — on what cause I know not\\r\\nTook some displeasure at him; at least he judged so:\\r\\nAnd doubting lest that he had err’d or sinn’d,\\r\\nTo show his sorrow, he’d correct himself;\\r\\nSo puts himself unto the shipman’s toil,\\r\\nWith whom each minute threatens life or death.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Well, I perceive\\r\\nI shall not be hang’d now, although I would;\\r\\nBut since he’s gone, the king’s seas must please\\r\\nHe ’scaped the land, to perish at the sea.\\r\\nI’ll present myself. Peace to the lords of Tyre!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nLord Thaliard from Antiochus is welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\nFrom him I come\\r\\nWith message unto princely Pericles;\\r\\nBut since my landing I have understood\\r\\nYour lord has betook himself to unknown travels,\\r\\nMy message must return from whence it came.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nWe have no reason to desire it,\\r\\nCommended to our master, not to us:\\r\\nYet, ere you shall depart, this we desire,\\r\\nAs friends to Antioch, we may feast in Tyre.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Tarsus. A room in the Governor’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cleon, the governor of Tarsus, with Dionyza and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nMy Dionyza, shall we rest us here,\\r\\nAnd by relating tales of others’ griefs,\\r\\nSee if ’twill teach us to forget our own?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nThat were to blow at fire in hope to quench it;\\r\\nFor who digs hills because they do aspire\\r\\nThrows down one mountain to cast up a higher.\\r\\nO my distressed lord, even such our griefs are;\\r\\nHere they’re but felt, and seen with mischief’s eyes,\\r\\nBut like to groves, being topp’d, they higher rise.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nO Dionyza,\\r\\nWho wanteth food, and will not say he wants it,\\r\\nOr can conceal his hunger till he famish?\\r\\nOur tongues and sorrows do sound deep\\r\\nOur woes into the air; our eyes do weep,\\r\\nTill tongues fetch breath that may proclaim them louder;\\r\\nThat, if heaven slumber while their creatures want,\\r\\nThey may awake their helps to comfort them.\\r\\nI’ll then discourse our woes, felt several years,\\r\\nAnd wanting breath to speak, help me with tears.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nI’ll do my best, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nThis Tarsus, o’er which I have the government,\\r\\nA city on whom plenty held full hand,\\r\\nFor riches strew’d herself even in the streets;\\r\\nWhose towers bore heads so high they kiss’d the clouds,\\r\\nAnd strangers ne’er beheld but wonder’d at;\\r\\nWhose men and dames so jetted and adorn’d,\\r\\nLike one another’s glass to trim them by:\\r\\nTheir tables were stored full to glad the sight,\\r\\nAnd not so much to feed on as delight;\\r\\nAll poverty was scorn’d, and pride so great,\\r\\nThe name of help grew odious to repeat.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nO, ’tis too true.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nBut see what heaven can do! By this our change,\\r\\nThese mouths, who but of late, earth, sea, and air,\\r\\nWere all too little to content and please,\\r\\nAlthough they gave their creatures in abundance,\\r\\nAs houses are defiled for want of use,\\r\\nThey are now starved for want of exercise:\\r\\nThose palates who, not yet two summers younger,\\r\\nMust have inventions to delight the taste,\\r\\nWould now be glad of bread and beg for it:\\r\\nThose mothers who, to nousle up their babes,\\r\\nThought nought too curious, are ready now\\r\\nTo eat those little darlings whom they loved.\\r\\nSo sharp are hunger’s teeth, that man and wife\\r\\nDraw lots who first shall die to lengthen life:\\r\\nHere stands a lord, and there a lady weeping;\\r\\nHere many sink, yet those which see them fall\\r\\nHave scarce strength left to give them burial.\\r\\nIs not this true?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nOur cheeks and hollow eyes do witness it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nO, let those cities that of plenty’s cup\\r\\nAnd her prosperities so largely taste,\\r\\nWith their superflous riots, hear these tears!\\r\\nThe misery of Tarsus may be theirs.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nWhere’s the lord governor?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nHere.\\r\\nSpeak out thy sorrows which thou bring’st in haste,\\r\\nFor comfort is too far for us to expect.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nWe have descried, upon our neighbouring shore,\\r\\nA portly sail of ships make hitherward.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nI thought as much.\\r\\nOne sorrow never comes but brings an heir,\\r\\nThat may succeed as his inheritor;\\r\\nAnd so in ours: some neighbouring nation,\\r\\nTaking advantage of our misery,\\r\\nThat stuff’d the hollow vessels with their power,\\r\\nTo beat us down, the which are down already;\\r\\nAnd make a conquest of unhappy me,\\r\\nWhereas no glory’s got to overcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nThat’s the least fear; for, by the semblance\\r\\nOf their white flags display’d, they bring us peace,\\r\\nAnd come to us as favourers, not as foes.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nThou speak’st like him’s untutor’d to repeat:\\r\\nWho makes the fairest show means most deceit.\\r\\nBut bring they what they will and what they can,\\r\\nWhat need we fear?\\r\\nThe ground’s the lowest, and we are half way there.\\r\\nGo tell their general we attend him here,\\r\\nTo know for what he comes, and whence he comes,\\r\\nAnd what he craves.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nI go, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nWelcome is peace, if he on peace consist;\\r\\nIf wars, we are unable to resist.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles with Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nLord governor, for so we hear you are,\\r\\nLet not our ships and number of our men\\r\\nBe like a beacon fired to amaze your eyes.\\r\\nWe have heard your miseries as far as Tyre,\\r\\nAnd seen the desolation of your streets:\\r\\nNor come we to add sorrow to your tears,\\r\\nBut to relieve them of their heavy load;\\r\\nAnd these our ships, you happily may think\\r\\nAre like the Trojan horse was stuff’d within\\r\\nWith bloody veins, expecting overthrow,\\r\\nAre stored with corn to make your needy bread,\\r\\nAnd give them life whom hunger starved half dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nThe gods of Greece protect you!\\r\\nAnd we’ll pray for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nArise, I pray you, rise:\\r\\nWe do not look for reverence, but for love,\\r\\nAnd harbourage for ourself, our ships and men.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nThe which when any shall not gratify,\\r\\nOr pay you with unthankfulness in thought,\\r\\nBe it our wives, our children, or ourselves,\\r\\nThe curse of heaven and men succeed their evils!\\r\\nTill when, — the which I hope shall ne’er be seen, —\\r\\nYour grace is welcome to our town and us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWhich welcome we’ll accept; feast here awhile,\\r\\nUntil our stars that frown lend us a smile.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nHere have you seen a mighty king\\r\\nHis child, iwis, to incest bring;\\r\\nA better prince and benign lord,\\r\\nThat will prove awful both in deed word.\\r\\nBe quiet then as men should be,\\r\\nTill he hath pass’d necessity.\\r\\nI’ll show you those in troubles reign,\\r\\nLosing a mite, a mountain gain.\\r\\nThe good in conversation,\\r\\nTo whom I give my benison,\\r\\nIs still at Tarsus, where each man\\r\\nThinks all is writ he speken can;\\r\\nAnd to remember what he does,\\r\\nBuild his statue to make him glorious:\\r\\nBut tidings to the contrary\\r\\nAre brought your eyes; what need speak I?\\r\\n\\r\\n Dumb-show. Enter at one door Pericles talking with Cleon; all the\\r\\n train with them. Enter at another door a Gentleman with a letter to\\r\\n Pericles; Pericles shows the letter to Cleon; gives the Messenger a\\r\\n reward, and knights him. Exit Pericles at one door, and Cleon at\\r\\n another.\\r\\n\\r\\nGood Helicane, that stay’d at home.\\r\\nNot to eat honey like a drone\\r\\nFrom others’ labours; for though he strive\\r\\nTo killen bad, keep good alive;\\r\\nAnd to fulfil his prince’ desire,\\r\\nSends word of all that haps in Tyre:\\r\\nHow Thaliard came full bent with sin\\r\\nAnd had intent to murder him;\\r\\nAnd that in Tarsus was not best\\r\\nLonger for him to make his rest.\\r\\nHe, doing so, put forth to seas,\\r\\nWhere when men been, there’s seldom ease;\\r\\nFor now the wind begins to blow;\\r\\nThunder above and deeps below\\r\\nMake such unquiet, that the ship\\r\\nShould house him safe is wreck’d and split;\\r\\nAnd he, good prince, having all lost,\\r\\nBy waves from coast to coast is tost:\\r\\nAll perishen of man, of pelf,\\r\\nNe aught escapen but himself;\\r\\nTill Fortune, tired with doing bad,\\r\\nThrew him ashore, to give him glad:\\r\\nAnd here he comes. What shall be next,\\r\\nPardon old Gower, — this longs the text.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Pentapolis. An open place by the seaside.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles, wet.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nYet cease your ire, you angry stars of heaven!\\r\\nWind, rain, and thunder, remember earthly man\\r\\nIs but a substance that must yield to you;\\r\\nAnd I, as fits my nature, do obey you:\\r\\nAlas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks,\\r\\nWash’d me from shore to shore, and left me breath\\r\\nNothing to think on but ensuing death:\\r\\nLet it suffice the greatness of your powers\\r\\nTo have bereft a prince of all his fortunes;\\r\\nAnd having thrown him from your watery grave,\\r\\nHere to have death in peace is all he’ll crave.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter three Fishermen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhat, ho, Pilch!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nHa, come and bring away the nets!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhat, Patch-breech, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhat say you, master?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nLook how thou stirrest now! Come away, or I’ll fetch thee with a\\r\\nwanion.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nFaith, master, I am thinking of the poor men that were cast away before\\r\\nus even now.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nAlas, poor souls, it grieved my heart to hear what pitiful cries they\\r\\nmade to us to help them, when, well-a-day, we could scarce help\\r\\nourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nNay, master, said not I as much when I saw the porpus how he bounced\\r\\nand tumbled? They say they’re half fish, half flesh: a plague on them,\\r\\nthey ne’er come but I look to be washed. Master, I marvel how the\\r\\nfishes live in the sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhy, as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the little ones: I can\\r\\ncompare our rich misers to nothing so fitly as to a whale; a’ plays and\\r\\ntumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and at last devours them all\\r\\nat a mouthful. Such whales have I heard on o’ the land, who never leave\\r\\ngaping till they swallowed the whole parish, church, steeple, bells and\\r\\nall.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] A pretty moral.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nBut, master, if I had been the sexton, I would have been that day in\\r\\nthe belfry.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhy, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nBecause he should have swallowed me too; and when I had been in his\\r\\nbelly, I would have kept such a jangling of the bells, that he should\\r\\nnever have left, till he cast bells, steeple, church and parish up\\r\\nagain. But if the good King Simonides were of my mind, —\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Simonides?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWe would purge the land of these drones, that rob the bee of her honey.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] How from the finny subject of the sea\\r\\nThese fishers tell the infirmities of men;\\r\\nAnd from their watery empire recollect\\r\\nAll that may men approve or men detect!\\r\\nPeace be at your labour, honest fishermen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nHonest! good fellow, what’s that? If it be a day fits you, search out\\r\\nof the calendar, and nobody look after it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMay see the sea hath cast upon your coast.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhat a drunken knave was the sea to cast thee in our way!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nA man whom both the waters and the wind,\\r\\nIn that vast tennis-court, have made the ball\\r\\nFor them to play upon, entreats you pity him;\\r\\nHe asks of you, that never used to beg.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nNo, friend, cannot you beg? Here’s them in our country of Greece gets\\r\\nmore with begging than we can do with working.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nCanst thou catch any fishes, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI never practised it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nNay, then thou wilt starve, sure; for here’s nothing to be got\\r\\nnow-a-days, unless thou canst fish for’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWhat I have been I have forgot to know;\\r\\nBut what I am, want teaches me to think on:\\r\\nA man throng’d up with cold: my veins are chill,\\r\\nAnd have no more of life than may suffice\\r\\nTo give my tongue that heat to ask your help;\\r\\nWhich if you shall refuse, when I am dead,\\r\\nFor that I am a man, pray see me buried.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nDie quoth-a? Now gods forbid’t, and I have a gown here; come, put it\\r\\non; keep thee warm. Now, afore me, a handsome fellow! Come, thou shalt\\r\\ngo home, and we’ll have flesh for holidays, fish for fasting-days, and\\r\\nmoreo’er puddings and flap-jacks, and thou shalt be welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI thank you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nHark you, my friend; you said you could not beg?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI did but crave.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nBut crave! Then I’ll turn craver too, and so I shall ’scape whipping.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWhy, are your beggars whipped, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nO, not all, my friend, not all; for if all your beggars were whipped, I\\r\\nwould wish no better office than to be beadle. But, master, I’ll go\\r\\ndraw up the net.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with Third Fisherman._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] How well this honest mirth becomes their labour!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nHark you, sir, do you know where ye are?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nNot well.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhy, I’ll tell you: this is called Pentapolis, and our King, the good\\r\\nSimonides.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThe good Simonides, do you call him?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nAy, sir; and he deserves so to be called for his peaceable reign and\\r\\ngood government.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHe is a happy king, since he gains from his subjects the name of good\\r\\ngovernment. How far is his court distant from this shore?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nMarry sir, half a day’s journey: and I’ll tell you, he hath a fair\\r\\ndaughter, and tomorrow is her birth-day; and there are princes and\\r\\nknights come from all parts of the world to joust and tourney for her\\r\\nlove.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWere my fortunes equal to my desires, I could wish to make one there.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nO, sir, things must be as they may; and what a man cannot get, he may\\r\\nlawfully deal for — his wife’s soul.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Second and Third Fishermen, drawing up a net.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nHelp, master, help! here’s a fish hangs in the net, like a poor man’s\\r\\nright in the law; ’twill hardly come out. Ha! bots on’t, ’tis come at\\r\\nlast, and ’tis turned to a rusty armour.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAn armour, friends! I pray you, let me see it.\\r\\nThanks, Fortune, yet, that, after all my crosses,\\r\\nThou givest me somewhat to repair myself,\\r\\nAnd though it was mine own, part of my heritage,\\r\\nWhich my dead father did bequeath to me,\\r\\nWith this strict charge, even as he left his life.\\r\\n‘Keep it, my Pericles; it hath been a shield\\r\\n’Twixt me and death;’ — and pointed to this brace;—\\r\\n‘For that it saved me, keep it; in like necessity —\\r\\nThe which the gods protect thee from! — may defend thee.’\\r\\nIt kept where I kept, I so dearly loved it;\\r\\nTill the rough seas, that spares not any man,\\r\\nTook it in rage, though calm’d have given’t again:\\r\\nI thank thee for’t: my shipwreck now’s no ill,\\r\\nSince I have here my father gave in his will.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhat mean you sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nTo beg of you, kind friends, this coat of worth,\\r\\nFor it was sometime target to a king;\\r\\nI know it by this mark. He loved me dearly,\\r\\nAnd for his sake I wish the having of it;\\r\\nAnd that you’d guide me to your sovereign court,\\r\\nWhere with it I may appear a gentleman;\\r\\nAnd if that ever my low fortune’s better,\\r\\nI’ll pay your bounties; till then rest your debtor.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhy, wilt thou tourney for the lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI’ll show the virtue I have borne in arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhy, d’ye take it, and the gods give thee good on’t!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nAy, but hark you, my friend; ’twas we that made up this garment through\\r\\nthe rough seams of the waters: there are certain condolements, certain\\r\\nvails. I hope, sir, if you thrive, you’ll remember from whence you had\\r\\nthem.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nBelieve’t I will.\\r\\nBy your furtherance I am clothed in steel;\\r\\nAnd spite of all the rapture of the sea,\\r\\nThis jewel holds his building on my arm:\\r\\nUnto thy value I will mount myself\\r\\nUpon a courser, whose delightful steps\\r\\nShall make the gazer joy to see him tread.\\r\\nOnly, my friend, I yet am unprovided\\r\\nOf a pair of bases.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWe’ll sure provide: thou shalt have my best gown to make thee a pair;\\r\\nand I’ll bring thee to the court myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThen honour be but a goal to my will,\\r\\nThis day I’ll rise, or else add ill to ill.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. A public way, or platform leading to the lists. A\\r\\npavilion by the side of it for the reception of the King, Princess,\\r\\nLords, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAre the knights ready to begin the triumph?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nThey are, my liege;\\r\\nAnd stay your coming to present themselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nReturn them, we are ready; and our daughter,\\r\\nIn honour of whose birth these triumphs are,\\r\\nSits here, like beauty’s child, whom Nature gat\\r\\nFor men to see, and seeing wonder at.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit a Lord._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nIt pleaseth you, my royal father, to express\\r\\nMy commendations great, whose merit’s less.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nIt’s fit it should be so; for princes are\\r\\nA model, which heaven makes like to itself:\\r\\nAs jewels lose their glory if neglected,\\r\\nSo princes their renowns if not respected.\\r\\n’Tis now your honour, daughter, to entertain\\r\\nThe labour of each knight in his device.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nWhich, to preserve mine honour, I’ll perform.\\r\\n\\r\\n The first Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to\\r\\n Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nWho is the first that doth prefer himself?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nA knight of Sparta, my renowned father;\\r\\nAnd the device he bears upon his shield\\r\\nIs a black Ethiope reaching at the sun:\\r\\nThe word, _Lux tua vita mihi._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nHe loves you well that holds his life of you.\\r\\n\\r\\n The second Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to\\r\\n Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nWho is the second that presents himself?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nA prince of Macedon, my royal father;\\r\\nAnd the device he bears upon his shield\\r\\nIs an arm’d knight that’s conquer’d by a lady;\\r\\nThe motto thus, in Spanish, _Piu por dulzura que por forza._\\r\\n\\r\\n The third Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to\\r\\n Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAnd what’s the third?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nThe third of Antioch;\\r\\nAnd his device, a wreath of chivalry;\\r\\nThe word, _Me pompae provexit apex._\\r\\n\\r\\n The fourth Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to\\r\\n Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nWhat is the fourth?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nA burning torch that’s turned upside down;\\r\\nThe word, _Quod me alit me extinguit._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nWhich shows that beauty hath his power and will,\\r\\nWhich can as well inflame as it can kill.\\r\\n\\r\\n The fifth Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to\\r\\n Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nThe fifth, an hand environed with clouds,\\r\\nHolding out gold that’s by the touchstone tried;\\r\\nThe motto thus, _Sic spectanda fides._\\r\\n\\r\\n The sixth Knight, Pericles, passes in rusty armour with bases, and\\r\\n unaccompanied. He presents his device directly to Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAnd what’s the sixth and last, the which the knight himself\\r\\nWith such a graceful courtesy deliver’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nHe seems to be a stranger; but his present is\\r\\nA wither’d branch, that’s only green at top;\\r\\nThe motto, _In hac spe vivo._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nA pretty moral;\\r\\nFrom the dejected state wherein he is,\\r\\nHe hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nHe had need mean better than his outward show\\r\\nCan any way speak in his just commend;\\r\\nFor by his rusty outside he appears\\r\\nTo have practised more the whipstock than the lance.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\nHe well may be a stranger, for he comes\\r\\nTo an honour’d triumph strangely furnished.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD LORD.\\r\\nAnd on set purpose let his armour rust\\r\\nUntil this day, to scour it in the dust.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nOpinion’s but a fool, that makes us scan\\r\\nThe outward habit by the inward man.\\r\\nBut stay, the knights are coming.\\r\\nWe will withdraw into the gallery.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt. Great shouts within, and all cry_ ‘The mean Knight!’]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A hall of state: a banquet prepared.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords, Attendants and Knights, from tilting.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nKnights,\\r\\nTo say you’re welcome were superfluous.\\r\\nTo place upon the volume of your deeds,\\r\\nAs in a title-page, your worth in arms,\\r\\nWere more than you expect, or more than’s fit,\\r\\nSince every worth in show commends itself.\\r\\nPrepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast:\\r\\nYou are princes and my guests.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nBut you, my knight and guest;\\r\\nTo whom this wreath of victory I give,\\r\\nAnd crown you king of this day’s happiness.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n’Tis more by fortune, lady, than by merit.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nCall it by what you will, the day is yours;\\r\\nAnd here, I hope, is none that envies it.\\r\\nIn framing an artist, art hath thus decreed,\\r\\nTo make some good, but others to exceed;\\r\\nAnd you are her labour’d scholar. Come queen of the feast, —\\r\\nFor, daughter, so you are, — here take your place:\\r\\nMarshal the rest, as they deserve their grace.\\r\\n\\r\\nKNIGHTS.\\r\\nWe are honour’d much by good Simonides.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nYour presence glads our days; honour we love;\\r\\nFor who hates honour hates the gods above.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARSHALL.\\r\\nSir, yonder is your place.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nSome other is more fit.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST KNIGHT.\\r\\nContend not, sir; for we are gentlemen\\r\\nHave neither in our hearts nor outward eyes\\r\\nEnvied the great, nor shall the low despise.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nYou are right courteous knights.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nSit, sir, sit.\\r\\nBy Jove, I wonder, that is king of thoughts,\\r\\nThese cates resist me, he but thought upon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nBy Juno, that is queen of marriage,\\r\\nAll viands that I eat do seem unsavoury,\\r\\nWishing him my meat. Sure, he’s a gallant gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nHe’s but a country gentleman;\\r\\nHas done no more than other knights have done;\\r\\nHas broken a staff or so; so let it pass.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nTo me he seems like diamond to glass.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nYon king’s to me like to my father’s picture,\\r\\nWhich tells me in that glory once he was;\\r\\nHad princes sit, like stars, about his throne,\\r\\nAnd he the sun, for them to reverence;\\r\\nNone that beheld him, but, like lesser lights,\\r\\nDid vail their crowns to his supremacy:\\r\\nWhere now his son’s like a glow-worm in the night,\\r\\nThe which hath fire in darkness, none in light:\\r\\nWhereby I see that time’s the king of men,\\r\\nHe’s both their parent, and he is their grave,\\r\\nAnd gives them what he will, not what they crave.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nWhat, are you merry, knights?\\r\\n\\r\\nKNIGHTS.\\r\\nWho can be other in this royal presence?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nHere, with a cup that’s stored unto the brim, —\\r\\nAs you do love, fill to your mistress’ lips, —\\r\\nWe drink this health to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKNIGHTS.\\r\\nWe thank your grace.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nYet pause awhile. Yon knight doth sit too melancholy,\\r\\nAs if the entertainment in our court\\r\\nHad not a show might countervail his worth.\\r\\nNote it not you, Thaisa?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nWhat is’t to me, my father?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nO attend, my daughter:\\r\\nPrinces in this should live like god’s above,\\r\\nWho freely give to everyone that comes to honour them:\\r\\nAnd princes not doing so are like to gnats,\\r\\nWhich make a sound, but kill’d are wonder’d at.\\r\\nTherefore to make his entrance more sweet,\\r\\nHere, say we drink this standing-bowl of wine to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nAlas, my father, it befits not me\\r\\nUnto a stranger knight to be so bold:\\r\\nHe may my proffer take for an offence,\\r\\nSince men take women’s gifts for impudence.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nHow? Do as I bid you, or you’ll move me else.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Now, by the gods, he could not please me better.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAnd furthermore tell him, we desire to know of him,\\r\\nOf whence he is, his name and parentage.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nThe king my father, sir, has drunk to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI thank him.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nWishing it so much blood unto your life.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI thank both him and you, and pledge him freely.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nAnd further he desires to know of you,\\r\\nOf whence you are, your name and parentage.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nA gentleman of Tyre; my name, Pericles;\\r\\nMy education been in arts and arms;\\r\\nWho, looking for adventures in the world,\\r\\nWas by the rough seas reft of ships and men,\\r\\nAnd after shipwreck driven upon this shore.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nHe thanks your grace; names himself Pericles,\\r\\nA gentleman of Tyre,\\r\\nWho only by misfortune of the seas\\r\\nBereft of ships and men, cast on this shore.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nNow, by the gods, I pity his misfortune,\\r\\nAnd will awake him from his melancholy.\\r\\nCome, gentlemen, we sit too long on trifles,\\r\\nAnd waste the time, which looks for other revels.\\r\\nEven in your armours, as you are address’d,\\r\\nWill well become a soldier’s dance.\\r\\nI will not have excuse, with saying this,\\r\\n‘Loud music is too harsh for ladies’ heads’\\r\\nSince they love men in arms as well as beds.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Knights dance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSo, this was well ask’d, ’twas so well perform’d.\\r\\nCome, sir; here is a lady which wants breathing too:\\r\\nAnd I have heard you knights of Tyre\\r\\nAre excellent in making ladies trip;\\r\\nAnd that their measures are as excellent.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nIn those that practise them they are, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nO, that’s as much as you would be denied\\r\\nOf your fair courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Knights and Ladies dance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nUnclasp, unclasp:\\r\\nThanks gentlemen, to all; all have done well.\\r\\n[_To Pericles._] But you the best. Pages and lights to conduct\\r\\nThese knights unto their several lodgings.\\r\\n[_To Pericles._] Yours, sir, we have given order to be next our own.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI am at your grace’s pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nPrinces, it is too late to talk of love;\\r\\nAnd that’s the mark I know you level at:\\r\\nTherefore each one betake him to his rest;\\r\\nTomorrow all for speeding do their best.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Tyre. A room in the Governor’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Helicanus and Escanes.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nNo, Escanes, know this of me,\\r\\nAntiochus from incest lived not free:\\r\\nFor which the most high gods not minding longer\\r\\nTo withhold the vengeance that they had in store\\r\\nDue to this heinous capital offence,\\r\\nEven in the height and pride of all his glory,\\r\\nWhen he was seated in a chariot\\r\\nOf an inestimable value, and his daughter with him,\\r\\nA fire from heaven came and shrivell’d up\\r\\nTheir bodies, even to loathing, for they so stunk,\\r\\nThat all those eyes adored them ere their fall\\r\\nScorn now their hand should give them burial.\\r\\n\\r\\nESCANES.\\r\\n’Twas very strange\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nAnd yet but justice; for though this king were great;\\r\\nHis greatness was no guard to bar heaven’s shaft,\\r\\nBut sin had his reward.\\r\\n\\r\\nESCANES.\\r\\n’Tis very true.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two or three Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nSee, not a man in private conference\\r\\nOr council has respect with him but he.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\nIt shall no longer grieve without reproof.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD LORD.\\r\\nAnd cursed be he that will not second it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nFollow me, then. Lord Helicane, a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nWith me? and welcome: happy day, my lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nKnow that our griefs are risen to the top,\\r\\nAnd now at length they overflow their banks.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nYour griefs! for what? Wrong not your prince you love.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nWrong not yourself, then, noble Helicane;\\r\\nBut if the prince do live, let us salute him.\\r\\nOr know what ground’s made happy by his breath.\\r\\nIf in the world he live, we’ll seek him out;\\r\\nIf in his grave he rest, we’ll find him there.\\r\\nWe’ll be resolved he lives to govern us,\\r\\nOr dead, give’s cause to mourn his funeral,\\r\\nAnd leave us to our free election.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\nWhose death’s indeed the strongest in our censure:\\r\\nAnd knowing this kingdom is without a head, —\\r\\nLike goodly buildings left without a roof\\r\\nSoon fall to ruin, — your noble self,\\r\\nThat best know how to rule and how to reign,\\r\\nWe thus submit unto, — our sovereign.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nLive, noble Helicane!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nFor honour’s cause, forbear your suffrages:\\r\\nIf that you love Prince Pericles, forbear.\\r\\nTake I your wish, I leap into the seas,\\r\\nWhere’s hourly trouble for a minute’s ease.\\r\\nA twelvemonth longer, let me entreat you\\r\\nTo forbear the absence of your king;\\r\\nIf in which time expired, he not return,\\r\\nI shall with aged patience bear your yoke.\\r\\nBut if I cannot win you to this love,\\r\\nGo search like nobles, like noble subjects,\\r\\nAnd in your search spend your adventurous worth;\\r\\nWhom if you find, and win unto return,\\r\\nYou shall like diamonds sit about his crown.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nTo wisdom he’s a fool that will not yield;\\r\\nAnd since Lord Helicane enjoineth us,\\r\\nWe with our travels will endeavour us.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nThen you love us, we you, and we’ll clasp hands:\\r\\nWhen peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Pentapolis. A room in the palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Simonides reading a letter at one door; the Knights meet him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST KNIGHT.\\r\\nGood morrow to the good Simonides.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nKnights, from my daughter this I let you know,\\r\\nThat for this twelvemonth she’ll not undertake\\r\\nA married life.\\r\\nHer reason to herself is only known,\\r\\nWhich yet from her by no means can I get.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND KNIGHT.\\r\\nMay we not get access to her, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nFaith, by no means; she hath so strictly tied\\r\\nHer to her chamber, that ’tis impossible.\\r\\nOne twelve moons more she’ll wear Diana’s livery;\\r\\nThis by the eye of Cynthia hath she vow’d,\\r\\nAnd on her virgin honour will not break it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD KNIGHT.\\r\\nLoath to bid farewell, we take our leaves.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Knights._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nSo, they are well dispatch’d; now to my daughter’s letter:\\r\\nShe tells me here, she’ll wed the stranger knight,\\r\\nOr never more to view nor day nor light.\\r\\n’Tis well, mistress; your choice agrees with mine;\\r\\nI like that well: nay, how absolute she’s in’t,\\r\\nNot minding whether I dislike or no!\\r\\nWell, I do commend her choice;\\r\\nAnd will no longer have it be delay’d.\\r\\nSoft! here he comes: I must dissemble it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAll fortune to the good Simonides!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nTo you as much. Sir, I am beholding to you\\r\\nFor your sweet music this last night: I do\\r\\nProtest my ears were never better fed\\r\\nWith such delightful pleasing harmony.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nIt is your grace’s pleasure to commend;\\r\\nNot my desert.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nSir, you are music’s master.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThe worst of all her scholars, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nLet me ask you one thing:\\r\\nWhat do you think of my daughter, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nA most virtuous princess.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAnd she is fair too, is she not?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAs a fair day in summer, wondrous fair.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nSir, my daughter thinks very well of you;\\r\\nAy, so well, that you must be her master,\\r\\nAnd she will be your scholar: therefore look to it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI am unworthy for her schoolmaster.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nShe thinks not so; peruse this writing else.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] What’s here? A letter, that she loves the knight of Tyre!\\r\\n’Tis the king’s subtlety to have my life.\\r\\nO, seek not to entrap me, gracious lord,\\r\\nA stranger and distressed gentleman,\\r\\nThat never aim’d so high to love your daughter,\\r\\nBut bent all offices to honour her.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nThou hast bewitch’d my daughter,\\r\\nAnd thou art a villain.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nBy the gods, I have not:\\r\\nNever did thought of mine levy offence;\\r\\nNor never did my actions yet commence\\r\\nA deed might gain her love or your displeasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nTraitor, thou liest.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nTraitor?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAy, traitor.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nEven in his throat — unless it be the king —\\r\\nThat calls me traitor, I return the lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Now, by the gods, I do applaud his courage.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMy actions are as noble as my thoughts,\\r\\nThat never relish’d of a base descent.\\r\\nI came unto your court for honour’s cause,\\r\\nAnd not to be a rebel to her state;\\r\\nAnd he that otherwise accounts of me,\\r\\nThis sword shall prove he’s honour’s enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nNo?\\r\\nHere comes my daughter, she can witness it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThen, as you are as virtuous as fair,\\r\\nResolve your angry father, if my tongue\\r\\nDid e’er solicit, or my hand subscribe\\r\\nTo any syllable that made love to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nWhy, sir, say if you had,\\r\\nWho takes offence at that would make me glad?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nYea, mistress, are you so peremptory?\\r\\n[_Aside._] I am glad on’t with all my heart. —\\r\\nI’ll tame you; I’ll bring you in subjection.\\r\\nWill you, not having my consent,\\r\\nBestow your love and your affections\\r\\nUpon a stranger? [_Aside._] Who, for aught I know\\r\\nMay be, nor can I think the contrary,\\r\\nAs great in blood as I myself. —\\r\\nTherefore hear you, mistress; either frame\\r\\nYour will to mine, and you, sir, hear you,\\r\\nEither be ruled by me, or I will make you —\\r\\nMan and wife. Nay, come, your hands,\\r\\nAnd lips must seal it too: and being join’d,\\r\\nI’ll thus your hopes destroy; and for further grief,\\r\\nGod give you joy! What, are you both pleased?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nYes, if you love me, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nEven as my life my blood that fosters it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nWhat, are you both agreed?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTH.\\r\\nYes, if’t please your majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nIt pleaseth me so well, that I will see you wed;\\r\\nAnd then with what haste you can, get you to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nNow sleep yslaked hath the rouse;\\r\\nNo din but snores about the house,\\r\\nMade louder by the o’erfed breast\\r\\nOf this most pompous marriage feast.\\r\\nThe cat, with eyne of burning coal,\\r\\nNow couches fore the mouse’s hole;\\r\\nAnd crickets sing at the oven’s mouth,\\r\\nAre the blither for their drouth.\\r\\nHymen hath brought the bride to bed,\\r\\nWhere, by the loss of maidenhead,\\r\\nA babe is moulded. Be attent,\\r\\nAnd time that is so briefly spent\\r\\nWith your fine fancies quaintly eche:\\r\\nWhat’s dumb in show I’ll plain with speech.\\r\\n\\r\\n Dumb-show. Enter, Pericles and Simonides at one door with Attendants;\\r\\n a Messenger meets them, kneels, and gives Pericles a letter: Pericles\\r\\n shows it Simonides; the Lords kneel to him. Then enter Thaisa with\\r\\n child, with Lychorida, a nurse. The King shows her the letter; she\\r\\n rejoices: she and Pericles take leave of her father, and depart, with\\r\\n Lychorida and their Attendants. Then exeunt Simonides and the rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nBy many a dern and painful perch\\r\\nOf Pericles the careful search,\\r\\nBy the four opposing coigns\\r\\nWhich the world together joins,\\r\\nIs made with all due diligence\\r\\nThat horse and sail and high expense\\r\\nCan stead the quest. At last from Tyre,\\r\\nFame answering the most strange enquire,\\r\\nTo th’ court of King Simonides\\r\\nAre letters brought, the tenour these:\\r\\nAntiochus and his daughter dead;\\r\\nThe men of Tyrus on the head\\r\\nOf Helicanus would set on\\r\\nThe crown of Tyre, but he will none:\\r\\nThe mutiny he there hastes t’oppress;\\r\\nSays to ’em, if King Pericles\\r\\nCome not home in twice six moons,\\r\\nHe, obedient to their dooms,\\r\\nWill take the crown. The sum of this,\\r\\nBrought hither to Pentapolis\\r\\nY-ravished the regions round,\\r\\nAnd everyone with claps can sound,\\r\\n‘Our heir apparent is a king!\\r\\nWho dreamt, who thought of such a thing?’\\r\\nBrief, he must hence depart to Tyre:\\r\\nHis queen with child makes her desire —\\r\\nWhich who shall cross? — along to go:\\r\\nOmit we all their dole and woe:\\r\\nLychorida, her nurse, she takes,\\r\\nAnd so to sea. Their vessel shakes\\r\\nOn Neptune’s billow; half the flood\\r\\nHath their keel cut: but fortune’s mood\\r\\nVaries again; the grisled north\\r\\nDisgorges such a tempest forth,\\r\\nThat, as a duck for life that dives,\\r\\nSo up and down the poor ship drives:\\r\\nThe lady shrieks, and well-a-near\\r\\nDoes fall in travail with her fear:\\r\\nAnd what ensues in this fell storm\\r\\nShall for itself itself perform.\\r\\nI nill relate, action may\\r\\nConveniently the rest convey;\\r\\nWhich might not what by me is told.\\r\\nIn your imagination hold\\r\\nThis stage the ship, upon whose deck\\r\\nThe sea-tost Pericles appears to speak.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles, on shipboard.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThou god of this great vast, rebuke these surges,\\r\\nWhich wash both heaven and hell; and thou that hast\\r\\nUpon the winds command, bind them in brass,\\r\\nHaving call’d them from the deep! O, still\\r\\nThy deafening, dreadful thunders; gently quench\\r\\nThy nimble, sulphurous flashes! O, how, Lychorida,\\r\\nHow does my queen? Thou stormest venomously;\\r\\nWilt thou spit all thyself? The seaman’s whistle\\r\\nIs as a whisper in the ears of death,\\r\\nUnheard. Lychorida! - Lucina, O!\\r\\nDivinest patroness, and midwife gentle\\r\\nTo those that cry by night, convey thy deity\\r\\nAboard our dancing boat; make swift the pangs\\r\\nOf my queen’s travails! Now, Lychorida!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lychorida with an infant.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYCHORIDA.\\r\\nHere is a thing too young for such a place,\\r\\nWho, if it had conceit, would die, as I\\r\\nAm like to do: take in your arms this piece\\r\\nOf your dead queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHow? how, Lychorida?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYCHORIDA.\\r\\nPatience, good sir; do not assist the storm.\\r\\nHere’s all that is left living of your queen,\\r\\nA little daughter: for the sake of it,\\r\\nBe manly, and take comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nO you gods!\\r\\nWhy do you make us love your goodly gifts,\\r\\nAnd snatch them straight away? We here below\\r\\nRecall not what we give, and therein may\\r\\nVie honour with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYCHORIDA.\\r\\nPatience, good sir.\\r\\nEven for this charge.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nNow, mild may be thy life!\\r\\nFor a more blustrous birth had never babe:\\r\\nQuiet and gentle thy conditions! for\\r\\nThou art the rudeliest welcome to this world\\r\\nThat ever was prince’s child. Happy what follows!\\r\\nThou hast as chiding a nativity\\r\\nAs fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make,\\r\\nTo herald thee from the womb.\\r\\nEven at the first thy loss is more than can\\r\\nThy portage quit, with all thou canst find here,\\r\\nNow, the good gods throw their best eyes upon’t!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two Sailors\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SAILOR.\\r\\nWhat courage, sir? God save you!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nCourage enough: I do not fear the flaw;\\r\\nIt hath done to me the worst. Yet, for the love\\r\\nOf this poor infant, this fresh new sea-farer,\\r\\nI would it would be quiet.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SAILOR.\\r\\nSlack the bolins there! Thou wilt not, wilt thou? Blow, and split\\r\\nthyself.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SAILOR.\\r\\nBut sea-room, and the brine and cloudy billow kiss the moon, I care\\r\\nnot.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SAILOR.\\r\\nSir, your queen must overboard: the sea works high, the wind is loud\\r\\nand will not lie till the ship be cleared of the dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThat’s your superstition.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SAILOR.\\r\\nPardon us, sir; with us at sea it has been still observed; and we are\\r\\nstrong in custom. Therefore briefly yield her; for she must overboard\\r\\nstraight.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAs you think meet. Most wretched queen!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYCHORIDA.\\r\\nHere she lies, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nA terrible childbed hast thou had, my dear;\\r\\nNo light, no fire: th’unfriendly elements\\r\\nForgot thee utterly; nor have I time\\r\\nTo give thee hallow’d to thy grave, but straight\\r\\nMust cast thee, scarcely coffin’d, in the ooze;\\r\\nWhere, for a monument upon thy bones,\\r\\nAnd e’er-remaining lamps, the belching whale\\r\\nAnd humming water must o’erwhelm thy corpse,\\r\\nLying with simple shells. O Lychorida.\\r\\nBid Nestor bring me spices, ink and paper,\\r\\nMy casket and my jewels; and bid Nicander\\r\\nBring me the satin coffer: lay the babe\\r\\nUpon the pillow: hie thee, whiles I say\\r\\nA priestly farewell to her: suddenly, woman.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lychorida._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SAILOR.\\r\\nSir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, caulked and bitumed ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI thank thee. Mariner, say what coast is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SAILOR.\\r\\nWe are near Tarsus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThither, gentle mariner,\\r\\nAlter thy course for Tyre. When, canst thou reach it?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SAILOR.\\r\\nBy break of day, if the wind cease.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nO, make for Tarsus!\\r\\nThere will I visit Cleon, for the babe\\r\\nCannot hold out to Tyrus. There I’ll leave it\\r\\nAt careful nursing. Go thy ways, good mariner:\\r\\nI’ll bring the body presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cerimon, with a Servant, and some Persons who have been\\r\\n shipwrecked.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nPhilemon, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Philemon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILEMON.\\r\\nDoth my lord call?\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nGet fire and meat for these poor men:\\r\\n’T has been a turbulent and stormy night.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI have been in many; but such a night as this,\\r\\nTill now, I ne’er endured.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nYour master will be dead ere you return;\\r\\nThere’s nothing can be minister’d to nature\\r\\nThat can recover him. [_To Philemon._] Give this to the ’pothecary,\\r\\nAnd tell me how it works.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Cerimon._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two Gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nGood morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nGood morrow to your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nGentlemen, why do you stir so early?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nSir, our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea,\\r\\nShook as the earth did quake;\\r\\nThe very principals did seem to rend,\\r\\nAnd all to topple: pure surprise and fear\\r\\nMade me to quit the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThat is the cause we trouble you so early;\\r\\n’Tis not our husbandry.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nO, you say well.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nBut I much marvel that your lordship, having\\r\\nRich tire about you, should at these early hours\\r\\nShake off the golden slumber of repose.\\r\\n’Tis most strange,\\r\\nNature should be so conversant with pain.\\r\\nBeing thereto not compell’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nI hold it ever,\\r\\nVirtue and cunning were endowments greater\\r\\nThan nobleness and riches: careless heirs\\r\\nMay the two latter darken and expend;\\r\\nBut immortality attends the former,\\r\\nMaking a man a god. ’Tis known, I ever\\r\\nHave studied physic, through which secret art,\\r\\nBy turning o’er authorities, I have,\\r\\nTogether with my practice, made familiar\\r\\nTo me and to my aid the blest infusions\\r\\nThat dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones;\\r\\nAnd I can speak of the disturbances\\r\\nThat nature works, and of her cures; which doth give me\\r\\nA more content in course of true delight\\r\\nThan to be thirsty after tottering honour,\\r\\nOr tie my pleasure up in silken bags,\\r\\nTo please the fool and death.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nYour honour has through Ephesus pour’d forth\\r\\nYour charity, and hundreds call themselves\\r\\nYour creatures, who by you have been restored:\\r\\nAnd not your knowledge, your personal pain, but even\\r\\nYour purse, still open, hath built Lord Cerimon\\r\\nSuch strong renown as time shall never—\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two or three Servants with a chest.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nSo, lift there.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nWhat’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nSir, even now\\r\\nDid the sea toss upon our shore this chest:\\r\\n’Tis of some wreck.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nSet’t down, let’s look upon’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\n’Tis like a coffin, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nWhate’er it be,\\r\\n’Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight:\\r\\nIf the sea’s stomach be o’ercharged with gold,\\r\\n’Tis a good constraint of fortune it belches upon us.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\n’Tis so, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nHow close ’tis caulk’d and bitumed!\\r\\nDid the sea cast it up?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nI never saw so huge a billow, sir,\\r\\nAs toss’d it upon shore.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nWrench it open;\\r\\nSoft! it smells most sweetly in my sense.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nA delicate odour.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nAs ever hit my nostril. So up with it.\\r\\nO you most potent gods! what’s here? a corpse!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nMost strange!\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nShrouded in cloth of state; balm’d and entreasured\\r\\nWith full bags of spices! A passport too!\\r\\nApollo, perfect me in the characters!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Reads from a scroll._]\\r\\n\\r\\n _Here I give to understand,\\r\\n If e’er this coffin drives a-land,\\r\\n I, King Pericles, have lost\\r\\n This queen, worth all our mundane cost.\\r\\n Who finds her, give her burying;\\r\\n She was the daughter of a king:\\r\\n Besides this treasure for a fee,\\r\\n The gods requite his charity._\\r\\nIf thou livest, Pericles, thou hast a heart\\r\\nThat even cracks for woe! This chanced tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nMost likely, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nNay, certainly tonight;\\r\\nFor look how fresh she looks! They were too rough\\r\\nThat threw her in the sea. Make a fire within\\r\\nFetch hither all my boxes in my closet.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit a Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDeath may usurp on nature many hours,\\r\\nAnd yet the fire of life kindle again\\r\\nThe o’erpress’d spirits. I heard of an Egyptian\\r\\nThat had nine hours lain dead,\\r\\nWho was by good appliance recovered.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter a Servant with napkins and fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nWell said, well said; the fire and cloths.\\r\\nThe rough and woeful music that we have,\\r\\nCause it to sound, beseech you\\r\\nThe viol once more: how thou stirr’st, thou block!\\r\\nThe music there! — I pray you, give her air.\\r\\nGentlemen, this queen will live.\\r\\nNature awakes; a warmth breathes out of her.\\r\\nShe hath not been entranced above five hours.\\r\\nSee how she ’gins to blow into life’s flower again!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThe heavens, through you, increase our wonder\\r\\nAnd sets up your fame for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nShe is alive; behold, her eyelids,\\r\\nCases to those heavenly jewels which Pericles hath lost,\\r\\nBegin to part their fringes of bright gold;\\r\\nThe diamonds of a most praised water doth appear,\\r\\nTo make the world twice rich. Live, and make us weep\\r\\nTo hear your fate, fair creature, rare as you seem to be.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_She moves._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nO dear Diana,\\r\\nWhere am I? Where’s my lord? What world is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nIs not this strange?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nMost rare.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nHush, my gentle neighbours!\\r\\nLend me your hands; to the next chamber bear her.\\r\\nGet linen: now this matter must be look’d to,\\r\\nFor her relapse is mortal. Come, come;\\r\\nAnd Aesculapius guide us!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt, carrying her away._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles, Cleon, Dionyza and Lychorida with Marina in her arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMost honour’d Cleon, I must needs be gone;\\r\\nMy twelve months are expired, and Tyrus stands\\r\\nIn a litigious peace. You and your lady,\\r\\nTake from my heart all thankfulness! The gods\\r\\nMake up the rest upon you!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nYour shafts of fortune, though they hurt you mortally,\\r\\nYet glance full wanderingly on us.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nO, your sweet queen!\\r\\nThat the strict fates had pleased you had brought her hither,\\r\\nTo have bless’d mine eyes with her!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWe cannot but obey\\r\\nThe powers above us. Could I rage and roar\\r\\nAs doth the sea she lies in, yet the end\\r\\nMust be as ’tis. My gentle babe Marina,\\r\\nWhom, for she was born at sea, I have named so,\\r\\nHere I charge your charity withal,\\r\\nLeaving her the infant of your care;\\r\\nBeseeching you to give her princely training,\\r\\nThat she may be manner’d as she is born.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nFear not, my lord, but think\\r\\nYour grace, that fed my country with your corn,\\r\\nFor which the people’s prayers still fall upon you,\\r\\nMust in your child be thought on. If neglection\\r\\nShould therein make me vile, the common body,\\r\\nBy you relieved, would force me to my duty:\\r\\nBut if to that my nature need a spur,\\r\\nThe gods revenge it upon me and mine,\\r\\nTo the end of generation!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI believe you;\\r\\nYour honour and your goodness teach me to’t,\\r\\nWithout your vows. Till she be married, madam,\\r\\nBy bright Diana, whom we honour, all\\r\\nUnscissored shall this hair of mine remain,\\r\\nThough I show ill in’t. So I take my leave.\\r\\nGood madam, make me blessed in your care\\r\\nIn bringing up my child.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nI have one myself,\\r\\nWho shall not be more dear to my respect\\r\\nThan yours, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMadam, my thanks and prayers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nWe’ll bring your grace e’en to the edge o’the shore,\\r\\nThen give you up to the mask’d Neptune and\\r\\nThe gentlest winds of heaven.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI will embrace your offer. Come, dearest madam.\\r\\nO, no tears, Lychorida, no tears.\\r\\nLook to your little mistress, on whose grace\\r\\nYou may depend hereafter. Come, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cerimon and Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nMadam, this letter, and some certain jewels,\\r\\nLay with you in your coffer, which are\\r\\nAt your command. Know you the character?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nIt is my lord’s.\\r\\nThat I was shipp’d at sea, I well remember,\\r\\nEven on my groaning time; but whether there\\r\\nDeliver’d, by the holy gods,\\r\\nI cannot rightly say. But since King Pericles,\\r\\nMy wedded lord, I ne’er shall see again,\\r\\nA vestal livery will I take me to,\\r\\nAnd never more have joy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nMadam, if this you purpose as ye speak,\\r\\nDiana’s temple is not distant far,\\r\\nWhere you may abide till your date expire.\\r\\nMoreover, if you please, a niece of mine\\r\\nShall there attend you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nMy recompense is thanks, that’s all;\\r\\nYet my good will is great, though the gift small.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nImagine Pericles arrived at Tyre,\\r\\nWelcomed and settled to his own desire.\\r\\nHis woeful queen we leave at Ephesus,\\r\\nUnto Diana there a votaress.\\r\\nNow to Marina bend your mind,\\r\\nWhom our fast-growing scene must find\\r\\nAt Tarsus, and by Cleon train’d\\r\\nIn music’s letters; who hath gain’d\\r\\nOf education all the grace,\\r\\nWhich makes her both the heart and place\\r\\nOf general wonder. But, alack,\\r\\nThat monster envy, oft the wrack\\r\\nOf earned praise, Marina’s life\\r\\nSeeks to take off by treason’s knife,\\r\\nAnd in this kind our Cleon hath\\r\\nOne daughter, and a full grown wench\\r\\nEven ripe for marriage-rite; this maid\\r\\nHight Philoten: and it is said\\r\\nFor certain in our story, she\\r\\nWould ever with Marina be.\\r\\nBe’t when she weaved the sleided silk\\r\\nWith fingers long, small, white as milk;\\r\\nOr when she would with sharp needle wound,\\r\\nThe cambric, which she made more sound\\r\\nBy hurting it; or when to th’ lute\\r\\nShe sung, and made the night-bird mute\\r\\nThat still records with moan; or when\\r\\nShe would with rich and constant pen\\r\\nVail to her mistress Dian; still\\r\\nThis Philoten contends in skill\\r\\nWith absolute Marina: so\\r\\nThe dove of Paphos might with the crow\\r\\nVie feathers white. Marina gets\\r\\nAll praises, which are paid as debts,\\r\\nAnd not as given. This so darks\\r\\nIn Philoten all graceful marks,\\r\\nThat Cleon’s wife, with envy rare,\\r\\nA present murderer does prepare\\r\\nFor good Marina, that her daughter\\r\\nMight stand peerless by this slaughter.\\r\\nThe sooner her vile thoughts to stead,\\r\\nLychorida, our nurse, is dead:\\r\\nAnd cursed Dionyza hath\\r\\nThe pregnant instrument of wrath\\r\\nPrest for this blow. The unborn event\\r\\nI do commend to your content:\\r\\nOnly I carry winged time\\r\\nPost on the lame feet of my rhyme;\\r\\nWhich never could I so convey,\\r\\nUnless your thoughts went on my way.\\r\\nDionyza does appear,\\r\\nWith Leonine, a murderer.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nScene I. Tarsus. An open place near the seashore.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Dionyza with Leonine.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nThy oath remember; thou hast sworn to do’t:\\r\\n’Tis but a blow, which never shall be known.\\r\\nThou canst not do a thing in the world so soon,\\r\\nTo yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience,\\r\\nWhich is but cold, inflaming love i’ thy bosom,\\r\\nInflame too nicely; nor let pity, which\\r\\nEven women have cast off, melt thee, but be\\r\\nA soldier to thy purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nI will do’t; but yet she is a goodly creature.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nThe fitter, then, the gods should have her. Here she comes weeping for\\r\\nher only mistress’ death. Thou art resolved?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nI am resolved.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Marina with a basket of flowers.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNo, I will rob Tellus of her weed\\r\\nTo strew thy green with flowers: the yellows, blues,\\r\\nThe purple violets, and marigolds,\\r\\nShall as a carpet hang upon thy grave,\\r\\nWhile summer days do last. Ay me! poor maid,\\r\\nBorn in a tempest, when my mother died,\\r\\nThis world to me is like a lasting storm,\\r\\nWhirring me from my friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nHow now, Marina! why do you keep alone?\\r\\nHow chance my daughter is not with you?\\r\\nDo not consume your blood with sorrowing;\\r\\nHave you a nurse of me? Lord, how your favour’s\\r\\nChanged with this unprofitable woe!\\r\\nCome, give me your flowers, ere the sea mar it.\\r\\nWalk with Leonine; the air is quick there,\\r\\nAnd it pierces and sharpens the stomach.\\r\\nCome, Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNo, I pray you;\\r\\nI’ll not bereave you of your servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nCome, come;\\r\\nI love the king your father, and yourself,\\r\\nWith more than foreign heart. We every day\\r\\nExpect him here: when he shall come and find\\r\\nOur paragon to all reports thus blasted,\\r\\nHe will repent the breadth of his great voyage;\\r\\nBlame both my lord and me, that we have taken\\r\\nNo care to your best courses. Go, I pray you,\\r\\nWalk, and be cheerful once again; reserve\\r\\nThat excellent complexion, which did steal\\r\\nThe eyes of young and old. Care not for me;\\r\\nI can go home alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWell, I will go;\\r\\nBut yet I have no desire to it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nCome, come, I know ’tis good for you.\\r\\nWalk half an hour, Leonine, at the least:\\r\\nRemember what I have said.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nI warrant you, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nI’ll leave you, my sweet lady, for a while:\\r\\nPray, walk softly, do not heat your blood:\\r\\nWhat! I must have a care of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nMy thanks, sweet madam.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Dionyza._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIs this wind westerly that blows?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nSouth-west.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhen I was born the wind was north.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nWas’t so?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nMy father, as nurse said, did never fear,\\r\\nBut cried ‘Good seamen!’ to the sailors,\\r\\nGalling his kingly hands, haling ropes;\\r\\nAnd clasping to the mast, endured a sea\\r\\nThat almost burst the deck.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nWhen was this?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhen I was born:\\r\\nNever was waves nor wind more violent;\\r\\nAnd from the ladder tackle washes off\\r\\nA canvas-climber. ‘Ha!’ says one, ‘wolt out?’\\r\\nAnd with a dropping industry they skip\\r\\nFrom stem to stern: the boatswain whistles, and\\r\\nThe master calls and trebles their confusion.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nCome, say your prayers.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhat mean you?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nIf you require a little space for prayer,\\r\\nI grant it: pray; but be not tedious,\\r\\nFor the gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn\\r\\nTo do my work with haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhy will you kill me?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nTo satisfy my lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhy would she have me kill’d now?\\r\\nAs I can remember, by my troth,\\r\\nI never did her hurt in all my life:\\r\\nI never spake bad word, nor did ill turn\\r\\nTo any living creature: believe me, la,\\r\\nI never kill’d a mouse, nor hurt a fly:\\r\\nI trod upon a worm against my will,\\r\\nBut I wept for it. How have I offended,\\r\\nWherein my death might yield her any profit,\\r\\nOr my life imply her any danger?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nMy commission\\r\\nIs not to reason of the deed, but do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nYou will not do’t for all the world, I hope.\\r\\nYou are well favour’d, and your looks foreshow\\r\\nYou have a gentle heart. I saw you lately,\\r\\nWhen you caught hurt in parting two that fought:\\r\\nGood sooth, it show’d well in you: do so now:\\r\\nYour lady seeks my life; come you between,\\r\\nAnd save poor me, the weaker.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nI am sworn,\\r\\nAnd will dispatch.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He seizes her._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pirates.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST PIRATE.\\r\\nHold, villain!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Leonine runs away._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND PIRATE.\\r\\nA prize! a prize!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD PIRATE.\\r\\nHalf part, mates, half part,\\r\\nCome, let’s have her aboard suddenly.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Pirates with Marina._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Leonine.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nThese roguing thieves serve the great pirate Valdes;\\r\\nAnd they have seized Marina. Let her go:\\r\\nThere’s no hope she will return. I’ll swear she’s dead\\r\\nAnd thrown into the sea. But I’ll see further:\\r\\nPerhaps they will but please themselves upon her,\\r\\nNot carry her aboard. If she remain,\\r\\nWhom they have ravish’d must by me be slain.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nScene II. Mytilene. A room in a brothel.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandar, Bawd and Boult.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nBoult!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nSir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nSearch the market narrowly; Mytilene is full of gallants. We lost too\\r\\nmuch money this mart by being too wenchless.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWe were never so much out of creatures. We have but poor three, and\\r\\nthey can do no more than they can do; and they with continual action\\r\\nare even as good as rotten.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nTherefore let’s have fresh ones, whate’er we pay for them. If there be\\r\\nnot a conscience to be used in every trade, we shall never prosper.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nThou sayest true: ’tis not our bringing up of poor bastards, — as, I\\r\\nthink, I have brought up some eleven —\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nAy, to eleven; and brought them down again. But shall I search the\\r\\nmarket?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhat else, man? The stuff we have, a strong wind will blow it to\\r\\npieces, they are so pitifully sodden.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nThou sayest true; they’re too unwholesome, o’ conscience. The poor\\r\\nTransylvanian is dead, that lay with the little baggage.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nAy, she quickly pooped him; she made him roast-meat for worms. But I’ll\\r\\ngo search the market.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nThree or four thousand chequins were as pretty a proportion to live\\r\\nquietly, and so give over.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhy to give over, I pray you? Is it a shame to get when we are old?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nO, our credit comes not in like the commodity, nor the commodity wages\\r\\nnot with the danger: therefore, if in our youths we could pick up some\\r\\npretty estate, ’twere not amiss to keep our door hatched. Besides, the\\r\\nsore terms we stand upon with the gods will be strong with us for\\r\\ngiving over.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nCome, others sorts offend as well as we.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nAs well as we! ay, and better too; we offend worse. Neither is our\\r\\nprofession any trade; it’s no calling. But here comes Boult.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Boult, with the Pirates and Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT\\r\\n[_To Pirates._] Come your ways. My masters, you say she’s a virgin?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST PIRATE.\\r\\nO sir, we doubt it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nMaster, I have gone through for this piece, you see: if you like her,\\r\\nso; if not, I have lost my earnest.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nBoult, has she any qualities?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nShe has a good face, speaks well and has excellent good clothes:\\r\\nthere’s no farther necessity of qualities can make her be refused.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhat is her price, Boult?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI cannot be baited one doit of a thousand pieces.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nWell, follow me, my masters, you shall have your money presently. Wife,\\r\\ntake her in; instruct her what she has to do, that she may not be raw\\r\\nin her entertainment.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Pandar and Pirates._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nBoult, take you the marks of her, the colour of her hair, complexion,\\r\\nheight, her age, with warrant of her virginity; and cry ‘He that will\\r\\ngive most shall have her first.’ Such a maidenhead were no cheap thing,\\r\\nif men were as they have been. Get this done as I command you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nPerformance shall follow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nAlack that Leonine was so slack, so slow!\\r\\nHe should have struck, not spoke; or that these pirates,\\r\\nNot enough barbarous, had not o’erboard thrown me\\r\\nFor to seek my mother!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhy lament you, pretty one?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThat I am pretty.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nCome, the gods have done their part in you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI accuse them not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nYou are light into my hands, where you are like to live.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThe more my fault\\r\\nTo scape his hands where I was like to die.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nAy, and you shall live in pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nYes, indeed shall you, and taste gentlemen of all fashions: you shall\\r\\nfare well; you shall have the difference of all complexions. What! do\\r\\nyou stop your ears?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nAre you a woman?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhat would you have me be, an I be not a woman?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nAn honest woman, or not a woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nMarry, whip the gosling: I think I shall have something to do with you.\\r\\nCome, you’re a young foolish sapling, and must be bowed as I would have\\r\\nyou.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThe gods defend me!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nIf it please the gods to defend you by men, then men must comfort you,\\r\\nmen must feed you, men stir you up. Boult’s returned.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Boult.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, sir, hast thou cried her through the market?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI have cried her almost to the number of her hairs; I have drawn her\\r\\npicture with my voice.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nAnd I prithee tell me, how dost thou find the inclination of the\\r\\npeople, especially of the younger sort?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nFaith, they listened to me as they would have hearkened to their\\r\\nfather’s testament. There was a Spaniard’s mouth so watered, that he\\r\\nwent to bed to her very description.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWe shall have him here tomorrow with his best ruff on.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nTonight, tonight. But, mistress, do you know the French knight that\\r\\ncowers i’ the hams?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWho, Monsieur Veroles?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nAy, he: he offered to cut a caper at the proclamation; but he made a\\r\\ngroan at it, and swore he would see her tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWell, well, as for him, he brought his disease hither: here he does but\\r\\nrepair it. I know he will come in our shadow, to scatter his crowns in\\r\\nthe sun.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWell, if we had of every nation a traveller, we should lodge them with\\r\\nthis sign.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_To Marina._] Pray you, come hither awhile. You have fortunes coming\\r\\nupon you. Mark me: you must seem to do that fearfully which you commit\\r\\nwillingly, despise profit where you have most gain. To weep that you\\r\\nlive as ye do makes pity in your lovers: seldom but that pity begets\\r\\nyou a good opinion, and that opinion a mere profit.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI understand you not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nO, take her home, mistress, take her home: these blushes of hers must\\r\\nbe quenched with some present practice.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nThou sayest true, i’faith so they must; for your bride goes to that\\r\\nwith shame which is her way to go with warrant.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nFaith, some do and some do not. But, mistress, if I have bargained for\\r\\nthe joint, —\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nThou mayst cut a morsel off the spit.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI may so.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD. Who should deny it? Come young one, I like the manner of your\\r\\ngarments well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nAy, by my faith, they shall not be changed yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nBoult, spend thou that in the town: report what a sojourner we have;\\r\\nyou’ll lose nothing by custom. When nature framed this piece, she meant\\r\\nthee a good turn; therefore say what a paragon she is, and thou hast\\r\\nthe harvest out of thine own report.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI warrant you, mistress, thunder shall not so awake the beds of eels as\\r\\nmy giving out her beauty stirs up the lewdly inclined. I’ll bring home\\r\\nsome tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nCome your ways; follow me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nIf fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep,\\r\\nUntied I still my virgin knot will keep.\\r\\nDiana, aid my purpose!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhat have we to do with Diana? Pray you, will you go with us?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cleon and Dionyza.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nWhy, are you foolish? Can it be undone?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nO, Dionyza, such a piece of slaughter\\r\\nThe sun and moon ne’er look’d upon!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nI think you’ll turn a child again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nWere I chief lord of all this spacious world,\\r\\nI’d give it to undo the deed. A lady,\\r\\nMuch less in blood than virtue, yet a princess\\r\\nTo equal any single crown o’ the earth\\r\\nI’ the justice of compare! O villain Leonine!\\r\\nWhom thou hast poison’d too:\\r\\nIf thou hadst drunk to him, ’t had been a kindness\\r\\nBecoming well thy face. What canst thou say\\r\\nWhen noble Pericles shall demand his child?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nThat she is dead. Nurses are not the fates,\\r\\nTo foster it, nor ever to preserve.\\r\\nShe died at night; I’ll say so. Who can cross it?\\r\\nUnless you play the pious innocent,\\r\\nAnd for an honest attribute cry out\\r\\n‘She died by foul play.’\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nO, go to. Well, well,\\r\\nOf all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods\\r\\nDo like this worst.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nBe one of those that thinks\\r\\nThe petty wrens of Tarsus will fly hence,\\r\\nAnd open this to Pericles. I do shame\\r\\nTo think of what a noble strain you are,\\r\\nAnd of how coward a spirit.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nTo such proceeding\\r\\nWhoever but his approbation added,\\r\\nThough not his prime consent, he did not flow\\r\\nFrom honourable sources,\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nBe it so, then:\\r\\nYet none does know, but you, how she came dead,\\r\\nNor none can know, Leonine being gone.\\r\\nShe did distain my child, and stood between\\r\\nHer and her fortunes: none would look on her,\\r\\nBut cast their gazes on Marina’s face;\\r\\nWhilst ours was blurted at and held a malkin\\r\\nNot worth the time of day. It pierced me through;\\r\\nAnd though you call my course unnatural,\\r\\nYou not your child well loving, yet I find\\r\\nIt greets me as an enterprise of kindness\\r\\nPerform’d to your sole daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nHeavens forgive it!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nAnd as for Pericles, what should he say?\\r\\nWe wept after her hearse, and yet we mourn.\\r\\nHer monument is almost finish’d, and her epitaphs\\r\\nIn glittering golden characters express\\r\\nA general praise to her, and care in us\\r\\nAt whose expense ’tis done.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nThou art like the harpy,\\r\\nWhich, to betray, dost, with thine angel’s face,\\r\\nSeize with thine eagle’s talons.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nYou are like one that superstitiously\\r\\nDoth swear to the gods that winter kills the flies:\\r\\nBut yet I know you’ll do as I advise.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower, before the monument of Marina at Tarsus.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nThus time we waste, and long leagues make short;\\r\\nSail seas in cockles, have and wish but for’t;\\r\\nMaking, to take your imagination,\\r\\nFrom bourn to bourn, region to region.\\r\\nBy you being pardon’d, we commit no crime\\r\\nTo use one language in each several clime\\r\\nWhere our scenes seem to live. I do beseech you\\r\\nTo learn of me, who stand i’the gaps to teach you,\\r\\nThe stages of our story. Pericles\\r\\nIs now again thwarting the wayward seas\\r\\nAttended on by many a lord and knight,\\r\\nTo see his daughter, all his life’s delight.\\r\\nOld Helicanus goes along. Behind\\r\\nIs left to govern, if you bear in mind,\\r\\nOld Escanes, whom Helicanus late\\r\\nAdvanced in time to great and high estate.\\r\\nWell-sailing ships and bounteous winds have brought\\r\\nThis king to Tarsus, — think his pilot thought;\\r\\nSo with his steerage shall your thoughts go on, —\\r\\nTo fetch his daughter home, who first is gone.\\r\\nLike motes and shadows see them move awhile;\\r\\nYour ears unto your eyes I’ll reconcile.\\r\\n\\r\\n Dumb-show. Enter Pericles at one door with all his train; Cleon and\\r\\n Dionyza at the other. Cleon shows Pericles the tomb; whereat Pericles\\r\\n makes lamentation, puts on sackcloth and in a mighty passion departs.\\r\\n Then exeunt Cleon and Dionyza.\\r\\n\\r\\nSee how belief may suffer by foul show;\\r\\nThis borrow’d passion stands for true old woe;\\r\\nAnd Pericles, in sorrow all devour’d,\\r\\nWith sighs shot through; and biggest tears o’ershower’d,\\r\\nLeaves Tarsus and again embarks. He swears\\r\\nNever to wash his face, nor cut his hairs:\\r\\nHe puts on sackcloth, and to sea he bears\\r\\nA tempest, which his mortal vessel tears,\\r\\nAnd yet he rides it out. Now please you wit\\r\\nThe epitaph is for Marina writ\\r\\nBy wicked Dionyza.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Reads the inscription on Marina’s monument._]\\r\\n\\r\\n _The fairest, sweet’st, and best lies here,\\r\\n Who wither’d in her spring of year.\\r\\n She was of Tyrus the King’s daughter,\\r\\n On whom foul death hath made this slaughter;\\r\\n Marina was she call’d; and at her birth,\\r\\n Thetis, being proud, swallow’d some part o’ the earth:\\r\\n Therefore the earth, fearing to be o’erflow’d,\\r\\n Hath Thetis’ birth-child on the heavens bestow’d:\\r\\n Wherefore she does, and swears she’ll never stint,\\r\\n Make raging battery upon shores of flint._\\r\\n\\r\\nNo visor does become black villany\\r\\nSo well as soft and tender flattery.\\r\\nLet Pericles believe his daughter’s dead,\\r\\nAnd bear his courses to be ordered\\r\\nBy Lady Fortune; while our scene must play\\r\\nHis daughter’s woe and heavy well-a-day\\r\\nIn her unholy service. Patience, then,\\r\\nAnd think you now are all in Mytilene.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Mytilene. A street before the brothel.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, from the brothel, two Gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nDid you ever hear the like?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNo, nor never shall do in such a place as this, she being once gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nBut to have divinity preached there! did you ever dream of such a\\r\\nthing?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNo, no. Come, I am for no more bawdy houses: shall’s go hear the\\r\\nvestals sing?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI’ll do anything now that is virtuous; but I am out of the road of\\r\\nrutting for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. The same. A room in the brothel.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandar, Bawd and Boult.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nWell, I had rather than twice the worth of her she had ne’er come here.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nFie, fie upon her! She’s able to freeze the god Priapus, and undo a\\r\\nwhole generation. We must either get her ravished, or be rid of her.\\r\\nWhen she should do for clients her fitment, and do me the kindness of\\r\\nour profession, she has me her quirks, her reasons, her master reasons,\\r\\nher prayers, her knees; that she would make a puritan of the devil, if\\r\\nhe should cheapen a kiss of her.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nFaith, I must ravish her, or she’ll disfurnish us of all our cavaliers,\\r\\nand make our swearers priests.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nNow, the pox upon her green sickness for me!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nFaith, there’s no way to be rid on’t but by the way to the pox.\\r\\nHere comes the Lord Lysimachus disguised.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWe should have both lord and lown, if the peevish baggage would but\\r\\ngive way to customers.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lysimachus.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nHow now! How a dozen of virginities?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nNow, the gods to bless your honour!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI am glad to see your honour in good health.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nYou may so; ’tis the better for you that your resorters stand upon\\r\\nsound legs. How now? Wholesome iniquity have you that a man may deal\\r\\nwithal, and defy the surgeon?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWe have here one, sir, if she would — but there never came her like in\\r\\nMytilene.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nIf she’d do the deed of darkness, thou wouldst say.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nYour honour knows what ’tis to say well enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWell, call forth, call forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nFor flesh and blood, sir, white and red, you shall see a rose; and she\\r\\nwere a rose indeed, if she had but —\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWhat, prithee?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nO, sir, I can be modest.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nThat dignifies the renown of a bawd no less than it gives a good report\\r\\nto a number to be chaste.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Boult._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nHere comes that which grows to the stalk; never plucked yet, I can\\r\\nassure you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Boult with Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nIs she not a fair creature?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nFaith, she would serve after a long voyage at sea. Well, there’s for\\r\\nyou: leave us.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nI beseech your honour, give me leave: a word, and I’ll have done\\r\\npresently.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nI beseech you, do.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\n[_To Marina._] First, I would have you note, this is an honourable man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI desire to find him so, that I may worthily note him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nNext, he’s the governor of this country, and a man whom I am bound to.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nIf he govern the country, you are bound to him indeed; but how\\r\\nhonourable he is in that, I know not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD. Pray you, without any more virginal fencing, will you use him\\r\\nkindly? He will line your apron with gold.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhat he will do graciously, I will thankfully receive.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nHa’ you done?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nMy lord, she’s not paced yet: you must take some pains to work her to\\r\\nyour manage. Come, we will leave his honour and her together. Go thy\\r\\nways.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Bawd, Pandar and Boult._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nNow, pretty one, how long have you been at this trade?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhat trade, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWhy, I cannot name’t but I shall offend.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI cannot be offended with my trade. Please you to name it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nHow long have you been of this profession?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nE’er since I can remember.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS. Did you go to’t so young? Were you a gamester at five or at\\r\\nseven?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nEarlier, too, sir, if now I be one.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWhy, the house you dwell in proclaims you to be a creature of sale.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nDo you know this house to be a place of such resort, and will come\\r\\ninto’t? I hear say you are of honourable parts, and are the governor of\\r\\nthis place.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWhy, hath your principal made known unto you who I am?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWho is my principal?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWhy, your herb-woman; she that sets seeds and roots of shame and\\r\\niniquity. O, you have heard something of my power, and so stand aloof\\r\\nfor more serious wooing. But I protest to thee, pretty one, my\\r\\nauthority shall not see thee, or else look friendly upon thee. Come,\\r\\nbring me to some private place: come, come.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nIf you were born to honour, show it now;\\r\\nIf put upon you, make the judgement good\\r\\nThat thought you worthy of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nHow’s this? how’s this? Some more; be sage.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nFor me,\\r\\nThat am a maid, though most ungentle Fortune\\r\\nHave placed me in this sty, where, since I came,\\r\\nDiseases have been sold dearer than physic,\\r\\nO, that the gods\\r\\nWould set me free from this unhallow’d place,\\r\\nThough they did change me to the meanest bird\\r\\nThat flies i’ the purer air!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nI did not think\\r\\nThou couldst have spoke so well; ne’er dream’d thou couldst.\\r\\nHad I brought hither a corrupted mind,\\r\\nThy speech had alter’d it. Hold, here’s gold for thee:\\r\\nPersever in that clear way thou goest,\\r\\nAnd the gods strengthen thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThe good gods preserve you!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nFor me, be you thoughten\\r\\nThat I came with no ill intent; for to me\\r\\nThe very doors and windows savour vilely.\\r\\nFare thee well. Thou art a piece of virtue, and\\r\\nI doubt not but thy training hath been noble.\\r\\nHold, here’s more gold for thee.\\r\\nA curse upon him, die he like a thief,\\r\\nThat robs thee of thy goodness! If thou dost\\r\\nHear from me, it shall be for thy good.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Boult.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI beseech your honour, one piece for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nAvaunt, thou damned door-keeper!\\r\\nYour house but for this virgin that doth prop it,\\r\\nWould sink and overwhelm you. Away!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nHow’s this? We must take another course with you. If your peevish\\r\\nchastity, which is not worth a breakfast in the cheapest country under\\r\\nthe cope, shall undo a whole household, let me be gelded like a\\r\\nspaniel. Come your ways.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhither would you have me?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI must have your maidenhead taken off, or the common hangman shall\\r\\nexecute it. Come your ways. We’ll have no more gentlemen driven away.\\r\\nCome your ways, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Bawd.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nHow now! what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWorse and worse, mistress; she has here spoken holy words to the Lord\\r\\nLysimachus.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nO, abominable!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nShe makes our profession as it were to stink afore the face of the\\r\\ngods.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nMarry, hang her up for ever!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nThe nobleman would have dealt with her like a nobleman, and she sent\\r\\nhim away as cold as a snowball; saying his prayers too.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nBoult, take her away; use her at thy pleasure: crack the glass of her\\r\\nvirginity, and make the rest malleable.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nAn if she were a thornier piece of ground than she is, she shall be\\r\\nploughed.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nHark, hark, you gods!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nShe conjures: away with her! Would she had never come within my doors!\\r\\nMarry, hang you! She’s born to undo us. Will you not go the way of\\r\\nwomankind? Marry, come up, my dish of chastity with rosemary and bays!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nCome, mistress; come your way with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhither wilt thou have me?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nTo take from you the jewel you hold so dear.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nPrithee, tell me one thing first.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nCome now, your one thing?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhat canst thou wish thine enemy to be?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWhy, I could wish him to be my master, or rather, my mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNeither of these are so bad as thou art,\\r\\nSince they do better thee in their command.\\r\\nThou hold’st a place, for which the pained’st fiend\\r\\nOf hell would not in reputation change:\\r\\nThou art the damned doorkeeper to every\\r\\nCoistrel that comes inquiring for his Tib.\\r\\nTo the choleric fisting of every rogue\\r\\nThy ear is liable, thy food is such\\r\\nAs hath been belch’d on by infected lungs.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWhat would you have me do? Go to the wars, would you? where a man may\\r\\nserve seven years for the loss of a leg, and have not money enough in\\r\\nthe end to buy him a wooden one?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nDo anything but this thou doest. Empty\\r\\nOld receptacles, or common shores, of filth;\\r\\nServe by indenture to the common hangman:\\r\\nAny of these ways are yet better than this;\\r\\nFor what thou professest, a baboon, could he speak,\\r\\nWould own a name too dear. O, that the gods\\r\\nWould safely deliver me from this place!\\r\\nHere, here’s gold for thee.\\r\\nIf that thy master would gain by me,\\r\\nProclaim that I can sing, weave, sew, and dance,\\r\\nWith other virtues, which I’ll keep from boast;\\r\\nAnd I will undertake all these to teach.\\r\\nI doubt not but this populous city will\\r\\nYield many scholars.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nBut can you teach all this you speak of?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nProve that I cannot, take me home again,\\r\\nAnd prostitute me to the basest groom\\r\\nThat doth frequent your house.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWell, I will see what I can do for thee: if I can place thee, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nBut amongst honest women.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nFaith, my acquaintance lies little amongst them. But since my master\\r\\nand mistress have bought you, there’s no going but by their consent:\\r\\ntherefore I will make them acquainted with your purpose, and I doubt\\r\\nnot but I shall find them tractable enough. Come, I’ll do for thee what\\r\\nI can; come your ways.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nMarina thus the brothel ’scapes, and chances\\r\\nInto an honest house, our story says.\\r\\nShe sings like one immortal, and she dances\\r\\nAs goddess-like to her admired lays;\\r\\nDeep clerks she dumbs; and with her nee’le composes\\r\\nNature’s own shape, of bud, bird, branch, or berry,\\r\\nThat even her art sisters the natural roses;\\r\\nHer inkle, silk, twin with the rubied cherry:\\r\\nThat pupils lacks she none of noble race,\\r\\nWho pour their bounty on her; and her gain\\r\\nShe gives the cursed bawd. Here we her place;\\r\\nAnd to her father turn our thoughts again,\\r\\nWhere we left him, on the sea. We there him lost;\\r\\nWhence, driven before the winds, he is arrived\\r\\nHere where his daughter dwells; and on this coast\\r\\nSuppose him now at anchor. The city strived\\r\\nGod Neptune’s annual feast to keep: from whence\\r\\nLysimachus our Tyrian ship espies,\\r\\nHis banners sable, trimm’d with rich expense;\\r\\nAnd to him in his barge with fervour hies.\\r\\nIn your supposing once more put your sight\\r\\nOf heavy Pericles; think this his bark:\\r\\nWhere what is done in action, more, if might,\\r\\nShall be discover’d; please you, sit and hark.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. On board Pericles’ ship, off Mytilene. A close pavilion on\\r\\ndeck, with a curtain before it; Pericles within it, reclined on a\\r\\ncouch. A barge lying beside the Tyrian vessel.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two Sailors, one belonging to the Tyrian vessel, the other to\\r\\n the barge; to them Helicanus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYRIAN SAILOR.\\r\\n[_To the Sailor of Mytilene._]\\r\\nWhere is lord Helicanus? He can resolve you.\\r\\nO, here he is.\\r\\nSir, there’s a barge put off from Mytilene,\\r\\nAnd in it is Lysimachus the governor,\\r\\nWho craves to come aboard. What is your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nThat he have his. Call up some gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYRIAN SAILOR.\\r\\nHo, gentlemen! my lord calls.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two or three Gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nDoth your lordship call?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nGentlemen, there is some of worth would come aboard;\\r\\nI pray ye, greet them fairly.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Gentlemen and the two Sailors descend and go on board the\\r\\n barge._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, from thence, Lysimachus and Lords; with the Gentlemen and the\\r\\n two Sailors.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYRIAN SAILOR.\\r\\nSir,\\r\\nThis is the man that can, in aught you would,\\r\\nResolve you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nHail, reverend sir! the gods preserve you!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nAnd you, sir, to outlive the age I am,\\r\\nAnd die as I would do.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nYou wish me well.\\r\\nBeing on shore, honouring of Neptune’s triumphs,\\r\\nSeeing this goodly vessel ride before us,\\r\\nI made to it, to know of whence you are.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nFirst, what is your place?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nI am the governor of this place you lie before.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nSir, our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king;\\r\\nA man who for this three months hath not spoken\\r\\nTo anyone, nor taken sustenance\\r\\nBut to prorogue his grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nUpon what ground is his distemperature?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\n’Twould be too tedious to repeat;\\r\\nBut the main grief springs from the loss\\r\\nOf a beloved daughter and a wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nMay we not see him?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nYou may;\\r\\nBut bootless is your sight: he will not speak\\r\\nTo any.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nYet let me obtain my wish.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nBehold him.\\r\\n[_Pericles discovered._]\\r\\nThis was a goodly person.\\r\\nTill the disaster that, one mortal night,\\r\\nDrove him to this.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nSir king, all hail! The gods preserve you!\\r\\nHail, royal sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nIt is in vain; he will not speak to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nSir, we have a maid in Mytilene, I durst wager,\\r\\nWould win some words of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\n’Tis well bethought.\\r\\nShe questionless with her sweet harmony\\r\\nAnd other chosen attractions, would allure,\\r\\nAnd make a battery through his deafen’d parts,\\r\\nWhich now are midway stopp’d:\\r\\nShe is all happy as the fairest of all,\\r\\nAnd, with her fellow maids, is now upon\\r\\nThe leafy shelter that abuts against\\r\\nThe island’s side.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Whispers a Lord who goes off in the barge of Lysimachus._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nSure, all’s effectless; yet nothing we’ll omit\\r\\nThat bears recovery’s name. But, since your kindness\\r\\nWe have stretch’d thus far, let us beseech you\\r\\nThat for our gold we may provision have,\\r\\nWherein we are not destitute for want,\\r\\nBut weary for the staleness.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nO, sir, a courtesy\\r\\nWhich if we should deny, the most just gods\\r\\nFor every graff would send a caterpillar,\\r\\nAnd so inflict our province. Yet once more\\r\\nLet me entreat to know at large the cause\\r\\nOf your king’s sorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nSit, sir, I will recount it to you:\\r\\nBut, see, I am prevented.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter from the barge, Lord with Marina and a young Lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nO, here is the lady that I sent for. Welcome, fair one!\\r\\nIs’t not a goodly presence?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nShe’s a gallant lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nShe’s such a one, that, were I well assured\\r\\nCame of a gentle kind and noble stock,\\r\\nI’d wish no better choice, and think me rarely wed.\\r\\nFair one, all goodness that consists in bounty\\r\\nExpect even here, where is a kingly patient:\\r\\nIf that thy prosperous and artificial feat\\r\\nCan draw him but to answer thee in aught,\\r\\nThy sacred physic shall receive such pay\\r\\nAs thy desires can wish.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nSir, I will use\\r\\nMy utmost skill in his recovery, provided\\r\\nThat none but I and my companion maid\\r\\nBe suffer’d to come near him.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nCome, let us leave her,\\r\\nAnd the gods make her prosperous!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Marina sings._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nMark’d he your music?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNo, nor look’d on us,\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nSee, she will speak to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nHail, sir! My lord, lend ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHum, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI am a maid,\\r\\nMy lord, that ne’er before invited eyes,\\r\\nBut have been gazed on like a comet: she speaks,\\r\\nMy lord, that, may be, hath endured a grief\\r\\nMight equal yours, if both were justly weigh’d.\\r\\nThough wayward Fortune did malign my state,\\r\\nMy derivation was from ancestors\\r\\nWho stood equivalent with mighty kings:\\r\\nBut time hath rooted out my parentage,\\r\\nAnd to the world and awkward casualties\\r\\nBound me in servitude.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I will desist;\\r\\nBut there is something glows upon my cheek,\\r\\nAnd whispers in mine ear ‘Go not till he speak.’\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMy fortunes — parentage — good parentage —\\r\\nTo equal mine! — was it not thus? what say you?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI said, my lord, if you did know my parentage.\\r\\nYou would not do me violence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI do think so. Pray you, turn your eyes upon me.\\r\\nYou are like something that — what country-woman?\\r\\nHere of these shores?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNo, nor of any shores:\\r\\nYet I was mortally brought forth, and am\\r\\nNo other than I appear.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI am great with woe, and shall deliver weeping.\\r\\nMy dearest wife was like this maid, and such a one\\r\\nMy daughter might have been: my queen’s square brows;\\r\\nHer stature to an inch; as wand-like straight;\\r\\nAs silver-voiced; her eyes as jewel-like\\r\\nAnd cased as richly; in pace another Juno;\\r\\nWho starves the ears she feeds, and makes them hungry,\\r\\nThe more she gives them speech. Where do you live?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhere I am but a stranger: from the deck\\r\\nYou may discern the place.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWhere were you bred?\\r\\nAnd how achieved you these endowments, which\\r\\nYou make more rich to owe?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nIf I should tell my history, it would seem\\r\\nLike lies disdain’d in the reporting.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nPrithee, speak:\\r\\nFalseness cannot come from thee; for thou look’st\\r\\nModest as Justice, and thou seem’st a palace\\r\\nFor the crown’d Truth to dwell in: I will believe thee,\\r\\nAnd make my senses credit thy relation\\r\\nTo points that seem impossible; for thou look’st\\r\\nLike one I loved indeed. What were thy friends?\\r\\nDidst thou not say, when I did push thee back —\\r\\nWhich was when I perceived thee — that thou cam’st\\r\\nFrom good descending?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nSo indeed I did.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nReport thy parentage. I think thou said’st\\r\\nThou hadst been toss’d from wrong to injury,\\r\\nAnd that thou thought’st thy griefs might equal mine,\\r\\nIf both were open’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nSome such thing,\\r\\nI said, and said no more but what my thoughts\\r\\nDid warrant me was likely.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nTell thy story;\\r\\nIf thine consider’d prove the thousand part\\r\\nOf my endurance, thou art a man, and I\\r\\nHave suffer’d like a girl: yet thou dost look\\r\\nLike Patience gazing on kings’ graves, and smiling\\r\\nExtremity out of act. What were thy friends?\\r\\nHow lost thou them? Thy name, my most kind virgin?\\r\\nRecount, I do beseech thee: come, sit by me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nMy name is Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nO, I am mock’d,\\r\\nAnd thou by some incensed god sent hither\\r\\nTo make the world to laugh at me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nPatience, good sir,\\r\\nOr here I’ll cease.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nNay, I’ll be patient.\\r\\nThou little know’st how thou dost startle me,\\r\\nTo call thyself Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThe name\\r\\nWas given me by one that had some power,\\r\\nMy father, and a king.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHow! a king’s daughter?\\r\\nAnd call’d Marina?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nYou said you would believe me;\\r\\nBut, not to be a troubler of your peace,\\r\\nI will end here.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nBut are you flesh and blood?\\r\\nHave you a working pulse? and are no fairy?\\r\\nMotion! Well; speak on. Where were you born?\\r\\nAnd wherefore call’d Marina?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nCall’d Marina\\r\\nFor I was born at sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAt sea! What mother?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nMy mother was the daughter of a king;\\r\\nWho died the minute I was born,\\r\\nAs my good nurse Lychorida hath oft\\r\\nDeliver’d weeping.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nO, stop there a little! [_Aside._] This is the rarest dream that e’er\\r\\ndull sleep\\r\\nDid mock sad fools withal: this cannot be:\\r\\nMy daughter, buried. Well, where were you bred?\\r\\nI’ll hear you more, to the bottom of your story,\\r\\nAnd never interrupt you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nYou scorn: believe me, ’twere best I did give o’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI will believe you by the syllable\\r\\nOf what you shall deliver. Yet, give me leave:\\r\\nHow came you in these parts? Where were you bred?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThe king my father did in Tarsus leave me;\\r\\nTill cruel Cleon, with his wicked wife,\\r\\nDid seek to murder me: and having woo’d\\r\\nA villain to attempt it, who having drawn to do’t,\\r\\nA crew of pirates came and rescued me;\\r\\nBrought me to Mytilene. But, good sir.\\r\\nWhither will you have me? Why do you weep? It may be,\\r\\nYou think me an impostor: no, good faith;\\r\\nI am the daughter to King Pericles,\\r\\nIf good King Pericles be.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHo, Helicanus!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Helicanus and Lysimachus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nCalls my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThou art a grave and noble counsellor,\\r\\nMost wise in general: tell me, if thou canst,\\r\\nWhat this maid is, or what is like to be,\\r\\nThat thus hath made me weep.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nI know not,\\r\\nBut here is the regent, sir, of Mytilene\\r\\nSpeaks nobly of her.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nShe would never tell\\r\\nHer parentage; being demanded that,\\r\\nShe would sit still and weep.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nO Helicanus, strike me, honour’d sir;\\r\\nGive me a gash, put me to present pain;\\r\\nLest this great sea of joys rushing upon me\\r\\nO’erbear the shores of my mortality,\\r\\nAnd drown me with their sweetness.\\r\\n[_To Marina_] O, come hither,\\r\\nThou that beget’st him that did thee beget;\\r\\nThou that wast born at sea, buried at Tarsus,\\r\\nAnd found at sea again! O Helicanus,\\r\\nDown on thy knees, thank the holy gods as loud\\r\\nAs thunder threatens us: this is Marina.\\r\\nWhat was thy mother’s name? tell me but that,\\r\\nFor truth can never be confirm’d enough,\\r\\nThough doubts did ever sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nFirst, sir, I pray, what is your title?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI am Pericles of Tyre: but tell me now\\r\\nMy drown’d queen’s name, as in the rest you said\\r\\nThou hast been godlike perfect,\\r\\nThe heir of kingdoms and another life\\r\\nTo Pericles thy father.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nIs it no more to be your daughter than\\r\\nTo say my mother’s name was Thaisa?\\r\\nThaisa was my mother, who did end\\r\\nThe minute I began.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nNow, blessing on thee! rise; thou art my child.\\r\\nGive me fresh garments. Mine own, Helicanus;\\r\\nShe is not dead at Tarsus, as she should have been,\\r\\nBy savage Cleon: she shall tell thee all;\\r\\nWhen thou shalt kneel, and justify in knowledge\\r\\nShe is thy very princess. Who is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nSir, ’tis the governor of Mytilene,\\r\\nWho, hearing of your melancholy state,\\r\\nDid come to see you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI embrace you.\\r\\nGive me my robes. I am wild in my beholding.\\r\\nO heavens bless my girl! But, hark, what music?\\r\\nTell Helicanus, my Marina, tell him\\r\\nO’er, point by point, for yet he seems to doubt,\\r\\nHow sure you are my daughter. But, what music?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nMy lord, I hear none.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nNone!\\r\\nThe music of the spheres! List, my Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nIt is not good to cross him; give him way.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nRarest sounds! Do ye not hear?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nMusic, my lord? I hear.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMost heavenly music!\\r\\nIt nips me unto listening, and thick slumber\\r\\nHangs upon mine eyes: let me rest.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nA pillow for his head:\\r\\nSo, leave him all. Well, my companion friends,\\r\\nIf this but answer to my just belief,\\r\\nI’ll well remember you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Pericles._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Diana appears to Pericles as in a vision.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIANA.\\r\\nMy temple stands in Ephesus: hie thee thither,\\r\\nAnd do upon mine altar sacrifice.\\r\\nThere, when my maiden priests are met together,\\r\\nBefore the people all,\\r\\nReveal how thou at sea didst lose thy wife:\\r\\nTo mourn thy crosses, with thy daughter’s, call\\r\\nAnd give them repetition to the life.\\r\\nOr perform my bidding, or thou livest in woe:\\r\\nDo it, and happy; by my silver bow!\\r\\nAwake and tell thy dream.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Disappears._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nCelestial Dian, goddess argentine,\\r\\nI will obey thee. Helicanus!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Helicanus, Lysimachus and Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nSir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMy purpose was for Tarsus, there to strike\\r\\nThe inhospitable Cleon; but I am\\r\\nFor other service first: toward Ephesus\\r\\nTurn our blown sails; eftsoons I’ll tell thee why.\\r\\n[_To Lysimachus._] Shall we refresh us, sir, upon your shore,\\r\\nAnd give you gold for such provision\\r\\nAs our intents will need?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nSir, with all my heart,\\r\\nAnd when you come ashore I have another suit.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nYou shall prevail, were it to woo my daughter;\\r\\nFor it seems you have been noble towards her.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nSir, lend me your arm.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nCome, my Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower before the temple of Diana at Ephesus.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nNow our sands are almost run;\\r\\nMore a little, and then dumb.\\r\\nThis, my last boon, give me,\\r\\nFor such kindness must relieve me,\\r\\nThat you aptly will suppose\\r\\nWhat pageantry, what feats, what shows,\\r\\nWhat minstrelsy, and pretty din,\\r\\nThe regent made in Mytilene\\r\\nTo greet the king. So he thrived,\\r\\nThat he is promised to be wived\\r\\nTo fair Marina; but in no wise\\r\\nTill he had done his sacrifice,\\r\\nAs Dian bade: whereto being bound,\\r\\nThe interim, pray you, all confound.\\r\\nIn feather’d briefness sails are fill’d,\\r\\nAnd wishes fall out as they’re will’d.\\r\\nAt Ephesus, the temple see,\\r\\nOur king and all his company.\\r\\nThat he can hither come so soon,\\r\\nIs by your fancy’s thankful doom.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The temple of Diana at Ephesus; Thaisa standing near the\\r\\naltar, as high priestess; a number of Virgins on each side; Cerimon and\\r\\nother inhabitants of Ephesus attending.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles with his train; Lysimachus, Helicanus, Marina and a\\r\\n Lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHail, Dian! to perform thy just command,\\r\\nI here confess myself the King of Tyre;\\r\\nWho, frighted from my country, did wed\\r\\nAt Pentapolis the fair Thaisa.\\r\\nAt sea in childbed died she, but brought forth\\r\\nA maid child call’d Marina; whom, O goddess,\\r\\nWears yet thy silver livery. She at Tarsus\\r\\nWas nursed with Cleon; who at fourteen years\\r\\nHe sought to murder: but her better stars\\r\\nBrought her to Mytilene; ’gainst whose shore\\r\\nRiding, her fortunes brought the maid aboard us,\\r\\nWhere by her own most clear remembrance, she\\r\\nMade known herself my daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nVoice and favour!\\r\\nYou are, you are — O royal Pericles!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Faints._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWhat means the nun? She dies! help, gentlemen!\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nNoble sir,\\r\\nIf you have told Diana’s altar true,\\r\\nThis is your wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nReverend appearer, no;\\r\\nI threw her overboard with these very arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nUpon this coast, I warrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n’Tis most certain.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nLook to the lady; O, she’s but o’er-joy’d.\\r\\nEarly in blustering morn this lady was\\r\\nThrown upon this shore. I oped the coffin,\\r\\nFound there rich jewels; recover’d her, and placed her\\r\\nHere in Diana’s temple.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMay we see them?\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nGreat sir, they shall be brought you to my house,\\r\\nWhither I invite you. Look, Thaisa is\\r\\nRecovered.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nO, let me look!\\r\\nIf he be none of mine, my sanctity\\r\\nWill to my sense bend no licentious ear,\\r\\nBut curb it, spite of seeing. O, my lord,\\r\\nAre you not Pericles? Like him you spake,\\r\\nLike him you are: did you not name a tempest,\\r\\nA birth, and death?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThe voice of dead Thaisa!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nThat Thaisa am I, supposed dead\\r\\nAnd drown’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nImmortal Dian!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nNow I know you better,\\r\\nWhen we with tears parted Pentapolis,\\r\\nThe king my father gave you such a ring.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Shows a ring._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThis, this: no more, you gods! your present kindness\\r\\nMakes my past miseries sports: you shall do well,\\r\\nThat on the touching of her lips I may\\r\\nMelt and no more be seen. O, come, be buried\\r\\nA second time within these arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nMy heart\\r\\nLeaps to be gone into my mother’s bosom.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kneels to Thaisa._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nLook, who kneels here! Flesh of thy flesh, Thaisa;\\r\\nThy burden at the sea, and call’d Marina\\r\\nFor she was yielded there.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nBlest, and mine own!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nHail, madam, and my queen!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nI know you not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nYou have heard me say, when I did fly from Tyre,\\r\\nI left behind an ancient substitute:\\r\\nCan you remember what I call’d the man\\r\\nI have named him oft.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\n’Twas Helicanus then.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nStill confirmation:\\r\\nEmbrace him, dear Thaisa; this is he.\\r\\nNow do I long to hear how you were found:\\r\\nHow possibly preserved; and who to thank,\\r\\nBesides the gods, for this great miracle.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nLord Cerimon, my lord; this man,\\r\\nThrough whom the gods have shown their power; that can\\r\\nFrom first to last resolve you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nReverend sir,\\r\\nThe gods can have no mortal officer\\r\\nMore like a god than you. Will you deliver\\r\\nHow this dead queen relives?\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nI will, my lord.\\r\\nBeseech you, first go with me to my house,\\r\\nWhere shall be shown you all was found with her;\\r\\nHow she came placed here in the temple;\\r\\nNo needful thing omitted.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nPure Dian, bless thee for thy vision! I\\r\\nWill offer night-oblations to thee. Thaisa,\\r\\nThis prince, the fair betrothed of your daughter,\\r\\nShall marry her at Pentapolis.\\r\\nAnd now this ornament\\r\\nMakes me look dismal will I clip to form;\\r\\nAnd what this fourteen years no razor touch’d\\r\\nTo grace thy marriage-day, I’ll beautify.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nLord Cerimon hath letters of good credit, sir,\\r\\nMy father’s dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHeavens make a star of him! Yet there, my queen,\\r\\nWe’ll celebrate their nuptials, and ourselves\\r\\nWill in that kingdom spend our following days:\\r\\nOur son and daughter shall in Tyrus reign.\\r\\nLord Cerimon, we do our longing stay\\r\\nTo hear the rest untold. Sir, lead’s the way.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nIn Antiochus and his daughter you have heard\\r\\nOf monstrous lust the due and just reward:\\r\\nIn Pericles, his queen and daughter seen,\\r\\nAlthough assail’d with Fortune fierce and keen,\\r\\nVirtue preserved from fell destruction’s blast,\\r\\nLed on by heaven, and crown’d with joy at last.\\r\\nIn Helicanus may you well descry\\r\\nA figure of truth, of faith, of loyalty:\\r\\nIn reverend Cerimon there well appears\\r\\nThe worth that learned charity aye wears:\\r\\nFor wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame\\r\\nHad spread their cursed deed, the honour’d name\\r\\nOf Pericles, to rage the city turn,\\r\\nThat him and his they in his palace burn.\\r\\nThe gods for murder seemed so content\\r\\nTo punish, although not done, but meant.\\r\\nSo on your patience evermore attending,\\r\\nNew joy wait on you! Here our play has ending.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nKING RICHARD THE SECOND\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD THE SECOND\\r\\n JOHN OF GAUNT, Duke of Lancaster - uncle to the King\\r\\n EDMUND LANGLEY, Duke of York - uncle to the King\\r\\n HENRY, surnamed BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford, son of\\r\\n John of Gaunt, afterwards King Henry IV\\r\\n DUKE OF AUMERLE, son of the Duke of York\\r\\n THOMAS MOWBRAY, Duke of Norfolk\\r\\n DUKE OF SURREY\\r\\n EARL OF SALISBURY\\r\\n EARL BERKELEY\\r\\n BUSHY - favourites of King Richard\\r\\n BAGOT - \" \" \" \"\\r\\n GREEN - \" \" \" \"\\r\\n EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND\\r\\n HENRY PERCY, surnamed HOTSPUR, his son\\r\\n LORD Ross LORD WILLOUGHBY\\r\\n LORD FITZWATER BISHOP OF CARLISLE\\r\\n ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER LORD MARSHAL\\r\\n SIR STEPHEN SCROOP SIR PIERCE OF EXTON\\r\\n CAPTAIN of a band of Welshmen TWO GARDENERS\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN to King Richard\\r\\n DUCHESS OF YORK\\r\\n DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER, widow of Thomas of Woodstock,\\r\\n Duke of Gloucester\\r\\n LADY attending on the Queen\\r\\n\\r\\n Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Keeper, Messenger,\\r\\n Groom, and other Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: England and Wales\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. London. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter RICHARD, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other NOBLES and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster,\\r\\n Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,\\r\\n Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son,\\r\\n Here to make good the boist\\'rous late appeal,\\r\\n Which then our leisure would not let us hear,\\r\\n Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?\\r\\n GAUNT. I have, my liege.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him\\r\\n If he appeal the Duke on ancient malice,\\r\\n Or worthily, as a good subject should,\\r\\n On some known ground of treachery in him?\\r\\n GAUNT. As near as I could sift him on that argument,\\r\\n On some apparent danger seen in him\\r\\n Aim\\'d at your Highness-no inveterate malice.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then call them to our presence: face to face\\r\\n And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear\\r\\n The accuser and the accused freely speak.\\r\\n High-stomach\\'d are they both and full of ire,\\r\\n In rage, deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BOLINGBROKE and MOWBRAY\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Many years of happy days befall\\r\\n My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Each day still better other\\'s happiness\\r\\n Until the heavens, envying earth\\'s good hap,\\r\\n Add an immortal title to your crown!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We thank you both; yet one but flatters us,\\r\\n As well appeareth by the cause you come;\\r\\n Namely, to appeal each other of high treason.\\r\\n Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object\\r\\n Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. First-heaven be the record to my speech!\\r\\n In the devotion of a subject\\'s love,\\r\\n Tend\\'ring the precious safety of my prince,\\r\\n And free from other misbegotten hate,\\r\\n Come I appellant to this princely presence.\\r\\n Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,\\r\\n And mark my greeting well; for what I speak\\r\\n My body shall make good upon this earth,\\r\\n Or my divine soul answer it in heaven-\\r\\n Thou art a traitor and a miscreant,\\r\\n Too good to be so, and too bad to live,\\r\\n Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,\\r\\n The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.\\r\\n Once more, the more to aggravate the note,\\r\\n With a foul traitor\\'s name stuff I thy throat;\\r\\n And wish-so please my sovereign-ere I move,\\r\\n What my tongue speaks, my right drawn sword may prove.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal.\\r\\n \\'Tis not the trial of a woman\\'s war,\\r\\n The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,\\r\\n Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain;\\r\\n The blood is hot that must be cool\\'d for this.\\r\\n Yet can I not of such tame patience boast\\r\\n As to be hush\\'d and nought at an to say.\\r\\n First, the fair reverence of your Highness curbs me\\r\\n From giving reins and spurs to my free speech;\\r\\n Which else would post until it had return\\'d\\r\\n These terms of treason doubled down his throat.\\r\\n Setting aside his high blood\\'s royalty,\\r\\n And let him be no kinsman to my liege,\\r\\n I do defy him, and I spit at him,\\r\\n Call him a slanderous coward and a villain;\\r\\n Which to maintain, I would allow him odds\\r\\n And meet him, were I tied to run afoot\\r\\n Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,\\r\\n Or any other ground inhabitable\\r\\n Where ever Englishman durst set his foot.\\r\\n Meantime let this defend my loyalty-\\r\\n By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage,\\r\\n Disclaiming here the kindred of the King;\\r\\n And lay aside my high blood\\'s royalty,\\r\\n Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except.\\r\\n If guilty dread have left thee so much strength\\r\\n As to take up mine honour\\'s pawn, then stoop.\\r\\n By that and all the rites of knighthood else\\r\\n Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,\\r\\n What I have spoke or thou canst worst devise.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. I take it up; and by that sword I swear\\r\\n Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder\\r\\n I\\'ll answer thee in any fair degree\\r\\n Or chivalrous design of knightly trial;\\r\\n And when I mount, alive may I not light\\r\\n If I be traitor or unjustly fight!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray\\'s charge?\\r\\n It must be great that can inherit us\\r\\n So much as of a thought of ill in him.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Look what I speak, my life shall prove it true-\\r\\n That Mowbray hath receiv\\'d eight thousand nobles\\r\\n In name of lendings for your Highness\\' soldiers,\\r\\n The which he hath detain\\'d for lewd employments\\r\\n Like a false traitor and injurious villain.\\r\\n Besides, I say and will in battle prove-\\r\\n Or here, or elsewhere to the furthest verge\\r\\n That ever was survey\\'d by English eye-\\r\\n That all the treasons for these eighteen years\\r\\n Complotted and contrived in this land\\r\\n Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.\\r\\n Further I say, and further will maintain\\r\\n Upon his bad life to make all this good,\\r\\n That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester\\'s death,\\r\\n Suggest his soon-believing adversaries,\\r\\n And consequently, like a traitor coward,\\r\\n Sluic\\'d out his innocent soul through streams of blood;\\r\\n Which blood, like sacrificing Abel\\'s, cries,\\r\\n Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth,\\r\\n To me for justice and rough chastisement;\\r\\n And, by the glorious worth of my descent,\\r\\n This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. How high a pitch his resolution soars!\\r\\n Thomas of Norfolk, what say\\'st thou to this?\\r\\n MOWBRAY. O, let my sovereign turn away his face\\r\\n And bid his ears a little while be deaf,\\r\\n Till I have told this slander of his blood\\r\\n How God and good men hate so foul a liar.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and cars.\\r\\n Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom\\'s heir,\\r\\n As he is but my father\\'s brother\\'s son,\\r\\n Now by my sceptre\\'s awe I make a vow,\\r\\n Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood\\r\\n Should nothing privilege him nor partialize\\r\\n The unstooping firmness of my upright soul.\\r\\n He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou:\\r\\n Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,\\r\\n Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest.\\r\\n Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais\\r\\n Disburs\\'d I duly to his Highness\\' soldiers;\\r\\n The other part reserv\\'d I by consent,\\r\\n For that my sovereign liege was in my debt\\r\\n Upon remainder of a dear account\\r\\n Since last I went to France to fetch his queen:\\r\\n Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester\\'s death-\\r\\n I slew him not, but to my own disgrace\\r\\n Neglected my sworn duty in that case.\\r\\n For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster,\\r\\n The honourable father to my foe,\\r\\n Once did I lay an ambush for your life,\\r\\n A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul;\\r\\n But ere I last receiv\\'d the sacrament\\r\\n I did confess it, and exactly begg\\'d\\r\\n Your Grace\\'s pardon; and I hope I had it.\\r\\n This is my fault. As for the rest appeal\\'d,\\r\\n It issues from the rancour of a villain,\\r\\n A recreant and most degenerate traitor;\\r\\n Which in myself I boldly will defend,\\r\\n And interchangeably hurl down my gage\\r\\n Upon this overweening traitor\\'s foot\\r\\n To prove myself a loyal gentleman\\r\\n Even in the best blood chamber\\'d in his bosom.\\r\\n In haste whereof, most heartily I pray\\r\\n Your Highness to assign our trial day.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul\\'d by me;\\r\\n Let\\'s purge this choler without letting blood-\\r\\n This we prescribe, though no physician;\\r\\n Deep malice makes too deep incision.\\r\\n Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed:\\r\\n Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.\\r\\n Good uncle, let this end where it begun;\\r\\n We\\'ll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son.\\r\\n GAUNT. To be a make-peace shall become my age.\\r\\n Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk\\'s gage.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And, Norfolk, throw down his.\\r\\n GAUNT. When, Harry, when?\\r\\n Obedience bids I should not bid again.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Norfolk, throw down; we bid.\\r\\n There is no boot.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot;\\r\\n My life thou shalt command, but not my shame:\\r\\n The one my duty owes; but my fair name,\\r\\n Despite of death, that lives upon my grave\\r\\n To dark dishonour\\'s use thou shalt not have.\\r\\n I am disgrac\\'d, impeach\\'d, and baffl\\'d here;\\r\\n Pierc\\'d to the soul with slander\\'s venom\\'d spear,\\r\\n The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood\\r\\n Which breath\\'d this poison.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Rage must be withstood:\\r\\n Give me his gage-lions make leopards tame.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Yea, but not change his spots. Take but my shame,\\r\\n And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord,\\r\\n The purest treasure mortal times afford\\r\\n Is spotless reputation; that away,\\r\\n Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.\\r\\n A jewel in a ten-times barr\\'d-up chest\\r\\n Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.\\r\\n Mine honour is my life; both grow in one;\\r\\n Take honour from me, and my life is done:\\r\\n Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try;\\r\\n In that I live, and for that will I die.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. O, God defend my soul from such deep sin!\\r\\n Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father\\'s sight?\\r\\n Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height\\r\\n Before this outdar\\'d dastard? Ere my tongue\\r\\n Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong\\r\\n Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear\\r\\n The slavish motive of recanting fear,\\r\\n And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace,\\r\\n Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray\\'s face.\\r\\n Exit GAUNT\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We were not born to sue, but to command;\\r\\n Which since we cannot do to make you friends,\\r\\n Be ready, as your lives shall answer it,\\r\\n At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert\\'s day.\\r\\n There shall your swords and lances arbitrate\\r\\n The swelling difference of your settled hate;\\r\\n Since we can not atone you, we shall see\\r\\n Justice design the victor\\'s chivalry.\\r\\n Lord Marshal, command our officers-at-arms\\r\\n Be ready to direct these home alarms. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. London. The DUKE OF LANCASTER\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter JOHN OF GAUNT with the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n GAUNT. Alas, the part I had in Woodstock\\'s blood\\r\\n Doth more solicit me than your exclaims\\r\\n To stir against the butchers of his life!\\r\\n But since correction lieth in those hands\\r\\n Which made the fault that we cannot correct,\\r\\n Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven;\\r\\n Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth,\\r\\n Will rain hot vengeance on offenders\\' heads.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?\\r\\n Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?\\r\\n Edward\\'s seven sons, whereof thyself art one,\\r\\n Were as seven vials of his sacred blood,\\r\\n Or seven fair branches springing from one root.\\r\\n Some of those seven are dried by nature\\'s course,\\r\\n Some of those branches by the Destinies cut;\\r\\n But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester,\\r\\n One vial full of Edward\\'s sacred blood,\\r\\n One flourishing branch of his most royal root,\\r\\n Is crack\\'d, and all the precious liquor spilt;\\r\\n Is hack\\'d down, and his summer leaves all faded,\\r\\n By envy\\'s hand and murder\\'s bloody axe.\\r\\n Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! That bed, that womb,\\r\\n That mettle, that self mould, that fashion\\'d thee,\\r\\n Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest,\\r\\n Yet art thou slain in him. Thou dost consent\\r\\n In some large measure to thy father\\'s death\\r\\n In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,\\r\\n Who was the model of thy father\\'s life.\\r\\n Call it not patience, Gaunt-it is despair;\\r\\n In suff\\'ring thus thy brother to be slaught\\'red,\\r\\n Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life,\\r\\n Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee.\\r\\n That which in mean men we entitle patience\\r\\n Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.\\r\\n What shall I say? To safeguard thine own life\\r\\n The best way is to venge my Gloucester\\'s death.\\r\\n GAUNT. God\\'s is the quarrel; for God\\'s substitute,\\r\\n His deputy anointed in His sight,\\r\\n Hath caus\\'d his death; the which if wrongfully,\\r\\n Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift\\r\\n An angry arm against His minister.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Where then, alas, may I complain myself?\\r\\n GAUNT. To God, the widow\\'s champion and defence.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.\\r\\n Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold\\r\\n Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight.\\r\\n O, sit my husband\\'s wrongs on Hereford\\'s spear,\\r\\n That it may enter butcher Mowbray\\'s breast!\\r\\n Or, if misfortune miss the first career,\\r\\n Be Mowbray\\'s sins so heavy in his bosom\\r\\n That they may break his foaming courser\\'s back\\r\\n And throw the rider headlong in the lists,\\r\\n A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford!\\r\\n Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometimes brother\\'s wife,\\r\\n With her companion, Grief, must end her life.\\r\\n GAUNT. Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry.\\r\\n As much good stay with thee as go with me!\\r\\n DUCHESS. Yet one word more- grief boundeth where it falls,\\r\\n Not with the empty hollowness, but weight.\\r\\n I take my leave before I have begun,\\r\\n For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.\\r\\n Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York.\\r\\n Lo, this is all- nay, yet depart not so;\\r\\n Though this be all, do not so quickly go;\\r\\n I shall remember more. Bid him- ah, what?-\\r\\n With all good speed at Plashy visit me.\\r\\n Alack, and what shall good old York there see\\r\\n But empty lodgings and unfurnish\\'d walls,\\r\\n Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?\\r\\n And what hear there for welcome but my groans?\\r\\n Therefore commend me; let him not come there\\r\\n To seek out sorrow that dwells every where.\\r\\n Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die;\\r\\n The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. The lists at Coventry\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the LORD MARSHAL and the DUKE OF AUMERLE\\r\\n\\r\\n MARSHAL. My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm\\'d?\\r\\n AUMERLE. Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in.\\r\\n MARSHAL. The Duke of Norfolk, spightfully and bold,\\r\\n Stays but the summons of the appelant\\'s trumpet.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Why then, the champions are prepar\\'d, and stay\\r\\n For nothing but his Majesty\\'s approach.\\r\\n\\r\\n The trumpets sound, and the KING enters with his nobles,\\r\\n GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and others. When they are set,\\r\\n enter MOWBRAY, Duke of Nor folk, in arms, defendant, and\\r\\n a HERALD\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Marshal, demand of yonder champion\\r\\n The cause of his arrival here in arms;\\r\\n Ask him his name; and orderly proceed\\r\\n To swear him in the justice of his cause.\\r\\n MARSHAL. In God\\'s name and the King\\'s, say who thou art,\\r\\n And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms;\\r\\n Against what man thou com\\'st, and what thy quarrel.\\r\\n Speak truly on thy knighthood and thy oath;\\r\\n As so defend thee heaven and thy valour!\\r\\n MOWBRAY. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk;\\r\\n Who hither come engaged by my oath-\\r\\n Which God defend a knight should violate!-\\r\\n Both to defend my loyalty and truth\\r\\n To God, my King, and my succeeding issue,\\r\\n Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me;\\r\\n And, by the grace of God and this mine arm,\\r\\n To prove him, in defending of myself,\\r\\n A traitor to my God, my King, and me.\\r\\n And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!\\r\\n\\r\\n The trumpets sound. Enter BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford,\\r\\n appellant, in armour, and a HERALD\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms,\\r\\n Both who he is and why he cometh hither\\r\\n Thus plated in habiliments of war;\\r\\n And formally, according to our law,\\r\\n Depose him in the justice of his cause.\\r\\n MARSHAL. What is thy name? and wherefore com\\'st thou hither\\r\\n Before King Richard in his royal lists?\\r\\n Against whom comest thou? and what\\'s thy quarrel?\\r\\n Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,\\r\\n Am I; who ready here do stand in arms\\r\\n To prove, by God\\'s grace and my body\\'s valour,\\r\\n In lists on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,\\r\\n That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous,\\r\\n To God of heaven, King Richard, and to me.\\r\\n And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!\\r\\n MARSHAL. On pain of death, no person be so bold\\r\\n Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists,\\r\\n Except the Marshal and such officers\\r\\n Appointed to direct these fair designs.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign\\'s hand,\\r\\n And bow my knee before his Majesty;\\r\\n For Mowbray and myself are like two men\\r\\n That vow a long and weary pilgrimage.\\r\\n Then let us take a ceremonious leave\\r\\n And loving farewell of our several friends.\\r\\n MARSHAL. The appellant in all duty greets your Highness,\\r\\n And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We will descend and fold him in our arms.\\r\\n Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,\\r\\n So be thy fortune in this royal fight!\\r\\n Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed,\\r\\n Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. O, let no noble eye profane a tear\\r\\n For me, if I be gor\\'d with Mowbray\\'s spear.\\r\\n As confident as is the falcon\\'s flight\\r\\n Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.\\r\\n My loving lord, I take my leave of you;\\r\\n Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle;\\r\\n Not sick, although I have to do with death,\\r\\n But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.\\r\\n Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet\\r\\n The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.\\r\\n O thou, the earthly author of my blood,\\r\\n Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,\\r\\n Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up\\r\\n To reach at victory above my head,\\r\\n Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers,\\r\\n And with thy blessings steel my lance\\'s point,\\r\\n That it may enter Mowbray\\'s waxen coat\\r\\n And furbish new the name of John o\\' Gaunt,\\r\\n Even in the lusty haviour of his son.\\r\\n GAUNT. God in thy good cause make thee prosperous!\\r\\n Be swift like lightning in the execution,\\r\\n And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,\\r\\n Fall like amazing thunder on the casque\\r\\n Of thy adverse pernicious enemy.\\r\\n Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Mine innocence and Saint George to thrive!\\r\\n MOWBRAY. However God or fortune cast my lot,\\r\\n There lives or dies, true to King Richard\\'s throne,\\r\\n A loyal, just, and upright gentleman.\\r\\n Never did captive with a freer heart\\r\\n Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace\\r\\n His golden uncontroll\\'d enfranchisement,\\r\\n More than my dancing soul doth celebrate\\r\\n This feast of battle with mine adversary.\\r\\n Most mighty liege, and my companion peers,\\r\\n Take from my mouth the wish of happy years.\\r\\n As gentle and as jocund as to jest\\r\\n Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Farewell, my lord, securely I espy\\r\\n Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.\\r\\n Order the trial, Marshal, and begin.\\r\\n MARSHAL. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,\\r\\n Receive thy lance; and God defend the right!\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen.\\r\\n MARSHAL. [To an officer] Go bear this lance to Thomas,\\r\\n Duke of Norfolk.\\r\\n FIRST HERALD. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,\\r\\n Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself,\\r\\n On pain to be found false and recreant,\\r\\n To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,\\r\\n A traitor to his God, his King, and him;\\r\\n And dares him to set forward to the fight.\\r\\n SECOND HERALD. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,\\r\\n On pain to be found false and recreant,\\r\\n Both to defend himself, and to approve\\r\\n Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,\\r\\n To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal,\\r\\n Courageously and with a free desire\\r\\n Attending but the signal to begin.\\r\\n MARSHAL. Sound trumpets; and set forward, combatants.\\r\\n [A charge sounded]\\r\\n Stay, the King hath thrown his warder down.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Let them lay by their helmets and their spears,\\r\\n And both return back to their chairs again.\\r\\n Withdraw with us; and let the trumpets sound\\r\\n While we return these dukes what we decree.\\r\\n\\r\\n A long flourish, while the KING consults his Council\\r\\n\\r\\n Draw near,\\r\\n And list what with our council we have done.\\r\\n For that our kingdom\\'s earth should not be soil\\'d\\r\\n With that dear blood which it hath fostered;\\r\\n And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect\\r\\n Of civil wounds plough\\'d up with neighbours\\' sword;\\r\\n And for we think the eagle-winged pride\\r\\n Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,\\r\\n With rival-hating envy, set on you\\r\\n To wake our peace, which in our country\\'s cradle\\r\\n Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;\\r\\n Which so rous\\'d up with boist\\'rous untun\\'d drums,\\r\\n With harsh-resounding trumpets\\' dreadful bray,\\r\\n And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,\\r\\n Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace\\r\\n And make us wade even in our kindred\\'s blood-\\r\\n Therefore we banish you our territories.\\r\\n You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life,\\r\\n Till twice five summers have enrich\\'d our fields\\r\\n Shall not regreet our fair dominions,\\r\\n But tread the stranger paths of banishment.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Your will be done. This must my comfort be-\\r\\n That sun that warms you here shall shine on me,\\r\\n And those his golden beams to you here lent\\r\\n Shall point on me and gild my banishment.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,\\r\\n Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:\\r\\n The sly slow hours shall not determinate\\r\\n The dateless limit of thy dear exile;\\r\\n The hopeless word of \\'never to return\\'\\r\\n Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,\\r\\n And all unlook\\'d for from your Highness\\' mouth.\\r\\n A dearer merit, not so deep a maim\\r\\n As to be cast forth in the common air,\\r\\n Have I deserved at your Highness\\' hands.\\r\\n The language I have learnt these forty years,\\r\\n My native English, now I must forgo;\\r\\n And now my tongue\\'s use is to me no more\\r\\n Than an unstringed viol or a harp;\\r\\n Or like a cunning instrument cas\\'d up\\r\\n Or, being open, put into his hands\\r\\n That knows no touch to tune the harmony.\\r\\n Within my mouth you have engaol\\'d my tongue,\\r\\n Doubly portcullis\\'d with my teeth and lips;\\r\\n And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance\\r\\n Is made my gaoler to attend on me.\\r\\n I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,\\r\\n Too far in years to be a pupil now.\\r\\n What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death,\\r\\n Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. It boots thee not to be compassionate;\\r\\n After our sentence plaining comes too late.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Then thus I turn me from my countrv\\'s light,\\r\\n To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Return again, and take an oath with thee.\\r\\n Lay on our royal sword your banish\\'d hands;\\r\\n Swear by the duty that you owe to God,\\r\\n Our part therein we banish with yourselves,\\r\\n To keep the oath that we administer:\\r\\n You never shall, so help you truth and God,\\r\\n Embrace each other\\'s love in banishment;\\r\\n Nor never look upon each other\\'s face;\\r\\n Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile\\r\\n This louring tempest of your home-bred hate;\\r\\n Nor never by advised purpose meet\\r\\n To plot, contrive, or complot any ill,\\r\\n \\'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I swear.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. And I, to keep all this.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy.\\r\\n By this time, had the King permitted us,\\r\\n One of our souls had wand\\'red in the air,\\r\\n Banish\\'d this frail sepulchre of our flesh,\\r\\n As now our flesh is banish\\'d from this land-\\r\\n Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm;\\r\\n Since thou hast far to go, bear not along\\r\\n The clogging burden of a guilty soul.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were traitor,\\r\\n My name be blotted from the book of life,\\r\\n And I from heaven banish\\'d as from hence!\\r\\n But what thou art, God, thou, and I, do know;\\r\\n And all too soon, I fear, the King shall rue.\\r\\n Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray:\\r\\n Save back to England, an the world\\'s my way. Exit\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes\\r\\n I see thy grieved heart. Thy sad aspect\\r\\n Hath from the number of his banish\\'d years\\r\\n Pluck\\'d four away. [To BOLINGBROKE] Six frozen winters spent,\\r\\n Return with welcome home from banishment.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. How long a time lies in one little word!\\r\\n Four lagging winters and four wanton springs\\r\\n End in a word: such is the breath of Kings.\\r\\n GAUNT. I thank my liege that in regard of me\\r\\n He shortens four years of my son\\'s exile;\\r\\n But little vantage shall I reap thereby,\\r\\n For ere the six years that he hath to spend\\r\\n Can change their moons and bring their times about,\\r\\n My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light\\r\\n Shall be extinct with age and endless night;\\r\\n My inch of taper will be burnt and done,\\r\\n And blindfold death not let me see my son.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live.\\r\\n GAUNT. But not a minute, King, that thou canst give:\\r\\n Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow\\r\\n And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow;\\r\\n Thou can\\'st help time to furrow me with age,\\r\\n But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage;\\r\\n Thy word is current with him for my death,\\r\\n But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thy son is banish\\'d upon good advice,\\r\\n Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave.\\r\\n Why at our justice seem\\'st thou then to lour?\\r\\n GAUNT. Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.\\r\\n You urg\\'d me as a judge; but I had rather\\r\\n You would have bid me argue like a father.\\r\\n O, had it been a stranger, not my child,\\r\\n To smooth his fault I should have been more mild.\\r\\n A partial slander sought I to avoid,\\r\\n And in the sentence my own life destroy\\'d.\\r\\n Alas, I look\\'d when some of you should say\\r\\n I was too strict to make mine own away;\\r\\n But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue\\r\\n Against my will to do myself this wrong.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so.\\r\\n Six years we banish him, and he shall go.\\r\\n Flourish. Exit KING with train\\r\\n AUMERLE. Cousin, farewell; what presence must not know,\\r\\n From where you do remain let paper show.\\r\\n MARSHAL. My lord, no leave take I, for I will ride\\r\\n As far as land will let me by your side.\\r\\n GAUNT. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,\\r\\n That thou returnest no greeting to thy friends?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I have too few to take my leave of you,\\r\\n When the tongue\\'s office should be prodigal\\r\\n To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.\\r\\n GAUNT. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Joy absent, grief is present for that time.\\r\\n GAUNT. What is six winters? They are quickly gone.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.\\r\\n GAUNT. Call it a travel that thou tak\\'st for pleasure.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,\\r\\n Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage.\\r\\n GAUNT. The sullen passage of thy weary steps\\r\\n Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set\\r\\n The precious jewel of thy home return.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make\\r\\n Will but remember me what a deal of world\\r\\n I wander from the jewels that I love.\\r\\n Must I not serve a long apprenticehood\\r\\n To foreign passages; and in the end,\\r\\n Having my freedom, boast of nothing else\\r\\n But that I was a journeyman to grief?\\r\\n GAUNT. All places that the eye of heaven visits\\r\\n Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.\\r\\n Teach thy necessity to reason thus:\\r\\n There is no virtue like necessity.\\r\\n Think not the King did banish thee,\\r\\n But thou the King. Woe doth the heavier sit\\r\\n Where it perceives it is but faintly home.\\r\\n Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour,\\r\\n And not the King exil\\'d thee; or suppose\\r\\n Devouring pestilence hangs in our air\\r\\n And thou art flying to a fresher clime.\\r\\n Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it\\r\\n To lie that way thou goest, not whence thou com\\'st.\\r\\n Suppose the singing birds musicians,\\r\\n The grass whereon thou tread\\'st the presence strew\\'d,\\r\\n The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more\\r\\n Than a delightful measure or a dance;\\r\\n For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite\\r\\n The man that mocks at it and sets it light.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. O, who can hold a fire in his hand\\r\\n By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?\\r\\n Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite\\r\\n By bare imagination of a feast?\\r\\n Or wallow naked in December snow\\r\\n By thinking on fantastic summer\\'s heat?\\r\\n O, no! the apprehension of the good\\r\\n Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.\\r\\n Fell sorrow\\'s tooth doth never rankle more\\r\\n Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore.\\r\\n GAUNT. Come, come, my son, I\\'ll bring thee on thy way.\\r\\n Had I thy youtli and cause, I would not stay.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Then, England\\'s ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu;\\r\\n My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet!\\r\\n Where\\'er I wander, boast of this I can:\\r\\n Though banish\\'d, yet a trueborn English man. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. London. The court\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the KING, with BAGOT and GREEN, at one door; and the DUKE OF\\r\\nAUMERLE at another\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We did observe. Cousin Aumerle,\\r\\n How far brought you high Hereford on his way?\\r\\n AUMERLE. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,\\r\\n But to the next high way, and there I left him.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And say, what store of parting tears were shed?\\r\\n AUMERLE. Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind,\\r\\n Which then blew bitterly against our faces,\\r\\n Awak\\'d the sleeping rheum, and so by chance\\r\\n Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What said our cousin when you parted with him?\\r\\n AUMERLE. \\'Farewell.\\'\\r\\n And, for my heart disdained that my tongue\\r\\n Should so profane the word, that taught me craft\\r\\n To counterfeit oppression of such grief\\r\\n That words seem\\'d buried in my sorrow\\'s grave.\\r\\n Marry, would the word \\'farewell\\' have length\\'ned hours\\r\\n And added years to his short banishment,\\r\\n He should have had a volume of farewells;\\r\\n But since it would not, he had none of me.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. He is our cousin, cousin; but \\'tis doubt,\\r\\n When time shall call him home from banishment,\\r\\n Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.\\r\\n Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green,\\r\\n Observ\\'d his courtship to the common people;\\r\\n How he did seem to dive into their hearts\\r\\n With humble and familiar courtesy;\\r\\n What reverence he did throw away on slaves,\\r\\n Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles\\r\\n And patient underbearing of his fortune,\\r\\n As \\'twere to banish their affects with him.\\r\\n Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;\\r\\n A brace of draymen bid God speed him well\\r\\n And had the tribute of his supple knee,\\r\\n With \\'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends\\';\\r\\n As were our England in reversion his,\\r\\n And he our subjects\\' next degree in hope.\\r\\n GREEN. Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts!\\r\\n Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland,\\r\\n Expedient manage must be made, my liege,\\r\\n Ere further leisure yicld them further means\\r\\n For their advantage and your Highness\\' loss.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We will ourself in person to this war;\\r\\n And, for our coffers, with too great a court\\r\\n And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light,\\r\\n We are enforc\\'d to farm our royal realm;\\r\\n The revenue whereof shall furnish us\\r\\n For our affairs in hand. If that come short,\\r\\n Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters;\\r\\n Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,\\r\\n They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold,\\r\\n And send them after to supply our wants;\\r\\n For we will make for Ireland presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BUSHY\\r\\n\\r\\n Bushy, what news?\\r\\n BUSHY. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord,\\r\\n Suddenly taken; and hath sent poste-haste\\r\\n To entreat your Majesty to visit him.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Where lies he?\\r\\n BUSHY. At Ely House.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Now put it, God, in the physician\\'s mind\\r\\n To help him to his grave immediately!\\r\\n The lining of his coffers shall make coats\\r\\n To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.\\r\\n Come, gentlemen, let\\'s all go visit him.\\r\\n Pray God we may make haste, and come too late!\\r\\n ALL. Amen. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. London. Ely House\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter JOHN OF GAUNT, sick, with the DUKE OF YORK, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\n GAUNT. Will the King come, that I may breathe my last\\r\\n In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth?\\r\\n YORK. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath;\\r\\n For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.\\r\\n GAUNT. O, but they say the tongues of dying men\\r\\n Enforce attention like deep harmony.\\r\\n Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain;\\r\\n For they breathe truth that breathe their words -in pain.\\r\\n He that no more must say is listen\\'d more\\r\\n Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose;\\r\\n More are men\\'s ends mark\\'d than their lives before.\\r\\n The setting sun, and music at the close,\\r\\n As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,\\r\\n Writ in remembrance more than things long past.\\r\\n Though Richard my life\\'s counsel would not hear,\\r\\n My death\\'s sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.\\r\\n YORK. No; it is stopp\\'d with other flattering sounds,\\r\\n As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond,\\r\\n Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound\\r\\n The open ear of youth doth always listen;\\r\\n Report of fashions in proud Italy,\\r\\n Whose manners still our tardy apish nation\\r\\n Limps after in base imitation.\\r\\n Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity-\\r\\n So it be new, there\\'s no respect how vile-\\r\\n That is not quickly buzz\\'d into his ears?\\r\\n Then all too late comes counsel to be heard\\r\\n Where will doth mutiny with wit\\'s regard.\\r\\n Direct not him whose way himself will choose.\\r\\n \\'Tis breath thou lack\\'st, and that breath wilt thou lose.\\r\\n GAUNT. Methinks I am a prophet new inspir\\'d,\\r\\n And thus expiring do foretell of him:\\r\\n His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,\\r\\n For violent fires soon burn out themselves;\\r\\n Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short;\\r\\n He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes;\\r\\n With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder;\\r\\n Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,\\r\\n Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.\\r\\n This royal throne of kings, this scept\\'red isle,\\r\\n This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,\\r\\n This other Eden, demi-paradise,\\r\\n This fortress built by Nature for herself\\r\\n Against infection and the hand of war,\\r\\n This happy breed of men, this little world,\\r\\n This precious stone set in the silver sea,\\r\\n Which serves it in the office of a wall,\\r\\n Or as a moat defensive to a house,\\r\\n Against the envy of less happier lands;\\r\\n This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,\\r\\n This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,\\r\\n Fear\\'d by their breed, and famous by their birth,\\r\\n Renowned for their deeds as far from home,\\r\\n For Christian service and true chivalry,\\r\\n As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry\\r\\n Of the world\\'s ransom, blessed Mary\\'s Son;\\r\\n This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,\\r\\n Dear for her reputation through the world,\\r\\n Is now leas\\'d out-I die pronouncing it-\\r\\n Like to a tenement or pelting farm.\\r\\n England, bound in with the triumphant sea,\\r\\n Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege\\r\\n Of wat\\'ry Neptune, is now bound in with shame,\\r\\n With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds;\\r\\n That England, that was wont to conquer others,\\r\\n Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.\\r\\n Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,\\r\\n How happy then were my ensuing death!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING and QUEEN, AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT,\\r\\n Ross, and WILLOUGHBY\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. The King is come; deal mildly with his youth,\\r\\n For young hot colts being rag\\'d do rage the more.\\r\\n QUEEN. How fares our noble uncle Lancaster?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What comfort, man? How is\\'t with aged Gaunt?\\r\\n GAUNT. O, how that name befits my composition!\\r\\n Old Gaunt, indeed; and gaunt in being old.\\r\\n Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast;\\r\\n And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt?\\r\\n For sleeping England long time have I watch\\'d;\\r\\n Watching breeds leanness, leanness is an gaunt.\\r\\n The pleasure that some fathers feed upon\\r\\n Is my strict fast-I mean my children\\'s looks;\\r\\n And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt.\\r\\n Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,\\r\\n Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Can sick men play so nicely with their names?\\r\\n GAUNT. No, misery makes sport to mock itself:\\r\\n Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,\\r\\n I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Should dying men flatter with those that live?\\r\\n GAUNT. No, no; men living flatter those that die.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thou, now a-dying, sayest thou flatterest me.\\r\\n GAUNT. O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.\\r\\n GAUNT. Now He that made me knows I see thee ill;\\r\\n Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill.\\r\\n Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land\\r\\n Wherein thou liest in reputation sick;\\r\\n And thou, too careless patient as thou art,\\r\\n Commit\\'st thy anointed body to the cure\\r\\n Of those physicians that first wounded thee:\\r\\n A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,\\r\\n Whose compass is no bigger than thy head;\\r\\n And yet, incaged in so small a verge,\\r\\n The waste is no whit lesser than thy land.\\r\\n O, had thy grandsire with a prophet\\'s eye\\r\\n Seen how his son\\'s son should destroy his sons,\\r\\n From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame,\\r\\n Deposing thee before thou wert possess\\'d,\\r\\n Which art possess\\'d now to depose thyself.\\r\\n Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world,\\r\\n It were a shame to let this land by lease;\\r\\n But for thy world enjoying but this land,\\r\\n Is it not more than shame to shame it so?\\r\\n Landlord of England art thou now, not King.\\r\\n Thy state of law is bondslave to the law;\\r\\n And thou-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. A lunatic lean-witted fool,\\r\\n Presuming on an ague\\'s privilege,\\r\\n Darest with thy frozen admonition\\r\\n Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood\\r\\n With fury from his native residence.\\r\\n Now by my seat\\'s right royal majesty,\\r\\n Wert thou not brother to great Edward\\'s son,\\r\\n This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head\\r\\n Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders.\\r\\n GAUNT. O, Spare me not, my brother Edward\\'s son,\\r\\n For that I was his father Edward\\'s son;\\r\\n That blood already, like the pelican,\\r\\n Hast thou tapp\\'d out, and drunkenly carous\\'d.\\r\\n My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul-\\r\\n Whom fair befall in heaven \\'mongst happy souls!-\\r\\n May be a precedent and witness good\\r\\n That thou respect\\'st not spilling Edward\\'s blood.\\r\\n Join with the present sickness that I have;\\r\\n And thy unkindness be like crooked age,\\r\\n To crop at once a too long withered flower.\\r\\n Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!\\r\\n These words hereafter thy tormentors be!\\r\\n Convey me to my bed, then to my grave.\\r\\n Love they to live that love and honour have.\\r\\n Exit, borne out by his attendants\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And let them die that age and sullens have;\\r\\n For both hast thou, and both become the grave.\\r\\n YORK. I do beseech your Majesty impute his words\\r\\n To wayward sickliness and age in him.\\r\\n He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear\\r\\n As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Right, you say true: as Hereford\\'s love, so his;\\r\\n As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NORTHUMBERLAND\\r\\n\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your Majesty.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What says he?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Nay, nothing; all is said.\\r\\n His tongue is now a stringless instrument;\\r\\n Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.\\r\\n YORK. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so!\\r\\n Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he;\\r\\n His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be.\\r\\n So much for that. Now for our Irish wars.\\r\\n We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns,\\r\\n Which live like venom where no venom else\\r\\n But only they have privilege to live.\\r\\n And for these great affairs do ask some charge,\\r\\n Towards our assistance we do seize to us\\r\\n The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables,\\r\\n Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess\\'d.\\r\\n YORK. How long shall I be patient? Ah, how long\\r\\n Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?\\r\\n Not Gloucester\\'s death, nor Hereford\\'s banishment,\\r\\n Nor Gaunt\\'s rebukes, nor England\\'s private wrongs,\\r\\n Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke\\r\\n About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,\\r\\n Have ever made me sour my patient cheek\\r\\n Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign\\'s face.\\r\\n I am the last of noble Edward\\'s sons,\\r\\n Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first.\\r\\n In war was never lion rag\\'d more fierce,\\r\\n In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,\\r\\n Than was that young and princely gentleman.\\r\\n His face thou hast, for even so look\\'d he,\\r\\n Accomplish\\'d with the number of thy hours;\\r\\n But when he frown\\'d, it was against the French\\r\\n And not against his friends. His noble hand\\r\\n Did win what he did spend, and spent not that\\r\\n Which his triumphant father\\'s hand had won.\\r\\n His hands were guilty of no kindred blood,\\r\\n But bloody with the enemies of his kin.\\r\\n O Richard! York is too far gone with grief,\\r\\n Or else he never would compare between-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, uncle, what\\'s the matter?\\r\\n YORK. O my liege,\\r\\n Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleas\\'d\\r\\n Not to be pardoned, am content withal.\\r\\n Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands\\r\\n The royalties and rights of banish\\'d Hereford?\\r\\n Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Hereford live?\\r\\n Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true?\\r\\n Did not the one deserve to have an heir?\\r\\n Is not his heir a well-deserving son?\\r\\n Take Hereford\\'s rights away, and take from Time\\r\\n His charters and his customary rights;\\r\\n Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day;\\r\\n Be not thyself-for how art thou a king\\r\\n But by fair sequence and succession?\\r\\n Now, afore God-God forbid I say true!-\\r\\n If you do wrongfully seize Hereford\\'s rights,\\r\\n Call in the letters patents that he hath\\r\\n By his attorneys-general to sue\\r\\n His livery, and deny his off\\'red homage,\\r\\n You pluck a thousand dangers on your head,\\r\\n You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts,\\r\\n And prick my tender patience to those thoughts\\r\\n Which honour and allegiance cannot think.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Think what you will, we seize into our hands\\r\\n His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands.\\r\\n YORK. I\\'ll not be by the while. My liege, farewell.\\r\\n What will ensue hereof there\\'s none can tell;\\r\\n But by bad courses may be understood\\r\\n That their events can never fall out good. Exit\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight;\\r\\n Bid him repair to us to Ely House\\r\\n To see this business. To-morrow next\\r\\n We will for Ireland; and \\'tis time, I trow.\\r\\n And we create, in absence of ourself,\\r\\n Our Uncle York Lord Governor of England;\\r\\n For he is just, and always lov\\'d us well.\\r\\n Come on, our queen; to-morrow must we part;\\r\\n Be merry, for our time of stay is short.\\r\\n Flourish. Exeunt KING, QUEEN, BUSHY, AUMERLE,\\r\\n GREEN, and BAGOT\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.\\r\\n Ross. And living too; for now his son is Duke.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. Barely in title, not in revenues.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Richly in both, if justice had her right.\\r\\n ROSS. My heart is great; but it must break with silence,\\r\\n Ere\\'t be disburdened with a liberal tongue.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne\\'er speak more\\r\\n That speaks thy words again to do thee harm!\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford?\\r\\n If it be so, out with it boldly, man;\\r\\n Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.\\r\\n ROSS. No good at all that I can do for him;\\r\\n Unless you call it good to pity him,\\r\\n Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Now, afore God, \\'tis shame such wrongs are borne\\r\\n In him, a royal prince, and many moe\\r\\n Of noble blood in this declining land.\\r\\n The King is not himself, but basely led\\r\\n By flatterers; and what they will inform,\\r\\n Merely in hate, \\'gainst any of us an,\\r\\n That will the King severely prosecute\\r\\n \\'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.\\r\\n ROSS. The commons hath he pill\\'d with grievous taxes;\\r\\n And quite lost their hearts; the nobles hath he find\\r\\n For ancient quarrels and quite lost their hearts.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. And daily new exactions are devis\\'d,\\r\\n As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what;\\r\\n But what, a God\\'s name, doth become of this?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Wars hath not wasted it, for warr\\'d he hath not,\\r\\n But basely yielded upon compromise\\r\\n That which his noble ancestors achiev\\'d with blows.\\r\\n More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.\\r\\n ROSS. The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. The King\\'s grown bankrupt like a broken man.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him.\\r\\n ROSS. He hath not money for these Irish wars,\\r\\n His burdenous taxations notwithstanding,\\r\\n But by the robbing of the banish\\'d Duke.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. His noble kinsman-most degenerate king!\\r\\n But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,\\r\\n Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm;\\r\\n We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,\\r\\n And yet we strike not, but securely perish.\\r\\n ROSS. We see the very wreck that we must suffer;\\r\\n And unavoided is the danger now\\r\\n For suffering so the causes of our wreck.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death\\r\\n I spy life peering; but I dare not say\\r\\n How near the tidings of our comfort is.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. Nay, let us share thy thoughts as thou dost ours.\\r\\n ROSS. Be confident to speak, Northumberland.\\r\\n We three are but thyself, and, speaking so,\\r\\n Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore be bold.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Then thus: I have from Le Port Blanc, a bay\\r\\n In Brittany, receiv\\'d intelligence\\r\\n That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham,\\r\\n That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,\\r\\n His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury,\\r\\n Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston,\\r\\n Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis Quoint-\\r\\n All these, well furnish\\'d by the Duke of Britaine,\\r\\n With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,\\r\\n Are making hither with all due expedience,\\r\\n And shortly mean to touch our northern shore.\\r\\n Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay\\r\\n The first departing of the King for Ireland.\\r\\n If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke,\\r\\n Imp out our drooping country\\'s broken wing,\\r\\n Redeem from broking pawn the blemish\\'d crown,\\r\\n Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre\\'s gilt,\\r\\n And make high majesty look like itself,\\r\\n Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh;\\r\\n But if you faint, as fearing to do so,\\r\\n Stay and be secret, and myself will go.\\r\\n ROSS. To horse, to horse! Urge doubts to them that fear.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. Windsor Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT\\r\\n\\r\\n BUSHY. Madam, your Majesty is too much sad.\\r\\n You promis\\'d, when you parted with the King,\\r\\n To lay aside life-harming heaviness\\r\\n And entertain a cheerful disposition.\\r\\n QUEEN. To please the King, I did; to please myself\\r\\n I cannot do it; yet I know no cause\\r\\n Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,\\r\\n Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest\\r\\n As my sweet Richard. Yet again methinks\\r\\n Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune\\'s womb,\\r\\n Is coming towards me, and my inward soul\\r\\n With nothing trembles. At some thing it grieves\\r\\n More than with parting from my lord the King.\\r\\n BUSHY. Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,\\r\\n Which shows like grief itself, but is not so;\\r\\n For sorrow\\'s eye, glazed with blinding tears,\\r\\n Divides one thing entire to many objects,\\r\\n Like perspectives which, rightly gaz\\'d upon,\\r\\n Show nothing but confusion-ey\\'d awry,\\r\\n Distinguish form. So your sweet Majesty,\\r\\n Looking awry upon your lord\\'s departure,\\r\\n Find shapes of grief more than himself to wail;\\r\\n Which, look\\'d on as it is, is nought but shadows\\r\\n Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious Queen,\\r\\n More than your lord\\'s departure weep not-more is not seen;\\r\\n Or if it be, \\'tis with false sorrow\\'s eye,\\r\\n Which for things true weeps things imaginary.\\r\\n QUEEN. It may be so; but yet my inward soul\\r\\n Persuades me it is otherwise. Howe\\'er it be,\\r\\n I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad\\r\\n As-though, on thinking, on no thought I think-\\r\\n Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.\\r\\n BUSHY. \\'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.\\r\\n QUEEN. \\'Tis nothing less: conceit is still deriv\\'d\\r\\n From some forefather grief; mine is not so,\\r\\n For nothing hath begot my something grief,\\r\\n Or something hath the nothing that I grieve;\\r\\n \\'Tis in reversion that I do possess-\\r\\n But what it is that is not yet known what,\\r\\n I cannot name; \\'tis nameless woe, I wot.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GREEN\\r\\n\\r\\n GREEN. God save your Majesty! and well met, gentlemen.\\r\\n I hope the King is not yet shipp\\'d for Ireland.\\r\\n QUEEN. Why hopest thou so? \\'Tis better hope he is;\\r\\n For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope.\\r\\n Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp\\'d?\\r\\n GREEN. That he, our hope, might have retir\\'d his power\\r\\n And driven into despair an enemy\\'s hope\\r\\n Who strongly hath set footing in this land.\\r\\n The banish\\'d Bolingbroke repeals himself,\\r\\n And with uplifted arms is safe arriv\\'d\\r\\n At Ravenspurgh.\\r\\n QUEEN. Now God in heaven forbid!\\r\\n GREEN. Ah, madam, \\'tis too true; and that is worse,\\r\\n The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy,\\r\\n The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,\\r\\n With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.\\r\\n BUSHY. Why have you not proclaim\\'d Northumberland\\r\\n And all the rest revolted faction traitors?\\r\\n GREEN. We have; whereupon the Earl of Worcester\\r\\n Hath broken his staff, resign\\'d his stewardship,\\r\\n And all the household servants fled with him\\r\\n To Bolingbroke.\\r\\n QUEEN. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe,\\r\\n And Bolingbroke my sorrow\\'s dismal heir.\\r\\n Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy;\\r\\n And I, a gasping new-deliver\\'d mother,\\r\\n Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join\\'d.\\r\\n BUSHY. Despair not, madam.\\r\\n QUEEN. Who shall hinder me?\\r\\n I will despair, and be at enmity\\r\\n With cozening hope-he is a flatterer,\\r\\n A parasite, a keeper-back of death,\\r\\n Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,\\r\\n Which false hope lingers in extremity.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YORK\\r\\n\\r\\n GREEN. Here comes the Duke of York.\\r\\n QUEEN. With signs of war about his aged neck.\\r\\n O, full of careful business are his looks!\\r\\n Uncle, for God\\'s sake, speak comfortable words.\\r\\n YORK. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts.\\r\\n Comfort\\'s in heaven; and we are on the earth,\\r\\n Where nothing lives but crosses, cares, and grief.\\r\\n Your husband, he is gone to save far off,\\r\\n Whilst others come to make him lose at home.\\r\\n Here am I left to underprop his land,\\r\\n Who, weak with age, cannot support myself.\\r\\n Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made;\\r\\n Now shall he try his friends that flatter\\'d him.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a SERVINGMAN\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVINGMAN. My lord, your son was gone before I came.\\r\\n YORK. He was-why so go all which way it will!\\r\\n The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold\\r\\n And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford\\'s side.\\r\\n Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester;\\r\\n Bid her send me presently a thousand pound.\\r\\n Hold, take my ring.\\r\\n SERVINGMAN. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship,\\r\\n To-day, as I came by, I called there-\\r\\n But I shall grieve you to report the rest.\\r\\n YORK. What is\\'t, knave?\\r\\n SERVINGMAN. An hour before I came, the Duchess died.\\r\\n YORK. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes\\r\\n Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!\\r\\n I know not what to do. I would to God,\\r\\n So my untruth had not provok\\'d him to it,\\r\\n The King had cut off my head with my brother\\'s.\\r\\n What, are there no posts dispatch\\'d for Ireland?\\r\\n How shall we do for money for these wars?\\r\\n Come, sister-cousin, I would say-pray, pardon me.\\r\\n Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts,\\r\\n And bring away the armour that is there.\\r\\n Exit SERVINGMAN\\r\\n Gentlemen, will you go muster men?\\r\\n If I know how or which way to order these affairs\\r\\n Thus disorderly thrust into my hands,\\r\\n Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen.\\r\\n T\\'one is my sovereign, whom both my oath\\r\\n And duty bids defend; t\\'other again\\r\\n Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wrong\\'d,\\r\\n Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.\\r\\n Well, somewhat we must do.-Come, cousin,\\r\\n I\\'ll dispose of you. Gentlemen, go muster up your men\\r\\n And meet me presently at Berkeley.\\r\\n I should to Plashy too,\\r\\n But time will not permit. All is uneven,\\r\\n And everything is left at six and seven.\\r\\n Exeunt YORK and QUEEN\\r\\n BUSHY. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland.\\r\\n But none returns. For us to levy power\\r\\n Proportionable to the enemy\\r\\n Is all unpossible.\\r\\n GREEN. Besides, our nearness to the King in love\\r\\n Is near the hate of those love not the King.\\r\\n BAGOT. And that is the wavering commons; for their love\\r\\n Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them,\\r\\n By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.\\r\\n BUSHY. Wherein the King stands generally condemn\\'d.\\r\\n BAGOT. If judgment lie in them, then so do we,\\r\\n Because we ever have been near the King.\\r\\n GREEN. Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristow Castle.\\r\\n The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.\\r\\n BUSHY. Thither will I with you; for little office\\r\\n Will the hateful commons perform for us,\\r\\n Except Eke curs to tear us all to pieces.\\r\\n Will you go along with us?\\r\\n BAGOT. No; I will to Ireland to his Majesty.\\r\\n Farewell. If heart\\'s presages be not vain,\\r\\n We three here part that ne\\'er shall meet again.\\r\\n BUSHY. That\\'s as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.\\r\\n GREEN. Alas, poor Duke! the task he undertakes\\r\\n Is numb\\'ring sands and drinking oceans dry.\\r\\n Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.\\r\\n Farewell at once-for once, for all, and ever.\\r\\n BUSHY. Well, we may meet again.\\r\\n BAGOT. I fear me, never. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. Gloucestershire\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND, forces\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Believe me, noble lord,\\r\\n I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire.\\r\\n These high wild hills and rough uneven ways\\r\\n Draws out our miles, and makes them wearisome;\\r\\n And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,\\r\\n Making the hard way sweet and delectable.\\r\\n But I bethink me what a weary way\\r\\n From Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be found\\r\\n In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company,\\r\\n Which, I protest, hath very much beguil\\'d\\r\\n The tediousness and process of my travel.\\r\\n But theirs is sweet\\'ned with the hope to have\\r\\n The present benefit which I possess;\\r\\n And hope to joy is little less in joy\\r\\n Than hope enjoy\\'d. By this the weary lords\\r\\n Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done\\r\\n By sight of what I have, your noble company.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Of much less value is my company\\r\\n Than your good words. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HARRY PERCY\\r\\n\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. It is my son, young Harry Percy,\\r\\n Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.\\r\\n Harry, how fares your uncle?\\r\\n PERCY. I had thought, my lord, to have learn\\'d his health of you.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Why, is he not with the Queen?\\r\\n PERCY. No, my good lord; he hath forsook the court,\\r\\n Broken his staff of office, and dispers\\'d\\r\\n The household of the King.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. What was his reason?\\r\\n He was not so resolv\\'d when last we spake together.\\r\\n PERCY. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor.\\r\\n But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh,\\r\\n To offer service to the Duke of Hereford;\\r\\n And sent me over by Berkeley, to discover\\r\\n What power the Duke of York had levied there;\\r\\n Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy?\\r\\n PERCY. No, my good lord; for that is not forgot\\r\\n Which ne\\'er I did remember; to my knowledge,\\r\\n I never in my life did look on him.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Then learn to know him now; this is the Duke.\\r\\n PERCY. My gracious lord, I tender you my service,\\r\\n Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young;\\r\\n Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm\\r\\n To more approved service and desert.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure\\r\\n I count myself in nothing else so happy\\r\\n As in a soul rememb\\'ring my good friends;\\r\\n And as my fortune ripens with thy love,\\r\\n It shall be still thy true love\\'s recompense.\\r\\n My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. How far is it to Berkeley? And what stir\\r\\n Keeps good old York there with his men of war?\\r\\n PERCY. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees,\\r\\n Mann\\'d with three hundred men, as I have heard;\\r\\n And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and Seymour-\\r\\n None else of name and noble estimate.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ross and WILLOUGHBY\\r\\n\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby,\\r\\n Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues\\r\\n A banish\\'d traitor. All my treasury\\r\\n Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich\\'d,\\r\\n Shall be your love and labour\\'s recompense.\\r\\n ROSS. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. And far surmounts our labour to attain it.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor;\\r\\n Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,\\r\\n Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BERKELEY\\r\\n\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess.\\r\\n BERKELEY. My Lord of Hereford, my message is to you.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. My lord, my answer is-\\'to Lancaster\\';\\r\\n And I am come to seek that name in England;\\r\\n And I must find that title in your tongue\\r\\n Before I make reply to aught you say.\\r\\n BERKELEY. Mistake me not, my lord; \\'tis not my meaning\\r\\n To raze one title of your honour out.\\r\\n To you, my lord, I come-what lord you will-\\r\\n From the most gracious regent of this land,\\r\\n The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on\\r\\n To take advantage of the absent time,\\r\\n And fright our native peace with self-borne arms.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YORK, attended\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I shall not need transport my words by you;\\r\\n Here comes his Grace in person. My noble uncle!\\r\\n [Kneels]\\r\\n YORK. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,\\r\\n Whose duty is deceivable and false.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. My gracious uncle!-\\r\\n YORK. Tut, tut!\\r\\n Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle.\\r\\n I am no traitor\\'s uncle; and that word \\'grace\\'\\r\\n In an ungracious mouth is but profane.\\r\\n Why have those banish\\'d and forbidden legs\\r\\n Dar\\'d once to touch a dust of England\\'s ground?\\r\\n But then more \\'why?\\'-why have they dar\\'d to march\\r\\n So many miles upon her peaceful bosom,\\r\\n Frighting her pale-fac\\'d villages with war\\r\\n And ostentation of despised arms?\\r\\n Com\\'st thou because the anointed King is hence?\\r\\n Why, foolish boy, the King is left behind,\\r\\n And in my loyal bosom lies his power.\\r\\n Were I but now lord of such hot youth\\r\\n As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself\\r\\n Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,\\r\\n From forth the ranks of many thousand French,\\r\\n O, then how quickly should this arm of mine,\\r\\n Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise the\\r\\n And minister correction to thy fault!\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE My gracious uncle, let me know my fault;\\r\\n On what condition stands it and wherein?\\r\\n YORK. Even in condition of the worst degree-\\r\\n In gross rebellion and detested treason.\\r\\n Thou art a banish\\'d man, and here art come\\r\\n Before the expiration of thy time,\\r\\n In braving arms against thy sovereign.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. As I was banish\\'d, I was banish\\'d Hereford;\\r\\n But as I come, I come for Lancaster.\\r\\n And, noble uncle, I beseech your Grace\\r\\n Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye.\\r\\n You are my father, for methinks in you\\r\\n I see old Gaunt alive. O, then, my father,\\r\\n Will you permit that I shall stand condemn\\'d\\r\\n A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties\\r\\n Pluck\\'d from my arms perforce, and given away\\r\\n To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?\\r\\n If that my cousin king be King in England,\\r\\n It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster.\\r\\n You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin;\\r\\n Had you first died, and he been thus trod down,\\r\\n He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father\\r\\n To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay.\\r\\n I am denied to sue my livery here,\\r\\n And yet my letters patents give me leave.\\r\\n My father\\'s goods are all distrain\\'d and sold;\\r\\n And these and all are all amiss employ\\'d.\\r\\n What would you have me do? I am a subject,\\r\\n And I challenge law-attorneys are denied me;\\r\\n And therefore personally I lay my claim\\r\\n To my inheritance of free descent.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. The noble Duke hath been too much abused.\\r\\n ROSS. It stands your Grace upon to do him right.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. Base men by his endowments are made great.\\r\\n YORK. My lords of England, let me tell you this:\\r\\n I have had feeling of my cousin\\'s wrongs,\\r\\n And labour\\'d all I could to do him right;\\r\\n But in this kind to come, in braving arms,\\r\\n Be his own carver and cut out his way,\\r\\n To find out right with wrong-it may not be;\\r\\n And you that do abet him in this kind\\r\\n Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. The noble Duke hath sworn his coming is\\r\\n But for his own; and for the right of that\\r\\n We all have strongly sworn to give him aid;\\r\\n And let him never see joy that breaks that oath!\\r\\n YORK. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms.\\r\\n I cannot mend it, I must needs confess,\\r\\n Because my power is weak and all ill left;\\r\\n But if I could, by Him that gave me life,\\r\\n I would attach you all and make you stoop\\r\\n Unto the sovereign mercy of the King;\\r\\n But since I cannot, be it known unto you\\r\\n I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well;\\r\\n Unless you please to enter in the castle,\\r\\n And there repose you for this night.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. An offer, uncle, that we will accept.\\r\\n But we must win your Grace to go with us\\r\\n To Bristow Castle, which they say is held\\r\\n By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices,\\r\\n The caterpillars of the commonwealth,\\r\\n Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.\\r\\n YORK. It may be I will go with you; but yet I\\'ll pause,\\r\\n For I am loath to break our country\\'s laws.\\r\\n Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are.\\r\\n Things past redress are now with me past care. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. A camp in Wales\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter EARL OF SALISBURY and a WELSH CAPTAIN\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPTAIN. My Lord of Salisbury, we have stay\\'d ten days\\r\\n And hardly kept our countrymen together,\\r\\n And yet we hear no tidings from the King;\\r\\n Therefore we will disperse ourselves. Farewell.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman;\\r\\n The King reposeth all his confidence in thee.\\r\\n CAPTAIN. \\'Tis thought the King is dead; we will not stay.\\r\\n The bay trees in our country are all wither\\'d,\\r\\n And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;\\r\\n The pale-fac\\'d moon looks bloody on the earth,\\r\\n And lean-look\\'d prophets whisper fearful change;\\r\\n Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap-\\r\\n The one in fear to lose what they enjoy,\\r\\n The other to enjoy by rage and war.\\r\\n These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.\\r\\n Farewell. Our countrymen are gone and fled,\\r\\n As well assur\\'d Richard their King is dead. Exit\\r\\n SALISBURY. Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind,\\r\\n I see thy glory like a shooting star\\r\\n Fall to the base earth from the firmament!\\r\\n The sun sets weeping in the lowly west,\\r\\n Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest;\\r\\n Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes;\\r\\n And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. BOLINGBROKE\\'S camp at Bristol\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, ROSS, WILLOUGHBY,\\r\\nBUSHY and GREEN, prisoners\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Bring forth these men.\\r\\n Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls-\\r\\n Since presently your souls must part your bodies-\\r\\n With too much urging your pernicious lives,\\r\\n For \\'twere no charity; yet, to wash your blood\\r\\n From off my hands, here in the view of men\\r\\n I will unfold some causes of your deaths:\\r\\n You have misled a prince, a royal king,\\r\\n A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,\\r\\n By you unhappied and disfigured clean;\\r\\n You have in manner with your sinful hours\\r\\n Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him;\\r\\n Broke the possession of a royal bed,\\r\\n And stain\\'d the beauty of a fair queen\\'s cheeks\\r\\n With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs;\\r\\n Myself-a prince by fortune of my birth,\\r\\n Near to the King in blood, and near in love\\r\\n Till you did make him misinterpret me-\\r\\n Have stoop\\'d my neck under your injuries\\r\\n And sigh\\'d my English breath in foreign clouds,\\r\\n Eating the bitter bread of banishment,\\r\\n Whilst you have fed upon my signories,\\r\\n Dispark\\'d my parks and fell\\'d my forest woods,\\r\\n From my own windows torn my household coat,\\r\\n Raz\\'d out my imprese, leaving me no sign\\r\\n Save men\\'s opinions and my living blood\\r\\n To show the world I am a gentleman.\\r\\n This and much more, much more than twice all this,\\r\\n Condemns you to the death. See them delivered over\\r\\n To execution and the hand of death.\\r\\n BUSHY. More welcome is the stroke of death to me\\r\\n Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell.\\r\\n GREEN. My comfort is that heaven will take our souls,\\r\\n And plague injustice with the pains of hell.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch\\'d.\\r\\n Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, and others, with the prisoners\\r\\n Uncle, you say the Queen is at your house;\\r\\n For God\\'s sake, fairly let her be entreated.\\r\\n Tell her I send to her my kind commends;\\r\\n Take special care my greetings be delivered.\\r\\n YORK. A gentleman of mine I have dispatch\\'d\\r\\n With letters of your love to her at large.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away,\\r\\n To fight with Glendower and his complices.\\r\\n Awhile to work, and after holiday. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. The coast of Wales. A castle in view\\r\\n\\r\\nDrums. Flourish and colours. Enter the KING, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE,\\r\\nAUMERLE, and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Barkloughly Castle can they this at hand?\\r\\n AUMERLE. Yea, my lord. How brooks your Grace the air\\r\\n After your late tossing on the breaking seas?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Needs must I like it well. I weep for joy\\r\\n To stand upon my kingdom once again.\\r\\n Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,\\r\\n Though rebels wound thee with their horses\\' hoofs.\\r\\n As a long-parted mother with her child\\r\\n Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting,\\r\\n So weeping-smiling greet I thee, my earth,\\r\\n And do thee favours with my royal hands.\\r\\n Feed not thy sovereign\\'s foe, my gentle earth,\\r\\n Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense;\\r\\n But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,\\r\\n And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way,\\r\\n Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet\\r\\n Which with usurping steps do trample thee;\\r\\n Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies;\\r\\n And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,\\r\\n Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder,\\r\\n Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch\\r\\n Throw death upon thy sovereign\\'s enemies.\\r\\n Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords.\\r\\n This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones\\r\\n Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king\\r\\n Shall falter under foul rebellion\\'s arms.\\r\\n CARLISLE. Fear not, my lord; that Power that made you king\\r\\n Hath power to keep you king in spite of all.\\r\\n The means that heaven yields must be embrac\\'d\\r\\n And not neglected; else, if heaven would,\\r\\n And we will not, heaven\\'s offer we refuse,\\r\\n The proffered means of succour and redress.\\r\\n AUMERLE. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss;\\r\\n Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,\\r\\n Grows strong and great in substance and in power.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Discomfortable cousin! know\\'st thou not\\r\\n That when the searching eye of heaven is hid,\\r\\n Behind the globe, that lights the lower world,\\r\\n Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen\\r\\n In murders and in outrage boldly here;\\r\\n But when from under this terrestrial ball\\r\\n He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines\\r\\n And darts his light through every guilty hole,\\r\\n Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,\\r\\n The cloak of night being pluck\\'d from off their backs,\\r\\n Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?\\r\\n So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,\\r\\n Who all this while hath revell\\'d in the night,\\r\\n Whilst we were wand\\'ring with the Antipodes,\\r\\n Shall see us rising in our throne, the east,\\r\\n His treasons will sit blushing in his face,\\r\\n Not able to endure the sight of day,\\r\\n But self-affrighted tremble at his sin.\\r\\n Not all the water in the rough rude sea\\r\\n Can wash the balm off from an anointed king;\\r\\n The breath of worldly men cannot depose\\r\\n The deputy elected by the Lord.\\r\\n For every man that Bolingbroke hath press\\'d\\r\\n To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,\\r\\n God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay\\r\\n A glorious angel. Then, if angels fight,\\r\\n Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards the right.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SALISBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power?\\r\\n SALISBURY. Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord,\\r\\n Than this weak arm. Discomfort guides my tongue,\\r\\n And bids me speak of nothing but despair.\\r\\n One day too late, I fear me, noble lord,\\r\\n Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth.\\r\\n O, call back yesterday, bid time return,\\r\\n And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men!\\r\\n To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late,\\r\\n O\\'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state;\\r\\n For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead,\\r\\n Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers\\'d, and fled.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Comfort, my liege, why looks your Grace so pale?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. But now the blood of twenty thousand men\\r\\n Did triumph in my face, and they are fled;\\r\\n And, till so much blood thither come again,\\r\\n Have I not reason to look pale and dead?\\r\\n All souls that will be safe, fly from my side;\\r\\n For time hath set a blot upon my pride.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Comfort, my liege; remember who you are.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I had forgot myself; am I not King?\\r\\n Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest.\\r\\n Is not the King\\'s name twenty thousand names?\\r\\n Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes\\r\\n At thy great glory. Look not to the ground,\\r\\n Ye favourites of a king; are we not high?\\r\\n High be our thoughts. I know my uncle York\\r\\n Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SCROOP\\r\\n\\r\\n SCROOP. More health and happiness betide my liege\\r\\n Than can my care-tun\\'d tongue deliver him.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Mine ear is open and my heart prepar\\'d.\\r\\n The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.\\r\\n Say, is my kingdom lost? Why, \\'twas my care,\\r\\n And what loss is it to be rid of care?\\r\\n Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?\\r\\n Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,\\r\\n We\\'ll serve him too, and be his fellow so.\\r\\n Revolt our subjects? That we cannot mend;\\r\\n They break their faith to God as well as us.\\r\\n Cry woe, destruction, ruin, and decay-\\r\\n The worst is death, and death will have his day.\\r\\n SCROOP. Glad am I that your Highness is so arm\\'d\\r\\n To bear the tidings of calamity.\\r\\n Like an unseasonable stormy day\\r\\n Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores,\\r\\n As if the world were all dissolv\\'d to tears,\\r\\n So high above his limits swells the rage\\r\\n Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land\\r\\n With hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel.\\r\\n White-beards have arm\\'d their thin and hairless scalps\\r\\n Against thy majesty; boys, with women\\'s voices,\\r\\n Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints\\r\\n In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown;\\r\\n Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows\\r\\n Of double-fatal yew against thy state;\\r\\n Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills\\r\\n Against thy seat: both young and old rebel,\\r\\n And all goes worse than I have power to tell.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Too well, too well thou tell\\'st a tale so in.\\r\\n Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? Where is Bagot?\\r\\n What is become of Bushy? Where is Green?\\r\\n That they have let the dangerous enemy\\r\\n Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?\\r\\n If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it.\\r\\n I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke.\\r\\n SCROOP. Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O villains, vipers, damn\\'d without redemption!\\r\\n Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!\\r\\n Snakes, in my heart-blood warm\\'d, that sting my heart!\\r\\n Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas!\\r\\n Would they make peace? Terrible hell make war\\r\\n Upon their spotted souls for this offence!\\r\\n SCROOP. Sweet love, I see, changing his property,\\r\\n Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate.\\r\\n Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made\\r\\n With heads, and not with hands; those whom you curse\\r\\n Have felt the worst of death\\'s destroying wound\\r\\n And lie full low, grav\\'d in the hollow ground.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?\\r\\n SCROOP. Ay, all of them at Bristow lost their heads.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Where is the Duke my father with his power?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. No matter where-of comfort no man speak.\\r\\n Let\\'s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;\\r\\n Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes\\r\\n Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.\\r\\n Let\\'s choose executors and talk of wills;\\r\\n And yet not so-for what can we bequeath\\r\\n Save our deposed bodies to the ground?\\r\\n Our lands, our lives, and an, are Bolingbroke\\'s.\\r\\n And nothing can we can our own but death\\r\\n And that small model of the barren earth\\r\\n Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.\\r\\n For God\\'s sake let us sit upon the ground\\r\\n And tell sad stories of the death of kings:\\r\\n How some have been depos\\'d, some slain in war,\\r\\n Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos\\'d,\\r\\n Some poison\\'d by their wives, some sleeping kill\\'d,\\r\\n All murder\\'d-for within the hollow crown\\r\\n That rounds the mortal temples of a king\\r\\n Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits,\\r\\n Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp;\\r\\n Allowing him a breath, a little scene,\\r\\n To monarchize, be fear\\'d, and kill with looks;\\r\\n Infusing him with self and vain conceit,\\r\\n As if this flesh which walls about our life\\r\\n Were brass impregnable; and, humour\\'d thus,\\r\\n Comes at the last, and with a little pin\\r\\n Bores through his castle wall, and farewell, king!\\r\\n Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood\\r\\n With solemn reverence; throw away respect,\\r\\n Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty;\\r\\n For you have but mistook me all this while.\\r\\n I live with bread like you, feel want,\\r\\n Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus,\\r\\n How can you say to me I am a king?\\r\\n CARLISLE. My lord, wise men ne\\'er sit and wail their woes,\\r\\n But presently prevent the ways to wail.\\r\\n To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength,\\r\\n Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe,\\r\\n And so your follies fight against yourself.\\r\\n Fear and be slain-no worse can come to fight;\\r\\n And fight and die is death destroying death,\\r\\n Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.\\r\\n AUMERLE. My father hath a power; inquire of him,\\r\\n And learn to make a body of a limb.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thou chid\\'st me well. Proud Bolingbroke, I come\\r\\n To change blows with thee for our day of doom.\\r\\n This ague fit of fear is over-blown;\\r\\n An easy task it is to win our own.\\r\\n Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power?\\r\\n Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.\\r\\n SCROOP. Men judge by the complexion of the sky\\r\\n The state in inclination of the day;\\r\\n So may you by my dull and heavy eye,\\r\\n My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.\\r\\n I play the torturer, by small and small\\r\\n To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:\\r\\n Your uncle York is join\\'d with Bolingbroke;\\r\\n And all your northern castles yielded up,\\r\\n And all your southern gentlemen in arms\\r\\n Upon his party.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thou hast said enough.\\r\\n [To AUMERLE] Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth\\r\\n Of that sweet way I was in to despair!\\r\\n What say you now? What comfort have we now?\\r\\n By heaven, I\\'ll hate him everlastingly\\r\\n That bids me be of comfort any more.\\r\\n Go to Flint Castle; there I\\'ll pine away;\\r\\n A king, woe\\'s slave, shall kingly woe obey.\\r\\n That power I have, discharge; and let them go\\r\\n To ear the land that hath some hope to grow,\\r\\n For I have none. Let no man speak again\\r\\n To alter this, for counsel is but vain.\\r\\n AUMERLE. My liege, one word.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. He does me double wrong\\r\\n That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.\\r\\n Discharge my followers; let them hence away,\\r\\n From Richard\\'s night to Bolingbroke\\'s fair day. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. Wales. Before Flint Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter, with drum and colours, BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, and\\r\\nforces\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. So that by this intelligence we learn\\r\\n The Welshmen are dispers\\'d; and Salisbury\\r\\n Is gone to meet the King, who lately landed\\r\\n With some few private friends upon this coast.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. The news is very fair and good, my lord.\\r\\n Richard not far from hence hath hid his head.\\r\\n YORK. It would beseem the Lord Northumberland\\r\\n To say \\'King Richard.\\' Alack the heavy day\\r\\n When such a sacred king should hide his head!\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Your Grace mistakes; only to be brief,\\r\\n Left I his title out.\\r\\n YORK. The time hath been,\\r\\n Would you have been so brief with him, he would\\r\\n Have been so brief with you to shorten you,\\r\\n For taking so the head, your whole head\\'s length.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Mistake not, uncle, further than you should.\\r\\n YORK. Take not, good cousin, further than you should,\\r\\n Lest you mistake. The heavens are over our heads.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I know it, uncle; and oppose not myself\\r\\n Against their will. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PERCY\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, Harry. What, will not this castle yield?\\r\\n PIERCY. The castle royally is mann\\'d, my lord,\\r\\n Against thy entrance.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Royally!\\r\\n Why, it contains no king?\\r\\n PERCY. Yes, my good lord,\\r\\n It doth contain a king; King Richard lies\\r\\n Within the limits of yon lime and stone;\\r\\n And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,\\r\\n Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman\\r\\n Of holy reverence; who, I cannot learn.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. [To NORTHUMBERLAND] Noble lord,\\r\\n Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle;\\r\\n Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley\\r\\n Into his ruin\\'d ears, and thus deliver:\\r\\n Henry Bolingbroke\\r\\n On both his knees doth kiss King Richard\\'s hand,\\r\\n And sends allegiance and true faith of heart\\r\\n To his most royal person; hither come\\r\\n Even at his feet to lay my arms and power,\\r\\n Provided that my banishment repeal\\'d\\r\\n And lands restor\\'d again be freely granted;\\r\\n If not, I\\'ll use the advantage of my power\\r\\n And lay the summer\\'s dust with showers of blood\\r\\n Rain\\'d from the wounds of slaughtered Englishmen;\\r\\n The which how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke\\r\\n It is such crimson tempest should bedrench\\r\\n The fresh green lap of fair King Richard\\'s land,\\r\\n My stooping duty tenderly shall show.\\r\\n Go, signify as much, while here we march\\r\\n Upon the grassy carpet of this plain.\\r\\n [NORTHUMBERLAND advances to the Castle, with a trumpet]\\r\\n Let\\'s march without the noise of threat\\'ning drum,\\r\\n That from this castle\\'s tottered battlements\\r\\n Our fair appointments may be well perus\\'d.\\r\\n Methinks King Richard and myself should meet\\r\\n With no less terror than the elements\\r\\n Of fire and water, when their thund\\'ring shock\\r\\n At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.\\r\\n Be he the fire, I\\'ll be the yielding water;\\r\\n The rage be his, whilst on the earth I rain\\r\\n My waters-on the earth, and not on him.\\r\\n March on, and mark King Richard how he looks.\\r\\n\\r\\n Parle without, and answer within; then a flourish.\\r\\n Enter on the walls, the KING, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE,\\r\\n AUMERLE, SCROOP, and SALISBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n See, see, King Richard doth himself appear,\\r\\n As doth the blushing discontented sun\\r\\n From out the fiery portal of the east,\\r\\n When he perceives the envious clouds are bent\\r\\n To dim his glory and to stain the track\\r\\n Of his bright passage to the occident.\\r\\n YORK. Yet he looks like a king. Behold, his eye,\\r\\n As bright as is the eagle\\'s, lightens forth\\r\\n Controlling majesty. Alack, alack, for woe,\\r\\n That any harm should stain so fair a show!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. [To NORTHUMBERLAND] We are amaz\\'d; and thus long\\r\\n have we stood\\r\\n To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,\\r\\n Because we thought ourself thy lawful King;\\r\\n And if we be, how dare thy joints forget\\r\\n To pay their awful duty to our presence?\\r\\n If we be not, show us the hand of God\\r\\n That hath dismiss\\'d us from our stewardship;\\r\\n For well we know no hand of blood and bone\\r\\n Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre,\\r\\n Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp.\\r\\n And though you think that all, as you have done,\\r\\n Have torn their souls by turning them from us,\\r\\n And we are barren and bereft of friends,\\r\\n Yet know-my master, God omnipotent,\\r\\n Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf\\r\\n Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike\\r\\n Your children yet unborn and unbegot,\\r\\n That lift your vassal hands against my head\\r\\n And threat the glory of my precious crown.\\r\\n Tell Bolingbroke, for yon methinks he stands,\\r\\n That every stride he makes upon my land\\r\\n Is dangerous treason; he is come to open\\r\\n The purple testament of bleeding war;\\r\\n But ere the crown he looks for live in peace,\\r\\n Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers\\' sons\\r\\n Shall ill become the flower of England\\'s face,\\r\\n Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace\\r\\n To scarlet indignation, and bedew\\r\\n Her pastures\\' grass with faithful English blood.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. The King of Heaven forbid our lord the King\\r\\n Should so with civil and uncivil arms\\r\\n Be rush\\'d upon! Thy thrice noble cousin,\\r\\n Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand;\\r\\n And by the honourable tomb he swears\\r\\n That stands upon your royal grandsire\\'s bones,\\r\\n And by the royalties of both your bloods,\\r\\n Currents that spring from one most gracious head,\\r\\n And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt,\\r\\n And by the worth and honour of himself,\\r\\n Comprising all that may be sworn or said,\\r\\n His coming hither hath no further scope\\r\\n Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg\\r\\n Enfranchisement immediate on his knees;\\r\\n Which on thy royal party granted once,\\r\\n His glittering arms he will commend to rust,\\r\\n His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart\\r\\n To faithful service of your Majesty.\\r\\n This swears he, as he is a prince, is just;\\r\\n And as I am a gentleman I credit him.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Northumberland, say thus the King returns:\\r\\n His noble cousin is right welcome hither;\\r\\n And all the number of his fair demands\\r\\n Shall be accomplish\\'d without contradiction.\\r\\n With all the gracious utterance thou hast\\r\\n Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.\\r\\n [To AUMERLE] We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not,\\r\\n To look so poorly and to speak so fair?\\r\\n Shall we call back Northumberland, and send\\r\\n Defiance to the traitor, and so die?\\r\\n AUMERLE. No, good my lord; let\\'s fight with gentle words\\r\\n Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O God, O God! that e\\'er this tongue of mine\\r\\n That laid the sentence of dread banishment\\r\\n On yon proud man should take it off again\\r\\n With words of sooth! O that I were as great\\r\\n As is my grief, or lesser than my name!\\r\\n Or that I could forget what I have been!\\r\\n Or not remember what I must be now!\\r\\n Swell\\'st thou, proud heart? I\\'ll give thee scope to beat,\\r\\n Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What must the King do now? Must he submit?\\r\\n The King shall do it. Must he be depos\\'d?\\r\\n The King shall be contented. Must he lose\\r\\n The name of king? A God\\'s name, let it go.\\r\\n I\\'ll give my jewels for a set of beads,\\r\\n My gorgeous palace for a hermitage,\\r\\n My gay apparel for an almsman\\'s gown,\\r\\n My figur\\'d goblets for a dish of wood,\\r\\n My sceptre for a palmer\\'s walking staff,\\r\\n My subjects for a pair of carved saints,\\r\\n And my large kingdom for a little grave,\\r\\n A little little grave, an obscure grave-\\r\\n Or I\\'ll be buried in the king\\'s high way,\\r\\n Some way of common trade, where subjects\\' feet\\r\\n May hourly trample on their sovereign\\'s head;\\r\\n For on my heart they tread now whilst I live,\\r\\n And buried once, why not upon my head?\\r\\n Aumerle, thou weep\\'st, my tender-hearted cousin!\\r\\n We\\'ll make foul weather with despised tears;\\r\\n Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn\\r\\n And make a dearth in this revolting land.\\r\\n Or shall we play the wantons with our woes\\r\\n And make some pretty match with shedding tears?\\r\\n As thus: to drop them still upon one place\\r\\n Till they have fretted us a pair of graves\\r\\n Within the earth; and, therein laid-there lies\\r\\n Two kinsmen digg\\'d their graves with weeping eyes.\\r\\n Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see\\r\\n I talk but idly, and you laugh at me.\\r\\n Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland,\\r\\n What says King Bolingbroke? Will his Majesty\\r\\n Give Richard leave to live till Richard die?\\r\\n You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, in the base court he doth attend\\r\\n To speak with you; may it please you to come down?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Down, down I come, like glist\\'ring Phaethon,\\r\\n Wanting the manage of unruly jades.\\r\\n In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base,\\r\\n To come at traitors\\' calls, and do them grace.\\r\\n In the base court? Come down? Down, court! down, king!\\r\\n For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing.\\r\\n Exeunt from above\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. What says his Majesty?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Sorrow and grief of heart\\r\\n Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man;\\r\\n Yet he is come.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the KING, and his attendants, below\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Stand all apart,\\r\\n And show fair duty to his Majesty. [He kneels down]\\r\\n My gracious lord-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee\\r\\n To make the base earth proud with kissing it.\\r\\n Me rather had my heart might feel your love\\r\\n Than my unpleas\\'d eye see your courtesy.\\r\\n Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know,\\r\\n [Touching his own head] Thus high at least, although your\\r\\n knee be low.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord,\\r\\n As my true service shall deserve your love.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Well you deserve. They well deserve to have\\r\\n That know the strong\\'st and surest way to get.\\r\\n Uncle, give me your hands; nay, dry your eyes:\\r\\n Tears show their love, but want their remedies.\\r\\n Cousin, I am too young to be your father,\\r\\n Though you are old enough to be my heir.\\r\\n What you will have, I\\'ll give, and willing too;\\r\\n For do we must what force will have us do.\\r\\n Set on towards London. Cousin, is it so?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Yea, my good lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then I must not say no. Flourish. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. The DUKE OF YORK\\'s garden\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the QUEEN and two LADIES\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN. What sport shall we devise here in this garden\\r\\n To drive away the heavy thought of care?\\r\\n LADY. Madam, we\\'ll play at bowls.\\r\\n QUEEN. \\'Twill make me think the world is full of rubs\\r\\n And that my fortune runs against the bias.\\r\\n LADY. Madam, we\\'ll dance.\\r\\n QUEEN. My legs can keep no measure in delight,\\r\\n When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief;\\r\\n Therefore no dancing, girl; some other sport.\\r\\n LADY. Madam, we\\'ll tell tales.\\r\\n QUEEN. Of sorrow or of joy?\\r\\n LADY. Of either, madam.\\r\\n QUEEN. Of neither, girl;\\r\\n For if of joy, being altogether wanting,\\r\\n It doth remember me the more of sorrow;\\r\\n Or if of grief, being altogether had,\\r\\n It adds more sorrow to my want of joy;\\r\\n For what I have I need not to repeat,\\r\\n And what I want it boots not to complain.\\r\\n LADY. Madam, I\\'ll sing.\\r\\n QUEEN. \\'Tis well\\' that thou hast cause;\\r\\n But thou shouldst please me better wouldst thou weep.\\r\\n LADY. I could weep, madam, would it do you good.\\r\\n QUEEN. And I could sing, would weeping do me good,\\r\\n And never borrow any tear of thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a GARDENER and two SERVANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n But stay, here come the gardeners.\\r\\n Let\\'s step into the shadow of these trees.\\r\\n My wretchedness unto a row of pins,\\r\\n They will talk of state, for every one doth so\\r\\n Against a change: woe is forerun with woe.\\r\\n [QUEEN and LADIES retire]\\r\\n GARDENER. Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks,\\r\\n Which, like unruly children, make their sire\\r\\n Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight;\\r\\n Give some supportance to the bending twigs.\\r\\n Go thou, and Eke an executioner\\r\\n Cut off the heads of too fast growing sprays\\r\\n That look too lofty in our commonwealth:\\r\\n All must be even in our government.\\r\\n You thus employ\\'d, I will go root away\\r\\n The noisome weeds which without profit suck\\r\\n The soil\\'s fertility from wholesome flowers.\\r\\n SERVANT. Why should we, in the compass of a pale,\\r\\n Keep law and form and due proportion,\\r\\n Showing, as in a model, our firm estate,\\r\\n When our sea-walled garden, the whole land,\\r\\n Is full of weeds; her fairest flowers chok\\'d up,\\r\\n Her fruit trees all unprun\\'d, her hedges ruin\\'d,\\r\\n Her knots disordered, and her wholesome herbs\\r\\n Swarming with caterpillars?\\r\\n GARDENER. Hold thy peace.\\r\\n He that hath suffer\\'d this disorder\\'d spring\\r\\n Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf;\\r\\n The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did shelter,\\r\\n That seem\\'d in eating him to hold him up,\\r\\n Are pluck\\'d up root and all by Bolingbroke-\\r\\n I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.\\r\\n SERVANT. What, are they dead?\\r\\n GARDENER. They are; and Bolingbroke\\r\\n Hath seiz\\'d the wasteful King. O, what pity is it\\r\\n That he had not so trimm\\'d and dress\\'d his land\\r\\n As we this garden! We at time of year\\r\\n Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit trees,\\r\\n Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood,\\r\\n With too much riches it confound itself;\\r\\n Had he done so to great and growing men,\\r\\n They might have Ev\\'d to bear, and he to taste\\r\\n Their fruits of duty. Superfluous branches\\r\\n We lop away, that bearing boughs may live;\\r\\n Had he done so, himself had home the crown,\\r\\n Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.\\r\\n SERVANT. What, think you the King shall be deposed?\\r\\n GARDENER. Depress\\'d he is already, and depos\\'d\\r\\n \\'Tis doubt he will be. Letters came last night\\r\\n To a dear friend of the good Duke of York\\'s\\r\\n That tell black tidings.\\r\\n QUEEN. O, I am press\\'d to death through want of speaking!\\r\\n [Coming forward]\\r\\n Thou, old Adam\\'s likeness, set to dress this garden,\\r\\n How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news?\\r\\n What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested the\\r\\n To make a second fall of cursed man?\\r\\n Why dost thou say King Richard is depos\\'d?\\r\\n Dar\\'st thou, thou little better thing than earth,\\r\\n Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how,\\r\\n Cam\\'st thou by this ill tidings? Speak, thou wretch.\\r\\n GARDENER. Pardon me, madam; little joy have\\r\\n To breathe this news; yet what I say is true.\\r\\n King Richard, he is in the mighty hold\\r\\n Of Bolingbroke. Their fortunes both are weigh\\'d.\\r\\n In your lord\\'s scale is nothing but himself,\\r\\n And some few vanities that make him light;\\r\\n But in the balance of great Bolingbroke,\\r\\n Besides himself, are all the English peers,\\r\\n And with that odds he weighs King Richard down.\\r\\n Post you to London, and you will find it so;\\r\\n I speak no more than every one doth know.\\r\\n QUEEN. Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot,\\r\\n Doth not thy embassage belong to me,\\r\\n And am I last that knows it? O, thou thinkest\\r\\n To serve me last, that I may longest keep\\r\\n Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go\\r\\n To meet at London London\\'s King in woe.\\r\\n What, was I born to this, that my sad look\\r\\n Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?\\r\\n Gard\\'ner, for telling me these news of woe,\\r\\n Pray God the plants thou graft\\'st may never grow!\\r\\n Exeunt QUEEN and LADIES\\r\\n GARDENER. Poor Queen, so that thy state might be no worse,\\r\\n I would my skill were subject to thy curse.\\r\\n Here did she fall a tear; here in this place\\r\\n I\\'ll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace.\\r\\n Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,\\r\\n In the remembrance of a weeping queen. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE 1. Westminster Hall\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter, as to the Parliament, BOLINGBROKE, AUMERLE, NORTHUMBERLAND,\\r\\nPERCY, FITZWATER, SURREY, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, the ABBOT OF\\r\\nWESTMINSTER, and others; HERALD, OFFICERS, and BAGOT\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Call forth Bagot.\\r\\n Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind-\\r\\n What thou dost know of noble Gloucester\\'s death;\\r\\n Who wrought it with the King, and who perform\\'d\\r\\n The bloody office of his timeless end.\\r\\n BAGOT. Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man.\\r\\n BAGOT. My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue\\r\\n Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver\\'d.\\r\\n In that dead time when Gloucester\\'s death was plotted\\r\\n I heard you say \\'Is not my arm of length,\\r\\n That reacheth from the restful English Court\\r\\n As far as Calais, to mine uncle\\'s head?\\'\\r\\n Amongst much other talk that very time\\r\\n I heard you say that you had rather refuse\\r\\n The offer of an hundred thousand crowns\\r\\n Than Bolingbroke\\'s return to England;\\r\\n Adding withal, how blest this land would be\\r\\n In this your cousin\\'s death.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Princes, and noble lords,\\r\\n What answer shall I make to this base man?\\r\\n Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars\\r\\n On equal terms to give him chastisement?\\r\\n Either I must, or have mine honour soil\\'d\\r\\n With the attainder of his slanderous lips.\\r\\n There is my gage, the manual seal of death\\r\\n That marks thee out for hell. I say thou liest,\\r\\n And will maintain what thou hast said is false\\r\\n In thy heart-blood, through being all too base\\r\\n To stain the temper of my knightly sword.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Bagot, forbear; thou shalt not take it up.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Excepting one, I would he were the best\\r\\n In all this presence that hath mov\\'d me so.\\r\\n FITZWATER. If that thy valour stand on sympathy,\\r\\n There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine.\\r\\n By that fair sun which shows me where thou stand\\'st,\\r\\n I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak\\'st it,\\r\\n That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester\\'s death.\\r\\n If thou deniest it twenty times, thou liest;\\r\\n And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart,\\r\\n Where it was forged, with my rapier\\'s point.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Thou dar\\'st not, coward, live to see that day.\\r\\n FITZWATER. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Fitzwater, thou art damn\\'d to hell for this.\\r\\n PERCY. Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true\\r\\n In this appeal as thou art an unjust;\\r\\n And that thou art so, there I throw my gage,\\r\\n To prove it on thee to the extremest point\\r\\n Of mortal breathing. Seize it, if thou dar\\'st.\\r\\n AUMERLE. An if I do not, may my hands rot of\\r\\n And never brandish more revengeful steel\\r\\n Over the glittering helmet of my foe!\\r\\n ANOTHER LORD. I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle;\\r\\n And spur thee on with fun as many lies\\r\\n As may be halloa\\'d in thy treacherous ear\\r\\n From sun to sun. There is my honour\\'s pawn;\\r\\n Engage it to the trial, if thou darest.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Who sets me else? By heaven, I\\'ll throw at all!\\r\\n I have a thousand spirits in one breast\\r\\n To answer twenty thousand such as you.\\r\\n SURREY. My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember well\\r\\n The very time Aumerle and you did talk.\\r\\n FITZWATER. \\'Tis very true; you were in presence then,\\r\\n And you can witness with me this is true.\\r\\n SURREY. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true.\\r\\n FITZWATER. Surrey, thou liest.\\r\\n SURREY. Dishonourable boy!\\r\\n That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword\\r\\n That it shall render vengeance and revenge\\r\\n Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do he\\r\\n In earth as quiet as thy father\\'s skull.\\r\\n In proof whereof, there is my honour\\'s pawn;\\r\\n Engage it to the trial, if thou dar\\'st.\\r\\n FITZWATER. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse!\\r\\n If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live,\\r\\n I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness,\\r\\n And spit upon him whilst I say he lies,\\r\\n And lies, and lies. There is my bond of faith,\\r\\n To tie thee to my strong correction.\\r\\n As I intend to thrive in this new world,\\r\\n Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal.\\r\\n Besides, I heard the banish\\'d Norfolk say\\r\\n That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men\\r\\n To execute the noble Duke at Calais.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage\\r\\n That Norfolk lies. Here do I throw down this,\\r\\n If he may be repeal\\'d to try his honour.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. These differences shall all rest under gage\\r\\n Till Norfolk be repeal\\'d-repeal\\'d he shall be\\r\\n And, though mine enemy, restor\\'d again\\r\\n To all his lands and signories. When he is return\\'d,\\r\\n Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.\\r\\n CARLISLE. That honourable day shall never be seen.\\r\\n Many a time hath banish\\'d Norfolk fought\\r\\n For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field,\\r\\n Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross\\r\\n Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens;\\r\\n And, toil\\'d with works of war, retir\\'d himself\\r\\n To Italy; and there, at Venice, gave\\r\\n His body to that pleasant country\\'s earth,\\r\\n And his pure soul unto his captain, Christ,\\r\\n Under whose colours he had fought so long.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Why, Bishop, is Norfolk dead?\\r\\n CARLISLE. As surely as I live, my lord.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom\\r\\n Of good old Abraham! Lords appellants,\\r\\n Your differences shall all rest under gage\\r\\n Till we assign you to your days of trial\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YORK, attended\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to the\\r\\n From plume-pluck\\'d Richard, who with willing soul\\r\\n Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields\\r\\n To the possession of thy royal hand.\\r\\n Ascend his throne, descending now from him-\\r\\n And long live Henry, fourth of that name!\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. In God\\'s name, I\\'ll ascend the regal throne.\\r\\n CARLISLE. Marry, God forbid!\\r\\n Worst in this royal presence may I speak,\\r\\n Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth.\\r\\n Would God that any in this noble presence\\r\\n Were enough noble to be upright judge\\r\\n Of noble Richard! Then true noblesse would\\r\\n Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong.\\r\\n What subject can give sentence on his king?\\r\\n And who sits here that is not Richard\\'s subject?\\r\\n Thieves are not judg\\'d but they are by to hear,\\r\\n Although apparent guilt be seen in them;\\r\\n And shall the figure of God\\'s majesty,\\r\\n His captain, steward, deputy elect,\\r\\n Anointed, crowned, planted many years,\\r\\n Be judg\\'d by subject and inferior breath,\\r\\n And he himself not present? O, forfend it, God,\\r\\n That in a Christian climate souls refin\\'d\\r\\n Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed!\\r\\n I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks,\\r\\n Stirr\\'d up by God, thus boldly for his king.\\r\\n My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king,\\r\\n Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford\\'s king;\\r\\n And if you crown him, let me prophesy-\\r\\n The blood of English shall manure the ground,\\r\\n And future ages groan for this foul act;\\r\\n Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels,\\r\\n And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars\\r\\n Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound;\\r\\n Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny,\\r\\n Shall here inhabit, and this land be call\\'d\\r\\n The field of Golgotha and dead men\\'s skulls.\\r\\n O, if you raise this house against this house,\\r\\n It will the woefullest division prove\\r\\n That ever fell upon this cursed earth.\\r\\n Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so,\\r\\n Lest child, child\\'s children, cry against you woe.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Well have you argued, sir; and, for your pains,\\r\\n Of capital treason we arrest you here.\\r\\n My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge\\r\\n To keep him safely till his day of trial.\\r\\n May it please you, lords, to grant the commons\\' suit?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view\\r\\n He may surrender; so we shall proceed\\r\\n Without suspicion.\\r\\n YORK. I will be his conduct. Exit\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Lords, you that here are under our arrest,\\r\\n Procure your sureties for your days of answer.\\r\\n Little are we beholding to your love,\\r\\n And little look\\'d for at your helping hands.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter YORK, with KING RICHARD, and OFFICERS\\r\\n bearing the regalia\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Alack, why am I sent for to a king,\\r\\n Before I have shook off the regal thoughts\\r\\n Wherewith I reign\\'d? I hardly yet have learn\\'d\\r\\n To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee.\\r\\n Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me\\r\\n To this submission. Yet I well remember\\r\\n The favours of these men. Were they not mine?\\r\\n Did they not sometime cry \\'All hail!\\' to me?\\r\\n So Judas did to Christ; but he, in twelve,\\r\\n Found truth in all but one; I, in twelve thousand, none.\\r\\n God save the King! Will no man say amen?\\r\\n Am I both priest and clerk? Well then, amen.\\r\\n God save the King! although I be not he;\\r\\n And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.\\r\\n To do what service am I sent for hither?\\r\\n YORK. To do that office of thine own good will\\r\\n Which tired majesty did make thee offer-\\r\\n The resignation of thy state and crown\\r\\n To Henry Bolingbroke.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Give me the crown. Here, cousin, seize the crown.\\r\\n Here, cousin,\\r\\n On this side my hand, and on that side thine.\\r\\n Now is this golden crown like a deep well\\r\\n That owes two buckets, filling one another;\\r\\n The emptier ever dancing in the air,\\r\\n The other down, unseen, and full of water.\\r\\n That bucket down and fun of tears am I,\\r\\n Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I thought you had been willing to resign.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. My crown I am; but still my griefs are mine.\\r\\n You may my glories and my state depose,\\r\\n But not my griefs; still am I king of those.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Part of your cares you give me with your crown.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Your cares set up do not pluck my cares down.\\r\\n My care is loss of care, by old care done;\\r\\n Your care is gain of care, by new care won.\\r\\n The cares I give I have, though given away;\\r\\n They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Are you contented to resign the crown?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, no; no, ay; for I must nothing be;\\r\\n Therefore no no, for I resign to thee.\\r\\n Now mark me how I will undo myself:\\r\\n I give this heavy weight from off my head,\\r\\n And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand,\\r\\n The pride of kingly sway from out my heart;\\r\\n With mine own tears I wash away my balm,\\r\\n With mine own hands I give away my crown,\\r\\n With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,\\r\\n With mine own breath release all duteous oaths;\\r\\n All pomp and majesty I do forswear;\\r\\n My manors, rents, revenues, I forgo;\\r\\n My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny.\\r\\n God pardon all oaths that are broke to me!\\r\\n God keep all vows unbroke are made to thee!\\r\\n Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev\\'d,\\r\\n And thou with all pleas\\'d, that hast an achiev\\'d.\\r\\n Long mayst thou live in Richard\\'s seat to sit,\\r\\n And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit.\\r\\n God save King Henry, unking\\'d Richard says,\\r\\n And send him many years of sunshine days!\\r\\n What more remains?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. No more; but that you read\\r\\n These accusations, and these grievous crimes\\r\\n Committed by your person and your followers\\r\\n Against the state and profit of this land;\\r\\n That, by confessing them, the souls of men\\r\\n May deem that you are worthily depos\\'d.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Must I do so? And must I ravel out\\r\\n My weav\\'d-up follies? Gentle Northumberland,\\r\\n If thy offences were upon record,\\r\\n Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop\\r\\n To read a lecture of them? If thou wouldst,\\r\\n There shouldst thou find one heinous article,\\r\\n Containing the deposing of a king\\r\\n And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,\\r\\n Mark\\'d with a blot, damn\\'d in the book of heaven.\\r\\n Nay, all of you that stand and look upon me\\r\\n Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself,\\r\\n Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands,\\r\\n Showing an outward pity-yet you Pilates\\r\\n Have here deliver\\'d me to my sour cross,\\r\\n And water cannot wash away your sin.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, dispatch; read o\\'er these\\r\\n articles.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Mine eyes are full of tears; I cannot see.\\r\\n And yet salt water blinds them not so much\\r\\n But they can see a sort of traitors here.\\r\\n Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,\\r\\n I find myself a traitor with the rest;\\r\\n For I have given here my soul\\'s consent\\r\\n T\\'undeck the pompous body of a king;\\r\\n Made glory base, and sovereignty a slave,\\r\\n Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. No lord of thine, thou haught insulting man,\\r\\n Nor no man\\'s lord; I have no name, no tide-\\r\\n No, not that name was given me at the font-\\r\\n But \\'tis usurp\\'d. Alack the heavy day,\\r\\n That I have worn so many winters out,\\r\\n And know not now what name to call myself!\\r\\n O that I were a mockery king of snow,\\r\\n Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke\\r\\n To melt myself away in water drops!\\r\\n Good king, great king, and yet not greatly good,\\r\\n An if my word be sterling yet in England,\\r\\n Let it command a mirror hither straight,\\r\\n That it may show me what a face I have\\r\\n Since it is bankrupt of his majesty.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Go some of you and fetch a looking-glass.\\r\\n Exit an attendant\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Read o\\'er this paper while the glass doth come.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Fiend, thou torments me ere I come to hell.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. The Commons will not, then, be satisfied.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. They shall be satisfied. I\\'ll read enough,\\r\\n When I do see the very book indeed\\r\\n Where all my sins are writ, and that\\'s myself.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter attendant with glass\\r\\n\\r\\n Give me that glass, and therein will I read.\\r\\n No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck\\r\\n So many blows upon this face of mine\\r\\n And made no deeper wounds? O flatt\\'ring glass,\\r\\n Like to my followers in prosperity,\\r\\n Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face\\r\\n That every day under his household roof\\r\\n Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face\\r\\n That like the sun did make beholders wink?\\r\\n Is this the face which fac\\'d so many follies\\r\\n That was at last out-fac\\'d by Bolingbroke?\\r\\n A brittle glory shineth in this face;\\r\\n As brittle as the glory is the face;\\r\\n [Dashes the glass against the ground]\\r\\n For there it is, crack\\'d in a hundred shivers.\\r\\n Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport-\\r\\n How soon my sorrow hath destroy\\'d my face.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy\\'d\\r\\n The shadow of your face.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Say that again.\\r\\n The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let\\'s see.\\r\\n \\'Tis very true: my grief lies all within;\\r\\n And these external manner of laments\\r\\n Are merely shadows to the unseen grief\\r\\n That swells with silence in the tortur\\'d soul.\\r\\n There lies the substance; and I thank thee, king,\\r\\n For thy great bounty, that not only giv\\'st\\r\\n Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way\\r\\n How to lament the cause. I\\'ll beg one boon,\\r\\n And then be gone and trouble you no more.\\r\\n Shall I obtain it?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Name it, fair cousin.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Fair cousin! I am greater than a king;\\r\\n For when I was a king, my flatterers\\r\\n Were then but subjects; being now a subject,\\r\\n I have a king here to my flatterer.\\r\\n Being so great, I have no need to beg.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Yet ask.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And shall I have?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. You shall.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then give me leave to go.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Whither?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Whither you will, so I were from your sights.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Go, some of you convey him to the Tower.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O, good! Convey! Conveyers are you all,\\r\\n That rise thus nimbly by a true king\\'s fall.\\r\\n Exeunt KING RICHARD, some Lords and a Guard\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. On Wednesday next we solemnly set down\\r\\n Our coronation. Lords, prepare yourselves.\\r\\n Exeunt all but the ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER, the\\r\\n BISHOP OF CARLISLE, and AUMERLE\\r\\n ABBOT. A woeful pageant have we here beheld.\\r\\n CARLISLE. The woe\\'s to come; the children yet unborn\\r\\n Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.\\r\\n AUMERLE. You holy clergymen, is there no plot\\r\\n To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?\\r\\n ABBOT. My lord,\\r\\n Before I freely speak my mind herein,\\r\\n You shall not only take the sacrament\\r\\n To bury mine intents, but also to effect\\r\\n Whatever I shall happen to devise.\\r\\n I see your brows are full of discontent,\\r\\n Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears.\\r\\n Come home with me to supper; I will lay\\r\\n A plot shall show us all a merry day. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 1. London. A street leading to the Tower\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the QUEEN, with her attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN. This way the King will come; this is the way\\r\\n To Julius Caesar\\'s ill-erected tower,\\r\\n To whose flint bosom my condemned lord\\r\\n Is doom\\'d a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke.\\r\\n Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth\\r\\n Have any resting for her true King\\'s queen.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING RICHARD and Guard\\r\\n\\r\\n But soft, but see, or rather do not see,\\r\\n My fair rose wither. Yet look up, behold,\\r\\n That you in pity may dissolve to dew,\\r\\n And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.\\r\\n Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand;\\r\\n Thou map of honour, thou King Richard\\'s tomb,\\r\\n And not King Richard; thou most beauteous inn,\\r\\n Why should hard-favour\\'d grief be lodg\\'d in thee,\\r\\n When triumph is become an alehouse guest?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so,\\r\\n To make my end too sudden. Learn, good soul,\\r\\n To think our former state a happy dream;\\r\\n From which awak\\'d, the truth of what we are\\r\\n Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet,\\r\\n To grim Necessity; and he and\\r\\n Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France,\\r\\n And cloister thee in some religious house.\\r\\n Our holy lives must win a new world\\'s crown,\\r\\n Which our profane hours here have thrown down.\\r\\n QUEEN. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind\\r\\n Transform\\'d and weak\\'ned? Hath Bolingbroke depos\\'d\\r\\n Thine intellect? Hath he been in thy heart?\\r\\n The lion dying thrusteth forth his paw\\r\\n And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage\\r\\n To be o\\'erpow\\'r\\'d; and wilt thou, pupil-like,\\r\\n Take the correction mildly, kiss the rod,\\r\\n And fawn on rage with base humility,\\r\\n Which art a lion and the king of beasts?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. A king of beasts, indeed! If aught but beasts,\\r\\n I had been still a happy king of men.\\r\\n Good sometimes queen, prepare thee hence for France.\\r\\n Think I am dead, and that even here thou takest,\\r\\n As from my death-bed, thy last living leave.\\r\\n In winter\\'s tedious nights sit by the fire\\r\\n With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales\\r\\n Of woeful ages long ago betid;\\r\\n And ere thou bid good night, to quit their griefs\\r\\n Tell thou the lamentable tale of me,\\r\\n And send the hearers weeping to their beds;\\r\\n For why, the senseless brands will sympathize\\r\\n The heavy accent of thy moving tongue,\\r\\n And in compassion weep the fire out;\\r\\n And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black,\\r\\n For the deposing of a rightful king.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NORTHUMBERLAND attended\\r\\n\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang\\'d;\\r\\n You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.\\r\\n And, madam, there is order ta\\'en for you:\\r\\n With all swift speed you must away to France.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal\\r\\n The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,\\r\\n The time shall not be many hours of age\\r\\n More than it is, ere foul sin gathering head\\r\\n Shall break into corruption. Thou shalt think\\r\\n Though he divide the realm and give thee half\\r\\n It is too little, helping him to all;\\r\\n And he shall think that thou, which knowest the way\\r\\n To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,\\r\\n Being ne\\'er so little urg\\'d, another way\\r\\n To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne.\\r\\n The love of wicked men converts to fear;\\r\\n That fear to hate; and hate turns one or both\\r\\n To worthy danger and deserved death.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My guilt be on my head, and there an end.\\r\\n Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Doubly divorc\\'d! Bad men, you violate\\r\\n A twofold marriage-\\'twixt my crown and me,\\r\\n And then betwixt me and my married wife.\\r\\n Let me unkiss the oath \\'twixt thee and me;\\r\\n And yet not so, for with a kiss \\'twas made.\\r\\n Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north,\\r\\n Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime;\\r\\n My wife to France, from whence set forth in pomp,\\r\\n She came adorned hither like sweet May,\\r\\n Sent back like Hallowmas or short\\'st of day.\\r\\n QUEEN. And must we be divided? Must we part?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart.\\r\\n QUEEN. Banish us both, and send the King with me.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. That were some love, but little policy.\\r\\n QUEEN. Then whither he goes thither let me go.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. So two, together weeping, make one woe.\\r\\n Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here;\\r\\n Better far off than near, be ne\\'er the near.\\r\\n Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans.\\r\\n QUEEN. So longest way shall have the longest moans.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Twice for one step I\\'ll groan, the way being short,\\r\\n And piece the way out with a heavy heart.\\r\\n Come, come, in wooing sorrow let\\'s be brief,\\r\\n Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief.\\r\\n One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part;\\r\\n Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart.\\r\\n QUEEN. Give me mine own again; \\'twere no good part\\r\\n To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.\\r\\n So, now I have mine own again, be gone.\\r\\n That I may strive to kill it with a groan.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We make woe wanton with this fond delay.\\r\\n Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. The DUKE OF YORK\\'s palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the DUKE OF YORK and the DUCHESS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. My Lord, you told me you would tell the rest,\\r\\n When weeping made you break the story off,\\r\\n Of our two cousins\\' coming into London.\\r\\n YORK. Where did I leave?\\r\\n DUCHESS. At that sad stop, my lord,\\r\\n Where rude misgoverned hands from windows\\' tops\\r\\n Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard\\'s head.\\r\\n YORK. Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bolingbroke,\\r\\n Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed\\r\\n Which his aspiring rider seem\\'d to know,\\r\\n With slow but stately pace kept on his course,\\r\\n Whilst all tongues cried \\'God save thee, Bolingbroke!\\'\\r\\n You would have thought the very windows spake,\\r\\n So many greedy looks of young and old\\r\\n Through casements darted their desiring eyes\\r\\n Upon his visage; and that all the walls\\r\\n With painted imagery had said at once\\r\\n \\'Jesu preserve thee! Welcome, Bolingbroke!\\'\\r\\n Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning,\\r\\n Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed\\'s neck,\\r\\n Bespake them thus, \\'I thank you, countrymen.\\'\\r\\n And thus still doing, thus he pass\\'d along.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst?\\r\\n YORK. As in a theatre the eyes of men\\r\\n After a well-grac\\'d actor leaves the stage\\r\\n Are idly bent on him that enters next,\\r\\n Thinking his prattle to be tedious;\\r\\n Even so, or with much more contempt, men\\'s eyes\\r\\n Did scowl on gentle Richard; no man cried \\'God save him!\\'\\r\\n No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home;\\r\\n But dust was thrown upon his sacred head;\\r\\n Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,\\r\\n His face still combating with tears and smiles,\\r\\n The badges of his grief and patience,\\r\\n That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel\\'d\\r\\n The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,\\r\\n And barbarism itself have pitied him.\\r\\n But heaven hath a hand in these events,\\r\\n To whose high will we bound our calm contents.\\r\\n To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,\\r\\n Whose state and honour I for aye allow.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Here comes my son Aumerle.\\r\\n YORK. Aumerle that was\\r\\n But that is lost for being Richard\\'s friend,\\r\\n And madam, you must call him Rudand now.\\r\\n I am in Parliament pledge for his truth\\r\\n And lasting fealty to the new-made king.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter AUMERLE\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now\\r\\n That strew the green lap of the new come spring?\\r\\n AUMERLE. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not.\\r\\n God knows I had as lief be none as one.\\r\\n YORK. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,\\r\\n Lest you be cropp\\'d before you come to prime.\\r\\n What news from Oxford? Do these justs and triumphs hold?\\r\\n AUMERLE. For aught I know, my lord, they do.\\r\\n YORK. You will be there, I know.\\r\\n AUMERLE. If God prevent not, I purpose so.\\r\\n YORK. What seal is that that without thy bosom?\\r\\n Yea, look\\'st thou pale? Let me see the writing.\\r\\n AUMERLE. My lord, \\'tis nothing.\\r\\n YORK. No matter, then, who see it.\\r\\n I will be satisfied; let me see the writing.\\r\\n AUMERLE. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me;\\r\\n It is a matter of small consequence\\r\\n Which for some reasons I would not have seen.\\r\\n YORK. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.\\r\\n I fear, I fear-\\r\\n DUCHESS. What should you fear?\\r\\n \\'Tis nothing but some bond that he is ent\\'red into\\r\\n For gay apparel \\'gainst the triumph-day.\\r\\n YORK. Bound to himself! What doth he with a bond\\r\\n That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.\\r\\n Boy, let me see the writing.\\r\\n AUMERLE. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it.\\r\\n YORK. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say.\\r\\n [He plucks it out of his bosom, and reads it]\\r\\n Treason, foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave!\\r\\n DUCHESS. What is the matter, my lord?\\r\\n YORK. Ho! who is within there?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a servant\\r\\n\\r\\n Saddle my horse.\\r\\n God for his mercy, what treachery is here!\\r\\n DUCHESS. Why, York, what is it, my lord?\\r\\n YORK. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse.\\r\\n Exit servant\\r\\n Now, by mine honour, by my life, my troth,\\r\\n I will appeach the villain.\\r\\n DUCHESS. What is the matter?\\r\\n YORK. Peace, foolish woman.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle?\\r\\n AUMERLE. Good mother, be content; it is no more\\r\\n Than my poor life must answer.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Thy life answer!\\r\\n YORK. Bring me my boots. I will unto the King.\\r\\n\\r\\n His man enters with his boots\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amaz\\'d.\\r\\n Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.\\r\\n YORK. Give me my boots, I say.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Why, York, what wilt thou do?\\r\\n Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?\\r\\n Have we more sons? or are we like to have?\\r\\n Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?\\r\\n And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age\\r\\n And rob me of a happy mother\\'s name?\\r\\n Is he not like thee? Is he not thine own?\\r\\n YORK. Thou fond mad woman,\\r\\n Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?\\r\\n A dozen of them here have ta\\'en the sacrament,\\r\\n And interchangeably set down their hands\\r\\n To kill the King at Oxford.\\r\\n DUCHESS. He shall be none;\\r\\n We\\'ll keep him here. Then what is that to him?\\r\\n YORK. Away, fond woman! were he twenty times my son\\r\\n I would appeach him.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Hadst thou groan\\'d for him\\r\\n As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful.\\r\\n But now I know thy mind: thou dost suspect\\r\\n That I have been disloyal to thy bed\\r\\n And that he is a bastard, not thy son.\\r\\n Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind.\\r\\n He is as like thee as a man may be\\r\\n Not like to me, or any of my kin,\\r\\n And yet I love him.\\r\\n YORK. Make way, unruly woman! Exit\\r\\n DUCHESS. After, Aumerle! Mount thee upon his horse;\\r\\n Spur post, and get before him to the King,\\r\\n And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.\\r\\n I\\'ll not be long behind; though I be old,\\r\\n I doubt not but to ride as fast as York;\\r\\n And never will I rise up from the ground\\r\\n Till Bolingbroke have pardon\\'d thee. Away, be gone.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. Windsor Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter BOLINGBROKE as King, PERCY, and other LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Can no man tell me of my unthrifty son?\\r\\n \\'Tis full three months since I did see him last.\\r\\n If any plague hang over us, \\'tis he.\\r\\n I would to God, my lords, he might be found.\\r\\n Inquire at London, \\'mongst the taverns there,\\r\\n For there, they say, he daily doth frequent\\r\\n With unrestrained loose companions,\\r\\n Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes\\r\\n And beat our watch and rob our passengers,\\r\\n Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy,\\r\\n Takes on the point of honour to support\\r\\n So dissolute a crew.\\r\\n PERCY. My lord, some two days since I saw the Prince,\\r\\n And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. And what said the gallant?\\r\\n PERCY. His answer was, he would unto the stews,\\r\\n And from the common\\'st creature pluck a glove\\r\\n And wear it as a favour; and with that\\r\\n He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. As dissolute as desperate; yet through both\\r\\n I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years\\r\\n May happily bring forth. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter AUMERLE amazed\\r\\n\\r\\n AUMERLE. Where is the King?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. What means our cousin that he stares and looks\\r\\n So wildly?\\r\\n AUMERLE. God save your Grace! I do beseech your Majesty,\\r\\n To have some conference with your Grace alone.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.\\r\\n Exeunt PERCY and LORDS\\r\\n What is the matter with our cousin now?\\r\\n AUMERLE. For ever may my knees grow to the earth,\\r\\n [Kneels]\\r\\n My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth,\\r\\n Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Intended or committed was this fault?\\r\\n If on the first, how heinous e\\'er it be,\\r\\n To win thy after-love I pardon thee.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Then give me leave that I may turn the key,\\r\\n That no man enter till my tale be done.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Have thy desire.\\r\\n [The DUKE OF YORK knocks at the door and crieth]\\r\\n YORK. [Within] My liege, beware; look to thyself;\\r\\n Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. [Drawing] Villain, I\\'ll make thee safe.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast no cause to fear.\\r\\n YORK. [Within] Open the door, secure, foolhardy King.\\r\\n Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face?\\r\\n Open the door, or I will break it open.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YORK\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. What is the matter, uncle? Speak;\\r\\n Recover breath; tell us how near is danger,\\r\\n That we may arm us to encounter it.\\r\\n YORK. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know\\r\\n The treason that my haste forbids me show.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Remember, as thou read\\'st, thy promise pass\\'d.\\r\\n I do repent me; read not my name there;\\r\\n My heart is not confederate with my hand.\\r\\n YORK. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down.\\r\\n I tore it from the traitor\\'s bosom, King;\\r\\n Fear, and not love, begets his penitence.\\r\\n Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove\\r\\n A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy!\\r\\n O loyal father of a treacherous son!\\r\\n Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain,\\r\\n From whence this stream through muddy passages\\r\\n Hath held his current and defil\\'d himself!\\r\\n Thy overflow of good converts to bad;\\r\\n And thy abundant goodness shall excuse\\r\\n This deadly blot in thy digressing son.\\r\\n YORK. So shall my virtue be his vice\\'s bawd;\\r\\n And he shall spend mine honour with his shame,\\r\\n As thriftless sons their scraping fathers\\' gold.\\r\\n Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,\\r\\n Or my sham\\'d life in his dishonour lies.\\r\\n Thou kill\\'st me in his life; giving him breath,\\r\\n The traitor lives, the true man\\'s put to death.\\r\\n DUCHESS. [Within] I What ho, my liege, for God\\'s sake, let me in.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. What shrill-voic\\'d suppliant makes this eager cry?\\r\\n DUCHESS. [Within] A woman, and thine aunt, great King; \\'tis I.\\r\\n Speak with me, pity me, open the door.\\r\\n A beggar begs that never begg\\'d before.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Our scene is alt\\'red from a serious thing,\\r\\n And now chang\\'d to \\'The Beggar and the King.\\'\\r\\n My dangerous cousin, let your mother in.\\r\\n I know she is come to pray for your foul sin.\\r\\n YORK. If thou do pardon whosoever pray,\\r\\n More sins for this forgiveness prosper may.\\r\\n This fest\\'red joint cut off, the rest rest sound;\\r\\n This let alone will all the rest confound.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUCHESS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. O King, believe not this hard-hearted man!\\r\\n Love loving not itself, none other can.\\r\\n YORK. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here?\\r\\n Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?\\r\\n DUCHESS. Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle liege.\\r\\n [Kneels]\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Rise up, good aunt.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Not yet, I thee beseech.\\r\\n For ever will I walk upon my knees,\\r\\n And never see day that the happy sees\\r\\n Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy\\r\\n By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Unto my mother\\'s prayers I bend my knee.\\r\\n [Kneels]\\r\\n YORK. Against them both, my true joints bended be.\\r\\n [Kneels]\\r\\n Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace!\\r\\n DUCHESS. Pleads he in earnest? Look upon his face;\\r\\n His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest;\\r\\n His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast.\\r\\n He prays but faintly and would be denied;\\r\\n We pray with heart and soul, and all beside.\\r\\n His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;\\r\\n Our knees still kneel till to the ground they grow.\\r\\n His prayers are full of false hypocrisy;\\r\\n Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.\\r\\n Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have\\r\\n That mercy which true prayer ought to have.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Good aunt, stand up.\\r\\n DUCHESS. do not say \\'stand up\\';\\r\\n Say \\'pardon\\' first, and afterwards \\'stand up.\\'\\r\\n An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,\\r\\n \\'Pardon\\' should be the first word of thy speech.\\r\\n I never long\\'d to hear a word till now;\\r\\n Say \\'pardon,\\' King; let pity teach thee how.\\r\\n The word is short, but not so short as sweet;\\r\\n No word like \\'pardon\\' for kings\\' mouths so meet.\\r\\n YORK. Speak it in French, King, say \\'pardonne moy.\\'\\r\\n DUCHESS. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?\\r\\n Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,\\r\\n That sets the word itself against the word!\\r\\n Speak \\'pardon\\' as \\'tis current in our land;\\r\\n The chopping French we do not understand.\\r\\n Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there;\\r\\n Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear,\\r\\n That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce,\\r\\n Pity may move thee \\'pardon\\' to rehearse.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Good aunt, stand up.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I do not sue to stand;\\r\\n Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.\\r\\n DUCHESS. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee!\\r\\n Yet am I sick for fear. Speak it again.\\r\\n Twice saying \\'pardon\\' doth not pardon twain,\\r\\n But makes one pardon strong.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. With all my heart\\r\\n I pardon him.\\r\\n DUCHESS. A god on earth thou art.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. But for our trusty brother-in-law and the Abbot,\\r\\n With all the rest of that consorted crew,\\r\\n Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.\\r\\n Good uncle, help to order several powers\\r\\n To Oxford, or where\\'er these traitors are.\\r\\n They shall not live within this world, I swear,\\r\\n But I will have them, if I once know where.\\r\\n Uncle, farewell; and, cousin, adieu;\\r\\n Your mother well hath pray\\'d, and prove you true.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Come, my old son; I pray God make thee new. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. Windsor Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SIR PIERCE OF EXTON and a servant\\r\\n\\r\\n EXTON. Didst thou not mark the King, what words he spake?\\r\\n \\'Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?\\'\\r\\n Was it not so?\\r\\n SERVANT. These were his very words.\\r\\n EXTON. \\'Have I no friend?\\' quoth he. He spake it twice\\r\\n And urg\\'d it twice together, did he not?\\r\\n SERVANT. He did.\\r\\n EXTON. And, speaking it, he wishtly look\\'d on me,\\r\\n As who should say \\'I would thou wert the man\\r\\n That would divorce this terror from my heart\\';\\r\\n Meaning the King at Pomfret. Come, let\\'s go.\\r\\n I am the King\\'s friend, and will rid his foe. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5. Pomfret Castle. The dungeon of the Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter KING RICHARD\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I have been studying how I may compare\\r\\n This prison where I live unto the world\\r\\n And, for because the world is populous\\r\\n And here is not a creature but myself,\\r\\n I cannot do it. Yet I\\'ll hammer it out.\\r\\n My brain I\\'ll prove the female to my soul,\\r\\n My soul the father; and these two beget\\r\\n A generation of still-breeding thoughts,\\r\\n And these same thoughts people this little world,\\r\\n In humours like the people of this world,\\r\\n For no thought is contented. The better sort,\\r\\n As thoughts of things divine, are intermix\\'d\\r\\n With scruples, and do set the word itself\\r\\n Against the word,\\r\\n As thus: \\'Come, little ones\\'; and then again,\\r\\n \\'It is as hard to come as for a camel\\r\\n To thread the postern of a small needle\\'s eye.\\'\\r\\n Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot\\r\\n Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails\\r\\n May tear a passage through the flinty ribs\\r\\n Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls;\\r\\n And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.\\r\\n Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves\\r\\n That they are not the first of fortune\\'s slaves,\\r\\n Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars\\r\\n Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame,\\r\\n That many have and others must sit there;\\r\\n And in this thought they find a kind of ease,\\r\\n Bearing their own misfortunes on the back\\r\\n Of such as have before endur\\'d the like.\\r\\n Thus play I in one person many people,\\r\\n And none contented. Sometimes am I king;\\r\\n Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar,\\r\\n And so I am. Then crushing penury\\r\\n Persuades me I was better when a king;\\r\\n Then am I king\\'d again; and by and by\\r\\n Think that I am unking\\'d by Bolingbroke,\\r\\n And straight am nothing. But whate\\'er I be,\\r\\n Nor I, nor any man that but man is,\\r\\n With nothing shall be pleas\\'d till he be eas\\'d\\r\\n With being nothing. [The music plays]\\r\\n Music do I hear?\\r\\n Ha, ha! keep time. How sour sweet music is\\r\\n When time is broke and no proportion kept!\\r\\n So is it in the music of men\\'s lives.\\r\\n And here have I the daintiness of ear\\r\\n To check time broke in a disorder\\'d string;\\r\\n But, for the concord of my state and time,\\r\\n Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.\\r\\n I wasted time, and now doth time waste me;\\r\\n For now hath time made me his numb\\'ring clock:\\r\\n My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar\\r\\n Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch,\\r\\n Whereto my finger, like a dial\\'s point,\\r\\n Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.\\r\\n Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is\\r\\n Are clamorous groans which strike upon my heart,\\r\\n Which is the bell. So sighs, and tears, and groans,\\r\\n Show minutes, times, and hours; but my time\\r\\n Runs posting on in Bolingbroke\\'s proud joy,\\r\\n While I stand fooling here, his Jack of the clock.\\r\\n This music mads me. Let it sound no more;\\r\\n For though it have holp madmen to their wits,\\r\\n In me it seems it will make wise men mad.\\r\\n Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!\\r\\n For \\'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard\\r\\n Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a GROOM of the stable\\r\\n\\r\\n GROOM. Hail, royal Prince!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thanks, noble peer!\\r\\n The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.\\r\\n What art thou? and how comest thou hither,\\r\\n Where no man never comes but that sad dog\\r\\n That brings me food to make misfortune live?\\r\\n GROOM. I was a poor groom of thy stable, King,\\r\\n When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York,\\r\\n With much ado at length have gotten leave\\r\\n To look upon my sometimes royal master\\'s face.\\r\\n O, how it ern\\'d my heart, when I beheld,\\r\\n In London streets, that coronation-day,\\r\\n When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary-\\r\\n That horse that thou so often hast bestrid,\\r\\n That horse that I so carefully have dress\\'d!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend,\\r\\n How went he under him?\\r\\n GROOM. So proudly as if he disdain\\'d the ground.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back!\\r\\n That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand;\\r\\n This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.\\r\\n Would he not stumble? would he not fall down,\\r\\n Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck\\r\\n Of that proud man that did usurp his back?\\r\\n Forgiveness, horse! Why do I rail on thee,\\r\\n Since thou, created to be aw\\'d by man,\\r\\n Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse;\\r\\n And yet I bear a burden like an ass,\\r\\n Spurr\\'d, gall\\'d, and tir\\'d, by jauncing Bolingbroke.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KEEPER with meat\\r\\n\\r\\n KEEPER. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. If thou love me, \\'tis time thou wert away.\\r\\n GROOM. my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n KEEPER. My lord, will\\'t please you to fall to?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Taste of it first as thou art wont to do.\\r\\n KEEPER. My lord, I dare not. Sir Pierce of Exton,\\r\\n Who lately came from the King, commands the contrary.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee!\\r\\n Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.\\r\\n [Beats the KEEPER]\\r\\n KEEPER. Help, help, help!\\r\\n The murderers, EXTON and servants, rush in, armed\\r\\n KING RICHARD. How now! What means death in this rude assault?\\r\\n Villain, thy own hand yields thy death\\'s instrument.\\r\\n [Snatching a weapon and killing one]\\r\\n Go thou and fill another room in hell.\\r\\n [He kills another, then EXTON strikes him down]\\r\\n That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire\\r\\n That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand\\r\\n Hath with the King\\'s blood stain\\'d the King\\'s own land.\\r\\n Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high;\\r\\n Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.\\r\\n [Dies]\\r\\n EXTON. As full of valour as of royal blood.\\r\\n Both have I spill\\'d. O, would the deed were good!\\r\\n For now the devil, that told me I did well,\\r\\n Says that this deed is chronicled in hell.\\r\\n This dead King to the living King I\\'ll bear.\\r\\n Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 6. Windsor Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE, the DUKE OF YORK, With other LORDS and\\r\\nattendants\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear\\r\\n Is that the rebels have consum\\'d with fire\\r\\n Our town of Ciceter in Gloucestershire;\\r\\n But whether they be ta\\'en or slain we hear not.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NORTHUMBERLAND\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, my lord. What is the news?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness.\\r\\n The next news is, I have to London sent\\r\\n The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent.\\r\\n The manner of their taking may appear\\r\\n At large discoursed in this paper here.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains;\\r\\n And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FITZWATER\\r\\n\\r\\n FITZWATER. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London\\r\\n The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely;\\r\\n Two of the dangerous consorted traitors\\r\\n That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot;\\r\\n Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PERCY, With the BISHOP OF CARLISLE\\r\\n\\r\\n PERCY. The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster,\\r\\n With clog of conscience and sour melancholy,\\r\\n Hath yielded up his body to the grave;\\r\\n But here is Carlisle living, to abide\\r\\n Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Carlisle, this is your doom:\\r\\n Choose out some secret place, some reverend room,\\r\\n More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life;\\r\\n So as thou liv\\'st in peace, die free from strife;\\r\\n For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,\\r\\n High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter EXTON, with attendants, hearing a coffin\\r\\n\\r\\n EXTON. Great King, within this coffin I present\\r\\n Thy buried fear. Herein all breathless lies\\r\\n The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,\\r\\n Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought\\r\\n A deed of slander with thy fatal hand\\r\\n Upon my head and all this famous land.\\r\\n EXTON. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. They love not poison that do poison need,\\r\\n Nor do I thee. Though I did wish him dead,\\r\\n I hate the murderer, love him murdered.\\r\\n The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,\\r\\n But neither my good word nor princely favour;\\r\\n With Cain go wander thorough shades of night,\\r\\n And never show thy head by day nor light.\\r\\n Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe\\r\\n That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow.\\r\\n Come, mourn with me for what I do lament,\\r\\n And put on sullen black incontinent.\\r\\n I\\'ll make a voyage to the Holy Land,\\r\\n To wash this blood off from my guilty hand.\\r\\n March sadly after; grace my mournings here\\r\\n In weeping after this untimely bier. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nKING RICHARD THE THIRD\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personae\\r\\n\\r\\n EDWARD THE FOURTH\\r\\n\\r\\n Sons to the King\\r\\n EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES afterwards KING EDWARD V\\r\\n RICHARD, DUKE OF YORK,\\r\\n\\r\\n Brothers to the King\\r\\n GEORGE, DUKE OF CLARENCE,\\r\\n RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, afterwards KING RICHARD III\\r\\n\\r\\n A YOUNG SON OF CLARENCE (Edward, Earl of Warwick)\\r\\n HENRY, EARL OF RICHMOND, afterwards KING HENRY VII\\r\\n CARDINAL BOURCHIER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY\\r\\n THOMAS ROTHERHAM, ARCHBISHOP OF YORK\\r\\n JOHN MORTON, BISHOP OF ELY\\r\\n DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n DUKE OF NORFOLK\\r\\n EARL OF SURREY, his son\\r\\n EARL RIVERS, brother to King Edward\\'s Queen\\r\\n MARQUIS OF DORSET and LORD GREY, her sons\\r\\n EARL OF OXFORD\\r\\n LORD HASTINGS\\r\\n LORD LOVEL\\r\\n LORD STANLEY, called also EARL OF DERBY\\r\\n SIR THOMAS VAUGHAN\\r\\n SIR RICHARD RATCLIFF\\r\\n SIR WILLIAM CATESBY\\r\\n SIR JAMES TYRREL\\r\\n SIR JAMES BLOUNT\\r\\n SIR WALTER HERBERT\\r\\n SIR WILLIAM BRANDON\\r\\n SIR ROBERT BRAKENBURY, Lieutenant of the Tower\\r\\n CHRISTOPHER URSWICK, a priest\\r\\n LORD MAYOR OF LONDON\\r\\n SHERIFF OF WILTSHIRE\\r\\n HASTINGS, a pursuivant\\r\\n TRESSEL and BERKELEY, gentlemen attending on Lady Anne\\r\\n ELIZABETH, Queen to King Edward IV\\r\\n MARGARET, widow of King Henry VI\\r\\n DUCHESS OF YORK, mother to King Edward IV\\r\\n LADY ANNE, widow of Edward, Prince of Wales, son to King\\r\\n Henry VI; afterwards married to the Duke of Gloucester\\r\\n A YOUNG DAUGHTER OF CLARENCE (Margaret Plantagenet,\\r\\n Countess of Salisbury)\\r\\n Ghosts, of Richard\\'s victims\\r\\n Lords, Gentlemen, and Attendants; Priest, Scrivener, Page, Bishops,\\r\\n Aldermen, Citizens, Soldiers, Messengers, Murderers, Keeper\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: England\\r\\n\\r\\nKing Richard the Third\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, solus\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Now is the winter of our discontent\\r\\n Made glorious summer by this sun of York;\\r\\n And all the clouds that lour\\'d upon our house\\r\\n In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.\\r\\n Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;\\r\\n Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;\\r\\n Our stern alarums chang\\'d to merry meetings,\\r\\n Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.\\r\\n Grim-visag\\'d war hath smooth\\'d his wrinkled front,\\r\\n And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds\\r\\n To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,\\r\\n He capers nimbly in a lady\\'s chamber\\r\\n To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.\\r\\n But I-that am not shap\\'d for sportive tricks,\\r\\n Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass-\\r\\n I-that am rudely stamp\\'d, and want love\\'s majesty\\r\\n To strut before a wanton ambling nymph-\\r\\n I-that am curtail\\'d of this fair proportion,\\r\\n Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,\\r\\n Deform\\'d, unfinish\\'d, sent before my time\\r\\n Into this breathing world scarce half made up,\\r\\n And that so lamely and unfashionable\\r\\n That dogs bark at me as I halt by them-\\r\\n Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,\\r\\n Have no delight to pass away the time,\\r\\n Unless to spy my shadow in the sun\\r\\n And descant on mine own deformity.\\r\\n And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover\\r\\n To entertain these fair well-spoken days,\\r\\n I am determined to prove a villain\\r\\n And hate the idle pleasures of these days.\\r\\n Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,\\r\\n By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,\\r\\n To set my brother Clarence and the King\\r\\n In deadly hate the one against the other;\\r\\n And if King Edward be as true and just\\r\\n As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,\\r\\n This day should Clarence closely be mew\\'d up-\\r\\n About a prophecy which says that G\\r\\n Of Edward\\'s heirs the murderer shall be.\\r\\n Dive, thoughts, down to my soul. Here Clarence comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n Brother, good day. What means this armed guard\\r\\n That waits upon your Grace?\\r\\n CLARENCE. His Majesty,\\r\\n Tend\\'ring my person\\'s safety, hath appointed\\r\\n This conduct to convey me to th\\' Tower.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Upon what cause?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Because my name is George.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours:\\r\\n He should, for that, commit your godfathers.\\r\\n O, belike his Majesty hath some intent\\r\\n That you should be new-christ\\'ned in the Tower.\\r\\n But what\\'s the matter, Clarence? May I know?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest\\r\\n As yet I do not; but, as I can learn,\\r\\n He hearkens after prophecies and dreams,\\r\\n And from the cross-row plucks the letter G,\\r\\n And says a wizard told him that by G\\r\\n His issue disinherited should be;\\r\\n And, for my name of George begins with G,\\r\\n It follows in his thought that I am he.\\r\\n These, as I learn, and such like toys as these\\r\\n Hath mov\\'d his Highness to commit me now.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, this it is when men are rul\\'d by women:\\r\\n \\'Tis not the King that sends you to the Tower;\\r\\n My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, \\'tis she\\r\\n That tempers him to this extremity.\\r\\n Was it not she and that good man of worship,\\r\\n Antony Woodville, her brother there,\\r\\n That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower,\\r\\n From whence this present day he is delivered?\\r\\n We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.\\r\\n CLARENCE. By heaven, I think there is no man is secure\\r\\n But the Queen\\'s kindred, and night-walking heralds\\r\\n That trudge betwixt the King and Mistress Shore.\\r\\n Heard you not what an humble suppliant\\r\\n Lord Hastings was, for her delivery?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Humbly complaining to her deity\\r\\n Got my Lord Chamberlain his liberty.\\r\\n I\\'ll tell you what-I think it is our way,\\r\\n If we will keep in favour with the King,\\r\\n To be her men and wear her livery:\\r\\n The jealous o\\'er-worn widow, and herself,\\r\\n Since that our brother dubb\\'d them gentlewomen,\\r\\n Are mighty gossips in our monarchy.\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. I beseech your Graces both to pardon me:\\r\\n His Majesty hath straitly given in charge\\r\\n That no man shall have private conference,\\r\\n Of what degree soever, with your brother.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Even so; an\\'t please your worship, Brakenbury,\\r\\n You may partake of any thing we say:\\r\\n We speak no treason, man; we say the King\\r\\n Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen\\r\\n Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous;\\r\\n We say that Shore\\'s wife hath a pretty foot,\\r\\n A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue;\\r\\n And that the Queen\\'s kindred are made gentlefolks.\\r\\n How say you, sir? Can you deny all this?\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. With this, my lord, myself have naught to do.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Naught to do with Mistress Shore! I tell thee,\\r\\n fellow,\\r\\n He that doth naught with her, excepting one,\\r\\n Were best to do it secretly alone.\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. What one, my lord?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Her husband, knave! Wouldst thou betray me?\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me, and\\r\\n withal\\r\\n Forbear your conference with the noble Duke.\\r\\n CLARENCE. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will\\r\\n obey.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. We are the Queen\\'s abjects and must obey.\\r\\n Brother, farewell; I will unto the King;\\r\\n And whatsoe\\'er you will employ me in-\\r\\n Were it to call King Edward\\'s widow sister-\\r\\n I will perform it to enfranchise you.\\r\\n Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood\\r\\n Touches me deeper than you can imagine.\\r\\n CLARENCE. I know it pleaseth neither of us well.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;\\r\\n I will deliver or else lie for you.\\r\\n Meantime, have patience.\\r\\n CLARENCE. I must perforce. Farewell.\\r\\n Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and guard\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Go tread the path that thou shalt ne\\'er return.\\r\\n Simple, plain Clarence, I do love thee so\\r\\n That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,\\r\\n If heaven will take the present at our hands.\\r\\n But who comes here? The new-delivered Hastings?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD HASTINGS\\r\\n\\r\\n HASTINGS. Good time of day unto my gracious lord!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain!\\r\\n Well are you welcome to the open air.\\r\\n How hath your lordship brook\\'d imprisonment?\\r\\n HASTINGS. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must;\\r\\n But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks\\r\\n That were the cause of my imprisonment.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too;\\r\\n For they that were your enemies are his,\\r\\n And have prevail\\'d as much on him as you.\\r\\n HASTINGS. More pity that the eagles should be mew\\'d\\r\\n Whiles kites and buzzards prey at liberty.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What news abroad?\\r\\n HASTINGS. No news so bad abroad as this at home:\\r\\n The King is sickly, weak, and melancholy,\\r\\n And his physicians fear him mightily.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Now, by Saint John, that news is bad indeed.\\r\\n O, he hath kept an evil diet long\\r\\n And overmuch consum\\'d his royal person!\\r\\n \\'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.\\r\\n Where is he? In his bed?\\r\\n HASTINGS. He is.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Go you before, and I will follow you.\\r\\n Exit HASTINGS\\r\\n He cannot live, I hope, and must not die\\r\\n Till George be pack\\'d with posthorse up to heaven.\\r\\n I\\'ll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence\\r\\n With lies well steel\\'d with weighty arguments;\\r\\n And, if I fail not in my deep intent,\\r\\n Clarence hath not another day to live;\\r\\n Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy,\\r\\n And leave the world for me to bustle in!\\r\\n For then I\\'ll marry Warwick\\'s youngest daughter.\\r\\n What though I kill\\'d her husband and her father?\\r\\n The readiest way to make the wench amends\\r\\n Is to become her husband and her father;\\r\\n The which will I-not all so much for love\\r\\n As for another secret close intent\\r\\n By marrying her which I must reach unto.\\r\\n But yet I run before my horse to market.\\r\\n Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns;\\r\\n When they are gone, then must I count my gains. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. Another street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter corpse of KING HENRY THE SIXTH, with halberds to guard it;\\r\\nLADY ANNE being the mourner, attended by TRESSEL and BERKELEY\\r\\n\\r\\n ANNE. Set down, set down your honourable load-\\r\\n If honour may be shrouded in a hearse;\\r\\n Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament\\r\\n Th\\' untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.\\r\\n Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!\\r\\n Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!\\r\\n Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!\\r\\n Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost\\r\\n To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,\\r\\n Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughtered son,\\r\\n Stabb\\'d by the self-same hand that made these wounds.\\r\\n Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life\\r\\n I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.\\r\\n O, cursed be the hand that made these holes!\\r\\n Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it!\\r\\n Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence!\\r\\n More direful hap betide that hated wretch\\r\\n That makes us wretched by the death of thee\\r\\n Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,\\r\\n Or any creeping venom\\'d thing that lives!\\r\\n If ever he have child, abortive be it,\\r\\n Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,\\r\\n Whose ugly and unnatural aspect\\r\\n May fright the hopeful mother at the view,\\r\\n And that be heir to his unhappiness!\\r\\n If ever he have wife, let her be made\\r\\n More miserable by the death of him\\r\\n Than I am made by my young lord and thee!\\r\\n Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load,\\r\\n Taken from Paul\\'s to be interred there;\\r\\n And still as you are weary of this weight\\r\\n Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry\\'s corse.\\r\\n [The bearers take up the coffin]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.\\r\\n ANNE. What black magician conjures up this fiend\\r\\n To stop devoted charitable deeds?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul,\\r\\n I\\'ll make a corse of him that disobeys!\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin\\r\\n pass.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Unmannerd dog! Stand thou, when I command.\\r\\n Advance thy halberd higher than my breast,\\r\\n Or, by Saint Paul, I\\'ll strike thee to my foot\\r\\n And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.\\r\\n [The bearers set down the coffin]\\r\\n ANNE. What, do you tremble? Are you all afraid?\\r\\n Alas, I blame you not, for you are mortal,\\r\\n And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.\\r\\n Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell!\\r\\n Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,\\r\\n His soul thou canst not have; therefore, be gone.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.\\r\\n ANNE. Foul devil, for God\\'s sake, hence and trouble us not;\\r\\n For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell\\r\\n Fill\\'d it with cursing cries and deep exclaims.\\r\\n If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,\\r\\n Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.\\r\\n O, gentlemen, see, see! Dead Henry\\'s wounds\\r\\n Open their congeal\\'d mouths and bleed afresh.\\r\\n Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity,\\r\\n For \\'tis thy presence that exhales this blood\\r\\n From cold and empty veins where no blood dwells;\\r\\n Thy deeds inhuman and unnatural\\r\\n Provokes this deluge most unnatural.\\r\\n O God, which this blood mad\\'st, revenge his death!\\r\\n O earth, which this blood drink\\'st, revenge his death!\\r\\n Either, heav\\'n, with lightning strike the murd\\'rer dead;\\r\\n Or, earth, gape open wide and eat him quick,\\r\\n As thou dost swallow up this good king\\'s blood,\\r\\n Which his hell-govern\\'d arm hath butchered.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Lady, you know no rules of charity,\\r\\n Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.\\r\\n ANNE. Villain, thou knowest nor law of God nor man:\\r\\n No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.\\r\\n ANNE. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. More wonderful when angels are so angry.\\r\\n Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,\\r\\n Of these supposed crimes to give me leave\\r\\n By circumstance but to acquit myself.\\r\\n ANNE. Vouchsafe, diffus\\'d infection of a man,\\r\\n Of these known evils but to give me leave\\r\\n By circumstance to accuse thy cursed self.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have\\r\\n Some patient leisure to excuse myself.\\r\\n ANNE. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make\\r\\n No excuse current but to hang thyself.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. By such despair I should accuse myself.\\r\\n ANNE. And by despairing shalt thou stand excused\\r\\n For doing worthy vengeance on thyself\\r\\n That didst unworthy slaughter upon others.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Say that I slew them not?\\r\\n ANNE. Then say they were not slain.\\r\\n But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I did not kill your husband.\\r\\n ANNE. Why, then he is alive.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Nay, he is dead, and slain by Edward\\'s hands.\\r\\n ANNE. In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw\\r\\n Thy murd\\'rous falchion smoking in his blood;\\r\\n The which thou once didst bend against her breast,\\r\\n But that thy brothers beat aside the point.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I was provoked by her sland\\'rous tongue\\r\\n That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.\\r\\n ANNE. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind,\\r\\n That never dream\\'st on aught but butcheries.\\r\\n Didst thou not kill this king?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I grant ye.\\r\\n ANNE. Dost grant me, hedgehog? Then, God grant me to\\r\\n Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed!\\r\\n O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The better for the King of Heaven, that hath\\r\\n him.\\r\\n ANNE. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Let him thank me that holp to send him\\r\\n thither,\\r\\n For he was fitter for that place than earth.\\r\\n ANNE. And thou unfit for any place but hell.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.\\r\\n ANNE. Some dungeon.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Your bed-chamber.\\r\\n ANNE. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. So will it, madam, till I lie with you.\\r\\n ANNE. I hope so.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne,\\r\\n To leave this keen encounter of our wits,\\r\\n And fall something into a slower method-\\r\\n Is not the causer of the timeless deaths\\r\\n Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,\\r\\n As blameful as the executioner?\\r\\n ANNE. Thou wast the cause and most accurs\\'d effect.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Your beauty was the cause of that effect-\\r\\n Your beauty that did haunt me in my sleep\\r\\n To undertake the death of all the world\\r\\n So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.\\r\\n ANNE. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,\\r\\n These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. These eyes could not endure that beauty\\'s\\r\\n wreck;\\r\\n You should not blemish it if I stood by.\\r\\n As all the world is cheered by the sun,\\r\\n So I by that; it is my day, my life.\\r\\n ANNE. Black night o\\'ershade thy day, and death thy life!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both.\\r\\n ANNE. I would I were, to be reveng\\'d on thee.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. It is a quarrel most unnatural,\\r\\n To be reveng\\'d on him that loveth thee.\\r\\n ANNE. It is a quarrel just and reasonable,\\r\\n To be reveng\\'d on him that kill\\'d my husband.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband\\r\\n Did it to help thee to a better husband.\\r\\n ANNE. His better doth not breathe upon the earth.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He lives that loves thee better than he could.\\r\\n ANNE. Name him.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Plantagenet.\\r\\n ANNE. Why, that was he.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The self-same name, but one of better nature.\\r\\n ANNE. Where is he?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Here. [She spits at him] Why dost thou spit\\r\\n at me?\\r\\n ANNE. Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Never came poison from so sweet a place.\\r\\n ANNE. Never hung poison on a fouler toad.\\r\\n Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.\\r\\n ANNE. Would they were basilisks to strike thee dead!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I would they were, that I might die at once;\\r\\n For now they kill me with a living death.\\r\\n Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears,\\r\\n Sham\\'d their aspects with store of childish drops-\\r\\n These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear,\\r\\n No, when my father York and Edward wept\\r\\n To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made\\r\\n When black-fac\\'d Clifford shook his sword at him;\\r\\n Nor when thy warlike father, like a child,\\r\\n Told the sad story of my father\\'s death,\\r\\n And twenty times made pause to sob and weep\\r\\n That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks\\r\\n Like trees bedash\\'d with rain-in that sad time\\r\\n My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear;\\r\\n And what these sorrows could not thence exhale\\r\\n Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.\\r\\n I never sued to friend nor enemy;\\r\\n My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word;\\r\\n But, now thy beauty is propos\\'d my fee,\\r\\n My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.\\r\\n [She looks scornfully at him]\\r\\n Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made\\r\\n For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.\\r\\n If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,\\r\\n Lo here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword;\\r\\n Which if thou please to hide in this true breast\\r\\n And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,\\r\\n I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,\\r\\n And humbly beg the death upon my knee.\\r\\n [He lays his breast open; she offers at it with his sword]\\r\\n Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry-\\r\\n But \\'twas thy beauty that provoked me.\\r\\n Nay, now dispatch; \\'twas I that stabb\\'d young Edward-\\r\\n But \\'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.\\r\\n [She falls the sword]\\r\\n Take up the sword again, or take up me.\\r\\n ANNE. Arise, dissembler; though I wish thy death,\\r\\n I will not be thy executioner.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it;\\r\\n ANNE. I have already.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. That was in thy rage.\\r\\n Speak it again, and even with the word\\r\\n This hand, which for thy love did kill thy love,\\r\\n Shall for thy love kill a far truer love;\\r\\n To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.\\r\\n ANNE. I would I knew thy heart.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. \\'Tis figur\\'d in my tongue.\\r\\n ANNE. I fear me both are false.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Then never was man true.\\r\\n ANNE. well put up your sword.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Say, then, my peace is made.\\r\\n ANNE. That shalt thou know hereafter.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. But shall I live in hope?\\r\\n ANNE. All men, I hope, live so.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.\\r\\n ANNE. To take is not to give. [Puts on the ring]\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Look how my ring encompasseth thy finger,\\r\\n Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart;\\r\\n Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.\\r\\n And if thy poor devoted servant may\\r\\n But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,\\r\\n Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.\\r\\n ANNE. What is it?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. That it may please you leave these sad designs\\r\\n To him that hath most cause to be a mourner,\\r\\n And presently repair to Crosby House;\\r\\n Where-after I have solemnly interr\\'d\\r\\n At Chertsey monast\\'ry this noble king,\\r\\n And wet his grave with my repentant tears-\\r\\n I will with all expedient duty see you.\\r\\n For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you,\\r\\n Grant me this boon.\\r\\n ANNE. With all my heart; and much it joys me too\\r\\n To see you are become so penitent.\\r\\n Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Bid me farewell.\\r\\n ANNE. \\'Tis more than you deserve;\\r\\n But since you teach me how to flatter you,\\r\\n Imagine I have said farewell already.\\r\\n Exeunt two GENTLEMEN With LADY ANNE\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Sirs, take up the corse.\\r\\n GENTLEMEN. Towards Chertsey, noble lord?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. No, to White Friars; there attend my coming.\\r\\n Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER\\r\\n Was ever woman in this humour woo\\'d?\\r\\n Was ever woman in this humour won?\\r\\n I\\'ll have her; but I will not keep her long.\\r\\n What! I that kill\\'d her husband and his father-\\r\\n To take her in her heart\\'s extremest hate,\\r\\n With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,\\r\\n The bleeding witness of my hatred by;\\r\\n Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me,\\r\\n And I no friends to back my suit at all\\r\\n But the plain devil and dissembling looks,\\r\\n And yet to win her, all the world to nothing!\\r\\n Ha!\\r\\n Hath she forgot already that brave prince,\\r\\n Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,\\r\\n Stabb\\'d in my angry mood at Tewksbury?\\r\\n A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman-\\r\\n Fram\\'d in the prodigality of nature,\\r\\n Young, valiant, wise, and no doubt right royal-\\r\\n The spacious world cannot again afford;\\r\\n And will she yet abase her eyes on me,\\r\\n That cropp\\'d the golden prime of this sweet prince\\r\\n And made her widow to a woeful bed?\\r\\n On me, whose all not equals Edward\\'s moiety?\\r\\n On me, that halts and am misshapen thus?\\r\\n My dukedom to a beggarly denier,\\r\\n I do mistake my person all this while.\\r\\n Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,\\r\\n Myself to be a marv\\'llous proper man.\\r\\n I\\'ll be at charges for a looking-glass,\\r\\n And entertain a score or two of tailors\\r\\n To study fashions to adorn my body.\\r\\n Since I am crept in favour with myself,\\r\\n I will maintain it with some little cost.\\r\\n But first I\\'ll turn yon fellow in his grave,\\r\\n And then return lamenting to my love.\\r\\n Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,\\r\\n That I may see my shadow as I pass. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter QUEEN ELIZABETH, LORD RIVERS, and LORD GREY\\r\\n\\r\\n RIVERS. Have patience, madam; there\\'s no doubt his Majesty\\r\\n Will soon recover his accustom\\'d health.\\r\\n GREY. In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse;\\r\\n Therefore, for God\\'s sake, entertain good comfort,\\r\\n And cheer his Grace with quick and merry eyes.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. If he were dead, what would betide on\\r\\n me?\\r\\n GREY. No other harm but loss of such a lord.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. The loss of such a lord includes all\\r\\n harms.\\r\\n GREY. The heavens have bless\\'d you with a goodly son\\r\\n To be your comforter when he is gone.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, he is young; and his minority\\r\\n Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester,\\r\\n A man that loves not me, nor none of you.\\r\\n RIVER. Is it concluded he shall be Protector?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. It is determin\\'d, not concluded yet;\\r\\n But so it must be, if the King miscarry.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BUCKINGHAM and DERBY\\r\\n\\r\\n GREY. Here come the Lords of Buckingham and Derby.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Good time of day unto your royal Grace!\\r\\n DERBY. God make your Majesty joyful as you have been.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. The Countess Richmond, good my Lord\\r\\n of Derby,\\r\\n To your good prayer will scarcely say amen.\\r\\n Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she\\'s your wife\\r\\n And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur\\'d\\r\\n I hate not you for her proud arrogance.\\r\\n DERBY. I do beseech you, either not believe\\r\\n The envious slanders of her false accusers;\\r\\n Or, if she be accus\\'d on true report,\\r\\n Bear with her weakness, which I think proceeds\\r\\n From wayward sickness and no grounded malice.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Saw you the King to-day, my Lord of\\r\\n Derby?\\r\\n DERBY. But now the Duke of Buckingham and I\\r\\n Are come from visiting his Majesty.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. What likelihood of his amendment,\\r\\n Lords?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Madam, good hope; his Grace speaks\\r\\n cheerfully.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. God grant him health! Did you confer\\r\\n with him?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Ay, madam; he desires to make atonement\\r\\n Between the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers,\\r\\n And between them and my Lord Chamberlain;\\r\\n And sent to warn them to his royal presence.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Would all were well! But that will\\r\\n never be.\\r\\n I fear our happiness is at the height.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it.\\r\\n Who is it that complains unto the King\\r\\n That I, forsooth, am stern and love them not?\\r\\n By holy Paul, they love his Grace but lightly\\r\\n That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours.\\r\\n Because I cannot flatter and look fair,\\r\\n Smile in men\\'s faces, smooth, deceive, and cog,\\r\\n Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,\\r\\n I must be held a rancorous enemy.\\r\\n Cannot a plain man live and think no harm\\r\\n But thus his simple truth must be abus\\'d\\r\\n With silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?\\r\\n GREY. To who in all this presence speaks your Grace?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace.\\r\\n When have I injur\\'d thee? when done thee wrong,\\r\\n Or thee, or thee, or any of your faction?\\r\\n A plague upon you all! His royal Grace-\\r\\n Whom God preserve better than you would wish!-\\r\\n Cannot be quiet searce a breathing while\\r\\n But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the\\r\\n matter.\\r\\n The King, on his own royal disposition\\r\\n And not provok\\'d by any suitor else-\\r\\n Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred\\r\\n That in your outward action shows itself\\r\\n Against my children, brothers, and myself-\\r\\n Makes him to send that he may learn the ground.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I cannot tell; the world is grown so bad\\r\\n That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.\\r\\n Since every Jack became a gentleman,\\r\\n There\\'s many a gentle person made a Jack.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Come, come, we know your meaning,\\r\\n brother Gloucester:\\r\\n You envy my advancement and my friends\\';\\r\\n God grant we never may have need of you!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Meantime, God grants that I have need of you.\\r\\n Our brother is imprison\\'d by your means,\\r\\n Myself disgrac\\'d, and the nobility\\r\\n Held in contempt; while great promotions\\r\\n Are daily given to ennoble those\\r\\n That scarce some two days since were worth a noble.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. By Him that rais\\'d me to this careful\\r\\n height\\r\\n From that contented hap which I enjoy\\'d,\\r\\n I never did incense his Majesty\\r\\n Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been\\r\\n An earnest advocate to plead for him.\\r\\n My lord, you do me shameful injury\\r\\n Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. You may deny that you were not the mean\\r\\n Of my Lord Hastings\\' late imprisonment.\\r\\n RIVERS. She may, my lord; for-\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. She may, Lord Rivers? Why, who knows\\r\\n not so?\\r\\n She may do more, sir, than denying that:\\r\\n She may help you to many fair preferments\\r\\n And then deny her aiding hand therein,\\r\\n And lay those honours on your high desert.\\r\\n What may she not? She may-ay, marry, may she-\\r\\n RIVERS. What, marry, may she?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What, marry, may she? Marry with a king,\\r\\n A bachelor, and a handsome stripling too.\\r\\n Iwis your grandam had a worser match.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. My Lord of Gloucester, I have too long\\r\\n borne\\r\\n Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs.\\r\\n By heaven, I will acquaint his Majesty\\r\\n Of those gross taunts that oft I have endur\\'d.\\r\\n I had rather be a country servant-maid\\r\\n Than a great queen with this condition-\\r\\n To be so baited, scorn\\'d, and stormed at.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter old QUEEN MARGARET, behind\\r\\n\\r\\n Small joy have I in being England\\'s Queen.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. And less\\'ned be that small, God, I\\r\\n beseech Him!\\r\\n Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What! Threat you me with telling of the\\r\\n King?\\r\\n Tell him and spare not. Look what I have said\\r\\n I will avouch\\'t in presence of the King.\\r\\n I dare adventure to be sent to th\\' Tow\\'r.\\r\\n \\'Tis time to speak-my pains are quite forgot.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Out, devil! I do remember them to\\r\\n well:\\r\\n Thou kill\\'dst my husband Henry in the Tower,\\r\\n And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband\\r\\n King,\\r\\n I was a pack-horse in his great affairs,\\r\\n A weeder-out of his proud adversaries,\\r\\n A liberal rewarder of his friends;\\r\\n To royalize his blood I spent mine own.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, and much better blood than his or\\r\\n thine.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. In all which time you and your husband Grey\\r\\n Were factious for the house of Lancaster;\\r\\n And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband\\r\\n In Margaret\\'s battle at Saint Albans slain?\\r\\n Let me put in your minds, if you forget,\\r\\n What you have been ere this, and what you are;\\r\\n Withal, what I have been, and what I am.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. A murd\\'rous villain, and so still thou art.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick,\\r\\n Ay, and forswore himself-which Jesu pardon!-\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Which God revenge!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. To fight on Edward\\'s party for the crown;\\r\\n And for his meed, poor lord, he is mewed up.\\r\\n I would to God my heart were flint like Edward\\'s,\\r\\n Or Edward\\'s soft and pitiful like mine.\\r\\n I am too childish-foolish for this world.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Hie thee to hell for shame and leave this\\r\\n world,\\r\\n Thou cacodemon; there thy kingdom is.\\r\\n RIVERS. My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days\\r\\n Which here you urge to prove us enemies,\\r\\n We follow\\'d then our lord, our sovereign king.\\r\\n So should we you, if you should be our king.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar.\\r\\n Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose\\r\\n You should enjoy were you this country\\'s king,\\r\\n As little joy you may suppose in me\\r\\n That I enjoy, being the Queen thereof.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. As little joy enjoys the Queen thereof;\\r\\n For I am she, and altogether joyless.\\r\\n I can no longer hold me patient. [Advancing]\\r\\n Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out\\r\\n In sharing that which you have pill\\'d from me.\\r\\n Which of you trembles not that looks on me?\\r\\n If not that, I am Queen, you bow like subjects,\\r\\n Yet that, by you depos\\'d, you quake like rebels?\\r\\n Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak\\'st thou in my\\r\\n sight?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. But repetition of what thou hast marr\\'d,\\r\\n That will I make before I let thee go.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Wert thou not banished on pain of death?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. I was; but I do find more pain in\\r\\n banishment\\r\\n Than death can yield me here by my abode.\\r\\n A husband and a son thou ow\\'st to me;\\r\\n And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance.\\r\\n This sorrow that I have by right is yours;\\r\\n And all the pleasures you usurp are mine.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The curse my noble father laid on thee,\\r\\n When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper\\r\\n And with thy scorns drew\\'st rivers from his eyes,\\r\\n And then to dry them gav\\'st the Duke a clout\\r\\n Steep\\'d in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland-\\r\\n His curses then from bitterness of soul\\r\\n Denounc\\'d against thee are all fall\\'n upon thee;\\r\\n And God, not we, hath plagu\\'d thy bloody deed.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. So just is God to right the innocent.\\r\\n HASTINGS. O, \\'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe,\\r\\n And the most merciless that e\\'er was heard of!\\r\\n RIVERS. Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.\\r\\n DORSET. No man but prophesied revenge for it.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. What, were you snarling all before I came,\\r\\n Ready to catch each other by the throat,\\r\\n And turn you all your hatred now on me?\\r\\n Did York\\'s dread curse prevail so much with heaven\\r\\n That Henry\\'s death, my lovely Edward\\'s death,\\r\\n Their kingdom\\'s loss, my woeful banishment,\\r\\n Should all but answer for that peevish brat?\\r\\n Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven?\\r\\n Why then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses!\\r\\n Though not by war, by surfeit die your king,\\r\\n As ours by murder, to make him a king!\\r\\n Edward thy son, that now is Prince of Wales,\\r\\n For Edward our son, that was Prince of Wales,\\r\\n Die in his youth by like untimely violence!\\r\\n Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,\\r\\n Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self!\\r\\n Long mayest thou live to wail thy children\\'s death,\\r\\n And see another, as I see thee now,\\r\\n Deck\\'d in thy rights, as thou art stall\\'d in mine!\\r\\n Long die thy happy days before thy death;\\r\\n And, after many length\\'ned hours of grief,\\r\\n Die neither mother, wife, nor England\\'s Queen!\\r\\n Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by,\\r\\n And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son\\r\\n Was stabb\\'d with bloody daggers. God, I pray him,\\r\\n That none of you may live his natural age,\\r\\n But by some unlook\\'d accident cut off!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither\\'d\\r\\n hag.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. And leave out thee? Stay, dog, for thou\\r\\n shalt hear me.\\r\\n If heaven have any grievous plague in store\\r\\n Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,\\r\\n O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe,\\r\\n And then hurl down their indignation\\r\\n On thee, the troubler of the poor world\\'s peace!\\r\\n The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul!\\r\\n Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv\\'st,\\r\\n And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!\\r\\n No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,\\r\\n Unless it be while some tormenting dream\\r\\n Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!\\r\\n Thou elvish-mark\\'d, abortive, rooting hog,\\r\\n Thou that wast seal\\'d in thy nativity\\r\\n The slave of nature and the son of hell,\\r\\n Thou slander of thy heavy mother\\'s womb,\\r\\n Thou loathed issue of thy father\\'s loins,\\r\\n Thou rag of honour, thou detested-\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Margaret!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Richard!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ha?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. I call thee not.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I cry thee mercy then, for I did think\\r\\n That thou hadst call\\'d me all these bitter names.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Why, so I did, but look\\'d for no reply.\\r\\n O, let me make the period to my curse!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. \\'Tis done by me, and ends in-Margaret.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thus have you breath\\'d your curse\\r\\n against yourself.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my\\r\\n fortune!\\r\\n Why strew\\'st thou sugar on that bottled spider\\r\\n Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?\\r\\n Fool, fool! thou whet\\'st a knife to kill thyself.\\r\\n The day will come that thou shalt wish for me\\r\\n To help thee curse this poisonous bunch-back\\'d toad.\\r\\n HASTINGS. False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse,\\r\\n Lest to thy harm thou move our patience.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Foul shame upon you! you have all\\r\\n mov\\'d mine.\\r\\n RIVERS. Were you well serv\\'d, you would be taught your\\r\\n duty.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. To serve me well you all should do me\\r\\n duty,\\r\\n Teach me to be your queen and you my subjects.\\r\\n O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty!\\r\\n DORSET. Dispute not with her; she is lunatic.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Peace, Master Marquis, you are malapert;\\r\\n Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current.\\r\\n O, that your young nobility could judge\\r\\n What \\'twere to lose it and be miserable!\\r\\n They that stand high have many blasts to shake them,\\r\\n And if they fall they dash themselves to pieces.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Good counsel, marry; learn it, learn it, Marquis.\\r\\n DORSET. It touches you, my lord, as much as me.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ay, and much more; but I was born so high,\\r\\n Our aery buildeth in the cedar\\'s top,\\r\\n And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. And turns the sun to shade-alas! alas!\\r\\n Witness my son, now in the shade of death,\\r\\n Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath\\r\\n Hath in eternal darkness folded up.\\r\\n Your aery buildeth in our aery\\'s nest.\\r\\n O God that seest it, do not suffer it;\\r\\n As it is won with blood, lost be it so!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Urge neither charity nor shame to me.\\r\\n Uncharitably with me have you dealt,\\r\\n And shamefully my hopes by you are butcher\\'d.\\r\\n My charity is outrage, life my shame;\\r\\n And in that shame still live my sorrow\\'s rage!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Have done, have done.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. O princely Buckingham, I\\'ll kiss thy\\r\\n hand\\r\\n In sign of league and amity with thee.\\r\\n Now fair befall thee and thy noble house!\\r\\n Thy garments are not spotted with our blood,\\r\\n Nor thou within the compass of my curse.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Nor no one here; for curses never pass\\r\\n The lips of those that breathe them in the air.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. I will not think but they ascend the sky\\r\\n And there awake God\\'s gentle-sleeping peace.\\r\\n O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog!\\r\\n Look when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites,\\r\\n His venom tooth will rankle to the death:\\r\\n Have not to do with him, beware of him;\\r\\n Sin, death, and hell, have set their marks on him,\\r\\n And all their ministers attend on him.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle\\r\\n counsel,\\r\\n And soothe the devil that I warn thee from?\\r\\n O, but remember this another day,\\r\\n When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow,\\r\\n And say poor Margaret was a prophetess!\\r\\n Live each of you the subjects to his hate,\\r\\n And he to yours, and all of you to God\\'s! Exit\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My hair doth stand an end to hear her curses.\\r\\n RIVERS. And so doth mine. I muse why she\\'s at liberty.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I cannot blame her; by God\\'s holy Mother,\\r\\n She hath had too much wrong; and I repent\\r\\n My part thereof that I have done to her.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. I never did her any to my knowledge.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong.\\r\\n I was too hot to do somebody good\\r\\n That is too cold in thinking of it now.\\r\\n Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid;\\r\\n He is frank\\'d up to fatting for his pains;\\r\\n God pardon them that are the cause thereof!\\r\\n RIVERS. A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion,\\r\\n To pray for them that have done scathe to us!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. So do I ever- [Aside] being well advis\\'d;\\r\\n For had I curs\\'d now, I had curs\\'d myself.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n CATESBY. Madam, his Majesty doth can for you,\\r\\n And for your Grace, and you, my gracious lords.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Catesby, I come. Lords, will you go\\r\\n with me?\\r\\n RIVERS. We wait upon your Grace.\\r\\n Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl.\\r\\n The secret mischiefs that I set abroach\\r\\n I lay unto the grievous charge of others.\\r\\n Clarence, who I indeed have cast in darkness,\\r\\n I do beweep to many simple gulls;\\r\\n Namely, to Derby, Hastings, Buckingham;\\r\\n And tell them \\'tis the Queen and her allies\\r\\n That stir the King against the Duke my brother.\\r\\n Now they believe it, and withal whet me\\r\\n To be reveng\\'d on Rivers, Dorset, Grey;\\r\\n But then I sigh and, with a piece of Scripture,\\r\\n Tell them that God bids us do good for evil.\\r\\n And thus I clothe my naked villainy\\r\\n With odd old ends stol\\'n forth of holy writ,\\r\\n And seem a saint when most I play the devil.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two MURDERERS\\r\\n\\r\\n But, soft, here come my executioners.\\r\\n How now, my hardy stout resolved mates!\\r\\n Are you now going to dispatch this thing?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. We are, my lord, and come to have the\\r\\n warrant,\\r\\n That we may be admitted where he is.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Well thought upon; I have it here about me.\\r\\n [Gives the warrant]\\r\\n When you have done, repair to Crosby Place.\\r\\n But, sirs, be sudden in the execution,\\r\\n Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead;\\r\\n For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps\\r\\n May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to\\r\\n prate;\\r\\n Talkers are no good doers. Be assur\\'d\\r\\n We go to use our hands and not our tongues.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Your eyes drop millstones when fools\\' eyes fall\\r\\n tears.\\r\\n I like you, lads; about your business straight;\\r\\n Go, go, dispatch.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. We will, my noble lord. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The Tower\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter CLARENCE and KEEPER\\r\\n\\r\\n KEEPER. Why looks your Grace so heavily to-day?\\r\\n CLARENCE. O, I have pass\\'d a miserable night,\\r\\n So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights,\\r\\n That, as I am a Christian faithful man,\\r\\n I would not spend another such a night\\r\\n Though \\'twere to buy a world of happy days-\\r\\n So full of dismal terror was the time!\\r\\n KEEPER. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you\\r\\n tell me.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower\\r\\n And was embark\\'d to cross to Burgundy;\\r\\n And in my company my brother Gloucester,\\r\\n Who from my cabin tempted me to walk\\r\\n Upon the hatches. Thence we look\\'d toward England,\\r\\n And cited up a thousand heavy times,\\r\\n During the wars of York and Lancaster,\\r\\n That had befall\\'n us. As we pac\\'d along\\r\\n Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,\\r\\n Methought that Gloucester stumbled, and in falling\\r\\n Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard\\r\\n Into the tumbling billows of the main.\\r\\n O Lord, methought what pain it was to drown,\\r\\n What dreadful noise of waters in my ears,\\r\\n What sights of ugly death within my eyes!\\r\\n Methoughts I saw a thousand fearful wrecks,\\r\\n A thousand men that fishes gnaw\\'d upon,\\r\\n Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,\\r\\n Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,\\r\\n All scatt\\'red in the bottom of the sea;\\r\\n Some lay in dead men\\'s skulls, and in the holes\\r\\n Where eyes did once inhabit there were crept,\\r\\n As \\'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,\\r\\n That woo\\'d the slimy bottom of the deep\\r\\n And mock\\'d the dead bones that lay scatt\\'red by.\\r\\n KEEPER. Had you such leisure in the time of death\\r\\n To gaze upon these secrets of the deep?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Methought I had; and often did I strive\\r\\n To yield the ghost, but still the envious flood\\r\\n Stopp\\'d in my soul and would not let it forth\\r\\n To find the empty, vast, and wand\\'ring air;\\r\\n But smother\\'d it within my panting bulk,\\r\\n Who almost burst to belch it in the sea.\\r\\n KEEPER. Awak\\'d you not in this sore agony?\\r\\n CLARENCE. No, no, my dream was lengthen\\'d after life.\\r\\n O, then began the tempest to my soul!\\r\\n I pass\\'d, methought, the melancholy flood\\r\\n With that sour ferryman which poets write of,\\r\\n Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.\\r\\n The first that there did greet my stranger soul\\r\\n Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick,\\r\\n Who spake aloud \\'What scourge for perjury\\r\\n Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?\\'\\r\\n And so he vanish\\'d. Then came wand\\'ring by\\r\\n A shadow like an angel, with bright hair\\r\\n Dabbled in blood, and he shriek\\'d out aloud\\r\\n \\'Clarence is come-false, fleeting, perjur\\'d Clarence,\\r\\n That stabb\\'d me in the field by Tewksbury.\\r\\n Seize on him, Furies, take him unto torment!\\'\\r\\n With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends\\r\\n Environ\\'d me, and howled in mine ears\\r\\n Such hideous cries that, with the very noise,\\r\\n I trembling wak\\'d, and for a season after\\r\\n Could not believe but that I was in hell,\\r\\n Such terrible impression made my dream.\\r\\n KEEPER. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you;\\r\\n I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Ah, Keeper, Keeper, I have done these things\\r\\n That now give evidence against my soul\\r\\n For Edward\\'s sake, and see how he requites me!\\r\\n O God! If my deep prayers cannot appease Thee,\\r\\n But Thou wilt be aveng\\'d on my misdeeds,\\r\\n Yet execute Thy wrath in me alone;\\r\\n O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children!\\r\\n KEEPER, I prithee sit by me awhile;\\r\\n My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.\\r\\n KEEPER. I will, my lord. God give your Grace good rest.\\r\\n [CLARENCE sleeps]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BRAKENBURY the Lieutenant\\r\\n\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours,\\r\\n Makes the night morning and the noontide night.\\r\\n Princes have but their titles for their glories,\\r\\n An outward honour for an inward toil;\\r\\n And for unfelt imaginations\\r\\n They often feel a world of restless cares,\\r\\n So that between their tides and low name\\r\\n There\\'s nothing differs but the outward fame.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the two MURDERERS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Ho! who\\'s here?\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. What wouldst thou, fellow, and how cam\\'st\\r\\n thou hither?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. I would speak with Clarence, and I came\\r\\n hither on my legs.\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. What, so brief?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. \\'Tis better, sir, than to be tedious. Let\\r\\n him see our commission and talk no more.\\r\\n [BRAKENBURY reads it]\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. I am, in this, commanded to deliver\\r\\n The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands.\\r\\n I will not reason what is meant hereby,\\r\\n Because I will be guiltless from the meaning.\\r\\n There lies the Duke asleep; and there the keys.\\r\\n I\\'ll to the King and signify to him\\r\\n That thus I have resign\\'d to you my charge.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. You may, sir; \\'tis a point of wisdom. Fare\\r\\n you well. Exeunt BRAKENBURY and KEEPER\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. What, shall I stab him as he sleeps?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. No; he\\'ll say \\'twas done cowardly, when\\r\\n he wakes.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Why, he shall never wake until the great\\r\\n judgment-day.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Why, then he\\'ll say we stabb\\'d him\\r\\n sleeping.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. The urging of that word judgment hath\\r\\n bred a kind of remorse in me.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. What, art thou afraid?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Not to kill him, having a warrant; but to\\r\\n be damn\\'d for killing him, from the which no warrant can\\r\\n defend me.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. I thought thou hadst been resolute.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. So I am, to let him live.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. I\\'ll back to the Duke of Gloucester and\\r\\n tell him so.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Nay, I prithee, stay a little. I hope this\\r\\n passionate humour of mine will change; it was wont to\\r\\n hold me but while one tells twenty.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. How dost thou feel thyself now?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Faith, some certain dregs of conscience\\r\\n are yet within me.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Remember our reward, when the deed\\'s\\r\\n done.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Zounds, he dies; I had forgot the reward.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Where\\'s thy conscience now?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. O, in the Duke of Gloucester\\'s purse!\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. When he opens his purse to give us our\\r\\n reward, thy conscience flies out.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. \\'Tis no matter; let it go; there\\'s few or\\r\\n none will entertain it.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. What if it come to thee again?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. I\\'ll not meddle with it-it makes a man\\r\\n coward: a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; a man\\r\\n cannot swear, but it checks him; a man cannot lie with his\\r\\n neighbour\\'s wife, but it detects him. \\'Tis a blushing shame-\\r\\n fac\\'d spirit that mutinies in a man\\'s bosom; it fills a man\\r\\n full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold\\r\\n that-by chance I found. It beggars any man that keeps it.\\r\\n It is turn\\'d out of towns and cities for a dangerous thing;\\r\\n and every man that means to live well endeavours to trust\\r\\n to himself and live without it.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Zounds, \\'tis even now at my elbow,\\r\\n persuading me not to kill the Duke.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Take the devil in thy mind and believe\\r\\n him not; he would insinuate with thee but to make the\\r\\n sigh.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. I am strong-fram\\'d; he cannot prevail with\\r\\n me.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Spoke like a tall man that respects thy\\r\\n reputation. Come, shall we fall to work?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Take him on the costard with the hilts of\\r\\n thy sword, and then chop him in the malmsey-butt in the\\r\\n next room.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. O excellent device! and make a sop of\\r\\n him.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Soft! he wakes.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Strike!\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. No, we\\'ll reason with him.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Where art thou, Keeper? Give me a cup of wine.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. You shall have wine enough, my lord,\\r\\n anon.\\r\\n CLARENCE. In God\\'s name, what art thou?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. A man, as you are.\\r\\n CLARENCE. But not as I am, royal.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Nor you as we are, loyal.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. My voice is now the King\\'s, my looks\\r\\n mine own.\\r\\n CLARENCE. How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak!\\r\\n Your eyes do menace me. Why look you pale?\\r\\n Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. To, to, to-\\r\\n CLARENCE. To murder me?\\r\\n BOTH MURDERERS. Ay, ay.\\r\\n CLARENCE. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so,\\r\\n And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it.\\r\\n Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Offended us you have not, but the King.\\r\\n CLARENCE. I shall be reconcil\\'d to him again.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Are you drawn forth among a world of men\\r\\n To slay the innocent? What is my offence?\\r\\n Where is the evidence that doth accuse me?\\r\\n What lawful quest have given their verdict up\\r\\n Unto the frowning judge, or who pronounc\\'d\\r\\n The bitter sentence of poor Clarence\\' death?\\r\\n Before I be convict by course of law,\\r\\n To threaten me with death is most unlawful.\\r\\n I charge you, as you hope to have redemption\\r\\n By Christ\\'s dear blood shed for our grievous sins,\\r\\n That you depart and lay no hands on me.\\r\\n The deed you undertake is damnable.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. What we will do, we do upon command.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. And he that hath commanded is our\\r\\n King.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Erroneous vassals! the great King of kings\\r\\n Hath in the tables of his law commanded\\r\\n That thou shalt do no murder. Will you then\\r\\n Spurn at his edict and fulfil a man\\'s?\\r\\n Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hand\\r\\n To hurl upon their heads that break his law.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. And that same vengeance doth he hurl\\r\\n on thee\\r\\n For false forswearing, and for murder too;\\r\\n Thou didst receive the sacrament to fight\\r\\n In quarrel of the house of Lancaster.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. And like a traitor to the name of God\\r\\n Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous blade\\r\\n Unripp\\'dst the bowels of thy sov\\'reign\\'s son.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and\\r\\n defend.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. How canst thou urge God\\'s dreadful law\\r\\n to us,\\r\\n When thou hast broke it in such dear degree?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed?\\r\\n For Edward, for my brother, for his sake.\\r\\n He sends you not to murder me for this,\\r\\n For in that sin he is as deep as I.\\r\\n If God will be avenged for the deed,\\r\\n O, know you yet He doth it publicly.\\r\\n Take not the quarrel from His pow\\'rful arm;\\r\\n He needs no indirect or lawless course\\r\\n To cut off those that have offended Him.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Who made thee then a bloody minister\\r\\n When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet,\\r\\n That princely novice, was struck dead by thee?\\r\\n CLARENCE. My brother\\'s love, the devil, and my rage.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Thy brother\\'s love, our duty, and thy\\r\\n faults,\\r\\n Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.\\r\\n CLARENCE. If you do love my brother, hate not me;\\r\\n I am his brother, and I love him well.\\r\\n If you are hir\\'d for meed, go back again,\\r\\n And I will send you to my brother Gloucester,\\r\\n Who shall reward you better for my life\\r\\n Than Edward will for tidings of my death.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. You are deceiv\\'d: your brother Gloucester\\r\\n hates you.\\r\\n CLARENCE. O, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear.\\r\\n Go you to him from me.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Ay, so we will.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Tell him when that our princely father York\\r\\n Bless\\'d his three sons with his victorious arm\\r\\n And charg\\'d us from his soul to love each other,\\r\\n He little thought of this divided friendship.\\r\\n Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Ay, millstones; as he lesson\\'d us to weep.\\r\\n CLARENCE. O, do not slander him, for he is kind.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Right, as snow in harvest. Come, you\\r\\n deceive yourself:\\r\\n \\'Tis he that sends us to destroy you here.\\r\\n CLARENCE. It cannot be; for he bewept my fortune\\r\\n And hugg\\'d me in his arms, and swore with sobs\\r\\n That he would labour my delivery.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Why, so he doth, when he delivers you\\r\\n From this earth\\'s thraldom to the joys of heaven.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Make peace with God, for you must die,\\r\\n my lord.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Have you that holy feeling in your souls\\r\\n To counsel me to make my peace with God,\\r\\n And are you yet to your own souls so blind\\r\\n That you will war with God by murd\\'ring me?\\r\\n O, sirs, consider: they that set you on\\r\\n To do this deed will hate you for the deed.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. What shall we do?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Relent, and save your souls.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Relent! No, \\'tis cowardly and womanish.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish.\\r\\n Which of you, if you were a prince\\'s son,\\r\\n Being pent from liberty as I am now,\\r\\n If two such murderers as yourselves came to you,\\r\\n Would not entreat for life?\\r\\n My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks;\\r\\n O, if thine eye be not a flatterer,\\r\\n Come thou on my side and entreat for me-\\r\\n As you would beg were you in my distress.\\r\\n A begging prince what beggar pities not?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Look behind you, my lord.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. [Stabbing him] Take that, and that. If all\\r\\n this will not do,\\r\\n I\\'ll drown you in the malmsey-butt within.\\r\\n Exit with the body\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. A bloody deed, and desperately\\r\\n dispatch\\'d!\\r\\n How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands\\r\\n Of this most grievous murder!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter FIRST MURDERER\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER-How now, what mean\\'st thou that thou\\r\\n help\\'st me not?\\r\\n By heavens, the Duke shall know how slack you have\\r\\n been!\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. I would he knew that I had sav\\'d his\\r\\n brother!\\r\\n Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say;\\r\\n For I repent me that the Duke is slain. Exit\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. So do not I. Go, coward as thou art.\\r\\n Well, I\\'ll go hide the body in some hole,\\r\\n Till that the Duke give order for his burial;\\r\\n And when I have my meed, I will away;\\r\\n For this will out, and then I must not stay. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter KING EDWARD sick, QUEEN ELIZABETH, DORSET, RIVERS,\\r\\nHASTINGS, BUCKINGHAM, GREY, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Why, so. Now have I done a good day\\'s\\r\\n work.\\r\\n You peers, continue this united league.\\r\\n I every day expect an embassage\\r\\n From my Redeemer to redeem me hence;\\r\\n And more at peace my soul shall part to heaven,\\r\\n Since I have made my friends at peace on earth.\\r\\n Hastings and Rivers, take each other\\'s hand;\\r\\n Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love.\\r\\n RIVERS. By heaven, my soul is purg\\'d from grudging hate;\\r\\n And with my hand I seal my true heart\\'s love.\\r\\n HASTINGS. So thrive I, as I truly swear the like!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Take heed you dally not before your king;\\r\\n Lest He that is the supreme King of kings\\r\\n Confound your hidden falsehood and award\\r\\n Either of you to be the other\\'s end.\\r\\n HASTINGS. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love!\\r\\n RIVERS. And I, as I love Hastings with my heart!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Madam, yourself is not exempt from this;\\r\\n Nor you, son Dorset; Buckingham, nor you:\\r\\n You have been factious one against the other.\\r\\n Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand;\\r\\n And what you do, do it unfeignedly.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. There, Hastings; I will never more\\r\\n remember\\r\\n Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Dorset, embrace him; Hastings, love Lord\\r\\n Marquis.\\r\\n DORSET. This interchange of love, I here protest,\\r\\n Upon my part shall be inviolable.\\r\\n HASTINGS. And so swear I. [They embrace]\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this\\r\\n league\\r\\n With thy embracements to my wife\\'s allies,\\r\\n And make me happy in your unity.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. [To the QUEEN] Whenever Buckingham\\r\\n doth turn his hate\\r\\n Upon your Grace, but with all duteous love\\r\\n Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me\\r\\n With hate in those where I expect most love!\\r\\n When I have most need to employ a friend\\r\\n And most assured that he is a friend,\\r\\n Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile,\\r\\n Be he unto me! This do I beg of God\\r\\n When I am cold in love to you or yours.\\r\\n [They embrace]\\r\\n KING EDWARD. A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham,\\r\\n Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart.\\r\\n There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here\\r\\n To make the blessed period of this peace.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. And, in good time,\\r\\n Here comes Sir Richard Ratcliff and the Duke.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER, and RATCLIFF\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Good morrow to my sovereign king and\\r\\n Queen;\\r\\n And, princely peers, a happy time of day!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day.\\r\\n Gloucester, we have done deeds of charity,\\r\\n Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate,\\r\\n Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. A blessed labour, my most sovereign lord.\\r\\n Among this princely heap, if any here,\\r\\n By false intelligence or wrong surmise,\\r\\n Hold me a foe-\\r\\n If I unwittingly, or in my rage,\\r\\n Have aught committed that is hardly borne\\r\\n To any in this presence, I desire\\r\\n To reconcile me to his friendly peace:\\r\\n \\'Tis death to me to be at enmity;\\r\\n I hate it, and desire all good men\\'s love.\\r\\n First, madam, I entreat true peace of you,\\r\\n Which I will purchase with my duteous service;\\r\\n Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham,\\r\\n If ever any grudge were lodg\\'d between us;\\r\\n Of you, and you, Lord Rivers, and of Dorset,\\r\\n That all without desert have frown\\'d on me;\\r\\n Of you, Lord Woodville, and, Lord Scales, of you;\\r\\n Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen-indeed, of all.\\r\\n I do not know that Englishman alive\\r\\n With whom my soul is any jot at odds\\r\\n More than the infant that is born to-night.\\r\\n I thank my God for my humility.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. A holy day shall this be kept hereafter.\\r\\n I would to God all strifes were well compounded.\\r\\n My sovereign lord, I do beseech your Highness\\r\\n To take our brother Clarence to your grace.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, madam, have I off\\'red love for this,\\r\\n To be so flouted in this royal presence?\\r\\n Who knows not that the gentle Duke is dead?\\r\\n [They all start]\\r\\n You do him injury to scorn his corse.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Who knows not he is dead! Who knows\\r\\n he is?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. All-seeing heaven, what a world is this!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest?\\r\\n DORSET. Ay, my good lord; and no man in the presence\\r\\n But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Is Clarence dead? The order was revers\\'d.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. But he, poor man, by your first order died,\\r\\n And that a winged Mercury did bear;\\r\\n Some tardy cripple bare the countermand\\r\\n That came too lag to see him buried.\\r\\n God grant that some, less noble and less loyal,\\r\\n Nearer in bloody thoughts, an not in blood,\\r\\n Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did,\\r\\n And yet go current from suspicion!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DERBY\\r\\n\\r\\n DERBY. A boon, my sovereign, for my service done!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. I prithee, peace; my soul is full of sorrow.\\r\\n DERBY. I Will not rise unless your Highness hear me.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Then say at once what is it thou requests.\\r\\n DERBY. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant\\'s life;\\r\\n Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman\\r\\n Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Have I a tongue to doom my brother\\'s death,\\r\\n And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave?\\r\\n My brother killed no man-his fault was thought,\\r\\n And yet his punishment was bitter death.\\r\\n Who sued to me for him? Who, in my wrath,\\r\\n Kneel\\'d at my feet, and bid me be advis\\'d?\\r\\n Who spoke of brotherhood? Who spoke of love?\\r\\n Who told me how the poor soul did forsake\\r\\n The mighty Warwick and did fight for me?\\r\\n Who told me, in the field at Tewksbury\\r\\n When Oxford had me down, he rescued me\\r\\n And said \\'Dear Brother, live, and be a king\\'?\\r\\n Who told me, when we both lay in the field\\r\\n Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me\\r\\n Even in his garments, and did give himself,\\r\\n All thin and naked, to the numb cold night?\\r\\n All this from my remembrance brutish wrath\\r\\n Sinfully pluck\\'d, and not a man of you\\r\\n Had so much race to put it in my mind.\\r\\n But when your carters or your waiting-vassals\\r\\n Have done a drunken slaughter and defac\\'d\\r\\n The precious image of our dear Redeemer,\\r\\n You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon;\\r\\n And I, unjustly too, must grant it you. [DERBY rises]\\r\\n But for my brother not a man would speak;\\r\\n Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself\\r\\n For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all\\r\\n Have been beholding to him in his life;\\r\\n Yet none of you would once beg for his life.\\r\\n O God, I fear thy justice will take hold\\r\\n On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this!\\r\\n Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Ah, poor Clarence!\\r\\n Exeunt some with KING and QUEEN\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. This is the fruits of rashness. Mark\\'d you not\\r\\n How that the guilty kindred of the Queen\\r\\n Look\\'d pale when they did hear of Clarence\\' death?\\r\\n O, they did urge it still unto the King!\\r\\n God will revenge it. Come, lords, will you go\\r\\n To comfort Edward with our company?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. We wait upon your Grace. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the old DUCHESS OF YORK, with the SON and DAUGHTER of CLARENCE\\r\\n\\r\\n SON. Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead?\\r\\n DUCHESS. No, boy.\\r\\n DAUGHTER. Why do you weep so oft, and beat your breast,\\r\\n And cry \\'O Clarence, my unhappy son!\\'?\\r\\n SON. Why do you look on us, and shake your head,\\r\\n And call us orphans, wretches, castaways,\\r\\n If that our noble father were alive?\\r\\n DUCHESS. My pretty cousins, you mistake me both;\\r\\n I do lament the sickness of the King,\\r\\n As loath to lose him, not your father\\'s death;\\r\\n It were lost sorrow to wail one that\\'s lost.\\r\\n SON. Then you conclude, my grandam, he is dead.\\r\\n The King mine uncle is to blame for it.\\r\\n God will revenge it; whom I will importune\\r\\n With earnest prayers all to that effect.\\r\\n DAUGHTER. And so will I.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Peace, children, peace! The King doth love you\\r\\n well.\\r\\n Incapable and shallow innocents,\\r\\n You cannot guess who caus\\'d your father\\'s death.\\r\\n SON. Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloucester\\r\\n Told me the King, provok\\'d to it by the Queen,\\r\\n Devis\\'d impeachments to imprison him.\\r\\n And when my uncle told me so, he wept,\\r\\n And pitied me, and kindly kiss\\'d my cheek;\\r\\n Bade me rely on him as on my father,\\r\\n And he would love me dearly as a child.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shape,\\r\\n And with a virtuous vizor hide deep vice!\\r\\n He is my son; ay, and therein my shame;\\r\\n Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit.\\r\\n SON. Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam?\\r\\n DUCHESS. Ay, boy.\\r\\n SON. I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, with her hair about her\\r\\n ears; RIVERS and DORSET after her\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, who shall hinder me to wail and\\r\\n weep,\\r\\n To chide my fortune, and torment myself?\\r\\n I\\'ll join with black despair against my soul\\r\\n And to myself become an enemy.\\r\\n DUCHESS. What means this scene of rude impatience?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. To make an act of tragic violence.\\r\\n EDWARD, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead.\\r\\n Why grow the branches when the root is gone?\\r\\n Why wither not the leaves that want their sap?\\r\\n If you will live, lament; if die, be brief,\\r\\n That our swift-winged souls may catch the King\\'s,\\r\\n Or like obedient subjects follow him\\r\\n To his new kingdom of ne\\'er-changing night.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow\\r\\n As I had title in thy noble husband!\\r\\n I have bewept a worthy husband\\'s death,\\r\\n And liv\\'d with looking on his images;\\r\\n But now two mirrors of his princely semblance\\r\\n Are crack\\'d in pieces by malignant death,\\r\\n And I for comfort have but one false glass,\\r\\n That grieves me when I see my shame in him.\\r\\n Thou art a widow, yet thou art a mother\\r\\n And hast the comfort of thy children left;\\r\\n But death hath snatch\\'d my husband from mine arms\\r\\n And pluck\\'d two crutches from my feeble hands-\\r\\n Clarence and Edward. O, what cause have I-\\r\\n Thine being but a moiety of my moan-\\r\\n To overgo thy woes and drown thy cries?\\r\\n SON. Ah, aunt, you wept not for our father\\'s death!\\r\\n How can we aid you with our kindred tears?\\r\\n DAUGHTER. Our fatherless distress was left unmoan\\'d;\\r\\n Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Give me no help in lamentation;\\r\\n I am not barren to bring forth complaints.\\r\\n All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes\\r\\n That I, being govern\\'d by the watery moon,\\r\\n May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world!\\r\\n Ah for my husband, for my dear Lord Edward!\\r\\n CHILDREN. Ah for our father, for our dear Lord Clarence!\\r\\n DUCHESS. Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. What stay had I but Edward? and he\\'s\\r\\n gone.\\r\\n CHILDREN. What stay had we but Clarence? and he\\'s gone.\\r\\n DUCHESS. What stays had I but they? and they are gone.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Was never widow had so dear a loss.\\r\\n CHILDREN. Were never orphans had so dear a loss.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Was never mother had so dear a loss.\\r\\n Alas, I am the mother of these griefs!\\r\\n Their woes are parcell\\'d, mine is general.\\r\\n She for an Edward weeps, and so do I:\\r\\n I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she.\\r\\n These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I:\\r\\n I for an Edward weep, so do not they.\\r\\n Alas, you three on me, threefold distress\\'d,\\r\\n Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow\\'s nurse,\\r\\n And I will pamper it with lamentation.\\r\\n DORSET. Comfort, dear mother. God is much displeas\\'d\\r\\n That you take with unthankfulness his doing.\\r\\n In common worldly things \\'tis called ungrateful\\r\\n With dull unwillingness to repay a debt\\r\\n Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent;\\r\\n Much more to be thus opposite with heaven,\\r\\n For it requires the royal debt it lent you.\\r\\n RIVERS. Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother,\\r\\n Of the young prince your son. Send straight for him;\\r\\n Let him be crown\\'d; in him your comfort lives.\\r\\n Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward\\'s grave,\\r\\n And plant your joys in living Edward\\'s throne.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, DERBY,\\r\\n HASTINGS, and RATCLIFF\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Sister, have comfort. All of us have cause\\r\\n To wail the dimming of our shining star;\\r\\n But none can help our harms by wailing them.\\r\\n Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy;\\r\\n I did not see your Grace. Humbly on my knee\\r\\n I crave your blessing.\\r\\n DUCHESS. God bless thee; and put meekness in thy breast,\\r\\n Love, charity, obedience, and true duty!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Amen! [Aside] And make me die a good old\\r\\n man!\\r\\n That is the butt end of a mother\\'s blessing;\\r\\n I marvel that her Grace did leave it out.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing\\r\\n peers,\\r\\n That bear this heavy mutual load of moan,\\r\\n Now cheer each other in each other\\'s love.\\r\\n Though we have spent our harvest of this king,\\r\\n We are to reap the harvest of his son.\\r\\n The broken rancour of your high-swol\\'n hearts,\\r\\n But lately splinter\\'d, knit, and join\\'d together,\\r\\n Must gently be preserv\\'d, cherish\\'d, and kept.\\r\\n Me seemeth good that, with some little train,\\r\\n Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fet\\r\\n Hither to London, to be crown\\'d our King.\\r\\n\\r\\n RIVERS. Why with some little train, my Lord of\\r\\n Buckingham?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude\\r\\n The new-heal\\'d wound of malice should break out,\\r\\n Which would be so much the more dangerous\\r\\n By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern\\'d;\\r\\n Where every horse bears his commanding rein\\r\\n And may direct his course as please himself,\\r\\n As well the fear of harm as harm apparent,\\r\\n In my opinion, ought to be prevented.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I hope the King made peace with all of us;\\r\\n And the compact is firm and true in me.\\r\\n RIVERS. And so in me; and so, I think, in an.\\r\\n Yet, since it is but green, it should be put\\r\\n To no apparent likelihood of breach,\\r\\n Which haply by much company might be urg\\'d;\\r\\n Therefore I say with noble Buckingham\\r\\n That it is meet so few should fetch the Prince.\\r\\n HASTINGS. And so say I.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Then be it so; and go we to determine\\r\\n Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow.\\r\\n Madam, and you, my sister, will you go\\r\\n To give your censures in this business?\\r\\n Exeunt all but BUCKINGHAM and GLOUCESTER\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince,\\r\\n For God sake, let not us two stay at home;\\r\\n For by the way I\\'ll sort occasion,\\r\\n As index to the story we late talk\\'d of,\\r\\n To part the Queen\\'s proud kindred from the Prince.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My other self, my counsel\\'s consistory,\\r\\n My oracle, my prophet, my dear cousin,\\r\\n I, as a child, will go by thy direction.\\r\\n Toward Ludlow then, for we\\'ll not stay behind. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter one CITIZEN at one door, and another at the other\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Good morrow, neighbour. Whither away so\\r\\n fast?\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. I promise you, I scarcely know myself.\\r\\n Hear you the news abroad?\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Yes, that the King is dead.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Ill news, by\\'r lady; seldom comes the\\r\\n better.\\r\\n I fear, I fear \\'twill prove a giddy world.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another CITIZEN\\r\\n\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Neighbours, God speed!\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Give you good morrow, sir.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Doth the news hold of good King Edward\\'s\\r\\n death?\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while!\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Then, masters, look to see a troublous\\r\\n world.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. No, no; by God\\'s good grace, his son shall\\r\\n reign.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Woe to that land that\\'s govern\\'d by a child.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. In him there is a hope of government,\\r\\n Which, in his nonage, council under him,\\r\\n And, in his full and ripened years, himself,\\r\\n No doubt, shall then, and till then, govern well.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. So stood the state when Henry the Sixth\\r\\n Was crown\\'d in Paris but at nine months old.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Stood the state so? No, no, good friends,\\r\\n God wot;\\r\\n For then this land was famously enrich\\'d\\r\\n With politic grave counsel; then the King\\r\\n Had virtuous uncles to protect his Grace.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Why, so hath this, both by his father and\\r\\n mother.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Better it were they all came by his father,\\r\\n Or by his father there were none at all;\\r\\n For emulation who shall now be nearest\\r\\n Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not.\\r\\n O, full of danger is the Duke of Gloucester!\\r\\n And the Queen\\'s sons and brothers haught and proud;\\r\\n And were they to be rul\\'d, and not to rule,\\r\\n This sickly land might solace as before.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Come, come, we fear the worst; all will be\\r\\n well.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. When clouds are seen, wise men put on\\r\\n their cloaks;\\r\\n When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand;\\r\\n When the sun sets, who doth not look for night?\\r\\n Untimely storms make men expect a dearth.\\r\\n All may be well; but, if God sort it so,\\r\\n \\'Tis more than we deserve or I expect.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Truly, the hearts of men are fun of fear.\\r\\n You cannot reason almost with a man\\r\\n That looks not heavily and fun of dread.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Before the days of change, still is it so;\\r\\n By a divine instinct men\\'s minds mistrust\\r\\n Ensuing danger; as by proof we see\\r\\n The water swell before a boist\\'rous storm.\\r\\n But leave it all to God. Whither away?\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Marry, we were sent for to the justices.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. And so was I; I\\'ll bear you company.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, the young DUKE OF YORK, QUEEN ELIZABETH,\\r\\nand the DUCHESS OF YORK\\r\\n\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Last night, I hear, they lay at Stony Stratford,\\r\\n And at Northampton they do rest to-night;\\r\\n To-morrow or next day they will be here.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I long with all my heart to see the Prince.\\r\\n I hope he is much grown since last I saw him.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. But I hear no; they say my son of York\\r\\n Has almost overta\\'en him in his growth.\\r\\n YORK. Ay, mother; but I would not have it so.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Why, my good cousin, it is good to grow.\\r\\n YORK. Grandam, one night as we did sit at supper,\\r\\n My uncle Rivers talk\\'d how I did grow\\r\\n More than my brother. \\'Ay,\\' quoth my uncle Gloucester\\r\\n \\'Small herbs have grace: great weeds do grow apace.\\'\\r\\n And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast,\\r\\n Because sweet flow\\'rs are slow and weeds make haste.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold\\r\\n In him that did object the same to thee.\\r\\n He was the wretched\\'st thing when he was young,\\r\\n So long a-growing and so leisurely\\r\\n That, if his rule were true, he should be gracious.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. And so no doubt he is, my gracious madam.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I hope he is; but yet let mothers doubt.\\r\\n YORK. Now, by my troth, if I had been rememb\\'red,\\r\\n I could have given my uncle\\'s Grace a flout\\r\\n To touch his growth nearer than he touch\\'d mine.\\r\\n DUCHESS. How, my young York? I prithee let me hear it.\\r\\n YORK. Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast\\r\\n That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old.\\r\\n \\'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth.\\r\\n Grandam, this would have been a biting jest.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I prithee, pretty York, who told thee this?\\r\\n YORK. Grandam, his nurse.\\r\\n DUCHESS. His nurse! Why she was dead ere thou wast\\r\\n born.\\r\\n YORK. If \\'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. A parlous boy! Go to, you are too\\r\\n shrewd.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Good madam, be not angry with the child.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Pitchers have ears.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Here comes a messenger. What news?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Such news, my lord, as grieves me to report.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. How doth the Prince?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Well, madam, and in health.\\r\\n DUCHESS. What is thy news?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Lord Rivers and Lord Grey\\r\\n Are sent to Pomfret, and with them\\r\\n Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Who hath committed them?\\r\\n MESSENGER. The mighty Dukes, Gloucester and Buckingham.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. For what offence?\\r\\n MESSENGER. The sum of all I can, I have disclos\\'d.\\r\\n Why or for what the nobles were committed\\r\\n Is all unknown to me, my gracious lord.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ay me, I see the ruin of my house!\\r\\n The tiger now hath seiz\\'d the gentle hind;\\r\\n Insulting tyranny begins to jet\\r\\n Upon the innocent and aweless throne.\\r\\n Welcome, destruction, blood, and massacre!\\r\\n I see, as in a map, the end of all.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Accursed and unquiet wrangling days,\\r\\n How many of you have mine eyes beheld!\\r\\n My husband lost his life to get the crown;\\r\\n And often up and down my sons were toss\\'d\\r\\n For me to joy and weep their gain and loss;\\r\\n And being seated, and domestic broils\\r\\n Clean over-blown, themselves the conquerors\\r\\n Make war upon themselves-brother to brother,\\r\\n Blood to blood, self against self. O, preposterous\\r\\n And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen,\\r\\n Or let me die, to look on death no more!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Come, come, my boy; we will to\\r\\n sanctuary.\\r\\n Madam, farewell.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Stay, I will go with you.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. You have no cause.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. [To the QUEEN] My gracious lady, go.\\r\\n And thither bear your treasure and your goods.\\r\\n For my part, I\\'ll resign unto your Grace\\r\\n The seal I keep; and so betide to me\\r\\n As well I tender you and all of yours!\\r\\n Go, I\\'ll conduct you to the sanctuary. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nThe trumpets sound. Enter the PRINCE OF WALES, GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM,\\r\\nCATESBY, CARDINAL BOURCHIER, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Welcome, sweet Prince, to London, to your\\r\\n chamber.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts\\' sovereign.\\r\\n The weary way hath made you melancholy.\\r\\n PRINCE. No, uncle; but our crosses on the way\\r\\n Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy.\\r\\n I want more uncles here to welcome me.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Sweet Prince, the untainted virtue of your\\r\\n years\\r\\n Hath not yet div\\'d into the world\\'s deceit;\\r\\n Nor more can you distinguish of a man\\r\\n Than of his outward show; which, God He knows,\\r\\n Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart.\\r\\n Those uncles which you want were dangerous;\\r\\n Your Grace attended to their sug\\'red words\\r\\n But look\\'d not on the poison of their hearts.\\r\\n God keep you from them and from such false friends!\\r\\n PRINCE. God keep me from false friends! but they were\\r\\n none.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My lord, the Mayor of London comes to greet\\r\\n you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the LORD MAYOR and his train\\r\\n\\r\\n MAYOR. God bless your Grace with health and happy days!\\r\\n PRINCE. I thank you, good my lord, and thank you all.\\r\\n I thought my mother and my brother York\\r\\n Would long ere this have met us on the way.\\r\\n Fie, what a slug is Hastings, that he comes not\\r\\n To tell us whether they will come or no!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD HASTINGS\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. And, in good time, here comes the sweating\\r\\n Lord.\\r\\n PRINCE. Welcome, my lord. What, will our mother come?\\r\\n HASTINGS. On what occasion, God He knows, not I,\\r\\n The Queen your mother and your brother York\\r\\n Have taken sanctuary. The tender Prince\\r\\n Would fain have come with me to meet your Grace,\\r\\n But by his mother was perforce withheld.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Fie, what an indirect and peevish course\\r\\n Is this of hers? Lord Cardinal, will your Grace\\r\\n Persuade the Queen to send the Duke of York\\r\\n Unto his princely brother presently?\\r\\n If she deny, Lord Hastings, go with him\\r\\n And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce.\\r\\n CARDINAL. My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory\\r\\n Can from his mother win the Duke of York,\\r\\n Anon expect him here; but if she be obdurate\\r\\n To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid\\r\\n We should infringe the holy privilege\\r\\n Of blessed sanctuary! Not for all this land\\r\\n Would I be guilty of so deep a sin.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. You are too senseless-obstinate, my lord,\\r\\n Too ceremonious and traditional.\\r\\n Weigh it but with the grossness of this age,\\r\\n You break not sanctuary in seizing him.\\r\\n The benefit thereof is always granted\\r\\n To those whose dealings have deserv\\'d the place\\r\\n And those who have the wit to claim the place.\\r\\n This Prince hath neither claim\\'d it nor deserv\\'d it,\\r\\n And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it.\\r\\n Then, taking him from thence that is not there,\\r\\n You break no privilege nor charter there.\\r\\n Oft have I heard of sanctuary men;\\r\\n But sanctuary children never till now.\\r\\n CARDINAL. My lord, you shall o\\'errule my mind for once.\\r\\n Come on, Lord Hastings, will you go with me?\\r\\n HASTINGS. I go, my lord.\\r\\n PRINCE. Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may.\\r\\n Exeunt CARDINAL and HASTINGS\\r\\n Say, uncle Gloucester, if our brother come,\\r\\n Where shall we sojourn till our coronation?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Where it seems best unto your royal self.\\r\\n If I may counsel you, some day or two\\r\\n Your Highness shall repose you at the Tower,\\r\\n Then where you please and shall be thought most fit\\r\\n For your best health and recreation.\\r\\n PRINCE. I do not like the Tower, of any place.\\r\\n Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. He did, my gracious lord, begin that place,\\r\\n Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified.\\r\\n PRINCE. Is it upon record, or else reported\\r\\n Successively from age to age, he built it?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Upon record, my gracious lord.\\r\\n PRINCE. But say, my lord, it were not regist\\'red,\\r\\n Methinks the truth should Eve from age to age,\\r\\n As \\'twere retail\\'d to all posterity,\\r\\n Even to the general all-ending day.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside] So wise so young, they say, do never\\r\\n live long.\\r\\n PRINCE. What say you, uncle?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I say, without characters, fame lives long.\\r\\n [Aside] Thus, like the formal vice, Iniquity,\\r\\n I moralize two meanings in one word.\\r\\n PRINCE. That Julius Caesar was a famous man;\\r\\n With what his valour did enrich his wit,\\r\\n His wit set down to make his valour live.\\r\\n Death makes no conquest of this conqueror;\\r\\n For now he lives in fame, though not in life.\\r\\n I\\'ll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham-\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. What, my gracious lord?\\r\\n PRINCE. An if I live until I be a man,\\r\\n I\\'ll win our ancient right in France again,\\r\\n Or die a soldier as I liv\\'d a king.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Short summers lightly have a forward\\r\\n spring.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HASTINGS, young YORK, and the CARDINAL\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Now, in good time, here comes the Duke of\\r\\n York.\\r\\n PRINCE. Richard of York, how fares our loving brother?\\r\\n YORK. Well, my dread lord; so must I can you now.\\r\\n PRINCE. Ay brother, to our grief, as it is yours.\\r\\n Too late he died that might have kept that title,\\r\\n Which by his death hath lost much majesty.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. How fares our cousin, noble Lord of York?\\r\\n YORK. I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord,\\r\\n You said that idle weeds are fast in growth.\\r\\n The Prince my brother hath outgrown me far.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He hath, my lord.\\r\\n YORK. And therefore is he idle?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. O, my fair cousin, I must not say so.\\r\\n YORK. Then he is more beholding to you than I.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He may command me as my sovereign;\\r\\n But you have power in me as in a kinsman.\\r\\n YORK. I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My dagger, little cousin? With all my heart!\\r\\n PRINCE. A beggar, brother?\\r\\n YORK. Of my kind uncle, that I know will give,\\r\\n And being but a toy, which is no grief to give.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. A greater gift than that I\\'ll give my cousin.\\r\\n YORK. A greater gift! O, that\\'s the sword to it!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough.\\r\\n YORK. O, then, I see you will part but with light gifts:\\r\\n In weightier things you\\'ll say a beggar nay.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. It is too heavy for your Grace to wear.\\r\\n YORK. I weigh it lightly, were it heavier.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What, would you have my weapon, little\\r\\n Lord?\\r\\n YORK. I would, that I might thank you as you call me.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. How?\\r\\n YORK. Little.\\r\\n PRINCE. My Lord of York will still be cross in talk.\\r\\n Uncle, your Grace knows how to bear with him.\\r\\n YORK. You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me.\\r\\n Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me;\\r\\n Because that I am little, like an ape,\\r\\n He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons!\\r\\n To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle\\r\\n He prettily and aptly taunts himself.\\r\\n So cunning and so young is wonderful.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My lord, will\\'t please you pass along?\\r\\n Myself and my good cousin Buckingham\\r\\n Will to your mother, to entreat of her\\r\\n To meet you at the Tower and welcome you.\\r\\n YORK. What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord?\\r\\n PRINCE. My Lord Protector needs will have it so.\\r\\n YORK. I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, what should you fear?\\r\\n YORK. Marry, my uncle Clarence\\' angry ghost.\\r\\n My grandam told me he was murder\\'d there.\\r\\n PRINCE. I fear no uncles dead.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Nor none that live, I hope.\\r\\n PRINCE. An if they live, I hope I need not fear.\\r\\n But come, my lord; and with a heavy heart,\\r\\n Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower.\\r\\n A sennet.\\r\\n Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, and CATESBY\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Think you, my lord, this little prating York\\r\\n Was not incensed by his subtle mother\\r\\n To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. No doubt, no doubt. O, \\'tis a perilous boy;\\r\\n Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable.\\r\\n He is all the mother\\'s, from the top to toe.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Well, let them rest. Come hither, Catesby.\\r\\n Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we intend\\r\\n As closely to conceal what we impart.\\r\\n Thou know\\'st our reasons urg\\'d upon the way.\\r\\n What think\\'st thou? Is it not an easy matter\\r\\n To make William Lord Hastings of our mind,\\r\\n For the instalment of this noble Duke\\r\\n In the seat royal of this famous isle?\\r\\n CATESBY. He for his father\\'s sake so loves the Prince\\r\\n That he will not be won to aught against him.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. What think\\'st thou then of Stanley? Will\\r\\n not he?\\r\\n CATESBY. He will do all in all as Hastings doth.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Well then, no more but this: go, gentle\\r\\n Catesby,\\r\\n And, as it were far off, sound thou Lord Hastings\\r\\n How he doth stand affected to our purpose;\\r\\n And summon him to-morrow to the Tower,\\r\\n To sit about the coronation.\\r\\n If thou dost find him tractable to us,\\r\\n Encourage him, and tell him all our reasons;\\r\\n If he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling,\\r\\n Be thou so too, and so break off the talk,\\r\\n And give us notice of his inclination;\\r\\n For we to-morrow hold divided councils,\\r\\n Wherein thyself shalt highly be employ\\'d.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Commend me to Lord William. Tell him,\\r\\n Catesby,\\r\\n His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries\\r\\n To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret Castle;\\r\\n And bid my lord, for joy of this good news,\\r\\n Give Mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Good Catesby, go effect this business soundly.\\r\\n CATESBY. My good lords both, with all the heed I can.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep?\\r\\n CATESBY. You shall, my lord.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. At Crosby House, there shall you find us both.\\r\\n Exit CATESBY\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Now, my lord, what shall we do if we\\r\\n perceive\\r\\n Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Chop off his head-something we will\\r\\n determine.\\r\\n And, look when I am King, claim thou of me\\r\\n The earldom of Hereford and all the movables\\r\\n Whereof the King my brother was possess\\'d.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I\\'ll claim that promise at your Grace\\'s hand.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And look to have it yielded with all kindness.\\r\\n Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards\\r\\n We may digest our complots in some form. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nBefore LORD HASTING\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a MESSENGER to the door of HASTINGS\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. My lord, my lord! [Knocking]\\r\\n HASTINGS. [Within] Who knocks?\\r\\n MESSENGER. One from the Lord Stanley.\\r\\n HASTINGS. [Within] What is\\'t o\\'clock?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Upon the stroke of four.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD HASTINGS\\r\\n\\r\\n HASTINGS. Cannot my Lord Stanley sleep these tedious\\r\\n nights?\\r\\n MESSENGER. So it appears by that I have to say.\\r\\n First, he commends him to your noble self.\\r\\n HASTINGS. What then?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Then certifies your lordship that this night\\r\\n He dreamt the boar had razed off his helm.\\r\\n Besides, he says there are two councils kept,\\r\\n And that may be determin\\'d at the one\\r\\n Which may make you and him to rue at th\\' other.\\r\\n Therefore he sends to know your lordship\\'s pleasure-\\r\\n If you will presently take horse with him\\r\\n And with all speed post with him toward the north\\r\\n To shun the danger that his soul divines.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord;\\r\\n Bid him not fear the separated council:\\r\\n His honour and myself are at the one,\\r\\n And at the other is my good friend Catesby;\\r\\n Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us\\r\\n Whereof I shall not have intelligence.\\r\\n Tell him his fears are shallow, without instance;\\r\\n And for his dreams, I wonder he\\'s so simple\\r\\n To trust the mock\\'ry of unquiet slumbers.\\r\\n To fly the boar before the boar pursues\\r\\n Were to incense the boar to follow us\\r\\n And make pursuit where he did mean no chase.\\r\\n Go, bid thy master rise and come to me;\\r\\n And we will both together to the Tower,\\r\\n Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly.\\r\\n MESSENGER. I\\'ll go, my lord, and tell him what you say.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n CATESBY. Many good morrows to my noble lord!\\r\\n HASTINGS. Good morrow, Catesby; you are early stirring.\\r\\n What news, what news, in this our tott\\'ring state?\\r\\n CATESBY. It is a reeling world indeed, my lord;\\r\\n And I believe will never stand upright\\r\\n Till Richard wear the garland of the realm.\\r\\n HASTINGS. How, wear the garland! Dost thou mean the\\r\\n crown?\\r\\n CATESBY. Ay, my good lord.\\r\\n HASTINGS. I\\'ll have this crown of mine cut from my\\r\\n shoulders\\r\\n Before I\\'ll see the crown so foul misplac\\'d.\\r\\n But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it?\\r\\n CATESBY. Ay, on my life; and hopes to find you forward\\r\\n Upon his party for the gain thereof;\\r\\n And thereupon he sends you this good news,\\r\\n That this same very day your enemies,\\r\\n The kindred of the Queen, must die at Pomfret.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Indeed, I am no mourner for that news,\\r\\n Because they have been still my adversaries;\\r\\n But that I\\'ll give my voice on Richard\\'s side\\r\\n To bar my master\\'s heirs in true descent,\\r\\n God knows I will not do it to the death.\\r\\n CATESBY. God keep your lordship in that gracious mind!\\r\\n HASTINGS. But I shall laugh at this a twelve month hence,\\r\\n That they which brought me in my master\\'s hate,\\r\\n I live to look upon their tragedy.\\r\\n Well, Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older,\\r\\n I\\'ll send some packing that yet think not on\\'t.\\r\\n CATESBY. \\'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord,\\r\\n When men are unprepar\\'d and look not for it.\\r\\n HASTINGS. O monstrous, monstrous! And so falls it out\\r\\n With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey; and so \\'twill do\\r\\n With some men else that think themselves as safe\\r\\n As thou and I, who, as thou knowest, are dear\\r\\n To princely Richard and to Buckingham.\\r\\n CATESBY. The Princes both make high account of you-\\r\\n [Aside] For they account his head upon the bridge.\\r\\n HASTINGS. I know they do, and I have well deserv\\'d it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD STANLEY\\r\\n\\r\\n Come on, come on; where is your boar-spear, man?\\r\\n Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided?\\r\\n STANLEY. My lord, good morrow; good morrow, Catesby.\\r\\n You may jest on, but, by the holy rood,\\r\\n I do not like these several councils, I.\\r\\n HASTINGS. My lord, I hold my life as dear as yours,\\r\\n And never in my days, I do protest,\\r\\n Was it so precious to me as \\'tis now.\\r\\n Think you, but that I know our state secure,\\r\\n I would be so triumphant as I am?\\r\\n STANLEY. The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from\\r\\n London,\\r\\n Were jocund and suppos\\'d their states were sure,\\r\\n And they indeed had no cause to mistrust;\\r\\n But yet you see how soon the day o\\'ercast.\\r\\n This sudden stab of rancour I misdoubt;\\r\\n Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward.\\r\\n What, shall we toward the Tower? The day is spent.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Come, come, have with you. Wot you what, my\\r\\n Lord?\\r\\n To-day the lords you talk\\'d of are beheaded.\\r\\n STANLEY. They, for their truth, might better wear their\\r\\n heads\\r\\n Than some that have accus\\'d them wear their hats.\\r\\n But come, my lord, let\\'s away.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HASTINGS, a pursuivant\\r\\n\\r\\n HASTINGS. Go on before; I\\'ll talk with this good fellow.\\r\\n Exeunt STANLEY and CATESBY\\r\\n How now, Hastings! How goes the world with thee?\\r\\n PURSUIVANT. The better that your lordship please to ask.\\r\\n HASTINGS. I tell thee, man, \\'tis better with me now\\r\\n Than when thou met\\'st me last where now we meet:\\r\\n Then was I going prisoner to the Tower\\r\\n By the suggestion of the Queen\\'s allies;\\r\\n But now, I tell thee-keep it to thyself-\\r\\n This day those enernies are put to death,\\r\\n And I in better state than e\\'er I was.\\r\\n PURSUIVANT. God hold it, to your honour\\'s good content!\\r\\n HASTINGS. Gramercy, Hastings; there, drink that for me.\\r\\n [Throws him his purse]\\r\\n PURSUIVANT. I thank your honour. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a PRIEST\\r\\n\\r\\n PRIEST. Well met, my lord; I am glad to see your honour.\\r\\n HASTINGS. I thank thee, good Sir John, with all my heart.\\r\\n I am in your debt for your last exercise;\\r\\n Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you.\\r\\n [He whispers in his ear]\\r\\n PRIEST. I\\'ll wait upon your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. What, talking with a priest, Lord\\r\\n Chamberlain!\\r\\n Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest:\\r\\n Your honour hath no shriving work in hand.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Good faith, and when I met this holy man,\\r\\n The men you talk of came into my mind.\\r\\n What, go you toward the Tower?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I do, my lord, but long I cannot stay there;\\r\\n I shall return before your lordship thence.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Nay, like enough, for I stay dinner there.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. [Aside] And supper too, although thou\\r\\n knowest it not.-\\r\\n Come, will you go?\\r\\n HASTINGS. I\\'ll wait upon your lordship. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nPomfret Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SIR RICHARD RATCLIFF, with halberds, carrying the Nobles,\\r\\nRIVERS, GREY, and VAUGHAN, to death\\r\\n\\r\\n RIVERS. Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this:\\r\\n To-day shalt thou behold a subject die\\r\\n For truth, for duty, and for loyalty.\\r\\n GREY. God bless the Prince from all the pack of you!\\r\\n A knot you are of damned blood-suckers.\\r\\n VAUGHAN. You live that shall cry woe for this hereafter.\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Dispatch; the limit of your lives is out.\\r\\n RIVERS. O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prison,\\r\\n Fatal and ominous to noble peers!\\r\\n Within the guilty closure of thy walls\\r\\n RICHARD the Second here was hack\\'d to death;\\r\\n And for more slander to thy dismal seat,\\r\\n We give to thee our guiltless blood to drink.\\r\\n GREY. Now Margaret\\'s curse is fall\\'n upon our heads,\\r\\n When she exclaim\\'d on Hastings, you, and I,\\r\\n For standing by when Richard stabb\\'d her son.\\r\\n RIVERS. Then curs\\'d she Richard, then curs\\'d she\\r\\n Buckingham,\\r\\n Then curs\\'d she Hastings. O, remember, God,\\r\\n To hear her prayer for them, as now for us!\\r\\n And for my sister, and her princely sons,\\r\\n Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood,\\r\\n Which, as thou know\\'st, unjustly must be spilt.\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Make haste; the hour of death is expiate.\\r\\n RIVERS. Come, Grey; come, Vaughan; let us here embrace.\\r\\n Farewell, until we meet again in heaven. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The Tower\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, HASTINGS, the BISHOP of ELY, RATCLIFF, LOVEL,\\r\\nwith others and seat themselves at a table\\r\\n\\r\\n HASTINGS. Now, noble peers, the cause why we are met\\r\\n Is to determine of the coronation.\\r\\n In God\\'s name speak-when is the royal day?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Is all things ready for the royal time?\\r\\n DERBY. It is, and wants but nomination.\\r\\n BISHOP OF ELY. To-morrow then I judge a happy day.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Who knows the Lord Protector\\'s mind\\r\\n herein?\\r\\n Who is most inward with the noble Duke?\\r\\n BISHOP OF ELY. Your Grace, we think, should soonest know\\r\\n his mind.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. We know each other\\'s faces; for our hearts,\\r\\n He knows no more of mine than I of yours;\\r\\n Or I of his, my lord, than you of mine.\\r\\n Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love.\\r\\n HASTINGS. I thank his Grace, I know he loves me well;\\r\\n But for his purpose in the coronation\\r\\n I have not sounded him, nor he deliver\\'d\\r\\n His gracious pleasure any way therein.\\r\\n But you, my honourable lords, may name the time;\\r\\n And in the Duke\\'s behalf I\\'ll give my voice,\\r\\n Which, I presume, he\\'ll take in gentle part.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n BISHOP OF ELY. In happy time, here comes the Duke himself.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My noble lords and cousins an, good morrow.\\r\\n I have been long a sleeper, but I trust\\r\\n My absence doth neglect no great design\\r\\n Which by my presence might have been concluded.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Had you not come upon your cue, my lord,\\r\\n WILLIAM Lord Hastings had pronounc\\'d your part-\\r\\n I mean, your voice for crowning of the King.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Than my Lord Hastings no man might be\\r\\n bolder;\\r\\n His lordship knows me well and loves me well.\\r\\n My lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn\\r\\n I saw good strawberries in your garden there.\\r\\n I do beseech you send for some of them.\\r\\n BISHOP of ELY. Marry and will, my lord, with all my heart.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you.\\r\\n [Takes him aside]\\r\\n Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business,\\r\\n And finds the testy gentleman so hot\\r\\n That he will lose his head ere give consent\\r\\n His master\\'s child, as worshipfully he terms it,\\r\\n Shall lose the royalty of England\\'s throne.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Withdraw yourself awhile; I\\'ll go with you.\\r\\n Exeunt GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n DERBY. We have not yet set down this day of triumph.\\r\\n To-morrow, in my judgment, is too sudden;\\r\\n For I myself am not so well provided\\r\\n As else I would be, were the day prolong\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter the BISHOP OF ELY\\r\\n\\r\\n BISHOP OF ELY. Where is my lord the Duke of Gloucester?\\r\\n I have sent for these strawberries.\\r\\n HASTINGS. His Grace looks cheerfully and smooth this\\r\\n morning;\\r\\n There\\'s some conceit or other likes him well\\r\\n When that he bids good morrow with such spirit.\\r\\n I think there\\'s never a man in Christendom\\r\\n Can lesser hide his love or hate than he;\\r\\n For by his face straight shall you know his heart.\\r\\n DERBY. What of his heart perceive you in his face\\r\\n By any livelihood he show\\'d to-day?\\r\\n HASTINGS. Marry, that with no man here he is offended;\\r\\n For, were he, he had shown it in his looks.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve\\r\\n That do conspire my death with devilish plots\\r\\n Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevail\\'d\\r\\n Upon my body with their hellish charms?\\r\\n HASTINGS. The tender love I bear your Grace, my lord,\\r\\n Makes me most forward in this princely presence\\r\\n To doom th\\' offenders, whosoe\\'er they be.\\r\\n I say, my lord, they have deserved death.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Then be your eyes the witness of their evil.\\r\\n Look how I am bewitch\\'d; behold, mine arm\\r\\n Is like a blasted sapling wither\\'d up.\\r\\n And this is Edward\\'s wife, that monstrous witch,\\r\\n Consorted with that harlot strumpet Shore,\\r\\n That by their witchcraft thus have marked me.\\r\\n HASTINGS. If they have done this deed, my noble lord-\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. If?-thou protector of this damned strumpet,\\r\\n Talk\\'st thou to me of ifs? Thou art a traitor.\\r\\n Off with his head! Now by Saint Paul I swear\\r\\n I will not dine until I see the same.\\r\\n Lovel and Ratcliff, look that it be done.\\r\\n The rest that love me, rise and follow me.\\r\\n Exeunt all but HASTINGS, LOVEL, and RATCLIFF\\r\\n HASTINGS. Woe, woe, for England! not a whit for me;\\r\\n For I, too fond, might have prevented this.\\r\\n STANLEY did dream the boar did raze our helms,\\r\\n And I did scorn it and disdain to fly.\\r\\n Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble,\\r\\n And started when he look\\'d upon the Tower,\\r\\n As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house.\\r\\n O, now I need the priest that spake to me!\\r\\n I now repent I told the pursuivant,\\r\\n As too triumphing, how mine enemies\\r\\n To-day at Pomfret bloodily were butcher\\'d,\\r\\n And I myself secure in grace and favour.\\r\\n O Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse\\r\\n Is lighted on poor Hastings\\' wretched head!\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Come, come, dispatch; the Duke would be at\\r\\n dinner.\\r\\n Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head.\\r\\n HASTINGS. O momentary grace of mortal men,\\r\\n Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!\\r\\n Who builds his hope in air of your good looks\\r\\n Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast,\\r\\n Ready with every nod to tumble down\\r\\n Into the fatal bowels of the deep.\\r\\n LOVEL. Come, come, dispatch; \\'tis bootless to exclaim.\\r\\n HASTINGS. O bloody Richard! Miserable England!\\r\\n I prophesy the fearfull\\'st time to thee\\r\\n That ever wretched age hath look\\'d upon.\\r\\n Come, lead me to the block; bear him my head.\\r\\n They smile at me who shortly shall be dead. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The Tower-walls\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM in rotten armour, marvellous\\r\\nill-favoured\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Come, cousin, canst thou quake and change\\r\\n thy colour,\\r\\n Murder thy breath in middle of a word,\\r\\n And then again begin, and stop again,\\r\\n As if thou were distraught and mad with terror?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian;\\r\\n Speak and look back, and pry on every side,\\r\\n Tremble and start at wagging of a straw,\\r\\n Intending deep suspicion. Ghastly looks\\r\\n Are at my service, like enforced smiles;\\r\\n And both are ready in their offices\\r\\n At any time to grace my stratagems.\\r\\n But what, is Catesby gone?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He is; and, see, he brings the mayor along.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the LORD MAYOR and CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Lord Mayor-\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Look to the drawbridge there!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Hark! a drum.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Catesby, o\\'erlook the walls.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Lord Mayor, the reason we have sent-\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Look back, defend thee; here are enemies.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. God and our innocence defend and guard us!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LOVEL and RATCLIFF, with HASTINGS\\' head\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Be patient; they are friends-Ratcliff and Lovel.\\r\\n LOVEL. Here is the head of that ignoble traitor,\\r\\n The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. So dear I lov\\'d the man that I must weep.\\r\\n I took him for the plainest harmless creature\\r\\n That breath\\'d upon the earth a Christian;\\r\\n Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded\\r\\n The history of all her secret thoughts.\\r\\n So smooth he daub\\'d his vice with show of virtue\\r\\n That, his apparent open guilt omitted,\\r\\n I mean his conversation with Shore\\'s wife-\\r\\n He liv\\'d from all attainder of suspects.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Well, well, he was the covert\\'st shelt\\'red\\r\\n traitor\\r\\n That ever liv\\'d.\\r\\n Would you imagine, or almost believe-\\r\\n Were\\'t not that by great preservation\\r\\n We live to tell it-that the subtle traitor\\r\\n This day had plotted, in the council-house,\\r\\n To murder me and my good Lord of Gloucester.\\r\\n MAYOR. Had he done so?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What! think you we are Turks or Infidels?\\r\\n Or that we would, against the form of law,\\r\\n Proceed thus rashly in the villain\\'s death\\r\\n But that the extreme peril of the case,\\r\\n The peace of England and our persons\\' safety,\\r\\n Enforc\\'d us to this execution?\\r\\n MAYOR. Now, fair befall you! He deserv\\'d his death;\\r\\n And your good Graces both have well proceeded\\r\\n To warn false traitors from the like attempts.\\r\\n I never look\\'d for better at his hands\\r\\n After he once fell in with Mistress Shore.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Yet had we not determin\\'d he should die\\r\\n Until your lordship came to see his end-\\r\\n Which now the loving haste of these our friends,\\r\\n Something against our meanings, have prevented-\\r\\n Because, my lord, I would have had you heard\\r\\n The traitor speak, and timorously confess\\r\\n The manner and the purpose of his treasons:\\r\\n That you might well have signified the same\\r\\n Unto the citizens, who haply may\\r\\n Misconster us in him and wail his death.\\r\\n MAYOR. But, my good lord, your Grace\\'s words shall serve\\r\\n As well as I had seen and heard him speak;\\r\\n And do not doubt, right noble Princes both,\\r\\n But I\\'ll acquaint our duteous citizens\\r\\n With all your just proceedings in this cause.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And to that end we wish\\'d your lordship here,\\r\\n T\\' avoid the the the censures of the carping world.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Which since you come too late of our intent,\\r\\n Yet witness what you hear we did intend.\\r\\n And so, my good Lord Mayor, we bid farewell.\\r\\n Exit LORD MAYOR\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham.\\r\\n The Mayor towards Guildhall hies him in an post.\\r\\n There, at your meet\\'st advantage of the time,\\r\\n Infer the bastardy of Edward\\'s children.\\r\\n Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen\\r\\n Only for saying he would make his son\\r\\n Heir to the crown-meaning indeed his house,\\r\\n Which by the sign thereof was termed so.\\r\\n Moreover, urge his hateful luxury\\r\\n And bestial appetite in change of lust,\\r\\n Which stretch\\'d unto their servants, daughters, wives,\\r\\n Even where his raging eye or savage heart\\r\\n Without control lusted to make a prey.\\r\\n Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person:\\r\\n Tell them, when that my mother went with child\\r\\n Of that insatiate Edward, noble York\\r\\n My princely father then had wars in France\\r\\n And, by true computation of the time,\\r\\n Found that the issue was not his begot;\\r\\n Which well appeared in his lineaments,\\r\\n Being nothing like the noble Duke my father.\\r\\n Yet touch this sparingly, as \\'twere far off;\\r\\n Because, my lord, you know my mother lives.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Doubt not, my lord, I\\'ll play the orator\\r\\n As if the golden fee for which I plead\\r\\n Were for myself; and so, my lord, adieu.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard\\'s\\r\\n Castle;\\r\\n Where you shall find me well accompanied\\r\\n With reverend fathers and well learned bishops.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I go; and towards three or four o\\'clock\\r\\n Look for the news that the Guildhall affords. Exit\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor Shaw.\\r\\n [To CATESBY] Go thou to Friar Penker. Bid them both\\r\\n Meet me within this hour at Baynard\\'s Castle.\\r\\n Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER\\r\\n Now will I go to take some privy order\\r\\n To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight,\\r\\n And to give order that no manner person\\r\\n Have any time recourse unto the Princes. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 6.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a SCRIVENER\\r\\n\\r\\n SCRIVENER. Here is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings;\\r\\n Which in a set hand fairly is engross\\'d\\r\\n That it may be to-day read o\\'er in Paul\\'s.\\r\\n And mark how well the sequel hangs together:\\r\\n Eleven hours I have spent to write it over,\\r\\n For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me;\\r\\n The precedent was full as long a-doing;\\r\\n And yet within these five hours Hastings liv\\'d,\\r\\n Untainted, unexamin\\'d, free, at liberty.\\r\\n Here\\'s a good world the while! Who is so gros\\r\\n That cannot see this palpable device?\\r\\n Yet who\\'s so bold but says he sees it not?\\r\\n Bad is the world; and all will come to nought,\\r\\n When such ill dealing must be seen in thought. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 7.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. Baynard\\'s Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM, at several doors\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. How now, how now! What say the citizens?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Now, by the holy Mother of our Lord,\\r\\n The citizens are mum, say not a word.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Touch\\'d you the bastardy of Edward\\'s\\r\\n children?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I did; with his contract with Lady Lucy,\\r\\n And his contract by deputy in France;\\r\\n Th\\' insatiate greediness of his desire,\\r\\n And his enforcement of the city wives;\\r\\n His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy,\\r\\n As being got, your father then in France,\\r\\n And his resemblance, being not like the Duke.\\r\\n Withal I did infer your lineaments,\\r\\n Being the right idea of your father,\\r\\n Both in your form and nobleness of mind;\\r\\n Laid open all your victories in Scotland,\\r\\n Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace,\\r\\n Your bounty, virtue, fair humility;\\r\\n Indeed, left nothing fitting for your purpose\\r\\n Untouch\\'d or slightly handled in discourse.\\r\\n And when mine oratory drew toward end\\r\\n I bid them that did love their country\\'s good\\r\\n Cry \\'God save Richard, England\\'s royal King!\\'\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And did they so?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. No, so God help me, they spake not a word;\\r\\n But, like dumb statues or breathing stones,\\r\\n Star\\'d each on other, and look\\'d deadly pale.\\r\\n Which when I saw, I reprehended them,\\r\\n And ask\\'d the Mayor what meant this wilfull silence.\\r\\n His answer was, the people were not used\\r\\n To be spoke to but by the Recorder.\\r\\n Then he was urg\\'d to tell my tale again.\\r\\n \\'Thus saith the Duke, thus hath the Duke inferr\\'d\\'-\\r\\n But nothing spoke in warrant from himself.\\r\\n When he had done, some followers of mine own\\r\\n At lower end of the hall hurl\\'d up their caps,\\r\\n And some ten voices cried \\'God save King Richard!\\'\\r\\n And thus I took the vantage of those few-\\r\\n \\'Thanks, gentle citizens and friends,\\' quoth I\\r\\n \\'This general applause and cheerful shout\\r\\n Argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard.\\'\\r\\n And even here brake off and came away.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What, tongueless blocks were they? Would\\r\\n they not speak?\\r\\n Will not the Mayor then and his brethren come?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. The Mayor is here at hand. Intend some fear;\\r\\n Be not you spoke with but by mighty suit;\\r\\n And look you get a prayer-book in your hand,\\r\\n And stand between two churchmen, good my lord;\\r\\n For on that ground I\\'ll make a holy descant;\\r\\n And be not easily won to our requests.\\r\\n Play the maid\\'s part: still answer nay, and take it.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I go; and if you plead as well for them\\r\\n As I can say nay to thee for myself,\\r\\n No doubt we bring it to a happy issue.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Go, go, up to the leads; the Lord Mayor\\r\\n knocks. Exit GLOUCESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the LORD MAYOR, ALDERMEN, and citizens\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, my lord. I dance attendance here;\\r\\n I think the Duke will not be spoke withal.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n Now, Catesby, what says your lord to my request?\\r\\n CATESBY. He doth entreat your Grace, my noble lord,\\r\\n To visit him to-morrow or next day.\\r\\n He is within, with two right reverend fathers,\\r\\n Divinely bent to meditation;\\r\\n And in no worldly suits would he be mov\\'d,\\r\\n To draw him from his holy exercise.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Return, good Catesby, to the gracious Duke;\\r\\n Tell him, myself, the Mayor and Aldermen,\\r\\n In deep designs, in matter of great moment,\\r\\n No less importing than our general good,\\r\\n Are come to have some conference with his Grace.\\r\\n CATESBY. I\\'ll signify so much unto him straight. Exit\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Ah ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward!\\r\\n He is not lolling on a lewd love-bed,\\r\\n But on his knees at meditation;\\r\\n Not dallying with a brace of courtezans,\\r\\n But meditating with two deep divines;\\r\\n Not sleeping, to engross his idle body,\\r\\n But praying, to enrich his watchful soul.\\r\\n Happy were England would this virtuous prince\\r\\n Take on his Grace the sovereignty thereof;\\r\\n But, sure, I fear we shall not win him to it.\\r\\n MAYOR. Marry, God defend his Grace should say us nay!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I fear he will. Here Catesby comes again.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n Now, Catesby, what says his Grace?\\r\\n CATESBY. My lord,\\r\\n He wonders to what end you have assembled\\r\\n Such troops of citizens to come to him.\\r\\n His Grace not being warn\\'d thereof before,\\r\\n He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Sorry I am my noble cousin should\\r\\n Suspect me that I mean no good to him.\\r\\n By heaven, we come to him in perfect love;\\r\\n And so once more return and tell his Grace.\\r\\n Exit CATESBY\\r\\n When holy and devout religious men\\r\\n Are at their beads, \\'tis much to draw them thence,\\r\\n So sweet is zealous contemplation.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER aloft, between two BISHOPS.\\r\\n CATESBY returns\\r\\n\\r\\n MAYOR. See where his Grace stands \\'tween two clergymen!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Two props of virtue for a Christian prince,\\r\\n To stay him from the fall of vanity;\\r\\n And, see, a book of prayer in his hand,\\r\\n True ornaments to know a holy man.\\r\\n Famous Plantagenet, most gracious Prince,\\r\\n Lend favourable ear to our requests,\\r\\n And pardon us the interruption\\r\\n Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My lord, there needs no such apology:\\r\\n I do beseech your Grace to pardon me,\\r\\n Who, earnest in the service of my God,\\r\\n Deferr\\'d the visitation of my friends.\\r\\n But, leaving this, what is your Grace\\'s pleasure?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above,\\r\\n And all good men of this ungovern\\'d isle.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I do suspect I have done some offence\\r\\n That seems disgracious in the city\\'s eye,\\r\\n And that you come to reprehend my ignorance.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. You have, my lord. Would it might please\\r\\n your Grace,\\r\\n On our entreaties, to amend your fault!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Know then, it is your fault that you resign\\r\\n The supreme seat, the throne majestical,\\r\\n The scept\\'red office of your ancestors,\\r\\n Your state of fortune and your due of birth,\\r\\n The lineal glory of your royal house,\\r\\n To the corruption of a blemish\\'d stock;\\r\\n Whiles in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts,\\r\\n Which here we waken to our country\\'s good,\\r\\n The noble isle doth want her proper limbs;\\r\\n Her face defac\\'d with scars of infamy,\\r\\n Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants,\\r\\n And almost should\\'red in the swallowing gulf\\r\\n Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion.\\r\\n Which to recure, we heartily solicit\\r\\n Your gracious self to take on you the charge\\r\\n And kingly government of this your land-\\r\\n Not as protector, steward, substitute,\\r\\n Or lowly factor for another\\'s gain;\\r\\n But as successively, from blood to blood,\\r\\n Your right of birth, your empery, your own.\\r\\n For this, consorted with the citizens,\\r\\n Your very worshipful and loving friends,\\r\\n And by their vehement instigation,\\r\\n In this just cause come I to move your Grace.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I cannot tell if to depart in silence\\r\\n Or bitterly to speak in your reproof\\r\\n Best fitteth my degree or your condition.\\r\\n If not to answer, you might haply think\\r\\n Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded\\r\\n To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty,\\r\\n Which fondly you would here impose on me;\\r\\n If to reprove you for this suit of yours,\\r\\n So season\\'d with your faithful love to me,\\r\\n Then, on the other side, I check\\'d my friends.\\r\\n Therefore-to speak, and to avoid the first,\\r\\n And then, in speaking, not to incur the last-\\r\\n Definitively thus I answer you:\\r\\n Your love deserves my thanks, but my desert\\r\\n Unmeritable shuns your high request.\\r\\n First, if all obstacles were cut away,\\r\\n And that my path were even to the crown,\\r\\n As the ripe revenue and due of birth,\\r\\n Yet so much is my poverty of spirit,\\r\\n So mighty and so many my defects,\\r\\n That I would rather hide me from my greatness-\\r\\n Being a bark to brook no mighty sea-\\r\\n Than in my greatness covet to be hid,\\r\\n And in the vapour of my glory smother\\'d.\\r\\n But, God be thank\\'d, there is no need of me-\\r\\n And much I need to help you, were there need.\\r\\n The royal tree hath left us royal fruit\\r\\n Which, mellow\\'d by the stealing hours of time,\\r\\n Will well become the seat of majesty\\r\\n And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign.\\r\\n On him I lay that you would lay on me-\\r\\n The right and fortune of his happy stars,\\r\\n Which God defend that I should wring from him.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord, this argues conscience in your\\r\\n Grace;\\r\\n But the respects thereof are nice and trivial,\\r\\n All circumstances well considered.\\r\\n You say that Edward is your brother\\'s son.\\r\\n So say we too, but not by Edward\\'s wife;\\r\\n For first was he contract to Lady Lucy-\\r\\n Your mother lives a witness to his vow-\\r\\n And afterward by substitute betroth\\'d\\r\\n To Bona, sister to the King of France.\\r\\n These both put off, a poor petitioner,\\r\\n A care-craz\\'d mother to a many sons,\\r\\n A beauty-waning and distressed widow,\\r\\n Even in the afternoon of her best days,\\r\\n Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye,\\r\\n Seduc\\'d the pitch and height of his degree\\r\\n To base declension and loath\\'d bigamy.\\r\\n By her, in his unlawful bed, he got\\r\\n This Edward, whom our manners call the Prince.\\r\\n More bitterly could I expostulate,\\r\\n Save that, for reverence to some alive,\\r\\n I give a sparing limit to my tongue.\\r\\n Then, good my lord, take to your royal self\\r\\n This proffer\\'d benefit of dignity;\\r\\n If not to bless us and the land withal,\\r\\n Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry\\r\\n From the corruption of abusing times\\r\\n Unto a lineal true-derived course.\\r\\n MAYOR. Do, good my lord; your citizens entreat you.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer\\'d love.\\r\\n CATESBY. O, make them joyful, grant their lawful suit!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Alas, why would you heap this care on me?\\r\\n I am unfit for state and majesty.\\r\\n I do beseech you, take it not amiss:\\r\\n I cannot nor I will not yield to you.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. If you refuse it-as, in love and zeal,\\r\\n Loath to depose the child, your brother\\'s son;\\r\\n As well we know your tenderness of heart\\r\\n And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse,\\r\\n Which we have noted in you to your kindred\\r\\n And egally indeed to all estates-\\r\\n Yet know, whe\\'er you accept our suit or no,\\r\\n Your brother\\'s son shall never reign our king;\\r\\n But we will plant some other in the throne\\r\\n To the disgrace and downfall of your house;\\r\\n And in this resolution here we leave you.\\r\\n Come, citizens. Zounds, I\\'ll entreat no more.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. O, do not swear, my lord of Buckingham.\\r\\n Exeunt BUCKINGHAM, MAYOR, and citizens\\r\\n CATESBY. Call him again, sweet Prince, accept their suit.\\r\\n If you deny them, all the land will rue it.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Will you enforce me to a world of cares?\\r\\n Call them again. I am not made of stones,\\r\\n But penetrable to your kind entreaties,\\r\\n Albeit against my conscience and my soul.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter BUCKINGHAM and the rest\\r\\n\\r\\n Cousin of Buckingham, and sage grave men,\\r\\n Since you will buckle fortune on my back,\\r\\n To bear her burden, whe\\'er I will or no,\\r\\n I must have patience to endure the load;\\r\\n But if black scandal or foul-fac\\'d reproach\\r\\n Attend the sequel of your imposition,\\r\\n Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me\\r\\n From all the impure blots and stains thereof;\\r\\n For God doth know, and you may partly see,\\r\\n How far I am from the desire of this.\\r\\n MAYOR. God bless your Grace! We see it, and will say it.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. In saying so, you shall but say the truth.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Then I salute you with this royal title-\\r\\n Long live King Richard, England\\'s worthy King!\\r\\n ALL. Amen.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. To-morrow may it please you to be crown\\'d?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Even when you please, for you will have it so.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. To-morrow, then, we will attend your Grace;\\r\\n And so, most joyfully, we take our leave.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [To the BISHOPS] Come, let us to our holy\\r\\n work again.\\r\\n Farewell, my cousin; farewell, gentle friends. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. Before the Tower\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter QUEEN ELIZABETH, DUCHESS of YORK, and MARQUIS of DORSET, at one\\r\\ndoor;\\r\\nANNE, DUCHESS of GLOUCESTER, leading LADY MARGARET PLANTAGENET,\\r\\nCLARENCE\\'s young daughter, at another door\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. Who meets us here? My niece Plantagenet,\\r\\n Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloucester?\\r\\n Now, for my life, she\\'s wand\\'ring to the Tower,\\r\\n On pure heart\\'s love, to greet the tender Princes.\\r\\n Daughter, well met.\\r\\n ANNE. God give your Graces both\\r\\n A happy and a joyful time of day!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. As much to you, good sister! Whither\\r\\n away?\\r\\n ANNE. No farther than the Tower; and, as I guess,\\r\\n Upon the like devotion as yourselves,\\r\\n To gratulate the gentle Princes there.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Kind sister, thanks; we\\'ll enter\\r\\n all together.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BRAKENBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n And in good time, here the lieutenant comes.\\r\\n Master Lieutenant, pray you, by your leave,\\r\\n How doth the Prince, and my young son of York?\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. Right well, dear madam. By your patience,\\r\\n I may not suffer you to visit them.\\r\\n The King hath strictly charg\\'d the contrary.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. The King! Who\\'s that?\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. I mean the Lord Protector.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. The Lord protect him from that kingly\\r\\n title!\\r\\n Hath he set bounds between their love and me?\\r\\n I am their mother; who shall bar me from them?\\r\\n DUCHESS. I am their father\\'s mother; I will see them.\\r\\n ANNE. Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother.\\r\\n Then bring me to their sights; I\\'ll bear thy blame,\\r\\n And take thy office from thee on my peril.\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. No, madam, no. I may not leave it so;\\r\\n I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter STANLEY\\r\\n\\r\\n STANLEY. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence,\\r\\n And I\\'ll salute your Grace of York as mother\\r\\n And reverend looker-on of two fair queens.\\r\\n [To ANNE] Come, madam, you must straight to\\r\\n Westminster,\\r\\n There to be crowned Richard\\'s royal queen.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, cut my lace asunder\\r\\n That my pent heart may have some scope to beat,\\r\\n Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news!\\r\\n ANNE. Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news!\\r\\n DORSET. Be of good cheer; mother, how fares your Grace?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee\\r\\n gone!\\r\\n Death and destruction dogs thee at thy heels;\\r\\n Thy mother\\'s name is ominous to children.\\r\\n If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas,\\r\\n And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell.\\r\\n Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house,\\r\\n Lest thou increase the number of the dead,\\r\\n And make me die the thrall of Margaret\\'s curse,\\r\\n Nor mother, wife, nor England\\'s counted queen.\\r\\n STANLEY. Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam.\\r\\n Take all the swift advantage of the hours;\\r\\n You shall have letters from me to my son\\r\\n In your behalf, to meet you on the way.\\r\\n Be not ta\\'en tardy by unwise delay.\\r\\n DUCHESS. O ill-dispersing wind of misery!\\r\\n O my accursed womb, the bed of death!\\r\\n A cockatrice hast thou hatch\\'d to the world,\\r\\n Whose unavoided eye is murderous.\\r\\n STANLEY. Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent.\\r\\n ANNE. And I with all unwillingness will go.\\r\\n O, would to God that the inclusive verge\\r\\n Of golden metal that must round my brow\\r\\n Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brains!\\r\\n Anointed let me be with deadly venom,\\r\\n And die ere men can say \\'God save the Queen!\\'\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Go, go, poor soul; I envy not thy glory.\\r\\n To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm.\\r\\n ANNE. No, why? When he that is my husband now\\r\\n Came to me, as I follow\\'d Henry\\'s corse;\\r\\n When scarce the blood was well wash\\'d from his hands\\r\\n Which issued from my other angel husband,\\r\\n And that dear saint which then I weeping follow\\'d-\\r\\n O, when, I say, I look\\'d on Richard\\'s face,\\r\\n This was my wish: \\'Be thou\\' quoth I \\'accurs\\'d\\r\\n For making me, so young, so old a widow;\\r\\n And when thou wed\\'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed;\\r\\n And be thy wife, if any be so mad,\\r\\n More miserable by the life of thee\\r\\n Than thou hast made me by my dear lord\\'s death.\\'\\r\\n Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,\\r\\n Within so small a time, my woman\\'s heart\\r\\n Grossly grew captive to his honey words\\r\\n And prov\\'d the subject of mine own soul\\'s curse,\\r\\n Which hitherto hath held my eyes from rest;\\r\\n For never yet one hour in his bed\\r\\n Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep,\\r\\n But with his timorous dreams was still awak\\'d.\\r\\n Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;\\r\\n And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy complaining.\\r\\n ANNE. No more than with my soul I mourn for yours.\\r\\n DORSET. Farewell, thou woeful welcomer of glory!\\r\\n ANNE. Adieu, poor soul, that tak\\'st thy leave of it!\\r\\n DUCHESS. [To DORSET] Go thou to Richmond, and good\\r\\n fortune guide thee!\\r\\n [To ANNE] Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend\\r\\n thee! [To QUEEN ELIZABETH] Go thou to sanctuary, and good\\r\\n thoughts possess thee!\\r\\n I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me!\\r\\n Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen,\\r\\n And each hour\\'s joy wreck\\'d with a week of teen.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Stay, yet look back with me unto the\\r\\n Tower.\\r\\n Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes\\r\\n Whom envy hath immur\\'d within your walls,\\r\\n Rough cradle for such little pretty ones.\\r\\n Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow\\r\\n For tender princes, use my babies well.\\r\\n So foolish sorrows bids your stones farewell. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nSound a sennet. Enter RICHARD, in pomp, as KING; BUCKINGHAM, CATESBY,\\r\\nRATCLIFF, LOVEL, a PAGE, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Stand all apart. Cousin of Buckingham!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My gracious sovereign?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Give me thy hand.\\r\\n [Here he ascendeth the throne. Sound]\\r\\n Thus high, by thy advice\\r\\n And thy assistance, is King Richard seated.\\r\\n But shall we wear these glories for a day;\\r\\n Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Still live they, and for ever let them last!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the touch,\\r\\n To try if thou be current gold indeed.\\r\\n Young Edward lives-think now what I would speak.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Say on, my loving lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, Buckingham, I say I would be King.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ha! am I King? \\'Tis so; but Edward lives.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. True, noble Prince.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O bitter consequence:\\r\\n That Edward still should live-true noble Prince!\\r\\n Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull.\\r\\n Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead.\\r\\n And I would have it suddenly perform\\'d.\\r\\n What say\\'st thou now? Speak suddenly, be brief.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Your Grace may do your pleasure.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Tut, tut, thou art all ice; thy kindness freezes.\\r\\n Say, have I thy consent that they shall die?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Give me some little breath, some pause,\\r\\n dear Lord,\\r\\n Before I positively speak in this.\\r\\n I will resolve you herein presently. Exit\\r\\n CATESBY. [Aside to another] The King is angry; see, he\\r\\n gnaws his lip.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I will converse with iron-witted fools\\r\\n [Descends from the throne]\\r\\n And unrespective boys; none are for me\\r\\n That look into me with considerate eyes.\\r\\n High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.\\r\\n Boy!\\r\\n PAGE. My lord?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Know\\'st thou not any whom corrupting\\r\\n gold\\r\\n Will tempt unto a close exploit of death?\\r\\n PAGE. I know a discontented gentleman\\r\\n Whose humble means match not his haughty spirit.\\r\\n Gold were as good as twenty orators,\\r\\n And will, no doubt, tempt him to anything.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What is his name?\\r\\n PAGE. His name, my lord, is Tyrrel.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I partly know the man. Go, call him hither,\\r\\n boy. Exit PAGE\\r\\n The deep-revolving witty Buckingham\\r\\n No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels.\\r\\n Hath he so long held out with me, untir\\'d,\\r\\n And stops he now for breath? Well, be it so.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter STANLEY\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, Lord Stanley! What\\'s the news?\\r\\n STANLEY. Know, my loving lord,\\r\\n The Marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled\\r\\n To Richmond, in the parts where he abides. [Stands apart]\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Come hither, Catesby. Rumour it abroad\\r\\n That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick;\\r\\n I will take order for her keeping close.\\r\\n Inquire me out some mean poor gentleman,\\r\\n Whom I will marry straight to Clarence\\' daughter-\\r\\n The boy is foolish, and I fear not him.\\r\\n Look how thou dream\\'st! I say again, give out\\r\\n That Anne, my queen, is sick and like to die.\\r\\n About it; for it stands me much upon\\r\\n To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me.\\r\\n Exit CATESBY\\r\\n I must be married to my brother\\'s daughter,\\r\\n Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass.\\r\\n Murder her brothers, and then marry her!\\r\\n Uncertain way of gain! But I am in\\r\\n So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin.\\r\\n Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PAGE, with TYRREL\\r\\n\\r\\n Is thy name Tyrrel?\\r\\n TYRREL. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Art thou, indeed?\\r\\n TYRREL. Prove me, my gracious lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Dar\\'st\\'thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?\\r\\n TYRREL. Please you;\\r\\n But I had rather kill two enemies.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, then thou hast it. Two deep enemies,\\r\\n Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep\\'s disturbers,\\r\\n Are they that I would have thee deal upon.\\r\\n TYRREL, I mean those bastards in the Tower.\\r\\n TYRREL. Let me have open means to come to them,\\r\\n And soon I\\'ll rid you from the fear of them.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thou sing\\'st sweet music. Hark, come\\r\\n hither, Tyrrel.\\r\\n Go, by this token. Rise, and lend thine ear. [Whispers]\\r\\n There is no more but so: say it is done,\\r\\n And I will love thee and prefer thee for it.\\r\\n TYRREL. I will dispatch it straight. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord, I have consider\\'d in my mind\\r\\n The late request that you did sound me in.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to\\r\\n Richmond.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I hear the news, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Stanley, he is your wife\\'s son: well, look\\r\\n unto it.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise,\\r\\n For which your honour and your faith is pawn\\'d:\\r\\n Th\\' earldom of Hereford and the movables\\r\\n Which you have promised I shall possess.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey\\r\\n Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. What says your Highness to my just request?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I do remember me: Henry the Sixth\\r\\n Did prophesy that Richmond should be King,\\r\\n When Richmond was a little peevish boy.\\r\\n A king!-perhaps-\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. How chance the prophet could not at that\\r\\n time\\r\\n Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord, your promise for the earldom-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Richmond! When last I was at Exeter,\\r\\n The mayor in courtesy show\\'d me the castle\\r\\n And call\\'d it Rugemount, at which name I started,\\r\\n Because a bard of Ireland told me once\\r\\n I should not live long after I saw Richmond.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, what\\'s o\\'clock?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I am thus bold to put your Grace in mind\\r\\n Of what you promis\\'d me.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Well, but o\\'clock?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Upon the stroke of ten.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Well, let it strike.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Why let it strike?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Because that like a Jack thou keep\\'st the\\r\\n stroke\\r\\n Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.\\r\\n I am not in the giving vein to-day.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. May it please you to resolve me in my suit.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein.\\r\\n Exeunt all but Buckingham\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. And is it thus? Repays he my deep service\\r\\n With such contempt? Made I him King for this?\\r\\n O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone\\r\\n To Brecknock while my fearful head is on! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TYRREL\\r\\n\\r\\n TYRREL. The tyrannous and bloody act is done,\\r\\n The most arch deed of piteous massacre\\r\\n That ever yet this land was guilty of.\\r\\n Dighton and Forrest, who I did suborn\\r\\n To do this piece of ruthless butchery,\\r\\n Albeit they were flesh\\'d villains, bloody dogs,\\r\\n Melted with tenderness and mild compassion,\\r\\n Wept like two children in their deaths\\' sad story.\\r\\n \\'O, thus\\' quoth Dighton \\'lay the gentle babes\\'-\\r\\n \\'Thus, thus,\\' quoth Forrest \\'girdling one another\\r\\n Within their alabaster innocent arms.\\r\\n Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,\\r\\n And in their summer beauty kiss\\'d each other.\\r\\n A book of prayers on their pillow lay;\\r\\n Which once,\\' quoth Forrest \\'almost chang\\'d my mind;\\r\\n But, O, the devil\\'-there the villain stopp\\'d;\\r\\n When Dighton thus told on: \\'We smothered\\r\\n The most replenished sweet work of nature\\r\\n That from the prime creation e\\'er she framed.\\'\\r\\n Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse\\r\\n They could not speak; and so I left them both,\\r\\n To bear this tidings to the bloody King.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING RICHARD\\r\\n\\r\\n And here he comes. All health, my sovereign lord!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news?\\r\\n TYRREL. If to have done the thing you gave in charge\\r\\n Beget your happiness, be happy then,\\r\\n For it is done.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. But didst thou see them dead?\\r\\n TYRREL. I did, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And buried, gentle Tyrrel?\\r\\n TYRREL. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them;\\r\\n But where, to say the truth, I do not know.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper,\\r\\n When thou shalt tell the process of their death.\\r\\n Meantime, but think how I may do thee good\\r\\n And be inheritor of thy desire.\\r\\n Farewell till then.\\r\\n TYRREL. I humbly take my leave. Exit\\r\\n KING RICHARD. The son of Clarence have I pent up close;\\r\\n His daughter meanly have I match\\'d in marriage;\\r\\n The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham\\'s bosom,\\r\\n And Anne my wife hath bid this world good night.\\r\\n Now, for I know the Britaine Richmond aims\\r\\n At young Elizabeth, my brother\\'s daughter,\\r\\n And by that knot looks proudly on the crown,\\r\\n To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter RATCLIFF\\r\\n\\r\\n RATCLIFF. My lord!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Good or bad news, that thou com\\'st in so\\r\\n bluntly?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Bad news, my lord: Morton is fled to Richmond;\\r\\n And Buckingham, back\\'d with the hardy Welshmen,\\r\\n Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near\\r\\n Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength.\\r\\n Come, I have learn\\'d that fearful commenting\\r\\n Is leaden servitor to dull delay;\\r\\n Delay leads impotent and snail-pac\\'d beggary.\\r\\n Then fiery expedition be my wing,\\r\\n Jove\\'s Mercury, and herald for a king!\\r\\n Go, muster men. My counsel is my shield.\\r\\n We must be brief when traitors brave the field. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. Before the palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter old QUEEN MARGARET\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. So now prosperity begins to mellow\\r\\n And drop into the rotten mouth of death.\\r\\n Here in these confines slily have I lurk\\'d\\r\\n To watch the waning of mine enemies.\\r\\n A dire induction am I witness to,\\r\\n And will to France, hoping the consequence\\r\\n Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.\\r\\n Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret. Who comes here?\\r\\n [Retires]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and the DUCHESS OF YORK\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, my poor princes! ah, my tender\\r\\n babes!\\r\\n My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets!\\r\\n If yet your gentle souls fly in the air\\r\\n And be not fix\\'d in doom perpetual,\\r\\n Hover about me with your airy wings\\r\\n And hear your mother\\'s lamentation.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Hover about her; say that right for right\\r\\n Hath dimm\\'d your infant morn to aged night.\\r\\n DUCHESS. So many miseries have craz\\'d my voice\\r\\n That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute.\\r\\n Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet,\\r\\n Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle\\r\\n lambs\\r\\n And throw them in the entrails of the wolf?\\r\\n When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. When holy Harry died, and my sweet\\r\\n son.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal living ghost,\\r\\n Woe\\'s scene, world\\'s shame, grave\\'s due by life usurp\\'d,\\r\\n Brief abstract and record of tedious days,\\r\\n Rest thy unrest on England\\'s lawful earth, [Sitting down]\\r\\n Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, that thou wouldst as soon afford a\\r\\n grave\\r\\n As thou canst yield a melancholy seat!\\r\\n Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here.\\r\\n Ah, who hath any cause to mourn but we?\\r\\n [Sitting down by her]\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. [Coming forward] If ancient sorrow be\\r\\n most reverend,\\r\\n Give mine the benefit of seniory,\\r\\n And let my griefs frown on the upper hand.\\r\\n If sorrow can admit society, [Sitting down with them]\\r\\n Tell o\\'er your woes again by viewing mine.\\r\\n I had an Edward, till a Richard kill\\'d him;\\r\\n I had a husband, till a Richard kill\\'d him:\\r\\n Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill\\'d him;\\r\\n Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill\\'d him.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him;\\r\\n I had a Rutland too, thou holp\\'st to kill him.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard\\r\\n kill\\'d him.\\r\\n From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept\\r\\n A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death.\\r\\n That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes\\r\\n To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood,\\r\\n That foul defacer of God\\'s handiwork,\\r\\n That excellent grand tyrant of the earth\\r\\n That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,\\r\\n Thy womb let loose to chase us to our graves.\\r\\n O upright, just, and true-disposing God,\\r\\n How do I thank thee that this carnal cur\\r\\n Preys on the issue of his mother\\'s body\\r\\n And makes her pew-fellow with others\\' moan!\\r\\n DUCHESS. O Harry\\'s wife, triumph not in my woes!\\r\\n God witness with me, I have wept for thine.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge,\\r\\n And now I cloy me with beholding it.\\r\\n Thy Edward he is dead, that kill\\'d my Edward;\\r\\n The other Edward dead, to quit my Edward;\\r\\n Young York he is but boot, because both they\\r\\n Match\\'d not the high perfection of my loss.\\r\\n Thy Clarence he is dead that stabb\\'d my Edward;\\r\\n And the beholders of this frantic play,\\r\\n Th\\' adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,\\r\\n Untimely smother\\'d in their dusky graves.\\r\\n Richard yet lives, hell\\'s black intelligencer;\\r\\n Only reserv\\'d their factor to buy souls\\r\\n And send them thither. But at hand, at hand,\\r\\n Ensues his piteous and unpitied end.\\r\\n Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray,\\r\\n To have him suddenly convey\\'d from hence.\\r\\n Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray,\\r\\n That I may live and say \\'The dog is dead.\\'\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. O, thou didst prophesy the time would\\r\\n come\\r\\n That I should wish for thee to help me curse\\r\\n That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back\\'d toad!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. I Call\\'d thee then vain flourish of my\\r\\n fortune;\\r\\n I call\\'d thee then poor shadow, painted queen,\\r\\n The presentation of but what I was,\\r\\n The flattering index of a direful pageant,\\r\\n One heav\\'d a-high to be hurl\\'d down below,\\r\\n A mother only mock\\'d with two fair babes,\\r\\n A dream of what thou wast, a garish flag\\r\\n To be the aim of every dangerous shot,\\r\\n A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble,\\r\\n A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.\\r\\n Where is thy husband now? Where be thy brothers?\\r\\n Where be thy two sons? Wherein dost thou joy?\\r\\n Who sues, and kneels, and says \\'God save the Queen\\'?\\r\\n Where be the bending peers that flattered thee?\\r\\n Where be the thronging troops that followed thee?\\r\\n Decline an this, and see what now thou art:\\r\\n For happy wife, a most distressed widow;\\r\\n For joyful mother, one that wails the name;\\r\\n For one being su\\'d to, one that humbly sues;\\r\\n For Queen, a very caitiff crown\\'d with care;\\r\\n For she that scorn\\'d at me, now scorn\\'d of me;\\r\\n For she being fear\\'d of all, now fearing one;\\r\\n For she commanding all, obey\\'d of none.\\r\\n Thus hath the course of justice whirl\\'d about\\r\\n And left thee but a very prey to time,\\r\\n Having no more but thought of what thou wast\\r\\n To torture thee the more, being what thou art.\\r\\n Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not\\r\\n Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow?\\r\\n Now thy proud neck bears half my burden\\'d yoke,\\r\\n From which even here I slip my weary head\\r\\n And leave the burden of it all on thee.\\r\\n Farewell, York\\'s wife, and queen of sad mischance;\\r\\n These English woes shall make me smile in France.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. O thou well skill\\'d in curses, stay awhile\\r\\n And teach me how to curse mine enemies!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the\\r\\n days;\\r\\n Compare dead happiness with living woe;\\r\\n Think that thy babes were sweeter than they were,\\r\\n And he that slew them fouler than he is.\\r\\n Bett\\'ring thy loss makes the bad-causer worse;\\r\\n Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. My words are dull; O, quicken them\\r\\n with thine!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Thy woes will make them sharp and\\r\\n pierce like mine. Exit\\r\\n DUCHESS. Why should calamity be fun of words?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Windy attorneys to their client woes,\\r\\n Airy succeeders of intestate joys,\\r\\n Poor breathing orators of miseries,\\r\\n Let them have scope; though what they will impart\\r\\n Help nothing else, yet do they case the heart.\\r\\n DUCHESS. If so, then be not tongue-tied. Go with me,\\r\\n And in the breath of bitter words let\\'s smother\\r\\n My damned son that thy two sweet sons smother\\'d.\\r\\n The trumpet sounds; be copious in exclaims.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING RICHARD and his train, marching with\\r\\n drums and trumpets\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Who intercepts me in my expedition?\\r\\n DUCHESS. O, she that might have intercepted thee,\\r\\n By strangling thee in her accursed womb,\\r\\n From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Hidest thou that forehead with a golden\\r\\n crown\\r\\n Where\\'t should be branded, if that right were right,\\r\\n The slaughter of the Prince that ow\\'d that crown,\\r\\n And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers?\\r\\n Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my children?\\r\\n DUCHESS. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother\\r\\n Clarence?\\r\\n And little Ned Plantagenet, his son?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan,\\r\\n Grey?\\r\\n DUCHESS. Where is kind Hastings?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. A flourish, trumpets! Strike alarum, drums!\\r\\n Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women\\r\\n Rail on the Lord\\'s anointed. Strike, I say!\\r\\n [Flourish. Alarums]\\r\\n Either be patient and entreat me fair,\\r\\n Or with the clamorous report of war\\r\\n Thus will I drown your exclamations.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Art thou my son?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Then patiently hear my impatience.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Madam, I have a touch of your condition\\r\\n That cannot brook the accent of reproof.\\r\\n DUCHESS. O, let me speak!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Do, then; but I\\'ll not hear.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I will be mild and gentle in my words.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And brief, good mother; for I am in haste.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Art thou so hasty? I have stay\\'d for thee,\\r\\n God knows, in torment and in agony.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And came I not at last to comfort you?\\r\\n DUCHESS. No, by the holy rood, thou know\\'st it well\\r\\n Thou cam\\'st on earth to make the earth my hell.\\r\\n A grievous burden was thy birth to me;\\r\\n Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;\\r\\n Thy school-days frightful, desp\\'rate, wild, and furious;\\r\\n Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous;\\r\\n Thy age confirm\\'d, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody,\\r\\n More mild, but yet more harmful-kind in hatred.\\r\\n What comfortable hour canst thou name\\r\\n That ever grac\\'d me with thy company?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Faith, none but Humphrey Hour, that call\\'d\\r\\n your Grace\\r\\n To breakfast once forth of my company.\\r\\n If I be so disgracious in your eye,\\r\\n Let me march on and not offend you, madam.\\r\\n Strike up the drum.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I prithee hear me speak.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. You speak too bitterly.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Hear me a word;\\r\\n For I shall never speak to thee again.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. So.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Either thou wilt die by God\\'s just ordinance\\r\\n Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror;\\r\\n Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish\\r\\n And never more behold thy face again.\\r\\n Therefore take with thee my most grievous curse,\\r\\n Which in the day of battle tire thee more\\r\\n Than all the complete armour that thou wear\\'st!\\r\\n My prayers on the adverse party fight;\\r\\n And there the little souls of Edward\\'s children\\r\\n Whisper the spirits of thine enemies\\r\\n And promise them success and victory.\\r\\n Bloody thou art; bloody will be thy end.\\r\\n Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend. Exit\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Though far more cause, yet much less\\r\\n spirit to curse\\r\\n Abides in me; I say amen to her.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Stay, madam, I must talk a word with you.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. I have no moe sons of the royal blood\\r\\n For thee to slaughter. For my daughters, Richard,\\r\\n They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens;\\r\\n And therefore level not to hit their lives.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. You have a daughter call\\'d Elizabeth.\\r\\n Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. And must she die for this? O, let her\\r\\n live,\\r\\n And I\\'ll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty,\\r\\n Slander myself as false to Edward\\'s bed,\\r\\n Throw over her the veil of infamy;\\r\\n So she may live unscarr\\'d of bleeding slaughter,\\r\\n I will confess she was not Edward\\'s daughter.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Wrong not her birth; she is a royal\\r\\n Princess.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. To save her life I\\'ll say she is not so.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Her life is safest only in her birth.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. And only in that safety died her\\r\\n brothers.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Lo, at their birth good stars were opposite.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. No, to their lives ill friends were\\r\\n contrary.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. All unavoided is the doom of destiny.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. True, when avoided grace makes destiny.\\r\\n My babes were destin\\'d to a fairer death,\\r\\n If grace had bless\\'d thee with a fairer life.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. You speak as if that I had slain my cousins.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle\\r\\n cozen\\'d\\r\\n Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.\\r\\n Whose hand soever lanc\\'d their tender hearts,\\r\\n Thy head, an indirectly, gave direction.\\r\\n No doubt the murd\\'rous knife was dull and blunt\\r\\n Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart\\r\\n To revel in the entrails of my lambs.\\r\\n But that stiff use of grief makes wild grief tame,\\r\\n My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys\\r\\n Till that my nails were anchor\\'d in thine eyes;\\r\\n And I, in such a desp\\'rate bay of death,\\r\\n Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft,\\r\\n Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise\\r\\n And dangerous success of bloody wars,\\r\\n As I intend more good to you and yours\\r\\n Than ever you or yours by me were harm\\'d!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. What good is cover\\'d with the face of\\r\\n heaven,\\r\\n To be discover\\'d, that can do me good?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. advancement of your children, gentle\\r\\n lady.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their\\r\\n heads?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Unto the dignity and height of Fortune,\\r\\n The high imperial type of this earth\\'s glory.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Flatter my sorrow with report of it;\\r\\n Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour,\\r\\n Canst thou demise to any child of mine?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Even all I have-ay, and myself and all\\r\\n Will I withal endow a child of thine;\\r\\n So in the Lethe of thy angry soul\\r\\n Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs\\r\\n Which thou supposest I have done to thee.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Be brief, lest that the process of thy\\r\\n kindness\\r\\n Last longer telling than thy kindness\\' date.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then know, that from my soul I love thy\\r\\n daughter.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. My daughter\\'s mother thinks it with her\\r\\n soul.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What do you think?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. That thou dost love my daughter from\\r\\n thy soul.\\r\\n So from thy soul\\'s love didst thou love her brothers,\\r\\n And from my heart\\'s love I do thank thee for it.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning.\\r\\n I mean that with my soul I love thy daughter\\r\\n And do intend to make her Queen of England.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Well, then, who dost thou mean shall be\\r\\n her king?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Even he that makes her Queen. Who else\\r\\n should be?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. What, thou?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Even so. How think you of it?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. How canst thou woo her?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. That would I learn of you,\\r\\n As one being best acquainted with her humour.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. And wilt thou learn of me?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Madam, with all my heart.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Send to her, by the man that slew her\\r\\n brothers,\\r\\n A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave\\r\\n \\'Edward\\' and \\'York.\\' Then haply will she weep;\\r\\n Therefore present to her-as sometimes Margaret\\r\\n Did to thy father, steep\\'d in Rutland\\'s blood-\\r\\n A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain\\r\\n The purple sap from her sweet brother\\'s body,\\r\\n And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal.\\r\\n If this inducement move her not to love,\\r\\n Send her a letter of thy noble deeds;\\r\\n Tell her thou mad\\'st away her uncle Clarence,\\r\\n Her uncle Rivers; ay, and for her sake\\r\\n Mad\\'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. You mock me, madam; this is not the way\\r\\n To win your daughter.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. There is no other way;\\r\\n Unless thou couldst put on some other shape\\r\\n And not be Richard that hath done all this.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Say that I did all this for love of her.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but\\r\\n hate thee,\\r\\n Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Look what is done cannot be now amended.\\r\\n Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,\\r\\n Which after-hours gives leisure to repent.\\r\\n If I did take the kingdom from your sons,\\r\\n To make amends I\\'ll give it to your daughter.\\r\\n If I have kill\\'d the issue of your womb,\\r\\n To quicken your increase I will beget\\r\\n Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter.\\r\\n A grandam\\'s name is little less in love\\r\\n Than is the doating title of a mother;\\r\\n They are as children but one step below,\\r\\n Even of your metal, of your very blood;\\r\\n Of all one pain, save for a night of groans\\r\\n Endur\\'d of her, for whom you bid like sorrow.\\r\\n Your children were vexation to your youth;\\r\\n But mine shall be a comfort to your age.\\r\\n The loss you have is but a son being King,\\r\\n And by that loss your daughter is made Queen.\\r\\n I cannot make you what amends I would,\\r\\n Therefore accept such kindness as I can.\\r\\n Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul\\r\\n Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,\\r\\n This fair alliance quickly shall can home\\r\\n To high promotions and great dignity.\\r\\n The King, that calls your beauteous daughter wife,\\r\\n Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother;\\r\\n Again shall you be mother to a king,\\r\\n And all the ruins of distressful times\\r\\n Repair\\'d with double riches of content.\\r\\n What! we have many goodly days to see.\\r\\n The liquid drops of tears that you have shed\\r\\n Shall come again, transform\\'d to orient pearl,\\r\\n Advantaging their loan with interest\\r\\n Of ten times double gain of happiness.\\r\\n Go, then, my mother, to thy daughter go;\\r\\n Make bold her bashful years with your experience;\\r\\n Prepare her ears to hear a wooer\\'s tale;\\r\\n Put in her tender heart th\\' aspiring flame\\r\\n Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the Princes\\r\\n With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys.\\r\\n And when this arm of mine hath chastised\\r\\n The petty rebel, dull-brain\\'d Buckingham,\\r\\n Bound with triumphant garlands will I come,\\r\\n And lead thy daughter to a conqueror\\'s bed;\\r\\n To whom I will retail my conquest won,\\r\\n And she shall be sole victoress, Caesar\\'s Caesar.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. What were I best to say? Her father\\'s\\r\\n brother\\r\\n Would be her lord? Or shall I say her uncle?\\r\\n Or he that slew her brothers and her uncles?\\r\\n Under what title shall I woo for thee\\r\\n That God, the law, my honour, and her love\\r\\n Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Infer fair England\\'s peace by this alliance.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Which she shall purchase with\\r\\n still-lasting war.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Tell her the King, that may command,\\r\\n entreats.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. That at her hands which the King\\'s\\r\\n King forbids.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Say she shall be a high and mighty queen.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. To wail the title, as her mother doth.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Say I will love her everlastingly.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. But how long shall that title \\'ever\\' last?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Sweetly in force unto her fair life\\'s end.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. But how long fairly shall her sweet life\\r\\n last?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. As long as heaven and nature lengthens it.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. As long as hell and Richard likes of it.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Say I, her sovereign, am her subject low.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. But she, your subject, loathes such\\r\\n sovereignty.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Be eloquent in my behalf to her.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. An honest tale speeds best being plainly\\r\\n told.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then plainly to her tell my loving tale.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. O, no, my reasons are too deep and\\r\\n dead-\\r\\n Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Harp not on that string, madam; that is past.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Harp on it still shall I till heartstrings\\r\\n break.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Now, by my George, my garter, and my\\r\\n crown-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Profan\\'d, dishonour\\'d, and the third\\r\\n usurp\\'d.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I swear-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. By nothing; for this is no oath:\\r\\n Thy George, profan\\'d, hath lost his lordly honour;\\r\\n Thy garter, blemish\\'d, pawn\\'d his knightly virtue;\\r\\n Thy crown, usurp\\'d, disgrac\\'d his kingly glory.\\r\\n If something thou wouldst swear to be believ\\'d,\\r\\n Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong\\'d.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then, by my self-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thy self is self-misus\\'d.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Now, by the world-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. \\'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. My father\\'s death-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thy life hath it dishonour\\'d.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, then, by God-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. God\\'s wrong is most of all.\\r\\n If thou didst fear to break an oath with Him,\\r\\n The unity the King my husband made\\r\\n Thou hadst not broken, nor my brothers died.\\r\\n If thou hadst fear\\'d to break an oath by Him,\\r\\n Th\\' imperial metal, circling now thy head,\\r\\n Had grac\\'d the tender temples of my child;\\r\\n And both the Princes had been breathing here,\\r\\n Which now, two tender bedfellows for dust,\\r\\n Thy broken faith hath made the prey for worms.\\r\\n What canst thou swear by now?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. The time to come.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. That thou hast wronged in the time\\r\\n o\\'erpast;\\r\\n For I myself have many tears to wash\\r\\n Hereafter time, for time past wrong\\'d by thee.\\r\\n The children live whose fathers thou hast slaughter\\'d,\\r\\n Ungovern\\'d youth, to wail it in their age;\\r\\n The parents live whose children thou hast butcheed,\\r\\n Old barren plants, to wail it with their age.\\r\\n Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast\\r\\n Misus\\'d ere us\\'d, by times ill-us\\'d o\\'erpast.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. As I intend to prosper and repent,\\r\\n So thrive I in my dangerous affairs\\r\\n Of hostile arms! Myself myself confound!\\r\\n Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours!\\r\\n Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest!\\r\\n Be opposite all planets of good luck\\r\\n To my proceeding!-if, with dear heart\\'s love,\\r\\n Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts,\\r\\n I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter.\\r\\n In her consists my happiness and thine;\\r\\n Without her, follows to myself and thee,\\r\\n Herself, the land, and many a Christian soul,\\r\\n Death, desolation, ruin, and decay.\\r\\n It cannot be avoided but by this;\\r\\n It will not be avoided but by this.\\r\\n Therefore, dear mother-I must call you so-\\r\\n Be the attorney of my love to her;\\r\\n Plead what I will be, not what I have been;\\r\\n Not my deserts, but what I will deserve.\\r\\n Urge the necessity and state of times,\\r\\n And be not peevish-fond in great designs.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, if the devil tempt you to do good.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I forget myself to be myself?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, if your self\\'s remembrance wrong\\r\\n yourself.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Yet thou didst kill my children.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. But in your daughter\\'s womb I bury them;\\r\\n Where, in that nest of spicery, they will breed\\r\\n Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And be a happy mother by the deed.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. I go. Write to me very shortly,\\r\\n And you shall understand from me her mind.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Bear her my true love\\'s kiss; and so, farewell.\\r\\n Kissing her. Exit QUEEN ELIZABETH\\r\\n Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter RATCLIFF; CATESBY following\\r\\n\\r\\n How now! what news?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast\\r\\n Rideth a puissant navy; to our shores\\r\\n Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,\\r\\n Unarm\\'d, and unresolv\\'d to beat them back.\\r\\n \\'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral;\\r\\n And there they hull, expecting but the aid\\r\\n Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of\\r\\n Norfolk.\\r\\n Ratcliff, thyself-or Catesby; where is he?\\r\\n CATESBY. Here, my good lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Catesby, fly to the Duke.\\r\\n CATESBY. I will my lord, with all convenient haste.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ratcliff, come hither. Post to Salisbury;\\r\\n When thou com\\'st thither- [To CATESBY] Dull,\\r\\n unmindfull villain,\\r\\n Why stay\\'st thou here, and go\\'st not to the Duke?\\r\\n CATESBY. First, mighty liege, tell me your Highness\\' pleasure,\\r\\n What from your Grace I shall deliver to him.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O, true, good Catesby. Bid him levy straight\\r\\n The greatest strength and power that he can make\\r\\n And meet me suddenly at Salisbury.\\r\\n CATESBY. I go. Exit\\r\\n RATCLIFF. What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, what wouldst thou do there before I\\r\\n go?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Your Highness told me I should post before.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. My mind is chang\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD STANLEY\\r\\n\\r\\n STANLEY, what news with you?\\r\\n STANLEY. None good, my liege, to please you with\\r\\n the hearing;\\r\\n Nor none so bad but well may be reported.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Hoyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad!\\r\\n What need\\'st thou run so many miles about,\\r\\n When thou mayest tell thy tale the nearest way?\\r\\n Once more, what news?\\r\\n STANLEY. Richmond is on the seas.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. There let him sink, and be the seas on him!\\r\\n White-liver\\'d runagate, what doth he there?\\r\\n STANLEY. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Well, as you guess?\\r\\n STANLEY. Stirr\\'d up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton,\\r\\n He makes for England here to claim the crown.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Is the chair empty? Is the sword unsway\\'d?\\r\\n Is the King dead, the empire unpossess\\'d?\\r\\n What heir of York is there alive but we?\\r\\n And who is England\\'s King but great York\\'s heir?\\r\\n Then tell me what makes he upon the seas.\\r\\n STANLEY. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Unless for that he comes to be your liege,\\r\\n You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes.\\r\\n Thou wilt revolt and fly to him, I fear.\\r\\n STANLEY. No, my good lord; therefore mistrust me not.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Where is thy power then, to beat him back?\\r\\n Where be thy tenants and thy followers?\\r\\n Are they not now upon the western shore,\\r\\n Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships?\\r\\n STANLEY. No, my good lord, my friends are in the north.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Cold friends to me. What do they in the\\r\\n north,\\r\\n When they should serve their sovereign in the west?\\r\\n STANLEY. They have not been commanded, mighty King.\\r\\n Pleaseth your Majesty to give me leave,\\r\\n I\\'ll muster up my friends and meet your Grace\\r\\n Where and what time your Majesty shall please.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with\\r\\n Richmond;\\r\\n But I\\'ll not trust thee.\\r\\n STANLEY. Most mighty sovereign,\\r\\n You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful.\\r\\n I never was nor never will be false.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Go, then, and muster men. But leave behind\\r\\n Your son, George Stanley. Look your heart be firm,\\r\\n Or else his head\\'s assurance is but frail.\\r\\n STANLEY. So deal with him as I prove true to you. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire,\\r\\n As I by friends am well advertised,\\r\\n Sir Edward Courtney and the haughty prelate,\\r\\n Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother,\\r\\n With many moe confederates, are in arms.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND MESSENGER. In Kent, my liege, the Guilfords are in\\r\\n arms;\\r\\n And every hour more competitors\\r\\n Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n THIRD MESSENGER. My lord, the army of great Buckingham-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Out on you, owls! Nothing but songs of\\r\\n death? [He strikes him]\\r\\n There, take thou that till thou bring better news.\\r\\n THIRD MESSENGER. The news I have to tell your Majesty\\r\\n Is that by sudden floods and fall of waters\\r\\n Buckingham\\'s army is dispers\\'d and scatter\\'d;\\r\\n And he himself wand\\'red away alone,\\r\\n No man knows whither.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I cry thee mercy.\\r\\n There is my purse to cure that blow of thine.\\r\\n Hath any well-advised friend proclaim\\'d\\r\\n Reward to him that brings the traitor in?\\r\\n THIRD MESSENGER. Such proclamation hath been made,\\r\\n my Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n FOURTH MESSENGER. Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Marquis\\r\\n Dorset,\\r\\n \\'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms.\\r\\n But this good comfort bring I to your Highness-\\r\\n The Britaine navy is dispers\\'d by tempest.\\r\\n Richmond in Dorsetshire sent out a boat\\r\\n Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks\\r\\n If they were his assistants, yea or no;\\r\\n Who answer\\'d him they came from Buckingham\\r\\n Upon his party. He, mistrusting them,\\r\\n Hois\\'d sail, and made his course again for Britaine.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. March on, march on, since we are up in\\r\\n arms;\\r\\n If not to fight with foreign enemies,\\r\\n Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n CATESBY. My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken-\\r\\n That is the best news. That the Earl of Richmond\\r\\n Is with a mighty power landed at Milford\\r\\n Is colder tidings, yet they must be told.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Away towards Salisbury! While we reason\\r\\n here\\r\\n A royal battle might be won and lost.\\r\\n Some one take order Buckingham be brought\\r\\n To Salisbury; the rest march on with me.\\r\\n Flourish. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD DERBY\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter STANLEY and SIR CHRISTOPHER URSWICK\\r\\n\\r\\n STANLEY. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me:\\r\\n That in the sty of the most deadly boar\\r\\n My son George Stanley is frank\\'d up in hold;\\r\\n If I revolt, off goes young George\\'s head;\\r\\n The fear of that holds off my present aid.\\r\\n So, get thee gone; commend me to thy lord.\\r\\n Withal say that the Queen hath heartily consented\\r\\n He should espouse Elizabeth her daughter.\\r\\n But tell me, where is princely Richmond now?\\r\\n CHRISTOPHER. At Pembroke, or at Ha\\'rford west in Wales.\\r\\n STANLEY. What men of name resort to him?\\r\\n CHRISTOPHER. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier;\\r\\n SIR Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley,\\r\\n OXFORD, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt,\\r\\n And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew;\\r\\n And many other of great name and worth;\\r\\n And towards London do they bend their power,\\r\\n If by the way they be not fought withal.\\r\\n STANLEY. Well, hie thee to thy lord; I kiss his hand;\\r\\n My letter will resolve him of my mind.\\r\\n Farewell. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nSalisbury. An open place\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the SHERIFF and guard, with BUCKINGHAM, led to execution\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Will not King Richard let me speak with\\r\\n him?\\r\\n SHERIFF. No, my good lord; therefore be patient.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Hastings, and Edward\\'s children, Grey, and\\r\\n Rivers,\\r\\n Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward,\\r\\n Vaughan, and all that have miscarried\\r\\n By underhand corrupted foul injustice,\\r\\n If that your moody discontented souls\\r\\n Do through the clouds behold this present hour,\\r\\n Even for revenge mock my destruction!\\r\\n This is All-Souls\\' day, fellow, is it not?\\r\\n SHERIFF. It is, my lord.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Why, then All-Souls\\' day is my body\\'s\\r\\n doomsday.\\r\\n This is the day which in King Edward\\'s time\\r\\n I wish\\'d might fall on me when I was found\\r\\n False to his children and his wife\\'s allies;\\r\\n This is the day wherein I wish\\'d to fall\\r\\n By the false faith of him whom most I trusted;\\r\\n This, this All-Souls\\' day to my fearful soul\\r\\n Is the determin\\'d respite of my wrongs;\\r\\n That high All-Seer which I dallied with\\r\\n Hath turn\\'d my feigned prayer on my head\\r\\n And given in earnest what I begg\\'d in jest.\\r\\n Thus doth He force the swords of wicked men\\r\\n To turn their own points in their masters\\' bosoms.\\r\\n Thus Margaret\\'s curse falls heavy on my neck.\\r\\n \\'When he\\' quoth she \\'shall split thy heart with sorrow,\\r\\n Remember Margaret was a prophetess.\\'\\r\\n Come lead me, officers, to the block of shame;\\r\\n Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nCamp near Tamworth\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter RICHMOND, OXFORD, SIR JAMES BLUNT, SIR WALTER HERBERT, and\\r\\nothers, with drum and colours\\r\\n\\r\\n RICHMOND. Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends,\\r\\n Bruis\\'d underneath the yoke of tyranny,\\r\\n Thus far into the bowels of the land\\r\\n Have we march\\'d on without impediment;\\r\\n And here receive we from our father Stanley\\r\\n Lines of fair comfort and encouragement.\\r\\n The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar,\\r\\n That spoil\\'d your summer fields and fruitful vines,\\r\\n Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough\\r\\n In your embowell\\'d bosoms-this foul swine\\r\\n Is now even in the centre of this isle,\\r\\n Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn.\\r\\n From Tamworth thither is but one day\\'s march.\\r\\n In God\\'s name cheerly on, courageous friends,\\r\\n To reap the harvest of perpetual peace\\r\\n By this one bloody trial of sharp war.\\r\\n OXFORD. Every man\\'s conscience is a thousand men,\\r\\n To fight against this guilty homicide.\\r\\n HERBERT. I doubt not but his friends will turn to us.\\r\\n BLUNT. He hath no friends but what are friends for fear,\\r\\n Which in his dearest need will fly from him.\\r\\n RICHMOND. All for our vantage. Then in God\\'s name march.\\r\\n True hope is swift and flies with swallow\\'s wings;\\r\\n Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nBosworth Field\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter KING RICHARD in arms, with NORFOLK, RATCLIFF, the EARL of SURREYS\\r\\nand others\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Here pitch our tent, even here in Bosworth\\r\\n field.\\r\\n My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad?\\r\\n SURREY. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. My Lord of Norfolk!\\r\\n NORFOLK. Here, most gracious liege.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Norfolk, we must have knocks; ha! must we\\r\\n not?\\r\\n NORFOLK. We must both give and take, my loving lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Up With my tent! Here will I lie to-night;\\r\\n [Soldiers begin to set up the KING\\'S tent]\\r\\n But where to-morrow? Well, all\\'s one for that.\\r\\n Who hath descried the number of the traitors?\\r\\n NORFOLK. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, our battalia trebles that account;\\r\\n Besides, the King\\'s name is a tower of strength,\\r\\n Which they upon the adverse faction want.\\r\\n Up with the tent! Come, noble gentlemen,\\r\\n Let us survey the vantage of the ground.\\r\\n Call for some men of sound direction.\\r\\n Let\\'s lack no discipline, make no delay;\\r\\n For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, on the other side of the field,\\r\\n RICHMOND, SIR WILLIAM BRANDON, OXFORD, DORSET,\\r\\n and others. Some pitch RICHMOND\\'S tent\\r\\n\\r\\n RICHMOND. The weary sun hath made a golden set,\\r\\n And by the bright tract of his fiery car\\r\\n Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow.\\r\\n Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard.\\r\\n Give me some ink and paper in my tent.\\r\\n I\\'ll draw the form and model of our battle,\\r\\n Limit each leader to his several charge,\\r\\n And part in just proportion our small power.\\r\\n My Lord of Oxford-you, Sir William Brandon-\\r\\n And you, Sir Walter Herbert-stay with me.\\r\\n The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment;\\r\\n Good Captain Blunt, bear my good night to him,\\r\\n And by the second hour in the morning\\r\\n Desire the Earl to see me in my tent.\\r\\n Yet one thing more, good Captain, do for me-\\r\\n Where is Lord Stanley quarter\\'d, do you know?\\r\\n BLUNT. Unless I have mista\\'en his colours much-\\r\\n Which well I am assur\\'d I have not done-\\r\\n His regiment lies half a mile at least\\r\\n South from the mighty power of the King.\\r\\n RICHMOND. If without peril it be possible,\\r\\n Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with him\\r\\n And give him from me this most needful note.\\r\\n BLUNT. Upon my life, my lord, I\\'ll undertake it;\\r\\n And so, God give you quiet rest to-night!\\r\\n RICHMOND. Good night, good Captain Blunt. Come,\\r\\n gentlemen,\\r\\n Let us consult upon to-morrow\\'s business.\\r\\n In to my tent; the dew is raw and cold.\\r\\n [They withdraw into the tent]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, to his-tent, KING RICHARD, NORFOLK,\\r\\n RATCLIFF, and CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What is\\'t o\\'clock?\\r\\n CATESBY. It\\'s supper-time, my lord;\\r\\n It\\'s nine o\\'clock.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I will not sup to-night.\\r\\n Give me some ink and paper.\\r\\n What, is my beaver easier than it was?\\r\\n And all my armour laid into my tent?\\r\\n CATESBY. It is, my liege; and all things are in readiness.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge;\\r\\n Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels.\\r\\n NORFOLK. I go, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Norfolk.\\r\\n NORFOLK. I warrant you, my lord. Exit\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Catesby!\\r\\n CATESBY. My lord?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Send out a pursuivant-at-arms\\r\\n To Stanley\\'s regiment; bid him bring his power\\r\\n Before sunrising, lest his son George fall\\r\\n Into the blind cave of eternal night. Exit CATESBY\\r\\n Fill me a bowl of wine. Give me a watch.\\r\\n Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow.\\r\\n Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy.\\r\\n Ratcliff!\\r\\n RATCLIFF. My lord?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Saw\\'st thou the melancholy Lord\\r\\n Northumberland?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Thomas the Earl of Surrey and himself,\\r\\n Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop\\r\\n Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. So, I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine.\\r\\n I have not that alacrity of spirit\\r\\n Nor cheer of mind that I was wont to have.\\r\\n Set it down. Is ink and paper ready?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. It is, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Bid my guard watch; leave me.\\r\\n RATCLIFF, about the mid of night come to my tent\\r\\n And help to arm me. Leave me, I say.\\r\\n Exit RATCLIFF. RICHARD sleeps\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DERBY to RICHMOND in his tent;\\r\\n LORDS attending\\r\\n\\r\\n DERBY. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm!\\r\\n RICHMOND. All comfort that the dark night can afford\\r\\n Be to thy person, noble father-in-law!\\r\\n Tell me, how fares our loving mother?\\r\\n DERBY. I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother,\\r\\n Who prays continually for Richmond\\'s good.\\r\\n So much for that. The silent hours steal on,\\r\\n And flaky darkness breaks within the east.\\r\\n In brief, for so the season bids us be,\\r\\n Prepare thy battle early in the morning,\\r\\n And put thy fortune to the arbitrement\\r\\n Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war.\\r\\n I, as I may-that which I would I cannot-\\r\\n With best advantage will deceive the time\\r\\n And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms;\\r\\n But on thy side I may not be too forward,\\r\\n Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George,\\r\\n Be executed in his father\\'s sight.\\r\\n Farewell; the leisure and the fearful time\\r\\n Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love\\r\\n And ample interchange of sweet discourse\\r\\n Which so-long-sund\\'red friends should dwell upon.\\r\\n God give us leisure for these rites of love!\\r\\n Once more, adieu; be valiant, and speed well!\\r\\n RICHMOND. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment.\\r\\n I\\'ll strive with troubled thoughts to take a nap,\\r\\n Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow\\r\\n When I should mount with wings of victory.\\r\\n Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen.\\r\\n Exeunt all but RICHMOND\\r\\n O Thou, whose captain I account myself,\\r\\n Look on my forces with a gracious eye;\\r\\n Put in their hands Thy bruising irons of wrath,\\r\\n That they may crush down with a heavy fall\\r\\n The usurping helmets of our adversaries!\\r\\n Make us Thy ministers of chastisement,\\r\\n That we may praise Thee in the victory!\\r\\n To Thee I do commend my watchful soul\\r\\n Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes.\\r\\n Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still! [Sleeps]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST Of YOUNG PRINCE EDWARD,\\r\\n son to HENRY THE SIXTH\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] Let me sit heavy on thy soul\\r\\n to-morrow!\\r\\n Think how thou stabb\\'dst me in my prime of youth\\r\\n At Tewksbury; despair, therefore, and die!\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Be cheerful, Richmond; for the wronged\\r\\n souls\\r\\n Of butcher\\'d princes fight in thy behalf.\\r\\n King Henry\\'s issue, Richmond, comforts thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST of HENRY THE SIXTH\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] When I was mortal, my anointed\\r\\n body\\r\\n By thee was punched full of deadly holes.\\r\\n Think on the Tower and me. Despair, and die.\\r\\n Harry the Sixth bids thee despair and die.\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror!\\r\\n Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be King,\\r\\n Doth comfort thee in thy sleep. Live and flourish!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST of CLARENCE\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] Let me sit heavy in thy soul\\r\\n to-morrow! I that was wash\\'d to death with fulsome wine,\\r\\n Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray\\'d to death!\\r\\n To-morrow in the battle think on me,\\r\\n And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die!\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster,\\r\\n The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee.\\r\\n Good angels guard thy battle! Live and flourish!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOSTS of RIVERS, GREY, and VAUGHAN\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST OF RIVERS. [To RICHARD] Let me sit heavy in thy\\r\\n soul to-morrow,\\r\\n Rivers that died at Pomfret! Despair and die!\\r\\n GHOST OF GREY. [To RICHARD] Think upon Grey, and let\\r\\n thy soul despair!\\r\\n GHOST OF VAUGHAN. [To RICHARD] Think upon Vaughan,\\r\\n and with guilty fear\\r\\n Let fall thy lance. Despair and die!\\r\\n ALL. [To RICHMOND] Awake, and think our wrongs in\\r\\n Richard\\'s bosom\\r\\n Will conquer him. Awake and win the day.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST of HASTINGS\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake,\\r\\n And in a bloody battle end thy days!\\r\\n Think on Lord Hastings. Despair and die.\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake!\\r\\n Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England\\'s sake!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOSTS of the two young PRINCES\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOSTS. [To RICHARD] Dream on thy cousins smothered in\\r\\n the Tower.\\r\\n Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard,\\r\\n And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death!\\r\\n Thy nephews\\' souls bid thee despair and die.\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and\\r\\n wake in joy;\\r\\n Good angels guard thee from the boar\\'s annoy!\\r\\n Live, and beget a happy race of kings!\\r\\n Edward\\'s unhappy sons do bid thee flourish.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST of LADY ANNE, his wife\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] Richard, thy wife, that wretched\\r\\n Anne thy wife\\r\\n That never slept a quiet hour with thee\\r\\n Now fills thy sleep with perturbations.\\r\\n To-morrow in the battle think on me,\\r\\n And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die.\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep;\\r\\n Dream of success and happy victory.\\r\\n Thy adversary\\'s wife doth pray for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST of BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] The first was I that help\\'d thee\\r\\n to the crown;\\r\\n The last was I that felt thy tyranny.\\r\\n O, in the battle think on Buckingham,\\r\\n And die in terror of thy guiltiness!\\r\\n Dream on, dream on of bloody deeds and death;\\r\\n Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath!\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] I died for hope ere I could lend thee aid;\\r\\n But cheer thy heart and be thou not dismay\\'d:\\r\\n God and good angels fight on Richmond\\'s side;\\r\\n And Richard falls in height of all his pride.\\r\\n [The GHOSTS vanish. RICHARD starts out of his dream]\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Give me another horse. Bind up my wounds.\\r\\n Have mercy, Jesu! Soft! I did but dream.\\r\\n O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!\\r\\n The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.\\r\\n Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.\\r\\n What do I fear? Myself? There\\'s none else by.\\r\\n Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.\\r\\n Is there a murderer here? No-yes, I am.\\r\\n Then fly. What, from myself? Great reason why-\\r\\n Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself!\\r\\n Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? For any good\\r\\n That I myself have done unto myself?\\r\\n O, no! Alas, I rather hate myself\\r\\n For hateful deeds committed by myself!\\r\\n I am a villain; yet I lie, I am not.\\r\\n Fool, of thyself speak well. Fool, do not flatter.\\r\\n My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,\\r\\n And every tongue brings in a several tale,\\r\\n And every tale condemns me for a villain.\\r\\n Perjury, perjury, in the high\\'st degree;\\r\\n Murder, stern murder, in the dir\\'st degree;\\r\\n All several sins, all us\\'d in each degree,\\r\\n Throng to the bar, crying all \\'Guilty! guilty!\\'\\r\\n I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;\\r\\n And if I die no soul will pity me:\\r\\n And wherefore should they, since that I myself\\r\\n Find in myself no pity to myself?\\r\\n Methought the souls of all that I had murder\\'d\\r\\n Came to my tent, and every one did threat\\r\\n To-morrow\\'s vengeance on the head of Richard.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter RATCLIFF\\r\\n\\r\\n RATCLIFF. My lord!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Zounds, who is there?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Ratcliff, my lord; \\'tis I. The early village-cock\\r\\n Hath twice done salutation to the morn;\\r\\n Your friends are up and buckle on their armour.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O Ratcliff, I have dream\\'d a fearful dream!\\r\\n What think\\'st thou-will our friends prove all true?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. No doubt, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O Ratcliff, I fear, I fear.\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows.\\r\\n KING RICHARD By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night\\r\\n Have stuck more terror to the soul of Richard\\r\\n Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers\\r\\n Armed in proof and led by shallow Richmond.\\r\\n \\'Tis not yet near day. Come, go with me;\\r\\n Under our tents I\\'ll play the eaves-dropper,\\r\\n To see if any mean to shrink from me. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the LORDS to RICHMOND sitting in his tent\\r\\n\\r\\n LORDS. Good morrow, Richmond!\\r\\n RICHMOND. Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen,\\r\\n That you have ta\\'en a tardy sluggard here.\\r\\n LORDS. How have you slept, my lord?\\r\\n RICHMOND. The sweetest sleep and fairest-boding dreams\\r\\n That ever ent\\'red in a drowsy head\\r\\n Have I since your departure had, my lords.\\r\\n Methought their souls whose bodies Richard murder\\'d\\r\\n Came to my tent and cried on victory.\\r\\n I promise you my soul is very jocund\\r\\n In the remembrance of so fair a dream.\\r\\n How far into the morning is it, lords?\\r\\n LORDS. Upon the stroke of four.\\r\\n RICHMOND. Why, then \\'tis time to arm and give direction.\\r\\n\\r\\n His ORATION to his SOLDIERS\\r\\n\\r\\n More than I have said, loving countrymen,\\r\\n The leisure and enforcement of the time\\r\\n Forbids to dwell upon; yet remember this:\\r\\n God and our good cause fight upon our side;\\r\\n The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls,\\r\\n Like high-rear\\'d bulwarks, stand before our faces;\\r\\n Richard except, those whom we fight against\\r\\n Had rather have us win than him they follow.\\r\\n For what is he they follow? Truly, gentlemen,\\r\\n A bloody tyrant and a homicide;\\r\\n One rais\\'d in blood, and one in blood establish\\'d;\\r\\n One that made means to come by what he hath,\\r\\n And slaughtered those that were the means to help him;\\r\\n A base foul stone, made precious by the foil\\r\\n Of England\\'s chair, where he is falsely set;\\r\\n One that hath ever been God\\'s enemy.\\r\\n Then if you fight against God\\'s enemy,\\r\\n God will in justice ward you as his soldiers;\\r\\n If you do sweat to put a tyrant down,\\r\\n You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain;\\r\\n If you do fight against your country\\'s foes,\\r\\n Your country\\'s foes shall pay your pains the hire;\\r\\n If you do fight in safeguard of your wives,\\r\\n Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors;\\r\\n If you do free your children from the sword,\\r\\n Your children\\'s children quits it in your age.\\r\\n Then, in the name of God and all these rights,\\r\\n Advance your standards, draw your willing swords.\\r\\n For me, the ransom of my bold attempt\\r\\n Shall be this cold corpse on the earth\\'s cold face;\\r\\n But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt\\r\\n The least of you shall share his part thereof.\\r\\n Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully;\\r\\n God and Saint George! Richmond and victory! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter KING RICHARD, RATCLIFF, attendants,\\r\\n and forces\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What said Northumberland as touching\\r\\n Richmond?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. That he was never trained up in arms.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. He said the truth; and what said Surrey\\r\\n then?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. He smil\\'d, and said \\'The better for our purpose.\\'\\r\\n KING He was in the right; and so indeed it is.\\r\\n [Clock strikes]\\r\\n Tell the clock there. Give me a calendar.\\r\\n Who saw the sun to-day?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Not I, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then he disdains to shine; for by the book\\r\\n He should have brav\\'d the east an hour ago.\\r\\n A black day will it be to somebody.\\r\\n Ratcliff!\\r\\n RATCLIFF. My lord?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. The sun will not be seen to-day;\\r\\n The sky doth frown and lour upon our army.\\r\\n I would these dewy tears were from the ground.\\r\\n Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me\\r\\n More than to Richmond? For the selfsame heaven\\r\\n That frowns on me looks sadly upon him.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NORFOLK\\r\\n\\r\\n NORFOLK. Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Come, bustle, bustle; caparison my horse;\\r\\n Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power.\\r\\n I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain,\\r\\n And thus my battle shall be ordered:\\r\\n My foreward shall be drawn out all in length,\\r\\n Consisting equally of horse and foot;\\r\\n Our archers shall be placed in the midst.\\r\\n John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey,\\r\\n Shall have the leading of this foot and horse.\\r\\n They thus directed, we will follow\\r\\n In the main battle, whose puissance on either side\\r\\n Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse.\\r\\n This, and Saint George to boot! What think\\'st thou,\\r\\n Norfolk?\\r\\n NORFOLK. A good direction, warlike sovereign.\\r\\n This found I on my tent this morning.\\r\\n [He sheweth him a paper]\\r\\n KING RICHARD. [Reads]\\r\\n \\'Jockey of Norfolk, be not so bold,\\r\\n For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.\\'\\r\\n A thing devised by the enemy.\\r\\n Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge.\\r\\n Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls;\\r\\n Conscience is but a word that cowards use,\\r\\n Devis\\'d at first to keep the strong in awe.\\r\\n Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law.\\r\\n March on, join bravely, let us to it pell-mell;\\r\\n If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.\\r\\n\\r\\n His ORATION to his ARMY\\r\\n\\r\\n What shall I say more than I have inferr\\'d?\\r\\n Remember whom you are to cope withal-\\r\\n A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways,\\r\\n A scum of Britaines, and base lackey peasants,\\r\\n Whom their o\\'er-cloyed country vomits forth\\r\\n To desperate adventures and assur\\'d destruction.\\r\\n You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest;\\r\\n You having lands, and bless\\'d with beauteous wives,\\r\\n They would restrain the one, distain the other.\\r\\n And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow,\\r\\n Long kept in Britaine at our mother\\'s cost?\\r\\n A milk-sop, one that never in his life\\r\\n Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow?\\r\\n Let\\'s whip these stragglers o\\'er the seas again;\\r\\n Lash hence these over-weening rags of France,\\r\\n These famish\\'d beggars, weary of their lives;\\r\\n Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit,\\r\\n For want of means, poor rats, had hang\\'d themselves.\\r\\n If we be conquered, let men conquer us,\\r\\n And not these bastard Britaines, whom our fathers\\r\\n Have in their own land beaten, bobb\\'d, and thump\\'d,\\r\\n And, in record, left them the heirs of shame.\\r\\n Shall these enjoy our lands? lie with our wives,\\r\\n Ravish our daughters? [Drum afar off] Hark! I hear their\\r\\n drum.\\r\\n Fight, gentlemen of England! Fight, bold yeomen!\\r\\n Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head!\\r\\n Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood;\\r\\n Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n What says Lord Stanley? Will he bring his power?\\r\\n MESSENGER. My lord, he doth deny to come.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Off with his son George\\'s head!\\r\\n NORFOLK. My lord, the enemy is pass\\'d the marsh.\\r\\n After the battle let George Stanley die.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. A thousand hearts are great within my\\r\\n bosom.\\r\\n Advance our standards, set upon our foes;\\r\\n Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George,\\r\\n Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!\\r\\n Upon them! Victory sits on our helms. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnother part of the field\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum; excursions. Enter NORFOLK and forces; to him CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n CATESBY. Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue!\\r\\n The King enacts more wonders than a man,\\r\\n Daring an opposite to every danger.\\r\\n His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights,\\r\\n Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death.\\r\\n Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarums. Enter KING RICHARD\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!\\r\\n CATESBY. Withdraw, my lord! I\\'ll help you to a horse.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast\\r\\n And I Will stand the hazard of the die.\\r\\n I think there be six Richmonds in the field;\\r\\n Five have I slain to-day instead of him.\\r\\n A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnother part of the field\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum. Enter RICHARD and RICHMOND; they fight; RICHARD is slain.\\r\\nRetreat and flourish. Enter RICHMOND, DERBY bearing the crown, with\\r\\nother LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n RICHMOND. God and your arms be prais\\'d, victorious friends;\\r\\n The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead.\\r\\n DERBY. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee!\\r\\n Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty\\r\\n From the dead temples of this bloody wretch\\r\\n Have I pluck\\'d off, to grace thy brows withal.\\r\\n Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it.\\r\\n RICHMOND. Great God of heaven, say Amen to all!\\r\\n But, teLL me is young George Stanley living.\\r\\n DERBY. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town,\\r\\n Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us.\\r\\n RICHMOND. What men of name are slain on either side?\\r\\n DERBY. John Duke of Norfolk, Walter Lord Ferrers,\\r\\n Sir Robert Brakenbury, and Sir William Brandon.\\r\\n RICHMOND. Inter their bodies as becomes their births.\\r\\n Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled\\r\\n That in submission will return to us.\\r\\n And then, as we have ta\\'en the sacrament,\\r\\n We will unite the white rose and the red.\\r\\n Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction,\\r\\n That long have frown\\'d upon their emnity!\\r\\n What traitor hears me, and says not Amen?\\r\\n England hath long been mad, and scarr\\'d herself;\\r\\n The brother blindly shed the brother\\'s blood,\\r\\n The father rashly slaughter\\'d his own son,\\r\\n The son, compell\\'d, been butcher to the sire;\\r\\n All this divided York and Lancaster,\\r\\n Divided in their dire division,\\r\\n O, now let Richmond and Elizabeth,\\r\\n The true succeeders of each royal house,\\r\\n By God\\'s fair ordinance conjoin together!\\r\\n And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so,\\r\\n Enrich the time to come with smooth-fac\\'d peace,\\r\\n With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days!\\r\\n Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord,\\r\\n That would reduce these bloody days again\\r\\n And make poor England weep in streams of blood!\\r\\n Let them not live to taste this land\\'s increase\\r\\n That would with treason wound this fair land\\'s peace!\\r\\n Now civil wounds are stopp\\'d, peace lives again-\\r\\n That she may long live here, God say Amen! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE TRAGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE PROLOGUE.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. A public place.\\r\\nScene II. A Street.\\r\\nScene III. Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\nScene IV. A Street.\\r\\nScene V. A Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nScene I. An open place adjoining Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\nScene II. Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\nScene III. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\nScene IV. A Street.\\r\\nScene V. Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\nScene VI. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. A public Place.\\r\\nScene II. A Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\nScene III. Friar Lawrence’s cell.\\r\\nScene IV. A Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\nScene V. An open Gallery to Juliet’s Chamber, overlooking the Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\nScene II. Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\nScene III. Juliet’s Chamber.\\r\\nScene IV. Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\nScene V. Juliet’s Chamber; Juliet on the bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Mantua. A Street.\\r\\nScene II. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\nScene III. A churchyard; in it a Monument belonging to the Capulets.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nESCALUS, Prince of Verona.\\r\\nMERCUTIO, kinsman to the Prince, and friend to Romeo.\\r\\nPARIS, a young Nobleman, kinsman to the Prince.\\r\\nPage to Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE, head of a Veronese family at feud with the Capulets.\\r\\nLADY MONTAGUE, wife to Montague.\\r\\nROMEO, son to Montague.\\r\\nBENVOLIO, nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo.\\r\\nABRAM, servant to Montague.\\r\\nBALTHASAR, servant to Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET, head of a Veronese family at feud with the Montagues.\\r\\nLADY CAPULET, wife to Capulet.\\r\\nJULIET, daughter to Capulet.\\r\\nTYBALT, nephew to Lady Capulet.\\r\\nCAPULET’S COUSIN, an old man.\\r\\nNURSE to Juliet.\\r\\nPETER, servant to Juliet’s Nurse.\\r\\nSAMPSON, servant to Capulet.\\r\\nGREGORY, servant to Capulet.\\r\\nServants.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE, a Franciscan.\\r\\nFRIAR JOHN, of the same Order.\\r\\nAn Apothecary.\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nThree Musicians.\\r\\nAn Officer.\\r\\nCitizens of Verona; several Men and Women, relations to both houses;\\r\\nMaskers, Guards, Watchmen and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE. During the greater part of the Play in Verona; once, in the\\r\\nFifth Act, at Mantua.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE PROLOGUE\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nTwo households, both alike in dignity,\\r\\nIn fair Verona, where we lay our scene,\\r\\nFrom ancient grudge break to new mutiny,\\r\\nWhere civil blood makes civil hands unclean.\\r\\nFrom forth the fatal loins of these two foes\\r\\nA pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life;\\r\\nWhose misadventur’d piteous overthrows\\r\\nDoth with their death bury their parents’ strife.\\r\\nThe fearful passage of their death-mark’d love,\\r\\nAnd the continuance of their parents’ rage,\\r\\nWhich, but their children’s end, nought could remove,\\r\\nIs now the two hours’ traffic of our stage;\\r\\nThe which, if you with patient ears attend,\\r\\nWhat here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A public place.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sampson and Gregory armed with swords and bucklers.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nGregory, on my word, we’ll not carry coals.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nNo, for then we should be colliers.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nI mean, if we be in choler, we’ll draw.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nAy, while you live, draw your neck out o’ the collar.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nI strike quickly, being moved.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nBut thou art not quickly moved to strike.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nA dog of the house of Montague moves me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nTo move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if thou\\r\\nart moved, thou runn’st away.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nA dog of that house shall move me to stand.\\r\\nI will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nThat shows thee a weak slave, for the weakest goes to the wall.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nTrue, and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to\\r\\nthe wall: therefore I will push Montague’s men from the wall, and\\r\\nthrust his maids to the wall.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nThe quarrel is between our masters and us their men.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\n’Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the\\r\\nmen I will be civil with the maids, I will cut off their heads.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nThe heads of the maids?\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nAy, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense\\r\\nthou wilt.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nThey must take it in sense that feel it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nMe they shall feel while I am able to stand: and ’tis known I am a\\r\\npretty piece of flesh.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\n’Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John.\\r\\nDraw thy tool; here comes of the house of Montagues.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Abram and Balthasar.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nMy naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nHow? Turn thy back and run?\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nFear me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nNo, marry; I fear thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nLet us take the law of our sides; let them begin.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nI will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nNay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them, which is disgrace to\\r\\nthem if they bear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nABRAM.\\r\\nDo you bite your thumb at us, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nI do bite my thumb, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nABRAM.\\r\\nDo you bite your thumb at us, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nIs the law of our side if I say ay?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nNo sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nDo you quarrel, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nABRAM.\\r\\nQuarrel, sir? No, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nBut if you do, sir, am for you. I serve as good a man as you.\\r\\n\\r\\nABRAM.\\r\\nNo better.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nWell, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nSay better; here comes one of my master’s kinsmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nYes, better, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nABRAM.\\r\\nYou lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nDraw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy washing blow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nPart, fools! put up your swords, you know not what you do.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Beats down their swords._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Tybalt.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nWhat, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?\\r\\nTurn thee Benvolio, look upon thy death.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nI do but keep the peace, put up thy sword,\\r\\nOr manage it to part these men with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nWhat, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word\\r\\nAs I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:\\r\\nHave at thee, coward.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter three or four Citizens with clubs.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nClubs, bills and partisans! Strike! Beat them down!\\r\\nDown with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet in his gown, and Lady Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhat noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nA crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a sword?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nMy sword, I say! Old Montague is come,\\r\\nAnd flourishes his blade in spite of me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Montague and his Lady Montague.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nThou villain Capulet! Hold me not, let me go.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MONTAGUE.\\r\\nThou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Prince Escalus, with Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nRebellious subjects, enemies to peace,\\r\\nProfaners of this neighbour-stained steel,—\\r\\nWill they not hear? What, ho! You men, you beasts,\\r\\nThat quench the fire of your pernicious rage\\r\\nWith purple fountains issuing from your veins,\\r\\nOn pain of torture, from those bloody hands\\r\\nThrow your mistemper’d weapons to the ground\\r\\nAnd hear the sentence of your moved prince.\\r\\nThree civil brawls, bred of an airy word,\\r\\nBy thee, old Capulet, and Montague,\\r\\nHave thrice disturb’d the quiet of our streets,\\r\\nAnd made Verona’s ancient citizens\\r\\nCast by their grave beseeming ornaments,\\r\\nTo wield old partisans, in hands as old,\\r\\nCanker’d with peace, to part your canker’d hate.\\r\\nIf ever you disturb our streets again,\\r\\nYour lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.\\r\\nFor this time all the rest depart away:\\r\\nYou, Capulet, shall go along with me,\\r\\nAnd Montague, come you this afternoon,\\r\\nTo know our farther pleasure in this case,\\r\\nTo old Free-town, our common judgement-place.\\r\\nOnce more, on pain of death, all men depart.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Prince and Attendants; Capulet, Lady Capulet, Tybalt,\\r\\n Citizens and Servants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nWho set this ancient quarrel new abroach?\\r\\nSpeak, nephew, were you by when it began?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nHere were the servants of your adversary\\r\\nAnd yours, close fighting ere I did approach.\\r\\nI drew to part them, in the instant came\\r\\nThe fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar’d,\\r\\nWhich, as he breath’d defiance to my ears,\\r\\nHe swung about his head, and cut the winds,\\r\\nWho nothing hurt withal, hiss’d him in scorn.\\r\\nWhile we were interchanging thrusts and blows\\r\\nCame more and more, and fought on part and part,\\r\\nTill the Prince came, who parted either part.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MONTAGUE.\\r\\nO where is Romeo, saw you him today?\\r\\nRight glad I am he was not at this fray.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nMadam, an hour before the worshipp’d sun\\r\\nPeer’d forth the golden window of the east,\\r\\nA troubled mind drave me to walk abroad,\\r\\nWhere underneath the grove of sycamore\\r\\nThat westward rooteth from this city side,\\r\\nSo early walking did I see your son.\\r\\nTowards him I made, but he was ware of me,\\r\\nAnd stole into the covert of the wood.\\r\\nI, measuring his affections by my own,\\r\\nWhich then most sought where most might not be found,\\r\\nBeing one too many by my weary self,\\r\\nPursu’d my humour, not pursuing his,\\r\\nAnd gladly shunn’d who gladly fled from me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nMany a morning hath he there been seen,\\r\\nWith tears augmenting the fresh morning’s dew,\\r\\nAdding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;\\r\\nBut all so soon as the all-cheering sun\\r\\nShould in the farthest east begin to draw\\r\\nThe shady curtains from Aurora’s bed,\\r\\nAway from light steals home my heavy son,\\r\\nAnd private in his chamber pens himself,\\r\\nShuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out\\r\\nAnd makes himself an artificial night.\\r\\nBlack and portentous must this humour prove,\\r\\nUnless good counsel may the cause remove.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nMy noble uncle, do you know the cause?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nI neither know it nor can learn of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nHave you importun’d him by any means?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nBoth by myself and many other friends;\\r\\nBut he, his own affections’ counsellor,\\r\\nIs to himself—I will not say how true—\\r\\nBut to himself so secret and so close,\\r\\nSo far from sounding and discovery,\\r\\nAs is the bud bit with an envious worm\\r\\nEre he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,\\r\\nOr dedicate his beauty to the sun.\\r\\nCould we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,\\r\\nWe would as willingly give cure as know.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nSee, where he comes. So please you step aside;\\r\\nI’ll know his grievance or be much denied.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nI would thou wert so happy by thy stay\\r\\nTo hear true shrift. Come, madam, let’s away,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Montague and Lady Montague._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nGood morrow, cousin.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIs the day so young?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nBut new struck nine.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAy me, sad hours seem long.\\r\\nWas that my father that went hence so fast?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nIt was. What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNot having that which, having, makes them short.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nIn love?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nOut.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nOf love?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nOut of her favour where I am in love.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAlas that love so gentle in his view,\\r\\nShould be so tyrannous and rough in proof.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAlas that love, whose view is muffled still,\\r\\nShould, without eyes, see pathways to his will!\\r\\nWhere shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?\\r\\nYet tell me not, for I have heard it all.\\r\\nHere’s much to do with hate, but more with love:\\r\\nWhy, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!\\r\\nO anything, of nothing first create!\\r\\nO heavy lightness! serious vanity!\\r\\nMisshapen chaos of well-seeming forms!\\r\\nFeather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!\\r\\nStill-waking sleep, that is not what it is!\\r\\nThis love feel I, that feel no love in this.\\r\\nDost thou not laugh?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nNo coz, I rather weep.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGood heart, at what?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAt thy good heart’s oppression.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhy such is love’s transgression.\\r\\nGriefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,\\r\\nWhich thou wilt propagate to have it prest\\r\\nWith more of thine. This love that thou hast shown\\r\\nDoth add more grief to too much of mine own.\\r\\nLove is a smoke made with the fume of sighs;\\r\\nBeing purg’d, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes;\\r\\nBeing vex’d, a sea nourish’d with lovers’ tears:\\r\\nWhat is it else? A madness most discreet,\\r\\nA choking gall, and a preserving sweet.\\r\\nFarewell, my coz.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Going._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nSoft! I will go along:\\r\\nAnd if you leave me so, you do me wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nTut! I have lost myself; I am not here.\\r\\nThis is not Romeo, he’s some other where.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nTell me in sadness who is that you love?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat, shall I groan and tell thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nGroan! Why, no; but sadly tell me who.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBid a sick man in sadness make his will,\\r\\nA word ill urg’d to one that is so ill.\\r\\nIn sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nI aim’d so near when I suppos’d you lov’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nA right good markman, and she’s fair I love.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nA right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWell, in that hit you miss: she’ll not be hit\\r\\nWith Cupid’s arrow, she hath Dian’s wit;\\r\\nAnd in strong proof of chastity well arm’d,\\r\\nFrom love’s weak childish bow she lives uncharm’d.\\r\\nShe will not stay the siege of loving terms\\r\\nNor bide th’encounter of assailing eyes,\\r\\nNor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:\\r\\nO she’s rich in beauty, only poor\\r\\nThat when she dies, with beauty dies her store.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThen she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nShe hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste;\\r\\nFor beauty starv’d with her severity,\\r\\nCuts beauty off from all posterity.\\r\\nShe is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair,\\r\\nTo merit bliss by making me despair.\\r\\nShe hath forsworn to love, and in that vow\\r\\nDo I live dead, that live to tell it now.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nBe rul’d by me, forget to think of her.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO teach me how I should forget to think.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nBy giving liberty unto thine eyes;\\r\\nExamine other beauties.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\n’Tis the way\\r\\nTo call hers, exquisite, in question more.\\r\\nThese happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows,\\r\\nBeing black, puts us in mind they hide the fair;\\r\\nHe that is strucken blind cannot forget\\r\\nThe precious treasure of his eyesight lost.\\r\\nShow me a mistress that is passing fair,\\r\\nWhat doth her beauty serve but as a note\\r\\nWhere I may read who pass’d that passing fair?\\r\\nFarewell, thou canst not teach me to forget.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nI’ll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet, Paris and Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nBut Montague is bound as well as I,\\r\\nIn penalty alike; and ’tis not hard, I think,\\r\\nFor men so old as we to keep the peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nOf honourable reckoning are you both,\\r\\nAnd pity ’tis you liv’d at odds so long.\\r\\nBut now my lord, what say you to my suit?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nBut saying o’er what I have said before.\\r\\nMy child is yet a stranger in the world,\\r\\nShe hath not seen the change of fourteen years;\\r\\nLet two more summers wither in their pride\\r\\nEre we may think her ripe to be a bride.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nYounger than she are happy mothers made.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nAnd too soon marr’d are those so early made.\\r\\nThe earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she,\\r\\nShe is the hopeful lady of my earth:\\r\\nBut woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,\\r\\nMy will to her consent is but a part;\\r\\nAnd she agree, within her scope of choice\\r\\nLies my consent and fair according voice.\\r\\nThis night I hold an old accustom’d feast,\\r\\nWhereto I have invited many a guest,\\r\\nSuch as I love, and you among the store,\\r\\nOne more, most welcome, makes my number more.\\r\\nAt my poor house look to behold this night\\r\\nEarth-treading stars that make dark heaven light:\\r\\nSuch comfort as do lusty young men feel\\r\\nWhen well apparell’d April on the heel\\r\\nOf limping winter treads, even such delight\\r\\nAmong fresh female buds shall you this night\\r\\nInherit at my house. Hear all, all see,\\r\\nAnd like her most whose merit most shall be:\\r\\nWhich, on more view of many, mine, being one,\\r\\nMay stand in number, though in reckoning none.\\r\\nCome, go with me. Go, sirrah, trudge about\\r\\nThrough fair Verona; find those persons out\\r\\nWhose names are written there, [_gives a paper_] and to them say,\\r\\nMy house and welcome on their pleasure stay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Capulet and Paris._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nFind them out whose names are written here! It is written that the\\r\\nshoemaker should meddle with his yard and the tailor with his last, the\\r\\nfisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to\\r\\nfind those persons whose names are here writ, and can never find what\\r\\nnames the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned. In good\\r\\ntime!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benvolio and Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nTut, man, one fire burns out another’s burning,\\r\\nOne pain is lessen’d by another’s anguish;\\r\\nTurn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;\\r\\nOne desperate grief cures with another’s languish:\\r\\nTake thou some new infection to thy eye,\\r\\nAnd the rank poison of the old will die.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nYour plantain leaf is excellent for that.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nFor what, I pray thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nFor your broken shin.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nWhy, Romeo, art thou mad?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNot mad, but bound more than a madman is:\\r\\nShut up in prison, kept without my food,\\r\\nWhipp’d and tormented and—God-den, good fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nGod gi’ go-den. I pray, sir, can you read?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAy, mine own fortune in my misery.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nPerhaps you have learned it without book.\\r\\nBut I pray, can you read anything you see?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAy, If I know the letters and the language.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nYe say honestly, rest you merry!\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nStay, fellow; I can read.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He reads the letter._]\\r\\n\\r\\n_Signior Martino and his wife and daughters;\\r\\nCounty Anselmo and his beauteous sisters;\\r\\nThe lady widow of Utruvio;\\r\\nSignior Placentio and his lovely nieces;\\r\\nMercutio and his brother Valentine;\\r\\nMine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters;\\r\\nMy fair niece Rosaline and Livia;\\r\\nSignior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt;\\r\\nLucio and the lively Helena. _\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nA fair assembly. [_Gives back the paper_] Whither should they come?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nUp.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhither to supper?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nTo our house.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhose house?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMy master’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIndeed I should have ask’d you that before.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nNow I’ll tell you without asking. My master is the great rich Capulet,\\r\\nand if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray come and crush a\\r\\ncup of wine. Rest you merry.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAt this same ancient feast of Capulet’s\\r\\nSups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lov’st;\\r\\nWith all the admired beauties of Verona.\\r\\nGo thither and with unattainted eye,\\r\\nCompare her face with some that I shall show,\\r\\nAnd I will make thee think thy swan a crow.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhen the devout religion of mine eye\\r\\nMaintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fire;\\r\\nAnd these who, often drown’d, could never die,\\r\\nTransparent heretics, be burnt for liars.\\r\\nOne fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun\\r\\nNe’er saw her match since first the world begun.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nTut, you saw her fair, none else being by,\\r\\nHerself pois’d with herself in either eye:\\r\\nBut in that crystal scales let there be weigh’d\\r\\nYour lady’s love against some other maid\\r\\nThat I will show you shining at this feast,\\r\\nAnd she shall scant show well that now shows best.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI’ll go along, no such sight to be shown,\\r\\nBut to rejoice in splendour of my own.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nNurse, where’s my daughter? Call her forth to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNow, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old,\\r\\nI bade her come. What, lamb! What ladybird!\\r\\nGod forbid! Where’s this girl? What, Juliet!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHow now, who calls?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nYour mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nMadam, I am here. What is your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nThis is the matter. Nurse, give leave awhile,\\r\\nWe must talk in secret. Nurse, come back again,\\r\\nI have remember’d me, thou’s hear our counsel.\\r\\nThou knowest my daughter’s of a pretty age.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nFaith, I can tell her age unto an hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nShe’s not fourteen.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI’ll lay fourteen of my teeth,\\r\\nAnd yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four,\\r\\nShe is not fourteen. How long is it now\\r\\nTo Lammas-tide?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nA fortnight and odd days.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nEven or odd, of all days in the year,\\r\\nCome Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen.\\r\\nSusan and she,—God rest all Christian souls!—\\r\\nWere of an age. Well, Susan is with God;\\r\\nShe was too good for me. But as I said,\\r\\nOn Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen;\\r\\nThat shall she, marry; I remember it well.\\r\\n’Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;\\r\\nAnd she was wean’d,—I never shall forget it—,\\r\\nOf all the days of the year, upon that day:\\r\\nFor I had then laid wormwood to my dug,\\r\\nSitting in the sun under the dovehouse wall;\\r\\nMy lord and you were then at Mantua:\\r\\nNay, I do bear a brain. But as I said,\\r\\nWhen it did taste the wormwood on the nipple\\r\\nOf my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool,\\r\\nTo see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug!\\r\\nShake, quoth the dovehouse: ’twas no need, I trow,\\r\\nTo bid me trudge.\\r\\nAnd since that time it is eleven years;\\r\\nFor then she could stand alone; nay, by th’rood\\r\\nShe could have run and waddled all about;\\r\\nFor even the day before she broke her brow,\\r\\nAnd then my husband,—God be with his soul!\\r\\nA was a merry man,—took up the child:\\r\\n‘Yea,’ quoth he, ‘dost thou fall upon thy face?\\r\\nThou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit;\\r\\nWilt thou not, Jule?’ and, by my holidame,\\r\\nThe pretty wretch left crying, and said ‘Ay’.\\r\\nTo see now how a jest shall come about.\\r\\nI warrant, and I should live a thousand years,\\r\\nI never should forget it. ‘Wilt thou not, Jule?’ quoth he;\\r\\nAnd, pretty fool, it stinted, and said ‘Ay.’\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nEnough of this; I pray thee hold thy peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nYes, madam, yet I cannot choose but laugh,\\r\\nTo think it should leave crying, and say ‘Ay’;\\r\\nAnd yet I warrant it had upon it brow\\r\\nA bump as big as a young cockerel’s stone;\\r\\nA perilous knock, and it cried bitterly.\\r\\n‘Yea,’ quoth my husband, ‘fall’st upon thy face?\\r\\nThou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age;\\r\\nWilt thou not, Jule?’ it stinted, and said ‘Ay’.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAnd stint thou too, I pray thee, Nurse, say I.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nPeace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace\\r\\nThou wast the prettiest babe that e’er I nurs’d:\\r\\nAnd I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nMarry, that marry is the very theme\\r\\nI came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet,\\r\\nHow stands your disposition to be married?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIt is an honour that I dream not of.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAn honour! Were not I thine only nurse,\\r\\nI would say thou hadst suck’d wisdom from thy teat.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWell, think of marriage now: younger than you,\\r\\nHere in Verona, ladies of esteem,\\r\\nAre made already mothers. By my count\\r\\nI was your mother much upon these years\\r\\nThat you are now a maid. Thus, then, in brief;\\r\\nThe valiant Paris seeks you for his love.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nA man, young lady! Lady, such a man\\r\\nAs all the world—why he’s a man of wax.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nVerona’s summer hath not such a flower.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNay, he’s a flower, in faith a very flower.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWhat say you, can you love the gentleman?\\r\\nThis night you shall behold him at our feast;\\r\\nRead o’er the volume of young Paris’ face,\\r\\nAnd find delight writ there with beauty’s pen.\\r\\nExamine every married lineament,\\r\\nAnd see how one another lends content;\\r\\nAnd what obscur’d in this fair volume lies,\\r\\nFind written in the margent of his eyes.\\r\\nThis precious book of love, this unbound lover,\\r\\nTo beautify him, only lacks a cover:\\r\\nThe fish lives in the sea; and ’tis much pride\\r\\nFor fair without the fair within to hide.\\r\\nThat book in many’s eyes doth share the glory,\\r\\nThat in gold clasps locks in the golden story;\\r\\nSo shall you share all that he doth possess,\\r\\nBy having him, making yourself no less.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNo less, nay bigger. Women grow by men.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nSpeak briefly, can you like of Paris’ love?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI’ll look to like, if looking liking move:\\r\\nBut no more deep will I endart mine eye\\r\\nThan your consent gives strength to make it fly.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMadam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called, my young lady\\r\\nasked for, the Nurse cursed in the pantry, and everything in extremity.\\r\\nI must hence to wait, I beseech you follow straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWe follow thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJuliet, the County stays.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nGo, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six Maskers;\\r\\n Torch-bearers and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?\\r\\nOr shall we on without apology?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThe date is out of such prolixity:\\r\\nWe’ll have no Cupid hoodwink’d with a scarf,\\r\\nBearing a Tartar’s painted bow of lath,\\r\\nScaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;\\r\\nNor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke\\r\\nAfter the prompter, for our entrance:\\r\\nBut let them measure us by what they will,\\r\\nWe’ll measure them a measure, and be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGive me a torch, I am not for this ambling;\\r\\nBeing but heavy I will bear the light.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNot I, believe me, you have dancing shoes,\\r\\nWith nimble soles, I have a soul of lead\\r\\nSo stakes me to the ground I cannot move.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nYou are a lover, borrow Cupid’s wings,\\r\\nAnd soar with them above a common bound.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI am too sore enpierced with his shaft\\r\\nTo soar with his light feathers, and so bound,\\r\\nI cannot bound a pitch above dull woe.\\r\\nUnder love’s heavy burden do I sink.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAnd, to sink in it, should you burden love;\\r\\nToo great oppression for a tender thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIs love a tender thing? It is too rough,\\r\\nToo rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nIf love be rough with you, be rough with love;\\r\\nPrick love for pricking, and you beat love down.\\r\\nGive me a case to put my visage in: [_Putting on a mask._]\\r\\nA visor for a visor. What care I\\r\\nWhat curious eye doth quote deformities?\\r\\nHere are the beetle-brows shall blush for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nCome, knock and enter; and no sooner in\\r\\nBut every man betake him to his legs.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nA torch for me: let wantons, light of heart,\\r\\nTickle the senseless rushes with their heels;\\r\\nFor I am proverb’d with a grandsire phrase,\\r\\nI’ll be a candle-holder and look on,\\r\\nThe game was ne’er so fair, and I am done.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nTut, dun’s the mouse, the constable’s own word:\\r\\nIf thou art dun, we’ll draw thee from the mire\\r\\nOr save your reverence love, wherein thou stickest\\r\\nUp to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNay, that’s not so.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nI mean sir, in delay\\r\\nWe waste our lights in vain, light lights by day.\\r\\nTake our good meaning, for our judgment sits\\r\\nFive times in that ere once in our five wits.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd we mean well in going to this mask;\\r\\nBut ’tis no wit to go.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nWhy, may one ask?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI dreamt a dream tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAnd so did I.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWell what was yours?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThat dreamers often lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIn bed asleep, while they do dream things true.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nO, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.\\r\\nShe is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes\\r\\nIn shape no bigger than an agate-stone\\r\\nOn the fore-finger of an alderman,\\r\\nDrawn with a team of little atomies\\r\\nOver men’s noses as they lie asleep:\\r\\nHer waggon-spokes made of long spinners’ legs;\\r\\nThe cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;\\r\\nHer traces, of the smallest spider’s web;\\r\\nThe collars, of the moonshine’s watery beams;\\r\\nHer whip of cricket’s bone; the lash, of film;\\r\\nHer waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat,\\r\\nNot half so big as a round little worm\\r\\nPrick’d from the lazy finger of a maid:\\r\\nHer chariot is an empty hazelnut,\\r\\nMade by the joiner squirrel or old grub,\\r\\nTime out o’ mind the fairies’ coachmakers.\\r\\nAnd in this state she gallops night by night\\r\\nThrough lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love;\\r\\nO’er courtiers’ knees, that dream on curtsies straight;\\r\\nO’er lawyers’ fingers, who straight dream on fees;\\r\\nO’er ladies’ lips, who straight on kisses dream,\\r\\nWhich oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,\\r\\nBecause their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:\\r\\nSometime she gallops o’er a courtier’s nose,\\r\\nAnd then dreams he of smelling out a suit;\\r\\nAnd sometime comes she with a tithe-pig’s tail,\\r\\nTickling a parson’s nose as a lies asleep,\\r\\nThen dreams he of another benefice:\\r\\nSometime she driveth o’er a soldier’s neck,\\r\\nAnd then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,\\r\\nOf breaches, ambuscados, Spanish blades,\\r\\nOf healths five fathom deep; and then anon\\r\\nDrums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes;\\r\\nAnd, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,\\r\\nAnd sleeps again. This is that very Mab\\r\\nThat plats the manes of horses in the night;\\r\\nAnd bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,\\r\\nWhich, once untangled, much misfortune bodes:\\r\\nThis is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,\\r\\nThat presses them, and learns them first to bear,\\r\\nMaking them women of good carriage:\\r\\nThis is she,—\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nPeace, peace, Mercutio, peace,\\r\\nThou talk’st of nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nTrue, I talk of dreams,\\r\\nWhich are the children of an idle brain,\\r\\nBegot of nothing but vain fantasy,\\r\\nWhich is as thin of substance as the air,\\r\\nAnd more inconstant than the wind, who wooes\\r\\nEven now the frozen bosom of the north,\\r\\nAnd, being anger’d, puffs away from thence,\\r\\nTurning his side to the dew-dropping south.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThis wind you talk of blows us from ourselves:\\r\\nSupper is done, and we shall come too late.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI fear too early: for my mind misgives\\r\\nSome consequence yet hanging in the stars,\\r\\nShall bitterly begin his fearful date\\r\\nWith this night’s revels; and expire the term\\r\\nOf a despised life, clos’d in my breast\\r\\nBy some vile forfeit of untimely death.\\r\\nBut he that hath the steerage of my course\\r\\nDirect my suit. On, lusty gentlemen!\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nStrike, drum.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. A Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Musicians waiting. Enter Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nWhere’s Potpan, that he helps not to take away?\\r\\nHe shift a trencher! He scrape a trencher!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nWhen good manners shall lie all in one or two men’s hands, and they\\r\\nunwash’d too, ’tis a foul thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nAway with the join-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the\\r\\nplate. Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and as thou loves me,\\r\\nlet the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. Antony and Potpan!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nAy, boy, ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nYou are looked for and called for, asked for and sought for, in the\\r\\ngreat chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nWe cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys. Be brisk awhile, and\\r\\nthe longer liver take all.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet, &c. with the Guests and Gentlewomen to the Maskers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWelcome, gentlemen, ladies that have their toes\\r\\nUnplagu’d with corns will have a bout with you.\\r\\nAh my mistresses, which of you all\\r\\nWill now deny to dance? She that makes dainty,\\r\\nShe I’ll swear hath corns. Am I come near ye now?\\r\\nWelcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day\\r\\nThat I have worn a visor, and could tell\\r\\nA whispering tale in a fair lady’s ear,\\r\\nSuch as would please; ’tis gone, ’tis gone, ’tis gone,\\r\\nYou are welcome, gentlemen! Come, musicians, play.\\r\\nA hall, a hall, give room! And foot it, girls.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music plays, and they dance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMore light, you knaves; and turn the tables up,\\r\\nAnd quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.\\r\\nAh sirrah, this unlook’d-for sport comes well.\\r\\nNay sit, nay sit, good cousin Capulet,\\r\\nFor you and I are past our dancing days;\\r\\nHow long is’t now since last yourself and I\\r\\nWere in a mask?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET’S COUSIN.\\r\\nBy’r Lady, thirty years.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhat, man, ’tis not so much, ’tis not so much:\\r\\n’Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio,\\r\\nCome Pentecost as quickly as it will,\\r\\nSome five and twenty years; and then we mask’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET’S COUSIN.\\r\\n’Tis more, ’tis more, his son is elder, sir;\\r\\nHis son is thirty.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWill you tell me that?\\r\\nHis son was but a ward two years ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat lady is that, which doth enrich the hand\\r\\nOf yonder knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI know not, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!\\r\\nIt seems she hangs upon the cheek of night\\r\\nAs a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear;\\r\\nBeauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!\\r\\nSo shows a snowy dove trooping with crows\\r\\nAs yonder lady o’er her fellows shows.\\r\\nThe measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand,\\r\\nAnd touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.\\r\\nDid my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight!\\r\\nFor I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nThis by his voice, should be a Montague.\\r\\nFetch me my rapier, boy. What, dares the slave\\r\\nCome hither, cover’d with an antic face,\\r\\nTo fleer and scorn at our solemnity?\\r\\nNow by the stock and honour of my kin,\\r\\nTo strike him dead I hold it not a sin.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhy how now, kinsman!\\r\\nWherefore storm you so?\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nUncle, this is a Montague, our foe;\\r\\nA villain that is hither come in spite,\\r\\nTo scorn at our solemnity this night.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nYoung Romeo, is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\n’Tis he, that villain Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nContent thee, gentle coz, let him alone,\\r\\nA bears him like a portly gentleman;\\r\\nAnd, to say truth, Verona brags of him\\r\\nTo be a virtuous and well-govern’d youth.\\r\\nI would not for the wealth of all the town\\r\\nHere in my house do him disparagement.\\r\\nTherefore be patient, take no note of him,\\r\\nIt is my will; the which if thou respect,\\r\\nShow a fair presence and put off these frowns,\\r\\nAn ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nIt fits when such a villain is a guest:\\r\\nI’ll not endure him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHe shall be endur’d.\\r\\nWhat, goodman boy! I say he shall, go to;\\r\\nAm I the master here, or you? Go to.\\r\\nYou’ll not endure him! God shall mend my soul,\\r\\nYou’ll make a mutiny among my guests!\\r\\nYou will set cock-a-hoop, you’ll be the man!\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nWhy, uncle, ’tis a shame.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nGo to, go to!\\r\\nYou are a saucy boy. Is’t so, indeed?\\r\\nThis trick may chance to scathe you, I know what.\\r\\nYou must contrary me! Marry, ’tis time.\\r\\nWell said, my hearts!—You are a princox; go:\\r\\nBe quiet, or—More light, more light!—For shame!\\r\\nI’ll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nPatience perforce with wilful choler meeting\\r\\nMakes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.\\r\\nI will withdraw: but this intrusion shall,\\r\\nNow seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\n[_To Juliet._] If I profane with my unworthiest hand\\r\\nThis holy shrine, the gentle sin is this,\\r\\nMy lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand\\r\\nTo smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGood pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,\\r\\nWhich mannerly devotion shows in this;\\r\\nFor saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,\\r\\nAnd palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHave not saints lips, and holy palmers too?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAy, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do:\\r\\nThey pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nSaints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThen move not while my prayer’s effect I take.\\r\\nThus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg’d.\\r\\n[_Kissing her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThen have my lips the sin that they have took.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg’d!\\r\\nGive me my sin again.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nYou kiss by the book.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMadam, your mother craves a word with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat is her mother?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMarry, bachelor,\\r\\nHer mother is the lady of the house,\\r\\nAnd a good lady, and a wise and virtuous.\\r\\nI nurs’d her daughter that you talk’d withal.\\r\\nI tell you, he that can lay hold of her\\r\\nShall have the chinks.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIs she a Capulet?\\r\\nO dear account! My life is my foe’s debt.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAway, be gone; the sport is at the best.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAy, so I fear; the more is my unrest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nNay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone,\\r\\nWe have a trifling foolish banquet towards.\\r\\nIs it e’en so? Why then, I thank you all;\\r\\nI thank you, honest gentlemen; good night.\\r\\nMore torches here! Come on then, let’s to bed.\\r\\nAh, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late,\\r\\nI’ll to my rest.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Juliet and Nurse._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nCome hither, Nurse. What is yond gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nThe son and heir of old Tiberio.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat’s he that now is going out of door?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMarry, that I think be young Petruchio.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat’s he that follows here, that would not dance?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI know not.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGo ask his name. If he be married,\\r\\nMy grave is like to be my wedding bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nHis name is Romeo, and a Montague,\\r\\nThe only son of your great enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nMy only love sprung from my only hate!\\r\\nToo early seen unknown, and known too late!\\r\\nProdigious birth of love it is to me,\\r\\nThat I must love a loathed enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWhat’s this? What’s this?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nA rhyme I learn’d even now\\r\\nOf one I danc’d withal.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_One calls within, ‘Juliet’._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAnon, anon!\\r\\nCome let’s away, the strangers all are gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nNow old desire doth in his deathbed lie,\\r\\nAnd young affection gapes to be his heir;\\r\\nThat fair for which love groan’d for and would die,\\r\\nWith tender Juliet match’d, is now not fair.\\r\\nNow Romeo is belov’d, and loves again,\\r\\nAlike bewitched by the charm of looks;\\r\\nBut to his foe suppos’d he must complain,\\r\\nAnd she steal love’s sweet bait from fearful hooks:\\r\\nBeing held a foe, he may not have access\\r\\nTo breathe such vows as lovers use to swear;\\r\\nAnd she as much in love, her means much less\\r\\nTo meet her new beloved anywhere.\\r\\nBut passion lends them power, time means, to meet,\\r\\nTempering extremities with extreme sweet.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. An open place adjoining Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nCan I go forward when my heart is here?\\r\\nTurn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He climbs the wall and leaps down within it._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nRomeo! My cousin Romeo! Romeo!\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nHe is wise,\\r\\nAnd on my life hath stol’n him home to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nHe ran this way, and leap’d this orchard wall:\\r\\nCall, good Mercutio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNay, I’ll conjure too.\\r\\nRomeo! Humours! Madman! Passion! Lover!\\r\\nAppear thou in the likeness of a sigh,\\r\\nSpeak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;\\r\\nCry but ‘Ah me!’ Pronounce but Love and dove;\\r\\nSpeak to my gossip Venus one fair word,\\r\\nOne nickname for her purblind son and heir,\\r\\nYoung Abraham Cupid, he that shot so trim\\r\\nWhen King Cophetua lov’d the beggar-maid.\\r\\nHe heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not;\\r\\nThe ape is dead, and I must conjure him.\\r\\nI conjure thee by Rosaline’s bright eyes,\\r\\nBy her high forehead and her scarlet lip,\\r\\nBy her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh,\\r\\nAnd the demesnes that there adjacent lie,\\r\\nThat in thy likeness thou appear to us.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAn if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThis cannot anger him. ’Twould anger him\\r\\nTo raise a spirit in his mistress’ circle,\\r\\nOf some strange nature, letting it there stand\\r\\nTill she had laid it, and conjur’d it down;\\r\\nThat were some spite. My invocation\\r\\nIs fair and honest, and, in his mistress’ name,\\r\\nI conjure only but to raise up him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nCome, he hath hid himself among these trees\\r\\nTo be consorted with the humorous night.\\r\\nBlind is his love, and best befits the dark.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nIf love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.\\r\\nNow will he sit under a medlar tree,\\r\\nAnd wish his mistress were that kind of fruit\\r\\nAs maids call medlars when they laugh alone.\\r\\nO Romeo, that she were, O that she were\\r\\nAn open-arse and thou a poperin pear!\\r\\nRomeo, good night. I’ll to my truckle-bed.\\r\\nThis field-bed is too cold for me to sleep.\\r\\nCome, shall we go?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nGo then; for ’tis in vain\\r\\nTo seek him here that means not to be found.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHe jests at scars that never felt a wound.\\r\\n\\r\\n Juliet appears above at a window.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut soft, what light through yonder window breaks?\\r\\nIt is the east, and Juliet is the sun!\\r\\nArise fair sun and kill the envious moon,\\r\\nWho is already sick and pale with grief,\\r\\nThat thou her maid art far more fair than she.\\r\\nBe not her maid since she is envious;\\r\\nHer vestal livery is but sick and green,\\r\\nAnd none but fools do wear it; cast it off.\\r\\nIt is my lady, O it is my love!\\r\\nO, that she knew she were!\\r\\nShe speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?\\r\\nHer eye discourses, I will answer it.\\r\\nI am too bold, ’tis not to me she speaks.\\r\\nTwo of the fairest stars in all the heaven,\\r\\nHaving some business, do entreat her eyes\\r\\nTo twinkle in their spheres till they return.\\r\\nWhat if her eyes were there, they in her head?\\r\\nThe brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,\\r\\nAs daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven\\r\\nWould through the airy region stream so bright\\r\\nThat birds would sing and think it were not night.\\r\\nSee how she leans her cheek upon her hand.\\r\\nO that I were a glove upon that hand,\\r\\nThat I might touch that cheek.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAy me.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nShe speaks.\\r\\nO speak again bright angel, for thou art\\r\\nAs glorious to this night, being o’er my head,\\r\\nAs is a winged messenger of heaven\\r\\nUnto the white-upturned wondering eyes\\r\\nOf mortals that fall back to gaze on him\\r\\nWhen he bestrides the lazy-puffing clouds\\r\\nAnd sails upon the bosom of the air.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?\\r\\nDeny thy father and refuse thy name.\\r\\nOr if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,\\r\\nAnd I’ll no longer be a Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\n’Tis but thy name that is my enemy;\\r\\nThou art thyself, though not a Montague.\\r\\nWhat’s Montague? It is nor hand nor foot,\\r\\nNor arm, nor face, nor any other part\\r\\nBelonging to a man. O be some other name.\\r\\nWhat’s in a name? That which we call a rose\\r\\nBy any other name would smell as sweet;\\r\\nSo Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,\\r\\nRetain that dear perfection which he owes\\r\\nWithout that title. Romeo, doff thy name,\\r\\nAnd for thy name, which is no part of thee,\\r\\nTake all myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI take thee at thy word.\\r\\nCall me but love, and I’ll be new baptis’d;\\r\\nHenceforth I never will be Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat man art thou that, thus bescreen’d in night\\r\\nSo stumblest on my counsel?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBy a name\\r\\nI know not how to tell thee who I am:\\r\\nMy name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,\\r\\nBecause it is an enemy to thee.\\r\\nHad I it written, I would tear the word.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nMy ears have yet not drunk a hundred words\\r\\nOf thy tongue’s utterance, yet I know the sound.\\r\\nArt thou not Romeo, and a Montague?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNeither, fair maid, if either thee dislike.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHow cam’st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?\\r\\nThe orchard walls are high and hard to climb,\\r\\nAnd the place death, considering who thou art,\\r\\nIf any of my kinsmen find thee here.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWith love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls,\\r\\nFor stony limits cannot hold love out,\\r\\nAnd what love can do, that dares love attempt:\\r\\nTherefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIf they do see thee, they will murder thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAlack, there lies more peril in thine eye\\r\\nThan twenty of their swords. Look thou but sweet,\\r\\nAnd I am proof against their enmity.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI would not for the world they saw thee here.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI have night’s cloak to hide me from their eyes,\\r\\nAnd but thou love me, let them find me here.\\r\\nMy life were better ended by their hate\\r\\nThan death prorogued, wanting of thy love.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nBy whose direction found’st thou out this place?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBy love, that first did prompt me to enquire;\\r\\nHe lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.\\r\\nI am no pilot; yet wert thou as far\\r\\nAs that vast shore wash’d with the farthest sea,\\r\\nI should adventure for such merchandise.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThou knowest the mask of night is on my face,\\r\\nElse would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek\\r\\nFor that which thou hast heard me speak tonight.\\r\\nFain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny\\r\\nWhat I have spoke; but farewell compliment.\\r\\nDost thou love me? I know thou wilt say Ay,\\r\\nAnd I will take thy word. Yet, if thou swear’st,\\r\\nThou mayst prove false. At lovers’ perjuries,\\r\\nThey say Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,\\r\\nIf thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully.\\r\\nOr if thou thinkest I am too quickly won,\\r\\nI’ll frown and be perverse, and say thee nay,\\r\\nSo thou wilt woo. But else, not for the world.\\r\\nIn truth, fair Montague, I am too fond;\\r\\nAnd therefore thou mayst think my ’haviour light:\\r\\nBut trust me, gentleman, I’ll prove more true\\r\\nThan those that have more cunning to be strange.\\r\\nI should have been more strange, I must confess,\\r\\nBut that thou overheard’st, ere I was ’ware,\\r\\nMy true-love passion; therefore pardon me,\\r\\nAnd not impute this yielding to light love,\\r\\nWhich the dark night hath so discovered.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nLady, by yonder blessed moon I vow,\\r\\nThat tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,—\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO swear not by the moon, th’inconstant moon,\\r\\nThat monthly changes in her circled orb,\\r\\nLest that thy love prove likewise variable.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat shall I swear by?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nDo not swear at all.\\r\\nOr if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,\\r\\nWhich is the god of my idolatry,\\r\\nAnd I’ll believe thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIf my heart’s dear love,—\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWell, do not swear. Although I joy in thee,\\r\\nI have no joy of this contract tonight;\\r\\nIt is too rash, too unadvis’d, too sudden,\\r\\nToo like the lightning, which doth cease to be\\r\\nEre one can say It lightens. Sweet, good night.\\r\\nThis bud of love, by summer’s ripening breath,\\r\\nMay prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.\\r\\nGood night, good night. As sweet repose and rest\\r\\nCome to thy heart as that within my breast.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat satisfaction canst thou have tonight?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nTh’exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI gave thee mine before thou didst request it;\\r\\nAnd yet I would it were to give again.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWould’st thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nBut to be frank and give it thee again.\\r\\nAnd yet I wish but for the thing I have;\\r\\nMy bounty is as boundless as the sea,\\r\\nMy love as deep; the more I give to thee,\\r\\nThe more I have, for both are infinite.\\r\\nI hear some noise within. Dear love, adieu.\\r\\n[_Nurse calls within._]\\r\\nAnon, good Nurse!—Sweet Montague be true.\\r\\nStay but a little, I will come again.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO blessed, blessed night. I am afeard,\\r\\nBeing in night, all this is but a dream,\\r\\nToo flattering sweet to be substantial.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet above.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThree words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.\\r\\nIf that thy bent of love be honourable,\\r\\nThy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow,\\r\\nBy one that I’ll procure to come to thee,\\r\\nWhere and what time thou wilt perform the rite,\\r\\nAnd all my fortunes at thy foot I’ll lay\\r\\nAnd follow thee my lord throughout the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\n[_Within._] Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI come, anon.— But if thou meanest not well,\\r\\nI do beseech thee,—\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\n[_Within._] Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nBy and by I come—\\r\\nTo cease thy strife and leave me to my grief.\\r\\nTomorrow will I send.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSo thrive my soul,—\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nA thousand times good night.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nA thousand times the worse, to want thy light.\\r\\nLove goes toward love as schoolboys from their books,\\r\\nBut love from love, towards school with heavy looks.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Retiring slowly._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Juliet, above.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHist! Romeo, hist! O for a falconer’s voice\\r\\nTo lure this tassel-gentle back again.\\r\\nBondage is hoarse and may not speak aloud,\\r\\nElse would I tear the cave where Echo lies,\\r\\nAnd make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine\\r\\nWith repetition of my Romeo’s name.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIt is my soul that calls upon my name.\\r\\nHow silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night,\\r\\nLike softest music to attending ears.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nRomeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nMy nyas?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat o’clock tomorrow\\r\\nShall I send to thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBy the hour of nine.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI will not fail. ’Tis twenty years till then.\\r\\nI have forgot why I did call thee back.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nLet me stand here till thou remember it.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI shall forget, to have thee still stand there,\\r\\nRemembering how I love thy company.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget,\\r\\nForgetting any other home but this.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\n’Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone,\\r\\nAnd yet no farther than a wanton’s bird,\\r\\nThat lets it hop a little from her hand,\\r\\nLike a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,\\r\\nAnd with a silk thread plucks it back again,\\r\\nSo loving-jealous of his liberty.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI would I were thy bird.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nSweet, so would I:\\r\\nYet I should kill thee with much cherishing.\\r\\nGood night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow\\r\\nThat I shall say good night till it be morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast.\\r\\nWould I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest.\\r\\nThe grey-ey’d morn smiles on the frowning night,\\r\\nChequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light;\\r\\nAnd darkness fleckled like a drunkard reels\\r\\nFrom forth day’s pathway, made by Titan’s wheels\\r\\nHence will I to my ghostly Sire’s cell,\\r\\nHis help to crave and my dear hap to tell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence with a basket.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nNow, ere the sun advance his burning eye,\\r\\nThe day to cheer, and night’s dank dew to dry,\\r\\nI must upfill this osier cage of ours\\r\\nWith baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.\\r\\nThe earth that’s nature’s mother, is her tomb;\\r\\nWhat is her burying grave, that is her womb:\\r\\nAnd from her womb children of divers kind\\r\\nWe sucking on her natural bosom find.\\r\\nMany for many virtues excellent,\\r\\nNone but for some, and yet all different.\\r\\nO, mickle is the powerful grace that lies\\r\\nIn plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities.\\r\\nFor naught so vile that on the earth doth live\\r\\nBut to the earth some special good doth give;\\r\\nNor aught so good but, strain’d from that fair use,\\r\\nRevolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse.\\r\\nVirtue itself turns vice being misapplied,\\r\\nAnd vice sometime’s by action dignified.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nWithin the infant rind of this weak flower\\r\\nPoison hath residence, and medicine power:\\r\\nFor this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;\\r\\nBeing tasted, slays all senses with the heart.\\r\\nTwo such opposed kings encamp them still\\r\\nIn man as well as herbs,—grace and rude will;\\r\\nAnd where the worser is predominant,\\r\\nFull soon the canker death eats up that plant.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGood morrow, father.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nBenedicite!\\r\\nWhat early tongue so sweet saluteth me?\\r\\nYoung son, it argues a distemper’d head\\r\\nSo soon to bid good morrow to thy bed.\\r\\nCare keeps his watch in every old man’s eye,\\r\\nAnd where care lodges sleep will never lie;\\r\\nBut where unbruised youth with unstuff’d brain\\r\\nDoth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.\\r\\nTherefore thy earliness doth me assure\\r\\nThou art uprous’d with some distemperature;\\r\\nOr if not so, then here I hit it right,\\r\\nOur Romeo hath not been in bed tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThat last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nGod pardon sin. Wast thou with Rosaline?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWith Rosaline, my ghostly father? No.\\r\\nI have forgot that name, and that name’s woe.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThat’s my good son. But where hast thou been then?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI’ll tell thee ere thou ask it me again.\\r\\nI have been feasting with mine enemy,\\r\\nWhere on a sudden one hath wounded me\\r\\nThat’s by me wounded. Both our remedies\\r\\nWithin thy help and holy physic lies.\\r\\nI bear no hatred, blessed man; for lo,\\r\\nMy intercession likewise steads my foe.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nBe plain, good son, and homely in thy drift;\\r\\nRiddling confession finds but riddling shrift.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThen plainly know my heart’s dear love is set\\r\\nOn the fair daughter of rich Capulet.\\r\\nAs mine on hers, so hers is set on mine;\\r\\nAnd all combin’d, save what thou must combine\\r\\nBy holy marriage. When, and where, and how\\r\\nWe met, we woo’d, and made exchange of vow,\\r\\nI’ll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,\\r\\nThat thou consent to marry us today.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHoly Saint Francis! What a change is here!\\r\\nIs Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear,\\r\\nSo soon forsaken? Young men’s love then lies\\r\\nNot truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.\\r\\nJesu Maria, what a deal of brine\\r\\nHath wash’d thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!\\r\\nHow much salt water thrown away in waste,\\r\\nTo season love, that of it doth not taste.\\r\\nThe sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,\\r\\nThy old groans yet ring in mine ancient ears.\\r\\nLo here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit\\r\\nOf an old tear that is not wash’d off yet.\\r\\nIf ere thou wast thyself, and these woes thine,\\r\\nThou and these woes were all for Rosaline,\\r\\nAnd art thou chang’d? Pronounce this sentence then,\\r\\nWomen may fall, when there’s no strength in men.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThou chidd’st me oft for loving Rosaline.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nFor doting, not for loving, pupil mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd bad’st me bury love.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nNot in a grave\\r\\nTo lay one in, another out to have.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI pray thee chide me not, her I love now\\r\\nDoth grace for grace and love for love allow.\\r\\nThe other did not so.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nO, she knew well\\r\\nThy love did read by rote, that could not spell.\\r\\nBut come young waverer, come go with me,\\r\\nIn one respect I’ll thy assistant be;\\r\\nFor this alliance may so happy prove,\\r\\nTo turn your households’ rancour to pure love.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nWisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nWhere the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home tonight?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nNot to his father’s; I spoke with his man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nWhy, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline, torments him so\\r\\nthat he will sure run mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nTybalt, the kinsman to old Capulet, hath sent a letter to his father’s\\r\\nhouse.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nA challenge, on my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nRomeo will answer it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAny man that can write may answer a letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nNay, he will answer the letter’s master, how he dares, being dared.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAlas poor Romeo, he is already dead, stabbed with a white wench’s black\\r\\neye; run through the ear with a love song, the very pin of his heart\\r\\ncleft with the blind bow-boy’s butt-shaft. And is he a man to encounter\\r\\nTybalt?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nWhy, what is Tybalt?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nMore than Prince of cats. O, he’s the courageous captain of\\r\\ncompliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance,\\r\\nand proportion. He rests his minim rest, one, two, and the third in\\r\\nyour bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist;\\r\\na gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second cause. Ah,\\r\\nthe immortal passado, the punto reverso, the hay.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThe what?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThe pox of such antic lisping, affecting phantasies; these new tuners\\r\\nof accent. By Jesu, a very good blade, a very tall man, a very good\\r\\nwhore. Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should\\r\\nbe thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers,\\r\\nthese pardon-me’s, who stand so much on the new form that they cannot\\r\\nsit at ease on the old bench? O their bones, their bones!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nHere comes Romeo, here comes Romeo!\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nWithout his roe, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art thou\\r\\nfishified! Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in. Laura, to\\r\\nhis lady, was but a kitchen wench,—marry, she had a better love to\\r\\nberhyme her: Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gypsy; Helen and Hero hildings\\r\\nand harlots; Thisbe a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior\\r\\nRomeo, bonjour! There’s a French salutation to your French slop. You\\r\\ngave us the counterfeit fairly last night.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGood morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThe slip sir, the slip; can you not conceive?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nPardon, good Mercutio, my business was great, and in such a case as\\r\\nmine a man may strain courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThat’s as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow\\r\\nin the hams.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nMeaning, to curtsy.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThou hast most kindly hit it.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nA most courteous exposition.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNay, I am the very pink of courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nPink for flower.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nRight.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhy, then is my pump well flowered.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nSure wit, follow me this jest now, till thou hast worn out thy pump,\\r\\nthat when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain after the\\r\\nwearing, solely singular.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness!\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nCome between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSwits and spurs, swits and spurs; or I’ll cry a match.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I am done. For thou hast\\r\\nmore of the wild-goose in one of thy wits, than I am sure, I have in my\\r\\nwhole five. Was I with you there for the goose?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThou wast never with me for anything, when thou wast not there for the\\r\\ngoose.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nI will bite thee by the ear for that jest.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNay, good goose, bite not.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThy wit is a very bitter sweeting, it is a most sharp sauce.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd is it not then well served in to a sweet goose?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nO here’s a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an\\r\\nell broad.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI stretch it out for that word broad, which added to the goose, proves\\r\\nthee far and wide a broad goose.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nWhy, is not this better now than groaning for love? Now art thou\\r\\nsociable, now art thou Romeo; not art thou what thou art, by art as\\r\\nwell as by nature. For this drivelling love is like a great natural,\\r\\nthat runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nStop there, stop there.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThou wouldst else have made thy tale large.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nO, thou art deceived; I would have made it short, for I was come to the\\r\\nwhole depth of my tale, and meant indeed to occupy the argument no\\r\\nlonger.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse and Peter.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHere’s goodly gear!\\r\\nA sail, a sail!\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nTwo, two; a shirt and a smock.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nPeter!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nAnon.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMy fan, Peter.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nGood Peter, to hide her face; for her fan’s the fairer face.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nGod ye good morrow, gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nGod ye good-den, fair gentlewoman.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nIs it good-den?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\n’Tis no less, I tell ye; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the\\r\\nprick of noon.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nOut upon you! What a man are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nOne, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nBy my troth, it is well said; for himself to mar, quoth a? Gentlemen,\\r\\ncan any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI can tell you: but young Romeo will be older when you have found him\\r\\nthan he was when you sought him. I am the youngest of that name, for\\r\\nfault of a worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nYou say well.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nYea, is the worst well? Very well took, i’faith; wisely, wisely.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nIf you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nShe will endite him to some supper.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nA bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat hast thou found?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNo hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something\\r\\nstale and hoar ere it be spent.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n An old hare hoar,\\r\\n And an old hare hoar,\\r\\n Is very good meat in Lent;\\r\\n But a hare that is hoar\\r\\n Is too much for a score\\r\\n When it hoars ere it be spent.\\r\\nRomeo, will you come to your father’s? We’ll to dinner thither.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI will follow you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nFarewell, ancient lady; farewell, lady, lady, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this that was so full of his\\r\\nropery?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nA gentleman, Nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak\\r\\nmore in a minute than he will stand to in a month.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAnd a speak anything against me, I’ll take him down, and a were lustier\\r\\nthan he is, and twenty such Jacks. And if I cannot, I’ll find those\\r\\nthat shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of\\r\\nhis skains-mates.—And thou must stand by too and suffer every knave to\\r\\nuse me at his pleasure!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nI saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I had, my weapon should\\r\\nquickly have been out. I warrant you, I dare draw as soon as another\\r\\nman, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNow, afore God, I am so vexed that every part about me quivers. Scurvy\\r\\nknave. Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bid me\\r\\nenquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself. But first\\r\\nlet me tell ye, if ye should lead her in a fool’s paradise, as they\\r\\nsay, it were a very gross kind of behaviour, as they say; for the\\r\\ngentlewoman is young. And therefore, if you should deal double with\\r\\nher, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and\\r\\nvery weak dealing.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto\\r\\nthee,—\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nGood heart, and i’faith I will tell her as much. Lord, Lord, she will\\r\\nbe a joyful woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat wilt thou tell her, Nurse? Thou dost not mark me.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI will tell her, sir, that you do protest, which, as I take it, is a\\r\\ngentlemanlike offer.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBid her devise\\r\\nSome means to come to shrift this afternoon,\\r\\nAnd there she shall at Friar Lawrence’ cell\\r\\nBe shriv’d and married. Here is for thy pains.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNo truly, sir; not a penny.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGo to; I say you shall.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nThis afternoon, sir? Well, she shall be there.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd stay, good Nurse, behind the abbey wall.\\r\\nWithin this hour my man shall be with thee,\\r\\nAnd bring thee cords made like a tackled stair,\\r\\nWhich to the high topgallant of my joy\\r\\nMust be my convoy in the secret night.\\r\\nFarewell, be trusty, and I’ll quit thy pains;\\r\\nFarewell; commend me to thy mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNow God in heaven bless thee. Hark you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat say’st thou, my dear Nurse?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nIs your man secret? Did you ne’er hear say,\\r\\nTwo may keep counsel, putting one away?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI warrant thee my man’s as true as steel.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWell, sir, my mistress is the sweetest lady. Lord, Lord! When ’twas a\\r\\nlittle prating thing,—O, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that\\r\\nwould fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief see a\\r\\ntoad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes, and tell her that\\r\\nParis is the properer man, but I’ll warrant you, when I say so, she\\r\\nlooks as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and\\r\\nRomeo begin both with a letter?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAy, Nurse; what of that? Both with an R.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAh, mocker! That’s the dog’s name. R is for the—no, I know it begins\\r\\nwith some other letter, and she hath the prettiest sententious of it,\\r\\nof you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nCommend me to thy lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAy, a thousand times. Peter!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Romeo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nAnon.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nBefore and apace.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThe clock struck nine when I did send the Nurse,\\r\\nIn half an hour she promised to return.\\r\\nPerchance she cannot meet him. That’s not so.\\r\\nO, she is lame. Love’s heralds should be thoughts,\\r\\nWhich ten times faster glides than the sun’s beams,\\r\\nDriving back shadows over lowering hills:\\r\\nTherefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw love,\\r\\nAnd therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.\\r\\nNow is the sun upon the highmost hill\\r\\nOf this day’s journey, and from nine till twelve\\r\\nIs three long hours, yet she is not come.\\r\\nHad she affections and warm youthful blood,\\r\\nShe’d be as swift in motion as a ball;\\r\\nMy words would bandy her to my sweet love,\\r\\nAnd his to me.\\r\\nBut old folks, many feign as they were dead;\\r\\nUnwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse and Peter.\\r\\n\\r\\nO God, she comes. O honey Nurse, what news?\\r\\nHast thou met with him? Send thy man away.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nPeter, stay at the gate.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Peter._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNow, good sweet Nurse,—O Lord, why look’st thou sad?\\r\\nThough news be sad, yet tell them merrily;\\r\\nIf good, thou sham’st the music of sweet news\\r\\nBy playing it to me with so sour a face.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI am aweary, give me leave awhile;\\r\\nFie, how my bones ache! What a jaunt have I had!\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news:\\r\\nNay come, I pray thee speak; good, good Nurse, speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nJesu, what haste? Can you not stay a while? Do you not see that I am\\r\\nout of breath?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHow art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath\\r\\nTo say to me that thou art out of breath?\\r\\nThe excuse that thou dost make in this delay\\r\\nIs longer than the tale thou dost excuse.\\r\\nIs thy news good or bad? Answer to that;\\r\\nSay either, and I’ll stay the circumstance.\\r\\nLet me be satisfied, is’t good or bad?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWell, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man.\\r\\nRomeo? No, not he. Though his face be better than any man’s, yet his\\r\\nleg excels all men’s, and for a hand and a foot, and a body, though\\r\\nthey be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare. He is not the\\r\\nflower of courtesy, but I’ll warrant him as gentle as a lamb. Go thy\\r\\nways, wench, serve God. What, have you dined at home?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNo, no. But all this did I know before.\\r\\nWhat says he of our marriage? What of that?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nLord, how my head aches! What a head have I!\\r\\nIt beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.\\r\\nMy back o’ t’other side,—O my back, my back!\\r\\nBeshrew your heart for sending me about\\r\\nTo catch my death with jauncing up and down.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI’faith, I am sorry that thou art not well.\\r\\nSweet, sweet, sweet Nurse, tell me, what says my love?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nYour love says like an honest gentleman,\\r\\nAnd a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome,\\r\\nAnd I warrant a virtuous,—Where is your mother?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhere is my mother? Why, she is within.\\r\\nWhere should she be? How oddly thou repliest.\\r\\n‘Your love says, like an honest gentleman,\\r\\n‘Where is your mother?’\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO God’s lady dear,\\r\\nAre you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow.\\r\\nIs this the poultice for my aching bones?\\r\\nHenceforward do your messages yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHere’s such a coil. Come, what says Romeo?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nHave you got leave to go to shrift today?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI have.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nThen hie you hence to Friar Lawrence’ cell;\\r\\nThere stays a husband to make you a wife.\\r\\nNow comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks,\\r\\nThey’ll be in scarlet straight at any news.\\r\\nHie you to church. I must another way,\\r\\nTo fetch a ladder by the which your love\\r\\nMust climb a bird’s nest soon when it is dark.\\r\\nI am the drudge, and toil in your delight;\\r\\nBut you shall bear the burden soon at night.\\r\\nGo. I’ll to dinner; hie you to the cell.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHie to high fortune! Honest Nurse, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nSo smile the heavens upon this holy act\\r\\nThat after-hours with sorrow chide us not.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAmen, amen, but come what sorrow can,\\r\\nIt cannot countervail the exchange of joy\\r\\nThat one short minute gives me in her sight.\\r\\nDo thou but close our hands with holy words,\\r\\nThen love-devouring death do what he dare,\\r\\nIt is enough I may but call her mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThese violent delights have violent ends,\\r\\nAnd in their triumph die; like fire and powder,\\r\\nWhich as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey\\r\\nIs loathsome in his own deliciousness,\\r\\nAnd in the taste confounds the appetite.\\r\\nTherefore love moderately: long love doth so;\\r\\nToo swift arrives as tardy as too slow.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes the lady. O, so light a foot\\r\\nWill ne’er wear out the everlasting flint.\\r\\nA lover may bestride the gossamers\\r\\nThat idles in the wanton summer air\\r\\nAnd yet not fall; so light is vanity.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGood even to my ghostly confessor.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nRomeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAs much to him, else is his thanks too much.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAh, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy\\r\\nBe heap’d like mine, and that thy skill be more\\r\\nTo blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath\\r\\nThis neighbour air, and let rich music’s tongue\\r\\nUnfold the imagin’d happiness that both\\r\\nReceive in either by this dear encounter.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nConceit more rich in matter than in words,\\r\\nBrags of his substance, not of ornament.\\r\\nThey are but beggars that can count their worth;\\r\\nBut my true love is grown to such excess,\\r\\nI cannot sum up sum of half my wealth.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nCome, come with me, and we will make short work,\\r\\nFor, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone\\r\\nTill holy church incorporate two in one.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A public Place.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, Page and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nI pray thee, good Mercutio, let’s retire:\\r\\nThe day is hot, the Capulets abroad,\\r\\nAnd if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl,\\r\\nFor now these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThou art like one of these fellows that, when he enters the confines of\\r\\na tavern, claps me his sword upon the table, and says ‘God send me no\\r\\nneed of thee!’ and by the operation of the second cup draws him on the\\r\\ndrawer, when indeed there is no need.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAm I like such a fellow?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nCome, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy; and as\\r\\nsoon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAnd what to?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would\\r\\nkill the other. Thou? Why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a\\r\\nhair more or a hair less in his beard than thou hast. Thou wilt quarrel\\r\\nwith a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou\\r\\nhast hazel eyes. What eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel?\\r\\nThy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy\\r\\nhead hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling. Thou hast\\r\\nquarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath\\r\\nwakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall\\r\\nout with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with\\r\\nanother for tying his new shoes with an old riband? And yet thou wilt\\r\\ntutor me from quarrelling!\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAnd I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee\\r\\nsimple of my life for an hour and a quarter.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThe fee simple! O simple!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Tybalt and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nBy my head, here comes the Capulets.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nBy my heel, I care not.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nFollow me close, for I will speak to them.\\r\\nGentlemen, good-den: a word with one of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAnd but one word with one of us? Couple it with something; make it a\\r\\nword and a blow.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nYou shall find me apt enough to that, sir, and you will give me\\r\\noccasion.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nCould you not take some occasion without giving?\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nMercutio, thou consortest with Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nConsort? What, dost thou make us minstrels? And thou make minstrels of\\r\\nus, look to hear nothing but discords. Here’s my fiddlestick, here’s\\r\\nthat shall make you dance. Zounds, consort!\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nWe talk here in the public haunt of men.\\r\\nEither withdraw unto some private place,\\r\\nAnd reason coldly of your grievances,\\r\\nOr else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nMen’s eyes were made to look, and let them gaze.\\r\\nI will not budge for no man’s pleasure, I.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nWell, peace be with you, sir, here comes my man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nBut I’ll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery.\\r\\nMarry, go before to field, he’ll be your follower;\\r\\nYour worship in that sense may call him man.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nRomeo, the love I bear thee can afford\\r\\nNo better term than this: Thou art a villain.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nTybalt, the reason that I have to love thee\\r\\nDoth much excuse the appertaining rage\\r\\nTo such a greeting. Villain am I none;\\r\\nTherefore farewell; I see thou know’st me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nBoy, this shall not excuse the injuries\\r\\nThat thou hast done me, therefore turn and draw.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI do protest I never injur’d thee,\\r\\nBut love thee better than thou canst devise\\r\\nTill thou shalt know the reason of my love.\\r\\nAnd so good Capulet, which name I tender\\r\\nAs dearly as mine own, be satisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nO calm, dishonourable, vile submission!\\r\\n[_Draws._] Alla stoccata carries it away.\\r\\nTybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nWhat wouldst thou have with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nGood King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives; that I mean to\\r\\nmake bold withal, and, as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest\\r\\nof the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears?\\r\\nMake haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\n[_Drawing._] I am for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nCome, sir, your passado.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nDraw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons.\\r\\nGentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage,\\r\\nTybalt, Mercutio, the Prince expressly hath\\r\\nForbid this bandying in Verona streets.\\r\\nHold, Tybalt! Good Mercutio!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Tybalt with his Partizans._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nI am hurt.\\r\\nA plague o’ both your houses. I am sped.\\r\\nIs he gone, and hath nothing?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nWhat, art thou hurt?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAy, ay, a scratch, a scratch. Marry, ’tis enough.\\r\\nWhere is my page? Go villain, fetch a surgeon.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Page._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nCourage, man; the hurt cannot be much.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNo, ’tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door, but ’tis\\r\\nenough, ’twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a\\r\\ngrave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o’ both\\r\\nyour houses. Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to\\r\\ndeath. A braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of\\r\\narithmetic!—Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your\\r\\narm.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI thought all for the best.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nHelp me into some house, Benvolio,\\r\\nOr I shall faint. A plague o’ both your houses.\\r\\nThey have made worms’ meat of me.\\r\\nI have it, and soundly too. Your houses!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThis gentleman, the Prince’s near ally,\\r\\nMy very friend, hath got his mortal hurt\\r\\nIn my behalf; my reputation stain’d\\r\\nWith Tybalt’s slander,—Tybalt, that an hour\\r\\nHath been my cousin. O sweet Juliet,\\r\\nThy beauty hath made me effeminate\\r\\nAnd in my temper soften’d valour’s steel.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Benvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nO Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio’s dead,\\r\\nThat gallant spirit hath aspir’d the clouds,\\r\\nWhich too untimely here did scorn the earth.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThis day’s black fate on mo days doth depend;\\r\\nThis but begins the woe others must end.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Tybalt.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nHere comes the furious Tybalt back again.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAgain in triumph, and Mercutio slain?\\r\\nAway to heaven respective lenity,\\r\\nAnd fire-ey’d fury be my conduct now!\\r\\nNow, Tybalt, take the ‘villain’ back again\\r\\nThat late thou gav’st me, for Mercutio’s soul\\r\\nIs but a little way above our heads,\\r\\nStaying for thine to keep him company.\\r\\nEither thou or I, or both, must go with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nThou wretched boy, that didst consort him here,\\r\\nShalt with him hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThis shall determine that.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight; Tybalt falls._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nRomeo, away, be gone!\\r\\nThe citizens are up, and Tybalt slain.\\r\\nStand not amaz’d. The Prince will doom thee death\\r\\nIf thou art taken. Hence, be gone, away!\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO, I am fortune’s fool!\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nWhy dost thou stay?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Romeo._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Citizens.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nWhich way ran he that kill’d Mercutio?\\r\\nTybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThere lies that Tybalt.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nUp, sir, go with me.\\r\\nI charge thee in the Prince’s name obey.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Prince, attended; Montague, Capulet, their Wives and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhere are the vile beginners of this fray?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nO noble Prince, I can discover all\\r\\nThe unlucky manage of this fatal brawl.\\r\\nThere lies the man, slain by young Romeo,\\r\\nThat slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nTybalt, my cousin! O my brother’s child!\\r\\nO Prince! O husband! O, the blood is spill’d\\r\\nOf my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true,\\r\\nFor blood of ours shed blood of Montague.\\r\\nO cousin, cousin.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nBenvolio, who began this bloody fray?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nTybalt, here slain, whom Romeo’s hand did slay;\\r\\nRomeo, that spoke him fair, bid him bethink\\r\\nHow nice the quarrel was, and urg’d withal\\r\\nYour high displeasure. All this uttered\\r\\nWith gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow’d\\r\\nCould not take truce with the unruly spleen\\r\\nOf Tybalt, deaf to peace, but that he tilts\\r\\nWith piercing steel at bold Mercutio’s breast,\\r\\nWho, all as hot, turns deadly point to point,\\r\\nAnd, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats\\r\\nCold death aside, and with the other sends\\r\\nIt back to Tybalt, whose dexterity\\r\\nRetorts it. Romeo he cries aloud,\\r\\n‘Hold, friends! Friends, part!’ and swifter than his tongue,\\r\\nHis agile arm beats down their fatal points,\\r\\nAnd ’twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm\\r\\nAn envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life\\r\\nOf stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled.\\r\\nBut by and by comes back to Romeo,\\r\\nWho had but newly entertain’d revenge,\\r\\nAnd to’t they go like lightning; for, ere I\\r\\nCould draw to part them was stout Tybalt slain;\\r\\nAnd as he fell did Romeo turn and fly.\\r\\nThis is the truth, or let Benvolio die.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nHe is a kinsman to the Montague.\\r\\nAffection makes him false, he speaks not true.\\r\\nSome twenty of them fought in this black strife,\\r\\nAnd all those twenty could but kill one life.\\r\\nI beg for justice, which thou, Prince, must give;\\r\\nRomeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nRomeo slew him, he slew Mercutio.\\r\\nWho now the price of his dear blood doth owe?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nNot Romeo, Prince, he was Mercutio’s friend;\\r\\nHis fault concludes but what the law should end,\\r\\nThe life of Tybalt.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nAnd for that offence\\r\\nImmediately we do exile him hence.\\r\\nI have an interest in your hate’s proceeding,\\r\\nMy blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding.\\r\\nBut I’ll amerce you with so strong a fine\\r\\nThat you shall all repent the loss of mine.\\r\\nI will be deaf to pleading and excuses;\\r\\nNor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses.\\r\\nTherefore use none. Let Romeo hence in haste,\\r\\nElse, when he is found, that hour is his last.\\r\\nBear hence this body, and attend our will.\\r\\nMercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,\\r\\nTowards Phoebus’ lodging. Such a waggoner\\r\\nAs Phaeton would whip you to the west\\r\\nAnd bring in cloudy night immediately.\\r\\nSpread thy close curtain, love-performing night,\\r\\nThat runaway’s eyes may wink, and Romeo\\r\\nLeap to these arms, untalk’d of and unseen.\\r\\nLovers can see to do their amorous rites\\r\\nBy their own beauties: or, if love be blind,\\r\\nIt best agrees with night. Come, civil night,\\r\\nThou sober-suited matron, all in black,\\r\\nAnd learn me how to lose a winning match,\\r\\nPlay’d for a pair of stainless maidenhoods.\\r\\nHood my unmann’d blood, bating in my cheeks,\\r\\nWith thy black mantle, till strange love, grow bold,\\r\\nThink true love acted simple modesty.\\r\\nCome, night, come Romeo; come, thou day in night;\\r\\nFor thou wilt lie upon the wings of night\\r\\nWhiter than new snow upon a raven’s back.\\r\\nCome gentle night, come loving black-brow’d night,\\r\\nGive me my Romeo, and when I shall die,\\r\\nTake him and cut him out in little stars,\\r\\nAnd he will make the face of heaven so fine\\r\\nThat all the world will be in love with night,\\r\\nAnd pay no worship to the garish sun.\\r\\nO, I have bought the mansion of a love,\\r\\nBut not possess’d it; and though I am sold,\\r\\nNot yet enjoy’d. So tedious is this day\\r\\nAs is the night before some festival\\r\\nTo an impatient child that hath new robes\\r\\nAnd may not wear them. O, here comes my Nurse,\\r\\nAnd she brings news, and every tongue that speaks\\r\\nBut Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse, with cords.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, Nurse, what news? What hast thou there?\\r\\nThe cords that Romeo bid thee fetch?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAy, ay, the cords.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Throws them down._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAy me, what news? Why dost thou wring thy hands?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAh, well-a-day, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead!\\r\\nWe are undone, lady, we are undone.\\r\\nAlack the day, he’s gone, he’s kill’d, he’s dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nCan heaven be so envious?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nRomeo can,\\r\\nThough heaven cannot. O Romeo, Romeo.\\r\\nWho ever would have thought it? Romeo!\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat devil art thou, that dost torment me thus?\\r\\nThis torture should be roar’d in dismal hell.\\r\\nHath Romeo slain himself? Say thou but Ay,\\r\\nAnd that bare vowel I shall poison more\\r\\nThan the death-darting eye of cockatrice.\\r\\nI am not I if there be such an I;\\r\\nOr those eyes shut that make thee answer Ay.\\r\\nIf he be slain, say Ay; or if not, No.\\r\\nBrief sounds determine of my weal or woe.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,\\r\\nGod save the mark!—here on his manly breast.\\r\\nA piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;\\r\\nPale, pale as ashes, all bedaub’d in blood,\\r\\nAll in gore-blood. I swounded at the sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO, break, my heart. Poor bankrout, break at once.\\r\\nTo prison, eyes; ne’er look on liberty.\\r\\nVile earth to earth resign; end motion here,\\r\\nAnd thou and Romeo press one heavy bier.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had.\\r\\nO courteous Tybalt, honest gentleman!\\r\\nThat ever I should live to see thee dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat storm is this that blows so contrary?\\r\\nIs Romeo slaughter’d and is Tybalt dead?\\r\\nMy dearest cousin, and my dearer lord?\\r\\nThen dreadful trumpet sound the general doom,\\r\\nFor who is living, if those two are gone?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nTybalt is gone, and Romeo banished,\\r\\nRomeo that kill’d him, he is banished.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO God! Did Romeo’s hand shed Tybalt’s blood?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nIt did, it did; alas the day, it did.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO serpent heart, hid with a flowering face!\\r\\nDid ever dragon keep so fair a cave?\\r\\nBeautiful tyrant, fiend angelical,\\r\\nDove-feather’d raven, wolvish-ravening lamb!\\r\\nDespised substance of divinest show!\\r\\nJust opposite to what thou justly seem’st,\\r\\nA damned saint, an honourable villain!\\r\\nO nature, what hadst thou to do in hell\\r\\nWhen thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend\\r\\nIn mortal paradise of such sweet flesh?\\r\\nWas ever book containing such vile matter\\r\\nSo fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell\\r\\nIn such a gorgeous palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nThere’s no trust,\\r\\nNo faith, no honesty in men. All perjur’d,\\r\\nAll forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.\\r\\nAh, where’s my man? Give me some aqua vitae.\\r\\nThese griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.\\r\\nShame come to Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nBlister’d be thy tongue\\r\\nFor such a wish! He was not born to shame.\\r\\nUpon his brow shame is asham’d to sit;\\r\\nFor ’tis a throne where honour may be crown’d\\r\\nSole monarch of the universal earth.\\r\\nO, what a beast was I to chide at him!\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWill you speak well of him that kill’d your cousin?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nShall I speak ill of him that is my husband?\\r\\nAh, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name,\\r\\nWhen I thy three-hours’ wife have mangled it?\\r\\nBut wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?\\r\\nThat villain cousin would have kill’d my husband.\\r\\nBack, foolish tears, back to your native spring,\\r\\nYour tributary drops belong to woe,\\r\\nWhich you mistaking offer up to joy.\\r\\nMy husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain,\\r\\nAnd Tybalt’s dead, that would have slain my husband.\\r\\nAll this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?\\r\\nSome word there was, worser than Tybalt’s death,\\r\\nThat murder’d me. I would forget it fain,\\r\\nBut O, it presses to my memory\\r\\nLike damned guilty deeds to sinners’ minds.\\r\\nTybalt is dead, and Romeo banished.\\r\\nThat ‘banished,’ that one word ‘banished,’\\r\\nHath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt’s death\\r\\nWas woe enough, if it had ended there.\\r\\nOr if sour woe delights in fellowship,\\r\\nAnd needly will be rank’d with other griefs,\\r\\nWhy follow’d not, when she said Tybalt’s dead,\\r\\nThy father or thy mother, nay or both,\\r\\nWhich modern lamentation might have mov’d?\\r\\nBut with a rear-ward following Tybalt’s death,\\r\\n‘Romeo is banished’—to speak that word\\r\\nIs father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,\\r\\nAll slain, all dead. Romeo is banished,\\r\\nThere is no end, no limit, measure, bound,\\r\\nIn that word’s death, no words can that woe sound.\\r\\nWhere is my father and my mother, Nurse?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWeeping and wailing over Tybalt’s corse.\\r\\nWill you go to them? I will bring you thither.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWash they his wounds with tears. Mine shall be spent,\\r\\nWhen theirs are dry, for Romeo’s banishment.\\r\\nTake up those cords. Poor ropes, you are beguil’d,\\r\\nBoth you and I; for Romeo is exil’d.\\r\\nHe made you for a highway to my bed,\\r\\nBut I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.\\r\\nCome cords, come Nurse, I’ll to my wedding bed,\\r\\nAnd death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nHie to your chamber. I’ll find Romeo\\r\\nTo comfort you. I wot well where he is.\\r\\nHark ye, your Romeo will be here at night.\\r\\nI’ll to him, he is hid at Lawrence’ cell.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO find him, give this ring to my true knight,\\r\\nAnd bid him come to take his last farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Friar Lawrence’s cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nRomeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man.\\r\\nAffliction is enanmour’d of thy parts\\r\\nAnd thou art wedded to calamity.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nFather, what news? What is the Prince’s doom?\\r\\nWhat sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,\\r\\nThat I yet know not?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nToo familiar\\r\\nIs my dear son with such sour company.\\r\\nI bring thee tidings of the Prince’s doom.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat less than doomsday is the Prince’s doom?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nA gentler judgment vanish’d from his lips,\\r\\nNot body’s death, but body’s banishment.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHa, banishment? Be merciful, say death;\\r\\nFor exile hath more terror in his look,\\r\\nMuch more than death. Do not say banishment.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHence from Verona art thou banished.\\r\\nBe patient, for the world is broad and wide.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThere is no world without Verona walls,\\r\\nBut purgatory, torture, hell itself.\\r\\nHence banished is banish’d from the world,\\r\\nAnd world’s exile is death. Then banished\\r\\nIs death misterm’d. Calling death banished,\\r\\nThou cutt’st my head off with a golden axe,\\r\\nAnd smilest upon the stroke that murders me.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nO deadly sin, O rude unthankfulness!\\r\\nThy fault our law calls death, but the kind Prince,\\r\\nTaking thy part, hath brush’d aside the law,\\r\\nAnd turn’d that black word death to banishment.\\r\\nThis is dear mercy, and thou see’st it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\n’Tis torture, and not mercy. Heaven is here\\r\\nWhere Juliet lives, and every cat and dog,\\r\\nAnd little mouse, every unworthy thing,\\r\\nLive here in heaven and may look on her,\\r\\nBut Romeo may not. More validity,\\r\\nMore honourable state, more courtship lives\\r\\nIn carrion flies than Romeo. They may seize\\r\\nOn the white wonder of dear Juliet’s hand,\\r\\nAnd steal immortal blessing from her lips,\\r\\nWho, even in pure and vestal modesty\\r\\nStill blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.\\r\\nBut Romeo may not, he is banished.\\r\\nThis may flies do, when I from this must fly.\\r\\nThey are free men but I am banished.\\r\\nAnd say’st thou yet that exile is not death?\\r\\nHadst thou no poison mix’d, no sharp-ground knife,\\r\\nNo sudden mean of death, though ne’er so mean,\\r\\nBut banished to kill me? Banished?\\r\\nO Friar, the damned use that word in hell.\\r\\nHowlings attends it. How hast thou the heart,\\r\\nBeing a divine, a ghostly confessor,\\r\\nA sin-absolver, and my friend profess’d,\\r\\nTo mangle me with that word banished?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThou fond mad man, hear me speak a little,\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO, thou wilt speak again of banishment.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nI’ll give thee armour to keep off that word,\\r\\nAdversity’s sweet milk, philosophy,\\r\\nTo comfort thee, though thou art banished.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nYet banished? Hang up philosophy.\\r\\nUnless philosophy can make a Juliet,\\r\\nDisplant a town, reverse a Prince’s doom,\\r\\nIt helps not, it prevails not, talk no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nO, then I see that mad men have no ears.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHow should they, when that wise men have no eyes?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nLet me dispute with thee of thy estate.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel.\\r\\nWert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,\\r\\nAn hour but married, Tybalt murdered,\\r\\nDoting like me, and like me banished,\\r\\nThen mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair,\\r\\nAnd fall upon the ground as I do now,\\r\\nTaking the measure of an unmade grave.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knocking within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nArise; one knocks. Good Romeo, hide thyself.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNot I, unless the breath of heartsick groans\\r\\nMist-like infold me from the search of eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knocking._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHark, how they knock!—Who’s there?—Romeo, arise,\\r\\nThou wilt be taken.—Stay awhile.—Stand up.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knocking._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRun to my study.—By-and-by.—God’s will,\\r\\nWhat simpleness is this.—I come, I come.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knocking._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWho knocks so hard? Whence come you, what’s your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\n[_Within._] Let me come in, and you shall know my errand.\\r\\nI come from Lady Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nWelcome then.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO holy Friar, O, tell me, holy Friar,\\r\\nWhere is my lady’s lord, where’s Romeo?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThere on the ground, with his own tears made drunk.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO, he is even in my mistress’ case.\\r\\nJust in her case! O woeful sympathy!\\r\\nPiteous predicament. Even so lies she,\\r\\nBlubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering.\\r\\nStand up, stand up; stand, and you be a man.\\r\\nFor Juliet’s sake, for her sake, rise and stand.\\r\\nWhy should you fall into so deep an O?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAh sir, ah sir, death’s the end of all.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSpakest thou of Juliet? How is it with her?\\r\\nDoth not she think me an old murderer,\\r\\nNow I have stain’d the childhood of our joy\\r\\nWith blood remov’d but little from her own?\\r\\nWhere is she? And how doth she? And what says\\r\\nMy conceal’d lady to our cancell’d love?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps;\\r\\nAnd now falls on her bed, and then starts up,\\r\\nAnd Tybalt calls, and then on Romeo cries,\\r\\nAnd then down falls again.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAs if that name,\\r\\nShot from the deadly level of a gun,\\r\\nDid murder her, as that name’s cursed hand\\r\\nMurder’d her kinsman. O, tell me, Friar, tell me,\\r\\nIn what vile part of this anatomy\\r\\nDoth my name lodge? Tell me, that I may sack\\r\\nThe hateful mansion.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Drawing his sword._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHold thy desperate hand.\\r\\nArt thou a man? Thy form cries out thou art.\\r\\nThy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote\\r\\nThe unreasonable fury of a beast.\\r\\nUnseemly woman in a seeming man,\\r\\nAnd ill-beseeming beast in seeming both!\\r\\nThou hast amaz’d me. By my holy order,\\r\\nI thought thy disposition better temper’d.\\r\\nHast thou slain Tybalt? Wilt thou slay thyself?\\r\\nAnd slay thy lady, that in thy life lives,\\r\\nBy doing damned hate upon thyself?\\r\\nWhy rail’st thou on thy birth, the heaven and earth?\\r\\nSince birth, and heaven and earth, all three do meet\\r\\nIn thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose.\\r\\nFie, fie, thou sham’st thy shape, thy love, thy wit,\\r\\nWhich, like a usurer, abound’st in all,\\r\\nAnd usest none in that true use indeed\\r\\nWhich should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit.\\r\\nThy noble shape is but a form of wax,\\r\\nDigressing from the valour of a man;\\r\\nThy dear love sworn but hollow perjury,\\r\\nKilling that love which thou hast vow’d to cherish;\\r\\nThy wit, that ornament to shape and love,\\r\\nMisshapen in the conduct of them both,\\r\\nLike powder in a skilless soldier’s flask,\\r\\nIs set afire by thine own ignorance,\\r\\nAnd thou dismember’d with thine own defence.\\r\\nWhat, rouse thee, man. Thy Juliet is alive,\\r\\nFor whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead.\\r\\nThere art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee,\\r\\nBut thou slew’st Tybalt; there art thou happy.\\r\\nThe law that threaten’d death becomes thy friend,\\r\\nAnd turns it to exile; there art thou happy.\\r\\nA pack of blessings light upon thy back;\\r\\nHappiness courts thee in her best array;\\r\\nBut like a misshaped and sullen wench,\\r\\nThou putt’st up thy Fortune and thy love.\\r\\nTake heed, take heed, for such die miserable.\\r\\nGo, get thee to thy love as was decreed,\\r\\nAscend her chamber, hence and comfort her.\\r\\nBut look thou stay not till the watch be set,\\r\\nFor then thou canst not pass to Mantua;\\r\\nWhere thou shalt live till we can find a time\\r\\nTo blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,\\r\\nBeg pardon of the Prince, and call thee back\\r\\nWith twenty hundred thousand times more joy\\r\\nThan thou went’st forth in lamentation.\\r\\nGo before, Nurse. Commend me to thy lady,\\r\\nAnd bid her hasten all the house to bed,\\r\\nWhich heavy sorrow makes them apt unto.\\r\\nRomeo is coming.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO Lord, I could have stay’d here all the night\\r\\nTo hear good counsel. O, what learning is!\\r\\nMy lord, I’ll tell my lady you will come.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nDo so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nHere sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir.\\r\\nHie you, make haste, for it grows very late.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHow well my comfort is reviv’d by this.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nGo hence, good night, and here stands all your state:\\r\\nEither be gone before the watch be set,\\r\\nOr by the break of day disguis’d from hence.\\r\\nSojourn in Mantua. I’ll find out your man,\\r\\nAnd he shall signify from time to time\\r\\nEvery good hap to you that chances here.\\r\\nGive me thy hand; ’tis late; farewell; good night.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBut that a joy past joy calls out on me,\\r\\nIt were a grief so brief to part with thee.\\r\\nFarewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet and Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nThings have fallen out, sir, so unluckily\\r\\nThat we have had no time to move our daughter.\\r\\nLook you, she lov’d her kinsman Tybalt dearly,\\r\\nAnd so did I. Well, we were born to die.\\r\\n’Tis very late; she’ll not come down tonight.\\r\\nI promise you, but for your company,\\r\\nI would have been abed an hour ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThese times of woe afford no tune to woo.\\r\\nMadam, good night. Commend me to your daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nI will, and know her mind early tomorrow;\\r\\nTonight she’s mew’d up to her heaviness.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nSir Paris, I will make a desperate tender\\r\\nOf my child’s love. I think she will be rul’d\\r\\nIn all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.\\r\\nWife, go you to her ere you go to bed,\\r\\nAcquaint her here of my son Paris’ love,\\r\\nAnd bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next,\\r\\nBut, soft, what day is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nMonday, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nMonday! Ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon,\\r\\nA Thursday let it be; a Thursday, tell her,\\r\\nShe shall be married to this noble earl.\\r\\nWill you be ready? Do you like this haste?\\r\\nWe’ll keep no great ado,—a friend or two,\\r\\nFor, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,\\r\\nIt may be thought we held him carelessly,\\r\\nBeing our kinsman, if we revel much.\\r\\nTherefore we’ll have some half a dozen friends,\\r\\nAnd there an end. But what say you to Thursday?\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nMy lord, I would that Thursday were tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWell, get you gone. A Thursday be it then.\\r\\nGo you to Juliet ere you go to bed,\\r\\nPrepare her, wife, against this wedding day.\\r\\nFarewell, my lord.—Light to my chamber, ho!\\r\\nAfore me, it is so very very late that we\\r\\nMay call it early by and by. Good night.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. An open Gallery to Juliet’s Chamber, overlooking the Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo and Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day.\\r\\nIt was the nightingale, and not the lark,\\r\\nThat pierc’d the fearful hollow of thine ear;\\r\\nNightly she sings on yond pomegranate tree.\\r\\nBelieve me, love, it was the nightingale.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIt was the lark, the herald of the morn,\\r\\nNo nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks\\r\\nDo lace the severing clouds in yonder east.\\r\\nNight’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day\\r\\nStands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.\\r\\nI must be gone and live, or stay and die.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nYond light is not daylight, I know it, I.\\r\\nIt is some meteor that the sun exhales\\r\\nTo be to thee this night a torchbearer\\r\\nAnd light thee on thy way to Mantua.\\r\\nTherefore stay yet, thou need’st not to be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nLet me be ta’en, let me be put to death,\\r\\nI am content, so thou wilt have it so.\\r\\nI’ll say yon grey is not the morning’s eye,\\r\\n’Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia’s brow.\\r\\nNor that is not the lark whose notes do beat\\r\\nThe vaulty heaven so high above our heads.\\r\\nI have more care to stay than will to go.\\r\\nCome, death, and welcome. Juliet wills it so.\\r\\nHow is’t, my soul? Let’s talk. It is not day.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIt is, it is! Hie hence, be gone, away.\\r\\nIt is the lark that sings so out of tune,\\r\\nStraining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.\\r\\nSome say the lark makes sweet division;\\r\\nThis doth not so, for she divideth us.\\r\\nSome say the lark and loathed toad change eyes.\\r\\nO, now I would they had chang’d voices too,\\r\\nSince arm from arm that voice doth us affray,\\r\\nHunting thee hence with hunt’s-up to the day.\\r\\nO now be gone, more light and light it grows.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nMore light and light, more dark and dark our woes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMadam.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNurse?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nYour lady mother is coming to your chamber.\\r\\nThe day is broke, be wary, look about.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThen, window, let day in, and let life out.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nFarewell, farewell, one kiss, and I’ll descend.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Descends._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nArt thou gone so? Love, lord, ay husband, friend,\\r\\nI must hear from thee every day in the hour,\\r\\nFor in a minute there are many days.\\r\\nO, by this count I shall be much in years\\r\\nEre I again behold my Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nFarewell!\\r\\nI will omit no opportunity\\r\\nThat may convey my greetings, love, to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO thinkest thou we shall ever meet again?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI doubt it not, and all these woes shall serve\\r\\nFor sweet discourses in our time to come.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO God! I have an ill-divining soul!\\r\\nMethinks I see thee, now thou art so low,\\r\\nAs one dead in the bottom of a tomb.\\r\\nEither my eyesight fails, or thou look’st pale.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd trust me, love, in my eye so do you.\\r\\nDry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit below._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO Fortune, Fortune! All men call thee fickle,\\r\\nIf thou art fickle, what dost thou with him\\r\\nThat is renown’d for faith? Be fickle, Fortune;\\r\\nFor then, I hope thou wilt not keep him long\\r\\nBut send him back.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\n[_Within._] Ho, daughter, are you up?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWho is’t that calls? Is it my lady mother?\\r\\nIs she not down so late, or up so early?\\r\\nWhat unaccustom’d cause procures her hither?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWhy, how now, Juliet?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nMadam, I am not well.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nEvermore weeping for your cousin’s death?\\r\\nWhat, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?\\r\\nAnd if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live.\\r\\nTherefore have done: some grief shows much of love,\\r\\nBut much of grief shows still some want of wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nYet let me weep for such a feeling loss.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nSo shall you feel the loss, but not the friend\\r\\nWhich you weep for.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nFeeling so the loss,\\r\\nI cannot choose but ever weep the friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWell, girl, thou weep’st not so much for his death\\r\\nAs that the villain lives which slaughter’d him.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat villain, madam?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nThat same villain Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nVillain and he be many miles asunder.\\r\\nGod pardon him. I do, with all my heart.\\r\\nAnd yet no man like he doth grieve my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nThat is because the traitor murderer lives.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAy madam, from the reach of these my hands.\\r\\nWould none but I might venge my cousin’s death.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWe will have vengeance for it, fear thou not.\\r\\nThen weep no more. I’ll send to one in Mantua,\\r\\nWhere that same banish’d runagate doth live,\\r\\nShall give him such an unaccustom’d dram\\r\\nThat he shall soon keep Tybalt company:\\r\\nAnd then I hope thou wilt be satisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIndeed I never shall be satisfied\\r\\nWith Romeo till I behold him—dead—\\r\\nIs my poor heart so for a kinsman vex’d.\\r\\nMadam, if you could find out but a man\\r\\nTo bear a poison, I would temper it,\\r\\nThat Romeo should upon receipt thereof,\\r\\nSoon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors\\r\\nTo hear him nam’d, and cannot come to him,\\r\\nTo wreak the love I bore my cousin\\r\\nUpon his body that hath slaughter’d him.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nFind thou the means, and I’ll find such a man.\\r\\nBut now I’ll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAnd joy comes well in such a needy time.\\r\\nWhat are they, I beseech your ladyship?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWell, well, thou hast a careful father, child;\\r\\nOne who to put thee from thy heaviness,\\r\\nHath sorted out a sudden day of joy,\\r\\nThat thou expects not, nor I look’d not for.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nMadam, in happy time, what day is that?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nMarry, my child, early next Thursday morn\\r\\nThe gallant, young, and noble gentleman,\\r\\nThe County Paris, at Saint Peter’s Church,\\r\\nShall happily make thee there a joyful bride.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNow by Saint Peter’s Church, and Peter too,\\r\\nHe shall not make me there a joyful bride.\\r\\nI wonder at this haste, that I must wed\\r\\nEre he that should be husband comes to woo.\\r\\nI pray you tell my lord and father, madam,\\r\\nI will not marry yet; and when I do, I swear\\r\\nIt shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,\\r\\nRather than Paris. These are news indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nHere comes your father, tell him so yourself,\\r\\nAnd see how he will take it at your hands.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet and Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhen the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew;\\r\\nBut for the sunset of my brother’s son\\r\\nIt rains downright.\\r\\nHow now? A conduit, girl? What, still in tears?\\r\\nEvermore showering? In one little body\\r\\nThou counterfeits a bark, a sea, a wind.\\r\\nFor still thy eyes, which I may call the sea,\\r\\nDo ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is,\\r\\nSailing in this salt flood, the winds, thy sighs,\\r\\nWho raging with thy tears and they with them,\\r\\nWithout a sudden calm will overset\\r\\nThy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife?\\r\\nHave you deliver’d to her our decree?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nAy, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks.\\r\\nI would the fool were married to her grave.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nSoft. Take me with you, take me with you, wife.\\r\\nHow, will she none? Doth she not give us thanks?\\r\\nIs she not proud? Doth she not count her blest,\\r\\nUnworthy as she is, that we have wrought\\r\\nSo worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNot proud you have, but thankful that you have.\\r\\nProud can I never be of what I hate;\\r\\nBut thankful even for hate that is meant love.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHow now, how now, chopp’d logic? What is this?\\r\\nProud, and, I thank you, and I thank you not;\\r\\nAnd yet not proud. Mistress minion you,\\r\\nThank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,\\r\\nBut fettle your fine joints ’gainst Thursday next\\r\\nTo go with Paris to Saint Peter’s Church,\\r\\nOr I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.\\r\\nOut, you green-sickness carrion! Out, you baggage!\\r\\nYou tallow-face!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nFie, fie! What, are you mad?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGood father, I beseech you on my knees,\\r\\nHear me with patience but to speak a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHang thee young baggage, disobedient wretch!\\r\\nI tell thee what,—get thee to church a Thursday,\\r\\nOr never after look me in the face.\\r\\nSpeak not, reply not, do not answer me.\\r\\nMy fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest\\r\\nThat God had lent us but this only child;\\r\\nBut now I see this one is one too much,\\r\\nAnd that we have a curse in having her.\\r\\nOut on her, hilding.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nGod in heaven bless her.\\r\\nYou are to blame, my lord, to rate her so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nAnd why, my lady wisdom? Hold your tongue,\\r\\nGood prudence; smatter with your gossips, go.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI speak no treason.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nO God ye good-en!\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMay not one speak?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nPeace, you mumbling fool!\\r\\nUtter your gravity o’er a gossip’s bowl,\\r\\nFor here we need it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nYou are too hot.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nGod’s bread, it makes me mad!\\r\\nDay, night, hour, ride, time, work, play,\\r\\nAlone, in company, still my care hath been\\r\\nTo have her match’d, and having now provided\\r\\nA gentleman of noble parentage,\\r\\nOf fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly allied,\\r\\nStuff’d, as they say, with honourable parts,\\r\\nProportion’d as one’s thought would wish a man,\\r\\nAnd then to have a wretched puling fool,\\r\\nA whining mammet, in her fortune’s tender,\\r\\nTo answer, ‘I’ll not wed, I cannot love,\\r\\nI am too young, I pray you pardon me.’\\r\\nBut, and you will not wed, I’ll pardon you.\\r\\nGraze where you will, you shall not house with me.\\r\\nLook to’t, think on’t, I do not use to jest.\\r\\nThursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise.\\r\\nAnd you be mine, I’ll give you to my friend;\\r\\nAnd you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets,\\r\\nFor by my soul, I’ll ne’er acknowledge thee,\\r\\nNor what is mine shall never do thee good.\\r\\nTrust to’t, bethink you, I’ll not be forsworn.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIs there no pity sitting in the clouds,\\r\\nThat sees into the bottom of my grief?\\r\\nO sweet my mother, cast me not away,\\r\\nDelay this marriage for a month, a week,\\r\\nOr, if you do not, make the bridal bed\\r\\nIn that dim monument where Tybalt lies.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nTalk not to me, for I’ll not speak a word.\\r\\nDo as thou wilt, for I have done with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO God! O Nurse, how shall this be prevented?\\r\\nMy husband is on earth, my faith in heaven.\\r\\nHow shall that faith return again to earth,\\r\\nUnless that husband send it me from heaven\\r\\nBy leaving earth? Comfort me, counsel me.\\r\\nAlack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems\\r\\nUpon so soft a subject as myself.\\r\\nWhat say’st thou? Hast thou not a word of joy?\\r\\nSome comfort, Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nFaith, here it is.\\r\\nRomeo is banished; and all the world to nothing\\r\\nThat he dares ne’er come back to challenge you.\\r\\nOr if he do, it needs must be by stealth.\\r\\nThen, since the case so stands as now it doth,\\r\\nI think it best you married with the County.\\r\\nO, he’s a lovely gentleman.\\r\\nRomeo’s a dishclout to him. An eagle, madam,\\r\\nHath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye\\r\\nAs Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,\\r\\nI think you are happy in this second match,\\r\\nFor it excels your first: or if it did not,\\r\\nYour first is dead, or ’twere as good he were,\\r\\nAs living here and you no use of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nSpeakest thou from thy heart?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAnd from my soul too,\\r\\nOr else beshrew them both.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWhat?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWell, thou hast comforted me marvellous much.\\r\\nGo in, and tell my lady I am gone,\\r\\nHaving displeas’d my father, to Lawrence’ cell,\\r\\nTo make confession and to be absolv’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMarry, I will; and this is wisely done.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAncient damnation! O most wicked fiend!\\r\\nIs it more sin to wish me thus forsworn,\\r\\nOr to dispraise my lord with that same tongue\\r\\nWhich she hath prais’d him with above compare\\r\\nSo many thousand times? Go, counsellor.\\r\\nThou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain.\\r\\nI’ll to the Friar to know his remedy.\\r\\nIf all else fail, myself have power to die.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nOn Thursday, sir? The time is very short.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nMy father Capulet will have it so;\\r\\nAnd I am nothing slow to slack his haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nYou say you do not know the lady’s mind.\\r\\nUneven is the course; I like it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nImmoderately she weeps for Tybalt’s death,\\r\\nAnd therefore have I little talk’d of love;\\r\\nFor Venus smiles not in a house of tears.\\r\\nNow, sir, her father counts it dangerous\\r\\nThat she do give her sorrow so much sway;\\r\\nAnd in his wisdom, hastes our marriage,\\r\\nTo stop the inundation of her tears,\\r\\nWhich, too much minded by herself alone,\\r\\nMay be put from her by society.\\r\\nNow do you know the reason of this haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I would I knew not why it should be slow’d.—\\r\\nLook, sir, here comes the lady toward my cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHappily met, my lady and my wife!\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThat may be, sir, when I may be a wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThat may be, must be, love, on Thursday next.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat must be shall be.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThat’s a certain text.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nCome you to make confession to this father?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nTo answer that, I should confess to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nDo not deny to him that you love me.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI will confess to you that I love him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nSo will ye, I am sure, that you love me.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIf I do so, it will be of more price,\\r\\nBeing spoke behind your back than to your face.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nPoor soul, thy face is much abus’d with tears.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThe tears have got small victory by that;\\r\\nFor it was bad enough before their spite.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThou wrong’st it more than tears with that report.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThat is no slander, sir, which is a truth,\\r\\nAnd what I spake, I spake it to my face.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThy face is mine, and thou hast slander’d it.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIt may be so, for it is not mine own.\\r\\nAre you at leisure, holy father, now,\\r\\nOr shall I come to you at evening mass?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nMy leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.—\\r\\nMy lord, we must entreat the time alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nGod shield I should disturb devotion!—\\r\\nJuliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye,\\r\\nTill then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO shut the door, and when thou hast done so,\\r\\nCome weep with me, past hope, past cure, past help!\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nO Juliet, I already know thy grief;\\r\\nIt strains me past the compass of my wits.\\r\\nI hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it,\\r\\nOn Thursday next be married to this County.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nTell me not, Friar, that thou hear’st of this,\\r\\nUnless thou tell me how I may prevent it.\\r\\nIf in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help,\\r\\nDo thou but call my resolution wise,\\r\\nAnd with this knife I’ll help it presently.\\r\\nGod join’d my heart and Romeo’s, thou our hands;\\r\\nAnd ere this hand, by thee to Romeo’s seal’d,\\r\\nShall be the label to another deed,\\r\\nOr my true heart with treacherous revolt\\r\\nTurn to another, this shall slay them both.\\r\\nTherefore, out of thy long-experienc’d time,\\r\\nGive me some present counsel, or behold\\r\\n’Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife\\r\\nShall play the empire, arbitrating that\\r\\nWhich the commission of thy years and art\\r\\nCould to no issue of true honour bring.\\r\\nBe not so long to speak. I long to die,\\r\\nIf what thou speak’st speak not of remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHold, daughter. I do spy a kind of hope,\\r\\nWhich craves as desperate an execution\\r\\nAs that is desperate which we would prevent.\\r\\nIf, rather than to marry County Paris\\r\\nThou hast the strength of will to slay thyself,\\r\\nThen is it likely thou wilt undertake\\r\\nA thing like death to chide away this shame,\\r\\nThat cop’st with death himself to scape from it.\\r\\nAnd if thou dar’st, I’ll give thee remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,\\r\\nFrom off the battlements of yonder tower,\\r\\nOr walk in thievish ways, or bid me lurk\\r\\nWhere serpents are. Chain me with roaring bears;\\r\\nOr hide me nightly in a charnel-house,\\r\\nO’er-cover’d quite with dead men’s rattling bones,\\r\\nWith reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls.\\r\\nOr bid me go into a new-made grave,\\r\\nAnd hide me with a dead man in his shroud;\\r\\nThings that, to hear them told, have made me tremble,\\r\\nAnd I will do it without fear or doubt,\\r\\nTo live an unstain’d wife to my sweet love.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHold then. Go home, be merry, give consent\\r\\nTo marry Paris. Wednesday is tomorrow;\\r\\nTomorrow night look that thou lie alone,\\r\\nLet not thy Nurse lie with thee in thy chamber.\\r\\nTake thou this vial, being then in bed,\\r\\nAnd this distilled liquor drink thou off,\\r\\nWhen presently through all thy veins shall run\\r\\nA cold and drowsy humour; for no pulse\\r\\nShall keep his native progress, but surcease.\\r\\nNo warmth, no breath shall testify thou livest,\\r\\nThe roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade\\r\\nTo paly ashes; thy eyes’ windows fall,\\r\\nLike death when he shuts up the day of life.\\r\\nEach part depriv’d of supple government,\\r\\nShall stiff and stark and cold appear like death.\\r\\nAnd in this borrow’d likeness of shrunk death\\r\\nThou shalt continue two and forty hours,\\r\\nAnd then awake as from a pleasant sleep.\\r\\nNow when the bridegroom in the morning comes\\r\\nTo rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead.\\r\\nThen as the manner of our country is,\\r\\nIn thy best robes, uncover’d, on the bier,\\r\\nThou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault\\r\\nWhere all the kindred of the Capulets lie.\\r\\nIn the meantime, against thou shalt awake,\\r\\nShall Romeo by my letters know our drift,\\r\\nAnd hither shall he come, and he and I\\r\\nWill watch thy waking, and that very night\\r\\nShall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua.\\r\\nAnd this shall free thee from this present shame,\\r\\nIf no inconstant toy nor womanish fear\\r\\nAbate thy valour in the acting it.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGive me, give me! O tell not me of fear!\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHold; get you gone, be strong and prosperous\\r\\nIn this resolve. I’ll send a friar with speed\\r\\nTo Mantua, with my letters to thy lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nLove give me strength, and strength shall help afford.\\r\\nFarewell, dear father.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, Nurse and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nSo many guests invite as here are writ.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit first Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nYou shall have none ill, sir; for I’ll try if they can lick their\\r\\nfingers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHow canst thou try them so?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nMarry, sir, ’tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers;\\r\\ntherefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nGo, begone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit second Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWe shall be much unfurnish’d for this time.\\r\\nWhat, is my daughter gone to Friar Lawrence?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAy, forsooth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWell, he may chance to do some good on her.\\r\\nA peevish self-will’d harlotry it is.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nSee where she comes from shrift with merry look.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHow now, my headstrong. Where have you been gadding?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhere I have learnt me to repent the sin\\r\\nOf disobedient opposition\\r\\nTo you and your behests; and am enjoin’d\\r\\nBy holy Lawrence to fall prostrate here,\\r\\nTo beg your pardon. Pardon, I beseech you.\\r\\nHenceforward I am ever rul’d by you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nSend for the County, go tell him of this.\\r\\nI’ll have this knot knit up tomorrow morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI met the youthful lord at Lawrence’ cell,\\r\\nAnd gave him what becomed love I might,\\r\\nNot stepping o’er the bounds of modesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhy, I am glad on’t. This is well. Stand up.\\r\\nThis is as’t should be. Let me see the County.\\r\\nAy, marry. Go, I say, and fetch him hither.\\r\\nNow afore God, this reverend holy Friar,\\r\\nAll our whole city is much bound to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNurse, will you go with me into my closet,\\r\\nTo help me sort such needful ornaments\\r\\nAs you think fit to furnish me tomorrow?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nNo, not till Thursday. There is time enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nGo, Nurse, go with her. We’ll to church tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Juliet and Nurse._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWe shall be short in our provision,\\r\\n’Tis now near night.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nTush, I will stir about,\\r\\nAnd all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife.\\r\\nGo thou to Juliet, help to deck up her.\\r\\nI’ll not to bed tonight, let me alone.\\r\\nI’ll play the housewife for this once.—What, ho!—\\r\\nThey are all forth: well, I will walk myself\\r\\nTo County Paris, to prepare him up\\r\\nAgainst tomorrow. My heart is wondrous light\\r\\nSince this same wayward girl is so reclaim’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Juliet’s Chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet and Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAy, those attires are best. But, gentle Nurse,\\r\\nI pray thee leave me to myself tonight;\\r\\nFor I have need of many orisons\\r\\nTo move the heavens to smile upon my state,\\r\\nWhich, well thou know’st, is cross and full of sin.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWhat, are you busy, ho? Need you my help?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNo, madam; we have cull’d such necessaries\\r\\nAs are behoveful for our state tomorrow.\\r\\nSo please you, let me now be left alone,\\r\\nAnd let the nurse this night sit up with you,\\r\\nFor I am sure you have your hands full all\\r\\nIn this so sudden business.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nGood night.\\r\\nGet thee to bed and rest, for thou hast need.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nFarewell. God knows when we shall meet again.\\r\\nI have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins\\r\\nThat almost freezes up the heat of life.\\r\\nI’ll call them back again to comfort me.\\r\\nNurse!—What should she do here?\\r\\nMy dismal scene I needs must act alone.\\r\\nCome, vial.\\r\\nWhat if this mixture do not work at all?\\r\\nShall I be married then tomorrow morning?\\r\\nNo, No! This shall forbid it. Lie thou there.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Laying down her dagger._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat if it be a poison, which the Friar\\r\\nSubtly hath minister’d to have me dead,\\r\\nLest in this marriage he should be dishonour’d,\\r\\nBecause he married me before to Romeo?\\r\\nI fear it is. And yet methinks it should not,\\r\\nFor he hath still been tried a holy man.\\r\\nHow if, when I am laid into the tomb,\\r\\nI wake before the time that Romeo\\r\\nCome to redeem me? There’s a fearful point!\\r\\nShall I not then be stifled in the vault,\\r\\nTo whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,\\r\\nAnd there die strangled ere my Romeo comes?\\r\\nOr, if I live, is it not very like,\\r\\nThe horrible conceit of death and night,\\r\\nTogether with the terror of the place,\\r\\nAs in a vault, an ancient receptacle,\\r\\nWhere for this many hundred years the bones\\r\\nOf all my buried ancestors are pack’d,\\r\\nWhere bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,\\r\\nLies festering in his shroud; where, as they say,\\r\\nAt some hours in the night spirits resort—\\r\\nAlack, alack, is it not like that I,\\r\\nSo early waking, what with loathsome smells,\\r\\nAnd shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth,\\r\\nThat living mortals, hearing them, run mad.\\r\\nO, if I wake, shall I not be distraught,\\r\\nEnvironed with all these hideous fears,\\r\\nAnd madly play with my forefathers’ joints?\\r\\nAnd pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud?\\r\\nAnd, in this rage, with some great kinsman’s bone,\\r\\nAs with a club, dash out my desperate brains?\\r\\nO look, methinks I see my cousin’s ghost\\r\\nSeeking out Romeo that did spit his body\\r\\nUpon a rapier’s point. Stay, Tybalt, stay!\\r\\nRomeo, Romeo, Romeo, here’s drink! I drink to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Throws herself on the bed._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nHold, take these keys and fetch more spices, Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nThey call for dates and quinces in the pastry.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nCome, stir, stir, stir! The second cock hath crow’d,\\r\\nThe curfew bell hath rung, ’tis three o’clock.\\r\\nLook to the bak’d meats, good Angelica;\\r\\nSpare not for cost.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nGo, you cot-quean, go,\\r\\nGet you to bed; faith, you’ll be sick tomorrow\\r\\nFor this night’s watching.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nNo, not a whit. What! I have watch’d ere now\\r\\nAll night for lesser cause, and ne’er been sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nAy, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time;\\r\\nBut I will watch you from such watching now.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nA jealous-hood, a jealous-hood!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Servants, with spits, logs and baskets.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, fellow, what’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nThings for the cook, sir; but I know not what.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nMake haste, make haste.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit First Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\n—Sirrah, fetch drier logs.\\r\\nCall Peter, he will show thee where they are.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nI have a head, sir, that will find out logs\\r\\nAnd never trouble Peter for the matter.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nMass and well said; a merry whoreson, ha.\\r\\nThou shalt be loggerhead.—Good faith, ’tis day.\\r\\nThe County will be here with music straight,\\r\\nFor so he said he would. I hear him near.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Play music._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNurse! Wife! What, ho! What, Nurse, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nGo waken Juliet, go and trim her up.\\r\\nI’ll go and chat with Paris. Hie, make haste,\\r\\nMake haste; the bridegroom he is come already.\\r\\nMake haste I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Juliet’s Chamber; Juliet on the bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMistress! What, mistress! Juliet! Fast, I warrant her, she.\\r\\nWhy, lamb, why, lady, fie, you slug-abed!\\r\\nWhy, love, I say! Madam! Sweetheart! Why, bride!\\r\\nWhat, not a word? You take your pennyworths now.\\r\\nSleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant,\\r\\nThe County Paris hath set up his rest\\r\\nThat you shall rest but little. God forgive me!\\r\\nMarry and amen. How sound is she asleep!\\r\\nI needs must wake her. Madam, madam, madam!\\r\\nAy, let the County take you in your bed,\\r\\nHe’ll fright you up, i’faith. Will it not be?\\r\\nWhat, dress’d, and in your clothes, and down again?\\r\\nI must needs wake you. Lady! Lady! Lady!\\r\\nAlas, alas! Help, help! My lady’s dead!\\r\\nO, well-a-day that ever I was born.\\r\\nSome aqua vitae, ho! My lord! My lady!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWhat noise is here?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO lamentable day!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWhat is the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nLook, look! O heavy day!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nO me, O me! My child, my only life.\\r\\nRevive, look up, or I will die with thee.\\r\\nHelp, help! Call help.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nFor shame, bring Juliet forth, her lord is come.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nShe’s dead, deceas’d, she’s dead; alack the day!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nAlack the day, she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead!\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHa! Let me see her. Out alas! She’s cold,\\r\\nHer blood is settled and her joints are stiff.\\r\\nLife and these lips have long been separated.\\r\\nDeath lies on her like an untimely frost\\r\\nUpon the sweetest flower of all the field.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO lamentable day!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nO woful time!\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nDeath, that hath ta’en her hence to make me wail,\\r\\nTies up my tongue and will not let me speak.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris with Musicians.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nCome, is the bride ready to go to church?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nReady to go, but never to return.\\r\\nO son, the night before thy wedding day\\r\\nHath death lain with thy bride. There she lies,\\r\\nFlower as she was, deflowered by him.\\r\\nDeath is my son-in-law, death is my heir;\\r\\nMy daughter he hath wedded. I will die.\\r\\nAnd leave him all; life, living, all is death’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHave I thought long to see this morning’s face,\\r\\nAnd doth it give me such a sight as this?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nAccurs’d, unhappy, wretched, hateful day.\\r\\nMost miserable hour that e’er time saw\\r\\nIn lasting labour of his pilgrimage.\\r\\nBut one, poor one, one poor and loving child,\\r\\nBut one thing to rejoice and solace in,\\r\\nAnd cruel death hath catch’d it from my sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day.\\r\\nMost lamentable day, most woeful day\\r\\nThat ever, ever, I did yet behold!\\r\\nO day, O day, O day, O hateful day.\\r\\nNever was seen so black a day as this.\\r\\nO woeful day, O woeful day.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nBeguil’d, divorced, wronged, spited, slain.\\r\\nMost detestable death, by thee beguil’d,\\r\\nBy cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown.\\r\\nO love! O life! Not life, but love in death!\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nDespis’d, distressed, hated, martyr’d, kill’d.\\r\\nUncomfortable time, why cam’st thou now\\r\\nTo murder, murder our solemnity?\\r\\nO child! O child! My soul, and not my child,\\r\\nDead art thou. Alack, my child is dead,\\r\\nAnd with my child my joys are buried.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nPeace, ho, for shame. Confusion’s cure lives not\\r\\nIn these confusions. Heaven and yourself\\r\\nHad part in this fair maid, now heaven hath all,\\r\\nAnd all the better is it for the maid.\\r\\nYour part in her you could not keep from death,\\r\\nBut heaven keeps his part in eternal life.\\r\\nThe most you sought was her promotion,\\r\\nFor ’twas your heaven she should be advanc’d,\\r\\nAnd weep ye now, seeing she is advanc’d\\r\\nAbove the clouds, as high as heaven itself?\\r\\nO, in this love, you love your child so ill\\r\\nThat you run mad, seeing that she is well.\\r\\nShe’s not well married that lives married long,\\r\\nBut she’s best married that dies married young.\\r\\nDry up your tears, and stick your rosemary\\r\\nOn this fair corse, and, as the custom is,\\r\\nAnd in her best array bear her to church;\\r\\nFor though fond nature bids us all lament,\\r\\nYet nature’s tears are reason’s merriment.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nAll things that we ordained festival\\r\\nTurn from their office to black funeral:\\r\\nOur instruments to melancholy bells,\\r\\nOur wedding cheer to a sad burial feast;\\r\\nOur solemn hymns to sullen dirges change;\\r\\nOur bridal flowers serve for a buried corse,\\r\\nAnd all things change them to the contrary.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nSir, go you in, and, madam, go with him,\\r\\nAnd go, Sir Paris, everyone prepare\\r\\nTo follow this fair corse unto her grave.\\r\\nThe heavens do lower upon you for some ill;\\r\\nMove them no more by crossing their high will.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris and Friar._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nFaith, we may put up our pipes and be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nHonest good fellows, ah, put up, put up,\\r\\nFor well you know this is a pitiful case.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nAy, by my troth, the case may be amended.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Nurse._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Peter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nMusicians, O, musicians, ‘Heart’s ease,’ ‘Heart’s ease’, O, and you\\r\\nwill have me live, play ‘Heart’s ease.’\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWhy ‘Heart’s ease’?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nO musicians, because my heart itself plays ‘My heart is full’. O play\\r\\nme some merry dump to comfort me.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nNot a dump we, ’tis no time to play now.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nYou will not then?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nI will then give it you soundly.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWhat will you give us?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nNo money, on my faith, but the gleek! I will give you the minstrel.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nThen will I give you the serving-creature.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nThen will I lay the serving-creature’s dagger on your pate. I will\\r\\ncarry no crotchets. I’ll re you, I’ll fa you. Do you note me?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nAnd you re us and fa us, you note us.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MUSICIAN.\\r\\nPray you put up your dagger, and put out your wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nThen have at you with my wit. I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and\\r\\nput up my iron dagger. Answer me like men.\\r\\n ‘When griping griefs the heart doth wound,\\r\\n And doleful dumps the mind oppress,\\r\\n Then music with her silver sound’—\\r\\nWhy ‘silver sound’? Why ‘music with her silver sound’? What say you,\\r\\nSimon Catling?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nMarry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nPrates. What say you, Hugh Rebeck?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MUSICIAN.\\r\\nI say ‘silver sound’ because musicians sound for silver.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nPrates too! What say you, James Soundpost?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD MUSICIAN.\\r\\nFaith, I know not what to say.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nO, I cry you mercy, you are the singer. I will say for you. It is\\r\\n‘music with her silver sound’ because musicians have no gold for\\r\\nsounding.\\r\\n ‘Then music with her silver sound\\r\\n With speedy help doth lend redress.’\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWhat a pestilent knave is this same!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MUSICIAN.\\r\\nHang him, Jack. Come, we’ll in here, tarry for the mourners, and stay\\r\\ndinner.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Mantua. A Street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIf I may trust the flattering eye of sleep,\\r\\nMy dreams presage some joyful news at hand.\\r\\nMy bosom’s lord sits lightly in his throne;\\r\\nAnd all this day an unaccustom’d spirit\\r\\nLifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.\\r\\nI dreamt my lady came and found me dead,—\\r\\nStrange dream, that gives a dead man leave to think!—\\r\\nAnd breath’d such life with kisses in my lips,\\r\\nThat I reviv’d, and was an emperor.\\r\\nAh me, how sweet is love itself possess’d,\\r\\nWhen but love’s shadows are so rich in joy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Balthasar.\\r\\n\\r\\nNews from Verona! How now, Balthasar?\\r\\nDost thou not bring me letters from the Friar?\\r\\nHow doth my lady? Is my father well?\\r\\nHow fares my Juliet? That I ask again;\\r\\nFor nothing can be ill if she be well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nThen she is well, and nothing can be ill.\\r\\nHer body sleeps in Capel’s monument,\\r\\nAnd her immortal part with angels lives.\\r\\nI saw her laid low in her kindred’s vault,\\r\\nAnd presently took post to tell it you.\\r\\nO pardon me for bringing these ill news,\\r\\nSince you did leave it for my office, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIs it even so? Then I defy you, stars!\\r\\nThou know’st my lodging. Get me ink and paper,\\r\\nAnd hire post-horses. I will hence tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nI do beseech you sir, have patience.\\r\\nYour looks are pale and wild, and do import\\r\\nSome misadventure.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nTush, thou art deceiv’d.\\r\\nLeave me, and do the thing I bid thee do.\\r\\nHast thou no letters to me from the Friar?\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nNo, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNo matter. Get thee gone,\\r\\nAnd hire those horses. I’ll be with thee straight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Balthasar._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWell, Juliet, I will lie with thee tonight.\\r\\nLet’s see for means. O mischief thou art swift\\r\\nTo enter in the thoughts of desperate men.\\r\\nI do remember an apothecary,—\\r\\nAnd hereabouts he dwells,—which late I noted\\r\\nIn tatter’d weeds, with overwhelming brows,\\r\\nCulling of simples, meagre were his looks,\\r\\nSharp misery had worn him to the bones;\\r\\nAnd in his needy shop a tortoise hung,\\r\\nAn alligator stuff’d, and other skins\\r\\nOf ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves\\r\\nA beggarly account of empty boxes,\\r\\nGreen earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,\\r\\nRemnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses\\r\\nWere thinly scatter’d, to make up a show.\\r\\nNoting this penury, to myself I said,\\r\\nAnd if a man did need a poison now,\\r\\nWhose sale is present death in Mantua,\\r\\nHere lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.\\r\\nO, this same thought did but forerun my need,\\r\\nAnd this same needy man must sell it me.\\r\\nAs I remember, this should be the house.\\r\\nBeing holiday, the beggar’s shop is shut.\\r\\nWhat, ho! Apothecary!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Apothecary.\\r\\n\\r\\nAPOTHECARY.\\r\\nWho calls so loud?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nCome hither, man. I see that thou art poor.\\r\\nHold, there is forty ducats. Let me have\\r\\nA dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear\\r\\nAs will disperse itself through all the veins,\\r\\nThat the life-weary taker may fall dead,\\r\\nAnd that the trunk may be discharg’d of breath\\r\\nAs violently as hasty powder fir’d\\r\\nDoth hurry from the fatal cannon’s womb.\\r\\n\\r\\nAPOTHECARY.\\r\\nSuch mortal drugs I have, but Mantua’s law\\r\\nIs death to any he that utters them.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nArt thou so bare and full of wretchedness,\\r\\nAnd fear’st to die? Famine is in thy cheeks,\\r\\nNeed and oppression starveth in thine eyes,\\r\\nContempt and beggary hangs upon thy back.\\r\\nThe world is not thy friend, nor the world’s law;\\r\\nThe world affords no law to make thee rich;\\r\\nThen be not poor, but break it and take this.\\r\\n\\r\\nAPOTHECARY.\\r\\nMy poverty, but not my will consents.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI pay thy poverty, and not thy will.\\r\\n\\r\\nAPOTHECARY.\\r\\nPut this in any liquid thing you will\\r\\nAnd drink it off; and, if you had the strength\\r\\nOf twenty men, it would despatch you straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThere is thy gold, worse poison to men’s souls,\\r\\nDoing more murder in this loathsome world\\r\\nThan these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.\\r\\nI sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none.\\r\\nFarewell, buy food, and get thyself in flesh.\\r\\nCome, cordial and not poison, go with me\\r\\nTo Juliet’s grave, for there must I use thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar John.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR JOHN.\\r\\nHoly Franciscan Friar! Brother, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThis same should be the voice of Friar John.\\r\\nWelcome from Mantua. What says Romeo?\\r\\nOr, if his mind be writ, give me his letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR JOHN.\\r\\nGoing to find a barefoot brother out,\\r\\nOne of our order, to associate me,\\r\\nHere in this city visiting the sick,\\r\\nAnd finding him, the searchers of the town,\\r\\nSuspecting that we both were in a house\\r\\nWhere the infectious pestilence did reign,\\r\\nSeal’d up the doors, and would not let us forth,\\r\\nSo that my speed to Mantua there was stay’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nWho bare my letter then to Romeo?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR JOHN.\\r\\nI could not send it,—here it is again,—\\r\\nNor get a messenger to bring it thee,\\r\\nSo fearful were they of infection.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nUnhappy fortune! By my brotherhood,\\r\\nThe letter was not nice, but full of charge,\\r\\nOf dear import, and the neglecting it\\r\\nMay do much danger. Friar John, go hence,\\r\\nGet me an iron crow and bring it straight\\r\\nUnto my cell.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR JOHN.\\r\\nBrother, I’ll go and bring it thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nNow must I to the monument alone.\\r\\nWithin this three hours will fair Juliet wake.\\r\\nShe will beshrew me much that Romeo\\r\\nHath had no notice of these accidents;\\r\\nBut I will write again to Mantua,\\r\\nAnd keep her at my cell till Romeo come.\\r\\nPoor living corse, clos’d in a dead man’s tomb.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A churchyard; in it a Monument belonging to the Capulets.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paris, and his Page bearing flowers and a torch.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nGive me thy torch, boy. Hence and stand aloof.\\r\\nYet put it out, for I would not be seen.\\r\\nUnder yond yew tree lay thee all along,\\r\\nHolding thy ear close to the hollow ground;\\r\\nSo shall no foot upon the churchyard tread,\\r\\nBeing loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves,\\r\\nBut thou shalt hear it. Whistle then to me,\\r\\nAs signal that thou hear’st something approach.\\r\\nGive me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I am almost afraid to stand alone\\r\\nHere in the churchyard; yet I will adventure.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Retires._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nSweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew.\\r\\nO woe, thy canopy is dust and stones,\\r\\nWhich with sweet water nightly I will dew,\\r\\nOr wanting that, with tears distill’d by moans.\\r\\nThe obsequies that I for thee will keep,\\r\\nNightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Page whistles._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe boy gives warning something doth approach.\\r\\nWhat cursed foot wanders this way tonight,\\r\\nTo cross my obsequies and true love’s rite?\\r\\nWhat, with a torch! Muffle me, night, awhile.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Retires._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo and Balthasar with a torch, mattock, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGive me that mattock and the wrenching iron.\\r\\nHold, take this letter; early in the morning\\r\\nSee thou deliver it to my lord and father.\\r\\nGive me the light; upon thy life I charge thee,\\r\\nWhate’er thou hear’st or seest, stand all aloof\\r\\nAnd do not interrupt me in my course.\\r\\nWhy I descend into this bed of death\\r\\nIs partly to behold my lady’s face,\\r\\nBut chiefly to take thence from her dead finger\\r\\nA precious ring, a ring that I must use\\r\\nIn dear employment. Therefore hence, be gone.\\r\\nBut if thou jealous dost return to pry\\r\\nIn what I further shall intend to do,\\r\\nBy heaven I will tear thee joint by joint,\\r\\nAnd strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs.\\r\\nThe time and my intents are savage-wild;\\r\\nMore fierce and more inexorable far\\r\\nThan empty tigers or the roaring sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nI will be gone, sir, and not trouble you.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSo shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that.\\r\\nLive, and be prosperous, and farewell, good fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nFor all this same, I’ll hide me hereabout.\\r\\nHis looks I fear, and his intents I doubt.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Retires_]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThou detestable maw, thou womb of death,\\r\\nGorg’d with the dearest morsel of the earth,\\r\\nThus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Breaking open the door of the monument._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd in despite, I’ll cram thee with more food.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThis is that banish’d haughty Montague\\r\\nThat murder’d my love’s cousin,—with which grief,\\r\\nIt is supposed, the fair creature died,—\\r\\nAnd here is come to do some villanous shame\\r\\nTo the dead bodies. I will apprehend him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Advances._]\\r\\n\\r\\nStop thy unhallow’d toil, vile Montague.\\r\\nCan vengeance be pursu’d further than death?\\r\\nCondemned villain, I do apprehend thee.\\r\\nObey, and go with me, for thou must die.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI must indeed; and therefore came I hither.\\r\\nGood gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man.\\r\\nFly hence and leave me. Think upon these gone;\\r\\nLet them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth,\\r\\nPut not another sin upon my head\\r\\nBy urging me to fury. O be gone.\\r\\nBy heaven I love thee better than myself;\\r\\nFor I come hither arm’d against myself.\\r\\nStay not, be gone, live, and hereafter say,\\r\\nA madman’s mercy bid thee run away.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nI do defy thy conjuration,\\r\\nAnd apprehend thee for a felon here.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWilt thou provoke me? Then have at thee, boy!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nO lord, they fight! I will go call the watch.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nO, I am slain! [_Falls._] If thou be merciful,\\r\\nOpen the tomb, lay me with Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIn faith, I will. Let me peruse this face.\\r\\nMercutio’s kinsman, noble County Paris!\\r\\nWhat said my man, when my betossed soul\\r\\nDid not attend him as we rode? I think\\r\\nHe told me Paris should have married Juliet.\\r\\nSaid he not so? Or did I dream it so?\\r\\nOr am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet,\\r\\nTo think it was so? O, give me thy hand,\\r\\nOne writ with me in sour misfortune’s book.\\r\\nI’ll bury thee in a triumphant grave.\\r\\nA grave? O no, a lantern, slaught’red youth,\\r\\nFor here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes\\r\\nThis vault a feasting presence full of light.\\r\\nDeath, lie thou there, by a dead man interr’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Laying Paris in the monument._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow oft when men are at the point of death\\r\\nHave they been merry! Which their keepers call\\r\\nA lightning before death. O, how may I\\r\\nCall this a lightning? O my love, my wife,\\r\\nDeath that hath suck’d the honey of thy breath,\\r\\nHath had no power yet upon thy beauty.\\r\\nThou art not conquer’d. Beauty’s ensign yet\\r\\nIs crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,\\r\\nAnd death’s pale flag is not advanced there.\\r\\nTybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet?\\r\\nO, what more favour can I do to thee\\r\\nThan with that hand that cut thy youth in twain\\r\\nTo sunder his that was thine enemy?\\r\\nForgive me, cousin. Ah, dear Juliet,\\r\\nWhy art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe\\r\\nThat unsubstantial death is amorous;\\r\\nAnd that the lean abhorred monster keeps\\r\\nThee here in dark to be his paramour?\\r\\nFor fear of that I still will stay with thee,\\r\\nAnd never from this palace of dim night\\r\\nDepart again. Here, here will I remain\\r\\nWith worms that are thy chambermaids. O, here\\r\\nWill I set up my everlasting rest;\\r\\nAnd shake the yoke of inauspicious stars\\r\\nFrom this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last.\\r\\nArms, take your last embrace! And, lips, O you\\r\\nThe doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss\\r\\nA dateless bargain to engrossing death.\\r\\nCome, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide.\\r\\nThou desperate pilot, now at once run on\\r\\nThe dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark.\\r\\nHere’s to my love! [_Drinks._] O true apothecary!\\r\\nThy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, at the other end of the Churchyard, Friar Lawrence, with a\\r\\n lantern, crow, and spade.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nSaint Francis be my speed. How oft tonight\\r\\nHave my old feet stumbled at graves? Who’s there?\\r\\nWho is it that consorts, so late, the dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nHere’s one, a friend, and one that knows you well.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nBliss be upon you. Tell me, good my friend,\\r\\nWhat torch is yond that vainly lends his light\\r\\nTo grubs and eyeless skulls? As I discern,\\r\\nIt burneth in the Capels’ monument.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nIt doth so, holy sir, and there’s my master,\\r\\nOne that you love.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nWho is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nRomeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHow long hath he been there?\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nFull half an hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nGo with me to the vault.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nI dare not, sir;\\r\\nMy master knows not but I am gone hence,\\r\\nAnd fearfully did menace me with death\\r\\nIf I did stay to look on his intents.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nStay then, I’ll go alone. Fear comes upon me.\\r\\nO, much I fear some ill unlucky thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nAs I did sleep under this yew tree here,\\r\\nI dreamt my master and another fought,\\r\\nAnd that my master slew him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nRomeo! [_Advances._]\\r\\nAlack, alack, what blood is this which stains\\r\\nThe stony entrance of this sepulchre?\\r\\nWhat mean these masterless and gory swords\\r\\nTo lie discolour’d by this place of peace?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Enters the monument._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRomeo! O, pale! Who else? What, Paris too?\\r\\nAnd steep’d in blood? Ah what an unkind hour\\r\\nIs guilty of this lamentable chance?\\r\\nThe lady stirs.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Juliet wakes and stirs._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO comfortable Friar, where is my lord?\\r\\nI do remember well where I should be,\\r\\nAnd there I am. Where is my Romeo?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Noise within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nI hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest\\r\\nOf death, contagion, and unnatural sleep.\\r\\nA greater power than we can contradict\\r\\nHath thwarted our intents. Come, come away.\\r\\nThy husband in thy bosom there lies dead;\\r\\nAnd Paris too. Come, I’ll dispose of thee\\r\\nAmong a sisterhood of holy nuns.\\r\\nStay not to question, for the watch is coming.\\r\\nCome, go, good Juliet. I dare no longer stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGo, get thee hence, for I will not away.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Friar Lawrence._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat’s here? A cup clos’d in my true love’s hand?\\r\\nPoison, I see, hath been his timeless end.\\r\\nO churl. Drink all, and left no friendly drop\\r\\nTo help me after? I will kiss thy lips.\\r\\nHaply some poison yet doth hang on them,\\r\\nTo make me die with a restorative.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kisses him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThy lips are warm!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\n[_Within._] Lead, boy. Which way?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nYea, noise? Then I’ll be brief. O happy dagger.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Snatching Romeo’s dagger._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThis is thy sheath. [_stabs herself_] There rest, and let me die.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Falls on Romeo’s body and dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Watch with the Page of Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nThis is the place. There, where the torch doth burn.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\nThe ground is bloody. Search about the churchyard.\\r\\nGo, some of you, whoe’er you find attach.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt some of the Watch._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPitiful sight! Here lies the County slain,\\r\\nAnd Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead,\\r\\nWho here hath lain this two days buried.\\r\\nGo tell the Prince; run to the Capulets.\\r\\nRaise up the Montagues, some others search.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt others of the Watch._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWe see the ground whereon these woes do lie,\\r\\nBut the true ground of all these piteous woes\\r\\nWe cannot without circumstance descry.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter some of the Watch with Balthasar.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WATCH.\\r\\nHere’s Romeo’s man. We found him in the churchyard.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\nHold him in safety till the Prince come hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter others of the Watch with Friar Lawrence.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WATCH. Here is a Friar that trembles, sighs, and weeps.\\r\\nWe took this mattock and this spade from him\\r\\nAs he was coming from this churchyard side.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\nA great suspicion. Stay the Friar too.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the Prince and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhat misadventure is so early up,\\r\\nThat calls our person from our morning’s rest?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhat should it be that they so shriek abroad?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nO the people in the street cry Romeo,\\r\\nSome Juliet, and some Paris, and all run\\r\\nWith open outcry toward our monument.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhat fear is this which startles in our ears?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\nSovereign, here lies the County Paris slain,\\r\\nAnd Romeo dead, and Juliet, dead before,\\r\\nWarm and new kill’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nSearch, seek, and know how this foul murder comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\nHere is a Friar, and slaughter’d Romeo’s man,\\r\\nWith instruments upon them fit to open\\r\\nThese dead men’s tombs.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nO heaven! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds!\\r\\nThis dagger hath mista’en, for lo, his house\\r\\nIs empty on the back of Montague,\\r\\nAnd it mis-sheathed in my daughter’s bosom.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nO me! This sight of death is as a bell\\r\\nThat warns my old age to a sepulchre.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Montague and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nCome, Montague, for thou art early up,\\r\\nTo see thy son and heir more early down.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nAlas, my liege, my wife is dead tonight.\\r\\nGrief of my son’s exile hath stopp’d her breath.\\r\\nWhat further woe conspires against mine age?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nLook, and thou shalt see.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nO thou untaught! What manners is in this,\\r\\nTo press before thy father to a grave?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nSeal up the mouth of outrage for a while,\\r\\nTill we can clear these ambiguities,\\r\\nAnd know their spring, their head, their true descent,\\r\\nAnd then will I be general of your woes,\\r\\nAnd lead you even to death. Meantime forbear,\\r\\nAnd let mischance be slave to patience.\\r\\nBring forth the parties of suspicion.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nI am the greatest, able to do least,\\r\\nYet most suspected, as the time and place\\r\\nDoth make against me, of this direful murder.\\r\\nAnd here I stand, both to impeach and purge\\r\\nMyself condemned and myself excus’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThen say at once what thou dost know in this.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nI will be brief, for my short date of breath\\r\\nIs not so long as is a tedious tale.\\r\\nRomeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet,\\r\\nAnd she, there dead, that Romeo’s faithful wife.\\r\\nI married them; and their stol’n marriage day\\r\\nWas Tybalt’s doomsday, whose untimely death\\r\\nBanish’d the new-made bridegroom from this city;\\r\\nFor whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pin’d.\\r\\nYou, to remove that siege of grief from her,\\r\\nBetroth’d, and would have married her perforce\\r\\nTo County Paris. Then comes she to me,\\r\\nAnd with wild looks, bid me devise some means\\r\\nTo rid her from this second marriage,\\r\\nOr in my cell there would she kill herself.\\r\\nThen gave I her, so tutored by my art,\\r\\nA sleeping potion, which so took effect\\r\\nAs I intended, for it wrought on her\\r\\nThe form of death. Meantime I writ to Romeo\\r\\nThat he should hither come as this dire night\\r\\nTo help to take her from her borrow’d grave,\\r\\nBeing the time the potion’s force should cease.\\r\\nBut he which bore my letter, Friar John,\\r\\nWas stay’d by accident; and yesternight\\r\\nReturn’d my letter back. Then all alone\\r\\nAt the prefixed hour of her waking\\r\\nCame I to take her from her kindred’s vault,\\r\\nMeaning to keep her closely at my cell\\r\\nTill I conveniently could send to Romeo.\\r\\nBut when I came, some minute ere the time\\r\\nOf her awaking, here untimely lay\\r\\nThe noble Paris and true Romeo dead.\\r\\nShe wakes; and I entreated her come forth\\r\\nAnd bear this work of heaven with patience.\\r\\nBut then a noise did scare me from the tomb;\\r\\nAnd she, too desperate, would not go with me,\\r\\nBut, as it seems, did violence on herself.\\r\\nAll this I know; and to the marriage\\r\\nHer Nurse is privy. And if ought in this\\r\\nMiscarried by my fault, let my old life\\r\\nBe sacrific’d, some hour before his time,\\r\\nUnto the rigour of severest law.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWe still have known thee for a holy man.\\r\\nWhere’s Romeo’s man? What can he say to this?\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nI brought my master news of Juliet’s death,\\r\\nAnd then in post he came from Mantua\\r\\nTo this same place, to this same monument.\\r\\nThis letter he early bid me give his father,\\r\\nAnd threaten’d me with death, going in the vault,\\r\\nIf I departed not, and left him there.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nGive me the letter, I will look on it.\\r\\nWhere is the County’s Page that rais’d the watch?\\r\\nSirrah, what made your master in this place?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nHe came with flowers to strew his lady’s grave,\\r\\nAnd bid me stand aloof, and so I did.\\r\\nAnon comes one with light to ope the tomb,\\r\\nAnd by and by my master drew on him,\\r\\nAnd then I ran away to call the watch.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThis letter doth make good the Friar’s words,\\r\\nTheir course of love, the tidings of her death.\\r\\nAnd here he writes that he did buy a poison\\r\\nOf a poor ’pothecary, and therewithal\\r\\nCame to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet.\\r\\nWhere be these enemies? Capulet, Montague,\\r\\nSee what a scourge is laid upon your hate,\\r\\nThat heaven finds means to kill your joys with love!\\r\\nAnd I, for winking at your discords too,\\r\\nHave lost a brace of kinsmen. All are punish’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nO brother Montague, give me thy hand.\\r\\nThis is my daughter’s jointure, for no more\\r\\nCan I demand.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nBut I can give thee more,\\r\\nFor I will raise her statue in pure gold,\\r\\nThat whiles Verona by that name is known,\\r\\nThere shall no figure at such rate be set\\r\\nAs that of true and faithful Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nAs rich shall Romeo’s by his lady’s lie,\\r\\nPoor sacrifices of our enmity.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nA glooming peace this morning with it brings;\\r\\nThe sun for sorrow will not show his head.\\r\\nGo hence, to have more talk of these sad things.\\r\\nSome shall be pardon’d, and some punished,\\r\\nFor never was a story of more woe\\r\\nThan this of Juliet and her Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE TAMING OF THE SHREW\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nINDUCTION\\r\\nScene I. Before an alehouse on a heath.\\r\\nScene II. A bedchamber in the LORD’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Padua. A public place.\\r\\nScene II. Padua. Before HORTENSIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. Padua. A room in BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Padua. A room in BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\nScene II. The same. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. A hall in PETRUCHIO’S country house.\\r\\nScene II. Padua. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\nScene III. A room in PETRUCHIO’S house.\\r\\nScene IV. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\nScene V. A public road.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Padua. Before LUCENTIO’S house.\\r\\nScene II. A room in LUCENTIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nPersons in the Induction\\r\\nA LORD\\r\\nCHRISTOPHER SLY, a tinker\\r\\nHOSTESS\\r\\nPAGE\\r\\nPLAYERS\\r\\nHUNTSMEN\\r\\nSERVANTS\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA MINOLA, a rich gentleman of Padua\\r\\nVINCENTIO, an old gentleman of Pisa\\r\\nLUCENTIO, son to Vincentio; in love with Bianca\\r\\nPETRUCHIO, a gentleman of Verona; suitor to Katherina\\r\\n\\r\\nSuitors to Bianca\\r\\nGREMIO\\r\\nHORTENSIO\\r\\n\\r\\nServants to Lucentio\\r\\nTRANIO\\r\\nBIONDELLO\\r\\n\\r\\nServants to Petruchio\\r\\nGRUMIO\\r\\nCURTIS\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT, set up to personate Vincentio\\r\\n\\r\\nDaughters to Baptista\\r\\nKATHERINA, the shrew\\r\\nBIANCA\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW\\r\\n\\r\\nTailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Baptista and Petruchio\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Sometimes in Padua, and sometimes in PETRUCHIO’S house in the\\r\\ncountry.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nINDUCTION\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Before an alehouse on a heath.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Hostess and Sly\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nI’ll pheeze you, in faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nA pair of stocks, you rogue!\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nY’are a baggage; the Slys are no rogues; look in the chronicles: we\\r\\ncame in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore, _paucas pallabris_; let the\\r\\nworld slide. Sessa!\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nYou will not pay for the glasses you have burst?\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nNo, not a denier. Go by, Saint Jeronimy, go to thy cold bed and warm\\r\\nthee.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nI know my remedy; I must go fetch the third-borough.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit_]\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nThird, or fourth, or fifth borough, I’ll answer him by law. I’ll not\\r\\nbudge an inch, boy: let him come, and kindly.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Lies down on the ground, and falls asleep._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHorns winded. Enter a Lord from hunting, with Huntsmen and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nHuntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds;\\r\\nBrach Merriman, the poor cur is emboss’d,\\r\\nAnd couple Clowder with the deep-mouth’d brach.\\r\\nSaw’st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good\\r\\nAt the hedge-corner, in the coldest fault?\\r\\nI would not lose the dog for twenty pound.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nWhy, Bellman is as good as he, my lord;\\r\\nHe cried upon it at the merest loss,\\r\\nAnd twice today pick’d out the dullest scent;\\r\\nTrust me, I take him for the better dog.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nThou art a fool: if Echo were as fleet,\\r\\nI would esteem him worth a dozen such.\\r\\nBut sup them well, and look unto them all;\\r\\nTomorrow I intend to hunt again.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nI will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\n[ _Sees Sly_.] What’s here? One dead, or drunk?\\r\\nSee, doth he breathe?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nHe breathes, my lord. Were he not warm’d with ale,\\r\\nThis were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nO monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies!\\r\\nGrim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image!\\r\\nSirs, I will practise on this drunken man.\\r\\nWhat think you, if he were convey’d to bed,\\r\\nWrapp’d in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers,\\r\\nA most delicious banquet by his bed,\\r\\nAnd brave attendants near him when he wakes,\\r\\nWould not the beggar then forget himself?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nBelieve me, lord, I think he cannot choose.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nIt would seem strange unto him when he wak’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nEven as a flattering dream or worthless fancy.\\r\\nThen take him up, and manage well the jest.\\r\\nCarry him gently to my fairest chamber,\\r\\nAnd hang it round with all my wanton pictures;\\r\\nBalm his foul head in warm distilled waters,\\r\\nAnd burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet.\\r\\nProcure me music ready when he wakes,\\r\\nTo make a dulcet and a heavenly sound;\\r\\nAnd if he chance to speak, be ready straight,\\r\\nAnd with a low submissive reverence\\r\\nSay ‘What is it your honour will command?’\\r\\nLet one attend him with a silver basin\\r\\nFull of rose-water and bestrew’d with flowers;\\r\\nAnother bear the ewer, the third a diaper,\\r\\nAnd say ‘Will’t please your lordship cool your hands?’\\r\\nSomeone be ready with a costly suit,\\r\\nAnd ask him what apparel he will wear;\\r\\nAnother tell him of his hounds and horse,\\r\\nAnd that his lady mourns at his disease.\\r\\nPersuade him that he hath been lunatic;\\r\\nAnd, when he says he is—say that he dreams,\\r\\nFor he is nothing but a mighty lord.\\r\\nThis do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs;\\r\\nIt will be pastime passing excellent,\\r\\nIf it be husbanded with modesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nMy lord, I warrant you we will play our part,\\r\\nAs he shall think by our true diligence,\\r\\nHe is no less than what we say he is.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nTake him up gently, and to bed with him,\\r\\nAnd each one to his office when he wakes.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Sly _is bourne out. A trumpet sounds._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSirrah, go see what trumpet ’tis that sounds:\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit_ Servant.]\\r\\n\\r\\nBelike some noble gentleman that means,\\r\\nTravelling some journey, to repose him here.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now! who is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nAn it please your honour, players\\r\\nThat offer service to your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nBid them come near.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Players.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, fellows, you are welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYERS.\\r\\nWe thank your honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nDo you intend to stay with me tonight?\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYER.\\r\\nSo please your lordship to accept our duty.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nWith all my heart. This fellow I remember\\r\\nSince once he play’d a farmer’s eldest son;\\r\\n’Twas where you woo’d the gentlewoman so well.\\r\\nI have forgot your name; but, sure, that part\\r\\nWas aptly fitted and naturally perform’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYER.\\r\\nI think ’twas Soto that your honour means.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\n’Tis very true; thou didst it excellent.\\r\\nWell, you are come to me in happy time,\\r\\nThe rather for I have some sport in hand\\r\\nWherein your cunning can assist me much.\\r\\nThere is a lord will hear you play tonight;\\r\\nBut I am doubtful of your modesties,\\r\\nLest, over-eying of his odd behaviour,—\\r\\nFor yet his honour never heard a play,—\\r\\nYou break into some merry passion\\r\\nAnd so offend him; for I tell you, sirs,\\r\\nIf you should smile, he grows impatient.\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYER.\\r\\nFear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves,\\r\\nWere he the veriest antick in the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nGo, sirrah, take them to the buttery,\\r\\nAnd give them friendly welcome everyone:\\r\\nLet them want nothing that my house affords.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit one with the Players._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSirrah, go you to Barthol’mew my page,\\r\\nAnd see him dress’d in all suits like a lady;\\r\\nThat done, conduct him to the drunkard’s chamber,\\r\\nAnd call him ‘madam,’ do him obeisance.\\r\\nTell him from me—as he will win my love,—\\r\\nHe bear himself with honourable action,\\r\\nSuch as he hath observ’d in noble ladies\\r\\nUnto their lords, by them accomplished;\\r\\nSuch duty to the drunkard let him do,\\r\\nWith soft low tongue and lowly courtesy,\\r\\nAnd say ‘What is’t your honour will command,\\r\\nWherein your lady and your humble wife\\r\\nMay show her duty and make known her love?’\\r\\nAnd then with kind embracements, tempting kisses,\\r\\nAnd with declining head into his bosom,\\r\\nBid him shed tears, as being overjoy’d\\r\\nTo see her noble lord restor’d to health,\\r\\nWho for this seven years hath esteemed him\\r\\nNo better than a poor and loathsome beggar.\\r\\nAnd if the boy have not a woman’s gift\\r\\nTo rain a shower of commanded tears,\\r\\nAn onion will do well for such a shift,\\r\\nWhich, in a napkin being close convey’d,\\r\\nShall in despite enforce a watery eye.\\r\\nSee this dispatch’d with all the haste thou canst;\\r\\nAnon I’ll give thee more instructions.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI know the boy will well usurp the grace,\\r\\nVoice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman;\\r\\nI long to hear him call the drunkard husband;\\r\\nAnd how my men will stay themselves from laughter\\r\\nWhen they do homage to this simple peasant.\\r\\nI’ll in to counsel them; haply my presence\\r\\nMay well abate the over-merry spleen,\\r\\nWhich otherwise would grow into extremes.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A bedchamber in the LORD’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nSly is discovered in a rich nightgown, with Attendants: some with\\r\\napparel, basin, ewer, and other appurtenances; and Lord, dressed like a\\r\\nservant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nFor God’s sake! a pot of small ale.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nWill’t please your lordship drink a cup of sack?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nWill’t please your honour taste of these conserves?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD SERVANT.\\r\\nWhat raiment will your honour wear today?\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nI am Christophero Sly; call not me honour nor lordship. I ne’er drank\\r\\nsack in my life; and if you give me any conserves, give me conserves of\\r\\nbeef. Ne’er ask me what raiment I’ll wear, for I have no more doublets\\r\\nthan backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet:\\r\\nnay, sometime more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look\\r\\nthrough the over-leather.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nHeaven cease this idle humour in your honour!\\r\\nO, that a mighty man of such descent,\\r\\nOf such possessions, and so high esteem,\\r\\nShould be infused with so foul a spirit!\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nWhat! would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly’s son of\\r\\nBurton-heath; by birth a pedlar, by education a cardmaker, by\\r\\ntransmutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker? Ask\\r\\nMarian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she know me not: if she\\r\\nsay I am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up for\\r\\nthe lyingest knave in Christendom. What! I am not bestraught. Here’s—\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD SERVANT.\\r\\nO! this it is that makes your lady mourn.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nO! this is it that makes your servants droop.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nHence comes it that your kindred shuns your house,\\r\\nAs beaten hence by your strange lunacy.\\r\\nO noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth,\\r\\nCall home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,\\r\\nAnd banish hence these abject lowly dreams.\\r\\nLook how thy servants do attend on thee,\\r\\nEach in his office ready at thy beck:\\r\\nWilt thou have music? Hark! Apollo plays,\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd twenty caged nightingales do sing:\\r\\nOr wilt thou sleep? We’ll have thee to a couch\\r\\nSofter and sweeter than the lustful bed\\r\\nOn purpose trimm’d up for Semiramis.\\r\\nSay thou wilt walk: we will bestrew the ground:\\r\\nOr wilt thou ride? Thy horses shall be trapp’d,\\r\\nTheir harness studded all with gold and pearl.\\r\\nDost thou love hawking? Thou hast hawks will soar\\r\\nAbove the morning lark: or wilt thou hunt?\\r\\nThy hounds shall make the welkin answer them\\r\\nAnd fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nSay thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift\\r\\nAs breathed stags; ay, fleeter than the roe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nDost thou love pictures? We will fetch thee straight\\r\\nAdonis painted by a running brook,\\r\\nAnd Cytherea all in sedges hid,\\r\\nWhich seem to move and wanton with her breath\\r\\nEven as the waving sedges play with wind.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nWe’ll show thee Io as she was a maid\\r\\nAnd how she was beguiled and surpris’d,\\r\\nAs lively painted as the deed was done.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD SERVANT.\\r\\nOr Daphne roaming through a thorny wood,\\r\\nScratching her legs, that one shall swear she bleeds\\r\\nAnd at that sight shall sad Apollo weep,\\r\\nSo workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nThou art a lord, and nothing but a lord:\\r\\nThou hast a lady far more beautiful\\r\\nThan any woman in this waning age.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nAnd, till the tears that she hath shed for thee\\r\\nLike envious floods o’er-run her lovely face,\\r\\nShe was the fairest creature in the world;\\r\\nAnd yet she is inferior to none.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nAm I a lord? and have I such a lady?\\r\\nOr do I dream? Or have I dream’d till now?\\r\\nI do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak;\\r\\nI smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things:\\r\\nUpon my life, I am a lord indeed;\\r\\nAnd not a tinker, nor Christophero Sly.\\r\\nWell, bring our lady hither to our sight;\\r\\nAnd once again, a pot o’ the smallest ale.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nWill’t please your mightiness to wash your hands?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Servants present a ewer, basin and napkin._]\\r\\n\\r\\nO, how we joy to see your wit restor’d!\\r\\nO, that once more you knew but what you are!\\r\\nThese fifteen years you have been in a dream,\\r\\nOr, when you wak’d, so wak’d as if you slept.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nThese fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap.\\r\\nBut did I never speak of all that time?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nO! yes, my lord, but very idle words;\\r\\nFor though you lay here in this goodly chamber,\\r\\nYet would you say ye were beaten out of door,\\r\\nAnd rail upon the hostess of the house,\\r\\nAnd say you would present her at the leet,\\r\\nBecause she brought stone jugs and no seal’d quarts.\\r\\nSometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nAy, the woman’s maid of the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD SERVANT.\\r\\nWhy, sir, you know no house nor no such maid,\\r\\nNor no such men as you have reckon’d up,\\r\\nAs Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece,\\r\\nAnd Peter Turph, and Henry Pimpernell;\\r\\nAnd twenty more such names and men as these,\\r\\nWhich never were, nor no man ever saw.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nNow, Lord be thanked for my good amends!\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the Page, as a lady, with Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nI thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nHow fares my noble lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nMarry, I fare well; for here is cheer enough.\\r\\nWhere is my wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nHere, noble lord: what is thy will with her?\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nAre you my wife, and will not call me husband?\\r\\nMy men should call me lord: I am your goodman.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nMy husband and my lord, my lord and husband;\\r\\nI am your wife in all obedience.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nI know it well. What must I call her?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nMadam.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nAlice madam, or Joan madam?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nMadam, and nothing else; so lords call ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nMadam wife, they say that I have dream’d\\r\\nAnd slept above some fifteen year or more.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nAy, and the time seems thirty unto me,\\r\\nBeing all this time abandon’d from your bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\n’Tis much. Servants, leave me and her alone.\\r\\nMadam, undress you, and come now to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nThrice noble lord, let me entreat of you\\r\\nTo pardon me yet for a night or two;\\r\\nOr, if not so, until the sun be set:\\r\\nFor your physicians have expressly charg’d,\\r\\nIn peril to incur your former malady,\\r\\nThat I should yet absent me from your bed:\\r\\nI hope this reason stands for my excuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nAy, it stands so that I may hardly tarry so long; but I would be loath\\r\\nto fall into my dreams again: I will therefore tarry in despite of the\\r\\nflesh and the blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nYour honour’s players, hearing your amendment,\\r\\nAre come to play a pleasant comedy;\\r\\nFor so your doctors hold it very meet,\\r\\nSeeing too much sadness hath congeal’d your blood,\\r\\nAnd melancholy is the nurse of frenzy:\\r\\nTherefore they thought it good you hear a play,\\r\\nAnd frame your mind to mirth and merriment,\\r\\nWhich bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nMarry, I will; let them play it. Is not a commonty a Christmas gambold\\r\\nor a tumbling-trick?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nNo, my good lord; it is more pleasing stuff.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nWhat! household stuff?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nIt is a kind of history.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nWell, we’ll see’t. Come, madam wife, sit by my side and let the world\\r\\nslip: we shall ne’er be younger.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Padua. A public place.\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter Lucentio and Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTranio, since for the great desire I had\\r\\nTo see fair Padua, nursery of arts,\\r\\nI am arriv’d for fruitful Lombardy,\\r\\nThe pleasant garden of great Italy,\\r\\nAnd by my father’s love and leave am arm’d\\r\\nWith his good will and thy good company,\\r\\nMy trusty servant well approv’d in all,\\r\\nHere let us breathe, and haply institute\\r\\nA course of learning and ingenious studies.\\r\\nPisa, renowned for grave citizens,\\r\\nGave me my being and my father first,\\r\\nA merchant of great traffic through the world,\\r\\nVincentio, come of the Bentivolii.\\r\\nVincentio’s son, brought up in Florence,\\r\\nIt shall become to serve all hopes conceiv’d,\\r\\nTo deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds:\\r\\nAnd therefore, Tranio, for the time I study,\\r\\nVirtue and that part of philosophy\\r\\nWill I apply that treats of happiness\\r\\nBy virtue specially to be achiev’d.\\r\\nTell me thy mind; for I have Pisa left\\r\\nAnd am to Padua come as he that leaves\\r\\nA shallow plash to plunge him in the deep,\\r\\nAnd with satiety seeks to quench his thirst.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n_Mi perdonato_, gentle master mine;\\r\\nI am in all affected as yourself;\\r\\nGlad that you thus continue your resolve\\r\\nTo suck the sweets of sweet philosophy.\\r\\nOnly, good master, while we do admire\\r\\nThis virtue and this moral discipline,\\r\\nLet’s be no stoics nor no stocks, I pray;\\r\\nOr so devote to Aristotle’s checks\\r\\nAs Ovid be an outcast quite abjur’d.\\r\\nBalk logic with acquaintance that you have,\\r\\nAnd practise rhetoric in your common talk;\\r\\nMusic and poesy use to quicken you;\\r\\nThe mathematics and the metaphysics,\\r\\nFall to them as you find your stomach serves you:\\r\\nNo profit grows where is no pleasure ta’en;\\r\\nIn brief, sir, study what you most affect.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nGramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise.\\r\\nIf, Biondello, thou wert come ashore,\\r\\nWe could at once put us in readiness,\\r\\nAnd take a lodging fit to entertain\\r\\nSuch friends as time in Padua shall beget.\\r\\nBut stay awhile; what company is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMaster, some show to welcome us to town.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Lucentio and Tranio stand aside._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Baptista, Katherina, Bianca, Gremio and Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nGentlemen, importune me no farther,\\r\\nFor how I firmly am resolv’d you know;\\r\\nThat is, not to bestow my youngest daughter\\r\\nBefore I have a husband for the elder.\\r\\nIf either of you both love Katherina,\\r\\nBecause I know you well and love you well,\\r\\nLeave shall you have to court her at your pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nTo cart her rather: she’s too rough for me.\\r\\nThere, there, Hortensio, will you any wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\n[_To Baptista_] I pray you, sir, is it your will\\r\\nTo make a stale of me amongst these mates?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMates, maid! How mean you that? No mates for you,\\r\\nUnless you were of gentler, milder mould.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI’ faith, sir, you shall never need to fear;\\r\\nI wis it is not half way to her heart;\\r\\nBut if it were, doubt not her care should be\\r\\nTo comb your noddle with a three-legg’d stool,\\r\\nAnd paint your face, and use you like a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nFrom all such devils, good Lord deliver us!\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAnd me, too, good Lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nHusht, master! Here’s some good pastime toward:\\r\\nThat wench is stark mad or wonderful froward.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nBut in the other’s silence do I see\\r\\nMaid’s mild behaviour and sobriety.\\r\\nPeace, Tranio!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWell said, master; mum! and gaze your fill.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nGentlemen, that I may soon make good\\r\\nWhat I have said,—Bianca, get you in:\\r\\nAnd let it not displease thee, good Bianca,\\r\\nFor I will love thee ne’er the less, my girl.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nA pretty peat! it is best put finger in the eye, and she knew why.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nSister, content you in my discontent.\\r\\nSir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe:\\r\\nMy books and instruments shall be my company,\\r\\nOn them to look, and practise by myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nHark, Tranio! thou mayst hear Minerva speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSignior Baptista, will you be so strange?\\r\\nSorry am I that our good will effects\\r\\nBianca’s grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWhy will you mew her up,\\r\\nSignior Baptista, for this fiend of hell,\\r\\nAnd make her bear the penance of her tongue?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nGentlemen, content ye; I am resolv’d.\\r\\nGo in, Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Bianca._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd for I know she taketh most delight\\r\\nIn music, instruments, and poetry,\\r\\nSchoolmasters will I keep within my house\\r\\nFit to instruct her youth. If you, Hortensio,\\r\\nOr, Signior Gremio, you, know any such,\\r\\nPrefer them hither; for to cunning men\\r\\nI will be very kind, and liberal\\r\\nTo mine own children in good bringing up;\\r\\nAnd so, farewell. Katherina, you may stay;\\r\\nFor I have more to commune with Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhy, and I trust I may go too, may I not? What! shall I be appointed\\r\\nhours, as though, belike, I knew not what to take and what to leave?\\r\\nHa!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nYou may go to the devil’s dam: your gifts are so good here’s none will\\r\\nhold you. Their love is not so great, Hortensio, but we may blow our\\r\\nnails together, and fast it fairly out; our cake’s dough on both sides.\\r\\nFarewell: yet, for the love I bear my sweet Bianca, if I can by any\\r\\nmeans light on a fit man to teach her that wherein she delights, I will\\r\\nwish him to her father.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSo will I, Signior Gremio: but a word, I pray. Though the nature of our\\r\\nquarrel yet never brooked parle, know now, upon advice, it toucheth us\\r\\nboth,—that we may yet again have access to our fair mistress, and be\\r\\nhappy rivals in Bianca’s love,—to labour and effect one thing\\r\\nspecially.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWhat’s that, I pray?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMarry, sir, to get a husband for her sister.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nA husband! a devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI say, a husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI say, a devil. Thinkest thou, Hortensio, though her father be very\\r\\nrich, any man is so very a fool to be married to hell?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nTush, Gremio! Though it pass your patience and mine to endure her loud\\r\\nalarums, why, man, there be good fellows in the world, and a man could\\r\\nlight on them, would take her with all faults, and money enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI cannot tell; but I had as lief take her dowry with this condition: to\\r\\nbe whipp’d at the high cross every morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nFaith, as you say, there’s small choice in rotten apples. But come;\\r\\nsince this bar in law makes us friends, it shall be so far forth\\r\\nfriendly maintained, till by helping Baptista’s eldest daughter to a\\r\\nhusband, we set his youngest free for a husband, and then have to’t\\r\\nafresh. Sweet Bianca! Happy man be his dole! He that runs fastest gets\\r\\nthe ring. How say you, Signior Gremio?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI am agreed; and would I had given him the best horse in Padua to begin\\r\\nhis wooing, that would thoroughly woo her, wed her, and bed her, and\\r\\nrid the house of her. Come on.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Gremio and Hortensio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nI pray, sir, tell me, is it possible\\r\\nThat love should of a sudden take such hold?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nO Tranio! till I found it to be true,\\r\\nI never thought it possible or likely;\\r\\nBut see, while idly I stood looking on,\\r\\nI found the effect of love in idleness;\\r\\nAnd now in plainness do confess to thee,\\r\\nThat art to me as secret and as dear\\r\\nAs Anna to the Queen of Carthage was,\\r\\nTranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio,\\r\\nIf I achieve not this young modest girl.\\r\\nCounsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst:\\r\\nAssist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMaster, it is no time to chide you now;\\r\\nAffection is not rated from the heart:\\r\\nIf love have touch’d you, nought remains but so:\\r\\n_Redime te captum quam queas minimo._\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nGramercies, lad; go forward; this contents;\\r\\nThe rest will comfort, for thy counsel’s sound.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMaster, you look’d so longly on the maid.\\r\\nPerhaps you mark’d not what’s the pith of all.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nO, yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face,\\r\\nSuch as the daughter of Agenor had,\\r\\nThat made great Jove to humble him to her hand,\\r\\nWhen with his knees he kiss’d the Cretan strand.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSaw you no more? mark’d you not how her sister\\r\\nBegan to scold and raise up such a storm\\r\\nThat mortal ears might hardly endure the din?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTranio, I saw her coral lips to move,\\r\\nAnd with her breath she did perfume the air;\\r\\nSacred and sweet was all I saw in her.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nNay, then, ’tis time to stir him from his trance.\\r\\nI pray, awake, sir: if you love the maid,\\r\\nBend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it stands:\\r\\nHer elder sister is so curst and shrewd,\\r\\nThat till the father rid his hands of her,\\r\\nMaster, your love must live a maid at home;\\r\\nAnd therefore has he closely mew’d her up,\\r\\nBecause she will not be annoy’d with suitors.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAh, Tranio, what a cruel father’s he!\\r\\nBut art thou not advis’d he took some care\\r\\nTo get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAy, marry, am I, sir, and now ’tis plotted.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI have it, Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMaster, for my hand,\\r\\nBoth our inventions meet and jump in one.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTell me thine first.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nYou will be schoolmaster,\\r\\nAnd undertake the teaching of the maid:\\r\\nThat’s your device.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nIt is: may it be done?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nNot possible; for who shall bear your part\\r\\nAnd be in Padua here Vincentio’s son;\\r\\nKeep house and ply his book, welcome his friends;\\r\\nVisit his countrymen, and banquet them?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\n_Basta_, content thee, for I have it full.\\r\\nWe have not yet been seen in any house,\\r\\nNor can we be distinguish’d by our faces\\r\\nFor man or master: then it follows thus:\\r\\nThou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead,\\r\\nKeep house and port and servants, as I should;\\r\\nI will some other be; some Florentine,\\r\\nSome Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa.\\r\\n’Tis hatch’d, and shall be so: Tranio, at once\\r\\nUncase thee; take my colour’d hat and cloak.\\r\\nWhen Biondello comes, he waits on thee;\\r\\nBut I will charm him first to keep his tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They exchange habits_]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSo had you need.\\r\\nIn brief, sir, sith it your pleasure is,\\r\\nAnd I am tied to be obedient;\\r\\nFor so your father charg’d me at our parting,\\r\\n‘Be serviceable to my son,’ quoth he,\\r\\nAlthough I think ’twas in another sense:\\r\\nI am content to be Lucentio,\\r\\nBecause so well I love Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTranio, be so, because Lucentio loves;\\r\\nAnd let me be a slave, to achieve that maid\\r\\nWhose sudden sight hath thrall’d my wounded eye.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes the rogue. Sirrah, where have you been?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhere have I been? Nay, how now! where are you?\\r\\nMaster, has my fellow Tranio stol’n your clothes?\\r\\nOr you stol’n his? or both? Pray, what’s the news?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nSirrah, come hither: ’tis no time to jest,\\r\\nAnd therefore frame your manners to the time.\\r\\nYour fellow Tranio here, to save my life,\\r\\nPuts my apparel and my count’nance on,\\r\\nAnd I for my escape have put on his;\\r\\nFor in a quarrel since I came ashore\\r\\nI kill’d a man, and fear I was descried.\\r\\nWait you on him, I charge you, as becomes,\\r\\nWhile I make way from hence to save my life.\\r\\nYou understand me?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI, sir! Ne’er a whit.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAnd not a jot of Tranio in your mouth:\\r\\nTranio is changed to Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nThe better for him: would I were so too!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSo could I, faith, boy, to have the next wish after,\\r\\nThat Lucentio indeed had Baptista’s youngest daughter.\\r\\nBut, sirrah, not for my sake but your master’s, I advise\\r\\nYou use your manners discreetly in all kind of companies:\\r\\nWhen I am alone, why, then I am Tranio;\\r\\nBut in all places else your master, Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTranio, let’s go.\\r\\nOne thing more rests, that thyself execute,\\r\\nTo make one among these wooers: if thou ask me why,\\r\\nSufficeth my reasons are both good and weighty.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n[_The Presenters above speak._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nMy lord, you nod; you do not mind the play.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nYes, by Saint Anne, I do. A good matter, surely: comes there any more\\r\\nof it?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nMy lord, ’tis but begun.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\n’Tis a very excellent piece of work, madam lady: would ’twere done!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They sit and mark._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Padua. Before HORTENSIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petruchio and his man Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nVerona, for a while I take my leave,\\r\\nTo see my friends in Padua; but of all\\r\\nMy best beloved and approved friend,\\r\\nHortensio; and I trow this is his house.\\r\\nHere, sirrah Grumio, knock, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nKnock, sir? Whom should I knock? Is there any man has rebused your\\r\\nworship?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nVillain, I say, knock me here soundly.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nKnock you here, sir? Why, sir, what am I, sir, that I should knock you\\r\\nhere, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nVillain, I say, knock me at this gate;\\r\\nAnd rap me well, or I’ll knock your knave’s pate.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nMy master is grown quarrelsome. I should knock you first,\\r\\nAnd then I know after who comes by the worst.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWill it not be?\\r\\nFaith, sirrah, and you’ll not knock, I’ll ring it;\\r\\nI’ll try how you can sol, fa, and sing it.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_He wrings Grumio by the ears._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nHelp, masters, help! my master is mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNow, knock when I bid you, sirrah villain!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nHow now! what’s the matter? My old friend Grumio! and my good friend\\r\\nPetruchio! How do you all at Verona?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSignior Hortensio, come you to part the fray?\\r\\n_Con tutto il cuore ben trovato_, may I say.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n_Alla nostra casa ben venuto; molto honorato signor mio Petruchio._\\r\\nRise, Grumio, rise: we will compound this quarrel.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nNay, ’tis no matter, sir, what he ’leges in Latin. If this be not a\\r\\nlawful cause for me to leave his service, look you, sir, he bid me\\r\\nknock him and rap him soundly, sir: well, was it fit for a servant to\\r\\nuse his master so; being, perhaps, for aught I see, two-and-thirty, a\\r\\npip out? Whom would to God I had well knock’d at first, then had not\\r\\nGrumio come by the worst.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA senseless villain! Good Hortensio,\\r\\nI bade the rascal knock upon your gate,\\r\\nAnd could not get him for my heart to do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nKnock at the gate! O heavens! Spake you not these words plain: ‘Sirrah\\r\\nknock me here, rap me here, knock me well, and knock me soundly’? And\\r\\ncome you now with ‘knocking at the gate’?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nPetruchio, patience; I am Grumio’s pledge;\\r\\nWhy, this’s a heavy chance ’twixt him and you,\\r\\nYour ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio.\\r\\nAnd tell me now, sweet friend, what happy gale\\r\\nBlows you to Padua here from old Verona?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSuch wind as scatters young men through the world\\r\\nTo seek their fortunes farther than at home,\\r\\nWhere small experience grows. But in a few,\\r\\nSignior Hortensio, thus it stands with me:\\r\\nAntonio, my father, is deceas’d,\\r\\nAnd I have thrust myself into this maze,\\r\\nHaply to wive and thrive as best I may;\\r\\nCrowns in my purse I have, and goods at home,\\r\\nAnd so am come abroad to see the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nPetruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee\\r\\nAnd wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour’d wife?\\r\\nThou’dst thank me but a little for my counsel;\\r\\nAnd yet I’ll promise thee she shall be rich,\\r\\nAnd very rich: but th’art too much my friend,\\r\\nAnd I’ll not wish thee to her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSignior Hortensio, ’twixt such friends as we\\r\\nFew words suffice; and therefore, if thou know\\r\\nOne rich enough to be Petruchio’s wife,\\r\\nAs wealth is burden of my wooing dance,\\r\\nBe she as foul as was Florentius’ love,\\r\\nAs old as Sibyl, and as curst and shrewd\\r\\nAs Socrates’ Xanthippe or a worse,\\r\\nShe moves me not, or not removes, at least,\\r\\nAffection’s edge in me, were she as rough\\r\\nAs are the swelling Adriatic seas:\\r\\nI come to wive it wealthily in Padua;\\r\\nIf wealthily, then happily in Padua.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nNay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what his mind is: why, give him\\r\\ngold enough and marry him to a puppet or an aglet-baby; or an old trot\\r\\nwith ne’er a tooth in her head, though she have as many diseases as\\r\\ntwo-and-fifty horses: why, nothing comes amiss, so money comes withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nPetruchio, since we are stepp’d thus far in,\\r\\nI will continue that I broach’d in jest.\\r\\nI can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife\\r\\nWith wealth enough, and young and beauteous;\\r\\nBrought up as best becomes a gentlewoman:\\r\\nHer only fault,—and that is faults enough,—\\r\\nIs, that she is intolerable curst,\\r\\nAnd shrewd and froward, so beyond all measure,\\r\\nThat, were my state far worser than it is,\\r\\nI would not wed her for a mine of gold.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHortensio, peace! thou know’st not gold’s effect:\\r\\nTell me her father’s name, and ’tis enough;\\r\\nFor I will board her, though she chide as loud\\r\\nAs thunder when the clouds in autumn crack.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nHer father is Baptista Minola,\\r\\nAn affable and courteous gentleman;\\r\\nHer name is Katherina Minola,\\r\\nRenown’d in Padua for her scolding tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI know her father, though I know not her;\\r\\nAnd he knew my deceased father well.\\r\\nI will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her;\\r\\nAnd therefore let me be thus bold with you,\\r\\nTo give you over at this first encounter,\\r\\nUnless you will accompany me thither.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI pray you, sir, let him go while the humour lasts. O’ my word, and she\\r\\nknew him as well as I do, she would think scolding would do little good\\r\\nupon him. She may perhaps call him half a score knaves or so; why,\\r\\nthat’s nothing; and he begin once, he’ll rail in his rope-tricks. I’ll\\r\\ntell you what, sir, and she stand him but a little, he will throw a\\r\\nfigure in her face, and so disfigure her with it that she shall have no\\r\\nmore eyes to see withal than a cat. You know him not, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nTarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee,\\r\\nFor in Baptista’s keep my treasure is:\\r\\nHe hath the jewel of my life in hold,\\r\\nHis youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca,\\r\\nAnd her withholds from me and other more,\\r\\nSuitors to her and rivals in my love;\\r\\nSupposing it a thing impossible,\\r\\nFor those defects I have before rehears’d,\\r\\nThat ever Katherina will be woo’d:\\r\\nTherefore this order hath Baptista ta’en,\\r\\nThat none shall have access unto Bianca\\r\\nTill Katherine the curst have got a husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nKatherine the curst!\\r\\nA title for a maid of all titles the worst.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nNow shall my friend Petruchio do me grace,\\r\\nAnd offer me disguis’d in sober robes,\\r\\nTo old Baptista as a schoolmaster\\r\\nWell seen in music, to instruct Bianca;\\r\\nThat so I may, by this device at least\\r\\nHave leave and leisure to make love to her,\\r\\nAnd unsuspected court her by herself.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nHere’s no knavery! See, to beguile the old folks, how the young folks\\r\\nlay their heads together!\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Gremio and Lucentio disguised, with books under his arm.\\r\\n\\r\\nMaster, master, look about you: who goes there, ha?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nPeace, Grumio! It is the rival of my love. Petruchio, stand by awhile.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nA proper stripling, and an amorous!\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nO! very well; I have perus’d the note.\\r\\nHark you, sir; I’ll have them very fairly bound:\\r\\nAll books of love, see that at any hand,\\r\\nAnd see you read no other lectures to her.\\r\\nYou understand me. Over and beside\\r\\nSignior Baptista’s liberality,\\r\\nI’ll mend it with a largess. Take your papers too,\\r\\nAnd let me have them very well perfum’d;\\r\\nFor she is sweeter than perfume itself\\r\\nTo whom they go to. What will you read to her?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nWhate’er I read to her, I’ll plead for you,\\r\\nAs for my patron, stand you so assur’d,\\r\\nAs firmly as yourself were still in place;\\r\\nYea, and perhaps with more successful words\\r\\nThan you, unless you were a scholar, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nO! this learning, what a thing it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nO! this woodcock, what an ass it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nPeace, sirrah!\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nGrumio, mum! God save you, Signior Gremio!\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAnd you are well met, Signior Hortensio.\\r\\nTrow you whither I am going? To Baptista Minola.\\r\\nI promis’d to enquire carefully\\r\\nAbout a schoolmaster for the fair Bianca;\\r\\nAnd by good fortune I have lighted well\\r\\nOn this young man; for learning and behaviour\\r\\nFit for her turn, well read in poetry\\r\\nAnd other books, good ones, I warrant ye.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n’Tis well; and I have met a gentleman\\r\\nHath promis’d me to help me to another,\\r\\nA fine musician to instruct our mistress:\\r\\nSo shall I no whit be behind in duty\\r\\nTo fair Bianca, so belov’d of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nBelov’d of me, and that my deeds shall prove.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] And that his bags shall prove.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nGremio, ’tis now no time to vent our love:\\r\\nListen to me, and if you speak me fair,\\r\\nI’ll tell you news indifferent good for either.\\r\\nHere is a gentleman whom by chance I met,\\r\\nUpon agreement from us to his liking,\\r\\nWill undertake to woo curst Katherine;\\r\\nYea, and to marry her, if her dowry please.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nSo said, so done, is well.\\r\\nHortensio, have you told him all her faults?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI know she is an irksome brawling scold;\\r\\nIf that be all, masters, I hear no harm.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nNo, say’st me so, friend? What countryman?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nBorn in Verona, old Antonio’s son.\\r\\nMy father dead, my fortune lives for me;\\r\\nAnd I do hope good days and long to see.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nO sir, such a life, with such a wife, were strange!\\r\\nBut if you have a stomach, to’t a God’s name;\\r\\nYou shall have me assisting you in all.\\r\\nBut will you woo this wild-cat?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWill I live?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWill he woo her? Ay, or I’ll hang her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy came I hither but to that intent?\\r\\nThink you a little din can daunt mine ears?\\r\\nHave I not in my time heard lions roar?\\r\\nHave I not heard the sea, puff’d up with winds,\\r\\nRage like an angry boar chafed with sweat?\\r\\nHave I not heard great ordnance in the field,\\r\\nAnd heaven’s artillery thunder in the skies?\\r\\nHave I not in a pitched battle heard\\r\\nLoud ’larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets’ clang?\\r\\nAnd do you tell me of a woman’s tongue,\\r\\nThat gives not half so great a blow to hear\\r\\nAs will a chestnut in a farmer’s fire?\\r\\nTush, tush! fear boys with bugs.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\n[_Aside_] For he fears none.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nHortensio, hark:\\r\\nThis gentleman is happily arriv’d,\\r\\nMy mind presumes, for his own good and yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI promis’d we would be contributors,\\r\\nAnd bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAnd so we will, provided that he win her.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI would I were as sure of a good dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Tranio brave, and Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nGentlemen, God save you! If I may be bold,\\r\\nTell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way\\r\\nTo the house of Signior Baptista Minola?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nHe that has the two fair daughters; is’t he you mean?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nEven he, Biondello!\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nHark you, sir, you mean not her to—\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nPerhaps him and her, sir; what have you to do?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNot her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nI love no chiders, sir. Biondello, let’s away.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\n[_Aside_] Well begun, Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSir, a word ere you go.\\r\\nAre you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd if I be, sir, is it any offence?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nNo; if without more words you will get you hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhy, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free\\r\\nFor me as for you?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nBut so is not she.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nFor what reason, I beseech you?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nFor this reason, if you’ll know,\\r\\nThat she’s the choice love of Signior Gremio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nThat she’s the chosen of Signior Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSoftly, my masters! If you be gentlemen,\\r\\nDo me this right; hear me with patience.\\r\\nBaptista is a noble gentleman,\\r\\nTo whom my father is not all unknown;\\r\\nAnd were his daughter fairer than she is,\\r\\nShe may more suitors have, and me for one.\\r\\nFair Leda’s daughter had a thousand wooers;\\r\\nThen well one more may fair Bianca have;\\r\\nAnd so she shall: Lucentio shall make one,\\r\\nThough Paris came in hope to speed alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWhat, this gentleman will out-talk us all.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nSir, give him head; I know he’ll prove a jade.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHortensio, to what end are all these words?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSir, let me be so bold as ask you,\\r\\nDid you yet ever see Baptista’s daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nNo, sir, but hear I do that he hath two,\\r\\nThe one as famous for a scolding tongue\\r\\nAs is the other for beauteous modesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSir, sir, the first’s for me; let her go by.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nYea, leave that labour to great Hercules,\\r\\nAnd let it be more than Alcides’ twelve.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSir, understand you this of me, in sooth:\\r\\nThe youngest daughter, whom you hearken for,\\r\\nHer father keeps from all access of suitors,\\r\\nAnd will not promise her to any man\\r\\nUntil the elder sister first be wed;\\r\\nThe younger then is free, and not before.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nIf it be so, sir, that you are the man\\r\\nMust stead us all, and me amongst the rest;\\r\\nAnd if you break the ice, and do this feat,\\r\\nAchieve the elder, set the younger free\\r\\nFor our access, whose hap shall be to have her\\r\\nWill not so graceless be to be ingrate.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSir, you say well, and well you do conceive;\\r\\nAnd since you do profess to be a suitor,\\r\\nYou must, as we do, gratify this gentleman,\\r\\nTo whom we all rest generally beholding.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSir, I shall not be slack; in sign whereof,\\r\\nPlease ye we may contrive this afternoon,\\r\\nAnd quaff carouses to our mistress’ health;\\r\\nAnd do as adversaries do in law,\\r\\nStrive mightily, but eat and drink as friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO, BIONDELLO.\\r\\nO excellent motion! Fellows, let’s be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nThe motion’s good indeed, and be it so:—\\r\\nPetruchio, I shall be your _ben venuto_.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Padua. A room in BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Katherina and Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nGood sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself,\\r\\nTo make a bondmaid and a slave of me;\\r\\nThat I disdain; but for these other gawds,\\r\\nUnbind my hands, I’ll pull them off myself,\\r\\nYea, all my raiment, to my petticoat;\\r\\nOr what you will command me will I do,\\r\\nSo well I know my duty to my elders.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nOf all thy suitors here I charge thee tell\\r\\nWhom thou lov’st best: see thou dissemble not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nBelieve me, sister, of all the men alive\\r\\nI never yet beheld that special face\\r\\nWhich I could fancy more than any other.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nMinion, thou liest. Is’t not Hortensio?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nIf you affect him, sister, here I swear\\r\\nI’ll plead for you myself but you shall have him.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nO! then, belike, you fancy riches more:\\r\\nYou will have Gremio to keep you fair.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nIs it for him you do envy me so?\\r\\nNay, then you jest; and now I well perceive\\r\\nYou have but jested with me all this while:\\r\\nI prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nIf that be jest, then all the rest was so.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Strikes her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Baptista.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, how now, dame! Whence grows this insolence?\\r\\nBianca, stand aside. Poor girl! she weeps.\\r\\nGo ply thy needle; meddle not with her.\\r\\nFor shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit,\\r\\nWhy dost thou wrong her that did ne’er wrong thee?\\r\\nWhen did she cross thee with a bitter word?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nHer silence flouts me, and I’ll be reveng’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Flies after Bianca._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhat! in my sight? Bianca, get thee in.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Bianca._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhat! will you not suffer me? Nay, now I see\\r\\nShe is your treasure, she must have a husband;\\r\\nI must dance bare-foot on her wedding-day,\\r\\nAnd, for your love to her, lead apes in hell.\\r\\nTalk not to me: I will go sit and weep\\r\\nTill I can find occasion of revenge.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\n Was ever gentleman thus griev’d as I?\\r\\nBut who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Gremio, with Lucentio in the habit of a mean man; Petruchio, with\\r\\nHortensio as a musician; and Tranio, with Biondello bearing a lute and\\r\\nbooks.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nGood morrow, neighbour Baptista.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nGood morrow, neighbour Gremio. God save you, gentlemen!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAnd you, good sir! Pray, have you not a daughter\\r\\nCall’d Katherina, fair and virtuous?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI have a daughter, sir, call’d Katherina.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nYou are too blunt: go to it orderly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nYou wrong me, Signior Gremio: give me leave.\\r\\nI am a gentleman of Verona, sir,\\r\\nThat, hearing of her beauty and her wit,\\r\\nHer affability and bashful modesty,\\r\\nHer wondrous qualities and mild behaviour,\\r\\nAm bold to show myself a forward guest\\r\\nWithin your house, to make mine eye the witness\\r\\nOf that report which I so oft have heard.\\r\\nAnd, for an entrance to my entertainment,\\r\\nI do present you with a man of mine,\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Presenting Hortensio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCunning in music and the mathematics,\\r\\nTo instruct her fully in those sciences,\\r\\nWhereof I know she is not ignorant.\\r\\nAccept of him, or else you do me wrong:\\r\\nHis name is Licio, born in Mantua.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nY’are welcome, sir, and he for your good sake;\\r\\nBut for my daughter Katherine, this I know,\\r\\nShe is not for your turn, the more my grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI see you do not mean to part with her;\\r\\nOr else you like not of my company.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nMistake me not; I speak but as I find.\\r\\nWhence are you, sir? What may I call your name?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nPetruchio is my name, Antonio’s son;\\r\\nA man well known throughout all Italy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI know him well: you are welcome for his sake.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nSaving your tale, Petruchio, I pray,\\r\\nLet us, that are poor petitioners, speak too.\\r\\nBackare! you are marvellous forward.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nO, pardon me, Signior Gremio; I would fain be doing.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your wooing. Neighbour, this is\\r\\na gift very grateful, I am sure of it. To express the like kindness,\\r\\nmyself, that have been more kindly beholding to you than any, freely\\r\\ngive unto you this young scholar,\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Presenting Lucentio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nthat has been long studying at Rheims; as cunning in Greek, Latin, and\\r\\nother languages, as the other in music and mathematics. His name is\\r\\nCambio; pray accept his service.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nA thousand thanks, Signior Gremio; welcome, good Cambio. [_To Tranio._]\\r\\nBut, gentle sir, methinks you walk like a stranger. May I be so bold to\\r\\nknow the cause of your coming?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nPardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own,\\r\\nThat, being a stranger in this city here,\\r\\nDo make myself a suitor to your daughter,\\r\\nUnto Bianca, fair and virtuous.\\r\\nNor is your firm resolve unknown to me,\\r\\nIn the preferment of the eldest sister.\\r\\nThis liberty is all that I request,\\r\\nThat, upon knowledge of my parentage,\\r\\nI may have welcome ’mongst the rest that woo,\\r\\nAnd free access and favour as the rest:\\r\\nAnd, toward the education of your daughters,\\r\\nI here bestow a simple instrument,\\r\\nAnd this small packet of Greek and Latin books:\\r\\nIf you accept them, then their worth is great.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nLucentio is your name, of whence, I pray?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nOf Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nA mighty man of Pisa: by report\\r\\nI know him well: you are very welcome, sir.\\r\\n[_To Hortensio_.] Take you the lute,\\r\\n[_To Lucentio_.] and you the set of books;\\r\\nYou shall go see your pupils presently.\\r\\nHolla, within!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSirrah, lead these gentlemen\\r\\nTo my daughters, and tell them both\\r\\nThese are their tutors: bid them use them well.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Servant with Hortensio, Lucentio and Biondello._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWe will go walk a little in the orchard,\\r\\nAnd then to dinner. You are passing welcome,\\r\\nAnd so I pray you all to think yourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSignior Baptista, my business asketh haste,\\r\\nAnd every day I cannot come to woo.\\r\\nYou knew my father well, and in him me,\\r\\nLeft solely heir to all his lands and goods,\\r\\nWhich I have bettered rather than decreas’d:\\r\\nThen tell me, if I get your daughter’s love,\\r\\nWhat dowry shall I have with her to wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAfter my death, the one half of my lands,\\r\\nAnd in possession twenty thousand crowns.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAnd, for that dowry, I’ll assure her of\\r\\nHer widowhood, be it that she survive me,\\r\\nIn all my lands and leases whatsoever.\\r\\nLet specialities be therefore drawn between us,\\r\\nThat covenants may be kept on either hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAy, when the special thing is well obtain’d,\\r\\nThat is, her love; for that is all in all.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, that is nothing; for I tell you, father,\\r\\nI am as peremptory as she proud-minded;\\r\\nAnd where two raging fires meet together,\\r\\nThey do consume the thing that feeds their fury:\\r\\nThough little fire grows great with little wind,\\r\\nYet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all;\\r\\nSo I to her, and so she yields to me;\\r\\nFor I am rough and woo not like a babe.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWell mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed!\\r\\nBut be thou arm’d for some unhappy words.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAy, to the proof, as mountains are for winds,\\r\\nThat shake not though they blow perpetually.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Hortensio, with his head broke.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nHow now, my friend! Why dost thou look so pale?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nFor fear, I promise you, if I look pale.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhat, will my daughter prove a good musician?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI think she’ll sooner prove a soldier:\\r\\nIron may hold with her, but never lutes.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, then thou canst not break her to the lute?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nWhy, no; for she hath broke the lute to me.\\r\\nI did but tell her she mistook her frets,\\r\\nAnd bow’d her hand to teach her fingering;\\r\\nWhen, with a most impatient devilish spirit,\\r\\n’Frets, call you these?’ quoth she ‘I’ll fume with them’;\\r\\nAnd with that word she struck me on the head,\\r\\nAnd through the instrument my pate made way;\\r\\nAnd there I stood amazed for a while,\\r\\nAs on a pillory, looking through the lute;\\r\\nWhile she did call me rascal fiddler,\\r\\nAnd twangling Jack, with twenty such vile terms,\\r\\nAs had she studied to misuse me so.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNow, by the world, it is a lusty wench!\\r\\nI love her ten times more than e’er I did:\\r\\nO! how I long to have some chat with her!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\n[_To Hortensio_.] Well, go with me, and be not so discomfited;\\r\\nProceed in practice with my younger daughter;\\r\\nShe’s apt to learn, and thankful for good turns.\\r\\nSignior Petruchio, will you go with us,\\r\\nOr shall I send my daughter Kate to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI pray you do.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Baptista, Gremio, Tranio and Hortensio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI will attend her here,\\r\\nAnd woo her with some spirit when she comes.\\r\\nSay that she rail; why, then I’ll tell her plain\\r\\nShe sings as sweetly as a nightingale:\\r\\nSay that she frown; I’ll say she looks as clear\\r\\nAs morning roses newly wash’d with dew:\\r\\nSay she be mute, and will not speak a word;\\r\\nThen I’ll commend her volubility,\\r\\nAnd say she uttereth piercing eloquence:\\r\\nIf she do bid me pack, I’ll give her thanks,\\r\\nAs though she bid me stay by her a week:\\r\\nIf she deny to wed, I’ll crave the day\\r\\nWhen I shall ask the banns, and when be married.\\r\\nBut here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Katherina.\\r\\n\\r\\nGood morrow, Kate; for that’s your name, I hear.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWell have you heard, but something hard of hearing:\\r\\nThey call me Katherine that do talk of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nYou lie, in faith, for you are call’d plain Kate,\\r\\nAnd bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst;\\r\\nBut, Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom,\\r\\nKate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate,\\r\\nFor dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate,\\r\\nTake this of me, Kate of my consolation;\\r\\nHearing thy mildness prais’d in every town,\\r\\nThy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,—\\r\\nYet not so deeply as to thee belongs,—\\r\\nMyself am mov’d to woo thee for my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nMov’d! in good time: let him that mov’d you hither\\r\\nRemove you hence. I knew you at the first,\\r\\nYou were a moveable.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, what’s a moveable?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nA joint-stool.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThou hast hit it: come, sit on me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nAsses are made to bear, and so are you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWomen are made to bear, and so are you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNo such jade as bear you, if me you mean.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAlas! good Kate, I will not burden thee;\\r\\nFor, knowing thee to be but young and light,—\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nToo light for such a swain as you to catch;\\r\\nAnd yet as heavy as my weight should be.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nShould be! should buz!\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWell ta’en, and like a buzzard.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nO, slow-wing’d turtle! shall a buzzard take thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nAy, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome, come, you wasp; i’ faith, you are too angry.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nIf I be waspish, best beware my sting.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nMy remedy is then to pluck it out.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nAy, if the fool could find it where it lies.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWho knows not where a wasp does wear his sting?\\r\\nIn his tail.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nIn his tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhose tongue?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nYours, if you talk of tales; and so farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhat! with my tongue in your tail? Nay, come again,\\r\\nGood Kate; I am a gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThat I’ll try.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Striking him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI swear I’ll cuff you if you strike again.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nSo may you lose your arms:\\r\\nIf you strike me, you are no gentleman;\\r\\nAnd if no gentleman, why then no arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA herald, Kate? O! put me in thy books.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhat is your crest? a coxcomb?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNo cock of mine; you crow too like a craven.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nIt is my fashion when I see a crab.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, here’s no crab, and therefore look not sour.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThere is, there is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThen show it me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nHad I a glass I would.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhat, you mean my face?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWell aim’d of such a young one.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNow, by Saint George, I am too young for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nYet you are wither’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\n’Tis with cares.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI care not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, hear you, Kate: in sooth, you ’scape not so.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI chafe you, if I tarry; let me go.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNo, not a whit; I find you passing gentle.\\r\\n’Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen,\\r\\nAnd now I find report a very liar;\\r\\nFor thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous,\\r\\nBut slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers.\\r\\nThou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance,\\r\\nNor bite the lip, as angry wenches will,\\r\\nNor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk;\\r\\nBut thou with mildness entertain’st thy wooers;\\r\\nWith gentle conference, soft and affable.\\r\\nWhy does the world report that Kate doth limp?\\r\\nO sland’rous world! Kate like the hazel-twig\\r\\nIs straight and slender, and as brown in hue\\r\\nAs hazel-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels.\\r\\nO! let me see thee walk: thou dost not halt.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nGo, fool, and whom thou keep’st command.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nDid ever Dian so become a grove\\r\\nAs Kate this chamber with her princely gait?\\r\\nO! be thou Dian, and let her be Kate,\\r\\nAnd then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful!\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhere did you study all this goodly speech?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nIt is extempore, from my mother-wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nA witty mother! witless else her son.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAm I not wise?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nYes; keep you warm.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nMarry, so I mean, sweet Katherine, in thy bed;\\r\\nAnd therefore, setting all this chat aside,\\r\\nThus in plain terms: your father hath consented\\r\\nThat you shall be my wife your dowry ’greed on;\\r\\nAnd will you, nill you, I will marry you.\\r\\nNow, Kate, I am a husband for your turn;\\r\\nFor, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty,—\\r\\nThy beauty that doth make me like thee well,—\\r\\nThou must be married to no man but me;\\r\\nFor I am he am born to tame you, Kate,\\r\\nAnd bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate\\r\\nConformable as other household Kates.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Baptista, Gremio and Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes your father. Never make denial;\\r\\nI must and will have Katherine to my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNow, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHow but well, sir? how but well?\\r\\nIt were impossible I should speed amiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, how now, daughter Katherine, in your dumps?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nCall you me daughter? Now I promise you\\r\\nYou have show’d a tender fatherly regard\\r\\nTo wish me wed to one half lunatic,\\r\\nA mad-cap ruffian and a swearing Jack,\\r\\nThat thinks with oaths to face the matter out.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nFather, ’tis thus: yourself and all the world\\r\\nThat talk’d of her have talk’d amiss of her:\\r\\nIf she be curst, it is for policy,\\r\\nFor she’s not froward, but modest as the dove;\\r\\nShe is not hot, but temperate as the morn;\\r\\nFor patience she will prove a second Grissel,\\r\\nAnd Roman Lucrece for her chastity;\\r\\nAnd to conclude, we have ’greed so well together\\r\\nThat upon Sunday is the wedding-day.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI’ll see thee hang’d on Sunday first.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nHark, Petruchio; she says she’ll see thee hang’d first.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nIs this your speeding? Nay, then good-night our part!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nBe patient, gentlemen. I choose her for myself;\\r\\nIf she and I be pleas’d, what’s that to you?\\r\\n’Tis bargain’d ’twixt us twain, being alone,\\r\\nThat she shall still be curst in company.\\r\\nI tell you, ’tis incredible to believe\\r\\nHow much she loves me: O! the kindest Kate\\r\\nShe hung about my neck, and kiss on kiss\\r\\nShe vied so fast, protesting oath on oath,\\r\\nThat in a twink she won me to her love.\\r\\nO! you are novices: ’tis a world to see,\\r\\nHow tame, when men and women are alone,\\r\\nA meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew.\\r\\nGive me thy hand, Kate; I will unto Venice,\\r\\nTo buy apparel ’gainst the wedding-day.\\r\\nProvide the feast, father, and bid the guests;\\r\\nI will be sure my Katherine shall be fine.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI know not what to say; but give me your hands.\\r\\nGod send you joy, Petruchio! ’Tis a match.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO, TRANIO.\\r\\nAmen, say we; we will be witnesses.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nFather, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu.\\r\\nI will to Venice; Sunday comes apace;\\r\\nWe will have rings and things, and fine array;\\r\\nAnd kiss me, Kate; we will be married o’ Sunday.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Petruchio and Katherina, severally._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWas ever match clapp’d up so suddenly?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nFaith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant’s part,\\r\\nAnd venture madly on a desperate mart.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n’Twas a commodity lay fretting by you;\\r\\n’Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nThe gain I seek is, quiet in the match.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nNo doubt but he hath got a quiet catch.\\r\\nBut now, Baptista, to your younger daughter:\\r\\nNow is the day we long have looked for;\\r\\nI am your neighbour, and was suitor first.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd I am one that love Bianca more\\r\\nThan words can witness or your thoughts can guess.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nYoungling, thou canst not love so dear as I.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nGreybeard, thy love doth freeze.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nBut thine doth fry.\\r\\nSkipper, stand back; ’tis age that nourisheth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nBut youth in ladies’ eyes that flourisheth.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nContent you, gentlemen; I’ll compound this strife:\\r\\n’Tis deeds must win the prize, and he of both\\r\\nThat can assure my daughter greatest dower\\r\\nShall have my Bianca’s love.\\r\\nSay, Signior Gremio, what can you assure her?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nFirst, as you know, my house within the city\\r\\nIs richly furnished with plate and gold:\\r\\nBasins and ewers to lave her dainty hands;\\r\\nMy hangings all of Tyrian tapestry;\\r\\nIn ivory coffers I have stuff’d my crowns;\\r\\nIn cypress chests my arras counterpoints,\\r\\nCostly apparel, tents, and canopies,\\r\\nFine linen, Turkey cushions boss’d with pearl,\\r\\nValance of Venice gold in needlework;\\r\\nPewter and brass, and all things that belong\\r\\nTo house or housekeeping: then, at my farm\\r\\nI have a hundred milch-kine to the pail,\\r\\nSix score fat oxen standing in my stalls,\\r\\nAnd all things answerable to this portion.\\r\\nMyself am struck in years, I must confess;\\r\\nAnd if I die tomorrow this is hers,\\r\\nIf whilst I live she will be only mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThat ‘only’ came well in. Sir, list to me:\\r\\nI am my father’s heir and only son;\\r\\nIf I may have your daughter to my wife,\\r\\nI’ll leave her houses three or four as good\\r\\nWithin rich Pisa’s walls as anyone\\r\\nOld Signior Gremio has in Padua;\\r\\nBesides two thousand ducats by the year\\r\\nOf fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure.\\r\\nWhat, have I pinch’d you, Signior Gremio?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nTwo thousand ducats by the year of land!\\r\\nMy land amounts not to so much in all:\\r\\nThat she shall have, besides an argosy\\r\\nThat now is lying in Marseilles’ road.\\r\\nWhat, have I chok’d you with an argosy?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nGremio, ’tis known my father hath no less\\r\\nThan three great argosies, besides two galliasses,\\r\\nAnd twelve tight galleys; these I will assure her,\\r\\nAnd twice as much, whate’er thou offer’st next.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nNay, I have offer’d all; I have no more;\\r\\nAnd she can have no more than all I have;\\r\\nIf you like me, she shall have me and mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhy, then the maid is mine from all the world,\\r\\nBy your firm promise; Gremio is out-vied.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI must confess your offer is the best;\\r\\nAnd let your father make her the assurance,\\r\\nShe is your own; else, you must pardon me;\\r\\nIf you should die before him, where’s her dower?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThat’s but a cavil; he is old, I young.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAnd may not young men die as well as old?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWell, gentlemen,\\r\\nI am thus resolv’d. On Sunday next, you know,\\r\\nMy daughter Katherine is to be married;\\r\\nNow, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca\\r\\nBe bride to you, if you make this assurance;\\r\\nIf not, to Signior Gremio.\\r\\nAnd so I take my leave, and thank you both.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAdieu, good neighbour.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Baptista._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, I fear thee not:\\r\\nSirrah young gamester, your father were a fool\\r\\nTo give thee all, and in his waning age\\r\\nSet foot under thy table. Tut! a toy!\\r\\nAn old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nA vengeance on your crafty wither’d hide!\\r\\nYet I have fac’d it with a card of ten.\\r\\n’Tis in my head to do my master good:\\r\\nI see no reason but suppos’d Lucentio\\r\\nMust get a father, call’d suppos’d Vincentio;\\r\\nAnd that’s a wonder: fathers commonly\\r\\nDo get their children; but in this case of wooing\\r\\nA child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Padua. A room in BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Lucentio, Hortensio and Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nFiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir.\\r\\nHave you so soon forgot the entertainment\\r\\nHer sister Katherine welcome’d you withal?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nBut, wrangling pedant, this is\\r\\nThe patroness of heavenly harmony:\\r\\nThen give me leave to have prerogative;\\r\\nAnd when in music we have spent an hour,\\r\\nYour lecture shall have leisure for as much.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nPreposterous ass, that never read so far\\r\\nTo know the cause why music was ordain’d!\\r\\nWas it not to refresh the mind of man\\r\\nAfter his studies or his usual pain?\\r\\nThen give me leave to read philosophy,\\r\\nAnd while I pause serve in your harmony.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhy, gentlemen, you do me double wrong,\\r\\nTo strive for that which resteth in my choice.\\r\\nI am no breeching scholar in the schools,\\r\\nI’ll not be tied to hours nor ’pointed times,\\r\\nBut learn my lessons as I please myself.\\r\\nAnd, to cut off all strife, here sit we down;\\r\\nTake you your instrument, play you the whiles;\\r\\nHis lecture will be done ere you have tun’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nYou’ll leave his lecture when I am in tune?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Retires._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nThat will be never: tune your instrument.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhere left we last?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nHere, madam:—\\r\\n_Hic ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus;\\r\\nHic steterat Priami regia celsa senis._\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nConstrue them.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\n_Hic ibat_, as I told you before, _Simois_, I am Lucentio, _hic est_,\\r\\nson unto Vincentio of Pisa, _Sigeia tellus_, disguised thus to get your\\r\\nlove, _Hic steterat_, and that Lucentio that comes a-wooing, _Priami_,\\r\\nis my man Tranio, _regia_, bearing my port, _celsa senis_, that we\\r\\nmight beguile the old pantaloon.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO. [_Returning._]\\r\\nMadam, my instrument’s in tune.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nLet’s hear.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Hortensio _plays._]\\r\\n\\r\\nO fie! the treble jars.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nSpit in the hole, man, and tune again.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nNow let me see if I can construe it: _Hic ibat Simois_, I know you not;\\r\\n_hic est Sigeia tellus_, I trust you not; _Hic steterat Priami_, take\\r\\nheed he hear us not; _regia_, presume not; _celsa senis_, despair not.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMadam, ’tis now in tune.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAll but the base.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nThe base is right; ’tis the base knave that jars.\\r\\n[_Aside_] How fiery and forward our pedant is!\\r\\nNow, for my life, the knave doth court my love:\\r\\nPedascule, I’ll watch you better yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nIn time I may believe, yet I mistrust.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nMistrust it not; for sure, Æacides\\r\\nWas Ajax, call’d so from his grandfather.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nI must believe my master; else, I promise you,\\r\\nI should be arguing still upon that doubt;\\r\\nBut let it rest. Now, Licio, to you.\\r\\nGood master, take it not unkindly, pray,\\r\\nThat I have been thus pleasant with you both.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n[_To Lucentio_] You may go walk and give me leave a while;\\r\\nMy lessons make no music in three parts.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAre you so formal, sir? Well, I must wait,\\r\\n[_Aside_] And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv’d,\\r\\nOur fine musician groweth amorous.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMadam, before you touch the instrument,\\r\\nTo learn the order of my fingering,\\r\\nI must begin with rudiments of art;\\r\\nTo teach you gamut in a briefer sort,\\r\\nMore pleasant, pithy, and effectual,\\r\\nThan hath been taught by any of my trade:\\r\\nAnd there it is in writing, fairly drawn.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhy, I am past my gamut long ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nYet read the gamut of Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\n _Gamut_ I am, the ground of all accord,\\r\\n _A re_, to plead Hortensio’s passion;\\r\\n _B mi_, Bianca, take him for thy lord,\\r\\n _C fa ut_, that loves with all affection:\\r\\n _D sol re_, one clef, two notes have I\\r\\n _E la mi_, show pity or I die.\\r\\nCall you this gamut? Tut, I like it not:\\r\\nOld fashions please me best; I am not so nice,\\r\\nTo change true rules for odd inventions.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMistress, your father prays you leave your books,\\r\\nAnd help to dress your sister’s chamber up:\\r\\nYou know tomorrow is the wedding-day.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nFarewell, sweet masters, both: I must be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Bianca and Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nFaith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nBut I have cause to pry into this pedant:\\r\\nMethinks he looks as though he were in love.\\r\\nYet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble\\r\\nTo cast thy wand’ring eyes on every stale,\\r\\nSeize thee that list: if once I find thee ranging,\\r\\nHortensio will be quit with thee by changing.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, Katherina, Bianca, Lucentio and\\r\\nAttendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA. [_To Tranio_.]\\r\\nSignior Lucentio, this is the ’pointed day\\r\\nThat Katherine and Petruchio should be married,\\r\\nAnd yet we hear not of our son-in-law.\\r\\nWhat will be said? What mockery will it be\\r\\nTo want the bridegroom when the priest attends\\r\\nTo speak the ceremonial rites of marriage!\\r\\nWhat says Lucentio to this shame of ours?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNo shame but mine; I must, forsooth, be forc’d\\r\\nTo give my hand, oppos’d against my heart,\\r\\nUnto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen;\\r\\nWho woo’d in haste and means to wed at leisure.\\r\\nI told you, I, he was a frantic fool,\\r\\nHiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour;\\r\\nAnd to be noted for a merry man,\\r\\nHe’ll woo a thousand, ’point the day of marriage,\\r\\nMake friends, invite, and proclaim the banns;\\r\\nYet never means to wed where he hath woo’d.\\r\\nNow must the world point at poor Katherine,\\r\\nAnd say ‘Lo! there is mad Petruchio’s wife,\\r\\nIf it would please him come and marry her.’\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nPatience, good Katherine, and Baptista too.\\r\\nUpon my life, Petruchio means but well,\\r\\nWhatever fortune stays him from his word:\\r\\nThough he be blunt, I know him passing wise;\\r\\nThough he be merry, yet withal he’s honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWould Katherine had never seen him though!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit weeping, followed by Bianca and others._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nGo, girl, I cannot blame thee now to weep,\\r\\nFor such an injury would vex a very saint;\\r\\nMuch more a shrew of thy impatient humour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nMaster, master! News! old news, and such news as you never heard of!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nIs it new and old too? How may that be?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhy, is it not news to hear of Petruchio’s coming?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nIs he come?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhy, no, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhat then?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nHe is coming.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhen will he be here?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhen he stands where I am and sees you there.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nBut say, what to thine old news?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhy, Petruchio is coming, in a new hat and an old jerkin; a pair of old\\r\\nbreeches thrice turned; a pair of boots that have been candle-cases,\\r\\none buckled, another laced; an old rusty sword ta’en out of the town\\r\\narmoury, with a broken hilt, and chapeless; with two broken points: his\\r\\nhorse hipped with an old mothy saddle and stirrups of no kindred;\\r\\nbesides, possessed with the glanders and like to mose in the chine;\\r\\ntroubled with the lampass, infected with the fashions, full of\\r\\nwindgalls, sped with spavins, rayed with the yellows, past cure of the\\r\\nfives, stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the bots, swayed\\r\\nin the back and shoulder-shotten; near-legged before, and with a\\r\\nhalf-checked bit, and a head-stall of sheep’s leather, which, being\\r\\nrestrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been often burst, and now\\r\\nrepaired with knots; one girth six times pieced, and a woman’s crupper\\r\\nof velure, which hath two letters for her name fairly set down in\\r\\nstuds, and here and there pieced with pack-thread.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWho comes with him?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nO, sir! his lackey, for all the world caparisoned like the horse; with\\r\\na linen stock on one leg and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered\\r\\nwith a red and blue list; an old hat, and the humour of forty fancies\\r\\nprick’d in’t for a feather: a monster, a very monster in apparel, and\\r\\nnot like a Christian footboy or a gentleman’s lackey.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n’Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion;\\r\\nYet oftentimes lie goes but mean-apparell’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI am glad he’s come, howsoe’er he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhy, sir, he comes not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nDidst thou not say he comes?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWho? that Petruchio came?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAy, that Petruchio came.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nNo, sir; I say his horse comes, with him on his back.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, that’s all one.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\n Nay, by Saint Jamy,\\r\\n I hold you a penny,\\r\\n A horse and a man\\r\\n Is more than one,\\r\\n And yet not many.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petruchio and Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome, where be these gallants? Who is at home?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nYou are welcome, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAnd yet I come not well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAnd yet you halt not.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nNot so well apparell’d as I wish you were.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWere it better, I should rush in thus.\\r\\nBut where is Kate? Where is my lovely bride?\\r\\nHow does my father? Gentles, methinks you frown;\\r\\nAnd wherefore gaze this goodly company,\\r\\nAs if they saw some wondrous monument,\\r\\nSome comet or unusual prodigy?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, sir, you know this is your wedding-day:\\r\\nFirst were we sad, fearing you would not come;\\r\\nNow sadder, that you come so unprovided.\\r\\nFie! doff this habit, shame to your estate,\\r\\nAn eye-sore to our solemn festival.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd tell us what occasion of import\\r\\nHath all so long detain’d you from your wife,\\r\\nAnd sent you hither so unlike yourself?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nTedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear;\\r\\nSufficeth I am come to keep my word,\\r\\nThough in some part enforced to digress;\\r\\nWhich at more leisure I will so excuse\\r\\nAs you shall well be satisfied withal.\\r\\nBut where is Kate? I stay too long from her;\\r\\nThe morning wears, ’tis time we were at church.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSee not your bride in these unreverent robes;\\r\\nGo to my chamber, put on clothes of mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNot I, believe me: thus I’ll visit her.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nBut thus, I trust, you will not marry her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGood sooth, even thus; therefore ha’ done with words;\\r\\nTo me she’s married, not unto my clothes.\\r\\nCould I repair what she will wear in me\\r\\nAs I can change these poor accoutrements,\\r\\n’Twere well for Kate and better for myself.\\r\\nBut what a fool am I to chat with you\\r\\nWhen I should bid good morrow to my bride,\\r\\nAnd seal the title with a lovely kiss!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Petruchio, Grumio and Biondello._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nHe hath some meaning in his mad attire.\\r\\nWe will persuade him, be it possible,\\r\\nTo put on better ere he go to church.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI’ll after him and see the event of this.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Baptista, Gremio and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nBut, sir, to love concerneth us to add\\r\\nHer father’s liking; which to bring to pass,\\r\\nAs I before imparted to your worship,\\r\\nI am to get a man,—whate’er he be\\r\\nIt skills not much; we’ll fit him to our turn,—\\r\\nAnd he shall be Vincentio of Pisa,\\r\\nAnd make assurance here in Padua,\\r\\nOf greater sums than I have promised.\\r\\nSo shall you quietly enjoy your hope,\\r\\nAnd marry sweet Bianca with consent.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nWere it not that my fellow schoolmaster\\r\\nDoth watch Bianca’s steps so narrowly,\\r\\n’Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage;\\r\\nWhich once perform’d, let all the world say no,\\r\\nI’ll keep mine own despite of all the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThat by degrees we mean to look into,\\r\\nAnd watch our vantage in this business.\\r\\nWe’ll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio,\\r\\nThe narrow-prying father, Minola,\\r\\nThe quaint musician, amorous Licio;\\r\\nAll for my master’s sake, Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Gremio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSignior Gremio, came you from the church?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAs willingly as e’er I came from school.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd is the bride and bridegroom coming home?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nA bridegroom, say you? ’Tis a groom indeed,\\r\\nA grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nCurster than she? Why, ’tis impossible.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWhy, he’s a devil, a devil, a very fiend.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhy, she’s a devil, a devil, the devil’s dam.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nTut! she’s a lamb, a dove, a fool, to him.\\r\\nI’ll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priest\\r\\nShould ask if Katherine should be his wife,\\r\\n’Ay, by gogs-wouns’ quoth he, and swore so loud\\r\\nThat, all amaz’d, the priest let fall the book;\\r\\nAnd as he stoop’d again to take it up,\\r\\nThe mad-brain’d bridegroom took him such a cuff\\r\\nThat down fell priest and book, and book and priest:\\r\\n‘Now take them up,’ quoth he ‘if any list.’\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhat said the wench, when he rose again?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nTrembled and shook, for why, he stamp’d and swore\\r\\nAs if the vicar meant to cozen him.\\r\\nBut after many ceremonies done,\\r\\nHe calls for wine: ‘A health!’ quoth he, as if\\r\\nHe had been abroad, carousing to his mates\\r\\nAfter a storm; quaff’d off the muscadel,\\r\\nAnd threw the sops all in the sexton’s face,\\r\\nHaving no other reason\\r\\nBut that his beard grew thin and hungerly\\r\\nAnd seem’d to ask him sops as he was drinking.\\r\\nThis done, he took the bride about the neck,\\r\\nAnd kiss’d her lips with such a clamorous smack\\r\\nThat at the parting all the church did echo.\\r\\nAnd I, seeing this, came thence for very shame;\\r\\nAnd after me, I know, the rout is coming.\\r\\nSuch a mad marriage never was before.\\r\\nHark, hark! I hear the minstrels play.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Music plays._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petrucio, Katherina, Bianca, Baptista, Hortensio, Grumio and\\r\\nTrain.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains:\\r\\nI know you think to dine with me today,\\r\\nAnd have prepar’d great store of wedding cheer\\r\\nBut so it is, my haste doth call me hence,\\r\\nAnd therefore here I mean to take my leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nIs’t possible you will away tonight?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI must away today before night come.\\r\\nMake it no wonder: if you knew my business,\\r\\nYou would entreat me rather go than stay.\\r\\nAnd, honest company, I thank you all,\\r\\nThat have beheld me give away myself\\r\\nTo this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife.\\r\\nDine with my father, drink a health to me.\\r\\nFor I must hence; and farewell to you all.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nLet us entreat you stay till after dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nIt may not be.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nLet me entreat you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nIt cannot be.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nLet me entreat you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI am content.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nAre you content to stay?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI am content you shall entreat me stay;\\r\\nBut yet not stay, entreat me how you can.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNow, if you love me, stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGrumio, my horse!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nAy, sir, they be ready; the oats have eaten the horses.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNay, then,\\r\\nDo what thou canst, I will not go today;\\r\\nNo, nor tomorrow, not till I please myself.\\r\\nThe door is open, sir; there lies your way;\\r\\nYou may be jogging whiles your boots are green;\\r\\nFor me, I’ll not be gone till I please myself.\\r\\n’Tis like you’ll prove a jolly surly groom\\r\\nThat take it on you at the first so roundly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nO Kate! content thee: prithee be not angry.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI will be angry: what hast thou to do?\\r\\nFather, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAy, marry, sir, now it begins to work.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nGentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner:\\r\\nI see a woman may be made a fool,\\r\\nIf she had not a spirit to resist.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThey shall go forward, Kate, at thy command.\\r\\nObey the bride, you that attend on her;\\r\\nGo to the feast, revel and domineer,\\r\\nCarouse full measure to her maidenhead,\\r\\nBe mad and merry, or go hang yourselves:\\r\\nBut for my bonny Kate, she must with me.\\r\\nNay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret;\\r\\nI will be master of what is mine own.\\r\\nShe is my goods, my chattels; she is my house,\\r\\nMy household stuff, my field, my barn,\\r\\nMy horse, my ox, my ass, my anything;\\r\\nAnd here she stands, touch her whoever dare;\\r\\nI’ll bring mine action on the proudest he\\r\\nThat stops my way in Padua. Grumio,\\r\\nDraw forth thy weapon; we are beset with thieves;\\r\\nRescue thy mistress, if thou be a man.\\r\\nFear not, sweet wench; they shall not touch thee, Kate;\\r\\nI’ll buckler thee against a million.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Petrucio, Katherina and Grumio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWent they not quickly, I should die with laughing.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nOf all mad matches, never was the like.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nMistress, what’s your opinion of your sister?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nThat, being mad herself, she’s madly mated.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI warrant him, Petruchio is Kated.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNeighbours and friends, though bride and bridegroom wants\\r\\nFor to supply the places at the table,\\r\\nYou know there wants no junkets at the feast.\\r\\nLucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom’s place;\\r\\nAnd let Bianca take her sister’s room.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nShall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nShe shall, Lucentio. Come, gentlemen, let’s go.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A hall in PETRUCHIO’S country house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nFie, fie on all tired jades, on all mad masters, and all foul ways! Was\\r\\never man so beaten? Was ever man so ray’d? Was ever man so weary? I am\\r\\nsent before to make a fire, and they are coming after to warm them.\\r\\nNow, were not I a little pot and soon hot, my very lips might freeze to\\r\\nmy teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere\\r\\nI should come by a fire to thaw me. But I with blowing the fire shall\\r\\nwarm myself; for, considering the weather, a taller man than I will\\r\\ntake cold. Holla, ho! Curtis!\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Curtis.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nWho is that calls so coldly?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nA piece of ice: if thou doubt it, thou mayst slide from my shoulder to\\r\\nmy heel with no greater a run but my head and my neck. A fire, good\\r\\nCurtis.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nIs my master and his wife coming, Grumio?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nO, ay! Curtis, ay; and therefore fire, fire; cast on no water.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nIs she so hot a shrew as she’s reported?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nShe was, good Curtis, before this frost; but thou knowest winter tames\\r\\nman, woman, and beast; for it hath tamed my old master, and my new\\r\\nmistress, and myself, fellow Curtis.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nAway, you three-inch fool! I am no beast.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nAm I but three inches? Why, thy horn is a foot; and so long am I at the\\r\\nleast. But wilt thou make a fire, or shall I complain on thee to our\\r\\nmistress, whose hand,—she being now at hand,— thou shalt soon feel, to\\r\\nthy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nI prithee, good Grumio, tell me, how goes the world?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nA cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; and therefore fire. Do\\r\\nthy duty, and have thy duty, for my master and mistress are almost\\r\\nfrozen to death.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nThere’s fire ready; and therefore, good Grumio, the news.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhy, ‘Jack boy! ho, boy!’ and as much news as wilt thou.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nCome, you are so full of cony-catching.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhy, therefore, fire; for I have caught extreme cold. Where’s the cook?\\r\\nIs supper ready, the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept, the\\r\\nservingmen in their new fustian, their white stockings, and every\\r\\nofficer his wedding-garment on? Be the Jacks fair within, the Jills\\r\\nfair without, and carpets laid, and everything in order?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nAll ready; and therefore, I pray thee, news.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nFirst, know my horse is tired; my master and mistress fallen out.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nHow?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nOut of their saddles into the dirt; and thereby hangs a tale.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nLet’s ha’t, good Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nLend thine ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nHere.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\n[_Striking him._] There.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nThis ’tis to feel a tale, not to hear a tale.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nAnd therefore ’tis called a sensible tale; and this cuff was but to\\r\\nknock at your ear and beseech listening. Now I begin: _Imprimis_, we\\r\\ncame down a foul hill, my master riding behind my mistress,—\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nBoth of one horse?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhat’s that to thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nWhy, a horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nTell thou the tale: but hadst thou not crossed me, thou shouldst have\\r\\nheard how her horse fell, and she under her horse; thou shouldst have\\r\\nheard in how miry a place, how she was bemoiled; how he left her with\\r\\nthe horse upon her; how he beat me because her horse stumbled; how she\\r\\nwaded through the dirt to pluck him off me: how he swore; how she\\r\\nprayed, that never prayed before; how I cried; how the horses ran away;\\r\\nhow her bridle was burst; how I lost my crupper; with many things of\\r\\nworthy memory, which now shall die in oblivion, and thou return\\r\\nunexperienced to thy grave.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nBy this reckoning he is more shrew than she.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nAy; and that thou and the proudest of you all shall find when he comes\\r\\nhome. But what talk I of this? Call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas,\\r\\nPhilip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest; let their heads be sleekly\\r\\ncombed, their blue coats brush’d and their garters of an indifferent\\r\\nknit; let them curtsy with their left legs, and not presume to touch a\\r\\nhair of my master’s horse-tail till they kiss their hands. Are they all\\r\\nready?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nThey are.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nCall them forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nDo you hear? ho! You must meet my master to countenance my mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhy, she hath a face of her own.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nWho knows not that?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nThou, it seems, that calls for company to countenance her.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nI call them forth to credit her.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhy, she comes to borrow nothing of them.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter four or five Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nNATHANIEL.\\r\\nWelcome home, Grumio!\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILIP.\\r\\nHow now, Grumio!\\r\\n\\r\\nJOSEPH.\\r\\nWhat, Grumio!\\r\\n\\r\\nNICHOLAS.\\r\\nFellow Grumio!\\r\\n\\r\\nNATHANIEL.\\r\\nHow now, old lad!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWelcome, you; how now, you; what, you; fellow, you; and thus much for\\r\\ngreeting. Now, my spruce companions, is all ready, and all things neat?\\r\\n\\r\\nNATHANIEL.\\r\\nAll things is ready. How near is our master?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nE’en at hand, alighted by this; and therefore be not,—\\r\\nCock’s passion, silence! I hear my master.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petrucio and Katherina.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhere be these knaves? What! no man at door\\r\\nTo hold my stirrup nor to take my horse?\\r\\nWhere is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip?—\\r\\n\\r\\nALL SERVANTS.\\r\\nHere, here, sir; here, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHere, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sir!\\r\\nYou logger-headed and unpolish’d grooms!\\r\\nWhat, no attendance? no regard? no duty?\\r\\nWhere is the foolish knave I sent before?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nHere, sir; as foolish as I was before.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nYou peasant swain! you whoreson malt-horse drudge!\\r\\nDid I not bid thee meet me in the park,\\r\\nAnd bring along these rascal knaves with thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nNathaniel’s coat, sir, was not fully made,\\r\\nAnd Gabriel’s pumps were all unpink’d i’ the heel;\\r\\nThere was no link to colour Peter’s hat,\\r\\nAnd Walter’s dagger was not come from sheathing;\\r\\nThere was none fine but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory;\\r\\nThe rest were ragged, old, and beggarly;\\r\\nYet, as they are, here are they come to meet you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGo, rascals, go and fetch my supper in.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt some of the Servants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhere is the life that late I led?\\r\\n Where are those—? Sit down, Kate, and welcome.\\r\\nFood, food, food, food!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Servants with supper.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhy, when, I say?—Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry.—\\r\\nOff with my boots, you rogues! you villains! when?\\r\\n It was the friar of orders grey,\\r\\n As he forth walked on his way:\\r\\nOut, you rogue! you pluck my foot awry:\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Strikes him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTake that, and mend the plucking off the other.\\r\\nBe merry, Kate. Some water, here; what, ho!\\r\\nWhere’s my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you hence\\r\\nAnd bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither:\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOne, Kate, that you must kiss and be acquainted with.\\r\\nWhere are my slippers? Shall I have some water?\\r\\nCome, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Servant lets the ewer fall. Petruchio strikes him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nYou whoreson villain! will you let it fall?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nPatience, I pray you; ’twas a fault unwilling.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA whoreson, beetle-headed, flap-ear’d knave!\\r\\nCome, Kate, sit down; I know you have a stomach.\\r\\nWill you give thanks, sweet Kate, or else shall I?—\\r\\nWhat’s this? Mutton?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nAy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWho brought it?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nI.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\n’Tis burnt; and so is all the meat.\\r\\nWhat dogs are these! Where is the rascal cook?\\r\\nHow durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser,\\r\\nAnd serve it thus to me that love it not?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Throws the meat, etc., at them._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThere, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all.\\r\\nYou heedless joltheads and unmanner’d slaves!\\r\\nWhat! do you grumble? I’ll be with you straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI pray you, husband, be not so disquiet;\\r\\nThe meat was well, if you were so contented.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI tell thee, Kate, ’twas burnt and dried away,\\r\\nAnd I expressly am forbid to touch it;\\r\\nFor it engenders choler, planteth anger;\\r\\nAnd better ’twere that both of us did fast,\\r\\nSince, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric,\\r\\nThan feed it with such over-roasted flesh.\\r\\nBe patient; tomorrow ’t shall be mended.\\r\\nAnd for this night we’ll fast for company:\\r\\nCome, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Petruchio, Katherina and Curtis._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNATHANIEL.\\r\\nPeter, didst ever see the like?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nHe kills her in her own humour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Curtis.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhere is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nIn her chamber, making a sermon of continency to her;\\r\\nAnd rails, and swears, and rates, that she, poor soul,\\r\\nKnows not which way to stand, to look, to speak,\\r\\nAnd sits as one new risen from a dream.\\r\\nAway, away! for he is coming hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Petruchio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThus have I politicly begun my reign,\\r\\nAnd ’tis my hope to end successfully.\\r\\nMy falcon now is sharp and passing empty.\\r\\nAnd till she stoop she must not be full-gorg’d,\\r\\nFor then she never looks upon her lure.\\r\\nAnother way I have to man my haggard,\\r\\nTo make her come, and know her keeper’s call,\\r\\nThat is, to watch her, as we watch these kites\\r\\nThat bate and beat, and will not be obedient.\\r\\nShe eat no meat today, nor none shall eat;\\r\\nLast night she slept not, nor tonight she shall not;\\r\\nAs with the meat, some undeserved fault\\r\\nI’ll find about the making of the bed;\\r\\nAnd here I’ll fling the pillow, there the bolster,\\r\\nThis way the coverlet, another way the sheets;\\r\\nAy, and amid this hurly I intend\\r\\nThat all is done in reverend care of her;\\r\\nAnd, in conclusion, she shall watch all night:\\r\\nAnd if she chance to nod I’ll rail and brawl,\\r\\nAnd with the clamour keep her still awake.\\r\\nThis is a way to kill a wife with kindness;\\r\\nAnd thus I’ll curb her mad and headstrong humour.\\r\\nHe that knows better how to tame a shrew,\\r\\nNow let him speak; ’tis charity to show.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Padua. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Tranio and Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nIs ’t possible, friend Licio, that Mistress Bianca\\r\\nDoth fancy any other but Lucentio?\\r\\nI tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSir, to satisfy you in what I have said,\\r\\nStand by and mark the manner of his teaching.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They stand aside._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Bianca and Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nNow, mistress, profit you in what you read?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhat, master, read you? First resolve me that.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI read that I profess, _The Art to Love_.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nAnd may you prove, sir, master of your art!\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nWhile you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They retire._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nQuick proceeders, marry! Now tell me, I pray,\\r\\nYou that durst swear that your Mistress Bianca\\r\\nLov’d none in the world so well as Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nO despiteful love! unconstant womankind!\\r\\nI tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMistake no more; I am not Licio.\\r\\nNor a musician as I seem to be;\\r\\nBut one that scorn to live in this disguise\\r\\nFor such a one as leaves a gentleman\\r\\nAnd makes a god of such a cullion:\\r\\nKnow, sir, that I am call’d Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSignior Hortensio, I have often heard\\r\\nOf your entire affection to Bianca;\\r\\nAnd since mine eyes are witness of her lightness,\\r\\nI will with you, if you be so contented,\\r\\nForswear Bianca and her love for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSee, how they kiss and court! Signior Lucentio,\\r\\nHere is my hand, and here I firmly vow\\r\\nNever to woo her more, but do forswear her,\\r\\nAs one unworthy all the former favours\\r\\nThat I have fondly flatter’d her withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd here I take the like unfeigned oath,\\r\\nNever to marry with her though she would entreat;\\r\\nFie on her! See how beastly she doth court him!\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nWould all the world but he had quite forsworn!\\r\\nFor me, that I may surely keep mine oath,\\r\\nI will be married to a wealthy widow\\r\\nEre three days pass, which hath as long lov’d me\\r\\nAs I have lov’d this proud disdainful haggard.\\r\\nAnd so farewell, Signior Lucentio.\\r\\nKindness in women, not their beauteous looks,\\r\\nShall win my love; and so I take my leave,\\r\\nIn resolution as I swore before.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Hortensio. Lucentio and Bianca advance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMistress Bianca, bless you with such grace\\r\\nAs ’longeth to a lover’s blessed case!\\r\\nNay, I have ta’en you napping, gentle love,\\r\\nAnd have forsworn you with Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nTranio, you jest; but have you both forsworn me?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMistress, we have.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nThen we are rid of Licio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nI’ faith, he’ll have a lusty widow now,\\r\\nThat shall be woo’d and wedded in a day.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nGod give him joy!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAy, and he’ll tame her.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nHe says so, Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nFaith, he is gone unto the taming-school.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nThe taming-school! What, is there such a place?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAy, mistress; and Petruchio is the master,\\r\\nThat teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long,\\r\\nTo tame a shrew and charm her chattering tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Biondello, running.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nO master, master! I have watch’d so long\\r\\nThat I am dog-weary; but at last I spied\\r\\nAn ancient angel coming down the hill\\r\\nWill serve the turn.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhat is he, Biondello?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nMaster, a mercatante or a pedant,\\r\\nI know not what; but formal in apparel,\\r\\nIn gait and countenance surely like a father.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAnd what of him, Tranio?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nIf he be credulous and trust my tale,\\r\\nI’ll make him glad to seem Vincentio,\\r\\nAnd give assurance to Baptista Minola,\\r\\nAs if he were the right Vincentio.\\r\\nTake in your love, and then let me alone.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Lucentio and Bianca._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a Pedant.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nGod save you, sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd you, sir! you are welcome.\\r\\nTravel you far on, or are you at the farthest?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nSir, at the farthest for a week or two;\\r\\nBut then up farther, and as far as Rome;\\r\\nAnd so to Tripoli, if God lend me life.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhat countryman, I pray?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nOf Mantua.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nOf Mantua, sir? Marry, God forbid,\\r\\nAnd come to Padua, careless of your life!\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nMy life, sir! How, I pray? for that goes hard.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n’Tis death for anyone in Mantua\\r\\nTo come to Padua. Know you not the cause?\\r\\nYour ships are stay’d at Venice; and the Duke,—\\r\\nFor private quarrel ’twixt your Duke and him,—\\r\\nHath publish’d and proclaim’d it openly.\\r\\n’Tis marvel, but that you are but newly come\\r\\nYou might have heard it else proclaim’d about.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nAlas, sir! it is worse for me than so;\\r\\nFor I have bills for money by exchange\\r\\nFrom Florence, and must here deliver them.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWell, sir, to do you courtesy,\\r\\nThis will I do, and this I will advise you:\\r\\nFirst, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nAy, sir, in Pisa have I often been,\\r\\nPisa renowned for grave citizens.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAmong them know you one Vincentio?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nI know him not, but I have heard of him,\\r\\nA merchant of incomparable wealth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nHe is my father, sir; and, sooth to say,\\r\\nIn countenance somewhat doth resemble you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] As much as an apple doth an oyster, and all one.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nTo save your life in this extremity,\\r\\nThis favour will I do you for his sake;\\r\\nAnd think it not the worst of all your fortunes\\r\\nThat you are like to Sir Vincentio.\\r\\nHis name and credit shall you undertake,\\r\\nAnd in my house you shall be friendly lodg’d;\\r\\nLook that you take upon you as you should!\\r\\nYou understand me, sir; so shall you stay\\r\\nTill you have done your business in the city.\\r\\nIf this be courtesy, sir, accept of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nO, sir, I do; and will repute you ever\\r\\nThe patron of my life and liberty.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThen go with me to make the matter good.\\r\\nThis, by the way, I let you understand:\\r\\nMy father is here look’d for every day\\r\\nTo pass assurance of a dower in marriage\\r\\n’Twixt me and one Baptista’s daughter here:\\r\\nIn all these circumstances I’ll instruct you.\\r\\nGo with me to clothe you as becomes you.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A room in PETRUCHIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Katherina and Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nNo, no, forsooth; I dare not for my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThe more my wrong, the more his spite appears.\\r\\nWhat, did he marry me to famish me?\\r\\nBeggars that come unto my father’s door\\r\\nUpon entreaty have a present alms;\\r\\nIf not, elsewhere they meet with charity;\\r\\nBut I, who never knew how to entreat,\\r\\nNor never needed that I should entreat,\\r\\nAm starv’d for meat, giddy for lack of sleep;\\r\\nWith oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed.\\r\\nAnd that which spites me more than all these wants,\\r\\nHe does it under name of perfect love;\\r\\nAs who should say, if I should sleep or eat\\r\\n’Twere deadly sickness, or else present death.\\r\\nI prithee go and get me some repast;\\r\\nI care not what, so it be wholesome food.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhat say you to a neat’s foot?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\n’Tis passing good; I prithee let me have it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI fear it is too choleric a meat.\\r\\nHow say you to a fat tripe finely broil’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI like it well; good Grumio, fetch it me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI cannot tell; I fear ’tis choleric.\\r\\nWhat say you to a piece of beef and mustard?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nA dish that I do love to feed upon.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nAy, but the mustard is too hot a little.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhy then the beef, and let the mustard rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nNay, then I will not: you shall have the mustard,\\r\\nOr else you get no beef of Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThen both, or one, or anything thou wilt.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhy then the mustard without the beef.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nGo, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave,\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Beats him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThat feed’st me with the very name of meat.\\r\\nSorrow on thee and all the pack of you\\r\\nThat triumph thus upon my misery!\\r\\nGo, get thee gone, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petruchio with a dish of meat; and Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHow fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMistress, what cheer?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nFaith, as cold as can be.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nPluck up thy spirits; look cheerfully upon me.\\r\\nHere, love; thou seest how diligent I am,\\r\\nTo dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee:\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sets the dish on a table._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks.\\r\\nWhat! not a word? Nay, then thou lov’st it not,\\r\\nAnd all my pains is sorted to no proof.\\r\\nHere, take away this dish.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI pray you, let it stand.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThe poorest service is repaid with thanks;\\r\\nAnd so shall mine, before you touch the meat.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI thank you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSignior Petruchio, fie! you are to blame.\\r\\nCome, Mistress Kate, I’ll bear you company.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lovest me.\\r\\nMuch good do it unto thy gentle heart!\\r\\nKate, eat apace: and now, my honey love,\\r\\nWill we return unto thy father’s house\\r\\nAnd revel it as bravely as the best,\\r\\nWith silken coats and caps, and golden rings,\\r\\nWith ruffs and cuffs and farthingales and things;\\r\\nWith scarfs and fans and double change of bravery,\\r\\nWith amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery.\\r\\nWhat! hast thou din’d? The tailor stays thy leisure,\\r\\nTo deck thy body with his ruffling treasure.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Tailor.\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, tailor, let us see these ornaments;\\r\\nLay forth the gown.—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Haberdasher.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat news with you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nHABERDASHER.\\r\\nHere is the cap your worship did bespeak.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, this was moulded on a porringer;\\r\\nA velvet dish: fie, fie! ’tis lewd and filthy:\\r\\nWhy, ’tis a cockle or a walnut-shell,\\r\\nA knack, a toy, a trick, a baby’s cap:\\r\\nAway with it! come, let me have a bigger.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI’ll have no bigger; this doth fit the time,\\r\\nAnd gentlewomen wear such caps as these.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhen you are gentle, you shall have one too,\\r\\nAnd not till then.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n[_Aside_] That will not be in haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhy, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak;\\r\\nAnd speak I will. I am no child, no babe.\\r\\nYour betters have endur’d me say my mind,\\r\\nAnd if you cannot, best you stop your ears.\\r\\nMy tongue will tell the anger of my heart,\\r\\nOr else my heart, concealing it, will break;\\r\\nAnd rather than it shall, I will be free\\r\\nEven to the uttermost, as I please, in words.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, thou say’st true; it is a paltry cap,\\r\\nA custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie;\\r\\nI love thee well in that thou lik’st it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nLove me or love me not, I like the cap;\\r\\nAnd it I will have, or I will have none.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Haberdasher._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThy gown? Why, ay: come, tailor, let us see’t.\\r\\nO mercy, God! what masquing stuff is here?\\r\\nWhat’s this? A sleeve? ’Tis like a demi-cannon.\\r\\nWhat, up and down, carv’d like an apple tart?\\r\\nHere’s snip and nip and cut and slish and slash,\\r\\nLike to a censer in a barber’s shop.\\r\\nWhy, what i’ devil’s name, tailor, call’st thou this?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n[_Aside_] I see she’s like to have neither cap nor gown.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nYou bid me make it orderly and well,\\r\\nAccording to the fashion and the time.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nMarry, and did; but if you be remember’d,\\r\\nI did not bid you mar it to the time.\\r\\nGo, hop me over every kennel home,\\r\\nFor you shall hop without my custom, sir.\\r\\nI’ll none of it: hence! make your best of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI never saw a better fashion’d gown,\\r\\nMore quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable;\\r\\nBelike you mean to make a puppet of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, true; he means to make a puppet of thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nShe says your worship means to make a puppet of her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nO monstrous arrogance! Thou liest, thou thread,\\r\\nThou thimble,\\r\\nThou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail!\\r\\nThou flea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket thou!\\r\\nBrav’d in mine own house with a skein of thread!\\r\\nAway! thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant,\\r\\nOr I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard\\r\\nAs thou shalt think on prating whilst thou liv’st!\\r\\nI tell thee, I, that thou hast marr’d her gown.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nYour worship is deceiv’d: the gown is made\\r\\nJust as my master had direction.\\r\\nGrumio gave order how it should be done.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI gave him no order; I gave him the stuff.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nBut how did you desire it should be made?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nMarry, sir, with needle and thread.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nBut did you not request to have it cut?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nThou hast faced many things.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nI have.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nFace not me. Thou hast braved many men; brave not me: I will neither be\\r\\nfac’d nor brav’d. I say unto thee, I bid thy master cut out the gown;\\r\\nbut I did not bid him cut it to pieces: ergo, thou liest.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nWhy, here is the note of the fashion to testify.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nRead it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nThe note lies in ’s throat, if he say I said so.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\n’Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown.’\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nMaster, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, sew me in the skirts of it\\r\\nand beat me to death with a bottom of brown thread; I said, a gown.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nProceed.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\n’With a small compassed cape.’\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI confess the cape.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\n’With a trunk sleeve.’\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI confess two sleeves.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\n’The sleeves curiously cut.’\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAy, there’s the villainy.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nError i’ the bill, sir; error i’ the bill. I commanded the sleeves\\r\\nshould be cut out, and sew’d up again; and that I’ll prove upon thee,\\r\\nthough thy little finger be armed in a thimble.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nThis is true that I say; and I had thee in place where thou shouldst\\r\\nknow it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI am for thee straight; take thou the bill, give me thy mete-yard, and\\r\\nspare not me.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nGod-a-mercy, Grumio! Then he shall have no odds.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWell, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nYou are i’ the right, sir; ’tis for my mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGo, take it up unto thy master’s use.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nVillain, not for thy life! Take up my mistress’ gown for thy master’s\\r\\nuse!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, sir, what’s your conceit in that?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nO, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for.\\r\\nTake up my mistress’ gown to his master’s use!\\r\\nO fie, fie, fie!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\n[_Aside_] Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor paid.\\r\\n[_To Tailor._] Go take it hence; be gone, and say no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Tailor._] Tailor, I’ll pay thee for thy gown tomorrow;\\r\\nTake no unkindness of his hasty words.\\r\\nAway, I say! commend me to thy master.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Tailor._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWell, come, my Kate; we will unto your father’s\\r\\nEven in these honest mean habiliments.\\r\\nOur purses shall be proud, our garments poor\\r\\nFor ’tis the mind that makes the body rich;\\r\\nAnd as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,\\r\\nSo honour peereth in the meanest habit.\\r\\nWhat, is the jay more precious than the lark\\r\\nBecause his feathers are more beautiful?\\r\\nOr is the adder better than the eel\\r\\nBecause his painted skin contents the eye?\\r\\nO no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse\\r\\nFor this poor furniture and mean array.\\r\\nIf thou account’st it shame, lay it on me;\\r\\nAnd therefore frolic; we will hence forthwith,\\r\\nTo feast and sport us at thy father’s house.\\r\\nGo call my men, and let us straight to him;\\r\\nAnd bring our horses unto Long-lane end;\\r\\nThere will we mount, and thither walk on foot.\\r\\nLet’s see; I think ’tis now some seven o’clock,\\r\\nAnd well we may come there by dinner-time.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI dare assure you, sir, ’tis almost two,\\r\\nAnd ’twill be supper-time ere you come there.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nIt shall be seven ere I go to horse.\\r\\nLook what I speak, or do, or think to do,\\r\\nYou are still crossing it. Sirs, let ’t alone:\\r\\nI will not go today; and ere I do,\\r\\nIt shall be what o’clock I say it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nWhy, so this gallant will command the sun.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Padua. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Tranio and the Pedant dressed like Vincentio\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSir, this is the house; please it you that I call?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nAy, what else? and, but I be deceived,\\r\\nSignior Baptista may remember me,\\r\\nNear twenty years ago in Genoa,\\r\\nWhere we were lodgers at the Pegasus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n’Tis well; and hold your own, in any case,\\r\\nWith such austerity as ’longeth to a father.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nI warrant you. But, sir, here comes your boy;\\r\\n’Twere good he were school’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nFear you not him. Sirrah Biondello,\\r\\nNow do your duty throughly, I advise you.\\r\\nImagine ’twere the right Vincentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nTut! fear not me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nBut hast thou done thy errand to Baptista?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI told him that your father was at Venice,\\r\\nAnd that you look’d for him this day in Padua.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nTh’art a tall fellow; hold thee that to drink.\\r\\nHere comes Baptista. Set your countenance, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Baptista and Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSignior Baptista, you are happily met.\\r\\n[_To the Pedant_] Sir, this is the gentleman I told you of;\\r\\nI pray you stand good father to me now;\\r\\nGive me Bianca for my patrimony.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nSoft, son!\\r\\nSir, by your leave: having come to Padua\\r\\nTo gather in some debts, my son Lucentio\\r\\nMade me acquainted with a weighty cause\\r\\nOf love between your daughter and himself:\\r\\nAnd,—for the good report I hear of you,\\r\\nAnd for the love he beareth to your daughter,\\r\\nAnd she to him,—to stay him not too long,\\r\\nI am content, in a good father’s care,\\r\\nTo have him match’d; and, if you please to like\\r\\nNo worse than I, upon some agreement\\r\\nMe shall you find ready and willing\\r\\nWith one consent to have her so bestow’d;\\r\\nFor curious I cannot be with you,\\r\\nSignior Baptista, of whom I hear so well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nSir, pardon me in what I have to say.\\r\\nYour plainness and your shortness please me well.\\r\\nRight true it is your son Lucentio here\\r\\nDoth love my daughter, and she loveth him,\\r\\nOr both dissemble deeply their affections;\\r\\nAnd therefore, if you say no more than this,\\r\\nThat like a father you will deal with him,\\r\\nAnd pass my daughter a sufficient dower,\\r\\nThe match is made, and all is done:\\r\\nYour son shall have my daughter with consent.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nI thank you, sir. Where then do you know best\\r\\nWe be affied, and such assurance ta’en\\r\\nAs shall with either part’s agreement stand?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNot in my house, Lucentio, for you know\\r\\nPitchers have ears, and I have many servants;\\r\\nBesides, old Gremio is hearkening still,\\r\\nAnd happily we might be interrupted.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThen at my lodging, and it like you:\\r\\nThere doth my father lie; and there this night\\r\\nWe’ll pass the business privately and well.\\r\\nSend for your daughter by your servant here;\\r\\nMy boy shall fetch the scrivener presently.\\r\\nThe worst is this, that at so slender warning\\r\\nYou are like to have a thin and slender pittance.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nIt likes me well. Cambio, hie you home,\\r\\nAnd bid Bianca make her ready straight;\\r\\nAnd, if you will, tell what hath happened:\\r\\nLucentio’s father is arriv’d in Padua,\\r\\nAnd how she’s like to be Lucentio’s wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI pray the gods she may, with all my heart!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nDally not with the gods, but get thee gone.\\r\\nSignior Baptista, shall I lead the way?\\r\\nWelcome! One mess is like to be your cheer;\\r\\nCome, sir; we will better it in Pisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI follow you.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Tranio, Pedant and Baptista._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nCambio!\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nWhat say’st thou, Biondello?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nYou saw my master wink and laugh upon you?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nBiondello, what of that?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nFaith, nothing; but has left me here behind to expound the meaning or\\r\\nmoral of his signs and tokens.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI pray thee moralize them.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nThen thus: Baptista is safe, talking with the deceiving father of a\\r\\ndeceitful son.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAnd what of him?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nHis daughter is to be brought by you to the supper.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAnd then?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nThe old priest at Saint Luke’s church is at your command at all hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAnd what of all this?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI cannot tell, except they are busied about a counterfeit assurance.\\r\\nTake your assurance of her, _cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum_; to\\r\\nthe church! take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient honest\\r\\nwitnesses.\\r\\nIf this be not that you look for, I have more to say,\\r\\nBut bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Going._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nHear’st thou, Biondello?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI cannot tarry: I knew a wench married in an afternoon as she went to\\r\\nthe garden for parsley to stuff a rabbit; and so may you, sir; and so\\r\\nadieu, sir. My master hath appointed me to go to Saint Luke’s to bid\\r\\nthe priest be ready to come against you come with your appendix.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI may, and will, if she be so contented.\\r\\nShe will be pleas’d; then wherefore should I doubt?\\r\\nHap what hap may, I’ll roundly go about her;\\r\\nIt shall go hard if Cambio go without her:\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. A public road.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petruchio, Katherina, Hortensio and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome on, i’ God’s name; once more toward our father’s.\\r\\nGood Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon!\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThe moon! The sun; it is not moonlight now.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI say it is the moon that shines so bright.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI know it is the sun that shines so bright.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNow by my mother’s son, and that’s myself,\\r\\nIt shall be moon, or star, or what I list,\\r\\nOr ere I journey to your father’s house.\\r\\nGo on and fetch our horses back again.\\r\\nEvermore cross’d and cross’d; nothing but cross’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSay as he says, or we shall never go.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nForward, I pray, since we have come so far,\\r\\nAnd be it moon, or sun, or what you please;\\r\\nAnd if you please to call it a rush-candle,\\r\\nHenceforth I vow it shall be so for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI say it is the moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI know it is the moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, then you lie; it is the blessed sun.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThen, God be bless’d, it is the blessed sun;\\r\\nBut sun it is not when you say it is not,\\r\\nAnd the moon changes even as your mind.\\r\\nWhat you will have it nam’d, even that it is,\\r\\nAnd so it shall be so for Katherine.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nPetruchio, go thy ways; the field is won.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWell, forward, forward! thus the bowl should run,\\r\\nAnd not unluckily against the bias.\\r\\nBut, soft! Company is coming here.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Vincentio, in a travelling dress.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_To Vincentio_] Good morrow, gentle mistress; where away?\\r\\nTell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too,\\r\\nHast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman?\\r\\nSuch war of white and red within her cheeks!\\r\\nWhat stars do spangle heaven with such beauty\\r\\nAs those two eyes become that heavenly face?\\r\\nFair lovely maid, once more good day to thee.\\r\\nSweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty’s sake.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nA will make the man mad, to make a woman of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nYoung budding virgin, fair and fresh and sweet,\\r\\nWhither away, or where is thy abode?\\r\\nHappy the parents of so fair a child;\\r\\nHappier the man whom favourable stars\\r\\nAllot thee for his lovely bedfellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, how now, Kate! I hope thou art not mad:\\r\\nThis is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither’d,\\r\\nAnd not a maiden, as thou sayst he is.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nPardon, old father, my mistaking eyes,\\r\\nThat have been so bedazzled with the sun\\r\\nThat everything I look on seemeth green:\\r\\nNow I perceive thou art a reverend father;\\r\\nPardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nDo, good old grandsire, and withal make known\\r\\nWhich way thou travellest: if along with us,\\r\\nWe shall be joyful of thy company.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nFair sir, and you my merry mistress,\\r\\nThat with your strange encounter much amaz’d me,\\r\\nMy name is called Vincentio; my dwelling Pisa;\\r\\nAnd bound I am to Padua, there to visit\\r\\nA son of mine, which long I have not seen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhat is his name?\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nLucentio, gentle sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHappily met; the happier for thy son.\\r\\nAnd now by law, as well as reverend age,\\r\\nI may entitle thee my loving father:\\r\\nThe sister to my wife, this gentlewoman,\\r\\nThy son by this hath married. Wonder not,\\r\\nNor be not griev’d: she is of good esteem,\\r\\nHer dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth;\\r\\nBeside, so qualified as may beseem\\r\\nThe spouse of any noble gentleman.\\r\\nLet me embrace with old Vincentio;\\r\\nAnd wander we to see thy honest son,\\r\\nWho will of thy arrival be full joyous.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nBut is this true? or is it else your pleasure,\\r\\nLike pleasant travellers, to break a jest\\r\\nUpon the company you overtake?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI do assure thee, father, so it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome, go along, and see the truth hereof;\\r\\nFor our first merriment hath made thee jealous.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt all but Hortensio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nWell, Petruchio, this has put me in heart.\\r\\nHave to my widow! and if she be froward,\\r\\nThen hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Padua. Before LUCENTIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter on one side Biondello, Lucentio and Bianca; Gremio walking on\\r\\nother side.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nSoftly and swiftly, sir, for the priest is ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI fly, Biondello; but they may chance to need thee at home, therefore\\r\\nleave us.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nNay, faith, I’ll see the church o’ your back; and then come back to my\\r\\nmaster’s as soon as I can.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Lucentio, Bianca and Biondello._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI marvel Cambio comes not all this while.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petruchio, Katherina, Vincentio and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSir, here’s the door; this is Lucentio’s house:\\r\\nMy father’s bears more toward the market-place;\\r\\nThither must I, and here I leave you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nYou shall not choose but drink before you go.\\r\\nI think I shall command your welcome here,\\r\\nAnd by all likelihood some cheer is toward.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Knocks._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nThey’re busy within; you were best knock louder.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Pedant above, at a window.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nWhat’s he that knocks as he would beat down the gate?\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nIs Signior Lucentio within, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nHe’s within, sir, but not to be spoken withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nWhat if a man bring him a hundred pound or two to make merry withal?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nKeep your hundred pounds to yourself: he shall need none so long as I\\r\\nlive.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, I told you your son was well beloved in Padua. Do you hear, sir?\\r\\nTo leave frivolous circumstances, I pray you tell Signior Lucentio that\\r\\nhis father is come from Pisa, and is here at the door to speak with\\r\\nhim.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nThou liest: his father is come from Padua, and here looking out at the\\r\\nwindow.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nArt thou his father?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nAy, sir; so his mother says, if I may believe her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\n[_To Vincentio_] Why, how now, gentleman! why, this is flat knavery to\\r\\ntake upon you another man’s name.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nLay hands on the villain: I believe a means to cozen somebody in this\\r\\ncity under my countenance.\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI have seen them in the church together: God send ’em good shipping!\\r\\nBut who is here? Mine old master, Vincentio! Now we are undone and\\r\\nbrought to nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\n[_Seeing Biondello._] Come hither, crack-hemp.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI hope I may choose, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nCome hither, you rogue. What, have you forgot me?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nForgot you! No, sir: I could not forget you, for I never saw you before\\r\\nin all my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nWhat, you notorious villain! didst thou never see thy master’s father,\\r\\nVincentio?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhat, my old worshipful old master? Yes, marry, sir; see where he looks\\r\\nout of the window.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nIs’t so, indeed?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_He beats Biondello._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nHelp, help, help! here’s a madman will murder me.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nHelp, son! help, Signior Baptista!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit from the window._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nPrithee, Kate, let’s stand aside and see the end of this controversy.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They retire._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Pedant, below; Baptista, Tranio and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSir, what are you that offer to beat my servant?\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nWhat am I, sir! nay, what are you, sir? O immortal gods! O fine\\r\\nvillain! A silken doublet, a velvet hose, a scarlet cloak, and a\\r\\ncopatain hat! O, I am undone! I am undone! While I play the good\\r\\nhusband at home, my son and my servant spend all at the university.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nHow now! what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhat, is the man lunatic?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by your habit, but your words\\r\\nshow you a madman. Why, sir, what ’cerns it you if I wear pearl and\\r\\ngold? I thank my good father, I am able to maintain it.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nThy father! O villain! he is a sailmaker in Bergamo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nYou mistake, sir; you mistake, sir. Pray, what do you think is his\\r\\nname?\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nHis name! As if I knew not his name! I have brought him up ever since\\r\\nhe was three years old, and his name is Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nAway, away, mad ass! His name is Lucentio; and he is mine only son, and\\r\\nheir to the lands of me, Signior Vincentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nLucentio! O, he hath murdered his master! Lay hold on him, I charge\\r\\nyou, in the Duke’s name. O, my son, my son! Tell me, thou villain,\\r\\nwhere is my son, Lucentio?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nCall forth an officer.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter one with an Officer.\\r\\n\\r\\nCarry this mad knave to the gaol. Father Baptista, I charge you see\\r\\nthat he be forthcoming.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nCarry me to the gaol!\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nStay, officer; he shall not go to prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nTalk not, Signior Gremio; I say he shall go to prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nTake heed, Signior Baptista, lest you be cony-catched in this business;\\r\\nI dare swear this is the right Vincentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nSwear if thou darest.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nNay, I dare not swear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThen thou wert best say that I am not Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nYes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAway with the dotard! to the gaol with him!\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nThus strangers may be haled and abus’d: O monstrous villain!\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Biondello, with Lucentio and Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nO! we are spoiled; and yonder he is: deny him, forswear him, or else we\\r\\nare all undone.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\n[_Kneeling._] Pardon, sweet father.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nLives my sweetest son?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Biondello, Tranio and Pedant run out._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\n[_Kneeling._] Pardon, dear father.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nHow hast thou offended?\\r\\nWhere is Lucentio?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nHere’s Lucentio,\\r\\nRight son to the right Vincentio;\\r\\nThat have by marriage made thy daughter mine,\\r\\nWhile counterfeit supposes blear’d thine eyne.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nHere ’s packing, with a witness, to deceive us all!\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nWhere is that damned villain, Tranio,\\r\\nThat fac’d and brav’d me in this matter so?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, tell me, is not this my Cambio?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nCambio is chang’d into Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nLove wrought these miracles. Bianca’s love\\r\\nMade me exchange my state with Tranio,\\r\\nWhile he did bear my countenance in the town;\\r\\nAnd happily I have arriv’d at the last\\r\\nUnto the wished haven of my bliss.\\r\\nWhat Tranio did, myself enforc’d him to;\\r\\nThen pardon him, sweet father, for my sake.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nI’ll slit the villain’s nose that would have sent me to the gaol.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\n[_To Lucentio._] But do you hear, sir? Have you married my daughter\\r\\nwithout asking my good will?\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nFear not, Baptista; we will content you, go to: but I will in, to be\\r\\nrevenged for this villainy.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAnd I to sound the depth of this knavery.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nLook not pale, Bianca; thy father will not frown.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Lucentio and Bianca._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nMy cake is dough, but I’ll in among the rest;\\r\\nOut of hope of all but my share of the feast.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPetruchio and Katherina advance.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nHusband, let’s follow to see the end of this ado.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nFirst kiss me, Kate, and we will.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhat! in the midst of the street?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhat! art thou ashamed of me?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNo, sir; God forbid; but ashamed to kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, then, let’s home again. Come, sirrah, let’s away.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNay, I will give thee a kiss: now pray thee, love, stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nIs not this well? Come, my sweet Kate:\\r\\nBetter once than never, for never too late.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A room in LUCENTIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Baptista, Vincentio, Gremio, the Pedant, Lucentio, Bianca,\\r\\nPetruchio, Katherina, Hortensio and Widow. Tranio, Biondello and Grumio\\r\\nand Others, attending.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAt last, though long, our jarring notes agree:\\r\\nAnd time it is when raging war is done,\\r\\nTo smile at ’scapes and perils overblown.\\r\\nMy fair Bianca, bid my father welcome,\\r\\nWhile I with self-same kindness welcome thine.\\r\\nBrother Petruchio, sister Katherina,\\r\\nAnd thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow,\\r\\nFeast with the best, and welcome to my house:\\r\\nMy banquet is to close our stomachs up,\\r\\nAfter our great good cheer. Pray you, sit down;\\r\\nFor now we sit to chat as well as eat.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They sit at table._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nPadua affords this kindness, son Petruchio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nPadua affords nothing but what is kind.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nFor both our sakes I would that word were true.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNow, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nThen never trust me if I be afeard.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nYou are very sensible, and yet you miss my sense:\\r\\nI mean Hortensio is afeard of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nHe that is giddy thinks the world turns round.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nRoundly replied.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nMistress, how mean you that?\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nThus I conceive by him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nConceives by me! How likes Hortensio that?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMy widow says thus she conceives her tale.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nVery well mended. Kiss him for that, good widow.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\n’He that is giddy thinks the world turns round’:\\r\\nI pray you tell me what you meant by that.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nYour husband, being troubled with a shrew,\\r\\nMeasures my husband’s sorrow by his woe;\\r\\nAnd now you know my meaning.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nA very mean meaning.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nRight, I mean you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nAnd I am mean, indeed, respecting you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nTo her, Kate!\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nTo her, widow!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA hundred marks, my Kate does put her down.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nThat’s my office.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSpoke like an officer: ha’ to thee, lad.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Drinks to Hortensio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nHow likes Gremio these quick-witted folks?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nBelieve me, sir, they butt together well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nHead and butt! An hasty-witted body\\r\\nWould say your head and butt were head and horn.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nAy, mistress bride, hath that awaken’d you?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nAy, but not frighted me; therefore I’ll sleep again.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, that you shall not; since you have begun,\\r\\nHave at you for a bitter jest or two.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nAm I your bird? I mean to shift my bush,\\r\\nAnd then pursue me as you draw your bow.\\r\\nYou are welcome all.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Bianca, Katherina and Widow._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nShe hath prevented me. Here, Signior Tranio;\\r\\nThis bird you aim’d at, though you hit her not:\\r\\nTherefore a health to all that shot and miss’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nO, sir! Lucentio slipp’d me like his greyhound,\\r\\nWhich runs himself, and catches for his master.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA good swift simile, but something currish.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n’Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself:\\r\\n’Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nO ho, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI thank thee for that gird, good Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nConfess, confess; hath he not hit you here?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA has a little gall’d me, I confess;\\r\\nAnd as the jest did glance away from me,\\r\\n’Tis ten to one it maim’d you two outright.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNow, in good sadness, son Petruchio,\\r\\nI think thou hast the veriest shrew of all.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWell, I say no; and therefore, for assurance,\\r\\nLet’s each one send unto his wife,\\r\\nAnd he whose wife is most obedient,\\r\\nTo come at first when he doth send for her,\\r\\nShall win the wager which we will propose.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nContent. What’s the wager?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTwenty crowns.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nTwenty crowns!\\r\\nI’ll venture so much of my hawk or hound,\\r\\nBut twenty times so much upon my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nA hundred then.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nContent.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA match! ’tis done.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nWho shall begin?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nThat will I.\\r\\nGo, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI go.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nSon, I’ll be your half, Bianca comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI’ll have no halves; I’ll bear it all myself.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now! what news?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nSir, my mistress sends you word\\r\\nThat she is busy and she cannot come.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHow! She’s busy, and she cannot come!\\r\\nIs that an answer?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAy, and a kind one too:\\r\\nPray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI hope better.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife\\r\\nTo come to me forthwith.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Biondello._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nO, ho! entreat her!\\r\\nNay, then she must needs come.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI am afraid, sir,\\r\\nDo what you can, yours will not be entreated.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, where’s my wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nShe says you have some goodly jest in hand:\\r\\nShe will not come; she bids you come to her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWorse and worse; she will not come! O vile,\\r\\nIntolerable, not to be endur’d!\\r\\nSirrah Grumio, go to your mistress,\\r\\nSay I command her come to me.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Grumio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI know her answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhat?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nShe will not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThe fouler fortune mine, and there an end.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Katherina.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNow, by my holidame, here comes Katherina!\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhat is your will sir, that you send for me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhere is your sister, and Hortensio’s wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThey sit conferring by the parlour fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGo fetch them hither; if they deny to come,\\r\\nSwinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands.\\r\\nAway, I say, and bring them hither straight.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Katherina._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nHere is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nAnd so it is. I wonder what it bodes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nMarry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life,\\r\\nAn awful rule, and right supremacy;\\r\\nAnd, to be short, what not that’s sweet and happy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNow fair befall thee, good Petruchio!\\r\\nThe wager thou hast won; and I will add\\r\\nUnto their losses twenty thousand crowns;\\r\\nAnother dowry to another daughter,\\r\\nFor she is chang’d, as she had never been.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, I will win my wager better yet,\\r\\nAnd show more sign of her obedience,\\r\\nHer new-built virtue and obedience.\\r\\nSee where she comes, and brings your froward wives\\r\\nAs prisoners to her womanly persuasion.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Katherina with Bianca and Widow.\\r\\n\\r\\nKatherine, that cap of yours becomes you not:\\r\\nOff with that bauble, throw it underfoot.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Katherina pulls off her cap and throws it down._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nLord, let me never have a cause to sigh\\r\\nTill I be brought to such a silly pass!\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nFie! what a foolish duty call you this?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI would your duty were as foolish too;\\r\\nThe wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca,\\r\\nHath cost me a hundred crowns since supper-time!\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nThe more fool you for laying on my duty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nKatherine, I charge thee, tell these headstrong women\\r\\nWhat duty they do owe their lords and husbands.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nCome, come, you’re mocking; we will have no telling.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome on, I say; and first begin with her.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nShe shall not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI say she shall: and first begin with her.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nFie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow,\\r\\nAnd dart not scornful glances from those eyes\\r\\nTo wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor:\\r\\nIt blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads,\\r\\nConfounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds,\\r\\nAnd in no sense is meet or amiable.\\r\\nA woman mov’d is like a fountain troubled,\\r\\nMuddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;\\r\\nAnd while it is so, none so dry or thirsty\\r\\nWill deign to sip or touch one drop of it.\\r\\nThy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,\\r\\nThy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee,\\r\\nAnd for thy maintenance commits his body\\r\\nTo painful labour both by sea and land,\\r\\nTo watch the night in storms, the day in cold,\\r\\nWhilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;\\r\\nAnd craves no other tribute at thy hands\\r\\nBut love, fair looks, and true obedience;\\r\\nToo little payment for so great a debt.\\r\\nSuch duty as the subject owes the prince,\\r\\nEven such a woman oweth to her husband;\\r\\nAnd when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour,\\r\\nAnd not obedient to his honest will,\\r\\nWhat is she but a foul contending rebel\\r\\nAnd graceless traitor to her loving lord?—\\r\\nI am asham’d that women are so simple\\r\\nTo offer war where they should kneel for peace,\\r\\nOr seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,\\r\\nWhen they are bound to serve, love, and obey.\\r\\nWhy are our bodies soft and weak and smooth,\\r\\nUnapt to toil and trouble in the world,\\r\\nBut that our soft conditions and our hearts\\r\\nShould well agree with our external parts?\\r\\nCome, come, you froward and unable worms!\\r\\nMy mind hath been as big as one of yours,\\r\\nMy heart as great, my reason haply more,\\r\\nTo bandy word for word and frown for frown;\\r\\nBut now I see our lances are but straws,\\r\\nOur strength as weak, our weakness past compare,\\r\\nThat seeming to be most which we indeed least are.\\r\\nThen vail your stomachs, for it is no boot,\\r\\nAnd place your hands below your husband’s foot:\\r\\nIn token of which duty, if he please,\\r\\nMy hand is ready; may it do him ease.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, there’s a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nWell, go thy ways, old lad, for thou shalt ha’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\n’Tis a good hearing when children are toward.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nBut a harsh hearing when women are froward.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome, Kate, we’ll to bed.\\r\\nWe three are married, but you two are sped.\\r\\n’Twas I won the wager,\\r\\n[_To Lucentio._] though you hit the white;\\r\\nAnd being a winner, God give you good night!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Petrucio and Katherina._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nNow go thy ways; thou hast tam’d a curst shrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\n’Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tam’d so.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE TEMPEST\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. On a ship at sea; a tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning\\r\\nheard.\\r\\nScene II. The Island. Before the cell of Prospero.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. Another part of the island.\\r\\nScene II. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Before Prospero’s cell.\\r\\nScene II. Another part of the island.\\r\\nScene III. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Before Prospero’s cell.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Before the cell of Prospero.\\r\\nEpilogue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO, King of Naples\\r\\nSEBASTIAN, his brother\\r\\nPROSPERO, the right Duke of Milan\\r\\nANTONIO, his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan\\r\\nFERDINAND, Son to the King of Naples\\r\\nGONZALO, an honest old counsellor\\r\\nADRIAN, Lord\\r\\nFRANCISCO, Lord\\r\\nCALIBAN, a savage and deformed slave\\r\\nTRINCULO, a jester\\r\\nSTEPHANO, a drunken butler\\r\\nMASTER OF A SHIP\\r\\nBOATSWAIN\\r\\nMARINERS\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA, daughter to Prospero\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL, an airy Spirit\\r\\n\\r\\nIRIS, presented by Spirits\\r\\nCERES, presented by Spirits\\r\\nJUNO, presented by Spirits\\r\\nNYMPHS, presented by Spirits\\r\\nREAPERS, presented by Spirits\\r\\n\\r\\nOther Spirits attending on Prospero\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: The sea, with a Ship; afterwards an Island.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. On a ship at sea; a tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning\\r\\nheard.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Shipmaster and a Boatswain severally.\\r\\n\\r\\nMASTER.\\r\\nBoatswain!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nHere, master: what cheer?\\r\\n\\r\\nMASTER.\\r\\nGood! Speak to the mariners: fall to ’t yarely, or we run ourselves\\r\\naground: bestir, bestir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Mariners.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nHeigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! yare, yare! Take in the\\r\\ntopsail. Tend to th’ master’s whistle. Blow till thou burst thy wind,\\r\\nif room enough.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdinand, Gonzalo and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nGood boatswain, have care. Where’s the master?\\r\\nPlay the men.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nI pray now, keep below.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWhere is the master, boson?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nDo you not hear him? You mar our labour: keep your cabins: you do\\r\\nassist the storm.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nNay, good, be patient.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nWhen the sea is. Hence! What cares these roarers for the name of king?\\r\\nTo cabin! silence! Trouble us not.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nGood, yet remember whom thou hast aboard.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nNone that I more love than myself. You are a counsellor: if you can\\r\\ncommand these elements to silence, and work the peace of the present,\\r\\nwe will not hand a rope more. Use your authority: if you cannot, give\\r\\nthanks you have lived so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin\\r\\nfor the mischance of the hour, if it so hap.—Cheerly, good hearts!—Out\\r\\nof our way, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI have great comfort from this fellow. Methinks he hath no drowning\\r\\nmark upon him. His complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good\\r\\nFate, to his hanging! Make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our\\r\\nown doth little advantage! If he be not born to be hang’d, our case is\\r\\nmiserable.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Boatswain.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nDown with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring her to try wi’ th’\\r\\nmaincourse.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A cry within._]\\r\\n\\r\\n A plague upon this howling! They are louder than the weather or our\\r\\n office.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian, Antonio and Gonzalo.\\r\\n\\r\\nYet again! What do you here? Shall we give o’er, and drown? Have you a\\r\\nmind to sink?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA pox o’ your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nWork you, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHang, cur, hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker! We are less afraid\\r\\nto be drowned than thou art.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI’ll warrant him for drowning, though the ship were no stronger than a\\r\\nnutshell, and as leaky as an unstanched wench.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nLay her a-hold, a-hold! Set her two courses: off to sea again: lay her\\r\\noff.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Mariners, wet.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINERS.\\r\\nAll lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nWhat, must our mouths be cold?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nThe King and Prince at prayers! Let’s assist them,\\r\\nFor our case is as theirs.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI am out of patience.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWe are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards.\\r\\nThis wide-chapp’d rascal—would thou might’st lie drowning\\r\\nThe washing of ten tides!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nHe’ll be hang’d yet,\\r\\nThough every drop of water swear against it,\\r\\nAnd gape at wid’st to glut him.\\r\\n\\r\\n_A confused noise within: _“Mercy on us!”—\\r\\n“We split, we split!”—“Farewell, my wife and children!”—\\r\\n“Farewell, brother!”—“We split, we split, we split!”\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLet’s all sink wi’ th’ King.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nLet’s take leave of him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nNow would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren\\r\\nground. Long heath, brown furze, anything. The wills above be done! but\\r\\nI would fain die a dry death.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The Island. Before the cell of Prospero.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Prospero and Miranda.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nIf by your art, my dearest father, you have\\r\\nPut the wild waters in this roar, allay them.\\r\\nThe sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,\\r\\nBut that the sea, mounting to th’ welkin’s cheek,\\r\\nDashes the fire out. O! I have suffered\\r\\nWith those that I saw suffer! A brave vessel,\\r\\nWho had, no doubt, some noble creature in her,\\r\\nDash’d all to pieces. O, the cry did knock\\r\\nAgainst my very heart. Poor souls, they perish’d.\\r\\nHad I been any god of power, I would\\r\\nHave sunk the sea within the earth, or ere\\r\\nIt should the good ship so have swallow’d and\\r\\nThe fraughting souls within her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBe collected:\\r\\nNo more amazement: tell your piteous heart\\r\\nThere’s no harm done.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO, woe the day!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNo harm.\\r\\nI have done nothing but in care of thee,\\r\\nOf thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who\\r\\nArt ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing\\r\\nOf whence I am, nor that I am more better\\r\\nThan Prospero, master of a full poor cell,\\r\\nAnd thy no greater father.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nMore to know\\r\\nDid never meddle with my thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n’Tis time\\r\\nI should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand,\\r\\nAnd pluck my magic garment from me.—So:\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Lays down his mantle._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLie there my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.\\r\\nThe direful spectacle of the wrack, which touch’d\\r\\nThe very virtue of compassion in thee,\\r\\nI have with such provision in mine art\\r\\nSo safely ordered that there is no soul—\\r\\nNo, not so much perdition as an hair\\r\\nBetid to any creature in the vessel\\r\\nWhich thou heard’st cry, which thou saw’st sink. Sit down;\\r\\nFor thou must now know farther.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nYou have often\\r\\nBegun to tell me what I am, but stopp’d,\\r\\nAnd left me to a bootless inquisition,\\r\\nConcluding “Stay; not yet.”\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThe hour’s now come,\\r\\nThe very minute bids thee ope thine ear;\\r\\nObey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember\\r\\nA time before we came unto this cell?\\r\\nI do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not\\r\\nOut three years old.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nCertainly, sir, I can.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBy what? By any other house, or person?\\r\\nOf anything the image, tell me, that\\r\\nHath kept with thy remembrance.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\n’Tis far off,\\r\\nAnd rather like a dream than an assurance\\r\\nThat my remembrance warrants. Had I not\\r\\nFour or five women once that tended me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it\\r\\nThat this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else\\r\\nIn the dark backward and abysm of time?\\r\\nIf thou rememb’rest aught ere thou cam’st here,\\r\\nHow thou cam’st here, thou mayst.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nBut that I do not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nTwelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since,\\r\\nThy father was the Duke of Milan, and\\r\\nA prince of power.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nSir, are not you my father?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThy mother was a piece of virtue, and\\r\\nShe said thou wast my daughter. And thy father\\r\\nWas Duke of Milan, and his only heir\\r\\nAnd princess, no worse issued.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO, the heavens!\\r\\nWhat foul play had we that we came from thence?\\r\\nOr blessed was’t we did?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBoth, both, my girl.\\r\\nBy foul play, as thou say’st, were we heav’d thence;\\r\\nBut blessedly holp hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO, my heart bleeds\\r\\nTo think o’ th’ teen that I have turn’d you to,\\r\\nWhich is from my remembrance. Please you, farther.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nMy brother and thy uncle, call’d Antonio—\\r\\nI pray thee, mark me, that a brother should\\r\\nBe so perfidious!—he whom next thyself\\r\\nOf all the world I lov’d, and to him put\\r\\nThe manage of my state; as at that time\\r\\nThrough all the signories it was the first,\\r\\nAnd Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed\\r\\nIn dignity, and for the liberal arts,\\r\\nWithout a parallel: those being all my study,\\r\\nThe government I cast upon my brother,\\r\\nAnd to my state grew stranger, being transported\\r\\nAnd rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle—\\r\\nDost thou attend me?\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nSir, most heedfully.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBeing once perfected how to grant suits,\\r\\nHow to deny them, who t’ advance, and who\\r\\nTo trash for over-topping, new created\\r\\nThe creatures that were mine, I say, or chang’d ’em,\\r\\nOr else new form’d ’em: having both the key\\r\\nOf officer and office, set all hearts i’ th’ state\\r\\nTo what tune pleas’d his ear: that now he was\\r\\nThe ivy which had hid my princely trunk,\\r\\nAnd suck’d my verdure out on ’t. Thou attend’st not.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO, good sir! I do.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nI pray thee, mark me.\\r\\nI, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated\\r\\nTo closeness and the bettering of my mind\\r\\nWith that which, but by being so retir’d,\\r\\nO’er-priz’d all popular rate, in my false brother\\r\\nAwak’d an evil nature; and my trust,\\r\\nLike a good parent, did beget of him\\r\\nA falsehood in its contrary as great\\r\\nAs my trust was; which had indeed no limit,\\r\\nA confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded,\\r\\nNot only with what my revenue yielded,\\r\\nBut what my power might else exact, like one\\r\\nWho having into truth, by telling of it,\\r\\nMade such a sinner of his memory,\\r\\nTo credit his own lie, he did believe\\r\\nHe was indeed the Duke; out o’ the substitution,\\r\\nAnd executing th’ outward face of royalty,\\r\\nWith all prerogative. Hence his ambition growing—\\r\\nDost thou hear?\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nYour tale, sir, would cure deafness.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nTo have no screen between this part he play’d\\r\\nAnd him he play’d it for, he needs will be\\r\\nAbsolute Milan. Me, poor man, my library\\r\\nWas dukedom large enough: of temporal royalties\\r\\nHe thinks me now incapable; confederates,\\r\\nSo dry he was for sway, wi’ th’ King of Naples\\r\\nTo give him annual tribute, do him homage,\\r\\nSubject his coronet to his crown, and bend\\r\\nThe dukedom, yet unbow’d—alas, poor Milan!—\\r\\nTo most ignoble stooping.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO the heavens!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nMark his condition, and the event; then tell me\\r\\nIf this might be a brother.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nI should sin\\r\\nTo think but nobly of my grandmother:\\r\\nGood wombs have borne bad sons.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNow the condition.\\r\\nThis King of Naples, being an enemy\\r\\nTo me inveterate, hearkens my brother’s suit;\\r\\nWhich was, that he, in lieu o’ th’ premises\\r\\nOf homage and I know not how much tribute,\\r\\nShould presently extirpate me and mine\\r\\nOut of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan,\\r\\nWith all the honours on my brother: whereon,\\r\\nA treacherous army levied, one midnight\\r\\nFated to th’ purpose, did Antonio open\\r\\nThe gates of Milan; and, i’ th’ dead of darkness,\\r\\nThe ministers for th’ purpose hurried thence\\r\\nMe and thy crying self.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAlack, for pity!\\r\\nI, not rememb’ring how I cried out then,\\r\\nWill cry it o’er again: it is a hint\\r\\nThat wrings mine eyes to ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHear a little further,\\r\\nAnd then I’ll bring thee to the present business\\r\\nWhich now’s upon us; without the which this story\\r\\nWere most impertinent.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nWherefore did they not\\r\\nThat hour destroy us?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nWell demanded, wench:\\r\\nMy tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not,\\r\\nSo dear the love my people bore me, nor set\\r\\nA mark so bloody on the business; but\\r\\nWith colours fairer painted their foul ends.\\r\\nIn few, they hurried us aboard a bark,\\r\\nBore us some leagues to sea, where they prepared\\r\\nA rotten carcass of a butt, not rigg’d,\\r\\nNor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats\\r\\nInstinctively have quit it. There they hoist us,\\r\\nTo cry to th’ sea, that roar’d to us; to sigh\\r\\nTo th’ winds, whose pity, sighing back again,\\r\\nDid us but loving wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAlack, what trouble\\r\\nWas I then to you!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nO, a cherubin\\r\\nThou wast that did preserve me. Thou didst smile,\\r\\nInfused with a fortitude from heaven,\\r\\nWhen I have deck’d the sea with drops full salt,\\r\\nUnder my burden groan’d: which rais’d in me\\r\\nAn undergoing stomach, to bear up\\r\\nAgainst what should ensue.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nHow came we ashore?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBy Providence divine.\\r\\nSome food we had and some fresh water that\\r\\nA noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,\\r\\nOut of his charity, who being then appointed\\r\\nMaster of this design, did give us, with\\r\\nRich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries,\\r\\nWhich since have steaded much: so, of his gentleness,\\r\\nKnowing I lov’d my books, he furnish’d me\\r\\nFrom mine own library with volumes that\\r\\nI prize above my dukedom.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nWould I might\\r\\nBut ever see that man!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNow I arise.\\r\\nSit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.\\r\\nHere in this island we arriv’d; and here\\r\\nHave I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit\\r\\nThan other princes can, that have more time\\r\\nFor vainer hours, and tutors not so careful.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nHeavens thank you for ’t! And now, I pray you, sir,\\r\\nFor still ’tis beating in my mind, your reason\\r\\nFor raising this sea-storm?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nKnow thus far forth.\\r\\nBy accident most strange, bountiful Fortune,\\r\\nNow my dear lady, hath mine enemies\\r\\nBrought to this shore; and by my prescience\\r\\nI find my zenith doth depend upon\\r\\nA most auspicious star, whose influence\\r\\nIf now I court not but omit, my fortunes\\r\\nWill ever after droop. Here cease more questions;\\r\\nThou art inclin’d to sleep; ’tis a good dulness,\\r\\nAnd give it way. I know thou canst not choose.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Miranda sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome away, servant, come! I am ready now.\\r\\nApproach, my Ariel. Come!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ariel.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nAll hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come\\r\\nTo answer thy best pleasure; be’t to fly,\\r\\nTo swim, to dive into the fire, to ride\\r\\nOn the curl’d clouds, to thy strong bidding task\\r\\nAriel and all his quality.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHast thou, spirit,\\r\\nPerform’d to point the tempest that I bade thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nTo every article.\\r\\nI boarded the King’s ship; now on the beak,\\r\\nNow in the waist, the deck, in every cabin,\\r\\nI flam’d amazement; sometime I’d divide,\\r\\nAnd burn in many places; on the topmast,\\r\\nThe yards, and boresprit, would I flame distinctly,\\r\\nThen meet and join. Jove’s lightning, the precursors\\r\\nO’ th’ dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary\\r\\nAnd sight-outrunning were not: the fire and cracks\\r\\nOf sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune\\r\\nSeem to besiege and make his bold waves tremble,\\r\\nYea, his dread trident shake.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nMy brave spirit!\\r\\nWho was so firm, so constant, that this coil\\r\\nWould not infect his reason?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nNot a soul\\r\\nBut felt a fever of the mad, and play’d\\r\\nSome tricks of desperation. All but mariners\\r\\nPlunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel,\\r\\nThen all afire with me: the King’s son, Ferdinand,\\r\\nWith hair up-staring—then like reeds, not hair—\\r\\nWas the first man that leapt; cried “Hell is empty,\\r\\nAnd all the devils are here.”\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nWhy, that’s my spirit!\\r\\nBut was not this nigh shore?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nClose by, my master.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBut are they, Ariel, safe?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nNot a hair perish’d;\\r\\nOn their sustaining garments not a blemish,\\r\\nBut fresher than before: and, as thou bad’st me,\\r\\nIn troops I have dispers’d them ’bout the isle.\\r\\nThe King’s son have I landed by himself,\\r\\nWhom I left cooling of the air with sighs\\r\\nIn an odd angle of the isle, and sitting,\\r\\nHis arms in this sad knot.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nOf the King’s ship\\r\\nThe mariners, say how thou hast dispos’d,\\r\\nAnd all the rest o’ th’ fleet?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nSafely in harbour\\r\\nIs the King’s ship; in the deep nook, where once\\r\\nThou call’dst me up at midnight to fetch dew\\r\\nFrom the still-vex’d Bermoothes; there she’s hid:\\r\\nThe mariners all under hatches stowed;\\r\\nWho, with a charm join’d to their suff’red labour,\\r\\nI have left asleep: and for the rest o’ th’ fleet,\\r\\nWhich I dispers’d, they all have met again,\\r\\nAnd are upon the Mediterranean flote\\r\\nBound sadly home for Naples,\\r\\nSupposing that they saw the King’s ship wrack’d,\\r\\nAnd his great person perish.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAriel, thy charge\\r\\nExactly is perform’d; but there’s more work.\\r\\nWhat is the time o’ th’ day?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nPast the mid season.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAt least two glasses. The time ’twixt six and now\\r\\nMust by us both be spent most preciously.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nIs there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains,\\r\\nLet me remember thee what thou hast promis’d,\\r\\nWhich is not yet perform’d me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHow now! moody?\\r\\nWhat is’t thou canst demand?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nMy liberty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBefore the time be out? No more!\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI prithee,\\r\\nRemember I have done thee worthy service;\\r\\nTold thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv’d\\r\\nWithout or grudge or grumblings: thou didst promise\\r\\nTo bate me a full year.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nDost thou forget\\r\\nFrom what a torment I did free thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou dost, and think’st it much to tread the ooze\\r\\nOf the salt deep,\\r\\nTo run upon the sharp wind of the north,\\r\\nTo do me business in the veins o’ th’ earth\\r\\nWhen it is bak’d with frost.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI do not, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot\\r\\nThe foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy\\r\\nWas grown into a hoop? Hast thou forgot her?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nNo, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou hast. Where was she born? Speak; tell me.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nSir, in Argier.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nO, was she so? I must\\r\\nOnce in a month recount what thou hast been,\\r\\nWhich thou forget’st. This damn’d witch Sycorax,\\r\\nFor mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible\\r\\nTo enter human hearing, from Argier,\\r\\nThou know’st, was banish’d: for one thing she did\\r\\nThey would not take her life. Is not this true?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nAy, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThis blue-ey’d hag was hither brought with child,\\r\\nAnd here was left by th’ sailors. Thou, my slave,\\r\\nAs thou report’st thyself, wast then her servant;\\r\\nAnd, for thou wast a spirit too delicate\\r\\nTo act her earthy and abhorr’d commands,\\r\\nRefusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,\\r\\nBy help of her more potent ministers,\\r\\nAnd in her most unmitigable rage,\\r\\nInto a cloven pine; within which rift\\r\\nImprison’d, thou didst painfully remain\\r\\nA dozen years; within which space she died,\\r\\nAnd left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groans\\r\\nAs fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island—\\r\\nSave for the son that she did litter here,\\r\\nA freckl’d whelp, hag-born—not honour’d with\\r\\nA human shape.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nYes, Caliban her son.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nDull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban,\\r\\nWhom now I keep in service. Thou best know’st\\r\\nWhat torment I did find thee in; thy groans\\r\\nDid make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts\\r\\nOf ever-angry bears: it was a torment\\r\\nTo lay upon the damn’d, which Sycorax\\r\\nCould not again undo; it was mine art,\\r\\nWhen I arriv’d and heard thee, that made gape\\r\\nThe pine, and let thee out.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI thank thee, master.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nIf thou more murmur’st, I will rend an oak\\r\\nAnd peg thee in his knotty entrails till\\r\\nThou hast howl’d away twelve winters.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nPardon, master:\\r\\nI will be correspondent to command,\\r\\nAnd do my spriting gently.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nDo so; and after two days\\r\\nI will discharge thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThat’s my noble master!\\r\\nWhat shall I do? Say what? What shall I do?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nGo make thyself like a nymph o’ th’ sea. Be subject\\r\\nTo no sight but thine and mine; invisible\\r\\nTo every eyeball else. Go, take this shape,\\r\\nAnd hither come in ’t. Go, hence with diligence!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Ariel._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAwake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well;\\r\\nAwake!\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\n[_Waking._] The strangeness of your story put\\r\\nHeaviness in me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nShake it off. Come on;\\r\\nWe’ll visit Caliban my slave, who never\\r\\nYields us kind answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\n’Tis a villain, sir,\\r\\nI do not love to look on.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBut as ’tis,\\r\\nWe cannot miss him: he does make our fire,\\r\\nFetch in our wood; and serves in offices\\r\\nThat profit us. What ho! slave! Caliban!\\r\\nThou earth, thou! Speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\n[_Within._] There’s wood enough within.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nCome forth, I say; there’s other business for thee.\\r\\nCome, thou tortoise! when?\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel like a water-nymph.\\r\\n\\r\\nFine apparition! My quaint Ariel,\\r\\nHark in thine ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nMy lord, it shall be done.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself\\r\\nUpon thy wicked dam, come forth!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Caliban.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nAs wicked dew as e’er my mother brush’d\\r\\nWith raven’s feather from unwholesome fen\\r\\nDrop on you both! A south-west blow on ye,\\r\\nAnd blister you all o’er!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nFor this, be sure, tonight thou shalt have cramps,\\r\\nSide-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins\\r\\nShall forth at vast of night that they may work\\r\\nAll exercise on thee. Thou shalt be pinch’d\\r\\nAs thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging\\r\\nThan bees that made them.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI must eat my dinner.\\r\\nThis island’s mine, by Sycorax my mother,\\r\\nWhich thou tak’st from me. When thou cam’st first,\\r\\nThou strok’st me and made much of me; wouldst give me\\r\\nWater with berries in ’t; and teach me how\\r\\nTo name the bigger light, and how the less,\\r\\nThat burn by day and night: and then I lov’d thee,\\r\\nAnd show’d thee all the qualities o’ th’ isle,\\r\\nThe fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place, and fertile.\\r\\nCurs’d be I that did so! All the charms\\r\\nOf Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you!\\r\\nFor I am all the subjects that you have,\\r\\nWhich first was mine own King; and here you sty me\\r\\nIn this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me\\r\\nThe rest o’ th’ island.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou most lying slave,\\r\\nWhom stripes may move, not kindness! I have us’d thee,\\r\\nFilth as thou art, with human care, and lodg’d thee\\r\\nIn mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate\\r\\nThe honour of my child.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nOh ho! Oh ho! Would ’t had been done!\\r\\nThou didst prevent me; I had peopled else\\r\\nThis isle with Calibans.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAbhorred slave,\\r\\nWhich any print of goodness wilt not take,\\r\\nBeing capable of all ill! I pitied thee,\\r\\nTook pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour\\r\\nOne thing or other: when thou didst not, savage,\\r\\nKnow thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like\\r\\nA thing most brutish, I endow’d thy purposes\\r\\nWith words that made them known. But thy vile race,\\r\\nThough thou didst learn, had that in ’t which good natures\\r\\nCould not abide to be with; therefore wast thou\\r\\nDeservedly confin’d into this rock,\\r\\nWho hadst deserv’d more than a prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nYou taught me language, and my profit on ’t\\r\\nIs, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you,\\r\\nFor learning me your language!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHag-seed, hence!\\r\\nFetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou ’rt best,\\r\\nTo answer other business. Shrug’st thou, malice?\\r\\nIf thou neglect’st, or dost unwillingly\\r\\nWhat I command, I’ll rack thee with old cramps,\\r\\nFill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar,\\r\\nThat beasts shall tremble at thy din.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nNo, pray thee.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I must obey. His art is of such power,\\r\\nIt would control my dam’s god, Setebos,\\r\\nAnd make a vassal of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSo, slave, hence!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Caliban._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel, playing and singing; Ferdinand following.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL’S SONG.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n_Come unto these yellow sands,\\r\\n And then take hands:\\r\\nCurtsied when you have, and kiss’d\\r\\n The wild waves whist.\\r\\nFoot it featly here and there,\\r\\n And sweet sprites bear\\r\\nThe burden. Hark, hark!_\\r\\n Burden dispersedly. _Bow-wow.\\r\\nThe watch dogs bark._\\r\\n [Burden dispersedly.] _Bow-wow.\\r\\nHark, hark! I hear\\r\\nThe strain of strutting chanticleer\\r\\n Cry cock-a-diddle-dow._\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nWhere should this music be? i’ th’ air or th’ earth?\\r\\nIt sounds no more; and sure it waits upon\\r\\nSome god o’ th’ island. Sitting on a bank,\\r\\nWeeping again the King my father’s wrack,\\r\\nThis music crept by me upon the waters,\\r\\nAllaying both their fury and my passion\\r\\nWith its sweet air: thence I have follow’d it,\\r\\nOr it hath drawn me rather,—but ’tis gone.\\r\\nNo, it begins again.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n_Full fathom five thy father lies.\\r\\n Of his bones are coral made.\\r\\nThose are pearls that were his eyes.\\r\\n Nothing of him that doth fade\\r\\nBut doth suffer a sea-change\\r\\nInto something rich and strange.\\r\\nSea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:_\\r\\n Burden: _Ding-dong.\\r\\nHark! now I hear them: ding-dong, bell._\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nThe ditty does remember my drown’d father.\\r\\nThis is no mortal business, nor no sound\\r\\nThat the earth owes:—I hear it now above me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThe fringed curtains of thine eye advance,\\r\\nAnd say what thou seest yond.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nWhat is’t? a spirit?\\r\\nLord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir,\\r\\nIt carries a brave form. But ’tis a spirit.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNo, wench; it eats and sleeps and hath such senses\\r\\nAs we have, such. This gallant which thou seest\\r\\nWas in the wrack; and, but he’s something stain’d\\r\\nWith grief,—that’s beauty’s canker,—thou mightst call him\\r\\nA goodly person: he hath lost his fellows\\r\\nAnd strays about to find ’em.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nI might call him\\r\\nA thing divine; for nothing natural\\r\\nI ever saw so noble.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] It goes on, I see,\\r\\nAs my soul prompts it. Spirit, fine spirit! I’ll free thee\\r\\nWithin two days for this.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nMost sure, the goddess\\r\\nOn whom these airs attend! Vouchsafe, my prayer\\r\\nMay know if you remain upon this island;\\r\\nAnd that you will some good instruction give\\r\\nHow I may bear me here: my prime request,\\r\\nWhich I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder!\\r\\nIf you be maid or no?\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nNo wonder, sir;\\r\\nBut certainly a maid.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nMy language! Heavens!\\r\\nI am the best of them that speak this speech,\\r\\nWere I but where ’tis spoken.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHow! the best?\\r\\nWhat wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nA single thing, as I am now, that wonders\\r\\nTo hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me;\\r\\nAnd that he does I weep: myself am Naples,\\r\\nWho with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld\\r\\nThe King my father wrack’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAlack, for mercy!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nYes, faith, and all his lords, the Duke of Milan,\\r\\nAnd his brave son being twain.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] The Duke of Milan\\r\\nAnd his more braver daughter could control thee,\\r\\nIf now ’twere fit to do’t. At the first sight\\r\\nThey have changed eyes. Delicate Ariel,\\r\\nI’ll set thee free for this. [_To Ferdinand._] A word, good sir.\\r\\nI fear you have done yourself some wrong: a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nWhy speaks my father so ungently? This\\r\\nIs the third man that e’er I saw; the first\\r\\nThat e’er I sigh’d for. Pity move my father\\r\\nTo be inclin’d my way!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nO! if a virgin,\\r\\nAnd your affection not gone forth, I’ll make you\\r\\nThe Queen of Naples.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSoft, sir; one word more.\\r\\n[_Aside._] They are both in either’s powers. But this swift business\\r\\nI must uneasy make, lest too light winning\\r\\nMake the prize light. [_To Ferdinand._] One word more. I charge thee\\r\\nThat thou attend me. Thou dost here usurp\\r\\nThe name thou ow’st not; and hast put thyself\\r\\nUpon this island as a spy, to win it\\r\\nFrom me, the lord on ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nNo, as I am a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nThere’s nothing ill can dwell in such a temple:\\r\\nIf the ill spirit have so fair a house,\\r\\nGood things will strive to dwell with ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_To Ferdinand._] Follow me.—\\r\\n[_To Miranda._] Speak not you for him; he’s a traitor.\\r\\n[_To Ferdinand._] Come;\\r\\nI’ll manacle thy neck and feet together:\\r\\nSea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be\\r\\nThe fresh-brook mussels, wither’d roots, and husks\\r\\nWherein the acorn cradled. Follow.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nNo;\\r\\nI will resist such entertainment till\\r\\nMine enemy has more power.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He draws, and is charmed from moving._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO dear father!\\r\\nMake not too rash a trial of him, for\\r\\nHe’s gentle, and not fearful.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nWhat! I say,\\r\\nMy foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor;\\r\\nWho mak’st a show, but dar’st not strike, thy conscience\\r\\nIs so possess’d with guilt: come from thy ward,\\r\\nFor I can here disarm thee with this stick\\r\\nAnd make thy weapon drop.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nBeseech you, father!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHence! Hang not on my garments.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nSir, have pity;\\r\\nI’ll be his surety.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSilence! One word more\\r\\nShall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What!\\r\\nAn advocate for an impostor? hush!\\r\\nThou think’st there is no more such shapes as he,\\r\\nHaving seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench!\\r\\nTo th’ most of men this is a Caliban,\\r\\nAnd they to him are angels.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nMy affections\\r\\nAre then most humble; I have no ambition\\r\\nTo see a goodlier man.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_To Ferdinand._] Come on; obey:\\r\\nThy nerves are in their infancy again,\\r\\nAnd have no vigour in them.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nSo they are:\\r\\nMy spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.\\r\\nMy father’s loss, the weakness which I feel,\\r\\nThe wrack of all my friends, nor this man’s threats,\\r\\nTo whom I am subdued, are but light to me,\\r\\nMight I but through my prison once a day\\r\\nBehold this maid: all corners else o’ th’ earth\\r\\nLet liberty make use of; space enough\\r\\nHave I in such a prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] It works. [_To Ferdinand._] Come on.\\r\\nThou hast done well, fine Ariel! [_To Ferdinand._] Follow me.\\r\\n[_To Ariel._] Hark what thou else shalt do me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nBe of comfort;\\r\\nMy father’s of a better nature, sir,\\r\\nThan he appears by speech: this is unwonted\\r\\nWhich now came from him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou shalt be as free\\r\\nAs mountain winds; but then exactly do\\r\\nAll points of my command.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nTo th’ syllable.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_To Ferdinand._] Come, follow. Speak not for him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, Adrian, Francisco and\\r\\n others.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nBeseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause,\\r\\nSo have we all, of joy; for our escape\\r\\nIs much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe\\r\\nIs common; every day, some sailor’s wife,\\r\\nThe masters of some merchant and the merchant,\\r\\nHave just our theme of woe; but for the miracle,\\r\\nI mean our preservation, few in millions\\r\\nCan speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh\\r\\nOur sorrow with our comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nPrithee, peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHe receives comfort like cold porridge.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe visitor will not give him o’er so.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nLook, he’s winding up the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nSir,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nOne: tell.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWhen every grief is entertain’d that’s offer’d,\\r\\nComes to the entertainer—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA dollar.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nDolour comes to him, indeed: you have spoken truer than you purposed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nYou have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nTherefore, my lord,—\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nFie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI prithee, spare.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWell, I have done: but yet—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHe will be talking.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWhich, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nThe old cock.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe cockerel.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nDone. The wager?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nA laughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA match!\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nThough this island seem to be desert,—\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHa, ha, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nSo. You’re paid.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nUninhabitable, and almost inaccessible,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nYet—\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nYet—\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHe could not miss ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nIt must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temperance.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTemperance was a delicate wench.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAy, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nThe air breathes upon us here most sweetly.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAs if it had lungs, and rotten ones.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nOr, as ’twere perfum’d by a fen.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nHere is everything advantageous to life.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTrue; save means to live.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nOf that there’s none, or little.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nHow lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe ground indeed is tawny.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWith an eye of green in’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHe misses not much.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nNo; he doth but mistake the truth totally.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nBut the rarity of it is,—which is indeed almost beyond credit,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAs many vouch’d rarities are.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nThat our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold\\r\\nnotwithstanding their freshness and glosses, being rather new-dyed than\\r\\nstained with salt water.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIf but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say he lies?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAy, or very falsely pocket up his report.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nMethinks our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in\\r\\nAfric, at the marriage of the King’s fair daughter Claribel to the King\\r\\nof Tunis.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n’Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nTunis was never graced before with such a paragon to their Queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nNot since widow Dido’s time.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWidow! a pox o’ that! How came that widow in? Widow Dido!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhat if he had said, widower Aeneas too?\\r\\nGood Lord, how you take it!\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nWidow Dido said you? You make me study of that; she was of Carthage,\\r\\nnot of Tunis.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nThis Tunis, sir, was Carthage.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nCarthage?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI assure you, Carthage.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHis word is more than the miraculous harp.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHe hath rais’d the wall, and houses too.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWhat impossible matter will he make easy next?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI think he will carry this island home in his pocket, and give it his\\r\\nson for an apple.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nAy.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWhy, in good time.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\n[_To Alonso._] Sir, we were talking that our garments seem now as fresh\\r\\nas when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now\\r\\nQueen.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd the rarest that e’er came there.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nBate, I beseech you, widow Dido.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nO! widow Dido; ay, widow Dido.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nIs not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it? I mean, in\\r\\na sort.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThat sort was well fish’d for.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWhen I wore it at your daughter’s marriage?\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nYou cram these words into mine ears against\\r\\nThe stomach of my sense. Would I had never\\r\\nMarried my daughter there! for, coming thence,\\r\\nMy son is lost; and, in my rate, she too,\\r\\nWho is so far from Italy removed,\\r\\nI ne’er again shall see her. O thou mine heir\\r\\nOf Naples and of Milan, what strange fish\\r\\nHath made his meal on thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCISCO.\\r\\nSir, he may live:\\r\\nI saw him beat the surges under him,\\r\\nAnd ride upon their backs. He trod the water,\\r\\nWhose enmity he flung aside, and breasted\\r\\nThe surge most swoln that met him. His bold head\\r\\n’Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oared\\r\\nHimself with his good arms in lusty stroke\\r\\nTo th’ shore, that o’er his wave-worn basis bowed,\\r\\nAs stooping to relieve him. I not doubt\\r\\nHe came alive to land.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nNo, no, he’s gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nSir, you may thank yourself for this great loss,\\r\\nThat would not bless our Europe with your daughter,\\r\\nBut rather lose her to an African;\\r\\nWhere she, at least, is banish’d from your eye,\\r\\nWho hath cause to wet the grief on ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nPrithee, peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nYou were kneel’d to, and importun’d otherwise\\r\\nBy all of us; and the fair soul herself\\r\\nWeigh’d between loathness and obedience at\\r\\nWhich end o’ th’ beam should bow. We have lost your son,\\r\\nI fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have\\r\\nMore widows in them of this business’ making,\\r\\nThan we bring men to comfort them.\\r\\nThe fault’s your own.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nSo is the dear’st o’ th’ loss.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nMy lord Sebastian,\\r\\nThe truth you speak doth lack some gentleness\\r\\nAnd time to speak it in. You rub the sore,\\r\\nWhen you should bring the plaster.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nVery well.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd most chirurgeonly.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nIt is foul weather in us all, good sir,\\r\\nWhen you are cloudy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nFoul weather?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nVery foul.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nHad I plantation of this isle, my lord,—\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHe’d sow ’t with nettle-seed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nOr docks, or mallows.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nAnd were the King on’t, what would I do?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n’Scape being drunk for want of wine.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI’ th’ commonwealth I would by contraries\\r\\nExecute all things; for no kind of traffic\\r\\nWould I admit; no name of magistrate;\\r\\nLetters should not be known; riches, poverty,\\r\\nAnd use of service, none; contract, succession,\\r\\nBourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;\\r\\nNo use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;\\r\\nNo occupation; all men idle, all;\\r\\nAnd women too, but innocent and pure;\\r\\nNo sovereignty,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nYet he would be King on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nAll things in common nature should produce\\r\\nWithout sweat or endeavour; treason, felony,\\r\\nSword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine,\\r\\nWould I not have; but nature should bring forth,\\r\\nOf it own kind, all foison, all abundance,\\r\\nTo feed my innocent people.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nNo marrying ’mong his subjects?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nNone, man; all idle; whores and knaves.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI would with such perfection govern, sir,\\r\\nT’ excel the Golden Age.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nSave his Majesty!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLong live Gonzalo!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nAnd,—do you mark me, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nPrithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI do well believe your highness; and did it to minister occasion to\\r\\nthese gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs that they\\r\\nalways use to laugh at nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\n’Twas you we laughed at.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWho in this kind of merry fooling am nothing to you. So you may\\r\\ncontinue, and laugh at nothing still.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWhat a blow was there given!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAn it had not fallen flat-long.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nYou are gentlemen of brave mettle. You would lift the moon out of her\\r\\nsphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ariel, invisible, playing solemn music.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWe would so, and then go a-bat-fowling.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nNay, good my lord, be not angry.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nNo, I warrant you; I will not adventure my discretion so weakly. Will\\r\\nyou laugh me asleep, for I am very heavy?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nGo sleep, and hear us.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_All sleep but Alonso, Sebastian and Antonio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nWhat, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes\\r\\nWould, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find\\r\\nThey are inclin’d to do so.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nPlease you, sir,\\r\\nDo not omit the heavy offer of it:\\r\\nIt seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,\\r\\nIt is a comforter.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWe two, my lord,\\r\\nWill guard your person while you take your rest,\\r\\nAnd watch your safety.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nThank you. Wondrous heavy!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alonso sleeps. Exit Ariel._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhat a strange drowsiness possesses them!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIt is the quality o’ th’ climate.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhy\\r\\nDoth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not\\r\\nMyself dispos’d to sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nNor I. My spirits are nimble.\\r\\nThey fell together all, as by consent;\\r\\nThey dropp’d, as by a thunder-stroke. What might,\\r\\nWorthy Sebastian? O, what might?—No more.\\r\\nAnd yet methinks I see it in thy face,\\r\\nWhat thou shouldst be. Th’ occasion speaks thee; and\\r\\nMy strong imagination sees a crown\\r\\nDropping upon thy head.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhat, art thou waking?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nDo you not hear me speak?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI do; and surely\\r\\nIt is a sleepy language, and thou speak’st\\r\\nOut of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say?\\r\\nThis is a strange repose, to be asleep\\r\\nWith eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving,\\r\\nAnd yet so fast asleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nNoble Sebastian,\\r\\nThou let’st thy fortune sleep—die rather; wink’st\\r\\nWhiles thou art waking.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nThou dost snore distinctly:\\r\\nThere’s meaning in thy snores.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI am more serious than my custom; you\\r\\nMust be so too, if heed me; which to do\\r\\nTrebles thee o’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWell, I am standing water.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI’ll teach you how to flow.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nDo so: to ebb,\\r\\nHereditary sloth instructs me.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nO,\\r\\nIf you but knew how you the purpose cherish\\r\\nWhiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it,\\r\\nYou more invest it! Ebbing men indeed,\\r\\nMost often, do so near the bottom run\\r\\nBy their own fear or sloth.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nPrithee, say on:\\r\\nThe setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim\\r\\nA matter from thee, and a birth, indeed\\r\\nWhich throes thee much to yield.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThus, sir:\\r\\nAlthough this lord of weak remembrance, this\\r\\nWho shall be of as little memory\\r\\nWhen he is earth’d, hath here almost persuaded,—\\r\\nFor he’s a spirit of persuasion, only\\r\\nProfesses to persuade,—the King his son’s alive,\\r\\n’Tis as impossible that he’s undrown’d\\r\\nAs he that sleeps here swims.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI have no hope\\r\\nThat he’s undrown’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nO, out of that “no hope”\\r\\nWhat great hope have you! No hope that way is\\r\\nAnother way so high a hope, that even\\r\\nAmbition cannot pierce a wink beyond,\\r\\nBut doubts discovery there. Will you grant with me\\r\\nThat Ferdinand is drown’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHe’s gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThen tell me,\\r\\nWho’s the next heir of Naples?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nClaribel.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nShe that is Queen of Tunis; she that dwells\\r\\nTen leagues beyond man’s life; she that from Naples\\r\\nCan have no note, unless the sun were post—\\r\\nThe Man i’ th’ Moon’s too slow—till newborn chins\\r\\nBe rough and razorable; she that from whom\\r\\nWe all were sea-swallow’d, though some cast again,\\r\\nAnd by that destiny, to perform an act\\r\\nWhereof what’s past is prologue, what to come\\r\\nIn yours and my discharge.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhat stuff is this! How say you?\\r\\n’Tis true, my brother’s daughter’s Queen of Tunis;\\r\\nSo is she heir of Naples; ’twixt which regions\\r\\nThere is some space.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nA space whose ev’ry cubit\\r\\nSeems to cry out “How shall that Claribel\\r\\nMeasure us back to Naples? Keep in Tunis,\\r\\nAnd let Sebastian wake.” Say this were death\\r\\nThat now hath seiz’d them; why, they were no worse\\r\\nThan now they are. There be that can rule Naples\\r\\nAs well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate\\r\\nAs amply and unnecessarily\\r\\nAs this Gonzalo. I myself could make\\r\\nA chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore\\r\\nThe mind that I do! What a sleep were this\\r\\nFor your advancement! Do you understand me?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nMethinks I do.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd how does your content\\r\\nTender your own good fortune?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI remember\\r\\nYou did supplant your brother Prospero.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTrue.\\r\\nAnd look how well my garments sit upon me;\\r\\nMuch feater than before; my brother’s servants\\r\\nWere then my fellows; now they are my men.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nBut, for your conscience.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAy, sir; where lies that? If ’twere a kibe,\\r\\n’Twould put me to my slipper: but I feel not\\r\\nThis deity in my bosom: twenty consciences\\r\\nThat stand ’twixt me and Milan, candied be they\\r\\nAnd melt ere they molest! Here lies your brother,\\r\\nNo better than the earth he lies upon,\\r\\nIf he were that which now he’s like, that’s dead;\\r\\nWhom I, with this obedient steel, three inches of it,\\r\\nCan lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus,\\r\\nTo the perpetual wink for aye might put\\r\\nThis ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who\\r\\nShould not upbraid our course. For all the rest,\\r\\nThey’ll take suggestion as a cat laps milk.\\r\\nThey’ll tell the clock to any business that\\r\\nWe say befits the hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nThy case, dear friend,\\r\\nShall be my precedent: as thou got’st Milan,\\r\\nI’ll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one stroke\\r\\nShall free thee from the tribute which thou payest,\\r\\nAnd I the King shall love thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nDraw together,\\r\\nAnd when I rear my hand, do you the like,\\r\\nTo fall it on Gonzalo.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nO, but one word.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They converse apart._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Music. Re-enter Ariel, invisible.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nMy master through his art foresees the danger\\r\\nThat you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth—\\r\\nFor else his project dies—to keep them living.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sings in Gonzalo’s ear._]\\r\\n_While you here do snoring lie,\\r\\nOpen-ey’d conspiracy\\r\\n His time doth take.\\r\\nIf of life you keep a care,\\r\\nShake off slumber, and beware.\\r\\n Awake! awake!_\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThen let us both be sudden.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nNow, good angels\\r\\nPreserve the King!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They wake._]\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nWhy, how now! Ho, awake! Why are you drawn?\\r\\nWherefore this ghastly looking?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhiles we stood here securing your repose,\\r\\nEven now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing\\r\\nLike bulls, or rather lions; did ’t not wake you?\\r\\nIt struck mine ear most terribly.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI heard nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nO! ’twas a din to fright a monster’s ear,\\r\\nTo make an earthquake. Sure, it was the roar\\r\\nOf a whole herd of lions.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nHeard you this, Gonzalo?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nUpon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming,\\r\\nAnd that a strange one too, which did awake me.\\r\\nI shak’d you, sir, and cried; as mine eyes open’d,\\r\\nI saw their weapons drawn:—there was a noise,\\r\\nThat’s verily. ’Tis best we stand upon our guard,\\r\\nOr that we quit this place: let’s draw our weapons.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nLead off this ground, and let’s make further search\\r\\nFor my poor son.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nHeavens keep him from these beasts!\\r\\nFor he is, sure, i’ th’ island.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nLead away.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with the others._]\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nProspero my lord shall know what I have done:\\r\\nSo, King, go safely on to seek thy son.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Caliban with a burden of wood. A noise of thunder heard.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nAll the infections that the sun sucks up\\r\\nFrom bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him\\r\\nBy inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me,\\r\\nAnd yet I needs must curse. But they’ll nor pinch,\\r\\nFright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i’ the mire,\\r\\nNor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark\\r\\nOut of my way, unless he bid ’em; but\\r\\nFor every trifle are they set upon me,\\r\\nSometime like apes that mow and chatter at me,\\r\\nAnd after bite me; then like hedgehogs which\\r\\nLie tumbling in my barefoot way, and mount\\r\\nTheir pricks at my footfall; sometime am I\\r\\nAll wound with adders, who with cloven tongues\\r\\nDo hiss me into madness.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Trinculo.\\r\\n\\r\\nLo, now, lo!\\r\\nHere comes a spirit of his, and to torment me\\r\\nFor bringing wood in slowly. I’ll fall flat;\\r\\nPerchance he will not mind me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nHere’s neither bush nor shrub to bear off any weather at all, and\\r\\nanother storm brewing; I hear it sing i’ th’ wind. Yond same black\\r\\ncloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul bombard that would shed his\\r\\nliquor. If it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to hide\\r\\nmy head: yond same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. What have\\r\\nwe here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish;\\r\\na very ancient and fish-like smell; a kind of not of the newest\\r\\nPoor-John. A strange fish! Were I in England now, as once I was, and\\r\\nhad but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a\\r\\npiece of silver: there would this monster make a man; any strange beast\\r\\nthere makes a man. When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame\\r\\nbeggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg’d like a man,\\r\\nand his fins like arms! Warm, o’ my troth! I do now let loose my\\r\\nopinion, hold it no longer: this is no fish, but an islander, that hath\\r\\nlately suffered by thunderbolt. [_Thunder._] Alas, the storm is come\\r\\nagain! My best way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no other\\r\\nshelter hereabout: misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows. I\\r\\nwill here shroud till the dregs of the storm be past.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Stephano singing; a bottle in his hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\n_I shall no more to sea, to sea,\\r\\nHere shall I die ashore—_\\r\\n\\r\\nThis is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man’s funeral.\\r\\nWell, here’s my comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Drinks._]\\r\\n\\r\\n_The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I,\\r\\n The gunner, and his mate,\\r\\nLov’d Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,\\r\\n But none of us car’d for Kate:\\r\\n For she had a tongue with a tang,\\r\\n Would cry to a sailor “Go hang!”\\r\\nShe lov’d not the savour of tar nor of pitch,\\r\\nYet a tailor might scratch her where’er she did itch.\\r\\n Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang._\\r\\n\\r\\nThis is a scurvy tune too: but here’s my comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Drinks._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nDo not torment me: O!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter? Have we devils here? Do you put tricks upon ’s with\\r\\nsavages and men of Ind? Ha? I have not scap’d drowning, to be afeard\\r\\nnow of your four legs; for it hath been said, As proper a man as ever\\r\\nwent on four legs cannot make him give ground; and it shall be said so\\r\\nagain, while Stephano breathes at’ nostrils.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThe spirit torments me: O!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThis is some monster of the isle with four legs, who hath got, as I\\r\\ntake it, an ague. Where the devil should he learn our language? I will\\r\\ngive him some relief, if it be but for that. If I can recover him and\\r\\nkeep him tame, and get to Naples with him, he’s a present for any\\r\\nemperor that ever trod on neat’s-leather.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nDo not torment me, prithee; I’ll bring my wood home faster.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHe’s in his fit now, and does not talk after the wisest. He shall taste\\r\\nof my bottle: if he have never drunk wine afore, it will go near to\\r\\nremove his fit. If I can recover him, and keep him tame, I will not\\r\\ntake too much for him. He shall pay for him that hath him, and that\\r\\nsoundly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon,\\r\\nI know it by thy trembling: now Prosper works upon thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nCome on your ways. Open your mouth; here is that which will give\\r\\nlanguage to you, cat. Open your mouth. This will shake your shaking, I\\r\\ncan tell you, and that soundly. [_gives Caliban a drink_] You cannot\\r\\ntell who’s your friend: open your chaps again.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI should know that voice: it should be—but he is drowned; and these are\\r\\ndevils. O, defend me!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nFour legs and two voices; a most delicate monster! His forward voice\\r\\nnow is to speak well of his friend; his backward voice is to utter foul\\r\\nspeeches and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will recover him,\\r\\nI will help his ague. Come. Amen! I will pour some in thy other mouth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nStephano!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nDoth thy other mouth call me? Mercy! mercy!\\r\\nThis is a devil, and no monster: I will leave him; I\\r\\nhave no long spoon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nStephano! If thou beest Stephano, touch me, and speak to me; for I am\\r\\nTrinculo—be not afeared—thy good friend Trinculo.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nIf thou beest Trinculo, come forth. I’ll pull thee by the lesser legs:\\r\\nif any be Trinculo’s legs, these are they. Thou art very Trinculo\\r\\nindeed! How cam’st thou to be the siege of this moon-calf? Can he vent\\r\\nTrinculos?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI took him to be kill’d with a thunderstroke. But art thou not drown’d,\\r\\nStephano? I hope now thou are not drown’d. Is the storm overblown? I\\r\\nhid me under the dead moon-calf’s gaberdine for fear of the storm. And\\r\\nart thou living, Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitans scap’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nPrithee, do not turn me about. My stomach is not constant.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\n[_Aside._] These be fine things, an if they be not sprites.\\r\\nThat’s a brave god, and bears celestial liquor.\\r\\nI will kneel to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHow didst thou scape? How cam’st thou hither? Swear by this bottle how\\r\\nthou cam’st hither—I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors\\r\\nheaved o’erboard, by this bottle! which I made of the bark of a tree\\r\\nwith mine own hands, since I was cast ashore.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI’ll swear upon that bottle to be thy true subject, for the liquor is\\r\\nnot earthly.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHere. Swear then how thou escapedst.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nSwum ashore, man, like a duck: I can swim like a duck, I’ll be sworn.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHere, kiss the book. Though thou canst swim like a duck, thou art made\\r\\nlike a goose.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nO Stephano, hast any more of this?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThe whole butt, man: my cellar is in a rock by th’ seaside, where my\\r\\nwine is hid. How now, moon-calf! How does thine ague?\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nHast thou not dropped from heaven?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nOut o’ the moon, I do assure thee: I was the Man in the Moon, when time\\r\\nwas.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee. My mistress showed me\\r\\nthee, and thy dog, and thy bush.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nCome, swear to that. Kiss the book. I will furnish it anon with new\\r\\ncontents. Swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nBy this good light, this is a very shallow monster. I afeard of him? A\\r\\nvery weak monster. The Man i’ the Moon! A most poor credulous monster!\\r\\nWell drawn, monster, in good sooth!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI’ll show thee every fertile inch o’ the island; and I will kiss thy\\r\\nfoot. I prithee, be my god.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nBy this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster. When ’s god’s\\r\\nasleep, he’ll rob his bottle.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI’ll kiss thy foot. I’ll swear myself thy subject.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nCome on, then; down, and swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed monster. A most\\r\\nscurvy monster! I could find in my heart to beat him,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nCome, kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nBut that the poor monster’s in drink. An abominable monster!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI’ll show thee the best springs; I’ll pluck thee berries;\\r\\nI’ll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough.\\r\\nA plague upon the tyrant that I serve!\\r\\nI’ll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee,\\r\\nThou wondrous man.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nA most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of a poor drunkard!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI prithee, let me bring thee where crabs grow;\\r\\nAnd I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts;\\r\\nShow thee a jay’s nest, and instruct thee how\\r\\nTo snare the nimble marmoset; I’ll bring thee\\r\\nTo clustering filberts, and sometimes I’ll get thee\\r\\nYoung scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nI prithee now, lead the way without any more talking. Trinculo, the\\r\\nKing and all our company else being drowned, we will inherit here.\\r\\nHere, bear my bottle. Fellow Trinculo, we’ll fill him by and by again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\n[_Sings drunkenly._] _Farewell, master; farewell, farewell!_\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nA howling monster, a drunken monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\n_No more dams I’ll make for fish;\\r\\nNor fetch in firing\\r\\nAt requiring,\\r\\nNor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish;\\r\\n’Ban ’Ban, Cacaliban,\\r\\nHas a new master—Get a new man._\\r\\nFreedom, high-day! high-day, freedom! freedom,\\r\\nhigh-day, freedom!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nO brave monster! lead the way.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Before Prospero’s cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ferdinand bearing a log.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nThere be some sports are painful, and their labour\\r\\nDelight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness\\r\\nAre nobly undergone; and most poor matters\\r\\nPoint to rich ends. This my mean task\\r\\nWould be as heavy to me as odious, but\\r\\nThe mistress which I serve quickens what’s dead,\\r\\nAnd makes my labours pleasures: O, she is\\r\\nTen times more gentle than her father’s crabbed,\\r\\nAnd he’s compos’d of harshness. I must remove\\r\\nSome thousands of these logs, and pile them up,\\r\\nUpon a sore injunction: my sweet mistress\\r\\nWeeps when she sees me work, and says such baseness\\r\\nHad never like executor. I forget:\\r\\nBut these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours,\\r\\nMost busy, least when I do it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Miranda and Prospero behind.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAlas now, pray you,\\r\\nWork not so hard: I would the lightning had\\r\\nBurnt up those logs that you are enjoin’d to pile!\\r\\nPray, set it down and rest you. When this burns,\\r\\n’Twill weep for having wearied you. My father\\r\\nIs hard at study; pray, now, rest yourself:\\r\\nHe’s safe for these three hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nO most dear mistress,\\r\\nThe sun will set, before I shall discharge\\r\\nWhat I must strive to do.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nIf you’ll sit down,\\r\\nI’ll bear your logs the while. Pray give me that;\\r\\nI’ll carry it to the pile.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nNo, precious creature;\\r\\nI had rather crack my sinews, break my back,\\r\\nThan you should such dishonour undergo,\\r\\nWhile I sit lazy by.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nIt would become me\\r\\nAs well as it does you: and I should do it\\r\\nWith much more ease; for my good will is to it,\\r\\nAnd yours it is against.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Poor worm! thou art infected.\\r\\nThis visitation shows it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nYou look wearily.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nNo, noble mistress; ’tis fresh morning with me\\r\\nWhen you are by at night. I do beseech you—\\r\\nChiefly that I might set it in my prayers—\\r\\nWhat is your name?\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nMiranda—O my father!\\r\\nI have broke your hest to say so.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nAdmir’d Miranda!\\r\\nIndeed, the top of admiration; worth\\r\\nWhat’s dearest to the world! Full many a lady\\r\\nI have ey’d with best regard, and many a time\\r\\nTh’ harmony of their tongues hath into bondage\\r\\nBrought my too diligent ear: for several virtues\\r\\nHave I lik’d several women; never any\\r\\nWith so full soul but some defect in her\\r\\nDid quarrel with the noblest grace she ow’d,\\r\\nAnd put it to the foil: but you, O you,\\r\\nSo perfect and so peerless, are created\\r\\nOf every creature’s best.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nI do not know\\r\\nOne of my sex; no woman’s face remember,\\r\\nSave, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen\\r\\nMore that I may call men than you, good friend,\\r\\nAnd my dear father: how features are abroad,\\r\\nI am skilless of; but, by my modesty,\\r\\nThe jewel in my dower, I would not wish\\r\\nAny companion in the world but you;\\r\\nNor can imagination form a shape,\\r\\nBesides yourself, to like of. But I prattle\\r\\nSomething too wildly, and my father’s precepts\\r\\nI therein do forget.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nI am, in my condition,\\r\\nA prince, Miranda; I do think, a King;\\r\\nI would not so!—and would no more endure\\r\\nThis wooden slavery than to suffer\\r\\nThe flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak:\\r\\nThe very instant that I saw you, did\\r\\nMy heart fly to your service; there resides,\\r\\nTo make me slave to it; and for your sake\\r\\nAm I this patient log-man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nDo you love me?\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nO heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound,\\r\\nAnd crown what I profess with kind event,\\r\\nIf I speak true; if hollowly, invert\\r\\nWhat best is boded me to mischief! I,\\r\\nBeyond all limit of what else i’ the world,\\r\\nDo love, prize, honour you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nI am a fool\\r\\nTo weep at what I am glad of.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Fair encounter\\r\\nOf two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace\\r\\nOn that which breeds between ’em!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nWherefore weep you?\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAt mine unworthiness, that dare not offer\\r\\nWhat I desire to give; and much less take\\r\\nWhat I shall die to want. But this is trifling;\\r\\nAnd all the more it seeks to hide itself,\\r\\nThe bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning!\\r\\nAnd prompt me, plain and holy innocence!\\r\\nI am your wife if you will marry me;\\r\\nIf not, I’ll die your maid: to be your fellow\\r\\nYou may deny me; but I’ll be your servant,\\r\\nWhether you will or no.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nMy mistress, dearest;\\r\\nAnd I thus humble ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nMy husband, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nAy, with a heart as willing\\r\\nAs bondage e’er of freedom: here’s my hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAnd mine, with my heart in ’t: and now farewell\\r\\nTill half an hour hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nA thousand thousand!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Ferdinand and Miranda severally._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSo glad of this as they, I cannot be,\\r\\nWho are surpris’d withal; but my rejoicing\\r\\nAt nothing can be more. I’ll to my book;\\r\\nFor yet, ere supper time, must I perform\\r\\nMuch business appertaining.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Caliban with a bottle, Stephano and Trinculo.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nTell not me:—when the butt is out we will drink water; not a drop\\r\\nbefore: therefore bear up, and board ’em. Servant-monster, drink to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nServant-monster! The folly of this island! They say there’s but five\\r\\nupon this isle; we are three of them; if th’ other two be brained like\\r\\nus, the state totters.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nDrink, servant-monster, when I bid thee: thy eyes are almost set in thy\\r\\nhead.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nWhere should they be set else? He were a brave monster indeed, if they\\r\\nwere set in his tail.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMy man-monster hath drown’d his tongue in sack: for my part, the sea\\r\\ncannot drown me; I swam, ere I could recover the shore, five-and-thirty\\r\\nleagues, off and on, by this light. Thou shalt be my lieutenant,\\r\\nmonster, or my standard.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nYour lieutenant, if you list; he’s no standard.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nWe’ll not run, Monsieur monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nNor go neither. But you’ll lie like dogs, and yet say nothing neither.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMoon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest a good moon-calf.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nHow does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe. I’ll not serve him, he is\\r\\nnot valiant.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThou liest, most ignorant monster: I am in case to justle a constable.\\r\\nWhy, thou deboshed fish thou, was there ever man a coward that hath\\r\\ndrunk so much sack as I today? Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being\\r\\nbut half a fish and half a monster?\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nLo, how he mocks me! wilt thou let him, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\n“Lord” quoth he! That a monster should be such a natural!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nLo, lo again! bite him to death, I prithee.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nTrinculo, keep a good tongue in your head: if you prove a mutineer, the\\r\\nnext tree! The poor monster’s my subject, and he shall not suffer\\r\\nindignity.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleas’d to hearken once again to\\r\\nthe suit I made to thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMarry. will I. Kneel and repeat it. I will stand, and so shall\\r\\nTrinculo.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ariel, invisible.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nAs I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant, a sorcerer, that by\\r\\nhis cunning hath cheated me of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThou liest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou;\\r\\nI would my valiant master would destroy thee;\\r\\nI do not lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nTrinculo, if you trouble him any more in his tale, by this hand, I will\\r\\nsupplant some of your teeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nWhy, I said nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMum, then, and no more. Proceed.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI say, by sorcery he got this isle;\\r\\nFrom me he got it. If thy greatness will,\\r\\nRevenge it on him,—for I know thou dar’st;\\r\\nBut this thing dare not,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThat’s most certain.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThou shalt be lord of it and I’ll serve thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHow now shall this be compassed? Canst thou bring me to the party?\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nYea, yea, my lord: I’ll yield him thee asleep,\\r\\nWhere thou mayst knock a nail into his head.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThou liest. Thou canst not.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nWhat a pied ninny’s this! Thou scurvy patch!\\r\\nI do beseech thy greatness, give him blows,\\r\\nAnd take his bottle from him: when that’s gone\\r\\nHe shall drink nought but brine; for I’ll not show him\\r\\nWhere the quick freshes are.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nTrinculo, run into no further danger: interrupt the monster one word\\r\\nfurther, and by this hand, I’ll turn my mercy out o’ doors, and make a\\r\\nstock-fish of thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nWhy, what did I? I did nothing. I’ll go farther off.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nDidst thou not say he lied?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThou liest.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nDo I so? Take thou that.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Strikes Trinculo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAs you like this, give me the lie another time.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI did not give the lie. Out o’ your wits and hearing too? A pox o’ your\\r\\nbottle! this can sack and drinking do. A murrain on your monster, and\\r\\nthe devil take your fingers!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nHa, ha, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nNow, forward with your tale.—Prithee stand further off.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nBeat him enough: after a little time,\\r\\nI’ll beat him too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nStand farther.—Come, proceed.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nWhy, as I told thee, ’tis a custom with him\\r\\nI’ th’ afternoon to sleep: there thou mayst brain him,\\r\\nHaving first seiz’d his books; or with a log\\r\\nBatter his skull, or paunch him with a stake,\\r\\nOr cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember\\r\\nFirst to possess his books; for without them\\r\\nHe’s but a sot, as I am, nor hath not\\r\\nOne spirit to command: they all do hate him\\r\\nAs rootedly as I. Burn but his books.\\r\\nHe has brave utensils,—for so he calls them,—\\r\\nWhich, when he has a house, he’ll deck withal.\\r\\nAnd that most deeply to consider is\\r\\nThe beauty of his daughter; he himself\\r\\nCalls her a nonpareil: I never saw a woman\\r\\nBut only Sycorax my dam and she;\\r\\nBut she as far surpasseth Sycorax\\r\\nAs great’st does least.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nIs it so brave a lass?\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nAy, lord, she will become thy bed, I warrant,\\r\\nAnd bring thee forth brave brood.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMonster, I will kill this man. His daughter and I will be king and\\r\\nqueen,—save our graces!—and Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys.\\r\\nDost thou like the plot, Trinculo?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nExcellent.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nGive me thy hand: I am sorry I beat thee; but while thou liv’st, keep a\\r\\ngood tongue in thy head.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nWithin this half hour will he be asleep.\\r\\nWilt thou destroy him then?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nAy, on mine honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThis will I tell my master.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThou mak’st me merry. I am full of pleasure.\\r\\nLet us be jocund: will you troll the catch\\r\\nYou taught me but while-ere?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nAt thy request, monster, I will do reason, any reason. Come on,\\r\\nTrinculo, let us sing.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n\\r\\n_Flout ’em and cout ’em,\\r\\nand scout ’em and flout ’em:\\r\\n Thought is free._\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThat’s not the tune.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Ariel plays the tune on a tabor and pipe._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nWhat is this same?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThis is the tune of our catch, played by the picture of Nobody.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nIf thou beest a man, show thyself in thy likeness: if thou beest a\\r\\ndevil, take ’t as thou list.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nO, forgive me my sins!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHe that dies pays all debts: I defy thee. Mercy upon us!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nArt thou afeard?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nNo, monster, not I.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nBe not afeard. The isle is full of noises,\\r\\nSounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not.\\r\\nSometimes a thousand twangling instruments\\r\\nWill hum about mine ears; and sometimes voices,\\r\\nThat, if I then had wak’d after long sleep,\\r\\nWill make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,\\r\\nThe clouds methought would open and show riches\\r\\nReady to drop upon me; that, when I wak’d,\\r\\nI cried to dream again.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThis will prove a brave kingdom to me, where I shall have my music for\\r\\nnothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nWhen Prospero is destroyed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThat shall be by and by: I remember the story.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThe sound is going away. Let’s follow it, and after do our work.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nLead, monster: we’ll follow. I would I could see this taborer! he lays\\r\\nit on. Wilt come?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI’ll follow, Stephano.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo Adrian, Francisco, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nBy ’r lakin, I can go no further, sir;\\r\\nMy old bones ache: here’s a maze trod, indeed,\\r\\nThrough forth-rights and meanders! By your patience,\\r\\nI needs must rest me.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nOld lord, I cannot blame thee,\\r\\nWho am myself attach’d with weariness\\r\\nTo th’ dulling of my spirits: sit down, and rest.\\r\\nEven here I will put off my hope, and keep it\\r\\nNo longer for my flatterer: he is drown’d\\r\\nWhom thus we stray to find; and the sea mocks\\r\\nOur frustrate search on land. Well, let him go.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Sebastian._] I am right glad that he’s\\r\\nso out of hope.\\r\\nDo not, for one repulse, forgo the purpose\\r\\nThat you resolv’d to effect.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n[_Aside to Antonio._] The next advantage\\r\\nWill we take throughly.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Sebastian._] Let it be tonight;\\r\\nFor, now they are oppress’d with travel, they\\r\\nWill not, nor cannot, use such vigilance\\r\\nAs when they are fresh.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n[_Aside to Antonio._] I say, tonight: no more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Solemn and strange music: and Prospero above, invisible. Enter several\\r\\n strange Shapes, bringing in a banquet: they dance about it with gentle\\r\\n actions of salutation; and inviting the King &c., to eat, they depart.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nWhat harmony is this? My good friends, hark!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nMarvellous sweet music!\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nGive us kind keepers, heavens! What were these?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA living drollery. Now I will believe\\r\\nThat there are unicorns; that in Arabia\\r\\nThere is one tree, the phoenix’ throne; one phoenix\\r\\nAt this hour reigning there.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI’ll believe both;\\r\\nAnd what does else want credit, come to me,\\r\\nAnd I’ll be sworn ’tis true: travellers ne’er did lie,\\r\\nThough fools at home condemn them.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nIf in Naples\\r\\nI should report this now, would they believe me?\\r\\nIf I should say, I saw such islanders,—\\r\\nFor, certes, these are people of the island,—\\r\\nWho, though, they are of monstrous shape, yet, note,\\r\\nTheir manners are more gentle, kind, than of\\r\\nOur human generation you shall find\\r\\nMany, nay, almost any.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Honest lord,\\r\\nThou hast said well; for some of you there present\\r\\nAre worse than devils.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI cannot too much muse\\r\\nSuch shapes, such gesture, and such sound, expressing—\\r\\nAlthough they want the use of tongue—a kind\\r\\nOf excellent dumb discourse.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Praise in departing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCISCO.\\r\\nThey vanish’d strangely.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nNo matter, since\\r\\nThey have left their viands behind; for we have stomachs.—\\r\\nWill’t please you taste of what is here?\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nNot I.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nFaith, sir, you need not fear. When we were boys,\\r\\nWho would believe that there were mountaineers\\r\\nDewlapp’d like bulls, whose throats had hanging at ’em\\r\\nWallets of flesh? Or that there were such men\\r\\nWhose heads stood in their breasts? which now we find\\r\\nEach putter-out of five for one will bring us\\r\\nGood warrant of.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI will stand to, and feed,\\r\\nAlthough my last, no matter, since I feel\\r\\nThe best is past. Brother, my lord the duke,\\r\\nStand to, and do as we.\\r\\n\\r\\n Thunder and lightning. Enter Ariel like a Harpy; claps his wings upon\\r\\n the table; and, with a quaint device, the banquet vanishes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nYou are three men of sin, whom Destiny,\\r\\nThat hath to instrument this lower world\\r\\nAnd what is in’t,—the never-surfeited sea\\r\\nHath caused to belch up you; and on this island\\r\\nWhere man doth not inhabit; you ’mongst men\\r\\nBeing most unfit to live. I have made you mad;\\r\\nAnd even with such-like valour men hang and drown\\r\\nTheir proper selves.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Seeing Alonso, Sebastian &c., draw their swords._]\\r\\n\\r\\nYou fools! I and my fellows\\r\\nAre ministers of Fate: the elements\\r\\nOf whom your swords are temper’d may as well\\r\\nWound the loud winds, or with bemock’d-at stabs\\r\\nKill the still-closing waters, as diminish\\r\\nOne dowle that’s in my plume. My fellow-ministers\\r\\nAre like invulnerable. If you could hurt,\\r\\nYour swords are now too massy for your strengths,\\r\\nAnd will not be uplifted. But, remember—\\r\\nFor that’s my business to you,—that you three\\r\\nFrom Milan did supplant good Prospero;\\r\\nExpos’d unto the sea, which hath requit it,\\r\\nHim and his innocent child: for which foul deed\\r\\nThe powers, delaying, not forgetting, have\\r\\nIncens’d the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures,\\r\\nAgainst your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso,\\r\\nThey have bereft; and do pronounce, by me\\r\\nLing’ring perdition,—worse than any death\\r\\nCan be at once,—shall step by step attend\\r\\nYou and your ways; whose wraths to guard you from—\\r\\nWhich here, in this most desolate isle, else falls\\r\\nUpon your heads,—is nothing but heart-sorrow,\\r\\nAnd a clear life ensuing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He vanishes in thunder: then, to soft music, enter the Shapes again,\\r\\n and dance, with mocks and mows, and carry out the table._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Bravely the figure of this Harpy hast thou\\r\\nPerform’d, my Ariel; a grace it had, devouring.\\r\\nOf my instruction hast thou nothing bated\\r\\nIn what thou hadst to say: so, with good life\\r\\nAnd observation strange, my meaner ministers\\r\\nTheir several kinds have done. My high charms work,\\r\\nAnd these mine enemies are all knit up\\r\\nIn their distractions; they now are in my power;\\r\\nAnd in these fits I leave them, while I visit\\r\\nYoung Ferdinand,—whom they suppose is drown’d,—\\r\\nAnd his and mine lov’d darling.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit above._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI’ the name of something holy, sir, why stand you\\r\\nIn this strange stare?\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nO, it is monstrous! monstrous!\\r\\nMethought the billows spoke, and told me of it;\\r\\nThe winds did sing it to me; and the thunder,\\r\\nThat deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc’d\\r\\nThe name of Prosper: it did bass my trespass.\\r\\nTherefore my son i’ th’ ooze is bedded; and\\r\\nI’ll seek him deeper than e’er plummet sounded,\\r\\nAnd with him there lie mudded.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nBut one fiend at a time,\\r\\nI’ll fight their legions o’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI’ll be thy second.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sebastian and Antonio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nAll three of them are desperate: their great guilt,\\r\\nLike poison given to work a great time after,\\r\\nNow ’gins to bite the spirits. I do beseech you\\r\\nThat are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly\\r\\nAnd hinder them from what this ecstasy\\r\\nMay now provoke them to.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nFollow, I pray you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Before Prospero’s cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Prospero, Ferdinand and Miranda.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nIf I have too austerely punish’d you,\\r\\nYour compensation makes amends: for I\\r\\nHave given you here a third of mine own life,\\r\\nOr that for which I live; who once again\\r\\nI tender to thy hand: all thy vexations\\r\\nWere but my trials of thy love, and thou\\r\\nHast strangely stood the test: here, afore Heaven,\\r\\nI ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand,\\r\\nDo not smile at me that I boast her off,\\r\\nFor thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise,\\r\\nAnd make it halt behind her.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nI do believe it\\r\\nAgainst an oracle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThen, as my gift and thine own acquisition\\r\\nWorthily purchas’d, take my daughter: but\\r\\nIf thou dost break her virgin knot before\\r\\nAll sanctimonious ceremonies may\\r\\nWith full and holy rite be minister’d,\\r\\nNo sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall\\r\\nTo make this contract grow; but barren hate,\\r\\nSour-ey’d disdain, and discord shall bestrew\\r\\nThe union of your bed with weeds so loathly\\r\\nThat you shall hate it both: therefore take heed,\\r\\nAs Hymen’s lamps shall light you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nAs I hope\\r\\nFor quiet days, fair issue, and long life,\\r\\nWith such love as ’tis now, the murkiest den,\\r\\nThe most opportune place, the strong’st suggestion\\r\\nOur worser genius can, shall never melt\\r\\nMine honour into lust, to take away\\r\\nThe edge of that day’s celebration,\\r\\nWhen I shall think, or Phoebus’ steeds are founder’d,\\r\\nOr Night kept chain’d below.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nFairly spoke:\\r\\nSit, then, and talk with her, she is thine own.\\r\\nWhat, Ariel! my industrious servant, Ariel!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ariel.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nWhat would my potent master? here I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou and thy meaner fellows your last service\\r\\nDid worthily perform; and I must use you\\r\\nIn such another trick. Go bring the rabble,\\r\\nO’er whom I give thee power, here to this place.\\r\\nIncite them to quick motion; for I must\\r\\nBestow upon the eyes of this young couple\\r\\nSome vanity of mine art: it is my promise,\\r\\nAnd they expect it from me.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nPresently?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAy, with a twink.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nBefore you can say “Come” and “Go,”\\r\\nAnd breathe twice, and cry “so, so,”\\r\\nEach one, tripping on his toe,\\r\\nWill be here with mop and mow.\\r\\nDo you love me, master? no?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nDearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not approach\\r\\nTill thou dost hear me call.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nWell, I conceive.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nLook, thou be true; do not give dalliance\\r\\nToo much the rein: the strongest oaths are straw\\r\\nTo th’ fire i’ the blood: be more abstemious,\\r\\nOr else good night your vow!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nI warrant you, sir;\\r\\nThe white cold virgin snow upon my heart\\r\\nAbates the ardour of my liver.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nWell.\\r\\nNow come, my Ariel! bring a corollary,\\r\\nRather than want a spirit: appear, and pertly.\\r\\nNo tongue! all eyes! be silent.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Soft music._]\\r\\n\\r\\n A Masque. Enter Iris.\\r\\n\\r\\nIRIS.\\r\\nCeres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas\\r\\nOf wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas;\\r\\nThy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,\\r\\nAnd flat meads thatch’d with stover, them to keep;\\r\\nThy banks with pioned and twilled brims,\\r\\nWhich spongy April at thy hest betrims,\\r\\nTo make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom groves,\\r\\nWhose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves,\\r\\nBeing lass-lorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard;\\r\\nAnd thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard,\\r\\nWhere thou thyself dost air: the Queen o’ th’ sky,\\r\\nWhose wat’ry arch and messenger am I,\\r\\nBids thee leave these; and with her sovereign grace,\\r\\nHere on this grass-plot, in this very place,\\r\\nTo come and sport; her peacocks fly amain:\\r\\nApproach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ceres.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERES.\\r\\nHail, many-colour’d messenger, that ne’er\\r\\nDost disobey the wife of Jupiter;\\r\\nWho with thy saffron wings upon my flowers\\r\\nDiffusest honey drops, refreshing showers;\\r\\nAnd with each end of thy blue bow dost crown\\r\\nMy bosky acres and my unshrubb’d down,\\r\\nRich scarf to my proud earth; why hath thy queen\\r\\nSummon’d me hither to this short-grass’d green?\\r\\n\\r\\nIRIS.\\r\\nA contract of true love to celebrate,\\r\\nAnd some donation freely to estate\\r\\nOn the blest lovers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERES.\\r\\nTell me, heavenly bow,\\r\\nIf Venus or her son, as thou dost know,\\r\\nDo now attend the queen? Since they did plot\\r\\nThe means that dusky Dis my daughter got,\\r\\nHer and her blind boy’s scandal’d company\\r\\nI have forsworn.\\r\\n\\r\\nIRIS.\\r\\nOf her society\\r\\nBe not afraid. I met her deity\\r\\nCutting the clouds towards Paphos, and her son\\r\\nDove-drawn with her. Here thought they to have done\\r\\nSome wanton charm upon this man and maid,\\r\\nWhose vows are, that no bed-right shall be paid\\r\\nTill Hymen’s torch be lighted; but in vain.\\r\\nMars’s hot minion is return’d again;\\r\\nHer waspish-headed son has broke his arrows,\\r\\nSwears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows,\\r\\nAnd be a boy right out.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERES.\\r\\nHighest queen of State,\\r\\nGreat Juno comes; I know her by her gait.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juno.\\r\\n\\r\\nJUNO.\\r\\nHow does my bounteous sister? Go with me\\r\\nTo bless this twain, that they may prosperous be,\\r\\nAnd honour’d in their issue.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They sing._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJUNO.\\r\\n_Honour, riches, marriage-blessing,\\r\\nLong continuance, and increasing,\\r\\nHourly joys be still upon you!\\r\\nJuno sings her blessings on you._\\r\\n\\r\\nCERES.\\r\\n_Earth’s increase, foison plenty,\\r\\nBarns and gamers never empty;\\r\\nVines with clust’ring bunches growing;\\r\\nPlants with goodly burden bowing;\\r\\nSpring come to you at the farthest\\r\\nIn the very end of harvest!\\r\\nScarcity and want shall shun you;\\r\\nCeres’ blessing so is on you._\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nThis is a most majestic vision, and\\r\\nHarmonious charmingly. May I be bold\\r\\nTo think these spirits?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSpirits, which by mine art\\r\\nI have from their confines call’d to enact\\r\\nMy present fancies.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nLet me live here ever.\\r\\nSo rare a wonder’d father and a wise,\\r\\nMakes this place Paradise.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Juno and Ceres whisper, and send Iris on employment._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSweet now, silence!\\r\\nJuno and Ceres whisper seriously,\\r\\nThere’s something else to do: hush, and be mute,\\r\\nOr else our spell is marr’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nIRIS.\\r\\nYou nymphs, call’d Naiads, of the windring brooks,\\r\\nWith your sedg’d crowns and ever-harmless looks,\\r\\nLeave your crisp channels, and on this green land\\r\\nAnswer your summons; Juno does command.\\r\\nCome, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate\\r\\nA contract of true love. Be not too late.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter certain Nymphs.\\r\\n\\r\\nYou sun-burn’d sicklemen, of August weary,\\r\\nCome hither from the furrow, and be merry:\\r\\nMake holiday: your rye-straw hats put on,\\r\\nAnd these fresh nymphs encounter every one\\r\\nIn country footing.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter certain Reapers, properly habited: they join with the Nymphs in\\r\\n a graceful dance; towards the end whereof Prospero starts suddenly,\\r\\n and speaks; after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused noise,\\r\\n they heavily vanish.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I had forgot that foul conspiracy\\r\\nOf the beast Caliban and his confederates\\r\\nAgainst my life: the minute of their plot\\r\\nIs almost come. [_To the Spirits._] Well done! avoid; no\\r\\nmore!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nThis is strange: your father’s in some passion\\r\\nThat works him strongly.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nNever till this day\\r\\nSaw I him touch’d with anger so distemper’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nYou do look, my son, in a mov’d sort,\\r\\nAs if you were dismay’d: be cheerful, sir:\\r\\nOur revels now are ended. These our actors,\\r\\nAs I foretold you, were all spirits and\\r\\nAre melted into air, into thin air:\\r\\nAnd, like the baseless fabric of this vision,\\r\\nThe cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,\\r\\nThe solemn temples, the great globe itself,\\r\\nYea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,\\r\\nAnd, like this insubstantial pageant faded,\\r\\nLeave not a rack behind. We are such stuff\\r\\nAs dreams are made on, and our little life\\r\\nIs rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex’d:\\r\\nBear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled.\\r\\nBe not disturb’d with my infirmity.\\r\\nIf you be pleas’d, retire into my cell\\r\\nAnd there repose: a turn or two I’ll walk,\\r\\nTo still my beating mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND, MIRANDA.\\r\\nWe wish your peace.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nCome, with a thought. I thank thee, Ariel. Come!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ariel.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThy thoughts I cleave to. What’s thy pleasure?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSpirit,\\r\\nWe must prepare to meet with Caliban.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nAy, my commander. When I presented Ceres,\\r\\nI thought to have told thee of it; but I fear’d\\r\\nLest I might anger thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSay again, where didst thou leave these varlets?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking;\\r\\nSo full of valour that they smote the air\\r\\nFor breathing in their faces; beat the ground\\r\\nFor kissing of their feet; yet always bending\\r\\nTowards their project. Then I beat my tabor;\\r\\nAt which, like unback’d colts, they prick’d their ears,\\r\\nAdvanc’d their eyelids, lifted up their noses\\r\\nAs they smelt music: so I charm’d their ears,\\r\\nThat calf-like they my lowing follow’d through\\r\\nTooth’d briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and thorns,\\r\\nWhich enter’d their frail shins: at last I left them\\r\\nI’ th’ filthy-mantled pool beyond your cell,\\r\\nThere dancing up to th’ chins, that the foul lake\\r\\nO’erstunk their feet.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThis was well done, my bird.\\r\\nThy shape invisible retain thou still:\\r\\nThe trumpery in my house, go bring it hither\\r\\nFor stale to catch these thieves.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI go, I go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nA devil, a born devil, on whose nature\\r\\nNurture can never stick; on whom my pains,\\r\\nHumanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost;\\r\\nAnd as with age his body uglier grows,\\r\\nSo his mind cankers. I will plague them all,\\r\\nEven to roaring.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel, loaden with glistering apparel, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, hang them on this line.\\r\\n\\r\\n Prospero and Ariel remain invisible. Enter Caliban, Stephano and\\r\\n Trinculo all wet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nPray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not\\r\\nHear a foot fall: we now are near his cell.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMonster, your fairy, which you say is a harmless fairy, has done little\\r\\nbetter than played the Jack with us.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nMonster, I do smell all horse-piss; at which my nose is in great\\r\\nindignation.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nSo is mine. Do you hear, monster? If I should take a displeasure\\r\\nagainst you, look you,—\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThou wert but a lost monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nGood my lord, give me thy favour still.\\r\\nBe patient, for the prize I’ll bring thee to\\r\\nShall hoodwink this mischance: therefore speak softly.\\r\\nAll’s hush’d as midnight yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nAy, but to lose our bottles in the pool!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThere is not only disgrace and dishonour in that, monster, but an\\r\\ninfinite loss.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThat’s more to me than my wetting: yet this is your harmless fairy,\\r\\nmonster.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nI will fetch off my bottle, though I be o’er ears for my labour.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nPrithee, my King, be quiet. Seest thou here,\\r\\nThis is the mouth o’ th’ cell: no noise, and enter.\\r\\nDo that good mischief which may make this island\\r\\nThine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban,\\r\\nFor aye thy foot-licker.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nGive me thy hand. I do begin to have bloody thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nO King Stephano! O peer! O worthy Stephano!\\r\\nLook what a wardrobe here is for thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nLet it alone, thou fool; it is but trash.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nO, ho, monster! we know what belongs to a frippery. O King Stephano!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nPut off that gown, Trinculo; by this hand, I’ll have that gown.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThy Grace shall have it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThe dropsy drown this fool! What do you mean\\r\\nTo dote thus on such luggage? Let’t alone,\\r\\nAnd do the murder first. If he awake,\\r\\nFrom toe to crown he’ll fill our skins with pinches,\\r\\nMake us strange stuff.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nBe you quiet, monster. Mistress line, is not this my jerkin? Now is the\\r\\njerkin under the line: now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair, and\\r\\nprove a bald jerkin.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nDo, do: we steal by line and level, an’t like your Grace.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nI thank thee for that jest. Here’s a garment for ’t: wit shall not go\\r\\nunrewarded while I am King of this country. “Steal by line and level,”\\r\\nis an excellent pass of pate. There’s another garment for ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nMonster, come, put some lime upon your fingers, and away with the rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI will have none on’t. We shall lose our time,\\r\\nAnd all be turn’d to barnacles, or to apes\\r\\nWith foreheads villainous low.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMonster, lay-to your fingers: help to bear this away where my hogshead\\r\\nof wine is, or I’ll turn you out of my kingdom. Go to, carry this.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nAnd this.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nAy, and this.\\r\\n\\r\\n A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits, in shape of dogs and\\r\\n hounds, and hunt them about; Prospero and Ariel setting them on.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHey, Mountain, hey!\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nSilver! there it goes, Silver!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nFury, Fury! There, Tyrant, there! hark, hark!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo are driven out._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGo, charge my goblins that they grind their joints\\r\\nWith dry convulsions; shorten up their sinews\\r\\nWith aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted make them\\r\\nThan pard, or cat o’ mountain.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nHark, they roar.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nLet them be hunted soundly. At this hour\\r\\nLies at my mercy all mine enemies.\\r\\nShortly shall all my labours end, and thou\\r\\nShalt have the air at freedom. For a little\\r\\nFollow, and do me service.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Before the cell of Prospero.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Prospero in his magic robes, and Ariel.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNow does my project gather to a head:\\r\\nMy charms crack not; my spirits obey, and time\\r\\nGoes upright with his carriage. How’s the day?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nOn the sixth hour; at which time, my lord,\\r\\nYou said our work should cease.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nI did say so,\\r\\nWhen first I rais’d the tempest. Say, my spirit,\\r\\nHow fares the King and ’s followers?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nConfin’d together\\r\\nIn the same fashion as you gave in charge,\\r\\nJust as you left them; all prisoners, sir,\\r\\nIn the line-grove which weather-fends your cell;\\r\\nThey cannot budge till your release. The King,\\r\\nHis brother, and yours, abide all three distracted,\\r\\nAnd the remainder mourning over them,\\r\\nBrimful of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly\\r\\nHim you term’d, sir, “the good old lord, Gonzalo”.\\r\\nHis tears run down his beard, like winter’s drops\\r\\nFrom eaves of reeds; your charm so strongly works ’em,\\r\\nThat if you now beheld them, your affections\\r\\nWould become tender.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nDost thou think so, spirit?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nMine would, sir, were I human.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAnd mine shall.\\r\\nHast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling\\r\\nOf their afflictions, and shall not myself,\\r\\nOne of their kind, that relish all as sharply\\r\\nPassion as they, be kindlier mov’d than thou art?\\r\\nThough with their high wrongs I am struck to th’ quick,\\r\\nYet with my nobler reason ’gainst my fury\\r\\nDo I take part: the rarer action is\\r\\nIn virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent,\\r\\nThe sole drift of my purpose doth extend\\r\\nNot a frown further. Go release them, Ariel.\\r\\nMy charms I’ll break, their senses I’ll restore,\\r\\nAnd they shall be themselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI’ll fetch them, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nYe elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and\\r\\ngroves;\\r\\nAnd ye that on the sands with printless foot\\r\\nDo chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him\\r\\nWhen he comes back; you demi-puppets that\\r\\nBy moonshine do the green sour ringlets make,\\r\\nWhereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime\\r\\nIs to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice\\r\\nTo hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid,\\r\\nWeak masters though ye be, I have bedimm’d\\r\\nThe noontide sun, call’d forth the mutinous winds,\\r\\nAnd ’twixt the green sea and the azur’d vault\\r\\nSet roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder\\r\\nHave I given fire, and rifted Jove’s stout oak\\r\\nWith his own bolt; the strong-bas’d promontory\\r\\nHave I made shake, and by the spurs pluck’d up\\r\\nThe pine and cedar: graves at my command\\r\\nHave wak’d their sleepers, op’d, and let ’em forth\\r\\nBy my so potent art. But this rough magic\\r\\nI here abjure; and, when I have requir’d\\r\\nSome heavenly music,—which even now I do,—\\r\\nTo work mine end upon their senses that\\r\\nThis airy charm is for, I’ll break my staff,\\r\\nBury it certain fathoms in the earth,\\r\\nAnd deeper than did ever plummet sound\\r\\nI’ll drown my book.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Solem music._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel: after him, Alonso with a frantic gesture, attended by\\r\\n Gonzalo, Sebastian and Antonio in like manner, attended by Adrian and\\r\\n Francisco: they all enter the circle which Prospero had made, and\\r\\n there stand charmed; which Prospero observing, speaks.\\r\\n\\r\\nA solemn air, and the best comforter\\r\\nTo an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains,\\r\\nNow useless, boil’d within thy skull! There stand,\\r\\nFor you are spell-stopp’d.\\r\\nHoly Gonzalo, honourable man,\\r\\nMine eyes, e’en sociable to the show of thine,\\r\\nFall fellowly drops. The charm dissolves apace;\\r\\nAnd as the morning steals upon the night,\\r\\nMelting the darkness, so their rising senses\\r\\nBegin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle\\r\\nTheir clearer reason. O good Gonzalo!\\r\\nMy true preserver, and a loyal sir\\r\\nTo him thou follow’st, I will pay thy graces\\r\\nHome, both in word and deed. Most cruelly\\r\\nDidst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter:\\r\\nThy brother was a furtherer in the act.\\r\\nThou art pinch’d for ’t now, Sebastian. Flesh and blood,\\r\\nYou, brother mine, that entertain’d ambition,\\r\\nExpell’d remorse and nature, who, with Sebastian,—\\r\\nWhose inward pinches therefore are most strong,\\r\\nWould here have kill’d your King; I do forgive thee,\\r\\nUnnatural though thou art. Their understanding\\r\\nBegins to swell, and the approaching tide\\r\\nWill shortly fill the reasonable shores\\r\\nThat now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them\\r\\nThat yet looks on me, or would know me. Ariel,\\r\\nFetch me the hat and rapier in my cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Ariel._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI will discase me, and myself present\\r\\nAs I was sometime Milan. Quickly, spirit;\\r\\nThou shalt ere long be free.\\r\\n\\r\\n Ariel re-enters, singing, and helps to attire Prospero.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL\\r\\n_Where the bee sucks, there suck I:\\r\\nIn a cowslip’s bell I lie;\\r\\nThere I couch when owls do cry.\\r\\nOn the bat’s back I do fly\\r\\nAfter summer merrily.\\r\\nMerrily, merrily shall I live now\\r\\nUnder the blossom that hangs on the bough._\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nWhy, that’s my dainty Ariel! I shall miss thee;\\r\\nBut yet thou shalt have freedom; so, so, so.\\r\\nTo the King’s ship, invisible as thou art:\\r\\nThere shalt thou find the mariners asleep\\r\\nUnder the hatches; the master and the boatswain\\r\\nBeing awake, enforce them to this place,\\r\\nAnd presently, I prithee.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI drink the air before me, and return\\r\\nOr ere your pulse twice beat.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nAll torment, trouble, wonder and amazement\\r\\nInhabits here. Some heavenly power guide us\\r\\nOut of this fearful country!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBehold, sir King,\\r\\nThe wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero.\\r\\nFor more assurance that a living prince\\r\\nDoes now speak to thee, I embrace thy body;\\r\\nAnd to thee and thy company I bid\\r\\nA hearty welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nWhe’er thou be’st he or no,\\r\\nOr some enchanted trifle to abuse me,\\r\\nAs late I have been, I not know: thy pulse\\r\\nBeats, as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee,\\r\\nTh’ affliction of my mind amends, with which,\\r\\nI fear, a madness held me: this must crave,\\r\\nAn if this be at all, a most strange story.\\r\\nThy dukedom I resign, and do entreat\\r\\nThou pardon me my wrongs. But how should Prospero\\r\\nBe living and be here?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nFirst, noble friend,\\r\\nLet me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot\\r\\nBe measur’d or confin’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWhether this be\\r\\nOr be not, I’ll not swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nYou do yet taste\\r\\nSome subtleties o’ the isle, that will not let you\\r\\nBelieve things certain. Welcome, my friends all.\\r\\n[_Aside to Sebastian and Antonio._] But you, my brace of lords, were I\\r\\nso minded,\\r\\nI here could pluck his highness’ frown upon you,\\r\\nAnd justify you traitors: at this time\\r\\nI will tell no tales.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n[_Aside._] The devil speaks in him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\nFor you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother\\r\\nWould even infect my mouth, I do forgive\\r\\nThy rankest fault, all of them; and require\\r\\nMy dukedom of thee, which perforce I know\\r\\nThou must restore.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nIf thou beest Prospero,\\r\\nGive us particulars of thy preservation;\\r\\nHow thou hast met us here, whom three hours since\\r\\nWere wrack’d upon this shore; where I have lost,—\\r\\nHow sharp the point of this remembrance is!—\\r\\nMy dear son Ferdinand.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nI am woe for ’t, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nIrreparable is the loss, and patience\\r\\nSays it is past her cure.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nI rather think\\r\\nYou have not sought her help, of whose soft grace,\\r\\nFor the like loss I have her sovereign aid,\\r\\nAnd rest myself content.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nYou the like loss!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAs great to me, as late; and, supportable\\r\\nTo make the dear loss, have I means much weaker\\r\\nThan you may call to comfort you, for I\\r\\nHave lost my daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nA daughter?\\r\\nO heavens, that they were living both in Naples,\\r\\nThe King and Queen there! That they were, I wish\\r\\nMyself were mudded in that oozy bed\\r\\nWhere my son lies. When did you lose your daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nIn this last tempest. I perceive, these lords\\r\\nAt this encounter do so much admire\\r\\nThat they devour their reason, and scarce think\\r\\nTheir eyes do offices of truth, their words\\r\\nAre natural breath; but, howsoe’er you have\\r\\nBeen justled from your senses, know for certain\\r\\nThat I am Prospero, and that very duke\\r\\nWhich was thrust forth of Milan; who most strangely\\r\\nUpon this shore, where you were wrack’d, was landed\\r\\nTo be the lord on’t. No more yet of this;\\r\\nFor ’tis a chronicle of day by day,\\r\\nNot a relation for a breakfast nor\\r\\nBefitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir.\\r\\nThis cell’s my court: here have I few attendants,\\r\\nAnd subjects none abroad: pray you, look in.\\r\\nMy dukedom since you have given me again,\\r\\nI will requite you with as good a thing;\\r\\nAt least bring forth a wonder, to content ye\\r\\nAs much as me my dukedom.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere Prospero discovers Ferdinand and Miranda playing at chess.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nSweet lord, you play me false.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nNo, my dearest love,\\r\\nI would not for the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nYes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle,\\r\\nAnd I would call it fair play.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nIf this prove\\r\\nA vision of the island, one dear son\\r\\nShall I twice lose.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA most high miracle!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nThough the seas threaten, they are merciful.\\r\\nI have curs’d them without cause.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kneels to Alonso._]\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nNow all the blessings\\r\\nOf a glad father compass thee about!\\r\\nArise, and say how thou cam’st here.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO, wonder!\\r\\nHow many goodly creatures are there here!\\r\\nHow beauteous mankind is! O brave new world\\r\\nThat has such people in ’t!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n’Tis new to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nWhat is this maid, with whom thou wast at play?\\r\\nYour eld’st acquaintance cannot be three hours:\\r\\nIs she the goddess that hath sever’d us,\\r\\nAnd brought us thus together?\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nSir, she is mortal;\\r\\nBut by immortal Providence she’s mine.\\r\\nI chose her when I could not ask my father\\r\\nFor his advice, nor thought I had one. She\\r\\nIs daughter to this famous Duke of Milan,\\r\\nOf whom so often I have heard renown,\\r\\nBut never saw before; of whom I have\\r\\nReceiv’d a second life; and second father\\r\\nThis lady makes him to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI am hers:\\r\\nBut, O, how oddly will it sound that I\\r\\nMust ask my child forgiveness!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThere, sir, stop:\\r\\nLet us not burden our remembrances with\\r\\nA heaviness that’s gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI have inly wept,\\r\\nOr should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods,\\r\\nAnd on this couple drop a blessed crown;\\r\\nFor it is you that have chalk’d forth the way\\r\\nWhich brought us hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI say, Amen, Gonzalo!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWas Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue\\r\\nShould become Kings of Naples? O, rejoice\\r\\nBeyond a common joy, and set it down\\r\\nWith gold on lasting pillars: in one voyage\\r\\nDid Claribel her husband find at Tunis,\\r\\nAnd Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife\\r\\nWhere he himself was lost; Prospero his dukedom\\r\\nIn a poor isle; and all of us ourselves,\\r\\nWhen no man was his own.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\n[_To Ferdinand and Miranda._] Give me your hands:\\r\\nLet grief and sorrow still embrace his heart\\r\\nThat doth not wish you joy!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nBe it so. Amen!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel with the Master and Boatswain amazedly following.\\r\\n\\r\\nO look, sir, look, sir! Here are more of us.\\r\\nI prophesied, if a gallows were on land,\\r\\nThis fellow could not drown. Now, blasphemy,\\r\\nThat swear’st grace o’erboard, not an oath on shore?\\r\\nHast thou no mouth by land? What is the news?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nThe best news is that we have safely found\\r\\nOur King and company. The next, our ship,—\\r\\nWhich but three glasses since, we gave out split,\\r\\nIs tight and yare, and bravely rigg’d as when\\r\\nWe first put out to sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\n[_Aside to Prospero._] Sir, all this service\\r\\nHave I done since I went.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Ariel._] My tricksy spirit!\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nThese are not natural events; they strengthen\\r\\nFrom strange to stranger. Say, how came you hither?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nIf I did think, sir, I were well awake,\\r\\nI’d strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep,\\r\\nAnd,—how, we know not,—all clapp’d under hatches,\\r\\nWhere, but even now, with strange and several noises\\r\\nOf roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains,\\r\\nAnd mo diversity of sounds, all horrible,\\r\\nWe were awak’d; straightway, at liberty:\\r\\nWhere we, in all her trim, freshly beheld\\r\\nOur royal, good, and gallant ship; our master\\r\\nCap’ring to eye her. On a trice, so please you,\\r\\nEven in a dream, were we divided from them,\\r\\nAnd were brought moping hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\n[_Aside to Prospero._] Was’t well done?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Ariel._] Bravely, my diligence. Thou shalt be free.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nThis is as strange a maze as e’er men trod;\\r\\nAnd there is in this business more than nature\\r\\nWas ever conduct of: some oracle\\r\\nMust rectify our knowledge.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSir, my liege,\\r\\nDo not infest your mind with beating on\\r\\nThe strangeness of this business. At pick’d leisure,\\r\\nWhich shall be shortly, single I’ll resolve you,\\r\\nWhich to you shall seem probable, of every\\r\\nThese happen’d accidents; till when, be cheerful\\r\\nAnd think of each thing well. [_Aside to Ariel._] Come hither, spirit;\\r\\nSet Caliban and his companions free;\\r\\nUntie the spell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Ariel._]\\r\\n\\r\\n How fares my gracious sir?\\r\\nThere are yet missing of your company\\r\\nSome few odd lads that you remember not.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel driving in Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo in their\\r\\n stolen apparel.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nEvery man shift for all the rest, and let no man take care for himself,\\r\\nfor all is but fortune.—Coragio! bully-monster, coragio!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nIf these be true spies which I wear in my head, here’s a goodly sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nO Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed.\\r\\nHow fine my master is! I am afraid\\r\\nHe will chastise me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHa, ha!\\r\\nWhat things are these, my lord Antonio?\\r\\nWill money buy them?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nVery like; one of them\\r\\nIs a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nMark but the badges of these men, my lords,\\r\\nThen say if they be true. This mis-shapen knave,\\r\\nHis mother was a witch; and one so strong\\r\\nThat could control the moon, make flows and ebbs,\\r\\nAnd deal in her command without her power.\\r\\nThese three have robb’d me; and this demi-devil,\\r\\nFor he’s a bastard one, had plotted with them\\r\\nTo take my life. Two of these fellows you\\r\\nMust know and own; this thing of darkness I\\r\\nAcknowledge mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI shall be pinch’d to death.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nIs not this Stephano, my drunken butler?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHe is drunk now: where had he wine?\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nAnd Trinculo is reeling-ripe: where should they\\r\\nFind this grand liquor that hath gilded ’em?\\r\\nHow cam’st thou in this pickle?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI have been in such a pickle since I saw you last that, I fear me, will\\r\\nnever out of my bones. I shall not fear fly-blowing.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhy, how now, Stephano!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nO! touch me not. I am not Stephano, but a cramp.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nYou’d be King o’ the isle, sirrah?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nI should have been a sore one, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nThis is as strange a thing as e’er I look’d on.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Pointing to Caliban._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHe is as disproportioned in his manners\\r\\nAs in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell;\\r\\nTake with you your companions. As you look\\r\\nTo have my pardon, trim it handsomely.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nAy, that I will; and I’ll be wise hereafter,\\r\\nAnd seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass\\r\\nWas I, to take this drunkard for a god,\\r\\nAnd worship this dull fool!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nGo to; away!\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nHence, and bestow your luggage where you found it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nOr stole it, rather.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSir, I invite your Highness and your train\\r\\nTo my poor cell, where you shall take your rest\\r\\nFor this one night; which, part of it, I’ll waste\\r\\nWith such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it\\r\\nGo quick away: the story of my life\\r\\nAnd the particular accidents gone by\\r\\nSince I came to this isle: and in the morn\\r\\nI’ll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples,\\r\\nWhere I have hope to see the nuptial\\r\\nOf these our dear-belov’d solemnized;\\r\\nAnd thence retire me to my Milan, where\\r\\nEvery third thought shall be my grave.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI long\\r\\nTo hear the story of your life, which must\\r\\nTake the ear strangely.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nI’ll deliver all;\\r\\nAnd promise you calm seas, auspicious gales,\\r\\nAnd sail so expeditious that shall catch\\r\\nYour royal fleet far off. [_Aside to Ariel._] My Ariel,\\r\\nchick,\\r\\nThat is thy charge: then to the elements\\r\\nBe free, and fare thou well! Please you, draw near.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEPILOGUE\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNow my charms are all o’erthrown,\\r\\nAnd what strength I have’s mine own,\\r\\nWhich is most faint. Now ’tis true,\\r\\nI must be here confin’d by you,\\r\\nOr sent to Naples. Let me not,\\r\\nSince I have my dukedom got,\\r\\nAnd pardon’d the deceiver, dwell\\r\\nIn this bare island by your spell,\\r\\nBut release me from my bands\\r\\nWith the help of your good hands.\\r\\nGentle breath of yours my sails\\r\\nMust fill, or else my project fails,\\r\\nWhich was to please. Now I want\\r\\nSpirits to enforce, art to enchant;\\r\\nAnd my ending is despair,\\r\\nUnless I be reliev’d by prayer,\\r\\nWhich pierces so that it assaults\\r\\nMercy itself, and frees all faults.\\r\\n As you from crimes would pardon’d be,\\r\\n Let your indulgence set me free.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE LIFE OF TIMON OF ATHENS\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON of Athens\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS\\r\\n LUCULLUS\\r\\n SEMPRONIUS\\r\\n flattering lords\\r\\n\\r\\n VENTIDIUS, one of Timon\\'s false friends\\r\\n ALCIBIADES, an Athenian captain\\r\\n APEMANTUS, a churlish philosopher\\r\\n FLAVIUS, steward to Timon\\r\\n\\r\\n FLAMINIUS\\r\\n LUCILIUS\\r\\n SERVILIUS\\r\\n Timon\\'s servants\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPHIS\\r\\n PHILOTUS\\r\\n TITUS\\r\\n HORTENSIUS\\r\\n servants to Timon\\'s creditors\\r\\n\\r\\n POET PAINTER JEWELLER MERCHANT MERCER AN OLD ATHENIAN THREE\\r\\n STRANGERS A PAGE A FOOL\\r\\n\\r\\n PHRYNIA\\r\\n TIMANDRA\\r\\n mistresses to Alcibiades\\r\\n\\r\\n CUPID\\r\\n AMAZONS\\r\\n in the Masque\\r\\n\\r\\n Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Servants, Thieves, and\\r\\n Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Athens and the neighbouring woods\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. Athens. TIMON\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter POET, PAINTER, JEWELLER, MERCHANT, and MERCER, at several doors\\r\\n\\r\\n POET. Good day, sir.\\r\\n PAINTER. I am glad y\\'are well.\\r\\n POET. I have not seen you long; how goes the world?\\r\\n PAINTER. It wears, sir, as it grows.\\r\\n POET. Ay, that\\'s well known.\\r\\n But what particular rarity? What strange,\\r\\n Which manifold record not matches? See,\\r\\n Magic of bounty, all these spirits thy power\\r\\n Hath conjur\\'d to attend! I know the merchant.\\r\\n PAINTER. I know them both; th\\' other\\'s a jeweller.\\r\\n MERCHANT. O, \\'tis a worthy lord!\\r\\n JEWELLER. Nay, that\\'s most fix\\'d.\\r\\n MERCHANT. A most incomparable man; breath\\'d, as it were,\\r\\n To an untirable and continuate goodness.\\r\\n He passes.\\r\\n JEWELLER. I have a jewel here-\\r\\n MERCHANT. O, pray let\\'s see\\'t. For the Lord Timon, sir?\\r\\n JEWELLER. If he will touch the estimate. But for that-\\r\\n POET. When we for recompense have prais\\'d the vile,\\r\\n It stains the glory in that happy verse\\r\\n Which aptly sings the good.\\r\\n MERCHANT. [Looking at the jewel] \\'Tis a good form.\\r\\n JEWELLER. And rich. Here is a water, look ye.\\r\\n PAINTER. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication\\r\\n To the great lord.\\r\\n POET. A thing slipp\\'d idly from me.\\r\\n Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes\\r\\n From whence \\'tis nourish\\'d. The fire i\\' th\\' flint\\r\\n Shows not till it be struck: our gentle flame\\r\\n Provokes itself, and like the current flies\\r\\n Each bound it chafes. What have you there?\\r\\n PAINTER. A picture, sir. When comes your book forth?\\r\\n POET. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir.\\r\\n Let\\'s see your piece.\\r\\n PAINTER. \\'Tis a good piece.\\r\\n POET. So \\'tis; this comes off well and excellent.\\r\\n PAINTER. Indifferent.\\r\\n POET. Admirable. How this grace\\r\\n Speaks his own standing! What a mental power\\r\\n This eye shoots forth! How big imagination\\r\\n Moves in this lip! To th\\' dumbness of the gesture\\r\\n One might interpret.\\r\\n PAINTER. It is a pretty mocking of the life.\\r\\n Here is a touch; is\\'t good?\\r\\n POET. I will say of it\\r\\n It tutors nature. Artificial strife\\r\\n Lives in these touches, livelier than life.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter certain SENATORS, and pass over\\r\\n\\r\\n PAINTER. How this lord is followed!\\r\\n POET. The senators of Athens- happy man!\\r\\n PAINTER. Look, moe!\\r\\n POET. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors.\\r\\n I have in this rough work shap\\'d out a man\\r\\n Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug\\r\\n With amplest entertainment. My free drift\\r\\n Halts not particularly, but moves itself\\r\\n In a wide sea of tax. No levell\\'d malice\\r\\n Infects one comma in the course I hold,\\r\\n But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,\\r\\n Leaving no tract behind.\\r\\n PAINTER. How shall I understand you?\\r\\n POET. I will unbolt to you.\\r\\n You see how all conditions, how all minds-\\r\\n As well of glib and slipp\\'ry creatures as\\r\\n Of grave and austere quality, tender down\\r\\n Their services to Lord Timon. His large fortune,\\r\\n Upon his good and gracious nature hanging,\\r\\n Subdues and properties to his love and tendance\\r\\n All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-fac\\'d flatterer\\r\\n To Apemantus, that few things loves better\\r\\n Than to abhor himself; even he drops down\\r\\n The knee before him, and returns in peace\\r\\n Most rich in Timon\\'s nod.\\r\\n PAINTER. I saw them speak together.\\r\\n POET. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill\\r\\n Feign\\'d Fortune to be thron\\'d. The base o\\' th\\' mount\\r\\n Is rank\\'d with all deserts, all kind of natures\\r\\n That labour on the bosom of this sphere\\r\\n To propagate their states. Amongst them all\\r\\n Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix\\'d\\r\\n One do I personate of Lord Timon\\'s frame,\\r\\n Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her;\\r\\n Whose present grace to present slaves and servants\\r\\n Translates his rivals.\\r\\n PAINTER. \\'Tis conceiv\\'d to scope.\\r\\n This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks,\\r\\n With one man beckon\\'d from the rest below,\\r\\n Bowing his head against the steepy mount\\r\\n To climb his happiness, would be well express\\'d\\r\\n In our condition.\\r\\n POET. Nay, sir, but hear me on.\\r\\n All those which were his fellows but of late-\\r\\n Some better than his value- on the moment\\r\\n Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance,\\r\\n Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear,\\r\\n Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him\\r\\n Drink the free air.\\r\\n PAINTER. Ay, marry, what of these?\\r\\n POET. When Fortune in her shift and change of mood\\r\\n Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants,\\r\\n Which labour\\'d after him to the mountain\\'s top\\r\\n Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down,\\r\\n Not one accompanying his declining foot.\\r\\n PAINTER. \\'Tis common.\\r\\n A thousand moral paintings I can show\\r\\n That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune\\'s\\r\\n More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well\\r\\n To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen\\r\\n The foot above the head.\\r\\n\\r\\n Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, addressing himself\\r\\n courteously to every suitor, a MESSENGER from\\r\\n VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other\\r\\n servants following\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. Imprison\\'d is he, say you?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Ay, my good lord. Five talents is his debt;\\r\\n His means most short, his creditors most strait.\\r\\n Your honourable letter he desires\\r\\n To those have shut him up; which failing,\\r\\n Periods his comfort.\\r\\n TIMON. Noble Ventidius! Well.\\r\\n I am not of that feather to shake of\\r\\n My friend when he must need me. I do know him\\r\\n A gentleman that well deserves a help,\\r\\n Which he shall have. I\\'ll pay the debt, and free him.\\r\\n MESSENGER. Your lordship ever binds him.\\r\\n TIMON. Commend me to him; I will send his ransom;\\r\\n And being enfranchis\\'d, bid him come to me.\\r\\n \\'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,\\r\\n But to support him after. Fare you well.\\r\\n MESSENGER. All happiness to your honour! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter an OLD ATHENIAN\\r\\n\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Lord Timon, hear me speak.\\r\\n TIMON. Freely, good father.\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Thou hast a servant nam\\'d Lucilius.\\r\\n TIMON. I have so; what of him?\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee.\\r\\n TIMON. Attends he here, or no? Lucilius!\\r\\n LUCILIUS. Here, at your lordship\\'s service.\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature,\\r\\n By night frequents my house. I am a man\\r\\n That from my first have been inclin\\'d to thrift,\\r\\n And my estate deserves an heir more rais\\'d\\r\\n Than one which holds a trencher.\\r\\n TIMON. Well; what further?\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. One only daughter have I, no kin else,\\r\\n On whom I may confer what I have got.\\r\\n The maid is fair, o\\' th\\' youngest for a bride,\\r\\n And I have bred her at my dearest cost\\r\\n In qualities of the best. This man of thine\\r\\n Attempts her love; I prithee, noble lord,\\r\\n Join with me to forbid him her resort;\\r\\n Myself have spoke in vain.\\r\\n TIMON. The man is honest.\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Therefore he will be, Timon.\\r\\n His honesty rewards him in itself;\\r\\n It must not bear my daughter.\\r\\n TIMON. Does she love him?\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. She is young and apt:\\r\\n Our own precedent passions do instruct us\\r\\n What levity\\'s in youth.\\r\\n TIMON. Love you the maid?\\r\\n LUCILIUS. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it.\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. If in her marriage my consent be missing,\\r\\n I call the gods to witness I will choose\\r\\n Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world,\\r\\n And dispossess her all.\\r\\n TIMON. How shall she be endow\\'d,\\r\\n If she be mated with an equal husband?\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Three talents on the present; in future, all.\\r\\n TIMON. This gentleman of mine hath serv\\'d me long;.\\r\\n To build his fortune I will strain a little,\\r\\n For \\'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter:\\r\\n What you bestow, in him I\\'ll counterpoise,\\r\\n And make him weigh with her.\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Most noble lord,\\r\\n Pawn me to this your honour, she is his.\\r\\n TIMON. My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise.\\r\\n LUCILIUS. Humbly I thank your lordship. Never may\\r\\n That state or fortune fall into my keeping\\r\\n Which is not owed to you!\\r\\n Exeunt LUCILIUS and OLD ATHENIAN\\r\\n POET. [Presenting his poem] Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your\\r\\n lordship!\\r\\n TIMON. I thank you; you shall hear from me anon;\\r\\n Go not away. What have you there, my friend?\\r\\n PAINTER. A piece of painting, which I do beseech\\r\\n Your lordship to accept.\\r\\n TIMON. Painting is welcome.\\r\\n The painting is almost the natural man;\\r\\n For since dishonour traffics with man\\'s nature,\\r\\n He is but outside; these pencill\\'d figures are\\r\\n Even such as they give out. I like your work,\\r\\n And you shall find I like it; wait attendance\\r\\n Till you hear further from me.\\r\\n PAINTER. The gods preserve ye!\\r\\n TIMON. Well fare you, gentleman. Give me your hand;\\r\\n We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel\\r\\n Hath suffered under praise.\\r\\n JEWELLER. What, my lord! Dispraise?\\r\\n TIMON. A mere satiety of commendations;\\r\\n If I should pay you for\\'t as \\'tis extoll\\'d,\\r\\n It would unclew me quite.\\r\\n JEWELLER. My lord, \\'tis rated\\r\\n As those which sell would give; but you well know\\r\\n Things of like value, differing in the owners,\\r\\n Are prized by their masters. Believe\\'t, dear lord,\\r\\n You mend the jewel by the wearing it.\\r\\n TIMON. Well mock\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter APEMANTUS\\r\\n\\r\\n MERCHANT. No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue,\\r\\n Which all men speak with him.\\r\\n TIMON. Look who comes here; will you be chid?\\r\\n JEWELLER. We\\'ll bear, with your lordship.\\r\\n MERCHANT. He\\'ll spare none.\\r\\n TIMON. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow;\\r\\n When thou art Timon\\'s dog, and these knaves honest.\\r\\n TIMON. Why dost thou call them knaves? Thou know\\'st them not.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Are they not Athenians?\\r\\n TIMON. Yes.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Then I repent not.\\r\\n JEWELLER. You know me, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou know\\'st I do; I call\\'d thee by thy name.\\r\\n TIMON. Thou art proud, Apemantus.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Of nothing so much as that I am not like Timon.\\r\\n TIMON. Whither art going?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. To knock out an honest Athenian\\'s brains.\\r\\n TIMON. That\\'s a deed thou\\'t die for.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Right, if doing nothing be death by th\\' law.\\r\\n TIMON. How lik\\'st thou this picture, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. The best, for the innocence.\\r\\n TIMON. Wrought he not well that painted it?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. He wrought better that made the painter; and yet he\\'s\\r\\n but a filthy piece of work.\\r\\n PAINTER. Y\\'are a dog.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thy mother\\'s of my generation; what\\'s she, if I be a dog?\\r\\n TIMON. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No; I eat not lords.\\r\\n TIMON. An thou shouldst, thou\\'dst anger ladies.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. O, they eat lords; so they come by great bellies.\\r\\n TIMON. That\\'s a lascivious apprehension.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. So thou apprehend\\'st it take it for thy labour.\\r\\n TIMON. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Not so well as plain dealing, which will not cost a man\\r\\n a doit.\\r\\n TIMON. What dost thou think \\'tis worth?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Not worth my thinking. How now, poet!\\r\\n POET. How now, philosopher!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou liest.\\r\\n POET. Art not one?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Yes.\\r\\n POET. Then I lie not.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Art not a poet?\\r\\n POET. Yes.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Then thou liest. Look in thy last work, where thou hast\\r\\n feign\\'d him a worthy fellow.\\r\\n POET. That\\'s not feign\\'d- he is so.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy\\r\\n labour. He that loves to be flattered is worthy o\\' th\\' flatterer.\\r\\n Heavens, that I were a lord!\\r\\n TIMON. What wouldst do then, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. E\\'en as Apemantus does now: hate a lord with my heart.\\r\\n TIMON. What, thyself?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ay.\\r\\n TIMON. Wherefore?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. That I had no angry wit to be a lord.- Art not thou a\\r\\n merchant?\\r\\n MERCHANT. Ay, Apemantus.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not!\\r\\n MERCHANT. If traffic do it, the gods do it.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Traffic\\'s thy god, and thy god confound thee!\\r\\n\\r\\n Trumpet sounds. Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. What trumpet\\'s that?\\r\\n MESSENGER. \\'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse,\\r\\n All of companionship.\\r\\n TIMON. Pray entertain them; give them guide to us.\\r\\n Exeunt some attendants\\r\\n You must needs dine with me. Go not you hence\\r\\n Till I have thank\\'d you. When dinner\\'s done\\r\\n Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ALCIBIADES, with the rest\\r\\n\\r\\n Most welcome, sir! [They salute]\\r\\n APEMANTUS. So, so, there!\\r\\n Aches contract and starve your supple joints!\\r\\n That there should be small love amongst these sweet knaves,\\r\\n And all this courtesy! The strain of man\\'s bred out\\r\\n Into baboon and monkey.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Sir, you have sav\\'d my longing, and I feed\\r\\n Most hungerly on your sight.\\r\\n TIMON. Right welcome, sir!\\r\\n Ere we depart we\\'ll share a bounteous time\\r\\n In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in.\\r\\n Exeunt all but APEMANTUS\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST LORD. What time o\\' day is\\'t, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Time to be honest.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. That time serves still.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. The more accursed thou that still omit\\'st it.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Thou art going to Lord Timon\\'s feast.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ay; to see meat fill knaves and wine heat fools.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Fare thee well, fare thee well.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Why, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean to give\\r\\n thee none.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Hang thyself.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding; make thy requests\\r\\n to thy friend.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Away, unpeaceable dog, or I\\'ll spurn thee hence.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I will fly, like a dog, the heels o\\' th\\' ass. Exit\\r\\n FIRST LORD. He\\'s opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in\\r\\n And taste Lord Timon\\'s bounty? He outgoes\\r\\n The very heart of kindness.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. He pours it out: Plutus, the god of gold,\\r\\n Is but his steward; no meed but he repays\\r\\n Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him\\r\\n But breeds the giver a return exceeding\\r\\n All use of quittance.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. The noblest mind he carries\\r\\n That ever govern\\'d man.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Long may he live in fortunes! shall we in?\\r\\n FIRST LORD. I\\'ll keep you company. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A room of state in TIMON\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nHautboys playing loud music. A great banquet serv\\'d in;\\r\\nFLAVIUS and others attending; and then enter LORD TIMON, the states,\\r\\nthe ATHENIAN LORDS, VENTIDIUS, which TIMON redeem\\'d from prison.\\r\\nThen comes, dropping after all, APEMANTUS, discontentedly, like himself\\r\\n\\r\\n VENTIDIUS. Most honoured Timon,\\r\\n It hath pleas\\'d the gods to remember my father\\'s age,\\r\\n And call him to long peace.\\r\\n He is gone happy, and has left me rich.\\r\\n Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound\\r\\n To your free heart, I do return those talents,\\r\\n Doubled with thanks and service, from whose help\\r\\n I deriv\\'d liberty.\\r\\n TIMON. O, by no means,\\r\\n Honest Ventidius! You mistake my love;\\r\\n I gave it freely ever; and there\\'s none\\r\\n Can truly say he gives, if he receives.\\r\\n If our betters play at that game, we must not dare\\r\\n To imitate them: faults that are rich are fair.\\r\\n VENTIDIUS. A noble spirit!\\r\\n TIMON. Nay, my lords, ceremony was but devis\\'d at first\\r\\n To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes,\\r\\n Recanting goodness, sorry ere \\'tis shown;\\r\\n But where there is true friendship there needs none.\\r\\n Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes\\r\\n Than my fortunes to me. [They sit]\\r\\n FIRST LORD. My lord, we always have confess\\'d it.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ho, ho, confess\\'d it! Hang\\'d it, have you not?\\r\\n TIMON. O, Apemantus, you are welcome.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No;\\r\\n You shall not make me welcome.\\r\\n I come to have thee thrust me out of doors.\\r\\n TIMON. Fie, th\\'art a churl; ye have got a humour there\\r\\n Does not become a man; \\'tis much to blame.\\r\\n They say, my lords, Ira furor brevis est; but yond man is ever\\r\\n angry. Go, let him have a table by himself; for he does neither\\r\\n affect company nor is he fit for\\'t indeed.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon.\\r\\n I come to observe; I give thee warning on\\'t.\\r\\n TIMON. I take no heed of thee. Th\\'art an Athenian, therefore\\r\\n welcome. I myself would have no power; prithee let my meat make\\r\\n thee silent.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I scorn thy meat; \\'t\\'would choke me, for I should ne\\'er\\r\\n flatter thee. O you gods, what a number of men eats Timon, and he\\r\\n sees \\'em not! It grieves me to see so many dip their meat in one\\r\\n man\\'s blood; and all the madness is, he cheers them up too.\\r\\n I wonder men dare trust themselves with men.\\r\\n Methinks they should invite them without knives:\\r\\n Good for their meat and safer for their lives.\\r\\n There\\'s much example for\\'t; the fellow that sits next him now,\\r\\n parts bread with him, pledges the breath of him in a divided\\r\\n draught, is the readiest man to kill him. \\'T has been proved. If\\r\\n I were a huge man I should fear to drink at meals.\\r\\n Lest they should spy my windpipe\\'s dangerous notes:\\r\\n Great men should drink with harness on their throats.\\r\\n TIMON. My lord, in heart! and let the health go round.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Let it flow this way, my good lord.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Flow this way! A brave fellow! He keeps his tides well.\\r\\n Those healths will make thee and thy state look ill, Timon.\\r\\n Here\\'s that which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, which\\r\\n ne\\'er left man i\\' th\\' mire.\\r\\n This and my food are equals; there\\'s no odds.\\'\\r\\n Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods.\\r\\n\\r\\n APEMANTUS\\' Grace\\r\\n\\r\\n Immortal gods, I crave no pelf;\\r\\n I pray for no man but myself.\\r\\n Grant I may never prove so fond\\r\\n To trust man on his oath or bond,\\r\\n Or a harlot for her weeping,\\r\\n Or a dog that seems a-sleeping,\\r\\n Or a keeper with my freedom,\\r\\n Or my friends, if I should need \\'em.\\r\\n Amen. So fall to\\'t.\\r\\n Rich men sin, and I eat root. [Eats and drinks]\\r\\n\\r\\n Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus!\\r\\n TIMON. Captain Alcibiades, your heart\\'s in the field now.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. My heart is ever at your service, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies than dinner of\\r\\n friends.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. So they were bleeding new, my lord, there\\'s no meat\\r\\n like \\'em; I could wish my best friend at such a feast.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Would all those flatterers were thine enemies then, that\\r\\n then thou mightst kill \\'em, and bid me to \\'em.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you\\r\\n would once use our hearts, whereby we might express some part of\\r\\n our zeals, we should think ourselves for ever perfect.\\r\\n TIMON. O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themselves have\\r\\n provided that I shall have much help from you. How had you been\\r\\n my friends else? Why have you that charitable title from\\r\\n thousands, did not you chiefly belong to my heart? I have told\\r\\n more of you to myself than you can with modesty speak in your own\\r\\n behalf; and thus far I confirm you. O you gods, think I, what\\r\\n need we have any friends if we should ne\\'er have need of \\'em?\\r\\n They were the most needless creatures living, should we ne\\'er\\r\\n have use for \\'em; and would most resemble sweet instruments hung\\r\\n up in cases, that keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have\\r\\n often wish\\'d myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you. We\\r\\n are born to do benefits; and what better or properer can we call\\r\\n our own than the riches of our friends? O, what a precious\\r\\n comfort \\'tis to have so many like brothers commanding one\\r\\n another\\'s fortunes! O, joy\\'s e\\'en made away ere\\'t can be born!\\r\\n Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks. To forget their\\r\\n faults, I drink to you.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou weep\\'st to make them drink, Timon.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Joy had the like conception in our eyes,\\r\\n And at that instant like a babe sprung up.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ho, ho! I laugh to think that babe a bastard.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. I promise you, my lord, you mov\\'d me much.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Much! [Sound tucket]\\r\\n TIMON. What means that trump?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n How now?\\r\\n SERVANT. Please you, my lord, there are certain ladies most\\r\\n desirous of admittance.\\r\\n TIMON. Ladies! What are their wills?\\r\\n SERVANT. There comes with them a forerunner, my lord, which bears\\r\\n that office to signify their pleasures.\\r\\n TIMON. I pray let them be admitted.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CUPID\\r\\n CUPID. Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all\\r\\n That of his bounties taste! The five best Senses\\r\\n Acknowledge thee their patron, and come freely\\r\\n To gratulate thy plenteous bosom. Th\\' Ear,\\r\\n Taste, Touch, Smell, pleas\\'d from thy table rise;\\r\\n They only now come but to feast thine eyes.\\r\\n TIMON. They\\'re welcome all; let \\'em have kind admittance.\\r\\n Music, make their welcome. Exit CUPID\\r\\n FIRST LORD. You see, my lord, how ample y\\'are belov\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Music. Re-enter CUPID, witb a Masque of LADIES as Amazons,\\r\\n with lutes in their hands, dancing and playing\\r\\n\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Hoy-day, what a sweep of vanity comes this way!\\r\\n They dance? They are mad women.\\r\\n Like madness is the glory of this life,\\r\\n As this pomp shows to a little oil and root.\\r\\n We make ourselves fools to disport ourselves,\\r\\n And spend our flatteries to drink those men\\r\\n Upon whose age we void it up again\\r\\n With poisonous spite and envy.\\r\\n Who lives that\\'s not depraved or depraves?\\r\\n Who dies that bears not one spurn to their graves\\r\\n Of their friends\\' gift?\\r\\n I should fear those that dance before me now\\r\\n Would one day stamp upon me. \\'T has been done:\\r\\n Men shut their doors against a setting sun.\\r\\n\\r\\n The LORDS rise from table, with much adoring of\\r\\n TIMON; and to show their loves, each single out an\\r\\n Amazon, and all dance, men witb women, a lofty\\r\\n strain or two to the hautboys, and cease\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. You have done our pleasures much grace, fair ladies,\\r\\n Set a fair fashion on our entertainment,\\r\\n Which was not half so beautiful and kind;\\r\\n You have added worth unto\\'t and lustre,\\r\\n And entertain\\'d me with mine own device;\\r\\n I am to thank you for\\'t.\\r\\n FIRST LADY. My lord, you take us even at the best.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Faith, for the worst is filthy, and would not hold\\r\\n taking, I doubt me.\\r\\n TIMON. Ladies, there is an idle banquet attends you;\\r\\n Please you to dispose yourselves.\\r\\n ALL LADIES. Most thankfully, my lord.\\r\\n Exeunt CUPID and LADIES\\r\\n TIMON. Flavius!\\r\\n FLAVIUS. My lord?\\r\\n TIMON. The little casket bring me hither.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Yes, my lord. [Aside] More jewels yet!\\r\\n There is no crossing him in\\'s humour,\\r\\n Else I should tell him- well i\\' faith, I should-\\r\\n When all\\'s spent, he\\'d be cross\\'d then, an he could.\\r\\n \\'Tis pity bounty had not eyes behind,\\r\\n That man might ne\\'er be wretched for his mind. Exit\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Where be our men?\\r\\n SERVANT. Here, my lord, in readiness.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Our horses!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter FLAVIUS, with the casket\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. O my friends,\\r\\n I have one word to say to you. Look you, my good lord,\\r\\n I must entreat you honour me so much\\r\\n As to advance this jewel; accept it and wear it,\\r\\n Kind my lord.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. I am so far already in your gifts-\\r\\n ALL. So are we all.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. My lord, there are certain nobles of the Senate newly\\r\\n alighted and come to visit you.\\r\\n TIMON. They are fairly welcome. Exit SERVANT\\r\\n FLAVIUS. I beseech your honour, vouchsafe me a word; it does\\r\\n concern you near.\\r\\n TIMON. Near! Why then, another time I\\'ll hear thee. I prithee let\\'s\\r\\n be provided to show them entertainment.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. [Aside] I scarce know how.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. May it please vour honour, Lord Lucius, out of his\\r\\n free love, hath presented to you four milk-white horses, trapp\\'d\\r\\n in silver.\\r\\n TIMON. I shall accept them fairly. Let the presents\\r\\n Be worthily entertain\\'d. Exit SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a third SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n How now! What news?\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. Please you, my lord, that honourable gentleman, Lord\\r\\n Lucullus, entreats your company to-morrow to hunt with him and\\r\\n has sent your honour two brace of greyhounds.\\r\\n TIMON. I\\'ll hunt with him; and let them be receiv\\'d,\\r\\n Not without fair reward. Exit SERVANT\\r\\n FLAVIUS. [Aside] What will this come to?\\r\\n He commands us to provide and give great gifts,\\r\\n And all out of an empty coffer;\\r\\n Nor will he know his purse, or yield me this,\\r\\n To show him what a beggar his heart is,\\r\\n Being of no power to make his wishes good.\\r\\n His promises fly so beyond his state\\r\\n That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes\\r\\n For ev\\'ry word. He is so kind that he now\\r\\n Pays interest for\\'t; his land\\'s put to their books.\\r\\n Well, would I were gently put out of office\\r\\n Before I were forc\\'d out!\\r\\n Happier is he that has no friend to feed\\r\\n Than such that do e\\'en enemies exceed.\\r\\n I bleed inwardly for my lord. Exit\\r\\n TIMON. You do yourselves much wrong;\\r\\n You bate too much of your own merits.\\r\\n Here, my lord, a trifle of our love.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. With more than common thanks I will receive it.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. O, he\\'s the very soul of bounty!\\r\\n TIMON. And now I remember, my lord, you gave good words the other\\r\\n day of a bay courser I rode on. \\'Tis yours because you lik\\'d it.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. O, I beseech you pardon me, my lord, in that.\\r\\n TIMON. You may take my word, my lord: I know no man\\r\\n Can justly praise but what he does affect.\\r\\n I weigh my friend\\'s affection with mine own.\\r\\n I\\'ll tell you true; I\\'ll call to you.\\r\\n ALL LORDS. O, none so welcome!\\r\\n TIMON. I take all and your several visitations\\r\\n So kind to heart \\'tis not enough to give;\\r\\n Methinks I could deal kingdoms to my friends\\r\\n And ne\\'er be weary. Alcibiades,\\r\\n Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich.\\r\\n It comes in charity to thee; for all thy living\\r\\n Is \\'mongst the dead, and all the lands thou hast\\r\\n Lie in a pitch\\'d field.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Ay, defil\\'d land, my lord.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. We are so virtuously bound-\\r\\n TIMON. And so am I to you.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. So infinitely endear\\'d-\\r\\n TIMON. All to you. Lights, more lights!\\r\\n FIRST LORD. The best of happiness, honour, and fortunes, keep with\\r\\n you, Lord Timon!\\r\\n TIMON. Ready for his friends.\\r\\n Exeunt all but APEMANTUS and TIMON\\r\\n APEMANTUS. What a coil\\'s here!\\r\\n Serving of becks and jutting-out of bums!\\r\\n I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums\\r\\n That are given for \\'em. Friendship\\'s full of dregs:\\r\\n Methinks false hearts should never have sound legs.\\r\\n Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on curtsies.\\r\\n TIMON. Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen\\r\\n I would be good to thee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No, I\\'ll nothing; for if I should be brib\\'d too, there\\r\\n would be none left to rail upon thee, and then thou wouldst sin\\r\\n the faster. Thou giv\\'st so long, Timon, I fear me thou wilt give\\r\\n away thyself in paper shortly. What needs these feasts, pomps,\\r\\n and vain-glories?\\r\\n TIMON. Nay, an you begin to rail on society once, I am sworn not to\\r\\n give regard to you. Farewell; and come with better music.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n APEMANTUS. So. Thou wilt not hear me now: thou shalt not then. I\\'ll\\r\\n lock thy heaven from thee.\\r\\n O that men\\'s ears should be\\r\\n To counsel deaf, but not to flattery! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. A SENATOR\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter A SENATOR, with papers in his hand\\r\\n\\r\\n SENATOR. And late, five thousand. To Varro and to Isidore\\r\\n He owes nine thousand; besides my former sum,\\r\\n Which makes it five and twenty. Still in motion\\r\\n Of raging waste? It cannot hold; it will not.\\r\\n If I want gold, steal but a beggar\\'s dog\\r\\n And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold.\\r\\n If I would sell my horse and buy twenty moe\\r\\n Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon,\\r\\n Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me straight,\\r\\n And able horses. No porter at his gate,\\r\\n But rather one that smiles and still invites\\r\\n All that pass by. It cannot hold; no reason\\r\\n Can sound his state in safety. Caphis, ho!\\r\\n Caphis, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CAPHIS\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPHIS. Here, sir; what is your pleasure?\\r\\n SENATOR. Get on your cloak and haste you to Lord Timon;\\r\\n Importune him for my moneys; be not ceas\\'d\\r\\n With slight denial, nor then silenc\\'d when\\r\\n \\'Commend me to your master\\' and the cap\\r\\n Plays in the right hand, thus; but tell him\\r\\n My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn\\r\\n Out of mine own; his days and times are past,\\r\\n And my reliances on his fracted dates\\r\\n Have smit my credit. I love and honour him,\\r\\n But must not break my back to heal his finger.\\r\\n Immediate are my needs, and my relief\\r\\n Must not be toss\\'d and turn\\'d to me in words,\\r\\n But find supply immediate. Get you gone;\\r\\n Put on a most importunate aspect,\\r\\n A visage of demand; for I do fear,\\r\\n When every feather sticks in his own wing,\\r\\n Lord Timon will be left a naked gull,\\r\\n Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone.\\r\\n CAPHIS. I go, sir.\\r\\n SENATOR. Take the bonds along with you,\\r\\n And have the dates in compt.\\r\\n CAPHIS. I will, sir.\\r\\n SENATOR. Go. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Before TIMON\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FLAVIUS, TIMON\\'S Steward, with many bills in his hand\\r\\n\\r\\n FLAVIUS. No care, no stop! So senseless of expense\\r\\n That he will neither know how to maintain it\\r\\n Nor cease his flow of riot; takes no account\\r\\n How things go from him, nor resumes no care\\r\\n Of what is to continue. Never mind\\r\\n Was to be so unwise to be so kind.\\r\\n What shall be done? He will not hear till feel.\\r\\n I must be round with him. Now he comes from hunting.\\r\\n Fie, fie, fie, fie!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CAPHIS, and the SERVANTS Of ISIDORE and VARRO\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPHIS. Good even, Varro. What, you come for money?\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. Is\\'t not your business too?\\r\\n CAPHIS. It is. And yours too, Isidore?\\r\\n ISIDORE\\'S SERVANT. It is so.\\r\\n CAPHIS. Would we were all discharg\\'d!\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. I fear it.\\r\\n CAPHIS. Here comes the lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TIMON and his train, with ALCIBIADES\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. So soon as dinner\\'s done we\\'ll forth again,\\r\\n My Alcibiades.- With me? What is your will?\\r\\n CAPHIS. My lord, here is a note of certain dues.\\r\\n TIMON. Dues! Whence are you?\\r\\n CAPHIS. Of Athens here, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. Go to my steward.\\r\\n CAPHIS. Please it your lordship, he hath put me off\\r\\n To the succession of new days this month.\\r\\n My master is awak\\'d by great occasion\\r\\n To call upon his own, and humbly prays you\\r\\n That with your other noble parts you\\'ll suit\\r\\n In giving him his right.\\r\\n TIMON. Mine honest friend,\\r\\n I prithee but repair to me next morning.\\r\\n CAPHIS. Nay, good my lord-\\r\\n TIMON. Contain thyself, good friend.\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. One Varro\\'s servant, my good lord-\\r\\n ISIDORE\\'S SERVANT. From Isidore: he humbly prays your speedy\\r\\n payment-\\r\\n CAPHIS. If you did know, my lord, my master\\'s wants-\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. \\'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six weeks and\\r\\n past.\\r\\n ISIDORE\\'S SERVANT. Your steward puts me off, my lord; and\\r\\n I am sent expressly to your lordship.\\r\\n TIMON. Give me breath.\\r\\n I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on;\\r\\n I\\'ll wait upon you instantly.\\r\\n Exeunt ALCIBIADES and LORDS\\r\\n [To FLAVIUS] Come hither. Pray you,\\r\\n How goes the world that I am thus encount\\'red\\r\\n With clamorous demands of date-broke bonds\\r\\n And the detention of long-since-due debts,\\r\\n Against my honour?\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Please you, gentlemen,\\r\\n The time is unagreeable to this business.\\r\\n Your importunacy cease till after dinner,\\r\\n That I may make his lordship understand\\r\\n Wherefore you are not paid.\\r\\n TIMON. Do so, my friends.\\r\\n See them well entertain\\'d. Exit\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Pray draw near. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter APEMANTUS and FOOL\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPHIS. Stay, stay, here comes the fool with Apemantus.\\r\\n Let\\'s ha\\' some sport with \\'em.\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. Hang him, he\\'ll abuse us!\\r\\n ISIDORE\\'S SERVANT. A plague upon him, dog!\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. How dost, fool?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Dost dialogue with thy shadow?\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. I speak not to thee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No, \\'tis to thyself. [To the FOOL] Come away.\\r\\n ISIDORE\\'S SERVANT. [To VARRO\\'S SERVANT] There\\'s the fool hangs on\\r\\n your back already.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No, thou stand\\'st single; th\\'art not on him yet.\\r\\n CAPHIS. Where\\'s the fool now?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. He last ask\\'d the question. Poor rogues and usurers\\'\\r\\n men! Bawds between gold and want!\\r\\n ALL SERVANTS. What are we, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Asses.\\r\\n ALL SERVANTS. Why?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. That you ask me what you are, and do not know\\r\\n yourselves. Speak to \\'em, fool.\\r\\n FOOL. How do you, gentlemen?\\r\\n ALL SERVANTS. Gramercies, good fool. How does your mistress?\\r\\n FOOL. She\\'s e\\'en setting on water to scald such chickens as you\\r\\n are. Would we could see you at Corinth!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Good! gramercy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n FOOL. Look you, here comes my mistress\\' page.\\r\\n PAGE. [To the FOOL] Why, how now, Captain? What do you in this wise\\r\\n company? How dost thou, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I might answer thee\\r\\n profitably!\\r\\n PAGE. Prithee, Apemantus, read me the superscription of these\\r\\n letters; I know not which is which.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Canst not read?\\r\\n PAGE. No.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. There will little learning die, then, that day thou art\\r\\n hang\\'d. This is to Lord Timon; this to Alcibiades. Go; thou wast\\r\\n born a bastard, and thou\\'t die a bawd.\\r\\n PAGE. Thou wast whelp\\'d a dog, and thou shalt famish dog\\'s death.\\r\\n Answer not: I am gone. Exit PAGE\\r\\n APEMANTUS. E\\'en so thou outrun\\'st grace.\\r\\n Fool, I will go with you to Lord Timon\\'s.\\r\\n FOOL. Will you leave me there?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. If Timon stay at home. You three serve three usurers?\\r\\n ALL SERVANTS. Ay; would they serv\\'d us!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. So would I- as good a trick as ever hangman serv\\'d\\r\\n thief.\\r\\n FOOL. Are you three usurers\\' men?\\r\\n ALL SERVANTS. Ay, fool.\\r\\n FOOL. I think no usurer but has a fool to his servant. My mistress\\r\\n is one, and I am her fool. When men come to borrow of your\\r\\n masters, they approach sadly and go away merry; but they enter my\\r\\n mistress\\' house merrily and go away sadly. The reason of this?\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. I could render one.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Do it then, that we may account thee a whoremaster and a\\r\\n knave; which notwithstanding, thou shalt be no less esteemed.\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. What is a whoremaster, fool?\\r\\n FOOL. A fool in good clothes, and something like thee. \\'Tis a\\r\\n spirit. Sometime \\'t appears like a lord; sometime like a lawyer;\\r\\n sometime like a philosopher, with two stones moe than\\'s\\r\\n artificial one. He is very often like a knight; and, generally,\\r\\n in all shapes that man goes up and down in from fourscore to\\r\\n thirteen, this spirit walks in.\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. Thou art not altogether a fool.\\r\\n FOOL. Nor thou altogether a wise man.\\r\\n As much foolery as I have, so much wit thou lack\\'st.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. That answer might have become Apemantus.\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. Aside, aside; here comes Lord Timon.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Come with me, fool, come.\\r\\n FOOL. I do not always follow lover, elder brother, and woman;\\r\\n sometime the philosopher.\\r\\n Exeunt APEMANTUS and FOOL\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Pray you walk near; I\\'ll speak with you anon.\\r\\n Exeunt SERVANTS\\r\\n TIMON. You make me marvel wherefore ere this time\\r\\n Had you not fully laid my state before me,\\r\\n That I might so have rated my expense\\r\\n As I had leave of means.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. You would not hear me\\r\\n At many leisures I propos\\'d.\\r\\n TIMON. Go to;\\r\\n Perchance some single vantages you took\\r\\n When my indisposition put you back,\\r\\n And that unaptness made your minister\\r\\n Thus to excuse yourself.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. O my good lord,\\r\\n At many times I brought in my accounts,\\r\\n Laid them before you; you would throw them off\\r\\n And say you found them in mine honesty.\\r\\n When, for some trifling present, you have bid me\\r\\n Return so much, I have shook my head and wept;\\r\\n Yea, \\'gainst th\\' authority of manners, pray\\'d you\\r\\n To hold your hand more close. I did endure\\r\\n Not seldom, nor no slight checks, when I have\\r\\n Prompted you in the ebb of your estate\\r\\n And your great flow of debts. My lov\\'d lord,\\r\\n Though you hear now- too late!- yet now\\'s a time:\\r\\n The greatest of your having lacks a half\\r\\n To pay your present debts.\\r\\n TIMON. Let all my land be sold.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. \\'Tis all engag\\'d, some forfeited and gone;\\r\\n And what remains will hardly stop the mouth\\r\\n Of present dues. The future comes apace;\\r\\n What shall defend the interim? And at length\\r\\n How goes our reck\\'ning?\\r\\n TIMON. To Lacedaemon did my land extend.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. O my good lord, the world is but a word;\\r\\n Were it all yours to give it in a breath,\\r\\n How quickly were it gone!\\r\\n TIMON. You tell me true.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. If you suspect my husbandry or falsehood,\\r\\n Call me before th\\' exactest auditors\\r\\n And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me,\\r\\n When all our offices have been oppress\\'d\\r\\n With riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept\\r\\n With drunken spilth of wine, when every room\\r\\n Hath blaz\\'d with lights and bray\\'d with minstrelsy,\\r\\n I have retir\\'d me to a wasteful cock\\r\\n And set mine eyes at flow.\\r\\n TIMON. Prithee no more.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. \\'Heavens,\\' have I said \\'the bounty of this lord!\\r\\n How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants\\r\\n This night englutted! Who is not Lord Timon\\'s?\\r\\n What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is Lord Timon\\'s?\\r\\n Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon!\\'\\r\\n Ah! when the means are gone that buy this praise,\\r\\n The breath is gone whereof this praise is made.\\r\\n Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter show\\'rs,\\r\\n These flies are couch\\'d.\\r\\n TIMON. Come, sermon me no further.\\r\\n No villainous bounty yet hath pass\\'d my heart;\\r\\n Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given.\\r\\n Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack\\r\\n To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart:\\r\\n If I would broach the vessels of my love,\\r\\n And try the argument of hearts by borrowing,\\r\\n Men and men\\'s fortunes could I frankly use\\r\\n As I can bid thee speak.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Assurance bless your thoughts!\\r\\n TIMON. And, in some sort, these wants of mine are crown\\'d\\r\\n That I account them blessings; for by these\\r\\n Shall I try friends. You shall perceive how you\\r\\n Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my friends.\\r\\n Within there! Flaminius! Servilius!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FLAMINIUS, SERVILIUS, and another SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANTS. My lord! my lord!\\r\\n TIMON. I will dispatch you severally- you to Lord Lucius; to Lord\\r\\n Lucullus you; I hunted with his honour to-day. You to Sempronius.\\r\\n Commend me to their loves; and I am proud, say, that my occasions\\r\\n have found time to use \\'em toward a supply of money. Let the\\r\\n request be fifty talents.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. As you have said, my lord. Exeunt SERVANTS\\r\\n FLAVIUS. [Aside] Lord Lucius and Lucullus? Humh!\\r\\n TIMON. Go you, sir, to the senators,\\r\\n Of whom, even to the state\\'s best health, I have\\r\\n Deserv\\'d this hearing. Bid \\'em send o\\' th\\' instant\\r\\n A thousand talents to me.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. I have been bold,\\r\\n For that I knew it the most general way,\\r\\n To them to use your signet and your name;\\r\\n But they do shake their heads, and I am here\\r\\n No richer in return.\\r\\n TIMON. Is\\'t true? Can\\'t be?\\r\\n FLAVIUS. They answer, in a joint and corporate voice,\\r\\n That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot\\r\\n Do what they would, are sorry- you are honourable-\\r\\n But yet they could have wish\\'d- they know not-\\r\\n Something hath been amiss- a noble nature\\r\\n May catch a wrench- would all were well!- \\'tis pity-\\r\\n And so, intending other serious matters,\\r\\n After distasteful looks, and these hard fractions,\\r\\n With certain half-caps and cold-moving nods,\\r\\n They froze me into silence.\\r\\n TIMON. You gods, reward them!\\r\\n Prithee, man, look cheerly. These old fellows\\r\\n Have their ingratitude in them hereditary.\\r\\n Their blood is cak\\'d, \\'tis cold, it seldom flows;\\r\\n \\'Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind;\\r\\n And nature, as it grows again toward earth,\\r\\n Is fashion\\'d for the journey dull and heavy.\\r\\n Go to Ventidius. Prithee be not sad,\\r\\n Thou art true and honest; ingeniously I speak,\\r\\n No blame belongs to thee. Ventidius lately\\r\\n Buried his father, by whose death he\\'s stepp\\'d\\r\\n Into a great estate. When he was poor,\\r\\n Imprison\\'d, and in scarcity of friends,\\r\\n I clear\\'d him with five talents. Greet him from me,\\r\\n Bid him suppose some good necessity\\r\\n Touches his friend, which craves to be rememb\\'red\\r\\n With those five talents. That had, give\\'t these fellows\\r\\n To whom \\'tis instant due. Nev\\'r speak or think\\r\\n That Timon\\'s fortunes \\'mong his friends can sink.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. I would I could not think it.\\r\\n That thought is bounty\\'s foe;\\r\\n Being free itself, it thinks all others so. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. LUCULLUS\\' house\\r\\n\\r\\nFLAMINIUS waiting to speak with LUCULLUS. Enter SERVANT to him\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. I have told my lord of you; he is coming down to you.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. I thank you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LUCULLUS\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. Here\\'s my lord.\\r\\n LUCULLUS. [Aside] One of Lord Timon\\'s men? A gift, I warrant. Why,\\r\\n this hits right; I dreamt of a silver basin and ewer to-night-\\r\\n Flaminius, honest Flaminius, you are very respectively welcome,\\r\\n sir. Fill me some wine. [Exit SERVANT] And how does that\\r\\n honourable, complete, freehearted gentleman of Athens, thy very\\r\\n bountiful good lord and master?\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. His health is well, sir.\\r\\n LUCULLUS. I am right glad that his health is well, sir. And what\\r\\n hast thou there under thy cloak, pretty Flaminius?\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir, which in my lord\\'s\\r\\n behalf I come to entreat your honour to supply; who, having\\r\\n great and instant occasion to use fifty talents, hath sent to\\r\\n your lordship to furnish him, nothing doubting your present\\r\\n assistance therein.\\r\\n LUCULLIUS. La, la, la, la! \\'Nothing doubting\\' says he? Alas, good\\r\\n lord! a noble gentleman \\'tis, if he would not keep so good a\\r\\n house. Many a time and often I ha\\' din\\'d with him and told him\\r\\n on\\'t; and come again to supper to him of purpose to have him\\r\\n spend less; and yet he would embrace no counsel, take no warning\\r\\n by my coming. Every man has his fault, and honesty is his. I ha\\'\\r\\n told him on\\'t, but I could ne\\'er get him from\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter SERVANT, with wine\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. Please your lordship, here is the wine.\\r\\n LUCULLUS. Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. Here\\'s to thee.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. Your lordship speaks your pleasure.\\r\\n LUCULLUS. I have observed thee always for a towardly prompt spirit,\\r\\n give thee thy due, and one that knows what belongs to reason, and\\r\\n canst use the time well, if the time use thee well. Good parts in\\r\\n thee. [To SERVANT] Get you gone, sirrah. [Exit SERVANT] Draw\\r\\n nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord\\'s a bountiful gentleman; but\\r\\n thou art wise, and thou know\\'st well enough, although thou com\\'st\\r\\n to me, that this is no time to lend money, especially upon bare\\r\\n friendship without security. Here\\'s three solidares for thee.\\r\\n Good boy, wink at me, and say thou saw\\'st me not. Fare thee well.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. Is\\'t possible the world should so much differ,\\r\\n And we alive that liv\\'d? Fly, damned baseness,\\r\\n To him that worships thee. [Throwing the money back]\\r\\n LUCULLUS. Ha! Now I see thou art a fool, and fit for thy master.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. May these add to the number that may scald thee!\\r\\n Let molten coin be thy damnation,\\r\\n Thou disease of a friend and not himself!\\r\\n Has friendship such a faint and milky heart\\r\\n It turns in less than two nights? O you gods,\\r\\n I feel my master\\'s passion! This slave\\r\\n Unto his honour has my lord\\'s meat in him;\\r\\n Why should it thrive and turn to nutriment\\r\\n When he is turn\\'d to poison?\\r\\n O, may diseases only work upon\\'t!\\r\\n And when he\\'s sick to death, let not that part of nature\\r\\n Which my lord paid for be of any power\\r\\n To expel sickness, but prolong his hour! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A public place\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Lucius, with three STRANGERS\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS. Who, the Lord Timon? He is my very good friend, and an\\r\\n honourable gentleman.\\r\\n FIRST STRANGER. We know him for no less, though we are but\\r\\n strangers to him. But I can tell you one thing, my lord, and\\r\\n which I hear from common rumours: now Lord Timon\\'s happy hours\\r\\n are done and past, and his estate shrinks from him.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Fie, no: do not believe it; he cannot want for money.\\r\\n SECOND STRANGER. But believe you this, my lord, that not long ago\\r\\n one of his men was with the Lord Lucullus to borrow so many\\r\\n talents; nay, urg\\'d extremely for\\'t, and showed what necessity\\r\\n belong\\'d to\\'t, and yet was denied.\\r\\n LUCIUS. How?\\r\\n SECOND STRANGER. I tell you, denied, my lord.\\r\\n LUCIUS. What a strange case was that! Now, before the gods, I am\\r\\n asham\\'d on\\'t. Denied that honourable man! There was very little\\r\\n honour show\\'d in\\'t. For my own part, I must needs confess I have\\r\\n received some small kindnesses from him, as money, plate, jewels,\\r\\n and such-like trifles, nothing comparing to his; yet, had he\\r\\n mistook him and sent to me, I should ne\\'er have denied his\\r\\n occasion so many talents.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SERVILIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVILIUS. See, by good hap, yonder\\'s my lord; I have sweat to see\\r\\n his honour.- My honour\\'d lord!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Servilius? You are kindly met, sir. Fare thee well; commend\\r\\n me to thy honourable virtuous lord, my very exquisite friend.\\r\\n SERVILIUS. May it please your honour, my lord hath sent-\\r\\n LUCIUS. Ha! What has he sent? I am so much endeared to that lord:\\r\\n he\\'s ever sending. How shall I thank him, think\\'st thou? And what\\r\\n has he sent now?\\r\\n SERVILIUS. Has only sent his present occasion now, my lord,\\r\\n requesting your lordship to supply his instant use with so many\\r\\n talents.\\r\\n LUCIUS. I know his lordship is but merry with me;\\r\\n He cannot want fifty-five hundred talents.\\r\\n SERVILIUS. But in the mean time he wants less, my lord.\\r\\n If his occasion were not virtuous\\r\\n I should not urge it half so faithfully.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius?\\r\\n SERVILIUS. Upon my soul, \\'tis true, sir.\\r\\n LUCIUS. What a wicked beast was I to disfurnish myself against such\\r\\n a good time, when I might ha\\' shown myself honourable! How\\r\\n unluckily it happ\\'ned that I should purchase the day before for a\\r\\n little part and undo a great deal of honour! Servilius, now\\r\\n before the gods, I am not able to do- the more beast, I say! I\\r\\n was sending to use Lord Timon myself, these gentlemen can\\r\\n witness; but I would not for the wealth of Athens I had done\\'t\\r\\n now. Commend me bountifully to his good lordship, and I hope his\\r\\n honour will conceive the fairest of me, because I have no power\\r\\n to be kind. And tell him this from me: I count it one of my\\r\\n greatest afflictions, say, that I cannot pleasure such an\\r\\n honourable gentleman. Good Servilius, will you befriend me so far\\r\\n as to use mine own words to him?\\r\\n SERVILIUS. Yes, sir, I shall.\\r\\n LUCIUS. I\\'ll look you out a good turn, Servilius.\\r\\n Exit SERVILIUS\\r\\n True, as you said, Timon is shrunk indeed;\\r\\n And he that\\'s once denied will hardly speed. Exit\\r\\n FIRST STRANGER. Do you observe this, Hostilius?\\r\\n SECOND STRANGER. Ay, too well.\\r\\n FIRST STRANGER. Why, this is the world\\'s soul; and just of the same\\r\\n piece\\r\\n Is every flatterer\\'s spirit. Who can call him his friend\\r\\n That dips in the same dish? For, in my knowing,\\r\\n Timon has been this lord\\'s father,\\r\\n And kept his credit with his purse;\\r\\n Supported his estate; nay, Timon\\'s money\\r\\n Has paid his men their wages. He ne\\'er drinks\\r\\n But Timon\\'s silver treads upon his lip;\\r\\n And yet- O, see the monstrousness of man\\r\\n When he looks out in an ungrateful shape!-\\r\\n He does deny him, in respect of his,\\r\\n What charitable men afford to beggars.\\r\\n THIRD STRANGER. Religion groans at it.\\r\\n FIRST STRANGER. For mine own part,\\r\\n I never tasted Timon in my life,\\r\\n Nor came any of his bounties over me\\r\\n To mark me for his friend; yet I protest,\\r\\n For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue,\\r\\n And honourable carriage,\\r\\n Had his necessity made use of me,\\r\\n I would have put my wealth into donation,\\r\\n And the best half should have return\\'d to him,\\r\\n So much I love his heart. But I perceive\\r\\n Men must learn now with pity to dispense;\\r\\n For policy sits above conscience. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. SEMPRONIUS\\' house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SEMPRONIUS and a SERVANT of TIMON\\'S\\r\\n\\r\\n SEMPRONIUS. Must he needs trouble me in\\'t? Hum! \\'Bove all others?\\r\\n He might have tried Lord Lucius or Lucullus;\\r\\n And now Ventidius is wealthy too,\\r\\n Whom he redeem\\'d from prison. All these\\r\\n Owe their estates unto him.\\r\\n SERVANT. My lord,\\r\\n They have all been touch\\'d and found base metal, for\\r\\n They have all denied him.\\r\\n SEMPRONIUS. How! Have they denied him?\\r\\n Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him?\\r\\n And does he send to me? Three? Humh!\\r\\n It shows but little love or judgment in him.\\r\\n Must I be his last refuge? His friends, like physicians,\\r\\n Thrice give him over. Must I take th\\' cure upon me?\\r\\n Has much disgrac\\'d me in\\'t; I\\'m angry at him,\\r\\n That might have known my place. I see no sense for\\'t,\\r\\n But his occasions might have woo\\'d me first;\\r\\n For, in my conscience, I was the first man\\r\\n That e\\'er received gift from him.\\r\\n And does he think so backwardly of me now\\r\\n That I\\'ll requite it last? No;\\r\\n So it may prove an argument of laughter\\r\\n To th\\' rest, and I \\'mongst lords be thought a fool.\\r\\n I\\'d rather than the worth of thrice the sum\\r\\n Had sent to me first, but for my mind\\'s sake;\\r\\n I\\'d such a courage to do him good. But now return,\\r\\n And with their faint reply this answer join:\\r\\n Who bates mine honour shall not know my coin. Exit\\r\\n SERVANT. Excellent! Your lordship\\'s a goodly villain. The devil\\r\\n knew not what he did when he made man politic- he cross\\'d himself\\r\\n by\\'t; and I cannot think but, in the end, the villainies of man\\r\\n will set him clear. How fairly this lord strives to appear foul!\\r\\n Takes virtuous copies to be wicked, like those that under hot\\r\\n ardent zeal would set whole realms on fire.\\r\\n Of such a nature is his politic love.\\r\\n This was my lord\\'s best hope; now all are fled,\\r\\n Save only the gods. Now his friends are dead,\\r\\n Doors that were ne\\'er acquainted with their wards\\r\\n Many a bounteous year must be employ\\'d\\r\\n Now to guard sure their master.\\r\\n And this is all a liberal course allows:\\r\\n Who cannot keep his wealth must keep his house. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A hall in TIMON\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter two Of VARRO\\'S MEN, meeting LUCIUS\\' SERVANT, and others, all\\r\\nbeing servants of TIMON\\'s creditors, to wait for his coming out. Then\\r\\nenter TITUS and HORTENSIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST VARRO\\'S SERVANT. Well met; good morrow, Titus and Hortensius.\\r\\n TITUS. The like to you, kind Varro.\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. Lucius! What, do we meet together?\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Ay, and I think one business does command us all;\\r\\n for mine is money.\\r\\n TITUS. So is theirs and ours.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PHILOTUS\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. And Sir Philotus too!\\r\\n PHILOTUS. Good day at once.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. welcome, good brother, what do you think the hour?\\r\\n PHILOTUS. Labouring for nine.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. So much?\\r\\n PHILOTUS. Is not my lord seen yet?\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Not yet.\\r\\n PHILOTUS. I wonder on\\'t; he was wont to shine at seven.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Ay, but the days are wax\\'d shorter with him;\\r\\n You must consider that a prodigal course\\r\\n Is like the sun\\'s, but not like his recoverable.\\r\\n I fear\\r\\n \\'Tis deepest winter in Lord Timon\\'s purse;\\r\\n That is, one may reach deep enough and yet\\r\\n Find little.\\r\\n PHILOTUS. I am of your fear for that.\\r\\n TITUS. I\\'ll show you how t\\' observe a strange event.\\r\\n Your lord sends now for money.\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. Most true, he does.\\r\\n TITUS. And he wears jewels now of Timon\\'s gift,\\r\\n For which I wait for money.\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. It is against my heart.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Mark how strange it shows\\r\\n Timon in this should pay more than he owes;\\r\\n And e\\'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels\\r\\n And send for money for \\'em.\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. I\\'m weary of this charge, the gods can witness;\\r\\n I know my lord hath spent of Timon\\'s wealth,\\r\\n And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth.\\r\\n FIRST VARRO\\'S SERVANT. Yes, mine\\'s three thousand crowns; what\\'s\\r\\n yours?\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Five thousand mine.\\r\\n FIRST VARRO\\'S SERVANT. \\'Tis much deep; and it should seem by th\\'\\r\\n sum\\r\\n Your master\\'s confidence was above mine,\\r\\n Else surely his had equall\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FLAMINIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. One of Lord Timon\\'s men.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Flaminius! Sir, a word. Pray, is my lord ready to\\r\\n come forth?\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. No, indeed, he is not.\\r\\n TITUS. We attend his lordship; pray signify so much.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. I need not tell him that; he knows you are to diligent.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FLAVIUS, in a cloak, muffled\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Ha! Is not that his steward muffled so?\\r\\n He goes away in a cloud. Call him, call him.\\r\\n TITUS. Do you hear, sir?\\r\\n SECOND VARRO\\'S SERVANT. By your leave, sir.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. What do ye ask of me, my friend?\\r\\n TITUS. We wait for certain money here, sir.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Ay,\\r\\n If money were as certain as your waiting,\\r\\n \\'Twere sure enough.\\r\\n Why then preferr\\'d you not your sums and bills\\r\\n When your false masters eat of my lord\\'s meat?\\r\\n Then they could smile, and fawn upon his debts,\\r\\n And take down th\\' int\\'rest into their glutt\\'nous maws.\\r\\n You do yourselves but wrong to stir me up;\\r\\n Let me pass quietly.\\r\\n Believe\\'t, my lord and I have made an end:\\r\\n I have no more to reckon, he to spend.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Ay, but this answer will not serve.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. If \\'twill not serve, \\'tis not so base as you,\\r\\n For you serve knaves. Exit\\r\\n FIRST VARRO\\'S SERVANT. How! What does his cashier\\'d worship mutter?\\r\\n SECOND VARRO\\'S SERVANT. No matter what; he\\'s poor, and that\\'s\\r\\n revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he that has no house\\r\\n to put his head in? Such may rail against great buildings.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SERVILIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. O, here\\'s Servilius; now we shall know some answer.\\r\\n SERVILIUS. If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to repair some other\\r\\n hour, I should derive much from\\'t; for take\\'t of my soul, my lord\\r\\n leans wondrously to discontent. His comfortable temper has\\r\\n forsook him; he\\'s much out of health and keeps his chamber.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Many do keep their chambers are not sick;\\r\\n And if it be so far beyond his health,\\r\\n Methinks he should the sooner pay his debts,\\r\\n And make a clear way to the gods.\\r\\n SERVILIUS. Good gods!\\r\\n TITUS. We cannot take this for answer, sir.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. [Within] Servilius, help! My lord! my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TIMON, in a rage, FLAMINIUS following\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. What, are my doors oppos\\'d against my passage?\\r\\n Have I been ever free, and must my house\\r\\n Be my retentive enemy, my gaol?\\r\\n The place which I have feasted, does it now,\\r\\n Like all mankind, show me an iron heart?\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Put in now, Titus.\\r\\n TITUS. My lord, here is my bill.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Here\\'s mine.\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. And mine, my lord.\\r\\n BOTH VARRO\\'S SERVANTS. And ours, my lord.\\r\\n PHILOTUS. All our bills.\\r\\n TIMON. Knock me down with \\'em; cleave me to the girdle.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Alas, my lord-\\r\\n TIMON. Cut my heart in sums.\\r\\n TITUS. Mine, fifty talents.\\r\\n TIMON. Tell out my blood.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Five thousand crowns, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. Five thousand drops pays that. What yours? and yours?\\r\\n FIRST VARRO\\'S SERVANT. My lord-\\r\\n SECOND VARRO\\'S SERVANT. My lord-\\r\\n TIMON. Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon you! Exit\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their caps at\\r\\n their money. These debts may well be call\\'d desperate ones, for a\\r\\n madman owes \\'em. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. They have e\\'en put my breath from me, the slaves.\\r\\n Creditors? Devils!\\r\\n FLAVIUS. My dear lord-\\r\\n TIMON. What if it should be so?\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. My lord-\\r\\n TIMON. I\\'ll have it so. My steward!\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Here, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. So fitly? Go, bid all my friends again:\\r\\n Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius- all.\\r\\n I\\'ll once more feast the rascals.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. O my lord,\\r\\n You only speak from your distracted soul;\\r\\n There is not so much left to furnish out\\r\\n A moderate table.\\r\\n TIMON. Be it not in thy care.\\r\\n Go, I charge thee, invite them all; let in the tide\\r\\n Of knaves once more; my cook and I\\'ll provide. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. The Senate House\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter three SENATORS at one door, ALCIBIADES meeting them, with\\r\\nattendants\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. My lord, you have my voice to\\'t: the fault\\'s bloody.\\r\\n \\'Tis necessary he should die:\\r\\n Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. Most true; the law shall bruise him.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Honour, health, and compassion, to the Senate!\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Now, Captain?\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I am an humble suitor to your virtues;\\r\\n For pity is the virtue of the law,\\r\\n And none but tyrants use it cruelly.\\r\\n It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy\\r\\n Upon a friend of mine, who in hot blood\\r\\n Hath stepp\\'d into the law, which is past depth\\r\\n To those that without heed do plunge into\\'t.\\r\\n He is a man, setting his fate aside,\\r\\n Of comely virtues;\\r\\n Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice-\\r\\n An honour in him which buys out his fault-\\r\\n But with a noble fury and fair spirit,\\r\\n Seeing his reputation touch\\'d to death,\\r\\n He did oppose his foe;\\r\\n And with such sober and unnoted passion\\r\\n He did behove his anger ere \\'twas spent,\\r\\n As if he had but prov\\'d an argument.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. You undergo too strict a paradox,\\r\\n Striving to make an ugly deed look fair;\\r\\n Your words have took such pains as if they labour\\'d\\r\\n To bring manslaughter into form and set\\r\\n Quarrelling upon the head of valour; which, indeed,\\r\\n Is valour misbegot, and came into the world\\r\\n When sects and factions were newly born.\\r\\n He\\'s truly valiant that can wisely suffer\\r\\n The worst that man can breathe,\\r\\n And make his wrongs his outsides,\\r\\n To wear them like his raiment, carelessly,\\r\\n And ne\\'er prefer his injuries to his heart,\\r\\n To bring it into danger.\\r\\n If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill,\\r\\n What folly \\'tis to hazard life for ill!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. My lord-\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. You cannot make gross sins look clear:\\r\\n To revenge is no valour, but to bear.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. My lords, then, under favour, pardon me\\r\\n If I speak like a captain:\\r\\n Why do fond men expose themselves to battle,\\r\\n And not endure all threats? Sleep upon\\'t,\\r\\n And let the foes quietly cut their throats,\\r\\n Without repugnancy? If there be\\r\\n Such valour in the bearing, what make we\\r\\n Abroad? Why, then, women are more valiant,\\r\\n That stay at home, if bearing carry it;\\r\\n And the ass more captain than the lion; the fellow\\r\\n Loaden with irons wiser than the judge,\\r\\n If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords,\\r\\n As you are great, be pitifully good.\\r\\n Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood?\\r\\n To kill, I grant, is sin\\'s extremest gust;\\r\\n But, in defence, by mercy, \\'tis most just.\\r\\n To be in anger is impiety;\\r\\n But who is man that is not angry?\\r\\n Weigh but the crime with this.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. You breathe in vain.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. In vain! His service done\\r\\n At Lacedaemon and Byzantium\\r\\n Were a sufficient briber for his life.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. What\\'s that?\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Why, I say, my lords, has done fair service,\\r\\n And slain in fight many of your enemies;\\r\\n How full of valour did he bear himself\\r\\n In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds!\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. He has made too much plenty with \\'em.\\r\\n He\\'s a sworn rioter; he has a sin that often\\r\\n Drowns him and takes his valour prisoner.\\r\\n If there were no foes, that were enough\\r\\n To overcome him. In that beastly fury\\r\\n He has been known to commit outrages\\r\\n And cherish factions. \\'Tis inferr\\'d to us\\r\\n His days are foul and his drink dangerous.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. He dies.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Hard fate! He might have died in war.\\r\\n My lords, if not for any parts in him-\\r\\n Though his right arm might purchase his own time,\\r\\n And be in debt to none- yet, more to move you,\\r\\n Take my deserts to his, and join \\'em both;\\r\\n And, for I know your reverend ages love\\r\\n Security, I\\'ll pawn my victories, all\\r\\n My honours to you, upon his good returns.\\r\\n If by this crime he owes the law his life,\\r\\n Why, let the war receive\\'t in valiant gore;\\r\\n For law is strict, and war is nothing more.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. We are for law: he dies. Urge it no more\\r\\n On height of our displeasure. Friend or brother,\\r\\n He forfeits his own blood that spills another.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Must it be so? It must not be. My lords,\\r\\n I do beseech you, know me.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. How!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Call me to your remembrances.\\r\\n THIRD SENATOR. What!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I cannot think but your age has forgot me;\\r\\n It could not else be I should prove so base\\r\\n To sue, and be denied such common grace.\\r\\n My wounds ache at you.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Do you dare our anger?\\r\\n \\'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect:\\r\\n We banish thee for ever.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Banish me!\\r\\n Banish your dotage! Banish usury\\r\\n That makes the Senate ugly.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. If after two days\\' shine Athens contain thee,\\r\\n Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell our spirit,\\r\\n He shall be executed presently. Exeunt SENATORS\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Now the gods keep you old enough that you may live\\r\\n Only in bone, that none may look on you!\\r\\n I\\'m worse than mad; I have kept back their foes,\\r\\n While they have told their money and let out\\r\\n Their coin upon large interest, I myself\\r\\n Rich only in large hurts. All those for this?\\r\\n Is this the balsam that the usuring Senate\\r\\n Pours into captains\\' wounds? Banishment!\\r\\n It comes not ill; I hate not to be banish\\'d;\\r\\n It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury,\\r\\n That I may strike at Athens. I\\'ll cheer up\\r\\n My discontented troops, and lay for hearts.\\r\\n \\'Tis honour with most lands to be at odds;\\r\\n Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. A banqueting hall in TIMON\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nMusic. Tables set out; servants attending. Enter divers LORDS, friends\\r\\nof TIMON, at several doors\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST LORD. The good time of day to you, sir.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. I also wish it to you. I think this honourable lord\\r\\n did but try us this other day.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Upon that were my thoughts tiring when we encount\\'red.\\r\\n I hope it is not so low with him as he made it seem in the trial\\r\\n of his several friends.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. It should not be, by the persuasion of his new\\r\\n feasting.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. I should think so. He hath sent me an earnest inviting,\\r\\n which many my near occasions did urge me to put off; but he hath\\r\\n conjur\\'d me beyond them, and I must needs appear.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. In like manner was I in debt to my importunate\\r\\n business, but he would not hear my excuse. I am sorry, when he\\r\\n sent to borrow of me, that my provision was out.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. I am sick of that grief too, as I understand how all\\r\\n things go.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Every man here\\'s so. What would he have borrowed of\\r\\n you?\\r\\n FIRST LORD. A thousand pieces.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. A thousand pieces!\\r\\n FIRST LORD. What of you?\\r\\n SECOND LORD. He sent to me, sir- here he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TIMON and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. With all my heart, gentlemen both! And how fare you?\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Ever at the best, hearing well of your lordship.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. The swallow follows not summer more willing than we\\r\\n your lordship.\\r\\n TIMON. [Aside] Nor more willingly leaves winter; such summer-birds\\r\\n are men- Gentlemen, our dinner will not recompense this long\\r\\n stay; feast your ears with the music awhile, if they will fare so\\r\\n harshly o\\' th\\' trumpet\\'s sound; we shall to\\'t presently.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. I hope it remains not unkindly with your lordship that\\r\\n I return\\'d you an empty messenger.\\r\\n TIMON. O sir, let it not trouble you.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. My noble lord-\\r\\n TIMON. Ah, my good friend, what cheer?\\r\\n SECOND LORD. My most honourable lord, I am e\\'en sick of shame that,\\r\\n when your lordship this other day sent to me, I was so\\r\\n unfortunate a beggar.\\r\\n TIMON. Think not on\\'t, sir.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. If you had sent but two hours before-\\r\\n TIMON. Let it not cumber your better remembrance. [The banquet\\r\\n brought in] Come, bring in all together.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. All cover\\'d dishes!\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Royal cheer, I warrant you.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. Doubt not that, if money and the season can yield it.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. How do you? What\\'s the news?\\r\\n THIRD LORD. Alcibiades is banish\\'d. Hear you of it?\\r\\n FIRST AND SECOND LORDS. Alcibiades banish\\'d!\\r\\n THIRD LORD. \\'Tis so, be sure of it.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. How? how?\\r\\n SECOND LORD. I pray you, upon what?\\r\\n TIMON. My worthy friends, will you draw near?\\r\\n THIRD LORD. I\\'ll tell you more anon. Here\\'s a noble feast toward.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. This is the old man still.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. Will\\'t hold? Will\\'t hold?\\r\\n SECOND LORD. It does; but time will- and so-\\r\\n THIRD LORD. I do conceive.\\r\\n TIMON. Each man to his stool with that spur as he would to the lip\\r\\n of his mistress; your diet shall be in all places alike. Make not\\r\\n a city feast of it, to let the meat cool ere we can agree upon\\r\\n the first place. Sit, sit. The gods require our thanks:\\r\\n\\r\\n You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with thankfulness. For\\r\\n your own gifts make yourselves prais\\'d; but reserve still to give,\\r\\n lest your deities be despised. Lend to each man enough, that one\\r\\n need not lend to another; for were your god-heads to borrow of men,\\r\\n men would forsake the gods. Make the meat be beloved more than the\\r\\n man that gives it. Let no assembly of twenty be without a score of\\r\\n villains. If there sit twelve women at the table, let a dozen of\\r\\n them be- as they are. The rest of your foes, O gods, the senators\\r\\n of Athens, together with the common lag of people, what is amiss in\\r\\n them, you gods, make suitable for destruction. For these my present\\r\\n friends, as they are to me nothing, so in nothing bless them, and\\r\\n to nothing are they welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\n Uncover, dogs, and lap. [The dishes are uncovered and\\r\\n seen to he full of warm water]\\r\\n SOME SPEAK. What does his lordship mean?\\r\\n SOME OTHER. I know not.\\r\\n TIMON. May you a better feast never behold,\\r\\n You knot of mouth-friends! Smoke and lukewarm water\\r\\n Is your perfection. This is Timon\\'s last;\\r\\n Who, stuck and spangled with your flatteries,\\r\\n Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces\\r\\n [Throwing the water in their faces]\\r\\n Your reeking villainy. Live loath\\'d and long,\\r\\n Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites,\\r\\n Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears,\\r\\n You fools of fortune, trencher friends, time\\'s flies,\\r\\n Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-lacks!\\r\\n Of man and beast the infinite malady\\r\\n Crust you quite o\\'er! What, dost thou go?\\r\\n Soft, take thy physic first; thou too, and thou.\\r\\n Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none. [Throws the\\r\\n dishes at them, and drives them out]\\r\\n What, all in motion? Henceforth be no feast\\r\\n Whereat a villain\\'s not a welcome guest.\\r\\n Burn house! Sink Athens! Henceforth hated be\\r\\n Of Timon man and all humanity! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter the LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST LORD. How now, my lords!\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Know you the quality of Lord Timon\\'s fury?\\r\\n THIRD LORD. Push! Did you see my cap?\\r\\n FOURTH LORD. I have lost my gown.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. He\\'s but a mad lord, and nought but humours sways him.\\r\\n He gave me a jewel th\\' other day, and now he has beat it out of\\r\\n my hat. Did you see my jewel?\\r\\n THIRD LORD. Did you see my cap?\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Here \\'tis.\\r\\n FOURTH LORD. Here lies my gown.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Let\\'s make no stay.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Lord Timon\\'s mad.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. I feel\\'t upon my bones.\\r\\n FOURTH LORD. One day he gives us diamonds, next day stones.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I. Without the walls of Athens\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TIMON\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. Let me look back upon thee. O thou wall\\r\\n That girdles in those wolves, dive in the earth\\r\\n And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent.\\r\\n Obedience, fail in children! Slaves and fools,\\r\\n Pluck the grave wrinkled Senate from the bench\\r\\n And minister in their steads. To general filths\\r\\n Convert, o\\' th\\' instant, green virginity.\\r\\n Do\\'t in your parents\\' eyes. Bankrupts, hold fast;\\r\\n Rather than render back, out with your knives\\r\\n And cut your trusters\\' throats. Bound servants, steal:\\r\\n Large-handed robbers your grave masters are,\\r\\n And pill by law. Maid, to thy master\\'s bed:\\r\\n Thy mistress is o\\' th\\' brothel. Son of sixteen,\\r\\n Pluck the lin\\'d crutch from thy old limping sire,\\r\\n With it beat out his brains. Piety and fear,\\r\\n Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth,\\r\\n Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood,\\r\\n Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades,\\r\\n Degrees, observances, customs and laws,\\r\\n Decline to your confounding contraries\\r\\n And let confusion live. Plagues incident to men,\\r\\n Your potent and infectious fevers heap\\r\\n On Athens, ripe for stroke. Thou cold sciatica,\\r\\n Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt\\r\\n As lamely as their manners. Lust and liberty,\\r\\n Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth,\\r\\n That \\'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive\\r\\n And drown themselves in riot. Itches, blains,\\r\\n Sow all th\\' Athenian bosoms, and their crop\\r\\n Be general leprosy! Breath infect breath,\\r\\n That their society, as their friendship, may\\r\\n Be merely poison! Nothing I\\'ll bear from thee\\r\\n But nakedness, thou detestable town!\\r\\n Take thou that too, with multiplying bans.\\r\\n Timon will to the woods, where he shall find\\r\\n Th\\' unkindest beast more kinder than mankind.\\r\\n The gods confound- hear me, you good gods all-\\r\\n The Athenians both within and out that wall!\\r\\n And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow\\r\\n To the whole race of mankind, high and low!\\r\\n Amen. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Athens. TIMON\\'s house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FLAVIUS, with two or three SERVANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. Hear you, Master Steward, where\\'s our master?\\r\\n Are we undone, cast off, nothing remaining?\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you?\\r\\n Let me be recorded by the righteous gods,\\r\\n I am as poor as you.\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. Such a house broke!\\r\\n So noble a master fall\\'n! All gone, and not\\r\\n One friend to take his fortune by the arm\\r\\n And go along with him?\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. As we do turn our backs\\r\\n From our companion, thrown into his grave,\\r\\n So his familiars to his buried fortunes\\r\\n Slink all away; leave their false vows with him,\\r\\n Like empty purses pick\\'d; and his poor self,\\r\\n A dedicated beggar to the air,\\r\\n With his disease of all-shunn\\'d poverty,\\r\\n Walks, like contempt, alone. More of our fellows.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter other SERVANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n FLAVIUS. All broken implements of a ruin\\'d house.\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. Yet do our hearts wear Timon\\'s livery;\\r\\n That see I by our faces. We are fellows still,\\r\\n Serving alike in sorrow. Leak\\'d is our bark;\\r\\n And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck,\\r\\n Hearing the surges threat. We must all part\\r\\n Into this sea of air.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Good fellows all,\\r\\n The latest of my wealth I\\'ll share amongst you.\\r\\n Wherever we shall meet, for Timon\\'s sake,\\r\\n Let\\'s yet be fellows; let\\'s shake our heads and say,\\r\\n As \\'twere a knell unto our master\\'s fortune,\\r\\n \\'We have seen better days.\\' Let each take some.\\r\\n [Giving them money]\\r\\n Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more!\\r\\n Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor.\\r\\n [Embrace, and part several ways]\\r\\n O the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us!\\r\\n Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt,\\r\\n Since riches point to misery and contempt?\\r\\n Who would be so mock\\'d with glory, or to live\\r\\n But in a dream of friendship,\\r\\n To have his pomp, and all what state compounds,\\r\\n But only painted, like his varnish\\'d friends?\\r\\n Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart,\\r\\n Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood,\\r\\n When man\\'s worst sin is he does too much good!\\r\\n Who then dares to be half so kind again?\\r\\n For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men.\\r\\n My dearest lord- blest to be most accurst,\\r\\n Rich only to be wretched- thy great fortunes\\r\\n Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord!\\r\\n He\\'s flung in rage from this ingrateful seat\\r\\n Of monstrous friends; nor has he with him to\\r\\n Supply his life, or that which can command it.\\r\\n I\\'ll follow and enquire him out.\\r\\n I\\'ll ever serve his mind with my best will;\\r\\n Whilst I have gold, I\\'ll be his steward still. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The woods near the sea-shore. Before TIMON\\'S cave\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TIMON in the woods\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth\\r\\n Rotten humidity; below thy sister\\'s orb\\r\\n Infect the air! Twinn\\'d brothers of one womb-\\r\\n Whose procreation, residence, and birth,\\r\\n Scarce is dividant- touch them with several fortunes:\\r\\n The greater scorns the lesser. Not nature,\\r\\n To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune\\r\\n But by contempt of nature.\\r\\n Raise me this beggar and deny\\'t that lord:\\r\\n The senator shall bear contempt hereditary,\\r\\n The beggar native honour.\\r\\n It is the pasture lards the rother\\'s sides,\\r\\n The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares,\\r\\n In purity of manhood stand upright,\\r\\n And say \\'This man\\'s a flatterer\\'? If one be,\\r\\n So are they all; for every grise of fortune\\r\\n Is smooth\\'d by that below. The learned pate\\r\\n Ducks to the golden fool. All\\'s oblique;\\r\\n There\\'s nothing level in our cursed natures\\r\\n But direct villainy. Therefore be abhorr\\'d\\r\\n All feasts, societies, and throngs of men!\\r\\n His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains.\\r\\n Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots.\\r\\n [Digging]\\r\\n Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate\\r\\n With thy most operant poison. What is here?\\r\\n Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods,\\r\\n I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens!\\r\\n Thus much of this will make black white, foul fair,\\r\\n Wrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant.\\r\\n Ha, you gods! why this? What, this, you gods? Why, this\\r\\n Will lug your priests and servants from your sides,\\r\\n Pluck stout men\\'s pillows from below their heads-\\r\\n This yellow slave\\r\\n Will knit and break religions, bless th\\' accurs\\'d,\\r\\n Make the hoar leprosy ador\\'d, place thieves\\r\\n And give them title, knee, and approbation,\\r\\n With senators on the bench. This is it\\r\\n That makes the wappen\\'d widow wed again-\\r\\n She whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores\\r\\n Would cast the gorge at this embalms and spices\\r\\n To th \\'April day again. Come, damn\\'d earth,\\r\\n Thou common whore of mankind, that puts odds\\r\\n Among the rout of nations, I will make thee\\r\\n Do thy right nature. [March afar off]\\r\\n Ha! a drum? Th\\'art quick,\\r\\n But yet I\\'ll bury thee. Thou\\'t go, strong thief,\\r\\n When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand.\\r\\n Nay, stay thou out for earnest. [Keeping some gold]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ALCIBIADES, with drum and fife, in warlike\\r\\n manner; and PHRYNIA and TIMANDRA\\r\\n\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. What art thou there? Speak.\\r\\n TIMON. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart\\r\\n For showing me again the eyes of man!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee\\r\\n That art thyself a man?\\r\\n TIMON. I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind.\\r\\n For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog,\\r\\n That I might love thee something.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I know thee well;\\r\\n But in thy fortunes am unlearn\\'d and strange.\\r\\n TIMON. I know thee too; and more than that I know thee\\r\\n I not desire to know. Follow thy drum;\\r\\n With man\\'s blood paint the ground, gules, gules.\\r\\n Religious canons, civil laws, are cruel;\\r\\n Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine\\r\\n Hath in her more destruction than thy sword\\r\\n For all her cherubin look.\\r\\n PHRYNIA. Thy lips rot off!\\r\\n TIMON. I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns\\r\\n To thine own lips again.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. How came the noble Timon to this change?\\r\\n TIMON. As the moon does, by wanting light to give.\\r\\n But then renew I could not, like the moon;\\r\\n There were no suns to borrow of.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Noble Timon,\\r\\n What friendship may I do thee?\\r\\n TIMON. None, but to\\r\\n Maintain my opinion.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. What is it, Timon?\\r\\n TIMON. Promise me friendship, but perform none. If thou wilt not\\r\\n promise, the gods plague thee, for thou art man! If thou dost\\r\\n perform, confound thee, for thou art a man!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries.\\r\\n TIMON. Thou saw\\'st them when I had prosperity.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I see them now; then was a blessed time.\\r\\n TIMON. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots.\\r\\n TIMANDRA. Is this th\\' Athenian minion whom the world\\r\\n Voic\\'d so regardfully?\\r\\n TIMON. Art thou Timandra?\\r\\n TIMANDRA. Yes.\\r\\n TIMON. Be a whore still; they love thee not that use thee.\\r\\n Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust.\\r\\n Make use of thy salt hours. Season the slaves\\r\\n For tubs and baths; bring down rose-cheek\\'d youth\\r\\n To the tub-fast and the diet.\\r\\n TIMANDRA. Hang thee, monster!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Pardon him, sweet Timandra, for his wits\\r\\n Are drown\\'d and lost in his calamities.\\r\\n I have but little gold of late, brave Timon,\\r\\n The want whereof doth daily make revolt\\r\\n In my penurious band. I have heard, and griev\\'d,\\r\\n How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth,\\r\\n Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states,\\r\\n But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them-\\r\\n TIMON. I prithee beat thy drum and get thee gone.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon.\\r\\n TIMON. How dost thou pity him whom thou dost trouble?\\r\\n I had rather be alone.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Why, fare thee well;\\r\\n Here is some gold for thee.\\r\\n TIMON. Keep it: I cannot eat it.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap-\\r\\n TIMON. War\\'st thou \\'gainst Athens?\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Ay, Timon, and have cause.\\r\\n TIMON. The gods confound them all in thy conquest;\\r\\n And thee after, when thou hast conquer\\'d!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Why me, Timon?\\r\\n TIMON. That by killing of villains\\r\\n Thou wast born to conquer my country.\\r\\n Put up thy gold. Go on. Here\\'s gold. Go on.\\r\\n Be as a planetary plague, when Jove\\r\\n Will o\\'er some high-vic\\'d city hang his poison\\r\\n In the sick air; let not thy sword skip one.\\r\\n Pity not honour\\'d age for his white beard:\\r\\n He is an usurer. Strike me the counterfeit matron:\\r\\n It is her habit only that is honest,\\r\\n Herself\\'s a bawd. Let not the virgin\\'s cheek\\r\\n Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk paps\\r\\n That through the window bars bore at men\\'s eyes\\r\\n Are not within the leaf of pity writ,\\r\\n But set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe\\r\\n Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy;\\r\\n Think it a bastard whom the oracle\\r\\n Hath doubtfully pronounc\\'d thy throat shall cut,\\r\\n And mince it sans remorse. Swear against abjects;\\r\\n Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes,\\r\\n Whose proof nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,\\r\\n Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding,\\r\\n Shall pierce a jot. There\\'s gold to pay thy soldiers.\\r\\n Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent,\\r\\n Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Hast thou gold yet? I\\'ll take the gold thou givest me,\\r\\n Not all thy counsel.\\r\\n TIMON. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven\\'s curse upon thee!\\r\\n PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. Give us some gold, good Timon.\\r\\n Hast thou more?\\r\\n TIMON. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade,\\r\\n And to make whores a bawd. Hold up, you sluts,\\r\\n Your aprons mountant; you are not oathable,\\r\\n Although I know you\\'ll swear, terribly swear,\\r\\n Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues,\\r\\n Th\\' immortal gods that hear you. Spare your oaths;\\r\\n I\\'ll trust to your conditions. Be whores still;\\r\\n And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you-\\r\\n Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up;\\r\\n Let your close fire predominate his smoke,\\r\\n And be no turncoats. Yet may your pains six months\\r\\n Be quite contrary! And thatch your poor thin roofs\\r\\n With burdens of the dead- some that were hang\\'d,\\r\\n No matter. Wear them, betray with them. Whore still;\\r\\n Paint till a horse may mire upon your face.\\r\\n A pox of wrinkles!\\r\\n PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. Well, more gold. What then?\\r\\n Believe\\'t that we\\'ll do anything for gold.\\r\\n TIMON. Consumptions sow\\r\\n In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins,\\r\\n And mar men\\'s spurring. Crack the lawyer\\'s voice,\\r\\n That he may never more false title plead,\\r\\n Nor sound his quillets shrilly. Hoar the flamen,\\r\\n That scolds against the quality of flesh\\r\\n And not believes himself. Down with the nose,\\r\\n Down with it flat, take the bridge quite away\\r\\n Of him that, his particular to foresee,\\r\\n Smells from the general weal. Make curl\\'d-pate ruffians bald,\\r\\n And let the unscarr\\'d braggarts of the war\\r\\n Derive some pain from you. Plague all,\\r\\n That your activity may defeat and quell\\r\\n The source of all erection. There\\'s more gold.\\r\\n Do you damn others, and let this damn you,\\r\\n And ditches grave you all!\\r\\n PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. More counsel with more money, bounteous\\r\\n Timon.\\r\\n TIMON. More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Strike up the drum towards Athens. Farewell, Timon;\\r\\n If I thrive well, I\\'ll visit thee again.\\r\\n TIMON. If I hope well, I\\'ll never see thee more.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I never did thee harm.\\r\\n TIMON. Yes, thou spok\\'st well of me.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Call\\'st thou that harm?\\r\\n TIMON. Men daily find it. Get thee away, and take\\r\\n Thy beagles with thee.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. We but offend him. Strike.\\r\\n Drum beats. Exeunt all but TIMON\\r\\n TIMON. That nature, being sick of man\\'s unkindness,\\r\\n Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou, [Digging]\\r\\n Whose womb unmeasurable and infinite breast\\r\\n Teems and feeds all; whose self-same mettle,\\r\\n Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff\\'d,\\r\\n Engenders the black toad and adder blue,\\r\\n The gilded newt and eyeless venom\\'d worm,\\r\\n With all th\\' abhorred births below crisp heaven\\r\\n Whereon Hyperion\\'s quick\\'ning fire doth shine-\\r\\n Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate,\\r\\n From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root!\\r\\n Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb,\\r\\n Let it no more bring out ingrateful man!\\r\\n Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears;\\r\\n Teem with new monsters whom thy upward face\\r\\n Hath to the marbled mansion all above\\r\\n Never presented!- O, a root! Dear thanks!-\\r\\n Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas,\\r\\n Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts\\r\\n And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind,\\r\\n That from it all consideration slips-\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter APEMANTUS\\r\\n\\r\\n More man? Plague, plague!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I was directed hither. Men report\\r\\n Thou dost affect my manners and dost use them.\\r\\n TIMON. \\'Tis, then, because thou dost not keep a dog,\\r\\n Whom I would imitate. Consumption catch thee!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. This is in thee a nature but infected,\\r\\n A poor unmanly melancholy sprung\\r\\n From change of fortune. Why this spade, this place?\\r\\n This slave-like habit and these looks of care?\\r\\n Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft,\\r\\n Hug their diseas\\'d perfumes, and have forgot\\r\\n That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods\\r\\n By putting on the cunning of a carper.\\r\\n Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive\\r\\n By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee,\\r\\n And let his very breath whom thou\\'lt observe\\r\\n Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain,\\r\\n And call it excellent. Thou wast told thus;\\r\\n Thou gav\\'st thine ears, like tapsters that bade welcome,\\r\\n To knaves and all approachers. \\'Tis most just\\r\\n That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again\\r\\n Rascals should have\\'t. Do not assume my likeness.\\r\\n TIMON. Were I like thee, I\\'d throw away myself.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself;\\r\\n A madman so long, now a fool. What, think\\'st\\r\\n That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain,\\r\\n Will put thy shirt on warm? Will these moist trees,\\r\\n That have outliv\\'d the eagle, page thy heels\\r\\n And skip when thou point\\'st out? Will the cold brook,\\r\\n Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste\\r\\n To cure thy o\\'ernight\\'s surfeit? Call the creatures\\r\\n Whose naked natures live in all the spite\\r\\n Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks,\\r\\n To the conflicting elements expos\\'d,\\r\\n Answer mere nature- bid them flatter thee.\\r\\n O, thou shalt find-\\r\\n TIMON. A fool of thee. Depart.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I love thee better now than e\\'er I did.\\r\\n TIMON. I hate thee worse.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Why?\\r\\n TIMON. Thou flatter\\'st misery.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I flatter not, but say thou art a caitiff.\\r\\n TIMON. Why dost thou seek me out?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. To vex thee.\\r\\n TIMON. Always a villain\\'s office or a fool\\'s.\\r\\n Dost please thyself in\\'t?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ay.\\r\\n TIMON. What, a knave too?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on\\r\\n To castigate thy pride, \\'twere well; but thou\\r\\n Dost it enforcedly. Thou\\'dst courtier be again\\r\\n Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery\\r\\n Outlives incertain pomp, is crown\\'d before.\\r\\n The one is filling still, never complete;\\r\\n The other, at high wish. Best state, contentless,\\r\\n Hath a distracted and most wretched being,\\r\\n Worse than the worst, content.\\r\\n Thou should\\'st desire to die, being miserable.\\r\\n TIMON. Not by his breath that is more miserable.\\r\\n Thou art a slave whom Fortune\\'s tender arm\\r\\n With favour never clasp\\'d, but bred a dog.\\r\\n Hadst thou, like us from our first swath, proceeded\\r\\n The sweet degrees that this brief world affords\\r\\n To such as may the passive drugs of it\\r\\n Freely command, thou wouldst have plung\\'d thyself\\r\\n In general riot, melted down thy youth\\r\\n In different beds of lust, and never learn\\'d\\r\\n The icy precepts of respect, but followed\\r\\n The sug\\'red game before thee. But myself,\\r\\n Who had the world as my confectionary;\\r\\n The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men\\r\\n At duty, more than I could frame employment;\\r\\n That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves\\r\\n Do on the oak, have with one winter\\'s brush\\r\\n Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare\\r\\n For every storm that blows- I to bear this,\\r\\n That never knew but better, is some burden.\\r\\n Thy nature did commence in sufferance; time\\r\\n Hath made thee hard in\\'t. Why shouldst thou hate men?\\r\\n They never flatter\\'d thee. What hast thou given?\\r\\n If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag,\\r\\n Must be thy subject; who, in spite, put stuff\\r\\n To some she-beggar and compounded thee\\r\\n Poor rogue hereditary. Hence, be gone.\\r\\n If thou hadst not been born the worst of men,\\r\\n Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Art thou proud yet?\\r\\n TIMON. Ay, that I am not thee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I, that I was\\r\\n No prodigal.\\r\\n TIMON. I, that I am one now.\\r\\n Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee,\\r\\n I\\'d give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone.\\r\\n That the whole life of Athens were in this!\\r\\n Thus would I eat it. [Eating a root]\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Here! I will mend thy feast.\\r\\n [Offering him food]\\r\\n TIMON. First mend my company: take away thyself.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. So I shall mend mine own by th\\' lack of thine.\\r\\n TIMON. \\'Tis not well mended so; it is but botch\\'d.\\r\\n If not, I would it were.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. What wouldst thou have to Athens?\\r\\n TIMON. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt,\\r\\n Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Here is no use for gold.\\r\\n TIMON. The best and truest;\\r\\n For here it sleeps and does no hired harm.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Where liest a nights, Timon?\\r\\n TIMON. Under that\\'s above me.\\r\\n Where feed\\'st thou a days, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Where my stomach. finds meat; or rather, where I eat it.\\r\\n TIMON. Would poison were obedient, and knew my mind!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Where wouldst thou send it?\\r\\n TIMON. To sauce thy dishes.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. The middle of humanity thou never knewest, but the\\r\\n extremity of both ends. When thou wast in thy gilt and thy\\r\\n perfume, they mock\\'d thee for too much curiosity; in thy rags\\r\\n thou know\\'st none, but art despis\\'d for the contrary. There\\'s a\\r\\n medlar for thee; eat it.\\r\\n TIMON. On what I hate I feed not.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Dost hate a medlar?\\r\\n TIMON. Ay, though it look like thee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. An th\\' hadst hated medlars sooner, thou shouldst have\\r\\n loved thyself better now. What man didst thou ever know unthrift\\r\\n that was beloved after his means?\\r\\n TIMON. Who, without those means thou talk\\'st of, didst thou ever\\r\\n know belov\\'d?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Myself.\\r\\n TIMON. I understand thee: thou hadst some means to keep a dog.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. What things in the world canst thou nearest compare to\\r\\n thy flatterers?\\r\\n TIMON. Women nearest; but men, men are the things themselves. What\\r\\n wouldst thou do with the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy\\r\\n power?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men.\\r\\n TIMON. Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the confusion of men, and\\r\\n remain a beast with the beasts?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ay, Timon.\\r\\n TIMON. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee t\\' attain to!\\r\\n If thou wert the lion, the fox would beguile thee; if thou wert\\r\\n the lamb, the fox would eat thee; if thou wert the fox, the lion\\r\\n would suspect thee, when, peradventure, thou wert accus\\'d by the\\r\\n ass. If thou wert the ass, thy dulness would torment thee; and\\r\\n still thou liv\\'dst but as a breakfast to the wolf. If thou wert\\r\\n the wolf, thy greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou\\r\\n shouldst hazard thy life for thy dinner. Wert thou the unicorn,\\r\\n pride and wrath would confound thee, and make thine own self the\\r\\n conquest of thy fury. Wert thou bear, thou wouldst be kill\\'d by\\r\\n the horse; wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be seiz\\'d by the\\r\\n leopard; wert thou a leopard, thou wert german to the lion, and\\r\\n the spots of thy kindred were jurors on thy life. All thy safety\\r\\n were remotion, and thy defence absence. What beast couldst thou\\r\\n be that were not subject to a beast? And what beast art thou\\r\\n already, that seest not thy loss in transformation!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. If thou couldst please me with speaking to me, thou\\r\\n mightst have hit upon it here. The commonwealth of Athens is\\r\\n become a forest of beasts.\\r\\n TIMON. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art out of the\\r\\n city?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Yonder comes a poet and a painter. The plague of company\\r\\n light upon thee! I will fear to catch it, and give way. When I\\r\\n know not what else to do, I\\'ll see thee again.\\r\\n TIMON. When there is nothing living but thee, thou shalt be\\r\\n welcome. I had rather be a beggar\\'s dog than Apemantus.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou art the cap of all the fools alive.\\r\\n TIMON. Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. A plague on thee! thou art too bad to curse.\\r\\n TIMON. All villains that do stand by thee are pure.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. There is no leprosy but what thou speak\\'st.\\r\\n TIMON. If I name thee.\\r\\n I\\'ll beat thee- but I should infect my hands.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I would my tongue could rot them off!\\r\\n TIMON. Away, thou issue of a mangy dog!\\r\\n Choler does kill me that thou art alive;\\r\\n I swoon to see thee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Would thou wouldst burst!\\r\\n TIMON. Away,\\r\\n Thou tedious rogue! I am sorry I shall lose\\r\\n A stone by thee. [Throws a stone at him]\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Beast!\\r\\n TIMON. Slave!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Toad!\\r\\n TIMON. Rogue, rogue, rogue!\\r\\n I am sick of this false world, and will love nought\\r\\n But even the mere necessities upon\\'t.\\r\\n Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave;\\r\\n Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat\\r\\n Thy gravestone daily; make thine epitaph,\\r\\n That death in me at others\\' lives may laugh.\\r\\n [Looks at the gold] O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce\\r\\n \\'Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler\\r\\n Of Hymen\\'s purest bed! thou valiant Mars!\\r\\n Thou ever young, fresh, lov\\'d, and delicate wooer,\\r\\n Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow\\r\\n That lies on Dian\\'s lap! thou visible god,\\r\\n That sold\\'rest close impossibilities,\\r\\n And mak\\'st them kiss! that speak\\'st with every tongue\\r\\n To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts!\\r\\n Think thy slave man rebels, and by thy virtue\\r\\n Set them into confounding odds, that beasts\\r\\n May have the world in empire!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Would \\'twere so!\\r\\n But not till I am dead. I\\'ll say th\\' hast gold.\\r\\n Thou wilt be throng\\'d to shortly.\\r\\n TIMON. Throng\\'d to?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ay.\\r\\n TIMON. Thy back, I prithee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Live, and love thy misery!\\r\\n TIMON. Long live so, and so die! [Exit APEMANTUS] I am quit. More\\r\\n things like men? Eat, Timon, and abhor them.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the BANDITTI\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST BANDIT. Where should he have this gold? It is some poor\\r\\n fragment, some slender ort of his remainder. The mere want of\\r\\n gold and the falling-from of his friends drove him into this\\r\\n melancholy.\\r\\n SECOND BANDIT. It is nois\\'d he hath a mass of treasure.\\r\\n THIRD BANDIT. Let us make the assay upon him; if he care not for\\'t,\\r\\n he will supply us easily; if he covetously reserve it, how\\r\\n shall\\'s get it?\\r\\n SECOND BANDIT. True; for he bears it not about him. \\'Tis hid.\\r\\n FIRST BANDIT. Is not this he?\\r\\n BANDITTI. Where?\\r\\n SECOND BANDIT. \\'Tis his description.\\r\\n THIRD BANDIT. He; I know him.\\r\\n BANDITTI. Save thee, Timon!\\r\\n TIMON. Now, thieves?\\r\\n BANDITTI. Soldiers, not thieves.\\r\\n TIMON. Both too, and women\\'s sons.\\r\\n BANDITTI. We are not thieves, but men that much do want.\\r\\n TIMON. Your greatest want is, you want much of meat.\\r\\n Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots;\\r\\n Within this mile break forth a hundred springs;\\r\\n The oaks bear mast, the briars scarlet hips;\\r\\n The bounteous housewife Nature on each bush\\r\\n Lays her full mess before you. Want! Why want?\\r\\n FIRST BANDIT. We cannot live on grass, on berries, water,\\r\\n As beasts and birds and fishes.\\r\\n TIMON. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and fishes;\\r\\n You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con\\r\\n That you are thieves profess\\'d, that you work not\\r\\n In holier shapes; for there is boundless theft\\r\\n In limited professions. Rascal thieves,\\r\\n Here\\'s gold. Go, suck the subtle blood o\\' th\\' grape\\r\\n Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth,\\r\\n And so scape hanging. Trust not the physician;\\r\\n His antidotes are poison, and he slays\\r\\n Moe than you rob. Take wealth and lives together;\\r\\n Do villainy, do, since you protest to do\\'t,\\r\\n Like workmen. I\\'ll example you with thievery:\\r\\n The sun\\'s a thief, and with his great attraction\\r\\n Robs the vast sea; the moon\\'s an arrant thief,\\r\\n And her pale fire she snatches from the sun;\\r\\n The sea\\'s a thief, whose liquid surge resolves\\r\\n The moon into salt tears; the earth\\'s a thief,\\r\\n That feeds and breeds by a composture stol\\'n\\r\\n From gen\\'ral excrement- each thing\\'s a thief.\\r\\n The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power\\r\\n Has uncheck\\'d theft. Love not yourselves; away,\\r\\n Rob one another. There\\'s more gold. Cut throats;\\r\\n All that you meet are thieves. To Athens go,\\r\\n Break open shops; nothing can you steal\\r\\n But thieves do lose it. Steal not less for this\\r\\n I give you; and gold confound you howsoe\\'er!\\r\\n Amen.\\r\\n THIRD BANDIT. Has almost charm\\'d me from my profession by\\r\\n persuading me to it.\\r\\n FIRST BANDIT. \\'Tis in the malice of mankind that he thus advises\\r\\n us; not to have us thrive in our mystery.\\r\\n SECOND BANDIT. I\\'ll believe him as an enemy, and give over my\\r\\n trade.\\r\\n FIRST BANDIT. Let us first see peace in Athens. There is no time so\\r\\n miserable but a man may be true. Exeunt THIEVES\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FLAVIUS, to TIMON\\r\\n\\r\\n FLAVIUS. O you gods!\\r\\n Is yond despis\\'d and ruinous man my lord?\\r\\n Full of decay and failing? O monument\\r\\n And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow\\'d!\\r\\n What an alteration of honour\\r\\n Has desp\\'rate want made!\\r\\n What viler thing upon the earth than friends,\\r\\n Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends!\\r\\n How rarely does it meet with this time\\'s guise,\\r\\n When man was wish\\'d to love his enemies!\\r\\n Grant I may ever love, and rather woo\\r\\n Those that would mischief me than those that do!\\r\\n Has caught me in his eye; I will present\\r\\n My honest grief unto him, and as my lord\\r\\n Still serve him with my life. My dearest master!\\r\\n TIMON. Away! What art thou?\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Have you forgot me, sir?\\r\\n TIMON. Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men;\\r\\n Then, if thou grant\\'st th\\'art a man, I have forgot thee.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. An honest poor servant of yours.\\r\\n TIMON. Then I know thee not.\\r\\n I never had honest man about me, I.\\r\\n All I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. The gods are witness,\\r\\n Nev\\'r did poor steward wear a truer grief\\r\\n For his undone lord than mine eyes for you.\\r\\n TIMON. What, dost thou weep? Come nearer. Then I love thee\\r\\n Because thou art a woman and disclaim\\'st\\r\\n Flinty mankind, whose eyes do never give\\r\\n But thorough lust and laughter. Pity\\'s sleeping.\\r\\n Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with weeping!\\r\\n FLAVIUS. I beg of you to know me, good my lord,\\r\\n T\\' accept my grief, and whilst this poor wealth lasts\\r\\n To entertain me as your steward still.\\r\\n TIMON. Had I a steward\\r\\n So true, so just, and now so comfortable?\\r\\n It almost turns my dangerous nature mild.\\r\\n Let me behold thy face. Surely, this man\\r\\n Was born of woman.\\r\\n Forgive my general and exceptless rashness,\\r\\n You perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim\\r\\n One honest man- mistake me not, but one;\\r\\n No more, I pray- and he\\'s a steward.\\r\\n How fain would I have hated all mankind!\\r\\n And thou redeem\\'st thyself. But all, save thee,\\r\\n I fell with curses.\\r\\n Methinks thou art more honest now than wise;\\r\\n For by oppressing and betraying me\\r\\n Thou mightst have sooner got another service;\\r\\n For many so arrive at second masters\\r\\n Upon their first lord\\'s neck. But tell me true,\\r\\n For I must ever doubt though ne\\'er so sure,\\r\\n Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous,\\r\\n If not a usuring kindness, and as rich men deal gifts,\\r\\n Expecting in return twenty for one?\\r\\n FLAVIUS. No, my most worthy master, in whose breast\\r\\n Doubt and suspect, alas, are plac\\'d too late!\\r\\n You should have fear\\'d false times when you did feast:\\r\\n Suspect still comes where an estate is least.\\r\\n That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love,\\r\\n Duty, and zeal, to your unmatched mind,\\r\\n Care of your food and living; and believe it,\\r\\n My most honour\\'d lord,\\r\\n For any benefit that points to me,\\r\\n Either in hope or present, I\\'d exchange\\r\\n For this one wish, that you had power and wealth\\r\\n To requite me by making rich yourself.\\r\\n TIMON. Look thee, \\'tis so! Thou singly honest man,\\r\\n Here, take. The gods, out of my misery,\\r\\n Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy,\\r\\n But thus condition\\'d; thou shalt build from men;\\r\\n Hate all, curse all, show charity to none,\\r\\n But let the famish\\'d flesh slide from the bone\\r\\n Ere thou relieve the beggar. Give to dogs\\r\\n What thou deniest to men; let prisons swallow \\'em,\\r\\n Debts wither \\'em to nothing. Be men like blasted woods,\\r\\n And may diseases lick up their false bloods!\\r\\n And so, farewell and thrive.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. O, let me stay\\r\\n And comfort you, my master.\\r\\n TIMON. If thou hat\\'st curses,\\r\\n Stay not; fly whilst thou art blest and free.\\r\\n Ne\\'er see thou man, and let me ne\\'er see thee.\\r\\n Exeunt severally\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. The woods. Before TIMON\\'s cave\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter POET and PAINTER\\r\\n\\r\\n PAINTER. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he\\r\\n abides.\\r\\n POET. to be thought of him? Does the rumour hold for true that he\\'s\\r\\n so full of gold?\\r\\n PAINTER. Certain. Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had\\r\\n gold of him. He likewise enrich\\'d poor straggling soldiers with\\r\\n great quantity. \\'Tis said he gave unto his steward a mighty sum.\\r\\n POET. Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends?\\r\\n PAINTER. Nothing else. You shall see him a palm in Athens again,\\r\\n and flourish with the highest. Therefore \\'tis not amiss we tender\\r\\n our loves to him in this suppos\\'d distress of his; it will show\\r\\n honestly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with what\\r\\n they travail for, if it be just and true report that goes of his\\r\\n having.\\r\\n POET. What have you now to present unto him?\\r\\n PAINTER. Nothing at this time but my visitation; only I will\\r\\n promise him an excellent piece.\\r\\n POET. I must serve him so too, tell him of an intent that\\'s coming\\r\\n toward him.\\r\\n PAINTER. Good as the best. Promising is the very air o\\' th\\' time;\\r\\n it opens the eyes of expectation. Performance is ever the duller\\r\\n for his act, and but in the plainer and simpler kind of people\\r\\n the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most\\r\\n courtly and fashionable; performance is a kind of will or\\r\\n testament which argues a great sickness in his judgment that\\r\\n makes it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TIMON from his cave\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. [Aside] Excellent workman! Thou canst not paint a man so bad\\r\\n as is thyself.\\r\\n POET. I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him. It\\r\\n must be a personating of himself; a satire against the softness\\r\\n of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that\\r\\n follow youth and opulency.\\r\\n TIMON. [Aside] Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own\\r\\n work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have\\r\\n gold for thee.\\r\\n POET. Nay, let\\'s seek him;\\r\\n Then do we sin against our own estate\\r\\n When we may profit meet and come too late.\\r\\n PAINTER. True;\\r\\n When the day serves, before black-corner\\'d night,\\r\\n Find what thou want\\'st by free and offer\\'d light.\\r\\n Come.\\r\\n TIMON. [Aside] I\\'ll meet you at the turn. What a god\\'s gold,\\r\\n That he is worshipp\\'d in a baser temple\\r\\n Than where swine feed!\\r\\n \\'Tis thou that rig\\'st the bark and plough\\'st the foam,\\r\\n Settlest admired reverence in a slave.\\r\\n To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye\\r\\n Be crown\\'d with plagues, that thee alone obey!\\r\\n Fit I meet them. [Advancing from his cave]\\r\\n POET. Hail, worthy Timon!\\r\\n PAINTER. Our late noble master!\\r\\n TIMON. Have I once liv\\'d to see two honest men?\\r\\n POET. Sir,\\r\\n Having often of your open bounty tasted,\\r\\n Hearing you were retir\\'d, your friends fall\\'n off,\\r\\n Whose thankless natures- O abhorred spirits!-\\r\\n Not all the whips of heaven are large enough-\\r\\n What! to you,\\r\\n Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence\\r\\n To their whole being! I am rapt, and cannot cover\\r\\n The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude\\r\\n With any size of words.\\r\\n TIMON. Let it go naked: men may see\\'t the better.\\r\\n You that are honest, by being what you are,\\r\\n Make them best seen and known.\\r\\n PAINTER. He and myself\\r\\n Have travail\\'d in the great show\\'r of your gifts,\\r\\n And sweetly felt it.\\r\\n TIMON. Ay, you are honest men.\\r\\n PAINTER. We are hither come to offer you our service.\\r\\n TIMON. Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you?\\r\\n Can you eat roots, and drink cold water- No?\\r\\n BOTH. What we can do, we\\'ll do, to do you service.\\r\\n TIMON. Y\\'are honest men. Y\\'have heard that I have gold;\\r\\n I am sure you have. Speak truth; y\\'are honest men.\\r\\n PAINTER. So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore\\r\\n Came not my friend nor I.\\r\\n TIMON. Good honest men! Thou draw\\'st a counterfeit\\r\\n Best in all Athens. Th\\'art indeed the best;\\r\\n Thou counterfeit\\'st most lively.\\r\\n PAINTER. So, so, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. E\\'en so, sir, as I say. [To To POET] And for thy fiction,\\r\\n Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth\\r\\n That thou art even natural in thine art.\\r\\n But for all this, my honest-natur\\'d friends,\\r\\n I must needs say you have a little fault.\\r\\n Marry, \\'tis not monstrous in you; neither wish I\\r\\n You take much pains to mend.\\r\\n BOTH. Beseech your honour\\r\\n To make it known to us.\\r\\n TIMON. You\\'ll take it ill.\\r\\n BOTH. Most thankfully, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. Will you indeed?\\r\\n BOTH. Doubt it not, worthy lord.\\r\\n TIMON. There\\'s never a one of you but trusts a knave\\r\\n That mightily deceives you.\\r\\n BOTH. Do we, my lord?\\r\\n TIMON. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble,\\r\\n Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him,\\r\\n Keep in your bosom; yet remain assur\\'d\\r\\n That he\\'s a made-up villain.\\r\\n PAINTER. I know not such, my lord.\\r\\n POET. Nor I.\\r\\n TIMON. Look you, I love you well; I\\'ll give you gold,\\r\\n Rid me these villains from your companies.\\r\\n Hang them or stab them, drown them in a draught,\\r\\n Confound them by some course, and come to me,\\r\\n I\\'ll give you gold enough.\\r\\n BOTH. Name them, my lord; let\\'s know them.\\r\\n TIMON. You that way, and you this- but two in company;\\r\\n Each man apart, all single and alone,\\r\\n Yet an arch-villain keeps him company.\\r\\n [To the PAINTER] If, where thou art, two villians shall not be,\\r\\n Come not near him. [To the POET] If thou wouldst not reside\\r\\n But where one villain is, then him abandon.-\\r\\n Hence, pack! there\\'s gold; you came for gold, ye slaves.\\r\\n [To the PAINTER] You have work for me; there\\'s payment; hence!\\r\\n [To the POET] You are an alchemist; make gold of that.-\\r\\n Out, rascal dogs! [Beats and drives them out]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FLAVIUS and two SENATORS\\r\\n\\r\\n FLAVIUS. It is vain that you would speak with Timon;\\r\\n For he is set so only to himself\\r\\n That nothing but himself which looks like man\\r\\n Is friendly with him.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Bring us to his cave.\\r\\n It is our part and promise to th\\' Athenians\\r\\n To speak with Timon.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. At all times alike\\r\\n Men are not still the same; \\'twas time and griefs\\r\\n That fram\\'d him thus. Time, with his fairer hand,\\r\\n Offering the fortunes of his former days,\\r\\n The former man may make him. Bring us to him,\\r\\n And chance it as it may.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Here is his cave.\\r\\n Peace and content be here! Lord Timon! Timon!\\r\\n Look out, and speak to friends. Th\\' Athenians\\r\\n By two of their most reverend Senate greet thee.\\r\\n Speak to them, noble Timon.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TIMON out of his cave\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. Thou sun that comforts, burn. Speak and be hang\\'d!\\r\\n For each true word a blister, and each false\\r\\n Be as a cauterizing to the root o\\' th\\' tongue,\\r\\n Consuming it with speaking!\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Worthy Timon-\\r\\n TIMON. Of none but such as you, and you of Timon.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon.\\r\\n TIMON. I thank them; and would send them back the plague,\\r\\n Could I but catch it for them.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. O, forget\\r\\n What we are sorry for ourselves in thee.\\r\\n The senators with one consent of love\\r\\n Entreat thee back to Athens, who have thought\\r\\n On special dignities, which vacant lie\\r\\n For thy best use and wearing.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. They confess\\r\\n Toward thee forgetfulness too general, gross;\\r\\n Which now the public body, which doth seldom\\r\\n Play the recanter, feeling in itself\\r\\n A lack of Timon\\'s aid, hath sense withal\\r\\n Of it own fail, restraining aid to Timon,\\r\\n And send forth us to make their sorrowed render,\\r\\n Together with a recompense more fruitful\\r\\n Than their offence can weigh down by the dram;\\r\\n Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth\\r\\n As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs\\r\\n And write in thee the figures of their love,\\r\\n Ever to read them thine.\\r\\n TIMON. You witch me in it;\\r\\n Surprise me to the very brink of tears.\\r\\n Lend me a fool\\'s heart and a woman\\'s eyes,\\r\\n And I\\'ll beweep these comforts, worthy senators.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Therefore so please thee to return with us,\\r\\n And of our Athens, thine and ours, to take\\r\\n The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks,\\r\\n Allow\\'d with absolute power, and thy good name\\r\\n Live with authority. So soon we shall drive back\\r\\n Of Alcibiades th\\' approaches wild,\\r\\n Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up\\r\\n His country\\'s peace.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. And shakes his threat\\'ning sword\\r\\n Against the walls of Athens.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Therefore, Timon-\\r\\n TIMON. Well, sir, I will. Therefore I will, sir, thus:\\r\\n If Alcibiades kill my countrymen,\\r\\n Let Alcibiades know this of Timon,\\r\\n That Timon cares not. But if he sack fair Athens,\\r\\n And take our goodly aged men by th\\' beards,\\r\\n Giving our holy virgins to the stain\\r\\n Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain\\'d war,\\r\\n Then let him know- and tell him Timon speaks it\\r\\n In pity of our aged and our youth-\\r\\n I cannot choose but tell him that I care not,\\r\\n And let him take\\'t at worst; for their knives care not,\\r\\n While you have throats to answer. For myself,\\r\\n There\\'s not a whittle in th\\' unruly camp\\r\\n But I do prize it at my love before\\r\\n The reverend\\'st throat in Athens. So I leave you\\r\\n To the protection of the prosperous gods,\\r\\n As thieves to keepers.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Stay not, all\\'s in vain.\\r\\n TIMON. Why, I was writing of my epitaph;\\r\\n It will be seen to-morrow. My long sickness\\r\\n Of health and living now begins to mend,\\r\\n And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still;\\r\\n Be Alcibiades your plague, you his,\\r\\n And last so long enough!\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. We speak in vain.\\r\\n TIMON. But yet I love my country, and am not\\r\\n One that rejoices in the common wreck,\\r\\n As common bruit doth put it.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. That\\'s well spoke.\\r\\n TIMON. Commend me to my loving countrymen-\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. These words become your lips as they pass through\\r\\n them.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. And enter in our ears like great triumphers\\r\\n In their applauding gates.\\r\\n TIMON. Commend me to them,\\r\\n And tell them that, to ease them of their griefs,\\r\\n Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses,\\r\\n Their pangs of love, with other incident throes\\r\\n That nature\\'s fragile vessel doth sustain\\r\\n In life\\'s uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them-\\r\\n I\\'ll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades\\' wrath.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. I like this well; he will return again.\\r\\n TIMON. I have a tree, which grows here in my close,\\r\\n That mine own use invites me to cut down,\\r\\n And shortly must I fell it. Tell my friends,\\r\\n Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree\\r\\n From high to low throughout, that whoso please\\r\\n To stop affliction, let him take his haste,\\r\\n Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe,\\r\\n And hang himself. I pray you do my greeting.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Trouble him no further; thus you still shall find him.\\r\\n TIMON. Come not to me again; but say to Athens\\r\\n Timon hath made his everlasting mansion\\r\\n Upon the beached verge of the salt flood,\\r\\n Who once a day with his embossed froth\\r\\n The turbulent surge shall cover. Thither come,\\r\\n And let my gravestone be your oracle.\\r\\n Lips, let sour words go by and language end:\\r\\n What is amiss, plague and infection mend!\\r\\n Graves only be men\\'s works and death their gain!\\r\\n Sun, hide thy beams. Timon hath done his reign.\\r\\n Exit TIMON into his cave\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. His discontents are unremovably\\r\\n Coupled to nature.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. Our hope in him is dead. Let us return\\r\\n And strain what other means is left unto us\\r\\n In our dear peril.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. It requires swift foot. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Before the walls of Athens\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter two other SENATORS with a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Thou hast painfully discover\\'d; are his files\\r\\n As full as thy report?\\r\\n MESSENGER. I have spoke the least.\\r\\n Besides, his expedition promises\\r\\n Present approach.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. We stand much hazard if they bring not Timon.\\r\\n MESSENGER. I met a courier, one mine ancient friend,\\r\\n Whom, though in general part we were oppos\\'d,\\r\\n Yet our old love had a particular force,\\r\\n And made us speak like friends. This man was riding\\r\\n From Alcibiades to Timon\\'s cave\\r\\n With letters of entreaty, which imported\\r\\n His fellowship i\\' th\\' cause against your city,\\r\\n In part for his sake mov\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the other SENATORS, from TIMON\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Here come our brothers.\\r\\n THIRD SENATOR. No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect.\\r\\n The enemies\\' drum is heard, and fearful scouring\\r\\n Doth choke the air with dust. In, and prepare.\\r\\n Ours is the fall, I fear; our foes the snare. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The TIMON\\'s cave, and a rude tomb seen\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a SOLDIER in the woods, seeking TIMON\\r\\n\\r\\n SOLDIER. By all description this should be the place.\\r\\n Who\\'s here? Speak, ho! No answer? What is this?\\r\\n Timon is dead, who hath outstretch\\'d his span.\\r\\n Some beast rear\\'d this; here does not live a man.\\r\\n Dead, sure; and this his grave. What\\'s on this tomb\\r\\n I cannot read; the character I\\'ll take with wax.\\r\\n Our captain hath in every figure skill,\\r\\n An ag\\'d interpreter, though young in days;\\r\\n Before proud Athens he\\'s set down by this,\\r\\n Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Before the walls of Athens\\r\\n\\r\\nTrumpets sound. Enter ALCIBIADES with his powers before Athens\\r\\n\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Sound to this coward and lascivious town\\r\\n Our terrible approach.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound a parley. The SENATORS appear upon the walls\\r\\n\\r\\n Till now you have gone on and fill\\'d the time\\r\\n With all licentious measure, making your wills\\r\\n The scope of justice; till now, myself, and such\\r\\n As slept within the shadow of your power,\\r\\n Have wander\\'d with our travers\\'d arms, and breath\\'d\\r\\n Our sufferance vainly. Now the time is flush,\\r\\n When crouching marrow, in the bearer strong,\\r\\n Cries of itself \\'No more!\\' Now breathless wrong\\r\\n Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease,\\r\\n And pursy insolence shall break his wind\\r\\n With fear and horrid flight.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Noble and young,\\r\\n When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit,\\r\\n Ere thou hadst power or we had cause of fear,\\r\\n We sent to thee, to give thy rages balm,\\r\\n To wipe out our ingratitude with loves\\r\\n Above their quantity.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. So did we woo\\r\\n Transformed Timon to our city\\'s love\\r\\n By humble message and by promis\\'d means.\\r\\n We were not all unkind, nor all deserve\\r\\n The common stroke of war.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. These walls of ours\\r\\n Were not erected by their hands from whom\\r\\n You have receiv\\'d your griefs; nor are they such\\r\\n That these great tow\\'rs, trophies, and schools, should fall\\r\\n For private faults in them.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. Nor are they living\\r\\n Who were the motives that you first went out;\\r\\n Shame, that they wanted cunning, in excess\\r\\n Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord,\\r\\n Into our city with thy banners spread.\\r\\n By decimation and a tithed death-\\r\\n If thy revenges hunger for that food\\r\\n Which nature loathes- take thou the destin\\'d tenth,\\r\\n And by the hazard of the spotted die\\r\\n Let die the spotted.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. All have not offended;\\r\\n For those that were, it is not square to take,\\r\\n On those that are, revenge: crimes, like lands,\\r\\n Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman,\\r\\n Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage;\\r\\n Spare thy Athenian cradle, and those kin\\r\\n Which, in the bluster of thy wrath, must fall\\r\\n With those that have offended. Like a shepherd\\r\\n Approach the fold and cull th\\' infected forth,\\r\\n But kill not all together.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. What thou wilt,\\r\\n Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile\\r\\n Than hew to\\'t with thy sword.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Set but thy foot\\r\\n Against our rampir\\'d gates and they shall ope,\\r\\n So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before\\r\\n To say thou\\'t enter friendly.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. Throw thy glove,\\r\\n Or any token of thine honour else,\\r\\n That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress\\r\\n And not as our confusion, all thy powers\\r\\n Shall make their harbour in our town till we\\r\\n Have seal\\'d thy full desire.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Then there\\'s my glove;\\r\\n Descend, and open your uncharged ports.\\r\\n Those enemies of Timon\\'s and mine own,\\r\\n Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof,\\r\\n Fall, and no more. And, to atone your fears\\r\\n With my more noble meaning, not a man\\r\\n Shall pass his quarter or offend the stream\\r\\n Of regular justice in your city\\'s bounds,\\r\\n But shall be render\\'d to your public laws\\r\\n At heaviest answer.\\r\\n BOTH. \\'Tis most nobly spoken.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Descend, and keep your words.\\r\\n [The SENATORS descend and open the gates]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a SOLDIER as a Messenger\\r\\n\\r\\n SOLDIER. My noble General, Timon is dead;\\r\\n Entomb\\'d upon the very hem o\\' th\\' sea;\\r\\n And on his grave-stone this insculpture, which\\r\\n With wax I brought away, whose soft impression\\r\\n Interprets for my poor ignorance.\\r\\n\\r\\n ALCIBIADES reads the Epitaph\\r\\n\\r\\n \\'Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft;\\r\\n Seek not my name. A plague consume you wicked caitiffs left!\\r\\n Here lie I, Timon, who alive all living men did hate.\\r\\n Pass by, and curse thy fill; but pass, and stay not here thy\\r\\n gait.\\'\\r\\n These well express in thee thy latter spirits.\\r\\n Though thou abhorr\\'dst in us our human griefs,\\r\\n Scorn\\'dst our brain\\'s flow, and those our droplets which\\r\\n From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit\\r\\n Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye\\r\\n On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead\\r\\n Is noble Timon, of whose memory\\r\\n Hereafter more. Bring me into your city,\\r\\n And I will use the olive, with my sword;\\r\\n Make war breed peace, make peace stint war, make each\\r\\n Prescribe to other, as each other\\'s leech.\\r\\n Let our drums strike. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE TRAGEDY OF TITUS ANDRONICUS\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personae\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS, son to the late Emperor of Rome, afterwards Emperor\\r\\n BASSIANUS, brother to Saturninus\\r\\n TITUS ANDRONICUS, a noble Roman\\r\\n MARCUS ANDRONICUS, Tribune of the People, and brother to Titus\\r\\n\\r\\n Sons to Titus Andronicus:\\r\\n LUCIUS\\r\\n QUINTUS\\r\\n MARTIUS\\r\\n MUTIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n YOUNG LUCIUS, a boy, son to Lucius\\r\\n PUBLIUS, son to Marcus Andronicus\\r\\n\\r\\n Kinsmen to Titus:\\r\\n SEMPRONIUS\\r\\n CAIUS\\r\\n VALENTINE\\r\\n\\r\\n AEMILIUS, a noble Roman\\r\\n\\r\\n Sons to Tamora:\\r\\n ALARBUS\\r\\n DEMETRIUS\\r\\n CHIRON\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON, a Moor, beloved by Tamora\\r\\n A CAPTAIN\\r\\n A MESSENGER\\r\\n A CLOWN\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA, Queen of the Goths\\r\\n LAVINIA, daughter to Titus Andronicus\\r\\n A NURSE, and a black CHILD\\r\\n\\r\\n Romans and Goths, Senators, Tribunes, Officers, Soldiers, and\\r\\n Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE: Rome and the neighbourhood\\r\\n\\r\\nACT 1. SCENE I. Rome. Before the Capitol\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter the TRIBUNES and SENATORS aloft; and then enter below\\r\\nSATURNINUS and his followers at one door, and BASSIANUS and his\\r\\nfollowers at the other, with drums and trumpets\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Noble patricians, patrons of my right,\\r\\n Defend the justice of my cause with arms;\\r\\n And, countrymen, my loving followers,\\r\\n Plead my successive title with your swords.\\r\\n I am his first born son that was the last\\r\\n That ware the imperial diadem of Rome;\\r\\n Then let my father\\'s honours live in me,\\r\\n Nor wrong mine age with this indignity.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Romans, friends, followers, favourers of my right,\\r\\n If ever Bassianus, Caesar\\'s son,\\r\\n Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome,\\r\\n Keep then this passage to the Capitol;\\r\\n And suffer not dishonour to approach\\r\\n The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate,\\r\\n To justice, continence, and nobility;\\r\\n But let desert in pure election shine;\\r\\n And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS aloft, with the crown\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCUS. Princes, that strive by factions and by friends\\r\\n Ambitiously for rule and empery,\\r\\n Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand\\r\\n A special party, have by common voice\\r\\n In election for the Roman empery\\r\\n Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius\\r\\n For many good and great deserts to Rome.\\r\\n A nobler man, a braver warrior,\\r\\n Lives not this day within the city walls.\\r\\n He by the Senate is accited home,\\r\\n From weary wars against the barbarous Goths,\\r\\n That with his sons, a terror to our foes,\\r\\n Hath yok\\'d a nation strong, train\\'d up in arms.\\r\\n Ten years are spent since first he undertook\\r\\n This cause of Rome, and chastised with arms\\r\\n Our enemies\\' pride; five times he hath return\\'d\\r\\n Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons\\r\\n In coffins from the field; and at this day\\r\\n To the monument of that Andronici\\r\\n Done sacrifice of expiation,\\r\\n And slain the noblest prisoner of the Goths.\\r\\n And now at last, laden with honour\\'s spoils,\\r\\n Returns the good Andronicus to Rome,\\r\\n Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms.\\r\\n Let us entreat, by honour of his name\\r\\n Whom worthily you would have now succeed,\\r\\n And in the Capitol and Senate\\'s right,\\r\\n Whom you pretend to honour and adore,\\r\\n That you withdraw you and abate your strength,\\r\\n Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should,\\r\\n Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. How fair the Tribune speaks to calm my thoughts.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy\\r\\n In thy uprightness and integrity,\\r\\n And so I love and honour thee and thine,\\r\\n Thy noble brother Titus and his sons,\\r\\n And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all,\\r\\n Gracious Lavinia, Rome\\'s rich ornament,\\r\\n That I will here dismiss my loving friends,\\r\\n And to my fortunes and the people\\'s favour\\r\\n Commit my cause in balance to be weigh\\'d.\\r\\n Exeunt the soldiers of BASSIANUS\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Friends, that have been thus forward in my right,\\r\\n I thank you all and here dismiss you all,\\r\\n And to the love and favour of my country\\r\\n Commit myself, my person, and the cause.\\r\\n Exeunt the soldiers of SATURNINUS\\r\\n Rome, be as just and gracious unto me\\r\\n As I am confident and kind to thee.\\r\\n Open the gates and let me in.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor.\\r\\n [Flourish. They go up into the Senate House]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a CAPTAIN\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPTAIN. Romans, make way. The good Andronicus,\\r\\n Patron of virtue, Rome\\'s best champion,\\r\\n Successful in the battles that he fights,\\r\\n With honour and with fortune is return\\'d\\r\\n From where he circumscribed with his sword\\r\\n And brought to yoke the enemies of Rome.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound drums and trumpets, and then enter MARTIUS and MUTIUS,\\r\\n two of TITUS\\' sons; and then two men bearing a coffin covered\\r\\n with black; then LUCIUS and QUINTUS, two other sons; then TITUS\\r\\n ANDRONICUS; and then TAMORA the Queen of Goths, with her three\\r\\n sons, ALARBUS, DEMETRIUS, and CHIRON, with AARON the Moor, and\\r\\n others, as many as can be. Then set down the coffin and TITUS\\r\\n speaks\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds!\\r\\n Lo, as the bark that hath discharg\\'d her fraught\\r\\n Returns with precious lading to the bay\\r\\n From whence at first she weigh\\'d her anchorage,\\r\\n Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs,\\r\\n To re-salute his country with his tears,\\r\\n Tears of true joy for his return to Rome.\\r\\n Thou great defender of this Capitol,\\r\\n Stand gracious to the rites that we intend!\\r\\n Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons,\\r\\n Half of the number that King Priam had,\\r\\n Behold the poor remains, alive and dead!\\r\\n These that survive let Rome reward with love;\\r\\n These that I bring unto their latest home,\\r\\n With burial amongst their ancestors.\\r\\n Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my sword.\\r\\n Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own,\\r\\n Why suffer\\'st thou thy sons, unburied yet,\\r\\n To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx?\\r\\n Make way to lay them by their brethren.\\r\\n [They open the tomb]\\r\\n There greet in silence, as the dead are wont,\\r\\n And sleep in peace, slain in your country\\'s wars.\\r\\n O sacred receptacle of my joys,\\r\\n Sweet cell of virtue and nobility,\\r\\n How many sons hast thou of mine in store\\r\\n That thou wilt never render to me more!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths,\\r\\n That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile\\r\\n Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh\\r\\n Before this earthy prison of their bones,\\r\\n That so the shadows be not unappeas\\'d,\\r\\n Nor we disturb\\'d with prodigies on earth.\\r\\n TITUS. I give him you- the noblest that survives,\\r\\n The eldest son of this distressed queen.\\r\\n TAMORA. Stay, Roman brethen! Gracious conqueror,\\r\\n Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed,\\r\\n A mother\\'s tears in passion for her son;\\r\\n And if thy sons were ever dear to thee,\\r\\n O, think my son to be as dear to me!\\r\\n Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome\\r\\n To beautify thy triumphs, and return\\r\\n Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke;\\r\\n But must my sons be slaughtered in the streets\\r\\n For valiant doings in their country\\'s cause?\\r\\n O, if to fight for king and commonweal\\r\\n Were piety in thine, it is in these.\\r\\n Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood.\\r\\n Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods?\\r\\n Draw near them then in being merciful.\\r\\n Sweet mercy is nobility\\'s true badge.\\r\\n Thrice-noble Titus, spare my first-born son.\\r\\n TITUS. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me.\\r\\n These are their brethren, whom your Goths beheld\\r\\n Alive and dead; and for their brethren slain\\r\\n Religiously they ask a sacrifice.\\r\\n To this your son is mark\\'d, and die he must\\r\\n T\\' appease their groaning shadows that are gone.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Away with him, and make a fire straight;\\r\\n And with our swords, upon a pile of wood,\\r\\n Let\\'s hew his limbs till they be clean consum\\'d.\\r\\n Exeunt TITUS\\' SONS, with ALARBUS\\r\\n TAMORA. O cruel, irreligious piety!\\r\\n CHIRON. Was never Scythia half so barbarous!\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome.\\r\\n Alarbus goes to rest, and we survive\\r\\n To tremble under Titus\\' threat\\'ning look.\\r\\n Then, madam, stand resolv\\'d, but hope withal\\r\\n The self-same gods that arm\\'d the Queen of Troy\\r\\n With opportunity of sharp revenge\\r\\n Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent\\r\\n May favour Tamora, the Queen of Goths-\\r\\n When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen-\\r\\n To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and\\r\\n MUTIUS, the sons of ANDRONICUS, with their swords bloody\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS. See, lord and father, how we have perform\\'d\\r\\n Our Roman rites: Alarbus\\' limbs are lopp\\'d,\\r\\n And entrails feed the sacrificing fire,\\r\\n Whose smoke like incense doth perfume the sky.\\r\\n Remaineth nought but to inter our brethren,\\r\\n And with loud \\'larums welcome them to Rome.\\r\\n TITUS. Let it be so, and let Andronicus\\r\\n Make this his latest farewell to their souls.\\r\\n [Sound trumpets and lay the coffin in the tomb]\\r\\n In peace and honour rest you here, my sons;\\r\\n Rome\\'s readiest champions, repose you here in rest,\\r\\n Secure from worldly chances and mishaps!\\r\\n Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells,\\r\\n Here grow no damned drugs, here are no storms,\\r\\n No noise, but silence and eternal sleep.\\r\\n In peace and honour rest you here, my sons!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LAVINIA\\r\\n\\r\\n LAVINIA. In peace and honour live Lord Titus long;\\r\\n My noble lord and father, live in fame!\\r\\n Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears\\r\\n I render for my brethren\\'s obsequies;\\r\\n And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy\\r\\n Shed on this earth for thy return to Rome.\\r\\n O, bless me here with thy victorious hand,\\r\\n Whose fortunes Rome\\'s best citizens applaud!\\r\\n TITUS. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserv\\'d\\r\\n The cordial of mine age to glad my heart!\\r\\n Lavinia, live; outlive thy father\\'s days,\\r\\n And fame\\'s eternal date, for virtue\\'s praise!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, above, MARCUS ANDRONICUS and TRIBUNES;\\r\\n re-enter SATURNINUS, BASSIANUS, and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCUS. Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother,\\r\\n Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome!\\r\\n TITUS. Thanks, gentle Tribune, noble brother Marcus.\\r\\n MARCUS. And welcome, nephews, from successful wars,\\r\\n You that survive and you that sleep in fame.\\r\\n Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all\\r\\n That in your country\\'s service drew your swords;\\r\\n But safer triumph is this funeral pomp\\r\\n That hath aspir\\'d to Solon\\'s happiness\\r\\n And triumphs over chance in honour\\'s bed.\\r\\n Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome,\\r\\n Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been,\\r\\n Send thee by me, their Tribune and their trust,\\r\\n This par]iament of white and spotless hue;\\r\\n And name thee in election for the empire\\r\\n With these our late-deceased Emperor\\'s sons:\\r\\n Be candidatus then, and put it on,\\r\\n And help to set a head on headless Rome.\\r\\n TITUS. A better head her glorious body fits\\r\\n Than his that shakes for age and feebleness.\\r\\n What should I don this robe and trouble you?\\r\\n Be chosen with proclamations to-day,\\r\\n To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life,\\r\\n And set abroad new business for you all?\\r\\n Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years,\\r\\n And led my country\\'s strength successfully,\\r\\n And buried one and twenty valiant sons,\\r\\n Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms,\\r\\n In right and service of their noble country.\\r\\n Give me a staff of honour for mine age,\\r\\n But not a sceptre to control the world.\\r\\n Upright he held it, lords, that held it last.\\r\\n MARCUS. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Proud and ambitious Tribune, canst thou tell?\\r\\n TITUS. Patience, Prince Saturninus.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Romans, do me right.\\r\\n Patricians, draw your swords, and sheathe them not\\r\\n Till Saturninus be Rome\\'s Emperor.\\r\\n Andronicus, would thou were shipp\\'d to hell\\r\\n Rather than rob me of the people\\'s hearts!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good\\r\\n That noble-minded Titus means to thee!\\r\\n TITUS. Content thee, Prince; I will restore to thee\\r\\n The people\\'s hearts, and wean them from themselves.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee,\\r\\n But honour thee, and will do till I die.\\r\\n My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends,\\r\\n I will most thankful be; and thanks to men\\r\\n Of noble minds is honourable meed.\\r\\n TITUS. People of Rome, and people\\'s Tribunes here,\\r\\n I ask your voices and your suffrages:\\r\\n Will ye bestow them friendly on Andronicus?\\r\\n TRIBUNES. To gratify the good Andronicus,\\r\\n And gratulate his safe return to Rome,\\r\\n The people will accept whom he admits.\\r\\n TITUS. Tribunes, I thank you; and this suit I make,\\r\\n That you create our Emperor\\'s eldest son,\\r\\n Lord Saturnine; whose virtues will, I hope,\\r\\n Reflect on Rome as Titan\\'s rays on earth,\\r\\n And ripen justice in this commonweal.\\r\\n Then, if you will elect by my advice,\\r\\n Crown him, and say \\'Long live our Emperor!\\'\\r\\n MARCUS. With voices and applause of every sort,\\r\\n Patricians and plebeians, we create\\r\\n Lord Saturninus Rome\\'s great Emperor;\\r\\n And say \\'Long live our Emperor Saturnine!\\'\\r\\n [A long flourish till they come down]\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done\\r\\n To us in our election this day\\r\\n I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts,\\r\\n And will with deeds requite thy gentleness;\\r\\n And for an onset, Titus, to advance\\r\\n Thy name and honourable family,\\r\\n Lavinia will I make my emperess,\\r\\n Rome\\'s royal mistress, mistress of my heart,\\r\\n And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse.\\r\\n Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee?\\r\\n TITUS. It doth, my worthy lord, and in this match\\r\\n I hold me highly honoured of your Grace,\\r\\n And here in sight of Rome, to Saturnine,\\r\\n King and commander of our commonweal,\\r\\n The wide world\\'s Emperor, do I consecrate\\r\\n My sword, my chariot, and my prisoners,\\r\\n Presents well worthy Rome\\'s imperious lord;\\r\\n Receive them then, the tribute that I owe,\\r\\n Mine honour\\'s ensigns humbled at thy feet.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life.\\r\\n How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts\\r\\n Rome shall record; and when I do forget\\r\\n The least of these unspeakable deserts,\\r\\n Romans, forget your fealty to me.\\r\\n TITUS. [To TAMORA] Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor;\\r\\n To him that for your honour and your state\\r\\n Will use you nobly and your followers.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. [Aside] A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue\\r\\n That I would choose, were I to choose anew.-\\r\\n Clear up, fair Queen, that cloudy countenance;\\r\\n Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer,\\r\\n Thou com\\'st not to be made a scorn in Rome-\\r\\n Princely shall be thy usage every way.\\r\\n Rest on my word, and let not discontent\\r\\n Daunt all your hopes. Madam, he comforts you\\r\\n Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths.\\r\\n Lavinia, you are not displeas\\'d with this?\\r\\n LAVINIA. Not I, my lord, sith true nobility\\r\\n Warrants these words in princely courtesy.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go.\\r\\n Ransomless here we set our prisoners free.\\r\\n Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum.\\r\\n [Flourish]\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine.\\r\\n [Seizing LAVINIA]\\r\\n TITUS. How, sir! Are you in earnest then, my lord?\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Ay, noble Titus, and resolv\\'d withal\\r\\n To do myself this reason and this right.\\r\\n MARCUS. Suum cuique is our Roman justice:\\r\\n This prince in justice seizeth but his own.\\r\\n LUCIUS. And that he will and shall, if Lucius live.\\r\\n TITUS. Traitors, avaunt! Where is the Emperor\\'s guard?\\r\\n Treason, my lord- Lavinia is surpris\\'d!\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Surpris\\'d! By whom?\\r\\n BASSIANUS. By him that justly may\\r\\n Bear his betroth\\'d from all the world away.\\r\\n Exeunt BASSIANUS and MARCUS with LAVINIA\\r\\n MUTIUS. Brothers, help to convey her hence away,\\r\\n And with my sword I\\'ll keep this door safe.\\r\\n Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS\\r\\n TITUS. Follow, my lord, and I\\'ll soon bring her back.\\r\\n MUTIUS. My lord, you pass not here.\\r\\n TITUS. What, villain boy!\\r\\n Bar\\'st me my way in Rome?\\r\\n MUTIUS. Help, Lucius, help!\\r\\n TITUS kills him. During the fray, exeunt SATURNINUS,\\r\\n TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, and AARON\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Lucius\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS. My lord, you are unjust, and more than so:\\r\\n In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son.\\r\\n TITUS. Nor thou nor he are any sons of mine;\\r\\n My sons would never so dishonour me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter aloft the EMPEROR\\r\\n with TAMORA and her two Sons, and AARON the Moor\\r\\n\\r\\n Traitor, restore Lavinia to the Emperor.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife,\\r\\n That is another\\'s lawful promis\\'d love. Exit\\r\\n SATURNINUS. No, Titus, no; the Emperor needs her not,\\r\\n Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock.\\r\\n I\\'ll trust by leisure him that mocks me once;\\r\\n Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons,\\r\\n Confederates all thus to dishonour me.\\r\\n Was there none else in Rome to make a stale\\r\\n But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus,\\r\\n Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine\\r\\n That saidst I begg\\'d the empire at thy hands.\\r\\n TITUS. O monstrous! What reproachful words are these?\\r\\n SATURNINUS. But go thy ways; go, give that changing piece\\r\\n To him that flourish\\'d for her with his sword.\\r\\n A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy;\\r\\n One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons,\\r\\n To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome.\\r\\n TITUS. These words are razors to my wounded heart.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. And therefore, lovely Tamora, Queen of Goths,\\r\\n That, like the stately Phoebe \\'mongst her nymphs,\\r\\n Dost overshine the gallant\\'st dames of Rome,\\r\\n If thou be pleas\\'d with this my sudden choice,\\r\\n Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride\\r\\n And will create thee Emperess of Rome.\\r\\n Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice?\\r\\n And here I swear by all the Roman gods-\\r\\n Sith priest and holy water are so near,\\r\\n And tapers burn so bright, and everything\\r\\n In readiness for Hymenaeus stand-\\r\\n I will not re-salute the streets of Rome,\\r\\n Or climb my palace, till from forth this place\\r\\n I lead espous\\'d my bride along with me.\\r\\n TAMORA. And here in sight of heaven to Rome I swear,\\r\\n If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths,\\r\\n She will a handmaid be to his desires,\\r\\n A loving nurse, a mother to his youth.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Ascend, fair Queen, Pantheon. Lords, accompany\\r\\n Your noble Emperor and his lovely bride,\\r\\n Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine,\\r\\n Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered;\\r\\n There shall we consummate our spousal rites.\\r\\n Exeunt all but TITUS\\r\\n TITUS. I am not bid to wait upon this bride.\\r\\n TITUS, when wert thou wont to walk alone,\\r\\n Dishonoured thus, and challenged of wrongs?\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter MARCUS,\\r\\n and TITUS\\' SONS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCUS. O Titus, see, O, see what thou hast done!\\r\\n In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son.\\r\\n TITUS. No, foolish Tribune, no; no son of mine-\\r\\n Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed\\r\\n That hath dishonoured all our family;\\r\\n Unworthy brother and unworthy sons!\\r\\n LUCIUS. But let us give him burial, as becomes;\\r\\n Give Mutius burial with our bretheren.\\r\\n TITUS. Traitors, away! He rests not in this tomb.\\r\\n This monument five hundred years hath stood,\\r\\n Which I have sumptuously re-edified;\\r\\n Here none but soldiers and Rome\\'s servitors\\r\\n Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls.\\r\\n Bury him where you can, he comes not here.\\r\\n MARCUS. My lord, this is impiety in you.\\r\\n My nephew Mutius\\' deeds do plead for him;\\r\\n He must be buried with his bretheren.\\r\\n QUINTUS & MARTIUS. And shall, or him we will accompany.\\r\\n TITUS. \\'And shall!\\' What villain was it spake that word?\\r\\n QUINTUS. He that would vouch it in any place but here.\\r\\n TITUS. What, would you bury him in my despite?\\r\\n MARCUS. No, noble Titus, but entreat of thee\\r\\n To pardon Mutius and to bury him.\\r\\n TITUS. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest,\\r\\n And with these boys mine honour thou hast wounded.\\r\\n My foes I do repute you every one;\\r\\n So trouble me no more, but get you gone.\\r\\n MARTIUS. He is not with himself; let us withdraw.\\r\\n QUINTUS. Not I, till Mutius\\' bones be buried.\\r\\n [The BROTHER and the SONS kneel]\\r\\n MARCUS. Brother, for in that name doth nature plead-\\r\\n QUINTUS. Father, and in that name doth nature speak-\\r\\n TITUS. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed.\\r\\n MARCUS. Renowned Titus, more than half my soul-\\r\\n LUCIUS. Dear father, soul and substance of us all-\\r\\n MARCUS. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter\\r\\n His noble nephew here in virtue\\'s nest,\\r\\n That died in honour and Lavinia\\'s cause.\\r\\n Thou art a Roman- be not barbarous.\\r\\n The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax,\\r\\n That slew himself; and wise Laertes\\' son\\r\\n Did graciously plead for his funerals.\\r\\n Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy,\\r\\n Be barr\\'d his entrance here.\\r\\n TITUS. Rise, Marcus, rise;\\r\\n The dismal\\'st day is this that e\\'er I saw,\\r\\n To be dishonoured by my sons in Rome!\\r\\n Well, bury him, and bury me the next.\\r\\n [They put MUTIUS in the tomb]\\r\\n LUCIUS. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends,\\r\\n Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb.\\r\\n ALL. [Kneeling] No man shed tears for noble Mutius;\\r\\n He lives in fame that died in virtue\\'s cause.\\r\\n MARCUS. My lord- to step out of these dreary dumps-\\r\\n How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths\\r\\n Is of a sudden thus advanc\\'d in Rome?\\r\\n TITUS. I know not, Marcus, but I know it is-\\r\\n Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell.\\r\\n Is she not, then, beholding to the man\\r\\n That brought her for this high good turn so far?\\r\\n MARCUS. Yes, and will nobly him remunerate.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Re-enter the EMPEROR, TAMORA\\r\\n and her two SONS, with the MOOR, at one door;\\r\\n at the other door, BASSIANUS and LAVINIA, with others\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS. So, Bassianus, you have play\\'d your prize:\\r\\n God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride!\\r\\n BASSIANUS. And you of yours, my lord! I say no more,\\r\\n Nor wish no less; and so I take my leave.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Traitor, if Rome have law or we have power,\\r\\n Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own,\\r\\n My true betrothed love, and now my wife?\\r\\n But let the laws of Rome determine all;\\r\\n Meanwhile am I possess\\'d of that is mine.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. \\'Tis good, sir. You are very short with us;\\r\\n But if we live we\\'ll be as sharp with you.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. My lord, what I have done, as best I may,\\r\\n Answer I must, and shall do with my life.\\r\\n Only thus much I give your Grace to know:\\r\\n By all the duties that I owe to Rome,\\r\\n This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here,\\r\\n Is in opinion and in honour wrong\\'d,\\r\\n That, in the rescue of Lavinia,\\r\\n With his own hand did slay his youngest son,\\r\\n In zeal to you, and highly mov\\'d to wrath\\r\\n To be controll\\'d in that he frankly gave.\\r\\n Receive him then to favour, Saturnine,\\r\\n That hath express\\'d himself in all his deeds\\r\\n A father and a friend to thee and Rome.\\r\\n TITUS. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds.\\r\\n \\'Tis thou and those that have dishonoured me.\\r\\n Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge\\r\\n How I have lov\\'d and honoured Saturnine!\\r\\n TAMORA. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora\\r\\n Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine,\\r\\n Then hear me speak indifferently for all;\\r\\n And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. What, madam! be dishonoured openly,\\r\\n And basely put it up without revenge?\\r\\n TAMORA. Not so, my lord; the gods of Rome forfend\\r\\n I should be author to dishonour you!\\r\\n But on mine honour dare I undertake\\r\\n For good Lord Titus\\' innocence in all,\\r\\n Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs.\\r\\n Then at my suit look graciously on him;\\r\\n Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose,\\r\\n Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart.\\r\\n [Aside to SATURNINUS] My lord, be rul\\'d by me,\\r\\n be won at last;\\r\\n Dissemble all your griefs and discontents.\\r\\n You are but newly planted in your throne;\\r\\n Lest, then, the people, and patricians too,\\r\\n Upon a just survey take Titus\\' part,\\r\\n And so supplant you for ingratitude,\\r\\n Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin,\\r\\n Yield at entreats, and then let me alone:\\r\\n I\\'ll find a day to massacre them all,\\r\\n And raze their faction and their family,\\r\\n The cruel father and his traitorous sons,\\r\\n To whom I sued for my dear son\\'s life;\\r\\n And make them know what \\'tis to let a queen\\r\\n Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain.-\\r\\n Come, come, sweet Emperor; come, Andronicus.\\r\\n Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart\\r\\n That dies in tempest of thy angry frown.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Rise, Titus, rise; my Empress hath prevail\\'d.\\r\\n TITUS. I thank your Majesty and her, my lord;\\r\\n These words, these looks, infuse new life in me.\\r\\n TAMORA. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome,\\r\\n A Roman now adopted happily,\\r\\n And must advise the Emperor for his good.\\r\\n This day all quarrels die, Andronicus;\\r\\n And let it be mine honour, good my lord,\\r\\n That I have reconcil\\'d your friends and you.\\r\\n For you, Prince Bassianus, I have pass\\'d\\r\\n My word and promise to the Emperor\\r\\n That you will be more mild and tractable.\\r\\n And fear not, lords- and you, Lavinia.\\r\\n By my advice, all humbled on your knees,\\r\\n You shall ask pardon of his Majesty.\\r\\n LUCIUS. We do, and vow to heaven and to his Highness\\r\\n That what we did was mildly as we might,\\r\\n Tend\\'ring our sister\\'s honour and our own.\\r\\n MARCUS. That on mine honour here do I protest.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Away, and talk not; trouble us no more.\\r\\n TAMORA. Nay, nay, sweet Emperor, we must all be friends.\\r\\n The Tribune and his nephews kneel for grace.\\r\\n I will not be denied. Sweet heart, look back.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Marcus, for thy sake, and thy brother\\'s here,\\r\\n And at my lovely Tamora\\'s entreats,\\r\\n I do remit these young men\\'s heinous faults.\\r\\n Stand up.\\r\\n Lavinia, though you left me like a churl,\\r\\n I found a friend; and sure as death I swore\\r\\n I would not part a bachelor from the priest.\\r\\n Come, if the Emperor\\'s court can feast two brides,\\r\\n You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends.\\r\\n This day shall be a love-day, Tamora.\\r\\n TITUS. To-morrow, and it please your Majesty\\r\\n To hunt the panther and the hart with me,\\r\\n With horn and hound we\\'ll give your Grace bonjour.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too.\\r\\n Exeunt. Sound trumpets\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. Rome. Before the palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter AARON\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus\\' top,\\r\\n Safe out of Fortune\\'s shot, and sits aloft,\\r\\n Secure of thunder\\'s crack or lightning flash,\\r\\n Advanc\\'d above pale envy\\'s threat\\'ning reach.\\r\\n As when the golden sun salutes the morn,\\r\\n And, having gilt the ocean with his beams,\\r\\n Gallops the zodiac in his glistening coach\\r\\n And overlooks the highest-peering hills,\\r\\n So Tamora.\\r\\n Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait,\\r\\n And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown.\\r\\n Then, Aaron, arm thy heart and fit thy thoughts\\r\\n To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress,\\r\\n And mount her pitch whom thou in triumph long.\\r\\n Hast prisoner held, fett\\'red in amorous chains,\\r\\n And faster bound to Aaron\\'s charming eyes\\r\\n Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus.\\r\\n Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts!\\r\\n I will be bright and shine in pearl and gold,\\r\\n To wait upon this new-made emperess.\\r\\n To wait, said I? To wanton with this queen,\\r\\n This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph,\\r\\n This siren that will charm Rome\\'s Saturnine,\\r\\n And see his shipwreck and his commonweal\\'s.\\r\\n Hullo! what storm is this?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CHIRON and DEMETRIUS, braving\\r\\n\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Chiron, thy years wants wit, thy wits wants edge\\r\\n And manners, to intrude where I am grac\\'d,\\r\\n And may, for aught thou knowest, affected be.\\r\\n CHIRON. Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all;\\r\\n And so in this, to bear me down with braves.\\r\\n \\'Tis not the difference of a year or two\\r\\n Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate:\\r\\n I am as able and as fit as thou\\r\\n To serve and to deserve my mistress\\' grace;\\r\\n And that my sword upon thee shall approve,\\r\\n And plead my passions for Lavinia\\'s love.\\r\\n AARON. [Aside] Clubs, clubs! These lovers will not keep the\\r\\n peace.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Why, boy, although our mother, unadvis\\'d,\\r\\n Gave you a dancing rapier by your side,\\r\\n Are you so desperate grown to threat your friends?\\r\\n Go to; have your lath glued within your sheath\\r\\n Till you know better how to handle it.\\r\\n CHIRON. Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I have,\\r\\n Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Ay, boy, grow ye so brave? [They draw]\\r\\n AARON. [Coming forward] Why, how now, lords!\\r\\n So near the Emperor\\'s palace dare ye draw\\r\\n And maintain such a quarrel openly?\\r\\n Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge:\\r\\n I would not for a million of gold\\r\\n The cause were known to them it most concerns;\\r\\n Nor would your noble mother for much more\\r\\n Be so dishonoured in the court of Rome.\\r\\n For shame, put up.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Not I, till I have sheath\\'d\\r\\n My rapier in his bosom, and withal\\r\\n Thrust those reproachful speeches down his throat\\r\\n That he hath breath\\'d in my dishonour here.\\r\\n CHIRON. For that I am prepar\\'d and full resolv\\'d,\\r\\n Foul-spoken coward, that thund\\'rest with thy tongue,\\r\\n And with thy weapon nothing dar\\'st perform.\\r\\n AARON. Away, I say!\\r\\n Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore,\\r\\n This pretty brabble will undo us all.\\r\\n Why, lords, and think you not how dangerous\\r\\n It is to jet upon a prince\\'s right?\\r\\n What, is Lavinia then become so loose,\\r\\n Or Bassianus so degenerate,\\r\\n That for her love such quarrels may be broach\\'d\\r\\n Without controlment, justice, or revenge?\\r\\n Young lords, beware; an should the Empress know\\r\\n This discord\\'s ground, the music would not please.\\r\\n CHIRON. I care not, I, knew she and all the world:\\r\\n I love Lavinia more than all the world.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner choice:\\r\\n Lavina is thine elder brother\\'s hope.\\r\\n AARON. Why, are ye mad, or know ye not in Rome\\r\\n How furious and impatient they be,\\r\\n And cannot brook competitors in love?\\r\\n I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths\\r\\n By this device.\\r\\n CHIRON. Aaron, a thousand deaths\\r\\n Would I propose to achieve her whom I love.\\r\\n AARON. To achieve her- how?\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Why mak\\'st thou it so strange?\\r\\n She is a woman, therefore may be woo\\'d;\\r\\n She is a woman, therefore may be won;\\r\\n She is Lavinia, therefore must be lov\\'d.\\r\\n What, man! more water glideth by the mill\\r\\n Than wots the miller of; and easy it is\\r\\n Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know.\\r\\n Though Bassianus be the Emperor\\'s brother,\\r\\n Better than he have worn Vulcan\\'s badge.\\r\\n AARON. [Aside] Ay, and as good as Saturninus may.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Then why should he despair that knows to court it\\r\\n With words, fair looks, and liberality?\\r\\n What, hast not thou full often struck a doe,\\r\\n And borne her cleanly by the keeper\\'s nose?\\r\\n AARON. Why, then, it seems some certain snatch or so\\r\\n Would serve your turns.\\r\\n CHIRON. Ay, so the turn were served.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Aaron, thou hast hit it.\\r\\n AARON. Would you had hit it too!\\r\\n Then should not we be tir\\'d with this ado.\\r\\n Why, hark ye, hark ye! and are you such fools\\r\\n To square for this? Would it offend you, then,\\r\\n That both should speed?\\r\\n CHIRON. Faith, not me.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Nor me, so I were one.\\r\\n AARON. For shame, be friends, and join for that you jar.\\r\\n \\'Tis policy and stratagem must do\\r\\n That you affect; and so must you resolve\\r\\n That what you cannot as you would achieve,\\r\\n You must perforce accomplish as you may.\\r\\n Take this of me: Lucrece was not more chaste\\r\\n Than this Lavinia, Bassianus\\' love.\\r\\n A speedier course than ling\\'ring languishment\\r\\n Must we pursue, and I have found the path.\\r\\n My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand;\\r\\n There will the lovely Roman ladies troop;\\r\\n The forest walks are wide and spacious,\\r\\n And many unfrequented plots there are\\r\\n Fitted by kind for rape and villainy.\\r\\n Single you thither then this dainty doe,\\r\\n And strike her home by force if not by words.\\r\\n This way, or not at all, stand you in hope.\\r\\n Come, come, our Empress, with her sacred wit\\r\\n To villainy and vengeance consecrate,\\r\\n Will we acquaint with all what we intend;\\r\\n And she shall file our engines with advice\\r\\n That will not suffer you to square yourselves,\\r\\n But to your wishes\\' height advance you both.\\r\\n The Emperor\\'s court is like the house of Fame,\\r\\n The palace full of tongues, of eyes, and ears;\\r\\n The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull.\\r\\n There speak and strike, brave boys, and take your turns;\\r\\n There serve your lust, shadowed from heaven\\'s eye,\\r\\n And revel in Lavinia\\'s treasury.\\r\\n CHIRON. Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream\\r\\n To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits,\\r\\n Per Styga, per manes vehor. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A forest near Rome\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TITUS ANDRONICUS, and his three sons, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS,\\r\\nmaking a noise with hounds and horns; and MARCUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey,\\r\\n The fields are fragrant, and the woods are green.\\r\\n Uncouple here, and let us make a bay,\\r\\n And wake the Emperor and his lovely bride,\\r\\n And rouse the Prince, and ring a hunter\\'s peal,\\r\\n That all the court may echo with the noise.\\r\\n Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours,\\r\\n To attend the Emperor\\'s person carefully.\\r\\n I have been troubled in my sleep this night,\\r\\n But dawning day new comfort hath inspir\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Here a cry of hounds, and wind horns in a peal.\\r\\n Then enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA, BASSIANUS LAVINIA,\\r\\n CHIRON, DEMETRIUS, and their attendants\\r\\n Many good morrows to your Majesty!\\r\\n Madam, to you as many and as good!\\r\\n I promised your Grace a hunter\\'s peal.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. And you have rung it lustily, my lords-\\r\\n Somewhat too early for new-married ladies.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Lavinia, how say you?\\r\\n LAVINIA. I say no;\\r\\n I have been broad awake two hours and more.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Come on then, horse and chariots let us have,\\r\\n And to our sport. [To TAMORA] Madam, now shall ye see\\r\\n Our Roman hunting.\\r\\n MARCUS. I have dogs, my lord,\\r\\n Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase,\\r\\n And climb the highest promontory top.\\r\\n TITUS. And I have horse will follow where the game\\r\\n Makes way, and run like swallows o\\'er the plain.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor hound,\\r\\n But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A lonely part of the forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter AARON alone, with a bag of gold\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON. He that had wit would think that I had none,\\r\\n To bury so much gold under a tree\\r\\n And never after to inherit it.\\r\\n Let him that thinks of me so abjectly\\r\\n Know that this gold must coin a stratagem,\\r\\n Which, cunningly effected, will beget\\r\\n A very excellent piece of villainy.\\r\\n And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest\\r\\n [Hides the gold]\\r\\n That have their alms out of the Empress\\' chest.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TAMORA alone, to the Moor\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look\\'st thou sad\\r\\n When everything does make a gleeful boast?\\r\\n The birds chant melody on every bush;\\r\\n The snakes lie rolled in the cheerful sun;\\r\\n The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind\\r\\n And make a chequer\\'d shadow on the ground;\\r\\n Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit,\\r\\n And while the babbling echo mocks the hounds,\\r\\n Replying shrilly to the well-tun\\'d horns,\\r\\n As if a double hunt were heard at once,\\r\\n Let us sit down and mark their yellowing noise;\\r\\n And- after conflict such as was suppos\\'d\\r\\n The wand\\'ring prince and Dido once enjoyed,\\r\\n When with a happy storm they were surpris\\'d,\\r\\n And curtain\\'d with a counsel-keeping cave-\\r\\n We may, each wreathed in the other\\'s arms,\\r\\n Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber,\\r\\n Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds\\r\\n Be unto us as is a nurse\\'s song\\r\\n Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep.\\r\\n AARON. Madam, though Venus govern your desires,\\r\\n Saturn is dominator over mine.\\r\\n What signifies my deadly-standing eye,\\r\\n My silence and my cloudy melancholy,\\r\\n My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls\\r\\n Even as an adder when she doth unroll\\r\\n To do some fatal execution?\\r\\n No, madam, these are no venereal signs.\\r\\n Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand,\\r\\n Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.\\r\\n Hark, Tamora, the empress of my soul,\\r\\n Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee-\\r\\n This is the day of doom for Bassianus;\\r\\n His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day,\\r\\n Thy sons make pillage of her chastity,\\r\\n And wash their hands in Bassianus\\' blood.\\r\\n Seest thou this letter? Take it up, I pray thee,\\r\\n And give the King this fatal-plotted scroll.\\r\\n Now question me no more; we are espied.\\r\\n Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty,\\r\\n Which dreads not yet their lives\\' destruction.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BASSIANUS and LAVINIA\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA. Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life!\\r\\n AARON. No more, great Empress: Bassianus comes.\\r\\n Be cross with him; and I\\'ll go fetch thy sons\\r\\n To back thy quarrels, whatsoe\\'er they be. Exit\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Who have we here? Rome\\'s royal Emperess,\\r\\n Unfurnish\\'d of her well-beseeming troop?\\r\\n Or is it Dian, habited like her,\\r\\n Who hath abandoned her holy groves\\r\\n To see the general hunting in this forest?\\r\\n TAMORA. Saucy controller of my private steps!\\r\\n Had I the pow\\'r that some say Dian had,\\r\\n Thy temples should be planted presently\\r\\n With horns, as was Actaeon\\'s; and the hounds\\r\\n Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs,\\r\\n Unmannerly intruder as thou art!\\r\\n LAVINIA. Under your patience, gentle Emperess,\\r\\n \\'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning,\\r\\n And to be doubted that your Moor and you\\r\\n Are singled forth to try thy experiments.\\r\\n Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day!\\r\\n \\'Tis pity they should take him for a stag.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Believe me, Queen, your swarth Cimmerian\\r\\n Doth make your honour of his body\\'s hue,\\r\\n Spotted, detested, and abominable.\\r\\n Why are you sequest\\'red from all your train,\\r\\n Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed,\\r\\n And wand\\'red hither to an obscure plot,\\r\\n Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor,\\r\\n If foul desire had not conducted you?\\r\\n LAVINIA. And, being intercepted in your sport,\\r\\n Great reason that my noble lord be rated\\r\\n For sauciness. I pray you let us hence,\\r\\n And let her joy her raven-coloured love;\\r\\n This valley fits the purpose passing well.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. The King my brother shall have notice of this.\\r\\n LAVINIA. Ay, for these slips have made him noted long.\\r\\n Good king, to be so mightily abused!\\r\\n TAMORA. Why, I have patience to endure all this.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CHIRON and DEMETRIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious mother!\\r\\n Why doth your Highness look so pale and wan?\\r\\n TAMORA. Have I not reason, think you, to look pale?\\r\\n These two have \\'ticed me hither to this place.\\r\\n A barren detested vale you see it is:\\r\\n The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean,\\r\\n Overcome with moss and baleful mistletoe;\\r\\n Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds,\\r\\n Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven.\\r\\n And when they show\\'d me this abhorred pit,\\r\\n They told me, here, at dead time of the night,\\r\\n A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes,\\r\\n Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins,\\r\\n Would make such fearful and confused cries\\r\\n As any mortal body hearing it\\r\\n Should straight fall mad or else die suddenly.\\r\\n No sooner had they told this hellish tale\\r\\n But straight they told me they would bind me here\\r\\n Unto the body of a dismal yew,\\r\\n And leave me to this miserable death.\\r\\n And then they call\\'d me foul adulteress,\\r\\n Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms\\r\\n That ever ear did hear to such effect;\\r\\n And had you not by wondrous fortune come,\\r\\n This vengeance on me had they executed.\\r\\n Revenge it, as you love your mother\\'s life,\\r\\n Or be ye not henceforth call\\'d my children.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. This is a witness that I am thy son.\\r\\n [Stabs BASSIANUS]\\r\\n CHIRON. And this for me, struck home to show my strength.\\r\\n [Also stabs]\\r\\n LAVINIA. Ay, come, Semiramis- nay, barbarous Tamora,\\r\\n For no name fits thy nature but thy own!\\r\\n TAMORA. Give me the poniard; you shall know, my boys,\\r\\n Your mother\\'s hand shall right your mother\\'s wrong.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Stay, madam, here is more belongs to her;\\r\\n First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw.\\r\\n This minion stood upon her chastity,\\r\\n Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty,\\r\\n And with that painted hope braves your mightiness;\\r\\n And shall she carry this unto her grave?\\r\\n CHIRON. An if she do, I would I were an eunuch.\\r\\n Drag hence her husband to some secret hole,\\r\\n And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust.\\r\\n TAMORA. But when ye have the honey we desire,\\r\\n Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting.\\r\\n CHIRON. I warrant you, madam, we will make that sure.\\r\\n Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy\\r\\n That nice-preserved honesty of yours.\\r\\n LAVINIA. O Tamora! thou bearest a woman\\'s face-\\r\\n TAMORA. I will not hear her speak; away with her!\\r\\n LAVINIA. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Listen, fair madam: let it be your glory\\r\\n To see her tears; but be your heart to them\\r\\n As unrelenting flint to drops of rain.\\r\\n LAVINIA. When did the tiger\\'s young ones teach the dam?\\r\\n O, do not learn her wrath- she taught it thee;\\r\\n The milk thou suck\\'dst from her did turn to marble,\\r\\n Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny.\\r\\n Yet every mother breeds not sons alike:\\r\\n [To CHIRON] Do thou entreat her show a woman\\'s pity.\\r\\n CHIRON. What, wouldst thou have me prove myself a bastard?\\r\\n LAVINIA. \\'Tis true, the raven doth not hatch a lark.\\r\\n Yet have I heard- O, could I find it now!-\\r\\n The lion, mov\\'d with pity, did endure\\r\\n To have his princely paws par\\'d all away.\\r\\n Some say that ravens foster forlorn children,\\r\\n The whilst their own birds famish in their nests;\\r\\n O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no,\\r\\n Nothing so kind, but something pitiful!\\r\\n TAMORA. I know not what it means; away with her!\\r\\n LAVINIA. O, let me teach thee! For my father\\'s sake,\\r\\n That gave thee life when well he might have slain thee,\\r\\n Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears.\\r\\n TAMORA. Hadst thou in person ne\\'er offended me,\\r\\n Even for his sake am I pitiless.\\r\\n Remember, boys, I pour\\'d forth tears in vain\\r\\n To save your brother from the sacrifice;\\r\\n But fierce Andronicus would not relent.\\r\\n Therefore away with her, and use her as you will;\\r\\n The worse to her the better lov\\'d of me.\\r\\n LAVINIA. O Tamora, be call\\'d a gentle queen,\\r\\n And with thine own hands kill me in this place!\\r\\n For \\'tis not life that I have begg\\'d so long;\\r\\n Poor I was slain when Bassianus died.\\r\\n TAMORA. What beg\\'st thou, then? Fond woman, let me go.\\r\\n LAVINIA. \\'Tis present death I beg; and one thing more,\\r\\n That womanhood denies my tongue to tell:\\r\\n O, keep me from their worse than killing lust,\\r\\n And tumble me into some loathsome pit,\\r\\n Where never man\\'s eye may behold my body;\\r\\n Do this, and be a charitable murderer.\\r\\n TAMORA. So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee;\\r\\n No, let them satisfy their lust on thee.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Away! for thou hast stay\\'d us here too long.\\r\\n LAVINIA. No grace? no womanhood? Ah, beastly creature,\\r\\n The blot and enemy to our general name!\\r\\n Confusion fall-\\r\\n CHIRON. Nay, then I\\'ll stop your mouth. Bring thou her husband.\\r\\n This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him.\\r\\n\\r\\n DEMETRIUS throws the body\\r\\n of BASSIANUS into the pit; then exeunt\\r\\n DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, dragging off LAVINIA\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA. Farewell, my sons; see that you make her sure.\\r\\n Ne\\'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed\\r\\n Till all the Andronici be made away.\\r\\n Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor,\\r\\n And let my spleenful sons this trull deflower. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter AARON, with two\\r\\n of TITUS\\' sons, QUINTUS and MARTIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON. Come on, my lords, the better foot before;\\r\\n Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit\\r\\n Where I espied the panther fast asleep.\\r\\n QUINTUS. My sight is very dull, whate\\'er it bodes.\\r\\n MARTIUS. And mine, I promise you; were it not for shame,\\r\\n Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile.\\r\\n [Falls into the pit]\\r\\n QUINTUS. What, art thou fallen? What subtle hole is this,\\r\\n Whose mouth is covered with rude-growing briers,\\r\\n Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood\\r\\n As fresh as morning dew distill\\'d on flowers?\\r\\n A very fatal place it seems to me.\\r\\n Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall?\\r\\n MARTIUS. O brother, with the dismal\\'st object hurt\\r\\n That ever eye with sight made heart lament!\\r\\n AARON. [Aside] Now will I fetch the King to find them here,\\r\\n That he thereby may have a likely guess\\r\\n How these were they that made away his brother. Exit\\r\\n MARTIUS. Why dost not comfort me, and help me out\\r\\n From this unhallow\\'d and blood-stained hole?\\r\\n QUINTUS. I am surprised with an uncouth fear;\\r\\n A chilling sweat o\\'er-runs my trembling joints;\\r\\n My heart suspects more than mine eye can see.\\r\\n MARTIUS. To prove thou hast a true divining heart,\\r\\n Aaron and thou look down into this den,\\r\\n And see a fearful sight of blood and death.\\r\\n QUINTUS. Aaron is gone, and my compassionate heart\\r\\n Will not permit mine eyes once to behold\\r\\n The thing whereat it trembles by surmise;\\r\\n O, tell me who it is, for ne\\'er till now\\r\\n Was I a child to fear I know not what.\\r\\n MARTIUS. Lord Bassianus lies beray\\'d in blood,\\r\\n All on a heap, like to a slaughtered lamb,\\r\\n In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit.\\r\\n QUINTUS. If it be dark, how dost thou know \\'tis he?\\r\\n MARTIUS. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear\\r\\n A precious ring that lightens all this hole,\\r\\n Which, like a taper in some monument,\\r\\n Doth shine upon the dead man\\'s earthy cheeks,\\r\\n And shows the ragged entrails of this pit;\\r\\n So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus\\r\\n When he by night lay bath\\'d in maiden blood.\\r\\n O brother, help me with thy fainting hand-\\r\\n If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath-\\r\\n Out of this fell devouring receptacle,\\r\\n As hateful as Cocytus\\' misty mouth.\\r\\n QUINTUS. Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out,\\r\\n Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good,\\r\\n I may be pluck\\'d into the swallowing womb\\r\\n Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus\\' grave.\\r\\n I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink.\\r\\n MARTIUS. Nor I no strength to climb without thy help.\\r\\n QUINTUS. Thy hand once more; I will not loose again,\\r\\n Till thou art here aloft, or I below.\\r\\n Thou canst not come to me- I come to thee. [Falls in]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the EMPEROR and AARON the Moor\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Along with me! I\\'ll see what hole is here,\\r\\n And what he is that now is leapt into it.\\r\\n Say, who art thou that lately didst descend\\r\\n Into this gaping hollow of the earth?\\r\\n MARTIUS. The unhappy sons of old Andronicus,\\r\\n Brought hither in a most unlucky hour,\\r\\n To find thy brother Bassianus dead.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. My brother dead! I know thou dost but jest:\\r\\n He and his lady both are at the lodge\\r\\n Upon the north side of this pleasant chase;\\r\\n \\'Tis not an hour since I left them there.\\r\\n MARTIUS. We know not where you left them all alive;\\r\\n But, out alas! here have we found him dead.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter TAMORA, with\\r\\n attendants; TITUS ANDRONICUS and Lucius\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA. Where is my lord the King?\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Here, Tamora; though griev\\'d with killing grief.\\r\\n TAMORA. Where is thy brother Bassianus?\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound;\\r\\n Poor Bassianus here lies murdered.\\r\\n TAMORA. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ,\\r\\n The complot of this timeless tragedy;\\r\\n And wonder greatly that man\\'s face can fold\\r\\n In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny.\\r\\n [She giveth SATURNINE a letter]\\r\\n SATURNINUS. [Reads] \\'An if we miss to meet him handsomely,\\r\\n Sweet huntsman- Bassianus \\'tis we mean-\\r\\n Do thou so much as dig the grave for him.\\r\\n Thou know\\'st our meaning. Look for thy reward\\r\\n Among the nettles at the elder-tree\\r\\n Which overshades the mouth of that same pit\\r\\n Where we decreed to bury Bassianus.\\r\\n Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.\\'\\r\\n O Tamora! was ever heard the like?\\r\\n This is the pit and this the elder-tree.\\r\\n Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out\\r\\n That should have murdered Bassianus here.\\r\\n AARON. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. [To TITUS] Two of thy whelps, fell curs of bloody\\r\\n kind,\\r\\n Have here bereft my brother of his life.\\r\\n Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison;\\r\\n There let them bide until we have devis\\'d\\r\\n Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them.\\r\\n TAMORA. What, are they in this pit? O wondrous thing!\\r\\n How easily murder is discovered!\\r\\n TITUS. High Emperor, upon my feeble knee\\r\\n I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed,\\r\\n That this fell fault of my accursed sons-\\r\\n Accursed if the fault be prov\\'d in them-\\r\\n SATURNINUS. If it be prov\\'d! You see it is apparent.\\r\\n Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you?\\r\\n TAMORA. Andronicus himself did take it up.\\r\\n TITUS. I did, my lord, yet let me be their bail;\\r\\n For, by my fathers\\' reverend tomb, I vow\\r\\n They shall be ready at your Highness\\' will\\r\\n To answer their suspicion with their lives.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Thou shalt not bail them; see thou follow me.\\r\\n Some bring the murdered body, some the murderers;\\r\\n Let them not speak a word- the guilt is plain;\\r\\n For, by my soul, were there worse end than death,\\r\\n That end upon them should be executed.\\r\\n TAMORA. Andronicus, I will entreat the King.\\r\\n Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough.\\r\\n TITUS. Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Another part of the forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the Empress\\' sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, with LAVINIA, her hands\\r\\ncut off, and her tongue cut out, and ravish\\'d\\r\\n\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak,\\r\\n Who \\'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish\\'d thee.\\r\\n CHIRON. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so,\\r\\n An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. See how with signs and tokens she can scrowl.\\r\\n CHIRON. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash;\\r\\n And so let\\'s leave her to her silent walks.\\r\\n CHIRON. An \\'twere my cause, I should go hang myself.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord.\\r\\n Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON\\r\\n\\r\\n Wind horns. Enter MARCUS, from hunting\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCUS. Who is this?- my niece, that flies away so fast?\\r\\n Cousin, a word: where is your husband?\\r\\n If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me!\\r\\n If I do wake, some planet strike me down,\\r\\n That I may slumber an eternal sleep!\\r\\n Speak, gentle niece. What stern ungentle hands\\r\\n Hath lopp\\'d, and hew\\'d, and made thy body bare\\r\\n Of her two branches- those sweet ornaments\\r\\n Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in,\\r\\n And might not gain so great a happiness\\r\\n As half thy love? Why dost not speak to me?\\r\\n Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,\\r\\n Like to a bubbling fountain stirr\\'d with wind,\\r\\n Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips,\\r\\n Coming and going with thy honey breath.\\r\\n But sure some Tereus hath deflowered thee,\\r\\n And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue.\\r\\n Ah, now thou turn\\'st away thy face for shame!\\r\\n And notwithstanding all this loss of blood-\\r\\n As from a conduit with three issuing spouts-\\r\\n Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan\\'s face\\r\\n Blushing to be encount\\'red with a cloud.\\r\\n Shall I speak for thee? Shall I say \\'tis so?\\r\\n O, that I knew thy heart, and knew the beast,\\r\\n That I might rail at him to ease my mind!\\r\\n Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp\\'d,\\r\\n Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.\\r\\n Fair Philomel, why she but lost her tongue,\\r\\n And in a tedious sampler sew\\'d her mind;\\r\\n But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee.\\r\\n A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met,\\r\\n And he hath cut those pretty fingers off\\r\\n That could have better sew\\'d than Philomel.\\r\\n O, had the monster seen those lily hands\\r\\n Tremble like aspen leaves upon a lute\\r\\n And make the silken strings delight to kiss them,\\r\\n He would not then have touch\\'d them for his life!\\r\\n Or had he heard the heavenly harmony\\r\\n Which that sweet tongue hath made,\\r\\n He would have dropp\\'d his knife, and fell asleep,\\r\\n As Cerberus at the Thracian poet\\'s feet.\\r\\n Come, let us go, and make thy father blind,\\r\\n For such a sight will blind a father\\'s eye;\\r\\n One hour\\'s storm will drown the fragrant meads,\\r\\n What will whole months of tears thy father\\'s eyes?\\r\\n Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee;\\r\\n O, could our mourning case thy misery! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. Rome. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the JUDGES, TRIBUNES, and SENATORS, with TITUS\\' two sons MARTIUS\\r\\nand QUINTUS bound, passing on the stage to the place of execution, and\\r\\nTITUS going before, pleading\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Hear me, grave fathers; noble Tribunes, stay!\\r\\n For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent\\r\\n In dangerous wars whilst you securely slept;\\r\\n For all my blood in Rome\\'s great quarrel shed,\\r\\n For all the frosty nights that I have watch\\'d,\\r\\n And for these bitter tears, which now you see\\r\\n Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks,\\r\\n Be pitiful to my condemned sons,\\r\\n Whose souls are not corrupted as \\'tis thought.\\r\\n For two and twenty sons I never wept,\\r\\n Because they died in honour\\'s lofty bed.\\r\\n [ANDRONICUS lieth down, and the judges\\r\\n pass by him with the prisoners, and exeunt]\\r\\n For these, Tribunes, in the dust I write\\r\\n My heart\\'s deep languor and my soul\\'s sad tears.\\r\\n Let my tears stanch the earth\\'s dry appetite;\\r\\n My sons\\' sweet blood will make it shame and blush.\\r\\n O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain\\r\\n That shall distil from these two ancient urns,\\r\\n Than youthful April shall with all his show\\'rs.\\r\\n In summer\\'s drought I\\'ll drop upon thee still;\\r\\n In winter with warm tears I\\'ll melt the snow\\r\\n And keep eternal spring-time on thy face,\\r\\n So thou refuse to drink my dear sons\\' blood.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucius with his weapon drawn\\r\\n\\r\\n O reverend Tribunes! O gentle aged men!\\r\\n Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death,\\r\\n And let me say, that never wept before,\\r\\n My tears are now prevailing orators.\\r\\n LUCIUS. O noble father, you lament in vain;\\r\\n The Tribunes hear you not, no man is by,\\r\\n And you recount your sorrows to a stone.\\r\\n TITUS. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead!\\r\\n Grave Tribunes, once more I entreat of you.\\r\\n LUCIUS. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, \\'tis no matter, man: if they did hear,\\r\\n They would not mark me; if they did mark,\\r\\n They would not pity me; yet plead I must,\\r\\n And bootless unto them.\\r\\n Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones;\\r\\n Who though they cannot answer my distress,\\r\\n Yet in some sort they are better than the Tribunes,\\r\\n For that they will not intercept my tale.\\r\\n When I do weep, they humbly at my feet\\r\\n Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me;\\r\\n And were they but attired in grave weeds,\\r\\n Rome could afford no tribunes like to these.\\r\\n A stone is soft as wax: tribunes more hard than stones.\\r\\n A stone is silent and offendeth not,\\r\\n And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death.\\r\\n [Rises]\\r\\n But wherefore stand\\'st thou with thy weapon drawn?\\r\\n LUCIUS. To rescue my two brothers from their death;\\r\\n For which attempt the judges have pronounc\\'d\\r\\n My everlasting doom of banishment.\\r\\n TITUS. O happy man! they have befriended thee.\\r\\n Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive\\r\\n That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers?\\r\\n Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey\\r\\n But me and mine; how happy art thou then\\r\\n From these devourers to be banished!\\r\\n But who comes with our brother Marcus here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MARCUS with LAVINIA\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCUS. Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep,\\r\\n Or if not so, thy noble heart to break.\\r\\n I bring consuming sorrow to thine age.\\r\\n TITUS. Will it consume me? Let me see it then.\\r\\n MARCUS. This was thy daughter.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, Marcus, so she is.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Ay me! this object kills me.\\r\\n TITUS. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her.\\r\\n Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand\\r\\n Hath made thee handless in thy father\\'s sight?\\r\\n What fool hath added water to the sea,\\r\\n Or brought a fagot to bright-burning Troy?\\r\\n My grief was at the height before thou cam\\'st,\\r\\n And now like Nilus it disdaineth bounds.\\r\\n Give me a sword, I\\'ll chop off my hands too,\\r\\n For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain;\\r\\n And they have nurs\\'d this woe in feeding life;\\r\\n In bootless prayer have they been held up,\\r\\n And they have serv\\'d me to effectless use.\\r\\n Now all the service I require of them\\r\\n Is that the one will help to cut the other.\\r\\n \\'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands;\\r\\n For hands to do Rome service is but vain.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr\\'d thee?\\r\\n MARCUS. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts\\r\\n That blabb\\'d them with such pleasing eloquence\\r\\n Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage,\\r\\n Where like a sweet melodious bird it sung\\r\\n Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear!\\r\\n LUCIUS. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed?\\r\\n MARCUS. O, thus I found her straying in the park,\\r\\n Seeking to hide herself as doth the deer\\r\\n That hath receiv\\'d some unrecuring wound.\\r\\n TITUS. It was my dear, and he that wounded her\\r\\n Hath hurt me more than had he kill\\'d me dead;\\r\\n For now I stand as one upon a rock,\\r\\n Environ\\'d with a wilderness of sea,\\r\\n Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave,\\r\\n Expecting ever when some envious surge\\r\\n Will in his brinish bowels swallow him.\\r\\n This way to death my wretched sons are gone;\\r\\n Here stands my other son, a banish\\'d man,\\r\\n And here my brother, weeping at my woes.\\r\\n But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn\\r\\n Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul.\\r\\n Had I but seen thy picture in this plight,\\r\\n It would have madded me; what shall I do\\r\\n Now I behold thy lively body so?\\r\\n Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears,\\r\\n Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr\\'d thee;\\r\\n Thy husband he is dead, and for his death\\r\\n Thy brothers are condemn\\'d, and dead by this.\\r\\n Look, Marcus! Ah, son Lucius, look on her!\\r\\n When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears\\r\\n Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey dew\\r\\n Upon a gath\\'red lily almost withered.\\r\\n MARCUS. Perchance she weeps because they kill\\'d her husband;\\r\\n Perchance because she knows them innocent.\\r\\n TITUS. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful,\\r\\n Because the law hath ta\\'en revenge on them.\\r\\n No, no, they would not do so foul a deed;\\r\\n Witness the sorrow that their sister makes.\\r\\n Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips,\\r\\n Or make some sign how I may do thee ease.\\r\\n Shall thy good uncle and thy brother Lucius\\r\\n And thou and I sit round about some fountain,\\r\\n Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks\\r\\n How they are stain\\'d, like meadows yet not dry\\r\\n With miry slime left on them by a flood?\\r\\n And in the fountain shall we gaze so long,\\r\\n Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness,\\r\\n And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears?\\r\\n Or shall we cut away our hands like thine?\\r\\n Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows\\r\\n Pass the remainder of our hateful days?\\r\\n What shall we do? Let us that have our tongues\\r\\n Plot some device of further misery\\r\\n To make us wonder\\'d at in time to come.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Sweet father, cease your tears; for at your grief\\r\\n See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps.\\r\\n MARCUS. Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes.\\r\\n TITUS. Ah, Marcus, Marcus! Brother, well I wot\\r\\n Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine,\\r\\n For thou, poor man, hast drown\\'d it with thine own.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks.\\r\\n TITUS. Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs.\\r\\n Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say\\r\\n That to her brother which I said to thee:\\r\\n His napkin, with his true tears all bewet,\\r\\n Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks.\\r\\n O, what a sympathy of woe is this\\r\\n As far from help as Limbo is from bliss!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter AARON the Moor\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON. Titus Andronicus, my lord the Emperor\\r\\n Sends thee this word, that, if thou love thy sons,\\r\\n Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus,\\r\\n Or any one of you, chop off your hand\\r\\n And send it to the King: he for the same\\r\\n Will send thee hither both thy sons alive,\\r\\n And that shall be the ransom for their fault.\\r\\n TITUS. O gracious Emperor! O gentle Aaron!\\r\\n Did ever raven sing so like a lark\\r\\n That gives sweet tidings of the sun\\'s uprise?\\r\\n With all my heart I\\'ll send the Emperor my hand.\\r\\n Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off?\\r\\n LUCIUS. Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine,\\r\\n That hath thrown down so many enemies,\\r\\n Shall not be sent. My hand will serve the turn,\\r\\n My youth can better spare my blood than you,\\r\\n And therefore mine shall save my brothers\\' lives.\\r\\n MARCUS. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome\\r\\n And rear\\'d aloft the bloody battle-axe,\\r\\n Writing destruction on the enemy\\'s castle?\\r\\n O, none of both but are of high desert!\\r\\n My hand hath been but idle; let it serve\\r\\n To ransom my two nephews from their death;\\r\\n Then have I kept it to a worthy end.\\r\\n AARON. Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along,\\r\\n For fear they die before their pardon come.\\r\\n MARCUS. My hand shall go.\\r\\n LUCIUS. By heaven, it shall not go!\\r\\n TITUS. Sirs, strive no more; such with\\'red herbs as these\\r\\n Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son,\\r\\n Let me redeem my brothers both from death.\\r\\n MARCUS. And for our father\\'s sake and mother\\'s care,\\r\\n Now let me show a brother\\'s love to thee.\\r\\n TITUS. Agree between you; I will spare my hand.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Then I\\'ll go fetch an axe.\\r\\n MARCUS. But I will use the axe.\\r\\n Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS\\r\\n TITUS. Come hither, Aaron, I\\'ll deceive them both;\\r\\n Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.\\r\\n AARON. [Aside] If that be call\\'d deceit, I will be honest,\\r\\n And never whilst I live deceive men so;\\r\\n But I\\'ll deceive you in another sort,\\r\\n And that you\\'ll say ere half an hour pass.\\r\\n [He cuts off TITUS\\' hand]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Now stay your strife. What shall be is dispatch\\'d.\\r\\n Good Aaron, give his Majesty my hand;\\r\\n Tell him it was a hand that warded him\\r\\n From thousand dangers; bid him bury it.\\r\\n More hath it merited- that let it have.\\r\\n As for my sons, say I account of them\\r\\n As jewels purchas\\'d at an easy price;\\r\\n And yet dear too, because I bought mine own.\\r\\n AARON. I go, Andronicus; and for thy hand\\r\\n Look by and by to have thy sons with thee.\\r\\n [Aside] Their heads I mean. O, how this villainy\\r\\n Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it!\\r\\n Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace:\\r\\n Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit\\r\\n TITUS. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven,\\r\\n And bow this feeble ruin to the earth;\\r\\n If any power pities wretched tears,\\r\\n To that I call! [To LAVINIA] What, would\\'st thou kneel with me?\\r\\n Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers,\\r\\n Or with our sighs we\\'ll breathe the welkin dim\\r\\n And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds\\r\\n When they do hug him in their melting bosoms.\\r\\n MARCUS. O brother, speak with possibility,\\r\\n And do not break into these deep extremes.\\r\\n TITUS. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom?\\r\\n Then be my passions bottomless with them.\\r\\n MARCUS. But yet let reason govern thy lament.\\r\\n TITUS. If there were reason for these miseries,\\r\\n Then into limits could I bind my woes.\\r\\n When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o\\'erflow?\\r\\n If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,\\r\\n Threat\\'ning the welkin with his big-swol\\'n face?\\r\\n And wilt thou have a reason for this coil?\\r\\n I am the sea; hark how her sighs do blow.\\r\\n She is the weeping welkin, I the earth;\\r\\n Then must my sea be moved with her sighs;\\r\\n Then must my earth with her continual tears\\r\\n Become a deluge, overflow\\'d and drown\\'d;\\r\\n For why my bowels cannot hide her woes,\\r\\n But like a drunkard must I vomit them.\\r\\n Then give me leave; for losers will have leave\\r\\n To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER, with two heads and a hand\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid\\r\\n For that good hand thou sent\\'st the Emperor.\\r\\n Here are the heads of thy two noble sons;\\r\\n And here\\'s thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back-\\r\\n Thy grief their sports, thy resolution mock\\'d,\\r\\n That woe is me to think upon thy woes,\\r\\n More than remembrance of my father\\'s death. Exit\\r\\n MARCUS. Now let hot Aetna cool in Sicily,\\r\\n And be my heart an ever-burning hell!\\r\\n These miseries are more than may be borne.\\r\\n To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal,\\r\\n But sorrow flouted at is double death.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound,\\r\\n And yet detested life not shrink thereat!\\r\\n That ever death should let life bear his name,\\r\\n Where life hath no more interest but to breathe!\\r\\n [LAVINIA kisses TITUS]\\r\\n MARCUS. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless\\r\\n As frozen water to a starved snake.\\r\\n TITUS. When will this fearful slumber have an end?\\r\\n MARCUS. Now farewell, flatt\\'ry; die, Andronicus.\\r\\n Thou dost not slumber: see thy two sons\\' heads,\\r\\n Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here;\\r\\n Thy other banish\\'d son with this dear sight\\r\\n Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I,\\r\\n Even like a stony image, cold and numb.\\r\\n Ah! now no more will I control thy griefs.\\r\\n Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand\\r\\n Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight\\r\\n The closing up of our most wretched eyes.\\r\\n Now is a time to storm; why art thou still?\\r\\n TITUS. Ha, ha, ha!\\r\\n MARCUS. Why dost thou laugh? It fits not with this hour.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, I have not another tear to shed;\\r\\n Besides, this sorrow is an enemy,\\r\\n And would usurp upon my wat\\'ry eyes\\r\\n And make them blind with tributary tears.\\r\\n Then which way shall I find Revenge\\'s cave?\\r\\n For these two heads do seem to speak to me,\\r\\n And threat me I shall never come to bliss\\r\\n Till all these mischiefs be return\\'d again\\r\\n Even in their throats that have committed them.\\r\\n Come, let me see what task I have to do.\\r\\n You heavy people, circle me about,\\r\\n That I may turn me to each one of you\\r\\n And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs.\\r\\n The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head,\\r\\n And in this hand the other will I bear.\\r\\n And, Lavinia, thou shalt be employ\\'d in this;\\r\\n Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth.\\r\\n As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight;\\r\\n Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay.\\r\\n Hie to the Goths and raise an army there;\\r\\n And if ye love me, as I think you do,\\r\\n Let\\'s kiss and part, for we have much to do.\\r\\n Exeunt all but Lucius\\r\\n LUCIUS. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father,\\r\\n The woefull\\'st man that ever liv\\'d in Rome.\\r\\n Farewell, proud Rome; till Lucius come again,\\r\\n He leaves his pledges dearer than his life.\\r\\n Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister;\\r\\n O, would thou wert as thou tofore hast been!\\r\\n But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives\\r\\n But in oblivion and hateful griefs.\\r\\n If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs\\r\\n And make proud Saturnine and his emperess\\r\\n Beg at the gates like Tarquin and his queen.\\r\\n Now will I to the Goths, and raise a pow\\'r\\r\\n To be reveng\\'d on Rome and Saturnine. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Rome. TITUS\\' house\\r\\n\\r\\nA banquet.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TITUS, MARCUS, LAVINIA, and the boy YOUNG LUCIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. So so, now sit; and look you eat no more\\r\\n Than will preserve just so much strength in us\\r\\n As will revenge these bitter woes of ours.\\r\\n Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot;\\r\\n Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands,\\r\\n And cannot passionate our tenfold grief\\r\\n With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine\\r\\n Is left to tyrannize upon my breast;\\r\\n Who, when my heart, all mad with misery,\\r\\n Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,\\r\\n Then thus I thump it down.\\r\\n [To LAVINIA] Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs!\\r\\n When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating,\\r\\n Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still.\\r\\n Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans;\\r\\n Or get some little knife between thy teeth\\r\\n And just against thy heart make thou a hole,\\r\\n That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall\\r\\n May run into that sink and, soaking in,\\r\\n Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears.\\r\\n MARCUS. Fie, brother, fie! Teach her not thus to lay\\r\\n Such violent hands upon her tender life.\\r\\n TITUS. How now! Has sorrow made thee dote already?\\r\\n Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I.\\r\\n What violent hands can she lay on her life?\\r\\n Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands?\\r\\n To bid Aeneas tell the tale twice o\\'er\\r\\n How Troy was burnt and he made miserable?\\r\\n O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands,\\r\\n Lest we remember still that we have none.\\r\\n Fie, fie, how franticly I square my talk,\\r\\n As if we should forget we had no hands,\\r\\n If Marcus did not name the word of hands!\\r\\n Come, let\\'s fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this:\\r\\n Here is no drink. Hark, Marcus, what she says-\\r\\n I can interpret all her martyr\\'d signs;\\r\\n She says she drinks no other drink but tears,\\r\\n Brew\\'d with her sorrow, mesh\\'d upon her cheeks.\\r\\n Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought;\\r\\n In thy dumb action will I be as perfect\\r\\n As begging hermits in their holy prayers.\\r\\n Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven,\\r\\n Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign,\\r\\n But I of these will wrest an alphabet,\\r\\n And by still practice learn to know thy meaning.\\r\\n BOY. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments;\\r\\n Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale.\\r\\n MARCUS. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov\\'d,\\r\\n Doth weep to see his grandsire\\'s heaviness.\\r\\n TITUS. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears,\\r\\n And tears will quickly melt thy life away.\\r\\n [MARCUS strikes the dish with a knife]\\r\\n What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife?\\r\\n MARCUS. At that that I have kill\\'d, my lord- a fly.\\r\\n TITUS. Out on thee, murderer, thou kill\\'st my heart!\\r\\n Mine eyes are cloy\\'d with view of tyranny;\\r\\n A deed of death done on the innocent\\r\\n Becomes not Titus\\' brother. Get thee gone;\\r\\n I see thou art not for my company.\\r\\n MARCUS. Alas, my lord, I have but kill\\'d a fly.\\r\\n TITUS. \\'But!\\' How if that fly had a father and mother?\\r\\n How would he hang his slender gilded wings\\r\\n And buzz lamenting doings in the air!\\r\\n Poor harmless fly,\\r\\n That with his pretty buzzing melody\\r\\n Came here to make us merry! And thou hast kill\\'d him.\\r\\n MARCUS. Pardon me, sir; it was a black ill-favour\\'d fly,\\r\\n Like to the Empress\\' Moor; therefore I kill\\'d him.\\r\\n TITUS. O, O, O!\\r\\n Then pardon me for reprehending thee,\\r\\n For thou hast done a charitable deed.\\r\\n Give me thy knife, I will insult on him,\\r\\n Flattering myself as if it were the Moor\\r\\n Come hither purposely to poison me.\\r\\n There\\'s for thyself, and that\\'s for Tamora.\\r\\n Ah, sirrah!\\r\\n Yet, I think, we are not brought so low\\r\\n But that between us we can kill a fly\\r\\n That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor.\\r\\n MARCUS. Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought on him,\\r\\n He takes false shadows for true substances.\\r\\n TITUS. Come, take away. Lavinia, go with me;\\r\\n I\\'ll to thy closet, and go read with thee\\r\\n Sad stories chanced in the times of old.\\r\\n Come, boy, and go with me; thy sight is young,\\r\\n And thou shalt read when mine begin to dazzle. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I. Rome. TITUS\\' garden\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter YOUNG LUCIUS and LAVINIA running after him, and the boy flies\\r\\nfrom her with his books under his arm.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TITUS and MARCUS\\r\\n\\r\\n BOY. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia\\r\\n Follows me everywhere, I know not why.\\r\\n Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes!\\r\\n Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean.\\r\\n MARCUS. Stand by me, Lucius; do not fear thine aunt.\\r\\n TITUS. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm.\\r\\n BOY. Ay, when my father was in Rome she did.\\r\\n MARCUS. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs?\\r\\n TITUS. Fear her not, Lucius; somewhat doth she mean.\\r\\n See, Lucius, see how much she makes of thee.\\r\\n Somewhither would she have thee go with her.\\r\\n Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care\\r\\n Read to her sons than she hath read to thee\\r\\n Sweet poetry and Tully\\'s Orator.\\r\\n MARCUS. Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus?\\r\\n BOY. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess,\\r\\n Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her;\\r\\n For I have heard my grandsire say full oft\\r\\n Extremity of griefs would make men mad;\\r\\n And I have read that Hecuba of Troy\\r\\n Ran mad for sorrow. That made me to fear;\\r\\n Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt\\r\\n Loves me as dear as e\\'er my mother did,\\r\\n And would not, but in fury, fright my youth;\\r\\n Which made me down to throw my books, and fly-\\r\\n Causeless, perhaps. But pardon me, sweet aunt;\\r\\n And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go,\\r\\n I will most willingly attend your ladyship.\\r\\n MARCUS. Lucius, I will. [LAVINIA turns over with her\\r\\n stumps the books which Lucius has let fall]\\r\\n TITUS. How now, Lavinia! Marcus, what means this?\\r\\n Some book there is that she desires to see.\\r\\n Which is it, girl, of these?- Open them, boy.-\\r\\n But thou art deeper read and better skill\\'d;\\r\\n Come and take choice of all my library,\\r\\n And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens\\r\\n Reveal the damn\\'d contriver of this deed.\\r\\n Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus?\\r\\n MARCUS. I think she means that there were more than one\\r\\n Confederate in the fact; ay, more there was,\\r\\n Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge.\\r\\n TITUS. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so?\\r\\n BOY. Grandsire, \\'tis Ovid\\'s Metamorphoses;\\r\\n My mother gave it me.\\r\\n MARCUS. For love of her that\\'s gone,\\r\\n Perhaps she cull\\'d it from among the rest.\\r\\n TITUS. Soft! So busily she turns the leaves! Help her.\\r\\n What would she find? Lavinia, shall I read?\\r\\n This is the tragic tale of Philomel\\r\\n And treats of Tereus\\' treason and his rape;\\r\\n And rape, I fear, was root of thy annoy.\\r\\n MARCUS. See, brother, see! Note how she quotes the leaves.\\r\\n TITUS. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpris\\'d, sweet girl,\\r\\n Ravish\\'d and wrong\\'d as Philomela was,\\r\\n Forc\\'d in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods?\\r\\n See, see!\\r\\n Ay, such a place there is where we did hunt-\\r\\n O, had we never, never hunted there!-\\r\\n Pattern\\'d by that the poet here describes,\\r\\n By nature made for murders and for rapes.\\r\\n MARCUS. O, why should nature build so foul a den,\\r\\n Unless the gods delight in tragedies?\\r\\n TITUS. Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none but friends,\\r\\n What Roman lord it was durst do the deed.\\r\\n Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst,\\r\\n That left the camp to sin in Lucrece\\' bed?\\r\\n MARCUS. Sit down, sweet niece; brother, sit down by me.\\r\\n Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,\\r\\n Inspire me, that I may this treason find!\\r\\n My lord, look here! Look here, Lavinia!\\r\\n [He writes his name with his\\r\\n staff, and guides it with feet and mouth]\\r\\n This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst,\\r\\n This after me. I have writ my name\\r\\n Without the help of any hand at all.\\r\\n Curs\\'d be that heart that forc\\'d us to this shift!\\r\\n Write thou, good niece, and here display at last\\r\\n What God will have discovered for revenge.\\r\\n Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain,\\r\\n That we may know the traitors and the truth!\\r\\n [She takes the staff in her mouth\\r\\n and guides it with stumps, and writes]\\r\\n O, do ye read, my lord, what she hath writ?\\r\\n TITUS. \\'Stuprum- Chiron- Demetrius.\\'\\r\\n MARCUS. What, what! the lustful sons of Tamora\\r\\n Performers of this heinous bloody deed?\\r\\n TITUS. Magni Dominator poli,\\r\\n Tam lentus audis scelera? tam lentus vides?\\r\\n MARCUS. O, calm thee, gentle lord! although I know\\r\\n There is enough written upon this earth\\r\\n To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts,\\r\\n And arm the minds of infants to exclaims.\\r\\n My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel;\\r\\n And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector\\'s hope;\\r\\n And swear with me- as, with the woeful fere\\r\\n And father of that chaste dishonoured dame,\\r\\n Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece\\' rape-\\r\\n That we will prosecute, by good advice,\\r\\n Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths,\\r\\n And see their blood or die with this reproach.\\r\\n TITUS. \\'Tis sure enough, an you knew how;\\r\\n But if you hunt these bear-whelps, then beware:\\r\\n The dam will wake; and if she wind ye once,\\r\\n She\\'s with the lion deeply still in league,\\r\\n And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back,\\r\\n And when he sleeps will she do what she list.\\r\\n You are a young huntsman, Marcus; let alone;\\r\\n And come, I will go get a leaf of brass,\\r\\n And with a gad of steel will write these words,\\r\\n And lay it by. The angry northern wind\\r\\n Will blow these sands like Sibyl\\'s leaves abroad,\\r\\n And where\\'s our lesson, then? Boy, what say you?\\r\\n BOY. I say, my lord, that if I were a man\\r\\n Their mother\\'s bedchamber should not be safe\\r\\n For these base bondmen to the yoke of Rome.\\r\\n MARCUS. Ay, that\\'s my boy! Thy father hath full oft\\r\\n For his ungrateful country done the like.\\r\\n BOY. And, uncle, so will I, an if I live.\\r\\n TITUS. Come, go with me into mine armoury.\\r\\n Lucius, I\\'ll fit thee; and withal my boy\\r\\n Shall carry from me to the Empress\\' sons\\r\\n Presents that I intend to send them both.\\r\\n Come, come; thou\\'lt do my message, wilt thou not?\\r\\n BOY. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire.\\r\\n TITUS. No, boy, not so; I\\'ll teach thee another course.\\r\\n Lavinia, come. Marcus, look to my house.\\r\\n Lucius and I\\'ll go brave it at the court;\\r\\n Ay, marry, will we, sir! and we\\'ll be waited on.\\r\\n Exeunt TITUS, LAVINIA, and YOUNG LUCIUS\\r\\n MARCUS. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan\\r\\n And not relent, or not compassion him?\\r\\n Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy,\\r\\n That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart\\r\\n Than foemen\\'s marks upon his batt\\'red shield,\\r\\n But yet so just that he will not revenge.\\r\\n Revenge the heavens for old Andronicus! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Rome. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter AARON, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, at one door; and at the other door,\\r\\nYOUNG LUCIUS and another with a bundle of weapons, and verses writ upon\\r\\nthem\\r\\n\\r\\n CHIRON. Demetrius, here\\'s the son of Lucius;\\r\\n He hath some message to deliver us.\\r\\n AARON. Ay, some mad message from his mad grandfather.\\r\\n BOY. My lords, with all the humbleness I may,\\r\\n I greet your honours from Andronicus-\\r\\n [Aside] And pray the Roman gods confound you both!\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Gramercy, lovely Lucius. What\\'s the news?\\r\\n BOY. [Aside] That you are both decipher\\'d, that\\'s the news,\\r\\n For villains mark\\'d with rape.- May it please you,\\r\\n My grandsire, well advis\\'d, hath sent by me\\r\\n The goodliest weapons of his armoury\\r\\n To gratify your honourable youth,\\r\\n The hope of Rome; for so he bid me say;\\r\\n And so I do, and with his gifts present\\r\\n Your lordships, that, whenever you have need,\\r\\n You may be armed and appointed well.\\r\\n And so I leave you both- [Aside] like bloody villains.\\r\\n Exeunt YOUNG LUCIUS and attendant\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. What\\'s here? A scroll, and written round about.\\r\\n Let\\'s see:\\r\\n [Reads] \\'Integer vitae, scelerisque purus,\\r\\n Non eget Mauri iaculis, nec arcu.\\'\\r\\n CHIRON. O, \\'tis a verse in Horace, I know it well;\\r\\n I read it in the grammar long ago.\\r\\n AARON. Ay, just- a verse in Horace. Right, you have it.\\r\\n [Aside] Now, what a thing it is to be an ass!\\r\\n Here\\'s no sound jest! The old man hath found their guilt,\\r\\n And sends them weapons wrapp\\'d about with lines\\r\\n That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick.\\r\\n But were our witty Empress well afoot,\\r\\n She would applaud Andronicus\\' conceit.\\r\\n But let her rest in her unrest awhile-\\r\\n And now, young lords, was\\'t not a happy star\\r\\n Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so,\\r\\n Captives, to be advanced to this height?\\r\\n It did me good before the palace gate\\r\\n To brave the Tribune in his brother\\'s hearing.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. But me more good to see so great a lord\\r\\n Basely insinuate and send us gifts.\\r\\n AARON. Had he not reason, Lord Demetrius?\\r\\n Did you not use his daughter very friendly?\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. I would we had a thousand Roman dames\\r\\n At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust.\\r\\n CHIRON. A charitable wish and full of love.\\r\\n AARON. Here lacks but your mother for to say amen.\\r\\n CHIRON. And that would she for twenty thousand more.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Come, let us go and pray to all the gods\\r\\n For our beloved mother in her pains.\\r\\n AARON. [Aside] Pray to the devils; the gods have given us over.\\r\\n [Trumpets sound]\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Why do the Emperor\\'s trumpets flourish thus?\\r\\n CHIRON. Belike, for joy the Emperor hath a son.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Soft! who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NURSE, with a blackamoor CHILD\\r\\n\\r\\n NURSE. Good morrow, lords.\\r\\n O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor?\\r\\n AARON. Well, more or less, or ne\\'er a whit at all,\\r\\n Here Aaron is; and what with Aaron now?\\r\\n NURSE. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone!\\r\\n Now help, or woe betide thee evermore!\\r\\n AARON. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep!\\r\\n What dost thou wrap and fumble in thy arms?\\r\\n NURSE. O, that which I would hide from heaven\\'s eye:\\r\\n Our Empress\\' shame and stately Rome\\'s disgrace!\\r\\n She is delivered, lord; she is delivered.\\r\\n AARON. To whom?\\r\\n NURSE. I mean she is brought a-bed.\\r\\n AARON. Well, God give her good rest! What hath he sent her?\\r\\n NURSE. A devil.\\r\\n AARON. Why, then she is the devil\\'s dam;\\r\\n A joyful issue.\\r\\n NURSE. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue!\\r\\n Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad\\r\\n Amongst the fair-fac\\'d breeders of our clime;\\r\\n The Empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal,\\r\\n And bids thee christen it with thy dagger\\'s point.\\r\\n AARON. Zounds, ye whore! Is black so base a hue?\\r\\n Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom sure.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Villain, what hast thou done?\\r\\n AARON. That which thou canst not undo.\\r\\n CHIRON. Thou hast undone our mother.\\r\\n AARON. Villain, I have done thy mother.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone her.\\r\\n Woe to her chance, and damn\\'d her loathed choice!\\r\\n Accurs\\'d the offspring of so foul a fiend!\\r\\n CHIRON. It shall not live.\\r\\n AARON. It shall not die.\\r\\n NURSE. Aaron, it must; the mother wills it so.\\r\\n AARON. What, must it, nurse? Then let no man but I\\r\\n Do execution on my flesh and blood.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. I\\'ll broach the tadpole on my rapier\\'s point.\\r\\n Nurse, give it me; my sword shall soon dispatch it.\\r\\n AARON. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels up.\\r\\n [Takes the CHILD from the NURSE, and draws]\\r\\n Stay, murderous villains, will you kill your brother!\\r\\n Now, by the burning tapers of the sky\\r\\n That shone so brightly when this boy was got,\\r\\n He dies upon my scimitar\\'s sharp point\\r\\n That touches this my first-born son and heir.\\r\\n I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus,\\r\\n With all his threat\\'ning band of Typhon\\'s brood,\\r\\n Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war,\\r\\n Shall seize this prey out of his father\\'s hands.\\r\\n What, what, ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys!\\r\\n Ye white-lim\\'d walls! ye alehouse painted signs!\\r\\n Coal-black is better than another hue\\r\\n In that it scorns to bear another hue;\\r\\n For all the water in the ocean\\r\\n Can never turn the swan\\'s black legs to white,\\r\\n Although she lave them hourly in the flood.\\r\\n Tell the Empress from me I am of age\\r\\n To keep mine own- excuse it how she can.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus?\\r\\n AARON. My mistress is my mistress: this my self,\\r\\n The vigour and the picture of my youth.\\r\\n This before all the world do I prefer;\\r\\n This maugre all the world will I keep safe,\\r\\n Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. By this our mother is for ever sham\\'d.\\r\\n CHIRON. Rome will despise her for this foul escape.\\r\\n NURSE. The Emperor in his rage will doom her death.\\r\\n CHIRON. I blush to think upon this ignomy.\\r\\n AARON. Why, there\\'s the privilege your beauty bears:\\r\\n Fie, treacherous hue, that will betray with blushing\\r\\n The close enacts and counsels of thy heart!\\r\\n Here\\'s a young lad fram\\'d of another leer.\\r\\n Look how the black slave smiles upon the father,\\r\\n As who should say \\'Old lad, I am thine own.\\'\\r\\n He is your brother, lords, sensibly fed\\r\\n Of that self-blood that first gave life to you;\\r\\n And from your womb where you imprisoned were\\r\\n He is enfranchised and come to light.\\r\\n Nay, he is your brother by the surer side,\\r\\n Although my seal be stamped in his face.\\r\\n NURSE. Aaron, what shall I say unto the Empress?\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done,\\r\\n And we will all subscribe to thy advice.\\r\\n Save thou the child, so we may all be safe.\\r\\n AARON. Then sit we down and let us all consult.\\r\\n My son and I will have the wind of you:\\r\\n Keep there; now talk at pleasure of your safety.\\r\\n [They sit]\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. How many women saw this child of his?\\r\\n AARON. Why, so, brave lords! When we join in league\\r\\n I am a lamb; but if you brave the Moor,\\r\\n The chafed boar, the mountain lioness,\\r\\n The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms.\\r\\n But say, again, how many saw the child?\\r\\n NURSE. Cornelia the midwife and myself;\\r\\n And no one else but the delivered Empress.\\r\\n AARON. The Emperess, the midwife, and yourself.\\r\\n Two may keep counsel when the third\\'s away:\\r\\n Go to the Empress, tell her this I said. [He kills her]\\r\\n Weeke weeke!\\r\\n So cries a pig prepared to the spit.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. What mean\\'st thou, Aaron? Wherefore didst thou this?\\r\\n AARON. O Lord, sir, \\'tis a deed of policy.\\r\\n Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours-\\r\\n A long-tongu\\'d babbling gossip? No, lords, no.\\r\\n And now be it known to you my full intent:\\r\\n Not far, one Muliteus, my countryman-\\r\\n His wife but yesternight was brought to bed;\\r\\n His child is like to her, fair as you are.\\r\\n Go pack with him, and give the mother gold,\\r\\n And tell them both the circumstance of all,\\r\\n And how by this their child shall be advanc\\'d,\\r\\n And be received for the Emperor\\'s heir\\r\\n And substituted in the place of mine,\\r\\n To calm this tempest whirling in the court;\\r\\n And let the Emperor dandle him for his own.\\r\\n Hark ye, lords. You see I have given her physic,\\r\\n [Pointing to the NURSE]\\r\\n And you must needs bestow her funeral;\\r\\n The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms.\\r\\n This done, see that you take no longer days,\\r\\n But send the midwife presently to me.\\r\\n The midwife and the nurse well made away,\\r\\n Then let the ladies tattle what they please.\\r\\n CHIRON. Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air\\r\\n With secrets.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. For this care of Tamora,\\r\\n Herself and hers are highly bound to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, bearing off the dead NURSE\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies,\\r\\n There to dispose this treasure in mine arms,\\r\\n And secretly to greet the Empress\\' friends.\\r\\n Come on, you thick-lipp\\'d slave, I\\'ll bear you hence;\\r\\n For it is you that puts us to our shifts.\\r\\n I\\'ll make you feed on berries and on roots,\\r\\n And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat,\\r\\n And cabin in a cave, and bring you up\\r\\n To be a warrior and command a camp.\\r\\n Exit with the CHILD\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Rome. A public place\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TITUS, bearing arrows with letters on the ends of them; with him\\r\\nMARCUS, YOUNG LUCIUS, and other gentlemen, PUBLIUS, SEMPRONIUS, and\\r\\nCAIUS, with bows\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Come, Marcus, come; kinsmen, this is the way.\\r\\n Sir boy, let me see your archery;\\r\\n Look ye draw home enough, and \\'tis there straight.\\r\\n Terras Astrea reliquit,\\r\\n Be you rememb\\'red, Marcus; she\\'s gone, she\\'s fled.\\r\\n Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall\\r\\n Go sound the ocean and cast your nets;\\r\\n Happily you may catch her in the sea;\\r\\n Yet there\\'s as little justice as at land.\\r\\n No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it;\\r\\n \\'Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade,\\r\\n And pierce the inmost centre of the earth;\\r\\n Then, when you come to Pluto\\'s region,\\r\\n I pray you deliver him this petition.\\r\\n Tell him it is for justice and for aid,\\r\\n And that it comes from old Andronicus,\\r\\n Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome.\\r\\n Ah, Rome! Well, well, I made thee miserable\\r\\n What time I threw the people\\'s suffrages\\r\\n On him that thus doth tyrannize o\\'er me.\\r\\n Go get you gone; and pray be careful all,\\r\\n And leave you not a man-of-war unsearch\\'d.\\r\\n This wicked Emperor may have shipp\\'d her hence;\\r\\n And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.\\r\\n MARCUS. O Publius, is not this a heavy case,\\r\\n To see thy noble uncle thus distract?\\r\\n PUBLIUS. Therefore, my lords, it highly us concerns\\r\\n By day and night t\\' attend him carefully,\\r\\n And feed his humour kindly as we may\\r\\n Till time beget some careful remedy.\\r\\n MARCUS. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy.\\r\\n Join with the Goths, and with revengeful war\\r\\n Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude,\\r\\n And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.\\r\\n TITUS. Publius, how now? How now, my masters?\\r\\n What, have you met with her?\\r\\n PUBLIUS. No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word,\\r\\n If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall.\\r\\n Marry, for Justice, she is so employ\\'d,\\r\\n He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else,\\r\\n So that perforce you must needs stay a time.\\r\\n TITUS. He doth me wrong to feed me with delays.\\r\\n I\\'ll dive into the burning lake below\\r\\n And pull her out of Acheron by the heels.\\r\\n Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we,\\r\\n No big-bon\\'d men fram\\'d of the Cyclops\\' size;\\r\\n But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back,\\r\\n Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can bear;\\r\\n And, sith there\\'s no justice in earth nor hell,\\r\\n We will solicit heaven, and move the gods\\r\\n To send down justice for to wreak our wrongs.\\r\\n Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus.\\r\\n [He gives them the arrows]\\r\\n \\'Ad Jovem\\' that\\'s for you; here \\'Ad Apollinem.\\'\\r\\n \\'Ad Martem\\' that\\'s for myself.\\r\\n Here, boy, \\'To Pallas\\'; here \\'To Mercury.\\'\\r\\n \\'To Saturn,\\' Caius- not to Saturnine:\\r\\n You were as good to shoot against the wind.\\r\\n To it, boy. Marcus, loose when I bid.\\r\\n Of my word, I have written to effect;\\r\\n There\\'s not a god left unsolicited.\\r\\n MARCUS. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court;\\r\\n We will afflict the Emperor in his pride.\\r\\n TITUS. Now, masters, draw. [They shoot] O, well said, Lucius!\\r\\n Good boy, in Virgo\\'s lap! Give it Pallas.\\r\\n MARCUS. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon;\\r\\n Your letter is with Jupiter by this.\\r\\n TITUS. Ha! ha!\\r\\n Publius, Publius, hast thou done?\\r\\n See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus\\' horns.\\r\\n MARCUS. This was the sport, my lord: when Publius shot,\\r\\n The Bull, being gall\\'d, gave Aries such a knock\\r\\n That down fell both the Ram\\'s horns in the court;\\r\\n And who should find them but the Empress\\' villain?\\r\\n She laugh\\'d, and told the Moor he should not choose\\r\\n But give them to his master for a present.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, there it goes! God give his lordship joy!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the CLOWN, with a basket and two pigeons in it\\r\\n\\r\\n News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come.\\r\\n Sirrah, what tidings? Have you any letters?\\r\\n Shall I have justice? What says Jupiter?\\r\\n CLOWN. Ho, the gibbet-maker? He says that he hath taken them down\\r\\n again, for the man must not be hang\\'d till the next week.\\r\\n TITUS. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee?\\r\\n CLOWN. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank with him in all\\r\\n my life.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?\\r\\n CLOWN. Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, didst thou not come from heaven?\\r\\n CLOWN. From heaven! Alas, sir, I never came there. God forbid I\\r\\n should be so bold to press to heaven in my young days. Why, I am\\r\\n going with my pigeons to the Tribunal Plebs, to take up a matter\\r\\n of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the Emperal\\'s men.\\r\\n MARCUS. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to serve for your\\r\\n oration; and let him deliver the pigeons to the Emperor from you.\\r\\n TITUS. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the Emperor with a\\r\\n grace?\\r\\n CLOWN. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life.\\r\\n TITUS. Sirrah, come hither. Make no more ado,\\r\\n But give your pigeons to the Emperor;\\r\\n By me thou shalt have justice at his hands.\\r\\n Hold, hold! Meanwhile here\\'s money for thy charges.\\r\\n Give me pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver up a\\r\\n supplication?\\r\\n CLOWN. Ay, sir.\\r\\n TITUS. Then here is a supplication for you. And when you come to\\r\\n him, at the first approach you must kneel; then kiss his foot;\\r\\n then deliver up your pigeons; and then look for your reward. I\\'ll\\r\\n be at hand, sir; see you do it bravely.\\r\\n CLOWN. I warrant you, sir; let me alone.\\r\\n TITUS. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come let me see it.\\r\\n Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration;\\r\\n For thou hast made it like a humble suppliant.\\r\\n And when thou hast given it to the Emperor,\\r\\n Knock at my door, and tell me what he says.\\r\\n CLOWN. God be with you, sir; I will.\\r\\n TITUS. Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, follow me. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Rome. Before the palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the EMPEROR, and the EMPRESS and her two sons, DEMETRIUS and\\r\\nCHIRON; LORDS and others. The EMPEROR brings the arrows in his hand\\r\\nthat TITUS shot at him\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Why, lords, what wrongs are these! Was ever seen\\r\\n An emperor in Rome thus overborne,\\r\\n Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent\\r\\n Of egal justice, us\\'d in such contempt?\\r\\n My lords, you know, as know the mightful gods,\\r\\n However these disturbers of our peace\\r\\n Buzz in the people\\'s ears, there nought hath pass\\'d\\r\\n But even with law against the wilful sons\\r\\n Of old Andronicus. And what an if\\r\\n His sorrows have so overwhelm\\'d his wits,\\r\\n Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks,\\r\\n His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness?\\r\\n And now he writes to heaven for his redress.\\r\\n See, here\\'s \\'To Jove\\' and this \\'To Mercury\\';\\r\\n This \\'To Apollo\\'; this \\'To the God of War\\'-\\r\\n Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome!\\r\\n What\\'s this but libelling against the Senate,\\r\\n And blazoning our unjustice every where?\\r\\n A goodly humour, is it not, my lords?\\r\\n As who would say in Rome no justice were.\\r\\n But if I live, his feigned ecstasies\\r\\n Shall be no shelter to these outrages;\\r\\n But he and his shall know that justice lives\\r\\n In Saturninus\\' health; whom, if she sleep,\\r\\n He\\'ll so awake as he in fury shall\\r\\n Cut off the proud\\'st conspirator that lives.\\r\\n TAMORA. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine,\\r\\n Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts,\\r\\n Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus\\' age,\\r\\n Th\\' effects of sorrow for his valiant sons\\r\\n Whose loss hath pierc\\'d him deep and scarr\\'d his heart;\\r\\n And rather comfort his distressed plight\\r\\n Than prosecute the meanest or the best\\r\\n For these contempts. [Aside] Why, thus it shall become\\r\\n High-witted Tamora to gloze with all.\\r\\n But, Titus, I have touch\\'d thee to the quick,\\r\\n Thy life-blood out; if Aaron now be wise,\\r\\n Then is all safe, the anchor in the port.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CLOWN\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, good fellow! Wouldst thou speak with us?\\r\\n CLOWN. Yes, forsooth, an your mistriship be Emperial.\\r\\n TAMORA. Empress I am, but yonder sits the Emperor.\\r\\n CLOWN. \\'Tis he.- God and Saint Stephen give you godden. I have\\r\\n brought you a letter and a couple of pigeons here.\\r\\n [SATURNINUS reads the letter]\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Go take him away, and hang him presently.\\r\\n CLOWN. How much money must I have?\\r\\n TAMORA. Come, sirrah, you must be hang\\'d.\\r\\n CLOWN. Hang\\'d! by\\'r lady, then I have brought up a neck to a fair\\r\\n end. [Exit guarded]\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs!\\r\\n Shall I endure this monstrous villainy?\\r\\n I know from whence this same device proceeds.\\r\\n May this be borne- as if his traitorous sons\\r\\n That died by law for murder of our brother\\r\\n Have by my means been butchered wrongfully?\\r\\n Go drag the villain hither by the hair;\\r\\n Nor age nor honour shall shape privilege.\\r\\n For this proud mock I\\'ll be thy slaughterman,\\r\\n Sly frantic wretch, that holp\\'st to make me great,\\r\\n In hope thyself should govern Rome and me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NUNTIUS AEMILIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n What news with thee, Aemilius?\\r\\n AEMILIUS. Arm, my lords! Rome never had more cause.\\r\\n The Goths have gathered head; and with a power\\r\\n Of high resolved men, bent to the spoil,\\r\\n They hither march amain, under conduct\\r\\n Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus;\\r\\n Who threats in course of this revenge to do\\r\\n As much as ever Coriolanus did.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths?\\r\\n These tidings nip me, and I hang the head\\r\\n As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storms.\\r\\n Ay, now begins our sorrows to approach.\\r\\n \\'Tis he the common people love so much;\\r\\n Myself hath often heard them say-\\r\\n When I have walked like a private man-\\r\\n That Lucius\\' banishment was wrongfully,\\r\\n And they have wish\\'d that Lucius were their emperor.\\r\\n TAMORA. Why should you fear? Is not your city strong?\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius,\\r\\n And will revolt from me to succour him.\\r\\n TAMORA. King, be thy thoughts imperious like thy name!\\r\\n Is the sun dimm\\'d, that gnats do fly in it?\\r\\n The eagle suffers little birds to sing,\\r\\n And is not careful what they mean thereby,\\r\\n Knowing that with the shadow of his wings\\r\\n He can at pleasure stint their melody;\\r\\n Even so mayest thou the giddy men of Rome.\\r\\n Then cheer thy spirit; for know thou, Emperor,\\r\\n I will enchant the old Andronicus\\r\\n With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous,\\r\\n Than baits to fish or honey-stalks to sheep,\\r\\n When as the one is wounded with the bait,\\r\\n The other rotted with delicious feed.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. But he will not entreat his son for us.\\r\\n TAMORA. If Tamora entreat him, then he will;\\r\\n For I can smooth and fill his aged ears\\r\\n With golden promises, that, were his heart\\r\\n Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf,\\r\\n Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue.\\r\\n [To AEMILIUS] Go thou before to be our ambassador;\\r\\n Say that the Emperor requests a parley\\r\\n Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting\\r\\n Even at his father\\'s house, the old Andronicus.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Aemilius, do this message honourably;\\r\\n And if he stand on hostage for his safety,\\r\\n Bid him demand what pledge will please him best.\\r\\n AEMILIUS. Your bidding shall I do effectually. Exit\\r\\n TAMORA. Now will I to that old Andronicus,\\r\\n And temper him with all the art I have,\\r\\n To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths.\\r\\n And now, sweet Emperor, be blithe again,\\r\\n And bury all thy fear in my devices.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Then go successantly, and plead to him.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. Plains near Rome\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter LUCIUS with an army of GOTHS with drums and colours\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS. Approved warriors and my faithful friends,\\r\\n I have received letters from great Rome\\r\\n Which signifies what hate they bear their Emperor\\r\\n And how desirous of our sight they are.\\r\\n Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness,\\r\\n Imperious and impatient of your wrongs;\\r\\n And wherein Rome hath done you any scath,\\r\\n Let him make treble satisfaction.\\r\\n FIRST GOTH. Brave slip, sprung from the great Andronicus,\\r\\n Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort,\\r\\n Whose high exploits and honourable deeds\\r\\n Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt,\\r\\n Be bold in us: we\\'ll follow where thou lead\\'st,\\r\\n Like stinging bees in hottest summer\\'s day,\\r\\n Led by their master to the flow\\'red fields,\\r\\n And be aveng\\'d on cursed Tamora.\\r\\n ALL THE GOTHS. And as he saith, so say we all with him.\\r\\n LUCIUS. I humbly thank him, and I thank you all.\\r\\n But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a GOTH, leading AARON with his CHILD in his arms\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND GOTH. Renowned Lucius, from our troops I stray\\'d\\r\\n To gaze upon a ruinous monastery;\\r\\n And as I earnestly did fix mine eye\\r\\n Upon the wasted building, suddenly\\r\\n I heard a child cry underneath a wall.\\r\\n I made unto the noise, when soon I heard\\r\\n The crying babe controll\\'d with this discourse:\\r\\n \\'Peace, tawny slave, half me and half thy dam!\\r\\n Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art,\\r\\n Had nature lent thee but thy mother\\'s look,\\r\\n Villain, thou mightst have been an emperor;\\r\\n But where the bull and cow are both milk-white,\\r\\n They never do beget a coal-black calf.\\r\\n Peace, villain, peace!\\'- even thus he rates the babe-\\r\\n \\'For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth,\\r\\n Who, when he knows thou art the Empress\\' babe,\\r\\n Will hold thee dearly for thy mother\\'s sake.\\'\\r\\n With this, my weapon drawn, I rush\\'d upon him,\\r\\n Surpris\\'d him suddenly, and brought him hither\\r\\n To use as you think needful of the man.\\r\\n LUCIUS. O worthy Goth, this is the incarnate devil\\r\\n That robb\\'d Andronicus of his good hand;\\r\\n This is the pearl that pleas\\'d your Empress\\' eye;\\r\\n And here\\'s the base fruit of her burning lust.\\r\\n Say, wall-ey\\'d slave, whither wouldst thou convey\\r\\n This growing image of thy fiend-like face?\\r\\n Why dost not speak? What, deaf? Not a word?\\r\\n A halter, soldiers! Hang him on this tree,\\r\\n And by his side his fruit of bastardy.\\r\\n AARON. Touch not the boy, he is of royal blood.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Too like the sire for ever being good.\\r\\n First hang the child, that he may see it sprawl-\\r\\n A sight to vex the father\\'s soul withal.\\r\\n Get me a ladder.\\r\\n [A ladder brought, which AARON is made to climb]\\r\\n AARON. Lucius, save the child,\\r\\n And bear it from me to the Emperess.\\r\\n If thou do this, I\\'ll show thee wondrous things\\r\\n That highly may advantage thee to hear;\\r\\n If thou wilt not, befall what may befall,\\r\\n I\\'ll speak no more but \\'Vengeance rot you all!\\'\\r\\n LUCIUS. Say on; an if it please me which thou speak\\'st,\\r\\n Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourish\\'d.\\r\\n AARON. An if it please thee! Why, assure thee, Lucius,\\r\\n \\'Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak;\\r\\n For I must talk of murders, rapes, and massacres,\\r\\n Acts of black night, abominable deeds,\\r\\n Complots of mischief, treason, villainies,\\r\\n Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perform\\'d;\\r\\n And this shall all be buried in my death,\\r\\n Unless thou swear to me my child shall live.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Tell on thy mind; I say thy child shall live.\\r\\n AARON. Swear that he shall, and then I will begin.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Who should I swear by? Thou believest no god;\\r\\n That granted, how canst thou believe an oath?\\r\\n AARON. What if I do not? as indeed I do not;\\r\\n Yet, for I know thou art religious\\r\\n And hast a thing within thee called conscience,\\r\\n With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies\\r\\n Which I have seen thee careful to observe,\\r\\n Therefore I urge thy oath. For that I know\\r\\n An idiot holds his bauble for a god,\\r\\n And keeps the oath which by that god he swears,\\r\\n To that I\\'ll urge him. Therefore thou shalt vow\\r\\n By that same god- what god soe\\'er it be\\r\\n That thou adorest and hast in reverence-\\r\\n To save my boy, to nourish and bring him up;\\r\\n Or else I will discover nought to thee.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Even by my god I swear to thee I will.\\r\\n AARON. First know thou, I begot him on the Empress.\\r\\n LUCIUS. O most insatiate and luxurious woman!\\r\\n AARON. Tut, Lucius, this was but a deed of charity\\r\\n To that which thou shalt hear of me anon.\\r\\n \\'Twas her two sons that murdered Bassianus;\\r\\n They cut thy sister\\'s tongue, and ravish\\'d her,\\r\\n And cut her hands, and trimm\\'d her as thou sawest.\\r\\n LUCIUS. O detestable villain! Call\\'st thou that trimming?\\r\\n AARON. Why, she was wash\\'d, and cut, and trimm\\'d, and \\'twas\\r\\n Trim sport for them which had the doing of it.\\r\\n LUCIUS. O barbarous beastly villains like thyself!\\r\\n AARON. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them.\\r\\n That codding spirit had they from their mother,\\r\\n As sure a card as ever won the set;\\r\\n That bloody mind, I think, they learn\\'d of me,\\r\\n As true a dog as ever fought at head.\\r\\n Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth.\\r\\n I train\\'d thy brethren to that guileful hole\\r\\n Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay;\\r\\n I wrote the letter that thy father found,\\r\\n And hid the gold within that letter mention\\'d,\\r\\n Confederate with the Queen and her two sons;\\r\\n And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue,\\r\\n Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it?\\r\\n I play\\'d the cheater for thy father\\'s hand,\\r\\n And, when I had it, drew myself apart\\r\\n And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter.\\r\\n I pried me through the crevice of a wall,\\r\\n When, for his hand, he had his two sons\\' heads;\\r\\n Beheld his tears, and laugh\\'d so heartily\\r\\n That both mine eyes were rainy like to his;\\r\\n And when I told the Empress of this sport,\\r\\n She swooned almost at my pleasing tale,\\r\\n And for my tidings gave me twenty kisses.\\r\\n GOTH. What, canst thou say all this and never blush?\\r\\n AARON. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds?\\r\\n AARON. Ay, that I had not done a thousand more.\\r\\n Even now I curse the day- and yet, I think,\\r\\n Few come within the compass of my curse-\\r\\n Wherein I did not some notorious ill;\\r\\n As kill a man, or else devise his death;\\r\\n Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it;\\r\\n Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself;\\r\\n Set deadly enmity between two friends;\\r\\n Make poor men\\'s cattle break their necks;\\r\\n Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night,\\r\\n And bid the owners quench them with their tears.\\r\\n Oft have I digg\\'d up dead men from their graves,\\r\\n And set them upright at their dear friends\\' door\\r\\n Even when their sorrows almost was forgot,\\r\\n And on their skins, as on the bark of trees,\\r\\n Have with my knife carved in Roman letters\\r\\n \\'Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.\\'\\r\\n Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things\\r\\n As willingly as one would kill a fly;\\r\\n And nothing grieves me heartily indeed\\r\\n But that I cannot do ten thousand more.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Bring down the devil, for he must not die\\r\\n So sweet a death as hanging presently.\\r\\n AARON. If there be devils, would I were a devil,\\r\\n To live and burn in everlasting fire,\\r\\n So I might have your company in hell\\r\\n But to torment you with my bitter tongue!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak no more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter AEMILIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n GOTH. My lord, there is a messenger from Rome\\r\\n Desires to be admitted to your presence.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Let him come near.\\r\\n Welcome, Aemilius. What\\'s the news from Rome?\\r\\n AEMILIUS. Lord Lucius, and you Princes of the Goths,\\r\\n The Roman Emperor greets you all by me;\\r\\n And, for he understands you are in arms,\\r\\n He craves a parley at your father\\'s house,\\r\\n Willing you to demand your hostages,\\r\\n And they shall be immediately deliver\\'d.\\r\\n FIRST GOTH. What says our general?\\r\\n LUCIUS. Aemilius, let the Emperor give his pledges\\r\\n Unto my father and my uncle Marcus.\\r\\n And we will come. March away. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Rome. Before TITUS\\' house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TAMORA, and her two sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, disguised\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA. Thus, in this strange and sad habiliment,\\r\\n I will encounter with Andronicus,\\r\\n And say I am Revenge, sent from below\\r\\n To join with him and right his heinous wrongs.\\r\\n Knock at his study, where they say he keeps\\r\\n To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge;\\r\\n Tell him Revenge is come to join with him,\\r\\n And work confusion on his enemies.\\r\\n\\r\\n They knock and TITUS opens his study door, above\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Who doth molest my contemplation?\\r\\n Is it your trick to make me ope the door,\\r\\n That so my sad decrees may fly away\\r\\n And all my study be to no effect?\\r\\n You are deceiv\\'d; for what I mean to do\\r\\n See here in bloody lines I have set down;\\r\\n And what is written shall be executed.\\r\\n TAMORA. Titus, I am come to talk with thee.\\r\\n TITUS. No, not a word. How can I grace my talk,\\r\\n Wanting a hand to give it that accord?\\r\\n Thou hast the odds of me; therefore no more.\\r\\n TAMORA. If thou didst know me, thou wouldst talk with me.\\r\\n TITUS. I am not mad, I know thee well enough:\\r\\n Witness this wretched stump, witness these crimson lines;\\r\\n Witness these trenches made by grief and care;\\r\\n Witness the tiring day and heavy night;\\r\\n Witness all sorrow that I know thee well\\r\\n For our proud Empress, mighty Tamora.\\r\\n Is not thy coming for my other hand?\\r\\n TAMORA. Know thou, sad man, I am not Tamora:\\r\\n She is thy enemy and I thy friend.\\r\\n I am Revenge, sent from th\\' infernal kingdom\\r\\n To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind\\r\\n By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes.\\r\\n Come down and welcome me to this world\\'s light;\\r\\n Confer with me of murder and of death;\\r\\n There\\'s not a hollow cave or lurking-place,\\r\\n No vast obscurity or misty vale,\\r\\n Where bloody murder or detested rape\\r\\n Can couch for fear but I will find them out;\\r\\n And in their ears tell them my dreadful name-\\r\\n Revenge, which makes the foul offender quake.\\r\\n TITUS. Art thou Revenge? and art thou sent to me\\r\\n To be a torment to mine enemies?\\r\\n TAMORA. I am; therefore come down and welcome me.\\r\\n TITUS. Do me some service ere I come to thee.\\r\\n Lo, by thy side where Rape and Murder stands;\\r\\n Now give some surance that thou art Revenge-\\r\\n Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot wheels;\\r\\n And then I\\'ll come and be thy waggoner\\r\\n And whirl along with thee about the globes.\\r\\n Provide thee two proper palfreys, black as jet,\\r\\n To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away,\\r\\n And find out murderers in their guilty caves;\\r\\n And when thy car is loaden with their heads,\\r\\n I will dismount, and by thy waggon wheel\\r\\n Trot, like a servile footman, all day long,\\r\\n Even from Hyperion\\'s rising in the east\\r\\n Until his very downfall in the sea.\\r\\n And day by day I\\'ll do this heavy task,\\r\\n So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there.\\r\\n TAMORA. These are my ministers, and come with me.\\r\\n TITUS. Are they thy ministers? What are they call\\'d?\\r\\n TAMORA. Rape and Murder; therefore called so\\r\\n \\'Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men.\\r\\n TITUS. Good Lord, how like the Empress\\' sons they are!\\r\\n And you the Empress! But we worldly men\\r\\n Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes.\\r\\n O sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee;\\r\\n And, if one arm\\'s embracement will content thee,\\r\\n I will embrace thee in it by and by.\\r\\n TAMORA. This closing with him fits his lunacy.\\r\\n Whate\\'er I forge to feed his brain-sick humours,\\r\\n Do you uphold and maintain in your speeches,\\r\\n For now he firmly takes me for Revenge;\\r\\n And, being credulous in this mad thought,\\r\\n I\\'ll make him send for Lucius his son,\\r\\n And whilst I at a banquet hold him sure,\\r\\n I\\'ll find some cunning practice out of hand\\r\\n To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths,\\r\\n Or, at the least, make them his enemies.\\r\\n See, here he comes, and I must ply my theme.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TITUS, below\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee.\\r\\n Welcome, dread Fury, to my woeful house.\\r\\n Rapine and Murder, you are welcome too.\\r\\n How like the Empress and her sons you are!\\r\\n Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor.\\r\\n Could not all hell afford you such a devil?\\r\\n For well I wot the Empress never wags\\r\\n But in her company there is a Moor;\\r\\n And, would you represent our queen aright,\\r\\n It were convenient you had such a devil.\\r\\n But welcome as you are. What shall we do?\\r\\n TAMORA. What wouldst thou have us do, Andronicus?\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Show me a murderer, I\\'ll deal with him.\\r\\n CHIRON. Show me a villain that hath done a rape,\\r\\n And I am sent to be reveng\\'d on him.\\r\\n TAMORA. Show me a thousand that hath done thee wrong,\\r\\n And I will be revenged on them all.\\r\\n TITUS. Look round about the wicked streets of Rome,\\r\\n And when thou find\\'st a man that\\'s like thyself,\\r\\n Good Murder, stab him; he\\'s a murderer.\\r\\n Go thou with him, and when it is thy hap\\r\\n To find another that is like to thee,\\r\\n Good Rapine, stab him; he is a ravisher.\\r\\n Go thou with them; and in the Emperor\\'s court\\r\\n There is a queen, attended by a Moor;\\r\\n Well shalt thou know her by thine own proportion,\\r\\n For up and down she doth resemble thee.\\r\\n I pray thee, do on them some violent death;\\r\\n They have been violent to me and mine.\\r\\n TAMORA. Well hast thou lesson\\'d us; this shall we do.\\r\\n But would it please thee, good Andronicus,\\r\\n To send for Lucius, thy thrice-valiant son,\\r\\n Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike Goths,\\r\\n And bid him come and banquet at thy house;\\r\\n When he is here, even at thy solemn feast,\\r\\n I will bring in the Empress and her sons,\\r\\n The Emperor himself, and all thy foes;\\r\\n And at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel,\\r\\n And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart.\\r\\n What says Andronicus to this device?\\r\\n TITUS. Marcus, my brother! \\'Tis sad Titus calls.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MARCUS\\r\\n\\r\\n Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius;\\r\\n Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths.\\r\\n Bid him repair to me, and bring with him\\r\\n Some of the chiefest princes of the Goths;\\r\\n Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are.\\r\\n Tell him the Emperor and the Empress too\\r\\n Feast at my house, and he shall feast with them.\\r\\n This do thou for my love; and so let him,\\r\\n As he regards his aged father\\'s life.\\r\\n MARCUS. This will I do, and soon return again. Exit\\r\\n TAMORA. Now will I hence about thy business,\\r\\n And take my ministers along with me.\\r\\n TITUS. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with me,\\r\\n Or else I\\'ll call my brother back again,\\r\\n And cleave to no revenge but Lucius.\\r\\n TAMORA. [Aside to her sons] What say you, boys? Will you abide\\r\\n with him,\\r\\n Whiles I go tell my lord the Emperor\\r\\n How I have govern\\'d our determin\\'d jest?\\r\\n Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair,\\r\\n And tarry with him till I turn again.\\r\\n TITUS. [Aside] I knew them all, though they suppos\\'d me mad,\\r\\n And will o\\'er reach them in their own devices,\\r\\n A pair of cursed hell-hounds and their dam.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Madam, depart at pleasure; leave us here.\\r\\n TAMORA. Farewell, Andronicus, Revenge now goes\\r\\n To lay a complot to betray thy foes.\\r\\n TITUS. I know thou dost; and, sweet Revenge, farewell.\\r\\n Exit TAMORA\\r\\n CHIRON. Tell us, old man, how shall we be employ\\'d?\\r\\n TITUS. Tut, I have work enough for you to do.\\r\\n Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PUBLIUS, CAIUS, and VALENTINE\\r\\n\\r\\n PUBLIUS. What is your will?\\r\\n TITUS. Know you these two?\\r\\n PUBLIUS. The Empress\\' sons, I take them: Chiron, Demetrius.\\r\\n TITUS. Fie, Publius, fie! thou art too much deceiv\\'d.\\r\\n The one is Murder, and Rape is the other\\'s name;\\r\\n And therefore bind them, gentle Publius-\\r\\n Caius and Valentine, lay hands on them.\\r\\n Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour,\\r\\n And now I find it; therefore bind them sure,\\r\\n And stop their mouths if they begin to cry. Exit\\r\\n [They lay hold on CHIRON and DEMETRIUS]\\r\\n CHIRON. Villains, forbear! we are the Empress\\' sons.\\r\\n PUBLIUS. And therefore do we what we are commanded.\\r\\n Stop close their mouths, let them not speak a word.\\r\\n Is he sure bound? Look that you bind them fast.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter TITUS ANDRONICUS\\r\\n with a knife, and LAVINIA, with a basin\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Come, come, Lavinia; look, thy foes are bound.\\r\\n Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to me;\\r\\n But let them hear what fearful words I utter.\\r\\n O villains, Chiron and Demetrius!\\r\\n Here stands the spring whom you have stain\\'d with mud;\\r\\n This goodly summer with your winter mix\\'d.\\r\\n You kill\\'d her husband; and for that vile fault\\r\\n Two of her brothers were condemn\\'d to death,\\r\\n My hand cut off and made a merry jest;\\r\\n Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that more dear\\r\\n Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity,\\r\\n Inhuman traitors, you constrain\\'d and forc\\'d.\\r\\n What would you say, if I should let you speak?\\r\\n Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace.\\r\\n Hark, wretches! how I mean to martyr you.\\r\\n This one hand yet is left to cut your throats,\\r\\n Whiles that Lavinia \\'tween her stumps doth hold\\r\\n The basin that receives your guilty blood.\\r\\n You know your mother means to feast with me,\\r\\n And calls herself Revenge, and thinks me mad.\\r\\n Hark, villains! I will grind your bones to dust,\\r\\n And with your blood and it I\\'ll make a paste;\\r\\n And of the paste a coffin I will rear,\\r\\n And make two pasties of your shameful heads;\\r\\n And bid that strumpet, your unhallowed dam,\\r\\n Like to the earth, swallow her own increase.\\r\\n This is the feast that I have bid her to,\\r\\n And this the banquet she shall surfeit on;\\r\\n For worse than Philomel you us\\'d my daughter,\\r\\n And worse than Progne I will be reveng\\'d.\\r\\n And now prepare your throats. Lavinia, come,\\r\\n Receive the blood; and when that they are dead,\\r\\n Let me go grind their bones to powder small,\\r\\n And with this hateful liquor temper it;\\r\\n And in that paste let their vile heads be bak\\'d.\\r\\n Come, come, be every one officious\\r\\n To make this banquet, which I wish may prove\\r\\n More stern and bloody than the Centaurs\\' feast.\\r\\n [He cuts their throats]\\r\\n So.\\r\\n Now bring them in, for I will play the cook,\\r\\n And see them ready against their mother comes.\\r\\n Exeunt, bearing the dead bodies\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The court of TITUS\\' house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Lucius, MARCUS, and the GOTHS, with AARON prisoner, and his CHILD\\r\\nin the arms of an attendant\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS. Uncle Marcus, since \\'tis my father\\'s mind\\r\\n That I repair to Rome, I am content.\\r\\n FIRST GOTH. And ours with thine, befall what fortune will.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous Moor,\\r\\n This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil;\\r\\n Let him receive no sust\\'nance, fetter him,\\r\\n Till he be brought unto the Empress\\' face\\r\\n For testimony of her foul proceedings.\\r\\n And see the ambush of our friends be strong;\\r\\n I fear the Emperor means no good to us.\\r\\n AARON. Some devil whisper curses in my ear,\\r\\n And prompt me that my tongue may utter forth\\r\\n The venomous malice of my swelling heart!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Away, inhuman dog, unhallowed slave!\\r\\n Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in.\\r\\n Exeunt GOTHS with AARON. Flourish within\\r\\n The trumpets show the Emperor is at hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound trumpets. Enter SATURNINUS and\\r\\n TAMORA, with AEMILIUS, TRIBUNES, SENATORS, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS. What, hath the firmament more suns than one?\\r\\n LUCIUS. What boots it thee to can thyself a sun?\\r\\n MARCUS. Rome\\'s Emperor, and nephew, break the parle;\\r\\n These quarrels must be quietly debated.\\r\\n The feast is ready which the careful Titus\\r\\n Hath ordain\\'d to an honourable end,\\r\\n For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome.\\r\\n Please you, therefore, draw nigh and take your places.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Marcus, we will.\\r\\n [A table brought in. The company sit down]\\r\\n\\r\\n Trumpets sounding, enter TITUS\\r\\n like a cook, placing the dishes, and LAVINIA\\r\\n with a veil over her face; also YOUNG LUCIUS, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Welcome, my lord; welcome, dread Queen;\\r\\n Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lucius;\\r\\n And welcome all. Although the cheer be poor,\\r\\n \\'Twill fill your stomachs; please you eat of it.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Why art thou thus attir\\'d, Andronicus?\\r\\n TITUS. Because I would be sure to have all well\\r\\n To entertain your Highness and your Empress.\\r\\n TAMORA. We are beholding to you, good Andronicus.\\r\\n TITUS. An if your Highness knew my heart, you were.\\r\\n My lord the Emperor, resolve me this:\\r\\n Was it well done of rash Virginius\\r\\n To slay his daughter with his own right hand,\\r\\n Because she was enforc\\'d, stain\\'d, and deflower\\'d?\\r\\n SATURNINUS. It was, Andronicus.\\r\\n TITUS. Your reason, mighty lord.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Because the girl should not survive her shame,\\r\\n And by her presence still renew his sorrows.\\r\\n TITUS. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual;\\r\\n A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant\\r\\n For me, most wretched, to perform the like.\\r\\n Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee; [He kills her]\\r\\n And with thy shame thy father\\'s sorrow die!\\r\\n SATURNINUS. What hast thou done, unnatural and unkind?\\r\\n TITUS. Kill\\'d her for whom my tears have made me blind.\\r\\n I am as woeful as Virginius was,\\r\\n And have a thousand times more cause than he\\r\\n To do this outrage; and it now is done.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. What, was she ravish\\'d? Tell who did the deed.\\r\\n TITUS. Will\\'t please you eat? Will\\'t please your Highness feed?\\r\\n TAMORA. Why hast thou slain thine only daughter thus?\\r\\n TITUS. Not I; \\'twas Chiron and Demetrius.\\r\\n They ravish\\'d her, and cut away her tongue;\\r\\n And they, \\'twas they, that did her all this wrong.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Go, fetch them hither to us presently.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, there they are, both baked in this pie,\\r\\n Whereof their mother daintily hath fed,\\r\\n Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred.\\r\\n \\'Tis true, \\'tis true: witness my knife\\'s sharp point.\\r\\n [He stabs the EMPRESS]\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed!\\r\\n [He stabs TITUS]\\r\\n LUCIUS. Can the son\\'s eye behold his father bleed?\\r\\n There\\'s meed for meed, death for a deadly deed.\\r\\n [He stabs SATURNINUS. A great tumult. LUCIUS,\\r\\n MARCUS, and their friends go up into the balcony]\\r\\n MARCUS. You sad-fac\\'d men, people and sons of Rome,\\r\\n By uproars sever\\'d, as a flight of fowl\\r\\n Scatter\\'d by winds and high tempestuous gusts?\\r\\n O, let me teach you how to knit again\\r\\n This scattered corn into one mutual sheaf,\\r\\n These broken limbs again into one body;\\r\\n Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself,\\r\\n And she whom mighty kingdoms curtsy to,\\r\\n Like a forlorn and desperate castaway,\\r\\n Do shameful execution on herself.\\r\\n But if my frosty signs and chaps of age,\\r\\n Grave witnesses of true experience,\\r\\n Cannot induce you to attend my words,\\r\\n [To Lucius] Speak, Rome\\'s dear friend, as erst our ancestor,\\r\\n When with his solemn tongue he did discourse\\r\\n To love-sick Dido\\'s sad attending ear\\r\\n The story of that baleful burning night,\\r\\n When subtle Greeks surpris\\'d King Priam\\'s Troy.\\r\\n Tell us what Sinon hath bewitch\\'d our ears,\\r\\n Or who hath brought the fatal engine in\\r\\n That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound.\\r\\n My heart is not compact of flint nor steel;\\r\\n Nor can I utter all our bitter grief,\\r\\n But floods of tears will drown my oratory\\r\\n And break my utt\\'rance, even in the time\\r\\n When it should move ye to attend me most,\\r\\n And force you to commiseration.\\r\\n Here\\'s Rome\\'s young Captain, let him tell the tale;\\r\\n While I stand by and weep to hear him speak.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Then, gracious auditory, be it known to you\\r\\n That Chiron and the damn\\'d Demetrius\\r\\n Were they that murd\\'red our Emperor\\'s brother;\\r\\n And they it were that ravished our sister.\\r\\n For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded,\\r\\n Our father\\'s tears despis\\'d, and basely cozen\\'d\\r\\n Of that true hand that fought Rome\\'s quarrel out\\r\\n And sent her enemies unto the grave.\\r\\n Lastly, myself unkindly banished,\\r\\n The gates shut on me, and turn\\'d weeping out,\\r\\n To beg relief among Rome\\'s enemies;\\r\\n Who drown\\'d their enmity in my true tears,\\r\\n And op\\'d their arms to embrace me as a friend.\\r\\n I am the turned forth, be it known to you,\\r\\n That have preserv\\'d her welfare in my blood\\r\\n And from her bosom took the enemy\\'s point,\\r\\n Sheathing the steel in my advent\\'rous body.\\r\\n Alas! you know I am no vaunter, I;\\r\\n My scars can witness, dumb although they are,\\r\\n That my report is just and full of truth.\\r\\n But, soft! methinks I do digress too much,\\r\\n Citing my worthless praise. O, pardon me!\\r\\n For when no friends are by, men praise themselves.\\r\\n MARCUS. Now is my turn to speak. Behold the child.\\r\\n [Pointing to the CHILD in an attendant\\'s arms]\\r\\n Of this was Tamora delivered,\\r\\n The issue of an irreligious Moor,\\r\\n Chief architect and plotter of these woes.\\r\\n The villain is alive in Titus\\' house,\\r\\n Damn\\'d as he is, to witness this is true.\\r\\n Now judge what cause had Titus to revenge\\r\\n These wrongs unspeakable, past patience,\\r\\n Or more than any living man could bear.\\r\\n Now have you heard the truth: what say you, Romans?\\r\\n Have we done aught amiss, show us wherein,\\r\\n And, from the place where you behold us pleading,\\r\\n The poor remainder of Andronici\\r\\n Will, hand in hand, all headlong hurl ourselves,\\r\\n And on the ragged stones beat forth our souls,\\r\\n And make a mutual closure of our house.\\r\\n Speak, Romans, speak; and if you say we shall,\\r\\n Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall.\\r\\n AEMILIUS. Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome,\\r\\n And bring our Emperor gently in thy hand,\\r\\n Lucius our Emperor; for well I know\\r\\n The common voice do cry it shall be so.\\r\\n ALL. Lucius, all hail, Rome\\'s royal Emperor!\\r\\n MARCUS. Go, go into old Titus\\' sorrowful house,\\r\\n And hither hale that misbelieving Moor\\r\\n To be adjudg\\'d some direful slaught\\'ring death,\\r\\n As punishment for his most wicked life. Exeunt some\\r\\n attendants. LUCIUS, MARCUS, and the others descend\\r\\n ALL. Lucius, all hail, Rome\\'s gracious governor!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Thanks, gentle Romans! May I govern so\\r\\n To heal Rome\\'s harms and wipe away her woe!\\r\\n But, gentle people, give me aim awhile,\\r\\n For nature puts me to a heavy task.\\r\\n Stand all aloof; but, uncle, draw you near\\r\\n To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk.\\r\\n O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips. [Kisses TITUS]\\r\\n These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain\\'d face,\\r\\n The last true duties of thy noble son!\\r\\n MARCUS. Tear for tear and loving kiss for kiss\\r\\n Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips.\\r\\n O, were the sum of these that I should pay\\r\\n Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Come hither, boy; come, come, come, and learn of us\\r\\n To melt in showers. Thy grandsire lov\\'d thee well;\\r\\n Many a time he danc\\'d thee on his knee,\\r\\n Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow;\\r\\n Many a story hath he told to thee,\\r\\n And bid thee bear his pretty tales in mind\\r\\n And talk of them when he was dead and gone.\\r\\n MARCUS. How many thousand times hath these poor lips,\\r\\n When they were living, warm\\'d themselves on thine!\\r\\n O, now, sweet boy, give them their latest kiss!\\r\\n Bid him farewell; commit him to the grave;\\r\\n Do them that kindness, and take leave of them.\\r\\n BOY. O grandsire, grandsire! ev\\'n with all my heart\\r\\n Would I were dead, so you did live again!\\r\\n O Lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping;\\r\\n My tears will choke me, if I ope my mouth.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter attendants with AARON\\r\\n\\r\\n A ROMAN. You sad Andronici, have done with woes;\\r\\n Give sentence on the execrable wretch\\r\\n That hath been breeder of these dire events.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish him;\\r\\n There let him stand and rave and cry for food.\\r\\n If any one relieves or pities him,\\r\\n For the offence he dies. This is our doom.\\r\\n Some stay to see him fast\\'ned in the earth.\\r\\n AARON. Ah, why should wrath be mute and fury dumb?\\r\\n I am no baby, I, that with base prayers\\r\\n I should repent the evils I have done;\\r\\n Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did\\r\\n Would I perform, if I might have my will.\\r\\n If one good deed in all my life I did,\\r\\n I do repent it from my very soul.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Some loving friends convey the Emperor hence,\\r\\n And give him burial in his father\\'s grave.\\r\\n My father and Lavinia shall forthwith\\r\\n Be closed in our household\\'s monument.\\r\\n As for that ravenous tiger, Tamora,\\r\\n No funeral rite, nor man in mourning weed,\\r\\n No mournful bell shall ring her burial;\\r\\n But throw her forth to beasts and birds to prey.\\r\\n Her life was beastly and devoid of pity,\\r\\n And being dead, let birds on her take pity. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE HISTORY OF TROILUS AND CRESSIDA\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nPrologue.\\r\\nScene I. Troy. Before PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\nScene II. Troy. A street.\\r\\nScene III. The Grecian camp. Before AGAMEMNON’S tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. The Grecian camp.\\r\\nScene II. Troy. PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\nScene III. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Troy. PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\nScene II. Troy. PANDARUS’ orchard.\\r\\nScene III. The Greek camp.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Troy. A street.\\r\\nScene II. Troy. The court of PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\nScene III. Troy. A street before PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\nScene IV. Troy. PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\nScene V. The Grecian camp. Lists set out.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES.\\r\\nScene II. The Grecian camp. Before CALCHAS’ tent.\\r\\nScene III. Troy. Before PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\nScene IV. The plain between Troy and the Grecian camp.\\r\\nScene V. Another part of the plain.\\r\\nScene VI. Another part of the plain.\\r\\nScene VII. Another part of the plain.\\r\\nScene VIII. Another part of the plain.\\r\\nScene IX. Another part of the plain.\\r\\nScene X. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM, King of Troy\\r\\n\\r\\nHis sons:\\r\\nHECTOR\\r\\nTROILUS\\r\\nPARIS\\r\\nDEIPHOBUS\\r\\nHELENUS\\r\\nMARGARELON, a bastard son of Priam\\r\\n\\r\\nTrojan commanders:\\r\\nAENEAS\\r\\nANTENOR\\r\\n\\r\\nCALCHAS, a Trojan priest, taking part with the Greeks\\r\\nPANDARUS, uncle to Cressida\\r\\nAGAMEMNON, the Greek general\\r\\nMENELAUS, his brother\\r\\n\\r\\nGreek commanders:\\r\\nACHILLES\\r\\nAJAX\\r\\nULYSSES\\r\\nNESTOR\\r\\nDIOMEDES\\r\\nPATROCLUS\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES, a deformed and scurrilous Greek\\r\\nALEXANDER, servant to Cressida\\r\\nSERVANT to Troilus\\r\\nSERVANT to Paris\\r\\nSERVANT to Diomedes\\r\\nHELEN, wife to Menelaus\\r\\nANDROMACHE, wife to Hector\\r\\nCASSANDRA, daughter to Priam, a prophetess\\r\\nCRESSIDA, daughter to Calchas\\r\\n\\r\\nTrojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Troy and the Greek camp before it\\r\\n\\r\\nPROLOGUE\\r\\n\\r\\nIn Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece\\r\\nThe princes orgulous, their high blood chaf’d,\\r\\nHave to the port of Athens sent their ships\\r\\nFraught with the ministers and instruments\\r\\nOf cruel war. Sixty and nine that wore\\r\\nTheir crownets regal from the Athenian bay\\r\\nPut forth toward Phrygia; and their vow is made\\r\\nTo ransack Troy, within whose strong immures\\r\\nThe ravish’d Helen, Menelaus’ queen,\\r\\nWith wanton Paris sleeps—and that’s the quarrel.\\r\\nTo Tenedos they come,\\r\\nAnd the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge\\r\\nTheir war-like fraughtage. Now on Dardan plains\\r\\nThe fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch\\r\\nTheir brave pavilions: Priam’s six-gated city,\\r\\nDardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Troien,\\r\\nAnd Antenorides, with massy staples\\r\\nAnd corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,\\r\\nStir up the sons of Troy.\\r\\nNow expectation, tickling skittish spirits\\r\\nOn one and other side, Trojan and Greek,\\r\\nSets all on hazard. And hither am I come\\r\\nA prologue arm’d, but not in confidence\\r\\nOf author’s pen or actor’s voice, but suited\\r\\nIn like conditions as our argument,\\r\\nTo tell you, fair beholders, that our play\\r\\nLeaps o’er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils,\\r\\nBeginning in the middle; starting thence away,\\r\\nTo what may be digested in a play.\\r\\nLike or find fault; do as your pleasures are;\\r\\nNow good or bad, ’tis but the chance of war.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Troy. Before PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus armed, and Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCall here my varlet; I’ll unarm again.\\r\\nWhy should I war without the walls of Troy\\r\\nThat find such cruel battle here within?\\r\\nEach Trojan that is master of his heart,\\r\\nLet him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWill this gear ne’er be mended?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThe Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength,\\r\\nFierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant;\\r\\nBut I am weaker than a woman’s tear,\\r\\nTamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance,\\r\\nLess valiant than the virgin in the night,\\r\\nAnd skilless as unpractis’d infancy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell, I have told you enough of this; for my part, I’ll not meddle nor\\r\\nmake no farther. He that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry\\r\\nthe grinding.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHave I not tarried?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHave I not tarried?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nStill have I tarried.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, to the leavening; but here’s yet in the word ‘hereafter’ the\\r\\nkneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the\\r\\nbaking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance burn your\\r\\nlips.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nPatience herself, what goddess e’er she be,\\r\\nDoth lesser blench at suff’rance than I do.\\r\\nAt Priam’s royal table do I sit;\\r\\nAnd when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,\\r\\nSo, traitor! ‘when she comes’! when she is thence?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell, she look’d yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any\\r\\nwoman else.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI was about to tell thee: when my heart,\\r\\nAs wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain,\\r\\nLest Hector or my father should perceive me,\\r\\nI have, as when the sun doth light a storm,\\r\\nBuried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile.\\r\\nBut sorrow that is couch’d in seeming gladness\\r\\nIs like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAn her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen’s, well, go to, there\\r\\nwere no more comparison between the women. But, for my part, she is my\\r\\nkinswoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her, but I would\\r\\nsomebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise\\r\\nyour sister Cassandra’s wit; but—\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,\\r\\nWhen I do tell thee there my hopes lie drown’d,\\r\\nReply not in how many fathoms deep\\r\\nThey lie indrench’d. I tell thee I am mad\\r\\nIn Cressid’s love. Thou answer’st ‘She is fair’;\\r\\nPour’st in the open ulcer of my heart\\r\\nHer eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice,\\r\\nHandlest in thy discourse. O! that her hand,\\r\\nIn whose comparison all whites are ink\\r\\nWriting their own reproach; to whose soft seizure\\r\\nThe cygnet’s down is harsh, and spirit of sense\\r\\nHard as the palm of ploughman! This thou tell’st me,\\r\\nAs true thou tell’st me, when I say I love her;\\r\\nBut, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,\\r\\nThou lay’st in every gash that love hath given me\\r\\nThe knife that made it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI speak no more than truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThou dost not speak so much.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFaith, I’ll not meddle in’t. Let her be as she is: if she be fair, ’tis\\r\\nthe better for her; and she be not, she has the mends in her own hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nGood Pandarus! How now, Pandarus!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI have had my labour for my travail, ill thought on of her and ill\\r\\nthought on of you; gone between and between, but small thanks for my\\r\\nlabour.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat! art thou angry, Pandarus? What! with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nBecause she’s kin to me, therefore she’s not so fair as Helen. And she\\r\\nwere not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday as Helen is on\\r\\nSunday. But what care I? I care not and she were a blackamoor; ’tis all\\r\\none to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nSay I she is not fair?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI do not care whether you do or no. She’s a fool to stay behind her\\r\\nfather. Let her to the Greeks; and so I’ll tell her the next time I see\\r\\nher. For my part, I’ll meddle nor make no more i’ the matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nPandarus—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNot I.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nSweet Pandarus—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nPray you, speak no more to me: I will leave all as I found it, and\\r\\nthere an end.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Pandarus. An alarum._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nPeace, you ungracious clamours! Peace, rude sounds!\\r\\nFools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair,\\r\\nWhen with your blood you daily paint her thus.\\r\\nI cannot fight upon this argument;\\r\\nIt is too starv’d a subject for my sword.\\r\\nBut Pandarus, O gods! how do you plague me!\\r\\nI cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar;\\r\\nAnd he’s as tetchy to be woo’d to woo\\r\\nAs she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.\\r\\nTell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne’s love,\\r\\nWhat Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?\\r\\nHer bed is India; there she lies, a pearl;\\r\\nBetween our Ilium and where she resides\\r\\nLet it be call’d the wild and wandering flood;\\r\\nOurself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar\\r\\nOur doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHow now, Prince Troilus! Wherefore not afield?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBecause not there. This woman’s answer sorts,\\r\\nFor womanish it is to be from thence.\\r\\nWhat news, Aeneas, from the field today?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nThat Paris is returned home, and hurt.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBy whom, Aeneas?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nTroilus, by Menelaus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nLet Paris bleed: ’tis but a scar to scorn;\\r\\nParis is gor’d with Menelaus’ horn.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alarum._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHark what good sport is out of town today!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBetter at home, if ‘would I might’ were ‘may.’\\r\\nBut to the sport abroad. Are you bound thither?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nIn all swift haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCome, go we then together.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Troy. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cressida and her man Alexander.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWho were those went by?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nQueen Hecuba and Helen.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAnd whither go they?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nUp to the eastern tower,\\r\\nWhose height commands as subject all the vale,\\r\\nTo see the battle. Hector, whose patience\\r\\nIs as a virtue fix’d, today was mov’d.\\r\\nHe chid Andromache, and struck his armourer;\\r\\nAnd, like as there were husbandry in war,\\r\\nBefore the sun rose he was harness’d light,\\r\\nAnd to the field goes he; where every flower\\r\\nDid as a prophet weep what it foresaw\\r\\nIn Hector’s wrath.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat was his cause of anger?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nThe noise goes, this: there is among the Greeks\\r\\nA lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector;\\r\\nThey call him Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGood; and what of him?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nThey say he is a very man _per se_\\r\\nAnd stands alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSo do all men, unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs.\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nThis man, lady, hath robb’d many beasts of their particular additions:\\r\\nhe is as valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the\\r\\nelephant—a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours that his valour\\r\\nis crush’d into folly, his folly sauced with discretion. There is no\\r\\nman hath a virtue that he hath not a glimpse of, nor any man an attaint\\r\\nbut he carries some stain of it; he is melancholy without cause and\\r\\nmerry against the hair; he hath the joints of everything; but\\r\\neverything so out of joint that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and\\r\\nno use, or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBut how should this man, that makes me smile, make Hector angry?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nThey say he yesterday cop’d Hector in the battle and struck him down,\\r\\nthe disdain and shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and\\r\\nwaking.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWho comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nMadam, your uncle Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHector’s a gallant man.\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nAs may be in the world, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat’s that? What’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGood morrow, uncle Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nGood morrow, cousin Cressid. What do you talk of?—Good morrow,\\r\\nAlexander.—How do you, cousin? When were you at Ilium?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThis morning, uncle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat were you talking of when I came? Was Hector arm’d and gone ere you\\r\\ncame to Ilium? Helen was not up, was she?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHector was gone; but Helen was not up.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nE’en so. Hector was stirring early.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThat were we talking of, and of his anger.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWas he angry?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSo he says here.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nTrue, he was so; I know the cause too; he’ll lay about him today, I can\\r\\ntell them that. And there’s Troilus will not come far behind him; let\\r\\nthem take heed of Troilus, I can tell them that too.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat, is he angry too?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWho, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO Jupiter! there’s no comparison.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a man if you see him?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAy, if I ever saw him before and knew him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell, I say Troilus is Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThen you say as I say, for I am sure he is not Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNo, nor Hector is not Troilus in some degrees.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\n’Tis just to each of them: he is himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHimself! Alas, poor Troilus! I would he were!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSo he is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nCondition I had gone barefoot to India.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHe is not Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHimself! no, he’s not himself. Would a’ were himself! Well, the gods\\r\\nare above; time must friend or end. Well, Troilus, well! I would my\\r\\nheart were in her body! No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nExcuse me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHe is elder.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nPardon me, pardon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nTh’other’s not come to’t; you shall tell me another tale when\\r\\nth’other’s come to’t. Hector shall not have his wit this year.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHe shall not need it if he have his own.\\r\\n\\r\\nANDARUS.\\r\\nNor his qualities.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNo matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNor his beauty.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\n’Twould not become him: his own’s better.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou have no judgement, niece. Helen herself swore th’other day that\\r\\nTroilus, for a brown favour, for so ’tis, I must confess—not brown\\r\\nneither—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNo, but brown.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFaith, to say truth, brown and not brown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nTo say the truth, true and not true.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nShe prais’d his complexion above Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhy, Paris hath colour enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nSo he has.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThen Troilus should have too much. If she prais’d him above, his\\r\\ncomplexion is higher than his; he having colour enough, and the other\\r\\nhigher, is too flaming a praise for a good complexion. I had as lief\\r\\nHelen’s golden tongue had commended Troilus for a copper nose.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI swear to you I think Helen loves him better than Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThen she’s a merry Greek indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNay, I am sure she does. She came to him th’other day into the\\r\\ncompass’d window—and you know he has not past three or four hairs on\\r\\nhis chin—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIndeed a tapster’s arithmetic may soon bring his particulars therein to\\r\\na total.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhy, he is very young, and yet will he within three pound lift as much\\r\\nas his brother Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIs he so young a man and so old a lifter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nBut to prove to you that Helen loves him: she came and puts me her\\r\\nwhite hand to his cloven chin—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nJuno have mercy! How came it cloven?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhy, you know, ’tis dimpled. I think his smiling becomes him better\\r\\nthan any man in all Phrygia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO, he smiles valiantly!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nDoes he not?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO yes, an ’twere a cloud in autumn!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhy, go to, then! But to prove to you that Helen loves Troilus—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nTroilus will stand to the proof, if you’ll prove it so.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nTroilus! Why, he esteems her no more than I esteem an addle egg.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIf you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle head, you would\\r\\neat chickens i’ th’ shell.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI cannot choose but laugh to think how she tickled his chin. Indeed,\\r\\nshe has a marvell’s white hand, I must needs confess.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWithout the rack.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAnd she takes upon her to spy a white hair on his chin.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAlas, poor chin! Many a wart is richer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nBut there was such laughing! Queen Hecuba laugh’d that her eyes ran\\r\\no’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWith millstones.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAnd Cassandra laugh’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBut there was a more temperate fire under the pot of her eyes. Did her\\r\\neyes run o’er too?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAnd Hector laugh’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAt what was all this laughing?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nMarry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus’ chin.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAnd’t had been a green hair I should have laugh’d too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThey laugh’d not so much at the hair as at his pretty answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat was his answer?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nQuoth she ‘Here’s but two and fifty hairs on your chin, and one of them\\r\\nis white.’\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThis is her question.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThat’s true; make no question of that. ‘Two and fifty hairs,’ quoth he\\r\\n‘and one white. That white hair is my father, and all the rest are his\\r\\nsons.’ ‘Jupiter!’ quoth she ‘which of these hairs is Paris my husband?’\\r\\n‘The forked one,’ quoth he, ’pluck’t out and give it him.’ But there\\r\\nwas such laughing! and Helen so blush’d, and Paris so chaf’d; and all\\r\\nthe rest so laugh’d that it pass’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSo let it now; for it has been a great while going by.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; think on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSo I do.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI’ll be sworn ’tis true; he will weep you, and ’twere a man born in\\r\\nApril.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAnd I’ll spring up in his tears, an ’twere a nettle against May.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sound a retreat._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHark! they are coming from the field. Shall we stand up here and see\\r\\nthem as they pass toward Ilium? Good niece, do, sweet niece Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAt your pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHere, here, here’s an excellent place; here we may see most bravely.\\r\\nI’ll tell you them all by their names as they pass by; but mark Troilus\\r\\nabove the rest.\\r\\n\\r\\n [Aeneas _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSpeak not so loud.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThat’s Aeneas. Is not that a brave man? He’s one of the flowers of\\r\\nTroy, I can tell you. But mark Troilus; you shall see anon.\\r\\n\\r\\n [Antenor _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWho’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThat’s Antenor. He has a shrewd wit, I can tell you; and he’s a man\\r\\ngood enough; he’s one o’ th’ soundest judgements in Troy, whosoever,\\r\\nand a proper man of person. When comes Troilus? I’ll show you Troilus\\r\\nanon. If he see me, you shall see him nod at me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWill he give you the nod?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou shall see.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIf he do, the rich shall have more.\\r\\n\\r\\n [Hector _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThat’s Hector, that, that, look you, that; there’s a fellow! Go thy\\r\\nway, Hector! There’s a brave man, niece. O brave Hector! Look how he\\r\\nlooks. There’s a countenance! Is’t not a brave man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO, a brave man!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIs a’ not? It does a man’s heart good. Look you what hacks are on his\\r\\nhelmet! Look you yonder, do you see? Look you there. There’s no\\r\\njesting; there’s laying on; take’t off who will, as they say. There be\\r\\nhacks.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBe those with swords?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nSwords! anything, he cares not; and the devil come to him, it’s all\\r\\none. By God’s lid, it does one’s heart good. Yonder comes Paris, yonder\\r\\ncomes Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\n [Paris _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nLook ye yonder, niece; is’t not a gallant man too, is’t not? Why, this\\r\\nis brave now. Who said he came hurt home today? He’s not hurt. Why,\\r\\nthis will do Helen’s heart good now, ha! Would I could see Troilus now!\\r\\nYou shall see Troilus anon.\\r\\n\\r\\n [Helenus _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWho’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThat’s Helenus. I marvel where Troilus is. That’s\\r\\nHelenus. I think he went not forth today. That’s Helenus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nCan Helenus fight, uncle?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHelenus! no. Yes, he’ll fight indifferent well. I marvel where Troilus\\r\\nis. Hark! do you not hear the people cry ‘Troilus’?—Helenus is a\\r\\npriest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat sneaking fellow comes yonder?\\r\\n\\r\\n [Troilus _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhere? yonder? That’s Deiphobus. ’Tis Troilus. There’s a man, niece.\\r\\nHem! Brave Troilus, the prince of chivalry!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nPeace, for shame, peace!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nMark him; note him. O brave Troilus! Look well upon him, niece; look\\r\\nyou how his sword is bloodied, and his helm more hack’d than Hector’s;\\r\\nand how he looks, and how he goes! O admirable youth! he never saw\\r\\nthree and twenty. Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way. Had I a sister were\\r\\na grace or a daughter a goddess, he should take his choice. O admirable\\r\\nman! Paris? Paris is dirt to him; and, I warrant, Helen, to change,\\r\\nwould give an eye to boot.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHere comes more.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Common soldiers pass_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAsses, fools, dolts! chaff and bran, chaff and bran! porridge after\\r\\nmeat! I could live and die in the eyes of Troilus. Ne’er look, ne’er\\r\\nlook; the eagles are gone. Crows and daws, crows and daws! I had rather\\r\\nbe such a man as Troilus than Agamemnon and all Greece.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThere is amongst the Greeks Achilles, a better man than Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAchilles? A drayman, a porter, a very camel!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWell, well.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell, well! Why, have you any discretion? Have you any eyes? Do you\\r\\nknow what a man is? Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse,\\r\\nmanhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality, and such\\r\\nlike, the spice and salt that season a man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAy, a minc’d man; and then to be bak’d with no date in the pie, for\\r\\nthen the man’s date is out.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou are such a woman! A man knows not at what ward you lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nUpon my back, to defend my belly; upon my wit, to defend my wiles; upon\\r\\nmy secrecy, to defend mine honesty; my mask, to defend my beauty; and\\r\\nyou, to defend all these; and at all these wards I lie, at a thousand\\r\\nwatches.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nSay one of your watches.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNay, I’ll watch you for that; and that’s one of the chiefest of them\\r\\ntoo. If I cannot ward what I would not have hit, I can watch you for\\r\\ntelling how I took the blow; unless it swell past hiding, and then it’s\\r\\npast watching.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou are such another!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus\\' Boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nSir, my lord would instantly speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhere?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nAt your own house; there he unarms him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nGood boy, tell him I come. [_Exit_ Boy.] I doubt he be hurt. Fare ye\\r\\nwell, good niece.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAdieu, uncle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI will be with you, niece, by and by.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nTo bring, uncle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, a token from Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Pandarus.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBy the same token, you are a bawd.\\r\\nWords, vows, gifts, tears, and love’s full sacrifice,\\r\\nHe offers in another’s enterprise;\\r\\nBut more in Troilus thousand-fold I see\\r\\nThan in the glass of Pandar’s praise may be,\\r\\nYet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing:\\r\\nThings won are done; joy’s soul lies in the doing.\\r\\nThat she belov’d knows naught that knows not this:\\r\\nMen prize the thing ungain’d more than it is.\\r\\nThat she was never yet that ever knew\\r\\nLove got so sweet as when desire did sue;\\r\\nTherefore this maxim out of love I teach:\\r\\n‘Achievement is command; ungain’d, beseech.’\\r\\nThen though my heart’s content firm love doth bear,\\r\\nNothing of that shall from mine eyes appear.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The Grecian camp. Before AGAMEMNON’S tent.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sennet. Enter Agamemnon, Nestor, Ulysses, Diomedes, Menelaus and\\r\\n others.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nPrinces,\\r\\nWhat grief hath set these jaundies o’er your cheeks?\\r\\nThe ample proposition that hope makes\\r\\nIn all designs begun on earth below\\r\\nFails in the promis’d largeness; checks and disasters\\r\\nGrow in the veins of actions highest rear’d,\\r\\nAs knots, by the conflux of meeting sap,\\r\\nInfects the sound pine, and diverts his grain\\r\\nTortive and errant from his course of growth.\\r\\nNor, princes, is it matter new to us\\r\\nThat we come short of our suppose so far\\r\\nThat after seven years’ siege yet Troy walls stand;\\r\\nSith every action that hath gone before,\\r\\nWhereof we have record, trial did draw\\r\\nBias and thwart, not answering the aim,\\r\\nAnd that unbodied figure of the thought\\r\\nThat gave’t surmised shape. Why then, you princes,\\r\\nDo you with cheeks abash’d behold our works\\r\\nAnd call them shames, which are, indeed, naught else\\r\\nBut the protractive trials of great Jove\\r\\nTo find persistive constancy in men;\\r\\nThe fineness of which metal is not found\\r\\nIn fortune’s love? For then the bold and coward,\\r\\nThe wise and fool, the artist and unread,\\r\\nThe hard and soft, seem all affin’d and kin.\\r\\nBut in the wind and tempest of her frown\\r\\nDistinction, with a broad and powerful fan,\\r\\nPuffing at all, winnows the light away;\\r\\nAnd what hath mass or matter by itself\\r\\nLies rich in virtue and unmingled.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWith due observance of thy godlike seat,\\r\\nGreat Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply\\r\\nThy latest words. In the reproof of chance\\r\\nLies the true proof of men. The sea being smooth,\\r\\nHow many shallow bauble boats dare sail\\r\\nUpon her patient breast, making their way\\r\\nWith those of nobler bulk!\\r\\nBut let the ruffian Boreas once enrage\\r\\nThe gentle Thetis, and anon behold\\r\\nThe strong-ribb’d bark through liquid mountains cut,\\r\\nBounding between the two moist elements\\r\\nLike Perseus’ horse. Where’s then the saucy boat,\\r\\nWhose weak untimber’d sides but even now\\r\\nCo-rivall’d greatness? Either to harbour fled\\r\\nOr made a toast for Neptune. Even so\\r\\nDoth valour’s show and valour’s worth divide\\r\\nIn storms of fortune; for in her ray and brightness\\r\\nThe herd hath more annoyance by the breeze\\r\\nThan by the tiger; but when the splitting wind\\r\\nMakes flexible the knees of knotted oaks,\\r\\nAnd flies fled under shade—why, then the thing of courage,\\r\\nAs rous’d with rage, with rage doth sympathise,\\r\\nAnd with an accent tun’d in self-same key\\r\\nRetorts to chiding fortune.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAgamemnon,\\r\\nThou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece,\\r\\nHeart of our numbers, soul and only spirit\\r\\nIn whom the tempers and the minds of all\\r\\nShould be shut up—hear what Ulysses speaks.\\r\\nBesides th’applause and approbation\\r\\nThe which, [_To Agamemnon_] most mighty, for thy place and sway,\\r\\n[_To Nestor_] And, thou most reverend, for thy stretch’d-out life,\\r\\nI give to both your speeches—which were such\\r\\nAs Agamemnon and the hand of Greece\\r\\nShould hold up high in brass; and such again\\r\\nAs venerable Nestor, hatch’d in silver,\\r\\nShould with a bond of air, strong as the axle-tree\\r\\nOn which heaven rides, knit all the Greekish ears\\r\\nTo his experienc’d tongue—yet let it please both,\\r\\nThou great, and wise, to hear Ulysses speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nSpeak, Prince of Ithaca; and be’t of less expect\\r\\nThat matter needless, of importless burden,\\r\\nDivide thy lips than we are confident,\\r\\nWhen rank Thersites opes his mastic jaws,\\r\\nWe shall hear music, wit, and oracle.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nTroy, yet upon his basis, had been down,\\r\\nAnd the great Hector’s sword had lack’d a master,\\r\\nBut for these instances:\\r\\nThe specialty of rule hath been neglected;\\r\\nAnd look how many Grecian tents do stand\\r\\nHollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions.\\r\\nWhen that the general is not like the hive,\\r\\nTo whom the foragers shall all repair,\\r\\nWhat honey is expected? Degree being vizarded,\\r\\nTh’unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask.\\r\\nThe heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre,\\r\\nObserve degree, priority, and place,\\r\\nInsisture, course, proportion, season, form,\\r\\nOffice, and custom, in all line of order;\\r\\nAnd therefore is the glorious planet Sol\\r\\nIn noble eminence enthron’d and spher’d\\r\\nAmidst the other, whose med’cinable eye\\r\\nCorrects the influence of evil planets,\\r\\nAnd posts, like the commandment of a king,\\r\\nSans check, to good and bad. But when the planets\\r\\nIn evil mixture to disorder wander,\\r\\nWhat plagues and what portents, what mutiny,\\r\\nWhat raging of the sea, shaking of earth,\\r\\nCommotion in the winds! Frights, changes, horrors,\\r\\nDivert and crack, rend and deracinate,\\r\\nThe unity and married calm of states\\r\\nQuite from their fixture! O, when degree is shak’d,\\r\\nWhich is the ladder of all high designs,\\r\\nThe enterprise is sick! How could communities,\\r\\nDegrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities,\\r\\nPeaceful commerce from dividable shores,\\r\\nThe primogenity and due of birth,\\r\\nPrerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels,\\r\\nBut by degree stand in authentic place?\\r\\nTake but degree away, untune that string,\\r\\nAnd hark what discord follows! Each thing melts\\r\\nIn mere oppugnancy: the bounded waters\\r\\nShould lift their bosoms higher than the shores,\\r\\nAnd make a sop of all this solid globe;\\r\\nStrength should be lord of imbecility,\\r\\nAnd the rude son should strike his father dead;\\r\\nForce should be right; or, rather, right and wrong—\\r\\nBetween whose endless jar justice resides—\\r\\nShould lose their names, and so should justice too.\\r\\nThen everything includes itself in power,\\r\\nPower into will, will into appetite;\\r\\nAnd appetite, an universal wolf,\\r\\nSo doubly seconded with will and power,\\r\\nMust make perforce an universal prey,\\r\\nAnd last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon,\\r\\nThis chaos, when degree is suffocate,\\r\\nFollows the choking.\\r\\nAnd this neglection of degree it is\\r\\nThat by a pace goes backward, with a purpose\\r\\nIt hath to climb. The general’s disdain’d\\r\\nBy him one step below, he by the next,\\r\\nThat next by him beneath; so every step,\\r\\nExampl’d by the first pace that is sick\\r\\nOf his superior, grows to an envious fever\\r\\nOf pale and bloodless emulation.\\r\\nAnd ’tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot,\\r\\nNot her own sinews. To end a tale of length,\\r\\nTroy in our weakness stands, not in her strength.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nMost wisely hath Ulysses here discover’d\\r\\nThe fever whereof all our power is sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nThe nature of the sickness found, Ulysses,\\r\\nWhat is the remedy?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThe great Achilles, whom opinion crowns\\r\\nThe sinew and the forehand of our host,\\r\\nHaving his ear full of his airy fame,\\r\\nGrows dainty of his worth, and in his tent\\r\\nLies mocking our designs; with him Patroclus\\r\\nUpon a lazy bed the livelong day\\r\\nBreaks scurril jests;\\r\\nAnd with ridiculous and awkward action—\\r\\nWhich, slanderer, he imitation calls—\\r\\nHe pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon,\\r\\nThy topless deputation he puts on;\\r\\nAnd like a strutting player whose conceit\\r\\nLies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich\\r\\nTo hear the wooden dialogue and sound\\r\\n’Twixt his stretch’d footing and the scaffoldage—\\r\\nSuch to-be-pitied and o’er-wrested seeming\\r\\nHe acts thy greatness in; and when he speaks\\r\\n’Tis like a chime a-mending; with terms unsquar’d,\\r\\nWhich, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp’d,\\r\\nWould seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff\\r\\nThe large Achilles, on his press’d bed lolling,\\r\\nFrom his deep chest laughs out a loud applause;\\r\\nCries ‘Excellent! ’Tis Agamemnon right!\\r\\nNow play me Nestor; hem, and stroke thy beard,\\r\\nAs he being drest to some oration.’\\r\\nThat’s done—as near as the extremest ends\\r\\nOf parallels, as like as Vulcan and his wife;\\r\\nYet god Achilles still cries ‘Excellent!\\r\\n’Tis Nestor right. Now play him me, Patroclus,\\r\\nArming to answer in a night alarm.’\\r\\nAnd then, forsooth, the faint defects of age\\r\\nMust be the scene of mirth: to cough and spit\\r\\nAnd, with a palsy fumbling on his gorget,\\r\\nShake in and out the rivet. And at this sport\\r\\nSir Valour dies; cries ‘O, enough, Patroclus;\\r\\nOr give me ribs of steel! I shall split all\\r\\nIn pleasure of my spleen.’ And in this fashion\\r\\nAll our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes,\\r\\nSeverals and generals of grace exact,\\r\\nAchievements, plots, orders, preventions,\\r\\nExcitements to the field or speech for truce,\\r\\nSuccess or loss, what is or is not, serves\\r\\nAs stuff for these two to make paradoxes.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nAnd in the imitation of these twain—\\r\\nWho, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns\\r\\nWith an imperial voice—many are infect.\\r\\nAjax is grown self-will’d and bears his head\\r\\nIn such a rein, in full as proud a place\\r\\nAs broad Achilles; keeps his tent like him;\\r\\nMakes factious feasts; rails on our state of war\\r\\nBold as an oracle, and sets Thersites,\\r\\nA slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint,\\r\\nTo match us in comparisons with dirt,\\r\\nTo weaken and discredit our exposure,\\r\\nHow rank soever rounded in with danger.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThey tax our policy and call it cowardice,\\r\\nCount wisdom as no member of the war,\\r\\nForestall prescience, and esteem no act\\r\\nBut that of hand. The still and mental parts\\r\\nThat do contrive how many hands shall strike\\r\\nWhen fitness calls them on, and know, by measure\\r\\nOf their observant toil, the enemies’ weight—\\r\\nWhy, this hath not a finger’s dignity:\\r\\nThey call this bed-work, mapp’ry, closet-war;\\r\\nSo that the ram that batters down the wall,\\r\\nFor the great swinge and rudeness of his poise,\\r\\nThey place before his hand that made the engine,\\r\\nOr those that with the fineness of their souls\\r\\nBy reason guide his execution.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nLet this be granted, and Achilles’ horse\\r\\nMakes many Thetis’ sons.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Tucket_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat trumpet? Look, Menelaus.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nFrom Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat would you fore our tent?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nIs this great Agamemnon’s tent, I pray you?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nEven this.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nMay one that is a herald and a prince\\r\\nDo a fair message to his kingly eyes?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWith surety stronger than Achilles’ arm\\r\\nFore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice\\r\\nCall Agamemnon head and general.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nFair leave and large security. How may\\r\\nA stranger to those most imperial looks\\r\\nKnow them from eyes of other mortals?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHow?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nAy;\\r\\nI ask, that I might waken reverence,\\r\\nAnd bid the cheek be ready with a blush\\r\\nModest as morning when she coldly eyes\\r\\nThe youthful Phoebus.\\r\\nWhich is that god in office, guiding men?\\r\\nWhich is the high and mighty Agamemnon?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nThis Trojan scorns us, or the men of Troy\\r\\nAre ceremonious courtiers.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nCourtiers as free, as debonair, unarm’d,\\r\\nAs bending angels; that’s their fame in peace.\\r\\nBut when they would seem soldiers, they have galls,\\r\\nGood arms, strong joints, true swords; and, Jove’s accord,\\r\\nNothing so full of heart. But peace, Aeneas,\\r\\nPeace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips.\\r\\nThe worthiness of praise distains his worth,\\r\\nIf that the prais’d himself bring the praise forth;\\r\\nBut what the repining enemy commends,\\r\\nThat breath fame blows; that praise, sole pure, transcends.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nSir, you of Troy, call you yourself Aeneas?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nAy, Greek, that is my name.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat’s your affairs, I pray you?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nSir, pardon; ’tis for Agamemnon’s ears.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON\\r\\nHe hears naught privately that comes from Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nNor I from Troy come not to whisper with him;\\r\\nI bring a trumpet to awake his ear,\\r\\nTo set his sense on the attentive bent,\\r\\nAnd then to speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nSpeak frankly as the wind;\\r\\nIt is not Agamemnon’s sleeping hour.\\r\\nThat thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake,\\r\\nHe tells thee so himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nTrumpet, blow loud,\\r\\nSend thy brass voice through all these lazy tents;\\r\\nAnd every Greek of mettle, let him know\\r\\nWhat Troy means fairly shall be spoke aloud.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sound trumpet_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nWe have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy\\r\\nA prince called Hector—Priam is his father—\\r\\nWho in this dull and long-continued truce\\r\\nIs resty grown; he bade me take a trumpet\\r\\nAnd to this purpose speak: Kings, princes, lords!\\r\\nIf there be one among the fair’st of Greece\\r\\nThat holds his honour higher than his ease,\\r\\nThat feeds his praise more than he fears his peril,\\r\\nThat knows his valour and knows not his fear,\\r\\nThat loves his mistress more than in confession\\r\\nWith truant vows to her own lips he loves,\\r\\nAnd dare avow her beauty and her worth\\r\\nIn other arms than hers—to him this challenge.\\r\\nHector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks,\\r\\nShall make it good or do his best to do it:\\r\\nHe hath a lady wiser, fairer, truer,\\r\\nThan ever Greek did couple in his arms;\\r\\nAnd will tomorrow with his trumpet call\\r\\nMid-way between your tents and walls of Troy\\r\\nTo rouse a Grecian that is true in love.\\r\\nIf any come, Hector shall honour him;\\r\\nIf none, he’ll say in Troy, when he retires,\\r\\nThe Grecian dames are sunburnt and not worth\\r\\nThe splinter of a lance. Even so much.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nThis shall be told our lovers, Lord Aeneas.\\r\\nIf none of them have soul in such a kind,\\r\\nWe left them all at home. But we are soldiers;\\r\\nAnd may that soldier a mere recreant prove\\r\\nThat means not, hath not, or is not in love.\\r\\nIf then one is, or hath, or means to be,\\r\\nThat one meets Hector; if none else, I am he.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nTell him of Nestor, one that was a man\\r\\nWhen Hector’s grandsire suck’d. He is old now;\\r\\nBut if there be not in our Grecian host\\r\\nA noble man that hath one spark of fire\\r\\nTo answer for his love, tell him from me\\r\\nI’ll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver,\\r\\nAnd in my vambrace put this wither’d brawns,\\r\\nAnd meeting him, will tell him that my lady\\r\\nWas fairer than his grandam, and as chaste\\r\\nAs may be in the world. His youth in flood,\\r\\nI’ll prove this troth with my three drops of blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nNow heavens forfend such scarcity of youth!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nFair Lord Aeneas, let me touch your hand;\\r\\nTo our pavilion shall I lead you, sir.\\r\\nAchilles shall have word of this intent;\\r\\nSo shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent.\\r\\nYourself shall feast with us before you go,\\r\\nAnd find the welcome of a noble foe.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Ulysses and Nestor_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNestor!\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWhat says Ulysses?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI have a young conception in my brain;\\r\\nBe you my time to bring it to some shape.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWhat is’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThis ’tis:\\r\\nBlunt wedges rive hard knots. The seeded pride\\r\\nThat hath to this maturity blown up\\r\\nIn rank Achilles must or now be cropp’d\\r\\nOr, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil\\r\\nTo overbulk us all.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWell, and how?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThis challenge that the gallant Hector sends,\\r\\nHowever it is spread in general name,\\r\\nRelates in purpose only to Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nTrue. The purpose is perspicuous even as substance\\r\\nWhose grossness little characters sum up;\\r\\nAnd, in the publication, make no strain\\r\\nBut that Achilles, were his brain as barren\\r\\nAs banks of Libya—though, Apollo knows,\\r\\n’Tis dry enough—will with great speed of judgement,\\r\\nAy, with celerity, find Hector’s purpose\\r\\nPointing on him.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAnd wake him to the answer, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWhy, ’tis most meet. Who may you else oppose\\r\\nThat can from Hector bring those honours off,\\r\\nIf not Achilles? Though ’t be a sportful combat,\\r\\nYet in this trial much opinion dwells\\r\\nFor here the Trojans taste our dear’st repute\\r\\nWith their fin’st palate; and trust to me, Ulysses,\\r\\nOur imputation shall be oddly pois’d\\r\\nIn this vile action; for the success,\\r\\nAlthough particular, shall give a scantling\\r\\nOf good or bad unto the general;\\r\\nAnd in such indexes, although small pricks\\r\\nTo their subsequent volumes, there is seen\\r\\nThe baby figure of the giant mass\\r\\nOf things to come at large. It is suppos’d\\r\\nHe that meets Hector issues from our choice;\\r\\nAnd choice, being mutual act of all our souls,\\r\\nMakes merit her election, and doth boil,\\r\\nAs ’twere from forth us all, a man distill’d\\r\\nOut of our virtues; who miscarrying,\\r\\nWhat heart receives from hence a conquering part,\\r\\nTo steel a strong opinion to themselves?\\r\\nWhich entertain’d, limbs are his instruments,\\r\\nIn no less working than are swords and bows\\r\\nDirective by the limbs.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nGive pardon to my speech. Therefore ’tis meet\\r\\nAchilles meet not Hector. Let us, like merchants,\\r\\nFirst show foul wares, and think perchance they’ll sell;\\r\\nIf not, the lustre of the better shall exceed\\r\\nBy showing the worse first. Do not consent\\r\\nThat ever Hector and Achilles meet;\\r\\nFor both our honour and our shame in this\\r\\nAre dogg’d with two strange followers.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nI see them not with my old eyes. What are they?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWhat glory our Achilles shares from Hector,\\r\\nWere he not proud, we all should share with him;\\r\\nBut he already is too insolent;\\r\\nAnd it were better parch in Afric sun\\r\\nThan in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,\\r\\nShould he scape Hector fair. If he were foil’d,\\r\\nWhy, then we do our main opinion crush\\r\\nIn taint of our best man. No, make a lott’ry;\\r\\nAnd, by device, let blockish Ajax draw\\r\\nThe sort to fight with Hector. Among ourselves\\r\\nGive him allowance for the better man;\\r\\nFor that will physic the great Myrmidon,\\r\\nWho broils in loud applause, and make him fall\\r\\nHis crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends.\\r\\nIf the dull brainless Ajax come safe off,\\r\\nWe’ll dress him up in voices; if he fail,\\r\\nYet go we under our opinion still\\r\\nThat we have better men. But, hit or miss,\\r\\nOur project’s life this shape of sense assumes—\\r\\nAjax employ’d plucks down Achilles’ plumes.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nNow, Ulysses, I begin to relish thy advice;\\r\\nAnd I will give a taste thereof forthwith\\r\\nTo Agamemnon. Go we to him straight.\\r\\nTwo curs shall tame each other: pride alone\\r\\nMust tarre the mastiffs on, as ’twere their bone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Grecian camp.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ajax and Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThersites!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAgamemnon—how if he had boils, full, all over, generally?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThersites!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAnd those boils did run—say so. Did not the general run then? Were not\\r\\nthat a botchy core?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nDog!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThen there would come some matter from him;\\r\\nI see none now.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThou bitch-wolf’s son, canst thou not hear? Feel, then.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Strikes him_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThe plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nSpeak, then, thou unsalted leaven, speak. I will beat thee into\\r\\nhandsomeness.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness; but I think thy horse\\r\\nwill sooner con an oration than thou learn a prayer without book. Thou\\r\\ncanst strike, canst thou? A red murrain o’ thy jade’s tricks!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nToadstool, learn me the proclamation.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nDost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest me thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThe proclamation!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThou art proclaim’d fool, I think.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nDo not, porpentine, do not; my fingers itch.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI would thou didst itch from head to foot and I had the scratching of\\r\\nthee; I would make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art\\r\\nforth in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI say, the proclamation.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles; and thou art as full\\r\\nof envy at his greatness as Cerberus is at Proserpina’s beauty—ay, that\\r\\nthou bark’st at him.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nMistress Thersites!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThou shouldst strike him.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nCobloaf!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHe would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a sailor breaks a\\r\\nbiscuit.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nYou whoreson cur!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Strikes him_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nDo, do.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThou stool for a witch!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAy, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! Thou hast no more brain than I\\r\\nhave in mine elbows; an asinico may tutor thee. You scurvy valiant ass!\\r\\nThou art here but to thrash Trojans, and thou art bought and sold among\\r\\nthose of any wit like a barbarian slave. If thou use to beat me, I will\\r\\nbegin at thy heel and tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of no\\r\\nbowels, thou!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nYou dog!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nYou scurvy lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nYou cur!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Strikes him_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nMars his idiot! Do, rudeness; do, camel; do, do.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles and Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhy, how now, Ajax! Wherefore do ye thus?\\r\\nHow now, Thersites! What’s the matter, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nYou see him there, do you?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nAy; what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNay, look upon him.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nSo I do. What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNay, but regard him well.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWell! why, so I do.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nBut yet you look not well upon him; for whosomever you take him to be,\\r\\nhe is Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI know that, fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAy, but that fool knows not himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nTherefore I beat thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nLo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! His evasions have ears\\r\\nthus long. I have bobb’d his brain more than he has beat my bones. I\\r\\nwill buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia mater is not worth the\\r\\nninth part of a sparrow. This lord, Achilles—Ajax, who wears his wit in\\r\\nhis belly and his guts in his head—I’ll tell you what I say of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI say this Ajax—\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Ajax offers to strike him_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nNay, good Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHas not so much wit—\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nNay, I must hold you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAs will stop the eye of Helen’s needle, for whom he comes to fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nPeace, fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI would have peace and quietness, but the fool will not— he there; that\\r\\nhe; look you there.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nO thou damned cur! I shall—\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWill you set your wit to a fool’s?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNo, I warrant you, the fool’s will shame it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nGood words, Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat’s the quarrel?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI bade the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the proclamation, and he\\r\\nrails upon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI serve thee not.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWell, go to, go to.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI serve here voluntary.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nYour last service was suff’rance; ’twas not voluntary. No man is beaten\\r\\nvoluntary. Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nE’en so; a great deal of your wit too lies in your sinews, or else\\r\\nthere be liars. Hector shall have a great catch and knock out either of\\r\\nyour brains: a’ were as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat, with me too, Thersites?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThere’s Ulysses and old Nestor—whose wit was mouldy ere your grandsires\\r\\nhad nails on their toes—yoke you like draught oxen, and make you plough\\r\\nup the wars.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat, what?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nYes, good sooth. To Achilles, to Ajax, to—\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI shall cut out your tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\n’Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as thou afterwards.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nNo more words, Thersites; peace!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI will hold my peace when Achilles’ brach bids me, shall I?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nThere’s for you, Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI will see you hang’d like clotpoles ere I come any more to your tents.\\r\\nI will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of\\r\\nfools.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nA good riddance.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nMarry, this, sir, is proclaim’d through all our host,\\r\\nThat Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun,\\r\\nWill with a trumpet ’twixt our tents and Troy,\\r\\nTomorrow morning, call some knight to arms\\r\\nThat hath a stomach; and such a one that dare\\r\\nMaintain I know not what; ’tis trash. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nFarewell. Who shall answer him?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI know not; ’tis put to lott’ry, otherwise,\\r\\nHe knew his man.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nO, meaning you? I will go learn more of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Troy. PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris and Helenus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nAfter so many hours, lives, speeches spent,\\r\\nThus once again says Nestor from the Greeks:\\r\\n‘Deliver Helen, and all damage else—\\r\\nAs honour, loss of time, travail, expense,\\r\\nWounds, friends, and what else dear that is consum’d\\r\\nIn hot digestion of this cormorant war—\\r\\nShall be struck off.’ Hector, what say you to’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nThough no man lesser fears the Greeks than I,\\r\\nAs far as toucheth my particular,\\r\\nYet, dread Priam,\\r\\nThere is no lady of more softer bowels,\\r\\nMore spongy to suck in the sense of fear,\\r\\nMore ready to cry out ‘Who knows what follows?’\\r\\nThan Hector is. The wound of peace is surety,\\r\\nSurety secure; but modest doubt is call’d\\r\\nThe beacon of the wise, the tent that searches\\r\\nTo th’ bottom of the worst. Let Helen go.\\r\\nSince the first sword was drawn about this question,\\r\\nEvery tithe soul ’mongst many thousand dismes\\r\\nHath been as dear as Helen—I mean, of ours.\\r\\nIf we have lost so many tenths of ours\\r\\nTo guard a thing not ours, nor worth to us,\\r\\nHad it our name, the value of one ten,\\r\\nWhat merit’s in that reason which denies\\r\\nThe yielding of her up?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFie, fie, my brother!\\r\\nWeigh you the worth and honour of a king,\\r\\nSo great as our dread father’s, in a scale\\r\\nOf common ounces? Will you with counters sum\\r\\nThe past-proportion of his infinite,\\r\\nAnd buckle in a waist most fathomless\\r\\nWith spans and inches so diminutive\\r\\nAs fears and reasons? Fie, for godly shame!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENUS.\\r\\nNo marvel though you bite so sharp of reasons,\\r\\nYou are so empty of them. Should not our father\\r\\nBear the great sway of his affairs with reason,\\r\\nBecause your speech hath none that tells him so?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYou are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest;\\r\\nYou fur your gloves with reason. Here are your reasons:\\r\\nYou know an enemy intends you harm;\\r\\nYou know a sword employ’d is perilous,\\r\\nAnd reason flies the object of all harm.\\r\\nWho marvels, then, when Helenus beholds\\r\\nA Grecian and his sword, if he do set\\r\\nThe very wings of reason to his heels\\r\\nAnd fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,\\r\\nOr like a star disorb’d? Nay, if we talk of reason,\\r\\nLet’s shut our gates and sleep. Manhood and honour\\r\\nShould have hare hearts, would they but fat their thoughts\\r\\nWith this cramm’d reason. Reason and respect\\r\\nMake livers pale and lustihood deject.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nBrother, she is not worth what she doth cost the keeping.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat’s aught but as ’tis valued?\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nBut value dwells not in particular will:\\r\\nIt holds his estimate and dignity\\r\\nAs well wherein ’tis precious of itself\\r\\nAs in the prizer. ’Tis mad idolatry\\r\\nTo make the service greater than the god,\\r\\nAnd the will dotes that is attributive\\r\\nTo what infectiously itself affects,\\r\\nWithout some image of th’affected merit.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI take today a wife, and my election\\r\\nIs led on in the conduct of my will;\\r\\nMy will enkindled by mine eyes and ears,\\r\\nTwo traded pilots ’twixt the dangerous shores\\r\\nOf will and judgement: how may I avoid,\\r\\nAlthough my will distaste what it elected,\\r\\nThe wife I chose? There can be no evasion\\r\\nTo blench from this and to stand firm by honour.\\r\\nWe turn not back the silks upon the merchant\\r\\nWhen we have soil’d them; nor the remainder viands\\r\\nWe do not throw in unrespective sieve,\\r\\nBecause we now are full. It was thought meet\\r\\nParis should do some vengeance on the Greeks;\\r\\nYour breath with full consent bellied his sails;\\r\\nThe seas and winds, old wranglers, took a truce,\\r\\nAnd did him service. He touch’d the ports desir’d;\\r\\nAnd for an old aunt whom the Greeks held captive\\r\\nHe brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and freshness\\r\\nWrinkles Apollo’s, and makes stale the morning.\\r\\nWhy keep we her? The Grecians keep our aunt.\\r\\nIs she worth keeping? Why, she is a pearl\\r\\nWhose price hath launch’d above a thousand ships,\\r\\nAnd turn’d crown’d kings to merchants.\\r\\nIf you’ll avouch ’twas wisdom Paris went—\\r\\nAs you must needs, for you all cried ‘Go, go’—\\r\\nIf you’ll confess he brought home worthy prize—\\r\\nAs you must needs, for you all clapp’d your hands,\\r\\nAnd cried ‘Inestimable!’—why do you now\\r\\nThe issue of your proper wisdoms rate,\\r\\nAnd do a deed that never Fortune did—\\r\\nBeggar the estimation which you priz’d\\r\\nRicher than sea and land? O theft most base,\\r\\nThat we have stol’n what we do fear to keep!\\r\\nBut thieves unworthy of a thing so stol’n\\r\\nThat in their country did them that disgrace\\r\\nWe fear to warrant in our native place!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Cry, Trojans, cry.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nWhat noise, what shriek is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\n’Tis our mad sister; I do know her voice.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Cry, Trojans.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nIt is Cassandra.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassandra, raving.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nCry, Trojans, cry. Lend me ten thousand eyes,\\r\\nAnd I will fill them with prophetic tears.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nPeace, sister, peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nVirgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled eld,\\r\\nSoft infancy, that nothing canst but cry,\\r\\nAdd to my clamours. Let us pay betimes\\r\\nA moiety of that mass of moan to come.\\r\\nCry, Trojans, cry. Practise your eyes with tears.\\r\\nTroy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand;\\r\\nOur firebrand brother, Paris, burns us all.\\r\\nCry, Trojans, cry, A Helen and a woe!\\r\\nCry, cry. Troy burns, or else let Helen go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nNow, youthful Troilus, do not these high strains\\r\\nOf divination in our sister work\\r\\nSome touches of remorse? Or is your blood\\r\\nSo madly hot, that no discourse of reason,\\r\\nNor fear of bad success in a bad cause,\\r\\nCan qualify the same?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhy, brother Hector,\\r\\nWe may not think the justness of each act\\r\\nSuch and no other than event doth form it;\\r\\nNor once deject the courage of our minds\\r\\nBecause Cassandra’s mad. Her brain-sick raptures\\r\\nCannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel\\r\\nWhich hath our several honours all engag’d\\r\\nTo make it gracious. For my private part,\\r\\nI am no more touch’d than all Priam’s sons;\\r\\nAnd Jove forbid there should be done amongst us\\r\\nSuch things as might offend the weakest spleen\\r\\nTo fight for and maintain.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nElse might the world convince of levity\\r\\nAs well my undertakings as your counsels;\\r\\nBut I attest the gods, your full consent\\r\\nGave wings to my propension, and cut off\\r\\nAll fears attending on so dire a project.\\r\\nFor what, alas, can these my single arms?\\r\\nWhat propugnation is in one man’s valour\\r\\nTo stand the push and enmity of those\\r\\nThis quarrel would excite? Yet I protest,\\r\\nWere I alone to pass the difficulties,\\r\\nAnd had as ample power as I have will,\\r\\nParis should ne’er retract what he hath done,\\r\\nNor faint in the pursuit.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nParis, you speak\\r\\nLike one besotted on your sweet delights.\\r\\nYou have the honey still, but these the gall;\\r\\nSo to be valiant is no praise at all.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nSir, I propose not merely to myself\\r\\nThe pleasures such a beauty brings with it;\\r\\nBut I would have the soil of her fair rape\\r\\nWip’d off in honourable keeping her.\\r\\nWhat treason were it to the ransack’d queen,\\r\\nDisgrace to your great worths, and shame to me,\\r\\nNow to deliver her possession up\\r\\nOn terms of base compulsion! Can it be,\\r\\nThat so degenerate a strain as this\\r\\nShould once set footing in your generous bosoms?\\r\\nThere’s not the meanest spirit on our party\\r\\nWithout a heart to dare or sword to draw\\r\\nWhen Helen is defended; nor none so noble\\r\\nWhose life were ill bestow’d or death unfam’d,\\r\\nWhere Helen is the subject. Then, I say,\\r\\nWell may we fight for her whom we know well\\r\\nThe world’s large spaces cannot parallel.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nParis and Troilus, you have both said well;\\r\\nAnd on the cause and question now in hand\\r\\nHave gloz’d, but superficially; not much\\r\\nUnlike young men, whom Aristotle thought\\r\\nUnfit to hear moral philosophy.\\r\\nThe reasons you allege do more conduce\\r\\nTo the hot passion of distemp’red blood\\r\\nThan to make up a free determination\\r\\n’Twixt right and wrong; for pleasure and revenge\\r\\nHave ears more deaf than adders to the voice\\r\\nOf any true decision. Nature craves\\r\\nAll dues be rend’red to their owners. Now,\\r\\nWhat nearer debt in all humanity\\r\\nThan wife is to the husband? If this law\\r\\nOf nature be corrupted through affection;\\r\\nAnd that great minds, of partial indulgence\\r\\nTo their benumbed wills, resist the same;\\r\\nThere is a law in each well-order’d nation\\r\\nTo curb those raging appetites that are\\r\\nMost disobedient and refractory.\\r\\nIf Helen, then, be wife to Sparta’s king—\\r\\nAs it is known she is—these moral laws\\r\\nOf nature and of nations speak aloud\\r\\nTo have her back return’d. Thus to persist\\r\\nIn doing wrong extenuates not wrong,\\r\\nBut makes it much more heavy. Hector’s opinion\\r\\nIs this, in way of truth. Yet, ne’ertheless,\\r\\nMy spritely brethren, I propend to you\\r\\nIn resolution to keep Helen still;\\r\\nFor ’tis a cause that hath no mean dependence\\r\\nUpon our joint and several dignities.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhy, there you touch’d the life of our design.\\r\\nWere it not glory that we more affected\\r\\nThan the performance of our heaving spleens,\\r\\nI would not wish a drop of Trojan blood\\r\\nSpent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector,\\r\\nShe is a theme of honour and renown,\\r\\nA spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds,\\r\\nWhose present courage may beat down our foes,\\r\\nAnd fame in time to come canonize us;\\r\\nFor I presume brave Hector would not lose\\r\\nSo rich advantage of a promis’d glory\\r\\nAs smiles upon the forehead of this action\\r\\nFor the wide world’s revenue.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI am yours,\\r\\nYou valiant offspring of great Priamus.\\r\\nI have a roisting challenge sent amongst\\r\\nThe dull and factious nobles of the Greeks\\r\\nWill strike amazement to their drowsy spirits.\\r\\nI was advertis’d their great general slept,\\r\\nWhilst emulation in the army crept.\\r\\nThis, I presume, will wake him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thersites, solus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHow now, Thersites! What, lost in the labyrinth of thy fury? Shall the\\r\\nelephant Ajax carry it thus? He beats me, and I rail at him. O worthy\\r\\nsatisfaction! Would it were otherwise: that I could beat him, whilst he\\r\\nrail’d at me! ‘Sfoot, I’ll learn to conjure and raise devils, but I’ll\\r\\nsee some issue of my spiteful execrations. Then there’s Achilles, a\\r\\nrare engineer! If Troy be not taken till these two undermine it, the\\r\\nwalls will stand till they fall of themselves. O thou great\\r\\nthunder-darter of Olympus, forget that thou art Jove, the king of gods,\\r\\nand, Mercury, lose all the serpentine craft of thy caduceus, if ye take\\r\\nnot that little little less than little wit from them that they have!\\r\\nwhich short-arm’d ignorance itself knows is so abundant scarce, it will\\r\\nnot in circumvention deliver a fly from a spider without drawing their\\r\\nmassy irons and cutting the web. After this, the vengeance on the whole\\r\\ncamp! or, rather, the Neapolitan bone-ache! for that, methinks, is the\\r\\ncurse depending on those that war for a placket. I have said my\\r\\nprayers; and devil Envy say ‘Amen.’ What ho! my Lord Achilles!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWho’s there? Thersites! Good Thersites, come in and rail.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nIf I could a’ rememb’red a gilt counterfeit, thou wouldst not have\\r\\nslipp’d out of my contemplation; but it is no matter; thyself upon\\r\\nthyself! The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in\\r\\ngreat revenue! Heaven bless thee from a tutor, and discipline come not\\r\\nnear thee! Let thy blood be thy direction till thy death. Then if she\\r\\nthat lays thee out says thou art a fair corse, I’ll be sworn and sworn\\r\\nupon’t she never shrouded any but lazars. Amen. Where’s Achilles?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWhat, art thou devout? Wast thou in prayer?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAy, the heavens hear me!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWho’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nThersites, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhere, where? O, where? Art thou come? Why, my cheese, my digestion,\\r\\nwhy hast thou not served thyself in to my table so many meals? Come,\\r\\nwhat’s Agamemnon?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThy commander, Achilles. Then tell me, Patroclus, what’s Achilles?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nThy lord, Thersites. Then tell me, I pray thee, what’s Thersites?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThy knower, Patroclus. Then tell me, Patroclus, what art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nThou must tell that knowest.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nO, tell, tell,\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI’ll decline the whole question. Agamemnon commands Achilles; Achilles\\r\\nis my lord; I am Patroclus’ knower; and Patroclus is a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nYou rascal!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nPeace, fool! I have not done.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nHe is a privileg’d man. Proceed, Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAgamemnon is a fool; Achilles is a fool; Thersites is a fool; and, as\\r\\naforesaid, Patroclus is a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nDerive this; come.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAgamemnon is a fool to offer to command Achilles; Achilles is a fool to\\r\\nbe commanded of Agamemnon; Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool;\\r\\nand this Patroclus is a fool positive.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWhy am I a fool?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nMake that demand of the Creator. It suffices me thou art. Look you, who\\r\\ncomes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Diomedes, Ajax and Calchas.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nCome, Patroclus, I’ll speak with nobody. Come in with me, Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHere is such patchery, such juggling, and such knavery. All the\\r\\nargument is a whore and a cuckold—a good quarrel to draw emulous\\r\\nfactions and bleed to death upon. Now the dry serpigo on the subject,\\r\\nand war and lechery confound all!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhere is Achilles?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWithin his tent; but ill-dispos’d, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nLet it be known to him that we are here.\\r\\nHe sate our messengers; and we lay by\\r\\nOur appertainings, visiting of him.\\r\\nLet him be told so; lest, perchance, he think\\r\\nWe dare not move the question of our place\\r\\nOr know not what we are.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nI shall say so to him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWe saw him at the opening of his tent.\\r\\nHe is not sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nYes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart. You may call it melancholy, if you\\r\\nwill favour the man; but, by my head, ’tis pride. But why, why? Let him\\r\\nshow us a cause. A word, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Takes Agamemnon aside_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWhat moves Ajax thus to bay at him?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAchilles hath inveigled his fool from him.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWho, Thersites?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nHe.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nThen will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his argument.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNo; you see he is his argument that has his argument, Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nAll the better; their fraction is more our wish than their faction. But\\r\\nit was a strong composure a fool could disunite!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThe amity that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nNo Achilles with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThe elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy; his legs are legs for\\r\\nnecessity, not for flexure.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nAchilles bids me say he is much sorry\\r\\nIf any thing more than your sport and pleasure\\r\\nDid move your greatness and this noble state\\r\\nTo call upon him; he hopes it is no other\\r\\nBut for your health and your digestion sake,\\r\\nAn after-dinner’s breath.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHear you, Patroclus.\\r\\nWe are too well acquainted with these answers;\\r\\nBut his evasion, wing’d thus swift with scorn,\\r\\nCannot outfly our apprehensions.\\r\\nMuch attribute he hath, and much the reason\\r\\nWhy we ascribe it to him. Yet all his virtues,\\r\\nNot virtuously on his own part beheld,\\r\\nDo in our eyes begin to lose their gloss;\\r\\nYea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish,\\r\\nAre like to rot untasted. Go and tell him\\r\\nWe come to speak with him; and you shall not sin\\r\\nIf you do say we think him over-proud\\r\\nAnd under-honest, in self-assumption greater\\r\\nThan in the note of judgement; and worthier than himself\\r\\nHere tend the savage strangeness he puts on,\\r\\nDisguise the holy strength of their command,\\r\\nAnd underwrite in an observing kind\\r\\nHis humorous predominance; yea, watch\\r\\nHis course and time, his ebbs and flows, as if\\r\\nThe passage and whole stream of this commencement\\r\\nRode on his tide. Go tell him this, and add\\r\\nThat if he overhold his price so much\\r\\nWe’ll none of him, but let him, like an engine\\r\\nNot portable, lie under this report:\\r\\nBring action hither; this cannot go to war.\\r\\nA stirring dwarf we do allowance give\\r\\nBefore a sleeping giant. Tell him so.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nI shall, and bring his answer presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nIn second voice we’ll not be satisfied;\\r\\nWe come to speak with him. Ulysses, enter you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Ulysses.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWhat is he more than another?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nNo more than what he thinks he is.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nIs he so much? Do you not think he thinks himself a better man than I\\r\\nam?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nNo question.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWill you subscribe his thought and say he is?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nNo, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as valiant, as wise, no less noble,\\r\\nmuch more gentle, and altogether more tractable.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWhy should a man be proud? How doth pride grow? I know not what pride\\r\\nis.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nYour mind is the clearer, Ajax, and your virtues the fairer. He that is\\r\\nproud eats up himself. Pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own\\r\\nchronicle; and whatever praises itself but in the deed devours the deed\\r\\nin the praise.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ulysses.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI do hate a proud man as I do hate the engend’ring of toads.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\n[_Aside._] And yet he loves himself: is’t not strange?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAchilles will not to the field tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat’s his excuse?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nHe doth rely on none;\\r\\nBut carries on the stream of his dispose,\\r\\nWithout observance or respect of any,\\r\\nIn will peculiar and in self-admission.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhy will he not, upon our fair request,\\r\\nUntent his person and share th’air with us?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThings small as nothing, for request’s sake only,\\r\\nHe makes important; possess’d he is with greatness,\\r\\nAnd speaks not to himself but with a pride\\r\\nThat quarrels at self-breath. Imagin’d worth\\r\\nHolds in his blood such swol’n and hot discourse\\r\\nThat ’twixt his mental and his active parts\\r\\nKingdom’d Achilles in commotion rages,\\r\\nAnd batters down himself. What should I say?\\r\\nHe is so plaguy proud that the death tokens of it\\r\\nCry ‘No recovery.’\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nLet Ajax go to him.\\r\\nDear lord, go you and greet him in his tent.\\r\\n’Tis said he holds you well; and will be led\\r\\nAt your request a little from himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nO Agamemnon, let it not be so!\\r\\nWe’ll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes\\r\\nWhen they go from Achilles. Shall the proud lord\\r\\nThat bastes his arrogance with his own seam\\r\\nAnd never suffers matter of the world\\r\\nEnter his thoughts, save such as doth revolve\\r\\nAnd ruminate himself—shall he be worshipp’d\\r\\nOf that we hold an idol more than he?\\r\\nNo, this thrice worthy and right valiant lord\\r\\nShall not so stale his palm, nobly acquir’d,\\r\\nNor, by my will, assubjugate his merit,\\r\\nAs amply titled as Achilles is,\\r\\nBy going to Achilles.\\r\\nThat were to enlard his fat-already pride,\\r\\nAnd add more coals to Cancer when he burns\\r\\nWith entertaining great Hyperion.\\r\\nThis lord go to him! Jupiter forbid,\\r\\nAnd say in thunder ‘Achilles go to him.’\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] O, this is well! He rubs the vein of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] And how his silence drinks up this applause!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nIf I go to him, with my armed fist I’ll pash him o’er the face.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nO, no, you shall not go.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nAn a’ be proud with me I’ll pheeze his pride.\\r\\nLet me go to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNot for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nA paltry, insolent fellow!\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] How he describes himself!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nCan he not be sociable?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] The raven chides blackness.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI’ll let his humours blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] He will be the physician that should be the patient.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nAnd all men were o’ my mind—\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] Wit would be out of fashion.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nA’ should not bear it so, a’ should eat’s words first.\\r\\nShall pride carry it?\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] And ’twould, you’d carry half.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] A’ would have ten shares.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI will knead him, I’ll make him supple.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] He’s not yet through warm. Force him with praises; pour in,\\r\\npour in; his ambition is dry.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n[_To Agamemnon_.] My lord, you feed too much on this dislike.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nOur noble general, do not do so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nYou must prepare to fight without Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWhy ’tis this naming of him does him harm.\\r\\nHere is a man—but ’tis before his face;\\r\\nI will be silent.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWherefore should you so?\\r\\nHe is not emulous, as Achilles is.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nKnow the whole world, he is as valiant.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nA whoreson dog, that shall palter with us thus!\\r\\nWould he were a Trojan!\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWhat a vice were it in Ajax now—\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nIf he were proud.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nOr covetous of praise.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAy, or surly borne.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nOr strange, or self-affected.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet composure\\r\\nPraise him that gat thee, she that gave thee suck;\\r\\nFam’d be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature\\r\\nThrice fam’d beyond, beyond all erudition;\\r\\nBut he that disciplin’d thine arms to fight—\\r\\nLet Mars divide eternity in twain\\r\\nAnd give him half; and, for thy vigour,\\r\\nBull-bearing Milo his addition yield\\r\\nTo sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom,\\r\\nWhich, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines\\r\\nThy spacious and dilated parts. Here’s Nestor,\\r\\nInstructed by the antiquary times—\\r\\nHe must, he is, he cannot but be wise;\\r\\nBut pardon, father Nestor, were your days\\r\\nAs green as Ajax’ and your brain so temper’d,\\r\\nYou should not have the eminence of him,\\r\\nBut be as Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nShall I call you father?\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nAy, my good son.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nBe rul’d by him, Lord Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThere is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles\\r\\nKeeps thicket. Please it our great general\\r\\nTo call together all his state of war;\\r\\nFresh kings are come to Troy. Tomorrow\\r\\nWe must with all our main of power stand fast;\\r\\nAnd here’s a lord—come knights from east to west\\r\\nAnd cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nGo we to council. Let Achilles sleep.\\r\\nLight boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Troy. PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Music sounds within. Enter Pandarus and a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFriend, you—pray you, a word. Do you not follow the young Lord Paris?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nAy, sir, when he goes before me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou depend upon him, I mean?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nSir, I do depend upon the Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou depend upon a notable gentleman; I must needs praise him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThe Lord be praised!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou know me, do you not?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nFaith, sir, superficially.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFriend, know me better: I am the Lord Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI hope I shall know your honour better.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI do desire it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nYou are in the state of grace?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nGrace? Not so, friend; honour and lordship are my titles. What music is\\r\\nthis?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI do but partly know, sir; it is music in parts.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nKnow you the musicians?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nWholly, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWho play they to?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nTo the hearers, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAt whose pleasure, friend?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nAt mine, sir, and theirs that love music.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nCommand, I mean, friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nWho shall I command, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFriend, we understand not one another: I am too courtly, and thou art\\r\\ntoo cunning. At whose request do these men play?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThat’s to’t, indeed, sir. Marry, sir, at the request of Paris my lord,\\r\\nwho is there in person; with him the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of\\r\\nbeauty, love’s invisible soul—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWho, my cousin, Cressida?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nNo, sir, Helen. Could not you find out that by her attributes?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIt should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the Lady Cressida. I\\r\\ncome to speak with Paris from the Prince Troilus; I will make a\\r\\ncomplimental assault upon him, for my business seethes.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nSodden business! There’s a stew’d phrase indeed!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paris and Helen, attended.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair company! Fair desires, in\\r\\nall fair measure, fairly guide them—especially to you, fair queen! Fair\\r\\nthoughts be your fair pillow.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nDear lord, you are full of fair words.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. Fair prince, here is good\\r\\nbroken music.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nYou have broke it, cousin; and by my life, you shall make it whole\\r\\nagain; you shall piece it out with a piece of your performance.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nHe is full of harmony.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nTruly, lady, no.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nO, sir—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nRude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nWell said, my lord. Well, you say so in fits.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI have business to my lord, dear queen. My lord, will you vouchsafe me\\r\\na word?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nNay, this shall not hedge us out. We’ll hear you sing, certainly—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell sweet queen, you are pleasant with me. But, marry, thus, my lord:\\r\\nmy dear lord and most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus—\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nMy Lord Pandarus, honey-sweet lord—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nGo to, sweet queen, go to—commends himself most affectionately to you—\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nYou shall not bob us out of our melody. If you do, our melancholy upon\\r\\nyour head!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nSweet queen, sweet queen; that’s a sweet queen, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nAnd to make a sweet lady sad is a sour offence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall it not, in truth, la.\\r\\nNay, I care not for such words; no, no.—And, my lord, he desires you\\r\\nthat, if the King call for him at supper, you will make his excuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nMy Lord Pandarus!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat says my sweet queen, my very very sweet queen?\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nWhat exploit’s in hand? Where sups he tonight?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nNay, but, my lord—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat says my sweet queen?—My cousin will fall out with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nYou must not know where he sups.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nI’ll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNo, no, no such matter; you are wide. Come, your disposer is sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nWell, I’ll make’s excuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, good my lord. Why should you say Cressida?\\r\\nNo, your poor disposer’s sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nI spy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou spy! What do you spy?—Come, give me an instrument. Now, sweet\\r\\nqueen.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nWhy, this is kindly done.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nMy niece is horribly in love with a thing you have, sweet queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nShe shall have it, my lord, if it be not my Lord Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHe? No, she’ll none of him; they two are twain.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nFalling in, after falling out, may make them three.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nCome, come. I’ll hear no more of this; I’ll sing you a song now.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nAy, ay, prithee now. By my troth, sweet lord, thou hast a fine\\r\\nforehead.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, you may, you may.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nLet thy song be love. This love will undo us all. O Cupid, Cupid,\\r\\nCupid!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nLove! Ay, that it shall, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nAy, good now, love, love, nothing but love.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIn good troth, it begins so.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sings_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n _Love, love, nothing but love, still love, still more!\\r\\n For, oh, love’s bow\\r\\n Shoots buck and doe;\\r\\n The shaft confounds\\r\\n Not that it wounds,\\r\\n But tickles still the sore.\\r\\n These lovers cry, O ho, they die!\\r\\n Yet that which seems the wound to kill\\r\\n Doth turn O ho! to ha! ha! he!\\r\\n So dying love lives still.\\r\\n O ho! a while, but ha! ha! ha!\\r\\n O ho! groans out for ha! ha! ha!—hey ho!_\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nIn love, i’ faith, to the very tip of the nose.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHe eats nothing but doves, love; and that breeds hot blood, and hot\\r\\nblood begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot\\r\\ndeeds is love.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIs this the generation of love: hot blood, hot thoughts, and hot deeds?\\r\\nWhy, they are vipers. Is love a generation of vipers? Sweet lord, who’s\\r\\na-field today?\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the gallantry of Troy. I\\r\\nwould fain have arm’d today, but my Nell would not have it so. How\\r\\nchance my brother Troilus went not?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nHe hangs the lip at something. You know all, Lord Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNot I, honey-sweet queen. I long to hear how they spend today. You’ll\\r\\nremember your brother’s excuse?\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nTo a hair.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFarewell, sweet queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nCommend me to your niece.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI will, sweet queen.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit. Sound a retreat_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThey’re come from the field. Let us to Priam’s hall\\r\\nTo greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you\\r\\nTo help unarm our Hector. His stubborn buckles,\\r\\nWith these your white enchanting fingers touch’d,\\r\\nShall more obey than to the edge of steel\\r\\nOr force of Greekish sinews; you shall do more\\r\\nThan all the island kings—disarm great Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\n’Twill make us proud to be his servant, Paris;\\r\\nYea, what he shall receive of us in duty\\r\\nGives us more palm in beauty than we have,\\r\\nYea, overshines ourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nSweet, above thought I love thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Troy. PANDARUS’ orchard.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus and Troilus’ Boy, meeting.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHow now! Where’s thy master? At my cousin Cressida’s?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nNo, sir; he stays for you to conduct him thither.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nO, here he comes. How now, how now?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nSirrah, walk off.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Boy.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHave you seen my cousin?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNo, Pandarus. I stalk about her door\\r\\nLike a strange soul upon the Stygian banks\\r\\nStaying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon,\\r\\nAnd give me swift transportance to these fields\\r\\nWhere I may wallow in the lily beds\\r\\nPropos’d for the deserver! O gentle Pandar,\\r\\nfrom Cupid’s shoulder pluck his painted wings,\\r\\nand fly with me to Cressid!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWalk here i’ th’ orchard, I’ll bring her straight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI am giddy; expectation whirls me round.\\r\\nTh’imaginary relish is so sweet\\r\\nThat it enchants my sense; what will it be\\r\\nWhen that the wat’ry palate tastes indeed\\r\\nLove’s thrice-repured nectar? Death, I fear me;\\r\\nSounding destruction; or some joy too fine,\\r\\nToo subtle-potent, tun’d too sharp in sweetness,\\r\\nFor the capacity of my ruder powers.\\r\\nI fear it much; and I do fear besides\\r\\nThat I shall lose distinction in my joys;\\r\\nAs doth a battle, when they charge on heaps\\r\\nThe enemy flying.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nShe’s making her ready, she’ll come straight; you must be witty now.\\r\\nShe does so blush, and fetches her wind so short, as if she were fray’d\\r\\nwith a sprite. I’ll fetch her. It is the prettiest villain; she fetches\\r\\nher breath as short as a new-ta’en sparrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nEven such a passion doth embrace my bosom.\\r\\nMy heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse,\\r\\nAnd all my powers do their bestowing lose,\\r\\nLike vassalage at unawares encount’ring\\r\\nThe eye of majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Pandarus with Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nCome, come, what need you blush? Shame’s a baby. Here she is now; swear\\r\\nthe oaths now to her that you have sworn to me.—What, are you gone\\r\\nagain? You must be watch’d ere you be made tame, must you? Come your\\r\\nways, come your ways; and you draw backward, we’ll put you i’ th’\\r\\nfills. Why do you not speak to her? Come, draw this curtain and let’s\\r\\nsee your picture. Alas the day, how loath you are to offend daylight!\\r\\nAnd ’twere dark, you’d close sooner. So, so; rub on, and kiss the\\r\\nmistress. How now, a kiss in fee-farm! Build there, carpenter; the air\\r\\nis sweet. Nay, you shall fight your hearts out ere I part you. The\\r\\nfalcon as the tercel, for all the ducks i’ th’ river. Go to, go to.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYou have bereft me of all words, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWords pay no debts, give her deeds; but she’ll bereave you o’ th’ deeds\\r\\ntoo, if she call your activity in question. What, billing again? Here’s\\r\\n‘In witness whereof the parties interchangeably.’ Come in, come in;\\r\\nI’ll go get a fire.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWill you walk in, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO Cressid, how often have I wish’d me thus!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWish’d, my lord! The gods grant—O my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat should they grant? What makes this pretty abruption? What too\\r\\ncurious dreg espies my sweet lady in the fountain of our love?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nMore dregs than water, if my fears have eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFears make devils of cherubins; they never see truly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBlind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds safer footing than blind\\r\\nreason stumbling without fear. To fear the worst oft cures the worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO, let my lady apprehend no fear! In all Cupid’s pageant there is\\r\\npresented no monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNor nothing monstrous neither?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNothing, but our undertakings when we vow to weep seas, live in fire,\\r\\neat rocks, tame tigers; thinking it harder for our mistress to devise\\r\\nimposition enough than for us to undergo any difficulty imposed. This\\r\\nis the monstruosity in love, lady, that the will is infinite, and the\\r\\nexecution confin’d; that the desire is boundless, and the act a slave\\r\\nto limit.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThey say all lovers swear more performance than they are able, and yet\\r\\nreserve an ability that they never perform; vowing more than the\\r\\nperfection of ten, and discharging less than the tenth part of one.\\r\\nThey that have the voice of lions and the act of hares, are they not\\r\\nmonsters?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAre there such? Such are not we. Praise us as we are tasted, allow us\\r\\nas we prove; our head shall go bare till merit crown it. No perfection\\r\\nin reversion shall have a praise in present. We will not name desert\\r\\nbefore his birth; and, being born, his addition shall be humble. Few\\r\\nwords to fair faith: Troilus shall be such to Cressid as what envy can\\r\\nsay worst shall be a mock for his truth; and what truth can speak\\r\\ntruest not truer than Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWill you walk in, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat, blushing still? Have you not done talking yet?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWell, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI thank you for that; if my lord get a boy of you, you’ll give him me.\\r\\nBe true to my lord; if he flinch, chide me for it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYou know now your hostages: your uncle’s word and my firm faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNay, I’ll give my word for her too: our kindred, though they be long\\r\\nere they are wooed, they are constant being won; they are burs, I can\\r\\ntell you; they’ll stick where they are thrown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBoldness comes to me now and brings me heart.\\r\\nPrince Troilus, I have lov’d you night and day\\r\\nFor many weary months.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhy was my Cressid then so hard to win?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHard to seem won; but I was won, my lord,\\r\\nWith the first glance that ever—pardon me.\\r\\nIf I confess much, you will play the tyrant.\\r\\nI love you now; but till now not so much\\r\\nBut I might master it. In faith, I lie;\\r\\nMy thoughts were like unbridled children, grown\\r\\nToo headstrong for their mother. See, we fools!\\r\\nWhy have I blabb’d? Who shall be true to us,\\r\\nWhen we are so unsecret to ourselves?\\r\\nBut, though I lov’d you well, I woo’d you not;\\r\\nAnd yet, good faith, I wish’d myself a man,\\r\\nOr that we women had men’s privilege\\r\\nOf speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue,\\r\\nFor in this rapture I shall surely speak\\r\\nThe thing I shall repent. See, see, your silence,\\r\\nCunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws\\r\\nMy very soul of counsel. Stop my mouth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAnd shall, albeit sweet music issues thence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nPretty, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nMy lord, I do beseech you, pardon me;\\r\\n’Twas not my purpose thus to beg a kiss.\\r\\nI am asham’d. O heavens! what have I done?\\r\\nFor this time will I take my leave, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYour leave, sweet Cressid!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nLeave! And you take leave till tomorrow morning—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nPray you, content you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat offends you, lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSir, mine own company.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYou cannot shun yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nLet me go and try.\\r\\nI have a kind of self resides with you;\\r\\nBut an unkind self, that itself will leave\\r\\nTo be another’s fool. I would be gone.\\r\\nWhere is my wit? I know not what I speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWell know they what they speak that speak so wisely.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nPerchance, my lord, I show more craft than love;\\r\\nAnd fell so roundly to a large confession\\r\\nTo angle for your thoughts; but you are wise—\\r\\nOr else you love not; for to be wise and love\\r\\nExceeds man’s might; that dwells with gods above.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO that I thought it could be in a woman—\\r\\nAs, if it can, I will presume in you—\\r\\nTo feed for aye her lamp and flames of love;\\r\\nTo keep her constancy in plight and youth,\\r\\nOutliving beauty’s outward, with a mind\\r\\nThat doth renew swifter than blood decays!\\r\\nOr that persuasion could but thus convince me\\r\\nThat my integrity and truth to you\\r\\nMight be affronted with the match and weight\\r\\nOf such a winnowed purity in love.\\r\\nHow were I then uplifted! But, alas,\\r\\nI am as true as truth’s simplicity,\\r\\nAnd simpler than the infancy of truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIn that I’ll war with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO virtuous fight,\\r\\nWhen right with right wars who shall be most right!\\r\\nTrue swains in love shall in the world to come\\r\\nApprove their truth by Troilus, when their rhymes,\\r\\nFull of protest, of oath, and big compare,\\r\\nWant similes, truth tir’d with iteration—\\r\\nAs true as steel, as plantage to the moon,\\r\\nAs sun to day, as turtle to her mate,\\r\\nAs iron to adamant, as earth to th’ centre—\\r\\nYet, after all comparisons of truth,\\r\\nAs truth’s authentic author to be cited,\\r\\n‘As true as Troilus’ shall crown up the verse\\r\\nAnd sanctify the numbers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nProphet may you be!\\r\\nIf I be false, or swerve a hair from truth,\\r\\nWhen time is old and hath forgot itself,\\r\\nWhen waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy,\\r\\nAnd blind oblivion swallow’d cities up,\\r\\nAnd mighty states characterless are grated\\r\\nTo dusty nothing—yet let memory\\r\\nFrom false to false, among false maids in love,\\r\\nUpbraid my falsehood when th’ have said ‘As false\\r\\nAs air, as water, wind, or sandy earth,\\r\\nAs fox to lamb, or wolf to heifer’s calf,\\r\\nPard to the hind, or stepdame to her son’—\\r\\nYea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood,\\r\\n‘As false as Cressid.’\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nGo to, a bargain made; seal it, seal it; I’ll be the witness. Here I\\r\\nhold your hand; here my cousin’s. If ever you prove false one to\\r\\nanother, since I have taken such pains to bring you together, let all\\r\\npitiful goers-between be call’d to the world’s end after my name—call\\r\\nthem all Pandars; let all constant men be Troiluses, all false women\\r\\nCressids, and all brokers between Pandars. Say ‘Amen.’\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAmen. Whereupon I will show you a chamber and a bed; which bed, because\\r\\nit shall not speak of your pretty encounters, press it to death. Away!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus and Cressida_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here,\\r\\nBed, chamber, pander, to provide this gear!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The Greek camp.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Diomedes, Nestor, Ajax, Menelaus\\r\\n and Calchas.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALCHAS.\\r\\nNow, Princes, for the service I have done,\\r\\nTh’advantage of the time prompts me aloud\\r\\nTo call for recompense. Appear it to your mind\\r\\nThat, through the sight I bear in things to come,\\r\\nI have abandon’d Troy, left my possession,\\r\\nIncurr’d a traitor’s name, expos’d myself\\r\\nFrom certain and possess’d conveniences\\r\\nTo doubtful fortunes, sequest’ring from me all\\r\\nThat time, acquaintance, custom, and condition,\\r\\nMade tame and most familiar to my nature;\\r\\nAnd here, to do you service, am become\\r\\nAs new into the world, strange, unacquainted—\\r\\nI do beseech you, as in way of taste,\\r\\nTo give me now a little benefit\\r\\nOut of those many regist’red in promise,\\r\\nWhich you say live to come in my behalf.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat wouldst thou of us, Trojan? Make demand.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALCHAS.\\r\\nYou have a Trojan prisoner call’d Antenor,\\r\\nYesterday took; Troy holds him very dear.\\r\\nOft have you—often have you thanks therefore—\\r\\nDesir’d my Cressid in right great exchange,\\r\\nWhom Troy hath still denied; but this Antenor,\\r\\nI know, is such a wrest in their affairs\\r\\nThat their negotiations all must slack\\r\\nWanting his manage; and they will almost\\r\\nGive us a prince of blood, a son of Priam,\\r\\nIn change of him. Let him be sent, great Princes,\\r\\nAnd he shall buy my daughter; and her presence\\r\\nShall quite strike off all service I have done\\r\\nIn most accepted pain.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nLet Diomedes bear him,\\r\\nAnd bring us Cressid hither. Calchas shall have\\r\\nWhat he requests of us. Good Diomed,\\r\\nFurnish you fairly for this interchange;\\r\\nWithal, bring word if Hector will tomorrow\\r\\nBe answer’d in his challenge. Ajax is ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nThis shall I undertake; and ’tis a burden\\r\\nWhich I am proud to bear.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Diomedes and Calchas_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Achilles and Patroclus stand in their tent_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAchilles stands i’ th’entrance of his tent.\\r\\nPlease it our general pass strangely by him,\\r\\nAs if he were forgot; and, Princes all,\\r\\nLay negligent and loose regard upon him.\\r\\nI will come last. ’Tis like he’ll question me\\r\\nWhy such unplausive eyes are bent, why turn’d on him.\\r\\nIf so, I have derision med’cinable\\r\\nTo use between your strangeness and his pride,\\r\\nWhich his own will shall have desire to drink.\\r\\nIt may do good. Pride hath no other glass\\r\\nTo show itself but pride; for supple knees\\r\\nFeed arrogance and are the proud man’s fees.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWe’ll execute your purpose, and put on\\r\\nA form of strangeness as we pass along.\\r\\nSo do each lord; and either greet him not,\\r\\nOr else disdainfully, which shall shake him more\\r\\nThan if not look’d on. I will lead the way.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat comes the general to speak with me?\\r\\nYou know my mind. I’ll fight no more ’gainst Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat says Achilles? Would he aught with us?\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWould you, my lord, aught with the general?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nNothing, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nThe better.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Agamemnon and Nestor_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nGood day, good day.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nHow do you? How do you?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat, does the cuckold scorn me?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nHow now, Patroclus?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nGood morrow, Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nHa?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nGood morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nAy, and good next day too.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat mean these fellows? Know they not Achilles?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nThey pass by strangely. They were us’d to bend,\\r\\nTo send their smiles before them to Achilles,\\r\\nTo come as humbly as they us’d to creep\\r\\nTo holy altars.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat, am I poor of late?\\r\\n’Tis certain, greatness, once fall’n out with fortune,\\r\\nMust fall out with men too. What the declin’d is,\\r\\nHe shall as soon read in the eyes of others\\r\\nAs feel in his own fall; for men, like butterflies,\\r\\nShow not their mealy wings but to the summer;\\r\\nAnd not a man for being simply man\\r\\nHath any honour, but honour for those honours\\r\\nThat are without him, as place, riches, and favour,\\r\\nPrizes of accident, as oft as merit;\\r\\nWhich when they fall, as being slippery standers,\\r\\nThe love that lean’d on them as slippery too,\\r\\nDoth one pluck down another, and together\\r\\nDie in the fall. But ’tis not so with me:\\r\\nFortune and I are friends; I do enjoy\\r\\nAt ample point all that I did possess\\r\\nSave these men’s looks; who do, methinks, find out\\r\\nSomething not worth in me such rich beholding\\r\\nAs they have often given. Here is Ulysses.\\r\\nI’ll interrupt his reading.\\r\\nHow now, Ulysses!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNow, great Thetis’ son!\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat are you reading?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nA strange fellow here\\r\\nWrites me that man—how dearly ever parted,\\r\\nHow much in having, or without or in—\\r\\nCannot make boast to have that which he hath,\\r\\nNor feels not what he owes, but by reflection;\\r\\nAs when his virtues shining upon others\\r\\nHeat them, and they retort that heat again\\r\\nTo the first giver.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nThis is not strange, Ulysses.\\r\\nThe beauty that is borne here in the face\\r\\nThe bearer knows not, but commends itself\\r\\nTo others’ eyes; nor doth the eye itself—\\r\\nThat most pure spirit of sense—behold itself,\\r\\nNot going from itself; but eye to eye opposed\\r\\nSalutes each other with each other’s form;\\r\\nFor speculation turns not to itself\\r\\nTill it hath travell’d, and is mirror’d there\\r\\nWhere it may see itself. This is not strange at all.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI do not strain at the position—\\r\\nIt is familiar—but at the author’s drift;\\r\\nWho, in his circumstance, expressly proves\\r\\nThat no man is the lord of anything,\\r\\nThough in and of him there be much consisting,\\r\\nTill he communicate his parts to others;\\r\\nNor doth he of himself know them for aught\\r\\nTill he behold them formed in the applause\\r\\nWhere th’are extended; who, like an arch, reverb’rate\\r\\nThe voice again; or, like a gate of steel\\r\\nFronting the sun, receives and renders back\\r\\nHis figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this;\\r\\nAnd apprehended here immediately\\r\\nTh’unknown Ajax. Heavens, what a man is there!\\r\\nA very horse that has he knows not what!\\r\\nNature, what things there are\\r\\nMost abject in regard and dear in use!\\r\\nWhat things again most dear in the esteem\\r\\nAnd poor in worth! Now shall we see tomorrow—\\r\\nAn act that very chance doth throw upon him—\\r\\nAjax renown’d. O heavens, what some men do,\\r\\nWhile some men leave to do!\\r\\nHow some men creep in skittish Fortune’s hall,\\r\\nWhiles others play the idiots in her eyes!\\r\\nHow one man eats into another’s pride,\\r\\nWhile pride is fasting in his wantonness!\\r\\nTo see these Grecian lords!—why, even already\\r\\nThey clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder,\\r\\nAs if his foot were on brave Hector’s breast,\\r\\nAnd great Troy shrieking.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI do believe it; for they pass’d by me\\r\\nAs misers do by beggars, neither gave to me\\r\\nGood word nor look. What, are my deeds forgot?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nTime hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,\\r\\nWherein he puts alms for oblivion,\\r\\nA great-siz’d monster of ingratitudes.\\r\\nThose scraps are good deeds past, which are devour’d\\r\\nAs fast as they are made, forgot as soon\\r\\nAs done. Perseverance, dear my lord,\\r\\nKeeps honour bright. To have done is to hang\\r\\nQuite out of fashion, like a rusty mail\\r\\nIn monumental mock’ry. Take the instant way;\\r\\nFor honour travels in a strait so narrow—\\r\\nWhere one but goes abreast. Keep then the path,\\r\\nFor emulation hath a thousand sons\\r\\nThat one by one pursue; if you give way,\\r\\nOr hedge aside from the direct forthright,\\r\\nLike to an ent’red tide they all rush by\\r\\nAnd leave you hindmost;\\r\\nOr, like a gallant horse fall’n in first rank,\\r\\nLie there for pavement to the abject rear,\\r\\nO’er-run and trampled on. Then what they do in present,\\r\\nThough less than yours in past, must o’ertop yours;\\r\\nFor Time is like a fashionable host,\\r\\nThat slightly shakes his parting guest by th’hand;\\r\\nAnd with his arms out-stretch’d, as he would fly,\\r\\nGrasps in the comer. The welcome ever smiles,\\r\\nAnd farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek\\r\\nRemuneration for the thing it was;\\r\\nFor beauty, wit,\\r\\nHigh birth, vigour of bone, desert in service,\\r\\nLove, friendship, charity, are subjects all\\r\\nTo envious and calumniating Time.\\r\\nOne touch of nature makes the whole world kin—\\r\\nThat all with one consent praise new-born gauds,\\r\\nThough they are made and moulded of things past,\\r\\nAnd give to dust that is a little gilt\\r\\nMore laud than gilt o’er-dusted.\\r\\nThe present eye praises the present object.\\r\\nThen marvel not, thou great and complete man,\\r\\nThat all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax,\\r\\nSince things in motion sooner catch the eye\\r\\nThan what stirs not. The cry went once on thee,\\r\\nAnd still it might, and yet it may again,\\r\\nIf thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive\\r\\nAnd case thy reputation in thy tent,\\r\\nWhose glorious deeds but in these fields of late\\r\\nMade emulous missions ’mongst the gods themselves,\\r\\nAnd drave great Mars to faction.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nOf this my privacy\\r\\nI have strong reasons.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nBut ’gainst your privacy\\r\\nThe reasons are more potent and heroical.\\r\\n’Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love\\r\\nWith one of Priam’s daughters.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nHa! known!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nIs that a wonder?\\r\\nThe providence that’s in a watchful state\\r\\nKnows almost every grain of Plutus’ gold;\\r\\nFinds bottom in th’uncomprehensive deeps;\\r\\nKeeps place with thought, and almost, like the gods,\\r\\nDo thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.\\r\\nThere is a mystery—with whom relation\\r\\nDurst never meddle—in the soul of state,\\r\\nWhich hath an operation more divine\\r\\nThan breath or pen can give expressure to.\\r\\nAll the commerce that you have had with Troy\\r\\nAs perfectly is ours as yours, my lord;\\r\\nAnd better would it fit Achilles much\\r\\nTo throw down Hector than Polyxena.\\r\\nBut it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home,\\r\\nWhen fame shall in our island sound her trump,\\r\\nAnd all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing\\r\\n‘Great Hector’s sister did Achilles win;\\r\\nBut our great Ajax bravely beat down him.’\\r\\nFarewell, my lord. I as your lover speak.\\r\\nThe fool slides o’er the ice that you should break.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nTo this effect, Achilles, have I mov’d you.\\r\\nA woman impudent and mannish grown\\r\\nIs not more loath’d than an effeminate man\\r\\nIn time of action. I stand condemn’d for this;\\r\\nThey think my little stomach to the war\\r\\nAnd your great love to me restrains you thus.\\r\\nSweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid\\r\\nShall from your neck unloose his amorous fold,\\r\\nAnd, like a dew-drop from the lion’s mane,\\r\\nBe shook to air.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nShall Ajax fight with Hector?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nAy, and perhaps receive much honour by him.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI see my reputation is at stake;\\r\\nMy fame is shrewdly gor’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nO, then, beware:\\r\\nThose wounds heal ill that men do give themselves;\\r\\nOmission to do what is necessary\\r\\nSeals a commission to a blank of danger;\\r\\nAnd danger, like an ague, subtly taints\\r\\nEven then when they sit idly in the sun.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nGo call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus.\\r\\nI’ll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him\\r\\nT’invite the Trojan lords, after the combat,\\r\\nTo see us here unarm’d. I have a woman’s longing,\\r\\nAn appetite that I am sick withal,\\r\\nTo see great Hector in his weeds of peace;\\r\\nTo talk with him, and to behold his visage,\\r\\nEven to my full of view.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nA labour sav’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nA wonder!\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAjax goes up and down the field asking for himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nHow so?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHe must fight singly tomorrow with Hector, and is so prophetically\\r\\nproud of an heroical cudgelling that he raves in saying nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nHow can that be?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWhy, a’ stalks up and down like a peacock—a stride and a stand;\\r\\nruminates like an hostess that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set\\r\\ndown her reckoning, bites his lip with a politic regard, as who should\\r\\nsay ‘There were wit in this head, and ’twould out’; and so there is;\\r\\nbut it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not show\\r\\nwithout knocking. The man’s undone for ever; for if Hector break not\\r\\nhis neck i’ th’ combat, he’ll break’t himself in vainglory. He knows\\r\\nnot me. I said ‘Good morrow, Ajax’; and he replies ‘Thanks, Agamemnon.’\\r\\nWhat think you of this man that takes me for the general? He’s grown a\\r\\nvery land fish, languageless, a monster. A plague of opinion! A man may\\r\\nwear it on both sides, like leather jerkin.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nThou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWho, I? Why, he’ll answer nobody; he professes not answering. Speaking\\r\\nis for beggars: he wears his tongue in’s arms. I will put on his\\r\\npresence. Let Patroclus make his demands to me, you shall see the\\r\\npageant of Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nTo him, Patroclus. Tell him I humbly desire the valiant Ajax to invite\\r\\nthe most valorous Hector to come unarm’d to my tent; and to procure\\r\\nsafe conduct for his person of the magnanimous and most illustrious\\r\\nsix-or-seven-times-honour’d Captain General of the Grecian army,\\r\\nAgamemnon. Do this.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nJove bless great Ajax!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHum!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nI come from the worthy Achilles—\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHa!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWho most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his tent—\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHum!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nAnd to procure safe conduct from Agamemnon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAgamemnon?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nAy, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHa!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWhat you say to’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nGod buy you, with all my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nYour answer, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nIf tomorrow be a fair day, by eleven of the clock it will go one way or\\r\\nother. Howsoever, he shall pay for me ere he has me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nYour answer, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nFare ye well, with all my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhy, but he is not in this tune, is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNo, but out of tune thus. What music will be in him when Hector has\\r\\nknock’d out his brains, I know not; but, I am sure, none; unless the\\r\\nfiddler Apollo get his sinews to make catlings on.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nCome, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nLet me bear another to his horse; for that’s the more capable creature.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nMy mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr’d;\\r\\nAnd I myself see not the bottom of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Achilles and Patroclus_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWould the fountain of your mind were clear again, that I might water an\\r\\nass at it. I had rather be a tick in a sheep than such a valiant\\r\\nignorance.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Troy. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, at one side, Aeneas and servant with a torch; at another Paris,\\r\\n Deiphobus, Antenor, Diomedes the Grecian, and others, with torches.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nSee, ho! Who is that there?\\r\\n\\r\\nDEIPHOBUS.\\r\\nIt is the Lord Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nIs the Prince there in person?\\r\\nHad I so good occasion to lie long\\r\\nAs you, Prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business\\r\\nShould rob my bed-mate of my company.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nThat’s my mind too. Good morrow, Lord Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nA valiant Greek, Aeneas—take his hand:\\r\\nWitness the process of your speech, wherein\\r\\nYou told how Diomed, a whole week by days,\\r\\nDid haunt you in the field.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHealth to you, valiant sir,\\r\\nDuring all question of the gentle truce;\\r\\nBut when I meet you arm’d, as black defiance\\r\\nAs heart can think or courage execute.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nThe one and other Diomed embraces.\\r\\nOur bloods are now in calm; and so long health!\\r\\nBut when contention and occasion meet,\\r\\nBy Jove, I’ll play the hunter for thy life\\r\\nWith all my force, pursuit, and policy.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nAnd thou shalt hunt a lion that will fly\\r\\nWith his face backward. In humane gentleness,\\r\\nWelcome to Troy! Now, by Anchises’ life,\\r\\nWelcome indeed! By Venus’ hand I swear\\r\\nNo man alive can love in such a sort\\r\\nThe thing he means to kill, more excellently.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWe sympathise. Jove let Aeneas live,\\r\\nIf to my sword his fate be not the glory,\\r\\nA thousand complete courses of the sun!\\r\\nBut in mine emulous honour let him die\\r\\nWith every joint a wound, and that tomorrow!\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nWe know each other well.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWe do; and long to know each other worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThis is the most despiteful gentle greeting\\r\\nThe noblest hateful love, that e’er I heard of.\\r\\nWhat business, lord, so early?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nI was sent for to the King; but why, I know not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHis purpose meets you: ’twas to bring this Greek\\r\\nTo Calchas’ house, and there to render him,\\r\\nFor the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid.\\r\\nLet’s have your company; or, if you please,\\r\\nHaste there before us. I constantly believe—\\r\\nOr rather call my thought a certain knowledge—\\r\\nMy brother Troilus lodges there tonight.\\r\\nRouse him and give him note of our approach,\\r\\nWith the whole quality wherefore; I fear\\r\\nWe shall be much unwelcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nThat I assure you:\\r\\nTroilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece\\r\\nThan Cressid borne from Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThere is no help;\\r\\nThe bitter disposition of the time\\r\\nWill have it so. On, lord; we’ll follow you.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nGood morrow, all.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with servant_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nAnd tell me, noble Diomed, faith, tell me true,\\r\\nEven in the soul of sound good-fellowship,\\r\\nWho in your thoughts deserves fair Helen best,\\r\\nMyself, or Menelaus?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nBoth alike:\\r\\nHe merits well to have her that doth seek her,\\r\\nNot making any scruple of her soilure,\\r\\nWith such a hell of pain and world of charge;\\r\\nAnd you as well to keep her that defend her,\\r\\nNot palating the taste of her dishonour,\\r\\nWith such a costly loss of wealth and friends.\\r\\nHe like a puling cuckold would drink up\\r\\nThe lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece;\\r\\nYou, like a lecher, out of whorish loins\\r\\nAre pleas’d to breed out your inheritors.\\r\\nBoth merits pois’d, each weighs nor less nor more,\\r\\nBut he as he, the heavier for a whore.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nYou are too bitter to your country-woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nShe’s bitter to her country. Hear me, Paris:\\r\\nFor every false drop in her bawdy veins\\r\\nA Grecian’s life hath sunk; for every scruple\\r\\nOf her contaminated carrion weight\\r\\nA Trojan hath been slain. Since she could speak,\\r\\nShe hath not given so many good words breath\\r\\nAs for her Greeks and Trojans suff’red death.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nFair Diomed, you do as chapmen do,\\r\\nDispraise the thing that you desire to buy;\\r\\nBut we in silence hold this virtue well,\\r\\nWe’ll not commend what we intend to sell.\\r\\nHere lies our way.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Troy. The court of PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus and Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nDear, trouble not yourself; the morn is cold.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThen, sweet my lord, I’ll call mine uncle down;\\r\\nHe shall unbolt the gates.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nTrouble him not;\\r\\nTo bed, to bed! Sleep kill those pretty eyes,\\r\\nAnd give as soft attachment to thy senses\\r\\nAs infants empty of all thought!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGood morrow, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI prithee now, to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAre you aweary of me?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO Cressida! but that the busy day,\\r\\nWak’d by the lark, hath rous’d the ribald crows,\\r\\nAnd dreaming night will hide our joys no longer,\\r\\nI would not from thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNight hath been too brief.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBeshrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays\\r\\nAs tediously as hell, but flies the grasps of love\\r\\nWith wings more momentary-swift than thought.\\r\\nYou will catch cold, and curse me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nPrithee tarry.\\r\\nYou men will never tarry.\\r\\nO foolish Cressid! I might have still held off,\\r\\nAnd then you would have tarried. Hark! there’s one up.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\n[_Within._] What’s all the doors open here?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nIt is your uncle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nA pestilence on him! Now will he be mocking.\\r\\nI shall have such a life!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHow now, how now! How go maidenheads?\\r\\nHere, you maid! Where’s my cousin Cressid?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGo hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle.\\r\\nYou bring me to do, and then you flout me too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nTo do what? to do what? Let her say what.\\r\\nWhat have I brought you to do?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nCome, come, beshrew your heart! You’ll ne’er be good, nor suffer\\r\\nothers.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHa, ha! Alas, poor wretch! Ah, poor capocchia! Hast not slept tonight?\\r\\nWould he not, a naughty man, let it sleep? A bugbear take him!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nDid not I tell you? Would he were knock’d i’ th’ head!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_One knocks_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nWho’s that at door? Good uncle, go and see.\\r\\nMy lord, come you again into my chamber.\\r\\nYou smile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHa! ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nCome, you are deceiv’d, I think of no such thing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knock_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow earnestly they knock! Pray you come in:\\r\\nI would not for half Troy have you seen here.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus and Cressida_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWho’s there? What’s the matter? Will you beat down the door? How now?\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nGood morrow, lord, good morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWho’s there? My lord Aeneas? By my troth,\\r\\nI knew you not. What news with you so early?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nIs not Prince Troilus here?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHere! What should he do here?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nCome, he is here, my lord; do not deny him.\\r\\nIt doth import him much to speak with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIs he here, say you? It’s more than I know, I’ll be sworn. For my own\\r\\npart, I came in late. What should he do here?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nWho, nay then! Come, come, you’ll do him wrong ere you are ware; you’ll\\r\\nbe so true to him to be false to him. Do not you know of him, but yet\\r\\ngo fetch him hither; go.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHow now! What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nMy lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you,\\r\\nMy matter is so rash. There is at hand\\r\\nParis your brother, and Deiphobus,\\r\\nThe Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor\\r\\nDeliver’d to us; and for him forthwith,\\r\\nEre the first sacrifice, within this hour,\\r\\nWe must give up to Diomedes’ hand\\r\\nThe Lady Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nIs it so concluded?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nBy Priam and the general state of Troy.\\r\\nThey are at hand, and ready to effect it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHow my achievements mock me!\\r\\nI will go meet them; and, my Lord Aeneas,\\r\\nWe met by chance; you did not find me here.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nGood, good, my lord, the secrets of neighbour Pandar\\r\\nHave not more gift in taciturnity.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus and Aeneas_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIs’t possible? No sooner got but lost? The devil take Antenor! The\\r\\nyoung prince will go mad. A plague upon Antenor! I would they had\\r\\nbroke’s neck.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHow now! What’s the matter? Who was here?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAh, ah!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhy sigh you so profoundly? Where’s my lord? Gone? Tell me, sweet\\r\\nuncle, what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWould I were as deep under the earth as I am above!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO the gods! What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nPray thee get thee in. Would thou hadst ne’er been born! I knew thou\\r\\nwouldst be his death! O, poor gentleman! A plague upon Antenor!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGood uncle, I beseech you, on my knees I beseech you, what’s the\\r\\nmatter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone; thou art chang’d for\\r\\nAntenor; thou must to thy father, and be gone from Troilus. ’Twill be\\r\\nhis death; ’twill be his bane; he cannot bear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO you immortal gods! I will not go.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThou must.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI will not, uncle. I have forgot my father;\\r\\nI know no touch of consanguinity,\\r\\nNo kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me\\r\\nAs the sweet Troilus. O you gods divine,\\r\\nMake Cressid’s name the very crown of falsehood,\\r\\nIf ever she leave Troilus! Time, force, and death,\\r\\nDo to this body what extremes you can,\\r\\nBut the strong base and building of my love\\r\\nIs as the very centre of the earth,\\r\\nDrawing all things to it. I’ll go in and weep—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nDo, do.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nTear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks,\\r\\nCrack my clear voice with sobs and break my heart,\\r\\nWith sounding ‘Troilus.’ I will not go from Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Troy. A street before PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paris, Troilus, Aeneas, Deiphobus, Antenor and Diomedes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nIt is great morning; and the hour prefix’d\\r\\nFor her delivery to this valiant Greek\\r\\nComes fast upon. Good my brother Troilus,\\r\\nTell you the lady what she is to do\\r\\nAnd haste her to the purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWalk into her house.\\r\\nI’ll bring her to the Grecian presently;\\r\\nAnd to his hand when I deliver her,\\r\\nThink it an altar, and thy brother Troilus\\r\\nA priest, there off’ring to it his own heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nI know what ’tis to love,\\r\\nAnd would, as I shall pity, I could help!\\r\\nPlease you walk in, my lords?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Troy. PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus and Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nBe moderate, be moderate.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhy tell you me of moderation?\\r\\nThe grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste,\\r\\nAnd violenteth in a sense as strong\\r\\nAs that which causeth it. How can I moderate it?\\r\\nIf I could temporize with my affections\\r\\nOr brew it to a weak and colder palate,\\r\\nThe like allayment could I give my grief.\\r\\nMy love admits no qualifying dross;\\r\\nNo more my grief, in such a precious loss.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHere, here, here he comes. Ah, sweet ducks!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\n[_Embracing him_.] O Troilus! Troilus!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat a pair of spectacles is here! Let me embrace too. ‘O heart,’ as\\r\\nthe goodly saying is,—\\r\\n\\r\\n O heart, heavy heart,\\r\\n Why sigh’st thou without breaking?\\r\\n\\r\\nwhere he answers again\\r\\n\\r\\n Because thou canst not ease thy smart\\r\\n By friendship nor by speaking.\\r\\n\\r\\nThere was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast away nothing, for we may\\r\\nlive to have need of such a verse. We see it, we see it. How now,\\r\\nlambs!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCressid, I love thee in so strain’d a purity\\r\\nThat the bless’d gods, as angry with my fancy,\\r\\nMore bright in zeal than the devotion which\\r\\nCold lips blow to their deities, take thee from me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHave the gods envy?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, ay, ay, ay; ’tis too plain a case.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAnd is it true that I must go from Troy?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nA hateful truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat! and from Troilus too?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFrom Troy and Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAnd suddenly; where injury of chance\\r\\nPuts back leave-taking, justles roughly by\\r\\nAll time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips\\r\\nOf all rejoindure, forcibly prevents\\r\\nOur lock’d embrasures, strangles our dear vows\\r\\nEven in the birth of our own labouring breath.\\r\\nWe two, that with so many thousand sighs\\r\\nDid buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves\\r\\nWith the rude brevity and discharge of one.\\r\\nInjurious time now with a robber’s haste\\r\\nCrams his rich thiev’ry up, he knows not how.\\r\\nAs many farewells as be stars in heaven,\\r\\nWith distinct breath and consign’d kisses to them,\\r\\nHe fumbles up into a loose adieu,\\r\\nAnd scants us with a single famish’d kiss,\\r\\nDistasted with the salt of broken tears.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] My lord, is the lady ready?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHark! you are call’d. Some say the Genius\\r\\nCries so to him that instantly must die.\\r\\nBid them have patience; she shall come anon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhere are my tears? Rain, to lay this wind, or my heart will be blown\\r\\nup by my throat!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI must then to the Grecians?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNo remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nA woeful Cressid ’mongst the merry Greeks!\\r\\nWhen shall we see again?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHear me, my love. Be thou but true of heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI true? How now! What wicked deem is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNay, we must use expostulation kindly,\\r\\nFor it is parting from us.\\r\\nI speak not ‘Be thou true’ as fearing thee,\\r\\nFor I will throw my glove to Death himself\\r\\nThat there’s no maculation in thy heart;\\r\\nBut ‘Be thou true’ say I to fashion in\\r\\nMy sequent protestation: be thou true,\\r\\nAnd I will see thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO! you shall be expos’d, my lord, to dangers\\r\\nAs infinite as imminent! But I’ll be true.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAnd I’ll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAnd you this glove. When shall I see you?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI will corrupt the Grecian sentinels\\r\\nTo give thee nightly visitation.\\r\\nBut yet be true.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO heavens! ‘Be true’ again!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHear why I speak it, love.\\r\\nThe Grecian youths are full of quality;\\r\\nThey’re loving, well compos’d, with gifts of nature,\\r\\nFlowing and swelling o’er with arts and exercise.\\r\\nHow novelty may move, and parts with person,\\r\\nAlas, a kind of godly jealousy,\\r\\nWhich, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin,\\r\\nMakes me afear’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO heavens! you love me not!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nDie I a villain then!\\r\\nIn this I do not call your faith in question\\r\\nSo mainly as my merit. I cannot sing,\\r\\nNor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk,\\r\\nNor play at subtle games; fair virtues all,\\r\\nTo which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant;\\r\\nBut I can tell that in each grace of these\\r\\nThere lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil\\r\\nThat tempts most cunningly. But be not tempted.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nDo you think I will?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\nBut something may be done that we will not;\\r\\nAnd sometimes we are devils to ourselves,\\r\\nWhen we will tempt the frailty of our powers,\\r\\nPresuming on their changeful potency.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Nay, good my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCome, kiss; and let us part.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Brother Troilus!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nGood brother, come you hither;\\r\\nAnd bring Aeneas and the Grecian with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nMy lord, will you be true?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWho, I? Alas, it is my vice, my fault!\\r\\nWhiles others fish with craft for great opinion,\\r\\nI with great truth catch mere simplicity;\\r\\nWhilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns,\\r\\nWith truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.\\r\\nFear not my truth: the moral of my wit\\r\\nIs plain and true; there’s all the reach of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Aeneas, Paris, Antenor, Deiphobus and Diomedes.\\r\\n\\r\\nWelcome, Sir Diomed! Here is the lady\\r\\nWhich for Antenor we deliver you;\\r\\nAt the port, lord, I’ll give her to thy hand,\\r\\nAnd by the way possess thee what she is.\\r\\nEntreat her fair; and, by my soul, fair Greek,\\r\\nIf e’er thou stand at mercy of my sword,\\r\\nName Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe\\r\\nAs Priam is in Ilion.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nFair Lady Cressid,\\r\\nSo please you, save the thanks this prince expects.\\r\\nThe lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek,\\r\\nPleads your fair usage; and to Diomed\\r\\nYou shall be mistress, and command him wholly.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nGrecian, thou dost not use me courteously\\r\\nTo shame the zeal of my petition to thee\\r\\nIn praising her. I tell thee, lord of Greece,\\r\\nShe is as far high-soaring o’er thy praises\\r\\nAs thou unworthy to be call’d her servant.\\r\\nI charge thee use her well, even for my charge;\\r\\nFor, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not,\\r\\nThough the great bulk Achilles be thy guard,\\r\\nI’ll cut thy throat.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nO, be not mov’d, Prince Troilus.\\r\\nLet me be privileg’d by my place and message\\r\\nTo be a speaker free: when I am hence\\r\\nI’ll answer to my lust. And know you, lord,\\r\\nI’ll nothing do on charge: to her own worth\\r\\nShe shall be priz’d. But that you say ‘Be’t so,’\\r\\nI speak it in my spirit and honour, ‘No.’\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCome, to the port. I’ll tell thee, Diomed,\\r\\nThis brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head.\\r\\nLady, give me your hand; and, as we walk,\\r\\nTo our own selves bend we our needful talk.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus, Cressida and Diomedes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sound trumpet_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHark! Hector’s trumpet.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHow have we spent this morning!\\r\\nThe Prince must think me tardy and remiss,\\r\\nThat swore to ride before him to the field.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\n’Tis Troilus’ fault. Come, come to field with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEIPHOBUS.\\r\\nLet us make ready straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nYea, with a bridegroom’s fresh alacrity\\r\\nLet us address to tend on Hector’s heels.\\r\\nThe glory of our Troy doth this day lie\\r\\nOn his fair worth and single chivalry.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. The Grecian camp. Lists set out.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ajax, armed; Agamemnon, Achilles, Patroclus, Menelaus, Ulysses,\\r\\n Nestor and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHere art thou in appointment fresh and fair,\\r\\nAnticipating time with starting courage.\\r\\nGive with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy,\\r\\nThou dreadful Ajax, that the appalled air\\r\\nMay pierce the head of the great combatant,\\r\\nAnd hale him hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThou, trumpet, there’s my purse.\\r\\nNow crack thy lungs and split thy brazen pipe;\\r\\nBlow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek\\r\\nOut-swell the colic of puff’d Aquilon.\\r\\nCome, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood:\\r\\nThou blowest for Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Trumpet sounds_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNo trumpet answers.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\n’Tis but early days.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nIs not yond Diomed, with Calchas’ daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n’Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait:\\r\\nHe rises on the toe. That spirit of his\\r\\nIn aspiration lifts him from the earth.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Diomedes and Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nIs this the Lady Cressid?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nEven she.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nMost dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nOur general doth salute you with a kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYet is the kindness but particular;\\r\\n’Twere better she were kiss’d in general.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nAnd very courtly counsel: I’ll begin.\\r\\nSo much for Nestor.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI’ll take that winter from your lips, fair lady.\\r\\nAchilles bids you welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nI had good argument for kissing once.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nBut that’s no argument for kissing now;\\r\\nFor thus popp’d Paris in his hardiment,\\r\\nAnd parted thus you and your argument.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nO deadly gall, and theme of all our scorns!\\r\\nFor which we lose our heads to gild his horns.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nThe first was Menelaus’ kiss; this, mine:\\r\\nPatroclus kisses you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nO, this is trim!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nParis and I kiss evermore for him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nI’ll have my kiss, sir. Lady, by your leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIn kissing, do you render or receive?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nBoth take and give.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI’ll make my match to live,\\r\\nThe kiss you take is better than you give;\\r\\nTherefore no kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nI’ll give you boot; I’ll give you three for one.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nYou are an odd man; give even or give none.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nAn odd man, lady! Every man is odd.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNo, Paris is not; for you know ’tis true\\r\\nThat you are odd, and he is even with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nYou fillip me o’ th’head.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNo, I’ll be sworn.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nIt were no match, your nail against his horn.\\r\\nMay I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nYou may.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI do desire it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhy, beg then.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWhy then, for Venus’ sake give me a kiss\\r\\nWhen Helen is a maid again, and his.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI am your debtor; claim it when ’tis due.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNever’s my day, and then a kiss of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nLady, a word. I’ll bring you to your father.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with_ Cressida.]\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nA woman of quick sense.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nFie, fie upon her!\\r\\nThere’s language in her eye, her cheek, her lip,\\r\\nNay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out\\r\\nAt every joint and motive of her body.\\r\\nO! these encounterers so glib of tongue\\r\\nThat give a coasting welcome ere it comes,\\r\\nAnd wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts\\r\\nTo every tickling reader! Set them down\\r\\nFor sluttish spoils of opportunity,\\r\\nAnd daughters of the game.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Trumpet within_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nThe Trojans’ trumpet.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nYonder comes the troop.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector, armed; Aeneas, Troilus, Paris, Deiphobus and other\\r\\nTrojans, with attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHail, all you state of Greece! What shall be done\\r\\nTo him that victory commands? Or do you purpose\\r\\nA victor shall be known? Will you the knights\\r\\nShall to the edge of all extremity\\r\\nPursue each other, or shall be divided\\r\\nBy any voice or order of the field?\\r\\nHector bade ask.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhich way would Hector have it?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHe cares not; he’ll obey conditions.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\n’Tis done like Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nBut securely done,\\r\\nA little proudly, and great deal misprising\\r\\nThe knight oppos’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nIf not Achilles, sir,\\r\\nWhat is your name?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nIf not Achilles, nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nTherefore Achilles. But whate’er, know this:\\r\\nIn the extremity of great and little\\r\\nValour and pride excel themselves in Hector;\\r\\nThe one almost as infinite as all,\\r\\nThe other blank as nothing. Weigh him well,\\r\\nAnd that which looks like pride is courtesy.\\r\\nThis Ajax is half made of Hector’s blood;\\r\\nIn love whereof half Hector stays at home;\\r\\nHalf heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek\\r\\nThis blended knight, half Trojan and half Greek.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nA maiden battle then? O! I perceive you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Diomedes.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHere is Sir Diomed. Go, gentle knight,\\r\\nStand by our Ajax. As you and Lord Aeneas\\r\\nConsent upon the order of their fight,\\r\\nSo be it; either to the uttermost,\\r\\nOr else a breath. The combatants being kin\\r\\nHalf stints their strife before their strokes begin.\\r\\n\\r\\nAjax and Hector enter the lists.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThey are oppos’d already.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat Trojan is that same that looks so heavy?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThe youngest son of Priam, a true knight;\\r\\nNot yet mature, yet matchless; firm of word;\\r\\nSpeaking in deeds and deedless in his tongue;\\r\\nNot soon provok’d, nor being provok’d soon calm’d;\\r\\nHis heart and hand both open and both free;\\r\\nFor what he has he gives, what thinks he shows,\\r\\nYet gives he not till judgement guide his bounty,\\r\\nNor dignifies an impure thought with breath;\\r\\nManly as Hector, but more dangerous;\\r\\nFor Hector in his blaze of wrath subscribes\\r\\nTo tender objects, but he in heat of action\\r\\nIs more vindicative than jealous love.\\r\\nThey call him Troilus, and on him erect\\r\\nA second hope as fairly built as Hector.\\r\\nThus says Aeneas, one that knows the youth\\r\\nEven to his inches, and, with private soul,\\r\\nDid in great Ilion thus translate him to me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alarum. Hector and Ajax fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nThey are in action.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nNow, Ajax, hold thine own!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHector, thou sleep’st; awake thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHis blows are well dispos’d. There, Ajax!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Trumpets cease_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nYou must no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nPrinces, enough, so please you.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI am not warm yet; let us fight again.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nAs Hector pleases.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWhy, then will I no more.\\r\\nThou art, great lord, my father’s sister’s son,\\r\\nA cousin-german to great Priam’s seed;\\r\\nThe obligation of our blood forbids\\r\\nA gory emulation ’twixt us twain:\\r\\nWere thy commixtion Greek and Trojan so\\r\\nThat thou could’st say ‘This hand is Grecian all,\\r\\nAnd this is Trojan; the sinews of this leg\\r\\nAll Greek, and this all Troy; my mother’s blood\\r\\nRuns on the dexter cheek, and this sinister\\r\\nBounds in my father’s; by Jove multipotent,\\r\\nThou shouldst not bear from me a Greekish member\\r\\nWherein my sword had not impressure made\\r\\nOf our rank feud; but the just gods gainsay\\r\\nThat any drop thou borrow’dst from thy mother,\\r\\nMy sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword\\r\\nBe drained! Let me embrace thee, Ajax.\\r\\nBy him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms;\\r\\nHector would have them fall upon him thus.\\r\\nCousin, all honour to thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI thank thee, Hector.\\r\\nThou art too gentle and too free a man.\\r\\nI came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence\\r\\nA great addition earned in thy death.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nNot Neoptolemus so mirable,\\r\\nOn whose bright crest Fame with her loud’st Oyes\\r\\nCries ‘This is he!’ could promise to himself\\r\\nA thought of added honour torn from Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nThere is expectance here from both the sides\\r\\nWhat further you will do.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWe’ll answer it:\\r\\nThe issue is embracement. Ajax, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nIf I might in entreaties find success,\\r\\nAs seld’ I have the chance, I would desire\\r\\nMy famous cousin to our Grecian tents.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\n’Tis Agamemnon’s wish; and great Achilles\\r\\nDoth long to see unarm’d the valiant Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nAeneas, call my brother Troilus to me,\\r\\nAnd signify this loving interview\\r\\nTo the expecters of our Trojan part;\\r\\nDesire them home. Give me thy hand, my cousin;\\r\\nI will go eat with thee, and see your knights.\\r\\n\\r\\nAgamemnon and the rest of the Greeks come forward.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nGreat Agamemnon comes to meet us here.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nThe worthiest of them tell me name by name;\\r\\nBut for Achilles, my own searching eyes\\r\\nShall find him by his large and portly size.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWorthy all arms! as welcome as to one\\r\\nThat would be rid of such an enemy.\\r\\nBut that’s no welcome. Understand more clear,\\r\\nWhat’s past and what’s to come is strew’d with husks\\r\\nAnd formless ruin of oblivion;\\r\\nBut in this extant moment, faith and troth,\\r\\nStrain’d purely from all hollow bias-drawing,\\r\\nBids thee with most divine integrity,\\r\\nFrom heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI thank thee, most imperious Agamemnon.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\n[_To Troilus._] My well-fam’d lord of Troy, no less to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nLet me confirm my princely brother’s greeting.\\r\\nYou brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWho must we answer?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nThe noble Menelaus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nO you, my lord? By Mars his gauntlet, thanks!\\r\\nMock not that I affect the untraded oath;\\r\\nYour quondam wife swears still by Venus’ glove.\\r\\nShe’s well, but bade me not commend her to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nName her not now, sir; she’s a deadly theme.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nO, pardon; I offend.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nI have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft,\\r\\nLabouring for destiny, make cruel way\\r\\nThrough ranks of Greekish youth; and I have seen thee,\\r\\nAs hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed,\\r\\nDespising many forfeits and subduements,\\r\\nWhen thou hast hung thy advanced sword i’ th’air,\\r\\nNot letting it decline on the declined;\\r\\nThat I have said to some my standers-by\\r\\n‘Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!’\\r\\nAnd I have seen thee pause and take thy breath,\\r\\nWhen that a ring of Greeks have shrap’d thee in,\\r\\nLike an Olympian wrestling. This have I seen;\\r\\nBut this thy countenance, still lock’d in steel,\\r\\nI never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire,\\r\\nAnd once fought with him. He was a soldier good,\\r\\nBut, by great Mars, the captain of us all,\\r\\nNever like thee. O, let an old man embrace thee;\\r\\nAnd, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\n’Tis the old Nestor.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nLet me embrace thee, good old chronicle,\\r\\nThat hast so long walk’d hand in hand with time.\\r\\nMost reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nI would my arms could match thee in contention\\r\\nAs they contend with thee in courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI would they could.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nHa!\\r\\nBy this white beard, I’d fight with thee tomorrow.\\r\\nWell, welcome, welcome! I have seen the time.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI wonder now how yonder city stands,\\r\\nWhen we have here her base and pillar by us.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI know your favour, Lord Ulysses, well.\\r\\nAh, sir, there’s many a Greek and Trojan dead,\\r\\nSince first I saw yourself and Diomed\\r\\nIn Ilion on your Greekish embassy.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nSir, I foretold you then what would ensue.\\r\\nMy prophecy is but half his journey yet;\\r\\nFor yonder walls, that pertly front your town,\\r\\nYon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds,\\r\\nMust kiss their own feet.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI must not believe you.\\r\\nThere they stand yet; and modestly I think\\r\\nThe fall of every Phrygian stone will cost\\r\\nA drop of Grecian blood. The end crowns all;\\r\\nAnd that old common arbitrator, Time,\\r\\nWill one day end it.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nSo to him we leave it.\\r\\nMost gentle and most valiant Hector, welcome.\\r\\nAfter the General, I beseech you next\\r\\nTo feast with me and see me at my tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI shall forestall thee, Lord Ulysses, thou!\\r\\nNow, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee;\\r\\nI have with exact view perus’d thee, Hector,\\r\\nAnd quoted joint by joint.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nIs this Achilles?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI am Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nStand fair, I pray thee; let me look on thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nBehold thy fill.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nNay, I have done already.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nThou art too brief. I will the second time,\\r\\nAs I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nO, like a book of sport thou’lt read me o’er;\\r\\nBut there’s more in me than thou understand’st.\\r\\nWhy dost thou so oppress me with thine eye?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nTell me, you heavens, in which part of his body\\r\\nShall I destroy him? Whether there, or there, or there?\\r\\nThat I may give the local wound a name,\\r\\nAnd make distinct the very breach whereout\\r\\nHector’s great spirit flew. Answer me, heavens.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nIt would discredit the blest gods, proud man,\\r\\nTo answer such a question. Stand again.\\r\\nThink’st thou to catch my life so pleasantly\\r\\nAs to prenominate in nice conjecture\\r\\nWhere thou wilt hit me dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI tell thee yea.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWert thou an oracle to tell me so,\\r\\nI’d not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well;\\r\\nFor I’ll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there;\\r\\nBut, by the forge that stithied Mars his helm,\\r\\nI’ll kill thee everywhere, yea, o’er and o’er.\\r\\nYou wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag.\\r\\nHis insolence draws folly from my lips;\\r\\nBut I’ll endeavour deeds to match these words,\\r\\nOr may I never—\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nDo not chafe thee, cousin;\\r\\nAnd you, Achilles, let these threats alone\\r\\nTill accident or purpose bring you to’t.\\r\\nYou may have every day enough of Hector,\\r\\nIf you have stomach. The general state, I fear,\\r\\nCan scarce entreat you to be odd with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI pray you let us see you in the field;\\r\\nWe have had pelting wars since you refus’d\\r\\nThe Grecians’ cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nDost thou entreat me, Hector?\\r\\nTomorrow do I meet thee, fell as death;\\r\\nTonight all friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nThy hand upon that match.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nFirst, all you peers of Greece, go to my tent;\\r\\nThere in the full convive we; afterwards,\\r\\nAs Hector’s leisure and your bounties shall\\r\\nConcur together, severally entreat him.\\r\\nBeat loud the tambourines, let the trumpets blow,\\r\\nThat this great soldier may his welcome know.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Troilus and Ulysses_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nMy Lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you,\\r\\nIn what place of the field doth Calchas keep?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAt Menelaus’ tent, most princely Troilus.\\r\\nThere Diomed doth feast with him tonight,\\r\\nWho neither looks upon the heaven nor earth,\\r\\nBut gives all gaze and bent of amorous view\\r\\nOn the fair Cressid.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nShall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so much,\\r\\nAfter we part from Agamemnon’s tent,\\r\\nTo bring me thither?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYou shall command me, sir.\\r\\nAs gentle tell me of what honour was\\r\\nThis Cressida in Troy? Had she no lover there\\r\\nThat wails her absence?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO, sir, to such as boasting show their scars\\r\\nA mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord?\\r\\nShe was belov’d, she lov’d; she is, and doth;\\r\\nBut still sweet love is food for fortune’s tooth.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles and Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI’ll heat his blood with Greekish wine tonight,\\r\\nWhich with my scimitar I’ll cool tomorrow.\\r\\nPatroclus, let us feast him to the height.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nHere comes Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nHow now, thou core of envy!\\r\\nThou crusty batch of nature, what’s the news?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWhy, thou picture of what thou seemest, and idol of idiot worshippers,\\r\\nhere’s a letter for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nFrom whence, fragment?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWhy, thou full dish of fool, from Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWho keeps the tent now?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThe surgeon’s box or the patient’s wound.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWell said, adversity! And what needs these tricks?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nPrithee, be silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk; thou art said to be\\r\\nAchilles’ male varlet.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nMale varlet, you rogue! What’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWhy, his masculine whore. Now, the rotten diseases of the south, the\\r\\nguts-griping ruptures, catarrhs, loads o’ gravel in the back,\\r\\nlethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs,\\r\\nbladders full of imposthume, sciaticas, lime-kilns i’ th’ palm,\\r\\nincurable bone-ache, and the rivelled fee-simple of the tetter, take\\r\\nand take again such preposterous discoveries!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWhy, thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest thou to curse thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nDo I curse thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWhy, no, you ruinous butt; you whoreson indistinguishable cur, no.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNo! Why art thou, then, exasperate, thou idle immaterial skein of\\r\\nsleave silk, thou green sarcenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a\\r\\nprodigal’s purse, thou? Ah, how the poor world is pestered with such\\r\\nwater-flies, diminutives of nature!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nOut, gall!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nFinch egg!\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nMy sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite\\r\\nFrom my great purpose in tomorrow’s battle.\\r\\nHere is a letter from Queen Hecuba,\\r\\nA token from her daughter, my fair love,\\r\\nBoth taxing me and gaging me to keep\\r\\nAn oath that I have sworn. I will not break it.\\r\\nFall Greeks; fail fame; honour or go or stay;\\r\\nMy major vow lies here, this I’ll obey.\\r\\nCome, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent;\\r\\nThis night in banqueting must all be spent.\\r\\nAway, Patroclus!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with_ Patroclus.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWith too much blood and too little brain these two may run mad; but, if\\r\\nwith too much brain and too little blood they do, I’ll be a curer of\\r\\nmadmen. Here’s Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough, and one that loves\\r\\nquails, but he has not so much brain as ear-wax; and the goodly\\r\\ntransformation of Jupiter there, his brother, the bull, the primitive\\r\\nstatue and oblique memorial of cuckolds, a thrifty shoeing-horn in a\\r\\nchain at his brother’s leg, to what form but that he is, should wit\\r\\nlarded with malice, and malice forced with wit, turn him to? To an ass,\\r\\nwere nothing: he is both ass and ox. To an ox, were nothing: he is both\\r\\nox and ass. To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchook, a toad, a lizard,\\r\\nan owl, a puttock, or a herring without a roe, I would not care; but to\\r\\nbe Menelaus, I would conspire against destiny. Ask me not what I would\\r\\nbe, if I were not Thersites; for I care not to be the louse of a lazar,\\r\\nso I were not Menelaus. Hey-day! sprites and fires!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajax, Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Menelaus and\\r\\n Diomedes with lights.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWe go wrong, we go wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nNo, yonder ’tis;\\r\\nThere, where we see the lights.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI trouble you.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nNo, not a whit.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nHere comes himself to guide you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWelcome, brave Hector; welcome, Princes all.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nSo now, fair Prince of Troy, I bid good night;\\r\\nAjax commands the guard to tend on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nThanks, and good night to the Greeks’ general.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nGood night, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nGood night, sweet Lord Menelaus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nSweet draught! ‘Sweet’ quoth a’!\\r\\nSweet sink, sweet sewer!\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nGood night and welcome, both at once, to those\\r\\nThat go or tarry.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nGood night.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Agamemnon and Menelaus_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nOld Nestor tarries; and you too, Diomed,\\r\\nKeep Hector company an hour or two.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI cannot, lord; I have important business,\\r\\nThe tide whereof is now. Good night, great Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nGive me your hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n[_Aside to Troilus._] Follow his torch; he goes to\\r\\nCalchas’ tent; I’ll keep you company.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nSweet sir, you honour me.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nAnd so, good night.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Diomedes, Ulysses and Troilus following._]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nCome, come, enter my tent.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but_ Thersites.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThat same Diomed’s a false-hearted rogue, a most unjust knave; I will\\r\\nno more trust him when he leers than I will a serpent when he hisses.\\r\\nHe will spend his mouth and promise, like Brabbler the hound; but when\\r\\nhe performs, astronomers foretell it: it is prodigious, there will come\\r\\nsome change; the sun borrows of the moon when Diomed keeps his word. I\\r\\nwill rather leave to see Hector than not to dog him. They say he keeps\\r\\na Trojan drab, and uses the traitor Calchas’ tent. I’ll after. Nothing\\r\\nbut lechery! All incontinent varlets!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The Grecian camp. Before CALCHAS’ tent.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Diomedes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhat, are you up here, ho! Speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALCHAS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Who calls?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nDiomed. Calchas, I think. Where’s your daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nCALCHAS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] She comes to you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus and Ulysses, at a distance; after them Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nStand where the torch may not discover us.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCressid comes forth to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nHow now, my charge!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNow, my sweet guardian! Hark, a word with you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Whispers_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYea, so familiar?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nShe will sing any man at first sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAnd any man may sing her, if he can take her cliff; she’s noted.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWill you remember?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nRemember! Yes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nNay, but do, then;\\r\\nAnd let your mind be coupled with your words.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat should she remember?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nList!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to folly.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nRoguery!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nNay, then—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI’ll tell you what—\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nFo, fo! come, tell a pin; you are a forsworn.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIn faith, I cannot. What would you have me do?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nA juggling trick, to be secretly open.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhat did you swear you would bestow on me?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI prithee, do not hold me to mine oath;\\r\\nBid me do anything but that, sweet Greek.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nGood night.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHold, patience!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nHow now, Trojan!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nDiomed!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nNo, no, good night; I’ll be your fool no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThy better must.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHark! a word in your ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO plague and madness!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYou are moved, Prince; let us depart, I pray,\\r\\nLest your displeasure should enlarge itself\\r\\nTo wrathful terms. This place is dangerous;\\r\\nThe time right deadly; I beseech you, go.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBehold, I pray you.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNay, good my lord, go off;\\r\\nYou flow to great distraction; come, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI pray thee stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYou have not patience; come.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI pray you, stay; by hell and all hell’s torments,\\r\\nI will not speak a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nAnd so, good night.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNay, but you part in anger.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nDoth that grieve thee? O withered truth!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nHow now, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBy Jove, I will be patient.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGuardian! Why, Greek!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nFo, fo! adieu! you palter.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIn faith, I do not. Come hither once again.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYou shake, my lord, at something; will you go?\\r\\nYou will break out.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nShe strokes his cheek.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nCome, come.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a word:\\r\\nThere is between my will and all offences\\r\\nA guard of patience. Stay a little while.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHow the devil Luxury, with his fat rump and potato finger, tickles\\r\\nthese together! Fry, lechery, fry!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nBut will you, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIn faith, I will, la; never trust me else.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nGive me some token for the surety of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI’ll fetch you one.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYou have sworn patience.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFear me not, my lord;\\r\\nI will not be myself, nor have cognition\\r\\nOf what I feel. I am all patience.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNow the pledge; now, now, now!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHere, Diomed, keep this sleeve.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO beauty! where is thy faith?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nMy lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI will be patient; outwardly I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nYou look upon that sleeve; behold it well.\\r\\nHe lov’d me—O false wench!—Give’t me again.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhose was’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIt is no matter, now I have’t again.\\r\\nI will not meet with you tomorrow night.\\r\\nI prithee, Diomed, visit me no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNow she sharpens. Well said, whetstone.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI shall have it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat, this?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nAy, that.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO all you gods! O pretty, pretty pledge!\\r\\nThy master now lies thinking on his bed\\r\\nOf thee and me, and sighs, and takes my glove,\\r\\nAnd gives memorial dainty kisses to it,\\r\\nAs I kiss thee. Nay, do not snatch it from me;\\r\\nHe that takes that doth take my heart withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI had your heart before; this follows it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI did swear patience.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nYou shall not have it, Diomed; faith, you shall not;\\r\\nI’ll give you something else.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI will have this. Whose was it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIt is no matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nCome, tell me whose it was.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\n’Twas one’s that lov’d me better than you will.\\r\\nBut, now you have it, take it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhose was it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBy all Diana’s waiting women yond,\\r\\nAnd by herself, I will not tell you whose.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nTomorrow will I wear it on my helm,\\r\\nAnd grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWert thou the devil and wor’st it on thy horn,\\r\\nIt should be challeng’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWell, well, ’tis done, ’tis past; and yet it is not;\\r\\nI will not keep my word.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhy, then farewell;\\r\\nThou never shalt mock Diomed again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nYou shall not go. One cannot speak a word\\r\\nBut it straight starts you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI do not like this fooling.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNor I, by Pluto; but that that likes not you\\r\\nPleases me best.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhat, shall I come? The hour?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAy, come; O Jove! Do come. I shall be plagu’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nFarewell till then.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGood night. I prithee come.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Diomedes.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTroilus, farewell! One eye yet looks on thee;\\r\\nBut with my heart the other eye doth see.\\r\\nAh, poor our sex! this fault in us I find,\\r\\nThe error of our eye directs our mind.\\r\\nWhat error leads must err; O, then conclude,\\r\\nMinds sway’d by eyes are full of turpitude.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nA proof of strength she could not publish more,\\r\\nUnless she said ‘My mind is now turn’d whore.’\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAll’s done, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nIt is.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWhy stay we, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nTo make a recordation to my soul\\r\\nOf every syllable that here was spoke.\\r\\nBut if I tell how these two did co-act,\\r\\nShall I not lie in publishing a truth?\\r\\nSith yet there is a credence in my heart,\\r\\nAn esperance so obstinately strong,\\r\\nThat doth invert th’attest of eyes and ears;\\r\\nAs if those organs had deceptious functions\\r\\nCreated only to calumniate.\\r\\nWas Cressid here?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI cannot conjure, Trojan.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nShe was not, sure.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nMost sure she was.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhy, my negation hath no taste of madness.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNor mine, my lord. Cressid was here but now.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nLet it not be believ’d for womanhood.\\r\\nThink, we had mothers; do not give advantage\\r\\nTo stubborn critics, apt, without a theme,\\r\\nFor depravation, to square the general sex\\r\\nBy Cressid’s rule. Rather think this not Cressid.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWhat hath she done, Prince, that can soil our mothers?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNothing at all, unless that this were she.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWill he swagger himself out on’s own eyes?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThis she? No; this is Diomed’s Cressida.\\r\\nIf beauty have a soul, this is not she;\\r\\nIf souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimonies,\\r\\nIf sanctimony be the god’s delight,\\r\\nIf there be rule in unity itself,\\r\\nThis was not she. O madness of discourse,\\r\\nThat cause sets up with and against itself!\\r\\nBi-fold authority! where reason can revolt\\r\\nWithout perdition, and loss assume all reason\\r\\nWithout revolt: this is, and is not, Cressid.\\r\\nWithin my soul there doth conduce a fight\\r\\nOf this strange nature, that a thing inseparate\\r\\nDivides more wider than the sky and earth;\\r\\nAnd yet the spacious breadth of this division\\r\\nAdmits no orifice for a point as subtle\\r\\nAs Ariachne’s broken woof to enter.\\r\\nInstance, O instance! strong as Pluto’s gates:\\r\\nCressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven.\\r\\nInstance, O instance! strong as heaven itself:\\r\\nThe bonds of heaven are slipp’d, dissolv’d, and loos’d;\\r\\nAnd with another knot, five-finger-tied,\\r\\nThe fractions of her faith, orts of her love,\\r\\nThe fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy relics\\r\\nOf her o’er-eaten faith, are given to Diomed.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nMay worthy Troilus be half attach’d\\r\\nWith that which here his passion doth express?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAy, Greek; and that shall be divulged well\\r\\nIn characters as red as Mars his heart\\r\\nInflam’d with Venus. Never did young man fancy\\r\\nWith so eternal and so fix’d a soul.\\r\\nHark, Greek: as much as I do Cressid love,\\r\\nSo much by weight hate I her Diomed.\\r\\nThat sleeve is mine that he’ll bear on his helm;\\r\\nWere it a casque compos’d by Vulcan’s skill\\r\\nMy sword should bite it. Not the dreadful spout\\r\\nWhich shipmen do the hurricano call,\\r\\nConstring’d in mass by the almighty sun,\\r\\nShall dizzy with more clamour Neptune’s ear\\r\\nIn his descent than shall my prompted sword\\r\\nFalling on Diomed.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHe’ll tickle it for his concupy.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO Cressid! O false Cressid! false, false, false!\\r\\nLet all untruths stand by thy stained name,\\r\\nAnd they’ll seem glorious.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nO, contain yourself;\\r\\nYour passion draws ears hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nI have been seeking you this hour, my lord.\\r\\nHector, by this, is arming him in Troy;\\r\\nAjax, your guard, stays to conduct you home.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHave with you, Prince. My courteous lord, adieu.\\r\\nFairwell, revolted fair! and, Diomed,\\r\\nStand fast, and wear a castle on thy head.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI’ll bring you to the gates.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAccept distracted thanks.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus, Aeneas and Ulysses_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES. Would I could meet that rogue Diomed! I would croak like a\\r\\nraven; I would bode, I would bode. Patroclus will give me anything for\\r\\nthe intelligence of this whore; the parrot will not do more for an\\r\\nalmond than he for a commodious drab. Lechery, lechery! Still wars and\\r\\nlechery! Nothing else holds fashion. A burning devil take them!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Troy. Before PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector and Andromache.\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nWhen was my lord so much ungently temper’d\\r\\nTo stop his ears against admonishment?\\r\\nUnarm, unarm, and do not fight today.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nYou train me to offend you; get you in.\\r\\nBy all the everlasting gods, I’ll go.\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nMy dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the day.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nNo more, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassandra.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nWhere is my brother Hector?\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nHere, sister, arm’d, and bloody in intent.\\r\\nConsort with me in loud and dear petition,\\r\\nPursue we him on knees; for I have dreamt\\r\\nOf bloody turbulence, and this whole night\\r\\nHath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nO, ’tis true!\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nHo! bid my trumpet sound.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nNo notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet brother!\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nBe gone, I say. The gods have heard me swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nThe gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows;\\r\\nThey are polluted off’rings, more abhorr’d\\r\\nThan spotted livers in the sacrifice.\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nO, be persuaded! Do not count it holy\\r\\nTo hurt by being just. It is as lawful,\\r\\nFor we would give much, to use violent thefts\\r\\nAnd rob in the behalf of charity.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nIt is the purpose that makes strong the vow;\\r\\nBut vows to every purpose must not hold.\\r\\nUnarm, sweet Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nHold you still, I say.\\r\\nMine honour keeps the weather of my fate.\\r\\nLife every man holds dear; but the dear man\\r\\nHolds honour far more precious dear than life.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, young man! Mean’st thou to fight today?\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nCassandra, call my father to persuade.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Cassandra.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nNo, faith, young Troilus; doff thy harness, youth;\\r\\nI am today i’ th’vein of chivalry.\\r\\nLet grow thy sinews till their knots be strong,\\r\\nAnd tempt not yet the brushes of the war.\\r\\nUnarm thee, go; and doubt thou not, brave boy,\\r\\nI’ll stand today for thee and me and Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBrother, you have a vice of mercy in you,\\r\\nWhich better fits a lion than a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWhat vice is that? Good Troilus, chide me for it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhen many times the captive Grecian falls,\\r\\nEven in the fan and wind of your fair sword,\\r\\nYou bid them rise and live.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nO, ’tis fair play!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFool’s play, by heaven, Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nHow now? how now?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFor th’ love of all the gods,\\r\\nLet’s leave the hermit Pity with our mother;\\r\\nAnd when we have our armours buckled on,\\r\\nThe venom’d vengeance ride upon our swords,\\r\\nSpur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth!\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nFie, savage, fie!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHector, then ’tis wars.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nTroilus, I would not have you fight today.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWho should withhold me?\\r\\nNot fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars\\r\\nBeckoning with fiery truncheon my retire;\\r\\nNot Priamus and Hecuba on knees,\\r\\nTheir eyes o’er-galled with recourse of tears;\\r\\nNor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn,\\r\\nOppos’d to hinder me, should stop my way,\\r\\nBut by my ruin.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Cassandra with Priam.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nLay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast;\\r\\nHe is thy crutch; now if thou lose thy stay,\\r\\nThou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee,\\r\\nFall all together.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nCome, Hector, come, go back.\\r\\nThy wife hath dreamt; thy mother hath had visions;\\r\\nCassandra doth foresee; and I myself\\r\\nAm like a prophet suddenly enrapt\\r\\nTo tell thee that this day is ominous.\\r\\nTherefore, come back.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nAeneas is a-field;\\r\\nAnd I do stand engag’d to many Greeks,\\r\\nEven in the faith of valour, to appear\\r\\nThis morning to them.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nAy, but thou shalt not go.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI must not break my faith.\\r\\nYou know me dutiful; therefore, dear sir,\\r\\nLet me not shame respect; but give me leave\\r\\nTo take that course by your consent and voice\\r\\nWhich you do here forbid me, royal Priam.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nO Priam, yield not to him!\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nDo not, dear father.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nAndromache, I am offended with you.\\r\\nUpon the love you bear me, get you in.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Andromache.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThis foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl\\r\\nMakes all these bodements.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nO, farewell, dear Hector!\\r\\nLook how thou diest. Look how thy eye turns pale.\\r\\nLook how thy wounds do bleed at many vents.\\r\\nHark how Troy roars; how Hecuba cries out;\\r\\nHow poor Andromache shrills her dolours forth;\\r\\nBehold distraction, frenzy, and amazement,\\r\\nLike witless antics, one another meet,\\r\\nAnd all cry, ‘Hector! Hector’s dead! O Hector!’\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAway, away!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nFarewell! yet, soft! Hector, I take my leave.\\r\\nThou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nYou are amaz’d, my liege, at her exclaim.\\r\\nGo in, and cheer the town; we’ll forth, and fight,\\r\\nDo deeds worth praise and tell you them at night.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nFarewell. The gods with safety stand about thee!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt severally Priam and Hector. Alarums._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThey are at it, hark! Proud Diomed, believe,\\r\\nI come to lose my arm or win my sleeve.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nDo you hear, my lord? Do you hear?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat now?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHere’s a letter come from yond poor girl.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nLet me read.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nA whoreson tisick, a whoreson rascally tisick, so troubles me, and the\\r\\nfoolish fortune of this girl, and what one thing, what another, that I\\r\\nshall leave you one o’ these days; and I have a rheum in mine eyes too,\\r\\nand such an ache in my bones that unless a man were curs’d I cannot\\r\\ntell what to think on’t. What says she there?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWords, words, mere words, no matter from the heart;\\r\\nTh’effect doth operate another way.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Tearing the letter_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nGo, wind, to wind, there turn and change together.\\r\\nMy love with words and errors still she feeds,\\r\\nBut edifies another with her deeds.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt severally_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The plain between Troy and the Grecian camp.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarums. Excursions. Enter Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNow they are clapper-clawing one another; I’ll go look on. That\\r\\ndissembling abominable varlet, Diomed, has got that same scurvy doting\\r\\nfoolish young knave’s sleeve of Troy there in his helm. I would fain\\r\\nsee them meet, that that same young Trojan ass that loves the whore\\r\\nthere might send that Greekish whoremasterly villain with the sleeve\\r\\nback to the dissembling luxurious drab of a sleeve-less errand. O’ the\\r\\nother side, the policy of those crafty swearing rascals that stale old\\r\\nmouse-eaten dry cheese, Nestor, and that same dog-fox, Ulysses, is not\\r\\nprov’d worth a blackberry. They set me up, in policy, that mongrel cur,\\r\\nAjax, against that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles; and now is the cur,\\r\\nAjax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not arm today; whereupon\\r\\nthe Grecians begin to proclaim barbarism, and policy grows into an ill\\r\\nopinion.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Diomedes, Troilus following.\\r\\n\\r\\nSoft! here comes sleeve, and t’other.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFly not; for shouldst thou take the river Styx, I would swim after.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nThou dost miscall retire.\\r\\nI do not fly; but advantageous care\\r\\nWithdrew me from the odds of multitude.\\r\\nHave at thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHold thy whore, Grecian; now for thy whore,\\r\\nTrojan! now the sleeve, now the sleeve!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus and Diomedes fighting_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWhat art thou, Greek? Art thou for Hector’s match?\\r\\nArt thou of blood and honour?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNo, no I am a rascal; a scurvy railing knave; a very filthy rogue.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI do believe thee. Live.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nGod-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; but a plague break thy neck for\\r\\nfrighting me! What’s become of the wenching rogues? I think they have\\r\\nswallowed one another. I would laugh at that miracle. Yet, in a sort,\\r\\nlechery eats itself. I’ll seek them.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Diomedes and a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nGo, go, my servant, take thou Troilus’ horse;\\r\\nPresent the fair steed to my lady Cressid.\\r\\nFellow, commend my service to her beauty;\\r\\nTell her I have chastis’d the amorous Trojan,\\r\\nAnd am her knight by proof.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI go, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Agamemnon.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nRenew, renew! The fierce Polydamas\\r\\nHath beat down Menon; bastard Margarelon\\r\\nHath Doreus prisoner,\\r\\nAnd stands colossus-wise, waving his beam,\\r\\nUpon the pashed corses of the kings\\r\\nEpistrophus and Cedius. Polixenes is slain;\\r\\nAmphimacus and Thoas deadly hurt;\\r\\nPatroclus ta’en, or slain; and Palamedes\\r\\nSore hurt and bruis’d. The dreadful Sagittary\\r\\nAppals our numbers. Haste we, Diomed,\\r\\nTo reinforcement, or we perish all.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nestor.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nGo, bear Patroclus’ body to Achilles,\\r\\nAnd bid the snail-pac’d Ajax arm for shame.\\r\\nThere is a thousand Hectors in the field;\\r\\nNow here he fights on Galathe his horse,\\r\\nAnd there lacks work; anon he’s there afoot,\\r\\nAnd there they fly or die, like scaled sculls\\r\\nBefore the belching whale; then is he yonder,\\r\\nAnd there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge,\\r\\nFall down before him like the mower’s swath.\\r\\nHere, there, and everywhere, he leaves and takes;\\r\\nDexterity so obeying appetite\\r\\nThat what he will he does, and does so much\\r\\nThat proof is call’d impossibility.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ulysses.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nO, courage, courage, courage, Princes! Great Achilles\\r\\nIs arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance.\\r\\nPatroclus’ wounds have rous’d his drowsy blood,\\r\\nTogether with his mangled Myrmidons,\\r\\nThat noseless, handless, hack’d and chipp’d, come to him,\\r\\nCrying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend\\r\\nAnd foams at mouth, and he is arm’d and at it,\\r\\nRoaring for Troilus; who hath done today\\r\\nMad and fantastic execution,\\r\\nEngaging and redeeming of himself\\r\\nWith such a careless force and forceless care\\r\\nAs if that lust, in very spite of cunning,\\r\\nBade him win all.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nTroilus! thou coward Troilus!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nAy, there, there.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nSo, so, we draw together.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhere is this Hector?\\r\\nCome, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face;\\r\\nKnow what it is to meet Achilles angry.\\r\\nHector! where’s Hector? I will none but Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nTroilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy head.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Diomedes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nTroilus, I say! Where’s Troilus?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWhat wouldst thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI would correct him.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWere I the general, thou shouldst have my office\\r\\nEre that correction. Troilus, I say! What, Troilus!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO traitor Diomed! Turn thy false face, thou traitor,\\r\\nAnd pay thy life thou owest me for my horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nHa! art thou there?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI’ll fight with him alone. Stand, Diomed.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nHe is my prize. I will not look upon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCome, both, you cogging Greeks; have at you both!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt fighting_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nYea, Troilus? O, well fought, my youngest brother!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nNow do I see thee. Ha! have at thee, Hector!\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nPause, if thou wilt.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan.\\r\\nBe happy that my arms are out of use;\\r\\nMy rest and negligence befriend thee now,\\r\\nBut thou anon shalt hear of me again;\\r\\nTill when, go seek thy fortune.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nFare thee well.\\r\\nI would have been much more a fresher man,\\r\\nHad I expected thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, my brother!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAjax hath ta’en Aeneas. Shall it be?\\r\\nNo, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven,\\r\\nHe shall not carry him; I’ll be ta’en too,\\r\\nOr bring him off. Fate, hear me what I say:\\r\\nI reck not though thou end my life today.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter one in armour.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nStand, stand, thou Greek; thou art a goodly mark.\\r\\nNo? wilt thou not? I like thy armour well;\\r\\nI’ll frush it and unlock the rivets all\\r\\nBut I’ll be master of it. Wilt thou not, beast, abide?\\r\\nWhy then, fly on; I’ll hunt thee for thy hide.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles with Myrmidons.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nCome here about me, you my Myrmidons;\\r\\nMark what I say. Attend me where I wheel;\\r\\nStrike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath;\\r\\nAnd when I have the bloody Hector found,\\r\\nEmpale him with your weapons round about;\\r\\nIn fellest manner execute your arms.\\r\\nFollow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye.\\r\\nIt is decreed Hector the great must die.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Menelaus and Paris, fighting; then Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThe cuckold and the cuckold-maker are at it. Now, bull! Now, dog! ’Loo,\\r\\nParis, ’loo! now my double-hen’d Spartan! ’loo, Paris, ’loo! The bull\\r\\nhas the game. ’Ware horns, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Paris and Menelaus_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Margarelon.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARGARELON.\\r\\nTurn, slave, and fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWhat art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARGARELON.\\r\\nA bastard son of Priam’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI am a bastard too; I love bastards. I am a bastard begot, bastard\\r\\ninstructed, bastard in mind, bastard in valour, in everything\\r\\nillegitimate. One bear will not bite another, and wherefore should one\\r\\nbastard? Take heed, the quarrel’s most ominous to us: if the son of a\\r\\nwhore fight for a whore, he tempts judgement. Farewell, bastard.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMARGARELON.\\r\\nThe devil take thee, coward!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VIII. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nMost putrified core so fair without,\\r\\nThy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life.\\r\\nNow is my day’s work done; I’ll take my breath:\\r\\nRest, sword; thou hast thy fill of blood and death!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Disarms_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles and Myrmidons.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nLook, Hector, how the sun begins to set,\\r\\nHow ugly night comes breathing at his heels;\\r\\nEven with the vail and dark’ning of the sun,\\r\\nTo close the day up, Hector’s life is done.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI am unarm’d; forego this vantage, Greek.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nStrike, fellows, strike; this is the man I seek.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Hector falls_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSo, Ilion, fall thou next! Now, Troy, sink down;\\r\\nHere lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone.\\r\\nOn, Myrmidons, and cry you all amain\\r\\n‘Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.’\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A retreat sounded_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHark! a retire upon our Grecian part.\\r\\n\\r\\nMYRMIDON.\\r\\nThe Trojan trumpets sound the like, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nThe dragon wing of night o’erspreads the earth\\r\\nAnd, stickler-like, the armies separates.\\r\\nMy half-supp’d sword, that frankly would have fed,\\r\\nPleas’d with this dainty bait, thus goes to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sheathes his sword_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, tie his body to my horse’s tail;\\r\\nAlong the field I will the Trojan trail.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IX. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound retreat. Shout. Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Nestor,\\r\\n Diomedes and the rest, marching.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHark! hark! what shout is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nPeace, drums!\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLDIERS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Achilles! Achilles! Hector’s slain. Achilles!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nThe bruit is, Hector’s slain, and by Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nIf it be so, yet bragless let it be;\\r\\nGreat Hector was as good a man as he.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nMarch patiently along. Let one be sent\\r\\nTo pray Achilles see us at our tent.\\r\\nIf in his death the gods have us befriended;\\r\\nGreat Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE X. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Aeneas, Paris, Antenor and Deiphobus.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nStand, ho! yet are we masters of the field.\\r\\nNever go home; here starve we out the night.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHector is slain.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nHector! The gods forbid!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHe’s dead, and at the murderer’s horse’s tail,\\r\\nIn beastly sort, dragg’d through the shameful field.\\r\\nFrown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed.\\r\\nSit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy.\\r\\nI say at once let your brief plagues be mercy,\\r\\nAnd linger not our sure destructions on.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nMy lord, you do discomfort all the host.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYou understand me not that tell me so.\\r\\nI do not speak of flight, of fear of death,\\r\\nBut dare all imminence that gods and men\\r\\nAddress their dangers in. Hector is gone.\\r\\nWho shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba?\\r\\nLet him that will a screech-owl aye be call’d\\r\\nGo in to Troy, and say there ‘Hector’s dead.’\\r\\nThere is a word will Priam turn to stone;\\r\\nMake wells and Niobes of the maids and wives,\\r\\nCold statues of the youth; and, in a word,\\r\\nScare Troy out of itself. But, march away;\\r\\nHector is dead; there is no more to say.\\r\\nStay yet. You vile abominable tents,\\r\\nThus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains,\\r\\nLet Titan rise as early as he dare,\\r\\nI’ll through and through you. And, thou great-siz’d coward,\\r\\nNo space of earth shall sunder our two hates;\\r\\nI’ll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still,\\r\\nThat mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy’s thoughts.\\r\\nStrike a free march to Troy. With comfort go;\\r\\nHope of revenge shall hide our inward woe.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nBut hear you, hear you!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHence, broker-lackey. Ignominy and shame\\r\\nPursue thy life, and live aye with thy name!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but_ Pandarus.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nA goodly medicine for my aching bones! O world! world! Thus is the poor\\r\\nagent despis’d! O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a-work,\\r\\nand how ill requited! Why should our endeavour be so lov’d, and the\\r\\nperformance so loathed? What verse for it? What instance for it? Let me\\r\\nsee—\\r\\n\\r\\n Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing\\r\\n Till he hath lost his honey and his sting;\\r\\n And being once subdu’d in armed trail,\\r\\n Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail.\\r\\n\\r\\nGood traders in the flesh, set this in your painted cloths.\\r\\nAs many as be here of Pandar’s hall,\\r\\nYour eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar’s fall;\\r\\nOr, if you cannot weep, yet give some groans,\\r\\nThough not for me, yet for your aching bones.\\r\\nBrethren and sisters of the hold-door trade,\\r\\nSome two months hence my will shall here be made.\\r\\nIt should be now, but that my fear is this,\\r\\nSome galled goose of Winchester would hiss.\\r\\nTill then I’ll sweat and seek about for eases,\\r\\nAnd at that time bequeath you my diseases.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. An Apartment in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\nScene II. The sea-coast.\\r\\nScene III. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\nScene V. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. The sea-coast.\\r\\nScene II. A street.\\r\\nScene III. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\nScene V. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\nScene II. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene III. A street.\\r\\nScene IV. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. The Street before Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene II. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene III. Olivia’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. The Street before Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nORSINO, Duke of Illyria.\\r\\nVALENTINE, Gentleman attending on the Duke\\r\\nCURIO, Gentleman attending on the Duke\\r\\nVIOLA, in love with the Duke.\\r\\nSEBASTIAN, a young Gentleman, twin brother to Viola.\\r\\nA SEA CAPTAIN, friend to Viola\\r\\nANTONIO, a Sea Captain, friend to Sebastian.\\r\\nOLIVIA, a rich Countess.\\r\\nMARIA, Olivia’s Woman.\\r\\nSIR TOBY BELCH, Uncle of Olivia.\\r\\nSIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.\\r\\nMALVOLIO, Steward to Olivia.\\r\\nFABIAN, Servant to Olivia.\\r\\nCLOWN, Servant to Olivia.\\r\\nPRIEST\\r\\nLords, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and other Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: A City in Illyria; and the Sea-coast near it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. An Apartment in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Orsino, Duke of Illyria, Curio, and other Lords; Musicians\\r\\n attending.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nIf music be the food of love, play on,\\r\\nGive me excess of it; that, surfeiting,\\r\\nThe appetite may sicken and so die.\\r\\nThat strain again, it had a dying fall;\\r\\nO, it came o’er my ear like the sweet sound\\r\\nThat breathes upon a bank of violets,\\r\\nStealing and giving odour. Enough; no more;\\r\\n’Tis not so sweet now as it was before.\\r\\nO spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou,\\r\\nThat notwithstanding thy capacity\\r\\nReceiveth as the sea, nought enters there,\\r\\nOf what validity and pitch soever,\\r\\nBut falls into abatement and low price\\r\\nEven in a minute! So full of shapes is fancy,\\r\\nThat it alone is high fantastical.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURIO.\\r\\nWill you go hunt, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat, Curio?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURIO.\\r\\nThe hart.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhy so I do, the noblest that I have.\\r\\nO, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,\\r\\nMethought she purg’d the air of pestilence;\\r\\nThat instant was I turn’d into a hart,\\r\\nAnd my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,\\r\\nE’er since pursue me. How now? what news from her?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Valentine.\\r\\n\\r\\nVALENTINE.\\r\\nSo please my lord, I might not be admitted,\\r\\nBut from her handmaid do return this answer:\\r\\nThe element itself, till seven years’ heat,\\r\\nShall not behold her face at ample view;\\r\\nBut like a cloistress she will veiled walk,\\r\\nAnd water once a day her chamber round\\r\\nWith eye-offending brine: all this to season\\r\\nA brother’s dead love, which she would keep fresh\\r\\nAnd lasting in her sad remembrance.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO, she that hath a heart of that fine frame\\r\\nTo pay this debt of love but to a brother,\\r\\nHow will she love, when the rich golden shaft\\r\\nHath kill’d the flock of all affections else\\r\\nThat live in her; when liver, brain, and heart,\\r\\nThese sovereign thrones, are all supplied and fill’d\\r\\nHer sweet perfections with one self king!\\r\\nAway before me to sweet beds of flowers,\\r\\nLove-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The sea-coast.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Viola, a Captain and Sailors.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhat country, friends, is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nThis is Illyria, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd what should I do in Illyria?\\r\\nMy brother he is in Elysium.\\r\\nPerchance he is not drown’d. What think you, sailors?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nIt is perchance that you yourself were sav’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nO my poor brother! and so perchance may he be.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nTrue, madam; and to comfort you with chance,\\r\\nAssure yourself, after our ship did split,\\r\\nWhen you, and those poor number sav’d with you,\\r\\nHung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,\\r\\nMost provident in peril, bind himself,\\r\\n(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice)\\r\\nTo a strong mast that liv’d upon the sea;\\r\\nWhere, like Arion on the dolphin’s back,\\r\\nI saw him hold acquaintance with the waves\\r\\nSo long as I could see.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nFor saying so, there’s gold!\\r\\nMine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,\\r\\nWhereto thy speech serves for authority,\\r\\nThe like of him. Know’st thou this country?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nAy, madam, well, for I was bred and born\\r\\nNot three hours’ travel from this very place.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWho governs here?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nA noble duke, in nature as in name.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhat is his name?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nOrsino.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nOrsino! I have heard my father name him.\\r\\nHe was a bachelor then.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nAnd so is now, or was so very late;\\r\\nFor but a month ago I went from hence,\\r\\nAnd then ’twas fresh in murmur, (as, you know,\\r\\nWhat great ones do, the less will prattle of)\\r\\nThat he did seek the love of fair Olivia.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhat’s she?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nA virtuous maid, the daughter of a count\\r\\nThat died some twelvemonth since; then leaving her\\r\\nIn the protection of his son, her brother,\\r\\nWho shortly also died; for whose dear love\\r\\nThey say, she hath abjur’d the company\\r\\nAnd sight of men.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nO that I served that lady,\\r\\nAnd might not be delivered to the world,\\r\\nTill I had made mine own occasion mellow,\\r\\nWhat my estate is.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nThat were hard to compass,\\r\\nBecause she will admit no kind of suit,\\r\\nNo, not the Duke’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThere is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain;\\r\\nAnd though that nature with a beauteous wall\\r\\nDoth oft close in pollution, yet of thee\\r\\nI will believe thou hast a mind that suits\\r\\nWith this thy fair and outward character.\\r\\nI pray thee, and I’ll pay thee bounteously,\\r\\nConceal me what I am, and be my aid\\r\\nFor such disguise as haply shall become\\r\\nThe form of my intent. I’ll serve this duke;\\r\\nThou shalt present me as an eunuch to him.\\r\\nIt may be worth thy pains; for I can sing,\\r\\nAnd speak to him in many sorts of music,\\r\\nThat will allow me very worth his service.\\r\\nWhat else may hap, to time I will commit;\\r\\nOnly shape thou thy silence to my wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nBe you his eunuch and your mute I’ll be;\\r\\nWhen my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI thank thee. Lead me on.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat a plague means my niece to take the death of her brother thus? I\\r\\nam sure care’s an enemy to life.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nBy my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o’ nights; your cousin,\\r\\nmy lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, let her except, before excepted.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAy, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nConfine? I’ll confine myself no finer than I am. These clothes are good\\r\\nenough to drink in, and so be these boots too; and they be not, let\\r\\nthem hang themselves in their own straps.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThat quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard my lady talk of it\\r\\nyesterday; and of a foolish knight that you brought in one night here\\r\\nto be her wooer.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWho? Sir Andrew Aguecheek?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAy, he.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHe’s as tall a man as any’s in Illyria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nWhat’s that to th’ purpose?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, he has three thousand ducats a year.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAy, but he’ll have but a year in all these ducats. He’s a very fool,\\r\\nand a prodigal.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nFie, that you’ll say so! he plays o’ the viol-de-gamboys, and speaks\\r\\nthree or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the\\r\\ngood gifts of nature.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nHe hath indeed, almost natural: for, besides that he’s a fool, he’s a\\r\\ngreat quarreller; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay\\r\\nthe gust he hath in quarrelling, ’tis thought among the prudent he\\r\\nwould quickly have the gift of a grave.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nBy this hand, they are scoundrels and substractors that say so of him.\\r\\nWho are they?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThey that add, moreover, he’s drunk nightly in your company.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWith drinking healths to my niece; I’ll drink to her as long as there\\r\\nis a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria. He’s a coward and a\\r\\ncoystril that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o’ the\\r\\ntoe like a parish top. What, wench! _Castiliano vulgo:_ for here comes\\r\\nSir Andrew Agueface.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGUECHEEK.\\r\\nSir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nSweet Sir Andrew!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBless you, fair shrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAnd you too, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAccost, Sir Andrew, accost.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhat’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMy niece’s chamber-maid.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nGood Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMy name is Mary, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nGood Mistress Mary Accost,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nYou mistake, knight: accost is front her, board her, woo her, assail\\r\\nher.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBy my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the\\r\\nmeaning of accost?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nFare you well, gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never draw sword\\r\\nagain.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair\\r\\nlady, do you think you have fools in hand?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nSir, I have not you by the hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nMarry, but you shall have, and here’s my hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNow, sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring your hand to th’ buttery\\r\\nbar and let it drink.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWherefore, sweetheart? What’s your metaphor?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nIt’s dry, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhy, I think so; I am not such an ass but I can keep my hand dry. But\\r\\nwhat’s your jest?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nA dry jest, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAre you full of them?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAy, sir, I have them at my fingers’ ends: marry, now I let go your\\r\\nhand, I am barren.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nO knight, thou lack’st a cup of canary: When did I see thee so put\\r\\ndown?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNever in your life, I think, unless you see canary put me down.\\r\\nMethinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary\\r\\nman has; but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm\\r\\nto my wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nNo question.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd I thought that, I’d forswear it. I’ll ride home tomorrow, Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Pourquoy_, my dear knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhat is _pourquoy?_ Do, or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in\\r\\nthe tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting. O, had I\\r\\nbut followed the arts!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThen hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhy, would that have mended my hair?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPast question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBut it becomes me well enough, does’t not?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nExcellent, it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I hope to see a\\r\\nhouswife take thee between her legs, and spin it off.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFaith, I’ll home tomorrow, Sir Toby; your niece will not be seen, or if\\r\\nshe be, it’s four to one she’ll none of me; the Count himself here hard\\r\\nby woos her.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nShe’ll none o’ the Count; she’ll not match above her degree, neither in\\r\\nestate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear’t. Tut, there’s life\\r\\nin’t, man.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI’ll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o’ the strangest mind i’ the\\r\\nworld; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nArt thou good at these kick-shawses, knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAs any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my\\r\\nbetters; and yet I will not compare with an old man.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFaith, I can cut a caper.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd I can cut the mutton to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in\\r\\nIllyria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWherefore are these things hid? Wherefore have these gifts a curtain\\r\\nbefore ’em? Are they like to take dust, like Mistress Mall’s picture?\\r\\nWhy dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a\\r\\ncoranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not so much as make\\r\\nwater but in a sink-a-pace. What dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide\\r\\nvirtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it\\r\\nwas formed under the star of a galliard.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAy, ’tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a dam’d-colour’d\\r\\nstock. Shall we set about some revels?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat shall we do else? Were we not born under Taurus?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nTaurus? That’s sides and heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nNo, sir, it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper. Ha, higher: ha,\\r\\nha, excellent!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Valentine and Viola in man’s attire.\\r\\n\\r\\nVALENTINE.\\r\\nIf the duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like\\r\\nto be much advanced; he hath known you but three days, and already you\\r\\nare no stranger.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nYou either fear his humour or my negligence, that you call in question\\r\\nthe continuance of his love. Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours?\\r\\n\\r\\nVALENTINE.\\r\\nNo, believe me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Duke, Curio and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI thank you. Here comes the Count.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWho saw Cesario, ho?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nOn your attendance, my lord, here.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nStand you awhile aloof.—Cesario,\\r\\nThou know’st no less but all; I have unclasp’d\\r\\nTo thee the book even of my secret soul.\\r\\nTherefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her,\\r\\nBe not denied access, stand at her doors,\\r\\nAnd tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow\\r\\nTill thou have audience.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSure, my noble lord,\\r\\nIf she be so abandon’d to her sorrow\\r\\nAs it is spoke, she never will admit me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBe clamorous and leap all civil bounds,\\r\\nRather than make unprofited return.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSay I do speak with her, my lord, what then?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO then unfold the passion of my love,\\r\\nSurprise her with discourse of my dear faith;\\r\\nIt shall become thee well to act my woes;\\r\\nShe will attend it better in thy youth,\\r\\nThan in a nuncio’s of more grave aspect.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI think not so, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nDear lad, believe it;\\r\\nFor they shall yet belie thy happy years,\\r\\nThat say thou art a man: Diana’s lip\\r\\nIs not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe\\r\\nIs as the maiden’s organ, shrill and sound,\\r\\nAnd all is semblative a woman’s part.\\r\\nI know thy constellation is right apt\\r\\nFor this affair. Some four or five attend him:\\r\\nAll, if you will; for I myself am best\\r\\nWhen least in company. Prosper well in this,\\r\\nAnd thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,\\r\\nTo call his fortunes thine.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI’ll do my best\\r\\nTo woo your lady. [_Aside._] Yet, a barful strife!\\r\\nWhoe’er I woo, myself would be his wife.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay; either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips so\\r\\nwide as a bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse: my lady will hang\\r\\nthee for thy absence.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLet her hang me: he that is well hanged in this world needs to fear no\\r\\ncolours.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMake that good.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe shall see none to fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nA good lenten answer. I can tell thee where that saying was born, of I\\r\\nfear no colours.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhere, good Mistress Mary?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nIn the wars, and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWell, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let\\r\\nthem use their talents.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nYet you will be hanged for being so long absent; or to be turned away;\\r\\nis not that as good as a hanging to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMany a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and for turning away, let\\r\\nsummer bear it out.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nYou are resolute then?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot so, neither, but I am resolved on two points.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThat if one break, the other will hold; or if both break, your gaskins\\r\\nfall.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nApt, in good faith, very apt! Well, go thy way; if Sir Toby would leave\\r\\ndrinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve’s flesh as any in Illyria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nPeace, you rogue, no more o’ that. Here comes my lady: make your excuse\\r\\nwisely, you were best.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia with Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWit, and’t be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits that think\\r\\nthey have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I that am sure I lack\\r\\nthee, may pass for a wise man. For what says Quinapalus? Better a witty\\r\\nfool than a foolish wit. God bless thee, lady!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nTake the fool away.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nDo you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGo to, y’are a dry fool; I’ll no more of you. Besides, you grow\\r\\ndishonest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTwo faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend: for give\\r\\nthe dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest man\\r\\nmend himself, if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let\\r\\nthe botcher mend him. Anything that’s mended is but patched; virtue\\r\\nthat transgresses is but patched with sin, and sin that amends is but\\r\\npatched with virtue. If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if\\r\\nit will not, what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so\\r\\nbeauty’s a flower. The lady bade take away the fool, therefore, I say\\r\\nagain, take her away.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSir, I bade them take away you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMisprision in the highest degree! Lady, _cucullus non facit monachum:_\\r\\nthat’s as much to say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna,\\r\\ngive me leave to prove you a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nCan you do it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nDexteriously, good madonna.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nMake your proof.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI must catechize you for it, madonna. Good my mouse of virtue, answer\\r\\nme.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWell sir, for want of other idleness, I’ll ’bide your proof.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGood madonna, why mourn’st thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGood fool, for my brother’s death.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI think his soul is in hell, madonna.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI know his soul is in heaven, fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThe more fool you, madonna, to mourn for your brother’s soul being in\\r\\nheaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nYes; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him. Infirmity, that\\r\\ndecays the wise, doth ever make the better fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGod send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your\\r\\nfolly! Sir Toby will be sworn that I am no fox; but he will not pass\\r\\nhis word for twopence that you are no fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHow say you to that, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal; I saw him\\r\\nput down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain\\r\\nthan a stone. Look you now, he’s out of his guard already; unless you\\r\\nlaugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest I take\\r\\nthese wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than\\r\\nthe fools’ zanies.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered\\r\\nappetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to\\r\\ntake those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon bullets. There is\\r\\nno slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no\\r\\nrailing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNow Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speak’st well of fools!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMadam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much desires to speak\\r\\nwith you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nFrom the Count Orsino, is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nI know not, madam; ’tis a fair young man, and well attended.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWho of my people hold him in delay?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nSir Toby, madam, your kinsman.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nFetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman. Fie on him!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGo you, Malvolio. If it be a suit from the Count, I am sick, or not at\\r\\nhome. What you will, to dismiss it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Malvolio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool:\\r\\nwhose skull Jove cram with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin\\r\\nhas a most weak _pia mater_.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nBy mine honour, half drunk. What is he at the gate, cousin?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nA gentleman? What gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n’Tis a gentleman here. A plague o’ these pickle-herrings! How now, sot?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGood Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nCousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLechery! I defy lechery. There’s one at the gate.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAy, marry, what is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLet him be the devil an he will, I care not: give me faith, say I.\\r\\nWell, it’s all one.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat’s a drunken man like, fool?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLike a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes\\r\\nhim a fool, the second mads him, and a third drowns him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGo thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit o’ my coz; for he’s in\\r\\nthe third degree of drink; he’s drowned. Go, look after him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look to the madman.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMadam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you\\r\\nwere sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes\\r\\nto speak with you. I told him you were asleep; he seems to have a\\r\\nforeknowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What\\r\\nis to be said to him, lady? He’s fortified against any denial.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nTell him, he shall not speak with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nHas been told so; and he says he’ll stand at your door like a sheriff’s\\r\\npost, and be the supporter of a bench, but he’ll speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat kind o’ man is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nWhy, of mankind.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat manner of man?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nOf very ill manner; he’ll speak with you, will you or no.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nOf what personage and years is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nNot yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash\\r\\nis before ’tis a peascod, or a codling, when ’tis almost an apple. ’Tis\\r\\nwith him in standing water, between boy and man. He is very\\r\\nwell-favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly. One would think his\\r\\nmother’s milk were scarce out of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nLet him approach. Call in my gentlewoman.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGentlewoman, my lady calls.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGive me my veil; come, throw it o’er my face.\\r\\nWe’ll once more hear Orsino’s embassy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Viola.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThe honourable lady of the house, which is she?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSpeak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMost radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty,—I pray you, tell me if\\r\\nthis be the lady of the house, for I never saw her. I would be loath to\\r\\ncast away my speech; for besides that it is excellently well penned, I\\r\\nhave taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no\\r\\nscorn; I am very comptible, even to the least sinister usage.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhence came you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI can say little more than I have studied, and that question’s out of\\r\\nmy part. Good gentle one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady\\r\\nof the house, that I may proceed in my speech.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAre you a comedian?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNo, my profound heart: and yet, by the very fangs of malice I swear, I\\r\\nam not that I play. Are you the lady of the house?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIf I do not usurp myself, I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMost certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what is yours\\r\\nto bestow is not yours to reserve. But this is from my commission. I\\r\\nwill on with my speech in your praise, and then show you the heart of\\r\\nmy message.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nCome to what is important in’t: I forgive you the praise.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAlas, I took great pains to study it, and ’tis poetical.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIt is the more like to be feigned; I pray you keep it in. I heard you\\r\\nwere saucy at my gates; and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at\\r\\nyou than to hear you. If you be mad, be gone; if you have reason, be\\r\\nbrief: ’tis not that time of moon with me to make one in so skipping a\\r\\ndialogue.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nWill you hoist sail, sir? Here lies your way.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNo, good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification\\r\\nfor your giant, sweet lady. Tell me your mind. I am a messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it\\r\\nis so fearful. Speak your office.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIt alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of\\r\\nhomage; I hold the olive in my hand: my words are as full of peace as\\r\\nmatter.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nYet you began rudely. What are you? What would you?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThe rudeness that hath appeared in me have I learned from my\\r\\nentertainment. What I am and what I would are as secret as maidenhead:\\r\\nto your ears, divinity; to any other’s, profanation.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGive us the place alone: we will hear this divinity.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, sir, what is your text?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMost sweet lady—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nA comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your\\r\\ntext?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIn Orsino’s bosom.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIn his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nTo answer by the method, in the first of his heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nGood madam, let me see your face.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHave you any commission from your lord to negotiate with my face? You\\r\\nare now out of your text: but we will draw the curtain and show you the\\r\\npicture. [_Unveiling._] Look you, sir, such a one I was this present.\\r\\nIs’t not well done?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nExcellently done, if God did all.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\n’Tis in grain, sir; ’twill endure wind and weather.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n’Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white\\r\\nNature’s own sweet and cunning hand laid on.\\r\\nLady, you are the cruel’st she alive\\r\\nIf you will lead these graces to the grave,\\r\\nAnd leave the world no copy.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give out divers schedules\\r\\nof my beauty. It shall be inventoried and every particle and utensil\\r\\nlabelled to my will: as, item, two lips indifferent red; item, two grey\\r\\neyes with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were\\r\\nyou sent hither to praise me?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI see you what you are, you are too proud;\\r\\nBut, if you were the devil, you are fair.\\r\\nMy lord and master loves you. O, such love\\r\\nCould be but recompens’d though you were crown’d\\r\\nThe nonpareil of beauty!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHow does he love me?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWith adorations, fertile tears,\\r\\nWith groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nYour lord does know my mind, I cannot love him:\\r\\nYet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,\\r\\nOf great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;\\r\\nIn voices well divulg’d, free, learn’d, and valiant,\\r\\nAnd in dimension and the shape of nature,\\r\\nA gracious person. But yet I cannot love him.\\r\\nHe might have took his answer long ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIf I did love you in my master’s flame,\\r\\nWith such a suff’ring, such a deadly life,\\r\\nIn your denial I would find no sense,\\r\\nI would not understand it.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy, what would you?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMake me a willow cabin at your gate,\\r\\nAnd call upon my soul within the house;\\r\\nWrite loyal cantons of contemned love,\\r\\nAnd sing them loud even in the dead of night;\\r\\nHallow your name to the reverberate hills,\\r\\nAnd make the babbling gossip of the air\\r\\nCry out Olivia! O, you should not rest\\r\\nBetween the elements of air and earth,\\r\\nBut you should pity me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nYou might do much.\\r\\nWhat is your parentage?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAbove my fortunes, yet my state is well:\\r\\nI am a gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGet you to your lord;\\r\\nI cannot love him: let him send no more,\\r\\nUnless, perchance, you come to me again,\\r\\nTo tell me how he takes it. Fare you well:\\r\\nI thank you for your pains: spend this for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI am no fee’d post, lady; keep your purse;\\r\\nMy master, not myself, lacks recompense.\\r\\nLove make his heart of flint that you shall love,\\r\\nAnd let your fervour like my master’s be\\r\\nPlac’d in contempt. Farewell, fair cruelty.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat is your parentage?\\r\\n‘Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:\\r\\nI am a gentleman.’ I’ll be sworn thou art;\\r\\nThy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,\\r\\nDo give thee five-fold blazon. Not too fast: soft, soft!\\r\\nUnless the master were the man. How now?\\r\\nEven so quickly may one catch the plague?\\r\\nMethinks I feel this youth’s perfections\\r\\nWith an invisible and subtle stealth\\r\\nTo creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.\\r\\nWhat ho, Malvolio!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nHere, madam, at your service.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nRun after that same peevish messenger\\r\\nThe County’s man: he left this ring behind him,\\r\\nWould I or not; tell him, I’ll none of it.\\r\\nDesire him not to flatter with his lord,\\r\\nNor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him.\\r\\nIf that the youth will come this way tomorrow,\\r\\nI’ll give him reasons for’t. Hie thee, Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMadam, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI do I know not what, and fear to find\\r\\nMine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.\\r\\nFate, show thy force, ourselves we do not owe.\\r\\nWhat is decreed must be; and be this so!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The sea-coast.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio and Sebastian.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWill you stay no longer? Nor will you not that I go with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nBy your patience, no; my stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of\\r\\nmy fate might perhaps distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you\\r\\nyour leave that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompense for\\r\\nyour love, to lay any of them on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLet me know of you whither you are bound.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nNo, sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I\\r\\nperceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not\\r\\nextort from me what I am willing to keep in. Therefore it charges me in\\r\\nmanners the rather to express myself. You must know of me then,\\r\\nAntonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Roderigo; my father was\\r\\nthat Sebastian of Messaline whom I know you have heard of. He left\\r\\nbehind him myself and a sister, both born in an hour. If the heavens\\r\\nhad been pleased, would we had so ended! But you, sir, altered that,\\r\\nfor some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea was my\\r\\nsister drowned.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAlas the day!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many\\r\\naccounted beautiful. But though I could not with such estimable wonder\\r\\noverfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore\\r\\na mind that envy could not but call fair. She is drowned already, sir,\\r\\nwith salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with\\r\\nmore.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nPardon me, sir, your bad entertainment.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nO good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIf you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nIf you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you\\r\\nhave recovered, desire it not. Fare ye well at once; my bosom is full\\r\\nof kindness, and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that upon\\r\\nthe least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to\\r\\nthe Count Orsino’s court: farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe gentleness of all the gods go with thee!\\r\\nI have many enemies in Orsino’s court,\\r\\nElse would I very shortly see thee there:\\r\\nBut come what may, I do adore thee so,\\r\\nThat danger shall seem sport, and I will go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Viola; Malvolio at several doors.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nWere you not even now with the Countess Olivia?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nEven now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nShe returns this ring to you, sir; you might have saved me my pains, to\\r\\nhave taken it away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you should put\\r\\nyour lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him. And one\\r\\nthing more, that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs,\\r\\nunless it be to report your lord’s taking of this. Receive it so.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nShe took the ring of me: I’ll none of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nCome sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is it should be\\r\\nso returned. If it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if\\r\\nnot, be it his that finds it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI left no ring with her; what means this lady?\\r\\nFortune forbid my outside have not charm’d her!\\r\\nShe made good view of me, indeed, so much,\\r\\nThat methought her eyes had lost her tongue,\\r\\nFor she did speak in starts distractedly.\\r\\nShe loves me, sure, the cunning of her passion\\r\\nInvites me in this churlish messenger.\\r\\nNone of my lord’s ring? Why, he sent her none.\\r\\nI am the man; if it be so, as ’tis,\\r\\nPoor lady, she were better love a dream.\\r\\nDisguise, I see thou art a wickedness\\r\\nWherein the pregnant enemy does much.\\r\\nHow easy is it for the proper false\\r\\nIn women’s waxen hearts to set their forms!\\r\\nAlas, our frailty is the cause, not we,\\r\\nFor such as we are made of, such we be.\\r\\nHow will this fadge? My master loves her dearly,\\r\\nAnd I, poor monster, fond as much on him,\\r\\nAnd she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.\\r\\nWhat will become of this? As I am man,\\r\\nMy state is desperate for my master’s love;\\r\\nAs I am woman (now alas the day!)\\r\\nWhat thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe!\\r\\nO time, thou must untangle this, not I,\\r\\nIt is too hard a knot for me t’untie!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nApproach, Sir Andrew; not to be abed after midnight, is to be up\\r\\nbetimes; and _diluculo surgere_, thou know’st.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNay, by my troth, I know not; but I know to be up late is to be up\\r\\nlate.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA false conclusion; I hate it as an unfilled can. To be up after\\r\\nmidnight, and to go to bed then is early: so that to go to bed after\\r\\nmidnight is to go to bed betimes. Does not our lives consist of the\\r\\nfour elements?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFaith, so they say, but I think it rather consists of eating and\\r\\ndrinking.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTh’art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.\\r\\nMarian, I say! a stoup of wine.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nHere comes the fool, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHow now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of “we three”?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWelcome, ass. Now let’s have a catch.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBy my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty\\r\\nshillings I had such a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool\\r\\nhas. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night when thou\\r\\nspok’st of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of\\r\\nQueubus; ’twas very good, i’ faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman.\\r\\nHadst it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio’s nose is no whipstock. My\\r\\nlady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nExcellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a\\r\\nsong.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome on, there is sixpence for you. Let’s have a song.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nThere’s a testril of me too: if one knight give a—\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWould you have a love-song, or a song of good life?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA love-song, a love-song.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAy, ay. I care not for good life.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN. [_sings._]\\r\\n _O mistress mine, where are you roaming?\\r\\n O stay and hear, your true love’s coming,\\r\\n That can sing both high and low.\\r\\n Trip no further, pretty sweeting.\\r\\n Journeys end in lovers meeting,\\r\\n Every wise man’s son doth know._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nExcellent good, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGood, good.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n _What is love? ’Tis not hereafter,\\r\\n Present mirth hath present laughter.\\r\\n What’s to come is still unsure.\\r\\n In delay there lies no plenty,\\r\\n Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty.\\r\\n Youth’s a stuff will not endure._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nA mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA contagious breath.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nVery sweet and contagious, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the\\r\\nwelkin dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch that will\\r\\ndraw three souls out of one weaver? Shall we do that?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd you love me, let’s do’t: I am dog at a catch.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBy’r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nMost certain. Let our catch be, “Thou knave.”\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n“Hold thy peace, thou knave” knight? I shall be constrain’d in’t to\\r\\ncall thee knave, knight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call me knave. Begin,\\r\\nfool; it begins “Hold thy peace.”\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI shall never begin if I hold my peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nGood, i’ faith! Come, begin.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Catch sung._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nWhat a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not called up her\\r\\nsteward Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMy lady’s a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio’s a Peg-a-Ramsey, and\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Three merry men be we._ Am not I consanguineous? Am I not\\r\\nof her blood? Tilly-vally! “Lady”! _There dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady,\\r\\nLady._\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBeshrew me, the knight’s in admirable fooling.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAy, he does well enough if he be disposed, and so do I too; he does it\\r\\nwith a better grace, but I do it more natural.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _O’ the twelfth day of December—_\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nFor the love o’ God, peace!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMy masters, are you mad? Or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor\\r\\nhonesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make\\r\\nan ale-house of my lady’s house, that ye squeak out your coziers’\\r\\ncatches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect\\r\\nof place, persons, nor time, in you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWe did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you that,\\r\\nthough she harbours you as her kinsman she’s nothing allied to your\\r\\ndisorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanours, you are\\r\\nwelcome to the house; if not, and it would please you to take leave of\\r\\nher, she is very willing to bid you farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone._\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay, good Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _His eyes do show his days are almost done._\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nIs’t even so?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _But I will never die._\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Sir Toby, there you lie._\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nThis is much credit to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Shall I bid him go?_\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _What and if you do?_\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Shall I bid him go, and spare not?_\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _O, no, no, no, no, you dare not._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nOut o’ tune? sir, ye lie. Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think,\\r\\nbecause thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i’ the mouth too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTh’art i’ the right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs. A stoup of\\r\\nwine, Maria!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMistress Mary, if you prized my lady’s favour at anything more than\\r\\ncontempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule; she shall\\r\\nknow of it, by this hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nGo shake your ears.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man’s a-hungry, to challenge\\r\\nhim the field, and then to break promise with him and make a fool of\\r\\nhim.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nDo’t, knight. I’ll write thee a challenge; or I’ll deliver thy\\r\\nindignation to him by word of mouth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nSweet Sir Toby, be patient for tonight. Since the youth of the Count’s\\r\\nwas today with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur\\r\\nMalvolio, let me alone with him. If I do not gull him into a nayword,\\r\\nand make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie\\r\\nstraight in my bed. I know I can do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPossess us, possess us, tell us something of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMarry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nO, if I thought that, I’d beat him like a dog.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat, for being a Puritan? Thy exquisite reason, dear knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI have no exquisite reason for’t, but I have reason good enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThe devil a Puritan that he is, or anything constantly but a\\r\\ntime-pleaser, an affectioned ass that cons state without book and\\r\\nutters it by great swarths; the best persuaded of himself, so crammed\\r\\n(as he thinks) with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith that\\r\\nall that look on him love him. And on that vice in him will my revenge\\r\\nfind notable cause to work.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat wilt thou do?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nI will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love, wherein by the\\r\\ncolour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the\\r\\nexpressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself\\r\\nmost feelingly personated. I can write very like my lady your niece; on\\r\\na forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nExcellent! I smell a device.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI have’t in my nose too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHe shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from\\r\\nmy niece, and that she is in love with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMy purpose is indeed a horse of that colour.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd your horse now would make him an ass.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAss, I doubt not.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nO ’twill be admirable!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nSport royal, I warrant you. I know my physic will work with him. I will\\r\\nplant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the\\r\\nletter. Observe his construction of it. For this night, to bed, and\\r\\ndream on the event. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGood night, Penthesilea.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBefore me, she’s a good wench.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nShe’s a beagle true bred, and one that adores me. What o’ that?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI was adored once too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLet’s to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for more money.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nIf I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nSend for money, knight; if thou hast her not i’ th’ end, call me cut.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nIf I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, come, I’ll go burn some sack, ’tis too late to go to bed now.\\r\\nCome, knight, come, knight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Duke, Viola, Curio and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGive me some music. Now, good morrow, friends.\\r\\nNow, good Cesario, but that piece of song,\\r\\nThat old and antique song we heard last night;\\r\\nMethought it did relieve my passion much,\\r\\nMore than light airs and recollected terms\\r\\nOf these most brisk and giddy-paced times.\\r\\nCome, but one verse.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURIO.\\r\\nHe is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWho was it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURIO.\\r\\nFeste, the jester, my lord, a fool that the Lady Olivia’s father took\\r\\nmuch delight in. He is about the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nSeek him out, and play the tune the while.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Curio. Music plays._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome hither, boy. If ever thou shalt love,\\r\\nIn the sweet pangs of it remember me:\\r\\nFor such as I am, all true lovers are,\\r\\nUnstaid and skittish in all motions else,\\r\\nSave in the constant image of the creature\\r\\nThat is belov’d. How dost thou like this tune?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIt gives a very echo to the seat\\r\\nWhere love is throned.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThou dost speak masterly.\\r\\nMy life upon’t, young though thou art, thine eye\\r\\nHath stayed upon some favour that it loves.\\r\\nHath it not, boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nA little, by your favour.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat kind of woman is’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nOf your complexion.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nShe is not worth thee, then. What years, i’ faith?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAbout your years, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nToo old, by heaven! Let still the woman take\\r\\nAn elder than herself; so wears she to him,\\r\\nSo sways she level in her husband’s heart.\\r\\nFor, boy, however we do praise ourselves,\\r\\nOur fancies are more giddy and unfirm,\\r\\nMore longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,\\r\\nThan women’s are.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI think it well, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThen let thy love be younger than thyself,\\r\\nOr thy affection cannot hold the bent:\\r\\nFor women are as roses, whose fair flower\\r\\nBeing once display’d, doth fall that very hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd so they are: alas, that they are so;\\r\\nTo die, even when they to perfection grow!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Curio and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO, fellow, come, the song we had last night.\\r\\nMark it, Cesario, it is old and plain;\\r\\nThe spinsters and the knitters in the sun,\\r\\nAnd the free maids, that weave their thread with bones\\r\\nDo use to chant it: it is silly sooth,\\r\\nAnd dallies with the innocence of love\\r\\nLike the old age.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAre you ready, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAy; prithee, sing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\n The Clown’s song.\\r\\n\\r\\n_ Come away, come away, death.\\r\\n And in sad cypress let me be laid.\\r\\n Fly away, fly away, breath;\\r\\n I am slain by a fair cruel maid.\\r\\n My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,\\r\\n O, prepare it!\\r\\n My part of death no one so true\\r\\n Did share it._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ Not a flower, not a flower sweet,\\r\\n On my black coffin let there be strown:\\r\\n Not a friend, not a friend greet\\r\\n My poor corpse where my bones shall be thrown:\\r\\n A thousand thousand sighs to save,\\r\\n Lay me, O, where\\r\\n Sad true lover never find my grave,\\r\\n To weep there._\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThere’s for thy pains.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI’ll pay thy pleasure, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTruly sir, and pleasure will be paid one time or another.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGive me now leave to leave thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNow the melancholy god protect thee, and the tailor make thy doublet of\\r\\nchangeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal. I would have men of\\r\\nsuch constancy put to sea, that their business might be everything, and\\r\\ntheir intent everywhere, for that’s it that always makes a good voyage\\r\\nof nothing. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nLet all the rest give place.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Curio and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOnce more, Cesario,\\r\\nGet thee to yond same sovereign cruelty.\\r\\nTell her my love, more noble than the world,\\r\\nPrizes not quantity of dirty lands;\\r\\nThe parts that fortune hath bestow’d upon her,\\r\\nTell her I hold as giddily as fortune;\\r\\nBut ’tis that miracle and queen of gems\\r\\nThat nature pranks her in attracts my soul.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nBut if she cannot love you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI cannot be so answer’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSooth, but you must.\\r\\nSay that some lady, as perhaps there is,\\r\\nHath for your love as great a pang of heart\\r\\nAs you have for Olivia: you cannot love her;\\r\\nYou tell her so. Must she not then be answer’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThere is no woman’s sides\\r\\nCan bide the beating of so strong a passion\\r\\nAs love doth give my heart: no woman’s heart\\r\\nSo big, to hold so much; they lack retention.\\r\\nAlas, their love may be called appetite,\\r\\nNo motion of the liver, but the palate,\\r\\nThat suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt;\\r\\nBut mine is all as hungry as the sea,\\r\\nAnd can digest as much. Make no compare\\r\\nBetween that love a woman can bear me\\r\\nAnd that I owe Olivia.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAy, but I know—\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat dost thou know?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nToo well what love women to men may owe.\\r\\nIn faith, they are as true of heart as we.\\r\\nMy father had a daughter loved a man,\\r\\nAs it might be perhaps, were I a woman,\\r\\nI should your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAnd what’s her history?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nA blank, my lord. She never told her love,\\r\\nBut let concealment, like a worm i’ th’ bud,\\r\\nFeed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought,\\r\\nAnd with a green and yellow melancholy\\r\\nShe sat like patience on a monument,\\r\\nSmiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed?\\r\\nWe men may say more, swear more, but indeed,\\r\\nOur shows are more than will; for still we prove\\r\\nMuch in our vows, but little in our love.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBut died thy sister of her love, my boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI am all the daughters of my father’s house,\\r\\nAnd all the brothers too: and yet I know not.\\r\\nSir, shall I to this lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAy, that’s the theme.\\r\\nTo her in haste. Give her this jewel; say\\r\\nMy love can give no place, bide no denay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome thy ways, Signior Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNay, I’ll come. If I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boiled to\\r\\ndeath with melancholy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter\\r\\ncome by some notable shame?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nI would exult, man. You know he brought me out o’ favour with my lady\\r\\nabout a bear-baiting here.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo anger him we’ll have the bear again, and we will fool him black and\\r\\nblue, shall we not, Sir Andrew?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd we do not, it is pity of our lives.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHere comes the little villain. How now, my metal of India?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nGet ye all three into the box-tree. Malvolio’s coming down this walk;\\r\\nhe has been yonder i’ the sun practising behaviour to his own shadow\\r\\nthis half hour: observe him, for the love of mockery; for I know this\\r\\nletter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of\\r\\njesting! [_The men hide themselves._] Lie thou there; [_Throws down a\\r\\nletter_] for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n’Tis but fortune, all is fortune. Maria once told me she did affect me,\\r\\nand I have heard herself come thus near, that should she fancy, it\\r\\nshould be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more\\r\\nexalted respect than anyone else that follows her. What should I think\\r\\non’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHere’s an overweening rogue!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets\\r\\nunder his advanced plumes!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Slight, I could so beat the rogue!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPeace, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nTo be Count Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAh, rogue!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nPistol him, pistol him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPeace, peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nThere is example for’t. The lady of the Strachy married the yeoman of\\r\\nthe wardrobe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFie on him, Jezebel!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO, peace! now he’s deeply in; look how imagination blows him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nHaving been three months married to her, sitting in my state—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nO for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nCalling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown; having come\\r\\nfrom a day-bed, where I have left Olivia sleeping.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nFire and brimstone!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO, peace, peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAnd then to have the humour of state; and after a demure travel of\\r\\nregard, telling them I know my place as I would they should do theirs,\\r\\nto ask for my kinsman Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nBolts and shackles!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO, peace, peace, peace! Now, now.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSeven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him. I frown\\r\\nthe while, and perchance wind up my watch, or play with some rich\\r\\njewel. Toby approaches; curtsies there to me—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nShall this fellow live?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThough our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an\\r\\naustere regard of control—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd does not Toby take you a blow o’ the lips then?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSaying ‘Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me\\r\\nthis prerogative of speech—’\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat, what?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘You must amend your drunkenness.’\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nOut, scab!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight—’\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nThat’s me, I warrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘One Sir Andrew.’\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI knew ’twas I, for many do call me fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n[_Taking up the letter._] What employment have we here?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNow is the woodcock near the gin.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nO, peace! And the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nBy my life, this is my lady’s hand: these be her very C’s, her U’s, and\\r\\nher T’s, and thus makes she her great P’s. It is in contempt of\\r\\nquestion, her hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nHer C’s, her U’s, and her T’s. Why that?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n[_Reads._] _To the unknown beloved, this, and my good wishes._ Her very\\r\\nphrases! By your leave, wax. Soft! and the impressure her Lucrece, with\\r\\nwhich she uses to seal: ’tis my lady. To whom should this be?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThis wins him, liver and all.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n[_Reads._]\\r\\n_ Jove knows I love,\\r\\n But who?\\r\\n Lips, do not move,\\r\\n No man must know._\\r\\n\\r\\n‘No man must know.’ What follows? The numbers alter’d! ‘No man must\\r\\nknow.’—If this should be thee, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMarry, hang thee, brock!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n_ I may command where I adore,\\r\\n But silence, like a Lucrece knife,\\r\\n With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore;\\r\\n M.O.A.I. doth sway my life._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nA fustian riddle!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nExcellent wench, say I.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘M.O.A.I. doth sway my life.’—Nay, but first let me see, let me see,\\r\\nlet me see.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nWhat dish o’ poison has she dressed him!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd with what wing the staniel checks at it!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘I may command where I adore.’ Why, she may command me: I serve her,\\r\\nshe is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There is\\r\\nno obstruction in this. And the end—what should that alphabetical\\r\\nposition portend? If I could make that resemble something in me!\\r\\nSoftly! ‘M.O.A.I.’—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nO, ay, make up that:—he is now at a cold scent.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nSowter will cry upon’t for all this, though it be as rank as a fox.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘M’—Malvolio; ‘M!’ Why, that begins my name!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nDid not I say he would work it out? The cur is excellent at faults.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘M’—But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that suffers under\\r\\nprobation: ‘A’ should follow, but ‘O’ does.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nAnd ‘O’ shall end, I hope.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAy, or I’ll cudgel him, and make him cry ‘O!’\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAnd then ‘I’ comes behind.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nAy, and you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at\\r\\nyour heels than fortunes before you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘M.O.A.I.’ This simulation is not as the former: and yet, to crush this\\r\\na little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my\\r\\nname. Soft, here follows prose.\\r\\n[_Reads._] _If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above\\r\\nthee, but be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve\\r\\ngreatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ’em. Thy fates open\\r\\ntheir hands, let thy blood and spirit embrace them. And, to inure\\r\\nthyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough and appear\\r\\nfresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants. Let thy tongue\\r\\ntang arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity. She\\r\\nthus advises thee that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy\\r\\nyellow stockings, and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered. I say,\\r\\nremember. Go to, thou art made, if thou desir’st to be so. If not, let\\r\\nme see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to\\r\\ntouch Fortune’s fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with\\r\\nthee,\\r\\n The Fortunate Unhappy._\\r\\n\\r\\nDaylight and champian discovers not more! This is open. I will be\\r\\nproud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash\\r\\noff gross acquaintance, I will be point-device, the very man. I do not\\r\\nnow fool myself, to let imagination jade me; for every reason excites\\r\\nto this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of\\r\\nlate, she did praise my leg being cross-gartered, and in this she\\r\\nmanifests herself to my love, and with a kind of injunction, drives me\\r\\nto these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be\\r\\nstrange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even with the\\r\\nswiftness of putting on. Jove and my stars be praised!—Here is yet a\\r\\npostscript. [_Reads._] _Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If\\r\\nthou entertain’st my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles\\r\\nbecome thee well. Therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet,\\r\\nI prithee._ Jove, I thank thee. I will smile, I will do everything that\\r\\nthou wilt have me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nI will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be\\r\\npaid from the Sophy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI could marry this wench for this device.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nSo could I too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd ask no other dowry with her but such another jest.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNor I neither.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nHere comes my noble gull-catcher.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWilt thou set thy foot o’ my neck?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nOr o’ mine either?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nShall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy bond-slave?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI’ faith, or I either?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, thou hast put him in such a dream, that when the image of it\\r\\nleaves him he must run mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay, but say true, does it work upon him?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLike aqua-vitae with a midwife.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nIf you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach\\r\\nbefore my lady: he will come to her in yellow stockings, and ’tis a\\r\\ncolour she abhors, and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests; and he\\r\\nwill smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her\\r\\ndisposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot\\r\\nbut turn him into a notable contempt. If you will see it, follow me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI’ll make one too.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Viola and Clown with a tabor.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSave thee, friend, and thy music. Dost thou live by thy tabor?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, sir, I live by the church.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nArt thou a churchman?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo such matter, sir. I do live by the church, for I do live at my\\r\\nhouse, and my house doth stand by the church.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSo thou mayst say the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near\\r\\nhim; or the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the\\r\\nchurch.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYou have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is but a chev’ril glove\\r\\nto a good wit. How quickly the wrong side may be turned outward!\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNay, that’s certain; they that dally nicely with words may quickly make\\r\\nthem wanton.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI would, therefore, my sister had had no name, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhy, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, sir, her name’s a word; and to dally with that word might make my\\r\\nsister wanton. But indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds\\r\\ndisgraced them.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThy reason, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTroth, sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so\\r\\nfalse, I am loath to prove reason with them.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI warrant thou art a merry fellow, and car’st for nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot so, sir, I do care for something. But in my conscience, sir, I do\\r\\nnot care for you. If that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would\\r\\nmake you invisible.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nArt not thou the Lady Olivia’s fool?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly. She will keep no fool,\\r\\nsir, till she be married, and fools are as like husbands as pilchards\\r\\nare to herrings, the husband’s the bigger. I am indeed not her fool,\\r\\nbut her corrupter of words.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI saw thee late at the Count Orsino’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nFoolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines\\r\\neverywhere. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with\\r\\nyour master as with my mistress. I think I saw your wisdom there.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNay, and thou pass upon me, I’ll no more with thee. Hold, there’s\\r\\nexpenses for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNow Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nBy my troth, I’ll tell thee, I am almost sick for one, though I would\\r\\nnot have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWould not a pair of these have bred, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nYes, being kept together, and put to use.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this\\r\\nTroilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI understand you, sir; ’tis well begged.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThe matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar: Cressida\\r\\nwas a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will conster to them whence you\\r\\ncome; who you are and what you would are out of my welkin. I might say\\r\\n“element”, but the word is overworn.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThis fellow is wise enough to play the fool,\\r\\nAnd to do that well, craves a kind of wit:\\r\\nHe must observe their mood on whom he jests,\\r\\nThe quality of persons, and the time,\\r\\nAnd like the haggard, check at every feather\\r\\nThat comes before his eye. This is a practice\\r\\nAs full of labour as a wise man’s art:\\r\\nFor folly, that he wisely shows, is fit;\\r\\nBut wise men, folly-fall’n, quite taint their wit.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nSave you, gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n_Dieu vous garde, monsieur._\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n_Et vous aussi; votre serviteur._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI hope, sir, you are, and I am yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWill you encounter the house? My niece is desirous you should enter, if\\r\\nyour trade be to her.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI am bound to your niece, sir, I mean, she is the list of my voyage.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTaste your legs, sir, put them to motion.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean\\r\\nby bidding me taste my legs.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI mean, to go, sir, to enter.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI will answer you with gait and entrance: but we are prevented.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMost excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odours on you!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nThat youth’s a rare courtier. ‘Rain odours,’ well.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and\\r\\nvouchsafed car.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n‘Odours,’ ‘pregnant,’ and ‘vouchsafed.’—I’ll get ’em all three ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nLet the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGive me your hand, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy duty, madam, and most humble service.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat is your name?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nCesario is your servant’s name, fair princess.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nMy servant, sir! ’Twas never merry world,\\r\\nSince lowly feigning was call’d compliment:\\r\\nY’are servant to the Count Orsino, youth.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd he is yours, and his must needs be yours.\\r\\nYour servant’s servant is your servant, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nFor him, I think not on him: for his thoughts,\\r\\nWould they were blanks rather than fill’d with me!\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMadam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts\\r\\nOn his behalf.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, by your leave, I pray you.\\r\\nI bade you never speak again of him.\\r\\nBut would you undertake another suit,\\r\\nI had rather hear you to solicit that\\r\\nThan music from the spheres.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nDear lady—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGive me leave, beseech you. I did send,\\r\\nAfter the last enchantment you did here,\\r\\nA ring in chase of you. So did I abuse\\r\\nMyself, my servant, and, I fear me, you.\\r\\nUnder your hard construction must I sit;\\r\\nTo force that on you in a shameful cunning,\\r\\nWhich you knew none of yours. What might you think?\\r\\nHave you not set mine honour at the stake,\\r\\nAnd baited it with all th’ unmuzzled thoughts\\r\\nThat tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving\\r\\nEnough is shown. A cypress, not a bosom,\\r\\nHides my heart: so let me hear you speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI pity you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nThat’s a degree to love.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNo, not a grize; for ’tis a vulgar proof\\r\\nThat very oft we pity enemies.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy then methinks ’tis time to smile again.\\r\\nO world, how apt the poor are to be proud!\\r\\nIf one should be a prey, how much the better\\r\\nTo fall before the lion than the wolf! [_Clock strikes._]\\r\\nThe clock upbraids me with the waste of time.\\r\\nBe not afraid, good youth, I will not have you.\\r\\nAnd yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest,\\r\\nYour wife is like to reap a proper man.\\r\\nThere lies your way, due west.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThen westward ho!\\r\\nGrace and good disposition attend your ladyship!\\r\\nYou’ll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nStay:\\r\\nI prithee tell me what thou think’st of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThat you do think you are not what you are.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIf I think so, I think the same of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThen think you right; I am not what I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI would you were as I would have you be.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWould it be better, madam, than I am?\\r\\nI wish it might, for now I am your fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO what a deal of scorn looks beautiful\\r\\nIn the contempt and anger of his lip!\\r\\nA murd’rous guilt shows not itself more soon\\r\\nThan love that would seem hid. Love’s night is noon.\\r\\nCesario, by the roses of the spring,\\r\\nBy maidhood, honour, truth, and everything,\\r\\nI love thee so, that maugre all thy pride,\\r\\nNor wit nor reason can my passion hide.\\r\\nDo not extort thy reasons from this clause,\\r\\nFor that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause;\\r\\nBut rather reason thus with reason fetter:\\r\\nLove sought is good, but given unsought is better.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nBy innocence I swear, and by my youth,\\r\\nI have one heart, one bosom, and one truth,\\r\\nAnd that no woman has; nor never none\\r\\nShall mistress be of it, save I alone.\\r\\nAnd so adieu, good madam; never more\\r\\nWill I my master’s tears to you deplore.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nYet come again: for thou perhaps mayst move\\r\\nThat heart, which now abhors, to like his love.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNo, faith, I’ll not stay a jot longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nYou must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nMarry, I saw your niece do more favours to the Count’s servingman than\\r\\never she bestowed upon me; I saw’t i’ th’ orchard.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nDid she see thee the while, old boy? Tell me that.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAs plain as I see you now.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThis was a great argument of love in her toward you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Slight! will you make an ass o’ me?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nI will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment and reason.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd they have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a sailor.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nShe did show favour to the youth in your sight only to exasperate you,\\r\\nto awake your dormouse valour, to put fire in your heart and brimstone\\r\\nin your liver. You should then have accosted her, and with some\\r\\nexcellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have banged the\\r\\nyouth into dumbness. This was looked for at your hand, and this was\\r\\nbalked: the double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash off, and\\r\\nyou are now sailed into the north of my lady’s opinion; where you will\\r\\nhang like an icicle on Dutchman’s beard, unless you do redeem it by\\r\\nsome laudable attempt, either of valour or policy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd’t be any way, it must be with valour, for policy I hate; I had as\\r\\nlief be a Brownist as a politician.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valour. Challenge me\\r\\nthe Count’s youth to fight with him. Hurt him in eleven places; my\\r\\nniece shall take note of it, and assure thyself there is no love-broker\\r\\nin the world can more prevail in man’s commendation with woman than\\r\\nreport of valour.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThere is no way but this, Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWill either of you bear me a challenge to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGo, write it in a martial hand, be curst and brief; it is no matter how\\r\\nwitty, so it be eloquent and full of invention. Taunt him with the\\r\\nlicence of ink. If thou ‘thou’st’ him some thrice, it shall not be\\r\\namiss, and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of paper, although the\\r\\nsheet were big enough for the bed of Ware in England, set ’em down. Go\\r\\nabout it. Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou write with a\\r\\ngoose-pen, no matter. About it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhere shall I find you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWe’ll call thee at the cubiculo. Go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Sir Andrew._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThis is a dear manikin to you, Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI have been dear to him, lad, some two thousand strong, or so.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nWe shall have a rare letter from him; but you’ll not deliver it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nNever trust me then. And by all means stir on the youth to an answer. I\\r\\nthink oxen and wainropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he\\r\\nwere opened and you find so much blood in his liver as will clog the\\r\\nfoot of a flea, I’ll eat the rest of th’ anatomy.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nAnd his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage of\\r\\ncruelty.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLook where the youngest wren of nine comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nIf you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches,\\r\\nfollow me. Yond gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very renegado; for\\r\\nthere is no Christian that means to be saved by believing rightly can\\r\\never believe such impossible passages of grossness. He’s in yellow\\r\\nstockings.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd cross-gartered?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMost villainously; like a pedant that keeps a school i’ th’ church. I\\r\\nhave dogged him like his murderer. He does obey every point of the\\r\\nletter that I dropped to betray him. He does smile his face into more\\r\\nlines than is in the new map with the augmentation of the Indies. You\\r\\nhave not seen such a thing as ’tis. I can hardly forbear hurling\\r\\nthings at him. I know my lady will strike him. If she do, he’ll smile\\r\\nand take’t for a great favour.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, bring us, bring us where he is.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian and Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI would not by my will have troubled you,\\r\\nBut since you make your pleasure of your pains,\\r\\nI will no further chide you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI could not stay behind you: my desire,\\r\\nMore sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth;\\r\\nAnd not all love to see you, though so much,\\r\\nAs might have drawn one to a longer voyage,\\r\\nBut jealousy what might befall your travel,\\r\\nBeing skilless in these parts; which to a stranger,\\r\\nUnguided and unfriended, often prove\\r\\nRough and unhospitable. My willing love,\\r\\nThe rather by these arguments of fear,\\r\\nSet forth in your pursuit.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nMy kind Antonio,\\r\\nI can no other answer make but thanks,\\r\\nAnd thanks, and ever thanks; and oft good turns\\r\\nAre shuffled off with such uncurrent pay.\\r\\nBut were my worth, as is my conscience, firm,\\r\\nYou should find better dealing. What’s to do?\\r\\nShall we go see the relics of this town?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTomorrow, sir; best first go see your lodging.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI am not weary, and ’tis long to night;\\r\\nI pray you, let us satisfy our eyes\\r\\nWith the memorials and the things of fame\\r\\nThat do renown this city.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWould you’d pardon me.\\r\\nI do not without danger walk these streets.\\r\\nOnce in a sea-fight, ’gainst the Count his galleys,\\r\\nI did some service, of such note indeed,\\r\\nThat were I ta’en here, it would scarce be answer’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nBelike you slew great number of his people.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTh’ offence is not of such a bloody nature,\\r\\nAlbeit the quality of the time and quarrel\\r\\nMight well have given us bloody argument.\\r\\nIt might have since been answered in repaying\\r\\nWhat we took from them, which for traffic’s sake,\\r\\nMost of our city did. Only myself stood out,\\r\\nFor which, if I be lapsed in this place,\\r\\nI shall pay dear.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nDo not then walk too open.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIt doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here’s my purse.\\r\\nIn the south suburbs, at the Elephant,\\r\\nIs best to lodge. I will bespeak our diet\\r\\nWhiles you beguile the time and feed your knowledge\\r\\nWith viewing of the town. There shall you have me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhy I your purse?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHaply your eye shall light upon some toy\\r\\nYou have desire to purchase; and your store,\\r\\nI think, is not for idle markets, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI’ll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for an hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTo th’ Elephant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI do remember.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI have sent after him. He says he’ll come;\\r\\nHow shall I feast him? What bestow of him?\\r\\nFor youth is bought more oft than begg’d or borrow’d.\\r\\nI speak too loud.—\\r\\nWhere’s Malvolio?—He is sad and civil,\\r\\nAnd suits well for a servant with my fortunes;\\r\\nWhere is Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nHe’s coming, madam:\\r\\nBut in very strange manner. He is sure possessed, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy, what’s the matter? Does he rave?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNo, madam, he does nothing but smile: your ladyship were best to have\\r\\nsome guard about you if he come, for sure the man is tainted in ’s\\r\\nwits.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGo call him hither. I’m as mad as he,\\r\\nIf sad and merry madness equal be.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSweet lady, ho, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSmil’st thou? I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSad, lady? I could be sad: this does make some obstruction in the\\r\\nblood, this cross-gartering. But what of that? If it please the eye of\\r\\none, it is with me as the very true sonnet is: ‘Please one and please\\r\\nall.’\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy, how dost thou, man? What is the matter with thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nNot black in my mind, though yellow in my legs. It did come to his\\r\\nhands, and commands shall be executed. I think we do know the sweet\\r\\nRoman hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nTo bed? Ay, sweetheart, and I’ll come to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGod comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand so oft?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nHow do you, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAt your request? Yes, nightingales answer daws!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nWhy appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Be not afraid of greatness.’ ’Twas well writ.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat mean’st thou by that, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Some are born great’—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHa?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Some achieve greatness’—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat say’st thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘And some have greatness thrust upon them.’\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHeaven restore thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Remember who commended thy yellow stockings’—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nThy yellow stockings?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘And wished to see thee cross-gartered.’\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nCross-gartered?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Go to: thou art made, if thou desir’st to be so:’—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAm I made?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘If not, let me see thee a servant still.’\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy, this is very midsummer madness.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMadam, the young gentleman of the Count Orsino’s is returned; I could\\r\\nhardly entreat him back. He attends your ladyship’s pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI’ll come to him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGood Maria, let this fellow be looked to. Where’s my cousin Toby? Let\\r\\nsome of my people have a special care of him; I would not have him\\r\\nmiscarry for the half of my dowry.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Olivia and Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nO ho, do you come near me now? No worse man than Sir Toby to look to\\r\\nme. This concurs directly with the letter: she sends him on purpose,\\r\\nthat I may appear stubborn to him; for she incites me to that in the\\r\\nletter. ‘Cast thy humble slough,’ says she; ‘be opposite with a\\r\\nkinsman, surly with servants, let thy tongue tang with arguments of\\r\\nstate, put thyself into the trick of singularity,’ and consequently,\\r\\nsets down the manner how: as, a sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow\\r\\ntongue, in the habit of some sir of note, and so forth. I have limed\\r\\nher, but it is Jove’s doing, and Jove make me thankful! And when she\\r\\nwent away now, ‘Let this fellow be looked to;’ ‘Fellow!’ not\\r\\n‘Malvolio’, nor after my degree, but ‘fellow’. Why, everything adheres\\r\\ntogether, that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no\\r\\nobstacle, no incredulous or unsafe circumstance. What can be said?\\r\\nNothing that can be can come between me and the full prospect of my\\r\\nhopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby, Fabian and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhich way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all the devils of hell be\\r\\ndrawn in little, and Legion himself possessed him, yet I’ll speak to\\r\\nhim.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nHere he is, here he is. How is’t with you, sir? How is’t with you, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGo off, I discard you. Let me enjoy my private. Go off.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nLo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! Did not I tell you? Sir\\r\\nToby, my lady prays you to have a care of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAh, ha! does she so?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGo to, go to; peace, peace, we must deal gently with him. Let me alone.\\r\\nHow do you, Malvolio? How is’t with you? What, man! defy the devil!\\r\\nConsider, he’s an enemy to mankind.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nDo you know what you say?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nLa you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at heart! Pray\\r\\nGod he be not bewitched.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nCarry his water to th’ wise woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMarry, and it shall be done tomorrow morning, if I live. My lady would\\r\\nnot lose him for more than I’ll say.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nHow now, mistress!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nO Lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPrithee hold thy peace, this is not the way. Do you not see you move\\r\\nhim? Let me alone with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNo way but gentleness, gently, gently. The fiend is rough, and will not\\r\\nbe roughly used.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, how now, my bawcock? How dost thou, chuck?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAy, biddy, come with me. What, man, ’tis not for gravity to play at\\r\\ncherry-pit with Satan. Hang him, foul collier!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nGet him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, get him to pray.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMy prayers, minx?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNo, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGo, hang yourselves all! You are idle, shallow things. I am not of your\\r\\nelement. You shall know more hereafter.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nIf this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an\\r\\nimprobable fiction.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHis very genius hath taken the infection of the device, man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay, pursue him now, lest the device take air and taint.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nWhy, we shall make him mad indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThe house will be the quieter.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, we’ll have him in a dark room and bound. My niece is already in\\r\\nthe belief that he’s mad. We may carry it thus for our pleasure, and\\r\\nhis penance, till our very pastime, tired out of breath, prompt us to\\r\\nhave mercy on him, at which time we will bring the device to the bar,\\r\\nand crown thee for a finder of madmen. But see, but see!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nMore matter for a May morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nHere’s the challenge, read it. I warrant there’s vinegar and pepper\\r\\nin’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nIs’t so saucy?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAy, is’t, I warrant him. Do but read.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGive me. [_Reads._] _Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art but a scurvy\\r\\nfellow._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nGood, and valiant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, why I do call thee so, for I\\r\\nwill show thee no reason for’t._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nA good note, that keeps you from the blow of the law.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Thou comest to the Lady Olivia, and in my sight she uses thee kindly:\\r\\nbut thou liest in thy throat; that is not the matter I challenge thee\\r\\nfor._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nVery brief, and to exceeding good sense—less.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_I will waylay thee going home; where if it be thy chance to kill me—_\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nGood.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Thou kill’st me like a rogue and a villain._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nStill you keep o’ th’ windy side of the law. Good.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Fare thee well, and God have mercy upon one of our souls! He may have\\r\\nmercy upon mine, but my hope is better, and so look to thyself. Thy\\r\\nfriend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy,\\r\\n Andrew Aguecheek._\\r\\nIf this letter move him not, his legs cannot. I’ll give’t him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nYou may have very fit occasion for’t. He is now in some commerce with\\r\\nmy lady, and will by and by depart.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGo, Sir Andrew. Scout me for him at the corner of the orchard, like a\\r\\nbum-baily. So soon as ever thou seest him, draw, and as thou draw’st,\\r\\nswear horrible, for it comes to pass oft that a terrible oath, with a\\r\\nswaggering accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood more approbation\\r\\nthan ever proof itself would have earned him. Away.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNay, let me alone for swearing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nNow will not I deliver his letter, for the behaviour of the young\\r\\ngentleman gives him out to be of good capacity and breeding; his\\r\\nemployment between his lord and my niece confirms no less. Therefore\\r\\nthis letter, being so excellently ignorant, will breed no terror in the\\r\\nyouth. He will find it comes from a clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver\\r\\nhis challenge by word of mouth, set upon Aguecheek notable report of\\r\\nvalour, and drive the gentleman (as I know his youth will aptly receive\\r\\nit) into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and\\r\\nimpetuosity. This will so fright them both that they will kill one\\r\\nanother by the look, like cockatrices.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and Viola.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nHere he comes with your niece; give them way till he take leave, and\\r\\npresently after him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI will meditate the while upon some horrid message for a challenge.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sir Toby, Fabian and Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI have said too much unto a heart of stone,\\r\\nAnd laid mine honour too unchary on’t:\\r\\nThere’s something in me that reproves my fault:\\r\\nBut such a headstrong potent fault it is,\\r\\nThat it but mocks reproof.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWith the same ’haviour that your passion bears\\r\\nGoes on my master’s griefs.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHere, wear this jewel for me, ’tis my picture.\\r\\nRefuse it not, it hath no tongue to vex you.\\r\\nAnd I beseech you come again tomorrow.\\r\\nWhat shall you ask of me that I’ll deny,\\r\\nThat honour sav’d, may upon asking give?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNothing but this, your true love for my master.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHow with mine honour may I give him that\\r\\nWhich I have given to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI will acquit you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWell, come again tomorrow. Fare thee well;\\r\\nA fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGentleman, God save thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThat defence thou hast, betake thee to’t. Of what nature the wrongs are\\r\\nthou hast done him, I know not, but thy intercepter, full of despite,\\r\\nbloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard end. Dismount thy\\r\\ntuck, be yare in thy preparation, for thy assailant is quick, skilful,\\r\\nand deadly.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nYou mistake, sir; I am sure no man hath any quarrel to me. My\\r\\nremembrance is very free and clear from any image of offence done to\\r\\nany man.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nYou’ll find it otherwise, I assure you. Therefore, if you hold your\\r\\nlife at any price, betake you to your guard, for your opposite hath in\\r\\nhim what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can furnish man withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI pray you, sir, what is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHe is knight, dubbed with unhatched rapier, and on carpet\\r\\nconsideration, but he is a devil in private brawl. Souls and bodies\\r\\nhath he divorced three, and his incensement at this moment is so\\r\\nimplacable that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of death and\\r\\nsepulchre. Hob, nob is his word; give’t or take’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI will return again into the house and desire some conduct of the lady.\\r\\nI am no fighter. I have heard of some kind of men that put quarrels\\r\\npurposely on others to taste their valour: belike this is a man of that\\r\\nquirk.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nSir, no. His indignation derives itself out of a very competent injury;\\r\\ntherefore, get you on and give him his desire. Back you shall not to\\r\\nthe house, unless you undertake that with me which with as much safety\\r\\nyou might answer him. Therefore on, or strip your sword stark naked,\\r\\nfor meddle you must, that’s certain, or forswear to wear iron about\\r\\nyou.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThis is as uncivil as strange. I beseech you, do me this courteous\\r\\noffice, as to know of the knight what my offence to him is. It is\\r\\nsomething of my negligence, nothing of my purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you by this gentleman till my\\r\\nreturn.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Sir Toby._]\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nPray you, sir, do you know of this matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nI know the knight is incensed against you, even to a mortal\\r\\narbitrement, but nothing of the circumstance more.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI beseech you, what manner of man is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNothing of that wonderful promise, to read him by his form, as you are\\r\\nlike to find him in the proof of his valour. He is indeed, sir, the\\r\\nmost skilful, bloody, and fatal opposite that you could possibly have\\r\\nfound in any part of Illyria. Will you walk towards him? I will make\\r\\nyour peace with him if I can.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI shall be much bound to you for’t. I am one that had rather go with\\r\\nsir priest than sir knight: I care not who knows so much of my mettle.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, man, he’s a very devil. I have not seen such a firago. I had a\\r\\npass with him, rapier, scabbard, and all, and he gives me the stuck-in\\r\\nwith such a mortal motion that it is inevitable; and on the answer, he\\r\\npays you as surely as your feet hits the ground they step on. They say\\r\\nhe has been fencer to the Sophy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nPox on’t, I’ll not meddle with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAy, but he will not now be pacified: Fabian can scarce hold him yonder.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nPlague on’t, an I thought he had been valiant, and so cunning in fence,\\r\\nI’d have seen him damned ere I’d have challenged him. Let him let the\\r\\nmatter slip, and I’ll give him my horse, grey Capilet.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI’ll make the motion. Stand here, make a good show on’t. This shall end\\r\\nwithout the perdition of souls. [_Aside._] Marry, I’ll ride your horse\\r\\nas well as I ride you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fabian and Viola.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_To Fabian._] I have his horse to take up the quarrel. I have\\r\\npersuaded him the youth’s a devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nHe is as horribly conceited of him, and pants and looks pale, as if a\\r\\nbear were at his heels.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThere’s no remedy, sir, he will fight with you for’s oath sake. Marry,\\r\\nhe hath better bethought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now\\r\\nscarce to be worth talking of. Therefore, draw for the supportance of\\r\\nhis vow; he protests he will not hurt you.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Pray God defend me! A little thing would make me tell them\\r\\nhow much I lack of a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nGive ground if you see him furious.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, Sir Andrew, there’s no remedy, the gentleman will for his\\r\\nhonour’s sake have one bout with you. He cannot by the duello avoid it;\\r\\nbut he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier, he will not\\r\\nhurt you. Come on: to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n[_Draws._] Pray God he keep his oath!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n[_Draws._] I do assure you ’tis against my will.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nPut up your sword. If this young gentleman\\r\\nHave done offence, I take the fault on me.\\r\\nIf you offend him, I for him defy you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nYou, sir? Why, what are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\n[_Draws._] One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more\\r\\nThan you have heard him brag to you he will.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Draws._] Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Officers.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO good Sir Toby, hold! Here come the officers.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_To Antonio._] I’ll be with you anon.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n[_To Sir Andrew._] Pray, sir, put your sword up, if you please.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nMarry, will I, sir; and for that I promised you, I’ll be as good as my\\r\\nword. He will bear you easily, and reins well.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nThis is the man; do thy office.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND OFFICER.\\r\\nAntonio, I arrest thee at the suit\\r\\nOf Count Orsino.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nYou do mistake me, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nNo, sir, no jot. I know your favour well,\\r\\nThough now you have no sea-cap on your head.—\\r\\nTake him away, he knows I know him well.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI must obey. This comes with seeking you;\\r\\nBut there’s no remedy, I shall answer it.\\r\\nWhat will you do? Now my necessity\\r\\nMakes me to ask you for my purse. It grieves me\\r\\nMuch more for what I cannot do for you,\\r\\nThan what befalls myself. You stand amaz’d,\\r\\nBut be of comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND OFFICER.\\r\\nCome, sir, away.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI must entreat of you some of that money.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhat money, sir?\\r\\nFor the fair kindness you have show’d me here,\\r\\nAnd part being prompted by your present trouble,\\r\\nOut of my lean and low ability\\r\\nI’ll lend you something. My having is not much;\\r\\nI’ll make division of my present with you.\\r\\nHold, there’s half my coffer.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWill you deny me now?\\r\\nIs’t possible that my deserts to you\\r\\nCan lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery,\\r\\nLest that it make me so unsound a man\\r\\nAs to upbraid you with those kindnesses\\r\\nThat I have done for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI know of none,\\r\\nNor know I you by voice or any feature.\\r\\nI hate ingratitude more in a man\\r\\nThan lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness,\\r\\nOr any taint of vice whose strong corruption\\r\\nInhabits our frail blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nO heavens themselves!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND OFFICER.\\r\\nCome, sir, I pray you go.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLet me speak a little. This youth that you see here\\r\\nI snatch’d one half out of the jaws of death,\\r\\nReliev’d him with such sanctity of love;\\r\\nAnd to his image, which methought did promise\\r\\nMost venerable worth, did I devotion.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nWhat’s that to us? The time goes by. Away!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nBut O how vile an idol proves this god!\\r\\nThou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame.\\r\\nIn nature there’s no blemish but the mind;\\r\\nNone can be call’d deform’d but the unkind.\\r\\nVirtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil\\r\\nAre empty trunks, o’erflourished by the devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nThe man grows mad, away with him. Come, come, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLead me on.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Officers with Antonio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMethinks his words do from such passion fly\\r\\nThat he believes himself; so do not I.\\r\\nProve true, imagination, O prove true,\\r\\nThat I, dear brother, be now ta’en for you!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome hither, knight; come hither, Fabian. We’ll whisper o’er a couplet\\r\\nor two of most sage saws.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nHe nam’d Sebastian. I my brother know\\r\\nYet living in my glass; even such and so\\r\\nIn favour was my brother, and he went\\r\\nStill in this fashion, colour, ornament,\\r\\nFor him I imitate. O if it prove,\\r\\nTempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward than a hare. His\\r\\ndishonesty appears in leaving his friend here in necessity, and denying\\r\\nhim; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nA coward, a most devout coward, religious in it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Slid, I’ll after him again and beat him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nDo, cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd I do not—\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nCome, let’s see the event.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI dare lay any money ’twill be nothing yet.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Street before Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWill you make me believe that I am not sent for you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nGo to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow.\\r\\nLet me be clear of thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWell held out, i’ faith! No, I do not know you, nor I am not sent to\\r\\nyou by my lady, to bid you come speak with her; nor your name is not\\r\\nMaster Cesario; nor this is not my nose neither. Nothing that is so, is\\r\\nso.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI prithee vent thy folly somewhere else,\\r\\nThou know’st not me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nVent my folly! He has heard that word of some great man, and now\\r\\napplies it to a fool. Vent my folly! I am afraid this great lubber, the\\r\\nworld, will prove a cockney. I prithee now, ungird thy strangeness, and\\r\\ntell me what I shall vent to my lady. Shall I vent to her that thou art\\r\\ncoming?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me.\\r\\nThere’s money for thee; if you tarry longer\\r\\nI shall give worse payment.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBy my troth, thou hast an open hand. These wise men that give fools\\r\\nmoney get themselves a good report—after fourteen years’ purchase.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNow sir, have I met you again? There’s for you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Striking Sebastian._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhy, there’s for thee, and there, and there.\\r\\nAre all the people mad?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Beating Sir Andrew._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHold, sir, or I’ll throw your dagger o’er the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThis will I tell my lady straight. I would not be in some of your coats\\r\\nfor twopence.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome on, sir, hold!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNay, let him alone, I’ll go another way to work with him. I’ll have an\\r\\naction of battery against him, if there be any law in Illyria. Though I\\r\\nstruck him first, yet it’s no matter for that.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nLet go thy hand!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my young soldier, put up your\\r\\niron: you are well fleshed. Come on.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI will be free from thee. What wouldst thou now?\\r\\nIf thou dar’st tempt me further, draw thy sword.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Draws._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat, what? Nay, then, I must have an ounce or two of this malapert\\r\\nblood from you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Draws._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHold, Toby! On thy life I charge thee hold!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMadam.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWill it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch,\\r\\nFit for the mountains and the barbarous caves,\\r\\nWhere manners ne’er were preach’d! Out of my sight!\\r\\nBe not offended, dear Cesario.\\r\\nRudesby, be gone!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Fabian._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI prithee, gentle friend,\\r\\nLet thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway\\r\\nIn this uncivil and unjust extent\\r\\nAgainst thy peace. Go with me to my house,\\r\\nAnd hear thou there how many fruitless pranks\\r\\nThis ruffian hath botch’d up, that thou thereby\\r\\nMayst smile at this. Thou shalt not choose but go.\\r\\nDo not deny. Beshrew his soul for me,\\r\\nHe started one poor heart of mine, in thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhat relish is in this? How runs the stream?\\r\\nOr I am mad, or else this is a dream.\\r\\nLet fancy still my sense in Lethe steep;\\r\\nIf it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nNay, come, I prithee. Would thou’dst be ruled by me!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nMadam, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, say so, and so be!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay, I prithee, put on this gown and this beard; make him believe thou\\r\\nart Sir Topas the curate. Do it quickly. I’ll call Sir Toby the whilst.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWell, I’ll put it on, and I will dissemble myself in’t, and I would I\\r\\nwere the first that ever dissembled in such a gown. I am not tall\\r\\nenough to become the function well, nor lean enough to be thought a\\r\\ngood student, but to be said, an honest man and a good housekeeper goes\\r\\nas fairly as to say, a careful man and a great scholar. The competitors\\r\\nenter.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nJove bless thee, Master Parson.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n_Bonos dies_, Sir Toby: for as the old hermit of Prague, that never saw\\r\\npen and ink, very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, ‘That that\\r\\nis, is’: so I, being Master Parson, am Master Parson; for what is\\r\\n‘that’ but ‘that’? and ‘is’ but ‘is’?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo him, Sir Topas.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat ho, I say! Peace in this prison!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThe knave counterfeits well. A good knave.\\r\\n\\r\\nMalvolio within.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nWho calls there?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nSir Topas the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio the lunatic.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go to my lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nOut, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest thou this man? Talkest thou nothing\\r\\nbut of ladies?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWell said, Master Parson.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Topas, never was man thus wronged. Good Sir Topas, do not think I\\r\\nam mad. They have laid me here in hideous darkness.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nFie, thou dishonest Satan! I call thee by the most modest terms, for I\\r\\nam one of those gentle ones that will use the devil himself with\\r\\ncourtesy. Say’st thou that house is dark?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAs hell, Sir Topas.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, it hath bay windows transparent as barricadoes, and the\\r\\nclerestories toward the south-north are as lustrous as ebony; and yet\\r\\ncomplainest thou of obstruction?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI am not mad, Sir Topas. I say to you this house is dark.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMadman, thou errest. I say there is no darkness but ignorance, in which\\r\\nthou art more puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI say this house is as dark as ignorance, though ignorance were as dark\\r\\nas hell; and I say there was never man thus abused. I am no more mad\\r\\nthan you are. Make the trial of it in any constant question.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning wildfowl?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nThat the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat think’st thou of his opinion?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI think nobly of the soul, and no way approve his opinion.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nFare thee well. Remain thou still in darkness. Thou shalt hold the\\r\\nopinion of Pythagoras ere I will allow of thy wits, and fear to kill a\\r\\nwoodcock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee well.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Topas, Sir Topas!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMy most exquisite Sir Topas!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNay, I am for all waters.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThou mightst have done this without thy beard and gown. He sees thee\\r\\nnot.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo him in thine own voice, and bring me word how thou find’st him. I\\r\\nwould we were well rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently\\r\\ndelivered, I would he were, for I am now so far in offence with my\\r\\nniece that I cannot pursue with any safety this sport to the upshot.\\r\\nCome by and by to my chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sir Toby and Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Singing._]\\r\\n _Hey, Robin, jolly Robin,\\r\\n Tell me how thy lady does._\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n _My lady is unkind, perdy._\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n _Alas, why is she so?_\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n _She loves another_—\\r\\nWho calls, ha?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGood fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at my hand, help me to a\\r\\ncandle, and pen, ink, and paper. As I am a gentleman, I will live to be\\r\\nthankful to thee for’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMaster Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAy, good fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool, there was never man so notoriously abused. I am as well in my\\r\\nwits, fool, as thou art.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBut as well? Then you are mad indeed, if you be no better in your wits\\r\\nthan a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nThey have here propertied me; keep me in darkness, send ministers to\\r\\nme, asses, and do all they can to face me out of my wits.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAdvise you what you say: the minister is here. [_As Sir Topas_]\\r\\nMalvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens restore. Endeavour thyself to\\r\\nsleep, and leave thy vain bibble-babble.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Topas!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_As Sir Topas_] Maintain no words with him, good fellow. [_As\\r\\nhimself_] Who, I, sir? not I, sir. God buy you, good Sir Topas. [_As\\r\\nSir Topas_] Marry, amen. [_As himself_] I will sir, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool, fool, fool, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? I am shent for speaking to\\r\\nyou.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGood fool, help me to some light and some paper. I tell thee I am as\\r\\nwell in my wits as any man in Illyria.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWell-a-day that you were, sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nBy this hand, I am. Good fool, some ink, paper, and light, and convey\\r\\nwhat I will set down to my lady. It shall advantage thee more than ever\\r\\nthe bearing of letter did.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI will help you to’t. But tell me true, are you not mad indeed? or do\\r\\nyou but counterfeit?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nBelieve me, I am not. I tell thee true.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNay, I’ll ne’er believe a madman till I see his brains. I will fetch\\r\\nyou light, and paper, and ink.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool, I’ll requite it in the highest degree: I prithee be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Singing._]\\r\\n _I am gone, sir, and anon, sir,\\r\\n I’ll be with you again,\\r\\n In a trice, like to the old Vice,\\r\\n Your need to sustain;\\r\\n Who with dagger of lath, in his rage and his wrath,\\r\\n Cries ‘ah, ha!’ to the devil:\\r\\n Like a mad lad, ‘Pare thy nails, dad.\\r\\n Adieu, goodman devil.’_\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Olivia’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nThis is the air; that is the glorious sun,\\r\\nThis pearl she gave me, I do feel’t and see’t,\\r\\nAnd though ’tis wonder that enwraps me thus,\\r\\nYet ’tis not madness. Where’s Antonio, then?\\r\\nI could not find him at the Elephant,\\r\\nYet there he was, and there I found this credit,\\r\\nThat he did range the town to seek me out.\\r\\nHis counsel now might do me golden service.\\r\\nFor though my soul disputes well with my sense\\r\\nThat this may be some error, but no madness,\\r\\nYet doth this accident and flood of fortune\\r\\nSo far exceed all instance, all discourse,\\r\\nThat I am ready to distrust mine eyes\\r\\nAnd wrangle with my reason that persuades me\\r\\nTo any other trust but that I am mad,\\r\\nOr else the lady’s mad; yet if ’twere so,\\r\\nShe could not sway her house, command her followers,\\r\\nTake and give back affairs and their dispatch,\\r\\nWith such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing\\r\\nAs I perceive she does. There’s something in’t\\r\\nThat is deceivable. But here the lady comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and a Priest.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nBlame not this haste of mine. If you mean well,\\r\\nNow go with me and with this holy man\\r\\nInto the chantry by: there, before him\\r\\nAnd underneath that consecrated roof,\\r\\nPlight me the full assurance of your faith,\\r\\nThat my most jealous and too doubtful soul\\r\\nMay live at peace. He shall conceal it\\r\\nWhiles you are willing it shall come to note,\\r\\nWhat time we will our celebration keep\\r\\nAccording to my birth. What do you say?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI’ll follow this good man, and go with you,\\r\\nAnd having sworn truth, ever will be true.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nThen lead the way, good father, and heavens so shine,\\r\\nThat they may fairly note this act of mine!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Street before Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNow, as thou lov’st me, let me see his letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGood Master Fabian, grant me another request.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nAnything.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nDo not desire to see this letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThis is to give a dog, and in recompense desire my dog again.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Duke, Viola, Curio and Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBelong you to the Lady Olivia, friends?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy, sir, we are some of her trappings.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI know thee well. How dost thou, my good fellow?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTruly, sir, the better for my foes, and the worse for my friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nJust the contrary; the better for thy friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, sir, the worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHow can that be?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMarry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass of me. Now my foes tell me\\r\\nplainly I am an ass: so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge\\r\\nof myself, and by my friends I am abused. So that, conclusions to be as\\r\\nkisses, if your four negatives make your two affirmatives, why then,\\r\\nthe worse for my friends, and the better for my foes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhy, this is excellent.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBy my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be one of my friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThou shalt not be the worse for me; there’s gold.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBut that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would you could make it\\r\\nanother.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO, you give me ill counsel.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nPut your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once, and let your flesh\\r\\nand blood obey it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWell, I will be so much a sinner to be a double-dealer: there’s\\r\\nanother.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n_Primo, secundo, tertio_, is a good play, and the old saying is, the\\r\\nthird pays for all; the triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure; or\\r\\nthe bells of Saint Bennet, sir, may put you in mind—one, two, three.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nYou can fool no more money out of me at this throw. If you will let\\r\\nyour lady know I am here to speak with her, and bring her along with\\r\\nyou, it may awake my bounty further.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMarry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come again. I go, sir, but I\\r\\nwould not have you to think that my desire of having is the sin of\\r\\ncovetousness: but as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap, I will\\r\\nawake it anon.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio and Officers.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nHere comes the man, sir, that did rescue me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThat face of his I do remember well.\\r\\nYet when I saw it last it was besmear’d\\r\\nAs black as Vulcan, in the smoke of war.\\r\\nA baubling vessel was he captain of,\\r\\nFor shallow draught and bulk unprizable,\\r\\nWith which such scathful grapple did he make\\r\\nWith the most noble bottom of our fleet,\\r\\nThat very envy and the tongue of loss\\r\\nCried fame and honour on him. What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nOrsino, this is that Antonio\\r\\nThat took the _Phoenix_ and her fraught from Candy,\\r\\nAnd this is he that did the _Tiger_ board\\r\\nWhen your young nephew Titus lost his leg.\\r\\nHere in the streets, desperate of shame and state,\\r\\nIn private brabble did we apprehend him.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nHe did me kindness, sir; drew on my side,\\r\\nBut in conclusion, put strange speech upon me.\\r\\nI know not what ’twas, but distraction.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nNotable pirate, thou salt-water thief,\\r\\nWhat foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies,\\r\\nWhom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear,\\r\\nHast made thine enemies?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nOrsino, noble sir,\\r\\nBe pleased that I shake off these names you give me:\\r\\nAntonio never yet was thief or pirate,\\r\\nThough, I confess, on base and ground enough,\\r\\nOrsino’s enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither:\\r\\nThat most ingrateful boy there by your side\\r\\nFrom the rude sea’s enraged and foamy mouth\\r\\nDid I redeem; a wreck past hope he was.\\r\\nHis life I gave him, and did thereto add\\r\\nMy love, without retention or restraint,\\r\\nAll his in dedication. For his sake\\r\\nDid I expose myself, pure for his love,\\r\\nInto the danger of this adverse town;\\r\\nDrew to defend him when he was beset;\\r\\nWhere being apprehended, his false cunning\\r\\n(Not meaning to partake with me in danger)\\r\\nTaught him to face me out of his acquaintance,\\r\\nAnd grew a twenty years’ removed thing\\r\\nWhile one would wink; denied me mine own purse,\\r\\nWhich I had recommended to his use\\r\\nNot half an hour before.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nHow can this be?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhen came he to this town?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nToday, my lord; and for three months before,\\r\\nNo int’rim, not a minute’s vacancy,\\r\\nBoth day and night did we keep company.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHere comes the Countess, now heaven walks on earth.\\r\\nBut for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness.\\r\\nThree months this youth hath tended upon me;\\r\\nBut more of that anon. Take him aside.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat would my lord, but that he may not have,\\r\\nWherein Olivia may seem serviceable?\\r\\nCesario, you do not keep promise with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMadam?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGracious Olivia—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat do you say, Cesario? Good my lord—\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy lord would speak, my duty hushes me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIf it be aught to the old tune, my lord,\\r\\nIt is as fat and fulsome to mine ear\\r\\nAs howling after music.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nStill so cruel?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nStill so constant, lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat, to perverseness? You uncivil lady,\\r\\nTo whose ingrate and unauspicious altars\\r\\nMy soul the faithfull’st off’rings hath breathed out\\r\\nThat e’er devotion tender’d! What shall I do?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nEven what it please my lord that shall become him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhy should I not, had I the heart to do it,\\r\\nLike to the Egyptian thief at point of death,\\r\\nKill what I love?—a savage jealousy\\r\\nThat sometime savours nobly. But hear me this:\\r\\nSince you to non-regardance cast my faith,\\r\\nAnd that I partly know the instrument\\r\\nThat screws me from my true place in your favour,\\r\\nLive you the marble-breasted tyrant still.\\r\\nBut this your minion, whom I know you love,\\r\\nAnd whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly,\\r\\nHim will I tear out of that cruel eye\\r\\nWhere he sits crowned in his master’s spite.—\\r\\nCome, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief:\\r\\nI’ll sacrifice the lamb that I do love,\\r\\nTo spite a raven’s heart within a dove.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd I, most jocund, apt, and willingly,\\r\\nTo do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhere goes Cesario?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAfter him I love\\r\\nMore than I love these eyes, more than my life,\\r\\nMore, by all mores, than e’er I shall love wife.\\r\\nIf I do feign, you witnesses above\\r\\nPunish my life for tainting of my love.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAh me, detested! how am I beguil’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWho does beguile you? Who does do you wrong?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long?\\r\\nCall forth the holy father.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit an Attendant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\n[_To Viola._] Come, away!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHusband?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAy, husband. Can he that deny?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHer husband, sirrah?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNo, my lord, not I.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAlas, it is the baseness of thy fear\\r\\nThat makes thee strangle thy propriety.\\r\\nFear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up.\\r\\nBe that thou know’st thou art, and then thou art\\r\\nAs great as that thou fear’st.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Priest.\\r\\n\\r\\nO, welcome, father!\\r\\nFather, I charge thee, by thy reverence\\r\\nHere to unfold—though lately we intended\\r\\nTo keep in darkness what occasion now\\r\\nReveals before ’tis ripe—what thou dost know\\r\\nHath newly passed between this youth and me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIEST.\\r\\nA contract of eternal bond of love,\\r\\nConfirmed by mutual joinder of your hands,\\r\\nAttested by the holy close of lips,\\r\\nStrengthen’d by interchangement of your rings,\\r\\nAnd all the ceremony of this compact\\r\\nSealed in my function, by my testimony;\\r\\nSince when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave,\\r\\nI have travelled but two hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO thou dissembling cub! What wilt thou be\\r\\nWhen time hath sowed a grizzle on thy case?\\r\\nOr will not else thy craft so quickly grow\\r\\nThat thine own trip shall be thine overthrow?\\r\\nFarewell, and take her; but direct thy feet\\r\\nWhere thou and I henceforth may never meet.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy lord, I do protest—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, do not swear.\\r\\nHold little faith, though thou has too much fear.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFor the love of God, a surgeon! Send one presently to Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Has broke my head across, and has given Sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too.\\r\\nFor the love of God, your help! I had rather than forty pound I were at\\r\\nhome.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWho has done this, Sir Andrew?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nThe Count’s gentleman, one Cesario. We took him for a coward, but he’s\\r\\nthe very devil incardinate.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nMy gentleman, Cesario?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Od’s lifelings, here he is!—You broke my head for nothing; and that\\r\\nthat I did, I was set on to do’t by Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhy do you speak to me? I never hurt you:\\r\\nYou drew your sword upon me without cause,\\r\\nBut I bespake you fair and hurt you not.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby, drunk, led by the Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nIf a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me. I think you set\\r\\nnothing by a bloody coxcomb. Here comes Sir Toby halting, you shall\\r\\nhear more: but if he had not been in drink, he would have tickled you\\r\\nothergates than he did.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHow now, gentleman? How is’t with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThat’s all one; ’has hurt me, and there’s th’ end on’t. Sot, didst see\\r\\nDick Surgeon, sot?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nO, he’s drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes were set at eight i’\\r\\nth’ morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThen he’s a rogue, and a passy measures pavin. I hate a drunken rogue.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAway with him. Who hath made this havoc with them?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI’ll help you, Sir Toby, because we’ll be dressed together.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWill you help? An ass-head, and a coxcomb, and a knave, a thin-faced\\r\\nknave, a gull?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGet him to bed, and let his hurt be looked to.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Clown, Fabian, Sir Toby and Sir Andrew._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman;\\r\\nBut had it been the brother of my blood,\\r\\nI must have done no less with wit and safety.\\r\\nYou throw a strange regard upon me, and by that\\r\\nI do perceive it hath offended you.\\r\\nPardon me, sweet one, even for the vows\\r\\nWe made each other but so late ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nOne face, one voice, one habit, and two persons!\\r\\nA natural perspective, that is, and is not!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAntonio, O my dear Antonio!\\r\\nHow have the hours rack’d and tortur’d me\\r\\nSince I have lost thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nSebastian are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nFear’st thou that, Antonio?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHow have you made division of yourself?\\r\\nAn apple cleft in two is not more twin\\r\\nThan these two creatures. Which is Sebastian?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nMost wonderful!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nDo I stand there? I never had a brother:\\r\\nNor can there be that deity in my nature\\r\\nOf here and everywhere. I had a sister,\\r\\nWhom the blind waves and surges have devoured.\\r\\nOf charity, what kin are you to me?\\r\\nWhat countryman? What name? What parentage?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nOf Messaline: Sebastian was my father;\\r\\nSuch a Sebastian was my brother too:\\r\\nSo went he suited to his watery tomb.\\r\\nIf spirits can assume both form and suit,\\r\\nYou come to fright us.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA spirit I am indeed,\\r\\nBut am in that dimension grossly clad,\\r\\nWhich from the womb I did participate.\\r\\nWere you a woman, as the rest goes even,\\r\\nI should my tears let fall upon your cheek,\\r\\nAnd say, ‘Thrice welcome, drowned Viola.’\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy father had a mole upon his brow.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAnd so had mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd died that day when Viola from her birth\\r\\nHad numbered thirteen years.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nO, that record is lively in my soul!\\r\\nHe finished indeed his mortal act\\r\\nThat day that made my sister thirteen years.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIf nothing lets to make us happy both\\r\\nBut this my masculine usurp’d attire,\\r\\nDo not embrace me till each circumstance\\r\\nOf place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump\\r\\nThat I am Viola; which to confirm,\\r\\nI’ll bring you to a captain in this town,\\r\\nWhere lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help\\r\\nI was preserv’d to serve this noble count.\\r\\nAll the occurrence of my fortune since\\r\\nHath been between this lady and this lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n[_To Olivia._] So comes it, lady, you have been mistook.\\r\\nBut nature to her bias drew in that.\\r\\nYou would have been contracted to a maid;\\r\\nNor are you therein, by my life, deceived:\\r\\nYou are betroth’d both to a maid and man.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBe not amazed; right noble is his blood.\\r\\nIf this be so, as yet the glass seems true,\\r\\nI shall have share in this most happy wreck.\\r\\n[_To Viola._] Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times\\r\\nThou never shouldst love woman like to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd all those sayings will I over-swear,\\r\\nAnd all those swearings keep as true in soul\\r\\nAs doth that orbed continent the fire\\r\\nThat severs day from night.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGive me thy hand,\\r\\nAnd let me see thee in thy woman’s weeds.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThe captain that did bring me first on shore\\r\\nHath my maid’s garments. He, upon some action,\\r\\nIs now in durance, at Malvolio’s suit,\\r\\nA gentleman and follower of my lady’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHe shall enlarge him. Fetch Malvolio hither.\\r\\nAnd yet, alas, now I remember me,\\r\\nThey say, poor gentleman, he’s much distract.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown, with a letter and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nA most extracting frenzy of mine own\\r\\nFrom my remembrance clearly banished his.\\r\\nHow does he, sirrah?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTruly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the stave’s end as well as a man in\\r\\nhis case may do. Has here writ a letter to you. I should have given it\\r\\nyou today morning, but as a madman’s epistles are no gospels, so it\\r\\nskills not much when they are delivered.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nOpen ’t, and read it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLook then to be well edified, when the fool delivers the madman. _By\\r\\nthe Lord, madam,—_\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHow now, art thou mad?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, madam, I do but read madness: an your ladyship will have it as it\\r\\nought to be, you must allow _vox_.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nPrithee, read i’ thy right wits.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nSo I do, madonna. But to read his right wits is to read thus; therefore\\r\\nperpend, my princess, and give ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\n[_To Fabian._] Read it you, sirrah.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\n[_Reads._] _By the Lord, madam, you wrong me, and the world shall know\\r\\nit. Though you have put me into darkness and given your drunken cousin\\r\\nrule over me, yet have I the benefit of my senses as well as your\\r\\nladyship. I have your own letter that induced me to the semblance I put\\r\\non; with the which I doubt not but to do myself much right or you much\\r\\nshame. Think of me as you please. I leave my duty a little unthought\\r\\nof, and speak out of my injury.\\r\\n The madly-used Malvolio._\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nDid he write this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThis savours not much of distraction.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSee him delivered, Fabian, bring him hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Fabian._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMy lord, so please you, these things further thought on,\\r\\nTo think me as well a sister, as a wife,\\r\\nOne day shall crown th’ alliance on’t, so please you,\\r\\nHere at my house, and at my proper cost.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nMadam, I am most apt t’ embrace your offer.\\r\\n[_To Viola._] Your master quits you; and for your service done him,\\r\\nSo much against the mettle of your sex,\\r\\nSo far beneath your soft and tender breeding,\\r\\nAnd since you call’d me master for so long,\\r\\nHere is my hand; you shall from this time be\\r\\nYou master’s mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nA sister? You are she.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fabian and Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nIs this the madman?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAy, my lord, this same.\\r\\nHow now, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMadam, you have done me wrong,\\r\\nNotorious wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHave I, Malvolio? No.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nLady, you have. Pray you peruse that letter.\\r\\nYou must not now deny it is your hand,\\r\\nWrite from it, if you can, in hand, or phrase,\\r\\nOr say ’tis not your seal, not your invention:\\r\\nYou can say none of this. Well, grant it then,\\r\\nAnd tell me, in the modesty of honour,\\r\\nWhy you have given me such clear lights of favour,\\r\\nBade me come smiling and cross-garter’d to you,\\r\\nTo put on yellow stockings, and to frown\\r\\nUpon Sir Toby, and the lighter people;\\r\\nAnd acting this in an obedient hope,\\r\\nWhy have you suffer’d me to be imprison’d,\\r\\nKept in a dark house, visited by the priest,\\r\\nAnd made the most notorious geck and gull\\r\\nThat e’er invention played on? Tell me why?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAlas, Malvolio, this is not my writing,\\r\\nThough I confess, much like the character:\\r\\nBut out of question, ’tis Maria’s hand.\\r\\nAnd now I do bethink me, it was she\\r\\nFirst told me thou wast mad; then cam’st in smiling,\\r\\nAnd in such forms which here were presuppos’d\\r\\nUpon thee in the letter. Prithee, be content.\\r\\nThis practice hath most shrewdly pass’d upon thee.\\r\\nBut when we know the grounds and authors of it,\\r\\nThou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge\\r\\nOf thine own cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nGood madam, hear me speak,\\r\\nAnd let no quarrel, nor no brawl to come,\\r\\nTaint the condition of this present hour,\\r\\nWhich I have wonder’d at. In hope it shall not,\\r\\nMost freely I confess, myself and Toby\\r\\nSet this device against Malvolio here,\\r\\nUpon some stubborn and uncourteous parts\\r\\nWe had conceiv’d against him. Maria writ\\r\\nThe letter, at Sir Toby’s great importance,\\r\\nIn recompense whereof he hath married her.\\r\\nHow with a sportful malice it was follow’d\\r\\nMay rather pluck on laughter than revenge,\\r\\nIf that the injuries be justly weigh’d\\r\\nThat have on both sides passed.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAlas, poor fool, how have they baffled thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, ‘some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have\\r\\ngreatness thrown upon them.’ I was one, sir, in this interlude, one Sir\\r\\nTopas, sir, but that’s all one. ‘By the Lord, fool, I am not mad.’ But\\r\\ndo you remember? ‘Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal? And you\\r\\nsmile not, he’s gagged’? And thus the whirligig of time brings in his\\r\\nrevenges.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI’ll be revenged on the whole pack of you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHe hath been most notoriously abus’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nPursue him, and entreat him to a peace:\\r\\nHe hath not told us of the captain yet.\\r\\nWhen that is known, and golden time convents,\\r\\nA solemn combination shall be made\\r\\nOf our dear souls.—Meantime, sweet sister,\\r\\nWe will not part from hence.—Cesario, come:\\r\\nFor so you shall be while you are a man;\\r\\nBut when in other habits you are seen,\\r\\nOrsino’s mistress, and his fancy’s queen.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Clown sings.\\r\\n\\r\\n_ When that I was and a little tiny boy,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n A foolish thing was but a toy,\\r\\n For the rain it raineth every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ But when I came to man’s estate,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n ’Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,\\r\\n For the rain it raineth every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ But when I came, alas, to wive,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n By swaggering could I never thrive,\\r\\n For the rain it raineth every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ But when I came unto my beds,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n With toss-pots still had drunken heads,\\r\\n For the rain it raineth every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ A great while ago the world begun,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n But that’s all one, our play is done,\\r\\n And we’ll strive to please you every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE OF MILAN, father to Silvia\\r\\n VALENTINE, one of the two gentlemen\\r\\n PROTEUS, \" \" \" \" \"\\r\\n ANTONIO, father to Proteus\\r\\n THURIO, a foolish rival to Valentine\\r\\n EGLAMOUR, agent for Silvia in her escape\\r\\n SPEED, a clownish servant to Valentine\\r\\n LAUNCE, the like to Proteus\\r\\n PANTHINO, servant to Antonio\\r\\n HOST, where Julia lodges in Milan\\r\\n OUTLAWS, with Valentine\\r\\n\\r\\n JULIA, a lady of Verona, beloved of Proteus\\r\\n SILVIA, the Duke\\'s daughter, beloved of Valentine\\r\\n LUCETTA, waiting-woman to Julia\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANTS MUSICIANS\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Verona; Milan; the frontiers of Mantua\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. Verona. An open place\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter VALENTINE and PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n VALENTINE. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus:\\r\\n Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.\\r\\n Were\\'t not affection chains thy tender days\\r\\n To the sweet glances of thy honour\\'d love,\\r\\n I rather would entreat thy company\\r\\n To see the wonders of the world abroad,\\r\\n Than, living dully sluggardiz\\'d at home,\\r\\n Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.\\r\\n But since thou lov\\'st, love still, and thrive therein,\\r\\n Even as I would, when I to love begin.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu!\\r\\n Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest\\r\\n Some rare noteworthy object in thy travel.\\r\\n Wish me partaker in thy happiness\\r\\n When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger,\\r\\n If ever danger do environ thee,\\r\\n Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,\\r\\n For I will be thy headsman, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. And on a love-book pray for my success?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Upon some book I love I\\'ll pray for thee.\\r\\n VALENTINE. That\\'s on some shallow story of deep love:\\r\\n How young Leander cross\\'d the Hellespont.\\r\\n PROTEUS. That\\'s a deep story of a deeper love;\\r\\n For he was more than over shoes in love.\\r\\n VALENTINE. \\'Tis true; for you are over boots in love,\\r\\n And yet you never swum the Hellespont.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Over the boots! Nay, give me not the boots.\\r\\n VALENTINE. No, I will not, for it boots thee not.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What?\\r\\n VALENTINE. To be in love- where scorn is bought with groans,\\r\\n Coy looks with heart-sore sighs, one fading moment\\'s mirth\\r\\n With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights;\\r\\n If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain;\\r\\n If lost, why then a grievous labour won;\\r\\n However, but a folly bought with wit,\\r\\n Or else a wit by folly vanquished.\\r\\n PROTEUS. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.\\r\\n VALENTINE. So, by your circumstance, I fear you\\'ll prove.\\r\\n PROTEUS. \\'Tis love you cavil at; I am not Love.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Love is your master, for he masters you;\\r\\n And he that is so yoked by a fool,\\r\\n Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud\\r\\n The eating canker dwells, so eating love\\r\\n Inhabits in the finest wits of all.\\r\\n VALENTINE. And writers say, as the most forward bud\\r\\n Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,\\r\\n Even so by love the young and tender wit\\r\\n Is turn\\'d to folly, blasting in the bud,\\r\\n Losing his verdure even in the prime,\\r\\n And all the fair effects of future hopes.\\r\\n But wherefore waste I time to counsel the\\r\\n That art a votary to fond desire?\\r\\n Once more adieu. My father at the road\\r\\n Expects my coming, there to see me shipp\\'d.\\r\\n PROTEUS. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave.\\r\\n To Milan let me hear from thee by letters\\r\\n Of thy success in love, and what news else\\r\\n Betideth here in absence of thy friend;\\r\\n And I likewise will visit thee with mine.\\r\\n PROTEUS. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan!\\r\\n VALENTINE. As much to you at home; and so farewell!\\r\\n Exit VALENTINE\\r\\n PROTEUS. He after honour hunts, I after love;\\r\\n He leaves his friends to dignify them more:\\r\\n I leave myself, my friends, and all for love.\\r\\n Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphis\\'d me,\\r\\n Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,\\r\\n War with good counsel, set the world at nought;\\r\\n Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n SPEED. Sir Proteus, save you! Saw you my master?\\r\\n PROTEUS. But now he parted hence to embark for Milan.\\r\\n SPEED. Twenty to one then he is shipp\\'d already,\\r\\n And I have play\\'d the sheep in losing him.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray,\\r\\n An if the shepherd be awhile away.\\r\\n SPEED. You conclude that my master is a shepherd then, and\\r\\n I a sheep?\\r\\n PROTEUS. I do.\\r\\n SPEED. Why then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep.\\r\\n PROTEUS. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep.\\r\\n SPEED. This proves me still a sheep.\\r\\n PROTEUS. True; and thy master a shepherd.\\r\\n SPEED. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.\\r\\n PROTEUS. It shall go hard but I\\'ll prove it by another.\\r\\n SPEED. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the\\r\\n shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me;\\r\\n therefore, I am no sheep.\\r\\n PROTEUS. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd; the shepherd for\\r\\n food follows not the sheep: thou for wages followest thy master;\\r\\n thy master for wages follows not thee. Therefore, thou art a\\r\\n sheep.\\r\\n SPEED. Such another proof will make me cry \\'baa.\\'\\r\\n PROTEUS. But dost thou hear? Gav\\'st thou my letter to Julia?\\r\\n SPEED. Ay, sir; I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her, a lac\\'d\\r\\n mutton; and she, a lac\\'d mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing\\r\\n for my labour.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Here\\'s too small a pasture for such store of muttons.\\r\\n SPEED. If the ground be overcharg\\'d, you were best stick her.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Nay, in that you are astray: \\'twere best pound you.\\r\\n SPEED. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your\\r\\n letter.\\r\\n PROTEUS. You mistake; I mean the pound- a pinfold.\\r\\n SPEED. From a pound to a pin? Fold it over and over,\\r\\n \\'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But what said she?\\r\\n SPEED. [Nodding] Ay.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Nod- ay. Why, that\\'s \\'noddy.\\'\\r\\n SPEED. You mistook, sir; I say she did nod; and you ask me if she\\r\\n did nod; and I say \\'Ay.\\'\\r\\n PROTEUS. And that set together is \\'noddy.\\'\\r\\n SPEED. Now you have taken the pains to set it together, take it for\\r\\n your pains.\\r\\n PROTEUS. No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter.\\r\\n SPEED. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, sir, how do you bear with me?\\r\\n SPEED. Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly; having nothing but the\\r\\n word \\'noddy\\' for my pains.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.\\r\\n SPEED. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Come, come, open the matter; in brief, what said she?\\r\\n SPEED. Open your purse, that the money and the matter may be both\\r\\n at once delivered.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she?\\r\\n SPEED. Truly, sir, I think you\\'ll hardly win her.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her?\\r\\n SPEED. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; no, not so\\r\\n much as a ducat for delivering your letter; and being so hard to\\r\\n me that brought your mind, I fear she\\'ll prove as hard to you in\\r\\n telling your mind. Give her no token but stones, for she\\'s as\\r\\n hard as steel.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What said she? Nothing?\\r\\n SPEED. No, not so much as \\'Take this for thy pains.\\' To testify\\r\\n your bounty, I thank you, you have testern\\'d me; in requital\\r\\n whereof, henceforth carry your letters yourself; and so, sir,\\r\\n I\\'ll commend you to my master.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck,\\r\\n Which cannot perish, having thee aboard,\\r\\n Being destin\\'d to a drier death on shore. Exit SPEED\\r\\n I must go send some better messenger.\\r\\n I fear my Julia would not deign my lines,\\r\\n Receiving them from such a worthless post. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Verona. The garden Of JULIA\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter JULIA and LUCETTA\\r\\n\\r\\n JULIA. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone,\\r\\n Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Ay, madam; so you stumble not unheedfully.\\r\\n JULIA. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen\\r\\n That every day with parle encounter me,\\r\\n In thy opinion which is worthiest love?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Please you, repeat their names; I\\'ll show my mind\\r\\n According to my shallow simple skill.\\r\\n JULIA. What think\\'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?\\r\\n LUCETTA. As of a knight well-spoken, neat, and fine;\\r\\n But, were I you, he never should be mine.\\r\\n JULIA. What think\\'st thou of the rich Mercatio?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Well of his wealth; but of himself, so so.\\r\\n JULIA. What think\\'st thou of the gentle Proteus?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Lord, Lord! to see what folly reigns in us!\\r\\n JULIA. How now! what means this passion at his name?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Pardon, dear madam; \\'tis a passing shame\\r\\n That I, unworthy body as I am,\\r\\n Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen.\\r\\n JULIA. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Then thus: of many good I think him best.\\r\\n JULIA. Your reason?\\r\\n LUCETTA. I have no other but a woman\\'s reason:\\r\\n I think him so, because I think him so.\\r\\n JULIA. And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away.\\r\\n JULIA. Why, he, of all the rest, hath never mov\\'d me.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye.\\r\\n JULIA. His little speaking shows his love but small.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Fire that\\'s closest kept burns most of all.\\r\\n JULIA. They do not love that do not show their love.\\r\\n LUCETTA. O, they love least that let men know their love.\\r\\n JULIA. I would I knew his mind.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Peruse this paper, madam.\\r\\n JULIA. \\'To Julia\\'- Say, from whom?\\r\\n LUCETTA. That the contents will show.\\r\\n JULIA. Say, say, who gave it thee?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Sir Valentine\\'s page; and sent, I think, from Proteus.\\r\\n He would have given it you; but I, being in the way,\\r\\n Did in your name receive it; pardon the fault, I pray.\\r\\n JULIA. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker!\\r\\n Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines?\\r\\n To whisper and conspire against my youth?\\r\\n Now, trust me, \\'tis an office of great worth,\\r\\n And you an officer fit for the place.\\r\\n There, take the paper; see it be return\\'d;\\r\\n Or else return no more into my sight.\\r\\n LUCETTA. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate.\\r\\n JULIA. Will ye be gone?\\r\\n LUCETTA. That you may ruminate. Exit\\r\\n JULIA. And yet, I would I had o\\'erlook\\'d the letter.\\r\\n It were a shame to call her back again,\\r\\n And pray her to a fault for which I chid her.\\r\\n What fool is she, that knows I am a maid\\r\\n And would not force the letter to my view!\\r\\n Since maids, in modesty, say \\'No\\' to that\\r\\n Which they would have the profferer construe \\'Ay.\\'\\r\\n Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love,\\r\\n That like a testy babe will scratch the nurse,\\r\\n And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod!\\r\\n How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence,\\r\\n When willingly I would have had her here!\\r\\n How angerly I taught my brow to frown,\\r\\n When inward joy enforc\\'d my heart to smile!\\r\\n My penance is to call Lucetta back\\r\\n And ask remission for my folly past.\\r\\n What ho! Lucetta!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter LUCETTA\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCETTA. What would your ladyship?\\r\\n JULIA. Is\\'t near dinner time?\\r\\n LUCETTA. I would it were,\\r\\n That you might kill your stomach on your meat\\r\\n And not upon your maid.\\r\\n JULIA. What is\\'t that you took up so gingerly?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Nothing.\\r\\n JULIA. Why didst thou stoop then?\\r\\n LUCETTA. To take a paper up that I let fall.\\r\\n JULIA. And is that paper nothing?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Nothing concerning me.\\r\\n JULIA. Then let it lie for those that it concerns.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns,\\r\\n Unless it have a false interpreter.\\r\\n JULIA. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme.\\r\\n LUCETTA. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune.\\r\\n Give me a note; your ladyship can set.\\r\\n JULIA. As little by such toys as may be possible.\\r\\n Best sing it to the tune of \\'Light o\\' Love.\\'\\r\\n LUCETTA. It is too heavy for so light a tune.\\r\\n JULIA. Heavy! belike it hath some burden then.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Ay; and melodious were it, would you sing it.\\r\\n JULIA. And why not you?\\r\\n LUCETTA. I cannot reach so high.\\r\\n JULIA. Let\\'s see your song. [LUCETTA withholds the letter]\\r\\n How now, minion!\\r\\n LUCETTA. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out.\\r\\n And yet methinks I do not like this tune.\\r\\n JULIA. You do not!\\r\\n LUCETTA. No, madam; \\'tis too sharp.\\r\\n JULIA. You, minion, are too saucy.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Nay, now you are too flat\\r\\n And mar the concord with too harsh a descant;\\r\\n There wanteth but a mean to fill your song.\\r\\n JULIA. The mean is drown\\'d with your unruly bass.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus.\\r\\n JULIA. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me.\\r\\n Here is a coil with protestation! [Tears the letter]\\r\\n Go, get you gone; and let the papers lie.\\r\\n You would be fing\\'ring them, to anger me.\\r\\n LUCETTA. She makes it strange; but she would be best pleas\\'d\\r\\n To be so ang\\'red with another letter. Exit\\r\\n JULIA. Nay, would I were so ang\\'red with the same!\\r\\n O hateful hands, to tear such loving words!\\r\\n Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey\\r\\n And kill the bees that yield it with your stings!\\r\\n I\\'ll kiss each several paper for amends.\\r\\n Look, here is writ \\'kind Julia.\\' Unkind Julia,\\r\\n As in revenge of thy ingratitude,\\r\\n I throw thy name against the bruising stones,\\r\\n Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain.\\r\\n And here is writ \\'love-wounded Proteus.\\'\\r\\n Poor wounded name! my bosom,,as a bed,\\r\\n Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly heal\\'d;\\r\\n And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss.\\r\\n But twice or thrice was \\'Proteus\\' written down.\\r\\n Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away\\r\\n Till I have found each letter in the letter-\\r\\n Except mine own name; that some whirlwind bear\\r\\n Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock,\\r\\n And throw it thence into the raging sea.\\r\\n Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ:\\r\\n \\'Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus,\\r\\n To the sweet Julia.\\' That I\\'ll tear away;\\r\\n And yet I will not, sith so prettily\\r\\n He couples it to his complaining names.\\r\\n Thus will I fold them one upon another;\\r\\n Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter LUCETTA\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCETTA. Madam,\\r\\n Dinner is ready, and your father stays.\\r\\n JULIA. Well, let us go.\\r\\n LUCETTA. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here?\\r\\n JULIA. If you respect them, best to take them up.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down;\\r\\n Yet here they shall not lie for catching cold.\\r\\n JULIA. I see you have a month\\'s mind to them.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see;\\r\\n I see things too, although you judge I wink.\\r\\n JULIA. Come, come; will\\'t please you go? Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Verona. ANTONIO\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ANTONIO and PANTHINO\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that\\r\\n Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?\\r\\n PANTHINO. \\'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Why, what of him?\\r\\n PANTHINO. He wond\\'red that your lordship\\r\\n Would suffer him to spend his youth at home,\\r\\n While other men, of slender reputation,\\r\\n Put forth their sons to seek preferment out:\\r\\n Some to the wars, to try their fortune there;\\r\\n Some to discover islands far away;\\r\\n Some to the studious universities.\\r\\n For any, or for all these exercises,\\r\\n He said that Proteus, your son, was meet;\\r\\n And did request me to importune you\\r\\n To let him spend his time no more at home,\\r\\n Which would be great impeachment to his age,\\r\\n In having known no travel in his youth.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Nor need\\'st thou much importune me to that\\r\\n Whereon this month I have been hammering.\\r\\n I have consider\\'d well his loss of time,\\r\\n And how he cannot be a perfect man,\\r\\n Not being tried and tutor\\'d in the world:\\r\\n Experience is by industry achiev\\'d,\\r\\n And perfected by the swift course of time.\\r\\n Then tell me whither were I best to send him.\\r\\n PANTHINO. I think your lordship is not ignorant\\r\\n How his companion, youthful Valentine,\\r\\n Attends the Emperor in his royal court.\\r\\n ANTONIO. I know it well.\\r\\n PANTHINO. \\'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither:\\r\\n There shall he practise tilts and tournaments,\\r\\n Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen,\\r\\n And be in eye of every exercise\\r\\n Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth.\\r\\n ANTONIO. I like thy counsel; well hast thou advis\\'d;\\r\\n And that thou mayst perceive how well I like it,\\r\\n The execution of it shall make known:\\r\\n Even with the speediest expedition\\r\\n I will dispatch him to the Emperor\\'s court.\\r\\n PANTHINO. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso\\r\\n With other gentlemen of good esteem\\r\\n Are journeying to salute the Emperor,\\r\\n And to commend their service to his will.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Good company; with them shall Proteus go.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n And- in good time!- now will we break with him.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life!\\r\\n Here is her hand, the agent of her heart;\\r\\n Here is her oath for love, her honour\\'s pawn.\\r\\n O that our fathers would applaud our loves,\\r\\n To seal our happiness with their consents!\\r\\n O heavenly Julia!\\r\\n ANTONIO. How now! What letter are you reading there?\\r\\n PROTEUS. May\\'t please your lordship, \\'tis a word or two\\r\\n Of commendations sent from Valentine,\\r\\n Deliver\\'d by a friend that came from him.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Lend me the letter; let me see what news.\\r\\n PROTEUS. There is no news, my lord; but that he writes\\r\\n How happily he lives, how well-belov\\'d\\r\\n And daily graced by the Emperor;\\r\\n Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune.\\r\\n ANTONIO. And how stand you affected to his wish?\\r\\n PROTEUS. As one relying on your lordship\\'s will,\\r\\n And not depending on his friendly wish.\\r\\n ANTONIO. My will is something sorted with his wish.\\r\\n Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed;\\r\\n For what I will, I will, and there an end.\\r\\n I am resolv\\'d that thou shalt spend some time\\r\\n With Valentinus in the Emperor\\'s court;\\r\\n What maintenance he from his friends receives,\\r\\n Like exhibition thou shalt have from me.\\r\\n To-morrow be in readiness to go-\\r\\n Excuse it not, for I am peremptory.\\r\\n PROTEUS. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided;\\r\\n Please you, deliberate a day or two.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Look what thou want\\'st shall be sent after thee.\\r\\n No more of stay; to-morrow thou must go.\\r\\n Come on, Panthino; you shall be employ\\'d\\r\\n To hasten on his expedition.\\r\\n Exeunt ANTONIO and PANTHINO\\r\\n PROTEUS. Thus have I shunn\\'d the fire for fear of burning,\\r\\n And drench\\'d me in the sea, where I am drown\\'d.\\r\\n I fear\\'d to show my father Julia\\'s letter,\\r\\n Lest he should take exceptions to my love;\\r\\n And with the vantage of mine own excuse\\r\\n Hath he excepted most against my love.\\r\\n O, how this spring of love resembleth\\r\\n The uncertain glory of an April day,\\r\\n Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,\\r\\n And by an by a cloud takes all away!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PANTHINO\\r\\n\\r\\n PANTHINO. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you;\\r\\n He is in haste; therefore, I pray you, go.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, this it is: my heart accords thereto;\\r\\n And yet a thousand times it answers \\'No.\\' Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter VALENTINE and SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n SPEED. Sir, your glove.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Not mine: my gloves are on.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, then, this may be yours; for this is but one.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ha! let me see; ay, give it me, it\\'s mine;\\r\\n Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine!\\r\\n Ah, Silvia! Silvia!\\r\\n SPEED. [Calling] Madam Silvia! Madam Silvia!\\r\\n VALENTINE. How now, sirrah?\\r\\n SPEED. She is not within hearing, sir.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, sir, who bade you call her?\\r\\n SPEED. Your worship, sir; or else I mistook.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Well, you\\'ll still be too forward.\\r\\n SPEED. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Go to, sir; tell me, do you know Madam Silvia?\\r\\n SPEED. She that your worship loves?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, how know you that I am in love?\\r\\n SPEED. Marry, by these special marks: first, you have learn\\'d, like\\r\\n Sir Proteus, to wreath your arms like a malcontent; to relish a\\r\\n love-song, like a robin redbreast; to walk alone, like one that\\r\\n had the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had lost his\\r\\n A B C; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her grandam;\\r\\n to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, like one that fears\\r\\n robbing; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were\\r\\n wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you walk\\'d, to\\r\\n walk like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently\\r\\n after dinner; when you look\\'d sadly, it was for want of money.\\r\\n And now you are metamorphis\\'d with a mistress, that, when I look\\r\\n on you, I can hardly think you my master.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Are all these things perceiv\\'d in me?\\r\\n SPEED. They are all perceiv\\'d without ye.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Without me? They cannot.\\r\\n SPEED. Without you! Nay, that\\'s certain; for, without you were so\\r\\n simple, none else would; but you are so without these follies\\r\\n that these follies are within you, and shine through you like the\\r\\n water in an urinal, that not an eye that sees you but is a\\r\\n physician to comment on your malady.\\r\\n VALENTINE. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia?\\r\\n SPEED. She that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Hast thou observ\\'d that? Even she, I mean.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, sir, I know her not.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet know\\'st\\r\\n her not?\\r\\n SPEED. Is she not hard-favour\\'d, sir?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Not so fair, boy, as well-favour\\'d.\\r\\n SPEED. Sir, I know that well enough.\\r\\n VALENTINE. What dost thou know?\\r\\n SPEED. That she is not so fair as, of you, well-favour\\'d.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I mean that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour\\r\\n infinite.\\r\\n SPEED. That\\'s because the one is painted, and the other out of all\\r\\n count.\\r\\n VALENTINE. How painted? and how out of count?\\r\\n SPEED. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, that no man counts\\r\\n of her beauty.\\r\\n VALENTINE. How esteem\\'st thou me? I account of her beauty.\\r\\n SPEED. You never saw her since she was deform\\'d.\\r\\n VALENTINE. How long hath she been deform\\'d?\\r\\n SPEED. Ever since you lov\\'d her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I have lov\\'d her ever since I saw her, and still\\r\\n I see her beautiful.\\r\\n SPEED. If you love her, you cannot see her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why?\\r\\n SPEED. Because Love is blind. O that you had mine eyes; or your own\\r\\n eyes had the lights they were wont to have when you chid at Sir\\r\\n Proteus for going ungarter\\'d!\\r\\n VALENTINE. What should I see then?\\r\\n SPEED. Your own present folly and her passing deformity; for he,\\r\\n being in love, could not see to garter his hose; and you, being\\r\\n in love, cannot see to put on your hose.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last morning you\\r\\n could not see to wipe my shoes.\\r\\n SPEED. True, sir; I was in love with my bed. I thank you, you\\r\\n swing\\'d me for my love, which makes me the bolder to chide you\\r\\n for yours.\\r\\n VALENTINE. In conclusion, I stand affected to her.\\r\\n SPEED. I would you were set, so your affection would cease.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Last night she enjoin\\'d me to write some lines to one\\r\\n she loves.\\r\\n SPEED. And have you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I have.\\r\\n SPEED. Are they not lamely writ?\\r\\n VALENTINE. No, boy, but as well as I can do them.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA\\r\\n\\r\\n Peace! here she comes.\\r\\n SPEED. [Aside] O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet!\\r\\n Now will he interpret to her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Madam and mistress, a thousand good morrows.\\r\\n SPEED. [Aside] O, give ye good ev\\'n!\\r\\n Here\\'s a million of manners.\\r\\n SILVIA. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand.\\r\\n SPEED. [Aside] He should give her interest, and she gives it him.\\r\\n VALENTINE. As you enjoin\\'d me, I have writ your letter\\r\\n Unto the secret nameless friend of yours;\\r\\n Which I was much unwilling to proceed in,\\r\\n But for my duty to your ladyship.\\r\\n SILVIA. I thank you, gentle servant. \\'Tis very clerkly done.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off;\\r\\n For, being ignorant to whom it goes,\\r\\n I writ at random, very doubtfully.\\r\\n SILVIA. Perchance you think too much of so much pains?\\r\\n VALENTINE. No, madam; so it stead you, I will write,\\r\\n Please you command, a thousand times as much;\\r\\n And yet-\\r\\n SILVIA. A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel;\\r\\n And yet I will not name it- and yet I care not.\\r\\n And yet take this again- and yet I thank you-\\r\\n Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.\\r\\n SPEED. [Aside] And yet you will; and yet another\\' yet.\\'\\r\\n VALENTINE. What means your ladyship? Do you not like it?\\r\\n SILVIA. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ;\\r\\n But, since unwillingly, take them again.\\r\\n Nay, take them. [Gives hack the letter]\\r\\n VALENTINE. Madam, they are for you.\\r\\n SILVIA. Ay, ay, you writ them, sir, at my request;\\r\\n But I will none of them; they are for you:\\r\\n I would have had them writ more movingly.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Please you, I\\'ll write your ladyship another.\\r\\n SILVIA. And when it\\'s writ, for my sake read it over;\\r\\n And if it please you, so; if not, why, so.\\r\\n VALENTINE. If it please me, madam, what then?\\r\\n SILVIA. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour.\\r\\n And so good morrow, servant. Exit SILVIA\\r\\n SPEED. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible,\\r\\n As a nose on a man\\'s face, or a weathercock on a steeple!\\r\\n My master sues to her; and she hath taught her suitor,\\r\\n He being her pupil, to become her tutor.\\r\\n O excellent device! Was there ever heard a better,\\r\\n That my master, being scribe, to himself should write the letter?\\r\\n VALENTINE. How now, sir! What are you reasoning with yourself?\\r\\n SPEED. Nay, I was rhyming: \\'tis you that have the reason.\\r\\n VALENTINE. To do what?\\r\\n SPEED. To be a spokesman from Madam Silvia?\\r\\n VALENTINE. To whom?\\r\\n SPEED. To yourself; why, she woos you by a figure.\\r\\n VALENTINE. What figure?\\r\\n SPEED. By a letter, I should say.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, she hath not writ to me.\\r\\n SPEED. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself?\\r\\n Why, do you not perceive the jest?\\r\\n VALENTINE. No, believe me.\\r\\n SPEED. No believing you indeed, sir. But did you perceive her\\r\\n earnest?\\r\\n VALENTINE. She gave me none except an angry word.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, she hath given you a letter.\\r\\n VALENTINE. That\\'s the letter I writ to her friend.\\r\\n SPEED. And that letter hath she deliver\\'d, and there an end.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I would it were no worse.\\r\\n SPEED. I\\'ll warrant you \\'tis as well.\\r\\n \\'For often have you writ to her; and she, in modesty,\\r\\n Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply;\\r\\n Or fearing else some messenger that might her mind discover,\\r\\n Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.\\'\\r\\n All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. Why muse you,\\r\\n sir? \\'Tis dinner time.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I have din\\'d.\\r\\n SPEED. Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can feed on\\r\\n the air, I am one that am nourish\\'d by my victuals, and would\\r\\n fain have meat. O, be not like your mistress! Be moved, be moved.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Verona. JULIA\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PROTEUS and JULIA\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Have patience, gentle Julia.\\r\\n JULIA. I must, where is no remedy.\\r\\n PROTEUS. When possibly I can, I will return.\\r\\n JULIA. If you turn not, you will return the sooner.\\r\\n Keep this remembrance for thy Julia\\'s sake.\\r\\n [Giving a ring]\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, then, we\\'ll make exchange. Here, take you this.\\r\\n JULIA. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Here is my hand for my true constancy;\\r\\n And when that hour o\\'erslips me in the day\\r\\n Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake,\\r\\n The next ensuing hour some foul mischance\\r\\n Torment me for my love\\'s forgetfulness!\\r\\n My father stays my coming; answer not;\\r\\n The tide is now- nay, not thy tide of tears:\\r\\n That tide will stay me longer than I should.\\r\\n Julia, farewell! Exit JULIA\\r\\n What, gone without a word?\\r\\n Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak;\\r\\n For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PANTHINO\\r\\n\\r\\n PANTHINO. Sir Proteus, you are stay\\'d for.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go; I come, I come.\\r\\n Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Verona. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter LAUNCE, leading a dog\\r\\n\\r\\n LAUNCE. Nay, \\'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping; all the\\r\\n kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have receiv\\'d my\\r\\n proportion, like the Prodigious Son, and am going with Sir Proteus to\\r\\n the Imperial\\'s court. I think Crab my dog be the sourest-natured dog\\r\\n that lives: my mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying,\\r\\n our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a\\r\\n great perplexity; yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear.\\r\\n He is a stone, a very pebble stone, and has no more pity in him than\\r\\n a dog. A Jew would have wept to have seen our parting; why, my\\r\\n grandam having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting.\\r\\n Nay, I\\'ll show you the manner of it. This shoe is my father; no, this\\r\\n left shoe is my father; no, no, left shoe is my mother; nay, that\\r\\n cannot be so neither; yes, it is so, it is so, it hath the worser\\r\\n sole. This shoe with the hole in it is my mother, and this my father.\\r\\n A vengeance on \\'t! There \\'tis. Now, sir, this staff is my sister,\\r\\n for, look you, she is as white as a lily and as small as a wand; this\\r\\n hat is Nan our maid; I am the dog; no, the dog is himself, and I am\\r\\n the dog- O, the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so, so. Now come I to\\r\\n my father: \\'Father, your blessing.\\' Now should not the shoe speak a\\r\\n word for weeping; now should I kiss my father; well, he weeps on. Now\\r\\n come I to my mother. O that she could speak now like a wood woman!\\r\\n Well, I kiss her- why there \\'tis; here\\'s my mother\\'s breath up and\\r\\n down. Now come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes. Now the dog\\r\\n all this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word; but see how I lay\\r\\n the dust with my tears.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PANTHINO\\r\\n\\r\\n PANTHINO. Launce, away, away, aboard! Thy master is shipp\\'d, and\\r\\n thou art to post after with oars. What\\'s the matter? Why weep\\'st\\r\\n thou, man? Away, ass! You\\'ll lose the tide if you tarry any\\r\\n longer.\\r\\n LAUNCE. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the\\r\\n unkindest tied that ever any man tied.\\r\\n PANTHINO. What\\'s the unkindest tide?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, he that\\'s tied here, Crab, my dog.\\r\\n PANTHINO. Tut, man, I mean thou\\'lt lose the flood, and, in losing\\r\\n the flood, lose thy voyage, and, in losing thy voyage, lose thy\\r\\n master, and, in losing thy master, lose thy service, and, in\\r\\n losing thy service- Why dost thou stop my mouth?\\r\\n LAUNCE. For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue.\\r\\n PANTHINO. Where should I lose my tongue?\\r\\n LAUNCE. In thy tale.\\r\\n PANTHINO. In thy tail!\\r\\n LAUNCE. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the\\r\\n service, and the tied! Why, man, if the river were dry, I am able\\r\\n to fill it with my tears; if the wind were down, I could drive\\r\\n the boat with my sighs.\\r\\n PANTHINO. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Sir, call me what thou dar\\'st.\\r\\n PANTHINO. Will thou go?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Well, I will go. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SILVIA, VALENTINE, THURIO, and SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n SILVIA. Servant!\\r\\n VALENTINE. Mistress?\\r\\n SPEED. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, boy, it\\'s for love.\\r\\n SPEED. Not of you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Of my mistress, then.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Twere good you knock\\'d him. Exit\\r\\n SILVIA. Servant, you are sad.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Indeed, madam, I seem so.\\r\\n THURIO. Seem you that you are not?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Haply I do.\\r\\n THURIO. So do counterfeits.\\r\\n VALENTINE. So do you.\\r\\n THURIO. What seem I that I am not?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Wise.\\r\\n THURIO. What instance of the contrary?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Your folly.\\r\\n THURIO. And how quote you my folly?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I quote it in your jerkin.\\r\\n THURIO. My jerkin is a doublet.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Well, then, I\\'ll double your folly.\\r\\n THURIO. How?\\r\\n SILVIA. What, angry, Sir Thurio! Do you change colour?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of chameleon.\\r\\n THURIO. That hath more mind to feed on your blood than live in your\\r\\n air.\\r\\n VALENTINE. You have said, sir.\\r\\n THURIO. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin.\\r\\n SILVIA. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off.\\r\\n VALENTINE. \\'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver.\\r\\n SILVIA. Who is that, servant?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire. Sir Thurio\\r\\n borrows his wit from your ladyship\\'s looks, and spends what he\\r\\n borrows kindly in your company.\\r\\n THURIO. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your\\r\\n wit bankrupt.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I know it well, sir; you have an exchequer of words,\\r\\n and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers; for it\\r\\n appears by their bare liveries that they live by your bare words.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUKE\\r\\n\\r\\n SILVIA. No more, gentlemen, no more. Here comes my father.\\r\\n DUKE. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset.\\r\\n Sir Valentine, your father is in good health.\\r\\n What say you to a letter from your friends\\r\\n Of much good news?\\r\\n VALENTINE. My lord, I will be thankful\\r\\n To any happy messenger from thence.\\r\\n DUKE. Know ye Don Antonio, your countryman?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman\\r\\n To be of worth and worthy estimation,\\r\\n And not without desert so well reputed.\\r\\n DUKE. Hath he not a son?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord; a son that well deserves\\r\\n The honour and regard of such a father.\\r\\n DUKE. You know him well?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I knew him as myself; for from our infancy\\r\\n We have convers\\'d and spent our hours together;\\r\\n And though myself have been an idle truant,\\r\\n Omitting the sweet benefit of time\\r\\n To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection,\\r\\n Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that\\'s his name,\\r\\n Made use and fair advantage of his days:\\r\\n His years but young, but his experience old;\\r\\n His head unmellowed, but his judgment ripe;\\r\\n And, in a word, for far behind his worth\\r\\n Comes all the praises that I now bestow,\\r\\n He is complete in feature and in mind,\\r\\n With all good grace to grace a gentleman.\\r\\n DUKE. Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good,\\r\\n He is as worthy for an empress\\' love\\r\\n As meet to be an emperor\\'s counsellor.\\r\\n Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me\\r\\n With commendation from great potentates,\\r\\n And here he means to spend his time awhile.\\r\\n I think \\'tis no unwelcome news to you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Should I have wish\\'d a thing, it had been he.\\r\\n DUKE. Welcome him, then, according to his worth-\\r\\n Silvia, I speak to you, and you, Sir Thurio;\\r\\n For Valentine, I need not cite him to it.\\r\\n I will send him hither to you presently. Exit DUKE\\r\\n VALENTINE. This is the gentleman I told your ladyship\\r\\n Had come along with me but that his mistresss\\r\\n Did hold his eyes lock\\'d in her crystal looks.\\r\\n SILVIA. Belike that now she hath enfranchis\\'d them\\r\\n Upon some other pawn for fealty.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still.\\r\\n SILVIA. Nay, then, he should be blind; and, being blind,\\r\\n How could he see his way to seek out you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes.\\r\\n THURIO. They say that Love hath not an eye at all.\\r\\n VALENTINE. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself;\\r\\n Upon a homely object Love can wink. Exit THURIO\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n SILVIA. Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Welcome, dear Proteus! Mistress, I beseech you\\r\\n Confirm his welcome with some special favour.\\r\\n SILVIA. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither,\\r\\n If this be he you oft have wish\\'d to hear from.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Mistress, it is; sweet lady, entertain him\\r\\n To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship.\\r\\n SILVIA. Too low a mistress for so high a servant.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant\\r\\n To have a look of such a worthy mistress.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Leave off discourse of disability;\\r\\n Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.\\r\\n PROTEUS. My duty will I boast of, nothing else.\\r\\n SILVIA. And duty never yet did want his meed.\\r\\n Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress.\\r\\n PROTEUS. I\\'ll die on him that says so but yourself.\\r\\n SILVIA. That you are welcome?\\r\\n PROTEUS. That you are worthless.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter THURIO\\r\\n\\r\\n THURIO. Madam, my lord your father would speak with you.\\r\\n SILVIA. I wait upon his pleasure. Come, Sir Thurio,\\r\\n Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome.\\r\\n I\\'ll leave you to confer of home affairs;\\r\\n When you have done we look to hear from you.\\r\\n PROTEUS. We\\'ll both attend upon your ladyship.\\r\\n Exeunt SILVIA and THURIO\\r\\n VALENTINE. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Your friends are well, and have them much commended.\\r\\n VALENTINE. And how do yours?\\r\\n PROTEUS. I left them all in health.\\r\\n VALENTINE. How does your lady, and how thrives your love?\\r\\n PROTEUS. My tales of love were wont to weary you;\\r\\n I know you joy not in a love-discourse.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter\\'d now;\\r\\n I have done penance for contemning Love,\\r\\n Whose high imperious thoughts have punish\\'d me\\r\\n With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,\\r\\n With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs;\\r\\n For, in revenge of my contempt of love,\\r\\n Love hath chas\\'d sleep from my enthralled eyes\\r\\n And made them watchers of mine own heart\\'s sorrow.\\r\\n O gentle Proteus, Love\\'s a mighty lord,\\r\\n And hath so humbled me as I confess\\r\\n There is no woe to his correction,\\r\\n Nor to his service no such joy on earth.\\r\\n Now no discourse, except it be of love;\\r\\n Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep,\\r\\n Upon the very naked name of love.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye.\\r\\n Was this the idol that you worship so?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint?\\r\\n PROTEUS. No; but she is an earthly paragon.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Call her divine.\\r\\n PROTEUS. I will not flatter her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. O, flatter me; for love delights in praises!\\r\\n PROTEUS. When I was sick you gave me bitter pills,\\r\\n And I must minister the like to you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Then speak the truth by her; if not divine,\\r\\n Yet let her be a principality,\\r\\n Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Except my mistress.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Sweet, except not any;\\r\\n Except thou wilt except against my love.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Have I not reason to prefer mine own?\\r\\n VALENTINE. And I will help thee to prefer her too:\\r\\n She shall be dignified with this high honour-\\r\\n To bear my lady\\'s train, lest the base earth\\r\\n Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss\\r\\n And, of so great a favour growing proud,\\r\\n Disdain to root the summer-swelling flow\\'r\\r\\n And make rough winter everlastingly.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Pardon me, Proteus; all I can is nothing\\r\\n To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing;\\r\\n She is alone.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Then let her alone.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Not for the world! Why, man, she is mine own;\\r\\n And I as rich in having such a jewel\\r\\n As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,\\r\\n The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.\\r\\n Forgive me that I do not dream on thee,\\r\\n Because thou seest me dote upon my love.\\r\\n My foolish rival, that her father likes\\r\\n Only for his possessions are so huge,\\r\\n Is gone with her along; and I must after,\\r\\n For love, thou know\\'st, is full of jealousy.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But she loves you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, and we are betroth\\'d; nay more, our marriage-hour,\\r\\n With all the cunning manner of our flight,\\r\\n Determin\\'d of- how I must climb her window,\\r\\n The ladder made of cords, and all the means\\r\\n Plotted and \\'greed on for my happiness.\\r\\n Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber,\\r\\n In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go on before; I shall enquire you forth;\\r\\n I must unto the road to disembark\\r\\n Some necessaries that I needs must use;\\r\\n And then I\\'ll presently attend you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Will you make haste?\\r\\n PROTEUS. I will. Exit VALENTINE\\r\\n Even as one heat another heat expels\\r\\n Or as one nail by strength drives out another,\\r\\n So the remembrance of my former love\\r\\n Is by a newer object quite forgotten.\\r\\n Is it my mind, or Valentinus\\' praise,\\r\\n Her true perfection, or my false transgression,\\r\\n That makes me reasonless to reason thus?\\r\\n She is fair; and so is Julia that I love-\\r\\n That I did love, for now my love is thaw\\'d;\\r\\n Which like a waxen image \\'gainst a fire\\r\\n Bears no impression of the thing it was.\\r\\n Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold,\\r\\n And that I love him not as I was wont.\\r\\n O! but I love his lady too too much,\\r\\n And that\\'s the reason I love him so little.\\r\\n How shall I dote on her with more advice\\r\\n That thus without advice begin to love her!\\r\\n \\'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,\\r\\n And that hath dazzled my reason\\'s light;\\r\\n But when I look on her perfections,\\r\\n There is no reason but I shall be blind.\\r\\n If I can check my erring love, I will;\\r\\n If not, to compass her I\\'ll use my skill. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Milan. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SPEED and LAUNCE severally\\r\\n\\r\\n SPEED. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Padua.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not welcome. I\\r\\n reckon this always, that a man is never undone till he be hang\\'d,\\r\\n nor never welcome to a place till some certain shot be paid, and\\r\\n the hostess say \\'Welcome!\\'\\r\\n SPEED. Come on, you madcap; I\\'ll to the alehouse with you\\r\\n presently; where, for one shot of five pence, thou shalt have\\r\\n five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part with\\r\\n Madam Julia?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Marry, after they clos\\'d in earnest, they parted very\\r\\n fairly in jest.\\r\\n SPEED. But shall she marry him?\\r\\n LAUNCE. No.\\r\\n SPEED. How then? Shall he marry her?\\r\\n LAUNCE. No, neither.\\r\\n SPEED. What, are they broken?\\r\\n LAUNCE. No, they are both as whole as a fish.\\r\\n SPEED. Why then, how stands the matter with them?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Marry, thus: when it stands well with him, it stands well\\r\\n with her.\\r\\n SPEED. What an ass art thou! I understand thee not.\\r\\n LAUNCE. What a block art thou that thou canst not! My staff\\r\\n understands me.\\r\\n SPEED. What thou say\\'st?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Ay, and what I do too; look thee, I\\'ll but lean, and my\\r\\n staff understands me.\\r\\n SPEED. It stands under thee, indeed.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one.\\r\\n SPEED. But tell me true, will\\'t be a match?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Ask my dog. If he say ay, it will; if he say no, it will;\\r\\n if he shake his tail and say nothing, it will.\\r\\n SPEED. The conclusion is, then, that it will.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but by a\\r\\n parable.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how say\\'st thou\\r\\n that my master is become a notable lover?\\r\\n LAUNCE. I never knew him otherwise.\\r\\n SPEED. Than how?\\r\\n LAUNCE. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistak\\'st me.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, fool, I meant not thee, I meant thy master.\\r\\n SPEED. I tell thee my master is become a hot lover.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, I tell thee I care not though he burn himself in love.\\r\\n If thou wilt, go with me to the alehouse; if not, thou art an\\r\\n Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian.\\r\\n SPEED. Why?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Because thou hast not so much charity in thee as to go to\\r\\n the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go?\\r\\n SPEED. At thy service. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Milan. The DUKE\\'s palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn;\\r\\n To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn;\\r\\n To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn;\\r\\n And ev\\'n that pow\\'r which gave me first my oath\\r\\n Provokes me to this threefold perjury:\\r\\n Love bade me swear, and Love bids me forswear.\\r\\n O sweet-suggesting Love, if thou hast sinn\\'d,\\r\\n Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it!\\r\\n At first I did adore a twinkling star,\\r\\n But now I worship a celestial sun.\\r\\n Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken;\\r\\n And he wants wit that wants resolved will\\r\\n To learn his wit t\\' exchange the bad for better.\\r\\n Fie, fie, unreverend tongue, to call her bad\\r\\n Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr\\'d\\r\\n With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths!\\r\\n I cannot leave to love, and yet I do;\\r\\n But there I leave to love where I should love.\\r\\n Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose;\\r\\n If I keep them, I needs must lose myself;\\r\\n If I lose them, thus find I by their loss:\\r\\n For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia.\\r\\n I to myself am dearer than a friend;\\r\\n For love is still most precious in itself;\\r\\n And Silvia- witness heaven, that made her fair!-\\r\\n Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.\\r\\n I will forget that Julia is alive,\\r\\n Rememb\\'ring that my love to her is dead;\\r\\n And Valentine I\\'ll hold an enemy,\\r\\n Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend.\\r\\n I cannot now prove constant to myself\\r\\n Without some treachery us\\'d to Valentine.\\r\\n This night he meaneth with a corded ladder\\r\\n To climb celestial Silvia\\'s chamber window,\\r\\n Myself in counsel, his competitor.\\r\\n Now presently I\\'ll give her father notice\\r\\n Of their disguising and pretended flight,\\r\\n Who, all enrag\\'d, will banish Valentine,\\r\\n For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter;\\r\\n But, Valentine being gone, I\\'ll quickly cross\\r\\n By some sly trick blunt Thurio\\'s dull proceeding.\\r\\n Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift,\\r\\n As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. Verona. JULIA\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter JULIA and LUCETTA\\r\\n\\r\\n JULIA. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me;\\r\\n And, ev\\'n in kind love, I do conjure thee,\\r\\n Who art the table wherein all my thoughts\\r\\n Are visibly character\\'d and engrav\\'d,\\r\\n To lesson me and tell me some good mean\\r\\n How, with my honour, I may undertake\\r\\n A journey to my loving Proteus.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Alas, the way is wearisome and long!\\r\\n JULIA. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary\\r\\n To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps;\\r\\n Much less shall she that hath Love\\'s wings to fly,\\r\\n And when the flight is made to one so dear,\\r\\n Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Better forbear till Proteus make return.\\r\\n JULIA. O, know\\'st thou not his looks are my soul\\'s food?\\r\\n Pity the dearth that I have pined in\\r\\n By longing for that food so long a time.\\r\\n Didst thou but know the inly touch of love.\\r\\n Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow\\r\\n As seek to quench the fire of love with words.\\r\\n LUCETTA. I do not seek to quench your love\\'s hot fire,\\r\\n But qualify the fire\\'s extreme rage,\\r\\n Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.\\r\\n JULIA. The more thou dam\\'st it up, the more it burns.\\r\\n The current that with gentle murmur glides,\\r\\n Thou know\\'st, being stopp\\'d, impatiently doth rage;\\r\\n But when his fair course is not hindered,\\r\\n He makes sweet music with th\\' enamell\\'d stones,\\r\\n Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge\\r\\n He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;\\r\\n And so by many winding nooks he strays,\\r\\n With willing sport, to the wild ocean.\\r\\n Then let me go, and hinder not my course.\\r\\n I\\'ll be as patient as a gentle stream,\\r\\n And make a pastime of each weary step,\\r\\n Till the last step have brought me to my love;\\r\\n And there I\\'ll rest as, after much turmoil,\\r\\n A blessed soul doth in Elysium.\\r\\n LUCETTA. But in what habit will you go along?\\r\\n JULIA. Not like a woman, for I would prevent\\r\\n The loose encounters of lascivious men;\\r\\n Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds\\r\\n As may beseem some well-reputed page.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Why then, your ladyship must cut your hair.\\r\\n JULIA. No, girl; I\\'ll knit it up in silken strings\\r\\n With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots-\\r\\n To be fantastic may become a youth\\r\\n Of greater time than I shall show to be.\\r\\n LUCETTA. What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches?\\r\\n JULIA. That fits as well as \\'Tell me, good my lord,\\r\\n What compass will you wear your farthingale.\\'\\r\\n Why ev\\'n what fashion thou best likes, Lucetta.\\r\\n LUCETTA. You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam.\\r\\n JULIA. Out, out, Lucetta, that will be ill-favour\\'d.\\r\\n LUCETTA. A round hose, madam, now\\'s not worth a pin,\\r\\n Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on.\\r\\n JULIA. Lucetta, as thou lov\\'st me, let me have\\r\\n What thou think\\'st meet, and is most mannerly.\\r\\n But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me\\r\\n For undertaking so unstaid a journey?\\r\\n I fear me it will make me scandaliz\\'d.\\r\\n LUCETTA. If you think so, then stay at home and go not.\\r\\n JULIA. Nay, that I will not.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Then never dream on infamy, but go.\\r\\n If Proteus like your journey when you come,\\r\\n No matter who\\'s displeas\\'d when you are gone.\\r\\n I fear me he will scarce be pleas\\'d withal.\\r\\n JULIA. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear:\\r\\n A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears,\\r\\n And instances of infinite of love,\\r\\n Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.\\r\\n LUCETTA. All these are servants to deceitful men.\\r\\n JULIA. Base men that use them to so base effect!\\r\\n But truer stars did govern Proteus\\' birth;\\r\\n His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles,\\r\\n His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate,\\r\\n His tears pure messengers sent from his heart,\\r\\n His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Pray heav\\'n he prove so when you come to him.\\r\\n JULIA. Now, as thou lov\\'st me, do him not that wrong\\r\\n To bear a hard opinion of his truth;\\r\\n Only deserve my love by loving him.\\r\\n And presently go with me to my chamber,\\r\\n To take a note of what I stand in need of\\r\\n To furnish me upon my longing journey.\\r\\n All that is mine I leave at thy dispose,\\r\\n My goods, my lands, my reputation;\\r\\n Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence.\\r\\n Come, answer not, but to it presently;\\r\\n I am impatient of my tarriance. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile;\\r\\n We have some secrets to confer about. Exit THURIO\\r\\n Now tell me, Proteus, what\\'s your will with me?\\r\\n PROTEUS. My gracious lord, that which I would discover\\r\\n The law of friendship bids me to conceal;\\r\\n But, when I call to mind your gracious favours\\r\\n Done to me, undeserving as I am,\\r\\n My duty pricks me on to utter that\\r\\n Which else no worldly good should draw from me.\\r\\n Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend,\\r\\n This night intends to steal away your daughter;\\r\\n Myself am one made privy to the plot.\\r\\n I know you have determin\\'d to bestow her\\r\\n On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;\\r\\n And should she thus be stol\\'n away from you,\\r\\n It would be much vexation to your age.\\r\\n Thus, for my duty\\'s sake, I rather chose\\r\\n To cross my friend in his intended drift\\r\\n Than, by concealing it, heap on your head\\r\\n A pack of sorrows which would press you down,\\r\\n Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.\\r\\n DUKE. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care,\\r\\n Which to requite, command me while I live.\\r\\n This love of theirs myself have often seen,\\r\\n Haply when they have judg\\'d me fast asleep,\\r\\n And oftentimes have purpos\\'d to forbid\\r\\n Sir Valentine her company and my court;\\r\\n But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err\\r\\n And so, unworthily, disgrace the man,\\r\\n A rashness that I ever yet have shunn\\'d,\\r\\n I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find\\r\\n That which thyself hast now disclos\\'d to me.\\r\\n And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this,\\r\\n Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,\\r\\n I nightly lodge her in an upper tow\\'r,\\r\\n The key whereof myself have ever kept;\\r\\n And thence she cannot be convey\\'d away.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Know, noble lord, they have devis\\'d a mean\\r\\n How he her chamber window will ascend\\r\\n And with a corded ladder fetch her down;\\r\\n For which the youthful lover now is gone,\\r\\n And this way comes he with it presently;\\r\\n Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.\\r\\n But, good my lord, do it so cunningly\\r\\n That my discovery be not aimed at;\\r\\n For love of you, not hate unto my friend,\\r\\n Hath made me publisher of this pretence.\\r\\n DUKE. Upon mine honour, he shall never know\\r\\n That I had any light from thee of this.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Adieu, my lord; Sir Valentine is coming. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter VALENTINE\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Please it your Grace, there is a messenger\\r\\n That stays to bear my letters to my friends,\\r\\n And I am going to deliver them.\\r\\n DUKE. Be they of much import?\\r\\n VALENTINE. The tenour of them doth but signify\\r\\n My health and happy being at your court.\\r\\n DUKE. Nay then, no matter; stay with me awhile;\\r\\n I am to break with thee of some affairs\\r\\n That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret.\\r\\n \\'Tis not unknown to thee that I have sought\\r\\n To match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the match\\r\\n Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman\\r\\n Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities\\r\\n Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter.\\r\\n Cannot your grace win her to fancy him?\\r\\n DUKE. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward,\\r\\n Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty;\\r\\n Neither regarding that she is my child\\r\\n Nor fearing me as if I were her father;\\r\\n And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers,\\r\\n Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her;\\r\\n And, where I thought the remnant of mine age\\r\\n Should have been cherish\\'d by her childlike duty,\\r\\n I now am full resolv\\'d to take a wife\\r\\n And turn her out to who will take her in.\\r\\n Then let her beauty be her wedding-dow\\'r;\\r\\n For me and my possessions she esteems not.\\r\\n VALENTINE. What would your Grace have me to do in this?\\r\\n DUKE. There is a lady, in Verona here,\\r\\n Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy,\\r\\n And nought esteems my aged eloquence.\\r\\n Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor-\\r\\n For long agone I have forgot to court;\\r\\n Besides, the fashion of the time is chang\\'d-\\r\\n How and which way I may bestow myself\\r\\n To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words:\\r\\n Dumb jewels often in their silent kind\\r\\n More than quick words do move a woman\\'s mind.\\r\\n DUKE. But she did scorn a present that I sent her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. A woman sometime scorns what best contents her.\\r\\n Send her another; never give her o\\'er,\\r\\n For scorn at first makes after-love the more.\\r\\n If she do frown, \\'tis not in hate of you,\\r\\n But rather to beget more love in you;\\r\\n If she do chide, \\'tis not to have you gone,\\r\\n For why, the fools are mad if left alone.\\r\\n Take no repulse, whatever she doth say;\\r\\n For \\'Get you gone\\' she doth not mean \\'Away!\\'\\r\\n Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces;\\r\\n Though ne\\'er so black, say they have angels\\' faces.\\r\\n That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man,\\r\\n If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.\\r\\n DUKE. But she I mean is promis\\'d by her friends\\r\\n Unto a youthful gentleman of worth;\\r\\n And kept severely from resort of men,\\r\\n That no man hath access by day to her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why then I would resort to her by night.\\r\\n DUKE. Ay, but the doors be lock\\'d and keys kept safe,\\r\\n That no man hath recourse to her by night.\\r\\n VALENTINE. What lets but one may enter at her window?\\r\\n DUKE. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground,\\r\\n And built so shelving that one cannot climb it\\r\\n Without apparent hazard of his life.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why then a ladder, quaintly made of cords,\\r\\n To cast up with a pair of anchoring hooks,\\r\\n Would serve to scale another Hero\\'s tow\\'r,\\r\\n So bold Leander would adventure it.\\r\\n DUKE. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood,\\r\\n Advise me where I may have such a ladder.\\r\\n VALENTINE. When would you use it? Pray, sir, tell me that.\\r\\n DUKE. This very night; for Love is like a child,\\r\\n That longs for everything that he can come by.\\r\\n VALENTINE. By seven o\\'clock I\\'ll get you such a ladder.\\r\\n DUKE. But, hark thee; I will go to her alone;\\r\\n How shall I best convey the ladder thither?\\r\\n VALENTINE. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it\\r\\n Under a cloak that is of any length.\\r\\n DUKE. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Then let me see thy cloak.\\r\\n I\\'ll get me one of such another length.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?\\r\\n I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.\\r\\n What letter is this same? What\\'s here? \\'To Silvia\\'!\\r\\n And here an engine fit for my proceeding!\\r\\n I\\'ll be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads]\\r\\n \\'My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly,\\r\\n And slaves they are to me, that send them flying.\\r\\n O, could their master come and go as lightly,\\r\\n Himself would lodge where, senseless, they are lying!\\r\\n My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them,\\r\\n While I, their king, that thither them importune,\\r\\n Do curse the grace that with such grace hath blest them,\\r\\n Because myself do want my servants\\' fortune.\\r\\n I curse myself, for they are sent by me,\\r\\n That they should harbour where their lord should be.\\'\\r\\n What\\'s here?\\r\\n \\'Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee.\\'\\r\\n \\'Tis so; and here\\'s the ladder for the purpose.\\r\\n Why, Phaethon- for thou art Merops\\' son-\\r\\n Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car,\\r\\n And with thy daring folly burn the world?\\r\\n Wilt thou reach stars because they shine on thee?\\r\\n Go, base intruder, over-weening slave,\\r\\n Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates;\\r\\n And think my patience, more than thy desert,\\r\\n Is privilege for thy departure hence.\\r\\n Thank me for this more than for all the favours\\r\\n Which, all too much, I have bestow\\'d on thee.\\r\\n But if thou linger in my territories\\r\\n Longer than swiftest expedition\\r\\n Will give thee time to leave our royal court,\\r\\n By heaven! my wrath shall far exceed the love\\r\\n I ever bore my daughter or thyself.\\r\\n Be gone; I will not hear thy vain excuse,\\r\\n But, as thou lov\\'st thy life, make speed from hence. Exit\\r\\n VALENTINE. And why not death rather than living torment?\\r\\n To die is to be banish\\'d from myself,\\r\\n And Silvia is myself; banish\\'d from her\\r\\n Is self from self, a deadly banishment.\\r\\n What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?\\r\\n What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by?\\r\\n Unless it be to think that she is by,\\r\\n And feed upon the shadow of perfection.\\r\\n Except I be by Silvia in the night,\\r\\n There is no music in the nightingale;\\r\\n Unless I look on Silvia in the day,\\r\\n There is no day for me to look upon.\\r\\n She is my essence, and I leave to be\\r\\n If I be not by her fair influence\\r\\n Foster\\'d, illumin\\'d, cherish\\'d, kept alive.\\r\\n I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom:\\r\\n Tarry I here, I but attend on death;\\r\\n But fly I hence, I fly away from life.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Run, boy, run, run, seek him out.\\r\\n LAUNCE. So-ho, so-ho!\\r\\n PROTEUS. What seest thou?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Him we go to find: there\\'s not a hair on \\'s head but \\'tis a\\r\\n Valentine.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Valentine?\\r\\n VALENTINE. No.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Who then? his spirit?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Neither.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What then?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Nothing.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Who wouldst thou strike?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Nothing.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Villain, forbear.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, sir, I\\'ll strike nothing. I pray you-\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, a word.\\r\\n VALENTINE. My ears are stopp\\'d and cannot hear good news,\\r\\n So much of bad already hath possess\\'d them.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine,\\r\\n For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Is Silvia dead?\\r\\n PROTEUS. No, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia.\\r\\n Hath she forsworn me?\\r\\n PROTEUS. No, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me.\\r\\n What is your news?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished.\\r\\n PROTEUS. That thou art banished- O, that\\'s the news!-\\r\\n From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend.\\r\\n VALENTINE. O, I have fed upon this woe already,\\r\\n And now excess of it will make me surfeit.\\r\\n Doth Silvia know that I am banished?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ay, ay; and she hath offered to the doom-\\r\\n Which, unrevers\\'d, stands in effectual force-\\r\\n A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears;\\r\\n Those at her father\\'s churlish feet she tender\\'d;\\r\\n With them, upon her knees, her humble self,\\r\\n Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them\\r\\n As if but now they waxed pale for woe.\\r\\n But neither bended knees, pure hands held up,\\r\\n Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears,\\r\\n Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire-\\r\\n But Valentine, if he be ta\\'en, must die.\\r\\n Besides, her intercession chaf\\'d him so,\\r\\n When she for thy repeal was suppliant,\\r\\n That to close prison he commanded her,\\r\\n With many bitter threats of biding there.\\r\\n VALENTINE. No more; unless the next word that thou speak\\'st\\r\\n Have some malignant power upon my life:\\r\\n If so, I pray thee breathe it in mine ear,\\r\\n As ending anthem of my endless dolour.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help,\\r\\n And study help for that which thou lament\\'st.\\r\\n Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.\\r\\n Here if thou stay thou canst not see thy love;\\r\\n Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life.\\r\\n Hope is a lover\\'s staff; walk hence with that,\\r\\n And manage it against despairing thoughts.\\r\\n Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence,\\r\\n Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver\\'d\\r\\n Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love.\\r\\n The time now serves not to expostulate.\\r\\n Come, I\\'ll convey thee through the city gate;\\r\\n And, ere I part with thee, confer at large\\r\\n Of all that may concern thy love affairs.\\r\\n As thou lov\\'st Silvia, though not for thyself,\\r\\n Regard thy danger, and along with me.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy,\\r\\n Bid him make haste and meet me at the Northgate.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. O my dear Silvia! Hapless Valentine!\\r\\n Exeunt VALENTINE and PROTEUS\\r\\n LAUNCE. I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have the wit to think\\r\\n my master is a kind of a knave; but that\\'s all one if he be but\\r\\n one knave. He lives not now that knows me to be in love; yet I am\\r\\n in love; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me; nor\\r\\n who \\'tis I love; and yet \\'tis a woman; but what woman I will not\\r\\n tell myself; and yet \\'tis a milkmaid; yet \\'tis not a maid, for\\r\\n she hath had gossips; yet \\'tis a maid, for she is her master\\'s\\r\\n maid and serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a\\r\\n water-spaniel- which is much in a bare Christian. Here is the\\r\\n cate-log [Pulling out a paper] of her condition. \\'Inprimis: She\\r\\n can fetch and carry.\\' Why, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse\\r\\n cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore is she better than a\\r\\n jade. \\'Item: She can milk.\\' Look you, a sweet virtue in a maid\\r\\n with clean hands.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n SPEED. How now, Signior Launce! What news with your mastership?\\r\\n LAUNCE. With my master\\'s ship? Why, it is at sea.\\r\\n SPEED. Well, your old vice still: mistake the word. What news,\\r\\n then, in your paper?\\r\\n LAUNCE. The black\\'st news that ever thou heard\\'st.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, man? how black?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, as black as ink.\\r\\n SPEED. Let me read them.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Fie on thee, jolt-head; thou canst not read.\\r\\n SPEED. Thou liest; I can.\\r\\n LAUNCE. I will try thee. Tell me this: Who begot thee?\\r\\n SPEED. Marry, the son of my grandfather.\\r\\n LAUNCE. O illiterate loiterer. It was the son of thy grandmother.\\r\\n This proves that thou canst not read.\\r\\n SPEED. Come, fool, come; try me in thy paper.\\r\\n LAUNCE. [Handing over the paper] There; and Saint Nicholas be thy\\r\\n speed.\\r\\n SPEED. [Reads] \\'Inprimis: She can milk.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Ay, that she can.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She brews good ale.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. And thereof comes the proverb: Blessing of your heart, you\\r\\n brew good ale.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She can sew.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. That\\'s as much as to say \\'Can she so?\\'\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She can knit.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when she can\\r\\n knit him a stock.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She can wash and scour.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. A special virtue; for then she need not be wash\\'d and\\r\\n scour\\'d.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She can spin.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can spin for\\r\\n her living.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath many nameless virtues.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. That\\'s as much as to say \\'bastard virtues\\'; that indeed\\r\\n know not their fathers, and therefore have no names.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Here follow her vices.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Close at the heels of her virtues.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is not to be kiss\\'d fasting, in respect of her\\r\\n breath.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast.\\r\\n Read on.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath a sweet mouth.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. That makes amends for her sour breath.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She doth talk in her sleep.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. It\\'s no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is slow in words.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. O villain, that set this down among her vices! To be slow\\r\\n in words is a woman\\'s only virtue. I pray thee, out with\\'t; and\\r\\n place it for her chief virtue.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is proud.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Out with that too; it was Eve\\'s legacy, and cannot be ta\\'en\\r\\n from her.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath no teeth.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. I care not for that neither, because I love crusts.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is curst.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She will often praise her liquor.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. If her liquor be good, she shall; if she will not, I will;\\r\\n for good things should be praised.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is too liberal.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Of her tongue she cannot, for that\\'s writ down she is slow\\r\\n of; of her purse she shall not, for that I\\'ll keep shut. Now of\\r\\n another thing she may, and that cannot I help. Well, proceed.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath more hair than wit, and more faults\\r\\n than hairs, and more wealth than faults.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Stop there; I\\'ll have her; she was mine, and not mine,\\r\\n twice or thrice in that last article. Rehearse that once more.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath more hair than wit\\'-\\r\\n LAUNCE. More hair than wit. It may be; I\\'ll prove it: the cover of\\r\\n the salt hides the salt, and therefore it is more than the salt;\\r\\n the hair that covers the wit is more than the wit, for the\\r\\n greater hides the less. What\\'s next?\\r\\n SPEED. \\'And more faults than hairs\\'-\\r\\n LAUNCE. That\\'s monstrous. O that that were out!\\r\\n SPEED. \\'And more wealth than faults.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well, I\\'ll have\\r\\n her; an if it be a match, as nothing is impossible-\\r\\n SPEED. What then?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, then will I tell thee- that thy master stays for thee\\r\\n at the Northgate.\\r\\n SPEED. For me?\\r\\n LAUNCE. For thee! ay, who art thou? He hath stay\\'d for a better man\\r\\n than thee.\\r\\n SPEED. And must I go to him?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Thou must run to him, for thou hast stay\\'d so long that\\r\\n going will scarce serve the turn.\\r\\n SPEED. Why didst not tell me sooner? Pox of your love letters!\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n LAUNCE. Now will he be swing\\'d for reading my letter. An unmannerly\\r\\n slave that will thrust himself into secrets! I\\'ll after, to\\r\\n rejoice in the boy\\'s correction. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE and THURIO\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you\\r\\n Now Valentine is banish\\'d from her sight.\\r\\n THURIO. Since his exile she hath despis\\'d me most,\\r\\n Forsworn my company and rail\\'d at me,\\r\\n That I am desperate of obtaining her.\\r\\n DUKE. This weak impress of love is as a figure\\r\\n Trenched in ice, which with an hour\\'s heat\\r\\n Dissolves to water and doth lose his form.\\r\\n A little time will melt her frozen thoughts,\\r\\n And worthless Valentine shall be forgot.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, Sir Proteus! Is your countryman,\\r\\n According to our proclamation, gone?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Gone, my good lord.\\r\\n DUKE. My daughter takes his going grievously.\\r\\n PROTEUS. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief.\\r\\n DUKE. So I believe; but Thurio thinks not so.\\r\\n Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee-\\r\\n For thou hast shown some sign of good desert-\\r\\n Makes me the better to confer with thee.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Longer than I prove loyal to your Grace\\r\\n Let me not live to look upon your Grace.\\r\\n DUKE. Thou know\\'st how willingly I would effect\\r\\n The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter.\\r\\n PROTEUS. I do, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant\\r\\n How she opposes her against my will.\\r\\n PROTEUS. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here.\\r\\n DUKE. Ay, and perversely she persevers so.\\r\\n What might we do to make the girl forget\\r\\n The love of Valentine, and love Sir Thurio?\\r\\n PROTEUS. The best way is to slander Valentine\\r\\n With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent-\\r\\n Three things that women highly hold in hate.\\r\\n DUKE. Ay, but she\\'ll think that it is spoke in hate.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ay, if his enemy deliver it;\\r\\n Therefore it must with circumstance be spoken\\r\\n By one whom she esteemeth as his friend.\\r\\n DUKE. Then you must undertake to slander him.\\r\\n PROTEUS. And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do:\\r\\n \\'Tis an ill office for a gentleman,\\r\\n Especially against his very friend.\\r\\n DUKE. Where your good word cannot advantage him,\\r\\n Your slander never can endamage him;\\r\\n Therefore the office is indifferent,\\r\\n Being entreated to it by your friend.\\r\\n PROTEUS. You have prevail\\'d, my lord; if I can do it\\r\\n By aught that I can speak in his dispraise,\\r\\n She shall not long continue love to him.\\r\\n But say this weed her love from Valentine,\\r\\n It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio.\\r\\n THURIO. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him,\\r\\n Lest it should ravel and be good to none,\\r\\n You must provide to bottom it on me;\\r\\n Which must be done by praising me as much\\r\\n As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine.\\r\\n DUKE. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind,\\r\\n Because we know, on Valentine\\'s report,\\r\\n You are already Love\\'s firm votary\\r\\n And cannot soon revolt and change your mind.\\r\\n Upon this warrant shall you have access\\r\\n Where you with Silvia may confer at large-\\r\\n For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy,\\r\\n And, for your friend\\'s sake, will be glad of you-\\r\\n Where you may temper her by your persuasion\\r\\n To hate young Valentine and love my friend.\\r\\n PROTEUS. As much as I can do I will effect.\\r\\n But you, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough;\\r\\n You must lay lime to tangle her desires\\r\\n By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes\\r\\n Should be full-fraught with serviceable vows.\\r\\n DUKE. Ay,\\r\\n Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Say that upon the altar of her beauty\\r\\n You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart;\\r\\n Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears\\r\\n Moist it again, and frame some feeling line\\r\\n That may discover such integrity;\\r\\n For Orpheus\\' lute was strung with poets\\' sinews,\\r\\n Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,\\r\\n Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans\\r\\n Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.\\r\\n After your dire-lamenting elegies,\\r\\n Visit by night your lady\\'s chamber window\\r\\n With some sweet consort; to their instruments\\r\\n Tune a deploring dump- the night\\'s dead silence\\r\\n Will well become such sweet-complaining grievance.\\r\\n This, or else nothing, will inherit her.\\r\\n DUKE. This discipline shows thou hast been in love.\\r\\n THURIO. And thy advice this night I\\'ll put in practice;\\r\\n Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver,\\r\\n Let us into the city presently\\r\\n To sort some gentlemen well skill\\'d in music.\\r\\n I have a sonnet that will serve the turn\\r\\n To give the onset to thy good advice.\\r\\n DUKE. About it, gentlemen!\\r\\n PROTEUS. We\\'ll wait upon your Grace till after supper,\\r\\n And afterward determine our proceedings.\\r\\n DUKE. Even now about it! I will pardon you. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I. The frontiers of Mantua. A forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter certain OUTLAWS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Fellows, stand fast; I see a passenger.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter VALENTINE and SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about ye;\\r\\n If not, we\\'ll make you sit, and rifle you.\\r\\n SPEED. Sir, we are undone; these are the villains\\r\\n That all the travellers do fear so much.\\r\\n VALENTINE. My friends-\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. That\\'s not so, sir; we are your enemies.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Peace! we\\'ll hear him.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. Ay, by my beard, will we; for he is a proper man.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Then know that I have little wealth to lose;\\r\\n A man I am cross\\'d with adversity;\\r\\n My riches are these poor habiliments,\\r\\n Of which if you should here disfurnish me,\\r\\n You take the sum and substance that I have.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Whither travel you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. To Verona.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Whence came you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. From Milan.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. Have you long sojourn\\'d there?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Some sixteen months, and longer might have stay\\'d,\\r\\n If crooked fortune had not thwarted me.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. What, were you banish\\'d thence?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I was.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. For what offence?\\r\\n VALENTINE. For that which now torments me to rehearse:\\r\\n I kill\\'d a man, whose death I much repent;\\r\\n But yet I slew him manfully in fight,\\r\\n Without false vantage or base treachery.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Why, ne\\'er repent it, if it were done so.\\r\\n But were you banish\\'d for so small a fault?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I was, and held me glad of such a doom.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Have you the tongues?\\r\\n VALENTINE. My youthful travel therein made me happy,\\r\\n Or else I often had been miserable.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood\\'s fat friar,\\r\\n This fellow were a king for our wild faction!\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. We\\'ll have him. Sirs, a word.\\r\\n SPEED. Master, be one of them; it\\'s an honourable kind of thievery.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Peace, villain!\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Tell us this: have you anything to take to?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Nothing but my fortune.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. Know, then, that some of us are gentlemen,\\r\\n Such as the fury of ungovern\\'d youth\\r\\n Thrust from the company of awful men;\\r\\n Myself was from Verona banished\\r\\n For practising to steal away a lady,\\r\\n An heir, and near allied unto the Duke.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman\\r\\n Who, in my mood, I stabb\\'d unto the heart.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. And I for such-like petty crimes as these.\\r\\n But to the purpose- for we cite our faults\\r\\n That they may hold excus\\'d our lawless lives;\\r\\n And, partly, seeing you are beautified\\r\\n With goodly shape, and by your own report\\r\\n A linguist, and a man of such perfection\\r\\n As we do in our quality much want-\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Indeed, because you are a banish\\'d man,\\r\\n Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you.\\r\\n Are you content to be our general-\\r\\n To make a virtue of necessity,\\r\\n And live as we do in this wilderness?\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. What say\\'st thou? Wilt thou be of our consort?\\r\\n Say \\'ay\\' and be the captain of us all.\\r\\n We\\'ll do thee homage, and be rul\\'d by thee,\\r\\n Love thee as our commander and our king.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. But if thou scorn our courtesy thou diest.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offer\\'d.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I take your offer, and will live with you,\\r\\n Provided that you do no outrages\\r\\n On silly women or poor passengers.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. No, we detest such vile base practices.\\r\\n Come, go with us; we\\'ll bring thee to our crews,\\r\\n And show thee all the treasure we have got;\\r\\n Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Milan. Outside the DUKE\\'S palace, under SILVIA\\'S window\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Already have I been false to Valentine,\\r\\n And now I must be as unjust to Thurio.\\r\\n Under the colour of commending him\\r\\n I have access my own love to prefer;\\r\\n But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy,\\r\\n To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.\\r\\n When I protest true loyalty to her,\\r\\n She twits me with my falsehood to my friend;\\r\\n When to her beauty I commend my vows,\\r\\n She bids me think how I have been forsworn\\r\\n In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov\\'d;\\r\\n And notwithstanding all her sudden quips,\\r\\n The least whereof would quell a lover\\'s hope,\\r\\n Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love\\r\\n The more it grows and fawneth on her still.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter THURIO and MUSICIANS\\r\\n\\r\\n But here comes Thurio. Now must we to her window,\\r\\n And give some evening music to her ear.\\r\\n THURIO. How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept before us?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ay, gentle Thurio; for you know that love\\r\\n Will creep in service where it cannot go.\\r\\n THURIO. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence.\\r\\n THURIO. Who? Silvia?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ay, Silvia- for your sake.\\r\\n THURIO. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen,\\r\\n Let\\'s tune, and to it lustily awhile.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter at a distance, HOST, and JULIA in boy\\'s clothes\\r\\n\\r\\n HOST. Now, my young guest, methinks you\\'re allycholly; I pray you,\\r\\n why is it?\\r\\n JULIA. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry.\\r\\n HOST. Come, we\\'ll have you merry; I\\'ll bring you where you shall\\r\\n hear music, and see the gentleman that you ask\\'d for.\\r\\n JULIA. But shall I hear him speak?\\r\\n HOST. Ay, that you shall. [Music plays]\\r\\n JULIA. That will be music.\\r\\n HOST. Hark, hark!\\r\\n JULIA. Is he among these?\\r\\n HOST. Ay; but peace! let\\'s hear \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\n SONG\\r\\n Who is Silvia? What is she,\\r\\n That all our swains commend her?\\r\\n Holy, fair, and wise is she;\\r\\n The heaven such grace did lend her,\\r\\n That she might admired be.\\r\\n\\r\\n Is she kind as she is fair?\\r\\n For beauty lives with kindness.\\r\\n Love doth to her eyes repair,\\r\\n To help him of his blindness;\\r\\n And, being help\\'d, inhabits there.\\r\\n\\r\\n Then to Silvia let us sing\\r\\n That Silvia is excelling;\\r\\n She excels each mortal thing\\r\\n Upon the dull earth dwelling.\\r\\n \\'To her let us garlands bring.\\r\\n\\r\\n HOST. How now, are you sadder than you were before?\\r\\n How do you, man? The music likes you not.\\r\\n JULIA. You mistake; the musician likes me not.\\r\\n HOST. Why, my pretty youth?\\r\\n JULIA. He plays false, father.\\r\\n HOST. How, out of tune on the strings?\\r\\n JULIA. Not so; but yet so false that he grieves my very\\r\\n heart-strings.\\r\\n HOST. You have a quick ear.\\r\\n JULIA. Ay, I would I were deaf; it makes me have a slow heart.\\r\\n HOST. I perceive you delight not in music.\\r\\n JULIA. Not a whit, when it jars so.\\r\\n HOST. Hark, what fine change is in the music!\\r\\n JULIA. Ay, that change is the spite.\\r\\n HOST. You would have them always play but one thing?\\r\\n JULIA. I would always have one play but one thing.\\r\\n But, Host, doth this Sir Proteus, that we talk on,\\r\\n Often resort unto this gentlewoman?\\r\\n HOST. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me: he lov\\'d her out of\\r\\n all nick.\\r\\n JULIA. Where is Launce?\\r\\n HOST. Gone to seek his dog, which to-morrow, by his master\\'s\\r\\n command, he must carry for a present to his lady.\\r\\n JULIA. Peace, stand aside; the company parts.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sir Thurio, fear not you; I will so plead\\r\\n That you shall say my cunning drift excels.\\r\\n THURIO. Where meet we?\\r\\n PROTEUS. At Saint Gregory\\'s well.\\r\\n THURIO. Farewell. Exeunt THURIO and MUSICIANS\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA above, at her window\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Madam, good ev\\'n to your ladyship.\\r\\n SILVIA. I thank you for your music, gentlemen.\\r\\n Who is that that spake?\\r\\n PROTEUS. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart\\'s truth,\\r\\n You would quickly learn to know him by his voice.\\r\\n SILVIA. Sir Proteus, as I take it.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant.\\r\\n SILVIA. What\\'s your will?\\r\\n PROTEUS. That I may compass yours.\\r\\n SILVIA. You have your wish; my will is even this,\\r\\n That presently you hie you home to bed.\\r\\n Thou subtle, perjur\\'d, false, disloyal man,\\r\\n Think\\'st thou I am so shallow, so conceitless,\\r\\n To be seduced by thy flattery\\r\\n That hast deceiv\\'d so many with thy vows?\\r\\n Return, return, and make thy love amends.\\r\\n For me, by this pale queen of night I swear,\\r\\n I am so far from granting thy request\\r\\n That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit,\\r\\n And by and by intend to chide myself\\r\\n Even for this time I spend in talking to thee.\\r\\n PROTEUS. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady;\\r\\n But she is dead.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] \\'Twere false, if I should speak it;\\r\\n For I am sure she is not buried.\\r\\n SILVIA. Say that she be; yet Valentine, thy friend,\\r\\n Survives, to whom, thyself art witness,\\r\\n I am betroth\\'d; and art thou not asham\\'d\\r\\n To wrong him with thy importunacy?\\r\\n PROTEUS. I likewise hear that Valentine is dead.\\r\\n SILVIA. And so suppose am I; for in his grave\\r\\n Assure thyself my love is buried.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth.\\r\\n SILVIA. Go to thy lady\\'s grave, and call hers thence;\\r\\n Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] He heard not that.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate,\\r\\n Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love,\\r\\n The picture that is hanging in your chamber;\\r\\n To that I\\'ll speak, to that I\\'ll sigh and weep;\\r\\n For, since the substance of your perfect self\\r\\n Is else devoted, I am but a shadow;\\r\\n And to your shadow will I make true love.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] If \\'twere a substance, you would, sure, deceive it\\r\\n And make it but a shadow, as I am.\\r\\n SILVIA. I am very loath to be your idol, sir;\\r\\n But since your falsehood shall become you well\\r\\n To worship shadows and adore false shapes,\\r\\n Send to me in the morning, and I\\'ll send it;\\r\\n And so, good rest.\\r\\n PROTEUS. As wretches have o\\'ernight\\r\\n That wait for execution in the morn.\\r\\n Exeunt PROTEUS and SILVIA\\r\\n JULIA. Host, will you go?\\r\\n HOST. By my halidom, I was fast asleep.\\r\\n JULIA. Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus?\\r\\n HOST. Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think \\'tis almost day.\\r\\n JULIA. Not so; but it hath been the longest night\\r\\n That e\\'er I watch\\'d, and the most heaviest. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Under SILVIA\\'S window\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter EGLAMOUR\\r\\n\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. This is the hour that Madam Silvia\\r\\n Entreated me to call and know her mind;\\r\\n There\\'s some great matter she\\'d employ me in.\\r\\n Madam, madam!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA above, at her window\\r\\n\\r\\n SILVIA. Who calls?\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. Your servant and your friend;\\r\\n One that attends your ladyship\\'s command.\\r\\n SILVIA. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow!\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. As many, worthy lady, to yourself!\\r\\n According to your ladyship\\'s impose,\\r\\n I am thus early come to know what service\\r\\n It is your pleasure to command me in.\\r\\n SILVIA. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman-\\r\\n Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not-\\r\\n Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplish\\'d.\\r\\n Thou art not ignorant what dear good will\\r\\n I bear unto the banish\\'d Valentine;\\r\\n Nor how my father would enforce me marry\\r\\n Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhors.\\r\\n Thyself hast lov\\'d; and I have heard thee say\\r\\n No grief did ever come so near thy heart\\r\\n As when thy lady and thy true love died,\\r\\n Upon whose grave thou vow\\'dst pure chastity.\\r\\n Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine,\\r\\n To Mantua, where I hear he makes abode;\\r\\n And, for the ways are dangerous to pass,\\r\\n I do desire thy worthy company,\\r\\n Upon whose faith and honour I repose.\\r\\n Urge not my father\\'s anger, Eglamour,\\r\\n But think upon my grief, a lady\\'s grief,\\r\\n And on the justice of my flying hence\\r\\n To keep me from a most unholy match,\\r\\n Which heaven and fortune still rewards with plagues.\\r\\n I do desire thee, even from a heart\\r\\n As full of sorrows as the sea of sands,\\r\\n To bear me company and go with me;\\r\\n If not, to hide what I have said to thee,\\r\\n That I may venture to depart alone.\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. Madam, I pity much your grievances;\\r\\n Which since I know they virtuously are plac\\'d,\\r\\n I give consent to go along with you,\\r\\n Recking as little what betideth me\\r\\n As much I wish all good befortune you.\\r\\n When will you go?\\r\\n SILVIA. This evening coming.\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. Where shall I meet you?\\r\\n SILVIA. At Friar Patrick\\'s cell,\\r\\n Where I intend holy confession.\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. I will not fail your ladyship. Good morrow, gentle lady.\\r\\n SILVIA. Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Under SILVIA\\'S Window\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter LAUNCE with his dog\\r\\n\\r\\n LAUNCE. When a man\\'s servant shall play the cur with him, look you,\\r\\n it goes hard- one that I brought up of a puppy; one that I sav\\'d from\\r\\n drowning, when three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went\\r\\n to it. I have taught him, even as one would say precisely \\'Thus I\\r\\n would teach a dog.\\' I was sent to deliver him as a present to\\r\\n Mistress Silvia from my master; and I came no sooner into the\\r\\n dining-chamber, but he steps me to her trencher and steals her\\r\\n capon\\'s leg. O, \\'tis a foul thing when a cur cannot keep himself in\\r\\n all companies! I would have, as one should say, one that takes upon\\r\\n him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all things. If I\\r\\n had not had more wit than he, to take a fault upon me that he did, I\\r\\n think verily he had been hang\\'d for\\'t; sure as I live, he had\\r\\n suffer\\'d for\\'t. You shall judge. He thrusts me himself into the\\r\\n company of three or four gentleman-like dogs under the Duke\\'s table;\\r\\n he had not been there, bless the mark, a pissing while but all the\\r\\n chamber smelt him. \\'Out with the dog\\' says one; \\'What cur is that?\\'\\r\\n says another; \\'Whip him out\\' says the third; \\'Hang him up\\' says the\\r\\n Duke. I, having been acquainted with the smell before, knew it was\\r\\n Crab, and goes me to the fellow that whips the dogs. \\'Friend,\\' quoth\\r\\n I \\'you mean to whip the dog.\\' \\'Ay, marry do I\\' quoth he. \\'You do him\\r\\n the more wrong,\\' quoth I; \"twas I did the thing you wot of.\\' He makes\\r\\n me no more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. How many masters\\r\\n would do this for his servant? Nay, I\\'ll be sworn, I have sat in the\\r\\n stock for puddings he hath stol\\'n, otherwise he had been executed; I\\r\\n have stood on the pillory for geese he hath kill\\'d, otherwise he had\\r\\n suffer\\'d for\\'t. Thou think\\'st not of this now. Nay, I remember the\\r\\n trick you serv\\'d me when I took my leave of Madam Silvia. Did not I\\r\\n bid thee still mark me and do as I do? When didst thou see me heave\\r\\n up my leg and make water against a gentlewoman\\'s farthingale? Didst\\r\\n thou ever see me do such a trick?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS, and JULIA in boy\\'s clothes\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well,\\r\\n And will employ thee in some service presently.\\r\\n JULIA. In what you please; I\\'ll do what I can.\\r\\n PROTEUS..I hope thou wilt. [To LAUNCE] How now, you whoreson\\r\\n peasant!\\r\\n Where have you been these two days loitering?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia the dog you bade me.\\r\\n PROTEUS. And what says she to my little jewel?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Marry, she says your dog was a cur, and tells you currish\\r\\n thanks is good enough for such a present.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But she receiv\\'d my dog?\\r\\n LAUNCE. No, indeed, did she not; here have I brought him back\\r\\n again.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What, didst thou offer her this from me?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Ay, sir; the other squirrel was stol\\'n from me by the\\r\\n hangman\\'s boys in the market-place; and then I offer\\'d her mine\\r\\n own, who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift\\r\\n the greater.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go, get thee hence and find my dog again,\\r\\n Or ne\\'er return again into my sight.\\r\\n Away, I say. Stayest thou to vex me here? Exit LAUNCE\\r\\n A slave that still an end turns me to shame!\\r\\n Sebastian, I have entertained thee\\r\\n Partly that I have need of such a youth\\r\\n That can with some discretion do my business,\\r\\n For \\'tis no trusting to yond foolish lout,\\r\\n But chiefly for thy face and thy behaviour,\\r\\n Which, if my augury deceive me not,\\r\\n Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth;\\r\\n Therefore, know thou, for this I entertain thee.\\r\\n Go presently, and take this ring with thee,\\r\\n Deliver it to Madam Silvia-\\r\\n She lov\\'d me well deliver\\'d it to me.\\r\\n JULIA. It seems you lov\\'d not her, to leave her token.\\r\\n She is dead, belike?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Not so; I think she lives.\\r\\n JULIA. Alas!\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why dost thou cry \\'Alas\\'?\\r\\n JULIA. I cannot choose\\r\\n But pity her.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Wherefore shouldst thou pity her?\\r\\n JULIA. Because methinks that she lov\\'d you as well\\r\\n As you do love your lady Silvia.\\r\\n She dreams on him that has forgot her love:\\r\\n You dote on her that cares not for your love.\\r\\n \\'Tis pity love should be so contrary;\\r\\n And thinking on it makes me cry \\'Alas!\\'\\r\\n PROTEUS. Well, give her that ring, and therewithal\\r\\n This letter. That\\'s her chamber. Tell my lady\\r\\n I claim the promise for her heavenly picture.\\r\\n Your message done, hie home unto my chamber,\\r\\n Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary. Exit PROTEUS\\r\\n JULIA. How many women would do such a message?\\r\\n Alas, poor Proteus, thou hast entertain\\'d\\r\\n A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs.\\r\\n Alas, poor fool, why do I pity him\\r\\n That with his very heart despiseth me?\\r\\n Because he loves her, he despiseth me;\\r\\n Because I love him, I must pity him.\\r\\n This ring I gave him, when he parted from me,\\r\\n To bind him to remember my good will;\\r\\n And now am I, unhappy messenger,\\r\\n To plead for that which I would not obtain,\\r\\n To carry that which I would have refus\\'d,\\r\\n To praise his faith, which I would have disprais\\'d.\\r\\n I am my master\\'s true confirmed love,\\r\\n But cannot be true servant to my master\\r\\n Unless I prove false traitor to myself.\\r\\n Yet will I woo for him, but yet so coldly\\r\\n As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA, attended\\r\\n\\r\\n Gentlewoman, good day! I pray you be my mean\\r\\n To bring me where to speak with Madam Silvia.\\r\\n SILVIA. What would you with her, if that I be she?\\r\\n JULIA. If you be she, I do entreat your patience\\r\\n To hear me speak the message I am sent on.\\r\\n SILVIA. From whom?\\r\\n JULIA. From my master, Sir Proteus, madam.\\r\\n SILVIA. O, he sends you for a picture?\\r\\n JULIA. Ay, madam.\\r\\n SILVIA. Ursula, bring my picture there.\\r\\n Go, give your master this. Tell him from me,\\r\\n One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget,\\r\\n Would better fit his chamber than this shadow.\\r\\n JULIA. Madam, please you peruse this letter.\\r\\n Pardon me, madam; I have unadvis\\'d\\r\\n Deliver\\'d you a paper that I should not.\\r\\n This is the letter to your ladyship.\\r\\n SILVIA. I pray thee let me look on that again.\\r\\n JULIA. It may not be; good madam, pardon me.\\r\\n SILVIA. There, hold!\\r\\n I will not look upon your master\\'s lines.\\r\\n I know they are stuff\\'d with protestations,\\r\\n And full of new-found oaths, which he wul break\\r\\n As easily as I do tear his paper.\\r\\n JULIA. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring.\\r\\n SILVIA. The more shame for him that he sends it me;\\r\\n For I have heard him say a thousand times\\r\\n His Julia gave it him at his departure.\\r\\n Though his false finger have profan\\'d the ring,\\r\\n Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong.\\r\\n JULIA. She thanks you.\\r\\n SILVIA. What say\\'st thou?\\r\\n JULIA. I thank you, madam, that you tender her.\\r\\n Poor gentlewoman, my master wrongs her much.\\r\\n SILVIA. Dost thou know her?\\r\\n JULIA. Almost as well as I do know myself.\\r\\n To think upon her woes, I do protest\\r\\n That I have wept a hundred several times.\\r\\n SILVIA. Belike she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her.\\r\\n JULIA. I think she doth, and that\\'s her cause of sorrow.\\r\\n SILVIA. Is she not passing fair?\\r\\n JULIA. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is.\\r\\n When she did think my master lov\\'d her well,\\r\\n She, in my judgment, was as fair as you;\\r\\n But since she did neglect her looking-glass\\r\\n And threw her sun-expelling mask away,\\r\\n The air hath starv\\'d the roses in her cheeks\\r\\n And pinch\\'d the lily-tincture of her face,\\r\\n That now she is become as black as I.\\r\\n SILVIA. How tall was she?\\r\\n JULIA. About my stature; for at Pentecost,\\r\\n When all our pageants of delight were play\\'d,\\r\\n Our youth got me to play the woman\\'s part,\\r\\n And I was trimm\\'d in Madam Julia\\'s gown;\\r\\n Which served me as fit, by all men\\'s judgments,\\r\\n As if the garment had been made for me;\\r\\n Therefore I know she is about my height.\\r\\n And at that time I made her weep a good,\\r\\n For I did play a lamentable part.\\r\\n Madam, \\'twas Ariadne passioning\\r\\n For Theseus\\' perjury and unjust flight;\\r\\n Which I so lively acted with my tears\\r\\n That my poor mistress, moved therewithal,\\r\\n Wept bitterly; and would I might be dead\\r\\n If I in thought felt not her very sorrow.\\r\\n SILVIA. She is beholding to thee, gentle youth.\\r\\n Alas, poor lady, desolate and left!\\r\\n I weep myself, to think upon thy words.\\r\\n Here, youth, there is my purse; I give thee this\\r\\n For thy sweet mistress\\' sake, because thou lov\\'st her.\\r\\n Farewell. Exit SILVIA with ATTENDANTS\\r\\n JULIA. And she shall thank you for\\'t, if e\\'er you know her.\\r\\n A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful!\\r\\n I hope my master\\'s suit will be but cold,\\r\\n Since she respects my mistress\\' love so much.\\r\\n Alas, how love can trifle with itself!\\r\\n Here is her picture; let me see. I think,\\r\\n If I had such a tire, this face of mine\\r\\n Were full as lovely as is this of hers;\\r\\n And yet the painter flatter\\'d her a little,\\r\\n Unless I flatter with myself too much.\\r\\n Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow;\\r\\n If that be all the difference in his love,\\r\\n I\\'ll get me such a colour\\'d periwig.\\r\\n Her eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine;\\r\\n Ay, but her forehead\\'s low, and mine\\'s as high.\\r\\n What should it be that he respects in her\\r\\n But I can make respective in myself,\\r\\n If this fond Love were not a blinded god?\\r\\n Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up,\\r\\n For \\'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form,\\r\\n Thou shalt be worshipp\\'d, kiss\\'d, lov\\'d, and ador\\'d!\\r\\n And were there sense in his idolatry\\r\\n My substance should be statue in thy stead.\\r\\n I\\'ll use thee kindly for thy mistress\\' sake,\\r\\n That us\\'d me so; or else, by Jove I vow,\\r\\n I should have scratch\\'d out your unseeing eyes,\\r\\n To make my master out of love with thee. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. Milan. An abbey\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter EGLAMOUR\\r\\n\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. The sun begins to gild the western sky,\\r\\n And now it is about the very hour\\r\\n That Silvia at Friar Patrick\\'s cell should meet me.\\r\\n She will not fail, for lovers break not hours\\r\\n Unless it be to come before their time,\\r\\n So much they spur their expedition.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA\\r\\n\\r\\n See where she comes. Lady, a happy evening!\\r\\n SILVIA. Amen, amen! Go on, good Eglamour,\\r\\n Out at the postern by the abbey wall;\\r\\n I fear I am attended by some spies.\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. Fear not. The forest is not three leagues off;\\r\\n If we recover that, we are sure enough. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter THURIO, PROTEUS, and JULIA as SEBASTIAN\\r\\n\\r\\n THURIO. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit?\\r\\n PROTEUS. O, sir, I find her milder than she was;\\r\\n And yet she takes exceptions at your person.\\r\\n THURIO. What, that my leg is too long?\\r\\n PROTEUS. No; that it is too little.\\r\\n THURIO. I\\'ll wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] But love will not be spurr\\'d to what it loathes.\\r\\n THURIO. What says she to my face?\\r\\n PROTEUS. She says it is a fair one.\\r\\n THURIO. Nay, then, the wanton lies; my face is black.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But pearls are fair; and the old saying is:\\r\\n Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies\\' eyes.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] \\'Tis true, such pearls as put out ladies\\' eyes;\\r\\n For I had rather wink than look on them.\\r\\n THURIO. How likes she my discourse?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ill, when you talk of war.\\r\\n THURIO. But well when I discourse of love and peace?\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] But better, indeed, when you hold your peace.\\r\\n THURIO. What says she to my valour?\\r\\n PROTEUS. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] She needs not, when she knows it cowardice.\\r\\n THURIO. What says she to my birth?\\r\\n PROTEUS. That you are well deriv\\'d.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] True; from a gentleman to a fool.\\r\\n THURIO. Considers she my possessions?\\r\\n PROTEUS. O, ay; and pities them.\\r\\n THURIO. Wherefore?\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] That such an ass should owe them.\\r\\n PROTEUS. That they are out by lease.\\r\\n JULIA. Here comes the Duke.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUKE\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. How now, Sir Proteus! how now, Thurio!\\r\\n Which of you saw Sir Eglamour of late?\\r\\n THURIO. Not I.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Nor I.\\r\\n DUKE. Saw you my daughter?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Neither.\\r\\n DUKE. Why then,\\r\\n She\\'s fled unto that peasant Valentine;\\r\\n And Eglamour is in her company.\\r\\n \\'Tis true; for Friar Lawrence met them both\\r\\n As he in penance wander\\'d through the forest;\\r\\n Him he knew well, and guess\\'d that it was she,\\r\\n But, being mask\\'d, he was not sure of it;\\r\\n Besides, she did intend confession\\r\\n At Patrick\\'s cell this even; and there she was not.\\r\\n These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence;\\r\\n Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse,\\r\\n But mount you presently, and meet with me\\r\\n Upon the rising of the mountain foot\\r\\n That leads toward Mantua, whither they are fled.\\r\\n Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. Exit\\r\\n THURIO. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl\\r\\n That flies her fortune when it follows her.\\r\\n I\\'ll after, more to be reveng\\'d on Eglamour\\r\\n Than for the love of reckless Silvia. Exit\\r\\n PROTEUS. And I will follow, more for Silvia\\'s love\\r\\n Than hate of Eglamour, that goes with her. Exit\\r\\n JULIA. And I will follow, more to cross that love\\r\\n Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The frontiers of Mantua. The forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter OUTLAWS with SILVA\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Come, come.\\r\\n Be patient; we must bring you to our captain.\\r\\n SILVIA. A thousand more mischances than this one\\r\\n Have learn\\'d me how to brook this patiently.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Come, bring her away.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Where is the gentleman that was with her?\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Being nimble-footed, he hath outrun us,\\r\\n But Moyses and Valerius follow him.\\r\\n Go thou with her to the west end of the wood;\\r\\n There is our captain; we\\'ll follow him that\\'s fled.\\r\\n The thicket is beset; he cannot \\'scape.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Come, I must bring you to our captain\\'s cave;\\r\\n Fear not; he bears an honourable mind,\\r\\n And will not use a woman lawlessly.\\r\\n SILVIA. O Valentine, this I endure for thee! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Another part of the forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter VALENTINE\\r\\n\\r\\n VALENTINE. How use doth breed a habit in a man!\\r\\n This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,\\r\\n I better brook than flourishing peopled towns.\\r\\n Here can I sit alone, unseen of any,\\r\\n And to the nightingale\\'s complaining notes\\r\\n Tune my distresses and record my woes.\\r\\n O thou that dost inhabit in my breast,\\r\\n Leave not the mansion so long tenantless,\\r\\n Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall\\r\\n And leave no memory of what it was!\\r\\n Repair me with thy presence, Silvia:\\r\\n Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain.\\r\\n What halloing and what stir is this to-day?\\r\\n These are my mates, that make their wills their law,\\r\\n Have some unhappy passenger in chase.\\r\\n They love me well; yet I have much to do\\r\\n To keep them from uncivil outrages.\\r\\n Withdraw thee, Valentine. Who\\'s this comes here?\\r\\n [Steps aside]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS, SILVIA, and JULIA as Sebastian\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Madam, this service I have done for you,\\r\\n Though you respect not aught your servant doth,\\r\\n To hazard life, and rescue you from him\\r\\n That would have forc\\'d your honour and your love.\\r\\n Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look;\\r\\n A smaller boon than this I cannot beg,\\r\\n And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give.\\r\\n VALENTINE. [Aside] How like a dream is this I see and hear!\\r\\n Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile.\\r\\n SILVIA. O miserable, unhappy that I am!\\r\\n PROTEUS. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came;\\r\\n But by my coming I have made you happy.\\r\\n SILVIA. By thy approach thou mak\\'st me most unhappy.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] And me, when he approacheth to your presence.\\r\\n SILVIA. Had I been seized by a hungry lion,\\r\\n I would have been a breakfast to the beast\\r\\n Rather than have false Proteus rescue me.\\r\\n O, heaven be judge how I love Valentine,\\r\\n Whose life\\'s as tender to me as my soul!\\r\\n And full as much, for more there cannot be,\\r\\n I do detest false, perjur\\'d Proteus.\\r\\n Therefore be gone; solicit me no more.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What dangerous action, stood it next to death,\\r\\n Would I not undergo for one calm look?\\r\\n O, \\'tis the curse in love, and still approv\\'d,\\r\\n When women cannot love where they\\'re belov\\'d!\\r\\n SILVIA. When Proteus cannot love where he\\'s belov\\'d!\\r\\n Read over Julia\\'s heart, thy first best love,\\r\\n For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith\\r\\n Into a thousand oaths; and all those oaths\\r\\n Descended into perjury, to love me.\\r\\n Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou\\'dst two,\\r\\n And that\\'s far worse than none; better have none\\r\\n Than plural faith, which is too much by one.\\r\\n Thou counterfeit to thy true friend!\\r\\n PROTEUS. In love,\\r\\n Who respects friend?\\r\\n SILVIA. All men but Proteus.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words\\r\\n Can no way change you to a milder form,\\r\\n I\\'ll woo you like a soldier, at arms\\' end,\\r\\n And love you \\'gainst the nature of love- force ye.\\r\\n SILVIA. O heaven!\\r\\n PROTEUS. I\\'ll force thee yield to my desire.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ruffian! let go that rude uncivil touch;\\r\\n Thou friend of an ill fashion!\\r\\n PROTEUS. Valentine!\\r\\n VALENTINE. Thou common friend, that\\'s without faith or love-\\r\\n For such is a friend now; treacherous man,\\r\\n Thou hast beguil\\'d my hopes; nought but mine eye\\r\\n Could have persuaded me. Now I dare not say\\r\\n I have one friend alive: thou wouldst disprove me.\\r\\n Who should be trusted, when one\\'s own right hand\\r\\n Is perjured to the bosom? Proteus,\\r\\n I am sorry I must never trust thee more,\\r\\n But count the world a stranger for thy sake.\\r\\n The private wound is deepest. O time most accurst!\\r\\n \\'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst!\\r\\n PROTEUS. My shame and guilt confounds me.\\r\\n Forgive me, Valentine; if hearty sorrow\\r\\n Be a sufficient ransom for offence,\\r\\n I tender \\'t here; I do as truly suffer\\r\\n As e\\'er I did commit.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Then I am paid;\\r\\n And once again I do receive thee honest.\\r\\n Who by repentance is not satisfied\\r\\n Is nor of heaven nor earth, for these are pleas\\'d;\\r\\n By penitence th\\' Eternal\\'s wrath\\'s appeas\\'d.\\r\\n And, that my love may appear plain and free,\\r\\n All that was mine in Silvia I give thee.\\r\\n JULIA. O me unhappy! [Swoons]\\r\\n PROTEUS. Look to the boy.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, boy! why, wag! how now!\\r\\n What\\'s the matter? Look up; speak.\\r\\n JULIA. O good sir, my master charg\\'d me to deliver a ring to Madam\\r\\n Silvia, which, out of my neglect, was never done.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Where is that ring, boy?\\r\\n JULIA. Here \\'tis; this is it.\\r\\n PROTEUS. How! let me see. Why, this is the ring I gave to Julia.\\r\\n JULIA. O, cry you mercy, sir, I have mistook;\\r\\n This is the ring you sent to Silvia.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But how cam\\'st thou by this ring?\\r\\n At my depart I gave this unto Julia.\\r\\n JULIA. And Julia herself did give it me;\\r\\n And Julia herself have brought it hither.\\r\\n PROTEUS. How! Julia!\\r\\n JULIA. Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths,\\r\\n And entertain\\'d \\'em deeply in her heart.\\r\\n How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root!\\r\\n O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush!\\r\\n Be thou asham\\'d that I have took upon me\\r\\n Such an immodest raiment- if shame live\\r\\n In a disguise of love.\\r\\n It is the lesser blot, modesty finds,\\r\\n Women to change their shapes than men their minds.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Than men their minds! \\'tis true. O heaven, were man\\r\\n But constant, he were perfect! That one error\\r\\n Fills him with faults; makes him run through all th\\' sins:\\r\\n Inconstancy falls off ere it begins.\\r\\n What is in Silvia\\'s face but I may spy\\r\\n More fresh in Julia\\'s with a constant eye?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Come, come, a hand from either.\\r\\n Let me be blest to make this happy close;\\r\\n \\'Twere pity two such friends should be long foes.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish for ever.\\r\\n JULIA. And I mine.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter OUTLAWS, with DUKE and THURIO\\r\\n\\r\\n OUTLAW. A prize, a prize, a prize!\\r\\n VALENTINE. Forbear, forbear, I say; it is my lord the Duke.\\r\\n Your Grace is welcome to a man disgrac\\'d,\\r\\n Banished Valentine.\\r\\n DUKE. Sir Valentine!\\r\\n THURIO. Yonder is Silvia; and Silvia\\'s mine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death;\\r\\n Come not within the measure of my wrath;\\r\\n Do not name Silvia thine; if once again,\\r\\n Verona shall not hold thee. Here she stands\\r\\n Take but possession of her with a touch-\\r\\n I dare thee but to breathe upon my love.\\r\\n THURIO. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I;\\r\\n I hold him but a fool that will endanger\\r\\n His body for a girl that loves him not.\\r\\n I claim her not, and therefore she is thine.\\r\\n DUKE. The more degenerate and base art thou\\r\\n To make such means for her as thou hast done\\r\\n And leave her on such slight conditions.\\r\\n Now, by the honour of my ancestry,\\r\\n I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine,\\r\\n And think thee worthy of an empress\\' love.\\r\\n Know then, I here forget all former griefs,\\r\\n Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again,\\r\\n Plead a new state in thy unrivall\\'d merit,\\r\\n To which I thus subscribe: Sir Valentine,\\r\\n Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv\\'d;\\r\\n Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv\\'d her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I thank your Grace; the gift hath made me happy.\\r\\n I now beseech you, for your daughter\\'s sake,\\r\\n To grant one boon that I shall ask of you.\\r\\n DUKE. I grant it for thine own, whate\\'er it be.\\r\\n VALENTINE. These banish\\'d men, that I have kept withal,\\r\\n Are men endu\\'d with worthy qualities;\\r\\n Forgive them what they have committed here,\\r\\n And let them be recall\\'d from their exile:\\r\\n They are reformed, civil, full of good,\\r\\n And fit for great employment, worthy lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Thou hast prevail\\'d; I pardon them, and thee;\\r\\n Dispose of them as thou know\\'st their deserts.\\r\\n Come, let us go; we will include all jars\\r\\n With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity.\\r\\n VALENTINE. And, as we walk along, I dare be bold\\r\\n With our discourse to make your Grace to smile.\\r\\n What think you of this page, my lord?\\r\\n DUKE. I think the boy hath grace in him; he blushes.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I warrant you, my lord- more grace than boy.\\r\\n DUKE. What mean you by that saying?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Please you, I\\'ll tell you as we pass along,\\r\\n That you will wonder what hath fortuned.\\r\\n Come, Proteus, \\'tis your penance but to hear\\r\\n The story of your loves discovered.\\r\\n That done, our day of marriage shall be yours;\\r\\n One feast, one house, one mutual happiness! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN:\\r\\n\\r\\nPresented at the Blackfriers by the Kings Maiesties servants, with\\r\\ngreat applause:\\r\\n\\r\\nWritten by the memorable Worthies of their time;\\r\\n\\r\\nMr John Fletcher, Gent., and\\r\\nMr William Shakspeare, Gent.\\r\\n\\r\\nPrinted at London by Tho. Cotes, for John Waterson: and are to be sold\\r\\nat the signe of the Crowne in Pauls Church-yard. 1634.\\r\\n\\r\\n(The Persons represented in the Play.\\r\\n\\r\\nHymen,\\r\\nTheseus,\\r\\nHippolita, Bride to Theseus\\r\\nEmelia, Sister to Theseus\\r\\n[Emelia\\'s Woman],\\r\\nNymphs,\\r\\nThree Queens,\\r\\nThree valiant Knights,\\r\\nPalamon, and\\r\\nArcite, The two Noble Kinsmen, in love with fair Emelia\\r\\n[Valerius],\\r\\nPerithous,\\r\\n[A Herald],\\r\\n[A Gentleman],\\r\\n[A Messenger],\\r\\n[A Servant],\\r\\n[Wooer],\\r\\n[Keeper],\\r\\nJaylor,\\r\\nHis Daughter, in love with Palamon\\r\\n[His brother],\\r\\n[A Doctor],\\r\\n[4] Countreymen,\\r\\n[2 Friends of the Jaylor],\\r\\n[3 Knights],\\r\\n[Nel, and other]\\r\\nWenches,\\r\\nA Taborer,\\r\\nGerrold, A Schoolmaster.)\\r\\n\\r\\nPROLOGUE.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\nNew Playes, and Maydenheads, are neare a kin,\\r\\nMuch follow\\'d both, for both much mony g\\'yn,\\r\\nIf they stand sound, and well: And a good Play\\r\\n(Whose modest Sceanes blush on his marriage day,\\r\\nAnd shake to loose his honour) is like hir\\r\\nThat after holy Tye and first nights stir\\r\\nYet still is Modestie, and still retaines\\r\\nMore of the maid to sight, than Husbands paines;\\r\\nWe pray our Play may be so; For I am sure\\r\\nIt has a noble Breeder, and a pure,\\r\\nA learned, and a Poet never went\\r\\nMore famous yet twixt Po and silver Trent:\\r\\nChaucer (of all admir\\'d) the Story gives,\\r\\nThere constant to Eternity it lives.\\r\\nIf we let fall the Noblenesse of this,\\r\\nAnd the first sound this child heare, be a hisse,\\r\\nHow will it shake the bones of that good man,\\r\\nAnd make him cry from under ground, \\'O fan\\r\\nFrom me the witles chaffe of such a wrighter\\r\\nThat blastes my Bayes, and my fam\\'d workes makes lighter\\r\\nThen Robin Hood!\\' This is the feare we bring;\\r\\nFor to say Truth, it were an endlesse thing,\\r\\nAnd too ambitious, to aspire to him,\\r\\nWeake as we are, and almost breathlesse swim\\r\\nIn this deepe water. Do but you hold out\\r\\nYour helping hands, and we shall take about,\\r\\nAnd something doe to save us: You shall heare\\r\\nSceanes, though below his Art, may yet appeare\\r\\nWorth two houres travell. To his bones sweet sleepe:\\r\\nContent to you. If this play doe not keepe\\r\\nA little dull time from us, we perceave\\r\\nOur losses fall so thicke, we must needs leave. [Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (Athens. Before a temple.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Hymen with a Torch burning: a Boy, in a white Robe before\\r\\n singing, and strewing Flowres: After Hymen, a Nimph, encompast\\r\\nin\\r\\n her Tresses, bearing a wheaten Garland. Then Theseus betweene\\r\\n two other Nimphs with wheaten Chaplets on their heades. Then\\r\\n Hipolita the Bride, lead by Pirithous, and another holding a\\r\\n Garland over her head (her Tresses likewise hanging.) After\\r\\n her Emilia holding up her Traine. (Artesius and Attendants.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Song, [Musike.]\\r\\n\\r\\nRoses their sharpe spines being gon,\\r\\nNot royall in their smels alone,\\r\\nBut in their hew.\\r\\nMaiden Pinckes, of odour faint,\\r\\nDazies smel-lesse, yet most quaint\\r\\nAnd sweet Time true.\\r\\n\\r\\nPrim-rose first borne child of Ver,\\r\\nMerry Spring times Herbinger,\\r\\nWith her bels dimme.\\r\\nOxlips, in their Cradles growing,\\r\\nMary-golds, on death beds blowing,\\r\\nLarkes-heeles trymme.\\r\\n\\r\\nAll deere natures children sweete,\\r\\nLy fore Bride and Bridegroomes feete, [Strew Flowers.]\\r\\nBlessing their sence.\\r\\nNot an angle of the aire,\\r\\nBird melodious, or bird faire,\\r\\nIs absent hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Crow, the slaundrous Cuckoe, nor\\r\\nThe boding Raven, nor Chough hore\\r\\nNor chattring Pie,\\r\\nMay on our Bridehouse pearch or sing,\\r\\nOr with them any discord bring,\\r\\nBut from it fly.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter 3. Queenes in Blacke, with vailes staind, with imperiall\\r\\n Crownes. The 1. Queene fals downe at the foote of Theseus; The\\r\\n 2. fals downe at the foote of Hypolita. The 3. before Emilia.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nFor pitties sake and true gentilities,\\r\\nHeare, and respect me.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nFor your Mothers sake,\\r\\nAnd as you wish your womb may thrive with faire ones,\\r\\nHeare and respect me.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN\\r\\nNow for the love of him whom Iove hath markd\\r\\nThe honour of your Bed, and for the sake\\r\\nOf cleere virginity, be Advocate\\r\\nFor us, and our distresses. This good deede\\r\\nShall raze you out o\\'th Booke of Trespasses\\r\\nAll you are set downe there.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSad Lady, rise.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nStand up.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNo knees to me.\\r\\nWhat woman I may steed that is distrest,\\r\\nDoes bind me to her.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat\\'s your request? Deliver you for all.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nWe are 3. Queenes, whose Soveraignes fel before\\r\\nThe wrath of cruell Creon; who endured\\r\\nThe Beakes of Ravens, Tallents of the Kights,\\r\\nAnd pecks of Crowes, in the fowle feilds of Thebs.\\r\\nHe will not suffer us to burne their bones,\\r\\nTo urne their ashes, nor to take th\\' offence\\r\\nOf mortall loathsomenes from the blest eye\\r\\nOf holy Phoebus, but infects the windes\\r\\nWith stench of our slaine Lords. O pitty, Duke:\\r\\nThou purger of the earth, draw thy feard Sword\\r\\nThat does good turnes to\\'th world; give us the Bones\\r\\nOf our dead Kings, that we may Chappell them;\\r\\nAnd of thy boundles goodnes take some note\\r\\nThat for our crowned heades we have no roofe,\\r\\nSave this which is the Lyons, and the Beares,\\r\\nAnd vault to every thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nPray you, kneele not:\\r\\nI was transported with your Speech, and suffer\\'d\\r\\nYour knees to wrong themselves; I have heard the fortunes\\r\\nOf your dead Lords, which gives me such lamenting\\r\\nAs wakes my vengeance, and revenge for\\'em,\\r\\nKing Capaneus was your Lord: the day\\r\\nThat he should marry you, at such a season,\\r\\nAs now it is with me, I met your Groome,\\r\\nBy Marsis Altar; you were that time faire,\\r\\nNot Iunos Mantle fairer then your Tresses,\\r\\nNor in more bounty spread her. Your wheaten wreathe\\r\\nWas then nor threashd, nor blasted; Fortune at you\\r\\nDimpled her Cheeke with smiles: Hercules our kinesman\\r\\n(Then weaker than your eies) laide by his Club,\\r\\nHe tumbled downe upon his Nemean hide\\r\\nAnd swore his sinews thawd: O greife, and time,\\r\\nFearefull consumers, you will all devoure.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nO, I hope some God,\\r\\nSome God hath put his mercy in your manhood\\r\\nWhereto heel infuse powre, and presse you forth\\r\\nOur undertaker.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nO no knees, none, Widdow,\\r\\nVnto the Helmeted Belona use them,\\r\\nAnd pray for me your Souldier.\\r\\nTroubled I am. [turnes away.]\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nHonoured Hypolita,\\r\\nMost dreaded Amazonian, that hast slaine\\r\\nThe Sith-tuskd Bore; that with thy Arme as strong\\r\\nAs it is white, wast neere to make the male\\r\\nTo thy Sex captive, but that this thy Lord,\\r\\nBorne to uphold Creation in that honour\\r\\nFirst nature stilde it in, shrunke thee into\\r\\nThe bownd thou wast ore-flowing, at once subduing\\r\\nThy force, and thy affection: Soldiresse\\r\\nThat equally canst poize sternenes with pitty,\\r\\nWhom now I know hast much more power on him\\r\\nThen ever he had on thee, who ow\\'st his strength\\r\\nAnd his Love too, who is a Servant for\\r\\nThe Tenour of thy Speech: Deere Glasse of Ladies,\\r\\nBid him that we, whom flaming war doth scortch,\\r\\nVnder the shaddow of his Sword may coole us:\\r\\nRequire him he advance it ore our heades;\\r\\nSpeak\\'t in a womans key: like such a woman\\r\\nAs any of us three; weepe ere you faile;\\r\\nLend us a knee;\\r\\nBut touch the ground for us no longer time\\r\\nThen a Doves motion, when the head\\'s pluckt off:\\r\\nTell him if he i\\'th blood cizd field lay swolne,\\r\\nShowing the Sun his Teeth, grinning at the Moone,\\r\\nWhat you would doe.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nPoore Lady, say no more:\\r\\nI had as leife trace this good action with you\\r\\nAs that whereto I am going, and never yet\\r\\nWent I so willing way. My Lord is taken\\r\\nHart deepe with your distresse: Let him consider:\\r\\nIle speake anon.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nO my petition was [kneele to Emilia.]\\r\\nSet downe in yce, which by hot greefe uncandied\\r\\nMelts into drops, so sorrow, wanting forme,\\r\\nIs prest with deeper matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPray stand up,\\r\\nYour greefe is written in your cheeke.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nO woe,\\r\\nYou cannot reade it there, there through my teares—\\r\\nLike wrinckled peobles in a glassie streame\\r\\nYou may behold \\'em. Lady, Lady, alacke,\\r\\nHe that will all the Treasure know o\\'th earth\\r\\nMust know the Center too; he that will fish\\r\\nFor my least minnow, let him lead his line\\r\\nTo catch one at my heart. O pardon me:\\r\\nExtremity, that sharpens sundry wits,\\r\\nMakes me a Foole.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPray you say nothing, pray you:\\r\\nWho cannot feele nor see the raine, being in\\'t,\\r\\nKnowes neither wet nor dry: if that you were\\r\\nThe ground-peece of some Painter, I would buy you\\r\\nT\\'instruct me gainst a Capitall greefe indeed—\\r\\nSuch heart peirc\\'d demonstration; but, alas,\\r\\nBeing a naturall Sifter of our Sex\\r\\nYour sorrow beates so ardently upon me,\\r\\nThat it shall make a counter reflect gainst\\r\\nMy Brothers heart, and warme it to some pitty,\\r\\nThough it were made of stone: pray, have good comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nForward to\\'th Temple, leave not out a Iot\\r\\nO\\'th sacred Ceremony.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nO, This Celebration\\r\\nWill long last, and be more costly then\\r\\nYour Suppliants war: Remember that your Fame\\r\\nKnowles in the eare o\\'th world: what you doe quickly\\r\\nIs not done rashly; your first thought is more\\r\\nThen others laboured meditance: your premeditating\\r\\nMore then their actions: But, oh Iove! your actions,\\r\\nSoone as they mooves, as Asprayes doe the fish,\\r\\nSubdue before they touch: thinke, deere Duke, thinke\\r\\nWhat beds our slaine Kings have.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nWhat greifes our beds,\\r\\nThat our deere Lords have none.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nNone fit for \\'th dead:\\r\\nThose that with Cordes, Knives, drams precipitance,\\r\\nWeary of this worlds light, have to themselves\\r\\nBeene deathes most horrid Agents, humaine grace\\r\\nAffords them dust and shaddow.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nBut our Lords\\r\\nLy blistring fore the visitating Sunne,\\r\\nAnd were good Kings, when living.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nIt is true, and I will give you comfort,\\r\\nTo give your dead Lords graves: the which to doe,\\r\\nMust make some worke with Creon.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nAnd that worke presents it selfe to\\'th doing:\\r\\nNow twill take forme, the heates are gone to morrow.\\r\\nThen, booteles toyle must recompence it selfe\\r\\nWith it\\'s owne sweat; Now he\\'s secure,\\r\\nNot dreames we stand before your puissance\\r\\nWrinching our holy begging in our eyes\\r\\nTo make petition cleere.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nNow you may take him, drunke with his victory.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nAnd his Army full of Bread, and sloth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nArtesius, that best knowest\\r\\nHow to draw out fit to this enterprise\\r\\nThe prim\\'st for this proceeding, and the number\\r\\nTo carry such a businesse, forth and levy\\r\\nOur worthiest Instruments, whilst we despatch\\r\\nThis grand act of our life, this daring deede\\r\\nOf Fate in wedlocke.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nDowagers, take hands;\\r\\nLet us be Widdowes to our woes: delay\\r\\nCommends us to a famishing hope.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nFarewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nWe come unseasonably: But when could greefe\\r\\nCull forth, as unpanged judgement can, fit\\'st time\\r\\nFor best solicitation.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhy, good Ladies,\\r\\nThis is a service, whereto I am going,\\r\\nGreater then any was; it more imports me\\r\\nThen all the actions that I have foregone,\\r\\nOr futurely can cope.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nThe more proclaiming\\r\\nOur suit shall be neglected: when her Armes\\r\\nAble to locke Iove from a Synod, shall\\r\\nBy warranting Moone-light corslet thee, oh, when\\r\\nHer twyning Cherries shall their sweetnes fall\\r\\nVpon thy tastefull lips, what wilt thou thinke\\r\\nOf rotten Kings or blubberd Queenes, what care\\r\\nFor what thou feelst not? what thou feelst being able\\r\\nTo make Mars spurne his Drom. O, if thou couch\\r\\nBut one night with her, every howre in\\'t will\\r\\nTake hostage of thee for a hundred, and\\r\\nThou shalt remember nothing more then what\\r\\nThat Banket bids thee too.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nThough much unlike [Kneeling.]\\r\\nYou should be so transported, as much sorry\\r\\nI should be such a Suitour; yet I thinke,\\r\\nDid I not by th\\'abstayning of my joy,\\r\\nWhich breeds a deeper longing, cure their surfeit\\r\\nThat craves a present medcine, I should plucke\\r\\nAll Ladies scandall on me. Therefore, Sir,\\r\\nAs I shall here make tryall of my prayres,\\r\\nEither presuming them to have some force,\\r\\nOr sentencing for ay their vigour dombe:\\r\\nProrogue this busines we are going about, and hang\\r\\nYour Sheild afore your Heart, about that necke\\r\\nWhich is my ffee, and which I freely lend\\r\\nTo doe these poore Queenes service.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL QUEENS.\\r\\nOh helpe now,\\r\\nOur Cause cries for your knee.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIf you grant not [Kneeling.]\\r\\nMy Sister her petition in that force,\\r\\nWith that Celerity and nature, which\\r\\nShee makes it in, from henceforth ile not dare\\r\\nTo aske you any thing, nor be so hardy\\r\\nEver to take a Husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nPray stand up.\\r\\nI am entreating of my selfe to doe\\r\\nThat which you kneele to have me. Pyrithous,\\r\\nLeade on the Bride; get you and pray the Gods\\r\\nFor successe, and returne; omit not any thing\\r\\nIn the pretended Celebration. Queenes,\\r\\nFollow your Soldier. As before, hence you [to Artesius]\\r\\nAnd at the banckes of Aulis meete us with\\r\\nThe forces you can raise, where we shall finde\\r\\nThe moytie of a number, for a busines\\r\\nMore bigger look\\'t. Since that our Theame is haste,\\r\\nI stamp this kisse upon thy currant lippe;\\r\\nSweete, keepe it as my Token. Set you forward,\\r\\nFor I will see you gone. [Exeunt towards the Temple.]\\r\\nFarewell, my beauteous Sister: Pyrithous,\\r\\nKeepe the feast full, bate not an howre on\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nSir,\\r\\nIle follow you at heeles; The Feasts solempnity\\r\\nShall want till your returne.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nCosen, I charge you\\r\\nBoudge not from Athens; We shall be returning\\r\\nEre you can end this Feast, of which, I pray you,\\r\\nMake no abatement; once more, farewell all.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nThus do\\'st thou still make good the tongue o\\'th world.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nAnd earnst a Deity equal with Mars.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nIf not above him, for\\r\\nThou being but mortall makest affections bend\\r\\nTo Godlike honours; they themselves, some say,\\r\\nGrone under such a Mastry.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAs we are men,\\r\\nThus should we doe; being sensually subdude,\\r\\nWe loose our humane tytle. Good cheere, Ladies. [Florish.]\\r\\nNow turne we towards your Comforts. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (Thebs).\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon, and Arcite.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDeere Palamon, deerer in love then Blood\\r\\nAnd our prime Cosen, yet unhardned in\\r\\nThe Crimes of nature; Let us leave the Citty\\r\\nThebs, and the temptings in\\'t, before we further\\r\\nSully our glosse of youth:\\r\\nAnd here to keepe in abstinence we shame\\r\\nAs in Incontinence; for not to swim\\r\\nI\\'th aide o\\'th Current were almost to sincke,\\r\\nAt least to frustrate striving, and to follow\\r\\nThe common Streame, twold bring us to an Edy\\r\\nWhere we should turne or drowne; if labour through,\\r\\nOur gaine but life, and weakenes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYour advice\\r\\nIs cride up with example: what strange ruins\\r\\nSince first we went to Schoole, may we perceive\\r\\nWalking in Thebs? Skars, and bare weedes\\r\\nThe gaine o\\'th Martialist, who did propound\\r\\nTo his bold ends honour, and golden Ingots,\\r\\nWhich though he won, he had not, and now flurted\\r\\nBy peace for whom he fought: who then shall offer\\r\\nTo Marsis so scornd Altar? I doe bleede\\r\\nWhen such I meete, and wish great Iuno would\\r\\nResume her ancient fit of Ielouzie\\r\\nTo get the Soldier worke, that peace might purge\\r\\nFor her repletion, and retaine anew\\r\\nHer charitable heart now hard, and harsher\\r\\nThen strife or war could be.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nAre you not out?\\r\\nMeete you no ruine but the Soldier in\\r\\nThe Cranckes and turnes of Thebs? you did begin\\r\\nAs if you met decaies of many kindes:\\r\\nPerceive you none, that doe arowse your pitty\\r\\nBut th\\'un-considerd Soldier?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes, I pitty\\r\\nDecaies where ere I finde them, but such most\\r\\nThat, sweating in an honourable Toyle,\\r\\nAre paide with yce to coole \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTis not this\\r\\nI did begin to speake of: This is vertue\\r\\nOf no respect in Thebs; I spake of Thebs\\r\\nHow dangerous if we will keepe our Honours,\\r\\nIt is for our resyding, where every evill\\r\\nHath a good cullor; where eve\\'ry seeming good\\'s\\r\\nA certaine evill, where not to be ev\\'n Iumpe\\r\\nAs they are, here were to be strangers, and\\r\\nSuch things to be, meere Monsters.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTis in our power,\\r\\n(Vnlesse we feare that Apes can Tutor\\'s) to\\r\\nBe Masters of our manners: what neede I\\r\\nAffect anothers gate, which is not catching\\r\\nWhere there is faith, or to be fond upon\\r\\nAnothers way of speech, when by mine owne\\r\\nI may be reasonably conceiv\\'d; sav\\'d too,\\r\\nSpeaking it truly? why am I bound\\r\\nBy any generous bond to follow him\\r\\nFollowes his Taylor, haply so long untill\\r\\nThe follow\\'d make pursuit? or let me know,\\r\\nWhy mine owne Barber is unblest, with him\\r\\nMy poore Chinne too, for tis not Cizard iust\\r\\nTo such a Favorites glasse: What Cannon is there\\r\\nThat does command my Rapier from my hip\\r\\nTo dangle\\'t in my hand, or to go tip toe\\r\\nBefore the streete be foule? Either I am\\r\\nThe fore-horse in the Teame, or I am none\\r\\nThat draw i\\'th sequent trace: these poore sleight sores\\r\\nNeede not a plantin; That which rips my bosome\\r\\nAlmost to\\'th heart\\'s—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nOur Vncle Creon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHe,\\r\\nA most unbounded Tyrant, whose successes\\r\\nMakes heaven unfeard, and villany assured\\r\\nBeyond its power there\\'s nothing, almost puts\\r\\nFaith in a feavour, and deifies alone\\r\\nVoluble chance; who onely attributes\\r\\nThe faculties of other Instruments\\r\\nTo his owne Nerves and act; Commands men service,\\r\\nAnd what they winne in\\'t, boot and glory; on(e)\\r\\nThat feares not to do harm; good, dares not; Let\\r\\nThe blood of mine that\\'s sibbe to him be suckt\\r\\nFrom me with Leeches; Let them breake and fall\\r\\nOff me with that corruption.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nCleere spirited Cozen,\\r\\nLets leave his Court, that we may nothing share\\r\\nOf his lowd infamy: for our milke\\r\\nWill relish of the pasture, and we must\\r\\nBe vile or disobedient, not his kinesmen\\r\\nIn blood, unlesse in quality.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNothing truer:\\r\\nI thinke the Ecchoes of his shames have dea\\'ft\\r\\nThe eares of heav\\'nly Iustice: widdows cryes\\r\\nDescend againe into their throates, and have not\\r\\n\\r\\n[enter Valerius.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDue audience of the Gods.—Valerius!\\r\\n\\r\\nVALERIUS.\\r\\nThe King cals for you; yet be leaden footed,\\r\\nTill his great rage be off him. Phebus, when\\r\\nHe broke his whipstocke and exclaimd against\\r\\nThe Horses of the Sun, but whisperd too\\r\\nThe lowdenesse of his Fury.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nSmall windes shake him:\\r\\nBut whats the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nVALERIUS.\\r\\nTheseus (who where he threates appals,) hath sent\\r\\nDeadly defyance to him, and pronounces\\r\\nRuine to Thebs; who is at hand to seale\\r\\nThe promise of his wrath.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nLet him approach;\\r\\nBut that we feare the Gods in him, he brings not\\r\\nA jot of terrour to us; Yet what man\\r\\nThirds his owne worth (the case is each of ours)\\r\\nWhen that his actions dregd with minde assurd\\r\\nTis bad he goes about?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nLeave that unreasond.\\r\\nOur services stand now for Thebs, not Creon,\\r\\nYet to be neutrall to him were dishonour;\\r\\nRebellious to oppose: therefore we must\\r\\nWith him stand to the mercy of our Fate,\\r\\nWho hath bounded our last minute.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSo we must.\\r\\nIst sed this warres a foote? or it shall be,\\r\\nOn faile of some condition?\\r\\n\\r\\nVALERIUS.\\r\\nTis in motion\\r\\nThe intelligence of state came in the instant\\r\\nWith the defier.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nLets to the king, who, were he\\r\\nA quarter carrier of that honour which\\r\\nHis Enemy come in, the blood we venture\\r\\nShould be as for our health, which were not spent,\\r\\nRather laide out for purchase: but, alas,\\r\\nOur hands advanc\\'d before our hearts, what will\\r\\nThe fall o\\'th stroke doe damage?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nLet th\\'event,\\r\\nThat never erring Arbitratour, tell us\\r\\nWhen we know all our selves, and let us follow\\r\\nThe becking of our chance. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (Before the gates of Athens.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Pirithous, Hipolita, Emilia.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nNo further.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nSir, farewell; repeat my wishes\\r\\nTo our great Lord, of whose succes I dare not\\r\\nMake any timerous question; yet I wish him\\r\\nExces and overflow of power, and\\'t might be,\\r\\nTo dure ill-dealing fortune: speede to him,\\r\\nStore never hurtes good Gouernours.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThough I know\\r\\nHis Ocean needes not my poore drops, yet they\\r\\nMust yeild their tribute there. My precious Maide,\\r\\nThose best affections, that the heavens infuse\\r\\nIn their best temperd peices, keepe enthroand\\r\\nIn your deare heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThanckes, Sir. Remember me\\r\\nTo our all royall Brother, for whose speede\\r\\nThe great Bellona ile sollicite; and\\r\\nSince in our terrene State petitions are not\\r\\nWithout giftes understood, Ile offer to her\\r\\nWhat I shall be advised she likes: our hearts\\r\\nAre in his Army, in his Tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nIn\\'s bosome:\\r\\nWe have bin Soldiers, and wee cannot weepe\\r\\nWhen our Friends don their helmes, or put to sea,\\r\\nOr tell of Babes broachd on the Launce, or women\\r\\nThat have sod their Infants in (and after eate them)\\r\\nThe brine, they wept at killing \\'em; Then if\\r\\nYou stay to see of us such Spincsters, we\\r\\nShould hold you here for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nPeace be to you,\\r\\nAs I pursue this war, which shall be then\\r\\nBeyond further requiring. [Exit Pir.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHow his longing\\r\\nFollowes his Friend! since his depart, his sportes\\r\\nThough craving seriousnes, and skill, past slightly\\r\\nHis careles execution, where nor gaine\\r\\nMade him regard, or losse consider; but\\r\\nPlaying one busines in his hand, another\\r\\nDirecting in his head, his minde, nurse equall\\r\\nTo these so diffring Twyns—have you observ\\'d him,\\r\\nSince our great Lord departed?\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nWith much labour,\\r\\nAnd I did love him fort: they two have Cabind\\r\\nIn many as dangerous, as poore a Corner,\\r\\nPerill and want contending; they have skift\\r\\nTorrents whose roring tyranny and power\\r\\nI\\'th least of these was dreadfull, and they have\\r\\nFought out together, where Deaths-selfe was lodgd,\\r\\nYet fate hath brought them off: Their knot of love,\\r\\nTide, weau\\'d, intangled, with so true, so long,\\r\\nAnd with a finger of so deepe a cunning,\\r\\nMay be outworne, never undone. I thinke\\r\\nTheseus cannot be umpire to himselfe,\\r\\nCleaving his conscience into twaine and doing\\r\\nEach side like Iustice, which he loves best.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nDoubtlesse\\r\\nThere is a best, and reason has no manners\\r\\nTo say it is not you: I was acquainted\\r\\nOnce with a time, when I enjoyd a Play-fellow;\\r\\nYou were at wars, when she the grave enrichd,\\r\\nWho made too proud the Bed, tooke leave o th Moone\\r\\n(Which then lookt pale at parting) when our count\\r\\nWas each eleven.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nTwas Flaui(n)a.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\nYou talke of Pirithous and Theseus love;\\r\\nTheirs has more ground, is more maturely seasond,\\r\\nMore buckled with strong Iudgement and their needes\\r\\nThe one of th\\'other may be said to water [2. Hearses ready\\r\\n with Palamon: and Arcite: the 3. Queenes. Theseus: and his\\r\\n Lordes ready.]\\r\\nTheir intertangled rootes of love; but I\\r\\nAnd shee I sigh and spoke of were things innocent,\\r\\nLou\\'d for we did, and like the Elements\\r\\nThat know not what, nor why, yet doe effect\\r\\nRare issues by their operance, our soules\\r\\nDid so to one another; what she lik\\'d,\\r\\nWas then of me approov\\'d, what not, condemd,\\r\\nNo more arraignment; the flowre that I would plucke\\r\\nAnd put betweene my breasts (then but beginning\\r\\nTo swell about the blossome) oh, she would long\\r\\nTill shee had such another, and commit it\\r\\nTo the like innocent Cradle, where Phenix like\\r\\nThey dide in perfume: on my head no toy\\r\\nBut was her patterne; her affections (pretty,\\r\\nThough, happely, her careles were) I followed\\r\\nFor my most serious decking; had mine eare\\r\\nStolne some new aire, or at adventure humd on\\r\\nFrom musicall Coynadge, why it was a note\\r\\nWhereon her spirits would sojourne (rather dwell on)\\r\\nAnd sing it in her slumbers. This rehearsall\\r\\n(Which ev\\'ry innocent wots well comes in\\r\\nLike old importments bastard) has this end,\\r\\nThat the true love tweene Mayde, and mayde, may be\\r\\nMore then in sex idividuall.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nY\\'are out of breath\\r\\nAnd this high speeded pace, is but to say\\r\\nThat you shall never like the Maide Flavina\\r\\nLove any that\\'s calld Man.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI am sure I shall not.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nNow, alacke, weake Sister,\\r\\nI must no more beleeve thee in this point\\r\\n(Though in\\'t I know thou dost beleeve thy selfe,)\\r\\nThen I will trust a sickely appetite,\\r\\nThat loathes even as it longs; but, sure, my Sister,\\r\\nIf I were ripe for your perswasion, you\\r\\nHave saide enough to shake me from the Arme\\r\\nOf the all noble Theseus, for whose fortunes\\r\\nI will now in, and kneele with great assurance,\\r\\nThat we, more then his Pirothous, possesse\\r\\nThe high throne in his heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI am not\\r\\nAgainst your faith; yet I continew mine. [Exeunt. Cornets.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. (A field before Thebes. Dead bodies lying on the ground.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[A Battaile strooke within: Then a Retrait: Florish. Then\\r\\n Enter Theseus (victor), (Herald and Attendants:) the three\\r\\n Queenes meete him, and fall on their faces before him.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nTo thee no starre be darke.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nBoth heaven and earth\\r\\nFriend thee for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nAll the good that may\\r\\nBe wishd upon thy head, I cry Amen too\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nTh\\'imparciall Gods, who from the mounted heavens\\r\\nView us their mortall Heard, behold who erre,\\r\\nAnd in their time chastice: goe and finde out\\r\\nThe bones of your dead Lords, and honour them\\r\\nWith treble Ceremonie; rather then a gap\\r\\nShould be in their deere rights, we would supply\\'t.\\r\\nBut those we will depute, which shall invest\\r\\nYou in your dignities, and even each thing\\r\\nOur hast does leave imperfect: So, adiew,\\r\\nAnd heavens good eyes looke on you. What are those? [Exeunt\\r\\nQueenes.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nMen of great quality, as may be judgd\\r\\nBy their appointment; Sone of Thebs have told\\'s\\r\\nThey are Sisters children, Nephewes to the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nBy\\'th Helme of Mars, I saw them in the war,\\r\\nLike to a paire of Lions, smeard with prey,\\r\\nMake lanes in troopes agast. I fixt my note\\r\\nConstantly on them; for they were a marke\\r\\nWorth a god\\'s view: what prisoner was\\'t that told me\\r\\nWhen I enquired their names?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nWi\\'leave, they\\'r called Arcite and Palamon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nTis right: those, those. They are not dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nNor in a state of life: had they bin taken,\\r\\nWhen their last hurts were given, twas possible [3. Hearses\\r\\nready.]\\r\\nThey might have bin recovered; Yet they breathe\\r\\nAnd haue the name of men.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThen like men use \\'em.\\r\\nThe very lees of such (millions of rates)\\r\\nExceede the wine of others: all our Surgions\\r\\nConvent in their behoofe; our richest balmes\\r\\nRather then niggard, waft: their lives concerne us\\r\\nMuch more then Thebs is worth: rather then have \\'em\\r\\nFreed of this plight, and in their morning state\\r\\n(Sound and at liberty) I would \\'em dead;\\r\\nBut forty thousand fold we had rather have \\'em\\r\\nPrisoners to us then death. Beare \\'em speedily\\r\\nFrom our kinde aire, to them unkinde, and minister\\r\\nWhat man to man may doe—for our sake more,\\r\\nSince I have knowne frights, fury, friends beheastes,\\r\\nLoves provocations, zeale, a mistris Taske,\\r\\nDesire of liberty, a feavour, madnes,\\r\\nHath set a marke which nature could not reach too\\r\\nWithout some imposition: sicknes in will\\r\\nOr wrastling strength in reason. For our Love\\r\\nAnd great Appollos mercy, all our best\\r\\nTheir best skill tender. Leade into the Citty,\\r\\nWhere having bound things scatterd, we will post [Florish.]\\r\\nTo Athens for(e) our Army [Exeunt. Musicke.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5. (Another part of the same.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter the Queenes with the Hearses of their Knightes, in a\\r\\n Funerall Solempnity, &c.]\\r\\n\\r\\nVrnes and odours bring away,\\r\\nVapours, sighes, darken the day;\\r\\nOur dole more deadly lookes than dying;\\r\\nBalmes, and Gummes, and heavy cheeres,\\r\\nSacred vials fill\\'d with teares,\\r\\nAnd clamors through the wild ayre flying.\\r\\n\\r\\nCome all sad and solempne Showes,\\r\\nThat are quick-eyd pleasures foes;\\r\\nWe convent nought else but woes.\\r\\nWe convent, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nThis funeral path brings to your housholds grave:\\r\\nIoy ceaze on you againe: peace sleepe with him.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nAnd this to yours.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nYours this way: Heavens lend\\r\\nA thousand differing waies to one sure end.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nThis world\\'s a Citty full of straying Streetes, And Death\\'s the market\\r\\nplace, where each one meetes. [Exeunt severally.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (Athens. A garden, with a prison in the background.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iailor, and Wooer.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI may depart with little, while I live; some thing I may cast to you,\\r\\nnot much: Alas, the Prison I keepe, though it be for great ones, yet\\r\\nthey seldome come; Before one Salmon, you shall take a number of\\r\\nMinnowes. I am given out to be better lyn\\'d then it can appeare to me\\r\\nreport is a true Speaker: I would I were really that I am deliverd to\\r\\nbe. Marry, what I have (be it what it will) I will assure upon my\\r\\ndaughter at the day of my death.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nSir, I demaund no more then your owne offer, and I will estate\\r\\nyour\\r\\nDaughter in what I have promised.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWel, we will talke more of this, when the solemnity is past. But have\\r\\nyou a full promise of her? When that shall be seene, I tender my\\r\\nconsent.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Daughter.]\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI have Sir; here shee comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYour Friend and I have chanced to name you here, upon the old busines:\\r\\nBut no more of that now; so soone as the Court hurry is over, we will\\r\\nhave an end of it: I\\'th meane time looke tenderly to the two Prisoners.\\r\\n I can tell you they are princes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nThese strewings are for their Chamber; tis pitty they are in prison,\\r\\nand twer pitty they should be out: I doe thinke they have patience to\\r\\nmake any adversity asham\\'d; the prison it selfe is proud of \\'em; and\\r\\nthey have all the world in their Chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThey are fam\\'d to be a paire of absolute men.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nBy my troth, I think Fame but stammers \\'em; they stand a greise above\\r\\nthe reach of report.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI heard them reported in the Battaile to be the only doers.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nNay, most likely, for they are noble suffrers; I mervaile how they\\r\\nwould have lookd had they beene Victors, that with such a constant\\r\\nNobility enforce a freedome out of Bondage, making misery their Mirth,\\r\\nand affliction a toy to jest at.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nDoe they so?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIt seemes to me they have no more sence of their Captivity, then I of\\r\\nruling Athens: they eate well, looke merrily, discourse of many things,\\r\\nbut nothing of their owne restraint, and disasters: yet sometime a\\r\\ndevided sigh, martyrd as \\'twer i\\'th deliverance, will breake from one\\r\\nof them; when the other presently gives it so sweete a rebuke, that I\\r\\ncould wish my selfe a Sigh to be so chid, or at least a Sigher to be\\r\\ncomforted.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI never saw \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThe Duke himselfe came privately in the night,\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon, and Arcite, above.]\\r\\n\\r\\nand so did they: what the reason of it is, I know not: Looke, yonder\\r\\nthey are! that\\'s Arcite lookes out.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nNo, Sir, no, that\\'s Palamon: Arcite is the lower of the twaine; you may\\r\\nperceive a part of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nGoe too, leave your pointing; they would not make us their object; out\\r\\nof their sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIt is a holliday to looke on them: Lord, the diffrence of men!\\r\\n [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (The prison)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon, and Arcite in prison.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHow doe you, Noble Cosen?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHow doe you, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhy strong inough to laugh at misery,\\r\\nAnd beare the chance of warre, yet we are prisoners,\\r\\nI feare, for ever, Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI beleeve it,\\r\\nAnd to that destiny have patiently\\r\\nLaide up my houre to come.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO Cosen Arcite,\\r\\nWhere is Thebs now? where is our noble Country?\\r\\nWhere are our friends, and kindreds? never more\\r\\nMust we behold those comforts, never see\\r\\nThe hardy youthes strive for the Games of honour\\r\\n(Hung with the painted favours of their Ladies,\\r\\nLike tall Ships under saile) then start among\\'st \\'em\\r\\nAnd as an Eastwind leave \\'en all behinde us,\\r\\nLike lazy Clowdes, whilst Palamon and Arcite,\\r\\nEven in the wagging of a wanton leg\\r\\nOut-stript the peoples praises, won the Garlands,\\r\\nEre they have time to wish \\'em ours. O never\\r\\nShall we two exercise, like Twyns of honour,\\r\\nOur Armes againe, and feele our fyry horses\\r\\nLike proud Seas under us: our good Swords now\\r\\n(Better the red-eyd god of war nev\\'r wore)\\r\\nRavishd our sides, like age must run to rust,\\r\\nAnd decke the Temples of those gods that hate us:\\r\\nThese hands shall never draw\\'em out like lightning,\\r\\nTo blast whole Armies more.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNo, Palamon,\\r\\nThose hopes are Prisoners with us; here we are\\r\\nAnd here the graces of our youthes must wither\\r\\nLike a too-timely Spring; here age must finde us,\\r\\nAnd, which is heaviest, Palamon, unmarried;\\r\\nThe sweete embraces of a loving wife,\\r\\nLoden with kisses, armd with thousand Cupids\\r\\nShall never claspe our neckes, no issue know us,\\r\\nNo figures of our selves shall we ev\\'r see,\\r\\nTo glad our age, and like young Eagles teach \\'em\\r\\nBoldly to gaze against bright armes, and say:\\r\\n\\'Remember what your fathers were, and conquer.\\'\\r\\nThe faire-eyd Maides, shall weepe our Banishments,\\r\\nAnd in their Songs, curse ever-blinded fortune,\\r\\nTill shee for shame see what a wrong she has done\\r\\nTo youth and nature. This is all our world;\\r\\nWe shall know nothing here but one another,\\r\\nHeare nothing but the Clocke that tels our woes.\\r\\nThe Vine shall grow, but we shall never see it:\\r\\nSommer shall come, and with her all delights;\\r\\nBut dead-cold winter must inhabite here still.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTis too true, Arcite. To our Theban houndes,\\r\\nThat shooke the aged Forrest with their ecchoes,\\r\\nNo more now must we halloa, no more shake\\r\\nOur pointed Iavelyns, whilst the angry Swine\\r\\nFlyes like a parthian quiver from our rages,\\r\\nStrucke with our well-steeld Darts: All valiant uses\\r\\n(The foode, and nourishment of noble mindes,)\\r\\nIn us two here shall perish; we shall die\\r\\n(Which is the curse of honour) lastly\\r\\nChildren of greife, and Ignorance.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYet, Cosen,\\r\\nEven from the bottom of these miseries,\\r\\nFrom all that fortune can inflict upon us,\\r\\nI see two comforts rysing, two meere blessings,\\r\\nIf the gods please: to hold here a brave patience,\\r\\nAnd the enjoying of our greefes together.\\r\\nWhilst Palamon is with me, let me perish\\r\\nIf I thinke this our prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nCerteinly,\\r\\nTis a maine goodnes, Cosen, that our fortunes\\r\\nWere twyn\\'d together; tis most true, two soules\\r\\nPut in two noble Bodies—let \\'em suffer\\r\\nThe gaule of hazard, so they grow together—\\r\\nWill never sincke; they must not, say they could:\\r\\nA willing man dies sleeping, and all\\'s done.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nShall we make worthy uses of this place\\r\\nThat all men hate so much?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHow, gentle Cosen?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nLet\\'s thinke this prison holy sanctuary,\\r\\nTo keepe us from corruption of worse men.\\r\\nWe are young and yet desire the waies of honour,\\r\\nThat liberty and common Conversation,\\r\\nThe poyson of pure spirits, might like women\\r\\nWooe us to wander from. What worthy blessing\\r\\nCan be but our Imaginations\\r\\nMay make it ours? And heere being thus together,\\r\\nWe are an endles mine to one another;\\r\\nWe are one anothers wife, ever begetting\\r\\nNew birthes of love; we are father, friends, acquaintance;\\r\\nWe are, in one another, Families,\\r\\nI am your heire, and you are mine: This place\\r\\nIs our Inheritance, no hard Oppressour\\r\\nDare take this from us; here, with a little patience,\\r\\nWe shall live long, and loving: No surfeits seeke us:\\r\\nThe hand of war hurts none here, nor the Seas\\r\\nSwallow their youth: were we at liberty,\\r\\nA wife might part us lawfully, or busines;\\r\\nQuarrels consume us, Envy of ill men\\r\\nGrave our acquaintance; I might sicken, Cosen,\\r\\nWhere you should never know it, and so perish\\r\\nWithout your noble hand to close mine eies,\\r\\nOr praiers to the gods: a thousand chaunces,\\r\\nWere we from hence, would seaver us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou have made me\\r\\n(I thanke you, Cosen Arcite) almost wanton\\r\\nWith my Captivity: what a misery\\r\\nIt is to live abroade, and every where!\\r\\nTis like a Beast, me thinkes: I finde the Court here—\\r\\nI am sure, a more content; and all those pleasures\\r\\nThat wooe the wils of men to vanity,\\r\\nI see through now, and am sufficient\\r\\nTo tell the world, tis but a gaudy shaddow,\\r\\nThat old Time, as he passes by, takes with him.\\r\\nWhat had we bin, old in the Court of Creon,\\r\\nWhere sin is Iustice, lust and ignorance\\r\\nThe vertues of the great ones! Cosen Arcite,\\r\\nHad not the loving gods found this place for us,\\r\\nWe had died as they doe, ill old men, unwept,\\r\\nAnd had their Epitaphes, the peoples Curses:\\r\\nShall I say more?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI would heare you still.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYe shall.\\r\\nIs there record of any two that lov\\'d\\r\\nBetter then we doe, Arcite?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSure, there cannot.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI doe not thinke it possible our friendship\\r\\nShould ever leave us.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTill our deathes it cannot;\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Emilia and her woman (below).]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd after death our spirits shall be led\\r\\nTo those that love eternally. Speake on, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThis garden has a world of pleasures in\\'t.\\r\\nWhat Flowre is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nTis calld Narcissus, Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat was a faire Boy, certaine, but a foole,\\r\\nTo love himselfe; were there not maides enough?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nPray forward.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nOr were they all hard hearted?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nThey could not be to one so faire.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThou wouldst not.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nI thinke I should not, Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat\\'s a good wench:\\r\\nBut take heede to your kindnes though.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nWhy, Madam?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMen are mad things.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWill ye goe forward, Cosen?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nCanst not thou worke such flowers in silke, wench?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIle have a gowne full of \\'em, and of these;\\r\\nThis is a pretty colour, wilt not doe\\r\\nRarely upon a Skirt, wench?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nDeinty, Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nCosen, Cosen, how doe you, Sir? Why, Palamon?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNever till now I was in prison, Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWhy whats the matter, Man?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBehold, and wonder.\\r\\nBy heaven, shee is a Goddesse.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHa.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDoe reverence. She is a Goddesse, Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nOf all Flowres, me thinkes a Rose is best.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nWhy, gentle Madam?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIt is the very Embleme of a Maide.\\r\\nFor when the west wind courts her gently,\\r\\nHow modestly she blowes, and paints the Sun,\\r\\nWith her chaste blushes! When the North comes neere her,\\r\\nRude and impatient, then, like Chastity,\\r\\nShee lockes her beauties in her bud againe,\\r\\nAnd leaves him to base briers.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nYet, good Madam,\\r\\nSometimes her modesty will blow so far\\r\\nShe fals for\\'t: a Mayde,\\r\\nIf shee have any honour, would be loth\\r\\nTo take example by her.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThou art wanton.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nShe is wondrous faire.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nShe is beauty extant.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThe Sun grows high, lets walk in: keep these flowers;\\r\\nWeele see how neere Art can come neere their colours.\\r\\nI am wondrous merry hearted, I could laugh now.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nI could lie downe, I am sure.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAnd take one with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nThat\\'s as we bargaine, Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWell, agree then. [Exeunt Emilia and woman.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhat thinke you of this beauty?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTis a rare one.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIs\\'t but a rare one?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, a matchles beauty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMight not a man well lose himselfe and love her?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI cannot tell what you have done, I have;\\r\\nBeshrew mine eyes for\\'t: now I feele my Shackles.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou love her, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWho would not?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAnd desire her?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBefore my liberty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI saw her first.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat\\'s nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBut it shall be.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI saw her too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes, but you must not love her.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI will not as you doe, to worship her,\\r\\nAs she is heavenly, and a blessed Goddes;\\r\\nI love her as a woman, to enjoy her:\\r\\nSo both may love.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou shall not love at all.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNot love at all!\\r\\nWho shall deny me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI, that first saw her; I, that tooke possession\\r\\nFirst with mine eyes of all those beauties\\r\\nIn her reveald to mankinde: if thou lou\\'st her,\\r\\nOr entertain\\'st a hope to blast my wishes,\\r\\nThou art a Traytour, Arcite, and a fellow\\r\\nFalse as thy Title to her: friendship, blood,\\r\\nAnd all the tyes betweene us I disclaime,\\r\\nIf thou once thinke upon her.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, I love her,\\r\\nAnd if the lives of all my name lay on it,\\r\\nI must doe so; I love her with my soule:\\r\\nIf that will lose ye, farewell, Palamon;\\r\\nI say againe, I love, and in loving her maintaine\\r\\nI am as worthy and as free a lover,\\r\\nAnd have as just a title to her beauty\\r\\nAs any Palamon or any living\\r\\nThat is a mans Sonne.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHave I cald thee friend?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, and have found me so; why are you mov\\'d thus?\\r\\nLet me deale coldly with you: am not I\\r\\nPart of your blood, part of your soule? you have told me\\r\\nThat I was Palamon, and you were Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nAm not I liable to those affections,\\r\\nThose joyes, greifes, angers, feares, my friend shall suffer?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYe may be.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWhy, then, would you deale so cunningly,\\r\\nSo strangely, so vnlike a noble kinesman,\\r\\nTo love alone? speake truely: doe you thinke me\\r\\nVnworthy of her sight?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNo; but unjust,\\r\\nIf thou pursue that sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBecause an other\\r\\nFirst sees the Enemy, shall I stand still\\r\\nAnd let mine honour downe, and never charge?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes, if he be but one.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBut say that one\\r\\nHad rather combat me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nLet that one say so,\\r\\nAnd use thy freedome; els if thou pursuest her,\\r\\nBe as that cursed man that hates his Country,\\r\\nA branded villaine.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou are mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI must be,\\r\\nTill thou art worthy, Arcite; it concernes me,\\r\\nAnd in this madnes, if I hazard thee\\r\\nAnd take thy life, I deale but truely.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nFie, Sir,\\r\\nYou play the Childe extreamely: I will love her,\\r\\nI must, I ought to doe so, and I dare;\\r\\nAnd all this justly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO that now, that now\\r\\nThy false-selfe and thy friend had but this fortune,\\r\\nTo be one howre at liberty, and graspe\\r\\nOur good Swords in our hands! I would quickly teach thee\\r\\nWhat \\'twer to filch affection from another:\\r\\nThou art baser in it then a Cutpurse;\\r\\nPut but thy head out of this window more,\\r\\nAnd as I have a soule, Ile naile thy life too\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThou dar\\'st not, foole, thou canst not, thou art feeble.\\r\\nPut my head out? Ile throw my Body out,\\r\\nAnd leape the garden, when I see her next\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Keeper.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd pitch between her armes to anger thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNo more; the keeper\\'s comming; I shall live\\r\\nTo knocke thy braines out with my Shackles.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDoe.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nBy your leave, Gentlemen—\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNow, honest keeper?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nLord Arcite, you must presently to\\'th Duke;\\r\\nThe cause I know not yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am ready, keeper.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nPrince Palamon, I must awhile bereave you\\r\\nOf your faire Cosens Company. [Exeunt Arcite, and Keeper.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAnd me too,\\r\\nEven when you please, of life. Why is he sent for?\\r\\nIt may be he shall marry her; he\\'s goodly,\\r\\nAnd like enough the Duke hath taken notice\\r\\nBoth of his blood and body: But his falsehood!\\r\\nWhy should a friend be treacherous? If that\\r\\nGet him a wife so noble, and so faire,\\r\\nLet honest men ne\\'re love againe. Once more\\r\\nI would but see this faire One. Blessed Garden,\\r\\nAnd fruite, and flowers more blessed, that still blossom\\r\\nAs her bright eies shine on ye! would I were,\\r\\nFor all the fortune of my life hereafter,\\r\\nYon little Tree, yon blooming Apricocke;\\r\\nHow I would spread, and fling my wanton armes\\r\\nIn at her window; I would bring her fruite\\r\\nFit for the Gods to feed on: youth and pleasure\\r\\nStill as she tasted should be doubled on her,\\r\\nAnd if she be not heavenly, I would make her\\r\\nSo neere the Gods in nature, they should feare her,\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Keeper.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd then I am sure she would love me. How now, keeper.\\r\\nWher\\'s Arcite?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nBanishd: Prince Pirithous\\r\\nObtained his liberty; but never more\\r\\nVpon his oth and life must he set foote\\r\\nVpon this Kingdome.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHees a blessed man!\\r\\nHe shall see Thebs againe, and call to Armes\\r\\nThe bold yong men, that, when he bids \\'em charge,\\r\\nFall on like fire: Arcite shall have a Fortune,\\r\\nIf he dare make himselfe a worthy Lover,\\r\\nYet in the Feild to strike a battle for her;\\r\\nAnd if he lose her then, he\\'s a cold Coward;\\r\\nHow bravely may he beare himselfe to win her\\r\\nIf he be noble Arcite—thousand waies.\\r\\nWere I at liberty, I would doe things\\r\\nOf such a vertuous greatnes, that this Lady,\\r\\nThis blushing virgine, should take manhood to her\\r\\nAnd seeke to ravish me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nMy Lord for you\\r\\nI have this charge too—\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTo discharge my life?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nNo, but from this place to remoove your Lordship:\\r\\nThe windowes are too open.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDevils take \\'em,\\r\\nThat are so envious to me! pre\\'thee kill me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nAnd hang for\\'t afterward.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBy this good light,\\r\\nHad I a sword I would kill thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nWhy, my Lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThou bringst such pelting scuruy news continually\\r\\nThou art not worthy life. I will not goe.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nIndeede, you must, my Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMay I see the garden?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nNoe.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThen I am resolud, I will not goe.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nI must constraine you then: and for you are dangerous,\\r\\nIle clap more yrons on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDoe, good keeper.\\r\\nIle shake \\'em so, ye shall not sleepe;\\r\\nIle make ye a new Morrisse: must I goe?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nThere is no remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nFarewell, kinde window.\\r\\nMay rude winde never hurt thee. O, my Lady,\\r\\nIf ever thou hast felt what sorrow was,\\r\\nDreame how I suffer. Come; now bury me. [Exeunt Palamon, and\\r\\nKeeper.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (The country near Athens.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Arcite.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBanishd the kingdome? tis a benefit,\\r\\nA mercy I must thanke \\'em for, but banishd\\r\\nThe free enjoying of that face I die for,\\r\\nOh twas a studdied punishment, a death\\r\\nBeyond Imagination: Such a vengeance\\r\\nThat, were I old and wicked, all my sins\\r\\nCould never plucke upon me. Palamon,\\r\\nThou ha\\'st the Start now, thou shalt stay and see\\r\\nHer bright eyes breake each morning gainst thy window,\\r\\nAnd let in life into thee; thou shalt feede\\r\\nVpon the sweetenes of a noble beauty,\\r\\nThat nature nev\\'r exceeded, nor nev\\'r shall:\\r\\nGood gods! what happines has Palamon!\\r\\nTwenty to one, hee\\'le come to speake to her,\\r\\nAnd if she be as gentle as she\\'s faire,\\r\\nI know she\\'s his; he has a Tongue will tame\\r\\nTempests, and make the wild Rockes wanton.\\r\\nCome what can come,\\r\\nThe worst is death; I will not leave the Kingdome.\\r\\nI know mine owne is but a heape of ruins,\\r\\nAnd no redresse there; if I goe, he has her.\\r\\nI am resolu\\'d an other shape shall make me,\\r\\nOr end my fortunes. Either way, I am happy:\\r\\nIle see her, and be neere her, or no more.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter 4. Country people, & one with a garlond before them.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nMy Masters, ile be there, that\\'s certaine\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nAnd Ile be there.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nAnd I.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWhy, then, have with ye, Boyes; Tis but a chiding.\\r\\nLet the plough play to day, ile tick\\'lt out\\r\\nOf the Iades tailes to morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nI am sure\\r\\nTo have my wife as jealous as a Turkey:\\r\\nBut that\\'s all one; ile goe through, let her mumble.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nClap her aboard to morrow night, and stoa her,\\r\\nAnd all\\'s made up againe.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nI, doe but put a feskue in her fist, and you shall see her\\r\\nTake a new lesson out, and be a good wench.\\r\\nDoe we all hold against the Maying?\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nHold? what should aile us?\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nArcas will be there.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nAnd Sennois.\\r\\nAnd Rycas, and 3. better lads nev\\'r dancd\\r\\nUnder green Tree. And yee know what wenches: ha?\\r\\nBut will the dainty Domine, the Schoolemaster,\\r\\nKeep touch, doe you thinke? for he do\\'s all, ye know.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nHee\\'l eate a hornebooke ere he faile: goe too, the matter\\'s too farre\\r\\ndriven betweene him and the Tanners daughter, to let slip now, and she\\r\\nmust see the Duke, and she must daunce too.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nShall we be lusty?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nAll the Boyes in Athens blow wind i\\'th breech on\\'s, and heere ile be\\r\\nand there ile be, for our Towne, and here againe, and there againe: ha,\\r\\nBoyes, heigh for the weavers.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nThis must be done i\\'th woods.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nO, pardon me.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nBy any meanes, our thing of learning saies so:\\r\\nWhere he himselfe will edifie the Duke\\r\\nMost parlously in our behalfes: hees excellent i\\'th woods;\\r\\nBring him to\\'th plaines, his learning makes no cry.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWeele see the sports, then; every man to\\'s Tackle:\\r\\nAnd, Sweete Companions, lets rehearse by any meanes,\\r\\nBefore the Ladies see us, and doe sweetly,\\r\\nAnd God knows what May come on\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nContent; the sports once ended, wee\\'l performe.\\r\\nAway, Boyes and hold.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBy your leaves, honest friends: pray you, whither goe you?\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWhither? why, what a question\\'s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, tis a question, to me that know not.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nTo the Games, my Friend.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWhere were you bred, you know it not?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNot farre, Sir,\\r\\nAre there such Games to day?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nYes, marry, are there:\\r\\nAnd such as you neuer saw; The Duke himselfe\\r\\nWill be in person there.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWhat pastimes are they?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWrastling, and Running.—Tis a pretty Fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nThou wilt not goe along?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNot yet, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWell, Sir,\\r\\nTake your owne time: come, Boyes.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nMy minde misgives me;\\r\\nThis fellow has a veng\\'ance tricke o\\'th hip:\\r\\nMarke how his Bodi\\'s made for\\'t\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nIle be hangd, though,\\r\\nIf he dare venture; hang him, plumb porredge,\\r\\nHe wrastle? he rost eggs! Come, lets be gon, Lads. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThis is an offerd oportunity\\r\\nI durst not wish for. Well I could have wrestled,\\r\\nThe best men calld it excellent, and run—\\r\\nSwifter the winde upon a feild of Corne\\r\\n(Curling the wealthy eares) never flew: Ile venture,\\r\\nAnd in some poore disguize be there; who knowes\\r\\nWhether my browes may not be girt with garlands?\\r\\nAnd happines preferre me to a place,\\r\\nWhere I may ever dwell in sight of her. [Exit Arcite.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. (Athens. A room in the prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iailors Daughter alone.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWhy should I love this Gentleman? Tis odds\\r\\nHe never will affect me; I am base,\\r\\nMy Father the meane Keeper of his Prison,\\r\\nAnd he a prince: To marry him is hopelesse;\\r\\nTo be his whore is witles. Out upon\\'t,\\r\\nWhat pushes are we wenches driven to,\\r\\nWhen fifteene once has found us! First, I saw him;\\r\\nI (seeing) thought he was a goodly man;\\r\\nHe has as much to please a woman in him,\\r\\n(If he please to bestow it so) as ever\\r\\nThese eyes yet lookt on. Next, I pittied him,\\r\\nAnd so would any young wench, o\\' my Conscience,\\r\\nThat ever dream\\'d, or vow\\'d her Maydenhead\\r\\nTo a yong hansom Man; Then I lov\\'d him,\\r\\nExtreamely lov\\'d him, infinitely lov\\'d him;\\r\\nAnd yet he had a Cosen, faire as he too.\\r\\nBut in my heart was Palamon, and there,\\r\\nLord, what a coyle he keepes! To heare him\\r\\nSing in an evening, what a heaven it is!\\r\\nAnd yet his Songs are sad ones. Fairer spoken\\r\\nWas never Gentleman. When I come in\\r\\nTo bring him water in a morning, first\\r\\nHe bowes his noble body, then salutes me, thus:\\r\\n\\'Faire, gentle Mayde, good morrow; may thy goodnes\\r\\nGet thee a happy husband.\\' Once he kist me.\\r\\nI lov\\'d my lips the better ten daies after.\\r\\nWould he would doe so ev\\'ry day! He greives much,\\r\\nAnd me as much to see his misery.\\r\\nWhat should I doe, to make him know I love him?\\r\\nFor I would faine enjoy him. Say I ventur\\'d\\r\\nTo set him free? what saies the law then? Thus much\\r\\nFor Law, or kindred! I will doe it,\\r\\nAnd this night, or to morrow, he shall love me. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5. (An open place in Athens.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Pirithous, Emilia: Arcite with a\\r\\nGarland, &c.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[This short florish of Cornets and Showtes within.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou have done worthily; I have not seene,\\r\\nSince Hercules, a man of tougher synewes;\\r\\nWhat ere you are, you run the best, and wrastle,\\r\\nThat these times can allow.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am proud to please you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat Countrie bred you?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThis; but far off, Prince.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAre you a Gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nMy father said so;\\r\\nAnd to those gentle uses gave me life.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAre you his heire?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHis yongest, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYour Father\\r\\nSure is a happy Sire then: what prooves you?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nA little of all noble Quallities:\\r\\nI could have kept a Hawke, and well have holloa\\'d\\r\\nTo a deepe crie of Dogges; I dare not praise\\r\\nMy feat in horsemanship, yet they that knew me\\r\\nWould say it was my best peece: last, and greatest,\\r\\nI would be thought a Souldier.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou are perfect.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nVpon my soule, a proper man.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHe is so.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nHow doe you like him, Ladie?\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nI admire him;\\r\\nI have not seene so yong a man so noble\\r\\n(If he say true,) of his sort.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBeleeve,\\r\\nHis mother was a wondrous handsome woman;\\r\\nHis face, me thinkes, goes that way.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nBut his Body\\r\\nAnd firie minde illustrate a brave Father.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nMarke how his vertue, like a hidden Sun,\\r\\nBreakes through his baser garments.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nHee\\'s well got, sure.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat made you seeke this place, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNoble Theseus,\\r\\nTo purchase name, and doe my ablest service\\r\\nTo such a well-found wonder as thy worth,\\r\\nFor onely in thy Court, of all the world,\\r\\nDwells faire-eyd honor.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nAll his words are worthy.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSir, we are much endebted to your travell,\\r\\nNor shall you loose your wish: Perithous,\\r\\nDispose of this faire Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThankes, Theseus.\\r\\nWhat ere you are y\\'ar mine, and I shall give you\\r\\nTo a most noble service, to this Lady,\\r\\nThis bright yong Virgin; pray, observe her goodnesse;\\r\\nYou have honourd hir faire birth-day with your vertues,\\r\\nAnd as your due y\\'ar hirs: kisse her faire hand, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSir, y\\'ar a noble Giver: dearest Bewtie,\\r\\nThus let me seale my vowd faith: when your Servant\\r\\n(Your most unworthie Creature) but offends you,\\r\\nCommand him die, he shall.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat were too cruell.\\r\\nIf you deserve well, Sir, I shall soone see\\'t:\\r\\nY\\'ar mine, and somewhat better than your rancke\\r\\nIle use you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nIle see you furnish\\'d, and because you say\\r\\nYou are a horseman, I must needs intreat you\\r\\nThis after noone to ride, but tis a rough one.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI like him better, Prince, I shall not then\\r\\nFreeze in my Saddle.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSweet, you must be readie,\\r\\nAnd you, Emilia, and you, Friend, and all,\\r\\nTo morrow by the Sun, to doe observance\\r\\nTo flowry May, in Dians wood: waite well, Sir,\\r\\nVpon your Mistris. Emely, I hope\\r\\nHe shall not goe a foote.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat were a shame, Sir,\\r\\nWhile I have horses: take your choice, and what\\r\\nYou want at any time, let me but know it;\\r\\nIf you serve faithfully, I dare assure you\\r\\nYou\\'l finde a loving Mistris.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf I doe not,\\r\\nLet me finde that my Father ever hated,\\r\\nDisgrace and blowes.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nGo, leade the way; you have won it:\\r\\nIt shall be so; you shall receave all dues\\r\\nFit for the honour you have won; Twer wrong else.\\r\\nSister, beshrew my heart, you have a Servant,\\r\\nThat, if I were a woman, would be Master,\\r\\nBut you are wise. [Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI hope too wise for that, Sir. [Exeunt omnes.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 6. (Before the prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylors Daughter alone.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nLet all the Dukes, and all the divells rore,\\r\\nHe is at liberty: I have venturd for him,\\r\\nAnd out I have brought him to a little wood\\r\\nA mile hence. I have sent him, where a Cedar,\\r\\nHigher than all the rest, spreads like a plane\\r\\nFast by a Brooke, and there he shall keepe close,\\r\\nTill I provide him Fyles and foode, for yet\\r\\nHis yron bracelets are not off. O Love,\\r\\nWhat a stout hearted child thou art! My Father\\r\\nDurst better have indur\\'d cold yron, than done it:\\r\\nI love him beyond love and beyond reason,\\r\\nOr wit, or safetie: I have made him know it.\\r\\nI care not, I am desperate; If the law\\r\\nFinde me, and then condemne me for\\'t, some wenches,\\r\\nSome honest harted Maides, will sing my Dirge,\\r\\nAnd tell to memory my death was noble,\\r\\nDying almost a Martyr: That way he takes,\\r\\nI purpose is my way too: Sure he cannot\\r\\nBe so unmanly, as to leave me here;\\r\\nIf he doe, Maides will not so easily\\r\\nTrust men againe: And yet he has not thank\\'d me\\r\\nFor what I have done: no not so much as kist me,\\r\\nAnd that (me thinkes) is not so well; nor scarcely\\r\\nCould I perswade him to become a Freeman,\\r\\nHe made such scruples of the wrong he did\\r\\nTo me, and to my Father. Yet I hope,\\r\\nWhen he considers more, this love of mine\\r\\nWill take more root within him: Let him doe\\r\\nWhat he will with me, so he use me kindly;\\r\\nFor use me so he shall, or ile proclaime him,\\r\\nAnd to his face, no man. Ile presently\\r\\nProvide him necessaries, and packe my cloathes up,\\r\\nAnd where there is a patch of ground Ile venture,\\r\\nSo hee be with me; By him, like a shadow,\\r\\nIle ever dwell; within this houre the whoobub\\r\\nWill be all ore the prison: I am then\\r\\nKissing the man they looke for: farewell, Father;\\r\\nGet many more such prisoners and such daughters,\\r\\nAnd shortly you may keepe your selfe. Now to him!\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (A forest near Athens.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Cornets in sundry places. Noise and hallowing as people a\\r\\nMaying.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Arcite alone.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThe Duke has lost Hypolita; each tooke\\r\\nA severall land. This is a solemne Right\\r\\nThey owe bloomd May, and the Athenians pay it\\r\\nTo\\'th heart of Ceremony. O Queene Emilia,\\r\\nFresher then May, sweeter\\r\\nThen hir gold Buttons on the bowes, or all\\r\\nTh\\'enamelld knackes o\\'th Meade or garden: yea,\\r\\nWe challenge too the bancke of any Nymph\\r\\nThat makes the streame seeme flowers; thou, o Iewell\\r\\nO\\'th wood, o\\'th world, hast likewise blest a place\\r\\nWith thy sole presence: in thy rumination\\r\\nThat I, poore man, might eftsoones come betweene\\r\\nAnd chop on some cold thought! thrice blessed chance,\\r\\nTo drop on such a Mistris, expectation\\r\\nMost giltlesse on\\'t! tell me, O Lady Fortune,\\r\\n(Next after Emely my Soveraigne) how far\\r\\nI may be prowd. She takes strong note of me,\\r\\nHath made me neere her; and this beuteous Morne\\r\\n(The prim\\'st of all the yeare) presents me with\\r\\nA brace of horses: two such Steeds might well\\r\\nBe by a paire of Kings backt, in a Field\\r\\nThat their crownes titles tride. Alas, alas,\\r\\nPoore Cosen Palamon, poore prisoner, thou\\r\\nSo little dream\\'st upon my fortune, that\\r\\nThou thinkst thy selfe the happier thing, to be\\r\\nSo neare Emilia; me thou deem\\'st at Thebs,\\r\\nAnd therein wretched, although free. But if\\r\\nThou knew\\'st my Mistris breathd on me, and that\\r\\nI ear\\'d her language, livde in her eye, O Coz,\\r\\nWhat passion would enclose thee!\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon as out of a Bush, with his Shackles: bends his fist at\\r\\nArcite.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTraytor kinesman,\\r\\nThou shouldst perceive my passion, if these signes\\r\\nOf prisonment were off me, and this hand\\r\\nBut owner of a Sword: By all othes in one,\\r\\nI and the iustice of my love would make thee\\r\\nA confest Traytor. O thou most perfidious\\r\\nThat ever gently lookd; the voydest of honour,\\r\\nThat eu\\'r bore gentle Token; falsest Cosen\\r\\nThat ever blood made kin, call\\'st thou hir thine?\\r\\nIle prove it in my Shackles, with these hands,\\r\\nVoid of appointment, that thou ly\\'st, and art\\r\\nA very theefe in love, a Chaffy Lord,\\r\\nNor worth the name of villaine: had I a Sword\\r\\nAnd these house clogges away—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDeere Cosin Palamon—\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nCosoner Arcite, give me language such\\r\\nAs thou hast shewd me feate.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNot finding in\\r\\nThe circuit of my breast any grosse stuffe\\r\\nTo forme me like your blazon, holds me to\\r\\nThis gentlenesse of answer; tis your passion\\r\\nThat thus mistakes, the which to you being enemy,\\r\\nCannot to me be kind: honor, and honestie\\r\\nI cherish, and depend on, how so ev\\'r\\r\\nYou skip them in me, and with them, faire Coz,\\r\\nIle maintaine my proceedings; pray, be pleas\\'d\\r\\nTo shew in generous termes your griefes, since that\\r\\nYour question\\'s with your equall, who professes\\r\\nTo cleare his owne way with the minde and Sword\\r\\nOf a true Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThat thou durst, Arcite!\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nMy Coz, my Coz, you have beene well advertis\\'d\\r\\nHow much I dare, y\\'ave seene me use my Sword\\r\\nAgainst th\\'advice of feare: sure, of another\\r\\nYou would not heare me doubted, but your silence\\r\\nShould breake out, though i\\'th Sanctuary.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nSir,\\r\\nI have seene you move in such a place, which well\\r\\nMight justifie your manhood; you were calld\\r\\nA good knight and a bold; But the whole weeke\\'s not faire,\\r\\nIf any day it rayne: Their valiant temper\\r\\nMen loose when they encline to trecherie,\\r\\nAnd then they fight like coupelld Beares, would fly\\r\\nWere they not tyde.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nKinsman, you might as well\\r\\nSpeake this and act it in your Glasse, as to\\r\\nHis eare which now disdaines you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nCome up to me,\\r\\nQuit me of these cold Gyves, give me a Sword,\\r\\nThough it be rustie, and the charity\\r\\nOf one meale lend me; Come before me then,\\r\\nA good Sword in thy hand, and doe but say\\r\\nThat Emily is thine: I will forgive\\r\\nThe trespasse thou hast done me, yea, my life,\\r\\nIf then thou carry\\'t, and brave soules in shades\\r\\nThat have dyde manly, which will seeke of me\\r\\nSome newes from earth, they shall get none but this,\\r\\nThat thou art brave and noble.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBe content:\\r\\nAgaine betake you to your hawthorne house;\\r\\nWith counsaile of the night, I will be here\\r\\nWith wholesome viands; these impediments\\r\\nWill I file off; you shall have garments and\\r\\nPerfumes to kill the smell o\\'th prison; after,\\r\\nWhen you shall stretch your selfe and say but, \\'Arcite,\\r\\nI am in plight,\\' there shall be at your choyce\\r\\nBoth Sword and Armour.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nOh you heavens, dares any\\r\\nSo noble beare a guilty busines! none\\r\\nBut onely Arcite, therefore none but Arcite\\r\\nIn this kinde is so bold.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSweete Palamon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI doe embrace you and your offer,—for\\r\\nYour offer doo\\'t I onely, Sir; your person,\\r\\nWithout hipocrisy I may not wish [Winde hornes of Cornets.]\\r\\nMore then my Swords edge ont.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou heare the Hornes;\\r\\nEnter your Musite least this match between\\'s\\r\\nBe crost, er met: give me your hand; farewell.\\r\\nIle bring you every needfull thing: I pray you,\\r\\nTake comfort and be strong.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nPray hold your promise;\\r\\nAnd doe the deede with a bent brow: most certaine\\r\\nYou love me not, be rough with me, and powre\\r\\nThis oile out of your language; by this ayre,\\r\\nI could for each word give a Cuffe, my stomach\\r\\nNot reconcild by reason.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nPlainely spoken,\\r\\nYet pardon me hard language: when I spur [Winde hornes.]\\r\\nMy horse, I chide him not; content and anger\\r\\nIn me have but one face. Harke, Sir, they call\\r\\nThe scatterd to the Banket; you must guesse\\r\\nI have an office there.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nSir, your attendance\\r\\nCannot please heaven, and I know your office\\r\\nVnjustly is atcheev\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf a good title,\\r\\nI am perswaded this question sicke between\\'s\\r\\nBy bleeding must be cur\\'d. I am a Suitour,\\r\\nThat to your Sword you will bequeath this plea\\r\\nAnd talke of it no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBut this one word:\\r\\nYou are going now to gaze upon my Mistris,\\r\\nFor note you, mine she is—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNay, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNay, pray you,\\r\\nYou talke of feeding me to breed me strength:\\r\\nYou are going now to looke upon a Sun\\r\\nThat strengthens what it lookes on; there\\r\\nYou have a vantage ore me, but enjoy\\'t till\\r\\nI may enforce my remedy. Farewell. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (Another Part of the forest.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylors daughter alone.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nHe has mistooke the Brake I meant, is gone\\r\\nAfter his fancy. Tis now welnigh morning;\\r\\nNo matter, would it were perpetuall night,\\r\\nAnd darkenes Lord o\\'th world. Harke, tis a woolfe:\\r\\nIn me hath greife slaine feare, and but for one thing\\r\\nI care for nothing, and that\\'s Palamon.\\r\\nI wreake not if the wolves would jaw me, so\\r\\nHe had this File: what if I hallowd for him?\\r\\nI cannot hallow: if I whoop\\'d, what then?\\r\\nIf he not answeard, I should call a wolfe,\\r\\nAnd doe him but that service. I have heard\\r\\nStrange howles this live-long night, why may\\'t not be\\r\\nThey have made prey of him? he has no weapons,\\r\\nHe cannot run, the Iengling of his Gives\\r\\nMight call fell things to listen, who have in them\\r\\nA sence to know a man unarmd, and can\\r\\nSmell where resistance is. Ile set it downe\\r\\nHe\\'s torne to peeces; they howld many together\\r\\nAnd then they fed on him: So much for that,\\r\\nBe bold to ring the Bell; how stand I then?\\r\\nAll\\'s char\\'d when he is gone. No, no, I lye,\\r\\nMy Father\\'s to be hang\\'d for his escape;\\r\\nMy selfe to beg, if I prizd life so much\\r\\nAs to deny my act, but that I would not,\\r\\nShould I try death by dussons.—I am mop\\'t,\\r\\nFood tooke I none these two daies,\\r\\nSipt some water. I have not closd mine eyes\\r\\nSave when my lids scowrd off their brine; alas,\\r\\nDissolue my life, Let not my sence unsettle,\\r\\nLeast I should drowne, or stab or hang my selfe.\\r\\nO state of Nature, faile together in me,\\r\\nSince thy best props are warpt! So, which way now?\\r\\nThe best way is the next way to a grave:\\r\\nEach errant step beside is torment. Loe,\\r\\nThe Moone is down, the Cryckets chirpe, the Schreichowle\\r\\nCalls in the dawne; all offices are done\\r\\nSave what I faile in: But the point is this,\\r\\nAn end, and that is all. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (Same as Scene I.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Arcite, with Meate, Wine, and Files.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI should be neere the place: hoa, Cosen Palamon. [Enter\\r\\nPalamon.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nArcite?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThe same: I have brought you foode and files.\\r\\nCome forth and feare not, here\\'s no Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNor none so honest, Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat\\'s no matter,\\r\\nWee\\'l argue that hereafter: Come, take courage;\\r\\nYou shall not dye thus beastly: here, Sir, drinke;\\r\\nI know you are faint: then ile talke further with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nArcite, thou mightst now poyson me.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI might,\\r\\nBut I must feare you first: Sit downe, and, good, now\\r\\nNo more of these vaine parlies; let us not,\\r\\nHaving our ancient reputation with us,\\r\\nMake talke for Fooles and Cowards. To your health, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDoe.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nPray, sit downe then; and let me entreate you,\\r\\nBy all the honesty and honour in you,\\r\\nNo mention of this woman: t\\'will disturbe us;\\r\\nWe shall have time enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWell, Sir, Ile pledge you.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDrinke a good hearty draught; it breeds good blood, man.\\r\\nDoe not you feele it thaw you?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nStay, Ile tell you after a draught or two more.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSpare it not, the Duke has more, Cuz: Eate now.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am glad you have so good a stomach.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI am gladder I have so good meate too\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIs\\'t not mad lodging here in the wild woods, Cosen?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes, for them that have wilde Consciences.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHow tasts your vittails? your hunger needs no sawce, I see.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNot much;\\r\\nBut if it did, yours is too tart, sweete Cosen: what is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nVenison.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTis a lusty meate:\\r\\nGiue me more wine; here, Arcite, to the wenches\\r\\nWe have known in our daies. The Lord Stewards daughter,\\r\\nDoe you remember her?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nAfter you, Cuz.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nShe lov\\'d a black-haird man.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nShe did so; well, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAnd I have heard some call him Arcite, and—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nOut with\\'t, faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nShe met him in an Arbour:\\r\\nWhat did she there, Cuz? play o\\'th virginals?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSomething she did, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMade her groane a moneth for\\'t, or 2. or 3. or 10.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThe Marshals Sister\\r\\nHad her share too, as I remember, Cosen,\\r\\nElse there be tales abroade; you\\'l pledge her?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nA pretty broune wench t\\'is. There was a time\\r\\nWhen yong men went a hunting, and a wood,\\r\\nAnd a broade Beech: and thereby hangs a tale:—heigh ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nFor Emily, upon my life! Foole,\\r\\nAway with this straind mirth; I say againe,\\r\\nThat sigh was breathd for Emily; base Cosen,\\r\\nDar\\'st thou breake first?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou are wide.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBy heaven and earth, ther\\'s nothing in thee honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThen Ile leave you: you are a Beast now.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAs thou makst me, Traytour.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTher\\'s all things needfull, files and shirts, and perfumes:\\r\\nIle come againe some two howres hence, and bring\\r\\nThat that shall quiet all,\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nA Sword and Armour?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nFeare me not; you are now too fowle; farewell.\\r\\nGet off your Trinkets; you shall want nought.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nSir, ha—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIle heare no more. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIf he keepe touch, he dies for\\'t. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. (Another part of the forest.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylors daughter.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI am very cold, and all the Stars are out too,\\r\\nThe little Stars, and all, that looke like aglets:\\r\\nThe Sun has seene my Folly. Palamon!\\r\\nAlas no; hees in heaven. Where am I now?\\r\\nYonder\\'s the sea, and ther\\'s a Ship; how\\'t tumbles!\\r\\nAnd ther\\'s a Rocke lies watching under water;\\r\\nNow, now, it beates upon it; now, now, now,\\r\\nTher\\'s a leak sprung, a sound one, how they cry!\\r\\nSpoon her before the winde, you\\'l loose all els:\\r\\nVp with a course or two, and take about, Boyes.\\r\\nGood night, good night, y\\'ar gone.—I am very hungry.\\r\\nWould I could finde a fine Frog; he would tell me\\r\\nNewes from all parts o\\'th world, then would I make\\r\\nA Carecke of a Cockle shell, and sayle\\r\\nBy east and North East to the King of Pigmes,\\r\\nFor he tels fortunes rarely. Now my Father,\\r\\nTwenty to one, is trust up in a trice\\r\\nTo morrow morning; Ile say never a word.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Sing.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFor ile cut my greene coat a foote above my knee, And ile clip my\\r\\nyellow lockes an inch below mine eie. hey, nonny, nonny, nonny, He\\'s\\r\\nbuy me a white Cut, forth for to ride And ile goe seeke him, throw the\\r\\nworld that is so wide hey nonny, nonny, nonny.\\r\\n\\r\\nO for a pricke now like a Nightingale,\\r\\nTo put my breast against. I shall sleepe like a Top else.\\r\\n[Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5. (Another part of the forest.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter a Schoole master, 4. Countrymen, and Bavian. 2. or 3. wenches,\\r\\nwith a Taborer.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nFy, fy, what tediosity, & disensanity is here among ye? have my\\r\\nRudiments bin labourd so long with ye? milkd unto ye, and by a figure\\r\\neven the very plumbroth & marrow of my understanding laid upon ye? and\\r\\ndo you still cry: where, and how, & wherfore? you most course freeze\\r\\ncapacities, ye jane Iudgements, have I saide: thus let be, and there\\r\\nlet be, and then let be, and no man understand mee? Proh deum, medius\\r\\nfidius, ye are all dunces! For why, here stand I, Here the Duke comes,\\r\\nthere are you close in the Thicket; the Duke appeares, I meete him and\\r\\nunto him I utter learned things and many figures; he heares, and nods,\\r\\nand hums, and then cries: rare, and I goe forward; at length I fling my\\r\\nCap up; marke there; then do you, as once did Meleager and the Bore,\\r\\nbreak comly out before him: like true lovers, cast your selves in a\\r\\nBody decently, and sweetly, by a figure trace and turne, Boyes.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nAnd sweetly we will doe it Master Gerrold.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nDraw up the Company. Where\\'s the Taborour?\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nWhy, Timothy!\\r\\n\\r\\nTABORER.\\r\\nHere, my mad boyes, have at ye.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nBut I say, where\\'s their women?\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nHere\\'s Friz and Maudline.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nAnd little Luce with the white legs, and bouncing Barbery.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nAnd freckeled Nel, that never faild her Master.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nWher be your Ribands, maids? swym with your Bodies\\r\\nAnd carry it sweetly, and deliverly\\r\\nAnd now and then a fauour, and a friske.\\r\\n\\r\\nNEL.\\r\\nLet us alone, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nWher\\'s the rest o\\'th Musicke?\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nDispersd as you commanded.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nCouple, then,\\r\\nAnd see what\\'s wanting; wher\\'s the Bavian?\\r\\nMy friend, carry your taile without offence\\r\\nOr scandall to the Ladies; and be sure\\r\\nYou tumble with audacity and manhood;\\r\\nAnd when you barke, doe it with judgement.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAVIAN.\\r\\nYes, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nQuo usque tandem? Here is a woman wanting.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nWe may goe whistle: all the fat\\'s i\\'th fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nWe have,\\r\\nAs learned Authours utter, washd a Tile,\\r\\nWe have beene FATUUS, and laboured vainely.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nThis is that scornefull peece, that scurvy hilding,\\r\\nThat gave her promise faithfully, she would be here,\\r\\nCicely the Sempsters daughter:\\r\\nThe next gloves that I give her shall be dog skin;\\r\\nNay and she faile me once—you can tell, Arcas,\\r\\nShe swore by wine and bread, she would not breake.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nAn Eele and woman,\\r\\nA learned Poet sayes, unles by\\'th taile\\r\\nAnd with thy teeth thou hold, will either faile.\\r\\nIn manners this was false position\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nA fire ill take her; do\\'s she flinch now?\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nWhat\\r\\nShall we determine, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nNothing.\\r\\nOur busines is become a nullity;\\r\\nYea, and a woefull, and a pittious nullity.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nNow when the credite of our Towne lay on it,\\r\\nNow to be frampall, now to pisse o\\'th nettle!\\r\\nGoe thy waies; ile remember thee, ile fit thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylors daughter.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\n[Sings.]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe George alow came from the South,\\r\\nFrom the coast of Barbary a.\\r\\nAnd there he met with brave gallants of war\\r\\nBy one, by two, by three, a.\\r\\n\\r\\nWell haild, well haild, you jolly gallants,\\r\\nAnd whither now are you bound a?\\r\\nO let me have your company [Chaire and stooles out.]\\r\\nTill (I) come to the sound a.\\r\\n\\r\\nThere was three fooles, fell out about an howlet:\\r\\nThe one sed it was an owle,\\r\\nThe other he sed nay,\\r\\nThe third he sed it was a hawke,\\r\\nAnd her bels wer cut away.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nTher\\'s a dainty mad woman M(aiste)r\\r\\nComes i\\'th Nick, as mad as a march hare:\\r\\nIf wee can get her daunce, wee are made againe:\\r\\nI warrant her, shee\\'l doe the rarest gambols.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nA mad woman? we are made, Boyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nAnd are you mad, good woman?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI would be sorry else;\\r\\nGive me your hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nWhy?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI can tell your fortune.\\r\\nYou are a foole: tell ten. I have pozd him: Buz!\\r\\nFriend you must eate no whitebread; if you doe,\\r\\nYour teeth will bleede extreamely. Shall we dance, ho?\\r\\nI know you, y\\'ar a Tinker: Sirha Tinker,\\r\\nStop no more holes, but what you should.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nDij boni. A Tinker, Damzell?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nOr a Conjurer:\\r\\nRaise me a devill now, and let him play\\r\\nQuipassa o\\'th bels and bones.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nGoe, take her,\\r\\nAnd fluently perswade her to a peace:\\r\\nEt opus exegi, quod nec Iouis ira, nec ignis.\\r\\nStrike up, and leade her in.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nCome, Lasse, lets trip it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIle leade. [Winde Hornes.]\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nDoe, doe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nPerswasively, and cunningly: away, boyes, [Ex. all but\\r\\nSchoolemaster.]\\r\\nI heare the hornes: give me some meditation,\\r\\nAnd marke your Cue.—Pallas inspire me.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Thes. Pir. Hip. Emil. Arcite, and traine.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThis way the Stag tooke.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nStay, and edifie.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat have we here?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nSome Countrey sport, upon my life, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWell, Sir, goe forward, we will edifie.\\r\\nLadies, sit downe, wee\\'l stay it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nThou, doughtie Duke, all haile: all haile, sweet Ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThis is a cold beginning.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nIf you but favour, our Country pastime made is.\\r\\nWe are a few of those collected here,\\r\\nThat ruder Tongues distinguish villager;\\r\\nAnd to say veritie, and not to fable,\\r\\nWe are a merry rout, or else a rable,\\r\\nOr company, or, by a figure, Choris,\\r\\nThat fore thy dignitie will dance a Morris.\\r\\nAnd I, that am the rectifier of all,\\r\\nBy title Pedagogus, that let fall\\r\\nThe Birch upon the breeches of the small ones,\\r\\nAnd humble with a Ferula the tall ones,\\r\\nDoe here present this Machine, or this frame:\\r\\nAnd daintie Duke, whose doughtie dismall fame\\r\\nFrom Dis to Dedalus, from post to pillar,\\r\\nIs blowne abroad, helpe me thy poore well willer,\\r\\nAnd with thy twinckling eyes looke right and straight\\r\\nVpon this mighty MORR—of mickle waight;\\r\\nIS now comes in, which being glewd together,\\r\\nMakes MORRIS, and the cause that we came hether.\\r\\nThe body of our sport, of no small study,\\r\\nI first appeare, though rude, and raw, and muddy,\\r\\nTo speake before thy noble grace this tenner:\\r\\nAt whose great feete I offer up my penner.\\r\\nThe next the Lord of May and Lady bright,\\r\\nThe Chambermaid and Servingman by night\\r\\nThat seeke out silent hanging: Then mine Host\\r\\nAnd his fat Spowse, that welcomes to their cost\\r\\nThe gauled Traveller, and with a beckning\\r\\nInformes the Tapster to inflame the reckning:\\r\\nThen the beast eating Clowne, and next the foole,\\r\\nThe Bavian, with long tayle and eke long toole,\\r\\nCum multis alijs that make a dance:\\r\\nSay \\'I,\\' and all shall presently advance.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI, I, by any meanes, deere Domine.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nProduce.\\r\\n\\r\\n(SCHOOLMASTER.)\\r\\nIntrate, filij; Come forth, and foot it.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Musicke, Dance. Knocke for Schoole.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter the Dance.]\\r\\n\\r\\nLadies, if we have beene merry,\\r\\nAnd have pleasd yee with a derry,\\r\\nAnd a derry, and a downe,\\r\\nSay the Schoolemaster\\'s no Clowne:\\r\\nDuke, if we have pleasd thee too,\\r\\nAnd have done as good Boyes should doe,\\r\\nGive us but a tree or twaine\\r\\nFor a Maypole, and againe,\\r\\nEre another yeare run out,\\r\\nWee\\'l make thee laugh and all this rout.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nTake 20., Domine; how does my sweet heart?\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nNever so pleasd, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nTwas an excellent dance, and for a preface\\r\\nI never heard a better.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSchoolemaster, I thanke you.—One see\\'em all rewarded.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nAnd heer\\'s something to paint your Pole withall.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNow to our sports againe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nMay the Stag thou huntst stand long,\\r\\nAnd thy dogs be swift and strong:\\r\\nMay they kill him without lets,\\r\\nAnd the Ladies eate his dowsets!\\r\\nCome, we are all made. [Winde Hornes.]\\r\\nDij Deoeq(ue) omnes, ye have danc\\'d rarely, wenches. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 6. (Same as Scene III.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon from the Bush.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAbout this houre my Cosen gave his faith\\r\\nTo visit me againe, and with him bring\\r\\nTwo Swords, and two good Armors; if he faile,\\r\\nHe\\'s neither man nor Souldier. When he left me,\\r\\nI did not thinke a weeke could have restord\\r\\nMy lost strength to me, I was growne so low,\\r\\nAnd Crest-falne with my wants: I thanke thee, Arcite,\\r\\nThou art yet a faire Foe; and I feele my selfe\\r\\nWith this refreshing, able once againe\\r\\nTo out dure danger: To delay it longer\\r\\nWould make the world think, when it comes to hearing,\\r\\nThat I lay fatting like a Swine to fight,\\r\\nAnd not a Souldier: Therefore, this blest morning\\r\\nShall be the last; and that Sword he refuses,\\r\\nIf it but hold, I kill him with; tis Iustice:\\r\\nSo love, and Fortune for me!—O, good morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Arcite with Armors and Swords.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nGood morrow, noble kinesman.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI have put you to too much paines, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat too much, faire Cosen,\\r\\nIs but a debt to honour, and my duty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWould you were so in all, Sir; I could wish ye\\r\\nAs kinde a kinsman, as you force me finde\\r\\nA beneficiall foe, that my embraces\\r\\nMight thanke ye, not my blowes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI shall thinke either, well done,\\r\\nA noble recompence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThen I shall quit you.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDefy me in these faire termes, and you show\\r\\nMore then a Mistris to me, no more anger\\r\\nAs you love any thing that\\'s honourable:\\r\\nWe were not bred to talke, man; when we are arm\\'d\\r\\nAnd both upon our guards, then let our fury,\\r\\nLike meeting of two tides, fly strongly from us,\\r\\nAnd then to whom the birthright of this Beauty\\r\\nTruely pertaines (without obbraidings, scornes,\\r\\nDispisings of our persons, and such powtings,\\r\\nFitter for Girles and Schooleboyes) will be seene\\r\\nAnd quickly, yours, or mine: wilt please you arme, Sir,\\r\\nOr if you feele your selfe not fitting yet\\r\\nAnd furnishd with your old strength, ile stay, Cosen,\\r\\nAnd ev\\'ry day discourse you into health,\\r\\nAs I am spard: your person I am friends with,\\r\\nAnd I could wish I had not saide I lov\\'d her,\\r\\nThough I had dide; But loving such a Lady\\r\\nAnd justifying my Love, I must not fly from\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nArcite, thou art so brave an enemy,\\r\\nThat no man but thy Cosen\\'s fit to kill thee:\\r\\nI am well and lusty, choose your Armes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nChoose you, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWilt thou exceede in all, or do\\'st thou doe it\\r\\nTo make me spare thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf you thinke so, Cosen,\\r\\nYou are deceived, for as I am a Soldier,\\r\\nI will not spare you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThat\\'s well said.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou\\'l finde it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThen, as I am an honest man and love\\r\\nWith all the justice of affection,\\r\\nIle pay thee soundly. This ile take.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat\\'s mine, then;\\r\\nIle arme you first.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDo: pray thee, tell me, Cosen,\\r\\nWhere gotst thou this good Armour?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTis the Dukes,\\r\\nAnd to say true, I stole it; doe I pinch you?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNoe.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIs\\'t not too heavie?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI have worne a lighter,\\r\\nBut I shall make it serve.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIle buckl\\'t close.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBy any meanes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou care not for a Grand guard?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNo, no; wee\\'l use no horses: I perceave\\r\\nYou would faine be at that Fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am indifferent.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nFaith, so am I: good Cosen, thrust the buckle\\r\\nThrough far enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI warrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMy Caske now.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWill you fight bare-armd?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWe shall be the nimbler.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBut use your Gauntlets though; those are o\\'th least,\\r\\nPrethee take mine, good Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThanke you, Arcite.\\r\\nHow doe I looke? am I falne much away?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nFaith, very little; love has usd you kindly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIle warrant thee, Ile strike home.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDoe, and spare not;\\r\\nIle give you cause, sweet Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNow to you, Sir:\\r\\nMe thinkes this Armor\\'s very like that, Arcite,\\r\\nThou wor\\'st the day the 3. Kings fell, but lighter.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat was a very good one; and that day,\\r\\nI well remember, you outdid me, Cosen.\\r\\nI never saw such valour: when you chargd\\r\\nVpon the left wing of the Enemie,\\r\\nI spurd hard to come up, and under me\\r\\nI had a right good horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou had indeede; a bright Bay, I remember.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, but all\\r\\nWas vainely labour\\'d in me; you outwent me,\\r\\nNor could my wishes reach you; yet a little\\r\\nI did by imitation.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMore by vertue;\\r\\nYou are modest, Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWhen I saw you charge first,\\r\\nMe thought I heard a dreadfull clap of Thunder\\r\\nBreake from the Troope.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBut still before that flew\\r\\nThe lightning of your valour. Stay a little,\\r\\nIs not this peece too streight?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNo, no, tis well.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI would have nothing hurt thee but my Sword,\\r\\nA bruise would be dishonour.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNow I am perfect.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nStand off, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTake my Sword, I hold it better.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI thanke ye: No, keepe it; your life lyes on it.\\r\\nHere\\'s one; if it but hold, I aske no more\\r\\nFor all my hopes: My Cause and honour guard me! [They bow\\r\\n severall wayes: then advance and stand.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nAnd me my love! Is there ought else to say?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThis onely, and no more: Thou art mine Aunts Son,\\r\\nAnd that blood we desire to shed is mutuall;\\r\\nIn me, thine, and in thee, mine. My Sword\\r\\nIs in my hand, and if thou killst me,\\r\\nThe gods and I forgive thee; If there be\\r\\nA place prepar\\'d for those that sleepe in honour,\\r\\nI wish his wearie soule that falls may win it:\\r\\nFight bravely, Cosen; give me thy noble hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHere, Palamon: This hand shall never more\\r\\nCome neare thee with such friendship.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI commend thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf I fall, curse me, and say I was a coward,\\r\\nFor none but such dare die in these just Tryalls.\\r\\nOnce more farewell, my Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nFarewell, Arcite. [Fight.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Hornes within: they stand.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nLoe, Cosen, loe, our Folly has undon us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhy?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThis is the Duke, a hunting as I told you.\\r\\nIf we be found, we are wretched. O retire\\r\\nFor honours sake, and safety presently\\r\\nInto your Bush agen; Sir, we shall finde\\r\\nToo many howres to dye in: gentle Cosen,\\r\\nIf you be seene you perish instantly\\r\\nFor breaking prison, and I, if you reveale me,\\r\\nFor my contempt. Then all the world will scorne us,\\r\\nAnd say we had a noble difference,\\r\\nBut base disposers of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNo, no, Cosen,\\r\\nI will no more be hidden, nor put off\\r\\nThis great adventure to a second Tryall:\\r\\nI know your cunning, and I know your cause;\\r\\nHe that faints now, shame take him: put thy selfe\\r\\nVpon thy present guard—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou are not mad?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nOr I will make th\\'advantage of this howre\\r\\nMine owne, and what to come shall threaten me,\\r\\nI feare lesse then my fortune: know, weake Cosen,\\r\\nI love Emilia, and in that ile bury\\r\\nThee, and all crosses else.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThen, come what can come,\\r\\nThou shalt know, Palamon, I dare as well\\r\\nDie, as discourse, or sleepe: Onely this feares me,\\r\\nThe law will have the honour of our ends.\\r\\nHave at thy life.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nLooke to thine owne well, Arcite. [Fight againe. Hornes.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Perithous and traine.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat ignorant and mad malicious Traitors,\\r\\nAre you, That gainst the tenor of my Lawes\\r\\nAre making Battaile, thus like Knights appointed,\\r\\nWithout my leave, and Officers of Armes?\\r\\nBy Castor, both shall dye.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHold thy word, Theseus.\\r\\nWe are certainly both Traitors, both despisers\\r\\nOf thee and of thy goodnesse: I am Palamon,\\r\\nThat cannot love thee, he that broke thy Prison;\\r\\nThinke well what that deserves: and this is Arcite,\\r\\nA bolder Traytor never trod thy ground,\\r\\nA Falser neu\\'r seem\\'d friend: This is the man\\r\\nWas begd and banish\\'d; this is he contemnes thee\\r\\nAnd what thou dar\\'st doe, and in this disguise\\r\\nAgainst thy owne Edict followes thy Sister,\\r\\nThat fortunate bright Star, the faire Emilia,\\r\\nWhose servant, (if there be a right in seeing,\\r\\nAnd first bequeathing of the soule to) justly\\r\\nI am, and, which is more, dares thinke her his.\\r\\nThis treacherie, like a most trusty Lover,\\r\\nI call\\'d him now to answer; if thou bee\\'st,\\r\\nAs thou art spoken, great and vertuous,\\r\\nThe true descider of all injuries,\\r\\nSay, \\'Fight againe,\\' and thou shalt see me, Theseus,\\r\\nDoe such a Iustice, thou thy selfe wilt envie.\\r\\nThen take my life; Ile wooe thee too\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nO heaven,\\r\\nWhat more then man is this!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI have sworne.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWe seeke not\\r\\nThy breath of mercy, Theseus. Tis to me\\r\\nA thing as soone to dye, as thee to say it,\\r\\nAnd no more mov\\'d: where this man calls me Traitor,\\r\\nLet me say thus much: if in love be Treason,\\r\\nIn service of so excellent a Beutie,\\r\\nAs I love most, and in that faith will perish,\\r\\nAs I have brought my life here to confirme it,\\r\\nAs I have serv\\'d her truest, worthiest,\\r\\nAs I dare kill this Cosen, that denies it,\\r\\nSo let me be most Traitor, and ye please me.\\r\\nFor scorning thy Edict, Duke, aske that Lady\\r\\nWhy she is faire, and why her eyes command me\\r\\nStay here to love her; and if she say \\'Traytor,\\'\\r\\nI am a villaine fit to lye unburied.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThou shalt have pitty of us both, o Theseus,\\r\\nIf unto neither thou shew mercy; stop\\r\\n(As thou art just) thy noble eare against us.\\r\\nAs thou art valiant, for thy Cosens soule\\r\\nWhose 12. strong labours crowne his memory,\\r\\nLets die together, at one instant, Duke,\\r\\nOnely a little let him fall before me,\\r\\nThat I may tell my Soule he shall not have her.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI grant your wish, for, to say true, your Cosen\\r\\nHas ten times more offended; for I gave him\\r\\nMore mercy then you found, Sir, your offenses\\r\\nBeing no more then his. None here speake for \\'em,\\r\\nFor, ere the Sun set, both shall sleepe for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nAlas the pitty! now or never, Sister,\\r\\nSpeake, not to be denide; That face of yours\\r\\nWill beare the curses else of after ages\\r\\nFor these lost Cosens.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIn my face, deare Sister,\\r\\nI finde no anger to \\'em, nor no ruyn;\\r\\nThe misadventure of their owne eyes kill \\'em;\\r\\nYet that I will be woman, and have pitty,\\r\\nMy knees shall grow to\\'th ground but Ile get mercie.\\r\\nHelpe me, deare Sister; in a deede so vertuous\\r\\nThe powers of all women will be with us.\\r\\nMost royall Brother—\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nSir, by our tye of Marriage—\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBy your owne spotlesse honour—\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nBy that faith,\\r\\nThat faire hand, and that honest heart you gave me.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBy that you would have pitty in another,\\r\\nBy your owne vertues infinite.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nBy valour,\\r\\nBy all the chaste nights I have ever pleasd you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThese are strange Conjurings.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nNay, then, Ile in too:\\r\\nBy all our friendship, Sir, by all our dangers,\\r\\nBy all you love most: warres and this sweet Lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBy that you would have trembled to deny,\\r\\nA blushing Maide.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nBy your owne eyes: By strength,\\r\\nIn which you swore I went beyond all women,\\r\\nAlmost all men, and yet I yeelded, Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nTo crowne all this: By your most noble soule,\\r\\nWhich cannot want due mercie, I beg first.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nNext, heare my prayers.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nLast, let me intreate, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nFor mercy.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nMercy.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMercy on these Princes.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYe make my faith reele: Say I felt\\r\\nCompassion to\\'em both, how would you place it?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nVpon their lives: But with their banishments.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou are a right woman, Sister; you have pitty,\\r\\nBut want the vnderstanding where to use it.\\r\\nIf you desire their lives, invent a way\\r\\nSafer then banishment: Can these two live\\r\\nAnd have the agony of love about \\'em,\\r\\nAnd not kill one another? Every day\\r\\nThey\\'ld fight about you; howrely bring your honour\\r\\nIn publique question with their Swords. Be wise, then,\\r\\nAnd here forget \\'em; it concernes your credit\\r\\nAnd my oth equally: I have said they die;\\r\\nBetter they fall by\\'th law, then one another.\\r\\nBow not my honor.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO my noble Brother,\\r\\nThat oth was rashly made, and in your anger,\\r\\nYour reason will not hold it; if such vowes\\r\\nStand for expresse will, all the world must perish.\\r\\nBeside, I have another oth gainst yours,\\r\\nOf more authority, I am sure more love,\\r\\nNot made in passion neither, but good heede.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat is it, Sister?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nVrge it home, brave Lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat you would nev\\'r deny me any thing\\r\\nFit for my modest suit, and your free granting:\\r\\nI tye you to your word now; if ye fall in\\'t,\\r\\nThinke how you maime your honour,\\r\\n(For now I am set a begging, Sir, I am deafe\\r\\nTo all but your compassion.) How, their lives\\r\\nMight breed the ruine of my name, Opinion!\\r\\nShall any thing that loves me perish for me?\\r\\nThat were a cruell wisedome; doe men proyne\\r\\nThe straight yong Bowes that blush with thousand Blossoms,\\r\\nBecause they may be rotten? O Duke Theseus,\\r\\nThe goodly Mothers that have groand for these,\\r\\nAnd all the longing Maides that ever lov\\'d,\\r\\nIf your vow stand, shall curse me and my Beauty,\\r\\nAnd in their funerall songs for these two Cosens\\r\\nDespise my crueltie, and cry woe worth me,\\r\\nTill I am nothing but the scorne of women;\\r\\nFor heavens sake save their lives, and banish \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nOn what conditions?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nSweare\\'em never more\\r\\nTo make me their Contention, or to know me,\\r\\nTo tread upon thy Dukedome; and to be,\\r\\nWhere ever they shall travel, ever strangers\\r\\nTo one another.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIle be cut a peeces\\r\\nBefore I take this oth: forget I love her?\\r\\nO all ye gods dispise me, then! Thy Banishment\\r\\nI not mislike, so we may fairely carry\\r\\nOur Swords and cause along: else, never trifle,\\r\\nBut take our lives, Duke: I must love and will,\\r\\nAnd for that love must and dare kill this Cosen\\r\\nOn any peece the earth has.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWill you, Arcite,\\r\\nTake these conditions?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHe\\'s a villaine, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThese are men.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNo, never, Duke: Tis worse to me than begging\\r\\nTo take my life so basely; though I thinke\\r\\nI never shall enjoy her, yet ile preserve\\r\\nThe honour of affection, and dye for her,\\r\\nMake death a Devill.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat may be done? for now I feele compassion.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nLet it not fall agen, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSay, Emilia,\\r\\nIf one of them were dead, as one must, are you\\r\\nContent to take th\\'other to your husband?\\r\\nThey cannot both enjoy you; They are Princes\\r\\nAs goodly as your owne eyes, and as noble\\r\\nAs ever fame yet spoke of; looke upon \\'em,\\r\\nAnd if you can love, end this difference.\\r\\nI give consent; are you content too, Princes?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTH.\\r\\nWith all our soules.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nHe that she refuses\\r\\nMust dye, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTH.\\r\\nAny death thou canst invent, Duke.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIf I fall from that mouth, I fall with favour,\\r\\nAnd Lovers yet unborne shall blesse my ashes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf she refuse me, yet my grave will wed me,\\r\\nAnd Souldiers sing my Epitaph.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nMake choice, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI cannot, Sir, they are both too excellent:\\r\\nFor me, a hayre shall never fall of these men.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nWhat will become of \\'em?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThus I ordaine it;\\r\\nAnd by mine honor, once againe, it stands,\\r\\nOr both shall dye:—You shall both to your Countrey,\\r\\nAnd each within this moneth, accompanied\\r\\nWith three faire Knights, appeare againe in this place,\\r\\nIn which Ile plant a Pyramid; and whether,\\r\\nBefore us that are here, can force his Cosen\\r\\nBy fayre and knightly strength to touch the Pillar,\\r\\nHe shall enjoy her: the other loose his head,\\r\\nAnd all his friends; Nor shall he grudge to fall,\\r\\nNor thinke he dies with interest in this Lady:\\r\\nWill this content yee?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes: here, Cosen Arcite,\\r\\nI am friends againe, till that howre.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI embrace ye.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAre you content, Sister?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYes, I must, Sir,\\r\\nEls both miscarry.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nCome, shake hands againe, then;\\r\\nAnd take heede, as you are Gentlemen, this Quarrell\\r\\nSleepe till the howre prefixt; and hold your course.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWe dare not faile thee, Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nCome, Ile give ye\\r\\nNow usage like to Princes, and to Friends:\\r\\nWhen ye returne, who wins, Ile settle heere;\\r\\nWho looses, yet Ile weepe upon his Beere. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (Athens. A room in the prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iailor and his friend.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHeare you no more? was nothing saide of me\\r\\nConcerning the escape of Palamon?\\r\\nGood Sir, remember.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nNothing that I heard,\\r\\nFor I came home before the busines\\r\\nWas fully ended: Yet I might perceive,\\r\\nEre I departed, a great likelihood\\r\\nOf both their pardons: For Hipolita,\\r\\nAnd faire-eyd Emilie, upon their knees\\r\\nBegd with such hansom pitty, that the Duke\\r\\nMe thought stood staggering, whether he should follow\\r\\nHis rash oth, or the sweet compassion\\r\\nOf those two Ladies; and to second them,\\r\\nThat truely noble Prince Perithous,\\r\\nHalfe his owne heart, set in too, that I hope\\r\\nAll shall be well: Neither heard I one question\\r\\nOf your name or his scape.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter 2. Friend.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nPray heaven it hold so.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nBe of good comfort, man; I bring you newes,\\r\\nGood newes.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThey are welcome,\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nPalamon has cleerd you,\\r\\nAnd got your pardon, and discoverd how\\r\\nAnd by whose meanes he escapt, which was your Daughters,\\r\\nWhose pardon is procurd too; and the Prisoner,\\r\\nNot to be held ungratefull to her goodnes,\\r\\nHas given a summe of money to her Marriage,\\r\\nA large one, ile assure you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYe are a good man\\r\\nAnd ever bring good newes.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nHow was it ended?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nWhy, as it should be; they that nev\\'r begd\\r\\nBut they prevaild, had their suites fairely granted,\\r\\nThe prisoners have their lives.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nI knew t\\'would be so.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nBut there be new conditions, which you\\'l heare of\\r\\nAt better time.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI hope they are good.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nThey are honourable,\\r\\nHow good they\\'l prove, I know not.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Wooer.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nT\\'will be knowne.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nAlas, Sir, wher\\'s your Daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWhy doe you aske?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nO, Sir, when did you see her?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nHow he lookes?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThis morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nWas she well? was she in health, Sir?\\r\\nWhen did she sleepe?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nThese are strange Questions.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI doe not thinke she was very well, for now\\r\\nYou make me minde her, but this very day\\r\\nI ask\\'d her questions, and she answered me\\r\\nSo farre from what she was, so childishly,\\r\\nSo sillily, as if she were a foole,\\r\\nAn Inocent, and I was very angry.\\r\\nBut what of her, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nNothing but my pitty;\\r\\nBut you must know it, and as good by me\\r\\nAs by an other that lesse loves her—\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWell, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nNot right?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nNot well?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nNo, Sir, not well.\\r\\nTis too true, she is mad.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nIt cannot be.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nBeleeve, you\\'l finde it so.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI halfe suspected\\r\\nWhat you (have) told me: the gods comfort her:\\r\\nEither this was her love to Palamon,\\r\\nOr feare of my miscarrying on his scape,\\r\\nOr both.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nTis likely.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nBut why all this haste, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nIle tell you quickly. As I late was angling\\r\\nIn the great Lake that lies behind the Pallace,\\r\\nFrom the far shore, thicke set with reedes and Sedges,\\r\\nAs patiently I was attending sport,\\r\\nI heard a voyce, a shrill one, and attentive\\r\\nI gave my eare, when I might well perceive\\r\\nT\\'was one that sung, and by the smallnesse of it\\r\\nA boy or woman. I then left my angle\\r\\nTo his owne skill, came neere, but yet perceivd not\\r\\nWho made the sound, the rushes and the Reeds\\r\\nHad so encompast it: I laide me downe\\r\\nAnd listned to the words she sung, for then,\\r\\nThrough a small glade cut by the Fisher men,\\r\\nI saw it was your Daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nPray, goe on, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nShe sung much, but no sence; onely I heard her\\r\\nRepeat this often: \\'Palamon is gone,\\r\\nIs gone to\\'th wood to gather Mulberies;\\r\\nIle finde him out to morrow.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nPretty soule.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\n\\'His shackles will betray him, hee\\'l be taken,\\r\\nAnd what shall I doe then? Ile bring a beavy,\\r\\nA hundred blacke eyd Maides, that love as I doe,\\r\\nWith Chaplets on their heads of Daffadillies,\\r\\nWith cherry-lips, and cheekes of Damaske Roses,\\r\\nAnd all wee\\'l daunce an Antique fore the Duke,\\r\\nAnd beg his pardon.\\' Then she talk\\'d of you, Sir;\\r\\nThat you must loose your head to morrow morning,\\r\\nAnd she must gather flowers to bury you,\\r\\nAnd see the house made handsome: then she sung\\r\\nNothing but \\'Willow, willow, willow,\\' and betweene\\r\\nEver was, \\'Palamon, faire Palamon,\\'\\r\\nAnd \\'Palamon was a tall yong man.\\' The place\\r\\nWas knee deepe where she sat; her careles Tresses\\r\\nA wreathe of bull-rush rounded; about her stucke\\r\\nThousand fresh water flowers of severall cullors,\\r\\nThat me thought she appeard like the faire Nimph\\r\\nThat feedes the lake with waters, or as Iris\\r\\nNewly dropt downe from heaven; Rings she made\\r\\nOf rushes that grew by, and to \\'em spoke\\r\\nThe prettiest posies: \\'Thus our true love\\'s tide,\\'\\r\\n\\'This you may loose, not me,\\' and many a one:\\r\\nAnd then she wept, and sung againe, and sigh\\'d,\\r\\nAnd with the same breath smil\\'d, and kist her hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nAlas, what pitty it is!\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI made in to her.\\r\\nShe saw me, and straight sought the flood; I sav\\'d her,\\r\\nAnd set her safe to land: when presently\\r\\nShe slipt away, and to the Citty made,\\r\\nWith such a cry and swiftnes, that, beleeve me,\\r\\nShee left me farre behinde her; three or foure\\r\\nI saw from farre off crosse her, one of \\'em\\r\\nI knew to be your brother; where she staid,\\r\\nAnd fell, scarce to be got away: I left them with her, [Enter\\r\\n Brother, Daughter, and others.]\\r\\nAnd hether came to tell you. Here they are.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER. [sings.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMay you never more enjoy the light, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nIs not this a fine Song?\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nO, a very fine one.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI can sing twenty more.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nI thinke you can.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYes, truely, can I; I can sing the Broome,\\r\\nAnd Bony Robin. Are not you a tailour?\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWher\\'s my wedding Gowne?\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nIle bring it to morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nDoe, very rarely; I must be abroad else\\r\\nTo call the Maides, and pay the Minstrels,\\r\\nFor I must loose my Maydenhead by cock-light;\\r\\nTwill never thrive else.\\r\\n[Singes.] O faire, oh sweete, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nYou must ev\\'n take it patiently.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nTis true.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nGood ev\\'n, good men; pray, did you ever heare\\r\\nOf one yong Palamon?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYes, wench, we know him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIs\\'t not a fine yong Gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nTis Love.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nBy no meane crosse her; she is then distemperd\\r\\nFar worse then now she showes.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nYes, he\\'s a fine man.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nO, is he so? you have a Sister?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nBut she shall never have him, tell her so,\\r\\nFor a tricke that I know; y\\'had best looke to her,\\r\\nFor if she see him once, she\\'s gone, she\\'s done,\\r\\nAnd undon in an howre. All the young Maydes\\r\\nOf our Towne are in love with him, but I laugh at \\'em\\r\\nAnd let \\'em all alone; Is\\'t not a wise course?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nThere is at least two hundred now with child by him—\\r\\nThere must be fowre; yet I keepe close for all this,\\r\\nClose as a Cockle; and all these must be Boyes,\\r\\nHe has the tricke on\\'t, and at ten yeares old\\r\\nThey must be all gelt for Musitians,\\r\\nAnd sing the wars of Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nThis is strange.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAs ever you heard, but say nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nThey come from all parts of the Dukedome to him;\\r\\nIle warrant ye, he had not so few last night\\r\\nAs twenty to dispatch: hee\\'l tickl\\'t up\\r\\nIn two howres, if his hand be in.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nShe\\'s lost\\r\\nPast all cure.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nHeaven forbid, man.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nCome hither, you are a wise man.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nDo\\'s she know him?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nNo, would she did.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYou are master of a Ship?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWher\\'s your Compasse?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHeere.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nSet it too\\'th North.\\r\\nAnd now direct your course to\\'th wood, wher Palamon\\r\\nLyes longing for me; For the Tackling\\r\\nLet me alone; Come, waygh, my hearts, cheerely!\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nOwgh, owgh, owgh, tis up, the wind\\'s faire,\\r\\nTop the Bowling, out with the maine saile;\\r\\nWher\\'s your Whistle, Master?\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nLets get her in.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nVp to the top, Boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nWher\\'s the Pilot?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nHeere.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWhat ken\\'st thou?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nA faire wood.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nBeare for it, master: take about! [Singes.]\\r\\nWhen Cinthia with her borrowed light, &c. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (A Room in the Palace.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Emilia alone, with 2. Pictures.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYet I may binde those wounds up, that must open\\r\\nAnd bleed to death for my sake else; Ile choose,\\r\\nAnd end their strife: Two such yong hansom men\\r\\nShall never fall for me, their weeping Mothers,\\r\\nFollowing the dead cold ashes of their Sonnes,\\r\\nShall never curse my cruelty. Good heaven,\\r\\nWhat a sweet face has Arcite! if wise nature,\\r\\nWith all her best endowments, all those beuties\\r\\nShe sowes into the birthes of noble bodies,\\r\\nWere here a mortall woman, and had in her\\r\\nThe coy denialls of yong Maydes, yet doubtles,\\r\\nShe would run mad for this man: what an eye,\\r\\nOf what a fyry sparkle, and quick sweetnes,\\r\\nHas this yong Prince! Here Love himselfe sits smyling,\\r\\nIust such another wanton Ganimead\\r\\nSet Jove a fire with, and enforcd the god\\r\\nSnatch up the goodly Boy, and set him by him\\r\\nA shining constellation: What a brow,\\r\\nOf what a spacious Majesty, he carries!\\r\\nArch\\'d like the great eyd Iuno\\'s, but far sweeter,\\r\\nSmoother then Pelops Shoulder! Fame and honour,\\r\\nMe thinks, from hence, as from a Promontory\\r\\nPointed in heaven, should clap their wings, and sing\\r\\nTo all the under world the Loves and Fights\\r\\nOf gods, and such men neere \\'em. Palamon\\r\\nIs but his foyle, to him a meere dull shadow:\\r\\nHee\\'s swarth and meagre, of an eye as heavy\\r\\nAs if he had lost his mother; a still temper,\\r\\nNo stirring in him, no alacrity,\\r\\nOf all this sprightly sharpenes not a smile;\\r\\nYet these that we count errours may become him:\\r\\nNarcissus was a sad Boy, but a heavenly:—\\r\\nOh who can finde the bent of womans fancy?\\r\\nI am a Foole, my reason is lost in me;\\r\\nI have no choice, and I have ly\\'d so lewdly\\r\\nThat women ought to beate me. On my knees\\r\\nI aske thy pardon, Palamon; thou art alone,\\r\\nAnd only beutifull, and these the eyes,\\r\\nThese the bright lamps of beauty, that command\\r\\nAnd threaten Love, and what yong Mayd dare crosse \\'em?\\r\\nWhat a bold gravity, and yet inviting,\\r\\nHas this browne manly face! O Love, this only\\r\\nFrom this howre is Complexion: Lye there, Arcite,\\r\\nThou art a changling to him, a meere Gipsey,\\r\\nAnd this the noble Bodie. I am sotted,\\r\\nVtterly lost: My Virgins faith has fled me;\\r\\nFor if my brother but even now had ask\\'d me\\r\\nWhether I lov\\'d, I had run mad for Arcite;\\r\\nNow, if my Sister, More for Palamon.\\r\\nStand both together: Now, come aske me, Brother.—\\r\\nAlas, I know not! Aske me now, sweet Sister;—\\r\\nI may goe looke. What a meere child is Fancie,\\r\\nThat, having two faire gawdes of equall sweetnesse,\\r\\nCannot distinguish, but must crie for both.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter (a) Gent(leman.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHow now, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nFrom the Noble Duke your Brother,\\r\\nMadam, I bring you newes: The Knights are come.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nTo end the quarrell?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWould I might end first:\\r\\nWhat sinnes have I committed, chast Diana,\\r\\nThat my unspotted youth must now be soyld\\r\\nWith blood of Princes? and my Chastitie\\r\\nBe made the Altar, where the lives of Lovers\\r\\n(Two greater and two better never yet\\r\\nMade mothers joy) must be the sacrifice\\r\\nTo my unhappy Beautie?\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Perithous and attendants.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nBring \\'em in\\r\\nQuickly, By any meanes; I long to see \\'em.—\\r\\nYour two contending Lovers are return\\'d,\\r\\nAnd with them their faire Knights: Now, my faire Sister,\\r\\nYou must love one of them.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI had rather both,\\r\\nSo neither for my sake should fall untimely.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Messenger. (Curtis.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWho saw \\'em?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nI, a while.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nAnd I.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nFrom whence come you, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nFrom the Knights.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nPray, speake,\\r\\nYou that have seene them, what they are.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nI will, Sir,\\r\\nAnd truly what I thinke: Six braver spirits\\r\\nThen these they have brought, (if we judge by the outside)\\r\\nI never saw, nor read of. He that stands\\r\\nIn the first place with Arcite, by his seeming,\\r\\nShould be a stout man, by his face a Prince,\\r\\n(His very lookes so say him) his complexion,\\r\\nNearer a browne, than blacke, sterne, and yet noble,\\r\\nWhich shewes him hardy, fearelesse, proud of dangers:\\r\\nThe circles of his eyes show fire within him,\\r\\nAnd as a heated Lyon, so he lookes;\\r\\nHis haire hangs long behind him, blacke and shining\\r\\nLike Ravens wings: his shoulders broad and strong,\\r\\nArmd long and round, and on his Thigh a Sword\\r\\nHung by a curious Bauldricke, when he frownes\\r\\nTo seale his will with: better, o\\'my conscience\\r\\nWas never Souldiers friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThou ha\\'st well describde him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nYet a great deale short,\\r\\nMe thinkes, of him that\\'s first with Palamon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nPray, speake him, friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nI ghesse he is a Prince too,\\r\\nAnd, if it may be, greater; for his show\\r\\nHas all the ornament of honour in\\'t:\\r\\nHee\\'s somewhat bigger, then the Knight he spoke of,\\r\\nBut of a face far sweeter; His complexion\\r\\nIs (as a ripe grape) ruddy: he has felt,\\r\\nWithout doubt, what he fights for, and so apter\\r\\nTo make this cause his owne: In\\'s face appeares\\r\\nAll the faire hopes of what he undertakes,\\r\\nAnd when he\\'s angry, then a setled valour\\r\\n(Not tainted with extreames) runs through his body,\\r\\nAnd guides his arme to brave things: Feare he cannot,\\r\\nHe shewes no such soft temper; his head\\'s yellow,\\r\\nHard hayr\\'d, and curld, thicke twind like Ivy tods,\\r\\nNot to undoe with thunder; In his face\\r\\nThe liverie of the warlike Maide appeares,\\r\\nPure red, and white, for yet no beard has blest him.\\r\\nAnd in his rowling eyes sits victory,\\r\\nAs if she ever ment to court his valour:\\r\\nHis Nose stands high, a Character of honour.\\r\\nHis red lips, after fights, are fit for Ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMust these men die too?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nWhen he speakes, his tongue\\r\\nSounds like a Trumpet; All his lyneaments\\r\\nAre as a man would wish \\'em, strong and cleane,\\r\\nHe weares a well-steeld Axe, the staffe of gold;\\r\\nHis age some five and twenty.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nTher\\'s another,\\r\\nA little man, but of a tough soule, seeming\\r\\nAs great as any: fairer promises\\r\\nIn such a Body yet I never look\\'d on.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nO, he that\\'s freckle fac\\'d?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThe same, my Lord;\\r\\nAre they not sweet ones?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nYes, they are well.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nMe thinkes,\\r\\nBeing so few, and well disposd, they show\\r\\nGreat, and fine art in nature: he\\'s white hair\\'d,\\r\\nNot wanton white, but such a manly colour\\r\\nNext to an aborne; tough, and nimble set,\\r\\nWhich showes an active soule; his armes are brawny,\\r\\nLinde with strong sinewes: To the shoulder peece\\r\\nGently they swell, like women new conceav\\'d,\\r\\nWhich speakes him prone to labour, never fainting\\r\\nVnder the waight of Armes; stout harted, still,\\r\\nBut when he stirs, a Tiger; he\\'s gray eyd,\\r\\nWhich yeelds compassion where he conquers: sharpe\\r\\nTo spy advantages, and where he finds \\'em,\\r\\nHe\\'s swift to make \\'em his: He do\\'s no wrongs,\\r\\nNor takes none; he\\'s round fac\\'d, and when he smiles\\r\\nHe showes a Lover, when he frownes, a Souldier:\\r\\nAbout his head he weares the winners oke,\\r\\nAnd in it stucke the favour of his Lady:\\r\\nHis age, some six and thirtie. In his hand\\r\\nHe beares a charging Staffe, embost with silver.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAre they all thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThey are all the sonnes of honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNow, as I have a soule, I long to see\\'em.\\r\\nLady, you shall see men fight now.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nI wish it,\\r\\nBut not the cause, my Lord; They would show\\r\\nBravely about the Titles of two Kingdomes;\\r\\nTis pitty Love should be so tyrannous:\\r\\nO my soft harted Sister, what thinke you?\\r\\nWeepe not, till they weepe blood, Wench; it must be.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou have steel\\'d \\'em with your Beautie.—Honord Friend,\\r\\nTo you I give the Feild; pray, order it\\r\\nFitting the persons that must use it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nYes, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nCome, Ile goe visit \\'em: I cannot stay,\\r\\nTheir fame has fir\\'d me so; Till they appeare.\\r\\nGood Friend, be royall.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThere shall want no bravery.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPoore wench, goe weepe, for whosoever wins,\\r\\nLooses a noble Cosen for thy sins. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (A room in the prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iailor, Wooer, Doctor.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHer distraction is more at some time of the Moone, then at other some,\\r\\nis it not?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nShe is continually in a harmelesse distemper, sleepes little,\\r\\naltogether without appetite, save often drinking, dreaming of another\\r\\nworld, and a better; and what broken peece of matter so\\'ere she\\'s\\r\\nabout, the name Palamon lardes it, that she farces ev\\'ry busines\\r\\nwithall, fyts it to every question.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Daughter.]\\r\\n\\r\\nLooke where shee comes, you shall perceive her behaviour.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI have forgot it quite; The burden on\\'t, was DOWNE A, DOWNE A, and pend\\r\\nby no worse man, then Giraldo, Emilias Schoolemaster; he\\'s as\\r\\nFantasticall too, as ever he may goe upon\\'s legs,—for in the next world\\r\\nwill Dido see Palamon, and then will she be out of love with Eneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWhat stuff\\'s here? pore soule!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nEv\\'n thus all day long.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nNow for this Charme, that I told you of: you must bring a peece of\\r\\nsilver on the tip of your tongue, or no ferry: then, if it be your\\r\\nchance to come where the blessed spirits, as ther\\'s a sight now—we\\r\\nmaids that have our Lyvers perish\\'d, crakt to peeces with Love, we\\r\\nshall come there, and doe nothing all day long but picke flowers with\\r\\nProserpine; then will I make Palamon a Nosegay; then let him marke\\r\\nme,—then—\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHow prettily she\\'s amisse? note her a little further.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nFaith, ile tell you, sometime we goe to Barly breake, we of the\\r\\nblessed; alas, tis a sore life they have i\\'th other place, such\\r\\nburning, frying, boyling, hissing, howling, chattring, cursing, oh they\\r\\nhave shrowd measure! take heede; if one be mad, or hang or drowne\\r\\nthemselves, thither they goe, Iupiter blesse vs, and there shall we be\\r\\nput in a Caldron of lead, and Vsurers grease, amongst a whole million\\r\\nof cutpurses, and there boyle like a Gamon of Bacon that will never be\\r\\nenough. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHow her braine coynes!\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nLords and Courtiers, that have got maids with Child, they are in this\\r\\nplace: they shall stand in fire up to the Nav\\'le, and in yce up to\\'th\\r\\nhart, and there th\\'offending part burnes, and the deceaving part\\r\\nfreezes; in troth, a very greevous punishment, as one would thinke, for\\r\\nsuch a Trifle; beleve me, one would marry a leaprous witch, to be rid\\r\\non\\'t, Ile assure you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHow she continues this fancie! Tis not an engraffed Madnesse, but a\\r\\nmost thicke, and profound mellencholly.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nTo heare there a proud Lady, and a proud Citty wiffe, howle together! I\\r\\nwere a beast and il\\'d call it good sport: one cries, \\'O this smoake!\\'\\r\\nanother, \\'this fire!\\' One cries, \\'O, that ever I did it behind the\\r\\narras!\\' and then howles; th\\'other curses a suing fellow and her garden\\r\\nhouse. [Sings] I will be true, my stars, my fate, &c. [Exit Daugh.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWhat thinke you of her, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nI thinke she has a perturbed minde, which I cannot minister to.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nAlas, what then?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nVnderstand you, she ever affected any man, ere she beheld\\r\\nPalamon?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI was once, Sir, in great hope she had fixd her liking on this\\r\\ngentleman, my friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI did thinke so too, and would account I had a great pen-worth on\\'t, to\\r\\ngive halfe my state, that both she and I at this present stood\\r\\nunfainedly on the same tearmes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nThat intemprat surfeit of her eye hath distemperd the other sences:\\r\\nthey may returne and settle againe to execute their preordaind\\r\\nfaculties, but they are now in a most extravagant vagary. This you\\r\\nmust doe: Confine her to a place, where the light may rather seeme to\\r\\nsteale in, then be permitted; take vpon you (yong Sir, her friend) the\\r\\nname of Palamon; say you come to eate with her, and to commune of Love;\\r\\nthis will catch her attention, for this her minde beates upon; other\\r\\nobjects that are inserted tweene her minde and eye become the prankes\\r\\nand friskins of her madnes; Sing to her such greene songs of Love, as\\r\\nshe sayes Palamon hath sung in prison; Come to her, stucke in as sweet\\r\\nflowers as the season is mistres of, and thereto make an addition of\\r\\nsom other compounded odours, which are grateful to the sence: all this\\r\\nshall become Palamon, for Palamon can sing, and Palamon is sweet, and\\r\\nev\\'ry good thing: desire to eate with her, carve her, drinke to her,\\r\\nand still among, intermingle your petition of grace and acceptance into\\r\\nher favour: Learne what Maides have beene her companions and\\r\\nplay-pheeres, and let them repaire to her with Palamon in their\\r\\nmouthes, and appeare with tokens, as if they suggested for him. It is a\\r\\nfalsehood she is in, which is with falsehood to be combated. This may\\r\\nbring her to eate, to sleepe, and reduce what\\'s now out of square in\\r\\nher, into their former law, and regiment; I have seene it approved, how\\r\\nmany times I know not, but to make the number more, I have great hope\\r\\nin this. I will, betweene the passages of this project, come in with\\r\\nmy applyance: Let us put it in execution, and hasten the successe,\\r\\nwhich, doubt not, will bring forth comfort. [Florish. Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (Before the Temples of Mars, Venus, and Diana.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Thesius, Perithous, Hipolita, attendants.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNow let\\'em enter, and before the gods\\r\\nTender their holy prayers: Let the Temples\\r\\nBurne bright with sacred fires, and the Altars\\r\\nIn hallowed clouds commend their swelling Incense\\r\\nTo those above us: Let no due be wanting; [Florish of Cornets.]\\r\\nThey have a noble worke in hand, will honour\\r\\nThe very powers that love \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon and Arcite, and their Knights.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nSir, they enter.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou valiant and strong harted Enemies,\\r\\nYou royall German foes, that this day come\\r\\nTo blow that furnesse out that flames betweene ye:\\r\\nLay by your anger for an houre, and dove-like,\\r\\nBefore the holy Altars of your helpers,\\r\\n(The all feard gods) bow downe your stubborne bodies.\\r\\nYour ire is more than mortall; So your helpe be,\\r\\nAnd as the gods regard ye, fight with Iustice;\\r\\nIle leave you to your prayers, and betwixt ye\\r\\nI part my wishes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nHonour crowne the worthiest. [Exit Theseus, and his traine.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThe glasse is running now that cannot finish\\r\\nTill one of us expire: Thinke you but thus,\\r\\nThat were there ought in me which strove to show\\r\\nMine enemy in this businesse, wer\\'t one eye\\r\\nAgainst another, Arme opprest by Arme,\\r\\nI would destroy th\\'offender, Coz, I would,\\r\\nThough parcell of my selfe: Then from this gather\\r\\nHow I should tender you.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am in labour\\r\\nTo push your name, your auncient love, our kindred\\r\\nOut of my memory; and i\\'th selfe same place\\r\\nTo seate something I would confound: So hoyst we\\r\\nThe sayles, that must these vessells port even where\\r\\nThe heavenly Lymiter pleases.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou speake well;\\r\\nBefore I turne, Let me embrace thee, Cosen:\\r\\nThis I shall never doe agen.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nOne farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhy, let it be so: Farewell, Coz. [Exeunt Palamon and his\\r\\nKnights.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nFarewell, Sir.—\\r\\nKnights, Kinsemen, Lovers, yea, my Sacrifices,\\r\\nTrue worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in you\\r\\nExpells the seedes of feare, and th\\'apprehension\\r\\nWhich still is farther off it, Goe with me\\r\\nBefore the god of our profession: There\\r\\nRequire of him the hearts of Lyons, and\\r\\nThe breath of Tigers, yea, the fearcenesse too,\\r\\nYea, the speed also,—to goe on, I meane,\\r\\nElse wish we to be Snayles: you know my prize\\r\\nMust be drag\\'d out of blood; force and great feate\\r\\nMust put my Garland on, where she stickes\\r\\nThe Queene of Flowers: our intercession then\\r\\nMust be to him that makes the Campe a Cestron\\r\\nBrymd with the blood of men: give me your aide\\r\\nAnd bend your spirits towards him. [They kneele.]\\r\\nThou mighty one, that with thy power hast turnd\\r\\nGreene Neptune into purple, (whose Approach)\\r\\nComets prewarne, whose havocke in vaste Feild\\r\\nVnearthed skulls proclaime, whose breath blowes downe,\\r\\nThe teeming Ceres foyzon, who doth plucke\\r\\nWith hand armypotent from forth blew clowdes\\r\\nThe masond Turrets, that both mak\\'st and break\\'st\\r\\nThe stony girthes of Citties: me thy puple,\\r\\nYongest follower of thy Drom, instruct this day\\r\\nWith military skill, that to thy lawde\\r\\nI may advance my Streamer, and by thee,\\r\\nBe stil\\'d the Lord o\\'th day: give me, great Mars,\\r\\nSome token of thy pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Here they fall on their faces as formerly, and there is heard\\r\\n clanging of Armor, with a short Thunder as the burst of a\\r\\nBattaile,\\r\\n whereupon they all rise and bow to the Altar.]\\r\\n\\r\\nO Great Corrector of enormous times,\\r\\nShaker of ore-rank States, thou grand decider\\r\\nOf dustie and old tytles, that healst with blood\\r\\nThe earth when it is sicke, and curst the world\\r\\nO\\'th pluresie of people; I doe take\\r\\nThy signes auspiciously, and in thy name\\r\\nTo my designe march boldly. Let us goe. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon and his Knights, with the former observance.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nOur stars must glister with new fire, or be\\r\\nTo daie extinct; our argument is love,\\r\\nWhich if the goddesse of it grant, she gives\\r\\nVictory too: then blend your spirits with mine,\\r\\nYou, whose free noblenesse doe make my cause\\r\\nYour personall hazard; to the goddesse Venus\\r\\nCommend we our proceeding, and implore\\r\\nHer power unto our partie. [Here they kneele as formerly.]\\r\\nHaile, Soveraigne Queene of secrets, who hast power\\r\\nTo call the feircest Tyrant from his rage,\\r\\nAnd weepe unto a Girle; that ha\\'st the might,\\r\\nEven with an ey-glance, to choke Marsis Drom\\r\\nAnd turne th\\'allarme to whispers; that canst make\\r\\nA Criple florish with his Crutch, and cure him\\r\\nBefore Apollo; that may\\'st force the King\\r\\nTo be his subjects vassaile, and induce\\r\\nStale gravitie to daunce; the pould Bachelour—\\r\\nWhose youth, like wonton Boyes through Bonfyres,\\r\\nHave skipt thy flame—at seaventy thou canst catch\\r\\nAnd make him, to the scorne of his hoarse throate,\\r\\nAbuse yong laies of love: what godlike power\\r\\nHast thou not power upon? To Phoebus thou\\r\\nAdd\\'st flames hotter then his; the heavenly fyres\\r\\nDid scortch his mortall Son, thine him; the huntresse\\r\\nAll moyst and cold, some say, began to throw\\r\\nHer Bow away, and sigh. Take to thy grace\\r\\nMe, thy vowd Souldier, who doe beare thy yoke\\r\\nAs t\\'wer a wreath of Roses, yet is heavier\\r\\nThen Lead it selfe, stings more than Nettles.\\r\\nI have never beene foule mouthd against thy law,\\r\\nNev\\'r reveald secret, for I knew none—would not,\\r\\nHad I kend all that were; I never practised\\r\\nVpon mans wife, nor would the Libells reade\\r\\nOf liberall wits; I never at great feastes\\r\\nSought to betray a Beautie, but have blush\\'d\\r\\nAt simpring Sirs that did; I have beene harsh\\r\\nTo large Confessors, and have hotly ask\\'d them\\r\\nIf they had Mothers: I had one, a woman,\\r\\nAnd women t\\'wer they wrong\\'d. I knew a man\\r\\nOf eightie winters, this I told them, who\\r\\nA Lasse of foureteene brided; twas thy power\\r\\nTo put life into dust; the aged Crampe\\r\\nHad screw\\'d his square foote round,\\r\\nThe Gout had knit his fingers into knots,\\r\\nTorturing Convulsions from his globie eyes,\\r\\nHad almost drawne their spheeres, that what was life\\r\\nIn him seem\\'d torture: this Anatomie\\r\\nHad by his yong faire pheare a Boy, and I\\r\\nBeleev\\'d it was him, for she swore it was,\\r\\nAnd who would not beleeve her? briefe, I am\\r\\nTo those that prate and have done no Companion;\\r\\nTo those that boast and have not a defyer;\\r\\nTo those that would and cannot a Rejoycer.\\r\\nYea, him I doe not love, that tells close offices\\r\\nThe fowlest way, nor names concealements in\\r\\nThe boldest language: such a one I am,\\r\\nAnd vow that lover never yet made sigh\\r\\nTruer then I. O, then, most soft, sweet goddesse,\\r\\nGive me the victory of this question, which\\r\\nIs true loves merit, and blesse me with a signe\\r\\nOf thy great pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Here Musicke is heard, Doves are seene to flutter; they fall\\r\\n againe upon their faces, then on their knees.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO thou, that from eleven to ninetie raign\\'st\\r\\nIn mortall bosomes, whose chase is this world,\\r\\nAnd we in heards thy game: I give thee thankes\\r\\nFor this faire Token, which, being layd unto\\r\\nMine innocent true heart, armes in assurance [They bow.]\\r\\nMy body to this businesse. Let us rise\\r\\nAnd bow before the goddesse: Time comes on. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Still Musicke of Records.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Emilia in white, her haire about her shoulders, (wearing) a\\r\\nwheaten wreath: One in white holding up her traine, her haire stucke\\r\\nwith flowers: One before her carrying a silver Hynde, in which is\\r\\nconveyd Incense and sweet odours, which being set upon the Altar (of\\r\\nDiana) her maides standing a loofe, she sets fire to it; then they\\r\\ncurtsey and kneele.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO sacred, shadowie, cold and constant Queene,\\r\\nAbandoner of Revells, mute, contemplative,\\r\\nSweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure\\r\\nAs windefand Snow, who to thy femall knights\\r\\nAlow\\'st no more blood than will make a blush,\\r\\nWhich is their orders robe: I heere, thy Priest,\\r\\nAm humbled fore thine Altar; O vouchsafe,\\r\\nWith that thy rare greene eye, which never yet\\r\\nBeheld thing maculate, looke on thy virgin;\\r\\nAnd, sacred silver Mistris, lend thine eare\\r\\n(Which nev\\'r heard scurrill terme, into whose port\\r\\nNe\\'re entred wanton found,) to my petition\\r\\nSeasond with holy feare: This is my last\\r\\nOf vestall office; I am bride habited,\\r\\nBut mayden harted, a husband I have pointed,\\r\\nBut doe not know him; out of two I should\\r\\nChoose one and pray for his successe, but I\\r\\nAm guiltlesse of election: of mine eyes,\\r\\nWere I to loose one, they are equall precious,\\r\\nI could doombe neither, that which perish\\'d should\\r\\nGoe too\\'t unsentenc\\'d: Therefore, most modest Queene,\\r\\nHe of the two Pretenders, that best loves me\\r\\nAnd has the truest title in\\'t, Let him\\r\\nTake off my wheaten Gerland, or else grant\\r\\nThe fyle and qualitie I hold, I may\\r\\nContinue in thy Band.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Here the Hynde vanishes under the Altar: and in the place ascends\\r\\n a Rose Tree, having one Rose upon it.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSee what our Generall of Ebbs and Flowes\\r\\nOut from the bowells of her holy Altar\\r\\nWith sacred act advances! But one Rose:\\r\\nIf well inspird, this Battaile shal confound\\r\\nBoth these brave Knights, and I, a virgin flowre\\r\\nMust grow alone unpluck\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Here is heard a sodaine twang of Instruments, and the Rose fals\\\\\\r\\n from the Tree (which vanishes under the altar.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe flowre is falne, the Tree descends: O, Mistris,\\r\\nThou here dischargest me; I shall be gather\\'d:\\r\\nI thinke so, but I know not thine owne will;\\r\\nVnclaspe thy Misterie.—I hope she\\'s pleas\\'d,\\r\\nHer Signes were gratious. [They curtsey and Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (A darkened Room in the Prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Doctor, Iaylor and Wooer, in habite of Palamon.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHas this advice I told you, done any good upon her?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nO very much; The maids that kept her company\\r\\nHave halfe perswaded her that I am Palamon;\\r\\nWithin this halfe houre she came smiling to me,\\r\\nAnd asked me what I would eate, and when I would kisse her:\\r\\nI told her presently, and kist her twice.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nTwas well done; twentie times had bin far better,\\r\\nFor there the cure lies mainely.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nThen she told me\\r\\nShe would watch with me to night, for well she knew\\r\\nWhat houre my fit would take me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nLet her doe so,\\r\\nAnd when your fit comes, fit her home,\\r\\nAnd presently.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nShe would have me sing.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYou did so?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nTwas very ill done, then;\\r\\nYou should observe her ev\\'ry way.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nAlas,\\r\\nI have no voice, Sir, to confirme her that way.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nThat\\'s all one, if yee make a noyse;\\r\\nIf she intreate againe, doe any thing,—\\r\\nLye with her, if she aske you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHoa, there, Doctor!\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYes, in the waie of cure.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nBut first, by your leave,\\r\\nI\\'th way of honestie.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nThat\\'s but a nicenesse,\\r\\nNev\\'r cast your child away for honestie;\\r\\nCure her first this way, then if shee will be honest,\\r\\nShe has the path before her.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThanke yee, Doctor.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nPray, bring her in,\\r\\nAnd let\\'s see how shee is.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI will, and tell her\\r\\nHer Palamon staies for her: But, Doctor,\\r\\nMe thinkes you are i\\'th wrong still. [Exit Iaylor.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nGoe, goe:\\r\\nYou Fathers are fine Fooles: her honesty?\\r\\nAnd we should give her physicke till we finde that—\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nWhy, doe you thinke she is not honest, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHow old is she?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nShe\\'s eighteene.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nShe may be,\\r\\nBut that\\'s all one; tis nothing to our purpose.\\r\\nWhat ere her Father saies, if you perceave\\r\\nHer moode inclining that way that I spoke of,\\r\\nVidelicet, the way of flesh—you have me?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nYet, very well, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nPlease her appetite,\\r\\nAnd doe it home; it cures her, ipso facto,\\r\\nThe mellencholly humour that infects her.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI am of your minde, Doctor.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylor, Daughter, Maide.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYou\\'l finde it so; she comes, pray humour her.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nCome, your Love Palamon staies for you, childe,\\r\\nAnd has done this long houre, to visite you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI thanke him for his gentle patience;\\r\\nHe\\'s a kind Gentleman, and I am much bound to him.\\r\\nDid you nev\\'r see the horse he gave me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nHow doe you like him?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHe\\'s a very faire one.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYou never saw him dance?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI have often.\\r\\nHe daunces very finely, very comely,\\r\\nAnd for a Iigge, come cut and long taile to him,\\r\\nHe turnes ye like a Top.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThat\\'s fine, indeede.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nHee\\'l dance the Morris twenty mile an houre,\\r\\nAnd that will founder the best hobby-horse\\r\\n(If I have any skill) in all the parish,\\r\\nAnd gallops to the turne of LIGHT A\\' LOVE:\\r\\nWhat thinke you of this horse?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHaving these vertues,\\r\\nI thinke he might be broght to play at Tennis.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAlas, that\\'s nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nCan he write and reade too?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nA very faire hand, and casts himselfe th\\'accounts\\r\\nOf all his hay and provender: That Hostler\\r\\nMust rise betime that cozens him. You know\\r\\nThe Chestnut Mare the Duke has?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nVery well.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nShe is horribly in love with him, poore beast,\\r\\nBut he is like his master, coy and scornefull.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWhat dowry has she?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nSome two hundred Bottles,\\r\\nAnd twenty strike of Oates; but hee\\'l ne\\'re have her;\\r\\nHe lispes in\\'s neighing, able to entice\\r\\nA Millars Mare: Hee\\'l be the death of her.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWhat stuffe she utters!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nMake curtsie; here your love comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nPretty soule,\\r\\nHow doe ye? that\\'s a fine maide, ther\\'s a curtsie!\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYours to command ith way of honestie.\\r\\nHow far is\\'t now to\\'th end o\\'th world, my Masters?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWhy, a daies Iorney, wench.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWill you goe with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nWhat shall we doe there, wench?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWhy, play at stoole ball:\\r\\nWhat is there else to doe?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI am content,\\r\\nIf we shall keepe our wedding there.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nTis true:\\r\\nFor there, I will assure you, we shall finde\\r\\nSome blind Priest for the purpose, that will venture\\r\\nTo marry us, for here they are nice, and foolish;\\r\\nBesides, my father must be hang\\'d to morrow\\r\\nAnd that would be a blot i\\'th businesse.\\r\\nAre not you Palamon?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nDoe not you know me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYes, but you care not for me; I have nothing\\r\\nBut this pore petticoate, and too corse Smockes.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nThat\\'s all one; I will have you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWill you surely?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nYes, by this faire hand, will I.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWee\\'l to bed, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nEv\\'n when you will. [Kisses her.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nO Sir, you would faine be nibling.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nWhy doe you rub my kisse off?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nTis a sweet one,\\r\\nAnd will perfume me finely against the wedding.\\r\\nIs not this your Cosen Arcite?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYes, sweet heart,\\r\\nAnd I am glad my Cosen Palamon\\r\\nHas made so faire a choice.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nDoe you thinke hee\\'l have me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYes, without doubt.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nDoe you thinke so too?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWe shall have many children:—Lord, how y\\'ar growne!\\r\\nMy Palamon, I hope, will grow, too, finely,\\r\\nNow he\\'s at liberty: Alas, poore Chicken,\\r\\nHe was kept downe with hard meate and ill lodging,\\r\\nBut ile kisse him up againe.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Emter a Messenger.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nWhat doe you here? you\\'l loose the noblest sight\\r\\nThat ev\\'r was seene.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nAre they i\\'th Field?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThey are.\\r\\nYou beare a charge there too.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nIle away straight.\\r\\nI must ev\\'n leave you here.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nNay, wee\\'l goe with you;\\r\\nI will not loose the Fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHow did you like her?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nIle warrant you, within these 3. or 4. daies\\r\\nIle make her right againe. You must not from her,\\r\\nBut still preserve her in this way.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI will.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nLets get her in.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nCome, sweete, wee\\'l goe to dinner;\\r\\nAnd then weele play at Cardes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAnd shall we kisse too?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nA hundred times.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAnd twenty.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI, and twenty.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAnd then wee\\'l sleepe together.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nTake her offer.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nYes, marry, will we.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nBut you shall not hurt me.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI will not, sweete.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIf you doe, Love, ile cry. [Florish. Exeunt]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (A Place near the Lists.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Perithous: and some Attendants,\\r\\n (T. Tucke: Curtis.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIle no step further.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nWill you loose this sight?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI had rather see a wren hawke at a fly\\r\\nThen this decision; ev\\'ry blow that falls\\r\\nThreats a brave life, each stroake laments\\r\\nThe place whereon it fals, and sounds more like\\r\\nA Bell then blade: I will stay here;\\r\\nIt is enough my hearing shall be punishd\\r\\nWith what shall happen—gainst the which there is\\r\\nNo deaffing, but to heare—not taint mine eye\\r\\nWith dread sights, it may shun.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nSir, my good Lord,\\r\\nYour Sister will no further.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nOh, she must.\\r\\nShe shall see deeds of honour in their kinde,\\r\\nWhich sometime show well, pencild. Nature now\\r\\nShall make and act the Story, the beleife\\r\\nBoth seald with eye and eare; you must be present,\\r\\nYou are the victours meede, the price, and garlond\\r\\nTo crowne the Questions title.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPardon me;\\r\\nIf I were there, I\\'ld winke.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou must be there;\\r\\nThis Tryall is as t\\'wer i\\'th night, and you\\r\\nThe onely star to shine.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI am extinct;\\r\\nThere is but envy in that light, which showes\\r\\nThe one the other: darkenes, which ever was\\r\\nThe dam of horrour, who do\\'s stand accurst\\r\\nOf many mortall Millions, may even now,\\r\\nBy casting her blacke mantle over both,\\r\\nThat neither coulde finde other, get her selfe\\r\\nSome part of a good name, and many a murther\\r\\nSet off wherto she\\'s guilty.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nYou must goe.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIn faith, I will not.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhy, the knights must kindle\\r\\nTheir valour at your eye: know, of this war\\r\\nYou are the Treasure, and must needes be by\\r\\nTo give the Service pay.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nSir, pardon me;\\r\\nThe tytle of a kingdome may be tride\\r\\nOut of it selfe.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWell, well, then, at your pleasure;\\r\\nThose that remaine with you could wish their office\\r\\nTo any of their Enemies.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nFarewell, Sister;\\r\\nI am like to know your husband fore your selfe\\r\\nBy some small start of time: he whom the gods\\r\\nDoe of the two know best, I pray them he\\r\\nBe made your Lot.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt Theseus, Hipolita, Perithous, &c.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nArcite is gently visagd; yet his eye\\r\\nIs like an Engyn bent, or a sharpe weapon\\r\\nIn a soft sheath; mercy and manly courage\\r\\nAre bedfellowes in his visage. Palamon\\r\\nHas a most menacing aspect: his brow\\r\\nIs grav\\'d, and seemes to bury what it frownes on;\\r\\nYet sometime tis not so, but alters to\\r\\nThe quallity of his thoughts; long time his eye\\r\\nWill dwell upon his object. Mellencholly\\r\\nBecomes him nobly; So do\\'s Arcites mirth,\\r\\nBut Palamons sadnes is a kinde of mirth,\\r\\nSo mingled, as if mirth did make him sad,\\r\\nAnd sadnes, merry; those darker humours that\\r\\nSticke misbecomingly on others, on them\\r\\nLive in faire dwelling. [Cornets. Trompets sound as to a\\r\\ncharge.]\\r\\nHarke, how yon spurs to spirit doe incite\\r\\nThe Princes to their proofe! Arcite may win me,\\r\\nAnd yet may Palamon wound Arcite to\\r\\nThe spoyling of his figure. O, what pitty\\r\\nEnough for such a chance; if I were by,\\r\\nI might doe hurt, for they would glance their eies\\r\\nToward my Seat, and in that motion might\\r\\nOmit a ward, or forfeit an offence\\r\\nWhich crav\\'d that very time: it is much better\\r\\nI am not there; oh better never borne\\r\\nThen minister to such harme. [Cornets. A great cry and noice within,\\r\\n crying \\'a Palamon\\'.] What is the chance?\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Servant.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThe Crie\\'s \\'a Palamon\\'.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThen he has won! Twas ever likely;\\r\\nHe lookd all grace and successe, and he is\\r\\nDoubtlesse the prim\\'st of men: I pre\\'thee, run\\r\\nAnd tell me how it goes. [Showt, and Cornets: Crying, \\'a\\r\\nPalamon.\\']\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nStill Palamon.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nRun and enquire. Poore Servant, thou hast lost;\\r\\nVpon my right side still I wore thy picture,\\r\\nPalamons on the left: why so, I know not;\\r\\nI had no end in\\'t else, chance would have it so.\\r\\nOn the sinister side the heart lyes; Palamon\\r\\nHad the best boding chance. [Another cry, and showt within, and\\r\\n Cornets.] This burst of clamour\\r\\nIs sure th\\'end o\\'th Combat.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Servant.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThey saide that Palamon had Arcites body\\r\\nWithin an inch o\\'th Pyramid, that the cry\\r\\nWas generall \\'a Palamon\\': But, anon,\\r\\nTh\\'Assistants made a brave redemption, and\\r\\nThe two bold Tytlers, at this instant are\\r\\nHand to hand at it.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWere they metamorphisd\\r\\nBoth into one! oh why? there were no woman\\r\\nWorth so composd a Man: their single share,\\r\\nTheir noblenes peculier to them, gives\\r\\nThe prejudice of disparity, values shortnes, [Cornets. Cry within,\\r\\n Arcite, Arcite.]\\r\\nTo any Lady breathing—More exulting?\\r\\nPalamon still?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nNay, now the sound is Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI pre\\'thee, lay attention to the Cry, [Cornets. A great showt and\\r\\ncry, \\'Arcite, victory!\\'] Set both thine eares to\\'th busines.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThe cry is\\r\\n\\'Arcite\\', and \\'victory\\', harke: \\'Arcite, victory!\\'\\r\\nThe Combats consummation is proclaim\\'d\\r\\nBy the wind Instruments.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHalfe sights saw\\r\\nThat Arcite was no babe; god\\'s lyd, his richnes\\r\\nAnd costlines of spirit look\\'t through him, it could\\r\\nNo more be hid in him then fire in flax,\\r\\nThen humble banckes can goe to law with waters,\\r\\nThat drift windes force to raging: I did thinke\\r\\nGood Palamon would miscarry; yet I knew not\\r\\nWhy I did thinke so; Our reasons are not prophets,\\r\\nWhen oft our fancies are. They are comming off:\\r\\nAlas, poore Palamon! [Cornets.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Pirithous, Arcite as victor, and\\r\\n attendants, &c.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nLo, where our Sister is in expectation,\\r\\nYet quaking, and unsetled.—Fairest Emily,\\r\\nThe gods by their divine arbitrament\\r\\nHave given you this Knight; he is a good one\\r\\nAs ever strooke at head. Give me your hands;\\r\\nReceive you her, you him; be plighted with\\r\\nA love that growes, as you decay.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nEmily,\\r\\nTo buy you, I have lost what\\'s deerest to me,\\r\\nSave what is bought, and yet I purchase cheapely,\\r\\nAs I doe rate your value.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nO loved Sister,\\r\\nHe speakes now of as brave a Knight as ere\\r\\nDid spur a noble Steed: Surely, the gods\\r\\nWould have him die a Batchelour, least his race\\r\\nShould shew i\\'th world too godlike: His behaviour\\r\\nSo charmed me, that me thought Alcides was\\r\\nTo him a sow of lead: if I could praise\\r\\nEach part of him to\\'th all I have spoke, your Arcite\\r\\nDid not loose by\\'t; For he that was thus good\\r\\nEncountred yet his Better. I have heard\\r\\nTwo emulous Philomels beate the eare o\\'th night\\r\\nWith their contentious throates, now one the higher,\\r\\nAnon the other, then againe the first,\\r\\nAnd by and by out breasted, that the sence\\r\\nCould not be judge betweene \\'em: So it far\\'d\\r\\nGood space betweene these kinesmen; till heavens did\\r\\nMake hardly one the winner. Weare the Girlond\\r\\nWith joy that you have won: For the subdude,\\r\\nGive them our present Iustice, since I know\\r\\nTheir lives but pinch \\'em; Let it here be done.\\r\\nThe Sceane\\'s not for our seeing, goe we hence,\\r\\nRight joyfull, with some sorrow.—Arme your prize,\\r\\nI know you will not loose her.—Hipolita,\\r\\nI see one eye of yours conceives a teare\\r\\nThe which it will deliver. [Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIs this wynning?\\r\\nOh all you heavenly powers, where is your mercy?\\r\\nBut that your wils have saide it must be so,\\r\\nAnd charge me live to comfort this unfriended,\\r\\nThis miserable Prince, that cuts away\\r\\nA life more worthy from him then all women,\\r\\nI should, and would, die too.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nInfinite pitty,\\r\\nThat fowre such eies should be so fixd on one\\r\\nThat two must needes be blinde fort.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSo it is. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. (The same; a Block prepared.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon and his Knightes pyniond: Iaylor, Executioner, &c.\\r\\nGard.]\\r\\n\\r\\n(PALAMON.)\\r\\nTher\\'s many a man alive that hath out liv\\'d\\r\\nThe love o\\'th people; yea, i\\'th selfesame state\\r\\nStands many a Father with his childe; some comfort\\r\\nWe have by so considering: we expire\\r\\nAnd not without mens pitty. To live still,\\r\\nHave their good wishes; we prevent\\r\\nThe loathsome misery of age, beguile\\r\\nThe Gowt and Rheume, that in lag howres attend\\r\\nFor grey approachers; we come towards the gods\\r\\nYong and unwapper\\'d, not halting under Crymes\\r\\nMany and stale: that sure shall please the gods,\\r\\nSooner than such, to give us Nectar with \\'em,\\r\\nFor we are more cleare Spirits. My deare kinesmen,\\r\\nWhose lives (for this poore comfort) are laid downe,\\r\\nYou have sould \\'em too too cheape.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. KNIGHT.\\r\\nWhat ending could be\\r\\nOf more content? ore us the victors have\\r\\nFortune, whose title is as momentary,\\r\\nAs to us death is certaine: A graine of honour\\r\\nThey not ore\\'-weigh us.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. KNIGHT.\\r\\nLet us bid farewell;\\r\\nAnd with our patience anger tottring Fortune,\\r\\nWho at her certain\\'st reeles.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. KNIGHT.\\r\\nCome; who begins?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nEv\\'n he that led you to this Banket shall\\r\\nTaste to you all.—Ah ha, my Friend, my Friend,\\r\\nYour gentle daughter gave me freedome once;\\r\\nYou\\'l see\\'t done now for ever: pray, how do\\'es she?\\r\\nI heard she was not well; her kind of ill\\r\\nGave me some sorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nSir, she\\'s well restor\\'d,\\r\\nAnd to be marryed shortly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBy my short life,\\r\\nI am most glad on\\'t; Tis the latest thing\\r\\nI shall be glad of; pre\\'thee tell her so:\\r\\nCommend me to her, and to peece her portion,\\r\\nTender her this. [Gives purse.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. KNIGHT.\\r\\nNay lets be offerers all.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. KNIGHT.\\r\\nIs it a maide?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nVerily, I thinke so,\\r\\nA right good creature, more to me deserving\\r\\nThen I can quight or speake of.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL KNIGHTS.\\r\\nCommend us to her. [They give their purses.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThe gods requight you all,\\r\\nAnd make her thankefull.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAdiew; and let my life be now as short,\\r\\nAs my leave taking. [Lies on the Blocke.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. KNIGHT.\\r\\nLeade, couragious Cosin.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. KNIGHT.\\r\\nWee\\'l follow cheerefully. [A great noise within crying, \\'run, save,\\r\\nhold!\\']\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter in hast a Messenger.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nHold, hold! O hold, hold, hold!\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Pirithous in haste.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nHold! hoa! It is a cursed hast you made,\\r\\nIf you have done so quickly. Noble Palamon,\\r\\nThe gods will shew their glory in a life,\\r\\nThat thou art yet to leade.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nCan that be,\\r\\nWhen Venus, I have said, is false? How doe things fare?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nArise, great Sir, and give the tydings eare\\r\\nThat are most dearly sweet and bitter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhat\\r\\nHath wakt us from our dreame?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nList then: your Cosen,\\r\\nMounted upon a Steed that Emily\\r\\nDid first bestow on him, a blacke one, owing\\r\\nNot a hayre worth of white—which some will say\\r\\nWeakens his price, and many will not buy\\r\\nHis goodnesse with this note: Which superstition\\r\\nHeere findes allowance—On this horse is Arcite\\r\\nTrotting the stones of Athens, which the Calkins\\r\\nDid rather tell then trample; for the horse\\r\\nWould make his length a mile, if\\'t pleas\\'d his Rider\\r\\nTo put pride in him: as he thus went counting\\r\\nThe flinty pavement, dancing, as t\\'wer, to\\'th Musicke\\r\\nHis owne hoofes made; (for as they say from iron\\r\\nCame Musickes origen) what envious Flint,\\r\\nCold as old Saturne, and like him possest\\r\\nWith fire malevolent, darted a Sparke,\\r\\nOr what feirce sulphur else, to this end made,\\r\\nI comment not;—the hot horse, hot as fire,\\r\\nTooke Toy at this, and fell to what disorder\\r\\nHis power could give his will; bounds, comes on end,\\r\\nForgets schoole dooing, being therein traind,\\r\\nAnd of kind mannadge; pig-like he whines\\r\\nAt the sharpe Rowell, which he freats at rather\\r\\nThen any jot obaies; seekes all foule meanes\\r\\nOf boystrous and rough Iadrie, to dis-seate\\r\\nHis Lord, that kept it bravely: when nought serv\\'d,\\r\\nWhen neither Curb would cracke, girth breake nor diffring plunges\\r\\nDis-roote his Rider whence he grew, but that\\r\\nHe kept him tweene his legges, on his hind hoofes on end he stands,\\r\\nThat Arcites leggs, being higher then his head,\\r\\nSeem\\'d with strange art to hand: His victors wreath\\r\\nEven then fell off his head: and presently\\r\\nBackeward the Iade comes ore, and his full poyze\\r\\nBecomes the Riders loade: yet is he living,\\r\\nBut such a vessell tis, that floates but for\\r\\nThe surge that next approaches: he much desires\\r\\nTo have some speech with you: Loe he appeares.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Arcite in a chaire.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO miserable end of our alliance!\\r\\nThe gods are mightie, Arcite: if thy heart,\\r\\nThy worthie, manly heart, be yet unbroken,\\r\\nGive me thy last words; I am Palamon,\\r\\nOne that yet loves thee dying.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTake Emilia\\r\\nAnd with her all the worlds joy: Reach thy hand:\\r\\nFarewell: I have told my last houre. I was false,\\r\\nYet never treacherous: Forgive me, Cosen:—\\r\\nOne kisse from faire Emilia: Tis done:\\r\\nTake her: I die.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThy brave soule seeke Elizium.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIle close thine eyes, Prince; blessed soules be with thee!\\r\\nThou art a right good man, and while I live,\\r\\nThis day I give to teares.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAnd I to honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nIn this place first you fought: ev\\'n very here\\r\\nI sundred you: acknowledge to the gods\\r\\nOur thankes that you are living.\\r\\nHis part is playd, and though it were too short,\\r\\nHe did it well: your day is lengthned, and\\r\\nThe blissefull dew of heaven do\\'s arowze you.\\r\\nThe powerfull Venus well hath grac\\'d her Altar,\\r\\nAnd given you your love: Our Master Mars\\r\\nHath vouch\\'d his Oracle, and to Arcite gave\\r\\nThe grace of the Contention: So the Deities\\r\\nHave shewd due justice: Beare this hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO Cosen,\\r\\nThat we should things desire, which doe cost us\\r\\nThe losse of our desire! That nought could buy\\r\\nDeare love, but losse of deare love!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNever Fortune\\r\\nDid play a subtler Game: The conquerd triumphes,\\r\\nThe victor has the Losse: yet in the passage\\r\\nThe gods have beene most equall: Palamon,\\r\\nYour kinseman hath confest the right o\\'th Lady\\r\\nDid lye in you, for you first saw her, and\\r\\nEven then proclaimd your fancie: He restord her\\r\\nAs your stolne Iewell, and desir\\'d your spirit\\r\\nTo send him hence forgiven; The gods my justice\\r\\nTake from my hand, and they themselves become\\r\\nThe Executioners: Leade your Lady off;\\r\\nAnd call your Lovers from the stage of death,\\r\\nWhom I adopt my Frinds. A day or two\\r\\nLet us looke sadly, and give grace unto\\r\\nThe Funerall of Arcite; in whose end\\r\\nThe visages of Bridegroomes weele put on\\r\\nAnd smile with Palamon; for whom an houre,\\r\\nBut one houre, since, I was as dearely sorry,\\r\\nAs glad of Arcite: and am now as glad,\\r\\nAs for him sorry. O you heavenly Charmers,\\r\\nWhat things you make of us! For what we lacke\\r\\nWe laugh, for what we have, are sorry: still\\r\\nAre children in some kind. Let us be thankefull\\r\\nFor that which is, and with you leave dispute\\r\\nThat are above our question. Let\\'s goe off,\\r\\nAnd beare us like the time. [Florish. Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEPILOGUE\\r\\n\\r\\nI would now aske ye how ye like the Play,\\r\\nBut, as it is with Schoole Boyes, cannot say,\\r\\nI am cruell fearefull: pray, yet stay a while,\\r\\nAnd let me looke upon ye: No man smile?\\r\\nThen it goes hard, I see; He that has\\r\\nLov\\'d a yong hansome wench, then, show his face—\\r\\nTis strange if none be heere—and if he will\\r\\nAgainst his Conscience, let him hisse, and kill\\r\\nOur Market: Tis in vaine, I see, to stay yee;\\r\\nHave at the worst can come, then! Now what say ye?\\r\\nAnd yet mistake me not: I am not bold;\\r\\nWe have no such cause. If the tale we have told\\r\\n(For tis no other) any way content ye\\r\\n(For to that honest purpose it was ment ye)\\r\\nWe have our end; and ye shall have ere long,\\r\\nI dare say, many a better, to prolong\\r\\nYour old loves to us: we, and all our might\\r\\nRest at your service. Gentlemen, good night. [Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE WINTER’S TALE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Sicilia. An Antechamber in Leontes’ Palace.\\r\\nScene II. The same. A Room of State in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. Sicilia. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\nScene II. The same. The outer Room of a Prison.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Sicilia. A Street in some Town.\\r\\nScene II. The same. A Court of Justice.\\r\\nScene III. Bohemia. A desert Country near the Sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Prologue.\\r\\nScene II. Bohemia. A Room in the palace of Polixenes.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A Road near the Shepherd’s cottage.\\r\\nScene IV. The same. A Shepherd’s Cottage.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Sicilia. A Room in the palace of Leontes.\\r\\nScene II. The same. Before the Palace.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A Room in Paulina’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES, King of Sicilia\\r\\nMAMILLIUS, his son\\r\\nCAMILLO, Sicilian Lord\\r\\nANTIGONUS, Sicilian Lord\\r\\nCLEOMENES, Sicilian Lord\\r\\nDION, Sicilian Lord\\r\\nPOLIXENES, King of Bohemia\\r\\nFLORIZEL, his son\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS, a Bohemian Lord\\r\\nAn Old Shepherd, reputed father of Perdita\\r\\nCLOWN, his son\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS, a rogue\\r\\nA Mariner\\r\\nA Gaoler\\r\\nServant to the Old Shepherd\\r\\nOther Sicilian Lords\\r\\nSicilian Gentlemen\\r\\nOfficers of a Court of Judicature\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE, Queen to Leontes\\r\\nPERDITA, daughter to Leontes and Hermione\\r\\nPAULINA, wife to Antigonus\\r\\nEMILIA, a lady attending on the Queen\\r\\nMOPSA, shepherdess\\r\\nDORCAS, shepherdess\\r\\nOther Ladies, attending on the Queen\\r\\n\\r\\nLords, Ladies, and Attendants; Satyrs for a Dance; Shepherds,\\r\\nShepherdesses, Guards, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nTIME, as Chorus\\r\\n\\r\\nScene: Sometimes in Sicilia; sometimes in Bohemia.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Sicilia. An Antechamber in Leontes’ Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Camillo and Archidamus.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nIf you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on the like occasion\\r\\nwhereon my services are now on foot, you shall see, as I have said,\\r\\ngreat difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI think this coming summer the King of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the\\r\\nvisitation which he justly owes him.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nWherein our entertainment shall shame us; we will be justified in our\\r\\nloves. For indeed,—\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBeseech you—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nVerily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge. We cannot with such\\r\\nmagnificence—in so rare—I know not what to say. We will give you sleepy\\r\\ndrinks, that your senses, unintelligent of our insufficience, may,\\r\\nthough they cannot praise us, as little accuse us.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nYou pay a great deal too dear for what’s given freely.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nBelieve me, I speak as my understanding instructs me and as mine\\r\\nhonesty puts it to utterance.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bohemia. They were trained\\r\\ntogether in their childhoods, and there rooted betwixt them then such\\r\\nan affection which cannot choose but branch now. Since their more\\r\\nmature dignities and royal necessities made separation of their\\r\\nsociety, their encounters, though not personal, have been royally\\r\\nattorneyed with interchange of gifts, letters, loving embassies, that\\r\\nthey have seemed to be together, though absent; shook hands, as over a\\r\\nvast; and embraced as it were from the ends of opposed winds. The\\r\\nheavens continue their loves!\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nI think there is not in the world either malice or matter to alter it.\\r\\nYou have an unspeakable comfort of your young Prince Mamillius. It is a\\r\\ngentleman of the greatest promise that ever came into my note.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI very well agree with you in the hopes of him. It is a gallant child;\\r\\none that indeed physics the subject, makes old hearts fresh. They that\\r\\nwent on crutches ere he was born desire yet their life to see him a\\r\\nman.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nWould they else be content to die?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nYes, if there were no other excuse why they should desire to live.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nIf the king had no son, they would desire to live on crutches till he\\r\\nhad one.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. A Room of State in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Hermione, Mamillius, Camillo and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nNine changes of the watery star hath been\\r\\nThe shepherd’s note since we have left our throne\\r\\nWithout a burden. Time as long again\\r\\nWould be fill’d up, my brother, with our thanks;\\r\\nAnd yet we should, for perpetuity,\\r\\nGo hence in debt: and therefore, like a cipher,\\r\\nYet standing in rich place, I multiply\\r\\nWith one “we thank you” many thousands more\\r\\nThat go before it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nStay your thanks a while,\\r\\nAnd pay them when you part.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nSir, that’s tomorrow.\\r\\nI am question’d by my fears, of what may chance\\r\\nOr breed upon our absence; that may blow\\r\\nNo sneaping winds at home, to make us say\\r\\n“This is put forth too truly.” Besides, I have stay’d\\r\\nTo tire your royalty.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWe are tougher, brother,\\r\\nThan you can put us to ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nNo longer stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nOne seve’night longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nVery sooth, tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWe’ll part the time between ’s then: and in that\\r\\nI’ll no gainsaying.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nPress me not, beseech you, so,\\r\\nThere is no tongue that moves, none, none i’ th’ world,\\r\\nSo soon as yours, could win me: so it should now,\\r\\nWere there necessity in your request, although\\r\\n’Twere needful I denied it. My affairs\\r\\nDo even drag me homeward: which to hinder\\r\\nWere, in your love a whip to me; my stay\\r\\nTo you a charge and trouble: to save both,\\r\\nFarewell, our brother.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTongue-tied, our queen? Speak you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nI had thought, sir, to have held my peace until\\r\\nYou had drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir,\\r\\nCharge him too coldly. Tell him you are sure\\r\\nAll in Bohemia’s well: this satisfaction\\r\\nThe by-gone day proclaimed. Say this to him,\\r\\nHe’s beat from his best ward.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWell said, Hermione.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nTo tell he longs to see his son were strong.\\r\\nBut let him say so then, and let him go;\\r\\nBut let him swear so, and he shall not stay,\\r\\nWe’ll thwack him hence with distaffs.\\r\\n[_To Polixenes._] Yet of your royal presence I’ll adventure\\r\\nThe borrow of a week. When at Bohemia\\r\\nYou take my lord, I’ll give him my commission\\r\\nTo let him there a month behind the gest\\r\\nPrefix’d for’s parting:—yet, good deed, Leontes,\\r\\nI love thee not a jar of th’ clock behind\\r\\nWhat lady she her lord. You’ll stay?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nNo, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNay, but you will?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI may not, verily.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nVerily!\\r\\nYou put me off with limber vows; but I,\\r\\nThough you would seek t’ unsphere the stars with oaths,\\r\\nShould yet say “Sir, no going.” Verily,\\r\\nYou shall not go. A lady’s verily is\\r\\nAs potent as a lord’s. Will go yet?\\r\\nForce me to keep you as a prisoner,\\r\\nNot like a guest: so you shall pay your fees\\r\\nWhen you depart, and save your thanks. How say you?\\r\\nMy prisoner or my guest? By your dread “verily,”\\r\\nOne of them you shall be.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nYour guest, then, madam.\\r\\nTo be your prisoner should import offending;\\r\\nWhich is for me less easy to commit\\r\\nThan you to punish.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNot your gaoler then,\\r\\nBut your kind hostess. Come, I’ll question you\\r\\nOf my lord’s tricks and yours when you were boys.\\r\\nYou were pretty lordings then.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWe were, fair queen,\\r\\nTwo lads that thought there was no more behind\\r\\nBut such a day tomorrow as today,\\r\\nAnd to be boy eternal.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWas not my lord\\r\\nThe verier wag o’ th’ two?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWe were as twinn’d lambs that did frisk i’ th’ sun\\r\\nAnd bleat the one at th’ other. What we chang’d\\r\\nWas innocence for innocence; we knew not\\r\\nThe doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream’d\\r\\nThat any did. Had we pursu’d that life,\\r\\nAnd our weak spirits ne’er been higher rear’d\\r\\nWith stronger blood, we should have answer’d heaven\\r\\nBoldly “Not guilty,” the imposition clear’d\\r\\nHereditary ours.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nBy this we gather\\r\\nYou have tripp’d since.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nO my most sacred lady,\\r\\nTemptations have since then been born to ’s! for\\r\\nIn those unfledg’d days was my wife a girl;\\r\\nYour precious self had then not cross’d the eyes\\r\\nOf my young play-fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nGrace to boot!\\r\\nOf this make no conclusion, lest you say\\r\\nYour queen and I are devils. Yet go on;\\r\\nTh’ offences we have made you do we’ll answer,\\r\\nIf you first sinn’d with us, and that with us\\r\\nYou did continue fault, and that you slipp’d not\\r\\nWith any but with us.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nIs he won yet?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nHe’ll stay, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nAt my request he would not.\\r\\nHermione, my dearest, thou never spok’st\\r\\nTo better purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNever?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNever but once.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWhat! have I twice said well? when was’t before?\\r\\nI prithee tell me. Cram ’s with praise, and make ’s\\r\\nAs fat as tame things: one good deed dying tongueless\\r\\nSlaughters a thousand waiting upon that.\\r\\nOur praises are our wages. You may ride ’s\\r\\nWith one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere\\r\\nWith spur we heat an acre. But to th’ goal:\\r\\nMy last good deed was to entreat his stay.\\r\\nWhat was my first? It has an elder sister,\\r\\nOr I mistake you: O, would her name were Grace!\\r\\nBut once before I spoke to the purpose—when?\\r\\nNay, let me have’t; I long.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhy, that was when\\r\\nThree crabbed months had sour’d themselves to death,\\r\\nEre I could make thee open thy white hand\\r\\nAnd clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter\\r\\n“I am yours for ever.”\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\n’Tis Grace indeed.\\r\\nWhy, lo you now, I have spoke to th’ purpose twice.\\r\\nThe one for ever earn’d a royal husband;\\r\\nTh’ other for some while a friend.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Giving her hand to Polixenes._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Too hot, too hot!\\r\\nTo mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.\\r\\nI have _tremor cordis_ on me. My heart dances,\\r\\nBut not for joy,—not joy. This entertainment\\r\\nMay a free face put on, derive a liberty\\r\\nFrom heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom,\\r\\nAnd well become the agent: ’t may, I grant:\\r\\nBut to be paddling palms and pinching fingers,\\r\\nAs now they are, and making practis’d smiles\\r\\nAs in a looking-glass; and then to sigh, as ’twere\\r\\nThe mort o’ th’ deer. O, that is entertainment\\r\\nMy bosom likes not, nor my brows. Mamillius,\\r\\nArt thou my boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nAy, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI’ fecks!\\r\\nWhy, that’s my bawcock. What! hast smutch’d thy nose?\\r\\nThey say it is a copy out of mine. Come, captain,\\r\\nWe must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain:\\r\\nAnd yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf\\r\\nAre all call’d neat.—Still virginalling\\r\\nUpon his palm?—How now, you wanton calf!\\r\\nArt thou my calf?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nYes, if you will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou want’st a rough pash and the shoots that I have\\r\\nTo be full like me:—yet they say we are\\r\\nAlmost as like as eggs; women say so,\\r\\nThat will say anything. But were they false\\r\\nAs o’er-dy’d blacks, as wind, as waters, false\\r\\nAs dice are to be wish’d by one that fixes\\r\\nNo bourn ’twixt his and mine, yet were it true\\r\\nTo say this boy were like me. Come, sir page,\\r\\nLook on me with your welkin eye: sweet villain!\\r\\nMost dear’st! my collop! Can thy dam?—may’t be?\\r\\nAffection! thy intention stabs the centre:\\r\\nThou dost make possible things not so held,\\r\\nCommunicat’st with dreams;—how can this be?—\\r\\nWith what’s unreal thou coactive art,\\r\\nAnd fellow’st nothing: then ’tis very credent\\r\\nThou may’st co-join with something; and thou dost,\\r\\nAnd that beyond commission, and I find it,\\r\\nAnd that to the infection of my brains\\r\\nAnd hardening of my brows.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWhat means Sicilia?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nHe something seems unsettled.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nHow, my lord?\\r\\nWhat cheer? How is’t with you, best brother?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nYou look\\r\\nAs if you held a brow of much distraction:\\r\\nAre you mov’d, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNo, in good earnest.\\r\\nHow sometimes nature will betray its folly,\\r\\nIts tenderness, and make itself a pastime\\r\\nTo harder bosoms! Looking on the lines\\r\\nOf my boy’s face, methoughts I did recoil\\r\\nTwenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech’d,\\r\\nIn my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzled\\r\\nLest it should bite its master, and so prove,\\r\\nAs ornaments oft do, too dangerous.\\r\\nHow like, methought, I then was to this kernel,\\r\\nThis squash, this gentleman. Mine honest friend,\\r\\nWill you take eggs for money?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nNo, my lord, I’ll fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou will? Why, happy man be ’s dole! My brother,\\r\\nAre you so fond of your young prince as we\\r\\nDo seem to be of ours?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nIf at home, sir,\\r\\nHe’s all my exercise, my mirth, my matter:\\r\\nNow my sworn friend, and then mine enemy;\\r\\nMy parasite, my soldier, statesman, all.\\r\\nHe makes a July’s day short as December;\\r\\nAnd with his varying childness cures in me\\r\\nThoughts that would thick my blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nSo stands this squire\\r\\nOffic’d with me. We two will walk, my lord,\\r\\nAnd leave you to your graver steps. Hermione,\\r\\nHow thou lov’st us show in our brother’s welcome;\\r\\nLet what is dear in Sicily be cheap:\\r\\nNext to thyself and my young rover, he’s\\r\\nApparent to my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nIf you would seek us,\\r\\nWe are yours i’ the garden. Shall ’s attend you there?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTo your own bents dispose you: you’ll be found,\\r\\nBe you beneath the sky. [_Aside._] I am angling now,\\r\\nThough you perceive me not how I give line.\\r\\nGo to, go to!\\r\\nHow she holds up the neb, the bill to him!\\r\\nAnd arms her with the boldness of a wife\\r\\nTo her allowing husband!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Polixenes, Hermione and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGone already!\\r\\nInch-thick, knee-deep, o’er head and ears a fork’d one!—\\r\\nGo, play, boy, play. Thy mother plays, and I\\r\\nPlay too; but so disgrac’d a part, whose issue\\r\\nWill hiss me to my grave: contempt and clamour\\r\\nWill be my knell. Go, play, boy, play. There have been,\\r\\nOr I am much deceiv’d, cuckolds ere now;\\r\\nAnd many a man there is, even at this present,\\r\\nNow while I speak this, holds his wife by th’ arm,\\r\\nThat little thinks she has been sluic’d in ’s absence,\\r\\nAnd his pond fish’d by his next neighbour, by\\r\\nSir Smile, his neighbour. Nay, there’s comfort in ’t,\\r\\nWhiles other men have gates, and those gates open’d,\\r\\nAs mine, against their will. Should all despair\\r\\nThat hath revolted wives, the tenth of mankind\\r\\nWould hang themselves. Physic for’t there’s none;\\r\\nIt is a bawdy planet, that will strike\\r\\nWhere ’tis predominant; and ’tis powerful, think it,\\r\\nFrom east, west, north, and south. Be it concluded,\\r\\nNo barricado for a belly. Know’t;\\r\\nIt will let in and out the enemy\\r\\nWith bag and baggage. Many thousand of us\\r\\nHave the disease, and feel’t not.—How now, boy!\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nI am like you, they say.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhy, that’s some comfort.\\r\\nWhat! Camillo there?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nAy, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGo play, Mamillius; thou’rt an honest man.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Mamillius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCamillo, this great sir will yet stay longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nYou had much ado to make his anchor hold:\\r\\nWhen you cast out, it still came home.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nDidst note it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHe would not stay at your petitions; made\\r\\nHis business more material.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nDidst perceive it?\\r\\n[_Aside._] They’re here with me already; whisp’ring, rounding,\\r\\n“Sicilia is a so-forth.” ’Tis far gone\\r\\nWhen I shall gust it last.—How came’t, Camillo,\\r\\nThat he did stay?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nAt the good queen’s entreaty.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nAt the queen’s be’t: “good” should be pertinent,\\r\\nBut so it is, it is not. Was this taken\\r\\nBy any understanding pate but thine?\\r\\nFor thy conceit is soaking, will draw in\\r\\nMore than the common blocks. Not noted, is’t,\\r\\nBut of the finer natures? by some severals\\r\\nOf head-piece extraordinary? lower messes\\r\\nPerchance are to this business purblind? say.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBusiness, my lord? I think most understand\\r\\nBohemia stays here longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHa?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nStays here longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nAy, but why?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nTo satisfy your highness, and the entreaties\\r\\nOf our most gracious mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nSatisfy?\\r\\nTh’ entreaties of your mistress? Satisfy?\\r\\nLet that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo,\\r\\nWith all the nearest things to my heart, as well\\r\\nMy chamber-counsels, wherein, priest-like, thou\\r\\nHast cleans’d my bosom; I from thee departed\\r\\nThy penitent reform’d. But we have been\\r\\nDeceiv’d in thy integrity, deceiv’d\\r\\nIn that which seems so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBe it forbid, my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTo bide upon’t: thou art not honest; or,\\r\\nIf thou inclin’st that way, thou art a coward,\\r\\nWhich hoxes honesty behind, restraining\\r\\nFrom course requir’d; or else thou must be counted\\r\\nA servant grafted in my serious trust,\\r\\nAnd therein negligent; or else a fool\\r\\nThat seest a game play’d home, the rich stake drawn,\\r\\nAnd tak’st it all for jest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nMy gracious lord,\\r\\nI may be negligent, foolish, and fearful;\\r\\nIn every one of these no man is free,\\r\\nBut that his negligence, his folly, fear,\\r\\nAmong the infinite doings of the world,\\r\\nSometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord,\\r\\nIf ever I were wilful-negligent,\\r\\nIt was my folly; if industriously\\r\\nI play’d the fool, it was my negligence,\\r\\nNot weighing well the end; if ever fearful\\r\\nTo do a thing, where I the issue doubted,\\r\\nWhereof the execution did cry out\\r\\nAgainst the non-performance, ’twas a fear\\r\\nWhich oft affects the wisest: these, my lord,\\r\\nAre such allow’d infirmities that honesty\\r\\nIs never free of. But, beseech your Grace,\\r\\nBe plainer with me; let me know my trespass\\r\\nBy its own visage: if I then deny it,\\r\\n’Tis none of mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHa’ not you seen, Camillo?\\r\\n(But that’s past doubt: you have, or your eye-glass\\r\\nIs thicker than a cuckold’s horn) or heard?\\r\\n(For, to a vision so apparent, rumour\\r\\nCannot be mute) or thought? (for cogitation\\r\\nResides not in that man that does not think)\\r\\nMy wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess,\\r\\nOr else be impudently negative,\\r\\nTo have nor eyes nor ears nor thought, then say\\r\\nMy wife’s a hobby-horse, deserves a name\\r\\nAs rank as any flax-wench that puts to\\r\\nBefore her troth-plight: say’t and justify’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI would not be a stander-by to hear\\r\\nMy sovereign mistress clouded so, without\\r\\nMy present vengeance taken: ’shrew my heart,\\r\\nYou never spoke what did become you less\\r\\nThan this; which to reiterate were sin\\r\\nAs deep as that, though true.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nIs whispering nothing?\\r\\nIs leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses?\\r\\nKissing with inside lip? Stopping the career\\r\\nOf laughter with a sigh?—a note infallible\\r\\nOf breaking honesty?—horsing foot on foot?\\r\\nSkulking in corners? Wishing clocks more swift?\\r\\nHours, minutes? Noon, midnight? and all eyes\\r\\nBlind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only,\\r\\nThat would unseen be wicked? Is this nothing?\\r\\nWhy, then the world and all that’s in’t is nothing,\\r\\nThe covering sky is nothing, Bohemia nothing,\\r\\nMy wife is nothing, nor nothing have these nothings,\\r\\nIf this be nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nGood my lord, be cur’d\\r\\nOf this diseas’d opinion, and betimes,\\r\\nFor ’tis most dangerous.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nSay it be, ’tis true.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNo, no, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nIt is; you lie, you lie:\\r\\nI say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee,\\r\\nPronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave,\\r\\nOr else a hovering temporizer that\\r\\nCanst with thine eyes at once see good and evil,\\r\\nInclining to them both. Were my wife’s liver\\r\\nInfected as her life, she would not live\\r\\nThe running of one glass.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nWho does infect her?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhy, he that wears her like her medal, hanging\\r\\nAbout his neck, Bohemia: who, if I\\r\\nHad servants true about me, that bare eyes\\r\\nTo see alike mine honour as their profits,\\r\\nTheir own particular thrifts, they would do that\\r\\nWhich should undo more doing: ay, and thou,\\r\\nHis cupbearer,—whom I from meaner form\\r\\nHave bench’d and rear’d to worship, who mayst see\\r\\nPlainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees heaven,\\r\\nHow I am galled,—mightst bespice a cup,\\r\\nTo give mine enemy a lasting wink;\\r\\nWhich draught to me were cordial.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSir, my lord,\\r\\nI could do this, and that with no rash potion,\\r\\nBut with a ling’ring dram, that should not work\\r\\nMaliciously like poison. But I cannot\\r\\nBelieve this crack to be in my dread mistress,\\r\\nSo sovereignly being honourable.\\r\\nI have lov’d thee,—\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nMake that thy question, and go rot!\\r\\nDost think I am so muddy, so unsettled,\\r\\nTo appoint myself in this vexation; sully\\r\\nThe purity and whiteness of my sheets,\\r\\n(Which to preserve is sleep, which being spotted\\r\\nIs goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps)\\r\\nGive scandal to the blood o’ th’ prince, my son,\\r\\n(Who I do think is mine, and love as mine)\\r\\nWithout ripe moving to’t? Would I do this?\\r\\nCould man so blench?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI must believe you, sir:\\r\\nI do; and will fetch off Bohemia for’t;\\r\\nProvided that, when he’s remov’d, your highness\\r\\nWill take again your queen as yours at first,\\r\\nEven for your son’s sake, and thereby for sealing\\r\\nThe injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms\\r\\nKnown and allied to yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou dost advise me\\r\\nEven so as I mine own course have set down:\\r\\nI’ll give no blemish to her honour, none.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nMy lord,\\r\\nGo then; and with a countenance as clear\\r\\nAs friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia\\r\\nAnd with your queen. I am his cupbearer.\\r\\nIf from me he have wholesome beverage,\\r\\nAccount me not your servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThis is all:\\r\\nDo’t, and thou hast the one half of my heart;\\r\\nDo’t not, thou splitt’st thine own.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI’ll do’t, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI will seem friendly, as thou hast advis’d me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nO miserable lady! But, for me,\\r\\nWhat case stand I in? I must be the poisoner\\r\\nOf good Polixenes, and my ground to do’t\\r\\nIs the obedience to a master; one\\r\\nWho, in rebellion with himself, will have\\r\\nAll that are his so too. To do this deed,\\r\\nPromotion follows. If I could find example\\r\\nOf thousands that had struck anointed kings\\r\\nAnd flourish’d after, I’d not do’t. But since\\r\\nNor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one,\\r\\nLet villainy itself forswear’t. I must\\r\\nForsake the court: to do’t, or no, is certain\\r\\nTo me a break-neck. Happy star reign now!\\r\\nHere comes Bohemia.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Polixenes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThis is strange. Methinks\\r\\nMy favour here begins to warp. Not speak?\\r\\nGood day, Camillo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHail, most royal sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWhat is the news i’ th’ court?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNone rare, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThe king hath on him such a countenance\\r\\nAs he had lost some province, and a region\\r\\nLov’d as he loves himself. Even now I met him\\r\\nWith customary compliment, when he,\\r\\nWafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling\\r\\nA lip of much contempt, speeds from me, and\\r\\nSo leaves me to consider what is breeding\\r\\nThat changes thus his manners.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI dare not know, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nHow, dare not? Do not? Do you know, and dare not?\\r\\nBe intelligent to me? ’Tis thereabouts;\\r\\nFor, to yourself, what you do know, you must,\\r\\nAnd cannot say you dare not. Good Camillo,\\r\\nYour chang’d complexions are to me a mirror\\r\\nWhich shows me mine chang’d too; for I must be\\r\\nA party in this alteration, finding\\r\\nMyself thus alter’d with’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThere is a sickness\\r\\nWhich puts some of us in distemper, but\\r\\nI cannot name the disease, and it is caught\\r\\nOf you that yet are well.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nHow caught of me?\\r\\nMake me not sighted like the basilisk.\\r\\nI have look’d on thousands who have sped the better\\r\\nBy my regard, but kill’d none so. Camillo,—\\r\\nAs you are certainly a gentleman, thereto\\r\\nClerk-like, experienc’d, which no less adorns\\r\\nOur gentry than our parents’ noble names,\\r\\nIn whose success we are gentle,—I beseech you,\\r\\nIf you know aught which does behove my knowledge\\r\\nThereof to be inform’d, imprison’t not\\r\\nIn ignorant concealment.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI may not answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nA sickness caught of me, and yet I well?\\r\\nI must be answer’d. Dost thou hear, Camillo,\\r\\nI conjure thee, by all the parts of man\\r\\nWhich honour does acknowledge, whereof the least\\r\\nIs not this suit of mine, that thou declare\\r\\nWhat incidency thou dost guess of harm\\r\\nIs creeping toward me; how far off, how near;\\r\\nWhich way to be prevented, if to be;\\r\\nIf not, how best to bear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSir, I will tell you;\\r\\nSince I am charg’d in honour, and by him\\r\\nThat I think honourable. Therefore mark my counsel,\\r\\nWhich must be ev’n as swiftly follow’d as\\r\\nI mean to utter it, or both yourself and me\\r\\nCry lost, and so goodnight!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nOn, good Camillo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI am appointed him to murder you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nBy whom, Camillo?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBy the king.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nFor what?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHe thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears,\\r\\nAs he had seen’t or been an instrument\\r\\nTo vice you to’t, that you have touch’d his queen\\r\\nForbiddenly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nO, then my best blood turn\\r\\nTo an infected jelly, and my name\\r\\nBe yok’d with his that did betray the Best!\\r\\nTurn then my freshest reputation to\\r\\nA savour that may strike the dullest nostril\\r\\nWhere I arrive, and my approach be shunn’d,\\r\\nNay, hated too, worse than the great’st infection\\r\\nThat e’er was heard or read!\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSwear his thought over\\r\\nBy each particular star in heaven and\\r\\nBy all their influences, you may as well\\r\\nForbid the sea for to obey the moon\\r\\nAs or by oath remove or counsel shake\\r\\nThe fabric of his folly, whose foundation\\r\\nIs pil’d upon his faith, and will continue\\r\\nThe standing of his body.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nHow should this grow?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI know not: but I am sure ’tis safer to\\r\\nAvoid what’s grown than question how ’tis born.\\r\\nIf therefore you dare trust my honesty,\\r\\nThat lies enclosed in this trunk, which you\\r\\nShall bear along impawn’d, away tonight.\\r\\nYour followers I will whisper to the business,\\r\\nAnd will by twos and threes, at several posterns,\\r\\nClear them o’ th’ city. For myself, I’ll put\\r\\nMy fortunes to your service, which are here\\r\\nBy this discovery lost. Be not uncertain,\\r\\nFor, by the honour of my parents, I\\r\\nHave utter’d truth: which if you seek to prove,\\r\\nI dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer\\r\\nThan one condemned by the king’s own mouth,\\r\\nThereon his execution sworn.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI do believe thee.\\r\\nI saw his heart in ’s face. Give me thy hand,\\r\\nBe pilot to me, and thy places shall\\r\\nStill neighbour mine. My ships are ready, and\\r\\nMy people did expect my hence departure\\r\\nTwo days ago. This jealousy\\r\\nIs for a precious creature: as she’s rare,\\r\\nMust it be great; and, as his person’s mighty,\\r\\nMust it be violent; and as he does conceive\\r\\nHe is dishonour’d by a man which ever\\r\\nProfess’d to him, why, his revenges must\\r\\nIn that be made more bitter. Fear o’ershades me.\\r\\nGood expedition be my friend, and comfort\\r\\nThe gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing\\r\\nOf his ill-ta’en suspicion! Come, Camillo,\\r\\nI will respect thee as a father if\\r\\nThou bear’st my life off hence. Let us avoid.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nIt is in mine authority to command\\r\\nThe keys of all the posterns: please your highness\\r\\nTo take the urgent hour. Come, sir, away.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Sicilia. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hermione, Mamillius and Ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nTake the boy to you: he so troubles me,\\r\\n’Tis past enduring.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LADY.\\r\\nCome, my gracious lord,\\r\\nShall I be your playfellow?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nNo, I’ll none of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LADY.\\r\\nWhy, my sweet lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nYou’ll kiss me hard, and speak to me as if\\r\\nI were a baby still. I love you better.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LADY.\\r\\nAnd why so, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nNot for because\\r\\nYour brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say,\\r\\nBecome some women best, so that there be not\\r\\nToo much hair there, but in a semicircle\\r\\nOr a half-moon made with a pen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LADY.\\r\\nWho taught this?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nI learn’d it out of women’s faces. Pray now,\\r\\nWhat colour are your eyebrows?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LADY.\\r\\nBlue, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nNay, that’s a mock. I have seen a lady’s nose\\r\\nThat has been blue, but not her eyebrows.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LADY.\\r\\nHark ye,\\r\\nThe queen your mother rounds apace. We shall\\r\\nPresent our services to a fine new prince\\r\\nOne of these days, and then you’d wanton with us,\\r\\nIf we would have you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LADY.\\r\\nShe is spread of late\\r\\nInto a goodly bulk: good time encounter her!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWhat wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now\\r\\nI am for you again. Pray you sit by us,\\r\\nAnd tell ’s a tale.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nMerry or sad shall’t be?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nAs merry as you will.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nA sad tale’s best for winter. I have one\\r\\nOf sprites and goblins.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nLet’s have that, good sir.\\r\\nCome on, sit down. Come on, and do your best\\r\\nTo fright me with your sprites: you’re powerful at it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nThere was a man,—\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNay, come, sit down, then on.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nDwelt by a churchyard. I will tell it softly,\\r\\nYond crickets shall not hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nCome on then,\\r\\nAnd give’t me in mine ear.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords and Guards.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWas he met there? his train? Camillo with him?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nBehind the tuft of pines I met them, never\\r\\nSaw I men scour so on their way: I ey’d them\\r\\nEven to their ships.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow blest am I\\r\\nIn my just censure, in my true opinion!\\r\\nAlack, for lesser knowledge! How accurs’d\\r\\nIn being so blest! There may be in the cup\\r\\nA spider steep’d, and one may drink, depart,\\r\\nAnd yet partake no venom, for his knowledge\\r\\nIs not infected; but if one present\\r\\nTh’ abhorr’d ingredient to his eye, make known\\r\\nHow he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides,\\r\\nWith violent hefts. I have drunk, and seen the spider.\\r\\nCamillo was his help in this, his pander.\\r\\nThere is a plot against my life, my crown;\\r\\nAll’s true that is mistrusted. That false villain\\r\\nWhom I employ’d, was pre-employ’d by him.\\r\\nHe has discover’d my design, and I\\r\\nRemain a pinch’d thing; yea, a very trick\\r\\nFor them to play at will. How came the posterns\\r\\nSo easily open?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nBy his great authority,\\r\\nWhich often hath no less prevail’d than so\\r\\nOn your command.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI know’t too well.\\r\\nGive me the boy. I am glad you did not nurse him.\\r\\nThough he does bear some signs of me, yet you\\r\\nHave too much blood in him.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWhat is this? sport?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nBear the boy hence, he shall not come about her,\\r\\nAway with him, and let her sport herself\\r\\nWith that she’s big with; for ’tis Polixenes\\r\\nHas made thee swell thus.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Mamillius with some of the Guards._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nBut I’d say he had not,\\r\\nAnd I’ll be sworn you would believe my saying,\\r\\nHowe’er you learn th’ nayward.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou, my lords,\\r\\nLook on her, mark her well. Be but about\\r\\nTo say, “she is a goodly lady,” and\\r\\nThe justice of your hearts will thereto add\\r\\n“’Tis pity she’s not honest, honourable”:\\r\\nPraise her but for this her without-door form,\\r\\nWhich on my faith deserves high speech, and straight\\r\\nThe shrug, the hum or ha, these petty brands\\r\\nThat calumny doth use—O, I am out,\\r\\nThat mercy does; for calumny will sear\\r\\nVirtue itself—these shrugs, these hum’s, and ha’s,\\r\\nWhen you have said “she’s goodly,” come between,\\r\\nEre you can say “she’s honest”: but be it known,\\r\\nFrom him that has most cause to grieve it should be,\\r\\nShe’s an adultress!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nShould a villain say so,\\r\\nThe most replenish’d villain in the world,\\r\\nHe were as much more villain: you, my lord,\\r\\nDo but mistake.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou have mistook, my lady,\\r\\nPolixenes for Leontes O thou thing,\\r\\nWhich I’ll not call a creature of thy place,\\r\\nLest barbarism, making me the precedent,\\r\\nShould a like language use to all degrees,\\r\\nAnd mannerly distinguishment leave out\\r\\nBetwixt the prince and beggar. I have said\\r\\nShe’s an adultress; I have said with whom:\\r\\nMore, she’s a traitor, and Camillo is\\r\\nA federary with her; and one that knows\\r\\nWhat she should shame to know herself\\r\\nBut with her most vile principal, that she’s\\r\\nA bed-swerver, even as bad as those\\r\\nThat vulgars give bold’st titles; ay, and privy\\r\\nTo this their late escape.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNo, by my life,\\r\\nPrivy to none of this. How will this grieve you,\\r\\nWhen you shall come to clearer knowledge, that\\r\\nYou thus have publish’d me! Gentle my lord,\\r\\nYou scarce can right me throughly then, to say\\r\\nYou did mistake.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNo. If I mistake\\r\\nIn those foundations which I build upon,\\r\\nThe centre is not big enough to bear\\r\\nA school-boy’s top. Away with her to prison!\\r\\nHe who shall speak for her is afar off guilty\\r\\nBut that he speaks.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nThere’s some ill planet reigns:\\r\\nI must be patient till the heavens look\\r\\nWith an aspect more favourable. Good my lords,\\r\\nI am not prone to weeping, as our sex\\r\\nCommonly are; the want of which vain dew\\r\\nPerchance shall dry your pities. But I have\\r\\nThat honourable grief lodg’d here which burns\\r\\nWorse than tears drown: beseech you all, my lords,\\r\\nWith thoughts so qualified as your charities\\r\\nShall best instruct you, measure me; and so\\r\\nThe king’s will be perform’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nShall I be heard?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWho is’t that goes with me? Beseech your highness\\r\\nMy women may be with me, for you see\\r\\nMy plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools;\\r\\nThere is no cause: when you shall know your mistress\\r\\nHas deserv’d prison, then abound in tears\\r\\nAs I come out: this action I now go on\\r\\nIs for my better grace. Adieu, my lord:\\r\\nI never wish’d to see you sorry; now\\r\\nI trust I shall. My women, come; you have leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGo, do our bidding. Hence!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Queen and Ladies with Guards._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nBeseech your highness, call the queen again.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nBe certain what you do, sir, lest your justice\\r\\nProve violence, in the which three great ones suffer,\\r\\nYourself, your queen, your son.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nFor her, my lord,\\r\\nI dare my life lay down, and will do’t, sir,\\r\\nPlease you to accept it, that the queen is spotless\\r\\nI’ th’ eyes of heaven and to you—I mean\\r\\nIn this which you accuse her.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nIf it prove\\r\\nShe’s otherwise, I’ll keep my stables where\\r\\nI lodge my wife; I’ll go in couples with her;\\r\\nThan when I feel and see her no further trust her.\\r\\nFor every inch of woman in the world,\\r\\nAy, every dram of woman’s flesh, is false,\\r\\nIf she be.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHold your peaces.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nGood my lord,—\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nIt is for you we speak, not for ourselves:\\r\\nYou are abus’d, and by some putter-on\\r\\nThat will be damn’d for’t: would I knew the villain,\\r\\nI would land-damn him. Be she honour-flaw’d,\\r\\nI have three daughters; the eldest is eleven;\\r\\nThe second and the third, nine and some five;\\r\\nIf this prove true, they’ll pay for’t. By mine honour,\\r\\nI’ll geld ’em all; fourteen they shall not see,\\r\\nTo bring false generations: they are co-heirs,\\r\\nAnd I had rather glib myself than they\\r\\nShould not produce fair issue.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nCease; no more.\\r\\nYou smell this business with a sense as cold\\r\\nAs is a dead man’s nose: but I do see’t and feel’t,\\r\\nAs you feel doing thus; and see withal\\r\\nThe instruments that feel.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nIf it be so,\\r\\nWe need no grave to bury honesty.\\r\\nThere’s not a grain of it the face to sweeten\\r\\nOf the whole dungy earth.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat! Lack I credit?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nI had rather you did lack than I, my lord,\\r\\nUpon this ground: and more it would content me\\r\\nTo have her honour true than your suspicion,\\r\\nBe blam’d for’t how you might.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhy, what need we\\r\\nCommune with you of this, but rather follow\\r\\nOur forceful instigation? Our prerogative\\r\\nCalls not your counsels, but our natural goodness\\r\\nImparts this; which, if you, or stupified\\r\\nOr seeming so in skill, cannot or will not\\r\\nRelish a truth, like us, inform yourselves\\r\\nWe need no more of your advice: the matter,\\r\\nThe loss, the gain, the ord’ring on’t, is all\\r\\nProperly ours.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nAnd I wish, my liege,\\r\\nYou had only in your silent judgement tried it,\\r\\nWithout more overture.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow could that be?\\r\\nEither thou art most ignorant by age,\\r\\nOr thou wert born a fool. Camillo’s flight,\\r\\nAdded to their familiarity,\\r\\n(Which was as gross as ever touch’d conjecture,\\r\\nThat lack’d sight only, nought for approbation\\r\\nBut only seeing, all other circumstances\\r\\nMade up to th’ deed) doth push on this proceeding.\\r\\nYet, for a greater confirmation\\r\\n(For in an act of this importance, ’twere\\r\\nMost piteous to be wild), I have dispatch’d in post\\r\\nTo sacred Delphos, to Apollo’s temple,\\r\\nCleomenes and Dion, whom you know\\r\\nOf stuff’d sufficiency: now from the oracle\\r\\nThey will bring all, whose spiritual counsel had,\\r\\nShall stop or spur me. Have I done well?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nWell done, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThough I am satisfied, and need no more\\r\\nThan what I know, yet shall the oracle\\r\\nGive rest to the minds of others, such as he\\r\\nWhose ignorant credulity will not\\r\\nCome up to th’ truth. So have we thought it good\\r\\nFrom our free person she should be confin’d,\\r\\nLest that the treachery of the two fled hence\\r\\nBe left her to perform. Come, follow us;\\r\\nWe are to speak in public; for this business\\r\\nWill raise us all.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] To laughter, as I take it,\\r\\nIf the good truth were known.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. The outer Room of a Prison.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paulina a Gentleman and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThe keeper of the prison, call to him;\\r\\nLet him have knowledge who I am.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit the Gentleman._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGood lady!\\r\\nNo court in Europe is too good for thee;\\r\\nWhat dost thou then in prison?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gentleman with the Gaoler.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, good sir,\\r\\nYou know me, do you not?\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nFor a worthy lady\\r\\nAnd one who much I honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nPray you then,\\r\\nConduct me to the queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nI may not, madam.\\r\\nTo the contrary I have express commandment.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nHere’s ado, to lock up honesty and honour from\\r\\nTh’ access of gentle visitors! Is’t lawful, pray you,\\r\\nTo see her women? any of them? Emilia?\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nSo please you, madam,\\r\\nTo put apart these your attendants, I\\r\\nShall bring Emilia forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI pray now, call her.\\r\\nWithdraw yourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Gentleman and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nAnd, madam,\\r\\nI must be present at your conference.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWell, be’t so, prithee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Gaoler._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHere’s such ado to make no stain a stain\\r\\nAs passes colouring.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Gaoler with Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nDear gentlewoman,\\r\\nHow fares our gracious lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAs well as one so great and so forlorn\\r\\nMay hold together: on her frights and griefs,\\r\\n(Which never tender lady hath borne greater)\\r\\nShe is, something before her time, deliver’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nA boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nA daughter; and a goodly babe,\\r\\nLusty, and like to live: the queen receives\\r\\nMuch comfort in ’t; says “My poor prisoner,\\r\\nI am as innocent as you.”\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI dare be sworn.\\r\\nThese dangerous unsafe lunes i’ th’ king, beshrew them!\\r\\nHe must be told on’t, and he shall: the office\\r\\nBecomes a woman best. I’ll take’t upon me.\\r\\nIf I prove honey-mouth’d, let my tongue blister,\\r\\nAnd never to my red-look’d anger be\\r\\nThe trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia,\\r\\nCommend my best obedience to the queen.\\r\\nIf she dares trust me with her little babe,\\r\\nI’ll show’t the king, and undertake to be\\r\\nHer advocate to th’ loud’st. We do not know\\r\\nHow he may soften at the sight o’ th’ child:\\r\\nThe silence often of pure innocence\\r\\nPersuades, when speaking fails.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMost worthy madam,\\r\\nYour honour and your goodness is so evident,\\r\\nThat your free undertaking cannot miss\\r\\nA thriving issue: there is no lady living\\r\\nSo meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship\\r\\nTo visit the next room, I’ll presently\\r\\nAcquaint the queen of your most noble offer,\\r\\nWho but today hammer’d of this design,\\r\\nBut durst not tempt a minister of honour,\\r\\nLest she should be denied.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nTell her, Emilia,\\r\\nI’ll use that tongue I have: if wit flow from ’t\\r\\nAs boldness from my bosom, let’t not be doubted\\r\\nI shall do good.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNow be you blest for it!\\r\\nI’ll to the queen: please you come something nearer.\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nMadam, if ’t please the queen to send the babe,\\r\\nI know not what I shall incur to pass it,\\r\\nHaving no warrant.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nYou need not fear it, sir:\\r\\nThis child was prisoner to the womb, and is,\\r\\nBy law and process of great nature thence\\r\\nFreed and enfranchis’d: not a party to\\r\\nThe anger of the king, nor guilty of,\\r\\nIf any be, the trespass of the queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nI do believe it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nDo not you fear: upon mine honour, I\\r\\nWill stand betwixt you and danger.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords and other Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNor night nor day no rest: it is but weakness\\r\\nTo bear the matter thus, mere weakness. If\\r\\nThe cause were not in being,—part o’ th’ cause,\\r\\nShe th’ adultress; for the harlot king\\r\\nIs quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank\\r\\nAnd level of my brain, plot-proof. But she\\r\\nI can hook to me. Say that she were gone,\\r\\nGiven to the fire, a moiety of my rest\\r\\nMight come to me again. Who’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST ATTENDANT.\\r\\nMy lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow does the boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST ATTENDANT.\\r\\nHe took good rest tonight;\\r\\n’Tis hop’d his sickness is discharg’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTo see his nobleness,\\r\\nConceiving the dishonour of his mother.\\r\\nHe straight declin’d, droop’d, took it deeply,\\r\\nFasten’d and fix’d the shame on’t in himself,\\r\\nThrew off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep,\\r\\nAnd downright languish’d. Leave me solely: go,\\r\\nSee how he fares.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit First Attendant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFie, fie! no thought of him.\\r\\nThe very thought of my revenges that way\\r\\nRecoil upon me: in himself too mighty,\\r\\nAnd in his parties, his alliance. Let him be,\\r\\nUntil a time may serve. For present vengeance,\\r\\nTake it on her. Camillo and Polixenes\\r\\nLaugh at me; make their pastime at my sorrow:\\r\\nThey should not laugh if I could reach them, nor\\r\\nShall she, within my power.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paulina carrying a baby, with Antigonus, lords and servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nYou must not enter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNay, rather, good my lords, be second to me:\\r\\nFear you his tyrannous passion more, alas,\\r\\nThan the queen’s life? a gracious innocent soul,\\r\\nMore free than he is jealous.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nThat’s enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMadam, he hath not slept tonight; commanded\\r\\nNone should come at him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNot so hot, good sir;\\r\\nI come to bring him sleep. ’Tis such as you,\\r\\nThat creep like shadows by him, and do sigh\\r\\nAt each his needless heavings,—such as you\\r\\nNourish the cause of his awaking. I\\r\\nDo come with words as med’cinal as true,\\r\\nHonest as either, to purge him of that humour\\r\\nThat presses him from sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat noise there, ho?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNo noise, my lord; but needful conference\\r\\nAbout some gossips for your highness.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow!\\r\\nAway with that audacious lady! Antigonus,\\r\\nI charg’d thee that she should not come about me.\\r\\nI knew she would.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI told her so, my lord,\\r\\nOn your displeasure’s peril and on mine,\\r\\nShe should not visit you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat, canst not rule her?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nFrom all dishonesty he can. In this,\\r\\nUnless he take the course that you have done,\\r\\nCommit me for committing honour—trust it,\\r\\nHe shall not rule me.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nLa you now, you hear.\\r\\nWhen she will take the rein I let her run;\\r\\nBut she’ll not stumble.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nGood my liege, I come,—\\r\\nAnd, I beseech you hear me, who professes\\r\\nMyself your loyal servant, your physician,\\r\\nYour most obedient counsellor, yet that dares\\r\\nLess appear so, in comforting your evils,\\r\\nThan such as most seem yours—I say I come\\r\\nFrom your good queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGood queen!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nGood queen, my lord, good queen: I say, good queen,\\r\\nAnd would by combat make her good, so were I\\r\\nA man, the worst about you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nForce her hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nLet him that makes but trifles of his eyes\\r\\nFirst hand me: on mine own accord I’ll off;\\r\\nBut first I’ll do my errand. The good queen,\\r\\n(For she is good) hath brought you forth a daughter;\\r\\nHere ’tis; commends it to your blessing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Laying down the child._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nOut!\\r\\nA mankind witch! Hence with her, out o’ door:\\r\\nA most intelligencing bawd!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNot so.\\r\\nI am as ignorant in that as you\\r\\nIn so entitling me; and no less honest\\r\\nThan you are mad; which is enough, I’ll warrant,\\r\\nAs this world goes, to pass for honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTraitors!\\r\\nWill you not push her out? [_To Antigonus._] Give her the bastard,\\r\\nThou dotard! Thou art woman-tir’d, unroosted\\r\\nBy thy Dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard,\\r\\nTake’t up, I say; give’t to thy crone.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nFor ever\\r\\nUnvenerable be thy hands, if thou\\r\\nTak’st up the princess by that forced baseness\\r\\nWhich he has put upon ’t!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHe dreads his wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nSo I would you did; then ’twere past all doubt\\r\\nYou’d call your children yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nA nest of traitors!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI am none, by this good light.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNor I; nor any\\r\\nBut one that’s here, and that’s himself. For he\\r\\nThe sacred honour of himself, his queen’s,\\r\\nHis hopeful son’s, his babe’s, betrays to slander,\\r\\nWhose sting is sharper than the sword’s; and will not,\\r\\n(For, as the case now stands, it is a curse\\r\\nHe cannot be compell’d to’t) once remove\\r\\nThe root of his opinion, which is rotten\\r\\nAs ever oak or stone was sound.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nA callat\\r\\nOf boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband,\\r\\nAnd now baits me! This brat is none of mine;\\r\\nIt is the issue of Polixenes.\\r\\nHence with it, and together with the dam\\r\\nCommit them to the fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nIt is yours;\\r\\nAnd, might we lay th’ old proverb to your charge,\\r\\nSo like you ’tis the worse. Behold, my lords,\\r\\nAlthough the print be little, the whole matter\\r\\nAnd copy of the father: eye, nose, lip,\\r\\nThe trick of ’s frown, his forehead; nay, the valley,\\r\\nThe pretty dimples of his chin and cheek; his smiles;\\r\\nThe very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger:\\r\\nAnd thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it\\r\\nSo like to him that got it, if thou hast\\r\\nThe ordering of the mind too, ’mongst all colours\\r\\nNo yellow in ’t, lest she suspect, as he does,\\r\\nHer children not her husband’s!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nA gross hag!\\r\\nAnd, losel, thou art worthy to be hang’d\\r\\nThat wilt not stay her tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nHang all the husbands\\r\\nThat cannot do that feat, you’ll leave yourself\\r\\nHardly one subject.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nOnce more, take her hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nA most unworthy and unnatural lord\\r\\nCan do no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI’ll have thee burnt.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI care not.\\r\\nIt is an heretic that makes the fire,\\r\\nNot she which burns in ’t. I’ll not call you tyrant;\\r\\nBut this most cruel usage of your queen,\\r\\nNot able to produce more accusation\\r\\nThan your own weak-hing’d fancy, something savours\\r\\nOf tyranny, and will ignoble make you,\\r\\nYea, scandalous to the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nOn your allegiance,\\r\\nOut of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant,\\r\\nWhere were her life? She durst not call me so,\\r\\nIf she did know me one. Away with her!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI pray you, do not push me; I’ll be gone.\\r\\nLook to your babe, my lord; ’tis yours: Jove send her\\r\\nA better guiding spirit! What needs these hands?\\r\\nYou that are thus so tender o’er his follies,\\r\\nWill never do him good, not one of you.\\r\\nSo, so. Farewell; we are gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.\\r\\nMy child? Away with’t. Even thou, that hast\\r\\nA heart so tender o’er it, take it hence,\\r\\nAnd see it instantly consum’d with fire;\\r\\nEven thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight:\\r\\nWithin this hour bring me word ’tis done,\\r\\nAnd by good testimony, or I’ll seize thy life,\\r\\nWith that thou else call’st thine. If thou refuse\\r\\nAnd wilt encounter with my wrath, say so;\\r\\nThe bastard brains with these my proper hands\\r\\nShall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire;\\r\\nFor thou set’st on thy wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI did not, sir:\\r\\nThese lords, my noble fellows, if they please,\\r\\nCan clear me in ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORDS\\r\\nWe can: my royal liege,\\r\\nHe is not guilty of her coming hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou’re liars all.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nBeseech your highness, give us better credit:\\r\\nWe have always truly serv’d you; and beseech\\r\\nSo to esteem of us. And on our knees we beg,\\r\\nAs recompense of our dear services\\r\\nPast and to come, that you do change this purpose,\\r\\nWhich being so horrible, so bloody, must\\r\\nLead on to some foul issue. We all kneel.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI am a feather for each wind that blows.\\r\\nShall I live on to see this bastard kneel\\r\\nAnd call me father? better burn it now\\r\\nThan curse it then. But be it; let it live.\\r\\nIt shall not neither. [_To Antigonus._] You, sir, come you hither,\\r\\nYou that have been so tenderly officious\\r\\nWith Lady Margery, your midwife, there,\\r\\nTo save this bastard’s life—for ’tis a bastard,\\r\\nSo sure as this beard’s grey. What will you adventure\\r\\nTo save this brat’s life?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nAnything, my lord,\\r\\nThat my ability may undergo,\\r\\nAnd nobleness impose: at least thus much:\\r\\nI’ll pawn the little blood which I have left\\r\\nTo save the innocent. Anything possible.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nIt shall be possible. Swear by this sword\\r\\nThou wilt perform my bidding.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nMark, and perform it, seest thou? for the fail\\r\\nOf any point in’t shall not only be\\r\\nDeath to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongu’d wife,\\r\\nWhom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee,\\r\\nAs thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry\\r\\nThis female bastard hence, and that thou bear it\\r\\nTo some remote and desert place, quite out\\r\\nOf our dominions; and that there thou leave it,\\r\\nWithout more mercy, to it own protection\\r\\nAnd favour of the climate. As by strange fortune\\r\\nIt came to us, I do in justice charge thee,\\r\\nOn thy soul’s peril and thy body’s torture,\\r\\nThat thou commend it strangely to some place\\r\\nWhere chance may nurse or end it. Take it up.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI swear to do this, though a present death\\r\\nHad been more merciful. Come on, poor babe:\\r\\nSome powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens\\r\\nTo be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say,\\r\\nCasting their savageness aside, have done\\r\\nLike offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous\\r\\nIn more than this deed does require! And blessing\\r\\nAgainst this cruelty, fight on thy side,\\r\\nPoor thing, condemn’d to loss!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with the child._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNo, I’ll not rear\\r\\nAnother’s issue.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nPlease your highness, posts\\r\\nFrom those you sent to th’ oracle are come\\r\\nAn hour since: Cleomenes and Dion,\\r\\nBeing well arriv’d from Delphos, are both landed,\\r\\nHasting to th’ court.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nSo please you, sir, their speed\\r\\nHath been beyond account.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTwenty-three days\\r\\nThey have been absent: ’tis good speed; foretells\\r\\nThe great Apollo suddenly will have\\r\\nThe truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords;\\r\\nSummon a session, that we may arraign\\r\\nOur most disloyal lady; for, as she hath\\r\\nBeen publicly accus’d, so shall she have\\r\\nA just and open trial. While she lives,\\r\\nMy heart will be a burden to me. Leave me,\\r\\nAnd think upon my bidding.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Sicilia. A Street in some Town.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cleomenes and Dion.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nThe climate’s delicate; the air most sweet,\\r\\nFertile the isle, the temple much surpassing\\r\\nThe common praise it bears.\\r\\n\\r\\nDION.\\r\\nI shall report,\\r\\nFor most it caught me, the celestial habits\\r\\n(Methinks I so should term them) and the reverence\\r\\nOf the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice!\\r\\nHow ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly,\\r\\nIt was i’ th’ offering!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nBut of all, the burst\\r\\nAnd the ear-deaf’ning voice o’ th’ oracle,\\r\\nKin to Jove’s thunder, so surprised my sense\\r\\nThat I was nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nDION.\\r\\nIf the event o’ th’ journey\\r\\nProve as successful to the queen,—O, be’t so!—\\r\\nAs it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy,\\r\\nThe time is worth the use on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nGreat Apollo\\r\\nTurn all to th’ best! These proclamations,\\r\\nSo forcing faults upon Hermione,\\r\\nI little like.\\r\\n\\r\\nDION.\\r\\nThe violent carriage of it\\r\\nWill clear or end the business: when the oracle,\\r\\n(Thus by Apollo’s great divine seal’d up)\\r\\nShall the contents discover, something rare\\r\\nEven then will rush to knowledge. Go. Fresh horses!\\r\\nAnd gracious be the issue!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. A Court of Justice.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Lords and Officers appear, properly seated.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThis sessions (to our great grief we pronounce)\\r\\nEven pushes ’gainst our heart: the party tried\\r\\nThe daughter of a king, our wife, and one\\r\\nOf us too much belov’d. Let us be clear’d\\r\\nOf being tyrannous, since we so openly\\r\\nProceed in justice, which shall have due course,\\r\\nEven to the guilt or the purgation.\\r\\nProduce the prisoner.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nIt is his highness’ pleasure that the queen\\r\\nAppear in person here in court. Silence!\\r\\n\\r\\n Hermione is brought in guarded; Paulina and Ladies attending.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nRead the indictment.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\n[_Reads._] “Hermione, queen to the worthy Leontes, king of Sicilia,\\r\\nthou art here accused and arraigned of high treason, in committing\\r\\nadultery with Polixenes, king of Bohemia; and conspiring with Camillo\\r\\nto take away the life of our sovereign lord the king, thy royal\\r\\nhusband: the pretence whereof being by circumstances partly laid open,\\r\\nthou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance of a true subject,\\r\\ndidst counsel and aid them, for their better safety, to fly away by\\r\\nnight.”\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nSince what I am to say must be but that\\r\\nWhich contradicts my accusation, and\\r\\nThe testimony on my part no other\\r\\nBut what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me\\r\\nTo say “Not guilty”. Mine integrity,\\r\\nBeing counted falsehood, shall, as I express it,\\r\\nBe so receiv’d. But thus, if powers divine\\r\\nBehold our human actions, as they do,\\r\\nI doubt not, then, but innocence shall make\\r\\nFalse accusation blush, and tyranny\\r\\nTremble at patience. You, my lord, best know,\\r\\nWho least will seem to do so, my past life\\r\\nHath been as continent, as chaste, as true,\\r\\nAs I am now unhappy; which is more\\r\\nThan history can pattern, though devis’d\\r\\nAnd play’d to take spectators. For behold me,\\r\\nA fellow of the royal bed, which owe\\r\\nA moiety of the throne, a great king’s daughter,\\r\\nThe mother to a hopeful prince, here standing\\r\\nTo prate and talk for life and honour ’fore\\r\\nWho please to come and hear. For life, I prize it\\r\\nAs I weigh grief, which I would spare. For honour,\\r\\n’Tis a derivative from me to mine,\\r\\nAnd only that I stand for. I appeal\\r\\nTo your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes\\r\\nCame to your court, how I was in your grace,\\r\\nHow merited to be so; since he came,\\r\\nWith what encounter so uncurrent I\\r\\nHave strain’d t’ appear thus: if one jot beyond\\r\\nThe bound of honour, or in act or will\\r\\nThat way inclining, harden’d be the hearts\\r\\nOf all that hear me, and my near’st of kin\\r\\nCry fie upon my grave!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI ne’er heard yet\\r\\nThat any of these bolder vices wanted\\r\\nLess impudence to gainsay what they did\\r\\nThan to perform it first.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nThat’s true enough;\\r\\nThough ’tis a saying, sir, not due to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou will not own it.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nMore than mistress of\\r\\nWhich comes to me in name of fault, I must not\\r\\nAt all acknowledge. For Polixenes,\\r\\nWith whom I am accus’d, I do confess\\r\\nI lov’d him as in honour he requir’d,\\r\\nWith such a kind of love as might become\\r\\nA lady like me; with a love even such,\\r\\nSo and no other, as yourself commanded:\\r\\nWhich not to have done, I think had been in me\\r\\nBoth disobedience and ingratitude\\r\\nTo you and toward your friend, whose love had spoke,\\r\\nEver since it could speak, from an infant, freely,\\r\\nThat it was yours. Now, for conspiracy,\\r\\nI know not how it tastes, though it be dish’d\\r\\nFor me to try how: all I know of it\\r\\nIs that Camillo was an honest man;\\r\\nAnd why he left your court, the gods themselves,\\r\\nWotting no more than I, are ignorant.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou knew of his departure, as you know\\r\\nWhat you have underta’en to do in ’s absence.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nSir,\\r\\nYou speak a language that I understand not:\\r\\nMy life stands in the level of your dreams,\\r\\nWhich I’ll lay down.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYour actions are my dreams.\\r\\nYou had a bastard by Polixenes,\\r\\nAnd I but dream’d it. As you were past all shame\\r\\n(Those of your fact are so) so past all truth,\\r\\nWhich to deny concerns more than avails; for as\\r\\nThy brat hath been cast out, like to itself,\\r\\nNo father owning it (which is, indeed,\\r\\nMore criminal in thee than it), so thou\\r\\nShalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage\\r\\nLook for no less than death.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nSir, spare your threats:\\r\\nThe bug which you would fright me with, I seek.\\r\\nTo me can life be no commodity.\\r\\nThe crown and comfort of my life, your favour,\\r\\nI do give lost, for I do feel it gone,\\r\\nBut know not how it went. My second joy,\\r\\nAnd first-fruits of my body, from his presence\\r\\nI am barr’d, like one infectious. My third comfort,\\r\\nStarr’d most unluckily, is from my breast,\\r\\n(The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth)\\r\\nHal’d out to murder; myself on every post\\r\\nProclaim’d a strumpet; with immodest hatred\\r\\nThe child-bed privilege denied, which ’longs\\r\\nTo women of all fashion; lastly, hurried\\r\\nHere to this place, i’ th’ open air, before\\r\\nI have got strength of limit. Now, my liege,\\r\\nTell me what blessings I have here alive,\\r\\nThat I should fear to die. Therefore proceed.\\r\\nBut yet hear this: mistake me not: no life,\\r\\nI prize it not a straw, but for mine honour,\\r\\nWhich I would free, if I shall be condemn’d\\r\\nUpon surmises, all proofs sleeping else\\r\\nBut what your jealousies awake I tell you\\r\\n’Tis rigour, and not law. Your honours all,\\r\\nI do refer me to the oracle:\\r\\nApollo be my judge!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nThis your request\\r\\nIs altogether just: therefore bring forth,\\r\\nAnd in Apollo’s name, his oracle:\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt certain Officers._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nThe Emperor of Russia was my father.\\r\\nO that he were alive, and here beholding\\r\\nHis daughter’s trial! that he did but see\\r\\nThe flatness of my misery; yet with eyes\\r\\nOf pity, not revenge!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Officers with Cleomenes and Dion.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nYou here shall swear upon this sword of justice,\\r\\nThat you, Cleomenes and Dion, have\\r\\nBeen both at Delphos, and from thence have brought\\r\\nThis seal’d-up oracle, by the hand deliver’d\\r\\nOf great Apollo’s priest; and that since then\\r\\nYou have not dared to break the holy seal,\\r\\nNor read the secrets in’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES, DION.\\r\\nAll this we swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nBreak up the seals and read.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\n[_Reads._] “Hermione is chaste; Polixenes blameless; Camillo a true\\r\\nsubject; Leontes a jealous tyrant; his innocent babe truly begotten;\\r\\nand the king shall live without an heir, if that which is lost be not\\r\\nfound.”\\r\\n\\r\\nLORDS\\r\\nNow blessed be the great Apollo!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nPraised!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHast thou read truth?\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nAy, my lord, even so\\r\\nAs it is here set down.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThere is no truth at all i’ th’ oracle:\\r\\nThe sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant hastily.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMy lord the king, the king!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat is the business?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nO sir, I shall be hated to report it.\\r\\nThe prince your son, with mere conceit and fear\\r\\nOf the queen’s speed, is gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow! gone?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nIs dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nApollo’s angry, and the heavens themselves\\r\\nDo strike at my injustice.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Hermione faints._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now there?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThis news is mortal to the queen. Look down\\r\\nAnd see what death is doing.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTake her hence:\\r\\nHer heart is but o’ercharg’d; she will recover.\\r\\nI have too much believ’d mine own suspicion.\\r\\nBeseech you tenderly apply to her\\r\\nSome remedies for life.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Paulina and Ladies with Hermione._]\\r\\n\\r\\nApollo, pardon\\r\\nMy great profaneness ’gainst thine oracle!\\r\\nI’ll reconcile me to Polixenes,\\r\\nNew woo my queen,\\t recall the good Camillo,\\r\\nWhom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy;\\r\\nFor, being transported by my jealousies\\r\\nTo bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose\\r\\nCamillo for the minister to poison\\r\\nMy friend Polixenes: which had been done,\\r\\nBut that the good mind of Camillo tardied\\r\\nMy swift command, though I with death and with\\r\\nReward did threaten and encourage him,\\r\\nNot doing it and being done. He, most humane\\r\\nAnd fill’d with honour, to my kingly guest\\r\\nUnclasp’d my practice, quit his fortunes here,\\r\\nWhich you knew great, and to the certain hazard\\r\\nOf all incertainties himself commended,\\r\\nNo richer than his honour. How he glisters\\r\\nThorough my rust! And how his piety\\r\\nDoes my deeds make the blacker!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paulina.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWoe the while!\\r\\nO, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,\\r\\nBreak too!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nWhat fit is this, good lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWhat studied torments, tyrant, hast for me?\\r\\nWhat wheels? racks? fires? what flaying? boiling\\r\\nIn leads or oils? What old or newer torture\\r\\nMust I receive, whose every word deserves\\r\\nTo taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny,\\r\\nTogether working with thy jealousies,\\r\\nFancies too weak for boys, too green and idle\\r\\nFor girls of nine. O, think what they have done,\\r\\nAnd then run mad indeed, stark mad! for all\\r\\nThy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.\\r\\nThat thou betray’dst Polixenes, ’twas nothing;\\r\\nThat did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant\\r\\nAnd damnable ingrateful; nor was’t much\\r\\nThou wouldst have poison’d good Camillo’s honour,\\r\\nTo have him kill a king; poor trespasses,\\r\\nMore monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon\\r\\nThe casting forth to crows thy baby daughter,\\r\\nTo be or none or little, though a devil\\r\\nWould have shed water out of fire ere done’t,\\r\\nNor is’t directly laid to thee the death\\r\\nOf the young prince, whose honourable thoughts,\\r\\nThoughts high for one so tender, cleft the heart\\r\\nThat could conceive a gross and foolish sire\\r\\nBlemish’d his gracious dam: this is not, no,\\r\\nLaid to thy answer: but the last—O lords,\\r\\nWhen I have said, cry Woe!—the queen, the queen,\\r\\nThe sweet’st, dear’st creature’s dead, and vengeance for’t\\r\\nNot dropp’d down yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nThe higher powers forbid!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI say she’s dead: I’ll swear’t. If word nor oath\\r\\nPrevail not, go and see: if you can bring\\r\\nTincture, or lustre, in her lip, her eye,\\r\\nHeat outwardly or breath within, I’ll serve you\\r\\nAs I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant!\\r\\nDo not repent these things, for they are heavier\\r\\nThan all thy woes can stir. Therefore betake thee\\r\\nTo nothing but despair. A thousand knees\\r\\nTen thousand years together, naked, fasting,\\r\\nUpon a barren mountain, and still winter\\r\\nIn storm perpetual, could not move the gods\\r\\nTo look that way thou wert.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGo on, go on:\\r\\nThou canst not speak too much; I have deserv’d\\r\\nAll tongues to talk their bitterest.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nSay no more:\\r\\nHowe’er the business goes, you have made fault\\r\\nI’ th’ boldness of your speech.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI am sorry for ’t:\\r\\nAll faults I make, when I shall come to know them,\\r\\nI do repent. Alas, I have show’d too much\\r\\nThe rashness of a woman: he is touch’d\\r\\nTo th’ noble heart. What’s gone and what’s past help,\\r\\nShould be past grief. Do not receive affliction\\r\\nAt my petition; I beseech you, rather\\r\\nLet me be punish’d, that have minded you\\r\\nOf what you should forget. Now, good my liege,\\r\\nSir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman:\\r\\nThe love I bore your queen—lo, fool again!\\r\\nI’ll speak of her no more, nor of your children.\\r\\nI’ll not remember you of my own lord,\\r\\nWho is lost too. Take your patience to you,\\r\\nAnd I’ll say nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou didst speak but well\\r\\nWhen most the truth, which I receive much better\\r\\nThan to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me\\r\\nTo the dead bodies of my queen and son:\\r\\nOne grave shall be for both. Upon them shall\\r\\nThe causes of their death appear, unto\\r\\nOur shame perpetual. Once a day I’ll visit\\r\\nThe chapel where they lie, and tears shed there\\r\\nShall be my recreation. So long as nature\\r\\nWill bear up with this exercise, so long\\r\\nI daily vow to use it. Come, and lead me\\r\\nTo these sorrows.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Bohemia. A desert Country near the Sea.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antigonus with the Child and a Mariner.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nThou art perfect, then, our ship hath touch’d upon\\r\\nThe deserts of Bohemia?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINER.\\r\\nAy, my lord, and fear\\r\\nWe have landed in ill time: the skies look grimly,\\r\\nAnd threaten present blusters. In my conscience,\\r\\nThe heavens with that we have in hand are angry,\\r\\nAnd frown upon ’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nTheir sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard;\\r\\nLook to thy bark: I’ll not be long before\\r\\nI call upon thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINER.\\r\\nMake your best haste, and go not\\r\\nToo far i’ th’ land: ’tis like to be loud weather;\\r\\nBesides, this place is famous for the creatures\\r\\nOf prey that keep upon ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nGo thou away:\\r\\nI’ll follow instantly.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINER.\\r\\nI am glad at heart\\r\\nTo be so rid o’ th’ business.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nCome, poor babe.\\r\\nI have heard, but not believ’d, the spirits of the dead\\r\\nMay walk again: if such thing be, thy mother\\r\\nAppear’d to me last night; for ne’er was dream\\r\\nSo like a waking. To me comes a creature,\\r\\nSometimes her head on one side, some another.\\r\\nI never saw a vessel of like sorrow,\\r\\nSo fill’d and so becoming: in pure white robes,\\r\\nLike very sanctity, she did approach\\r\\nMy cabin where I lay: thrice bow’d before me,\\r\\nAnd, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes\\r\\nBecame two spouts. The fury spent, anon\\r\\nDid this break from her: “Good Antigonus,\\r\\nSince fate, against thy better disposition,\\r\\nHath made thy person for the thrower-out\\r\\nOf my poor babe, according to thine oath,\\r\\nPlaces remote enough are in Bohemia,\\r\\nThere weep, and leave it crying. And, for the babe\\r\\nIs counted lost for ever, Perdita\\r\\nI prithee call’t. For this ungentle business,\\r\\nPut on thee by my lord, thou ne’er shalt see\\r\\nThy wife Paulina more.” And so, with shrieks,\\r\\nShe melted into air. Affrighted much,\\r\\nI did in time collect myself and thought\\r\\nThis was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys,\\r\\nYet for this once, yea, superstitiously,\\r\\nI will be squar’d by this. I do believe\\r\\nHermione hath suffer’d death, and that\\r\\nApollo would, this being indeed the issue\\r\\nOf King Polixenes, it should here be laid,\\r\\nEither for life or death, upon the earth\\r\\nOf its right father. Blossom, speed thee well! There lie; and there thy\\r\\ncharacter: there these;\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Laying down the child and a bundle._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich may if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,\\r\\nAnd still rest thine. The storm begins: poor wretch,\\r\\nThat for thy mother’s fault art thus expos’d\\r\\nTo loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot,\\r\\nBut my heart bleeds, and most accurs’d am I\\r\\nTo be by oath enjoin’d to this. Farewell!\\r\\nThe day frowns more and more. Thou’rt like to have\\r\\nA lullaby too rough. I never saw\\r\\nThe heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour!\\r\\nWell may I get aboard! This is the chase:\\r\\nI am gone for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit, pursued by a bear._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter an old Shepherd.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nI would there were no age between ten and three-and-twenty, or that\\r\\nyouth would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the between but\\r\\ngetting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing,\\r\\nfighting—Hark you now! Would any but these boiled brains of nineteen\\r\\nand two-and-twenty hunt this weather? They have scared away two of my\\r\\nbest sheep, which I fear the wolf will sooner find than the master: if\\r\\nanywhere I have them, ’tis by the sea-side, browsing of ivy. Good luck,\\r\\nan ’t be thy will, what have we here?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Taking up the child._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Mercy on ’s, a bairn! A very pretty bairn! A boy or a child, I wonder?\\r\\n A pretty one; a very pretty one. Sure, some scape. Though I am not\\r\\n bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This has\\r\\n been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work. They\\r\\n were warmer that got this than the poor thing is here. I’ll take it up\\r\\n for pity: yet I’ll tarry till my son come; he halloed but even now.\\r\\n Whoa-ho-hoa!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHilloa, loa!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWhat, art so near? If thou’lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead\\r\\nand rotten, come hither. What ail’st thou, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI have seen two such sights, by sea and by land! But I am not to say it\\r\\nis a sea, for it is now the sky: betwixt the firmament and it, you\\r\\ncannot thrust a bodkin’s point.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWhy, boy, how is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up\\r\\nthe shore! But that’s not to the point. O, the most piteous cry of the\\r\\npoor souls! sometimes to see ’em, and not to see ’em. Now the ship\\r\\nboring the moon with her mainmast, and anon swallowed with yest and\\r\\nfroth, as you’d thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land\\r\\nservice, to see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone, how he cried\\r\\nto me for help, and said his name was Antigonus, a nobleman. But to\\r\\nmake an end of the ship, to see how the sea flap-dragon’d it: but\\r\\nfirst, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them, and how the\\r\\npoor gentleman roared, and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder\\r\\nthan the sea or weather.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nName of mercy, when was this, boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNow, now. I have not winked since I saw these sights: the men are not\\r\\nyet cold under water, nor the bear half dined on the gentleman. He’s at\\r\\nit now.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWould I had been by to have helped the old man!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI would you had been by the ship side, to have helped her: there your\\r\\ncharity would have lacked footing.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nHeavy matters, heavy matters! But look thee here, boy. Now bless\\r\\nthyself: thou met’st with things dying, I with things new-born. Here’s\\r\\na sight for thee. Look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire’s child! Look\\r\\nthee here; take up, take up, boy; open’t. So, let’s see. It was told me\\r\\nI should be rich by the fairies. This is some changeling: open’t.\\r\\nWhat’s within, boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYou’re a made old man. If the sins of your youth are forgiven you,\\r\\nyou’re well to live. Gold! all gold!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nThis is fairy gold, boy, and ’twill prove so. Up with it, keep it\\r\\nclose: home, home, the next way. We are lucky, boy, and to be so still\\r\\nrequires nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep go: come, good boy, the next\\r\\nway home.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGo you the next way with your findings. I’ll go see if the bear be gone\\r\\nfrom the gentleman, and how much he hath eaten. They are never curst\\r\\nbut when they are hungry: if there be any of him left, I’ll bury it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nThat’s a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that which is left of him\\r\\nwhat he is, fetch me to th’ sight of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMarry, will I; and you shall help to put him i’ th’ ground.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\n’Tis a lucky day, boy, and we’ll do good deeds on ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Time, the Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTIME.\\r\\nI that please some, try all: both joy and terror\\r\\nOf good and bad, that makes and unfolds error,\\r\\nNow take upon me, in the name of Time,\\r\\nTo use my wings. Impute it not a crime\\r\\nTo me or my swift passage, that I slide\\r\\nO’er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried\\r\\nOf that wide gap, since it is in my power\\r\\nTo o’erthrow law, and in one self-born hour\\r\\nTo plant and o’erwhelm custom. Let me pass\\r\\nThe same I am, ere ancient’st order was\\r\\nOr what is now received. I witness to\\r\\nThe times that brought them in; so shall I do\\r\\nTo th’ freshest things now reigning, and make stale\\r\\nThe glistering of this present, as my tale\\r\\nNow seems to it. Your patience this allowing,\\r\\nI turn my glass, and give my scene such growing\\r\\nAs you had slept between. Leontes leaving\\r\\nTh’ effects of his fond jealousies, so grieving\\r\\nThat he shuts up himself, imagine me,\\r\\nGentle spectators, that I now may be\\r\\nIn fair Bohemia, and remember well,\\r\\nI mentioned a son o’ th’ king’s, which Florizel\\r\\nI now name to you; and with speed so pace\\r\\nTo speak of Perdita, now grown in grace\\r\\nEqual with wondering. What of her ensues\\r\\nI list not prophesy; but let Time’s news\\r\\nBe known when ’tis brought forth. A shepherd’s daughter,\\r\\nAnd what to her adheres, which follows after,\\r\\nIs th’ argument of Time. Of this allow,\\r\\nIf ever you have spent time worse ere now;\\r\\nIf never, yet that Time himself doth say\\r\\nHe wishes earnestly you never may.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Bohemia. A Room in the palace of Polixenes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Polixenes and Camillo.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: ’tis a sickness\\r\\ndenying thee anything; a death to grant this.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nIt is fifteen years since I saw my country. Though I have for the most\\r\\npart been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the\\r\\npenitent king, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling sorrows I\\r\\nmight be some allay, or I o’erween to think so,—which is another spur\\r\\nto my departure.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nAs thou lov’st me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services by\\r\\nleaving me now: the need I have of thee, thine own goodness hath made;\\r\\nbetter not to have had thee than thus to want thee. Thou, having made\\r\\nme businesses which none without thee can sufficiently manage, must\\r\\neither stay to execute them thyself, or take away with thee the very\\r\\nservices thou hast done, which if I have not enough considered (as too\\r\\nmuch I cannot) to be more thankful to thee shall be my study; and my\\r\\nprofit therein the heaping friendships. Of that fatal country Sicilia,\\r\\nprithee speak no more; whose very naming punishes me with the\\r\\nremembrance of that penitent, as thou call’st him, and reconciled king,\\r\\nmy brother; whose loss of his most precious queen and children are even\\r\\nnow to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when sawest thou the Prince\\r\\nFlorizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not being\\r\\ngracious, than they are in losing them when they have approved their\\r\\nvirtues.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSir, it is three days since I saw the prince. What his happier affairs\\r\\nmay be, are to me unknown, but I have missingly noted he is of late\\r\\nmuch retired from court, and is less frequent to his princely exercises\\r\\nthan formerly he hath appeared.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care; so far that I\\r\\nhave eyes under my service which look upon his removedness; from whom I\\r\\nhave this intelligence, that he is seldom from the house of a most\\r\\nhomely shepherd, a man, they say, that from very nothing, and beyond\\r\\nthe imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of most rare\\r\\nnote: the report of her is extended more than can be thought to begin\\r\\nfrom such a cottage.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThat’s likewise part of my intelligence: but, I fear, the angle that\\r\\nplucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the place, where we\\r\\nwill, not appearing what we are, have some question with the shepherd;\\r\\nfrom whose simplicity I think it not uneasy to get the cause of my\\r\\nson’s resort thither. Prithee, be my present partner in this business,\\r\\nand lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI willingly obey your command.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nMy best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A Road near the Shepherd’s cottage.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Autolycus, singing.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_When daffodils begin to peer,\\r\\n With, hey! the doxy over the dale,\\r\\nWhy, then comes in the sweet o’ the year,\\r\\n For the red blood reigns in the winter’s pale._\\r\\n\\r\\n_The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,\\r\\n With, hey! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!\\r\\nDoth set my pugging tooth on edge;\\r\\n For a quart of ale is a dish for a king._\\r\\n\\r\\n_The lark, that tirra-lirra chants,\\r\\n With, hey! with, hey! the thrush and the jay,\\r\\nAre summer songs for me and my aunts,\\r\\n While we lie tumbling in the hay._\\r\\n\\r\\nI have served Prince Florizel, and in my time wore three-pile, but now\\r\\nI am out of service.\\r\\n\\r\\n_But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?\\r\\n The pale moon shines by night:\\r\\nAnd when I wander here and there,\\r\\n I then do most go right._\\r\\n\\r\\n_If tinkers may have leave to live,\\r\\n And bear the sow-skin budget,\\r\\nThen my account I well may give\\r\\n And in the stocks avouch it._\\r\\n\\r\\nMy traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen. My\\r\\nfather named me Autolycus; who being, I as am, littered under Mercury,\\r\\nwas likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and drab I\\r\\npurchased this caparison, and my revenue is the silly cheat. Gallows\\r\\nand knock are too powerful on the highway. Beating and hanging are\\r\\nterrors to me. For the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. A\\r\\nprize! a prize!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLet me see: every ’leven wether tods; every tod yields pound and odd\\r\\nshilling; fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool to?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] If the springe hold, the cock’s mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI cannot do’t without counters. Let me see; what am I to buy for our\\r\\nsheep-shearing feast? “Three pound of sugar, five pound of currants,\\r\\nrice”—what will this sister of mine do with rice? But my father hath\\r\\nmade her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She hath made me\\r\\nfour-and-twenty nosegays for the shearers, three-man song-men all, and\\r\\nvery good ones; but they are most of them means and basses, but one\\r\\npuritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have\\r\\nsaffron to colour the warden pies; “mace; dates”, none, that’s out of\\r\\nmy note; “nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger”, but that I may beg;\\r\\n“four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o’ th’ sun.”\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Grovelling on the ground._] O that ever I was born!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI’ th’ name of me!\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO, help me, help me! Pluck but off these rags; and then, death, death!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather\\r\\nthan have these off.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more than the stripes I\\r\\nhave received, which are mighty ones and millions.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta’en from me, and\\r\\nthese detestable things put upon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat, by a horseman or a footman?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nA footman, sweet sir, a footman.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIndeed, he should be a footman by the garments he has left with thee:\\r\\nif this be a horseman’s coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me\\r\\nthy hand, I’ll help thee: come, lend me thy hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Helping him up._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO, good sir, tenderly, O!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlas, poor soul!\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO, good sir, softly, good sir. I fear, sir, my shoulder blade is out.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHow now! canst stand?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nSoftly, dear sir! [_Picks his pocket._] good sir, softly. You ha’ done\\r\\nme a charitable office.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nDost lack any money? I have a little money for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nNo, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: I have a kinsman not past\\r\\nthree-quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going. I shall there\\r\\nhave money or anything I want. Offer me no money, I pray you; that\\r\\nkills my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat manner of fellow was he that robbed you?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nA fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-my-dames. I\\r\\nknew him once a servant of the prince; I cannot tell, good sir, for\\r\\nwhich of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the\\r\\ncourt.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHis vices, you would say; there’s no virtue whipped out of the court.\\r\\nThey cherish it to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but\\r\\nabide.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nVices, I would say, sir. I know this man well. He hath been since an\\r\\nape-bearer, then a process-server, a bailiff. Then he compassed a\\r\\nmotion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker’s wife within a mile\\r\\nwhere my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish\\r\\nprofessions, he settled only in rogue. Some call him Autolycus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nOut upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he haunts wakes, fairs, and\\r\\nbear-baitings.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nVery true, sir; he, sir, he; that’s the rogue that put me into this\\r\\napparel.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia. If you had but looked big and\\r\\nspit at him, he’d have run.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter. I am false of heart that\\r\\nway; and that he knew, I warrant him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHow do you now?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nSweet sir, much better than I was. I can stand and walk: I will even\\r\\ntake my leave of you and pace softly towards my kinsman’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nShall I bring thee on the way?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nNo, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThen fare thee well. I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nProsper you, sweet sir!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I’ll be with you\\r\\n at your sheep-shearing too. If I make not this cheat bring out\\r\\n another, and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled, and my name\\r\\n put in the book of virtue!\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n_Jog on, jog on, the footpath way,\\r\\n And merrily hent the stile-a:\\r\\nA merry heart goes all the day,\\r\\n Your sad tires in a mile-a._\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The same. A Shepherd’s Cottage.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Florizel and Perdita.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nThese your unusual weeds to each part of you\\r\\nDo give a life, no shepherdess, but Flora\\r\\nPeering in April’s front. This your sheep-shearing\\r\\nIs as a meeting of the petty gods,\\r\\nAnd you the queen on ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nSir, my gracious lord,\\r\\nTo chide at your extremes it not becomes me;\\r\\nO, pardon that I name them! Your high self,\\r\\nThe gracious mark o’ th’ land, you have obscur’d\\r\\nWith a swain’s wearing, and me, poor lowly maid,\\r\\nMost goddess-like prank’d up. But that our feasts\\r\\nIn every mess have folly, and the feeders\\r\\nDigest it with a custom, I should blush\\r\\nTo see you so attir’d; swoon, I think,\\r\\nTo show myself a glass.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI bless the time\\r\\nWhen my good falcon made her flight across\\r\\nThy father’s ground.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nNow Jove afford you cause!\\r\\nTo me the difference forges dread. Your greatness\\r\\nHath not been us’d to fear. Even now I tremble\\r\\nTo think your father, by some accident,\\r\\nShould pass this way, as you did. O, the Fates!\\r\\nHow would he look to see his work, so noble,\\r\\nVilely bound up? What would he say? Or how\\r\\nShould I, in these my borrow’d flaunts, behold\\r\\nThe sternness of his presence?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nApprehend\\r\\nNothing but jollity. The gods themselves,\\r\\nHumbling their deities to love, have taken\\r\\nThe shapes of beasts upon them. Jupiter\\r\\nBecame a bull and bellow’d; the green Neptune\\r\\nA ram and bleated; and the fire-rob’d god,\\r\\nGolden Apollo, a poor humble swain,\\r\\nAs I seem now. Their transformations\\r\\nWere never for a piece of beauty rarer,\\r\\nNor in a way so chaste, since my desires\\r\\nRun not before mine honour, nor my lusts\\r\\nBurn hotter than my faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nO, but, sir,\\r\\nYour resolution cannot hold when ’tis\\r\\nOppos’d, as it must be, by the power of the king:\\r\\nOne of these two must be necessities,\\r\\nWhich then will speak, that you must change this purpose,\\r\\nOr I my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nThou dearest Perdita,\\r\\nWith these forc’d thoughts, I prithee, darken not\\r\\nThe mirth o’ th’ feast. Or I’ll be thine, my fair,\\r\\nOr not my father’s. For I cannot be\\r\\nMine own, nor anything to any, if\\r\\nI be not thine. To this I am most constant,\\r\\nThough destiny say no. Be merry, gentle.\\r\\nStrangle such thoughts as these with anything\\r\\nThat you behold the while. Your guests are coming:\\r\\nLift up your countenance, as it were the day\\r\\nOf celebration of that nuptial which\\r\\nWe two have sworn shall come.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nO lady Fortune,\\r\\nStand you auspicious!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nSee, your guests approach:\\r\\nAddress yourself to entertain them sprightly,\\r\\nAnd let’s be red with mirth.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Shepherd with Polixenes and Camillo, disguised; Clown, Mopsa,\\r\\n Dorcas with others.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nFie, daughter! When my old wife liv’d, upon\\r\\nThis day she was both pantler, butler, cook,\\r\\nBoth dame and servant; welcom’d all; serv’d all;\\r\\nWould sing her song and dance her turn; now here\\r\\nAt upper end o’ th’ table, now i’ th’ middle;\\r\\nOn his shoulder, and his; her face o’ fire\\r\\nWith labour, and the thing she took to quench it\\r\\nShe would to each one sip. You are retired,\\r\\nAs if you were a feasted one, and not\\r\\nThe hostess of the meeting: pray you, bid\\r\\nThese unknown friends to ’s welcome, for it is\\r\\nA way to make us better friends, more known.\\r\\nCome, quench your blushes, and present yourself\\r\\nThat which you are, mistress o’ th’ feast. Come on,\\r\\nAnd bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,\\r\\nAs your good flock shall prosper.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\n[_To Polixenes._] Sir, welcome.\\r\\nIt is my father’s will I should take on me\\r\\nThe hostess-ship o’ the day.\\r\\n[_To Camillo._] You’re welcome, sir.\\r\\nGive me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs,\\r\\nFor you there’s rosemary and rue; these keep\\r\\nSeeming and savour all the winter long.\\r\\nGrace and remembrance be to you both!\\r\\nAnd welcome to our shearing!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nShepherdess—\\r\\nA fair one are you—well you fit our ages\\r\\nWith flowers of winter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nSir, the year growing ancient,\\r\\nNot yet on summer’s death nor on the birth\\r\\nOf trembling winter, the fairest flowers o’ th’ season\\r\\nAre our carnations and streak’d gillyvors,\\r\\nWhich some call nature’s bastards: of that kind\\r\\nOur rustic garden’s barren; and I care not\\r\\nTo get slips of them.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWherefore, gentle maiden,\\r\\nDo you neglect them?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nFor I have heard it said\\r\\nThere is an art which, in their piedness, shares\\r\\nWith great creating nature.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nSay there be;\\r\\nYet nature is made better by no mean\\r\\nBut nature makes that mean. So, over that art\\r\\nWhich you say adds to nature, is an art\\r\\nThat nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry\\r\\nA gentler scion to the wildest stock,\\r\\nAnd make conceive a bark of baser kind\\r\\nBy bud of nobler race. This is an art\\r\\nWhich does mend nature, change it rather, but\\r\\nThe art itself is nature.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nSo it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThen make your garden rich in gillyvors,\\r\\nAnd do not call them bastards.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nI’ll not put\\r\\nThe dibble in earth to set one slip of them;\\r\\nNo more than, were I painted, I would wish\\r\\nThis youth should say ’twere well, and only therefore\\r\\nDesire to breed by me. Here’s flowers for you:\\r\\nHot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram,\\r\\nThe marigold, that goes to bed with th’ sun\\r\\nAnd with him rises weeping. These are flowers\\r\\nOf middle summer, and I think they are given\\r\\nTo men of middle age. You’re very welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI should leave grazing, were I of your flock,\\r\\nAnd only live by gazing.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nOut, alas!\\r\\nYou’d be so lean that blasts of January\\r\\nWould blow you through and through. [_To Florizel_] Now, my fair’st\\r\\nfriend,\\r\\nI would I had some flowers o’ th’ spring, that might\\r\\nBecome your time of day; and yours, and yours,\\r\\nThat wear upon your virgin branches yet\\r\\nYour maidenheads growing. O Proserpina,\\r\\nFrom the flowers now that, frighted, thou let’st fall\\r\\nFrom Dis’s waggon! daffodils,\\r\\nThat come before the swallow dares, and take\\r\\nThe winds of March with beauty; violets dim,\\r\\nBut sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes\\r\\nOr Cytherea’s breath; pale primroses,\\r\\nThat die unmarried ere they can behold\\r\\nBright Phoebus in his strength (a malady\\r\\nMost incident to maids); bold oxlips and\\r\\nThe crown imperial; lilies of all kinds,\\r\\nThe flower-de-luce being one. O, these I lack,\\r\\nTo make you garlands of; and my sweet friend,\\r\\nTo strew him o’er and o’er!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWhat, like a corse?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nNo, like a bank for love to lie and play on;\\r\\nNot like a corse; or if, not to be buried,\\r\\nBut quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers.\\r\\nMethinks I play as I have seen them do\\r\\nIn Whitsun pastorals. Sure this robe of mine\\r\\nDoes change my disposition.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWhat you do\\r\\nStill betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,\\r\\nI’d have you do it ever. When you sing,\\r\\nI’d have you buy and sell so, so give alms,\\r\\nPray so; and, for the ord’ring your affairs,\\r\\nTo sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you\\r\\nA wave o’ th’ sea, that you might ever do\\r\\nNothing but that, move still, still so,\\r\\nAnd own no other function. Each your doing,\\r\\nSo singular in each particular,\\r\\nCrowns what you are doing in the present deeds,\\r\\nThat all your acts are queens.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nO Doricles,\\r\\nYour praises are too large. But that your youth,\\r\\nAnd the true blood which peeps fairly through ’t,\\r\\nDo plainly give you out an unstained shepherd,\\r\\nWith wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,\\r\\nYou woo’d me the false way.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI think you have\\r\\nAs little skill to fear as I have purpose\\r\\nTo put you to ’t. But, come; our dance, I pray.\\r\\nYour hand, my Perdita. So turtles pair\\r\\nThat never mean to part.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nI’ll swear for ’em.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThis is the prettiest low-born lass that ever\\r\\nRan on the green-sward. Nothing she does or seems\\r\\nBut smacks of something greater than herself,\\r\\nToo noble for this place.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHe tells her something\\r\\nThat makes her blood look out. Good sooth, she is\\r\\nThe queen of curds and cream.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nCome on, strike up.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nMopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic, to mend her kissing with!\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nNow, in good time!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.\\r\\nCome, strike up.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music. Here a dance Of Shepherds and Shepherdesses._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nPray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this\\r\\nWhich dances with your daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nThey call him Doricles; and boasts himself\\r\\nTo have a worthy feeding. But I have it\\r\\nUpon his own report, and I believe it.\\r\\nHe looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter.\\r\\nI think so too; for never gaz’d the moon\\r\\nUpon the water as he’ll stand and read,\\r\\nAs ’twere, my daughter’s eyes. And, to be plain,\\r\\nI think there is not half a kiss to choose\\r\\nWho loves another best.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nShe dances featly.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nSo she does anything, though I report it\\r\\nThat should be silent. If young Doricles\\r\\nDo light upon her, she shall bring him that\\r\\nWhich he not dreams of.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nO master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never\\r\\ndance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you.\\r\\nHe sings several tunes faster than you’ll tell money. He utters them as\\r\\nhe had eaten ballads, and all men’s ears grew to his tunes.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe could never come better: he shall come in. I love a ballad but even\\r\\ntoo well, if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant\\r\\nthing indeed and sung lamentably.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nHe hath songs for man or woman of all sizes. No milliner can so fit his\\r\\ncustomers with gloves. He has the prettiest love-songs for maids, so\\r\\nwithout bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burdens of dildos\\r\\nand fadings, “jump her and thump her”; and where some stretch-mouthed\\r\\nrascal would, as it were, mean mischief and break a foul gap into the\\r\\nmatter, he makes the maid to answer “Whoop, do me no harm, good man”;\\r\\nputs him off, slights him, with “Whoop, do me no harm, good man.”\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThis is a brave fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBelieve me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. Has he any\\r\\nunbraided wares?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nHe hath ribbons of all the colours i’ th’ rainbow; points, more than\\r\\nall the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to\\r\\nhim by th’ gross; inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns; why he sings ’em\\r\\nover as they were gods or goddesses; you would think a smock were a\\r\\nshe-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand and the work about the\\r\\nsquare on ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nPrithee bring him in; and let him approach singing.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nForewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in ’s tunes.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYou have of these pedlars that have more in them than you’d think,\\r\\nsister.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nAy, good brother, or go about to think.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Autolycus, singing.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_Lawn as white as driven snow,\\r\\nCypress black as e’er was crow,\\r\\nGloves as sweet as damask roses,\\r\\nMasks for faces and for noses,\\r\\nBugle-bracelet, necklace amber,\\r\\nPerfume for a lady’s chamber,\\r\\nGolden quoifs and stomachers\\r\\nFor my lads to give their dears,\\r\\nPins and poking-sticks of steel,\\r\\nWhat maids lack from head to heel.\\r\\nCome buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;\\r\\nBuy, lads, or else your lasses cry.\\r\\nCome, buy._\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIf I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no money of me;\\r\\nbut being enthralled as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain\\r\\nribbons and gloves.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nI was promised them against the feast; but they come not too late now.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nHe hath promised you more than that, or there be liars.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nHe hath paid you all he promised you. Maybe he has paid you more, which\\r\\nwill shame you to give him again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIs there no manners left among maids? Will they wear their plackets\\r\\nwhere they should bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you\\r\\nare going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle of these secrets, but you\\r\\nmust be tittle-tattling before all our guests? ’Tis well they are\\r\\nwhispering. Clamour your tongues, and not a word more.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nI have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry lace and a pair of sweet\\r\\ngloves.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHave I not told thee how I was cozened by the way and lost all my\\r\\nmoney?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAnd indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to\\r\\nbe wary.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nFear not thou, man. Thou shalt lose nothing here.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat hast here? Ballads?\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nPray now, buy some. I love a ballad in print alife, for then we are\\r\\nsure they are true.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHere’s one to a very doleful tune. How a usurer’s wife was brought to\\r\\nbed of twenty money-bags at a burden, and how she longed to eat adders’\\r\\nheads and toads carbonadoed.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nIs it true, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nVery true, and but a month old.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nBless me from marrying a usurer!\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHere’s the midwife’s name to’t, one Mistress Taleporter, and five or\\r\\nsix honest wives that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad?\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nPray you now, buy it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nCome on, lay it by; and let’s first see more ballads. We’ll buy the\\r\\nother things anon.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHere’s another ballad, of a fish that appeared upon the coast on\\r\\nWednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water,\\r\\nand sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids. It was thought\\r\\nshe was a woman, and was turned into a cold fish for she would not\\r\\nexchange flesh with one that loved her. The ballad is very pitiful, and\\r\\nas true.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nIs it true too, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nFive justices’ hands at it, and witnesses more than my pack will hold.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLay it by too: another.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nThis is a merry ballad; but a very pretty one.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nLet’s have some merry ones.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nWhy, this is a passing merry one and goes to the tune of “Two maids\\r\\nwooing a man.” There’s scarce a maid westward but she sings it. ’Tis in\\r\\nrequest, I can tell you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nWe can both sing it: if thou’lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; ’tis in\\r\\nthree parts.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nWe had the tune on ’t a month ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI can bear my part; you must know ’tis my occupation: have at it with\\r\\nyou.\\r\\n\\r\\nSONG.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_Get you hence, for I must go\\r\\nWhere it fits not you to know._\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_Whither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\n_O, whither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_Whither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\n_It becomes thy oath full well\\r\\nThou to me thy secrets tell._\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_Me too! Let me go thither._\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nOr thou goest to th’ grange or mill.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_If to either, thou dost ill._\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_Neither._\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_What, neither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_Neither._\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_Thou hast sworn my love to be._\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\n_Thou hast sworn it more to me.\\r\\nThen whither goest? Say, whither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWe’ll have this song out anon by ourselves. My father and the gentlemen\\r\\nare in sad talk, and we’ll not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack\\r\\nafter me. Wenches, I’ll buy for you both. Pedlar, let’s have the first\\r\\nchoice. Follow me, girls.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with Dorcas and Mopsa._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] And you shall pay well for ’em.\\r\\n\\r\\nSONG.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n _Will you buy any tape,\\r\\n Or lace for your cape,\\r\\nMy dainty duck, my dear-a?\\r\\n Any silk, any thread,\\r\\n Any toys for your head,\\r\\nOf the new’st and fin’st, fin’st wear-a?\\r\\n Come to the pedlar;\\r\\n Money’s a meddler\\r\\nThat doth utter all men’s ware-a._\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMaster, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds,\\r\\nthree swine-herds, that have made themselves all men of hair. They call\\r\\nthemselves saltiers, and they have dance which the wenches say is a\\r\\ngallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in ’t; but they themselves\\r\\nare o’ the mind (if it be not too rough for some that know little but\\r\\nbowling) it will please plentifully.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAway! we’ll none on ’t. Here has been too much homely foolery already.\\r\\nI know, sir, we weary you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nYou weary those that refresh us: pray, let’s see these four threes of\\r\\nherdsmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nOne three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danced before the\\r\\nking; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half\\r\\nby th’ square.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nLeave your prating: since these good men are pleased, let them come in;\\r\\nbut quickly now.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nWhy, they stay at door, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Twelve Rustics, habited like Satyrs. They dance, and then\\r\\n exeunt.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nO, father, you’ll know more of that hereafter.\\r\\n[_To Camillo._] Is it not too far gone? ’Tis time to part them.\\r\\nHe’s simple and tells much. [_To Florizel._] How now, fair shepherd!\\r\\nYour heart is full of something that does take\\r\\nYour mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young\\r\\nAnd handed love, as you do, I was wont\\r\\nTo load my she with knacks: I would have ransack’d\\r\\nThe pedlar’s silken treasury and have pour’d it\\r\\nTo her acceptance. You have let him go,\\r\\nAnd nothing marted with him. If your lass\\r\\nInterpretation should abuse, and call this\\r\\nYour lack of love or bounty, you were straited\\r\\nFor a reply, at least if you make a care\\r\\nOf happy holding her.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nOld sir, I know\\r\\nShe prizes not such trifles as these are:\\r\\nThe gifts she looks from me are pack’d and lock’d\\r\\nUp in my heart, which I have given already,\\r\\nBut not deliver’d. O, hear me breathe my life\\r\\nBefore this ancient sir, who, it should seem,\\r\\nHath sometime lov’d. I take thy hand! this hand,\\r\\nAs soft as dove’s down and as white as it,\\r\\nOr Ethiopian’s tooth, or the fann’d snow that’s bolted\\r\\nBy th’ northern blasts twice o’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWhat follows this?\\r\\nHow prettily the young swain seems to wash\\r\\nThe hand was fair before! I have put you out.\\r\\nBut to your protestation. Let me hear\\r\\nWhat you profess.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nDo, and be witness to ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nAnd this my neighbour, too?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nAnd he, and more\\r\\nThan he, and men, the earth, the heavens, and all:\\r\\nThat were I crown’d the most imperial monarch,\\r\\nThereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth\\r\\nThat ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge\\r\\nMore than was ever man’s, I would not prize them\\r\\nWithout her love; for her employ them all;\\r\\nCommend them and condemn them to her service,\\r\\nOr to their own perdition.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nFairly offer’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThis shows a sound affection.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nBut my daughter,\\r\\nSay you the like to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nI cannot speak\\r\\nSo well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better:\\r\\nBy th’ pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out\\r\\nThe purity of his.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nTake hands, a bargain!\\r\\nAnd, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to’t.\\r\\nI give my daughter to him, and will make\\r\\nHer portion equal his.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nO, that must be\\r\\nI’ th’ virtue of your daughter: one being dead,\\r\\nI shall have more than you can dream of yet;\\r\\nEnough then for your wonder. But come on,\\r\\nContract us ’fore these witnesses.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nCome, your hand;\\r\\nAnd, daughter, yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nSoft, swain, awhile, beseech you;\\r\\nHave you a father?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI have; but what of him?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nKnows he of this?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nHe neither does nor shall.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nMethinks a father\\r\\nIs at the nuptial of his son a guest\\r\\nThat best becomes the table. Pray you once more,\\r\\nIs not your father grown incapable\\r\\nOf reasonable affairs? is he not stupid\\r\\nWith age and alt’ring rheums? can he speak? hear?\\r\\nKnow man from man? dispute his own estate?\\r\\nLies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing\\r\\nBut what he did being childish?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nNo, good sir;\\r\\nHe has his health, and ampler strength indeed\\r\\nThan most have of his age.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nBy my white beard,\\r\\nYou offer him, if this be so, a wrong\\r\\nSomething unfilial: reason my son\\r\\nShould choose himself a wife, but as good reason\\r\\nThe father, all whose joy is nothing else\\r\\nBut fair posterity, should hold some counsel\\r\\nIn such a business.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI yield all this;\\r\\nBut for some other reasons, my grave sir,\\r\\nWhich ’tis not fit you know, I not acquaint\\r\\nMy father of this business.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nLet him know ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nHe shall not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nPrithee let him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nNo, he must not.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nLet him, my son: he shall not need to grieve\\r\\nAt knowing of thy choice.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nCome, come, he must not.\\r\\nMark our contract.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\n[_Discovering himself._] Mark your divorce, young sir,\\r\\nWhom son I dare not call; thou art too base\\r\\nTo be acknowledged: thou a sceptre’s heir,\\r\\nThat thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou, old traitor,\\r\\nI am sorry that, by hanging thee, I can\\r\\nBut shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece\\r\\nOf excellent witchcraft, whom of force must know\\r\\nThe royal fool thou cop’st with,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nO, my heart!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI’ll have thy beauty scratch’d with briers and made\\r\\nMore homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy,\\r\\nIf I may ever know thou dost but sigh\\r\\nThat thou no more shalt see this knack (as never\\r\\nI mean thou shalt), we’ll bar thee from succession;\\r\\nNot hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,\\r\\nFar than Deucalion off. Mark thou my words.\\r\\nFollow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time,\\r\\nThough full of our displeasure, yet we free thee\\r\\nFrom the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment,\\r\\nWorthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too\\r\\nThat makes himself, but for our honour therein,\\r\\nUnworthy thee. If ever henceforth thou\\r\\nThese rural latches to his entrance open,\\r\\nOr hoop his body more with thy embraces,\\r\\nI will devise a death as cruel for thee\\r\\nAs thou art tender to ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nEven here undone.\\r\\nI was not much afeard, for once or twice\\r\\nI was about to speak, and tell him plainly\\r\\nThe selfsame sun that shines upon his court\\r\\nHides not his visage from our cottage, but\\r\\nLooks on alike. [_To Florizel._] Will’t please you, sir, be gone?\\r\\nI told you what would come of this. Beseech you,\\r\\nOf your own state take care. This dream of mine—\\r\\nBeing now awake, I’ll queen it no inch farther,\\r\\nBut milk my ewes, and weep.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nWhy, how now, father!\\r\\nSpeak ere thou diest.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nI cannot speak, nor think,\\r\\nNor dare to know that which I know. O sir,\\r\\nYou have undone a man of fourscore three,\\r\\nThat thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea,\\r\\nTo die upon the bed my father died,\\r\\nTo lie close by his honest bones; but now\\r\\nSome hangman must put on my shroud and lay me\\r\\nWhere no priest shovels in dust. O cursed wretch,\\r\\nThat knew’st this was the prince, and wouldst adventure\\r\\nTo mingle faith with him! Undone, undone!\\r\\nIf I might die within this hour, I have liv’d\\r\\nTo die when I desire.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWhy look you so upon me?\\r\\nI am but sorry, not afeard; delay’d,\\r\\nBut nothing alt’red: what I was, I am:\\r\\nMore straining on for plucking back; not following\\r\\nMy leash unwillingly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nGracious my lord,\\r\\nYou know your father’s temper: at this time\\r\\nHe will allow no speech (which I do guess\\r\\nYou do not purpose to him) and as hardly\\r\\nWill he endure your sight as yet, I fear:\\r\\nThen, till the fury of his highness settle,\\r\\nCome not before him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI not purpose it.\\r\\nI think Camillo?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nEven he, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nHow often have I told you ’twould be thus!\\r\\nHow often said my dignity would last\\r\\nBut till ’twere known!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nIt cannot fail but by\\r\\nThe violation of my faith; and then\\r\\nLet nature crush the sides o’ th’ earth together\\r\\nAnd mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks.\\r\\nFrom my succession wipe me, father; I\\r\\nAm heir to my affection.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBe advis’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI am, and by my fancy. If my reason\\r\\nWill thereto be obedient, I have reason;\\r\\nIf not, my senses, better pleas’d with madness,\\r\\nDo bid it welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThis is desperate, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nSo call it: but it does fulfil my vow.\\r\\nI needs must think it honesty. Camillo,\\r\\nNot for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may\\r\\nBe thereat glean’d; for all the sun sees or\\r\\nThe close earth wombs, or the profound seas hides\\r\\nIn unknown fathoms, will I break my oath\\r\\nTo this my fair belov’d. Therefore, I pray you,\\r\\nAs you have ever been my father’s honour’d friend,\\r\\nWhen he shall miss me,—as, in faith, I mean not\\r\\nTo see him any more,—cast your good counsels\\r\\nUpon his passion: let myself and fortune\\r\\nTug for the time to come. This you may know,\\r\\nAnd so deliver, I am put to sea\\r\\nWith her whom here I cannot hold on shore;\\r\\nAnd, most opportune to her need, I have\\r\\nA vessel rides fast by, but not prepar’d\\r\\nFor this design. What course I mean to hold\\r\\nShall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor\\r\\nConcern me the reporting.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nO my lord,\\r\\nI would your spirit were easier for advice,\\r\\nOr stronger for your need.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nHark, Perdita. [_Takes her aside._]\\r\\n[_To Camillo._] I’ll hear you by and by.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHe’s irremovable,\\r\\nResolv’d for flight. Now were I happy if\\r\\nHis going I could frame to serve my turn,\\r\\nSave him from danger, do him love and honour,\\r\\nPurchase the sight again of dear Sicilia\\r\\nAnd that unhappy king, my master, whom\\r\\nI so much thirst to see.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nNow, good Camillo,\\r\\nI am so fraught with curious business that\\r\\nI leave out ceremony.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSir, I think\\r\\nYou have heard of my poor services, i’ th’ love\\r\\nThat I have borne your father?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nVery nobly\\r\\nHave you deserv’d: it is my father’s music\\r\\nTo speak your deeds, not little of his care\\r\\nTo have them recompens’d as thought on.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nWell, my lord,\\r\\nIf you may please to think I love the king,\\r\\nAnd, through him, what’s nearest to him, which is\\r\\nYour gracious self, embrace but my direction,\\r\\nIf your more ponderous and settled project\\r\\nMay suffer alteration. On mine honour,\\r\\nI’ll point you where you shall have such receiving\\r\\nAs shall become your highness; where you may\\r\\nEnjoy your mistress; from the whom, I see,\\r\\nThere’s no disjunction to be made, but by,\\r\\nAs heavens forfend, your ruin. Marry her,\\r\\nAnd with my best endeavours in your absence\\r\\nYour discontenting father strive to qualify\\r\\nAnd bring him up to liking.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nHow, Camillo,\\r\\nMay this, almost a miracle, be done?\\r\\nThat I may call thee something more than man,\\r\\nAnd after that trust to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHave you thought on\\r\\nA place whereto you’ll go?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nNot any yet.\\r\\nBut as th’ unthought-on accident is guilty\\r\\nTo what we wildly do, so we profess\\r\\nOurselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies\\r\\nOf every wind that blows.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThen list to me:\\r\\nThis follows, if you will not change your purpose,\\r\\nBut undergo this flight, make for Sicilia,\\r\\nAnd there present yourself and your fair princess,\\r\\nFor so, I see, she must be, ’fore Leontes:\\r\\nShe shall be habited as it becomes\\r\\nThe partner of your bed. Methinks I see\\r\\nLeontes opening his free arms and weeping\\r\\nHis welcomes forth; asks thee, the son, forgiveness,\\r\\nAs ’twere i’ th’ father’s person; kisses the hands\\r\\nOf your fresh princess; o’er and o’er divides him\\r\\n’Twixt his unkindness and his kindness. Th’ one\\r\\nHe chides to hell, and bids the other grow\\r\\nFaster than thought or time.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWorthy Camillo,\\r\\nWhat colour for my visitation shall I\\r\\nHold up before him?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSent by the king your father\\r\\nTo greet him and to give him comforts. Sir,\\r\\nThe manner of your bearing towards him, with\\r\\nWhat you (as from your father) shall deliver,\\r\\nThings known betwixt us three, I’ll write you down,\\r\\nThe which shall point you forth at every sitting\\r\\nWhat you must say; that he shall not perceive\\r\\nBut that you have your father’s bosom there\\r\\nAnd speak his very heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI am bound to you:\\r\\nThere is some sap in this.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nA course more promising\\r\\nThan a wild dedication of yourselves\\r\\nTo unpath’d waters, undream’d shores, most certain\\r\\nTo miseries enough: no hope to help you,\\r\\nBut as you shake off one to take another:\\r\\nNothing so certain as your anchors, who\\r\\nDo their best office if they can but stay you\\r\\nWhere you’ll be loath to be. Besides, you know\\r\\nProsperity’s the very bond of love,\\r\\nWhose fresh complexion and whose heart together\\r\\nAffliction alters.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nOne of these is true:\\r\\nI think affliction may subdue the cheek,\\r\\nBut not take in the mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nYea, say you so?\\r\\nThere shall not at your father’s house, these seven years\\r\\nBe born another such.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nMy good Camillo,\\r\\nShe is as forward of her breeding as\\r\\nShe is i’ th’ rear our birth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI cannot say ’tis pity\\r\\nShe lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress\\r\\nTo most that teach.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nYour pardon, sir; for this\\r\\nI’ll blush you thanks.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nMy prettiest Perdita!\\r\\nBut, O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo,\\r\\nPreserver of my father, now of me,\\r\\nThe medicine of our house, how shall we do?\\r\\nWe are not furnish’d like Bohemia’s son,\\r\\nNor shall appear in Sicilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nMy lord,\\r\\nFear none of this. I think you know my fortunes\\r\\nDo all lie there: it shall be so my care\\r\\nTo have you royally appointed as if\\r\\nThe scene you play were mine. For instance, sir,\\r\\nThat you may know you shall not want,—one word.\\r\\n[_They talk aside._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Autolycus.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHa, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn brother, a very\\r\\nsimple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery. Not a counterfeit stone,\\r\\nnot a ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape,\\r\\nglove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting.\\r\\nThey throng who should buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallowed\\r\\nand brought a benediction to the buyer: by which means I saw whose\\r\\npurse was best in picture; and what I saw, to my good use I remembered.\\r\\nMy clown (who wants but something to be a reasonable man) grew so in\\r\\nlove with the wenches’ song that he would not stir his pettitoes till\\r\\nhe had both tune and words; which so drew the rest of the herd to me\\r\\nthat all their other senses stuck in ears: you might have pinched a\\r\\nplacket, it was senseless; ’twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse;\\r\\nI would have filed keys off that hung in chains: no hearing, no\\r\\nfeeling, but my sir’s song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that in\\r\\nthis time of lethargy I picked and cut most of their festival purses;\\r\\nand had not the old man come in with a whoobub against his daughter and\\r\\nthe king’s son, and scared my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a\\r\\npurse alive in the whole army.\\r\\n\\r\\n Camillo, Florizel and Perdita come forward.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNay, but my letters, by this means being there\\r\\nSo soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nAnd those that you’ll procure from king Leontes?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nShall satisfy your father.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nHappy be you!\\r\\nAll that you speak shows fair.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\n[_Seeing Autolycus._] Who have we here?\\r\\nWe’ll make an instrument of this; omit\\r\\nNothing may give us aid.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] If they have overheard me now,—why, hanging.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHow now, good fellow! why shakest thou so? Fear not, man; here’s no\\r\\nharm intended to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI am a poor fellow, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nWhy, be so still; here’s nobody will steal that from thee: yet, for the\\r\\noutside of thy poverty we must make an exchange; therefore discase thee\\r\\ninstantly,—thou must think there’s a necessity in’t—and change garments\\r\\nwith this gentleman: though the pennyworth on his side be the worst,\\r\\nyet hold thee, there’s some boot.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Giving money._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI am a poor fellow, sir: [_Aside._] I know ye well enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNay, prithee dispatch: the gentleman is half flayed already.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAre you in earnest, sir? [_Aside._] I smell the trick on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nDispatch, I prithee.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nIndeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot with conscience take it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nUnbuckle, unbuckle.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Florizel and Autolycus exchange garments._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFortunate mistress,—let my prophecy\\r\\nCome home to you!—you must retire yourself\\r\\nInto some covert. Take your sweetheart’s hat\\r\\nAnd pluck it o’er your brows, muffle your face,\\r\\nDismantle you; and, as you can, disliken\\r\\nThe truth of your own seeming; that you may\\r\\n(For I do fear eyes over) to shipboard\\r\\nGet undescried.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nI see the play so lies\\r\\nThat I must bear a part.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNo remedy.\\r\\nHave you done there?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nShould I now meet my father,\\r\\nHe would not call me son.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNay, you shall have no hat. [_Giving it to Perdita._]\\r\\nCome, lady, come. Farewell, my friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAdieu, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nO Perdita, what have we twain forgot?\\r\\nPray you a word.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They converse apart._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] What I do next, shall be to tell the king\\r\\nOf this escape, and whither they are bound;\\r\\nWherein my hope is I shall so prevail\\r\\nTo force him after: in whose company\\r\\nI shall re-view Sicilia; for whose sight\\r\\nI have a woman’s longing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nFortune speed us!\\r\\nThus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThe swifter speed the better.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Florizel, Perdita and Camillo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI understand the business, I hear it. To have an open ear, a quick eye,\\r\\nand a nimble hand, is necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is\\r\\nrequisite also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see this is\\r\\nthe time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an exchange had this\\r\\nbeen without boot! What a boot is here with this exchange! Sure the\\r\\ngods do this year connive at us, and we may do anything extempore. The\\r\\nprince himself is about a piece of iniquity, stealing away from his\\r\\nfather with his clog at his heels: if I thought it were a piece of\\r\\nhonesty to acquaint the king withal, I would not do’t: I hold it the\\r\\nmore knavery to conceal it; and therein am I constant to my profession.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown and Shepherd.\\r\\n\\r\\nAside, aside; here is more matter for a hot brain: every lane’s end,\\r\\nevery shop, church, session, hanging, yields a careful man work.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nSee, see; what a man you are now! There is no other way but to tell the\\r\\nking she’s a changeling, and none of your flesh and blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nNay, but hear me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNay, but hear me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nGo to, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nShe being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood has not\\r\\noffended the king; and so your flesh and blood is not to be punished by\\r\\nhim. Show those things you found about her, those secret things, all\\r\\nbut what she has with her: this being done, let the law go whistle, I\\r\\nwarrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nI will tell the king all, every word, yea, and his son’s pranks too;\\r\\nwho, I may say, is no honest man neither to his father nor to me, to go\\r\\nabout to make me the king’s brother-in-law.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIndeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you could have been to him,\\r\\nand then your blood had been the dearer by I know how much an ounce.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Very wisely, puppies!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWell, let us to the king: there is that in this fardel will make him\\r\\nscratch his beard.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I know not what impediment this complaint may be to the\\r\\nflight of my master.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nPray heartily he be at’ palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by\\r\\nchance. Let me pocket up my pedlar’s excrement. [_Takes off his false\\r\\nbeard._] How now, rustics! whither are you bound?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nTo the palace, an it like your worship.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nYour affairs there, what, with whom, the condition of that fardel, the\\r\\nplace of your dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having,\\r\\nbreeding, and anything that is fitting to be known? discover!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWe are but plain fellows, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nA lie; you are rough and hairy. Let me have no lying. It becomes none\\r\\nbut tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the lie; but we pay them\\r\\nfor it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore they do not\\r\\ngive us the lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYour worship had like to have given us one, if you had not taken\\r\\nyourself with the manner.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAre you a courtier, an ’t like you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nWhether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest thou not the air of\\r\\nthe court in these enfoldings? hath not my gait in it the measure of\\r\\nthe court? receives not thy nose court-odour from me? reflect I not on\\r\\nthy baseness court-contempt? Think’st thou, for that I insinuate, or\\r\\ntoaze from thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier? I am courtier\\r\\n_cap-a-pe_, and one that will either push on or pluck back thy business\\r\\nthere. Whereupon I command thee to open thy affair.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nMy business, sir, is to the king.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nWhat advocate hast thou to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nI know not, an ’t like you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAdvocate’s the court-word for a pheasant. Say you have none.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nNone, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHow bless’d are we that are not simple men!\\r\\nYet nature might have made me as these are,\\r\\nTherefore I will not disdain.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThis cannot be but a great courtier.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nHis garments are rich, but he wears them not handsomely.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe seems to be the more noble in being fantastical: a great man, I’ll\\r\\nwarrant; I know by the picking on’s teeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nThe fardel there? What’s i’ th’ fardel? Wherefore that box?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nSir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box which none must\\r\\nknow but the king; and which he shall know within this hour, if I may\\r\\ncome to th’ speech of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAge, thou hast lost thy labour.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWhy, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nThe king is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a new ship to purge\\r\\nmelancholy and air himself: for, if thou beest capable of things\\r\\nserious, thou must know the king is full of grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nSo ’tis said, sir; about his son, that should have married a shepherd’s\\r\\ndaughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nIf that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly. The curses he shall\\r\\nhave, the tortures he shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart\\r\\nof monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThink you so, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nNot he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy and vengeance bitter;\\r\\nbut those that are germane to him, though removed fifty times, shall\\r\\nall come under the hangman: which, though it be great pity, yet it is\\r\\nnecessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have\\r\\nhis daughter come into grace! Some say he shall be stoned; but that\\r\\ndeath is too soft for him, say I. Draw our throne into a sheepcote! All\\r\\ndeaths are too few, the sharpest too easy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHas the old man e’er a son, sir, do you hear, an ’t like you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHe has a son, who shall be flayed alive; then ’nointed over with honey,\\r\\nset on the head of a wasp’s nest; then stand till he be three quarters\\r\\nand a dram dead; then recovered again with aqua-vitæ or some other hot\\r\\ninfusion; then, raw as he is, and in the hottest day prognostication\\r\\nproclaims, shall he be set against a brick wall, the sun looking with a\\r\\nsouthward eye upon him, where he is to behold him with flies blown to\\r\\ndeath. But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are\\r\\nto be smiled at, their offences being so capital? Tell me (for you seem\\r\\nto be honest plain men) what you have to the king. Being something\\r\\ngently considered, I’ll bring you where he is aboard, tender your\\r\\npersons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfs; and if it be in\\r\\nman besides the king to effect your suits, here is man shall do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe seems to be of great authority: close with him, give him gold; and\\r\\nthough authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with\\r\\ngold: show the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand, and no\\r\\nmore ado. Remember: “ston’d” and “flayed alive”.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAn ’t please you, sir, to undertake the business for us, here is that\\r\\ngold I have. I’ll make it as much more, and leave this young man in\\r\\npawn till I bring it you.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAfter I have done what I promised?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAy, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nWell, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this business?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIn some sort, sir: but though my case be a pitiful one, I hope I shall\\r\\nnot be flayed out of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO, that’s the case of the shepherd’s son. Hang him, he’ll be made an\\r\\nexample.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nComfort, good comfort! We must to the king and show our strange sights.\\r\\nHe must know ’tis none of your daughter nor my sister; we are gone\\r\\nelse. Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does when the\\r\\nbusiness is performed, and remain, as he says, your pawn till it be\\r\\nbrought you.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side; go on the\\r\\nright-hand. I will but look upon the hedge, and follow you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWe are blessed in this man, as I may say, even blessed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nLet’s before, as he bids us. He was provided to do us good.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Shepherd and Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nIf I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would not suffer me: she\\r\\ndrops booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion:\\r\\ngold, and a means to do the prince my master good; which who knows how\\r\\nthat may turn back to my advancement? I will bring these two moles,\\r\\nthese blind ones, aboard him. If he think it fit to shore them again\\r\\nand that the complaint they have to the king concerns him nothing, let\\r\\nhim call me rogue for being so far officious; for I am proof against\\r\\nthat title and what shame else belongs to ’t. To him will I present\\r\\nthem. There may be matter in it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Sicilia. A Room in the palace of Leontes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Cleomenes, Dion, Paulina and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nSir, you have done enough, and have perform’d\\r\\nA saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make\\r\\nWhich you have not redeem’d; indeed, paid down\\r\\nMore penitence than done trespass: at the last,\\r\\nDo as the heavens have done, forget your evil;\\r\\nWith them, forgive yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhilst I remember\\r\\nHer and her virtues, I cannot forget\\r\\nMy blemishes in them; and so still think of\\r\\nThe wrong I did myself: which was so much\\r\\nThat heirless it hath made my kingdom, and\\r\\nDestroy’d the sweet’st companion that e’er man\\r\\nBred his hopes out of.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nTrue, too true, my lord.\\r\\nIf, one by one, you wedded all the world,\\r\\nOr from the all that are took something good,\\r\\nTo make a perfect woman, she you kill’d\\r\\nWould be unparallel’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI think so. Kill’d!\\r\\nShe I kill’d! I did so: but thou strik’st me\\r\\nSorely, to say I did: it is as bitter\\r\\nUpon thy tongue as in my thought. Now, good now,\\r\\nSay so but seldom.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nNot at all, good lady.\\r\\nYou might have spoken a thousand things that would\\r\\nHave done the time more benefit and grac’d\\r\\nYour kindness better.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nYou are one of those\\r\\nWould have him wed again.\\r\\n\\r\\nDION.\\r\\nIf you would not so,\\r\\nYou pity not the state, nor the remembrance\\r\\nOf his most sovereign name; consider little\\r\\nWhat dangers, by his highness’ fail of issue,\\r\\nMay drop upon his kingdom, and devour\\r\\nIncertain lookers-on. What were more holy\\r\\nThan to rejoice the former queen is well?\\r\\nWhat holier than, for royalty’s repair,\\r\\nFor present comfort, and for future good,\\r\\nTo bless the bed of majesty again\\r\\nWith a sweet fellow to ’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThere is none worthy,\\r\\nRespecting her that’s gone. Besides, the gods\\r\\nWill have fulfill’d their secret purposes;\\r\\nFor has not the divine Apollo said,\\r\\nIs ’t not the tenor of his oracle,\\r\\nThat king Leontes shall not have an heir\\r\\nTill his lost child be found? Which that it shall,\\r\\nIs all as monstrous to our human reason\\r\\nAs my Antigonus to break his grave\\r\\nAnd come again to me; who, on my life,\\r\\nDid perish with the infant. ’Tis your counsel\\r\\nMy lord should to the heavens be contrary,\\r\\nOppose against their wills. [_To Leontes._] Care not for issue;\\r\\nThe crown will find an heir. Great Alexander\\r\\nLeft his to th’ worthiest; so his successor\\r\\nWas like to be the best.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGood Paulina,\\r\\nWho hast the memory of Hermione,\\r\\nI know, in honour, O that ever I\\r\\nHad squar’d me to thy counsel! Then, even now,\\r\\nI might have look’d upon my queen’s full eyes,\\r\\nHave taken treasure from her lips,—\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nAnd left them\\r\\nMore rich for what they yielded.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou speak’st truth.\\r\\nNo more such wives; therefore, no wife: one worse,\\r\\nAnd better us’d, would make her sainted spirit\\r\\nAgain possess her corpse, and on this stage,\\r\\n(Where we offenders now appear) soul-vexed,\\r\\nAnd begin “Why to me?”\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nHad she such power,\\r\\nShe had just cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nShe had; and would incense me\\r\\nTo murder her I married.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI should so.\\r\\nWere I the ghost that walk’d, I’d bid you mark\\r\\nHer eye, and tell me for what dull part in ’t\\r\\nYou chose her: then I’d shriek, that even your ears\\r\\nShould rift to hear me; and the words that follow’d\\r\\nShould be “Remember mine.”\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nStars, stars,\\r\\nAnd all eyes else dead coals! Fear thou no wife;\\r\\nI’ll have no wife, Paulina.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWill you swear\\r\\nNever to marry but by my free leave?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNever, Paulina; so be bless’d my spirit!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThen, good my lords, bear witness to his oath.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nYou tempt him over-much.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nUnless another,\\r\\nAs like Hermione as is her picture,\\r\\nAffront his eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nGood madam,—\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI have done.\\r\\nYet, if my lord will marry,—if you will, sir,\\r\\nNo remedy but you will,—give me the office\\r\\nTo choose you a queen: she shall not be so young\\r\\nAs was your former, but she shall be such\\r\\nAs, walk’d your first queen’s ghost, it should take joy\\r\\nTo see her in your arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nMy true Paulina,\\r\\nWe shall not marry till thou bid’st us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThat\\r\\nShall be when your first queen’s again in breath;\\r\\nNever till then.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nOne that gives out himself Prince Florizel,\\r\\nSon of Polixenes, with his princess (she\\r\\nThe fairest I have yet beheld) desires access\\r\\nTo your high presence.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat with him? he comes not\\r\\nLike to his father’s greatness: his approach,\\r\\nSo out of circumstance and sudden, tells us\\r\\n’Tis not a visitation fram’d, but forc’d\\r\\nBy need and accident. What train?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nBut few,\\r\\nAnd those but mean.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHis princess, say you, with him?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nAy, the most peerless piece of earth, I think,\\r\\nThat e’er the sun shone bright on.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nO Hermione,\\r\\nAs every present time doth boast itself\\r\\nAbove a better gone, so must thy grave\\r\\nGive way to what’s seen now! Sir, you yourself\\r\\nHave said and writ so,—but your writing now\\r\\nIs colder than that theme,—‘She had not been,\\r\\nNor was not to be equall’d’; thus your verse\\r\\nFlow’d with her beauty once; ’tis shrewdly ebb’d,\\r\\nTo say you have seen a better.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nPardon, madam:\\r\\nThe one I have almost forgot,—your pardon;—\\r\\nThe other, when she has obtain’d your eye,\\r\\nWill have your tongue too. This is a creature,\\r\\nWould she begin a sect, might quench the zeal\\r\\nOf all professors else; make proselytes\\r\\nOf who she but bid follow.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nHow! not women?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nWomen will love her that she is a woman\\r\\nMore worth than any man; men, that she is\\r\\nThe rarest of all women.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGo, Cleomenes;\\r\\nYourself, assisted with your honour’d friends,\\r\\nBring them to our embracement.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Cleomenes and others._]\\r\\n\\r\\nStill, ’tis strange\\r\\nHe thus should steal upon us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nHad our prince,\\r\\nJewel of children, seen this hour, he had pair’d\\r\\nWell with this lord. There was not full a month\\r\\nBetween their births.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nPrithee no more; cease; Thou know’st\\r\\nHe dies to me again when talk’d of: sure,\\r\\nWhen I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches\\r\\nWill bring me to consider that which may\\r\\nUnfurnish me of reason. They are come.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Florizel, Perdita, Cleomenes and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nYour mother was most true to wedlock, prince;\\r\\nFor she did print your royal father off,\\r\\nConceiving you. Were I but twenty-one,\\r\\nYour father’s image is so hit in you,\\r\\nHis very air, that I should call you brother,\\r\\nAs I did him, and speak of something wildly\\r\\nBy us perform’d before. Most dearly welcome!\\r\\nAnd your fair princess,—goddess! O, alas!\\r\\nI lost a couple that ’twixt heaven and earth\\r\\nMight thus have stood, begetting wonder, as\\r\\nYou, gracious couple, do! And then I lost,—\\r\\nAll mine own folly,—the society,\\r\\nAmity too, of your brave father, whom,\\r\\nThough bearing misery, I desire my life\\r\\nOnce more to look on him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nBy his command\\r\\nHave I here touch’d Sicilia, and from him\\r\\nGive you all greetings that a king, at friend,\\r\\nCan send his brother: and, but infirmity,\\r\\nWhich waits upon worn times, hath something seiz’d\\r\\nHis wish’d ability, he had himself\\r\\nThe lands and waters ’twixt your throne and his\\r\\nMeasur’d, to look upon you; whom he loves,\\r\\nHe bade me say so,—more than all the sceptres\\r\\nAnd those that bear them living.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO my brother,—\\r\\nGood gentleman!—the wrongs I have done thee stir\\r\\nAfresh within me; and these thy offices,\\r\\nSo rarely kind, are as interpreters\\r\\nOf my behind-hand slackness! Welcome hither,\\r\\nAs is the spring to the earth. And hath he too\\r\\nExpos’d this paragon to the fearful usage,\\r\\nAt least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune,\\r\\nTo greet a man not worth her pains, much less\\r\\nTh’ adventure of her person?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nGood, my lord,\\r\\nShe came from Libya.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhere the warlike Smalus,\\r\\nThat noble honour’d lord, is fear’d and lov’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nMost royal sir, from thence; from him, whose daughter\\r\\nHis tears proclaim’d his, parting with her: thence,\\r\\nA prosperous south-wind friendly, we have cross’d,\\r\\nTo execute the charge my father gave me\\r\\nFor visiting your highness: my best train\\r\\nI have from your Sicilian shores dismiss’d;\\r\\nWho for Bohemia bend, to signify\\r\\nNot only my success in Libya, sir,\\r\\nBut my arrival, and my wife’s, in safety\\r\\nHere, where we are.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThe blessed gods\\r\\nPurge all infection from our air whilst you\\r\\nDo climate here! You have a holy father,\\r\\nA graceful gentleman; against whose person,\\r\\nSo sacred as it is, I have done sin,\\r\\nFor which the heavens, taking angry note,\\r\\nHave left me issueless. And your father’s bless’d,\\r\\nAs he from heaven merits it, with you,\\r\\nWorthy his goodness. What might I have been,\\r\\nMight I a son and daughter now have look’d on,\\r\\nSuch goodly things as you!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nMost noble sir,\\r\\nThat which I shall report will bear no credit,\\r\\nWere not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir,\\r\\nBohemia greets you from himself by me;\\r\\nDesires you to attach his son, who has—\\r\\nHis dignity and duty both cast off—\\r\\nFled from his father, from his hopes, and with\\r\\nA shepherd’s daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhere’s Bohemia? speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nHere in your city; I now came from him.\\r\\nI speak amazedly, and it becomes\\r\\nMy marvel and my message. To your court\\r\\nWhiles he was hast’ning—in the chase, it seems,\\r\\nOf this fair couple—meets he on the way\\r\\nThe father of this seeming lady and\\r\\nHer brother, having both their country quitted\\r\\nWith this young prince.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nCamillo has betray’d me;\\r\\nWhose honour and whose honesty till now,\\r\\nEndur’d all weathers.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nLay ’t so to his charge.\\r\\nHe’s with the king your father.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWho? Camillo?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nCamillo, sir; I spake with him; who now\\r\\nHas these poor men in question. Never saw I\\r\\nWretches so quake: they kneel, they kiss the earth;\\r\\nForswear themselves as often as they speak.\\r\\nBohemia stops his ears, and threatens them\\r\\nWith divers deaths in death.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nO my poor father!\\r\\nThe heaven sets spies upon us, will not have\\r\\nOur contract celebrated.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou are married?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWe are not, sir, nor are we like to be.\\r\\nThe stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first.\\r\\nThe odds for high and low’s alike.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nMy lord,\\r\\nIs this the daughter of a king?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nShe is,\\r\\nWhen once she is my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThat “once”, I see by your good father’s speed,\\r\\nWill come on very slowly. I am sorry,\\r\\nMost sorry, you have broken from his liking,\\r\\nWhere you were tied in duty; and as sorry\\r\\nYour choice is not so rich in worth as beauty,\\r\\nThat you might well enjoy her.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nDear, look up:\\r\\nThough Fortune, visible an enemy,\\r\\nShould chase us with my father, power no jot\\r\\nHath she to change our loves. Beseech you, sir,\\r\\nRemember since you ow’d no more to time\\r\\nThan I do now: with thought of such affections,\\r\\nStep forth mine advocate. At your request\\r\\nMy father will grant precious things as trifles.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWould he do so, I’d beg your precious mistress,\\r\\nWhich he counts but a trifle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nSir, my liege,\\r\\nYour eye hath too much youth in ’t: not a month\\r\\n’Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes\\r\\nThan what you look on now.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI thought of her\\r\\nEven in these looks I made. [_To Florizel._] But your petition\\r\\nIs yet unanswer’d. I will to your father.\\r\\nYour honour not o’erthrown by your desires,\\r\\nI am friend to them and you: upon which errand\\r\\nI now go toward him; therefore follow me,\\r\\nAnd mark what way I make. Come, good my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. Before the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Autolycus and a Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nBeseech you, sir, were you present at this relation?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI was by at the opening of the fardel, heard the old shepherd deliver\\r\\nthe manner how he found it: whereupon, after a little amazedness, we\\r\\nwere all commanded out of the chamber; only this, methought I heard the\\r\\nshepherd say he found the child.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI would most gladly know the issue of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI make a broken delivery of the business; but the changes I perceived\\r\\nin the king and Camillo were very notes of admiration. They seemed\\r\\nalmost, with staring on one another, to tear the cases of their eyes.\\r\\nThere was speech in their dumbness, language in their very gesture;\\r\\nthey looked as they had heard of a world ransomed, or one destroyed. A\\r\\nnotable passion of wonder appeared in them; but the wisest beholder,\\r\\nthat knew no more but seeing could not say if th’ importance were joy\\r\\nor sorrow; but in the extremity of the one, it must needs be. Here\\r\\ncomes a gentleman that happily knows more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe news, Rogero?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNothing but bonfires: the oracle is fulfilled: the king’s daughter is\\r\\nfound: such a deal of wonder is broken out within this hour that\\r\\nballad-makers cannot be able to express it. Here comes the Lady\\r\\nPaulina’s steward: he can deliver you more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a third Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\n How goes it now, sir? This news, which is called true, is so like an\\r\\n old tale that the verity of it is in strong suspicion. Has the king\\r\\n found his heir?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nMost true, if ever truth were pregnant by circumstance. That which you\\r\\nhear you’ll swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The\\r\\nmantle of Queen Hermione’s, her jewel about the neck of it, the letters\\r\\nof Antigonus found with it, which they know to be his character; the\\r\\nmajesty of the creature in resemblance of the mother, the affection of\\r\\nnobleness which nature shows above her breeding, and many other\\r\\nevidences proclaim her with all certainty to be the king’s daughter.\\r\\nDid you see the meeting of the two kings?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThen you have lost a sight which was to be seen, cannot be spoken of.\\r\\nThere might you have beheld one joy crown another, so and in such\\r\\nmanner that it seemed sorrow wept to take leave of them, for their joy\\r\\nwaded in tears. There was casting up of eyes, holding up of hands, with\\r\\ncountenance of such distraction that they were to be known by garment,\\r\\nnot by favour. Our king, being ready to leap out of himself for joy of\\r\\nhis found daughter, as if that joy were now become a loss, cries “O,\\r\\nthy mother, thy mother!” then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces\\r\\nhis son-in-law; then again worries he his daughter with clipping her;\\r\\nnow he thanks the old shepherd, which stands by like a weather-bitten\\r\\nconduit of many kings’ reigns. I never heard of such another encounter,\\r\\nwhich lames report to follow it, and undoes description to do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWhat, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried hence the child?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nLike an old tale still, which will have matter to rehearse, though\\r\\ncredit be asleep and not an ear open. He was torn to pieces with a\\r\\nbear: this avouches the shepherd’s son, who has not only his innocence,\\r\\nwhich seems much, to justify him, but a handkerchief and rings of his\\r\\nthat Paulina knows.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWhat became of his bark and his followers?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWrecked the same instant of their master’s death, and in the view of\\r\\nthe shepherd: so that all the instruments which aided to expose the\\r\\nchild were even then lost when it was found. But O, the noble combat\\r\\nthat ’twixt joy and sorrow was fought in Paulina! She had one eye\\r\\ndeclined for the loss of her husband, another elevated that the oracle\\r\\nwas fulfilled. She lifted the princess from the earth, and so locks her\\r\\nin embracing, as if she would pin her to her heart, that she might no\\r\\nmore be in danger of losing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThe dignity of this act was worth the audience of kings and princes;\\r\\nfor by such was it acted.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nOne of the prettiest touches of all, and that which angled for mine\\r\\neyes (caught the water, though not the fish) was, when at the relation\\r\\nof the queen’s death (with the manner how she came to it bravely\\r\\nconfessed and lamented by the king) how attentivenes wounded his\\r\\ndaughter; till, from one sign of dolour to another, she did, with an\\r\\n“Alas,” I would fain say, bleed tears, for I am sure my heart wept\\r\\nblood. Who was most marble there changed colour; some swooned, all\\r\\nsorrowed: if all the world could have seen it, the woe had been\\r\\nuniversal.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nAre they returned to the court?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNo: the princess hearing of her mother’s statue, which is in the\\r\\nkeeping of Paulina,—a piece many years in doing and now newly performed\\r\\nby that rare Italian master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself\\r\\neternity, and could put breath into his work, would beguile Nature of\\r\\nher custom, so perfectly he is her ape: he so near to Hermione hath\\r\\ndone Hermione that they say one would speak to her and stand in hope of\\r\\nanswer. Thither with all greediness of affection are they gone, and\\r\\nthere they intend to sup.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI thought she had some great matter there in hand; for she hath\\r\\nprivately twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione,\\r\\nvisited that removed house. Shall we thither, and with our company\\r\\npiece the rejoicing?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWho would be thence that has the benefit of access? Every wink of an\\r\\neye some new grace will be born. Our absence makes us unthrifty to our\\r\\nknowledge. Let’s along.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Gentlemen._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nNow, had I not the dash of my former life in me, would preferment drop\\r\\non my head. I brought the old man and his son aboard the prince; told\\r\\nhim I heard them talk of a fardel and I know not what. But he at that\\r\\ntime over-fond of the shepherd’s daughter (so he then took her to be),\\r\\nwho began to be much sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity of\\r\\nweather continuing, this mystery remained undiscover’d. But ’tis all\\r\\none to me; for had I been the finder-out of this secret, it would not\\r\\nhave relish’d among my other discredits.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Shepherd and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere come those I have done good to against my will, and already\\r\\nappearing in the blossoms of their fortune.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nCome, boy; I am past more children, but thy sons and daughters will be\\r\\nall gentlemen born.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYou are well met, sir. You denied to fight with me this other day,\\r\\nbecause I was no gentleman born. See you these clothes? Say you see\\r\\nthem not and think me still no gentleman born: you were best say these\\r\\nrobes are not gentlemen born. Give me the lie, do; and try whether I am\\r\\nnot now a gentleman born.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI know you are now, sir, a gentleman born.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy, and have been so any time these four hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAnd so have I, boy!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nSo you have: but I was a gentleman born before my father; for the\\r\\nking’s son took me by the hand and called me brother; and then the two\\r\\nkings called my father brother; and then the prince, my brother, and\\r\\nthe princess, my sister, called my father father; and so we wept; and\\r\\nthere was the first gentleman-like tears that ever we shed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWe may live, son, to shed many more.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy; or else ’twere hard luck, being in so preposterous estate as we\\r\\nare.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the faults I have committed\\r\\nto your worship, and to give me your good report to the prince my\\r\\nmaster.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nPrithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThou wilt amend thy life?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAy, an it like your good worship.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGive me thy hand: I will swear to the prince thou art as honest a true\\r\\nfellow as any is in Bohemia.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nYou may say it, but not swear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and franklins say it,\\r\\nI’ll swear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nHow if it be false, son?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIf it be ne’er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in the behalf of\\r\\nhis friend. And I’ll swear to the prince thou art a tall fellow of thy\\r\\nhands and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art no tall\\r\\nfellow of thy hands and that thou wilt be drunk: but I’ll swear it; and\\r\\nI would thou wouldst be a tall fellow of thy hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI will prove so, sir, to my power.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy, by any means, prove a tall fellow: if I do not wonder how thou\\r\\ndar’st venture to be drunk, not being a tall fellow, trust me not.\\r\\nHark! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see the\\r\\nqueen’s picture. Come, follow us: we’ll be thy good masters.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A Room in Paulina’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Florizel, Perdita, Camillo, Paulina, Lords\\r\\n and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO grave and good Paulina, the great comfort\\r\\nThat I have had of thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWhat, sovereign sir,\\r\\nI did not well, I meant well. All my services\\r\\nYou have paid home: but that you have vouchsaf’d,\\r\\nWith your crown’d brother and these your contracted\\r\\nHeirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit,\\r\\nIt is a surplus of your grace which never\\r\\nMy life may last to answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO Paulina,\\r\\nWe honour you with trouble. But we came\\r\\nTo see the statue of our queen: your gallery\\r\\nHave we pass’d through, not without much content\\r\\nIn many singularities; but we saw not\\r\\nThat which my daughter came to look upon,\\r\\nThe statue of her mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nAs she liv’d peerless,\\r\\nSo her dead likeness, I do well believe,\\r\\nExcels whatever yet you look’d upon\\r\\nOr hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it\\r\\nLonely, apart. But here it is: prepare\\r\\nTo see the life as lively mock’d as ever\\r\\nStill sleep mock’d death. Behold, and say ’tis well.\\r\\n\\r\\n Paulina undraws a curtain, and discovers Hermione standing as a\\r\\n statue.\\r\\n\\r\\nI like your silence, it the more shows off\\r\\nYour wonder: but yet speak. First you, my liege.\\r\\nComes it not something near?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHer natural posture!\\r\\nChide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed\\r\\nThou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she\\r\\nIn thy not chiding; for she was as tender\\r\\nAs infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina,\\r\\nHermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing\\r\\nSo aged as this seems.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nO, not by much!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nSo much the more our carver’s excellence,\\r\\nWhich lets go by some sixteen years and makes her\\r\\nAs she liv’d now.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nAs now she might have done,\\r\\nSo much to my good comfort as it is\\r\\nNow piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood,\\r\\nEven with such life of majesty, warm life,\\r\\nAs now it coldly stands, when first I woo’d her!\\r\\nI am asham’d: does not the stone rebuke me\\r\\nFor being more stone than it? O royal piece,\\r\\nThere’s magic in thy majesty, which has\\r\\nMy evils conjur’d to remembrance and\\r\\nFrom thy admiring daughter took the spirits,\\r\\nStanding like stone with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nAnd give me leave,\\r\\nAnd do not say ’tis superstition, that\\r\\nI kneel, and then implore her blessing. Lady,\\r\\nDear queen, that ended when I but began,\\r\\nGive me that hand of yours to kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nO, patience!\\r\\nThe statue is but newly fix’d, the colour’s\\r\\nNot dry.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nMy lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on,\\r\\nWhich sixteen winters cannot blow away,\\r\\nSo many summers dry. Scarce any joy\\r\\nDid ever so long live; no sorrow\\r\\nBut kill’d itself much sooner.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nDear my brother,\\r\\nLet him that was the cause of this have power\\r\\nTo take off so much grief from you as he\\r\\nWill piece up in himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nIndeed, my lord,\\r\\nIf I had thought the sight of my poor image\\r\\nWould thus have wrought you—for the stone is mine—\\r\\nI’d not have show’d it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nDo not draw the curtain.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNo longer shall you gaze on’t, lest your fancy\\r\\nMay think anon it moves.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nLet be, let be.\\r\\nWould I were dead, but that methinks already—\\r\\nWhat was he that did make it? See, my lord,\\r\\nWould you not deem it breath’d? And that those veins\\r\\nDid verily bear blood?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nMasterly done:\\r\\nThe very life seems warm upon her lip.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThe fixture of her eye has motion in ’t,\\r\\nAs we are mock’d with art.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI’ll draw the curtain:\\r\\nMy lord’s almost so far transported that\\r\\nHe’ll think anon it lives.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO sweet Paulina,\\r\\nMake me to think so twenty years together!\\r\\nNo settled senses of the world can match\\r\\nThe pleasure of that madness. Let ’t alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr’d you: but\\r\\nI could afflict you further.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nDo, Paulina;\\r\\nFor this affliction has a taste as sweet\\r\\nAs any cordial comfort. Still methinks\\r\\nThere is an air comes from her. What fine chisel\\r\\nCould ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me,\\r\\nFor I will kiss her!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nGood my lord, forbear:\\r\\nThe ruddiness upon her lip is wet;\\r\\nYou’ll mar it if you kiss it, stain your own\\r\\nWith oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNo, not these twenty years.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nSo long could I\\r\\nStand by, a looker on.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nEither forbear,\\r\\nQuit presently the chapel, or resolve you\\r\\nFor more amazement. If you can behold it,\\r\\nI’ll make the statue move indeed, descend,\\r\\nAnd take you by the hand. But then you’ll think\\r\\n(Which I protest against) I am assisted\\r\\nBy wicked powers.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat you can make her do\\r\\nI am content to look on: what to speak,\\r\\nI am content to hear; for ’tis as easy\\r\\nTo make her speak as move.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nIt is requir’d\\r\\nYou do awake your faith. Then all stand still;\\r\\nOr those that think it is unlawful business\\r\\nI am about, let them depart.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nProceed:\\r\\nNo foot shall stir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nMusic, awake her: strike! [_Music._]\\r\\n’Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach;\\r\\nStrike all that look upon with marvel. Come;\\r\\nI’ll fill your grave up: stir; nay, come away.\\r\\nBequeath to death your numbness, for from him\\r\\nDear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs.\\r\\n\\r\\n Hermione comes down from the pedestal.\\r\\n\\r\\nStart not; her actions shall be holy as\\r\\nYou hear my spell is lawful. Do not shun her\\r\\nUntil you see her die again; for then\\r\\nYou kill her double. Nay, present your hand:\\r\\nWhen she was young you woo’d her; now in age\\r\\nIs she become the suitor?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\n[_Embracing her._] O, she’s warm!\\r\\nIf this be magic, let it be an art\\r\\nLawful as eating.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nShe embraces him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nShe hangs about his neck.\\r\\nIf she pertain to life, let her speak too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nAy, and make it manifest where she has liv’d,\\r\\nOr how stol’n from the dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThat she is living,\\r\\nWere it but told you, should be hooted at\\r\\nLike an old tale; but it appears she lives,\\r\\nThough yet she speak not. Mark a little while.\\r\\nPlease you to interpose, fair madam. Kneel\\r\\nAnd pray your mother’s blessing. Turn, good lady,\\r\\nOur Perdita is found.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Presenting Perdita who kneels to Hermione._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nYou gods, look down,\\r\\nAnd from your sacred vials pour your graces\\r\\nUpon my daughter’s head! Tell me, mine own,\\r\\nWhere hast thou been preserv’d? where liv’d? how found\\r\\nThy father’s court? for thou shalt hear that I,\\r\\nKnowing by Paulina that the oracle\\r\\nGave hope thou wast in being, have preserv’d\\r\\nMyself to see the issue.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThere’s time enough for that;\\r\\nLest they desire upon this push to trouble\\r\\nYour joys with like relation. Go together,\\r\\nYou precious winners all; your exultation\\r\\nPartake to everyone. I, an old turtle,\\r\\nWill wing me to some wither’d bough, and there\\r\\nMy mate, that’s never to be found again,\\r\\nLament till I am lost.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO peace, Paulina!\\r\\nThou shouldst a husband take by my consent,\\r\\nAs I by thine a wife: this is a match,\\r\\nAnd made between ’s by vows. Thou hast found mine;\\r\\nBut how, is to be question’d; for I saw her,\\r\\nAs I thought, dead; and have in vain said many\\r\\nA prayer upon her grave. I’ll not seek far—\\r\\nFor him, I partly know his mind—to find thee\\r\\nAn honourable husband. Come, Camillo,\\r\\nAnd take her by the hand, whose worth and honesty\\r\\nIs richly noted, and here justified\\r\\nBy us, a pair of kings. Let’s from this place.\\r\\nWhat! look upon my brother: both your pardons,\\r\\nThat e’er I put between your holy looks\\r\\nMy ill suspicion. This your son-in-law,\\r\\nAnd son unto the king, whom heavens directing,\\r\\nIs troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina,\\r\\nLead us from hence; where we may leisurely\\r\\nEach one demand, and answer to his part\\r\\nPerform’d in this wide gap of time, since first\\r\\nWe were dissever’d. Hastily lead away!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nA LOVER’S COMPLAINT\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nFrom off a hill whose concave womb reworded\\r\\nA plaintful story from a sist’ring vale,\\r\\nMy spirits t’attend this double voice accorded,\\r\\nAnd down I laid to list the sad-tun’d tale;\\r\\nEre long espied a fickle maid full pale,\\r\\nTearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,\\r\\nStorming her world with sorrow’s wind and rain.\\r\\n\\r\\nUpon her head a platted hive of straw,\\r\\nWhich fortified her visage from the sun,\\r\\nWhereon the thought might think sometime it saw\\r\\nThe carcass of a beauty spent and done;\\r\\nTime had not scythed all that youth begun,\\r\\nNor youth all quit, but spite of heaven’s fell rage\\r\\nSome beauty peeped through lattice of sear’d age.\\r\\n\\r\\nOft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,\\r\\nWhich on it had conceited characters,\\r\\nLaund’ring the silken figures in the brine\\r\\nThat seasoned woe had pelleted in tears,\\r\\nAnd often reading what contents it bears;\\r\\nAs often shrieking undistinguish’d woe,\\r\\nIn clamours of all size, both high and low.\\r\\n\\r\\nSometimes her levell’d eyes their carriage ride,\\r\\nAs they did batt’ry to the spheres intend;\\r\\nSometime diverted their poor balls are tied\\r\\nTo th’orbed earth; sometimes they do extend\\r\\nTheir view right on; anon their gazes lend\\r\\nTo every place at once, and nowhere fix’d,\\r\\nThe mind and sight distractedly commix’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,\\r\\nProclaim’d in her a careless hand of pride;\\r\\nFor some untuck’d descended her sheav’d hat,\\r\\nHanging her pale and pined cheek beside;\\r\\nSome in her threaden fillet still did bide,\\r\\nAnd, true to bondage, would not break from thence,\\r\\nThough slackly braided in loose negligence.\\r\\n\\r\\nA thousand favours from a maund she drew,\\r\\nOf amber, crystal, and of beaded jet,\\r\\nWhich one by one she in a river threw,\\r\\nUpon whose weeping margent she was set,\\r\\nLike usury applying wet to wet,\\r\\nOr monarchs’ hands, that lets not bounty fall\\r\\nWhere want cries ‘some,’ but where excess begs ‘all’.\\r\\n\\r\\nOf folded schedules had she many a one,\\r\\nWhich she perus’d, sigh’d, tore and gave the flood;\\r\\nCrack’d many a ring of posied gold and bone,\\r\\nBidding them find their sepulchres in mud;\\r\\nFound yet mo letters sadly penn’d in blood,\\r\\nWith sleided silk, feat and affectedly\\r\\nEnswath’d, and seal’d to curious secrecy.\\r\\n\\r\\nThese often bath’d she in her fluxive eyes,\\r\\nAnd often kiss’d, and often gave to tear;\\r\\nCried, ‘O false blood, thou register of lies,\\r\\nWhat unapproved witness dost thou bear!\\r\\nInk would have seem’d more black and damned here!’\\r\\nThis said, in top of rage the lines she rents,\\r\\nBig discontent so breaking their contents.\\r\\n\\r\\nA reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh,\\r\\nSometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew\\r\\nOf court, of city, and had let go by\\r\\nThe swiftest hours observed as they flew,\\r\\nTowards this afflicted fancy fastly drew;\\r\\nAnd, privileg’d by age, desires to know\\r\\nIn brief the grounds and motives of her woe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo slides he down upon his grained bat,\\r\\nAnd comely distant sits he by her side,\\r\\nWhen he again desires her, being sat,\\r\\nHer grievance with his hearing to divide:\\r\\nIf that from him there may be aught applied\\r\\nWhich may her suffering ecstasy assuage,\\r\\n’Tis promised in the charity of age.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Father,’ she says, ‘though in me you behold\\r\\nThe injury of many a blasting hour,\\r\\nLet it not tell your judgement I am old,\\r\\nNot age, but sorrow, over me hath power.\\r\\nI might as yet have been a spreading flower,\\r\\nFresh to myself, if I had self-applied\\r\\nLove to myself, and to no love beside.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘But woe is me! Too early I attended\\r\\nA youthful suit; it was to gain my grace;\\r\\nO one by nature’s outwards so commended,\\r\\nThat maiden’s eyes stuck over all his face,\\r\\nLove lack’d a dwelling and made him her place;\\r\\nAnd when in his fair parts she did abide,\\r\\nShe was new lodg’d and newly deified.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘His browny locks did hang in crooked curls,\\r\\nAnd every light occasion of the wind\\r\\nUpon his lips their silken parcels hurls,\\r\\nWhat’s sweet to do, to do will aptly find,\\r\\nEach eye that saw him did enchant the mind:\\r\\nFor on his visage was in little drawn,\\r\\nWhat largeness thinks in paradise was sawn.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Small show of man was yet upon his chin;\\r\\nHis phoenix down began but to appear,\\r\\nLike unshorn velvet, on that termless skin,\\r\\nWhose bare out-bragg’d the web it seemed to wear.\\r\\nYet show’d his visage by that cost more dear,\\r\\nAnd nice affections wavering stood in doubt\\r\\nIf best were as it was, or best without.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘His qualities were beauteous as his form,\\r\\nFor maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free;\\r\\nYet if men mov’d him, was he such a storm\\r\\nAs oft ’twixt May and April is to see,\\r\\nWhen winds breathe sweet, unruly though they be.\\r\\nHis rudeness so with his authoriz’d youth\\r\\nDid livery falseness in a pride of truth.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Well could he ride, and often men would say\\r\\nThat horse his mettle from his rider takes,\\r\\nProud of subjection, noble by the sway,\\r\\nWhat rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes!\\r\\nAnd controversy hence a question takes,\\r\\nWhether the horse by him became his deed,\\r\\nOr he his manage by th’ well-doing steed.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘But quickly on this side the verdict went,\\r\\nHis real habitude gave life and grace\\r\\nTo appertainings and to ornament,\\r\\nAccomplish’d in himself, not in his case;\\r\\nAll aids, themselves made fairer by their place,\\r\\nCame for additions; yet their purpos’d trim\\r\\nPiec’d not his grace, but were all grac’d by him.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘So on the tip of his subduing tongue\\r\\nAll kind of arguments and question deep,\\r\\nAll replication prompt, and reason strong,\\r\\nFor his advantage still did wake and sleep,\\r\\nTo make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep:\\r\\nHe had the dialect and different skill,\\r\\nCatching all passions in his craft of will.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘That he did in the general bosom reign\\r\\nOf young, of old, and sexes both enchanted,\\r\\nTo dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain\\r\\nIn personal duty, following where he haunted,\\r\\nConsent’s bewitch’d, ere he desire, have granted,\\r\\nAnd dialogued for him what he would say,\\r\\nAsk’d their own wills, and made their wills obey.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Many there were that did his picture get\\r\\nTo serve their eyes, and in it put their mind,\\r\\nLike fools that in th’ imagination set\\r\\nThe goodly objects which abroad they find\\r\\nOf lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign’d,\\r\\nAnd labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them,\\r\\nThan the true gouty landlord which doth owe them.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘So many have, that never touch’d his hand,\\r\\nSweetly suppos’d them mistress of his heart.\\r\\nMy woeful self that did in freedom stand,\\r\\nAnd was my own fee-simple (not in part)\\r\\nWhat with his art in youth, and youth in art,\\r\\nThrew my affections in his charmed power,\\r\\nReserv’d the stalk and gave him all my flower.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Yet did I not, as some my equals did,\\r\\nDemand of him, nor being desired yielded,\\r\\nFinding myself in honour so forbid,\\r\\nWith safest distance I mine honour shielded.\\r\\nExperience for me many bulwarks builded\\r\\nOf proofs new-bleeding, which remain’d the foil\\r\\nOf this false jewel, and his amorous spoil.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘But ah! Who ever shunn’d by precedent\\r\\nThe destin’d ill she must herself assay,\\r\\nOr force’d examples ’gainst her own content,\\r\\nTo put the by-pass’d perils in her way?\\r\\nCounsel may stop a while what will not stay:\\r\\nFor when we rage, advice is often seen\\r\\nBy blunting us to make our wills more keen.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood,\\r\\nThat we must curb it upon others’ proof,\\r\\nTo be forbode the sweets that seems so good,\\r\\nFor fear of harms that preach in our behoof.\\r\\nO appetite, from judgement stand aloof!\\r\\nThe one a palate hath that needs will taste,\\r\\nThough reason weep and cry, “It is thy last.”\\r\\n\\r\\n‘For further I could say, “This man’s untrue”,\\r\\nAnd knew the patterns of his foul beguiling;\\r\\nHeard where his plants in others’ orchards grew,\\r\\nSaw how deceits were gilded in his smiling;\\r\\nKnew vows were ever brokers to defiling;\\r\\nThought characters and words merely but art,\\r\\nAnd bastards of his foul adulterate heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘And long upon these terms I held my city,\\r\\nTill thus he ’gan besiege me: “Gentle maid,\\r\\nHave of my suffering youth some feeling pity,\\r\\nAnd be not of my holy vows afraid:\\r\\nThat’s to ye sworn, to none was ever said,\\r\\nFor feasts of love I have been call’d unto,\\r\\nTill now did ne’er invite, nor never woo.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“All my offences that abroad you see\\r\\nAre errors of the blood, none of the mind:\\r\\nLove made them not; with acture they may be,\\r\\nWhere neither party is nor true nor kind,\\r\\nThey sought their shame that so their shame did find,\\r\\nAnd so much less of shame in me remains,\\r\\nBy how much of me their reproach contains.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Among the many that mine eyes have seen,\\r\\nNot one whose flame my heart so much as warmed,\\r\\nOr my affection put to th’ smallest teen,\\r\\nOr any of my leisures ever charmed:\\r\\nHarm have I done to them, but ne’er was harmed;\\r\\nKept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free,\\r\\nAnd reign’d commanding in his monarchy.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Look here what tributes wounded fancies sent me,\\r\\nOf pallid pearls and rubies red as blood,\\r\\nFiguring that they their passions likewise lent me\\r\\nOf grief and blushes, aptly understood\\r\\nIn bloodless white and the encrimson’d mood;\\r\\nEffects of terror and dear modesty,\\r\\nEncamp’d in hearts, but fighting outwardly.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“And, lo! behold these talents of their hair,\\r\\nWith twisted metal amorously empleach’d,\\r\\nI have receiv’d from many a several fair,\\r\\nTheir kind acceptance weepingly beseech’d,\\r\\nWith th’ annexions of fair gems enrich’d,\\r\\nAnd deep-brain’d sonnets that did amplify\\r\\nEach stone’s dear nature, worth and quality.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“The diamond, why ’twas beautiful and hard,\\r\\nWhereto his invis’d properties did tend,\\r\\nThe deep green emerald, in whose fresh regard\\r\\nWeak sights their sickly radiance do amend;\\r\\nThe heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend\\r\\nWith objects manifold; each several stone,\\r\\nWith wit well blazon’d smil’d, or made some moan.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Lo, all these trophies of affections hot,\\r\\nOf pensiv’d and subdued desires the tender,\\r\\nNature hath charg’d me that I hoard them not,\\r\\nBut yield them up where I myself must render,\\r\\nThat is, to you, my origin and ender:\\r\\nFor these of force must your oblations be,\\r\\nSince I their altar, you empatron me.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“O then advance of yours that phraseless hand,\\r\\nWhose white weighs down the airy scale of praise;\\r\\nTake all these similes to your own command,\\r\\nHallowed with sighs that burning lungs did raise:\\r\\nWhat me, your minister for you, obeys,\\r\\nWorks under you; and to your audit comes\\r\\nTheir distract parcels in combined sums.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Lo, this device was sent me from a nun,\\r\\nOr sister sanctified of holiest note,\\r\\nWhich late her noble suit in court did shun,\\r\\nWhose rarest havings made the blossoms dote;\\r\\nFor she was sought by spirits of richest coat,\\r\\nBut kept cold distance, and did thence remove\\r\\nTo spend her living in eternal love.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“But O, my sweet, what labour is’t to leave\\r\\nThe thing we have not, mast’ring what not strives,\\r\\nPlaning the place which did no form receive,\\r\\nPlaying patient sports in unconstrained gyves,\\r\\nShe that her fame so to herself contrives,\\r\\nThe scars of battle ’scapeth by the flight,\\r\\nAnd makes her absence valiant, not her might.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“O pardon me, in that my boast is true,\\r\\nThe accident which brought me to her eye,\\r\\nUpon the moment did her force subdue,\\r\\nAnd now she would the caged cloister fly:\\r\\nReligious love put out religion’s eye:\\r\\nNot to be tempted would she be immur’d,\\r\\nAnd now to tempt all, liberty procur’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“How mighty then you are, O hear me tell!\\r\\nThe broken bosoms that to me belong\\r\\nHave emptied all their fountains in my well,\\r\\nAnd mine I pour your ocean all among:\\r\\nI strong o’er them, and you o’er me being strong,\\r\\nMust for your victory us all congest,\\r\\nAs compound love to physic your cold breast.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“My parts had pow’r to charm a sacred nun,\\r\\nWho, disciplin’d and dieted in grace,\\r\\nBeliev’d her eyes when they t’assail begun,\\r\\nAll vows and consecrations giving place.\\r\\nO most potential love! Vow, bond, nor space,\\r\\nIn thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine,\\r\\nFor thou art all and all things else are thine.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“When thou impressest, what are precepts worth\\r\\nOf stale example? When thou wilt inflame,\\r\\nHow coldly those impediments stand forth,\\r\\nOf wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame!\\r\\nLove’s arms are peace, ’gainst rule, ’gainst sense, ’gainst shame,\\r\\nAnd sweetens, in the suff’ring pangs it bears,\\r\\nThe aloes of all forces, shocks and fears.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Now all these hearts that do on mine depend,\\r\\nFeeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine,\\r\\nAnd supplicant their sighs to your extend,\\r\\nTo leave the batt’ry that you make ’gainst mine,\\r\\nLending soft audience to my sweet design,\\r\\nAnd credent soul to that strong-bonded oath,\\r\\nThat shall prefer and undertake my troth.”\\r\\n\\r\\n‘This said, his wat’ry eyes he did dismount,\\r\\nWhose sights till then were levell’d on my face;\\r\\nEach cheek a river running from a fount\\r\\nWith brinish current downward flowed apace.\\r\\nO how the channel to the stream gave grace!\\r\\nWho, glaz’d with crystal gate the glowing roses\\r\\nThat flame through water which their hue encloses.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies\\r\\nIn the small orb of one particular tear!\\r\\nBut with the inundation of the eyes\\r\\nWhat rocky heart to water will not wear?\\r\\nWhat breast so cold that is not warmed here?\\r\\nO cleft effect! Cold modesty, hot wrath,\\r\\nBoth fire from hence and chill extincture hath.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘For lo, his passion, but an art of craft,\\r\\nEven there resolv’d my reason into tears;\\r\\nThere my white stole of chastity I daff’d,\\r\\nShook off my sober guards, and civil fears,\\r\\nAppear to him as he to me appears,\\r\\nAll melting, though our drops this diff’rence bore:\\r\\nHis poison’d me, and mine did him restore.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘In him a plenitude of subtle matter,\\r\\nApplied to cautels, all strange forms receives,\\r\\nOf burning blushes, or of weeping water,\\r\\nOr swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves,\\r\\nIn either’s aptness, as it best deceives,\\r\\nTo blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes,\\r\\nOr to turn white and swoon at tragic shows.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘That not a heart which in his level came\\r\\nCould ’scape the hail of his all-hurting aim,\\r\\nShowing fair nature is both kind and tame;\\r\\nAnd veil’d in them, did win whom he would maim.\\r\\nAgainst the thing he sought he would exclaim;\\r\\nWhen he most burned in heart-wish’d luxury,\\r\\nHe preach’d pure maid, and prais’d cold chastity.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Thus merely with the garment of a grace,\\r\\nThe naked and concealed fiend he cover’d,\\r\\nThat th’unexperient gave the tempter place,\\r\\nWhich, like a cherubin, above them hover’d.\\r\\nWho, young and simple, would not be so lover’d?\\r\\nAy me! I fell, and yet do question make\\r\\nWhat I should do again for such a sake.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘O, that infected moisture of his eye,\\r\\nO, that false fire which in his cheek so glow’d!\\r\\nO, that forc’d thunder from his heart did fly,\\r\\nO, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestow’d,\\r\\nO, all that borrowed motion, seeming owed,\\r\\nWould yet again betray the fore-betrayed,\\r\\nAnd new pervert a reconciled maid.’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE PASSIONATE PILGRIM\\r\\n\\r\\nI.\\r\\n\\r\\nDid not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,\\r\\n\\'Gainst whom the world could not hold argument,\\r\\nPersuade my heart to this false perjury?\\r\\nVows for thee broke deserve not punishment.\\r\\nA woman I forswore; but I will prove,\\r\\nThou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:\\r\\nMy vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;\\r\\nThy grace being gain\\'d cures all disgrace in me.\\r\\nMy vow was breath, and breath a vapour is;\\r\\nThen, thou fair sun, that on this earth doth shine,\\r\\nExhale this vapour vow; in thee it is:\\r\\nIf broken, then it is no fault of mine.\\r\\n If by me broke, what fool is not so wise\\r\\n To break an oath, to win a paradise?\\r\\n\\r\\nII.\\r\\n\\r\\nSweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook\\r\\nWith young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green,\\r\\nDid court the lad with many a lovely look,\\r\\nSuch looks as none could look but beauty\\'s queen.\\r\\nShe told him stories to delight his ear;\\r\\nShe show\\'d him favours to allure his eye;\\r\\nTo win his heart, she touch\\'d him here and there:\\r\\nTouches so soft still conquer chastity.\\r\\nBut whether unripe years did want conceit,\\r\\nOr he refus\\'d to take her figur\\'d proffer,\\r\\nThe tender nibbler would not touch the bait,\\r\\nBut smile and jest at every gentle offer:\\r\\n Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward;\\r\\n He rose and ran away; ah, fool too froward!\\r\\n\\r\\nIII.\\r\\n\\r\\nIf love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?\\r\\nO never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow\\'d:\\r\\nThough to myself forsworn, to thee I\\'ll constant prove;\\r\\nThose thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like osiers bow\\'d.\\r\\nStudy his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes,\\r\\nWhere all those pleasures live that art can comprehend.\\r\\nIf knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;\\r\\nWell learned is that tongue that well can thee commend;\\r\\nAll ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;\\r\\nWhich is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire:\\r\\nThy eye Jove\\'s lightning seems, thy voice his dreadful thunder,\\r\\nWhich (not to anger bent) is music and sweet fire.\\r\\n Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong,\\r\\n To sing heavens\\' praise with such an earthly tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nIV.\\r\\n\\r\\nScarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn,\\r\\nAnd scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade,\\r\\nWhen Cytherea, all in love forlorn,\\r\\nA longing tarriance for Adonis made,\\r\\nUnder an osier growing by a brook,\\r\\nA brook where Adon used to cool his spleen.\\r\\nHot was the day; she hotter that did look\\r\\nFor his approach, that often there had been.\\r\\nAnon he comes, and throws his mantle by,\\r\\nAnd stood stark naked on the brook\\'s green brim;\\r\\nThe sun look\\'d on the world with glorious eye,\\r\\nYet not so wistly as this queen on him:\\r\\n He, spying her, bounc\\'d in, whereas he stood;\\r\\n O Jove, quoth she, why was not I a flood?\\r\\n\\r\\nV.\\r\\n\\r\\nFair is my love, but not so fair as fickle;\\r\\nMild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty;\\r\\nBrighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle;\\r\\nSofter than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty:\\r\\n A lily pale, with damask die to grace her,\\r\\n None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer lips to mine how often hath she join\\'d,\\r\\nBetween each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!\\r\\nHow many tales to please me hath she coin\\'d,\\r\\nDreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing!\\r\\n Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings,\\r\\n Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe burn\\'d with love, as straw with fire flameth;\\r\\nShe burn\\'d out love, as soon as straw outburneth;\\r\\nShe fram\\'d the love, and yet she foil\\'d the framing;\\r\\nShe bade love last, and yet she fell a turning.\\r\\n Was this a lover, or a lecher whether?\\r\\n Bad in the best, though excellent in neither.\\r\\n\\r\\nVI.\\r\\n\\r\\nIf music and sweet poetry agree,\\r\\nAs they must needs, the sister and the brother,\\r\\nThen must the love be great \\'twixt thee and me,\\r\\nBecause thou lovest the one, and I the other.\\r\\nDowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch\\r\\nUpon the lute doth ravish human sense;\\r\\nSpenser to me, whose deep conceit is such\\r\\nAs, passing all conceit, needs no defence.\\r\\nThou lov\\'st to hear the sweet melodious sound\\r\\nThat Phoebus\\' lute, the queen of music, makes;\\r\\nAnd I in deep delight am chiefly drown\\'d\\r\\nWhenas himself to singing he betakes.\\r\\n One god is god of both, as poets feign;\\r\\n One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.\\r\\n\\r\\nVII.\\r\\n\\r\\nFair was the morn when the fair queen of love,\\r\\n * * * * * *\\r\\nPaler for sorrow than her milk-white dove,\\r\\nFor Adon\\'s sake, a youngster proud and wild;\\r\\nHer stand she takes upon a steep-up hill:\\r\\nAnon Adonis comes with horn and hounds;\\r\\nShe, silly queen, with more than love\\'s good will,\\r\\nForbade the boy he should not pass those grounds;\\r\\nOnce, quoth she, did I see a fair sweet youth\\r\\nHere in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar,\\r\\nDeep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth!\\r\\nSee, in my thigh, quoth she, here was the sore.\\r\\n She showed hers: he saw more wounds than one,\\r\\n And blushing fled, and left her all alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIII.\\r\\n\\r\\nSweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck\\'d, soon vaded,\\r\\nPluck\\'d in the bud, and vaded in the spring!\\r\\nBright orient pearl, alack! too timely shaded!\\r\\nFair creature, kill\\'d too soon by death\\'s sharp sting!\\r\\n Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree,\\r\\n And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.\\r\\n\\r\\nI weep for thee, and yet no cause I have;\\r\\nFor why? thou left\\'st me nothing in thy will:\\r\\nAnd yet thou left\\'st me more than I did crave;\\r\\nFor why? I craved nothing of thee still:\\r\\n O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee,\\r\\n Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIX.\\r\\n\\r\\nVenus, with young Adonis sitting by her,\\r\\nUnder a myrtle shade, began to woo him:\\r\\nShe told the youngling how god Mars did try her,\\r\\nAnd as he fell to her, so fell she to him.\\r\\nEven thus, quoth she, the warlike god embrac\\'d me,\\r\\nAnd then she clipp\\'d Adonis in her arms;\\r\\nEven thus, quoth she, the warlike god unlaced me;\\r\\nAs if the boy should use like loving charms;\\r\\nEven thus, quoth she, he seized on my lips,\\r\\nAnd with her lips on his did act the seizure;\\r\\nAnd as she fetched breath, away he skips,\\r\\nAnd would not take her meaning nor her pleasure.\\r\\n Ah! that I had my lady at this bay,\\r\\n To kiss and clip me till I run away!\\r\\n\\r\\nX.\\r\\n\\r\\n Crabbed age and youth\\r\\n Cannot live together\\r\\n Youth is full of pleasance,\\r\\n Age is full of care;\\r\\n Youth like summer morn,\\r\\n Age like winter weather;\\r\\n Youth like summer brave,\\r\\n Age like winter bare;\\r\\n Youth is full of sport,\\r\\n Age\\'s breath is short;\\r\\n Youth is nimble, age is lame;\\r\\n Youth is hot and bold,\\r\\n Age is weak and cold;\\r\\n Youth is wild, and age is tame.\\r\\n Age, I do abhor thee;\\r\\n Youth, I do adore thee;\\r\\n O, my love, my love is young!\\r\\n Age, I do defy thee;\\r\\n O, sweet shepherd, hie thee,\\r\\n For methinks thou stay\\'st too long.\\r\\n\\r\\nXI.\\r\\n\\r\\nBeauty is but a vain and doubtful good,\\r\\nA shining gloss that vadeth suddenly;\\r\\nA flower that dies when first it \\'gins to bud;\\r\\nA brittle glass, that\\'s broken presently:\\r\\n A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,\\r\\n Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd as goods lost are seld or never found,\\r\\nAs vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh,\\r\\nAs flowers dead lie wither\\'d on the ground,\\r\\nAs broken glass no cement can redress,\\r\\n So beauty blemish\\'d once, for ever\\'s lost,\\r\\n In spite of physic, painting, pain and cost.\\r\\n\\r\\nXII.\\r\\n\\r\\nGood night, good rest. Ah! neither be my share:\\r\\nShe bade good night that kept my rest away;\\r\\nAnd daff\\'d me to a cabin hang\\'d with care,\\r\\nTo descant on the doubts of my decay.\\r\\n Farewell, quoth she, and come again tomorrow:\\r\\n Fare well I could not, for I supp\\'d with sorrow;\\r\\n\\r\\nYet at my parting sweetly did she smile,\\r\\nIn scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether:\\r\\n\\'T may be, she joy\\'d to jest at my exile,\\r\\n\\'T may be, again to make me wander thither:\\r\\n \\'Wander,\\' a word for shadows like myself,\\r\\n As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.\\r\\n\\r\\nXIII.\\r\\n\\r\\nLord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east!\\r\\nMy heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise\\r\\nDoth cite each moving sense from idle rest.\\r\\nNot daring trust the office of mine eyes,\\r\\n While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,\\r\\n And wish her lays were tuned like the lark;\\r\\n\\r\\nFor she doth welcome daylight with her ditty,\\r\\nAnd drives away dark dismal-dreaming night:\\r\\nThe night so pack\\'d, I post unto my pretty;\\r\\nHeart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight;\\r\\n Sorrow chang\\'d to solace, solace mix\\'d with sorrow;\\r\\n For why, she sigh\\'d and bade me come tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nWere I with her, the night would post too soon;\\r\\nBut now are minutes added to the hours;\\r\\nTo spite me now, each minute seems a moon;\\r\\nYet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers!\\r\\n Pack night, peep day; good day, of night now borrow:\\r\\n Short, night, to-night, and length thyself to-morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nLet the bird of loudest lay,\\r\\nOn the sole Arabian tree,\\r\\nHerald sad and trumpet be,\\r\\nTo whose sound chaste wings obey.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut thou shrieking harbinger,\\r\\nFoul precurrer of the fiend,\\r\\nAugur of the fever’s end,\\r\\nTo this troop come thou not near.\\r\\n\\r\\nFrom this session interdict\\r\\nEvery fowl of tyrant wing,\\r\\nSave the eagle, feather’d king;\\r\\nKeep the obsequy so strict.\\r\\n\\r\\nLet the priest in surplice white,\\r\\nThat defunctive music can,\\r\\nBe the death-divining swan,\\r\\nLest the requiem lack his right.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd thou treble-dated crow,\\r\\nThat thy sable gender mak’st\\r\\nWith the breath thou giv’st and tak’st,\\r\\n’Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere the anthem doth commence:\\r\\nLove and constancy is dead;\\r\\nPhoenix and the turtle fled\\r\\nIn a mutual flame from hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo they lov’d, as love in twain\\r\\nHad the essence but in one;\\r\\nTwo distincts, division none:\\r\\nNumber there in love was slain.\\r\\n\\r\\nHearts remote, yet not asunder;\\r\\nDistance and no space was seen\\r\\n’Twixt this turtle and his queen;\\r\\nBut in them it were a wonder.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo between them love did shine,\\r\\nThat the turtle saw his right\\r\\nFlaming in the phoenix’ sight;\\r\\nEither was the other’s mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nProperty was thus appalled,\\r\\nThat the self was not the same;\\r\\nSingle nature’s double name\\r\\nNeither two nor one was called.\\r\\n\\r\\nReason, in itself confounded,\\r\\nSaw division grow together;\\r\\nTo themselves yet either neither,\\r\\nSimple were so well compounded.\\r\\n\\r\\nThat it cried, How true a twain\\r\\nSeemeth this concordant one!\\r\\nLove hath reason, reason none,\\r\\nIf what parts can so remain.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhereupon it made this threne\\r\\nTo the phoenix and the dove,\\r\\nCo-supremes and stars of love,\\r\\nAs chorus to their tragic scene.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n THRENOS\\r\\n\\r\\nBeauty, truth, and rarity.\\r\\nGrace in all simplicity,\\r\\nHere enclos’d in cinders lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nDeath is now the phoenix’ nest;\\r\\nAnd the turtle’s loyal breast\\r\\nTo eternity doth rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nLeaving no posterity:—\\r\\n’Twas not their infirmity,\\r\\nIt was married chastity.\\r\\n\\r\\nTruth may seem, but cannot be;\\r\\nBeauty brag, but ’tis not she;\\r\\nTruth and beauty buried be.\\r\\n\\r\\nTo this urn let those repair\\r\\nThat are either true or fair;\\r\\nFor these dead birds sigh a prayer.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE RAPE OF LUCRECE\\r\\n\\r\\n TO THE\\r\\n\\r\\n RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,\\r\\n\\r\\n EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TITCHFIELD.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE love I dedicate to your Lordship is without end; whereof this\\r\\npamphlet, without beginning, is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant\\r\\nI have of your honourable disposition, not the worth of my untutored\\r\\nlines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours; what\\r\\nI have to do is yours; being part in all I have, devoted yours. Were\\r\\nmy worth greater, my duty would show greater; meantime, as it is, it is\\r\\nbound to your Lordship, to whom I wish long life, still lengthened with\\r\\nall happiness.\\r\\n\\r\\n Your Lordship\\'s in all duty,\\r\\n WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.\\r\\n\\r\\n THE ARGUMENT.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS TARQUINIUS (for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus), after he\\r\\nhad caused his own father-in-law, Servius Tullius, to be cruelly\\r\\nmurdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not requiring or\\r\\nstaying for the people\\'s suffrages, had possessed himself of the\\r\\nkingdom, went, accompanied with his sons and other noblemen of Rome, to\\r\\nbesiege Ardea. During which siege the principal men of the army\\r\\nmeeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquinius, the king\\'s son,\\r\\nin their discourses after supper, every one commended the virtues of\\r\\nhis own wife; among whom Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity\\r\\nof his wife Lucretia. In that pleasant humour they all posted to Rome;\\r\\nand intending, by their secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of\\r\\nthat which every one had before avouched, only Collatinus finds his\\r\\nwife, though it were late in the night, spinning amongst her maids: the\\r\\nother ladies were all found dancing and revelling, or in several\\r\\ndisports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus the victory, and\\r\\nhis wife the fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius being inflamed with\\r\\nLucrece\\'s beauty, yet smothering his passions for the present, departed\\r\\nwith the rest back to the camp; from whence he shortly after privily\\r\\nwithdrew himself, and was (according to his estate) royally entertained\\r\\nand lodged by Lucrece at Collatium. The same night he treacherously\\r\\nstealeth into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the\\r\\nmorning speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight, hastily\\r\\ndispatched messengers, one to Rome for her father, another to the camp\\r\\nfor Collatine. They came, the one accompanied with Junius Brutus, the\\r\\nother with Publius Valerius; and finding Lucrece attired in mourning\\r\\nhabit, demanded the cause of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of\\r\\nthem for her revenge, revealed the actor, and whole manner of his\\r\\ndealing, and withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one\\r\\nconsent they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the\\r\\nTarquins; and bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted the\\r\\npeople with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a bitter\\r\\ninvective against the tyranny of the king; wherewith the people were so\\r\\nmoved, that with one consent and a general acclamation the Tarquins\\r\\nwere all exiled, and the state government changed from kings to\\r\\nconsuls.\\r\\n\\r\\n_______________________________________________________________\\r\\n\\r\\nFrom the besieged Ardea all in post,\\r\\nBorne by the trustless wings of false desire,\\r\\nLust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host,\\r\\nAnd to Collatium bears the lightless fire\\r\\nWhich, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire\\r\\n And girdle with embracing flames the waist\\r\\n Of Collatine\\'s fair love, Lucrece the chaste.\\r\\n\\r\\nHaply that name of chaste unhapp\\'ly set\\r\\nThis bateless edge on his keen appetite;\\r\\nWhen Collatine unwisely did not let\\r\\nTo praise the clear unmatched red and white\\r\\nWhich triumph\\'d in that sky of his delight,\\r\\n Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven\\'s beauties,\\r\\n With pure aspects did him peculiar duties.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor he the night before, in Tarquin\\'s tent,\\r\\nUnlock\\'d the treasure of his happy state;\\r\\nWhat priceless wealth the heavens had him lent\\r\\nIn the possession of his beauteous mate;\\r\\nReckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate,\\r\\n That kings might be espoused to more fame,\\r\\n But king nor peer to such a peerless dame.\\r\\n\\r\\nO happiness enjoy\\'d but of a few!\\r\\nAnd, if possess\\'d, as soon decay\\'d and done\\r\\nAs is the morning\\'s silver-melting dew\\r\\nAgainst the golden splendour of the sun!\\r\\nAn expir\\'d date, cancell\\'d ere well begun:\\r\\n Honour and beauty, in the owner\\'s arms,\\r\\n Are weakly fortress\\'d from a world of harms.\\r\\n\\r\\nBeauty itself doth of itself persuade\\r\\nThe eyes of men without an orator;\\r\\nWhat needeth then apologies be made,\\r\\nTo set forth that which is so singular?\\r\\nOr why is Collatine the publisher\\r\\n Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown\\r\\n From thievish ears, because it is his own?\\r\\n\\r\\nPerchance his boast of Lucrece\\' sovereignty\\r\\nSuggested this proud issue of a king;\\r\\nFor by our ears our hearts oft tainted be:\\r\\nPerchance that envy of so rich a thing,\\r\\nBraving compare, disdainfully did sting\\r\\n His high-pitch\\'d thoughts, that meaner men should vaunt\\r\\n That golden hap which their superiors want.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut some untimely thought did instigate\\r\\nHis all-too-timeless speed, if none of those;\\r\\nHis honour, his affairs, his friends, his state,\\r\\nNeglected all, with swift intent he goes\\r\\nTo quench the coal which in his liver glows.\\r\\n O rash false heat, wrapp\\'d in repentant cold,\\r\\n Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne\\'er grows old!\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen at Collatium this false lord arriv\\'d,\\r\\nWell was he welcom\\'d by the Roman dame,\\r\\nWithin whose face beauty and virtue striv\\'d\\r\\nWhich of them both should underprop her fame:\\r\\nWhen virtue bragg\\'d, beauty would blush for shame;\\r\\n When beauty boasted blushes, in despite\\r\\n Virtue would stain that or with silver white.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut beauty, in that white intituled,\\r\\nFrom Venus\\' doves doth challenge that fair field:\\r\\nThen virtue claims from beauty beauty\\'s red,\\r\\nWhich virtue gave the golden age, to gild\\r\\nTheir silver cheeks, and call\\'d it then their shield;\\r\\n Teaching them thus to use it in the fight,—\\r\\n When shame assail\\'d, the red should fence the white.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis heraldry in Lucrece\\' face was seen,\\r\\nArgued by beauty\\'s red, and virtue\\'s white:\\r\\nOf either\\'s colour was the other queen,\\r\\nProving from world\\'s minority their right:\\r\\nYet their ambition makes them still to fight;\\r\\n The sovereignty of either being so great,\\r\\n That oft they interchange each other\\'s seat.\\r\\n\\r\\nTheir silent war of lilies and of roses,\\r\\nWhich Tarquin view\\'d in her fair face\\'s field,\\r\\nIn their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses;\\r\\nWhere, lest between them both it should be kill\\'d,\\r\\nThe coward captive vanquish\\'d doth yield\\r\\n To those two armies that would let him go,\\r\\n Rather than triumph in so false a foe.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow thinks he that her husband\\'s shallow tongue,\\r\\n(The niggard prodigal that prais\\'d her so)\\r\\nIn that high task hath done her beauty wrong,\\r\\nWhich far exceeds his barren skill to show:\\r\\nTherefore that praise which Collatine doth owe\\r\\n Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise,\\r\\n In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis earthly saint, adored by this devil,\\r\\nLittle suspecteth the false worshipper;\\r\\nFor unstain\\'d thoughts do seldom dream on evil;\\r\\nBirds never lim\\'d no secret bushes fear:\\r\\nSo guiltless she securely gives good cheer\\r\\n And reverend welcome to her princely guest,\\r\\n Whose inward ill no outward harm express\\'d:\\r\\n\\r\\nFor that he colour\\'d with his high estate,\\r\\nHiding base sin in plaits of majesty;\\r\\nThat nothing in him seem\\'d inordinate,\\r\\nSave sometime too much wonder of his eye,\\r\\nWhich, having all, all could not satisfy;\\r\\n But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store,\\r\\n That, cloy\\'d with much, he pineth still for more.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut she, that never cop\\'d with stranger eyes,\\r\\nCould pick no meaning from their parling looks,\\r\\nNor read the subtle-shining secrecies\\r\\nWrit in the glassy margents of such books;\\r\\nShe touch\\'d no unknown baits, nor fear\\'d no hooks;\\r\\n Nor could she moralize his wanton sight,\\r\\n More than his eyes were open\\'d to the light.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe stories to her ears her husband\\'s fame,\\r\\nWon in the fields of fruitful Italy;\\r\\nAnd decks with praises Collatine\\'s high name,\\r\\nMade glorious by his manly chivalry\\r\\nWith bruised arms and wreaths of victory:\\r\\n Her joy with heav\\'d-up hand she doth express,\\r\\n And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success.\\r\\n\\r\\nFar from the purpose of his coming hither,\\r\\nHe makes excuses for his being there.\\r\\nNo cloudy show of stormy blustering weather\\r\\nDoth yet in his fair welkin once appear;\\r\\nTill sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear,\\r\\n Upon the world dim darkness doth display,\\r\\n And in her vaulty prison stows the day.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor then is Tarquin brought unto his bed,\\r\\nIntending weariness with heavy spright;\\r\\nFor, after supper, long he questioned\\r\\nWith modest Lucrece, and wore out the night:\\r\\nNow leaden slumber with life\\'s strength doth fight;\\r\\n And every one to rest themselves betake,\\r\\n Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds, that wake.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving\\r\\nThe sundry dangers of his will\\'s obtaining;\\r\\nYet ever to obtain his will resolving,\\r\\nThough weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining:\\r\\nDespair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining;\\r\\n And when great treasure is the meed propos\\'d,\\r\\n Though death be adjunct, there\\'s no death suppos\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nThose that much covet are with gain so fond,\\r\\nFor what they have not, that which they possess\\r\\nThey scatter and unloose it from their bond,\\r\\nAnd so, by hoping more, they have but less;\\r\\nOr, gaining more, the profit of excess\\r\\n Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain,\\r\\n That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe aim of all is but to nurse the life\\r\\nWith honour, wealth, and ease, in waning age;\\r\\nAnd in this aim there is such thwarting strife,\\r\\nThat one for all, or all for one we gage;\\r\\nAs life for honour in fell battles\\' rage;\\r\\n Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost\\r\\n The death of all, and all together lost.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo that in vent\\'ring ill we leave to be\\r\\nThe things we are, for that which we expect;\\r\\nAnd this ambitious foul infirmity,\\r\\nIn having much, torments us with defect\\r\\nOf that we have: so then we do neglect\\r\\n The thing we have; and, all for want of wit,\\r\\n Make something nothing, by augmenting it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSuch hazard now must doting Tarquin make,\\r\\nPawning his honour to obtain his lust;\\r\\nAnd for himself himself he must forsake:\\r\\nThen where is truth, if there be no self-trust?\\r\\nWhen shall he think to find a stranger just,\\r\\n When he himself himself confounds, betrays\\r\\n To slanderous tongues and wretched hateful days?\\r\\n\\r\\nNow stole upon the time the dead of night,\\r\\nWhen heavy sleep had closed up mortal eyes:\\r\\nNo comfortable star did lend his light,\\r\\nNo noise but owls\\' and wolves\\' death-boding cries;\\r\\nNow serves the season that they may surprise\\r\\n The silly lambs; pure thoughts are dead and still,\\r\\n While lust and murder wake to stain and kill.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd now this lustful lord leap\\'d from his bed,\\r\\nThrowing his mantle rudely o\\'er his arm;\\r\\nIs madly toss\\'d between desire and dread;\\r\\nTh\\' one sweetly flatters, th\\' other feareth harm;\\r\\nBut honest Fear, bewitch\\'d with lust\\'s foul charm,\\r\\n Doth too too oft betake him to retire,\\r\\n Beaten away by brain-sick rude Desire.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis falchion on a flint he softly smiteth,\\r\\nThat from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly;\\r\\nWhereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth,\\r\\nWhich must be lode-star to his lustful eye;\\r\\nAnd to the flame thus speaks advisedly:\\r\\n \\'As from this cold flint I enforced this fire,\\r\\n So Lucrece must I force to my desire.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere pale with fear he doth premeditate\\r\\nThe dangers of his loathsome enterprise,\\r\\nAnd in his inward mind he doth debate\\r\\nWhat following sorrow may on this arise;\\r\\nThen looking scornfully, he doth despise\\r\\n His naked armour of still-slaughter\\'d lust,\\r\\n And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not\\r\\nTo darken her whose light excelleth thine:\\r\\nAnd die, unhallow\\'d thoughts, before you blot\\r\\nWith your uncleanness that which is divine!\\r\\nOffer pure incense to so pure a shrine:\\r\\n Let fair humanity abhor the deed\\r\\n That spots and stains love\\'s modest snow-white weed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O shame to knighthood and to shining arms!\\r\\nO foul dishonour to my household\\'s grave!\\r\\nO impious act, including all foul harms!\\r\\nA martial man to be soft fancy\\'s slave!\\r\\nTrue valour still a true respect should have;\\r\\n Then my digression is so vile, so base,\\r\\n That it will live engraven in my face.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive,\\r\\nAnd be an eye-sore in my golden coat;\\r\\nSome loathsome dash the herald will contrive,\\r\\nTo cipher me how fondly I did dote;\\r\\nThat my posterity, sham\\'d with the note,\\r\\n Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin\\r\\n To wish that I their father had not been.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'What win I, if I gain the thing I seek?\\r\\nA dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy:\\r\\nWho buys a minute\\'s mirth to wail a week?\\r\\nOr sells eternity to get a toy?\\r\\nFor one sweet grape who will the vine destroy?\\r\\n Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown,\\r\\n Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'If Collatinus dream of my intent,\\r\\nWill he not wake, and in a desperate rage\\r\\nPost hither, this vile purpose to prevent?\\r\\nThis siege that hath engirt his marriage,\\r\\nThis blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage,\\r\\n This dying virtue, this surviving shame,\\r\\n Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O, what excuse can my invention make\\r\\nWhen thou shalt charge me with so black a deed?\\r\\nWill not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake?\\r\\nMine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed?\\r\\nThe guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed;\\r\\n And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly,\\r\\n But, coward-like, with trembling terror die.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Had Collatinus kill\\'d my son or sire,\\r\\nOr lain in ambush to betray my life,\\r\\nOr were he not my dear friend, this desire\\r\\nMight have excuse to work upon his wife;\\r\\nAs in revenge or quittal of such strife:\\r\\n But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend,\\r\\n The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Shameful it is;—ay, if the fact be known:\\r\\nHateful it is:— there is no hate in loving;\\r\\nI\\'ll beg her love;—but she is not her own;\\r\\nThe worst is but denial and reproving:\\r\\nMy will is strong, past reason\\'s weak removing.\\r\\n Who fears a sentence or an old man\\'s saw\\r\\n Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThus, graceless, holds he disputation\\r\\n\\'Tween frozen conscience and hot-burning will,\\r\\nAnd with good thoughts makes dispensation,\\r\\nUrging the worser sense for vantage still;\\r\\nWhich in a moment doth confound and kill\\r\\n All pure effects, and doth so far proceed,\\r\\n That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed.\\r\\n\\r\\nQuoth he, \\'She took me kindly by the hand,\\r\\nAnd gaz\\'d for tidings in my eager eyes,\\r\\nFearing some hard news from the warlike band,\\r\\nWhere her beloved Collatinus lies.\\r\\nO how her fear did make her colour rise!\\r\\n First red as roses that on lawn we lay,\\r\\n Then white as lawn, the roses took away.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And how her hand, in my hand being lock\\'d,\\r\\nForc\\'d it to tremble with her loyal fear;\\r\\nWhich struck her sad, and then it faster rock\\'d,\\r\\nUntil her husband\\'s welfare she did hear;\\r\\nWhereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer,\\r\\n That had Narcissus seen her as she stood,\\r\\n Self-love had never drown\\'d him in the flood.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why hunt I then for colour or excuses?\\r\\nAll orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth;\\r\\nPoor wretches have remorse in poor abuses;\\r\\nLove thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth:\\r\\nAffection is my captain, and he leadeth;\\r\\n And when his gaudy banner is display\\'d,\\r\\n The coward fights and will not be dismay\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Then, childish fear, avaunt! debating, die!\\r\\nRespect and reason wait on wrinkled age!\\r\\nMy heart shall never countermand mine eye;\\r\\nSad pause and deep regard beseem the sage;\\r\\nMy part is youth, and beats these from the stage:\\r\\n Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize;\\r\\n Then who fears sinking where such treasure lies?\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nAs corn o\\'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear\\r\\nIs almost chok\\'d by unresisted lust.\\r\\nAway he steals with opening, listening ear,\\r\\nFull of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust;\\r\\nBoth which, as servitors to the unjust,\\r\\n So cross him with their opposite persuasion,\\r\\n That now he vows a league, and now invasion.\\r\\n\\r\\nWithin his thought her heavenly image sits,\\r\\nAnd in the self-same seat sits Collatine:\\r\\nThat eye which looks on her confounds his wits;\\r\\nThat eye which him beholds, as more divine,\\r\\nUnto a view so false will not incline;\\r\\n But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart,\\r\\n Which once corrupted takes the worser part;\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd therein heartens up his servile powers,\\r\\nWho, flatter\\'d by their leader\\'s jocund show,\\r\\nStuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours;\\r\\nAnd as their captain, so their pride doth grow.\\r\\nPaying more slavish tribute than they owe.\\r\\n By reprobate desire thus madly led,\\r\\n The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece\\' bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe locks between her chamber and his will,\\r\\nEach one by him enforc\\'d retires his ward;\\r\\nBut, as they open they all rate his ill,\\r\\nWhich drives the creeping thief to some regard,\\r\\nThe threshold grates the door to have him heard;\\r\\n Night-wand\\'ring weasels shriek to see him there;\\r\\n They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs each unwilling portal yields him way,\\r\\nThrough little vents and crannies of the place\\r\\nThe wind wars with his torch, to make him stay,\\r\\nAnd blows the smoke of it into his face,\\r\\nExtinguishing his conduct in this case;\\r\\n But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch,\\r\\n Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch:\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd being lighted, by the light he spies\\r\\nLucretia\\'s glove, wherein her needle sticks;\\r\\nHe takes it from the rushes where it lies,\\r\\nAnd griping it, the neeld his finger pricks:\\r\\nAs who should say this glove to wanton tricks\\r\\n Is not inur\\'d: return again in haste;\\r\\n Thou see\\'st our mistress\\' ornaments are chaste.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut all these poor forbiddings could not stay him;\\r\\nHe in the worst sense construes their denial:\\r\\nThe doors, the wind, the glove that did delay him,\\r\\nHe takes for accidental things of trial;\\r\\nOr as those bars which stop the hourly dial,\\r\\n Who with a lingering stay his course doth let,\\r\\n Till every minute pays the hour his debt.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So, so,\\' quoth he, \\'these lets attend the time,\\r\\nLike little frosts that sometime threat the spring.\\r\\nTo add a more rejoicing to the prime,\\r\\nAnd give the sneaped birds more cause to sing.\\r\\nPain pays the income of each precious thing;\\r\\n Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves and sands,\\r\\n The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nNow is he come unto the chamber door,\\r\\nThat shuts him from the heaven of his thought,\\r\\nWhich with a yielding latch, and with no more,\\r\\nHath barr\\'d him from the blessed thing he sought.\\r\\nSo from himself impiety hath wrought,\\r\\n That for his prey to pray he doth begin,\\r\\n As if the heavens should countenance his sin.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut in the midst of his unfruitful prayer,\\r\\nHaving solicited the eternal power,\\r\\nThat his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair,\\r\\nAnd they would stand auspicious to the hour,\\r\\nEven there he starts:—quoth he, \\'I must de-flower;\\r\\n The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact,\\r\\n How can they then assist me in the act?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide!\\r\\nMy will is back\\'d with resolution:\\r\\nThoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried,\\r\\nThe blackest sin is clear\\'d with absolution;\\r\\nAgainst love\\'s fire fear\\'s frost hath dissolution.\\r\\n The eye of heaven is out, and misty night\\r\\n Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, his guilty hand pluck\\'d up the latch,\\r\\nAnd with his knee the door he opens wide:\\r\\nThe dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch;\\r\\nThus treason works ere traitors be espied.\\r\\nWho sees the lurking serpent steps aside;\\r\\n But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing,\\r\\n Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting.\\r\\n\\r\\nInto the chamber wickedly he stalks,\\r\\nAnd gazeth on her yet unstained bed.\\r\\nThe curtains being close, about he walks,\\r\\nRolling his greedy eyeballs in his head:\\r\\nBy their high treason is his heart misled;\\r\\n Which gives the watch-word to his hand full soon\\r\\n To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook, as the fair and fiery-pointed sun,\\r\\nRushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight;\\r\\nEven so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun\\r\\nTo wink, being blinded with a greater light:\\r\\nWhether it is that she reflects so bright,\\r\\n That dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed;\\r\\n But blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed.\\r\\n\\r\\nO, had they in that darksome prison died,\\r\\nThen had they seen the period of their ill!\\r\\nThen Collatine again by Lucrece\\' side\\r\\nIn his clear bed might have reposed still:\\r\\nBut they must ope, this blessed league to kill;\\r\\n And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight\\r\\n Must sell her joy, her life, her world\\'s delight.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer lily hand her rosy cheek lies under,\\r\\nCozening the pillow of a lawful kiss;\\r\\nWho, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder,\\r\\nSwelling on either side to want his bliss;\\r\\nBetween whose hills her head entombed is:\\r\\n Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies,\\r\\n To be admir\\'d of lewd unhallow\\'d eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nWithout the bed her other fair hand was,\\r\\nOn the green coverlet; whose perfect white\\r\\nShow\\'d like an April daisy on the grass,\\r\\nWith pearly sweat, resembling dew of night,\\r\\nHer eyes, like marigolds, had sheath\\'d their light,\\r\\n And canopied in darkness sweetly lay,\\r\\n Till they might open to adorn the day.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer hair, like golden threads, play\\'d with her breath;\\r\\nO modest wantons! wanton modesty!\\r\\nShowing life\\'s triumph in the map of death,\\r\\nAnd death\\'s dim look in life\\'s mortality:\\r\\nEach in her sleep themselves so beautify,\\r\\n As if between them twain there were no strife,\\r\\n But that life liv\\'d in death, and death in life.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue,\\r\\nA pair of maiden worlds unconquered,\\r\\nSave of their lord no bearing yoke they knew,\\r\\nAnd him by oath they truly honoured.\\r\\nThese worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred:\\r\\n Who, like a foul usurper, went about\\r\\n From this fair throne to heave the owner out.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat could he see but mightily he noted?\\r\\nWhat did he note but strongly he desir\\'d?\\r\\nWhat he beheld, on that he firmly doted,\\r\\nAnd in his will his wilful eye he tir\\'d.\\r\\nWith more than admiration he admir\\'d\\r\\n Her azure veins, her alabaster skin,\\r\\n Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs the grim lion fawneth o\\'er his prey,\\r\\nSharp hunger by the conquest satisfied,\\r\\nSo o\\'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay,\\r\\nHis rage of lust by grazing qualified;\\r\\nSlack\\'d, not suppress\\'d; for standing by her side,\\r\\n His eye, which late this mutiny restrains,\\r\\n Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins:\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting,\\r\\nObdurate vassals. fell exploits effecting,\\r\\nIn bloody death and ravishment delighting,\\r\\nNor children\\'s tears nor mothers\\' groans respecting,\\r\\nSwell in their pride, the onset still expecting:\\r\\n Anon his beating heart, alarum striking,\\r\\n Gives the hot charge and bids them do their liking.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis drumming heart cheers up his burning eye,\\r\\nHis eye commends the leading to his hand;\\r\\nHis hand, as proud of such a dignity,\\r\\nSmoking with pride, march\\'d on to make his stand\\r\\nOn her bare breast, the heart of all her land;\\r\\n Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale,\\r\\n Left their round turrets destitute and pale.\\r\\n\\r\\nThey, mustering to the quiet cabinet\\r\\nWhere their dear governess and lady lies,\\r\\nDo tell her she is dreadfully beset,\\r\\nAnd fright her with confusion of their cries:\\r\\nShe, much amaz\\'d, breaks ope her lock\\'d-up eyes,\\r\\n Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold,\\r\\n Are by his flaming torch dimm\\'d and controll\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nImagine her as one in dead of night\\r\\nFrom forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking,\\r\\nThat thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite,\\r\\nWhose grim aspect sets every joint a shaking:\\r\\nWhat terror \\'tis! but she, in worser taking,\\r\\n From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view\\r\\n The sight which makes supposed terror true.\\r\\n\\r\\nWrapp\\'d and confounded in a thousand fears,\\r\\nLike to a new-kill\\'d bird she trembling lies;\\r\\nShe dares not look; yet, winking, there appears\\r\\nQuick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes:\\r\\nSuch shadows are the weak brain\\'s forgeries:\\r\\n Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights,\\r\\n In darkness daunts them with more dreadful sights.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis hand, that yet remains upon her breast,\\r\\n(Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall!)\\r\\nMay feel her heart, poor citizen, distress\\'d,\\r\\nWounding itself to death, rise up and fall,\\r\\nBeating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal.\\r\\n This moves in him more rage, and lesser pity,\\r\\n To make the breach, and enter this sweet city.\\r\\n\\r\\nFirst, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin\\r\\nTo sound a parley to his heartless foe,\\r\\nWho o\\'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin,\\r\\nThe reason of this rash alarm to know,\\r\\nWhich he by dumb demeanour seeks to show;\\r\\n But she with vehement prayers urgeth still\\r\\n Under what colour he commits this ill.\\r\\n\\r\\nThus he replies: \\'The colour in thy face,\\r\\n(That even for anger makes the lily pale,\\r\\nAnd the red rose blush at her own disgrace)\\r\\nShall plead for me and tell my loving tale:\\r\\nUnder that colour am I come to scale\\r\\n Thy never-conquer\\'d fort: the fault is thine,\\r\\n For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide:\\r\\nThy beauty hath ensnared thee to this night,\\r\\nWhere thou with patience must my will abide,\\r\\nMy will that marks thee for my earth\\'s delight,\\r\\nWhich I to conquer sought with all my might;\\r\\n But as reproof and reason beat it dead,\\r\\n By thy bright beauty was it newly bred.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'I see what crosses my attempt will bring;\\r\\nI know what thorns the growing rose defends;\\r\\nI think the honey guarded with a sting;\\r\\nAll this, beforehand, counsel comprehends:\\r\\nBut will is deaf, and hears no heedful friends;\\r\\n Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty,\\r\\n And dotes on what he looks, \\'gainst law or duty.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'I have debated, even in my soul,\\r\\nWhat wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall breed;\\r\\nBut nothing can Affection\\'s course control,\\r\\nOr stop the headlong fury of his speed.\\r\\nI know repentant tears ensue the deed,\\r\\n Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity;\\r\\n Yet strike I to embrace mine infamy.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade,\\r\\nWhich, like a falcon towering in the skies,\\r\\nCoucheth the fowl below with his wings\\' shade,\\r\\nWhose crooked beak threats if he mount he dies:\\r\\nSo under his insulting falchion lies\\r\\n Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells\\r\\n With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon\\'s bells.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Lucrece,\\' quoth he, \\'this night I must enjoy thee:\\r\\nIf thou deny, then force must work my way,\\r\\nFor in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee;\\r\\nThat done, some worthless slave of thine I\\'ll slay.\\r\\nTo kill thine honour with thy life\\'s decay;\\r\\n And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him,\\r\\n Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So thy surviving husband shall remain\\r\\nThe scornful mark of every open eye;\\r\\nThy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain,\\r\\nThy issue blurr\\'d with nameless bastardy:\\r\\nAnd thou, the author of their obloquy,\\r\\n Shalt have thy trespass cited up in rhymes,\\r\\n And sung by children in succeeding times.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend:\\r\\nThe fault unknown is as a thought unacted;\\r\\nA little harm, done to a great good end,\\r\\nFor lawful policy remains enacted.\\r\\nThe poisonous simple sometimes is compacted\\r\\n In a pure compound; being so applied,\\r\\n His venom in effect is purified.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Then, for thy husband and thy children\\'s sake,\\r\\nTender my suit: bequeath not to their lot\\r\\nThe shame that from them no device can take,\\r\\nThe blemish that will never be forgot;\\r\\nWorse than a slavish wipe, or birth-hour\\'s blot:\\r\\n For marks descried in men\\'s nativity\\r\\n Are nature\\'s faults, not their own infamy.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere with a cockatrice\\' dead-killing eye\\r\\nHe rouseth up himself and makes a pause;\\r\\nWhile she, the picture of pure piety,\\r\\nLike a white hind under the grype\\'s sharp claws,\\r\\nPleads in a wilderness where are no laws,\\r\\n To the rough beast that knows no gentle right,\\r\\n Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut when a black-fac\\'d cloud the world doth threat,\\r\\nIn his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding,\\r\\nFrom earth\\'s dark womb some gentle gust doth get,\\r\\nWhich blows these pitchy vapours from their biding,\\r\\nHindering their present fall by this dividing;\\r\\n So his unhallow\\'d haste her words delays,\\r\\n And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays.\\r\\n\\r\\nYet, foul night-working cat, he doth but dally,\\r\\nWhile in his hold-fast foot the weak mouse panteth;\\r\\nHer sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly,\\r\\nA swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth:\\r\\nHis ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth\\r\\n No penetrable entrance to her plaining:\\r\\n Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer pity-pleading eyes are sadly fix\\'d\\r\\nIn the remorseless wrinkles of his face;\\r\\nHer modest eloquence with sighs is mix\\'d,\\r\\nWhich to her oratory adds more grace.\\r\\nShe puts the period often from his place,\\r\\n And midst the sentence so her accent breaks,\\r\\n That twice she doth begin ere once she speaks.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe conjures him by high almighty Jove,\\r\\nBy knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship\\'s oath,\\r\\nBy her untimely tears, her husband\\'s love,\\r\\nBy holy human law, and common troth,\\r\\nBy heaven and earth, and all the power of both,\\r\\n That to his borrow\\'d bed he make retire,\\r\\n And stoop to honour, not to foul desire.\\r\\n\\r\\nQuoth she, \\'Reward not hospitality\\r\\nWith such black payment as thou hast pretended;\\r\\nMud not the fountain that gave drink to thee;\\r\\nMar not the thing that cannot be amended;\\r\\nEnd thy ill aim before the shoot be ended:\\r\\n He is no woodman that doth bend his bow\\r\\n To strike a poor unseasonable doe.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'My husband is thy friend; for his sake spare me;\\r\\nThyself art mighty; for thine own sake leave me;\\r\\nMyself a weakling, do not then ensnare me;\\r\\nThou look\\'st not like deceit; do not deceive me;\\r\\nMy sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave thee.\\r\\n If ever man were mov\\'d with woman\\'s moans,\\r\\n Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'All which together, like a troubled ocean,\\r\\nBeat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening heart;\\r\\nTo soften it with their continual motion;\\r\\nFor stones dissolv\\'d to water do convert.\\r\\nO, if no harder than a stone thou art,\\r\\n Melt at my tears, and be compassionate!\\r\\n Soft pity enters at an iron gate.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'In Tarquin\\'s likeness I did entertain thee;\\r\\nHast thou put on his shape to do him shame?\\r\\nTo all the host of heaven I complain me,\\r\\nThou wrong\\'st his honour, wound\\'st his princely name.\\r\\nThou art not what thou seem\\'st; and if the same,\\r\\n Thou seem\\'st not what thou art, a god, a king;\\r\\n For kings like gods should govern every thing.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'How will thy shame be seeded in thine age,\\r\\nWhen thus thy vices bud before thy spring!\\r\\nIf in thy hope thou dar\\'st do such outrage,\\r\\nWhat dar\\'st thou not when once thou art a king!\\r\\nO, be remember\\'d, no outrageous thing\\r\\n From vassal actors can he wip\\'d away;\\r\\n Then kings\\' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'This deed will make thee only lov\\'d for fear,\\r\\nBut happy monarchs still are fear\\'d for love:\\r\\nWith foul offenders thou perforce must bear,\\r\\nWhen they in thee the like offences prove:\\r\\nIf but for fear of this, thy will remove;\\r\\n For princes are the glass, the school, the book,\\r\\n Where subjects eyes do learn, do read, do look.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall learn?\\r\\nMust he in thee read lectures of such shame:\\r\\nWilt thou be glass, wherein it shall discern\\r\\nAuthority for sin, warrant for blame,\\r\\nTo privilege dishonour in thy name?\\r\\n Thou back\\'st reproach against long-living laud,\\r\\n And mak\\'st fair reputation but a bawd.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Hast thou command? by him that gave it thee,\\r\\nFrom a pure heart command thy rebel will:\\r\\nDraw not thy sword to guard iniquity,\\r\\nFor it was lent thee all that brood to kill.\\r\\nThy princely office how canst thou fulfill,\\r\\n When, pattern\\'d by thy fault, foul Sin may say\\r\\n He learn\\'d to sin, and thou didst teach the way?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Think but how vile a spectacle it were\\r\\nTo view thy present trespass in another.\\r\\nMen\\'s faults do seldom to themselves appear;\\r\\nTheir own transgressions partially they smother:\\r\\nThis guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother.\\r\\n O how are they wrapp\\'d in with infamies\\r\\n That from their own misdeeds askaunce their eyes!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'To thee, to thee, my heav\\'d-up hands appeal,\\r\\nNot to seducing lust, thy rash relier;\\r\\nI sue for exil\\'d majesty\\'s repeal;\\r\\nLet him return, and flattering thoughts retire:\\r\\nHis true respect will \\'prison false desire,\\r\\n And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne,\\r\\n That thou shalt see thy state, and pity mine.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Have done,\\' quoth he: \\'my uncontrolled tide\\r\\nTurns not, but swells the higher by this let.\\r\\nSmall lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide,\\r\\nAnd with the wind in greater fury fret:\\r\\nThe petty streams that pay a daily debt\\r\\n To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls\\' haste,\\r\\n Add to his flow, but alter not his taste.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thou art,\\' quoth she, \\'a sea, a sovereign king;\\r\\nAnd, lo, there falls into thy boundless flood\\r\\nBlack lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning,\\r\\nWho seek to stain the ocean of thy blood.\\r\\nIf all these petty ills shall change thy good,\\r\\n Thy sea within a puddle\\'s womb is hears\\'d,\\r\\n And not the puddle in thy sea dispers\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So shall these slaves be king, and thou their slave;\\r\\nThou nobly base, they basely dignified;\\r\\nThou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave;\\r\\nThou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride:\\r\\nThe lesser thing should not the greater hide;\\r\\n The cedar stoops not to the base shrub\\'s foot,\\r\\n But low shrubs whither at the cedar\\'s root.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state\\'—\\r\\n\\'No more,\\' quoth he; \\'by heaven, I will not hear thee:\\r\\nYield to my love; if not, enforced hate,\\r\\nInstead of love\\'s coy touch, shall rudely tear thee;\\r\\nThat done, despitefully I mean to bear thee\\r\\n Unto the base bed of some rascal groom,\\r\\n To be thy partner in this shameful doom.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, he sets his foot upon the light,\\r\\nFor light and lust are deadly enemies;\\r\\nShame folded up in blind concealing night,\\r\\nWhen most unseen, then most doth tyrannize.\\r\\nThe wolf hath seiz\\'d his prey, the poor lamb cries;\\r\\n Till with her own white fleece her voice controll\\'d\\r\\n Entombs her outcry in her lips\\' sweet fold:\\r\\n\\r\\nFor with the nightly linen that she wears\\r\\nHe pens her piteous clamours in her head;\\r\\nCooling his hot face in the chastest tears\\r\\nThat ever modest eyes with sorrow shed.\\r\\nO, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed!\\r\\n The spots whereof could weeping purify,\\r\\n Her tears should drop on them perpetually.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut she hath lost a dearer thing than life,\\r\\nAnd he hath won what he would lose again.\\r\\nThis forced league doth force a further strife;\\r\\nThis momentary joy breeds months of pain,\\r\\nThis hot desire converts to cold disdain:\\r\\n Pure Chastity is rifled of her store,\\r\\n And Lust, the thief, far poorer than before.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook, as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk,\\r\\nUnapt for tender smell or speedy flight,\\r\\nMake slow pursuit, or altogether balk\\r\\nThe prey wherein by nature they delight;\\r\\nSo surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night:\\r\\n His taste delicious, in digestion souring,\\r\\n Devours his will, that liv\\'d by foul devouring.\\r\\n\\r\\nO deeper sin than bottomless conceit\\r\\nCan comprehend in still imagination!\\r\\nDrunken desire must vomit his receipt,\\r\\nEre he can see his own abomination.\\r\\nWhile lust is in his pride no exclamation\\r\\n Can curb his heat, or rein his rash desire,\\r\\n Till, like a jade, self-will himself doth tire.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd then with lank and lean discolour\\'d cheek,\\r\\nWith heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace,\\r\\nFeeble desire, all recreant, poor, and meek,\\r\\nLike to a bankrupt beggar wails his case:\\r\\nThe flesh being proud, desire doth fight with Grace,\\r\\n For there it revels; and when that decays,\\r\\n The guilty rebel for remission prays.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo fares it with this faultful lord of Rome,\\r\\nWho this accomplishment so hotly chas\\'d;\\r\\nFor now against himself he sounds this doom,\\r\\nThat through the length of times he stands disgrac\\'d:\\r\\nBesides, his soul\\'s fair temple is defac\\'d;\\r\\n To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares,\\r\\n To ask the spotted princess how she fares.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe says, her subjects with foul insurrection\\r\\nHave batter\\'d down her consecrated wall,\\r\\nAnd by their mortal fault brought in subjection\\r\\nHer immortality, and made her thrall\\r\\nTo living death, and pain perpetual;\\r\\n Which in her prescience she controlled still,\\r\\n But her foresight could not forestall their will.\\r\\n\\r\\nEven in this thought through the dark night he stealeth,\\r\\nA captive victor that hath lost in gain;\\r\\nBearing away the wound that nothing healeth,\\r\\nThe scar that will, despite of cure, remain;\\r\\nLeaving his spoil perplex\\'d in greater pain.\\r\\n She hears the load of lust he left behind,\\r\\n And he the burthen of a guilty mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe like a thievish dog creeps sadly thence;\\r\\nShe like a wearied lamb lies panting there;\\r\\nHe scowls, and hates himself for his offence;\\r\\nShe, desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear;\\r\\nHe faintly flies, sweating with guilty fear;\\r\\n She stays, exclaiming on the direful night;\\r\\n He runs, and chides his vanish\\'d, loath\\'d delight.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe thence departs a heavy convertite;\\r\\nShe there remains a hopeless castaway:\\r\\nHe in his speed looks for the morning light;\\r\\nShe prays she never may behold the day;\\r\\n\\'For day,\\' quoth she, \\'night\\'s scapes doth open lay;\\r\\n And my true eyes have never practis\\'d how\\r\\n To cloak offences with a cunning brow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'They think not but that every eye can see\\r\\nThe same disgrace which they themselves behold;\\r\\nAnd therefore would they still in darkness be,\\r\\nTo have their unseen sin remain untold;\\r\\nFor they their guilt with weeping will unfold,\\r\\n And grave, like water that doth eat in steel,\\r\\n Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere she exclaims against repose and rest,\\r\\nAnd bids her eyes hereafter still be blind.\\r\\nShe wakes her heart by beating on her breast,\\r\\nAnd bids it leap from thence, where it may find\\r\\nSome purer chest, to close so pure a mind.\\r\\n Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite\\r\\n Against the unseen secrecy of night:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O comfort-killing night, image of hell!\\r\\nDim register and notary of shame!\\r\\nBlack stage for tragedies and murders fell!\\r\\nVast sin-concealing chaos! nurse of blame!\\r\\nBlind muffled bawd! dark harbour for defame!\\r\\n Grim cave of death, whispering conspirator\\r\\n With close-tongued treason and the ravisher!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O hateful, vaporous, and foggy night!\\r\\nSince thou art guilty of my cureless crime,\\r\\nMuster thy mists to meet the eastern light,\\r\\nMake war against proportion\\'d course of time!\\r\\nOr if thou wilt permit the sun to climb\\r\\n His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed,\\r\\n Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'With rotten damps ravish the morning air;\\r\\nLet their exhal\\'d unwholesome breaths make sick\\r\\nThe life of purity, the supreme fair,\\r\\nEre he arrive his weary noontide prick;\\r\\nAnd let thy misty vapours march so thick,\\r\\n That in their smoky ranks his smother\\'d light\\r\\n May set at noon and make perpetual night.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Were Tarquin night (as he is but night\\'s child),\\r\\nThe silver-shining queen he would distain;\\r\\nHer twinkling handmaids too, by him defil\\'d,\\r\\nThrough Night\\'s black bosom should not peep again:\\r\\nSo should I have co-partners in my pain:\\r\\n And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage,\\r\\n As palmers\\' chat makes short their pilgrimage.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Where now I have no one to blush with me,\\r\\nTo cross their arms and hang their heads with mine,\\r\\nTo mask their brows, and hide their infamy;\\r\\nBut I alone alone must sit and pine,\\r\\nSeasoning the earth with showers of silver brine,\\r\\n Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans,\\r\\n Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke,\\r\\nLet not the jealous day behold that face\\r\\nWhich underneath thy black all-hiding cloak\\r\\nImmodesty lies martyr\\'d with disgrace!\\r\\nKeep still possession of thy gloomy place,\\r\\n That all the faults which in thy reign are made,\\r\\n May likewise be sepulchred in thy shade!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Make me not object to the tell-tale day!\\r\\nThe light will show, character\\'d in my brow,\\r\\nThe story of sweet chastity\\'s decay,\\r\\nThe impious breach of holy wedlock vow:\\r\\nYea, the illiterate, that know not how\\r\\n To cipher what is writ in learned books,\\r\\n Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story\\r\\nAnd fright her crying babe with Tarquin\\'s name;\\r\\nThe orator, to deck his oratory,\\r\\nWill couple my reproach to Tarquin\\'s shame:\\r\\nFeast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame,\\r\\n Will tie the hearers to attend each line,\\r\\n How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Let my good name, that senseless reputation,\\r\\nFor Collatine\\'s dear love be kept unspotted:\\r\\nIf that be made a theme for disputation,\\r\\nThe branches of another root are rotted,\\r\\nAnd undeserved reproach to him allotted,\\r\\n That is as clear from this attaint of mine\\r\\n As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O unseen shame! invisible disgrace!\\r\\nO unfelt sore! crest-wounding, private scar!\\r\\nReproach is stamp\\'d in Collatinus\\' face,\\r\\nAnd Tarquin\\'s eye may read the mot afar,\\r\\nHow he in peace is wounded, not in war.\\r\\n Alas, how many bear such shameful blows,\\r\\n Which not themselves, but he that gives them knows!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me,\\r\\nFrom me by strong assault it is bereft.\\r\\nMy honey lost, and I, a drone-like bee,\\r\\nHave no perfection of my summer left,\\r\\nBut robb\\'d and ransack\\'d by injurious theft:\\r\\n In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept,\\r\\n And suck\\'d the honey which thy chaste bee kept.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Yet am I guilty of thy honour\\'s wrack;—\\r\\nYet for thy honour did I entertain him;\\r\\nComing from thee, I could not put him back,\\r\\nFor it had been dishonour to disdain him:\\r\\nBesides, of weariness he did complain him,\\r\\n And talk\\'d of virtue:—O unlook\\'d-for evil,\\r\\n When virtue is profan\\'d in such a devil!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud?\\r\\nOr hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows\\' nests?\\r\\nOr toads infect fair founts with venom mud?\\r\\nOr tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts?\\r\\nOr kings be breakers of their own behests?\\r\\n But no perfection is so absolute,\\r\\n That some impurity doth not pollute.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'The aged man that coffers up his gold\\r\\nIs plagued with cramps, and gouts, and painful fits;\\r\\nAnd scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold,\\r\\nBut like still-pining Tantalus he sits,\\r\\nAnd useless barns the harvest of his wits;\\r\\n Having no other pleasure of his gain\\r\\n But torment that it cannot cure his pain.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So then he hath it when he cannot use it,\\r\\nAnd leaves it to be master\\'d by his young;\\r\\nWho in their pride do presently abuse it:\\r\\nTheir father was too weak, and they too strong,\\r\\nTo hold their cursed-blessed fortune long.\\r\\n The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours,\\r\\n Even in the moment that we call them ours.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring;\\r\\nUnwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers;\\r\\nThe adder hisses where the sweet birds sing;\\r\\nWhat virtue breeds iniquity devours:\\r\\nWe have no good that we can say is ours,\\r\\n But ill-annexed Opportunity\\r\\n Or kills his life or else his quality.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O Opportunity, thy guilt is great:\\r\\n\\'Tis thou that executest the traitor\\'s treason;\\r\\nThou set\\'st the wolf where he the lamb may get;\\r\\nWhoever plots the sin, thou \\'point\\'st the season;\\r\\n\\'Tis thou that spurn\\'st at right, at law, at reason;\\r\\n And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him,\\r\\n Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thou mak\\'st the vestal violate her oath;\\r\\nThou blow\\'st the fire when temperance is thaw\\'d;\\r\\nThou smother\\'st honesty, thou murther\\'st troth;\\r\\nThou foul abettor! thou notorious bawd!\\r\\nThou plantest scandal and displacest laud:\\r\\n Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief,\\r\\n Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame,\\r\\nThy private feasting to a public fast;\\r\\nThy smoothing titles to a ragged name,\\r\\nThy sugar\\'d tongue to bitter wormwood taste:\\r\\nThy violent vanities can never last.\\r\\n How comes it then, vile Opportunity,\\r\\n Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'When wilt thou be the humble suppliant\\'s friend,\\r\\nAnd bring him where his suit may be obtain\\'d?\\r\\nWhen wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end?\\r\\nOr free that soul which wretchedness hath chain\\'d?\\r\\nGive physic to the sick, ease to the pain\\'d?\\r\\n The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee;\\r\\n But they ne\\'er meet with Opportunity.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'The patient dies while the physician sleeps;\\r\\nThe orphan pines while the oppressor feeds;\\r\\nJustice is feasting while the widow weeps;\\r\\nAdvice is sporting while infection breeds;\\r\\nThou grant\\'st no time for charitable deeds:\\r\\n Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder\\'s rages,\\r\\n Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'When truth and virtue have to do with thee,\\r\\nA thousand crosses keep them from thy aid;\\r\\nThey buy thy help; but Sin ne\\'er gives a fee,\\r\\nHe gratis comes; and thou art well appay\\'d\\r\\nAs well to hear as grant what he hath said.\\r\\n My Collatine would else have come to me\\r\\n When Tarquin did, but he was stay\\'d by thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Guilty thou art of murder and of theft;\\r\\nGuilty of perjury and subornation;\\r\\nGuilty of treason, forgery, and shift;\\r\\nGuilty of incest, that abomination:\\r\\nAn accessory by thine inclination\\r\\n To all sins past, and all that are to come,\\r\\n From the creation to the general doom.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Mis-shapen Time, copesmate of ugly night,\\r\\nSwift subtle post, carrier of grisly care,\\r\\nEater of youth, false slave to false delight,\\r\\nBase watch of woes, sin\\'s pack-horse, virtue\\'s snare;\\r\\nThou nursest all and murtherest all that are:\\r\\n O hear me then, injurious, shifting Time!\\r\\n Be guilty of my death, since of my crime.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why hath thy servant, Opportunity,\\r\\nBetray\\'d the hours thou gav\\'st me to repose?\\r\\nCancell\\'d my fortunes, and enchained me\\r\\nTo endless date of never-ending woes?\\r\\nTime\\'s office is to fine the hate of foes;\\r\\n To eat up errors by opinion bred,\\r\\n Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Time\\'s glory is to calm contending kings,\\r\\nTo unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light,\\r\\nTo stamp the seal of time in aged things,\\r\\nTo wake the morn, and sentinel the night,\\r\\nTo wrong the wronger till he render right;\\r\\n To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours,\\r\\n And smear with dust their glittering golden towers:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'To fill with worm-holes stately monuments,\\r\\nTo feed oblivion with decay of things,\\r\\nTo blot old books and alter their contents,\\r\\nTo pluck the quills from ancient ravens\\' wings,\\r\\nTo dry the old oak\\'s sap and cherish springs;\\r\\n To spoil antiquities of hammer\\'d steel,\\r\\n And turn the giddy round of Fortune\\'s wheel;\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'To show the beldame daughters of her daughter,\\r\\nTo make the child a man, the man a child,\\r\\nTo slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter,\\r\\nTo tame the unicorn and lion wild,\\r\\nTo mock the subtle, in themselves beguil\\'d;\\r\\n To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops,\\r\\n And waste huge stones with little water-drops.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why work\\'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage,\\r\\nUnless thou couldst return to make amends?\\r\\nOne poor retiring minute in an age\\r\\nWould purchase thee a thousand thousand friends,\\r\\nLending him wit that to bad debtors lends:\\r\\n O, this dread night, wouldst thou one hour come back,\\r\\n I could prevent this storm, and shun thy wrack!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thou cease!ess lackey to eternity,\\r\\nWith some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight:\\r\\nDevise extremes beyond extremity,\\r\\nTo make him curse this cursed crimeful night:\\r\\nLet ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright;\\r\\n And the dire thought of his committed evil\\r\\n Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances,\\r\\nAfflict him in his bed with bedrid groans;\\r\\nLet there bechance him pitiful mischances,\\r\\nTo make him moan; but pity not his moans:\\r\\nStone him with harden\\'d hearts, harder than stones;\\r\\n And let mild women to him lose their mildness,\\r\\n Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Let him have time to tear his curled hair,\\r\\nLet him have time against himself to rave,\\r\\nLet him have time of Time\\'s help to despair,\\r\\nLet him have time to live a loathed slave,\\r\\nLet him have time a beggar\\'s orts to crave;\\r\\n And time to see one that by alms doth live\\r\\n Disdain to him disdained scraps to give.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Let him have time to see his friends his foes,\\r\\nAnd merry fools to mock at him resort;\\r\\nLet him have time to mark how slow time goes\\r\\nIn time of sorrow, and how swift and short\\r\\nHis time of folly and his time of sport:\\r\\n And ever let his unrecalling crime\\r\\n Have time to wail the abusing of his time.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad,\\r\\nTeach me to curse him that thou taught\\'st this ill!\\r\\nAt his own shadow let the thief run mad!\\r\\nHimself himself seek every hour to kill!\\r\\nSuch wretched hands such wretched blood should spill:\\r\\n For who so base would such an office have\\r\\n As slanderous deathsman to so base a slave?\\r\\n\\r\\nThe baser is he, coming from a king,\\r\\nTo shame his hope with deeds degenerate.\\r\\nThe mightier man, the mightier is the thing\\r\\nThat makes him honour\\'d, or begets him hate;\\r\\nFor greatest scandal waits on greatest state.\\r\\n The moon being clouded presently is miss\\'d,\\r\\n But little stars may hide them when they list.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire,\\r\\nAnd unperceived fly with the filth away;\\r\\nBut if the like the snow-white swan desire,\\r\\nThe stain upon his silver down will stay.\\r\\nPoor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day:\\r\\n Gnats are unnoted wheresoe\\'er they fly,\\r\\n But eagles gazed upon with every eye.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Out, idle words, servants to shallow fools!\\r\\nUnprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators!\\r\\nBusy yourselves in skill-contending schools;\\r\\nDebate where leisure serves with dull debaters;\\r\\nTo trembling clients be you mediators:\\r\\n For me, I force not argument a straw,\\r\\n Since that my case is past the help of law.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'In vain I rail at Opportunity,\\r\\nAt Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful night;\\r\\nIn vain I cavil with mine infamy,\\r\\nIn vain I spurn at my confirm\\'d despite:\\r\\nThis helpless smoke of words doth me no right.\\r\\n The remedy indeed to do me good\\r\\n Is to let forth my foul-defil\\'d blood.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Poor hand, why quiver\\'st thou at this decree?\\r\\nHonour thyself to rid me of this shame;\\r\\nFor if I die, my honour lives in thee;\\r\\nBut if I live, thou livest in my defame:\\r\\nSince thou couldst not defend thy loyal dame,\\r\\n And wast afear\\'d to scratch her wicked foe,\\r\\n Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, from her be-tumbled couch she starteth,\\r\\nTo find some desperate instrument of death:\\r\\nBut this no slaughter-house no tool imparteth,\\r\\nTo make more vent for passage of her breath;\\r\\nWhich, thronging through her lips, so vanisheth\\r\\n As smoke from Aetna, that in air consumes,\\r\\n Or that which from discharged cannon fumes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'In vain,\\' quoth she, \\'I live, and seek in vain\\r\\nSome happy mean to end a hapless life.\\r\\nI fear\\'d by Tarquin\\'s falchion to be slain,\\r\\nYet for the self-same purpose seek a knife:\\r\\nBut when I fear\\'d I was a loyal wife:\\r\\n So am I now:—O no, that cannot be;\\r\\n Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O! that is gone for which I sought to live,\\r\\nAnd therefore now I need not fear to die.\\r\\nTo clear this spot by death, at least I give\\r\\nA badge of fame to slander\\'s livery;\\r\\nA dying life to living infamy;\\r\\n Poor helpless help, the treasure stolen away,\\r\\n To burn the guiltless casket where it lay!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know\\r\\nThe stained taste of violated troth;\\r\\nI will not wrong thy true affection so,\\r\\nTo flatter thee with an infringed oath;\\r\\nThis bastard graff shall never come to growth:\\r\\n He shall not boast who did thy stock pollute\\r\\n That thou art doting father of his fruit.\\r\\n\\r\\nNor shall he smile at thee in secret thought,\\r\\nNor laugh with his companions at thy state;\\r\\nBut thou shalt know thy interest was not bought\\r\\nBasely with gold, but stolen from forth thy gate.\\r\\nFor me, I am the mistress of my fate,\\r\\n And with my trespass never will dispense,\\r\\n Till life to death acquit my forced offence.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'I will not poison thee with my attaint,\\r\\nNor fold my fault in cleanly-coin\\'d excuses;\\r\\nMy sable ground of sin I will not paint,\\r\\nTo hide the truth of this false night\\'s abuses;\\r\\nMy tongue shall utter all; mine eyes, like sluices,\\r\\n As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale,\\r\\n Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this; lamenting Philomel had ended\\r\\nThe well-tun\\'d warble of her nightly sorrow,\\r\\nAnd solemn night with slow-sad gait descended\\r\\nTo ugly hell; when, lo, the blushing morrow\\r\\nLends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow:\\r\\n But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see,\\r\\n And therefore still in night would cloister\\'d be.\\r\\n\\r\\nRevealing day through every cranny spies,\\r\\nAnd seems to point her out where she sits weeping,\\r\\nTo whom she sobbing speaks: \\'O eye of eyes,\\r\\nWhy pryest thou through my window? leave thy peeping;\\r\\nMock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleeping:\\r\\n Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light,\\r\\n For day hath nought to do what\\'s done by night.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThus cavils she with every thing she sees:\\r\\nTrue grief is fond and testy as a child,\\r\\nWho wayward once, his mood with nought agrees.\\r\\nOld woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild;\\r\\nContinuance tames the one: the other wild,\\r\\n Like an unpractis\\'d swimmer plunging still\\r\\n With too much labour drowns for want of skill.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo she, deep-drenched in a sea of care,\\r\\nHolds disputation with each thing she views,\\r\\nAnd to herself all sorrow doth compare;\\r\\nNo object but her passion\\'s strength renews;\\r\\nAnd as one shifts, another straight ensues:\\r\\n Sometime her grief is dumb and hath no words;\\r\\n Sometime \\'tis mad, and too much talk affords.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe little birds that tune their morning\\'s joy\\r\\nMake her moans mad with their sweet melody.\\r\\nFor mirth doth search the bottom of annoy;\\r\\nSad souls are slain in merry company:\\r\\nGrief best is pleas\\'d with grief\\'s society:\\r\\n True sorrow then is feelingly suffic\\'d\\r\\n When with like semblance it is sympathiz\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Tis double death to drown in ken of shore;\\r\\nHe ten times pines that pines beholding food;\\r\\nTo see the salve doth make the wound ache more;\\r\\nGreat grief grieves most at that would do it good;\\r\\nDeep woes roll forward like a gentle flood;\\r\\n Who, being stopp\\'d, the bounding banks o\\'erflows;\\r\\n Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'You mocking birds,\\' quoth she, \\'your tunes entomb\\r\\nWithin your hollow-swelling feather\\'d breasts,\\r\\nAnd in my hearing be you mute and dumb!\\r\\n(My restless discord loves no stops nor rests;\\r\\nA woeful hostess brooks not merry guests:)\\r\\n Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears;\\r\\n Distress likes dumps when time is kept with tears.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Come, Philomel, that sing\\'st of ravishment,\\r\\nMake thy sad grove in my dishevell\\'d hair:\\r\\nAs the dank earth weeps at thy languishment,\\r\\nSo I at each sad strain will strain a tear,\\r\\nAnd with deep groans the diapason bear:\\r\\n For burthen-wise I\\'ll hum on Tarquin still,\\r\\n While thou on Tereus descant\\'st better skill.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And whiles against a thorn thou bear\\'st thy part,\\r\\nTo keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I,\\r\\nTo imitate thee well, against my heart\\r\\nWill fix a sharp knife, to affright mine eye;\\r\\nWho, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die.\\r\\n These means, as frets upon an instrument,\\r\\n Shall tune our heart-strings to true languishment.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And for, poor bird, thou sing\\'st not in the day,\\r\\nAs shaming any eye should thee behold,\\r\\nSome dark deep desert, seated from the way,\\r\\nThat knows not parching heat nor freezing cold,\\r\\nWill we find out; and there we will unfold\\r\\n To creatures stern sad tunes, to change their kinds:\\r\\n Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nAs the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze,\\r\\nWildly determining which way to fly,\\r\\nOr one encompass\\'d with a winding maze,\\r\\nThat cannot tread the way out readily;\\r\\nSo with herself is she in mutiny,\\r\\n To live or die which of the twain were better,\\r\\n When life is sham\\'d, and Death reproach\\'s debtor.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'To kill myself,\\' quoth she, \\'alack! what were it,\\r\\nBut with my body my poor soul\\'s pollution?\\r\\nThey that lose half with greater patience bear it\\r\\nThan they whose whole is swallow\\'d in confusion.\\r\\nThat mother tries a merciless conclusion\\r\\n Who, having two sweet babes, when death takes one,\\r\\n Will slay the other, and be nurse to none.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'My body or my soul, which was the dearer,\\r\\nWhen the one pure, the other made divine?\\r\\nWhose love of either to myself was nearer?\\r\\nWhen both were kept for heaven and Collatine?\\r\\nAh, me! the bark peel\\'d from the lofty pine,\\r\\n His leaves will wither, and his sap decay;\\r\\n So must my soul, her bark being peel\\'d away.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Her house is sack\\'d, her quiet interrupted,\\r\\nHer mansion batter\\'d by the enemy;\\r\\nHer sacred temple spotted, spoil\\'d, corrupted,\\r\\nGrossly engirt with daring infamy:\\r\\nThen let it not be call\\'d impiety,\\r\\n If in this blemish\\'d fort I make some hole\\r\\n Through which I may convey this troubled soul.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Yet die I will not till my Collatine\\r\\nHave heard the cause of my untimely death;\\r\\nThat he may vow, in that sad hour of mine,\\r\\nRevenge on him that made me stop my breath.\\r\\nMy stained blood to Tarquin I\\'ll bequeath,\\r\\n Which by him tainted shall for him be spent,\\r\\n And as his due writ in my testament.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'My honour I\\'ll bequeath unto the knife\\r\\nThat wounds my body so dishonoured.\\r\\n\\'Tis honour to deprive dishonour\\'d life;\\r\\nThe one will live, the other being dead:\\r\\nSo of shame\\'s ashes shall my fame be bred;\\r\\n For in my death I murther shameful scorn:\\r\\n My shame so dead, mine honour is new-born.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost,\\r\\nWhat legacy shall I bequeath to thee?\\r\\nMy resolution, Love, shall be thy boast,\\r\\nBy whose example thou reveng\\'d mayst be.\\r\\nHow Tarquin must be used, read it in me:\\r\\n Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe,\\r\\n And, for my sake, serve thou false Tarquin so.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'This brief abridgement of my will I make:\\r\\nMy soul and body to the skies and ground;\\r\\nMy resolution, husband, do thou take;\\r\\nMine honour be the knife\\'s that makes my wound;\\r\\nMy shame be his that did my fame confound;\\r\\n And all my fame that lives disburs\\'d be\\r\\n To those that live, and think no shame of me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee this will;\\r\\nHow was I overseen that thou shalt see it!\\r\\nMy blood shall wash the slander of mine ill;\\r\\nMy life\\'s foul deed my life\\'s fair end shall free it.\\r\\nFaint not, faint heart, but stoutly say \"so be it:\"\\r\\n Yield to my hand; my hand shall conquer thee;\\r\\n Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis plot of death when sadly she had laid,\\r\\nAnd wip\\'d the brinish pearl from her bright eyes,\\r\\nWith untun\\'d tongue she hoarsely call\\'d her maid,\\r\\nWhose swift obedience to her mistress hies;\\r\\nFor fleet-wing\\'d duty with thought\\'s feathers flies.\\r\\n Poor Lucrece\\' cheeks unto her maid seem so\\r\\n As winter meads when sun doth melt their snow.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer mistress she doth give demure good-morrow,\\r\\nWith soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty,\\r\\nAnd sorts a sad look to her lady\\'s sorrow,\\r\\n(For why her face wore sorrow\\'s livery,)\\r\\nBut durst not ask of her audaciously\\r\\n Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so,\\r\\n Nor why her fair cheeks over-wash\\'d with woe.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut as the earth doth weep, the sun being set,\\r\\nEach flower moisten\\'d like a melting eye;\\r\\nEven so the maid with swelling drops \\'gan wet\\r\\nHer circled eyne, enforc\\'d by sympathy\\r\\nOf those fair suns, set in her mistress\\' sky,\\r\\n Who in a salt-wav\\'d ocean quench their light,\\r\\n Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night.\\r\\n\\r\\nA pretty while these pretty creatures stand,\\r\\nLike ivory conduits coral cisterns filling:\\r\\nOne justly weeps; the other takes in hand\\r\\nNo cause, but company, of her drops spilling:\\r\\nTheir gentle sex to weep are often willing:\\r\\n Grieving themselves to guess at others\\' smarts,\\r\\n And then they drown their eyes or break their hearts.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor men have marble, women waxen minds,\\r\\nAnd therefore are they form\\'d as marble will;\\r\\nThe weak oppress\\'d, the impression of strange kinds\\r\\nIs form\\'d in them by force, by fraud, or skill:\\r\\nThen call them not the authors of their ill,\\r\\n No more than wax shall be accounted evil,\\r\\n Wherein is stamp\\'d the semblance of a devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nTheir smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain,\\r\\nLays open all the little worms that creep;\\r\\nIn men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain\\r\\nCave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep:\\r\\nThrough crystal walls each little mote will peep:\\r\\n Though men can cover crimes with bold stern looks,\\r\\n Poor women\\'s faces are their own faults\\' books.\\r\\n\\r\\nNo man inveigb against the wither\\'d flower,\\r\\nBut chide rough winter that the flower hath kill\\'d!\\r\\nNot that devour\\'d, but that which doth devour,\\r\\nIs worthy blame. O, let it not be hild\\r\\nPoor women\\'s faults, that they are so fulfill\\'d\\r\\n With men\\'s abuses! those proud lords, to blame,\\r\\n Make weak-made women tenants to their shame.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe precedent whereof in Lucrece view,\\r\\nAssail\\'d by night with circumstances strong\\r\\nOf present death, and shame that might ensue\\r\\nBy that her death, to do her husband wrong:\\r\\nSuch danger to resistance did belong;\\r\\n The dying fear through all her body spread;\\r\\n And who cannot abuse a body dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this, mild Patience bid fair Lucrece speak\\r\\nTo the poor counterfeit of her complaining:\\r\\n\\'My girl,\\' quoth she, \\'on what occasion break\\r\\nThose tears from thee, that down thy cheeks are raining?\\r\\nIf thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining,\\r\\n Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood:\\r\\n If tears could help, mine own would do me good.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'But tell me, girl, when went\\'—(and there she stay\\'d\\r\\nTill after a deep groan) \\'Tarquin from, hence?\\'\\r\\n\\'Madam, ere I was up,\\' replied the maid,\\r\\n\\'The more to blame my sluggard negligence:\\r\\nYet with the fault I thus far can dispense;\\r\\n Myself was stirring ere the break of day,\\r\\n And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'But, lady, if your maid may be so bold,\\r\\nShe would request to know your heaviness.\\'\\r\\n\\'O peace!\\' quoth Lucrece: \\'if it should be told,\\r\\nThe repetition cannot make it less;\\r\\nFor more it is than I can well express:\\r\\n And that deep torture may be call\\'d a hell,\\r\\n When more is felt than one hath power to tell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen—\\r\\nYet save that labour, for I have them here.\\r\\nWhat should I say?—One of my husband\\'s men\\r\\nBid thou be ready, by and by, to bear\\r\\nA letter to my lord, my love, my dear;\\r\\n Bid him with speed prepare to carry it;\\r\\n The cause craves haste, and it will soon be writ.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHer maid is gone, and she prepares to write,\\r\\nFirst hovering o\\'er the paper with her quill:\\r\\nConceit and grief an eager combat fight;\\r\\nWhat wit sets down is blotted straight with will;\\r\\nThis is too curious-good, this blunt and ill:\\r\\n Much like a press of people at a door,\\r\\n Throng her inventions, which shall go before.\\r\\n\\r\\nAt last she thus begins:—\\'Thou worthy lord\\r\\nOf that unworthy wife that greeteth thee,\\r\\nHealth to thy person! next vouchsafe to afford\\r\\n(If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see)\\r\\nSome present speed to come and visit me:\\r\\n So, I commend me from our house in grief:\\r\\n My woes are tedious, though my words are brief.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere folds she up the tenor of her woe,\\r\\nHer certain sorrow writ uncertainly.\\r\\nBy this short schedule Collatine may know\\r\\nHer grief, but not her grief\\'s true quality;\\r\\nShe dares not thereof make discovery,\\r\\n Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse,\\r\\n Ere she with blood had stain\\'d her stain\\'d excuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nBesides, the life and feeling of her passion\\r\\nShe hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her;\\r\\nWhen sighs, and groans, and tears may grace the fashion\\r\\nOf her disgrace, the better so to clear her\\r\\nFrom that suspicion which the world my might bear her.\\r\\n To shun this blot, she would not blot the letter\\r\\n With words, till action might become them better.\\r\\n\\r\\nTo see sad sights moves more than hear them told;\\r\\nFor then the eye interprets to the ear\\r\\nThe heavy motion that it doth behold,\\r\\nWhen every part a part of woe doth bear.\\r\\n\\'Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear:\\r\\n Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow fords,\\r\\n And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of words.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer letter now is seal\\'d, and on it writ\\r\\n\\'At Ardea to my lord with more than haste;\\'\\r\\nThe post attends, and she delivers it,\\r\\nCharging the sour-fac\\'d groom to hie as fast\\r\\nAs lagging fowls before the northern blast.\\r\\n Speed more than speed but dull and slow she deems:\\r\\n Extremely still urgeth such extremes.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe homely villain court\\'sies to her low;\\r\\nAnd, blushing on her, with a steadfast eye\\r\\nReceives the scroll, without or yea or no,\\r\\nAnd forth with bashful innocence doth hie.\\r\\nBut they whose guilt within their bosoms lie\\r\\n Imagine every eye beholds their blame;\\r\\n For Lucrece thought he blush\\'d to see her shame:\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen, silly groom! God wot, it was defect\\r\\nOf spirit, life, and bold audacity.\\r\\nSuch harmless creatures have a true respect\\r\\nTo talk in deeds, while others saucily\\r\\nPromise more speed, but do it leisurely:\\r\\n Even so this pattern of the worn-out age\\r\\n Pawn\\'d honest looks, but laid no words to gage.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis kindled duty kindled her mistrust,\\r\\nThat two red fires in both their faces blaz\\'d;\\r\\nShe thought he blush\\'d, as knowing Tarquin\\'s lust,\\r\\nAnd, blushing with him, wistly on him gaz\\'d;\\r\\nHer earnest eye did make him more amaz\\'d:\\r\\n The more saw the blood his cheeks replenish,\\r\\n The more she thought he spied in her some blemish.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut long she thinks till he return again,\\r\\nAnd yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone.\\r\\nThe weary time she cannot entertain,\\r\\nFor now \\'tis stale to sigh, to weep, to groan:\\r\\nSo woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan,\\r\\n That she her plaints a little while doth stay,\\r\\n Pausing for means to mourn some newer way.\\r\\n\\r\\nAt last she calls to mind where hangs a piece\\r\\nOf skilful painting, made for Priam\\'s Troy;\\r\\nBefore the which is drawn the power of Greece,\\r\\nFor Helen\\'s rape the city to destroy,\\r\\nThreat\\'ning cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy;\\r\\n Which the conceited painter drew so proud,\\r\\n As heaven (it seem\\'d) to kiss the turrets bow\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nA thousand lamentable objects there,\\r\\nIn scorn of Nature, Art gave lifeless life:\\r\\nMany a dry drop seem\\'d a weeping tear,\\r\\nShed for the slaughter\\'d husband by the wife:\\r\\nThe red blood reek\\'d, to show the painter\\'s strife;\\r\\n The dying eyes gleam\\'d forth their ashy lights,\\r\\n Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights.\\r\\n\\r\\nThere might you see the labouring pioner\\r\\nBegrim\\'d with sweat, and smeared all with dust;\\r\\nAnd from the towers of Troy there would appear\\r\\nThe very eyes of men through loopholes thrust,\\r\\nGazing upon the Greeks with little lust:\\r\\n Such sweet observance in this work was had,\\r\\n That one might see those far-off eyes look sad.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn great commanders grace and majesty\\r\\nYou might behold, triumphing in their faces;\\r\\nIn youth, quick bearing and dexterity;\\r\\nAnd here and there the painter interlaces\\r\\nPale cowards, marching on with trembling paces;\\r\\n Which heartless peasants did so well resemble,\\r\\n That one would swear he saw them quake and tremble.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn Ajax and Ulysses, O, what art\\r\\nOf physiognomy might one behold!\\r\\nThe face of either \\'cipher\\'d either\\'s heart;\\r\\nTheir face their manners most expressly told:\\r\\nIn Ajax\\' eyes blunt rage and rigour roll\\'d;\\r\\n But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent\\r\\n Show\\'d deep regard and smiling government.\\r\\n\\r\\nThere pleading might you see grave Nestor stand,\\r\\nAs\\'t were encouraging the Greeks to fight;\\r\\nMaking such sober action with his hand\\r\\nThat it beguiled attention, charm\\'d the sight:\\r\\nIn speech, it seem\\'d, his beard, all silver white,\\r\\n Wagg\\'d up and down, and from his lips did fly\\r\\n Thin winding breath, which purl\\'d up to the sky.\\r\\n\\r\\nAbout him were a press of gaping faces,\\r\\nWhich seem\\'d to swallow up his sound advice;\\r\\nAll jointly listening, but with several graces,\\r\\nAs if some mermaid did their ears entice;\\r\\nSome high, some low, the painter was so nice:\\r\\n The scalps of many, almost hid behind,\\r\\n To jump up higher seem\\'d to mock the mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere one man\\'s hand lean\\'d on another\\'s head,\\r\\nHis nose being shadow\\'d by his neighbour\\'s ear;\\r\\nHere one being throng\\'d bears back, all boll\\'n and red;\\r\\nAnother smother\\'d seems to pelt and swear;\\r\\nAnd in their rage such signs of rage they bear,\\r\\n As, but for loss of Nestor\\'s golden words,\\r\\n It seem\\'d they would debate with angry swords.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor much imaginary work was there;\\r\\nConceit deceitful, so compact, so kind,\\r\\nThat for Achilles\\' image stood his spear,\\r\\nGrip\\'d in an armed hand; himself, behind,\\r\\nWas left unseen, save to the eye of mind:\\r\\n A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head,\\r\\n Stood for the whole to be imagined,\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd from the walls of strong-besieged Troy\\r\\nWhen their brave hope, bold Hector, march\\'d to field,\\r\\nStood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy\\r\\nTo see their youthful sons bright weapons wield;\\r\\nAnd to their hope they such odd action yield,\\r\\n That through their light joy seemed to appear,\\r\\n (Like bright things stain\\'d) a kind of heavy fear,\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd, from the strond of Dardan, where they fought,\\r\\nTo Simois\\' reedy banks, the red blood ran,\\r\\nWhose waves to imitate the battle sought\\r\\nWith swelling ridges; and their ranks began\\r\\nTo break upon the galled shore, and than\\r\\n Retire again, till, meeting greater ranks,\\r\\n They join, and shoot their foam at Simois\\' banks.\\r\\n\\r\\nTo this well-painted piece is Lucrece come,\\r\\nTo find a face where all distress is stell\\'d.\\r\\nMany she sees where cares have carved some,\\r\\nBut none where all distress and dolour dwell\\'d,\\r\\nTill she despairing Hecuba beheld,\\r\\n Staring on Priam\\'s wounds with her old eyes,\\r\\n Which bleeding under Pyrrhus\\' proud foot lies.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn her the painter had anatomiz\\'d\\r\\nTime\\'s ruin, beauty\\'s wrack, and grim care\\'s reign:\\r\\nHer cheeks with chops and wrinkles were disguis\\'d;\\r\\nOf what she was no semblance did remain:\\r\\nHer blue blood, chang\\'d to black in every vein,\\r\\n Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had fed,\\r\\n Show\\'d life imprison\\'d in a body dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nOn this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes,\\r\\nAnd shapes her sorrow to the beldame\\'s woes,\\r\\nWho nothing wants to answer her but cries,\\r\\nAnd bitter words to ban her cruel foes:\\r\\nThe painter was no god to lend her those;\\r\\n And therefore Lucrece swears he did her wrong,\\r\\n To give her so much grief, and not a tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Poor instrument,\\' quoth she, \\'without a sound,\\r\\nI\\'ll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue;\\r\\nAnd drop sweet balm in Priam\\'s painted wound,\\r\\nAnd rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong,\\r\\nAnd with my tears quench Troy that burns so long;\\r\\n And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes\\r\\n Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Show me the strumpet that began this stir,\\r\\nThat with my nails her beauty I may tear.\\r\\nThy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur\\r\\nThis load of wrath that burning Troy doth bear;\\r\\nThy eye kindled the fire that burneth here:\\r\\n And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye,\\r\\n The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter die.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why should the private pleasure of some one\\r\\nBecome the public plague of many mo?\\r\\nLet sin, alone committed, light alone\\r\\nUpon his head that hath transgressed so.\\r\\nLet guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe:\\r\\n For one\\'s offence why should so many fall,\\r\\n To plague a private sin in general?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Lo, here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies,\\r\\nHere manly Hector faints, here Troilus swounds;\\r\\nHere friend by friend in bloody channel lies,\\r\\nAnd friend to friend gives unadvised wounds,\\r\\nAnd one man\\'s lust these many lives confounds:\\r\\n Had doting Priam check\\'d his son\\'s desire,\\r\\n Troy had been bright with fame and not with fire.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere feelingly she weeps Troy\\'s painted woes:\\r\\nFor sorrow, like a heavy-hanging bell,\\r\\nOnce set on ringing, with his own weight goes;\\r\\nThen little strength rings out the doleful knell:\\r\\nSo Lucrece set a-work sad tales doth tell\\r\\n To pencill\\'d pensiveness and colour\\'d sorrow;\\r\\n She lends them words, and she their looks doth borrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe throws her eyes about the painting round,\\r\\nAnd whom she finds forlorn she doth lament:\\r\\nAt last she sees a wretched image bound,\\r\\nThat piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent:\\r\\nHis face, though full of cares, yet show\\'d content;\\r\\n Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes,\\r\\n So mild, that Patience seem\\'d to scorn his woes.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn him the painter labour\\'d with his skill\\r\\nTo hide deceit, and give the harmless show\\r\\nAn humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still,\\r\\nA brow unbent, that seem\\'d to welcome woe;\\r\\nCheeks neither red nor pale, but mingled so\\r\\n That blushing red no guilty instance gave,\\r\\n Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut, like a constant and confirmed devil,\\r\\nHe entertain\\'d a show so seeming just,\\r\\nAnd therein so ensconc\\'d his secret evil,\\r\\nThat jealousy itself cold not mistrust\\r\\nFalse-creeping craft and perjury should thrust\\r\\n Into so bright a day such black-fac\\'d storms,\\r\\n Or blot with hell-born sin such saint-like forms.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe well-skill\\'d workman this mild image drew\\r\\nFor perjur\\'d Sinon, whose enchanting story\\r\\nThe credulous Old Priam after slew;\\r\\nWhose words, like wildfire, burnt the shining glory\\r\\nOf rich-built Ilion, that the skies were sorry,\\r\\n And little stars shot from their fixed places,\\r\\n When their glass fell wherein they view\\'d their faces.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis picture she advisedly perus\\'d,\\r\\nAnd chid the painter for his wondrous skill;\\r\\nSaying, some shape in Sinon\\'s was abus\\'d;\\r\\nSo fair a form lodged not a mind so ill:\\r\\nAnd still on him she gaz\\'d; and gazing still,\\r\\n Such signs of truth in his plain face she spied,\\r\\n That she concludes the picture was belied.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'It cannot be,\\' quoth she, \\'that so much guile\\'—\\r\\n(She would have said) \\'can lurk in such a look;\\'\\r\\nBut Tarquin\\'s shape came in her mind the while,\\r\\nAnd from her tongue \\'can lurk\\' from \\'cannot\\' took;\\r\\n\\'It cannot be\\' she in that sense forsook,\\r\\n And turn\\'d it thus: \\'It cannot be, I find,\\r\\n But such a face should bear a wicked mind:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'For even as subtle Sinon here is painted,\\r\\nSo sober-sad, so weary, and so mild,\\r\\n(As if with grief or travail he had fainted,)\\r\\nTo me came Tarquin armed; so beguil\\'d\\r\\nWith outward honesty, but yet defil\\'d\\r\\n With inward vice: as Priam him did cherish,\\r\\n So did I Tarquin; so my Troy did perish.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes,\\r\\nTo see those borrow\\'d tears that Sinon sheds.\\r\\nPriam, why art thou old and yet not wise?\\r\\nFor every tear he falls a Trojan bleeds;\\r\\nHis eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds;\\r\\n Those round clear pearls of his that move thy pity,\\r\\n Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Such devils steal effects from lightless hell;\\r\\nFor Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold,\\r\\nAnd in that cold hot-burning fire doth dwell;\\r\\nThese contraries such unity do hold,\\r\\nOnly to flatter fools, and make them bold;\\r\\n So Priam\\'s trust false Sinon\\'s tears doth flatter,\\r\\n That he finds means to burn his Troy with water.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere, all enrag\\'d, such passion her assails,\\r\\nThat patience is quite beaten from her breast.\\r\\nShe tears the senseless Sinon with her nails,\\r\\nComparing him to that unhappy guest\\r\\nWhose deed hath made herself herself detest;\\r\\n At last she smilingly with this gives o\\'er;\\r\\n \\'Fool, fool!\\' quoth she, \\'his wounds will not be sore.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow,\\r\\nAnd time doth weary time with her complaining.\\r\\nShe looks for night, and then she longs for morrow,\\r\\nAnd both she thinks too long with her remaining:\\r\\nShort time seems long in sorrow\\'s sharp sustaining.\\r\\n Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps;\\r\\n And they that watch see time how slow it creeps.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich all this time hath overslipp\\'d her thought,\\r\\nThat she with painted images hath spent;\\r\\nBeing from the feeling of her own grief brought\\r\\nBy deep surmise of others\\' detriment:\\r\\nLosing her woes in shows of discontent.\\r\\n It easeth some, though none it ever cur\\'d,\\r\\n To think their dolour others have endur\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut now the mindful messenger, come back,\\r\\nBrings home his lord and other company;\\r\\nWho finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black:\\r\\nAnd round about her tear-distained eye\\r\\nBlue circles stream\\'d, like rainbows in the sky.\\r\\n These water-galls in her dim element\\r\\n Foretell new storms to those already spent.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich when her sad-beholding husband saw,\\r\\nAmazedly in her sad face he stares:\\r\\nHer eyes, though sod in tears, look\\'d red and raw,\\r\\nHer lively colour kill\\'d with deadly cares.\\r\\nHe hath no power to ask her how she fares,\\r\\n Both stood, like old acquaintance in a trance,\\r\\n Met far from home, wondering each other\\'s chance.\\r\\n\\r\\nAt last he takes her by the bloodless hand,\\r\\nAnd thus begins: \\'What uncouth ill event\\r\\nHath thee befall\\'n, that thou dost trembling stand?\\r\\nSweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spent?\\r\\nWhy art thou thus attir\\'d in discontent?\\r\\n Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness,\\r\\n And tell thy grief, that we may give redress.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThree times with sighs she gives her sorrow fire,\\r\\nEre once she can discharge one word of woe:\\r\\nAt length address\\'d to answer his desire,\\r\\nShe modestly prepares to let them know\\r\\nHer honour is ta\\'en prisoner by the foe;\\r\\n While Collatine and his consorted lords\\r\\n With sad attention long to hear her words.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd now this pale swan in her watery nest\\r\\nBegins the sad dirge of her certain ending:\\r\\n\\'Few words,\\' quoth she, \\'shall fit the trespass best,\\r\\nWhere no excuse can give the fault amending:\\r\\nIn me more woes than words are now depending;\\r\\n And my laments would be drawn out too long,\\r\\n To tell them all with one poor tired tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Then be this all the task it hath to say:—\\r\\nDear husband, in the interest of thy bed\\r\\nA stranger came, and on that pillow lay\\r\\nWhere thou wast wont to rest thy weary head;\\r\\nAnd what wrong else may be imagined\\r\\n By foul enforcement might be done to me,\\r\\n From that, alas! thy Lucrece is not free.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight,\\r\\nWith shining falchion in my chamber came\\r\\nA creeping creature, with a flaming light,\\r\\nAnd softly cried Awake, thou Roman dame,\\r\\nAnd entertain my love; else lasting shame\\r\\n On thee and thine this night I will inflict,\\r\\n If thou my love\\'s desire do contradict.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'For some hard-favour\\'d groom of thine, quoth he,\\r\\nUnless thou yoke thy liking to my will,\\r\\nI\\'ll murder straight, and then I\\'ll slaughter thee\\r\\nAnd swear I found you where you did fulfil\\r\\nThe loathsome act of lust, and so did kill\\r\\n The lechers in their deed: this act will be\\r\\n My fame and thy perpetual infamy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'With this, I did begin to start and cry,\\r\\nAnd then against my heart he sets his sword,\\r\\nSwearing, unless I took all patiently,\\r\\nI should not live to speak another word;\\r\\nSo should my shame still rest upon record,\\r\\n And never be forgot in mighty Rome\\r\\n The adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak,\\r\\nAnd far the weaker with so strong a fear:\\r\\nMy bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak;\\r\\nNo rightful plea might plead for justice there:\\r\\nHis scarlet lust came evidence to swear\\r\\n That my poor beauty had purloin\\'d his eyes;\\r\\n And when the judge is robb\\'d the prisoner dies.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O, teach me how to make mine own excuse!\\r\\nOr at the least this refuge let me find;\\r\\nThough my gross blood be stain\\'d with this abuse,\\r\\nImmaculate and spotless is my mind;\\r\\nThat was not forc\\'d; that never was inclin\\'d\\r\\n To accessary yieldings, but still pure\\r\\n Doth in her poison\\'d closet yet endure.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nLo, here, the hopeless merchant of this loss,\\r\\nWith head declin\\'d, and voice damm\\'d up with woe,\\r\\nWith sad set eyes, and wretched arms across,\\r\\nFrom lips new-waxen pale begins to blow\\r\\nThe grief away that stops his answer so:\\r\\n But wretched as he is he strives in vain;\\r\\n What he breathes out his breath drinks up again.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs through an arch the violent roaring tide\\r\\nOutruns the eye that doth behold his haste;\\r\\nYet in the eddy boundeth in his pride\\r\\nBack to the strait that forc\\'d him on so fast;\\r\\nIn rage sent out, recall\\'d in rage, being past:\\r\\n Even so his sighs, his sorrows make a saw.\\r\\n To push grief on, and back the same grief draw.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich speechless woe of his poor she attendeth,\\r\\nAnd his untimely frenzy thus awaketh:\\r\\n\\'Dear Lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth\\r\\nAnother power; no flood by raining slaketh.\\r\\nMy woe too sensible thy passion maketh\\r\\n More feeling-painful: let it then suffice\\r\\n To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And for my sake, when I might charm thee so,\\r\\nFor she that was thy Lucrece,—now attend me;\\r\\nBe suddenly revenged on my foe,\\r\\nThine, mine, his own: suppose thou dost defend me\\r\\nFrom what is past: the help that thou shalt lend me\\r\\n Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die;\\r\\n For sparing justice feeds iniquity.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'But ere I name him, you fair lords,\\' quoth she,\\r\\n(Speaking to those that came with Collatine)\\r\\n\\'Shall plight your honourable faiths to me,\\r\\nWith swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine;\\r\\nFor \\'tis a meritorious fair design\\r\\n To chase injustice with revengeful arms:\\r\\n Knights, by their oaths, should right poor ladies\\' harms.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nAt this request, with noble disposition\\r\\nEach present lord began to promise aid,\\r\\nAs bound in knighthood to her imposition,\\r\\nLonging to hear the hateful foe bewray\\'d.\\r\\nBut she, that yet her sad task hath not said,\\r\\n The protestation stops. \\'O, speak,\\' quoth she,\\r\\n \\'How may this forced stain be wip\\'d from me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'What is the quality of mine offence,\\r\\nBeing constrain\\'d with dreadful circumstance?\\r\\nMay my pure mind with the foul act dispense,\\r\\nMy low-declined honour to advance?\\r\\nMay any terms acquit me from this chance?\\r\\n The poison\\'d fountain clears itself again;\\r\\n And why not I from this compelled stain?\\r\\n\\r\\nWith this, they all at once began to say,\\r\\nHer body\\'s stain her mind untainted clears;\\r\\nWhile with a joyless smile she turns away\\r\\nThe face, that map which deep impression bears\\r\\nOf hard misfortune, carv\\'d in it with tears.\\r\\n \\'No, no,\\' quoth she, \\'no dame, hereafter living,\\r\\n By my excuse shall claim excuse\\'s giving.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere with a sigh, as if her heart would break,\\r\\nShe throws forth Tarquin\\'s name: \\'He, he,\\' she says,\\r\\nBut more than \\'he\\' her poor tongue could not speak;\\r\\nTill after many accents and delays,\\r\\nUntimely breathings, sick and short assays,\\r\\n She utters this: \\'He, he, fair lords, \\'tis he,\\r\\n That guides this hand to give this wound to me.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nEven here she sheathed in her harmless breast\\r\\nA harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheath\\'d:\\r\\nThat blow did bail it from the deep unrest\\r\\nOf that polluted prison where it breath\\'d:\\r\\nHer contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeath\\'d\\r\\n Her winged sprite, and through her wounds doth fly\\r\\n Life\\'s lasting date from cancell\\'d destiny.\\r\\n\\r\\nStone-still, astonish\\'d with this deadly deed,\\r\\nStood Collatine and all his lordly crew;\\r\\nTill Lucrece\\' father that beholds her bleed,\\r\\nHimself on her self-slaughter\\'d body threw;\\r\\nAnd from the purple fountain Brutus drew\\r\\n The murderous knife, and, as it left the place,\\r\\n Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase;\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd bubbling from her breast, it doth divide\\r\\nIn two slow rivers, that the crimson blood\\r\\nCircles her body in on every side,\\r\\nWho, like a late-sack\\'d island, vastly stood\\r\\nBare and unpeopled, in this fearful flood.\\r\\n Some of her blood still pure and red remain\\'d,\\r\\n And some look\\'d black, and that false Tarquin stain\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nAbout the mourning and congealed face\\r\\nOf that black blood a watery rigol goes,\\r\\nWhich seems to weep upon the tainted place:\\r\\nAnd ever since, as pitying Lucrece\\' woes,\\r\\nCorrupted blood some watery token shows;\\r\\n And blood untainted still doth red abide,\\r\\n Blushing at that which is so putrified.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Daughter, dear daughter,\\' old Lucretius cries,\\r\\n\\'That life was mine which thou hast here depriv\\'d.\\r\\nIf in the child the father\\'s image lies,\\r\\nWhere shall I live now Lucrece is unliv\\'d?\\r\\nThou wast not to this end from me deriv\\'d\\r\\n If children pre-decease progenitors,\\r\\n We are their offspring, and they none of ours.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Poor broken glass, I often did behold\\r\\nIn thy sweet semblance my old age new born;\\r\\nBut now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old,\\r\\nShows me a bare-bon\\'d death by time outworn;\\r\\nO, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn!\\r\\n And shiver\\'d all the beauty of my glass,\\r\\n That I no more can see what once I was!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O time, cease thou thy course and last no longer,\\r\\nIf they surcease to be that should survive.\\r\\nShall rotten death make conquest of the stronger,\\r\\nAnd leave the faltering feeble souls alive?\\r\\nThe old bees die, the young possess their hive:\\r\\n Then live, sweet Lucrece, live again, and see\\r\\n Thy father die, and not thy father thee!\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this starts Collatine as from a dream,\\r\\nAnd bids Lucretius give his sorrow place;\\r\\nAnd then in key-cold Lucrece\\' bleeding stream\\r\\nHe falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face,\\r\\nAnd counterfeits to die with her a space;\\r\\n Till manly shame bids him possess his breath,\\r\\n And live, to be revenged on her death.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe deep vexation of his inward soul\\r\\nHath serv\\'d a dumb arrest upon his tongue;\\r\\nWho, mad that sorrow should his use control,\\r\\nOr keep him from heart-easing words so long,\\r\\nBegins to talk; but through his lips do throng\\r\\n Weak words, so thick come in his poor heart\\'s aid,\\r\\n That no man could distinguish what he said.\\r\\n\\r\\nYet sometime \\'Tarquin\\' was pronounced plain,\\r\\nBut through his teeth, as if the name he tore.\\r\\nThis windy tempest, till it blow up rain,\\r\\nHeld back his sorrow\\'s tide, to make it more;\\r\\nAt last it rains, and busy winds give o\\'er:\\r\\n Then son and father weep with equal strife,\\r\\n Who should weep most, for daughter or for wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe one doth call her his, the other his,\\r\\nYet neither may possess the claim they lay,\\r\\nThe father says \\'She\\'s mine,\\' \\'O, mine she is,\\'\\r\\nReplies her husband: \\'do not take away\\r\\nMy sorrow\\'s interest; let no mourner say\\r\\n He weeps for her, for she was only mine,\\r\\n And only must be wail\\'d by Collatine.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O,\\' quoth Lucretius, \\'I did give that life\\r\\nWhich she too early and too late hath spill\\'d.\\'\\r\\n\\'Woe, woe,\\' quoth Collatine, \\'she was my wife,\\r\\nI owed her, and \\'tis mine that she hath kill\\'d.\\'\\r\\n\\'My daughter\\' and \\'my wife\\' with clamours fill\\'d\\r\\n The dispers\\'d air, who, holding Lucrece\\' life,\\r\\n Answer\\'d their cries, \\'My daughter!\\' and \\'My wife!\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nBrutus, who pluck\\'d the knife from Lucrece\\' side,\\r\\nSeeing such emulation in their woe,\\r\\nBegan to clothe his wit in state and pride,\\r\\nBurying in Lucrece\\' wound his folly\\'s show.\\r\\nHe with the Romans was esteemed so\\r\\n As silly-jeering idiots are with kings,\\r\\n For sportive words, and uttering foolish things:\\r\\n\\r\\nBut now he throws that shallow habit by,\\r\\nWherein deep policy did him disguise;\\r\\nAnd arm\\'d his long-hid wits advisedly,\\r\\nTo check the tears in Collatinus\\' eyes.\\r\\n\\'Thou wronged lord of Rome,\\' quoth he, \\'arise;\\r\\n Let my unsounded self, suppos\\'d a fool,\\r\\n Now set thy long-experienc\\'d wit to school.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe?\\r\\nDo wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous deeds?\\r\\nIs it revenge to give thyself a blow,\\r\\nFor his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds?\\r\\nSuch childish humour from weak minds proceeds:\\r\\n Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so,\\r\\n To slay herself, that should have slain her foe.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart\\r\\nIn such relenting dew of lamentations,\\r\\nBut kneel with me, and help to bear thy part,\\r\\nTo rouse our Roman gods with invocations,\\r\\nThat they will suffer these abominations,\\r\\n (Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgrac\\'d,)\\r\\n By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chas\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Now, by the Capitol that we adore,\\r\\nAnd by this chaste blood so unjustly stain\\'d,\\r\\nBy heaven\\'s fair sun that breeds the fat earth\\'s store,\\r\\nBy all our country rights in Rome maintain\\'d,\\r\\nAnd by chaste Lucrece\\' soul that late complain\\'d\\r\\n Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife,\\r\\n We will revenge the death of this true wife.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, he struck his hand upon his breast,\\r\\nAnd kiss\\'d the fatal knife, to end his vow;\\r\\nAnd to his protestation urg\\'d the rest,\\r\\nWho, wondering at him, did his words allow;\\r\\nThen jointly to the ground their knees they bow;\\r\\n And that deep vow, which Brutus made before,\\r\\n He doth again repeat, and that they swore.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen they had sworn to this advised doom,\\r\\nThey did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence;\\r\\nTo show her bleeding body thorough Rome,\\r\\nAnd so to publish Tarquin\\'s foul offence:\\r\\nWhich being done with speedy diligence,\\r\\n The Romans plausibly did give consent\\r\\n To Tarquin\\'s everlasting banishment.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VENUS AND ADONIS\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n _Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo\\r\\n Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua._\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE\\r\\nHENRY WRIOTHESLEY, EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON,\\r\\nand Baron of Titchfield.\\r\\n\\r\\nRight Honourable, I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my\\r\\nunpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will censure me\\r\\nfor choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burthen: only, if\\r\\nyour honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow\\r\\nto take advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some\\r\\ngraver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I\\r\\nshall be sorry it had so noble a godfather, and never after ear so\\r\\nbarren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it\\r\\nto your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart’s content;\\r\\nwhich I wish may always answer your own wish and the world’s hopeful\\r\\nexpectation.\\r\\n\\r\\nYour honour’s in all duty,\\r\\nWILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VENUS AND ADONIS\\r\\n\\r\\nEven as the sun with purple-colour’d face\\r\\nHad ta’en his last leave of the weeping morn,\\r\\nRose-cheek’d Adonis tried him to the chase;\\r\\nHunting he lov’d, but love he laugh’d to scorn; 4\\r\\n Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,\\r\\n And like a bold-fac’d suitor ’gins to woo him.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Thrice fairer than myself,” thus she began,\\r\\n“The field’s chief flower, sweet above compare, 8\\r\\nStain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,\\r\\nMore white and red than doves or roses are:\\r\\n Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,\\r\\n Saith that the world hath ending with thy life. 12\\r\\n\\r\\n“Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,\\r\\nAnd rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;\\r\\nIf thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed\\r\\nA thousand honey secrets shalt thou know: 16\\r\\n Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,\\r\\n And being set, I’ll smother thee with kisses.\\r\\n\\r\\n“And yet not cloy thy lips with loath’d satiety,\\r\\nBut rather famish them amid their plenty, 20\\r\\nMaking them red, and pale, with fresh variety:\\r\\nTen kisses short as one, one long as twenty:\\r\\n A summer’s day will seem an hour but short,\\r\\n Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.” 24\\r\\n\\r\\nWith this she seizeth on his sweating palm,\\r\\nThe precedent of pith and livelihood,\\r\\nAnd trembling in her passion, calls it balm,\\r\\nEarth’s sovereign salve to do a goddess good: 28\\r\\n Being so enrag’d, desire doth lend her force\\r\\n Courageously to pluck him from his horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nOver one arm the lusty courser’s rein,\\r\\nUnder her other was the tender boy, 32\\r\\nWho blush’d and pouted in a dull disdain,\\r\\nWith leaden appetite, unapt to toy;\\r\\n She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,\\r\\n He red for shame, but frosty in desire. 36\\r\\n\\r\\nThe studded bridle on a ragged bough\\r\\nNimbly she fastens;—O! how quick is love!—\\r\\nThe steed is stalled up, and even now\\r\\nTo tie the rider she begins to prove: 40\\r\\n Backward she push’d him, as she would be thrust,\\r\\n And govern’d him in strength, though not in lust.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo soon was she along, as he was down,\\r\\nEach leaning on their elbows and their hips: 44\\r\\nNow doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,\\r\\nAnd ’gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips,\\r\\n And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,\\r\\n “If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.” 48\\r\\n\\r\\nHe burns with bashful shame, she with her tears\\r\\nDoth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;\\r\\nThen with her windy sighs and golden hairs\\r\\nTo fan and blow them dry again she seeks. 52\\r\\n He saith she is immodest, blames her miss;\\r\\n What follows more, she murders with a kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nEven as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,\\r\\nTires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone, 56\\r\\nShaking her wings, devouring all in haste,\\r\\nTill either gorge be stuff’d or prey be gone:\\r\\n Even so she kiss’d his brow, his cheek, his chin,\\r\\n And where she ends she doth anew begin. 60\\r\\n\\r\\nForc’d to content, but never to obey,\\r\\nPanting he lies, and breatheth in her face.\\r\\nShe feedeth on the steam, as on a prey,\\r\\nAnd calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace, 64\\r\\n Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers\\r\\n So they were dew’d with such distilling showers.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook how a bird lies tangled in a net,\\r\\nSo fasten’d in her arms Adonis lies; 68\\r\\nPure shame and aw’d resistance made him fret,\\r\\nWhich bred more beauty in his angry eyes:\\r\\n Rain added to a river that is rank\\r\\n Perforce will force it overflow the bank. 72\\r\\n\\r\\nStill she entreats, and prettily entreats,\\r\\nFor to a pretty ear she tunes her tale.\\r\\nStill is he sullen, still he lours and frets,\\r\\n’Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy pale; 76\\r\\n Being red she loves him best, and being white,\\r\\n Her best is better’d with a more delight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook how he can, she cannot choose but love;\\r\\nAnd by her fair immortal hand she swears, 80\\r\\nFrom his soft bosom never to remove,\\r\\nTill he take truce with her contending tears,\\r\\n Which long have rain’d, making her cheeks all wet;\\r\\n And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.\\r\\n\\r\\nUpon this promise did he raise his chin, 85\\r\\nLike a dive-dapper peering through a wave,\\r\\nWho, being look’d on, ducks as quickly in;\\r\\nSo offers he to give what she did crave, 88\\r\\n But when her lips were ready for his pay,\\r\\n He winks, and turns his lips another way.\\r\\n\\r\\nNever did passenger in summer’s heat\\r\\nMore thirst for drink than she for this good turn. 92\\r\\nHer help she sees, but help she cannot get;\\r\\nShe bathes in water, yet her fire must burn:\\r\\n “O! pity,” ’gan she cry, “flint-hearted boy,\\r\\n ’Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy? 96\\r\\n\\r\\n“I have been woo’d as I entreat thee now,\\r\\nEven by the stern and direful god of war,\\r\\nWhose sinewy neck in battle ne’er did bow,\\r\\nWho conquers where he comes in every jar; 100\\r\\n Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,\\r\\n And begg’d for that which thou unask’d shalt have.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Over my altars hath he hung his lance,\\r\\nHis batter’d shield, his uncontrolled crest, 104\\r\\nAnd for my sake hath learn’d to sport and dance,\\r\\nTo toy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest;\\r\\n Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red\\r\\n Making my arms his field, his tent my bed. 108\\r\\n\\r\\n“Thus he that overrul’d I oversway’d,\\r\\nLeading him prisoner in a red rose chain:\\r\\nStrong-temper’d steel his stronger strength obey’d,\\r\\nYet was he servile to my coy disdain. 112\\r\\n Oh be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,\\r\\n For mast’ring her that foil’d the god of fight.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine,\\r\\nThough mine be not so fair, yet are they red, 116\\r\\nThe kiss shall be thine own as well as mine:\\r\\nWhat see’st thou in the ground? hold up thy head,\\r\\n Look in mine eyeballs, there thy beauty lies;\\r\\n Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes? 120\\r\\n\\r\\n“Art thou asham’d to kiss? then wink again,\\r\\nAnd I will wink; so shall the day seem night.\\r\\nLove keeps his revels where there are but twain;\\r\\nBe bold to play, our sport is not in sight, 124\\r\\n These blue-vein’d violets whereon we lean\\r\\n Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.\\r\\n\\r\\n“The tender spring upon thy tempting lip 127\\r\\nShows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted,\\r\\nMake use of time, let not advantage slip;\\r\\nBeauty within itself should not be wasted,\\r\\n Fair flowers that are not gather’d in their prime\\r\\n Rot, and consume themselves in little time. 132\\r\\n\\r\\n“Were I hard-favour’d, foul, or wrinkled old,\\r\\nIll-nurtur’d, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,\\r\\nO’erworn, despised, rheumatic, and cold,\\r\\nThick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice, 136\\r\\n Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee;\\r\\n But having no defects, why dost abhor me?\\r\\n\\r\\n“Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow, 139\\r\\nMine eyes are grey and bright, and quick in turning;\\r\\nMy beauty as the spring doth yearly grow,\\r\\nMy flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning,\\r\\n My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt,\\r\\n Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt. 144\\r\\n\\r\\n“Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,\\r\\nOr like a fairy, trip upon the green,\\r\\nOr like a nymph, with long dishevell’d hair,\\r\\nDance on the sands, and yet no footing seen. 148\\r\\n Love is a spirit all compact of fire,\\r\\n Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie: 151\\r\\nThese forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me;\\r\\nTwo strengthless doves will draw me through the sky,\\r\\nFrom morn till night, even where I list to sport me.\\r\\n Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be\\r\\n That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee? 156\\r\\n\\r\\n“Is thine own heart to thine own face affected?\\r\\nCan thy right hand seize love upon thy left?\\r\\nThen woo thyself, be of thyself rejected,\\r\\nSteal thine own freedom, and complain on theft. 160\\r\\n Narcissus so himself himself forsook,\\r\\n And died to kiss his shadow in the brook.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Torches are made to light, jewels to wear,\\r\\nDainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use, 164\\r\\nHerbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear;\\r\\nThings growing to themselves are growth’s abuse,\\r\\n Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth beauty;\\r\\n Thou wast begot; to get it is thy duty. 168\\r\\n\\r\\n“Upon the earth’s increase why shouldst thou feed,\\r\\nUnless the earth with thy increase be fed?\\r\\nBy law of nature thou art bound to breed,\\r\\nThat thine may live when thou thyself art dead; 172\\r\\n And so in spite of death thou dost survive,\\r\\n In that thy likeness still is left alive.”\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this the love-sick queen began to sweat,\\r\\nFor where they lay the shadow had forsook them, 176\\r\\nAnd Titan, tired in the midday heat,\\r\\nWith burning eye did hotly overlook them,\\r\\n Wishing Adonis had his team to guide,\\r\\n So he were like him and by Venus’ side. 180\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd now Adonis with a lazy spright,\\r\\nAnd with a heavy, dark, disliking eye,\\r\\nHis louring brows o’erwhelming his fair sight,\\r\\nLike misty vapours when they blot the sky, 184\\r\\n Souring his cheeks, cries, “Fie, no more of love:\\r\\n The sun doth burn my face; I must remove.”\\r\\n\\r\\n“Ay me,” quoth Venus, “young, and so unkind!\\r\\nWhat bare excuses mak’st thou to be gone! 188\\r\\nI’ll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind\\r\\nShall cool the heat of this descending sun:\\r\\n I’ll make a shadow for thee of my hairs;\\r\\n If they burn too, I’ll quench them with my tears. 192\\r\\n\\r\\n“The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm,\\r\\nAnd lo I lie between that sun and thee:\\r\\nThe heat I have from thence doth little harm,\\r\\nThine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me; 196\\r\\n And were I not immortal, life were done,\\r\\n Between this heavenly and earthly sun.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel?\\r\\nNay more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth: 200\\r\\nArt thou a woman’s son and canst not feel\\r\\nWhat ’tis to love, how want of love tormenteth?\\r\\n O had thy mother borne so hard a mind,\\r\\n She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind. 204\\r\\n\\r\\n“What am I that thou shouldst contemn me this?\\r\\nOr what great danger dwells upon my suit?\\r\\nWhat were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss?\\r\\nSpeak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute: 208\\r\\n Give me one kiss, I’ll give it thee again,\\r\\n And one for int’rest, if thou wilt have twain.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,\\r\\nWell-painted idol, image dull and dead, 212\\r\\nStatue contenting but the eye alone,\\r\\nThing like a man, but of no woman bred:\\r\\n Thou art no man, though of a man’s complexion,\\r\\n For men will kiss even by their own direction.” 216\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue,\\r\\nAnd swelling passion doth provoke a pause;\\r\\nRed cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong;\\r\\nBeing judge in love, she cannot right her cause. 220\\r\\n And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak,\\r\\n And now her sobs do her intendments break.\\r\\n\\r\\nSometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand,\\r\\nNow gazeth she on him, now on the ground; 224\\r\\nSometimes her arms infold him like a band:\\r\\nShe would, he will not in her arms be bound;\\r\\n And when from thence he struggles to be gone,\\r\\n She locks her lily fingers one in one. 228\\r\\n\\r\\n“Fondling,” she saith, “since I have hemm’d thee here\\r\\nWithin the circuit of this ivory pale,\\r\\nI’ll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer;\\r\\nFeed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale: 232\\r\\n Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry,\\r\\n Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Within this limit is relief enough,\\r\\nSweet bottom grass and high delightful plain, 236\\r\\nRound rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough,\\r\\nTo shelter thee from tempest and from rain:\\r\\n Then be my deer, since I am such a park, 239\\r\\n No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark.”\\r\\n\\r\\nAt this Adonis smiles as in disdain,\\r\\nThat in each cheek appears a pretty dimple;\\r\\nLove made those hollows, if himself were slain,\\r\\nHe might be buried in a tomb so simple; 244\\r\\n Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie,\\r\\n Why there love liv’d, and there he could not die.\\r\\n\\r\\nThese lovely caves, these round enchanting pits,\\r\\nOpen’d their mouths to swallow Venus’ liking. 248\\r\\nBeing mad before, how doth she now for wits?\\r\\nStruck dead at first, what needs a second striking?\\r\\n Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn,\\r\\n To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn! 252\\r\\n\\r\\nNow which way shall she turn? what shall she say?\\r\\nHer words are done, her woes the more increasing;\\r\\nThe time is spent, her object will away,\\r\\nAnd from her twining arms doth urge releasing: 256\\r\\n “Pity,” she cries; “some favour, some remorse!”\\r\\n Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut lo from forth a copse that neighbours by,\\r\\nA breeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud, 260\\r\\nAdonis’ tramping courser doth espy,\\r\\nAnd forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud:\\r\\n The strong-neck’d steed, being tied unto a tree,\\r\\n Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he. 264\\r\\n\\r\\nImperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,\\r\\nAnd now his woven girths he breaks asunder;\\r\\nThe bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,\\r\\nWhose hollow womb resounds like heaven’s thunder;\\r\\n The iron bit he crusheth ’tween his teeth, 269\\r\\n Controlling what he was controlled with.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis ears up-prick’d; his braided hanging mane\\r\\nUpon his compass’d crest now stand on end; 272\\r\\nHis nostrils drink the air, and forth again,\\r\\nAs from a furnace, vapours doth he send:\\r\\n His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire,\\r\\n Shows his hot courage and his high desire. 276\\r\\n\\r\\nSometime he trots, as if he told the steps,\\r\\nWith gentle majesty and modest pride;\\r\\nAnon he rears upright, curvets and leaps,\\r\\nAs who should say, “Lo thus my strength is tried;\\r\\n And this I do to captivate the eye 281\\r\\n Of the fair breeder that is standing by.”\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat recketh he his rider’s angry stir,\\r\\nHis flattering “Holla”, or his “Stand, I say”? 284\\r\\nWhat cares he now for curb or pricking spur?\\r\\nFor rich caparisons or trappings gay?\\r\\n He sees his love, and nothing else he sees,\\r\\n Nor nothing else with his proud sight agrees. 288\\r\\n\\r\\nLook when a painter would surpass the life,\\r\\nIn limning out a well-proportion’d steed,\\r\\nHis art with nature’s workmanship at strife,\\r\\nAs if the dead the living should exceed: 292\\r\\n So did this horse excel a common one,\\r\\n In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone.\\r\\n\\r\\nRound-hoof’d, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long,\\r\\nBroad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril wide,\\r\\nHigh crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong,\\r\\nThin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide:\\r\\n Look, what a horse should have he did not lack,\\r\\n Save a proud rider on so proud a back. 300\\r\\n\\r\\nSometimes he scuds far off, and there he stares;\\r\\nAnon he starts at stirring of a feather:\\r\\nTo bid the wind a base he now prepares,\\r\\nAnd where he run or fly they know not whether; 304\\r\\n For through his mane and tail the high wind sings,\\r\\n Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather’d wings.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe looks upon his love, and neighs unto her;\\r\\nShe answers him as if she knew his mind, 308\\r\\nBeing proud, as females are, to see him woo her,\\r\\nShe puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind,\\r\\n Spurns at his love and scorns the heat he feels,\\r\\n Beating his kind embracements with her heels. 312\\r\\n\\r\\nThen like a melancholy malcontent,\\r\\nHe vails his tail that like a falling plume,\\r\\nCool shadow to his melting buttock lent:\\r\\nHe stamps, and bites the poor flies in his fume. 316\\r\\n His love, perceiving how he was enrag’d,\\r\\n Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis testy master goeth about to take him,\\r\\nWhen lo the unback’d breeder, full of fear, 320\\r\\nJealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him,\\r\\nWith her the horse, and left Adonis there:\\r\\n As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them,\\r\\n Outstripping crows that strive to overfly them. 324\\r\\n\\r\\nAll swoln with chafing, down Adonis sits,\\r\\nBanning his boisterous and unruly beast;\\r\\nAnd now the happy season once more fits\\r\\nThat love-sick love by pleading may be blest; 328\\r\\n For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong,\\r\\n When it is barr’d the aidance of the tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nAn oven that is stopp’d, or river stay’d,\\r\\nBurneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage: 332\\r\\nSo of concealed sorrow may be said,\\r\\nFree vent of words love’s fire doth assuage;\\r\\n But when the heart’s attorney once is mute,\\r\\n The client breaks, as desperate in his suit. 336\\r\\n\\r\\nHe sees her coming, and begins to glow,\\r\\nEven as a dying coal revives with wind,\\r\\nAnd with his bonnet hides his angry brow,\\r\\nLooks on the dull earth with disturbed mind, 340\\r\\n Taking no notice that she is so nigh,\\r\\n For all askance he holds her in his eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nO what a sight it was, wistly to view\\r\\nHow she came stealing to the wayward boy, 344\\r\\nTo note the fighting conflict of her hue,\\r\\nHow white and red each other did destroy:\\r\\n But now her cheek was pale, and by and by\\r\\n It flash’d forth fire, as lightning from the sky. 348\\r\\n\\r\\nNow was she just before him as he sat,\\r\\nAnd like a lowly lover down she kneels;\\r\\nWith one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,\\r\\nHer other tender hand his fair cheek feels: 352\\r\\n His tend’rer cheek receives her soft hand’s print,\\r\\n As apt as new-fall’n snow takes any dint.\\r\\n\\r\\nOh what a war of looks was then between them,\\r\\nHer eyes petitioners to his eyes suing, 356\\r\\nHis eyes saw her eyes, as they had not seen them,\\r\\nHer eyes woo’d still, his eyes disdain’d the wooing:\\r\\n And all this dumb play had his acts made plain\\r\\n With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain.\\r\\n\\r\\nFull gently now she takes him by the hand, 361\\r\\nA lily prison’d in a gaol of snow,\\r\\nOr ivory in an alabaster band,\\r\\nSo white a friend engirts so white a foe: 364\\r\\n This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling,\\r\\n Show’d like two silver doves that sit a-billing.\\r\\n\\r\\nOnce more the engine of her thoughts began:\\r\\n“O fairest mover on this mortal round, 368\\r\\nWould thou wert as I am, and I a man,\\r\\nMy heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound,\\r\\n For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee,\\r\\n Though nothing but my body’s bane would cure thee.”\\r\\n\\r\\n“Give me my hand,” saith he, “why dost thou feel it?”\\r\\n“Give me my heart,” saith she, “and thou shalt have it.\\r\\nO give it me lest thy hard heart do steel it,\\r\\nAnd being steel’d, soft sighs can never grave it. 376\\r\\n Then love’s deep groans I never shall regard,\\r\\n Because Adonis’ heart hath made mine hard.”\\r\\n\\r\\n“For shame,” he cries, “let go, and let me go,\\r\\nMy day’s delight is past, my horse is gone, 380\\r\\nAnd ’tis your fault I am bereft him so,\\r\\nI pray you hence, and leave me here alone,\\r\\n For all my mind, my thought, my busy care,\\r\\n Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.” 384\\r\\n\\r\\nThus she replies: “Thy palfrey as he should,\\r\\nWelcomes the warm approach of sweet desire,\\r\\nAffection is a coal that must be cool’d;\\r\\nElse, suffer’d, it will set the heart on fire, 388\\r\\n The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none;\\r\\n Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n“How like a jade he stood tied to the tree,\\r\\nServilely master’d with a leathern rein! 392\\r\\nBut when he saw his love, his youth’s fair fee,\\r\\nHe held such petty bondage in disdain;\\r\\n Throwing the base thong from his bending crest,\\r\\n Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast. 396\\r\\n\\r\\n“Who sees his true-love in her naked bed,\\r\\nTeaching the sheets a whiter hue than white,\\r\\nBut when his glutton eye so full hath fed,\\r\\nHis other agents aim at like delight? 400\\r\\n Who is so faint that dare not be so bold\\r\\n To touch the fire, the weather being cold?\\r\\n\\r\\n“Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy,\\r\\nAnd learn of him, I heartily beseech thee, 404\\r\\nTo take advantage on presented joy,\\r\\nThough I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee.\\r\\n O learn to love, the lesson is but plain,\\r\\n And once made perfect, never lost again.” 408\\r\\n\\r\\n“I know not love,” quoth he, “nor will not know it,\\r\\nUnless it be a boar, and then I chase it;\\r\\n’Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it;\\r\\nMy love to love is love but to disgrace it; 412\\r\\n For I have heard, it is a life in death,\\r\\n That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish’d?\\r\\nWho plucks the bud before one leaf put forth? 416\\r\\nIf springing things be any jot diminish’d,\\r\\nThey wither in their prime, prove nothing worth;\\r\\n The colt that’s back’d and burden’d being young,\\r\\n Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong. 420\\r\\n\\r\\n“You hurt my hand with wringing. Let us part,\\r\\nAnd leave this idle theme, this bootless chat:\\r\\nRemove your siege from my unyielding heart,\\r\\nTo love’s alarms it will not ope the gate: 424\\r\\n Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flatt’ry;\\r\\n For where a heart is hard they make no batt’ry.”\\r\\n\\r\\n“What! canst thou talk?” quoth she, “hast thou a tongue?\\r\\nO would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing; 428\\r\\nThy mermaid’s voice hath done me double wrong;\\r\\nI had my load before, now press’d with bearing:\\r\\n Melodious discord, heavenly tune, harsh-sounding,\\r\\n Ear’s deep sweet music, and heart’s deep sore wounding.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love 433\\r\\nThat inward beauty and invisible;\\r\\nOr were I deaf, thy outward parts would move\\r\\nEach part in me that were but sensible: 436\\r\\n Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see,\\r\\n Yet should I be in love by touching thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Say that the sense of feeling were bereft me,\\r\\nAnd that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch, 440\\r\\nAnd nothing but the very smell were left me,\\r\\nYet would my love to thee be still as much;\\r\\n For from the stillitory of thy face excelling\\r\\n Comes breath perfum’d, that breedeth love by smelling.\\r\\n\\r\\n“But oh what banquet wert thou to the taste, 445\\r\\nBeing nurse and feeder of the other four;\\r\\nWould they not wish the feast might ever last,\\r\\nAnd bid suspicion double-lock the door,\\r\\n Lest jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest,\\r\\n Should by his stealing in disturb the feast?” 448\\r\\n\\r\\nOnce more the ruby-colour’d portal open’d,\\r\\nWhich to his speech did honey passage yield, 452\\r\\nLike a red morn that ever yet betoken’d\\r\\nWrack to the seaman, tempest to the field,\\r\\n Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds,\\r\\n Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds. 456\\r\\n\\r\\nThis ill presage advisedly she marketh:\\r\\nEven as the wind is hush’d before it raineth,\\r\\nOr as the wolf doth grin before he barketh,\\r\\nOr as the berry breaks before it staineth, 460\\r\\n Or like the deadly bullet of a gun,\\r\\n His meaning struck her ere his words begun.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd at his look she flatly falleth down\\r\\nFor looks kill love, and love by looks reviveth; 464\\r\\nA smile recures the wounding of a frown;\\r\\nBut blessed bankrout, that by love so thriveth!\\r\\n The silly boy, believing she is dead,\\r\\n Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red. 468\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd all amaz’d brake off his late intent,\\r\\nFor sharply he did think to reprehend her,\\r\\nWhich cunning love did wittily prevent:\\r\\nFair fall the wit that can so well defend her! 472\\r\\n For on the grass she lies as she were slain,\\r\\n Till his breath breatheth life in her again.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks,\\r\\nHe bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard, 476\\r\\nHe chafes her lips; a thousand ways he seeks\\r\\nTo mend the hurt that his unkindness marr’d:\\r\\n He kisses her; and she, by her good will,\\r\\n Will never rise, so he will kiss her still. 480\\r\\n\\r\\nThe night of sorrow now is turn’d to day:\\r\\nHer two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth,\\r\\nLike the fair sun when in his fresh array\\r\\nHe cheers the morn, and all the world relieveth: 484\\r\\n And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,\\r\\n So is her face illumin’d with her eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhose beams upon his hairless face are fix’d,\\r\\nAs if from thence they borrow’d all their shine. 488\\r\\nWere never four such lamps together mix’d,\\r\\nHad not his clouded with his brow’s repine;\\r\\n But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light\\r\\n Shone like the moon in water seen by night. 492\\r\\n\\r\\n“O where am I?” quoth she, “in earth or heaven?\\r\\nOr in the ocean drench’d, or in the fire?\\r\\nWhat hour is this? or morn or weary even?\\r\\nDo I delight to die, or life desire? 496\\r\\n But now I liv’d, and life was death’s annoy;\\r\\n But now I died, and death was lively joy.\\r\\n\\r\\n“O thou didst kill me; kill me once again:\\r\\nThy eyes’ shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine, 500\\r\\nHath taught them scornful tricks, and such disdain,\\r\\nThat they have murder’d this poor heart of mine;\\r\\n And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen,\\r\\n But for thy piteous lips no more had seen. 504\\r\\n\\r\\n“Long may they kiss each other for this cure!\\r\\nOh never let their crimson liveries wear,\\r\\nAnd as they last, their verdure still endure,\\r\\nTo drive infection from the dangerous year: 508\\r\\n That the star-gazers, having writ on death,\\r\\n May say, the plague is banish’d by thy breath.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted,\\r\\nWhat bargains may I make, still to be sealing? 512\\r\\nTo sell myself I can be well contented,\\r\\nSo thou wilt buy, and pay, and use good dealing;\\r\\n Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips,\\r\\n Set thy seal manual on my wax-red lips. 516\\r\\n\\r\\n“A thousand kisses buys my heart from me;\\r\\nAnd pay them at thy leisure, one by one,\\r\\nWhat is ten hundred touches unto thee?\\r\\nAre they not quickly told and quickly gone? 520\\r\\n Say, for non-payment that the debt should double,\\r\\n Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?”\\r\\n\\r\\n“Fair queen,” quoth he, “if any love you owe me,\\r\\nMeasure my strangeness with my unripe years: 524\\r\\nBefore I know myself, seek not to know me;\\r\\nNo fisher but the ungrown fry forbears:\\r\\n The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast,\\r\\n Or being early pluck’d, is sour to taste. 528\\r\\n\\r\\n“Look the world’s comforter, with weary gait\\r\\nHis day’s hot task hath ended in the west;\\r\\nThe owl, night’s herald, shrieks, ’tis very late;\\r\\nThe sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest, 532\\r\\n And coal-black clouds that shadow heaven’s light\\r\\n Do summon us to part, and bid good night.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Now let me say good night, and so say you;\\r\\nIf you will say so, you shall have a kiss.” 536\\r\\n“Good night,” quoth she; and ere he says adieu,\\r\\nThe honey fee of parting tender’d is:\\r\\n Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace;\\r\\n Incorporate then they seem, face grows to face. 540\\r\\n\\r\\nTill breathless he disjoin’d, and backward drew\\r\\nThe heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth,\\r\\nWhose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew,\\r\\nWhereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth, 544\\r\\n He with her plenty press’d, she faint with dearth,\\r\\n Their lips together glued, fall to the earth.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow quick desire hath caught the yielding prey,\\r\\nAnd glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth; 548\\r\\nHer lips are conquerors, his lips obey,\\r\\nPaying what ransom the insulter willeth;\\r\\n Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high,\\r\\n That she will draw his lips’ rich treasure dry. 552\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd having felt the sweetness of the spoil,\\r\\nWith blindfold fury she begins to forage;\\r\\nHer face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil,\\r\\nAnd careless lust stirs up a desperate courage, 556\\r\\n Planting oblivion, beating reason back,\\r\\n Forgetting shame’s pure blush and honour’s wrack.\\r\\n\\r\\nHot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing,\\r\\nLike a wild bird being tam’d with too much handling,\\r\\nOr as the fleet-foot roe that’s tir’d with chasing, 561\\r\\nOr like the froward infant still’d with dandling:\\r\\n He now obeys, and now no more resisteth,\\r\\n While she takes all she can, not all she listeth. 564\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat wax so frozen but dissolves with temp’ring,\\r\\nAnd yields at last to every light impression?\\r\\nThings out of hope are compass’d oft with vent’ring,\\r\\nChiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission: 568\\r\\n Affection faints not like a pale-fac’d coward,\\r\\n But then woos best when most his choice is froward.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen he did frown, O had she then gave over,\\r\\nSuch nectar from his lips she had not suck’d. 572\\r\\nFoul words and frowns must not repel a lover;\\r\\nWhat though the rose have prickles, yet ’tis pluck’d.\\r\\n Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast,\\r\\n Yet love breaks through, and picks them all at last.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor pity now she can no more detain him; 577\\r\\nThe poor fool prays her that he may depart:\\r\\nShe is resolv’d no longer to restrain him,\\r\\nBids him farewell, and look well to her heart, 580\\r\\n The which by Cupid’s bow she doth protest,\\r\\n He carries thence encaged in his breast.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Sweet boy,” she says, “this night I’ll waste in sorrow,\\r\\nFor my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch. 584\\r\\nTell me, love’s master, shall we meet tomorrow\\r\\nSay, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match?”\\r\\n He tells her no, tomorrow he intends\\r\\n To hunt the boar with certain of his friends. 588\\r\\n\\r\\n“The boar!” quoth she; whereat a sudden pale,\\r\\nLike lawn being spread upon the blushing rose,\\r\\nUsurps her cheek, she trembles at his tale,\\r\\nAnd on his neck her yoking arms she throws. 592\\r\\n She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck,\\r\\n He on her belly falls, she on her back.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow is she in the very lists of love,\\r\\nHer champion mounted for the hot encounter: 596\\r\\nAll is imaginary she doth prove,\\r\\nHe will not manage her, although he mount her;\\r\\n That worse than Tantalus’ is her annoy,\\r\\n To clip Elysium and to lack her joy. 600\\r\\n\\r\\nEven as poor birds, deceiv’d with painted grapes,\\r\\nDo surfeit by the eye and pine the maw:\\r\\nEven so she languisheth in her mishaps,\\r\\nAs those poor birds that helpless berries saw. 604\\r\\n The warm effects which she in him finds missing,\\r\\n She seeks to kindle with continual kissing.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut all in vain, good queen, it will not be,\\r\\nShe hath assay’d as much as may be prov’d; 608\\r\\nHer pleading hath deserv’d a greater fee;\\r\\nShe’s love, she loves, and yet she is not lov’d.\\r\\n “Fie, fie,” he says, “you crush me; let me go;\\r\\n You have no reason to withhold me so.” 612\\r\\n\\r\\n“Thou hadst been gone,” quoth she, “sweet boy, ere this,\\r\\nBut that thou told’st me thou wouldst hunt the boar.\\r\\nOh be advis’d; thou know’st not what it is,\\r\\nWith javelin’s point a churlish swine to gore, 616\\r\\n Whose tushes never sheath’d he whetteth still,\\r\\n Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill.\\r\\n\\r\\n“On his bow-back he hath a battle set\\r\\nOf bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes; 620\\r\\nHis eyes like glow-worms shine when he doth fret;\\r\\nHis snout digs sepulchres where’er he goes;\\r\\n Being mov’d, he strikes whate’er is in his way,\\r\\n And whom he strikes his crooked tushes slay. 624\\r\\n\\r\\n“His brawny sides, with hairy bristles armed,\\r\\nAre better proof than thy spear’s point can enter;\\r\\nHis short thick neck cannot be easily harmed;\\r\\nBeing ireful, on the lion he will venture: 628\\r\\n The thorny brambles and embracing bushes,\\r\\n As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Alas! he naught esteems that face of thine,\\r\\nTo which love’s eyes pay tributary gazes; 632\\r\\nNor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne,\\r\\nWhose full perfection all the world amazes;\\r\\n But having thee at vantage, wondrous dread!\\r\\n Would root these beauties as he roots the mead.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Oh let him keep his loathsome cabin still, 637\\r\\nBeauty hath naught to do with such foul fiends:\\r\\nCome not within his danger by thy will;\\r\\nThey that thrive well, take counsel of their friends.\\r\\n When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble,\\r\\n I fear’d thy fortune, and my joints did tremble.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Didst thou not mark my face, was it not white?\\r\\nSaw’st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye? 644\\r\\nGrew I not faint, and fell I not downright?\\r\\nWithin my bosom, whereon thou dost lie,\\r\\n My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest,\\r\\n But like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast.\\r\\n\\r\\n“For where love reigns, disturbing jealousy 649\\r\\nDoth call himself affection’s sentinel;\\r\\nGives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny,\\r\\nAnd in a peaceful hour doth cry “Kill, kill!” 652\\r\\n Distemp’ring gentle love in his desire,\\r\\n As air and water do abate the fire.\\r\\n\\r\\n“This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy,\\r\\nThis canker that eats up love’s tender spring, 656\\r\\nThis carry-tale, dissentious jealousy,\\r\\nThat sometime true news, sometime false doth bring,\\r\\n Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear,\\r\\n That if I love thee, I thy death should fear. 660\\r\\n\\r\\n“And more than so, presenteth to mine eye\\r\\nThe picture of an angry chafing boar,\\r\\nUnder whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie\\r\\nAn image like thyself, all stain’d with gore; 664\\r\\n Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed,\\r\\n Doth make them droop with grief and hang the head.\\r\\n\\r\\n“What should I do, seeing thee so indeed,\\r\\nThat tremble at th’imagination? 668\\r\\nThe thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed,\\r\\nAnd fear doth teach it divination:\\r\\n I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow,\\r\\n If thou encounter with the boar tomorrow. 672\\r\\n\\r\\n“But if thou needs wilt hunt, be rul’d by me;\\r\\nUncouple at the timorous flying hare,\\r\\nOr at the fox which lives by subtilty,\\r\\nOr at the roe which no encounter dare: 676\\r\\n Pursue these fearful creatures o’er the downs,\\r\\n And on thy well-breath’d horse keep with thy hounds.\\r\\n\\r\\n“And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare,\\r\\nMark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles 680\\r\\nHow he outruns the wind, and with what care\\r\\nHe cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles:\\r\\n The many musits through the which he goes\\r\\n Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes. 684\\r\\n\\r\\n“Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep,\\r\\nTo make the cunning hounds mistake their smell,\\r\\nAnd sometime where earth-delving conies keep,\\r\\nTo stop the loud pursuers in their yell, 688\\r\\n And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer;\\r\\n Danger deviseth shifts, wit waits on fear.\\r\\n\\r\\n“For there his smell with others being mingled, 691\\r\\nThe hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt,\\r\\nCeasing their clamorous cry, till they have singled\\r\\nWith much ado the cold fault cleanly out;\\r\\n Then do they spend their mouths: echo replies,\\r\\n As if another chase were in the skies. 696\\r\\n\\r\\n“By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill,\\r\\nStands on his hinder legs with list’ning ear,\\r\\nTo hearken if his foes pursue him still.\\r\\nAnon their loud alarums he doth hear; 700\\r\\n And now his grief may be compared well\\r\\n To one sore sick that hears the passing bell.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch\\r\\nTurn, and return, indenting with the way, 704\\r\\nEach envious briar his weary legs do scratch,\\r\\nEach shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay:\\r\\n For misery is trodden on by many,\\r\\n And being low never reliev’d by any. 708\\r\\n\\r\\n“Lie quietly, and hear a little more;\\r\\nNay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise:\\r\\nTo make thee hate the hunting of the boar,\\r\\nUnlike myself thou hear’st me moralize, 712\\r\\n Applying this to that, and so to so,\\r\\n For love can comment upon every woe.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Where did I leave?” “No matter where,” quoth he\\r\\n“Leave me, and then the story aptly ends: 716\\r\\nThe night is spent.” “Why, what of that?” quoth she.\\r\\n“I am,” quoth he, “expected of my friends;\\r\\n And now ’tis dark, and going I shall fall.”\\r\\n “In night,” quoth she, “desire sees best of all.” 720\\r\\n\\r\\nBut if thou fall, oh then imagine this,\\r\\nThe earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips,\\r\\nAnd all is but to rob thee of a kiss. 723\\r\\nRich preys make true men thieves; so do thy lips\\r\\n Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn,\\r\\n Lest she should steal a kiss and die forsworn.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Now of this dark night I perceive the reason:\\r\\nCynthia for shame obscures her silver shine 728\\r\\nTill forging nature be condemn’d of treason,\\r\\nFor stealing moulds from heaven, that were divine;\\r\\n Wherein she fram’d thee, in high heaven’s despite,\\r\\n To shame the sun by day and her by night. 732\\r\\n\\r\\n“And therefore hath she brib’d the destinies,\\r\\nTo cross the curious workmanship of nature,\\r\\nTo mingle beauty with infirmities,\\r\\nAnd pure perfection with impure defeature, 736\\r\\n Making it subject to the tyranny\\r\\n Of mad mischances and much misery.\\r\\n\\r\\n“As burning fevers, agues pale and faint,\\r\\nLife-poisoning pestilence and frenzies wood, 740\\r\\nThe marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint\\r\\nDisorder breeds by heating of the blood;\\r\\n Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn’d despair,\\r\\n Swear nature’s death, for framing thee so fair. 744\\r\\n\\r\\n“And not the least of all these maladies\\r\\nBut in one minute’s fight brings beauty under:\\r\\nBoth favour, savour, hue and qualities,\\r\\nWhereat th’impartial gazer late did wonder, 748\\r\\n Are on the sudden wasted, thaw’d and done,\\r\\n As mountain snow melts with the midday sun.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Therefore despite of fruitless chastity,\\r\\nLove-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns, 752\\r\\nThat on the earth would breed a scarcity\\r\\nAnd barren dearth of daughters and of sons,\\r\\n Be prodigal: the lamp that burns by night\\r\\n Dries up his oil to lend the world his light. 756\\r\\n\\r\\n“What is thy body but a swallowing grave,\\r\\nSeeming to bury that posterity,\\r\\nWhich by the rights of time thou needs must have,\\r\\nIf thou destroy them not in dark obscurity? 760\\r\\n If so, the world will hold thee in disdain,\\r\\n Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.\\r\\n\\r\\n“So in thyself thyself art made away;\\r\\nA mischief worse than civil home-bred strife, 764\\r\\nOr theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay,\\r\\nOr butcher sire that reeves his son of life.\\r\\n Foul cank’ring rust the hidden treasure frets,\\r\\n But gold that’s put to use more gold begets.” 768\\r\\n\\r\\n“Nay then,” quoth Adon, “you will fall again\\r\\nInto your idle over-handled theme;\\r\\nThe kiss I gave you is bestow’d in vain,\\r\\nAnd all in vain you strive against the stream; 772\\r\\n For by this black-fac’d night, desire’s foul nurse,\\r\\n Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse.\\r\\n\\r\\n“If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues,\\r\\nAnd every tongue more moving than your own, 776\\r\\nBewitching like the wanton mermaid’s songs,\\r\\nYet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown;\\r\\n For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear,\\r\\n And will not let a false sound enter there. 780\\r\\n\\r\\n“Lest the deceiving harmony should run\\r\\nInto the quiet closure of my breast,\\r\\nAnd then my little heart were quite undone,\\r\\nIn his bedchamber to be barr’d of rest. 784\\r\\n No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan,\\r\\n But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.\\r\\n\\r\\n“What have you urg’d that I cannot reprove?\\r\\nThe path is smooth that leadeth on to danger; 790\\r\\nI hate not love, but your device in love\\r\\nThat lends embracements unto every stranger.\\r\\n You do it for increase: O strange excuse!\\r\\n When reason is the bawd to lust’s abuse. 792\\r\\n\\r\\n“Call it not, love, for love to heaven is fled,\\r\\nSince sweating lust on earth usurp’d his name;\\r\\nUnder whose simple semblance he hath fed\\r\\nUpon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame; 796\\r\\n Which the hot tyrant stains and soon bereaves,\\r\\n As caterpillars do the tender leaves.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Love comforteth like sunshine after rain,\\r\\nBut lust’s effect is tempest after sun; 800\\r\\nLove’s gentle spring doth always fresh remain,\\r\\nLust’s winter comes ere summer half be done.\\r\\n Love surfeits not, lust like a glutton dies;\\r\\n Love is all truth, lust full of forged lies. 804\\r\\n\\r\\n“More I could tell, but more I dare not say;\\r\\nThe text is old, the orator too green.\\r\\nTherefore, in sadness, now I will away;\\r\\nMy face is full of shame, my heart of teen, 808\\r\\n Mine ears, that to your wanton talk attended\\r\\n Do burn themselves for having so offended.”\\r\\n\\r\\nWith this he breaketh from the sweet embrace 811\\r\\nOf those fair arms which bound him to her breast,\\r\\nAnd homeward through the dark laund runs apace;\\r\\nLeaves love upon her back deeply distress’d.\\r\\n Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky,\\r\\n So glides he in the night from Venus’ eye. 816\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich after him she darts, as one on shore\\r\\nGazing upon a late embarked friend,\\r\\nTill the wild waves will have him seen no more,\\r\\nWhose ridges with the meeting clouds contend: 820\\r\\n So did the merciless and pitchy night\\r\\n Fold in the object that did feed her sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhereat amaz’d, as one that unaware\\r\\nHath dropp’d a precious jewel in the flood, 824\\r\\nOr ’stonish’d as night-wanderers often are,\\r\\nTheir light blown out in some mistrustful wood;\\r\\n Even so confounded in the dark she lay,\\r\\n Having lost the fair discovery of her way. 828\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd now she beats her heart, whereat it groans,\\r\\nThat all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled,\\r\\nMake verbal repetition of her moans;\\r\\nPassion on passion deeply is redoubled: 832\\r\\n “Ay me!” she cries, and twenty times, “Woe, woe!”\\r\\n And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe marking them, begins a wailing note,\\r\\nAnd sings extemporally a woeful ditty; 836\\r\\nHow love makes young men thrall, and old men dote,\\r\\nHow love is wise in folly foolish witty:\\r\\n Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe,\\r\\n And still the choir of echoes answer so. 840\\r\\n\\r\\nHer song was tedious, and outwore the night,\\r\\nFor lovers’ hours are long, though seeming short,\\r\\nIf pleas’d themselves, others they think, delight\\r\\nIn such like circumstance, with such like sport: 844\\r\\n Their copious stories oftentimes begun,\\r\\n End without audience, and are never done.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor who hath she to spend the night withal,\\r\\nBut idle sounds resembling parasites; 848\\r\\nLike shrill-tongu’d tapsters answering every call,\\r\\nSoothing the humour of fantastic wits?\\r\\n She says, “’Tis so:” they answer all, “’Tis so;”\\r\\n And would say after her, if she said “No.” 852\\r\\n\\r\\nLo here the gentle lark, weary of rest,\\r\\nFrom his moist cabinet mounts up on high,\\r\\nAnd wakes the morning, from whose silver breast\\r\\nThe sun ariseth in his majesty; 856\\r\\n Who doth the world so gloriously behold,\\r\\n That cedar tops and hills seem burnish’d gold.\\r\\n\\r\\nVenus salutes him with this fair good morrow:\\r\\n“Oh thou clear god, and patron of all light, 860\\r\\nFrom whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow\\r\\nThe beauteous influence that makes him bright,\\r\\n There lives a son that suck’d an earthly mother,\\r\\n May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.”\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove, 865\\r\\nMusing the morning is so much o’erworn,\\r\\nAnd yet she hears no tidings of her love;\\r\\nShe hearkens for his hounds and for his horn. 868\\r\\n Anon she hears them chant it lustily,\\r\\n And all in haste she coasteth to the cry.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd as she runs, the bushes in the way\\r\\nSome catch her by the neck, some kiss her face, 872\\r\\nSome twine about her thigh to make her stay:\\r\\nShe wildly breaketh from their strict embrace,\\r\\n Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache,\\r\\n Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake. 876\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this she hears the hounds are at a bay,\\r\\nWhereat she starts like one that spies an adder\\r\\nWreath’d up in fatal folds just in his way,\\r\\nThe fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder; 880\\r\\n Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds\\r\\n Appals her senses, and her spirit confounds.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor now she knows it is no gentle chase,\\r\\nBut the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud, 884\\r\\nBecause the cry remaineth in one place,\\r\\nWhere fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud,\\r\\n Finding their enemy to be so curst,\\r\\n They all strain court’sy who shall cope him first. 888\\r\\n\\r\\nThis dismal cry rings sadly in her ear,\\r\\nThrough which it enters to surprise her heart;\\r\\nWho overcome by doubt and bloodless fear,\\r\\nWith cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part; 892\\r\\n Like soldiers when their captain once doth yield,\\r\\n They basely fly and dare not stay the field.\\r\\n\\r\\nThus stands she in a trembling ecstasy,\\r\\nTill cheering up her senses sore dismay’d, 896\\r\\nShe tells them ’tis a causeless fantasy,\\r\\nAnd childish error, that they are afraid;\\r\\n Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more:\\r\\n And with that word, she spied the hunted boar. 900\\r\\n\\r\\nWhose frothy mouth bepainted all with red,\\r\\nLike milk and blood being mingled both together,\\r\\nA second fear through all her sinews spread,\\r\\nWhich madly hurries her she knows not whither: 904\\r\\n This way she runs, and now she will no further,\\r\\n But back retires, to rate the boar for murther.\\r\\n\\r\\nA thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways,\\r\\nShe treads the path that she untreads again; 908\\r\\nHer more than haste is mated with delays,\\r\\nLike the proceedings of a drunken brain,\\r\\n Full of respects, yet naught at all respecting,\\r\\n In hand with all things, naught at all effecting.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere kennel’d in a brake she finds a hound, 913\\r\\nAnd asks the weary caitiff for his master,\\r\\nAnd there another licking of his wound,\\r\\n’Gainst venom’d sores the only sovereign plaster. 916\\r\\n And here she meets another sadly scowling,\\r\\n To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen he hath ceas’d his ill-resounding noise,\\r\\nAnother flap-mouth’d mourner, black and grim, 920\\r\\nAgainst the welkin volleys out his voice;\\r\\nAnother and another answer him,\\r\\n Clapping their proud tails to the ground below,\\r\\n Shaking their scratch’d ears, bleeding as they go.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook how the world’s poor people are amazed 925\\r\\nAt apparitions, signs, and prodigies,\\r\\nWhereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed,\\r\\nInfusing them with dreadful prophecies; 928\\r\\n So she at these sad sighs draws up her breath,\\r\\n And sighing it again, exclaims on death.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Hard-favour’d tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean, 931\\r\\nHateful divorce of love,” thus chides she death,\\r\\n“Grim-grinning ghost, earth’s worm, what dost thou mean?\\r\\nTo stifle beauty and to steal his breath,\\r\\n Who when he liv’d, his breath and beauty set\\r\\n Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet. 936\\r\\n\\r\\n“If he be dead, O no, it cannot be,\\r\\nSeeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it,\\r\\nO yes, it may, thou hast no eyes to see,\\r\\nBut hatefully at random dost thou hit. 940\\r\\n Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart\\r\\n Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant’s heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke,\\r\\nAnd hearing him, thy power had lost his power. 944\\r\\nThe destinies will curse thee for this stroke;\\r\\nThey bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck’st a flower.\\r\\n Love’s golden arrow at him should have fled,\\r\\n And not death’s ebon dart to strike him dead. 948\\r\\n\\r\\n“Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok’st such weeping?\\r\\nWhat may a heavy groan advantage thee?\\r\\nWhy hast thou cast into eternal sleeping\\r\\nThose eyes that taught all other eyes to see? 952\\r\\n Now nature cares not for thy mortal vigour,\\r\\n Since her best work is ruin’d with thy rigour.”\\r\\n\\r\\nHere overcome, as one full of despair,\\r\\nShe vail’d her eyelids, who like sluices stopp’d 956\\r\\nThe crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair\\r\\nIn the sweet channel of her bosom dropp’d\\r\\n But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain,\\r\\n And with his strong course opens them again. 960\\r\\n\\r\\nO how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow;\\r\\nHer eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye;\\r\\nBoth crystals, where they view’d each other’s sorrow,\\r\\nSorrow that friendly sighs sought still to dry; 964\\r\\n But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain,\\r\\n Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.\\r\\n\\r\\nVariable passions throng her constant woe,\\r\\nAs striving who should best become her grief; 968\\r\\nAll entertain’d, each passion labours so,\\r\\nThat every present sorrow seemeth chief,\\r\\n But none is best, then join they all together,\\r\\n Like many clouds consulting for foul weather. 972\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this, far off she hears some huntsman holla;\\r\\nA nurse’s song ne’er pleas’d her babe so well:\\r\\nThe dire imagination she did follow\\r\\nThis sound of hope doth labour to expel; 976\\r\\n For now reviving joy bids her rejoice,\\r\\n And flatters her it is Adonis’ voice.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhereat her tears began to turn their tide,\\r\\nBeing prison’d in her eye, like pearls in glass; 980\\r\\nYet sometimes falls an orient drop beside,\\r\\nWhich her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass\\r\\n To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground,\\r\\n Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nO hard-believing love, how strange it seems 985\\r\\nNot to believe, and yet too credulous;\\r\\nThy weal and woe are both of them extremes;\\r\\nDespair and hope make thee ridiculous, 988\\r\\n The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,\\r\\n In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow she unweaves the web that she hath wrought,\\r\\nAdonis lives, and death is not to blame; 992\\r\\nIt was not she that call’d him all to naught;\\r\\nNow she adds honours to his hateful name.\\r\\n She clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings,\\r\\n Imperious supreme of all mortal things. 996\\r\\n\\r\\n“No, no,” quoth she, “sweet death, I did but jest;\\r\\nYet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear\\r\\nWhenas I met the boar, that bloody beast,\\r\\nWhich knows no pity, but is still severe; 1000\\r\\n Then, gentle shadow,—truth I must confess—\\r\\n I rail’d on thee, fearing my love’s decease.\\r\\n\\r\\n“’Tis not my fault, the boar provok’d my tongue;\\r\\nBe wreak’d on him, invisible commander; 1004\\r\\n’Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong;\\r\\nI did but act, he’s author of my slander.\\r\\n Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet,\\r\\n Could rule them both, without ten women’s wit.”\\r\\n\\r\\nThus hoping that Adonis is alive, 1009\\r\\nHer rash suspect she doth extenuate;\\r\\nAnd that his beauty may the better thrive,\\r\\nWith death she humbly doth insinuate; 1012\\r\\n Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs and stories\\r\\n His victories, his triumphs and his glories.\\r\\n\\r\\n“O love!” quoth she, “how much a fool was I,\\r\\nTo be of such a weak and silly mind, 1016\\r\\nTo wail his death who lives, and must not die\\r\\nTill mutual overthrow of mortal kind;\\r\\n For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,\\r\\n And beauty dead, black Chaos comes again. 1020\\r\\n\\r\\n“Fie, fie, fond love, thou art as full of fear\\r\\nAs one with treasure laden, hemm’d with thieves,\\r\\nTrifles unwitnessed with eye or ear,\\r\\nThy coward heart with false bethinking grieves.” 1024\\r\\n Even at this word she hears a merry horn,\\r\\n Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs falcon to the lure, away she flies;\\r\\nThe grass stoops not, she treads on it so light, 1028\\r\\nAnd in her haste unfortunately spies\\r\\nThe foul boar’s conquest on her fair delight;\\r\\n Which seen, her eyes, as murder’d with the view,\\r\\n Like stars asham’d of day, themselves withdrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nOr as the snail, whose tender horns being hit, 1033\\r\\nShrinks backwards in his shelly cave with pain,\\r\\nAnd there all smother’d up, in shade doth sit,\\r\\nLong after fearing to creep forth again: 1036\\r\\n So at his bloody view her eyes are fled\\r\\n Into the deep dark cabins of her head.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhere they resign their office and their light\\r\\nTo the disposing of her troubled brain, 1040\\r\\nWho bids them still consort with ugly night,\\r\\nAnd never wound the heart with looks again;\\r\\n Who like a king perplexed in his throne,\\r\\n By their suggestion gives a deadly groan. 1044\\r\\n\\r\\nWhereat each tributary subject quakes,\\r\\nAs when the wind imprison’d in the ground,\\r\\nStruggling for passage, earth’s foundation shakes,\\r\\nWhich with cold terror doth men’s minds confound.\\r\\n This mutiny each part doth so surprise 1049\\r\\n That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd being open’d, threw unwilling light\\r\\nUpon the wide wound that the boar had trench’d\\r\\nIn his soft flank, whose wonted lily white 1053\\r\\nWith purple tears that his wound wept, was drench’d.\\r\\n No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf or weed,\\r\\n But stole his blood and seem’d with him to bleed.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth, 1057\\r\\nOver one shoulder doth she hang her head,\\r\\nDumbly she passions, franticly she doteth;\\r\\nShe thinks he could not die, he is not dead: 1060\\r\\n Her voice is stopp’d, her joints forget to bow,\\r\\n Her eyes are mad, that they have wept till now.\\r\\n\\r\\nUpon his hurt she looks so steadfastly,\\r\\nThat her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three;\\r\\nAnd then she reprehends her mangling eye, 1065\\r\\nThat makes more gashes, where no breach should be:\\r\\n His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled,\\r\\n For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled.\\r\\n\\r\\n“My tongue cannot express my grief for one, 1069\\r\\nAnd yet,” quoth she, “behold two Adons dead!\\r\\nMy sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone,\\r\\nMine eyes are turn’d to fire, my heart to lead: 1072\\r\\n Heavy heart’s lead, melt at mine eyes’ red fire!\\r\\n So shall I die by drops of hot desire.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Alas poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!\\r\\nWhat face remains alive that’s worth the viewing?\\r\\nWhose tongue is music now? what canst thou boast\\r\\nOf things long since, or anything ensuing? 1078\\r\\n The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim,\\r\\n But true sweet beauty liv’d and died with him.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear! 1081\\r\\nNor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you:\\r\\nHaving no fair to lose, you need not fear;\\r\\nThe sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss you.\\r\\n But when Adonis liv’d, sun and sharp air 1085\\r\\n Lurk’d like two thieves, to rob him of his fair.\\r\\n\\r\\n“And therefore would he put his bonnet on,\\r\\nUnder whose brim the gaudy sun would peep; 1088\\r\\nThe wind would blow it off, and being gone,\\r\\nPlay with his locks; then would Adonis weep;\\r\\n And straight, in pity of his tender years,\\r\\n They both would strive who first should dry his tears.\\r\\n\\r\\n“To see his face the lion walk’d along 1093\\r\\nBehind some hedge, because he would not fear him;\\r\\nTo recreate himself when he hath sung,\\r\\nThe tiger would be tame and gently hear him. 1096\\r\\n If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey,\\r\\n And never fright the silly lamb that day.\\r\\n\\r\\n“When he beheld his shadow in the brook,\\r\\nThe fishes spread on it their golden gills; 1100\\r\\nWhen he was by, the birds such pleasure took,\\r\\nThat some would sing, some other in their bills\\r\\n Would bring him mulberries and ripe-red cherries,\\r\\n He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.\\r\\n\\r\\n“But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar, 1105\\r\\nWhose downward eye still looketh for a grave,\\r\\nNe’er saw the beauteous livery that he wore;\\r\\nWitness the entertainment that he gave. 1108\\r\\n If he did see his face, why then I know\\r\\n He thought to kiss him, and hath kill’d him so.\\r\\n\\r\\n“’Tis true, ’tis true; thus was Adonis slain:\\r\\nHe ran upon the boar with his sharp spear, 1112\\r\\nWho did not whet his teeth at him again,\\r\\nBut by a kiss thought to persuade him there;\\r\\n And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine\\r\\n Sheath’d unaware the tusk in his soft groin. 1116\\r\\n\\r\\n“Had I been tooth’d like him, I must confess,\\r\\nWith kissing him I should have kill’d him first;\\r\\nBut he is dead, and never did he bless\\r\\nMy youth with his; the more am I accurst.” 1120\\r\\n With this she falleth in the place she stood,\\r\\n And stains her face with his congealed blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe looks upon his lips, and they are pale;\\r\\nShe takes him by the hand, and that is cold, 1124\\r\\nShe whispers in his ears a heavy tale,\\r\\nAs if they heard the woeful words she told;\\r\\nShe lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes,\\r\\nWhere lo, two lamps burnt out in darkness lies.\\r\\n\\r\\nTwo glasses where herself herself beheld 1129\\r\\nA thousand times, and now no more reflect;\\r\\nTheir virtue lost, wherein they late excell’d,\\r\\nAnd every beauty robb’d of his effect. 1132\\r\\n “Wonder of time,” quoth she, “this is my spite,\\r\\n That thou being dead, the day should yet be light.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Since thou art dead, lo here I prophesy,\\r\\nSorrow on love hereafter shall attend: 1136\\r\\nIt shall be waited on with jealousy,\\r\\nFind sweet beginning, but unsavoury end;\\r\\n Ne’er settled equally, but high or low,\\r\\n That all love’s pleasure shall not match his woe.\\r\\n\\r\\n“It shall be fickle, false and full of fraud, 1141\\r\\nBud, and be blasted in a breathing while;\\r\\nThe bottom poison, and the top o’erstraw’d\\r\\nWith sweets that shall the truest sight beguile. 1144\\r\\n The strongest body shall it make most weak,\\r\\n Strike the wise dumb, and teach the fool to speak.\\r\\n\\r\\n“It shall be sparing, and too full of riot,\\r\\nTeaching decrepit age to tread the measures; 1148\\r\\nThe staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet,\\r\\nPluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures;\\r\\n It shall be raging mad, and silly mild,\\r\\n Make the young old, the old become a child. 1152\\r\\n\\r\\n“It shall suspect where is no cause of fear,\\r\\nIt shall not fear where it should most mistrust;\\r\\nIt shall be merciful, and too severe,\\r\\nAnd most deceiving when it seems most just; 1156\\r\\n Perverse it shall be, where it shows most toward,\\r\\n Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.\\r\\n\\r\\n“It shall be cause of war and dire events,\\r\\nAnd set dissension ’twixt the son and sire; 1160\\r\\nSubject and servile to all discontents,\\r\\nAs dry combustious matter is to fire,\\r\\n Sith in his prime death doth my love destroy,\\r\\n They that love best their love shall not enjoy.” 1164\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this the boy that by her side lay kill’d\\r\\nWas melted like a vapour from her sight,\\r\\nAnd in his blood that on the ground lay spill’d,\\r\\nA purple flower sprung up, chequer’d with white, 1168\\r\\n Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood\\r\\n Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell,\\r\\nComparing it to her Adonis’ breath; 1172\\r\\nAnd says within her bosom it shall dwell,\\r\\nSince he himself is reft from her by death;\\r\\n She drops the stalk, and in the breach appears\\r\\n Green-dropping sap, which she compares to tears.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Poor flower,” quoth she, “this was thy father’s guise,\\r\\nSweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire,\\r\\nFor every little grief to wet his eyes,\\r\\nTo grow unto himself was his desire, 1180\\r\\n And so ’tis thine; but know, it is as good\\r\\n To wither in my breast as in his blood.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Here was thy father’s bed, here in my breast;\\r\\nThou art the next of blood, and ’tis thy right: 1184\\r\\nLo in this hollow cradle take thy rest,\\r\\nMy throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night:\\r\\n There shall not be one minute in an hour\\r\\n Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love’s flower.”\\r\\n\\r\\nThus weary of the world, away she hies, 1189\\r\\nAnd yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid\\r\\nTheir mistress mounted through the empty skies,\\r\\nIn her light chariot quickly is convey’d; 1192\\r\\n Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen\\r\\n Means to immure herself and not be seen.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FINIS\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n* CONTENT NOTE (added in 2017) *\\r\\n\\r\\nThis Project Gutenberg eBook was originally marked as having a copyright.\\r\\nHowever, Project Gutenberg now believes that the eBook\\'s contents does\\r\\nnot actually have a copyright.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis is based on current understanding of copyright law, in which\\r\\n\"authorship\" is required to obtain a copyright. 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Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm\\r\\n\\r\\nProject Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of\\r\\nelectronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers',\n", + " '',\n", + " \"MACBETH.\\r\\nI will not yield,\\r\\nTo kiss the ground before young Malcolm’s feet,\\r\\nAnd to be baited with the rabble’s curse.\\r\\nThough Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane,\\r\\nAnd thou oppos’d, being of no woman born,\\r\\nYet I will try the last. Before my body\\r\\nI throw my warlike shield: lay on, Macduff;\\r\\nAnd damn’d be him that first cries, “Hold, enough!”\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt fighting. Alarums._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and colours, Malcolm, old Siward,\\r\\n Ross, Thanes and Soldiers.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nI would the friends we miss were safe arriv’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nSome must go off; and yet, by these I see,\\r\\nSo great a day as this is cheaply bought.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nMacduff is missing, and your noble son.\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nYour son, my lord, has paid a soldier’s debt:\\r\\nHe only liv’d but till he was a man;\\r\\nThe which no sooner had his prowess confirm’d\\r\\nIn the unshrinking station where he fought,\\r\\nBut like a man he died.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nThen he is dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLEANCE.\\r\\nAy, and brought off the field. Your cause of sorrow\\r\\nMust not be measur’d by his worth, for then\\r\\nIt hath no end.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nHad he his hurts before?\\r\\n\\r\\nROSS.\\r\\nAy, on the front.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nWhy then, God’s soldier be he!\\r\\nHad I as many sons as I have hairs,\\r\\nI would not wish them to a fairer death:\\r\\nAnd so his knell is knoll’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nHe’s worth more sorrow,\\r\\nAnd that I’ll spend for him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIWARD.\\r\\nHe’s worth no more.\\r\\nThey say he parted well and paid his score:\\r\\nAnd so, God be with him!—Here comes newer comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Macduff with Macbeth’s head.\\r\\n\\r\\nMACDUFF.\\r\\nHail, King, for so thou art. Behold, where stands\\r\\nTh’ usurper’s cursed head: the time is free.\\r\\nI see thee compass’d with thy kingdom’s pearl,\\r\\nThat speak my salutation in their minds;\\r\\nWhose voices I desire aloud with mine,—\\r\\nHail, King of Scotland!\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nHail, King of Scotland!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Flourish._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMALCOLM.\\r\\nWe shall not spend a large expense of time\\r\\nBefore we reckon with your several loves,\\r\\nAnd make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen,\\r\\nHenceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland\\r\\nIn such an honour nam’d. What’s more to do,\\r\\nWhich would be planted newly with the time,—\\r\\nAs calling home our exil’d friends abroad,\\r\\nThat fled the snares of watchful tyranny;\\r\\nProducing forth the cruel ministers\\r\\nOf this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen,\\r\\nWho, as ’tis thought, by self and violent hands\\r\\nTook off her life;—this, and what needful else\\r\\nThat calls upon us, by the grace of Grace,\\r\\nWe will perform in measure, time, and place.\\r\\nSo thanks to all at once, and to each one,\\r\\nWhom we invite to see us crown’d at Scone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Flourish. Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nMEASURE FOR MEASURE\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\\r\\n\\r\\n VINCENTIO, the Duke\\r\\n ANGELO, the Deputy\\r\\n ESCALUS, an ancient Lord\\r\\n CLAUDIO, a young gentleman\\r\\n LUCIO, a fantastic\\r\\n Two other like Gentlemen\\r\\n VARRIUS, a gentleman, servant to the Duke\\r\\n PROVOST\\r\\n THOMAS, friar\\r\\n PETER, friar\\r\\n A JUSTICE\\r\\n ELBOW, a simple constable\\r\\n FROTH, a foolish gentleman\\r\\n POMPEY, a clown and servant to Mistress Overdone\\r\\n ABHORSON, an executioner\\r\\n BARNARDINE, a dissolute prisoner\\r\\n\\r\\n ISABELLA, sister to Claudio\\r\\n MARIANA, betrothed to Angelo\\r\\n JULIET, beloved of Claudio\\r\\n FRANCISCA, a nun\\r\\n MISTRESS OVERDONE, a bawd\\r\\n\\r\\n Lords, Officers, Citizens, Boy, and Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Vienna\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. The DUKE'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE, ESCALUS, LORDS, and ATTENDANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Escalus!\\r\\n ESCALUS. My lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Of government the properties to unfold\\r\\n Would seem in me t' affect speech and discourse,\\r\\n Since I am put to know that your own science\\r\\n Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice\\r\\n My strength can give you; then no more remains\\r\\n But that to your sufficiency- as your worth is able-\\r\\n And let them work. The nature of our people,\\r\\n Our city's institutions, and the terms\\r\\n For common justice, y'are as pregnant in\\r\\n As art and practice hath enriched any\\r\\n That we remember. There is our commission,\\r\\n From which we would not have you warp. Call hither,\\r\\n I say, bid come before us, Angelo. Exit an ATTENDANT\\r\\n What figure of us think you he will bear?\\r\\n For you must know we have with special soul\\r\\n Elected him our absence to supply;\\r\\n Lent him our terror, dress'd him with our love,\\r\\n And given his deputation all the organs\\r\\n Of our own power. What think you of it?\\r\\n ESCALUS. If any in Vienna be of worth\\r\\n To undergo such ample grace and honour,\\r\\n It is Lord Angelo.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ANGELO\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Look where he comes.\\r\\n ANGELO. Always obedient to your Grace's will,\\r\\n I come to know your pleasure.\\r\\n DUKE. Angelo,\\r\\n There is a kind of character in thy life\\r\\n That to th' observer doth thy history\\r\\n Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings\\r\\n Are not thine own so proper as to waste\\r\\n Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee.\\r\\n Heaven doth with us as we with torches do,\\r\\n Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues\\r\\n Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike\\r\\n As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd\\r\\n But to fine issues; nor Nature never lends\\r\\n The smallest scruple of her excellence\\r\\n But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines\\r\\n Herself the glory of a creditor,\\r\\n Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech\\r\\n To one that can my part in him advertise.\\r\\n Hold, therefore, Angelo-\\r\\n In our remove be thou at full ourself;\\r\\n Mortality and mercy in Vienna\\r\\n Live in thy tongue and heart. Old Escalus,\\r\\n Though first in question, is thy secondary.\\r\\n Take thy commission.\\r\\n ANGELO. Now, good my lord,\\r\\n Let there be some more test made of my metal,\\r\\n Before so noble and so great a figure\\r\\n Be stamp'd upon it.\\r\\n DUKE. No more evasion!\\r\\n We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice\\r\\n Proceeded to you; therefore take your honours.\\r\\n Our haste from hence is of so quick condition\\r\\n That it prefers itself, and leaves unquestion'd\\r\\n Matters of needful value. We shall write to you,\\r\\n As time and our concernings shall importune,\\r\\n How it goes with us, and do look to know\\r\\n What doth befall you here. So, fare you well.\\r\\n To th' hopeful execution do I leave you\\r\\n Of your commissions.\\r\\n ANGELO. Yet give leave, my lord,\\r\\n That we may bring you something on the way.\\r\\n DUKE. My haste may not admit it;\\r\\n Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do\\r\\n With any scruple: your scope is as mine own,\\r\\n So to enforce or qualify the laws\\r\\n As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand;\\r\\n I'll privily away. I love the people,\\r\\n But do not like to stage me to their eyes;\\r\\n Though it do well, I do not relish well\\r\\n Their loud applause and Aves vehement;\\r\\n Nor do I think the man of safe discretion\\r\\n That does affect it. Once more, fare you well.\\r\\n ANGELO. The heavens give safety to your purposes!\\r\\n ESCALUS. Lead forth and bring you back in happiness!\\r\\n DUKE. I thank you. Fare you well. Exit\\r\\n ESCALUS. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave\\r\\n To have free speech with you; and it concerns me\\r\\n To look into the bottom of my place:\\r\\n A pow'r I have, but of what strength and nature\\r\\n I am not yet instructed.\\r\\n ANGELO. 'Tis so with me. Let us withdraw together,\\r\\n And we may soon our satisfaction have\\r\\n Touching that point.\\r\\n ESCALUS. I'll wait upon your honour. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Lucio and two other GENTLEMEN\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIO. If the Duke, with the other dukes, come not to composition\\r\\n with the King of Hungary, why then all the dukes fall upon the\\r\\n King.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Heaven grant us its peace, but not the King of\\r\\n Hungary's!\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Amen.\\r\\n LUCIO. Thou conclud'st like the sanctimonious pirate that went to\\r\\n sea with the Ten Commandments, but scrap'd one out of the table.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Thou shalt not steal'?\\r\\n LUCIO. Ay, that he raz'd.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Why, 'twas a commandment to command the captain\\r\\n and all the rest from their functions: they put forth to steal.\\r\\n There's not a soldier of us all that, in the thanksgiving before\\r\\n meat, do relish the petition well that prays for peace.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. I never heard any soldier dislike it.\\r\\n LUCIO. I believe thee; for I think thou never wast where grace was\\r\\n said.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. No? A dozen times at least.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. What, in metre?\\r\\n LUCIO. In any proportion or in any language.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. I think, or in any religion.\\r\\n LUCIO. Ay, why not? Grace is grace, despite of all controversy; as,\\r\\n for example, thou thyself art a wicked villain, despite of all\\r\\n grace.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Well, there went but a pair of shears between us.\\r\\n LUCIO. I grant; as there may between the lists and the velvet.\\r\\n Thou art the list.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. And thou the velvet; thou art good velvet; thou'rt\\r\\n a three-pil'd piece, I warrant thee. I had as lief be a list of\\r\\n an English kersey as be pil'd, as thou art pil'd, for a French\\r\\n velvet. Do I speak feelingly now?\\r\\n LUCIO. I think thou dost; and, indeed, with most painful feeling of\\r\\n thy speech. I will, out of thine own confession, learn to begin\\r\\n thy health; but, whilst I live, forget to drink after thee.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. I think I have done myself wrong, have I not?\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Yes, that thou hast, whether thou art tainted or\\r\\n free.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS OVERDONE\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIO. Behold, behold, where Madam Mitigation comes! I have\\r\\n purchas'd as many diseases under her roof as come to-\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. To what, I pray?\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Judge.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. To three thousand dolours a year.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Ay, and more.\\r\\n LUCIO. A French crown more.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Thou art always figuring diseases in me, but thou\\r\\n art full of error; I am sound.\\r\\n LUCIO. Nay, not, as one would say, healthy; but so sound as things\\r\\n that are hollow: thy bones are hollow; impiety has made a feast\\r\\n of thee.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. How now! which of your hips has the most profound\\r\\n sciatica?\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. Well, well! there's one yonder arrested and carried\\r\\n to prison was worth five thousand of you all.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Who's that, I pray thee?\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. Marry, sir, that's Claudio, Signior Claudio.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. Claudio to prison? 'Tis not so.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. Nay, but I know 'tis so: I saw him arrested; saw him\\r\\n carried away; and, which is more, within these three days his\\r\\n head to be chopp'd off.\\r\\n LUCIO. But, after all this fooling, I would not have it so. Art\\r\\n thou sure of this?\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. I am too sure of it; and it is for getting Madam\\r\\n Julietta with child.\\r\\n LUCIO. Believe me, this may be; he promis'd to meet me two hours\\r\\n since, and he was ever precise in promise-keeping.\\r\\n SECOND GENTLEMAN. Besides, you know, it draws something near to the\\r\\n speech we had to such a purpose.\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. But most of all agreeing with the proclamation.\\r\\n LUCIO. Away; let's go learn the truth of it.\\r\\n Exeunt Lucio and GENTLEMEN\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. Thus, what with the war, what with the sweat, what\\r\\n with the gallows, and what with poverty, I am custom-shrunk.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter POMPEY\\r\\n\\r\\n How now! what's the news with you?\\r\\n POMPEY. Yonder man is carried to prison.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. Well, what has he done?\\r\\n POMPEY. A woman.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. But what's his offence?\\r\\n POMPEY. Groping for trouts in a peculiar river.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. What! is there a maid with child by him?\\r\\n POMPEY. No; but there's a woman with maid by him. You have not\\r\\n heard of the proclamation, have you?\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. What proclamation, man?\\r\\n POMPEY. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be pluck'd down.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. And what shall become of those in the city?\\r\\n POMPEY. They shall stand for seed; they had gone down too, but that\\r\\n a wise burgher put in for them.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. But shall all our houses of resort in the suburbs be\\r\\n pull'd down?\\r\\n POMPEY. To the ground, mistress.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. Why, here's a change indeed in the commonwealth!\\r\\n What shall become of me?\\r\\n POMPEY. Come, fear not you: good counsellors lack no clients.\\r\\n Though you change your place you need not change your trade; I'll\\r\\n be your tapster still. Courage, there will be pity taken on you;\\r\\n you that have worn your eyes almost out in the service, you will\\r\\n be considered.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. What's to do here, Thomas Tapster? Let's withdraw.\\r\\n POMPEY. Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the provost to prison;\\r\\n and there's Madam Juliet. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROVOST, CLAUDIO, JULIET, and OFFICERS;\\r\\n LUCIO following\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to th' world?\\r\\n Bear me to prison, where I am committed.\\r\\n PROVOST. I do it not in evil disposition,\\r\\n But from Lord Angelo by special charge.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Thus can the demigod Authority\\r\\n Make us pay down for our offence by weight\\r\\n The words of heaven: on whom it will, it will;\\r\\n On whom it will not, so; yet still 'tis just.\\r\\n LUCIO. Why, how now, Claudio, whence comes this restraint?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty;\\r\\n As surfeit is the father of much fast,\\r\\n So every scope by the immoderate use\\r\\n Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue,\\r\\n Like rats that ravin down their proper bane,\\r\\n A thirsty evil; and when we drink we die.\\r\\n LUCIO. If I could speak so wisely under an arrest, I would send for\\r\\n certain of my creditors; and yet, to say the truth, I had as lief\\r\\n have the foppery of freedom as the morality of imprisonment.\\r\\n What's thy offence, Claudio?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. What but to speak of would offend again.\\r\\n LUCIO. What, is't murder?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. No.\\r\\n LUCIO. Lechery?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Call it so.\\r\\n PROVOST. Away, sir; you must go.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. One word, good friend. Lucio, a word with you.\\r\\n LUCIO. A hundred, if they'll do you any good. Is lechery so look'd\\r\\n after?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Thus stands it with me: upon a true contract\\r\\n I got possession of Julietta's bed.\\r\\n You know the lady; she is fast my wife,\\r\\n Save that we do the denunciation lack\\r\\n Of outward order; this we came not to,\\r\\n Only for propagation of a dow'r\\r\\n Remaining in the coffer of her friends.\\r\\n From whom we thought it meet to hide our love\\r\\n Till time had made them for us. But it chances\\r\\n The stealth of our most mutual entertainment,\\r\\n With character too gross, is writ on Juliet.\\r\\n LUCIO. With child, perhaps?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Unhappily, even so.\\r\\n And the new deputy now for the Duke-\\r\\n Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness,\\r\\n Or whether that the body public be\\r\\n A horse whereon the governor doth ride,\\r\\n Who, newly in the seat, that it may know\\r\\n He can command, lets it straight feel the spur;\\r\\n Whether the tyranny be in his place,\\r\\n Or in his eminence that fills it up,\\r\\n I stagger in. But this new governor\\r\\n Awakes me all the enrolled penalties\\r\\n Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by th' wall\\r\\n So long that nineteen zodiacs have gone round\\r\\n And none of them been worn; and, for a name,\\r\\n Now puts the drowsy and neglected act\\r\\n Freshly on me. 'Tis surely for a name.\\r\\n LUCIO. I warrant it is; and thy head stands so tickle on thy\\r\\n shoulders that a milkmaid, if she be in love, may sigh it off.\\r\\n Send after the Duke, and appeal to him.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. I have done so, but he's not to be found.\\r\\n I prithee, Lucio, do me this kind service:\\r\\n This day my sister should the cloister enter,\\r\\n And there receive her approbation;\\r\\n Acquaint her with the danger of my state;\\r\\n Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends\\r\\n To the strict deputy; bid herself assay him.\\r\\n I have great hope in that; for in her youth\\r\\n There is a prone and speechless dialect\\r\\n Such as move men; beside, she hath prosperous art\\r\\n When she will play with reason and discourse,\\r\\n And well she can persuade.\\r\\n LUCIO. I pray she may; as well for the encouragement of the like,\\r\\n which else would stand under grievous imposition, as for the\\r\\n enjoying of thy life, who I would be sorry should be thus\\r\\n foolishly lost at a game of tick-tack. I'll to her.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. I thank you, good friend Lucio.\\r\\n LUCIO. Within two hours.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Come, officer, away. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A monastery\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE and FRIAR THOMAS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. No, holy father; throw away that thought;\\r\\n Believe not that the dribbling dart of love\\r\\n Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee\\r\\n To give me secret harbour hath a purpose\\r\\n More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends\\r\\n Of burning youth.\\r\\n FRIAR. May your Grace speak of it?\\r\\n DUKE. My holy sir, none better knows than you\\r\\n How I have ever lov'd the life removed,\\r\\n And held in idle price to haunt assemblies\\r\\n Where youth, and cost, a witless bravery keeps.\\r\\n I have deliver'd to Lord Angelo,\\r\\n A man of stricture and firm abstinence,\\r\\n My absolute power and place here in Vienna,\\r\\n And he supposes me travell'd to Poland;\\r\\n For so I have strew'd it in the common ear,\\r\\n And so it is received. Now, pious sir,\\r\\n You will demand of me why I do this.\\r\\n FRIAR. Gladly, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. We have strict statutes and most biting laws,\\r\\n The needful bits and curbs to headstrong steeds,\\r\\n Which for this fourteen years we have let slip;\\r\\n Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave,\\r\\n That goes not out to prey. Now, as fond fathers,\\r\\n Having bound up the threat'ning twigs of birch,\\r\\n Only to stick it in their children's sight\\r\\n For terror, not to use, in time the rod\\r\\n Becomes more mock'd than fear'd; so our decrees,\\r\\n Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead;\\r\\n And liberty plucks justice by the nose;\\r\\n The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart\\r\\n Goes all decorum.\\r\\n FRIAR. It rested in your Grace\\r\\n To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleas'd;\\r\\n And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd\\r\\n Than in Lord Angelo.\\r\\n DUKE. I do fear, too dreadful.\\r\\n Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope,\\r\\n 'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them\\r\\n For what I bid them do; for we bid this be done,\\r\\n When evil deeds have their permissive pass\\r\\n And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, my father,\\r\\n I have on Angelo impos'd the office;\\r\\n Who may, in th' ambush of my name, strike home,\\r\\n And yet my nature never in the fight\\r\\n To do in slander. And to behold his sway,\\r\\n I will, as 'twere a brother of your order,\\r\\n Visit both prince and people. Therefore, I prithee,\\r\\n Supply me with the habit, and instruct me\\r\\n How I may formally in person bear me\\r\\n Like a true friar. Moe reasons for this action\\r\\n At our more leisure shall I render you.\\r\\n Only, this one: Lord Angelo is precise;\\r\\n Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses\\r\\n That his blood flows, or that his appetite\\r\\n Is more to bread than stone. Hence shall we see,\\r\\n If power change purpose, what our seemers be. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A nunnery\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ISABELLA and FRANCISCA\\r\\n\\r\\n ISABELLA. And have you nuns no farther privileges?\\r\\n FRANCISCA. Are not these large enough?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Yes, truly; I speak not as desiring more,\\r\\n But rather wishing a more strict restraint\\r\\n Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare.\\r\\n LUCIO. [ Within] Ho! Peace be in this place!\\r\\n ISABELLA. Who's that which calls?\\r\\n FRANCISCA. It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella,\\r\\n Turn you the key, and know his business of him:\\r\\n You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn;\\r\\n When you have vow'd, you must not speak with men\\r\\n But in the presence of the prioress;\\r\\n Then, if you speak, you must not show your face,\\r\\n Or, if you show your face, you must not speak.\\r\\n He calls again; I pray you answer him. Exit FRANCISCA\\r\\n ISABELLA. Peace and prosperity! Who is't that calls?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LUCIO\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIO. Hail, virgin, if you be, as those cheek-roses\\r\\n Proclaim you are no less. Can you so stead me\\r\\n As bring me to the sight of Isabella,\\r\\n A novice of this place, and the fair sister\\r\\n To her unhappy brother Claudio?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Why her 'unhappy brother'? Let me ask\\r\\n The rather, for I now must make you know\\r\\n I am that Isabella, and his sister.\\r\\n LUCIO. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you.\\r\\n Not to be weary with you, he's in prison.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Woe me! For what?\\r\\n LUCIO. For that which, if myself might be his judge,\\r\\n He should receive his punishment in thanks:\\r\\n He hath got his friend with child.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Sir, make me not your story.\\r\\n LUCIO. It is true.\\r\\n I would not- though 'tis my familiar sin\\r\\n With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest,\\r\\n Tongue far from heart- play with all virgins so:\\r\\n I hold you as a thing enskied and sainted,\\r\\n By your renouncement an immortal spirit,\\r\\n And to be talk'd with in sincerity,\\r\\n As with a saint.\\r\\n ISABELLA. You do blaspheme the good in mocking me.\\r\\n LUCIO. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, 'tis thus:\\r\\n Your brother and his lover have embrac'd.\\r\\n As those that feed grow full, as blossoming time\\r\\n That from the seedness the bare fallow brings\\r\\n To teeming foison, even so her plenteous womb\\r\\n Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Some one with child by him? My cousin Juliet?\\r\\n LUCIO. Is she your cousin?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Adoptedly, as school-maids change their names\\r\\n By vain though apt affection.\\r\\n LUCIO. She it is.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, let him marry her!\\r\\n LUCIO. This is the point.\\r\\n The Duke is very strangely gone from hence;\\r\\n Bore many gentlemen, myself being one,\\r\\n In hand, and hope of action; but we do learn,\\r\\n By those that know the very nerves of state,\\r\\n His givings-out were of an infinite distance\\r\\n From his true-meant design. Upon his place,\\r\\n And with full line of his authority,\\r\\n Governs Lord Angelo, a man whose blood\\r\\n Is very snow-broth, one who never feels\\r\\n The wanton stings and motions of the sense,\\r\\n But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge\\r\\n With profits of the mind, study and fast.\\r\\n He- to give fear to use and liberty,\\r\\n Which have for long run by the hideous law,\\r\\n As mice by lions- hath pick'd out an act\\r\\n Under whose heavy sense your brother's life\\r\\n Falls into forfeit; he arrests him on it,\\r\\n And follows close the rigour of the statute\\r\\n To make him an example. All hope is gone,\\r\\n Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer\\r\\n To soften Angelo. And that's my pith of business\\r\\n 'Twixt you and your poor brother.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Doth he so seek his life?\\r\\n LUCIO. Has censur'd him\\r\\n Already, and, as I hear, the Provost hath\\r\\n A warrant for his execution.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Alas! what poor ability's in me\\r\\n To do him good?\\r\\n LUCIO. Assay the pow'r you have.\\r\\n ISABELLA. My power, alas, I doubt!\\r\\n LUCIO. Our doubts are traitors,\\r\\n And make us lose the good we oft might win\\r\\n By fearing to attempt. Go to Lord Angelo,\\r\\n And let him learn to know, when maidens sue,\\r\\n Men give like gods; but when they weep and kneel,\\r\\n All their petitions are as freely theirs\\r\\n As they themselves would owe them.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I'll see what I can do.\\r\\n LUCIO. But speedily.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I will about it straight;\\r\\n No longer staying but to give the Mother\\r\\n Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you.\\r\\n Commend me to my brother; soon at night\\r\\n I'll send him certain word of my success.\\r\\n LUCIO. I take my leave of you.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Good sir, adieu. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. Scene I. A hall in ANGELO'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ANGELO, ESCALUS, a JUSTICE, PROVOST, OFFICERS, and other\\r\\nATTENDANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n ANGELO. We must not make a scarecrow of the law,\\r\\n Setting it up to fear the birds of prey,\\r\\n And let it keep one shape till custom make it\\r\\n Their perch, and not their terror.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Ay, but yet\\r\\n Let us be keen, and rather cut a little\\r\\n Than fall and bruise to death. Alas! this gentleman,\\r\\n Whom I would save, had a most noble father.\\r\\n Let but your honour know,\\r\\n Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue,\\r\\n That, in the working of your own affections,\\r\\n Had time coher'd with place, or place with wishing,\\r\\n Or that the resolute acting of our blood\\r\\n Could have attain'd th' effect of your own purpose\\r\\n Whether you had not sometime in your life\\r\\n Err'd in this point which now you censure him,\\r\\n And pull'd the law upon you.\\r\\n ANGELO. 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus,\\r\\n Another thing to fall. I not deny\\r\\n The jury, passing on the prisoner's life,\\r\\n May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two\\r\\n Guiltier than him they try. What's open made to justice,\\r\\n That justice seizes. What knows the laws\\r\\n That thieves do pass on thieves? 'Tis very pregnant,\\r\\n The jewel that we find, we stoop and take't,\\r\\n Because we see it; but what we do not see\\r\\n We tread upon, and never think of it.\\r\\n You may not so extenuate his offence\\r\\n For I have had such faults; but rather tell me,\\r\\n When I, that censure him, do so offend,\\r\\n Let mine own judgment pattern out my death,\\r\\n And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Be it as your wisdom will.\\r\\n ANGELO. Where is the Provost?\\r\\n PROVOST. Here, if it like your honour.\\r\\n ANGELO. See that Claudio\\r\\n Be executed by nine to-morrow morning;\\r\\n Bring him his confessor; let him be prepar'd;\\r\\n For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage. Exit PROVOST\\r\\n ESCALUS. [Aside] Well, heaven forgive him! and forgive us all!\\r\\n Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall;\\r\\n Some run from breaks of ice, and answer none,\\r\\n And some condemned for a fault alone.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ELBOW and OFFICERS with FROTH and POMPEY\\r\\n\\r\\n ELBOW. Come, bring them away; if these be good people in a\\r\\n commonweal that do nothing but use their abuses in common houses,\\r\\n I know no law; bring them away.\\r\\n ANGELO. How now, sir! What's your name, and what's the matter?\\r\\n ELBOW. If it please your honour, I am the poor Duke's constable,\\r\\n and my name is Elbow; I do lean upon justice, sir, and do bring\\r\\n in here before your good honour two notorious benefactors.\\r\\n ANGELO. Benefactors! Well- what benefactors are they? Are they not\\r\\n malefactors?\\r\\n ELBOW. If it please your honour, I know not well what they are; but\\r\\n precise villains they are, that I am sure of, and void of all\\r\\n profanation in the world that good Christians ought to have.\\r\\n ESCALUS. This comes off well; here's a wise officer.\\r\\n ANGELO. Go to; what quality are they of? Elbow is your name? Why\\r\\n dost thou not speak, Elbow?\\r\\n POMPEY. He cannot, sir; he's out at elbow.\\r\\n ANGELO. What are you, sir?\\r\\n ELBOW. He, sir? A tapster, sir; parcel-bawd; one that serves a bad\\r\\n woman; whose house, sir, was, as they say, pluck'd down in the\\r\\n suburbs; and now she professes a hot-house, which, I think, is a\\r\\n very ill house too.\\r\\n ESCALUS. How know you that?\\r\\n ELBOW. My Wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven and your honour-\\r\\n ESCALUS. How! thy wife!\\r\\n ELBOW. Ay, sir; whom I thank heaven, is an honest woman-\\r\\n ESCALUS. Dost thou detest her therefore?\\r\\n ELBOW. I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well as she, that\\r\\n this house, if it be not a bawd's house, it is pity of her life,\\r\\n for it is a naughty house.\\r\\n ESCALUS. How dost thou know that, constable?\\r\\n ELBOW. Marry, sir, by my wife; who, if she had been a woman\\r\\n cardinally given, might have been accus'd in fornication,\\r\\n adultery, and all uncleanliness there.\\r\\n ESCALUS. By the woman's means?\\r\\n ELBOW. Ay, sir, by Mistress Overdone's means; but as she spit in\\r\\n his face, so she defied him.\\r\\n POMPEY. Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so.\\r\\n ELBOW. Prove it before these varlets here, thou honourable man,\\r\\n prove it.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Do you hear how he misplaces?\\r\\n POMPEY. Sir, she came in great with child; and longing, saving your\\r\\n honour's reverence, for stew'd prunes. Sir, we had but two in the\\r\\n house, which at that very distant time stood, as it were, in a\\r\\n fruit dish, a dish of some three pence; your honours have seen\\r\\n such dishes; they are not China dishes, but very good dishes.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Go to, go to; no matter for the dish, sir.\\r\\n POMPEY. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin; you are therein in the\\r\\n right; but to the point. As I say, this Mistress Elbow, being, as\\r\\n I say, with child, and being great-bellied, and longing, as I\\r\\n said, for prunes; and having but two in the dish, as I said,\\r\\n Master Froth here, this very man, having eaten the rest, as I\\r\\n said, and, as I say, paying for them very honestly; for, as you\\r\\n know, Master Froth, I could not give you three pence again-\\r\\n FROTH. No, indeed.\\r\\n POMPEY. Very well; you being then, if you be rememb'red, cracking\\r\\n the stones of the foresaid prunes-\\r\\n FROTH. Ay, so I did indeed.\\r\\n POMPEY. Why, very well; I telling you then, if you be rememb'red,\\r\\n that such a one and such a one were past cure of the thing you\\r\\n wot of, unless they kept very good diet, as I told you-\\r\\n FROTH. All this is true.\\r\\n POMPEY. Why, very well then-\\r\\n ESCALUS. Come, you are a tedious fool. To the purpose: what was\\r\\n done to Elbow's wife that he hath cause to complain of? Come me\\r\\n to what was done to her.\\r\\n POMPEY. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet.\\r\\n ESCALUS. No, sir, nor I mean it not.\\r\\n POMPEY. Sir, but you shall come to it, by your honour's leave. And,\\r\\n I beseech you, look into Master Froth here, sir, a man of\\r\\n fourscore pound a year; whose father died at Hallowmas- was't not\\r\\n at Hallowmas, Master Froth?\\r\\n FROTH. All-hallond eve.\\r\\n POMPEY. Why, very well; I hope here be truths. He, sir, sitting, as\\r\\n I say, in a lower chair, sir; 'twas in the Bunch of Grapes,\\r\\n where, indeed, you have a delight to sit, have you not?\\r\\n FROTH. I have so; because it is an open room, and good for winter.\\r\\n POMPEY. Why, very well then; I hope here be truths.\\r\\n ANGELO. This will last out a night in Russia,\\r\\n When nights are longest there; I'll take my leave,\\r\\n And leave you to the hearing of the cause,\\r\\n Hoping you'll find good cause to whip them all.\\r\\n ESCALUS. I think no less. Good morrow to your lordship.\\r\\n [Exit ANGELO] Now, sir, come on; what was done to Elbow's wife,\\r\\n once more?\\r\\n POMPEY. Once?- sir. There was nothing done to her once.\\r\\n ELBOW. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did to my wife.\\r\\n POMPEY. I beseech your honour, ask me.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Well, sir, what did this gentleman to her?\\r\\n POMPEY. I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's face. Good\\r\\n Master Froth, look upon his honour; 'tis for a good purpose. Doth\\r\\n your honour mark his face?\\r\\n ESCALUS. Ay, sir, very well.\\r\\n POMPEY. Nay, I beseech you, mark it well.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Well, I do so.\\r\\n POMPEY. Doth your honour see any harm in his face?\\r\\n ESCALUS. Why, no.\\r\\n POMPEY. I'll be suppos'd upon a book his face is the worst thing\\r\\n about him. Good then; if his face be the worst thing about him,\\r\\n how could Master Froth do the constable's wife any harm? I would\\r\\n know that of your honour.\\r\\n ESCALUS. He's in the right, constable; what say you to it?\\r\\n ELBOW. First, an it like you, the house is a respected house; next,\\r\\n this is a respected fellow; and his mistress is a respected\\r\\n woman.\\r\\n POMPEY. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected person than\\r\\n any of us all.\\r\\n ELBOW. Varlet, thou liest; thou liest, wicket varlet; the time is\\r\\n yet to come that she was ever respected with man, woman, or\\r\\n child.\\r\\n POMPEY. Sir, she was respected with him before he married with her.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Which is the wiser here, Justice or Iniquity? Is this\\r\\n true?\\r\\n ELBOW. O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou wicked Hannibal! I\\r\\n respected with her before I was married to her! If ever I was\\r\\n respected with her, or she with me, let not your worship think me\\r\\n the poor Duke's officer. Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, or\\r\\n I'll have mine action of batt'ry on thee.\\r\\n ESCALUS. If he took you a box o' th' ear, you might have your\\r\\n action of slander too.\\r\\n ELBOW. Marry, I thank your good worship for it. What is't your\\r\\n worship's pleasure I shall do with this wicked caitiff?\\r\\n ESCALUS. Truly, officer, because he hath some offences in him that\\r\\n thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, let him continue in his\\r\\n courses till thou know'st what they are.\\r\\n ELBOW. Marry, I thank your worship for it. Thou seest, thou wicked\\r\\n varlet, now, what's come upon thee: thou art to continue now,\\r\\n thou varlet; thou art to continue.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Where were you born, friend?\\r\\n FROTH. Here in Vienna, sir.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Are you of fourscore pounds a year?\\r\\n FROTH. Yes, an't please you, sir.\\r\\n ESCALUS. So. What trade are you of, sir?\\r\\n POMPEY. A tapster, a poor widow's tapster.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Your mistress' name?\\r\\n POMPEY. Mistress Overdone.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Hath she had any more than one husband?\\r\\n POMPEY. Nine, sir; Overdone by the last.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Nine! Come hither to me, Master Froth. Master Froth, I\\r\\n would not have you acquainted with tapsters: they will draw you,\\r\\n Master Froth, and you will hang them. Get you gone, and let me\\r\\n hear no more of you.\\r\\n FROTH. I thank your worship. For mine own part, I never come into\\r\\n any room in a taphouse but I am drawn in.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Well, no more of it, Master Froth; farewell. [Exit FROTH]\\r\\n Come you hither to me, Master Tapster; what's your name, Master\\r\\n Tapster?\\r\\n POMPEY. Pompey.\\r\\n ESCALUS. What else?\\r\\n POMPEY. Bum, sir.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you; so\\r\\n that, in the beastliest sense, you are Pompey the Great. Pompey,\\r\\n you are partly a bawd, Pompey, howsoever you colour it in being a\\r\\n tapster. Are you not? Come, tell me true; it shall be the better\\r\\n for you.\\r\\n POMPEY. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would live.\\r\\n ESCALUS. How would you live, Pompey- by being a bawd? What do you\\r\\n think of the trade, Pompey? Is it a lawful trade?\\r\\n POMPEY. If the law would allow it, sir.\\r\\n ESCALUS. But the law will not allow it, Pompey; nor it shall not be\\r\\n allowed in Vienna.\\r\\n POMPEY. Does your worship mean to geld and splay all the youth of\\r\\n the city?\\r\\n ESCALUS. No, Pompey.\\r\\n POMPEY. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't then. If\\r\\n your worship will take order for the drabs and the knaves, you\\r\\n need not to fear the bawds.\\r\\n ESCALUS. There is pretty orders beginning, I can tell you: but it\\r\\n is but heading and hanging.\\r\\n POMPEY. If you head and hang all that offend that way but for ten\\r\\n year together, you'll be glad to give out a commission for more\\r\\n heads; if this law hold in Vienna ten year, I'll rent the fairest\\r\\n house in it, after threepence a bay. If you live to see this come\\r\\n to pass, say Pompey told you so.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Thank you, good Pompey; and, in requital of your prophecy,\\r\\n hark you: I advise you, let me not find you before me again upon\\r\\n any complaint whatsoever- no, not for dwelling where you do; if I\\r\\n do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, and prove a shrewd\\r\\n Caesar to you; in plain dealing, Pompey, I shall have you whipt.\\r\\n So for this time, Pompey, fare you well.\\r\\n POMPEY. I thank your worship for your good counsel; [Aside] but I\\r\\n shall follow it as the flesh and fortune shall better determine.\\r\\n Whip me? No, no; let carman whip his jade;\\r\\n The valiant heart's not whipt out of his trade. Exit\\r\\n ESCALUS. Come hither to me, Master Elbow; come hither, Master\\r\\n Constable. How long have you been in this place of constable?\\r\\n ELBOW. Seven year and a half, sir.\\r\\n ESCALUS. I thought, by the readiness in the office, you had\\r\\n continued in it some time. You say seven years together?\\r\\n ELBOW. And a half, sir.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Alas, it hath been great pains to you! They do you wrong\\r\\n to put you so oft upon't. Are there not men in your ward\\r\\n sufficient to serve it?\\r\\n ELBOW. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters; as they are\\r\\n chosen, they are glad to choose me for them; I do it for some\\r\\n piece of money, and go through with all.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Look you, bring me in the names of some six or seven, the\\r\\n most sufficient of your parish.\\r\\n ELBOW. To your worship's house, sir?\\r\\n ESCALUS. To my house. Fare you well. [Exit ELBOW]\\r\\n What's o'clock, think you?\\r\\n JUSTICE. Eleven, sir.\\r\\n ESCALUS. I pray you home to dinner with me.\\r\\n JUSTICE. I humbly thank you.\\r\\n ESCALUS. It grieves me for the death of Claudio;\\r\\n But there's no remedy.\\r\\n JUSTICE. Lord Angelo is severe.\\r\\n ESCALUS. It is but needful:\\r\\n Mercy is not itself that oft looks so;\\r\\n Pardon is still the nurse of second woe.\\r\\n But yet, poor Claudio! There is no remedy.\\r\\n Come, sir. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another room in ANGELO'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PROVOST and a SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. He's hearing of a cause; he will come straight.\\r\\n I'll tell him of you.\\r\\n PROVOST. Pray you do. [Exit SERVANT] I'll know\\r\\n His pleasure; may be he will relent. Alas,\\r\\n He hath but as offended in a dream!\\r\\n All sects, all ages, smack of this vice; and he\\r\\n To die for 't!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ANGELO\\r\\n\\r\\n ANGELO. Now, what's the matter, Provost?\\r\\n PROVOST. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow?\\r\\n ANGELO. Did not I tell thee yea? Hadst thou not order?\\r\\n Why dost thou ask again?\\r\\n PROVOST. Lest I might be too rash;\\r\\n Under your good correction, I have seen\\r\\n When, after execution, judgment hath\\r\\n Repented o'er his doom.\\r\\n ANGELO. Go to; let that be mine.\\r\\n Do you your office, or give up your place,\\r\\n And you shall well be spar'd.\\r\\n PROVOST. I crave your honour's pardon.\\r\\n What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet?\\r\\n She's very near her hour.\\r\\n ANGELO. Dispose of her\\r\\n To some more fitter place, and that with speed.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd\\r\\n Desires access to you.\\r\\n ANGELO. Hath he a sister?\\r\\n PROVOST. Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid,\\r\\n And to be shortly of a sisterhood,\\r\\n If not already.\\r\\n ANGELO. Well, let her be admitted. Exit SERVANT\\r\\n See you the fornicatress be remov'd;\\r\\n Let her have needful but not lavish means;\\r\\n There shall be order for't.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucio and ISABELLA\\r\\n\\r\\n PROVOST. [Going] Save your honour!\\r\\n ANGELO. Stay a little while. [To ISABELLA] Y'are welcome; what's\\r\\n your will?\\r\\n ISABELLA. I am a woeful suitor to your honour,\\r\\n Please but your honour hear me.\\r\\n ANGELO. Well; what's your suit?\\r\\n ISABELLA. There is a vice that most I do abhor,\\r\\n And most desire should meet the blow of justice;\\r\\n For which I would not plead, but that I must;\\r\\n For which I must not plead, but that I am\\r\\n At war 'twixt will and will not.\\r\\n ANGELO. Well; the matter?\\r\\n ISABELLA. I have a brother is condemn'd to die;\\r\\n I do beseech you, let it be his fault,\\r\\n And not my brother.\\r\\n PROVOST. [Aside] Heaven give thee moving graces.\\r\\n ANGELO. Condemn the fault and not the actor of it!\\r\\n Why, every fault's condemn'd ere it be done;\\r\\n Mine were the very cipher of a function,\\r\\n To fine the faults whose fine stands in record,\\r\\n And let go by the actor.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O just but severe law!\\r\\n I had a brother, then. Heaven keep your honour!\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Give't not o'er so; to him again, entreat him,\\r\\n Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown;\\r\\n You are too cold: if you should need a pin,\\r\\n You could not with more tame a tongue desire it.\\r\\n To him, I say.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Must he needs die?\\r\\n ANGELO. Maiden, no remedy.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him.\\r\\n And neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy.\\r\\n ANGELO. I will not do't.\\r\\n ISABELLA. But can you, if you would?\\r\\n ANGELO. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.\\r\\n ISABELLA. But might you do't, and do the world no wrong,\\r\\n If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse\\r\\n As mine is to him?\\r\\n ANGELO. He's sentenc'd; 'tis too late.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] You are too cold.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Too late? Why, no; I, that do speak a word,\\r\\n May call it back again. Well, believe this:\\r\\n No ceremony that to great ones longs,\\r\\n Not the king's crown nor the deputed sword,\\r\\n The marshal's truncheon nor the judge's robe,\\r\\n Become them with one half so good a grace\\r\\n As mercy does.\\r\\n If he had been as you, and you as he,\\r\\n You would have slipp'd like him; but he, like you,\\r\\n Would not have been so stern.\\r\\n ANGELO. Pray you be gone.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I would to heaven I had your potency,\\r\\n And you were Isabel! Should it then be thus?\\r\\n No; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge\\r\\n And what a prisoner.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Ay, touch him; there's the vein.\\r\\n ANGELO. Your brother is a forfeit of the law,\\r\\n And you but waste your words.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Alas! Alas!\\r\\n Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once;\\r\\n And He that might the vantage best have took\\r\\n Found out the remedy. How would you be\\r\\n If He, which is the top of judgment, should\\r\\n But judge you as you are? O, think on that;\\r\\n And mercy then will breathe within your lips,\\r\\n Like man new made.\\r\\n ANGELO. Be you content, fair maid.\\r\\n It is the law, not I condemn your brother.\\r\\n Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son,\\r\\n It should be thus with him. He must die to-morrow.\\r\\n ISABELLA. To-morrow! O, that's sudden! Spare him, spare him.\\r\\n He's not prepar'd for death. Even for our kitchens\\r\\n We kill the fowl of season; shall we serve heaven\\r\\n With less respect than we do minister\\r\\n To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink you.\\r\\n Who is it that hath died for this offence?\\r\\n There's many have committed it.\\r\\n LUCIO. [Aside] Ay, well said.\\r\\n ANGELO. The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept.\\r\\n Those many had not dar'd to do that evil\\r\\n If the first that did th' edict infringe\\r\\n Had answer'd for his deed. Now 'tis awake,\\r\\n Takes note of what is done, and, like a prophet,\\r\\n Looks in a glass that shows what future evils-\\r\\n Either now or by remissness new conceiv'd,\\r\\n And so in progress to be hatch'd and born-\\r\\n Are now to have no successive degrees,\\r\\n But here they live to end.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Yet show some pity.\\r\\n ANGELO. I show it most of all when I show justice;\\r\\n For then I pity those I do not know,\\r\\n Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall,\\r\\n And do him right that, answering one foul wrong,\\r\\n Lives not to act another. Be satisfied;\\r\\n Your brother dies to-morrow; be content.\\r\\n ISABELLA. So you must be the first that gives this sentence,\\r\\n And he that suffers. O, it is excellent\\r\\n To have a giant's strength! But it is tyrannous\\r\\n To use it like a giant.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] That's well said.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Could great men thunder\\r\\n As Jove himself does, Jove would never be quiet,\\r\\n For every pelting petty officer\\r\\n Would use his heaven for thunder,\\r\\n Nothing but thunder. Merciful Heaven,\\r\\n Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt,\\r\\n Splits the unwedgeable and gnarled oak\\r\\n Than the soft myrtle. But man, proud man,\\r\\n Dress'd in a little brief authority,\\r\\n Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd,\\r\\n His glassy essence, like an angry ape,\\r\\n Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven\\r\\n As makes the angels weep; who, with our speens,\\r\\n Would all themselves laugh mortal.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] O, to him, to him, wench! He will relent;\\r\\n He's coming; I perceive 't.\\r\\n PROVOST. [Aside] Pray heaven she win him.\\r\\n ISABELLA. We cannot weigh our brother with ourself.\\r\\n Great men may jest with saints: 'tis wit in them;\\r\\n But in the less foul profanation.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Thou'rt i' th' right, girl; more o' that.\\r\\n ISABELLA. That in the captain's but a choleric word\\r\\n Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Art avis'd o' that? More on't.\\r\\n ANGELO. Why do you put these sayings upon me?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Because authority, though it err like others,\\r\\n Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself\\r\\n That skins the vice o' th' top. Go to your bosom,\\r\\n Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know\\r\\n That's like my brother's fault. If it confess\\r\\n A natural guiltiness such as is his,\\r\\n Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue\\r\\n Against my brother's life.\\r\\n ANGELO. [Aside] She speaks, and 'tis\\r\\n Such sense that my sense breeds with it.- Fare you well.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Gentle my lord, turn back.\\r\\n ANGELO. I will bethink me. Come again to-morrow.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Hark how I'll bribe you; good my lord, turn back.\\r\\n ANGELO. How, bribe me?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Ay, with such gifts that heaven shall share with you.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA) You had marr'd all else.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Not with fond sicles of the tested gold,\\r\\n Or stones, whose rate are either rich or poor\\r\\n As fancy values them; but with true prayers\\r\\n That shall be up at heaven and enter there\\r\\n Ere sun-rise, prayers from preserved souls,\\r\\n From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate\\r\\n To nothing temporal.\\r\\n ANGELO. Well; come to me to-morrow.\\r\\n LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Go to; 'tis well; away.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Heaven keep your honour safe!\\r\\n ANGELO. [Aside] Amen; for I\\r\\n Am that way going to temptation\\r\\n Where prayers cross.\\r\\n ISABELLA. At what hour to-morrow\\r\\n Shall I attend your lordship?\\r\\n ANGELO. At any time 'fore noon.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Save your honour! Exeunt all but ANGELO\\r\\n ANGELO. From thee; even from thy virtue!\\r\\n What's this, what's this? Is this her fault or mine?\\r\\n The tempter or the tempted, who sins most?\\r\\n Ha!\\r\\n Not she; nor doth she tempt; but it is I\\r\\n That, lying by the violet in the sun,\\r\\n Do as the carrion does, not as the flow'r,\\r\\n Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be\\r\\n That modesty may more betray our sense\\r\\n Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough,\\r\\n Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary,\\r\\n And pitch our evils there? O, fie, fie, fie!\\r\\n What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo?\\r\\n Dost thou desire her foully for those things\\r\\n That make her good? O, let her brother live!\\r\\n Thieves for their robbery have authority\\r\\n When judges steal themselves. What, do I love her,\\r\\n That I desire to hear her speak again,\\r\\n And feast upon her eyes? What is't I dream on?\\r\\n O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint,\\r\\n With saints dost bait thy hook! Most dangerous\\r\\n Is that temptation that doth goad us on\\r\\n To sin in loving virtue. Never could the strumpet,\\r\\n With all her double vigour, art and nature,\\r\\n Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid\\r\\n Subdues me quite. Ever till now,\\r\\n When men were fond, I smil'd and wond'red how. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A prison\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter, severally, DUKE, disguised as a FRIAR, and PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Hail to you, Provost! so I think you are.\\r\\n PROVOST. I am the Provost. What's your will, good friar?\\r\\n DUKE. Bound by my charity and my blest order,\\r\\n I come to visit the afflicted spirits\\r\\n Here in the prison. Do me the common right\\r\\n To let me see them, and to make me know\\r\\n The nature of their crimes, that I may minister\\r\\n To them accordingly.\\r\\n PROVOST. I would do more than that, if more were needful.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter JULIET\\r\\n\\r\\n Look, here comes one; a gentlewoman of mine,\\r\\n Who, falling in the flaws of her own youth,\\r\\n Hath blister'd her report. She is with child;\\r\\n And he that got it, sentenc'd- a young man\\r\\n More fit to do another such offence\\r\\n Than die for this.\\r\\n DUKE. When must he die?\\r\\n PROVOST. As I do think, to-morrow.\\r\\n [To JULIET] I have provided for you; stay awhile\\r\\n And you shall be conducted.\\r\\n DUKE. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry?\\r\\n JULIET. I do; and bear the shame most patiently.\\r\\n DUKE. I'll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience,\\r\\n And try your penitence, if it be sound\\r\\n Or hollowly put on.\\r\\n JULIET. I'll gladly learn.\\r\\n DUKE. Love you the man that wrong'd you?\\r\\n JULIET. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him.\\r\\n DUKE. So then, it seems, your most offenceful act\\r\\n Was mutually committed.\\r\\n JULIET. Mutually.\\r\\n DUKE. Then was your sin of heavier kind than his.\\r\\n JULIET. I do confess it, and repent it, father.\\r\\n DUKE. 'Tis meet so, daughter; but lest you do repent\\r\\n As that the sin hath brought you to this shame,\\r\\n Which sorrow is always toward ourselves, not heaven,\\r\\n Showing we would not spare heaven as we love it,\\r\\n But as we stand in fear-\\r\\n JULIET. I do repent me as it is an evil,\\r\\n And take the shame with joy.\\r\\n DUKE. There rest.\\r\\n Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow,\\r\\n And I am going with instruction to him.\\r\\n Grace go with you! Benedicite! Exit\\r\\n JULIET. Must die to-morrow! O, injurious law,\\r\\n That respites me a life whose very comfort\\r\\n Is still a dying horror!\\r\\n PROVOST. 'Tis pity of him. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. ANGELO'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ANGELO\\r\\n\\r\\n ANGELO. When I would pray and think, I think and pray\\r\\n To several subjects. Heaven hath my empty words,\\r\\n Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue,\\r\\n Anchors on Isabel. Heaven in my mouth,\\r\\n As if I did but only chew his name,\\r\\n And in my heart the strong and swelling evil\\r\\n Of my conception. The state whereon I studied\\r\\n Is, like a good thing being often read,\\r\\n Grown sere and tedious; yea, my gravity,\\r\\n Wherein- let no man hear me- I take pride,\\r\\n Could I with boot change for an idle plume\\r\\n Which the air beats for vain. O place, O form,\\r\\n How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit,\\r\\n Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls\\r\\n To thy false seeming! Blood, thou art blood.\\r\\n Let's write 'good angel' on the devil's horn;\\r\\n 'Tis not the devil's crest.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, who's there?\\r\\n SERVANT. One Isabel, a sister, desires access to you.\\r\\n ANGELO. Teach her the way. [Exit SERVANT] O heavens!\\r\\n Why does my blood thus muster to my heart,\\r\\n Making both it unable for itself\\r\\n And dispossessing all my other parts\\r\\n Of necessary fitness?\\r\\n So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons;\\r\\n Come all to help him, and so stop the air\\r\\n By which he should revive; and even so\\r\\n The general subject to a well-wish'd king\\r\\n Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness\\r\\n Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love\\r\\n Must needs appear offence.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ISABELLA\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, fair maid?\\r\\n ISABELLA. I am come to know your pleasure.\\r\\n ANGELO. That you might know it would much better please me\\r\\n Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Even so! Heaven keep your honour!\\r\\n ANGELO. Yet may he live awhile, and, it may be,\\r\\n As long as you or I; yet he must die.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Under your sentence?\\r\\n ANGELO. Yea.\\r\\n ISABELLA. When? I beseech you; that in his reprieve,\\r\\n Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted\\r\\n That his soul sicken not.\\r\\n ANGELO. Ha! Fie, these filthy vices! It were as good\\r\\n To pardon him that hath from nature stol'n\\r\\n A man already made, as to remit\\r\\n Their saucy sweetness that do coin heaven's image\\r\\n In stamps that are forbid; 'tis all as easy\\r\\n Falsely to take away a life true made\\r\\n As to put metal in restrained means\\r\\n To make a false one.\\r\\n ISABELLA. 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth.\\r\\n ANGELO. Say you so? Then I shall pose you quickly.\\r\\n Which had you rather- that the most just law\\r\\n Now took your brother's life; or, to redeem him,\\r\\n Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness\\r\\n As she that he hath stain'd?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Sir, believe this:\\r\\n I had rather give my body than my soul.\\r\\n ANGELO. I talk not of your soul; our compell'd sins\\r\\n Stand more for number than for accompt.\\r\\n ISABELLA. How say you?\\r\\n ANGELO. Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can speak\\r\\n Against the thing I say. Answer to this:\\r\\n I, now the voice of the recorded law,\\r\\n Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life;\\r\\n Might there not be a charity in sin\\r\\n To save this brother's life?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Please you to do't,\\r\\n I'll take it as a peril to my soul\\r\\n It is no sin at all, but charity.\\r\\n ANGELO. Pleas'd you to do't at peril of your soul,\\r\\n Were equal poise of sin and charity.\\r\\n ISABELLA. That I do beg his life, if it be sin,\\r\\n Heaven let me bear it! You granting of my suit,\\r\\n If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer\\r\\n To have it added to the faults of mine,\\r\\n And nothing of your answer.\\r\\n ANGELO. Nay, but hear me;\\r\\n Your sense pursues not mine; either you are ignorant\\r\\n Or seem so, craftily; and that's not good.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good\\r\\n But graciously to know I am no better.\\r\\n ANGELO. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright\\r\\n When it doth tax itself; as these black masks\\r\\n Proclaim an enshielded beauty ten times louder\\r\\n Than beauty could, display'd. But mark me:\\r\\n To be received plain, I'll speak more gross-\\r\\n Your brother is to die.\\r\\n ISABELLA. So.\\r\\n ANGELO. And his offence is so, as it appears,\\r\\n Accountant to the law upon that pain.\\r\\n ISABELLA. True.\\r\\n ANGELO. Admit no other way to save his life,\\r\\n As I subscribe not that, nor any other,\\r\\n But, in the loss of question, that you, his sister,\\r\\n Finding yourself desir'd of such a person\\r\\n Whose credit with the judge, or own great place,\\r\\n Could fetch your brother from the manacles\\r\\n Of the all-binding law; and that there were\\r\\n No earthly mean to save him but that either\\r\\n You must lay down the treasures of your body\\r\\n To this supposed, or else to let him suffer-\\r\\n What would you do?\\r\\n ISABELLA. As much for my poor brother as myself;\\r\\n That is, were I under the terms of death,\\r\\n Th' impression of keen whips I'd wear as rubies,\\r\\n And strip myself to death as to a bed\\r\\n That longing have been sick for, ere I'd yield\\r\\n My body up to shame.\\r\\n ANGELO. Then must your brother die.\\r\\n ISABELLA. And 'twere the cheaper way:\\r\\n Better it were a brother died at once\\r\\n Than that a sister, by redeeming him,\\r\\n Should die for ever.\\r\\n ANGELO. Were not you, then, as cruel as the sentence\\r\\n That you have slander'd so?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Ignominy in ransom and free pardon\\r\\n Are of two houses: lawful mercy\\r\\n Is nothing kin to foul redemption.\\r\\n ANGELO. You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant;\\r\\n And rather prov'd the sliding of your brother\\r\\n A merriment than a vice.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, pardon me, my lord! It oft falls out,\\r\\n To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean:\\r\\n I something do excuse the thing I hate\\r\\n For his advantage that I dearly love.\\r\\n ANGELO. We are all frail.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Else let my brother die,\\r\\n If not a fedary but only he\\r\\n Owe and succeed thy weakness.\\r\\n ANGELO. Nay, women are frail too.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves,\\r\\n Which are as easy broke as they make forms.\\r\\n Women, help heaven! Men their creation mar\\r\\n In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail;\\r\\n For we are soft as our complexions are,\\r\\n And credulous to false prints.\\r\\n ANGELO. I think it well;\\r\\n And from this testimony of your own sex,\\r\\n Since I suppose we are made to be no stronger\\r\\n Than faults may shake our frames, let me be bold.\\r\\n I do arrest your words. Be that you are,\\r\\n That is, a woman; if you be more, you're none;\\r\\n If you be one, as you are well express'd\\r\\n By all external warrants, show it now\\r\\n By putting on the destin'd livery.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I have no tongue but one; gentle, my lord,\\r\\n Let me intreat you speak the former language.\\r\\n ANGELO. Plainly conceive, I love you.\\r\\n ISABELLA. My brother did love Juliet,\\r\\n And you tell me that he shall die for't.\\r\\n ANGELO. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I know your virtue hath a license in't,\\r\\n Which seems a little fouler than it is,\\r\\n To pluck on others.\\r\\n ANGELO. Believe me, on mine honour,\\r\\n My words express my purpose.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Ha! little honour to be much believ'd,\\r\\n And most pernicious purpose! Seeming, seeming!\\r\\n I will proclaim thee, Angelo, look for't.\\r\\n Sign me a present pardon for my brother\\r\\n Or, with an outstretch'd throat, I'll tell the world aloud\\r\\n What man thou art.\\r\\n ANGELO. Who will believe thee, Isabel?\\r\\n My unsoil'd name, th' austereness of my life,\\r\\n My vouch against you, and my place i' th' state,\\r\\n Will so your accusation overweigh\\r\\n That you shall stifle in your own report,\\r\\n And smell of calumny. I have begun,\\r\\n And now I give my sensual race the rein:\\r\\n Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite;\\r\\n Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes\\r\\n That banish what they sue for; redeem thy brother\\r\\n By yielding up thy body to my will;\\r\\n Or else he must not only die the death,\\r\\n But thy unkindness shall his death draw out\\r\\n To ling'ring sufferance. Answer me to-morrow,\\r\\n Or, by the affection that now guides me most,\\r\\n I'll prove a tyrant to him. As for you,\\r\\n Say what you can: my false o'erweighs your true. Exit\\r\\n ISABELLA. To whom should I complain? Did I tell this,\\r\\n Who would believe me? O perilous mouths\\r\\n That bear in them one and the self-same tongue\\r\\n Either of condemnation or approof,\\r\\n Bidding the law make curtsy to their will;\\r\\n Hooking both right and wrong to th' appetite,\\r\\n To follow as it draws! I'll to my brother.\\r\\n Though he hath fall'n by prompture of the blood,\\r\\n Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour\\r\\n That, had he twenty heads to tender down\\r\\n On twenty bloody blocks, he'd yield them up\\r\\n Before his sister should her body stoop\\r\\n To such abhorr'd pollution.\\r\\n Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die:\\r\\n More than our brother is our chastity.\\r\\n I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request,\\r\\n And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. The prison\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE, disguised as before, CLAUDIO, and PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. So, then you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. The miserable have no other medicine\\r\\n But only hope:\\r\\n I have hope to Eve, and am prepar'd to die.\\r\\n DUKE. Be absolute for death; either death or life\\r\\n Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life.\\r\\n If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing\\r\\n That none but fools would keep. A breath thou art,\\r\\n Servile to all the skyey influences,\\r\\n That dost this habitation where thou keep'st\\r\\n Hourly afflict. Merely, thou art Death's fool;\\r\\n For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun\\r\\n And yet run'st toward him still. Thou art not noble;\\r\\n For all th' accommodations that thou bear'st\\r\\n Are nurs'd by baseness. Thou 'rt by no means valiant;\\r\\n For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork\\r\\n Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep,\\r\\n And that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'st\\r\\n Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself;\\r\\n For thou exists on many a thousand grains\\r\\n That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not;\\r\\n For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get,\\r\\n And what thou hast, forget'st. Thou art not certain;\\r\\n For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,\\r\\n After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor;\\r\\n For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows,\\r\\n Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey,\\r\\n And Death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none;\\r\\n For thine own bowels which do call thee sire,\\r\\n The mere effusion of thy proper loins,\\r\\n Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum,\\r\\n For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth nor age,\\r\\n But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep,\\r\\n Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth\\r\\n Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms\\r\\n Of palsied eld; and when thou art old and rich,\\r\\n Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,\\r\\n To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this\\r\\n That bears the name of life? Yet in this life\\r\\n Lie hid moe thousand deaths; yet death we fear,\\r\\n That makes these odds all even.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. I humbly thank you.\\r\\n To sue to live, I find I seek to die;\\r\\n And, seeking death, find life. Let it come on.\\r\\n ISABELLA. [Within] What, ho! Peace here; grace and good company!\\r\\n PROVOST. Who's there? Come in; the wish deserves a welcome.\\r\\n DUKE. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Most holy sir, I thank you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ISABELLA\\r\\n\\r\\n ISABELLA. My business is a word or two with Claudio.\\r\\n PROVOST. And very welcome. Look, signior, here's your sister.\\r\\n DUKE. Provost, a word with you.\\r\\n PROVOST. As many as you please.\\r\\n DUKE. Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be conceal'd.\\r\\n Exeunt DUKE and PROVOST\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Now, sister, what's the comfort?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Why,\\r\\n As all comforts are; most good, most good, indeed.\\r\\n Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven,\\r\\n Intends you for his swift ambassador,\\r\\n Where you shall be an everlasting leiger.\\r\\n Therefore, your best appointment make with speed;\\r\\n To-morrow you set on.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Is there no remedy?\\r\\n ISABELLA. None, but such remedy as, to save a head,\\r\\n To cleave a heart in twain.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. But is there any?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Yes, brother, you may live:\\r\\n There is a devilish mercy in the judge,\\r\\n If you'll implore it, that will free your life,\\r\\n But fetter you till death.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Perpetual durance?\\r\\n ISABELLA. Ay, just; perpetual durance, a restraint,\\r\\n Though all the world's vastidity you had,\\r\\n To a determin'd scope.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. But in what nature?\\r\\n ISABELLA. In such a one as, you consenting to't,\\r\\n Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear,\\r\\n And leave you naked.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Let me know the point.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake,\\r\\n Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain,\\r\\n And six or seven winters more respect\\r\\n Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die?\\r\\n The sense of death is most in apprehension;\\r\\n And the poor beetle that we tread upon\\r\\n In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great\\r\\n As when a giant dies.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Why give you me this shame?\\r\\n Think you I can a resolution fetch\\r\\n From flow'ry tenderness? If I must die,\\r\\n I will encounter darkness as a bride\\r\\n And hug it in mine arms.\\r\\n ISABELLA. There spake my brother; there my father's grave\\r\\n Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die:\\r\\n Thou art too noble to conserve a life\\r\\n In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy,\\r\\n Whose settled visage and deliberate word\\r\\n Nips youth i' th' head, and follies doth enew\\r\\n As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil;\\r\\n His filth within being cast, he would appear\\r\\n A pond as deep as hell.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. The precise Angelo!\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell\\r\\n The damned'st body to invest and cover\\r\\n In precise guards! Dost thou think, Claudio,\\r\\n If I would yield him my virginity\\r\\n Thou mightst be freed?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. O heavens! it cannot be.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Yes, he would give't thee, from this rank offence,\\r\\n So to offend him still. This night's the time\\r\\n That I should do what I abhor to name,\\r\\n Or else thou diest to-morrow.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Thou shalt not do't.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, were it but my life!\\r\\n I'd throw it down for your deliverance\\r\\n As frankly as a pin.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Thanks, dear Isabel.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Yes. Has he affections in him\\r\\n That thus can make him bite the law by th' nose\\r\\n When he would force it? Sure it is no sin;\\r\\n Or of the deadly seven it is the least.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Which is the least?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. If it were damnable, he being so wise,\\r\\n Why would he for the momentary trick\\r\\n Be perdurably fin'd?- O Isabel!\\r\\n ISABELLA. What says my brother?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Death is a fearful thing.\\r\\n ISABELLA. And shamed life a hateful.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;\\r\\n To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot;\\r\\n This sensible warm motion to become\\r\\n A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit\\r\\n To bathe in fiery floods or to reside\\r\\n In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice;\\r\\n To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,\\r\\n And blown with restless violence round about\\r\\n The pendent world; or to be worse than worst\\r\\n Of those that lawless and incertain thought\\r\\n Imagine howling- 'tis too horrible.\\r\\n The weariest and most loathed worldly life\\r\\n That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment,\\r\\n Can lay on nature is a paradise\\r\\n To what we fear of death.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Alas, alas!\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Sweet sister, let me live.\\r\\n What sin you do to save a brother's life,\\r\\n Nature dispenses with the deed so far\\r\\n That it becomes a virtue.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O you beast!\\r\\n O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch!\\r\\n Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice?\\r\\n Is't not a kind of incest to take life\\r\\n From thine own sister's shame? What should I think?\\r\\n Heaven shield my mother play'd my father fair!\\r\\n For such a warped slip of wilderness\\r\\n Ne'er issu'd from his blood. Take my defiance;\\r\\n Die; perish. Might but my bending down\\r\\n Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed.\\r\\n I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death,\\r\\n No word to save thee.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Nay, hear me, Isabel.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O fie, fie, fie!\\r\\n Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade.\\r\\n Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd;\\r\\n 'Tis best that thou diest quickly.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. O, hear me, Isabella.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter DUKE\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one word.\\r\\n ISABELLA. What is your will?\\r\\n DUKE. Might you dispense with your leisure, I would by and by have\\r\\n some speech with you; the satisfaction I would require is\\r\\n likewise your own benefit.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must be stolen out\\r\\n of other affairs; but I will attend you awhile.\\r\\n [Walks apart]\\r\\n DUKE. Son, I have overheard what hath pass'd between you and your\\r\\n sister. Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; only he hath\\r\\n made an assay of her virtue to practise his judgment with the\\r\\n disposition of natures. She, having the truth of honour in her,\\r\\n hath made him that gracious denial which he is most glad to\\r\\n receive. I am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be true;\\r\\n therefore prepare yourself to death. Do not satisfy your\\r\\n resolution with hopes that are fallible; to-morrow you must die;\\r\\n go to your knees and make ready.\\r\\n CLAUDIO. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out of love with life\\r\\n that I will sue to be rid of it.\\r\\n DUKE. Hold you there. Farewell. [Exit CLAUDIO] Provost, a word with\\r\\n you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n PROVOST. What's your will, father?\\r\\n DUKE. That, now you are come, you will be gone. Leave me a while\\r\\n with the maid; my mind promises with my habit no loss shall touch\\r\\n her by my company.\\r\\n PROVOST. In good time. Exit PROVOST\\r\\n DUKE. The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good; the\\r\\n goodness that is cheap in beauty makes beauty brief in goodness;\\r\\n but grace, being the soul of your complexion, shall keep the body\\r\\n of it ever fair. The assault that Angelo hath made to you,\\r\\n fortune hath convey'd to my understanding; and, but that frailty\\r\\n hath examples for his falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How\\r\\n will you do to content this substitute, and to save your brother?\\r\\n ISABELLA. I am now going to resolve him; I had rather my brother\\r\\n die by the law than my son should be unlawfully born. But, O, how\\r\\n much is the good Duke deceiv'd in Angelo! If ever he return, and\\r\\n I can speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or discover his\\r\\n government.\\r\\n DUKE. That shall not be much amiss; yet, as the matter now stands,\\r\\n he will avoid your accusation: he made trial of you only.\\r\\n Therefore fasten your ear on my advisings; to the love I have in\\r\\n doing good a remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe\\r\\n that you may most uprighteously do a poor wronged lady a merited\\r\\n benefit; redeem your brother from the angry law; do no stain to\\r\\n your own gracious person; and much please the absent Duke, if\\r\\n peradventure he shall ever return to have hearing of this\\r\\n business.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Let me hear you speak farther; I have spirit to do\\r\\n anything that appears not foul in the truth of my spirit.\\r\\n DUKE. Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. Have you not\\r\\n heard speak of Mariana, the sister of Frederick, the great\\r\\n soldier who miscarried at sea?\\r\\n ISABELLA. I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her\\r\\n name.\\r\\n DUKE. She should this Angelo have married; was affianced to her by\\r\\n oath, and the nuptial appointed; between which time of the\\r\\n contract and limit of the solemnity her brother Frederick was\\r\\n wreck'd at sea, having in that perished vessel the dowry of his\\r\\n sister. But mark how heavily this befell to the poor gentlewoman:\\r\\n there she lost a noble and renowned brother, in his love toward\\r\\n her ever most kind and natural; with him the portion and sinew of\\r\\n her fortune, her marriage-dowry; with both, her combinate\\r\\n husband, this well-seeming Angelo.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Can this be so? Did Angelo so leave her?\\r\\n DUKE. Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them with his\\r\\n comfort; swallowed his vows whole, pretending in her discoveries\\r\\n of dishonour; in few, bestow'd her on her own lamentation, which\\r\\n she yet wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her tears, is\\r\\n washed with them, but relents not.\\r\\n ISABELLA. What a merit were it in death to take this poor maid from\\r\\n the world! What corruption in this life that it will let this man\\r\\n live! But how out of this can she avail?\\r\\n DUKE. It is a rupture that you may easily heal; and the cure of it\\r\\n not only saves your brother, but keeps you from dishonour in\\r\\n doing it.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Show me how, good father.\\r\\n DUKE. This forenamed maid hath yet in her the continuance of her\\r\\n first affection; his unjust unkindness, that in all reason should\\r\\n have quenched her love, hath, like an impediment in the current,\\r\\n made it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo; answer his\\r\\n requiring with a plausible obedience; agree with his demands to\\r\\n the point; only refer yourself to this advantage: first, that\\r\\n your stay with him may not be long; that the time may have all\\r\\n shadow and silence in it; and the place answer to convenience.\\r\\n This being granted in course- and now follows all: we shall\\r\\n advise this wronged maid to stead up your appointment, go in your\\r\\n place. If the encounter acknowledge itself hereafter, it may\\r\\n compel him to her recompense; and here, by this, is your brother\\r\\n saved, your honour untainted, the poor Mariana advantaged, and\\r\\n the corrupt deputy scaled. The maid will I frame and make fit for\\r\\n his attempt. If you think well to carry this as you may, the\\r\\n doubleness of the benefit defends the deceit from reproof. What\\r\\n think you of it?\\r\\n ISABELLA. The image of it gives me content already; and I trust it\\r\\n will grow to a most prosperous perfection.\\r\\n DUKE. It lies much in your holding up. Haste you speedily to\\r\\n Angelo; if for this night he entreat you to his bed, give him\\r\\n promise of satisfaction. I will presently to Saint Luke's; there,\\r\\n at the moated grange, resides this dejected Mariana. At that\\r\\n place call upon me; and dispatch with Angelo, that it may be\\r\\n quickly.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, good father.\\r\\n Exeunt severally\\r\\n\\r\\nScene II. The street before the prison\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter, on one side, DUKE disguised as before; on the other, ELBOW, and\\r\\nOFFICERS with POMPEY\\r\\n\\r\\n ELBOW. Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that you will needs\\r\\n buy and sell men and women like beasts, we shall have all the\\r\\n world drink brown and white bastard.\\r\\n DUKE. O heavens! what stuff is here?\\r\\n POMPEY. 'Twas never merry world since, of two usuries, the merriest\\r\\n was put down, and the worser allow'd by order of law a furr'd\\r\\n gown to keep him warm; and furr'd with fox on lamb-skins too, to\\r\\n signify that craft, being richer than innocency, stands for the\\r\\n facing.\\r\\n ELBOW. Come your way, sir. Bless you, good father friar.\\r\\n DUKE. And you, good brother father. What offence hath this man made\\r\\n you, sir?\\r\\n ELBOW. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law; and, sir, we take him\\r\\n to be a thief too, sir, for we have found upon him, sir, a\\r\\n strange picklock, which we have sent to the deputy.\\r\\n DUKE. Fie, sirrah, a bawd, a wicked bawd!\\r\\n The evil that thou causest to be done,\\r\\n That is thy means to live. Do thou but think\\r\\n What 'tis to cram a maw or clothe a back\\r\\n From such a filthy vice; say to thyself\\r\\n 'From their abominable and beastly touches\\r\\n I drink, I eat, array myself, and live.'\\r\\n Canst thou believe thy living is a life,\\r\\n So stinkingly depending? Go mend, go mend.\\r\\n POMPEY. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir; but yet, sir,\\r\\n I would prove-\\r\\n DUKE. Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for sin,\\r\\n Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer;\\r\\n Correction and instruction must both work\\r\\n Ere this rude beast will profit.\\r\\n ELBOW. He must before the deputy, sir; he has given him warning.\\r\\n The deputy cannot abide a whoremaster; if he be a whoremonger,\\r\\n and comes before him, he were as good go a mile on his errand.\\r\\n DUKE. That we were all, as some would seem to be,\\r\\n From our faults, as his faults from seeming, free.\\r\\n ELBOW. His neck will come to your waist- a cord, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LUCIO\\r\\n\\r\\n POMPEY. I spy comfort; I cry bail. Here's a gentleman, and a friend\\r\\n of mine.\\r\\n LUCIO. How now, noble Pompey! What, at the wheels of Caesar? Art\\r\\n thou led in triumph? What, is there none of Pygmalion's images,\\r\\n newly made woman, to be had now for putting the hand in the\\r\\n pocket and extracting it clutch'd? What reply, ha? What say'st\\r\\n thou to this tune, matter, and method? Is't not drown'd i' th'\\r\\n last rain, ha? What say'st thou, trot? Is the world as it was,\\r\\n man? Which is the way? Is it sad, and few words? or how? The\\r\\n trick of it?\\r\\n DUKE. Still thus, and thus; still worse!\\r\\n LUCIO. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? Procures she still,\\r\\n ha?\\r\\n POMPEY. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and she is\\r\\n herself in the tub.\\r\\n LUCIO. Why, 'tis good; it is the right of it; it must be so; ever\\r\\n your fresh whore and your powder'd bawd- an unshunn'd\\r\\n consequence; it must be so. Art going to prison, Pompey?\\r\\n POMPEY. Yes, faith, sir.\\r\\n LUCIO. Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey. Farewell; go, say I sent thee\\r\\n thither. For debt, Pompey- or how?\\r\\n ELBOW. For being a bawd, for being a bawd.\\r\\n LUCIO. Well, then, imprison him. If imprisonment be the due of a\\r\\n bawd, why, 'tis his right. Bawd is he doubtless, and of\\r\\n antiquity, too; bawd-born. Farewell, good Pompey. Commend me to\\r\\n the prison, Pompey. You will turn good husband now, Pompey; you\\r\\n will keep the house.\\r\\n POMPEY. I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail.\\r\\n LUCIO. No, indeed, will I not, Pompey; it is not the wear. I will\\r\\n pray, Pompey, to increase your bondage. If you take it not\\r\\n patiently, why, your mettle is the more. Adieu trusty Pompey.\\r\\n Bless you, friar.\\r\\n DUKE. And you.\\r\\n LUCIO. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, ha?\\r\\n ELBOW. Come your ways, sir; come.\\r\\n POMPEY. You will not bail me then, sir?\\r\\n LUCIO. Then, Pompey, nor now. What news abroad, friar? what news?\\r\\n ELBOW. Come your ways, sir; come.\\r\\n LUCIO. Go to kennel, Pompey, go.\\r\\n\\r\\n Exeunt ELBOW, POMPEY and OFFICERS\\r\\n\\r\\n What news, friar, of the Duke?\\r\\n DUKE. I know none. Can you tell me of any?\\r\\n LUCIO. Some say he is with the Emperor of Russia; other some, he is\\r\\n in Rome; but where is he, think you?\\r\\n DUKE. I know not where; but wheresoever, I wish him well.\\r\\n LUCIO. It was a mad fantastical trick of him to steal from the\\r\\n state and usurp the beggary he was never born to. Lord Angelo\\r\\n dukes it well in his absence; he puts transgression to't.\\r\\n DUKE. He does well in't.\\r\\n LUCIO. A little more lenity to lechery would do no harm in him;\\r\\n something too crabbed that way, friar.\\r\\n DUKE. It is too general a vice, and severity must cure it.\\r\\n LUCIO. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great kindred; it is\\r\\n well allied; but it is impossible to extirp it quite, friar, till\\r\\n eating and drinking be put down. They say this Angelo was not\\r\\n made by man and woman after this downright way of creation. Is it\\r\\n true, think you?\\r\\n DUKE. How should he be made, then?\\r\\n LUCIO. Some report a sea-maid spawn'd him; some, that he was begot\\r\\n between two stock-fishes. But it is certain that when he makes\\r\\n water his urine is congeal'd ice; that I know to be true. And he\\r\\n is a motion generative; that's infallible.\\r\\n DUKE. You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace.\\r\\n LUCIO. Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him, for the rebellion\\r\\n of a codpiece to take away the life of a man! Would the Duke that\\r\\n is absent have done this? Ere he would have hang'd a man for the\\r\\n getting a hundred bastards, he would have paid for the nursing a\\r\\n thousand. He had some feeling of the sport; he knew the service,\\r\\n and that instructed him to mercy.\\r\\n DUKE. I never heard the absent Duke much detected for women; he was\\r\\n not inclin'd that way.\\r\\n LUCIO. O, sir, you are deceiv'd.\\r\\n DUKE. 'Tis not possible.\\r\\n LUCIO. Who- not the Duke? Yes, your beggar of fifty; and his use\\r\\n was to put a ducat in her clack-dish. The Duke had crotchets in\\r\\n him. He would be drunk too; that let me inform you.\\r\\n DUKE. You do him wrong, surely.\\r\\n LUCIO. Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy fellow was the Duke; and\\r\\n I believe I know the cause of his withdrawing.\\r\\n DUKE. What, I prithee, might be the cause?\\r\\n LUCIO. No, pardon; 'tis a secret must be lock'd within the teeth\\r\\n and the lips; but this I can let you understand: the greater file\\r\\n of the subject held the Duke to be wise.\\r\\n DUKE. Wise? Why, no question but he was.\\r\\n LUCIO. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow.\\r\\n DUKE. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mistaking; the very\\r\\n stream of his life, and the business he hath helmed, must, upon a\\r\\n warranted need, give him a better proclamation. Let him be but\\r\\n testimonied in his own bringings-forth, and he shall appear to\\r\\n the envious a scholar, a statesman, and a soldier. Therefore you\\r\\n speak unskilfully; or, if your knowledge be more, it is much\\r\\n dark'ned in your malice.\\r\\n LUCIO. Sir, I know him, and I love him.\\r\\n DUKE. Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dearer\\r\\n love.\\r\\n LUCIO. Come, sir, I know what I know.\\r\\n DUKE. I can hardly believe that, since you know not what you speak.\\r\\n But, if ever the Duke return, as our prayers are he may, let me\\r\\n desire you to make your answer before him. If it be honest you\\r\\n have spoke, you have courage to maintain it; I am bound to call\\r\\n upon you; and I pray you your name?\\r\\n LUCIO. Sir, my name is Lucio, well known to the Duke.\\r\\n DUKE. He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to report you.\\r\\n LUCIO. I fear you not.\\r\\n DUKE. O, you hope the Duke will return no more; or you imagine me\\r\\n too unhurtful an opposite. But, indeed, I can do you little harm:\\r\\n you'll forswear this again.\\r\\n LUCIO. I'll be hang'd first. Thou art deceiv'd in me, friar. But no\\r\\n more of this. Canst thou tell if Claudio die to-morrow or no?\\r\\n DUKE. Why should he die, sir?\\r\\n LUCIO. Why? For filling a bottle with a tun-dish. I would the Duke\\r\\n we talk of were return'd again. This ungenitur'd agent will\\r\\n unpeople the province with continency; sparrows must not build in\\r\\n his house-eaves because they are lecherous. The Duke yet would\\r\\n have dark deeds darkly answered; he would never bring them to\\r\\n light. Would he were return'd! Marry, this Claudio is condemned\\r\\n for untrussing. Farewell, good friar; I prithee pray for me. The\\r\\n Duke, I say to thee again, would eat mutton on Fridays. He's not\\r\\n past it yet; and, I say to thee, he would mouth with a beggar\\r\\n though she smelt brown bread and garlic. Say that I said so.\\r\\n Farewell. Exit\\r\\n DUKE. No might nor greatness in mortality\\r\\n Can censure scape; back-wounding calumny\\r\\n The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong\\r\\n Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue?\\r\\n But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ESCALUS, PROVOST, and OFFICERS with\\r\\n MISTRESS OVERDONE\\r\\n\\r\\n ESCALUS. Go, away with her to prison.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. Good my lord, be good to me; your honour is\\r\\n accounted a merciful man; good my lord.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Double and treble admonition, and still forfeit in the\\r\\n same kind! This would make mercy swear and play the tyrant.\\r\\n PROVOST. A bawd of eleven years' continuance, may it please your\\r\\n honour.\\r\\n MRS. OVERDONE. My lord, this is one Lucio's information against me.\\r\\n Mistress Kate Keepdown was with child by him in the Duke's time;\\r\\n he promis'd her marriage. His child is a year and a quarter old\\r\\n come Philip and Jacob; I have kept it myself; and see how he goes\\r\\n about to abuse me.\\r\\n ESCALUS. That fellow is a fellow of much license. Let him be call'd\\r\\n before us. Away with her to prison. Go to; no more words. [Exeunt\\r\\n OFFICERS with MISTRESS OVERDONE] Provost, my brother Angelo will\\r\\n not be alter'd: Claudio must die to-morrow. Let him be furnish'd\\r\\n with divines, and have all charitable preparation. If my brother\\r\\n wrought by my pity, it should not be so with him.\\r\\n PROVOST. So please you, this friar hath been with him, and advis'd\\r\\n him for th' entertainment of death.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Good even, good father.\\r\\n DUKE. Bliss and goodness on you!\\r\\n ESCALUS. Of whence are you?\\r\\n DUKE. Not of this country, though my chance is now\\r\\n To use it for my time. I am a brother\\r\\n Of gracious order, late come from the See\\r\\n In special business from his Holiness.\\r\\n ESCALUS. What news abroad i' th' world?\\r\\n DUKE. None, but that there is so great a fever on goodness that the\\r\\n dissolution of it must cure it. Novelty is only in request; and,\\r\\n as it is, as dangerous to be aged in any kind of course as it is\\r\\n virtuous to be constant in any undertakeing. There is scarce\\r\\n truth enough alive to make societies secure; but security enough\\r\\n to make fellowships accurst. Much upon this riddle runs the\\r\\n wisdom of the world. This news is old enough, yet it is every\\r\\n day's news. I pray you, sir, of what disposition was the Duke?\\r\\n ESCALUS. One that, above all other strifes, contended especially to\\r\\n know himself.\\r\\n DUKE. What pleasure was he given to?\\r\\n ESCALUS. Rather rejoicing to see another merry than merry at\\r\\n anything which profess'd to make him rejoice; a gentleman of all\\r\\n temperance. But leave we him to his events, with a prayer they\\r\\n may prove prosperous; and let me desire to know how you find\\r\\n Claudio prepar'd. I am made to understand that you have lent him\\r\\n visitation.\\r\\n DUKE. He professes to have received no sinister measure from his\\r\\n judge, but most willingly humbles himself to the determination of\\r\\n justice. Yet had he framed to himself, by the instruction of his\\r\\n frailty, many deceiving promises of life; which I, by my good\\r\\n leisure, have discredited to him, and now he is resolv'd to die.\\r\\n ESCALUS. You have paid the heavens your function, and the prisoner\\r\\n the very debt of your calling. I have labour'd for the poor\\r\\n gentleman to the extremest shore of my modesty; but my brother\\r\\n justice have I found so severe that he hath forc'd me to tell him\\r\\n he is indeed Justice.\\r\\n DUKE. If his own life answer the straitness of his proceeding, it\\r\\n shall become him well; wherein if he chance to fail, he hath\\r\\n sentenc'd himself.\\r\\n ESCALUS. I am going to visit the prisoner. Fare you well.\\r\\n DUKE. Peace be with you! Exeunt ESCALUS and PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n He who the sword of heaven will bear\\r\\n Should be as holy as severe;\\r\\n Pattern in himself to know,\\r\\n Grace to stand, and virtue go;\\r\\n More nor less to others paying\\r\\n Than by self-offences weighing.\\r\\n Shame to him whose cruel striking\\r\\n Kills for faults of his own liking!\\r\\n Twice treble shame on Angelo,\\r\\n To weed my vice and let his grow!\\r\\n O, what may man within him hide,\\r\\n Though angel on the outward side!\\r\\n How may likeness, made in crimes,\\r\\n Make a practice on the times,\\r\\n To draw with idle spiders' strings\\r\\n Most ponderous and substantial things!\\r\\n Craft against vice I must apply.\\r\\n With Angelo to-night shall lie\\r\\n His old betrothed but despised;\\r\\n So disguise shall, by th' disguised,\\r\\n Pay with falsehood false exacting,\\r\\n And perform an old contracting. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. Scene I. The moated grange at Saint Duke's\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MARIANA; and BOY singing\\r\\n\\r\\n SONG\\r\\n\\r\\n Take, O, take those lips away,\\r\\n That so sweetly were forsworn;\\r\\n And those eyes, the break of day,\\r\\n Lights that do mislead the morn;\\r\\n But my kisses bring again, bring again;\\r\\n Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, seal'd in vain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUKE, disguised as before\\r\\n\\r\\n MARIANA. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick away;\\r\\n Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice\\r\\n Hath often still'd my brawling discontent. Exit BOY\\r\\n I cry you mercy, sir, and well could wish\\r\\n You had not found me here so musical.\\r\\n Let me excuse me, and believe me so,\\r\\n My mirth it much displeas'd, but pleas'd my woe.\\r\\n DUKE. 'Tis good; though music oft hath such a charm\\r\\n To make bad good and good provoke to harm.\\r\\n I pray you tell me hath anybody inquir'd for me here to-day. Much\\r\\n upon this time have I promis'd here to meet.\\r\\n MARIANA. You have not been inquir'd after; I have sat here all day.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ISABELLA\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. I do constantly believe you. The time is come even now. I\\r\\n shall crave your forbearance a little. May be I will call upon\\r\\n you anon, for some advantage to yourself.\\r\\n MARIANA. I am always bound to you. Exit\\r\\n DUKE. Very well met, and well come.\\r\\n What is the news from this good deputy?\\r\\n ISABELLA. He hath a garden circummur'd with brick,\\r\\n Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd;\\r\\n And to that vineyard is a planched gate\\r\\n That makes his opening with this bigger key;\\r\\n This other doth command a little door\\r\\n Which from the vineyard to the garden leads.\\r\\n There have I made my promise\\r\\n Upon the heavy middle of the night\\r\\n To call upon him.\\r\\n DUKE. But shall you on your knowledge find this way?\\r\\n ISABELLA. I have ta'en a due and wary note upon't;\\r\\n With whispering and most guilty diligence,\\r\\n In action all of precept, he did show me\\r\\n The way twice o'er.\\r\\n DUKE. Are there no other tokens\\r\\n Between you 'greed concerning her observance?\\r\\n ISABELLA. No, none, but only a repair i' th' dark;\\r\\n And that I have possess'd him my most stay\\r\\n Can be but brief; for I have made him know\\r\\n I have a servant comes with me along,\\r\\n That stays upon me; whose persuasion is\\r\\n I come about my brother.\\r\\n DUKE. 'Tis well borne up.\\r\\n I have not yet made known to Mariana\\r\\n A word of this. What ho, within! come forth.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter MARIANA\\r\\n\\r\\n I pray you be acquainted with this maid;\\r\\n She comes to do you good.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I do desire the like.\\r\\n DUKE. Do you persuade yourself that I respect you?\\r\\n MARIANA. Good friar, I know you do, and have found it.\\r\\n DUKE. Take, then, this your companion by the hand,\\r\\n Who hath a story ready for your ear.\\r\\n I shall attend your leisure; but make haste;\\r\\n The vaporous night approaches.\\r\\n MARIANA. Will't please you walk aside?\\r\\n Exeunt MARIANA and ISABELLA\\r\\n DUKE. O place and greatness! Millions of false eyes\\r\\n Are stuck upon thee. Volumes of report\\r\\n Run with these false, and most contrarious quest\\r\\n Upon thy doings. Thousand escapes of wit\\r\\n Make thee the father of their idle dream,\\r\\n And rack thee in their fancies.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter MARIANA and ISABELLA\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, how agreed?\\r\\n ISABELLA. She'll take the enterprise upon her, father,\\r\\n If you advise it.\\r\\n DUKE. It is not my consent,\\r\\n But my entreaty too.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Little have you to say,\\r\\n When you depart from him, but, soft and low,\\r\\n 'Remember now my brother.'\\r\\n MARIANA. Fear me not.\\r\\n DUKE. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all.\\r\\n He is your husband on a pre-contract.\\r\\n To bring you thus together 'tis no sin,\\r\\n Sith that the justice of your title to him\\r\\n Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go;\\r\\n Our corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's to sow. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The prison\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PROVOST and POMPEY\\r\\n\\r\\n PROVOST. Come hither, sirrah. Can you cut off a man's head?\\r\\n POMPEY. If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can; but if he be a\\r\\n married man, he's his wife's head, and I can never cut of a\\r\\n woman's head.\\r\\n PROVOST. Come, sir, leave me your snatches and yield me a direct\\r\\n answer. To-morrow morning are to die Claudio and Barnardine. Here\\r\\n is in our prison a common executioner, who in his office lacks a\\r\\n helper; if you will take it on you to assist him, it shall redeem\\r\\n you from your gyves; if not, you shall have your full time of\\r\\n imprisonment, and your deliverance with an unpitied whipping, for\\r\\n you have been a notorious bawd.\\r\\n POMPEY. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd time out of mind; but yet\\r\\n I will be content to be a lawful hangman. I would be glad to\\r\\n receive some instructions from my fellow partner.\\r\\n PROVOST. What ho, Abhorson! Where's Abhorson there?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ABHORSON\\r\\n\\r\\n ABHORSON. Do you call, sir?\\r\\n PROVOST. Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you to-morrow in your\\r\\n execution. If you think it meet, compound with him by the year,\\r\\n and let him abide here with you; if not, use him for the present,\\r\\n and dismiss him. He cannot plead his estimation with you; he hath\\r\\n been a bawd.\\r\\n ABHORSON. A bawd, sir? Fie upon him! He will discredit our mystery.\\r\\n PROVOST. Go to, sir; you weigh equally; a feather will turn the\\r\\n scale. Exit\\r\\n POMPEY. Pray, sir, by your good favour- for surely, sir, a good\\r\\n favour you have but that you have a hanging look- do you call,\\r\\n sir, your occupation a mystery?\\r\\n ABHORSON. Ay, sir; a mystery.\\r\\n POMPEY. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery; and your\\r\\n whores, sir, being members of my occupation, using painting, do\\r\\n prove my occupation a mystery; but what mystery there should be\\r\\n in hanging, if I should be hang'd, I cannot imagine.\\r\\n ABHORSON. Sir, it is a mystery.\\r\\n POMPEY. Proof?\\r\\n ABHORSON. Every true man's apparel fits your thief: if it be too\\r\\n little for your thief, your true man thinks it big enough; if it\\r\\n be too big for your thief, your thief thinks it little enough; so\\r\\n every true man's apparel fits your thief.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n PROVOST. Are you agreed?\\r\\n POMPEY. Sir, I will serve him; for I do find your hangman is a more\\r\\n penitent trade than your bawd; he doth oftener ask forgiveness.\\r\\n PROVOST. You, sirrah, provide your block and your axe to-morrow\\r\\n four o'clock.\\r\\n ABHORSON. Come on, bawd; I will instruct thee in my trade; follow.\\r\\n POMPEY. I do desire to learn, sir; and I hope, if you have occasion\\r\\n to use me for your own turn, you shall find me yare; for truly,\\r\\n sir, for your kindness I owe you a good turn.\\r\\n PROVOST. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio.\\r\\n Exeunt ABHORSON and POMPEY\\r\\n Th' one has my pity; not a jot the other,\\r\\n Being a murderer, though he were my brother.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CLAUDIO\\r\\n\\r\\n Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death;\\r\\n 'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow\\r\\n Thou must be made immortal. Where's Barnardine?\\r\\n CLAUDIO. As fast lock'd up in sleep as guiltless labour\\r\\n When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones.\\r\\n He will not wake.\\r\\n PROVOST. Who can do good on him?\\r\\n Well, go, prepare yourself. [Knocking within] But hark, what\\r\\n noise?\\r\\n Heaven give your spirits comfort! Exit CLAUDIO\\r\\n [Knocking continues] By and by.\\r\\n I hope it is some pardon or reprieve\\r\\n For the most gentle Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUKE, disguised as before\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, father.\\r\\n DUKE. The best and wholesom'st spirits of the night\\r\\n Envelop you, good Provost! Who call'd here of late?\\r\\n PROVOST. None, since the curfew rung.\\r\\n DUKE. Not Isabel?\\r\\n PROVOST. No.\\r\\n DUKE. They will then, ere't be long.\\r\\n PROVOST. What comfort is for Claudio?\\r\\n DUKE. There's some in hope.\\r\\n PROVOST. It is a bitter deputy.\\r\\n DUKE. Not so, not so; his life is parallel'd\\r\\n Even with the stroke and line of his great justice;\\r\\n He doth with holy abstinence subdue\\r\\n That in himself which he spurs on his pow'r\\r\\n To qualify in others. Were he meal'd with that\\r\\n Which he corrects, then were he tyrannous;\\r\\n But this being so, he's just. [Knocking within] Now are they\\r\\n come. Exit PROVOST\\r\\n This is a gentle provost; seldom when\\r\\n The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. [Knocking within]\\r\\n How now, what noise! That spirit's possess'd with haste\\r\\n That wounds th' unsisting postern with these strokes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n PROVOST. There he must stay until the officer\\r\\n Arise to let him in; he is call'd up.\\r\\n DUKE. Have you no countermand for Claudio yet\\r\\n But he must die to-morrow?\\r\\n PROVOST. None, sir, none.\\r\\n DUKE. As near the dawning, Provost, as it is,\\r\\n You shall hear more ere morning.\\r\\n PROVOST. Happily\\r\\n You something know; yet I believe there comes\\r\\n No countermand; no such example have we.\\r\\n Besides, upon the very siege of justice,\\r\\n Lord Angelo hath to the public ear\\r\\n Profess'd the contrary.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n This is his lordship's man.\\r\\n DUKE. And here comes Claudio's pardon.\\r\\n MESSENGER. My lord hath sent you this note; and by me this further\\r\\n charge, that you swerve not from the smallest article of it,\\r\\n neither in time, matter, or other circumstance. Good morrow; for\\r\\n as I take it, it is almost day.\\r\\n PROVOST. I shall obey him. Exit MESSENGER\\r\\n DUKE. [Aside] This is his pardon, purchas'd by such sin\\r\\n For which the pardoner himself is in;\\r\\n Hence hath offence his quick celerity,\\r\\n When it is borne in high authority.\\r\\n When vice makes mercy, mercy's so extended\\r\\n That for the fault's love is th' offender friended.\\r\\n Now, sir, what news?\\r\\n PROVOST. I told you: Lord Angelo, belike thinking me remiss in mine\\r\\n office, awakens me with this unwonted putting-on; methinks\\r\\n strangely, for he hath not us'd it before.\\r\\n DUKE. Pray you, let's hear.\\r\\n PROVOST. [Reads] 'Whatsoever you may hear to the contrary, let\\r\\n Claudio be executed by four of the clock, and, in the afternoon,\\r\\n Barnardine. For my better satisfaction, let me have Claudio's\\r\\n head sent me by five. Let this be duly performed, with a thought\\r\\n that more depends on it than we must yet deliver. Thus fail not\\r\\n to do your office, as you will answer it at your peril.'\\r\\n What say you to this, sir?\\r\\n DUKE. What is that Barnardine who is to be executed in th'\\r\\n afternoon?\\r\\n PROVOST. A Bohemian born; but here nurs'd up and bred.\\r\\n One that is a prisoner nine years old.\\r\\n DUKE. How came it that the absent Duke had not either deliver'd him\\r\\n to his liberty or executed him? I have heard it was ever his\\r\\n manner to do so.\\r\\n PROVOST. His friends still wrought reprieves for him; and, indeed,\\r\\n his fact, till now in the government of Lord Angelo, came not to\\r\\n an undoubted proof.\\r\\n DUKE. It is now apparent?\\r\\n PROVOST. Most manifest, and not denied by himself.\\r\\n DUKE. Hath he borne himself penitently in prison? How seems he to\\r\\n be touch'd?\\r\\n PROVOST. A man that apprehends death no more dreadfully but as a\\r\\n drunken sleep; careless, reckless, and fearless, of what's past,\\r\\n present, or to come; insensible of mortality and desperately\\r\\n mortal.\\r\\n DUKE. He wants advice.\\r\\n PROVOST. He will hear none. He hath evermore had the liberty of the\\r\\n prison; give him leave to escape hence, he would not; drunk many\\r\\n times a day, if not many days entirely drunk. We have very oft\\r\\n awak'd him, as if to carry him to execution, and show'd him a\\r\\n seeming warrant for it; it hath not moved him at all.\\r\\n DUKE. More of him anon. There is written in your brow, Provost,\\r\\n honesty and constancy. If I read it not truly, my ancient skill\\r\\n beguiles me; but in the boldness of my cunning I will lay myself\\r\\n in hazard. Claudio, whom here you have warrant to execute, is no\\r\\n greater forfeit to the law than Angelo who hath sentenc'd him. To\\r\\n make you understand this in a manifested effect, I crave but four\\r\\n days' respite; for the which you are to do me both a present and\\r\\n a dangerous courtesy.\\r\\n PROVOST. Pray, sir, in what?\\r\\n DUKE. In the delaying death.\\r\\n PROVOST. Alack! How may I do it, having the hour limited, and an\\r\\n express command, under penalty, to deliver his head in the view\\r\\n of Angelo? I may make my case as Claudio's, to cross this in the\\r\\n smallest.\\r\\n DUKE. By the vow of mine order, I warrant you, if my instructions\\r\\n may be your guide. Let this Barnardine be this morning executed,\\r\\n and his head borne to Angelo.\\r\\n PROVOST. Angelo hath seen them both, and will discover the favour.\\r\\n DUKE. O, death's a great disguiser; and you may add to it. Shave\\r\\n the head and tie the beard; and say it was the desire of the\\r\\n penitent to be so bar'd before his death. You know the course is\\r\\n common. If anything fall to you upon this more than thanks and\\r\\n good fortune, by the saint whom I profess, I will plead against\\r\\n it with my life.\\r\\n PROVOST. Pardon me, good father; it is against my oath.\\r\\n DUKE. Were you sworn to the Duke, or to the deputy?\\r\\n PROVOST. To him and to his substitutes.\\r\\n DUKE. You will think you have made no offence if the Duke avouch\\r\\n the justice of your dealing?\\r\\n PROVOST. But what likelihood is in that?\\r\\n DUKE. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet since I see you\\r\\n fearful, that neither my coat, integrity, nor persuasion, can\\r\\n with ease attempt you, I will go further than I meant, to pluck\\r\\n all fears out of you. Look you, sir, here is the hand and seal of\\r\\n the Duke. You know the character, I doubt not; and the signet is\\r\\n not strange to you.\\r\\n PROVOST. I know them both.\\r\\n DUKE. The contents of this is the return of the Duke; you shall\\r\\n anon over-read it at your pleasure, where you shall find within\\r\\n these two days he will be here. This is a thing that Angelo knows\\r\\n not; for he this very day receives letters of strange tenour,\\r\\n perchance of the Duke's death, perchance entering into some\\r\\n monastery; but, by chance, nothing of what is writ. Look, th'\\r\\n unfolding star calls up the shepherd. Put not yourself into\\r\\n amazement how these things should be: all difficulties are but\\r\\n easy when they are known. Call your executioner, and off with\\r\\n Barnardine's head. I will give him a present shrift, and advise\\r\\n him for a better place. Yet you are amaz'd, but this shall\\r\\n absolutely resolve you. Come away; it is almost clear dawn.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The prison\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter POMPEY\\r\\n\\r\\n POMPEY. I am as well acquainted here as I was in our house of\\r\\n profession; one would think it were Mistress Overdone's own house,\\r\\n for here be many of her old customers. First, here's young Master\\r\\n Rash; he's in for a commodity of brown paper and old ginger, nine\\r\\n score and seventeen pounds, of which he made five marks ready money.\\r\\n Marry, then ginger was not much in request, for the old women were\\r\\n all dead. Then is there here one Master Caper, at the suit of Master\\r\\n Threepile the mercer, for some four suits of peach-colour'd satin,\\r\\n which now peaches him a beggar. Then have we here young Dizy, and\\r\\n young Master Deepvow, and Master Copperspur, and Master Starvelackey,\\r\\n the rapier and dagger man, and young Dropheir that kill'd lusty\\r\\n Pudding, and Master Forthlight the tilter, and brave Master Shootie\\r\\n the great traveller, and wild Halfcan that stabb'd Pots, and, I\\r\\n think, forty more- all great doers in our trade, and are now 'for the\\r\\n Lord's sake.'\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ABHORSON\\r\\n\\r\\n ABHORSON. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither.\\r\\n POMPEY. Master Barnardine! You must rise and be hang'd, Master\\r\\n Barnardine!\\r\\n ABHORSON. What ho, Barnardine!\\r\\n BARNARDINE. [Within] A pox o' your throats! Who makes that noise\\r\\n there? What are you?\\r\\n POMPEY. Your friends, sir; the hangman. You must be so good, sir,\\r\\n to rise and be put to death.\\r\\n BARNARDINE. [ Within ] Away, you rogue, away; I am sleepy.\\r\\n ABHORSON. Tell him he must awake, and that quickly too.\\r\\n POMPEY. Pray, Master Barnardine, awake till you are executed, and\\r\\n sleep afterwards.\\r\\n ABHORSON. Go in to him, and fetch him out.\\r\\n POMPEY. He is coming, sir, he is coming; I hear his straw rustle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BARNARDINE\\r\\n\\r\\n ABHORSON. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah?\\r\\n POMPEY. Very ready, sir.\\r\\n BARNARDINE. How now, Abhorson, what's the news with you?\\r\\n ABHORSON. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into your prayers;\\r\\n for, look you, the warrant's come.\\r\\n BARNARDINE. You rogue, I have been drinking all night; I am not\\r\\n fitted for't.\\r\\n POMPEY. O, the better, sir! For he that drinks all night and is\\r\\n hanged betimes in the morning may sleep the sounder all the next\\r\\n day.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUKE, disguised as before\\r\\n\\r\\n ABHORSON. Look you, sir, here comes your ghostly father.\\r\\n Do we jest now, think you?\\r\\n DUKE. Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing how hastily you are\\r\\n to depart, I am come to advise you, comfort you, and pray with\\r\\n you.\\r\\n BARNARDINE. Friar, not I; I have been drinking hard all night, and\\r\\n I will have more time to prepare me, or they shall beat out my\\r\\n brains with billets. I will not consent to die this day, that's\\r\\n certain.\\r\\n DUKE. O, Sir, you must; and therefore I beseech you\\r\\n Look forward on the journey you shall go.\\r\\n BARNARDINE. I swear I will not die to-day for any man's persuasion.\\r\\n DUKE. But hear you-\\r\\n BARNARDINE. Not a word; if you have anything to say to me, come to\\r\\n my ward; for thence will not I to-day. Exit\\r\\n DUKE. Unfit to live or die. O gravel heart!\\r\\n After him, fellows; bring him to the block.\\r\\n Exeunt ABHORSON and POMPEY\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n PROVOST. Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner?\\r\\n DUKE. A creature unprepar'd, unmeet for death;\\r\\n And to transport him in the mind he is\\r\\n Were damnable.\\r\\n PROVOST. Here in the prison, father,\\r\\n There died this morning of a cruel fever\\r\\n One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate,\\r\\n A man of Claudio's years; his beard and head\\r\\n Just of his colour. What if we do omit\\r\\n This reprobate till he were well inclin'd,\\r\\n And satisfy the deputy with the visage\\r\\n Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio?\\r\\n DUKE. O, 'tis an accident that heaven provides!\\r\\n Dispatch it presently; the hour draws on\\r\\n Prefix'd by Angelo. See this be done,\\r\\n And sent according to command; whiles I\\r\\n Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die.\\r\\n PROVOST. This shall be done, good father, presently.\\r\\n But Barnardine must die this afternoon;\\r\\n And how shall we continue Claudio,\\r\\n To save me from the danger that might come\\r\\n If he were known alive?\\r\\n DUKE. Let this be done:\\r\\n Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and Claudio.\\r\\n Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting\\r\\n To the under generation, you shall find\\r\\n Your safety manifested.\\r\\n PROVOST. I am your free dependant.\\r\\n DUKE. Quick, dispatch, and send the head to Angelo.\\r\\n Exit PROVOST\\r\\n Now will I write letters to Angelo-\\r\\n The Provost, he shall bear them- whose contents\\r\\n Shall witness to him I am near at home,\\r\\n And that, by great injunctions, I am bound\\r\\n To enter publicly. Him I'll desire\\r\\n To meet me at the consecrated fount,\\r\\n A league below the city; and from thence,\\r\\n By cold gradation and well-balanc'd form.\\r\\n We shall proceed with Angelo.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n PROVOST. Here is the head; I'll carry it myself.\\r\\n DUKE. Convenient is it. Make a swift return;\\r\\n For I would commune with you of such things\\r\\n That want no ear but yours.\\r\\n PROVOST. I'll make all speed. Exit\\r\\n ISABELLA. [ Within ] Peace, ho, be here!\\r\\n DUKE. The tongue of Isabel. She's come to know\\r\\n If yet her brother's pardon be come hither;\\r\\n But I will keep her ignorant of her good,\\r\\n To make her heavenly comforts of despair\\r\\n When it is least expected.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ISABELLA\\r\\n\\r\\n ISABELLA. Ho, by your leave!\\r\\n DUKE. Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter.\\r\\n ISABELLA. The better, given me by so holy a man.\\r\\n Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon?\\r\\n DUKE. He hath releas'd him, Isabel, from the world.\\r\\n His head is off and sent to Angelo.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Nay, but it is not so.\\r\\n DUKE. It is no other.\\r\\n Show your wisdom, daughter, in your close patience,\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, I will to him and pluck out his eyes!\\r\\n DUKE. You shall not be admitted to his sight.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Unhappy Claudio! Wretched Isabel!\\r\\n Injurious world! Most damned Angelo!\\r\\n DUKE. This nor hurts him nor profits you a jot;\\r\\n Forbear it, therefore; give your cause to heaven.\\r\\n Mark what I say, which you shall find\\r\\n By every syllable a faithful verity.\\r\\n The Duke comes home to-morrow. Nay, dry your eyes.\\r\\n One of our covent, and his confessor,\\r\\n Gives me this instance. Already he hath carried\\r\\n Notice to Escalus and Angelo,\\r\\n Who do prepare to meet him at the gates,\\r\\n There to give up their pow'r. If you can, pace your wisdom\\r\\n In that good path that I would wish it go,\\r\\n And you shall have your bosom on this wretch,\\r\\n Grace of the Duke, revenges to your heart,\\r\\n And general honour.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I am directed by you.\\r\\n DUKE. This letter, then, to Friar Peter give;\\r\\n 'Tis that he sent me of the Duke's return.\\r\\n Say, by this token, I desire his company\\r\\n At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause and yours\\r\\n I'll perfect him withal; and he shall bring you\\r\\n Before the Duke; and to the head of Angelo\\r\\n Accuse him home and home. For my poor self,\\r\\n I am combined by a sacred vow,\\r\\n And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter.\\r\\n Command these fretting waters from your eyes\\r\\n With a light heart; trust not my holy order,\\r\\n If I pervert your course. Who's here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LUCIO\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIO. Good even. Friar, where's the Provost?\\r\\n DUKE. Not within, sir.\\r\\n LUCIO. O pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart to see thine eyes\\r\\n so red. Thou must be patient. I am fain to dine and sup with\\r\\n water and bran; I dare not for my head fill my belly; one\\r\\n fruitful meal would set me to't. But they say the Duke will be\\r\\n here to-morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I lov'd thy brother. If the\\r\\n old fantastical Duke of dark corners had been at home, he had\\r\\n lived. Exit ISABELLA\\r\\n DUKE. Sir, the Duke is marvellous little beholding to your reports;\\r\\n but the best is, he lives not in them.\\r\\n LUCIO. Friar, thou knowest not the Duke so well as I do; he's a\\r\\n better woodman than thou tak'st him for.\\r\\n DUKE. Well, you'll answer this one day. Fare ye well.\\r\\n LUCIO. Nay, tarry; I'll go along with thee; I can tell thee pretty\\r\\n tales of the Duke.\\r\\n DUKE. You have told me too many of him already, sir, if they be\\r\\n true; if not true, none were enough.\\r\\n LUCIO. I was once before him for getting a wench with child.\\r\\n DUKE. Did you such a thing?\\r\\n LUCIO. Yes, marry, did I; but I was fain to forswear it: they would\\r\\n else have married me to the rotten medlar.\\r\\n DUKE. Sir, your company is fairer than honest. Rest you well.\\r\\n LUCIO. By my troth, I'll go with thee to the lane's end. If bawdy\\r\\n talk offend you, we'll have very little of it. Nay, friar, I am a\\r\\n kind of burr; I shall stick. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. ANGELO'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ANGELO and ESCALUS\\r\\n\\r\\n ESCALUS. Every letter he hath writ hath disvouch'd other.\\r\\n ANGELO. In most uneven and distracted manner. His actions show much\\r\\n like to madness; pray heaven his wisdom be not tainted! And why\\r\\n meet him at the gates, and redeliver our authorities there?\\r\\n ESCALUS. I guess not.\\r\\n ANGELO. And why should we proclaim it in an hour before his\\r\\n ent'ring that, if any crave redress of injustice, they should\\r\\n exhibit their petitions in the street?\\r\\n ESCALUS. He shows his reason for that: to have a dispatch of\\r\\n complaints; and to deliver us from devices hereafter, which\\r\\n shall then have no power to stand against us.\\r\\n ANGELO. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaim'd;\\r\\n Betimes i' th' morn I'll call you at your house;\\r\\n Give notice to such men of sort and suit\\r\\n As are to meet him.\\r\\n ESCALUS. I shall, sir; fare you well.\\r\\n ANGELO. Good night. Exit ESCALUS\\r\\n This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant\\r\\n And dull to all proceedings. A deflow'red maid!\\r\\n And by an eminent body that enforc'd\\r\\n The law against it! But that her tender shame\\r\\n Will not proclaim against her maiden loss,\\r\\n How might she tongue me! Yet reason dares her no;\\r\\n For my authority bears a so credent bulk\\r\\n That no particular scandal once can touch\\r\\n But it confounds the breather. He should have liv'd,\\r\\n Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense,\\r\\n Might in the times to come have ta'en revenge,\\r\\n By so receiving a dishonour'd life\\r\\n With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had liv'd!\\r\\n Alack, when once our grace we have forgot,\\r\\n Nothing goes right; we would, and we would not. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Fields without the town\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE in his own habit, and Friar PETER\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. These letters at fit time deliver me. [Giving letters]\\r\\n The Provost knows our purpose and our plot.\\r\\n The matter being afoot, keep your instruction\\r\\n And hold you ever to our special drift;\\r\\n Though sometimes you do blench from this to that\\r\\n As cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavius' house,\\r\\n And tell him where I stay; give the like notice\\r\\n To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus,\\r\\n And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate;\\r\\n But send me Flavius first.\\r\\n PETER. It shall be speeded well. Exit FRIAR\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter VARRIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. I thank thee, Varrius; thou hast made good haste.\\r\\n Come, we will walk. There's other of our friends\\r\\n Will greet us here anon. My gentle Varrius! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. A street near the city gate\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ISABELLA and MARIANA\\r\\n\\r\\n ISABELLA. To speak so indirectly I am loath;\\r\\n I would say the truth; but to accuse him so,\\r\\n That is your part. Yet I am advis'd to do it;\\r\\n He says, to veil full purpose.\\r\\n MARIANA. Be rul'd by him.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Besides, he tells me that, if peradventure\\r\\n He speak against me on the adverse side,\\r\\n I should not think it strange; for 'tis a physic\\r\\n That's bitter to sweet end.\\r\\n MARIANA. I would Friar Peter-\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FRIAR PETER\\r\\n\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, peace! the friar is come.\\r\\n PETER. Come, I have found you out a stand most fit,\\r\\n Where you may have such vantage on the Duke\\r\\n He shall not pass you. Twice have the trumpets sounded;\\r\\n The generous and gravest citizens\\r\\n Have hent the gates, and very near upon\\r\\n The Duke is ent'ring; therefore, hence, away. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. The city gate\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter at several doors DUKE, VARRIUS, LORDS; ANGELO, ESCALUS, Lucio,\\r\\nPROVOST, OFFICERS, and CITIZENS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. My very worthy cousin, fairly met!\\r\\n Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you.\\r\\n ANGELO, ESCALUS. Happy return be to your royal Grace!\\r\\n DUKE. Many and hearty thankings to you both.\\r\\n We have made inquiry of you, and we hear\\r\\n Such goodness of your justice that our soul\\r\\n Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks,\\r\\n Forerunning more requital.\\r\\n ANGELO. You make my bonds still greater.\\r\\n DUKE. O, your desert speaks loud; and I should wrong it\\r\\n To lock it in the wards of covert bosom,\\r\\n When it deserves, with characters of brass,\\r\\n A forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time\\r\\n And razure of oblivion. Give me your hand.\\r\\n And let the subject see, to make them know\\r\\n That outward courtesies would fain proclaim\\r\\n Favours that keep within. Come, Escalus,\\r\\n You must walk by us on our other hand,\\r\\n And good supporters are you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FRIAR PETER and ISABELLA\\r\\n\\r\\n PETER. Now is your time; speak loud, and kneel before him.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Justice, O royal Duke! Vail your regard\\r\\n Upon a wrong'd- I would fain have said a maid!\\r\\n O worthy Prince, dishonour not your eye\\r\\n By throwing it on any other object\\r\\n Till you have heard me in my true complaint,\\r\\n And given me justice, justice, justice, justice.\\r\\n DUKE. Relate your wrongs. In what? By whom? Be brief.\\r\\n Here is Lord Angelo shall give you justice;\\r\\n Reveal yourself to him.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O worthy Duke,\\r\\n You bid me seek redemption of the devil!\\r\\n Hear me yourself; for that which I must speak\\r\\n Must either punish me, not being believ'd,\\r\\n Or wring redress from you. Hear me, O, hear me, here!\\r\\n ANGELO. My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm;\\r\\n She hath been a suitor to me for her brother,\\r\\n Cut off by course of justice-\\r\\n ISABELLA. By course of justice!\\r\\n ANGELO. And she will speak most bitterly and strange.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Most strange, but yet most truly, will I speak.\\r\\n That Angelo's forsworn, is it not strange?\\r\\n That Angelo's a murderer, is't not strange?\\r\\n That Angelo is an adulterous thief,\\r\\n An hypocrite, a virgin-violator,\\r\\n Is it not strange and strange?\\r\\n DUKE. Nay, it is ten times strange.\\r\\n ISABELLA. It is not truer he is Angelo\\r\\n Than this is all as true as it is strange;\\r\\n Nay, it is ten times true; for truth is truth\\r\\n To th' end of reck'ning.\\r\\n DUKE. Away with her. Poor soul,\\r\\n She speaks this in th' infirmity of sense.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O Prince! I conjure thee, as thou believ'st\\r\\n There is another comfort than this world,\\r\\n That thou neglect me not with that opinion\\r\\n That I am touch'd with madness. Make not impossible\\r\\n That which but seems unlike: 'tis not impossible\\r\\n But one, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground,\\r\\n May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute,\\r\\n As Angelo; even so may Angelo,\\r\\n In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms,\\r\\n Be an arch-villain. Believe it, royal Prince,\\r\\n If he be less, he's nothing; but he's more,\\r\\n Had I more name for badness.\\r\\n DUKE. By mine honesty,\\r\\n If she be mad, as I believe no other,\\r\\n Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense,\\r\\n Such a dependency of thing on thing,\\r\\n As e'er I heard in madness.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O gracious Duke,\\r\\n Harp not on that; nor do not banish reason\\r\\n For inequality; but let your reason serve\\r\\n To make the truth appear where it seems hid,\\r\\n And hide the false seems true.\\r\\n DUKE. Many that are not mad\\r\\n Have, sure, more lack of reason. What would you say?\\r\\n ISABELLA. I am the sister of one Claudio,\\r\\n Condemn'd upon the act of fornication\\r\\n To lose his head; condemn'd by Angelo.\\r\\n I, in probation of a sisterhood,\\r\\n Was sent to by my brother; one Lucio\\r\\n As then the messenger-\\r\\n LUCIO. That's I, an't like your Grace.\\r\\n I came to her from Claudio, and desir'd her\\r\\n To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo\\r\\n For her poor brother's pardon.\\r\\n ISABELLA. That's he, indeed.\\r\\n DUKE. You were not bid to speak.\\r\\n LUCIO. No, my good lord;\\r\\n Nor wish'd to hold my peace.\\r\\n DUKE. I wish you now, then;\\r\\n Pray you take note of it; and when you have\\r\\n A business for yourself, pray heaven you then\\r\\n Be perfect.\\r\\n LUCIO. I warrant your honour.\\r\\n DUKE. The warrant's for yourself; take heed to't.\\r\\n ISABELLA. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale.\\r\\n LUCIO. Right.\\r\\n DUKE. It may be right; but you are i' the wrong\\r\\n To speak before your time. Proceed.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I went\\r\\n To this pernicious caitiff deputy.\\r\\n DUKE. That's somewhat madly spoken.\\r\\n ISABELLA. Pardon it;\\r\\n The phrase is to the matter.\\r\\n DUKE. Mended again. The matter- proceed.\\r\\n ISABELLA. In brief- to set the needless process by,\\r\\n How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd,\\r\\n How he refell'd me, and how I replied,\\r\\n For this was of much length- the vile conclusion\\r\\n I now begin with grief and shame to utter:\\r\\n He would not, but by gift of my chaste body\\r\\n To his concupiscible intemperate lust,\\r\\n Release my brother; and, after much debatement,\\r\\n My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour,\\r\\n And I did yield to him. But the next morn betimes,\\r\\n His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant\\r\\n For my poor brother's head.\\r\\n DUKE. This is most likely!\\r\\n ISABELLA. O that it were as like as it is true!\\r\\n DUKE. By heaven, fond wretch, thou know'st not what thou speak'st,\\r\\n Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour\\r\\n In hateful practice. First, his integrity\\r\\n Stands without blemish; next, it imports no reason\\r\\n That with such vehemency he should pursue\\r\\n Faults proper to himself. If he had so offended,\\r\\n He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself,\\r\\n And not have cut him off. Some one hath set you on;\\r\\n Confess the truth, and say by whose advice\\r\\n Thou cam'st here to complain.\\r\\n ISABELLA. And is this all?\\r\\n Then, O you blessed ministers above,\\r\\n Keep me in patience; and, with ripened time,\\r\\n Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up\\r\\n In countenance! Heaven shield your Grace from woe,\\r\\n As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go!\\r\\n DUKE. I know you'd fain be gone. An officer!\\r\\n To prison with her! Shall we thus permit\\r\\n A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall\\r\\n On him so near us? This needs must be a practice.\\r\\n Who knew of your intent and coming hither?\\r\\n ISABELLA. One that I would were here, Friar Lodowick.\\r\\n DUKE. A ghostly father, belike. Who knows that Lodowick?\\r\\n LUCIO. My lord, I know him; 'tis a meddling friar.\\r\\n I do not like the man; had he been lay, my lord,\\r\\n For certain words he spake against your Grace\\r\\n In your retirement, I had swing'd him soundly.\\r\\n DUKE. Words against me? This's a good friar, belike!\\r\\n And to set on this wretched woman here\\r\\n Against our substitute! Let this friar be found.\\r\\n LUCIO. But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar,\\r\\n I saw them at the prison; a saucy friar,\\r\\n A very scurvy fellow.\\r\\n PETER. Blessed be your royal Grace!\\r\\n I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard\\r\\n Your royal ear abus'd. First, hath this woman\\r\\n Most wrongfully accus'd your substitute;\\r\\n Who is as free from touch or soil with her\\r\\n As she from one ungot.\\r\\n DUKE. We did believe no less.\\r\\n Know you that Friar Lodowick that she speaks of?\\r\\n PETER. I know him for a man divine and holy;\\r\\n Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler,\\r\\n As he's reported by this gentleman;\\r\\n And, on my trust, a man that never yet\\r\\n Did, as he vouches, misreport your Grace.\\r\\n LUCIO. My lord, most villainously; believe it.\\r\\n PETER. Well, he in time may come to clear himself;\\r\\n But at this instant he is sick, my lord,\\r\\n Of a strange fever. Upon his mere request-\\r\\n Being come to knowledge that there was complaint\\r\\n Intended 'gainst Lord Angelo- came I hither\\r\\n To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know\\r\\n Is true and false; and what he, with his oath\\r\\n And all probation, will make up full clear,\\r\\n Whensoever he's convented. First, for this woman-\\r\\n To justify this worthy nobleman,\\r\\n So vulgarly and personally accus'd-\\r\\n Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes,\\r\\n Till she herself confess it.\\r\\n DUKE. Good friar, let's hear it. Exit ISABELLA guarded\\r\\n Do you not smile at this, Lord Angelo?\\r\\n O heaven, the vanity of wretched fools!\\r\\n Give us some seats. Come, cousin Angelo;\\r\\n In this I'll be impartial; be you judge\\r\\n Of your own cause.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MARIANA veiled\\r\\n\\r\\n Is this the witness, friar?\\r\\n FIRST let her show her face, and after speak.\\r\\n MARIANA. Pardon, my lord; I will not show my face\\r\\n Until my husband bid me.\\r\\n DUKE. What, are you married?\\r\\n MARIANA. No, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Are you a maid?\\r\\n MARIANA. No, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. A widow, then?\\r\\n MARIANA. Neither, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Why, you are nothing then; neither maid, widow, nor wife.\\r\\n LUCIO. My lord, she may be a punk; for many of them are neither\\r\\n maid, widow, nor wife.\\r\\n DUKE. Silence that fellow. I would he had some cause\\r\\n To prattle for himself.\\r\\n LUCIO. Well, my lord.\\r\\n MARIANA. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was married,\\r\\n And I confess, besides, I am no maid.\\r\\n I have known my husband; yet my husband\\r\\n Knows not that ever he knew me.\\r\\n LUCIO. He was drunk, then, my lord; it can be no better.\\r\\n DUKE. For the benefit of silence, would thou wert so too!\\r\\n LUCIO. Well, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. This is no witness for Lord Angelo.\\r\\n MARIANA. Now I come to't, my lord:\\r\\n She that accuses him of fornication,\\r\\n In self-same manner doth accuse my husband;\\r\\n And charges him, my lord, with such a time\\r\\n When I'll depose I had him in mine arms,\\r\\n With all th' effect of love.\\r\\n ANGELO. Charges she moe than me?\\r\\n MARIANA. Not that I know.\\r\\n DUKE. No? You say your husband.\\r\\n MARIANA. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo,\\r\\n Who thinks he knows that he ne'er knew my body,\\r\\n But knows he thinks that he knows Isabel's.\\r\\n ANGELO. This is a strange abuse. Let's see thy face.\\r\\n MARIANA. My husband bids me; now I will unmask.\\r\\n [Unveiling]\\r\\n This is that face, thou cruel Angelo,\\r\\n Which once thou swor'st was worth the looking on;\\r\\n This is the hand which, with a vow'd contract,\\r\\n Was fast belock'd in thine; this is the body\\r\\n That took away the match from Isabel,\\r\\n And did supply thee at thy garden-house\\r\\n In her imagin'd person.\\r\\n DUKE. Know you this woman?\\r\\n LUCIO. Carnally, she says.\\r\\n DUKE. Sirrah, no more.\\r\\n LUCIO. Enough, my lord.\\r\\n ANGELO. My lord, I must confess I know this woman;\\r\\n And five years since there was some speech of marriage\\r\\n Betwixt myself and her; which was broke off,\\r\\n Partly for that her promised proportions\\r\\n Came short of composition; but in chief\\r\\n For that her reputation was disvalued\\r\\n In levity. Since which time of five years\\r\\n I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her,\\r\\n Upon my faith and honour.\\r\\n MARIANA. Noble Prince,\\r\\n As there comes light from heaven and words from breath,\\r\\n As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue,\\r\\n I am affianc'd this man's wife as strongly\\r\\n As words could make up vows. And, my good lord,\\r\\n But Tuesday night last gone, in's garden-house,\\r\\n He knew me as a wife. As this is true,\\r\\n Let me in safety raise me from my knees,\\r\\n Or else for ever be confixed here,\\r\\n A marble monument!\\r\\n ANGELO. I did but smile till now.\\r\\n Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice;\\r\\n My patience here is touch'd. I do perceive\\r\\n These poor informal women are no more\\r\\n But instruments of some more mightier member\\r\\n That sets them on. Let me have way, my lord,\\r\\n To find this practice out.\\r\\n DUKE. Ay, with my heart;\\r\\n And punish them to your height of pleasure.\\r\\n Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman,\\r\\n Compact with her that's gone, think'st thou thy oaths,\\r\\n Though they would swear down each particular saint,\\r\\n Were testimonies against his worth and credit,\\r\\n That's seal'd in approbation? You, Lord Escalus,\\r\\n Sit with my cousin; lend him your kind pains\\r\\n To find out this abuse, whence 'tis deriv'd.\\r\\n There is another friar that set them on;\\r\\n Let him be sent for.\\r\\n PETER. Would lie were here, my lord! For he indeed\\r\\n Hath set the women on to this complaint.\\r\\n Your provost knows the place where he abides,\\r\\n And he may fetch him.\\r\\n DUKE. Go, do it instantly. Exit PROVOST\\r\\n And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin,\\r\\n Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth,\\r\\n Do with your injuries as seems you best\\r\\n In any chastisement. I for a while will leave you;\\r\\n But stir not you till you have well determin'd\\r\\n Upon these slanderers.\\r\\n ESCALUS. My lord, we'll do it throughly. Exit DUKE\\r\\n Signior Lucio, did not you say you knew that Friar Lodowick to be\\r\\n a dishonest person?\\r\\n LUCIO. 'Cucullus non facit monachum': honest in nothing but in his\\r\\n clothes; and one that hath spoke most villainous speeches of the\\r\\n Duke.\\r\\n ESCALUS. We shall entreat you to abide here till he come and\\r\\n enforce them against him. We shall find this friar a notable\\r\\n fellow.\\r\\n LUCIO. As any in Vienna, on my word.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Call that same Isabel here once again; I would speak with\\r\\n her. [Exit an ATTENDANT] Pray you, my lord, give me leave to\\r\\n question; you shall see how I'll handle her.\\r\\n LUCIO. Not better than he, by her own report.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Say you?\\r\\n LUCIO. Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her privately, she would\\r\\n sooner confess; perchance, publicly, she'll be asham'd.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter OFFICERS with ISABELLA; and PROVOST with the\\r\\n DUKE in his friar's habit\\r\\n\\r\\n ESCALUS. I will go darkly to work with her.\\r\\n LUCIO. That's the way; for women are light at midnight.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Come on, mistress; here's a gentlewoman denies all that\\r\\n you have said.\\r\\n LUCIO. My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke of, here with the\\r\\n Provost.\\r\\n ESCALUS. In very good time. Speak not you to him till we call upon\\r\\n you.\\r\\n LUCIO. Mum.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Come, sir; did you set these women on to slander Lord\\r\\n Angelo? They have confess'd you did.\\r\\n DUKE. 'Tis false.\\r\\n ESCALUS. How! Know you where you are?\\r\\n DUKE. Respect to your great place! and let the devil\\r\\n Be sometime honour'd for his burning throne!\\r\\n Where is the Duke? 'Tis he should hear me speak.\\r\\n ESCALUS. The Duke's in us; and we will hear you speak;\\r\\n Look you speak justly.\\r\\n DUKE. Boldly, at least. But, O, poor souls,\\r\\n Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox,\\r\\n Good night to your redress! Is the Duke gone?\\r\\n Then is your cause gone too. The Duke's unjust\\r\\n Thus to retort your manifest appeal,\\r\\n And put your trial in the villain's mouth\\r\\n Which here you come to accuse.\\r\\n LUCIO. This is the rascal; this is he I spoke of.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Why, thou unreverend and unhallowed friar,\\r\\n Is't not enough thou hast suborn'd these women\\r\\n To accuse this worthy man, but, in foul mouth,\\r\\n And in the witness of his proper ear,\\r\\n To call him villain; and then to glance from him\\r\\n To th' Duke himself, to tax him with injustice?\\r\\n Take him hence; to th' rack with him! We'll touze you\\r\\n Joint by joint, but we will know his purpose.\\r\\n What, 'unjust'!\\r\\n DUKE. Be not so hot; the Duke\\r\\n Dare no more stretch this finger of mine than he\\r\\n Dare rack his own; his subject am I not,\\r\\n Nor here provincial. My business in this state\\r\\n Made me a looker-on here in Vienna,\\r\\n Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble\\r\\n Till it o'errun the stew: laws for all faults,\\r\\n But faults so countenanc'd that the strong statutes\\r\\n Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop,\\r\\n As much in mock as mark.\\r\\n ESCALUS. Slander to th' state! Away with him to prison!\\r\\n ANGELO. What can you vouch against him, Signior Lucio?\\r\\n Is this the man that you did tell us of?\\r\\n LUCIO. 'Tis he, my lord. Come hither, good-man bald-pate.\\r\\n Do you know me?\\r\\n DUKE. I remember you, sir, by the sound of your voice. I met you at\\r\\n the prison, in the absence of the Duke.\\r\\n LUCIO. O did you so? And do you remember what you said of the Duke?\\r\\n DUKE. Most notedly, sir.\\r\\n LUCIO. Do you so, sir? And was the Duke a fleshmonger, a fool, and\\r\\n a coward, as you then reported him to be?\\r\\n DUKE. You must, sir, change persons with me ere you make that my\\r\\n report; you, indeed, spoke so of him; and much more, much worse.\\r\\n LUCIO. O thou damnable fellow! Did not I pluck thee by the nose for\\r\\n thy speeches?\\r\\n DUKE. I protest I love the Duke as I love myself.\\r\\n ANGELO. Hark how the villain would close now, after his treasonable\\r\\n abuses!\\r\\n ESCALUS. Such a fellow is not to be talk'd withal. Away with him to\\r\\n prison! Where is the Provost? Away with him to prison! Lay bolts\\r\\n enough upon him; let him speak no more. Away with those giglets\\r\\n too, and with the other confederate companion!\\r\\n [The PROVOST lays bands on the DUKE]\\r\\n DUKE. Stay, sir; stay awhile.\\r\\n ANGELO. What, resists he? Help him, Lucio.\\r\\n LUCIO. Come, sir; come, sir; come, sir; foh, sir! Why, you\\r\\n bald-pated lying rascal, you must be hooded, must you? Show your\\r\\n knave's visage, with a pox to you! Show your sheep-biting face,\\r\\n and be hang'd an hour! Will't not off?\\r\\n [Pulls off the FRIAR'S bood and discovers the DUKE]\\r\\n DUKE. Thou art the first knave that e'er mad'st a duke.\\r\\n First, Provost, let me bail these gentle three.\\r\\n [To Lucio] Sneak not away, sir, for the friar and you\\r\\n Must have a word anon. Lay hold on him.\\r\\n LUCIO. This may prove worse than hanging.\\r\\n DUKE. [To ESCALUS] What you have spoke I pardon; sit you down.\\r\\n We'll borrow place of him. [To ANGELO] Sir, by your leave.\\r\\n Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence,\\r\\n That yet can do thee office? If thou hast,\\r\\n Rely upon it till my tale be heard,\\r\\n And hold no longer out.\\r\\n ANGELO. O my dread lord,\\r\\n I should be guiltier than my guiltiness,\\r\\n To think I can be undiscernible,\\r\\n When I perceive your Grace, like pow'r divine,\\r\\n Hath look'd upon my passes. Then, good Prince,\\r\\n No longer session hold upon my shame,\\r\\n But let my trial be mine own confession;\\r\\n Immediate sentence then, and sequent death,\\r\\n Is all the grace I beg.\\r\\n DUKE. Come hither, Mariana.\\r\\n Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman?\\r\\n ANGELO. I was, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Go, take her hence and marry her instantly.\\r\\n Do you the office, friar; which consummate,\\r\\n Return him here again. Go with him, Provost.\\r\\n Exeunt ANGELO, MARIANA, FRIAR PETER, and PROVOST\\r\\n ESCALUS. My lord, I am more amaz'd at his dishonour\\r\\n Than at the strangeness of it.\\r\\n DUKE. Come hither, Isabel.\\r\\n Your friar is now your prince. As I was then\\r\\n Advertising and holy to your business,\\r\\n Not changing heart with habit, I am still\\r\\n Attorney'd at your service.\\r\\n ISABELLA. O, give me pardon,\\r\\n That I, your vassal have employ'd and pain'd\\r\\n Your unknown sovereignty.\\r\\n DUKE. You are pardon'd, Isabel.\\r\\n And now, dear maid, be you as free to us.\\r\\n Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart;\\r\\n And you may marvel why I obscur'd myself,\\r\\n Labouring to save his life, and would not rather\\r\\n Make rash remonstrance of my hidden pow'r\\r\\n Than let him so be lost. O most kind maid,\\r\\n It was the swift celerity of his death,\\r\\n Which I did think with slower foot came on,\\r\\n That brain'd my purpose. But peace be with him!\\r\\n That life is better life, past fearing death,\\r\\n Than that which lives to fear. Make it your comfort,\\r\\n So happy is your brother.\\r\\n ISABELLA. I do, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter ANGELO, MARIANA, FRIAR PETER, and PROVOST\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. For this new-married man approaching here,\\r\\n Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd\\r\\n Your well-defended honour, you must pardon\\r\\n For Mariana's sake; but as he adjudg'd your brother-\\r\\n Being criminal in double violation\\r\\n Of sacred chastity and of promise-breach,\\r\\n Thereon dependent, for your brother's life-\\r\\n The very mercy of the law cries out\\r\\n Most audible, even from his proper tongue,\\r\\n 'An Angelo for Claudio, death for death!'\\r\\n Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure;\\r\\n Like doth quit like, and Measure still for Measure.\\r\\n Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested,\\r\\n Which, though thou wouldst deny, denies thee vantage.\\r\\n We do condemn thee to the very block\\r\\n Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like haste.\\r\\n Away with him!\\r\\n MARIANA. O my most gracious lord,\\r\\n I hope you will not mock me with a husband.\\r\\n DUKE. It is your husband mock'd you with a husband.\\r\\n Consenting to the safeguard of your honour,\\r\\n I thought your marriage fit; else imputation,\\r\\n For that he knew you, might reproach your life,\\r\\n And choke your good to come. For his possessions,\\r\\n Although by confiscation they are ours,\\r\\n We do instate and widow you withal\\r\\n To buy you a better husband.\\r\\n MARIANA. O my dear lord,\\r\\n I crave no other, nor no better man.\\r\\n DUKE. Never crave him; we are definitive.\\r\\n MARIANA. Gentle my liege- [Kneeling]\\r\\n DUKE. You do but lose your labour.\\r\\n Away with him to death! [To LUCIO] Now, sir, to you.\\r\\n MARIANA. O my good lord! Sweet Isabel, take my part;\\r\\n Lend me your knees, and all my life to come\\r\\n I'll lend you all my life to do you service.\\r\\n DUKE. Against all sense you do importune her.\\r\\n Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact,\\r\\n Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break,\\r\\n And take her hence in horror.\\r\\n MARIANA. Isabel,\\r\\n Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me;\\r\\n Hold up your hands, say nothing; I'll speak all.\\r\\n They say best men moulded out of faults;\\r\\n And, for the most, become much more the better\\r\\n For being a little bad; so may my husband.\\r\\n O Isabel, will you not lend a knee?\\r\\n DUKE. He dies for Claudio's death.\\r\\n ISABELLA. [Kneeling] Most bounteous sir,\\r\\n Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd,\\r\\n As if my brother liv'd. I partly think\\r\\n A due sincerity govern'd his deeds\\r\\n Till he did look on me; since it is so,\\r\\n Let him not die. My brother had but justice,\\r\\n In that he did the thing for which he died;\\r\\n For Angelo,\\r\\n His act did not o'ertake his bad intent,\\r\\n And must be buried but as an intent\\r\\n That perish'd by the way. Thoughts are no subjects;\\r\\n Intents but merely thoughts.\\r\\n MARIANA. Merely, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Your suit's unprofitable; stand up, I say.\\r\\n I have bethought me of another fault.\\r\\n Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded\\r\\n At an unusual hour?\\r\\n PROVOST. It was commanded so.\\r\\n DUKE. Had you a special warrant for the deed?\\r\\n PROVOST. No, my good lord; it was by private message.\\r\\n DUKE. For which I do discharge you of your office;\\r\\n Give up your keys.\\r\\n PROVOST. Pardon me, noble lord;\\r\\n I thought it was a fault, but knew it not;\\r\\n Yet did repent me, after more advice;\\r\\n For testimony whereof, one in the prison,\\r\\n That should by private order else have died,\\r\\n I have reserv'd alive.\\r\\n DUKE. What's he?\\r\\n PROVOST. His name is Barnardine.\\r\\n DUKE. I would thou hadst done so by Claudio.\\r\\n Go fetch him hither; let me look upon him. Exit PROVOST\\r\\n ESCALUS. I am sorry one so learned and so wise\\r\\n As you, Lord Angelo, have still appear'd,\\r\\n Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood\\r\\n And lack of temper'd judgment afterward.\\r\\n ANGELO. I am sorry that such sorrow I procure;\\r\\n And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart\\r\\n That I crave death more willingly than mercy;\\r\\n 'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PROVOST, with BARNARDINE, CLAUDIO (muffled)\\r\\n and JULIET\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Which is that Barnardine?\\r\\n PROVOST. This, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. There was a friar told me of this man.\\r\\n Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul,\\r\\n That apprehends no further than this world,\\r\\n And squar'st thy life according. Thou'rt condemn'd;\\r\\n But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all,\\r\\n And pray thee take this mercy to provide\\r\\n For better times to come. Friar, advise him;\\r\\n I leave him to your hand. What muffl'd fellow's that?\\r\\n PROVOST. This is another prisoner that I sav'd,\\r\\n Who should have died when Claudio lost his head;\\r\\n As like almost to Claudio as himself. [Unmuffles CLAUDIO]\\r\\n DUKE. [To ISABELLA] If he be like your brother, for his sake\\r\\n Is he pardon'd; and for your lovely sake,\\r\\n Give me your hand and say you will be mine,\\r\\n He is my brother too. But fitter time for that.\\r\\n By this Lord Angelo perceives he's safe;\\r\\n Methinks I see a quick'ning in his eye.\\r\\n Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well.\\r\\n Look that you love your wife; her worth worth yours.\\r\\n I find an apt remission in myself;\\r\\n And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon.\\r\\n To Lucio] You, sirrah, that knew me for a fool, a coward,\\r\\n One all of luxury, an ass, a madman!\\r\\n Wherein have I so deserv'd of you\\r\\n That you extol me thus?\\r\\n LUCIO. Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according to the trick.\\r\\n If you will hang me for it, you may; but I had rather it would\\r\\n please you I might be whipt.\\r\\n DUKE. Whipt first, sir, and hang'd after.\\r\\n Proclaim it, Provost, round about the city,\\r\\n If any woman wrong'd by this lewd fellow-\\r\\n As I have heard him swear himself there's one\\r\\n Whom he begot with child, let her appear,\\r\\n And he shall marry her. The nuptial finish'd,\\r\\n Let him be whipt and hang'd.\\r\\n LUCIO. I beseech your Highness, do not marry me to a whore. Your\\r\\n Highness said even now I made you a duke; good my lord, do not\\r\\n recompense me in making me a cuckold.\\r\\n DUKE. Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her.\\r\\n Thy slanders I forgive; and therewithal\\r\\n Remit thy other forfeits. Take him to prison;\\r\\n And see our pleasure herein executed.\\r\\n LUCIO. Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to death, whipping,\\r\\n and hanging.\\r\\n DUKE. Slandering a prince deserves it.\\r\\n Exeunt OFFICERS with LUCIO\\r\\n She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you restore.\\r\\n Joy to you, Mariana! Love her, Angelo;\\r\\n I have confess'd her, and I know her virtue.\\r\\n Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much goodness;\\r\\n There's more behind that is more gratulate.\\r\\n Thanks, Provost, for thy care and secrecy;\\r\\n We shall employ thee in a worthier place.\\r\\n Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home\\r\\n The head of Ragozine for Claudio's:\\r\\n Th' offence pardons itself. Dear Isabel,\\r\\n I have a motion much imports your good;\\r\\n Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline,\\r\\n What's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine.\\r\\n So, bring us to our palace, where we'll show\\r\\n What's yet behind that's meet you all should know.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\",\n", + " 'THE MERCHANT OF VENICE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Venice. A street.\\r\\nScene II. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\nScene III. Venice. A public place.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\nScene II. Venice. A street.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A room in Shylock’s house.\\r\\nScene IV. The same. A street.\\r\\nScene V. The same. Before Shylock’s house.\\r\\nScene VI. The same.\\r\\nScene VII. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\nScene VIII. Venice. A street.\\r\\nScene IX. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Venice. A street.\\r\\nScene II. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\nScene III. Venice. A street.\\r\\nScene IV. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\nScene V. The same. A garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Venice. A court of justice.\\r\\nScene II. The same. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Belmont. The avenue to Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE DUKE OF VENICE\\r\\nTHE PRINCE OF MOROCCO, suitor to Portia\\r\\nTHE PRINCE OF ARRAGON, suitor to Portia\\r\\nANTONIO, a merchant of Venice\\r\\nBASSANIO, his friend, suitor to Portia\\r\\nGRATIANO, friend to Antonio and Bassanio\\r\\nSOLANIO, friend to Antonio and Bassanio\\r\\nSALARINO, friend to Antonio and Bassanio\\r\\nLORENZO, in love with Jessica\\r\\nSHYLOCK, a rich Jew\\r\\nTUBAL, a Jew, his friend\\r\\nLAUNCELET GOBBO, a clown, servant to Shylock\\r\\nOLD GOBBO, father to Launcelet\\r\\nLEONARDO, servant to Bassanio\\r\\nBALTHAZAR, servant to Portia\\r\\nSTEPHANO, servant to Portia\\r\\nSALERIO, a messenger from Venice\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA, a rich heiress\\r\\nNERISSA, her waiting-woman\\r\\nJESSICA, daughter to Shylock\\r\\n\\r\\nMagnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, a Gaoler,\\r\\nServants and other Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the seat of Portia on\\r\\nthe Continent\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Venice. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio, Salarino and Solanio.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIn sooth I know not why I am so sad,\\r\\nIt wearies me. you say it wearies you;\\r\\nBut how I caught it, found it, or came by it,\\r\\nWhat stuff ’tis made of, whereof it is born,\\r\\nI am to learn.\\r\\nAnd such a want-wit sadness makes of me,\\r\\nThat I have much ado to know myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nYour mind is tossing on the ocean,\\r\\nThere where your argosies, with portly sail\\r\\nLike signiors and rich burghers on the flood,\\r\\nOr as it were the pageants of the sea,\\r\\nDo overpeer the petty traffickers\\r\\nThat curtsy to them, do them reverence,\\r\\nAs they fly by them with their woven wings.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nBelieve me, sir, had I such venture forth,\\r\\nThe better part of my affections would\\r\\nBe with my hopes abroad. I should be still\\r\\nPlucking the grass to know where sits the wind,\\r\\nPeering in maps for ports, and piers and roads;\\r\\nAnd every object that might make me fear\\r\\nMisfortune to my ventures, out of doubt\\r\\nWould make me sad.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nMy wind cooling my broth\\r\\nWould blow me to an ague when I thought\\r\\nWhat harm a wind too great might do at sea.\\r\\nI should not see the sandy hour-glass run\\r\\nBut I should think of shallows and of flats,\\r\\nAnd see my wealthy Andrew dock’d in sand,\\r\\nVailing her high top lower than her ribs\\r\\nTo kiss her burial. Should I go to church\\r\\nAnd see the holy edifice of stone\\r\\nAnd not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,\\r\\nWhich, touching but my gentle vessel’s side,\\r\\nWould scatter all her spices on the stream,\\r\\nEnrobe the roaring waters with my silks,\\r\\nAnd, in a word, but even now worth this,\\r\\nAnd now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought\\r\\nTo think on this, and shall I lack the thought\\r\\nThat such a thing bechanc’d would make me sad?\\r\\nBut tell not me, I know Antonio\\r\\nIs sad to think upon his merchandise.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nBelieve me, no. I thank my fortune for it,\\r\\nMy ventures are not in one bottom trusted,\\r\\nNor to one place; nor is my whole estate\\r\\nUpon the fortune of this present year.\\r\\nTherefore my merchandise makes me not sad.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWhy then you are in love.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nFie, fie!\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nNot in love neither? Then let us say you are sad\\r\\nBecause you are not merry; and ’twere as easy\\r\\nFor you to laugh and leap and say you are merry\\r\\nBecause you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus,\\r\\nNature hath fram’d strange fellows in her time:\\r\\nSome that will evermore peep through their eyes,\\r\\nAnd laugh like parrots at a bagpiper.\\r\\nAnd other of such vinegar aspect\\r\\nThat they’ll not show their teeth in way of smile\\r\\nThough Nestor swear the jest be laughable.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo and Gratiano.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nHere comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,\\r\\nGratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare ye well.\\r\\nWe leave you now with better company.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nI would have stay’d till I had made you merry,\\r\\nIf worthier friends had not prevented me.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nYour worth is very dear in my regard.\\r\\nI take it your own business calls on you,\\r\\nAnd you embrace th’ occasion to depart.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nGood morrow, my good lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nGood signiors both, when shall we laugh? Say, when?\\r\\nYou grow exceeding strange. Must it be so?\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWe’ll make our leisures to attend on yours.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Salarino and Solanio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nMy Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio,\\r\\nWe two will leave you, but at dinner-time\\r\\nI pray you have in mind where we must meet.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nI will not fail you.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nYou look not well, Signior Antonio,\\r\\nYou have too much respect upon the world.\\r\\nThey lose it that do buy it with much care.\\r\\nBelieve me, you are marvellously chang’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI hold the world but as the world, Gratiano,\\r\\nA stage, where every man must play a part,\\r\\nAnd mine a sad one.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nLet me play the fool,\\r\\nWith mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come,\\r\\nAnd let my liver rather heat with wine\\r\\nThan my heart cool with mortifying groans.\\r\\nWhy should a man whose blood is warm within\\r\\nSit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?\\r\\nSleep when he wakes? And creep into the jaundice\\r\\nBy being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio,\\r\\n(I love thee, and ’tis my love that speaks):\\r\\nThere are a sort of men whose visages\\r\\nDo cream and mantle like a standing pond,\\r\\nAnd do a wilful stillness entertain,\\r\\nWith purpose to be dress’d in an opinion\\r\\nOf wisdom, gravity, profound conceit,\\r\\nAs who should say, “I am Sir Oracle,\\r\\nAnd when I ope my lips, let no dog bark.”\\r\\nO my Antonio, I do know of these\\r\\nThat therefore only are reputed wise\\r\\nFor saying nothing; when, I am very sure,\\r\\nIf they should speak, would almost damn those ears\\r\\nWhich, hearing them, would call their brothers fools.\\r\\nI’ll tell thee more of this another time.\\r\\nBut fish not with this melancholy bait\\r\\nFor this fool gudgeon, this opinion.\\r\\nCome, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well a while.\\r\\nI’ll end my exhortation after dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nWell, we will leave you then till dinner-time.\\r\\nI must be one of these same dumb wise men,\\r\\nFor Gratiano never lets me speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWell, keep me company but two years moe,\\r\\nThou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nFare you well. I’ll grow a talker for this gear.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nThanks, i’ faith, for silence is only commendable\\r\\nIn a neat’s tongue dried, and a maid not vendible.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIs that anything now?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nGratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all\\r\\nVenice. His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of\\r\\nchaff: you shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you have them\\r\\nthey are not worth the search.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWell, tell me now what lady is the same\\r\\nTo whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,\\r\\nThat you today promis’d to tell me of?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\n’Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,\\r\\nHow much I have disabled mine estate\\r\\nBy something showing a more swelling port\\r\\nThan my faint means would grant continuance.\\r\\nNor do I now make moan to be abridg’d\\r\\nFrom such a noble rate, but my chief care\\r\\nIs to come fairly off from the great debts\\r\\nWherein my time, something too prodigal,\\r\\nHath left me gag’d. To you, Antonio,\\r\\nI owe the most in money and in love,\\r\\nAnd from your love I have a warranty\\r\\nTo unburden all my plots and purposes\\r\\nHow to get clear of all the debts I owe.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;\\r\\nAnd if it stand, as you yourself still do,\\r\\nWithin the eye of honour, be assur’d\\r\\nMy purse, my person, my extremest means\\r\\nLie all unlock’d to your occasions.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nIn my school-days, when I had lost one shaft,\\r\\nI shot his fellow of the self-same flight\\r\\nThe self-same way, with more advised watch\\r\\nTo find the other forth; and by adventuring both\\r\\nI oft found both. I urge this childhood proof\\r\\nBecause what follows is pure innocence.\\r\\nI owe you much, and, like a wilful youth,\\r\\nThat which I owe is lost. But if you please\\r\\nTo shoot another arrow that self way\\r\\nWhich you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,\\r\\nAs I will watch the aim, or to find both,\\r\\nOr bring your latter hazard back again,\\r\\nAnd thankfully rest debtor for the first.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nYou know me well, and herein spend but time\\r\\nTo wind about my love with circumstance;\\r\\nAnd out of doubt you do me now more wrong\\r\\nIn making question of my uttermost\\r\\nThan if you had made waste of all I have.\\r\\nThen do but say to me what I should do\\r\\nThat in your knowledge may by me be done,\\r\\nAnd I am prest unto it. Therefore, speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nIn Belmont is a lady richly left,\\r\\nAnd she is fair, and, fairer than that word,\\r\\nOf wondrous virtues. Sometimes from her eyes\\r\\nI did receive fair speechless messages:\\r\\nHer name is Portia, nothing undervalu’d\\r\\nTo Cato’s daughter, Brutus’ Portia.\\r\\nNor is the wide world ignorant of her worth,\\r\\nFor the four winds blow in from every coast\\r\\nRenowned suitors, and her sunny locks\\r\\nHang on her temples like a golden fleece,\\r\\nWhich makes her seat of Belmont Colchos’ strond,\\r\\nAnd many Jasons come in quest of her.\\r\\nO my Antonio, had I but the means\\r\\nTo hold a rival place with one of them,\\r\\nI have a mind presages me such thrift\\r\\nThat I should questionless be fortunate.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThou know’st that all my fortunes are at sea;\\r\\nNeither have I money nor commodity\\r\\nTo raise a present sum, therefore go forth\\r\\nTry what my credit can in Venice do;\\r\\nThat shall be rack’d even to the uttermost,\\r\\nTo furnish thee to Belmont to fair Portia.\\r\\nGo presently inquire, and so will I,\\r\\nWhere money is, and I no question make\\r\\nTo have it of my trust or for my sake.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Portia with her waiting-woman Nerissa.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nBy my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this great world.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nYou would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance\\r\\nas your good fortunes are. And yet, for aught I see, they are as sick\\r\\nthat surfeit with too much as they that starve with nothing. It is no\\r\\nmean happiness, therefore, to be seated in the mean. Superfluity come\\r\\nsooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nGood sentences, and well pronounc’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nThey would be better if well followed.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIf to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been\\r\\nchurches, and poor men’s cottages princes’ palaces. It is a good divine\\r\\nthat follows his own instructions; I can easier teach twenty what were\\r\\ngood to be done than to be one of the twenty to follow mine own\\r\\nteaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper\\r\\nleaps o’er a cold decree; such a hare is madness the youth, to skip\\r\\no’er the meshes of good counsel the cripple. But this reasoning is not\\r\\nin the fashion to choose me a husband. O me, the word “choose”! I may\\r\\nneither choose who I would nor refuse who I dislike, so is the will of\\r\\na living daughter curb’d by the will of a dead father. Is it not hard,\\r\\nNerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none?\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nYour father was ever virtuous, and holy men at their death have good\\r\\ninspirations. Therefore the lott’ry that he hath devised in these three\\r\\nchests of gold, silver, and lead, whereof who chooses his meaning\\r\\nchooses you, will no doubt never be chosen by any rightly but one who\\r\\nyou shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in your affection\\r\\ntowards any of these princely suitors that are already come?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI pray thee over-name them, and as thou namest them, I will describe\\r\\nthem, and according to my description level at my affection.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nFirst, there is the Neapolitan prince.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nAy, that’s a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of his horse,\\r\\nand he makes it a great appropriation to his own good parts that he can\\r\\nshoe him himself. I am much afeard my lady his mother play’d false with\\r\\na smith.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nThen is there the County Palatine.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nHe doth nothing but frown, as who should say “And you will not have me,\\r\\nchoose.” He hears merry tales and smiles not. I fear he will prove the\\r\\nweeping philosopher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly\\r\\nsadness in his youth. I had rather be married to a death’s-head with a\\r\\nbone in his mouth than to either of these. God defend me from these\\r\\ntwo!\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nHow say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nGod made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. In truth, I know it\\r\\nis a sin to be a mocker, but he! why, he hath a horse better than the\\r\\nNeapolitan’s, a better bad habit of frowning than the Count Palatine.\\r\\nHe is every man in no man. If a throstle sing, he falls straight\\r\\na-cap’ring. He will fence with his own shadow. If I should marry him, I\\r\\nshould marry twenty husbands. If he would despise me, I would forgive\\r\\nhim, for if he love me to madness, I shall never requite him.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nWhat say you then to Falconbridge, the young baron of England?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYou know I say nothing to him, for he understands not me, nor I him: he\\r\\nhath neither Latin, French, nor Italian, and you will come into the\\r\\ncourt and swear that I have a poor pennyworth in the English. He is a\\r\\nproper man’s picture; but alas, who can converse with a dumb-show? How\\r\\noddly he is suited! I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round\\r\\nhose in France, his bonnet in Germany, and his behaviour everywhere.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nWhat think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThat he hath a neighbourly charity in him, for he borrowed a box of the\\r\\near of the Englishman, and swore he would pay him again when he was\\r\\nable. I think the Frenchman became his surety, and seal’d under for\\r\\nanother.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nHow like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony’s nephew?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nVery vilely in the morning when he is sober, and most vilely in the\\r\\nafternoon when he is drunk: when he is best, he is a little worse than\\r\\na man, and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast. And the\\r\\nworst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall make shift to go without him.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nIf he should offer to choose, and choose the right casket, you should\\r\\nrefuse to perform your father’s will, if you should refuse to accept\\r\\nhim.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nTherefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee set a deep glass of\\r\\nRhenish wine on the contrary casket, for if the devil be within and\\r\\nthat temptation without, I know he will choose it. I will do anything,\\r\\nNerissa, ere I will be married to a sponge.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nYou need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords. They have\\r\\nacquainted me with their determinations, which is indeed to return to\\r\\ntheir home, and to trouble you with no more suit, unless you may be won\\r\\nby some other sort than your father’s imposition, depending on the\\r\\ncaskets.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIf I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as chaste as Diana,\\r\\nunless I be obtained by the manner of my father’s will. I am glad this\\r\\nparcel of wooers are so reasonable, for there is not one among them but\\r\\nI dote on his very absence. And I pray God grant them a fair departure.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nDo you not remember, lady, in your father’s time, a Venetian, a scholar\\r\\nand a soldier, that came hither in company of the Marquis of\\r\\nMontferrat?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYes, yes, it was Bassanio, as I think, so was he call’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nTrue, madam. He, of all the men that ever my foolish eyes look’d upon,\\r\\nwas the best deserving a fair lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI remember him well, and I remember him worthy of thy praise.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servingman.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now! what news?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVINGMAN.\\r\\nThe four strangers seek for you, madam, to take their leave. And there\\r\\nis a forerunner come from a fifth, the Prince of Morocco, who brings\\r\\nword the Prince his master will be here tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIf I could bid the fifth welcome with so good heart as I can bid the\\r\\nother four farewell, I should be glad of his approach. If he have the\\r\\ncondition of a saint and the complexion of a devil, I had rather he\\r\\nshould shrive me than wive me. Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before. Whiles\\r\\nwe shut the gate upon one wooer, another knocks at the door.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Venice. A public place.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bassanio with Shylock the Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThree thousand ducats, well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nAy, sir, for three months.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nFor three months, well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nFor the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nAntonio shall become bound, well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nMay you stead me? Will you pleasure me? Shall I know your answer?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThree thousand ducats for three months, and Antonio bound.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nYour answer to that.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nAntonio is a good man.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nHave you heard any imputation to the contrary?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nHo, no, no, no, no: my meaning in saying he is a good man is to have\\r\\nyou understand me that he is sufficient. Yet his means are in\\r\\nsupposition: he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the\\r\\nIndies. I understand, moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a third at\\r\\nMexico, a fourth for England, and other ventures he hath squandered\\r\\nabroad. But ships are but boards, sailors but men; there be land-rats\\r\\nand water-rats, water-thieves and land-thieves—I mean pirates—and then\\r\\nthere is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks. The man is,\\r\\nnotwithstanding, sufficient. Three thousand ducats. I think I may take\\r\\nhis bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nBe assured you may.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI will be assured I may. And that I may be assured, I will bethink me.\\r\\nMay I speak with Antonio?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nIf it please you to dine with us.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nYes, to smell pork, to eat of the habitation which your prophet, the\\r\\nNazarite, conjured the devil into. I will buy with you, sell with you,\\r\\ntalk with you, walk with you, and so following; but I will not eat with\\r\\nyou, drink with you, nor pray with you. What news on the Rialto? Who is\\r\\nhe comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nThis is Signior Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\n[_Aside._] How like a fawning publican he looks!\\r\\nI hate him for he is a Christian,\\r\\nBut more for that in low simplicity\\r\\nHe lends out money gratis, and brings down\\r\\nThe rate of usance here with us in Venice.\\r\\nIf I can catch him once upon the hip,\\r\\nI will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.\\r\\nHe hates our sacred nation, and he rails,\\r\\nEven there where merchants most do congregate,\\r\\nOn me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift,\\r\\nWhich he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe\\r\\nIf I forgive him!\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nShylock, do you hear?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI am debating of my present store,\\r\\nAnd by the near guess of my memory\\r\\nI cannot instantly raise up the gross\\r\\nOf full three thousand ducats. What of that?\\r\\nTubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe,\\r\\nWill furnish me. But soft! how many months\\r\\nDo you desire? [_To Antonio._] Rest you fair, good signior,\\r\\nYour worship was the last man in our mouths.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nShylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow\\r\\nBy taking nor by giving of excess,\\r\\nYet to supply the ripe wants of my friend,\\r\\nI’ll break a custom. [_To Bassanio._] Is he yet possess’d\\r\\nHow much ye would?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nAy, ay, three thousand ducats.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd for three months.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI had forgot, three months, you told me so.\\r\\nWell then, your bond. And let me see, but hear you,\\r\\nMethought you said you neither lend nor borrow\\r\\nUpon advantage.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI do never use it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhen Jacob graz’d his uncle Laban’s sheep,—\\r\\nThis Jacob from our holy Abram was\\r\\nAs his wise mother wrought in his behalf,\\r\\nThe third possessor; ay, he was the third.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd what of him? Did he take interest?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nNo, not take interest, not, as you would say,\\r\\nDirectly interest; mark what Jacob did.\\r\\nWhen Laban and himself were compromis’d\\r\\nThat all the eanlings which were streak’d and pied\\r\\nShould fall as Jacob’s hire, the ewes being rank\\r\\nIn end of autumn turned to the rams,\\r\\nAnd when the work of generation was\\r\\nBetween these woolly breeders in the act,\\r\\nThe skilful shepherd pill’d me certain wands,\\r\\nAnd in the doing of the deed of kind,\\r\\nHe stuck them up before the fulsome ewes,\\r\\nWho then conceiving did in eaning time\\r\\nFall parti-colour’d lambs, and those were Jacob’s.\\r\\nThis was a way to thrive, and he was blest;\\r\\nAnd thrift is blessing if men steal it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThis was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv’d for,\\r\\nA thing not in his power to bring to pass,\\r\\nBut sway’d and fashion’d by the hand of heaven.\\r\\nWas this inserted to make interest good?\\r\\nOr is your gold and silver ewes and rams?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI cannot tell; I make it breed as fast.\\r\\nBut note me, signior.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nMark you this, Bassanio,\\r\\nThe devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.\\r\\nAn evil soul producing holy witness\\r\\nIs like a villain with a smiling cheek,\\r\\nA goodly apple rotten at the heart.\\r\\nO, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThree thousand ducats, ’tis a good round sum.\\r\\nThree months from twelve, then let me see the rate.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWell, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nSignior Antonio, many a time and oft\\r\\nIn the Rialto you have rated me\\r\\nAbout my moneys and my usances.\\r\\nStill have I borne it with a patient shrug,\\r\\n(For suff’rance is the badge of all our tribe.)\\r\\nYou call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog,\\r\\nAnd spet upon my Jewish gaberdine,\\r\\nAnd all for use of that which is mine own.\\r\\nWell then, it now appears you need my help.\\r\\nGo to, then, you come to me, and you say\\r\\n“Shylock, we would have moneys.” You say so:\\r\\nYou that did void your rheum upon my beard,\\r\\nAnd foot me as you spurn a stranger cur\\r\\nOver your threshold, moneys is your suit.\\r\\nWhat should I say to you? Should I not say\\r\\n“Hath a dog money? Is it possible\\r\\nA cur can lend three thousand ducats?” Or\\r\\nShall I bend low and, in a bondman’s key,\\r\\nWith bated breath and whisp’ring humbleness,\\r\\nSay this:\\r\\n“Fair sir, you spet on me on Wednesday last;\\r\\nYou spurn’d me such a day; another time\\r\\nYou call’d me dog; and for these courtesies\\r\\nI’ll lend you thus much moneys”?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI am as like to call thee so again,\\r\\nTo spet on thee again, to spurn thee too.\\r\\nIf thou wilt lend this money, lend it not\\r\\nAs to thy friends, for when did friendship take\\r\\nA breed for barren metal of his friend?\\r\\nBut lend it rather to thine enemy,\\r\\nWho if he break, thou mayst with better face\\r\\nExact the penalty.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhy, look you how you storm!\\r\\nI would be friends with you, and have your love,\\r\\nForget the shames that you have stain’d me with,\\r\\nSupply your present wants, and take no doit\\r\\nOf usance for my moneys, and you’ll not hear me,\\r\\nThis is kind I offer.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nThis were kindness.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThis kindness will I show.\\r\\nGo with me to a notary, seal me there\\r\\nYour single bond; and in a merry sport,\\r\\nIf you repay me not on such a day,\\r\\nIn such a place, such sum or sums as are\\r\\nExpress’d in the condition, let the forfeit\\r\\nBe nominated for an equal pound\\r\\nOf your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken\\r\\nIn what part of your body pleaseth me.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nContent, in faith, I’ll seal to such a bond,\\r\\nAnd say there is much kindness in the Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nYou shall not seal to such a bond for me,\\r\\nI’ll rather dwell in my necessity.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWhy, fear not, man, I will not forfeit it,\\r\\nWithin these two months, that’s a month before\\r\\nThis bond expires, I do expect return\\r\\nOf thrice three times the value of this bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nO father Abram, what these Christians are,\\r\\nWhose own hard dealings teaches them suspect\\r\\nThe thoughts of others. Pray you, tell me this,\\r\\nIf he should break his day, what should I gain\\r\\nBy the exaction of the forfeiture?\\r\\nA pound of man’s flesh, taken from a man,\\r\\nIs not so estimable, profitable neither,\\r\\nAs flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say,\\r\\nTo buy his favour, I extend this friendship.\\r\\nIf he will take it, so. If not, adieu,\\r\\nAnd for my love I pray you wrong me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nYes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThen meet me forthwith at the notary’s,\\r\\nGive him direction for this merry bond,\\r\\nAnd I will go and purse the ducats straight,\\r\\nSee to my house left in the fearful guard\\r\\nOf an unthrifty knave, and presently\\r\\nI’ll be with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHie thee, gentle Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Shylock._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThis Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nI like not fair terms and a villain’s mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nCome on; in this there can be no dismay;\\r\\nMy ships come home a month before the day.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince of Morocco, a tawny Moor all in\\r\\n white, and three or four followers accordingly, with Portia, Nerissa\\r\\n and their train.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE OF MOROCCO.\\r\\nMislike me not for my complexion,\\r\\nThe shadowed livery of the burnish’d sun,\\r\\nTo whom I am a neighbour, and near bred.\\r\\nBring me the fairest creature northward born,\\r\\nWhere Phœbus’ fire scarce thaws the icicles,\\r\\nAnd let us make incision for your love\\r\\nTo prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine.\\r\\nI tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine\\r\\nHath fear’d the valiant; by my love I swear\\r\\nThe best-regarded virgins of our clime\\r\\nHave lov’d it too. I would not change this hue,\\r\\nExcept to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIn terms of choice I am not solely led\\r\\nBy nice direction of a maiden’s eyes;\\r\\nBesides, the lott’ry of my destiny\\r\\nBars me the right of voluntary choosing.\\r\\nBut if my father had not scanted me\\r\\nAnd hedg’d me by his wit to yield myself\\r\\nHis wife who wins me by that means I told you,\\r\\nYourself, renowned Prince, then stood as fair\\r\\nAs any comer I have look’d on yet\\r\\nFor my affection.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE OF MOROCCO.\\r\\nEven for that I thank you.\\r\\nTherefore I pray you lead me to the caskets\\r\\nTo try my fortune. By this scimitar\\r\\nThat slew the Sophy and a Persian prince,\\r\\nThat won three fields of Sultan Solyman,\\r\\nI would o’erstare the sternest eyes that look,\\r\\nOutbrave the heart most daring on the earth,\\r\\nPluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear,\\r\\nYea, mock the lion when he roars for prey,\\r\\nTo win thee, lady. But, alas the while!\\r\\nIf Hercules and Lichas play at dice\\r\\nWhich is the better man, the greater throw\\r\\nMay turn by fortune from the weaker hand:\\r\\nSo is Alcides beaten by his rage,\\r\\nAnd so may I, blind Fortune leading me,\\r\\nMiss that which one unworthier may attain,\\r\\nAnd die with grieving.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYou must take your chance,\\r\\nAnd either not attempt to choose at all,\\r\\nOr swear before you choose, if you choose wrong\\r\\nNever to speak to lady afterward\\r\\nIn way of marriage. Therefore be advis’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE OF MOROCCO.\\r\\nNor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nFirst, forward to the temple. After dinner\\r\\nYour hazard shall be made.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE OF MOROCCO.\\r\\nGood fortune then,\\r\\nTo make me blest or cursed’st among men!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Cornets. Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Venice. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Launcelet Gobbo, the clown, alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nCertainly my conscience will serve me to run from this Jew my master.\\r\\nThe fiend is at mine elbow and tempts me, saying to me “Gobbo,\\r\\nLauncelet Gobbo, good Launcelet” or “good Gobbo,” or “good Launcelet\\r\\nGobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away.” My conscience says\\r\\n“No; take heed, honest Launcelet, take heed, honest Gobbo” or, as\\r\\naforesaid, “honest Launcelet Gobbo, do not run, scorn running with thy\\r\\nheels.” Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack. “Fia!” says the\\r\\nfiend, “away!” says the fiend. “For the heavens, rouse up a brave\\r\\nmind,” says the fiend “and run.” Well, my conscience, hanging about the\\r\\nneck of my heart, says very wisely to me “My honest friend Launcelet,\\r\\nbeing an honest man’s son”—or rather an honest woman’s son, for indeed\\r\\nmy father did something smack, something grow to, he had a kind of\\r\\ntaste;—well, my conscience says “Launcelet, budge not.” “Budge,” says\\r\\nthe fiend. “Budge not,” says my conscience. “Conscience,” say I, “you\\r\\ncounsel well.” “Fiend,” say I, “you counsel well.” To be ruled by my\\r\\nconscience, I should stay with the Jew my master, who, (God bless the\\r\\nmark) is a kind of devil; and, to run away from the Jew, I should be\\r\\nruled by the fiend, who (saving your reverence) is the devil himself.\\r\\nCertainly the Jew is the very devil incarnation, and, in my conscience,\\r\\nmy conscience is but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel me\\r\\nto stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly counsel. I will\\r\\nrun, fiend, my heels are at your commandment, I will run.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Old Gobbo with a basket.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nMaster young man, you, I pray you; which is the way to Master Jew’s?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\n[_Aside._] O heavens, this is my true-begotten father, who being more\\r\\nthan sand-blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not. I will try confusions\\r\\nwith him.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nMaster young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to Master Jew’s?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nTurn up on your right hand at the next turning, but at the next turning\\r\\nof all on your left; marry, at the very next turning, turn of no hand,\\r\\nbut turn down indirectly to the Jew’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nBe God’s sonties, ’twill be a hard way to hit. Can you tell me whether\\r\\none Launcelet, that dwells with him, dwell with him or no?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nTalk you of young Master Launcelet? [_Aside._] Mark me now, now will I\\r\\nraise the waters. Talk you of young Master Launcelet?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nNo master, sir, but a poor man’s son, his father, though I say’t, is an\\r\\nhonest exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well to live.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nWell, let his father be what he will, we talk of young Master\\r\\nLauncelet.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nYour worship’s friend, and Launcelet, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nBut I pray you, _ergo_, old man, _ergo_, I beseech you, talk you of\\r\\nyoung Master Launcelet?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nOf Launcelet, an’t please your mastership.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\n_Ergo_, Master Launcelet. Talk not of Master Launcelet, father, for the\\r\\nyoung gentleman, according to Fates and Destinies, and such odd\\r\\nsayings, the Sisters Three and such branches of learning, is indeed\\r\\ndeceased, or, as you would say in plain terms, gone to heaven.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nMarry, God forbid! The boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or a prop?\\r\\nDo you know me, father?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nAlack the day! I know you not, young gentleman, but I pray you tell me,\\r\\nis my boy, God rest his soul, alive or dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nDo you not know me, father?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nAlack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nNay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the knowing me: it\\r\\nis a wise father that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will tell\\r\\nyou news of your son. Give me your blessing, truth will come to light,\\r\\nmurder cannot be hid long, a man’s son may, but in the end truth will\\r\\nout.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nPray you, sir, stand up, I am sure you are not Launcelet my boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nPray you, let’s have no more fooling about it, but give me your\\r\\nblessing. I am Launcelet, your boy that was, your son that is, your\\r\\nchild that shall be.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nI cannot think you are my son.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nI know not what I shall think of that; but I am Launcelet, the Jew’s\\r\\nman, and I am sure Margery your wife is my mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nHer name is Margery, indeed. I’ll be sworn if thou be Launcelet, thou\\r\\nart mine own flesh and blood. Lord worshipped might he be, what a beard\\r\\nhast thou got! Thou hast got more hair on thy chin than Dobbin my\\r\\nfill-horse has on his tail.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nIt should seem, then, that Dobbin’s tail grows backward. I am sure he\\r\\nhad more hair on his tail than I have on my face when I last saw him.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nLord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy master agree? I have\\r\\nbrought him a present. How ’gree you now?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nWell, well. But for mine own part, as I have set up my rest to run\\r\\naway, so I will not rest till I have run some ground. My master’s a\\r\\nvery Jew. Give him a present! Give him a halter. I am famished in his\\r\\nservice. You may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am\\r\\nglad you are come, give me your present to one Master Bassanio, who\\r\\nindeed gives rare new liveries. If I serve not him, I will run as far\\r\\nas God has any ground. O rare fortune, here comes the man! To him,\\r\\nfather; for I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bassanio with Leonardo and a follower or two.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nYou may do so, but let it be so hasted that supper be ready at the\\r\\nfarthest by five of the clock. See these letters delivered, put the\\r\\nliveries to making, and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit a Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nTo him, father.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nGod bless your worship!\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nGramercy, wouldst thou aught with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nHere’s my son, sir, a poor boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nNot a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew’s man, that would, sir, as my\\r\\nfather shall specify.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nHe hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nIndeed the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and have a desire,\\r\\nas my father shall specify.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nHis master and he (saving your worship’s reverence) are scarce\\r\\ncater-cousins.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nTo be brief, the very truth is that the Jew, having done me wrong, doth\\r\\ncause me, as my father, being I hope an old man, shall frutify unto\\r\\nyou.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nI have here a dish of doves that I would bestow upon your worship, and\\r\\nmy suit is—\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nIn very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself, as your worship shall\\r\\nknow by this honest old man, and though I say it, though old man, yet\\r\\npoor man, my father.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nOne speak for both. What would you?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nServe you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOBBO.\\r\\nThat is the very defect of the matter, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nI know thee well; thou hast obtain’d thy suit.\\r\\nShylock thy master spoke with me this day,\\r\\nAnd hath preferr’d thee, if it be preferment\\r\\nTo leave a rich Jew’s service to become\\r\\nThe follower of so poor a gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nThe old proverb is very well parted between my master Shylock and you,\\r\\nsir: you have “the grace of God”, sir, and he hath “enough”.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nThou speak’st it well. Go, father, with thy son.\\r\\nTake leave of thy old master, and inquire\\r\\nMy lodging out. [_To a Servant._] Give him a livery\\r\\nMore guarded than his fellows’; see it done.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nFather, in. I cannot get a service, no! I have ne’er a tongue in my\\r\\nhead! [_Looking on his palm._] Well, if any man in Italy have a fairer\\r\\ntable which doth offer to swear upon a book, I shall have good fortune;\\r\\ngo to, here’s a simple line of life. Here’s a small trifle of wives,\\r\\nalas, fifteen wives is nothing; eleven widows and nine maids is a\\r\\nsimple coming-in for one man. And then to scape drowning thrice, and to\\r\\nbe in peril of my life with the edge of a feather-bed; here are simple\\r\\n’scapes. Well, if Fortune be a woman, she’s a good wench for this gear.\\r\\nFather, come; I’ll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Launcelet and Old Gobbo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nI pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this.\\r\\nThese things being bought and orderly bestow’d,\\r\\nReturn in haste, for I do feast tonight\\r\\nMy best esteem’d acquaintance; hie thee, go.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONARDO.\\r\\nMy best endeavours shall be done herein.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gratiano.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWhere’s your master?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONARDO.\\r\\nYonder, sir, he walks.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nSignior Bassanio!\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nGratiano!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nI have suit to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nYou have obtain’d it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nYou must not deny me, I must go with you to Belmont.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nWhy, then you must. But hear thee, Gratiano,\\r\\nThou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice,\\r\\nParts that become thee happily enough,\\r\\nAnd in such eyes as ours appear not faults;\\r\\nBut where thou art not known, why there they show\\r\\nSomething too liberal. Pray thee, take pain\\r\\nTo allay with some cold drops of modesty\\r\\nThy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild behaviour\\r\\nI be misconst’red in the place I go to,\\r\\nAnd lose my hopes.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nSignior Bassanio, hear me.\\r\\nIf I do not put on a sober habit,\\r\\nTalk with respect, and swear but now and then,\\r\\nWear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely,\\r\\nNay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes\\r\\nThus with my hat, and sigh, and say “amen”;\\r\\nUse all the observance of civility\\r\\nLike one well studied in a sad ostent\\r\\nTo please his grandam, never trust me more.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nWell, we shall see your bearing.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nNay, but I bar tonight, you shall not gauge me\\r\\nBy what we do tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nNo, that were pity.\\r\\nI would entreat you rather to put on\\r\\nYour boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends\\r\\nThat purpose merriment. But fare you well,\\r\\nI have some business.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nAnd I must to Lorenzo and the rest,\\r\\nBut we will visit you at supper-time.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A room in Shylock’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Jessica and Launcelet.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nI am sorry thou wilt leave my father so.\\r\\nOur house is hell, and thou, a merry devil,\\r\\nDidst rob it of some taste of tediousness.\\r\\nBut fare thee well, there is a ducat for thee,\\r\\nAnd, Launcelet, soon at supper shalt thou see\\r\\nLorenzo, who is thy new master’s guest.\\r\\nGive him this letter, do it secretly.\\r\\nAnd so farewell. I would not have my father\\r\\nSee me in talk with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nAdieu! tears exhibit my tongue, most beautiful pagan, most sweet Jew!\\r\\nIf a Christian do not play the knave and get thee, I am much deceived.\\r\\nBut, adieu! These foolish drops do something drown my manly spirit.\\r\\nAdieu!\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nFarewell, good Launcelet.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Launcelet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAlack, what heinous sin is it in me\\r\\nTo be ashamed to be my father’s child!\\r\\nBut though I am a daughter to his blood,\\r\\nI am not to his manners. O Lorenzo,\\r\\nIf thou keep promise, I shall end this strife,\\r\\nBecome a Christian and thy loving wife.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The same. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino and Solanio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nNay, we will slink away in supper-time,\\r\\nDisguise us at my lodging, and return\\r\\nAll in an hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWe have not made good preparation.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWe have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\n’Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order’d,\\r\\nAnd better in my mind not undertook.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\n’Tis now but four o’clock, we have two hours\\r\\nTo furnish us.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Launcelet with a letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nFriend Launcelet, what’s the news?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nAnd it shall please you to break up this, it shall seem to signify.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nI know the hand, in faith ’tis a fair hand,\\r\\nAnd whiter than the paper it writ on\\r\\nIs the fair hand that writ.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nLove news, in faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nBy your leave, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nWhither goest thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nMarry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew to sup tonight with my new\\r\\nmaster the Christian.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nHold here, take this. Tell gentle Jessica\\r\\nI will not fail her, speak it privately.\\r\\nGo, gentlemen,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Launcelet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWill you prepare you for this masque tonight?\\r\\nI am provided of a torch-bearer.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nAy, marry, I’ll be gone about it straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nAnd so will I.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nMeet me and Gratiano\\r\\nAt Gratiano’s lodging some hour hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\n’Tis good we do so.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Salarino and Solanio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWas not that letter from fair Jessica?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nI must needs tell thee all. She hath directed\\r\\nHow I shall take her from her father’s house,\\r\\nWhat gold and jewels she is furnish’d with,\\r\\nWhat page’s suit she hath in readiness.\\r\\nIf e’er the Jew her father come to heaven,\\r\\nIt will be for his gentle daughter’s sake;\\r\\nAnd never dare misfortune cross her foot,\\r\\nUnless she do it under this excuse,\\r\\nThat she is issue to a faithless Jew.\\r\\nCome, go with me, peruse this as thou goest;\\r\\nFair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. The same. Before Shylock’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Shylock the Jew and Launcelet his man that was the clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWell, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge,\\r\\nThe difference of old Shylock and Bassanio.—\\r\\nWhat, Jessica!—Thou shalt not gormandize\\r\\nAs thou hast done with me;—What, Jessica!—\\r\\nAnd sleep, and snore, and rend apparel out.\\r\\nWhy, Jessica, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nWhy, Jessica!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWho bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nYour worship was wont to tell me I could do nothing without bidding.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Jessica.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nCall you? What is your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI am bid forth to supper, Jessica.\\r\\nThere are my keys. But wherefore should I go?\\r\\nI am not bid for love, they flatter me.\\r\\nBut yet I’ll go in hate, to feed upon\\r\\nThe prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl,\\r\\nLook to my house. I am right loath to go;\\r\\nThere is some ill a-brewing towards my rest,\\r\\nFor I did dream of money-bags tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nI beseech you, sir, go. My young master doth expect your reproach.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nSo do I his.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nAnd they have conspired together. I will not say you shall see a\\r\\nmasque, but if you do, then it was not for nothing that my nose fell\\r\\na-bleeding on Black Monday last at six o’clock i’ th’ morning, falling\\r\\nout that year on Ash-Wednesday was four year in th’ afternoon.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhat, are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica,\\r\\nLock up my doors, and when you hear the drum\\r\\nAnd the vile squealing of the wry-neck’d fife,\\r\\nClamber not you up to the casements then,\\r\\nNor thrust your head into the public street\\r\\nTo gaze on Christian fools with varnish’d faces,\\r\\nBut stop my house’s ears, I mean my casements.\\r\\nLet not the sound of shallow fopp’ry enter\\r\\nMy sober house. By Jacob’s staff I swear\\r\\nI have no mind of feasting forth tonight.\\r\\nBut I will go. Go you before me, sirrah.\\r\\nSay I will come.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nI will go before, sir.\\r\\nMistress, look out at window for all this.\\r\\n There will come a Christian by\\r\\n Will be worth a Jewess’ eye.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Launcelet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhat says that fool of Hagar’s offspring, ha?\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nHis words were “Farewell, mistress,” nothing else.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThe patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder,\\r\\nSnail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day\\r\\nMore than the wild-cat. Drones hive not with me,\\r\\nTherefore I part with him, and part with him\\r\\nTo one that I would have him help to waste\\r\\nHis borrowed purse. Well, Jessica, go in.\\r\\nPerhaps I will return immediately:\\r\\nDo as I bid you, shut doors after you,\\r\\n“Fast bind, fast find.”\\r\\nA proverb never stale in thrifty mind.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nFarewell, and if my fortune be not crost,\\r\\nI have a father, you a daughter, lost.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. The same.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the masquers, Gratiano and Salarino.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nThis is the penthouse under which Lorenzo\\r\\nDesired us to make stand.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nHis hour is almost past.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nAnd it is marvel he out-dwells his hour,\\r\\nFor lovers ever run before the clock.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nO ten times faster Venus’ pigeons fly\\r\\nTo seal love’s bonds new-made than they are wont\\r\\nTo keep obliged faith unforfeited!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nThat ever holds: who riseth from a feast\\r\\nWith that keen appetite that he sits down?\\r\\nWhere is the horse that doth untread again\\r\\nHis tedious measures with the unbated fire\\r\\nThat he did pace them first? All things that are,\\r\\nAre with more spirit chased than enjoy’d.\\r\\nHow like a younger or a prodigal\\r\\nThe scarfed bark puts from her native bay,\\r\\nHugg’d and embraced by the strumpet wind!\\r\\nHow like the prodigal doth she return\\r\\nWith over-weather’d ribs and ragged sails,\\r\\nLean, rent, and beggar’d by the strumpet wind!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lorenzo.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nHere comes Lorenzo, more of this hereafter.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nSweet friends, your patience for my long abode.\\r\\nNot I but my affairs have made you wait.\\r\\nWhen you shall please to play the thieves for wives,\\r\\nI’ll watch as long for you then. Approach.\\r\\nHere dwells my father Jew. Ho! who’s within?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Jessica above, in boy’s clothes.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nWho are you? Tell me, for more certainty,\\r\\nAlbeit I’ll swear that I do know your tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nLorenzo, and thy love.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nLorenzo certain, and my love indeed,\\r\\nFor who love I so much? And now who knows\\r\\nBut you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nHeaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nHere, catch this casket; it is worth the pains.\\r\\nI am glad ’tis night, you do not look on me,\\r\\nFor I am much asham’d of my exchange.\\r\\nBut love is blind, and lovers cannot see\\r\\nThe pretty follies that themselves commit,\\r\\nFor if they could, Cupid himself would blush\\r\\nTo see me thus transformed to a boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nDescend, for you must be my torch-bearer.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nWhat! must I hold a candle to my shames?\\r\\nThey in themselves, good sooth, are too too light.\\r\\nWhy, ’tis an office of discovery, love,\\r\\nAnd I should be obscur’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nSo are you, sweet,\\r\\nEven in the lovely garnish of a boy.\\r\\nBut come at once,\\r\\nFor the close night doth play the runaway,\\r\\nAnd we are stay’d for at Bassanio’s feast.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nI will make fast the doors, and gild myself\\r\\nWith some moe ducats, and be with you straight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit above._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nNow, by my hood, a gentle, and no Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nBeshrew me but I love her heartily,\\r\\nFor she is wise, if I can judge of her,\\r\\nAnd fair she is, if that mine eyes be true,\\r\\nAnd true she is, as she hath prov’d herself.\\r\\nAnd therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true,\\r\\nShall she be placed in my constant soul.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Jessica.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat, art thou come? On, gentlemen, away!\\r\\nOur masquing mates by this time for us stay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with Jessica and Salarino._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWho’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nSignior Antonio!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nFie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest?\\r\\n’Tis nine o’clock, our friends all stay for you.\\r\\nNo masque tonight, the wind is come about;\\r\\nBassanio presently will go aboard.\\r\\nI have sent twenty out to seek for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nI am glad on’t. I desire no more delight\\r\\nThan to be under sail and gone tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish of cornets. Enter Portia with the Prince of Morocco and both\\r\\n their trains.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nGo, draw aside the curtains and discover\\r\\nThe several caskets to this noble prince.\\r\\nNow make your choice.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE OF MOROCCO.\\r\\nThe first, of gold, who this inscription bears,\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.”\\r\\nThe second, silver, which this promise carries,\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.”\\r\\nThis third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt,\\r\\n“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.”\\r\\nHow shall I know if I do choose the right?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThe one of them contains my picture, prince.\\r\\nIf you choose that, then I am yours withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE OF MOROCCO.\\r\\nSome god direct my judgment! Let me see.\\r\\nI will survey the inscriptions back again.\\r\\nWhat says this leaden casket?\\r\\n“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.”\\r\\nMust give, for what? For lead? Hazard for lead!\\r\\nThis casket threatens; men that hazard all\\r\\nDo it in hope of fair advantages:\\r\\nA golden mind stoops not to shows of dross,\\r\\nI’ll then nor give nor hazard aught for lead.\\r\\nWhat says the silver with her virgin hue?\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.”\\r\\nAs much as he deserves! Pause there, Morocco,\\r\\nAnd weigh thy value with an even hand.\\r\\nIf thou be’st rated by thy estimation\\r\\nThou dost deserve enough, and yet enough\\r\\nMay not extend so far as to the lady.\\r\\nAnd yet to be afeard of my deserving\\r\\nWere but a weak disabling of myself.\\r\\nAs much as I deserve! Why, that’s the lady:\\r\\nI do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes,\\r\\nIn graces, and in qualities of breeding;\\r\\nBut more than these, in love I do deserve.\\r\\nWhat if I stray’d no farther, but chose here?\\r\\nLet’s see once more this saying grav’d in gold:\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.”\\r\\nWhy, that’s the lady, all the world desires her.\\r\\nFrom the four corners of the earth they come\\r\\nTo kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint.\\r\\nThe Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds\\r\\nOf wide Arabia are as throughfares now\\r\\nFor princes to come view fair Portia.\\r\\nThe watery kingdom, whose ambitious head\\r\\nSpets in the face of heaven, is no bar\\r\\nTo stop the foreign spirits, but they come\\r\\nAs o’er a brook to see fair Portia.\\r\\nOne of these three contains her heavenly picture.\\r\\nIs’t like that lead contains her? ’Twere damnation\\r\\nTo think so base a thought. It were too gross\\r\\nTo rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave.\\r\\nOr shall I think in silver she’s immur’d\\r\\nBeing ten times undervalued to tried gold?\\r\\nO sinful thought! Never so rich a gem\\r\\nWas set in worse than gold. They have in England\\r\\nA coin that bears the figure of an angel\\r\\nStamped in gold; but that’s insculp’d upon;\\r\\nBut here an angel in a golden bed\\r\\nLies all within. Deliver me the key.\\r\\nHere do I choose, and thrive I as I may.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThere, take it, prince, and if my form lie there,\\r\\nThen I am yours.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He unlocks the golden casket._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE OF MOROCCO.\\r\\nO hell! what have we here?\\r\\nA carrion Death, within whose empty eye\\r\\nThere is a written scroll. I’ll read the writing.\\r\\n\\r\\n _All that glisters is not gold,\\r\\n Often have you heard that told.\\r\\n Many a man his life hath sold\\r\\n But my outside to behold.\\r\\n Gilded tombs do worms infold.\\r\\n Had you been as wise as bold,\\r\\n Young in limbs, in judgment old,\\r\\n Your answer had not been inscroll’d,\\r\\n Fare you well, your suit is cold._\\r\\n\\r\\n Cold indeed and labour lost,\\r\\n Then farewell heat, and welcome frost.\\r\\nPortia, adieu! I have too griev’d a heart\\r\\nTo take a tedious leave. Thus losers part.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nA gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go.\\r\\nLet all of his complexion choose me so.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VIII. Venice. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Salarino and Solanio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWhy, man, I saw Bassanio under sail;\\r\\nWith him is Gratiano gone along;\\r\\nAnd in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nThe villain Jew with outcries rais’d the Duke,\\r\\nWho went with him to search Bassanio’s ship.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nHe came too late, the ship was under sail;\\r\\nBut there the Duke was given to understand\\r\\nThat in a gondola were seen together\\r\\nLorenzo and his amorous Jessica.\\r\\nBesides, Antonio certified the Duke\\r\\nThey were not with Bassanio in his ship.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nI never heard a passion so confus’d,\\r\\nSo strange, outrageous, and so variable\\r\\nAs the dog Jew did utter in the streets.\\r\\n“My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter!\\r\\nFled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats!\\r\\nJustice! the law! my ducats and my daughter!\\r\\nA sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,\\r\\nOf double ducats, stol’n from me by my daughter!\\r\\nAnd jewels, two stones, two rich and precious stones,\\r\\nStol’n by my daughter! Justice! find the girl,\\r\\nShe hath the stones upon her and the ducats.”\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWhy, all the boys in Venice follow him,\\r\\nCrying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nLet good Antonio look he keep his day\\r\\nOr he shall pay for this.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nMarry, well rememb’red.\\r\\nI reason’d with a Frenchman yesterday,\\r\\nWho told me, in the narrow seas that part\\r\\nThe French and English, there miscarried\\r\\nA vessel of our country richly fraught.\\r\\nI thought upon Antonio when he told me,\\r\\nAnd wish’d in silence that it were not his.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nYou were best to tell Antonio what you hear,\\r\\nYet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nA kinder gentleman treads not the earth.\\r\\nI saw Bassanio and Antonio part,\\r\\nBassanio told him he would make some speed\\r\\nOf his return. He answered “Do not so,\\r\\nSlubber not business for my sake, Bassanio,\\r\\nBut stay the very riping of the time,\\r\\nAnd for the Jew’s bond which he hath of me,\\r\\nLet it not enter in your mind of love:\\r\\nBe merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts\\r\\nTo courtship, and such fair ostents of love\\r\\nAs shall conveniently become you there.”\\r\\nAnd even there, his eye being big with tears,\\r\\nTurning his face, he put his hand behind him,\\r\\nAnd with affection wondrous sensible\\r\\nHe wrung Bassanio’s hand, and so they parted.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nI think he only loves the world for him.\\r\\nI pray thee, let us go and find him out\\r\\nAnd quicken his embraced heaviness\\r\\nWith some delight or other.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nDo we so.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IX. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nerissa and a Servitor.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nQuick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtain straight.\\r\\nThe Prince of Arragon hath ta’en his oath,\\r\\nAnd comes to his election presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince of Arragon, his train, and\\r\\n Portia.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nBehold, there stand the caskets, noble Prince,\\r\\nIf you choose that wherein I am contain’d,\\r\\nStraight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz’d.\\r\\nBut if you fail, without more speech, my lord,\\r\\nYou must be gone from hence immediately.\\r\\n\\r\\nARRAGON.\\r\\nI am enjoin’d by oath to observe three things:\\r\\nFirst, never to unfold to anyone\\r\\nWhich casket ’twas I chose; next, if I fail\\r\\nOf the right casket, never in my life\\r\\nTo woo a maid in way of marriage;\\r\\nLastly,\\r\\nIf I do fail in fortune of my choice,\\r\\nImmediately to leave you and be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nTo these injunctions everyone doth swear\\r\\nThat comes to hazard for my worthless self.\\r\\n\\r\\nARRAGON.\\r\\nAnd so have I address’d me. Fortune now\\r\\nTo my heart’s hope! Gold, silver, and base lead.\\r\\n“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.”\\r\\nYou shall look fairer ere I give or hazard.\\r\\nWhat says the golden chest? Ha! let me see:\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.”\\r\\nWhat many men desire! that “many” may be meant\\r\\nBy the fool multitude, that choose by show,\\r\\nNot learning more than the fond eye doth teach,\\r\\nWhich pries not to th’ interior, but like the martlet\\r\\nBuilds in the weather on the outward wall,\\r\\nEven in the force and road of casualty.\\r\\nI will not choose what many men desire,\\r\\nBecause I will not jump with common spirits\\r\\nAnd rank me with the barbarous multitudes.\\r\\nWhy, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house,\\r\\nTell me once more what title thou dost bear.\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.”\\r\\nAnd well said too; for who shall go about\\r\\nTo cozen fortune, and be honourable\\r\\nWithout the stamp of merit? Let none presume\\r\\nTo wear an undeserved dignity.\\r\\nO that estates, degrees, and offices\\r\\nWere not deriv’d corruptly, and that clear honour\\r\\nWere purchas’d by the merit of the wearer!\\r\\nHow many then should cover that stand bare?\\r\\nHow many be commanded that command?\\r\\nHow much low peasantry would then be gleaned\\r\\nFrom the true seed of honour? And how much honour\\r\\nPick’d from the chaff and ruin of the times,\\r\\nTo be new varnish’d? Well, but to my choice.\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.”\\r\\nI will assume desert. Give me a key for this,\\r\\nAnd instantly unlock my fortunes here.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He opens the silver casket._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nToo long a pause for that which you find there.\\r\\n\\r\\nARRAGON.\\r\\nWhat’s here? The portrait of a blinking idiot\\r\\nPresenting me a schedule! I will read it.\\r\\nHow much unlike art thou to Portia!\\r\\nHow much unlike my hopes and my deservings!\\r\\n“Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserves.”\\r\\nDid I deserve no more than a fool’s head?\\r\\nIs that my prize? Are my deserts no better?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nTo offend and judge are distinct offices,\\r\\nAnd of opposed natures.\\r\\n\\r\\nARRAGON.\\r\\nWhat is here?\\r\\n\\r\\n _The fire seven times tried this;\\r\\n Seven times tried that judgment is\\r\\n That did never choose amiss.\\r\\n Some there be that shadows kiss;\\r\\n Such have but a shadow’s bliss.\\r\\n There be fools alive, I wis,\\r\\n Silver’d o’er, and so was this.\\r\\n Take what wife you will to bed,\\r\\n I will ever be your head:\\r\\n So be gone; you are sped._\\r\\n\\r\\nStill more fool I shall appear\\r\\nBy the time I linger here.\\r\\nWith one fool’s head I came to woo,\\r\\nBut I go away with two.\\r\\nSweet, adieu! I’ll keep my oath,\\r\\nPatiently to bear my wroth.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Aragon with his train._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThus hath the candle sing’d the moth.\\r\\nO, these deliberate fools! When they do choose,\\r\\nThey have the wisdom by their wit to lose.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nThe ancient saying is no heresy:\\r\\nHanging and wiving goes by destiny.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nCome, draw the curtain, Nerissa.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nWhere is my lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nHere, what would my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nMadam, there is alighted at your gate\\r\\nA young Venetian, one that comes before\\r\\nTo signify th’ approaching of his lord,\\r\\nFrom whom he bringeth sensible regreets;\\r\\nTo wit (besides commends and courteous breath)\\r\\nGifts of rich value; yet I have not seen\\r\\nSo likely an ambassador of love.\\r\\nA day in April never came so sweet,\\r\\nTo show how costly summer was at hand,\\r\\nAs this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nNo more, I pray thee. I am half afeard\\r\\nThou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee,\\r\\nThou spend’st such high-day wit in praising him.\\r\\nCome, come, Nerissa, for I long to see\\r\\nQuick Cupid’s post that comes so mannerly.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nBassanio, Lord Love, if thy will it be!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Venice. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Solanio and Salarino.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nNow, what news on the Rialto?\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWhy, yet it lives there unchecked that Antonio hath a ship of rich\\r\\nlading wrack’d on the narrow seas; the Goodwins, I think they call the\\r\\nplace, a very dangerous flat and fatal, where the carcasses of many a\\r\\ntall ship lie buried, as they say, if my gossip Report be an honest\\r\\nwoman of her word.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nI would she were as lying a gossip in that as ever knapped ginger or\\r\\nmade her neighbours believe she wept for the death of a third husband.\\r\\nBut it is true, without any slips of prolixity or crossing the plain\\r\\nhighway of talk, that the good Antonio, the honest Antonio,—O that I\\r\\nhad a title good enough to keep his name company!—\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nCome, the full stop.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nHa, what sayest thou? Why, the end is, he hath lost a ship.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nI would it might prove the end of his losses.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nLet me say “amen” betimes, lest the devil cross my prayer, for here he\\r\\ncomes in the likeness of a Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Shylock.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Shylock, what news among the merchants?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nYou knew, none so well, none so well as you, of my daughter’s flight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nThat’s certain, I, for my part, knew the tailor that made the wings she\\r\\nflew withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nAnd Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was fledged; and then it\\r\\nis the complexion of them all to leave the dam.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nShe is damn’d for it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nThat’s certain, if the devil may be her judge.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nMy own flesh and blood to rebel!\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nOut upon it, old carrion! Rebels it at these years?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI say my daughter is my flesh and my blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nThere is more difference between thy flesh and hers than between jet\\r\\nand ivory, more between your bloods than there is between red wine and\\r\\nRhenish. But tell us, do you hear whether Antonio have had any loss at\\r\\nsea or no?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThere I have another bad match, a bankrupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce\\r\\nshow his head on the Rialto, a beggar that used to come so smug upon\\r\\nthe mart; let him look to his bond. He was wont to call me usurer; let\\r\\nhim look to his bond: he was wont to lend money for a Christian cur’sy;\\r\\nlet him look to his bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWhy, I am sure if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his flesh! What’s that\\r\\ngood for?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nTo bait fish withal; if it will feed nothing else, it will feed my\\r\\nrevenge. He hath disgrac’d me and hind’red me half a million, laugh’d\\r\\nat my losses, mock’d at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my\\r\\nbargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies. And what’s his\\r\\nreason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs,\\r\\ndimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt\\r\\nwith the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same\\r\\nmeans, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian\\r\\nis? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not\\r\\nlaugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we\\r\\nnot revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in\\r\\nthat. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a\\r\\nChristian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian\\r\\nexample? Why, revenge! The villainy you teach me I will execute, and it\\r\\nshall go hard but I will better the instruction.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a man from Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nGentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house, and desires to speak with\\r\\nyou both.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nWe have been up and down to seek him.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Tubal.\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLANIO.\\r\\nHere comes another of the tribe; a third cannot be match’d, unless the\\r\\ndevil himself turn Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Solanio, Salarino and the Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nHow now, Tubal, what news from Genoa? Hast thou found my daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\nI often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhy there, there, there, there! A diamond gone cost me two thousand\\r\\nducats in Frankfort! The curse never fell upon our nation till now, I\\r\\nnever felt it till now. Two thousand ducats in that, and other\\r\\nprecious, precious jewels. I would my daughter were dead at my foot,\\r\\nand the jewels in her ear; would she were hearsed at my foot, and the\\r\\nducats in her coffin. No news of them? Why so? And I know not what’s\\r\\nspent in the search. Why, thou—loss upon loss! The thief gone with so\\r\\nmuch, and so much to find the thief, and no satisfaction, no revenge,\\r\\nnor no ill luck stirring but what lights o’ my shoulders, no sighs but\\r\\no’ my breathing, no tears but o’ my shedding.\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\nYes, other men have ill luck too. Antonio, as I heard in Genoa—\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhat, what, what? Ill luck, ill luck?\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\n—hath an argosy cast away coming from Tripolis.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI thank God! I thank God! Is it true, is it true?\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\nI spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wrack.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI thank thee, good Tubal. Good news, good news! Ha, ha, heard in Genoa?\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\nYour daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, one night, fourscore ducats.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThou stick’st a dagger in me. I shall never see my gold again.\\r\\nFourscore ducats at a sitting! Fourscore ducats!\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\nThere came divers of Antonio’s creditors in my company to Venice that\\r\\nswear he cannot choose but break.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI am very glad of it. I’ll plague him, I’ll torture him. I am glad of\\r\\nit.\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\nOne of them showed me a ring that he had of your daughter for a monkey.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nOut upon her! Thou torturest me, Tubal. It was my turquoise, I had it\\r\\nof Leah when I was a bachelor. I would not have given it for a\\r\\nwilderness of monkeys.\\r\\n\\r\\nTUBAL.\\r\\nBut Antonio is certainly undone.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nNay, that’s true, that’s very true. Go, Tubal, fee me an officer;\\r\\nbespeak him a fortnight before. I will have the heart of him if he\\r\\nforfeit, for were he out of Venice I can make what merchandise I will.\\r\\nGo, Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue. Go, good Tubal, at our\\r\\nsynagogue, Tubal.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, Nerissa and all their trains.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI pray you tarry, pause a day or two\\r\\nBefore you hazard, for in choosing wrong\\r\\nI lose your company; therefore forbear a while.\\r\\nThere’s something tells me (but it is not love)\\r\\nI would not lose you, and you know yourself\\r\\nHate counsels not in such a quality.\\r\\nBut lest you should not understand me well,—\\r\\nAnd yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought,—\\r\\nI would detain you here some month or two\\r\\nBefore you venture for me. I could teach you\\r\\nHow to choose right, but then I am forsworn.\\r\\nSo will I never be. So may you miss me.\\r\\nBut if you do, you’ll make me wish a sin,\\r\\nThat I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes,\\r\\nThey have o’erlook’d me and divided me.\\r\\nOne half of me is yours, the other half yours,\\r\\nMine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours,\\r\\nAnd so all yours. O these naughty times\\r\\nPuts bars between the owners and their rights!\\r\\nAnd so though yours, not yours. Prove it so,\\r\\nLet Fortune go to hell for it, not I.\\r\\nI speak too long, but ’tis to peise the time,\\r\\nTo eche it, and to draw it out in length,\\r\\nTo stay you from election.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nLet me choose,\\r\\nFor as I am, I live upon the rack.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nUpon the rack, Bassanio! Then confess\\r\\nWhat treason there is mingled with your love.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nNone but that ugly treason of mistrust,\\r\\nWhich makes me fear th’ enjoying of my love.\\r\\nThere may as well be amity and life\\r\\n’Tween snow and fire as treason and my love.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nAy, but I fear you speak upon the rack\\r\\nWhere men enforced do speak anything.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nPromise me life, and I’ll confess the truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWell then, confess and live.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\n“Confess and love”\\r\\nHad been the very sum of my confession:\\r\\nO happy torment, when my torturer\\r\\nDoth teach me answers for deliverance!\\r\\nBut let me to my fortune and the caskets.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nAway, then! I am lock’d in one of them.\\r\\nIf you do love me, you will find me out.\\r\\nNerissa and the rest, stand all aloof.\\r\\nLet music sound while he doth make his choice.\\r\\nThen if he lose he makes a swan-like end,\\r\\nFading in music. That the comparison\\r\\nMay stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream\\r\\nAnd wat’ry death-bed for him. He may win,\\r\\nAnd what is music then? Then music is\\r\\nEven as the flourish when true subjects bow\\r\\nTo a new-crowned monarch. Such it is\\r\\nAs are those dulcet sounds in break of day\\r\\nThat creep into the dreaming bridegroom’s ear\\r\\nAnd summon him to marriage. Now he goes,\\r\\nWith no less presence, but with much more love\\r\\nThan young Alcides when he did redeem\\r\\nThe virgin tribute paid by howling Troy\\r\\nTo the sea-monster: I stand for sacrifice;\\r\\nThe rest aloof are the Dardanian wives,\\r\\nWith bleared visages come forth to view\\r\\nThe issue of th’ exploit. Go, Hercules!\\r\\nLive thou, I live. With much much more dismay\\r\\nI view the fight than thou that mak’st the fray.\\r\\n\\r\\n A song, whilst Bassanio comments on the caskets to himself.\\r\\n\\r\\n _Tell me where is fancy bred,\\r\\n Or in the heart or in the head?\\r\\n How begot, how nourished?\\r\\n Reply, reply.\\r\\n It is engend’red in the eyes,\\r\\n With gazing fed, and fancy dies\\r\\n In the cradle where it lies.\\r\\n Let us all ring fancy’s knell:\\r\\n I’ll begin it.—Ding, dong, bell._\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\n _Ding, dong, bell._\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nSo may the outward shows be least themselves.\\r\\nThe world is still deceiv’d with ornament.\\r\\nIn law, what plea so tainted and corrupt\\r\\nBut, being season’d with a gracious voice,\\r\\nObscures the show of evil? In religion,\\r\\nWhat damned error but some sober brow\\r\\nWill bless it, and approve it with a text,\\r\\nHiding the grossness with fair ornament?\\r\\nThere is no vice so simple but assumes\\r\\nSome mark of virtue on his outward parts.\\r\\nHow many cowards, whose hearts are all as false\\r\\nAs stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins\\r\\nThe beards of Hercules and frowning Mars,\\r\\nWho inward search’d, have livers white as milk,\\r\\nAnd these assume but valour’s excrement\\r\\nTo render them redoubted. Look on beauty,\\r\\nAnd you shall see ’tis purchas’d by the weight,\\r\\nWhich therein works a miracle in nature,\\r\\nMaking them lightest that wear most of it:\\r\\nSo are those crisped snaky golden locks\\r\\nWhich make such wanton gambols with the wind\\r\\nUpon supposed fairness, often known\\r\\nTo be the dowry of a second head,\\r\\nThe skull that bred them in the sepulchre.\\r\\nThus ornament is but the guiled shore\\r\\nTo a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf\\r\\nVeiling an Indian beauty; in a word,\\r\\nThe seeming truth which cunning times put on\\r\\nTo entrap the wisest. Therefore thou gaudy gold,\\r\\nHard food for Midas, I will none of thee,\\r\\nNor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge\\r\\n’Tween man and man: but thou, thou meagre lead,\\r\\nWhich rather threaten’st than dost promise aught,\\r\\nThy palenness moves me more than eloquence,\\r\\nAnd here choose I, joy be the consequence!\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\n[_Aside._] How all the other passions fleet to air,\\r\\nAs doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac’d despair,\\r\\nAnd shudd’ring fear, and green-ey’d jealousy.\\r\\nO love, be moderate; allay thy ecstasy,\\r\\nIn measure rain thy joy; scant this excess!\\r\\nI feel too much thy blessing, make it less,\\r\\nFor fear I surfeit.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nWhat find I here? [_Opening the leaden casket_.]\\r\\nFair Portia’s counterfeit! What demi-god\\r\\nHath come so near creation? Move these eyes?\\r\\nOr whether, riding on the balls of mine,\\r\\nSeem they in motion? Here are sever’d lips,\\r\\nParted with sugar breath, so sweet a bar\\r\\nShould sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hairs\\r\\nThe painter plays the spider, and hath woven\\r\\nA golden mesh t’entrap the hearts of men\\r\\nFaster than gnats in cobwebs. But her eyes!—\\r\\nHow could he see to do them? Having made one,\\r\\nMethinks it should have power to steal both his\\r\\nAnd leave itself unfurnish’d. Yet look how far\\r\\nThe substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow\\r\\nIn underprizing it, so far this shadow\\r\\nDoth limp behind the substance. Here’s the scroll,\\r\\nThe continent and summary of my fortune.\\r\\n\\r\\n _You that choose not by the view\\r\\n Chance as fair and choose as true!\\r\\n Since this fortune falls to you,\\r\\n Be content and seek no new.\\r\\n If you be well pleas’d with this,\\r\\n And hold your fortune for your bliss,\\r\\n Turn to where your lady is,\\r\\n And claim her with a loving kiss._\\r\\n\\r\\nA gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave, [_Kissing her_.]\\r\\nI come by note to give and to receive.\\r\\nLike one of two contending in a prize\\r\\nThat thinks he hath done well in people’s eyes,\\r\\nHearing applause and universal shout,\\r\\nGiddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt\\r\\nWhether those peals of praise be his or no,\\r\\nSo, thrice-fair lady, stand I even so,\\r\\nAs doubtful whether what I see be true,\\r\\nUntil confirm’d, sign’d, ratified by you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYou see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,\\r\\nSuch as I am; though for myself alone\\r\\nI would not be ambitious in my wish\\r\\nTo wish myself much better, yet for you\\r\\nI would be trebled twenty times myself,\\r\\nA thousand times more fair, ten thousand times\\r\\nMore rich,\\r\\nThat only to stand high in your account,\\r\\nI might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends,\\r\\nExceed account. But the full sum of me\\r\\nIs sum of something, which, to term in gross,\\r\\nIs an unlesson’d girl, unschool’d, unpractis’d;\\r\\nHappy in this, she is not yet so old\\r\\nBut she may learn; happier than this,\\r\\nShe is not bred so dull but she can learn;\\r\\nHappiest of all, is that her gentle spirit\\r\\nCommits itself to yours to be directed,\\r\\nAs from her lord, her governor, her king.\\r\\nMyself, and what is mine, to you and yours\\r\\nIs now converted. But now I was the lord\\r\\nOf this fair mansion, master of my servants,\\r\\nQueen o’er myself; and even now, but now,\\r\\nThis house, these servants, and this same myself\\r\\nAre yours,—my lord’s. I give them with this ring,\\r\\nWhich when you part from, lose, or give away,\\r\\nLet it presage the ruin of your love,\\r\\nAnd be my vantage to exclaim on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nMadam, you have bereft me of all words,\\r\\nOnly my blood speaks to you in my veins,\\r\\nAnd there is such confusion in my powers\\r\\nAs after some oration fairly spoke\\r\\nBy a beloved prince, there doth appear\\r\\nAmong the buzzing pleased multitude,\\r\\nWhere every something being blent together,\\r\\nTurns to a wild of nothing, save of joy\\r\\nExpress’d and not express’d. But when this ring\\r\\nParts from this finger, then parts life from hence.\\r\\nO then be bold to say Bassanio’s dead!\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nMy lord and lady, it is now our time,\\r\\nThat have stood by and seen our wishes prosper,\\r\\nTo cry, good joy. Good joy, my lord and lady!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nMy Lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady,\\r\\nI wish you all the joy that you can wish;\\r\\nFor I am sure you can wish none from me.\\r\\nAnd when your honours mean to solemnize\\r\\nThe bargain of your faith, I do beseech you\\r\\nEven at that time I may be married too.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nWith all my heart, so thou canst get a wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nI thank your lordship, you have got me one.\\r\\nMy eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours:\\r\\nYou saw the mistress, I beheld the maid.\\r\\nYou lov’d, I lov’d; for intermission\\r\\nNo more pertains to me, my lord, than you.\\r\\nYour fortune stood upon the caskets there,\\r\\nAnd so did mine too, as the matter falls.\\r\\nFor wooing here until I sweat again,\\r\\nAnd swearing till my very roof was dry\\r\\nWith oaths of love, at last, (if promise last)\\r\\nI got a promise of this fair one here\\r\\nTo have her love, provided that your fortune\\r\\nAchiev’d her mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIs this true, Nerissa?\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nMadam, it is, so you stand pleas’d withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nAnd do you, Gratiano, mean good faith?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nYes, faith, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nOur feast shall be much honoured in your marriage.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWe’ll play with them the first boy for a thousand ducats.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nWhat! and stake down?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nNo, we shall ne’er win at that sport and stake down.\\r\\nBut who comes here? Lorenzo and his infidel?\\r\\nWhat, and my old Venetian friend, Salerio!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lorenzo, Jessica and Salerio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nLorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither,\\r\\nIf that the youth of my new int’rest here\\r\\nHave power to bid you welcome. By your leave,\\r\\nI bid my very friends and countrymen,\\r\\nSweet Portia, welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nSo do I, my lord,\\r\\nThey are entirely welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nI thank your honour. For my part, my lord,\\r\\nMy purpose was not to have seen you here,\\r\\nBut meeting with Salerio by the way,\\r\\nHe did entreat me, past all saying nay,\\r\\nTo come with him along.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALERIO.\\r\\nI did, my lord,\\r\\nAnd I have reason for it. Signior Antonio\\r\\nCommends him to you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Gives Bassanio a letter._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nEre I ope his letter,\\r\\nI pray you tell me how my good friend doth.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALERIO.\\r\\nNot sick, my lord, unless it be in mind,\\r\\nNor well, unless in mind. His letter there\\r\\nWill show you his estate.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Bassanio opens the letter._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nNerissa, cheer yond stranger, bid her welcome.\\r\\nYour hand, Salerio. What’s the news from Venice?\\r\\nHow doth that royal merchant, good Antonio?\\r\\nI know he will be glad of our success.\\r\\nWe are the Jasons, we have won the fleece.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALERIO.\\r\\nI would you had won the fleece that he hath lost.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThere are some shrewd contents in yond same paper\\r\\nThat steals the colour from Bassanio’s cheek.\\r\\nSome dear friend dead, else nothing in the world\\r\\nCould turn so much the constitution\\r\\nOf any constant man. What, worse and worse?\\r\\nWith leave, Bassanio, I am half yourself,\\r\\nAnd I must freely have the half of anything\\r\\nThat this same paper brings you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nO sweet Portia,\\r\\nHere are a few of the unpleasant’st words\\r\\nThat ever blotted paper. Gentle lady,\\r\\nWhen I did first impart my love to you,\\r\\nI freely told you all the wealth I had\\r\\nRan in my veins, I was a gentleman.\\r\\nAnd then I told you true. And yet, dear lady,\\r\\nRating myself at nothing, you shall see\\r\\nHow much I was a braggart. When I told you\\r\\nMy state was nothing, I should then have told you\\r\\nThat I was worse than nothing; for indeed\\r\\nI have engag’d myself to a dear friend,\\r\\nEngag’d my friend to his mere enemy,\\r\\nTo feed my means. Here is a letter, lady,\\r\\nThe paper as the body of my friend,\\r\\nAnd every word in it a gaping wound\\r\\nIssuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio?\\r\\nHath all his ventures fail’d? What, not one hit?\\r\\nFrom Tripolis, from Mexico, and England,\\r\\nFrom Lisbon, Barbary, and India,\\r\\nAnd not one vessel scape the dreadful touch\\r\\nOf merchant-marring rocks?\\r\\n\\r\\nSALERIO.\\r\\nNot one, my lord.\\r\\nBesides, it should appear, that if he had\\r\\nThe present money to discharge the Jew,\\r\\nHe would not take it. Never did I know\\r\\nA creature that did bear the shape of man\\r\\nSo keen and greedy to confound a man.\\r\\nHe plies the Duke at morning and at night,\\r\\nAnd doth impeach the freedom of the state\\r\\nIf they deny him justice. Twenty merchants,\\r\\nThe Duke himself, and the magnificoes\\r\\nOf greatest port have all persuaded with him,\\r\\nBut none can drive him from the envious plea\\r\\nOf forfeiture, of justice, and his bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nWhen I was with him, I have heard him swear\\r\\nTo Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen,\\r\\nThat he would rather have Antonio’s flesh\\r\\nThan twenty times the value of the sum\\r\\nThat he did owe him. And I know, my lord,\\r\\nIf law, authority, and power deny not,\\r\\nIt will go hard with poor Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIs it your dear friend that is thus in trouble?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nThe dearest friend to me, the kindest man,\\r\\nThe best condition’d and unwearied spirit\\r\\nIn doing courtesies, and one in whom\\r\\nThe ancient Roman honour more appears\\r\\nThan any that draws breath in Italy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhat sum owes he the Jew?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nFor me three thousand ducats.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhat, no more?\\r\\nPay him six thousand, and deface the bond.\\r\\nDouble six thousand, and then treble that,\\r\\nBefore a friend of this description\\r\\nShall lose a hair through Bassanio’s fault.\\r\\nFirst go with me to church and call me wife,\\r\\nAnd then away to Venice to your friend.\\r\\nFor never shall you lie by Portia’s side\\r\\nWith an unquiet soul. You shall have gold\\r\\nTo pay the petty debt twenty times over.\\r\\nWhen it is paid, bring your true friend along.\\r\\nMy maid Nerissa and myself meantime,\\r\\nWill live as maids and widows. Come, away!\\r\\nFor you shall hence upon your wedding day.\\r\\nBid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer;\\r\\nSince you are dear bought, I will love you dear.\\r\\nBut let me hear the letter of your friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\n_Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all miscarried, my creditors grow cruel,\\r\\nmy estate is very low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit, and since in\\r\\npaying it, it is impossible I should live, all debts are clear’d\\r\\nbetween you and I, if I might but see you at my death. Notwithstanding,\\r\\nuse your pleasure. If your love do not persuade you to come, let not my\\r\\nletter._\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nO love, dispatch all business and be gone!\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nSince I have your good leave to go away,\\r\\nI will make haste; but, till I come again,\\r\\nNo bed shall e’er be guilty of my stay,\\r\\nNor rest be interposer ’twixt us twain.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Venice. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Shylock, Salarino, Antonio and Gaoler.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nGaoler, look to him. Tell not me of mercy.\\r\\nThis is the fool that lent out money gratis.\\r\\nGaoler, look to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHear me yet, good Shylock.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI’ll have my bond, speak not against my bond.\\r\\nI have sworn an oath that I will have my bond.\\r\\nThou call’dst me dog before thou hadst a cause,\\r\\nBut since I am a dog, beware my fangs;\\r\\nThe Duke shall grant me justice. I do wonder,\\r\\nThou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond\\r\\nTo come abroad with him at his request.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI pray thee hear me speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI’ll have my bond. I will not hear thee speak.\\r\\nI’ll have my bond, and therefore speak no more.\\r\\nI’ll not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool,\\r\\nTo shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield\\r\\nTo Christian intercessors. Follow not,\\r\\nI’ll have no speaking, I will have my bond.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nIt is the most impenetrable cur\\r\\nThat ever kept with men.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLet him alone.\\r\\nI’ll follow him no more with bootless prayers.\\r\\nHe seeks my life, his reason well I know:\\r\\nI oft deliver’d from his forfeitures\\r\\nMany that have at times made moan to me.\\r\\nTherefore he hates me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nI am sure the Duke\\r\\nWill never grant this forfeiture to hold.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe Duke cannot deny the course of law,\\r\\nFor the commodity that strangers have\\r\\nWith us in Venice, if it be denied,\\r\\n’Twill much impeach the justice of the state,\\r\\nSince that the trade and profit of the city\\r\\nConsisteth of all nations. Therefore, go.\\r\\nThese griefs and losses have so bated me\\r\\nThat I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh\\r\\nTomorrow to my bloody creditor.\\r\\nWell, gaoler, on, pray God Bassanio come\\r\\nTo see me pay his debt, and then I care not.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica and Balthazar.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nMadam, although I speak it in your presence,\\r\\nYou have a noble and a true conceit\\r\\nOf godlike amity, which appears most strongly\\r\\nIn bearing thus the absence of your lord.\\r\\nBut if you knew to whom you show this honour,\\r\\nHow true a gentleman you send relief,\\r\\nHow dear a lover of my lord your husband,\\r\\nI know you would be prouder of the work\\r\\nThan customary bounty can enforce you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI never did repent for doing good,\\r\\nNor shall not now; for in companions\\r\\nThat do converse and waste the time together,\\r\\nWhose souls do bear an equal yoke of love,\\r\\nThere must be needs a like proportion\\r\\nOf lineaments, of manners, and of spirit;\\r\\nWhich makes me think that this Antonio,\\r\\nBeing the bosom lover of my lord,\\r\\nMust needs be like my lord. If it be so,\\r\\nHow little is the cost I have bestowed\\r\\nIn purchasing the semblance of my soul\\r\\nFrom out the state of hellish cruelty!\\r\\nThis comes too near the praising of myself;\\r\\nTherefore no more of it. Hear other things.\\r\\nLorenzo, I commit into your hands\\r\\nThe husbandry and manage of my house\\r\\nUntil my lord’s return. For mine own part,\\r\\nI have toward heaven breath’d a secret vow\\r\\nTo live in prayer and contemplation,\\r\\nOnly attended by Nerissa here,\\r\\nUntil her husband and my lord’s return.\\r\\nThere is a monastery two miles off,\\r\\nAnd there we will abide. I do desire you\\r\\nNot to deny this imposition,\\r\\nThe which my love and some necessity\\r\\nNow lays upon you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nMadam, with all my heart\\r\\nI shall obey you in all fair commands.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nMy people do already know my mind,\\r\\nAnd will acknowledge you and Jessica\\r\\nIn place of Lord Bassanio and myself.\\r\\nSo fare you well till we shall meet again.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nFair thoughts and happy hours attend on you!\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nI wish your ladyship all heart’s content.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI thank you for your wish, and am well pleas’d\\r\\nTo wish it back on you. Fare you well, Jessica.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Jessica and Lorenzo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, Balthazar,\\r\\nAs I have ever found thee honest-true,\\r\\nSo let me find thee still. Take this same letter,\\r\\nAnd use thou all th’ endeavour of a man\\r\\nIn speed to Padua, see thou render this\\r\\nInto my cousin’s hands, Doctor Bellario;\\r\\nAnd look what notes and garments he doth give thee,\\r\\nBring them, I pray thee, with imagin’d speed\\r\\nUnto the traject, to the common ferry\\r\\nWhich trades to Venice. Waste no time in words,\\r\\nBut get thee gone. I shall be there before thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHAZAR.\\r\\nMadam, I go with all convenient speed.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nCome on, Nerissa, I have work in hand\\r\\nThat you yet know not of; we’ll see our husbands\\r\\nBefore they think of us.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nShall they see us?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThey shall, Nerissa, but in such a habit\\r\\nThat they shall think we are accomplished\\r\\nWith that we lack. I’ll hold thee any wager,\\r\\nWhen we are both accoutered like young men,\\r\\nI’ll prove the prettier fellow of the two,\\r\\nAnd wear my dagger with the braver grace,\\r\\nAnd speak between the change of man and boy\\r\\nWith a reed voice; and turn two mincing steps\\r\\nInto a manly stride; and speak of frays\\r\\nLike a fine bragging youth; and tell quaint lies\\r\\nHow honourable ladies sought my love,\\r\\nWhich I denying, they fell sick and died;\\r\\nI could not do withal. Then I’ll repent,\\r\\nAnd wish for all that, that I had not kill’d them.\\r\\nAnd twenty of these puny lies I’ll tell,\\r\\nThat men shall swear I have discontinued school\\r\\nAbout a twelvemonth. I have within my mind\\r\\nA thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks,\\r\\nWhich I will practise.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nWhy, shall we turn to men?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nFie, what a question’s that,\\r\\nIf thou wert near a lewd interpreter!\\r\\nBut come, I’ll tell thee all my whole device\\r\\nWhen I am in my coach, which stays for us\\r\\nAt the park gate; and therefore haste away,\\r\\nFor we must measure twenty miles today.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. The same. A garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Launcelet and Jessica.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nYes, truly, for look you, the sins of the father are to be laid upon\\r\\nthe children, therefore, I promise you, I fear you. I was always plain\\r\\nwith you, and so now I speak my agitation of the matter. Therefore be\\r\\nof good cheer, for truly I think you are damn’d. There is but one hope\\r\\nin it that can do you any good, and that is but a kind of bastard hope\\r\\nneither.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nAnd what hope is that, I pray thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nMarry, you may partly hope that your father got you not, that you are\\r\\nnot the Jew’s daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nThat were a kind of bastard hope indeed; so the sins of my mother\\r\\nshould be visited upon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nTruly then I fear you are damn’d both by father and mother; thus when I\\r\\nshun Scylla your father, I fall into Charybdis your mother. Well, you\\r\\nare gone both ways.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nI shall be saved by my husband. He hath made me a Christian.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nTruly the more to blame he, we were Christians enow before, e’en as\\r\\nmany as could well live one by another. This making of Christians will\\r\\nraise the price of hogs; if we grow all to be pork-eaters, we shall not\\r\\nshortly have a rasher on the coals for money.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lorenzo.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nI’ll tell my husband, Launcelet, what you say. Here he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nI shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launcelet, if you thus get my wife\\r\\ninto corners!\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nNay, you need nor fear us, Lorenzo. Launcelet and I are out. He tells\\r\\nme flatly there’s no mercy for me in heaven, because I am a Jew’s\\r\\ndaughter; and he says you are no good member of the commonwealth, for\\r\\nin converting Jews to Christians you raise the price of pork.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nI shall answer that better to the commonwealth than you can the getting\\r\\nup of the negro’s belly! The Moor is with child by you, Launcelet.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nIt is much that the Moor should be more than reason; but if she be less\\r\\nthan an honest woman, she is indeed more than I took her for.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nHow every fool can play upon the word! I think the best grace of wit\\r\\nwill shortly turn into silence, and discourse grow commendable in none\\r\\nonly but parrots. Go in, sirrah; bid them prepare for dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nThat is done, sir, they have all stomachs.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nGoodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are you! Then bid them prepare dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nThat is done too, sir, only “cover” is the word.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nWill you cover, then, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nNot so, sir, neither. I know my duty.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nYet more quarrelling with occasion! Wilt thou show the whole wealth of\\r\\nthy wit in an instant? I pray thee understand a plain man in his plain\\r\\nmeaning: go to thy fellows, bid them cover the table, serve in the\\r\\nmeat, and we will come in to dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nFor the table, sir, it shall be served in; for the meat, sir, it shall\\r\\nbe covered; for your coming in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as\\r\\nhumours and conceits shall govern.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nO dear discretion, how his words are suited!\\r\\nThe fool hath planted in his memory\\r\\nAn army of good words, and I do know\\r\\nA many fools that stand in better place,\\r\\nGarnish’d like him, that for a tricksy word\\r\\nDefy the matter. How cheer’st thou, Jessica?\\r\\nAnd now, good sweet, say thy opinion,\\r\\nHow dost thou like the Lord Bassanio’s wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nPast all expressing. It is very meet\\r\\nThe Lord Bassanio live an upright life,\\r\\nFor having such a blessing in his lady,\\r\\nHe finds the joys of heaven here on earth,\\r\\nAnd if on earth he do not merit it,\\r\\nIn reason he should never come to heaven.\\r\\nWhy, if two gods should play some heavenly match,\\r\\nAnd on the wager lay two earthly women,\\r\\nAnd Portia one, there must be something else\\r\\nPawn’d with the other, for the poor rude world\\r\\nHath not her fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nEven such a husband\\r\\nHast thou of me as she is for a wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nNay, but ask my opinion too of that.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nI will anon. First let us go to dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nNay, let me praise you while I have a stomach.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nNo pray thee, let it serve for table-talk.\\r\\nThen howsome’er thou speak’st, ’mong other things\\r\\nI shall digest it.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nWell, I’ll set you forth.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Venice. A court of justice.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the Duke, the Magnificoes, Antonio, Bassanio, Gratiano, Salerio\\r\\n and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat, is Antonio here?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nReady, so please your Grace.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI am sorry for thee, thou art come to answer\\r\\nA stony adversary, an inhuman wretch,\\r\\nUncapable of pity, void and empty\\r\\nFrom any dram of mercy.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI have heard\\r\\nYour Grace hath ta’en great pains to qualify\\r\\nHis rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate,\\r\\nAnd that no lawful means can carry me\\r\\nOut of his envy’s reach, I do oppose\\r\\nMy patience to his fury, and am arm’d\\r\\nTo suffer with a quietness of spirit\\r\\nThe very tyranny and rage of his.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGo one and call the Jew into the court.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nHe is ready at the door. He comes, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Shylock.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nMake room, and let him stand before our face.\\r\\nShylock, the world thinks, and I think so too,\\r\\nThat thou but leadest this fashion of thy malice\\r\\nTo the last hour of act, and then, ’tis thought,\\r\\nThou’lt show thy mercy and remorse more strange\\r\\nThan is thy strange apparent cruelty;\\r\\nAnd where thou now exacts the penalty,\\r\\nWhich is a pound of this poor merchant’s flesh,\\r\\nThou wilt not only loose the forfeiture,\\r\\nBut, touch’d with human gentleness and love,\\r\\nForgive a moiety of the principal,\\r\\nGlancing an eye of pity on his losses\\r\\nThat have of late so huddled on his back,\\r\\nEnow to press a royal merchant down,\\r\\nAnd pluck commiseration of his state\\r\\nFrom brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint,\\r\\nFrom stubborn Turks and Tartars never train’d\\r\\nTo offices of tender courtesy.\\r\\nWe all expect a gentle answer, Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI have possess’d your Grace of what I purpose,\\r\\nAnd by our holy Sabbath have I sworn\\r\\nTo have the due and forfeit of my bond.\\r\\nIf you deny it, let the danger light\\r\\nUpon your charter and your city’s freedom!\\r\\nYou’ll ask me why I rather choose to have\\r\\nA weight of carrion flesh than to receive\\r\\nThree thousand ducats. I’ll not answer that,\\r\\nBut say it is my humour. Is it answer’d?\\r\\nWhat if my house be troubled with a rat,\\r\\nAnd I be pleas’d to give ten thousand ducats\\r\\nTo have it ban’d? What, are you answer’d yet?\\r\\nSome men there are love not a gaping pig;\\r\\nSome that are mad if they behold a cat;\\r\\nAnd others, when the bagpipe sings i’ the nose,\\r\\nCannot contain their urine; for affection\\r\\nMistress of passion, sways it to the mood\\r\\nOf what it likes or loathes. Now, for your answer:\\r\\nAs there is no firm reason to be render’d\\r\\nWhy he cannot abide a gaping pig,\\r\\nWhy he a harmless necessary cat,\\r\\nWhy he a woollen bagpipe, but of force\\r\\nMust yield to such inevitable shame\\r\\nAs to offend, himself being offended,\\r\\nSo can I give no reason, nor I will not,\\r\\nMore than a lodg’d hate and a certain loathing\\r\\nI bear Antonio, that I follow thus\\r\\nA losing suit against him. Are you answered?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nThis is no answer, thou unfeeling man,\\r\\nTo excuse the current of thy cruelty.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI am not bound to please thee with my answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nDo all men kill the things they do not love?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nHates any man the thing he would not kill?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nEvery offence is not a hate at first.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhat, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI pray you, think you question with the Jew.\\r\\nYou may as well go stand upon the beach\\r\\nAnd bid the main flood bate his usual height;\\r\\nYou may as well use question with the wolf,\\r\\nWhy he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb;\\r\\nYou may as well forbid the mountain pines\\r\\nTo wag their high tops and to make no noise\\r\\nWhen they are fretten with the gusts of heaven;\\r\\nYou may as well do anything most hard\\r\\nAs seek to soften that—than which what’s harder?—\\r\\nHis Jewish heart. Therefore, I do beseech you,\\r\\nMake no moe offers, use no farther means,\\r\\nBut with all brief and plain conveniency.\\r\\nLet me have judgment, and the Jew his will.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nFor thy three thousand ducats here is six.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nIf every ducat in six thousand ducats\\r\\nWere in six parts, and every part a ducat,\\r\\nI would not draw them, I would have my bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHow shalt thou hope for mercy, rend’ring none?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhat judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong?\\r\\nYou have among you many a purchas’d slave,\\r\\nWhich, like your asses and your dogs and mules,\\r\\nYou use in abject and in slavish parts,\\r\\nBecause you bought them. Shall I say to you\\r\\n“Let them be free, marry them to your heirs?\\r\\nWhy sweat they under burdens? Let their beds\\r\\nBe made as soft as yours, and let their palates\\r\\nBe season’d with such viands”? You will answer\\r\\n“The slaves are ours.” So do I answer you:\\r\\nThe pound of flesh which I demand of him\\r\\nIs dearly bought; ’tis mine and I will have it.\\r\\nIf you deny me, fie upon your law!\\r\\nThere is no force in the decrees of Venice.\\r\\nI stand for judgment. Answer; shall I have it?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nUpon my power I may dismiss this court,\\r\\nUnless Bellario, a learned doctor,\\r\\nWhom I have sent for to determine this,\\r\\nCome here today.\\r\\n\\r\\nSALARINO.\\r\\nMy lord, here stays without\\r\\nA messenger with letters from the doctor,\\r\\nNew come from Padua.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBring us the letters. Call the messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nGood cheer, Antonio! What, man, courage yet!\\r\\nThe Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all,\\r\\nEre thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI am a tainted wether of the flock,\\r\\nMeetest for death, the weakest kind of fruit\\r\\nDrops earliest to the ground, and so let me.\\r\\nYou cannot better be employ’d, Bassanio,\\r\\nThan to live still, and write mine epitaph.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nerissa dressed like a lawyer’s clerk.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nCame you from Padua, from Bellario?\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nFrom both, my lord. Bellario greets your Grace.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Presents a letter._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nWhy dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nTo cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nNot on thy sole but on thy soul, harsh Jew,\\r\\nThou mak’st thy knife keen. But no metal can,\\r\\nNo, not the hangman’s axe, bear half the keenness\\r\\nOf thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nNo, none that thou hast wit enough to make.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nO, be thou damn’d, inexecrable dog!\\r\\nAnd for thy life let justice be accus’d;\\r\\nThou almost mak’st me waver in my faith,\\r\\nTo hold opinion with Pythagoras\\r\\nThat souls of animals infuse themselves\\r\\nInto the trunks of men. Thy currish spirit\\r\\nGovern’d a wolf who, hang’d for human slaughter,\\r\\nEven from the gallows did his fell soul fleet,\\r\\nAnd whilst thou layest in thy unhallowed dam,\\r\\nInfus’d itself in thee; for thy desires\\r\\nAre wolfish, bloody, starv’d and ravenous.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nTill thou canst rail the seal from off my bond,\\r\\nThou but offend’st thy lungs to speak so loud.\\r\\nRepair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall\\r\\nTo cureless ruin. I stand here for law.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThis letter from Bellario doth commend\\r\\nA young and learned doctor to our court.\\r\\nWhere is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nHe attendeth here hard by,\\r\\nTo know your answer, whether you’ll admit him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE OF VENICE.\\r\\nWith all my heart: some three or four of you\\r\\nGo give him courteous conduct to this place.\\r\\nMeantime, the court shall hear Bellario’s letter.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Reads._] _Your Grace shall understand that at the receipt of your\\r\\nletter I am very sick, but in the instant that your messenger came, in\\r\\nloving visitation was with me a young doctor of Rome. His name is\\r\\nBalthazar. I acquainted him with the cause in controversy between the\\r\\nJew and Antonio the merchant. We turn’d o’er many books together. He is\\r\\nfurnished with my opinion, which, bettered with his own learning (the\\r\\ngreatness whereof I cannot enough commend), comes with him at my\\r\\nimportunity to fill up your Grace’s request in my stead. I beseech you\\r\\nlet his lack of years be no impediment to let him lack a reverend\\r\\nestimation, for I never knew so young a body with so old a head. I\\r\\nleave him to your gracious acceptance, whose trial shall better publish\\r\\nhis commendation._\\r\\n\\r\\nYou hear the learn’d Bellario what he writes,\\r\\nAnd here, I take it, is the doctor come.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Portia dressed like a doctor of laws.\\r\\n\\r\\nGive me your hand. Come you from old Bellario?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI did, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nYou are welcome. Take your place.\\r\\nAre you acquainted with the difference\\r\\nThat holds this present question in the court?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI am informed throughly of the cause.\\r\\nWhich is the merchant here? And which the Jew?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAntonio and old Shylock, both stand forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIs your name Shylock?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nShylock is my name.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nOf a strange nature is the suit you follow,\\r\\nYet in such rule that the Venetian law\\r\\nCannot impugn you as you do proceed.\\r\\n[_To Antonio_.] You stand within his danger, do you not?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAy, so he says.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nDo you confess the bond?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI do.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThen must the Jew be merciful.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nOn what compulsion must I? Tell me that.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThe quality of mercy is not strain’d,\\r\\nIt droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven\\r\\nUpon the place beneath. It is twice blest,\\r\\nIt blesseth him that gives and him that takes.\\r\\n’Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes\\r\\nThe throned monarch better than his crown.\\r\\nHis sceptre shows the force of temporal power,\\r\\nThe attribute to awe and majesty,\\r\\nWherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;\\r\\nBut mercy is above this sceptred sway,\\r\\nIt is enthroned in the hearts of kings,\\r\\nIt is an attribute to God himself;\\r\\nAnd earthly power doth then show likest God’s\\r\\nWhen mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,\\r\\nThough justice be thy plea, consider this,\\r\\nThat in the course of justice none of us\\r\\nShould see salvation. We do pray for mercy,\\r\\nAnd that same prayer doth teach us all to render\\r\\nThe deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much\\r\\nTo mitigate the justice of thy plea,\\r\\nWhich if thou follow, this strict court of Venice\\r\\nMust needs give sentence ’gainst the merchant there.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nMy deeds upon my head! I crave the law,\\r\\nThe penalty and forfeit of my bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIs he not able to discharge the money?\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nYes, here I tender it for him in the court,\\r\\nYea, twice the sum, if that will not suffice,\\r\\nI will be bound to pay it ten times o’er\\r\\nOn forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart.\\r\\nIf this will not suffice, it must appear\\r\\nThat malice bears down truth. And I beseech you,\\r\\nWrest once the law to your authority.\\r\\nTo do a great right, do a little wrong,\\r\\nAnd curb this cruel devil of his will.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIt must not be, there is no power in Venice\\r\\nCan alter a decree established;\\r\\n’Twill be recorded for a precedent,\\r\\nAnd many an error by the same example\\r\\nWill rush into the state. It cannot be.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nA Daniel come to judgment! Yea, a Daniel!\\r\\nO wise young judge, how I do honour thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI pray you let me look upon the bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nHere ’tis, most reverend doctor, here it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nShylock, there’s thrice thy money offered thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nAn oath, an oath! I have an oath in heaven.\\r\\nShall I lay perjury upon my soul?\\r\\nNo, not for Venice.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhy, this bond is forfeit,\\r\\nAnd lawfully by this the Jew may claim\\r\\nA pound of flesh, to be by him cut off\\r\\nNearest the merchant’s heart. Be merciful,\\r\\nTake thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhen it is paid according to the tenour.\\r\\nIt doth appear you are a worthy judge;\\r\\nYou know the law; your exposition\\r\\nHath been most sound. I charge you by the law,\\r\\nWhereof you are a well-deserving pillar,\\r\\nProceed to judgment. By my soul I swear\\r\\nThere is no power in the tongue of man\\r\\nTo alter me. I stay here on my bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nMost heartily I do beseech the court\\r\\nTo give the judgment.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhy then, thus it is:\\r\\nYou must prepare your bosom for his knife.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nO noble judge! O excellent young man!\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nFor the intent and purpose of the law\\r\\nHath full relation to the penalty,\\r\\nWhich here appeareth due upon the bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\n’Tis very true. O wise and upright judge,\\r\\nHow much more elder art thou than thy looks!\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nTherefore lay bare your bosom.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nAy, his breast\\r\\nSo says the bond, doth it not, noble judge?\\r\\n“Nearest his heart”: those are the very words.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIt is so. Are there balance here to weigh\\r\\nThe flesh?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI have them ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nHave by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,\\r\\nTo stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nIs it so nominated in the bond?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIt is not so express’d, but what of that?\\r\\n’Twere good you do so much for charity.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI cannot find it; ’tis not in the bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYou, merchant, have you anything to say?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nBut little. I am arm’d and well prepar’d.\\r\\nGive me your hand, Bassanio. Fare you well,\\r\\nGrieve not that I am fallen to this for you,\\r\\nFor herein Fortune shows herself more kind\\r\\nThan is her custom: it is still her use\\r\\nTo let the wretched man outlive his wealth,\\r\\nTo view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow\\r\\nAn age of poverty, from which ling’ring penance\\r\\nOf such misery doth she cut me off.\\r\\nCommend me to your honourable wife,\\r\\nTell her the process of Antonio’s end,\\r\\nSay how I lov’d you, speak me fair in death.\\r\\nAnd when the tale is told, bid her be judge\\r\\nWhether Bassanio had not once a love.\\r\\nRepent but you that you shall lose your friend\\r\\nAnd he repents not that he pays your debt.\\r\\nFor if the Jew do cut but deep enough,\\r\\nI’ll pay it instantly with all my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nAntonio, I am married to a wife\\r\\nWhich is as dear to me as life itself,\\r\\nBut life itself, my wife, and all the world,\\r\\nAre not with me esteem’d above thy life.\\r\\nI would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all\\r\\nHere to this devil, to deliver you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYour wife would give you little thanks for that\\r\\nIf she were by to hear you make the offer.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nI have a wife who I protest I love.\\r\\nI would she were in heaven, so she could\\r\\nEntreat some power to change this currish Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\n’Tis well you offer it behind her back,\\r\\nThe wish would make else an unquiet house.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nThese be the Christian husbands! I have a daughter—\\r\\nWould any of the stock of Barabbas\\r\\nHad been her husband, rather than a Christian!\\r\\nWe trifle time, I pray thee, pursue sentence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nA pound of that same merchant’s flesh is thine,\\r\\nThe court awards it and the law doth give it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nMost rightful judge!\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nAnd you must cut this flesh from off his breast.\\r\\nThe law allows it and the court awards it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nMost learned judge! A sentence! Come, prepare.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nTarry a little, there is something else.\\r\\nThis bond doth give thee here no jot of blood.\\r\\nThe words expressly are “a pound of flesh”:\\r\\nTake then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh,\\r\\nBut in the cutting it, if thou dost shed\\r\\nOne drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods\\r\\nAre, by the laws of Venice, confiscate\\r\\nUnto the state of Venice.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nO upright judge! Mark, Jew. O learned judge!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nIs that the law?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThyself shalt see the act.\\r\\nFor, as thou urgest justice, be assur’d\\r\\nThou shalt have justice more than thou desir’st.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nO learned judge! Mark, Jew, a learned judge!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI take this offer then. Pay the bond thrice\\r\\nAnd let the Christian go.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nHere is the money.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nSoft!\\r\\nThe Jew shall have all justice. Soft! no haste!\\r\\nHe shall have nothing but the penalty.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nO Jew, an upright judge, a learned judge!\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nTherefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh.\\r\\nShed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor more,\\r\\nBut just a pound of flesh: if thou tak’st more\\r\\nOr less than a just pound, be it but so much\\r\\nAs makes it light or heavy in the substance,\\r\\nOr the division of the twentieth part\\r\\nOf one poor scruple, nay, if the scale do turn\\r\\nBut in the estimation of a hair,\\r\\nThou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nA second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew!\\r\\nNow, infidel, I have you on the hip.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhy doth the Jew pause? Take thy forfeiture.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nGive me my principal, and let me go.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nI have it ready for thee. Here it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nHe hath refus’d it in the open court,\\r\\nHe shall have merely justice and his bond.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nA Daniel still say I, a second Daniel!\\r\\nI thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nShall I not have barely my principal?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture\\r\\nTo be so taken at thy peril, Jew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nWhy, then the devil give him good of it!\\r\\nI’ll stay no longer question.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nTarry, Jew.\\r\\nThe law hath yet another hold on you.\\r\\nIt is enacted in the laws of Venice,\\r\\nIf it be proved against an alien\\r\\nThat by direct or indirect attempts\\r\\nHe seek the life of any citizen,\\r\\nThe party ’gainst the which he doth contrive\\r\\nShall seize one half his goods; the other half\\r\\nComes to the privy coffer of the state,\\r\\nAnd the offender’s life lies in the mercy\\r\\nOf the Duke only, ’gainst all other voice.\\r\\nIn which predicament I say thou stand’st;\\r\\nFor it appears by manifest proceeding\\r\\nThat indirectly, and directly too,\\r\\nThou hast contrived against the very life\\r\\nOf the defendant; and thou hast incurr’d\\r\\nThe danger formerly by me rehears’d.\\r\\nDown, therefore, and beg mercy of the Duke.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nBeg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself,\\r\\nAnd yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state,\\r\\nThou hast not left the value of a cord;\\r\\nTherefore thou must be hang’d at the state’s charge.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThat thou shalt see the difference of our spirit,\\r\\nI pardon thee thy life before thou ask it.\\r\\nFor half thy wealth, it is Antonio’s;\\r\\nThe other half comes to the general state,\\r\\nWhich humbleness may drive unto a fine.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nAy, for the state, not for Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nNay, take my life and all, pardon not that.\\r\\nYou take my house when you do take the prop\\r\\nThat doth sustain my house; you take my life\\r\\nWhen you do take the means whereby I live.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhat mercy can you render him, Antonio?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nA halter gratis, nothing else, for God’s sake!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nSo please my lord the Duke and all the court\\r\\nTo quit the fine for one half of his goods,\\r\\nI am content, so he will let me have\\r\\nThe other half in use, to render it\\r\\nUpon his death unto the gentleman\\r\\nThat lately stole his daughter.\\r\\nTwo things provided more, that for this favour,\\r\\nHe presently become a Christian;\\r\\nThe other, that he do record a gift,\\r\\nHere in the court, of all he dies possess’d\\r\\nUnto his son Lorenzo and his daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHe shall do this, or else I do recant\\r\\nThe pardon that I late pronounced here.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nArt thou contented, Jew? What dost thou say?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI am content.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nClerk, draw a deed of gift.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHYLOCK.\\r\\nI pray you give me leave to go from hence;\\r\\nI am not well; send the deed after me\\r\\nAnd I will sign it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGet thee gone, but do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nIn christ’ning shalt thou have two god-fathers.\\r\\nHad I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more,\\r\\nTo bring thee to the gallows, not to the font.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Shylock._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nSir, I entreat you home with me to dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI humbly do desire your Grace of pardon,\\r\\nI must away this night toward Padua,\\r\\nAnd it is meet I presently set forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI am sorry that your leisure serves you not.\\r\\nAntonio, gratify this gentleman,\\r\\nFor in my mind you are much bound to him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Duke and his train._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nMost worthy gentleman, I and my friend\\r\\nHave by your wisdom been this day acquitted\\r\\nOf grievous penalties, in lieu whereof,\\r\\nThree thousand ducats due unto the Jew\\r\\nWe freely cope your courteous pains withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd stand indebted, over and above\\r\\nIn love and service to you evermore.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nHe is well paid that is well satisfied,\\r\\nAnd I delivering you, am satisfied,\\r\\nAnd therein do account myself well paid,\\r\\nMy mind was never yet more mercenary.\\r\\nI pray you know me when we meet again,\\r\\nI wish you well, and so I take my leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nDear sir, of force I must attempt you further.\\r\\nTake some remembrance of us as a tribute,\\r\\nNot as fee. Grant me two things, I pray you,\\r\\nNot to deny me, and to pardon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYou press me far, and therefore I will yield.\\r\\n[_To Antonio_.] Give me your gloves, I’ll wear them for your sake.\\r\\n[_To Bassanio_.] And, for your love, I’ll take this ring from you.\\r\\nDo not draw back your hand; I’ll take no more,\\r\\nAnd you in love shall not deny me this.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nThis ring, good sir? Alas, it is a trifle,\\r\\nI will not shame myself to give you this.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI will have nothing else but only this,\\r\\nAnd now methinks I have a mind to it.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nThere’s more depends on this than on the value.\\r\\nThe dearest ring in Venice will I give you,\\r\\nAnd find it out by proclamation,\\r\\nOnly for this I pray you pardon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI see, sir, you are liberal in offers.\\r\\nYou taught me first to beg, and now methinks\\r\\nYou teach me how a beggar should be answer’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nGood sir, this ring was given me by my wife,\\r\\nAnd when she put it on, she made me vow\\r\\nThat I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThat ’scuse serves many men to save their gifts.\\r\\nAnd if your wife be not a mad-woman,\\r\\nAnd know how well I have deserv’d this ring,\\r\\nShe would not hold out enemy for ever\\r\\nFor giving it to me. Well, peace be with you!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Portia and Nerissa._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nMy Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring.\\r\\nLet his deservings and my love withal\\r\\nBe valued ’gainst your wife’s commandment.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nGo, Gratiano, run and overtake him;\\r\\nGive him the ring, and bring him if thou canst\\r\\nUnto Antonio’s house. Away, make haste.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Gratiano._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, you and I will thither presently,\\r\\nAnd in the morning early will we both\\r\\nFly toward Belmont. Come, Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Portia and Nerissa.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nInquire the Jew’s house out, give him this deed,\\r\\nAnd let him sign it, we’ll away tonight,\\r\\nAnd be a day before our husbands home.\\r\\nThis deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gratiano.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nFair sir, you are well o’erta’en.\\r\\nMy Lord Bassanio upon more advice,\\r\\nHath sent you here this ring, and doth entreat\\r\\nYour company at dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThat cannot be;\\r\\nHis ring I do accept most thankfully,\\r\\nAnd so I pray you tell him. Furthermore,\\r\\nI pray you show my youth old Shylock’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nThat will I do.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nSir, I would speak with you.\\r\\n[_Aside to Portia_.]\\r\\nI’ll see if I can get my husband’s ring,\\r\\nWhich I did make him swear to keep for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\n[_To Nerissa_.] Thou mayst, I warrant. We shall have old swearing\\r\\nThat they did give the rings away to men;\\r\\nBut we’ll outface them, and outswear them too.\\r\\nAway! make haste! Thou know’st where I will tarry.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nCome, good sir, will you show me to this house?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Belmont. The avenue to Portia’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lorenzo and Jessica.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nThe moon shines bright. In such a night as this,\\r\\nWhen the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees,\\r\\nAnd they did make no noise, in such a night,\\r\\nTroilus methinks mounted the Trojan walls,\\r\\nAnd sigh’d his soul toward the Grecian tents\\r\\nWhere Cressid lay that night.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nIn such a night\\r\\nDid Thisby fearfully o’ertrip the dew,\\r\\nAnd saw the lion’s shadow ere himself,\\r\\nAnd ran dismay’d away.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nIn such a night\\r\\nStood Dido with a willow in her hand\\r\\nUpon the wild sea-banks, and waft her love\\r\\nTo come again to Carthage.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nIn such a night\\r\\nMedea gathered the enchanted herbs\\r\\nThat did renew old Æson.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nIn such a night\\r\\nDid Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew,\\r\\nAnd with an unthrift love did run from Venice\\r\\nAs far as Belmont.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nIn such a night\\r\\nDid young Lorenzo swear he loved her well,\\r\\nStealing her soul with many vows of faith,\\r\\nAnd ne’er a true one.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nIn such a night\\r\\nDid pretty Jessica, like a little shrew,\\r\\nSlander her love, and he forgave it her.\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nI would out-night you did no body come;\\r\\nBut hark, I hear the footing of a man.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Stephano.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nWho comes so fast in silence of the night?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nA friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nA friend! What friend? Your name, I pray you, friend?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nStephano is my name, and I bring word\\r\\nMy mistress will before the break of day\\r\\nBe here at Belmont. She doth stray about\\r\\nBy holy crosses where she kneels and prays\\r\\nFor happy wedlock hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nWho comes with her?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nNone but a holy hermit and her maid.\\r\\nI pray you is my master yet return’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nHe is not, nor we have not heard from him.\\r\\nBut go we in, I pray thee, Jessica,\\r\\nAnd ceremoniously let us prepare\\r\\nSome welcome for the mistress of the house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Launcelet.\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET. Sola, sola! wo ha, ho! sola, sola!\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nWho calls?\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nSola! Did you see Master Lorenzo? Master Lorenzo! Sola, sola!\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nLeave holloaing, man. Here!\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nSola! Where, where?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nHere!\\r\\n\\r\\nLAUNCELET.\\r\\nTell him there’s a post come from my master with his horn full of good\\r\\nnews. My master will be here ere morning.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nSweet soul, let’s in, and there expect their coming.\\r\\nAnd yet no matter; why should we go in?\\r\\nMy friend Stephano, signify, I pray you,\\r\\nWithin the house, your mistress is at hand,\\r\\nAnd bring your music forth into the air.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Stephano._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!\\r\\nHere will we sit and let the sounds of music\\r\\nCreep in our ears; soft stillness and the night\\r\\nBecome the touches of sweet harmony.\\r\\nSit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven\\r\\nIs thick inlaid with patens of bright gold.\\r\\nThere’s not the smallest orb which thou behold’st\\r\\nBut in his motion like an angel sings,\\r\\nStill quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;\\r\\nSuch harmony is in immortal souls,\\r\\nBut whilst this muddy vesture of decay\\r\\nDoth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Musicians.\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn.\\r\\nWith sweetest touches pierce your mistress’ ear,\\r\\nAnd draw her home with music.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJESSICA.\\r\\nI am never merry when I hear sweet music.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nThe reason is, your spirits are attentive.\\r\\nFor do but note a wild and wanton herd\\r\\nOr race of youthful and unhandled colts,\\r\\nFetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud,\\r\\nWhich is the hot condition of their blood,\\r\\nIf they but hear perchance a trumpet sound,\\r\\nOr any air of music touch their ears,\\r\\nYou shall perceive them make a mutual stand,\\r\\nTheir savage eyes turn’d to a modest gaze\\r\\nBy the sweet power of music: therefore the poet\\r\\nDid feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods,\\r\\nSince naught so stockish, hard, and full of rage,\\r\\nBut music for the time doth change his nature.\\r\\nThe man that hath no music in himself,\\r\\nNor is not mov’d with concord of sweet sounds,\\r\\nIs fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;\\r\\nThe motions of his spirit are dull as night,\\r\\nAnd his affections dark as Erebus.\\r\\nLet no such man be trusted. Mark the music.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Portia and Nerissa.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThat light we see is burning in my hall.\\r\\nHow far that little candle throws his beams!\\r\\nSo shines a good deed in a naughty world.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nWhen the moon shone we did not see the candle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nSo doth the greater glory dim the less.\\r\\nA substitute shines brightly as a king\\r\\nUntil a king be by, and then his state\\r\\nEmpties itself, as doth an inland brook\\r\\nInto the main of waters. Music! hark!\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nIt is your music, madam, of the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nNothing is good, I see, without respect.\\r\\nMethinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nSilence bestows that virtue on it, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThe crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark\\r\\nWhen neither is attended; and I think\\r\\nThe nightingale, if she should sing by day\\r\\nWhen every goose is cackling, would be thought\\r\\nNo better a musician than the wren.\\r\\nHow many things by season season’d are\\r\\nTo their right praise and true perfection!\\r\\nPeace! How the moon sleeps with Endymion,\\r\\nAnd would not be awak’d!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music ceases._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nThat is the voice,\\r\\nOr I am much deceiv’d, of Portia.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nHe knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo,\\r\\nBy the bad voice.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nDear lady, welcome home.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWe have been praying for our husbands’ welfare,\\r\\nWhich speed, we hope, the better for our words.\\r\\nAre they return’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nMadam, they are not yet;\\r\\nBut there is come a messenger before\\r\\nTo signify their coming.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nGo in, Nerissa.\\r\\nGive order to my servants, that they take\\r\\nNo note at all of our being absent hence,\\r\\nNor you, Lorenzo; Jessica, nor you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A tucket sounds._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nYour husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet.\\r\\nWe are no tell-tales, madam, fear you not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThis night methinks is but the daylight sick,\\r\\nIt looks a little paler. ’Tis a day\\r\\nSuch as the day is when the sun is hid.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Gratiano and their Followers.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nWe should hold day with the Antipodes,\\r\\nIf you would walk in absence of the sun.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nLet me give light, but let me not be light,\\r\\nFor a light wife doth make a heavy husband,\\r\\nAnd never be Bassanio so for me.\\r\\nBut God sort all! You are welcome home, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nI thank you, madam. Give welcome to my friend.\\r\\nThis is the man, this is Antonio,\\r\\nTo whom I am so infinitely bound.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYou should in all sense be much bound to him,\\r\\nFor, as I hear, he was much bound for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nNo more than I am well acquitted of.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nSir, you are very welcome to our house.\\r\\nIt must appear in other ways than words,\\r\\nTherefore I scant this breathing courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\n[_To Nerissa_.] By yonder moon I swear you do me wrong,\\r\\nIn faith, I gave it to the judge’s clerk.\\r\\nWould he were gelt that had it, for my part,\\r\\nSince you do take it, love, so much at heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nA quarrel, ho, already! What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nAbout a hoop of gold, a paltry ring\\r\\nThat she did give me, whose posy was\\r\\nFor all the world like cutlers’ poetry\\r\\nUpon a knife, “Love me, and leave me not.”\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nWhat talk you of the posy, or the value?\\r\\nYou swore to me when I did give it you,\\r\\nThat you would wear it till your hour of death,\\r\\nAnd that it should lie with you in your grave.\\r\\nThough not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,\\r\\nYou should have been respective and have kept it.\\r\\nGave it a judge’s clerk! No, God’s my judge,\\r\\nThe clerk will ne’er wear hair on’s face that had it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nHe will, and if he live to be a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nAy, if a woman live to be a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nNow, by this hand, I gave it to a youth,\\r\\nA kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy,\\r\\nNo higher than thyself, the judge’s clerk,\\r\\nA prating boy that begg’d it as a fee,\\r\\nI could not for my heart deny it him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nYou were to blame,—I must be plain with you,—\\r\\nTo part so slightly with your wife’s first gift,\\r\\nA thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger,\\r\\nAnd so riveted with faith unto your flesh.\\r\\nI gave my love a ring, and made him swear\\r\\nNever to part with it, and here he stands.\\r\\nI dare be sworn for him he would not leave it\\r\\nNor pluck it from his finger for the wealth\\r\\nThat the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano,\\r\\nYou give your wife too unkind a cause of grief,\\r\\nAn ’twere to me I should be mad at it.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Why, I were best to cut my left hand off,\\r\\nAnd swear I lost the ring defending it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nMy Lord Bassanio gave his ring away\\r\\nUnto the judge that begg’d it, and indeed\\r\\nDeserv’d it too. And then the boy, his clerk,\\r\\nThat took some pains in writing, he begg’d mine,\\r\\nAnd neither man nor master would take aught\\r\\nBut the two rings.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nWhat ring gave you, my lord?\\r\\nNot that, I hope, which you receiv’d of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nIf I could add a lie unto a fault,\\r\\nI would deny it, but you see my finger\\r\\nHath not the ring upon it, it is gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nEven so void is your false heart of truth.\\r\\nBy heaven, I will ne’er come in your bed\\r\\nUntil I see the ring.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nNor I in yours\\r\\nTill I again see mine!\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nSweet Portia,\\r\\nIf you did know to whom I gave the ring,\\r\\nIf you did know for whom I gave the ring,\\r\\nAnd would conceive for what I gave the ring,\\r\\nAnd how unwillingly I left the ring,\\r\\nWhen nought would be accepted but the ring,\\r\\nYou would abate the strength of your displeasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIf you had known the virtue of the ring,\\r\\nOr half her worthiness that gave the ring,\\r\\nOr your own honour to contain the ring,\\r\\nYou would not then have parted with the ring.\\r\\nWhat man is there so much unreasonable,\\r\\nIf you had pleas’d to have defended it\\r\\nWith any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty\\r\\nTo urge the thing held as a ceremony?\\r\\nNerissa teaches me what to believe:\\r\\nI’ll die for’t but some woman had the ring.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nNo, by my honour, madam, by my soul,\\r\\nNo woman had it, but a civil doctor,\\r\\nWhich did refuse three thousand ducats of me,\\r\\nAnd begg’d the ring, the which I did deny him,\\r\\nAnd suffer’d him to go displeas’d away,\\r\\nEven he that had held up the very life\\r\\nOf my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady?\\r\\nI was enforc’d to send it after him.\\r\\nI was beset with shame and courtesy.\\r\\nMy honour would not let ingratitude\\r\\nSo much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady;\\r\\nFor by these blessed candles of the night,\\r\\nHad you been there, I think you would have begg’d\\r\\nThe ring of me to give the worthy doctor.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nLet not that doctor e’er come near my house,\\r\\nSince he hath got the jewel that I loved,\\r\\nAnd that which you did swear to keep for me,\\r\\nI will become as liberal as you,\\r\\nI’ll not deny him anything I have,\\r\\nNo, not my body, nor my husband’s bed.\\r\\nKnow him I shall, I am well sure of it.\\r\\nLie not a night from home. Watch me like Argus,\\r\\nIf you do not, if I be left alone,\\r\\nNow by mine honour which is yet mine own,\\r\\nI’ll have that doctor for mine bedfellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nAnd I his clerk. Therefore be well advis’d\\r\\nHow you do leave me to mine own protection.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWell, do you so. Let not me take him then,\\r\\nFor if I do, I’ll mar the young clerk’s pen.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI am th’ unhappy subject of these quarrels.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nSir, grieve not you. You are welcome notwithstanding.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nPortia, forgive me this enforced wrong,\\r\\nAnd in the hearing of these many friends\\r\\nI swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes,\\r\\nWherein I see myself—\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nMark you but that!\\r\\nIn both my eyes he doubly sees himself,\\r\\nIn each eye one. Swear by your double self,\\r\\nAnd there’s an oath of credit.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nNay, but hear me.\\r\\nPardon this fault, and by my soul I swear\\r\\nI never more will break an oath with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI once did lend my body for his wealth,\\r\\nWhich but for him that had your husband’s ring\\r\\nHad quite miscarried. I dare be bound again,\\r\\nMy soul upon the forfeit, that your lord\\r\\nWill never more break faith advisedly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nThen you shall be his surety. Give him this,\\r\\nAnd bid him keep it better than the other.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHere, Lord Bassanio, swear to keep this ring.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nBy heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor!\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nI had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio,\\r\\nFor by this ring, the doctor lay with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nAnd pardon me, my gentle Gratiano,\\r\\nFor that same scrubbed boy, the doctor’s clerk,\\r\\nIn lieu of this, last night did lie with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWhy, this is like the mending of highways\\r\\nIn summer, where the ways are fair enough.\\r\\nWhat, are we cuckolds ere we have deserv’d it?\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nSpeak not so grossly. You are all amaz’d.\\r\\nHere is a letter; read it at your leisure.\\r\\nIt comes from Padua from Bellario.\\r\\nThere you shall find that Portia was the doctor,\\r\\nNerissa there, her clerk. Lorenzo here\\r\\nShall witness I set forth as soon as you,\\r\\nAnd even but now return’d. I have not yet\\r\\nEnter’d my house. Antonio, you are welcome,\\r\\nAnd I have better news in store for you\\r\\nThan you expect: unseal this letter soon.\\r\\nThere you shall find three of your argosies\\r\\nAre richly come to harbour suddenly.\\r\\nYou shall not know by what strange accident\\r\\nI chanced on this letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI am dumb.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nWere you the doctor, and I knew you not?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWere you the clerk that is to make me cuckold?\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nAy, but the clerk that never means to do it,\\r\\nUnless he live until he be a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nBASSANIO.\\r\\nSweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow.\\r\\nWhen I am absent, then lie with my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nSweet lady, you have given me life and living;\\r\\nFor here I read for certain that my ships\\r\\nAre safely come to road.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nHow now, Lorenzo!\\r\\nMy clerk hath some good comforts too for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nNERISSA.\\r\\nAy, and I’ll give them him without a fee.\\r\\nThere do I give to you and Jessica,\\r\\nFrom the rich Jew, a special deed of gift,\\r\\nAfter his death, of all he dies possess’d of.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORENZO.\\r\\nFair ladies, you drop manna in the way\\r\\nOf starved people.\\r\\n\\r\\nPORTIA.\\r\\nIt is almost morning,\\r\\nAnd yet I am sure you are not satisfied\\r\\nOf these events at full. Let us go in,\\r\\nAnd charge us there upon inter’gatories,\\r\\nAnd we will answer all things faithfully.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nLet it be so. The first inter’gatory\\r\\nThat my Nerissa shall be sworn on is,\\r\\nWhether till the next night she had rather stay,\\r\\nOr go to bed now, being two hours to day.\\r\\nBut were the day come, I should wish it dark\\r\\nTill I were couching with the doctor’s clerk.\\r\\nWell, while I live, I’ll fear no other thing\\r\\nSo sore as keeping safe Nerissa’s ring.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n',\n", + " \"THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personae\\r\\n\\r\\n SIR JOHN FALSTAFF\\r\\n FENTON, a young gentleman\\r\\n SHALLOW, a country justice\\r\\n SLENDER, cousin to Shallow\\r\\n\\r\\n Gentlemen of Windsor\\r\\n FORD\\r\\n PAGE\\r\\n WILLIAM PAGE, a boy, son to Page\\r\\n SIR HUGH EVANS, a Welsh parson\\r\\n DOCTOR CAIUS, a French physician\\r\\n HOST of the Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\n Followers of Falstaff\\r\\n BARDOLPH\\r\\n PISTOL\\r\\n NYM\\r\\n ROBIN, page to Falstaff\\r\\n SIMPLE, servant to Slender\\r\\n RUGBY, servant to Doctor Caius\\r\\n\\r\\n MISTRESS FORD\\r\\n MISTRESS PAGE\\r\\n MISTRESS ANNE PAGE, her daughter\\r\\n MISTRESS QUICKLY, servant to Doctor Caius\\r\\n SERVANTS to Page, Ford, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Windsor, and the neighbourhood\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nWindsor. Before PAGE'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter JUSTICE SHALLOW, SLENDER, and SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n SHALLOW. Sir Hugh, persuade me not; I will make a Star\\r\\n Chamber matter of it; if he were twenty Sir John Falstaffs,\\r\\n he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, esquire.\\r\\n SLENDER. In the county of Gloucester, Justice of Peace, and\\r\\n Coram.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Ay, cousin Slender, and Custalorum.\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, and Ratolorum too; and a gentleman born,\\r\\n Master Parson, who writes himself 'Armigero' in any bill,\\r\\n warrant, quittance, or obligation-'Armigero.'\\r\\n SHALLOW. Ay, that I do; and have done any time these three\\r\\n hundred years.\\r\\n SLENDER. All his successors, gone before him, hath done't;\\r\\n and all his ancestors, that come after him, may: they may\\r\\n give the dozen white luces in their coat.\\r\\n SHALLOW. It is an old coat.\\r\\n EVANS. The dozen white louses do become an old coat well;\\r\\n it agrees well, passant; it is a familiar beast to man, and\\r\\n signifies love.\\r\\n SHALLOW. The luce is the fresh fish; the salt fish is an old\\r\\n coat.\\r\\n SLENDER. I may quarter, coz.\\r\\n SHALLOW. You may, by marrying.\\r\\n EVANS. It is marring indeed, if he quarter it.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Not a whit.\\r\\n EVANS. Yes, py'r lady! If he has a quarter of your coat, there\\r\\n is but three skirts for yourself, in my simple conjectures;\\r\\n but that is all one. If Sir John Falstaff have committed\\r\\n disparagements unto you, I am of the church, and will be\\r\\n glad to do my benevolence, to make atonements and\\r\\n compremises between you.\\r\\n SHALLOW. The Council shall hear it; it is a riot.\\r\\n EVANS. It is not meet the Council hear a riot; there is no\\r\\n fear of Got in a riot; the Council, look you, shall desire\\r\\n to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear a riot; take your\\r\\n vizaments in that.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Ha! o' my life, if I were young again, the sword\\r\\n should end it.\\r\\n EVANS. It is petter that friends is the sword and end it;\\r\\n and there is also another device in my prain, which\\r\\n peradventure prings goot discretions with it. There is Anne\\r\\n Page, which is daughter to Master George Page, which is\\r\\n pretty virginity.\\r\\n SLENDER. Mistress Anne Page? She has brown hair, and\\r\\n speaks small like a woman.\\r\\n EVANS. It is that fery person for all the orld, as just as you\\r\\n will desire; and seven hundred pounds of moneys, and\\r\\n gold, and silver, is her grandsire upon his death's-bed-Got\\r\\n deliver to a joyful resurrections!-give, when she is able to\\r\\n overtake seventeen years old. It were a goot motion if we\\r\\n leave our pribbles and prabbles, and desire a marriage\\r\\n between Master Abraham and Mistress Anne Page.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Did her grandsire leave her seven hundred pound?\\r\\n EVANS. Ay, and her father is make her a petter penny.\\r\\n SHALLOW. I know the young gentlewoman; she has good\\r\\n gifts.\\r\\n EVANS. Seven hundred pounds, and possibilities, is goot gifts.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Well, let us see honest Master Page. Is Falstaff\\r\\n there?\\r\\n EVANS. Shall I tell you a lie? I do despise a liar as I do\\r\\n despise one that is false; or as I despise one that is not\\r\\n true. The knight Sir John is there; and, I beseech you, be\\r\\n ruled by your well-willers. I will peat the door for Master\\r\\n Page.\\r\\n [Knocks] What, hoa! Got pless your house here!\\r\\n PAGE. [Within] Who's there?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n EVANS. Here is Got's plessing, and your friend, and Justice\\r\\n Shallow; and here young Master Slender, that peradventures\\r\\n shall tell you another tale, if matters grow to your\\r\\n likings.\\r\\n PAGE. I am glad to see your worships well. I thank you for\\r\\n my venison, Master Shallow.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Master Page, I am glad to see you; much good do\\r\\n it your good heart! I wish'd your venison better; it was ill\\r\\n kill'd. How doth good Mistress Page?-and I thank you\\r\\n always with my heart, la! with my heart.\\r\\n PAGE. Sir, I thank you.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Sir, I thank you; by yea and no, I do.\\r\\n PAGE. I am glad to see you, good Master Slender.\\r\\n SLENDER. How does your fallow greyhound, sir? I heard say\\r\\n he was outrun on Cotsall.\\r\\n PAGE. It could not be judg'd, sir.\\r\\n SLENDER. You'll not confess, you'll not confess.\\r\\n SHALLOW. That he will not. 'Tis your fault; 'tis your fault;\\r\\n 'tis a good dog.\\r\\n PAGE. A cur, sir.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog. Can there be\\r\\n more said? He is good, and fair. Is Sir John Falstaff here?\\r\\n PAGE. Sir, he is within; and I would I could do a good office\\r\\n between you.\\r\\n EVANS. It is spoke as a Christians ought to speak.\\r\\n SHALLOW. He hath wrong'd me, Master Page.\\r\\n PAGE. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it.\\r\\n SHALLOW. If it be confessed, it is not redressed; is not that\\r\\n so, Master Page? He hath wrong'd me; indeed he hath; at a\\r\\n word, he hath, believe me; Robert Shallow, esquire, saith\\r\\n he is wronged.\\r\\n PAGE. Here comes Sir John.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR JOHN FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, NYM, and PISTOL\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Now, Master Shallow, you'll complain of me to\\r\\n the King?\\r\\n SHALLOW. Knight, you have beaten my men, kill'd my deer,\\r\\n and broke open my lodge.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. But not kiss'd your keeper's daughter.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Tut, a pin! this shall be answer'd.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I will answer it straight: I have done all this.\\r\\n That is now answer'd.\\r\\n SHALLOW. The Council shall know this.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. 'Twere better for you if it were known in counsel:\\r\\n you'll be laugh'd at.\\r\\n EVANS. Pauca verba, Sir John; goot worts.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Good worts! good cabbage! Slender, I broke your\\r\\n head; what matter have you against me?\\r\\n SLENDER. Marry, sir, I have matter in my head against you;\\r\\n and against your cony-catching rascals, Bardolph, Nym,\\r\\n and Pistol. They carried me to the tavern, and made me\\r\\n drunk, and afterwards pick'd my pocket.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. You Banbury cheese!\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, it is no matter.\\r\\n PISTOL. How now, Mephostophilus!\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, it is no matter.\\r\\n NYM. Slice, I say! pauca, pauca; slice! That's my humour.\\r\\n SLENDER. Where's Simple, my man? Can you tell, cousin?\\r\\n EVANS. Peace, I pray you. Now let us understand. There is\\r\\n three umpires in this matter, as I understand: that is,\\r\\n Master Page, fidelicet Master Page; and there is myself,\\r\\n fidelicet myself; and the three party is, lastly and\\r\\n finally, mine host of the Garter.\\r\\n PAGE. We three to hear it and end it between them.\\r\\n EVANS. Fery goot. I will make a prief of it in my note-book;\\r\\n and we will afterwards ork upon the cause with as great\\r\\n discreetly as we can.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Pistol!\\r\\n PISTOL. He hears with ears.\\r\\n EVANS. The tevil and his tam! What phrase is this, 'He hears\\r\\n with ear'? Why, it is affectations.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Pistol, did you pick Master Slender's purse?\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, by these gloves, did he-or I would I might\\r\\n never come in mine own great chamber again else!-of\\r\\n seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two Edward\\r\\n shovel-boards that cost me two shilling and two pence apiece\\r\\n of Yead Miller, by these gloves.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Is this true, Pistol?\\r\\n EVANS. No, it is false, if it is a pick-purse.\\r\\n PISTOL. Ha, thou mountain-foreigner! Sir John and master\\r\\n mine,\\r\\n I combat challenge of this latten bilbo.\\r\\n Word of denial in thy labras here!\\r\\n Word of denial! Froth and scum, thou liest.\\r\\n SLENDER. By these gloves, then, 'twas he.\\r\\n NYM. Be avis'd, sir, and pass good humours; I will say\\r\\n 'marry trap' with you, if you run the nuthook's humour on\\r\\n me; that is the very note of it.\\r\\n SLENDER. By this hat, then, he in the red face had it; for\\r\\n though I cannot remember what I did when you made me\\r\\n drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What say you, Scarlet and John?\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Why, sir, for my part, I say the gentleman had\\r\\n drunk himself out of his five sentences.\\r\\n EVANS. It is his five senses; fie, what the ignorance is!\\r\\n BARDOLPH. And being fap, sir, was, as they say, cashier'd;\\r\\n and so conclusions pass'd the careers.\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, you spake in Latin then too; but 'tis no matter;\\r\\n I'll ne'er be drunk whilst I live again, but in honest,\\r\\n civil, godly company, for this trick. If I be drunk, I'll be\\r\\n drunk with those that have the fear of God, and not with\\r\\n drunken knaves.\\r\\n EVANS. So Got udge me, that is a virtuous mind.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. You hear all these matters deni'd, gentlemen; you\\r\\n hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS ANNE PAGE with wine; MISTRESS\\r\\n FORD and MISTRESS PAGE, following\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. Nay, daughter, carry the wine in; we'll drink within.\\r\\n Exit ANNE PAGE\\r\\n SLENDER. O heaven! this is Mistress Anne Page.\\r\\n PAGE. How now, Mistress Ford!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well\\r\\n met; by your leave, good mistress. [Kisses her]\\r\\n PAGE. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome. Come, we have a\\r\\n hot venison pasty to dinner; come, gentlemen, I hope we\\r\\n shall drink down all unkindness.\\r\\n Exeunt all but SHALLOW, SLENDER, and EVANS\\r\\n SLENDER. I had rather than forty shillings I had my Book of\\r\\n Songs and Sonnets here.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIMPLE\\r\\n\\r\\n How, Simple! Where have you been? I must wait on\\r\\n myself, must I? You have not the Book of Riddles about you,\\r\\n have you?\\r\\n SIMPLE. Book of Riddles! Why, did you not lend it to Alice\\r\\n Shortcake upon Allhallowmas last, a fortnight afore\\r\\n Michaelmas?\\r\\n SHALLOW. Come, coz; come, coz; we stay for you. A word\\r\\n with you, coz; marry, this, coz: there is, as 'twere, a\\r\\n tender, a kind of tender, made afar off by Sir Hugh here. Do\\r\\n you understand me?\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable; if it be so, I\\r\\n shall do that that is reason.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Nay, but understand me.\\r\\n SLENDER. So I do, sir.\\r\\n EVANS. Give ear to his motions: Master Slender, I will\\r\\n description the matter to you, if you be capacity of it.\\r\\n SLENDER. Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says; I pray\\r\\n you pardon me; he's a justice of peace in his country,\\r\\n simple though I stand here.\\r\\n EVANS. But that is not the question. The question is\\r\\n concerning your marriage.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Ay, there's the point, sir.\\r\\n EVANS. Marry is it; the very point of it; to Mistress Anne\\r\\n Page.\\r\\n SLENDER. Why, if it be so, I will marry her upon any\\r\\n reasonable demands.\\r\\n EVANS. But can you affection the oman? Let us command to\\r\\n know that of your mouth or of your lips; for divers philosophers\\r\\n hold that the lips is parcel of the mouth. Therefore,\\r\\n precisely, can you carry your good will to the maid?\\r\\n SHALLOW. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her?\\r\\n SLENDER. I hope, sir, I will do as it shall become one that\\r\\n would do reason.\\r\\n EVANS. Nay, Got's lords and his ladies! you must speak possitable,\\r\\n if you can carry her your desires towards her.\\r\\n SHALLOW. That you must. Will you, upon good dowry,\\r\\n marry her?\\r\\n SLENDER. I will do a greater thing than that upon your request,\\r\\n cousin, in any reason.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz; what\\r\\n I do is to pleasure you, coz. Can you love the maid?\\r\\n SLENDER. I will marry her, sir, at your request; but if there\\r\\n be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease\\r\\n it upon better acquaintance, when we are married and\\r\\n have more occasion to know one another. I hope upon\\r\\n familiarity will grow more contempt. But if you say\\r\\n 'marry her,' I will marry her; that I am freely dissolved,\\r\\n and dissolutely.\\r\\n EVANS. It is a fery discretion answer, save the fall is in the\\r\\n ord 'dissolutely': the ort is, according to our meaning,\\r\\n 'resolutely'; his meaning is good.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Ay, I think my cousin meant well.\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, or else I would I might be hang'd, la!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter ANNE PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n SHALLOW. Here comes fair Mistress Anne. Would I were\\r\\n young for your sake, Mistress Anne!\\r\\n ANNE. The dinner is on the table; my father desires your\\r\\n worships' company.\\r\\n SHALLOW. I will wait on him, fair Mistress Anne!\\r\\n EVANS. Od's plessed will! I will not be absence at the grace.\\r\\n Exeunt SHALLOW and EVANS\\r\\n ANNE. Will't please your worship to come in, sir?\\r\\n SLENDER. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily; I am very\\r\\n well.\\r\\n ANNE. The dinner attends you, sir.\\r\\n SLENDER. I am not a-hungry, I thank you, forsooth. Go,\\r\\n sirrah, for all you are my man, go wait upon my cousin\\r\\n Shallow. [Exit SIMPLE] A justice of peace sometime may\\r\\n be beholding to his friend for a man. I keep but three men\\r\\n and a boy yet, till my mother be dead. But what though?\\r\\n Yet I live like a poor gentleman born.\\r\\n ANNE. I may not go in without your worship; they will not\\r\\n sit till you come.\\r\\n SLENDER. I' faith, I'll eat nothing; I thank you as much as\\r\\n though I did.\\r\\n ANNE. I pray you, sir, walk in.\\r\\n SLENDER. I had rather walk here, I thank you. I bruis'd my\\r\\n shin th' other day with playing at sword and dagger with\\r\\n a master of fence-three veneys for a dish of stew'd prunes\\r\\n -and, I with my ward defending my head, he hot my shin,\\r\\n and, by my troth, I cannot abide the smell of hot meat\\r\\n since. Why do your dogs bark so? Be there bears i' th'\\r\\n town?\\r\\n ANNE. I think there are, sir; I heard them talk'd of.\\r\\n SLENDER. I love the sport well; but I shall as soon quarrel at\\r\\n it as any man in England. You are afraid, if you see the\\r\\n bear loose, are you not?\\r\\n ANNE. Ay, indeed, sir.\\r\\n SLENDER. That's meat and drink to me now. I have seen\\r\\n Sackerson loose twenty times, and have taken him by the\\r\\n chain; but I warrant you, the women have so cried and\\r\\n shriek'd at it that it pass'd; but women, indeed, cannot\\r\\n abide 'em; they are very ill-favour'd rough things.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. Come, gentle Master Slender, come; we stay for you.\\r\\n SLENDER. I'll eat nothing, I thank you, sir.\\r\\n PAGE. By cock and pie, you shall not choose, sir! Come,\\r\\n come.\\r\\n SLENDER. Nay, pray you lead the way.\\r\\n PAGE. Come on, sir.\\r\\n SLENDER. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first.\\r\\n ANNE. Not I, sir; pray you keep on.\\r\\n SLENDER. Truly, I will not go first; truly, la! I will not do\\r\\n you that wrong.\\r\\n ANNE. I pray you, sir.\\r\\n SLENDER. I'll rather be unmannerly than troublesome. You\\r\\n do yourself wrong indeed, la! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nBefore PAGE'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SIR HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE\\r\\n\\r\\n EVANS. Go your ways, and ask of Doctor Caius' house which\\r\\n is the way; and there dwells one Mistress Quickly, which\\r\\n is in the manner of his nurse, or his dry nurse, or his cook,\\r\\n or his laundry, his washer, and his wringer.\\r\\n SIMPLE. Well, sir.\\r\\n EVANS. Nay, it is petter yet. Give her this letter; for it is a\\r\\n oman that altogether's acquaintance with Mistress Anne\\r\\n Page; and the letter is to desire and require her to solicit\\r\\n your master's desires to Mistress Anne Page. I pray you\\r\\n be gone. I will make an end of my dinner; there's pippins\\r\\n and cheese to come. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FALSTAFF, HOST, BARDOLPH, NYM, PISTOL, and ROBIN\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Mine host of the Garter!\\r\\n HOST. What says my bully rook? Speak scholarly and\\r\\n wisely.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of my\\r\\n followers.\\r\\n HOST. Discard, bully Hercules; cashier; let them wag; trot,\\r\\n trot.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I sit at ten pounds a week.\\r\\n HOST. Thou'rt an emperor-Caesar, Keiser, and Pheazar. I\\r\\n will entertain Bardolph; he shall draw, he shall tap; said I\\r\\n well, bully Hector?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Do so, good mine host.\\r\\n HOST. I have spoke; let him follow. [To BARDOLPH] Let me\\r\\n see thee froth and lime. I am at a word; follow. Exit HOST\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Bardolph, follow him. A tapster is a good trade;\\r\\n an old cloak makes a new jerkin; a wither'd serving-man a\\r\\n fresh tapster. Go; adieu.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. It is a life that I have desir'd; I will thrive.\\r\\n PISTOL. O base Hungarian wight! Wilt thou the spigot\\r\\n wield? Exit BARDOLPH\\r\\n NYM. He was gotten in drink. Is not the humour conceited?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I am glad I am so acquit of this tinder-box: his\\r\\n thefts were too open; his filching was like an unskilful\\r\\n singer-he kept not time.\\r\\n NYM. The good humour is to steal at a minute's rest.\\r\\n PISTOL. 'Convey' the wise it call. 'Steal' foh! A fico for the\\r\\n phrase!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels.\\r\\n PISTOL. Why, then, let kibes ensue.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. There is no remedy; I must cony-catch; I must\\r\\n shift.\\r\\n PISTOL. Young ravens must have food.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Which of you know Ford of this town?\\r\\n PISTOL. I ken the wight; he is of substance good.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about.\\r\\n PISTOL. Two yards, and more.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. No quips now, Pistol. Indeed, I am in the waist\\r\\n two yards about; but I am now about no waste; I am about\\r\\n thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make love to Ford's wife; I\\r\\n spy entertainment in her; she discourses, she carves, she\\r\\n gives the leer of invitation; I can construe the action of her\\r\\n familiar style; and the hardest voice of her behaviour, to be\\r\\n English'd rightly, is 'I am Sir John Falstaff's.'\\r\\n PISTOL. He hath studied her well, and translated her will out\\r\\n of honesty into English.\\r\\n NYM. The anchor is deep; will that humour pass?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Now, the report goes she has all the rule of her\\r\\n husband's purse; he hath a legion of angels.\\r\\n PISTOL. As many devils entertain; and 'To her, boy,' say I.\\r\\n NYM. The humour rises; it is good; humour me the angels.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I have writ me here a letter to her; and here\\r\\n another to Page's wife, who even now gave me good eyes\\r\\n too, examin'd my parts with most judicious oeillades;\\r\\n sometimes the beam of her view gilded my foot, sometimes my\\r\\n portly belly.\\r\\n PISTOL. Then did the sun on dunghill shine.\\r\\n NYM. I thank thee for that humour.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. O, she did so course o'er my exteriors with such\\r\\n a greedy intention that the appetite of her eye did seem to\\r\\n scorch me up like a burning-glass! Here's another letter to\\r\\n her. She bears the purse too; she is a region in Guiana, all\\r\\n gold and bounty. I will be cheaters to them both, and they\\r\\n shall be exchequers to me; they shall be my East and West\\r\\n Indies, and I will trade to them both. Go, bear thou this\\r\\n letter to Mistress Page; and thou this to Mistress Ford. We\\r\\n will thrive, lads, we will thrive.\\r\\n PISTOL. Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become,\\r\\n And by my side wear steel? Then Lucifer take all!\\r\\n NYM. I will run no base humour. Here, take the\\r\\n humour-letter; I will keep the haviour of reputation.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. [To ROBIN] Hold, sirrah; bear you these letters\\r\\n tightly;\\r\\n Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores.\\r\\n Rogues, hence, avaunt! vanish like hailstones, go;\\r\\n Trudge, plod away i' th' hoof; seek shelter, pack!\\r\\n Falstaff will learn the humour of the age;\\r\\n French thrift, you rogues; myself, and skirted page.\\r\\n Exeunt FALSTAFF and ROBIN\\r\\n PISTOL. Let vultures gripe thy guts! for gourd and fullam\\r\\n holds,\\r\\n And high and low beguiles the rich and poor;\\r\\n Tester I'll have in pouch when thou shalt lack,\\r\\n Base Phrygian Turk!\\r\\n NYM. I have operations in my head which be humours of\\r\\n revenge.\\r\\n PISTOL. Wilt thou revenge?\\r\\n NYM. By welkin and her star!\\r\\n PISTOL. With wit or steel?\\r\\n NYM. With both the humours, I.\\r\\n I will discuss the humour of this love to Page.\\r\\n PISTOL. And I to Ford shall eke unfold\\r\\n How Falstaff, varlet vile,\\r\\n His dove will prove, his gold will hold,\\r\\n And his soft couch defile.\\r\\n NYM. My humour shall not cool; I will incense Page to deal\\r\\n with poison; I will possess him with yellowness; for the\\r\\n revolt of mine is dangerous. That is my true humour.\\r\\n PISTOL. Thou art the Mars of malcontents; I second thee;\\r\\n troop on. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR CAIUS'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MISTRESS QUICKLY, SIMPLE, and RUGBY\\r\\n\\r\\n QUICKLY. What, John Rugby! I pray thee go to the casement\\r\\n and see if you can see my master, Master Doctor\\r\\n Caius, coming. If he do, i' faith, and find anybody in the\\r\\n house, here will be an old abusing of God's patience and\\r\\n the King's English.\\r\\n RUGBY. I'll go watch.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Go; and we'll have a posset for't soon at night, in\\r\\n faith, at the latter end of a sea-coal fire. [Exit RUGBY] An\\r\\n honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant shall come in\\r\\n house withal; and, I warrant you, no tell-tale nor no\\r\\n breed-bate; his worst fault is that he is given to prayer; he is\\r\\n something peevish that way; but nobody but has his fault;\\r\\n but let that pass. Peter Simple you say your name is?\\r\\n SIMPLE. Ay, for fault of a better.\\r\\n QUICKLY. And Master Slender's your master?\\r\\n SIMPLE. Ay, forsooth.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Does he not wear a great round beard, like a\\r\\n glover's paring-knife?\\r\\n SIMPLE. No, forsooth; he hath but a little whey face, with a\\r\\n little yellow beard, a Cain-colour'd beard.\\r\\n QUICKLY. A softly-sprighted man, is he not?\\r\\n SIMPLE. Ay, forsooth; but he is as tall a man of his hands as\\r\\n any is between this and his head; he hath fought with a\\r\\n warrener.\\r\\n QUICKLY. How say you? O, I should remember him. Does\\r\\n he not hold up his head, as it were, and strut in his gait?\\r\\n SIMPLE. Yes, indeed, does he.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse fortune!\\r\\n Tell Master Parson Evans I will do what I can for your\\r\\n master. Anne is a good girl, and I wish-\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter RUGBY\\r\\n\\r\\n RUGBY. Out, alas! here comes my master.\\r\\n QUICKLY. We shall all be shent. Run in here, good young\\r\\n man; go into this closet. [Shuts SIMPLE in the closet] He\\r\\n will not stay long. What, John Rugby! John! what, John,\\r\\n I say! Go, John, go inquire for my master; I doubt he be\\r\\n not well that he comes not home. [Singing]\\r\\n And down, down, adown-a, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DOCTOR CAIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n CAIUS. Vat is you sing? I do not like des toys. Pray you, go\\r\\n and vetch me in my closet un boitier vert-a box, a green-a\\r\\n box. Do intend vat I speak? A green-a box.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Ay, forsooth, I'll fetch it you. [Aside] I am glad\\r\\n he went not in himself; if he had found the young man,\\r\\n he would have been horn-mad.\\r\\n CAIUS. Fe, fe, fe fe! ma foi, il fait fort chaud. Je m'en vais a\\r\\n la cour-la grande affaire.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Is it this, sir?\\r\\n CAIUS. Oui; mette le au mon pocket: depeche, quickly. Vere\\r\\n is dat knave, Rugby?\\r\\n QUICKLY. What, John Rugby? John!\\r\\n RUGBY. Here, sir.\\r\\n CAIUS. You are John Rugby, and you are Jack Rugby.\\r\\n Come, take-a your rapier, and come after my heel to the\\r\\n court.\\r\\n RUGBY. 'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch.\\r\\n CAIUS. By my trot, I tarry too long. Od's me! Qu'ai j'oublie?\\r\\n Dere is some simples in my closet dat I vill not for the\\r\\n varld I shall leave behind.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Ay me, he'll find the young man there, and be\\r\\n mad!\\r\\n CAIUS. O diable, diable! vat is in my closet? Villainy! larron!\\r\\n [Pulling SIMPLE out] Rugby, my rapier!\\r\\n QUICKLY. Good master, be content.\\r\\n CAIUS. Wherefore shall I be content-a?\\r\\n QUICKLY. The young man is an honest man.\\r\\n CAIUS. What shall de honest man do in my closet? Dere is\\r\\n no honest man dat shall come in my closet.\\r\\n QUICKLY. I beseech you, be not so phlegmatic; hear the\\r\\n truth of it. He came of an errand to me from Parson Hugh.\\r\\n CAIUS. Vell?\\r\\n SIMPLE. Ay, forsooth, to desire her to-\\r\\n QUICKLY. Peace, I pray you.\\r\\n CAIUS. Peace-a your tongue. Speak-a your tale.\\r\\n SIMPLE. To desire this honest gentlewoman, your maid, to\\r\\n speak a good word to Mistress Anne Page for my master,\\r\\n in the way of marriage.\\r\\n QUICKLY. This is all, indeed, la! but I'll ne'er put my finger\\r\\n in the fire, and need not.\\r\\n CAIUS. Sir Hugh send-a you? Rugby, baillez me some paper.\\r\\n Tarry you a little-a-while. [Writes]\\r\\n QUICKLY. [Aside to SIMPLE] I am glad he is so quiet; if he\\r\\n had been throughly moved, you should have heard him\\r\\n so loud and so melancholy. But notwithstanding, man, I'll\\r\\n do you your master what good I can; and the very yea and\\r\\n the no is, the French doctor, my master-I may call him\\r\\n my master, look you, for I keep his house; and I wash,\\r\\n wring, brew, bake, scour, dress meat and drink, make the\\r\\n beds, and do all myself-\\r\\n SIMPLE. [Aside to QUICKLY] 'Tis a great charge to come\\r\\n under one body's hand.\\r\\n QUICKLY. [Aside to SIMPLE] Are you avis'd o' that? You\\r\\n shall find it a great charge; and to be up early and down\\r\\n late; but notwithstanding-to tell you in your ear, I would\\r\\n have no words of it-my master himself is in love with\\r\\n Mistress Anne Page; but notwithstanding that, I know\\r\\n Anne's mind-that's neither here nor there.\\r\\n CAIUS. You jack'nape; give-a this letter to Sir Hugh; by gar,\\r\\n it is a shallenge; I will cut his troat in de park; and I will\\r\\n teach a scurvy jack-a-nape priest to meddle or make. You\\r\\n may be gone; it is not good you tarry here. By gar, I will\\r\\n cut all his two stones; by gar, he shall not have a stone\\r\\n to throw at his dog. Exit SIMPLE\\r\\n QUICKLY. Alas, he speaks but for his friend.\\r\\n CAIUS. It is no matter-a ver dat. Do not you tell-a me dat I\\r\\n shall have Anne Page for myself? By gar, I vill kill de Jack\\r\\n priest; and I have appointed mine host of de Jarteer to\\r\\n measure our weapon. By gar, I will myself have Anne\\r\\n Page.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be well. We\\r\\n must give folks leave to prate. What the good-year!\\r\\n CAIUS. Rugby, come to the court with me. By gar, if I have\\r\\n not Anne Page, I shall turn your head out of my door.\\r\\n Follow my heels, Rugby. Exeunt CAIUS and RUGBY\\r\\n QUICKLY. You shall have-An fool's-head of your own. No,\\r\\n I know Anne's mind for that; never a woman in Windsor\\r\\n knows more of Anne's mind than I do; nor can do more\\r\\n than I do with her, I thank heaven.\\r\\n FENTON. [Within] Who's within there? ho!\\r\\n QUICKLY. Who's there, I trow? Come near the house, I pray\\r\\n you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FENTON\\r\\n\\r\\n FENTON. How now, good woman, how dost thou?\\r\\n QUICKLY. The better that it pleases your good worship to\\r\\n ask.\\r\\n FENTON. What news? How does pretty Mistress Anne?\\r\\n QUICKLY. In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and honest, and\\r\\n gentle; and one that is your friend, I can tell you that by\\r\\n the way; I praise heaven for it.\\r\\n FENTON. Shall I do any good, think'st thou? Shall I not lose\\r\\n my suit?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Troth, sir, all is in His hands above; but\\r\\n notwithstanding, Master Fenton, I'll be sworn on a book\\r\\n she loves you. Have not your worship a wart above your eye?\\r\\n FENTON. Yes, marry, have I; what of that?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Well, thereby hangs a tale; good faith, it is such\\r\\n another Nan; but, I detest, an honest maid as ever broke\\r\\n bread. We had an hour's talk of that wart; I shall never\\r\\n laugh but in that maid's company! But, indeed, she is\\r\\n given too much to allicholy and musing; but for you-well,\\r\\n go to.\\r\\n FENTON. Well, I shall see her to-day. Hold, there's money\\r\\n for thee; let me have thy voice in my behalf. If thou seest\\r\\n her before me, commend me.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Will I? I' faith, that we will; and I will tell your\\r\\n worship more of the wart the next time we have confidence;\\r\\n and of other wooers.\\r\\n FENTON. Well, farewell; I am in great haste now.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Farewell to your worship. [Exit FENTON] Truly,\\r\\n an honest gentleman; but Anne loves him not; for I know\\r\\n Anne's mind as well as another does. Out upon 't, what\\r\\n have I forgot? Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nBefore PAGE'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MISTRESS PAGE, with a letter\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. What! have I scap'd love-letters in the holiday-time\\r\\n of my beauty, and am I now a subject for them? Let\\r\\n me see. [Reads]\\r\\n 'Ask me no reason why I love you; for though Love use\\r\\n Reason for his precisian, he admits him not for his counsellor.\\r\\n You are not young, no more am I; go to, then, there's\\r\\n sympathy. You are merry, so am I; ha! ha! then there's\\r\\n more sympathy. You love sack, and so do I; would you\\r\\n desire better sympathy? Let it suffice thee, Mistress Page\\r\\n at the least, if the love of soldier can suffice-that I love\\r\\n thee. I will not say, Pity me: 'tis not a soldier-like phrase;\\r\\n but I say, Love me. By me,\\r\\n Thine own true knight,\\r\\n By day or night,\\r\\n Or any kind of light,\\r\\n With all his might,\\r\\n For thee to fight,\\r\\n JOHN FALSTAFF.'\\r\\n What a Herod of Jewry is this! O wicked, wicked world!\\r\\n One that is well-nigh worn to pieces with age to show\\r\\n himself a young gallant! What an unweighed behaviour\\r\\n hath this Flemish drunkard pick'd-with the devil's name!\\r\\n -out of my conversation, that he dares in this manner\\r\\n assay me? Why, he hath not been thrice in my company!\\r\\n What should I say to him? I was then frugal of my mirth.\\r\\n Heaven forgive me! Why, I'll exhibit a bill in the parliament\\r\\n for the putting down of men. How shall I be\\r\\n reveng'd on him? for reveng'd I will be, as sure as his guts\\r\\n are made of puddings.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS FORD\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Mistress Page! trust me, I was going to your\\r\\n house.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. And, trust me, I was coming to you. You look\\r\\n very ill.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Nay, I'll ne'er believe that; I have to show to\\r\\n the contrary.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Faith, but you do, in my mind.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Well, I do, then; yet, I say, I could show you to\\r\\n the contrary. O Mistress Page, give me some counsel.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. What's the matter, woman?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. O woman, if it were not for one trifling respect,\\r\\n I could come to such honour!\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Hang the trifle, woman; take the honour. What\\r\\n is it? Dispense with trifles; what is it?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. If I would but go to hell for an eternal moment\\r\\n or so, I could be knighted.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. What? Thou liest. Sir Alice Ford! These knights\\r\\n will hack; and so thou shouldst not alter the article of thy\\r\\n gentry.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. We burn daylight. Here, read, read; perceive\\r\\n how I might be knighted. I shall think the worse of fat\\r\\n men as long as I have an eye to make difference of men's\\r\\n liking. And yet he would not swear; prais'd women's\\r\\n modesty, and gave such orderly and well-behaved reproof\\r\\n to all uncomeliness that I would have sworn his disposition\\r\\n would have gone to the truth of his words; but they do no\\r\\n more adhere and keep place together than the Hundredth\\r\\n Psalm to the tune of 'Greensleeves.' What tempest, I trow,\\r\\n threw this whale, with so many tuns of oil in his belly,\\r\\n ashore at Windsor? How shall I be revenged on him? I\\r\\n think the best way were to entertain him with hope, till\\r\\n the wicked fire of lust have melted him in his own grease.\\r\\n Did you ever hear the like?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Letter for letter, but that the name of Page and\\r\\n Ford differs. To thy great comfort in this mystery of ill\\r\\n opinions, here's the twin-brother of thy letter; but let thine\\r\\n inherit first, for, I protest, mine never shall. I warrant he\\r\\n hath a thousand of these letters, writ with blank space for\\r\\n different names-sure, more!-and these are of the second\\r\\n edition. He will print them, out of doubt; for he cares not\\r\\n what he puts into the press when he would put us two. I\\r\\n had rather be a giantess and lie under Mount Pelion. Well,\\r\\n I will find you twenty lascivious turtles ere one chaste\\r\\n man.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why, this is the very same; the very hand, the\\r\\n very words. What doth he think of us?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Nay, I know not; it makes me almost ready to\\r\\n wrangle with mine own honesty. I'll entertain myself like\\r\\n one that I am not acquainted withal; for, sure, unless he\\r\\n know some strain in me that I know not myself, he would\\r\\n never have boarded me in this fury.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. 'Boarding' call you it? I'll be sure to keep him\\r\\n above deck.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. So will I; if he come under my hatches, I'll never\\r\\n to sea again. Let's be reveng'd on him; let's appoint him a\\r\\n meeting, give him a show of comfort in his suit, and lead\\r\\n him on with a fine-baited delay, till he hath pawn'd his\\r\\n horses to mine host of the Garter.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Nay, I will consent to act any villainy against\\r\\n him that may not sully the chariness of our honesty. O\\r\\n that my husband saw this letter! It would give eternal food\\r\\n to his jealousy.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Why, look where he comes; and my good man\\r\\n too; he's as far from jealousy as I am from giving him\\r\\n cause; and that, I hope, is an unmeasurable distance.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. You are the happier woman.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Let's consult together against this greasy knight.\\r\\n Come hither. [They retire]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FORD with PISTOL, and PAGE with Nym\\r\\n\\r\\n FORD. Well, I hope it be not so.\\r\\n PISTOL. Hope is a curtal dog in some affairs.\\r\\n Sir John affects thy wife.\\r\\n FORD. Why, sir, my wife is not young.\\r\\n PISTOL. He woos both high and low, both rich and poor,\\r\\n Both young and old, one with another, Ford;\\r\\n He loves the gallimaufry. Ford, perpend.\\r\\n FORD. Love my wife!\\r\\n PISTOL. With liver burning hot. Prevent, or go thou,\\r\\n Like Sir Actaeon he, with Ringwood at thy heels.\\r\\n O, odious is the name!\\r\\n FORD. What name, sir?\\r\\n PISTOL. The horn, I say. Farewell.\\r\\n Take heed, have open eye, for thieves do foot by night;\\r\\n Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo birds do sing.\\r\\n Away, Sir Corporal Nym.\\r\\n Believe it, Page; he speaks sense. Exit PISTOL\\r\\n FORD. [Aside] I will be patient; I will find out this.\\r\\n NYM. [To PAGE] And this is true; I like not the humour of\\r\\n lying. He hath wronged me in some humours; I should\\r\\n have borne the humour'd letter to her; but I have a sword,\\r\\n and it shall bite upon my necessity. He loves your wife;\\r\\n there's the short and the long.\\r\\n My name is Corporal Nym; I speak, and I avouch;\\r\\n 'Tis true. My name is Nym, and Falstaff loves your wife.\\r\\n Adieu! I love not the humour of bread and cheese; and\\r\\n there's the humour of it. Adieu. Exit Nym\\r\\n PAGE. 'The humour of it,' quoth 'a! Here's a fellow frights\\r\\n English out of his wits.\\r\\n FORD. I will seek out Falstaff.\\r\\n PAGE. I never heard such a drawling, affecting rogue.\\r\\n FORD. If I do find it-well.\\r\\n PAGE. I will not believe such a Cataian though the priest o'\\r\\n th' town commended him for a true man.\\r\\n FORD. 'Twas a good sensible fellow. Well.\\r\\n\\r\\n MISTRESS PAGE and MISTRESS FORD come forward\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. How now, Meg!\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Whither go you, George? Hark you.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. How now, sweet Frank, why art thou melancholy?\\r\\n FORD. I melancholy! I am not melancholy. Get you home;\\r\\n go.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy head now.\\r\\n Will you go, Mistress Page?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Have with you. You'll come to dinner, George?\\r\\n [Aside to MRS. FORD] Look who comes yonder; she shall\\r\\n be our messenger to this paltry knight.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. [Aside to MRS. PAGE] Trust me, I thought on\\r\\n her; she'll fit it.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. You are come to see my daughter Anne?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Ay, forsooth; and, I pray, how does good Mistress Anne?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Go in with us and see; we have an hour's talk\\r\\n with you. Exeunt MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and\\r\\n MISTRESS QUICKLY\\r\\n PAGE. How now, Master Ford!\\r\\n FORD. You heard what this knave told me, did you not?\\r\\n PAGE. Yes; and you heard what the other told me?\\r\\n FORD. Do you think there is truth in them?\\r\\n PAGE. Hang 'em, slaves! I do not think the knight would offer it;\\r\\n but these that accuse him in his intent towards our\\r\\n wives are a yoke of his discarded men; very rogues, now\\r\\n they be out of service.\\r\\n FORD. Were they his men?\\r\\n PAGE. Marry, were they.\\r\\n FORD. I like it never the better for that. Does he lie at the\\r\\n Garter?\\r\\n PAGE. Ay, marry, does he. If he should intend this voyage\\r\\n toward my wife, I would turn her loose to him; and what\\r\\n he gets more of her than sharp words, let it lie on my head.\\r\\n FORD. I do not misdoubt my wife; but I would be loath to\\r\\n turn them together. A man may be too confident. I would\\r\\n have nothing lie on my head. I cannot be thus satisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HOST\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. Look where my ranting host of the Garter comes.\\r\\n There is either liquor in his pate or money in his purse\\r\\n when he looks so merrily. How now, mine host!\\r\\n HOST. How now, bully rook! Thou'rt a gentleman. [To\\r\\n SHALLOW following] Cavaleiro Justice, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SHALLOW\\r\\n\\r\\n SHALLOW. I follow, mine host, I follow. Good even and\\r\\n twenty, good Master Page! Master Page, will you go with\\r\\n us? We have sport in hand.\\r\\n HOST. Tell him, Cavaleiro Justice; tell him, bully rook.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Sir, there is a fray to be fought between Sir Hugh\\r\\n the Welsh priest and Caius the French doctor.\\r\\n FORD. Good mine host o' th' Garter, a word with you.\\r\\n HOST. What say'st thou, my bully rook? [They go aside]\\r\\n SHALLOW. [To PAGE] Will you go with us to behold it? My\\r\\n merry host hath had the measuring of their weapons; and,\\r\\n I think, hath appointed them contrary places; for, believe\\r\\n me, I hear the parson is no jester. Hark, I will tell you\\r\\n what our sport shall be. [They converse apart]\\r\\n HOST. Hast thou no suit against my knight, my guest-cavaleiro.\\r\\n FORD. None, I protest; but I'll give you a pottle of burnt\\r\\n sack to give me recourse to him, and tell him my name is\\r\\n Brook-only for a jest.\\r\\n HOST. My hand, bully; thou shalt have egress and regress-\\r\\n said I well?-and thy name shall be Brook. It is a merry\\r\\n knight. Will you go, Mynheers?\\r\\n SHALLOW. Have with you, mine host.\\r\\n PAGE. I have heard the Frenchman hath good skill in his\\r\\n rapier.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Tut, sir, I could have told you more. In these\\r\\n times you stand on distance, your passes, stoccadoes, and\\r\\n I know not what. 'Tis the heart, Master Page; 'tis here,\\r\\n 'tis here. I have seen the time with my long sword I would\\r\\n have made you four tall fellows skip like rats.\\r\\n HOST. Here, boys, here, here! Shall we wag?\\r\\n PAGE. Have with you. I had rather hear them scold than\\r\\n fight. Exeunt all but FORD\\r\\n FORD. Though Page be a secure fool, and stands so firmly on\\r\\n his wife's frailty, yet I cannot put off my opinion so\\r\\n easily. She was in his company at Page's house, and what\\r\\n they made there I know not. Well, I will look further into\\r\\n 't, and I have a disguise to sound Falstaff. If I find her\\r\\n honest, I lose not my labour; if she be otherwise, 'tis labour\\r\\n well bestowed. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nA room in the Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FALSTAFF and PISTOL\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I will not lend thee a penny.\\r\\n PISTOL. I will retort the sum in equipage.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Not a penny.\\r\\n PISTOL. Why, then the world's mine oyster. Which I with\\r\\n sword will open.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you should\\r\\n lay my countenance to pawn. I have grated upon my good\\r\\n friends for three reprieves for you and your coach-fellow,\\r\\n Nym; or else you had look'd through the grate, like a\\r\\n geminy of baboons. I am damn'd in hell for swearing to\\r\\n gentlemen my friends you were good soldiers and tall fellows;\\r\\n and when Mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan,\\r\\n I took 't upon mine honour thou hadst it not.\\r\\n PISTOL. Didst not thou share? Hadst thou not fifteen pence?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Reason, you rogue, reason. Think'st thou I'll\\r\\n endanger my soul gratis? At a word, hang no more about me,\\r\\n I am no gibbet for you. Go-a short knife and a throng!-\\r\\n to your manor of Pickt-hatch; go. You'll not bear a letter\\r\\n for me, you rogue! You stand upon your honour! Why,\\r\\n thou unconfinable baseness, it is as much as I can do to\\r\\n keep the terms of my honour precise. I, I, I myself\\r\\n sometimes, leaving the fear of God on the left hand, and hiding\\r\\n mine honour in my necessity, am fain to shuffle, to hedge,\\r\\n and to lurch; and yet you, rogue, will ensconce your rags,\\r\\n your cat-a-mountain looks, your red-lattice phrases, and\\r\\n your bold-beating oaths, under the shelter of your honour!\\r\\n You will not do it, you!\\r\\n PISTOL. I do relent; what would thou more of man?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ROBIN\\r\\n\\r\\n ROBIN. Sir, here's a woman would speak with you.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Let her approach.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY\\r\\n\\r\\n QUICKLY. Give your worship good morrow.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Good morrow, good wife.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Not so, an't please your worship.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Good maid, then.\\r\\n QUICKLY. I'll be sworn;\\r\\n As my mother was, the first hour I was born.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I do believe the swearer. What with me?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word or two?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Two thousand, fair woman; and I'll vouchsafe\\r\\n thee the hearing.\\r\\n QUICKLY. There is one Mistress Ford, sir-I pray, come a little\\r\\n nearer this ways. I myself dwell with Master Doctor\\r\\n Caius.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Well, on: Mistress Ford, you say-\\r\\n QUICKLY. Your worship says very true. I pray your worship\\r\\n come a little nearer this ways.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I warrant thee nobody hears-mine own people,\\r\\n mine own people.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Are they so? God bless them, and make them his\\r\\n servants!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Well; Mistress Ford, what of her?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Why, sir, she's a good creature. Lord, Lord, your\\r\\n worship's a wanton! Well, heaven forgive you, and all of\\r\\n us, I pray.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford; come, Mistress Ford-\\r\\n QUICKLY. Marry, this is the short and the long of it: you\\r\\n have brought her into such a canaries as 'tis wonderful.\\r\\n The best courtier of them all, when the court lay at Windsor,\\r\\n could never have brought her to such a canary. Yet\\r\\n there has been knights, and lords, and gentlemen, with\\r\\n their coaches; I warrant you, coach after coach, letter after\\r\\n letter, gift after gift; smelling so sweetly, all musk, and so\\r\\n rushling, I warrant you, in silk and gold; and in such alligant\\r\\n terms; and in such wine and sugar of the best and the\\r\\n fairest, that would have won any woman's heart; and I\\r\\n warrant you, they could never get an eye-wink of her.\\r\\n I had myself twenty angels given me this morning; but I\\r\\n defy all angels, in any such sort, as they say, but in the\\r\\n way of honesty; and, I warrant you, they could never get\\r\\n her so much as sip on a cup with the proudest of them all;\\r\\n and yet there has been earls, nay, which is more,\\r\\n pensioners; but, I warrant you, all is one with her.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. But what says she to me? Be brief, my good she-\\r\\n Mercury.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Marry, she hath receiv'd your letter; for the\\r\\n which she thanks you a thousand times; and she gives you\\r\\n to notify that her husband will be absence from his house\\r\\n between ten and eleven.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Ten and eleven?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Ay, forsooth; and then you may come and see\\r\\n the picture, she says, that you wot of. Master Ford, her\\r\\n husband, will be from home. Alas, the sweet woman leads\\r\\n an ill life with him! He's a very jealousy man; she leads a\\r\\n very frampold life with him, good heart.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Ten and eleven. Woman, commend me to her; I\\r\\n will not fail her.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Why, you say well. But I have another messenger\\r\\n to your worship. Mistress Page hath her hearty commendations\\r\\n to you too; and let me tell you in your ear, she's as\\r\\n fartuous a civil modest wife, and one, I tell you, that will\\r\\n not miss you morning nor evening prayer, as any is in\\r\\n Windsor, whoe'er be the other; and she bade me tell your\\r\\n worship that her husband is seldom from home, but she\\r\\n hopes there will come a time. I never knew a woman so\\r\\n dote upon a man: surely I think you have charms, la! Yes,\\r\\n in truth.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Not I, I assure thee; setting the attraction of my\\r\\n good parts aside, I have no other charms.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Blessing on your heart for 't!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. But, I pray thee, tell me this: has Ford's wife and\\r\\n Page's wife acquainted each other how they love me?\\r\\n QUICKLY. That were a jest indeed! They have not so little\\r\\n grace, I hope-that were a trick indeed! But Mistress Page\\r\\n would desire you to send her your little page of all loves.\\r\\n Her husband has a marvellous infection to the little page;\\r\\n and truly Master Page is an honest man. Never a wife in\\r\\n Windsor leads a better life than she does; do what she will,\\r\\n say what she will, take all, pay all, go to bed when she\\r\\n list, rise when she list, all is as she will; and truly she\\r\\n deserves it; for if there be a kind woman in Windsor, she\\r\\n is one. You must send her your page; no remedy.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Why, I will.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Nay, but do so then; and, look you, he may come\\r\\n and go between you both; and in any case have a\\r\\n nay-word, that you may know one another's mind, and the boy\\r\\n never need to understand any thing; for 'tis not good that\\r\\n children should know any wickedness. Old folks, you\\r\\n know, have discretion, as they say, and know the world.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Fare thee well; commend me to them both.\\r\\n There's my purse; I am yet thy debtor. Boy, go along with\\r\\n this woman. [Exeunt QUICKLY and ROBIN] This news\\r\\n distracts me.\\r\\n PISTOL. [Aside] This punk is one of Cupid's carriers;\\r\\n Clap on more sails; pursue; up with your fights;\\r\\n Give fire; she is my prize, or ocean whelm them all! Exit\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Say'st thou so, old Jack; go thy ways; I'll make\\r\\n more of thy old body than I have done. Will they yet look\\r\\n after thee? Wilt thou, after the expense of so much money,\\r\\n be now a gainer? Good body, I thank thee. Let them say\\r\\n 'tis grossly done; so it be fairly done, no matter.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BARDOLPH\\r\\n\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Sir John, there's one Master Brook below would\\r\\n fain speak with you, and be acquainted with you; and hath\\r\\n sent your worship a moming's draught of sack.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Brook is his name?\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Ay, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Call him in. [Exit BARDOLPH] Such Brooks are\\r\\n welcome to me, that o'erflows such liquor. Ah, ha! Mistress\\r\\n Ford and Mistress Page, have I encompass'd you? Go to;\\r\\n via!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter BARDOLPH, with FORD disguised\\r\\n\\r\\n FORD. Bless you, sir! FALSTAFF. And you, sir! Would you speak with\\r\\n me? FORD. I make bold to press with so little preparation upon you.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. You're welcome. What's your will? Give us leave, drawer.\\r\\n Exit BARDOLPH FORD. Sir, I am a\\r\\n gentleman that have spent much; my name is Brook. FALSTAFF. Good\\r\\n Master Brook, I desire more acquaintance of you. FORD. Good Sir John,\\r\\n I sue for yours-not to charge you; for I must let you understand I\\r\\n think myself in better plight for a lender than you are; the which\\r\\n hath something embold'ned me to this unseason'd intrusion; for they\\r\\n say, if money go before, all ways do lie open. FALSTAFF. Money is a\\r\\n good soldier, sir, and will on. FORD. Troth, and I have a bag of\\r\\n money here troubles me; if you will help to bear it, Sir John, take\\r\\n all, or half, for easing me of the carriage. FALSTAFF. Sir, I know\\r\\n not how I may deserve to be your porter. FORD. I will tell you, sir,\\r\\n if you will give me the hearing. FALSTAFF. Speak, good Master Brook;\\r\\n I shall be glad to be your servant. FORD. Sir, I hear you are a\\r\\n scholar-I will be brief with you -and you have been a man long known\\r\\n to me, though I had never so good means as desire to make myself\\r\\n acquainted with you. I shall discover a thing to you, wherein I must\\r\\n very much lay open mine own imperfection; but, good Sir John, as you\\r\\n have one eye upon my follies, as you hear them unfolded, turn another\\r\\n into the register of your own, that I may pass with a reproof the\\r\\n easier, sith you yourself know how easy is it to be such an offender.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Very well, sir; proceed. FORD. There is a gentlewoman in\\r\\n this town, her husband's name is Ford. FALSTAFF. Well, sir. FORD. I\\r\\n have long lov'd her, and, I protest to you, bestowed much on her;\\r\\n followed her with a doting observance; engross'd opportunities to\\r\\n meet her; fee'd every slight occasion that could but niggardly give\\r\\n me sight of her; not only bought many presents to give her, but have\\r\\n given largely to many to know what she would have given; briefly, I\\r\\n have pursu'd her as love hath pursued me; which hath been on the wing\\r\\n of all occasions. But whatsoever I have merited, either in my mind or\\r\\n in my means, meed, I am sure, I have received none, unless experience\\r\\n be a jewel; that I have purchased at an infinite rate, and that hath\\r\\n taught me to say this: 'Love like a shadow flies when substance love\\r\\n pursues; Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.'\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Have you receiv'd no promise of satisfaction at her hands?\\r\\n FORD. Never. FALSTAFF. Have you importun'd her to such a purpose?\\r\\n FORD. Never. FALSTAFF. Of what quality was your love, then? FORD.\\r\\n Like a fair house built on another man's ground; so that I have lost\\r\\n my edifice by mistaking the place where erected it. FALSTAFF. To what\\r\\n purpose have you unfolded this to me? FORD. When I have told you\\r\\n that, I have told you all. Some say that though she appear honest to\\r\\n me, yet in other places she enlargeth her mirth so far that there is\\r\\n shrewd construction made of her. Now, Sir John, here is the heart of\\r\\n my purpose: you are a gentleman of excellent breeding, admirable\\r\\n discourse, of great admittance, authentic in your place and person,\\r\\n generally allow'd for your many war-like, courtlike, and learned\\r\\n preparations. FALSTAFF. O, sir! FORD. Believe it, for you know it.\\r\\n There is money; spend it, spend it; spend more; spend all I have;\\r\\n only give me so much of your time in exchange of it as to lay an\\r\\n amiable siege to the honesty of this Ford's wife; use your art of\\r\\n wooing, win her to consent to you; if any man may, you may as soon as\\r\\n any. FALSTAFF. Would it apply well to the vehemency of your\\r\\n affection, that I should win what you would enjoy? Methinks you\\r\\n prescribe to yourself very preposterously. FORD. O, understand my\\r\\n drift. She dwells so securely on the excellency of her honour that\\r\\n the folly of my soul dares not present itself; she is too bright to\\r\\n be look'd against. Now, could I come to her with any detection in my\\r\\n hand, my desires had instance and argument to commend themselves; I\\r\\n could drive her then from the ward of her purity, her reputation, her\\r\\n marriage vow, and a thousand other her defences, which now are too\\r\\n too strongly embattl'd against me. What say you to't, Sir John?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Master Brook, I will first make bold with your money; next,\\r\\n give me your hand; and last, as I am a gentleman, you shall, if you\\r\\n will, enjoy Ford's wife. FORD. O good sir! FALSTAFF. I say you shall.\\r\\n FORD. Want no money, Sir John; you shall want none. FALSTAFF. Want no\\r\\n Mistress Ford, Master Brook; you shall want none. I shall be with\\r\\n her, I may tell you, by her own appointment; even as you came in to\\r\\n me her assistant, or go-between, parted from me; I say I shall be\\r\\n with her between ten and eleven; for at that time the jealous\\r\\n rascally knave, her husband, will be forth. Come you to me at night;\\r\\n you shall know how I speed. FORD. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do\\r\\n you know Ford, Sir? FALSTAFF. Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave! I know\\r\\n him not; yet I wrong him to call him poor; they say the jealous\\r\\n wittolly knave hath masses of money; for the which his wife seems to\\r\\n me well-favour'd. I will use her as the key of the cuckoldly rogue's\\r\\n coffer; and there's my harvest-home. FORD. I would you knew Ford,\\r\\n sir, that you might avoid him if you saw him. FALSTAFF. Hang him,\\r\\n mechanical salt-butter rogue! I will stare him out of his wits; I\\r\\n will awe him with my cudgel; it shall hang like a meteor o'er the\\r\\n cuckold's horns. Master Brook, thou shalt know I will predominate\\r\\n over the peasant, and thou shalt lie with his wife. Come to me soon\\r\\n at night. Ford's a knave, and I will aggravate his style; thou,\\r\\n Master Brook, shalt know him for knave and cuckold. Come to me soon\\r\\n at night. Exit FORD. What a damn'd\\r\\n Epicurean rascal is this! My heart is ready to crack with impatience.\\r\\n Who says this is improvident jealousy? My wife hath sent to him; the\\r\\n hour is fix'd; the match is made. Would any man have thought this?\\r\\n See the hell of having a false woman! My bed shall be abus'd, my\\r\\n coffers ransack'd, my reputation gnawn at; and I shall not only\\r\\n receive this villainous wrong, but stand under the adoption of\\r\\n abominable terms, and by him that does me this wrong. Terms! names!\\r\\n Amaimon sounds well; Lucifer, well; Barbason, well; yet they are\\r\\n devils' additions, the names of fiends. But cuckold! Wittol! Cuckold!\\r\\n the devil himself hath not such a name. Page is an ass, a secure ass;\\r\\n he will trust his wife; he will not be jealous; I will rather trust a\\r\\n Fleming with my butter, Parson Hugh the Welshman with my cheese, an\\r\\n Irishman with my aqua-vitae bottle, or a thief to walk my ambling\\r\\n gelding, than my wife with herself. Then she plots, then she\\r\\n ruminates, then she devises; and what they think in their hearts they\\r\\n may effect, they will break their hearts but they will effect. God be\\r\\n prais'd for my jealousy! Eleven o'clock the hour. I will prevent\\r\\n this, detect my wife, be reveng'd on Falstaff, and laugh at Page. I\\r\\n will about it; better three hours too soon than a minute too late.\\r\\n Fie, fie, fie! cuckold! cuckold! cuckold! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nA field near Windsor\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter CAIUS and RUGBY\\r\\n\\r\\n CAIUS. Jack Rugby!\\r\\n RUGBY. Sir?\\r\\n CAIUS. Vat is de clock, Jack?\\r\\n RUGBY. 'Tis past the hour, sir, that Sir Hugh promis'd to\\r\\n meet.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, he has save his soul dat he is no come; he has\\r\\n pray his Pible well dat he is no come; by gar, Jack Rugby,\\r\\n he is dead already, if he be come.\\r\\n RUGBY. He is wise, sir; he knew your worship would kill\\r\\n him if he came.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, de herring is no dead so as I vill kill him. Take\\r\\n your rapier, Jack; I vill tell you how I vill kill him.\\r\\n RUGBY. Alas, sir, I cannot fence!\\r\\n CAIUS. Villainy, take your rapier.\\r\\n RUGBY. Forbear; here's company.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HOST, SHALLOW, SLENDER, and PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n HOST. Bless thee, bully doctor!\\r\\n SHALLOW. Save you, Master Doctor Caius!\\r\\n PAGE. Now, good Master Doctor!\\r\\n SLENDER. Give you good morrow, sir.\\r\\n CAIUS. Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, come for?\\r\\n HOST. To see thee fight, to see thee foin, to see thee traverse;\\r\\n to see thee here, to see thee there; to see thee pass thy\\r\\n punto, thy stock, thy reverse, thy distance, thy montant.\\r\\n Is he dead, my Ethiopian? Is he dead, my Francisco? Ha,\\r\\n bully! What says my Aesculapius? my Galen? my heart\\r\\n of elder? Ha! is he dead, bully stale? Is he dead?\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, he is de coward Jack priest of de world; he is\\r\\n not show his face.\\r\\n HOST. Thou art a Castalion-King-Urinal. Hector of Greece,\\r\\n my boy!\\r\\n CAIUS. I pray you, bear witness that me have stay six or\\r\\n seven, two tree hours for him, and he is no come.\\r\\n SHALLOW. He is the wiser man, Master Doctor: he is a curer\\r\\n of souls, and you a curer of bodies; if you should fight,\\r\\n you go against the hair of your professions. Is it not true,\\r\\n Master Page?\\r\\n PAGE. Master Shallow, you have yourself been a great fighter,\\r\\n though now a man of peace.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Bodykins, Master Page, though I now be old, and\\r\\n of the peace, if I see a sword out, my finger itches to make\\r\\n one. Though we are justices, and doctors, and churchmen,\\r\\n Master Page, we have some salt of our youth in us; we are\\r\\n the sons of women, Master Page.\\r\\n PAGE. 'Tis true, Master Shallow.\\r\\n SHALLOW. It will be found so, Master Page. Master Doctor\\r\\n CAIUS, I come to fetch you home. I am sworn of the peace;\\r\\n you have show'd yourself a wise physician, and Sir Hugh\\r\\n hath shown himself a wise and patient churchman. You\\r\\n must go with me, Master Doctor.\\r\\n HOST. Pardon, Guest Justice. A word, Mounseur Mockwater.\\r\\n CAIUS. Mock-vater! Vat is dat?\\r\\n HOST. Mockwater, in our English tongue, is valour, bully.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, then I have as much mockvater as de Englishman.\\r\\n Scurvy jack-dog priest! By gar, me vill cut his ears.\\r\\n HOST. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully.\\r\\n CAIUS. Clapper-de-claw! Vat is dat?\\r\\n HOST. That is, he will make thee amends.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, me do look he shall clapper-de-claw me; for,\\r\\n by gar, me vill have it.\\r\\n HOST. And I will provoke him to't, or let him wag.\\r\\n CAIUS. Me tank you for dat.\\r\\n HOST. And, moreover, bully-but first: [Aside to the others]\\r\\n Master Guest, and Master Page, and eke Cavaleiro Slender,\\r\\n go you through the town to Frogmore.\\r\\n PAGE. [Aside] Sir Hugh is there, is he?\\r\\n HOST. [Aside] He is there. See what humour he is in; and\\r\\n I will bring the doctor about by the fields. Will it do well?\\r\\n SHALLOW. [Aside] We will do it.\\r\\n PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER. Adieu, good Master Doctor.\\r\\n Exeunt PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, me vill kill de priest; for he speak for a jack-\\r\\n an-ape to Anne Page.\\r\\n HOST. Let him die. Sheathe thy impatience; throw cold water\\r\\n on thy choler; go about the fields with me through Frogmore;\\r\\n I will bring thee where Mistress Anne Page is, at a a\\r\\n farm-house, a-feasting; and thou shalt woo her. Cried\\r\\n game! Said I well?\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, me dank you vor dat; by gar, I love you; and\\r\\n I shall procure-a you de good guest, de earl, de knight, de\\r\\n lords, de gentlemen, my patients.\\r\\n HOST. For the which I will be thy adversary toward Anne\\r\\n Page. Said I well?\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, 'tis good; vell said.\\r\\n HOST. Let us wag, then.\\r\\n CAIUS. Come at my heels, Jack Rugby. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nA field near Frogmore\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SIR HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE\\r\\n\\r\\n EVANS. I pray you now, good Master Slender's serving-man,\\r\\n and friend Simple by your name, which way have you\\r\\n look'd for Master Caius, that calls himself Doctor of\\r\\n Physic?\\r\\n SIMPLE. Marry, sir, the pittie-ward, the park-ward; every\\r\\n way; old Windsor way, and every way but the town way.\\r\\n EVANS. I most fehemently desire you you will also look that\\r\\n way.\\r\\n SIMPLE. I will, Sir. Exit\\r\\n EVANS. Pless my soul, how full of chollors I am, and trempling\\r\\n of mind! I shall be glad if he have deceived me. How\\r\\n melancholies I am! I will knog his urinals about his knave's\\r\\n costard when I have goot opportunities for the ork. Pless\\r\\n my soul! [Sings]\\r\\n To shallow rivers, to whose falls\\r\\n Melodious birds sings madrigals;\\r\\n There will we make our peds of roses,\\r\\n And a thousand fragrant posies.\\r\\n To shallow-\\r\\n Mercy on me! I have a great dispositions to cry. [Sings]\\r\\n Melodious birds sing madrigals-\\r\\n Whenas I sat in Pabylon-\\r\\n And a thousand vagram posies.\\r\\n To shallow, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter SIMPLE\\r\\n\\r\\n SIMPLE. Yonder he is, coming this way, Sir Hugh.\\r\\n EVANS. He's welcome. [Sings]\\r\\n To shallow rivers, to whose falls-\\r\\n Heaven prosper the right! What weapons is he?\\r\\n SIMPLE. No weapons, sir. There comes my master, Master\\r\\n Shallow, and another gentleman, from Frogmore, over the\\r\\n stile, this way.\\r\\n EVANS. Pray you give me my gown; or else keep it in your\\r\\n arms. [Takes out a book]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER\\r\\n\\r\\n SHALLOW. How now, Master Parson! Good morrow, good\\r\\n Sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dice, and a good student\\r\\n from his book, and it is wonderful.\\r\\n SLENDER. [Aside] Ah, sweet Anne Page!\\r\\n PAGE. Save you, good Sir Hugh!\\r\\n EVANS. Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you!\\r\\n SHALLOW. What, the sword and the word! Do you study\\r\\n them both, Master Parson?\\r\\n PAGE. And youthful still, in your doublet and hose, this raw\\r\\n rheumatic day!\\r\\n EVANS. There is reasons and causes for it.\\r\\n PAGE. We are come to you to do a good office, Master\\r\\n Parson.\\r\\n EVANS. Fery well; what is it?\\r\\n PAGE. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who, belike having\\r\\n received wrong by some person, is at most odds with\\r\\n his own gravity and patience that ever you saw.\\r\\n SHALLOW. I have lived fourscore years and upward; I never\\r\\n heard a man of his place, gravity, and learning, so wide of\\r\\n his own respect.\\r\\n EVANS. What is he?\\r\\n PAGE. I think you know him: Master Doctor Caius, the\\r\\n renowned French physician.\\r\\n EVANS. Got's will and his passion of my heart! I had as lief\\r\\n you would tell me of a mess of porridge.\\r\\n PAGE. Why?\\r\\n EVANS. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and\\r\\n Galen, and he is a knave besides-a cowardly knave as you\\r\\n would desires to be acquainted withal.\\r\\n PAGE. I warrant you, he's the man should fight with him.\\r\\n SLENDER. [Aside] O sweet Anne Page!\\r\\n SHALLOW. It appears so, by his weapons. Keep them asunder;\\r\\n here comes Doctor Caius.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HOST, CAIUS, and RUGBY\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. Nay, good Master Parson, keep in your weapon.\\r\\n SHALLOW. So do you, good Master Doctor.\\r\\n HOST. Disarm them, and let them question; let them keep\\r\\n their limbs whole and hack our English.\\r\\n CAIUS. I pray you, let-a me speak a word with your ear.\\r\\n Verefore will you not meet-a me?\\r\\n EVANS. [Aside to CAIUS] Pray you use your patience; in\\r\\n good time.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, John ape.\\r\\n EVANS. [Aside to CAIUS] Pray you, let us not be\\r\\n laughing-stocks to other men's humours; I desire you in\\r\\n friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends.\\r\\n [Aloud] I will knog your urinals about your knave's cogscomb\\r\\n for missing your meetings and appointments.\\r\\n CAIUS. Diable! Jack Rugby-mine Host de Jarteer-have I\\r\\n not stay for him to kill him? Have I not, at de place I did\\r\\n appoint?\\r\\n EVANS. As I am a Christians soul, now, look you, this is the\\r\\n place appointed. I'll be judgment by mine host of the\\r\\n Garter.\\r\\n HOST. Peace, I say, Gallia and Gaul, French and Welsh,\\r\\n soul-curer and body-curer.\\r\\n CAIUS. Ay, dat is very good! excellent!\\r\\n HOST. Peace, I say. Hear mine host of the Garter. Am I\\r\\n politic? am I subtle? am I a Machiavel? Shall I lose my\\r\\n doctor? No; he gives me the potions and the motions. Shall I\\r\\n lose my parson, my priest, my Sir Hugh? No; he gives me\\r\\n the proverbs and the noverbs. Give me thy hand, terrestrial;\\r\\n so. Give me thy hand, celestial; so. Boys of art, I have\\r\\n deceiv'd you both; I have directed you to wrong places;\\r\\n your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole, and let burnt\\r\\n sack be the issue. Come, lay their swords to pawn. Follow\\r\\n me, lads of peace; follow, follow, follow.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Trust me, a mad host. Follow, gentlemen, follow.\\r\\n SLENDER. [Aside] O sweet Anne Page!\\r\\n Exeunt all but CAIUS and EVANS\\r\\n CAIUS. Ha, do I perceive dat? Have you make-a de sot of us,\\r\\n ha, ha?\\r\\n EVANS. This is well; he has made us his vlouting-stog. I\\r\\n desire you that we may be friends; and let us knog our prains\\r\\n together to be revenge on this same scall, scurvy, cogging\\r\\n companion, the host of the Garter.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, with all my heart. He promise to bring me\\r\\n where is Anne Page; by gar, he deceive me too.\\r\\n EVANS. Well, I will smite his noddles. Pray you follow.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe street in Windsor\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MISTRESS PAGE and ROBIN\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Nay, keep your way, little gallant; you were\\r\\n wont to be a follower, but now you are a leader. Whether\\r\\n had you rather lead mine eyes, or eye your master's heels?\\r\\n ROBIN. I had rather, forsooth, go before you like a man than\\r\\n follow him like a dwarf.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. O, you are a flattering boy; now I see you'll be a\\r\\n courtier.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FORD\\r\\n\\r\\n FORD. Well met, Mistress Page. Whither go you?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Truly, sir, to see your wife. Is she at home?\\r\\n FORD. Ay; and as idle as she may hang together, for want of\\r\\n company. I think, if your husbands were dead, you two\\r\\n would marry.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Be sure of that-two other husbands.\\r\\n FORD. Where had you this pretty weathercock?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. I cannot tell what the dickens his name is my\\r\\n husband had him of. What do you call your knight's\\r\\n name, sirrah?\\r\\n ROBIN. Sir John Falstaff.\\r\\n FORD. Sir John Falstaff!\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. He, he; I can never hit on's name. There is such\\r\\n a league between my good man and he! Is your wife at\\r\\n home indeed?\\r\\n FORD. Indeed she is.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. By your leave, sir. I am sick till I see her.\\r\\n Exeunt MRS. PAGE and ROBIN\\r\\n FORD. Has Page any brains? Hath he any eyes? Hath he any\\r\\n thinking? Sure, they sleep; he hath no use of them. Why,\\r\\n this boy will carry a letter twenty mile as easy as a cannon\\r\\n will shoot pointblank twelve score. He pieces out his wife's\\r\\n inclination; he gives her folly motion and advantage; and\\r\\n now she's going to my wife, and Falstaff's boy with her. A\\r\\n man may hear this show'r sing in the wind. And Falstaff's\\r\\n boy with her! Good plots! They are laid; and our revolted\\r\\n wives share damnation together. Well; I will take him,\\r\\n then torture my wife, pluck the borrowed veil of modesty\\r\\n from the so seeming Mistress Page, divulge Page himself\\r\\n for a secure and wilful Actaeon; and to these violent proceedings\\r\\n all my neighbours shall cry aim. [Clock strikes]\\r\\n The clock gives me my cue, and my assurance bids me\\r\\n search; there I shall find Falstaff. I shall be rather prais'd\\r\\n for this than mock'd; for it is as positive as the earth is firm\\r\\n that Falstaff is there. I will go.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, SLENDER, HOST, SIR HUGH EVANS,\\r\\n CAIUS, and RUGBY\\r\\n\\r\\n SHALLOW, PAGE, &C. Well met, Master Ford.\\r\\n FORD. Trust me, a good knot; I have good cheer at home,\\r\\n and I pray you all go with me.\\r\\n SHALLOW. I must excuse myself, Master Ford.\\r\\n SLENDER. And so must I, sir; we have appointed to dine with\\r\\n Mistress Anne, and I would not break with her for more\\r\\n money than I'll speak of.\\r\\n SHALLOW. We have linger'd about a match between Anne\\r\\n Page and my cousin Slender, and this day we shall have\\r\\n our answer.\\r\\n SLENDER. I hope I have your good will, father Page.\\r\\n PAGE. You have, Master Slender; I stand wholly for you. But\\r\\n my wife, Master Doctor, is for you altogether.\\r\\n CAIUS. Ay, be-gar; and de maid is love-a me; my nursh-a\\r\\n Quickly tell me so mush.\\r\\n HOST. What say you to young Master Fenton? He capers,\\r\\n he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes verses, he speaks\\r\\n holiday, he smells April and May; he will carry 't, he will\\r\\n carry 't; 'tis in his buttons; he will carry 't.\\r\\n PAGE. Not by my consent, I promise you. The gentleman is\\r\\n of no having: he kept company with the wild Prince and\\r\\n Poins; he is of too high a region, he knows too much. No,\\r\\n he shall not knit a knot in his fortunes with the finger of\\r\\n my substance; if he take her, let him take her simply; the\\r\\n wealth I have waits on my consent, and my consent goes\\r\\n not that way.\\r\\n FORD. I beseech you, heartily, some of you go home with me\\r\\n to dinner: besides your cheer, you shall have sport; I will\\r\\n show you a monster. Master Doctor, you shall go; so shall\\r\\n you, Master Page; and you, Sir Hugh.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Well, fare you well; we shall have the freer\\r\\n wooing at Master Page's. Exeunt SHALLOW and SLENDER\\r\\n CAIUS. Go home, John Rugby; I come anon. Exit RUGBY\\r\\n HOST. Farewell, my hearts; I will to my honest knight\\r\\n Falstaff, and drink canary with him. Exit HOST\\r\\n FORD. [Aside] I think I shall drink in pipe-wine first with\\r\\n him. I'll make him dance. Will you go, gentles?\\r\\n ALL. Have with you to see this monster. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nFORD'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MISTRESS FORD and MISTRESS PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. FORD. What, John! what, Robert!\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Quickly, quickly! Is the buck-basket-\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I warrant. What, Robin, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SERVANTS with a basket\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Come, come, come.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Here, set it down.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Give your men the charge; we must be brief.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Marry, as I told you before, John and Robert, be\\r\\n ready here hard by in the brew-house; and when I suddenly\\r\\n call you, come forth, and, without any pause or\\r\\n staggering, take this basket on your shoulders. That done,\\r\\n trudge with it in all haste, and carry it among the whitsters\\r\\n in Datchet Mead, and there empty it in the muddy ditch\\r\\n close by the Thames side.\\r\\n Mrs. PAGE. You will do it?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I ha' told them over and over; they lack no\\r\\n direction. Be gone, and come when you are call'd.\\r\\n Exeunt SERVANTS\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Here comes little Robin.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ROBIN\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. FORD. How now, my eyas-musket, what news with\\r\\n you?\\r\\n ROBIN. My Master Sir John is come in at your back-door,\\r\\n Mistress Ford, and requests your company.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. You little Jack-a-Lent, have you been true to us?\\r\\n ROBIN. Ay, I'll be sworn. My master knows not of your\\r\\n being here, and hath threat'ned to put me into everlasting\\r\\n liberty, if I tell you of it; for he swears he'll turn me away.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Thou 'rt a good boy; this secrecy of thine shall\\r\\n be a tailor to thee, and shall make thee a new doublet and\\r\\n hose. I'll go hide me.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Do so. Go tell thy master I am alone. [Exit\\r\\n ROBIN] Mistress Page, remember you your cue.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. I warrant thee; if I do not act it, hiss me.\\r\\n Exit MRS. PAGE\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Go to, then; we'll use this unwholesome\\r\\n humidity, this gross wat'ry pumpion; we'll teach him to\\r\\n know turtles from jays.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FALSTAFF\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel?\\r\\n Why, now let me die, for I have liv'd long enough; this is\\r\\n the period of my ambition. O this blessed hour!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. O sweet Sir John!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate,\\r\\n Mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish; I would thy\\r\\n husband were dead; I'll speak it before the best lord, I\\r\\n would make thee my lady.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I your lady, Sir John? Alas, I should be a pitiful\\r\\n lady.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Let the court of France show me such another. I\\r\\n see how thine eye would emulate the diamond; thou hast\\r\\n the right arched beauty of the brow that becomes the\\r\\n ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any tire of Venetian admittance.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. A plain kerchief, Sir John; my brows become\\r\\n nothing else, nor that well neither.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. By the Lord, thou art a tyrant to say so; thou\\r\\n wouldst make an absolute courtier, and the firm fixture of\\r\\n thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gait in a\\r\\n semi-circled farthingale. I see what thou wert, if Fortune\\r\\n thy foe were, not Nature, thy friend. Come, thou canst not\\r\\n hide it.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Believe me, there's no such thing in me.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What made me love thee? Let that persuade thee\\r\\n there's something extra-ordinary in thee. Come, I cannot\\r\\n cog, and say thou art this and that, like a many of these\\r\\n lisping hawthorn-buds that come like women in men's\\r\\n apparel, and smell like Bucklersbury in simple time; I\\r\\n cannot; but I love thee, none but thee; and thou deserv'st it.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Do not betray me, sir; I fear you love Mistress\\r\\n Page.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Thou mightst as well say I love to walk by the\\r\\n Counter-gate, which is as hateful to me as the reek of a\\r\\n lime-kiln.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Well, heaven knows how I love you; and you\\r\\n shall one day find it.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Keep in that mind; I'll deserve it.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Nay, I must tell you, so you do; or else I could\\r\\n not be in that mind.\\r\\n ROBIN. [Within] Mistress Ford, Mistress Ford! here's\\r\\n Mistress Page at the door, sweating and blowing and looking\\r\\n wildly, and would needs speak with you presently.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. She shall not see me; I will ensconce me behind\\r\\n the arras.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Pray you, do so; she's a very tattling woman.\\r\\n [FALSTAFF hides himself]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter MISTRESS PAGE and ROBIN\\r\\n\\r\\n What's the matter? How now!\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. O Mistress Ford, what have you done? You're\\r\\n sham'd, y'are overthrown, y'are undone for ever.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. What's the matter, good Mistress Page?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. O well-a-day, Mistress Ford, having an honest\\r\\n man to your husband, to give him such cause of suspicion!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. What cause of suspicion?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. What cause of suspicion? Out upon you, how\\r\\n am I mistook in you!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why, alas, what's the matter?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Your husband's coming hither, woman, with all\\r\\n the officers in Windsor, to search for a gentleman that he\\r\\n says is here now in the house, by your consent, to take an\\r\\n ill advantage of his absence. You are undone.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. 'Tis not so, I hope.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Pray heaven it be not so that you have such a\\r\\n man here; but 'tis most certain your husband's coming,\\r\\n with half Windsor at his heels, to search for such a one. I\\r\\n come before to tell you. If you know yourself clear, why,\\r\\n I am glad of it; but if you have a friend here, convey,\\r\\n convey him out. Be not amaz'd; call all your senses to you;\\r\\n defend your reputation, or bid farewell to your good life\\r\\n for ever.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. What shall I do? There is a gentleman, my dear\\r\\n friend; and I fear not mine own shame as much as his peril.\\r\\n I had rather than a thousand pound he were out of the\\r\\n house.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. For shame, never stand 'you had rather' and 'you\\r\\n had rather'! Your husband's here at hand; bethink you of\\r\\n some conveyance; in the house you cannot hide him. O,\\r\\n how have you deceiv'd me! Look, here is a basket; if he be\\r\\n of any reasonable stature, he may creep in here; and throw\\r\\n foul linen upon him, as if it were going to bucking, or-it is\\r\\n whiting-time-send him by your two men to Datchet\\r\\n Mead.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. He's too big to go in there. What shall I do?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. [Coming forward] Let me see 't, let me see 't. O,\\r\\n let me see 't! I'll in, I'll in; follow your friend's counsel;\\r\\n I'll in.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. What, Sir John Falstaff! [Aside to FALSTAFF]\\r\\n Are these your letters, knight?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. [Aside to MRS. PAGE] I love thee and none but\\r\\n thee; help me away.-Let me creep in here; I'll never-\\r\\n [Gets into the basket; they cover him with foul linen]\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Help to cover your master, boy. Call your men,\\r\\n Mistress Ford. You dissembling knight!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. What, John! Robert! John! Exit ROBIN\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter SERVANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n Go, take up these clothes here, quickly; where's the cowl-staff?\\r\\n Look how you drumble. Carry them to the laundress in Datchet Mead;\\r\\n quickly, come.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FORD, PAGE, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n FORD. Pray you come near. If I suspect without cause, why\\r\\n then make sport at me, then let me be your jest; I deserve\\r\\n it. How now, whither bear you this?\\r\\n SERVANT. To the laundress, forsooth.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why, what have you to do whither they bear it?\\r\\n You were best meddle with buck-washing.\\r\\n FORD. Buck? I would I could wash myself of the buck!\\r\\n Buck, buck, buck! ay, buck! I warrant you, buck; and of\\r\\n the season too, it shall appear. [Exeunt SERVANTS with\\r\\n basket] Gentlemen, I have dream'd to-night; I'll tell you my\\r\\n dream. Here, here, here be my keys; ascend my chambers,\\r\\n search, seek, find out. I'll warrant we'll unkennel the fox.\\r\\n Let me stop this way first. [Locking the door] So, now\\r\\n uncape.\\r\\n PAGE. Good Master Ford, be contented; you wrong yourself\\r\\n too much.\\r\\n FORD. True, Master Page. Up, gentlemen, you shall see sport\\r\\n anon; follow me, gentlemen. Exit\\r\\n EVANS. This is fery fantastical humours and jealousies.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, 'tis no the fashion of France; it is not jealous\\r\\n in France.\\r\\n PAGE. Nay, follow him, gentlemen; see the issue of his\\r\\n search. Exeunt EVANS, PAGE, and CAIUS\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Is there not a double excellency in this?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I know not which pleases me better, that my\\r\\n husband is deceived, or Sir John.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. What a taking was he in when your husband\\r\\n ask'd who was in the basket!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I am half afraid he will have need of washing; so\\r\\n throwing him into the water will do him a benefit.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Hang him, dishonest rascal! I would all of the\\r\\n same strain were in the same distress.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I think my husband hath some special suspicion\\r\\n of Falstaff's being here, for I never saw him so gross in his\\r\\n jealousy till now.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. I Will lay a plot to try that, and we will yet have\\r\\n more tricks with Falstaff. His dissolute disease will scarce\\r\\n obey this medicine.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Shall we send that foolish carrion, Mistress\\r\\n Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing into the water,\\r\\n and give him another hope, to betray him to another\\r\\n punishment?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. We will do it; let him be sent for to-morrow\\r\\n eight o'clock, to have amends.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter FORD, PAGE, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n FORD. I cannot find him; may be the knave bragg'd of that\\r\\n he could not compass.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. [Aside to MRS. FORD] Heard you that?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. You use me well, Master Ford, do you?\\r\\n FORD. Ay, I do so.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Heaven make you better than your thoughts!\\r\\n FORD. Amen.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. You do yourself mighty wrong, Master Ford.\\r\\n FORD. Ay, ay; I must bear it.\\r\\n EVANS. If there be any pody in the house, and in the\\r\\n chambers, and in the coffers, and in the presses, heaven forgive\\r\\n my sins at the day of judgment!\\r\\n CAIUS. Be gar, nor I too; there is no bodies.\\r\\n PAGE. Fie, fie, Master Ford, are you not asham'd? What\\r\\n spirit, what devil suggests this imagination? I would not ha'\\r\\n your distemper in this kind for the wealth of Windsor\\r\\n Castle.\\r\\n FORD. 'Tis my fault, Master Page; I suffer for it.\\r\\n EVANS. You suffer for a pad conscience. Your wife is as\\r\\n honest a omans as I will desires among five thousand, and five\\r\\n hundred too.\\r\\n CAIUS. By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman.\\r\\n FORD. Well, I promis'd you a dinner. Come, come, walk in\\r\\n the Park. I pray you pardon me; I will hereafter make\\r\\n known to you why I have done this. Come, wife, come,\\r\\n Mistress Page; I pray you pardon me; pray heartly,\\r\\n pardon me.\\r\\n PAGE. Let's go in, gentlemen; but, trust me, we'll mock him.\\r\\n I do invite you to-morrow morning to my house to breakfast;\\r\\n after, we'll a-birding together; I have a fine hawk for\\r\\n the bush. Shall it be so?\\r\\n FORD. Any thing.\\r\\n EVANS. If there is one, I shall make two in the company.\\r\\n CAIUS. If there be one or two, I shall make-a the turd.\\r\\n FORD. Pray you go, Master Page.\\r\\n EVANS. I pray you now, remembrance to-morrow on the\\r\\n lousy knave, mine host.\\r\\n CAIUS. Dat is good; by gar, with all my heart.\\r\\n EVANS. A lousy knave, to have his gibes and his mockeries!\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nBefore PAGE'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FENTON and ANNE PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n FENTON. I see I cannot get thy father's love;\\r\\n Therefore no more turn me to him, sweet Nan.\\r\\n ANNE. Alas, how then?\\r\\n FENTON. Why, thou must be thyself.\\r\\n He doth object I am too great of birth;\\r\\n And that, my state being gall'd with my expense,\\r\\n I seek to heal it only by his wealth.\\r\\n Besides these, other bars he lays before me,\\r\\n My riots past, my wild societies;\\r\\n And tells me 'tis a thing impossible\\r\\n I should love thee but as a property.\\r\\n ANNE.. May be he tells you true.\\r\\n FENTON. No, heaven so speed me in my time to come!\\r\\n Albeit I will confess thy father's wealth\\r\\n Was the first motive that I woo'd thee, Anne;\\r\\n Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value\\r\\n Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags;\\r\\n And 'tis the very riches of thyself\\r\\n That now I aim at.\\r\\n ANNE. Gentle Master Fenton,\\r\\n Yet seek my father's love; still seek it, sir.\\r\\n If opportunity and humblest suit\\r\\n Cannot attain it, why then-hark you hither.\\r\\n [They converse apart]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SHALLOW, SLENDER, and MISTRESS QUICKLY\\r\\n\\r\\n SHALLOW. Break their talk, Mistress Quickly; my kinsman\\r\\n shall speak for himself.\\r\\n SLENDER. I'll make a shaft or a bolt on 't; 'slid, 'tis but\\r\\n venturing.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Be not dismay'd.\\r\\n SLENDER. No, she shall not dismay me. I care not for that,\\r\\n but that I am afeard.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Hark ye, Master Slender would speak a word\\r\\n with you.\\r\\n ANNE. I come to him. [Aside] This is my father's choice.\\r\\n O, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults\\r\\n Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year!\\r\\n QUICKLY. And how does good Master Fenton? Pray you, a\\r\\n word with you.\\r\\n SHALLOW. She's coming; to her, coz. O boy, thou hadst a\\r\\n father!\\r\\n SLENDER. I had a father, Mistress Anne; my uncle can tell\\r\\n you good jests of him. Pray you, uncle, tell Mistress Anne\\r\\n the jest how my father stole two geese out of a pen, good\\r\\n uncle.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you.\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, that I do; as well as I love any woman in\\r\\n Gloucestershire.\\r\\n SHALLOW. He will maintain you like a gentlewoman.\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, that I will come cut and longtail, under the\\r\\n degree of a squire.\\r\\n SHALLOW. He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds\\r\\n jointure.\\r\\n ANNE. Good Master Shallow, let him woo for himself.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Marry, I thank you for it; I thank you for that\\r\\n good comfort. She calls you, coz; I'll leave you.\\r\\n ANNE. Now, Master Slender-\\r\\n SLENDER. Now, good Mistress Anne-\\r\\n ANNE. What is your will?\\r\\n SLENDER. My Will! 'Od's heartlings, that's a pretty jest\\r\\n indeed! I ne'er made my will yet, I thank heaven; I am not\\r\\n such a sickly creature, I give heaven praise.\\r\\n ANNE. I mean, Master Slender, what would you with me?\\r\\n SLENDER. Truly, for mine own part I would little or nothing\\r\\n with you. Your father and my uncle hath made motions;\\r\\n if it be my luck, so; if not, happy man be his dole! They\\r\\n can tell you how things go better than I can. You may ask\\r\\n your father; here he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PAGE and MISTRESS PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. Now, Master Slender! Love him, daughter Anne-\\r\\n Why, how now, what does Master Fenton here?\\r\\n You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house.\\r\\n I told you, sir, my daughter is dispos'd of.\\r\\n FENTON. Nay, Master Page, be not impatient.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Good Master Fenton, come not to my child.\\r\\n PAGE. She is no match for you.\\r\\n FENTON. Sir, will you hear me?\\r\\n PAGE. No, good Master Fenton.\\r\\n Come, Master Shallow; come, son Slender; in.\\r\\n Knowing my mind, you wrong me, Master Fenton.\\r\\n Exeunt PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER\\r\\n QUICKLY. Speak to Mistress Page.\\r\\n FENTON. Good Mistress Page, for that I love your daughter\\r\\n In such a righteous fashion as I do,\\r\\n Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and manners,\\r\\n I must advance the colours of my love,\\r\\n And not retire. Let me have your good will.\\r\\n ANNE. Good mother, do not marry me to yond fool.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. I mean it not; I seek you a better husband.\\r\\n QUICKLY. That's my master, Master Doctor.\\r\\n ANNE. Alas, I had rather be set quick i' th' earth.\\r\\n And bowl'd to death with turnips.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Come, trouble not yourself. Good Master\\r\\n Fenton,\\r\\n I will not be your friend, nor enemy;\\r\\n My daughter will I question how she loves you,\\r\\n And as I find her, so am I affected;\\r\\n Till then, farewell, sir; she must needs go in;\\r\\n Her father will be angry.\\r\\n FENTON. Farewell, gentle mistress; farewell, Nan.\\r\\n Exeunt MRS. PAGE and ANNE\\r\\n QUICKLY. This is my doing now: 'Nay,' said I 'will you cast\\r\\n away your child on a fool, and a physician? Look on\\r\\n Master Fenton.' This is my doing.\\r\\n FENTON. I thank thee; and I pray thee, once to-night\\r\\n Give my sweet Nan this ring. There's for thy pains.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Now Heaven send thee good fortune! [Exit\\r\\n FENTON] A kind heart he hath; a woman would run through\\r\\n fire and water for such a kind heart. But yet I would my\\r\\n master had Mistress Anne; or I would Master Slender had\\r\\n her; or, in sooth, I would Master Fenton had her; I will\\r\\n do what I can for them all three, for so I have promis'd,\\r\\n and I'll be as good as my word; but speciously for Master\\r\\n Fenton. Well, I must of another errand to Sir John Falstaff\\r\\n from my two mistresses. What a beast am I to slack it!\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Bardolph, I say!\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Here, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Go fetch me a quart of sack; put a toast in 't.\\r\\n Exit BARDOLPH\\r\\n Have I liv'd to be carried in a basket, like a barrow of\\r\\n butcher's offal, and to be thrown in the Thames? Well, if\\r\\n I be serv'd such another trick, I'll have my brains ta'en out\\r\\n and butter'd, and give them to a dog for a new-year's gift.\\r\\n The rogues slighted me into the river with as little remorse\\r\\n as they would have drown'd a blind bitch's puppies, fifteen\\r\\n i' th' litter; and you may know by my size that I have\\r\\n a kind of alacrity in sinking; if the bottom were as deep as\\r\\n hell I should down. I had been drown'd but that the shore\\r\\n was shelvy and shallow-a death that I abhor; for the water\\r\\n swells a man; and what a thing should I have been when\\r\\n had been swell'd! I should have been a mountain of\\r\\n mummy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter BARDOLPH, with sack\\r\\n\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Here's Mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with you\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Come, let me pour in some sack to the Thames\\r\\n water; for my belly's as cold as if I had swallow'd\\r\\n snowballs for pills to cool the reins. Call her in.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Come in, woman.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY\\r\\n\\r\\n QUICKLY. By your leave; I cry you mercy. Give your\\r\\n worship good morrow.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Take away these chalices. Go, brew me a pottle\\r\\n of sack finely.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. With eggs, sir?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Simple of itself; I'll no pullet-sperm in my\\r\\n brewage. [Exit BARDOLPH] How now!\\r\\n QUICKLY. Marry, sir, I come to your worship from Mistress\\r\\n Ford.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford! I have had ford enough; I was\\r\\n thrown into the ford; I have my belly full of ford.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Alas the day, good heart, that was not her fault!\\r\\n She does so take on with her men; they mistook their\\r\\n erection.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish woman's\\r\\n promise.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would yearn\\r\\n your heart to see it. Her husband goes this morning\\r\\n a-birding; she desires you once more to come to her between\\r\\n eight and nine; I must carry her word quickly. She'll make\\r\\n you amends, I warrant you.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Well, I Will visit her. Tell her so; and bid her\\r\\n think what a man is. Let her consider his frailty, and then\\r\\n judge of my merit.\\r\\n QUICKLY. I will tell her.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Do so. Between nine and ten, say'st thou?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Eight and nine, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Well, be gone; I will not miss her.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Peace be with you, sir. Exit\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I marvel I hear not of Master Brook; he sent me\\r\\n word to stay within. I like his money well. O, here he\\r\\n comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FORD disguised\\r\\n\\r\\n FORD. Bless you, sir!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Now, Master Brook, you come to know what\\r\\n hath pass'd between me and Ford's wife?\\r\\n FORD. That, indeed, Sir John, is my business.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Master Brook, I will not lie to you; I was at her\\r\\n house the hour she appointed me.\\r\\n FORD. And sped you, sir?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Very ill-favouredly, Master Brook.\\r\\n FORD. How so, sir; did she change her determination?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. No. Master Brook; but the peaking cornuto her\\r\\n husband, Master Brook, dwelling in a continual 'larum of\\r\\n jealousy, comes me in the instant of our, encounter, after\\r\\n we had embrac'd, kiss'd, protested, and, as it were, spoke\\r\\n the prologue of our comedy; and at his heels a rabble of his\\r\\n companions, thither provoked and instigated by his\\r\\n distemper, and, forsooth, to search his house for his wife's\\r\\n love.\\r\\n FORD. What, while you were there?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. While I was there.\\r\\n FORD. And did he search for you, and could not find you?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. You shall hear. As good luck would have it, comes\\r\\n in one Mistress Page, gives intelligence of Ford's approach;\\r\\n and, in her invention and Ford's wife's distraction, they\\r\\n convey'd me into a buck-basket.\\r\\n FORD. A buck-basket!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. By the Lord, a buck-basket! Ramm'd me in with\\r\\n foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul stockings, greasy\\r\\n napkins, that, Master Brook, there was the rankest compound\\r\\n of villainous smell that ever offended nostril.\\r\\n FORD. And how long lay you there?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Nay, you shall hear, Master Brook, what I have\\r\\n suffer'd to bring this woman to evil for your good. Being\\r\\n thus cramm'd in the basket, a couple of Ford's knaves, his\\r\\n hinds, were call'd forth by their mistress to carry me in\\r\\n the name of foul clothes to Datchet Lane; they took me on\\r\\n their shoulders; met the jealous knave their master in the\\r\\n door; who ask'd them once or twice what they had in their\\r\\n basket. I quak'd for fear lest the lunatic knave would have\\r\\n search'd it; but Fate, ordaining he should be a cuckold,\\r\\n held his hand. Well, on went he for a search, and away\\r\\n went I for foul clothes. But mark the sequel, Master\\r\\n Brook-I suffered the pangs of three several deaths: first,\\r\\n an intolerable fright to be detected with a jealous rotten\\r\\n bell-wether; next, to be compass'd like a good bilbo in the\\r\\n circumference of a peck, hilt to point, heel to head; and\\r\\n then, to be stopp'd in, like a strong distillation, with\\r\\n stinking clothes that fretted in their own grease. Think of that\\r\\n -a man of my kidney. Think of that-that am as subject to\\r\\n heat as butter; a man of continual dissolution and thaw. It\\r\\n was a miracle to scape suffocation. And in the height of\\r\\n this bath, when I was more than half-stew'd in grease, like\\r\\n a Dutch dish, to be thrown into the Thames, and cool'd,\\r\\n glowing hot, in that surge, like a horse-shoe; think of that\\r\\n -hissing hot. Think of that, Master Brook.\\r\\n FORD. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for my sake you\\r\\n have suffer'd all this. My suit, then, is desperate;\\r\\n you'll undertake her no more.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Master Brook, I will be thrown into Etna, as I\\r\\n have been into Thames, ere I will leave her thus. Her\\r\\n husband is this morning gone a-birding; I have received from\\r\\n her another embassy of meeting; 'twixt eight and nine is\\r\\n the hour, Master Brook.\\r\\n FORD. 'Tis past eight already, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Is it? I Will then address me to my appointment.\\r\\n Come to me at your convenient leisure, and you shall\\r\\n know how I speed; and the conclusion shall be crowned\\r\\n with your enjoying her. Adieu. You shall have her, Master\\r\\n Brook; Master Brook, you shall cuckold Ford. Exit\\r\\n FORD. Hum! ha! Is this a vision? Is this a dream? Do I sleep?\\r\\n Master Ford, awake; awake, Master Ford. There's a hole\\r\\n made in your best coat, Master Ford. This 'tis to be\\r\\n married; this 'tis to have linen and buck-baskets! Well, I will\\r\\n proclaim myself what I am; I will now take the lecher; he\\r\\n is at my house. He cannot scape me; 'tis impossible he\\r\\n should; he cannot creep into a halfpenny purse nor into\\r\\n a pepper box. But, lest the devil that guides him should aid\\r\\n him, I will search impossible places. Though what I am I\\r\\n cannot avoid, yet to be what I would not shall not make\\r\\n me tame. If I have horns to make one mad, let the proverb\\r\\n go with me-I'll be horn mad. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I.\\r\\n\\r\\nWindsor. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS QUICKLY, and WILLIAM\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Is he at Master Ford's already, think'st thou?\\r\\n QUICKLY. Sure he is by this; or will be presently; but truly\\r\\n he is very courageous mad about his throwing into the\\r\\n water. Mistress Ford desires you to come suddenly.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. I'll be with her by and by; I'll but bring my\\r\\n young man here to school. Look where his master comes;\\r\\n 'tis a playing day, I see.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, Sir Hugh, no school to-day?\\r\\n EVANS. No; Master Slender is let the boys leave to play.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Blessing of his heart!\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Sir Hugh, my husband says my son profits\\r\\n nothing in the world at his book; I pray you ask him some\\r\\n questions in his accidence.\\r\\n EVANS. Come hither, William; hold up your head; come.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Come on, sirrah; hold up your head; answer your\\r\\n master; be not afraid.\\r\\n EVANS. William, how many numbers is in nouns?\\r\\n WILLIAM. Two.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Truly, I thought there had been one number\\r\\n more, because they say 'Od's nouns.'\\r\\n EVANS. Peace your tattlings. What is 'fair,' William?\\r\\n WILLIAM. Pulcher.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Polecats! There are fairer things than polecats,\\r\\n sure.\\r\\n EVANS. You are a very simplicity oman; I pray you, peace.\\r\\n What is 'lapis,' William?\\r\\n WILLIAM. A stone.\\r\\n EVANS. And what is 'a stone,' William?\\r\\n WILLIAM. A pebble.\\r\\n EVANS. No, it is 'lapis'; I pray you remember in your prain.\\r\\n WILLIAM. Lapis.\\r\\n EVANS. That is a good William. What is he, William, that\\r\\n does lend articles?\\r\\n WILLIAM. Articles are borrowed of the pronoun, and be\\r\\n thus declined: Singulariter, nominativo; hic, haec, hoc.\\r\\n EVANS. Nominativo, hig, hag, hog; pray you, mark: genitivo,\\r\\n hujus. Well, what is your accusative case?\\r\\n WILLIAM. Accusativo, hinc.\\r\\n EVANS. I pray you, have your remembrance, child.\\r\\n Accusativo, hung, hang, hog.\\r\\n QUICKLY. 'Hang-hog' is Latin for bacon, I warrant you.\\r\\n EVANS. Leave your prabbles, oman. What is the focative\\r\\n case, William?\\r\\n WILLIAM. O-vocativo, O.\\r\\n EVANS. Remember, William: focative is caret.\\r\\n QUICKLY. And that's a good root.\\r\\n EVANS. Oman, forbear.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Peace.\\r\\n EVANS. What is your genitive case plural, William?\\r\\n WILLIAM. Genitive case?\\r\\n EVANS. Ay.\\r\\n WILLIAM. Genitive: horum, harum, horum.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Vengeance of Jenny's case; fie on her! Never\\r\\n name her, child, if she be a whore.\\r\\n EVANS. For shame, oman.\\r\\n QUICKLY. YOU do ill to teach the child such words. He\\r\\n teaches him to hick and to hack, which they'll do fast\\r\\n enough of themselves; and to call 'horum'; fie upon you!\\r\\n EVANS. Oman, art thou lunatics? Hast thou no understandings\\r\\n for thy cases, and the numbers of the genders? Thou\\r\\n art as foolish Christian creatures as I would desires.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Prithee hold thy peace.\\r\\n EVANS. Show me now, William, some declensions of your\\r\\n pronouns.\\r\\n WILLIAM. Forsooth, I have forgot.\\r\\n EVANS. It is qui, quae, quod; if you forget your qui's, your\\r\\n quae's, and your quod's, you must be preeches. Go your\\r\\n ways and play; go.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. He is a better scholar than I thought he was.\\r\\n EVANS. He is a good sprag memory. Farewell, Mistress Page.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Adieu, good Sir Hugh. Exit SIR HUGH\\r\\n Get you home, boy. Come, we stay too long. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nFORD'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FALSTAFF and MISTRESS FORD\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up my\\r\\n sufferance. I see you are obsequious in your love, and I\\r\\n profess requital to a hair's breadth; not only, Mistress Ford, in\\r\\n the simple office of love, but in all the accoutrement,\\r\\n complement, and ceremony of it. But are you sure of your\\r\\n husband now?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. He's a-birding, sweet Sir John.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. [Within] What hoa, gossip Ford, what hoa!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Step into th' chamber, Sir John. Exit FALSTAFF\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. How now, sweetheart, who's at home besides\\r\\n yourself?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why, none but mine own people.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Indeed?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. No, certainly. [Aside to her] Speak louder.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Truly, I am so glad you have nobody here.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Why, woman, your husband is in his old lunes\\r\\n again. He so takes on yonder with my husband; so rails\\r\\n against all married mankind; so curses an Eve's daughters,\\r\\n of what complexion soever; and so buffets himself on the\\r\\n forehead, crying 'Peer-out, peer-out!' that any madness I\\r\\n ever yet beheld seem'd but tameness, civility, and patience,\\r\\n to this his distemper he is in now. I am glad the fat knight\\r\\n is not here.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why, does he talk of him?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Of none but him; and swears he was carried out,\\r\\n the last time he search'd for him, in a basket; protests to\\r\\n my husband he is now here; and hath drawn him and the\\r\\n rest of their company from their sport, to make another\\r\\n experiment of his suspicion. But I am glad the knight is not\\r\\n here; now he shall see his own foolery.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. How near is he, Mistress Page?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Hard by, at street end; he will be here anon.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I am undone: the knight is here.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Why, then, you are utterly sham'd, and he's but\\r\\n a dead man. What a woman are you! Away with him,\\r\\n away with him; better shame than murder.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Which way should he go? How should I bestow\\r\\n him? Shall I put him into the basket again?\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter FALSTAFF\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. No, I'll come no more i' th' basket. May I not go\\r\\n out ere he come?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Alas, three of Master Ford's brothers watch the\\r\\n door with pistols, that none shall issue out; otherwise you\\r\\n might slip away ere he came. But what make you here?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What shall I do? I'll creep up into the chimney.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. There they always use to discharge their\\r\\n birding-pieces.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Creep into the kiln-hole.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Where is it?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. He will seek there, on my word. Neither press,\\r\\n coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but he hath an abstract for\\r\\n the remembrance of such places, and goes to them by his\\r\\n note. There is no hiding you in the house.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I'll go out then.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. If you go out in your own semblance, you die,\\r\\n Sir John. Unless you go out disguis'd.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. How might we disguise him?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Alas the day, I know not! There is no woman's\\r\\n gown big enough for him; otherwise he might put on a\\r\\n hat, a muffler, and a kerchief, and so escape.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Good hearts, devise something; any extremity\\r\\n rather than a mischief.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. My Maid's aunt, the fat woman of Brainford, has\\r\\n a gown above.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. On my word, it will serve him; she's as big as he\\r\\n is; and there's her thrumm'd hat, and her muffler too. Run\\r\\n up, Sir John.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Go, go, sweet Sir John. Mistress Page and I will\\r\\n look some linen for your head.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Quick, quick; we'll come dress you straight. Put\\r\\n on the gown the while. Exit FALSTAFF\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I would my husband would meet him in this\\r\\n shape; he cannot abide the old woman of Brainford; he\\r\\n swears she's a witch, forbade her my house, and hath\\r\\n threat'ned to beat her.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Heaven guide him to thy husband's cudgel; and\\r\\n the devil guide his cudgel afterwards!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. But is my husband coming?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Ay, in good sadness is he; and talks of the basket\\r\\n too, howsoever he hath had intelligence.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. We'll try that; for I'll appoint my men to carry\\r\\n the basket again, to meet him at the door with it as they\\r\\n did last time.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Nay, but he'll be here presently; let's go dress\\r\\n him like the witch of Brainford.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I'll first direct my men what they shall do with\\r\\n the basket. Go up; I'll bring linen for him straight. Exit\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Hang him, dishonest varlet! we cannot misuse\\r\\n him enough.\\r\\n We'll leave a proof, by that which we will do,\\r\\n Wives may be merry and yet honest too.\\r\\n We do not act that often jest and laugh;\\r\\n 'Tis old but true: Still swine eats all the draff. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter MISTRESS FORD, with two SERVANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Go, sirs, take the basket again on your shoulders;\\r\\n your master is hard at door; if he bid you set it down, obey\\r\\n him; quickly, dispatch. Exit\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. Come, come, take it up.\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. Pray heaven it be not full of knight again.\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. I hope not; I had lief as bear so much lead.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FORD, PAGE, SHALLOW, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n FORD. Ay, but if it prove true, Master Page, have you any\\r\\n way then to unfool me again? Set down the basket, villain!\\r\\n Somebody call my wife. Youth in a basket! O you panderly\\r\\n rascals, there's a knot, a ging, a pack, a conspiracy\\r\\n against me. Now shall the devil be sham'd. What, wife, I\\r\\n say! Come, come forth; behold what honest clothes you\\r\\n send forth to bleaching.\\r\\n PAGE. Why, this passes, Master Ford; you are not to go loose\\r\\n any longer; you must be pinion'd.\\r\\n EVANS. Why, this is lunatics. This is mad as a mad dog.\\r\\n SHALLOW. Indeed, Master Ford, this is not well, indeed.\\r\\n FORD. So say I too, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter MISTRESS FORD\\r\\n\\r\\n Come hither, Mistress Ford; Mistress Ford, the honest\\r\\n woman, the modest wife, the virtuous creature, that hath\\r\\n the jealous fool to her husband! I suspect without cause,\\r\\n Mistress, do I?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Heaven be my witness, you do, if you suspect\\r\\n me in any dishonesty.\\r\\n FORD. Well said, brazen-face; hold it out. Come forth, sirrah.\\r\\n [Pulling clothes out of the basket]\\r\\n PAGE. This passes!\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Are you not asham'd? Let the clothes alone.\\r\\n FORD. I shall find you anon.\\r\\n EVANS. 'Tis unreasonable. Will you take up your wife's\\r\\n clothes? Come away.\\r\\n FORD. Empty the basket, I say.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why, man, why?\\r\\n FORD. Master Page, as I am a man, there was one convey'd\\r\\n out of my house yesterday in this basket. Why may not\\r\\n he be there again? In my house I am sure he is; my\\r\\n intelligence is true; my jealousy is reasonable.\\r\\n Pluck me out all the linen.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. If you find a man there, he shall die a flea's\\r\\n death.\\r\\n PAGE. Here's no man.\\r\\n SHALLOW. By my fidelity, this is not well, Master Ford; this\\r\\n wrongs you.\\r\\n EVANS. Master Ford, you must pray, and not follow the\\r\\n imaginations of your own heart; this is jealousies.\\r\\n FORD. Well, he's not here I seek for.\\r\\n PAGE. No, nor nowhere else but in your brain.\\r\\n FORD. Help to search my house this one time. If I find not\\r\\n what I seek, show no colour for my extremity; let me for\\r\\n ever be your table sport; let them say of me 'As jealous as\\r\\n Ford, that search'd a hollow walnut for his wife's leman.'\\r\\n Satisfy me once more; once more search with me.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. What, hoa, Mistress Page! Come you and the old\\r\\n woman down; my husband will come into the chamber.\\r\\n FORD. Old woman? what old woman's that?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Why, it is my maid's aunt of Brainford.\\r\\n FORD. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean! Have I not\\r\\n forbid her my house? She comes of errands, does she? We\\r\\n are simple men; we do not know what's brought to pass\\r\\n under the profession of fortune-telling. She works by\\r\\n charms, by spells, by th' figure, and such daub'ry as this\\r\\n is, beyond our element. We know nothing. Come down, you\\r\\n witch, you hag you; come down, I say.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Nay, good sweet husband! Good gentlemen, let\\r\\n him not strike the old woman.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter FALSTAFF in woman's clothes, and MISTRESS PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Come, Mother Prat; come. give me your hand.\\r\\n FORD. I'll prat her. [Beating him] Out of my door, you\\r\\n witch, you hag, you. baggage, you polecat, you ronyon!\\r\\n Out, out! I'll conjure you, I'll fortune-tell you.\\r\\n Exit FALSTAFF\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Are you not asham'd? I think you have kill'd the\\r\\n poor woman.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Nay, he will do it. 'Tis a goodly credit for you.\\r\\n FORD. Hang her, witch!\\r\\n EVANS. By yea and no, I think the oman is a witch indeed; I\\r\\n like not when a oman has a great peard; I spy a great peard\\r\\n under his muffler.\\r\\n FORD. Will you follow, gentlemen? I beseech you follow;\\r\\n see but the issue of my jealousy; if I cry out thus upon no\\r\\n trail, never trust me when I open again.\\r\\n PAGE. Let's obey his humour a little further. Come,\\r\\n gentlemen. Exeunt all but MRS. FORD and MRS. PAGE\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Trust me, he beat him most pitifully.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Nay, by th' mass, that he did not; he beat him\\r\\n most unpitifully methought.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. I'll have the cudgel hallow'd and hung o'er the\\r\\n altar; it hath done meritorious service.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. What think you? May we, with the warrant of\\r\\n womanhood and the witness of a good conscience, pursue\\r\\n him with any further revenge?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. The spirit of wantonness is sure scar'd out of\\r\\n him; if the devil have him not in fee-simple, with fine and\\r\\n recovery, he will never, I think, in the way of waste,\\r\\n attempt us again.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Shall we tell our husbands how we have serv'd\\r\\n him?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Yes, by all means; if it be but to scrape the\\r\\n figures out of your husband's brains. If they can find in their\\r\\n hearts the poor unvirtuous fat knight shall be any further\\r\\n afflicted, we two will still be the ministers.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. I'll warrant they'll have him publicly sham'd;\\r\\n and methinks there would be no period to the jest, should\\r\\n he not be publicly sham'd.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Come, to the forge with it then; shape it. I\\r\\n would not have things cool. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter HOST and BARDOLPH\\r\\n\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Sir, the Germans desire to have three of your\\r\\n horses; the Duke himself will be to-morrow at court, and\\r\\n they are going to meet him.\\r\\n HOST. What duke should that be comes so secretly? I hear\\r\\n not of him in the court. Let me speak with the gentlemen;\\r\\n they speak English?\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Ay, sir; I'll call them to you.\\r\\n HOST. They shall have my horses, but I'll make them pay;\\r\\n I'll sauce them; they have had my house a week at\\r\\n command; I have turn'd away my other guests. They must\\r\\n come off; I'll sauce them. Come. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4\\r\\n\\r\\nFORD'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PAGE, FORD, MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n EVANS. 'Tis one of the best discretions of a oman as ever\\r\\n did look upon.\\r\\n PAGE. And did he send you both these letters at an instant?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Within a quarter of an hour.\\r\\n FORD. Pardon me, wife. Henceforth, do what thou wilt;\\r\\n I rather will suspect the sun with cold\\r\\n Than thee with wantonness. Now doth thy honour stand,\\r\\n In him that was of late an heretic,\\r\\n As firm as faith.\\r\\n PAGE. 'Tis well, 'tis well; no more.\\r\\n Be not as extreme in submission as in offence;\\r\\n But let our plot go forward. Let our wives\\r\\n Yet once again, to make us public sport,\\r\\n Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow,\\r\\n Where we may take him and disgrace him for it.\\r\\n FORD. There is no better way than that they spoke of.\\r\\n PAGE. How? To send him word they'll meet him in the Park\\r\\n at midnight? Fie, fie! he'll never come!\\r\\n EVANS. You say he has been thrown in the rivers; and has\\r\\n been grievously peaten as an old oman; methinks there\\r\\n should be terrors in him, that he should not come;\\r\\n methinks his flesh is punish'd; he shall have no desires.\\r\\n PAGE. So think I too.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Devise but how you'll use him when he comes,\\r\\n And let us two devise to bring him thither.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. There is an old tale goes that Heme the Hunter,\\r\\n Sometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest,\\r\\n Doth all the winter-time, at still midnight,\\r\\n Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns;\\r\\n And there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle,\\r\\n And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a chain\\r\\n In a most hideous and dreadful manner.\\r\\n You have heard of such a spirit, and well you know\\r\\n The superstitious idle-headed eld\\r\\n Receiv'd, and did deliver to our age,\\r\\n This tale of Heme the Hunter for a truth.\\r\\n PAGE. Why yet there want not many that do fear\\r\\n In deep of night to walk by this Herne's oak.\\r\\n But what of this?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Marry, this is our device-\\r\\n That Falstaff at that oak shall meet with us,\\r\\n Disguis'd, like Heme, with huge horns on his head.\\r\\n PAGE. Well, let it not be doubted but he'll come,\\r\\n And in this shape. When you have brought him thither,\\r\\n What shall be done with him? What is your plot?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. That likewise have we thought upon, and\\r\\n thus:\\r\\n Nan Page my daughter, and my little son,\\r\\n And three or four more of their growth, we'll dress\\r\\n Like urchins, ouphes, and fairies, green and white,\\r\\n With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads,\\r\\n And rattles in their hands; upon a sudden,\\r\\n As Falstaff, she, and I, are newly met,\\r\\n Let them from forth a sawpit rush at once\\r\\n With some diffused song; upon their sight\\r\\n We two in great amazedness will fly.\\r\\n Then let them all encircle him about,\\r\\n And fairy-like, to pinch the unclean knight;\\r\\n And ask him why, that hour of fairy revel,\\r\\n In their so sacred paths he dares to tread\\r\\n In shape profane.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. And till he tell the truth,\\r\\n Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound,\\r\\n And burn him with their tapers.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. The truth being known,\\r\\n We'll all present ourselves; dis-horn the spirit,\\r\\n And mock him home to Windsor.\\r\\n FORD. The children must\\r\\n Be practis'd well to this or they'll nev'r do 't.\\r\\n EVANS. I will teach the children their behaviours; and I will\\r\\n be like a jack-an-apes also, to burn the knight with my\\r\\n taber.\\r\\n FORD. That will be excellent. I'll go buy them vizards.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. My Nan shall be the Queen of all the Fairies,\\r\\n Finely attired in a robe of white.\\r\\n PAGE. That silk will I go buy. [Aside] And in that time\\r\\n Shall Master Slender steal my Nan away,\\r\\n And marry her at Eton.-Go, send to Falstaff straight.\\r\\n FORD. Nay, I'll to him again, in name of Brook;\\r\\n He'll tell me all his purpose. Sure, he'll come.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Fear not you that. Go get us properties\\r\\n And tricking for our fairies.\\r\\n EVANS. Let us about it. It is admirable pleasures, and fery\\r\\n honest knaveries. Exeunt PAGE, FORD, and EVANS\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Go, Mistress Ford.\\r\\n Send Quickly to Sir John to know his mind.\\r\\n Exit MRS. FORD\\r\\n I'll to the Doctor; he hath my good will,\\r\\n And none but he, to marry with Nan Page.\\r\\n That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot;\\r\\n And he my husband best of all affects.\\r\\n The Doctor is well money'd, and his friends\\r\\n Potent at court; he, none but he, shall have her,\\r\\n Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave her. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter HOST and SIMPLE\\r\\n\\r\\n HOST. What wouldst thou have, boor? What, thick-skin?\\r\\n Speak, breathe, discuss; brief, short, quick, snap.\\r\\n SIMPLE. Marry, sir, I come to speak with Sir John Falstaff\\r\\n from Master Slender.\\r\\n HOST. There's his chamber, his house, his castle, his\\r\\n standing-bed and truckle-bed; 'tis painted about with the\\r\\n story of the Prodigal, fresh and new. Go, knock and can; he'll\\r\\n speak like an Anthropophaginian unto thee. Knock, I say.\\r\\n SIMPLE. There's an old woman, a fat woman, gone up into\\r\\n his chamber; I'll be so bold as stay, sir, till she come down;\\r\\n I come to speak with her, indeed.\\r\\n HOST. Ha! a fat woman? The knight may be robb'd. I'll call.\\r\\n Bully knight! Bully Sir John! Speak from thy lungs\\r\\n military. Art thou there? It is thine host, thine Ephesian, calls.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. [Above] How now, mine host?\\r\\n HOST. Here's a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the coming down of\\r\\n thy fat woman. Let her descend, bully, let her descend;\\r\\n my chambers are honourible. Fie, privacy, fie!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FALSTAFF\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. There was, mine host, an old fat woman even\\r\\n now with, me; but she's gone.\\r\\n SIMPLE. Pray you, sir, was't not the wise woman of\\r\\n Brainford?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Ay, marry was it, mussel-shell. What would you\\r\\n with her?\\r\\n SIMPLE. My master, sir, my Master Slender, sent to her,\\r\\n seeing her go thorough the streets, to know, sir, whether one\\r\\n Nym, sir, that beguil'd him of a chain, had the chain or no.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I spake with the old woman about it.\\r\\n SIMPLE. And what says she, I pray, sir?\\r\\n FALSTAFF Marry, she says that the very same man that\\r\\n beguil'd Master Slender of his chain cozen'd him of it.\\r\\n SIMPLE. I would I could have spoken with the woman\\r\\n herself; I had other things to have spoken with her too,\\r\\n from him.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What are they? Let us know.\\r\\n HOST. Ay, come; quick.\\r\\n SIMPLE. I may not conceal them, sir.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Conceal them, or thou diest.\\r\\n SIMPLE.. Why, sir, they were nothing but about Mistress\\r\\n Anne Page: to know if it were my master's fortune to\\r\\n have her or no.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. 'Tis, 'tis his fortune.\\r\\n SIMPLE. What sir?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. To have her, or no. Go; say the woman told me\\r\\n so.\\r\\n SIMPLE. May I be bold to say so, sir?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Ay, sir, like who more bold?\\r\\n SIMPLE., I thank your worship; I shall make my master glad\\r\\n with these tidings. Exit SIMPLE\\r\\n HOST. Thou art clerkly, thou art clerkly, Sir John. Was\\r\\n there a wise woman with thee?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Ay, that there was, mine host; one that hath\\r\\n taught me more wit than ever I learn'd before in my life;\\r\\n and I paid nothing for it neither, but was paid for my\\r\\n learning.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BARDOLPH\\r\\n\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Out, alas, sir, cozenage, mere cozenage!\\r\\n HOST. Where be my horses? Speak well of them, varletto.\\r\\n BARDOLPH. Run away with the cozeners; for so soon as I\\r\\n came beyond Eton, they threw me off from behind one of\\r\\n them, in a slough of mire; and set spurs and away, like\\r\\n three German devils, three Doctor Faustuses.\\r\\n HOST. They are gone but to meet the Duke, villain; do not\\r\\n say they be fled. Germans are honest men.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n EVANS. Where is mine host?\\r\\n HOST. What is the matter, sir?\\r\\n EVANS. Have a care of your entertainments. There is a friend\\r\\n of mine come to town tells me there is three\\r\\n cozen-germans that has cozen'd all the hosts of Readins,\\r\\n of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, of horses and money. I tell you for\\r\\n good will, look you; you are wise, and full of gibes and\\r\\n vlouting-stogs, and 'tis not convenient you should be\\r\\n cozened. Fare you well. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DOCTOR CAIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n CAIUS. Vere is mine host de Jarteer?\\r\\n HOST. Here, Master Doctor, in perplexity and doubtful\\r\\n dilemma.\\r\\n CAIUS. I cannot tell vat is dat; but it is tell-a me dat you\\r\\n make grand preparation for a Duke de Jamany. By my\\r\\n trot, dere is no duke that the court is know to come; I\\r\\n tell you for good will. Adieu. Exit\\r\\n HOST. Hue and cry, villain, go! Assist me, knight; I am\\r\\n undone. Fly, run, hue and cry, villain; I am undone.\\r\\n Exeunt HOST and BARDOLPH\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I would all the world might be cozen'd, for I have\\r\\n been cozen'd and beaten too. If it should come to the car\\r\\n of the court how I have been transformed, and how my\\r\\n transformation hath been wash'd and cudgell'd, they\\r\\n would melt me out of my fat, drop by drop, and liquor\\r\\n fishermen's boots with me; I warrant they would whip me\\r\\n with their fine wits till I were as crestfall'n as a dried pear.\\r\\n I never prosper'd since I forswore myself at primero. Well,\\r\\n if my wind were but long enough to say my prayers,\\r\\n would repent.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY\\r\\n\\r\\n Now! whence come you?\\r\\n QUICKLY. From the two parties, forsooth.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. The devil take one party and his dam the other!\\r\\n And so they shall be both bestowed. I have suffer'd more\\r\\n for their sakes, more than the villainous inconstancy of\\r\\n man's disposition is able to bear.\\r\\n QUICKLY. And have not they suffer'd? Yes, I warrant;\\r\\n speciously one of them; Mistress Ford, good heart, is beaten\\r\\n black and blue, that you cannot see a white spot about her.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What tell'st thou me of black and blue? I was\\r\\n beaten myself into all the colours of the rainbow; and\\r\\n was like to be apprehended for the witch of Brainford. But\\r\\n that my admirable dexterity of wit, my counterfeiting the\\r\\n action of an old woman, deliver'd me, the knave constable\\r\\n had set me i' th' stocks, i' th' common stocks, for a witch.\\r\\n QUICKLY. Sir, let me speak with you in your chamber; you\\r\\n shall hear how things go, and, I warrant, to your content.\\r\\n Here is a letter will say somewhat. Good hearts, what ado\\r\\n here is to bring you together! Sure, one of you does not\\r\\n serve heaven well, that you are so cross'd.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Come up into my chamber. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 6.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FENTON and HOST\\r\\n\\r\\n HOST. Master Fenton, talk not to me; my mind is heavy; I\\r\\n will give over all.\\r\\n FENTON. Yet hear me speak. Assist me in my purpose,\\r\\n And, as I am a gentleman, I'll give the\\r\\n A hundred pound in gold more than your loss.\\r\\n HOST. I will hear you, Master Fenton; and I will, at the least,\\r\\n keep your counsel.\\r\\n FENTON. From time to time I have acquainted you\\r\\n With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page;\\r\\n Who, mutually, hath answer'd my affection,\\r\\n So far forth as herself might be her chooser,\\r\\n Even to my wish. I have a letter from her\\r\\n Of such contents as you will wonder at;\\r\\n The mirth whereof so larded with my matter\\r\\n That neither, singly, can be manifested\\r\\n Without the show of both. Fat Falstaff\\r\\n Hath a great scene. The image of the jest\\r\\n I'll show you here at large. Hark, good mine host:\\r\\n To-night at Heme's oak, just 'twixt twelve and one,\\r\\n Must my sweet Nan present the Fairy Queen-\\r\\n The purpose why is here-in which disguise,\\r\\n While other jests are something rank on foot,\\r\\n Her father hath commanded her to slip\\r\\n Away with Slender, and with him at Eton\\r\\n Immediately to marry; she hath consented.\\r\\n Now, sir,\\r\\n Her mother, even strong against that match\\r\\n And firm for Doctor Caius, hath appointed\\r\\n That he shall likewise shuffle her away\\r\\n While other sports are tasking of their minds,\\r\\n And at the dean'ry, where a priest attends,\\r\\n Straight marry her. To this her mother's plot\\r\\n She seemingly obedient likewise hath\\r\\n Made promise to the doctor. Now thus it rests:\\r\\n Her father means she shall be all in white;\\r\\n And in that habit, when Slender sees his time\\r\\n To take her by the hand and bid her go,\\r\\n She shall go with him; her mother hath intended\\r\\n The better to denote her to the doctor-\\r\\n For they must all be mask'd and vizarded-\\r\\n That quaint in green she shall be loose enrob'd,\\r\\n With ribands pendent, flaring 'bout her head;\\r\\n And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe,\\r\\n To pinch her by the hand, and, on that token,\\r\\n The maid hath given consent to go with him.\\r\\n HOST. Which means she to deceive, father or mother?\\r\\n FENTON. Both, my good host, to go along with me.\\r\\n And here it rests-that you'll procure the vicar\\r\\n To stay for me at church, 'twixt twelve and one,\\r\\n And in the lawful name of marrying,\\r\\n To give our hearts united ceremony.\\r\\n HOST. Well, husband your device; I'll to the vicar.\\r\\n Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest.\\r\\n FENTON. So shall I evermore be bound to thee;\\r\\n Besides, I'll make a present recompense. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Garter Inn\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FALSTAFF and MISTRESS QUICKLY\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Prithee, no more prattling; go. I'll, hold. This is\\r\\n the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers.\\r\\n Away, go; they say there is divinity in odd numbers, either\\r\\n in nativity, chance, or death. Away.\\r\\n QUICKLY. I'll provide you a chain, and I'll do what I can to\\r\\n get you a pair of horns.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Away, I say; time wears; hold up your head, and\\r\\n mince. Exit MRS. QUICKLY\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FORD disguised\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, Master Brook. Master Brook, the matter will\\r\\n be known tonight or never. Be you in the Park about\\r\\n midnight, at Herne's oak, and you shall see wonders.\\r\\n FORD. Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you told me\\r\\n you had appointed?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I went to her, Master Brook, as you see, like a\\r\\n poor old man; but I came from her, Master Brook, like a\\r\\n poor old woman. That same knave Ford, her husband, hath\\r\\n the finest mad devil of jealousy in him, Master Brook, that\\r\\n ever govern'd frenzy. I will tell you-he beat me grievously\\r\\n in the shape of a woman; for in the shape of man, Master\\r\\n Brook, I fear not Goliath with a weaver's beam; because\\r\\n I know also life is a shuttle. I am in haste; go along with\\r\\n me; I'll. tell you all, Master Brook. Since I pluck'd geese,\\r\\n play'd truant, and whipp'd top, I knew not what 'twas to\\r\\n be beaten till lately. Follow me. I'll tell you strange things\\r\\n of this knave-Ford, on whom to-night I will be revenged,\\r\\n and I will deliver his wife into your hand. Follow. Strange\\r\\n things in hand, Master Brook! Follow. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nWindsor Park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. Come, come; we'll couch i' th' Castle ditch till we\\r\\n see the light of our fairies. Remember, son Slender, my daughter.\\r\\n SLENDER. Ay, forsooth; I have spoke with her, and we have\\r\\n a nay-word how to know one another. I come to her in\\r\\n white and cry 'mum'; she cries 'budget,' and by that we\\r\\n know one another.\\r\\n SHALLOW. That's good too; but what needs either your mum\\r\\n or her budget? The white will decipher her well enough.\\r\\n It hath struck ten o'clock.\\r\\n PAGE. The night is dark; light and spirits will become it well.\\r\\n Heaven prosper our sport! No man means evil but the\\r\\n devil, and we shall know him by his horns. Let's away;\\r\\n follow me. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nA street leading to the Park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and DOCTOR CAIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Master Doctor, my daughter is in green; when\\r\\n you see your time, take her by the hand, away with her to\\r\\n the deanery, and dispatch it quickly. Go before into the\\r\\n Park; we two must go together.\\r\\n CAIUS. I know vat I have to do; adieu.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Fare you well, sir. [Exit CAIUS] My husband\\r\\n will not rejoice so much at the abuse of Falstaff as he will\\r\\n chafe at the doctor's marrying my daughter; but 'tis no\\r\\n matter; better a little chiding than a great deal of\\r\\n heartbreak.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Where is Nan now, and her troop of fairies, and\\r\\n the Welsh devil, Hugh?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. They are all couch'd in a pit hard by Heme's\\r\\n oak, with obscur'd lights; which, at the very instant of\\r\\n Falstaff's and our meeting, they will at once display to the\\r\\n night.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. That cannot choose but amaze him.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. If he be not amaz'd, he will be mock'd; if he be\\r\\n amaz'd, he will every way be mock'd.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. We'll betray him finely.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Against such lewdsters and their lechery,\\r\\n Those that betray them do no treachery.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. The hour draws on. To the oak, to the oak!\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nWindsor Park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SIR HUGH EVANS like a satyr, with OTHERS as fairies\\r\\n\\r\\n EVANS. Trib, trib, fairies; come; and remember your parts. Be pold, I\\r\\n pray you; follow me into the pit; and when I give the watch-ords, do\\r\\n as I pid you. Come, come; trib, trib.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnother part of the Park\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FALSTAFF disguised as HERNE\\r\\n\\r\\n FALSTAFF. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve; the minute draws on.\\r\\n Now the hot-blooded gods assist me! Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull\\r\\n for thy Europa; love set on thy horns. O powerful love! that in some\\r\\n respects makes a beast a man; in some other a man a beast. You were\\r\\n also, Jupiter, a swan, for the love of Leda. O omnipotent love! how\\r\\n near the god drew to the complexion of a goose! A fault done first in\\r\\n the form of a beast-O Jove, a beastly fault!-and then another fault\\r\\n in the semblance of a fowl- think on't, Jove, a foul fault! When gods\\r\\n have hot backs what shall poor men do? For me, I am here a Windsor\\r\\n stag; and the fattest, I think, i' th' forest. Send me a cool\\r\\n rut-time, Jove, or who can blame me to piss my tallow? Who comes\\r\\n here? my doe?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MISTRESS FORD and MISTRESS PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Sir John! Art thou there, my deer, my male deer.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. My doe with the black scut! Let the sky rain\\r\\n potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of Greensleeves, hail\\r\\n kissing-comfits, and snow eringoes; let there come a tempest\\r\\n of provocation, I will shelter me here. [Embracing her]\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Mistress Page is come with me, sweetheart.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Divide me like a brib'd buck, each a haunch; I\\r\\n will keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the fellow\\r\\n of this walk, and my horns I bequeath your husbands. Am\\r\\n I a woodman, ha? Speak I like Heme the Hunter? Why,\\r\\n now is Cupid a child of conscience; he makes restitution.\\r\\n As I am a true spirit, welcome! [A noise of horns]\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Alas, what noise?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Heaven forgive our sins!\\r\\n FALSTAFF. What should this be?\\r\\n MRS. FORD. } Away, away.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. } Away, away. [They run off]\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I think the devil will not have me damn'd, lest the\\r\\n oil that's in me should set hell on fire; he would never else\\r\\n cross me thus.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SIR HUGH EVANS like a satyr, ANNE PAGE as\\r\\n a fairy, and OTHERS as the Fairy Queen, fairies, and\\r\\n Hobgoblin; all with tapers\\r\\n\\r\\n FAIRY QUEEN. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white,\\r\\n You moonshine revellers, and shades of night,\\r\\n You orphan heirs of fixed destiny,\\r\\n Attend your office and your quality.\\r\\n Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy oyes.\\r\\n PUCK. Elves, list your names; silence, you airy toys.\\r\\n Cricket, to Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap;\\r\\n Where fires thou find'st unrak'd, and hearths unswept,\\r\\n There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry;\\r\\n Our radiant Queen hates sluts and sluttery.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. They are fairies; he that speaks to them shall die.\\r\\n I'll wink and couch; no man their works must eye.\\r\\n [Lies down upon his face]\\r\\n EVANS. Where's Pede? Go you, and where you find a maid\\r\\n That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said,\\r\\n Raise up the organs of her fantasy\\r\\n Sleep she as sound as careless infancy;\\r\\n But those as sleep and think not on their sins,\\r\\n Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and shins.\\r\\n FAIRY QUEEN. About, about;\\r\\n Search Windsor castle, elves, within and out;\\r\\n Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room,\\r\\n That it may stand till the perpetual doom\\r\\n In state as wholesome as in state 'tis fit,\\r\\n Worthy the owner and the owner it.\\r\\n The several chairs of order look you scour\\r\\n With juice of balm and every precious flower;\\r\\n Each fair instalment, coat, and sev'ral crest,\\r\\n With loyal blazon, evermore be blest!\\r\\n And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing,\\r\\n Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring;\\r\\n Th' expressure that it bears, green let it be,\\r\\n More fertile-fresh than all the field to see;\\r\\n And 'Honi soit qui mal y pense' write\\r\\n In em'rald tufts, flow'rs purple, blue and white;\\r\\n Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery,\\r\\n Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee.\\r\\n Fairies use flow'rs for their charactery.\\r\\n Away, disperse; but till 'tis one o'clock,\\r\\n Our dance of custom round about the oak\\r\\n Of Herne the Hunter let us not forget.\\r\\n EVANS. Pray you, lock hand in hand; yourselves in order set;\\r\\n And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be,\\r\\n To guide our measure round about the tree.\\r\\n But, stay. I smell a man of middle earth.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy, lest he\\r\\n transform me to a piece of cheese!\\r\\n PUCK. Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even in thy birth.\\r\\n FAIRY QUEEN. With trial-fire touch me his finger-end;\\r\\n If he be chaste, the flame will back descend,\\r\\n And turn him to no pain; but if he start,\\r\\n It is the flesh of a corrupted heart.\\r\\n PUCK. A trial, come.\\r\\n EVANS. Come, will this wood take fire?\\r\\n [They put the tapers to his fingers, and he starts]\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Oh, oh, oh!\\r\\n FAIRY QUEEN. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire!\\r\\n About him, fairies; sing a scornful rhyme;\\r\\n And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time.\\r\\n THE SONG.\\r\\n Fie on sinful fantasy!\\r\\n Fie on lust and luxury!\\r\\n Lust is but a bloody fire,\\r\\n Kindled with unchaste desire,\\r\\n Fed in heart, whose flames aspire,\\r\\n As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher.\\r\\n Pinch him, fairies, mutually;\\r\\n Pinch him for his villainy;\\r\\n Pinch him and burn him and turn him about,\\r\\n Till candles and star-light and moonshine be out.\\r\\n\\r\\n During this song they pinch FALSTAFF. DOCTOR\\r\\n CAIUS comes one way, and steals away a fairy in\\r\\n green; SLENDER another way, and takes off a fairy in\\r\\n white; and FENTON steals away ANNE PAGE. A noise\\r\\n of hunting is heard within. All the fairies run away.\\r\\n FALSTAFF pulls off his buck's head, and rises\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PAGE, FORD, MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and\\r\\n SIR HUGH EVANS\\r\\n\\r\\n PAGE. Nay, do not fly; I think we have watch'd you now.\\r\\n Will none but Heme the Hunter serve your turn?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. I pray you, come, hold up the jest no higher.\\r\\n Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor wives?\\r\\n See you these, husband? Do not these fair yokes\\r\\n Become the forest better than the town?\\r\\n FORD. Now, sir, who's a cuckold now? Master Brook,\\r\\n Falstaff's a knave, a cuckoldly knave; here are his horns,\\r\\n Master Brook; and, Master Brook, he hath enjoyed nothing of\\r\\n Ford's but his buck-basket, his cudgel, and twenty pounds\\r\\n of money, which must be paid to Master Brook; his horses\\r\\n are arrested for it, Master Brook.\\r\\n MRS. FORD. Sir John, we have had ill luck; we could never\\r\\n meet. I will never take you for my love again; but I will\\r\\n always count you my deer.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass.\\r\\n FORD. Ay, and an ox too; both the proofs are extant.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. And these are not fairies? I was three or four\\r\\n times in the thought they were not fairies; and yet the\\r\\n guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprise of my powers,\\r\\n drove the grossness of the foppery into a receiv'd belief,\\r\\n in despite of the teeth of all rhyme and reason, that they\\r\\n were fairies. See now how wit may be made a Jack-a-Lent\\r\\n when 'tis upon ill employment.\\r\\n EVANS. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your desires,\\r\\n and fairies will not pinse you.\\r\\n FORD. Well said, fairy Hugh.\\r\\n EVANS. And leave you your jealousies too, I pray you.\\r\\n FORD. I will never mistrust my wife again, till thou art able\\r\\n to woo her in good English.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried it, that\\r\\n it wants matter to prevent so gross, o'er-reaching as this?\\r\\n Am I ridden with a Welsh goat too? Shall I have a cox-comb\\r\\n of frieze? 'Tis time I were chok'd with a piece of\\r\\n toasted cheese.\\r\\n EVANS. Seese is not good to give putter; your belly is all\\r\\n putter.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. 'Seese' and 'putter'! Have I liv'd to stand at the\\r\\n taunt of one that makes fritters of English? This is enough\\r\\n to be the decay of lust and late-walking through the realm.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Why, Sir John, do you think, though we would\\r\\n have thrust virtue out of our hearts by the head and\\r\\n shoulders, and have given ourselves without scruple to hell,\\r\\n that ever the devil could have made you our delight?\\r\\n FORD. What, a hodge-pudding? a bag of flax?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. A puff'd man?\\r\\n PAGE. Old, cold, wither'd, and of intolerable entrails?\\r\\n FORD. And one that is as slanderous as Satan?\\r\\n PAGE. And as poor as Job?\\r\\n FORD. And as wicked as his wife?\\r\\n EVANS. And given to fornications, and to taverns, and sack,\\r\\n and wine, and metheglins, and to drinkings, and swearings,\\r\\n and starings, pribbles and prabbles?\\r\\n FALSTAFF. Well, I am your theme; you have the start of me;\\r\\n I am dejected; I am not able to answer the Welsh flannel;\\r\\n ignorance itself is a plummet o'er me; use me as you will.\\r\\n FORD. Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, to one Master\\r\\n Brook, that you have cozen'd of money, to whom you\\r\\n should have been a pander. Over and above that you have\\r\\n suffer'd, I think to repay that money will be a biting\\r\\n affliction.\\r\\n PAGE. Yet be cheerful, knight; thou shalt eat a posset\\r\\n tonight at my house, where I will desire thee to laugh at my\\r\\n wife, that now laughs at thee. Tell her Master Slender hath\\r\\n married her daughter.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. [Aside] Doctors doubt that; if Anne Page be\\r\\n my daughter, she is, by this, Doctor Caius' wife.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SLENDER\\r\\n\\r\\n SLENDER. Whoa, ho, ho, father Page!\\r\\n PAGE. Son, how now! how now, son! Have you dispatch'd'?\\r\\n SLENDER. Dispatch'd! I'll make the best in Gloucestershire\\r\\n know on't; would I were hang'd, la, else!\\r\\n PAGE. Of what, son?\\r\\n SLENDER. I came yonder at Eton to marry Mistress Anne\\r\\n Page, and she's a great lubberly boy. If it had not been i'\\r\\n th' church, I would have swing'd him, or he should have\\r\\n swing'd me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page,\\r\\n would I might never stir!-and 'tis a postmaster's boy.\\r\\n PAGE. Upon my life, then, you took the wrong.\\r\\n SLENDER. What need you tell me that? I think so, when I\\r\\n took a boy for a girl. If I had been married to him, for all\\r\\n he was in woman's apparel, I would not have had him.\\r\\n PAGE. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell you how\\r\\n you should know my daughter by her garments?\\r\\n SLENDER. I went to her in white and cried 'mum' and she\\r\\n cried 'budget' as Anne and I had appointed; and yet it was\\r\\n not Anne, but a postmaster's boy.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Good George, be not angry. I knew of your\\r\\n purpose; turn'd my daughter into green; and, indeed, she\\r\\n is now with the Doctor at the dean'ry, and there married.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CAIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n CAIUS. Vere is Mistress Page? By gar, I am cozened; I ha'\\r\\n married un garcon, a boy; un paysan, by gar, a boy; it is\\r\\n not Anne Page; by gar, I am cozened.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Why, did you take her in green?\\r\\n CAIUS. Ay, be gar, and 'tis a boy; be gar, I'll raise all\\r\\n Windsor. Exit CAIUS\\r\\n FORD. This is strange. Who hath got the right Anne?\\r\\n PAGE. My heart misgives me; here comes Master Fenton.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, Master Fenton!\\r\\n ANNE. Pardon, good father. Good my mother, pardon.\\r\\n PAGE. Now, Mistress, how chance you went not with Master\\r\\n Slender?\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Why went you not with Master Doctor, maid?\\r\\n FENTON. You do amaze her. Hear the truth of it.\\r\\n You would have married her most shamefully,\\r\\n Where there was no proportion held in love.\\r\\n The truth is, she and I, long since contracted,\\r\\n Are now so sure that nothing can dissolve us.\\r\\n Th' offence is holy that she hath committed;\\r\\n And this deceit loses the name of craft,\\r\\n Of disobedience, or unduteous title,\\r\\n Since therein she doth evitate and shun\\r\\n A thousand irreligious cursed hours,\\r\\n Which forced marriage would have brought upon her.\\r\\n FORD. Stand not amaz'd; here is no remedy.\\r\\n In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state;\\r\\n Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special stand\\r\\n to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanc'd.\\r\\n PAGE. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give thee joy!\\r\\n What cannot be eschew'd must be embrac'd.\\r\\n FALSTAFF. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chas'd.\\r\\n MRS. PAGE. Well, I will muse no further. Master Fenton,\\r\\n Heaven give you many, many merry days!\\r\\n Good husband, let us every one go home,\\r\\n And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire;\\r\\n Sir John and all.\\r\\n FORD. Let it be so. Sir John,\\r\\n To Master Brook you yet shall hold your word;\\r\\n For he, to-night, shall lie with Mistress Ford. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\",\n", + " 'A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Athens. A room in the Palace of Theseus\\r\\nScene II. The Same. A Room in a Cottage\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. A wood near Athens\\r\\nScene II. Another part of the wood\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. The Wood.\\r\\nScene II. Another part of the wood\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. The Wood\\r\\nScene II. Athens. A Room in Quince’s House\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Athens. An Apartment in the Palace of Theseus\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS, Duke of Athens\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA, Queen of the Amazons, bethrothed to Theseus\\r\\nEGEUS, Father to Hermia\\r\\nHERMIA, daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander\\r\\nHELENA, in love with Demetrius\\r\\nLYSANDER, in love with Hermia\\r\\nDEMETRIUS, in love with Hermia\\r\\nPHILOSTRATE, Master of the Revels to Theseus\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE, the Carpenter\\r\\nSNUG, the Joiner\\r\\nBOTTOM, the Weaver\\r\\nFLUTE, the Bellows-mender\\r\\nSNOUT, the Tinker\\r\\nSTARVELING, the Tailor\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON, King of the Fairies\\r\\nTITANIA, Queen of the Fairies\\r\\nPUCK, or ROBIN GOODFELLOW, a Fairy\\r\\nPEASEBLOSSOM, Fairy\\r\\nCOBWEB, Fairy\\r\\nMOTH, Fairy\\r\\nMUSTARDSEED, Fairy\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS, THISBE, WALL, MOONSHINE, LION; Characters in the Interlude\\r\\nperformed by the Clowns\\r\\n\\r\\nOther Fairies attending their King and Queen\\r\\nAttendants on Theseus and Hippolyta\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Athens, and a wood not far from it\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Athens. A room in the Palace of Theseus\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNow, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour\\r\\nDraws on apace; four happy days bring in\\r\\nAnother moon; but oh, methinks, how slow\\r\\nThis old moon wanes! She lingers my desires,\\r\\nLike to a step-dame or a dowager,\\r\\nLong withering out a young man’s revenue.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nFour days will quickly steep themselves in night;\\r\\nFour nights will quickly dream away the time;\\r\\nAnd then the moon, like to a silver bow\\r\\nNew bent in heaven, shall behold the night\\r\\nOf our solemnities.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nGo, Philostrate,\\r\\nStir up the Athenian youth to merriments;\\r\\nAwake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth;\\r\\nTurn melancholy forth to funerals;\\r\\nThe pale companion is not for our pomp.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Philostrate._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHippolyta, I woo’d thee with my sword,\\r\\nAnd won thy love doing thee injuries;\\r\\nBut I will wed thee in another key,\\r\\nWith pomp, with triumph, and with revelling.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander and Demetrius.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEUS.\\r\\nHappy be Theseus, our renownèd Duke!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThanks, good Egeus. What’s the news with thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEUS.\\r\\nFull of vexation come I, with complaint\\r\\nAgainst my child, my daughter Hermia.\\r\\nStand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord,\\r\\nThis man hath my consent to marry her.\\r\\nStand forth, Lysander. And, my gracious Duke,\\r\\nThis man hath bewitch’d the bosom of my child.\\r\\nThou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes,\\r\\nAnd interchang’d love-tokens with my child.\\r\\nThou hast by moonlight at her window sung,\\r\\nWith feigning voice, verses of feigning love;\\r\\nAnd stol’n the impression of her fantasy\\r\\nWith bracelets of thy hair, rings, gauds, conceits,\\r\\nKnacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats (messengers\\r\\nOf strong prevailment in unharden’d youth)\\r\\nWith cunning hast thou filch’d my daughter’s heart,\\r\\nTurn’d her obedience (which is due to me)\\r\\nTo stubborn harshness. And, my gracious Duke,\\r\\nBe it so she will not here before your grace\\r\\nConsent to marry with Demetrius,\\r\\nI beg the ancient privilege of Athens:\\r\\nAs she is mine I may dispose of her;\\r\\nWhich shall be either to this gentleman\\r\\nOr to her death, according to our law\\r\\nImmediately provided in that case.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat say you, Hermia? Be advis’d, fair maid.\\r\\nTo you your father should be as a god;\\r\\nOne that compos’d your beauties, yea, and one\\r\\nTo whom you are but as a form in wax\\r\\nBy him imprinted, and within his power\\r\\nTo leave the figure, or disfigure it.\\r\\nDemetrius is a worthy gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nSo is Lysander.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nIn himself he is.\\r\\nBut in this kind, wanting your father’s voice,\\r\\nThe other must be held the worthier.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI would my father look’d but with my eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nRather your eyes must with his judgment look.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI do entreat your Grace to pardon me.\\r\\nI know not by what power I am made bold,\\r\\nNor how it may concern my modesty\\r\\nIn such a presence here to plead my thoughts:\\r\\nBut I beseech your Grace that I may know\\r\\nThe worst that may befall me in this case,\\r\\nIf I refuse to wed Demetrius.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nEither to die the death, or to abjure\\r\\nFor ever the society of men.\\r\\nTherefore, fair Hermia, question your desires,\\r\\nKnow of your youth, examine well your blood,\\r\\nWhether, if you yield not to your father’s choice,\\r\\nYou can endure the livery of a nun,\\r\\nFor aye to be in shady cloister mew’d,\\r\\nTo live a barren sister all your life,\\r\\nChanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.\\r\\nThrice-blessèd they that master so their blood\\r\\nTo undergo such maiden pilgrimage,\\r\\nBut earthlier happy is the rose distill’d\\r\\nThan that which, withering on the virgin thorn,\\r\\nGrows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nSo will I grow, so live, so die, my lord,\\r\\nEre I will yield my virgin patent up\\r\\nUnto his lordship, whose unwishèd yoke\\r\\nMy soul consents not to give sovereignty.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nTake time to pause; and by the next new moon\\r\\nThe sealing-day betwixt my love and me\\r\\nFor everlasting bond of fellowship,\\r\\nUpon that day either prepare to die\\r\\nFor disobedience to your father’s will,\\r\\nOr else to wed Demetrius, as he would,\\r\\nOr on Diana’s altar to protest\\r\\nFor aye austerity and single life.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nRelent, sweet Hermia; and, Lysander, yield\\r\\nThy crazèd title to my certain right.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nYou have her father’s love, Demetrius.\\r\\nLet me have Hermia’s. Do you marry him.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEUS.\\r\\nScornful Lysander, true, he hath my love;\\r\\nAnd what is mine my love shall render him;\\r\\nAnd she is mine, and all my right of her\\r\\nI do estate unto Demetrius.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nI am, my lord, as well deriv’d as he,\\r\\nAs well possess’d; my love is more than his;\\r\\nMy fortunes every way as fairly rank’d,\\r\\nIf not with vantage, as Demetrius’;\\r\\nAnd, which is more than all these boasts can be,\\r\\nI am belov’d of beauteous Hermia.\\r\\nWhy should not I then prosecute my right?\\r\\nDemetrius, I’ll avouch it to his head,\\r\\nMade love to Nedar’s daughter, Helena,\\r\\nAnd won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes,\\r\\nDevoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry,\\r\\nUpon this spotted and inconstant man.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI must confess that I have heard so much,\\r\\nAnd with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof;\\r\\nBut, being over-full of self-affairs,\\r\\nMy mind did lose it.—But, Demetrius, come,\\r\\nAnd come, Egeus; you shall go with me.\\r\\nI have some private schooling for you both.—\\r\\nFor you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself\\r\\nTo fit your fancies to your father’s will,\\r\\nOr else the law of Athens yields you up\\r\\n(Which by no means we may extenuate)\\r\\nTo death, or to a vow of single life.\\r\\nCome, my Hippolyta. What cheer, my love?\\r\\nDemetrius and Egeus, go along;\\r\\nI must employ you in some business\\r\\nAgainst our nuptial, and confer with you\\r\\nOf something nearly that concerns yourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEUS.\\r\\nWith duty and desire we follow you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Lysander and Hermia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nHow now, my love? Why is your cheek so pale?\\r\\nHow chance the roses there do fade so fast?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nBelike for want of rain, which I could well\\r\\nBeteem them from the tempest of my eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nAy me! For aught that I could ever read,\\r\\nCould ever hear by tale or history,\\r\\nThe course of true love never did run smooth.\\r\\nBut either it was different in blood—\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nO cross! Too high to be enthrall’d to low.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nOr else misgraffèd in respect of years—\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nO spite! Too old to be engag’d to young.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nOr else it stood upon the choice of friends—\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nO hell! to choose love by another’s eyes!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nOr, if there were a sympathy in choice,\\r\\nWar, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,\\r\\nMaking it momentany as a sound,\\r\\nSwift as a shadow, short as any dream,\\r\\nBrief as the lightning in the collied night\\r\\nThat, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,\\r\\nAnd, ere a man hath power to say, ‘Behold!’\\r\\nThe jaws of darkness do devour it up:\\r\\nSo quick bright things come to confusion.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nIf then true lovers have ever cross’d,\\r\\nIt stands as an edict in destiny.\\r\\nThen let us teach our trial patience,\\r\\nBecause it is a customary cross,\\r\\nAs due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs,\\r\\nWishes and tears, poor fancy’s followers.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nA good persuasion; therefore, hear me, Hermia.\\r\\nI have a widow aunt, a dowager\\r\\nOf great revenue, and she hath no child.\\r\\nFrom Athens is her house remote seven leagues,\\r\\nAnd she respects me as her only son.\\r\\nThere, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee,\\r\\nAnd to that place the sharp Athenian law\\r\\nCannot pursue us. If thou lovest me then,\\r\\nSteal forth thy father’s house tomorrow night;\\r\\nAnd in the wood, a league without the town\\r\\n(Where I did meet thee once with Helena\\r\\nTo do observance to a morn of May),\\r\\nThere will I stay for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nMy good Lysander!\\r\\nI swear to thee by Cupid’s strongest bow,\\r\\nBy his best arrow with the golden head,\\r\\nBy the simplicity of Venus’ doves,\\r\\nBy that which knitteth souls and prospers loves,\\r\\nAnd by that fire which burn’d the Carthage queen\\r\\nWhen the false Trojan under sail was seen,\\r\\nBy all the vows that ever men have broke\\r\\n(In number more than ever women spoke),\\r\\nIn that same place thou hast appointed me,\\r\\nTomorrow truly will I meet with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nKeep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nGod speed fair Helena! Whither away?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nCall you me fair? That fair again unsay.\\r\\nDemetrius loves your fair. O happy fair!\\r\\nYour eyes are lode-stars and your tongue’s sweet air\\r\\nMore tuneable than lark to shepherd’s ear,\\r\\nWhen wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.\\r\\nSickness is catching. O were favour so,\\r\\nYours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go.\\r\\nMy ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye,\\r\\nMy tongue should catch your tongue’s sweet melody.\\r\\nWere the world mine, Demetrius being bated,\\r\\nThe rest I’d give to be to you translated.\\r\\nO, teach me how you look, and with what art\\r\\nYou sway the motion of Demetrius’ heart!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI frown upon him, yet he loves me still.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI give him curses, yet he gives me love.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO that my prayers could such affection move!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nThe more I hate, the more he follows me.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nThe more I love, the more he hateth me.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nHis folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nNone but your beauty; would that fault were mine!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nTake comfort: he no more shall see my face;\\r\\nLysander and myself will fly this place.\\r\\nBefore the time I did Lysander see,\\r\\nSeem’d Athens as a paradise to me.\\r\\nO, then, what graces in my love do dwell,\\r\\nThat he hath turn’d a heaven into hell!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nHelen, to you our minds we will unfold:\\r\\nTomorrow night, when Phoebe doth behold\\r\\nHer silver visage in the watery glass,\\r\\nDecking with liquid pearl the bladed grass\\r\\n(A time that lovers’ flights doth still conceal),\\r\\nThrough Athens’ gates have we devis’d to steal.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nAnd in the wood where often you and I\\r\\nUpon faint primrose beds were wont to lie,\\r\\nEmptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet,\\r\\nThere my Lysander and myself shall meet,\\r\\nAnd thence from Athens turn away our eyes,\\r\\nTo seek new friends and stranger companies.\\r\\nFarewell, sweet playfellow. Pray thou for us,\\r\\nAnd good luck grant thee thy Demetrius!\\r\\nKeep word, Lysander. We must starve our sight\\r\\nFrom lovers’ food, till morrow deep midnight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nI will, my Hermia.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Hermia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHelena, adieu.\\r\\nAs you on him, Demetrius dote on you!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lysander._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nHow happy some o’er other some can be!\\r\\nThrough Athens I am thought as fair as she.\\r\\nBut what of that? Demetrius thinks not so;\\r\\nHe will not know what all but he do know.\\r\\nAnd as he errs, doting on Hermia’s eyes,\\r\\nSo I, admiring of his qualities.\\r\\nThings base and vile, holding no quantity,\\r\\nLove can transpose to form and dignity.\\r\\nLove looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;\\r\\nAnd therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind.\\r\\nNor hath love’s mind of any judgment taste.\\r\\nWings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste.\\r\\nAnd therefore is love said to be a child,\\r\\nBecause in choice he is so oft beguil’d.\\r\\nAs waggish boys in game themselves forswear,\\r\\nSo the boy Love is perjur’d everywhere.\\r\\nFor, ere Demetrius look’d on Hermia’s eyne,\\r\\nHe hail’d down oaths that he was only mine;\\r\\nAnd when this hail some heat from Hermia felt,\\r\\nSo he dissolv’d, and showers of oaths did melt.\\r\\nI will go tell him of fair Hermia’s flight.\\r\\nThen to the wood will he tomorrow night\\r\\nPursue her; and for this intelligence\\r\\nIf I have thanks, it is a dear expense.\\r\\nBut herein mean I to enrich my pain,\\r\\nTo have his sight thither and back again.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Helena._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The Same. A Room in a Cottage\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout and Starveling.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nIs all our company here?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nYou were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the\\r\\nscrip.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nHere is the scroll of every man’s name, which is thought fit through\\r\\nall Athens, to play in our interlude before the Duke and Duchess, on\\r\\nhis wedding-day at night.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nFirst, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on; then read the\\r\\nnames of the actors; and so grow to a point.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nMarry, our play is _The most lamentable comedy and most cruel death of\\r\\nPyramus and Thisbe_.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nA very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry. Now, good Peter\\r\\nQuince, call forth your actors by the scroll. Masters, spread\\r\\nyourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nAnswer, as I call you. Nick Bottom, the weaver.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nReady. Name what part I am for, and proceed.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nYou, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWhat is Pyramus—a lover, or a tyrant?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nA lover, that kills himself most gallantly for love.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nThat will ask some tears in the true performing of it. If I do it, let\\r\\nthe audience look to their eyes. I will move storms; I will condole in\\r\\nsome measure. To the rest—yet my chief humour is for a tyrant. I could\\r\\nplay Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split.\\r\\n\\r\\n The raging rocks\\r\\n And shivering shocks\\r\\n Shall break the locks\\r\\n Of prison gates,\\r\\n And Phibbus’ car\\r\\n Shall shine from far,\\r\\n And make and mar\\r\\n The foolish Fates.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis was lofty. Now name the rest of the players. This is Ercles’ vein,\\r\\na tyrant’s vein; a lover is more condoling.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nFrancis Flute, the bellows-mender.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUTE.\\r\\nHere, Peter Quince.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nFlute, you must take Thisbe on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUTE.\\r\\nWhat is Thisbe? A wandering knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nIt is the lady that Pyramus must love.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUTE.\\r\\nNay, faith, let not me play a woman. I have a beard coming.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nThat’s all one. You shall play it in a mask, and you may speak as small\\r\\nas you will.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nAnd I may hide my face, let me play Thisbe too. I’ll speak in a\\r\\nmonstrous little voice; ‘Thisne, Thisne!’—‘Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear!\\r\\nthy Thisbe dear! and lady dear!’\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nNo, no, you must play Pyramus; and, Flute, you Thisbe.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWell, proceed.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nRobin Starveling, the tailor.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTARVELING.\\r\\nHere, Peter Quince.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nRobin Starveling, you must play Thisbe’s mother.\\r\\nTom Snout, the tinker.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNOUT\\r\\nHere, Peter Quince.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nYou, Pyramus’ father; myself, Thisbe’s father;\\r\\nSnug, the joiner, you, the lion’s part. And, I hope here is a play\\r\\nfitted.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNUG\\r\\nHave you the lion’s part written? Pray you, if it be, give it me, for I\\r\\nam slow of study.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nYou may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nLet me play the lion too. I will roar that I will do any man’s heart\\r\\ngood to hear me. I will roar that I will make the Duke say ‘Let him\\r\\nroar again, let him roar again.’\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nIf you should do it too terribly, you would fright the Duchess and the\\r\\nladies, that they would shriek; and that were enough to hang us all.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL\\r\\nThat would hang us every mother’s son.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI grant you, friends, if you should fright the ladies out of their\\r\\nwits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us. But I will\\r\\naggravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any sucking\\r\\ndove; I will roar you an ’twere any nightingale.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nYou can play no part but Pyramus, for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man; a\\r\\nproper man as one shall see in a summer’s day; a most lovely\\r\\ngentleman-like man. Therefore you must needs play Pyramus.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWell, I will undertake it. What beard were I best to play it in?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nWhy, what you will.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI will discharge it in either your straw-colour beard, your\\r\\norange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain beard, or your\\r\\nFrench-crown-colour beard, your perfect yellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nSome of your French crowns have no hair at all, and then you will play\\r\\nbare-faced. But, masters, here are your parts, and I am to entreat you,\\r\\nrequest you, and desire you, to con them by tomorrow night; and meet me\\r\\nin the palace wood, a mile without the town, by moonlight; there will\\r\\nwe rehearse, for if we meet in the city, we shall be dogg’d with\\r\\ncompany, and our devices known. In the meantime I will draw a bill of\\r\\nproperties, such as our play wants. I pray you fail me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWe will meet, and there we may rehearse most obscenely and\\r\\ncourageously. Take pains, be perfect; adieu.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nAt the Duke’s oak we meet.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nEnough. Hold, or cut bow-strings.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A wood near Athens\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Fairy at one door, and Puck at another.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nHow now, spirit! Whither wander you?\\r\\n\\r\\nFAIRY\\r\\n Over hill, over dale,\\r\\n Thorough bush, thorough brier,\\r\\n Over park, over pale,\\r\\n Thorough flood, thorough fire,\\r\\n I do wander everywhere,\\r\\n Swifter than the moon’s sphere;\\r\\n And I serve the Fairy Queen,\\r\\n To dew her orbs upon the green.\\r\\n The cowslips tall her pensioners be,\\r\\n In their gold coats spots you see;\\r\\n Those be rubies, fairy favours,\\r\\n In those freckles live their savours.\\r\\nI must go seek some dew-drops here,\\r\\nAnd hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear.\\r\\nFarewell, thou lob of spirits; I’ll be gone.\\r\\nOur Queen and all her elves come here anon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nThe King doth keep his revels here tonight;\\r\\nTake heed the Queen come not within his sight,\\r\\nFor Oberon is passing fell and wrath,\\r\\nBecause that she, as her attendant, hath\\r\\nA lovely boy, stol’n from an Indian king;\\r\\nShe never had so sweet a changeling.\\r\\nAnd jealous Oberon would have the child\\r\\nKnight of his train, to trace the forests wild:\\r\\nBut she perforce withholds the lovèd boy,\\r\\nCrowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy.\\r\\nAnd now they never meet in grove or green,\\r\\nBy fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen,\\r\\nBut they do square; that all their elves for fear\\r\\nCreep into acorn cups, and hide them there.\\r\\n\\r\\nFAIRY\\r\\nEither I mistake your shape and making quite,\\r\\nOr else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite\\r\\nCall’d Robin Goodfellow. Are not you he\\r\\nThat frights the maidens of the villagery,\\r\\nSkim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern,\\r\\nAnd bootless make the breathless housewife churn,\\r\\nAnd sometime make the drink to bear no barm,\\r\\nMislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm?\\r\\nThose that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck,\\r\\nYou do their work, and they shall have good luck.\\r\\nAre not you he?\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nThou speak’st aright;\\r\\nI am that merry wanderer of the night.\\r\\nI jest to Oberon, and make him smile,\\r\\nWhen I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,\\r\\nNeighing in likeness of a filly foal;\\r\\nAnd sometime lurk I in a gossip’s bowl\\r\\nIn very likeness of a roasted crab,\\r\\nAnd, when she drinks, against her lips I bob,\\r\\nAnd on her withered dewlap pour the ale.\\r\\nThe wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale,\\r\\nSometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me;\\r\\nThen slip I from her bum, down topples she,\\r\\nAnd ‘tailor’ cries, and falls into a cough;\\r\\nAnd then the whole quire hold their hips and loffe\\r\\nAnd waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear\\r\\nA merrier hour was never wasted there.\\r\\nBut room, fairy. Here comes Oberon.\\r\\n\\r\\nFAIRY\\r\\nAnd here my mistress. Would that he were gone!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Oberon at one door, with his Train, and Titania at another, with\\r\\n hers.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nIll met by moonlight, proud Titania.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nWhat, jealous Oberon! Fairies, skip hence;\\r\\nI have forsworn his bed and company.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nTarry, rash wanton; am not I thy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nThen I must be thy lady; but I know\\r\\nWhen thou hast stol’n away from fairyland,\\r\\nAnd in the shape of Corin sat all day\\r\\nPlaying on pipes of corn, and versing love\\r\\nTo amorous Phillida. Why art thou here,\\r\\nCome from the farthest steep of India,\\r\\nBut that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon,\\r\\nYour buskin’d mistress and your warrior love,\\r\\nTo Theseus must be wedded; and you come\\r\\nTo give their bed joy and prosperity?\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nHow canst thou thus, for shame, Titania,\\r\\nGlance at my credit with Hippolyta,\\r\\nKnowing I know thy love to Theseus?\\r\\nDidst not thou lead him through the glimmering night\\r\\nFrom Perigenia, whom he ravished?\\r\\nAnd make him with fair Aegles break his faith,\\r\\nWith Ariadne and Antiopa?\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nThese are the forgeries of jealousy:\\r\\nAnd never, since the middle summer’s spring,\\r\\nMet we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead,\\r\\nBy pavèd fountain, or by rushy brook,\\r\\nOr on the beachèd margent of the sea,\\r\\nTo dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,\\r\\nBut with thy brawls thou hast disturb’d our sport.\\r\\nTherefore the winds, piping to us in vain,\\r\\nAs in revenge, have suck’d up from the sea\\r\\nContagious fogs; which, falling in the land,\\r\\nHath every pelting river made so proud\\r\\nThat they have overborne their continents.\\r\\nThe ox hath therefore stretch’d his yoke in vain,\\r\\nThe ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn\\r\\nHath rotted ere his youth attain’d a beard.\\r\\nThe fold stands empty in the drownèd field,\\r\\nAnd crows are fatted with the murrion flock;\\r\\nThe nine-men’s-morris is fill’d up with mud,\\r\\nAnd the quaint mazes in the wanton green,\\r\\nFor lack of tread, are undistinguishable.\\r\\nThe human mortals want their winter here.\\r\\nNo night is now with hymn or carol blest.\\r\\nTherefore the moon, the governess of floods,\\r\\nPale in her anger, washes all the air,\\r\\nThat rheumatic diseases do abound.\\r\\nAnd thorough this distemperature we see\\r\\nThe seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts\\r\\nFall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose;\\r\\nAnd on old Hiems’ thin and icy crown\\r\\nAn odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds\\r\\nIs, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer,\\r\\nThe childing autumn, angry winter, change\\r\\nTheir wonted liveries; and the mazed world,\\r\\nBy their increase, now knows not which is which.\\r\\nAnd this same progeny of evils comes\\r\\nFrom our debate, from our dissension;\\r\\nWe are their parents and original.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nDo you amend it, then. It lies in you.\\r\\nWhy should Titania cross her Oberon?\\r\\nI do but beg a little changeling boy\\r\\nTo be my henchman.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nSet your heart at rest;\\r\\nThe fairyland buys not the child of me.\\r\\nHis mother was a vot’ress of my order,\\r\\nAnd in the spicèd Indian air, by night,\\r\\nFull often hath she gossip’d by my side;\\r\\nAnd sat with me on Neptune’s yellow sands,\\r\\nMarking th’ embarkèd traders on the flood,\\r\\nWhen we have laugh’d to see the sails conceive,\\r\\nAnd grow big-bellied with the wanton wind;\\r\\nWhich she, with pretty and with swimming gait\\r\\nFollowing (her womb then rich with my young squire),\\r\\nWould imitate, and sail upon the land,\\r\\nTo fetch me trifles, and return again,\\r\\nAs from a voyage, rich with merchandise.\\r\\nBut she, being mortal, of that boy did die;\\r\\nAnd for her sake do I rear up her boy,\\r\\nAnd for her sake I will not part with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nHow long within this wood intend you stay?\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nPerchance till after Theseus’ wedding-day.\\r\\nIf you will patiently dance in our round,\\r\\nAnd see our moonlight revels, go with us;\\r\\nIf not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nGive me that boy and I will go with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nNot for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away.\\r\\nWe shall chide downright if I longer stay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Titania with her Train._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nWell, go thy way. Thou shalt not from this grove\\r\\nTill I torment thee for this injury.—\\r\\nMy gentle Puck, come hither. Thou rememb’rest\\r\\nSince once I sat upon a promontory,\\r\\nAnd heard a mermaid on a dolphin’s back\\r\\nUttering such dulcet and harmonious breath\\r\\nThat the rude sea grew civil at her song\\r\\nAnd certain stars shot madly from their spheres\\r\\nTo hear the sea-maid’s music.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nI remember.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nThat very time I saw, (but thou couldst not),\\r\\nFlying between the cold moon and the earth,\\r\\nCupid all arm’d: a certain aim he took\\r\\nAt a fair vestal, thronèd by the west,\\r\\nAnd loos’d his love-shaft smartly from his bow\\r\\nAs it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts.\\r\\nBut I might see young Cupid’s fiery shaft\\r\\nQuench’d in the chaste beams of the watery moon;\\r\\nAnd the imperial votress passed on,\\r\\nIn maiden meditation, fancy-free.\\r\\nYet mark’d I where the bolt of Cupid fell:\\r\\nIt fell upon a little western flower,\\r\\nBefore milk-white, now purple with love’s wound,\\r\\nAnd maidens call it love-in-idleness.\\r\\nFetch me that flower, the herb I showed thee once:\\r\\nThe juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid\\r\\nWill make or man or woman madly dote\\r\\nUpon the next live creature that it sees.\\r\\nFetch me this herb, and be thou here again\\r\\nEre the leviathan can swim a league.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nI’ll put a girdle round about the earth\\r\\nIn forty minutes.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Puck._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nHaving once this juice,\\r\\nI’ll watch Titania when she is asleep,\\r\\nAnd drop the liquor of it in her eyes:\\r\\nThe next thing then she waking looks upon\\r\\n(Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull,\\r\\nOn meddling monkey, or on busy ape)\\r\\nShe shall pursue it with the soul of love.\\r\\nAnd ere I take this charm from off her sight\\r\\n(As I can take it with another herb)\\r\\nI’ll make her render up her page to me.\\r\\nBut who comes here? I am invisible;\\r\\nAnd I will overhear their conference.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Demetrius, Helena following him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nI love thee not, therefore pursue me not.\\r\\nWhere is Lysander and fair Hermia?\\r\\nThe one I’ll slay, the other slayeth me.\\r\\nThou told’st me they were stol’n into this wood,\\r\\nAnd here am I, and wode within this wood\\r\\nBecause I cannot meet with Hermia.\\r\\nHence, get thee gone, and follow me no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nYou draw me, you hard-hearted adamant,\\r\\nBut yet you draw not iron, for my heart\\r\\nIs true as steel. Leave you your power to draw,\\r\\nAnd I shall have no power to follow you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nDo I entice you? Do I speak you fair?\\r\\nOr rather do I not in plainest truth\\r\\nTell you I do not, nor I cannot love you?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nAnd even for that do I love you the more.\\r\\nI am your spaniel; and, Demetrius,\\r\\nThe more you beat me, I will fawn on you.\\r\\nUse me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me,\\r\\nNeglect me, lose me; only give me leave,\\r\\nUnworthy as I am, to follow you.\\r\\nWhat worser place can I beg in your love,\\r\\n(And yet a place of high respect with me)\\r\\nThan to be usèd as you use your dog?\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nTempt not too much the hatred of my spirit;\\r\\nFor I am sick when I do look on thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nAnd I am sick when I look not on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nYou do impeach your modesty too much\\r\\nTo leave the city and commit yourself\\r\\nInto the hands of one that loves you not,\\r\\nTo trust the opportunity of night.\\r\\nAnd the ill counsel of a desert place,\\r\\nWith the rich worth of your virginity.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nYour virtue is my privilege: for that.\\r\\nIt is not night when I do see your face,\\r\\nTherefore I think I am not in the night;\\r\\nNor doth this wood lack worlds of company,\\r\\nFor you, in my respect, are all the world.\\r\\nThen how can it be said I am alone\\r\\nWhen all the world is here to look on me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nI’ll run from thee and hide me in the brakes,\\r\\nAnd leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nThe wildest hath not such a heart as you.\\r\\nRun when you will, the story shall be chang’d;\\r\\nApollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase;\\r\\nThe dove pursues the griffin, the mild hind\\r\\nMakes speed to catch the tiger. Bootless speed,\\r\\nWhen cowardice pursues and valour flies!\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nI will not stay thy questions. Let me go,\\r\\nOr if thou follow me, do not believe\\r\\nBut I shall do thee mischief in the wood.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nAy, in the temple, in the town, the field,\\r\\nYou do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius!\\r\\nYour wrongs do set a scandal on my sex.\\r\\nWe cannot fight for love as men may do.\\r\\nWe should be woo’d, and were not made to woo.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Demetrius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI’ll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell,\\r\\nTo die upon the hand I love so well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Helena._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nFare thee well, nymph. Ere he do leave this grove,\\r\\nThou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck.\\r\\n\\r\\nHast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nAy, there it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nI pray thee give it me.\\r\\nI know a bank where the wild thyme blows,\\r\\nWhere oxlips and the nodding violet grows,\\r\\nQuite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,\\r\\nWith sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine.\\r\\nThere sleeps Titania sometime of the night,\\r\\nLull’d in these flowers with dances and delight;\\r\\nAnd there the snake throws her enamell’d skin,\\r\\nWeed wide enough to wrap a fairy in.\\r\\nAnd with the juice of this I’ll streak her eyes,\\r\\nAnd make her full of hateful fantasies.\\r\\nTake thou some of it, and seek through this grove:\\r\\nA sweet Athenian lady is in love\\r\\nWith a disdainful youth. Anoint his eyes;\\r\\nBut do it when the next thing he espies\\r\\nMay be the lady. Thou shalt know the man\\r\\nBy the Athenian garments he hath on.\\r\\nEffect it with some care, that he may prove\\r\\nMore fond on her than she upon her love:\\r\\nAnd look thou meet me ere the first cock crow.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nFear not, my lord, your servant shall do so.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another part of the wood\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Titania with her Train.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nCome, now a roundel and a fairy song;\\r\\nThen for the third part of a minute, hence;\\r\\nSome to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds;\\r\\nSome war with reremice for their leathern wings,\\r\\nTo make my small elves coats; and some keep back\\r\\nThe clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders\\r\\nAt our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep;\\r\\nThen to your offices, and let me rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nFairies sing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FAIRY.\\r\\n You spotted snakes with double tongue,\\r\\n Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;\\r\\n Newts and blind-worms do no wrong,\\r\\n Come not near our Fairy Queen:\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\n Philomel, with melody,\\r\\n Sing in our sweet lullaby:\\r\\nLulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby.\\r\\n Never harm, nor spell, nor charm,\\r\\n Come our lovely lady nigh;\\r\\n So good night, with lullaby.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FAIRY.\\r\\n Weaving spiders, come not here;\\r\\n Hence, you long-legg’d spinners, hence.\\r\\n Beetles black, approach not near;\\r\\n Worm nor snail do no offence.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\n Philomel with melody, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FAIRY.\\r\\nHence away! Now all is well.\\r\\nOne aloof stand sentinel.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Fairies. Titania sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Oberon.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nWhat thou seest when thou dost wake,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Squeezes the flower on Titania’s eyelids._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDo it for thy true love take;\\r\\nLove and languish for his sake.\\r\\nBe it ounce, or cat, or bear,\\r\\nPard, or boar with bristled hair,\\r\\nIn thy eye that shall appear\\r\\nWhen thou wak’st, it is thy dear.\\r\\nWake when some vile thing is near.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lysander and Hermia.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nFair love, you faint with wand’ring in the wood.\\r\\nAnd, to speak troth, I have forgot our way.\\r\\nWe’ll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good,\\r\\nAnd tarry for the comfort of the day.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nBe it so, Lysander: find you out a bed,\\r\\nFor I upon this bank will rest my head.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nOne turf shall serve as pillow for us both;\\r\\nOne heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nNay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear,\\r\\nLie further off yet, do not lie so near.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nO take the sense, sweet, of my innocence!\\r\\nLove takes the meaning in love’s conference.\\r\\nI mean that my heart unto yours is knit,\\r\\nSo that but one heart we can make of it:\\r\\nTwo bosoms interchainèd with an oath,\\r\\nSo then two bosoms and a single troth.\\r\\nThen by your side no bed-room me deny;\\r\\nFor lying so, Hermia, I do not lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nLysander riddles very prettily.\\r\\nNow much beshrew my manners and my pride,\\r\\nIf Hermia meant to say Lysander lied!\\r\\nBut, gentle friend, for love and courtesy\\r\\nLie further off, in human modesty,\\r\\nSuch separation as may well be said\\r\\nBecomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid,\\r\\nSo far be distant; and good night, sweet friend:\\r\\nThy love ne’er alter till thy sweet life end!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nAmen, amen, to that fair prayer say I;\\r\\nAnd then end life when I end loyalty!\\r\\nHere is my bed. Sleep give thee all his rest!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nWith half that wish the wisher’s eyes be pressed!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They sleep._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nThrough the forest have I gone,\\r\\nBut Athenian found I none,\\r\\nOn whose eyes I might approve\\r\\nThis flower’s force in stirring love.\\r\\nNight and silence! Who is here?\\r\\nWeeds of Athens he doth wear:\\r\\nThis is he, my master said,\\r\\nDespisèd the Athenian maid;\\r\\nAnd here the maiden, sleeping sound,\\r\\nOn the dank and dirty ground.\\r\\nPretty soul, she durst not lie\\r\\nNear this lack-love, this kill-courtesy.\\r\\nChurl, upon thy eyes I throw\\r\\nAll the power this charm doth owe;\\r\\nWhen thou wak’st let love forbid\\r\\nSleep his seat on thy eyelid.\\r\\nSo awake when I am gone;\\r\\nFor I must now to Oberon.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Demetrius and Helena, running.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nStay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nI charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO, wilt thou darkling leave me? Do not so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nStay, on thy peril; I alone will go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Demetrius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO, I am out of breath in this fond chase!\\r\\nThe more my prayer, the lesser is my grace.\\r\\nHappy is Hermia, wheresoe’er she lies,\\r\\nFor she hath blessèd and attractive eyes.\\r\\nHow came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears.\\r\\nIf so, my eyes are oftener wash’d than hers.\\r\\nNo, no, I am as ugly as a bear,\\r\\nFor beasts that meet me run away for fear:\\r\\nTherefore no marvel though Demetrius\\r\\nDo, as a monster, fly my presence thus.\\r\\nWhat wicked and dissembling glass of mine\\r\\nMade me compare with Hermia’s sphery eyne?\\r\\nBut who is here? Lysander, on the ground!\\r\\nDead or asleep? I see no blood, no wound.\\r\\nLysander, if you live, good sir, awake.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\n[_Waking._] And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake.\\r\\nTransparent Helena! Nature shows art,\\r\\nThat through thy bosom makes me see thy heart.\\r\\nWhere is Demetrius? O, how fit a word\\r\\nIs that vile name to perish on my sword!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nDo not say so, Lysander, say not so.\\r\\nWhat though he love your Hermia? Lord, what though?\\r\\nYet Hermia still loves you. Then be content.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nContent with Hermia? No, I do repent\\r\\nThe tedious minutes I with her have spent.\\r\\nNot Hermia, but Helena I love.\\r\\nWho will not change a raven for a dove?\\r\\nThe will of man is by his reason sway’d,\\r\\nAnd reason says you are the worthier maid.\\r\\nThings growing are not ripe until their season;\\r\\nSo I, being young, till now ripe not to reason;\\r\\nAnd touching now the point of human skill,\\r\\nReason becomes the marshal to my will,\\r\\nAnd leads me to your eyes, where I o’erlook\\r\\nLove’s stories, written in love’s richest book.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nWherefore was I to this keen mockery born?\\r\\nWhen at your hands did I deserve this scorn?\\r\\nIs’t not enough, is’t not enough, young man,\\r\\nThat I did never, no, nor never can\\r\\nDeserve a sweet look from Demetrius’ eye,\\r\\nBut you must flout my insufficiency?\\r\\nGood troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do,\\r\\nIn such disdainful manner me to woo.\\r\\nBut fare you well; perforce I must confess,\\r\\nI thought you lord of more true gentleness.\\r\\nO, that a lady of one man refus’d,\\r\\nShould of another therefore be abus’d!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nShe sees not Hermia. Hermia, sleep thou there,\\r\\nAnd never mayst thou come Lysander near!\\r\\nFor, as a surfeit of the sweetest things\\r\\nThe deepest loathing to the stomach brings;\\r\\nOr as the heresies that men do leave\\r\\nAre hated most of those they did deceive;\\r\\nSo thou, my surfeit and my heresy,\\r\\nOf all be hated, but the most of me!\\r\\nAnd, all my powers, address your love and might\\r\\nTo honour Helen, and to be her knight!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\n[_Starting._] Help me, Lysander, help me! Do thy best\\r\\nTo pluck this crawling serpent from my breast!\\r\\nAy me, for pity! What a dream was here!\\r\\nLysander, look how I do quake with fear.\\r\\nMethought a serpent eat my heart away,\\r\\nAnd you sat smiling at his cruel prey.\\r\\nLysander! What, removed? Lysander! lord!\\r\\nWhat, out of hearing? Gone? No sound, no word?\\r\\nAlack, where are you? Speak, and if you hear;\\r\\nSpeak, of all loves! I swoon almost with fear.\\r\\nNo? Then I well perceive you are not nigh.\\r\\nEither death or you I’ll find immediately.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Wood.\\r\\n\\r\\n The Queen of Fairies still lying asleep.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bottom, Quince, Snout, Starveling, Snug and Flute.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nAre we all met?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nPat, pat; and here’s a marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal.\\r\\nThis green plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn brake our\\r\\ntiring-house; and we will do it in action, as we will do it before the\\r\\nDuke.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nPeter Quince?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nWhat sayest thou, bully Bottom?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nThere are things in this comedy of Pyramus and Thisbe that will never\\r\\nplease. First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself; which the\\r\\nladies cannot abide. How answer you that?\\r\\n\\r\\nSNOUT\\r\\nBy’r lakin, a parlous fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTARVELING.\\r\\nI believe we must leave the killing out, when all is done.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nNot a whit; I have a device to make all well. Write me a prologue, and\\r\\nlet the prologue seem to say we will do no harm with our swords, and\\r\\nthat Pyramus is not killed indeed; and for the more better assurance,\\r\\ntell them that I Pyramus am not Pyramus but Bottom the weaver. This\\r\\nwill put them out of fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nWell, we will have such a prologue; and it shall be written in eight\\r\\nand six.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nNo, make it two more; let it be written in eight and eight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNOUT\\r\\nWill not the ladies be afeard of the lion?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTARVELING.\\r\\nI fear it, I promise you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nMasters, you ought to consider with yourselves, to bring in (God shield\\r\\nus!) a lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing. For there is not a\\r\\nmore fearful wild-fowl than your lion living; and we ought to look to\\r\\nit.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNOUT\\r\\nTherefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nNay, you must name his name, and half his face must be seen through the\\r\\nlion’s neck; and he himself must speak through, saying thus, or to the\\r\\nsame defect: ‘Ladies,’ or, ‘Fair ladies, I would wish you,’ or, ‘I\\r\\nwould request you,’ or, ’I would entreat you, not to fear, not to\\r\\ntremble: my life for yours. If you think I come hither as a lion, it\\r\\nwere pity of my life. No, I am no such thing; I am a man as other men\\r\\nare’: and there, indeed, let him name his name, and tell them plainly\\r\\nhe is Snug the joiner.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nWell, it shall be so. But there is two hard things: that is, to bring\\r\\nthe moonlight into a chamber, for you know, Pyramus and Thisbe meet by\\r\\nmoonlight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNOUT\\r\\nDoth the moon shine that night we play our play?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nA calendar, a calendar! Look in the almanack; find out moonshine, find\\r\\nout moonshine.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nYes, it doth shine that night.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWhy, then may you leave a casement of the great chamber window, where\\r\\nwe play, open; and the moon may shine in at the casement.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nAy; or else one must come in with a bush of thorns and a lantern, and\\r\\nsay he comes to disfigure or to present the person of Moonshine. Then\\r\\nthere is another thing: we must have a wall in the great chamber; for\\r\\nPyramus and Thisbe, says the story, did talk through the chink of a\\r\\nwall.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNOUT\\r\\nYou can never bring in a wall. What say you, Bottom?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nSome man or other must present Wall. And let him have some plaster, or\\r\\nsome loam, or some rough-cast about him, to signify wall; and let him\\r\\nhold his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall Pyramus and Thisbe\\r\\nwhisper.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nIf that may be, then all is well. Come, sit down, every mother’s son,\\r\\nand rehearse your parts. Pyramus, you begin: when you have spoken your\\r\\nspeech, enter into that brake; and so everyone according to his cue.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck behind.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nWhat hempen homespuns have we swaggering here,\\r\\nSo near the cradle of the Fairy Queen?\\r\\nWhat, a play toward? I’ll be an auditor;\\r\\nAn actor too perhaps, if I see cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nSpeak, Pyramus.—Thisbe, stand forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\n_Thisbe, the flowers of odious savours sweet_\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nOdours, odours.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\n_. . . odours savours sweet.\\r\\nSo hath thy breath, my dearest Thisbe dear.\\r\\nBut hark, a voice! Stay thou but here awhile,\\r\\nAnd by and by I will to thee appear._\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nA stranger Pyramus than e’er played here!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nMust I speak now?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nAy, marry, must you, For you must understand he goes but to see a noise\\r\\nthat he heard, and is to come again.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\n_Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue,\\r\\nOf colour like the red rose on triumphant brier,\\r\\nMost brisky juvenal, and eke most lovely Jew,\\r\\nAs true as truest horse, that yet would never tire,\\r\\nI’ll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny’s tomb._\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nNinus’ tomb, man! Why, you must not speak that yet. That you answer to\\r\\nPyramus. You speak all your part at once, cues, and all.—Pyramus enter!\\r\\nYour cue is past; it is ‘never tire.’\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nO, _As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire._\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck and Bottom with an ass’s head.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\n_If I were fair, Thisbe, I were only thine._\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nO monstrous! O strange! We are haunted. Pray, masters, fly, masters!\\r\\nHelp!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Clowns._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nI’ll follow you. I’ll lead you about a round,\\r\\n Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier;\\r\\nSometime a horse I’ll be, sometime a hound,\\r\\n A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire;\\r\\nAnd neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn,\\r\\nLike horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWhy do they run away? This is a knavery of them to make me afeard.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Snout.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNOUT\\r\\nO Bottom, thou art changed! What do I see on thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWhat do you see? You see an ass-head of your own, do you?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Snout._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Quince.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nBless thee, Bottom! bless thee! Thou art translated.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI see their knavery. This is to make an ass of me, to fright me, if\\r\\nthey could. But I will not stir from this place, do what they can. I\\r\\nwill walk up and down here, and I will sing, that they shall hear I am\\r\\nnot afraid.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n The ousel cock, so black of hue,\\r\\n With orange-tawny bill,\\r\\n The throstle with his note so true,\\r\\n The wren with little quill.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\n[_Waking._] What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,\\r\\n The plain-song cuckoo gray,\\r\\n Whose note full many a man doth mark,\\r\\n And dares not answer nay.\\r\\nfor, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird? Who would give\\r\\na bird the lie, though he cry ‘cuckoo’ never so?\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nI pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again.\\r\\nMine ear is much enamour’d of thy note.\\r\\nSo is mine eye enthrallèd to thy shape;\\r\\nAnd thy fair virtue’s force perforce doth move me,\\r\\nOn the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nMethinks, mistress, you should have little reason for that. And yet, to\\r\\nsay the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays.\\r\\nThe more the pity that some honest neighbours will not make them\\r\\nfriends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nThou art as wise as thou art beautiful.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nNot so, neither; but if I had wit enough to get out of this wood, I\\r\\nhave enough to serve mine own turn.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nOut of this wood do not desire to go.\\r\\nThou shalt remain here whether thou wilt or no.\\r\\nI am a spirit of no common rate.\\r\\nThe summer still doth tend upon my state;\\r\\nAnd I do love thee: therefore, go with me.\\r\\nI’ll give thee fairies to attend on thee;\\r\\nAnd they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,\\r\\nAnd sing, while thou on pressèd flowers dost sleep.\\r\\nAnd I will purge thy mortal grossness so\\r\\nThat thou shalt like an airy spirit go.—\\r\\nPeaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter four Fairies.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEASEBLOSSOM.\\r\\nReady.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBWEB.\\r\\nAnd I.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nMOTH.\\r\\nAnd I.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nMUSTARDSEED.\\r\\nAnd I.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nWhere shall we go?\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nBe kind and courteous to this gentleman;\\r\\nHop in his walks and gambol in his eyes;\\r\\nFeed him with apricocks and dewberries,\\r\\nWith purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries;\\r\\nThe honey-bags steal from the humble-bees,\\r\\nAnd for night-tapers, crop their waxen thighs,\\r\\nAnd light them at the fiery glow-worm’s eyes,\\r\\nTo have my love to bed and to arise;\\r\\nAnd pluck the wings from painted butterflies,\\r\\nTo fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.\\r\\nNod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nPEASEBLOSSOM.\\r\\nHail, mortal!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBWEB.\\r\\nHail!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nMOTH.\\r\\nHail!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nMUSTARDSEED.\\r\\nHail!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI cry your worships mercy, heartily.—I beseech your worship’s name.\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBWEB.\\r\\nCobweb.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI shall desire you of more acquaintance, good Master Cobweb. If I cut\\r\\nmy finger, I shall make bold with you.—Your name, honest gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEASEBLOSSOM.\\r\\nPeaseblossom.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI pray you, commend me to Mistress Squash, your mother, and to Master\\r\\nPeascod, your father. Good Master Peaseblossom, I shall desire you of\\r\\nmore acquaintance too.—Your name, I beseech you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nMUSTARDSEED.\\r\\nMustardseed.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nGood Master Mustardseed, I know your patience well. That same cowardly\\r\\ngiant-like ox-beef hath devoured many a gentleman of your house. I\\r\\npromise you, your kindred hath made my eyes water ere now. I desire you\\r\\nof more acquaintance, good Master Mustardseed.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nCome, wait upon him; lead him to my bower.\\r\\n The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye,\\r\\nAnd when she weeps, weeps every little flower,\\r\\n Lamenting some enforced chastity.\\r\\nTie up my love’s tongue, bring him silently.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another part of the wood\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Oberon.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nI wonder if Titania be awak’d;\\r\\nThen, what it was that next came in her eye,\\r\\nWhich she must dote on in extremity.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes my messenger. How now, mad spirit?\\r\\nWhat night-rule now about this haunted grove?\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nMy mistress with a monster is in love.\\r\\nNear to her close and consecrated bower,\\r\\nWhile she was in her dull and sleeping hour,\\r\\nA crew of patches, rude mechanicals,\\r\\nThat work for bread upon Athenian stalls,\\r\\nWere met together to rehearse a play\\r\\nIntended for great Theseus’ nuptial day.\\r\\nThe shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort\\r\\nWho Pyramus presented in their sport,\\r\\nForsook his scene and enter’d in a brake.\\r\\nWhen I did him at this advantage take,\\r\\nAn ass’s nole I fixed on his head.\\r\\nAnon, his Thisbe must be answerèd,\\r\\nAnd forth my mimic comes. When they him spy,\\r\\nAs wild geese that the creeping fowler eye,\\r\\nOr russet-pated choughs, many in sort,\\r\\nRising and cawing at the gun’s report,\\r\\nSever themselves and madly sweep the sky,\\r\\nSo at his sight away his fellows fly,\\r\\nAnd at our stamp, here o’er and o’er one falls;\\r\\nHe murder cries, and help from Athens calls.\\r\\nTheir sense thus weak, lost with their fears, thus strong,\\r\\nMade senseless things begin to do them wrong;\\r\\nFor briers and thorns at their apparel snatch;\\r\\nSome sleeves, some hats, from yielders all things catch.\\r\\nI led them on in this distracted fear,\\r\\nAnd left sweet Pyramus translated there.\\r\\nWhen in that moment, so it came to pass,\\r\\nTitania wak’d, and straightway lov’d an ass.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nThis falls out better than I could devise.\\r\\nBut hast thou yet latch’d the Athenian’s eyes\\r\\nWith the love-juice, as I did bid thee do?\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nI took him sleeping—that is finish’d too—\\r\\nAnd the Athenian woman by his side,\\r\\nThat, when he wak’d, of force she must be ey’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Demetrius and Hermia.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nStand close. This is the same Athenian.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nThis is the woman, but not this the man.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nO why rebuke you him that loves you so?\\r\\nLay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nNow I but chide, but I should use thee worse,\\r\\nFor thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse.\\r\\nIf thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep,\\r\\nBeing o’er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep,\\r\\nAnd kill me too.\\r\\nThe sun was not so true unto the day\\r\\nAs he to me. Would he have stol’n away\\r\\nFrom sleeping Hermia? I’ll believe as soon\\r\\nThis whole earth may be bor’d, and that the moon\\r\\nMay through the centre creep and so displease\\r\\nHer brother’s noontide with th’ Antipodes.\\r\\nIt cannot be but thou hast murder’d him.\\r\\nSo should a murderer look, so dead, so grim.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nSo should the murder’d look, and so should I,\\r\\nPierc’d through the heart with your stern cruelty.\\r\\nYet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear,\\r\\nAs yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nWhat’s this to my Lysander? Where is he?\\r\\nAh, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nI had rather give his carcass to my hounds.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nOut, dog! Out, cur! Thou driv’st me past the bounds\\r\\nOf maiden’s patience. Hast thou slain him, then?\\r\\nHenceforth be never number’d among men!\\r\\nO once tell true; tell true, even for my sake!\\r\\nDurst thou have look’d upon him, being awake,\\r\\nAnd hast thou kill’d him sleeping? O brave touch!\\r\\nCould not a worm, an adder, do so much?\\r\\nAn adder did it; for with doubler tongue\\r\\nThan thine, thou serpent, never adder stung.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nYou spend your passion on a mispris’d mood:\\r\\nI am not guilty of Lysander’s blood;\\r\\nNor is he dead, for aught that I can tell.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI pray thee, tell me then that he is well.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nAnd if I could, what should I get therefore?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nA privilege never to see me more.\\r\\nAnd from thy hated presence part I so:\\r\\nSee me no more, whether he be dead or no.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nThere is no following her in this fierce vein.\\r\\nHere, therefore, for a while I will remain.\\r\\nSo sorrow’s heaviness doth heavier grow\\r\\nFor debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe;\\r\\nWhich now in some slight measure it will pay,\\r\\nIf for his tender here I make some stay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Lies down._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nWhat hast thou done? Thou hast mistaken quite,\\r\\nAnd laid the love-juice on some true-love’s sight.\\r\\nOf thy misprision must perforce ensue\\r\\nSome true love turn’d, and not a false turn’d true.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nThen fate o’er-rules, that, one man holding troth,\\r\\nA million fail, confounding oath on oath.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nAbout the wood go swifter than the wind,\\r\\nAnd Helena of Athens look thou find.\\r\\nAll fancy-sick she is, and pale of cheer\\r\\nWith sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood dear.\\r\\nBy some illusion see thou bring her here;\\r\\nI’ll charm his eyes against she do appear.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nI go, I go; look how I go,\\r\\nSwifter than arrow from the Tartar’s bow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\n Flower of this purple dye,\\r\\n Hit with Cupid’s archery,\\r\\n Sink in apple of his eye.\\r\\n When his love he doth espy,\\r\\n Let her shine as gloriously\\r\\n As the Venus of the sky.—\\r\\n When thou wak’st, if she be by,\\r\\n Beg of her for remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n Captain of our fairy band,\\r\\n Helena is here at hand,\\r\\n And the youth mistook by me,\\r\\n Pleading for a lover’s fee.\\r\\n Shall we their fond pageant see?\\r\\n Lord, what fools these mortals be!\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\n Stand aside. The noise they make\\r\\n Will cause Demetrius to awake.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n Then will two at once woo one.\\r\\n That must needs be sport alone;\\r\\n And those things do best please me\\r\\n That befall prepost’rously.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lysander and Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nWhy should you think that I should woo in scorn?\\r\\nScorn and derision never come in tears.\\r\\nLook when I vow, I weep; and vows so born,\\r\\nIn their nativity all truth appears.\\r\\nHow can these things in me seem scorn to you,\\r\\nBearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nYou do advance your cunning more and more.\\r\\nWhen truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray!\\r\\nThese vows are Hermia’s: will you give her o’er?\\r\\nWeigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh:\\r\\nYour vows to her and me, put in two scales,\\r\\nWill even weigh; and both as light as tales.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nI had no judgment when to her I swore.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nNor none, in my mind, now you give her o’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nDemetrius loves her, and he loves not you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\n[_Waking._] O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine!\\r\\nTo what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne?\\r\\nCrystal is muddy. O how ripe in show\\r\\nThy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!\\r\\nThat pure congealèd white, high Taurus’ snow,\\r\\nFann’d with the eastern wind, turns to a crow\\r\\nWhen thou hold’st up thy hand. O, let me kiss\\r\\nThis princess of pure white, this seal of bliss!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO spite! O hell! I see you all are bent\\r\\nTo set against me for your merriment.\\r\\nIf you were civil, and knew courtesy,\\r\\nYou would not do me thus much injury.\\r\\nCan you not hate me, as I know you do,\\r\\nBut you must join in souls to mock me too?\\r\\nIf you were men, as men you are in show,\\r\\nYou would not use a gentle lady so;\\r\\nTo vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts,\\r\\nWhen I am sure you hate me with your hearts.\\r\\nYou both are rivals, and love Hermia;\\r\\nAnd now both rivals, to mock Helena.\\r\\nA trim exploit, a manly enterprise,\\r\\nTo conjure tears up in a poor maid’s eyes\\r\\nWith your derision! None of noble sort\\r\\nWould so offend a virgin, and extort\\r\\nA poor soul’s patience, all to make you sport.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nYou are unkind, Demetrius; be not so,\\r\\nFor you love Hermia; this you know I know.\\r\\nAnd here, with all good will, with all my heart,\\r\\nIn Hermia’s love I yield you up my part;\\r\\nAnd yours of Helena to me bequeath,\\r\\nWhom I do love and will do till my death.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nNever did mockers waste more idle breath.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nLysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none.\\r\\nIf e’er I lov’d her, all that love is gone.\\r\\nMy heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn’d;\\r\\nAnd now to Helen is it home return’d,\\r\\nThere to remain.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nHelen, it is not so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nDisparage not the faith thou dost not know,\\r\\nLest to thy peril thou aby it dear.\\r\\nLook where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hermia.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nDark night, that from the eye his function takes,\\r\\nThe ear more quick of apprehension makes;\\r\\nWherein it doth impair the seeing sense,\\r\\nIt pays the hearing double recompense.\\r\\nThou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found;\\r\\nMine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound.\\r\\nBut why unkindly didst thou leave me so?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nWhy should he stay whom love doth press to go?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nWhat love could press Lysander from my side?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nLysander’s love, that would not let him bide,\\r\\nFair Helena, who more engilds the night\\r\\nThan all yon fiery oes and eyes of light.\\r\\nWhy seek’st thou me? Could not this make thee know\\r\\nThe hate I bare thee made me leave thee so?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nYou speak not as you think; it cannot be.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nLo, she is one of this confederacy!\\r\\nNow I perceive they have conjoin’d all three\\r\\nTo fashion this false sport in spite of me.\\r\\nInjurious Hermia, most ungrateful maid!\\r\\nHave you conspir’d, have you with these contriv’d,\\r\\nTo bait me with this foul derision?\\r\\nIs all the counsel that we two have shar’d,\\r\\nThe sisters’ vows, the hours that we have spent,\\r\\nWhen we have chid the hasty-footed time\\r\\nFor parting us—O, is all forgot?\\r\\nAll school-days’ friendship, childhood innocence?\\r\\nWe, Hermia, like two artificial gods,\\r\\nHave with our needles created both one flower,\\r\\nBoth on one sampler, sitting on one cushion,\\r\\nBoth warbling of one song, both in one key,\\r\\nAs if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds,\\r\\nHad been incorporate. So we grew together,\\r\\nLike to a double cherry, seeming parted,\\r\\nBut yet a union in partition,\\r\\nTwo lovely berries moulded on one stem;\\r\\nSo, with two seeming bodies, but one heart;\\r\\nTwo of the first, like coats in heraldry,\\r\\nDue but to one, and crownèd with one crest.\\r\\nAnd will you rent our ancient love asunder,\\r\\nTo join with men in scorning your poor friend?\\r\\nIt is not friendly, ’tis not maidenly.\\r\\nOur sex, as well as I, may chide you for it,\\r\\nThough I alone do feel the injury.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI am amazèd at your passionate words:\\r\\nI scorn you not; it seems that you scorn me.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nHave you not set Lysander, as in scorn,\\r\\nTo follow me, and praise my eyes and face?\\r\\nAnd made your other love, Demetrius,\\r\\nWho even but now did spurn me with his foot,\\r\\nTo call me goddess, nymph, divine and rare,\\r\\nPrecious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this\\r\\nTo her he hates? And wherefore doth Lysander\\r\\nDeny your love, so rich within his soul,\\r\\nAnd tender me, forsooth, affection,\\r\\nBut by your setting on, by your consent?\\r\\nWhat though I be not so in grace as you,\\r\\nSo hung upon with love, so fortunate,\\r\\nBut miserable most, to love unlov’d?\\r\\nThis you should pity rather than despise.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI understand not what you mean by this.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nAy, do. Persever, counterfeit sad looks,\\r\\nMake mouths upon me when I turn my back,\\r\\nWink each at other; hold the sweet jest up.\\r\\nThis sport, well carried, shall be chronicled.\\r\\nIf you have any pity, grace, or manners,\\r\\nYou would not make me such an argument.\\r\\nBut fare ye well. ’Tis partly my own fault,\\r\\nWhich death, or absence, soon shall remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nStay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse;\\r\\nMy love, my life, my soul, fair Helena!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO excellent!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nSweet, do not scorn her so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nIf she cannot entreat, I can compel.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nThou canst compel no more than she entreat;\\r\\nThy threats have no more strength than her weak prayers.\\r\\nHelen, I love thee, by my life I do;\\r\\nI swear by that which I will lose for thee\\r\\nTo prove him false that says I love thee not.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nI say I love thee more than he can do.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nIf thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nQuick, come.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nLysander, whereto tends all this?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nAway, you Ethiope!\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nNo, no. He will\\r\\nSeem to break loose. Take on as you would follow,\\r\\nBut yet come not. You are a tame man, go!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nHang off, thou cat, thou burr! Vile thing, let loose,\\r\\nOr I will shake thee from me like a serpent.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nWhy are you grown so rude? What change is this,\\r\\nSweet love?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nThy love? Out, tawny Tartar, out!\\r\\nOut, loathèd medicine! O hated potion, hence!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nDo you not jest?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nYes, sooth, and so do you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nDemetrius, I will keep my word with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nI would I had your bond; for I perceive\\r\\nA weak bond holds you; I’ll not trust your word.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nWhat, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead?\\r\\nAlthough I hate her, I’ll not harm her so.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nWhat, can you do me greater harm than hate?\\r\\nHate me? Wherefore? O me! what news, my love?\\r\\nAm not I Hermia? Are not you Lysander?\\r\\nI am as fair now as I was erewhile.\\r\\nSince night you lov’d me; yet since night you left me.\\r\\nWhy then, you left me—O, the gods forbid!—\\r\\nIn earnest, shall I say?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nAy, by my life;\\r\\nAnd never did desire to see thee more.\\r\\nTherefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt;\\r\\nBe certain, nothing truer; ’tis no jest\\r\\nThat I do hate thee and love Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nO me! You juggler! You cankerblossom!\\r\\nYou thief of love! What! have you come by night\\r\\nAnd stol’n my love’s heart from him?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nFine, i’ faith!\\r\\nHave you no modesty, no maiden shame,\\r\\nNo touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear\\r\\nImpatient answers from my gentle tongue?\\r\\nFie, fie, you counterfeit, you puppet, you!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nPuppet! Why so? Ay, that way goes the game.\\r\\nNow I perceive that she hath made compare\\r\\nBetween our statures; she hath urg’d her height;\\r\\nAnd with her personage, her tall personage,\\r\\nHer height, forsooth, she hath prevail’d with him.\\r\\nAnd are you grown so high in his esteem\\r\\nBecause I am so dwarfish and so low?\\r\\nHow low am I, thou painted maypole? Speak,\\r\\nHow low am I? I am not yet so low\\r\\nBut that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nI pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen,\\r\\nLet her not hurt me. I was never curst;\\r\\nI have no gift at all in shrewishness;\\r\\nI am a right maid for my cowardice;\\r\\nLet her not strike me. You perhaps may think,\\r\\nBecause she is something lower than myself,\\r\\nThat I can match her.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nLower! Hark, again.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nGood Hermia, do not be so bitter with me.\\r\\nI evermore did love you, Hermia,\\r\\nDid ever keep your counsels, never wrong’d you,\\r\\nSave that, in love unto Demetrius,\\r\\nI told him of your stealth unto this wood.\\r\\nHe follow’d you; for love I follow’d him;\\r\\nBut he hath chid me hence, and threaten’d me\\r\\nTo strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too:\\r\\nAnd now, so you will let me quiet go,\\r\\nTo Athens will I bear my folly back,\\r\\nAnd follow you no further. Let me go:\\r\\nYou see how simple and how fond I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nWhy, get you gone. Who is’t that hinders you?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nA foolish heart that I leave here behind.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nWhat! with Lysander?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nWith Demetrius.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nBe not afraid; she shall not harm thee, Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nNo, sir, she shall not, though you take her part.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO, when she’s angry, she is keen and shrewd.\\r\\nShe was a vixen when she went to school,\\r\\nAnd though she be but little, she is fierce.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nLittle again! Nothing but low and little?\\r\\nWhy will you suffer her to flout me thus?\\r\\nLet me come to her.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nGet you gone, you dwarf;\\r\\nYou minimus, of hind’ring knot-grass made;\\r\\nYou bead, you acorn.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nYou are too officious\\r\\nIn her behalf that scorns your services.\\r\\nLet her alone. Speak not of Helena;\\r\\nTake not her part; for if thou dost intend\\r\\nNever so little show of love to her,\\r\\nThou shalt aby it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nNow she holds me not.\\r\\nNow follow, if thou dar’st, to try whose right,\\r\\nOf thine or mine, is most in Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nFollow! Nay, I’ll go with thee, cheek by jole.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lysander and Demetrius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nYou, mistress, all this coil is long of you.\\r\\nNay, go not back.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nI will not trust you, I,\\r\\nNor longer stay in your curst company.\\r\\nYour hands than mine are quicker for a fray.\\r\\nMy legs are longer though, to run away.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nI am amaz’d, and know not what to say.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit, pursuing Helena._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nThis is thy negligence: still thou mistak’st,\\r\\nOr else commit’st thy knaveries willfully.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nBelieve me, king of shadows, I mistook.\\r\\nDid not you tell me I should know the man\\r\\nBy the Athenian garments he had on?\\r\\nAnd so far blameless proves my enterprise\\r\\nThat I have ’nointed an Athenian’s eyes:\\r\\nAnd so far am I glad it so did sort,\\r\\nAs this their jangling I esteem a sport.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nThou seest these lovers seek a place to fight.\\r\\nHie therefore, Robin, overcast the night;\\r\\nThe starry welkin cover thou anon\\r\\nWith drooping fog, as black as Acheron,\\r\\nAnd lead these testy rivals so astray\\r\\nAs one come not within another’s way.\\r\\nLike to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue,\\r\\nThen stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong;\\r\\nAnd sometime rail thou like Demetrius.\\r\\nAnd from each other look thou lead them thus,\\r\\nTill o’er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep\\r\\nWith leaden legs and batty wings doth creep.\\r\\nThen crush this herb into Lysander’s eye,\\r\\nWhose liquor hath this virtuous property,\\r\\nTo take from thence all error with his might\\r\\nAnd make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight.\\r\\nWhen they next wake, all this derision\\r\\nShall seem a dream and fruitless vision;\\r\\nAnd back to Athens shall the lovers wend,\\r\\nWith league whose date till death shall never end.\\r\\nWhiles I in this affair do thee employ,\\r\\nI’ll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy;\\r\\nAnd then I will her charmèd eye release\\r\\nFrom monster’s view, and all things shall be peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nMy fairy lord, this must be done with haste,\\r\\nFor night’s swift dragons cut the clouds full fast;\\r\\nAnd yonder shines Aurora’s harbinger,\\r\\nAt whose approach, ghosts wandering here and there\\r\\nTroop home to churchyards. Damnèd spirits all,\\r\\nThat in cross-ways and floods have burial,\\r\\nAlready to their wormy beds are gone;\\r\\nFor fear lest day should look their shames upon,\\r\\nThey wilfully themselves exile from light,\\r\\nAnd must for aye consort with black-brow’d night.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nBut we are spirits of another sort:\\r\\nI with the morning’s love have oft made sport;\\r\\nAnd, like a forester, the groves may tread\\r\\nEven till the eastern gate, all fiery-red,\\r\\nOpening on Neptune with fair blessèd beams,\\r\\nTurns into yellow gold his salt-green streams.\\r\\nBut, notwithstanding, haste, make no delay.\\r\\nWe may effect this business yet ere day.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Oberon._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n Up and down, up and down,\\r\\n I will lead them up and down.\\r\\n I am fear’d in field and town.\\r\\n Goblin, lead them up and down.\\r\\nHere comes one.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lysander.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nWhere art thou, proud Demetrius? Speak thou now.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nHere, villain, drawn and ready. Where art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nI will be with thee straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nFollow me then to plainer ground.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lysander as following the voice._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Demetrius.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nLysander, speak again.\\r\\nThou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled?\\r\\nSpeak. In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy head?\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nThou coward, art thou bragging to the stars,\\r\\nTelling the bushes that thou look’st for wars,\\r\\nAnd wilt not come? Come, recreant, come, thou child!\\r\\nI’ll whip thee with a rod. He is defil’d\\r\\nThat draws a sword on thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nYea, art thou there?\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nFollow my voice; we’ll try no manhood here.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lysander.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nHe goes before me, and still dares me on;\\r\\nWhen I come where he calls, then he is gone.\\r\\nThe villain is much lighter-heel’d than I:\\r\\nI follow’d fast, but faster he did fly,\\r\\nThat fallen am I in dark uneven way,\\r\\nAnd here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day!\\r\\n[_Lies down._] For if but once thou show me thy grey light,\\r\\nI’ll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck and Demetrius.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nHo, ho, ho! Coward, why com’st thou not?\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nAbide me, if thou dar’st; for well I wot\\r\\nThou runn’st before me, shifting every place,\\r\\nAnd dar’st not stand, nor look me in the face.\\r\\nWhere art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nCome hither; I am here.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nNay, then, thou mock’st me. Thou shalt buy this dear\\r\\nIf ever I thy face by daylight see:\\r\\nNow go thy way. Faintness constraineth me\\r\\nTo measure out my length on this cold bed.\\r\\nBy day’s approach look to be visited.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Lies down and sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nO weary night, O long and tedious night,\\r\\n Abate thy hours! Shine, comforts, from the east,\\r\\nThat I may back to Athens by daylight,\\r\\n From these that my poor company detest.\\r\\nAnd sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow’s eye,\\r\\nSteal me awhile from mine own company.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n Yet but three? Come one more.\\r\\n Two of both kinds makes up four.\\r\\n Here she comes, curst and sad.\\r\\n Cupid is a knavish lad\\r\\n Thus to make poor females mad.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hermia.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nNever so weary, never so in woe,\\r\\n Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers,\\r\\nI can no further crawl, no further go;\\r\\n My legs can keep no pace with my desires.\\r\\nHere will I rest me till the break of day.\\r\\nHeavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Lies down._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n On the ground\\r\\n Sleep sound.\\r\\n I’ll apply\\r\\n To your eye,\\r\\n Gentle lover, remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Squeezing the juice on Lysander’s eye._]\\r\\n\\r\\n When thou wak’st,\\r\\n Thou tak’st\\r\\n True delight\\r\\n In the sight\\r\\n Of thy former lady’s eye.\\r\\n And the country proverb known,\\r\\n That every man should take his own,\\r\\n In your waking shall be shown:\\r\\n Jack shall have Jill;\\r\\n Nought shall go ill;\\r\\nThe man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Puck._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Wood\\r\\n\\r\\n Lysander, Demetrius, Helena and Hermia still asleep.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Titania and Bottom; Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth, Mustardseed and\\r\\n other Fairies attending; Oberon behind, unseen.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nCome, sit thee down upon this flowery bed,\\r\\n While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,\\r\\nAnd stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head,\\r\\n And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWhere’s Peaseblossom?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEASEBLOSSOM.\\r\\nReady.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nScratch my head, Peaseblossom. Where’s Monsieur Cobweb?\\r\\n\\r\\nCOBWEB.\\r\\nReady.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nMonsieur Cobweb; good monsieur, get you your weapons in your hand and\\r\\nkill me a red-hipped humble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good\\r\\nmonsieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret yourself too much in the\\r\\naction, monsieur; and, good monsieur, have a care the honey-bag break\\r\\nnot; I would be loath to have you overflown with a honey-bag, signior.\\r\\nWhere’s Monsieur Mustardseed?\\r\\n\\r\\nMUSTARDSEED.\\r\\nReady.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nGive me your neaf, Monsieur Mustardseed. Pray you, leave your courtesy,\\r\\ngood monsieur.\\r\\n\\r\\nMUSTARDSEED.\\r\\nWhat’s your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nNothing, good monsieur, but to help Cavalery Cobweb to scratch. I must\\r\\nto the barber’s, monsieur, for methinks I am marvellous hairy about the\\r\\nface; and I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must\\r\\nscratch.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nWhat, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI have a reasonable good ear in music. Let us have the tongs and the\\r\\nbones.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nOr say, sweet love, what thou desirest to eat.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nTruly, a peck of provender; I could munch your good dry oats. Methinks\\r\\nI have a great desire to a bottle of hay: good hay, sweet hay, hath no\\r\\nfellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nI have a venturous fairy that shall seek\\r\\nThe squirrel’s hoard, and fetch thee new nuts.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nI had rather have a handful or two of dried peas. But, I pray you, let\\r\\nnone of your people stir me; I have an exposition of sleep come upon\\r\\nme.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nSleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms.\\r\\nFairies, be gone, and be all ways away.\\r\\nSo doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle\\r\\nGently entwist, the female ivy so\\r\\nEnrings the barky fingers of the elm.\\r\\nO, how I love thee! How I dote on thee!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They sleep._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Oberon advances. Enter Puck.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nWelcome, good Robin. Seest thou this sweet sight?\\r\\nHer dotage now I do begin to pity.\\r\\nFor, meeting her of late behind the wood,\\r\\nSeeking sweet favours for this hateful fool,\\r\\nI did upbraid her and fall out with her:\\r\\nFor she his hairy temples then had rounded\\r\\nWith coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers;\\r\\nAnd that same dew, which sometime on the buds\\r\\nWas wont to swell like round and orient pearls,\\r\\nStood now within the pretty flouriets’ eyes,\\r\\nLike tears that did their own disgrace bewail.\\r\\nWhen I had at my pleasure taunted her,\\r\\nAnd she in mild terms begg’d my patience,\\r\\nI then did ask of her her changeling child;\\r\\nWhich straight she gave me, and her fairy sent\\r\\nTo bear him to my bower in fairyland.\\r\\nAnd now I have the boy, I will undo\\r\\nThis hateful imperfection of her eyes.\\r\\nAnd, gentle Puck, take this transformèd scalp\\r\\nFrom off the head of this Athenian swain,\\r\\nThat he awaking when the other do,\\r\\nMay all to Athens back again repair,\\r\\nAnd think no more of this night’s accidents\\r\\nBut as the fierce vexation of a dream.\\r\\nBut first I will release the Fairy Queen.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Touching her eyes with an herb._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Be as thou wast wont to be;\\r\\n See as thou was wont to see.\\r\\n Dian’s bud o’er Cupid’s flower\\r\\n Hath such force and blessed power.\\r\\nNow, my Titania, wake you, my sweet queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nMy Oberon, what visions have I seen!\\r\\nMethought I was enamour’d of an ass.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nThere lies your love.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nHow came these things to pass?\\r\\nO, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now!\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nSilence awhile.—Robin, take off this head.\\r\\nTitania, music call; and strike more dead\\r\\nThan common sleep, of all these five the sense.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\nMusic, ho, music, such as charmeth sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\nNow when thou wak’st, with thine own fool’s eyes peep.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\nSound, music.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Still mucic._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, my queen, take hands with me,\\r\\nAnd rock the ground whereon these sleepers be.\\r\\nNow thou and I are new in amity,\\r\\nAnd will tomorrow midnight solemnly\\r\\nDance in Duke Theseus’ house triumphantly,\\r\\nAnd bless it to all fair prosperity:\\r\\nThere shall the pairs of faithful lovers be\\r\\nWedded, with Theseus, all in jollity.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n Fairy king, attend and mark.\\r\\n I do hear the morning lark.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\n Then, my queen, in silence sad,\\r\\n Trip we after night’s shade.\\r\\n We the globe can compass soon,\\r\\n Swifter than the wand’ring moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\n Come, my lord, and in our flight,\\r\\n Tell me how it came this night\\r\\n That I sleeping here was found\\r\\n With these mortals on the ground.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt. Horns sound within._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus and Train.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nGo, one of you, find out the forester;\\r\\nFor now our observation is perform’d;\\r\\nAnd since we have the vaward of the day,\\r\\nMy love shall hear the music of my hounds.\\r\\nUncouple in the western valley; let them go.\\r\\nDispatch I say, and find the forester.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit an Attendant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWe will, fair queen, up to the mountain’s top,\\r\\nAnd mark the musical confusion\\r\\nOf hounds and echo in conjunction.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nI was with Hercules and Cadmus once,\\r\\nWhen in a wood of Crete they bay’d the bear\\r\\nWith hounds of Sparta. Never did I hear\\r\\nSuch gallant chiding; for, besides the groves,\\r\\nThe skies, the fountains, every region near\\r\\nSeem’d all one mutual cry. I never heard\\r\\nSo musical a discord, such sweet thunder.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nMy hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind,\\r\\nSo flew’d, so sanded; and their heads are hung\\r\\nWith ears that sweep away the morning dew;\\r\\nCrook-knee’d and dewlap’d like Thessalian bulls;\\r\\nSlow in pursuit, but match’d in mouth like bells,\\r\\nEach under each. A cry more tuneable\\r\\nWas never holla’d to, nor cheer’d with horn,\\r\\nIn Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly.\\r\\nJudge when you hear.—But, soft, what nymphs are these?\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEUS.\\r\\nMy lord, this is my daughter here asleep,\\r\\nAnd this Lysander; this Demetrius is;\\r\\nThis Helena, old Nedar’s Helena:\\r\\nI wonder of their being here together.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNo doubt they rose up early to observe\\r\\nThe rite of May; and, hearing our intent,\\r\\nCame here in grace of our solemnity.\\r\\nBut speak, Egeus; is not this the day\\r\\nThat Hermia should give answer of her choice?\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEUS.\\r\\nIt is, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nGo, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns.\\r\\n\\r\\n Horns, and shout within. Demetrius, Lysander, Hermia and Helena wake\\r\\n and start up.\\r\\n\\r\\nGood morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past.\\r\\nBegin these wood-birds but to couple now?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nPardon, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n He and the rest kneel to Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI pray you all, stand up.\\r\\nI know you two are rival enemies.\\r\\nHow comes this gentle concord in the world,\\r\\nThat hatred is so far from jealousy\\r\\nTo sleep by hate, and fear no enmity?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nMy lord, I shall reply amazedly,\\r\\nHalf sleep, half waking; but as yet, I swear,\\r\\nI cannot truly say how I came here.\\r\\nBut, as I think (for truly would I speak)\\r\\nAnd now I do bethink me, so it is:\\r\\nI came with Hermia hither. Our intent\\r\\nWas to be gone from Athens, where we might be,\\r\\nWithout the peril of the Athenian law.\\r\\n\\r\\nEGEUS.\\r\\nEnough, enough, my lord; you have enough.\\r\\nI beg the law, the law upon his head.\\r\\nThey would have stol’n away, they would, Demetrius,\\r\\nThereby to have defeated you and me:\\r\\nYou of your wife, and me of my consent,\\r\\nOf my consent that she should be your wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nMy lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth,\\r\\nOf this their purpose hither to this wood;\\r\\nAnd I in fury hither follow’d them,\\r\\nFair Helena in fancy following me.\\r\\nBut, my good lord, I wot not by what power,\\r\\n(But by some power it is) my love to Hermia,\\r\\nMelted as the snow, seems to me now\\r\\nAs the remembrance of an idle gaud\\r\\nWhich in my childhood I did dote upon;\\r\\nAnd all the faith, the virtue of my heart,\\r\\nThe object and the pleasure of mine eye,\\r\\nIs only Helena. To her, my lord,\\r\\nWas I betroth’d ere I saw Hermia.\\r\\nBut like a sickness did I loathe this food.\\r\\nBut, as in health, come to my natural taste,\\r\\nNow I do wish it, love it, long for it,\\r\\nAnd will for evermore be true to it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nFair lovers, you are fortunately met.\\r\\nOf this discourse we more will hear anon.\\r\\nEgeus, I will overbear your will;\\r\\nFor in the temple, by and by with us,\\r\\nThese couples shall eternally be knit.\\r\\nAnd, for the morning now is something worn,\\r\\nOur purpos’d hunting shall be set aside.\\r\\nAway with us to Athens. Three and three,\\r\\nWe’ll hold a feast in great solemnity.\\r\\nCome, Hippolyta.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus and Train._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nThese things seem small and undistinguishable,\\r\\nLike far-off mountains turnèd into clouds.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nMethinks I see these things with parted eye,\\r\\nWhen everything seems double.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nSo methinks.\\r\\nAnd I have found Demetrius like a jewel,\\r\\nMine own, and not mine own.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nAre you sure\\r\\nThat we are awake? It seems to me\\r\\nThat yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think\\r\\nThe Duke was here, and bid us follow him?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIA.\\r\\nYea, and my father.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENA.\\r\\nAnd Hippolyta.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nAnd he did bid us follow to the temple.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nWhy, then, we are awake: let’s follow him,\\r\\nAnd by the way let us recount our dreams.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\n[_Waking._] When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer. My next is\\r\\n‘Most fair Pyramus.’ Heigh-ho! Peter Quince! Flute, the bellows-mender!\\r\\nSnout, the tinker! Starveling! God’s my life! Stol’n hence, and left me\\r\\nasleep! I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit\\r\\nof man to say what dream it was. Man is but an ass if he go about to\\r\\nexpound this dream. Methought I was—there is no man can tell what.\\r\\nMethought I was, and methought I had—but man is but a patched fool if\\r\\nhe will offer to say what methought I had. The eye of man hath not\\r\\nheard, the ear of man hath not seen, man’s hand is not able to taste,\\r\\nhis tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I\\r\\nwill get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream: it shall be\\r\\ncalled ‘Bottom’s Dream’, because it hath no bottom; and I will sing it\\r\\nin the latter end of a play, before the Duke. Peradventure, to make it\\r\\nthe more gracious, I shall sing it at her death.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Athens. A Room in Quince’s House\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Quince, Flute, Snout and Starveling.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nHave you sent to Bottom’s house? Is he come home yet?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTARVELING.\\r\\nHe cannot be heard of. Out of doubt he is transported.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUTE.\\r\\nIf he come not, then the play is marred. It goes not forward, doth it?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nIt is not possible. You have not a man in all Athens able to discharge\\r\\nPyramus but he.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUTE.\\r\\nNo, he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft man in Athens.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nYea, and the best person too, and he is a very paramour for a sweet\\r\\nvoice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUTE.\\r\\nYou must say paragon. A paramour is, God bless us, a thing of naught.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Snug.\\r\\n\\r\\nSNUG\\r\\nMasters, the Duke is coming from the temple, and there is two or three\\r\\nlords and ladies more married. If our sport had gone forward, we had\\r\\nall been made men.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLUTE.\\r\\nO sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost sixpence a day during his life;\\r\\nhe could not have ’scaped sixpence a day. An the Duke had not given him\\r\\nsixpence a day for playing Pyramus, I’ll be hanged. He would have\\r\\ndeserved it: sixpence a day in Pyramus, or nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bottom.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nWhere are these lads? Where are these hearts?\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nBottom! O most courageous day! O most happy hour!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nMasters, I am to discourse wonders: but ask me not what; for if I tell\\r\\nyou, I am not true Athenian. I will tell you everything, right as it\\r\\nfell out.\\r\\n\\r\\nQUINCE.\\r\\nLet us hear, sweet Bottom.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nNot a word of me. All that I will tell you is, that the Duke hath\\r\\ndined. Get your apparel together, good strings to your beards, new\\r\\nribbons to your pumps; meet presently at the palace; every man look\\r\\no’er his part. For the short and the long is, our play is preferred. In\\r\\nany case, let Thisbe have clean linen; and let not him that plays the\\r\\nlion pare his nails, for they shall hang out for the lion’s claws. And\\r\\nmost dear actors, eat no onions nor garlick, for we are to utter sweet\\r\\nbreath; and I do not doubt but to hear them say it is a sweet comedy.\\r\\nNo more words. Away! Go, away!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Athens. An Apartment in the Palace of Theseus\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, Lords and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\n’Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak of.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nMore strange than true. I never may believe\\r\\nThese antique fables, nor these fairy toys.\\r\\nLovers and madmen have such seething brains,\\r\\nSuch shaping fantasies, that apprehend\\r\\nMore than cool reason ever comprehends.\\r\\nThe lunatic, the lover, and the poet\\r\\nAre of imagination all compact:\\r\\nOne sees more devils than vast hell can hold;\\r\\nThat is the madman: the lover, all as frantic,\\r\\nSees Helen’s beauty in a brow of Egypt:\\r\\nThe poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,\\r\\nDoth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;\\r\\nAnd as imagination bodies forth\\r\\nThe forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen\\r\\nTurns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing\\r\\nA local habitation and a name.\\r\\nSuch tricks hath strong imagination,\\r\\nThat if it would but apprehend some joy,\\r\\nIt comprehends some bringer of that joy.\\r\\nOr in the night, imagining some fear,\\r\\nHow easy is a bush supposed a bear?\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nBut all the story of the night told over,\\r\\nAnd all their minds transfigur’d so together,\\r\\nMore witnesseth than fancy’s images,\\r\\nAnd grows to something of great constancy;\\r\\nBut, howsoever, strange and admirable.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter lovers: Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia and Helena.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nHere come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.\\r\\nJoy, gentle friends, joy and fresh days of love\\r\\nAccompany your hearts!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nMore than to us\\r\\nWait in your royal walks, your board, your bed!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nCome now; what masques, what dances shall we have,\\r\\nTo wear away this long age of three hours\\r\\nBetween our after-supper and bed-time?\\r\\nWhere is our usual manager of mirth?\\r\\nWhat revels are in hand? Is there no play\\r\\nTo ease the anguish of a torturing hour?\\r\\nCall Philostrate.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILOSTRATE.\\r\\nHere, mighty Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSay, what abridgment have you for this evening?\\r\\nWhat masque? What music? How shall we beguile\\r\\nThe lazy time, if not with some delight?\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILOSTRATE.\\r\\nThere is a brief how many sports are ripe.\\r\\nMake choice of which your Highness will see first.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Giving a paper._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\n[_Reads_] ‘The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung\\r\\nBy an Athenian eunuch to the harp.’\\r\\nWe’ll none of that. That have I told my love\\r\\nIn glory of my kinsman Hercules.\\r\\n‘The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals,\\r\\nTearing the Thracian singer in their rage?’\\r\\nThat is an old device, and it was play’d\\r\\nWhen I from Thebes came last a conqueror.\\r\\n‘The thrice three Muses mourning for the death\\r\\nOf learning, late deceas’d in beggary.’\\r\\nThat is some satire, keen and critical,\\r\\nNot sorting with a nuptial ceremony.\\r\\n‘A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus\\r\\nAnd his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth.’\\r\\nMerry and tragical? Tedious and brief?\\r\\nThat is hot ice and wondrous strange snow.\\r\\nHow shall we find the concord of this discord?\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILOSTRATE.\\r\\nA play there is, my lord, some ten words long,\\r\\nWhich is as brief as I have known a play;\\r\\nBut by ten words, my lord, it is too long,\\r\\nWhich makes it tedious. For in all the play\\r\\nThere is not one word apt, one player fitted.\\r\\nAnd tragical, my noble lord, it is.\\r\\nFor Pyramus therein doth kill himself,\\r\\nWhich, when I saw rehears’d, I must confess,\\r\\nMade mine eyes water; but more merry tears\\r\\nThe passion of loud laughter never shed.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat are they that do play it?\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILOSTRATE.\\r\\nHard-handed men that work in Athens here,\\r\\nWhich never labour’d in their minds till now;\\r\\nAnd now have toil’d their unbreath’d memories\\r\\nWith this same play against your nuptial.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAnd we will hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILOSTRATE.\\r\\nNo, my noble lord,\\r\\nIt is not for you: I have heard it over,\\r\\nAnd it is nothing, nothing in the world;\\r\\nUnless you can find sport in their intents,\\r\\nExtremely stretch’d and conn’d with cruel pain\\r\\nTo do you service.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI will hear that play;\\r\\nFor never anything can be amiss\\r\\nWhen simpleness and duty tender it.\\r\\nGo, bring them in: and take your places, ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Philostrate._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nI love not to see wretchedness o’ercharged,\\r\\nAnd duty in his service perishing.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhy, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nHe says they can do nothing in this kind.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThe kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing.\\r\\nOur sport shall be to take what they mistake:\\r\\nAnd what poor duty cannot do, noble respect\\r\\nTakes it in might, not merit.\\r\\nWhere I have come, great clerks have purposed\\r\\nTo greet me with premeditated welcomes;\\r\\nWhere I have seen them shiver and look pale,\\r\\nMake periods in the midst of sentences,\\r\\nThrottle their practis’d accent in their fears,\\r\\nAnd, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off,\\r\\nNot paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet,\\r\\nOut of this silence yet I pick’d a welcome;\\r\\nAnd in the modesty of fearful duty\\r\\nI read as much as from the rattling tongue\\r\\nOf saucy and audacious eloquence.\\r\\nLove, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity\\r\\nIn least speak most to my capacity.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Philostrate.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILOSTRATE.\\r\\nSo please your grace, the Prologue is address’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nLet him approach.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish of trumpets. Enter the Prologue.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROLOGUE\\r\\nIf we offend, it is with our good will.\\r\\nThat you should think, we come not to offend,\\r\\nBut with good will. To show our simple skill,\\r\\nThat is the true beginning of our end.\\r\\nConsider then, we come but in despite.\\r\\nWe do not come, as minding to content you,\\r\\nOur true intent is. All for your delight\\r\\nWe are not here. That you should here repent you,\\r\\nThe actors are at hand, and, by their show,\\r\\nYou shall know all that you are like to know.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThis fellow doth not stand upon points.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nHe hath rid his prologue like a rough colt; he knows not the stop. A\\r\\ngood moral, my lord: it is not enough to speak, but to speak true.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nIndeed he hath played on this prologue like a child on a recorder; a\\r\\nsound, but not in government.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nHis speech was like a tangled chain; nothing impaired, but all\\r\\ndisordered. Who is next?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine and Lion as in dumb show.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROLOGUE\\r\\nGentles, perchance you wonder at this show;\\r\\nBut wonder on, till truth make all things plain.\\r\\nThis man is Pyramus, if you would know;\\r\\nThis beauteous lady Thisbe is certain.\\r\\nThis man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present\\r\\nWall, that vile wall which did these lovers sunder;\\r\\nAnd through Wall’s chink, poor souls, they are content\\r\\nTo whisper, at the which let no man wonder.\\r\\nThis man, with lanthern, dog, and bush of thorn,\\r\\nPresenteth Moonshine, for, if you will know,\\r\\nBy moonshine did these lovers think no scorn\\r\\nTo meet at Ninus’ tomb, there, there to woo.\\r\\nThis grisly beast (which Lion hight by name)\\r\\nThe trusty Thisbe, coming first by night,\\r\\nDid scare away, or rather did affright;\\r\\nAnd as she fled, her mantle she did fall;\\r\\nWhich Lion vile with bloody mouth did stain.\\r\\nAnon comes Pyramus, sweet youth, and tall,\\r\\nAnd finds his trusty Thisbe’s mantle slain;\\r\\nWhereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade,\\r\\nHe bravely broach’d his boiling bloody breast;\\r\\nAnd Thisbe, tarrying in mulberry shade,\\r\\nHis dagger drew, and died. For all the rest,\\r\\nLet Lion, Moonshine, Wall, and lovers twain,\\r\\nAt large discourse while here they do remain.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Prologue, Pyramus, Thisbe, Lion and Moonshine._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI wonder if the lion be to speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nNo wonder, my lord. One lion may, when many asses do.\\r\\n\\r\\nWALL.\\r\\nIn this same interlude it doth befall\\r\\nThat I, one Snout by name, present a wall:\\r\\nAnd such a wall as I would have you think\\r\\nThat had in it a crannied hole or chink,\\r\\nThrough which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisbe,\\r\\nDid whisper often very secretly.\\r\\nThis loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth show\\r\\nThat I am that same wall; the truth is so:\\r\\nAnd this the cranny is, right and sinister,\\r\\nThrough which the fearful lovers are to whisper.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWould you desire lime and hair to speak better?\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nIt is the wittiest partition that ever I heard discourse, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nPyramus draws near the wall; silence.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pyramus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nO grim-look’d night! O night with hue so black!\\r\\nO night, which ever art when day is not!\\r\\nO night, O night, alack, alack, alack,\\r\\nI fear my Thisbe’s promise is forgot!\\r\\nAnd thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall,\\r\\nThat stand’st between her father’s ground and mine;\\r\\nThou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall,\\r\\nShow me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Wall holds up his fingers._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well for this!\\r\\nBut what see I? No Thisbe do I see.\\r\\nO wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss,\\r\\nCurs’d be thy stones for thus deceiving me!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThe wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nNo, in truth, sir, he should not. ‘Deceiving me’ is Thisbe’s cue: she\\r\\nis to enter now, and I am to spy her through the wall. You shall see it\\r\\nwill fall pat as I told you. Yonder she comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thisbe.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nO wall, full often hast thou heard my moans,\\r\\nFor parting my fair Pyramus and me.\\r\\nMy cherry lips have often kiss’d thy stones,\\r\\nThy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nI see a voice; now will I to the chink,\\r\\nTo spy an I can hear my Thisbe’s face.\\r\\nThisbe?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nMy love thou art, my love I think.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nThink what thou wilt, I am thy lover’s grace;\\r\\nAnd like Limander am I trusty still.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nAnd I like Helen, till the fates me kill.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nNot Shafalus to Procrus was so true.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nAs Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nO kiss me through the hole of this vile wall.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nI kiss the wall’s hole, not your lips at all.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nWilt thou at Ninny’s tomb meet me straightway?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\n’Tide life, ’tide death, I come without delay.\\r\\n\\r\\nWALL.\\r\\nThus have I, Wall, my part discharged so;\\r\\nAnd, being done, thus Wall away doth go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Wall, Pyramus and Thisbe._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNow is the mural down between the two neighbours.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nNo remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear without warning.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nThis is the silliest stuff that ever I heard.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThe best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst are no worse, if\\r\\nimagination amend them.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nIt must be your imagination then, and not theirs.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nIf we imagine no worse of them than they of themselves, they may pass\\r\\nfor excellent men. Here come two noble beasts in, a man and a lion.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lion and Moonshine.\\r\\n\\r\\nLION.\\r\\nYou, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear\\r\\nThe smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,\\r\\nMay now, perchance, both quake and tremble here,\\r\\nWhen lion rough in wildest rage doth roar.\\r\\nThen know that I, one Snug the joiner, am\\r\\nA lion fell, nor else no lion’s dam;\\r\\nFor if I should as lion come in strife\\r\\nInto this place, ’twere pity on my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nA very gentle beast, and of a good conscience.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nThe very best at a beast, my lord, that e’er I saw.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nThis lion is a very fox for his valour.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nTrue; and a goose for his discretion.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nNot so, my lord, for his valour cannot carry his discretion, and the\\r\\nfox carries the goose.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nHis discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour; for the goose\\r\\ncarries not the fox. It is well; leave it to his discretion, and let us\\r\\nlisten to the moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOONSHINE.\\r\\nThis lanthorn doth the hornèd moon present.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nHe should have worn the horns on his head.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nHe is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the\\r\\ncircumference.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOONSHINE.\\r\\nThis lanthorn doth the hornèd moon present;\\r\\nMyself the man i’ the moon do seem to be.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThis is the greatest error of all the rest; the man should be put into\\r\\nthe lantern. How is it else the man i’ the moon?\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nHe dares not come there for the candle, for you see, it is already in\\r\\nsnuff.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nI am aweary of this moon. Would he would change!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nIt appears by his small light of discretion that he is in the wane; but\\r\\nyet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nProceed, Moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOON\\r\\nAll that I have to say, is to tell you that the lantern is the moon; I\\r\\nthe man i’ the moon; this thorn-bush my thorn-bush; and this dog my\\r\\ndog.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nWhy, all these should be in the lantern, for all these are in the moon.\\r\\nBut silence; here comes Thisbe.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thisbe.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\nThis is old Ninny’s tomb. Where is my love?\\r\\n\\r\\nLION.\\r\\nOh!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Lion roars, Thisbe runs off._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nWell roared, Lion.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWell run, Thisbe.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nWell shone, Moon. Truly, the moon shines with a good grace.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Lion tears Thisbe’s mantle, and exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWell moused, Lion.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nAnd then came Pyramus.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nAnd so the lion vanished.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pyramus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nSweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;\\r\\nI thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright;\\r\\nFor, by thy gracious golden, glittering gleams,\\r\\nI trust to take of truest Thisbe sight.\\r\\n But stay! O spite!\\r\\n But mark, poor knight,\\r\\n What dreadful dole is here!\\r\\n Eyes, do you see?\\r\\n How can it be?\\r\\n O dainty duck! O dear!\\r\\n Thy mantle good,\\r\\n What, stained with blood?\\r\\n Approach, ye Furies fell!\\r\\n O Fates, come, come;\\r\\n Cut thread and thrum;\\r\\n Quail, rush, conclude, and quell!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThis passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a\\r\\nman look sad.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nBeshrew my heart, but I pity the man.\\r\\n\\r\\nPYRAMUS.\\r\\nO wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame,\\r\\nSince lion vile hath here deflower’d my dear?\\r\\nWhich is—no, no—which was the fairest dame\\r\\nThat liv’d, that lov’d, that lik’d, that look’d with cheer.\\r\\n Come, tears, confound!\\r\\n Out, sword, and wound\\r\\n The pap of Pyramus;\\r\\n Ay, that left pap,\\r\\n Where heart doth hop:\\r\\n Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.\\r\\n Now am I dead,\\r\\n Now am I fled;\\r\\n My soul is in the sky.\\r\\n Tongue, lose thy light!\\r\\n Moon, take thy flight!\\r\\n Now die, die, die, die, die.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies. Exit Moonshine._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nNo die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nLess than an ace, man; for he is dead, he is nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWith the help of a surgeon he might yet recover and prove an ass.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nHow chance Moonshine is gone before Thisbe comes back and finds her\\r\\nlover?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nShe will find him by starlight.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thisbe.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere she comes, and her passion ends the play.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLYTA.\\r\\nMethinks she should not use a long one for such a Pyramus. I hope she\\r\\nwill be brief.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nA mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which Thisbe, is the\\r\\nbetter: he for a man, God warrant us; she for a woman, God bless us!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSANDER.\\r\\nShe hath spied him already with those sweet eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nAnd thus she means, _videlicet_—\\r\\n\\r\\nTHISBE.\\r\\n Asleep, my love?\\r\\n What, dead, my dove?\\r\\n O Pyramus, arise,\\r\\n Speak, speak. Quite dumb?\\r\\n Dead, dead? A tomb\\r\\n Must cover thy sweet eyes.\\r\\n These lily lips,\\r\\n This cherry nose,\\r\\n These yellow cowslip cheeks,\\r\\n Are gone, are gone!\\r\\n Lovers, make moan;\\r\\n His eyes were green as leeks.\\r\\n O Sisters Three,\\r\\n Come, come to me,\\r\\n With hands as pale as milk;\\r\\n Lay them in gore,\\r\\n Since you have shore\\r\\n With shears his thread of silk.\\r\\n Tongue, not a word:\\r\\n Come, trusty sword,\\r\\n Come, blade, my breast imbrue;\\r\\n And farewell, friends.\\r\\n Thus Thisbe ends.\\r\\n Adieu, adieu, adieu.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nMoonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEMETRIUS.\\r\\nAy, and Wall too.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTTOM.\\r\\nNo, I assure you; the wall is down that parted their fathers. Will it\\r\\nplease you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance between\\r\\ntwo of our company?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNo epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse;\\r\\nfor when the players are all dead there need none to be blamed. Marry,\\r\\nif he that writ it had played Pyramus, and hanged himself in Thisbe’s\\r\\ngarter, it would have been a fine tragedy; and so it is, truly; and\\r\\nvery notably discharged. But come, your Bergomask; let your epilogue\\r\\nalone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Here a dance of Clowns._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve.\\r\\nLovers, to bed; ’tis almost fairy time.\\r\\nI fear we shall outsleep the coming morn\\r\\nAs much as we this night have overwatch’d.\\r\\nThis palpable-gross play hath well beguil’d\\r\\nThe heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed.\\r\\nA fortnight hold we this solemnity\\r\\nIn nightly revels and new jollity.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Puck.\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n Now the hungry lion roars,\\r\\n And the wolf behowls the moon;\\r\\n Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,\\r\\n All with weary task fordone.\\r\\n Now the wasted brands do glow,\\r\\n Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud,\\r\\n Puts the wretch that lies in woe\\r\\n In remembrance of a shroud.\\r\\n Now it is the time of night\\r\\n That the graves, all gaping wide,\\r\\n Every one lets forth his sprite,\\r\\n In the church-way paths to glide.\\r\\n And we fairies, that do run\\r\\n By the triple Hecate’s team\\r\\n From the presence of the sun,\\r\\n Following darkness like a dream,\\r\\n Now are frolic; not a mouse\\r\\n Shall disturb this hallow’d house.\\r\\n I am sent with broom before,\\r\\n To sweep the dust behind the door.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Oberon and Titania with their Train.\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\n Through the house give glimmering light,\\r\\n By the dead and drowsy fire.\\r\\n Every elf and fairy sprite\\r\\n Hop as light as bird from brier,\\r\\n And this ditty after me,\\r\\n Sing and dance it trippingly.\\r\\n\\r\\nTITANIA.\\r\\n First rehearse your song by rote,\\r\\n To each word a warbling note;\\r\\n Hand in hand, with fairy grace,\\r\\n Will we sing, and bless this place.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Song and Dance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOBERON.\\r\\n Now, until the break of day,\\r\\n Through this house each fairy stray.\\r\\n To the best bride-bed will we,\\r\\n Which by us shall blessèd be;\\r\\n And the issue there create\\r\\n Ever shall be fortunate.\\r\\n So shall all the couples three\\r\\n Ever true in loving be;\\r\\n And the blots of Nature’s hand\\r\\n Shall not in their issue stand:\\r\\n Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar,\\r\\n Nor mark prodigious, such as are\\r\\n Despised in nativity,\\r\\n Shall upon their children be.\\r\\n With this field-dew consecrate,\\r\\n Every fairy take his gait,\\r\\n And each several chamber bless,\\r\\n Through this palace, with sweet peace;\\r\\n And the owner of it blest.\\r\\n Ever shall it in safety rest,\\r\\n Trip away. Make no stay;\\r\\n Meet me all by break of day.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Oberon, Titania and Train._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPUCK.\\r\\n If we shadows have offended,\\r\\n Think but this, and all is mended,\\r\\n That you have but slumber’d here\\r\\n While these visions did appear.\\r\\n And this weak and idle theme,\\r\\n No more yielding but a dream,\\r\\n Gentles, do not reprehend.\\r\\n If you pardon, we will mend.\\r\\n And, as I am an honest Puck,\\r\\n If we have unearnèd luck\\r\\n Now to ’scape the serpent’s tongue,\\r\\n We will make amends ere long;\\r\\n Else the Puck a liar call.\\r\\n So, good night unto you all.\\r\\n Give me your hands, if we be friends,\\r\\n And Robin shall restore amends.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n',\n", + " ' MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Before Leonato’s House.\\r\\nScene II. A room in Leonato’s house.\\r\\nScene III. Another room in Leonato’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. A hall in Leonato’s house.\\r\\nScene II. Another room in Leonato’s house.\\r\\nScene III. Leonato’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Leonato’s Garden.\\r\\nScene II. A Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\nScene III. A Street.\\r\\nScene IV. A Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\nScene V. Another Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. The Inside of a Church.\\r\\nScene II. A Prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Before Leonato’s House.\\r\\nScene II. Leonato’s Garden.\\r\\nScene III. The Inside of a Church.\\r\\nScene IV. A Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO, Prince of Arragon.\\r\\n DON JOHN, his bastard Brother.\\r\\n CLAUDIO, a young Lord of Florence.\\r\\n BENEDICK, a young Lord of Padua.\\r\\n LEONATO, Governor of Messina.\\r\\n ANTONIO, his Brother.\\r\\n BALTHASAR, Servant to Don Pedro.\\r\\n BORACHIO, follower of Don John.\\r\\n CONRADE, follower of Don John.\\r\\n DOGBERRY, a Constable.\\r\\n VERGES, a Headborough.\\r\\n FRIAR FRANCIS.\\r\\n A Sexton.\\r\\n A Boy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO, Daughter to Leonato.\\r\\n BEATRICE, Niece to Leonato.\\r\\n MARGARET, Waiting gentlewoman attending on Hero.\\r\\n URSULA, Waiting gentlewoman attending on Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Messengers, Watch, Attendants, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE. Messina.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Before Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leonato, Hero, Beatrice and others, with a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I learn in this letter that Don Pedro of Arragon comes this night\\r\\n to Messina.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n He is very near by this: he was not three leagues off when I left\\r\\n him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n How many gentlemen have you lost in this action?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n But few of any sort, and none of name.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full\\r\\n numbers. I find here that Don Pedro hath bestowed much honour on\\r\\n a young Florentine called Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n Much deserved on his part, and equally remembered by Don Pedro.\\r\\n He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age, doing in the\\r\\n figure of a lamb the feats of a lion: he hath indeed better\\r\\n bettered expectation than you must expect of me to tell you how.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much glad of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n I have already delivered him letters, and there appears much joy\\r\\n in him; even so much that joy could not show itself modest enough\\r\\n without a badge of bitterness.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Did he break out into tears?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n In great measure.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n A kind overflow of kindness. There are no faces truer than those\\r\\n that are so washed; how much better is it to weep at joy than to\\r\\n joy at weeping!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I pray you, is Signior Mountanto returned from the wars or no?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n I know none of that name, lady: there was none such in the army\\r\\n of any sort.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n What is he that you ask for, niece?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n My cousin means Signior Benedick of Padua.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n O! he is returned, and as pleasant as ever he was.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n He set up his bills here in Messina and challenged Cupid at the\\r\\n flight; and my uncle’s fool, reading the challenge, subscribed\\r\\n for Cupid, and challenged him at the bird-bolt. I pray you, how\\r\\n many hath he killed and eaten in these wars? But how many hath he\\r\\n killed? for, indeed, I promised to eat all of his killing.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too much; but he’ll be\\r\\n meet with you, I doubt it not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n He hath done good service, lady, in these wars.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it; he is a very\\r\\n valiant trencher-man; he hath an excellent stomach.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n And a good soldier too, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n And a good soldier to a lady; but what is he to a lord?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with all honourable\\r\\n virtues.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n It is so indeed; he is no less than a stuffed man; but for the\\r\\n stuffing,—well, we are all mortal.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n You must not, sir, mistake my niece. There is a kind of merry war\\r\\n betwixt Signior Benedick and her; they never meet but there’s a\\r\\n skirmish of wit between them.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Alas! he gets nothing by that. In our last conflict four of his\\r\\n five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed\\r\\n with one! so that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let\\r\\n him bear it for a difference between himself and his horse; for\\r\\n it is all the wealth that he hath left to be known a reasonable\\r\\n creature. Who is his companion now? He hath every month a new\\r\\n sworn brother.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n Is’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Very easily possible: he wears his faith but as the fashion of\\r\\n his hat; it ever changes with the next block.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n No; and he were, I would burn my study. But I pray you, who is\\r\\n his companion? Is there no young squarer now that will make a\\r\\n voyage with him to the devil?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n O Lord, he will hang upon him like a disease: he is sooner caught\\r\\n than the pestilence, and the taker runs presently mad. God help\\r\\n the noble Claudio! If he have caught the Benedick, it will cost\\r\\n him a thousand pound ere he be cured.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n I will hold friends with you, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Do, good friend.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n You will never run mad, niece.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n No, not till a hot January.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n Don Pedro is approached.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Claudio, Benedick, Balthasar and\\r\\n Others.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet your trouble: the\\r\\n fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of your Grace, for\\r\\n trouble being gone, comfort should remain; but when you depart\\r\\n from me, sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n You embrace your charge too willingly. I think this is your\\r\\n daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Her mother hath many times told me so.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a child.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n You have it full, Benedick: we may guess by this what you are,\\r\\n being a man. Truly the lady fathers herself. Be happy, lady, for\\r\\n you are like an honourable father.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not have his head on\\r\\n her shoulders for all Messina, as like him as she is.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick: nobody\\r\\n marks you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n What! my dear Lady Disdain, are you yet living?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Is it possible Disdain should die while she hath such meet food\\r\\n to feed it as Signior Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to\\r\\n disdain if you come in her presence.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I am loved of all\\r\\n ladies, only you excepted; and I would I could find in my heart\\r\\n that I had not a hard heart; for, truly, I love none.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n A dear happiness to women: they would else have been troubled\\r\\n with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood, I am of\\r\\n your humour for that. I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow\\r\\n than a man swear he loves me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n God keep your Ladyship still in that mind; so some gentleman or\\r\\n other shall scape a predestinate scratched face.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Scratching could not make it worse, and ’twere such a face as\\r\\n yours were.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a\\r\\n continuer. But keep your way, i’ God’s name; I have done.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n You always end with a jade’s trick: I know you of old.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n That is the sum of all, Leonato: Signior Claudio, and Signior\\r\\n Benedick, my dear friend Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him\\r\\n we shall stay here at the least a month, and he heartly prays\\r\\n some occasion may detain us longer: I dare swear he is no\\r\\n hypocrite, but prays from his heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n If you swear, my lord, you shall not be forsworn. [_To Don John_]\\r\\n Let me bid you welcome, my lord: being reconciled to the Prince\\r\\n your brother, I owe you all duty.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I thank you: I am not of many words, but I thank you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Please it your Grace lead on?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Your hand, Leonato; we will go together.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Benedick and Claudio._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Signior Leonato?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I noted her not; but I looked on her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Is she not a modest young lady?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Do you question me, as an honest man should do, for my simple\\r\\n true judgment; or would you have me speak after my custom, as\\r\\n being a professed tyrant to their sex?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n No; I pray thee speak in sober judgment.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Why, i’ faith, methinks she’s too low for a high praise, too\\r\\n brown for a fair praise, and too little for a great praise; only\\r\\n this commendation I can afford her, that were she other than she\\r\\n is, she were unhandsome, and being no other but as she is, I do\\r\\n not like her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Thou thinkest I am in sport: I pray thee tell me truly how thou\\r\\n likest her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Would you buy her, that you enquire after her?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Can the world buy such a jewel?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you this with a sad\\r\\n brow, or do you play the flouting Jack, to tell us Cupid is a\\r\\n good hare-finder, and Vulcan a rare carpenter? Come, in what key\\r\\n shall a man take you, to go in the song?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that ever I looked on.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I can see yet without spectacles and I see no such matter:\\r\\n there’s her cousin and she were not possessed with a fury,\\r\\n exceeds her as much in beauty as the first of May doth the last\\r\\n of December. But I hope you have no intent to turn husband, have\\r\\n you?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I would scarce trust myself, though I had sworn to the contrary,\\r\\n if Hero would be my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Is’t come to this, in faith? Hath not the world one man but he\\r\\n will wear his cap with suspicion? Shall I never see a bachelor of\\r\\n threescore again? Go to, i’ faith; and thou wilt needs thrust thy\\r\\n neck into a yoke, wear the print of it and sigh away Sundays.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Don Pedro.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Look! Don Pedro is returned to seek you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n What secret hath held you here, that you followed not to\\r\\n Leonato’s?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I would your Grace would constrain me to tell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I charge thee on thy allegiance.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n You hear, Count Claudio: I can be secret as a dumb man; I would\\r\\n have you think so; but on my allegiance mark you this, on my\\r\\n allegiance: he is in love. With who? now that is your Grace’s\\r\\n part. Mark how short his answer is: with Hero, Leonato’s short\\r\\n daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If this were so, so were it uttered.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Like the old tale, my lord: ‘it is not so, nor ’twas not so; but\\r\\n indeed, God forbid it should be so.’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If my passion change not shortly, God forbid it should be\\r\\n otherwise.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Amen, if you love her; for the lady is very well worthy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n You speak this to fetch me in, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n By my troth, I speak my thought.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And in faith, my lord, I spoke mine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n And by my two faiths and troths, my lord, I spoke mine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n That I love her, I feel.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n That she is worthy, I know.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n That I neither feel how she should be loved, nor know how she\\r\\n should be worthy, is the opinion that fire cannot melt out of me:\\r\\n I will die in it at the stake.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in the despite of beauty.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And never could maintain his part but in the force of his will.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n That a woman conceived me, I thank her; that she brought me up, I\\r\\n likewise give her most humble thanks; but that I will have a\\r\\n recheat winded in my forehead, or hang my bugle in an invisible\\r\\n baldrick, all women shall pardon me. Because I will not do them\\r\\n the wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the right to trust\\r\\n none; and the fine is,—for the which I may go the finer,—I will\\r\\n live a bachelor.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, my lord; not with\\r\\n love: prove that ever I lose more blood with love than I will get\\r\\n again with drinking, pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker’s pen\\r\\n and hang me up at the door of a brothel-house for the sign of\\r\\n blind Cupid.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou wilt prove a\\r\\n notable argument.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat and shoot at me; and he\\r\\n that hits me, let him be clapped on the shoulder and called Adam.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Well, as time shall try: ‘In time the savage bull doth bear the\\r\\n yoke.’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n The savage bull may; but if ever the sensible Benedick bear it,\\r\\n pluck off the bull’s horns and set them in my forehead; and let\\r\\n me be vilely painted, and in such great letters as they write,\\r\\n ‘Here is good horse to hire,’ let them signify under my sign\\r\\n ‘Here you may see Benedick the married man.’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If this should ever happen, thou wouldst be horn-mad.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver in Venice, thou wilt\\r\\n quake for this shortly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I look for an earthquake too then.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Well, you will temporize with the hours. In the meantime, good\\r\\n Signior Benedick, repair to Leonato’s: commend me to him and tell\\r\\n him I will not fail him at supper; for indeed he hath made great\\r\\n preparation.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I have almost matter enough in me for such an embassage; and so I\\r\\n commit you—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n To the tuition of God: from my house, if I had it,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n The sixth of July: your loving friend, Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Nay, mock not, mock not. The body of your discourse is sometime\\r\\n guarded with fragments, and the guards are but slightly basted on\\r\\n neither: ere you flout old ends any further, examine your\\r\\n conscience: and so I leave you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n My liege, your Highness now may do me good.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n My love is thine to teach: teach it but how,\\r\\n And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn\\r\\n Any hard lesson that may do thee good.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Hath Leonato any son, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n No child but Hero; she’s his only heir.\\r\\n Dost thou affect her, Claudio?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n O! my lord,\\r\\n When you went onward on this ended action,\\r\\n I looked upon her with a soldier’s eye,\\r\\n That lik’d, but had a rougher task in hand\\r\\n Than to drive liking to the name of love;\\r\\n But now I am return’d, and that war-thoughts\\r\\n Have left their places vacant, in their rooms\\r\\n Come thronging soft and delicate desires,\\r\\n All prompting me how fair young Hero is,\\r\\n Saying, I lik’d her ere I went to wars.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Thou wilt be like a lover presently,\\r\\n And tire the hearer with a book of words.\\r\\n If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it,\\r\\n And I will break with her, and with her father,\\r\\n And thou shalt have her. Was’t not to this end\\r\\n That thou began’st to twist so fine a story?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n How sweetly you do minister to love,\\r\\n That know love’s grief by his complexion!\\r\\n But lest my liking might too sudden seem,\\r\\n I would have salv’d it with a longer treatise.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n What need the bridge much broader than the flood?\\r\\n The fairest grant is the necessity.\\r\\n Look, what will serve is fit: ’tis once, thou lov’st,\\r\\n And I will fit thee with the remedy.\\r\\n I know we shall have revelling tonight:\\r\\n I will assume thy part in some disguise,\\r\\n And tell fair Hero I am Claudio;\\r\\n And in her bosom I’ll unclasp my heart,\\r\\n And take her hearing prisoner with the force\\r\\n And strong encounter of my amorous tale:\\r\\n Then after to her father will I break;\\r\\n And the conclusion is, she shall be thine.\\r\\n In practice let us put it presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A room in Leonato’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leonato and Antonio, meeting.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n How now, brother? Where is my cousin your son? Hath he provided\\r\\n this music?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can tell you strange\\r\\n news that you yet dreamt not of.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Are they good?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n As the event stamps them: but they have a good cover; they show\\r\\n well outward. The Prince and Count Claudio, walking in a\\r\\n thick-pleached alley in my orchard, were thus much overheard by a\\r\\n man of mine: the Prince discovered to Claudio that he loved my\\r\\n niece your daughter and meant to acknowledge it this night in a\\r\\n dance; and if he found her accordant, he meant to take the\\r\\n present time by the top and instantly break with you of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO. Hath the fellow any wit that told you this?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n A good sharp fellow: I will send for him; and question him\\r\\n yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n No, no; we will hold it as a dream till it appear itself: but I\\r\\n will acquaint my daughter withal, that she may be the better\\r\\n prepared for an answer, if peradventure this be true. Go you and\\r\\n tell her of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Several persons cross the stage._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Cousins, you know what you have to do. O! I cry you mercy,\\r\\n friend; go you with me, and I will use your skill. Good cousin,\\r\\n have a care this busy time.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Another room in Leonato’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don John and Conrade.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n What the good-year, my lord! why are you thus out of measure sad?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n There is no measure in the occasion that breeds; therefore the\\r\\n sadness is without limit.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n You should hear reason.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n And when I have heard it, what blessings brings it?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n If not a present remedy, at least a patient sufferance.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I wonder that thou (being as thou say’st thou art, born under\\r\\n Saturn) goest about to apply a moral medicine to a mortifying\\r\\n mischief. I cannot hide what I am: I must be sad when I have\\r\\n cause, and smile at no man’s jests; eat when I have stomach, and\\r\\n wait for no man’s leisure; sleep when I am drowsy, and tend on no\\r\\n man’s business; laugh when I am merry, and claw no man in his\\r\\n humour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Yea; but you must not make the full show of this till you may do\\r\\n it without controlment. You have of late stood out against your\\r\\n brother, and he hath ta’en you newly into his grace; where it is\\r\\n impossible you should take true root but by the fair weather that\\r\\n you make yourself: it is needful that you frame the season for\\r\\n your own harvest.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I had rather be a canker in a hedge than a rose in his grace; and\\r\\n it better fits my blood to be disdained of all than to fashion a\\r\\n carriage to rob love from any: in this, though I cannot be said\\r\\n to be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied but I am a\\r\\n plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with a muzzle and\\r\\n enfranchised with a clog; therefore I have decreed not to sing in\\r\\n my cage. If I had my mouth, I would bite; if I had my liberty, I\\r\\n would do my liking: in the meantime, let me be that I am, and\\r\\n seek not to alter me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE. Can you make no use of your discontent?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN. I make all use of it, for I use it only. Who comes\\r\\n here?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Borachio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n What news, Borachio?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n I came yonder from a great supper: the Prince your brother is\\r\\n royally entertained by Leonato; and I can give you intelligence\\r\\n of an intended marriage.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Will it serve for any model to build mischief on? What is he for\\r\\n a fool that betroths himself to unquietness?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Marry, it is your brother’s right hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Who? the most exquisite Claudio?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Even he.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n A proper squire! And who, and who? which way looks he?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of Leonato.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n A very forward March-chick! How came you to this?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was smoking a musty room,\\r\\n comes me the Prince and Claudio, hand in hand, in sad conference:\\r\\n I whipt me behind the arras, and there heard it agreed upon that\\r\\n the Prince should woo Hero for himself, and having obtained her,\\r\\n give her to Count Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Come, come; let us thither: this may prove food to my\\r\\n displeasure. That young start-up hath all the glory of my\\r\\n overthrow: if I can cross him any way, I bless myself every way.\\r\\n You are both sure, and will assist me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE. To the death, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Let us to the great supper: their cheer is the greater that I am\\r\\n subdued. Would the cook were of my mind! Shall we go to prove\\r\\n what’s to be done?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n We’ll wait upon your Lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A hall in Leonato’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice and others.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Was not Count John here at supper?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n I saw him not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n How tartly that gentleman looks! I never can see him but I am\\r\\n heart-burned an hour after.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n He is of a very melancholy disposition.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n He were an excellent man that were made just in the mid-way\\r\\n between him and Benedick: the one is too like an image, and says\\r\\n nothing; and the other too like my lady’s eldest son, evermore\\r\\n tattling.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Then half Signior Benedick’s tongue in Count John’s mouth, and\\r\\n half Count John’s melancholy in Signior Benedick’s face—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n With a good leg and a good foot, uncle, and money enough in his\\r\\n purse, such a man would win any woman in the world if a’ could\\r\\n get her good will.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband, if thou\\r\\n be so shrewd of thy tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n In faith, she’s too curst.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Too curst is more than curst: I shall lessen God’s sending that\\r\\n way; for it is said, ‘God sends a curst cow short horns;’ but to\\r\\n a cow too curst he sends none.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n So, by being too curst, God will send you no horns?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Just, if he send me no husband; for the which blessing I am at\\r\\n him upon my knees every morning and evening. Lord! I could not\\r\\n endure a husband with a beard on his face: I had rather lie in\\r\\n the woollen.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n You may light on a husband that hath no beard.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n What should I do with him? dress him in my apparel and make him\\r\\n my waiting gentlewoman? He that hath a beard is more than a\\r\\n youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man; and he that\\r\\n is more than a youth is not for me; and he that is less than a\\r\\n man, I am not for him: therefore I will even take sixpence in\\r\\n earnest of the bear-ward, and lead his apes into hell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Well then, go you into hell?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n No; but to the gate; and there will the Devil meet me, like an\\r\\n old cuckold, with horns on his head, and say, ‘Get you to heaven,\\r\\n Beatrice, get you to heaven; here’s no place for you maids.’ So\\r\\n deliver I up my apes, and away to Saint Peter for the heavens: he\\r\\n shows me where the bachelors sit, and there live we as merry as\\r\\n the day is long.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n [_To Hero_.] Well, niece, I trust you will be ruled by your\\r\\n father.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Yes, faith; it is my cousin’s duty to make curtsy, and say,\\r\\n ‘Father, as it please you:’— but yet for all that, cousin, let\\r\\n him be a handsome fellow, or else make another curtsy, and say,\\r\\n ‘Father, as it please me.’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Not till God make men of some other metal than earth. Would it\\r\\n not grieve a woman to be over-mastered with a piece of valiant\\r\\n dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl?\\r\\n No, uncle, I’ll none: Adam’s sons are my brethren; and truly, I\\r\\n hold it a sin to match in my kindred.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Daughter, remember what I told you: if the Prince do solicit you\\r\\n in that kind, you know your answer.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be not wooed in\\r\\n good time: if the Prince be too important, tell him there is\\r\\n measure in everything, and so dance out the answer. For, hear me,\\r\\n Hero: wooing, wedding, and repenting is as a Scotch jig, a\\r\\n measure, and a cinquepace: the first suit is hot and hasty, like\\r\\n a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly\\r\\n modest, as a measure, full of state and ancientry; and then comes\\r\\n Repentance, and with his bad legs, falls into the cinquepace\\r\\n faster and faster, till he sink into his grave.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I have a good eye, uncle: I can see a church by daylight.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n The revellers are entering, brother: make good room.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthasar, Don John,\\r\\n Borachio, Margaret, Ursula and Others, masked.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Lady, will you walk about with your friend?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n So you walk softly and look sweetly and say nothing, I am yours\\r\\n for the walk; and especially when I walk away.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n With me in your company?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n I may say so, when I please.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n And when please you to say so?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n When I like your favour; for God defend the lute should be like\\r\\n the case!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n My visor is Philemon’s roof; within the house is Jove.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Why, then, your visor should be thatch’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Speak low, if you speak love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Takes her aside._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n Well, I would you did like me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n So would not I, for your own sake; for I have many ill qualities.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n Which is one?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n I say my prayers aloud.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n I love you the better; the hearers may cry Amen.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n God match me with a good dancer!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n Amen.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n And God keep him out of my sight when the dance is done! Answer,\\r\\n clerk.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n No more words: the clerk is answered.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n I know you well enough: you are Signior Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n At a word, I am not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n I know you by the waggling of your head.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n To tell you true, I counterfeit him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n You could never do him so ill-well, unless you were the very man.\\r\\n Here’s his dry hand up and down: you are he, you are he.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n At a word, I am not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Come, come; do you think I do not know you by your excellent wit?\\r\\n Can virtue hide itself? Go to, mum, you are he: graces will\\r\\n appear, and there’s an end.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Will you not tell me who told you so?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n No, you shall pardon me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Nor will you not tell me who you are?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Not now.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n That I was disdainful, and that I had my good wit out of the\\r\\n ‘Hundred Merry Tales.’ Well, this was Signior Benedick that said\\r\\n so.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n What’s he?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I am sure you know him well enough.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Not I, believe me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Did he never make you laugh?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I pray you, what is he?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Why, he is the Prince’s jester: a very dull fool; only his gift\\r\\n is in devising impossible slanders: none but libertines delight\\r\\n in him; and the commendation is not in his wit, but in his\\r\\n villainy; for he both pleases men and angers them, and then they\\r\\n laugh at him and beat him. I am sure he is in the fleet: I would\\r\\n he had boarded me!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n When I know the gentleman, I’ll tell him what you say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Do, do: he’ll but break a comparison or two on me; which,\\r\\n peradventure not marked or not laughed at, strikes him into\\r\\n melancholy; and then there’s a partridge wing saved, for the fool\\r\\n will eat no supper that night. [_Music within_.] We must follow\\r\\n the leaders.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n In every good thing.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at the next\\r\\n turning.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dance. Then exeunt all but Don John, Borachio and Claudio._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Sure my brother is amorous on Hero, and hath withdrawn her father\\r\\n to break with him about it. The ladies follow her and but one\\r\\n visor remains.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n And that is Claudio: I know him by his bearing.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Are you not Signior Benedick?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n You know me well; I am he.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Signior, you are very near my brother in his love: he is\\r\\n enamoured on Hero; I pray you, dissuade him from her; she is no\\r\\n equal for his birth: you may do the part of an honest man in it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n How know you he loves her?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I heard him swear his affection.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n So did I too; and he swore he would marry her tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Come, let us to the banquet.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Don John and Borachio._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Thus answer I in name of Benedick,\\r\\n But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio.\\r\\n ’Tis certain so; the Prince wooes for himself.\\r\\n Friendship is constant in all other things\\r\\n Save in the office and affairs of love:\\r\\n Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues;\\r\\n Let every eye negotiate for itself\\r\\n And trust no agent; for beauty is a witch\\r\\n Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.\\r\\n This is an accident of hourly proof,\\r\\n Which I mistrusted not. Farewell, therefore, Hero!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Count Claudio?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Yea, the same.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Come, will you go with me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Whither?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Even to the next willow, about your own business, Count. What\\r\\n fashion will you wear the garland of? About your neck, like a\\r\\n usurer’s chain? or under your arm, like a lieutenant’s scarf? You\\r\\n must wear it one way, for the Prince hath got your Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I wish him joy of her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Why, that’s spoken like an honest drovier: so they sell bullocks.\\r\\n But did you think the Prince would have served you thus?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I pray you, leave me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Ho! now you strike like the blind man: ’twas the boy that stole\\r\\n your meat, and you’ll beat the post.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If it will not be, I’ll leave you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Alas! poor hurt fowl. Now will he creep into sedges. But, that my\\r\\n Lady Beatrice should know me, and not know me! The Prince’s fool!\\r\\n Ha! it may be I go under that title because I am merry. Yea, but\\r\\n so I am apt to do myself wrong; I am not so reputed: it is the\\r\\n base though bitter disposition of Beatrice that puts the world\\r\\n into her person, and so gives me out. Well, I’ll be revenged as I\\r\\n may.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Don Pedro.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Now, signior, where’s the Count? Did you see him?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Troth, my lord, I have played the part of Lady Fame. I found him\\r\\n here as melancholy as a lodge in a warren. I told him, and I\\r\\n think I told him true, that your Grace had got the good will of\\r\\n this young lady; and I offered him my company to a willow tree,\\r\\n either to make him a garland, as being forsaken, or to bind him\\r\\n up a rod, as being worthy to be whipped.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n To be whipped! What’s his fault?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n The flat transgression of a school-boy, who, being overjoy’d with\\r\\n finding a bird’s nest, shows it his companion, and he steals it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? The transgression is in\\r\\n the stealer.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Yet it had not been amiss the rod had been made, and the garland\\r\\n too; for the garland he might have worn himself, and the rod he\\r\\n might have bestowed on you, who, as I take it, have stolen his\\r\\n bird’s nest.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I will but teach them to sing, and restore them to the owner.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n If their singing answer your saying, by my faith, you say\\r\\n honestly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you: the gentleman that\\r\\n danced with her told her she is much wronged by you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n O! she misused me past the endurance of a block: an oak but with\\r\\n one green leaf on it would have answered her: my very visor began\\r\\n to assume life and scold with her. She told me, not thinking I\\r\\n had been myself, that I was the Prince’s jester, that I was\\r\\n duller than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest with such\\r\\n impossible conveyance upon me, that I stood like a man at a mark,\\r\\n with a whole army shooting at me. She speaks poniards, and every\\r\\n word stabs: if her breath were as terrible as her terminations,\\r\\n there were no living near her; she would infect to the north\\r\\n star. I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all\\r\\n that Adam had left him before he transgressed: she would have\\r\\n made Hercules have turned spit, yea, and have cleft his club to\\r\\n make the fire too. Come, talk not of her; you shall find her the\\r\\n infernal Ate in good apparel. I would to God some scholar would\\r\\n conjure her, for certainly, while she is here, a man may live as\\r\\n quiet in hell as in a sanctuary; and people sin upon purpose\\r\\n because they would go thither; so indeed, all disquiet, horror\\r\\n and perturbation follow her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Claudio, Beatrice, Hero and Leonato.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Look! here she comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Will your Grace command me any service to the world’s end? I will\\r\\n go on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes that you can\\r\\n devise to send me on; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the\\r\\n furthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of Prester John’s\\r\\n foot; fetch you a hair off the Great Cham’s beard; do you any\\r\\n embassage to the Pygmies, rather than hold three words’\\r\\n conference with this harpy. You have no employment for me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n None, but to desire your good company.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n O God, sir, here’s a dish I love not: I cannot endure my Lady\\r\\n Tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of Signior Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile; and I gave him use for it,\\r\\n a double heart for a single one: marry, once before he won it of\\r\\n me with false dice, therefore your Grace may well say I have lost\\r\\n it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n You have put him down, lady, you have put him down.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I should prove the\\r\\n mother of fools. I have brought Count Claudio, whom you sent me\\r\\n to seek.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Why, how now, Count! wherefore are you sad?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Not sad, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n How then? Sick?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Neither, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n The Count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well; but\\r\\n civil Count, civil as an orange, and something of that jealous\\r\\n complexion.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I’ faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true; though, I’ll be\\r\\n sworn, if he be so, his conceit is false. Here, Claudio, I have\\r\\n wooed in thy name, and fair Hero is won; I have broke with her\\r\\n father, and, his good will obtained; name the day of marriage,\\r\\n and God give thee joy!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes: his\\r\\n Grace hath made the match, and all grace say Amen to it!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Speak, Count, ’tis your cue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy,\\r\\n if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I\\r\\n give away myself for you and dote upon the exchange.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth with a kiss, and\\r\\n let not him speak neither.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n In faith, lady, you have a merry heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Yea, my lord; I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on the windy side\\r\\n of care. My cousin tells him in his ear that he is in her heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And so she doth, cousin.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Good Lord, for alliance! Thus goes everyone to the world but I,\\r\\n and I am sunburnt. I may sit in a corner and cry heigh-ho for a\\r\\n husband!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I would rather have one of your father’s getting. Hath your Grace\\r\\n ne’er a brother like you? Your father got excellent husbands, if\\r\\n a maid could come by them.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Will you have me, lady?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n No, my lord, unless I might have another for working days: your\\r\\n Grace is too costly to wear every day. But, I beseech your Grace,\\r\\n pardon me; I was born to speak all mirth and no matter.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best becomes you;\\r\\n for out of question, you were born in a merry hour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there was a star\\r\\n danced, and under that was I born. Cousins, God give you joy!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Niece, will you look to those things I told you of?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I cry you mercy, uncle. By your Grace’s pardon.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n By my troth, a pleasant spirited lady.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n There’s little of the melancholy element in her, my lord: she is\\r\\n never sad but when she sleeps; and not ever sad then, for I have\\r\\n heard my daughter say, she hath often dreamed of unhappiness and\\r\\n waked herself with laughing.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n O! by no means: she mocks all her wooers out of suit.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n She were an excellent wife for Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n O Lord! my lord, if they were but a week married, they would talk\\r\\n themselves mad.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Count Claudio, when mean you to go to church?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Tomorrow, my lord. Time goes on crutches till love have all his\\r\\n rites.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a just seven-night;\\r\\n and a time too brief too, to have all things answer my mind.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Come, you shake the head at so long a breathing; but, I warrant\\r\\n thee, Claudio, the time shall not go dully by us. I will in the\\r\\n interim undertake one of Hercules’ labours, which is, to bring\\r\\n Signior Benedick and the Lady Beatrice into a mountain of\\r\\n affection the one with the other. I would fain have it a match;\\r\\n and I doubt not but to fashion it, if you three will but minister\\r\\n such assistance as I shall give you direction.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights’ watchings.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And I, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n And you too, gentle Hero?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n I will do any modest office, my lord, to help my cousin to a good\\r\\n husband.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n And Benedick is not the unhopefullest husband that I know. Thus\\r\\n far can I praise him; he is of a noble strain, of approved\\r\\n valour, and confirmed honesty. I will teach you how to humour\\r\\n your cousin, that she shall fall in love with Benedick; and I,\\r\\n with your two helps, will so practise on Benedick that, in\\r\\n despite of his quick wit and his queasy stomach, he shall fall in\\r\\n love with Beatrice. If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an\\r\\n archer: his glory shall be ours, for we are the only love-gods.\\r\\n Go in with me, and I will tell you my drift.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another room in Leonato’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don John and Borachio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n It is so; the Count Claudio shall marry the daughter of Leonato.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Yea, my lord; but I can cross it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be medicinable to me: I\\r\\n am sick in displeasure to him, and whatsoever comes athwart his\\r\\n affection ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou cross this\\r\\n marriage?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly that no dishonesty shall\\r\\n appear in me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Show me briefly how.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n I think I told your lordship, a year since, how much I am in the\\r\\n favour of Margaret, the waiting gentlewoman to Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I remember.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night, appoint her to\\r\\n look out at her lady’s chamber window.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN. What life is in that, to be the death of this marriage?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go you to the Prince\\r\\n your brother; spare not to tell him, that he hath wronged his\\r\\n honour in marrying the renowned Claudio,—whose estimation do you\\r\\n mightily hold up,—to a contaminated stale, such a one as Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n What proof shall I make of that?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Proof enough to misuse the Prince, to vex Claudio, to undo Hero,\\r\\n and kill Leonato. Look you for any other issue?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Only to despite them, I will endeavour anything.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Go then; find me a meet hour to draw Don Pedro and the Count\\r\\n Claudio alone: tell them that you know that Hero loves me; intend\\r\\n a kind of zeal both to the Prince and Claudio, as—in love of your\\r\\n brother’s honour, who hath made this match, and his friend’s\\r\\n reputation, who is thus like to be cozened with the semblance of\\r\\n a maid,—that you have discovered thus. They will scarcely believe\\r\\n this without trial: offer them instances, which shall bear no\\r\\n less likelihood than to see me at her chamber window, hear me\\r\\n call Margaret Hero, hear Margaret term me Claudio; and bring them\\r\\n to see this the very night before the intended wedding: for in\\r\\n the meantime I will so fashion the matter that Hero shall be\\r\\n absent; and there shall appear such seeming truth of Hero’s\\r\\n disloyalty, that jealousy shall be called assurance, and all the\\r\\n preparation overthrown.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will put it in\\r\\n practice. Be cunning in the working this, and thy fee is a\\r\\n thousand ducats.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not shame\\r\\n me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I will presently go learn their day of marriage.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Leonato’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Boy!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Boy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BOY.\\r\\n Signior?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n In my chamber window lies a book; bring it hither to me in the\\r\\n orchard.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BOY.\\r\\n I am here already, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I know that; but I would have thee hence, and here again.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Boy._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n I do much wonder that one man, seeing how much another man is a\\r\\n fool when he dedicates his behaviours to love, will, after he\\r\\n hath laughed at such shallow follies in others, become the\\r\\n argument of his own scorn by falling in love: and such a man is\\r\\n Claudio. I have known, when there was no music with him but the\\r\\n drum and the fife; and now had he rather hear the tabor and the\\r\\n pipe: I have known when he would have walked ten mile afoot to\\r\\n see a good armour; and now will he lie ten nights awake, carving\\r\\n the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain and to\\r\\n the purpose, like an honest man and a soldier; and now is he\\r\\n turned orthography; his words are a very fantastical banquet,\\r\\n just so many strange dishes. May I be so converted, and see with\\r\\n these eyes? I cannot tell; I think not: I will not be sworn but\\r\\n love may transform me to an oyster; but I’ll take my oath on it,\\r\\n till he have made an oyster of me, he shall never make me such a\\r\\n fool. One woman is fair, yet I am well; another is wise, yet I am\\r\\n well; another virtuous, yet I am well; but till all graces be in\\r\\n one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace. Rich she shall\\r\\n be, that’s certain; wise, or I’ll none; virtuous, or I’ll never\\r\\n cheapen her; fair, or I’ll never look on her; mild, or come not\\r\\n near me; noble, or not I for an angel; of good discourse, an\\r\\n excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what colour it\\r\\n please God. Ha! the Prince and Monsieur Love! I will hide me in\\r\\n the arbour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Withdraws._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro, Leonato and Claudio, followed by Balthasar and\\r\\n Musicians.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Come, shall we hear this music?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Yea, my good lord. How still the evening is,\\r\\n As hush’d on purpose to grace harmony!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n See you where Benedick hath hid himself?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n O! very well, my lord: the music ended,\\r\\n We’ll fit the kid-fox with a penny-worth.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Come, Balthasar, we’ll hear that song again.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n O! good my lord, tax not so bad a voice\\r\\n To slander music any more than once.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n It is the witness still of excellency,\\r\\n To put a strange face on his own perfection.\\r\\n I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n Because you talk of wooing, I will sing;\\r\\n Since many a wooer doth commence his suit\\r\\n To her he thinks not worthy; yet he wooes;\\r\\n Yet will he swear he loves.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Nay, pray thee come;\\r\\n Or if thou wilt hold longer argument,\\r\\n Do it in notes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n Note this before my notes;\\r\\n There’s not a note of mine that’s worth the noting.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Why these are very crotchets that he speaks;\\r\\n Notes, notes, forsooth, and nothing!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Now, divine air! now is his soul ravished! Is it not strange that\\r\\n sheep’s guts should hale souls out of men’s bodies? Well, a horn\\r\\n for my money, when all’s done.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR [_sings_.]\\r\\n Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,\\r\\n Men were deceivers ever;\\r\\n One foot in sea, and one on shore,\\r\\n To one thing constant never.\\r\\n Then sigh not so, but let them go,\\r\\n And be you blithe and bonny,\\r\\n Converting all your sounds of woe\\r\\n Into Hey nonny, nonny.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Sing no more ditties, sing no mo\\r\\n Of dumps so dull and heavy;\\r\\n The fraud of men was ever so,\\r\\n Since summer first was leavy.\\r\\n Then sigh not so, but let them go,\\r\\n And be you blithe and bonny,\\r\\n Converting all your sounds of woe\\r\\n Into Hey nonny, nonny.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n By my troth, a good song.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR.\\r\\n And an ill singer, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Ha, no, no, faith; thou singest well enough for a shift.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n [_Aside_] And he had been a dog that should have howled thus,\\r\\n they would have hanged him; and I pray God his bad voice bode no\\r\\n mischief. I had as lief have heard the night-raven, come what\\r\\n plague could have come after it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO. Yea, marry; dost thou hear, Balthasar? I pray thee,\\r\\n get us some excellent music, for tomorrow night we would have it\\r\\n at the Lady Hero’s chamber window.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BALTHASAR. The best I can, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO. Do so: farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Balthasar and Musicians._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Come hither, Leonato: what was it you told me of today, that your\\r\\n niece Beatrice was in love with Signior Benedick?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n O! ay:—[_Aside to Don Pedro_] Stalk on, stalk on; the fowl sits.\\r\\n I did never think that lady would have loved any man.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n No, nor I neither; but most wonderful that she should so dote on\\r\\n Signior Benedick, whom she hath in all outward behaviours seemed\\r\\n ever to abhor.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n [_Aside_] Is’t possible? Sits the wind in that corner?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think of it but that\\r\\n she loves him with an enraged affection: it is past the infinite\\r\\n of thought.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Maybe she doth but counterfeit.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Faith, like enough.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n O God! counterfeit! There was never counterfeit of passion came\\r\\n so near the life of passion as she discovers it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Why, what effects of passion shows she?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO. [_Aside_] Bait the hook well: this fish will bite.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n What effects, my lord? She will sit you; [_To Claudio_] You heard\\r\\n my daughter tell you how.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n She did, indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n How, how, I pray you? You amaze me: I would have thought her\\r\\n spirit had been invincible against all assaults of affection.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I would have sworn it had, my lord; especially against Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n [_Aside_] I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded\\r\\n fellow speaks it: knavery cannot, sure, hide itself in such\\r\\n reverence.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n [_Aside_] He hath ta’en the infection: hold it up.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n No; and swears she never will: that’s her torment.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n ’Tis true, indeed; so your daughter says: ‘Shall I,’ says she,\\r\\n ‘that have so oft encountered him with scorn, write to him that I\\r\\n love him?’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n This says she now when she is beginning to write to him; for\\r\\n she’ll be up twenty times a night, and there will she sit in her\\r\\n smock till she have writ a sheet of paper: my daughter tells us\\r\\n all.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a pretty jest your\\r\\n daughter told us of.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n O! when she had writ it, and was reading it over, she found\\r\\n Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n That.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n O! she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence; railed at\\r\\n herself, that she should be so immodest to write to one that she\\r\\n knew would flout her: ‘I measure him,’ says she, ‘by my own\\r\\n spirit; for I should flout him, if he writ to me; yea, though I\\r\\n love him, I should.’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats her heart,\\r\\n tears her hair, prays, curses; ‘O sweet Benedick! God give me\\r\\n patience!’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n She doth indeed; my daughter says so; and the ecstasy hath so\\r\\n much overborne her, that my daughter is sometimes afeard she will\\r\\n do a desperate outrage to herself. It is very true.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n It were good that Benedick knew of it by some other, if she will\\r\\n not discover it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n To what end? he would make but a sport of it and torment the poor\\r\\n lady worse.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n And he should, it were an alms to hang him. She’s an excellent\\r\\n sweet lady, and, out of all suspicion, she is virtuous.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And she is exceeding wise.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n In everything but in loving Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n O! my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so tender a body, we\\r\\n have ten proofs to one that blood hath the victory. I am sorry\\r\\n for her, as I have just cause, being her uncle and her guardian.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I would she had bestowed this dotage on me; I would have daffed\\r\\n all other respects and made her half myself. I pray you, tell\\r\\n Benedick of it, and hear what he will say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Were it good, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Hero thinks surely she will die; for she says she will die if he\\r\\n love her not, and she will die ere she make her love known, and\\r\\n she will die if he woo her, rather than she will bate one breath\\r\\n of her accustomed crossness.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n She doth well: if she should make tender of her love, ’tis very\\r\\n possible he’ll scorn it; for the man,—as you know all,—hath a\\r\\n contemptible spirit.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n He is a very proper man.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n He hath indeed a good outward happiness.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n ’Fore God, and in my mind, very wise.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n He doth indeed show some sparks that are like wit.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And I take him to be valiant.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n As Hector, I assure you: and in the managing of quarrels you may\\r\\n say he is wise; for either he avoids them with great discretion,\\r\\n or undertakes them with a most Christian-like fear.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n If he do fear God, a’ must necessarily keep peace: if he break\\r\\n the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and\\r\\n trembling.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n And so will he do; for the man doth fear God, howsoever it seems\\r\\n not in him by some large jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for\\r\\n your niece. Shall we go seek Benedick and tell him of her love?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Never tell him, my lord: let her wear it out with good counsel.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Nay, that’s impossible: she may wear her heart out first.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Well, we will hear further of it by your daughter: let it cool\\r\\n the while. I love Benedick well, and I could wish he would\\r\\n modestly examine himself, to see how much he is unworthy so good\\r\\n a lady.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n [_Aside_] If he do not dote on her upon this, I will never trust\\r\\n my expectation.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n [_Aside_] Let there be the same net spread for her; and that must\\r\\n your daughter and her gentlewoman carry. The sport will be, when\\r\\n they hold one an opinion of another’s dotage, and no such matter:\\r\\n that’s the scene that I would see, which will be merely a dumb\\r\\n show. Let us send her to call him in to dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio and Leonato._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n [_Advancing from the arbour._] This can be no trick: the\\r\\n conference was sadly borne. They have the truth of this from\\r\\n Hero. They seem to pity the lady: it seems her affections have\\r\\n their full bent. Love me? why, it must be requited. I hear how I\\r\\n am censured: they say I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive\\r\\n the love come from her; they say too that she will rather die\\r\\n than give any sign of affection. I did never think to marry: I\\r\\n must not seem proud: happy are they that hear their detractions,\\r\\n and can put them to mending. They say the lady is fair: ’tis a\\r\\n truth, I can bear them witness; and virtuous: ’tis so, I cannot\\r\\n reprove it; and wise, but for loving me: by my troth, it is no\\r\\n addition to her wit, nor no great argument of her folly, for I\\r\\n will be horribly in love with her. I may chance have some odd\\r\\n quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed so\\r\\n long against marriage; but doth not the appetite alter? A man\\r\\n loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age.\\r\\n Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets of the brain\\r\\n awe a man from the career of his humour? No; the world must be\\r\\n peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I\\r\\n should live till I were married. Here comes Beatrice. By this\\r\\n day! she’s a fair lady: I do spy some marks of love in her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I took no more pains for those thanks than you take pains to\\r\\n thank me: if it had been painful, I would not have come.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n You take pleasure then in the message?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife’s point, and choke\\r\\n a daw withal. You have no stomach, signior: fare you well.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Ha! ‘Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner,’\\r\\n there’s a double meaning in that. ‘I took no more pains for those\\r\\n thanks than you took pains to thank me,’ that’s as much as to\\r\\n say, Any pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks. If I do\\r\\n not take pity of her, I am a villain; if I do not love her, I am\\r\\n a Jew. I will go get her picture.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Leonato’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hero, Margaret and Ursula.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Good Margaret, run thee to the parlour;\\r\\n There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice\\r\\n Proposing with the Prince and Claudio:\\r\\n Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursala\\r\\n Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse\\r\\n Is all of her; say that thou overheard’st us,\\r\\n And bid her steal into the pleached bower,\\r\\n Where honey-suckles, ripen’d by the sun,\\r\\n Forbid the sun to enter; like favourites,\\r\\n Made proud by princes, that advance their pride\\r\\n Against that power that bred it. There will she hide her,\\r\\n To listen our propose. This is thy office;\\r\\n Bear thee well in it and leave us alone.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n I’ll make her come, I warrant you, presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come,\\r\\n As we do trace this alley up and down,\\r\\n Our talk must only be of Benedick:\\r\\n When I do name him, let it be thy part\\r\\n To praise him more than ever man did merit.\\r\\n My talk to thee must be how Benedick\\r\\n Is sick in love with Beatrice: of this matter\\r\\n Is little Cupid’s crafty arrow made,\\r\\n That only wounds by hearsay.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Beatrice behind.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Now begin;\\r\\n For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs\\r\\n Close by the ground, to hear our conference.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n The pleasant’st angling is to see the fish\\r\\n Cut with her golden oars the silver stream,\\r\\n And greedily devour the treacherous bait:\\r\\n So angle we for Beatrice; who even now\\r\\n Is couched in the woodbine coverture.\\r\\n Fear you not my part of the dialogue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing\\r\\n Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They advance to the bower._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful;\\r\\n I know her spirits are as coy and wild\\r\\n As haggards of the rock.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n But are you sure\\r\\n That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n So says the Prince, and my new-trothed lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n And did they bid you tell her of it, madam?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n They did entreat me to acquaint her of it;\\r\\n But I persuaded them, if they lov’d Benedick,\\r\\n To wish him wrestle with affection,\\r\\n And never to let Beatrice know of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman\\r\\n Deserve as full as fortunate a bed\\r\\n As ever Beatrice shall couch upon?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n O god of love! I know he doth deserve\\r\\n As much as may be yielded to a man;\\r\\n But Nature never fram’d a woman’s heart\\r\\n Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice;\\r\\n Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,\\r\\n Misprising what they look on, and her wit\\r\\n Values itself so highly, that to her\\r\\n All matter else seems weak. She cannot love,\\r\\n Nor take no shape nor project of affection,\\r\\n She is so self-endear’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Sure I think so;\\r\\n And therefore certainly it were not good\\r\\n She knew his love, lest she make sport at it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Why, you speak truth. I never yet saw man,\\r\\n How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur’d,\\r\\n But she would spell him backward: if fair-fac’d,\\r\\n She would swear the gentleman should be her sister;\\r\\n If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antick,\\r\\n Made a foul blot; if tall, a lance ill-headed;\\r\\n If low, an agate very vilely cut;\\r\\n If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds;\\r\\n If silent, why, a block moved with none.\\r\\n So turns she every man the wrong side out,\\r\\n And never gives to truth and virtue that\\r\\n Which simpleness and merit purchaseth.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n No; not to be so odd, and from all fashions,\\r\\n As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable.\\r\\n But who dare tell her so? If I should speak,\\r\\n She would mock me into air: O! she would laugh me\\r\\n Out of myself, press me to death with wit.\\r\\n Therefore let Benedick, like cover’d fire,\\r\\n Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly:\\r\\n It were a better death than die with mocks,\\r\\n Which is as bad as die with tickling.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Yet tell her of it: hear what she will say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n No; rather I will go to Benedick,\\r\\n And counsel him to fight against his passion.\\r\\n And, truly, I’ll devise some honest slanders\\r\\n To stain my cousin with. One doth not know\\r\\n How much an ill word may empoison liking.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n O! do not do your cousin such a wrong.\\r\\n She cannot be so much without true judgment,—\\r\\n Having so swift and excellent a wit\\r\\n As she is priz’d to have,—as to refuse\\r\\n So rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n He is the only man of Italy,\\r\\n Always excepted my dear Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n I pray you, be not angry with me, madam,\\r\\n Speaking my fancy: Signior Benedick,\\r\\n For shape, for bearing, argument and valour,\\r\\n Goes foremost in report through Italy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Indeed, he hath an excellent good name.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n His excellence did earn it, ere he had it.\\r\\n When are you married, madam?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Why, every day, tomorrow. Come, go in:\\r\\n I’ll show thee some attires, and have thy counsel\\r\\n Which is the best to furnish me tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n She’s lim’d, I warrant you,\\r\\n We have caught her, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n If it prove so, then loving goes by haps:\\r\\n Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Hero and Ursula._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n [_Advancing._] What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true?\\r\\n Stand I condemn’d for pride and scorn so much?\\r\\n Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu!\\r\\n No glory lives behind the back of such.\\r\\n And, Benedick, love on; I will requite thee,\\r\\n Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand:\\r\\n If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee\\r\\n To bind our loves up in a holy band;\\r\\n For others say thou dost deserve, and I\\r\\n Believe it better than reportingly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick and Leonato.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I do but stay till your marriage be consummate, and then go I\\r\\n toward Arragon.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I’ll bring you thither, my lord, if you’ll vouchsafe me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Nay, that would be as great a soil in the new gloss of your\\r\\n marriage, as to show a child his new coat and forbid him to wear\\r\\n it. I will only be bold with Benedick for his company; for, from\\r\\n the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth;\\r\\n he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid’s bowstring, and the little\\r\\n hangman dare not shoot at him. He hath a heart as sound as a\\r\\n bell, and his tongue is the clapper; for what his heart thinks,\\r\\n his tongue speaks.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Gallants, I am not as I have been.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n So say I: methinks you are sadder.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I hope he be in love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Hang him, truant! there’s no true drop of blood in him to be\\r\\n truly touched with love. If he be sad, he wants money.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I have the tooth-ache.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Draw it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Hang it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n What! sigh for the tooth-ache?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Where is but a humour or a worm?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Well, everyone can master a grief but he that has it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Yet say I, he is in love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless it be a fancy that\\r\\n he hath to strange disguises; as to be a Dutchman today, a\\r\\n Frenchman tomorrow; or in the shape of two countries at once, as\\r\\n a German from the waist downward, all slops, and a Spaniard from\\r\\n the hip upward, no doublet. Unless he have a fancy to this\\r\\n foolery, as it appears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you\\r\\n would have it appear he is.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If he be not in love with some woman, there is no believing old\\r\\n signs: a’ brushes his hat a mornings; what should that bode?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Hath any man seen him at the barber’s?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n No, but the barber’s man hath been seen with him; and the old\\r\\n ornament of his cheek hath already stuffed tennis balls.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Indeed he looks younger than he did, by the loss of a beard.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Nay, a’ rubs himself with civet: can you smell him out by that?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n That’s as much as to say the sweet youth’s in love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n The greatest note of it is his melancholy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And when was he wont to wash his face?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, I hear what they say of\\r\\n him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Nay, but his jesting spirit; which is now crept into a\\r\\n lute-string, and now governed by stops.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him. Conclude, conclude he is\\r\\n in love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Nay, but I know who loves him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n That would I know too: I warrant, one that knows him not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Yes, and his ill conditions; and in despite of all, dies for him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n She shall be buried with her face upwards.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ache. Old signior, walk aside\\r\\n with me: I have studied eight or nine wise words to speak to you,\\r\\n which these hobby-horses must not hear.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Benedick and Leonato._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n For my life, to break with him about Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n ’Tis even so. Hero and Margaret have by this played their parts\\r\\n with Beatrice, and then the two bears will not bite one another\\r\\n when they meet.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don John.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n My lord and brother, God save you!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Good den, brother.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n If your leisure served, I would speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n In private?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n If it please you; yet Count Claudio may hear, for what I would\\r\\n speak of concerns him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n [_To Claudio._] Means your lordship to be married tomorrow?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n You know he does.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I know not that, when he knows what I know.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If there be any impediment, I pray you discover it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n You may think I love you not: let that appear hereafter, and aim\\r\\n better at me by that I now will manifest. For my brother, I think\\r\\n he holds you well, and in dearness of heart hath holp to effect\\r\\n your ensuing marriage; surely suit ill-spent and labour ill\\r\\n bestowed!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Why, what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I came hither to tell you; and circumstances shortened,—for she\\r\\n has been too long a talking of,—the lady is disloyal.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Who, Hero?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Even she: Leonato’s Hero, your Hero, every man’s Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Disloyal?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n The word’s too good to paint out her wickedness; I could say, she\\r\\n were worse: think you of a worse title, and I will fit her to it.\\r\\n Wonder not till further warrant: go but with me tonight, you\\r\\n shall see her chamber window entered, even the night before her\\r\\n wedding-day: if you love her then, tomorrow wed her; but it would\\r\\n better fit your honour to change your mind.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n May this be so?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I will not think it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n If you dare not trust that you see, confess not that you know. If\\r\\n you will follow me, I will show you enough; and when you have\\r\\n seen more and heard more, proceed accordingly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If I see anything tonight why I should not marry her tomorrow, in\\r\\n the congregation, where I should wed, there will I shame her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I will join with thee to\\r\\n disgrace her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n I will disparage her no farther till you are my witnesses: bear\\r\\n it coldly but till midnight, and let the issue show itself.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n O day untowardly turned!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n O mischief strangely thwarting!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n O plague right well prevented! So will you say when you have seen\\r\\n the sequel.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nScene III. A Street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Dogberry and Verges, with the Watch.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Are you good men and true?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer salvation, body\\r\\n and soul.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Nay, that were a punishment too good for them, if they should\\r\\n have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the Prince’s watch.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dogberry.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n First, who think you the most desartless man to be constable?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST WATCH.\\r\\n Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal; for they can write and\\r\\n read.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Come hither, neighbour Seacoal. God hath blessed you with a good\\r\\n name: to be a well-favoured man is the gift of Fortune; but to\\r\\n write and read comes by Nature.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n Both which, Master Constable,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n You have: I knew it would be your answer. Well, for your favour,\\r\\n sir, why, give God thanks, and make no boast of it; and for your\\r\\n writing and reading, let that appear when there is no need of\\r\\n such vanity. You are thought here to be the most senseless and\\r\\n fit man for the constable of the watch; therefore bear you the\\r\\n lanthorn. This is your charge: you shall comprehend all vagrom\\r\\n men; you are to bid any man stand, in the Prince’s name.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n How, if a’ will not stand?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Why, then, take no note of him, but let him go; and presently\\r\\n call the rest of the watch together, and thank God you are rid of\\r\\n a knave.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the\\r\\n Prince’s subjects.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n True, and they are to meddle with none but the Prince’s subjects.\\r\\n You shall also make no noise in the streets: for, for the watch\\r\\n to babble and to talk is most tolerable and not to be endured.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n We will rather sleep than talk: we know what belongs to a watch.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet watchman, for I\\r\\n cannot see how sleeping should offend; only have a care that your\\r\\n bills be not stolen. Well, you are to call at all the alehouses,\\r\\n and bid those that are drunk get them to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n How if they will not?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Why then, let them alone till they are sober: if they make you\\r\\n not then the better answer, you may say they are not the men you\\r\\n took them for.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n Well, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue of your\\r\\n office, to be no true man; and, for such kind of men, the less\\r\\n you meddle or make with them, why, the more is for your honesty.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Truly, by your office, you may; but I think they that touch pitch\\r\\n will be defiled. The most peaceable way for you, if you do take a\\r\\n thief, is to let him show himself what he is and steal out of\\r\\n your company.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n You have been always called a merciful man, partner.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will, much more a man who\\r\\n hath any honesty in him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the nurse\\r\\n and bid her still it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n How if the nurse be asleep and will not hear us?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Why then, depart in peace, and let the child wake her with\\r\\n crying; for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it baes,\\r\\n will never answer a calf when he bleats.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n ’Tis very true.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n This is the end of the charge. You constable, are to present the\\r\\n Prince’s own person: if you meet the Prince in the night, you may\\r\\n stay him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Nay, by’r lady, that I think, a’ cannot.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Five shillings to one on’t, with any man that knows the statutes,\\r\\n he may stay him: marry, not without the Prince be willing; for,\\r\\n indeed, the watch ought to offend no man, and it is an offence to\\r\\n stay a man against his will.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n By’r lady, I think it be so.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Ha, ah, ha! Well, masters, good night: an there be any matter of\\r\\n weight chances, call up me: keep your fellows’ counsels and your\\r\\n own, and good night. Come, neighbour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n Well, masters, we hear our charge: let us go sit here upon the\\r\\n church bench till two, and then all to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n One word more, honest neighbours. I pray you, watch about Signior\\r\\n Leonato’s door; for the wedding being there tomorrow, there is a\\r\\n great coil tonight. Adieu; be vigitant, I beseech you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Dogberry and Verges._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Borachio and Conrade.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n What, Conrade!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n WATCH.\\r\\n [_Aside_] Peace! stir not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Conrade, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Here, man. I am at thy elbow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Mass, and my elbow itched; I thought there would a scab follow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n I will owe thee an answer for that; and now forward with thy\\r\\n tale.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Stand thee close then under this penthouse, for it drizzles rain,\\r\\n and I will, like a true drunkard, utter all to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n WATCH.\\r\\n [_Aside_] Some treason, masters; yet stand close.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Therefore know, I have earned of Don John a thousand ducats.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Is it possible that any villainy should be so dear?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Thou shouldst rather ask if it were possible any villainy should\\r\\n be so rich; for when rich villains have need of poor ones, poor\\r\\n ones may make what price they will.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n I wonder at it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n That shows thou art unconfirmed. Thou knowest that the fashion of\\r\\n a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak, is nothing to a man.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Yes, it is apparel.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n I mean, the fashion.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Yes, the fashion is the fashion.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Tush! I may as well say the fool’s the fool. But seest thou not\\r\\n what a deformed thief this fashion is?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n WATCH.\\r\\n [_Aside_] I know that Deformed; a’ has been a vile thief this\\r\\n seven years; a’ goes up and down like a gentleman: I remember his\\r\\n name.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Didst thou not hear somebody?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n No: ’twas the vane on the house.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this fashion is? how\\r\\n giddily he turns about all the hot bloods between fourteen and\\r\\n five-and-thirty? sometime fashioning them like Pharaoh’s soldiers\\r\\n in the reechy painting; sometime like god Bel’s priests in the\\r\\n old church window; sometime like the shaven Hercules in the\\r\\n smirched worm-eaten tapestry, where his codpiece seems as massy\\r\\n as his club?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n All this I see, and I see that the fashion wears out more apparel\\r\\n than the man. But art not thou thyself giddy with the fashion\\r\\n too, that thou hast shifted out of thy tale into telling me of\\r\\n the fashion?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Not so neither; but know, that I have tonight wooed Margaret, the\\r\\n Lady Hero’s gentlewoman, by the name of Hero: she leans me out at\\r\\n her mistress’ chamber window, bids me a thousand times good\\r\\n night,—I tell this tale vilely:—I should first tell thee how the\\r\\n Prince, Claudio, and my master, planted and placed and possessed\\r\\n by my master Don John, saw afar off in the orchard this amiable\\r\\n encounter.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n And thought they Margaret was Hero?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio; but the devil my master,\\r\\n knew she was Margaret; and partly by his oaths, which first\\r\\n possessed them, partly by the dark night, which did deceive them,\\r\\n but chiefly by my villainy, which did confirm any slander that\\r\\n Don John had made, away went Claudio enraged; swore he would meet\\r\\n her, as he was appointed, next morning at the temple, and there,\\r\\n before the whole congregation, shame her with what he saw o’er\\r\\n night, and send her home again without a husband.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST WATCH.\\r\\n We charge you in the Prince’s name, stand!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n Call up the right Master Constable. We have here recovered the\\r\\n most dangerous piece of lechery that ever was known in the\\r\\n commonwealth.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST WATCH.\\r\\n And one Deformed is one of them: I know him, a’ wears a lock.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Masters, masters!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n You’ll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Masters,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST WATCH.\\r\\n Never speak: we charge you let us obey you to go with us.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO. We are like to prove a goodly commodity, being taken up\\r\\n of these men’s bills.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n A commodity in question, I warrant you. Come, we’ll obey you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nScene IV. A Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hero, Margaret and Ursula.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and desire her to rise.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n I will, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n And bid her come hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Well.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Troth, I think your other rebato were better.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n No, pray thee, good Meg, I’ll wear this.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n By my troth’s not so good; and I warrant your cousin will say so.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n My cousin ’s a fool, and thou art another: I’ll wear none but\\r\\n this.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n I like the new tire within excellently, if the hair were a\\r\\n thought browner; and your gown ’s a most rare fashion, i’ faith.\\r\\n I saw the Duchess of Milan’s gown that they praise so.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n O! that exceeds, they say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n By my troth ’s but a night-gown in respect of yours: cloth o’\\r\\n gold, and cuts, and laced with silver, set with pearls, down\\r\\n sleeves, side sleeves, and skirts round, underborne with a bluish\\r\\n tinsel; but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excellent fashion,\\r\\n yours is worth ten on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n God give me joy to wear it! for my heart is exceeding heavy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n ’Twill be heavier soon by the weight of a man.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Fie upon thee! art not ashamed?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Of what, lady? of speaking honourably? Is not marriage honourable\\r\\n in a beggar? Is not your lord honourable without marriage? I\\r\\n think you would have me say, saving your reverence, ‘a husband:’\\r\\n an bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, I’ll offend nobody.\\r\\n Is there any harm in ‘the heavier for a husband’? None, I think,\\r\\n and it be the right husband and the right wife; otherwise ’tis\\r\\n light, and not heavy: ask my Lady Beatrice else; here she comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Good morrow, coz.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Good morrow, sweet Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Why, how now? do you speak in the sick tune?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I am out of all other tune, methinks.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Clap’s into ‘Light o’ love’; that goes without a burden: do you\\r\\n sing it, and I’ll dance it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Ye, light o’ love with your heels! then, if your husband have\\r\\n stables enough, you’ll see he shall lack no barnes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n O illegitimate construction! I scorn that with my heels.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n ’Tis almost five o’clock, cousin; ’tis time you were ready. By my\\r\\n troth, I am exceeding ill. Heigh-ho!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n For a hawk, a horse, or a husband?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n For the letter that begins them all, H.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Well, and you be not turned Turk, there’s no more sailing by the\\r\\n star.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n What means the fool, trow?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Nothing I; but God send everyone their heart’s desire!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n These gloves the Count sent me; they are an excellent perfume.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I am stuffed, cousin, I cannot smell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n A maid, and stuffed! there’s goodly catching of cold.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n O, God help me! God help me! how long have you professed\\r\\n apprehension?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Ever since you left it. Doth not my wit become me rarely!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n It is not seen enough, you should wear it in your cap. By my\\r\\n troth, I am sick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Get you some of this distilled _Carduus benedictus_, and lay it\\r\\n to your heart: it is the only thing for a qualm.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n There thou prick’st her with a thistle.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n _Benedictus!_ why _benedictus?_ you have some moral in this\\r\\n _benedictus_.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Moral! no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning; I meant, plain\\r\\n holy thistle. You may think, perchance, that I think you are in\\r\\n love: nay, by’r Lady, I am not such a fool to think what I list;\\r\\n nor I list not to think what I can; nor, indeed, I cannot think,\\r\\n if I would think my heart out of thinking, that you are in love,\\r\\n or that you will be in love, or that you can be in love. Yet\\r\\n Benedick was such another, and now is he become a man: he swore\\r\\n he would never marry; and yet now, in despite of his heart, he\\r\\n eats his meat without grudging: and how you may be converted, I\\r\\n know not; but methinks you look with your eyes as other women do.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n What pace is this that thy tongue keeps?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Not a false gallop.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ursula.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Madam, withdraw: the Prince, the Count, Signior Benedick, Don\\r\\n John, and all the gallants of the town are come to fetch you to\\r\\n church.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good Ursula.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nScene V. Another Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leonato and Dogberry and Verges.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n What would you with me, honest neighbour?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Marry, sir, I would have some confidence with you, that decerns\\r\\n you nearly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Brief, I pray you; for you see it is a busy time with me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Marry, this it is, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Yes, in truth it is, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n What is it, my good friends?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off the matter: an old man,\\r\\n sir, and his wits are not so blunt as, God help, I would desire\\r\\n they were; but, in faith, honest as the skin between his brows.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Yes, I thank God, I am as honest as any man living, that is an\\r\\n old man and no honester than I.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Comparisons are odorous: palabras, neighbour Verges.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Neighbours, you are tedious.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n It pleases your worship to say so, but we are the poor Duke’s\\r\\n officers; but truly, for mine own part, if I were as tedious as a\\r\\n king, I could find in my heart to bestow it all of your worship.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n All thy tediousness on me! ah?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Yea, and ’twere a thousand pound more than ’tis; for I hear as\\r\\n good exclamation on your worship, as of any man in the city, and\\r\\n though I be but a poor man, I am glad to hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n And so am I.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I would fain know what you have to say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Marry, sir, our watch tonight, excepting your worship’s presence,\\r\\n ha’ ta’en a couple of as arrant knaves as any in Messina.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n A good old man, sir; he will be talking; as they say, ‘when the\\r\\n age is in, the wit is out.’ God help us! it is a world to see!\\r\\n Well said, i’ faith, neighbour Verges: well, God’s a good man;\\r\\n and two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind. An honest\\r\\n soul, i’ faith, sir; by my troth he is, as ever broke bread; but\\r\\n God is to be worshipped: all men are not alike; alas! good\\r\\n neighbour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Gifts that God gives.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I must leave you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n One word, sir: our watch, sir, have indeed comprehended two\\r\\n aspicious persons, and we would have them this morning examined\\r\\n before your worship.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Take their examination yourself, and bring it me: I am now in\\r\\n great haste, as may appear unto you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n It shall be suffigance.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Drink some wine ere you go: fare you well.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n My lord, they stay for you to give your daughter to her husband.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I’ll wait upon them: I am ready.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Leonato and Messenger._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Go, good partner, go get you to Francis Seacoal; bid him bring\\r\\n his pen and inkhorn to the gaol: we are now to examination these\\r\\n men.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n And we must do it wisely.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n We will spare for no wit, I warrant you; here’s that shall drive\\r\\n some of them to a non-come: only get the learned writer to set\\r\\n down our excommunication, and meet me at the gaol.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Inside of a Church.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Leonato, Friar Francis, Claudio,\\r\\n Benedick, Hero, Beatrice &c.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Come, Friar Francis, be brief: only to the plain form of\\r\\n marriage, and you shall recount their particular duties\\r\\n afterwards.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n No.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n To be married to her, friar; you come to marry her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Lady, you come hither to be married to this Count?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n I do.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n If either of you know any inward impediment, why you should not\\r\\n be conjoined, I charge you, on your souls, to utter it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Know you any, Hero?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n None, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Know you any, Count?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I dare make his answer; none.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n O! what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, not\\r\\n knowing what they do!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n How now! Interjections? Why then, some be of laughing, as ah! ha!\\r\\n he!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Stand thee by, Friar. Father, by your leave:\\r\\n Will you with free and unconstrained soul\\r\\n Give me this maid, your daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n As freely, son, as God did give her me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And what have I to give you back whose worth\\r\\n May counterpoise this rich and precious gift?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Nothing, unless you render her again.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Sweet Prince, you learn me noble thankfulness.\\r\\n There, Leonato, take her back again:\\r\\n Give not this rotten orange to your friend;\\r\\n She’s but the sign and semblance of her honour.\\r\\n Behold! how like a maid she blushes here.\\r\\n O! what authority and show of truth\\r\\n Can cunning sin cover itself withal.\\r\\n Comes not that blood as modest evidence\\r\\n To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear,\\r\\n All you that see her, that she were a maid,\\r\\n By these exterior shows? But she is none:\\r\\n She knows the heat of a luxurious bed;\\r\\n Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n What do you mean, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Not to be married,\\r\\n Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof,\\r\\n Have vanquish’d the resistance of her youth,\\r\\n And made defeat of her virginity,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I know what you would say: if I have known her,\\r\\n You will say she did embrace me as a husband,\\r\\n And so extenuate the forehand sin: No, Leonato,\\r\\n I never tempted her with word too large;\\r\\n But as a brother to his sister show’d\\r\\n Bashful sincerity and comely love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n And seem’d I ever otherwise to you?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Out on thee! Seeming! I will write against it:\\r\\n You seem to me as Dian in her orb,\\r\\n As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown;\\r\\n But you are more intemperate in your blood\\r\\n Than Venus, or those pamper’d animals\\r\\n That rage in savage sensuality.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Sweet Prince, why speak not you?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n What should I speak?\\r\\n I stand dishonour’d, that have gone about\\r\\n To link my dear friend to a common stale.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Are these things spoken, or do I but dream?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n This looks not like a nuptial.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n True! O God!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Leonato, stand I here?\\r\\n Is this the Prince? Is this the Prince’s brother?\\r\\n Is this face Hero’s? Are our eyes our own?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n All this is so; but what of this, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Let me but move one question to your daughter,\\r\\n And by that fatherly and kindly power\\r\\n That you have in her, bid her answer truly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I charge thee do so, as thou art my child.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n O, God defend me! how am I beset!\\r\\n What kind of catechizing call you this?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n To make you answer truly to your name.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name\\r\\n With any just reproach?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Marry, that can Hero:\\r\\n Hero itself can blot out Hero’s virtue.\\r\\n What man was he talk’d with you yesternight\\r\\n Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one?\\r\\n Now, if you are a maid, answer to this.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n I talk’d with no man at that hour, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Why, then are you no maiden.\\r\\n Leonato, I am sorry you must hear: upon my honour,\\r\\n Myself, my brother, and this grieved Count,\\r\\n Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night,\\r\\n Talk with a ruffian at her chamber window;\\r\\n Who hath indeed, most like a liberal villain,\\r\\n Confess’d the vile encounters they have had\\r\\n A thousand times in secret.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Fie, fie! they are not to be nam’d, my lord,\\r\\n Not to be spoke of;\\r\\n There is not chastity enough in language\\r\\n Without offence to utter them. Thus, pretty lady,\\r\\n I am sorry for thy much misgovernment.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been,\\r\\n If half thy outward graces had been plac’d\\r\\n About thy thoughts and counsels of thy heart!\\r\\n But fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell,\\r\\n Thou pure impiety, and impious purity!\\r\\n For thee I’ll lock up all the gates of love,\\r\\n And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang,\\r\\n To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm,\\r\\n And never shall it more be gracious.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Hath no man’s dagger here a point for me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Hero swoons._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Why, how now, cousin! wherefore sink you down?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON JOHN.\\r\\n Come, let us go. These things, come thus to light,\\r\\n Smother her spirits up.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John and Claudio._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n How doth the lady?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Dead, I think! Help, uncle! Hero! why, Hero! Uncle! Signior\\r\\n Benedick! Friar!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n O Fate! take not away thy heavy hand:\\r\\n Death is the fairest cover for her shame\\r\\n That may be wish’d for.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n How now, cousin Hero?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Have comfort, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Dost thou look up?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Yea; wherefore should she not?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Wherefore! Why, doth not every earthly thing\\r\\n Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny\\r\\n The story that is printed in her blood?\\r\\n Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes;\\r\\n For, did I think thou wouldst not quickly die,\\r\\n Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames,\\r\\n Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches,\\r\\n Strike at thy life. Griev’d I, I had but one?\\r\\n Chid I for that at frugal Nature’s frame?\\r\\n O! one too much by thee. Why had I one?\\r\\n Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes?\\r\\n Why had I not with charitable hand\\r\\n Took up a beggar’s issue at my gates,\\r\\n Who smirched thus, and mir’d with infamy,\\r\\n I might have said, ‘No part of it is mine;\\r\\n This shame derives itself from unknown loins?’\\r\\n But mine, and mine I lov’d, and mine I prais’d,\\r\\n And mine that I was proud on, mine so much\\r\\n That I myself was to myself not mine,\\r\\n Valuing of her; why, she—O! she is fallen\\r\\n Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea\\r\\n Hath drops too few to wash her clean again,\\r\\n And salt too little which may season give\\r\\n To her foul tainted flesh.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Sir, sir, be patient.\\r\\n For my part, I am so attir’d in wonder,\\r\\n I know not what to say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n O! on my soul, my cousin is belied!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n No, truly, not; although, until last night,\\r\\n I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Confirm’d, confirm’d! O! that is stronger made,\\r\\n Which was before barr’d up with ribs of iron.\\r\\n Would the two princes lie? and Claudio lie,\\r\\n Who lov’d her so, that, speaking of her foulness,\\r\\n Wash’d it with tears? Hence from her! let her die.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Hear me a little;\\r\\n For I have only been silent so long,\\r\\n And given way unto this course of fortune,\\r\\n By noting of the lady: I have mark’d\\r\\n A thousand blushing apparitions\\r\\n To start into her face; a thousand innocent shames\\r\\n In angel whiteness bear away those blushes;\\r\\n And in her eye there hath appear’d a fire,\\r\\n To burn the errors that these princes hold\\r\\n Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool;\\r\\n Trust not my reading nor my observations,\\r\\n Which with experimental seal doth warrant\\r\\n The tenure of my book; trust not my age,\\r\\n My reverence, calling, nor divinity,\\r\\n If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here\\r\\n Under some biting error.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Friar, it cannot be.\\r\\n Thou seest that all the grace that she hath left\\r\\n Is that she will not add to her damnation\\r\\n A sin of perjury: she not denies it.\\r\\n Why seek’st thou then to cover with excuse\\r\\n That which appears in proper nakedness?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Lady, what man is he you are accus’d of?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n They know that do accuse me, I know none;\\r\\n If I know more of any man alive\\r\\n Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant,\\r\\n Let all my sins lack mercy! O, my father!\\r\\n Prove you that any man with me convers’d\\r\\n At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight\\r\\n Maintain’d the change of words with any creature,\\r\\n Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n There is some strange misprision in the princes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Two of them have the very bent of honour;\\r\\n And if their wisdoms be misled in this,\\r\\n The practice of it lives in John the bastard,\\r\\n Whose spirits toil in frame of villainies.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I know not. If they speak but truth of her,\\r\\n These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honour,\\r\\n The proudest of them shall well hear of it.\\r\\n Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine,\\r\\n Nor age so eat up my invention,\\r\\n Nor fortune made such havoc of my means,\\r\\n Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends,\\r\\n But they shall find, awak’d in such a kind,\\r\\n Both strength of limb and policy of mind,\\r\\n Ability in means and choice of friends,\\r\\n To quit me of them throughly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Pause awhile,\\r\\n And let my counsel sway you in this case.\\r\\n Your daughter here the princes left for dead;\\r\\n Let her awhile be secretly kept in,\\r\\n And publish it that she is dead indeed:\\r\\n Maintain a mourning ostentation;\\r\\n And on your family’s old monument\\r\\n Hang mournful epitaphs and do all rites\\r\\n That appertain unto a burial.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n What shall become of this? What will this do?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Marry, this well carried shall on her behalf\\r\\n Change slander to remorse; that is some good.\\r\\n But not for that dream I on this strange course,\\r\\n But on this travail look for greater birth.\\r\\n She dying, as it must be so maintain’d,\\r\\n Upon the instant that she was accus’d,\\r\\n Shall be lamented, pitied and excus’d\\r\\n Of every hearer; for it so falls out\\r\\n That what we have we prize not to the worth\\r\\n Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack’d and lost,\\r\\n Why, then we rack the value, then we find\\r\\n The virtue that possession would not show us\\r\\n Whiles it was ours. So will it fare with Claudio:\\r\\n When he shall hear she died upon his words,\\r\\n The idea of her life shall sweetly creep\\r\\n Into his study of imagination,\\r\\n And every lovely organ of her life\\r\\n Shall come apparell’d in more precious habit,\\r\\n More moving, delicate, and full of life\\r\\n Into the eye and prospect of his soul,\\r\\n Than when she liv’d indeed: then shall he mourn,—\\r\\n If ever love had interest in his liver,—\\r\\n And wish he had not so accused her,\\r\\n No, though he thought his accusation true.\\r\\n Let this be so, and doubt not but success\\r\\n Will fashion the event in better shape\\r\\n Than I can lay it down in likelihood.\\r\\n But if all aim but this be levell’d false,\\r\\n The supposition of the lady’s death\\r\\n Will quench the wonder of her infamy:\\r\\n And if it sort not well, you may conceal her,—\\r\\n As best befits her wounded reputation,—\\r\\n In some reclusive and religious life,\\r\\n Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you:\\r\\n And though you know my inwardness and love\\r\\n Is very much unto the Prince and Claudio,\\r\\n Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this\\r\\n As secretly and justly as your soul\\r\\n Should with your body.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Being that I flow in grief,\\r\\n The smallest twine may lead me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n ’Tis well consented: presently away;\\r\\n For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure.\\r\\n Come, lady, die to live: this wedding day\\r\\n Perhaps is but prolong’d: have patience and endure.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Friar, Hero and Leonato._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Yea, and I will weep a while longer.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I will not desire that.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n You have no reason; I do it freely.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wronged.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Ah! how much might the man deserve of me that would right her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Is there any way to show such friendship?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n A very even way, but no such friend.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n May a man do it?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n It is a man’s office, but not yours.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that\\r\\n strange?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n As strange as the thing I know not. It were as possible for me to\\r\\n say I loved nothing so well as you; but believe me not, and yet I\\r\\n lie not; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am sorry for my\\r\\n cousin.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Do not swear by it, and eat it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I will swear by it that you love me; and I will make him eat it\\r\\n that says I love not you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Will you not eat your word?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest I love thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Why then, God forgive me!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n What offence, sweet Beatrice?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about to protest I\\r\\n loved you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n And do it with all thy heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Come, bid me do anything for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Kill Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Ha! not for the wide world.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n You kill me to deny it. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Tarry, sweet Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I am gone, though I am here: there is no love in you: nay, I pray\\r\\n you, let me go.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Beatrice,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n In faith, I will go.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n We’ll be friends first.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n You dare easier be friends with me than fight with mine enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Is Claudio thine enemy?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath slandered,\\r\\n scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman? O! that I were a man. What!\\r\\n bear her in hand until they come to take hands, and then, with\\r\\n public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour,—O God,\\r\\n that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Hear me, Beatrice,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Talk with a man out at a window! a proper saying!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Nay, but Beatrice,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Sweet Hero! she is wronged, she is slandered, she is undone.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Beat—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Princes and Counties! Surely, a princely testimony, a goodly\\r\\n Count Comfect; a sweet gallant, surely! O! that I were a man for\\r\\n his sake, or that I had any friend would be a man for my sake!\\r\\n But manhood is melted into curtsies, valour into compliment, and\\r\\n men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones too: he is now as\\r\\n valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lie and swears it. I\\r\\n cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with\\r\\n grieving.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I love thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Think you in your soul the Count Claudio hath wronged Hero?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Yea, as sure is I have a thought or a soul.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Enough! I am engaged, I will challenge him. I will kiss your\\r\\n hand, and so leave you. By this hand, Claudio shall render me a\\r\\n dear account. As you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort your\\r\\n cousin: I must say she is dead; and so, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nScene II. A Prison.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Dogberry, Verges, and Sexton, in gowns; and the Watch, with\\r\\n Conrade and Borachio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Is our whole dissembly appeared?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n O! a stool and a cushion for the sexton.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SEXTON.\\r\\n Which be the malefactors?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Marry, that am I and my partner.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Nay, that’s certain: we have the exhibition to examine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SEXTON.\\r\\n But which are the offenders that are to be examined? let them\\r\\n come before Master Constable.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Yea, marry, let them come before me. What is your name, friend?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Borachio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Pray write down Borachio. Yours, sirrah?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Write down Master gentleman Conrade. Masters, do you serve God?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BOTH.\\r\\n Yea, sir, we hope.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Write down that they hope they serve God: and write God first;\\r\\n for God defend but God should go before such villains! Masters,\\r\\n it is proved already that you are little better than false\\r\\n knaves, and it will go near to be thought so shortly. How answer\\r\\n you for yourselves?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Marry, sir, we say we are none.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you; but I will go about with\\r\\n him. Come you hither, sirrah; a word in your ear: sir, I say to\\r\\n you, it is thought you are false knaves.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Sir, I say to you we are none.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Well, stand aside. Fore God, they are both in a tale. Have you\\r\\n writ down, that they are none?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SEXTON.\\r\\n Master Constable, you go not the way to examine: you must call\\r\\n forth the watch that are their accusers.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Yea, marry, that’s the eftest way. Let the watch come forth.\\r\\n Masters, I charge you, in the Prince’s name, accuse these men.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST WATCH.\\r\\n This man said, sir, that Don John, the Prince’s brother, was a\\r\\n villain.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Write down Prince John a villain. Why, this is flat perjury, to\\r\\n call a Prince’s brother villain.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Master Constable,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Pray thee, fellow, peace: I do not like thy look, I promise thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SEXTON.\\r\\n What heard you him say else?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n Marry, that he had received a thousand ducats of Don John for\\r\\n accusing the Lady Hero wrongfully.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Flat burglary as ever was committed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Yea, by the mass, that it is.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SEXTON.\\r\\n What else, fellow?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST WATCH.\\r\\n And that Count Claudio did mean, upon his words, to disgrace Hero\\r\\n before the whole assembly, and not marry her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n O villain! thou wilt be condemned into everlasting redemption for\\r\\n this.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SEXTON.\\r\\n What else?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND WATCH.\\r\\n This is all.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n SEXTON.\\r\\n And this is more, masters, than you can deny. Prince John is this\\r\\n morning secretly stolen away: Hero was in this manner accused, in\\r\\n this manner refused, and, upon the grief of this, suddenly died.\\r\\n Master Constable, let these men be bound, and brought to\\r\\n Leonato’s: I will go before and show him their examination.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Come, let them be opinioned.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Let them be in the hands—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Off, coxcomb!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n God’s my life! where’s the sexton? let him write down the\\r\\n Prince’s officer coxcomb. Come, bind them. Thou naughty varlet!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CONRADE.\\r\\n Away! you are an ass; you are an ass.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not suspect my years? O\\r\\n that he were here to write me down an ass! but, masters, remember\\r\\n that I am an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not\\r\\n that I am an ass. No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as\\r\\n shall be proved upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow;\\r\\n and, which is more, an officer; and, which is more, a\\r\\n householder; and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as\\r\\n any in Messina; and one that knows the law, go to; and a rich\\r\\n fellow enough, go to; and a fellow that hath had losses; and one\\r\\n that hath two gowns, and everything handsome about him. Bring him\\r\\n away. O that I had been writ down an ass!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Before Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leonato and Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n If you go on thus, you will kill yourself\\r\\n And ’tis not wisdom thus to second grief\\r\\n Against yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I pray thee, cease thy counsel,\\r\\n Which falls into mine ears as profitless\\r\\n As water in a sieve: give not me counsel;\\r\\n Nor let no comforter delight mine ear\\r\\n But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine:\\r\\n Bring me a father that so lov’d his child,\\r\\n Whose joy of her is overwhelm’d like mine,\\r\\n And bid him speak of patience;\\r\\n Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine,\\r\\n And let it answer every strain for strain,\\r\\n As thus for thus and such a grief for such,\\r\\n In every lineament, branch, shape, and form:\\r\\n If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard;\\r\\n Bid sorrow wag, cry ‘hem’ when he should groan,\\r\\n Patch grief with proverbs; make misfortune drunk\\r\\n With candle-wasters; bring him yet to me,\\r\\n And I of him will gather patience.\\r\\n But there is no such man; for, brother, men\\r\\n Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief\\r\\n Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it,\\r\\n Their counsel turns to passion, which before\\r\\n Would give preceptial medicine to rage,\\r\\n Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,\\r\\n Charm ache with air and agony with words.\\r\\n No, no; ’tis all men’s office to speak patience\\r\\n To those that wring under the load of sorrow,\\r\\n But no man’s virtue nor sufficiency\\r\\n To be so moral when he shall endure\\r\\n The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel:\\r\\n My griefs cry louder than advertisement.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Therein do men from children nothing differ.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I pray thee peace! I will be flesh and blood;\\r\\n For there was never yet philosopher\\r\\n That could endure the toothache patiently,\\r\\n However they have writ the style of gods\\r\\n And made a push at chance and sufferance.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself;\\r\\n Make those that do offend you suffer too.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n There thou speak’st reason: nay, I will do so.\\r\\n My soul doth tell me Hero is belied;\\r\\n And that shall Claudio know; so shall the Prince,\\r\\n And all of them that thus dishonour her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Here comes the Prince and Claudio hastily.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro and Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Good den, good den.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Good day to both of you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Hear you, my lords,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n We have some haste, Leonato.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Some haste, my lord! well, fare you well, my lord:\\r\\n Are you so hasty now?—well, all is one.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n If he could right himself with quarrelling,\\r\\n Some of us would lie low.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Who wrongs him?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Marry, thou dost wrong me; thou dissembler, thou.\\r\\n Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword;\\r\\n I fear thee not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Marry, beshrew my hand,\\r\\n If it should give your age such cause of fear.\\r\\n In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Tush, tush, man! never fleer and jest at me:\\r\\n I speak not like a dotard nor a fool,\\r\\n As, under privilege of age, to brag\\r\\n What I have done being young, or what would do,\\r\\n Were I not old. Know, Claudio, to thy head,\\r\\n Thou hast so wrong’d mine innocent child and me\\r\\n That I am forc’d to lay my reverence by,\\r\\n And, with grey hairs and bruise of many days,\\r\\n Do challenge thee to trial of a man.\\r\\n I say thou hast belied mine innocent child:\\r\\n Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart,\\r\\n And she lies buried with her ancestors;\\r\\n O! in a tomb where never scandal slept,\\r\\n Save this of hers, fram’d by thy villainy!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n My villainy?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Thine, Claudio; thine, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n You say not right, old man,\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n My lord, my lord, I’ll prove it on his body, if he dare,\\r\\n Despite his nice fence and his active practice,\\r\\n His May of youth and bloom of lustihood.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Away! I will not have to do with you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Canst thou so daff me? Thou hast kill’d my child;\\r\\n If thou kill’st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n He shall kill two of us, and men indeed:\\r\\n But that’s no matter; let him kill one first:\\r\\n Win me and wear me; let him answer me.\\r\\n Come, follow me, boy; come, sir boy, come, follow me.\\r\\n Sir boy, I’ll whip you from your foining fence;\\r\\n Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Brother,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Content yourself. God knows I lov’d my niece;\\r\\n And she is dead, slander’d to death by villains,\\r\\n That dare as well answer a man indeed\\r\\n As I dare take a serpent by the tongue.\\r\\n Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Brother Anthony,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Hold you content. What, man! I know them, yea,\\r\\n And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple,\\r\\n Scambling, out-facing, fashion-monging boys,\\r\\n That lie and cog and flout, deprave and slander,\\r\\n Go antickly, show outward hideousness,\\r\\n And speak off half a dozen dangerous words,\\r\\n How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst;\\r\\n And this is all!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n But, brother Anthony,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Come, ’tis no matter:\\r\\n Do not you meddle, let me deal in this.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience.\\r\\n My heart is sorry for your daughter’s death;\\r\\n But, on my honour, she was charg’d with nothing\\r\\n But what was true and very full of proof.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n My lord, my lord—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I will not hear you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n No? Come, brother, away. I will be heard.—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n And shall, or some of us will smart for it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Leonato and Antonio._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n See, see; here comes the man we went to seek.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Now, signior, what news?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Good day, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Welcome, signior: you are almost come to part almost a fray.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n We had like to have had our two noses snapped off with two old\\r\\n men without teeth.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Leonato and his brother. What think’st thou? Had we fought, I\\r\\n doubt we should have been too young for them.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n In a false quarrel there is no true valour. I came to seek you\\r\\n both.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n We have been up and down to seek thee; for we are high-proof\\r\\n melancholy, and would fain have it beaten away. Wilt thou use thy\\r\\n wit?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n It is in my scabbard; shall I draw it?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Never any did so, though very many have been beside their wit. I\\r\\n will bid thee draw, as we do the minstrels; draw, to pleasure us.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n As I am an honest man, he looks pale. Art thou sick, or angry?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n What, courage, man! What though care killed a cat, thou hast\\r\\n mettle enough in thee to kill care.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, and you charge it\\r\\n against me. I pray you choose another subject.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Nay then, give him another staff: this last was broke cross.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n By this light, he changes more and more: I think he be angry\\r\\n indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Shall I speak a word in your ear?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n God bless me from a challenge!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n [_Aside to Claudio._] You are a villain, I jest not: I will make\\r\\n it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare. Do\\r\\n me right, or I will protest your cowardice. You have killed a\\r\\n sweet lady, and her death shall fall heavy on you. Let me hear\\r\\n from you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Well I will meet you, so I may have good cheer.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n What, a feast, a feast?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I’ faith, I thank him; he hath bid me to a calf’s-head and a\\r\\n capon, the which if I do not carve most curiously, say my knife’s\\r\\n naught. Shall I not find a woodcock too?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n I’ll tell thee how Beatrice praised thy wit the other day. I\\r\\n said, thou hadst a fine wit. ‘True,’ says she, ‘a fine little\\r\\n one.’ ‘No,’ said I, ‘a great wit.’ ‘Right,’ said she, ‘a great\\r\\n gross one.’ ‘Nay,’ said I, ‘a good wit.’ ‘Just,’ said she, ‘it\\r\\n hurts nobody.’ ‘Nay,’ said I, ‘the gentleman is wise.’ ‘Certain,’\\r\\n said she, ‘a wise gentleman.’ ‘Nay,’ said I, ‘he hath the\\r\\n tongues.’ ‘That I believe’ said she, ‘for he swore a thing to me\\r\\n on Monday night, which he forswore on Tuesday morning: there’s a\\r\\n double tongue; there’s two tongues.’ Thus did she, an hour\\r\\n together, trans-shape thy particular virtues; yet at last she\\r\\n concluded with a sigh, thou wast the properest man in Italy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n For the which she wept heartily and said she cared not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Yea, that she did; but yet, for all that, an if she did not hate\\r\\n him deadly, she would love him dearly. The old man’s daughter\\r\\n told us all.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n All, all; and moreover, God saw him when he was hid in the\\r\\n garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n But when shall we set the savage bull’s horns on the sensible\\r\\n Benedick’s head?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Yea, and text underneath, ‘Here dwells Benedick the married man!’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Fare you well, boy: you know my mind. I will leave you now to\\r\\n your gossip-like humour; you break jests as braggarts do their\\r\\n blades, which, God be thanked, hurt not. My lord, for your many\\r\\n courtesies I thank you: I must discontinue your company. Your\\r\\n brother the bastard is fled from Messina: you have, among you,\\r\\n killed a sweet and innocent lady. For my Lord Lack-beard there,\\r\\n he and I shall meet; and till then, peace be with him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n He is in earnest.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n In most profound earnest; and, I’ll warrant you, for the love of\\r\\n Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n And hath challenged thee?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Most sincerely.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n What a pretty thing man is when he goes in his doublet and hose\\r\\n and leaves off his wit!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n He is then a giant to an ape; but then is an ape a doctor to such\\r\\n a man.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n But, soft you; let me be: pluck up, my heart, and be sad! Did he\\r\\n not say my brother was fled?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Dogberry, Verges, and the Watch, with Conrade and\\r\\n Borachio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Come you, sir: if justice cannot tame you, she shall ne’er weigh\\r\\n more reasons in her balance. Nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite\\r\\n once, you must be looked to.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n How now! two of my brother’s men bound! Borachio, one!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Hearken after their offence, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Officers, what offence have these men done?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Marry, sir, they have committed false report; moreover, they have\\r\\n spoken untruths; secondarily, they are slanders; sixth and\\r\\n lastly, they have belied a lady; thirdly, they have verified\\r\\n unjust things; and to conclude, they are lying knaves.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n First, I ask thee what they have done; thirdly, I ask thee what’s\\r\\n their offence; sixth and lastly, why they are committed; and, to\\r\\n conclude, what you lay to their charge?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Rightly reasoned, and in his own division; and, by my troth,\\r\\n there’s one meaning well suited.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Who have you offended, masters, that you are thus bound to your\\r\\n answer? This learned constable is too cunning to be understood.\\r\\n What’s your offence?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Sweet Prince, let me go no farther to mine answer: do you hear\\r\\n me, and let this Count kill me. I have deceived even your very\\r\\n eyes: what your wisdoms could not discover, these shallow fools\\r\\n have brought to light; who, in the night overheard me confessing\\r\\n to this man how Don John your brother incensed me to slander the\\r\\n Lady Hero; how you were brought into the orchard and saw me court\\r\\n Margaret in Hero’s garments; how you disgraced her, when you\\r\\n should marry her. My villainy they have upon record; which I had\\r\\n rather seal with my death than repeat over to my shame. The lady\\r\\n is dead upon mine and my master’s false accusation; and, briefly,\\r\\n I desire nothing but the reward of a villain.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Runs not this speech like iron through your blood?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I have drunk poison whiles he utter’d it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n But did my brother set thee on to this?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Yea; and paid me richly for the practice of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n He is compos’d and fram’d of treachery: And fled he is upon this\\r\\n villainy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Sweet Hero! now thy image doth appear\\r\\n In the rare semblance that I lov’d it first.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Come, bring away the plaintiffs: by this time our sexton hath\\r\\n reformed Signior Leonato of the matter. And masters, do not\\r\\n forget to specify, when time and place shall serve, that I am an\\r\\n ass.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VERGES.\\r\\n Here, here comes Master Signior Leonato, and the sexton too.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Leonato, Antonio and the Sexton.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Which is the villain? Let me see his eyes,\\r\\n That, when I note another man like him,\\r\\n I may avoid him. Which of these is he?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n If you would know your wronger, look on me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Art thou the slave that with thy breath hast kill’d\\r\\n Mine innocent child?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n Yea, even I alone.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n No, not so, villain; thou beliest thyself:\\r\\n Here stand a pair of honourable men;\\r\\n A third is fled, that had a hand in it.\\r\\n I thank you, princes, for my daughter’s death:\\r\\n Record it with your high and worthy deeds.\\r\\n ’Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I know not how to pray your patience;\\r\\n Yet I must speak. Choose your revenge yourself;\\r\\n Impose me to what penance your invention\\r\\n Can lay upon my sin: yet sinn’d I not\\r\\n But in mistaking.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n By my soul, nor I:\\r\\n And yet, to satisfy this good old man,\\r\\n I would bend under any heavy weight\\r\\n That he’ll enjoin me to.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I cannot bid you bid my daughter live;\\r\\n That were impossible; but, I pray you both,\\r\\n Possess the people in Messina here\\r\\n How innocent she died; and if your love\\r\\n Can labour aught in sad invention,\\r\\n Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb,\\r\\n And sing it to her bones: sing it tonight.\\r\\n Tomorrow morning come you to my house,\\r\\n And since you could not be my son-in-law,\\r\\n Be yet my nephew. My brother hath a daughter,\\r\\n Almost the copy of my child that’s dead,\\r\\n And she alone is heir to both of us:\\r\\n Give her the right you should have given her cousin,\\r\\n And so dies my revenge.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n O noble sir,\\r\\n Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me!\\r\\n I do embrace your offer; and dispose\\r\\n For henceforth of poor Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Tomorrow then I will expect your coming;\\r\\n Tonight I take my leave. This naughty man\\r\\n Shall face to face be brought to Margaret,\\r\\n Who, I believe, was pack’d in all this wrong,\\r\\n Hir’d to it by your brother.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BORACHIO.\\r\\n No, by my soul she was not;\\r\\n Nor knew not what she did when she spoke to me;\\r\\n But always hath been just and virtuous\\r\\n In anything that I do know by her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Moreover, sir,—which, indeed, is not under white and black,— this\\r\\n plaintiff here, the offender, did call me ass: I beseech you, let\\r\\n it be remembered in his punishment. And also, the watch heard\\r\\n them talk of one Deformed: they say he wears a key in his ear and\\r\\n a lock hanging by it, and borrows money in God’s name, the which\\r\\n he hath used so long and never paid, that now men grow\\r\\n hard-hearted, and will lend nothing for God’s sake. Pray you,\\r\\n examine him upon that point.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n I thank thee for thy care and honest pains.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n Your worship speaks like a most thankful and reverent youth, and\\r\\n I praise God for you.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n There’s for thy pains.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n God save the foundation!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DOGBERRY.\\r\\n I leave an arrant knave with your worship; which I beseech your\\r\\n worship to correct yourself, for the example of others. God keep\\r\\n your worship! I wish your worship well; God restore you to\\r\\n health! I humbly give you leave to depart, and if a merry meeting\\r\\n may be wished, God prohibit it! Come, neighbour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Dogberry and Verges._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Until tomorrow morning, lords, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Farewell, my lords: we look for you tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n We will not fail.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Tonight I’ll mourn with Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Don Pedro and Claudio._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n [_To the Watch._] Bring you these fellows on. We’ll talk with\\r\\n Margaret,\\r\\n How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Leonato’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benedick and Margaret, meeting.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Pray thee, sweet Mistress Margaret, deserve well at my hands by\\r\\n helping me to the speech of Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come over\\r\\n it; for, in most comely truth, thou deservest it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n To have no man come over me! why, shall I always keep below\\r\\n stairs?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound’s mouth; it catches.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n And yours as blunt as the fencer’s foils, which hit, but hurt\\r\\n not.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n A most manly wit, Margaret; it will not hurt a woman: and so, I\\r\\n pray thee, call Beatrice. I give thee the bucklers.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Give us the swords, we have bucklers of our own.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the pikes with a vice;\\r\\n and they are dangerous weapons for maids.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MARGARET.\\r\\n Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I think hath legs.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n And therefore will come.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Margaret._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n The god of love,\\r\\n That sits above,\\r\\n And knows me, and knows me,\\r\\n How pitiful I deserve,—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n I mean, in singing: but in loving, Leander the good swimmer,\\r\\n Troilus the first employer of panders, and a whole book full of\\r\\n these quondam carpet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the\\r\\n even road of a blank verse, why, they were never so truly turned\\r\\n over and over as my poor self in love. Marry, I cannot show it in\\r\\n rime; I have tried: I can find out no rime to ‘lady’ but ‘baby’,\\r\\n an innocent rime; for ‘scorn,’ ‘horn’, a hard rime; for ‘school’,\\r\\n ‘fool’, a babbling rime; very ominous endings: no, I was not born\\r\\n under a riming planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called thee?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Yea, signior; and depart when you bid me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n O, stay but till then!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n ‘Then’ is spoken; fare you well now: and yet, ere I go, let me go\\r\\n with that I came for; which is, with knowing what hath passed\\r\\n between you and Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath,\\r\\n and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sense, so forcible\\r\\n is thy wit. But I must tell thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my\\r\\n challenge, and either I must shortly hear from him, or I will\\r\\n subscribe him a coward. And, I pray thee now, tell me, for which\\r\\n of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n For them all together; which maintained so politic a state of\\r\\n evil that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with\\r\\n them. But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love\\r\\n for me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n ‘Suffer love,’ a good epithet! I do suffer love indeed, for I\\r\\n love thee against my will.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n In spite of your heart, I think. Alas, poor heart! If you spite\\r\\n it for my sake, I will spite it for yours; for I will never love\\r\\n that which my friend hates.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n It appears not in this confession: there’s not one wise man among\\r\\n twenty that will praise himself.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived in the time of good\\r\\n neighbours. If a man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere he\\r\\n dies, he shall live no longer in monument than the bell rings and\\r\\n the widow weeps.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE. And how long is that think you?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Question: why, an hour in clamour and a quarter in rheum:\\r\\n therefore is it most expedient for the wise,—if Don Worm, his\\r\\n conscience, find no impediment to the contrary,—to be the trumpet\\r\\n of his own virtues, as I am to myself. So much for praising\\r\\n myself, who, I myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy. And now\\r\\n tell me, how doth your cousin?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Very ill.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n And how do you?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Very ill too.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Serve God, love me, and mend. There will I leave you too, for\\r\\n here comes one in haste.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ursula.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n URSULA.\\r\\n Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder’s old coil at home: it\\r\\n is proved, my Lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the Prince and\\r\\n Claudio mightily abused; and Don John is the author of all, who\\r\\n is fled and gone. Will you come presently?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Will you go hear this news, signior?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy\\r\\n eyes; and moreover I will go with thee to thy uncle’s.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The Inside of a Church.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro, Claudio and Attendants, with music and tapers.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Is this the monument of Leonato?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n A LORD.\\r\\n It is, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n [_Reads from a scroll._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Epitaph.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Done to death by slanderous tongues\\r\\n Was the Hero that here lies:\\r\\n Death, in guerdon of her wrongs,\\r\\n Gives her fame which never dies.\\r\\n So the life that died with shame\\r\\n Lives in death with glorious fame.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Hang thou there upon the tomb,\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Praising her when I am dumb.\\r\\n Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Song.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Pardon, goddess of the night,\\r\\n Those that slew thy virgin knight;\\r\\n For the which, with songs of woe,\\r\\n Round about her tomb they go.\\r\\n Midnight, assist our moan;\\r\\n Help us to sigh and groan,\\r\\n Heavily, heavily:\\r\\n Graves, yawn and yield your dead,\\r\\n Till death be uttered,\\r\\n Heavily, heavily.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Now, unto thy bones good night!\\r\\n Yearly will I do this rite.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Good morrow, masters: put your torches out.\\r\\n The wolves have prey’d; and look, the gentle day,\\r\\n Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about\\r\\n Dapples the drowsy East with spots of grey.\\r\\n Thanks to you all, and leave us: fare you well.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Good morrow, masters: each his several way.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds;\\r\\n And then to Leonato’s we will go.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And Hymen now with luckier issue speed’s,\\r\\n Than this for whom we rend’red up this woe!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Room in Leonato’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leonato, Antonio, Benedick, Beatrice, Margaret, Ursula,\\r\\n Friar Francis and Hero.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n Did I not tell you she was innocent?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n So are the Prince and Claudio, who accus’d her\\r\\n Upon the error that you heard debated:\\r\\n But Margaret was in some fault for this,\\r\\n Although against her will, as it appears\\r\\n In the true course of all the question.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Well, I am glad that all things sort so well.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n And so am I, being else by faith enforc’d\\r\\n To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all,\\r\\n Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves,\\r\\n And when I send for you, come hither mask’d:\\r\\n The Prince and Claudio promis’d by this hour\\r\\n To visit me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Ladies._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n You know your office, brother;\\r\\n You must be father to your brother’s daughter,\\r\\n And give her to young Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n Which I will do with confirm’d countenance.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n To do what, signior?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n To bind me, or undo me; one of them.\\r\\n Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior,\\r\\n Your niece regards me with an eye of favour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n That eye my daughter lent her. ’Tis most true.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n And I do with an eye of love requite her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n The sight whereof I think, you had from me,\\r\\n From Claudio, and the Prince. But what’s your will?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Your answer, sir, is enigmatical:\\r\\n But, for my will, my will is your good will\\r\\n May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin’d\\r\\n In the state of honourable marriage:\\r\\n In which, good friar, I shall desire your help.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n My heart is with your liking.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n And my help. Here comes the Prince and Claudio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, with Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Good morrow to this fair assembly.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Good morrow, Prince; good morrow, Claudio:\\r\\n We here attend you. Are you yet determin’d\\r\\n Today to marry with my brother’s daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I’ll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Call her forth, brother: here’s the friar ready.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Antonio._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n Good morrow, Benedick. Why, what’s the matter,\\r\\n That you have such a February face,\\r\\n So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I think he thinks upon the savage bull.\\r\\n Tush! fear not, man, we’ll tip thy horns with gold,\\r\\n And all Europa shall rejoice at thee,\\r\\n As once Europa did at lusty Jove,\\r\\n When he would play the noble beast in love.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low:\\r\\n And some such strange bull leap’d your father’s cow,\\r\\n And got a calf in that same noble feat,\\r\\n Much like to you, for you have just his bleat.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n For this I owe you: here comes other reckonings.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Antonio, with the ladies masked.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Which is the lady I must seize upon?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO.\\r\\n This same is she, and I do give you her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Why then, she’s mine. Sweet, let me see your face.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n No, that you shall not, till you take her hand\\r\\n Before this friar, and swear to marry her.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Give me your hand: before this holy friar,\\r\\n I am your husband, if you like of me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n And when I liv’d, I was your other wife:\\r\\n [_Unmasking._] And when you lov’d, you were my other husband.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n Another Hero!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n Nothing certainer:\\r\\n One Hero died defil’d, but I do live,\\r\\n And surely as I live, I am a maid.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n The former Hero! Hero that is dead!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n She died, my lord, but whiles her slander liv’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FRIAR.\\r\\n All this amazement can I qualify:\\r\\n When after that the holy rites are ended,\\r\\n I’ll tell you largely of fair Hero’s death:\\r\\n Meantime, let wonder seem familiar,\\r\\n And to the chapel let us presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Soft and fair, friar. Which is Beatrice?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n [_Unmasking._] I answer to that name. What is your will?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Do not you love me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Why, no; no more than reason.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Why, then, your uncle and the Prince and Claudio\\r\\n Have been deceived; for they swore you did.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Do not you love me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Troth, no; no more than reason.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula,\\r\\n Are much deceiv’d; for they did swear you did.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n They swore that you were almost sick for me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n ’Tis no such matter. Then you do not love me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n No, truly, but in friendly recompense.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n And I’ll be sworn upon ’t that he loves her;\\r\\n For here’s a paper written in his hand,\\r\\n A halting sonnet of his own pure brain,\\r\\n Fashion’d to Beatrice.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n HERO.\\r\\n And here’s another,\\r\\n Writ in my cousin’s hand, stolen from her pocket,\\r\\n Containing her affection unto Benedick.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n A miracle! here’s our own hands against our hearts. Come, I will\\r\\n have thee; but, by this light, I take thee for pity.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BEATRICE.\\r\\n I would not deny you; but, by this good day, I yield upon great\\r\\n persuasion, and partly to save your life, for I was told you were\\r\\n in a consumption.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Peace! I will stop your mouth. [_Kisses her._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n DON PEDRO.\\r\\n How dost thou, Benedick, the married man?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n I’ll tell thee what, Prince; a college of witcrackers cannout\\r\\n flout me out of my humour. Dost thou think I care for a satire or\\r\\n an epigram? No; if man will be beaten with brains, a’ shall wear\\r\\n nothing handsome about him. In brief, since I do purpose to\\r\\n marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say\\r\\n against it; and therefore never flout at me for what I have said\\r\\n against it, for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion.\\r\\n For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee; but, in\\r\\n that thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruised, and love my\\r\\n cousin.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n CLAUDIO.\\r\\n I had well hoped thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that I might\\r\\n have cudgelled thee out of thy single life, to make thee a\\r\\n double-dealer; which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin\\r\\n do not look exceeding narrowly to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Come, come, we are friends. Let’s have a dance ere we are\\r\\n married, that we may lighten our own hearts and our wives’ heels.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n LEONATO.\\r\\n We’ll have dancing afterward.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n First, of my word; therefore play, music! Prince, thou art sad;\\r\\n get thee a wife, get thee a wife: there is no staff more reverent\\r\\n than one tipped with horn.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER.\\r\\n My lord, your brother John is ta’en in flight,\\r\\n And brought with armed men back to Messina.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n BENEDICK.\\r\\n Think not on him till tomorrow: I’ll devise thee brave\\r\\n punishments for him. Strike up, pipers!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dance. Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Venice. A street.\\r\\nScene II. Venice. Another street.\\r\\nScene III. Venice. A council chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. A seaport in Cyprus. A Platform.\\r\\nScene II. A street.\\r\\nScene III. A Hall in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\nScene II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\nScene III. Cyprus. The Garden of the Castle.\\r\\nScene IV. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\nScene II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\nScene III. Cyprus. Another Room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Cyprus. A Street.\\r\\nScene II. Cyprus. A Bedchamber in the castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE OF VENICE\\r\\nBRABANTIO, a Senator of Venice and Desdemona’s father\\r\\nOther Senators\\r\\nGRATIANO, Brother to Brabantio\\r\\nLODOVICO, Kinsman to Brabantio\\r\\nOTHELLO, a noble Moor in the service of Venice\\r\\nCASSIO, his Lieutenant\\r\\nIAGO, his Ancient\\r\\nMONTANO, Othello’s predecessor in the government of Cyprus\\r\\nRODERIGO, a Venetian Gentleman\\r\\nCLOWN, Servant to Othello\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA, Daughter to Brabantio and Wife to Othello\\r\\nEMILIA, Wife to Iago\\r\\nBIANCA, Mistress to Cassio\\r\\n\\r\\nOfficers, Gentlemen, Messenger, Musicians, Herald, Sailor, Attendants,\\r\\n&c.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: The First Act in Venice; during the rest of the Play at a\\r\\nSeaport in Cyprus.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Venice. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Roderigo and Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nTush, never tell me, I take it much unkindly\\r\\nThat thou, Iago, who hast had my purse,\\r\\nAs if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n’Sblood, but you will not hear me.\\r\\nIf ever I did dream of such a matter,\\r\\nAbhor me.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nThou told’st me, thou didst hold him in thy hate.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDespise me if I do not. Three great ones of the city,\\r\\nIn personal suit to make me his lieutenant,\\r\\nOff-capp’d to him; and by the faith of man,\\r\\nI know my price, I am worth no worse a place.\\r\\nBut he, as loving his own pride and purposes,\\r\\nEvades them, with a bombast circumstance,\\r\\nHorribly stuff’d with epithets of war:\\r\\nAnd in conclusion,\\r\\nNonsuits my mediators: for “Certes,” says he,\\r\\n“I have already chose my officer.”\\r\\nAnd what was he?\\r\\nForsooth, a great arithmetician,\\r\\nOne Michael Cassio, a Florentine,\\r\\nA fellow almost damn’d in a fair wife,\\r\\nThat never set a squadron in the field,\\r\\nNor the division of a battle knows\\r\\nMore than a spinster, unless the bookish theoric,\\r\\nWherein the toged consuls can propose\\r\\nAs masterly as he: mere prattle without practice\\r\\nIs all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election,\\r\\nAnd I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof\\r\\nAt Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds,\\r\\nChristian and heathen, must be belee’d and calm’d\\r\\nBy debitor and creditor, this counter-caster,\\r\\nHe, in good time, must his lieutenant be,\\r\\nAnd I, God bless the mark, his Moorship’s ancient.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nBy heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, there’s no remedy. ’Tis the curse of service,\\r\\nPreferment goes by letter and affection,\\r\\nAnd not by old gradation, where each second\\r\\nStood heir to the first. Now sir, be judge yourself\\r\\nWhether I in any just term am affin’d\\r\\nTo love the Moor.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI would not follow him, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, sir, content you.\\r\\nI follow him to serve my turn upon him:\\r\\nWe cannot all be masters, nor all masters\\r\\nCannot be truly follow’d. You shall mark\\r\\nMany a duteous and knee-crooking knave\\r\\nThat, doting on his own obsequious bondage,\\r\\nWears out his time, much like his master’s ass,\\r\\nFor nought but provender, and when he’s old, cashier’d.\\r\\nWhip me such honest knaves. Others there are\\r\\nWho, trimm’d in forms, and visages of duty,\\r\\nKeep yet their hearts attending on themselves,\\r\\nAnd throwing but shows of service on their lords,\\r\\nDo well thrive by them, and when they have lin’d their coats,\\r\\nDo themselves homage. These fellows have some soul,\\r\\nAnd such a one do I profess myself. For, sir,\\r\\nIt is as sure as you are Roderigo,\\r\\nWere I the Moor, I would not be Iago:\\r\\nIn following him, I follow but myself.\\r\\nHeaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,\\r\\nBut seeming so for my peculiar end.\\r\\nFor when my outward action doth demonstrate\\r\\nThe native act and figure of my heart\\r\\nIn complement extern, ’tis not long after\\r\\nBut I will wear my heart upon my sleeve\\r\\nFor daws to peck at: I am not what I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhat a full fortune does the thick-lips owe,\\r\\nIf he can carry’t thus!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCall up her father,\\r\\nRouse him, make after him, poison his delight,\\r\\nProclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen,\\r\\nAnd though he in a fertile climate dwell,\\r\\nPlague him with flies: though that his joy be joy,\\r\\nYet throw such changes of vexation on’t,\\r\\nAs it may lose some color.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nHere is her father’s house, I’ll call aloud.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo, with like timorous accent and dire yell\\r\\nAs when, by night and negligence, the fire\\r\\nIs spied in populous cities.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhat ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAwake! what ho, Brabantio! Thieves, thieves!\\r\\nLook to your house, your daughter, and your bags!\\r\\nThieves, thieves!\\r\\n\\r\\n Brabantio appears above at a window.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nWhat is the reason of this terrible summons?\\r\\nWhat is the matter there?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nSignior, is all your family within?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAre your doors locked?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nWhy, wherefore ask you this?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nZounds, sir, you’re robb’d, for shame put on your gown,\\r\\nYour heart is burst, you have lost half your soul;\\r\\nEven now, now, very now, an old black ram\\r\\nIs tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise,\\r\\nAwake the snorting citizens with the bell,\\r\\nOr else the devil will make a grandsire of you:\\r\\nArise, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nWhat, have you lost your wits?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nMost reverend signior, do you know my voice?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nNot I. What are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nMy name is Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nThe worser welcome.\\r\\nI have charg’d thee not to haunt about my doors;\\r\\nIn honest plainness thou hast heard me say\\r\\nMy daughter is not for thee; and now in madness,\\r\\nBeing full of supper and distempering draughts,\\r\\nUpon malicious bravery, dost thou come\\r\\nTo start my quiet.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nSir, sir, sir,—\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nBut thou must needs be sure\\r\\nMy spirit and my place have in them power\\r\\nTo make this bitter to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nPatience, good sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nWhat tell’st thou me of robbing?\\r\\nThis is Venice. My house is not a grange.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nMost grave Brabantio,\\r\\nIn simple and pure soul I come to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nZounds, sir, you are one of those that will not serve God if the devil\\r\\nbid you. Because we come to do you service, and you think we are\\r\\nruffians, you’ll have your daughter cover’d with a Barbary horse;\\r\\nyou’ll have your nephews neigh to you; you’ll have coursers for cousins\\r\\nand gennets for germans.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nWhat profane wretch art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are\\r\\nnow making the beast with two backs.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nThou art a villain.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou are a senator.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nThis thou shalt answer. I know thee, Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nSir, I will answer anything. But I beseech you,\\r\\nIf ’t be your pleasure, and most wise consent,\\r\\n(As partly I find it is) that your fair daughter,\\r\\nAt this odd-even and dull watch o’ the night,\\r\\nTransported with no worse nor better guard,\\r\\nBut with a knave of common hire, a gondolier,\\r\\nTo the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor:\\r\\nIf this be known to you, and your allowance,\\r\\nWe then have done you bold and saucy wrongs.\\r\\nBut if you know not this, my manners tell me,\\r\\nWe have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe\\r\\nThat from the sense of all civility,\\r\\nI thus would play and trifle with your reverence.\\r\\nYour daughter (if you have not given her leave)\\r\\nI say again, hath made a gross revolt,\\r\\nTying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes\\r\\nIn an extravagant and wheeling stranger\\r\\nOf here and everywhere. Straight satisfy yourself:\\r\\nIf she be in her chamber or your house,\\r\\nLet loose on me the justice of the state\\r\\nFor thus deluding you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nStrike on the tinder, ho!\\r\\nGive me a taper! Call up all my people!\\r\\nThis accident is not unlike my dream,\\r\\nBelief of it oppresses me already.\\r\\nLight, I say, light!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit from above._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFarewell; for I must leave you:\\r\\nIt seems not meet nor wholesome to my place\\r\\nTo be produc’d, as if I stay I shall,\\r\\nAgainst the Moor. For I do know the state,\\r\\nHowever this may gall him with some check,\\r\\nCannot with safety cast him, for he’s embark’d\\r\\nWith such loud reason to the Cyprus wars,\\r\\nWhich even now stand in act, that, for their souls,\\r\\nAnother of his fathom they have none\\r\\nTo lead their business. In which regard,\\r\\nThough I do hate him as I do hell pains,\\r\\nYet, for necessity of present life,\\r\\nI must show out a flag and sign of love,\\r\\nWhich is indeed but sign. That you shall surely find him,\\r\\nLead to the Sagittary the raised search,\\r\\nAnd there will I be with him. So, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Brabantio with Servants and torches.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nIt is too true an evil. Gone she is,\\r\\nAnd what’s to come of my despised time,\\r\\nIs naught but bitterness. Now Roderigo,\\r\\nWhere didst thou see her? (O unhappy girl!)\\r\\nWith the Moor, say’st thou? (Who would be a father!)\\r\\nHow didst thou know ’twas she? (O, she deceives me\\r\\nPast thought.) What said she to you? Get more tapers,\\r\\nRaise all my kindred. Are they married, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nTruly I think they are.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nO heaven! How got she out? O treason of the blood!\\r\\nFathers, from hence trust not your daughters’ minds\\r\\nBy what you see them act. Is there not charms\\r\\nBy which the property of youth and maidhood\\r\\nMay be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo,\\r\\nOf some such thing?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nYes, sir, I have indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nCall up my brother. O, would you had had her!\\r\\nSome one way, some another. Do you know\\r\\nWhere we may apprehend her and the Moor?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI think I can discover him, if you please\\r\\nTo get good guard, and go along with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nPray you lead on. At every house I’ll call,\\r\\nI may command at most. Get weapons, ho!\\r\\nAnd raise some special officers of night.\\r\\nOn, good Roderigo. I will deserve your pains.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Venice. Another street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello, Iago and Attendants with torches.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThough in the trade of war I have slain men,\\r\\nYet do I hold it very stuff o’ the conscience\\r\\nTo do no contriv’d murder; I lack iniquity\\r\\nSometimes to do me service: nine or ten times\\r\\nI had thought to have yerk’d him here under the ribs.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n’Tis better as it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, but he prated,\\r\\nAnd spoke such scurvy and provoking terms\\r\\nAgainst your honour,\\r\\nThat with the little godliness I have,\\r\\nI did full hard forbear him. But I pray you, sir,\\r\\nAre you fast married? Be assur’d of this,\\r\\nThat the magnifico is much belov’d\\r\\nAnd hath in his effect a voice potential\\r\\nAs double as the duke’s; he will divorce you,\\r\\nOr put upon you what restraint and grievance\\r\\nThe law (with all his might to enforce it on)\\r\\nWill give him cable.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nLet him do his spite;\\r\\nMy services, which I have done the signiory,\\r\\nShall out-tongue his complaints. ’Tis yet to know,—\\r\\nWhich, when I know that boasting is an honour,\\r\\nI shall promulgate,—I fetch my life and being\\r\\nFrom men of royal siege. And my demerits\\r\\nMay speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune\\r\\nAs this that I have reach’d. For know, Iago,\\r\\nBut that I love the gentle Desdemona,\\r\\nI would not my unhoused free condition\\r\\nPut into circumscription and confine\\r\\nFor the sea’s worth. But look, what lights come yond?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThose are the raised father and his friends:\\r\\nYou were best go in.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNot I; I must be found.\\r\\nMy parts, my title, and my perfect soul\\r\\nShall manifest me rightly. Is it they?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBy Janus, I think no.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio and Officers with torches.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe servants of the duke and my lieutenant.\\r\\nThe goodness of the night upon you, friends!\\r\\nWhat is the news?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThe duke does greet you, general,\\r\\nAnd he requires your haste-post-haste appearance\\r\\nEven on the instant.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat is the matter, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nSomething from Cyprus, as I may divine.\\r\\nIt is a business of some heat. The galleys\\r\\nHave sent a dozen sequent messengers\\r\\nThis very night at one another’s heels;\\r\\nAnd many of the consuls, rais’d and met,\\r\\nAre at the duke’s already. You have been hotly call’d for,\\r\\nWhen, being not at your lodging to be found,\\r\\nThe senate hath sent about three several quests\\r\\nTo search you out.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n’Tis well I am found by you.\\r\\nI will but spend a word here in the house,\\r\\nAnd go with you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAncient, what makes he here?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFaith, he tonight hath boarded a land carrack:\\r\\nIf it prove lawful prize, he’s made forever.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI do not understand.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHe’s married.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nTo who?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMarry to—Come, captain, will you go?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHave with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHere comes another troop to seek for you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Brabantio, Roderigo and Officers with torches and weapons.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIt is Brabantio. General, be advis’d,\\r\\nHe comes to bad intent.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHolla, stand there!\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nSignior, it is the Moor.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nDown with him, thief!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They draw on both sides._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou, Roderigo! Come, sir, I am for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nKeep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.\\r\\nGood signior, you shall more command with years\\r\\nThan with your weapons.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nO thou foul thief, where hast thou stow’d my daughter?\\r\\nDamn’d as thou art, thou hast enchanted her,\\r\\nFor I’ll refer me to all things of sense,\\r\\n(If she in chains of magic were not bound)\\r\\nWhether a maid so tender, fair, and happy,\\r\\nSo opposite to marriage, that she shunn’d\\r\\nThe wealthy curled darlings of our nation,\\r\\nWould ever have, to incur a general mock,\\r\\nRun from her guardage to the sooty bosom\\r\\nOf such a thing as thou—to fear, not to delight.\\r\\nJudge me the world, if ’tis not gross in sense,\\r\\nThat thou hast practis’d on her with foul charms,\\r\\nAbus’d her delicate youth with drugs or minerals\\r\\nThat weakens motion. I’ll have’t disputed on;\\r\\n’Tis probable, and palpable to thinking.\\r\\nI therefore apprehend and do attach thee\\r\\nFor an abuser of the world, a practiser\\r\\nOf arts inhibited and out of warrant.—\\r\\nLay hold upon him, if he do resist,\\r\\nSubdue him at his peril.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHold your hands,\\r\\nBoth you of my inclining and the rest:\\r\\nWere it my cue to fight, I should have known it\\r\\nWithout a prompter. Where will you that I go\\r\\nTo answer this your charge?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nTo prison, till fit time\\r\\nOf law and course of direct session\\r\\nCall thee to answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat if I do obey?\\r\\nHow may the duke be therewith satisfied,\\r\\nWhose messengers are here about my side,\\r\\nUpon some present business of the state,\\r\\nTo bring me to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\n’Tis true, most worthy signior,\\r\\nThe duke’s in council, and your noble self,\\r\\nI am sure is sent for.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nHow? The duke in council?\\r\\nIn this time of the night? Bring him away;\\r\\nMine’s not an idle cause. The duke himself,\\r\\nOr any of my brothers of the state,\\r\\nCannot but feel this wrong as ’twere their own.\\r\\nFor if such actions may have passage free,\\r\\nBond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Venice. A council chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\n The Duke and Senators sitting at a table; Officers attending.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThere is no composition in these news\\r\\nThat gives them credit.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nIndeed, they are disproportion’d;\\r\\nMy letters say a hundred and seven galleys.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAnd mine a hundred and forty.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SENATOR\\r\\nAnd mine two hundred:\\r\\nBut though they jump not on a just account,\\r\\n(As in these cases, where the aim reports,\\r\\n’Tis oft with difference,) yet do they all confirm\\r\\nA Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nNay, it is possible enough to judgement:\\r\\nI do not so secure me in the error,\\r\\nBut the main article I do approve\\r\\nIn fearful sense.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAILOR.\\r\\n[_Within._] What, ho! what, ho! what, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nA messenger from the galleys.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sailor.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nNow,—what’s the business?\\r\\n\\r\\nSAILOR.\\r\\nThe Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes,\\r\\nSo was I bid report here to the state\\r\\nBy Signior Angelo.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHow say you by this change?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nThis cannot be\\r\\nBy no assay of reason. ’Tis a pageant\\r\\nTo keep us in false gaze. When we consider\\r\\nThe importancy of Cyprus to the Turk;\\r\\nAnd let ourselves again but understand\\r\\nThat, as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes,\\r\\nSo may he with more facile question bear it,\\r\\nFor that it stands not in such warlike brace,\\r\\nBut altogether lacks the abilities\\r\\nThat Rhodes is dress’d in. If we make thought of this,\\r\\nWe must not think the Turk is so unskilful\\r\\nTo leave that latest which concerns him first,\\r\\nNeglecting an attempt of ease and gain,\\r\\nTo wake and wage a danger profitless.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nNay, in all confidence, he’s not for Rhodes.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nHere is more news.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThe Ottomites, reverend and gracious,\\r\\nSteering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes,\\r\\nHave there injointed them with an after fleet.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nAy, so I thought. How many, as you guess?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nOf thirty sail, and now they do re-stem\\r\\nTheir backward course, bearing with frank appearance\\r\\nTheir purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Montano,\\r\\nYour trusty and most valiant servitor,\\r\\nWith his free duty recommends you thus,\\r\\nAnd prays you to believe him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\n’Tis certain, then, for Cyprus.\\r\\nMarcus Luccicos, is not he in town?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nHe’s now in Florence.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWrite from us to him; post-post-haste dispatch.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nHere comes Brabantio and the valiant Moor.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Brabantio, Othello, Iago, Roderigo and Officers.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nValiant Othello, we must straight employ you\\r\\nAgainst the general enemy Ottoman.\\r\\n[_To Brabantio._] I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior,\\r\\nWe lack’d your counsel and your help tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nSo did I yours. Good your grace, pardon me.\\r\\nNeither my place, nor aught I heard of business\\r\\nHath rais’d me from my bed, nor doth the general care\\r\\nTake hold on me; for my particular grief\\r\\nIs of so flood-gate and o’erbearing nature\\r\\nThat it engluts and swallows other sorrows,\\r\\nAnd it is still itself.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhy, what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nMy daughter! O, my daughter!\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE and SENATORS.\\r\\nDead?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nAy, to me.\\r\\nShe is abused, stol’n from me, and corrupted\\r\\nBy spells and medicines bought of mountebanks;\\r\\nFor nature so preposterously to err,\\r\\nBeing not deficient, blind, or lame of sense,\\r\\nSans witchcraft could not.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhoe’er he be, that in this foul proceeding,\\r\\nHath thus beguil’d your daughter of herself,\\r\\nAnd you of her, the bloody book of law\\r\\nYou shall yourself read in the bitter letter,\\r\\nAfter your own sense, yea, though our proper son\\r\\nStood in your action.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nHumbly I thank your grace.\\r\\nHere is the man, this Moor, whom now it seems\\r\\nYour special mandate for the state affairs\\r\\nHath hither brought.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nWe are very sorry for ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\n[_To Othello._] What, in your own part, can you say to this?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nNothing, but this is so.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nMost potent, grave, and reverend signiors,\\r\\nMy very noble and approv’d good masters:\\r\\nThat I have ta’en away this old man’s daughter,\\r\\nIt is most true; true, I have married her.\\r\\nThe very head and front of my offending\\r\\nHath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech,\\r\\nAnd little bless’d with the soft phrase of peace;\\r\\nFor since these arms of mine had seven years’ pith,\\r\\nTill now some nine moons wasted, they have us’d\\r\\nTheir dearest action in the tented field,\\r\\nAnd little of this great world can I speak,\\r\\nMore than pertains to feats of broil and battle,\\r\\nAnd therefore little shall I grace my cause\\r\\nIn speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,\\r\\nI will a round unvarnish’d tale deliver\\r\\nOf my whole course of love: what drugs, what charms,\\r\\nWhat conjuration, and what mighty magic,\\r\\n(For such proceeding I am charged withal)\\r\\nI won his daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nA maiden never bold:\\r\\nOf spirit so still and quiet that her motion\\r\\nBlush’d at herself; and she, in spite of nature,\\r\\nOf years, of country, credit, everything,\\r\\nTo fall in love with what she fear’d to look on!\\r\\nIt is judgement maim’d and most imperfect\\r\\nThat will confess perfection so could err\\r\\nAgainst all rules of nature, and must be driven\\r\\nTo find out practices of cunning hell,\\r\\nWhy this should be. I therefore vouch again,\\r\\nThat with some mixtures powerful o’er the blood,\\r\\nOr with some dram conjur’d to this effect,\\r\\nHe wrought upon her.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nTo vouch this is no proof;\\r\\nWithout more wider and more overt test\\r\\nThan these thin habits and poor likelihoods\\r\\nOf modern seeming do prefer against him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nBut, Othello, speak:\\r\\nDid you by indirect and forced courses\\r\\nSubdue and poison this young maid’s affections?\\r\\nOr came it by request, and such fair question\\r\\nAs soul to soul affordeth?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI do beseech you,\\r\\nSend for the lady to the Sagittary,\\r\\nAnd let her speak of me before her father.\\r\\nIf you do find me foul in her report,\\r\\nThe trust, the office I do hold of you,\\r\\nNot only take away, but let your sentence\\r\\nEven fall upon my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nFetch Desdemona hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAncient, conduct them, you best know the place.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Iago and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd till she come, as truly as to heaven\\r\\nI do confess the vices of my blood,\\r\\nSo justly to your grave ears I’ll present\\r\\nHow I did thrive in this fair lady’s love,\\r\\nAnd she in mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nSay it, Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHer father lov’d me, oft invited me,\\r\\nStill question’d me the story of my life,\\r\\nFrom year to year—the battles, sieges, fortunes,\\r\\nThat I have pass’d.\\r\\nI ran it through, even from my boyish days\\r\\nTo the very moment that he bade me tell it,\\r\\nWherein I spake of most disastrous chances,\\r\\nOf moving accidents by flood and field;\\r\\nOf hair-breadth scapes i’ th’ imminent deadly breach;\\r\\nOf being taken by the insolent foe,\\r\\nAnd sold to slavery, of my redemption thence,\\r\\nAnd portance in my traveler’s history,\\r\\nWherein of antres vast and deserts idle,\\r\\nRough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven,\\r\\nIt was my hint to speak,—such was the process;\\r\\nAnd of the Cannibals that each other eat,\\r\\nThe Anthropophagi, and men whose heads\\r\\nDo grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear\\r\\nWould Desdemona seriously incline.\\r\\nBut still the house affairs would draw her thence,\\r\\nWhich ever as she could with haste dispatch,\\r\\nShe’d come again, and with a greedy ear\\r\\nDevour up my discourse; which I observing,\\r\\nTook once a pliant hour, and found good means\\r\\nTo draw from her a prayer of earnest heart\\r\\nThat I would all my pilgrimage dilate,\\r\\nWhereof by parcels she had something heard,\\r\\nBut not intentively. I did consent,\\r\\nAnd often did beguile her of her tears,\\r\\nWhen I did speak of some distressful stroke\\r\\nThat my youth suffer’d. My story being done,\\r\\nShe gave me for my pains a world of sighs.\\r\\nShe swore, in faith, ’twas strange, ’twas passing strange;\\r\\n’Twas pitiful, ’twas wondrous pitiful.\\r\\nShe wish’d she had not heard it, yet she wish’d\\r\\nThat heaven had made her such a man: she thank’d me,\\r\\nAnd bade me, if I had a friend that lov’d her,\\r\\nI should but teach him how to tell my story,\\r\\nAnd that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake:\\r\\nShe lov’d me for the dangers I had pass’d,\\r\\nAnd I lov’d her that she did pity them.\\r\\nThis only is the witchcraft I have us’d.\\r\\nHere comes the lady. Let her witness it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona, Iago and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI think this tale would win my daughter too.\\r\\nGood Brabantio,\\r\\nTake up this mangled matter at the best.\\r\\nMen do their broken weapons rather use\\r\\nThan their bare hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nI pray you hear her speak.\\r\\nIf she confess that she was half the wooer,\\r\\nDestruction on my head, if my bad blame\\r\\nLight on the man!—Come hither, gentle mistress:\\r\\nDo you perceive in all this noble company\\r\\nWhere most you owe obedience?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy noble father,\\r\\nI do perceive here a divided duty:\\r\\nTo you I am bound for life and education.\\r\\nMy life and education both do learn me\\r\\nHow to respect you. You are the lord of duty,\\r\\nI am hitherto your daughter: but here’s my husband.\\r\\nAnd so much duty as my mother show’d\\r\\nTo you, preferring you before her father,\\r\\nSo much I challenge that I may profess\\r\\nDue to the Moor my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nGod be with you! I have done.\\r\\nPlease it your grace, on to the state affairs.\\r\\nI had rather to adopt a child than get it.—\\r\\nCome hither, Moor:\\r\\nI here do give thee that with all my heart\\r\\nWhich, but thou hast already, with all my heart\\r\\nI would keep from thee.—For your sake, jewel,\\r\\nI am glad at soul I have no other child,\\r\\nFor thy escape would teach me tyranny,\\r\\nTo hang clogs on them.—I have done, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nLet me speak like yourself, and lay a sentence,\\r\\nWhich as a grise or step may help these lovers\\r\\nInto your favour.\\r\\nWhen remedies are past, the griefs are ended\\r\\nBy seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended.\\r\\nTo mourn a mischief that is past and gone\\r\\nIs the next way to draw new mischief on.\\r\\nWhat cannot be preserved when fortune takes,\\r\\nPatience her injury a mockery makes.\\r\\nThe robb’d that smiles steals something from the thief;\\r\\nHe robs himself that spends a bootless grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nSo let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile,\\r\\nWe lose it not so long as we can smile;\\r\\nHe bears the sentence well, that nothing bears\\r\\nBut the free comfort which from thence he hears;\\r\\nBut he bears both the sentence and the sorrow\\r\\nThat, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow.\\r\\nThese sentences to sugar or to gall,\\r\\nBeing strong on both sides, are equivocal:\\r\\nBut words are words; I never yet did hear\\r\\nThat the bruis’d heart was pierced through the ear.\\r\\nI humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThe Turk with a most mighty preparation makes for Cyprus. Othello, the\\r\\nfortitude of the place is best known to you. And though we have there a\\r\\nsubstitute of most allowed sufficiency, yet opinion, a sovereign\\r\\nmistress of effects, throws a more safer voice on you: you must\\r\\ntherefore be content to slubber the gloss of your new fortunes with\\r\\nthis more stubborn and boisterous expedition.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe tyrant custom, most grave senators,\\r\\nHath made the flinty and steel couch of war\\r\\nMy thrice-driven bed of down: I do agnize\\r\\nA natural and prompt alacrity\\r\\nI find in hardness, and do undertake\\r\\nThis present wars against the Ottomites.\\r\\nMost humbly, therefore, bending to your state,\\r\\nI crave fit disposition for my wife,\\r\\nDue reference of place and exhibition,\\r\\nWith such accommodation and besort\\r\\nAs levels with her breeding.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nIf you please,\\r\\nBe’t at her father’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nI’ll not have it so.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNor I.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNor I. I would not there reside,\\r\\nTo put my father in impatient thoughts,\\r\\nBy being in his eye. Most gracious duke,\\r\\nTo my unfolding lend your prosperous ear,\\r\\nAnd let me find a charter in your voice\\r\\nT’ assist my simpleness.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat would you, Desdemona?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThat I did love the Moor to live with him,\\r\\nMy downright violence and storm of fortunes\\r\\nMay trumpet to the world: my heart’s subdued\\r\\nEven to the very quality of my lord.\\r\\nI saw Othello’s visage in his mind,\\r\\nAnd to his honours and his valiant parts\\r\\nDid I my soul and fortunes consecrate.\\r\\nSo that, dear lords, if I be left behind,\\r\\nA moth of peace, and he go to the war,\\r\\nThe rites for which I love him are bereft me,\\r\\nAnd I a heavy interim shall support\\r\\nBy his dear absence. Let me go with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nLet her have your voice.\\r\\nVouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not\\r\\nTo please the palate of my appetite,\\r\\nNor to comply with heat, the young affects\\r\\nIn me defunct, and proper satisfaction,\\r\\nBut to be free and bounteous to her mind.\\r\\nAnd heaven defend your good souls that you think\\r\\nI will your serious and great business scant\\r\\nFor she is with me. No, when light-wing’d toys\\r\\nOf feather’d Cupid seel with wanton dullness\\r\\nMy speculative and offic’d instruments,\\r\\nThat my disports corrupt and taint my business,\\r\\nLet housewives make a skillet of my helm,\\r\\nAnd all indign and base adversities\\r\\nMake head against my estimation.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBe it as you shall privately determine,\\r\\nEither for her stay or going. The affair cries haste,\\r\\nAnd speed must answer it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nYou must away tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWith all my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAt nine i’ the morning here we’ll meet again.\\r\\nOthello, leave some officer behind,\\r\\nAnd he shall our commission bring to you,\\r\\nWith such things else of quality and respect\\r\\nAs doth import you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nSo please your grace, my ancient,\\r\\nA man he is of honesty and trust,\\r\\nTo his conveyance I assign my wife,\\r\\nWith what else needful your good grace shall think\\r\\nTo be sent after me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nLet it be so.\\r\\nGood night to everyone. [_To Brabantio._] And, noble signior,\\r\\nIf virtue no delighted beauty lack,\\r\\nYour son-in-law is far more fair than black.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nAdieu, brave Moor, use Desdemona well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nLook to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see:\\r\\nShe has deceiv’d her father, and may thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Duke, Senators, Officers, &c._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nMy life upon her faith! Honest Iago,\\r\\nMy Desdemona must I leave to thee.\\r\\nI prithee, let thy wife attend on her,\\r\\nAnd bring them after in the best advantage.—\\r\\nCome, Desdemona, I have but an hour\\r\\nOf love, of worldly matters, and direction,\\r\\nTo spend with thee. We must obey the time.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Othello and Desdemona._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nIago—\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat sayst thou, noble heart?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhat will I do, thinkest thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, go to bed and sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI will incontinently drown myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIf thou dost, I shall never love thee after. Why, thou silly gentleman!\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nIt is silliness to live, when to live is torment; and then have we a\\r\\nprescription to die when death is our physician.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO villainous! I have looked upon the world for four times seven years,\\r\\nand since I could distinguish betwixt a benefit and an injury, I never\\r\\nfound man that knew how to love himself. Ere I would say I would drown\\r\\nmyself for the love of a guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with a\\r\\nbaboon.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhat should I do? I confess it is my shame to be so fond, but it is not\\r\\nin my virtue to amend it.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nVirtue! a fig! ’Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies\\r\\nare gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners. So that if we will\\r\\nplant nettles or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up thyme, supply it\\r\\nwith one gender of herbs or distract it with many, either to have it\\r\\nsterile with idleness or manured with industry, why, the power and\\r\\ncorrigible authority of this lies in our wills. If the balance of our\\r\\nlives had not one scale of reason to poise another of sensuality, the\\r\\nblood and baseness of our natures would conduct us to most preposterous\\r\\nconclusions. But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal\\r\\nstings, our unbitted lusts; whereof I take this, that you call love, to\\r\\nbe a sect, or scion.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nIt cannot be.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIt is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will. Come, be\\r\\na man. Drown thyself? Drown cats and blind puppies. I have professed me\\r\\nthy friend, and I confess me knit to thy deserving with cables of\\r\\nperdurable toughness; I could never better stead thee than now. Put\\r\\nmoney in thy purse; follow thou the wars; defeat thy favour with an\\r\\nusurped beard; I say, put money in thy purse. It cannot be that\\r\\nDesdemona should long continue her love to the Moor,—put money in thy\\r\\npurse,—nor he his to her. It was a violent commencement, and thou shalt\\r\\nsee an answerable sequestration—put but money in thy purse. These Moors\\r\\nare changeable in their wills. Fill thy purse with money. The food that\\r\\nto him now is as luscious as locusts shall be to him shortly as acerb\\r\\nas the coloquintida. She must change for youth. When she is sated with\\r\\nhis body, she will find the error of her choice. She must have change,\\r\\nshe must. Therefore put money in thy purse. If thou wilt needs damn\\r\\nthyself, do it a more delicate way than drowning. Make all the money\\r\\nthou canst. If sanctimony and a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian\\r\\nand a supersubtle Venetian be not too hard for my wits and all the\\r\\ntribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy her; therefore make money. A pox of\\r\\ndrowning thyself! It is clean out of the way: seek thou rather to be\\r\\nhanged in compassing thy joy than to be drowned and go without her.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWilt thou be fast to my hopes if I depend on the issue?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThou art sure of me. Go, make money. I have told thee often, and I\\r\\nretell thee again and again, I hate the Moor. My cause is hearted;\\r\\nthine hath no less reason. Let us be conjunctive in our revenge against\\r\\nhim: if thou canst cuckold him, thou dost thyself a pleasure, me a\\r\\nsport. There are many events in the womb of time which will be\\r\\ndelivered. Traverse, go, provide thy money. We will have more of this\\r\\ntomorrow. Adieu.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhere shall we meet i’ the morning?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAt my lodging.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI’ll be with thee betimes.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGo to, farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhat say you?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNo more of drowning, do you hear?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI am changed. I’ll sell all my land.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThus do I ever make my fool my purse.\\r\\nFor I mine own gain’d knowledge should profane\\r\\nIf I would time expend with such a snipe\\r\\nBut for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor,\\r\\nAnd it is thought abroad that ’twixt my sheets\\r\\nHe has done my office. I know not if ’t be true,\\r\\nBut I, for mere suspicion in that kind,\\r\\nWill do as if for surety. He holds me well,\\r\\nThe better shall my purpose work on him.\\r\\nCassio’s a proper man. Let me see now,\\r\\nTo get his place, and to plume up my will\\r\\nIn double knavery. How, how? Let’s see.\\r\\nAfter some time, to abuse Othello’s ear\\r\\nThat he is too familiar with his wife.\\r\\nHe hath a person and a smooth dispose,\\r\\nTo be suspected, fram’d to make women false.\\r\\nThe Moor is of a free and open nature\\r\\nThat thinks men honest that but seem to be so,\\r\\nAnd will as tenderly be led by the nose\\r\\nAs asses are.\\r\\nI have’t. It is engender’d. Hell and night\\r\\nMust bring this monstrous birth to the world’s light.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A seaport in Cyprus. A Platform.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Montano and two Gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nWhat from the cape can you discern at sea?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNothing at all, it is a high-wrought flood.\\r\\nI cannot ’twixt the heaven and the main\\r\\nDescry a sail.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nMethinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land.\\r\\nA fuller blast ne’er shook our battlements.\\r\\nIf it hath ruffian’d so upon the sea,\\r\\nWhat ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them,\\r\\nCan hold the mortise? What shall we hear of this?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nA segregation of the Turkish fleet.\\r\\nFor do but stand upon the foaming shore,\\r\\nThe chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds,\\r\\nThe wind-shak’d surge, with high and monstrous main,\\r\\nSeems to cast water on the burning Bear,\\r\\nAnd quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole;\\r\\nI never did like molestation view\\r\\nOn the enchafed flood.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nIf that the Turkish fleet\\r\\nBe not enshelter’d, and embay’d, they are drown’d.\\r\\nIt is impossible to bear it out.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a third Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNews, lads! Our wars are done.\\r\\nThe desperate tempest hath so bang’d the Turks\\r\\nThat their designment halts. A noble ship of Venice\\r\\nHath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance\\r\\nOn most part of their fleet.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nHow? Is this true?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThe ship is here put in,\\r\\nA Veronessa; Michael Cassio,\\r\\nLieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello,\\r\\nIs come on shore; the Moor himself at sea,\\r\\nAnd is in full commission here for Cyprus.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nI am glad on’t. ’Tis a worthy governor.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nBut this same Cassio, though he speak of comfort\\r\\nTouching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly,\\r\\nAnd prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted\\r\\nWith foul and violent tempest.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nPray heavens he be;\\r\\nFor I have serv’d him, and the man commands\\r\\nLike a full soldier. Let’s to the sea-side, ho!\\r\\nAs well to see the vessel that’s come in\\r\\nAs to throw out our eyes for brave Othello,\\r\\nEven till we make the main and the aerial blue\\r\\nAn indistinct regard.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nCome, let’s do so;\\r\\nFor every minute is expectancy\\r\\nOf more arrivance.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThanks you, the valiant of this warlike isle,\\r\\nThat so approve the Moor! O, let the heavens\\r\\nGive him defence against the elements,\\r\\nFor I have lost him on a dangerous sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nIs he well shipp’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHis bark is stoutly timber’d, and his pilot\\r\\nOf very expert and approv’d allowance;\\r\\nTherefore my hopes, not surfeited to death,\\r\\nStand in bold cure.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Within._] A sail, a sail, a sail!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhat noise?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThe town is empty; on the brow o’ the sea\\r\\nStand ranks of people, and they cry “A sail!”\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMy hopes do shape him for the governor.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A shot._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThey do discharge their shot of courtesy.\\r\\nOur friends at least.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI pray you, sir, go forth,\\r\\nAnd give us truth who ’tis that is arriv’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI shall.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nBut, good lieutenant, is your general wiv’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMost fortunately: he hath achiev’d a maid\\r\\nThat paragons description and wild fame,\\r\\nOne that excels the quirks of blazoning pens,\\r\\nAnd in the essential vesture of creation\\r\\nDoes tire the ingener.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter second Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now? Who has put in?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\n’Tis one Iago, ancient to the general.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHe has had most favourable and happy speed:\\r\\nTempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds,\\r\\nThe gutter’d rocks, and congregated sands,\\r\\nTraitors ensteep’d to clog the guiltless keel,\\r\\nAs having sense of beauty, do omit\\r\\nTheir mortal natures, letting go safely by\\r\\nThe divine Desdemona.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nWhat is she?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nShe that I spake of, our great captain’s captain,\\r\\nLeft in the conduct of the bold Iago;\\r\\nWhose footing here anticipates our thoughts\\r\\nA se’nnight’s speed. Great Jove, Othello guard,\\r\\nAnd swell his sail with thine own powerful breath,\\r\\nThat he may bless this bay with his tall ship,\\r\\nMake love’s quick pants in Desdemona’s arms,\\r\\nGive renew’d fire to our extincted spirits,\\r\\nAnd bring all Cyprus comfort!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona, Iago, Roderigo, and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nO, behold,\\r\\nThe riches of the ship is come on shore!\\r\\nYe men of Cyprus, let her have your knees.\\r\\nHail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven,\\r\\nBefore, behind thee, and on every hand,\\r\\nEnwheel thee round!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI thank you, valiant Cassio.\\r\\nWhat tidings can you tell me of my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHe is not yet arrived, nor know I aught\\r\\nBut that he’s well, and will be shortly here.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, but I fear—How lost you company?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Within._] A sail, a sail!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThe great contention of the sea and skies\\r\\nParted our fellowship. But, hark! a sail.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Guns within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThey give their greeting to the citadel.\\r\\nThis likewise is a friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nSee for the news.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Gentleman._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGood ancient, you are welcome. [_To Emilia._] Welcome, mistress.\\r\\nLet it not gall your patience, good Iago,\\r\\nThat I extend my manners; ’tis my breeding\\r\\nThat gives me this bold show of courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kissing her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSir, would she give you so much of her lips\\r\\nAs of her tongue she oft bestows on me,\\r\\nYou would have enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas, she has no speech.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIn faith, too much.\\r\\nI find it still when I have list to sleep.\\r\\nMarry, before your ladyship, I grant,\\r\\nShe puts her tongue a little in her heart,\\r\\nAnd chides with thinking.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYou have little cause to say so.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCome on, come on; you are pictures out of doors,\\r\\nBells in your parlours, wild-cats in your kitchens,\\r\\nSaints in your injuries, devils being offended,\\r\\nPlayers in your housewifery, and housewives in your beds.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, fie upon thee, slanderer!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, it is true, or else I am a Turk.\\r\\nYou rise to play, and go to bed to work.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYou shall not write my praise.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNo, let me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst praise me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO gentle lady, do not put me to’t,\\r\\nFor I am nothing if not critical.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nCome on, assay.—There’s one gone to the harbour?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAy, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI am not merry, but I do beguile\\r\\nThe thing I am, by seeming otherwise.—\\r\\nCome, how wouldst thou praise me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am about it, but indeed, my invention\\r\\nComes from my pate as birdlime does from frieze,\\r\\nIt plucks out brains and all: but my Muse labours,\\r\\nAnd thus she is deliver’d.\\r\\nIf she be fair and wise, fairness and wit,\\r\\nThe one’s for use, the other useth it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWell prais’d! How if she be black and witty?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIf she be black, and thereto have a wit,\\r\\nShe’ll find a white that shall her blackness fit.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWorse and worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHow if fair and foolish?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShe never yet was foolish that was fair,\\r\\nFor even her folly help’d her to an heir.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThese are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh i’ the alehouse. What\\r\\nmiserable praise hast thou for her that’s foul and foolish?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThere’s none so foul and foolish thereunto,\\r\\nBut does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO heavy ignorance! Thou praisest the worst best. But what praise\\r\\ncouldst thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed, one that in the\\r\\nauthority of her merit did justly put on the vouch of very malice\\r\\nitself?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShe that was ever fair and never proud,\\r\\nHad tongue at will and yet was never loud,\\r\\nNever lack’d gold and yet went never gay,\\r\\nFled from her wish, and yet said, “Now I may”;\\r\\nShe that, being anger’d, her revenge being nigh,\\r\\nBade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly;\\r\\nShe that in wisdom never was so frail\\r\\nTo change the cod’s head for the salmon’s tail;\\r\\nShe that could think and ne’er disclose her mind,\\r\\nSee suitors following and not look behind;\\r\\nShe was a wight, if ever such wight were—\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nTo do what?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nTo suckle fools and chronicle small beer.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO most lame and impotent conclusion!—Do not learn of him, Emilia,\\r\\nthough he be thy husband.—How say you, Cassio? is he not a most profane\\r\\nand liberal counsellor?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHe speaks home, madam. You may relish him more in the soldier than in\\r\\nthe scholar.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] He takes her by the palm. Ay, well said, whisper. With as\\r\\nlittle a web as this will I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile\\r\\nupon her, do. I will gyve thee in thine own courtship. You say true,\\r\\n’tis so, indeed. If such tricks as these strip you out of your\\r\\nlieutenantry, it had been better you had not kissed your three fingers\\r\\nso oft, which now again you are most apt to play the sir in. Very good;\\r\\nwell kissed, an excellent courtesy! ’Tis so, indeed. Yet again your\\r\\nfingers to your lips? Would they were clyster-pipes for your sake!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Trumpets within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Moor! I know his trumpet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Tis truly so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nLet’s meet him, and receive him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nLo, where he comes!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO my fair warrior!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy dear Othello!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIt gives me wonder great as my content\\r\\nTo see you here before me. O my soul’s joy!\\r\\nIf after every tempest come such calms,\\r\\nMay the winds blow till they have waken’d death!\\r\\nAnd let the labouring bark climb hills of seas\\r\\nOlympus-high, and duck again as low\\r\\nAs hell’s from heaven! If it were now to die,\\r\\n’Twere now to be most happy, for I fear\\r\\nMy soul hath her content so absolute\\r\\nThat not another comfort like to this\\r\\nSucceeds in unknown fate.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThe heavens forbid\\r\\nBut that our loves and comforts should increase\\r\\nEven as our days do grow!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAmen to that, sweet powers!\\r\\nI cannot speak enough of this content.\\r\\nIt stops me here; it is too much of joy:\\r\\nAnd this, and this, the greatest discords be [_They kiss._]\\r\\nThat e’er our hearts shall make!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] O, you are well tun’d now,\\r\\nBut I’ll set down the pegs that make this music,\\r\\nAs honest as I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nCome, let us to the castle.—\\r\\nNews, friends, our wars are done, the Turks are drown’d.\\r\\nHow does my old acquaintance of this isle?\\r\\nHoney, you shall be well desir’d in Cyprus;\\r\\nI have found great love amongst them. O my sweet,\\r\\nI prattle out of fashion, and I dote\\r\\nIn mine own comforts.—I prithee, good Iago,\\r\\nGo to the bay and disembark my coffers.\\r\\nBring thou the master to the citadel;\\r\\nHe is a good one, and his worthiness\\r\\nDoes challenge much respect.—Come, Desdemona,\\r\\nOnce more well met at Cyprus.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Othello, Desdemona and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo thou meet me presently at the harbour. Come hither. If thou be’st\\r\\nvaliant—as, they say, base men being in love have then a nobility in\\r\\ntheir natures more than is native to them—list me. The lieutenant\\r\\ntonight watches on the court of guard: first, I must tell thee this:\\r\\nDesdemona is directly in love with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWith him? Why, ’tis not possible.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLay thy finger thus, and let thy soul be instructed. Mark me with what\\r\\nviolence she first loved the Moor, but for bragging, and telling her\\r\\nfantastical lies. And will she love him still for prating? Let not thy\\r\\ndiscreet heart think it. Her eye must be fed. And what delight shall\\r\\nshe have to look on the devil? When the blood is made dull with the act\\r\\nof sport, there should be, again to inflame it and to give satiety a\\r\\nfresh appetite, loveliness in favour, sympathy in years, manners, and\\r\\nbeauties; all which the Moor is defective in: now, for want of these\\r\\nrequired conveniences, her delicate tenderness will find itself abused,\\r\\nbegin to heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the Moor, very nature\\r\\nwill instruct her in it, and compel her to some second choice. Now sir,\\r\\nthis granted (as it is a most pregnant and unforced position) who\\r\\nstands so eminently in the degree of this fortune as Cassio does? a\\r\\nknave very voluble; no further conscionable than in putting on the mere\\r\\nform of civil and humane seeming, for the better compassing of his salt\\r\\nand most hidden loose affection? Why, none, why, none! A slipper and\\r\\nsubtle knave, a finder out of occasions; that has an eye can stamp and\\r\\ncounterfeit advantages, though true advantage never present itself: a\\r\\ndevilish knave! Besides, the knave is handsome, young, and hath all\\r\\nthose requisites in him that folly and green minds look after. A\\r\\npestilent complete knave, and the woman hath found him already.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI cannot believe that in her, she is full of most blessed condition.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBlest fig’s end! the wine she drinks is made of grapes: if she had been\\r\\nblessed, she would never have loved the Moor. Blessed pudding! Didst\\r\\nthou not see her paddle with the palm of his hand? Didst not mark that?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nYes, that I did. But that was but courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLechery, by this hand. An index and obscure prologue to the history of\\r\\nlust and foul thoughts. They met so near with their lips that their\\r\\nbreaths embrac’d together. Villainous thoughts, Roderigo! When these\\r\\nmutualities so marshal the way, hard at hand comes the master and main\\r\\nexercise, the incorporate conclusion. Pish! But, sir, be you ruled by\\r\\nme. I have brought you from Venice. Watch you tonight. For the command,\\r\\nI’ll lay’t upon you. Cassio knows you not. I’ll not be far from you. Do\\r\\nyou find some occasion to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud, or\\r\\ntainting his discipline, or from what other course you please, which\\r\\nthe time shall more favourably minister.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWell.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSir, he is rash, and very sudden in choler, and haply with his\\r\\ntruncheon may strike at you: provoke him that he may, for even out of\\r\\nthat will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny, whose qualification shall\\r\\ncome into no true taste again but by the displanting of Cassio. So\\r\\nshall you have a shorter journey to your desires by the means I shall\\r\\nthen have to prefer them, and the impediment most profitably removed,\\r\\nwithout the which there were no expectation of our prosperity.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI will do this, if I can bring it to any opportunity.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the citadel: I must fetch his\\r\\nnecessaries ashore. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nAdieu.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThat Cassio loves her, I do well believe it;\\r\\nThat she loves him, ’tis apt, and of great credit:\\r\\nThe Moor, howbeit that I endure him not,\\r\\nIs of a constant, loving, noble nature;\\r\\nAnd, I dare think, he’ll prove to Desdemona\\r\\nA most dear husband. Now, I do love her too,\\r\\nNot out of absolute lust (though peradventure\\r\\nI stand accountant for as great a sin)\\r\\nBut partly led to diet my revenge,\\r\\nFor that I do suspect the lusty Moor\\r\\nHath leap’d into my seat. The thought whereof\\r\\nDoth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards,\\r\\nAnd nothing can or shall content my soul\\r\\nTill I am even’d with him, wife for wife,\\r\\nOr, failing so, yet that I put the Moor\\r\\nAt least into a jealousy so strong\\r\\nThat judgement cannot cure. Which thing to do,\\r\\nIf this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash\\r\\nFor his quick hunting, stand the putting on,\\r\\nI’ll have our Michael Cassio on the hip,\\r\\nAbuse him to the Moor in the rank garb\\r\\n(For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too)\\r\\nMake the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me\\r\\nFor making him egregiously an ass\\r\\nAnd practicing upon his peace and quiet\\r\\nEven to madness. ’Tis here, but yet confus’d.\\r\\nKnavery’s plain face is never seen till us’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello’s Herald with a proclamation.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nIt is Othello’s pleasure, our noble and valiant general, that upon\\r\\ncertain tidings now arrived, importing the mere perdition of the\\r\\nTurkish fleet, every man put himself into triumph: some to dance, some\\r\\nto make bonfires, each man to what sport and revels his addition leads\\r\\nhim. For besides these beneficial news, it is the celebration of his\\r\\nnuptial. So much was his pleasure should be proclaimed. All offices are\\r\\nopen, and there is full liberty of feasting from this present hour of\\r\\nfive till the bell have told eleven. Heaven bless the isle of Cyprus\\r\\nand our noble general Othello!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A Hall in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello, Desdemona, Cassio and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGood Michael, look you to the guard tonight.\\r\\nLet’s teach ourselves that honourable stop,\\r\\nNot to outsport discretion.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nIago hath direction what to do.\\r\\nBut notwithstanding with my personal eye\\r\\nWill I look to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIago is most honest.\\r\\nMichael, good night. Tomorrow with your earliest\\r\\nLet me have speech with you. [_To Desdemona._] Come, my dear love,\\r\\nThe purchase made, the fruits are to ensue;\\r\\nThat profit’s yet to come ’tween me and you.—\\r\\nGood night.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Othello, Desdemona and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWelcome, Iago. We must to the watch.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNot this hour, lieutenant. ’Tis not yet ten o’ th’ clock. Our general\\r\\ncast us thus early for the love of his Desdemona; who let us not\\r\\ntherefore blame: he hath not yet made wanton the night with her; and\\r\\nshe is sport for Jove.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nShe’s a most exquisite lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd, I’ll warrant her, full of game.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nIndeed, she is a most fresh and delicate creature.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat an eye she has! methinks it sounds a parley to provocation.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAn inviting eye, and yet methinks right modest.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd when she speaks, is it not an alarm to love?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nShe is indeed perfection.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWell, happiness to their sheets! Come, lieutenant, I have a stoup of\\r\\nwine; and here without are a brace of Cyprus gallants that would fain\\r\\nhave a measure to the health of black Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nNot tonight, good Iago. I have very poor and unhappy brains for\\r\\ndrinking. I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of\\r\\nentertainment.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, they are our friends; but one cup: I’ll drink for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI have drunk but one cup tonight, and that was craftily qualified too,\\r\\nand behold, what innovation it makes here: I am unfortunate in the\\r\\ninfirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any more.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat, man! ’Tis a night of revels. The gallants desire it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhere are they?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHere at the door. I pray you, call them in.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI’ll do’t; but it dislikes me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIf I can fasten but one cup upon him,\\r\\nWith that which he hath drunk tonight already,\\r\\nHe’ll be as full of quarrel and offence\\r\\nAs my young mistress’ dog. Now my sick fool Roderigo,\\r\\nWhom love hath turn’d almost the wrong side out,\\r\\nTo Desdemona hath tonight carous’d\\r\\nPotations pottle-deep; and he’s to watch:\\r\\nThree lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits,\\r\\nThat hold their honours in a wary distance,\\r\\nThe very elements of this warlike isle,\\r\\nHave I tonight fluster’d with flowing cups,\\r\\nAnd they watch too. Now, ’mongst this flock of drunkards,\\r\\nAm I to put our Cassio in some action\\r\\nThat may offend the isle. But here they come:\\r\\nIf consequence do but approve my dream,\\r\\nMy boat sails freely, both with wind and stream.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio, Montano and Gentlemen; followed by Servant with wine.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Fore God, they have given me a rouse already.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nGood faith, a little one; not past a pint, as I am a soldier.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSome wine, ho!\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n\\r\\n _And let me the cannikin clink, clink,\\r\\n And let me the cannikin clink, clink:\\r\\n A soldier’s a man,\\r\\n O, man’s life’s but a span,\\r\\n Why then let a soldier drink._\\r\\n\\r\\nSome wine, boys!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Fore God, an excellent song.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI learned it in England, where indeed they are most potent in potting:\\r\\nyour Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander,—drink, ho!—are\\r\\nnothing to your English.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nIs your Englishman so expert in his drinking?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane dead drunk; he sweats not\\r\\nto overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit ere the next\\r\\npottle can be filled.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nTo the health of our general!\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nI am for it, lieutenant; and I’ll do you justice.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO sweet England!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n\\r\\n _King Stephen was a worthy peer,\\r\\n His breeches cost him but a crown;\\r\\n He held them sixpence all too dear,\\r\\n With that he call’d the tailor lown.\\r\\n He was a wight of high renown,\\r\\n And thou art but of low degree:\\r\\n ’Tis pride that pulls the country down,\\r\\n Then take thine auld cloak about thee._\\r\\n\\r\\nSome wine, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Fore God, this is a more exquisite song than the other.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWill you hear ’t again?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nNo, for I hold him to be unworthy of his place that does those things.\\r\\nWell, God’s above all, and there be souls must be saved, and there be\\r\\nsouls must not be saved.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIt’s true, good lieutenant.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nFor mine own part, no offence to the general, nor any man of quality, I\\r\\nhope to be saved.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd so do I too, lieutenant.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAy, but, by your leave, not before me; the lieutenant is to be saved\\r\\nbefore the ancient. Let’s have no more of this; let’s to our affairs.\\r\\nForgive us our sins! Gentlemen, let’s look to our business. Do not\\r\\nthink, gentlemen, I am drunk. This is my ancient, this is my right\\r\\nhand, and this is my left. I am not drunk now. I can stand well enough,\\r\\nand I speak well enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nExcellent well.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhy, very well then. You must not think, then, that I am drunk.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nTo the platform, masters. Come, let’s set the watch.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou see this fellow that is gone before,\\r\\nHe is a soldier fit to stand by Cæsar\\r\\nAnd give direction: and do but see his vice,\\r\\n’Tis to his virtue a just equinox,\\r\\nThe one as long as th’ other. ’Tis pity of him.\\r\\nI fear the trust Othello puts him in,\\r\\nOn some odd time of his infirmity,\\r\\nWill shake this island.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nBut is he often thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n’Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep:\\r\\nHe’ll watch the horologe a double set\\r\\nIf drink rock not his cradle.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nIt were well\\r\\nThe general were put in mind of it.\\r\\nPerhaps he sees it not, or his good nature\\r\\nPrizes the virtue that appears in Cassio,\\r\\nAnd looks not on his evils: is not this true?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Aside to him._] How now, Roderigo?\\r\\nI pray you, after the lieutenant; go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nAnd ’tis great pity that the noble Moor\\r\\nShould hazard such a place as his own second\\r\\nWith one of an ingraft infirmity:\\r\\nIt were an honest action to say so\\r\\nTo the Moor.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNot I, for this fair island.\\r\\nI do love Cassio well and would do much\\r\\nTo cure him of this evil. But, hark! What noise?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Cry within_: “Help! help!”]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio, driving in Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nZounds, you rogue, you rascal!\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter, lieutenant?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nA knave teach me my duty! I’ll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nBeat me?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nDost thou prate, rogue?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Striking Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nNay, good lieutenant;\\r\\nI pray you, sir, hold your hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nLet me go, sir,\\r\\nOr I’ll knock you o’er the mazard.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nCome, come, you’re drunk.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nDrunk?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Roderigo._] Away, I say! Go out and cry a mutiny.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNay, good lieutenant, God’s will, gentlemen.\\r\\nHelp, ho!—Lieutenant,—sir,—Montano,—sir:—\\r\\nHelp, masters! Here’s a goodly watch indeed!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A bell rings._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWho’s that which rings the bell?—Diablo, ho!\\r\\nThe town will rise. God’s will, lieutenant, hold,\\r\\nYou will be sham’d forever.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat is the matter here?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nZounds, I bleed still, I am hurt to the death.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHold, for your lives!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHold, ho! lieutenant,—sir,—Montano,—gentlemen,—\\r\\nHave you forgot all place of sense and duty?\\r\\nHold! The general speaks to you; hold, hold, for shame!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy, how now, ho! From whence ariseth this?\\r\\nAre we turn’d Turks, and to ourselves do that\\r\\nWhich heaven hath forbid the Ottomites?\\r\\nFor Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl:\\r\\nHe that stirs next to carve for his own rage\\r\\nHolds his soul light; he dies upon his motion.\\r\\nSilence that dreadful bell, it frights the isle\\r\\nFrom her propriety. What is the matter, masters?\\r\\nHonest Iago, that looks dead with grieving,\\r\\nSpeak, who began this? On thy love, I charge thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI do not know. Friends all but now, even now,\\r\\nIn quarter, and in terms like bride and groom\\r\\nDevesting them for bed; and then, but now,\\r\\nAs if some planet had unwitted men,\\r\\nSwords out, and tilting one at other’s breast,\\r\\nIn opposition bloody. I cannot speak\\r\\nAny beginning to this peevish odds;\\r\\nAnd would in action glorious I had lost\\r\\nThose legs that brought me to a part of it!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHow comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI pray you, pardon me; I cannot speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWorthy Montano, you were wont be civil.\\r\\nThe gravity and stillness of your youth\\r\\nThe world hath noted, and your name is great\\r\\nIn mouths of wisest censure: what’s the matter,\\r\\nThat you unlace your reputation thus,\\r\\nAnd spend your rich opinion for the name\\r\\nOf a night-brawler? Give me answer to it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nWorthy Othello, I am hurt to danger.\\r\\nYour officer, Iago, can inform you,\\r\\nWhile I spare speech, which something now offends me,\\r\\nOf all that I do know; nor know I aught\\r\\nBy me that’s said or done amiss this night,\\r\\nUnless self-charity be sometimes a vice,\\r\\nAnd to defend ourselves it be a sin\\r\\nWhen violence assails us.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNow, by heaven,\\r\\nMy blood begins my safer guides to rule,\\r\\nAnd passion, having my best judgement collied,\\r\\nAssays to lead the way. Zounds, if I stir,\\r\\nOr do but lift this arm, the best of you\\r\\nShall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know\\r\\nHow this foul rout began, who set it on,\\r\\nAnd he that is approv’d in this offence,\\r\\nThough he had twinn’d with me, both at a birth,\\r\\nShall lose me. What! in a town of war,\\r\\nYet wild, the people’s hearts brimful of fear,\\r\\nTo manage private and domestic quarrel,\\r\\nIn night, and on the court and guard of safety?\\r\\n’Tis monstrous. Iago, who began’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nIf partially affin’d, or leagu’d in office,\\r\\nThou dost deliver more or less than truth,\\r\\nThou art no soldier.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nTouch me not so near.\\r\\nI had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth\\r\\nThan it should do offence to Michael Cassio.\\r\\nYet I persuade myself, to speak the truth\\r\\nShall nothing wrong him. Thus it is, general:\\r\\nMontano and myself being in speech,\\r\\nThere comes a fellow crying out for help,\\r\\nAnd Cassio following him with determin’d sword,\\r\\nTo execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman\\r\\nSteps in to Cassio and entreats his pause.\\r\\nMyself the crying fellow did pursue,\\r\\nLest by his clamour (as it so fell out)\\r\\nThe town might fall in fright: he, swift of foot,\\r\\nOutran my purpose: and I return’d the rather\\r\\nFor that I heard the clink and fall of swords,\\r\\nAnd Cassio high in oath, which till tonight\\r\\nI ne’er might say before. When I came back,\\r\\n(For this was brief) I found them close together,\\r\\nAt blow and thrust, even as again they were\\r\\nWhen you yourself did part them.\\r\\nMore of this matter cannot I report.\\r\\nBut men are men; the best sometimes forget;\\r\\nThough Cassio did some little wrong to him,\\r\\nAs men in rage strike those that wish them best,\\r\\nYet surely Cassio, I believe, receiv’d\\r\\nFrom him that fled some strange indignity,\\r\\nWhich patience could not pass.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI know, Iago,\\r\\nThy honesty and love doth mince this matter,\\r\\nMaking it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee,\\r\\nBut never more be officer of mine.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona, attended.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook, if my gentle love be not rais’d up!\\r\\nI’ll make thee an example.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAll’s well now, sweeting; come away to bed.\\r\\nSir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon.\\r\\nLead him off.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Montano is led off._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIago, look with care about the town,\\r\\nAnd silence those whom this vile brawl distracted.\\r\\nCome, Desdemona: ’tis the soldiers’ life\\r\\nTo have their balmy slumbers wak’d with strife.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Iago and Cassio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat, are you hurt, lieutenant?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAy, past all surgery.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMarry, Heaven forbid!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nReputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my reputation! I\\r\\nhave lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial. My\\r\\nreputation, Iago, my reputation!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAs I am an honest man, I thought you had received some bodily wound;\\r\\nthere is more sense in that than in reputation. Reputation is an idle\\r\\nand most false imposition, oft got without merit and lost without\\r\\ndeserving. You have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute\\r\\nyourself such a loser. What, man, there are ways to recover the general\\r\\nagain: you are but now cast in his mood, a punishment more in policy\\r\\nthan in malice, even so as one would beat his offenceless dog to\\r\\naffright an imperious lion: sue to him again, and he’s yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI will rather sue to be despised than to deceive so good a commander\\r\\nwith so slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk? and\\r\\nspeak parrot? and squabble? swagger? swear? and discourse fustian with\\r\\none’s own shadow? O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name\\r\\nto be known by, let us call thee devil!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat was he that you followed with your sword? What had he done to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI know not.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quarrel, but\\r\\nnothing wherefore. O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths\\r\\nto steal away their brains! That we should with joy, pleasance, revel,\\r\\nand applause, transform ourselves into beasts!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, but you are now well enough: how came you thus recovered?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nIt hath pleased the devil drunkenness to give place to the devil wrath.\\r\\nOne unperfectness shows me another, to make me frankly despise myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCome, you are too severe a moraler. As the time, the place, and the\\r\\ncondition of this country stands, I could heartily wish this had not\\r\\nbefallen; but since it is as it is, mend it for your own good.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI will ask him for my place again; he shall tell me I am a drunkard!\\r\\nHad I as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To\\r\\nbe now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast! O\\r\\nstrange! Every inordinate cup is unbless’d, and the ingredient is a\\r\\ndevil.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCome, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well used.\\r\\nExclaim no more against it. And, good lieutenant, I think you think I\\r\\nlove you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI have well approved it, sir.—I drunk!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou, or any man living, may be drunk at a time, man. I’ll tell you what\\r\\nyou shall do. Our general’s wife is now the general; I may say so in\\r\\nthis respect, for that he hath devoted and given up himself to the\\r\\ncontemplation, mark, and denotement of her parts and graces. Confess\\r\\nyourself freely to her. Importune her help to put you in your place\\r\\nagain. She is of so free, so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition,\\r\\nshe holds it a vice in her goodness not to do more than she is\\r\\nrequested. This broken joint between you and her husband entreat her to\\r\\nsplinter, and, my fortunes against any lay worth naming, this crack of\\r\\nyour love shall grow stronger than it was before.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nYou advise me well.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI protest, in the sincerity of love and honest kindness.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI think it freely; and betimes in the morning I will beseech the\\r\\nvirtuous Desdemona to undertake for me; I am desperate of my fortunes\\r\\nif they check me here.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou are in the right. Good night, lieutenant, I must to the watch.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nGood night, honest Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd what’s he then, that says I play the villain?\\r\\nWhen this advice is free I give and honest,\\r\\nProbal to thinking, and indeed the course\\r\\nTo win the Moor again? For ’tis most easy\\r\\nThe inclining Desdemona to subdue\\r\\nIn any honest suit. She’s fram’d as fruitful\\r\\nAs the free elements. And then for her\\r\\nTo win the Moor, were’t to renounce his baptism,\\r\\nAll seals and symbols of redeemed sin,\\r\\nHis soul is so enfetter’d to her love\\r\\nThat she may make, unmake, do what she list,\\r\\nEven as her appetite shall play the god\\r\\nWith his weak function. How am I then, a villain\\r\\nTo counsel Cassio to this parallel course,\\r\\nDirectly to his good? Divinity of hell!\\r\\nWhen devils will the blackest sins put on,\\r\\nThey do suggest at first with heavenly shows,\\r\\nAs I do now: for whiles this honest fool\\r\\nPlies Desdemona to repair his fortune,\\r\\nAnd she for him pleads strongly to the Moor,\\r\\nI’ll pour this pestilence into his ear,\\r\\nThat she repeals him for her body’s lust;\\r\\nAnd by how much she strives to do him good,\\r\\nShe shall undo her credit with the Moor.\\r\\nSo will I turn her virtue into pitch,\\r\\nAnd out of her own goodness make the net\\r\\nThat shall enmesh them all.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Roderigo?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI do follow here in the chase, not like a hound that hunts, but one\\r\\nthat fills up the cry. My money is almost spent, I have been tonight\\r\\nexceedingly well cudgelled; and I think the issue will be, I shall have\\r\\nso much experience for my pains, and so, with no money at all and a\\r\\nlittle more wit, return again to Venice.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHow poor are they that have not patience!\\r\\nWhat wound did ever heal but by degrees?\\r\\nThou know’st we work by wit, and not by witchcraft,\\r\\nAnd wit depends on dilatory time.\\r\\nDoes’t not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee,\\r\\nAnd thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier’d Cassio;\\r\\nThough other things grow fair against the sun,\\r\\nYet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe.\\r\\nContent thyself awhile. By the mass, ’tis morning;\\r\\nPleasure and action make the hours seem short.\\r\\nRetire thee; go where thou art billeted.\\r\\nAway, I say, thou shalt know more hereafter.\\r\\nNay, get thee gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTwo things are to be done,\\r\\nMy wife must move for Cassio to her mistress.\\r\\nI’ll set her on;\\r\\nMyself the while to draw the Moor apart,\\r\\nAnd bring him jump when he may Cassio find\\r\\nSoliciting his wife. Ay, that’s the way.\\r\\nDull not device by coldness and delay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio and some Musicians.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMasters, play here, I will content your pains,\\r\\nSomething that’s brief; and bid “Good morrow, general.”\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, masters, have your instruments been in Naples, that they speak i’\\r\\nthe nose thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nHow, sir, how?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAre these, I pray you, wind instruments?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nAy, marry, are they, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nO, thereby hangs a tail.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWhereby hangs a tale, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMarry, sir, by many a wind instrument that I know. But, masters, here’s\\r\\nmoney for you: and the general so likes your music, that he desires\\r\\nyou, for love’s sake, to make no more noise with it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWell, sir, we will not.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIf you have any music that may not be heard, to’t again. But, as they\\r\\nsay, to hear music the general does not greatly care.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWe have none such, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThen put up your pipes in your bag, for I’ll away. Go, vanish into air,\\r\\naway!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Musicians._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nDost thou hear, mine honest friend?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, I hear not your honest friend. I hear you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nPrithee, keep up thy quillets. There’s a poor piece of gold for thee:\\r\\nif the gentlewoman that attends the general’s wife be stirring, tell\\r\\nher there’s one Cassio entreats her a little favour of speech. Wilt\\r\\nthou do this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nShe is stirring, sir; if she will stir hither, I shall seem to notify\\r\\nunto her.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nDo, good my friend.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn happy time, Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou have not been a-bed, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhy, no. The day had broke\\r\\nBefore we parted. I have made bold, Iago,\\r\\nTo send in to your wife. My suit to her\\r\\nIs, that she will to virtuous Desdemona\\r\\nProcure me some access.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI’ll send her to you presently,\\r\\nAnd I’ll devise a mean to draw the Moor\\r\\nOut of the way, that your converse and business\\r\\nMay be more free.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI humbly thank you for’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Iago._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI never knew\\r\\nA Florentine more kind and honest.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nGood morrow, good lieutenant; I am sorry\\r\\nFor your displeasure, but all will sure be well.\\r\\nThe general and his wife are talking of it,\\r\\nAnd she speaks for you stoutly: the Moor replies\\r\\nThat he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus\\r\\nAnd great affinity, and that in wholesome wisdom\\r\\nHe might not but refuse you; but he protests he loves you\\r\\nAnd needs no other suitor but his likings\\r\\nTo take the safest occasion by the front\\r\\nTo bring you in again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nYet, I beseech you,\\r\\nIf you think fit, or that it may be done,\\r\\nGive me advantage of some brief discourse\\r\\nWith Desdemona alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPray you, come in.\\r\\nI will bestow you where you shall have time\\r\\nTo speak your bosom freely.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI am much bound to you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello, Iago and Gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThese letters give, Iago, to the pilot,\\r\\nAnd by him do my duties to the senate.\\r\\nThat done, I will be walking on the works,\\r\\nRepair there to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWell, my good lord, I’ll do’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThis fortification, gentlemen, shall we see’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMEN.\\r\\nWe’ll wait upon your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Cyprus. The Garden of the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona, Cassio and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBe thou assured, good Cassio, I will do\\r\\nAll my abilities in thy behalf.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nGood madam, do. I warrant it grieves my husband\\r\\nAs if the cause were his.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, that’s an honest fellow. Do not doubt, Cassio,\\r\\nBut I will have my lord and you again\\r\\nAs friendly as you were.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nBounteous madam,\\r\\nWhatever shall become of Michael Cassio,\\r\\nHe’s never anything but your true servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI know’t. I thank you. You do love my lord.\\r\\nYou have known him long; and be you well assur’d\\r\\nHe shall in strangeness stand no farther off\\r\\nThan in a politic distance.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAy, but, lady,\\r\\nThat policy may either last so long,\\r\\nOr feed upon such nice and waterish diet,\\r\\nOr breed itself so out of circumstance,\\r\\nThat, I being absent, and my place supplied,\\r\\nMy general will forget my love and service.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nDo not doubt that. Before Emilia here\\r\\nI give thee warrant of thy place. Assure thee,\\r\\nIf I do vow a friendship, I’ll perform it\\r\\nTo the last article. My lord shall never rest,\\r\\nI’ll watch him tame, and talk him out of patience;\\r\\nHis bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift;\\r\\nI’ll intermingle everything he does\\r\\nWith Cassio’s suit. Therefore be merry, Cassio,\\r\\nFor thy solicitor shall rather die\\r\\nThan give thy cause away.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello and Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMadam, here comes my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMadam, I’ll take my leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, stay, and hear me speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMadam, not now. I am very ill at ease,\\r\\nUnfit for mine own purposes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWell, do your discretion.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Cassio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHa, I like not that.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat dost thou say?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNothing, my lord; or if—I know not what.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWas not that Cassio parted from my wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCassio, my lord? No, sure, I cannot think it,\\r\\nThat he would steal away so guilty-like,\\r\\nSeeing you coming.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI do believe ’twas he.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHow now, my lord?\\r\\nI have been talking with a suitor here,\\r\\nA man that languishes in your displeasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWho is’t you mean?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good my lord,\\r\\nIf I have any grace or power to move you,\\r\\nHis present reconciliation take;\\r\\nFor if he be not one that truly loves you,\\r\\nThat errs in ignorance and not in cunning,\\r\\nI have no judgement in an honest face.\\r\\nI prithee call him back.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWent he hence now?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAy, sooth; so humbled\\r\\nThat he hath left part of his grief with me\\r\\nTo suffer with him. Good love, call him back.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNot now, sweet Desdemon, some other time.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBut shall’t be shortly?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe sooner, sweet, for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nShall’t be tonight at supper?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNo, not tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nTomorrow dinner then?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI shall not dine at home;\\r\\nI meet the captains at the citadel.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy then tomorrow night, or Tuesday morn,\\r\\nOn Tuesday noon, or night; on Wednesday morn.\\r\\nI prithee name the time, but let it not\\r\\nExceed three days. In faith, he’s penitent;\\r\\nAnd yet his trespass, in our common reason,\\r\\n(Save that, they say, the wars must make examples\\r\\nOut of their best) is not almost a fault\\r\\nTo incur a private check. When shall he come?\\r\\nTell me, Othello: I wonder in my soul,\\r\\nWhat you would ask me, that I should deny,\\r\\nOr stand so mammering on. What? Michael Cassio,\\r\\nThat came a-wooing with you, and so many a time,\\r\\nWhen I have spoke of you dispraisingly,\\r\\nHath ta’en your part, to have so much to do\\r\\nTo bring him in! Trust me, I could do much.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nPrithee no more. Let him come when he will;\\r\\nI will deny thee nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, this is not a boon;\\r\\n’Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves,\\r\\nOr feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm,\\r\\nOr sue to you to do a peculiar profit\\r\\nTo your own person: nay, when I have a suit\\r\\nWherein I mean to touch your love indeed,\\r\\nIt shall be full of poise and difficult weight,\\r\\nAnd fearful to be granted.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI will deny thee nothing.\\r\\nWhereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this,\\r\\nTo leave me but a little to myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nShall I deny you? No, farewell, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFarewell, my Desdemona. I’ll come to thee straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nEmilia, come. Be as your fancies teach you.\\r\\nWhate’er you be, I am obedient.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nExcellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul,\\r\\nBut I do love thee! And when I love thee not,\\r\\nChaos is come again.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy noble lord,—\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat dost thou say, Iago?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDid Michael Cassio, when you woo’d my lady,\\r\\nKnow of your love?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHe did, from first to last. Why dost thou ask?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBut for a satisfaction of my thought.\\r\\nNo further harm.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy of thy thought, Iago?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI did not think he had been acquainted with her.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO yes, and went between us very oft.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIndeed?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIndeed? Ay, indeed. Discern’st thou aught in that?\\r\\nIs he not honest?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHonest, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHonest? ay, honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy lord, for aught I know.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat dost thou think?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThink, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThink, my lord? By heaven, he echoes me,\\r\\nAs if there were some monster in his thought\\r\\nToo hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something.\\r\\nI heard thee say even now, thou lik’st not that,\\r\\nWhen Cassio left my wife. What didst not like?\\r\\nAnd when I told thee he was of my counsel\\r\\nIn my whole course of wooing, thou criedst, “Indeed?”\\r\\nAnd didst contract and purse thy brow together,\\r\\nAs if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain\\r\\nSome horrible conceit: if thou dost love me,\\r\\nShow me thy thought.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy lord, you know I love you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI think thou dost;\\r\\nAnd for I know thou’rt full of love and honesty\\r\\nAnd weigh’st thy words before thou giv’st them breath,\\r\\nTherefore these stops of thine fright me the more:\\r\\nFor such things in a false disloyal knave\\r\\nAre tricks of custom; but in a man that’s just,\\r\\nThey’re close dilations, working from the heart,\\r\\nThat passion cannot rule.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFor Michael Cassio,\\r\\nI dare be sworn I think that he is honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI think so too.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMen should be what they seem;\\r\\nOr those that be not, would they might seem none!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nCertain, men should be what they seem.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy then, I think Cassio’s an honest man.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNay, yet there’s more in this:\\r\\nI prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings,\\r\\nAs thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts\\r\\nThe worst of words.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGood my lord, pardon me.\\r\\nThough I am bound to every act of duty,\\r\\nI am not bound to that all slaves are free to.\\r\\nUtter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile and false:\\r\\nAs where’s that palace whereinto foul things\\r\\nSometimes intrude not? Who has a breast so pure\\r\\nBut some uncleanly apprehensions\\r\\nKeep leets and law-days, and in session sit\\r\\nWith meditations lawful?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago,\\r\\nIf thou but think’st him wrong’d and mak’st his ear\\r\\nA stranger to thy thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI do beseech you,\\r\\nThough I perchance am vicious in my guess,\\r\\nAs, I confess, it is my nature’s plague\\r\\nTo spy into abuses, and of my jealousy\\r\\nShapes faults that are not,—that your wisdom\\r\\nFrom one that so imperfectly conceits,\\r\\nWould take no notice; nor build yourself a trouble\\r\\nOut of his scattering and unsure observance.\\r\\nIt were not for your quiet nor your good,\\r\\nNor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom,\\r\\nTo let you know my thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat dost thou mean?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGood name in man and woman, dear my lord,\\r\\nIs the immediate jewel of their souls.\\r\\nWho steals my purse steals trash. ’Tis something, nothing;\\r\\n’Twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands.\\r\\nBut he that filches from me my good name\\r\\nRobs me of that which not enriches him\\r\\nAnd makes me poor indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBy heaven, I’ll know thy thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou cannot, if my heart were in your hand,\\r\\nNor shall not, whilst ’tis in my custody.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHa?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, beware, my lord, of jealousy;\\r\\nIt is the green-ey’d monster which doth mock\\r\\nThe meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss\\r\\nWho, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;\\r\\nBut O, what damned minutes tells he o’er\\r\\nWho dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO misery!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nPoor and content is rich, and rich enough;\\r\\nBut riches fineless is as poor as winter\\r\\nTo him that ever fears he shall be poor.\\r\\nGood heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend\\r\\nFrom jealousy!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy, why is this?\\r\\nThink’st thou I’d make a life of jealousy,\\r\\nTo follow still the changes of the moon\\r\\nWith fresh suspicions? No. To be once in doubt\\r\\nIs once to be resolv’d: exchange me for a goat\\r\\nWhen I shall turn the business of my soul\\r\\nTo such exsufflicate and blown surmises,\\r\\nMatching thy inference. ’Tis not to make me jealous,\\r\\nTo say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company,\\r\\nIs free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well;\\r\\nWhere virtue is, these are more virtuous:\\r\\nNor from mine own weak merits will I draw\\r\\nThe smallest fear or doubt of her revolt,\\r\\nFor she had eyes, and chose me. No, Iago,\\r\\nI’ll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove;\\r\\nAnd on the proof, there is no more but this:\\r\\nAway at once with love or jealousy!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am glad of it, for now I shall have reason\\r\\nTo show the love and duty that I bear you\\r\\nWith franker spirit: therefore, as I am bound,\\r\\nReceive it from me. I speak not yet of proof.\\r\\nLook to your wife; observe her well with Cassio;\\r\\nWear your eye thus, not jealous nor secure.\\r\\nI would not have your free and noble nature,\\r\\nOut of self-bounty, be abus’d. Look to’t.\\r\\nI know our country disposition well;\\r\\nIn Venice they do let heaven see the pranks\\r\\nThey dare not show their husbands. Their best conscience\\r\\nIs not to leave undone, but keep unknown.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDost thou say so?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShe did deceive her father, marrying you;\\r\\nAnd when she seem’d to shake and fear your looks,\\r\\nShe loved them most.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAnd so she did.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, go to then.\\r\\nShe that so young could give out such a seeming,\\r\\nTo seal her father’s eyes up close as oak,\\r\\nHe thought ’twas witchcraft. But I am much to blame.\\r\\nI humbly do beseech you of your pardon\\r\\nFor too much loving you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI am bound to thee for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI see this hath a little dash’d your spirits.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNot a jot, not a jot.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nTrust me, I fear it has.\\r\\nI hope you will consider what is spoke\\r\\nComes from my love. But I do see you’re mov’d.\\r\\nI am to pray you not to strain my speech\\r\\nTo grosser issues nor to larger reach\\r\\nThan to suspicion.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI will not.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShould you do so, my lord,\\r\\nMy speech should fall into such vile success\\r\\nWhich my thoughts aim’d not. Cassio’s my worthy friend.\\r\\nMy lord, I see you’re mov’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNo, not much mov’d.\\r\\nI do not think but Desdemona’s honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLong live she so! And long live you to think so!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAnd yet, how nature erring from itself—\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAy, there’s the point. As, to be bold with you,\\r\\nNot to affect many proposed matches,\\r\\nOf her own clime, complexion, and degree,\\r\\nWhereto we see in all things nature tends;\\r\\nFoh! One may smell in such a will most rank,\\r\\nFoul disproportion, thoughts unnatural.\\r\\nBut pardon me: I do not in position\\r\\nDistinctly speak of her, though I may fear\\r\\nHer will, recoiling to her better judgement,\\r\\nMay fall to match you with her country forms,\\r\\nAnd happily repent.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFarewell, farewell:\\r\\nIf more thou dost perceive, let me know more;\\r\\nSet on thy wife to observe. Leave me, Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Going._] My lord, I take my leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy did I marry? This honest creature doubtless\\r\\nSees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Returning._] My lord, I would I might entreat your honour\\r\\nTo scan this thing no further. Leave it to time:\\r\\nThough it be fit that Cassio have his place,\\r\\nFor sure he fills it up with great ability,\\r\\nYet if you please to hold him off awhile,\\r\\nYou shall by that perceive him and his means.\\r\\nNote if your lady strain his entertainment\\r\\nWith any strong or vehement importunity,\\r\\nMuch will be seen in that. In the meantime,\\r\\nLet me be thought too busy in my fears\\r\\n(As worthy cause I have to fear I am)\\r\\nAnd hold her free, I do beseech your honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFear not my government.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI once more take my leave.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThis fellow’s of exceeding honesty,\\r\\nAnd knows all qualities, with a learned spirit,\\r\\nOf human dealings. If I do prove her haggard,\\r\\nThough that her jesses were my dear heartstrings,\\r\\nI’d whistle her off, and let her down the wind\\r\\nTo prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black,\\r\\nAnd have not those soft parts of conversation\\r\\nThat chamberers have, or for I am declin’d\\r\\nInto the vale of years,—yet that’s not much—\\r\\nShe’s gone, I am abus’d, and my relief\\r\\nMust be to loathe her. O curse of marriage,\\r\\nThat we can call these delicate creatures ours,\\r\\nAnd not their appetites! I had rather be a toad,\\r\\nAnd live upon the vapour of a dungeon,\\r\\nThan keep a corner in the thing I love\\r\\nFor others’ uses. Yet, ’tis the plague of great ones,\\r\\nPrerogativ’d are they less than the base,\\r\\n’Tis destiny unshunnable, like death:\\r\\nEven then this forked plague is fated to us\\r\\nWhen we do quicken. Desdemona comes.\\r\\nIf she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself!\\r\\nI’ll not believe’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHow now, my dear Othello?\\r\\nYour dinner, and the generous islanders\\r\\nBy you invited, do attend your presence.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI am to blame.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy do you speak so faintly?\\r\\nAre you not well?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI have a pain upon my forehead here.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nFaith, that’s with watching, ’twill away again;\\r\\nLet me but bind it hard, within this hour\\r\\nIt will be well.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYour napkin is too little;\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He puts the handkerchief from him, and she drops it._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLet it alone. Come, I’ll go in with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI am very sorry that you are not well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Othello and Desdemona._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI am glad I have found this napkin;\\r\\nThis was her first remembrance from the Moor.\\r\\nMy wayward husband hath a hundred times\\r\\nWoo’d me to steal it. But she so loves the token,\\r\\nFor he conjur’d her she should ever keep it,\\r\\nThat she reserves it evermore about her\\r\\nTo kiss and talk to. I’ll have the work ta’en out,\\r\\nAnd give’t Iago. What he will do with it\\r\\nHeaven knows, not I,\\r\\nI nothing but to please his fantasy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHow now? What do you here alone?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nDo not you chide. I have a thing for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nA thing for me? It is a common thing—\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHa?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nTo have a foolish wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, is that all? What will you give me now\\r\\nFor that same handkerchief?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat handkerchief?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhat handkerchief?\\r\\nWhy, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona,\\r\\nThat which so often you did bid me steal.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHast stol’n it from her?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNo, faith, she let it drop by negligence,\\r\\nAnd, to the advantage, I being here, took ’t up.\\r\\nLook, here it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nA good wench, give it me.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhat will you do with’t, that you have been so earnest\\r\\nTo have me filch it?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Snatching it._] Why, what’s that to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIf it be not for some purpose of import,\\r\\nGive ’t me again. Poor lady, she’ll run mad\\r\\nWhen she shall lack it.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBe not acknown on’t, I have use for it.\\r\\nGo, leave me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI will in Cassio’s lodging lose this napkin,\\r\\nAnd let him find it. Trifles light as air\\r\\nAre to the jealous confirmations strong\\r\\nAs proofs of holy writ. This may do something.\\r\\nThe Moor already changes with my poison:\\r\\nDangerous conceits are in their natures poisons,\\r\\nWhich at the first are scarce found to distaste,\\r\\nBut with a little act upon the blood\\r\\nBurn like the mines of sulphur. I did say so.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook, where he comes. Not poppy, nor mandragora,\\r\\nNor all the drowsy syrups of the world,\\r\\nShall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep\\r\\nWhich thou ow’dst yesterday.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHa! ha! false to me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, how now, general? No more of that.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAvaunt! be gone! Thou hast set me on the rack.\\r\\nI swear ’tis better to be much abus’d\\r\\nThan but to know’t a little.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHow now, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat sense had I of her stol’n hours of lust?\\r\\nI saw’t not, thought it not, it harm’d not me.\\r\\nI slept the next night well, was free and merry;\\r\\nI found not Cassio’s kisses on her lips.\\r\\nHe that is robb’d, not wanting what is stol’n,\\r\\nLet him not know’t, and he’s not robb’d at all.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am sorry to hear this.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI had been happy if the general camp,\\r\\nPioners and all, had tasted her sweet body,\\r\\nSo I had nothing known. O, now, for ever\\r\\nFarewell the tranquil mind! Farewell content!\\r\\nFarewell the plumed troops and the big wars\\r\\nThat make ambition virtue! O, farewell,\\r\\nFarewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump,\\r\\nThe spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,\\r\\nThe royal banner, and all quality,\\r\\nPride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!\\r\\nAnd, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats\\r\\nThe immortal Jove’s dread clamours counterfeit,\\r\\nFarewell! Othello’s occupation’s gone!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIs’t possible, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nVillain, be sure thou prove my love a whore;\\r\\nBe sure of it. Give me the ocular proof,\\r\\nOr, by the worth of man’s eternal soul,\\r\\nThou hadst been better have been born a dog\\r\\nThan answer my wak’d wrath.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIs’t come to this?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nMake me to see’t, or at the least so prove it,\\r\\nThat the probation bear no hinge nor loop\\r\\nTo hang a doubt on, or woe upon thy life!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy noble lord,—\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIf thou dost slander her and torture me,\\r\\nNever pray more. Abandon all remorse;\\r\\nOn horror’s head horrors accumulate;\\r\\nDo deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz’d;\\r\\nFor nothing canst thou to damnation add\\r\\nGreater than that.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO grace! O heaven defend me!\\r\\nAre you a man? Have you a soul or sense?\\r\\nGod be wi’ you. Take mine office.—O wretched fool,\\r\\nThat liv’st to make thine honesty a vice!\\r\\nO monstrous world! Take note, take note, O world,\\r\\nTo be direct and honest is not safe.\\r\\nI thank you for this profit, and from hence\\r\\nI’ll love no friend, sith love breeds such offence.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNay, stay. Thou shouldst be honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI should be wise; for honesty’s a fool,\\r\\nAnd loses that it works for.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBy the world,\\r\\nI think my wife be honest, and think she is not.\\r\\nI think that thou art just, and think thou art not.\\r\\nI’ll have some proof: her name, that was as fresh\\r\\nAs Dian’s visage, is now begrim’d and black\\r\\nAs mine own face. If there be cords or knives,\\r\\nPoison or fire, or suffocating streams,\\r\\nI’ll not endure ’t. Would I were satisfied!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI see, sir, you are eaten up with passion.\\r\\nI do repent me that I put it to you.\\r\\nYou would be satisfied?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWould? Nay, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd may; but how? How satisfied, my lord?\\r\\nWould you, the supervisor, grossly gape on,\\r\\nBehold her topp’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDeath and damnation! O!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIt were a tedious difficulty, I think,\\r\\nTo bring them to that prospect. Damn them then,\\r\\nIf ever mortal eyes do see them bolster\\r\\nMore than their own! What then? How then?\\r\\nWhat shall I say? Where’s satisfaction?\\r\\nIt is impossible you should see this,\\r\\nWere they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys,\\r\\nAs salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross\\r\\nAs ignorance made drunk. But yet I say,\\r\\nIf imputation and strong circumstances,\\r\\nWhich lead directly to the door of truth,\\r\\nWill give you satisfaction, you may have’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGive me a living reason she’s disloyal.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI do not like the office,\\r\\nBut sith I am enter’d in this cause so far,\\r\\nPrick’d to ’t by foolish honesty and love,\\r\\nI will go on. I lay with Cassio lately,\\r\\nAnd being troubled with a raging tooth,\\r\\nI could not sleep.\\r\\nThere are a kind of men so loose of soul,\\r\\nThat in their sleeps will mutter their affairs.\\r\\nOne of this kind is Cassio:\\r\\nIn sleep I heard him say, “Sweet Desdemona,\\r\\nLet us be wary, let us hide our loves;”\\r\\nAnd then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand,\\r\\nCry “O sweet creature!” and then kiss me hard,\\r\\nAs if he pluck’d up kisses by the roots,\\r\\nThat grew upon my lips, then laid his leg\\r\\nOver my thigh, and sigh’d and kiss’d, and then\\r\\nCried “Cursed fate that gave thee to the Moor!”\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO monstrous! monstrous!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, this was but his dream.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBut this denoted a foregone conclusion.\\r\\n’Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd this may help to thicken other proofs\\r\\nThat do demonstrate thinly.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI’ll tear her all to pieces.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, but be wise. Yet we see nothing done,\\r\\nShe may be honest yet. Tell me but this,\\r\\nHave you not sometimes seen a handkerchief\\r\\nSpotted with strawberries in your wife’s hand?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI gave her such a one, ’twas my first gift.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI know not that: but such a handkerchief\\r\\n(I am sure it was your wife’s) did I today\\r\\nSee Cassio wipe his beard with.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIf it be that,—\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIf it be that, or any that was hers,\\r\\nIt speaks against her with the other proofs.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, that the slave had forty thousand lives!\\r\\nOne is too poor, too weak for my revenge!\\r\\nNow do I see ’tis true. Look here, Iago;\\r\\nAll my fond love thus do I blow to heaven.\\r\\n’Tis gone.\\r\\nArise, black vengeance, from thy hollow hell!\\r\\nYield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne\\r\\nTo tyrannous hate! Swell, bosom, with thy fraught,\\r\\nFor ’tis of aspics’ tongues!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYet be content.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, blood, Iago, blood!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nPatience, I say. Your mind perhaps may change.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNever, Iago. Like to the Pontic Sea,\\r\\nWhose icy current and compulsive course\\r\\nNe’er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on\\r\\nTo the Propontic and the Hellespont;\\r\\nEven so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace\\r\\nShall ne’er look back, ne’er ebb to humble love,\\r\\nTill that a capable and wide revenge\\r\\nSwallow them up. Now by yond marble heaven,\\r\\nIn the due reverence of a sacred vow [_Kneels._]\\r\\nI here engage my words.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo not rise yet. [_Kneels._]\\r\\nWitness, you ever-burning lights above,\\r\\nYou elements that clip us round about,\\r\\nWitness that here Iago doth give up\\r\\nThe execution of his wit, hands, heart,\\r\\nTo wrong’d Othello’s service! Let him command,\\r\\nAnd to obey shall be in me remorse,\\r\\nWhat bloody business ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They rise._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI greet thy love,\\r\\nNot with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous,\\r\\nAnd will upon the instant put thee to ’t.\\r\\nWithin these three days let me hear thee say\\r\\nThat Cassio’s not alive.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy friend is dead. ’Tis done at your request.\\r\\nBut let her live.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDamn her, lewd minx! O, damn her, damn her!\\r\\nCome, go with me apart, I will withdraw\\r\\nTo furnish me with some swift means of death\\r\\nFor the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am your own for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona, Emilia and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nDo you know, sirrah, where Lieutenant Cassio lies?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI dare not say he lies anywhere.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe’s a soldier; and for one to say a soldier lies is stabbing.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nGo to. Where lodges he?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTo tell you where he lodges is to tell you where I lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nCan anything be made of this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI know not where he lodges; and for me to devise a lodging, and say he\\r\\nlies here, or he lies there, were to lie in mine own throat.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nCan you inquire him out, and be edified by report?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI will catechize the world for him, that is, make questions and by them\\r\\nanswer.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nSeek him, bid him come hither. Tell him I have moved my lord on his\\r\\nbehalf, and hope all will be well.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTo do this is within the compass of man’s wit, and therefore I will\\r\\nattempt the doing it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhere should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI know not, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBelieve me, I had rather have lost my purse\\r\\nFull of crusadoes. And but my noble Moor\\r\\nIs true of mind and made of no such baseness\\r\\nAs jealous creatures are, it were enough\\r\\nTo put him to ill thinking.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIs he not jealous?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWho, he? I think the sun where he was born\\r\\nDrew all such humours from him.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nLook, where he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI will not leave him now till Cassio\\r\\nBe call’d to him. How is’t with you, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWell, my good lady. [_Aside._] O, hardness to dissemble!\\r\\nHow do you, Desdemona?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWell, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGive me your hand. This hand is moist, my lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIt yet hath felt no age nor known no sorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThis argues fruitfulness and liberal heart.\\r\\nHot, hot, and moist. This hand of yours requires\\r\\nA sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer,\\r\\nMuch castigation, exercise devout;\\r\\nFor here’s a young and sweating devil here\\r\\nThat commonly rebels. ’Tis a good hand,\\r\\nA frank one.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nYou may indeed say so,\\r\\nFor ’twas that hand that gave away my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nA liberal hand. The hearts of old gave hands,\\r\\nBut our new heraldry is hands, not hearts.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI cannot speak of this. Come now, your promise.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat promise, chuck?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI have a salt and sorry rheum offends me.\\r\\nLend me thy handkerchief.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHere, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat which I gave you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI have it not about me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNot?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, faith, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat is a fault. That handkerchief\\r\\nDid an Egyptian to my mother give.\\r\\nShe was a charmer, and could almost read\\r\\nThe thoughts of people. She told her, while she kept it,\\r\\n’Twould make her amiable and subdue my father\\r\\nEntirely to her love. But if she lost it,\\r\\nOr made a gift of it, my father’s eye\\r\\nShould hold her loathed, and his spirits should hunt\\r\\nAfter new fancies: she, dying, gave it me,\\r\\nAnd bid me, when my fate would have me wive,\\r\\nTo give it her. I did so; and take heed on’t,\\r\\nMake it a darling like your precious eye.\\r\\nTo lose’t or give’t away were such perdition\\r\\nAs nothing else could match.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n’Tis true. There’s magic in the web of it.\\r\\nA sibyl, that had number’d in the world\\r\\nThe sun to course two hundred compasses,\\r\\nIn her prophetic fury sew’d the work;\\r\\nThe worms were hallow’d that did breed the silk,\\r\\nAnd it was dyed in mummy, which the skillful\\r\\nConserv’d of maiden’s hearts.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIndeed? Is’t true?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nMost veritable, therefore look to ’t well.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThen would to God that I had never seen ’t!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHa? wherefore?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy do you speak so startingly and rash?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIs’t lost? is’t gone? speak, is it out of the way?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHeaven bless us!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nSay you?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIt is not lost, but what and if it were?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHow?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI say it is not lost.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFetch’t, let me see ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, so I can, sir, but I will not now.\\r\\nThis is a trick to put me from my suit.\\r\\nPray you, let Cassio be receiv’d again.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFetch me the handkerchief! My mind misgives.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nCome, come.\\r\\nYou’ll never meet a more sufficient man.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe handkerchief!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI pray, talk me of Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe handkerchief!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nA man that all his time\\r\\nHath founded his good fortunes on your love,\\r\\nShar’d dangers with you,—\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe handkerchief!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIn sooth, you are to blame.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAway!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIs not this man jealous?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI ne’er saw this before.\\r\\nSure there’s some wonder in this handkerchief,\\r\\nI am most unhappy in the loss of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n’Tis not a year or two shows us a man:\\r\\nThey are all but stomachs and we all but food;\\r\\nThey eat us hungerly, and when they are full,\\r\\nThey belch us.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio and Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook you, Cassio and my husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThere is no other way; ’tis she must do ’t,\\r\\nAnd, lo, the happiness! Go and importune her.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHow now, good Cassio, what’s the news with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMadam, my former suit: I do beseech you\\r\\nThat by your virtuous means I may again\\r\\nExist, and be a member of his love,\\r\\nWhom I, with all the office of my heart,\\r\\nEntirely honour. I would not be delay’d.\\r\\nIf my offence be of such mortal kind\\r\\nThat nor my service past, nor present sorrows,\\r\\nNor purpos’d merit in futurity,\\r\\nCan ransom me into his love again,\\r\\nBut to know so must be my benefit;\\r\\nSo shall I clothe me in a forc’d content,\\r\\nAnd shut myself up in some other course\\r\\nTo fortune’s alms.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas, thrice-gentle Cassio,\\r\\nMy advocation is not now in tune;\\r\\nMy lord is not my lord; nor should I know him\\r\\nWere he in favour as in humour alter’d.\\r\\nSo help me every spirit sanctified,\\r\\nAs I have spoken for you all my best,\\r\\nAnd stood within the blank of his displeasure\\r\\nFor my free speech! You must awhile be patient.\\r\\nWhat I can do I will; and more I will\\r\\nThan for myself I dare. Let that suffice you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIs my lord angry?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHe went hence but now,\\r\\nAnd certainly in strange unquietness.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCan he be angry? I have seen the cannon,\\r\\nWhen it hath blown his ranks into the air\\r\\nAnd, like the devil, from his very arm\\r\\nPuff’d his own brother, and can he be angry?\\r\\nSomething of moment then. I will go meet him.\\r\\nThere’s matter in’t indeed if he be angry.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI prithee do so.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Iago._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSomething sure of state,\\r\\nEither from Venice, or some unhatch’d practice\\r\\nMade demonstrable here in Cyprus to him,\\r\\nHath puddled his clear spirit, and in such cases\\r\\nMen’s natures wrangle with inferior things,\\r\\nThough great ones are their object. ’Tis even so.\\r\\nFor let our finger ache, and it indues\\r\\nOur other healthful members even to that sense\\r\\nOf pain. Nay, we must think men are not gods,\\r\\nNor of them look for such observancy\\r\\nAs fits the bridal. Beshrew me much, Emilia,\\r\\nI was (unhandsome warrior as I am)\\r\\nArraigning his unkindness with my soul;\\r\\nBut now I find I had suborn’d the witness,\\r\\nAnd he’s indicted falsely.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPray heaven it be state matters, as you think,\\r\\nAnd no conception nor no jealous toy\\r\\nConcerning you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas the day, I never gave him cause!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBut jealous souls will not be answer’d so;\\r\\nThey are not ever jealous for the cause,\\r\\nBut jealous for they are jealous: ’tis a monster\\r\\nBegot upon itself, born on itself.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHeaven keep that monster from Othello’s mind!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nLady, amen.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI will go seek him. Cassio, walk hereabout:\\r\\nIf I do find him fit, I’ll move your suit,\\r\\nAnd seek to effect it to my uttermost.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI humbly thank your ladyship.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nSave you, friend Cassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhat make you from home?\\r\\nHow is it with you, my most fair Bianca?\\r\\nI’ faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nAnd I was going to your lodging, Cassio.\\r\\nWhat, keep a week away? Seven days and nights?\\r\\nEight score eight hours, and lovers’ absent hours,\\r\\nMore tedious than the dial eight score times?\\r\\nO weary reckoning!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nPardon me, Bianca.\\r\\nI have this while with leaden thoughts been press’d,\\r\\nBut I shall in a more continuate time\\r\\nStrike off this score of absence. Sweet Bianca,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Giving her Desdemona’s handkerchief._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTake me this work out.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nO Cassio, whence came this?\\r\\nThis is some token from a newer friend.\\r\\nTo the felt absence now I feel a cause.\\r\\nIs’t come to this? Well, well.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nGo to, woman!\\r\\nThrow your vile guesses in the devil’s teeth,\\r\\nFrom whence you have them. You are jealous now\\r\\nThat this is from some mistress, some remembrance.\\r\\nNo, in good troth, Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhy, whose is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI know not neither. I found it in my chamber.\\r\\nI like the work well. Ere it be demanded,\\r\\nAs like enough it will, I’d have it copied.\\r\\nTake it, and do ’t, and leave me for this time.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nLeave you, wherefore?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI do attend here on the general,\\r\\nAnd think it no addition, nor my wish,\\r\\nTo have him see me woman’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhy, I pray you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nNot that I love you not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nBut that you do not love me.\\r\\nI pray you bring me on the way a little,\\r\\nAnd say if I shall see you soon at night.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Tis but a little way that I can bring you,\\r\\nFor I attend here. But I’ll see you soon.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\n’Tis very good; I must be circumstanc’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello and Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWill you think so?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThink so, Iago?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat,\\r\\nTo kiss in private?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAn unauthoriz’d kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nOr to be naked with her friend in bed\\r\\nAn hour or more, not meaning any harm?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNaked in bed, Iago, and not mean harm?\\r\\nIt is hypocrisy against the devil:\\r\\nThey that mean virtuously and yet do so,\\r\\nThe devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt heaven.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSo they do nothing, ’tis a venial slip.\\r\\nBut if I give my wife a handkerchief—\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat then?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy then, ’tis hers, my lord, and being hers,\\r\\nShe may, I think, bestow’t on any man.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nShe is protectress of her honour too.\\r\\nMay she give that?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHer honour is an essence that’s not seen;\\r\\nThey have it very oft that have it not:\\r\\nBut for the handkerchief—\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBy heaven, I would most gladly have forgot it.\\r\\nThou said’st (O, it comes o’er my memory,\\r\\nAs doth the raven o’er the infected house,\\r\\nBoding to all) he had my handkerchief.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAy, what of that?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat’s not so good now.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat\\r\\nIf I had said I had seen him do you wrong?\\r\\nOr heard him say (as knaves be such abroad,\\r\\nWho having, by their own importunate suit,\\r\\nOr voluntary dotage of some mistress,\\r\\nConvinced or supplied them, cannot choose\\r\\nBut they must blab.)\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHath he said anything?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHe hath, my lord, but be you well assur’d,\\r\\nNo more than he’ll unswear.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat hath he said?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFaith, that he did—I know not what he did.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat? What?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLie.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWith her?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWith her, on her, what you will.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nLie with her! lie on her!—We say lie on her when they belie her.—Lie\\r\\nwith her! that’s fulsome. Handkerchief—confessions—handkerchief! To\\r\\nconfess, and be hanged for his labour. First, to be hanged, and then to\\r\\nconfess. I tremble at it. Nature would not invest herself in such\\r\\nshadowing passion without some instruction. It is not words that shake\\r\\nme thus. Pish! Noses, ears, and lips. Is’t\\r\\npossible?—Confess?—handkerchief?—O devil!—\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Falls in a trance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWork on,\\r\\nMy medicine, work! Thus credulous fools are caught,\\r\\nAnd many worthy and chaste dames even thus,\\r\\nAll guiltless, meet reproach. What, ho! my lord!\\r\\nMy lord, I say! Othello!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Cassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy lord is fallen into an epilepsy.\\r\\nThis is his second fit. He had one yesterday.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nRub him about the temples.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNo, forbear;\\r\\nThe lethargy must have his quiet course.\\r\\nIf not, he foams at mouth, and by and by\\r\\nBreaks out to savage madness. Look, he stirs:\\r\\nDo you withdraw yourself a little while,\\r\\nHe will recover straight. When he is gone,\\r\\nI would on great occasion speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Cassio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow is it, general? Have you not hurt your head?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDost thou mock me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI mock you? No, by heaven.\\r\\nWould you would bear your fortune like a man!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nA horned man’s a monster and a beast.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThere’s many a beast, then, in a populous city,\\r\\nAnd many a civil monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDid he confess it?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGood sir, be a man.\\r\\nThink every bearded fellow that’s but yok’d\\r\\nMay draw with you. There’s millions now alive\\r\\nThat nightly lie in those unproper beds\\r\\nWhich they dare swear peculiar: your case is better.\\r\\nO, ’tis the spite of hell, the fiend’s arch-mock,\\r\\nTo lip a wanton in a secure couch,\\r\\nAnd to suppose her chaste! No, let me know,\\r\\nAnd knowing what I am, I know what she shall be.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, thou art wise, ’tis certain.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nStand you awhile apart,\\r\\nConfine yourself but in a patient list.\\r\\nWhilst you were here o’erwhelmed with your grief,\\r\\n(A passion most unsuiting such a man)\\r\\nCassio came hither. I shifted him away,\\r\\nAnd laid good ’scuse upon your ecstasy,\\r\\nBade him anon return, and here speak with me,\\r\\nThe which he promis’d. Do but encave yourself,\\r\\nAnd mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable scorns,\\r\\nThat dwell in every region of his face;\\r\\nFor I will make him tell the tale anew,\\r\\nWhere, how, how oft, how long ago, and when\\r\\nHe hath, and is again to cope your wife:\\r\\nI say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience,\\r\\nOr I shall say you are all in all in spleen,\\r\\nAnd nothing of a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDost thou hear, Iago?\\r\\nI will be found most cunning in my patience;\\r\\nBut,—dost thou hear?—most bloody.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThat’s not amiss.\\r\\nBut yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Othello withdraws._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow will I question Cassio of Bianca,\\r\\nA housewife that by selling her desires\\r\\nBuys herself bread and clothes: it is a creature\\r\\nThat dotes on Cassio, (as ’tis the strumpet’s plague\\r\\nTo beguile many and be beguil’d by one.)\\r\\nHe, when he hears of her, cannot refrain\\r\\nFrom the excess of laughter. Here he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs he shall smile Othello shall go mad,\\r\\nAnd his unbookish jealousy must construe\\r\\nPoor Cassio’s smiles, gestures, and light behaviour\\r\\nQuite in the wrong. How do you now, lieutenant?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThe worser that you give me the addition\\r\\nWhose want even kills me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nPly Desdemona well, and you are sure on’t.\\r\\n[_Speaking lower._] Now, if this suit lay in Bianca’s power,\\r\\nHow quickly should you speed!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAlas, poor caitiff!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Look how he laughs already!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI never knew a woman love man so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAlas, poor rogue! I think, i’ faith, she loves me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Now he denies it faintly and laughs it out.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo you hear, Cassio?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNow he importunes him\\r\\nTo tell it o’er. Go to, well said, well said.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShe gives it out that you shall marry her.\\r\\nDo you intend it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHa, ha, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDo you triumph, Roman? Do you triumph?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI marry her? What? A customer? I prithee, bear some charity to my wit,\\r\\ndo not think it so unwholesome. Ha, ha, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nSo, so, so, so. They laugh that wins.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFaith, the cry goes that you shall marry her.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nPrithee say true.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am a very villain else.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHave you scored me? Well.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThis is the monkey’s own giving out. She is persuaded I will marry her,\\r\\nout of her own love and flattery, not out of my promise.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIago beckons me. Now he begins the story.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nShe was here even now. She haunts me in every place. I was the other\\r\\nday talking on the sea-bank with certain Venetians, and thither comes\\r\\nthe bauble, and falls thus about my neck.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nCrying, “O dear Cassio!” as it were: his gesture imports it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nSo hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon me; so hales and pulls me. Ha, ha,\\r\\nha!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNow he tells how she plucked him to my chamber. O, I see that nose of\\r\\nyours, but not that dog I shall throw it to.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWell, I must leave her company.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBefore me! look where she comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Tis such another fitchew! Marry, a perfum’d one.\\r\\nWhat do you mean by this haunting of me?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nLet the devil and his dam haunt you! What did you mean by that same\\r\\nhandkerchief you gave me even now? I was a fine fool to take it. I must\\r\\ntake out the work? A likely piece of work, that you should find it in\\r\\nyour chamber and not know who left it there! This is some minx’s token,\\r\\nand I must take out the work? There, give it your hobby-horse.\\r\\nWheresoever you had it, I’ll take out no work on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHow now, my sweet Bianca? How now, how now?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBy heaven, that should be my handkerchief!\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nIf you’ll come to supper tonight, you may. If you will not, come when\\r\\nyou are next prepared for.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAfter her, after her.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nFaith, I must; she’ll rail in the street else.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWill you sup there?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nFaith, I intend so.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWell, I may chance to see you, for I would very fain speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nPrithee come, will you?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGo to; say no more.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Cassio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_Coming forward._] How shall I murder him, Iago?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDid you perceive how he laughed at his vice?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO Iago!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd did you see the handkerchief?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWas that mine?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYours, by this hand: and to see how he prizes the foolish woman your\\r\\nwife! she gave it him, and he hath given it his whore.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI would have him nine years a-killing. A fine woman, a fair woman, a\\r\\nsweet woman!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, you must forget that.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, let her rot, and perish, and be damned tonight, for she shall not\\r\\nlive. No, my heart is turned to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my\\r\\nhand. O, the world hath not a sweeter creature. She might lie by an\\r\\nemperor’s side, and command him tasks.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, that’s not your way.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHang her, I do but say what she is. So delicate with her needle, an\\r\\nadmirable musician! O, she will sing the savageness out of a bear! Of\\r\\nso high and plenteous wit and invention!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShe’s the worse for all this.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, a thousand, a thousand times: and then of so gentle a condition!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAy, too gentle.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNay, that’s certain. But yet the pity of it, Iago! O Iago, the pity of\\r\\nit, Iago!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIf you are so fond over her iniquity, give her patent to offend, for if\\r\\nit touch not you, it comes near nobody.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI will chop her into messes. Cuckold me!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, ’tis foul in her.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWith mine officer!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThat’s fouler.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGet me some poison, Iago; this night. I’ll not expostulate with her,\\r\\nlest her body and beauty unprovide my mind again. This night, Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo it not with poison, strangle her in her bed, even the bed she hath\\r\\ncontaminated.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGood, good. The justice of it pleases. Very good.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd for Cassio, let me be his undertaker. You shall hear more by\\r\\nmidnight.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nExcellent good. [_A trumpet within._] What trumpet is that same?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lodovico, Desdemona and Attendant.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSomething from Venice, sure. ’Tis Lodovico\\r\\nCome from the duke. See, your wife is with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nSave you, worthy general!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWith all my heart, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nThe duke and senators of Venice greet you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Gives him a packet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI kiss the instrument of their pleasures.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Opens the packet and reads._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAnd what’s the news, good cousin Lodovico?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am very glad to see you, signior.\\r\\nWelcome to Cyprus.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nI thank you. How does Lieutenant Cassio?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLives, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nCousin, there’s fall’n between him and my lord\\r\\nAn unkind breach, but you shall make all well.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAre you sure of that?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_Reads._] “This fail you not to do, as you will—”\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nHe did not call; he’s busy in the paper.\\r\\nIs there division ’twixt my lord and Cassio?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nA most unhappy one. I would do much\\r\\nTo atone them, for the love I bear to Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFire and brimstone!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAre you wise?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat, is he angry?\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nMay be the letter mov’d him;\\r\\nFor, as I think, they do command him home,\\r\\nDeputing Cassio in his government.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nTrust me, I am glad on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIndeed!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI am glad to see you mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, sweet Othello?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDevil!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Striking her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI have not deserv’d this.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nMy lord, this would not be believ’d in Venice,\\r\\nThough I should swear I saw’t: ’tis very much.\\r\\nMake her amends. She weeps.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO devil, devil!\\r\\nIf that the earth could teem with woman’s tears,\\r\\nEach drop she falls would prove a crocodile.\\r\\nOut of my sight!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI will not stay to offend you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Going._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nTruly, an obedient lady.\\r\\nI do beseech your lordship, call her back.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nMistress!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat would you with her, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWho, I, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, you did wish that I would make her turn.\\r\\nSir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on,\\r\\nAnd turn again. And she can weep, sir, weep;\\r\\nAnd she’s obedient, as you say, obedient,\\r\\nVery obedient. Proceed you in your tears.\\r\\nConcerning this, sir,—O well-painted passion!\\r\\nI am commanded home.—Get you away;\\r\\nI’ll send for you anon.—Sir, I obey the mandate,\\r\\nAnd will return to Venice.—Hence, avaunt!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Desdemona._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCassio shall have my place. And, sir, tonight,\\r\\nI do entreat that we may sup together.\\r\\nYou are welcome, sir, to Cyprus. Goats and monkeys!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nIs this the noble Moor, whom our full senate\\r\\nCall all in all sufficient? Is this the nature\\r\\nWhom passion could not shake? whose solid virtue\\r\\nThe shot of accident nor dart of chance\\r\\nCould neither graze nor pierce?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHe is much chang’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nAre his wits safe? Is he not light of brain?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHe’s that he is. I may not breathe my censure\\r\\nWhat he might be. If what he might he is not,\\r\\nI would to heaven he were!\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWhat, strike his wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFaith, that was not so well; yet would I knew\\r\\nThat stroke would prove the worst!\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nIs it his use?\\r\\nOr did the letters work upon his blood,\\r\\nAnd new-create this fault?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAlas, alas!\\r\\nIt is not honesty in me to speak\\r\\nWhat I have seen and known. You shall observe him,\\r\\nAnd his own courses will denote him so\\r\\nThat I may save my speech: do but go after,\\r\\nAnd mark how he continues.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nI am sorry that I am deceiv’d in him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYou have seen nothing, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNor ever heard, nor ever did suspect.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYes, you have seen Cassio and she together.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBut then I saw no harm, and then I heard\\r\\nEach syllable that breath made up between them.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat, did they never whisper?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNever, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNor send you out o’ the way?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNever.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nTo fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor nothing?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNever, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat’s strange.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI durst, my lord, to wager she is honest,\\r\\nLay down my soul at stake: if you think other,\\r\\nRemove your thought, it doth abuse your bosom.\\r\\nIf any wretch have put this in your head,\\r\\nLet heaven requite it with the serpent’s curse,\\r\\nFor if she be not honest, chaste, and true,\\r\\nThere’s no man happy. The purest of their wives\\r\\nIs foul as slander.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBid her come hither. Go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nShe says enough. Yet she’s a simple bawd\\r\\nThat cannot say as much. This is a subtle whore,\\r\\nA closet lock and key of villainous secrets.\\r\\nAnd yet she’ll kneel and pray. I have seen her do ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord, what is your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nPray, chuck, come hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat is your pleasure?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nLet me see your eyes.\\r\\nLook in my face.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat horrible fancy’s this?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_To Emilia._] Some of your function, mistress,\\r\\nLeave procreants alone, and shut the door.\\r\\nCough, or cry hem, if anybody come.\\r\\nYour mystery, your mystery. Nay, dispatch.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nUpon my knees, what doth your speech import?\\r\\nI understand a fury in your words,\\r\\nBut not the words.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy, what art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nYour wife, my lord, your true and loyal wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nCome, swear it, damn thyself,\\r\\nLest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves\\r\\nShould fear to seize thee. Therefore be double-damn’d.\\r\\nSwear thou art honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHeaven doth truly know it.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHeaven truly knows that thou art false as hell.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nTo whom, my lord? With whom? How am I false?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO Desdemona, away! away! away!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas the heavy day, why do you weep?\\r\\nAm I the motive of these tears, my lord?\\r\\nIf haply you my father do suspect\\r\\nAn instrument of this your calling back,\\r\\nLay not your blame on me. If you have lost him,\\r\\nWhy, I have lost him too.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHad it pleas’d heaven\\r\\nTo try me with affliction, had they rain’d\\r\\nAll kinds of sores and shames on my bare head,\\r\\nSteep’d me in poverty to the very lips,\\r\\nGiven to captivity me and my utmost hopes,\\r\\nI should have found in some place of my soul\\r\\nA drop of patience. But, alas, to make me\\r\\nA fixed figure for the time of scorn\\r\\nTo point his slow unmoving finger at.\\r\\nYet could I bear that too, well, very well:\\r\\nBut there, where I have garner’d up my heart,\\r\\nWhere either I must live or bear no life,\\r\\nThe fountain from the which my current runs,\\r\\nOr else dries up, to be discarded thence,\\r\\nOr keep it as a cistern for foul toads\\r\\nTo knot and gender in!—turn thy complexion there,\\r\\nPatience, thou young and rose-lipp’d cherubin,\\r\\nAy, there, look grim as hell!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI hope my noble lord esteems me honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, ay, as summer flies are in the shambles,\\r\\nThat quicken even with blowing. O thou weed,\\r\\nWho art so lovely fair, and smell’st so sweet,\\r\\nThat the sense aches at thee,\\r\\nWould thou hadst ne’er been born!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas, what ignorant sin have I committed?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWas this fair paper, this most goodly book,\\r\\nMade to write “whore” upon? What committed?\\r\\nCommitted! O thou public commoner!\\r\\nI should make very forges of my cheeks,\\r\\nThat would to cinders burn up modesty,\\r\\nDid I but speak thy deeds. What committed!\\r\\nHeaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks;\\r\\nThe bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets,\\r\\nIs hush’d within the hollow mine of earth,\\r\\nAnd will not hear it. What committed!\\r\\nImpudent strumpet!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBy heaven, you do me wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAre not you a strumpet?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, as I am a Christian:\\r\\nIf to preserve this vessel for my lord\\r\\nFrom any other foul unlawful touch\\r\\nBe not to be a strumpet, I am none.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat, not a whore?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, as I shall be sav’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, heaven forgive us!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI cry you mercy then.\\r\\nI took you for that cunning whore of Venice\\r\\nThat married with Othello.—You, mistress,\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nThat have the office opposite to Saint Peter,\\r\\nAnd keeps the gate of hell. You, you, ay, you!\\r\\nWe have done our course; there’s money for your pains.\\r\\nI pray you turn the key, and keep our counsel.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAlas, what does this gentleman conceive?\\r\\nHow do you, madam? How do you, my good lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nFaith, half asleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nGood madam, what’s the matter with my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWith who?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhy, with my lord, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWho is thy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHe that is yours, sweet lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI have none. Do not talk to me, Emilia,\\r\\nI cannot weep, nor answer have I none\\r\\nBut what should go by water. Prithee, tonight\\r\\nLay on my bed my wedding sheets, remember,\\r\\nAnd call thy husband hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHere’s a change indeed!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\n’Tis meet I should be us’d so, very meet.\\r\\nHow have I been behav’d, that he might stick\\r\\nThe small’st opinion on my least misuse?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat is your pleasure, madam? How is’t with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI cannot tell. Those that do teach young babes\\r\\nDo it with gentle means and easy tasks.\\r\\nHe might have chid me so, for, in good faith,\\r\\nI am a child to chiding.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter, lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAlas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhor’d her,\\r\\nThrown such despite and heavy terms upon her,\\r\\nAs true hearts cannot bear.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAm I that name, Iago?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat name, fair lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nSuch as she says my lord did say I was.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHe call’d her whore: a beggar in his drink\\r\\nCould not have laid such terms upon his callet.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy did he so?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI do not know. I am sure I am none such.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo not weep, do not weep: alas the day!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHath she forsook so many noble matches,\\r\\nHer father, and her country, and her friends,\\r\\nTo be call’d whore? would it not make one weep?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIt is my wretched fortune.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBeshrew him for’t!\\r\\nHow comes this trick upon him?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNay, heaven doth know.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI will be hang’d, if some eternal villain,\\r\\nSome busy and insinuating rogue,\\r\\nSome cogging, cozening slave, to get some office,\\r\\nHave not devis’d this slander. I’ll be hang’d else.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFie, there is no such man. It is impossible.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIf any such there be, heaven pardon him!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nA halter pardon him, and hell gnaw his bones!\\r\\nWhy should he call her whore? who keeps her company?\\r\\nWhat place? what time? what form? what likelihood?\\r\\nThe Moor’s abused by some most villainous knave,\\r\\nSome base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow.\\r\\nO heaven, that such companions thou’dst unfold,\\r\\nAnd put in every honest hand a whip\\r\\nTo lash the rascals naked through the world\\r\\nEven from the east to the west!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSpeak within door.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, fie upon them! Some such squire he was\\r\\nThat turn’d your wit the seamy side without,\\r\\nAnd made you to suspect me with the Moor.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou are a fool. Go to.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas, Iago,\\r\\nWhat shall I do to win my lord again?\\r\\nGood friend, go to him. For by this light of heaven,\\r\\nI know not how I lost him. Here I kneel.\\r\\nIf e’er my will did trespass ’gainst his love,\\r\\nEither in discourse of thought or actual deed,\\r\\nOr that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense,\\r\\nDelighted them in any other form,\\r\\nOr that I do not yet, and ever did,\\r\\nAnd ever will, (though he do shake me off\\r\\nTo beggarly divorcement) love him dearly,\\r\\nComfort forswear me! Unkindness may do much;\\r\\nAnd his unkindness may defeat my life,\\r\\nBut never taint my love. I cannot say “whore,”\\r\\nIt does abhor me now I speak the word;\\r\\nTo do the act that might the addition earn\\r\\nNot the world’s mass of vanity could make me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI pray you, be content. ’Tis but his humour.\\r\\nThe business of the state does him offence,\\r\\nAnd he does chide with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIf ’twere no other,—\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n’Tis but so, I warrant.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Trumpets within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHark, how these instruments summon to supper.\\r\\nThe messengers of Venice stay the meat.\\r\\nGo in, and weep not. All things shall be well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Roderigo?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI do not find that thou dealest justly with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat in the contrary?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nEvery day thou daffest me with some device, Iago, and rather, as it\\r\\nseems to me now, keepest from me all conveniency than suppliest me with\\r\\nthe least advantage of hope. I will indeed no longer endure it. Nor am\\r\\nI yet persuaded to put up in peace what already I have foolishly\\r\\nsuffered.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWill you hear me, Roderigo?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nFaith, I have heard too much, for your words and performances are no\\r\\nkin together.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou charge me most unjustly.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWith naught but truth. I have wasted myself out of my means. The jewels\\r\\nyou have had from me to deliver to Desdemona would half have corrupted\\r\\na votarist: you have told me she hath received them, and returned me\\r\\nexpectations and comforts of sudden respect and acquaintance, but I\\r\\nfind none.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWell, go to, very well.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nVery well, go to, I cannot go to, man, nor ’tis not very well. Nay, I\\r\\nsay ’tis very scurvy, and begin to find myself fopped in it.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nVery well.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI tell you ’tis not very well. I will make myself known to Desdemona.\\r\\nIf she will return me my jewels, I will give over my suit and repent my\\r\\nunlawful solicitation. If not, assure yourself I will seek satisfaction\\r\\nof you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou have said now.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nAy, and said nothing but what I protest intendment of doing.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, now I see there’s mettle in thee, and even from this instant do\\r\\nbuild on thee a better opinion than ever before. Give me thy hand,\\r\\nRoderigo. Thou hast taken against me a most just exception, but yet I\\r\\nprotest, I have dealt most directly in thy affair.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nIt hath not appeared.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI grant indeed it hath not appeared, and your suspicion is not without\\r\\nwit and judgement. But, Roderigo, if thou hast that in thee indeed,\\r\\nwhich I have greater reason to believe now than ever,—I mean purpose,\\r\\ncourage, and valour,—this night show it. If thou the next night\\r\\nfollowing enjoy not Desdemona, take me from this world with treachery\\r\\nand devise engines for my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWell, what is it? Is it within reason and compass?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSir, there is especial commission come from Venice to depute Cassio in\\r\\nOthello’s place.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nIs that true? Why then Othello and Desdemona return again to Venice.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, no; he goes into Mauritania, and takes away with him the fair\\r\\nDesdemona, unless his abode be lingered here by some accident: wherein\\r\\nnone can be so determinate as the removing of Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nHow do you mean “removing” of him?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, by making him uncapable of Othello’s place: knocking out his\\r\\nbrains.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nAnd that you would have me to do?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAy, if you dare do yourself a profit and a right. He sups tonight with\\r\\na harlotry, and thither will I go to him. He knows not yet of his\\r\\nhonourable fortune. If you will watch his going thence, which I will\\r\\nfashion to fall out between twelve and one, you may take him at your\\r\\npleasure: I will be near to second your attempt, and he shall fall\\r\\nbetween us. Come, stand not amazed at it, but go along with me. I will\\r\\nshow you such a necessity in his death that you shall think yourself\\r\\nbound to put it on him. It is now high supper-time, and the night grows\\r\\nto waste. About it.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI will hear further reason for this.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd you shall be satisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Cyprus. Another Room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Emilia and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nI do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no further.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, pardon me; ’twill do me good to walk.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nMadam, good night. I humbly thank your ladyship.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nYour honour is most welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWill you walk, sir?—\\r\\nO, Desdemona,—\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGet you to bed on th’ instant, I will be return’d forthwith. Dismiss\\r\\nyour attendant there. Look ’t be done.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Othello, Lodovico and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHow goes it now? He looks gentler than he did.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHe says he will return incontinent,\\r\\nHe hath commanded me to go to bed,\\r\\nAnd bade me to dismiss you.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nDismiss me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIt was his bidding. Therefore, good Emilia,\\r\\nGive me my nightly wearing, and adieu.\\r\\nWe must not now displease him.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI would you had never seen him!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nSo would not I. My love doth so approve him,\\r\\nThat even his stubbornness, his checks, his frowns,—\\r\\nPrithee, unpin me,—have grace and favour in them.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI have laid those sheets you bade me on the bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAll’s one. Good faith, how foolish are our minds!\\r\\nIf I do die before thee, prithee, shroud me\\r\\nIn one of those same sheets.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nCome, come, you talk.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy mother had a maid call’d Barbary,\\r\\nShe was in love, and he she lov’d prov’d mad\\r\\nAnd did forsake her. She had a song of “willow”,\\r\\nAn old thing ’twas, but it express’d her fortune,\\r\\nAnd she died singing it. That song tonight\\r\\nWill not go from my mind. I have much to do\\r\\nBut to go hang my head all at one side\\r\\nAnd sing it like poor Barbary. Prithee dispatch.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nShall I go fetch your night-gown?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, unpin me here.\\r\\nThis Lodovico is a proper man.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nA very handsome man.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHe speaks well.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot to Palestine for a\\r\\ntouch of his nether lip.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\n[_Singing._]\\r\\n _The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,\\r\\n Sing all a green willow.\\r\\n Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,\\r\\n Sing willow, willow, willow.\\r\\n The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur’d her moans,\\r\\n Sing willow, willow, willow;\\r\\n Her salt tears fell from her, and soften’d the stones;—_\\r\\n\\r\\nLay by these:—\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n _Sing willow, willow, willow._\\r\\n\\r\\nPrithee hie thee. He’ll come anon.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n _Sing all a green willow must be my garland.\\r\\nLet nobody blame him, his scorn I approve,—_\\r\\n\\r\\nNay, that’s not next. Hark! who is’t that knocks?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIt’s the wind.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n _I call’d my love false love; but what said he then?\\r\\n Sing willow, willow, willow:\\r\\n If I court mo women, you’ll couch with mo men._\\r\\n\\r\\nSo get thee gone; good night. Mine eyes do itch;\\r\\nDoth that bode weeping?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n’Tis neither here nor there.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI have heard it said so. O, these men, these men!\\r\\nDost thou in conscience think,—tell me, Emilia,—\\r\\nThat there be women do abuse their husbands\\r\\nIn such gross kind?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThere be some such, no question.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhy, would not you?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, by this heavenly light!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNor I neither by this heavenly light,\\r\\nI might do’t as well i’ the dark.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThe world’s a huge thing. It is a great price\\r\\nFor a small vice.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIn troth, I think thou wouldst not.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIn troth, I think I should, and undo’t when I had done. Marry, I would\\r\\nnot do such a thing for a joint-ring, nor for measures of lawn, nor for\\r\\ngowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor any petty exhibition; but, for the\\r\\nwhole world—why, who would not make her husband a cuckold to make him a\\r\\nmonarch? I should venture purgatory for ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBeshrew me, if I would do such a wrong for the whole world.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhy, the wrong is but a wrong i’ the world; and having the world for\\r\\nyour labour, ’tis a wrong in your own world, and you might quickly make\\r\\nit right.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI do not think there is any such woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYes, a dozen; and as many to the vantage as would store the world they\\r\\nplayed for.\\r\\nBut I do think it is their husbands’ faults\\r\\nIf wives do fall: say that they slack their duties,\\r\\nAnd pour our treasures into foreign laps;\\r\\nOr else break out in peevish jealousies,\\r\\nThrowing restraint upon us. Or say they strike us,\\r\\nOr scant our former having in despite.\\r\\nWhy, we have galls; and though we have some grace,\\r\\nYet have we some revenge. Let husbands know\\r\\nTheir wives have sense like them: they see, and smell\\r\\nAnd have their palates both for sweet and sour,\\r\\nAs husbands have. What is it that they do\\r\\nWhen they change us for others? Is it sport?\\r\\nI think it is. And doth affection breed it?\\r\\nI think it doth. Is’t frailty that thus errs?\\r\\nIt is so too. And have not we affections,\\r\\nDesires for sport, and frailty, as men have?\\r\\nThen let them use us well: else let them know,\\r\\nThe ills we do, their ills instruct us so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nGood night, good night. Heaven me such usage send,\\r\\nNot to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Cyprus. A Street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago and Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHere, stand behind this bulk. Straight will he come.\\r\\nWear thy good rapier bare, and put it home.\\r\\nQuick, quick, fear nothing; I’ll be at thy elbow.\\r\\nIt makes us, or it mars us, think on that,\\r\\nAnd fix most firm thy resolution.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nBe near at hand, I may miscarry in ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHere, at thy hand. Be bold, and take thy stand.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Retires to a little distance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI have no great devotion to the deed;\\r\\nAnd yet he hath given me satisfying reasons.\\r\\n’Tis but a man gone. Forth, my sword; he dies.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Goes to his stand._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI have rubb’d this young quat almost to the sense,\\r\\nAnd he grows angry. Now, whether he kill Cassio,\\r\\nOr Cassio him, or each do kill the other,\\r\\nEvery way makes my gain. Live Roderigo,\\r\\nHe calls me to a restitution large\\r\\nOf gold and jewels that I bobb’d from him,\\r\\nAs gifts to Desdemona.\\r\\nIt must not be. If Cassio do remain,\\r\\nHe hath a daily beauty in his life\\r\\nThat makes me ugly. And besides, the Moor\\r\\nMay unfold me to him; there stand I in much peril.\\r\\nNo, he must die. But so, I hear him coming.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI know his gait; ’tis he. Villain, thou diest!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Rushes out, and makes a pass at Cassio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThat thrust had been mine enemy indeed,\\r\\nBut that my coat is better than thou know’st.\\r\\nI will make proof of thine.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Draws, and wounds Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nO, I am slain!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Iago rushes from his post, cuts Cassio behind in the leg, and\\r\\n exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI am maim’d forever. Help, ho! murder, murder!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Falls._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe voice of Cassio. Iago keeps his word.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nO, villain that I am!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIt is even so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nO, help, ho! light! a surgeon!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n’Tis he. O brave Iago, honest and just,\\r\\nThat hast such noble sense of thy friend’s wrong!\\r\\nThou teachest me,—minion, your dear lies dead,\\r\\nAnd your unbless’d fate hies. Strumpet, I come!\\r\\nForth of my heart those charms, thine eyes, are blotted;\\r\\nThy bed, lust-stain’d, shall with lust’s blood be spotted.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lodovico and Gratiano.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhat, ho! No watch? No passage? murder, murder!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\n’Tis some mischance; the cry is very direful.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nO, help!\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nHark!\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nO wretched villain!\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nTwo or three groan. It is a heavy night.\\r\\nThese may be counterfeits. Let’s think’t unsafe\\r\\nTo come in to the cry without more help.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nNobody come? Then shall I bleed to death.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago with a light.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nHark!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nHere’s one comes in his shirt, with light and weapons.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWho’s there? Whose noise is this that cries on murder?\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWe do not know.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDid not you hear a cry?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHere, here! for heaven’s sake, help me!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nThis is Othello’s ancient, as I take it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nThe same indeed, a very valiant fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat are you here that cry so grievously?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nIago? O, I am spoil’d, undone by villains!\\r\\nGive me some help.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO me, lieutenant! What villains have done this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI think that one of them is hereabout,\\r\\nAnd cannot make away.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO treacherous villains!\\r\\n[_To Lodovico and Gratiano._] What are you there?\\r\\nCome in and give some help.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nO, help me here!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThat’s one of them.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO murderous slave! O villain!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Stabs Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nO damn’d Iago! O inhuman dog!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nKill men i’ the dark! Where be these bloody thieves?\\r\\nHow silent is this town! Ho! murder! murder!\\r\\nWhat may you be? Are you of good or evil?\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nAs you shall prove us, praise us.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSignior Lodovico?\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nHe, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI cry you mercy. Here’s Cassio hurt by villains.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nCassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHow is’t, brother?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMy leg is cut in two.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMarry, heaven forbid!\\r\\nLight, gentlemen, I’ll bind it with my shirt.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhat is the matter, ho? Who is’t that cried?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWho is’t that cried?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nO my dear Cassio, my sweet Cassio! O Cassio, Cassio, Cassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO notable strumpet! Cassio, may you suspect\\r\\nWho they should be that have thus mangled you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nI am sorry to find you thus; I have been to seek you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLend me a garter. So.—O, for a chair,\\r\\nTo bear him easily hence!\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nAlas, he faints! O Cassio, Cassio, Cassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGentlemen all, I do suspect this trash\\r\\nTo be a party in this injury.\\r\\nPatience awhile, good Cassio. Come, come;\\r\\nLend me a light. Know we this face or no?\\r\\nAlas, my friend and my dear countryman\\r\\nRoderigo? No. Yes, sure; O heaven! Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWhat, of Venice?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nEven he, sir. Did you know him?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nKnow him? Ay.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSignior Gratiano? I cry you gentle pardon.\\r\\nThese bloody accidents must excuse my manners,\\r\\nThat so neglected you.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nI am glad to see you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHow do you, Cassio? O, a chair, a chair!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nRoderigo!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHe, he, ’tis he.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A chair brought in._]\\r\\n\\r\\nO, that’s well said; the chair.\\r\\nSome good man bear him carefully from hence,\\r\\nI’ll fetch the general’s surgeon. [_To Bianca_] For you, mistress,\\r\\nSave you your labour. He that lies slain here, Cassio,\\r\\nWas my dear friend. What malice was between you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nNone in the world. Nor do I know the man.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_To Bianca._] What, look you pale?—O, bear him out o’ the air.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Cassio and Roderigo are borne off._]\\r\\n\\r\\nStay you, good gentlemen.—Look you pale, mistress?\\r\\nDo you perceive the gastness of her eye?\\r\\nNay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon.\\r\\nBehold her well. I pray you, look upon her.\\r\\nDo you see, gentlemen? Nay, guiltiness will speak\\r\\nThough tongues were out of use.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n’Las, what’s the matter? What’s the matter, husband?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCassio hath here been set on in the dark\\r\\nBy Roderigo, and fellows that are ’scap’d.\\r\\nHe’s almost slain, and Roderigo dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAlas, good gentleman! alas, good Cassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThis is the fruit of whoring. Prithee, Emilia,\\r\\nGo know of Cassio where he supp’d tonight.\\r\\nWhat, do you shake at that?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nHe supp’d at my house, but I therefore shake not.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, did he so? I charge you go with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nFie, fie upon thee, strumpet!\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nI am no strumpet, but of life as honest\\r\\nAs you that thus abuse me.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAs I? Foh! fie upon thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nKind gentlemen, let’s go see poor Cassio dress’d.\\r\\nCome, mistress, you must tell’s another tale.\\r\\nEmilia, run you to the citadel,\\r\\nAnd tell my lord and lady what hath happ’d.\\r\\nWill you go on afore? [_Aside._] This is the night\\r\\nThat either makes me or fordoes me quite.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Cyprus. A Bedchamber in the castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nDesdemona in bed asleep; a light burning.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIt is the cause, it is the cause, my soul,\\r\\nLet me not name it to you, you chaste stars!\\r\\nIt is the cause. Yet I’ll not shed her blood,\\r\\nNor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow,\\r\\nAnd smooth as monumental alabaster.\\r\\nYet she must die, else she’ll betray more men.\\r\\nPut out the light, and then put out the light:\\r\\nIf I quench thee, thou flaming minister,\\r\\nI can again thy former light restore,\\r\\nShould I repent me. But once put out thy light,\\r\\nThou cunning’st pattern of excelling nature,\\r\\nI know not where is that Promethean heat\\r\\nThat can thy light relume. When I have pluck’d thy rose,\\r\\nI cannot give it vital growth again,\\r\\nIt must needs wither. I’ll smell it on the tree.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kissing her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nO, balmy breath, that dost almost persuade\\r\\nJustice to break her sword! One more, one more.\\r\\nBe thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,\\r\\nAnd love thee after. One more, and this the last.\\r\\nSo sweet was ne’er so fatal. I must weep,\\r\\nBut they are cruel tears. This sorrow’s heavenly,\\r\\nIt strikes where it doth love. She wakes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWho’s there? Othello?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, Desdemona.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWill you come to bed, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHave you pray’d tonight, Desdemona?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAy, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIf you bethink yourself of any crime\\r\\nUnreconcil’d as yet to heaven and grace,\\r\\nSolicit for it straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlack, my lord, what may you mean by that?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWell, do it, and be brief, I will walk by.\\r\\nI would not kill thy unprepared spirit,\\r\\nNo, heaven forfend! I would not kill thy soul.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nTalk you of killing?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, I do.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThen heaven have mercy on me!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAmen, with all my heart!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIf you say so, I hope you will not kill me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHum!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAnd yet I fear you, for you are fatal then\\r\\nWhen your eyes roll so: why I should fear I know not,\\r\\nSince guiltiness I know not, but yet I feel I fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThink on thy sins.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThey are loves I bear to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, and for that thou diest.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThat death’s unnatural that kills for loving.\\r\\nAlas, why gnaw you so your nether lip?\\r\\nSome bloody passion shakes your very frame.\\r\\nThese are portents; but yet I hope, I hope,\\r\\nThey do not point on me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nPeace, and be still!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI will so. What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat handkerchief which I so loved and gave thee,\\r\\nThou gav’st to Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, by my life and soul!\\r\\nSend for the man and ask him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nSweet soul, take heed, take heed of perjury,\\r\\nThou’rt on thy death-bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAy, but not yet to die.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYes, presently:\\r\\nTherefore confess thee freely of thy sin.\\r\\nFor to deny each article with oath\\r\\nCannot remove nor choke the strong conception\\r\\nThat I do groan withal. Thou art to die.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThen, Lord have mercy on me!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI say, amen.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAnd have you mercy too! I never did\\r\\nOffend you in my life,\\t never lov’d Cassio\\r\\nBut with such general warranty of heaven\\r\\nAs I might love. I never gave him token.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBy heaven, I saw my handkerchief in ’s hand.\\r\\nO perjur’d woman, thou dost stone my heart,\\r\\nAnd mak’st me call what I intend to do\\r\\nA murder, which I thought a sacrifice.\\r\\nI saw the handkerchief.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHe found it then.\\r\\nI never gave it him. Send for him hither.\\r\\nLet him confess a truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHe hath confess’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat he hath us’d thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHow? Unlawfully?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHe will not say so.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNo, his mouth is stopp’d.\\r\\nHonest Iago hath ta’en order for ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, my fear interprets! What, is he dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHad all his hairs been lives, my great revenge\\r\\nHad stomach for them all.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas, he is betray’d, and I undone!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nOut, strumpet! Weep’st thou for him to my face?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, banish me, my lord, but kill me not!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDown, strumpet!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nKill me tomorrow, let me live tonight!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNay, if you strive,—\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBut half an hour!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBeing done, there is no pause.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBut while I say one prayer!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIt is too late.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Smothers her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n[_Within._] My lord, my lord! what, ho! my lord, my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat noise is this? Not dead? Not yet quite dead?\\r\\nI that am cruel am yet merciful,\\r\\nI would not have thee linger in thy pain.\\r\\nSo, so.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n[_Within._] What, ho! my lord, my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWho’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n[_Within._] O, good my lord, I would speak a word with you!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYes. ’Tis Emilia, by and by. She’s dead.\\r\\n’Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio’s death;\\r\\nThe noise was high.—Ha! no more moving?\\r\\nStill as the grave. Shall she come in? Were’t good?\\r\\nI think she stirs again; no. What’s best to do?\\r\\nIf she come in, she’ll sure speak to my wife.\\r\\nMy wife! my wife! what wife? I have no wife.\\r\\nO, insupportable! O heavy hour!\\r\\nMethinks it should be now a huge eclipse\\r\\nOf sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe\\r\\nShould yawn at alteration.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n[_Within._] I do beseech you\\r\\nThat I may speak with you, O, good my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI had forgot thee: O, come in, Emilia.\\r\\nSoft, by and by; let me the curtains draw.\\r\\nWhere art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Unlocks the door._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat’s the matter with thee now?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, my good lord, yonder’s foul murders done!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat, now?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBut now, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIt is the very error of the moon,\\r\\nShe comes more nearer earth than she was wont\\r\\nAnd makes men mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nCassio, my lord, hath kill’d a young Venetian\\r\\nCall’d Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nRoderigo kill’d?\\r\\nAnd Cassio kill’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNo, Cassio is not kill’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNot Cassio kill’d! Then murder’s out of tune,\\r\\nAnd sweet revenge grows harsh.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, falsely, falsely murder’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAlas, what cry is that?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat? What?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nOut, and alas! That was my lady’s voice.\\r\\nHelp! help, ho! help! O lady, speak again,\\r\\nSweet Desdemona! O sweet mistress, speak!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nA guiltless death I die.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, who hath done this deed?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNobody; I myself. Farewell.\\r\\nCommend me to my kind lord. O, farewell!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_She dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy, how should she be murder’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAlas, who knows?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYou heard her say herself, it was not I.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nShe said so. I must needs report the truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nShe’s like a liar, gone to burning hell.\\r\\n’Twas I that kill’d her.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, the more angel she,\\r\\nAnd you the blacker devil!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nShe turn’d to folly, and she was a whore.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThou dost belie her, and thou art a devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nShe was false as water.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThou art rash as fire, to say\\r\\nThat she was false: O, she was heavenly true!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nCassio did top her; ask thy husband else.\\r\\nO, I were damn’d beneath all depth in hell,\\r\\nBut that I did proceed upon just grounds\\r\\nTo this extremity. Thy husband knew it all.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMy husband?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThy husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat she was false to wedlock?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, with Cassio. Nay, had she been true,\\r\\nIf heaven would make me such another world\\r\\nOf one entire and perfect chrysolite,\\r\\nI’d not have sold her for it.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMy husband?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, ’twas he that told me first.\\r\\nAn honest man he is, and hates the slime\\r\\nThat sticks on filthy deeds.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMy husband?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat needs this iterance, woman? I say thy husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO mistress, villainy hath made mocks with love!\\r\\nMy husband say that she was false?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHe, woman;\\r\\nI say thy husband: dost understand the word?\\r\\nMy friend, thy husband, honest, honest Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIf he say so, may his pernicious soul\\r\\nRot half a grain a day! he lies to the heart.\\r\\nShe was too fond of her most filthy bargain.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHa!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nDo thy worst:\\r\\nThis deed of thine is no more worthy heaven\\r\\nThan thou wast worthy her.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nPeace, you were best.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThou hast not half that power to do me harm\\r\\nAs I have to be hurt. O gull! O dolt!\\r\\nAs ignorant as dirt! Thou hast done a deed\\r\\n(I care not for thy sword) I’ll make thee known,\\r\\nThough I lost twenty lives. Help! help, ho! help!\\r\\nThe Moor hath kill’d my mistress! Murder, murder!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Montano, Gratiano and Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nWhat is the matter? How now, general?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, are you come, Iago? You have done well,\\r\\nThat men must lay their murders on your neck.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWhat is the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nDisprove this villain, if thou be’st a man.\\r\\nHe says thou told’st him that his wife was false.\\r\\nI know thou didst not, thou’rt not such a villain.\\r\\nSpeak, for my heart is full.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI told him what I thought, and told no more\\r\\nThan what he found himself was apt and true.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBut did you ever tell him she was false?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI did.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYou told a lie, an odious, damned lie;\\r\\nUpon my soul, a lie; a wicked lie.\\r\\nShe false with Cassio? Did you say with Cassio?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWith Cassio, mistress. Go to, charm your tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI will not charm my tongue; I am bound to speak.\\r\\nMy mistress here lies murder’d in her bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nO heavens forfend!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAnd your reports have set the murder on.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNay, stare not, masters, it is true indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\n’Tis a strange truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nO monstrous act!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nVillany, villany, villany!\\r\\nI think upon’t, I think I smell’t; O villany!\\r\\nI thought so then. I’ll kill myself for grief.\\r\\nO villany, villany!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat, are you mad? I charge you, get you home.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nGood gentlemen, let me have leave to speak.\\r\\n’Tis proper I obey him, but not now.\\r\\nPerchance, Iago, I will ne’er go home.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO! O! O!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Hanging over his wife._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNay, lay thee down and roar;\\r\\nFor thou hast kill’d the sweetest innocent\\r\\nThat e’er did lift up eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_Rising._] O, she was foul!\\r\\nI scarce did know you, uncle, there lies your niece,\\r\\nWhose breath indeed these hands have newly stopp’d.\\r\\nI know this act shows horrible and grim.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nPoor Desdemona! I am glad thy father’s dead.\\r\\nThy match was mortal to him, and pure grief\\r\\nShore his old thread in twain: did he live now,\\r\\nThis sight would make him do a desperate turn,\\r\\nYea, curse his better angel from his side,\\r\\nAnd fall to reprobance.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n’Tis pitiful. But yet Iago knows\\r\\nThat she with Cassio hath the act of shame\\r\\nA thousand times committed; Cassio confess’d it,\\r\\nAnd she did gratify his amorous works\\r\\nWith that recognizance and pledge of love\\r\\nWhich I first gave her; I saw it in his hand.\\r\\nIt was a handkerchief, an antique token\\r\\nMy father gave my mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO heaven! O heavenly powers!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCome, hold your peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n’Twill out, ’twill out. I peace?\\r\\nNo, I will speak as liberal as the north.\\r\\nLet heaven and men and devils, let them all,\\r\\nAll, all, cry shame against me, yet I’ll speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBe wise, and get you home.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI will not.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Iago offers to stab his wife._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nFie!\\r\\nYour sword upon a woman?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO thou dull Moor, that handkerchief thou speak’st of\\r\\nI found by fortune and did give my husband;\\r\\nFor often with a solemn earnestness,\\r\\nMore than indeed belong’d to such a trifle,\\r\\nHe begg’d of me to steal it.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nVillanous whore!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nShe give it Cassio! no, alas, I found it,\\r\\nAnd I did give’t my husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFilth, thou liest!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBy heaven, I do not, I do not, gentlemen.\\r\\nO murderous coxcomb! What should such a fool\\r\\nDo with so good a wife?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO\\r\\nAre there not stones in heaven\\r\\nBut what serve for thunder? Precious villain!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Iago stabs Emilia and then runs out._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nThe woman falls. Sure, he hath kill’d his wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAy, ay. O, lay me by my mistress’ side.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nHe’s gone, but his wife’s kill’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\n’Tis a notorious villain. Take you this weapon,\\r\\nWhich I have here recover’d from the Moor.\\r\\nCome, guard the door without, let him not pass,\\r\\nBut kill him rather. I’ll after that same villain,\\r\\nFor ’tis a damned slave.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Montano and Gratiano._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI am not valiant neither,\\r\\nBut every puny whipster gets my sword.\\r\\nBut why should honour outlive honesty?\\r\\nLet it go all.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhat did thy song bode, lady?\\r\\nHark, canst thou hear me? I will play the swan,\\r\\nAnd die in music.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Willow, willow, willow._\\r\\nMoor, she was chaste. She lov’d thee, cruel Moor,\\r\\nSo come my soul to bliss, as I speak true;\\r\\nSo speaking as I think, I die, I die.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_She dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI have another weapon in this chamber,\\r\\nIt is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook’s temper.\\r\\nO, here it is. Uncle, I must come forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\n[_Within._] If thou attempt it, it will cost thee dear;\\r\\nThou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nLook in upon me then, and speak with me,\\r\\nOr, naked as I am, I will assault thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gratiano.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWhat is the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBehold, I have a weapon.\\r\\nA better never did itself sustain\\r\\nUpon a soldier’s thigh: I have seen the day\\r\\nThat with this little arm and this good sword\\r\\nI have made my way through more impediments\\r\\nThan twenty times your stop. But, O vain boast!\\r\\nWho can control his fate? ’Tis not so now.\\r\\nBe not afraid, though you do see me weapon’d.\\r\\nHere is my journey’s end, here is my butt,\\r\\nAnd very sea-mark of my utmost sail.\\r\\nDo you go back dismay’d? ’Tis a lost fear.\\r\\nMan but a rush against Othello’s breast,\\r\\nAnd he retires. Where should Othello go?\\r\\nNow, how dost thou look now? O ill-starr’d wench,\\r\\nPale as thy smock, when we shall meet at compt,\\r\\nThis look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven,\\r\\nAnd fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl!\\r\\nEven like thy chastity.\\r\\nO cursed, cursed slave! Whip me, ye devils,\\r\\nFrom the possession of this heavenly sight!\\r\\nBlow me about in winds, roast me in sulphur,\\r\\nWash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire!\\r\\nO Desdemon! Dead, Desdemon! dead! Oh, oh!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lodovico, Montano, Cassio carried in a chair, and Officers with\\r\\n Iago prisoner.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWhere is this rash and most unfortunate man?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat’s he that was Othello. Here I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWhere is that viper? Bring the villain forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI look down towards his feet; but that’s a fable.\\r\\nIf that thou be’st a devil, I cannot kill thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Wounds Iago._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWrench his sword from him.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI bleed, sir, but not kill’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI am not sorry neither. I’d have thee live,\\r\\nFor in my sense ’tis happiness to die.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nO thou Othello, that wert once so good,\\r\\nFall’n in the practice of a damned slave,\\r\\nWhat shall be said to thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy, anything;\\r\\nAn honourable murderer, if you will.\\r\\nFor naught did I in hate, but all in honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nThis wretch hath part confess’d his villany.\\r\\nDid you and he consent in Cassio’s death?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nDear general, I never gave you cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI do believe it, and I ask your pardon.\\r\\nWill you, I pray, demand that demi-devil\\r\\nWhy he hath thus ensnar’d my soul and body?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDemand me nothing. What you know, you know.\\r\\nFrom this time forth I never will speak word.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWhat, not to pray?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nTorments will ope your lips.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWell, thou dost best.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nSir, you shall understand what hath befall’n,\\r\\nWhich, as I think, you know not. Here is a letter\\r\\nFound in the pocket of the slain Roderigo,\\r\\nAnd here another. The one of them imports\\r\\nThe death of Cassio, to be undertook\\r\\nBy Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO villain!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMost heathenish and most gross!\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nNow here’s another discontented paper,\\r\\nFound in his pocket too; and this, it seems,\\r\\nRoderigo meant to have sent this damned villain,\\r\\nBut that, belike, Iago in the interim\\r\\nCame in and satisfied him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO the pernicious caitiff!\\r\\nHow came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief\\r\\nThat was my wife’s?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI found it in my chamber.\\r\\nAnd he himself confess’d but even now,\\r\\nThat there he dropp’d it for a special purpose\\r\\nWhich wrought to his desire.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO fool! fool! fool!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThere is besides in Roderigo’s letter,\\r\\nHow he upbraids Iago, that he made him\\r\\nBrave me upon the watch, whereon it came\\r\\nThat I was cast. And even but now he spake,\\r\\nAfter long seeming dead, Iago hurt him,\\r\\nIago set him on.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nYou must forsake this room, and go with us.\\r\\nYour power and your command is taken off,\\r\\nAnd Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave,\\r\\nIf there be any cunning cruelty\\r\\nThat can torment him much and hold him long,\\r\\nIt shall be his. You shall close prisoner rest,\\r\\nTill that the nature of your fault be known\\r\\nTo the Venetian state. Come, bring away.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nSoft you; a word or two before you go.\\r\\nI have done the state some service, and they know’t.\\r\\nNo more of that. I pray you, in your letters,\\r\\nWhen you shall these unlucky deeds relate,\\r\\nSpeak of me as I am. Nothing extenuate,\\r\\nNor set down aught in malice. Then must you speak\\r\\nOf one that loved not wisely, but too well;\\r\\nOf one not easily jealous, but being wrought,\\r\\nPerplex’d in the extreme; of one whose hand,\\r\\nLike the base Judean, threw a pearl away\\r\\nRicher than all his tribe; of one whose subdu’d eyes,\\r\\nAlbeit unused to the melting mood,\\r\\nDrop tears as fast as the Arabian trees\\r\\nTheir medicinal gum. Set you down this.\\r\\nAnd say besides, that in Aleppo once,\\r\\nWhere a malignant and a turban’d Turk\\r\\nBeat a Venetian and traduc’d the state,\\r\\nI took by the throat the circumcised dog,\\r\\nAnd smote him, thus.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Stabs himself._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nO bloody period!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nAll that’s spoke is marr’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI kiss’d thee ere I kill’d thee. No way but this,\\r\\nKilling myself, to die upon a kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Falling upon Desdemona._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThis did I fear, but thought he had no weapon,\\r\\nFor he was great of heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\n[_To Iago._] O Spartan dog,\\r\\nMore fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea,\\r\\nLook on the tragic loading of this bed.\\r\\nThis is thy work. The object poisons sight,\\r\\nLet it be hid. Gratiano, keep the house,\\r\\nAnd seize upon the fortunes of the Moor,\\r\\nFor they succeed on you. To you, lord governor,\\r\\nRemains the censure of this hellish villain.\\r\\nThe time, the place, the torture, O, enforce it!\\r\\nMyself will straight aboard, and to the state\\r\\nThis heavy act with heavy heart relate.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nChorus. Before the palace of Antioch.\\r\\nScene I. Antioch. A room in the palace.\\r\\nScene II. Tyre. A room in the palace.\\r\\nScene III. Tyre. An ante-chamber in the Palace.\\r\\nScene IV. Tarsus. A room in the Governor’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nChorus. Chorus.\\r\\nScene I. Pentapolis. An open place by the seaside.\\r\\nScene II. The same. A public way, or platform leading to the lists.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A hall of state: a banquet prepared.\\r\\nScene IV. Tyre. A room in the Governor’s house.\\r\\nScene V. Pentapolis. A room in the palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nChorus. Chorus.\\r\\nScene I. On shipboard.\\r\\nScene II. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon’s house.\\r\\nScene III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon’s house.\\r\\nScene IV. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nChorus. Chorus.\\r\\nScene I. Tarsus. An open place near the seashore.\\r\\nScene II. Mytilene. A room in a brothel.\\r\\nScene III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon’s house.\\r\\nScene IV. Before the monument of Marina at Tarsus.\\r\\nScene V. Mytilene. A street before the brothel.\\r\\nScene VI. The same. A room in the brothel.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nChorus. Chorus.\\r\\nScene I. On board Pericles’ ship, off Mytilene.\\r\\nScene II. Before the temple of Diana at Ephesus.\\r\\nScene III. The temple of Diana at Ephesus.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS, king of Antioch.\\r\\nPERICLES, prince of Tyre.\\r\\nHELICANUS, ESCANES, two lords of Tyre.\\r\\nSIMONIDES, king of Pentapolis.\\r\\nCLEON, governor of Tarsus.\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS, governor of Mytilene.\\r\\nCERIMON, a lord of Ephesus.\\r\\nTHALIARD, a lord of Antioch.\\r\\nPHILEMON, servant to Cerimon.\\r\\nLEONINE, servant to Dionyza.\\r\\nMarshal.\\r\\nA Pandar.\\r\\nBOULT, his servant.\\r\\nThe Daughter of Antiochus.\\r\\nDIONYZA, wife to Cleon.\\r\\nTHAISA, daughter to Simonides.\\r\\nMARINA, daughter to Pericles and Thaisa.\\r\\nLYCHORIDA, nurse to Marina.\\r\\nA Bawd.\\r\\nLords, Knights, Gentlemen, Sailors, Pirates, Fishermen, and Messengers.\\r\\nDIANA.\\r\\nGOWER, as Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Dispersedly in various countries.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\n Before the palace of Antioch.\\r\\n\\r\\nTo sing a song that old was sung,\\r\\nFrom ashes ancient Gower is come;\\r\\nAssuming man’s infirmities,\\r\\nTo glad your ear, and please your eyes.\\r\\nIt hath been sung at festivals,\\r\\nOn ember-eves and holy-ales;\\r\\nAnd lords and ladies in their lives\\r\\nHave read it for restoratives:\\r\\nThe purchase is to make men glorious,\\r\\n_Et bonum quo antiquius eo melius._\\r\\nIf you, born in these latter times,\\r\\nWhen wit’s more ripe, accept my rhymes,\\r\\nAnd that to hear an old man sing\\r\\nMay to your wishes pleasure bring,\\r\\nI life would wish, and that I might\\r\\nWaste it for you, like taper-light.\\r\\nThis Antioch, then, Antiochus the Great\\r\\nBuilt up, this city, for his chiefest seat;\\r\\nThe fairest in all Syria.\\r\\nI tell you what mine authors say:\\r\\nThis king unto him took a fere,\\r\\nWho died and left a female heir,\\r\\nSo buxom, blithe, and full of face,\\r\\nAs heaven had lent her all his grace;\\r\\nWith whom the father liking took,\\r\\nAnd her to incest did provoke.\\r\\nBad child; worse father! to entice his own\\r\\nTo evil should be done by none:\\r\\nBut custom what they did begin\\r\\nWas with long use account’d no sin.\\r\\nThe beauty of this sinful dame\\r\\nMade many princes thither frame,\\r\\nTo seek her as a bedfellow,\\r\\nIn marriage pleasures playfellow:\\r\\nWhich to prevent he made a law,\\r\\nTo keep her still, and men in awe,\\r\\nThat whoso ask’d her for his wife,\\r\\nHis riddle told not, lost his life:\\r\\nSo for her many a wight did die,\\r\\nAs yon grim looks do testify.\\r\\nWhat now ensues, to the judgement your eye\\r\\nI give, my cause who best can justify.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Antioch. A room in the palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antiochus, Prince Pericles and followers.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nYoung prince of Tyre, you have at large received\\r\\nThe danger of the task you undertake.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI have, Antiochus, and, with a soul\\r\\nEmboldened with the glory of her praise,\\r\\nThink death no hazard in this enterprise.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nMusic! Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride,\\r\\nFor the embracements even of Jove himself;\\r\\nAt whose conception, till Lucina reigned,\\r\\nNature this dowry gave, to glad her presence,\\r\\nThe senate house of planets all did sit,\\r\\nTo knit in her their best perfections.\\r\\n\\r\\n Music. Enter the Daughter of Antiochus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nSee where she comes, apparell’d like the spring,\\r\\nGraces her subjects, and her thoughts the king\\r\\nOf every virtue gives renown to men!\\r\\nHer face the book of praises, where is read\\r\\nNothing but curious pleasures, as from thence\\r\\nSorrow were ever razed, and testy wrath\\r\\nCould never be her mild companion.\\r\\nYou gods that made me man, and sway in love,\\r\\nThat have inflamed desire in my breast\\r\\nTo taste the fruit of yon celestial tree,\\r\\nOr die in the adventure, be my helps,\\r\\nAs I am son and servant to your will,\\r\\nTo compass such a boundless happiness!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nPrince Pericles, —\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThat would be son to great Antiochus.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nBefore thee stands this fair Hesperides,\\r\\nWith golden fruit, but dangerous to be touch’d;\\r\\nFor death-like dragons here affright thee hard:\\r\\nHer face, like heaven, enticeth thee to view\\r\\nHer countless glory, which desert must gain;\\r\\nAnd which, without desert, because thine eye\\r\\nPresumes to reach, all the whole heap must die.\\r\\nYon sometimes famous princes, like thyself,\\r\\nDrawn by report, adventurous by desire,\\r\\nTell thee, with speechless tongues and semblance pale,\\r\\nThat without covering, save yon field of stars,\\r\\nHere they stand Martyrs, slain in Cupid’s wars;\\r\\nAnd with dead cheeks advise thee to desist\\r\\nFor going on death’s net, whom none resist.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAntiochus, I thank thee, who hath taught\\r\\nMy frail mortality to know itself,\\r\\nAnd by those fearful objects to prepare\\r\\nThis body, like to them, to what I must;\\r\\nFor death remember’d should be like a mirror,\\r\\nWho tells us life’s but breath, to trust it error.\\r\\nI’ll make my will then, and, as sick men do\\r\\nWho know the world, see heaven, but, feeling woe,\\r\\nGripe not at earthly joys as erst they did;\\r\\nSo I bequeath a happy peace to you\\r\\nAnd all good men, as every prince should do;\\r\\nMy riches to the earth from whence they came;\\r\\n[_To the daughter of Antiochus._] But my unspotted fire of love to you.\\r\\nThus ready for the way of life or death,\\r\\nI wait the sharpest blow, Antiochus.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nScorning advice, read the conclusion, then:\\r\\nWhich read and not expounded, ’tis decreed,\\r\\nAs these before thee thou thyself shalt bleed.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nOf all ’ssayed yet, mayst thou prove prosperous!\\r\\nOf all ’ssayed yet, I wish thee happiness!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES\\r\\nLike a bold champion, I assume the lists,\\r\\nNor ask advice of any other thought\\r\\nBut faithfulness and courage.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He reads the riddle._]\\r\\n\\r\\n _I am no viper, yet I feed\\r\\n On mother’s flesh which did me breed.\\r\\n I sought a husband, in which labour\\r\\n I found that kindness in a father:\\r\\n He’s father, son, and husband mild;\\r\\n I mother, wife, and yet his child.\\r\\n How they may be, and yet in two,\\r\\n As you will live resolve it you._\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSharp physic is the last: but, O you powers\\r\\nThat give heaven countless eyes to view men’s acts,\\r\\nWhy cloud they not their sights perpetually,\\r\\nIf this be true, which makes me pale to read it?\\r\\nFair glass of light, I loved you, and could still,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Takes hold of the hand of the Princess._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWere not this glorious casket stored with ill:\\r\\nBut I must tell you, now my thoughts revolt;\\r\\nFor he’s no man on whom perfections wait\\r\\nThat, knowing sin within, will touch the gate,\\r\\nYou are a fair viol, and your sense the strings;\\r\\nWho, finger’d to make man his lawful music,\\r\\nWould draw heaven down, and all the gods to hearken;\\r\\nBut being play’d upon before your time,\\r\\nHell only danceth at so harsh a chime.\\r\\nGood sooth, I care not for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nPrince Pericles, touch not, upon thy life,\\r\\nFor that’s an article within our law,\\r\\nAs dangerous as the rest. Your time’s expired:\\r\\nEither expound now, or receive your sentence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nGreat king,\\r\\nFew love to hear the sins they love to act;\\r\\n’Twould braid yourself too near for me to tell it.\\r\\nWho has a book of all that monarchs do,\\r\\nHe’s more secure to keep it shut than shown:\\r\\nFor vice repeated is like the wandering wind,\\r\\nBlows dust in others’ eyes, to spread itself;\\r\\nAnd yet the end of all is bought thus dear,\\r\\nThe breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear.\\r\\nTo stop the air would hurt them. The blind mole casts\\r\\nCopp’d hills towards heaven, to tell the earth is throng’d\\r\\nBy man’s oppression; and the poor worm doth die for’t.\\r\\nKind are earth’s gods; in vice their law’s their will;\\r\\nAnd if Jove stray, who dares say Jove doth ill?\\r\\nIt is enough you know; and it is fit,\\r\\nWhat being more known grows worse, to smother it.\\r\\nAll love the womb that their first bred,\\r\\nThen give my tongue like leave to love my head.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\n[_Aside_] Heaven, that I had thy head! He has found the meaning:\\r\\nBut I will gloze with him. — Young prince of Tyre.\\r\\nThough by the tenour of our strict edict,\\r\\nYour exposition misinterpreting,\\r\\nWe might proceed to cancel of your days;\\r\\nYet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree\\r\\nAs your fair self, doth tune us otherwise:\\r\\nForty days longer we do respite you;\\r\\nIf by which time our secret be undone,\\r\\nThis mercy shows we’ll joy in such a son:\\r\\nAnd until then your entertain shall be\\r\\nAs doth befit our honour and your worth.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Pericles._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHow courtesy would seem to cover sin,\\r\\nWhen what is done is like an hypocrite,\\r\\nThe which is good in nothing but in sight!\\r\\nIf it be true that I interpret false,\\r\\nThen were it certain you were not so bad\\r\\nAs with foul incest to abuse your soul;\\r\\nWhere now you’re both a father and a son,\\r\\nBy your untimely claspings with your child,\\r\\nWhich pleasures fits a husband, not a father;\\r\\nAnd she an eater of her mother’s flesh,\\r\\nBy the defiling of her parent’s bed;\\r\\nAnd both like serpents are, who though they feed\\r\\nOn sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed.\\r\\nAntioch, farewell! for wisdom sees, those men\\r\\nBlush not in actions blacker than the night,\\r\\nWill ’schew no course to keep them from the light.\\r\\nOne sin, I know, another doth provoke;\\r\\nMurder’s as near to lust as flame to smoke:\\r\\nPoison and treason are the hands of sin,\\r\\nAy, and the targets, to put off the shame:\\r\\nThen, lest my life be cropp’d to keep you clear,\\r\\nBy flight I’ll shun the danger which I fear.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Antiochus.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nHe hath found the meaning,\\r\\nFor which we mean to have his head.\\r\\nHe must not live to trumpet forth my infamy,\\r\\nNor tell the world Antiochus doth sin\\r\\nIn such a loathed manner;\\r\\nAnd therefore instantly this prince must die;\\r\\nFor by his fall my honour must keep high.\\r\\nWho attends us there?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thaliard.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\nDoth your highness call?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nThaliard, you are of our chamber,\\r\\nAnd our mind partakes her private actions\\r\\nTo your secrecy; and for your faithfulness\\r\\nWe will advance you. Thaliard,\\r\\nBehold, here’s poison, and here’s gold;\\r\\nWe hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill him:\\r\\nIt fits thee not to ask the reason why,\\r\\nBecause we bid it. Say, is it done?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\nMy lord, ’tis done.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nEnough.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nLet your breath cool yourself, telling your haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nMy lord, Prince Pericles is fled.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nAs thou wilt live, fly after: and like an arrow shot\\r\\nFrom a well-experienced archer hits the mark\\r\\nHis eye doth level at, so thou ne’er return\\r\\nUnless thou say ‘Prince Pericles is dead.’\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\nMy lord, if I can get him within my pistol’s length, I’ll make him sure\\r\\nenough: so, farewell to your highness.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nThaliard! adieu!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Thaliard._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTill Pericles be dead,\\r\\nMy heart can lend no succour to my head.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Tyre. A room in the palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles with his Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_To Lords without._] Let none disturb us. — Why should this change of\\r\\nthoughts,\\r\\nThe sad companion, dull-eyed melancholy,\\r\\nBe my so used a guest as not an hour\\r\\nIn the day’s glorious walk or peaceful night,\\r\\nThe tomb where grief should sleep, can breed me quiet?\\r\\nHere pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes shun them,\\r\\nAnd danger, which I fear’d, is at Antioch,\\r\\nWhose arm seems far too short to hit me here:\\r\\nYet neither pleasure’s art can joy my spirits,\\r\\nNor yet the other’s distance comfort me.\\r\\nThen it is thus: the passions of the mind,\\r\\nThat have their first conception by misdread,\\r\\nHave after-nourishment and life by care;\\r\\nAnd what was first but fear what might be done,\\r\\nGrows elder now and cares it be not done.\\r\\nAnd so with me: the great Antiochus,\\r\\n’Gainst whom I am too little to contend,\\r\\nSince he’s so great can make his will his act,\\r\\nWill think me speaking, though I swear to silence;\\r\\nNor boots it me to say I honour him.\\r\\nIf he suspect I may dishonour him:\\r\\nAnd what may make him blush in being known,\\r\\nHe’ll stop the course by which it might be known;\\r\\nWith hostile forces he’ll o’erspread the land,\\r\\nAnd with the ostent of war will look so huge,\\r\\nAmazement shall drive courage from the state;\\r\\nOur men be vanquish’d ere they do resist,\\r\\nAnd subjects punish’d that ne’er thought offence:\\r\\nWhich care of them, not pity of myself,\\r\\nWho am no more but as the tops of trees,\\r\\nWhich fence the roots they grow by and defend them,\\r\\nMakes both my body pine and soul to languish,\\r\\nAnd punish that before that he would punish.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Helicanus with other Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nJoy and all comfort in your sacred breast!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\nAnd keep your mind, till you return to us,\\r\\nPeaceful and comfortable!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nPeace, peace, and give experience tongue.\\r\\nThey do abuse the king that flatter him:\\r\\nFor flattery is the bellows blows up sin;\\r\\nThe thing the which is flatter’d, but a spark,\\r\\nTo which that spark gives heat and stronger glowing:\\r\\nWhereas reproof, obedient and in order,\\r\\nFits kings, as they are men, for they may err.\\r\\nWhen Signior Sooth here does proclaim peace,\\r\\nHe flatters you, makes war upon your life.\\r\\nPrince, pardon me, or strike me, if you please;\\r\\nI cannot be much lower than my knees.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAll leave us else, but let your cares o’erlook\\r\\nWhat shipping and what lading’s in our haven,\\r\\nAnd then return to us.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lords._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHelicanus, thou\\r\\nHast moved us: what seest thou in our looks?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nAn angry brow, dread lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nIf there be such a dart in princes’ frowns,\\r\\nHow durst thy tongue move anger to our face?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nHow dares the plants look up to heaven, from whence\\r\\nThey have their nourishment?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThou know’st I have power\\r\\nTo take thy life from thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS. [_Kneeling._]\\r\\nI have ground the axe myself;\\r\\nDo but you strike the blow.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nRise, prithee, rise.\\r\\nSit down: thou art no flatterer:\\r\\nI thank thee for it; and heaven forbid\\r\\nThat kings should let their ears hear their faults hid!\\r\\nFit counsellor and servant for a prince,\\r\\nWho by thy wisdom makest a prince thy servant,\\r\\nWhat wouldst thou have me do?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nTo bear with patience\\r\\nSuch griefs as you yourself do lay upon yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThou speak’st like a physician, Helicanus,\\r\\nThat ministers a potion unto me\\r\\nThat thou wouldst tremble to receive thyself.\\r\\nAttend me, then: I went to Antioch,\\r\\nWhere, as thou know’st, against the face of death,\\r\\nI sought the purchase of a glorious beauty,\\r\\nFrom whence an issue I might propagate,\\r\\nAre arms to princes, and bring joys to subjects.\\r\\nHer face was to mine eye beyond all wonder;\\r\\nThe rest — hark in thine ear — as black as incest,\\r\\nWhich by my knowledge found, the sinful father\\r\\nSeem’d not to strike, but smooth: but thou know’st this,\\r\\n’Tis time to fear when tyrants seems to kiss.\\r\\nWhich fear so grew in me I hither fled,\\r\\nUnder the covering of a careful night,\\r\\nWho seem’d my good protector; and, being here,\\r\\nBethought me what was past, what might succeed.\\r\\nI knew him tyrannous; and tyrants’ fears\\r\\nDecrease not, but grow faster than the years:\\r\\nAnd should he doubt, as no doubt he doth,\\r\\nThat I should open to the listening air\\r\\nHow many worthy princes’ bloods were shed,\\r\\nTo keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope,\\r\\nTo lop that doubt, he’ll fill this land with arms,\\r\\nAnd make pretence of wrong that I have done him;\\r\\nWhen all, for mine, if I may call offence,\\r\\nMust feel war’s blow, who spares not innocence:\\r\\nWhich love to all, of which thyself art one,\\r\\nWho now reprovest me for it, —\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nAlas, sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nDrew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from my cheeks,\\r\\nMusings into my mind, with thousand doubts\\r\\nHow I might stop this tempest ere it came;\\r\\nAnd finding little comfort to relieve them,\\r\\nI thought it princely charity to grieve them.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nWell, my lord, since you have given me leave to speak,\\r\\nFreely will I speak. Antiochus you fear,\\r\\nAnd justly too, I think, you fear the tyrant,\\r\\nWho either by public war or private treason\\r\\nWill take away your life.\\r\\nTherefore, my lord, go travel for a while,\\r\\nTill that his rage and anger be forgot,\\r\\nOr till the Destinies do cut his thread of life.\\r\\nYour rule direct to any; if to me,\\r\\nDay serves not light more faithful than I’ll be.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI do not doubt thy faith;\\r\\nBut should he wrong my liberties in my absence?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELCANUS.\\r\\nWe’ll mingle our bloods together in the earth,\\r\\nFrom whence we had our being and our birth.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nTyre, I now look from thee then, and to Tarsus\\r\\nIntend my travel, where I’ll hear from thee;\\r\\nAnd by whose letters I’ll dispose myself.\\r\\nThe care I had and have of subjects’ good\\r\\nOn thee I lay, whose wisdom’s strength can bear it.\\r\\nI’ll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath:\\r\\nWho shuns not to break one will sure crack both:\\r\\nBut in our orbs we’ll live so round and safe,\\r\\nThat time of both this truth shall ne’er convince,\\r\\nThou show’dst a subject’s shine, I a true prince.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Tyre. An ante-chamber in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thaliard.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\nSo, this is Tyre, and this the court. Here must I kill King Pericles;\\r\\nand if I do it not, I am sure to be hanged at home: ’tis dangerous.\\r\\nWell, I perceive he was a wise fellow, and had good discretion, that,\\r\\nbeing bid to ask what he would of the king, desired he might know none\\r\\nof his secrets: now do I see he had some reason for’t; for if a king\\r\\nbid a man be a villain, he’s bound by the indenture of his oath to be\\r\\none. Husht, here come the lords of Tyre.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Helicanus and Escanes with other Lords of Tyre.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nYou shall not need, my fellow peers of Tyre,\\r\\nFurther to question me of your king’s departure:\\r\\nHis seal’d commission, left in trust with me,\\r\\nDoth speak sufficiently he’s gone to travel.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] How? the king gone?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nIf further yet you will be satisfied,\\r\\nWhy, as it were unlicensed of your loves,\\r\\nHe would depart, I’ll give some light unto you.\\r\\nBeing at Antioch —\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] What from Antioch?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nRoyal Antiochus — on what cause I know not\\r\\nTook some displeasure at him; at least he judged so:\\r\\nAnd doubting lest that he had err’d or sinn’d,\\r\\nTo show his sorrow, he’d correct himself;\\r\\nSo puts himself unto the shipman’s toil,\\r\\nWith whom each minute threatens life or death.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Well, I perceive\\r\\nI shall not be hang’d now, although I would;\\r\\nBut since he’s gone, the king’s seas must please\\r\\nHe ’scaped the land, to perish at the sea.\\r\\nI’ll present myself. Peace to the lords of Tyre!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nLord Thaliard from Antiochus is welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\nFrom him I come\\r\\nWith message unto princely Pericles;\\r\\nBut since my landing I have understood\\r\\nYour lord has betook himself to unknown travels,\\r\\nMy message must return from whence it came.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nWe have no reason to desire it,\\r\\nCommended to our master, not to us:\\r\\nYet, ere you shall depart, this we desire,\\r\\nAs friends to Antioch, we may feast in Tyre.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Tarsus. A room in the Governor’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cleon, the governor of Tarsus, with Dionyza and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nMy Dionyza, shall we rest us here,\\r\\nAnd by relating tales of others’ griefs,\\r\\nSee if ’twill teach us to forget our own?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nThat were to blow at fire in hope to quench it;\\r\\nFor who digs hills because they do aspire\\r\\nThrows down one mountain to cast up a higher.\\r\\nO my distressed lord, even such our griefs are;\\r\\nHere they’re but felt, and seen with mischief’s eyes,\\r\\nBut like to groves, being topp’d, they higher rise.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nO Dionyza,\\r\\nWho wanteth food, and will not say he wants it,\\r\\nOr can conceal his hunger till he famish?\\r\\nOur tongues and sorrows do sound deep\\r\\nOur woes into the air; our eyes do weep,\\r\\nTill tongues fetch breath that may proclaim them louder;\\r\\nThat, if heaven slumber while their creatures want,\\r\\nThey may awake their helps to comfort them.\\r\\nI’ll then discourse our woes, felt several years,\\r\\nAnd wanting breath to speak, help me with tears.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nI’ll do my best, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nThis Tarsus, o’er which I have the government,\\r\\nA city on whom plenty held full hand,\\r\\nFor riches strew’d herself even in the streets;\\r\\nWhose towers bore heads so high they kiss’d the clouds,\\r\\nAnd strangers ne’er beheld but wonder’d at;\\r\\nWhose men and dames so jetted and adorn’d,\\r\\nLike one another’s glass to trim them by:\\r\\nTheir tables were stored full to glad the sight,\\r\\nAnd not so much to feed on as delight;\\r\\nAll poverty was scorn’d, and pride so great,\\r\\nThe name of help grew odious to repeat.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nO, ’tis too true.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nBut see what heaven can do! By this our change,\\r\\nThese mouths, who but of late, earth, sea, and air,\\r\\nWere all too little to content and please,\\r\\nAlthough they gave their creatures in abundance,\\r\\nAs houses are defiled for want of use,\\r\\nThey are now starved for want of exercise:\\r\\nThose palates who, not yet two summers younger,\\r\\nMust have inventions to delight the taste,\\r\\nWould now be glad of bread and beg for it:\\r\\nThose mothers who, to nousle up their babes,\\r\\nThought nought too curious, are ready now\\r\\nTo eat those little darlings whom they loved.\\r\\nSo sharp are hunger’s teeth, that man and wife\\r\\nDraw lots who first shall die to lengthen life:\\r\\nHere stands a lord, and there a lady weeping;\\r\\nHere many sink, yet those which see them fall\\r\\nHave scarce strength left to give them burial.\\r\\nIs not this true?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nOur cheeks and hollow eyes do witness it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nO, let those cities that of plenty’s cup\\r\\nAnd her prosperities so largely taste,\\r\\nWith their superflous riots, hear these tears!\\r\\nThe misery of Tarsus may be theirs.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nWhere’s the lord governor?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nHere.\\r\\nSpeak out thy sorrows which thou bring’st in haste,\\r\\nFor comfort is too far for us to expect.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nWe have descried, upon our neighbouring shore,\\r\\nA portly sail of ships make hitherward.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nI thought as much.\\r\\nOne sorrow never comes but brings an heir,\\r\\nThat may succeed as his inheritor;\\r\\nAnd so in ours: some neighbouring nation,\\r\\nTaking advantage of our misery,\\r\\nThat stuff’d the hollow vessels with their power,\\r\\nTo beat us down, the which are down already;\\r\\nAnd make a conquest of unhappy me,\\r\\nWhereas no glory’s got to overcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nThat’s the least fear; for, by the semblance\\r\\nOf their white flags display’d, they bring us peace,\\r\\nAnd come to us as favourers, not as foes.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nThou speak’st like him’s untutor’d to repeat:\\r\\nWho makes the fairest show means most deceit.\\r\\nBut bring they what they will and what they can,\\r\\nWhat need we fear?\\r\\nThe ground’s the lowest, and we are half way there.\\r\\nGo tell their general we attend him here,\\r\\nTo know for what he comes, and whence he comes,\\r\\nAnd what he craves.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nI go, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nWelcome is peace, if he on peace consist;\\r\\nIf wars, we are unable to resist.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles with Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nLord governor, for so we hear you are,\\r\\nLet not our ships and number of our men\\r\\nBe like a beacon fired to amaze your eyes.\\r\\nWe have heard your miseries as far as Tyre,\\r\\nAnd seen the desolation of your streets:\\r\\nNor come we to add sorrow to your tears,\\r\\nBut to relieve them of their heavy load;\\r\\nAnd these our ships, you happily may think\\r\\nAre like the Trojan horse was stuff’d within\\r\\nWith bloody veins, expecting overthrow,\\r\\nAre stored with corn to make your needy bread,\\r\\nAnd give them life whom hunger starved half dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nThe gods of Greece protect you!\\r\\nAnd we’ll pray for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nArise, I pray you, rise:\\r\\nWe do not look for reverence, but for love,\\r\\nAnd harbourage for ourself, our ships and men.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nThe which when any shall not gratify,\\r\\nOr pay you with unthankfulness in thought,\\r\\nBe it our wives, our children, or ourselves,\\r\\nThe curse of heaven and men succeed their evils!\\r\\nTill when, — the which I hope shall ne’er be seen, —\\r\\nYour grace is welcome to our town and us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWhich welcome we’ll accept; feast here awhile,\\r\\nUntil our stars that frown lend us a smile.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nHere have you seen a mighty king\\r\\nHis child, iwis, to incest bring;\\r\\nA better prince and benign lord,\\r\\nThat will prove awful both in deed word.\\r\\nBe quiet then as men should be,\\r\\nTill he hath pass’d necessity.\\r\\nI’ll show you those in troubles reign,\\r\\nLosing a mite, a mountain gain.\\r\\nThe good in conversation,\\r\\nTo whom I give my benison,\\r\\nIs still at Tarsus, where each man\\r\\nThinks all is writ he speken can;\\r\\nAnd to remember what he does,\\r\\nBuild his statue to make him glorious:\\r\\nBut tidings to the contrary\\r\\nAre brought your eyes; what need speak I?\\r\\n\\r\\n Dumb-show. Enter at one door Pericles talking with Cleon; all the\\r\\n train with them. Enter at another door a Gentleman with a letter to\\r\\n Pericles; Pericles shows the letter to Cleon; gives the Messenger a\\r\\n reward, and knights him. Exit Pericles at one door, and Cleon at\\r\\n another.\\r\\n\\r\\nGood Helicane, that stay’d at home.\\r\\nNot to eat honey like a drone\\r\\nFrom others’ labours; for though he strive\\r\\nTo killen bad, keep good alive;\\r\\nAnd to fulfil his prince’ desire,\\r\\nSends word of all that haps in Tyre:\\r\\nHow Thaliard came full bent with sin\\r\\nAnd had intent to murder him;\\r\\nAnd that in Tarsus was not best\\r\\nLonger for him to make his rest.\\r\\nHe, doing so, put forth to seas,\\r\\nWhere when men been, there’s seldom ease;\\r\\nFor now the wind begins to blow;\\r\\nThunder above and deeps below\\r\\nMake such unquiet, that the ship\\r\\nShould house him safe is wreck’d and split;\\r\\nAnd he, good prince, having all lost,\\r\\nBy waves from coast to coast is tost:\\r\\nAll perishen of man, of pelf,\\r\\nNe aught escapen but himself;\\r\\nTill Fortune, tired with doing bad,\\r\\nThrew him ashore, to give him glad:\\r\\nAnd here he comes. What shall be next,\\r\\nPardon old Gower, — this longs the text.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Pentapolis. An open place by the seaside.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles, wet.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nYet cease your ire, you angry stars of heaven!\\r\\nWind, rain, and thunder, remember earthly man\\r\\nIs but a substance that must yield to you;\\r\\nAnd I, as fits my nature, do obey you:\\r\\nAlas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks,\\r\\nWash’d me from shore to shore, and left me breath\\r\\nNothing to think on but ensuing death:\\r\\nLet it suffice the greatness of your powers\\r\\nTo have bereft a prince of all his fortunes;\\r\\nAnd having thrown him from your watery grave,\\r\\nHere to have death in peace is all he’ll crave.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter three Fishermen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhat, ho, Pilch!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nHa, come and bring away the nets!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhat, Patch-breech, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhat say you, master?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nLook how thou stirrest now! Come away, or I’ll fetch thee with a\\r\\nwanion.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nFaith, master, I am thinking of the poor men that were cast away before\\r\\nus even now.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nAlas, poor souls, it grieved my heart to hear what pitiful cries they\\r\\nmade to us to help them, when, well-a-day, we could scarce help\\r\\nourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nNay, master, said not I as much when I saw the porpus how he bounced\\r\\nand tumbled? They say they’re half fish, half flesh: a plague on them,\\r\\nthey ne’er come but I look to be washed. Master, I marvel how the\\r\\nfishes live in the sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhy, as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the little ones: I can\\r\\ncompare our rich misers to nothing so fitly as to a whale; a’ plays and\\r\\ntumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and at last devours them all\\r\\nat a mouthful. Such whales have I heard on o’ the land, who never leave\\r\\ngaping till they swallowed the whole parish, church, steeple, bells and\\r\\nall.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] A pretty moral.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nBut, master, if I had been the sexton, I would have been that day in\\r\\nthe belfry.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhy, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nBecause he should have swallowed me too; and when I had been in his\\r\\nbelly, I would have kept such a jangling of the bells, that he should\\r\\nnever have left, till he cast bells, steeple, church and parish up\\r\\nagain. But if the good King Simonides were of my mind, —\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Simonides?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWe would purge the land of these drones, that rob the bee of her honey.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] How from the finny subject of the sea\\r\\nThese fishers tell the infirmities of men;\\r\\nAnd from their watery empire recollect\\r\\nAll that may men approve or men detect!\\r\\nPeace be at your labour, honest fishermen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nHonest! good fellow, what’s that? If it be a day fits you, search out\\r\\nof the calendar, and nobody look after it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMay see the sea hath cast upon your coast.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhat a drunken knave was the sea to cast thee in our way!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nA man whom both the waters and the wind,\\r\\nIn that vast tennis-court, have made the ball\\r\\nFor them to play upon, entreats you pity him;\\r\\nHe asks of you, that never used to beg.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nNo, friend, cannot you beg? Here’s them in our country of Greece gets\\r\\nmore with begging than we can do with working.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nCanst thou catch any fishes, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI never practised it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nNay, then thou wilt starve, sure; for here’s nothing to be got\\r\\nnow-a-days, unless thou canst fish for’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWhat I have been I have forgot to know;\\r\\nBut what I am, want teaches me to think on:\\r\\nA man throng’d up with cold: my veins are chill,\\r\\nAnd have no more of life than may suffice\\r\\nTo give my tongue that heat to ask your help;\\r\\nWhich if you shall refuse, when I am dead,\\r\\nFor that I am a man, pray see me buried.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nDie quoth-a? Now gods forbid’t, and I have a gown here; come, put it\\r\\non; keep thee warm. Now, afore me, a handsome fellow! Come, thou shalt\\r\\ngo home, and we’ll have flesh for holidays, fish for fasting-days, and\\r\\nmoreo’er puddings and flap-jacks, and thou shalt be welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI thank you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nHark you, my friend; you said you could not beg?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI did but crave.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nBut crave! Then I’ll turn craver too, and so I shall ’scape whipping.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWhy, are your beggars whipped, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nO, not all, my friend, not all; for if all your beggars were whipped, I\\r\\nwould wish no better office than to be beadle. But, master, I’ll go\\r\\ndraw up the net.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with Third Fisherman._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] How well this honest mirth becomes their labour!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nHark you, sir, do you know where ye are?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nNot well.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhy, I’ll tell you: this is called Pentapolis, and our King, the good\\r\\nSimonides.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThe good Simonides, do you call him?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nAy, sir; and he deserves so to be called for his peaceable reign and\\r\\ngood government.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHe is a happy king, since he gains from his subjects the name of good\\r\\ngovernment. How far is his court distant from this shore?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nMarry sir, half a day’s journey: and I’ll tell you, he hath a fair\\r\\ndaughter, and tomorrow is her birth-day; and there are princes and\\r\\nknights come from all parts of the world to joust and tourney for her\\r\\nlove.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWere my fortunes equal to my desires, I could wish to make one there.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nO, sir, things must be as they may; and what a man cannot get, he may\\r\\nlawfully deal for — his wife’s soul.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Second and Third Fishermen, drawing up a net.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nHelp, master, help! here’s a fish hangs in the net, like a poor man’s\\r\\nright in the law; ’twill hardly come out. Ha! bots on’t, ’tis come at\\r\\nlast, and ’tis turned to a rusty armour.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAn armour, friends! I pray you, let me see it.\\r\\nThanks, Fortune, yet, that, after all my crosses,\\r\\nThou givest me somewhat to repair myself,\\r\\nAnd though it was mine own, part of my heritage,\\r\\nWhich my dead father did bequeath to me,\\r\\nWith this strict charge, even as he left his life.\\r\\n‘Keep it, my Pericles; it hath been a shield\\r\\n’Twixt me and death;’ — and pointed to this brace;—\\r\\n‘For that it saved me, keep it; in like necessity —\\r\\nThe which the gods protect thee from! — may defend thee.’\\r\\nIt kept where I kept, I so dearly loved it;\\r\\nTill the rough seas, that spares not any man,\\r\\nTook it in rage, though calm’d have given’t again:\\r\\nI thank thee for’t: my shipwreck now’s no ill,\\r\\nSince I have here my father gave in his will.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhat mean you sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nTo beg of you, kind friends, this coat of worth,\\r\\nFor it was sometime target to a king;\\r\\nI know it by this mark. He loved me dearly,\\r\\nAnd for his sake I wish the having of it;\\r\\nAnd that you’d guide me to your sovereign court,\\r\\nWhere with it I may appear a gentleman;\\r\\nAnd if that ever my low fortune’s better,\\r\\nI’ll pay your bounties; till then rest your debtor.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhy, wilt thou tourney for the lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI’ll show the virtue I have borne in arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhy, d’ye take it, and the gods give thee good on’t!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nAy, but hark you, my friend; ’twas we that made up this garment through\\r\\nthe rough seams of the waters: there are certain condolements, certain\\r\\nvails. I hope, sir, if you thrive, you’ll remember from whence you had\\r\\nthem.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nBelieve’t I will.\\r\\nBy your furtherance I am clothed in steel;\\r\\nAnd spite of all the rapture of the sea,\\r\\nThis jewel holds his building on my arm:\\r\\nUnto thy value I will mount myself\\r\\nUpon a courser, whose delightful steps\\r\\nShall make the gazer joy to see him tread.\\r\\nOnly, my friend, I yet am unprovided\\r\\nOf a pair of bases.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWe’ll sure provide: thou shalt have my best gown to make thee a pair;\\r\\nand I’ll bring thee to the court myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThen honour be but a goal to my will,\\r\\nThis day I’ll rise, or else add ill to ill.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. A public way, or platform leading to the lists. A\\r\\npavilion by the side of it for the reception of the King, Princess,\\r\\nLords, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAre the knights ready to begin the triumph?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nThey are, my liege;\\r\\nAnd stay your coming to present themselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nReturn them, we are ready; and our daughter,\\r\\nIn honour of whose birth these triumphs are,\\r\\nSits here, like beauty’s child, whom Nature gat\\r\\nFor men to see, and seeing wonder at.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit a Lord._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nIt pleaseth you, my royal father, to express\\r\\nMy commendations great, whose merit’s less.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nIt’s fit it should be so; for princes are\\r\\nA model, which heaven makes like to itself:\\r\\nAs jewels lose their glory if neglected,\\r\\nSo princes their renowns if not respected.\\r\\n’Tis now your honour, daughter, to entertain\\r\\nThe labour of each knight in his device.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nWhich, to preserve mine honour, I’ll perform.\\r\\n\\r\\n The first Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to\\r\\n Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nWho is the first that doth prefer himself?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nA knight of Sparta, my renowned father;\\r\\nAnd the device he bears upon his shield\\r\\nIs a black Ethiope reaching at the sun:\\r\\nThe word, _Lux tua vita mihi._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nHe loves you well that holds his life of you.\\r\\n\\r\\n The second Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to\\r\\n Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nWho is the second that presents himself?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nA prince of Macedon, my royal father;\\r\\nAnd the device he bears upon his shield\\r\\nIs an arm’d knight that’s conquer’d by a lady;\\r\\nThe motto thus, in Spanish, _Piu por dulzura que por forza._\\r\\n\\r\\n The third Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to\\r\\n Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAnd what’s the third?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nThe third of Antioch;\\r\\nAnd his device, a wreath of chivalry;\\r\\nThe word, _Me pompae provexit apex._\\r\\n\\r\\n The fourth Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to\\r\\n Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nWhat is the fourth?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nA burning torch that’s turned upside down;\\r\\nThe word, _Quod me alit me extinguit._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nWhich shows that beauty hath his power and will,\\r\\nWhich can as well inflame as it can kill.\\r\\n\\r\\n The fifth Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to\\r\\n Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nThe fifth, an hand environed with clouds,\\r\\nHolding out gold that’s by the touchstone tried;\\r\\nThe motto thus, _Sic spectanda fides._\\r\\n\\r\\n The sixth Knight, Pericles, passes in rusty armour with bases, and\\r\\n unaccompanied. He presents his device directly to Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAnd what’s the sixth and last, the which the knight himself\\r\\nWith such a graceful courtesy deliver’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nHe seems to be a stranger; but his present is\\r\\nA wither’d branch, that’s only green at top;\\r\\nThe motto, _In hac spe vivo._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nA pretty moral;\\r\\nFrom the dejected state wherein he is,\\r\\nHe hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nHe had need mean better than his outward show\\r\\nCan any way speak in his just commend;\\r\\nFor by his rusty outside he appears\\r\\nTo have practised more the whipstock than the lance.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\nHe well may be a stranger, for he comes\\r\\nTo an honour’d triumph strangely furnished.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD LORD.\\r\\nAnd on set purpose let his armour rust\\r\\nUntil this day, to scour it in the dust.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nOpinion’s but a fool, that makes us scan\\r\\nThe outward habit by the inward man.\\r\\nBut stay, the knights are coming.\\r\\nWe will withdraw into the gallery.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt. Great shouts within, and all cry_ ‘The mean Knight!’]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A hall of state: a banquet prepared.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords, Attendants and Knights, from tilting.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nKnights,\\r\\nTo say you’re welcome were superfluous.\\r\\nTo place upon the volume of your deeds,\\r\\nAs in a title-page, your worth in arms,\\r\\nWere more than you expect, or more than’s fit,\\r\\nSince every worth in show commends itself.\\r\\nPrepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast:\\r\\nYou are princes and my guests.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nBut you, my knight and guest;\\r\\nTo whom this wreath of victory I give,\\r\\nAnd crown you king of this day’s happiness.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n’Tis more by fortune, lady, than by merit.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nCall it by what you will, the day is yours;\\r\\nAnd here, I hope, is none that envies it.\\r\\nIn framing an artist, art hath thus decreed,\\r\\nTo make some good, but others to exceed;\\r\\nAnd you are her labour’d scholar. Come queen of the feast, —\\r\\nFor, daughter, so you are, — here take your place:\\r\\nMarshal the rest, as they deserve their grace.\\r\\n\\r\\nKNIGHTS.\\r\\nWe are honour’d much by good Simonides.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nYour presence glads our days; honour we love;\\r\\nFor who hates honour hates the gods above.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARSHALL.\\r\\nSir, yonder is your place.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nSome other is more fit.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST KNIGHT.\\r\\nContend not, sir; for we are gentlemen\\r\\nHave neither in our hearts nor outward eyes\\r\\nEnvied the great, nor shall the low despise.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nYou are right courteous knights.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nSit, sir, sit.\\r\\nBy Jove, I wonder, that is king of thoughts,\\r\\nThese cates resist me, he but thought upon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nBy Juno, that is queen of marriage,\\r\\nAll viands that I eat do seem unsavoury,\\r\\nWishing him my meat. Sure, he’s a gallant gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nHe’s but a country gentleman;\\r\\nHas done no more than other knights have done;\\r\\nHas broken a staff or so; so let it pass.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nTo me he seems like diamond to glass.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nYon king’s to me like to my father’s picture,\\r\\nWhich tells me in that glory once he was;\\r\\nHad princes sit, like stars, about his throne,\\r\\nAnd he the sun, for them to reverence;\\r\\nNone that beheld him, but, like lesser lights,\\r\\nDid vail their crowns to his supremacy:\\r\\nWhere now his son’s like a glow-worm in the night,\\r\\nThe which hath fire in darkness, none in light:\\r\\nWhereby I see that time’s the king of men,\\r\\nHe’s both their parent, and he is their grave,\\r\\nAnd gives them what he will, not what they crave.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nWhat, are you merry, knights?\\r\\n\\r\\nKNIGHTS.\\r\\nWho can be other in this royal presence?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nHere, with a cup that’s stored unto the brim, —\\r\\nAs you do love, fill to your mistress’ lips, —\\r\\nWe drink this health to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKNIGHTS.\\r\\nWe thank your grace.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nYet pause awhile. Yon knight doth sit too melancholy,\\r\\nAs if the entertainment in our court\\r\\nHad not a show might countervail his worth.\\r\\nNote it not you, Thaisa?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nWhat is’t to me, my father?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nO attend, my daughter:\\r\\nPrinces in this should live like god’s above,\\r\\nWho freely give to everyone that comes to honour them:\\r\\nAnd princes not doing so are like to gnats,\\r\\nWhich make a sound, but kill’d are wonder’d at.\\r\\nTherefore to make his entrance more sweet,\\r\\nHere, say we drink this standing-bowl of wine to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nAlas, my father, it befits not me\\r\\nUnto a stranger knight to be so bold:\\r\\nHe may my proffer take for an offence,\\r\\nSince men take women’s gifts for impudence.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nHow? Do as I bid you, or you’ll move me else.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Now, by the gods, he could not please me better.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAnd furthermore tell him, we desire to know of him,\\r\\nOf whence he is, his name and parentage.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nThe king my father, sir, has drunk to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI thank him.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nWishing it so much blood unto your life.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI thank both him and you, and pledge him freely.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nAnd further he desires to know of you,\\r\\nOf whence you are, your name and parentage.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nA gentleman of Tyre; my name, Pericles;\\r\\nMy education been in arts and arms;\\r\\nWho, looking for adventures in the world,\\r\\nWas by the rough seas reft of ships and men,\\r\\nAnd after shipwreck driven upon this shore.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nHe thanks your grace; names himself Pericles,\\r\\nA gentleman of Tyre,\\r\\nWho only by misfortune of the seas\\r\\nBereft of ships and men, cast on this shore.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nNow, by the gods, I pity his misfortune,\\r\\nAnd will awake him from his melancholy.\\r\\nCome, gentlemen, we sit too long on trifles,\\r\\nAnd waste the time, which looks for other revels.\\r\\nEven in your armours, as you are address’d,\\r\\nWill well become a soldier’s dance.\\r\\nI will not have excuse, with saying this,\\r\\n‘Loud music is too harsh for ladies’ heads’\\r\\nSince they love men in arms as well as beds.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Knights dance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSo, this was well ask’d, ’twas so well perform’d.\\r\\nCome, sir; here is a lady which wants breathing too:\\r\\nAnd I have heard you knights of Tyre\\r\\nAre excellent in making ladies trip;\\r\\nAnd that their measures are as excellent.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nIn those that practise them they are, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nO, that’s as much as you would be denied\\r\\nOf your fair courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Knights and Ladies dance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nUnclasp, unclasp:\\r\\nThanks gentlemen, to all; all have done well.\\r\\n[_To Pericles._] But you the best. Pages and lights to conduct\\r\\nThese knights unto their several lodgings.\\r\\n[_To Pericles._] Yours, sir, we have given order to be next our own.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI am at your grace’s pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nPrinces, it is too late to talk of love;\\r\\nAnd that’s the mark I know you level at:\\r\\nTherefore each one betake him to his rest;\\r\\nTomorrow all for speeding do their best.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Tyre. A room in the Governor’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Helicanus and Escanes.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nNo, Escanes, know this of me,\\r\\nAntiochus from incest lived not free:\\r\\nFor which the most high gods not minding longer\\r\\nTo withhold the vengeance that they had in store\\r\\nDue to this heinous capital offence,\\r\\nEven in the height and pride of all his glory,\\r\\nWhen he was seated in a chariot\\r\\nOf an inestimable value, and his daughter with him,\\r\\nA fire from heaven came and shrivell’d up\\r\\nTheir bodies, even to loathing, for they so stunk,\\r\\nThat all those eyes adored them ere their fall\\r\\nScorn now their hand should give them burial.\\r\\n\\r\\nESCANES.\\r\\n’Twas very strange\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nAnd yet but justice; for though this king were great;\\r\\nHis greatness was no guard to bar heaven’s shaft,\\r\\nBut sin had his reward.\\r\\n\\r\\nESCANES.\\r\\n’Tis very true.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two or three Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nSee, not a man in private conference\\r\\nOr council has respect with him but he.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\nIt shall no longer grieve without reproof.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD LORD.\\r\\nAnd cursed be he that will not second it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nFollow me, then. Lord Helicane, a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nWith me? and welcome: happy day, my lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nKnow that our griefs are risen to the top,\\r\\nAnd now at length they overflow their banks.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nYour griefs! for what? Wrong not your prince you love.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nWrong not yourself, then, noble Helicane;\\r\\nBut if the prince do live, let us salute him.\\r\\nOr know what ground’s made happy by his breath.\\r\\nIf in the world he live, we’ll seek him out;\\r\\nIf in his grave he rest, we’ll find him there.\\r\\nWe’ll be resolved he lives to govern us,\\r\\nOr dead, give’s cause to mourn his funeral,\\r\\nAnd leave us to our free election.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\nWhose death’s indeed the strongest in our censure:\\r\\nAnd knowing this kingdom is without a head, —\\r\\nLike goodly buildings left without a roof\\r\\nSoon fall to ruin, — your noble self,\\r\\nThat best know how to rule and how to reign,\\r\\nWe thus submit unto, — our sovereign.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nLive, noble Helicane!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nFor honour’s cause, forbear your suffrages:\\r\\nIf that you love Prince Pericles, forbear.\\r\\nTake I your wish, I leap into the seas,\\r\\nWhere’s hourly trouble for a minute’s ease.\\r\\nA twelvemonth longer, let me entreat you\\r\\nTo forbear the absence of your king;\\r\\nIf in which time expired, he not return,\\r\\nI shall with aged patience bear your yoke.\\r\\nBut if I cannot win you to this love,\\r\\nGo search like nobles, like noble subjects,\\r\\nAnd in your search spend your adventurous worth;\\r\\nWhom if you find, and win unto return,\\r\\nYou shall like diamonds sit about his crown.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nTo wisdom he’s a fool that will not yield;\\r\\nAnd since Lord Helicane enjoineth us,\\r\\nWe with our travels will endeavour us.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nThen you love us, we you, and we’ll clasp hands:\\r\\nWhen peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Pentapolis. A room in the palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Simonides reading a letter at one door; the Knights meet him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST KNIGHT.\\r\\nGood morrow to the good Simonides.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nKnights, from my daughter this I let you know,\\r\\nThat for this twelvemonth she’ll not undertake\\r\\nA married life.\\r\\nHer reason to herself is only known,\\r\\nWhich yet from her by no means can I get.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND KNIGHT.\\r\\nMay we not get access to her, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nFaith, by no means; she hath so strictly tied\\r\\nHer to her chamber, that ’tis impossible.\\r\\nOne twelve moons more she’ll wear Diana’s livery;\\r\\nThis by the eye of Cynthia hath she vow’d,\\r\\nAnd on her virgin honour will not break it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD KNIGHT.\\r\\nLoath to bid farewell, we take our leaves.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Knights._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nSo, they are well dispatch’d; now to my daughter’s letter:\\r\\nShe tells me here, she’ll wed the stranger knight,\\r\\nOr never more to view nor day nor light.\\r\\n’Tis well, mistress; your choice agrees with mine;\\r\\nI like that well: nay, how absolute she’s in’t,\\r\\nNot minding whether I dislike or no!\\r\\nWell, I do commend her choice;\\r\\nAnd will no longer have it be delay’d.\\r\\nSoft! here he comes: I must dissemble it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAll fortune to the good Simonides!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nTo you as much. Sir, I am beholding to you\\r\\nFor your sweet music this last night: I do\\r\\nProtest my ears were never better fed\\r\\nWith such delightful pleasing harmony.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nIt is your grace’s pleasure to commend;\\r\\nNot my desert.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nSir, you are music’s master.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThe worst of all her scholars, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nLet me ask you one thing:\\r\\nWhat do you think of my daughter, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nA most virtuous princess.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAnd she is fair too, is she not?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAs a fair day in summer, wondrous fair.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nSir, my daughter thinks very well of you;\\r\\nAy, so well, that you must be her master,\\r\\nAnd she will be your scholar: therefore look to it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI am unworthy for her schoolmaster.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nShe thinks not so; peruse this writing else.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] What’s here? A letter, that she loves the knight of Tyre!\\r\\n’Tis the king’s subtlety to have my life.\\r\\nO, seek not to entrap me, gracious lord,\\r\\nA stranger and distressed gentleman,\\r\\nThat never aim’d so high to love your daughter,\\r\\nBut bent all offices to honour her.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nThou hast bewitch’d my daughter,\\r\\nAnd thou art a villain.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nBy the gods, I have not:\\r\\nNever did thought of mine levy offence;\\r\\nNor never did my actions yet commence\\r\\nA deed might gain her love or your displeasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nTraitor, thou liest.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nTraitor?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAy, traitor.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nEven in his throat — unless it be the king —\\r\\nThat calls me traitor, I return the lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Now, by the gods, I do applaud his courage.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMy actions are as noble as my thoughts,\\r\\nThat never relish’d of a base descent.\\r\\nI came unto your court for honour’s cause,\\r\\nAnd not to be a rebel to her state;\\r\\nAnd he that otherwise accounts of me,\\r\\nThis sword shall prove he’s honour’s enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nNo?\\r\\nHere comes my daughter, she can witness it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThen, as you are as virtuous as fair,\\r\\nResolve your angry father, if my tongue\\r\\nDid e’er solicit, or my hand subscribe\\r\\nTo any syllable that made love to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nWhy, sir, say if you had,\\r\\nWho takes offence at that would make me glad?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nYea, mistress, are you so peremptory?\\r\\n[_Aside._] I am glad on’t with all my heart. —\\r\\nI’ll tame you; I’ll bring you in subjection.\\r\\nWill you, not having my consent,\\r\\nBestow your love and your affections\\r\\nUpon a stranger? [_Aside._] Who, for aught I know\\r\\nMay be, nor can I think the contrary,\\r\\nAs great in blood as I myself. —\\r\\nTherefore hear you, mistress; either frame\\r\\nYour will to mine, and you, sir, hear you,\\r\\nEither be ruled by me, or I will make you —\\r\\nMan and wife. Nay, come, your hands,\\r\\nAnd lips must seal it too: and being join’d,\\r\\nI’ll thus your hopes destroy; and for further grief,\\r\\nGod give you joy! What, are you both pleased?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nYes, if you love me, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nEven as my life my blood that fosters it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nWhat, are you both agreed?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTH.\\r\\nYes, if’t please your majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nIt pleaseth me so well, that I will see you wed;\\r\\nAnd then with what haste you can, get you to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nNow sleep yslaked hath the rouse;\\r\\nNo din but snores about the house,\\r\\nMade louder by the o’erfed breast\\r\\nOf this most pompous marriage feast.\\r\\nThe cat, with eyne of burning coal,\\r\\nNow couches fore the mouse’s hole;\\r\\nAnd crickets sing at the oven’s mouth,\\r\\nAre the blither for their drouth.\\r\\nHymen hath brought the bride to bed,\\r\\nWhere, by the loss of maidenhead,\\r\\nA babe is moulded. Be attent,\\r\\nAnd time that is so briefly spent\\r\\nWith your fine fancies quaintly eche:\\r\\nWhat’s dumb in show I’ll plain with speech.\\r\\n\\r\\n Dumb-show. Enter, Pericles and Simonides at one door with Attendants;\\r\\n a Messenger meets them, kneels, and gives Pericles a letter: Pericles\\r\\n shows it Simonides; the Lords kneel to him. Then enter Thaisa with\\r\\n child, with Lychorida, a nurse. The King shows her the letter; she\\r\\n rejoices: she and Pericles take leave of her father, and depart, with\\r\\n Lychorida and their Attendants. Then exeunt Simonides and the rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nBy many a dern and painful perch\\r\\nOf Pericles the careful search,\\r\\nBy the four opposing coigns\\r\\nWhich the world together joins,\\r\\nIs made with all due diligence\\r\\nThat horse and sail and high expense\\r\\nCan stead the quest. At last from Tyre,\\r\\nFame answering the most strange enquire,\\r\\nTo th’ court of King Simonides\\r\\nAre letters brought, the tenour these:\\r\\nAntiochus and his daughter dead;\\r\\nThe men of Tyrus on the head\\r\\nOf Helicanus would set on\\r\\nThe crown of Tyre, but he will none:\\r\\nThe mutiny he there hastes t’oppress;\\r\\nSays to ’em, if King Pericles\\r\\nCome not home in twice six moons,\\r\\nHe, obedient to their dooms,\\r\\nWill take the crown. The sum of this,\\r\\nBrought hither to Pentapolis\\r\\nY-ravished the regions round,\\r\\nAnd everyone with claps can sound,\\r\\n‘Our heir apparent is a king!\\r\\nWho dreamt, who thought of such a thing?’\\r\\nBrief, he must hence depart to Tyre:\\r\\nHis queen with child makes her desire —\\r\\nWhich who shall cross? — along to go:\\r\\nOmit we all their dole and woe:\\r\\nLychorida, her nurse, she takes,\\r\\nAnd so to sea. Their vessel shakes\\r\\nOn Neptune’s billow; half the flood\\r\\nHath their keel cut: but fortune’s mood\\r\\nVaries again; the grisled north\\r\\nDisgorges such a tempest forth,\\r\\nThat, as a duck for life that dives,\\r\\nSo up and down the poor ship drives:\\r\\nThe lady shrieks, and well-a-near\\r\\nDoes fall in travail with her fear:\\r\\nAnd what ensues in this fell storm\\r\\nShall for itself itself perform.\\r\\nI nill relate, action may\\r\\nConveniently the rest convey;\\r\\nWhich might not what by me is told.\\r\\nIn your imagination hold\\r\\nThis stage the ship, upon whose deck\\r\\nThe sea-tost Pericles appears to speak.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles, on shipboard.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThou god of this great vast, rebuke these surges,\\r\\nWhich wash both heaven and hell; and thou that hast\\r\\nUpon the winds command, bind them in brass,\\r\\nHaving call’d them from the deep! O, still\\r\\nThy deafening, dreadful thunders; gently quench\\r\\nThy nimble, sulphurous flashes! O, how, Lychorida,\\r\\nHow does my queen? Thou stormest venomously;\\r\\nWilt thou spit all thyself? The seaman’s whistle\\r\\nIs as a whisper in the ears of death,\\r\\nUnheard. Lychorida! - Lucina, O!\\r\\nDivinest patroness, and midwife gentle\\r\\nTo those that cry by night, convey thy deity\\r\\nAboard our dancing boat; make swift the pangs\\r\\nOf my queen’s travails! Now, Lychorida!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lychorida with an infant.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYCHORIDA.\\r\\nHere is a thing too young for such a place,\\r\\nWho, if it had conceit, would die, as I\\r\\nAm like to do: take in your arms this piece\\r\\nOf your dead queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHow? how, Lychorida?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYCHORIDA.\\r\\nPatience, good sir; do not assist the storm.\\r\\nHere’s all that is left living of your queen,\\r\\nA little daughter: for the sake of it,\\r\\nBe manly, and take comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nO you gods!\\r\\nWhy do you make us love your goodly gifts,\\r\\nAnd snatch them straight away? We here below\\r\\nRecall not what we give, and therein may\\r\\nVie honour with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYCHORIDA.\\r\\nPatience, good sir.\\r\\nEven for this charge.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nNow, mild may be thy life!\\r\\nFor a more blustrous birth had never babe:\\r\\nQuiet and gentle thy conditions! for\\r\\nThou art the rudeliest welcome to this world\\r\\nThat ever was prince’s child. Happy what follows!\\r\\nThou hast as chiding a nativity\\r\\nAs fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make,\\r\\nTo herald thee from the womb.\\r\\nEven at the first thy loss is more than can\\r\\nThy portage quit, with all thou canst find here,\\r\\nNow, the good gods throw their best eyes upon’t!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two Sailors\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SAILOR.\\r\\nWhat courage, sir? God save you!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nCourage enough: I do not fear the flaw;\\r\\nIt hath done to me the worst. Yet, for the love\\r\\nOf this poor infant, this fresh new sea-farer,\\r\\nI would it would be quiet.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SAILOR.\\r\\nSlack the bolins there! Thou wilt not, wilt thou? Blow, and split\\r\\nthyself.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SAILOR.\\r\\nBut sea-room, and the brine and cloudy billow kiss the moon, I care\\r\\nnot.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SAILOR.\\r\\nSir, your queen must overboard: the sea works high, the wind is loud\\r\\nand will not lie till the ship be cleared of the dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThat’s your superstition.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SAILOR.\\r\\nPardon us, sir; with us at sea it has been still observed; and we are\\r\\nstrong in custom. Therefore briefly yield her; for she must overboard\\r\\nstraight.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAs you think meet. Most wretched queen!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYCHORIDA.\\r\\nHere she lies, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nA terrible childbed hast thou had, my dear;\\r\\nNo light, no fire: th’unfriendly elements\\r\\nForgot thee utterly; nor have I time\\r\\nTo give thee hallow’d to thy grave, but straight\\r\\nMust cast thee, scarcely coffin’d, in the ooze;\\r\\nWhere, for a monument upon thy bones,\\r\\nAnd e’er-remaining lamps, the belching whale\\r\\nAnd humming water must o’erwhelm thy corpse,\\r\\nLying with simple shells. O Lychorida.\\r\\nBid Nestor bring me spices, ink and paper,\\r\\nMy casket and my jewels; and bid Nicander\\r\\nBring me the satin coffer: lay the babe\\r\\nUpon the pillow: hie thee, whiles I say\\r\\nA priestly farewell to her: suddenly, woman.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lychorida._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SAILOR.\\r\\nSir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, caulked and bitumed ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI thank thee. Mariner, say what coast is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SAILOR.\\r\\nWe are near Tarsus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThither, gentle mariner,\\r\\nAlter thy course for Tyre. When, canst thou reach it?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SAILOR.\\r\\nBy break of day, if the wind cease.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nO, make for Tarsus!\\r\\nThere will I visit Cleon, for the babe\\r\\nCannot hold out to Tyrus. There I’ll leave it\\r\\nAt careful nursing. Go thy ways, good mariner:\\r\\nI’ll bring the body presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cerimon, with a Servant, and some Persons who have been\\r\\n shipwrecked.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nPhilemon, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Philemon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILEMON.\\r\\nDoth my lord call?\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nGet fire and meat for these poor men:\\r\\n’T has been a turbulent and stormy night.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI have been in many; but such a night as this,\\r\\nTill now, I ne’er endured.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nYour master will be dead ere you return;\\r\\nThere’s nothing can be minister’d to nature\\r\\nThat can recover him. [_To Philemon._] Give this to the ’pothecary,\\r\\nAnd tell me how it works.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Cerimon._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two Gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nGood morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nGood morrow to your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nGentlemen, why do you stir so early?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nSir, our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea,\\r\\nShook as the earth did quake;\\r\\nThe very principals did seem to rend,\\r\\nAnd all to topple: pure surprise and fear\\r\\nMade me to quit the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThat is the cause we trouble you so early;\\r\\n’Tis not our husbandry.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nO, you say well.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nBut I much marvel that your lordship, having\\r\\nRich tire about you, should at these early hours\\r\\nShake off the golden slumber of repose.\\r\\n’Tis most strange,\\r\\nNature should be so conversant with pain.\\r\\nBeing thereto not compell’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nI hold it ever,\\r\\nVirtue and cunning were endowments greater\\r\\nThan nobleness and riches: careless heirs\\r\\nMay the two latter darken and expend;\\r\\nBut immortality attends the former,\\r\\nMaking a man a god. ’Tis known, I ever\\r\\nHave studied physic, through which secret art,\\r\\nBy turning o’er authorities, I have,\\r\\nTogether with my practice, made familiar\\r\\nTo me and to my aid the blest infusions\\r\\nThat dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones;\\r\\nAnd I can speak of the disturbances\\r\\nThat nature works, and of her cures; which doth give me\\r\\nA more content in course of true delight\\r\\nThan to be thirsty after tottering honour,\\r\\nOr tie my pleasure up in silken bags,\\r\\nTo please the fool and death.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nYour honour has through Ephesus pour’d forth\\r\\nYour charity, and hundreds call themselves\\r\\nYour creatures, who by you have been restored:\\r\\nAnd not your knowledge, your personal pain, but even\\r\\nYour purse, still open, hath built Lord Cerimon\\r\\nSuch strong renown as time shall never—\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two or three Servants with a chest.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nSo, lift there.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nWhat’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nSir, even now\\r\\nDid the sea toss upon our shore this chest:\\r\\n’Tis of some wreck.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nSet’t down, let’s look upon’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\n’Tis like a coffin, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nWhate’er it be,\\r\\n’Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight:\\r\\nIf the sea’s stomach be o’ercharged with gold,\\r\\n’Tis a good constraint of fortune it belches upon us.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\n’Tis so, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nHow close ’tis caulk’d and bitumed!\\r\\nDid the sea cast it up?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nI never saw so huge a billow, sir,\\r\\nAs toss’d it upon shore.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nWrench it open;\\r\\nSoft! it smells most sweetly in my sense.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nA delicate odour.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nAs ever hit my nostril. So up with it.\\r\\nO you most potent gods! what’s here? a corpse!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nMost strange!\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nShrouded in cloth of state; balm’d and entreasured\\r\\nWith full bags of spices! A passport too!\\r\\nApollo, perfect me in the characters!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Reads from a scroll._]\\r\\n\\r\\n _Here I give to understand,\\r\\n If e’er this coffin drives a-land,\\r\\n I, King Pericles, have lost\\r\\n This queen, worth all our mundane cost.\\r\\n Who finds her, give her burying;\\r\\n She was the daughter of a king:\\r\\n Besides this treasure for a fee,\\r\\n The gods requite his charity._\\r\\nIf thou livest, Pericles, thou hast a heart\\r\\nThat even cracks for woe! This chanced tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nMost likely, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nNay, certainly tonight;\\r\\nFor look how fresh she looks! They were too rough\\r\\nThat threw her in the sea. Make a fire within\\r\\nFetch hither all my boxes in my closet.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit a Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDeath may usurp on nature many hours,\\r\\nAnd yet the fire of life kindle again\\r\\nThe o’erpress’d spirits. I heard of an Egyptian\\r\\nThat had nine hours lain dead,\\r\\nWho was by good appliance recovered.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter a Servant with napkins and fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nWell said, well said; the fire and cloths.\\r\\nThe rough and woeful music that we have,\\r\\nCause it to sound, beseech you\\r\\nThe viol once more: how thou stirr’st, thou block!\\r\\nThe music there! — I pray you, give her air.\\r\\nGentlemen, this queen will live.\\r\\nNature awakes; a warmth breathes out of her.\\r\\nShe hath not been entranced above five hours.\\r\\nSee how she ’gins to blow into life’s flower again!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThe heavens, through you, increase our wonder\\r\\nAnd sets up your fame for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nShe is alive; behold, her eyelids,\\r\\nCases to those heavenly jewels which Pericles hath lost,\\r\\nBegin to part their fringes of bright gold;\\r\\nThe diamonds of a most praised water doth appear,\\r\\nTo make the world twice rich. Live, and make us weep\\r\\nTo hear your fate, fair creature, rare as you seem to be.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_She moves._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nO dear Diana,\\r\\nWhere am I? Where’s my lord? What world is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nIs not this strange?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nMost rare.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nHush, my gentle neighbours!\\r\\nLend me your hands; to the next chamber bear her.\\r\\nGet linen: now this matter must be look’d to,\\r\\nFor her relapse is mortal. Come, come;\\r\\nAnd Aesculapius guide us!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt, carrying her away._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles, Cleon, Dionyza and Lychorida with Marina in her arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMost honour’d Cleon, I must needs be gone;\\r\\nMy twelve months are expired, and Tyrus stands\\r\\nIn a litigious peace. You and your lady,\\r\\nTake from my heart all thankfulness! The gods\\r\\nMake up the rest upon you!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nYour shafts of fortune, though they hurt you mortally,\\r\\nYet glance full wanderingly on us.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nO, your sweet queen!\\r\\nThat the strict fates had pleased you had brought her hither,\\r\\nTo have bless’d mine eyes with her!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWe cannot but obey\\r\\nThe powers above us. Could I rage and roar\\r\\nAs doth the sea she lies in, yet the end\\r\\nMust be as ’tis. My gentle babe Marina,\\r\\nWhom, for she was born at sea, I have named so,\\r\\nHere I charge your charity withal,\\r\\nLeaving her the infant of your care;\\r\\nBeseeching you to give her princely training,\\r\\nThat she may be manner’d as she is born.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nFear not, my lord, but think\\r\\nYour grace, that fed my country with your corn,\\r\\nFor which the people’s prayers still fall upon you,\\r\\nMust in your child be thought on. If neglection\\r\\nShould therein make me vile, the common body,\\r\\nBy you relieved, would force me to my duty:\\r\\nBut if to that my nature need a spur,\\r\\nThe gods revenge it upon me and mine,\\r\\nTo the end of generation!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI believe you;\\r\\nYour honour and your goodness teach me to’t,\\r\\nWithout your vows. Till she be married, madam,\\r\\nBy bright Diana, whom we honour, all\\r\\nUnscissored shall this hair of mine remain,\\r\\nThough I show ill in’t. So I take my leave.\\r\\nGood madam, make me blessed in your care\\r\\nIn bringing up my child.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nI have one myself,\\r\\nWho shall not be more dear to my respect\\r\\nThan yours, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMadam, my thanks and prayers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nWe’ll bring your grace e’en to the edge o’the shore,\\r\\nThen give you up to the mask’d Neptune and\\r\\nThe gentlest winds of heaven.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI will embrace your offer. Come, dearest madam.\\r\\nO, no tears, Lychorida, no tears.\\r\\nLook to your little mistress, on whose grace\\r\\nYou may depend hereafter. Come, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cerimon and Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nMadam, this letter, and some certain jewels,\\r\\nLay with you in your coffer, which are\\r\\nAt your command. Know you the character?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nIt is my lord’s.\\r\\nThat I was shipp’d at sea, I well remember,\\r\\nEven on my groaning time; but whether there\\r\\nDeliver’d, by the holy gods,\\r\\nI cannot rightly say. But since King Pericles,\\r\\nMy wedded lord, I ne’er shall see again,\\r\\nA vestal livery will I take me to,\\r\\nAnd never more have joy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nMadam, if this you purpose as ye speak,\\r\\nDiana’s temple is not distant far,\\r\\nWhere you may abide till your date expire.\\r\\nMoreover, if you please, a niece of mine\\r\\nShall there attend you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nMy recompense is thanks, that’s all;\\r\\nYet my good will is great, though the gift small.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nImagine Pericles arrived at Tyre,\\r\\nWelcomed and settled to his own desire.\\r\\nHis woeful queen we leave at Ephesus,\\r\\nUnto Diana there a votaress.\\r\\nNow to Marina bend your mind,\\r\\nWhom our fast-growing scene must find\\r\\nAt Tarsus, and by Cleon train’d\\r\\nIn music’s letters; who hath gain’d\\r\\nOf education all the grace,\\r\\nWhich makes her both the heart and place\\r\\nOf general wonder. But, alack,\\r\\nThat monster envy, oft the wrack\\r\\nOf earned praise, Marina’s life\\r\\nSeeks to take off by treason’s knife,\\r\\nAnd in this kind our Cleon hath\\r\\nOne daughter, and a full grown wench\\r\\nEven ripe for marriage-rite; this maid\\r\\nHight Philoten: and it is said\\r\\nFor certain in our story, she\\r\\nWould ever with Marina be.\\r\\nBe’t when she weaved the sleided silk\\r\\nWith fingers long, small, white as milk;\\r\\nOr when she would with sharp needle wound,\\r\\nThe cambric, which she made more sound\\r\\nBy hurting it; or when to th’ lute\\r\\nShe sung, and made the night-bird mute\\r\\nThat still records with moan; or when\\r\\nShe would with rich and constant pen\\r\\nVail to her mistress Dian; still\\r\\nThis Philoten contends in skill\\r\\nWith absolute Marina: so\\r\\nThe dove of Paphos might with the crow\\r\\nVie feathers white. Marina gets\\r\\nAll praises, which are paid as debts,\\r\\nAnd not as given. This so darks\\r\\nIn Philoten all graceful marks,\\r\\nThat Cleon’s wife, with envy rare,\\r\\nA present murderer does prepare\\r\\nFor good Marina, that her daughter\\r\\nMight stand peerless by this slaughter.\\r\\nThe sooner her vile thoughts to stead,\\r\\nLychorida, our nurse, is dead:\\r\\nAnd cursed Dionyza hath\\r\\nThe pregnant instrument of wrath\\r\\nPrest for this blow. The unborn event\\r\\nI do commend to your content:\\r\\nOnly I carry winged time\\r\\nPost on the lame feet of my rhyme;\\r\\nWhich never could I so convey,\\r\\nUnless your thoughts went on my way.\\r\\nDionyza does appear,\\r\\nWith Leonine, a murderer.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nScene I. Tarsus. An open place near the seashore.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Dionyza with Leonine.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nThy oath remember; thou hast sworn to do’t:\\r\\n’Tis but a blow, which never shall be known.\\r\\nThou canst not do a thing in the world so soon,\\r\\nTo yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience,\\r\\nWhich is but cold, inflaming love i’ thy bosom,\\r\\nInflame too nicely; nor let pity, which\\r\\nEven women have cast off, melt thee, but be\\r\\nA soldier to thy purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nI will do’t; but yet she is a goodly creature.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nThe fitter, then, the gods should have her. Here she comes weeping for\\r\\nher only mistress’ death. Thou art resolved?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nI am resolved.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Marina with a basket of flowers.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNo, I will rob Tellus of her weed\\r\\nTo strew thy green with flowers: the yellows, blues,\\r\\nThe purple violets, and marigolds,\\r\\nShall as a carpet hang upon thy grave,\\r\\nWhile summer days do last. Ay me! poor maid,\\r\\nBorn in a tempest, when my mother died,\\r\\nThis world to me is like a lasting storm,\\r\\nWhirring me from my friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nHow now, Marina! why do you keep alone?\\r\\nHow chance my daughter is not with you?\\r\\nDo not consume your blood with sorrowing;\\r\\nHave you a nurse of me? Lord, how your favour’s\\r\\nChanged with this unprofitable woe!\\r\\nCome, give me your flowers, ere the sea mar it.\\r\\nWalk with Leonine; the air is quick there,\\r\\nAnd it pierces and sharpens the stomach.\\r\\nCome, Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNo, I pray you;\\r\\nI’ll not bereave you of your servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nCome, come;\\r\\nI love the king your father, and yourself,\\r\\nWith more than foreign heart. We every day\\r\\nExpect him here: when he shall come and find\\r\\nOur paragon to all reports thus blasted,\\r\\nHe will repent the breadth of his great voyage;\\r\\nBlame both my lord and me, that we have taken\\r\\nNo care to your best courses. Go, I pray you,\\r\\nWalk, and be cheerful once again; reserve\\r\\nThat excellent complexion, which did steal\\r\\nThe eyes of young and old. Care not for me;\\r\\nI can go home alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWell, I will go;\\r\\nBut yet I have no desire to it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nCome, come, I know ’tis good for you.\\r\\nWalk half an hour, Leonine, at the least:\\r\\nRemember what I have said.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nI warrant you, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nI’ll leave you, my sweet lady, for a while:\\r\\nPray, walk softly, do not heat your blood:\\r\\nWhat! I must have a care of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nMy thanks, sweet madam.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Dionyza._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIs this wind westerly that blows?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nSouth-west.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhen I was born the wind was north.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nWas’t so?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nMy father, as nurse said, did never fear,\\r\\nBut cried ‘Good seamen!’ to the sailors,\\r\\nGalling his kingly hands, haling ropes;\\r\\nAnd clasping to the mast, endured a sea\\r\\nThat almost burst the deck.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nWhen was this?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhen I was born:\\r\\nNever was waves nor wind more violent;\\r\\nAnd from the ladder tackle washes off\\r\\nA canvas-climber. ‘Ha!’ says one, ‘wolt out?’\\r\\nAnd with a dropping industry they skip\\r\\nFrom stem to stern: the boatswain whistles, and\\r\\nThe master calls and trebles their confusion.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nCome, say your prayers.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhat mean you?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nIf you require a little space for prayer,\\r\\nI grant it: pray; but be not tedious,\\r\\nFor the gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn\\r\\nTo do my work with haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhy will you kill me?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nTo satisfy my lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhy would she have me kill’d now?\\r\\nAs I can remember, by my troth,\\r\\nI never did her hurt in all my life:\\r\\nI never spake bad word, nor did ill turn\\r\\nTo any living creature: believe me, la,\\r\\nI never kill’d a mouse, nor hurt a fly:\\r\\nI trod upon a worm against my will,\\r\\nBut I wept for it. How have I offended,\\r\\nWherein my death might yield her any profit,\\r\\nOr my life imply her any danger?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nMy commission\\r\\nIs not to reason of the deed, but do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nYou will not do’t for all the world, I hope.\\r\\nYou are well favour’d, and your looks foreshow\\r\\nYou have a gentle heart. I saw you lately,\\r\\nWhen you caught hurt in parting two that fought:\\r\\nGood sooth, it show’d well in you: do so now:\\r\\nYour lady seeks my life; come you between,\\r\\nAnd save poor me, the weaker.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nI am sworn,\\r\\nAnd will dispatch.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He seizes her._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pirates.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST PIRATE.\\r\\nHold, villain!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Leonine runs away._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND PIRATE.\\r\\nA prize! a prize!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD PIRATE.\\r\\nHalf part, mates, half part,\\r\\nCome, let’s have her aboard suddenly.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Pirates with Marina._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Leonine.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nThese roguing thieves serve the great pirate Valdes;\\r\\nAnd they have seized Marina. Let her go:\\r\\nThere’s no hope she will return. I’ll swear she’s dead\\r\\nAnd thrown into the sea. But I’ll see further:\\r\\nPerhaps they will but please themselves upon her,\\r\\nNot carry her aboard. If she remain,\\r\\nWhom they have ravish’d must by me be slain.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nScene II. Mytilene. A room in a brothel.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandar, Bawd and Boult.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nBoult!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nSir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nSearch the market narrowly; Mytilene is full of gallants. We lost too\\r\\nmuch money this mart by being too wenchless.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWe were never so much out of creatures. We have but poor three, and\\r\\nthey can do no more than they can do; and they with continual action\\r\\nare even as good as rotten.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nTherefore let’s have fresh ones, whate’er we pay for them. If there be\\r\\nnot a conscience to be used in every trade, we shall never prosper.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nThou sayest true: ’tis not our bringing up of poor bastards, — as, I\\r\\nthink, I have brought up some eleven —\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nAy, to eleven; and brought them down again. But shall I search the\\r\\nmarket?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhat else, man? The stuff we have, a strong wind will blow it to\\r\\npieces, they are so pitifully sodden.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nThou sayest true; they’re too unwholesome, o’ conscience. The poor\\r\\nTransylvanian is dead, that lay with the little baggage.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nAy, she quickly pooped him; she made him roast-meat for worms. But I’ll\\r\\ngo search the market.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nThree or four thousand chequins were as pretty a proportion to live\\r\\nquietly, and so give over.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhy to give over, I pray you? Is it a shame to get when we are old?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nO, our credit comes not in like the commodity, nor the commodity wages\\r\\nnot with the danger: therefore, if in our youths we could pick up some\\r\\npretty estate, ’twere not amiss to keep our door hatched. Besides, the\\r\\nsore terms we stand upon with the gods will be strong with us for\\r\\ngiving over.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nCome, others sorts offend as well as we.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nAs well as we! ay, and better too; we offend worse. Neither is our\\r\\nprofession any trade; it’s no calling. But here comes Boult.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Boult, with the Pirates and Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT\\r\\n[_To Pirates._] Come your ways. My masters, you say she’s a virgin?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST PIRATE.\\r\\nO sir, we doubt it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nMaster, I have gone through for this piece, you see: if you like her,\\r\\nso; if not, I have lost my earnest.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nBoult, has she any qualities?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nShe has a good face, speaks well and has excellent good clothes:\\r\\nthere’s no farther necessity of qualities can make her be refused.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhat is her price, Boult?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI cannot be baited one doit of a thousand pieces.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nWell, follow me, my masters, you shall have your money presently. Wife,\\r\\ntake her in; instruct her what she has to do, that she may not be raw\\r\\nin her entertainment.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Pandar and Pirates._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nBoult, take you the marks of her, the colour of her hair, complexion,\\r\\nheight, her age, with warrant of her virginity; and cry ‘He that will\\r\\ngive most shall have her first.’ Such a maidenhead were no cheap thing,\\r\\nif men were as they have been. Get this done as I command you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nPerformance shall follow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nAlack that Leonine was so slack, so slow!\\r\\nHe should have struck, not spoke; or that these pirates,\\r\\nNot enough barbarous, had not o’erboard thrown me\\r\\nFor to seek my mother!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhy lament you, pretty one?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThat I am pretty.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nCome, the gods have done their part in you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI accuse them not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nYou are light into my hands, where you are like to live.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThe more my fault\\r\\nTo scape his hands where I was like to die.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nAy, and you shall live in pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nYes, indeed shall you, and taste gentlemen of all fashions: you shall\\r\\nfare well; you shall have the difference of all complexions. What! do\\r\\nyou stop your ears?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nAre you a woman?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhat would you have me be, an I be not a woman?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nAn honest woman, or not a woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nMarry, whip the gosling: I think I shall have something to do with you.\\r\\nCome, you’re a young foolish sapling, and must be bowed as I would have\\r\\nyou.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThe gods defend me!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nIf it please the gods to defend you by men, then men must comfort you,\\r\\nmen must feed you, men stir you up. Boult’s returned.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Boult.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, sir, hast thou cried her through the market?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI have cried her almost to the number of her hairs; I have drawn her\\r\\npicture with my voice.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nAnd I prithee tell me, how dost thou find the inclination of the\\r\\npeople, especially of the younger sort?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nFaith, they listened to me as they would have hearkened to their\\r\\nfather’s testament. There was a Spaniard’s mouth so watered, that he\\r\\nwent to bed to her very description.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWe shall have him here tomorrow with his best ruff on.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nTonight, tonight. But, mistress, do you know the French knight that\\r\\ncowers i’ the hams?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWho, Monsieur Veroles?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nAy, he: he offered to cut a caper at the proclamation; but he made a\\r\\ngroan at it, and swore he would see her tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWell, well, as for him, he brought his disease hither: here he does but\\r\\nrepair it. I know he will come in our shadow, to scatter his crowns in\\r\\nthe sun.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWell, if we had of every nation a traveller, we should lodge them with\\r\\nthis sign.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_To Marina._] Pray you, come hither awhile. You have fortunes coming\\r\\nupon you. Mark me: you must seem to do that fearfully which you commit\\r\\nwillingly, despise profit where you have most gain. To weep that you\\r\\nlive as ye do makes pity in your lovers: seldom but that pity begets\\r\\nyou a good opinion, and that opinion a mere profit.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI understand you not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nO, take her home, mistress, take her home: these blushes of hers must\\r\\nbe quenched with some present practice.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nThou sayest true, i’faith so they must; for your bride goes to that\\r\\nwith shame which is her way to go with warrant.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nFaith, some do and some do not. But, mistress, if I have bargained for\\r\\nthe joint, —\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nThou mayst cut a morsel off the spit.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI may so.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD. Who should deny it? Come young one, I like the manner of your\\r\\ngarments well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nAy, by my faith, they shall not be changed yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nBoult, spend thou that in the town: report what a sojourner we have;\\r\\nyou’ll lose nothing by custom. When nature framed this piece, she meant\\r\\nthee a good turn; therefore say what a paragon she is, and thou hast\\r\\nthe harvest out of thine own report.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI warrant you, mistress, thunder shall not so awake the beds of eels as\\r\\nmy giving out her beauty stirs up the lewdly inclined. I’ll bring home\\r\\nsome tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nCome your ways; follow me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nIf fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep,\\r\\nUntied I still my virgin knot will keep.\\r\\nDiana, aid my purpose!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhat have we to do with Diana? Pray you, will you go with us?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cleon and Dionyza.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nWhy, are you foolish? Can it be undone?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nO, Dionyza, such a piece of slaughter\\r\\nThe sun and moon ne’er look’d upon!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nI think you’ll turn a child again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nWere I chief lord of all this spacious world,\\r\\nI’d give it to undo the deed. A lady,\\r\\nMuch less in blood than virtue, yet a princess\\r\\nTo equal any single crown o’ the earth\\r\\nI’ the justice of compare! O villain Leonine!\\r\\nWhom thou hast poison’d too:\\r\\nIf thou hadst drunk to him, ’t had been a kindness\\r\\nBecoming well thy face. What canst thou say\\r\\nWhen noble Pericles shall demand his child?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nThat she is dead. Nurses are not the fates,\\r\\nTo foster it, nor ever to preserve.\\r\\nShe died at night; I’ll say so. Who can cross it?\\r\\nUnless you play the pious innocent,\\r\\nAnd for an honest attribute cry out\\r\\n‘She died by foul play.’\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nO, go to. Well, well,\\r\\nOf all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods\\r\\nDo like this worst.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nBe one of those that thinks\\r\\nThe petty wrens of Tarsus will fly hence,\\r\\nAnd open this to Pericles. I do shame\\r\\nTo think of what a noble strain you are,\\r\\nAnd of how coward a spirit.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nTo such proceeding\\r\\nWhoever but his approbation added,\\r\\nThough not his prime consent, he did not flow\\r\\nFrom honourable sources,\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nBe it so, then:\\r\\nYet none does know, but you, how she came dead,\\r\\nNor none can know, Leonine being gone.\\r\\nShe did distain my child, and stood between\\r\\nHer and her fortunes: none would look on her,\\r\\nBut cast their gazes on Marina’s face;\\r\\nWhilst ours was blurted at and held a malkin\\r\\nNot worth the time of day. It pierced me through;\\r\\nAnd though you call my course unnatural,\\r\\nYou not your child well loving, yet I find\\r\\nIt greets me as an enterprise of kindness\\r\\nPerform’d to your sole daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nHeavens forgive it!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nAnd as for Pericles, what should he say?\\r\\nWe wept after her hearse, and yet we mourn.\\r\\nHer monument is almost finish’d, and her epitaphs\\r\\nIn glittering golden characters express\\r\\nA general praise to her, and care in us\\r\\nAt whose expense ’tis done.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nThou art like the harpy,\\r\\nWhich, to betray, dost, with thine angel’s face,\\r\\nSeize with thine eagle’s talons.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nYou are like one that superstitiously\\r\\nDoth swear to the gods that winter kills the flies:\\r\\nBut yet I know you’ll do as I advise.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower, before the monument of Marina at Tarsus.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nThus time we waste, and long leagues make short;\\r\\nSail seas in cockles, have and wish but for’t;\\r\\nMaking, to take your imagination,\\r\\nFrom bourn to bourn, region to region.\\r\\nBy you being pardon’d, we commit no crime\\r\\nTo use one language in each several clime\\r\\nWhere our scenes seem to live. I do beseech you\\r\\nTo learn of me, who stand i’the gaps to teach you,\\r\\nThe stages of our story. Pericles\\r\\nIs now again thwarting the wayward seas\\r\\nAttended on by many a lord and knight,\\r\\nTo see his daughter, all his life’s delight.\\r\\nOld Helicanus goes along. Behind\\r\\nIs left to govern, if you bear in mind,\\r\\nOld Escanes, whom Helicanus late\\r\\nAdvanced in time to great and high estate.\\r\\nWell-sailing ships and bounteous winds have brought\\r\\nThis king to Tarsus, — think his pilot thought;\\r\\nSo with his steerage shall your thoughts go on, —\\r\\nTo fetch his daughter home, who first is gone.\\r\\nLike motes and shadows see them move awhile;\\r\\nYour ears unto your eyes I’ll reconcile.\\r\\n\\r\\n Dumb-show. Enter Pericles at one door with all his train; Cleon and\\r\\n Dionyza at the other. Cleon shows Pericles the tomb; whereat Pericles\\r\\n makes lamentation, puts on sackcloth and in a mighty passion departs.\\r\\n Then exeunt Cleon and Dionyza.\\r\\n\\r\\nSee how belief may suffer by foul show;\\r\\nThis borrow’d passion stands for true old woe;\\r\\nAnd Pericles, in sorrow all devour’d,\\r\\nWith sighs shot through; and biggest tears o’ershower’d,\\r\\nLeaves Tarsus and again embarks. He swears\\r\\nNever to wash his face, nor cut his hairs:\\r\\nHe puts on sackcloth, and to sea he bears\\r\\nA tempest, which his mortal vessel tears,\\r\\nAnd yet he rides it out. Now please you wit\\r\\nThe epitaph is for Marina writ\\r\\nBy wicked Dionyza.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Reads the inscription on Marina’s monument._]\\r\\n\\r\\n _The fairest, sweet’st, and best lies here,\\r\\n Who wither’d in her spring of year.\\r\\n She was of Tyrus the King’s daughter,\\r\\n On whom foul death hath made this slaughter;\\r\\n Marina was she call’d; and at her birth,\\r\\n Thetis, being proud, swallow’d some part o’ the earth:\\r\\n Therefore the earth, fearing to be o’erflow’d,\\r\\n Hath Thetis’ birth-child on the heavens bestow’d:\\r\\n Wherefore she does, and swears she’ll never stint,\\r\\n Make raging battery upon shores of flint._\\r\\n\\r\\nNo visor does become black villany\\r\\nSo well as soft and tender flattery.\\r\\nLet Pericles believe his daughter’s dead,\\r\\nAnd bear his courses to be ordered\\r\\nBy Lady Fortune; while our scene must play\\r\\nHis daughter’s woe and heavy well-a-day\\r\\nIn her unholy service. Patience, then,\\r\\nAnd think you now are all in Mytilene.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Mytilene. A street before the brothel.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, from the brothel, two Gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nDid you ever hear the like?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNo, nor never shall do in such a place as this, she being once gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nBut to have divinity preached there! did you ever dream of such a\\r\\nthing?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNo, no. Come, I am for no more bawdy houses: shall’s go hear the\\r\\nvestals sing?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI’ll do anything now that is virtuous; but I am out of the road of\\r\\nrutting for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. The same. A room in the brothel.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandar, Bawd and Boult.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nWell, I had rather than twice the worth of her she had ne’er come here.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nFie, fie upon her! She’s able to freeze the god Priapus, and undo a\\r\\nwhole generation. We must either get her ravished, or be rid of her.\\r\\nWhen she should do for clients her fitment, and do me the kindness of\\r\\nour profession, she has me her quirks, her reasons, her master reasons,\\r\\nher prayers, her knees; that she would make a puritan of the devil, if\\r\\nhe should cheapen a kiss of her.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nFaith, I must ravish her, or she’ll disfurnish us of all our cavaliers,\\r\\nand make our swearers priests.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nNow, the pox upon her green sickness for me!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nFaith, there’s no way to be rid on’t but by the way to the pox.\\r\\nHere comes the Lord Lysimachus disguised.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWe should have both lord and lown, if the peevish baggage would but\\r\\ngive way to customers.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lysimachus.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nHow now! How a dozen of virginities?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nNow, the gods to bless your honour!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI am glad to see your honour in good health.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nYou may so; ’tis the better for you that your resorters stand upon\\r\\nsound legs. How now? Wholesome iniquity have you that a man may deal\\r\\nwithal, and defy the surgeon?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWe have here one, sir, if she would — but there never came her like in\\r\\nMytilene.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nIf she’d do the deed of darkness, thou wouldst say.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nYour honour knows what ’tis to say well enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWell, call forth, call forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nFor flesh and blood, sir, white and red, you shall see a rose; and she\\r\\nwere a rose indeed, if she had but —\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWhat, prithee?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nO, sir, I can be modest.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nThat dignifies the renown of a bawd no less than it gives a good report\\r\\nto a number to be chaste.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Boult._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nHere comes that which grows to the stalk; never plucked yet, I can\\r\\nassure you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Boult with Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nIs she not a fair creature?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nFaith, she would serve after a long voyage at sea. Well, there’s for\\r\\nyou: leave us.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nI beseech your honour, give me leave: a word, and I’ll have done\\r\\npresently.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nI beseech you, do.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\n[_To Marina._] First, I would have you note, this is an honourable man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI desire to find him so, that I may worthily note him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nNext, he’s the governor of this country, and a man whom I am bound to.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nIf he govern the country, you are bound to him indeed; but how\\r\\nhonourable he is in that, I know not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD. Pray you, without any more virginal fencing, will you use him\\r\\nkindly? He will line your apron with gold.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhat he will do graciously, I will thankfully receive.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nHa’ you done?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nMy lord, she’s not paced yet: you must take some pains to work her to\\r\\nyour manage. Come, we will leave his honour and her together. Go thy\\r\\nways.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Bawd, Pandar and Boult._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nNow, pretty one, how long have you been at this trade?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhat trade, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWhy, I cannot name’t but I shall offend.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI cannot be offended with my trade. Please you to name it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nHow long have you been of this profession?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nE’er since I can remember.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS. Did you go to’t so young? Were you a gamester at five or at\\r\\nseven?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nEarlier, too, sir, if now I be one.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWhy, the house you dwell in proclaims you to be a creature of sale.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nDo you know this house to be a place of such resort, and will come\\r\\ninto’t? I hear say you are of honourable parts, and are the governor of\\r\\nthis place.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWhy, hath your principal made known unto you who I am?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWho is my principal?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWhy, your herb-woman; she that sets seeds and roots of shame and\\r\\niniquity. O, you have heard something of my power, and so stand aloof\\r\\nfor more serious wooing. But I protest to thee, pretty one, my\\r\\nauthority shall not see thee, or else look friendly upon thee. Come,\\r\\nbring me to some private place: come, come.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nIf you were born to honour, show it now;\\r\\nIf put upon you, make the judgement good\\r\\nThat thought you worthy of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nHow’s this? how’s this? Some more; be sage.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nFor me,\\r\\nThat am a maid, though most ungentle Fortune\\r\\nHave placed me in this sty, where, since I came,\\r\\nDiseases have been sold dearer than physic,\\r\\nO, that the gods\\r\\nWould set me free from this unhallow’d place,\\r\\nThough they did change me to the meanest bird\\r\\nThat flies i’ the purer air!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nI did not think\\r\\nThou couldst have spoke so well; ne’er dream’d thou couldst.\\r\\nHad I brought hither a corrupted mind,\\r\\nThy speech had alter’d it. Hold, here’s gold for thee:\\r\\nPersever in that clear way thou goest,\\r\\nAnd the gods strengthen thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThe good gods preserve you!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nFor me, be you thoughten\\r\\nThat I came with no ill intent; for to me\\r\\nThe very doors and windows savour vilely.\\r\\nFare thee well. Thou art a piece of virtue, and\\r\\nI doubt not but thy training hath been noble.\\r\\nHold, here’s more gold for thee.\\r\\nA curse upon him, die he like a thief,\\r\\nThat robs thee of thy goodness! If thou dost\\r\\nHear from me, it shall be for thy good.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Boult.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI beseech your honour, one piece for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nAvaunt, thou damned door-keeper!\\r\\nYour house but for this virgin that doth prop it,\\r\\nWould sink and overwhelm you. Away!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nHow’s this? We must take another course with you. If your peevish\\r\\nchastity, which is not worth a breakfast in the cheapest country under\\r\\nthe cope, shall undo a whole household, let me be gelded like a\\r\\nspaniel. Come your ways.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhither would you have me?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI must have your maidenhead taken off, or the common hangman shall\\r\\nexecute it. Come your ways. We’ll have no more gentlemen driven away.\\r\\nCome your ways, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Bawd.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nHow now! what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWorse and worse, mistress; she has here spoken holy words to the Lord\\r\\nLysimachus.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nO, abominable!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nShe makes our profession as it were to stink afore the face of the\\r\\ngods.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nMarry, hang her up for ever!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nThe nobleman would have dealt with her like a nobleman, and she sent\\r\\nhim away as cold as a snowball; saying his prayers too.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nBoult, take her away; use her at thy pleasure: crack the glass of her\\r\\nvirginity, and make the rest malleable.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nAn if she were a thornier piece of ground than she is, she shall be\\r\\nploughed.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nHark, hark, you gods!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nShe conjures: away with her! Would she had never come within my doors!\\r\\nMarry, hang you! She’s born to undo us. Will you not go the way of\\r\\nwomankind? Marry, come up, my dish of chastity with rosemary and bays!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nCome, mistress; come your way with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhither wilt thou have me?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nTo take from you the jewel you hold so dear.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nPrithee, tell me one thing first.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nCome now, your one thing?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhat canst thou wish thine enemy to be?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWhy, I could wish him to be my master, or rather, my mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNeither of these are so bad as thou art,\\r\\nSince they do better thee in their command.\\r\\nThou hold’st a place, for which the pained’st fiend\\r\\nOf hell would not in reputation change:\\r\\nThou art the damned doorkeeper to every\\r\\nCoistrel that comes inquiring for his Tib.\\r\\nTo the choleric fisting of every rogue\\r\\nThy ear is liable, thy food is such\\r\\nAs hath been belch’d on by infected lungs.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWhat would you have me do? Go to the wars, would you? where a man may\\r\\nserve seven years for the loss of a leg, and have not money enough in\\r\\nthe end to buy him a wooden one?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nDo anything but this thou doest. Empty\\r\\nOld receptacles, or common shores, of filth;\\r\\nServe by indenture to the common hangman:\\r\\nAny of these ways are yet better than this;\\r\\nFor what thou professest, a baboon, could he speak,\\r\\nWould own a name too dear. O, that the gods\\r\\nWould safely deliver me from this place!\\r\\nHere, here’s gold for thee.\\r\\nIf that thy master would gain by me,\\r\\nProclaim that I can sing, weave, sew, and dance,\\r\\nWith other virtues, which I’ll keep from boast;\\r\\nAnd I will undertake all these to teach.\\r\\nI doubt not but this populous city will\\r\\nYield many scholars.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nBut can you teach all this you speak of?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nProve that I cannot, take me home again,\\r\\nAnd prostitute me to the basest groom\\r\\nThat doth frequent your house.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWell, I will see what I can do for thee: if I can place thee, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nBut amongst honest women.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nFaith, my acquaintance lies little amongst them. But since my master\\r\\nand mistress have bought you, there’s no going but by their consent:\\r\\ntherefore I will make them acquainted with your purpose, and I doubt\\r\\nnot but I shall find them tractable enough. Come, I’ll do for thee what\\r\\nI can; come your ways.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nMarina thus the brothel ’scapes, and chances\\r\\nInto an honest house, our story says.\\r\\nShe sings like one immortal, and she dances\\r\\nAs goddess-like to her admired lays;\\r\\nDeep clerks she dumbs; and with her nee’le composes\\r\\nNature’s own shape, of bud, bird, branch, or berry,\\r\\nThat even her art sisters the natural roses;\\r\\nHer inkle, silk, twin with the rubied cherry:\\r\\nThat pupils lacks she none of noble race,\\r\\nWho pour their bounty on her; and her gain\\r\\nShe gives the cursed bawd. Here we her place;\\r\\nAnd to her father turn our thoughts again,\\r\\nWhere we left him, on the sea. We there him lost;\\r\\nWhence, driven before the winds, he is arrived\\r\\nHere where his daughter dwells; and on this coast\\r\\nSuppose him now at anchor. The city strived\\r\\nGod Neptune’s annual feast to keep: from whence\\r\\nLysimachus our Tyrian ship espies,\\r\\nHis banners sable, trimm’d with rich expense;\\r\\nAnd to him in his barge with fervour hies.\\r\\nIn your supposing once more put your sight\\r\\nOf heavy Pericles; think this his bark:\\r\\nWhere what is done in action, more, if might,\\r\\nShall be discover’d; please you, sit and hark.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. On board Pericles’ ship, off Mytilene. A close pavilion on\\r\\ndeck, with a curtain before it; Pericles within it, reclined on a\\r\\ncouch. A barge lying beside the Tyrian vessel.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two Sailors, one belonging to the Tyrian vessel, the other to\\r\\n the barge; to them Helicanus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYRIAN SAILOR.\\r\\n[_To the Sailor of Mytilene._]\\r\\nWhere is lord Helicanus? He can resolve you.\\r\\nO, here he is.\\r\\nSir, there’s a barge put off from Mytilene,\\r\\nAnd in it is Lysimachus the governor,\\r\\nWho craves to come aboard. What is your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nThat he have his. Call up some gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYRIAN SAILOR.\\r\\nHo, gentlemen! my lord calls.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two or three Gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nDoth your lordship call?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nGentlemen, there is some of worth would come aboard;\\r\\nI pray ye, greet them fairly.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Gentlemen and the two Sailors descend and go on board the\\r\\n barge._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, from thence, Lysimachus and Lords; with the Gentlemen and the\\r\\n two Sailors.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYRIAN SAILOR.\\r\\nSir,\\r\\nThis is the man that can, in aught you would,\\r\\nResolve you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nHail, reverend sir! the gods preserve you!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nAnd you, sir, to outlive the age I am,\\r\\nAnd die as I would do.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nYou wish me well.\\r\\nBeing on shore, honouring of Neptune’s triumphs,\\r\\nSeeing this goodly vessel ride before us,\\r\\nI made to it, to know of whence you are.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nFirst, what is your place?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nI am the governor of this place you lie before.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nSir, our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king;\\r\\nA man who for this three months hath not spoken\\r\\nTo anyone, nor taken sustenance\\r\\nBut to prorogue his grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nUpon what ground is his distemperature?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\n’Twould be too tedious to repeat;\\r\\nBut the main grief springs from the loss\\r\\nOf a beloved daughter and a wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nMay we not see him?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nYou may;\\r\\nBut bootless is your sight: he will not speak\\r\\nTo any.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nYet let me obtain my wish.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nBehold him.\\r\\n[_Pericles discovered._]\\r\\nThis was a goodly person.\\r\\nTill the disaster that, one mortal night,\\r\\nDrove him to this.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nSir king, all hail! The gods preserve you!\\r\\nHail, royal sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nIt is in vain; he will not speak to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nSir, we have a maid in Mytilene, I durst wager,\\r\\nWould win some words of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\n’Tis well bethought.\\r\\nShe questionless with her sweet harmony\\r\\nAnd other chosen attractions, would allure,\\r\\nAnd make a battery through his deafen’d parts,\\r\\nWhich now are midway stopp’d:\\r\\nShe is all happy as the fairest of all,\\r\\nAnd, with her fellow maids, is now upon\\r\\nThe leafy shelter that abuts against\\r\\nThe island’s side.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Whispers a Lord who goes off in the barge of Lysimachus._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nSure, all’s effectless; yet nothing we’ll omit\\r\\nThat bears recovery’s name. But, since your kindness\\r\\nWe have stretch’d thus far, let us beseech you\\r\\nThat for our gold we may provision have,\\r\\nWherein we are not destitute for want,\\r\\nBut weary for the staleness.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nO, sir, a courtesy\\r\\nWhich if we should deny, the most just gods\\r\\nFor every graff would send a caterpillar,\\r\\nAnd so inflict our province. Yet once more\\r\\nLet me entreat to know at large the cause\\r\\nOf your king’s sorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nSit, sir, I will recount it to you:\\r\\nBut, see, I am prevented.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter from the barge, Lord with Marina and a young Lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nO, here is the lady that I sent for. Welcome, fair one!\\r\\nIs’t not a goodly presence?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nShe’s a gallant lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nShe’s such a one, that, were I well assured\\r\\nCame of a gentle kind and noble stock,\\r\\nI’d wish no better choice, and think me rarely wed.\\r\\nFair one, all goodness that consists in bounty\\r\\nExpect even here, where is a kingly patient:\\r\\nIf that thy prosperous and artificial feat\\r\\nCan draw him but to answer thee in aught,\\r\\nThy sacred physic shall receive such pay\\r\\nAs thy desires can wish.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nSir, I will use\\r\\nMy utmost skill in his recovery, provided\\r\\nThat none but I and my companion maid\\r\\nBe suffer’d to come near him.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nCome, let us leave her,\\r\\nAnd the gods make her prosperous!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Marina sings._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nMark’d he your music?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNo, nor look’d on us,\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nSee, she will speak to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nHail, sir! My lord, lend ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHum, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI am a maid,\\r\\nMy lord, that ne’er before invited eyes,\\r\\nBut have been gazed on like a comet: she speaks,\\r\\nMy lord, that, may be, hath endured a grief\\r\\nMight equal yours, if both were justly weigh’d.\\r\\nThough wayward Fortune did malign my state,\\r\\nMy derivation was from ancestors\\r\\nWho stood equivalent with mighty kings:\\r\\nBut time hath rooted out my parentage,\\r\\nAnd to the world and awkward casualties\\r\\nBound me in servitude.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I will desist;\\r\\nBut there is something glows upon my cheek,\\r\\nAnd whispers in mine ear ‘Go not till he speak.’\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMy fortunes — parentage — good parentage —\\r\\nTo equal mine! — was it not thus? what say you?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI said, my lord, if you did know my parentage.\\r\\nYou would not do me violence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI do think so. Pray you, turn your eyes upon me.\\r\\nYou are like something that — what country-woman?\\r\\nHere of these shores?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNo, nor of any shores:\\r\\nYet I was mortally brought forth, and am\\r\\nNo other than I appear.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI am great with woe, and shall deliver weeping.\\r\\nMy dearest wife was like this maid, and such a one\\r\\nMy daughter might have been: my queen’s square brows;\\r\\nHer stature to an inch; as wand-like straight;\\r\\nAs silver-voiced; her eyes as jewel-like\\r\\nAnd cased as richly; in pace another Juno;\\r\\nWho starves the ears she feeds, and makes them hungry,\\r\\nThe more she gives them speech. Where do you live?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhere I am but a stranger: from the deck\\r\\nYou may discern the place.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWhere were you bred?\\r\\nAnd how achieved you these endowments, which\\r\\nYou make more rich to owe?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nIf I should tell my history, it would seem\\r\\nLike lies disdain’d in the reporting.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nPrithee, speak:\\r\\nFalseness cannot come from thee; for thou look’st\\r\\nModest as Justice, and thou seem’st a palace\\r\\nFor the crown’d Truth to dwell in: I will believe thee,\\r\\nAnd make my senses credit thy relation\\r\\nTo points that seem impossible; for thou look’st\\r\\nLike one I loved indeed. What were thy friends?\\r\\nDidst thou not say, when I did push thee back —\\r\\nWhich was when I perceived thee — that thou cam’st\\r\\nFrom good descending?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nSo indeed I did.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nReport thy parentage. I think thou said’st\\r\\nThou hadst been toss’d from wrong to injury,\\r\\nAnd that thou thought’st thy griefs might equal mine,\\r\\nIf both were open’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nSome such thing,\\r\\nI said, and said no more but what my thoughts\\r\\nDid warrant me was likely.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nTell thy story;\\r\\nIf thine consider’d prove the thousand part\\r\\nOf my endurance, thou art a man, and I\\r\\nHave suffer’d like a girl: yet thou dost look\\r\\nLike Patience gazing on kings’ graves, and smiling\\r\\nExtremity out of act. What were thy friends?\\r\\nHow lost thou them? Thy name, my most kind virgin?\\r\\nRecount, I do beseech thee: come, sit by me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nMy name is Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nO, I am mock’d,\\r\\nAnd thou by some incensed god sent hither\\r\\nTo make the world to laugh at me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nPatience, good sir,\\r\\nOr here I’ll cease.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nNay, I’ll be patient.\\r\\nThou little know’st how thou dost startle me,\\r\\nTo call thyself Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThe name\\r\\nWas given me by one that had some power,\\r\\nMy father, and a king.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHow! a king’s daughter?\\r\\nAnd call’d Marina?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nYou said you would believe me;\\r\\nBut, not to be a troubler of your peace,\\r\\nI will end here.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nBut are you flesh and blood?\\r\\nHave you a working pulse? and are no fairy?\\r\\nMotion! Well; speak on. Where were you born?\\r\\nAnd wherefore call’d Marina?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nCall’d Marina\\r\\nFor I was born at sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAt sea! What mother?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nMy mother was the daughter of a king;\\r\\nWho died the minute I was born,\\r\\nAs my good nurse Lychorida hath oft\\r\\nDeliver’d weeping.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nO, stop there a little! [_Aside._] This is the rarest dream that e’er\\r\\ndull sleep\\r\\nDid mock sad fools withal: this cannot be:\\r\\nMy daughter, buried. Well, where were you bred?\\r\\nI’ll hear you more, to the bottom of your story,\\r\\nAnd never interrupt you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nYou scorn: believe me, ’twere best I did give o’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI will believe you by the syllable\\r\\nOf what you shall deliver. Yet, give me leave:\\r\\nHow came you in these parts? Where were you bred?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThe king my father did in Tarsus leave me;\\r\\nTill cruel Cleon, with his wicked wife,\\r\\nDid seek to murder me: and having woo’d\\r\\nA villain to attempt it, who having drawn to do’t,\\r\\nA crew of pirates came and rescued me;\\r\\nBrought me to Mytilene. But, good sir.\\r\\nWhither will you have me? Why do you weep? It may be,\\r\\nYou think me an impostor: no, good faith;\\r\\nI am the daughter to King Pericles,\\r\\nIf good King Pericles be.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHo, Helicanus!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Helicanus and Lysimachus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nCalls my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThou art a grave and noble counsellor,\\r\\nMost wise in general: tell me, if thou canst,\\r\\nWhat this maid is, or what is like to be,\\r\\nThat thus hath made me weep.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nI know not,\\r\\nBut here is the regent, sir, of Mytilene\\r\\nSpeaks nobly of her.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nShe would never tell\\r\\nHer parentage; being demanded that,\\r\\nShe would sit still and weep.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nO Helicanus, strike me, honour’d sir;\\r\\nGive me a gash, put me to present pain;\\r\\nLest this great sea of joys rushing upon me\\r\\nO’erbear the shores of my mortality,\\r\\nAnd drown me with their sweetness.\\r\\n[_To Marina_] O, come hither,\\r\\nThou that beget’st him that did thee beget;\\r\\nThou that wast born at sea, buried at Tarsus,\\r\\nAnd found at sea again! O Helicanus,\\r\\nDown on thy knees, thank the holy gods as loud\\r\\nAs thunder threatens us: this is Marina.\\r\\nWhat was thy mother’s name? tell me but that,\\r\\nFor truth can never be confirm’d enough,\\r\\nThough doubts did ever sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nFirst, sir, I pray, what is your title?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI am Pericles of Tyre: but tell me now\\r\\nMy drown’d queen’s name, as in the rest you said\\r\\nThou hast been godlike perfect,\\r\\nThe heir of kingdoms and another life\\r\\nTo Pericles thy father.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nIs it no more to be your daughter than\\r\\nTo say my mother’s name was Thaisa?\\r\\nThaisa was my mother, who did end\\r\\nThe minute I began.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nNow, blessing on thee! rise; thou art my child.\\r\\nGive me fresh garments. Mine own, Helicanus;\\r\\nShe is not dead at Tarsus, as she should have been,\\r\\nBy savage Cleon: she shall tell thee all;\\r\\nWhen thou shalt kneel, and justify in knowledge\\r\\nShe is thy very princess. Who is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nSir, ’tis the governor of Mytilene,\\r\\nWho, hearing of your melancholy state,\\r\\nDid come to see you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI embrace you.\\r\\nGive me my robes. I am wild in my beholding.\\r\\nO heavens bless my girl! But, hark, what music?\\r\\nTell Helicanus, my Marina, tell him\\r\\nO’er, point by point, for yet he seems to doubt,\\r\\nHow sure you are my daughter. But, what music?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nMy lord, I hear none.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nNone!\\r\\nThe music of the spheres! List, my Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nIt is not good to cross him; give him way.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nRarest sounds! Do ye not hear?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nMusic, my lord? I hear.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMost heavenly music!\\r\\nIt nips me unto listening, and thick slumber\\r\\nHangs upon mine eyes: let me rest.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nA pillow for his head:\\r\\nSo, leave him all. Well, my companion friends,\\r\\nIf this but answer to my just belief,\\r\\nI’ll well remember you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Pericles._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Diana appears to Pericles as in a vision.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIANA.\\r\\nMy temple stands in Ephesus: hie thee thither,\\r\\nAnd do upon mine altar sacrifice.\\r\\nThere, when my maiden priests are met together,\\r\\nBefore the people all,\\r\\nReveal how thou at sea didst lose thy wife:\\r\\nTo mourn thy crosses, with thy daughter’s, call\\r\\nAnd give them repetition to the life.\\r\\nOr perform my bidding, or thou livest in woe:\\r\\nDo it, and happy; by my silver bow!\\r\\nAwake and tell thy dream.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Disappears._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nCelestial Dian, goddess argentine,\\r\\nI will obey thee. Helicanus!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Helicanus, Lysimachus and Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nSir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMy purpose was for Tarsus, there to strike\\r\\nThe inhospitable Cleon; but I am\\r\\nFor other service first: toward Ephesus\\r\\nTurn our blown sails; eftsoons I’ll tell thee why.\\r\\n[_To Lysimachus._] Shall we refresh us, sir, upon your shore,\\r\\nAnd give you gold for such provision\\r\\nAs our intents will need?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nSir, with all my heart,\\r\\nAnd when you come ashore I have another suit.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nYou shall prevail, were it to woo my daughter;\\r\\nFor it seems you have been noble towards her.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nSir, lend me your arm.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nCome, my Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower before the temple of Diana at Ephesus.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nNow our sands are almost run;\\r\\nMore a little, and then dumb.\\r\\nThis, my last boon, give me,\\r\\nFor such kindness must relieve me,\\r\\nThat you aptly will suppose\\r\\nWhat pageantry, what feats, what shows,\\r\\nWhat minstrelsy, and pretty din,\\r\\nThe regent made in Mytilene\\r\\nTo greet the king. So he thrived,\\r\\nThat he is promised to be wived\\r\\nTo fair Marina; but in no wise\\r\\nTill he had done his sacrifice,\\r\\nAs Dian bade: whereto being bound,\\r\\nThe interim, pray you, all confound.\\r\\nIn feather’d briefness sails are fill’d,\\r\\nAnd wishes fall out as they’re will’d.\\r\\nAt Ephesus, the temple see,\\r\\nOur king and all his company.\\r\\nThat he can hither come so soon,\\r\\nIs by your fancy’s thankful doom.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The temple of Diana at Ephesus; Thaisa standing near the\\r\\naltar, as high priestess; a number of Virgins on each side; Cerimon and\\r\\nother inhabitants of Ephesus attending.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles with his train; Lysimachus, Helicanus, Marina and a\\r\\n Lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHail, Dian! to perform thy just command,\\r\\nI here confess myself the King of Tyre;\\r\\nWho, frighted from my country, did wed\\r\\nAt Pentapolis the fair Thaisa.\\r\\nAt sea in childbed died she, but brought forth\\r\\nA maid child call’d Marina; whom, O goddess,\\r\\nWears yet thy silver livery. She at Tarsus\\r\\nWas nursed with Cleon; who at fourteen years\\r\\nHe sought to murder: but her better stars\\r\\nBrought her to Mytilene; ’gainst whose shore\\r\\nRiding, her fortunes brought the maid aboard us,\\r\\nWhere by her own most clear remembrance, she\\r\\nMade known herself my daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nVoice and favour!\\r\\nYou are, you are — O royal Pericles!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Faints._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWhat means the nun? She dies! help, gentlemen!\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nNoble sir,\\r\\nIf you have told Diana’s altar true,\\r\\nThis is your wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nReverend appearer, no;\\r\\nI threw her overboard with these very arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nUpon this coast, I warrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n’Tis most certain.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nLook to the lady; O, she’s but o’er-joy’d.\\r\\nEarly in blustering morn this lady was\\r\\nThrown upon this shore. I oped the coffin,\\r\\nFound there rich jewels; recover’d her, and placed her\\r\\nHere in Diana’s temple.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMay we see them?\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nGreat sir, they shall be brought you to my house,\\r\\nWhither I invite you. Look, Thaisa is\\r\\nRecovered.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nO, let me look!\\r\\nIf he be none of mine, my sanctity\\r\\nWill to my sense bend no licentious ear,\\r\\nBut curb it, spite of seeing. O, my lord,\\r\\nAre you not Pericles? Like him you spake,\\r\\nLike him you are: did you not name a tempest,\\r\\nA birth, and death?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThe voice of dead Thaisa!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nThat Thaisa am I, supposed dead\\r\\nAnd drown’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nImmortal Dian!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nNow I know you better,\\r\\nWhen we with tears parted Pentapolis,\\r\\nThe king my father gave you such a ring.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Shows a ring._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThis, this: no more, you gods! your present kindness\\r\\nMakes my past miseries sports: you shall do well,\\r\\nThat on the touching of her lips I may\\r\\nMelt and no more be seen. O, come, be buried\\r\\nA second time within these arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nMy heart\\r\\nLeaps to be gone into my mother’s bosom.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kneels to Thaisa._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nLook, who kneels here! Flesh of thy flesh, Thaisa;\\r\\nThy burden at the sea, and call’d Marina\\r\\nFor she was yielded there.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nBlest, and mine own!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nHail, madam, and my queen!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nI know you not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nYou have heard me say, when I did fly from Tyre,\\r\\nI left behind an ancient substitute:\\r\\nCan you remember what I call’d the man\\r\\nI have named him oft.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\n’Twas Helicanus then.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nStill confirmation:\\r\\nEmbrace him, dear Thaisa; this is he.\\r\\nNow do I long to hear how you were found:\\r\\nHow possibly preserved; and who to thank,\\r\\nBesides the gods, for this great miracle.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nLord Cerimon, my lord; this man,\\r\\nThrough whom the gods have shown their power; that can\\r\\nFrom first to last resolve you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nReverend sir,\\r\\nThe gods can have no mortal officer\\r\\nMore like a god than you. Will you deliver\\r\\nHow this dead queen relives?\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nI will, my lord.\\r\\nBeseech you, first go with me to my house,\\r\\nWhere shall be shown you all was found with her;\\r\\nHow she came placed here in the temple;\\r\\nNo needful thing omitted.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nPure Dian, bless thee for thy vision! I\\r\\nWill offer night-oblations to thee. Thaisa,\\r\\nThis prince, the fair betrothed of your daughter,\\r\\nShall marry her at Pentapolis.\\r\\nAnd now this ornament\\r\\nMakes me look dismal will I clip to form;\\r\\nAnd what this fourteen years no razor touch’d\\r\\nTo grace thy marriage-day, I’ll beautify.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nLord Cerimon hath letters of good credit, sir,\\r\\nMy father’s dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHeavens make a star of him! Yet there, my queen,\\r\\nWe’ll celebrate their nuptials, and ourselves\\r\\nWill in that kingdom spend our following days:\\r\\nOur son and daughter shall in Tyrus reign.\\r\\nLord Cerimon, we do our longing stay\\r\\nTo hear the rest untold. Sir, lead’s the way.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nIn Antiochus and his daughter you have heard\\r\\nOf monstrous lust the due and just reward:\\r\\nIn Pericles, his queen and daughter seen,\\r\\nAlthough assail’d with Fortune fierce and keen,\\r\\nVirtue preserved from fell destruction’s blast,\\r\\nLed on by heaven, and crown’d with joy at last.\\r\\nIn Helicanus may you well descry\\r\\nA figure of truth, of faith, of loyalty:\\r\\nIn reverend Cerimon there well appears\\r\\nThe worth that learned charity aye wears:\\r\\nFor wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame\\r\\nHad spread their cursed deed, the honour’d name\\r\\nOf Pericles, to rage the city turn,\\r\\nThat him and his they in his palace burn.\\r\\nThe gods for murder seemed so content\\r\\nTo punish, although not done, but meant.\\r\\nSo on your patience evermore attending,\\r\\nNew joy wait on you! Here our play has ending.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nKING RICHARD THE SECOND\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD THE SECOND\\r\\n JOHN OF GAUNT, Duke of Lancaster - uncle to the King\\r\\n EDMUND LANGLEY, Duke of York - uncle to the King\\r\\n HENRY, surnamed BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford, son of\\r\\n John of Gaunt, afterwards King Henry IV\\r\\n DUKE OF AUMERLE, son of the Duke of York\\r\\n THOMAS MOWBRAY, Duke of Norfolk\\r\\n DUKE OF SURREY\\r\\n EARL OF SALISBURY\\r\\n EARL BERKELEY\\r\\n BUSHY - favourites of King Richard\\r\\n BAGOT - \" \" \" \"\\r\\n GREEN - \" \" \" \"\\r\\n EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND\\r\\n HENRY PERCY, surnamed HOTSPUR, his son\\r\\n LORD Ross LORD WILLOUGHBY\\r\\n LORD FITZWATER BISHOP OF CARLISLE\\r\\n ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER LORD MARSHAL\\r\\n SIR STEPHEN SCROOP SIR PIERCE OF EXTON\\r\\n CAPTAIN of a band of Welshmen TWO GARDENERS\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN to King Richard\\r\\n DUCHESS OF YORK\\r\\n DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER, widow of Thomas of Woodstock,\\r\\n Duke of Gloucester\\r\\n LADY attending on the Queen\\r\\n\\r\\n Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Keeper, Messenger,\\r\\n Groom, and other Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: England and Wales\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. London. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter RICHARD, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other NOBLES and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster,\\r\\n Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,\\r\\n Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son,\\r\\n Here to make good the boist\\'rous late appeal,\\r\\n Which then our leisure would not let us hear,\\r\\n Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?\\r\\n GAUNT. I have, my liege.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him\\r\\n If he appeal the Duke on ancient malice,\\r\\n Or worthily, as a good subject should,\\r\\n On some known ground of treachery in him?\\r\\n GAUNT. As near as I could sift him on that argument,\\r\\n On some apparent danger seen in him\\r\\n Aim\\'d at your Highness-no inveterate malice.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then call them to our presence: face to face\\r\\n And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear\\r\\n The accuser and the accused freely speak.\\r\\n High-stomach\\'d are they both and full of ire,\\r\\n In rage, deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BOLINGBROKE and MOWBRAY\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Many years of happy days befall\\r\\n My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Each day still better other\\'s happiness\\r\\n Until the heavens, envying earth\\'s good hap,\\r\\n Add an immortal title to your crown!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We thank you both; yet one but flatters us,\\r\\n As well appeareth by the cause you come;\\r\\n Namely, to appeal each other of high treason.\\r\\n Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object\\r\\n Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. First-heaven be the record to my speech!\\r\\n In the devotion of a subject\\'s love,\\r\\n Tend\\'ring the precious safety of my prince,\\r\\n And free from other misbegotten hate,\\r\\n Come I appellant to this princely presence.\\r\\n Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,\\r\\n And mark my greeting well; for what I speak\\r\\n My body shall make good upon this earth,\\r\\n Or my divine soul answer it in heaven-\\r\\n Thou art a traitor and a miscreant,\\r\\n Too good to be so, and too bad to live,\\r\\n Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,\\r\\n The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.\\r\\n Once more, the more to aggravate the note,\\r\\n With a foul traitor\\'s name stuff I thy throat;\\r\\n And wish-so please my sovereign-ere I move,\\r\\n What my tongue speaks, my right drawn sword may prove.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal.\\r\\n \\'Tis not the trial of a woman\\'s war,\\r\\n The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,\\r\\n Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain;\\r\\n The blood is hot that must be cool\\'d for this.\\r\\n Yet can I not of such tame patience boast\\r\\n As to be hush\\'d and nought at an to say.\\r\\n First, the fair reverence of your Highness curbs me\\r\\n From giving reins and spurs to my free speech;\\r\\n Which else would post until it had return\\'d\\r\\n These terms of treason doubled down his throat.\\r\\n Setting aside his high blood\\'s royalty,\\r\\n And let him be no kinsman to my liege,\\r\\n I do defy him, and I spit at him,\\r\\n Call him a slanderous coward and a villain;\\r\\n Which to maintain, I would allow him odds\\r\\n And meet him, were I tied to run afoot\\r\\n Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,\\r\\n Or any other ground inhabitable\\r\\n Where ever Englishman durst set his foot.\\r\\n Meantime let this defend my loyalty-\\r\\n By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage,\\r\\n Disclaiming here the kindred of the King;\\r\\n And lay aside my high blood\\'s royalty,\\r\\n Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except.\\r\\n If guilty dread have left thee so much strength\\r\\n As to take up mine honour\\'s pawn, then stoop.\\r\\n By that and all the rites of knighthood else\\r\\n Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,\\r\\n What I have spoke or thou canst worst devise.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. I take it up; and by that sword I swear\\r\\n Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder\\r\\n I\\'ll answer thee in any fair degree\\r\\n Or chivalrous design of knightly trial;\\r\\n And when I mount, alive may I not light\\r\\n If I be traitor or unjustly fight!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray\\'s charge?\\r\\n It must be great that can inherit us\\r\\n So much as of a thought of ill in him.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Look what I speak, my life shall prove it true-\\r\\n That Mowbray hath receiv\\'d eight thousand nobles\\r\\n In name of lendings for your Highness\\' soldiers,\\r\\n The which he hath detain\\'d for lewd employments\\r\\n Like a false traitor and injurious villain.\\r\\n Besides, I say and will in battle prove-\\r\\n Or here, or elsewhere to the furthest verge\\r\\n That ever was survey\\'d by English eye-\\r\\n That all the treasons for these eighteen years\\r\\n Complotted and contrived in this land\\r\\n Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.\\r\\n Further I say, and further will maintain\\r\\n Upon his bad life to make all this good,\\r\\n That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester\\'s death,\\r\\n Suggest his soon-believing adversaries,\\r\\n And consequently, like a traitor coward,\\r\\n Sluic\\'d out his innocent soul through streams of blood;\\r\\n Which blood, like sacrificing Abel\\'s, cries,\\r\\n Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth,\\r\\n To me for justice and rough chastisement;\\r\\n And, by the glorious worth of my descent,\\r\\n This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. How high a pitch his resolution soars!\\r\\n Thomas of Norfolk, what say\\'st thou to this?\\r\\n MOWBRAY. O, let my sovereign turn away his face\\r\\n And bid his ears a little while be deaf,\\r\\n Till I have told this slander of his blood\\r\\n How God and good men hate so foul a liar.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and cars.\\r\\n Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom\\'s heir,\\r\\n As he is but my father\\'s brother\\'s son,\\r\\n Now by my sceptre\\'s awe I make a vow,\\r\\n Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood\\r\\n Should nothing privilege him nor partialize\\r\\n The unstooping firmness of my upright soul.\\r\\n He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou:\\r\\n Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,\\r\\n Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest.\\r\\n Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais\\r\\n Disburs\\'d I duly to his Highness\\' soldiers;\\r\\n The other part reserv\\'d I by consent,\\r\\n For that my sovereign liege was in my debt\\r\\n Upon remainder of a dear account\\r\\n Since last I went to France to fetch his queen:\\r\\n Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester\\'s death-\\r\\n I slew him not, but to my own disgrace\\r\\n Neglected my sworn duty in that case.\\r\\n For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster,\\r\\n The honourable father to my foe,\\r\\n Once did I lay an ambush for your life,\\r\\n A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul;\\r\\n But ere I last receiv\\'d the sacrament\\r\\n I did confess it, and exactly begg\\'d\\r\\n Your Grace\\'s pardon; and I hope I had it.\\r\\n This is my fault. As for the rest appeal\\'d,\\r\\n It issues from the rancour of a villain,\\r\\n A recreant and most degenerate traitor;\\r\\n Which in myself I boldly will defend,\\r\\n And interchangeably hurl down my gage\\r\\n Upon this overweening traitor\\'s foot\\r\\n To prove myself a loyal gentleman\\r\\n Even in the best blood chamber\\'d in his bosom.\\r\\n In haste whereof, most heartily I pray\\r\\n Your Highness to assign our trial day.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul\\'d by me;\\r\\n Let\\'s purge this choler without letting blood-\\r\\n This we prescribe, though no physician;\\r\\n Deep malice makes too deep incision.\\r\\n Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed:\\r\\n Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.\\r\\n Good uncle, let this end where it begun;\\r\\n We\\'ll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son.\\r\\n GAUNT. To be a make-peace shall become my age.\\r\\n Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk\\'s gage.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And, Norfolk, throw down his.\\r\\n GAUNT. When, Harry, when?\\r\\n Obedience bids I should not bid again.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Norfolk, throw down; we bid.\\r\\n There is no boot.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot;\\r\\n My life thou shalt command, but not my shame:\\r\\n The one my duty owes; but my fair name,\\r\\n Despite of death, that lives upon my grave\\r\\n To dark dishonour\\'s use thou shalt not have.\\r\\n I am disgrac\\'d, impeach\\'d, and baffl\\'d here;\\r\\n Pierc\\'d to the soul with slander\\'s venom\\'d spear,\\r\\n The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood\\r\\n Which breath\\'d this poison.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Rage must be withstood:\\r\\n Give me his gage-lions make leopards tame.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Yea, but not change his spots. Take but my shame,\\r\\n And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord,\\r\\n The purest treasure mortal times afford\\r\\n Is spotless reputation; that away,\\r\\n Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.\\r\\n A jewel in a ten-times barr\\'d-up chest\\r\\n Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.\\r\\n Mine honour is my life; both grow in one;\\r\\n Take honour from me, and my life is done:\\r\\n Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try;\\r\\n In that I live, and for that will I die.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. O, God defend my soul from such deep sin!\\r\\n Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father\\'s sight?\\r\\n Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height\\r\\n Before this outdar\\'d dastard? Ere my tongue\\r\\n Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong\\r\\n Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear\\r\\n The slavish motive of recanting fear,\\r\\n And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace,\\r\\n Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray\\'s face.\\r\\n Exit GAUNT\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We were not born to sue, but to command;\\r\\n Which since we cannot do to make you friends,\\r\\n Be ready, as your lives shall answer it,\\r\\n At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert\\'s day.\\r\\n There shall your swords and lances arbitrate\\r\\n The swelling difference of your settled hate;\\r\\n Since we can not atone you, we shall see\\r\\n Justice design the victor\\'s chivalry.\\r\\n Lord Marshal, command our officers-at-arms\\r\\n Be ready to direct these home alarms. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. London. The DUKE OF LANCASTER\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter JOHN OF GAUNT with the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n GAUNT. Alas, the part I had in Woodstock\\'s blood\\r\\n Doth more solicit me than your exclaims\\r\\n To stir against the butchers of his life!\\r\\n But since correction lieth in those hands\\r\\n Which made the fault that we cannot correct,\\r\\n Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven;\\r\\n Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth,\\r\\n Will rain hot vengeance on offenders\\' heads.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?\\r\\n Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?\\r\\n Edward\\'s seven sons, whereof thyself art one,\\r\\n Were as seven vials of his sacred blood,\\r\\n Or seven fair branches springing from one root.\\r\\n Some of those seven are dried by nature\\'s course,\\r\\n Some of those branches by the Destinies cut;\\r\\n But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester,\\r\\n One vial full of Edward\\'s sacred blood,\\r\\n One flourishing branch of his most royal root,\\r\\n Is crack\\'d, and all the precious liquor spilt;\\r\\n Is hack\\'d down, and his summer leaves all faded,\\r\\n By envy\\'s hand and murder\\'s bloody axe.\\r\\n Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! That bed, that womb,\\r\\n That mettle, that self mould, that fashion\\'d thee,\\r\\n Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest,\\r\\n Yet art thou slain in him. Thou dost consent\\r\\n In some large measure to thy father\\'s death\\r\\n In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,\\r\\n Who was the model of thy father\\'s life.\\r\\n Call it not patience, Gaunt-it is despair;\\r\\n In suff\\'ring thus thy brother to be slaught\\'red,\\r\\n Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life,\\r\\n Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee.\\r\\n That which in mean men we entitle patience\\r\\n Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.\\r\\n What shall I say? To safeguard thine own life\\r\\n The best way is to venge my Gloucester\\'s death.\\r\\n GAUNT. God\\'s is the quarrel; for God\\'s substitute,\\r\\n His deputy anointed in His sight,\\r\\n Hath caus\\'d his death; the which if wrongfully,\\r\\n Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift\\r\\n An angry arm against His minister.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Where then, alas, may I complain myself?\\r\\n GAUNT. To God, the widow\\'s champion and defence.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.\\r\\n Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold\\r\\n Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight.\\r\\n O, sit my husband\\'s wrongs on Hereford\\'s spear,\\r\\n That it may enter butcher Mowbray\\'s breast!\\r\\n Or, if misfortune miss the first career,\\r\\n Be Mowbray\\'s sins so heavy in his bosom\\r\\n That they may break his foaming courser\\'s back\\r\\n And throw the rider headlong in the lists,\\r\\n A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford!\\r\\n Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometimes brother\\'s wife,\\r\\n With her companion, Grief, must end her life.\\r\\n GAUNT. Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry.\\r\\n As much good stay with thee as go with me!\\r\\n DUCHESS. Yet one word more- grief boundeth where it falls,\\r\\n Not with the empty hollowness, but weight.\\r\\n I take my leave before I have begun,\\r\\n For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.\\r\\n Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York.\\r\\n Lo, this is all- nay, yet depart not so;\\r\\n Though this be all, do not so quickly go;\\r\\n I shall remember more. Bid him- ah, what?-\\r\\n With all good speed at Plashy visit me.\\r\\n Alack, and what shall good old York there see\\r\\n But empty lodgings and unfurnish\\'d walls,\\r\\n Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?\\r\\n And what hear there for welcome but my groans?\\r\\n Therefore commend me; let him not come there\\r\\n To seek out sorrow that dwells every where.\\r\\n Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die;\\r\\n The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. The lists at Coventry\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the LORD MARSHAL and the DUKE OF AUMERLE\\r\\n\\r\\n MARSHAL. My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm\\'d?\\r\\n AUMERLE. Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in.\\r\\n MARSHAL. The Duke of Norfolk, spightfully and bold,\\r\\n Stays but the summons of the appelant\\'s trumpet.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Why then, the champions are prepar\\'d, and stay\\r\\n For nothing but his Majesty\\'s approach.\\r\\n\\r\\n The trumpets sound, and the KING enters with his nobles,\\r\\n GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and others. When they are set,\\r\\n enter MOWBRAY, Duke of Nor folk, in arms, defendant, and\\r\\n a HERALD\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Marshal, demand of yonder champion\\r\\n The cause of his arrival here in arms;\\r\\n Ask him his name; and orderly proceed\\r\\n To swear him in the justice of his cause.\\r\\n MARSHAL. In God\\'s name and the King\\'s, say who thou art,\\r\\n And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms;\\r\\n Against what man thou com\\'st, and what thy quarrel.\\r\\n Speak truly on thy knighthood and thy oath;\\r\\n As so defend thee heaven and thy valour!\\r\\n MOWBRAY. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk;\\r\\n Who hither come engaged by my oath-\\r\\n Which God defend a knight should violate!-\\r\\n Both to defend my loyalty and truth\\r\\n To God, my King, and my succeeding issue,\\r\\n Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me;\\r\\n And, by the grace of God and this mine arm,\\r\\n To prove him, in defending of myself,\\r\\n A traitor to my God, my King, and me.\\r\\n And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!\\r\\n\\r\\n The trumpets sound. Enter BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford,\\r\\n appellant, in armour, and a HERALD\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms,\\r\\n Both who he is and why he cometh hither\\r\\n Thus plated in habiliments of war;\\r\\n And formally, according to our law,\\r\\n Depose him in the justice of his cause.\\r\\n MARSHAL. What is thy name? and wherefore com\\'st thou hither\\r\\n Before King Richard in his royal lists?\\r\\n Against whom comest thou? and what\\'s thy quarrel?\\r\\n Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,\\r\\n Am I; who ready here do stand in arms\\r\\n To prove, by God\\'s grace and my body\\'s valour,\\r\\n In lists on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,\\r\\n That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous,\\r\\n To God of heaven, King Richard, and to me.\\r\\n And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!\\r\\n MARSHAL. On pain of death, no person be so bold\\r\\n Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists,\\r\\n Except the Marshal and such officers\\r\\n Appointed to direct these fair designs.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign\\'s hand,\\r\\n And bow my knee before his Majesty;\\r\\n For Mowbray and myself are like two men\\r\\n That vow a long and weary pilgrimage.\\r\\n Then let us take a ceremonious leave\\r\\n And loving farewell of our several friends.\\r\\n MARSHAL. The appellant in all duty greets your Highness,\\r\\n And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We will descend and fold him in our arms.\\r\\n Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,\\r\\n So be thy fortune in this royal fight!\\r\\n Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed,\\r\\n Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. O, let no noble eye profane a tear\\r\\n For me, if I be gor\\'d with Mowbray\\'s spear.\\r\\n As confident as is the falcon\\'s flight\\r\\n Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.\\r\\n My loving lord, I take my leave of you;\\r\\n Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle;\\r\\n Not sick, although I have to do with death,\\r\\n But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.\\r\\n Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet\\r\\n The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.\\r\\n O thou, the earthly author of my blood,\\r\\n Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,\\r\\n Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up\\r\\n To reach at victory above my head,\\r\\n Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers,\\r\\n And with thy blessings steel my lance\\'s point,\\r\\n That it may enter Mowbray\\'s waxen coat\\r\\n And furbish new the name of John o\\' Gaunt,\\r\\n Even in the lusty haviour of his son.\\r\\n GAUNT. God in thy good cause make thee prosperous!\\r\\n Be swift like lightning in the execution,\\r\\n And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,\\r\\n Fall like amazing thunder on the casque\\r\\n Of thy adverse pernicious enemy.\\r\\n Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Mine innocence and Saint George to thrive!\\r\\n MOWBRAY. However God or fortune cast my lot,\\r\\n There lives or dies, true to King Richard\\'s throne,\\r\\n A loyal, just, and upright gentleman.\\r\\n Never did captive with a freer heart\\r\\n Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace\\r\\n His golden uncontroll\\'d enfranchisement,\\r\\n More than my dancing soul doth celebrate\\r\\n This feast of battle with mine adversary.\\r\\n Most mighty liege, and my companion peers,\\r\\n Take from my mouth the wish of happy years.\\r\\n As gentle and as jocund as to jest\\r\\n Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Farewell, my lord, securely I espy\\r\\n Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.\\r\\n Order the trial, Marshal, and begin.\\r\\n MARSHAL. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,\\r\\n Receive thy lance; and God defend the right!\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen.\\r\\n MARSHAL. [To an officer] Go bear this lance to Thomas,\\r\\n Duke of Norfolk.\\r\\n FIRST HERALD. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,\\r\\n Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself,\\r\\n On pain to be found false and recreant,\\r\\n To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,\\r\\n A traitor to his God, his King, and him;\\r\\n And dares him to set forward to the fight.\\r\\n SECOND HERALD. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,\\r\\n On pain to be found false and recreant,\\r\\n Both to defend himself, and to approve\\r\\n Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,\\r\\n To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal,\\r\\n Courageously and with a free desire\\r\\n Attending but the signal to begin.\\r\\n MARSHAL. Sound trumpets; and set forward, combatants.\\r\\n [A charge sounded]\\r\\n Stay, the King hath thrown his warder down.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Let them lay by their helmets and their spears,\\r\\n And both return back to their chairs again.\\r\\n Withdraw with us; and let the trumpets sound\\r\\n While we return these dukes what we decree.\\r\\n\\r\\n A long flourish, while the KING consults his Council\\r\\n\\r\\n Draw near,\\r\\n And list what with our council we have done.\\r\\n For that our kingdom\\'s earth should not be soil\\'d\\r\\n With that dear blood which it hath fostered;\\r\\n And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect\\r\\n Of civil wounds plough\\'d up with neighbours\\' sword;\\r\\n And for we think the eagle-winged pride\\r\\n Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,\\r\\n With rival-hating envy, set on you\\r\\n To wake our peace, which in our country\\'s cradle\\r\\n Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;\\r\\n Which so rous\\'d up with boist\\'rous untun\\'d drums,\\r\\n With harsh-resounding trumpets\\' dreadful bray,\\r\\n And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,\\r\\n Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace\\r\\n And make us wade even in our kindred\\'s blood-\\r\\n Therefore we banish you our territories.\\r\\n You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life,\\r\\n Till twice five summers have enrich\\'d our fields\\r\\n Shall not regreet our fair dominions,\\r\\n But tread the stranger paths of banishment.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Your will be done. This must my comfort be-\\r\\n That sun that warms you here shall shine on me,\\r\\n And those his golden beams to you here lent\\r\\n Shall point on me and gild my banishment.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,\\r\\n Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:\\r\\n The sly slow hours shall not determinate\\r\\n The dateless limit of thy dear exile;\\r\\n The hopeless word of \\'never to return\\'\\r\\n Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,\\r\\n And all unlook\\'d for from your Highness\\' mouth.\\r\\n A dearer merit, not so deep a maim\\r\\n As to be cast forth in the common air,\\r\\n Have I deserved at your Highness\\' hands.\\r\\n The language I have learnt these forty years,\\r\\n My native English, now I must forgo;\\r\\n And now my tongue\\'s use is to me no more\\r\\n Than an unstringed viol or a harp;\\r\\n Or like a cunning instrument cas\\'d up\\r\\n Or, being open, put into his hands\\r\\n That knows no touch to tune the harmony.\\r\\n Within my mouth you have engaol\\'d my tongue,\\r\\n Doubly portcullis\\'d with my teeth and lips;\\r\\n And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance\\r\\n Is made my gaoler to attend on me.\\r\\n I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,\\r\\n Too far in years to be a pupil now.\\r\\n What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death,\\r\\n Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. It boots thee not to be compassionate;\\r\\n After our sentence plaining comes too late.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Then thus I turn me from my countrv\\'s light,\\r\\n To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Return again, and take an oath with thee.\\r\\n Lay on our royal sword your banish\\'d hands;\\r\\n Swear by the duty that you owe to God,\\r\\n Our part therein we banish with yourselves,\\r\\n To keep the oath that we administer:\\r\\n You never shall, so help you truth and God,\\r\\n Embrace each other\\'s love in banishment;\\r\\n Nor never look upon each other\\'s face;\\r\\n Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile\\r\\n This louring tempest of your home-bred hate;\\r\\n Nor never by advised purpose meet\\r\\n To plot, contrive, or complot any ill,\\r\\n \\'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I swear.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. And I, to keep all this.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy.\\r\\n By this time, had the King permitted us,\\r\\n One of our souls had wand\\'red in the air,\\r\\n Banish\\'d this frail sepulchre of our flesh,\\r\\n As now our flesh is banish\\'d from this land-\\r\\n Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm;\\r\\n Since thou hast far to go, bear not along\\r\\n The clogging burden of a guilty soul.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were traitor,\\r\\n My name be blotted from the book of life,\\r\\n And I from heaven banish\\'d as from hence!\\r\\n But what thou art, God, thou, and I, do know;\\r\\n And all too soon, I fear, the King shall rue.\\r\\n Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray:\\r\\n Save back to England, an the world\\'s my way. Exit\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes\\r\\n I see thy grieved heart. Thy sad aspect\\r\\n Hath from the number of his banish\\'d years\\r\\n Pluck\\'d four away. [To BOLINGBROKE] Six frozen winters spent,\\r\\n Return with welcome home from banishment.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. How long a time lies in one little word!\\r\\n Four lagging winters and four wanton springs\\r\\n End in a word: such is the breath of Kings.\\r\\n GAUNT. I thank my liege that in regard of me\\r\\n He shortens four years of my son\\'s exile;\\r\\n But little vantage shall I reap thereby,\\r\\n For ere the six years that he hath to spend\\r\\n Can change their moons and bring their times about,\\r\\n My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light\\r\\n Shall be extinct with age and endless night;\\r\\n My inch of taper will be burnt and done,\\r\\n And blindfold death not let me see my son.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live.\\r\\n GAUNT. But not a minute, King, that thou canst give:\\r\\n Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow\\r\\n And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow;\\r\\n Thou can\\'st help time to furrow me with age,\\r\\n But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage;\\r\\n Thy word is current with him for my death,\\r\\n But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thy son is banish\\'d upon good advice,\\r\\n Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave.\\r\\n Why at our justice seem\\'st thou then to lour?\\r\\n GAUNT. Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.\\r\\n You urg\\'d me as a judge; but I had rather\\r\\n You would have bid me argue like a father.\\r\\n O, had it been a stranger, not my child,\\r\\n To smooth his fault I should have been more mild.\\r\\n A partial slander sought I to avoid,\\r\\n And in the sentence my own life destroy\\'d.\\r\\n Alas, I look\\'d when some of you should say\\r\\n I was too strict to make mine own away;\\r\\n But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue\\r\\n Against my will to do myself this wrong.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so.\\r\\n Six years we banish him, and he shall go.\\r\\n Flourish. Exit KING with train\\r\\n AUMERLE. Cousin, farewell; what presence must not know,\\r\\n From where you do remain let paper show.\\r\\n MARSHAL. My lord, no leave take I, for I will ride\\r\\n As far as land will let me by your side.\\r\\n GAUNT. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,\\r\\n That thou returnest no greeting to thy friends?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I have too few to take my leave of you,\\r\\n When the tongue\\'s office should be prodigal\\r\\n To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.\\r\\n GAUNT. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Joy absent, grief is present for that time.\\r\\n GAUNT. What is six winters? They are quickly gone.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.\\r\\n GAUNT. Call it a travel that thou tak\\'st for pleasure.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,\\r\\n Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage.\\r\\n GAUNT. The sullen passage of thy weary steps\\r\\n Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set\\r\\n The precious jewel of thy home return.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make\\r\\n Will but remember me what a deal of world\\r\\n I wander from the jewels that I love.\\r\\n Must I not serve a long apprenticehood\\r\\n To foreign passages; and in the end,\\r\\n Having my freedom, boast of nothing else\\r\\n But that I was a journeyman to grief?\\r\\n GAUNT. All places that the eye of heaven visits\\r\\n Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.\\r\\n Teach thy necessity to reason thus:\\r\\n There is no virtue like necessity.\\r\\n Think not the King did banish thee,\\r\\n But thou the King. Woe doth the heavier sit\\r\\n Where it perceives it is but faintly home.\\r\\n Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour,\\r\\n And not the King exil\\'d thee; or suppose\\r\\n Devouring pestilence hangs in our air\\r\\n And thou art flying to a fresher clime.\\r\\n Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it\\r\\n To lie that way thou goest, not whence thou com\\'st.\\r\\n Suppose the singing birds musicians,\\r\\n The grass whereon thou tread\\'st the presence strew\\'d,\\r\\n The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more\\r\\n Than a delightful measure or a dance;\\r\\n For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite\\r\\n The man that mocks at it and sets it light.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. O, who can hold a fire in his hand\\r\\n By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?\\r\\n Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite\\r\\n By bare imagination of a feast?\\r\\n Or wallow naked in December snow\\r\\n By thinking on fantastic summer\\'s heat?\\r\\n O, no! the apprehension of the good\\r\\n Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.\\r\\n Fell sorrow\\'s tooth doth never rankle more\\r\\n Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore.\\r\\n GAUNT. Come, come, my son, I\\'ll bring thee on thy way.\\r\\n Had I thy youtli and cause, I would not stay.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Then, England\\'s ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu;\\r\\n My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet!\\r\\n Where\\'er I wander, boast of this I can:\\r\\n Though banish\\'d, yet a trueborn English man. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. London. The court\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the KING, with BAGOT and GREEN, at one door; and the DUKE OF\\r\\nAUMERLE at another\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We did observe. Cousin Aumerle,\\r\\n How far brought you high Hereford on his way?\\r\\n AUMERLE. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,\\r\\n But to the next high way, and there I left him.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And say, what store of parting tears were shed?\\r\\n AUMERLE. Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind,\\r\\n Which then blew bitterly against our faces,\\r\\n Awak\\'d the sleeping rheum, and so by chance\\r\\n Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What said our cousin when you parted with him?\\r\\n AUMERLE. \\'Farewell.\\'\\r\\n And, for my heart disdained that my tongue\\r\\n Should so profane the word, that taught me craft\\r\\n To counterfeit oppression of such grief\\r\\n That words seem\\'d buried in my sorrow\\'s grave.\\r\\n Marry, would the word \\'farewell\\' have length\\'ned hours\\r\\n And added years to his short banishment,\\r\\n He should have had a volume of farewells;\\r\\n But since it would not, he had none of me.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. He is our cousin, cousin; but \\'tis doubt,\\r\\n When time shall call him home from banishment,\\r\\n Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.\\r\\n Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green,\\r\\n Observ\\'d his courtship to the common people;\\r\\n How he did seem to dive into their hearts\\r\\n With humble and familiar courtesy;\\r\\n What reverence he did throw away on slaves,\\r\\n Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles\\r\\n And patient underbearing of his fortune,\\r\\n As \\'twere to banish their affects with him.\\r\\n Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;\\r\\n A brace of draymen bid God speed him well\\r\\n And had the tribute of his supple knee,\\r\\n With \\'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends\\';\\r\\n As were our England in reversion his,\\r\\n And he our subjects\\' next degree in hope.\\r\\n GREEN. Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts!\\r\\n Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland,\\r\\n Expedient manage must be made, my liege,\\r\\n Ere further leisure yicld them further means\\r\\n For their advantage and your Highness\\' loss.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We will ourself in person to this war;\\r\\n And, for our coffers, with too great a court\\r\\n And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light,\\r\\n We are enforc\\'d to farm our royal realm;\\r\\n The revenue whereof shall furnish us\\r\\n For our affairs in hand. If that come short,\\r\\n Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters;\\r\\n Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,\\r\\n They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold,\\r\\n And send them after to supply our wants;\\r\\n For we will make for Ireland presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BUSHY\\r\\n\\r\\n Bushy, what news?\\r\\n BUSHY. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord,\\r\\n Suddenly taken; and hath sent poste-haste\\r\\n To entreat your Majesty to visit him.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Where lies he?\\r\\n BUSHY. At Ely House.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Now put it, God, in the physician\\'s mind\\r\\n To help him to his grave immediately!\\r\\n The lining of his coffers shall make coats\\r\\n To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.\\r\\n Come, gentlemen, let\\'s all go visit him.\\r\\n Pray God we may make haste, and come too late!\\r\\n ALL. Amen. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. London. Ely House\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter JOHN OF GAUNT, sick, with the DUKE OF YORK, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\n GAUNT. Will the King come, that I may breathe my last\\r\\n In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth?\\r\\n YORK. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath;\\r\\n For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.\\r\\n GAUNT. O, but they say the tongues of dying men\\r\\n Enforce attention like deep harmony.\\r\\n Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain;\\r\\n For they breathe truth that breathe their words -in pain.\\r\\n He that no more must say is listen\\'d more\\r\\n Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose;\\r\\n More are men\\'s ends mark\\'d than their lives before.\\r\\n The setting sun, and music at the close,\\r\\n As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,\\r\\n Writ in remembrance more than things long past.\\r\\n Though Richard my life\\'s counsel would not hear,\\r\\n My death\\'s sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.\\r\\n YORK. No; it is stopp\\'d with other flattering sounds,\\r\\n As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond,\\r\\n Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound\\r\\n The open ear of youth doth always listen;\\r\\n Report of fashions in proud Italy,\\r\\n Whose manners still our tardy apish nation\\r\\n Limps after in base imitation.\\r\\n Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity-\\r\\n So it be new, there\\'s no respect how vile-\\r\\n That is not quickly buzz\\'d into his ears?\\r\\n Then all too late comes counsel to be heard\\r\\n Where will doth mutiny with wit\\'s regard.\\r\\n Direct not him whose way himself will choose.\\r\\n \\'Tis breath thou lack\\'st, and that breath wilt thou lose.\\r\\n GAUNT. Methinks I am a prophet new inspir\\'d,\\r\\n And thus expiring do foretell of him:\\r\\n His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,\\r\\n For violent fires soon burn out themselves;\\r\\n Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short;\\r\\n He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes;\\r\\n With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder;\\r\\n Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,\\r\\n Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.\\r\\n This royal throne of kings, this scept\\'red isle,\\r\\n This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,\\r\\n This other Eden, demi-paradise,\\r\\n This fortress built by Nature for herself\\r\\n Against infection and the hand of war,\\r\\n This happy breed of men, this little world,\\r\\n This precious stone set in the silver sea,\\r\\n Which serves it in the office of a wall,\\r\\n Or as a moat defensive to a house,\\r\\n Against the envy of less happier lands;\\r\\n This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,\\r\\n This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,\\r\\n Fear\\'d by their breed, and famous by their birth,\\r\\n Renowned for their deeds as far from home,\\r\\n For Christian service and true chivalry,\\r\\n As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry\\r\\n Of the world\\'s ransom, blessed Mary\\'s Son;\\r\\n This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,\\r\\n Dear for her reputation through the world,\\r\\n Is now leas\\'d out-I die pronouncing it-\\r\\n Like to a tenement or pelting farm.\\r\\n England, bound in with the triumphant sea,\\r\\n Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege\\r\\n Of wat\\'ry Neptune, is now bound in with shame,\\r\\n With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds;\\r\\n That England, that was wont to conquer others,\\r\\n Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.\\r\\n Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,\\r\\n How happy then were my ensuing death!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING and QUEEN, AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT,\\r\\n Ross, and WILLOUGHBY\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. The King is come; deal mildly with his youth,\\r\\n For young hot colts being rag\\'d do rage the more.\\r\\n QUEEN. How fares our noble uncle Lancaster?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What comfort, man? How is\\'t with aged Gaunt?\\r\\n GAUNT. O, how that name befits my composition!\\r\\n Old Gaunt, indeed; and gaunt in being old.\\r\\n Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast;\\r\\n And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt?\\r\\n For sleeping England long time have I watch\\'d;\\r\\n Watching breeds leanness, leanness is an gaunt.\\r\\n The pleasure that some fathers feed upon\\r\\n Is my strict fast-I mean my children\\'s looks;\\r\\n And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt.\\r\\n Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,\\r\\n Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Can sick men play so nicely with their names?\\r\\n GAUNT. No, misery makes sport to mock itself:\\r\\n Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,\\r\\n I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Should dying men flatter with those that live?\\r\\n GAUNT. No, no; men living flatter those that die.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thou, now a-dying, sayest thou flatterest me.\\r\\n GAUNT. O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.\\r\\n GAUNT. Now He that made me knows I see thee ill;\\r\\n Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill.\\r\\n Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land\\r\\n Wherein thou liest in reputation sick;\\r\\n And thou, too careless patient as thou art,\\r\\n Commit\\'st thy anointed body to the cure\\r\\n Of those physicians that first wounded thee:\\r\\n A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,\\r\\n Whose compass is no bigger than thy head;\\r\\n And yet, incaged in so small a verge,\\r\\n The waste is no whit lesser than thy land.\\r\\n O, had thy grandsire with a prophet\\'s eye\\r\\n Seen how his son\\'s son should destroy his sons,\\r\\n From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame,\\r\\n Deposing thee before thou wert possess\\'d,\\r\\n Which art possess\\'d now to depose thyself.\\r\\n Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world,\\r\\n It were a shame to let this land by lease;\\r\\n But for thy world enjoying but this land,\\r\\n Is it not more than shame to shame it so?\\r\\n Landlord of England art thou now, not King.\\r\\n Thy state of law is bondslave to the law;\\r\\n And thou-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. A lunatic lean-witted fool,\\r\\n Presuming on an ague\\'s privilege,\\r\\n Darest with thy frozen admonition\\r\\n Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood\\r\\n With fury from his native residence.\\r\\n Now by my seat\\'s right royal majesty,\\r\\n Wert thou not brother to great Edward\\'s son,\\r\\n This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head\\r\\n Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders.\\r\\n GAUNT. O, Spare me not, my brother Edward\\'s son,\\r\\n For that I was his father Edward\\'s son;\\r\\n That blood already, like the pelican,\\r\\n Hast thou tapp\\'d out, and drunkenly carous\\'d.\\r\\n My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul-\\r\\n Whom fair befall in heaven \\'mongst happy souls!-\\r\\n May be a precedent and witness good\\r\\n That thou respect\\'st not spilling Edward\\'s blood.\\r\\n Join with the present sickness that I have;\\r\\n And thy unkindness be like crooked age,\\r\\n To crop at once a too long withered flower.\\r\\n Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!\\r\\n These words hereafter thy tormentors be!\\r\\n Convey me to my bed, then to my grave.\\r\\n Love they to live that love and honour have.\\r\\n Exit, borne out by his attendants\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And let them die that age and sullens have;\\r\\n For both hast thou, and both become the grave.\\r\\n YORK. I do beseech your Majesty impute his words\\r\\n To wayward sickliness and age in him.\\r\\n He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear\\r\\n As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Right, you say true: as Hereford\\'s love, so his;\\r\\n As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NORTHUMBERLAND\\r\\n\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your Majesty.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What says he?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Nay, nothing; all is said.\\r\\n His tongue is now a stringless instrument;\\r\\n Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.\\r\\n YORK. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so!\\r\\n Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he;\\r\\n His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be.\\r\\n So much for that. Now for our Irish wars.\\r\\n We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns,\\r\\n Which live like venom where no venom else\\r\\n But only they have privilege to live.\\r\\n And for these great affairs do ask some charge,\\r\\n Towards our assistance we do seize to us\\r\\n The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables,\\r\\n Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess\\'d.\\r\\n YORK. How long shall I be patient? Ah, how long\\r\\n Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?\\r\\n Not Gloucester\\'s death, nor Hereford\\'s banishment,\\r\\n Nor Gaunt\\'s rebukes, nor England\\'s private wrongs,\\r\\n Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke\\r\\n About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,\\r\\n Have ever made me sour my patient cheek\\r\\n Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign\\'s face.\\r\\n I am the last of noble Edward\\'s sons,\\r\\n Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first.\\r\\n In war was never lion rag\\'d more fierce,\\r\\n In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,\\r\\n Than was that young and princely gentleman.\\r\\n His face thou hast, for even so look\\'d he,\\r\\n Accomplish\\'d with the number of thy hours;\\r\\n But when he frown\\'d, it was against the French\\r\\n And not against his friends. His noble hand\\r\\n Did win what he did spend, and spent not that\\r\\n Which his triumphant father\\'s hand had won.\\r\\n His hands were guilty of no kindred blood,\\r\\n But bloody with the enemies of his kin.\\r\\n O Richard! York is too far gone with grief,\\r\\n Or else he never would compare between-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, uncle, what\\'s the matter?\\r\\n YORK. O my liege,\\r\\n Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleas\\'d\\r\\n Not to be pardoned, am content withal.\\r\\n Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands\\r\\n The royalties and rights of banish\\'d Hereford?\\r\\n Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Hereford live?\\r\\n Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true?\\r\\n Did not the one deserve to have an heir?\\r\\n Is not his heir a well-deserving son?\\r\\n Take Hereford\\'s rights away, and take from Time\\r\\n His charters and his customary rights;\\r\\n Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day;\\r\\n Be not thyself-for how art thou a king\\r\\n But by fair sequence and succession?\\r\\n Now, afore God-God forbid I say true!-\\r\\n If you do wrongfully seize Hereford\\'s rights,\\r\\n Call in the letters patents that he hath\\r\\n By his attorneys-general to sue\\r\\n His livery, and deny his off\\'red homage,\\r\\n You pluck a thousand dangers on your head,\\r\\n You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts,\\r\\n And prick my tender patience to those thoughts\\r\\n Which honour and allegiance cannot think.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Think what you will, we seize into our hands\\r\\n His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands.\\r\\n YORK. I\\'ll not be by the while. My liege, farewell.\\r\\n What will ensue hereof there\\'s none can tell;\\r\\n But by bad courses may be understood\\r\\n That their events can never fall out good. Exit\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight;\\r\\n Bid him repair to us to Ely House\\r\\n To see this business. To-morrow next\\r\\n We will for Ireland; and \\'tis time, I trow.\\r\\n And we create, in absence of ourself,\\r\\n Our Uncle York Lord Governor of England;\\r\\n For he is just, and always lov\\'d us well.\\r\\n Come on, our queen; to-morrow must we part;\\r\\n Be merry, for our time of stay is short.\\r\\n Flourish. Exeunt KING, QUEEN, BUSHY, AUMERLE,\\r\\n GREEN, and BAGOT\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.\\r\\n Ross. And living too; for now his son is Duke.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. Barely in title, not in revenues.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Richly in both, if justice had her right.\\r\\n ROSS. My heart is great; but it must break with silence,\\r\\n Ere\\'t be disburdened with a liberal tongue.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne\\'er speak more\\r\\n That speaks thy words again to do thee harm!\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford?\\r\\n If it be so, out with it boldly, man;\\r\\n Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.\\r\\n ROSS. No good at all that I can do for him;\\r\\n Unless you call it good to pity him,\\r\\n Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Now, afore God, \\'tis shame such wrongs are borne\\r\\n In him, a royal prince, and many moe\\r\\n Of noble blood in this declining land.\\r\\n The King is not himself, but basely led\\r\\n By flatterers; and what they will inform,\\r\\n Merely in hate, \\'gainst any of us an,\\r\\n That will the King severely prosecute\\r\\n \\'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.\\r\\n ROSS. The commons hath he pill\\'d with grievous taxes;\\r\\n And quite lost their hearts; the nobles hath he find\\r\\n For ancient quarrels and quite lost their hearts.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. And daily new exactions are devis\\'d,\\r\\n As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what;\\r\\n But what, a God\\'s name, doth become of this?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Wars hath not wasted it, for warr\\'d he hath not,\\r\\n But basely yielded upon compromise\\r\\n That which his noble ancestors achiev\\'d with blows.\\r\\n More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.\\r\\n ROSS. The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. The King\\'s grown bankrupt like a broken man.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him.\\r\\n ROSS. He hath not money for these Irish wars,\\r\\n His burdenous taxations notwithstanding,\\r\\n But by the robbing of the banish\\'d Duke.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. His noble kinsman-most degenerate king!\\r\\n But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,\\r\\n Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm;\\r\\n We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,\\r\\n And yet we strike not, but securely perish.\\r\\n ROSS. We see the very wreck that we must suffer;\\r\\n And unavoided is the danger now\\r\\n For suffering so the causes of our wreck.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death\\r\\n I spy life peering; but I dare not say\\r\\n How near the tidings of our comfort is.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. Nay, let us share thy thoughts as thou dost ours.\\r\\n ROSS. Be confident to speak, Northumberland.\\r\\n We three are but thyself, and, speaking so,\\r\\n Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore be bold.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Then thus: I have from Le Port Blanc, a bay\\r\\n In Brittany, receiv\\'d intelligence\\r\\n That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham,\\r\\n That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,\\r\\n His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury,\\r\\n Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston,\\r\\n Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis Quoint-\\r\\n All these, well furnish\\'d by the Duke of Britaine,\\r\\n With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,\\r\\n Are making hither with all due expedience,\\r\\n And shortly mean to touch our northern shore.\\r\\n Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay\\r\\n The first departing of the King for Ireland.\\r\\n If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke,\\r\\n Imp out our drooping country\\'s broken wing,\\r\\n Redeem from broking pawn the blemish\\'d crown,\\r\\n Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre\\'s gilt,\\r\\n And make high majesty look like itself,\\r\\n Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh;\\r\\n But if you faint, as fearing to do so,\\r\\n Stay and be secret, and myself will go.\\r\\n ROSS. To horse, to horse! Urge doubts to them that fear.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. Windsor Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT\\r\\n\\r\\n BUSHY. Madam, your Majesty is too much sad.\\r\\n You promis\\'d, when you parted with the King,\\r\\n To lay aside life-harming heaviness\\r\\n And entertain a cheerful disposition.\\r\\n QUEEN. To please the King, I did; to please myself\\r\\n I cannot do it; yet I know no cause\\r\\n Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,\\r\\n Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest\\r\\n As my sweet Richard. Yet again methinks\\r\\n Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune\\'s womb,\\r\\n Is coming towards me, and my inward soul\\r\\n With nothing trembles. At some thing it grieves\\r\\n More than with parting from my lord the King.\\r\\n BUSHY. Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,\\r\\n Which shows like grief itself, but is not so;\\r\\n For sorrow\\'s eye, glazed with blinding tears,\\r\\n Divides one thing entire to many objects,\\r\\n Like perspectives which, rightly gaz\\'d upon,\\r\\n Show nothing but confusion-ey\\'d awry,\\r\\n Distinguish form. So your sweet Majesty,\\r\\n Looking awry upon your lord\\'s departure,\\r\\n Find shapes of grief more than himself to wail;\\r\\n Which, look\\'d on as it is, is nought but shadows\\r\\n Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious Queen,\\r\\n More than your lord\\'s departure weep not-more is not seen;\\r\\n Or if it be, \\'tis with false sorrow\\'s eye,\\r\\n Which for things true weeps things imaginary.\\r\\n QUEEN. It may be so; but yet my inward soul\\r\\n Persuades me it is otherwise. Howe\\'er it be,\\r\\n I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad\\r\\n As-though, on thinking, on no thought I think-\\r\\n Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.\\r\\n BUSHY. \\'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.\\r\\n QUEEN. \\'Tis nothing less: conceit is still deriv\\'d\\r\\n From some forefather grief; mine is not so,\\r\\n For nothing hath begot my something grief,\\r\\n Or something hath the nothing that I grieve;\\r\\n \\'Tis in reversion that I do possess-\\r\\n But what it is that is not yet known what,\\r\\n I cannot name; \\'tis nameless woe, I wot.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GREEN\\r\\n\\r\\n GREEN. God save your Majesty! and well met, gentlemen.\\r\\n I hope the King is not yet shipp\\'d for Ireland.\\r\\n QUEEN. Why hopest thou so? \\'Tis better hope he is;\\r\\n For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope.\\r\\n Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp\\'d?\\r\\n GREEN. That he, our hope, might have retir\\'d his power\\r\\n And driven into despair an enemy\\'s hope\\r\\n Who strongly hath set footing in this land.\\r\\n The banish\\'d Bolingbroke repeals himself,\\r\\n And with uplifted arms is safe arriv\\'d\\r\\n At Ravenspurgh.\\r\\n QUEEN. Now God in heaven forbid!\\r\\n GREEN. Ah, madam, \\'tis too true; and that is worse,\\r\\n The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy,\\r\\n The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,\\r\\n With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.\\r\\n BUSHY. Why have you not proclaim\\'d Northumberland\\r\\n And all the rest revolted faction traitors?\\r\\n GREEN. We have; whereupon the Earl of Worcester\\r\\n Hath broken his staff, resign\\'d his stewardship,\\r\\n And all the household servants fled with him\\r\\n To Bolingbroke.\\r\\n QUEEN. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe,\\r\\n And Bolingbroke my sorrow\\'s dismal heir.\\r\\n Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy;\\r\\n And I, a gasping new-deliver\\'d mother,\\r\\n Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join\\'d.\\r\\n BUSHY. Despair not, madam.\\r\\n QUEEN. Who shall hinder me?\\r\\n I will despair, and be at enmity\\r\\n With cozening hope-he is a flatterer,\\r\\n A parasite, a keeper-back of death,\\r\\n Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,\\r\\n Which false hope lingers in extremity.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YORK\\r\\n\\r\\n GREEN. Here comes the Duke of York.\\r\\n QUEEN. With signs of war about his aged neck.\\r\\n O, full of careful business are his looks!\\r\\n Uncle, for God\\'s sake, speak comfortable words.\\r\\n YORK. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts.\\r\\n Comfort\\'s in heaven; and we are on the earth,\\r\\n Where nothing lives but crosses, cares, and grief.\\r\\n Your husband, he is gone to save far off,\\r\\n Whilst others come to make him lose at home.\\r\\n Here am I left to underprop his land,\\r\\n Who, weak with age, cannot support myself.\\r\\n Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made;\\r\\n Now shall he try his friends that flatter\\'d him.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a SERVINGMAN\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVINGMAN. My lord, your son was gone before I came.\\r\\n YORK. He was-why so go all which way it will!\\r\\n The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold\\r\\n And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford\\'s side.\\r\\n Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester;\\r\\n Bid her send me presently a thousand pound.\\r\\n Hold, take my ring.\\r\\n SERVINGMAN. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship,\\r\\n To-day, as I came by, I called there-\\r\\n But I shall grieve you to report the rest.\\r\\n YORK. What is\\'t, knave?\\r\\n SERVINGMAN. An hour before I came, the Duchess died.\\r\\n YORK. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes\\r\\n Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!\\r\\n I know not what to do. I would to God,\\r\\n So my untruth had not provok\\'d him to it,\\r\\n The King had cut off my head with my brother\\'s.\\r\\n What, are there no posts dispatch\\'d for Ireland?\\r\\n How shall we do for money for these wars?\\r\\n Come, sister-cousin, I would say-pray, pardon me.\\r\\n Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts,\\r\\n And bring away the armour that is there.\\r\\n Exit SERVINGMAN\\r\\n Gentlemen, will you go muster men?\\r\\n If I know how or which way to order these affairs\\r\\n Thus disorderly thrust into my hands,\\r\\n Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen.\\r\\n T\\'one is my sovereign, whom both my oath\\r\\n And duty bids defend; t\\'other again\\r\\n Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wrong\\'d,\\r\\n Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.\\r\\n Well, somewhat we must do.-Come, cousin,\\r\\n I\\'ll dispose of you. Gentlemen, go muster up your men\\r\\n And meet me presently at Berkeley.\\r\\n I should to Plashy too,\\r\\n But time will not permit. All is uneven,\\r\\n And everything is left at six and seven.\\r\\n Exeunt YORK and QUEEN\\r\\n BUSHY. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland.\\r\\n But none returns. For us to levy power\\r\\n Proportionable to the enemy\\r\\n Is all unpossible.\\r\\n GREEN. Besides, our nearness to the King in love\\r\\n Is near the hate of those love not the King.\\r\\n BAGOT. And that is the wavering commons; for their love\\r\\n Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them,\\r\\n By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.\\r\\n BUSHY. Wherein the King stands generally condemn\\'d.\\r\\n BAGOT. If judgment lie in them, then so do we,\\r\\n Because we ever have been near the King.\\r\\n GREEN. Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristow Castle.\\r\\n The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.\\r\\n BUSHY. Thither will I with you; for little office\\r\\n Will the hateful commons perform for us,\\r\\n Except Eke curs to tear us all to pieces.\\r\\n Will you go along with us?\\r\\n BAGOT. No; I will to Ireland to his Majesty.\\r\\n Farewell. If heart\\'s presages be not vain,\\r\\n We three here part that ne\\'er shall meet again.\\r\\n BUSHY. That\\'s as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.\\r\\n GREEN. Alas, poor Duke! the task he undertakes\\r\\n Is numb\\'ring sands and drinking oceans dry.\\r\\n Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.\\r\\n Farewell at once-for once, for all, and ever.\\r\\n BUSHY. Well, we may meet again.\\r\\n BAGOT. I fear me, never. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. Gloucestershire\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND, forces\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Believe me, noble lord,\\r\\n I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire.\\r\\n These high wild hills and rough uneven ways\\r\\n Draws out our miles, and makes them wearisome;\\r\\n And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,\\r\\n Making the hard way sweet and delectable.\\r\\n But I bethink me what a weary way\\r\\n From Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be found\\r\\n In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company,\\r\\n Which, I protest, hath very much beguil\\'d\\r\\n The tediousness and process of my travel.\\r\\n But theirs is sweet\\'ned with the hope to have\\r\\n The present benefit which I possess;\\r\\n And hope to joy is little less in joy\\r\\n Than hope enjoy\\'d. By this the weary lords\\r\\n Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done\\r\\n By sight of what I have, your noble company.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Of much less value is my company\\r\\n Than your good words. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HARRY PERCY\\r\\n\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. It is my son, young Harry Percy,\\r\\n Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.\\r\\n Harry, how fares your uncle?\\r\\n PERCY. I had thought, my lord, to have learn\\'d his health of you.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Why, is he not with the Queen?\\r\\n PERCY. No, my good lord; he hath forsook the court,\\r\\n Broken his staff of office, and dispers\\'d\\r\\n The household of the King.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. What was his reason?\\r\\n He was not so resolv\\'d when last we spake together.\\r\\n PERCY. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor.\\r\\n But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh,\\r\\n To offer service to the Duke of Hereford;\\r\\n And sent me over by Berkeley, to discover\\r\\n What power the Duke of York had levied there;\\r\\n Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy?\\r\\n PERCY. No, my good lord; for that is not forgot\\r\\n Which ne\\'er I did remember; to my knowledge,\\r\\n I never in my life did look on him.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Then learn to know him now; this is the Duke.\\r\\n PERCY. My gracious lord, I tender you my service,\\r\\n Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young;\\r\\n Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm\\r\\n To more approved service and desert.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure\\r\\n I count myself in nothing else so happy\\r\\n As in a soul rememb\\'ring my good friends;\\r\\n And as my fortune ripens with thy love,\\r\\n It shall be still thy true love\\'s recompense.\\r\\n My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. How far is it to Berkeley? And what stir\\r\\n Keeps good old York there with his men of war?\\r\\n PERCY. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees,\\r\\n Mann\\'d with three hundred men, as I have heard;\\r\\n And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and Seymour-\\r\\n None else of name and noble estimate.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ross and WILLOUGHBY\\r\\n\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby,\\r\\n Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues\\r\\n A banish\\'d traitor. All my treasury\\r\\n Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich\\'d,\\r\\n Shall be your love and labour\\'s recompense.\\r\\n ROSS. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. And far surmounts our labour to attain it.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor;\\r\\n Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,\\r\\n Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BERKELEY\\r\\n\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess.\\r\\n BERKELEY. My Lord of Hereford, my message is to you.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. My lord, my answer is-\\'to Lancaster\\';\\r\\n And I am come to seek that name in England;\\r\\n And I must find that title in your tongue\\r\\n Before I make reply to aught you say.\\r\\n BERKELEY. Mistake me not, my lord; \\'tis not my meaning\\r\\n To raze one title of your honour out.\\r\\n To you, my lord, I come-what lord you will-\\r\\n From the most gracious regent of this land,\\r\\n The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on\\r\\n To take advantage of the absent time,\\r\\n And fright our native peace with self-borne arms.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YORK, attended\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I shall not need transport my words by you;\\r\\n Here comes his Grace in person. My noble uncle!\\r\\n [Kneels]\\r\\n YORK. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,\\r\\n Whose duty is deceivable and false.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. My gracious uncle!-\\r\\n YORK. Tut, tut!\\r\\n Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle.\\r\\n I am no traitor\\'s uncle; and that word \\'grace\\'\\r\\n In an ungracious mouth is but profane.\\r\\n Why have those banish\\'d and forbidden legs\\r\\n Dar\\'d once to touch a dust of England\\'s ground?\\r\\n But then more \\'why?\\'-why have they dar\\'d to march\\r\\n So many miles upon her peaceful bosom,\\r\\n Frighting her pale-fac\\'d villages with war\\r\\n And ostentation of despised arms?\\r\\n Com\\'st thou because the anointed King is hence?\\r\\n Why, foolish boy, the King is left behind,\\r\\n And in my loyal bosom lies his power.\\r\\n Were I but now lord of such hot youth\\r\\n As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself\\r\\n Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,\\r\\n From forth the ranks of many thousand French,\\r\\n O, then how quickly should this arm of mine,\\r\\n Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise the\\r\\n And minister correction to thy fault!\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE My gracious uncle, let me know my fault;\\r\\n On what condition stands it and wherein?\\r\\n YORK. Even in condition of the worst degree-\\r\\n In gross rebellion and detested treason.\\r\\n Thou art a banish\\'d man, and here art come\\r\\n Before the expiration of thy time,\\r\\n In braving arms against thy sovereign.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. As I was banish\\'d, I was banish\\'d Hereford;\\r\\n But as I come, I come for Lancaster.\\r\\n And, noble uncle, I beseech your Grace\\r\\n Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye.\\r\\n You are my father, for methinks in you\\r\\n I see old Gaunt alive. O, then, my father,\\r\\n Will you permit that I shall stand condemn\\'d\\r\\n A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties\\r\\n Pluck\\'d from my arms perforce, and given away\\r\\n To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?\\r\\n If that my cousin king be King in England,\\r\\n It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster.\\r\\n You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin;\\r\\n Had you first died, and he been thus trod down,\\r\\n He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father\\r\\n To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay.\\r\\n I am denied to sue my livery here,\\r\\n And yet my letters patents give me leave.\\r\\n My father\\'s goods are all distrain\\'d and sold;\\r\\n And these and all are all amiss employ\\'d.\\r\\n What would you have me do? I am a subject,\\r\\n And I challenge law-attorneys are denied me;\\r\\n And therefore personally I lay my claim\\r\\n To my inheritance of free descent.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. The noble Duke hath been too much abused.\\r\\n ROSS. It stands your Grace upon to do him right.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. Base men by his endowments are made great.\\r\\n YORK. My lords of England, let me tell you this:\\r\\n I have had feeling of my cousin\\'s wrongs,\\r\\n And labour\\'d all I could to do him right;\\r\\n But in this kind to come, in braving arms,\\r\\n Be his own carver and cut out his way,\\r\\n To find out right with wrong-it may not be;\\r\\n And you that do abet him in this kind\\r\\n Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. The noble Duke hath sworn his coming is\\r\\n But for his own; and for the right of that\\r\\n We all have strongly sworn to give him aid;\\r\\n And let him never see joy that breaks that oath!\\r\\n YORK. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms.\\r\\n I cannot mend it, I must needs confess,\\r\\n Because my power is weak and all ill left;\\r\\n But if I could, by Him that gave me life,\\r\\n I would attach you all and make you stoop\\r\\n Unto the sovereign mercy of the King;\\r\\n But since I cannot, be it known unto you\\r\\n I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well;\\r\\n Unless you please to enter in the castle,\\r\\n And there repose you for this night.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. An offer, uncle, that we will accept.\\r\\n But we must win your Grace to go with us\\r\\n To Bristow Castle, which they say is held\\r\\n By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices,\\r\\n The caterpillars of the commonwealth,\\r\\n Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.\\r\\n YORK. It may be I will go with you; but yet I\\'ll pause,\\r\\n For I am loath to break our country\\'s laws.\\r\\n Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are.\\r\\n Things past redress are now with me past care. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. A camp in Wales\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter EARL OF SALISBURY and a WELSH CAPTAIN\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPTAIN. My Lord of Salisbury, we have stay\\'d ten days\\r\\n And hardly kept our countrymen together,\\r\\n And yet we hear no tidings from the King;\\r\\n Therefore we will disperse ourselves. Farewell.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman;\\r\\n The King reposeth all his confidence in thee.\\r\\n CAPTAIN. \\'Tis thought the King is dead; we will not stay.\\r\\n The bay trees in our country are all wither\\'d,\\r\\n And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;\\r\\n The pale-fac\\'d moon looks bloody on the earth,\\r\\n And lean-look\\'d prophets whisper fearful change;\\r\\n Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap-\\r\\n The one in fear to lose what they enjoy,\\r\\n The other to enjoy by rage and war.\\r\\n These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.\\r\\n Farewell. Our countrymen are gone and fled,\\r\\n As well assur\\'d Richard their King is dead. Exit\\r\\n SALISBURY. Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind,\\r\\n I see thy glory like a shooting star\\r\\n Fall to the base earth from the firmament!\\r\\n The sun sets weeping in the lowly west,\\r\\n Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest;\\r\\n Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes;\\r\\n And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. BOLINGBROKE\\'S camp at Bristol\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, ROSS, WILLOUGHBY,\\r\\nBUSHY and GREEN, prisoners\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Bring forth these men.\\r\\n Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls-\\r\\n Since presently your souls must part your bodies-\\r\\n With too much urging your pernicious lives,\\r\\n For \\'twere no charity; yet, to wash your blood\\r\\n From off my hands, here in the view of men\\r\\n I will unfold some causes of your deaths:\\r\\n You have misled a prince, a royal king,\\r\\n A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,\\r\\n By you unhappied and disfigured clean;\\r\\n You have in manner with your sinful hours\\r\\n Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him;\\r\\n Broke the possession of a royal bed,\\r\\n And stain\\'d the beauty of a fair queen\\'s cheeks\\r\\n With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs;\\r\\n Myself-a prince by fortune of my birth,\\r\\n Near to the King in blood, and near in love\\r\\n Till you did make him misinterpret me-\\r\\n Have stoop\\'d my neck under your injuries\\r\\n And sigh\\'d my English breath in foreign clouds,\\r\\n Eating the bitter bread of banishment,\\r\\n Whilst you have fed upon my signories,\\r\\n Dispark\\'d my parks and fell\\'d my forest woods,\\r\\n From my own windows torn my household coat,\\r\\n Raz\\'d out my imprese, leaving me no sign\\r\\n Save men\\'s opinions and my living blood\\r\\n To show the world I am a gentleman.\\r\\n This and much more, much more than twice all this,\\r\\n Condemns you to the death. See them delivered over\\r\\n To execution and the hand of death.\\r\\n BUSHY. More welcome is the stroke of death to me\\r\\n Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell.\\r\\n GREEN. My comfort is that heaven will take our souls,\\r\\n And plague injustice with the pains of hell.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch\\'d.\\r\\n Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, and others, with the prisoners\\r\\n Uncle, you say the Queen is at your house;\\r\\n For God\\'s sake, fairly let her be entreated.\\r\\n Tell her I send to her my kind commends;\\r\\n Take special care my greetings be delivered.\\r\\n YORK. A gentleman of mine I have dispatch\\'d\\r\\n With letters of your love to her at large.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away,\\r\\n To fight with Glendower and his complices.\\r\\n Awhile to work, and after holiday. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. The coast of Wales. A castle in view\\r\\n\\r\\nDrums. Flourish and colours. Enter the KING, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE,\\r\\nAUMERLE, and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Barkloughly Castle can they this at hand?\\r\\n AUMERLE. Yea, my lord. How brooks your Grace the air\\r\\n After your late tossing on the breaking seas?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Needs must I like it well. I weep for joy\\r\\n To stand upon my kingdom once again.\\r\\n Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,\\r\\n Though rebels wound thee with their horses\\' hoofs.\\r\\n As a long-parted mother with her child\\r\\n Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting,\\r\\n So weeping-smiling greet I thee, my earth,\\r\\n And do thee favours with my royal hands.\\r\\n Feed not thy sovereign\\'s foe, my gentle earth,\\r\\n Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense;\\r\\n But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,\\r\\n And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way,\\r\\n Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet\\r\\n Which with usurping steps do trample thee;\\r\\n Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies;\\r\\n And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,\\r\\n Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder,\\r\\n Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch\\r\\n Throw death upon thy sovereign\\'s enemies.\\r\\n Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords.\\r\\n This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones\\r\\n Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king\\r\\n Shall falter under foul rebellion\\'s arms.\\r\\n CARLISLE. Fear not, my lord; that Power that made you king\\r\\n Hath power to keep you king in spite of all.\\r\\n The means that heaven yields must be embrac\\'d\\r\\n And not neglected; else, if heaven would,\\r\\n And we will not, heaven\\'s offer we refuse,\\r\\n The proffered means of succour and redress.\\r\\n AUMERLE. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss;\\r\\n Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,\\r\\n Grows strong and great in substance and in power.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Discomfortable cousin! know\\'st thou not\\r\\n That when the searching eye of heaven is hid,\\r\\n Behind the globe, that lights the lower world,\\r\\n Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen\\r\\n In murders and in outrage boldly here;\\r\\n But when from under this terrestrial ball\\r\\n He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines\\r\\n And darts his light through every guilty hole,\\r\\n Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,\\r\\n The cloak of night being pluck\\'d from off their backs,\\r\\n Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?\\r\\n So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,\\r\\n Who all this while hath revell\\'d in the night,\\r\\n Whilst we were wand\\'ring with the Antipodes,\\r\\n Shall see us rising in our throne, the east,\\r\\n His treasons will sit blushing in his face,\\r\\n Not able to endure the sight of day,\\r\\n But self-affrighted tremble at his sin.\\r\\n Not all the water in the rough rude sea\\r\\n Can wash the balm off from an anointed king;\\r\\n The breath of worldly men cannot depose\\r\\n The deputy elected by the Lord.\\r\\n For every man that Bolingbroke hath press\\'d\\r\\n To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,\\r\\n God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay\\r\\n A glorious angel. Then, if angels fight,\\r\\n Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards the right.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SALISBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power?\\r\\n SALISBURY. Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord,\\r\\n Than this weak arm. Discomfort guides my tongue,\\r\\n And bids me speak of nothing but despair.\\r\\n One day too late, I fear me, noble lord,\\r\\n Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth.\\r\\n O, call back yesterday, bid time return,\\r\\n And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men!\\r\\n To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late,\\r\\n O\\'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state;\\r\\n For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead,\\r\\n Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers\\'d, and fled.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Comfort, my liege, why looks your Grace so pale?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. But now the blood of twenty thousand men\\r\\n Did triumph in my face, and they are fled;\\r\\n And, till so much blood thither come again,\\r\\n Have I not reason to look pale and dead?\\r\\n All souls that will be safe, fly from my side;\\r\\n For time hath set a blot upon my pride.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Comfort, my liege; remember who you are.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I had forgot myself; am I not King?\\r\\n Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest.\\r\\n Is not the King\\'s name twenty thousand names?\\r\\n Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes\\r\\n At thy great glory. Look not to the ground,\\r\\n Ye favourites of a king; are we not high?\\r\\n High be our thoughts. I know my uncle York\\r\\n Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SCROOP\\r\\n\\r\\n SCROOP. More health and happiness betide my liege\\r\\n Than can my care-tun\\'d tongue deliver him.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Mine ear is open and my heart prepar\\'d.\\r\\n The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.\\r\\n Say, is my kingdom lost? Why, \\'twas my care,\\r\\n And what loss is it to be rid of care?\\r\\n Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?\\r\\n Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,\\r\\n We\\'ll serve him too, and be his fellow so.\\r\\n Revolt our subjects? That we cannot mend;\\r\\n They break their faith to God as well as us.\\r\\n Cry woe, destruction, ruin, and decay-\\r\\n The worst is death, and death will have his day.\\r\\n SCROOP. Glad am I that your Highness is so arm\\'d\\r\\n To bear the tidings of calamity.\\r\\n Like an unseasonable stormy day\\r\\n Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores,\\r\\n As if the world were all dissolv\\'d to tears,\\r\\n So high above his limits swells the rage\\r\\n Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land\\r\\n With hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel.\\r\\n White-beards have arm\\'d their thin and hairless scalps\\r\\n Against thy majesty; boys, with women\\'s voices,\\r\\n Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints\\r\\n In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown;\\r\\n Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows\\r\\n Of double-fatal yew against thy state;\\r\\n Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills\\r\\n Against thy seat: both young and old rebel,\\r\\n And all goes worse than I have power to tell.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Too well, too well thou tell\\'st a tale so in.\\r\\n Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? Where is Bagot?\\r\\n What is become of Bushy? Where is Green?\\r\\n That they have let the dangerous enemy\\r\\n Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?\\r\\n If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it.\\r\\n I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke.\\r\\n SCROOP. Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O villains, vipers, damn\\'d without redemption!\\r\\n Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!\\r\\n Snakes, in my heart-blood warm\\'d, that sting my heart!\\r\\n Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas!\\r\\n Would they make peace? Terrible hell make war\\r\\n Upon their spotted souls for this offence!\\r\\n SCROOP. Sweet love, I see, changing his property,\\r\\n Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate.\\r\\n Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made\\r\\n With heads, and not with hands; those whom you curse\\r\\n Have felt the worst of death\\'s destroying wound\\r\\n And lie full low, grav\\'d in the hollow ground.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?\\r\\n SCROOP. Ay, all of them at Bristow lost their heads.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Where is the Duke my father with his power?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. No matter where-of comfort no man speak.\\r\\n Let\\'s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;\\r\\n Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes\\r\\n Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.\\r\\n Let\\'s choose executors and talk of wills;\\r\\n And yet not so-for what can we bequeath\\r\\n Save our deposed bodies to the ground?\\r\\n Our lands, our lives, and an, are Bolingbroke\\'s.\\r\\n And nothing can we can our own but death\\r\\n And that small model of the barren earth\\r\\n Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.\\r\\n For God\\'s sake let us sit upon the ground\\r\\n And tell sad stories of the death of kings:\\r\\n How some have been depos\\'d, some slain in war,\\r\\n Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos\\'d,\\r\\n Some poison\\'d by their wives, some sleeping kill\\'d,\\r\\n All murder\\'d-for within the hollow crown\\r\\n That rounds the mortal temples of a king\\r\\n Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits,\\r\\n Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp;\\r\\n Allowing him a breath, a little scene,\\r\\n To monarchize, be fear\\'d, and kill with looks;\\r\\n Infusing him with self and vain conceit,\\r\\n As if this flesh which walls about our life\\r\\n Were brass impregnable; and, humour\\'d thus,\\r\\n Comes at the last, and with a little pin\\r\\n Bores through his castle wall, and farewell, king!\\r\\n Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood\\r\\n With solemn reverence; throw away respect,\\r\\n Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty;\\r\\n For you have but mistook me all this while.\\r\\n I live with bread like you, feel want,\\r\\n Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus,\\r\\n How can you say to me I am a king?\\r\\n CARLISLE. My lord, wise men ne\\'er sit and wail their woes,\\r\\n But presently prevent the ways to wail.\\r\\n To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength,\\r\\n Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe,\\r\\n And so your follies fight against yourself.\\r\\n Fear and be slain-no worse can come to fight;\\r\\n And fight and die is death destroying death,\\r\\n Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.\\r\\n AUMERLE. My father hath a power; inquire of him,\\r\\n And learn to make a body of a limb.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thou chid\\'st me well. Proud Bolingbroke, I come\\r\\n To change blows with thee for our day of doom.\\r\\n This ague fit of fear is over-blown;\\r\\n An easy task it is to win our own.\\r\\n Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power?\\r\\n Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.\\r\\n SCROOP. Men judge by the complexion of the sky\\r\\n The state in inclination of the day;\\r\\n So may you by my dull and heavy eye,\\r\\n My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.\\r\\n I play the torturer, by small and small\\r\\n To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:\\r\\n Your uncle York is join\\'d with Bolingbroke;\\r\\n And all your northern castles yielded up,\\r\\n And all your southern gentlemen in arms\\r\\n Upon his party.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thou hast said enough.\\r\\n [To AUMERLE] Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth\\r\\n Of that sweet way I was in to despair!\\r\\n What say you now? What comfort have we now?\\r\\n By heaven, I\\'ll hate him everlastingly\\r\\n That bids me be of comfort any more.\\r\\n Go to Flint Castle; there I\\'ll pine away;\\r\\n A king, woe\\'s slave, shall kingly woe obey.\\r\\n That power I have, discharge; and let them go\\r\\n To ear the land that hath some hope to grow,\\r\\n For I have none. Let no man speak again\\r\\n To alter this, for counsel is but vain.\\r\\n AUMERLE. My liege, one word.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. He does me double wrong\\r\\n That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.\\r\\n Discharge my followers; let them hence away,\\r\\n From Richard\\'s night to Bolingbroke\\'s fair day. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. Wales. Before Flint Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter, with drum and colours, BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, and\\r\\nforces\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. So that by this intelligence we learn\\r\\n The Welshmen are dispers\\'d; and Salisbury\\r\\n Is gone to meet the King, who lately landed\\r\\n With some few private friends upon this coast.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. The news is very fair and good, my lord.\\r\\n Richard not far from hence hath hid his head.\\r\\n YORK. It would beseem the Lord Northumberland\\r\\n To say \\'King Richard.\\' Alack the heavy day\\r\\n When such a sacred king should hide his head!\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Your Grace mistakes; only to be brief,\\r\\n Left I his title out.\\r\\n YORK. The time hath been,\\r\\n Would you have been so brief with him, he would\\r\\n Have been so brief with you to shorten you,\\r\\n For taking so the head, your whole head\\'s length.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Mistake not, uncle, further than you should.\\r\\n YORK. Take not, good cousin, further than you should,\\r\\n Lest you mistake. The heavens are over our heads.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I know it, uncle; and oppose not myself\\r\\n Against their will. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PERCY\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, Harry. What, will not this castle yield?\\r\\n PIERCY. The castle royally is mann\\'d, my lord,\\r\\n Against thy entrance.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Royally!\\r\\n Why, it contains no king?\\r\\n PERCY. Yes, my good lord,\\r\\n It doth contain a king; King Richard lies\\r\\n Within the limits of yon lime and stone;\\r\\n And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,\\r\\n Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman\\r\\n Of holy reverence; who, I cannot learn.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. [To NORTHUMBERLAND] Noble lord,\\r\\n Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle;\\r\\n Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley\\r\\n Into his ruin\\'d ears, and thus deliver:\\r\\n Henry Bolingbroke\\r\\n On both his knees doth kiss King Richard\\'s hand,\\r\\n And sends allegiance and true faith of heart\\r\\n To his most royal person; hither come\\r\\n Even at his feet to lay my arms and power,\\r\\n Provided that my banishment repeal\\'d\\r\\n And lands restor\\'d again be freely granted;\\r\\n If not, I\\'ll use the advantage of my power\\r\\n And lay the summer\\'s dust with showers of blood\\r\\n Rain\\'d from the wounds of slaughtered Englishmen;\\r\\n The which how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke\\r\\n It is such crimson tempest should bedrench\\r\\n The fresh green lap of fair King Richard\\'s land,\\r\\n My stooping duty tenderly shall show.\\r\\n Go, signify as much, while here we march\\r\\n Upon the grassy carpet of this plain.\\r\\n [NORTHUMBERLAND advances to the Castle, with a trumpet]\\r\\n Let\\'s march without the noise of threat\\'ning drum,\\r\\n That from this castle\\'s tottered battlements\\r\\n Our fair appointments may be well perus\\'d.\\r\\n Methinks King Richard and myself should meet\\r\\n With no less terror than the elements\\r\\n Of fire and water, when their thund\\'ring shock\\r\\n At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.\\r\\n Be he the fire, I\\'ll be the yielding water;\\r\\n The rage be his, whilst on the earth I rain\\r\\n My waters-on the earth, and not on him.\\r\\n March on, and mark King Richard how he looks.\\r\\n\\r\\n Parle without, and answer within; then a flourish.\\r\\n Enter on the walls, the KING, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE,\\r\\n AUMERLE, SCROOP, and SALISBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n See, see, King Richard doth himself appear,\\r\\n As doth the blushing discontented sun\\r\\n From out the fiery portal of the east,\\r\\n When he perceives the envious clouds are bent\\r\\n To dim his glory and to stain the track\\r\\n Of his bright passage to the occident.\\r\\n YORK. Yet he looks like a king. Behold, his eye,\\r\\n As bright as is the eagle\\'s, lightens forth\\r\\n Controlling majesty. Alack, alack, for woe,\\r\\n That any harm should stain so fair a show!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. [To NORTHUMBERLAND] We are amaz\\'d; and thus long\\r\\n have we stood\\r\\n To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,\\r\\n Because we thought ourself thy lawful King;\\r\\n And if we be, how dare thy joints forget\\r\\n To pay their awful duty to our presence?\\r\\n If we be not, show us the hand of God\\r\\n That hath dismiss\\'d us from our stewardship;\\r\\n For well we know no hand of blood and bone\\r\\n Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre,\\r\\n Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp.\\r\\n And though you think that all, as you have done,\\r\\n Have torn their souls by turning them from us,\\r\\n And we are barren and bereft of friends,\\r\\n Yet know-my master, God omnipotent,\\r\\n Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf\\r\\n Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike\\r\\n Your children yet unborn and unbegot,\\r\\n That lift your vassal hands against my head\\r\\n And threat the glory of my precious crown.\\r\\n Tell Bolingbroke, for yon methinks he stands,\\r\\n That every stride he makes upon my land\\r\\n Is dangerous treason; he is come to open\\r\\n The purple testament of bleeding war;\\r\\n But ere the crown he looks for live in peace,\\r\\n Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers\\' sons\\r\\n Shall ill become the flower of England\\'s face,\\r\\n Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace\\r\\n To scarlet indignation, and bedew\\r\\n Her pastures\\' grass with faithful English blood.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. The King of Heaven forbid our lord the King\\r\\n Should so with civil and uncivil arms\\r\\n Be rush\\'d upon! Thy thrice noble cousin,\\r\\n Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand;\\r\\n And by the honourable tomb he swears\\r\\n That stands upon your royal grandsire\\'s bones,\\r\\n And by the royalties of both your bloods,\\r\\n Currents that spring from one most gracious head,\\r\\n And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt,\\r\\n And by the worth and honour of himself,\\r\\n Comprising all that may be sworn or said,\\r\\n His coming hither hath no further scope\\r\\n Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg\\r\\n Enfranchisement immediate on his knees;\\r\\n Which on thy royal party granted once,\\r\\n His glittering arms he will commend to rust,\\r\\n His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart\\r\\n To faithful service of your Majesty.\\r\\n This swears he, as he is a prince, is just;\\r\\n And as I am a gentleman I credit him.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Northumberland, say thus the King returns:\\r\\n His noble cousin is right welcome hither;\\r\\n And all the number of his fair demands\\r\\n Shall be accomplish\\'d without contradiction.\\r\\n With all the gracious utterance thou hast\\r\\n Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.\\r\\n [To AUMERLE] We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not,\\r\\n To look so poorly and to speak so fair?\\r\\n Shall we call back Northumberland, and send\\r\\n Defiance to the traitor, and so die?\\r\\n AUMERLE. No, good my lord; let\\'s fight with gentle words\\r\\n Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O God, O God! that e\\'er this tongue of mine\\r\\n That laid the sentence of dread banishment\\r\\n On yon proud man should take it off again\\r\\n With words of sooth! O that I were as great\\r\\n As is my grief, or lesser than my name!\\r\\n Or that I could forget what I have been!\\r\\n Or not remember what I must be now!\\r\\n Swell\\'st thou, proud heart? I\\'ll give thee scope to beat,\\r\\n Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What must the King do now? Must he submit?\\r\\n The King shall do it. Must he be depos\\'d?\\r\\n The King shall be contented. Must he lose\\r\\n The name of king? A God\\'s name, let it go.\\r\\n I\\'ll give my jewels for a set of beads,\\r\\n My gorgeous palace for a hermitage,\\r\\n My gay apparel for an almsman\\'s gown,\\r\\n My figur\\'d goblets for a dish of wood,\\r\\n My sceptre for a palmer\\'s walking staff,\\r\\n My subjects for a pair of carved saints,\\r\\n And my large kingdom for a little grave,\\r\\n A little little grave, an obscure grave-\\r\\n Or I\\'ll be buried in the king\\'s high way,\\r\\n Some way of common trade, where subjects\\' feet\\r\\n May hourly trample on their sovereign\\'s head;\\r\\n For on my heart they tread now whilst I live,\\r\\n And buried once, why not upon my head?\\r\\n Aumerle, thou weep\\'st, my tender-hearted cousin!\\r\\n We\\'ll make foul weather with despised tears;\\r\\n Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn\\r\\n And make a dearth in this revolting land.\\r\\n Or shall we play the wantons with our woes\\r\\n And make some pretty match with shedding tears?\\r\\n As thus: to drop them still upon one place\\r\\n Till they have fretted us a pair of graves\\r\\n Within the earth; and, therein laid-there lies\\r\\n Two kinsmen digg\\'d their graves with weeping eyes.\\r\\n Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see\\r\\n I talk but idly, and you laugh at me.\\r\\n Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland,\\r\\n What says King Bolingbroke? Will his Majesty\\r\\n Give Richard leave to live till Richard die?\\r\\n You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, in the base court he doth attend\\r\\n To speak with you; may it please you to come down?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Down, down I come, like glist\\'ring Phaethon,\\r\\n Wanting the manage of unruly jades.\\r\\n In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base,\\r\\n To come at traitors\\' calls, and do them grace.\\r\\n In the base court? Come down? Down, court! down, king!\\r\\n For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing.\\r\\n Exeunt from above\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. What says his Majesty?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Sorrow and grief of heart\\r\\n Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man;\\r\\n Yet he is come.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the KING, and his attendants, below\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Stand all apart,\\r\\n And show fair duty to his Majesty. [He kneels down]\\r\\n My gracious lord-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee\\r\\n To make the base earth proud with kissing it.\\r\\n Me rather had my heart might feel your love\\r\\n Than my unpleas\\'d eye see your courtesy.\\r\\n Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know,\\r\\n [Touching his own head] Thus high at least, although your\\r\\n knee be low.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord,\\r\\n As my true service shall deserve your love.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Well you deserve. They well deserve to have\\r\\n That know the strong\\'st and surest way to get.\\r\\n Uncle, give me your hands; nay, dry your eyes:\\r\\n Tears show their love, but want their remedies.\\r\\n Cousin, I am too young to be your father,\\r\\n Though you are old enough to be my heir.\\r\\n What you will have, I\\'ll give, and willing too;\\r\\n For do we must what force will have us do.\\r\\n Set on towards London. Cousin, is it so?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Yea, my good lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then I must not say no. Flourish. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. The DUKE OF YORK\\'s garden\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the QUEEN and two LADIES\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN. What sport shall we devise here in this garden\\r\\n To drive away the heavy thought of care?\\r\\n LADY. Madam, we\\'ll play at bowls.\\r\\n QUEEN. \\'Twill make me think the world is full of rubs\\r\\n And that my fortune runs against the bias.\\r\\n LADY. Madam, we\\'ll dance.\\r\\n QUEEN. My legs can keep no measure in delight,\\r\\n When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief;\\r\\n Therefore no dancing, girl; some other sport.\\r\\n LADY. Madam, we\\'ll tell tales.\\r\\n QUEEN. Of sorrow or of joy?\\r\\n LADY. Of either, madam.\\r\\n QUEEN. Of neither, girl;\\r\\n For if of joy, being altogether wanting,\\r\\n It doth remember me the more of sorrow;\\r\\n Or if of grief, being altogether had,\\r\\n It adds more sorrow to my want of joy;\\r\\n For what I have I need not to repeat,\\r\\n And what I want it boots not to complain.\\r\\n LADY. Madam, I\\'ll sing.\\r\\n QUEEN. \\'Tis well\\' that thou hast cause;\\r\\n But thou shouldst please me better wouldst thou weep.\\r\\n LADY. I could weep, madam, would it do you good.\\r\\n QUEEN. And I could sing, would weeping do me good,\\r\\n And never borrow any tear of thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a GARDENER and two SERVANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n But stay, here come the gardeners.\\r\\n Let\\'s step into the shadow of these trees.\\r\\n My wretchedness unto a row of pins,\\r\\n They will talk of state, for every one doth so\\r\\n Against a change: woe is forerun with woe.\\r\\n [QUEEN and LADIES retire]\\r\\n GARDENER. Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks,\\r\\n Which, like unruly children, make their sire\\r\\n Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight;\\r\\n Give some supportance to the bending twigs.\\r\\n Go thou, and Eke an executioner\\r\\n Cut off the heads of too fast growing sprays\\r\\n That look too lofty in our commonwealth:\\r\\n All must be even in our government.\\r\\n You thus employ\\'d, I will go root away\\r\\n The noisome weeds which without profit suck\\r\\n The soil\\'s fertility from wholesome flowers.\\r\\n SERVANT. Why should we, in the compass of a pale,\\r\\n Keep law and form and due proportion,\\r\\n Showing, as in a model, our firm estate,\\r\\n When our sea-walled garden, the whole land,\\r\\n Is full of weeds; her fairest flowers chok\\'d up,\\r\\n Her fruit trees all unprun\\'d, her hedges ruin\\'d,\\r\\n Her knots disordered, and her wholesome herbs\\r\\n Swarming with caterpillars?\\r\\n GARDENER. Hold thy peace.\\r\\n He that hath suffer\\'d this disorder\\'d spring\\r\\n Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf;\\r\\n The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did shelter,\\r\\n That seem\\'d in eating him to hold him up,\\r\\n Are pluck\\'d up root and all by Bolingbroke-\\r\\n I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.\\r\\n SERVANT. What, are they dead?\\r\\n GARDENER. They are; and Bolingbroke\\r\\n Hath seiz\\'d the wasteful King. O, what pity is it\\r\\n That he had not so trimm\\'d and dress\\'d his land\\r\\n As we this garden! We at time of year\\r\\n Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit trees,\\r\\n Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood,\\r\\n With too much riches it confound itself;\\r\\n Had he done so to great and growing men,\\r\\n They might have Ev\\'d to bear, and he to taste\\r\\n Their fruits of duty. Superfluous branches\\r\\n We lop away, that bearing boughs may live;\\r\\n Had he done so, himself had home the crown,\\r\\n Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.\\r\\n SERVANT. What, think you the King shall be deposed?\\r\\n GARDENER. Depress\\'d he is already, and depos\\'d\\r\\n \\'Tis doubt he will be. Letters came last night\\r\\n To a dear friend of the good Duke of York\\'s\\r\\n That tell black tidings.\\r\\n QUEEN. O, I am press\\'d to death through want of speaking!\\r\\n [Coming forward]\\r\\n Thou, old Adam\\'s likeness, set to dress this garden,\\r\\n How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news?\\r\\n What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested the\\r\\n To make a second fall of cursed man?\\r\\n Why dost thou say King Richard is depos\\'d?\\r\\n Dar\\'st thou, thou little better thing than earth,\\r\\n Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how,\\r\\n Cam\\'st thou by this ill tidings? Speak, thou wretch.\\r\\n GARDENER. Pardon me, madam; little joy have\\r\\n To breathe this news; yet what I say is true.\\r\\n King Richard, he is in the mighty hold\\r\\n Of Bolingbroke. Their fortunes both are weigh\\'d.\\r\\n In your lord\\'s scale is nothing but himself,\\r\\n And some few vanities that make him light;\\r\\n But in the balance of great Bolingbroke,\\r\\n Besides himself, are all the English peers,\\r\\n And with that odds he weighs King Richard down.\\r\\n Post you to London, and you will find it so;\\r\\n I speak no more than every one doth know.\\r\\n QUEEN. Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot,\\r\\n Doth not thy embassage belong to me,\\r\\n And am I last that knows it? O, thou thinkest\\r\\n To serve me last, that I may longest keep\\r\\n Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go\\r\\n To meet at London London\\'s King in woe.\\r\\n What, was I born to this, that my sad look\\r\\n Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?\\r\\n Gard\\'ner, for telling me these news of woe,\\r\\n Pray God the plants thou graft\\'st may never grow!\\r\\n Exeunt QUEEN and LADIES\\r\\n GARDENER. Poor Queen, so that thy state might be no worse,\\r\\n I would my skill were subject to thy curse.\\r\\n Here did she fall a tear; here in this place\\r\\n I\\'ll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace.\\r\\n Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,\\r\\n In the remembrance of a weeping queen. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE 1. Westminster Hall\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter, as to the Parliament, BOLINGBROKE, AUMERLE, NORTHUMBERLAND,\\r\\nPERCY, FITZWATER, SURREY, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, the ABBOT OF\\r\\nWESTMINSTER, and others; HERALD, OFFICERS, and BAGOT\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Call forth Bagot.\\r\\n Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind-\\r\\n What thou dost know of noble Gloucester\\'s death;\\r\\n Who wrought it with the King, and who perform\\'d\\r\\n The bloody office of his timeless end.\\r\\n BAGOT. Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man.\\r\\n BAGOT. My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue\\r\\n Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver\\'d.\\r\\n In that dead time when Gloucester\\'s death was plotted\\r\\n I heard you say \\'Is not my arm of length,\\r\\n That reacheth from the restful English Court\\r\\n As far as Calais, to mine uncle\\'s head?\\'\\r\\n Amongst much other talk that very time\\r\\n I heard you say that you had rather refuse\\r\\n The offer of an hundred thousand crowns\\r\\n Than Bolingbroke\\'s return to England;\\r\\n Adding withal, how blest this land would be\\r\\n In this your cousin\\'s death.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Princes, and noble lords,\\r\\n What answer shall I make to this base man?\\r\\n Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars\\r\\n On equal terms to give him chastisement?\\r\\n Either I must, or have mine honour soil\\'d\\r\\n With the attainder of his slanderous lips.\\r\\n There is my gage, the manual seal of death\\r\\n That marks thee out for hell. I say thou liest,\\r\\n And will maintain what thou hast said is false\\r\\n In thy heart-blood, through being all too base\\r\\n To stain the temper of my knightly sword.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Bagot, forbear; thou shalt not take it up.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Excepting one, I would he were the best\\r\\n In all this presence that hath mov\\'d me so.\\r\\n FITZWATER. If that thy valour stand on sympathy,\\r\\n There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine.\\r\\n By that fair sun which shows me where thou stand\\'st,\\r\\n I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak\\'st it,\\r\\n That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester\\'s death.\\r\\n If thou deniest it twenty times, thou liest;\\r\\n And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart,\\r\\n Where it was forged, with my rapier\\'s point.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Thou dar\\'st not, coward, live to see that day.\\r\\n FITZWATER. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Fitzwater, thou art damn\\'d to hell for this.\\r\\n PERCY. Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true\\r\\n In this appeal as thou art an unjust;\\r\\n And that thou art so, there I throw my gage,\\r\\n To prove it on thee to the extremest point\\r\\n Of mortal breathing. Seize it, if thou dar\\'st.\\r\\n AUMERLE. An if I do not, may my hands rot of\\r\\n And never brandish more revengeful steel\\r\\n Over the glittering helmet of my foe!\\r\\n ANOTHER LORD. I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle;\\r\\n And spur thee on with fun as many lies\\r\\n As may be halloa\\'d in thy treacherous ear\\r\\n From sun to sun. There is my honour\\'s pawn;\\r\\n Engage it to the trial, if thou darest.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Who sets me else? By heaven, I\\'ll throw at all!\\r\\n I have a thousand spirits in one breast\\r\\n To answer twenty thousand such as you.\\r\\n SURREY. My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember well\\r\\n The very time Aumerle and you did talk.\\r\\n FITZWATER. \\'Tis very true; you were in presence then,\\r\\n And you can witness with me this is true.\\r\\n SURREY. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true.\\r\\n FITZWATER. Surrey, thou liest.\\r\\n SURREY. Dishonourable boy!\\r\\n That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword\\r\\n That it shall render vengeance and revenge\\r\\n Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do he\\r\\n In earth as quiet as thy father\\'s skull.\\r\\n In proof whereof, there is my honour\\'s pawn;\\r\\n Engage it to the trial, if thou dar\\'st.\\r\\n FITZWATER. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse!\\r\\n If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live,\\r\\n I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness,\\r\\n And spit upon him whilst I say he lies,\\r\\n And lies, and lies. There is my bond of faith,\\r\\n To tie thee to my strong correction.\\r\\n As I intend to thrive in this new world,\\r\\n Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal.\\r\\n Besides, I heard the banish\\'d Norfolk say\\r\\n That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men\\r\\n To execute the noble Duke at Calais.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage\\r\\n That Norfolk lies. Here do I throw down this,\\r\\n If he may be repeal\\'d to try his honour.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. These differences shall all rest under gage\\r\\n Till Norfolk be repeal\\'d-repeal\\'d he shall be\\r\\n And, though mine enemy, restor\\'d again\\r\\n To all his lands and signories. When he is return\\'d,\\r\\n Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.\\r\\n CARLISLE. That honourable day shall never be seen.\\r\\n Many a time hath banish\\'d Norfolk fought\\r\\n For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field,\\r\\n Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross\\r\\n Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens;\\r\\n And, toil\\'d with works of war, retir\\'d himself\\r\\n To Italy; and there, at Venice, gave\\r\\n His body to that pleasant country\\'s earth,\\r\\n And his pure soul unto his captain, Christ,\\r\\n Under whose colours he had fought so long.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Why, Bishop, is Norfolk dead?\\r\\n CARLISLE. As surely as I live, my lord.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom\\r\\n Of good old Abraham! Lords appellants,\\r\\n Your differences shall all rest under gage\\r\\n Till we assign you to your days of trial\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YORK, attended\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to the\\r\\n From plume-pluck\\'d Richard, who with willing soul\\r\\n Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields\\r\\n To the possession of thy royal hand.\\r\\n Ascend his throne, descending now from him-\\r\\n And long live Henry, fourth of that name!\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. In God\\'s name, I\\'ll ascend the regal throne.\\r\\n CARLISLE. Marry, God forbid!\\r\\n Worst in this royal presence may I speak,\\r\\n Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth.\\r\\n Would God that any in this noble presence\\r\\n Were enough noble to be upright judge\\r\\n Of noble Richard! Then true noblesse would\\r\\n Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong.\\r\\n What subject can give sentence on his king?\\r\\n And who sits here that is not Richard\\'s subject?\\r\\n Thieves are not judg\\'d but they are by to hear,\\r\\n Although apparent guilt be seen in them;\\r\\n And shall the figure of God\\'s majesty,\\r\\n His captain, steward, deputy elect,\\r\\n Anointed, crowned, planted many years,\\r\\n Be judg\\'d by subject and inferior breath,\\r\\n And he himself not present? O, forfend it, God,\\r\\n That in a Christian climate souls refin\\'d\\r\\n Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed!\\r\\n I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks,\\r\\n Stirr\\'d up by God, thus boldly for his king.\\r\\n My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king,\\r\\n Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford\\'s king;\\r\\n And if you crown him, let me prophesy-\\r\\n The blood of English shall manure the ground,\\r\\n And future ages groan for this foul act;\\r\\n Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels,\\r\\n And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars\\r\\n Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound;\\r\\n Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny,\\r\\n Shall here inhabit, and this land be call\\'d\\r\\n The field of Golgotha and dead men\\'s skulls.\\r\\n O, if you raise this house against this house,\\r\\n It will the woefullest division prove\\r\\n That ever fell upon this cursed earth.\\r\\n Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so,\\r\\n Lest child, child\\'s children, cry against you woe.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Well have you argued, sir; and, for your pains,\\r\\n Of capital treason we arrest you here.\\r\\n My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge\\r\\n To keep him safely till his day of trial.\\r\\n May it please you, lords, to grant the commons\\' suit?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view\\r\\n He may surrender; so we shall proceed\\r\\n Without suspicion.\\r\\n YORK. I will be his conduct. Exit\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Lords, you that here are under our arrest,\\r\\n Procure your sureties for your days of answer.\\r\\n Little are we beholding to your love,\\r\\n And little look\\'d for at your helping hands.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter YORK, with KING RICHARD, and OFFICERS\\r\\n bearing the regalia\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Alack, why am I sent for to a king,\\r\\n Before I have shook off the regal thoughts\\r\\n Wherewith I reign\\'d? I hardly yet have learn\\'d\\r\\n To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee.\\r\\n Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me\\r\\n To this submission. Yet I well remember\\r\\n The favours of these men. Were they not mine?\\r\\n Did they not sometime cry \\'All hail!\\' to me?\\r\\n So Judas did to Christ; but he, in twelve,\\r\\n Found truth in all but one; I, in twelve thousand, none.\\r\\n God save the King! Will no man say amen?\\r\\n Am I both priest and clerk? Well then, amen.\\r\\n God save the King! although I be not he;\\r\\n And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.\\r\\n To do what service am I sent for hither?\\r\\n YORK. To do that office of thine own good will\\r\\n Which tired majesty did make thee offer-\\r\\n The resignation of thy state and crown\\r\\n To Henry Bolingbroke.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Give me the crown. Here, cousin, seize the crown.\\r\\n Here, cousin,\\r\\n On this side my hand, and on that side thine.\\r\\n Now is this golden crown like a deep well\\r\\n That owes two buckets, filling one another;\\r\\n The emptier ever dancing in the air,\\r\\n The other down, unseen, and full of water.\\r\\n That bucket down and fun of tears am I,\\r\\n Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I thought you had been willing to resign.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. My crown I am; but still my griefs are mine.\\r\\n You may my glories and my state depose,\\r\\n But not my griefs; still am I king of those.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Part of your cares you give me with your crown.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Your cares set up do not pluck my cares down.\\r\\n My care is loss of care, by old care done;\\r\\n Your care is gain of care, by new care won.\\r\\n The cares I give I have, though given away;\\r\\n They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Are you contented to resign the crown?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, no; no, ay; for I must nothing be;\\r\\n Therefore no no, for I resign to thee.\\r\\n Now mark me how I will undo myself:\\r\\n I give this heavy weight from off my head,\\r\\n And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand,\\r\\n The pride of kingly sway from out my heart;\\r\\n With mine own tears I wash away my balm,\\r\\n With mine own hands I give away my crown,\\r\\n With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,\\r\\n With mine own breath release all duteous oaths;\\r\\n All pomp and majesty I do forswear;\\r\\n My manors, rents, revenues, I forgo;\\r\\n My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny.\\r\\n God pardon all oaths that are broke to me!\\r\\n God keep all vows unbroke are made to thee!\\r\\n Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev\\'d,\\r\\n And thou with all pleas\\'d, that hast an achiev\\'d.\\r\\n Long mayst thou live in Richard\\'s seat to sit,\\r\\n And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit.\\r\\n God save King Henry, unking\\'d Richard says,\\r\\n And send him many years of sunshine days!\\r\\n What more remains?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. No more; but that you read\\r\\n These accusations, and these grievous crimes\\r\\n Committed by your person and your followers\\r\\n Against the state and profit of this land;\\r\\n That, by confessing them, the souls of men\\r\\n May deem that you are worthily depos\\'d.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Must I do so? And must I ravel out\\r\\n My weav\\'d-up follies? Gentle Northumberland,\\r\\n If thy offences were upon record,\\r\\n Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop\\r\\n To read a lecture of them? If thou wouldst,\\r\\n There shouldst thou find one heinous article,\\r\\n Containing the deposing of a king\\r\\n And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,\\r\\n Mark\\'d with a blot, damn\\'d in the book of heaven.\\r\\n Nay, all of you that stand and look upon me\\r\\n Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself,\\r\\n Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands,\\r\\n Showing an outward pity-yet you Pilates\\r\\n Have here deliver\\'d me to my sour cross,\\r\\n And water cannot wash away your sin.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, dispatch; read o\\'er these\\r\\n articles.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Mine eyes are full of tears; I cannot see.\\r\\n And yet salt water blinds them not so much\\r\\n But they can see a sort of traitors here.\\r\\n Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,\\r\\n I find myself a traitor with the rest;\\r\\n For I have given here my soul\\'s consent\\r\\n T\\'undeck the pompous body of a king;\\r\\n Made glory base, and sovereignty a slave,\\r\\n Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. No lord of thine, thou haught insulting man,\\r\\n Nor no man\\'s lord; I have no name, no tide-\\r\\n No, not that name was given me at the font-\\r\\n But \\'tis usurp\\'d. Alack the heavy day,\\r\\n That I have worn so many winters out,\\r\\n And know not now what name to call myself!\\r\\n O that I were a mockery king of snow,\\r\\n Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke\\r\\n To melt myself away in water drops!\\r\\n Good king, great king, and yet not greatly good,\\r\\n An if my word be sterling yet in England,\\r\\n Let it command a mirror hither straight,\\r\\n That it may show me what a face I have\\r\\n Since it is bankrupt of his majesty.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Go some of you and fetch a looking-glass.\\r\\n Exit an attendant\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Read o\\'er this paper while the glass doth come.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Fiend, thou torments me ere I come to hell.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. The Commons will not, then, be satisfied.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. They shall be satisfied. I\\'ll read enough,\\r\\n When I do see the very book indeed\\r\\n Where all my sins are writ, and that\\'s myself.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter attendant with glass\\r\\n\\r\\n Give me that glass, and therein will I read.\\r\\n No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck\\r\\n So many blows upon this face of mine\\r\\n And made no deeper wounds? O flatt\\'ring glass,\\r\\n Like to my followers in prosperity,\\r\\n Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face\\r\\n That every day under his household roof\\r\\n Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face\\r\\n That like the sun did make beholders wink?\\r\\n Is this the face which fac\\'d so many follies\\r\\n That was at last out-fac\\'d by Bolingbroke?\\r\\n A brittle glory shineth in this face;\\r\\n As brittle as the glory is the face;\\r\\n [Dashes the glass against the ground]\\r\\n For there it is, crack\\'d in a hundred shivers.\\r\\n Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport-\\r\\n How soon my sorrow hath destroy\\'d my face.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy\\'d\\r\\n The shadow of your face.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Say that again.\\r\\n The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let\\'s see.\\r\\n \\'Tis very true: my grief lies all within;\\r\\n And these external manner of laments\\r\\n Are merely shadows to the unseen grief\\r\\n That swells with silence in the tortur\\'d soul.\\r\\n There lies the substance; and I thank thee, king,\\r\\n For thy great bounty, that not only giv\\'st\\r\\n Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way\\r\\n How to lament the cause. I\\'ll beg one boon,\\r\\n And then be gone and trouble you no more.\\r\\n Shall I obtain it?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Name it, fair cousin.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Fair cousin! I am greater than a king;\\r\\n For when I was a king, my flatterers\\r\\n Were then but subjects; being now a subject,\\r\\n I have a king here to my flatterer.\\r\\n Being so great, I have no need to beg.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Yet ask.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And shall I have?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. You shall.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then give me leave to go.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Whither?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Whither you will, so I were from your sights.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Go, some of you convey him to the Tower.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O, good! Convey! Conveyers are you all,\\r\\n That rise thus nimbly by a true king\\'s fall.\\r\\n Exeunt KING RICHARD, some Lords and a Guard\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. On Wednesday next we solemnly set down\\r\\n Our coronation. Lords, prepare yourselves.\\r\\n Exeunt all but the ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER, the\\r\\n BISHOP OF CARLISLE, and AUMERLE\\r\\n ABBOT. A woeful pageant have we here beheld.\\r\\n CARLISLE. The woe\\'s to come; the children yet unborn\\r\\n Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.\\r\\n AUMERLE. You holy clergymen, is there no plot\\r\\n To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?\\r\\n ABBOT. My lord,\\r\\n Before I freely speak my mind herein,\\r\\n You shall not only take the sacrament\\r\\n To bury mine intents, but also to effect\\r\\n Whatever I shall happen to devise.\\r\\n I see your brows are full of discontent,\\r\\n Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears.\\r\\n Come home with me to supper; I will lay\\r\\n A plot shall show us all a merry day. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 1. London. A street leading to the Tower\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the QUEEN, with her attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN. This way the King will come; this is the way\\r\\n To Julius Caesar\\'s ill-erected tower,\\r\\n To whose flint bosom my condemned lord\\r\\n Is doom\\'d a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke.\\r\\n Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth\\r\\n Have any resting for her true King\\'s queen.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING RICHARD and Guard\\r\\n\\r\\n But soft, but see, or rather do not see,\\r\\n My fair rose wither. Yet look up, behold,\\r\\n That you in pity may dissolve to dew,\\r\\n And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.\\r\\n Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand;\\r\\n Thou map of honour, thou King Richard\\'s tomb,\\r\\n And not King Richard; thou most beauteous inn,\\r\\n Why should hard-favour\\'d grief be lodg\\'d in thee,\\r\\n When triumph is become an alehouse guest?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so,\\r\\n To make my end too sudden. Learn, good soul,\\r\\n To think our former state a happy dream;\\r\\n From which awak\\'d, the truth of what we are\\r\\n Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet,\\r\\n To grim Necessity; and he and\\r\\n Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France,\\r\\n And cloister thee in some religious house.\\r\\n Our holy lives must win a new world\\'s crown,\\r\\n Which our profane hours here have thrown down.\\r\\n QUEEN. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind\\r\\n Transform\\'d and weak\\'ned? Hath Bolingbroke depos\\'d\\r\\n Thine intellect? Hath he been in thy heart?\\r\\n The lion dying thrusteth forth his paw\\r\\n And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage\\r\\n To be o\\'erpow\\'r\\'d; and wilt thou, pupil-like,\\r\\n Take the correction mildly, kiss the rod,\\r\\n And fawn on rage with base humility,\\r\\n Which art a lion and the king of beasts?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. A king of beasts, indeed! If aught but beasts,\\r\\n I had been still a happy king of men.\\r\\n Good sometimes queen, prepare thee hence for France.\\r\\n Think I am dead, and that even here thou takest,\\r\\n As from my death-bed, thy last living leave.\\r\\n In winter\\'s tedious nights sit by the fire\\r\\n With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales\\r\\n Of woeful ages long ago betid;\\r\\n And ere thou bid good night, to quit their griefs\\r\\n Tell thou the lamentable tale of me,\\r\\n And send the hearers weeping to their beds;\\r\\n For why, the senseless brands will sympathize\\r\\n The heavy accent of thy moving tongue,\\r\\n And in compassion weep the fire out;\\r\\n And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black,\\r\\n For the deposing of a rightful king.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NORTHUMBERLAND attended\\r\\n\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang\\'d;\\r\\n You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.\\r\\n And, madam, there is order ta\\'en for you:\\r\\n With all swift speed you must away to France.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal\\r\\n The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,\\r\\n The time shall not be many hours of age\\r\\n More than it is, ere foul sin gathering head\\r\\n Shall break into corruption. Thou shalt think\\r\\n Though he divide the realm and give thee half\\r\\n It is too little, helping him to all;\\r\\n And he shall think that thou, which knowest the way\\r\\n To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,\\r\\n Being ne\\'er so little urg\\'d, another way\\r\\n To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne.\\r\\n The love of wicked men converts to fear;\\r\\n That fear to hate; and hate turns one or both\\r\\n To worthy danger and deserved death.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My guilt be on my head, and there an end.\\r\\n Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Doubly divorc\\'d! Bad men, you violate\\r\\n A twofold marriage-\\'twixt my crown and me,\\r\\n And then betwixt me and my married wife.\\r\\n Let me unkiss the oath \\'twixt thee and me;\\r\\n And yet not so, for with a kiss \\'twas made.\\r\\n Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north,\\r\\n Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime;\\r\\n My wife to France, from whence set forth in pomp,\\r\\n She came adorned hither like sweet May,\\r\\n Sent back like Hallowmas or short\\'st of day.\\r\\n QUEEN. And must we be divided? Must we part?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart.\\r\\n QUEEN. Banish us both, and send the King with me.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. That were some love, but little policy.\\r\\n QUEEN. Then whither he goes thither let me go.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. So two, together weeping, make one woe.\\r\\n Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here;\\r\\n Better far off than near, be ne\\'er the near.\\r\\n Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans.\\r\\n QUEEN. So longest way shall have the longest moans.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Twice for one step I\\'ll groan, the way being short,\\r\\n And piece the way out with a heavy heart.\\r\\n Come, come, in wooing sorrow let\\'s be brief,\\r\\n Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief.\\r\\n One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part;\\r\\n Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart.\\r\\n QUEEN. Give me mine own again; \\'twere no good part\\r\\n To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.\\r\\n So, now I have mine own again, be gone.\\r\\n That I may strive to kill it with a groan.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We make woe wanton with this fond delay.\\r\\n Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. The DUKE OF YORK\\'s palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the DUKE OF YORK and the DUCHESS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. My Lord, you told me you would tell the rest,\\r\\n When weeping made you break the story off,\\r\\n Of our two cousins\\' coming into London.\\r\\n YORK. Where did I leave?\\r\\n DUCHESS. At that sad stop, my lord,\\r\\n Where rude misgoverned hands from windows\\' tops\\r\\n Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard\\'s head.\\r\\n YORK. Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bolingbroke,\\r\\n Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed\\r\\n Which his aspiring rider seem\\'d to know,\\r\\n With slow but stately pace kept on his course,\\r\\n Whilst all tongues cried \\'God save thee, Bolingbroke!\\'\\r\\n You would have thought the very windows spake,\\r\\n So many greedy looks of young and old\\r\\n Through casements darted their desiring eyes\\r\\n Upon his visage; and that all the walls\\r\\n With painted imagery had said at once\\r\\n \\'Jesu preserve thee! Welcome, Bolingbroke!\\'\\r\\n Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning,\\r\\n Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed\\'s neck,\\r\\n Bespake them thus, \\'I thank you, countrymen.\\'\\r\\n And thus still doing, thus he pass\\'d along.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst?\\r\\n YORK. As in a theatre the eyes of men\\r\\n After a well-grac\\'d actor leaves the stage\\r\\n Are idly bent on him that enters next,\\r\\n Thinking his prattle to be tedious;\\r\\n Even so, or with much more contempt, men\\'s eyes\\r\\n Did scowl on gentle Richard; no man cried \\'God save him!\\'\\r\\n No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home;\\r\\n But dust was thrown upon his sacred head;\\r\\n Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,\\r\\n His face still combating with tears and smiles,\\r\\n The badges of his grief and patience,\\r\\n That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel\\'d\\r\\n The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,\\r\\n And barbarism itself have pitied him.\\r\\n But heaven hath a hand in these events,\\r\\n To whose high will we bound our calm contents.\\r\\n To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,\\r\\n Whose state and honour I for aye allow.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Here comes my son Aumerle.\\r\\n YORK. Aumerle that was\\r\\n But that is lost for being Richard\\'s friend,\\r\\n And madam, you must call him Rudand now.\\r\\n I am in Parliament pledge for his truth\\r\\n And lasting fealty to the new-made king.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter AUMERLE\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now\\r\\n That strew the green lap of the new come spring?\\r\\n AUMERLE. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not.\\r\\n God knows I had as lief be none as one.\\r\\n YORK. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,\\r\\n Lest you be cropp\\'d before you come to prime.\\r\\n What news from Oxford? Do these justs and triumphs hold?\\r\\n AUMERLE. For aught I know, my lord, they do.\\r\\n YORK. You will be there, I know.\\r\\n AUMERLE. If God prevent not, I purpose so.\\r\\n YORK. What seal is that that without thy bosom?\\r\\n Yea, look\\'st thou pale? Let me see the writing.\\r\\n AUMERLE. My lord, \\'tis nothing.\\r\\n YORK. No matter, then, who see it.\\r\\n I will be satisfied; let me see the writing.\\r\\n AUMERLE. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me;\\r\\n It is a matter of small consequence\\r\\n Which for some reasons I would not have seen.\\r\\n YORK. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.\\r\\n I fear, I fear-\\r\\n DUCHESS. What should you fear?\\r\\n \\'Tis nothing but some bond that he is ent\\'red into\\r\\n For gay apparel \\'gainst the triumph-day.\\r\\n YORK. Bound to himself! What doth he with a bond\\r\\n That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.\\r\\n Boy, let me see the writing.\\r\\n AUMERLE. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it.\\r\\n YORK. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say.\\r\\n [He plucks it out of his bosom, and reads it]\\r\\n Treason, foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave!\\r\\n DUCHESS. What is the matter, my lord?\\r\\n YORK. Ho! who is within there?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a servant\\r\\n\\r\\n Saddle my horse.\\r\\n God for his mercy, what treachery is here!\\r\\n DUCHESS. Why, York, what is it, my lord?\\r\\n YORK. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse.\\r\\n Exit servant\\r\\n Now, by mine honour, by my life, my troth,\\r\\n I will appeach the villain.\\r\\n DUCHESS. What is the matter?\\r\\n YORK. Peace, foolish woman.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle?\\r\\n AUMERLE. Good mother, be content; it is no more\\r\\n Than my poor life must answer.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Thy life answer!\\r\\n YORK. Bring me my boots. I will unto the King.\\r\\n\\r\\n His man enters with his boots\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amaz\\'d.\\r\\n Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.\\r\\n YORK. Give me my boots, I say.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Why, York, what wilt thou do?\\r\\n Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?\\r\\n Have we more sons? or are we like to have?\\r\\n Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?\\r\\n And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age\\r\\n And rob me of a happy mother\\'s name?\\r\\n Is he not like thee? Is he not thine own?\\r\\n YORK. Thou fond mad woman,\\r\\n Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?\\r\\n A dozen of them here have ta\\'en the sacrament,\\r\\n And interchangeably set down their hands\\r\\n To kill the King at Oxford.\\r\\n DUCHESS. He shall be none;\\r\\n We\\'ll keep him here. Then what is that to him?\\r\\n YORK. Away, fond woman! were he twenty times my son\\r\\n I would appeach him.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Hadst thou groan\\'d for him\\r\\n As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful.\\r\\n But now I know thy mind: thou dost suspect\\r\\n That I have been disloyal to thy bed\\r\\n And that he is a bastard, not thy son.\\r\\n Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind.\\r\\n He is as like thee as a man may be\\r\\n Not like to me, or any of my kin,\\r\\n And yet I love him.\\r\\n YORK. Make way, unruly woman! Exit\\r\\n DUCHESS. After, Aumerle! Mount thee upon his horse;\\r\\n Spur post, and get before him to the King,\\r\\n And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.\\r\\n I\\'ll not be long behind; though I be old,\\r\\n I doubt not but to ride as fast as York;\\r\\n And never will I rise up from the ground\\r\\n Till Bolingbroke have pardon\\'d thee. Away, be gone.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. Windsor Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter BOLINGBROKE as King, PERCY, and other LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Can no man tell me of my unthrifty son?\\r\\n \\'Tis full three months since I did see him last.\\r\\n If any plague hang over us, \\'tis he.\\r\\n I would to God, my lords, he might be found.\\r\\n Inquire at London, \\'mongst the taverns there,\\r\\n For there, they say, he daily doth frequent\\r\\n With unrestrained loose companions,\\r\\n Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes\\r\\n And beat our watch and rob our passengers,\\r\\n Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy,\\r\\n Takes on the point of honour to support\\r\\n So dissolute a crew.\\r\\n PERCY. My lord, some two days since I saw the Prince,\\r\\n And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. And what said the gallant?\\r\\n PERCY. His answer was, he would unto the stews,\\r\\n And from the common\\'st creature pluck a glove\\r\\n And wear it as a favour; and with that\\r\\n He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. As dissolute as desperate; yet through both\\r\\n I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years\\r\\n May happily bring forth. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter AUMERLE amazed\\r\\n\\r\\n AUMERLE. Where is the King?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. What means our cousin that he stares and looks\\r\\n So wildly?\\r\\n AUMERLE. God save your Grace! I do beseech your Majesty,\\r\\n To have some conference with your Grace alone.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.\\r\\n Exeunt PERCY and LORDS\\r\\n What is the matter with our cousin now?\\r\\n AUMERLE. For ever may my knees grow to the earth,\\r\\n [Kneels]\\r\\n My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth,\\r\\n Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Intended or committed was this fault?\\r\\n If on the first, how heinous e\\'er it be,\\r\\n To win thy after-love I pardon thee.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Then give me leave that I may turn the key,\\r\\n That no man enter till my tale be done.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Have thy desire.\\r\\n [The DUKE OF YORK knocks at the door and crieth]\\r\\n YORK. [Within] My liege, beware; look to thyself;\\r\\n Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. [Drawing] Villain, I\\'ll make thee safe.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast no cause to fear.\\r\\n YORK. [Within] Open the door, secure, foolhardy King.\\r\\n Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face?\\r\\n Open the door, or I will break it open.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YORK\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. What is the matter, uncle? Speak;\\r\\n Recover breath; tell us how near is danger,\\r\\n That we may arm us to encounter it.\\r\\n YORK. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know\\r\\n The treason that my haste forbids me show.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Remember, as thou read\\'st, thy promise pass\\'d.\\r\\n I do repent me; read not my name there;\\r\\n My heart is not confederate with my hand.\\r\\n YORK. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down.\\r\\n I tore it from the traitor\\'s bosom, King;\\r\\n Fear, and not love, begets his penitence.\\r\\n Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove\\r\\n A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy!\\r\\n O loyal father of a treacherous son!\\r\\n Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain,\\r\\n From whence this stream through muddy passages\\r\\n Hath held his current and defil\\'d himself!\\r\\n Thy overflow of good converts to bad;\\r\\n And thy abundant goodness shall excuse\\r\\n This deadly blot in thy digressing son.\\r\\n YORK. So shall my virtue be his vice\\'s bawd;\\r\\n And he shall spend mine honour with his shame,\\r\\n As thriftless sons their scraping fathers\\' gold.\\r\\n Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,\\r\\n Or my sham\\'d life in his dishonour lies.\\r\\n Thou kill\\'st me in his life; giving him breath,\\r\\n The traitor lives, the true man\\'s put to death.\\r\\n DUCHESS. [Within] I What ho, my liege, for God\\'s sake, let me in.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. What shrill-voic\\'d suppliant makes this eager cry?\\r\\n DUCHESS. [Within] A woman, and thine aunt, great King; \\'tis I.\\r\\n Speak with me, pity me, open the door.\\r\\n A beggar begs that never begg\\'d before.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Our scene is alt\\'red from a serious thing,\\r\\n And now chang\\'d to \\'The Beggar and the King.\\'\\r\\n My dangerous cousin, let your mother in.\\r\\n I know she is come to pray for your foul sin.\\r\\n YORK. If thou do pardon whosoever pray,\\r\\n More sins for this forgiveness prosper may.\\r\\n This fest\\'red joint cut off, the rest rest sound;\\r\\n This let alone will all the rest confound.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUCHESS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. O King, believe not this hard-hearted man!\\r\\n Love loving not itself, none other can.\\r\\n YORK. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here?\\r\\n Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?\\r\\n DUCHESS. Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle liege.\\r\\n [Kneels]\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Rise up, good aunt.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Not yet, I thee beseech.\\r\\n For ever will I walk upon my knees,\\r\\n And never see day that the happy sees\\r\\n Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy\\r\\n By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Unto my mother\\'s prayers I bend my knee.\\r\\n [Kneels]\\r\\n YORK. Against them both, my true joints bended be.\\r\\n [Kneels]\\r\\n Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace!\\r\\n DUCHESS. Pleads he in earnest? Look upon his face;\\r\\n His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest;\\r\\n His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast.\\r\\n He prays but faintly and would be denied;\\r\\n We pray with heart and soul, and all beside.\\r\\n His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;\\r\\n Our knees still kneel till to the ground they grow.\\r\\n His prayers are full of false hypocrisy;\\r\\n Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.\\r\\n Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have\\r\\n That mercy which true prayer ought to have.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Good aunt, stand up.\\r\\n DUCHESS. do not say \\'stand up\\';\\r\\n Say \\'pardon\\' first, and afterwards \\'stand up.\\'\\r\\n An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,\\r\\n \\'Pardon\\' should be the first word of thy speech.\\r\\n I never long\\'d to hear a word till now;\\r\\n Say \\'pardon,\\' King; let pity teach thee how.\\r\\n The word is short, but not so short as sweet;\\r\\n No word like \\'pardon\\' for kings\\' mouths so meet.\\r\\n YORK. Speak it in French, King, say \\'pardonne moy.\\'\\r\\n DUCHESS. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?\\r\\n Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,\\r\\n That sets the word itself against the word!\\r\\n Speak \\'pardon\\' as \\'tis current in our land;\\r\\n The chopping French we do not understand.\\r\\n Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there;\\r\\n Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear,\\r\\n That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce,\\r\\n Pity may move thee \\'pardon\\' to rehearse.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Good aunt, stand up.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I do not sue to stand;\\r\\n Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.\\r\\n DUCHESS. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee!\\r\\n Yet am I sick for fear. Speak it again.\\r\\n Twice saying \\'pardon\\' doth not pardon twain,\\r\\n But makes one pardon strong.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. With all my heart\\r\\n I pardon him.\\r\\n DUCHESS. A god on earth thou art.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. But for our trusty brother-in-law and the Abbot,\\r\\n With all the rest of that consorted crew,\\r\\n Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.\\r\\n Good uncle, help to order several powers\\r\\n To Oxford, or where\\'er these traitors are.\\r\\n They shall not live within this world, I swear,\\r\\n But I will have them, if I once know where.\\r\\n Uncle, farewell; and, cousin, adieu;\\r\\n Your mother well hath pray\\'d, and prove you true.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Come, my old son; I pray God make thee new. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. Windsor Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SIR PIERCE OF EXTON and a servant\\r\\n\\r\\n EXTON. Didst thou not mark the King, what words he spake?\\r\\n \\'Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?\\'\\r\\n Was it not so?\\r\\n SERVANT. These were his very words.\\r\\n EXTON. \\'Have I no friend?\\' quoth he. He spake it twice\\r\\n And urg\\'d it twice together, did he not?\\r\\n SERVANT. He did.\\r\\n EXTON. And, speaking it, he wishtly look\\'d on me,\\r\\n As who should say \\'I would thou wert the man\\r\\n That would divorce this terror from my heart\\';\\r\\n Meaning the King at Pomfret. Come, let\\'s go.\\r\\n I am the King\\'s friend, and will rid his foe. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5. Pomfret Castle. The dungeon of the Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter KING RICHARD\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I have been studying how I may compare\\r\\n This prison where I live unto the world\\r\\n And, for because the world is populous\\r\\n And here is not a creature but myself,\\r\\n I cannot do it. Yet I\\'ll hammer it out.\\r\\n My brain I\\'ll prove the female to my soul,\\r\\n My soul the father; and these two beget\\r\\n A generation of still-breeding thoughts,\\r\\n And these same thoughts people this little world,\\r\\n In humours like the people of this world,\\r\\n For no thought is contented. The better sort,\\r\\n As thoughts of things divine, are intermix\\'d\\r\\n With scruples, and do set the word itself\\r\\n Against the word,\\r\\n As thus: \\'Come, little ones\\'; and then again,\\r\\n \\'It is as hard to come as for a camel\\r\\n To thread the postern of a small needle\\'s eye.\\'\\r\\n Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot\\r\\n Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails\\r\\n May tear a passage through the flinty ribs\\r\\n Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls;\\r\\n And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.\\r\\n Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves\\r\\n That they are not the first of fortune\\'s slaves,\\r\\n Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars\\r\\n Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame,\\r\\n That many have and others must sit there;\\r\\n And in this thought they find a kind of ease,\\r\\n Bearing their own misfortunes on the back\\r\\n Of such as have before endur\\'d the like.\\r\\n Thus play I in one person many people,\\r\\n And none contented. Sometimes am I king;\\r\\n Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar,\\r\\n And so I am. Then crushing penury\\r\\n Persuades me I was better when a king;\\r\\n Then am I king\\'d again; and by and by\\r\\n Think that I am unking\\'d by Bolingbroke,\\r\\n And straight am nothing. But whate\\'er I be,\\r\\n Nor I, nor any man that but man is,\\r\\n With nothing shall be pleas\\'d till he be eas\\'d\\r\\n With being nothing. [The music plays]\\r\\n Music do I hear?\\r\\n Ha, ha! keep time. How sour sweet music is\\r\\n When time is broke and no proportion kept!\\r\\n So is it in the music of men\\'s lives.\\r\\n And here have I the daintiness of ear\\r\\n To check time broke in a disorder\\'d string;\\r\\n But, for the concord of my state and time,\\r\\n Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.\\r\\n I wasted time, and now doth time waste me;\\r\\n For now hath time made me his numb\\'ring clock:\\r\\n My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar\\r\\n Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch,\\r\\n Whereto my finger, like a dial\\'s point,\\r\\n Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.\\r\\n Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is\\r\\n Are clamorous groans which strike upon my heart,\\r\\n Which is the bell. So sighs, and tears, and groans,\\r\\n Show minutes, times, and hours; but my time\\r\\n Runs posting on in Bolingbroke\\'s proud joy,\\r\\n While I stand fooling here, his Jack of the clock.\\r\\n This music mads me. Let it sound no more;\\r\\n For though it have holp madmen to their wits,\\r\\n In me it seems it will make wise men mad.\\r\\n Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!\\r\\n For \\'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard\\r\\n Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a GROOM of the stable\\r\\n\\r\\n GROOM. Hail, royal Prince!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thanks, noble peer!\\r\\n The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.\\r\\n What art thou? and how comest thou hither,\\r\\n Where no man never comes but that sad dog\\r\\n That brings me food to make misfortune live?\\r\\n GROOM. I was a poor groom of thy stable, King,\\r\\n When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York,\\r\\n With much ado at length have gotten leave\\r\\n To look upon my sometimes royal master\\'s face.\\r\\n O, how it ern\\'d my heart, when I beheld,\\r\\n In London streets, that coronation-day,\\r\\n When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary-\\r\\n That horse that thou so often hast bestrid,\\r\\n That horse that I so carefully have dress\\'d!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend,\\r\\n How went he under him?\\r\\n GROOM. So proudly as if he disdain\\'d the ground.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back!\\r\\n That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand;\\r\\n This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.\\r\\n Would he not stumble? would he not fall down,\\r\\n Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck\\r\\n Of that proud man that did usurp his back?\\r\\n Forgiveness, horse! Why do I rail on thee,\\r\\n Since thou, created to be aw\\'d by man,\\r\\n Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse;\\r\\n And yet I bear a burden like an ass,\\r\\n Spurr\\'d, gall\\'d, and tir\\'d, by jauncing Bolingbroke.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KEEPER with meat\\r\\n\\r\\n KEEPER. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. If thou love me, \\'tis time thou wert away.\\r\\n GROOM. my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n KEEPER. My lord, will\\'t please you to fall to?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Taste of it first as thou art wont to do.\\r\\n KEEPER. My lord, I dare not. Sir Pierce of Exton,\\r\\n Who lately came from the King, commands the contrary.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee!\\r\\n Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.\\r\\n [Beats the KEEPER]\\r\\n KEEPER. Help, help, help!\\r\\n The murderers, EXTON and servants, rush in, armed\\r\\n KING RICHARD. How now! What means death in this rude assault?\\r\\n Villain, thy own hand yields thy death\\'s instrument.\\r\\n [Snatching a weapon and killing one]\\r\\n Go thou and fill another room in hell.\\r\\n [He kills another, then EXTON strikes him down]\\r\\n That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire\\r\\n That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand\\r\\n Hath with the King\\'s blood stain\\'d the King\\'s own land.\\r\\n Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high;\\r\\n Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.\\r\\n [Dies]\\r\\n EXTON. As full of valour as of royal blood.\\r\\n Both have I spill\\'d. O, would the deed were good!\\r\\n For now the devil, that told me I did well,\\r\\n Says that this deed is chronicled in hell.\\r\\n This dead King to the living King I\\'ll bear.\\r\\n Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 6. Windsor Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE, the DUKE OF YORK, With other LORDS and\\r\\nattendants\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear\\r\\n Is that the rebels have consum\\'d with fire\\r\\n Our town of Ciceter in Gloucestershire;\\r\\n But whether they be ta\\'en or slain we hear not.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NORTHUMBERLAND\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, my lord. What is the news?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness.\\r\\n The next news is, I have to London sent\\r\\n The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent.\\r\\n The manner of their taking may appear\\r\\n At large discoursed in this paper here.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains;\\r\\n And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FITZWATER\\r\\n\\r\\n FITZWATER. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London\\r\\n The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely;\\r\\n Two of the dangerous consorted traitors\\r\\n That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot;\\r\\n Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PERCY, With the BISHOP OF CARLISLE\\r\\n\\r\\n PERCY. The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster,\\r\\n With clog of conscience and sour melancholy,\\r\\n Hath yielded up his body to the grave;\\r\\n But here is Carlisle living, to abide\\r\\n Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Carlisle, this is your doom:\\r\\n Choose out some secret place, some reverend room,\\r\\n More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life;\\r\\n So as thou liv\\'st in peace, die free from strife;\\r\\n For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,\\r\\n High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter EXTON, with attendants, hearing a coffin\\r\\n\\r\\n EXTON. Great King, within this coffin I present\\r\\n Thy buried fear. Herein all breathless lies\\r\\n The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,\\r\\n Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought\\r\\n A deed of slander with thy fatal hand\\r\\n Upon my head and all this famous land.\\r\\n EXTON. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. They love not poison that do poison need,\\r\\n Nor do I thee. Though I did wish him dead,\\r\\n I hate the murderer, love him murdered.\\r\\n The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,\\r\\n But neither my good word nor princely favour;\\r\\n With Cain go wander thorough shades of night,\\r\\n And never show thy head by day nor light.\\r\\n Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe\\r\\n That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow.\\r\\n Come, mourn with me for what I do lament,\\r\\n And put on sullen black incontinent.\\r\\n I\\'ll make a voyage to the Holy Land,\\r\\n To wash this blood off from my guilty hand.\\r\\n March sadly after; grace my mournings here\\r\\n In weeping after this untimely bier. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nKING RICHARD THE THIRD\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personae\\r\\n\\r\\n EDWARD THE FOURTH\\r\\n\\r\\n Sons to the King\\r\\n EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES afterwards KING EDWARD V\\r\\n RICHARD, DUKE OF YORK,\\r\\n\\r\\n Brothers to the King\\r\\n GEORGE, DUKE OF CLARENCE,\\r\\n RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, afterwards KING RICHARD III\\r\\n\\r\\n A YOUNG SON OF CLARENCE (Edward, Earl of Warwick)\\r\\n HENRY, EARL OF RICHMOND, afterwards KING HENRY VII\\r\\n CARDINAL BOURCHIER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY\\r\\n THOMAS ROTHERHAM, ARCHBISHOP OF YORK\\r\\n JOHN MORTON, BISHOP OF ELY\\r\\n DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n DUKE OF NORFOLK\\r\\n EARL OF SURREY, his son\\r\\n EARL RIVERS, brother to King Edward\\'s Queen\\r\\n MARQUIS OF DORSET and LORD GREY, her sons\\r\\n EARL OF OXFORD\\r\\n LORD HASTINGS\\r\\n LORD LOVEL\\r\\n LORD STANLEY, called also EARL OF DERBY\\r\\n SIR THOMAS VAUGHAN\\r\\n SIR RICHARD RATCLIFF\\r\\n SIR WILLIAM CATESBY\\r\\n SIR JAMES TYRREL\\r\\n SIR JAMES BLOUNT\\r\\n SIR WALTER HERBERT\\r\\n SIR WILLIAM BRANDON\\r\\n SIR ROBERT BRAKENBURY, Lieutenant of the Tower\\r\\n CHRISTOPHER URSWICK, a priest\\r\\n LORD MAYOR OF LONDON\\r\\n SHERIFF OF WILTSHIRE\\r\\n HASTINGS, a pursuivant\\r\\n TRESSEL and BERKELEY, gentlemen attending on Lady Anne\\r\\n ELIZABETH, Queen to King Edward IV\\r\\n MARGARET, widow of King Henry VI\\r\\n DUCHESS OF YORK, mother to King Edward IV\\r\\n LADY ANNE, widow of Edward, Prince of Wales, son to King\\r\\n Henry VI; afterwards married to the Duke of Gloucester\\r\\n A YOUNG DAUGHTER OF CLARENCE (Margaret Plantagenet,\\r\\n Countess of Salisbury)\\r\\n Ghosts, of Richard\\'s victims\\r\\n Lords, Gentlemen, and Attendants; Priest, Scrivener, Page, Bishops,\\r\\n Aldermen, Citizens, Soldiers, Messengers, Murderers, Keeper\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: England\\r\\n\\r\\nKing Richard the Third\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, solus\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Now is the winter of our discontent\\r\\n Made glorious summer by this sun of York;\\r\\n And all the clouds that lour\\'d upon our house\\r\\n In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.\\r\\n Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;\\r\\n Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;\\r\\n Our stern alarums chang\\'d to merry meetings,\\r\\n Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.\\r\\n Grim-visag\\'d war hath smooth\\'d his wrinkled front,\\r\\n And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds\\r\\n To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,\\r\\n He capers nimbly in a lady\\'s chamber\\r\\n To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.\\r\\n But I-that am not shap\\'d for sportive tricks,\\r\\n Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass-\\r\\n I-that am rudely stamp\\'d, and want love\\'s majesty\\r\\n To strut before a wanton ambling nymph-\\r\\n I-that am curtail\\'d of this fair proportion,\\r\\n Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,\\r\\n Deform\\'d, unfinish\\'d, sent before my time\\r\\n Into this breathing world scarce half made up,\\r\\n And that so lamely and unfashionable\\r\\n That dogs bark at me as I halt by them-\\r\\n Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,\\r\\n Have no delight to pass away the time,\\r\\n Unless to spy my shadow in the sun\\r\\n And descant on mine own deformity.\\r\\n And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover\\r\\n To entertain these fair well-spoken days,\\r\\n I am determined to prove a villain\\r\\n And hate the idle pleasures of these days.\\r\\n Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,\\r\\n By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,\\r\\n To set my brother Clarence and the King\\r\\n In deadly hate the one against the other;\\r\\n And if King Edward be as true and just\\r\\n As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,\\r\\n This day should Clarence closely be mew\\'d up-\\r\\n About a prophecy which says that G\\r\\n Of Edward\\'s heirs the murderer shall be.\\r\\n Dive, thoughts, down to my soul. Here Clarence comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n Brother, good day. What means this armed guard\\r\\n That waits upon your Grace?\\r\\n CLARENCE. His Majesty,\\r\\n Tend\\'ring my person\\'s safety, hath appointed\\r\\n This conduct to convey me to th\\' Tower.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Upon what cause?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Because my name is George.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours:\\r\\n He should, for that, commit your godfathers.\\r\\n O, belike his Majesty hath some intent\\r\\n That you should be new-christ\\'ned in the Tower.\\r\\n But what\\'s the matter, Clarence? May I know?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest\\r\\n As yet I do not; but, as I can learn,\\r\\n He hearkens after prophecies and dreams,\\r\\n And from the cross-row plucks the letter G,\\r\\n And says a wizard told him that by G\\r\\n His issue disinherited should be;\\r\\n And, for my name of George begins with G,\\r\\n It follows in his thought that I am he.\\r\\n These, as I learn, and such like toys as these\\r\\n Hath mov\\'d his Highness to commit me now.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, this it is when men are rul\\'d by women:\\r\\n \\'Tis not the King that sends you to the Tower;\\r\\n My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, \\'tis she\\r\\n That tempers him to this extremity.\\r\\n Was it not she and that good man of worship,\\r\\n Antony Woodville, her brother there,\\r\\n That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower,\\r\\n From whence this present day he is delivered?\\r\\n We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.\\r\\n CLARENCE. By heaven, I think there is no man is secure\\r\\n But the Queen\\'s kindred, and night-walking heralds\\r\\n That trudge betwixt the King and Mistress Shore.\\r\\n Heard you not what an humble suppliant\\r\\n Lord Hastings was, for her delivery?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Humbly complaining to her deity\\r\\n Got my Lord Chamberlain his liberty.\\r\\n I\\'ll tell you what-I think it is our way,\\r\\n If we will keep in favour with the King,\\r\\n To be her men and wear her livery:\\r\\n The jealous o\\'er-worn widow, and herself,\\r\\n Since that our brother dubb\\'d them gentlewomen,\\r\\n Are mighty gossips in our monarchy.\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. I beseech your Graces both to pardon me:\\r\\n His Majesty hath straitly given in charge\\r\\n That no man shall have private conference,\\r\\n Of what degree soever, with your brother.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Even so; an\\'t please your worship, Brakenbury,\\r\\n You may partake of any thing we say:\\r\\n We speak no treason, man; we say the King\\r\\n Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen\\r\\n Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous;\\r\\n We say that Shore\\'s wife hath a pretty foot,\\r\\n A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue;\\r\\n And that the Queen\\'s kindred are made gentlefolks.\\r\\n How say you, sir? Can you deny all this?\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. With this, my lord, myself have naught to do.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Naught to do with Mistress Shore! I tell thee,\\r\\n fellow,\\r\\n He that doth naught with her, excepting one,\\r\\n Were best to do it secretly alone.\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. What one, my lord?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Her husband, knave! Wouldst thou betray me?\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me, and\\r\\n withal\\r\\n Forbear your conference with the noble Duke.\\r\\n CLARENCE. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will\\r\\n obey.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. We are the Queen\\'s abjects and must obey.\\r\\n Brother, farewell; I will unto the King;\\r\\n And whatsoe\\'er you will employ me in-\\r\\n Were it to call King Edward\\'s widow sister-\\r\\n I will perform it to enfranchise you.\\r\\n Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood\\r\\n Touches me deeper than you can imagine.\\r\\n CLARENCE. I know it pleaseth neither of us well.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;\\r\\n I will deliver or else lie for you.\\r\\n Meantime, have patience.\\r\\n CLARENCE. I must perforce. Farewell.\\r\\n Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and guard\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Go tread the path that thou shalt ne\\'er return.\\r\\n Simple, plain Clarence, I do love thee so\\r\\n That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,\\r\\n If heaven will take the present at our hands.\\r\\n But who comes here? The new-delivered Hastings?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD HASTINGS\\r\\n\\r\\n HASTINGS. Good time of day unto my gracious lord!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain!\\r\\n Well are you welcome to the open air.\\r\\n How hath your lordship brook\\'d imprisonment?\\r\\n HASTINGS. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must;\\r\\n But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks\\r\\n That were the cause of my imprisonment.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too;\\r\\n For they that were your enemies are his,\\r\\n And have prevail\\'d as much on him as you.\\r\\n HASTINGS. More pity that the eagles should be mew\\'d\\r\\n Whiles kites and buzzards prey at liberty.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What news abroad?\\r\\n HASTINGS. No news so bad abroad as this at home:\\r\\n The King is sickly, weak, and melancholy,\\r\\n And his physicians fear him mightily.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Now, by Saint John, that news is bad indeed.\\r\\n O, he hath kept an evil diet long\\r\\n And overmuch consum\\'d his royal person!\\r\\n \\'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.\\r\\n Where is he? In his bed?\\r\\n HASTINGS. He is.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Go you before, and I will follow you.\\r\\n Exit HASTINGS\\r\\n He cannot live, I hope, and must not die\\r\\n Till George be pack\\'d with posthorse up to heaven.\\r\\n I\\'ll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence\\r\\n With lies well steel\\'d with weighty arguments;\\r\\n And, if I fail not in my deep intent,\\r\\n Clarence hath not another day to live;\\r\\n Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy,\\r\\n And leave the world for me to bustle in!\\r\\n For then I\\'ll marry Warwick\\'s youngest daughter.\\r\\n What though I kill\\'d her husband and her father?\\r\\n The readiest way to make the wench amends\\r\\n Is to become her husband and her father;\\r\\n The which will I-not all so much for love\\r\\n As for another secret close intent\\r\\n By marrying her which I must reach unto.\\r\\n But yet I run before my horse to market.\\r\\n Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns;\\r\\n When they are gone, then must I count my gains. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. Another street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter corpse of KING HENRY THE SIXTH, with halberds to guard it;\\r\\nLADY ANNE being the mourner, attended by TRESSEL and BERKELEY\\r\\n\\r\\n ANNE. Set down, set down your honourable load-\\r\\n If honour may be shrouded in a hearse;\\r\\n Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament\\r\\n Th\\' untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.\\r\\n Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!\\r\\n Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!\\r\\n Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!\\r\\n Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost\\r\\n To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,\\r\\n Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughtered son,\\r\\n Stabb\\'d by the self-same hand that made these wounds.\\r\\n Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life\\r\\n I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.\\r\\n O, cursed be the hand that made these holes!\\r\\n Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it!\\r\\n Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence!\\r\\n More direful hap betide that hated wretch\\r\\n That makes us wretched by the death of thee\\r\\n Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,\\r\\n Or any creeping venom\\'d thing that lives!\\r\\n If ever he have child, abortive be it,\\r\\n Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,\\r\\n Whose ugly and unnatural aspect\\r\\n May fright the hopeful mother at the view,\\r\\n And that be heir to his unhappiness!\\r\\n If ever he have wife, let her be made\\r\\n More miserable by the death of him\\r\\n Than I am made by my young lord and thee!\\r\\n Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load,\\r\\n Taken from Paul\\'s to be interred there;\\r\\n And still as you are weary of this weight\\r\\n Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry\\'s corse.\\r\\n [The bearers take up the coffin]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.\\r\\n ANNE. What black magician conjures up this fiend\\r\\n To stop devoted charitable deeds?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul,\\r\\n I\\'ll make a corse of him that disobeys!\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin\\r\\n pass.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Unmannerd dog! Stand thou, when I command.\\r\\n Advance thy halberd higher than my breast,\\r\\n Or, by Saint Paul, I\\'ll strike thee to my foot\\r\\n And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.\\r\\n [The bearers set down the coffin]\\r\\n ANNE. What, do you tremble? Are you all afraid?\\r\\n Alas, I blame you not, for you are mortal,\\r\\n And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.\\r\\n Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell!\\r\\n Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,\\r\\n His soul thou canst not have; therefore, be gone.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.\\r\\n ANNE. Foul devil, for God\\'s sake, hence and trouble us not;\\r\\n For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell\\r\\n Fill\\'d it with cursing cries and deep exclaims.\\r\\n If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,\\r\\n Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.\\r\\n O, gentlemen, see, see! Dead Henry\\'s wounds\\r\\n Open their congeal\\'d mouths and bleed afresh.\\r\\n Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity,\\r\\n For \\'tis thy presence that exhales this blood\\r\\n From cold and empty veins where no blood dwells;\\r\\n Thy deeds inhuman and unnatural\\r\\n Provokes this deluge most unnatural.\\r\\n O God, which this blood mad\\'st, revenge his death!\\r\\n O earth, which this blood drink\\'st, revenge his death!\\r\\n Either, heav\\'n, with lightning strike the murd\\'rer dead;\\r\\n Or, earth, gape open wide and eat him quick,\\r\\n As thou dost swallow up this good king\\'s blood,\\r\\n Which his hell-govern\\'d arm hath butchered.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Lady, you know no rules of charity,\\r\\n Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.\\r\\n ANNE. Villain, thou knowest nor law of God nor man:\\r\\n No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.\\r\\n ANNE. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. More wonderful when angels are so angry.\\r\\n Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,\\r\\n Of these supposed crimes to give me leave\\r\\n By circumstance but to acquit myself.\\r\\n ANNE. Vouchsafe, diffus\\'d infection of a man,\\r\\n Of these known evils but to give me leave\\r\\n By circumstance to accuse thy cursed self.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have\\r\\n Some patient leisure to excuse myself.\\r\\n ANNE. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make\\r\\n No excuse current but to hang thyself.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. By such despair I should accuse myself.\\r\\n ANNE. And by despairing shalt thou stand excused\\r\\n For doing worthy vengeance on thyself\\r\\n That didst unworthy slaughter upon others.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Say that I slew them not?\\r\\n ANNE. Then say they were not slain.\\r\\n But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I did not kill your husband.\\r\\n ANNE. Why, then he is alive.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Nay, he is dead, and slain by Edward\\'s hands.\\r\\n ANNE. In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw\\r\\n Thy murd\\'rous falchion smoking in his blood;\\r\\n The which thou once didst bend against her breast,\\r\\n But that thy brothers beat aside the point.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I was provoked by her sland\\'rous tongue\\r\\n That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.\\r\\n ANNE. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind,\\r\\n That never dream\\'st on aught but butcheries.\\r\\n Didst thou not kill this king?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I grant ye.\\r\\n ANNE. Dost grant me, hedgehog? Then, God grant me to\\r\\n Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed!\\r\\n O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The better for the King of Heaven, that hath\\r\\n him.\\r\\n ANNE. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Let him thank me that holp to send him\\r\\n thither,\\r\\n For he was fitter for that place than earth.\\r\\n ANNE. And thou unfit for any place but hell.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.\\r\\n ANNE. Some dungeon.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Your bed-chamber.\\r\\n ANNE. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. So will it, madam, till I lie with you.\\r\\n ANNE. I hope so.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne,\\r\\n To leave this keen encounter of our wits,\\r\\n And fall something into a slower method-\\r\\n Is not the causer of the timeless deaths\\r\\n Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,\\r\\n As blameful as the executioner?\\r\\n ANNE. Thou wast the cause and most accurs\\'d effect.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Your beauty was the cause of that effect-\\r\\n Your beauty that did haunt me in my sleep\\r\\n To undertake the death of all the world\\r\\n So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.\\r\\n ANNE. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,\\r\\n These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. These eyes could not endure that beauty\\'s\\r\\n wreck;\\r\\n You should not blemish it if I stood by.\\r\\n As all the world is cheered by the sun,\\r\\n So I by that; it is my day, my life.\\r\\n ANNE. Black night o\\'ershade thy day, and death thy life!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both.\\r\\n ANNE. I would I were, to be reveng\\'d on thee.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. It is a quarrel most unnatural,\\r\\n To be reveng\\'d on him that loveth thee.\\r\\n ANNE. It is a quarrel just and reasonable,\\r\\n To be reveng\\'d on him that kill\\'d my husband.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband\\r\\n Did it to help thee to a better husband.\\r\\n ANNE. His better doth not breathe upon the earth.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He lives that loves thee better than he could.\\r\\n ANNE. Name him.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Plantagenet.\\r\\n ANNE. Why, that was he.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The self-same name, but one of better nature.\\r\\n ANNE. Where is he?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Here. [She spits at him] Why dost thou spit\\r\\n at me?\\r\\n ANNE. Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Never came poison from so sweet a place.\\r\\n ANNE. Never hung poison on a fouler toad.\\r\\n Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.\\r\\n ANNE. Would they were basilisks to strike thee dead!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I would they were, that I might die at once;\\r\\n For now they kill me with a living death.\\r\\n Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears,\\r\\n Sham\\'d their aspects with store of childish drops-\\r\\n These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear,\\r\\n No, when my father York and Edward wept\\r\\n To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made\\r\\n When black-fac\\'d Clifford shook his sword at him;\\r\\n Nor when thy warlike father, like a child,\\r\\n Told the sad story of my father\\'s death,\\r\\n And twenty times made pause to sob and weep\\r\\n That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks\\r\\n Like trees bedash\\'d with rain-in that sad time\\r\\n My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear;\\r\\n And what these sorrows could not thence exhale\\r\\n Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.\\r\\n I never sued to friend nor enemy;\\r\\n My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word;\\r\\n But, now thy beauty is propos\\'d my fee,\\r\\n My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.\\r\\n [She looks scornfully at him]\\r\\n Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made\\r\\n For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.\\r\\n If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,\\r\\n Lo here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword;\\r\\n Which if thou please to hide in this true breast\\r\\n And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,\\r\\n I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,\\r\\n And humbly beg the death upon my knee.\\r\\n [He lays his breast open; she offers at it with his sword]\\r\\n Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry-\\r\\n But \\'twas thy beauty that provoked me.\\r\\n Nay, now dispatch; \\'twas I that stabb\\'d young Edward-\\r\\n But \\'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.\\r\\n [She falls the sword]\\r\\n Take up the sword again, or take up me.\\r\\n ANNE. Arise, dissembler; though I wish thy death,\\r\\n I will not be thy executioner.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it;\\r\\n ANNE. I have already.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. That was in thy rage.\\r\\n Speak it again, and even with the word\\r\\n This hand, which for thy love did kill thy love,\\r\\n Shall for thy love kill a far truer love;\\r\\n To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.\\r\\n ANNE. I would I knew thy heart.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. \\'Tis figur\\'d in my tongue.\\r\\n ANNE. I fear me both are false.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Then never was man true.\\r\\n ANNE. well put up your sword.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Say, then, my peace is made.\\r\\n ANNE. That shalt thou know hereafter.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. But shall I live in hope?\\r\\n ANNE. All men, I hope, live so.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.\\r\\n ANNE. To take is not to give. [Puts on the ring]\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Look how my ring encompasseth thy finger,\\r\\n Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart;\\r\\n Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.\\r\\n And if thy poor devoted servant may\\r\\n But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,\\r\\n Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.\\r\\n ANNE. What is it?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. That it may please you leave these sad designs\\r\\n To him that hath most cause to be a mourner,\\r\\n And presently repair to Crosby House;\\r\\n Where-after I have solemnly interr\\'d\\r\\n At Chertsey monast\\'ry this noble king,\\r\\n And wet his grave with my repentant tears-\\r\\n I will with all expedient duty see you.\\r\\n For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you,\\r\\n Grant me this boon.\\r\\n ANNE. With all my heart; and much it joys me too\\r\\n To see you are become so penitent.\\r\\n Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Bid me farewell.\\r\\n ANNE. \\'Tis more than you deserve;\\r\\n But since you teach me how to flatter you,\\r\\n Imagine I have said farewell already.\\r\\n Exeunt two GENTLEMEN With LADY ANNE\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Sirs, take up the corse.\\r\\n GENTLEMEN. Towards Chertsey, noble lord?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. No, to White Friars; there attend my coming.\\r\\n Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER\\r\\n Was ever woman in this humour woo\\'d?\\r\\n Was ever woman in this humour won?\\r\\n I\\'ll have her; but I will not keep her long.\\r\\n What! I that kill\\'d her husband and his father-\\r\\n To take her in her heart\\'s extremest hate,\\r\\n With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,\\r\\n The bleeding witness of my hatred by;\\r\\n Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me,\\r\\n And I no friends to back my suit at all\\r\\n But the plain devil and dissembling looks,\\r\\n And yet to win her, all the world to nothing!\\r\\n Ha!\\r\\n Hath she forgot already that brave prince,\\r\\n Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,\\r\\n Stabb\\'d in my angry mood at Tewksbury?\\r\\n A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman-\\r\\n Fram\\'d in the prodigality of nature,\\r\\n Young, valiant, wise, and no doubt right royal-\\r\\n The spacious world cannot again afford;\\r\\n And will she yet abase her eyes on me,\\r\\n That cropp\\'d the golden prime of this sweet prince\\r\\n And made her widow to a woeful bed?\\r\\n On me, whose all not equals Edward\\'s moiety?\\r\\n On me, that halts and am misshapen thus?\\r\\n My dukedom to a beggarly denier,\\r\\n I do mistake my person all this while.\\r\\n Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,\\r\\n Myself to be a marv\\'llous proper man.\\r\\n I\\'ll be at charges for a looking-glass,\\r\\n And entertain a score or two of tailors\\r\\n To study fashions to adorn my body.\\r\\n Since I am crept in favour with myself,\\r\\n I will maintain it with some little cost.\\r\\n But first I\\'ll turn yon fellow in his grave,\\r\\n And then return lamenting to my love.\\r\\n Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,\\r\\n That I may see my shadow as I pass. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter QUEEN ELIZABETH, LORD RIVERS, and LORD GREY\\r\\n\\r\\n RIVERS. Have patience, madam; there\\'s no doubt his Majesty\\r\\n Will soon recover his accustom\\'d health.\\r\\n GREY. In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse;\\r\\n Therefore, for God\\'s sake, entertain good comfort,\\r\\n And cheer his Grace with quick and merry eyes.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. If he were dead, what would betide on\\r\\n me?\\r\\n GREY. No other harm but loss of such a lord.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. The loss of such a lord includes all\\r\\n harms.\\r\\n GREY. The heavens have bless\\'d you with a goodly son\\r\\n To be your comforter when he is gone.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, he is young; and his minority\\r\\n Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester,\\r\\n A man that loves not me, nor none of you.\\r\\n RIVER. Is it concluded he shall be Protector?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. It is determin\\'d, not concluded yet;\\r\\n But so it must be, if the King miscarry.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BUCKINGHAM and DERBY\\r\\n\\r\\n GREY. Here come the Lords of Buckingham and Derby.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Good time of day unto your royal Grace!\\r\\n DERBY. God make your Majesty joyful as you have been.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. The Countess Richmond, good my Lord\\r\\n of Derby,\\r\\n To your good prayer will scarcely say amen.\\r\\n Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she\\'s your wife\\r\\n And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur\\'d\\r\\n I hate not you for her proud arrogance.\\r\\n DERBY. I do beseech you, either not believe\\r\\n The envious slanders of her false accusers;\\r\\n Or, if she be accus\\'d on true report,\\r\\n Bear with her weakness, which I think proceeds\\r\\n From wayward sickness and no grounded malice.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Saw you the King to-day, my Lord of\\r\\n Derby?\\r\\n DERBY. But now the Duke of Buckingham and I\\r\\n Are come from visiting his Majesty.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. What likelihood of his amendment,\\r\\n Lords?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Madam, good hope; his Grace speaks\\r\\n cheerfully.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. God grant him health! Did you confer\\r\\n with him?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Ay, madam; he desires to make atonement\\r\\n Between the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers,\\r\\n And between them and my Lord Chamberlain;\\r\\n And sent to warn them to his royal presence.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Would all were well! But that will\\r\\n never be.\\r\\n I fear our happiness is at the height.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it.\\r\\n Who is it that complains unto the King\\r\\n That I, forsooth, am stern and love them not?\\r\\n By holy Paul, they love his Grace but lightly\\r\\n That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours.\\r\\n Because I cannot flatter and look fair,\\r\\n Smile in men\\'s faces, smooth, deceive, and cog,\\r\\n Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,\\r\\n I must be held a rancorous enemy.\\r\\n Cannot a plain man live and think no harm\\r\\n But thus his simple truth must be abus\\'d\\r\\n With silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?\\r\\n GREY. To who in all this presence speaks your Grace?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace.\\r\\n When have I injur\\'d thee? when done thee wrong,\\r\\n Or thee, or thee, or any of your faction?\\r\\n A plague upon you all! His royal Grace-\\r\\n Whom God preserve better than you would wish!-\\r\\n Cannot be quiet searce a breathing while\\r\\n But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the\\r\\n matter.\\r\\n The King, on his own royal disposition\\r\\n And not provok\\'d by any suitor else-\\r\\n Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred\\r\\n That in your outward action shows itself\\r\\n Against my children, brothers, and myself-\\r\\n Makes him to send that he may learn the ground.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I cannot tell; the world is grown so bad\\r\\n That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.\\r\\n Since every Jack became a gentleman,\\r\\n There\\'s many a gentle person made a Jack.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Come, come, we know your meaning,\\r\\n brother Gloucester:\\r\\n You envy my advancement and my friends\\';\\r\\n God grant we never may have need of you!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Meantime, God grants that I have need of you.\\r\\n Our brother is imprison\\'d by your means,\\r\\n Myself disgrac\\'d, and the nobility\\r\\n Held in contempt; while great promotions\\r\\n Are daily given to ennoble those\\r\\n That scarce some two days since were worth a noble.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. By Him that rais\\'d me to this careful\\r\\n height\\r\\n From that contented hap which I enjoy\\'d,\\r\\n I never did incense his Majesty\\r\\n Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been\\r\\n An earnest advocate to plead for him.\\r\\n My lord, you do me shameful injury\\r\\n Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. You may deny that you were not the mean\\r\\n Of my Lord Hastings\\' late imprisonment.\\r\\n RIVERS. She may, my lord; for-\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. She may, Lord Rivers? Why, who knows\\r\\n not so?\\r\\n She may do more, sir, than denying that:\\r\\n She may help you to many fair preferments\\r\\n And then deny her aiding hand therein,\\r\\n And lay those honours on your high desert.\\r\\n What may she not? She may-ay, marry, may she-\\r\\n RIVERS. What, marry, may she?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What, marry, may she? Marry with a king,\\r\\n A bachelor, and a handsome stripling too.\\r\\n Iwis your grandam had a worser match.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. My Lord of Gloucester, I have too long\\r\\n borne\\r\\n Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs.\\r\\n By heaven, I will acquaint his Majesty\\r\\n Of those gross taunts that oft I have endur\\'d.\\r\\n I had rather be a country servant-maid\\r\\n Than a great queen with this condition-\\r\\n To be so baited, scorn\\'d, and stormed at.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter old QUEEN MARGARET, behind\\r\\n\\r\\n Small joy have I in being England\\'s Queen.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. And less\\'ned be that small, God, I\\r\\n beseech Him!\\r\\n Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What! Threat you me with telling of the\\r\\n King?\\r\\n Tell him and spare not. Look what I have said\\r\\n I will avouch\\'t in presence of the King.\\r\\n I dare adventure to be sent to th\\' Tow\\'r.\\r\\n \\'Tis time to speak-my pains are quite forgot.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Out, devil! I do remember them to\\r\\n well:\\r\\n Thou kill\\'dst my husband Henry in the Tower,\\r\\n And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband\\r\\n King,\\r\\n I was a pack-horse in his great affairs,\\r\\n A weeder-out of his proud adversaries,\\r\\n A liberal rewarder of his friends;\\r\\n To royalize his blood I spent mine own.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, and much better blood than his or\\r\\n thine.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. In all which time you and your husband Grey\\r\\n Were factious for the house of Lancaster;\\r\\n And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband\\r\\n In Margaret\\'s battle at Saint Albans slain?\\r\\n Let me put in your minds, if you forget,\\r\\n What you have been ere this, and what you are;\\r\\n Withal, what I have been, and what I am.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. A murd\\'rous villain, and so still thou art.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick,\\r\\n Ay, and forswore himself-which Jesu pardon!-\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Which God revenge!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. To fight on Edward\\'s party for the crown;\\r\\n And for his meed, poor lord, he is mewed up.\\r\\n I would to God my heart were flint like Edward\\'s,\\r\\n Or Edward\\'s soft and pitiful like mine.\\r\\n I am too childish-foolish for this world.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Hie thee to hell for shame and leave this\\r\\n world,\\r\\n Thou cacodemon; there thy kingdom is.\\r\\n RIVERS. My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days\\r\\n Which here you urge to prove us enemies,\\r\\n We follow\\'d then our lord, our sovereign king.\\r\\n So should we you, if you should be our king.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar.\\r\\n Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose\\r\\n You should enjoy were you this country\\'s king,\\r\\n As little joy you may suppose in me\\r\\n That I enjoy, being the Queen thereof.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. As little joy enjoys the Queen thereof;\\r\\n For I am she, and altogether joyless.\\r\\n I can no longer hold me patient. [Advancing]\\r\\n Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out\\r\\n In sharing that which you have pill\\'d from me.\\r\\n Which of you trembles not that looks on me?\\r\\n If not that, I am Queen, you bow like subjects,\\r\\n Yet that, by you depos\\'d, you quake like rebels?\\r\\n Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak\\'st thou in my\\r\\n sight?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. But repetition of what thou hast marr\\'d,\\r\\n That will I make before I let thee go.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Wert thou not banished on pain of death?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. I was; but I do find more pain in\\r\\n banishment\\r\\n Than death can yield me here by my abode.\\r\\n A husband and a son thou ow\\'st to me;\\r\\n And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance.\\r\\n This sorrow that I have by right is yours;\\r\\n And all the pleasures you usurp are mine.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The curse my noble father laid on thee,\\r\\n When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper\\r\\n And with thy scorns drew\\'st rivers from his eyes,\\r\\n And then to dry them gav\\'st the Duke a clout\\r\\n Steep\\'d in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland-\\r\\n His curses then from bitterness of soul\\r\\n Denounc\\'d against thee are all fall\\'n upon thee;\\r\\n And God, not we, hath plagu\\'d thy bloody deed.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. So just is God to right the innocent.\\r\\n HASTINGS. O, \\'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe,\\r\\n And the most merciless that e\\'er was heard of!\\r\\n RIVERS. Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.\\r\\n DORSET. No man but prophesied revenge for it.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. What, were you snarling all before I came,\\r\\n Ready to catch each other by the throat,\\r\\n And turn you all your hatred now on me?\\r\\n Did York\\'s dread curse prevail so much with heaven\\r\\n That Henry\\'s death, my lovely Edward\\'s death,\\r\\n Their kingdom\\'s loss, my woeful banishment,\\r\\n Should all but answer for that peevish brat?\\r\\n Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven?\\r\\n Why then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses!\\r\\n Though not by war, by surfeit die your king,\\r\\n As ours by murder, to make him a king!\\r\\n Edward thy son, that now is Prince of Wales,\\r\\n For Edward our son, that was Prince of Wales,\\r\\n Die in his youth by like untimely violence!\\r\\n Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,\\r\\n Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self!\\r\\n Long mayest thou live to wail thy children\\'s death,\\r\\n And see another, as I see thee now,\\r\\n Deck\\'d in thy rights, as thou art stall\\'d in mine!\\r\\n Long die thy happy days before thy death;\\r\\n And, after many length\\'ned hours of grief,\\r\\n Die neither mother, wife, nor England\\'s Queen!\\r\\n Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by,\\r\\n And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son\\r\\n Was stabb\\'d with bloody daggers. God, I pray him,\\r\\n That none of you may live his natural age,\\r\\n But by some unlook\\'d accident cut off!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither\\'d\\r\\n hag.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. And leave out thee? Stay, dog, for thou\\r\\n shalt hear me.\\r\\n If heaven have any grievous plague in store\\r\\n Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,\\r\\n O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe,\\r\\n And then hurl down their indignation\\r\\n On thee, the troubler of the poor world\\'s peace!\\r\\n The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul!\\r\\n Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv\\'st,\\r\\n And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!\\r\\n No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,\\r\\n Unless it be while some tormenting dream\\r\\n Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!\\r\\n Thou elvish-mark\\'d, abortive, rooting hog,\\r\\n Thou that wast seal\\'d in thy nativity\\r\\n The slave of nature and the son of hell,\\r\\n Thou slander of thy heavy mother\\'s womb,\\r\\n Thou loathed issue of thy father\\'s loins,\\r\\n Thou rag of honour, thou detested-\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Margaret!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Richard!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ha?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. I call thee not.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I cry thee mercy then, for I did think\\r\\n That thou hadst call\\'d me all these bitter names.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Why, so I did, but look\\'d for no reply.\\r\\n O, let me make the period to my curse!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. \\'Tis done by me, and ends in-Margaret.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thus have you breath\\'d your curse\\r\\n against yourself.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my\\r\\n fortune!\\r\\n Why strew\\'st thou sugar on that bottled spider\\r\\n Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?\\r\\n Fool, fool! thou whet\\'st a knife to kill thyself.\\r\\n The day will come that thou shalt wish for me\\r\\n To help thee curse this poisonous bunch-back\\'d toad.\\r\\n HASTINGS. False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse,\\r\\n Lest to thy harm thou move our patience.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Foul shame upon you! you have all\\r\\n mov\\'d mine.\\r\\n RIVERS. Were you well serv\\'d, you would be taught your\\r\\n duty.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. To serve me well you all should do me\\r\\n duty,\\r\\n Teach me to be your queen and you my subjects.\\r\\n O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty!\\r\\n DORSET. Dispute not with her; she is lunatic.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Peace, Master Marquis, you are malapert;\\r\\n Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current.\\r\\n O, that your young nobility could judge\\r\\n What \\'twere to lose it and be miserable!\\r\\n They that stand high have many blasts to shake them,\\r\\n And if they fall they dash themselves to pieces.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Good counsel, marry; learn it, learn it, Marquis.\\r\\n DORSET. It touches you, my lord, as much as me.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ay, and much more; but I was born so high,\\r\\n Our aery buildeth in the cedar\\'s top,\\r\\n And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. And turns the sun to shade-alas! alas!\\r\\n Witness my son, now in the shade of death,\\r\\n Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath\\r\\n Hath in eternal darkness folded up.\\r\\n Your aery buildeth in our aery\\'s nest.\\r\\n O God that seest it, do not suffer it;\\r\\n As it is won with blood, lost be it so!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Urge neither charity nor shame to me.\\r\\n Uncharitably with me have you dealt,\\r\\n And shamefully my hopes by you are butcher\\'d.\\r\\n My charity is outrage, life my shame;\\r\\n And in that shame still live my sorrow\\'s rage!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Have done, have done.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. O princely Buckingham, I\\'ll kiss thy\\r\\n hand\\r\\n In sign of league and amity with thee.\\r\\n Now fair befall thee and thy noble house!\\r\\n Thy garments are not spotted with our blood,\\r\\n Nor thou within the compass of my curse.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Nor no one here; for curses never pass\\r\\n The lips of those that breathe them in the air.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. I will not think but they ascend the sky\\r\\n And there awake God\\'s gentle-sleeping peace.\\r\\n O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog!\\r\\n Look when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites,\\r\\n His venom tooth will rankle to the death:\\r\\n Have not to do with him, beware of him;\\r\\n Sin, death, and hell, have set their marks on him,\\r\\n And all their ministers attend on him.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle\\r\\n counsel,\\r\\n And soothe the devil that I warn thee from?\\r\\n O, but remember this another day,\\r\\n When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow,\\r\\n And say poor Margaret was a prophetess!\\r\\n Live each of you the subjects to his hate,\\r\\n And he to yours, and all of you to God\\'s! Exit\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My hair doth stand an end to hear her curses.\\r\\n RIVERS. And so doth mine. I muse why she\\'s at liberty.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I cannot blame her; by God\\'s holy Mother,\\r\\n She hath had too much wrong; and I repent\\r\\n My part thereof that I have done to her.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. I never did her any to my knowledge.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong.\\r\\n I was too hot to do somebody good\\r\\n That is too cold in thinking of it now.\\r\\n Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid;\\r\\n He is frank\\'d up to fatting for his pains;\\r\\n God pardon them that are the cause thereof!\\r\\n RIVERS. A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion,\\r\\n To pray for them that have done scathe to us!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. So do I ever- [Aside] being well advis\\'d;\\r\\n For had I curs\\'d now, I had curs\\'d myself.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n CATESBY. Madam, his Majesty doth can for you,\\r\\n And for your Grace, and you, my gracious lords.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Catesby, I come. Lords, will you go\\r\\n with me?\\r\\n RIVERS. We wait upon your Grace.\\r\\n Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl.\\r\\n The secret mischiefs that I set abroach\\r\\n I lay unto the grievous charge of others.\\r\\n Clarence, who I indeed have cast in darkness,\\r\\n I do beweep to many simple gulls;\\r\\n Namely, to Derby, Hastings, Buckingham;\\r\\n And tell them \\'tis the Queen and her allies\\r\\n That stir the King against the Duke my brother.\\r\\n Now they believe it, and withal whet me\\r\\n To be reveng\\'d on Rivers, Dorset, Grey;\\r\\n But then I sigh and, with a piece of Scripture,\\r\\n Tell them that God bids us do good for evil.\\r\\n And thus I clothe my naked villainy\\r\\n With odd old ends stol\\'n forth of holy writ,\\r\\n And seem a saint when most I play the devil.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two MURDERERS\\r\\n\\r\\n But, soft, here come my executioners.\\r\\n How now, my hardy stout resolved mates!\\r\\n Are you now going to dispatch this thing?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. We are, my lord, and come to have the\\r\\n warrant,\\r\\n That we may be admitted where he is.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Well thought upon; I have it here about me.\\r\\n [Gives the warrant]\\r\\n When you have done, repair to Crosby Place.\\r\\n But, sirs, be sudden in the execution,\\r\\n Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead;\\r\\n For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps\\r\\n May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to\\r\\n prate;\\r\\n Talkers are no good doers. Be assur\\'d\\r\\n We go to use our hands and not our tongues.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Your eyes drop millstones when fools\\' eyes fall\\r\\n tears.\\r\\n I like you, lads; about your business straight;\\r\\n Go, go, dispatch.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. We will, my noble lord. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The Tower\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter CLARENCE and KEEPER\\r\\n\\r\\n KEEPER. Why looks your Grace so heavily to-day?\\r\\n CLARENCE. O, I have pass\\'d a miserable night,\\r\\n So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights,\\r\\n That, as I am a Christian faithful man,\\r\\n I would not spend another such a night\\r\\n Though \\'twere to buy a world of happy days-\\r\\n So full of dismal terror was the time!\\r\\n KEEPER. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you\\r\\n tell me.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower\\r\\n And was embark\\'d to cross to Burgundy;\\r\\n And in my company my brother Gloucester,\\r\\n Who from my cabin tempted me to walk\\r\\n Upon the hatches. Thence we look\\'d toward England,\\r\\n And cited up a thousand heavy times,\\r\\n During the wars of York and Lancaster,\\r\\n That had befall\\'n us. As we pac\\'d along\\r\\n Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,\\r\\n Methought that Gloucester stumbled, and in falling\\r\\n Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard\\r\\n Into the tumbling billows of the main.\\r\\n O Lord, methought what pain it was to drown,\\r\\n What dreadful noise of waters in my ears,\\r\\n What sights of ugly death within my eyes!\\r\\n Methoughts I saw a thousand fearful wrecks,\\r\\n A thousand men that fishes gnaw\\'d upon,\\r\\n Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,\\r\\n Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,\\r\\n All scatt\\'red in the bottom of the sea;\\r\\n Some lay in dead men\\'s skulls, and in the holes\\r\\n Where eyes did once inhabit there were crept,\\r\\n As \\'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,\\r\\n That woo\\'d the slimy bottom of the deep\\r\\n And mock\\'d the dead bones that lay scatt\\'red by.\\r\\n KEEPER. Had you such leisure in the time of death\\r\\n To gaze upon these secrets of the deep?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Methought I had; and often did I strive\\r\\n To yield the ghost, but still the envious flood\\r\\n Stopp\\'d in my soul and would not let it forth\\r\\n To find the empty, vast, and wand\\'ring air;\\r\\n But smother\\'d it within my panting bulk,\\r\\n Who almost burst to belch it in the sea.\\r\\n KEEPER. Awak\\'d you not in this sore agony?\\r\\n CLARENCE. No, no, my dream was lengthen\\'d after life.\\r\\n O, then began the tempest to my soul!\\r\\n I pass\\'d, methought, the melancholy flood\\r\\n With that sour ferryman which poets write of,\\r\\n Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.\\r\\n The first that there did greet my stranger soul\\r\\n Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick,\\r\\n Who spake aloud \\'What scourge for perjury\\r\\n Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?\\'\\r\\n And so he vanish\\'d. Then came wand\\'ring by\\r\\n A shadow like an angel, with bright hair\\r\\n Dabbled in blood, and he shriek\\'d out aloud\\r\\n \\'Clarence is come-false, fleeting, perjur\\'d Clarence,\\r\\n That stabb\\'d me in the field by Tewksbury.\\r\\n Seize on him, Furies, take him unto torment!\\'\\r\\n With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends\\r\\n Environ\\'d me, and howled in mine ears\\r\\n Such hideous cries that, with the very noise,\\r\\n I trembling wak\\'d, and for a season after\\r\\n Could not believe but that I was in hell,\\r\\n Such terrible impression made my dream.\\r\\n KEEPER. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you;\\r\\n I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Ah, Keeper, Keeper, I have done these things\\r\\n That now give evidence against my soul\\r\\n For Edward\\'s sake, and see how he requites me!\\r\\n O God! If my deep prayers cannot appease Thee,\\r\\n But Thou wilt be aveng\\'d on my misdeeds,\\r\\n Yet execute Thy wrath in me alone;\\r\\n O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children!\\r\\n KEEPER, I prithee sit by me awhile;\\r\\n My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.\\r\\n KEEPER. I will, my lord. God give your Grace good rest.\\r\\n [CLARENCE sleeps]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BRAKENBURY the Lieutenant\\r\\n\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours,\\r\\n Makes the night morning and the noontide night.\\r\\n Princes have but their titles for their glories,\\r\\n An outward honour for an inward toil;\\r\\n And for unfelt imaginations\\r\\n They often feel a world of restless cares,\\r\\n So that between their tides and low name\\r\\n There\\'s nothing differs but the outward fame.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the two MURDERERS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Ho! who\\'s here?\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. What wouldst thou, fellow, and how cam\\'st\\r\\n thou hither?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. I would speak with Clarence, and I came\\r\\n hither on my legs.\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. What, so brief?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. \\'Tis better, sir, than to be tedious. Let\\r\\n him see our commission and talk no more.\\r\\n [BRAKENBURY reads it]\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. I am, in this, commanded to deliver\\r\\n The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands.\\r\\n I will not reason what is meant hereby,\\r\\n Because I will be guiltless from the meaning.\\r\\n There lies the Duke asleep; and there the keys.\\r\\n I\\'ll to the King and signify to him\\r\\n That thus I have resign\\'d to you my charge.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. You may, sir; \\'tis a point of wisdom. Fare\\r\\n you well. Exeunt BRAKENBURY and KEEPER\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. What, shall I stab him as he sleeps?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. No; he\\'ll say \\'twas done cowardly, when\\r\\n he wakes.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Why, he shall never wake until the great\\r\\n judgment-day.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Why, then he\\'ll say we stabb\\'d him\\r\\n sleeping.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. The urging of that word judgment hath\\r\\n bred a kind of remorse in me.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. What, art thou afraid?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Not to kill him, having a warrant; but to\\r\\n be damn\\'d for killing him, from the which no warrant can\\r\\n defend me.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. I thought thou hadst been resolute.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. So I am, to let him live.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. I\\'ll back to the Duke of Gloucester and\\r\\n tell him so.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Nay, I prithee, stay a little. I hope this\\r\\n passionate humour of mine will change; it was wont to\\r\\n hold me but while one tells twenty.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. How dost thou feel thyself now?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Faith, some certain dregs of conscience\\r\\n are yet within me.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Remember our reward, when the deed\\'s\\r\\n done.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Zounds, he dies; I had forgot the reward.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Where\\'s thy conscience now?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. O, in the Duke of Gloucester\\'s purse!\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. When he opens his purse to give us our\\r\\n reward, thy conscience flies out.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. \\'Tis no matter; let it go; there\\'s few or\\r\\n none will entertain it.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. What if it come to thee again?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. I\\'ll not meddle with it-it makes a man\\r\\n coward: a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; a man\\r\\n cannot swear, but it checks him; a man cannot lie with his\\r\\n neighbour\\'s wife, but it detects him. \\'Tis a blushing shame-\\r\\n fac\\'d spirit that mutinies in a man\\'s bosom; it fills a man\\r\\n full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold\\r\\n that-by chance I found. It beggars any man that keeps it.\\r\\n It is turn\\'d out of towns and cities for a dangerous thing;\\r\\n and every man that means to live well endeavours to trust\\r\\n to himself and live without it.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Zounds, \\'tis even now at my elbow,\\r\\n persuading me not to kill the Duke.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Take the devil in thy mind and believe\\r\\n him not; he would insinuate with thee but to make the\\r\\n sigh.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. I am strong-fram\\'d; he cannot prevail with\\r\\n me.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Spoke like a tall man that respects thy\\r\\n reputation. Come, shall we fall to work?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Take him on the costard with the hilts of\\r\\n thy sword, and then chop him in the malmsey-butt in the\\r\\n next room.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. O excellent device! and make a sop of\\r\\n him.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Soft! he wakes.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Strike!\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. No, we\\'ll reason with him.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Where art thou, Keeper? Give me a cup of wine.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. You shall have wine enough, my lord,\\r\\n anon.\\r\\n CLARENCE. In God\\'s name, what art thou?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. A man, as you are.\\r\\n CLARENCE. But not as I am, royal.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Nor you as we are, loyal.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. My voice is now the King\\'s, my looks\\r\\n mine own.\\r\\n CLARENCE. How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak!\\r\\n Your eyes do menace me. Why look you pale?\\r\\n Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. To, to, to-\\r\\n CLARENCE. To murder me?\\r\\n BOTH MURDERERS. Ay, ay.\\r\\n CLARENCE. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so,\\r\\n And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it.\\r\\n Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Offended us you have not, but the King.\\r\\n CLARENCE. I shall be reconcil\\'d to him again.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Are you drawn forth among a world of men\\r\\n To slay the innocent? What is my offence?\\r\\n Where is the evidence that doth accuse me?\\r\\n What lawful quest have given their verdict up\\r\\n Unto the frowning judge, or who pronounc\\'d\\r\\n The bitter sentence of poor Clarence\\' death?\\r\\n Before I be convict by course of law,\\r\\n To threaten me with death is most unlawful.\\r\\n I charge you, as you hope to have redemption\\r\\n By Christ\\'s dear blood shed for our grievous sins,\\r\\n That you depart and lay no hands on me.\\r\\n The deed you undertake is damnable.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. What we will do, we do upon command.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. And he that hath commanded is our\\r\\n King.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Erroneous vassals! the great King of kings\\r\\n Hath in the tables of his law commanded\\r\\n That thou shalt do no murder. Will you then\\r\\n Spurn at his edict and fulfil a man\\'s?\\r\\n Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hand\\r\\n To hurl upon their heads that break his law.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. And that same vengeance doth he hurl\\r\\n on thee\\r\\n For false forswearing, and for murder too;\\r\\n Thou didst receive the sacrament to fight\\r\\n In quarrel of the house of Lancaster.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. And like a traitor to the name of God\\r\\n Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous blade\\r\\n Unripp\\'dst the bowels of thy sov\\'reign\\'s son.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and\\r\\n defend.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. How canst thou urge God\\'s dreadful law\\r\\n to us,\\r\\n When thou hast broke it in such dear degree?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed?\\r\\n For Edward, for my brother, for his sake.\\r\\n He sends you not to murder me for this,\\r\\n For in that sin he is as deep as I.\\r\\n If God will be avenged for the deed,\\r\\n O, know you yet He doth it publicly.\\r\\n Take not the quarrel from His pow\\'rful arm;\\r\\n He needs no indirect or lawless course\\r\\n To cut off those that have offended Him.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Who made thee then a bloody minister\\r\\n When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet,\\r\\n That princely novice, was struck dead by thee?\\r\\n CLARENCE. My brother\\'s love, the devil, and my rage.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Thy brother\\'s love, our duty, and thy\\r\\n faults,\\r\\n Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.\\r\\n CLARENCE. If you do love my brother, hate not me;\\r\\n I am his brother, and I love him well.\\r\\n If you are hir\\'d for meed, go back again,\\r\\n And I will send you to my brother Gloucester,\\r\\n Who shall reward you better for my life\\r\\n Than Edward will for tidings of my death.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. You are deceiv\\'d: your brother Gloucester\\r\\n hates you.\\r\\n CLARENCE. O, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear.\\r\\n Go you to him from me.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Ay, so we will.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Tell him when that our princely father York\\r\\n Bless\\'d his three sons with his victorious arm\\r\\n And charg\\'d us from his soul to love each other,\\r\\n He little thought of this divided friendship.\\r\\n Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Ay, millstones; as he lesson\\'d us to weep.\\r\\n CLARENCE. O, do not slander him, for he is kind.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Right, as snow in harvest. Come, you\\r\\n deceive yourself:\\r\\n \\'Tis he that sends us to destroy you here.\\r\\n CLARENCE. It cannot be; for he bewept my fortune\\r\\n And hugg\\'d me in his arms, and swore with sobs\\r\\n That he would labour my delivery.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Why, so he doth, when he delivers you\\r\\n From this earth\\'s thraldom to the joys of heaven.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Make peace with God, for you must die,\\r\\n my lord.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Have you that holy feeling in your souls\\r\\n To counsel me to make my peace with God,\\r\\n And are you yet to your own souls so blind\\r\\n That you will war with God by murd\\'ring me?\\r\\n O, sirs, consider: they that set you on\\r\\n To do this deed will hate you for the deed.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. What shall we do?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Relent, and save your souls.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Relent! No, \\'tis cowardly and womanish.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish.\\r\\n Which of you, if you were a prince\\'s son,\\r\\n Being pent from liberty as I am now,\\r\\n If two such murderers as yourselves came to you,\\r\\n Would not entreat for life?\\r\\n My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks;\\r\\n O, if thine eye be not a flatterer,\\r\\n Come thou on my side and entreat for me-\\r\\n As you would beg were you in my distress.\\r\\n A begging prince what beggar pities not?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Look behind you, my lord.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. [Stabbing him] Take that, and that. If all\\r\\n this will not do,\\r\\n I\\'ll drown you in the malmsey-butt within.\\r\\n Exit with the body\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. A bloody deed, and desperately\\r\\n dispatch\\'d!\\r\\n How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands\\r\\n Of this most grievous murder!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter FIRST MURDERER\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER-How now, what mean\\'st thou that thou\\r\\n help\\'st me not?\\r\\n By heavens, the Duke shall know how slack you have\\r\\n been!\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. I would he knew that I had sav\\'d his\\r\\n brother!\\r\\n Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say;\\r\\n For I repent me that the Duke is slain. Exit\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. So do not I. Go, coward as thou art.\\r\\n Well, I\\'ll go hide the body in some hole,\\r\\n Till that the Duke give order for his burial;\\r\\n And when I have my meed, I will away;\\r\\n For this will out, and then I must not stay. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter KING EDWARD sick, QUEEN ELIZABETH, DORSET, RIVERS,\\r\\nHASTINGS, BUCKINGHAM, GREY, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Why, so. Now have I done a good day\\'s\\r\\n work.\\r\\n You peers, continue this united league.\\r\\n I every day expect an embassage\\r\\n From my Redeemer to redeem me hence;\\r\\n And more at peace my soul shall part to heaven,\\r\\n Since I have made my friends at peace on earth.\\r\\n Hastings and Rivers, take each other\\'s hand;\\r\\n Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love.\\r\\n RIVERS. By heaven, my soul is purg\\'d from grudging hate;\\r\\n And with my hand I seal my true heart\\'s love.\\r\\n HASTINGS. So thrive I, as I truly swear the like!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Take heed you dally not before your king;\\r\\n Lest He that is the supreme King of kings\\r\\n Confound your hidden falsehood and award\\r\\n Either of you to be the other\\'s end.\\r\\n HASTINGS. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love!\\r\\n RIVERS. And I, as I love Hastings with my heart!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Madam, yourself is not exempt from this;\\r\\n Nor you, son Dorset; Buckingham, nor you:\\r\\n You have been factious one against the other.\\r\\n Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand;\\r\\n And what you do, do it unfeignedly.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. There, Hastings; I will never more\\r\\n remember\\r\\n Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Dorset, embrace him; Hastings, love Lord\\r\\n Marquis.\\r\\n DORSET. This interchange of love, I here protest,\\r\\n Upon my part shall be inviolable.\\r\\n HASTINGS. And so swear I. [They embrace]\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this\\r\\n league\\r\\n With thy embracements to my wife\\'s allies,\\r\\n And make me happy in your unity.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. [To the QUEEN] Whenever Buckingham\\r\\n doth turn his hate\\r\\n Upon your Grace, but with all duteous love\\r\\n Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me\\r\\n With hate in those where I expect most love!\\r\\n When I have most need to employ a friend\\r\\n And most assured that he is a friend,\\r\\n Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile,\\r\\n Be he unto me! This do I beg of God\\r\\n When I am cold in love to you or yours.\\r\\n [They embrace]\\r\\n KING EDWARD. A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham,\\r\\n Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart.\\r\\n There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here\\r\\n To make the blessed period of this peace.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. And, in good time,\\r\\n Here comes Sir Richard Ratcliff and the Duke.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER, and RATCLIFF\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Good morrow to my sovereign king and\\r\\n Queen;\\r\\n And, princely peers, a happy time of day!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day.\\r\\n Gloucester, we have done deeds of charity,\\r\\n Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate,\\r\\n Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. A blessed labour, my most sovereign lord.\\r\\n Among this princely heap, if any here,\\r\\n By false intelligence or wrong surmise,\\r\\n Hold me a foe-\\r\\n If I unwittingly, or in my rage,\\r\\n Have aught committed that is hardly borne\\r\\n To any in this presence, I desire\\r\\n To reconcile me to his friendly peace:\\r\\n \\'Tis death to me to be at enmity;\\r\\n I hate it, and desire all good men\\'s love.\\r\\n First, madam, I entreat true peace of you,\\r\\n Which I will purchase with my duteous service;\\r\\n Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham,\\r\\n If ever any grudge were lodg\\'d between us;\\r\\n Of you, and you, Lord Rivers, and of Dorset,\\r\\n That all without desert have frown\\'d on me;\\r\\n Of you, Lord Woodville, and, Lord Scales, of you;\\r\\n Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen-indeed, of all.\\r\\n I do not know that Englishman alive\\r\\n With whom my soul is any jot at odds\\r\\n More than the infant that is born to-night.\\r\\n I thank my God for my humility.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. A holy day shall this be kept hereafter.\\r\\n I would to God all strifes were well compounded.\\r\\n My sovereign lord, I do beseech your Highness\\r\\n To take our brother Clarence to your grace.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, madam, have I off\\'red love for this,\\r\\n To be so flouted in this royal presence?\\r\\n Who knows not that the gentle Duke is dead?\\r\\n [They all start]\\r\\n You do him injury to scorn his corse.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Who knows not he is dead! Who knows\\r\\n he is?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. All-seeing heaven, what a world is this!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest?\\r\\n DORSET. Ay, my good lord; and no man in the presence\\r\\n But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Is Clarence dead? The order was revers\\'d.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. But he, poor man, by your first order died,\\r\\n And that a winged Mercury did bear;\\r\\n Some tardy cripple bare the countermand\\r\\n That came too lag to see him buried.\\r\\n God grant that some, less noble and less loyal,\\r\\n Nearer in bloody thoughts, an not in blood,\\r\\n Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did,\\r\\n And yet go current from suspicion!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DERBY\\r\\n\\r\\n DERBY. A boon, my sovereign, for my service done!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. I prithee, peace; my soul is full of sorrow.\\r\\n DERBY. I Will not rise unless your Highness hear me.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Then say at once what is it thou requests.\\r\\n DERBY. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant\\'s life;\\r\\n Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman\\r\\n Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Have I a tongue to doom my brother\\'s death,\\r\\n And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave?\\r\\n My brother killed no man-his fault was thought,\\r\\n And yet his punishment was bitter death.\\r\\n Who sued to me for him? Who, in my wrath,\\r\\n Kneel\\'d at my feet, and bid me be advis\\'d?\\r\\n Who spoke of brotherhood? Who spoke of love?\\r\\n Who told me how the poor soul did forsake\\r\\n The mighty Warwick and did fight for me?\\r\\n Who told me, in the field at Tewksbury\\r\\n When Oxford had me down, he rescued me\\r\\n And said \\'Dear Brother, live, and be a king\\'?\\r\\n Who told me, when we both lay in the field\\r\\n Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me\\r\\n Even in his garments, and did give himself,\\r\\n All thin and naked, to the numb cold night?\\r\\n All this from my remembrance brutish wrath\\r\\n Sinfully pluck\\'d, and not a man of you\\r\\n Had so much race to put it in my mind.\\r\\n But when your carters or your waiting-vassals\\r\\n Have done a drunken slaughter and defac\\'d\\r\\n The precious image of our dear Redeemer,\\r\\n You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon;\\r\\n And I, unjustly too, must grant it you. [DERBY rises]\\r\\n But for my brother not a man would speak;\\r\\n Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself\\r\\n For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all\\r\\n Have been beholding to him in his life;\\r\\n Yet none of you would once beg for his life.\\r\\n O God, I fear thy justice will take hold\\r\\n On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this!\\r\\n Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Ah, poor Clarence!\\r\\n Exeunt some with KING and QUEEN\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. This is the fruits of rashness. Mark\\'d you not\\r\\n How that the guilty kindred of the Queen\\r\\n Look\\'d pale when they did hear of Clarence\\' death?\\r\\n O, they did urge it still unto the King!\\r\\n God will revenge it. Come, lords, will you go\\r\\n To comfort Edward with our company?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. We wait upon your Grace. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the old DUCHESS OF YORK, with the SON and DAUGHTER of CLARENCE\\r\\n\\r\\n SON. Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead?\\r\\n DUCHESS. No, boy.\\r\\n DAUGHTER. Why do you weep so oft, and beat your breast,\\r\\n And cry \\'O Clarence, my unhappy son!\\'?\\r\\n SON. Why do you look on us, and shake your head,\\r\\n And call us orphans, wretches, castaways,\\r\\n If that our noble father were alive?\\r\\n DUCHESS. My pretty cousins, you mistake me both;\\r\\n I do lament the sickness of the King,\\r\\n As loath to lose him, not your father\\'s death;\\r\\n It were lost sorrow to wail one that\\'s lost.\\r\\n SON. Then you conclude, my grandam, he is dead.\\r\\n The King mine uncle is to blame for it.\\r\\n God will revenge it; whom I will importune\\r\\n With earnest prayers all to that effect.\\r\\n DAUGHTER. And so will I.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Peace, children, peace! The King doth love you\\r\\n well.\\r\\n Incapable and shallow innocents,\\r\\n You cannot guess who caus\\'d your father\\'s death.\\r\\n SON. Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloucester\\r\\n Told me the King, provok\\'d to it by the Queen,\\r\\n Devis\\'d impeachments to imprison him.\\r\\n And when my uncle told me so, he wept,\\r\\n And pitied me, and kindly kiss\\'d my cheek;\\r\\n Bade me rely on him as on my father,\\r\\n And he would love me dearly as a child.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shape,\\r\\n And with a virtuous vizor hide deep vice!\\r\\n He is my son; ay, and therein my shame;\\r\\n Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit.\\r\\n SON. Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam?\\r\\n DUCHESS. Ay, boy.\\r\\n SON. I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, with her hair about her\\r\\n ears; RIVERS and DORSET after her\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, who shall hinder me to wail and\\r\\n weep,\\r\\n To chide my fortune, and torment myself?\\r\\n I\\'ll join with black despair against my soul\\r\\n And to myself become an enemy.\\r\\n DUCHESS. What means this scene of rude impatience?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. To make an act of tragic violence.\\r\\n EDWARD, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead.\\r\\n Why grow the branches when the root is gone?\\r\\n Why wither not the leaves that want their sap?\\r\\n If you will live, lament; if die, be brief,\\r\\n That our swift-winged souls may catch the King\\'s,\\r\\n Or like obedient subjects follow him\\r\\n To his new kingdom of ne\\'er-changing night.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow\\r\\n As I had title in thy noble husband!\\r\\n I have bewept a worthy husband\\'s death,\\r\\n And liv\\'d with looking on his images;\\r\\n But now two mirrors of his princely semblance\\r\\n Are crack\\'d in pieces by malignant death,\\r\\n And I for comfort have but one false glass,\\r\\n That grieves me when I see my shame in him.\\r\\n Thou art a widow, yet thou art a mother\\r\\n And hast the comfort of thy children left;\\r\\n But death hath snatch\\'d my husband from mine arms\\r\\n And pluck\\'d two crutches from my feeble hands-\\r\\n Clarence and Edward. O, what cause have I-\\r\\n Thine being but a moiety of my moan-\\r\\n To overgo thy woes and drown thy cries?\\r\\n SON. Ah, aunt, you wept not for our father\\'s death!\\r\\n How can we aid you with our kindred tears?\\r\\n DAUGHTER. Our fatherless distress was left unmoan\\'d;\\r\\n Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Give me no help in lamentation;\\r\\n I am not barren to bring forth complaints.\\r\\n All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes\\r\\n That I, being govern\\'d by the watery moon,\\r\\n May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world!\\r\\n Ah for my husband, for my dear Lord Edward!\\r\\n CHILDREN. Ah for our father, for our dear Lord Clarence!\\r\\n DUCHESS. Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. What stay had I but Edward? and he\\'s\\r\\n gone.\\r\\n CHILDREN. What stay had we but Clarence? and he\\'s gone.\\r\\n DUCHESS. What stays had I but they? and they are gone.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Was never widow had so dear a loss.\\r\\n CHILDREN. Were never orphans had so dear a loss.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Was never mother had so dear a loss.\\r\\n Alas, I am the mother of these griefs!\\r\\n Their woes are parcell\\'d, mine is general.\\r\\n She for an Edward weeps, and so do I:\\r\\n I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she.\\r\\n These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I:\\r\\n I for an Edward weep, so do not they.\\r\\n Alas, you three on me, threefold distress\\'d,\\r\\n Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow\\'s nurse,\\r\\n And I will pamper it with lamentation.\\r\\n DORSET. Comfort, dear mother. God is much displeas\\'d\\r\\n That you take with unthankfulness his doing.\\r\\n In common worldly things \\'tis called ungrateful\\r\\n With dull unwillingness to repay a debt\\r\\n Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent;\\r\\n Much more to be thus opposite with heaven,\\r\\n For it requires the royal debt it lent you.\\r\\n RIVERS. Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother,\\r\\n Of the young prince your son. Send straight for him;\\r\\n Let him be crown\\'d; in him your comfort lives.\\r\\n Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward\\'s grave,\\r\\n And plant your joys in living Edward\\'s throne.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, DERBY,\\r\\n HASTINGS, and RATCLIFF\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Sister, have comfort. All of us have cause\\r\\n To wail the dimming of our shining star;\\r\\n But none can help our harms by wailing them.\\r\\n Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy;\\r\\n I did not see your Grace. Humbly on my knee\\r\\n I crave your blessing.\\r\\n DUCHESS. God bless thee; and put meekness in thy breast,\\r\\n Love, charity, obedience, and true duty!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Amen! [Aside] And make me die a good old\\r\\n man!\\r\\n That is the butt end of a mother\\'s blessing;\\r\\n I marvel that her Grace did leave it out.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing\\r\\n peers,\\r\\n That bear this heavy mutual load of moan,\\r\\n Now cheer each other in each other\\'s love.\\r\\n Though we have spent our harvest of this king,\\r\\n We are to reap the harvest of his son.\\r\\n The broken rancour of your high-swol\\'n hearts,\\r\\n But lately splinter\\'d, knit, and join\\'d together,\\r\\n Must gently be preserv\\'d, cherish\\'d, and kept.\\r\\n Me seemeth good that, with some little train,\\r\\n Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fet\\r\\n Hither to London, to be crown\\'d our King.\\r\\n\\r\\n RIVERS. Why with some little train, my Lord of\\r\\n Buckingham?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude\\r\\n The new-heal\\'d wound of malice should break out,\\r\\n Which would be so much the more dangerous\\r\\n By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern\\'d;\\r\\n Where every horse bears his commanding rein\\r\\n And may direct his course as please himself,\\r\\n As well the fear of harm as harm apparent,\\r\\n In my opinion, ought to be prevented.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I hope the King made peace with all of us;\\r\\n And the compact is firm and true in me.\\r\\n RIVERS. And so in me; and so, I think, in an.\\r\\n Yet, since it is but green, it should be put\\r\\n To no apparent likelihood of breach,\\r\\n Which haply by much company might be urg\\'d;\\r\\n Therefore I say with noble Buckingham\\r\\n That it is meet so few should fetch the Prince.\\r\\n HASTINGS. And so say I.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Then be it so; and go we to determine\\r\\n Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow.\\r\\n Madam, and you, my sister, will you go\\r\\n To give your censures in this business?\\r\\n Exeunt all but BUCKINGHAM and GLOUCESTER\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince,\\r\\n For God sake, let not us two stay at home;\\r\\n For by the way I\\'ll sort occasion,\\r\\n As index to the story we late talk\\'d of,\\r\\n To part the Queen\\'s proud kindred from the Prince.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My other self, my counsel\\'s consistory,\\r\\n My oracle, my prophet, my dear cousin,\\r\\n I, as a child, will go by thy direction.\\r\\n Toward Ludlow then, for we\\'ll not stay behind. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter one CITIZEN at one door, and another at the other\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Good morrow, neighbour. Whither away so\\r\\n fast?\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. I promise you, I scarcely know myself.\\r\\n Hear you the news abroad?\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Yes, that the King is dead.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Ill news, by\\'r lady; seldom comes the\\r\\n better.\\r\\n I fear, I fear \\'twill prove a giddy world.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another CITIZEN\\r\\n\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Neighbours, God speed!\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Give you good morrow, sir.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Doth the news hold of good King Edward\\'s\\r\\n death?\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while!\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Then, masters, look to see a troublous\\r\\n world.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. No, no; by God\\'s good grace, his son shall\\r\\n reign.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Woe to that land that\\'s govern\\'d by a child.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. In him there is a hope of government,\\r\\n Which, in his nonage, council under him,\\r\\n And, in his full and ripened years, himself,\\r\\n No doubt, shall then, and till then, govern well.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. So stood the state when Henry the Sixth\\r\\n Was crown\\'d in Paris but at nine months old.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Stood the state so? No, no, good friends,\\r\\n God wot;\\r\\n For then this land was famously enrich\\'d\\r\\n With politic grave counsel; then the King\\r\\n Had virtuous uncles to protect his Grace.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Why, so hath this, both by his father and\\r\\n mother.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Better it were they all came by his father,\\r\\n Or by his father there were none at all;\\r\\n For emulation who shall now be nearest\\r\\n Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not.\\r\\n O, full of danger is the Duke of Gloucester!\\r\\n And the Queen\\'s sons and brothers haught and proud;\\r\\n And were they to be rul\\'d, and not to rule,\\r\\n This sickly land might solace as before.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Come, come, we fear the worst; all will be\\r\\n well.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. When clouds are seen, wise men put on\\r\\n their cloaks;\\r\\n When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand;\\r\\n When the sun sets, who doth not look for night?\\r\\n Untimely storms make men expect a dearth.\\r\\n All may be well; but, if God sort it so,\\r\\n \\'Tis more than we deserve or I expect.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Truly, the hearts of men are fun of fear.\\r\\n You cannot reason almost with a man\\r\\n That looks not heavily and fun of dread.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Before the days of change, still is it so;\\r\\n By a divine instinct men\\'s minds mistrust\\r\\n Ensuing danger; as by proof we see\\r\\n The water swell before a boist\\'rous storm.\\r\\n But leave it all to God. Whither away?\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Marry, we were sent for to the justices.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. And so was I; I\\'ll bear you company.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, the young DUKE OF YORK, QUEEN ELIZABETH,\\r\\nand the DUCHESS OF YORK\\r\\n\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Last night, I hear, they lay at Stony Stratford,\\r\\n And at Northampton they do rest to-night;\\r\\n To-morrow or next day they will be here.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I long with all my heart to see the Prince.\\r\\n I hope he is much grown since last I saw him.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. But I hear no; they say my son of York\\r\\n Has almost overta\\'en him in his growth.\\r\\n YORK. Ay, mother; but I would not have it so.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Why, my good cousin, it is good to grow.\\r\\n YORK. Grandam, one night as we did sit at supper,\\r\\n My uncle Rivers talk\\'d how I did grow\\r\\n More than my brother. \\'Ay,\\' quoth my uncle Gloucester\\r\\n \\'Small herbs have grace: great weeds do grow apace.\\'\\r\\n And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast,\\r\\n Because sweet flow\\'rs are slow and weeds make haste.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold\\r\\n In him that did object the same to thee.\\r\\n He was the wretched\\'st thing when he was young,\\r\\n So long a-growing and so leisurely\\r\\n That, if his rule were true, he should be gracious.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. And so no doubt he is, my gracious madam.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I hope he is; but yet let mothers doubt.\\r\\n YORK. Now, by my troth, if I had been rememb\\'red,\\r\\n I could have given my uncle\\'s Grace a flout\\r\\n To touch his growth nearer than he touch\\'d mine.\\r\\n DUCHESS. How, my young York? I prithee let me hear it.\\r\\n YORK. Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast\\r\\n That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old.\\r\\n \\'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth.\\r\\n Grandam, this would have been a biting jest.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I prithee, pretty York, who told thee this?\\r\\n YORK. Grandam, his nurse.\\r\\n DUCHESS. His nurse! Why she was dead ere thou wast\\r\\n born.\\r\\n YORK. If \\'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. A parlous boy! Go to, you are too\\r\\n shrewd.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Good madam, be not angry with the child.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Pitchers have ears.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Here comes a messenger. What news?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Such news, my lord, as grieves me to report.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. How doth the Prince?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Well, madam, and in health.\\r\\n DUCHESS. What is thy news?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Lord Rivers and Lord Grey\\r\\n Are sent to Pomfret, and with them\\r\\n Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Who hath committed them?\\r\\n MESSENGER. The mighty Dukes, Gloucester and Buckingham.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. For what offence?\\r\\n MESSENGER. The sum of all I can, I have disclos\\'d.\\r\\n Why or for what the nobles were committed\\r\\n Is all unknown to me, my gracious lord.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ay me, I see the ruin of my house!\\r\\n The tiger now hath seiz\\'d the gentle hind;\\r\\n Insulting tyranny begins to jet\\r\\n Upon the innocent and aweless throne.\\r\\n Welcome, destruction, blood, and massacre!\\r\\n I see, as in a map, the end of all.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Accursed and unquiet wrangling days,\\r\\n How many of you have mine eyes beheld!\\r\\n My husband lost his life to get the crown;\\r\\n And often up and down my sons were toss\\'d\\r\\n For me to joy and weep their gain and loss;\\r\\n And being seated, and domestic broils\\r\\n Clean over-blown, themselves the conquerors\\r\\n Make war upon themselves-brother to brother,\\r\\n Blood to blood, self against self. O, preposterous\\r\\n And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen,\\r\\n Or let me die, to look on death no more!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Come, come, my boy; we will to\\r\\n sanctuary.\\r\\n Madam, farewell.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Stay, I will go with you.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. You have no cause.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. [To the QUEEN] My gracious lady, go.\\r\\n And thither bear your treasure and your goods.\\r\\n For my part, I\\'ll resign unto your Grace\\r\\n The seal I keep; and so betide to me\\r\\n As well I tender you and all of yours!\\r\\n Go, I\\'ll conduct you to the sanctuary. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nThe trumpets sound. Enter the PRINCE OF WALES, GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM,\\r\\nCATESBY, CARDINAL BOURCHIER, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Welcome, sweet Prince, to London, to your\\r\\n chamber.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts\\' sovereign.\\r\\n The weary way hath made you melancholy.\\r\\n PRINCE. No, uncle; but our crosses on the way\\r\\n Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy.\\r\\n I want more uncles here to welcome me.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Sweet Prince, the untainted virtue of your\\r\\n years\\r\\n Hath not yet div\\'d into the world\\'s deceit;\\r\\n Nor more can you distinguish of a man\\r\\n Than of his outward show; which, God He knows,\\r\\n Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart.\\r\\n Those uncles which you want were dangerous;\\r\\n Your Grace attended to their sug\\'red words\\r\\n But look\\'d not on the poison of their hearts.\\r\\n God keep you from them and from such false friends!\\r\\n PRINCE. God keep me from false friends! but they were\\r\\n none.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My lord, the Mayor of London comes to greet\\r\\n you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the LORD MAYOR and his train\\r\\n\\r\\n MAYOR. God bless your Grace with health and happy days!\\r\\n PRINCE. I thank you, good my lord, and thank you all.\\r\\n I thought my mother and my brother York\\r\\n Would long ere this have met us on the way.\\r\\n Fie, what a slug is Hastings, that he comes not\\r\\n To tell us whether they will come or no!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD HASTINGS\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. And, in good time, here comes the sweating\\r\\n Lord.\\r\\n PRINCE. Welcome, my lord. What, will our mother come?\\r\\n HASTINGS. On what occasion, God He knows, not I,\\r\\n The Queen your mother and your brother York\\r\\n Have taken sanctuary. The tender Prince\\r\\n Would fain have come with me to meet your Grace,\\r\\n But by his mother was perforce withheld.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Fie, what an indirect and peevish course\\r\\n Is this of hers? Lord Cardinal, will your Grace\\r\\n Persuade the Queen to send the Duke of York\\r\\n Unto his princely brother presently?\\r\\n If she deny, Lord Hastings, go with him\\r\\n And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce.\\r\\n CARDINAL. My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory\\r\\n Can from his mother win the Duke of York,\\r\\n Anon expect him here; but if she be obdurate\\r\\n To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid\\r\\n We should infringe the holy privilege\\r\\n Of blessed sanctuary! Not for all this land\\r\\n Would I be guilty of so deep a sin.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. You are too senseless-obstinate, my lord,\\r\\n Too ceremonious and traditional.\\r\\n Weigh it but with the grossness of this age,\\r\\n You break not sanctuary in seizing him.\\r\\n The benefit thereof is always granted\\r\\n To those whose dealings have deserv\\'d the place\\r\\n And those who have the wit to claim the place.\\r\\n This Prince hath neither claim\\'d it nor deserv\\'d it,\\r\\n And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it.\\r\\n Then, taking him from thence that is not there,\\r\\n You break no privilege nor charter there.\\r\\n Oft have I heard of sanctuary men;\\r\\n But sanctuary children never till now.\\r\\n CARDINAL. My lord, you shall o\\'errule my mind for once.\\r\\n Come on, Lord Hastings, will you go with me?\\r\\n HASTINGS. I go, my lord.\\r\\n PRINCE. Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may.\\r\\n Exeunt CARDINAL and HASTINGS\\r\\n Say, uncle Gloucester, if our brother come,\\r\\n Where shall we sojourn till our coronation?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Where it seems best unto your royal self.\\r\\n If I may counsel you, some day or two\\r\\n Your Highness shall repose you at the Tower,\\r\\n Then where you please and shall be thought most fit\\r\\n For your best health and recreation.\\r\\n PRINCE. I do not like the Tower, of any place.\\r\\n Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. He did, my gracious lord, begin that place,\\r\\n Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified.\\r\\n PRINCE. Is it upon record, or else reported\\r\\n Successively from age to age, he built it?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Upon record, my gracious lord.\\r\\n PRINCE. But say, my lord, it were not regist\\'red,\\r\\n Methinks the truth should Eve from age to age,\\r\\n As \\'twere retail\\'d to all posterity,\\r\\n Even to the general all-ending day.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside] So wise so young, they say, do never\\r\\n live long.\\r\\n PRINCE. What say you, uncle?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I say, without characters, fame lives long.\\r\\n [Aside] Thus, like the formal vice, Iniquity,\\r\\n I moralize two meanings in one word.\\r\\n PRINCE. That Julius Caesar was a famous man;\\r\\n With what his valour did enrich his wit,\\r\\n His wit set down to make his valour live.\\r\\n Death makes no conquest of this conqueror;\\r\\n For now he lives in fame, though not in life.\\r\\n I\\'ll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham-\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. What, my gracious lord?\\r\\n PRINCE. An if I live until I be a man,\\r\\n I\\'ll win our ancient right in France again,\\r\\n Or die a soldier as I liv\\'d a king.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Short summers lightly have a forward\\r\\n spring.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HASTINGS, young YORK, and the CARDINAL\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Now, in good time, here comes the Duke of\\r\\n York.\\r\\n PRINCE. Richard of York, how fares our loving brother?\\r\\n YORK. Well, my dread lord; so must I can you now.\\r\\n PRINCE. Ay brother, to our grief, as it is yours.\\r\\n Too late he died that might have kept that title,\\r\\n Which by his death hath lost much majesty.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. How fares our cousin, noble Lord of York?\\r\\n YORK. I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord,\\r\\n You said that idle weeds are fast in growth.\\r\\n The Prince my brother hath outgrown me far.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He hath, my lord.\\r\\n YORK. And therefore is he idle?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. O, my fair cousin, I must not say so.\\r\\n YORK. Then he is more beholding to you than I.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He may command me as my sovereign;\\r\\n But you have power in me as in a kinsman.\\r\\n YORK. I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My dagger, little cousin? With all my heart!\\r\\n PRINCE. A beggar, brother?\\r\\n YORK. Of my kind uncle, that I know will give,\\r\\n And being but a toy, which is no grief to give.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. A greater gift than that I\\'ll give my cousin.\\r\\n YORK. A greater gift! O, that\\'s the sword to it!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough.\\r\\n YORK. O, then, I see you will part but with light gifts:\\r\\n In weightier things you\\'ll say a beggar nay.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. It is too heavy for your Grace to wear.\\r\\n YORK. I weigh it lightly, were it heavier.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What, would you have my weapon, little\\r\\n Lord?\\r\\n YORK. I would, that I might thank you as you call me.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. How?\\r\\n YORK. Little.\\r\\n PRINCE. My Lord of York will still be cross in talk.\\r\\n Uncle, your Grace knows how to bear with him.\\r\\n YORK. You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me.\\r\\n Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me;\\r\\n Because that I am little, like an ape,\\r\\n He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons!\\r\\n To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle\\r\\n He prettily and aptly taunts himself.\\r\\n So cunning and so young is wonderful.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My lord, will\\'t please you pass along?\\r\\n Myself and my good cousin Buckingham\\r\\n Will to your mother, to entreat of her\\r\\n To meet you at the Tower and welcome you.\\r\\n YORK. What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord?\\r\\n PRINCE. My Lord Protector needs will have it so.\\r\\n YORK. I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, what should you fear?\\r\\n YORK. Marry, my uncle Clarence\\' angry ghost.\\r\\n My grandam told me he was murder\\'d there.\\r\\n PRINCE. I fear no uncles dead.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Nor none that live, I hope.\\r\\n PRINCE. An if they live, I hope I need not fear.\\r\\n But come, my lord; and with a heavy heart,\\r\\n Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower.\\r\\n A sennet.\\r\\n Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, and CATESBY\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Think you, my lord, this little prating York\\r\\n Was not incensed by his subtle mother\\r\\n To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. No doubt, no doubt. O, \\'tis a perilous boy;\\r\\n Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable.\\r\\n He is all the mother\\'s, from the top to toe.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Well, let them rest. Come hither, Catesby.\\r\\n Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we intend\\r\\n As closely to conceal what we impart.\\r\\n Thou know\\'st our reasons urg\\'d upon the way.\\r\\n What think\\'st thou? Is it not an easy matter\\r\\n To make William Lord Hastings of our mind,\\r\\n For the instalment of this noble Duke\\r\\n In the seat royal of this famous isle?\\r\\n CATESBY. He for his father\\'s sake so loves the Prince\\r\\n That he will not be won to aught against him.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. What think\\'st thou then of Stanley? Will\\r\\n not he?\\r\\n CATESBY. He will do all in all as Hastings doth.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Well then, no more but this: go, gentle\\r\\n Catesby,\\r\\n And, as it were far off, sound thou Lord Hastings\\r\\n How he doth stand affected to our purpose;\\r\\n And summon him to-morrow to the Tower,\\r\\n To sit about the coronation.\\r\\n If thou dost find him tractable to us,\\r\\n Encourage him, and tell him all our reasons;\\r\\n If he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling,\\r\\n Be thou so too, and so break off the talk,\\r\\n And give us notice of his inclination;\\r\\n For we to-morrow hold divided councils,\\r\\n Wherein thyself shalt highly be employ\\'d.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Commend me to Lord William. Tell him,\\r\\n Catesby,\\r\\n His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries\\r\\n To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret Castle;\\r\\n And bid my lord, for joy of this good news,\\r\\n Give Mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Good Catesby, go effect this business soundly.\\r\\n CATESBY. My good lords both, with all the heed I can.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep?\\r\\n CATESBY. You shall, my lord.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. At Crosby House, there shall you find us both.\\r\\n Exit CATESBY\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Now, my lord, what shall we do if we\\r\\n perceive\\r\\n Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Chop off his head-something we will\\r\\n determine.\\r\\n And, look when I am King, claim thou of me\\r\\n The earldom of Hereford and all the movables\\r\\n Whereof the King my brother was possess\\'d.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I\\'ll claim that promise at your Grace\\'s hand.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And look to have it yielded with all kindness.\\r\\n Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards\\r\\n We may digest our complots in some form. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nBefore LORD HASTING\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a MESSENGER to the door of HASTINGS\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. My lord, my lord! [Knocking]\\r\\n HASTINGS. [Within] Who knocks?\\r\\n MESSENGER. One from the Lord Stanley.\\r\\n HASTINGS. [Within] What is\\'t o\\'clock?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Upon the stroke of four.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD HASTINGS\\r\\n\\r\\n HASTINGS. Cannot my Lord Stanley sleep these tedious\\r\\n nights?\\r\\n MESSENGER. So it appears by that I have to say.\\r\\n First, he commends him to your noble self.\\r\\n HASTINGS. What then?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Then certifies your lordship that this night\\r\\n He dreamt the boar had razed off his helm.\\r\\n Besides, he says there are two councils kept,\\r\\n And that may be determin\\'d at the one\\r\\n Which may make you and him to rue at th\\' other.\\r\\n Therefore he sends to know your lordship\\'s pleasure-\\r\\n If you will presently take horse with him\\r\\n And with all speed post with him toward the north\\r\\n To shun the danger that his soul divines.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord;\\r\\n Bid him not fear the separated council:\\r\\n His honour and myself are at the one,\\r\\n And at the other is my good friend Catesby;\\r\\n Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us\\r\\n Whereof I shall not have intelligence.\\r\\n Tell him his fears are shallow, without instance;\\r\\n And for his dreams, I wonder he\\'s so simple\\r\\n To trust the mock\\'ry of unquiet slumbers.\\r\\n To fly the boar before the boar pursues\\r\\n Were to incense the boar to follow us\\r\\n And make pursuit where he did mean no chase.\\r\\n Go, bid thy master rise and come to me;\\r\\n And we will both together to the Tower,\\r\\n Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly.\\r\\n MESSENGER. I\\'ll go, my lord, and tell him what you say.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n CATESBY. Many good morrows to my noble lord!\\r\\n HASTINGS. Good morrow, Catesby; you are early stirring.\\r\\n What news, what news, in this our tott\\'ring state?\\r\\n CATESBY. It is a reeling world indeed, my lord;\\r\\n And I believe will never stand upright\\r\\n Till Richard wear the garland of the realm.\\r\\n HASTINGS. How, wear the garland! Dost thou mean the\\r\\n crown?\\r\\n CATESBY. Ay, my good lord.\\r\\n HASTINGS. I\\'ll have this crown of mine cut from my\\r\\n shoulders\\r\\n Before I\\'ll see the crown so foul misplac\\'d.\\r\\n But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it?\\r\\n CATESBY. Ay, on my life; and hopes to find you forward\\r\\n Upon his party for the gain thereof;\\r\\n And thereupon he sends you this good news,\\r\\n That this same very day your enemies,\\r\\n The kindred of the Queen, must die at Pomfret.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Indeed, I am no mourner for that news,\\r\\n Because they have been still my adversaries;\\r\\n But that I\\'ll give my voice on Richard\\'s side\\r\\n To bar my master\\'s heirs in true descent,\\r\\n God knows I will not do it to the death.\\r\\n CATESBY. God keep your lordship in that gracious mind!\\r\\n HASTINGS. But I shall laugh at this a twelve month hence,\\r\\n That they which brought me in my master\\'s hate,\\r\\n I live to look upon their tragedy.\\r\\n Well, Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older,\\r\\n I\\'ll send some packing that yet think not on\\'t.\\r\\n CATESBY. \\'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord,\\r\\n When men are unprepar\\'d and look not for it.\\r\\n HASTINGS. O monstrous, monstrous! And so falls it out\\r\\n With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey; and so \\'twill do\\r\\n With some men else that think themselves as safe\\r\\n As thou and I, who, as thou knowest, are dear\\r\\n To princely Richard and to Buckingham.\\r\\n CATESBY. The Princes both make high account of you-\\r\\n [Aside] For they account his head upon the bridge.\\r\\n HASTINGS. I know they do, and I have well deserv\\'d it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD STANLEY\\r\\n\\r\\n Come on, come on; where is your boar-spear, man?\\r\\n Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided?\\r\\n STANLEY. My lord, good morrow; good morrow, Catesby.\\r\\n You may jest on, but, by the holy rood,\\r\\n I do not like these several councils, I.\\r\\n HASTINGS. My lord, I hold my life as dear as yours,\\r\\n And never in my days, I do protest,\\r\\n Was it so precious to me as \\'tis now.\\r\\n Think you, but that I know our state secure,\\r\\n I would be so triumphant as I am?\\r\\n STANLEY. The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from\\r\\n London,\\r\\n Were jocund and suppos\\'d their states were sure,\\r\\n And they indeed had no cause to mistrust;\\r\\n But yet you see how soon the day o\\'ercast.\\r\\n This sudden stab of rancour I misdoubt;\\r\\n Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward.\\r\\n What, shall we toward the Tower? The day is spent.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Come, come, have with you. Wot you what, my\\r\\n Lord?\\r\\n To-day the lords you talk\\'d of are beheaded.\\r\\n STANLEY. They, for their truth, might better wear their\\r\\n heads\\r\\n Than some that have accus\\'d them wear their hats.\\r\\n But come, my lord, let\\'s away.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HASTINGS, a pursuivant\\r\\n\\r\\n HASTINGS. Go on before; I\\'ll talk with this good fellow.\\r\\n Exeunt STANLEY and CATESBY\\r\\n How now, Hastings! How goes the world with thee?\\r\\n PURSUIVANT. The better that your lordship please to ask.\\r\\n HASTINGS. I tell thee, man, \\'tis better with me now\\r\\n Than when thou met\\'st me last where now we meet:\\r\\n Then was I going prisoner to the Tower\\r\\n By the suggestion of the Queen\\'s allies;\\r\\n But now, I tell thee-keep it to thyself-\\r\\n This day those enernies are put to death,\\r\\n And I in better state than e\\'er I was.\\r\\n PURSUIVANT. God hold it, to your honour\\'s good content!\\r\\n HASTINGS. Gramercy, Hastings; there, drink that for me.\\r\\n [Throws him his purse]\\r\\n PURSUIVANT. I thank your honour. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a PRIEST\\r\\n\\r\\n PRIEST. Well met, my lord; I am glad to see your honour.\\r\\n HASTINGS. I thank thee, good Sir John, with all my heart.\\r\\n I am in your debt for your last exercise;\\r\\n Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you.\\r\\n [He whispers in his ear]\\r\\n PRIEST. I\\'ll wait upon your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. What, talking with a priest, Lord\\r\\n Chamberlain!\\r\\n Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest:\\r\\n Your honour hath no shriving work in hand.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Good faith, and when I met this holy man,\\r\\n The men you talk of came into my mind.\\r\\n What, go you toward the Tower?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I do, my lord, but long I cannot stay there;\\r\\n I shall return before your lordship thence.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Nay, like enough, for I stay dinner there.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. [Aside] And supper too, although thou\\r\\n knowest it not.-\\r\\n Come, will you go?\\r\\n HASTINGS. I\\'ll wait upon your lordship. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nPomfret Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SIR RICHARD RATCLIFF, with halberds, carrying the Nobles,\\r\\nRIVERS, GREY, and VAUGHAN, to death\\r\\n\\r\\n RIVERS. Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this:\\r\\n To-day shalt thou behold a subject die\\r\\n For truth, for duty, and for loyalty.\\r\\n GREY. God bless the Prince from all the pack of you!\\r\\n A knot you are of damned blood-suckers.\\r\\n VAUGHAN. You live that shall cry woe for this hereafter.\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Dispatch; the limit of your lives is out.\\r\\n RIVERS. O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prison,\\r\\n Fatal and ominous to noble peers!\\r\\n Within the guilty closure of thy walls\\r\\n RICHARD the Second here was hack\\'d to death;\\r\\n And for more slander to thy dismal seat,\\r\\n We give to thee our guiltless blood to drink.\\r\\n GREY. Now Margaret\\'s curse is fall\\'n upon our heads,\\r\\n When she exclaim\\'d on Hastings, you, and I,\\r\\n For standing by when Richard stabb\\'d her son.\\r\\n RIVERS. Then curs\\'d she Richard, then curs\\'d she\\r\\n Buckingham,\\r\\n Then curs\\'d she Hastings. O, remember, God,\\r\\n To hear her prayer for them, as now for us!\\r\\n And for my sister, and her princely sons,\\r\\n Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood,\\r\\n Which, as thou know\\'st, unjustly must be spilt.\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Make haste; the hour of death is expiate.\\r\\n RIVERS. Come, Grey; come, Vaughan; let us here embrace.\\r\\n Farewell, until we meet again in heaven. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The Tower\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, HASTINGS, the BISHOP of ELY, RATCLIFF, LOVEL,\\r\\nwith others and seat themselves at a table\\r\\n\\r\\n HASTINGS. Now, noble peers, the cause why we are met\\r\\n Is to determine of the coronation.\\r\\n In God\\'s name speak-when is the royal day?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Is all things ready for the royal time?\\r\\n DERBY. It is, and wants but nomination.\\r\\n BISHOP OF ELY. To-morrow then I judge a happy day.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Who knows the Lord Protector\\'s mind\\r\\n herein?\\r\\n Who is most inward with the noble Duke?\\r\\n BISHOP OF ELY. Your Grace, we think, should soonest know\\r\\n his mind.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. We know each other\\'s faces; for our hearts,\\r\\n He knows no more of mine than I of yours;\\r\\n Or I of his, my lord, than you of mine.\\r\\n Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love.\\r\\n HASTINGS. I thank his Grace, I know he loves me well;\\r\\n But for his purpose in the coronation\\r\\n I have not sounded him, nor he deliver\\'d\\r\\n His gracious pleasure any way therein.\\r\\n But you, my honourable lords, may name the time;\\r\\n And in the Duke\\'s behalf I\\'ll give my voice,\\r\\n Which, I presume, he\\'ll take in gentle part.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n BISHOP OF ELY. In happy time, here comes the Duke himself.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My noble lords and cousins an, good morrow.\\r\\n I have been long a sleeper, but I trust\\r\\n My absence doth neglect no great design\\r\\n Which by my presence might have been concluded.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Had you not come upon your cue, my lord,\\r\\n WILLIAM Lord Hastings had pronounc\\'d your part-\\r\\n I mean, your voice for crowning of the King.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Than my Lord Hastings no man might be\\r\\n bolder;\\r\\n His lordship knows me well and loves me well.\\r\\n My lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn\\r\\n I saw good strawberries in your garden there.\\r\\n I do beseech you send for some of them.\\r\\n BISHOP of ELY. Marry and will, my lord, with all my heart.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you.\\r\\n [Takes him aside]\\r\\n Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business,\\r\\n And finds the testy gentleman so hot\\r\\n That he will lose his head ere give consent\\r\\n His master\\'s child, as worshipfully he terms it,\\r\\n Shall lose the royalty of England\\'s throne.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Withdraw yourself awhile; I\\'ll go with you.\\r\\n Exeunt GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n DERBY. We have not yet set down this day of triumph.\\r\\n To-morrow, in my judgment, is too sudden;\\r\\n For I myself am not so well provided\\r\\n As else I would be, were the day prolong\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter the BISHOP OF ELY\\r\\n\\r\\n BISHOP OF ELY. Where is my lord the Duke of Gloucester?\\r\\n I have sent for these strawberries.\\r\\n HASTINGS. His Grace looks cheerfully and smooth this\\r\\n morning;\\r\\n There\\'s some conceit or other likes him well\\r\\n When that he bids good morrow with such spirit.\\r\\n I think there\\'s never a man in Christendom\\r\\n Can lesser hide his love or hate than he;\\r\\n For by his face straight shall you know his heart.\\r\\n DERBY. What of his heart perceive you in his face\\r\\n By any livelihood he show\\'d to-day?\\r\\n HASTINGS. Marry, that with no man here he is offended;\\r\\n For, were he, he had shown it in his looks.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve\\r\\n That do conspire my death with devilish plots\\r\\n Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevail\\'d\\r\\n Upon my body with their hellish charms?\\r\\n HASTINGS. The tender love I bear your Grace, my lord,\\r\\n Makes me most forward in this princely presence\\r\\n To doom th\\' offenders, whosoe\\'er they be.\\r\\n I say, my lord, they have deserved death.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Then be your eyes the witness of their evil.\\r\\n Look how I am bewitch\\'d; behold, mine arm\\r\\n Is like a blasted sapling wither\\'d up.\\r\\n And this is Edward\\'s wife, that monstrous witch,\\r\\n Consorted with that harlot strumpet Shore,\\r\\n That by their witchcraft thus have marked me.\\r\\n HASTINGS. If they have done this deed, my noble lord-\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. If?-thou protector of this damned strumpet,\\r\\n Talk\\'st thou to me of ifs? Thou art a traitor.\\r\\n Off with his head! Now by Saint Paul I swear\\r\\n I will not dine until I see the same.\\r\\n Lovel and Ratcliff, look that it be done.\\r\\n The rest that love me, rise and follow me.\\r\\n Exeunt all but HASTINGS, LOVEL, and RATCLIFF\\r\\n HASTINGS. Woe, woe, for England! not a whit for me;\\r\\n For I, too fond, might have prevented this.\\r\\n STANLEY did dream the boar did raze our helms,\\r\\n And I did scorn it and disdain to fly.\\r\\n Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble,\\r\\n And started when he look\\'d upon the Tower,\\r\\n As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house.\\r\\n O, now I need the priest that spake to me!\\r\\n I now repent I told the pursuivant,\\r\\n As too triumphing, how mine enemies\\r\\n To-day at Pomfret bloodily were butcher\\'d,\\r\\n And I myself secure in grace and favour.\\r\\n O Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse\\r\\n Is lighted on poor Hastings\\' wretched head!\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Come, come, dispatch; the Duke would be at\\r\\n dinner.\\r\\n Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head.\\r\\n HASTINGS. O momentary grace of mortal men,\\r\\n Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!\\r\\n Who builds his hope in air of your good looks\\r\\n Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast,\\r\\n Ready with every nod to tumble down\\r\\n Into the fatal bowels of the deep.\\r\\n LOVEL. Come, come, dispatch; \\'tis bootless to exclaim.\\r\\n HASTINGS. O bloody Richard! Miserable England!\\r\\n I prophesy the fearfull\\'st time to thee\\r\\n That ever wretched age hath look\\'d upon.\\r\\n Come, lead me to the block; bear him my head.\\r\\n They smile at me who shortly shall be dead. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The Tower-walls\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM in rotten armour, marvellous\\r\\nill-favoured\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Come, cousin, canst thou quake and change\\r\\n thy colour,\\r\\n Murder thy breath in middle of a word,\\r\\n And then again begin, and stop again,\\r\\n As if thou were distraught and mad with terror?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian;\\r\\n Speak and look back, and pry on every side,\\r\\n Tremble and start at wagging of a straw,\\r\\n Intending deep suspicion. Ghastly looks\\r\\n Are at my service, like enforced smiles;\\r\\n And both are ready in their offices\\r\\n At any time to grace my stratagems.\\r\\n But what, is Catesby gone?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He is; and, see, he brings the mayor along.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the LORD MAYOR and CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Lord Mayor-\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Look to the drawbridge there!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Hark! a drum.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Catesby, o\\'erlook the walls.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Lord Mayor, the reason we have sent-\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Look back, defend thee; here are enemies.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. God and our innocence defend and guard us!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LOVEL and RATCLIFF, with HASTINGS\\' head\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Be patient; they are friends-Ratcliff and Lovel.\\r\\n LOVEL. Here is the head of that ignoble traitor,\\r\\n The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. So dear I lov\\'d the man that I must weep.\\r\\n I took him for the plainest harmless creature\\r\\n That breath\\'d upon the earth a Christian;\\r\\n Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded\\r\\n The history of all her secret thoughts.\\r\\n So smooth he daub\\'d his vice with show of virtue\\r\\n That, his apparent open guilt omitted,\\r\\n I mean his conversation with Shore\\'s wife-\\r\\n He liv\\'d from all attainder of suspects.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Well, well, he was the covert\\'st shelt\\'red\\r\\n traitor\\r\\n That ever liv\\'d.\\r\\n Would you imagine, or almost believe-\\r\\n Were\\'t not that by great preservation\\r\\n We live to tell it-that the subtle traitor\\r\\n This day had plotted, in the council-house,\\r\\n To murder me and my good Lord of Gloucester.\\r\\n MAYOR. Had he done so?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What! think you we are Turks or Infidels?\\r\\n Or that we would, against the form of law,\\r\\n Proceed thus rashly in the villain\\'s death\\r\\n But that the extreme peril of the case,\\r\\n The peace of England and our persons\\' safety,\\r\\n Enforc\\'d us to this execution?\\r\\n MAYOR. Now, fair befall you! He deserv\\'d his death;\\r\\n And your good Graces both have well proceeded\\r\\n To warn false traitors from the like attempts.\\r\\n I never look\\'d for better at his hands\\r\\n After he once fell in with Mistress Shore.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Yet had we not determin\\'d he should die\\r\\n Until your lordship came to see his end-\\r\\n Which now the loving haste of these our friends,\\r\\n Something against our meanings, have prevented-\\r\\n Because, my lord, I would have had you heard\\r\\n The traitor speak, and timorously confess\\r\\n The manner and the purpose of his treasons:\\r\\n That you might well have signified the same\\r\\n Unto the citizens, who haply may\\r\\n Misconster us in him and wail his death.\\r\\n MAYOR. But, my good lord, your Grace\\'s words shall serve\\r\\n As well as I had seen and heard him speak;\\r\\n And do not doubt, right noble Princes both,\\r\\n But I\\'ll acquaint our duteous citizens\\r\\n With all your just proceedings in this cause.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And to that end we wish\\'d your lordship here,\\r\\n T\\' avoid the the the censures of the carping world.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Which since you come too late of our intent,\\r\\n Yet witness what you hear we did intend.\\r\\n And so, my good Lord Mayor, we bid farewell.\\r\\n Exit LORD MAYOR\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham.\\r\\n The Mayor towards Guildhall hies him in an post.\\r\\n There, at your meet\\'st advantage of the time,\\r\\n Infer the bastardy of Edward\\'s children.\\r\\n Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen\\r\\n Only for saying he would make his son\\r\\n Heir to the crown-meaning indeed his house,\\r\\n Which by the sign thereof was termed so.\\r\\n Moreover, urge his hateful luxury\\r\\n And bestial appetite in change of lust,\\r\\n Which stretch\\'d unto their servants, daughters, wives,\\r\\n Even where his raging eye or savage heart\\r\\n Without control lusted to make a prey.\\r\\n Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person:\\r\\n Tell them, when that my mother went with child\\r\\n Of that insatiate Edward, noble York\\r\\n My princely father then had wars in France\\r\\n And, by true computation of the time,\\r\\n Found that the issue was not his begot;\\r\\n Which well appeared in his lineaments,\\r\\n Being nothing like the noble Duke my father.\\r\\n Yet touch this sparingly, as \\'twere far off;\\r\\n Because, my lord, you know my mother lives.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Doubt not, my lord, I\\'ll play the orator\\r\\n As if the golden fee for which I plead\\r\\n Were for myself; and so, my lord, adieu.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard\\'s\\r\\n Castle;\\r\\n Where you shall find me well accompanied\\r\\n With reverend fathers and well learned bishops.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I go; and towards three or four o\\'clock\\r\\n Look for the news that the Guildhall affords. Exit\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor Shaw.\\r\\n [To CATESBY] Go thou to Friar Penker. Bid them both\\r\\n Meet me within this hour at Baynard\\'s Castle.\\r\\n Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER\\r\\n Now will I go to take some privy order\\r\\n To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight,\\r\\n And to give order that no manner person\\r\\n Have any time recourse unto the Princes. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 6.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a SCRIVENER\\r\\n\\r\\n SCRIVENER. Here is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings;\\r\\n Which in a set hand fairly is engross\\'d\\r\\n That it may be to-day read o\\'er in Paul\\'s.\\r\\n And mark how well the sequel hangs together:\\r\\n Eleven hours I have spent to write it over,\\r\\n For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me;\\r\\n The precedent was full as long a-doing;\\r\\n And yet within these five hours Hastings liv\\'d,\\r\\n Untainted, unexamin\\'d, free, at liberty.\\r\\n Here\\'s a good world the while! Who is so gros\\r\\n That cannot see this palpable device?\\r\\n Yet who\\'s so bold but says he sees it not?\\r\\n Bad is the world; and all will come to nought,\\r\\n When such ill dealing must be seen in thought. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 7.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. Baynard\\'s Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM, at several doors\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. How now, how now! What say the citizens?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Now, by the holy Mother of our Lord,\\r\\n The citizens are mum, say not a word.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Touch\\'d you the bastardy of Edward\\'s\\r\\n children?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I did; with his contract with Lady Lucy,\\r\\n And his contract by deputy in France;\\r\\n Th\\' insatiate greediness of his desire,\\r\\n And his enforcement of the city wives;\\r\\n His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy,\\r\\n As being got, your father then in France,\\r\\n And his resemblance, being not like the Duke.\\r\\n Withal I did infer your lineaments,\\r\\n Being the right idea of your father,\\r\\n Both in your form and nobleness of mind;\\r\\n Laid open all your victories in Scotland,\\r\\n Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace,\\r\\n Your bounty, virtue, fair humility;\\r\\n Indeed, left nothing fitting for your purpose\\r\\n Untouch\\'d or slightly handled in discourse.\\r\\n And when mine oratory drew toward end\\r\\n I bid them that did love their country\\'s good\\r\\n Cry \\'God save Richard, England\\'s royal King!\\'\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And did they so?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. No, so God help me, they spake not a word;\\r\\n But, like dumb statues or breathing stones,\\r\\n Star\\'d each on other, and look\\'d deadly pale.\\r\\n Which when I saw, I reprehended them,\\r\\n And ask\\'d the Mayor what meant this wilfull silence.\\r\\n His answer was, the people were not used\\r\\n To be spoke to but by the Recorder.\\r\\n Then he was urg\\'d to tell my tale again.\\r\\n \\'Thus saith the Duke, thus hath the Duke inferr\\'d\\'-\\r\\n But nothing spoke in warrant from himself.\\r\\n When he had done, some followers of mine own\\r\\n At lower end of the hall hurl\\'d up their caps,\\r\\n And some ten voices cried \\'God save King Richard!\\'\\r\\n And thus I took the vantage of those few-\\r\\n \\'Thanks, gentle citizens and friends,\\' quoth I\\r\\n \\'This general applause and cheerful shout\\r\\n Argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard.\\'\\r\\n And even here brake off and came away.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What, tongueless blocks were they? Would\\r\\n they not speak?\\r\\n Will not the Mayor then and his brethren come?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. The Mayor is here at hand. Intend some fear;\\r\\n Be not you spoke with but by mighty suit;\\r\\n And look you get a prayer-book in your hand,\\r\\n And stand between two churchmen, good my lord;\\r\\n For on that ground I\\'ll make a holy descant;\\r\\n And be not easily won to our requests.\\r\\n Play the maid\\'s part: still answer nay, and take it.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I go; and if you plead as well for them\\r\\n As I can say nay to thee for myself,\\r\\n No doubt we bring it to a happy issue.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Go, go, up to the leads; the Lord Mayor\\r\\n knocks. Exit GLOUCESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the LORD MAYOR, ALDERMEN, and citizens\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, my lord. I dance attendance here;\\r\\n I think the Duke will not be spoke withal.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n Now, Catesby, what says your lord to my request?\\r\\n CATESBY. He doth entreat your Grace, my noble lord,\\r\\n To visit him to-morrow or next day.\\r\\n He is within, with two right reverend fathers,\\r\\n Divinely bent to meditation;\\r\\n And in no worldly suits would he be mov\\'d,\\r\\n To draw him from his holy exercise.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Return, good Catesby, to the gracious Duke;\\r\\n Tell him, myself, the Mayor and Aldermen,\\r\\n In deep designs, in matter of great moment,\\r\\n No less importing than our general good,\\r\\n Are come to have some conference with his Grace.\\r\\n CATESBY. I\\'ll signify so much unto him straight. Exit\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Ah ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward!\\r\\n He is not lolling on a lewd love-bed,\\r\\n But on his knees at meditation;\\r\\n Not dallying with a brace of courtezans,\\r\\n But meditating with two deep divines;\\r\\n Not sleeping, to engross his idle body,\\r\\n But praying, to enrich his watchful soul.\\r\\n Happy were England would this virtuous prince\\r\\n Take on his Grace the sovereignty thereof;\\r\\n But, sure, I fear we shall not win him to it.\\r\\n MAYOR. Marry, God defend his Grace should say us nay!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I fear he will. Here Catesby comes again.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n Now, Catesby, what says his Grace?\\r\\n CATESBY. My lord,\\r\\n He wonders to what end you have assembled\\r\\n Such troops of citizens to come to him.\\r\\n His Grace not being warn\\'d thereof before,\\r\\n He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Sorry I am my noble cousin should\\r\\n Suspect me that I mean no good to him.\\r\\n By heaven, we come to him in perfect love;\\r\\n And so once more return and tell his Grace.\\r\\n Exit CATESBY\\r\\n When holy and devout religious men\\r\\n Are at their beads, \\'tis much to draw them thence,\\r\\n So sweet is zealous contemplation.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER aloft, between two BISHOPS.\\r\\n CATESBY returns\\r\\n\\r\\n MAYOR. See where his Grace stands \\'tween two clergymen!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Two props of virtue for a Christian prince,\\r\\n To stay him from the fall of vanity;\\r\\n And, see, a book of prayer in his hand,\\r\\n True ornaments to know a holy man.\\r\\n Famous Plantagenet, most gracious Prince,\\r\\n Lend favourable ear to our requests,\\r\\n And pardon us the interruption\\r\\n Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My lord, there needs no such apology:\\r\\n I do beseech your Grace to pardon me,\\r\\n Who, earnest in the service of my God,\\r\\n Deferr\\'d the visitation of my friends.\\r\\n But, leaving this, what is your Grace\\'s pleasure?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above,\\r\\n And all good men of this ungovern\\'d isle.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I do suspect I have done some offence\\r\\n That seems disgracious in the city\\'s eye,\\r\\n And that you come to reprehend my ignorance.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. You have, my lord. Would it might please\\r\\n your Grace,\\r\\n On our entreaties, to amend your fault!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Know then, it is your fault that you resign\\r\\n The supreme seat, the throne majestical,\\r\\n The scept\\'red office of your ancestors,\\r\\n Your state of fortune and your due of birth,\\r\\n The lineal glory of your royal house,\\r\\n To the corruption of a blemish\\'d stock;\\r\\n Whiles in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts,\\r\\n Which here we waken to our country\\'s good,\\r\\n The noble isle doth want her proper limbs;\\r\\n Her face defac\\'d with scars of infamy,\\r\\n Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants,\\r\\n And almost should\\'red in the swallowing gulf\\r\\n Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion.\\r\\n Which to recure, we heartily solicit\\r\\n Your gracious self to take on you the charge\\r\\n And kingly government of this your land-\\r\\n Not as protector, steward, substitute,\\r\\n Or lowly factor for another\\'s gain;\\r\\n But as successively, from blood to blood,\\r\\n Your right of birth, your empery, your own.\\r\\n For this, consorted with the citizens,\\r\\n Your very worshipful and loving friends,\\r\\n And by their vehement instigation,\\r\\n In this just cause come I to move your Grace.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I cannot tell if to depart in silence\\r\\n Or bitterly to speak in your reproof\\r\\n Best fitteth my degree or your condition.\\r\\n If not to answer, you might haply think\\r\\n Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded\\r\\n To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty,\\r\\n Which fondly you would here impose on me;\\r\\n If to reprove you for this suit of yours,\\r\\n So season\\'d with your faithful love to me,\\r\\n Then, on the other side, I check\\'d my friends.\\r\\n Therefore-to speak, and to avoid the first,\\r\\n And then, in speaking, not to incur the last-\\r\\n Definitively thus I answer you:\\r\\n Your love deserves my thanks, but my desert\\r\\n Unmeritable shuns your high request.\\r\\n First, if all obstacles were cut away,\\r\\n And that my path were even to the crown,\\r\\n As the ripe revenue and due of birth,\\r\\n Yet so much is my poverty of spirit,\\r\\n So mighty and so many my defects,\\r\\n That I would rather hide me from my greatness-\\r\\n Being a bark to brook no mighty sea-\\r\\n Than in my greatness covet to be hid,\\r\\n And in the vapour of my glory smother\\'d.\\r\\n But, God be thank\\'d, there is no need of me-\\r\\n And much I need to help you, were there need.\\r\\n The royal tree hath left us royal fruit\\r\\n Which, mellow\\'d by the stealing hours of time,\\r\\n Will well become the seat of majesty\\r\\n And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign.\\r\\n On him I lay that you would lay on me-\\r\\n The right and fortune of his happy stars,\\r\\n Which God defend that I should wring from him.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord, this argues conscience in your\\r\\n Grace;\\r\\n But the respects thereof are nice and trivial,\\r\\n All circumstances well considered.\\r\\n You say that Edward is your brother\\'s son.\\r\\n So say we too, but not by Edward\\'s wife;\\r\\n For first was he contract to Lady Lucy-\\r\\n Your mother lives a witness to his vow-\\r\\n And afterward by substitute betroth\\'d\\r\\n To Bona, sister to the King of France.\\r\\n These both put off, a poor petitioner,\\r\\n A care-craz\\'d mother to a many sons,\\r\\n A beauty-waning and distressed widow,\\r\\n Even in the afternoon of her best days,\\r\\n Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye,\\r\\n Seduc\\'d the pitch and height of his degree\\r\\n To base declension and loath\\'d bigamy.\\r\\n By her, in his unlawful bed, he got\\r\\n This Edward, whom our manners call the Prince.\\r\\n More bitterly could I expostulate,\\r\\n Save that, for reverence to some alive,\\r\\n I give a sparing limit to my tongue.\\r\\n Then, good my lord, take to your royal self\\r\\n This proffer\\'d benefit of dignity;\\r\\n If not to bless us and the land withal,\\r\\n Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry\\r\\n From the corruption of abusing times\\r\\n Unto a lineal true-derived course.\\r\\n MAYOR. Do, good my lord; your citizens entreat you.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer\\'d love.\\r\\n CATESBY. O, make them joyful, grant their lawful suit!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Alas, why would you heap this care on me?\\r\\n I am unfit for state and majesty.\\r\\n I do beseech you, take it not amiss:\\r\\n I cannot nor I will not yield to you.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. If you refuse it-as, in love and zeal,\\r\\n Loath to depose the child, your brother\\'s son;\\r\\n As well we know your tenderness of heart\\r\\n And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse,\\r\\n Which we have noted in you to your kindred\\r\\n And egally indeed to all estates-\\r\\n Yet know, whe\\'er you accept our suit or no,\\r\\n Your brother\\'s son shall never reign our king;\\r\\n But we will plant some other in the throne\\r\\n To the disgrace and downfall of your house;\\r\\n And in this resolution here we leave you.\\r\\n Come, citizens. Zounds, I\\'ll entreat no more.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. O, do not swear, my lord of Buckingham.\\r\\n Exeunt BUCKINGHAM, MAYOR, and citizens\\r\\n CATESBY. Call him again, sweet Prince, accept their suit.\\r\\n If you deny them, all the land will rue it.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Will you enforce me to a world of cares?\\r\\n Call them again. I am not made of stones,\\r\\n But penetrable to your kind entreaties,\\r\\n Albeit against my conscience and my soul.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter BUCKINGHAM and the rest\\r\\n\\r\\n Cousin of Buckingham, and sage grave men,\\r\\n Since you will buckle fortune on my back,\\r\\n To bear her burden, whe\\'er I will or no,\\r\\n I must have patience to endure the load;\\r\\n But if black scandal or foul-fac\\'d reproach\\r\\n Attend the sequel of your imposition,\\r\\n Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me\\r\\n From all the impure blots and stains thereof;\\r\\n For God doth know, and you may partly see,\\r\\n How far I am from the desire of this.\\r\\n MAYOR. God bless your Grace! We see it, and will say it.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. In saying so, you shall but say the truth.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Then I salute you with this royal title-\\r\\n Long live King Richard, England\\'s worthy King!\\r\\n ALL. Amen.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. To-morrow may it please you to be crown\\'d?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Even when you please, for you will have it so.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. To-morrow, then, we will attend your Grace;\\r\\n And so, most joyfully, we take our leave.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [To the BISHOPS] Come, let us to our holy\\r\\n work again.\\r\\n Farewell, my cousin; farewell, gentle friends. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. Before the Tower\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter QUEEN ELIZABETH, DUCHESS of YORK, and MARQUIS of DORSET, at one\\r\\ndoor;\\r\\nANNE, DUCHESS of GLOUCESTER, leading LADY MARGARET PLANTAGENET,\\r\\nCLARENCE\\'s young daughter, at another door\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. Who meets us here? My niece Plantagenet,\\r\\n Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloucester?\\r\\n Now, for my life, she\\'s wand\\'ring to the Tower,\\r\\n On pure heart\\'s love, to greet the tender Princes.\\r\\n Daughter, well met.\\r\\n ANNE. God give your Graces both\\r\\n A happy and a joyful time of day!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. As much to you, good sister! Whither\\r\\n away?\\r\\n ANNE. No farther than the Tower; and, as I guess,\\r\\n Upon the like devotion as yourselves,\\r\\n To gratulate the gentle Princes there.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Kind sister, thanks; we\\'ll enter\\r\\n all together.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BRAKENBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n And in good time, here the lieutenant comes.\\r\\n Master Lieutenant, pray you, by your leave,\\r\\n How doth the Prince, and my young son of York?\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. Right well, dear madam. By your patience,\\r\\n I may not suffer you to visit them.\\r\\n The King hath strictly charg\\'d the contrary.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. The King! Who\\'s that?\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. I mean the Lord Protector.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. The Lord protect him from that kingly\\r\\n title!\\r\\n Hath he set bounds between their love and me?\\r\\n I am their mother; who shall bar me from them?\\r\\n DUCHESS. I am their father\\'s mother; I will see them.\\r\\n ANNE. Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother.\\r\\n Then bring me to their sights; I\\'ll bear thy blame,\\r\\n And take thy office from thee on my peril.\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. No, madam, no. I may not leave it so;\\r\\n I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter STANLEY\\r\\n\\r\\n STANLEY. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence,\\r\\n And I\\'ll salute your Grace of York as mother\\r\\n And reverend looker-on of two fair queens.\\r\\n [To ANNE] Come, madam, you must straight to\\r\\n Westminster,\\r\\n There to be crowned Richard\\'s royal queen.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, cut my lace asunder\\r\\n That my pent heart may have some scope to beat,\\r\\n Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news!\\r\\n ANNE. Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news!\\r\\n DORSET. Be of good cheer; mother, how fares your Grace?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee\\r\\n gone!\\r\\n Death and destruction dogs thee at thy heels;\\r\\n Thy mother\\'s name is ominous to children.\\r\\n If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas,\\r\\n And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell.\\r\\n Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house,\\r\\n Lest thou increase the number of the dead,\\r\\n And make me die the thrall of Margaret\\'s curse,\\r\\n Nor mother, wife, nor England\\'s counted queen.\\r\\n STANLEY. Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam.\\r\\n Take all the swift advantage of the hours;\\r\\n You shall have letters from me to my son\\r\\n In your behalf, to meet you on the way.\\r\\n Be not ta\\'en tardy by unwise delay.\\r\\n DUCHESS. O ill-dispersing wind of misery!\\r\\n O my accursed womb, the bed of death!\\r\\n A cockatrice hast thou hatch\\'d to the world,\\r\\n Whose unavoided eye is murderous.\\r\\n STANLEY. Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent.\\r\\n ANNE. And I with all unwillingness will go.\\r\\n O, would to God that the inclusive verge\\r\\n Of golden metal that must round my brow\\r\\n Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brains!\\r\\n Anointed let me be with deadly venom,\\r\\n And die ere men can say \\'God save the Queen!\\'\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Go, go, poor soul; I envy not thy glory.\\r\\n To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm.\\r\\n ANNE. No, why? When he that is my husband now\\r\\n Came to me, as I follow\\'d Henry\\'s corse;\\r\\n When scarce the blood was well wash\\'d from his hands\\r\\n Which issued from my other angel husband,\\r\\n And that dear saint which then I weeping follow\\'d-\\r\\n O, when, I say, I look\\'d on Richard\\'s face,\\r\\n This was my wish: \\'Be thou\\' quoth I \\'accurs\\'d\\r\\n For making me, so young, so old a widow;\\r\\n And when thou wed\\'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed;\\r\\n And be thy wife, if any be so mad,\\r\\n More miserable by the life of thee\\r\\n Than thou hast made me by my dear lord\\'s death.\\'\\r\\n Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,\\r\\n Within so small a time, my woman\\'s heart\\r\\n Grossly grew captive to his honey words\\r\\n And prov\\'d the subject of mine own soul\\'s curse,\\r\\n Which hitherto hath held my eyes from rest;\\r\\n For never yet one hour in his bed\\r\\n Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep,\\r\\n But with his timorous dreams was still awak\\'d.\\r\\n Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;\\r\\n And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy complaining.\\r\\n ANNE. No more than with my soul I mourn for yours.\\r\\n DORSET. Farewell, thou woeful welcomer of glory!\\r\\n ANNE. Adieu, poor soul, that tak\\'st thy leave of it!\\r\\n DUCHESS. [To DORSET] Go thou to Richmond, and good\\r\\n fortune guide thee!\\r\\n [To ANNE] Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend\\r\\n thee! [To QUEEN ELIZABETH] Go thou to sanctuary, and good\\r\\n thoughts possess thee!\\r\\n I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me!\\r\\n Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen,\\r\\n And each hour\\'s joy wreck\\'d with a week of teen.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Stay, yet look back with me unto the\\r\\n Tower.\\r\\n Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes\\r\\n Whom envy hath immur\\'d within your walls,\\r\\n Rough cradle for such little pretty ones.\\r\\n Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow\\r\\n For tender princes, use my babies well.\\r\\n So foolish sorrows bids your stones farewell. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nSound a sennet. Enter RICHARD, in pomp, as KING; BUCKINGHAM, CATESBY,\\r\\nRATCLIFF, LOVEL, a PAGE, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Stand all apart. Cousin of Buckingham!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My gracious sovereign?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Give me thy hand.\\r\\n [Here he ascendeth the throne. Sound]\\r\\n Thus high, by thy advice\\r\\n And thy assistance, is King Richard seated.\\r\\n But shall we wear these glories for a day;\\r\\n Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Still live they, and for ever let them last!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the touch,\\r\\n To try if thou be current gold indeed.\\r\\n Young Edward lives-think now what I would speak.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Say on, my loving lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, Buckingham, I say I would be King.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ha! am I King? \\'Tis so; but Edward lives.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. True, noble Prince.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O bitter consequence:\\r\\n That Edward still should live-true noble Prince!\\r\\n Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull.\\r\\n Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead.\\r\\n And I would have it suddenly perform\\'d.\\r\\n What say\\'st thou now? Speak suddenly, be brief.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Your Grace may do your pleasure.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Tut, tut, thou art all ice; thy kindness freezes.\\r\\n Say, have I thy consent that they shall die?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Give me some little breath, some pause,\\r\\n dear Lord,\\r\\n Before I positively speak in this.\\r\\n I will resolve you herein presently. Exit\\r\\n CATESBY. [Aside to another] The King is angry; see, he\\r\\n gnaws his lip.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I will converse with iron-witted fools\\r\\n [Descends from the throne]\\r\\n And unrespective boys; none are for me\\r\\n That look into me with considerate eyes.\\r\\n High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.\\r\\n Boy!\\r\\n PAGE. My lord?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Know\\'st thou not any whom corrupting\\r\\n gold\\r\\n Will tempt unto a close exploit of death?\\r\\n PAGE. I know a discontented gentleman\\r\\n Whose humble means match not his haughty spirit.\\r\\n Gold were as good as twenty orators,\\r\\n And will, no doubt, tempt him to anything.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What is his name?\\r\\n PAGE. His name, my lord, is Tyrrel.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I partly know the man. Go, call him hither,\\r\\n boy. Exit PAGE\\r\\n The deep-revolving witty Buckingham\\r\\n No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels.\\r\\n Hath he so long held out with me, untir\\'d,\\r\\n And stops he now for breath? Well, be it so.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter STANLEY\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, Lord Stanley! What\\'s the news?\\r\\n STANLEY. Know, my loving lord,\\r\\n The Marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled\\r\\n To Richmond, in the parts where he abides. [Stands apart]\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Come hither, Catesby. Rumour it abroad\\r\\n That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick;\\r\\n I will take order for her keeping close.\\r\\n Inquire me out some mean poor gentleman,\\r\\n Whom I will marry straight to Clarence\\' daughter-\\r\\n The boy is foolish, and I fear not him.\\r\\n Look how thou dream\\'st! I say again, give out\\r\\n That Anne, my queen, is sick and like to die.\\r\\n About it; for it stands me much upon\\r\\n To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me.\\r\\n Exit CATESBY\\r\\n I must be married to my brother\\'s daughter,\\r\\n Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass.\\r\\n Murder her brothers, and then marry her!\\r\\n Uncertain way of gain! But I am in\\r\\n So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin.\\r\\n Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PAGE, with TYRREL\\r\\n\\r\\n Is thy name Tyrrel?\\r\\n TYRREL. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Art thou, indeed?\\r\\n TYRREL. Prove me, my gracious lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Dar\\'st\\'thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?\\r\\n TYRREL. Please you;\\r\\n But I had rather kill two enemies.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, then thou hast it. Two deep enemies,\\r\\n Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep\\'s disturbers,\\r\\n Are they that I would have thee deal upon.\\r\\n TYRREL, I mean those bastards in the Tower.\\r\\n TYRREL. Let me have open means to come to them,\\r\\n And soon I\\'ll rid you from the fear of them.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thou sing\\'st sweet music. Hark, come\\r\\n hither, Tyrrel.\\r\\n Go, by this token. Rise, and lend thine ear. [Whispers]\\r\\n There is no more but so: say it is done,\\r\\n And I will love thee and prefer thee for it.\\r\\n TYRREL. I will dispatch it straight. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord, I have consider\\'d in my mind\\r\\n The late request that you did sound me in.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to\\r\\n Richmond.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I hear the news, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Stanley, he is your wife\\'s son: well, look\\r\\n unto it.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise,\\r\\n For which your honour and your faith is pawn\\'d:\\r\\n Th\\' earldom of Hereford and the movables\\r\\n Which you have promised I shall possess.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey\\r\\n Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. What says your Highness to my just request?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I do remember me: Henry the Sixth\\r\\n Did prophesy that Richmond should be King,\\r\\n When Richmond was a little peevish boy.\\r\\n A king!-perhaps-\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. How chance the prophet could not at that\\r\\n time\\r\\n Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord, your promise for the earldom-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Richmond! When last I was at Exeter,\\r\\n The mayor in courtesy show\\'d me the castle\\r\\n And call\\'d it Rugemount, at which name I started,\\r\\n Because a bard of Ireland told me once\\r\\n I should not live long after I saw Richmond.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, what\\'s o\\'clock?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I am thus bold to put your Grace in mind\\r\\n Of what you promis\\'d me.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Well, but o\\'clock?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Upon the stroke of ten.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Well, let it strike.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Why let it strike?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Because that like a Jack thou keep\\'st the\\r\\n stroke\\r\\n Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.\\r\\n I am not in the giving vein to-day.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. May it please you to resolve me in my suit.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein.\\r\\n Exeunt all but Buckingham\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. And is it thus? Repays he my deep service\\r\\n With such contempt? Made I him King for this?\\r\\n O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone\\r\\n To Brecknock while my fearful head is on! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TYRREL\\r\\n\\r\\n TYRREL. The tyrannous and bloody act is done,\\r\\n The most arch deed of piteous massacre\\r\\n That ever yet this land was guilty of.\\r\\n Dighton and Forrest, who I did suborn\\r\\n To do this piece of ruthless butchery,\\r\\n Albeit they were flesh\\'d villains, bloody dogs,\\r\\n Melted with tenderness and mild compassion,\\r\\n Wept like two children in their deaths\\' sad story.\\r\\n \\'O, thus\\' quoth Dighton \\'lay the gentle babes\\'-\\r\\n \\'Thus, thus,\\' quoth Forrest \\'girdling one another\\r\\n Within their alabaster innocent arms.\\r\\n Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,\\r\\n And in their summer beauty kiss\\'d each other.\\r\\n A book of prayers on their pillow lay;\\r\\n Which once,\\' quoth Forrest \\'almost chang\\'d my mind;\\r\\n But, O, the devil\\'-there the villain stopp\\'d;\\r\\n When Dighton thus told on: \\'We smothered\\r\\n The most replenished sweet work of nature\\r\\n That from the prime creation e\\'er she framed.\\'\\r\\n Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse\\r\\n They could not speak; and so I left them both,\\r\\n To bear this tidings to the bloody King.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING RICHARD\\r\\n\\r\\n And here he comes. All health, my sovereign lord!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news?\\r\\n TYRREL. If to have done the thing you gave in charge\\r\\n Beget your happiness, be happy then,\\r\\n For it is done.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. But didst thou see them dead?\\r\\n TYRREL. I did, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And buried, gentle Tyrrel?\\r\\n TYRREL. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them;\\r\\n But where, to say the truth, I do not know.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper,\\r\\n When thou shalt tell the process of their death.\\r\\n Meantime, but think how I may do thee good\\r\\n And be inheritor of thy desire.\\r\\n Farewell till then.\\r\\n TYRREL. I humbly take my leave. Exit\\r\\n KING RICHARD. The son of Clarence have I pent up close;\\r\\n His daughter meanly have I match\\'d in marriage;\\r\\n The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham\\'s bosom,\\r\\n And Anne my wife hath bid this world good night.\\r\\n Now, for I know the Britaine Richmond aims\\r\\n At young Elizabeth, my brother\\'s daughter,\\r\\n And by that knot looks proudly on the crown,\\r\\n To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter RATCLIFF\\r\\n\\r\\n RATCLIFF. My lord!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Good or bad news, that thou com\\'st in so\\r\\n bluntly?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Bad news, my lord: Morton is fled to Richmond;\\r\\n And Buckingham, back\\'d with the hardy Welshmen,\\r\\n Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near\\r\\n Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength.\\r\\n Come, I have learn\\'d that fearful commenting\\r\\n Is leaden servitor to dull delay;\\r\\n Delay leads impotent and snail-pac\\'d beggary.\\r\\n Then fiery expedition be my wing,\\r\\n Jove\\'s Mercury, and herald for a king!\\r\\n Go, muster men. My counsel is my shield.\\r\\n We must be brief when traitors brave the field. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. Before the palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter old QUEEN MARGARET\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. So now prosperity begins to mellow\\r\\n And drop into the rotten mouth of death.\\r\\n Here in these confines slily have I lurk\\'d\\r\\n To watch the waning of mine enemies.\\r\\n A dire induction am I witness to,\\r\\n And will to France, hoping the consequence\\r\\n Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.\\r\\n Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret. Who comes here?\\r\\n [Retires]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and the DUCHESS OF YORK\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, my poor princes! ah, my tender\\r\\n babes!\\r\\n My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets!\\r\\n If yet your gentle souls fly in the air\\r\\n And be not fix\\'d in doom perpetual,\\r\\n Hover about me with your airy wings\\r\\n And hear your mother\\'s lamentation.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Hover about her; say that right for right\\r\\n Hath dimm\\'d your infant morn to aged night.\\r\\n DUCHESS. So many miseries have craz\\'d my voice\\r\\n That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute.\\r\\n Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet,\\r\\n Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle\\r\\n lambs\\r\\n And throw them in the entrails of the wolf?\\r\\n When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. When holy Harry died, and my sweet\\r\\n son.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal living ghost,\\r\\n Woe\\'s scene, world\\'s shame, grave\\'s due by life usurp\\'d,\\r\\n Brief abstract and record of tedious days,\\r\\n Rest thy unrest on England\\'s lawful earth, [Sitting down]\\r\\n Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, that thou wouldst as soon afford a\\r\\n grave\\r\\n As thou canst yield a melancholy seat!\\r\\n Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here.\\r\\n Ah, who hath any cause to mourn but we?\\r\\n [Sitting down by her]\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. [Coming forward] If ancient sorrow be\\r\\n most reverend,\\r\\n Give mine the benefit of seniory,\\r\\n And let my griefs frown on the upper hand.\\r\\n If sorrow can admit society, [Sitting down with them]\\r\\n Tell o\\'er your woes again by viewing mine.\\r\\n I had an Edward, till a Richard kill\\'d him;\\r\\n I had a husband, till a Richard kill\\'d him:\\r\\n Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill\\'d him;\\r\\n Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill\\'d him.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him;\\r\\n I had a Rutland too, thou holp\\'st to kill him.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard\\r\\n kill\\'d him.\\r\\n From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept\\r\\n A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death.\\r\\n That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes\\r\\n To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood,\\r\\n That foul defacer of God\\'s handiwork,\\r\\n That excellent grand tyrant of the earth\\r\\n That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,\\r\\n Thy womb let loose to chase us to our graves.\\r\\n O upright, just, and true-disposing God,\\r\\n How do I thank thee that this carnal cur\\r\\n Preys on the issue of his mother\\'s body\\r\\n And makes her pew-fellow with others\\' moan!\\r\\n DUCHESS. O Harry\\'s wife, triumph not in my woes!\\r\\n God witness with me, I have wept for thine.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge,\\r\\n And now I cloy me with beholding it.\\r\\n Thy Edward he is dead, that kill\\'d my Edward;\\r\\n The other Edward dead, to quit my Edward;\\r\\n Young York he is but boot, because both they\\r\\n Match\\'d not the high perfection of my loss.\\r\\n Thy Clarence he is dead that stabb\\'d my Edward;\\r\\n And the beholders of this frantic play,\\r\\n Th\\' adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,\\r\\n Untimely smother\\'d in their dusky graves.\\r\\n Richard yet lives, hell\\'s black intelligencer;\\r\\n Only reserv\\'d their factor to buy souls\\r\\n And send them thither. But at hand, at hand,\\r\\n Ensues his piteous and unpitied end.\\r\\n Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray,\\r\\n To have him suddenly convey\\'d from hence.\\r\\n Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray,\\r\\n That I may live and say \\'The dog is dead.\\'\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. O, thou didst prophesy the time would\\r\\n come\\r\\n That I should wish for thee to help me curse\\r\\n That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back\\'d toad!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. I Call\\'d thee then vain flourish of my\\r\\n fortune;\\r\\n I call\\'d thee then poor shadow, painted queen,\\r\\n The presentation of but what I was,\\r\\n The flattering index of a direful pageant,\\r\\n One heav\\'d a-high to be hurl\\'d down below,\\r\\n A mother only mock\\'d with two fair babes,\\r\\n A dream of what thou wast, a garish flag\\r\\n To be the aim of every dangerous shot,\\r\\n A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble,\\r\\n A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.\\r\\n Where is thy husband now? Where be thy brothers?\\r\\n Where be thy two sons? Wherein dost thou joy?\\r\\n Who sues, and kneels, and says \\'God save the Queen\\'?\\r\\n Where be the bending peers that flattered thee?\\r\\n Where be the thronging troops that followed thee?\\r\\n Decline an this, and see what now thou art:\\r\\n For happy wife, a most distressed widow;\\r\\n For joyful mother, one that wails the name;\\r\\n For one being su\\'d to, one that humbly sues;\\r\\n For Queen, a very caitiff crown\\'d with care;\\r\\n For she that scorn\\'d at me, now scorn\\'d of me;\\r\\n For she being fear\\'d of all, now fearing one;\\r\\n For she commanding all, obey\\'d of none.\\r\\n Thus hath the course of justice whirl\\'d about\\r\\n And left thee but a very prey to time,\\r\\n Having no more but thought of what thou wast\\r\\n To torture thee the more, being what thou art.\\r\\n Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not\\r\\n Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow?\\r\\n Now thy proud neck bears half my burden\\'d yoke,\\r\\n From which even here I slip my weary head\\r\\n And leave the burden of it all on thee.\\r\\n Farewell, York\\'s wife, and queen of sad mischance;\\r\\n These English woes shall make me smile in France.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. O thou well skill\\'d in curses, stay awhile\\r\\n And teach me how to curse mine enemies!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the\\r\\n days;\\r\\n Compare dead happiness with living woe;\\r\\n Think that thy babes were sweeter than they were,\\r\\n And he that slew them fouler than he is.\\r\\n Bett\\'ring thy loss makes the bad-causer worse;\\r\\n Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. My words are dull; O, quicken them\\r\\n with thine!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Thy woes will make them sharp and\\r\\n pierce like mine. Exit\\r\\n DUCHESS. Why should calamity be fun of words?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Windy attorneys to their client woes,\\r\\n Airy succeeders of intestate joys,\\r\\n Poor breathing orators of miseries,\\r\\n Let them have scope; though what they will impart\\r\\n Help nothing else, yet do they case the heart.\\r\\n DUCHESS. If so, then be not tongue-tied. Go with me,\\r\\n And in the breath of bitter words let\\'s smother\\r\\n My damned son that thy two sweet sons smother\\'d.\\r\\n The trumpet sounds; be copious in exclaims.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING RICHARD and his train, marching with\\r\\n drums and trumpets\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Who intercepts me in my expedition?\\r\\n DUCHESS. O, she that might have intercepted thee,\\r\\n By strangling thee in her accursed womb,\\r\\n From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Hidest thou that forehead with a golden\\r\\n crown\\r\\n Where\\'t should be branded, if that right were right,\\r\\n The slaughter of the Prince that ow\\'d that crown,\\r\\n And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers?\\r\\n Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my children?\\r\\n DUCHESS. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother\\r\\n Clarence?\\r\\n And little Ned Plantagenet, his son?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan,\\r\\n Grey?\\r\\n DUCHESS. Where is kind Hastings?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. A flourish, trumpets! Strike alarum, drums!\\r\\n Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women\\r\\n Rail on the Lord\\'s anointed. Strike, I say!\\r\\n [Flourish. Alarums]\\r\\n Either be patient and entreat me fair,\\r\\n Or with the clamorous report of war\\r\\n Thus will I drown your exclamations.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Art thou my son?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Then patiently hear my impatience.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Madam, I have a touch of your condition\\r\\n That cannot brook the accent of reproof.\\r\\n DUCHESS. O, let me speak!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Do, then; but I\\'ll not hear.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I will be mild and gentle in my words.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And brief, good mother; for I am in haste.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Art thou so hasty? I have stay\\'d for thee,\\r\\n God knows, in torment and in agony.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And came I not at last to comfort you?\\r\\n DUCHESS. No, by the holy rood, thou know\\'st it well\\r\\n Thou cam\\'st on earth to make the earth my hell.\\r\\n A grievous burden was thy birth to me;\\r\\n Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;\\r\\n Thy school-days frightful, desp\\'rate, wild, and furious;\\r\\n Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous;\\r\\n Thy age confirm\\'d, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody,\\r\\n More mild, but yet more harmful-kind in hatred.\\r\\n What comfortable hour canst thou name\\r\\n That ever grac\\'d me with thy company?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Faith, none but Humphrey Hour, that call\\'d\\r\\n your Grace\\r\\n To breakfast once forth of my company.\\r\\n If I be so disgracious in your eye,\\r\\n Let me march on and not offend you, madam.\\r\\n Strike up the drum.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I prithee hear me speak.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. You speak too bitterly.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Hear me a word;\\r\\n For I shall never speak to thee again.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. So.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Either thou wilt die by God\\'s just ordinance\\r\\n Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror;\\r\\n Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish\\r\\n And never more behold thy face again.\\r\\n Therefore take with thee my most grievous curse,\\r\\n Which in the day of battle tire thee more\\r\\n Than all the complete armour that thou wear\\'st!\\r\\n My prayers on the adverse party fight;\\r\\n And there the little souls of Edward\\'s children\\r\\n Whisper the spirits of thine enemies\\r\\n And promise them success and victory.\\r\\n Bloody thou art; bloody will be thy end.\\r\\n Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend. Exit\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Though far more cause, yet much less\\r\\n spirit to curse\\r\\n Abides in me; I say amen to her.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Stay, madam, I must talk a word with you.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. I have no moe sons of the royal blood\\r\\n For thee to slaughter. For my daughters, Richard,\\r\\n They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens;\\r\\n And therefore level not to hit their lives.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. You have a daughter call\\'d Elizabeth.\\r\\n Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. And must she die for this? O, let her\\r\\n live,\\r\\n And I\\'ll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty,\\r\\n Slander myself as false to Edward\\'s bed,\\r\\n Throw over her the veil of infamy;\\r\\n So she may live unscarr\\'d of bleeding slaughter,\\r\\n I will confess she was not Edward\\'s daughter.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Wrong not her birth; she is a royal\\r\\n Princess.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. To save her life I\\'ll say she is not so.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Her life is safest only in her birth.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. And only in that safety died her\\r\\n brothers.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Lo, at their birth good stars were opposite.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. No, to their lives ill friends were\\r\\n contrary.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. All unavoided is the doom of destiny.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. True, when avoided grace makes destiny.\\r\\n My babes were destin\\'d to a fairer death,\\r\\n If grace had bless\\'d thee with a fairer life.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. You speak as if that I had slain my cousins.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle\\r\\n cozen\\'d\\r\\n Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.\\r\\n Whose hand soever lanc\\'d their tender hearts,\\r\\n Thy head, an indirectly, gave direction.\\r\\n No doubt the murd\\'rous knife was dull and blunt\\r\\n Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart\\r\\n To revel in the entrails of my lambs.\\r\\n But that stiff use of grief makes wild grief tame,\\r\\n My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys\\r\\n Till that my nails were anchor\\'d in thine eyes;\\r\\n And I, in such a desp\\'rate bay of death,\\r\\n Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft,\\r\\n Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise\\r\\n And dangerous success of bloody wars,\\r\\n As I intend more good to you and yours\\r\\n Than ever you or yours by me were harm\\'d!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. What good is cover\\'d with the face of\\r\\n heaven,\\r\\n To be discover\\'d, that can do me good?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. advancement of your children, gentle\\r\\n lady.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their\\r\\n heads?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Unto the dignity and height of Fortune,\\r\\n The high imperial type of this earth\\'s glory.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Flatter my sorrow with report of it;\\r\\n Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour,\\r\\n Canst thou demise to any child of mine?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Even all I have-ay, and myself and all\\r\\n Will I withal endow a child of thine;\\r\\n So in the Lethe of thy angry soul\\r\\n Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs\\r\\n Which thou supposest I have done to thee.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Be brief, lest that the process of thy\\r\\n kindness\\r\\n Last longer telling than thy kindness\\' date.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then know, that from my soul I love thy\\r\\n daughter.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. My daughter\\'s mother thinks it with her\\r\\n soul.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What do you think?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. That thou dost love my daughter from\\r\\n thy soul.\\r\\n So from thy soul\\'s love didst thou love her brothers,\\r\\n And from my heart\\'s love I do thank thee for it.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning.\\r\\n I mean that with my soul I love thy daughter\\r\\n And do intend to make her Queen of England.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Well, then, who dost thou mean shall be\\r\\n her king?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Even he that makes her Queen. Who else\\r\\n should be?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. What, thou?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Even so. How think you of it?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. How canst thou woo her?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. That would I learn of you,\\r\\n As one being best acquainted with her humour.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. And wilt thou learn of me?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Madam, with all my heart.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Send to her, by the man that slew her\\r\\n brothers,\\r\\n A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave\\r\\n \\'Edward\\' and \\'York.\\' Then haply will she weep;\\r\\n Therefore present to her-as sometimes Margaret\\r\\n Did to thy father, steep\\'d in Rutland\\'s blood-\\r\\n A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain\\r\\n The purple sap from her sweet brother\\'s body,\\r\\n And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal.\\r\\n If this inducement move her not to love,\\r\\n Send her a letter of thy noble deeds;\\r\\n Tell her thou mad\\'st away her uncle Clarence,\\r\\n Her uncle Rivers; ay, and for her sake\\r\\n Mad\\'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. You mock me, madam; this is not the way\\r\\n To win your daughter.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. There is no other way;\\r\\n Unless thou couldst put on some other shape\\r\\n And not be Richard that hath done all this.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Say that I did all this for love of her.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but\\r\\n hate thee,\\r\\n Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Look what is done cannot be now amended.\\r\\n Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,\\r\\n Which after-hours gives leisure to repent.\\r\\n If I did take the kingdom from your sons,\\r\\n To make amends I\\'ll give it to your daughter.\\r\\n If I have kill\\'d the issue of your womb,\\r\\n To quicken your increase I will beget\\r\\n Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter.\\r\\n A grandam\\'s name is little less in love\\r\\n Than is the doating title of a mother;\\r\\n They are as children but one step below,\\r\\n Even of your metal, of your very blood;\\r\\n Of all one pain, save for a night of groans\\r\\n Endur\\'d of her, for whom you bid like sorrow.\\r\\n Your children were vexation to your youth;\\r\\n But mine shall be a comfort to your age.\\r\\n The loss you have is but a son being King,\\r\\n And by that loss your daughter is made Queen.\\r\\n I cannot make you what amends I would,\\r\\n Therefore accept such kindness as I can.\\r\\n Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul\\r\\n Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,\\r\\n This fair alliance quickly shall can home\\r\\n To high promotions and great dignity.\\r\\n The King, that calls your beauteous daughter wife,\\r\\n Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother;\\r\\n Again shall you be mother to a king,\\r\\n And all the ruins of distressful times\\r\\n Repair\\'d with double riches of content.\\r\\n What! we have many goodly days to see.\\r\\n The liquid drops of tears that you have shed\\r\\n Shall come again, transform\\'d to orient pearl,\\r\\n Advantaging their loan with interest\\r\\n Of ten times double gain of happiness.\\r\\n Go, then, my mother, to thy daughter go;\\r\\n Make bold her bashful years with your experience;\\r\\n Prepare her ears to hear a wooer\\'s tale;\\r\\n Put in her tender heart th\\' aspiring flame\\r\\n Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the Princes\\r\\n With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys.\\r\\n And when this arm of mine hath chastised\\r\\n The petty rebel, dull-brain\\'d Buckingham,\\r\\n Bound with triumphant garlands will I come,\\r\\n And lead thy daughter to a conqueror\\'s bed;\\r\\n To whom I will retail my conquest won,\\r\\n And she shall be sole victoress, Caesar\\'s Caesar.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. What were I best to say? Her father\\'s\\r\\n brother\\r\\n Would be her lord? Or shall I say her uncle?\\r\\n Or he that slew her brothers and her uncles?\\r\\n Under what title shall I woo for thee\\r\\n That God, the law, my honour, and her love\\r\\n Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Infer fair England\\'s peace by this alliance.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Which she shall purchase with\\r\\n still-lasting war.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Tell her the King, that may command,\\r\\n entreats.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. That at her hands which the King\\'s\\r\\n King forbids.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Say she shall be a high and mighty queen.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. To wail the title, as her mother doth.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Say I will love her everlastingly.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. But how long shall that title \\'ever\\' last?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Sweetly in force unto her fair life\\'s end.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. But how long fairly shall her sweet life\\r\\n last?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. As long as heaven and nature lengthens it.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. As long as hell and Richard likes of it.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Say I, her sovereign, am her subject low.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. But she, your subject, loathes such\\r\\n sovereignty.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Be eloquent in my behalf to her.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. An honest tale speeds best being plainly\\r\\n told.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then plainly to her tell my loving tale.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. O, no, my reasons are too deep and\\r\\n dead-\\r\\n Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Harp not on that string, madam; that is past.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Harp on it still shall I till heartstrings\\r\\n break.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Now, by my George, my garter, and my\\r\\n crown-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Profan\\'d, dishonour\\'d, and the third\\r\\n usurp\\'d.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I swear-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. By nothing; for this is no oath:\\r\\n Thy George, profan\\'d, hath lost his lordly honour;\\r\\n Thy garter, blemish\\'d, pawn\\'d his knightly virtue;\\r\\n Thy crown, usurp\\'d, disgrac\\'d his kingly glory.\\r\\n If something thou wouldst swear to be believ\\'d,\\r\\n Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong\\'d.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then, by my self-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thy self is self-misus\\'d.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Now, by the world-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. \\'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. My father\\'s death-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thy life hath it dishonour\\'d.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, then, by God-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. God\\'s wrong is most of all.\\r\\n If thou didst fear to break an oath with Him,\\r\\n The unity the King my husband made\\r\\n Thou hadst not broken, nor my brothers died.\\r\\n If thou hadst fear\\'d to break an oath by Him,\\r\\n Th\\' imperial metal, circling now thy head,\\r\\n Had grac\\'d the tender temples of my child;\\r\\n And both the Princes had been breathing here,\\r\\n Which now, two tender bedfellows for dust,\\r\\n Thy broken faith hath made the prey for worms.\\r\\n What canst thou swear by now?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. The time to come.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. That thou hast wronged in the time\\r\\n o\\'erpast;\\r\\n For I myself have many tears to wash\\r\\n Hereafter time, for time past wrong\\'d by thee.\\r\\n The children live whose fathers thou hast slaughter\\'d,\\r\\n Ungovern\\'d youth, to wail it in their age;\\r\\n The parents live whose children thou hast butcheed,\\r\\n Old barren plants, to wail it with their age.\\r\\n Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast\\r\\n Misus\\'d ere us\\'d, by times ill-us\\'d o\\'erpast.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. As I intend to prosper and repent,\\r\\n So thrive I in my dangerous affairs\\r\\n Of hostile arms! Myself myself confound!\\r\\n Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours!\\r\\n Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest!\\r\\n Be opposite all planets of good luck\\r\\n To my proceeding!-if, with dear heart\\'s love,\\r\\n Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts,\\r\\n I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter.\\r\\n In her consists my happiness and thine;\\r\\n Without her, follows to myself and thee,\\r\\n Herself, the land, and many a Christian soul,\\r\\n Death, desolation, ruin, and decay.\\r\\n It cannot be avoided but by this;\\r\\n It will not be avoided but by this.\\r\\n Therefore, dear mother-I must call you so-\\r\\n Be the attorney of my love to her;\\r\\n Plead what I will be, not what I have been;\\r\\n Not my deserts, but what I will deserve.\\r\\n Urge the necessity and state of times,\\r\\n And be not peevish-fond in great designs.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, if the devil tempt you to do good.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I forget myself to be myself?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, if your self\\'s remembrance wrong\\r\\n yourself.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Yet thou didst kill my children.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. But in your daughter\\'s womb I bury them;\\r\\n Where, in that nest of spicery, they will breed\\r\\n Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And be a happy mother by the deed.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. I go. Write to me very shortly,\\r\\n And you shall understand from me her mind.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Bear her my true love\\'s kiss; and so, farewell.\\r\\n Kissing her. Exit QUEEN ELIZABETH\\r\\n Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter RATCLIFF; CATESBY following\\r\\n\\r\\n How now! what news?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast\\r\\n Rideth a puissant navy; to our shores\\r\\n Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,\\r\\n Unarm\\'d, and unresolv\\'d to beat them back.\\r\\n \\'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral;\\r\\n And there they hull, expecting but the aid\\r\\n Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of\\r\\n Norfolk.\\r\\n Ratcliff, thyself-or Catesby; where is he?\\r\\n CATESBY. Here, my good lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Catesby, fly to the Duke.\\r\\n CATESBY. I will my lord, with all convenient haste.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ratcliff, come hither. Post to Salisbury;\\r\\n When thou com\\'st thither- [To CATESBY] Dull,\\r\\n unmindfull villain,\\r\\n Why stay\\'st thou here, and go\\'st not to the Duke?\\r\\n CATESBY. First, mighty liege, tell me your Highness\\' pleasure,\\r\\n What from your Grace I shall deliver to him.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O, true, good Catesby. Bid him levy straight\\r\\n The greatest strength and power that he can make\\r\\n And meet me suddenly at Salisbury.\\r\\n CATESBY. I go. Exit\\r\\n RATCLIFF. What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, what wouldst thou do there before I\\r\\n go?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Your Highness told me I should post before.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. My mind is chang\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD STANLEY\\r\\n\\r\\n STANLEY, what news with you?\\r\\n STANLEY. None good, my liege, to please you with\\r\\n the hearing;\\r\\n Nor none so bad but well may be reported.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Hoyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad!\\r\\n What need\\'st thou run so many miles about,\\r\\n When thou mayest tell thy tale the nearest way?\\r\\n Once more, what news?\\r\\n STANLEY. Richmond is on the seas.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. There let him sink, and be the seas on him!\\r\\n White-liver\\'d runagate, what doth he there?\\r\\n STANLEY. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Well, as you guess?\\r\\n STANLEY. Stirr\\'d up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton,\\r\\n He makes for England here to claim the crown.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Is the chair empty? Is the sword unsway\\'d?\\r\\n Is the King dead, the empire unpossess\\'d?\\r\\n What heir of York is there alive but we?\\r\\n And who is England\\'s King but great York\\'s heir?\\r\\n Then tell me what makes he upon the seas.\\r\\n STANLEY. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Unless for that he comes to be your liege,\\r\\n You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes.\\r\\n Thou wilt revolt and fly to him, I fear.\\r\\n STANLEY. No, my good lord; therefore mistrust me not.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Where is thy power then, to beat him back?\\r\\n Where be thy tenants and thy followers?\\r\\n Are they not now upon the western shore,\\r\\n Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships?\\r\\n STANLEY. No, my good lord, my friends are in the north.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Cold friends to me. What do they in the\\r\\n north,\\r\\n When they should serve their sovereign in the west?\\r\\n STANLEY. They have not been commanded, mighty King.\\r\\n Pleaseth your Majesty to give me leave,\\r\\n I\\'ll muster up my friends and meet your Grace\\r\\n Where and what time your Majesty shall please.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with\\r\\n Richmond;\\r\\n But I\\'ll not trust thee.\\r\\n STANLEY. Most mighty sovereign,\\r\\n You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful.\\r\\n I never was nor never will be false.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Go, then, and muster men. But leave behind\\r\\n Your son, George Stanley. Look your heart be firm,\\r\\n Or else his head\\'s assurance is but frail.\\r\\n STANLEY. So deal with him as I prove true to you. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire,\\r\\n As I by friends am well advertised,\\r\\n Sir Edward Courtney and the haughty prelate,\\r\\n Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother,\\r\\n With many moe confederates, are in arms.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND MESSENGER. In Kent, my liege, the Guilfords are in\\r\\n arms;\\r\\n And every hour more competitors\\r\\n Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n THIRD MESSENGER. My lord, the army of great Buckingham-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Out on you, owls! Nothing but songs of\\r\\n death? [He strikes him]\\r\\n There, take thou that till thou bring better news.\\r\\n THIRD MESSENGER. The news I have to tell your Majesty\\r\\n Is that by sudden floods and fall of waters\\r\\n Buckingham\\'s army is dispers\\'d and scatter\\'d;\\r\\n And he himself wand\\'red away alone,\\r\\n No man knows whither.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I cry thee mercy.\\r\\n There is my purse to cure that blow of thine.\\r\\n Hath any well-advised friend proclaim\\'d\\r\\n Reward to him that brings the traitor in?\\r\\n THIRD MESSENGER. Such proclamation hath been made,\\r\\n my Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n FOURTH MESSENGER. Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Marquis\\r\\n Dorset,\\r\\n \\'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms.\\r\\n But this good comfort bring I to your Highness-\\r\\n The Britaine navy is dispers\\'d by tempest.\\r\\n Richmond in Dorsetshire sent out a boat\\r\\n Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks\\r\\n If they were his assistants, yea or no;\\r\\n Who answer\\'d him they came from Buckingham\\r\\n Upon his party. He, mistrusting them,\\r\\n Hois\\'d sail, and made his course again for Britaine.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. March on, march on, since we are up in\\r\\n arms;\\r\\n If not to fight with foreign enemies,\\r\\n Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n CATESBY. My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken-\\r\\n That is the best news. That the Earl of Richmond\\r\\n Is with a mighty power landed at Milford\\r\\n Is colder tidings, yet they must be told.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Away towards Salisbury! While we reason\\r\\n here\\r\\n A royal battle might be won and lost.\\r\\n Some one take order Buckingham be brought\\r\\n To Salisbury; the rest march on with me.\\r\\n Flourish. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD DERBY\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter STANLEY and SIR CHRISTOPHER URSWICK\\r\\n\\r\\n STANLEY. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me:\\r\\n That in the sty of the most deadly boar\\r\\n My son George Stanley is frank\\'d up in hold;\\r\\n If I revolt, off goes young George\\'s head;\\r\\n The fear of that holds off my present aid.\\r\\n So, get thee gone; commend me to thy lord.\\r\\n Withal say that the Queen hath heartily consented\\r\\n He should espouse Elizabeth her daughter.\\r\\n But tell me, where is princely Richmond now?\\r\\n CHRISTOPHER. At Pembroke, or at Ha\\'rford west in Wales.\\r\\n STANLEY. What men of name resort to him?\\r\\n CHRISTOPHER. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier;\\r\\n SIR Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley,\\r\\n OXFORD, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt,\\r\\n And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew;\\r\\n And many other of great name and worth;\\r\\n And towards London do they bend their power,\\r\\n If by the way they be not fought withal.\\r\\n STANLEY. Well, hie thee to thy lord; I kiss his hand;\\r\\n My letter will resolve him of my mind.\\r\\n Farewell. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nSalisbury. An open place\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the SHERIFF and guard, with BUCKINGHAM, led to execution\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Will not King Richard let me speak with\\r\\n him?\\r\\n SHERIFF. No, my good lord; therefore be patient.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Hastings, and Edward\\'s children, Grey, and\\r\\n Rivers,\\r\\n Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward,\\r\\n Vaughan, and all that have miscarried\\r\\n By underhand corrupted foul injustice,\\r\\n If that your moody discontented souls\\r\\n Do through the clouds behold this present hour,\\r\\n Even for revenge mock my destruction!\\r\\n This is All-Souls\\' day, fellow, is it not?\\r\\n SHERIFF. It is, my lord.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Why, then All-Souls\\' day is my body\\'s\\r\\n doomsday.\\r\\n This is the day which in King Edward\\'s time\\r\\n I wish\\'d might fall on me when I was found\\r\\n False to his children and his wife\\'s allies;\\r\\n This is the day wherein I wish\\'d to fall\\r\\n By the false faith of him whom most I trusted;\\r\\n This, this All-Souls\\' day to my fearful soul\\r\\n Is the determin\\'d respite of my wrongs;\\r\\n That high All-Seer which I dallied with\\r\\n Hath turn\\'d my feigned prayer on my head\\r\\n And given in earnest what I begg\\'d in jest.\\r\\n Thus doth He force the swords of wicked men\\r\\n To turn their own points in their masters\\' bosoms.\\r\\n Thus Margaret\\'s curse falls heavy on my neck.\\r\\n \\'When he\\' quoth she \\'shall split thy heart with sorrow,\\r\\n Remember Margaret was a prophetess.\\'\\r\\n Come lead me, officers, to the block of shame;\\r\\n Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nCamp near Tamworth\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter RICHMOND, OXFORD, SIR JAMES BLUNT, SIR WALTER HERBERT, and\\r\\nothers, with drum and colours\\r\\n\\r\\n RICHMOND. Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends,\\r\\n Bruis\\'d underneath the yoke of tyranny,\\r\\n Thus far into the bowels of the land\\r\\n Have we march\\'d on without impediment;\\r\\n And here receive we from our father Stanley\\r\\n Lines of fair comfort and encouragement.\\r\\n The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar,\\r\\n That spoil\\'d your summer fields and fruitful vines,\\r\\n Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough\\r\\n In your embowell\\'d bosoms-this foul swine\\r\\n Is now even in the centre of this isle,\\r\\n Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn.\\r\\n From Tamworth thither is but one day\\'s march.\\r\\n In God\\'s name cheerly on, courageous friends,\\r\\n To reap the harvest of perpetual peace\\r\\n By this one bloody trial of sharp war.\\r\\n OXFORD. Every man\\'s conscience is a thousand men,\\r\\n To fight against this guilty homicide.\\r\\n HERBERT. I doubt not but his friends will turn to us.\\r\\n BLUNT. He hath no friends but what are friends for fear,\\r\\n Which in his dearest need will fly from him.\\r\\n RICHMOND. All for our vantage. Then in God\\'s name march.\\r\\n True hope is swift and flies with swallow\\'s wings;\\r\\n Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nBosworth Field\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter KING RICHARD in arms, with NORFOLK, RATCLIFF, the EARL of SURREYS\\r\\nand others\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Here pitch our tent, even here in Bosworth\\r\\n field.\\r\\n My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad?\\r\\n SURREY. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. My Lord of Norfolk!\\r\\n NORFOLK. Here, most gracious liege.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Norfolk, we must have knocks; ha! must we\\r\\n not?\\r\\n NORFOLK. We must both give and take, my loving lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Up With my tent! Here will I lie to-night;\\r\\n [Soldiers begin to set up the KING\\'S tent]\\r\\n But where to-morrow? Well, all\\'s one for that.\\r\\n Who hath descried the number of the traitors?\\r\\n NORFOLK. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, our battalia trebles that account;\\r\\n Besides, the King\\'s name is a tower of strength,\\r\\n Which they upon the adverse faction want.\\r\\n Up with the tent! Come, noble gentlemen,\\r\\n Let us survey the vantage of the ground.\\r\\n Call for some men of sound direction.\\r\\n Let\\'s lack no discipline, make no delay;\\r\\n For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, on the other side of the field,\\r\\n RICHMOND, SIR WILLIAM BRANDON, OXFORD, DORSET,\\r\\n and others. Some pitch RICHMOND\\'S tent\\r\\n\\r\\n RICHMOND. The weary sun hath made a golden set,\\r\\n And by the bright tract of his fiery car\\r\\n Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow.\\r\\n Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard.\\r\\n Give me some ink and paper in my tent.\\r\\n I\\'ll draw the form and model of our battle,\\r\\n Limit each leader to his several charge,\\r\\n And part in just proportion our small power.\\r\\n My Lord of Oxford-you, Sir William Brandon-\\r\\n And you, Sir Walter Herbert-stay with me.\\r\\n The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment;\\r\\n Good Captain Blunt, bear my good night to him,\\r\\n And by the second hour in the morning\\r\\n Desire the Earl to see me in my tent.\\r\\n Yet one thing more, good Captain, do for me-\\r\\n Where is Lord Stanley quarter\\'d, do you know?\\r\\n BLUNT. Unless I have mista\\'en his colours much-\\r\\n Which well I am assur\\'d I have not done-\\r\\n His regiment lies half a mile at least\\r\\n South from the mighty power of the King.\\r\\n RICHMOND. If without peril it be possible,\\r\\n Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with him\\r\\n And give him from me this most needful note.\\r\\n BLUNT. Upon my life, my lord, I\\'ll undertake it;\\r\\n And so, God give you quiet rest to-night!\\r\\n RICHMOND. Good night, good Captain Blunt. Come,\\r\\n gentlemen,\\r\\n Let us consult upon to-morrow\\'s business.\\r\\n In to my tent; the dew is raw and cold.\\r\\n [They withdraw into the tent]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, to his-tent, KING RICHARD, NORFOLK,\\r\\n RATCLIFF, and CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What is\\'t o\\'clock?\\r\\n CATESBY. It\\'s supper-time, my lord;\\r\\n It\\'s nine o\\'clock.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I will not sup to-night.\\r\\n Give me some ink and paper.\\r\\n What, is my beaver easier than it was?\\r\\n And all my armour laid into my tent?\\r\\n CATESBY. It is, my liege; and all things are in readiness.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge;\\r\\n Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels.\\r\\n NORFOLK. I go, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Norfolk.\\r\\n NORFOLK. I warrant you, my lord. Exit\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Catesby!\\r\\n CATESBY. My lord?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Send out a pursuivant-at-arms\\r\\n To Stanley\\'s regiment; bid him bring his power\\r\\n Before sunrising, lest his son George fall\\r\\n Into the blind cave of eternal night. Exit CATESBY\\r\\n Fill me a bowl of wine. Give me a watch.\\r\\n Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow.\\r\\n Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy.\\r\\n Ratcliff!\\r\\n RATCLIFF. My lord?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Saw\\'st thou the melancholy Lord\\r\\n Northumberland?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Thomas the Earl of Surrey and himself,\\r\\n Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop\\r\\n Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. So, I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine.\\r\\n I have not that alacrity of spirit\\r\\n Nor cheer of mind that I was wont to have.\\r\\n Set it down. Is ink and paper ready?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. It is, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Bid my guard watch; leave me.\\r\\n RATCLIFF, about the mid of night come to my tent\\r\\n And help to arm me. Leave me, I say.\\r\\n Exit RATCLIFF. RICHARD sleeps\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DERBY to RICHMOND in his tent;\\r\\n LORDS attending\\r\\n\\r\\n DERBY. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm!\\r\\n RICHMOND. All comfort that the dark night can afford\\r\\n Be to thy person, noble father-in-law!\\r\\n Tell me, how fares our loving mother?\\r\\n DERBY. I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother,\\r\\n Who prays continually for Richmond\\'s good.\\r\\n So much for that. The silent hours steal on,\\r\\n And flaky darkness breaks within the east.\\r\\n In brief, for so the season bids us be,\\r\\n Prepare thy battle early in the morning,\\r\\n And put thy fortune to the arbitrement\\r\\n Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war.\\r\\n I, as I may-that which I would I cannot-\\r\\n With best advantage will deceive the time\\r\\n And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms;\\r\\n But on thy side I may not be too forward,\\r\\n Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George,\\r\\n Be executed in his father\\'s sight.\\r\\n Farewell; the leisure and the fearful time\\r\\n Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love\\r\\n And ample interchange of sweet discourse\\r\\n Which so-long-sund\\'red friends should dwell upon.\\r\\n God give us leisure for these rites of love!\\r\\n Once more, adieu; be valiant, and speed well!\\r\\n RICHMOND. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment.\\r\\n I\\'ll strive with troubled thoughts to take a nap,\\r\\n Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow\\r\\n When I should mount with wings of victory.\\r\\n Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen.\\r\\n Exeunt all but RICHMOND\\r\\n O Thou, whose captain I account myself,\\r\\n Look on my forces with a gracious eye;\\r\\n Put in their hands Thy bruising irons of wrath,\\r\\n That they may crush down with a heavy fall\\r\\n The usurping helmets of our adversaries!\\r\\n Make us Thy ministers of chastisement,\\r\\n That we may praise Thee in the victory!\\r\\n To Thee I do commend my watchful soul\\r\\n Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes.\\r\\n Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still! [Sleeps]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST Of YOUNG PRINCE EDWARD,\\r\\n son to HENRY THE SIXTH\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] Let me sit heavy on thy soul\\r\\n to-morrow!\\r\\n Think how thou stabb\\'dst me in my prime of youth\\r\\n At Tewksbury; despair, therefore, and die!\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Be cheerful, Richmond; for the wronged\\r\\n souls\\r\\n Of butcher\\'d princes fight in thy behalf.\\r\\n King Henry\\'s issue, Richmond, comforts thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST of HENRY THE SIXTH\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] When I was mortal, my anointed\\r\\n body\\r\\n By thee was punched full of deadly holes.\\r\\n Think on the Tower and me. Despair, and die.\\r\\n Harry the Sixth bids thee despair and die.\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror!\\r\\n Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be King,\\r\\n Doth comfort thee in thy sleep. Live and flourish!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST of CLARENCE\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] Let me sit heavy in thy soul\\r\\n to-morrow! I that was wash\\'d to death with fulsome wine,\\r\\n Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray\\'d to death!\\r\\n To-morrow in the battle think on me,\\r\\n And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die!\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster,\\r\\n The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee.\\r\\n Good angels guard thy battle! Live and flourish!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOSTS of RIVERS, GREY, and VAUGHAN\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST OF RIVERS. [To RICHARD] Let me sit heavy in thy\\r\\n soul to-morrow,\\r\\n Rivers that died at Pomfret! Despair and die!\\r\\n GHOST OF GREY. [To RICHARD] Think upon Grey, and let\\r\\n thy soul despair!\\r\\n GHOST OF VAUGHAN. [To RICHARD] Think upon Vaughan,\\r\\n and with guilty fear\\r\\n Let fall thy lance. Despair and die!\\r\\n ALL. [To RICHMOND] Awake, and think our wrongs in\\r\\n Richard\\'s bosom\\r\\n Will conquer him. Awake and win the day.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST of HASTINGS\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake,\\r\\n And in a bloody battle end thy days!\\r\\n Think on Lord Hastings. Despair and die.\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake!\\r\\n Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England\\'s sake!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOSTS of the two young PRINCES\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOSTS. [To RICHARD] Dream on thy cousins smothered in\\r\\n the Tower.\\r\\n Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard,\\r\\n And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death!\\r\\n Thy nephews\\' souls bid thee despair and die.\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and\\r\\n wake in joy;\\r\\n Good angels guard thee from the boar\\'s annoy!\\r\\n Live, and beget a happy race of kings!\\r\\n Edward\\'s unhappy sons do bid thee flourish.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST of LADY ANNE, his wife\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] Richard, thy wife, that wretched\\r\\n Anne thy wife\\r\\n That never slept a quiet hour with thee\\r\\n Now fills thy sleep with perturbations.\\r\\n To-morrow in the battle think on me,\\r\\n And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die.\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep;\\r\\n Dream of success and happy victory.\\r\\n Thy adversary\\'s wife doth pray for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST of BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] The first was I that help\\'d thee\\r\\n to the crown;\\r\\n The last was I that felt thy tyranny.\\r\\n O, in the battle think on Buckingham,\\r\\n And die in terror of thy guiltiness!\\r\\n Dream on, dream on of bloody deeds and death;\\r\\n Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath!\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] I died for hope ere I could lend thee aid;\\r\\n But cheer thy heart and be thou not dismay\\'d:\\r\\n God and good angels fight on Richmond\\'s side;\\r\\n And Richard falls in height of all his pride.\\r\\n [The GHOSTS vanish. RICHARD starts out of his dream]\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Give me another horse. Bind up my wounds.\\r\\n Have mercy, Jesu! Soft! I did but dream.\\r\\n O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!\\r\\n The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.\\r\\n Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.\\r\\n What do I fear? Myself? There\\'s none else by.\\r\\n Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.\\r\\n Is there a murderer here? No-yes, I am.\\r\\n Then fly. What, from myself? Great reason why-\\r\\n Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself!\\r\\n Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? For any good\\r\\n That I myself have done unto myself?\\r\\n O, no! Alas, I rather hate myself\\r\\n For hateful deeds committed by myself!\\r\\n I am a villain; yet I lie, I am not.\\r\\n Fool, of thyself speak well. Fool, do not flatter.\\r\\n My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,\\r\\n And every tongue brings in a several tale,\\r\\n And every tale condemns me for a villain.\\r\\n Perjury, perjury, in the high\\'st degree;\\r\\n Murder, stern murder, in the dir\\'st degree;\\r\\n All several sins, all us\\'d in each degree,\\r\\n Throng to the bar, crying all \\'Guilty! guilty!\\'\\r\\n I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;\\r\\n And if I die no soul will pity me:\\r\\n And wherefore should they, since that I myself\\r\\n Find in myself no pity to myself?\\r\\n Methought the souls of all that I had murder\\'d\\r\\n Came to my tent, and every one did threat\\r\\n To-morrow\\'s vengeance on the head of Richard.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter RATCLIFF\\r\\n\\r\\n RATCLIFF. My lord!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Zounds, who is there?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Ratcliff, my lord; \\'tis I. The early village-cock\\r\\n Hath twice done salutation to the morn;\\r\\n Your friends are up and buckle on their armour.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O Ratcliff, I have dream\\'d a fearful dream!\\r\\n What think\\'st thou-will our friends prove all true?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. No doubt, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O Ratcliff, I fear, I fear.\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows.\\r\\n KING RICHARD By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night\\r\\n Have stuck more terror to the soul of Richard\\r\\n Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers\\r\\n Armed in proof and led by shallow Richmond.\\r\\n \\'Tis not yet near day. Come, go with me;\\r\\n Under our tents I\\'ll play the eaves-dropper,\\r\\n To see if any mean to shrink from me. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the LORDS to RICHMOND sitting in his tent\\r\\n\\r\\n LORDS. Good morrow, Richmond!\\r\\n RICHMOND. Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen,\\r\\n That you have ta\\'en a tardy sluggard here.\\r\\n LORDS. How have you slept, my lord?\\r\\n RICHMOND. The sweetest sleep and fairest-boding dreams\\r\\n That ever ent\\'red in a drowsy head\\r\\n Have I since your departure had, my lords.\\r\\n Methought their souls whose bodies Richard murder\\'d\\r\\n Came to my tent and cried on victory.\\r\\n I promise you my soul is very jocund\\r\\n In the remembrance of so fair a dream.\\r\\n How far into the morning is it, lords?\\r\\n LORDS. Upon the stroke of four.\\r\\n RICHMOND. Why, then \\'tis time to arm and give direction.\\r\\n\\r\\n His ORATION to his SOLDIERS\\r\\n\\r\\n More than I have said, loving countrymen,\\r\\n The leisure and enforcement of the time\\r\\n Forbids to dwell upon; yet remember this:\\r\\n God and our good cause fight upon our side;\\r\\n The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls,\\r\\n Like high-rear\\'d bulwarks, stand before our faces;\\r\\n Richard except, those whom we fight against\\r\\n Had rather have us win than him they follow.\\r\\n For what is he they follow? Truly, gentlemen,\\r\\n A bloody tyrant and a homicide;\\r\\n One rais\\'d in blood, and one in blood establish\\'d;\\r\\n One that made means to come by what he hath,\\r\\n And slaughtered those that were the means to help him;\\r\\n A base foul stone, made precious by the foil\\r\\n Of England\\'s chair, where he is falsely set;\\r\\n One that hath ever been God\\'s enemy.\\r\\n Then if you fight against God\\'s enemy,\\r\\n God will in justice ward you as his soldiers;\\r\\n If you do sweat to put a tyrant down,\\r\\n You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain;\\r\\n If you do fight against your country\\'s foes,\\r\\n Your country\\'s foes shall pay your pains the hire;\\r\\n If you do fight in safeguard of your wives,\\r\\n Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors;\\r\\n If you do free your children from the sword,\\r\\n Your children\\'s children quits it in your age.\\r\\n Then, in the name of God and all these rights,\\r\\n Advance your standards, draw your willing swords.\\r\\n For me, the ransom of my bold attempt\\r\\n Shall be this cold corpse on the earth\\'s cold face;\\r\\n But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt\\r\\n The least of you shall share his part thereof.\\r\\n Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully;\\r\\n God and Saint George! Richmond and victory! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter KING RICHARD, RATCLIFF, attendants,\\r\\n and forces\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What said Northumberland as touching\\r\\n Richmond?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. That he was never trained up in arms.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. He said the truth; and what said Surrey\\r\\n then?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. He smil\\'d, and said \\'The better for our purpose.\\'\\r\\n KING He was in the right; and so indeed it is.\\r\\n [Clock strikes]\\r\\n Tell the clock there. Give me a calendar.\\r\\n Who saw the sun to-day?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Not I, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then he disdains to shine; for by the book\\r\\n He should have brav\\'d the east an hour ago.\\r\\n A black day will it be to somebody.\\r\\n Ratcliff!\\r\\n RATCLIFF. My lord?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. The sun will not be seen to-day;\\r\\n The sky doth frown and lour upon our army.\\r\\n I would these dewy tears were from the ground.\\r\\n Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me\\r\\n More than to Richmond? For the selfsame heaven\\r\\n That frowns on me looks sadly upon him.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NORFOLK\\r\\n\\r\\n NORFOLK. Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Come, bustle, bustle; caparison my horse;\\r\\n Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power.\\r\\n I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain,\\r\\n And thus my battle shall be ordered:\\r\\n My foreward shall be drawn out all in length,\\r\\n Consisting equally of horse and foot;\\r\\n Our archers shall be placed in the midst.\\r\\n John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey,\\r\\n Shall have the leading of this foot and horse.\\r\\n They thus directed, we will follow\\r\\n In the main battle, whose puissance on either side\\r\\n Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse.\\r\\n This, and Saint George to boot! What think\\'st thou,\\r\\n Norfolk?\\r\\n NORFOLK. A good direction, warlike sovereign.\\r\\n This found I on my tent this morning.\\r\\n [He sheweth him a paper]\\r\\n KING RICHARD. [Reads]\\r\\n \\'Jockey of Norfolk, be not so bold,\\r\\n For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.\\'\\r\\n A thing devised by the enemy.\\r\\n Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge.\\r\\n Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls;\\r\\n Conscience is but a word that cowards use,\\r\\n Devis\\'d at first to keep the strong in awe.\\r\\n Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law.\\r\\n March on, join bravely, let us to it pell-mell;\\r\\n If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.\\r\\n\\r\\n His ORATION to his ARMY\\r\\n\\r\\n What shall I say more than I have inferr\\'d?\\r\\n Remember whom you are to cope withal-\\r\\n A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways,\\r\\n A scum of Britaines, and base lackey peasants,\\r\\n Whom their o\\'er-cloyed country vomits forth\\r\\n To desperate adventures and assur\\'d destruction.\\r\\n You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest;\\r\\n You having lands, and bless\\'d with beauteous wives,\\r\\n They would restrain the one, distain the other.\\r\\n And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow,\\r\\n Long kept in Britaine at our mother\\'s cost?\\r\\n A milk-sop, one that never in his life\\r\\n Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow?\\r\\n Let\\'s whip these stragglers o\\'er the seas again;\\r\\n Lash hence these over-weening rags of France,\\r\\n These famish\\'d beggars, weary of their lives;\\r\\n Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit,\\r\\n For want of means, poor rats, had hang\\'d themselves.\\r\\n If we be conquered, let men conquer us,\\r\\n And not these bastard Britaines, whom our fathers\\r\\n Have in their own land beaten, bobb\\'d, and thump\\'d,\\r\\n And, in record, left them the heirs of shame.\\r\\n Shall these enjoy our lands? lie with our wives,\\r\\n Ravish our daughters? [Drum afar off] Hark! I hear their\\r\\n drum.\\r\\n Fight, gentlemen of England! Fight, bold yeomen!\\r\\n Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head!\\r\\n Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood;\\r\\n Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n What says Lord Stanley? Will he bring his power?\\r\\n MESSENGER. My lord, he doth deny to come.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Off with his son George\\'s head!\\r\\n NORFOLK. My lord, the enemy is pass\\'d the marsh.\\r\\n After the battle let George Stanley die.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. A thousand hearts are great within my\\r\\n bosom.\\r\\n Advance our standards, set upon our foes;\\r\\n Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George,\\r\\n Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!\\r\\n Upon them! Victory sits on our helms. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnother part of the field\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum; excursions. Enter NORFOLK and forces; to him CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n CATESBY. Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue!\\r\\n The King enacts more wonders than a man,\\r\\n Daring an opposite to every danger.\\r\\n His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights,\\r\\n Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death.\\r\\n Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarums. Enter KING RICHARD\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!\\r\\n CATESBY. Withdraw, my lord! I\\'ll help you to a horse.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast\\r\\n And I Will stand the hazard of the die.\\r\\n I think there be six Richmonds in the field;\\r\\n Five have I slain to-day instead of him.\\r\\n A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnother part of the field\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum. Enter RICHARD and RICHMOND; they fight; RICHARD is slain.\\r\\nRetreat and flourish. Enter RICHMOND, DERBY bearing the crown, with\\r\\nother LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n RICHMOND. God and your arms be prais\\'d, victorious friends;\\r\\n The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead.\\r\\n DERBY. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee!\\r\\n Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty\\r\\n From the dead temples of this bloody wretch\\r\\n Have I pluck\\'d off, to grace thy brows withal.\\r\\n Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it.\\r\\n RICHMOND. Great God of heaven, say Amen to all!\\r\\n But, teLL me is young George Stanley living.\\r\\n DERBY. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town,\\r\\n Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us.\\r\\n RICHMOND. What men of name are slain on either side?\\r\\n DERBY. John Duke of Norfolk, Walter Lord Ferrers,\\r\\n Sir Robert Brakenbury, and Sir William Brandon.\\r\\n RICHMOND. Inter their bodies as becomes their births.\\r\\n Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled\\r\\n That in submission will return to us.\\r\\n And then, as we have ta\\'en the sacrament,\\r\\n We will unite the white rose and the red.\\r\\n Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction,\\r\\n That long have frown\\'d upon their emnity!\\r\\n What traitor hears me, and says not Amen?\\r\\n England hath long been mad, and scarr\\'d herself;\\r\\n The brother blindly shed the brother\\'s blood,\\r\\n The father rashly slaughter\\'d his own son,\\r\\n The son, compell\\'d, been butcher to the sire;\\r\\n All this divided York and Lancaster,\\r\\n Divided in their dire division,\\r\\n O, now let Richmond and Elizabeth,\\r\\n The true succeeders of each royal house,\\r\\n By God\\'s fair ordinance conjoin together!\\r\\n And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so,\\r\\n Enrich the time to come with smooth-fac\\'d peace,\\r\\n With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days!\\r\\n Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord,\\r\\n That would reduce these bloody days again\\r\\n And make poor England weep in streams of blood!\\r\\n Let them not live to taste this land\\'s increase\\r\\n That would with treason wound this fair land\\'s peace!\\r\\n Now civil wounds are stopp\\'d, peace lives again-\\r\\n That she may long live here, God say Amen! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE TRAGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE PROLOGUE.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. A public place.\\r\\nScene II. A Street.\\r\\nScene III. Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\nScene IV. A Street.\\r\\nScene V. A Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nScene I. An open place adjoining Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\nScene II. Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\nScene III. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\nScene IV. A Street.\\r\\nScene V. Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\nScene VI. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. A public Place.\\r\\nScene II. A Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\nScene III. Friar Lawrence’s cell.\\r\\nScene IV. A Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\nScene V. An open Gallery to Juliet’s Chamber, overlooking the Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\nScene II. Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\nScene III. Juliet’s Chamber.\\r\\nScene IV. Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\nScene V. Juliet’s Chamber; Juliet on the bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Mantua. A Street.\\r\\nScene II. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\nScene III. A churchyard; in it a Monument belonging to the Capulets.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nESCALUS, Prince of Verona.\\r\\nMERCUTIO, kinsman to the Prince, and friend to Romeo.\\r\\nPARIS, a young Nobleman, kinsman to the Prince.\\r\\nPage to Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE, head of a Veronese family at feud with the Capulets.\\r\\nLADY MONTAGUE, wife to Montague.\\r\\nROMEO, son to Montague.\\r\\nBENVOLIO, nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo.\\r\\nABRAM, servant to Montague.\\r\\nBALTHASAR, servant to Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET, head of a Veronese family at feud with the Montagues.\\r\\nLADY CAPULET, wife to Capulet.\\r\\nJULIET, daughter to Capulet.\\r\\nTYBALT, nephew to Lady Capulet.\\r\\nCAPULET’S COUSIN, an old man.\\r\\nNURSE to Juliet.\\r\\nPETER, servant to Juliet’s Nurse.\\r\\nSAMPSON, servant to Capulet.\\r\\nGREGORY, servant to Capulet.\\r\\nServants.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE, a Franciscan.\\r\\nFRIAR JOHN, of the same Order.\\r\\nAn Apothecary.\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nThree Musicians.\\r\\nAn Officer.\\r\\nCitizens of Verona; several Men and Women, relations to both houses;\\r\\nMaskers, Guards, Watchmen and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE. During the greater part of the Play in Verona; once, in the\\r\\nFifth Act, at Mantua.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE PROLOGUE\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nTwo households, both alike in dignity,\\r\\nIn fair Verona, where we lay our scene,\\r\\nFrom ancient grudge break to new mutiny,\\r\\nWhere civil blood makes civil hands unclean.\\r\\nFrom forth the fatal loins of these two foes\\r\\nA pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life;\\r\\nWhose misadventur’d piteous overthrows\\r\\nDoth with their death bury their parents’ strife.\\r\\nThe fearful passage of their death-mark’d love,\\r\\nAnd the continuance of their parents’ rage,\\r\\nWhich, but their children’s end, nought could remove,\\r\\nIs now the two hours’ traffic of our stage;\\r\\nThe which, if you with patient ears attend,\\r\\nWhat here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A public place.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sampson and Gregory armed with swords and bucklers.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nGregory, on my word, we’ll not carry coals.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nNo, for then we should be colliers.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nI mean, if we be in choler, we’ll draw.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nAy, while you live, draw your neck out o’ the collar.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nI strike quickly, being moved.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nBut thou art not quickly moved to strike.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nA dog of the house of Montague moves me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nTo move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if thou\\r\\nart moved, thou runn’st away.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nA dog of that house shall move me to stand.\\r\\nI will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nThat shows thee a weak slave, for the weakest goes to the wall.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nTrue, and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to\\r\\nthe wall: therefore I will push Montague’s men from the wall, and\\r\\nthrust his maids to the wall.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nThe quarrel is between our masters and us their men.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\n’Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the\\r\\nmen I will be civil with the maids, I will cut off their heads.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nThe heads of the maids?\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nAy, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense\\r\\nthou wilt.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nThey must take it in sense that feel it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nMe they shall feel while I am able to stand: and ’tis known I am a\\r\\npretty piece of flesh.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\n’Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John.\\r\\nDraw thy tool; here comes of the house of Montagues.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Abram and Balthasar.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nMy naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nHow? Turn thy back and run?\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nFear me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nNo, marry; I fear thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nLet us take the law of our sides; let them begin.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nI will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nNay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them, which is disgrace to\\r\\nthem if they bear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nABRAM.\\r\\nDo you bite your thumb at us, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nI do bite my thumb, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nABRAM.\\r\\nDo you bite your thumb at us, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nIs the law of our side if I say ay?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nNo sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nDo you quarrel, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nABRAM.\\r\\nQuarrel, sir? No, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nBut if you do, sir, am for you. I serve as good a man as you.\\r\\n\\r\\nABRAM.\\r\\nNo better.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nWell, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nSay better; here comes one of my master’s kinsmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nYes, better, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nABRAM.\\r\\nYou lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nDraw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy washing blow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nPart, fools! put up your swords, you know not what you do.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Beats down their swords._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Tybalt.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nWhat, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?\\r\\nTurn thee Benvolio, look upon thy death.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nI do but keep the peace, put up thy sword,\\r\\nOr manage it to part these men with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nWhat, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word\\r\\nAs I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:\\r\\nHave at thee, coward.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter three or four Citizens with clubs.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nClubs, bills and partisans! Strike! Beat them down!\\r\\nDown with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet in his gown, and Lady Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhat noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nA crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a sword?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nMy sword, I say! Old Montague is come,\\r\\nAnd flourishes his blade in spite of me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Montague and his Lady Montague.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nThou villain Capulet! Hold me not, let me go.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MONTAGUE.\\r\\nThou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Prince Escalus, with Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nRebellious subjects, enemies to peace,\\r\\nProfaners of this neighbour-stained steel,—\\r\\nWill they not hear? What, ho! You men, you beasts,\\r\\nThat quench the fire of your pernicious rage\\r\\nWith purple fountains issuing from your veins,\\r\\nOn pain of torture, from those bloody hands\\r\\nThrow your mistemper’d weapons to the ground\\r\\nAnd hear the sentence of your moved prince.\\r\\nThree civil brawls, bred of an airy word,\\r\\nBy thee, old Capulet, and Montague,\\r\\nHave thrice disturb’d the quiet of our streets,\\r\\nAnd made Verona’s ancient citizens\\r\\nCast by their grave beseeming ornaments,\\r\\nTo wield old partisans, in hands as old,\\r\\nCanker’d with peace, to part your canker’d hate.\\r\\nIf ever you disturb our streets again,\\r\\nYour lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.\\r\\nFor this time all the rest depart away:\\r\\nYou, Capulet, shall go along with me,\\r\\nAnd Montague, come you this afternoon,\\r\\nTo know our farther pleasure in this case,\\r\\nTo old Free-town, our common judgement-place.\\r\\nOnce more, on pain of death, all men depart.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Prince and Attendants; Capulet, Lady Capulet, Tybalt,\\r\\n Citizens and Servants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nWho set this ancient quarrel new abroach?\\r\\nSpeak, nephew, were you by when it began?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nHere were the servants of your adversary\\r\\nAnd yours, close fighting ere I did approach.\\r\\nI drew to part them, in the instant came\\r\\nThe fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar’d,\\r\\nWhich, as he breath’d defiance to my ears,\\r\\nHe swung about his head, and cut the winds,\\r\\nWho nothing hurt withal, hiss’d him in scorn.\\r\\nWhile we were interchanging thrusts and blows\\r\\nCame more and more, and fought on part and part,\\r\\nTill the Prince came, who parted either part.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MONTAGUE.\\r\\nO where is Romeo, saw you him today?\\r\\nRight glad I am he was not at this fray.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nMadam, an hour before the worshipp’d sun\\r\\nPeer’d forth the golden window of the east,\\r\\nA troubled mind drave me to walk abroad,\\r\\nWhere underneath the grove of sycamore\\r\\nThat westward rooteth from this city side,\\r\\nSo early walking did I see your son.\\r\\nTowards him I made, but he was ware of me,\\r\\nAnd stole into the covert of the wood.\\r\\nI, measuring his affections by my own,\\r\\nWhich then most sought where most might not be found,\\r\\nBeing one too many by my weary self,\\r\\nPursu’d my humour, not pursuing his,\\r\\nAnd gladly shunn’d who gladly fled from me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nMany a morning hath he there been seen,\\r\\nWith tears augmenting the fresh morning’s dew,\\r\\nAdding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;\\r\\nBut all so soon as the all-cheering sun\\r\\nShould in the farthest east begin to draw\\r\\nThe shady curtains from Aurora’s bed,\\r\\nAway from light steals home my heavy son,\\r\\nAnd private in his chamber pens himself,\\r\\nShuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out\\r\\nAnd makes himself an artificial night.\\r\\nBlack and portentous must this humour prove,\\r\\nUnless good counsel may the cause remove.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nMy noble uncle, do you know the cause?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nI neither know it nor can learn of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nHave you importun’d him by any means?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nBoth by myself and many other friends;\\r\\nBut he, his own affections’ counsellor,\\r\\nIs to himself—I will not say how true—\\r\\nBut to himself so secret and so close,\\r\\nSo far from sounding and discovery,\\r\\nAs is the bud bit with an envious worm\\r\\nEre he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,\\r\\nOr dedicate his beauty to the sun.\\r\\nCould we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,\\r\\nWe would as willingly give cure as know.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nSee, where he comes. So please you step aside;\\r\\nI’ll know his grievance or be much denied.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nI would thou wert so happy by thy stay\\r\\nTo hear true shrift. Come, madam, let’s away,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Montague and Lady Montague._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nGood morrow, cousin.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIs the day so young?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nBut new struck nine.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAy me, sad hours seem long.\\r\\nWas that my father that went hence so fast?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nIt was. What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNot having that which, having, makes them short.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nIn love?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nOut.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nOf love?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nOut of her favour where I am in love.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAlas that love so gentle in his view,\\r\\nShould be so tyrannous and rough in proof.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAlas that love, whose view is muffled still,\\r\\nShould, without eyes, see pathways to his will!\\r\\nWhere shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?\\r\\nYet tell me not, for I have heard it all.\\r\\nHere’s much to do with hate, but more with love:\\r\\nWhy, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!\\r\\nO anything, of nothing first create!\\r\\nO heavy lightness! serious vanity!\\r\\nMisshapen chaos of well-seeming forms!\\r\\nFeather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!\\r\\nStill-waking sleep, that is not what it is!\\r\\nThis love feel I, that feel no love in this.\\r\\nDost thou not laugh?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nNo coz, I rather weep.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGood heart, at what?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAt thy good heart’s oppression.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhy such is love’s transgression.\\r\\nGriefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,\\r\\nWhich thou wilt propagate to have it prest\\r\\nWith more of thine. This love that thou hast shown\\r\\nDoth add more grief to too much of mine own.\\r\\nLove is a smoke made with the fume of sighs;\\r\\nBeing purg’d, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes;\\r\\nBeing vex’d, a sea nourish’d with lovers’ tears:\\r\\nWhat is it else? A madness most discreet,\\r\\nA choking gall, and a preserving sweet.\\r\\nFarewell, my coz.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Going._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nSoft! I will go along:\\r\\nAnd if you leave me so, you do me wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nTut! I have lost myself; I am not here.\\r\\nThis is not Romeo, he’s some other where.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nTell me in sadness who is that you love?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat, shall I groan and tell thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nGroan! Why, no; but sadly tell me who.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBid a sick man in sadness make his will,\\r\\nA word ill urg’d to one that is so ill.\\r\\nIn sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nI aim’d so near when I suppos’d you lov’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nA right good markman, and she’s fair I love.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nA right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWell, in that hit you miss: she’ll not be hit\\r\\nWith Cupid’s arrow, she hath Dian’s wit;\\r\\nAnd in strong proof of chastity well arm’d,\\r\\nFrom love’s weak childish bow she lives uncharm’d.\\r\\nShe will not stay the siege of loving terms\\r\\nNor bide th’encounter of assailing eyes,\\r\\nNor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:\\r\\nO she’s rich in beauty, only poor\\r\\nThat when she dies, with beauty dies her store.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThen she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nShe hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste;\\r\\nFor beauty starv’d with her severity,\\r\\nCuts beauty off from all posterity.\\r\\nShe is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair,\\r\\nTo merit bliss by making me despair.\\r\\nShe hath forsworn to love, and in that vow\\r\\nDo I live dead, that live to tell it now.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nBe rul’d by me, forget to think of her.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO teach me how I should forget to think.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nBy giving liberty unto thine eyes;\\r\\nExamine other beauties.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\n’Tis the way\\r\\nTo call hers, exquisite, in question more.\\r\\nThese happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows,\\r\\nBeing black, puts us in mind they hide the fair;\\r\\nHe that is strucken blind cannot forget\\r\\nThe precious treasure of his eyesight lost.\\r\\nShow me a mistress that is passing fair,\\r\\nWhat doth her beauty serve but as a note\\r\\nWhere I may read who pass’d that passing fair?\\r\\nFarewell, thou canst not teach me to forget.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nI’ll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet, Paris and Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nBut Montague is bound as well as I,\\r\\nIn penalty alike; and ’tis not hard, I think,\\r\\nFor men so old as we to keep the peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nOf honourable reckoning are you both,\\r\\nAnd pity ’tis you liv’d at odds so long.\\r\\nBut now my lord, what say you to my suit?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nBut saying o’er what I have said before.\\r\\nMy child is yet a stranger in the world,\\r\\nShe hath not seen the change of fourteen years;\\r\\nLet two more summers wither in their pride\\r\\nEre we may think her ripe to be a bride.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nYounger than she are happy mothers made.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nAnd too soon marr’d are those so early made.\\r\\nThe earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she,\\r\\nShe is the hopeful lady of my earth:\\r\\nBut woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,\\r\\nMy will to her consent is but a part;\\r\\nAnd she agree, within her scope of choice\\r\\nLies my consent and fair according voice.\\r\\nThis night I hold an old accustom’d feast,\\r\\nWhereto I have invited many a guest,\\r\\nSuch as I love, and you among the store,\\r\\nOne more, most welcome, makes my number more.\\r\\nAt my poor house look to behold this night\\r\\nEarth-treading stars that make dark heaven light:\\r\\nSuch comfort as do lusty young men feel\\r\\nWhen well apparell’d April on the heel\\r\\nOf limping winter treads, even such delight\\r\\nAmong fresh female buds shall you this night\\r\\nInherit at my house. Hear all, all see,\\r\\nAnd like her most whose merit most shall be:\\r\\nWhich, on more view of many, mine, being one,\\r\\nMay stand in number, though in reckoning none.\\r\\nCome, go with me. Go, sirrah, trudge about\\r\\nThrough fair Verona; find those persons out\\r\\nWhose names are written there, [_gives a paper_] and to them say,\\r\\nMy house and welcome on their pleasure stay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Capulet and Paris._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nFind them out whose names are written here! It is written that the\\r\\nshoemaker should meddle with his yard and the tailor with his last, the\\r\\nfisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to\\r\\nfind those persons whose names are here writ, and can never find what\\r\\nnames the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned. In good\\r\\ntime!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benvolio and Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nTut, man, one fire burns out another’s burning,\\r\\nOne pain is lessen’d by another’s anguish;\\r\\nTurn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;\\r\\nOne desperate grief cures with another’s languish:\\r\\nTake thou some new infection to thy eye,\\r\\nAnd the rank poison of the old will die.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nYour plantain leaf is excellent for that.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nFor what, I pray thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nFor your broken shin.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nWhy, Romeo, art thou mad?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNot mad, but bound more than a madman is:\\r\\nShut up in prison, kept without my food,\\r\\nWhipp’d and tormented and—God-den, good fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nGod gi’ go-den. I pray, sir, can you read?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAy, mine own fortune in my misery.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nPerhaps you have learned it without book.\\r\\nBut I pray, can you read anything you see?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAy, If I know the letters and the language.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nYe say honestly, rest you merry!\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nStay, fellow; I can read.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He reads the letter._]\\r\\n\\r\\n_Signior Martino and his wife and daughters;\\r\\nCounty Anselmo and his beauteous sisters;\\r\\nThe lady widow of Utruvio;\\r\\nSignior Placentio and his lovely nieces;\\r\\nMercutio and his brother Valentine;\\r\\nMine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters;\\r\\nMy fair niece Rosaline and Livia;\\r\\nSignior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt;\\r\\nLucio and the lively Helena. _\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nA fair assembly. [_Gives back the paper_] Whither should they come?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nUp.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhither to supper?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nTo our house.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhose house?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMy master’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIndeed I should have ask’d you that before.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nNow I’ll tell you without asking. My master is the great rich Capulet,\\r\\nand if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray come and crush a\\r\\ncup of wine. Rest you merry.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAt this same ancient feast of Capulet’s\\r\\nSups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lov’st;\\r\\nWith all the admired beauties of Verona.\\r\\nGo thither and with unattainted eye,\\r\\nCompare her face with some that I shall show,\\r\\nAnd I will make thee think thy swan a crow.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhen the devout religion of mine eye\\r\\nMaintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fire;\\r\\nAnd these who, often drown’d, could never die,\\r\\nTransparent heretics, be burnt for liars.\\r\\nOne fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun\\r\\nNe’er saw her match since first the world begun.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nTut, you saw her fair, none else being by,\\r\\nHerself pois’d with herself in either eye:\\r\\nBut in that crystal scales let there be weigh’d\\r\\nYour lady’s love against some other maid\\r\\nThat I will show you shining at this feast,\\r\\nAnd she shall scant show well that now shows best.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI’ll go along, no such sight to be shown,\\r\\nBut to rejoice in splendour of my own.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nNurse, where’s my daughter? Call her forth to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNow, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old,\\r\\nI bade her come. What, lamb! What ladybird!\\r\\nGod forbid! Where’s this girl? What, Juliet!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHow now, who calls?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nYour mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nMadam, I am here. What is your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nThis is the matter. Nurse, give leave awhile,\\r\\nWe must talk in secret. Nurse, come back again,\\r\\nI have remember’d me, thou’s hear our counsel.\\r\\nThou knowest my daughter’s of a pretty age.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nFaith, I can tell her age unto an hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nShe’s not fourteen.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI’ll lay fourteen of my teeth,\\r\\nAnd yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four,\\r\\nShe is not fourteen. How long is it now\\r\\nTo Lammas-tide?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nA fortnight and odd days.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nEven or odd, of all days in the year,\\r\\nCome Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen.\\r\\nSusan and she,—God rest all Christian souls!—\\r\\nWere of an age. Well, Susan is with God;\\r\\nShe was too good for me. But as I said,\\r\\nOn Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen;\\r\\nThat shall she, marry; I remember it well.\\r\\n’Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;\\r\\nAnd she was wean’d,—I never shall forget it—,\\r\\nOf all the days of the year, upon that day:\\r\\nFor I had then laid wormwood to my dug,\\r\\nSitting in the sun under the dovehouse wall;\\r\\nMy lord and you were then at Mantua:\\r\\nNay, I do bear a brain. But as I said,\\r\\nWhen it did taste the wormwood on the nipple\\r\\nOf my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool,\\r\\nTo see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug!\\r\\nShake, quoth the dovehouse: ’twas no need, I trow,\\r\\nTo bid me trudge.\\r\\nAnd since that time it is eleven years;\\r\\nFor then she could stand alone; nay, by th’rood\\r\\nShe could have run and waddled all about;\\r\\nFor even the day before she broke her brow,\\r\\nAnd then my husband,—God be with his soul!\\r\\nA was a merry man,—took up the child:\\r\\n‘Yea,’ quoth he, ‘dost thou fall upon thy face?\\r\\nThou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit;\\r\\nWilt thou not, Jule?’ and, by my holidame,\\r\\nThe pretty wretch left crying, and said ‘Ay’.\\r\\nTo see now how a jest shall come about.\\r\\nI warrant, and I should live a thousand years,\\r\\nI never should forget it. ‘Wilt thou not, Jule?’ quoth he;\\r\\nAnd, pretty fool, it stinted, and said ‘Ay.’\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nEnough of this; I pray thee hold thy peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nYes, madam, yet I cannot choose but laugh,\\r\\nTo think it should leave crying, and say ‘Ay’;\\r\\nAnd yet I warrant it had upon it brow\\r\\nA bump as big as a young cockerel’s stone;\\r\\nA perilous knock, and it cried bitterly.\\r\\n‘Yea,’ quoth my husband, ‘fall’st upon thy face?\\r\\nThou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age;\\r\\nWilt thou not, Jule?’ it stinted, and said ‘Ay’.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAnd stint thou too, I pray thee, Nurse, say I.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nPeace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace\\r\\nThou wast the prettiest babe that e’er I nurs’d:\\r\\nAnd I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nMarry, that marry is the very theme\\r\\nI came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet,\\r\\nHow stands your disposition to be married?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIt is an honour that I dream not of.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAn honour! Were not I thine only nurse,\\r\\nI would say thou hadst suck’d wisdom from thy teat.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWell, think of marriage now: younger than you,\\r\\nHere in Verona, ladies of esteem,\\r\\nAre made already mothers. By my count\\r\\nI was your mother much upon these years\\r\\nThat you are now a maid. Thus, then, in brief;\\r\\nThe valiant Paris seeks you for his love.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nA man, young lady! Lady, such a man\\r\\nAs all the world—why he’s a man of wax.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nVerona’s summer hath not such a flower.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNay, he’s a flower, in faith a very flower.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWhat say you, can you love the gentleman?\\r\\nThis night you shall behold him at our feast;\\r\\nRead o’er the volume of young Paris’ face,\\r\\nAnd find delight writ there with beauty’s pen.\\r\\nExamine every married lineament,\\r\\nAnd see how one another lends content;\\r\\nAnd what obscur’d in this fair volume lies,\\r\\nFind written in the margent of his eyes.\\r\\nThis precious book of love, this unbound lover,\\r\\nTo beautify him, only lacks a cover:\\r\\nThe fish lives in the sea; and ’tis much pride\\r\\nFor fair without the fair within to hide.\\r\\nThat book in many’s eyes doth share the glory,\\r\\nThat in gold clasps locks in the golden story;\\r\\nSo shall you share all that he doth possess,\\r\\nBy having him, making yourself no less.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNo less, nay bigger. Women grow by men.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nSpeak briefly, can you like of Paris’ love?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI’ll look to like, if looking liking move:\\r\\nBut no more deep will I endart mine eye\\r\\nThan your consent gives strength to make it fly.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMadam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called, my young lady\\r\\nasked for, the Nurse cursed in the pantry, and everything in extremity.\\r\\nI must hence to wait, I beseech you follow straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWe follow thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJuliet, the County stays.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nGo, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six Maskers;\\r\\n Torch-bearers and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?\\r\\nOr shall we on without apology?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThe date is out of such prolixity:\\r\\nWe’ll have no Cupid hoodwink’d with a scarf,\\r\\nBearing a Tartar’s painted bow of lath,\\r\\nScaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;\\r\\nNor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke\\r\\nAfter the prompter, for our entrance:\\r\\nBut let them measure us by what they will,\\r\\nWe’ll measure them a measure, and be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGive me a torch, I am not for this ambling;\\r\\nBeing but heavy I will bear the light.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNot I, believe me, you have dancing shoes,\\r\\nWith nimble soles, I have a soul of lead\\r\\nSo stakes me to the ground I cannot move.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nYou are a lover, borrow Cupid’s wings,\\r\\nAnd soar with them above a common bound.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI am too sore enpierced with his shaft\\r\\nTo soar with his light feathers, and so bound,\\r\\nI cannot bound a pitch above dull woe.\\r\\nUnder love’s heavy burden do I sink.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAnd, to sink in it, should you burden love;\\r\\nToo great oppression for a tender thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIs love a tender thing? It is too rough,\\r\\nToo rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nIf love be rough with you, be rough with love;\\r\\nPrick love for pricking, and you beat love down.\\r\\nGive me a case to put my visage in: [_Putting on a mask._]\\r\\nA visor for a visor. What care I\\r\\nWhat curious eye doth quote deformities?\\r\\nHere are the beetle-brows shall blush for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nCome, knock and enter; and no sooner in\\r\\nBut every man betake him to his legs.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nA torch for me: let wantons, light of heart,\\r\\nTickle the senseless rushes with their heels;\\r\\nFor I am proverb’d with a grandsire phrase,\\r\\nI’ll be a candle-holder and look on,\\r\\nThe game was ne’er so fair, and I am done.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nTut, dun’s the mouse, the constable’s own word:\\r\\nIf thou art dun, we’ll draw thee from the mire\\r\\nOr save your reverence love, wherein thou stickest\\r\\nUp to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNay, that’s not so.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nI mean sir, in delay\\r\\nWe waste our lights in vain, light lights by day.\\r\\nTake our good meaning, for our judgment sits\\r\\nFive times in that ere once in our five wits.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd we mean well in going to this mask;\\r\\nBut ’tis no wit to go.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nWhy, may one ask?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI dreamt a dream tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAnd so did I.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWell what was yours?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThat dreamers often lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIn bed asleep, while they do dream things true.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nO, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.\\r\\nShe is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes\\r\\nIn shape no bigger than an agate-stone\\r\\nOn the fore-finger of an alderman,\\r\\nDrawn with a team of little atomies\\r\\nOver men’s noses as they lie asleep:\\r\\nHer waggon-spokes made of long spinners’ legs;\\r\\nThe cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;\\r\\nHer traces, of the smallest spider’s web;\\r\\nThe collars, of the moonshine’s watery beams;\\r\\nHer whip of cricket’s bone; the lash, of film;\\r\\nHer waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat,\\r\\nNot half so big as a round little worm\\r\\nPrick’d from the lazy finger of a maid:\\r\\nHer chariot is an empty hazelnut,\\r\\nMade by the joiner squirrel or old grub,\\r\\nTime out o’ mind the fairies’ coachmakers.\\r\\nAnd in this state she gallops night by night\\r\\nThrough lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love;\\r\\nO’er courtiers’ knees, that dream on curtsies straight;\\r\\nO’er lawyers’ fingers, who straight dream on fees;\\r\\nO’er ladies’ lips, who straight on kisses dream,\\r\\nWhich oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,\\r\\nBecause their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:\\r\\nSometime she gallops o’er a courtier’s nose,\\r\\nAnd then dreams he of smelling out a suit;\\r\\nAnd sometime comes she with a tithe-pig’s tail,\\r\\nTickling a parson’s nose as a lies asleep,\\r\\nThen dreams he of another benefice:\\r\\nSometime she driveth o’er a soldier’s neck,\\r\\nAnd then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,\\r\\nOf breaches, ambuscados, Spanish blades,\\r\\nOf healths five fathom deep; and then anon\\r\\nDrums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes;\\r\\nAnd, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,\\r\\nAnd sleeps again. This is that very Mab\\r\\nThat plats the manes of horses in the night;\\r\\nAnd bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,\\r\\nWhich, once untangled, much misfortune bodes:\\r\\nThis is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,\\r\\nThat presses them, and learns them first to bear,\\r\\nMaking them women of good carriage:\\r\\nThis is she,—\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nPeace, peace, Mercutio, peace,\\r\\nThou talk’st of nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nTrue, I talk of dreams,\\r\\nWhich are the children of an idle brain,\\r\\nBegot of nothing but vain fantasy,\\r\\nWhich is as thin of substance as the air,\\r\\nAnd more inconstant than the wind, who wooes\\r\\nEven now the frozen bosom of the north,\\r\\nAnd, being anger’d, puffs away from thence,\\r\\nTurning his side to the dew-dropping south.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThis wind you talk of blows us from ourselves:\\r\\nSupper is done, and we shall come too late.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI fear too early: for my mind misgives\\r\\nSome consequence yet hanging in the stars,\\r\\nShall bitterly begin his fearful date\\r\\nWith this night’s revels; and expire the term\\r\\nOf a despised life, clos’d in my breast\\r\\nBy some vile forfeit of untimely death.\\r\\nBut he that hath the steerage of my course\\r\\nDirect my suit. On, lusty gentlemen!\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nStrike, drum.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. A Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Musicians waiting. Enter Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nWhere’s Potpan, that he helps not to take away?\\r\\nHe shift a trencher! He scrape a trencher!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nWhen good manners shall lie all in one or two men’s hands, and they\\r\\nunwash’d too, ’tis a foul thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nAway with the join-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the\\r\\nplate. Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and as thou loves me,\\r\\nlet the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. Antony and Potpan!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nAy, boy, ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nYou are looked for and called for, asked for and sought for, in the\\r\\ngreat chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nWe cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys. Be brisk awhile, and\\r\\nthe longer liver take all.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet, &c. with the Guests and Gentlewomen to the Maskers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWelcome, gentlemen, ladies that have their toes\\r\\nUnplagu’d with corns will have a bout with you.\\r\\nAh my mistresses, which of you all\\r\\nWill now deny to dance? She that makes dainty,\\r\\nShe I’ll swear hath corns. Am I come near ye now?\\r\\nWelcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day\\r\\nThat I have worn a visor, and could tell\\r\\nA whispering tale in a fair lady’s ear,\\r\\nSuch as would please; ’tis gone, ’tis gone, ’tis gone,\\r\\nYou are welcome, gentlemen! Come, musicians, play.\\r\\nA hall, a hall, give room! And foot it, girls.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music plays, and they dance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMore light, you knaves; and turn the tables up,\\r\\nAnd quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.\\r\\nAh sirrah, this unlook’d-for sport comes well.\\r\\nNay sit, nay sit, good cousin Capulet,\\r\\nFor you and I are past our dancing days;\\r\\nHow long is’t now since last yourself and I\\r\\nWere in a mask?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET’S COUSIN.\\r\\nBy’r Lady, thirty years.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhat, man, ’tis not so much, ’tis not so much:\\r\\n’Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio,\\r\\nCome Pentecost as quickly as it will,\\r\\nSome five and twenty years; and then we mask’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET’S COUSIN.\\r\\n’Tis more, ’tis more, his son is elder, sir;\\r\\nHis son is thirty.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWill you tell me that?\\r\\nHis son was but a ward two years ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat lady is that, which doth enrich the hand\\r\\nOf yonder knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI know not, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!\\r\\nIt seems she hangs upon the cheek of night\\r\\nAs a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear;\\r\\nBeauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!\\r\\nSo shows a snowy dove trooping with crows\\r\\nAs yonder lady o’er her fellows shows.\\r\\nThe measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand,\\r\\nAnd touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.\\r\\nDid my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight!\\r\\nFor I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nThis by his voice, should be a Montague.\\r\\nFetch me my rapier, boy. What, dares the slave\\r\\nCome hither, cover’d with an antic face,\\r\\nTo fleer and scorn at our solemnity?\\r\\nNow by the stock and honour of my kin,\\r\\nTo strike him dead I hold it not a sin.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhy how now, kinsman!\\r\\nWherefore storm you so?\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nUncle, this is a Montague, our foe;\\r\\nA villain that is hither come in spite,\\r\\nTo scorn at our solemnity this night.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nYoung Romeo, is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\n’Tis he, that villain Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nContent thee, gentle coz, let him alone,\\r\\nA bears him like a portly gentleman;\\r\\nAnd, to say truth, Verona brags of him\\r\\nTo be a virtuous and well-govern’d youth.\\r\\nI would not for the wealth of all the town\\r\\nHere in my house do him disparagement.\\r\\nTherefore be patient, take no note of him,\\r\\nIt is my will; the which if thou respect,\\r\\nShow a fair presence and put off these frowns,\\r\\nAn ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nIt fits when such a villain is a guest:\\r\\nI’ll not endure him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHe shall be endur’d.\\r\\nWhat, goodman boy! I say he shall, go to;\\r\\nAm I the master here, or you? Go to.\\r\\nYou’ll not endure him! God shall mend my soul,\\r\\nYou’ll make a mutiny among my guests!\\r\\nYou will set cock-a-hoop, you’ll be the man!\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nWhy, uncle, ’tis a shame.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nGo to, go to!\\r\\nYou are a saucy boy. Is’t so, indeed?\\r\\nThis trick may chance to scathe you, I know what.\\r\\nYou must contrary me! Marry, ’tis time.\\r\\nWell said, my hearts!—You are a princox; go:\\r\\nBe quiet, or—More light, more light!—For shame!\\r\\nI’ll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nPatience perforce with wilful choler meeting\\r\\nMakes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.\\r\\nI will withdraw: but this intrusion shall,\\r\\nNow seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\n[_To Juliet._] If I profane with my unworthiest hand\\r\\nThis holy shrine, the gentle sin is this,\\r\\nMy lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand\\r\\nTo smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGood pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,\\r\\nWhich mannerly devotion shows in this;\\r\\nFor saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,\\r\\nAnd palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHave not saints lips, and holy palmers too?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAy, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do:\\r\\nThey pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nSaints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThen move not while my prayer’s effect I take.\\r\\nThus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg’d.\\r\\n[_Kissing her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThen have my lips the sin that they have took.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg’d!\\r\\nGive me my sin again.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nYou kiss by the book.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMadam, your mother craves a word with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat is her mother?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMarry, bachelor,\\r\\nHer mother is the lady of the house,\\r\\nAnd a good lady, and a wise and virtuous.\\r\\nI nurs’d her daughter that you talk’d withal.\\r\\nI tell you, he that can lay hold of her\\r\\nShall have the chinks.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIs she a Capulet?\\r\\nO dear account! My life is my foe’s debt.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAway, be gone; the sport is at the best.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAy, so I fear; the more is my unrest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nNay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone,\\r\\nWe have a trifling foolish banquet towards.\\r\\nIs it e’en so? Why then, I thank you all;\\r\\nI thank you, honest gentlemen; good night.\\r\\nMore torches here! Come on then, let’s to bed.\\r\\nAh, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late,\\r\\nI’ll to my rest.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Juliet and Nurse._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nCome hither, Nurse. What is yond gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nThe son and heir of old Tiberio.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat’s he that now is going out of door?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMarry, that I think be young Petruchio.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat’s he that follows here, that would not dance?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI know not.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGo ask his name. If he be married,\\r\\nMy grave is like to be my wedding bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nHis name is Romeo, and a Montague,\\r\\nThe only son of your great enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nMy only love sprung from my only hate!\\r\\nToo early seen unknown, and known too late!\\r\\nProdigious birth of love it is to me,\\r\\nThat I must love a loathed enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWhat’s this? What’s this?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nA rhyme I learn’d even now\\r\\nOf one I danc’d withal.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_One calls within, ‘Juliet’._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAnon, anon!\\r\\nCome let’s away, the strangers all are gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nNow old desire doth in his deathbed lie,\\r\\nAnd young affection gapes to be his heir;\\r\\nThat fair for which love groan’d for and would die,\\r\\nWith tender Juliet match’d, is now not fair.\\r\\nNow Romeo is belov’d, and loves again,\\r\\nAlike bewitched by the charm of looks;\\r\\nBut to his foe suppos’d he must complain,\\r\\nAnd she steal love’s sweet bait from fearful hooks:\\r\\nBeing held a foe, he may not have access\\r\\nTo breathe such vows as lovers use to swear;\\r\\nAnd she as much in love, her means much less\\r\\nTo meet her new beloved anywhere.\\r\\nBut passion lends them power, time means, to meet,\\r\\nTempering extremities with extreme sweet.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. An open place adjoining Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nCan I go forward when my heart is here?\\r\\nTurn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He climbs the wall and leaps down within it._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nRomeo! My cousin Romeo! Romeo!\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nHe is wise,\\r\\nAnd on my life hath stol’n him home to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nHe ran this way, and leap’d this orchard wall:\\r\\nCall, good Mercutio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNay, I’ll conjure too.\\r\\nRomeo! Humours! Madman! Passion! Lover!\\r\\nAppear thou in the likeness of a sigh,\\r\\nSpeak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;\\r\\nCry but ‘Ah me!’ Pronounce but Love and dove;\\r\\nSpeak to my gossip Venus one fair word,\\r\\nOne nickname for her purblind son and heir,\\r\\nYoung Abraham Cupid, he that shot so trim\\r\\nWhen King Cophetua lov’d the beggar-maid.\\r\\nHe heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not;\\r\\nThe ape is dead, and I must conjure him.\\r\\nI conjure thee by Rosaline’s bright eyes,\\r\\nBy her high forehead and her scarlet lip,\\r\\nBy her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh,\\r\\nAnd the demesnes that there adjacent lie,\\r\\nThat in thy likeness thou appear to us.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAn if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThis cannot anger him. ’Twould anger him\\r\\nTo raise a spirit in his mistress’ circle,\\r\\nOf some strange nature, letting it there stand\\r\\nTill she had laid it, and conjur’d it down;\\r\\nThat were some spite. My invocation\\r\\nIs fair and honest, and, in his mistress’ name,\\r\\nI conjure only but to raise up him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nCome, he hath hid himself among these trees\\r\\nTo be consorted with the humorous night.\\r\\nBlind is his love, and best befits the dark.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nIf love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.\\r\\nNow will he sit under a medlar tree,\\r\\nAnd wish his mistress were that kind of fruit\\r\\nAs maids call medlars when they laugh alone.\\r\\nO Romeo, that she were, O that she were\\r\\nAn open-arse and thou a poperin pear!\\r\\nRomeo, good night. I’ll to my truckle-bed.\\r\\nThis field-bed is too cold for me to sleep.\\r\\nCome, shall we go?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nGo then; for ’tis in vain\\r\\nTo seek him here that means not to be found.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHe jests at scars that never felt a wound.\\r\\n\\r\\n Juliet appears above at a window.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut soft, what light through yonder window breaks?\\r\\nIt is the east, and Juliet is the sun!\\r\\nArise fair sun and kill the envious moon,\\r\\nWho is already sick and pale with grief,\\r\\nThat thou her maid art far more fair than she.\\r\\nBe not her maid since she is envious;\\r\\nHer vestal livery is but sick and green,\\r\\nAnd none but fools do wear it; cast it off.\\r\\nIt is my lady, O it is my love!\\r\\nO, that she knew she were!\\r\\nShe speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?\\r\\nHer eye discourses, I will answer it.\\r\\nI am too bold, ’tis not to me she speaks.\\r\\nTwo of the fairest stars in all the heaven,\\r\\nHaving some business, do entreat her eyes\\r\\nTo twinkle in their spheres till they return.\\r\\nWhat if her eyes were there, they in her head?\\r\\nThe brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,\\r\\nAs daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven\\r\\nWould through the airy region stream so bright\\r\\nThat birds would sing and think it were not night.\\r\\nSee how she leans her cheek upon her hand.\\r\\nO that I were a glove upon that hand,\\r\\nThat I might touch that cheek.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAy me.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nShe speaks.\\r\\nO speak again bright angel, for thou art\\r\\nAs glorious to this night, being o’er my head,\\r\\nAs is a winged messenger of heaven\\r\\nUnto the white-upturned wondering eyes\\r\\nOf mortals that fall back to gaze on him\\r\\nWhen he bestrides the lazy-puffing clouds\\r\\nAnd sails upon the bosom of the air.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?\\r\\nDeny thy father and refuse thy name.\\r\\nOr if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,\\r\\nAnd I’ll no longer be a Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\n’Tis but thy name that is my enemy;\\r\\nThou art thyself, though not a Montague.\\r\\nWhat’s Montague? It is nor hand nor foot,\\r\\nNor arm, nor face, nor any other part\\r\\nBelonging to a man. O be some other name.\\r\\nWhat’s in a name? That which we call a rose\\r\\nBy any other name would smell as sweet;\\r\\nSo Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,\\r\\nRetain that dear perfection which he owes\\r\\nWithout that title. Romeo, doff thy name,\\r\\nAnd for thy name, which is no part of thee,\\r\\nTake all myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI take thee at thy word.\\r\\nCall me but love, and I’ll be new baptis’d;\\r\\nHenceforth I never will be Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat man art thou that, thus bescreen’d in night\\r\\nSo stumblest on my counsel?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBy a name\\r\\nI know not how to tell thee who I am:\\r\\nMy name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,\\r\\nBecause it is an enemy to thee.\\r\\nHad I it written, I would tear the word.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nMy ears have yet not drunk a hundred words\\r\\nOf thy tongue’s utterance, yet I know the sound.\\r\\nArt thou not Romeo, and a Montague?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNeither, fair maid, if either thee dislike.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHow cam’st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?\\r\\nThe orchard walls are high and hard to climb,\\r\\nAnd the place death, considering who thou art,\\r\\nIf any of my kinsmen find thee here.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWith love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls,\\r\\nFor stony limits cannot hold love out,\\r\\nAnd what love can do, that dares love attempt:\\r\\nTherefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIf they do see thee, they will murder thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAlack, there lies more peril in thine eye\\r\\nThan twenty of their swords. Look thou but sweet,\\r\\nAnd I am proof against their enmity.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI would not for the world they saw thee here.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI have night’s cloak to hide me from their eyes,\\r\\nAnd but thou love me, let them find me here.\\r\\nMy life were better ended by their hate\\r\\nThan death prorogued, wanting of thy love.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nBy whose direction found’st thou out this place?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBy love, that first did prompt me to enquire;\\r\\nHe lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.\\r\\nI am no pilot; yet wert thou as far\\r\\nAs that vast shore wash’d with the farthest sea,\\r\\nI should adventure for such merchandise.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThou knowest the mask of night is on my face,\\r\\nElse would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek\\r\\nFor that which thou hast heard me speak tonight.\\r\\nFain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny\\r\\nWhat I have spoke; but farewell compliment.\\r\\nDost thou love me? I know thou wilt say Ay,\\r\\nAnd I will take thy word. Yet, if thou swear’st,\\r\\nThou mayst prove false. At lovers’ perjuries,\\r\\nThey say Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,\\r\\nIf thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully.\\r\\nOr if thou thinkest I am too quickly won,\\r\\nI’ll frown and be perverse, and say thee nay,\\r\\nSo thou wilt woo. But else, not for the world.\\r\\nIn truth, fair Montague, I am too fond;\\r\\nAnd therefore thou mayst think my ’haviour light:\\r\\nBut trust me, gentleman, I’ll prove more true\\r\\nThan those that have more cunning to be strange.\\r\\nI should have been more strange, I must confess,\\r\\nBut that thou overheard’st, ere I was ’ware,\\r\\nMy true-love passion; therefore pardon me,\\r\\nAnd not impute this yielding to light love,\\r\\nWhich the dark night hath so discovered.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nLady, by yonder blessed moon I vow,\\r\\nThat tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,—\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO swear not by the moon, th’inconstant moon,\\r\\nThat monthly changes in her circled orb,\\r\\nLest that thy love prove likewise variable.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat shall I swear by?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nDo not swear at all.\\r\\nOr if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,\\r\\nWhich is the god of my idolatry,\\r\\nAnd I’ll believe thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIf my heart’s dear love,—\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWell, do not swear. Although I joy in thee,\\r\\nI have no joy of this contract tonight;\\r\\nIt is too rash, too unadvis’d, too sudden,\\r\\nToo like the lightning, which doth cease to be\\r\\nEre one can say It lightens. Sweet, good night.\\r\\nThis bud of love, by summer’s ripening breath,\\r\\nMay prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.\\r\\nGood night, good night. As sweet repose and rest\\r\\nCome to thy heart as that within my breast.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat satisfaction canst thou have tonight?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nTh’exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI gave thee mine before thou didst request it;\\r\\nAnd yet I would it were to give again.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWould’st thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nBut to be frank and give it thee again.\\r\\nAnd yet I wish but for the thing I have;\\r\\nMy bounty is as boundless as the sea,\\r\\nMy love as deep; the more I give to thee,\\r\\nThe more I have, for both are infinite.\\r\\nI hear some noise within. Dear love, adieu.\\r\\n[_Nurse calls within._]\\r\\nAnon, good Nurse!—Sweet Montague be true.\\r\\nStay but a little, I will come again.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO blessed, blessed night. I am afeard,\\r\\nBeing in night, all this is but a dream,\\r\\nToo flattering sweet to be substantial.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet above.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThree words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.\\r\\nIf that thy bent of love be honourable,\\r\\nThy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow,\\r\\nBy one that I’ll procure to come to thee,\\r\\nWhere and what time thou wilt perform the rite,\\r\\nAnd all my fortunes at thy foot I’ll lay\\r\\nAnd follow thee my lord throughout the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\n[_Within._] Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI come, anon.— But if thou meanest not well,\\r\\nI do beseech thee,—\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\n[_Within._] Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nBy and by I come—\\r\\nTo cease thy strife and leave me to my grief.\\r\\nTomorrow will I send.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSo thrive my soul,—\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nA thousand times good night.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nA thousand times the worse, to want thy light.\\r\\nLove goes toward love as schoolboys from their books,\\r\\nBut love from love, towards school with heavy looks.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Retiring slowly._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Juliet, above.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHist! Romeo, hist! O for a falconer’s voice\\r\\nTo lure this tassel-gentle back again.\\r\\nBondage is hoarse and may not speak aloud,\\r\\nElse would I tear the cave where Echo lies,\\r\\nAnd make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine\\r\\nWith repetition of my Romeo’s name.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIt is my soul that calls upon my name.\\r\\nHow silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night,\\r\\nLike softest music to attending ears.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nRomeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nMy nyas?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat o’clock tomorrow\\r\\nShall I send to thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBy the hour of nine.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI will not fail. ’Tis twenty years till then.\\r\\nI have forgot why I did call thee back.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nLet me stand here till thou remember it.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI shall forget, to have thee still stand there,\\r\\nRemembering how I love thy company.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget,\\r\\nForgetting any other home but this.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\n’Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone,\\r\\nAnd yet no farther than a wanton’s bird,\\r\\nThat lets it hop a little from her hand,\\r\\nLike a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,\\r\\nAnd with a silk thread plucks it back again,\\r\\nSo loving-jealous of his liberty.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI would I were thy bird.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nSweet, so would I:\\r\\nYet I should kill thee with much cherishing.\\r\\nGood night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow\\r\\nThat I shall say good night till it be morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast.\\r\\nWould I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest.\\r\\nThe grey-ey’d morn smiles on the frowning night,\\r\\nChequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light;\\r\\nAnd darkness fleckled like a drunkard reels\\r\\nFrom forth day’s pathway, made by Titan’s wheels\\r\\nHence will I to my ghostly Sire’s cell,\\r\\nHis help to crave and my dear hap to tell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence with a basket.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nNow, ere the sun advance his burning eye,\\r\\nThe day to cheer, and night’s dank dew to dry,\\r\\nI must upfill this osier cage of ours\\r\\nWith baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.\\r\\nThe earth that’s nature’s mother, is her tomb;\\r\\nWhat is her burying grave, that is her womb:\\r\\nAnd from her womb children of divers kind\\r\\nWe sucking on her natural bosom find.\\r\\nMany for many virtues excellent,\\r\\nNone but for some, and yet all different.\\r\\nO, mickle is the powerful grace that lies\\r\\nIn plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities.\\r\\nFor naught so vile that on the earth doth live\\r\\nBut to the earth some special good doth give;\\r\\nNor aught so good but, strain’d from that fair use,\\r\\nRevolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse.\\r\\nVirtue itself turns vice being misapplied,\\r\\nAnd vice sometime’s by action dignified.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nWithin the infant rind of this weak flower\\r\\nPoison hath residence, and medicine power:\\r\\nFor this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;\\r\\nBeing tasted, slays all senses with the heart.\\r\\nTwo such opposed kings encamp them still\\r\\nIn man as well as herbs,—grace and rude will;\\r\\nAnd where the worser is predominant,\\r\\nFull soon the canker death eats up that plant.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGood morrow, father.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nBenedicite!\\r\\nWhat early tongue so sweet saluteth me?\\r\\nYoung son, it argues a distemper’d head\\r\\nSo soon to bid good morrow to thy bed.\\r\\nCare keeps his watch in every old man’s eye,\\r\\nAnd where care lodges sleep will never lie;\\r\\nBut where unbruised youth with unstuff’d brain\\r\\nDoth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.\\r\\nTherefore thy earliness doth me assure\\r\\nThou art uprous’d with some distemperature;\\r\\nOr if not so, then here I hit it right,\\r\\nOur Romeo hath not been in bed tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThat last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nGod pardon sin. Wast thou with Rosaline?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWith Rosaline, my ghostly father? No.\\r\\nI have forgot that name, and that name’s woe.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThat’s my good son. But where hast thou been then?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI’ll tell thee ere thou ask it me again.\\r\\nI have been feasting with mine enemy,\\r\\nWhere on a sudden one hath wounded me\\r\\nThat’s by me wounded. Both our remedies\\r\\nWithin thy help and holy physic lies.\\r\\nI bear no hatred, blessed man; for lo,\\r\\nMy intercession likewise steads my foe.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nBe plain, good son, and homely in thy drift;\\r\\nRiddling confession finds but riddling shrift.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThen plainly know my heart’s dear love is set\\r\\nOn the fair daughter of rich Capulet.\\r\\nAs mine on hers, so hers is set on mine;\\r\\nAnd all combin’d, save what thou must combine\\r\\nBy holy marriage. When, and where, and how\\r\\nWe met, we woo’d, and made exchange of vow,\\r\\nI’ll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,\\r\\nThat thou consent to marry us today.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHoly Saint Francis! What a change is here!\\r\\nIs Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear,\\r\\nSo soon forsaken? Young men’s love then lies\\r\\nNot truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.\\r\\nJesu Maria, what a deal of brine\\r\\nHath wash’d thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!\\r\\nHow much salt water thrown away in waste,\\r\\nTo season love, that of it doth not taste.\\r\\nThe sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,\\r\\nThy old groans yet ring in mine ancient ears.\\r\\nLo here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit\\r\\nOf an old tear that is not wash’d off yet.\\r\\nIf ere thou wast thyself, and these woes thine,\\r\\nThou and these woes were all for Rosaline,\\r\\nAnd art thou chang’d? Pronounce this sentence then,\\r\\nWomen may fall, when there’s no strength in men.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThou chidd’st me oft for loving Rosaline.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nFor doting, not for loving, pupil mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd bad’st me bury love.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nNot in a grave\\r\\nTo lay one in, another out to have.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI pray thee chide me not, her I love now\\r\\nDoth grace for grace and love for love allow.\\r\\nThe other did not so.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nO, she knew well\\r\\nThy love did read by rote, that could not spell.\\r\\nBut come young waverer, come go with me,\\r\\nIn one respect I’ll thy assistant be;\\r\\nFor this alliance may so happy prove,\\r\\nTo turn your households’ rancour to pure love.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nWisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nWhere the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home tonight?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nNot to his father’s; I spoke with his man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nWhy, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline, torments him so\\r\\nthat he will sure run mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nTybalt, the kinsman to old Capulet, hath sent a letter to his father’s\\r\\nhouse.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nA challenge, on my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nRomeo will answer it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAny man that can write may answer a letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nNay, he will answer the letter’s master, how he dares, being dared.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAlas poor Romeo, he is already dead, stabbed with a white wench’s black\\r\\neye; run through the ear with a love song, the very pin of his heart\\r\\ncleft with the blind bow-boy’s butt-shaft. And is he a man to encounter\\r\\nTybalt?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nWhy, what is Tybalt?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nMore than Prince of cats. O, he’s the courageous captain of\\r\\ncompliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance,\\r\\nand proportion. He rests his minim rest, one, two, and the third in\\r\\nyour bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist;\\r\\na gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second cause. Ah,\\r\\nthe immortal passado, the punto reverso, the hay.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThe what?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThe pox of such antic lisping, affecting phantasies; these new tuners\\r\\nof accent. By Jesu, a very good blade, a very tall man, a very good\\r\\nwhore. Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should\\r\\nbe thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers,\\r\\nthese pardon-me’s, who stand so much on the new form that they cannot\\r\\nsit at ease on the old bench? O their bones, their bones!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nHere comes Romeo, here comes Romeo!\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nWithout his roe, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art thou\\r\\nfishified! Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in. Laura, to\\r\\nhis lady, was but a kitchen wench,—marry, she had a better love to\\r\\nberhyme her: Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gypsy; Helen and Hero hildings\\r\\nand harlots; Thisbe a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior\\r\\nRomeo, bonjour! There’s a French salutation to your French slop. You\\r\\ngave us the counterfeit fairly last night.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGood morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThe slip sir, the slip; can you not conceive?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nPardon, good Mercutio, my business was great, and in such a case as\\r\\nmine a man may strain courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThat’s as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow\\r\\nin the hams.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nMeaning, to curtsy.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThou hast most kindly hit it.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nA most courteous exposition.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNay, I am the very pink of courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nPink for flower.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nRight.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhy, then is my pump well flowered.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nSure wit, follow me this jest now, till thou hast worn out thy pump,\\r\\nthat when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain after the\\r\\nwearing, solely singular.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness!\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nCome between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSwits and spurs, swits and spurs; or I’ll cry a match.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I am done. For thou hast\\r\\nmore of the wild-goose in one of thy wits, than I am sure, I have in my\\r\\nwhole five. Was I with you there for the goose?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThou wast never with me for anything, when thou wast not there for the\\r\\ngoose.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nI will bite thee by the ear for that jest.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNay, good goose, bite not.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThy wit is a very bitter sweeting, it is a most sharp sauce.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd is it not then well served in to a sweet goose?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nO here’s a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an\\r\\nell broad.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI stretch it out for that word broad, which added to the goose, proves\\r\\nthee far and wide a broad goose.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nWhy, is not this better now than groaning for love? Now art thou\\r\\nsociable, now art thou Romeo; not art thou what thou art, by art as\\r\\nwell as by nature. For this drivelling love is like a great natural,\\r\\nthat runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nStop there, stop there.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThou wouldst else have made thy tale large.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nO, thou art deceived; I would have made it short, for I was come to the\\r\\nwhole depth of my tale, and meant indeed to occupy the argument no\\r\\nlonger.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse and Peter.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHere’s goodly gear!\\r\\nA sail, a sail!\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nTwo, two; a shirt and a smock.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nPeter!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nAnon.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMy fan, Peter.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nGood Peter, to hide her face; for her fan’s the fairer face.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nGod ye good morrow, gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nGod ye good-den, fair gentlewoman.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nIs it good-den?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\n’Tis no less, I tell ye; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the\\r\\nprick of noon.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nOut upon you! What a man are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nOne, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nBy my troth, it is well said; for himself to mar, quoth a? Gentlemen,\\r\\ncan any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI can tell you: but young Romeo will be older when you have found him\\r\\nthan he was when you sought him. I am the youngest of that name, for\\r\\nfault of a worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nYou say well.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nYea, is the worst well? Very well took, i’faith; wisely, wisely.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nIf you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nShe will endite him to some supper.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nA bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat hast thou found?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNo hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something\\r\\nstale and hoar ere it be spent.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n An old hare hoar,\\r\\n And an old hare hoar,\\r\\n Is very good meat in Lent;\\r\\n But a hare that is hoar\\r\\n Is too much for a score\\r\\n When it hoars ere it be spent.\\r\\nRomeo, will you come to your father’s? We’ll to dinner thither.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI will follow you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nFarewell, ancient lady; farewell, lady, lady, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this that was so full of his\\r\\nropery?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nA gentleman, Nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak\\r\\nmore in a minute than he will stand to in a month.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAnd a speak anything against me, I’ll take him down, and a were lustier\\r\\nthan he is, and twenty such Jacks. And if I cannot, I’ll find those\\r\\nthat shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of\\r\\nhis skains-mates.—And thou must stand by too and suffer every knave to\\r\\nuse me at his pleasure!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nI saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I had, my weapon should\\r\\nquickly have been out. I warrant you, I dare draw as soon as another\\r\\nman, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNow, afore God, I am so vexed that every part about me quivers. Scurvy\\r\\nknave. Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bid me\\r\\nenquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself. But first\\r\\nlet me tell ye, if ye should lead her in a fool’s paradise, as they\\r\\nsay, it were a very gross kind of behaviour, as they say; for the\\r\\ngentlewoman is young. And therefore, if you should deal double with\\r\\nher, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and\\r\\nvery weak dealing.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto\\r\\nthee,—\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nGood heart, and i’faith I will tell her as much. Lord, Lord, she will\\r\\nbe a joyful woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat wilt thou tell her, Nurse? Thou dost not mark me.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI will tell her, sir, that you do protest, which, as I take it, is a\\r\\ngentlemanlike offer.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBid her devise\\r\\nSome means to come to shrift this afternoon,\\r\\nAnd there she shall at Friar Lawrence’ cell\\r\\nBe shriv’d and married. Here is for thy pains.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNo truly, sir; not a penny.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGo to; I say you shall.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nThis afternoon, sir? Well, she shall be there.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd stay, good Nurse, behind the abbey wall.\\r\\nWithin this hour my man shall be with thee,\\r\\nAnd bring thee cords made like a tackled stair,\\r\\nWhich to the high topgallant of my joy\\r\\nMust be my convoy in the secret night.\\r\\nFarewell, be trusty, and I’ll quit thy pains;\\r\\nFarewell; commend me to thy mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNow God in heaven bless thee. Hark you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat say’st thou, my dear Nurse?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nIs your man secret? Did you ne’er hear say,\\r\\nTwo may keep counsel, putting one away?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI warrant thee my man’s as true as steel.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWell, sir, my mistress is the sweetest lady. Lord, Lord! When ’twas a\\r\\nlittle prating thing,—O, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that\\r\\nwould fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief see a\\r\\ntoad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes, and tell her that\\r\\nParis is the properer man, but I’ll warrant you, when I say so, she\\r\\nlooks as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and\\r\\nRomeo begin both with a letter?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAy, Nurse; what of that? Both with an R.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAh, mocker! That’s the dog’s name. R is for the—no, I know it begins\\r\\nwith some other letter, and she hath the prettiest sententious of it,\\r\\nof you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nCommend me to thy lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAy, a thousand times. Peter!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Romeo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nAnon.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nBefore and apace.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThe clock struck nine when I did send the Nurse,\\r\\nIn half an hour she promised to return.\\r\\nPerchance she cannot meet him. That’s not so.\\r\\nO, she is lame. Love’s heralds should be thoughts,\\r\\nWhich ten times faster glides than the sun’s beams,\\r\\nDriving back shadows over lowering hills:\\r\\nTherefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw love,\\r\\nAnd therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.\\r\\nNow is the sun upon the highmost hill\\r\\nOf this day’s journey, and from nine till twelve\\r\\nIs three long hours, yet she is not come.\\r\\nHad she affections and warm youthful blood,\\r\\nShe’d be as swift in motion as a ball;\\r\\nMy words would bandy her to my sweet love,\\r\\nAnd his to me.\\r\\nBut old folks, many feign as they were dead;\\r\\nUnwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse and Peter.\\r\\n\\r\\nO God, she comes. O honey Nurse, what news?\\r\\nHast thou met with him? Send thy man away.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nPeter, stay at the gate.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Peter._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNow, good sweet Nurse,—O Lord, why look’st thou sad?\\r\\nThough news be sad, yet tell them merrily;\\r\\nIf good, thou sham’st the music of sweet news\\r\\nBy playing it to me with so sour a face.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI am aweary, give me leave awhile;\\r\\nFie, how my bones ache! What a jaunt have I had!\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news:\\r\\nNay come, I pray thee speak; good, good Nurse, speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nJesu, what haste? Can you not stay a while? Do you not see that I am\\r\\nout of breath?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHow art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath\\r\\nTo say to me that thou art out of breath?\\r\\nThe excuse that thou dost make in this delay\\r\\nIs longer than the tale thou dost excuse.\\r\\nIs thy news good or bad? Answer to that;\\r\\nSay either, and I’ll stay the circumstance.\\r\\nLet me be satisfied, is’t good or bad?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWell, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man.\\r\\nRomeo? No, not he. Though his face be better than any man’s, yet his\\r\\nleg excels all men’s, and for a hand and a foot, and a body, though\\r\\nthey be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare. He is not the\\r\\nflower of courtesy, but I’ll warrant him as gentle as a lamb. Go thy\\r\\nways, wench, serve God. What, have you dined at home?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNo, no. But all this did I know before.\\r\\nWhat says he of our marriage? What of that?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nLord, how my head aches! What a head have I!\\r\\nIt beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.\\r\\nMy back o’ t’other side,—O my back, my back!\\r\\nBeshrew your heart for sending me about\\r\\nTo catch my death with jauncing up and down.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI’faith, I am sorry that thou art not well.\\r\\nSweet, sweet, sweet Nurse, tell me, what says my love?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nYour love says like an honest gentleman,\\r\\nAnd a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome,\\r\\nAnd I warrant a virtuous,—Where is your mother?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhere is my mother? Why, she is within.\\r\\nWhere should she be? How oddly thou repliest.\\r\\n‘Your love says, like an honest gentleman,\\r\\n‘Where is your mother?’\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO God’s lady dear,\\r\\nAre you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow.\\r\\nIs this the poultice for my aching bones?\\r\\nHenceforward do your messages yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHere’s such a coil. Come, what says Romeo?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nHave you got leave to go to shrift today?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI have.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nThen hie you hence to Friar Lawrence’ cell;\\r\\nThere stays a husband to make you a wife.\\r\\nNow comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks,\\r\\nThey’ll be in scarlet straight at any news.\\r\\nHie you to church. I must another way,\\r\\nTo fetch a ladder by the which your love\\r\\nMust climb a bird’s nest soon when it is dark.\\r\\nI am the drudge, and toil in your delight;\\r\\nBut you shall bear the burden soon at night.\\r\\nGo. I’ll to dinner; hie you to the cell.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHie to high fortune! Honest Nurse, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nSo smile the heavens upon this holy act\\r\\nThat after-hours with sorrow chide us not.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAmen, amen, but come what sorrow can,\\r\\nIt cannot countervail the exchange of joy\\r\\nThat one short minute gives me in her sight.\\r\\nDo thou but close our hands with holy words,\\r\\nThen love-devouring death do what he dare,\\r\\nIt is enough I may but call her mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThese violent delights have violent ends,\\r\\nAnd in their triumph die; like fire and powder,\\r\\nWhich as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey\\r\\nIs loathsome in his own deliciousness,\\r\\nAnd in the taste confounds the appetite.\\r\\nTherefore love moderately: long love doth so;\\r\\nToo swift arrives as tardy as too slow.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes the lady. O, so light a foot\\r\\nWill ne’er wear out the everlasting flint.\\r\\nA lover may bestride the gossamers\\r\\nThat idles in the wanton summer air\\r\\nAnd yet not fall; so light is vanity.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGood even to my ghostly confessor.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nRomeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAs much to him, else is his thanks too much.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAh, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy\\r\\nBe heap’d like mine, and that thy skill be more\\r\\nTo blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath\\r\\nThis neighbour air, and let rich music’s tongue\\r\\nUnfold the imagin’d happiness that both\\r\\nReceive in either by this dear encounter.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nConceit more rich in matter than in words,\\r\\nBrags of his substance, not of ornament.\\r\\nThey are but beggars that can count their worth;\\r\\nBut my true love is grown to such excess,\\r\\nI cannot sum up sum of half my wealth.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nCome, come with me, and we will make short work,\\r\\nFor, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone\\r\\nTill holy church incorporate two in one.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A public Place.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, Page and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nI pray thee, good Mercutio, let’s retire:\\r\\nThe day is hot, the Capulets abroad,\\r\\nAnd if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl,\\r\\nFor now these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThou art like one of these fellows that, when he enters the confines of\\r\\na tavern, claps me his sword upon the table, and says ‘God send me no\\r\\nneed of thee!’ and by the operation of the second cup draws him on the\\r\\ndrawer, when indeed there is no need.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAm I like such a fellow?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nCome, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy; and as\\r\\nsoon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAnd what to?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would\\r\\nkill the other. Thou? Why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a\\r\\nhair more or a hair less in his beard than thou hast. Thou wilt quarrel\\r\\nwith a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou\\r\\nhast hazel eyes. What eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel?\\r\\nThy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy\\r\\nhead hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling. Thou hast\\r\\nquarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath\\r\\nwakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall\\r\\nout with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with\\r\\nanother for tying his new shoes with an old riband? And yet thou wilt\\r\\ntutor me from quarrelling!\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAnd I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee\\r\\nsimple of my life for an hour and a quarter.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThe fee simple! O simple!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Tybalt and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nBy my head, here comes the Capulets.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nBy my heel, I care not.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nFollow me close, for I will speak to them.\\r\\nGentlemen, good-den: a word with one of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAnd but one word with one of us? Couple it with something; make it a\\r\\nword and a blow.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nYou shall find me apt enough to that, sir, and you will give me\\r\\noccasion.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nCould you not take some occasion without giving?\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nMercutio, thou consortest with Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nConsort? What, dost thou make us minstrels? And thou make minstrels of\\r\\nus, look to hear nothing but discords. Here’s my fiddlestick, here’s\\r\\nthat shall make you dance. Zounds, consort!\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nWe talk here in the public haunt of men.\\r\\nEither withdraw unto some private place,\\r\\nAnd reason coldly of your grievances,\\r\\nOr else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nMen’s eyes were made to look, and let them gaze.\\r\\nI will not budge for no man’s pleasure, I.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nWell, peace be with you, sir, here comes my man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nBut I’ll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery.\\r\\nMarry, go before to field, he’ll be your follower;\\r\\nYour worship in that sense may call him man.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nRomeo, the love I bear thee can afford\\r\\nNo better term than this: Thou art a villain.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nTybalt, the reason that I have to love thee\\r\\nDoth much excuse the appertaining rage\\r\\nTo such a greeting. Villain am I none;\\r\\nTherefore farewell; I see thou know’st me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nBoy, this shall not excuse the injuries\\r\\nThat thou hast done me, therefore turn and draw.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI do protest I never injur’d thee,\\r\\nBut love thee better than thou canst devise\\r\\nTill thou shalt know the reason of my love.\\r\\nAnd so good Capulet, which name I tender\\r\\nAs dearly as mine own, be satisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nO calm, dishonourable, vile submission!\\r\\n[_Draws._] Alla stoccata carries it away.\\r\\nTybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nWhat wouldst thou have with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nGood King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives; that I mean to\\r\\nmake bold withal, and, as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest\\r\\nof the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears?\\r\\nMake haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\n[_Drawing._] I am for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nCome, sir, your passado.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nDraw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons.\\r\\nGentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage,\\r\\nTybalt, Mercutio, the Prince expressly hath\\r\\nForbid this bandying in Verona streets.\\r\\nHold, Tybalt! Good Mercutio!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Tybalt with his Partizans._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nI am hurt.\\r\\nA plague o’ both your houses. I am sped.\\r\\nIs he gone, and hath nothing?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nWhat, art thou hurt?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAy, ay, a scratch, a scratch. Marry, ’tis enough.\\r\\nWhere is my page? Go villain, fetch a surgeon.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Page._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nCourage, man; the hurt cannot be much.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNo, ’tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door, but ’tis\\r\\nenough, ’twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a\\r\\ngrave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o’ both\\r\\nyour houses. Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to\\r\\ndeath. A braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of\\r\\narithmetic!—Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your\\r\\narm.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI thought all for the best.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nHelp me into some house, Benvolio,\\r\\nOr I shall faint. A plague o’ both your houses.\\r\\nThey have made worms’ meat of me.\\r\\nI have it, and soundly too. Your houses!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThis gentleman, the Prince’s near ally,\\r\\nMy very friend, hath got his mortal hurt\\r\\nIn my behalf; my reputation stain’d\\r\\nWith Tybalt’s slander,—Tybalt, that an hour\\r\\nHath been my cousin. O sweet Juliet,\\r\\nThy beauty hath made me effeminate\\r\\nAnd in my temper soften’d valour’s steel.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Benvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nO Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio’s dead,\\r\\nThat gallant spirit hath aspir’d the clouds,\\r\\nWhich too untimely here did scorn the earth.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThis day’s black fate on mo days doth depend;\\r\\nThis but begins the woe others must end.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Tybalt.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nHere comes the furious Tybalt back again.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAgain in triumph, and Mercutio slain?\\r\\nAway to heaven respective lenity,\\r\\nAnd fire-ey’d fury be my conduct now!\\r\\nNow, Tybalt, take the ‘villain’ back again\\r\\nThat late thou gav’st me, for Mercutio’s soul\\r\\nIs but a little way above our heads,\\r\\nStaying for thine to keep him company.\\r\\nEither thou or I, or both, must go with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nThou wretched boy, that didst consort him here,\\r\\nShalt with him hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThis shall determine that.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight; Tybalt falls._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nRomeo, away, be gone!\\r\\nThe citizens are up, and Tybalt slain.\\r\\nStand not amaz’d. The Prince will doom thee death\\r\\nIf thou art taken. Hence, be gone, away!\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO, I am fortune’s fool!\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nWhy dost thou stay?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Romeo._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Citizens.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nWhich way ran he that kill’d Mercutio?\\r\\nTybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThere lies that Tybalt.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nUp, sir, go with me.\\r\\nI charge thee in the Prince’s name obey.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Prince, attended; Montague, Capulet, their Wives and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhere are the vile beginners of this fray?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nO noble Prince, I can discover all\\r\\nThe unlucky manage of this fatal brawl.\\r\\nThere lies the man, slain by young Romeo,\\r\\nThat slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nTybalt, my cousin! O my brother’s child!\\r\\nO Prince! O husband! O, the blood is spill’d\\r\\nOf my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true,\\r\\nFor blood of ours shed blood of Montague.\\r\\nO cousin, cousin.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nBenvolio, who began this bloody fray?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nTybalt, here slain, whom Romeo’s hand did slay;\\r\\nRomeo, that spoke him fair, bid him bethink\\r\\nHow nice the quarrel was, and urg’d withal\\r\\nYour high displeasure. All this uttered\\r\\nWith gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow’d\\r\\nCould not take truce with the unruly spleen\\r\\nOf Tybalt, deaf to peace, but that he tilts\\r\\nWith piercing steel at bold Mercutio’s breast,\\r\\nWho, all as hot, turns deadly point to point,\\r\\nAnd, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats\\r\\nCold death aside, and with the other sends\\r\\nIt back to Tybalt, whose dexterity\\r\\nRetorts it. Romeo he cries aloud,\\r\\n‘Hold, friends! Friends, part!’ and swifter than his tongue,\\r\\nHis agile arm beats down their fatal points,\\r\\nAnd ’twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm\\r\\nAn envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life\\r\\nOf stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled.\\r\\nBut by and by comes back to Romeo,\\r\\nWho had but newly entertain’d revenge,\\r\\nAnd to’t they go like lightning; for, ere I\\r\\nCould draw to part them was stout Tybalt slain;\\r\\nAnd as he fell did Romeo turn and fly.\\r\\nThis is the truth, or let Benvolio die.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nHe is a kinsman to the Montague.\\r\\nAffection makes him false, he speaks not true.\\r\\nSome twenty of them fought in this black strife,\\r\\nAnd all those twenty could but kill one life.\\r\\nI beg for justice, which thou, Prince, must give;\\r\\nRomeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nRomeo slew him, he slew Mercutio.\\r\\nWho now the price of his dear blood doth owe?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nNot Romeo, Prince, he was Mercutio’s friend;\\r\\nHis fault concludes but what the law should end,\\r\\nThe life of Tybalt.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nAnd for that offence\\r\\nImmediately we do exile him hence.\\r\\nI have an interest in your hate’s proceeding,\\r\\nMy blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding.\\r\\nBut I’ll amerce you with so strong a fine\\r\\nThat you shall all repent the loss of mine.\\r\\nI will be deaf to pleading and excuses;\\r\\nNor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses.\\r\\nTherefore use none. Let Romeo hence in haste,\\r\\nElse, when he is found, that hour is his last.\\r\\nBear hence this body, and attend our will.\\r\\nMercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,\\r\\nTowards Phoebus’ lodging. Such a waggoner\\r\\nAs Phaeton would whip you to the west\\r\\nAnd bring in cloudy night immediately.\\r\\nSpread thy close curtain, love-performing night,\\r\\nThat runaway’s eyes may wink, and Romeo\\r\\nLeap to these arms, untalk’d of and unseen.\\r\\nLovers can see to do their amorous rites\\r\\nBy their own beauties: or, if love be blind,\\r\\nIt best agrees with night. Come, civil night,\\r\\nThou sober-suited matron, all in black,\\r\\nAnd learn me how to lose a winning match,\\r\\nPlay’d for a pair of stainless maidenhoods.\\r\\nHood my unmann’d blood, bating in my cheeks,\\r\\nWith thy black mantle, till strange love, grow bold,\\r\\nThink true love acted simple modesty.\\r\\nCome, night, come Romeo; come, thou day in night;\\r\\nFor thou wilt lie upon the wings of night\\r\\nWhiter than new snow upon a raven’s back.\\r\\nCome gentle night, come loving black-brow’d night,\\r\\nGive me my Romeo, and when I shall die,\\r\\nTake him and cut him out in little stars,\\r\\nAnd he will make the face of heaven so fine\\r\\nThat all the world will be in love with night,\\r\\nAnd pay no worship to the garish sun.\\r\\nO, I have bought the mansion of a love,\\r\\nBut not possess’d it; and though I am sold,\\r\\nNot yet enjoy’d. So tedious is this day\\r\\nAs is the night before some festival\\r\\nTo an impatient child that hath new robes\\r\\nAnd may not wear them. O, here comes my Nurse,\\r\\nAnd she brings news, and every tongue that speaks\\r\\nBut Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse, with cords.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, Nurse, what news? What hast thou there?\\r\\nThe cords that Romeo bid thee fetch?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAy, ay, the cords.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Throws them down._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAy me, what news? Why dost thou wring thy hands?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAh, well-a-day, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead!\\r\\nWe are undone, lady, we are undone.\\r\\nAlack the day, he’s gone, he’s kill’d, he’s dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nCan heaven be so envious?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nRomeo can,\\r\\nThough heaven cannot. O Romeo, Romeo.\\r\\nWho ever would have thought it? Romeo!\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat devil art thou, that dost torment me thus?\\r\\nThis torture should be roar’d in dismal hell.\\r\\nHath Romeo slain himself? Say thou but Ay,\\r\\nAnd that bare vowel I shall poison more\\r\\nThan the death-darting eye of cockatrice.\\r\\nI am not I if there be such an I;\\r\\nOr those eyes shut that make thee answer Ay.\\r\\nIf he be slain, say Ay; or if not, No.\\r\\nBrief sounds determine of my weal or woe.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,\\r\\nGod save the mark!—here on his manly breast.\\r\\nA piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;\\r\\nPale, pale as ashes, all bedaub’d in blood,\\r\\nAll in gore-blood. I swounded at the sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO, break, my heart. Poor bankrout, break at once.\\r\\nTo prison, eyes; ne’er look on liberty.\\r\\nVile earth to earth resign; end motion here,\\r\\nAnd thou and Romeo press one heavy bier.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had.\\r\\nO courteous Tybalt, honest gentleman!\\r\\nThat ever I should live to see thee dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat storm is this that blows so contrary?\\r\\nIs Romeo slaughter’d and is Tybalt dead?\\r\\nMy dearest cousin, and my dearer lord?\\r\\nThen dreadful trumpet sound the general doom,\\r\\nFor who is living, if those two are gone?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nTybalt is gone, and Romeo banished,\\r\\nRomeo that kill’d him, he is banished.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO God! Did Romeo’s hand shed Tybalt’s blood?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nIt did, it did; alas the day, it did.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO serpent heart, hid with a flowering face!\\r\\nDid ever dragon keep so fair a cave?\\r\\nBeautiful tyrant, fiend angelical,\\r\\nDove-feather’d raven, wolvish-ravening lamb!\\r\\nDespised substance of divinest show!\\r\\nJust opposite to what thou justly seem’st,\\r\\nA damned saint, an honourable villain!\\r\\nO nature, what hadst thou to do in hell\\r\\nWhen thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend\\r\\nIn mortal paradise of such sweet flesh?\\r\\nWas ever book containing such vile matter\\r\\nSo fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell\\r\\nIn such a gorgeous palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nThere’s no trust,\\r\\nNo faith, no honesty in men. All perjur’d,\\r\\nAll forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.\\r\\nAh, where’s my man? Give me some aqua vitae.\\r\\nThese griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.\\r\\nShame come to Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nBlister’d be thy tongue\\r\\nFor such a wish! He was not born to shame.\\r\\nUpon his brow shame is asham’d to sit;\\r\\nFor ’tis a throne where honour may be crown’d\\r\\nSole monarch of the universal earth.\\r\\nO, what a beast was I to chide at him!\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWill you speak well of him that kill’d your cousin?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nShall I speak ill of him that is my husband?\\r\\nAh, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name,\\r\\nWhen I thy three-hours’ wife have mangled it?\\r\\nBut wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?\\r\\nThat villain cousin would have kill’d my husband.\\r\\nBack, foolish tears, back to your native spring,\\r\\nYour tributary drops belong to woe,\\r\\nWhich you mistaking offer up to joy.\\r\\nMy husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain,\\r\\nAnd Tybalt’s dead, that would have slain my husband.\\r\\nAll this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?\\r\\nSome word there was, worser than Tybalt’s death,\\r\\nThat murder’d me. I would forget it fain,\\r\\nBut O, it presses to my memory\\r\\nLike damned guilty deeds to sinners’ minds.\\r\\nTybalt is dead, and Romeo banished.\\r\\nThat ‘banished,’ that one word ‘banished,’\\r\\nHath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt’s death\\r\\nWas woe enough, if it had ended there.\\r\\nOr if sour woe delights in fellowship,\\r\\nAnd needly will be rank’d with other griefs,\\r\\nWhy follow’d not, when she said Tybalt’s dead,\\r\\nThy father or thy mother, nay or both,\\r\\nWhich modern lamentation might have mov’d?\\r\\nBut with a rear-ward following Tybalt’s death,\\r\\n‘Romeo is banished’—to speak that word\\r\\nIs father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,\\r\\nAll slain, all dead. Romeo is banished,\\r\\nThere is no end, no limit, measure, bound,\\r\\nIn that word’s death, no words can that woe sound.\\r\\nWhere is my father and my mother, Nurse?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWeeping and wailing over Tybalt’s corse.\\r\\nWill you go to them? I will bring you thither.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWash they his wounds with tears. Mine shall be spent,\\r\\nWhen theirs are dry, for Romeo’s banishment.\\r\\nTake up those cords. Poor ropes, you are beguil’d,\\r\\nBoth you and I; for Romeo is exil’d.\\r\\nHe made you for a highway to my bed,\\r\\nBut I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.\\r\\nCome cords, come Nurse, I’ll to my wedding bed,\\r\\nAnd death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nHie to your chamber. I’ll find Romeo\\r\\nTo comfort you. I wot well where he is.\\r\\nHark ye, your Romeo will be here at night.\\r\\nI’ll to him, he is hid at Lawrence’ cell.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO find him, give this ring to my true knight,\\r\\nAnd bid him come to take his last farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Friar Lawrence’s cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nRomeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man.\\r\\nAffliction is enanmour’d of thy parts\\r\\nAnd thou art wedded to calamity.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nFather, what news? What is the Prince’s doom?\\r\\nWhat sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,\\r\\nThat I yet know not?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nToo familiar\\r\\nIs my dear son with such sour company.\\r\\nI bring thee tidings of the Prince’s doom.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat less than doomsday is the Prince’s doom?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nA gentler judgment vanish’d from his lips,\\r\\nNot body’s death, but body’s banishment.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHa, banishment? Be merciful, say death;\\r\\nFor exile hath more terror in his look,\\r\\nMuch more than death. Do not say banishment.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHence from Verona art thou banished.\\r\\nBe patient, for the world is broad and wide.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThere is no world without Verona walls,\\r\\nBut purgatory, torture, hell itself.\\r\\nHence banished is banish’d from the world,\\r\\nAnd world’s exile is death. Then banished\\r\\nIs death misterm’d. Calling death banished,\\r\\nThou cutt’st my head off with a golden axe,\\r\\nAnd smilest upon the stroke that murders me.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nO deadly sin, O rude unthankfulness!\\r\\nThy fault our law calls death, but the kind Prince,\\r\\nTaking thy part, hath brush’d aside the law,\\r\\nAnd turn’d that black word death to banishment.\\r\\nThis is dear mercy, and thou see’st it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\n’Tis torture, and not mercy. Heaven is here\\r\\nWhere Juliet lives, and every cat and dog,\\r\\nAnd little mouse, every unworthy thing,\\r\\nLive here in heaven and may look on her,\\r\\nBut Romeo may not. More validity,\\r\\nMore honourable state, more courtship lives\\r\\nIn carrion flies than Romeo. They may seize\\r\\nOn the white wonder of dear Juliet’s hand,\\r\\nAnd steal immortal blessing from her lips,\\r\\nWho, even in pure and vestal modesty\\r\\nStill blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.\\r\\nBut Romeo may not, he is banished.\\r\\nThis may flies do, when I from this must fly.\\r\\nThey are free men but I am banished.\\r\\nAnd say’st thou yet that exile is not death?\\r\\nHadst thou no poison mix’d, no sharp-ground knife,\\r\\nNo sudden mean of death, though ne’er so mean,\\r\\nBut banished to kill me? Banished?\\r\\nO Friar, the damned use that word in hell.\\r\\nHowlings attends it. How hast thou the heart,\\r\\nBeing a divine, a ghostly confessor,\\r\\nA sin-absolver, and my friend profess’d,\\r\\nTo mangle me with that word banished?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThou fond mad man, hear me speak a little,\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO, thou wilt speak again of banishment.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nI’ll give thee armour to keep off that word,\\r\\nAdversity’s sweet milk, philosophy,\\r\\nTo comfort thee, though thou art banished.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nYet banished? Hang up philosophy.\\r\\nUnless philosophy can make a Juliet,\\r\\nDisplant a town, reverse a Prince’s doom,\\r\\nIt helps not, it prevails not, talk no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nO, then I see that mad men have no ears.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHow should they, when that wise men have no eyes?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nLet me dispute with thee of thy estate.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel.\\r\\nWert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,\\r\\nAn hour but married, Tybalt murdered,\\r\\nDoting like me, and like me banished,\\r\\nThen mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair,\\r\\nAnd fall upon the ground as I do now,\\r\\nTaking the measure of an unmade grave.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knocking within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nArise; one knocks. Good Romeo, hide thyself.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNot I, unless the breath of heartsick groans\\r\\nMist-like infold me from the search of eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knocking._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHark, how they knock!—Who’s there?—Romeo, arise,\\r\\nThou wilt be taken.—Stay awhile.—Stand up.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knocking._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRun to my study.—By-and-by.—God’s will,\\r\\nWhat simpleness is this.—I come, I come.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knocking._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWho knocks so hard? Whence come you, what’s your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\n[_Within._] Let me come in, and you shall know my errand.\\r\\nI come from Lady Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nWelcome then.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO holy Friar, O, tell me, holy Friar,\\r\\nWhere is my lady’s lord, where’s Romeo?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThere on the ground, with his own tears made drunk.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO, he is even in my mistress’ case.\\r\\nJust in her case! O woeful sympathy!\\r\\nPiteous predicament. Even so lies she,\\r\\nBlubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering.\\r\\nStand up, stand up; stand, and you be a man.\\r\\nFor Juliet’s sake, for her sake, rise and stand.\\r\\nWhy should you fall into so deep an O?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAh sir, ah sir, death’s the end of all.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSpakest thou of Juliet? How is it with her?\\r\\nDoth not she think me an old murderer,\\r\\nNow I have stain’d the childhood of our joy\\r\\nWith blood remov’d but little from her own?\\r\\nWhere is she? And how doth she? And what says\\r\\nMy conceal’d lady to our cancell’d love?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps;\\r\\nAnd now falls on her bed, and then starts up,\\r\\nAnd Tybalt calls, and then on Romeo cries,\\r\\nAnd then down falls again.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAs if that name,\\r\\nShot from the deadly level of a gun,\\r\\nDid murder her, as that name’s cursed hand\\r\\nMurder’d her kinsman. O, tell me, Friar, tell me,\\r\\nIn what vile part of this anatomy\\r\\nDoth my name lodge? Tell me, that I may sack\\r\\nThe hateful mansion.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Drawing his sword._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHold thy desperate hand.\\r\\nArt thou a man? Thy form cries out thou art.\\r\\nThy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote\\r\\nThe unreasonable fury of a beast.\\r\\nUnseemly woman in a seeming man,\\r\\nAnd ill-beseeming beast in seeming both!\\r\\nThou hast amaz’d me. By my holy order,\\r\\nI thought thy disposition better temper’d.\\r\\nHast thou slain Tybalt? Wilt thou slay thyself?\\r\\nAnd slay thy lady, that in thy life lives,\\r\\nBy doing damned hate upon thyself?\\r\\nWhy rail’st thou on thy birth, the heaven and earth?\\r\\nSince birth, and heaven and earth, all three do meet\\r\\nIn thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose.\\r\\nFie, fie, thou sham’st thy shape, thy love, thy wit,\\r\\nWhich, like a usurer, abound’st in all,\\r\\nAnd usest none in that true use indeed\\r\\nWhich should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit.\\r\\nThy noble shape is but a form of wax,\\r\\nDigressing from the valour of a man;\\r\\nThy dear love sworn but hollow perjury,\\r\\nKilling that love which thou hast vow’d to cherish;\\r\\nThy wit, that ornament to shape and love,\\r\\nMisshapen in the conduct of them both,\\r\\nLike powder in a skilless soldier’s flask,\\r\\nIs set afire by thine own ignorance,\\r\\nAnd thou dismember’d with thine own defence.\\r\\nWhat, rouse thee, man. Thy Juliet is alive,\\r\\nFor whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead.\\r\\nThere art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee,\\r\\nBut thou slew’st Tybalt; there art thou happy.\\r\\nThe law that threaten’d death becomes thy friend,\\r\\nAnd turns it to exile; there art thou happy.\\r\\nA pack of blessings light upon thy back;\\r\\nHappiness courts thee in her best array;\\r\\nBut like a misshaped and sullen wench,\\r\\nThou putt’st up thy Fortune and thy love.\\r\\nTake heed, take heed, for such die miserable.\\r\\nGo, get thee to thy love as was decreed,\\r\\nAscend her chamber, hence and comfort her.\\r\\nBut look thou stay not till the watch be set,\\r\\nFor then thou canst not pass to Mantua;\\r\\nWhere thou shalt live till we can find a time\\r\\nTo blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,\\r\\nBeg pardon of the Prince, and call thee back\\r\\nWith twenty hundred thousand times more joy\\r\\nThan thou went’st forth in lamentation.\\r\\nGo before, Nurse. Commend me to thy lady,\\r\\nAnd bid her hasten all the house to bed,\\r\\nWhich heavy sorrow makes them apt unto.\\r\\nRomeo is coming.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO Lord, I could have stay’d here all the night\\r\\nTo hear good counsel. O, what learning is!\\r\\nMy lord, I’ll tell my lady you will come.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nDo so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nHere sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir.\\r\\nHie you, make haste, for it grows very late.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHow well my comfort is reviv’d by this.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nGo hence, good night, and here stands all your state:\\r\\nEither be gone before the watch be set,\\r\\nOr by the break of day disguis’d from hence.\\r\\nSojourn in Mantua. I’ll find out your man,\\r\\nAnd he shall signify from time to time\\r\\nEvery good hap to you that chances here.\\r\\nGive me thy hand; ’tis late; farewell; good night.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBut that a joy past joy calls out on me,\\r\\nIt were a grief so brief to part with thee.\\r\\nFarewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet and Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nThings have fallen out, sir, so unluckily\\r\\nThat we have had no time to move our daughter.\\r\\nLook you, she lov’d her kinsman Tybalt dearly,\\r\\nAnd so did I. Well, we were born to die.\\r\\n’Tis very late; she’ll not come down tonight.\\r\\nI promise you, but for your company,\\r\\nI would have been abed an hour ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThese times of woe afford no tune to woo.\\r\\nMadam, good night. Commend me to your daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nI will, and know her mind early tomorrow;\\r\\nTonight she’s mew’d up to her heaviness.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nSir Paris, I will make a desperate tender\\r\\nOf my child’s love. I think she will be rul’d\\r\\nIn all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.\\r\\nWife, go you to her ere you go to bed,\\r\\nAcquaint her here of my son Paris’ love,\\r\\nAnd bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next,\\r\\nBut, soft, what day is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nMonday, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nMonday! Ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon,\\r\\nA Thursday let it be; a Thursday, tell her,\\r\\nShe shall be married to this noble earl.\\r\\nWill you be ready? Do you like this haste?\\r\\nWe’ll keep no great ado,—a friend or two,\\r\\nFor, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,\\r\\nIt may be thought we held him carelessly,\\r\\nBeing our kinsman, if we revel much.\\r\\nTherefore we’ll have some half a dozen friends,\\r\\nAnd there an end. But what say you to Thursday?\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nMy lord, I would that Thursday were tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWell, get you gone. A Thursday be it then.\\r\\nGo you to Juliet ere you go to bed,\\r\\nPrepare her, wife, against this wedding day.\\r\\nFarewell, my lord.—Light to my chamber, ho!\\r\\nAfore me, it is so very very late that we\\r\\nMay call it early by and by. Good night.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. An open Gallery to Juliet’s Chamber, overlooking the Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo and Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day.\\r\\nIt was the nightingale, and not the lark,\\r\\nThat pierc’d the fearful hollow of thine ear;\\r\\nNightly she sings on yond pomegranate tree.\\r\\nBelieve me, love, it was the nightingale.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIt was the lark, the herald of the morn,\\r\\nNo nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks\\r\\nDo lace the severing clouds in yonder east.\\r\\nNight’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day\\r\\nStands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.\\r\\nI must be gone and live, or stay and die.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nYond light is not daylight, I know it, I.\\r\\nIt is some meteor that the sun exhales\\r\\nTo be to thee this night a torchbearer\\r\\nAnd light thee on thy way to Mantua.\\r\\nTherefore stay yet, thou need’st not to be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nLet me be ta’en, let me be put to death,\\r\\nI am content, so thou wilt have it so.\\r\\nI’ll say yon grey is not the morning’s eye,\\r\\n’Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia’s brow.\\r\\nNor that is not the lark whose notes do beat\\r\\nThe vaulty heaven so high above our heads.\\r\\nI have more care to stay than will to go.\\r\\nCome, death, and welcome. Juliet wills it so.\\r\\nHow is’t, my soul? Let’s talk. It is not day.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIt is, it is! Hie hence, be gone, away.\\r\\nIt is the lark that sings so out of tune,\\r\\nStraining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.\\r\\nSome say the lark makes sweet division;\\r\\nThis doth not so, for she divideth us.\\r\\nSome say the lark and loathed toad change eyes.\\r\\nO, now I would they had chang’d voices too,\\r\\nSince arm from arm that voice doth us affray,\\r\\nHunting thee hence with hunt’s-up to the day.\\r\\nO now be gone, more light and light it grows.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nMore light and light, more dark and dark our woes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMadam.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNurse?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nYour lady mother is coming to your chamber.\\r\\nThe day is broke, be wary, look about.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThen, window, let day in, and let life out.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nFarewell, farewell, one kiss, and I’ll descend.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Descends._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nArt thou gone so? Love, lord, ay husband, friend,\\r\\nI must hear from thee every day in the hour,\\r\\nFor in a minute there are many days.\\r\\nO, by this count I shall be much in years\\r\\nEre I again behold my Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nFarewell!\\r\\nI will omit no opportunity\\r\\nThat may convey my greetings, love, to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO thinkest thou we shall ever meet again?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI doubt it not, and all these woes shall serve\\r\\nFor sweet discourses in our time to come.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO God! I have an ill-divining soul!\\r\\nMethinks I see thee, now thou art so low,\\r\\nAs one dead in the bottom of a tomb.\\r\\nEither my eyesight fails, or thou look’st pale.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd trust me, love, in my eye so do you.\\r\\nDry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit below._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO Fortune, Fortune! All men call thee fickle,\\r\\nIf thou art fickle, what dost thou with him\\r\\nThat is renown’d for faith? Be fickle, Fortune;\\r\\nFor then, I hope thou wilt not keep him long\\r\\nBut send him back.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\n[_Within._] Ho, daughter, are you up?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWho is’t that calls? Is it my lady mother?\\r\\nIs she not down so late, or up so early?\\r\\nWhat unaccustom’d cause procures her hither?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWhy, how now, Juliet?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nMadam, I am not well.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nEvermore weeping for your cousin’s death?\\r\\nWhat, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?\\r\\nAnd if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live.\\r\\nTherefore have done: some grief shows much of love,\\r\\nBut much of grief shows still some want of wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nYet let me weep for such a feeling loss.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nSo shall you feel the loss, but not the friend\\r\\nWhich you weep for.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nFeeling so the loss,\\r\\nI cannot choose but ever weep the friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWell, girl, thou weep’st not so much for his death\\r\\nAs that the villain lives which slaughter’d him.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat villain, madam?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nThat same villain Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nVillain and he be many miles asunder.\\r\\nGod pardon him. I do, with all my heart.\\r\\nAnd yet no man like he doth grieve my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nThat is because the traitor murderer lives.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAy madam, from the reach of these my hands.\\r\\nWould none but I might venge my cousin’s death.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWe will have vengeance for it, fear thou not.\\r\\nThen weep no more. I’ll send to one in Mantua,\\r\\nWhere that same banish’d runagate doth live,\\r\\nShall give him such an unaccustom’d dram\\r\\nThat he shall soon keep Tybalt company:\\r\\nAnd then I hope thou wilt be satisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIndeed I never shall be satisfied\\r\\nWith Romeo till I behold him—dead—\\r\\nIs my poor heart so for a kinsman vex’d.\\r\\nMadam, if you could find out but a man\\r\\nTo bear a poison, I would temper it,\\r\\nThat Romeo should upon receipt thereof,\\r\\nSoon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors\\r\\nTo hear him nam’d, and cannot come to him,\\r\\nTo wreak the love I bore my cousin\\r\\nUpon his body that hath slaughter’d him.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nFind thou the means, and I’ll find such a man.\\r\\nBut now I’ll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAnd joy comes well in such a needy time.\\r\\nWhat are they, I beseech your ladyship?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWell, well, thou hast a careful father, child;\\r\\nOne who to put thee from thy heaviness,\\r\\nHath sorted out a sudden day of joy,\\r\\nThat thou expects not, nor I look’d not for.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nMadam, in happy time, what day is that?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nMarry, my child, early next Thursday morn\\r\\nThe gallant, young, and noble gentleman,\\r\\nThe County Paris, at Saint Peter’s Church,\\r\\nShall happily make thee there a joyful bride.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNow by Saint Peter’s Church, and Peter too,\\r\\nHe shall not make me there a joyful bride.\\r\\nI wonder at this haste, that I must wed\\r\\nEre he that should be husband comes to woo.\\r\\nI pray you tell my lord and father, madam,\\r\\nI will not marry yet; and when I do, I swear\\r\\nIt shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,\\r\\nRather than Paris. These are news indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nHere comes your father, tell him so yourself,\\r\\nAnd see how he will take it at your hands.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet and Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhen the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew;\\r\\nBut for the sunset of my brother’s son\\r\\nIt rains downright.\\r\\nHow now? A conduit, girl? What, still in tears?\\r\\nEvermore showering? In one little body\\r\\nThou counterfeits a bark, a sea, a wind.\\r\\nFor still thy eyes, which I may call the sea,\\r\\nDo ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is,\\r\\nSailing in this salt flood, the winds, thy sighs,\\r\\nWho raging with thy tears and they with them,\\r\\nWithout a sudden calm will overset\\r\\nThy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife?\\r\\nHave you deliver’d to her our decree?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nAy, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks.\\r\\nI would the fool were married to her grave.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nSoft. Take me with you, take me with you, wife.\\r\\nHow, will she none? Doth she not give us thanks?\\r\\nIs she not proud? Doth she not count her blest,\\r\\nUnworthy as she is, that we have wrought\\r\\nSo worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNot proud you have, but thankful that you have.\\r\\nProud can I never be of what I hate;\\r\\nBut thankful even for hate that is meant love.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHow now, how now, chopp’d logic? What is this?\\r\\nProud, and, I thank you, and I thank you not;\\r\\nAnd yet not proud. Mistress minion you,\\r\\nThank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,\\r\\nBut fettle your fine joints ’gainst Thursday next\\r\\nTo go with Paris to Saint Peter’s Church,\\r\\nOr I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.\\r\\nOut, you green-sickness carrion! Out, you baggage!\\r\\nYou tallow-face!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nFie, fie! What, are you mad?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGood father, I beseech you on my knees,\\r\\nHear me with patience but to speak a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHang thee young baggage, disobedient wretch!\\r\\nI tell thee what,—get thee to church a Thursday,\\r\\nOr never after look me in the face.\\r\\nSpeak not, reply not, do not answer me.\\r\\nMy fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest\\r\\nThat God had lent us but this only child;\\r\\nBut now I see this one is one too much,\\r\\nAnd that we have a curse in having her.\\r\\nOut on her, hilding.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nGod in heaven bless her.\\r\\nYou are to blame, my lord, to rate her so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nAnd why, my lady wisdom? Hold your tongue,\\r\\nGood prudence; smatter with your gossips, go.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI speak no treason.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nO God ye good-en!\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMay not one speak?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nPeace, you mumbling fool!\\r\\nUtter your gravity o’er a gossip’s bowl,\\r\\nFor here we need it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nYou are too hot.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nGod’s bread, it makes me mad!\\r\\nDay, night, hour, ride, time, work, play,\\r\\nAlone, in company, still my care hath been\\r\\nTo have her match’d, and having now provided\\r\\nA gentleman of noble parentage,\\r\\nOf fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly allied,\\r\\nStuff’d, as they say, with honourable parts,\\r\\nProportion’d as one’s thought would wish a man,\\r\\nAnd then to have a wretched puling fool,\\r\\nA whining mammet, in her fortune’s tender,\\r\\nTo answer, ‘I’ll not wed, I cannot love,\\r\\nI am too young, I pray you pardon me.’\\r\\nBut, and you will not wed, I’ll pardon you.\\r\\nGraze where you will, you shall not house with me.\\r\\nLook to’t, think on’t, I do not use to jest.\\r\\nThursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise.\\r\\nAnd you be mine, I’ll give you to my friend;\\r\\nAnd you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets,\\r\\nFor by my soul, I’ll ne’er acknowledge thee,\\r\\nNor what is mine shall never do thee good.\\r\\nTrust to’t, bethink you, I’ll not be forsworn.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIs there no pity sitting in the clouds,\\r\\nThat sees into the bottom of my grief?\\r\\nO sweet my mother, cast me not away,\\r\\nDelay this marriage for a month, a week,\\r\\nOr, if you do not, make the bridal bed\\r\\nIn that dim monument where Tybalt lies.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nTalk not to me, for I’ll not speak a word.\\r\\nDo as thou wilt, for I have done with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO God! O Nurse, how shall this be prevented?\\r\\nMy husband is on earth, my faith in heaven.\\r\\nHow shall that faith return again to earth,\\r\\nUnless that husband send it me from heaven\\r\\nBy leaving earth? Comfort me, counsel me.\\r\\nAlack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems\\r\\nUpon so soft a subject as myself.\\r\\nWhat say’st thou? Hast thou not a word of joy?\\r\\nSome comfort, Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nFaith, here it is.\\r\\nRomeo is banished; and all the world to nothing\\r\\nThat he dares ne’er come back to challenge you.\\r\\nOr if he do, it needs must be by stealth.\\r\\nThen, since the case so stands as now it doth,\\r\\nI think it best you married with the County.\\r\\nO, he’s a lovely gentleman.\\r\\nRomeo’s a dishclout to him. An eagle, madam,\\r\\nHath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye\\r\\nAs Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,\\r\\nI think you are happy in this second match,\\r\\nFor it excels your first: or if it did not,\\r\\nYour first is dead, or ’twere as good he were,\\r\\nAs living here and you no use of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nSpeakest thou from thy heart?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAnd from my soul too,\\r\\nOr else beshrew them both.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWhat?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWell, thou hast comforted me marvellous much.\\r\\nGo in, and tell my lady I am gone,\\r\\nHaving displeas’d my father, to Lawrence’ cell,\\r\\nTo make confession and to be absolv’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMarry, I will; and this is wisely done.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAncient damnation! O most wicked fiend!\\r\\nIs it more sin to wish me thus forsworn,\\r\\nOr to dispraise my lord with that same tongue\\r\\nWhich she hath prais’d him with above compare\\r\\nSo many thousand times? Go, counsellor.\\r\\nThou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain.\\r\\nI’ll to the Friar to know his remedy.\\r\\nIf all else fail, myself have power to die.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nOn Thursday, sir? The time is very short.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nMy father Capulet will have it so;\\r\\nAnd I am nothing slow to slack his haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nYou say you do not know the lady’s mind.\\r\\nUneven is the course; I like it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nImmoderately she weeps for Tybalt’s death,\\r\\nAnd therefore have I little talk’d of love;\\r\\nFor Venus smiles not in a house of tears.\\r\\nNow, sir, her father counts it dangerous\\r\\nThat she do give her sorrow so much sway;\\r\\nAnd in his wisdom, hastes our marriage,\\r\\nTo stop the inundation of her tears,\\r\\nWhich, too much minded by herself alone,\\r\\nMay be put from her by society.\\r\\nNow do you know the reason of this haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I would I knew not why it should be slow’d.—\\r\\nLook, sir, here comes the lady toward my cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHappily met, my lady and my wife!\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThat may be, sir, when I may be a wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThat may be, must be, love, on Thursday next.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat must be shall be.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThat’s a certain text.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nCome you to make confession to this father?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nTo answer that, I should confess to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nDo not deny to him that you love me.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI will confess to you that I love him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nSo will ye, I am sure, that you love me.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIf I do so, it will be of more price,\\r\\nBeing spoke behind your back than to your face.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nPoor soul, thy face is much abus’d with tears.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThe tears have got small victory by that;\\r\\nFor it was bad enough before their spite.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThou wrong’st it more than tears with that report.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThat is no slander, sir, which is a truth,\\r\\nAnd what I spake, I spake it to my face.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThy face is mine, and thou hast slander’d it.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIt may be so, for it is not mine own.\\r\\nAre you at leisure, holy father, now,\\r\\nOr shall I come to you at evening mass?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nMy leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.—\\r\\nMy lord, we must entreat the time alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nGod shield I should disturb devotion!—\\r\\nJuliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye,\\r\\nTill then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO shut the door, and when thou hast done so,\\r\\nCome weep with me, past hope, past cure, past help!\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nO Juliet, I already know thy grief;\\r\\nIt strains me past the compass of my wits.\\r\\nI hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it,\\r\\nOn Thursday next be married to this County.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nTell me not, Friar, that thou hear’st of this,\\r\\nUnless thou tell me how I may prevent it.\\r\\nIf in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help,\\r\\nDo thou but call my resolution wise,\\r\\nAnd with this knife I’ll help it presently.\\r\\nGod join’d my heart and Romeo’s, thou our hands;\\r\\nAnd ere this hand, by thee to Romeo’s seal’d,\\r\\nShall be the label to another deed,\\r\\nOr my true heart with treacherous revolt\\r\\nTurn to another, this shall slay them both.\\r\\nTherefore, out of thy long-experienc’d time,\\r\\nGive me some present counsel, or behold\\r\\n’Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife\\r\\nShall play the empire, arbitrating that\\r\\nWhich the commission of thy years and art\\r\\nCould to no issue of true honour bring.\\r\\nBe not so long to speak. I long to die,\\r\\nIf what thou speak’st speak not of remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHold, daughter. I do spy a kind of hope,\\r\\nWhich craves as desperate an execution\\r\\nAs that is desperate which we would prevent.\\r\\nIf, rather than to marry County Paris\\r\\nThou hast the strength of will to slay thyself,\\r\\nThen is it likely thou wilt undertake\\r\\nA thing like death to chide away this shame,\\r\\nThat cop’st with death himself to scape from it.\\r\\nAnd if thou dar’st, I’ll give thee remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,\\r\\nFrom off the battlements of yonder tower,\\r\\nOr walk in thievish ways, or bid me lurk\\r\\nWhere serpents are. Chain me with roaring bears;\\r\\nOr hide me nightly in a charnel-house,\\r\\nO’er-cover’d quite with dead men’s rattling bones,\\r\\nWith reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls.\\r\\nOr bid me go into a new-made grave,\\r\\nAnd hide me with a dead man in his shroud;\\r\\nThings that, to hear them told, have made me tremble,\\r\\nAnd I will do it without fear or doubt,\\r\\nTo live an unstain’d wife to my sweet love.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHold then. Go home, be merry, give consent\\r\\nTo marry Paris. Wednesday is tomorrow;\\r\\nTomorrow night look that thou lie alone,\\r\\nLet not thy Nurse lie with thee in thy chamber.\\r\\nTake thou this vial, being then in bed,\\r\\nAnd this distilled liquor drink thou off,\\r\\nWhen presently through all thy veins shall run\\r\\nA cold and drowsy humour; for no pulse\\r\\nShall keep his native progress, but surcease.\\r\\nNo warmth, no breath shall testify thou livest,\\r\\nThe roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade\\r\\nTo paly ashes; thy eyes’ windows fall,\\r\\nLike death when he shuts up the day of life.\\r\\nEach part depriv’d of supple government,\\r\\nShall stiff and stark and cold appear like death.\\r\\nAnd in this borrow’d likeness of shrunk death\\r\\nThou shalt continue two and forty hours,\\r\\nAnd then awake as from a pleasant sleep.\\r\\nNow when the bridegroom in the morning comes\\r\\nTo rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead.\\r\\nThen as the manner of our country is,\\r\\nIn thy best robes, uncover’d, on the bier,\\r\\nThou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault\\r\\nWhere all the kindred of the Capulets lie.\\r\\nIn the meantime, against thou shalt awake,\\r\\nShall Romeo by my letters know our drift,\\r\\nAnd hither shall he come, and he and I\\r\\nWill watch thy waking, and that very night\\r\\nShall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua.\\r\\nAnd this shall free thee from this present shame,\\r\\nIf no inconstant toy nor womanish fear\\r\\nAbate thy valour in the acting it.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGive me, give me! O tell not me of fear!\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHold; get you gone, be strong and prosperous\\r\\nIn this resolve. I’ll send a friar with speed\\r\\nTo Mantua, with my letters to thy lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nLove give me strength, and strength shall help afford.\\r\\nFarewell, dear father.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, Nurse and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nSo many guests invite as here are writ.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit first Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nYou shall have none ill, sir; for I’ll try if they can lick their\\r\\nfingers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHow canst thou try them so?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nMarry, sir, ’tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers;\\r\\ntherefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nGo, begone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit second Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWe shall be much unfurnish’d for this time.\\r\\nWhat, is my daughter gone to Friar Lawrence?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAy, forsooth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWell, he may chance to do some good on her.\\r\\nA peevish self-will’d harlotry it is.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nSee where she comes from shrift with merry look.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHow now, my headstrong. Where have you been gadding?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhere I have learnt me to repent the sin\\r\\nOf disobedient opposition\\r\\nTo you and your behests; and am enjoin’d\\r\\nBy holy Lawrence to fall prostrate here,\\r\\nTo beg your pardon. Pardon, I beseech you.\\r\\nHenceforward I am ever rul’d by you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nSend for the County, go tell him of this.\\r\\nI’ll have this knot knit up tomorrow morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI met the youthful lord at Lawrence’ cell,\\r\\nAnd gave him what becomed love I might,\\r\\nNot stepping o’er the bounds of modesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhy, I am glad on’t. This is well. Stand up.\\r\\nThis is as’t should be. Let me see the County.\\r\\nAy, marry. Go, I say, and fetch him hither.\\r\\nNow afore God, this reverend holy Friar,\\r\\nAll our whole city is much bound to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNurse, will you go with me into my closet,\\r\\nTo help me sort such needful ornaments\\r\\nAs you think fit to furnish me tomorrow?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nNo, not till Thursday. There is time enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nGo, Nurse, go with her. We’ll to church tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Juliet and Nurse._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWe shall be short in our provision,\\r\\n’Tis now near night.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nTush, I will stir about,\\r\\nAnd all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife.\\r\\nGo thou to Juliet, help to deck up her.\\r\\nI’ll not to bed tonight, let me alone.\\r\\nI’ll play the housewife for this once.—What, ho!—\\r\\nThey are all forth: well, I will walk myself\\r\\nTo County Paris, to prepare him up\\r\\nAgainst tomorrow. My heart is wondrous light\\r\\nSince this same wayward girl is so reclaim’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Juliet’s Chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet and Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAy, those attires are best. But, gentle Nurse,\\r\\nI pray thee leave me to myself tonight;\\r\\nFor I have need of many orisons\\r\\nTo move the heavens to smile upon my state,\\r\\nWhich, well thou know’st, is cross and full of sin.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWhat, are you busy, ho? Need you my help?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNo, madam; we have cull’d such necessaries\\r\\nAs are behoveful for our state tomorrow.\\r\\nSo please you, let me now be left alone,\\r\\nAnd let the nurse this night sit up with you,\\r\\nFor I am sure you have your hands full all\\r\\nIn this so sudden business.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nGood night.\\r\\nGet thee to bed and rest, for thou hast need.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nFarewell. God knows when we shall meet again.\\r\\nI have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins\\r\\nThat almost freezes up the heat of life.\\r\\nI’ll call them back again to comfort me.\\r\\nNurse!—What should she do here?\\r\\nMy dismal scene I needs must act alone.\\r\\nCome, vial.\\r\\nWhat if this mixture do not work at all?\\r\\nShall I be married then tomorrow morning?\\r\\nNo, No! This shall forbid it. Lie thou there.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Laying down her dagger._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat if it be a poison, which the Friar\\r\\nSubtly hath minister’d to have me dead,\\r\\nLest in this marriage he should be dishonour’d,\\r\\nBecause he married me before to Romeo?\\r\\nI fear it is. And yet methinks it should not,\\r\\nFor he hath still been tried a holy man.\\r\\nHow if, when I am laid into the tomb,\\r\\nI wake before the time that Romeo\\r\\nCome to redeem me? There’s a fearful point!\\r\\nShall I not then be stifled in the vault,\\r\\nTo whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,\\r\\nAnd there die strangled ere my Romeo comes?\\r\\nOr, if I live, is it not very like,\\r\\nThe horrible conceit of death and night,\\r\\nTogether with the terror of the place,\\r\\nAs in a vault, an ancient receptacle,\\r\\nWhere for this many hundred years the bones\\r\\nOf all my buried ancestors are pack’d,\\r\\nWhere bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,\\r\\nLies festering in his shroud; where, as they say,\\r\\nAt some hours in the night spirits resort—\\r\\nAlack, alack, is it not like that I,\\r\\nSo early waking, what with loathsome smells,\\r\\nAnd shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth,\\r\\nThat living mortals, hearing them, run mad.\\r\\nO, if I wake, shall I not be distraught,\\r\\nEnvironed with all these hideous fears,\\r\\nAnd madly play with my forefathers’ joints?\\r\\nAnd pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud?\\r\\nAnd, in this rage, with some great kinsman’s bone,\\r\\nAs with a club, dash out my desperate brains?\\r\\nO look, methinks I see my cousin’s ghost\\r\\nSeeking out Romeo that did spit his body\\r\\nUpon a rapier’s point. Stay, Tybalt, stay!\\r\\nRomeo, Romeo, Romeo, here’s drink! I drink to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Throws herself on the bed._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nHold, take these keys and fetch more spices, Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nThey call for dates and quinces in the pastry.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nCome, stir, stir, stir! The second cock hath crow’d,\\r\\nThe curfew bell hath rung, ’tis three o’clock.\\r\\nLook to the bak’d meats, good Angelica;\\r\\nSpare not for cost.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nGo, you cot-quean, go,\\r\\nGet you to bed; faith, you’ll be sick tomorrow\\r\\nFor this night’s watching.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nNo, not a whit. What! I have watch’d ere now\\r\\nAll night for lesser cause, and ne’er been sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nAy, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time;\\r\\nBut I will watch you from such watching now.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nA jealous-hood, a jealous-hood!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Servants, with spits, logs and baskets.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, fellow, what’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nThings for the cook, sir; but I know not what.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nMake haste, make haste.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit First Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\n—Sirrah, fetch drier logs.\\r\\nCall Peter, he will show thee where they are.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nI have a head, sir, that will find out logs\\r\\nAnd never trouble Peter for the matter.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nMass and well said; a merry whoreson, ha.\\r\\nThou shalt be loggerhead.—Good faith, ’tis day.\\r\\nThe County will be here with music straight,\\r\\nFor so he said he would. I hear him near.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Play music._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNurse! Wife! What, ho! What, Nurse, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nGo waken Juliet, go and trim her up.\\r\\nI’ll go and chat with Paris. Hie, make haste,\\r\\nMake haste; the bridegroom he is come already.\\r\\nMake haste I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Juliet’s Chamber; Juliet on the bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMistress! What, mistress! Juliet! Fast, I warrant her, she.\\r\\nWhy, lamb, why, lady, fie, you slug-abed!\\r\\nWhy, love, I say! Madam! Sweetheart! Why, bride!\\r\\nWhat, not a word? You take your pennyworths now.\\r\\nSleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant,\\r\\nThe County Paris hath set up his rest\\r\\nThat you shall rest but little. God forgive me!\\r\\nMarry and amen. How sound is she asleep!\\r\\nI needs must wake her. Madam, madam, madam!\\r\\nAy, let the County take you in your bed,\\r\\nHe’ll fright you up, i’faith. Will it not be?\\r\\nWhat, dress’d, and in your clothes, and down again?\\r\\nI must needs wake you. Lady! Lady! Lady!\\r\\nAlas, alas! Help, help! My lady’s dead!\\r\\nO, well-a-day that ever I was born.\\r\\nSome aqua vitae, ho! My lord! My lady!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWhat noise is here?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO lamentable day!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWhat is the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nLook, look! O heavy day!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nO me, O me! My child, my only life.\\r\\nRevive, look up, or I will die with thee.\\r\\nHelp, help! Call help.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nFor shame, bring Juliet forth, her lord is come.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nShe’s dead, deceas’d, she’s dead; alack the day!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nAlack the day, she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead!\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHa! Let me see her. Out alas! She’s cold,\\r\\nHer blood is settled and her joints are stiff.\\r\\nLife and these lips have long been separated.\\r\\nDeath lies on her like an untimely frost\\r\\nUpon the sweetest flower of all the field.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO lamentable day!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nO woful time!\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nDeath, that hath ta’en her hence to make me wail,\\r\\nTies up my tongue and will not let me speak.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris with Musicians.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nCome, is the bride ready to go to church?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nReady to go, but never to return.\\r\\nO son, the night before thy wedding day\\r\\nHath death lain with thy bride. There she lies,\\r\\nFlower as she was, deflowered by him.\\r\\nDeath is my son-in-law, death is my heir;\\r\\nMy daughter he hath wedded. I will die.\\r\\nAnd leave him all; life, living, all is death’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHave I thought long to see this morning’s face,\\r\\nAnd doth it give me such a sight as this?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nAccurs’d, unhappy, wretched, hateful day.\\r\\nMost miserable hour that e’er time saw\\r\\nIn lasting labour of his pilgrimage.\\r\\nBut one, poor one, one poor and loving child,\\r\\nBut one thing to rejoice and solace in,\\r\\nAnd cruel death hath catch’d it from my sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day.\\r\\nMost lamentable day, most woeful day\\r\\nThat ever, ever, I did yet behold!\\r\\nO day, O day, O day, O hateful day.\\r\\nNever was seen so black a day as this.\\r\\nO woeful day, O woeful day.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nBeguil’d, divorced, wronged, spited, slain.\\r\\nMost detestable death, by thee beguil’d,\\r\\nBy cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown.\\r\\nO love! O life! Not life, but love in death!\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nDespis’d, distressed, hated, martyr’d, kill’d.\\r\\nUncomfortable time, why cam’st thou now\\r\\nTo murder, murder our solemnity?\\r\\nO child! O child! My soul, and not my child,\\r\\nDead art thou. Alack, my child is dead,\\r\\nAnd with my child my joys are buried.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nPeace, ho, for shame. Confusion’s cure lives not\\r\\nIn these confusions. Heaven and yourself\\r\\nHad part in this fair maid, now heaven hath all,\\r\\nAnd all the better is it for the maid.\\r\\nYour part in her you could not keep from death,\\r\\nBut heaven keeps his part in eternal life.\\r\\nThe most you sought was her promotion,\\r\\nFor ’twas your heaven she should be advanc’d,\\r\\nAnd weep ye now, seeing she is advanc’d\\r\\nAbove the clouds, as high as heaven itself?\\r\\nO, in this love, you love your child so ill\\r\\nThat you run mad, seeing that she is well.\\r\\nShe’s not well married that lives married long,\\r\\nBut she’s best married that dies married young.\\r\\nDry up your tears, and stick your rosemary\\r\\nOn this fair corse, and, as the custom is,\\r\\nAnd in her best array bear her to church;\\r\\nFor though fond nature bids us all lament,\\r\\nYet nature’s tears are reason’s merriment.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nAll things that we ordained festival\\r\\nTurn from their office to black funeral:\\r\\nOur instruments to melancholy bells,\\r\\nOur wedding cheer to a sad burial feast;\\r\\nOur solemn hymns to sullen dirges change;\\r\\nOur bridal flowers serve for a buried corse,\\r\\nAnd all things change them to the contrary.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nSir, go you in, and, madam, go with him,\\r\\nAnd go, Sir Paris, everyone prepare\\r\\nTo follow this fair corse unto her grave.\\r\\nThe heavens do lower upon you for some ill;\\r\\nMove them no more by crossing their high will.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris and Friar._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nFaith, we may put up our pipes and be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nHonest good fellows, ah, put up, put up,\\r\\nFor well you know this is a pitiful case.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nAy, by my troth, the case may be amended.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Nurse._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Peter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nMusicians, O, musicians, ‘Heart’s ease,’ ‘Heart’s ease’, O, and you\\r\\nwill have me live, play ‘Heart’s ease.’\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWhy ‘Heart’s ease’?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nO musicians, because my heart itself plays ‘My heart is full’. O play\\r\\nme some merry dump to comfort me.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nNot a dump we, ’tis no time to play now.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nYou will not then?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nI will then give it you soundly.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWhat will you give us?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nNo money, on my faith, but the gleek! I will give you the minstrel.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nThen will I give you the serving-creature.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nThen will I lay the serving-creature’s dagger on your pate. I will\\r\\ncarry no crotchets. I’ll re you, I’ll fa you. Do you note me?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nAnd you re us and fa us, you note us.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MUSICIAN.\\r\\nPray you put up your dagger, and put out your wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nThen have at you with my wit. I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and\\r\\nput up my iron dagger. Answer me like men.\\r\\n ‘When griping griefs the heart doth wound,\\r\\n And doleful dumps the mind oppress,\\r\\n Then music with her silver sound’—\\r\\nWhy ‘silver sound’? Why ‘music with her silver sound’? What say you,\\r\\nSimon Catling?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nMarry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nPrates. What say you, Hugh Rebeck?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MUSICIAN.\\r\\nI say ‘silver sound’ because musicians sound for silver.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nPrates too! What say you, James Soundpost?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD MUSICIAN.\\r\\nFaith, I know not what to say.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nO, I cry you mercy, you are the singer. I will say for you. It is\\r\\n‘music with her silver sound’ because musicians have no gold for\\r\\nsounding.\\r\\n ‘Then music with her silver sound\\r\\n With speedy help doth lend redress.’\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWhat a pestilent knave is this same!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MUSICIAN.\\r\\nHang him, Jack. Come, we’ll in here, tarry for the mourners, and stay\\r\\ndinner.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Mantua. A Street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIf I may trust the flattering eye of sleep,\\r\\nMy dreams presage some joyful news at hand.\\r\\nMy bosom’s lord sits lightly in his throne;\\r\\nAnd all this day an unaccustom’d spirit\\r\\nLifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.\\r\\nI dreamt my lady came and found me dead,—\\r\\nStrange dream, that gives a dead man leave to think!—\\r\\nAnd breath’d such life with kisses in my lips,\\r\\nThat I reviv’d, and was an emperor.\\r\\nAh me, how sweet is love itself possess’d,\\r\\nWhen but love’s shadows are so rich in joy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Balthasar.\\r\\n\\r\\nNews from Verona! How now, Balthasar?\\r\\nDost thou not bring me letters from the Friar?\\r\\nHow doth my lady? Is my father well?\\r\\nHow fares my Juliet? That I ask again;\\r\\nFor nothing can be ill if she be well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nThen she is well, and nothing can be ill.\\r\\nHer body sleeps in Capel’s monument,\\r\\nAnd her immortal part with angels lives.\\r\\nI saw her laid low in her kindred’s vault,\\r\\nAnd presently took post to tell it you.\\r\\nO pardon me for bringing these ill news,\\r\\nSince you did leave it for my office, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIs it even so? Then I defy you, stars!\\r\\nThou know’st my lodging. Get me ink and paper,\\r\\nAnd hire post-horses. I will hence tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nI do beseech you sir, have patience.\\r\\nYour looks are pale and wild, and do import\\r\\nSome misadventure.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nTush, thou art deceiv’d.\\r\\nLeave me, and do the thing I bid thee do.\\r\\nHast thou no letters to me from the Friar?\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nNo, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNo matter. Get thee gone,\\r\\nAnd hire those horses. I’ll be with thee straight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Balthasar._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWell, Juliet, I will lie with thee tonight.\\r\\nLet’s see for means. O mischief thou art swift\\r\\nTo enter in the thoughts of desperate men.\\r\\nI do remember an apothecary,—\\r\\nAnd hereabouts he dwells,—which late I noted\\r\\nIn tatter’d weeds, with overwhelming brows,\\r\\nCulling of simples, meagre were his looks,\\r\\nSharp misery had worn him to the bones;\\r\\nAnd in his needy shop a tortoise hung,\\r\\nAn alligator stuff’d, and other skins\\r\\nOf ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves\\r\\nA beggarly account of empty boxes,\\r\\nGreen earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,\\r\\nRemnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses\\r\\nWere thinly scatter’d, to make up a show.\\r\\nNoting this penury, to myself I said,\\r\\nAnd if a man did need a poison now,\\r\\nWhose sale is present death in Mantua,\\r\\nHere lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.\\r\\nO, this same thought did but forerun my need,\\r\\nAnd this same needy man must sell it me.\\r\\nAs I remember, this should be the house.\\r\\nBeing holiday, the beggar’s shop is shut.\\r\\nWhat, ho! Apothecary!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Apothecary.\\r\\n\\r\\nAPOTHECARY.\\r\\nWho calls so loud?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nCome hither, man. I see that thou art poor.\\r\\nHold, there is forty ducats. Let me have\\r\\nA dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear\\r\\nAs will disperse itself through all the veins,\\r\\nThat the life-weary taker may fall dead,\\r\\nAnd that the trunk may be discharg’d of breath\\r\\nAs violently as hasty powder fir’d\\r\\nDoth hurry from the fatal cannon’s womb.\\r\\n\\r\\nAPOTHECARY.\\r\\nSuch mortal drugs I have, but Mantua’s law\\r\\nIs death to any he that utters them.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nArt thou so bare and full of wretchedness,\\r\\nAnd fear’st to die? Famine is in thy cheeks,\\r\\nNeed and oppression starveth in thine eyes,\\r\\nContempt and beggary hangs upon thy back.\\r\\nThe world is not thy friend, nor the world’s law;\\r\\nThe world affords no law to make thee rich;\\r\\nThen be not poor, but break it and take this.\\r\\n\\r\\nAPOTHECARY.\\r\\nMy poverty, but not my will consents.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI pay thy poverty, and not thy will.\\r\\n\\r\\nAPOTHECARY.\\r\\nPut this in any liquid thing you will\\r\\nAnd drink it off; and, if you had the strength\\r\\nOf twenty men, it would despatch you straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThere is thy gold, worse poison to men’s souls,\\r\\nDoing more murder in this loathsome world\\r\\nThan these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.\\r\\nI sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none.\\r\\nFarewell, buy food, and get thyself in flesh.\\r\\nCome, cordial and not poison, go with me\\r\\nTo Juliet’s grave, for there must I use thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar John.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR JOHN.\\r\\nHoly Franciscan Friar! Brother, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThis same should be the voice of Friar John.\\r\\nWelcome from Mantua. What says Romeo?\\r\\nOr, if his mind be writ, give me his letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR JOHN.\\r\\nGoing to find a barefoot brother out,\\r\\nOne of our order, to associate me,\\r\\nHere in this city visiting the sick,\\r\\nAnd finding him, the searchers of the town,\\r\\nSuspecting that we both were in a house\\r\\nWhere the infectious pestilence did reign,\\r\\nSeal’d up the doors, and would not let us forth,\\r\\nSo that my speed to Mantua there was stay’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nWho bare my letter then to Romeo?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR JOHN.\\r\\nI could not send it,—here it is again,—\\r\\nNor get a messenger to bring it thee,\\r\\nSo fearful were they of infection.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nUnhappy fortune! By my brotherhood,\\r\\nThe letter was not nice, but full of charge,\\r\\nOf dear import, and the neglecting it\\r\\nMay do much danger. Friar John, go hence,\\r\\nGet me an iron crow and bring it straight\\r\\nUnto my cell.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR JOHN.\\r\\nBrother, I’ll go and bring it thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nNow must I to the monument alone.\\r\\nWithin this three hours will fair Juliet wake.\\r\\nShe will beshrew me much that Romeo\\r\\nHath had no notice of these accidents;\\r\\nBut I will write again to Mantua,\\r\\nAnd keep her at my cell till Romeo come.\\r\\nPoor living corse, clos’d in a dead man’s tomb.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A churchyard; in it a Monument belonging to the Capulets.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paris, and his Page bearing flowers and a torch.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nGive me thy torch, boy. Hence and stand aloof.\\r\\nYet put it out, for I would not be seen.\\r\\nUnder yond yew tree lay thee all along,\\r\\nHolding thy ear close to the hollow ground;\\r\\nSo shall no foot upon the churchyard tread,\\r\\nBeing loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves,\\r\\nBut thou shalt hear it. Whistle then to me,\\r\\nAs signal that thou hear’st something approach.\\r\\nGive me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I am almost afraid to stand alone\\r\\nHere in the churchyard; yet I will adventure.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Retires._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nSweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew.\\r\\nO woe, thy canopy is dust and stones,\\r\\nWhich with sweet water nightly I will dew,\\r\\nOr wanting that, with tears distill’d by moans.\\r\\nThe obsequies that I for thee will keep,\\r\\nNightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Page whistles._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe boy gives warning something doth approach.\\r\\nWhat cursed foot wanders this way tonight,\\r\\nTo cross my obsequies and true love’s rite?\\r\\nWhat, with a torch! Muffle me, night, awhile.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Retires._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo and Balthasar with a torch, mattock, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGive me that mattock and the wrenching iron.\\r\\nHold, take this letter; early in the morning\\r\\nSee thou deliver it to my lord and father.\\r\\nGive me the light; upon thy life I charge thee,\\r\\nWhate’er thou hear’st or seest, stand all aloof\\r\\nAnd do not interrupt me in my course.\\r\\nWhy I descend into this bed of death\\r\\nIs partly to behold my lady’s face,\\r\\nBut chiefly to take thence from her dead finger\\r\\nA precious ring, a ring that I must use\\r\\nIn dear employment. Therefore hence, be gone.\\r\\nBut if thou jealous dost return to pry\\r\\nIn what I further shall intend to do,\\r\\nBy heaven I will tear thee joint by joint,\\r\\nAnd strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs.\\r\\nThe time and my intents are savage-wild;\\r\\nMore fierce and more inexorable far\\r\\nThan empty tigers or the roaring sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nI will be gone, sir, and not trouble you.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSo shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that.\\r\\nLive, and be prosperous, and farewell, good fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nFor all this same, I’ll hide me hereabout.\\r\\nHis looks I fear, and his intents I doubt.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Retires_]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThou detestable maw, thou womb of death,\\r\\nGorg’d with the dearest morsel of the earth,\\r\\nThus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Breaking open the door of the monument._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd in despite, I’ll cram thee with more food.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThis is that banish’d haughty Montague\\r\\nThat murder’d my love’s cousin,—with which grief,\\r\\nIt is supposed, the fair creature died,—\\r\\nAnd here is come to do some villanous shame\\r\\nTo the dead bodies. I will apprehend him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Advances._]\\r\\n\\r\\nStop thy unhallow’d toil, vile Montague.\\r\\nCan vengeance be pursu’d further than death?\\r\\nCondemned villain, I do apprehend thee.\\r\\nObey, and go with me, for thou must die.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI must indeed; and therefore came I hither.\\r\\nGood gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man.\\r\\nFly hence and leave me. Think upon these gone;\\r\\nLet them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth,\\r\\nPut not another sin upon my head\\r\\nBy urging me to fury. O be gone.\\r\\nBy heaven I love thee better than myself;\\r\\nFor I come hither arm’d against myself.\\r\\nStay not, be gone, live, and hereafter say,\\r\\nA madman’s mercy bid thee run away.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nI do defy thy conjuration,\\r\\nAnd apprehend thee for a felon here.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWilt thou provoke me? Then have at thee, boy!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nO lord, they fight! I will go call the watch.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nO, I am slain! [_Falls._] If thou be merciful,\\r\\nOpen the tomb, lay me with Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIn faith, I will. Let me peruse this face.\\r\\nMercutio’s kinsman, noble County Paris!\\r\\nWhat said my man, when my betossed soul\\r\\nDid not attend him as we rode? I think\\r\\nHe told me Paris should have married Juliet.\\r\\nSaid he not so? Or did I dream it so?\\r\\nOr am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet,\\r\\nTo think it was so? O, give me thy hand,\\r\\nOne writ with me in sour misfortune’s book.\\r\\nI’ll bury thee in a triumphant grave.\\r\\nA grave? O no, a lantern, slaught’red youth,\\r\\nFor here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes\\r\\nThis vault a feasting presence full of light.\\r\\nDeath, lie thou there, by a dead man interr’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Laying Paris in the monument._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow oft when men are at the point of death\\r\\nHave they been merry! Which their keepers call\\r\\nA lightning before death. O, how may I\\r\\nCall this a lightning? O my love, my wife,\\r\\nDeath that hath suck’d the honey of thy breath,\\r\\nHath had no power yet upon thy beauty.\\r\\nThou art not conquer’d. Beauty’s ensign yet\\r\\nIs crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,\\r\\nAnd death’s pale flag is not advanced there.\\r\\nTybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet?\\r\\nO, what more favour can I do to thee\\r\\nThan with that hand that cut thy youth in twain\\r\\nTo sunder his that was thine enemy?\\r\\nForgive me, cousin. Ah, dear Juliet,\\r\\nWhy art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe\\r\\nThat unsubstantial death is amorous;\\r\\nAnd that the lean abhorred monster keeps\\r\\nThee here in dark to be his paramour?\\r\\nFor fear of that I still will stay with thee,\\r\\nAnd never from this palace of dim night\\r\\nDepart again. Here, here will I remain\\r\\nWith worms that are thy chambermaids. O, here\\r\\nWill I set up my everlasting rest;\\r\\nAnd shake the yoke of inauspicious stars\\r\\nFrom this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last.\\r\\nArms, take your last embrace! And, lips, O you\\r\\nThe doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss\\r\\nA dateless bargain to engrossing death.\\r\\nCome, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide.\\r\\nThou desperate pilot, now at once run on\\r\\nThe dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark.\\r\\nHere’s to my love! [_Drinks._] O true apothecary!\\r\\nThy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, at the other end of the Churchyard, Friar Lawrence, with a\\r\\n lantern, crow, and spade.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nSaint Francis be my speed. How oft tonight\\r\\nHave my old feet stumbled at graves? Who’s there?\\r\\nWho is it that consorts, so late, the dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nHere’s one, a friend, and one that knows you well.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nBliss be upon you. Tell me, good my friend,\\r\\nWhat torch is yond that vainly lends his light\\r\\nTo grubs and eyeless skulls? As I discern,\\r\\nIt burneth in the Capels’ monument.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nIt doth so, holy sir, and there’s my master,\\r\\nOne that you love.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nWho is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nRomeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHow long hath he been there?\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nFull half an hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nGo with me to the vault.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nI dare not, sir;\\r\\nMy master knows not but I am gone hence,\\r\\nAnd fearfully did menace me with death\\r\\nIf I did stay to look on his intents.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nStay then, I’ll go alone. Fear comes upon me.\\r\\nO, much I fear some ill unlucky thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nAs I did sleep under this yew tree here,\\r\\nI dreamt my master and another fought,\\r\\nAnd that my master slew him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nRomeo! [_Advances._]\\r\\nAlack, alack, what blood is this which stains\\r\\nThe stony entrance of this sepulchre?\\r\\nWhat mean these masterless and gory swords\\r\\nTo lie discolour’d by this place of peace?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Enters the monument._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRomeo! O, pale! Who else? What, Paris too?\\r\\nAnd steep’d in blood? Ah what an unkind hour\\r\\nIs guilty of this lamentable chance?\\r\\nThe lady stirs.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Juliet wakes and stirs._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO comfortable Friar, where is my lord?\\r\\nI do remember well where I should be,\\r\\nAnd there I am. Where is my Romeo?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Noise within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nI hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest\\r\\nOf death, contagion, and unnatural sleep.\\r\\nA greater power than we can contradict\\r\\nHath thwarted our intents. Come, come away.\\r\\nThy husband in thy bosom there lies dead;\\r\\nAnd Paris too. Come, I’ll dispose of thee\\r\\nAmong a sisterhood of holy nuns.\\r\\nStay not to question, for the watch is coming.\\r\\nCome, go, good Juliet. I dare no longer stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGo, get thee hence, for I will not away.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Friar Lawrence._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat’s here? A cup clos’d in my true love’s hand?\\r\\nPoison, I see, hath been his timeless end.\\r\\nO churl. Drink all, and left no friendly drop\\r\\nTo help me after? I will kiss thy lips.\\r\\nHaply some poison yet doth hang on them,\\r\\nTo make me die with a restorative.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kisses him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThy lips are warm!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\n[_Within._] Lead, boy. Which way?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nYea, noise? Then I’ll be brief. O happy dagger.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Snatching Romeo’s dagger._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThis is thy sheath. [_stabs herself_] There rest, and let me die.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Falls on Romeo’s body and dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Watch with the Page of Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nThis is the place. There, where the torch doth burn.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\nThe ground is bloody. Search about the churchyard.\\r\\nGo, some of you, whoe’er you find attach.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt some of the Watch._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPitiful sight! Here lies the County slain,\\r\\nAnd Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead,\\r\\nWho here hath lain this two days buried.\\r\\nGo tell the Prince; run to the Capulets.\\r\\nRaise up the Montagues, some others search.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt others of the Watch._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWe see the ground whereon these woes do lie,\\r\\nBut the true ground of all these piteous woes\\r\\nWe cannot without circumstance descry.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter some of the Watch with Balthasar.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WATCH.\\r\\nHere’s Romeo’s man. We found him in the churchyard.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\nHold him in safety till the Prince come hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter others of the Watch with Friar Lawrence.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WATCH. Here is a Friar that trembles, sighs, and weeps.\\r\\nWe took this mattock and this spade from him\\r\\nAs he was coming from this churchyard side.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\nA great suspicion. Stay the Friar too.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the Prince and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhat misadventure is so early up,\\r\\nThat calls our person from our morning’s rest?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhat should it be that they so shriek abroad?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nO the people in the street cry Romeo,\\r\\nSome Juliet, and some Paris, and all run\\r\\nWith open outcry toward our monument.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhat fear is this which startles in our ears?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\nSovereign, here lies the County Paris slain,\\r\\nAnd Romeo dead, and Juliet, dead before,\\r\\nWarm and new kill’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nSearch, seek, and know how this foul murder comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\nHere is a Friar, and slaughter’d Romeo’s man,\\r\\nWith instruments upon them fit to open\\r\\nThese dead men’s tombs.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nO heaven! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds!\\r\\nThis dagger hath mista’en, for lo, his house\\r\\nIs empty on the back of Montague,\\r\\nAnd it mis-sheathed in my daughter’s bosom.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nO me! This sight of death is as a bell\\r\\nThat warns my old age to a sepulchre.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Montague and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nCome, Montague, for thou art early up,\\r\\nTo see thy son and heir more early down.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nAlas, my liege, my wife is dead tonight.\\r\\nGrief of my son’s exile hath stopp’d her breath.\\r\\nWhat further woe conspires against mine age?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nLook, and thou shalt see.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nO thou untaught! What manners is in this,\\r\\nTo press before thy father to a grave?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nSeal up the mouth of outrage for a while,\\r\\nTill we can clear these ambiguities,\\r\\nAnd know their spring, their head, their true descent,\\r\\nAnd then will I be general of your woes,\\r\\nAnd lead you even to death. Meantime forbear,\\r\\nAnd let mischance be slave to patience.\\r\\nBring forth the parties of suspicion.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nI am the greatest, able to do least,\\r\\nYet most suspected, as the time and place\\r\\nDoth make against me, of this direful murder.\\r\\nAnd here I stand, both to impeach and purge\\r\\nMyself condemned and myself excus’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThen say at once what thou dost know in this.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nI will be brief, for my short date of breath\\r\\nIs not so long as is a tedious tale.\\r\\nRomeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet,\\r\\nAnd she, there dead, that Romeo’s faithful wife.\\r\\nI married them; and their stol’n marriage day\\r\\nWas Tybalt’s doomsday, whose untimely death\\r\\nBanish’d the new-made bridegroom from this city;\\r\\nFor whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pin’d.\\r\\nYou, to remove that siege of grief from her,\\r\\nBetroth’d, and would have married her perforce\\r\\nTo County Paris. Then comes she to me,\\r\\nAnd with wild looks, bid me devise some means\\r\\nTo rid her from this second marriage,\\r\\nOr in my cell there would she kill herself.\\r\\nThen gave I her, so tutored by my art,\\r\\nA sleeping potion, which so took effect\\r\\nAs I intended, for it wrought on her\\r\\nThe form of death. Meantime I writ to Romeo\\r\\nThat he should hither come as this dire night\\r\\nTo help to take her from her borrow’d grave,\\r\\nBeing the time the potion’s force should cease.\\r\\nBut he which bore my letter, Friar John,\\r\\nWas stay’d by accident; and yesternight\\r\\nReturn’d my letter back. Then all alone\\r\\nAt the prefixed hour of her waking\\r\\nCame I to take her from her kindred’s vault,\\r\\nMeaning to keep her closely at my cell\\r\\nTill I conveniently could send to Romeo.\\r\\nBut when I came, some minute ere the time\\r\\nOf her awaking, here untimely lay\\r\\nThe noble Paris and true Romeo dead.\\r\\nShe wakes; and I entreated her come forth\\r\\nAnd bear this work of heaven with patience.\\r\\nBut then a noise did scare me from the tomb;\\r\\nAnd she, too desperate, would not go with me,\\r\\nBut, as it seems, did violence on herself.\\r\\nAll this I know; and to the marriage\\r\\nHer Nurse is privy. And if ought in this\\r\\nMiscarried by my fault, let my old life\\r\\nBe sacrific’d, some hour before his time,\\r\\nUnto the rigour of severest law.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWe still have known thee for a holy man.\\r\\nWhere’s Romeo’s man? What can he say to this?\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nI brought my master news of Juliet’s death,\\r\\nAnd then in post he came from Mantua\\r\\nTo this same place, to this same monument.\\r\\nThis letter he early bid me give his father,\\r\\nAnd threaten’d me with death, going in the vault,\\r\\nIf I departed not, and left him there.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nGive me the letter, I will look on it.\\r\\nWhere is the County’s Page that rais’d the watch?\\r\\nSirrah, what made your master in this place?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nHe came with flowers to strew his lady’s grave,\\r\\nAnd bid me stand aloof, and so I did.\\r\\nAnon comes one with light to ope the tomb,\\r\\nAnd by and by my master drew on him,\\r\\nAnd then I ran away to call the watch.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThis letter doth make good the Friar’s words,\\r\\nTheir course of love, the tidings of her death.\\r\\nAnd here he writes that he did buy a poison\\r\\nOf a poor ’pothecary, and therewithal\\r\\nCame to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet.\\r\\nWhere be these enemies? Capulet, Montague,\\r\\nSee what a scourge is laid upon your hate,\\r\\nThat heaven finds means to kill your joys with love!\\r\\nAnd I, for winking at your discords too,\\r\\nHave lost a brace of kinsmen. All are punish’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nO brother Montague, give me thy hand.\\r\\nThis is my daughter’s jointure, for no more\\r\\nCan I demand.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nBut I can give thee more,\\r\\nFor I will raise her statue in pure gold,\\r\\nThat whiles Verona by that name is known,\\r\\nThere shall no figure at such rate be set\\r\\nAs that of true and faithful Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nAs rich shall Romeo’s by his lady’s lie,\\r\\nPoor sacrifices of our enmity.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nA glooming peace this morning with it brings;\\r\\nThe sun for sorrow will not show his head.\\r\\nGo hence, to have more talk of these sad things.\\r\\nSome shall be pardon’d, and some punished,\\r\\nFor never was a story of more woe\\r\\nThan this of Juliet and her Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE TAMING OF THE SHREW\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nINDUCTION\\r\\nScene I. Before an alehouse on a heath.\\r\\nScene II. A bedchamber in the LORD’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Padua. A public place.\\r\\nScene II. Padua. Before HORTENSIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. Padua. A room in BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Padua. A room in BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\nScene II. The same. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. A hall in PETRUCHIO’S country house.\\r\\nScene II. Padua. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\nScene III. A room in PETRUCHIO’S house.\\r\\nScene IV. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\nScene V. A public road.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Padua. Before LUCENTIO’S house.\\r\\nScene II. A room in LUCENTIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nPersons in the Induction\\r\\nA LORD\\r\\nCHRISTOPHER SLY, a tinker\\r\\nHOSTESS\\r\\nPAGE\\r\\nPLAYERS\\r\\nHUNTSMEN\\r\\nSERVANTS\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA MINOLA, a rich gentleman of Padua\\r\\nVINCENTIO, an old gentleman of Pisa\\r\\nLUCENTIO, son to Vincentio; in love with Bianca\\r\\nPETRUCHIO, a gentleman of Verona; suitor to Katherina\\r\\n\\r\\nSuitors to Bianca\\r\\nGREMIO\\r\\nHORTENSIO\\r\\n\\r\\nServants to Lucentio\\r\\nTRANIO\\r\\nBIONDELLO\\r\\n\\r\\nServants to Petruchio\\r\\nGRUMIO\\r\\nCURTIS\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT, set up to personate Vincentio\\r\\n\\r\\nDaughters to Baptista\\r\\nKATHERINA, the shrew\\r\\nBIANCA\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW\\r\\n\\r\\nTailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Baptista and Petruchio\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Sometimes in Padua, and sometimes in PETRUCHIO’S house in the\\r\\ncountry.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nINDUCTION\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Before an alehouse on a heath.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Hostess and Sly\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nI’ll pheeze you, in faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nA pair of stocks, you rogue!\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nY’are a baggage; the Slys are no rogues; look in the chronicles: we\\r\\ncame in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore, _paucas pallabris_; let the\\r\\nworld slide. Sessa!\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nYou will not pay for the glasses you have burst?\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nNo, not a denier. Go by, Saint Jeronimy, go to thy cold bed and warm\\r\\nthee.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nI know my remedy; I must go fetch the third-borough.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit_]\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nThird, or fourth, or fifth borough, I’ll answer him by law. I’ll not\\r\\nbudge an inch, boy: let him come, and kindly.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Lies down on the ground, and falls asleep._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHorns winded. Enter a Lord from hunting, with Huntsmen and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nHuntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds;\\r\\nBrach Merriman, the poor cur is emboss’d,\\r\\nAnd couple Clowder with the deep-mouth’d brach.\\r\\nSaw’st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good\\r\\nAt the hedge-corner, in the coldest fault?\\r\\nI would not lose the dog for twenty pound.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nWhy, Bellman is as good as he, my lord;\\r\\nHe cried upon it at the merest loss,\\r\\nAnd twice today pick’d out the dullest scent;\\r\\nTrust me, I take him for the better dog.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nThou art a fool: if Echo were as fleet,\\r\\nI would esteem him worth a dozen such.\\r\\nBut sup them well, and look unto them all;\\r\\nTomorrow I intend to hunt again.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nI will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\n[ _Sees Sly_.] What’s here? One dead, or drunk?\\r\\nSee, doth he breathe?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nHe breathes, my lord. Were he not warm’d with ale,\\r\\nThis were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nO monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies!\\r\\nGrim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image!\\r\\nSirs, I will practise on this drunken man.\\r\\nWhat think you, if he were convey’d to bed,\\r\\nWrapp’d in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers,\\r\\nA most delicious banquet by his bed,\\r\\nAnd brave attendants near him when he wakes,\\r\\nWould not the beggar then forget himself?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nBelieve me, lord, I think he cannot choose.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nIt would seem strange unto him when he wak’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nEven as a flattering dream or worthless fancy.\\r\\nThen take him up, and manage well the jest.\\r\\nCarry him gently to my fairest chamber,\\r\\nAnd hang it round with all my wanton pictures;\\r\\nBalm his foul head in warm distilled waters,\\r\\nAnd burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet.\\r\\nProcure me music ready when he wakes,\\r\\nTo make a dulcet and a heavenly sound;\\r\\nAnd if he chance to speak, be ready straight,\\r\\nAnd with a low submissive reverence\\r\\nSay ‘What is it your honour will command?’\\r\\nLet one attend him with a silver basin\\r\\nFull of rose-water and bestrew’d with flowers;\\r\\nAnother bear the ewer, the third a diaper,\\r\\nAnd say ‘Will’t please your lordship cool your hands?’\\r\\nSomeone be ready with a costly suit,\\r\\nAnd ask him what apparel he will wear;\\r\\nAnother tell him of his hounds and horse,\\r\\nAnd that his lady mourns at his disease.\\r\\nPersuade him that he hath been lunatic;\\r\\nAnd, when he says he is—say that he dreams,\\r\\nFor he is nothing but a mighty lord.\\r\\nThis do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs;\\r\\nIt will be pastime passing excellent,\\r\\nIf it be husbanded with modesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nMy lord, I warrant you we will play our part,\\r\\nAs he shall think by our true diligence,\\r\\nHe is no less than what we say he is.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nTake him up gently, and to bed with him,\\r\\nAnd each one to his office when he wakes.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Sly _is bourne out. A trumpet sounds._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSirrah, go see what trumpet ’tis that sounds:\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit_ Servant.]\\r\\n\\r\\nBelike some noble gentleman that means,\\r\\nTravelling some journey, to repose him here.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now! who is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nAn it please your honour, players\\r\\nThat offer service to your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nBid them come near.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Players.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, fellows, you are welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYERS.\\r\\nWe thank your honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nDo you intend to stay with me tonight?\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYER.\\r\\nSo please your lordship to accept our duty.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nWith all my heart. This fellow I remember\\r\\nSince once he play’d a farmer’s eldest son;\\r\\n’Twas where you woo’d the gentlewoman so well.\\r\\nI have forgot your name; but, sure, that part\\r\\nWas aptly fitted and naturally perform’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYER.\\r\\nI think ’twas Soto that your honour means.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\n’Tis very true; thou didst it excellent.\\r\\nWell, you are come to me in happy time,\\r\\nThe rather for I have some sport in hand\\r\\nWherein your cunning can assist me much.\\r\\nThere is a lord will hear you play tonight;\\r\\nBut I am doubtful of your modesties,\\r\\nLest, over-eying of his odd behaviour,—\\r\\nFor yet his honour never heard a play,—\\r\\nYou break into some merry passion\\r\\nAnd so offend him; for I tell you, sirs,\\r\\nIf you should smile, he grows impatient.\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYER.\\r\\nFear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves,\\r\\nWere he the veriest antick in the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nGo, sirrah, take them to the buttery,\\r\\nAnd give them friendly welcome everyone:\\r\\nLet them want nothing that my house affords.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit one with the Players._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSirrah, go you to Barthol’mew my page,\\r\\nAnd see him dress’d in all suits like a lady;\\r\\nThat done, conduct him to the drunkard’s chamber,\\r\\nAnd call him ‘madam,’ do him obeisance.\\r\\nTell him from me—as he will win my love,—\\r\\nHe bear himself with honourable action,\\r\\nSuch as he hath observ’d in noble ladies\\r\\nUnto their lords, by them accomplished;\\r\\nSuch duty to the drunkard let him do,\\r\\nWith soft low tongue and lowly courtesy,\\r\\nAnd say ‘What is’t your honour will command,\\r\\nWherein your lady and your humble wife\\r\\nMay show her duty and make known her love?’\\r\\nAnd then with kind embracements, tempting kisses,\\r\\nAnd with declining head into his bosom,\\r\\nBid him shed tears, as being overjoy’d\\r\\nTo see her noble lord restor’d to health,\\r\\nWho for this seven years hath esteemed him\\r\\nNo better than a poor and loathsome beggar.\\r\\nAnd if the boy have not a woman’s gift\\r\\nTo rain a shower of commanded tears,\\r\\nAn onion will do well for such a shift,\\r\\nWhich, in a napkin being close convey’d,\\r\\nShall in despite enforce a watery eye.\\r\\nSee this dispatch’d with all the haste thou canst;\\r\\nAnon I’ll give thee more instructions.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI know the boy will well usurp the grace,\\r\\nVoice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman;\\r\\nI long to hear him call the drunkard husband;\\r\\nAnd how my men will stay themselves from laughter\\r\\nWhen they do homage to this simple peasant.\\r\\nI’ll in to counsel them; haply my presence\\r\\nMay well abate the over-merry spleen,\\r\\nWhich otherwise would grow into extremes.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A bedchamber in the LORD’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nSly is discovered in a rich nightgown, with Attendants: some with\\r\\napparel, basin, ewer, and other appurtenances; and Lord, dressed like a\\r\\nservant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nFor God’s sake! a pot of small ale.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nWill’t please your lordship drink a cup of sack?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nWill’t please your honour taste of these conserves?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD SERVANT.\\r\\nWhat raiment will your honour wear today?\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nI am Christophero Sly; call not me honour nor lordship. I ne’er drank\\r\\nsack in my life; and if you give me any conserves, give me conserves of\\r\\nbeef. Ne’er ask me what raiment I’ll wear, for I have no more doublets\\r\\nthan backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet:\\r\\nnay, sometime more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look\\r\\nthrough the over-leather.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nHeaven cease this idle humour in your honour!\\r\\nO, that a mighty man of such descent,\\r\\nOf such possessions, and so high esteem,\\r\\nShould be infused with so foul a spirit!\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nWhat! would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly’s son of\\r\\nBurton-heath; by birth a pedlar, by education a cardmaker, by\\r\\ntransmutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker? Ask\\r\\nMarian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she know me not: if she\\r\\nsay I am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up for\\r\\nthe lyingest knave in Christendom. What! I am not bestraught. Here’s—\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD SERVANT.\\r\\nO! this it is that makes your lady mourn.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nO! this is it that makes your servants droop.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nHence comes it that your kindred shuns your house,\\r\\nAs beaten hence by your strange lunacy.\\r\\nO noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth,\\r\\nCall home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,\\r\\nAnd banish hence these abject lowly dreams.\\r\\nLook how thy servants do attend on thee,\\r\\nEach in his office ready at thy beck:\\r\\nWilt thou have music? Hark! Apollo plays,\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd twenty caged nightingales do sing:\\r\\nOr wilt thou sleep? We’ll have thee to a couch\\r\\nSofter and sweeter than the lustful bed\\r\\nOn purpose trimm’d up for Semiramis.\\r\\nSay thou wilt walk: we will bestrew the ground:\\r\\nOr wilt thou ride? Thy horses shall be trapp’d,\\r\\nTheir harness studded all with gold and pearl.\\r\\nDost thou love hawking? Thou hast hawks will soar\\r\\nAbove the morning lark: or wilt thou hunt?\\r\\nThy hounds shall make the welkin answer them\\r\\nAnd fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nSay thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift\\r\\nAs breathed stags; ay, fleeter than the roe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nDost thou love pictures? We will fetch thee straight\\r\\nAdonis painted by a running brook,\\r\\nAnd Cytherea all in sedges hid,\\r\\nWhich seem to move and wanton with her breath\\r\\nEven as the waving sedges play with wind.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nWe’ll show thee Io as she was a maid\\r\\nAnd how she was beguiled and surpris’d,\\r\\nAs lively painted as the deed was done.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD SERVANT.\\r\\nOr Daphne roaming through a thorny wood,\\r\\nScratching her legs, that one shall swear she bleeds\\r\\nAnd at that sight shall sad Apollo weep,\\r\\nSo workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nThou art a lord, and nothing but a lord:\\r\\nThou hast a lady far more beautiful\\r\\nThan any woman in this waning age.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nAnd, till the tears that she hath shed for thee\\r\\nLike envious floods o’er-run her lovely face,\\r\\nShe was the fairest creature in the world;\\r\\nAnd yet she is inferior to none.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nAm I a lord? and have I such a lady?\\r\\nOr do I dream? Or have I dream’d till now?\\r\\nI do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak;\\r\\nI smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things:\\r\\nUpon my life, I am a lord indeed;\\r\\nAnd not a tinker, nor Christophero Sly.\\r\\nWell, bring our lady hither to our sight;\\r\\nAnd once again, a pot o’ the smallest ale.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nWill’t please your mightiness to wash your hands?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Servants present a ewer, basin and napkin._]\\r\\n\\r\\nO, how we joy to see your wit restor’d!\\r\\nO, that once more you knew but what you are!\\r\\nThese fifteen years you have been in a dream,\\r\\nOr, when you wak’d, so wak’d as if you slept.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nThese fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap.\\r\\nBut did I never speak of all that time?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nO! yes, my lord, but very idle words;\\r\\nFor though you lay here in this goodly chamber,\\r\\nYet would you say ye were beaten out of door,\\r\\nAnd rail upon the hostess of the house,\\r\\nAnd say you would present her at the leet,\\r\\nBecause she brought stone jugs and no seal’d quarts.\\r\\nSometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nAy, the woman’s maid of the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD SERVANT.\\r\\nWhy, sir, you know no house nor no such maid,\\r\\nNor no such men as you have reckon’d up,\\r\\nAs Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece,\\r\\nAnd Peter Turph, and Henry Pimpernell;\\r\\nAnd twenty more such names and men as these,\\r\\nWhich never were, nor no man ever saw.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nNow, Lord be thanked for my good amends!\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the Page, as a lady, with Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nI thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nHow fares my noble lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nMarry, I fare well; for here is cheer enough.\\r\\nWhere is my wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nHere, noble lord: what is thy will with her?\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nAre you my wife, and will not call me husband?\\r\\nMy men should call me lord: I am your goodman.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nMy husband and my lord, my lord and husband;\\r\\nI am your wife in all obedience.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nI know it well. What must I call her?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nMadam.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nAlice madam, or Joan madam?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nMadam, and nothing else; so lords call ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nMadam wife, they say that I have dream’d\\r\\nAnd slept above some fifteen year or more.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nAy, and the time seems thirty unto me,\\r\\nBeing all this time abandon’d from your bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\n’Tis much. Servants, leave me and her alone.\\r\\nMadam, undress you, and come now to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nThrice noble lord, let me entreat of you\\r\\nTo pardon me yet for a night or two;\\r\\nOr, if not so, until the sun be set:\\r\\nFor your physicians have expressly charg’d,\\r\\nIn peril to incur your former malady,\\r\\nThat I should yet absent me from your bed:\\r\\nI hope this reason stands for my excuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nAy, it stands so that I may hardly tarry so long; but I would be loath\\r\\nto fall into my dreams again: I will therefore tarry in despite of the\\r\\nflesh and the blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nYour honour’s players, hearing your amendment,\\r\\nAre come to play a pleasant comedy;\\r\\nFor so your doctors hold it very meet,\\r\\nSeeing too much sadness hath congeal’d your blood,\\r\\nAnd melancholy is the nurse of frenzy:\\r\\nTherefore they thought it good you hear a play,\\r\\nAnd frame your mind to mirth and merriment,\\r\\nWhich bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nMarry, I will; let them play it. Is not a commonty a Christmas gambold\\r\\nor a tumbling-trick?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nNo, my good lord; it is more pleasing stuff.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nWhat! household stuff?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nIt is a kind of history.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nWell, we’ll see’t. Come, madam wife, sit by my side and let the world\\r\\nslip: we shall ne’er be younger.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Padua. A public place.\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter Lucentio and Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTranio, since for the great desire I had\\r\\nTo see fair Padua, nursery of arts,\\r\\nI am arriv’d for fruitful Lombardy,\\r\\nThe pleasant garden of great Italy,\\r\\nAnd by my father’s love and leave am arm’d\\r\\nWith his good will and thy good company,\\r\\nMy trusty servant well approv’d in all,\\r\\nHere let us breathe, and haply institute\\r\\nA course of learning and ingenious studies.\\r\\nPisa, renowned for grave citizens,\\r\\nGave me my being and my father first,\\r\\nA merchant of great traffic through the world,\\r\\nVincentio, come of the Bentivolii.\\r\\nVincentio’s son, brought up in Florence,\\r\\nIt shall become to serve all hopes conceiv’d,\\r\\nTo deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds:\\r\\nAnd therefore, Tranio, for the time I study,\\r\\nVirtue and that part of philosophy\\r\\nWill I apply that treats of happiness\\r\\nBy virtue specially to be achiev’d.\\r\\nTell me thy mind; for I have Pisa left\\r\\nAnd am to Padua come as he that leaves\\r\\nA shallow plash to plunge him in the deep,\\r\\nAnd with satiety seeks to quench his thirst.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n_Mi perdonato_, gentle master mine;\\r\\nI am in all affected as yourself;\\r\\nGlad that you thus continue your resolve\\r\\nTo suck the sweets of sweet philosophy.\\r\\nOnly, good master, while we do admire\\r\\nThis virtue and this moral discipline,\\r\\nLet’s be no stoics nor no stocks, I pray;\\r\\nOr so devote to Aristotle’s checks\\r\\nAs Ovid be an outcast quite abjur’d.\\r\\nBalk logic with acquaintance that you have,\\r\\nAnd practise rhetoric in your common talk;\\r\\nMusic and poesy use to quicken you;\\r\\nThe mathematics and the metaphysics,\\r\\nFall to them as you find your stomach serves you:\\r\\nNo profit grows where is no pleasure ta’en;\\r\\nIn brief, sir, study what you most affect.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nGramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise.\\r\\nIf, Biondello, thou wert come ashore,\\r\\nWe could at once put us in readiness,\\r\\nAnd take a lodging fit to entertain\\r\\nSuch friends as time in Padua shall beget.\\r\\nBut stay awhile; what company is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMaster, some show to welcome us to town.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Lucentio and Tranio stand aside._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Baptista, Katherina, Bianca, Gremio and Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nGentlemen, importune me no farther,\\r\\nFor how I firmly am resolv’d you know;\\r\\nThat is, not to bestow my youngest daughter\\r\\nBefore I have a husband for the elder.\\r\\nIf either of you both love Katherina,\\r\\nBecause I know you well and love you well,\\r\\nLeave shall you have to court her at your pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nTo cart her rather: she’s too rough for me.\\r\\nThere, there, Hortensio, will you any wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\n[_To Baptista_] I pray you, sir, is it your will\\r\\nTo make a stale of me amongst these mates?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMates, maid! How mean you that? No mates for you,\\r\\nUnless you were of gentler, milder mould.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI’ faith, sir, you shall never need to fear;\\r\\nI wis it is not half way to her heart;\\r\\nBut if it were, doubt not her care should be\\r\\nTo comb your noddle with a three-legg’d stool,\\r\\nAnd paint your face, and use you like a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nFrom all such devils, good Lord deliver us!\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAnd me, too, good Lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nHusht, master! Here’s some good pastime toward:\\r\\nThat wench is stark mad or wonderful froward.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nBut in the other’s silence do I see\\r\\nMaid’s mild behaviour and sobriety.\\r\\nPeace, Tranio!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWell said, master; mum! and gaze your fill.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nGentlemen, that I may soon make good\\r\\nWhat I have said,—Bianca, get you in:\\r\\nAnd let it not displease thee, good Bianca,\\r\\nFor I will love thee ne’er the less, my girl.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nA pretty peat! it is best put finger in the eye, and she knew why.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nSister, content you in my discontent.\\r\\nSir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe:\\r\\nMy books and instruments shall be my company,\\r\\nOn them to look, and practise by myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nHark, Tranio! thou mayst hear Minerva speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSignior Baptista, will you be so strange?\\r\\nSorry am I that our good will effects\\r\\nBianca’s grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWhy will you mew her up,\\r\\nSignior Baptista, for this fiend of hell,\\r\\nAnd make her bear the penance of her tongue?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nGentlemen, content ye; I am resolv’d.\\r\\nGo in, Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Bianca._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd for I know she taketh most delight\\r\\nIn music, instruments, and poetry,\\r\\nSchoolmasters will I keep within my house\\r\\nFit to instruct her youth. If you, Hortensio,\\r\\nOr, Signior Gremio, you, know any such,\\r\\nPrefer them hither; for to cunning men\\r\\nI will be very kind, and liberal\\r\\nTo mine own children in good bringing up;\\r\\nAnd so, farewell. Katherina, you may stay;\\r\\nFor I have more to commune with Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhy, and I trust I may go too, may I not? What! shall I be appointed\\r\\nhours, as though, belike, I knew not what to take and what to leave?\\r\\nHa!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nYou may go to the devil’s dam: your gifts are so good here’s none will\\r\\nhold you. Their love is not so great, Hortensio, but we may blow our\\r\\nnails together, and fast it fairly out; our cake’s dough on both sides.\\r\\nFarewell: yet, for the love I bear my sweet Bianca, if I can by any\\r\\nmeans light on a fit man to teach her that wherein she delights, I will\\r\\nwish him to her father.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSo will I, Signior Gremio: but a word, I pray. Though the nature of our\\r\\nquarrel yet never brooked parle, know now, upon advice, it toucheth us\\r\\nboth,—that we may yet again have access to our fair mistress, and be\\r\\nhappy rivals in Bianca’s love,—to labour and effect one thing\\r\\nspecially.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWhat’s that, I pray?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMarry, sir, to get a husband for her sister.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nA husband! a devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI say, a husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI say, a devil. Thinkest thou, Hortensio, though her father be very\\r\\nrich, any man is so very a fool to be married to hell?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nTush, Gremio! Though it pass your patience and mine to endure her loud\\r\\nalarums, why, man, there be good fellows in the world, and a man could\\r\\nlight on them, would take her with all faults, and money enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI cannot tell; but I had as lief take her dowry with this condition: to\\r\\nbe whipp’d at the high cross every morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nFaith, as you say, there’s small choice in rotten apples. But come;\\r\\nsince this bar in law makes us friends, it shall be so far forth\\r\\nfriendly maintained, till by helping Baptista’s eldest daughter to a\\r\\nhusband, we set his youngest free for a husband, and then have to’t\\r\\nafresh. Sweet Bianca! Happy man be his dole! He that runs fastest gets\\r\\nthe ring. How say you, Signior Gremio?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI am agreed; and would I had given him the best horse in Padua to begin\\r\\nhis wooing, that would thoroughly woo her, wed her, and bed her, and\\r\\nrid the house of her. Come on.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Gremio and Hortensio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nI pray, sir, tell me, is it possible\\r\\nThat love should of a sudden take such hold?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nO Tranio! till I found it to be true,\\r\\nI never thought it possible or likely;\\r\\nBut see, while idly I stood looking on,\\r\\nI found the effect of love in idleness;\\r\\nAnd now in plainness do confess to thee,\\r\\nThat art to me as secret and as dear\\r\\nAs Anna to the Queen of Carthage was,\\r\\nTranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio,\\r\\nIf I achieve not this young modest girl.\\r\\nCounsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst:\\r\\nAssist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMaster, it is no time to chide you now;\\r\\nAffection is not rated from the heart:\\r\\nIf love have touch’d you, nought remains but so:\\r\\n_Redime te captum quam queas minimo._\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nGramercies, lad; go forward; this contents;\\r\\nThe rest will comfort, for thy counsel’s sound.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMaster, you look’d so longly on the maid.\\r\\nPerhaps you mark’d not what’s the pith of all.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nO, yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face,\\r\\nSuch as the daughter of Agenor had,\\r\\nThat made great Jove to humble him to her hand,\\r\\nWhen with his knees he kiss’d the Cretan strand.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSaw you no more? mark’d you not how her sister\\r\\nBegan to scold and raise up such a storm\\r\\nThat mortal ears might hardly endure the din?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTranio, I saw her coral lips to move,\\r\\nAnd with her breath she did perfume the air;\\r\\nSacred and sweet was all I saw in her.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nNay, then, ’tis time to stir him from his trance.\\r\\nI pray, awake, sir: if you love the maid,\\r\\nBend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it stands:\\r\\nHer elder sister is so curst and shrewd,\\r\\nThat till the father rid his hands of her,\\r\\nMaster, your love must live a maid at home;\\r\\nAnd therefore has he closely mew’d her up,\\r\\nBecause she will not be annoy’d with suitors.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAh, Tranio, what a cruel father’s he!\\r\\nBut art thou not advis’d he took some care\\r\\nTo get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAy, marry, am I, sir, and now ’tis plotted.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI have it, Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMaster, for my hand,\\r\\nBoth our inventions meet and jump in one.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTell me thine first.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nYou will be schoolmaster,\\r\\nAnd undertake the teaching of the maid:\\r\\nThat’s your device.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nIt is: may it be done?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nNot possible; for who shall bear your part\\r\\nAnd be in Padua here Vincentio’s son;\\r\\nKeep house and ply his book, welcome his friends;\\r\\nVisit his countrymen, and banquet them?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\n_Basta_, content thee, for I have it full.\\r\\nWe have not yet been seen in any house,\\r\\nNor can we be distinguish’d by our faces\\r\\nFor man or master: then it follows thus:\\r\\nThou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead,\\r\\nKeep house and port and servants, as I should;\\r\\nI will some other be; some Florentine,\\r\\nSome Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa.\\r\\n’Tis hatch’d, and shall be so: Tranio, at once\\r\\nUncase thee; take my colour’d hat and cloak.\\r\\nWhen Biondello comes, he waits on thee;\\r\\nBut I will charm him first to keep his tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They exchange habits_]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSo had you need.\\r\\nIn brief, sir, sith it your pleasure is,\\r\\nAnd I am tied to be obedient;\\r\\nFor so your father charg’d me at our parting,\\r\\n‘Be serviceable to my son,’ quoth he,\\r\\nAlthough I think ’twas in another sense:\\r\\nI am content to be Lucentio,\\r\\nBecause so well I love Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTranio, be so, because Lucentio loves;\\r\\nAnd let me be a slave, to achieve that maid\\r\\nWhose sudden sight hath thrall’d my wounded eye.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes the rogue. Sirrah, where have you been?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhere have I been? Nay, how now! where are you?\\r\\nMaster, has my fellow Tranio stol’n your clothes?\\r\\nOr you stol’n his? or both? Pray, what’s the news?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nSirrah, come hither: ’tis no time to jest,\\r\\nAnd therefore frame your manners to the time.\\r\\nYour fellow Tranio here, to save my life,\\r\\nPuts my apparel and my count’nance on,\\r\\nAnd I for my escape have put on his;\\r\\nFor in a quarrel since I came ashore\\r\\nI kill’d a man, and fear I was descried.\\r\\nWait you on him, I charge you, as becomes,\\r\\nWhile I make way from hence to save my life.\\r\\nYou understand me?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI, sir! Ne’er a whit.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAnd not a jot of Tranio in your mouth:\\r\\nTranio is changed to Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nThe better for him: would I were so too!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSo could I, faith, boy, to have the next wish after,\\r\\nThat Lucentio indeed had Baptista’s youngest daughter.\\r\\nBut, sirrah, not for my sake but your master’s, I advise\\r\\nYou use your manners discreetly in all kind of companies:\\r\\nWhen I am alone, why, then I am Tranio;\\r\\nBut in all places else your master, Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTranio, let’s go.\\r\\nOne thing more rests, that thyself execute,\\r\\nTo make one among these wooers: if thou ask me why,\\r\\nSufficeth my reasons are both good and weighty.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n[_The Presenters above speak._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nMy lord, you nod; you do not mind the play.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nYes, by Saint Anne, I do. A good matter, surely: comes there any more\\r\\nof it?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nMy lord, ’tis but begun.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\n’Tis a very excellent piece of work, madam lady: would ’twere done!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They sit and mark._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Padua. Before HORTENSIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petruchio and his man Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nVerona, for a while I take my leave,\\r\\nTo see my friends in Padua; but of all\\r\\nMy best beloved and approved friend,\\r\\nHortensio; and I trow this is his house.\\r\\nHere, sirrah Grumio, knock, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nKnock, sir? Whom should I knock? Is there any man has rebused your\\r\\nworship?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nVillain, I say, knock me here soundly.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nKnock you here, sir? Why, sir, what am I, sir, that I should knock you\\r\\nhere, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nVillain, I say, knock me at this gate;\\r\\nAnd rap me well, or I’ll knock your knave’s pate.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nMy master is grown quarrelsome. I should knock you first,\\r\\nAnd then I know after who comes by the worst.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWill it not be?\\r\\nFaith, sirrah, and you’ll not knock, I’ll ring it;\\r\\nI’ll try how you can sol, fa, and sing it.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_He wrings Grumio by the ears._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nHelp, masters, help! my master is mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNow, knock when I bid you, sirrah villain!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nHow now! what’s the matter? My old friend Grumio! and my good friend\\r\\nPetruchio! How do you all at Verona?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSignior Hortensio, come you to part the fray?\\r\\n_Con tutto il cuore ben trovato_, may I say.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n_Alla nostra casa ben venuto; molto honorato signor mio Petruchio._\\r\\nRise, Grumio, rise: we will compound this quarrel.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nNay, ’tis no matter, sir, what he ’leges in Latin. If this be not a\\r\\nlawful cause for me to leave his service, look you, sir, he bid me\\r\\nknock him and rap him soundly, sir: well, was it fit for a servant to\\r\\nuse his master so; being, perhaps, for aught I see, two-and-thirty, a\\r\\npip out? Whom would to God I had well knock’d at first, then had not\\r\\nGrumio come by the worst.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA senseless villain! Good Hortensio,\\r\\nI bade the rascal knock upon your gate,\\r\\nAnd could not get him for my heart to do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nKnock at the gate! O heavens! Spake you not these words plain: ‘Sirrah\\r\\nknock me here, rap me here, knock me well, and knock me soundly’? And\\r\\ncome you now with ‘knocking at the gate’?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nPetruchio, patience; I am Grumio’s pledge;\\r\\nWhy, this’s a heavy chance ’twixt him and you,\\r\\nYour ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio.\\r\\nAnd tell me now, sweet friend, what happy gale\\r\\nBlows you to Padua here from old Verona?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSuch wind as scatters young men through the world\\r\\nTo seek their fortunes farther than at home,\\r\\nWhere small experience grows. But in a few,\\r\\nSignior Hortensio, thus it stands with me:\\r\\nAntonio, my father, is deceas’d,\\r\\nAnd I have thrust myself into this maze,\\r\\nHaply to wive and thrive as best I may;\\r\\nCrowns in my purse I have, and goods at home,\\r\\nAnd so am come abroad to see the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nPetruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee\\r\\nAnd wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour’d wife?\\r\\nThou’dst thank me but a little for my counsel;\\r\\nAnd yet I’ll promise thee she shall be rich,\\r\\nAnd very rich: but th’art too much my friend,\\r\\nAnd I’ll not wish thee to her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSignior Hortensio, ’twixt such friends as we\\r\\nFew words suffice; and therefore, if thou know\\r\\nOne rich enough to be Petruchio’s wife,\\r\\nAs wealth is burden of my wooing dance,\\r\\nBe she as foul as was Florentius’ love,\\r\\nAs old as Sibyl, and as curst and shrewd\\r\\nAs Socrates’ Xanthippe or a worse,\\r\\nShe moves me not, or not removes, at least,\\r\\nAffection’s edge in me, were she as rough\\r\\nAs are the swelling Adriatic seas:\\r\\nI come to wive it wealthily in Padua;\\r\\nIf wealthily, then happily in Padua.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nNay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what his mind is: why, give him\\r\\ngold enough and marry him to a puppet or an aglet-baby; or an old trot\\r\\nwith ne’er a tooth in her head, though she have as many diseases as\\r\\ntwo-and-fifty horses: why, nothing comes amiss, so money comes withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nPetruchio, since we are stepp’d thus far in,\\r\\nI will continue that I broach’d in jest.\\r\\nI can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife\\r\\nWith wealth enough, and young and beauteous;\\r\\nBrought up as best becomes a gentlewoman:\\r\\nHer only fault,—and that is faults enough,—\\r\\nIs, that she is intolerable curst,\\r\\nAnd shrewd and froward, so beyond all measure,\\r\\nThat, were my state far worser than it is,\\r\\nI would not wed her for a mine of gold.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHortensio, peace! thou know’st not gold’s effect:\\r\\nTell me her father’s name, and ’tis enough;\\r\\nFor I will board her, though she chide as loud\\r\\nAs thunder when the clouds in autumn crack.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nHer father is Baptista Minola,\\r\\nAn affable and courteous gentleman;\\r\\nHer name is Katherina Minola,\\r\\nRenown’d in Padua for her scolding tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI know her father, though I know not her;\\r\\nAnd he knew my deceased father well.\\r\\nI will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her;\\r\\nAnd therefore let me be thus bold with you,\\r\\nTo give you over at this first encounter,\\r\\nUnless you will accompany me thither.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI pray you, sir, let him go while the humour lasts. O’ my word, and she\\r\\nknew him as well as I do, she would think scolding would do little good\\r\\nupon him. She may perhaps call him half a score knaves or so; why,\\r\\nthat’s nothing; and he begin once, he’ll rail in his rope-tricks. I’ll\\r\\ntell you what, sir, and she stand him but a little, he will throw a\\r\\nfigure in her face, and so disfigure her with it that she shall have no\\r\\nmore eyes to see withal than a cat. You know him not, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nTarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee,\\r\\nFor in Baptista’s keep my treasure is:\\r\\nHe hath the jewel of my life in hold,\\r\\nHis youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca,\\r\\nAnd her withholds from me and other more,\\r\\nSuitors to her and rivals in my love;\\r\\nSupposing it a thing impossible,\\r\\nFor those defects I have before rehears’d,\\r\\nThat ever Katherina will be woo’d:\\r\\nTherefore this order hath Baptista ta’en,\\r\\nThat none shall have access unto Bianca\\r\\nTill Katherine the curst have got a husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nKatherine the curst!\\r\\nA title for a maid of all titles the worst.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nNow shall my friend Petruchio do me grace,\\r\\nAnd offer me disguis’d in sober robes,\\r\\nTo old Baptista as a schoolmaster\\r\\nWell seen in music, to instruct Bianca;\\r\\nThat so I may, by this device at least\\r\\nHave leave and leisure to make love to her,\\r\\nAnd unsuspected court her by herself.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nHere’s no knavery! See, to beguile the old folks, how the young folks\\r\\nlay their heads together!\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Gremio and Lucentio disguised, with books under his arm.\\r\\n\\r\\nMaster, master, look about you: who goes there, ha?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nPeace, Grumio! It is the rival of my love. Petruchio, stand by awhile.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nA proper stripling, and an amorous!\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nO! very well; I have perus’d the note.\\r\\nHark you, sir; I’ll have them very fairly bound:\\r\\nAll books of love, see that at any hand,\\r\\nAnd see you read no other lectures to her.\\r\\nYou understand me. Over and beside\\r\\nSignior Baptista’s liberality,\\r\\nI’ll mend it with a largess. Take your papers too,\\r\\nAnd let me have them very well perfum’d;\\r\\nFor she is sweeter than perfume itself\\r\\nTo whom they go to. What will you read to her?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nWhate’er I read to her, I’ll plead for you,\\r\\nAs for my patron, stand you so assur’d,\\r\\nAs firmly as yourself were still in place;\\r\\nYea, and perhaps with more successful words\\r\\nThan you, unless you were a scholar, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nO! this learning, what a thing it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nO! this woodcock, what an ass it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nPeace, sirrah!\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nGrumio, mum! God save you, Signior Gremio!\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAnd you are well met, Signior Hortensio.\\r\\nTrow you whither I am going? To Baptista Minola.\\r\\nI promis’d to enquire carefully\\r\\nAbout a schoolmaster for the fair Bianca;\\r\\nAnd by good fortune I have lighted well\\r\\nOn this young man; for learning and behaviour\\r\\nFit for her turn, well read in poetry\\r\\nAnd other books, good ones, I warrant ye.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n’Tis well; and I have met a gentleman\\r\\nHath promis’d me to help me to another,\\r\\nA fine musician to instruct our mistress:\\r\\nSo shall I no whit be behind in duty\\r\\nTo fair Bianca, so belov’d of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nBelov’d of me, and that my deeds shall prove.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] And that his bags shall prove.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nGremio, ’tis now no time to vent our love:\\r\\nListen to me, and if you speak me fair,\\r\\nI’ll tell you news indifferent good for either.\\r\\nHere is a gentleman whom by chance I met,\\r\\nUpon agreement from us to his liking,\\r\\nWill undertake to woo curst Katherine;\\r\\nYea, and to marry her, if her dowry please.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nSo said, so done, is well.\\r\\nHortensio, have you told him all her faults?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI know she is an irksome brawling scold;\\r\\nIf that be all, masters, I hear no harm.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nNo, say’st me so, friend? What countryman?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nBorn in Verona, old Antonio’s son.\\r\\nMy father dead, my fortune lives for me;\\r\\nAnd I do hope good days and long to see.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nO sir, such a life, with such a wife, were strange!\\r\\nBut if you have a stomach, to’t a God’s name;\\r\\nYou shall have me assisting you in all.\\r\\nBut will you woo this wild-cat?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWill I live?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWill he woo her? Ay, or I’ll hang her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy came I hither but to that intent?\\r\\nThink you a little din can daunt mine ears?\\r\\nHave I not in my time heard lions roar?\\r\\nHave I not heard the sea, puff’d up with winds,\\r\\nRage like an angry boar chafed with sweat?\\r\\nHave I not heard great ordnance in the field,\\r\\nAnd heaven’s artillery thunder in the skies?\\r\\nHave I not in a pitched battle heard\\r\\nLoud ’larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets’ clang?\\r\\nAnd do you tell me of a woman’s tongue,\\r\\nThat gives not half so great a blow to hear\\r\\nAs will a chestnut in a farmer’s fire?\\r\\nTush, tush! fear boys with bugs.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\n[_Aside_] For he fears none.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nHortensio, hark:\\r\\nThis gentleman is happily arriv’d,\\r\\nMy mind presumes, for his own good and yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI promis’d we would be contributors,\\r\\nAnd bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAnd so we will, provided that he win her.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI would I were as sure of a good dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Tranio brave, and Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nGentlemen, God save you! If I may be bold,\\r\\nTell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way\\r\\nTo the house of Signior Baptista Minola?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nHe that has the two fair daughters; is’t he you mean?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nEven he, Biondello!\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nHark you, sir, you mean not her to—\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nPerhaps him and her, sir; what have you to do?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNot her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nI love no chiders, sir. Biondello, let’s away.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\n[_Aside_] Well begun, Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSir, a word ere you go.\\r\\nAre you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd if I be, sir, is it any offence?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nNo; if without more words you will get you hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhy, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free\\r\\nFor me as for you?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nBut so is not she.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nFor what reason, I beseech you?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nFor this reason, if you’ll know,\\r\\nThat she’s the choice love of Signior Gremio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nThat she’s the chosen of Signior Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSoftly, my masters! If you be gentlemen,\\r\\nDo me this right; hear me with patience.\\r\\nBaptista is a noble gentleman,\\r\\nTo whom my father is not all unknown;\\r\\nAnd were his daughter fairer than she is,\\r\\nShe may more suitors have, and me for one.\\r\\nFair Leda’s daughter had a thousand wooers;\\r\\nThen well one more may fair Bianca have;\\r\\nAnd so she shall: Lucentio shall make one,\\r\\nThough Paris came in hope to speed alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWhat, this gentleman will out-talk us all.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nSir, give him head; I know he’ll prove a jade.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHortensio, to what end are all these words?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSir, let me be so bold as ask you,\\r\\nDid you yet ever see Baptista’s daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nNo, sir, but hear I do that he hath two,\\r\\nThe one as famous for a scolding tongue\\r\\nAs is the other for beauteous modesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSir, sir, the first’s for me; let her go by.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nYea, leave that labour to great Hercules,\\r\\nAnd let it be more than Alcides’ twelve.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSir, understand you this of me, in sooth:\\r\\nThe youngest daughter, whom you hearken for,\\r\\nHer father keeps from all access of suitors,\\r\\nAnd will not promise her to any man\\r\\nUntil the elder sister first be wed;\\r\\nThe younger then is free, and not before.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nIf it be so, sir, that you are the man\\r\\nMust stead us all, and me amongst the rest;\\r\\nAnd if you break the ice, and do this feat,\\r\\nAchieve the elder, set the younger free\\r\\nFor our access, whose hap shall be to have her\\r\\nWill not so graceless be to be ingrate.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSir, you say well, and well you do conceive;\\r\\nAnd since you do profess to be a suitor,\\r\\nYou must, as we do, gratify this gentleman,\\r\\nTo whom we all rest generally beholding.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSir, I shall not be slack; in sign whereof,\\r\\nPlease ye we may contrive this afternoon,\\r\\nAnd quaff carouses to our mistress’ health;\\r\\nAnd do as adversaries do in law,\\r\\nStrive mightily, but eat and drink as friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO, BIONDELLO.\\r\\nO excellent motion! Fellows, let’s be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nThe motion’s good indeed, and be it so:—\\r\\nPetruchio, I shall be your _ben venuto_.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Padua. A room in BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Katherina and Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nGood sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself,\\r\\nTo make a bondmaid and a slave of me;\\r\\nThat I disdain; but for these other gawds,\\r\\nUnbind my hands, I’ll pull them off myself,\\r\\nYea, all my raiment, to my petticoat;\\r\\nOr what you will command me will I do,\\r\\nSo well I know my duty to my elders.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nOf all thy suitors here I charge thee tell\\r\\nWhom thou lov’st best: see thou dissemble not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nBelieve me, sister, of all the men alive\\r\\nI never yet beheld that special face\\r\\nWhich I could fancy more than any other.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nMinion, thou liest. Is’t not Hortensio?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nIf you affect him, sister, here I swear\\r\\nI’ll plead for you myself but you shall have him.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nO! then, belike, you fancy riches more:\\r\\nYou will have Gremio to keep you fair.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nIs it for him you do envy me so?\\r\\nNay, then you jest; and now I well perceive\\r\\nYou have but jested with me all this while:\\r\\nI prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nIf that be jest, then all the rest was so.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Strikes her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Baptista.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, how now, dame! Whence grows this insolence?\\r\\nBianca, stand aside. Poor girl! she weeps.\\r\\nGo ply thy needle; meddle not with her.\\r\\nFor shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit,\\r\\nWhy dost thou wrong her that did ne’er wrong thee?\\r\\nWhen did she cross thee with a bitter word?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nHer silence flouts me, and I’ll be reveng’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Flies after Bianca._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhat! in my sight? Bianca, get thee in.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Bianca._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhat! will you not suffer me? Nay, now I see\\r\\nShe is your treasure, she must have a husband;\\r\\nI must dance bare-foot on her wedding-day,\\r\\nAnd, for your love to her, lead apes in hell.\\r\\nTalk not to me: I will go sit and weep\\r\\nTill I can find occasion of revenge.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\n Was ever gentleman thus griev’d as I?\\r\\nBut who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Gremio, with Lucentio in the habit of a mean man; Petruchio, with\\r\\nHortensio as a musician; and Tranio, with Biondello bearing a lute and\\r\\nbooks.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nGood morrow, neighbour Baptista.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nGood morrow, neighbour Gremio. God save you, gentlemen!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAnd you, good sir! Pray, have you not a daughter\\r\\nCall’d Katherina, fair and virtuous?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI have a daughter, sir, call’d Katherina.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nYou are too blunt: go to it orderly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nYou wrong me, Signior Gremio: give me leave.\\r\\nI am a gentleman of Verona, sir,\\r\\nThat, hearing of her beauty and her wit,\\r\\nHer affability and bashful modesty,\\r\\nHer wondrous qualities and mild behaviour,\\r\\nAm bold to show myself a forward guest\\r\\nWithin your house, to make mine eye the witness\\r\\nOf that report which I so oft have heard.\\r\\nAnd, for an entrance to my entertainment,\\r\\nI do present you with a man of mine,\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Presenting Hortensio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCunning in music and the mathematics,\\r\\nTo instruct her fully in those sciences,\\r\\nWhereof I know she is not ignorant.\\r\\nAccept of him, or else you do me wrong:\\r\\nHis name is Licio, born in Mantua.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nY’are welcome, sir, and he for your good sake;\\r\\nBut for my daughter Katherine, this I know,\\r\\nShe is not for your turn, the more my grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI see you do not mean to part with her;\\r\\nOr else you like not of my company.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nMistake me not; I speak but as I find.\\r\\nWhence are you, sir? What may I call your name?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nPetruchio is my name, Antonio’s son;\\r\\nA man well known throughout all Italy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI know him well: you are welcome for his sake.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nSaving your tale, Petruchio, I pray,\\r\\nLet us, that are poor petitioners, speak too.\\r\\nBackare! you are marvellous forward.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nO, pardon me, Signior Gremio; I would fain be doing.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your wooing. Neighbour, this is\\r\\na gift very grateful, I am sure of it. To express the like kindness,\\r\\nmyself, that have been more kindly beholding to you than any, freely\\r\\ngive unto you this young scholar,\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Presenting Lucentio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nthat has been long studying at Rheims; as cunning in Greek, Latin, and\\r\\nother languages, as the other in music and mathematics. His name is\\r\\nCambio; pray accept his service.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nA thousand thanks, Signior Gremio; welcome, good Cambio. [_To Tranio._]\\r\\nBut, gentle sir, methinks you walk like a stranger. May I be so bold to\\r\\nknow the cause of your coming?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nPardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own,\\r\\nThat, being a stranger in this city here,\\r\\nDo make myself a suitor to your daughter,\\r\\nUnto Bianca, fair and virtuous.\\r\\nNor is your firm resolve unknown to me,\\r\\nIn the preferment of the eldest sister.\\r\\nThis liberty is all that I request,\\r\\nThat, upon knowledge of my parentage,\\r\\nI may have welcome ’mongst the rest that woo,\\r\\nAnd free access and favour as the rest:\\r\\nAnd, toward the education of your daughters,\\r\\nI here bestow a simple instrument,\\r\\nAnd this small packet of Greek and Latin books:\\r\\nIf you accept them, then their worth is great.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nLucentio is your name, of whence, I pray?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nOf Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nA mighty man of Pisa: by report\\r\\nI know him well: you are very welcome, sir.\\r\\n[_To Hortensio_.] Take you the lute,\\r\\n[_To Lucentio_.] and you the set of books;\\r\\nYou shall go see your pupils presently.\\r\\nHolla, within!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSirrah, lead these gentlemen\\r\\nTo my daughters, and tell them both\\r\\nThese are their tutors: bid them use them well.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Servant with Hortensio, Lucentio and Biondello._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWe will go walk a little in the orchard,\\r\\nAnd then to dinner. You are passing welcome,\\r\\nAnd so I pray you all to think yourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSignior Baptista, my business asketh haste,\\r\\nAnd every day I cannot come to woo.\\r\\nYou knew my father well, and in him me,\\r\\nLeft solely heir to all his lands and goods,\\r\\nWhich I have bettered rather than decreas’d:\\r\\nThen tell me, if I get your daughter’s love,\\r\\nWhat dowry shall I have with her to wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAfter my death, the one half of my lands,\\r\\nAnd in possession twenty thousand crowns.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAnd, for that dowry, I’ll assure her of\\r\\nHer widowhood, be it that she survive me,\\r\\nIn all my lands and leases whatsoever.\\r\\nLet specialities be therefore drawn between us,\\r\\nThat covenants may be kept on either hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAy, when the special thing is well obtain’d,\\r\\nThat is, her love; for that is all in all.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, that is nothing; for I tell you, father,\\r\\nI am as peremptory as she proud-minded;\\r\\nAnd where two raging fires meet together,\\r\\nThey do consume the thing that feeds their fury:\\r\\nThough little fire grows great with little wind,\\r\\nYet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all;\\r\\nSo I to her, and so she yields to me;\\r\\nFor I am rough and woo not like a babe.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWell mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed!\\r\\nBut be thou arm’d for some unhappy words.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAy, to the proof, as mountains are for winds,\\r\\nThat shake not though they blow perpetually.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Hortensio, with his head broke.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nHow now, my friend! Why dost thou look so pale?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nFor fear, I promise you, if I look pale.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhat, will my daughter prove a good musician?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI think she’ll sooner prove a soldier:\\r\\nIron may hold with her, but never lutes.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, then thou canst not break her to the lute?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nWhy, no; for she hath broke the lute to me.\\r\\nI did but tell her she mistook her frets,\\r\\nAnd bow’d her hand to teach her fingering;\\r\\nWhen, with a most impatient devilish spirit,\\r\\n’Frets, call you these?’ quoth she ‘I’ll fume with them’;\\r\\nAnd with that word she struck me on the head,\\r\\nAnd through the instrument my pate made way;\\r\\nAnd there I stood amazed for a while,\\r\\nAs on a pillory, looking through the lute;\\r\\nWhile she did call me rascal fiddler,\\r\\nAnd twangling Jack, with twenty such vile terms,\\r\\nAs had she studied to misuse me so.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNow, by the world, it is a lusty wench!\\r\\nI love her ten times more than e’er I did:\\r\\nO! how I long to have some chat with her!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\n[_To Hortensio_.] Well, go with me, and be not so discomfited;\\r\\nProceed in practice with my younger daughter;\\r\\nShe’s apt to learn, and thankful for good turns.\\r\\nSignior Petruchio, will you go with us,\\r\\nOr shall I send my daughter Kate to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI pray you do.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Baptista, Gremio, Tranio and Hortensio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI will attend her here,\\r\\nAnd woo her with some spirit when she comes.\\r\\nSay that she rail; why, then I’ll tell her plain\\r\\nShe sings as sweetly as a nightingale:\\r\\nSay that she frown; I’ll say she looks as clear\\r\\nAs morning roses newly wash’d with dew:\\r\\nSay she be mute, and will not speak a word;\\r\\nThen I’ll commend her volubility,\\r\\nAnd say she uttereth piercing eloquence:\\r\\nIf she do bid me pack, I’ll give her thanks,\\r\\nAs though she bid me stay by her a week:\\r\\nIf she deny to wed, I’ll crave the day\\r\\nWhen I shall ask the banns, and when be married.\\r\\nBut here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Katherina.\\r\\n\\r\\nGood morrow, Kate; for that’s your name, I hear.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWell have you heard, but something hard of hearing:\\r\\nThey call me Katherine that do talk of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nYou lie, in faith, for you are call’d plain Kate,\\r\\nAnd bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst;\\r\\nBut, Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom,\\r\\nKate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate,\\r\\nFor dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate,\\r\\nTake this of me, Kate of my consolation;\\r\\nHearing thy mildness prais’d in every town,\\r\\nThy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,—\\r\\nYet not so deeply as to thee belongs,—\\r\\nMyself am mov’d to woo thee for my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nMov’d! in good time: let him that mov’d you hither\\r\\nRemove you hence. I knew you at the first,\\r\\nYou were a moveable.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, what’s a moveable?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nA joint-stool.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThou hast hit it: come, sit on me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nAsses are made to bear, and so are you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWomen are made to bear, and so are you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNo such jade as bear you, if me you mean.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAlas! good Kate, I will not burden thee;\\r\\nFor, knowing thee to be but young and light,—\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nToo light for such a swain as you to catch;\\r\\nAnd yet as heavy as my weight should be.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nShould be! should buz!\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWell ta’en, and like a buzzard.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nO, slow-wing’d turtle! shall a buzzard take thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nAy, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome, come, you wasp; i’ faith, you are too angry.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nIf I be waspish, best beware my sting.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nMy remedy is then to pluck it out.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nAy, if the fool could find it where it lies.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWho knows not where a wasp does wear his sting?\\r\\nIn his tail.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nIn his tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhose tongue?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nYours, if you talk of tales; and so farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhat! with my tongue in your tail? Nay, come again,\\r\\nGood Kate; I am a gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThat I’ll try.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Striking him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI swear I’ll cuff you if you strike again.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nSo may you lose your arms:\\r\\nIf you strike me, you are no gentleman;\\r\\nAnd if no gentleman, why then no arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA herald, Kate? O! put me in thy books.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhat is your crest? a coxcomb?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNo cock of mine; you crow too like a craven.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nIt is my fashion when I see a crab.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, here’s no crab, and therefore look not sour.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThere is, there is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThen show it me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nHad I a glass I would.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhat, you mean my face?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWell aim’d of such a young one.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNow, by Saint George, I am too young for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nYet you are wither’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\n’Tis with cares.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI care not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, hear you, Kate: in sooth, you ’scape not so.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI chafe you, if I tarry; let me go.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNo, not a whit; I find you passing gentle.\\r\\n’Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen,\\r\\nAnd now I find report a very liar;\\r\\nFor thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous,\\r\\nBut slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers.\\r\\nThou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance,\\r\\nNor bite the lip, as angry wenches will,\\r\\nNor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk;\\r\\nBut thou with mildness entertain’st thy wooers;\\r\\nWith gentle conference, soft and affable.\\r\\nWhy does the world report that Kate doth limp?\\r\\nO sland’rous world! Kate like the hazel-twig\\r\\nIs straight and slender, and as brown in hue\\r\\nAs hazel-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels.\\r\\nO! let me see thee walk: thou dost not halt.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nGo, fool, and whom thou keep’st command.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nDid ever Dian so become a grove\\r\\nAs Kate this chamber with her princely gait?\\r\\nO! be thou Dian, and let her be Kate,\\r\\nAnd then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful!\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhere did you study all this goodly speech?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nIt is extempore, from my mother-wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nA witty mother! witless else her son.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAm I not wise?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nYes; keep you warm.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nMarry, so I mean, sweet Katherine, in thy bed;\\r\\nAnd therefore, setting all this chat aside,\\r\\nThus in plain terms: your father hath consented\\r\\nThat you shall be my wife your dowry ’greed on;\\r\\nAnd will you, nill you, I will marry you.\\r\\nNow, Kate, I am a husband for your turn;\\r\\nFor, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty,—\\r\\nThy beauty that doth make me like thee well,—\\r\\nThou must be married to no man but me;\\r\\nFor I am he am born to tame you, Kate,\\r\\nAnd bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate\\r\\nConformable as other household Kates.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Baptista, Gremio and Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes your father. Never make denial;\\r\\nI must and will have Katherine to my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNow, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHow but well, sir? how but well?\\r\\nIt were impossible I should speed amiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, how now, daughter Katherine, in your dumps?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nCall you me daughter? Now I promise you\\r\\nYou have show’d a tender fatherly regard\\r\\nTo wish me wed to one half lunatic,\\r\\nA mad-cap ruffian and a swearing Jack,\\r\\nThat thinks with oaths to face the matter out.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nFather, ’tis thus: yourself and all the world\\r\\nThat talk’d of her have talk’d amiss of her:\\r\\nIf she be curst, it is for policy,\\r\\nFor she’s not froward, but modest as the dove;\\r\\nShe is not hot, but temperate as the morn;\\r\\nFor patience she will prove a second Grissel,\\r\\nAnd Roman Lucrece for her chastity;\\r\\nAnd to conclude, we have ’greed so well together\\r\\nThat upon Sunday is the wedding-day.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI’ll see thee hang’d on Sunday first.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nHark, Petruchio; she says she’ll see thee hang’d first.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nIs this your speeding? Nay, then good-night our part!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nBe patient, gentlemen. I choose her for myself;\\r\\nIf she and I be pleas’d, what’s that to you?\\r\\n’Tis bargain’d ’twixt us twain, being alone,\\r\\nThat she shall still be curst in company.\\r\\nI tell you, ’tis incredible to believe\\r\\nHow much she loves me: O! the kindest Kate\\r\\nShe hung about my neck, and kiss on kiss\\r\\nShe vied so fast, protesting oath on oath,\\r\\nThat in a twink she won me to her love.\\r\\nO! you are novices: ’tis a world to see,\\r\\nHow tame, when men and women are alone,\\r\\nA meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew.\\r\\nGive me thy hand, Kate; I will unto Venice,\\r\\nTo buy apparel ’gainst the wedding-day.\\r\\nProvide the feast, father, and bid the guests;\\r\\nI will be sure my Katherine shall be fine.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI know not what to say; but give me your hands.\\r\\nGod send you joy, Petruchio! ’Tis a match.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO, TRANIO.\\r\\nAmen, say we; we will be witnesses.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nFather, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu.\\r\\nI will to Venice; Sunday comes apace;\\r\\nWe will have rings and things, and fine array;\\r\\nAnd kiss me, Kate; we will be married o’ Sunday.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Petruchio and Katherina, severally._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWas ever match clapp’d up so suddenly?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nFaith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant’s part,\\r\\nAnd venture madly on a desperate mart.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n’Twas a commodity lay fretting by you;\\r\\n’Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nThe gain I seek is, quiet in the match.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nNo doubt but he hath got a quiet catch.\\r\\nBut now, Baptista, to your younger daughter:\\r\\nNow is the day we long have looked for;\\r\\nI am your neighbour, and was suitor first.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd I am one that love Bianca more\\r\\nThan words can witness or your thoughts can guess.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nYoungling, thou canst not love so dear as I.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nGreybeard, thy love doth freeze.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nBut thine doth fry.\\r\\nSkipper, stand back; ’tis age that nourisheth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nBut youth in ladies’ eyes that flourisheth.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nContent you, gentlemen; I’ll compound this strife:\\r\\n’Tis deeds must win the prize, and he of both\\r\\nThat can assure my daughter greatest dower\\r\\nShall have my Bianca’s love.\\r\\nSay, Signior Gremio, what can you assure her?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nFirst, as you know, my house within the city\\r\\nIs richly furnished with plate and gold:\\r\\nBasins and ewers to lave her dainty hands;\\r\\nMy hangings all of Tyrian tapestry;\\r\\nIn ivory coffers I have stuff’d my crowns;\\r\\nIn cypress chests my arras counterpoints,\\r\\nCostly apparel, tents, and canopies,\\r\\nFine linen, Turkey cushions boss’d with pearl,\\r\\nValance of Venice gold in needlework;\\r\\nPewter and brass, and all things that belong\\r\\nTo house or housekeeping: then, at my farm\\r\\nI have a hundred milch-kine to the pail,\\r\\nSix score fat oxen standing in my stalls,\\r\\nAnd all things answerable to this portion.\\r\\nMyself am struck in years, I must confess;\\r\\nAnd if I die tomorrow this is hers,\\r\\nIf whilst I live she will be only mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThat ‘only’ came well in. Sir, list to me:\\r\\nI am my father’s heir and only son;\\r\\nIf I may have your daughter to my wife,\\r\\nI’ll leave her houses three or four as good\\r\\nWithin rich Pisa’s walls as anyone\\r\\nOld Signior Gremio has in Padua;\\r\\nBesides two thousand ducats by the year\\r\\nOf fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure.\\r\\nWhat, have I pinch’d you, Signior Gremio?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nTwo thousand ducats by the year of land!\\r\\nMy land amounts not to so much in all:\\r\\nThat she shall have, besides an argosy\\r\\nThat now is lying in Marseilles’ road.\\r\\nWhat, have I chok’d you with an argosy?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nGremio, ’tis known my father hath no less\\r\\nThan three great argosies, besides two galliasses,\\r\\nAnd twelve tight galleys; these I will assure her,\\r\\nAnd twice as much, whate’er thou offer’st next.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nNay, I have offer’d all; I have no more;\\r\\nAnd she can have no more than all I have;\\r\\nIf you like me, she shall have me and mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhy, then the maid is mine from all the world,\\r\\nBy your firm promise; Gremio is out-vied.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI must confess your offer is the best;\\r\\nAnd let your father make her the assurance,\\r\\nShe is your own; else, you must pardon me;\\r\\nIf you should die before him, where’s her dower?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThat’s but a cavil; he is old, I young.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAnd may not young men die as well as old?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWell, gentlemen,\\r\\nI am thus resolv’d. On Sunday next, you know,\\r\\nMy daughter Katherine is to be married;\\r\\nNow, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca\\r\\nBe bride to you, if you make this assurance;\\r\\nIf not, to Signior Gremio.\\r\\nAnd so I take my leave, and thank you both.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAdieu, good neighbour.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Baptista._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, I fear thee not:\\r\\nSirrah young gamester, your father were a fool\\r\\nTo give thee all, and in his waning age\\r\\nSet foot under thy table. Tut! a toy!\\r\\nAn old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nA vengeance on your crafty wither’d hide!\\r\\nYet I have fac’d it with a card of ten.\\r\\n’Tis in my head to do my master good:\\r\\nI see no reason but suppos’d Lucentio\\r\\nMust get a father, call’d suppos’d Vincentio;\\r\\nAnd that’s a wonder: fathers commonly\\r\\nDo get their children; but in this case of wooing\\r\\nA child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Padua. A room in BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Lucentio, Hortensio and Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nFiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir.\\r\\nHave you so soon forgot the entertainment\\r\\nHer sister Katherine welcome’d you withal?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nBut, wrangling pedant, this is\\r\\nThe patroness of heavenly harmony:\\r\\nThen give me leave to have prerogative;\\r\\nAnd when in music we have spent an hour,\\r\\nYour lecture shall have leisure for as much.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nPreposterous ass, that never read so far\\r\\nTo know the cause why music was ordain’d!\\r\\nWas it not to refresh the mind of man\\r\\nAfter his studies or his usual pain?\\r\\nThen give me leave to read philosophy,\\r\\nAnd while I pause serve in your harmony.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhy, gentlemen, you do me double wrong,\\r\\nTo strive for that which resteth in my choice.\\r\\nI am no breeching scholar in the schools,\\r\\nI’ll not be tied to hours nor ’pointed times,\\r\\nBut learn my lessons as I please myself.\\r\\nAnd, to cut off all strife, here sit we down;\\r\\nTake you your instrument, play you the whiles;\\r\\nHis lecture will be done ere you have tun’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nYou’ll leave his lecture when I am in tune?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Retires._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nThat will be never: tune your instrument.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhere left we last?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nHere, madam:—\\r\\n_Hic ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus;\\r\\nHic steterat Priami regia celsa senis._\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nConstrue them.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\n_Hic ibat_, as I told you before, _Simois_, I am Lucentio, _hic est_,\\r\\nson unto Vincentio of Pisa, _Sigeia tellus_, disguised thus to get your\\r\\nlove, _Hic steterat_, and that Lucentio that comes a-wooing, _Priami_,\\r\\nis my man Tranio, _regia_, bearing my port, _celsa senis_, that we\\r\\nmight beguile the old pantaloon.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO. [_Returning._]\\r\\nMadam, my instrument’s in tune.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nLet’s hear.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Hortensio _plays._]\\r\\n\\r\\nO fie! the treble jars.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nSpit in the hole, man, and tune again.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nNow let me see if I can construe it: _Hic ibat Simois_, I know you not;\\r\\n_hic est Sigeia tellus_, I trust you not; _Hic steterat Priami_, take\\r\\nheed he hear us not; _regia_, presume not; _celsa senis_, despair not.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMadam, ’tis now in tune.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAll but the base.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nThe base is right; ’tis the base knave that jars.\\r\\n[_Aside_] How fiery and forward our pedant is!\\r\\nNow, for my life, the knave doth court my love:\\r\\nPedascule, I’ll watch you better yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nIn time I may believe, yet I mistrust.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nMistrust it not; for sure, Æacides\\r\\nWas Ajax, call’d so from his grandfather.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nI must believe my master; else, I promise you,\\r\\nI should be arguing still upon that doubt;\\r\\nBut let it rest. Now, Licio, to you.\\r\\nGood master, take it not unkindly, pray,\\r\\nThat I have been thus pleasant with you both.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n[_To Lucentio_] You may go walk and give me leave a while;\\r\\nMy lessons make no music in three parts.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAre you so formal, sir? Well, I must wait,\\r\\n[_Aside_] And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv’d,\\r\\nOur fine musician groweth amorous.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMadam, before you touch the instrument,\\r\\nTo learn the order of my fingering,\\r\\nI must begin with rudiments of art;\\r\\nTo teach you gamut in a briefer sort,\\r\\nMore pleasant, pithy, and effectual,\\r\\nThan hath been taught by any of my trade:\\r\\nAnd there it is in writing, fairly drawn.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhy, I am past my gamut long ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nYet read the gamut of Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\n _Gamut_ I am, the ground of all accord,\\r\\n _A re_, to plead Hortensio’s passion;\\r\\n _B mi_, Bianca, take him for thy lord,\\r\\n _C fa ut_, that loves with all affection:\\r\\n _D sol re_, one clef, two notes have I\\r\\n _E la mi_, show pity or I die.\\r\\nCall you this gamut? Tut, I like it not:\\r\\nOld fashions please me best; I am not so nice,\\r\\nTo change true rules for odd inventions.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMistress, your father prays you leave your books,\\r\\nAnd help to dress your sister’s chamber up:\\r\\nYou know tomorrow is the wedding-day.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nFarewell, sweet masters, both: I must be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Bianca and Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nFaith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nBut I have cause to pry into this pedant:\\r\\nMethinks he looks as though he were in love.\\r\\nYet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble\\r\\nTo cast thy wand’ring eyes on every stale,\\r\\nSeize thee that list: if once I find thee ranging,\\r\\nHortensio will be quit with thee by changing.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, Katherina, Bianca, Lucentio and\\r\\nAttendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA. [_To Tranio_.]\\r\\nSignior Lucentio, this is the ’pointed day\\r\\nThat Katherine and Petruchio should be married,\\r\\nAnd yet we hear not of our son-in-law.\\r\\nWhat will be said? What mockery will it be\\r\\nTo want the bridegroom when the priest attends\\r\\nTo speak the ceremonial rites of marriage!\\r\\nWhat says Lucentio to this shame of ours?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNo shame but mine; I must, forsooth, be forc’d\\r\\nTo give my hand, oppos’d against my heart,\\r\\nUnto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen;\\r\\nWho woo’d in haste and means to wed at leisure.\\r\\nI told you, I, he was a frantic fool,\\r\\nHiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour;\\r\\nAnd to be noted for a merry man,\\r\\nHe’ll woo a thousand, ’point the day of marriage,\\r\\nMake friends, invite, and proclaim the banns;\\r\\nYet never means to wed where he hath woo’d.\\r\\nNow must the world point at poor Katherine,\\r\\nAnd say ‘Lo! there is mad Petruchio’s wife,\\r\\nIf it would please him come and marry her.’\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nPatience, good Katherine, and Baptista too.\\r\\nUpon my life, Petruchio means but well,\\r\\nWhatever fortune stays him from his word:\\r\\nThough he be blunt, I know him passing wise;\\r\\nThough he be merry, yet withal he’s honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWould Katherine had never seen him though!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit weeping, followed by Bianca and others._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nGo, girl, I cannot blame thee now to weep,\\r\\nFor such an injury would vex a very saint;\\r\\nMuch more a shrew of thy impatient humour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nMaster, master! News! old news, and such news as you never heard of!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nIs it new and old too? How may that be?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhy, is it not news to hear of Petruchio’s coming?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nIs he come?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhy, no, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhat then?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nHe is coming.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhen will he be here?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhen he stands where I am and sees you there.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nBut say, what to thine old news?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhy, Petruchio is coming, in a new hat and an old jerkin; a pair of old\\r\\nbreeches thrice turned; a pair of boots that have been candle-cases,\\r\\none buckled, another laced; an old rusty sword ta’en out of the town\\r\\narmoury, with a broken hilt, and chapeless; with two broken points: his\\r\\nhorse hipped with an old mothy saddle and stirrups of no kindred;\\r\\nbesides, possessed with the glanders and like to mose in the chine;\\r\\ntroubled with the lampass, infected with the fashions, full of\\r\\nwindgalls, sped with spavins, rayed with the yellows, past cure of the\\r\\nfives, stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the bots, swayed\\r\\nin the back and shoulder-shotten; near-legged before, and with a\\r\\nhalf-checked bit, and a head-stall of sheep’s leather, which, being\\r\\nrestrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been often burst, and now\\r\\nrepaired with knots; one girth six times pieced, and a woman’s crupper\\r\\nof velure, which hath two letters for her name fairly set down in\\r\\nstuds, and here and there pieced with pack-thread.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWho comes with him?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nO, sir! his lackey, for all the world caparisoned like the horse; with\\r\\na linen stock on one leg and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered\\r\\nwith a red and blue list; an old hat, and the humour of forty fancies\\r\\nprick’d in’t for a feather: a monster, a very monster in apparel, and\\r\\nnot like a Christian footboy or a gentleman’s lackey.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n’Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion;\\r\\nYet oftentimes lie goes but mean-apparell’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI am glad he’s come, howsoe’er he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhy, sir, he comes not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nDidst thou not say he comes?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWho? that Petruchio came?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAy, that Petruchio came.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nNo, sir; I say his horse comes, with him on his back.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, that’s all one.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\n Nay, by Saint Jamy,\\r\\n I hold you a penny,\\r\\n A horse and a man\\r\\n Is more than one,\\r\\n And yet not many.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petruchio and Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome, where be these gallants? Who is at home?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nYou are welcome, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAnd yet I come not well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAnd yet you halt not.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nNot so well apparell’d as I wish you were.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWere it better, I should rush in thus.\\r\\nBut where is Kate? Where is my lovely bride?\\r\\nHow does my father? Gentles, methinks you frown;\\r\\nAnd wherefore gaze this goodly company,\\r\\nAs if they saw some wondrous monument,\\r\\nSome comet or unusual prodigy?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, sir, you know this is your wedding-day:\\r\\nFirst were we sad, fearing you would not come;\\r\\nNow sadder, that you come so unprovided.\\r\\nFie! doff this habit, shame to your estate,\\r\\nAn eye-sore to our solemn festival.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd tell us what occasion of import\\r\\nHath all so long detain’d you from your wife,\\r\\nAnd sent you hither so unlike yourself?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nTedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear;\\r\\nSufficeth I am come to keep my word,\\r\\nThough in some part enforced to digress;\\r\\nWhich at more leisure I will so excuse\\r\\nAs you shall well be satisfied withal.\\r\\nBut where is Kate? I stay too long from her;\\r\\nThe morning wears, ’tis time we were at church.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSee not your bride in these unreverent robes;\\r\\nGo to my chamber, put on clothes of mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNot I, believe me: thus I’ll visit her.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nBut thus, I trust, you will not marry her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGood sooth, even thus; therefore ha’ done with words;\\r\\nTo me she’s married, not unto my clothes.\\r\\nCould I repair what she will wear in me\\r\\nAs I can change these poor accoutrements,\\r\\n’Twere well for Kate and better for myself.\\r\\nBut what a fool am I to chat with you\\r\\nWhen I should bid good morrow to my bride,\\r\\nAnd seal the title with a lovely kiss!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Petruchio, Grumio and Biondello._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nHe hath some meaning in his mad attire.\\r\\nWe will persuade him, be it possible,\\r\\nTo put on better ere he go to church.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI’ll after him and see the event of this.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Baptista, Gremio and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nBut, sir, to love concerneth us to add\\r\\nHer father’s liking; which to bring to pass,\\r\\nAs I before imparted to your worship,\\r\\nI am to get a man,—whate’er he be\\r\\nIt skills not much; we’ll fit him to our turn,—\\r\\nAnd he shall be Vincentio of Pisa,\\r\\nAnd make assurance here in Padua,\\r\\nOf greater sums than I have promised.\\r\\nSo shall you quietly enjoy your hope,\\r\\nAnd marry sweet Bianca with consent.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nWere it not that my fellow schoolmaster\\r\\nDoth watch Bianca’s steps so narrowly,\\r\\n’Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage;\\r\\nWhich once perform’d, let all the world say no,\\r\\nI’ll keep mine own despite of all the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThat by degrees we mean to look into,\\r\\nAnd watch our vantage in this business.\\r\\nWe’ll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio,\\r\\nThe narrow-prying father, Minola,\\r\\nThe quaint musician, amorous Licio;\\r\\nAll for my master’s sake, Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Gremio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSignior Gremio, came you from the church?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAs willingly as e’er I came from school.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd is the bride and bridegroom coming home?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nA bridegroom, say you? ’Tis a groom indeed,\\r\\nA grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nCurster than she? Why, ’tis impossible.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWhy, he’s a devil, a devil, a very fiend.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhy, she’s a devil, a devil, the devil’s dam.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nTut! she’s a lamb, a dove, a fool, to him.\\r\\nI’ll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priest\\r\\nShould ask if Katherine should be his wife,\\r\\n’Ay, by gogs-wouns’ quoth he, and swore so loud\\r\\nThat, all amaz’d, the priest let fall the book;\\r\\nAnd as he stoop’d again to take it up,\\r\\nThe mad-brain’d bridegroom took him such a cuff\\r\\nThat down fell priest and book, and book and priest:\\r\\n‘Now take them up,’ quoth he ‘if any list.’\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhat said the wench, when he rose again?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nTrembled and shook, for why, he stamp’d and swore\\r\\nAs if the vicar meant to cozen him.\\r\\nBut after many ceremonies done,\\r\\nHe calls for wine: ‘A health!’ quoth he, as if\\r\\nHe had been abroad, carousing to his mates\\r\\nAfter a storm; quaff’d off the muscadel,\\r\\nAnd threw the sops all in the sexton’s face,\\r\\nHaving no other reason\\r\\nBut that his beard grew thin and hungerly\\r\\nAnd seem’d to ask him sops as he was drinking.\\r\\nThis done, he took the bride about the neck,\\r\\nAnd kiss’d her lips with such a clamorous smack\\r\\nThat at the parting all the church did echo.\\r\\nAnd I, seeing this, came thence for very shame;\\r\\nAnd after me, I know, the rout is coming.\\r\\nSuch a mad marriage never was before.\\r\\nHark, hark! I hear the minstrels play.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Music plays._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petrucio, Katherina, Bianca, Baptista, Hortensio, Grumio and\\r\\nTrain.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains:\\r\\nI know you think to dine with me today,\\r\\nAnd have prepar’d great store of wedding cheer\\r\\nBut so it is, my haste doth call me hence,\\r\\nAnd therefore here I mean to take my leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nIs’t possible you will away tonight?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI must away today before night come.\\r\\nMake it no wonder: if you knew my business,\\r\\nYou would entreat me rather go than stay.\\r\\nAnd, honest company, I thank you all,\\r\\nThat have beheld me give away myself\\r\\nTo this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife.\\r\\nDine with my father, drink a health to me.\\r\\nFor I must hence; and farewell to you all.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nLet us entreat you stay till after dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nIt may not be.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nLet me entreat you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nIt cannot be.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nLet me entreat you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI am content.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nAre you content to stay?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI am content you shall entreat me stay;\\r\\nBut yet not stay, entreat me how you can.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNow, if you love me, stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGrumio, my horse!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nAy, sir, they be ready; the oats have eaten the horses.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNay, then,\\r\\nDo what thou canst, I will not go today;\\r\\nNo, nor tomorrow, not till I please myself.\\r\\nThe door is open, sir; there lies your way;\\r\\nYou may be jogging whiles your boots are green;\\r\\nFor me, I’ll not be gone till I please myself.\\r\\n’Tis like you’ll prove a jolly surly groom\\r\\nThat take it on you at the first so roundly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nO Kate! content thee: prithee be not angry.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI will be angry: what hast thou to do?\\r\\nFather, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAy, marry, sir, now it begins to work.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nGentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner:\\r\\nI see a woman may be made a fool,\\r\\nIf she had not a spirit to resist.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThey shall go forward, Kate, at thy command.\\r\\nObey the bride, you that attend on her;\\r\\nGo to the feast, revel and domineer,\\r\\nCarouse full measure to her maidenhead,\\r\\nBe mad and merry, or go hang yourselves:\\r\\nBut for my bonny Kate, she must with me.\\r\\nNay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret;\\r\\nI will be master of what is mine own.\\r\\nShe is my goods, my chattels; she is my house,\\r\\nMy household stuff, my field, my barn,\\r\\nMy horse, my ox, my ass, my anything;\\r\\nAnd here she stands, touch her whoever dare;\\r\\nI’ll bring mine action on the proudest he\\r\\nThat stops my way in Padua. Grumio,\\r\\nDraw forth thy weapon; we are beset with thieves;\\r\\nRescue thy mistress, if thou be a man.\\r\\nFear not, sweet wench; they shall not touch thee, Kate;\\r\\nI’ll buckler thee against a million.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Petrucio, Katherina and Grumio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWent they not quickly, I should die with laughing.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nOf all mad matches, never was the like.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nMistress, what’s your opinion of your sister?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nThat, being mad herself, she’s madly mated.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI warrant him, Petruchio is Kated.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNeighbours and friends, though bride and bridegroom wants\\r\\nFor to supply the places at the table,\\r\\nYou know there wants no junkets at the feast.\\r\\nLucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom’s place;\\r\\nAnd let Bianca take her sister’s room.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nShall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nShe shall, Lucentio. Come, gentlemen, let’s go.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A hall in PETRUCHIO’S country house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nFie, fie on all tired jades, on all mad masters, and all foul ways! Was\\r\\never man so beaten? Was ever man so ray’d? Was ever man so weary? I am\\r\\nsent before to make a fire, and they are coming after to warm them.\\r\\nNow, were not I a little pot and soon hot, my very lips might freeze to\\r\\nmy teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere\\r\\nI should come by a fire to thaw me. But I with blowing the fire shall\\r\\nwarm myself; for, considering the weather, a taller man than I will\\r\\ntake cold. Holla, ho! Curtis!\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Curtis.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nWho is that calls so coldly?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nA piece of ice: if thou doubt it, thou mayst slide from my shoulder to\\r\\nmy heel with no greater a run but my head and my neck. A fire, good\\r\\nCurtis.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nIs my master and his wife coming, Grumio?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nO, ay! Curtis, ay; and therefore fire, fire; cast on no water.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nIs she so hot a shrew as she’s reported?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nShe was, good Curtis, before this frost; but thou knowest winter tames\\r\\nman, woman, and beast; for it hath tamed my old master, and my new\\r\\nmistress, and myself, fellow Curtis.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nAway, you three-inch fool! I am no beast.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nAm I but three inches? Why, thy horn is a foot; and so long am I at the\\r\\nleast. But wilt thou make a fire, or shall I complain on thee to our\\r\\nmistress, whose hand,—she being now at hand,— thou shalt soon feel, to\\r\\nthy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nI prithee, good Grumio, tell me, how goes the world?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nA cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; and therefore fire. Do\\r\\nthy duty, and have thy duty, for my master and mistress are almost\\r\\nfrozen to death.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nThere’s fire ready; and therefore, good Grumio, the news.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhy, ‘Jack boy! ho, boy!’ and as much news as wilt thou.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nCome, you are so full of cony-catching.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhy, therefore, fire; for I have caught extreme cold. Where’s the cook?\\r\\nIs supper ready, the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept, the\\r\\nservingmen in their new fustian, their white stockings, and every\\r\\nofficer his wedding-garment on? Be the Jacks fair within, the Jills\\r\\nfair without, and carpets laid, and everything in order?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nAll ready; and therefore, I pray thee, news.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nFirst, know my horse is tired; my master and mistress fallen out.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nHow?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nOut of their saddles into the dirt; and thereby hangs a tale.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nLet’s ha’t, good Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nLend thine ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nHere.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\n[_Striking him._] There.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nThis ’tis to feel a tale, not to hear a tale.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nAnd therefore ’tis called a sensible tale; and this cuff was but to\\r\\nknock at your ear and beseech listening. Now I begin: _Imprimis_, we\\r\\ncame down a foul hill, my master riding behind my mistress,—\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nBoth of one horse?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhat’s that to thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nWhy, a horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nTell thou the tale: but hadst thou not crossed me, thou shouldst have\\r\\nheard how her horse fell, and she under her horse; thou shouldst have\\r\\nheard in how miry a place, how she was bemoiled; how he left her with\\r\\nthe horse upon her; how he beat me because her horse stumbled; how she\\r\\nwaded through the dirt to pluck him off me: how he swore; how she\\r\\nprayed, that never prayed before; how I cried; how the horses ran away;\\r\\nhow her bridle was burst; how I lost my crupper; with many things of\\r\\nworthy memory, which now shall die in oblivion, and thou return\\r\\nunexperienced to thy grave.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nBy this reckoning he is more shrew than she.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nAy; and that thou and the proudest of you all shall find when he comes\\r\\nhome. But what talk I of this? Call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas,\\r\\nPhilip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest; let their heads be sleekly\\r\\ncombed, their blue coats brush’d and their garters of an indifferent\\r\\nknit; let them curtsy with their left legs, and not presume to touch a\\r\\nhair of my master’s horse-tail till they kiss their hands. Are they all\\r\\nready?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nThey are.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nCall them forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nDo you hear? ho! You must meet my master to countenance my mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhy, she hath a face of her own.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nWho knows not that?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nThou, it seems, that calls for company to countenance her.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nI call them forth to credit her.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhy, she comes to borrow nothing of them.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter four or five Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nNATHANIEL.\\r\\nWelcome home, Grumio!\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILIP.\\r\\nHow now, Grumio!\\r\\n\\r\\nJOSEPH.\\r\\nWhat, Grumio!\\r\\n\\r\\nNICHOLAS.\\r\\nFellow Grumio!\\r\\n\\r\\nNATHANIEL.\\r\\nHow now, old lad!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWelcome, you; how now, you; what, you; fellow, you; and thus much for\\r\\ngreeting. Now, my spruce companions, is all ready, and all things neat?\\r\\n\\r\\nNATHANIEL.\\r\\nAll things is ready. How near is our master?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nE’en at hand, alighted by this; and therefore be not,—\\r\\nCock’s passion, silence! I hear my master.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petrucio and Katherina.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhere be these knaves? What! no man at door\\r\\nTo hold my stirrup nor to take my horse?\\r\\nWhere is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip?—\\r\\n\\r\\nALL SERVANTS.\\r\\nHere, here, sir; here, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHere, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sir!\\r\\nYou logger-headed and unpolish’d grooms!\\r\\nWhat, no attendance? no regard? no duty?\\r\\nWhere is the foolish knave I sent before?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nHere, sir; as foolish as I was before.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nYou peasant swain! you whoreson malt-horse drudge!\\r\\nDid I not bid thee meet me in the park,\\r\\nAnd bring along these rascal knaves with thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nNathaniel’s coat, sir, was not fully made,\\r\\nAnd Gabriel’s pumps were all unpink’d i’ the heel;\\r\\nThere was no link to colour Peter’s hat,\\r\\nAnd Walter’s dagger was not come from sheathing;\\r\\nThere was none fine but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory;\\r\\nThe rest were ragged, old, and beggarly;\\r\\nYet, as they are, here are they come to meet you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGo, rascals, go and fetch my supper in.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt some of the Servants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhere is the life that late I led?\\r\\n Where are those—? Sit down, Kate, and welcome.\\r\\nFood, food, food, food!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Servants with supper.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhy, when, I say?—Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry.—\\r\\nOff with my boots, you rogues! you villains! when?\\r\\n It was the friar of orders grey,\\r\\n As he forth walked on his way:\\r\\nOut, you rogue! you pluck my foot awry:\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Strikes him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTake that, and mend the plucking off the other.\\r\\nBe merry, Kate. Some water, here; what, ho!\\r\\nWhere’s my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you hence\\r\\nAnd bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither:\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOne, Kate, that you must kiss and be acquainted with.\\r\\nWhere are my slippers? Shall I have some water?\\r\\nCome, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Servant lets the ewer fall. Petruchio strikes him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nYou whoreson villain! will you let it fall?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nPatience, I pray you; ’twas a fault unwilling.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA whoreson, beetle-headed, flap-ear’d knave!\\r\\nCome, Kate, sit down; I know you have a stomach.\\r\\nWill you give thanks, sweet Kate, or else shall I?—\\r\\nWhat’s this? Mutton?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nAy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWho brought it?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nI.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\n’Tis burnt; and so is all the meat.\\r\\nWhat dogs are these! Where is the rascal cook?\\r\\nHow durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser,\\r\\nAnd serve it thus to me that love it not?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Throws the meat, etc., at them._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThere, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all.\\r\\nYou heedless joltheads and unmanner’d slaves!\\r\\nWhat! do you grumble? I’ll be with you straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI pray you, husband, be not so disquiet;\\r\\nThe meat was well, if you were so contented.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI tell thee, Kate, ’twas burnt and dried away,\\r\\nAnd I expressly am forbid to touch it;\\r\\nFor it engenders choler, planteth anger;\\r\\nAnd better ’twere that both of us did fast,\\r\\nSince, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric,\\r\\nThan feed it with such over-roasted flesh.\\r\\nBe patient; tomorrow ’t shall be mended.\\r\\nAnd for this night we’ll fast for company:\\r\\nCome, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Petruchio, Katherina and Curtis._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNATHANIEL.\\r\\nPeter, didst ever see the like?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nHe kills her in her own humour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Curtis.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhere is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nIn her chamber, making a sermon of continency to her;\\r\\nAnd rails, and swears, and rates, that she, poor soul,\\r\\nKnows not which way to stand, to look, to speak,\\r\\nAnd sits as one new risen from a dream.\\r\\nAway, away! for he is coming hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Petruchio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThus have I politicly begun my reign,\\r\\nAnd ’tis my hope to end successfully.\\r\\nMy falcon now is sharp and passing empty.\\r\\nAnd till she stoop she must not be full-gorg’d,\\r\\nFor then she never looks upon her lure.\\r\\nAnother way I have to man my haggard,\\r\\nTo make her come, and know her keeper’s call,\\r\\nThat is, to watch her, as we watch these kites\\r\\nThat bate and beat, and will not be obedient.\\r\\nShe eat no meat today, nor none shall eat;\\r\\nLast night she slept not, nor tonight she shall not;\\r\\nAs with the meat, some undeserved fault\\r\\nI’ll find about the making of the bed;\\r\\nAnd here I’ll fling the pillow, there the bolster,\\r\\nThis way the coverlet, another way the sheets;\\r\\nAy, and amid this hurly I intend\\r\\nThat all is done in reverend care of her;\\r\\nAnd, in conclusion, she shall watch all night:\\r\\nAnd if she chance to nod I’ll rail and brawl,\\r\\nAnd with the clamour keep her still awake.\\r\\nThis is a way to kill a wife with kindness;\\r\\nAnd thus I’ll curb her mad and headstrong humour.\\r\\nHe that knows better how to tame a shrew,\\r\\nNow let him speak; ’tis charity to show.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Padua. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Tranio and Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nIs ’t possible, friend Licio, that Mistress Bianca\\r\\nDoth fancy any other but Lucentio?\\r\\nI tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSir, to satisfy you in what I have said,\\r\\nStand by and mark the manner of his teaching.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They stand aside._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Bianca and Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nNow, mistress, profit you in what you read?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhat, master, read you? First resolve me that.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI read that I profess, _The Art to Love_.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nAnd may you prove, sir, master of your art!\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nWhile you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They retire._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nQuick proceeders, marry! Now tell me, I pray,\\r\\nYou that durst swear that your Mistress Bianca\\r\\nLov’d none in the world so well as Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nO despiteful love! unconstant womankind!\\r\\nI tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMistake no more; I am not Licio.\\r\\nNor a musician as I seem to be;\\r\\nBut one that scorn to live in this disguise\\r\\nFor such a one as leaves a gentleman\\r\\nAnd makes a god of such a cullion:\\r\\nKnow, sir, that I am call’d Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSignior Hortensio, I have often heard\\r\\nOf your entire affection to Bianca;\\r\\nAnd since mine eyes are witness of her lightness,\\r\\nI will with you, if you be so contented,\\r\\nForswear Bianca and her love for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSee, how they kiss and court! Signior Lucentio,\\r\\nHere is my hand, and here I firmly vow\\r\\nNever to woo her more, but do forswear her,\\r\\nAs one unworthy all the former favours\\r\\nThat I have fondly flatter’d her withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd here I take the like unfeigned oath,\\r\\nNever to marry with her though she would entreat;\\r\\nFie on her! See how beastly she doth court him!\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nWould all the world but he had quite forsworn!\\r\\nFor me, that I may surely keep mine oath,\\r\\nI will be married to a wealthy widow\\r\\nEre three days pass, which hath as long lov’d me\\r\\nAs I have lov’d this proud disdainful haggard.\\r\\nAnd so farewell, Signior Lucentio.\\r\\nKindness in women, not their beauteous looks,\\r\\nShall win my love; and so I take my leave,\\r\\nIn resolution as I swore before.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Hortensio. Lucentio and Bianca advance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMistress Bianca, bless you with such grace\\r\\nAs ’longeth to a lover’s blessed case!\\r\\nNay, I have ta’en you napping, gentle love,\\r\\nAnd have forsworn you with Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nTranio, you jest; but have you both forsworn me?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMistress, we have.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nThen we are rid of Licio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nI’ faith, he’ll have a lusty widow now,\\r\\nThat shall be woo’d and wedded in a day.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nGod give him joy!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAy, and he’ll tame her.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nHe says so, Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nFaith, he is gone unto the taming-school.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nThe taming-school! What, is there such a place?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAy, mistress; and Petruchio is the master,\\r\\nThat teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long,\\r\\nTo tame a shrew and charm her chattering tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Biondello, running.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nO master, master! I have watch’d so long\\r\\nThat I am dog-weary; but at last I spied\\r\\nAn ancient angel coming down the hill\\r\\nWill serve the turn.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhat is he, Biondello?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nMaster, a mercatante or a pedant,\\r\\nI know not what; but formal in apparel,\\r\\nIn gait and countenance surely like a father.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAnd what of him, Tranio?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nIf he be credulous and trust my tale,\\r\\nI’ll make him glad to seem Vincentio,\\r\\nAnd give assurance to Baptista Minola,\\r\\nAs if he were the right Vincentio.\\r\\nTake in your love, and then let me alone.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Lucentio and Bianca._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a Pedant.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nGod save you, sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd you, sir! you are welcome.\\r\\nTravel you far on, or are you at the farthest?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nSir, at the farthest for a week or two;\\r\\nBut then up farther, and as far as Rome;\\r\\nAnd so to Tripoli, if God lend me life.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhat countryman, I pray?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nOf Mantua.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nOf Mantua, sir? Marry, God forbid,\\r\\nAnd come to Padua, careless of your life!\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nMy life, sir! How, I pray? for that goes hard.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n’Tis death for anyone in Mantua\\r\\nTo come to Padua. Know you not the cause?\\r\\nYour ships are stay’d at Venice; and the Duke,—\\r\\nFor private quarrel ’twixt your Duke and him,—\\r\\nHath publish’d and proclaim’d it openly.\\r\\n’Tis marvel, but that you are but newly come\\r\\nYou might have heard it else proclaim’d about.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nAlas, sir! it is worse for me than so;\\r\\nFor I have bills for money by exchange\\r\\nFrom Florence, and must here deliver them.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWell, sir, to do you courtesy,\\r\\nThis will I do, and this I will advise you:\\r\\nFirst, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nAy, sir, in Pisa have I often been,\\r\\nPisa renowned for grave citizens.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAmong them know you one Vincentio?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nI know him not, but I have heard of him,\\r\\nA merchant of incomparable wealth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nHe is my father, sir; and, sooth to say,\\r\\nIn countenance somewhat doth resemble you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] As much as an apple doth an oyster, and all one.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nTo save your life in this extremity,\\r\\nThis favour will I do you for his sake;\\r\\nAnd think it not the worst of all your fortunes\\r\\nThat you are like to Sir Vincentio.\\r\\nHis name and credit shall you undertake,\\r\\nAnd in my house you shall be friendly lodg’d;\\r\\nLook that you take upon you as you should!\\r\\nYou understand me, sir; so shall you stay\\r\\nTill you have done your business in the city.\\r\\nIf this be courtesy, sir, accept of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nO, sir, I do; and will repute you ever\\r\\nThe patron of my life and liberty.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThen go with me to make the matter good.\\r\\nThis, by the way, I let you understand:\\r\\nMy father is here look’d for every day\\r\\nTo pass assurance of a dower in marriage\\r\\n’Twixt me and one Baptista’s daughter here:\\r\\nIn all these circumstances I’ll instruct you.\\r\\nGo with me to clothe you as becomes you.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A room in PETRUCHIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Katherina and Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nNo, no, forsooth; I dare not for my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThe more my wrong, the more his spite appears.\\r\\nWhat, did he marry me to famish me?\\r\\nBeggars that come unto my father’s door\\r\\nUpon entreaty have a present alms;\\r\\nIf not, elsewhere they meet with charity;\\r\\nBut I, who never knew how to entreat,\\r\\nNor never needed that I should entreat,\\r\\nAm starv’d for meat, giddy for lack of sleep;\\r\\nWith oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed.\\r\\nAnd that which spites me more than all these wants,\\r\\nHe does it under name of perfect love;\\r\\nAs who should say, if I should sleep or eat\\r\\n’Twere deadly sickness, or else present death.\\r\\nI prithee go and get me some repast;\\r\\nI care not what, so it be wholesome food.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhat say you to a neat’s foot?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\n’Tis passing good; I prithee let me have it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI fear it is too choleric a meat.\\r\\nHow say you to a fat tripe finely broil’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI like it well; good Grumio, fetch it me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI cannot tell; I fear ’tis choleric.\\r\\nWhat say you to a piece of beef and mustard?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nA dish that I do love to feed upon.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nAy, but the mustard is too hot a little.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhy then the beef, and let the mustard rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nNay, then I will not: you shall have the mustard,\\r\\nOr else you get no beef of Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThen both, or one, or anything thou wilt.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhy then the mustard without the beef.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nGo, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave,\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Beats him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThat feed’st me with the very name of meat.\\r\\nSorrow on thee and all the pack of you\\r\\nThat triumph thus upon my misery!\\r\\nGo, get thee gone, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petruchio with a dish of meat; and Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHow fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMistress, what cheer?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nFaith, as cold as can be.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nPluck up thy spirits; look cheerfully upon me.\\r\\nHere, love; thou seest how diligent I am,\\r\\nTo dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee:\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sets the dish on a table._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks.\\r\\nWhat! not a word? Nay, then thou lov’st it not,\\r\\nAnd all my pains is sorted to no proof.\\r\\nHere, take away this dish.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI pray you, let it stand.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThe poorest service is repaid with thanks;\\r\\nAnd so shall mine, before you touch the meat.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI thank you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSignior Petruchio, fie! you are to blame.\\r\\nCome, Mistress Kate, I’ll bear you company.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lovest me.\\r\\nMuch good do it unto thy gentle heart!\\r\\nKate, eat apace: and now, my honey love,\\r\\nWill we return unto thy father’s house\\r\\nAnd revel it as bravely as the best,\\r\\nWith silken coats and caps, and golden rings,\\r\\nWith ruffs and cuffs and farthingales and things;\\r\\nWith scarfs and fans and double change of bravery,\\r\\nWith amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery.\\r\\nWhat! hast thou din’d? The tailor stays thy leisure,\\r\\nTo deck thy body with his ruffling treasure.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Tailor.\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, tailor, let us see these ornaments;\\r\\nLay forth the gown.—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Haberdasher.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat news with you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nHABERDASHER.\\r\\nHere is the cap your worship did bespeak.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, this was moulded on a porringer;\\r\\nA velvet dish: fie, fie! ’tis lewd and filthy:\\r\\nWhy, ’tis a cockle or a walnut-shell,\\r\\nA knack, a toy, a trick, a baby’s cap:\\r\\nAway with it! come, let me have a bigger.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI’ll have no bigger; this doth fit the time,\\r\\nAnd gentlewomen wear such caps as these.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhen you are gentle, you shall have one too,\\r\\nAnd not till then.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n[_Aside_] That will not be in haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhy, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak;\\r\\nAnd speak I will. I am no child, no babe.\\r\\nYour betters have endur’d me say my mind,\\r\\nAnd if you cannot, best you stop your ears.\\r\\nMy tongue will tell the anger of my heart,\\r\\nOr else my heart, concealing it, will break;\\r\\nAnd rather than it shall, I will be free\\r\\nEven to the uttermost, as I please, in words.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, thou say’st true; it is a paltry cap,\\r\\nA custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie;\\r\\nI love thee well in that thou lik’st it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nLove me or love me not, I like the cap;\\r\\nAnd it I will have, or I will have none.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Haberdasher._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThy gown? Why, ay: come, tailor, let us see’t.\\r\\nO mercy, God! what masquing stuff is here?\\r\\nWhat’s this? A sleeve? ’Tis like a demi-cannon.\\r\\nWhat, up and down, carv’d like an apple tart?\\r\\nHere’s snip and nip and cut and slish and slash,\\r\\nLike to a censer in a barber’s shop.\\r\\nWhy, what i’ devil’s name, tailor, call’st thou this?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n[_Aside_] I see she’s like to have neither cap nor gown.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nYou bid me make it orderly and well,\\r\\nAccording to the fashion and the time.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nMarry, and did; but if you be remember’d,\\r\\nI did not bid you mar it to the time.\\r\\nGo, hop me over every kennel home,\\r\\nFor you shall hop without my custom, sir.\\r\\nI’ll none of it: hence! make your best of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI never saw a better fashion’d gown,\\r\\nMore quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable;\\r\\nBelike you mean to make a puppet of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, true; he means to make a puppet of thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nShe says your worship means to make a puppet of her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nO monstrous arrogance! Thou liest, thou thread,\\r\\nThou thimble,\\r\\nThou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail!\\r\\nThou flea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket thou!\\r\\nBrav’d in mine own house with a skein of thread!\\r\\nAway! thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant,\\r\\nOr I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard\\r\\nAs thou shalt think on prating whilst thou liv’st!\\r\\nI tell thee, I, that thou hast marr’d her gown.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nYour worship is deceiv’d: the gown is made\\r\\nJust as my master had direction.\\r\\nGrumio gave order how it should be done.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI gave him no order; I gave him the stuff.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nBut how did you desire it should be made?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nMarry, sir, with needle and thread.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nBut did you not request to have it cut?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nThou hast faced many things.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nI have.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nFace not me. Thou hast braved many men; brave not me: I will neither be\\r\\nfac’d nor brav’d. I say unto thee, I bid thy master cut out the gown;\\r\\nbut I did not bid him cut it to pieces: ergo, thou liest.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nWhy, here is the note of the fashion to testify.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nRead it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nThe note lies in ’s throat, if he say I said so.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\n’Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown.’\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nMaster, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, sew me in the skirts of it\\r\\nand beat me to death with a bottom of brown thread; I said, a gown.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nProceed.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\n’With a small compassed cape.’\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI confess the cape.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\n’With a trunk sleeve.’\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI confess two sleeves.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\n’The sleeves curiously cut.’\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAy, there’s the villainy.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nError i’ the bill, sir; error i’ the bill. I commanded the sleeves\\r\\nshould be cut out, and sew’d up again; and that I’ll prove upon thee,\\r\\nthough thy little finger be armed in a thimble.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nThis is true that I say; and I had thee in place where thou shouldst\\r\\nknow it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI am for thee straight; take thou the bill, give me thy mete-yard, and\\r\\nspare not me.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nGod-a-mercy, Grumio! Then he shall have no odds.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWell, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nYou are i’ the right, sir; ’tis for my mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGo, take it up unto thy master’s use.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nVillain, not for thy life! Take up my mistress’ gown for thy master’s\\r\\nuse!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, sir, what’s your conceit in that?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nO, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for.\\r\\nTake up my mistress’ gown to his master’s use!\\r\\nO fie, fie, fie!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\n[_Aside_] Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor paid.\\r\\n[_To Tailor._] Go take it hence; be gone, and say no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Tailor._] Tailor, I’ll pay thee for thy gown tomorrow;\\r\\nTake no unkindness of his hasty words.\\r\\nAway, I say! commend me to thy master.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Tailor._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWell, come, my Kate; we will unto your father’s\\r\\nEven in these honest mean habiliments.\\r\\nOur purses shall be proud, our garments poor\\r\\nFor ’tis the mind that makes the body rich;\\r\\nAnd as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,\\r\\nSo honour peereth in the meanest habit.\\r\\nWhat, is the jay more precious than the lark\\r\\nBecause his feathers are more beautiful?\\r\\nOr is the adder better than the eel\\r\\nBecause his painted skin contents the eye?\\r\\nO no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse\\r\\nFor this poor furniture and mean array.\\r\\nIf thou account’st it shame, lay it on me;\\r\\nAnd therefore frolic; we will hence forthwith,\\r\\nTo feast and sport us at thy father’s house.\\r\\nGo call my men, and let us straight to him;\\r\\nAnd bring our horses unto Long-lane end;\\r\\nThere will we mount, and thither walk on foot.\\r\\nLet’s see; I think ’tis now some seven o’clock,\\r\\nAnd well we may come there by dinner-time.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI dare assure you, sir, ’tis almost two,\\r\\nAnd ’twill be supper-time ere you come there.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nIt shall be seven ere I go to horse.\\r\\nLook what I speak, or do, or think to do,\\r\\nYou are still crossing it. Sirs, let ’t alone:\\r\\nI will not go today; and ere I do,\\r\\nIt shall be what o’clock I say it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nWhy, so this gallant will command the sun.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Padua. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Tranio and the Pedant dressed like Vincentio\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSir, this is the house; please it you that I call?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nAy, what else? and, but I be deceived,\\r\\nSignior Baptista may remember me,\\r\\nNear twenty years ago in Genoa,\\r\\nWhere we were lodgers at the Pegasus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n’Tis well; and hold your own, in any case,\\r\\nWith such austerity as ’longeth to a father.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nI warrant you. But, sir, here comes your boy;\\r\\n’Twere good he were school’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nFear you not him. Sirrah Biondello,\\r\\nNow do your duty throughly, I advise you.\\r\\nImagine ’twere the right Vincentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nTut! fear not me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nBut hast thou done thy errand to Baptista?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI told him that your father was at Venice,\\r\\nAnd that you look’d for him this day in Padua.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nTh’art a tall fellow; hold thee that to drink.\\r\\nHere comes Baptista. Set your countenance, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Baptista and Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSignior Baptista, you are happily met.\\r\\n[_To the Pedant_] Sir, this is the gentleman I told you of;\\r\\nI pray you stand good father to me now;\\r\\nGive me Bianca for my patrimony.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nSoft, son!\\r\\nSir, by your leave: having come to Padua\\r\\nTo gather in some debts, my son Lucentio\\r\\nMade me acquainted with a weighty cause\\r\\nOf love between your daughter and himself:\\r\\nAnd,—for the good report I hear of you,\\r\\nAnd for the love he beareth to your daughter,\\r\\nAnd she to him,—to stay him not too long,\\r\\nI am content, in a good father’s care,\\r\\nTo have him match’d; and, if you please to like\\r\\nNo worse than I, upon some agreement\\r\\nMe shall you find ready and willing\\r\\nWith one consent to have her so bestow’d;\\r\\nFor curious I cannot be with you,\\r\\nSignior Baptista, of whom I hear so well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nSir, pardon me in what I have to say.\\r\\nYour plainness and your shortness please me well.\\r\\nRight true it is your son Lucentio here\\r\\nDoth love my daughter, and she loveth him,\\r\\nOr both dissemble deeply their affections;\\r\\nAnd therefore, if you say no more than this,\\r\\nThat like a father you will deal with him,\\r\\nAnd pass my daughter a sufficient dower,\\r\\nThe match is made, and all is done:\\r\\nYour son shall have my daughter with consent.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nI thank you, sir. Where then do you know best\\r\\nWe be affied, and such assurance ta’en\\r\\nAs shall with either part’s agreement stand?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNot in my house, Lucentio, for you know\\r\\nPitchers have ears, and I have many servants;\\r\\nBesides, old Gremio is hearkening still,\\r\\nAnd happily we might be interrupted.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThen at my lodging, and it like you:\\r\\nThere doth my father lie; and there this night\\r\\nWe’ll pass the business privately and well.\\r\\nSend for your daughter by your servant here;\\r\\nMy boy shall fetch the scrivener presently.\\r\\nThe worst is this, that at so slender warning\\r\\nYou are like to have a thin and slender pittance.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nIt likes me well. Cambio, hie you home,\\r\\nAnd bid Bianca make her ready straight;\\r\\nAnd, if you will, tell what hath happened:\\r\\nLucentio’s father is arriv’d in Padua,\\r\\nAnd how she’s like to be Lucentio’s wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI pray the gods she may, with all my heart!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nDally not with the gods, but get thee gone.\\r\\nSignior Baptista, shall I lead the way?\\r\\nWelcome! One mess is like to be your cheer;\\r\\nCome, sir; we will better it in Pisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI follow you.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Tranio, Pedant and Baptista._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nCambio!\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nWhat say’st thou, Biondello?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nYou saw my master wink and laugh upon you?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nBiondello, what of that?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nFaith, nothing; but has left me here behind to expound the meaning or\\r\\nmoral of his signs and tokens.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI pray thee moralize them.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nThen thus: Baptista is safe, talking with the deceiving father of a\\r\\ndeceitful son.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAnd what of him?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nHis daughter is to be brought by you to the supper.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAnd then?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nThe old priest at Saint Luke’s church is at your command at all hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAnd what of all this?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI cannot tell, except they are busied about a counterfeit assurance.\\r\\nTake your assurance of her, _cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum_; to\\r\\nthe church! take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient honest\\r\\nwitnesses.\\r\\nIf this be not that you look for, I have more to say,\\r\\nBut bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Going._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nHear’st thou, Biondello?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI cannot tarry: I knew a wench married in an afternoon as she went to\\r\\nthe garden for parsley to stuff a rabbit; and so may you, sir; and so\\r\\nadieu, sir. My master hath appointed me to go to Saint Luke’s to bid\\r\\nthe priest be ready to come against you come with your appendix.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI may, and will, if she be so contented.\\r\\nShe will be pleas’d; then wherefore should I doubt?\\r\\nHap what hap may, I’ll roundly go about her;\\r\\nIt shall go hard if Cambio go without her:\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. A public road.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petruchio, Katherina, Hortensio and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome on, i’ God’s name; once more toward our father’s.\\r\\nGood Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon!\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThe moon! The sun; it is not moonlight now.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI say it is the moon that shines so bright.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI know it is the sun that shines so bright.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNow by my mother’s son, and that’s myself,\\r\\nIt shall be moon, or star, or what I list,\\r\\nOr ere I journey to your father’s house.\\r\\nGo on and fetch our horses back again.\\r\\nEvermore cross’d and cross’d; nothing but cross’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSay as he says, or we shall never go.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nForward, I pray, since we have come so far,\\r\\nAnd be it moon, or sun, or what you please;\\r\\nAnd if you please to call it a rush-candle,\\r\\nHenceforth I vow it shall be so for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI say it is the moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI know it is the moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, then you lie; it is the blessed sun.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThen, God be bless’d, it is the blessed sun;\\r\\nBut sun it is not when you say it is not,\\r\\nAnd the moon changes even as your mind.\\r\\nWhat you will have it nam’d, even that it is,\\r\\nAnd so it shall be so for Katherine.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nPetruchio, go thy ways; the field is won.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWell, forward, forward! thus the bowl should run,\\r\\nAnd not unluckily against the bias.\\r\\nBut, soft! Company is coming here.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Vincentio, in a travelling dress.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_To Vincentio_] Good morrow, gentle mistress; where away?\\r\\nTell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too,\\r\\nHast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman?\\r\\nSuch war of white and red within her cheeks!\\r\\nWhat stars do spangle heaven with such beauty\\r\\nAs those two eyes become that heavenly face?\\r\\nFair lovely maid, once more good day to thee.\\r\\nSweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty’s sake.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nA will make the man mad, to make a woman of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nYoung budding virgin, fair and fresh and sweet,\\r\\nWhither away, or where is thy abode?\\r\\nHappy the parents of so fair a child;\\r\\nHappier the man whom favourable stars\\r\\nAllot thee for his lovely bedfellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, how now, Kate! I hope thou art not mad:\\r\\nThis is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither’d,\\r\\nAnd not a maiden, as thou sayst he is.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nPardon, old father, my mistaking eyes,\\r\\nThat have been so bedazzled with the sun\\r\\nThat everything I look on seemeth green:\\r\\nNow I perceive thou art a reverend father;\\r\\nPardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nDo, good old grandsire, and withal make known\\r\\nWhich way thou travellest: if along with us,\\r\\nWe shall be joyful of thy company.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nFair sir, and you my merry mistress,\\r\\nThat with your strange encounter much amaz’d me,\\r\\nMy name is called Vincentio; my dwelling Pisa;\\r\\nAnd bound I am to Padua, there to visit\\r\\nA son of mine, which long I have not seen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhat is his name?\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nLucentio, gentle sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHappily met; the happier for thy son.\\r\\nAnd now by law, as well as reverend age,\\r\\nI may entitle thee my loving father:\\r\\nThe sister to my wife, this gentlewoman,\\r\\nThy son by this hath married. Wonder not,\\r\\nNor be not griev’d: she is of good esteem,\\r\\nHer dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth;\\r\\nBeside, so qualified as may beseem\\r\\nThe spouse of any noble gentleman.\\r\\nLet me embrace with old Vincentio;\\r\\nAnd wander we to see thy honest son,\\r\\nWho will of thy arrival be full joyous.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nBut is this true? or is it else your pleasure,\\r\\nLike pleasant travellers, to break a jest\\r\\nUpon the company you overtake?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI do assure thee, father, so it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome, go along, and see the truth hereof;\\r\\nFor our first merriment hath made thee jealous.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt all but Hortensio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nWell, Petruchio, this has put me in heart.\\r\\nHave to my widow! and if she be froward,\\r\\nThen hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Padua. Before LUCENTIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter on one side Biondello, Lucentio and Bianca; Gremio walking on\\r\\nother side.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nSoftly and swiftly, sir, for the priest is ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI fly, Biondello; but they may chance to need thee at home, therefore\\r\\nleave us.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nNay, faith, I’ll see the church o’ your back; and then come back to my\\r\\nmaster’s as soon as I can.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Lucentio, Bianca and Biondello._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI marvel Cambio comes not all this while.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petruchio, Katherina, Vincentio and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSir, here’s the door; this is Lucentio’s house:\\r\\nMy father’s bears more toward the market-place;\\r\\nThither must I, and here I leave you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nYou shall not choose but drink before you go.\\r\\nI think I shall command your welcome here,\\r\\nAnd by all likelihood some cheer is toward.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Knocks._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nThey’re busy within; you were best knock louder.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Pedant above, at a window.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nWhat’s he that knocks as he would beat down the gate?\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nIs Signior Lucentio within, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nHe’s within, sir, but not to be spoken withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nWhat if a man bring him a hundred pound or two to make merry withal?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nKeep your hundred pounds to yourself: he shall need none so long as I\\r\\nlive.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, I told you your son was well beloved in Padua. Do you hear, sir?\\r\\nTo leave frivolous circumstances, I pray you tell Signior Lucentio that\\r\\nhis father is come from Pisa, and is here at the door to speak with\\r\\nhim.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nThou liest: his father is come from Padua, and here looking out at the\\r\\nwindow.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nArt thou his father?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nAy, sir; so his mother says, if I may believe her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\n[_To Vincentio_] Why, how now, gentleman! why, this is flat knavery to\\r\\ntake upon you another man’s name.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nLay hands on the villain: I believe a means to cozen somebody in this\\r\\ncity under my countenance.\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI have seen them in the church together: God send ’em good shipping!\\r\\nBut who is here? Mine old master, Vincentio! Now we are undone and\\r\\nbrought to nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\n[_Seeing Biondello._] Come hither, crack-hemp.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI hope I may choose, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nCome hither, you rogue. What, have you forgot me?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nForgot you! No, sir: I could not forget you, for I never saw you before\\r\\nin all my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nWhat, you notorious villain! didst thou never see thy master’s father,\\r\\nVincentio?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhat, my old worshipful old master? Yes, marry, sir; see where he looks\\r\\nout of the window.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nIs’t so, indeed?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_He beats Biondello._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nHelp, help, help! here’s a madman will murder me.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nHelp, son! help, Signior Baptista!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit from the window._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nPrithee, Kate, let’s stand aside and see the end of this controversy.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They retire._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Pedant, below; Baptista, Tranio and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSir, what are you that offer to beat my servant?\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nWhat am I, sir! nay, what are you, sir? O immortal gods! O fine\\r\\nvillain! A silken doublet, a velvet hose, a scarlet cloak, and a\\r\\ncopatain hat! O, I am undone! I am undone! While I play the good\\r\\nhusband at home, my son and my servant spend all at the university.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nHow now! what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhat, is the man lunatic?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by your habit, but your words\\r\\nshow you a madman. Why, sir, what ’cerns it you if I wear pearl and\\r\\ngold? I thank my good father, I am able to maintain it.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nThy father! O villain! he is a sailmaker in Bergamo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nYou mistake, sir; you mistake, sir. Pray, what do you think is his\\r\\nname?\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nHis name! As if I knew not his name! I have brought him up ever since\\r\\nhe was three years old, and his name is Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nAway, away, mad ass! His name is Lucentio; and he is mine only son, and\\r\\nheir to the lands of me, Signior Vincentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nLucentio! O, he hath murdered his master! Lay hold on him, I charge\\r\\nyou, in the Duke’s name. O, my son, my son! Tell me, thou villain,\\r\\nwhere is my son, Lucentio?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nCall forth an officer.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter one with an Officer.\\r\\n\\r\\nCarry this mad knave to the gaol. Father Baptista, I charge you see\\r\\nthat he be forthcoming.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nCarry me to the gaol!\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nStay, officer; he shall not go to prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nTalk not, Signior Gremio; I say he shall go to prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nTake heed, Signior Baptista, lest you be cony-catched in this business;\\r\\nI dare swear this is the right Vincentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nSwear if thou darest.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nNay, I dare not swear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThen thou wert best say that I am not Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nYes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAway with the dotard! to the gaol with him!\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nThus strangers may be haled and abus’d: O monstrous villain!\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Biondello, with Lucentio and Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nO! we are spoiled; and yonder he is: deny him, forswear him, or else we\\r\\nare all undone.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\n[_Kneeling._] Pardon, sweet father.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nLives my sweetest son?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Biondello, Tranio and Pedant run out._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\n[_Kneeling._] Pardon, dear father.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nHow hast thou offended?\\r\\nWhere is Lucentio?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nHere’s Lucentio,\\r\\nRight son to the right Vincentio;\\r\\nThat have by marriage made thy daughter mine,\\r\\nWhile counterfeit supposes blear’d thine eyne.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nHere ’s packing, with a witness, to deceive us all!\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nWhere is that damned villain, Tranio,\\r\\nThat fac’d and brav’d me in this matter so?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, tell me, is not this my Cambio?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nCambio is chang’d into Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nLove wrought these miracles. Bianca’s love\\r\\nMade me exchange my state with Tranio,\\r\\nWhile he did bear my countenance in the town;\\r\\nAnd happily I have arriv’d at the last\\r\\nUnto the wished haven of my bliss.\\r\\nWhat Tranio did, myself enforc’d him to;\\r\\nThen pardon him, sweet father, for my sake.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nI’ll slit the villain’s nose that would have sent me to the gaol.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\n[_To Lucentio._] But do you hear, sir? Have you married my daughter\\r\\nwithout asking my good will?\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nFear not, Baptista; we will content you, go to: but I will in, to be\\r\\nrevenged for this villainy.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAnd I to sound the depth of this knavery.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nLook not pale, Bianca; thy father will not frown.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Lucentio and Bianca._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nMy cake is dough, but I’ll in among the rest;\\r\\nOut of hope of all but my share of the feast.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPetruchio and Katherina advance.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nHusband, let’s follow to see the end of this ado.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nFirst kiss me, Kate, and we will.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhat! in the midst of the street?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhat! art thou ashamed of me?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNo, sir; God forbid; but ashamed to kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, then, let’s home again. Come, sirrah, let’s away.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNay, I will give thee a kiss: now pray thee, love, stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nIs not this well? Come, my sweet Kate:\\r\\nBetter once than never, for never too late.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A room in LUCENTIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Baptista, Vincentio, Gremio, the Pedant, Lucentio, Bianca,\\r\\nPetruchio, Katherina, Hortensio and Widow. Tranio, Biondello and Grumio\\r\\nand Others, attending.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAt last, though long, our jarring notes agree:\\r\\nAnd time it is when raging war is done,\\r\\nTo smile at ’scapes and perils overblown.\\r\\nMy fair Bianca, bid my father welcome,\\r\\nWhile I with self-same kindness welcome thine.\\r\\nBrother Petruchio, sister Katherina,\\r\\nAnd thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow,\\r\\nFeast with the best, and welcome to my house:\\r\\nMy banquet is to close our stomachs up,\\r\\nAfter our great good cheer. Pray you, sit down;\\r\\nFor now we sit to chat as well as eat.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They sit at table._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nPadua affords this kindness, son Petruchio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nPadua affords nothing but what is kind.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nFor both our sakes I would that word were true.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNow, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nThen never trust me if I be afeard.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nYou are very sensible, and yet you miss my sense:\\r\\nI mean Hortensio is afeard of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nHe that is giddy thinks the world turns round.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nRoundly replied.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nMistress, how mean you that?\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nThus I conceive by him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nConceives by me! How likes Hortensio that?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMy widow says thus she conceives her tale.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nVery well mended. Kiss him for that, good widow.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\n’He that is giddy thinks the world turns round’:\\r\\nI pray you tell me what you meant by that.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nYour husband, being troubled with a shrew,\\r\\nMeasures my husband’s sorrow by his woe;\\r\\nAnd now you know my meaning.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nA very mean meaning.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nRight, I mean you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nAnd I am mean, indeed, respecting you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nTo her, Kate!\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nTo her, widow!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA hundred marks, my Kate does put her down.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nThat’s my office.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSpoke like an officer: ha’ to thee, lad.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Drinks to Hortensio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nHow likes Gremio these quick-witted folks?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nBelieve me, sir, they butt together well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nHead and butt! An hasty-witted body\\r\\nWould say your head and butt were head and horn.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nAy, mistress bride, hath that awaken’d you?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nAy, but not frighted me; therefore I’ll sleep again.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, that you shall not; since you have begun,\\r\\nHave at you for a bitter jest or two.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nAm I your bird? I mean to shift my bush,\\r\\nAnd then pursue me as you draw your bow.\\r\\nYou are welcome all.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Bianca, Katherina and Widow._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nShe hath prevented me. Here, Signior Tranio;\\r\\nThis bird you aim’d at, though you hit her not:\\r\\nTherefore a health to all that shot and miss’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nO, sir! Lucentio slipp’d me like his greyhound,\\r\\nWhich runs himself, and catches for his master.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA good swift simile, but something currish.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n’Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself:\\r\\n’Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nO ho, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI thank thee for that gird, good Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nConfess, confess; hath he not hit you here?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA has a little gall’d me, I confess;\\r\\nAnd as the jest did glance away from me,\\r\\n’Tis ten to one it maim’d you two outright.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNow, in good sadness, son Petruchio,\\r\\nI think thou hast the veriest shrew of all.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWell, I say no; and therefore, for assurance,\\r\\nLet’s each one send unto his wife,\\r\\nAnd he whose wife is most obedient,\\r\\nTo come at first when he doth send for her,\\r\\nShall win the wager which we will propose.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nContent. What’s the wager?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTwenty crowns.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nTwenty crowns!\\r\\nI’ll venture so much of my hawk or hound,\\r\\nBut twenty times so much upon my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nA hundred then.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nContent.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA match! ’tis done.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nWho shall begin?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nThat will I.\\r\\nGo, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI go.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nSon, I’ll be your half, Bianca comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI’ll have no halves; I’ll bear it all myself.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now! what news?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nSir, my mistress sends you word\\r\\nThat she is busy and she cannot come.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHow! She’s busy, and she cannot come!\\r\\nIs that an answer?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAy, and a kind one too:\\r\\nPray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI hope better.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife\\r\\nTo come to me forthwith.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Biondello._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nO, ho! entreat her!\\r\\nNay, then she must needs come.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI am afraid, sir,\\r\\nDo what you can, yours will not be entreated.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, where’s my wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nShe says you have some goodly jest in hand:\\r\\nShe will not come; she bids you come to her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWorse and worse; she will not come! O vile,\\r\\nIntolerable, not to be endur’d!\\r\\nSirrah Grumio, go to your mistress,\\r\\nSay I command her come to me.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Grumio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI know her answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhat?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nShe will not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThe fouler fortune mine, and there an end.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Katherina.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNow, by my holidame, here comes Katherina!\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhat is your will sir, that you send for me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhere is your sister, and Hortensio’s wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThey sit conferring by the parlour fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGo fetch them hither; if they deny to come,\\r\\nSwinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands.\\r\\nAway, I say, and bring them hither straight.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Katherina._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nHere is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nAnd so it is. I wonder what it bodes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nMarry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life,\\r\\nAn awful rule, and right supremacy;\\r\\nAnd, to be short, what not that’s sweet and happy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNow fair befall thee, good Petruchio!\\r\\nThe wager thou hast won; and I will add\\r\\nUnto their losses twenty thousand crowns;\\r\\nAnother dowry to another daughter,\\r\\nFor she is chang’d, as she had never been.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, I will win my wager better yet,\\r\\nAnd show more sign of her obedience,\\r\\nHer new-built virtue and obedience.\\r\\nSee where she comes, and brings your froward wives\\r\\nAs prisoners to her womanly persuasion.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Katherina with Bianca and Widow.\\r\\n\\r\\nKatherine, that cap of yours becomes you not:\\r\\nOff with that bauble, throw it underfoot.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Katherina pulls off her cap and throws it down._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nLord, let me never have a cause to sigh\\r\\nTill I be brought to such a silly pass!\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nFie! what a foolish duty call you this?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI would your duty were as foolish too;\\r\\nThe wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca,\\r\\nHath cost me a hundred crowns since supper-time!\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nThe more fool you for laying on my duty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nKatherine, I charge thee, tell these headstrong women\\r\\nWhat duty they do owe their lords and husbands.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nCome, come, you’re mocking; we will have no telling.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome on, I say; and first begin with her.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nShe shall not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI say she shall: and first begin with her.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nFie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow,\\r\\nAnd dart not scornful glances from those eyes\\r\\nTo wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor:\\r\\nIt blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads,\\r\\nConfounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds,\\r\\nAnd in no sense is meet or amiable.\\r\\nA woman mov’d is like a fountain troubled,\\r\\nMuddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;\\r\\nAnd while it is so, none so dry or thirsty\\r\\nWill deign to sip or touch one drop of it.\\r\\nThy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,\\r\\nThy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee,\\r\\nAnd for thy maintenance commits his body\\r\\nTo painful labour both by sea and land,\\r\\nTo watch the night in storms, the day in cold,\\r\\nWhilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;\\r\\nAnd craves no other tribute at thy hands\\r\\nBut love, fair looks, and true obedience;\\r\\nToo little payment for so great a debt.\\r\\nSuch duty as the subject owes the prince,\\r\\nEven such a woman oweth to her husband;\\r\\nAnd when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour,\\r\\nAnd not obedient to his honest will,\\r\\nWhat is she but a foul contending rebel\\r\\nAnd graceless traitor to her loving lord?—\\r\\nI am asham’d that women are so simple\\r\\nTo offer war where they should kneel for peace,\\r\\nOr seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,\\r\\nWhen they are bound to serve, love, and obey.\\r\\nWhy are our bodies soft and weak and smooth,\\r\\nUnapt to toil and trouble in the world,\\r\\nBut that our soft conditions and our hearts\\r\\nShould well agree with our external parts?\\r\\nCome, come, you froward and unable worms!\\r\\nMy mind hath been as big as one of yours,\\r\\nMy heart as great, my reason haply more,\\r\\nTo bandy word for word and frown for frown;\\r\\nBut now I see our lances are but straws,\\r\\nOur strength as weak, our weakness past compare,\\r\\nThat seeming to be most which we indeed least are.\\r\\nThen vail your stomachs, for it is no boot,\\r\\nAnd place your hands below your husband’s foot:\\r\\nIn token of which duty, if he please,\\r\\nMy hand is ready; may it do him ease.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, there’s a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nWell, go thy ways, old lad, for thou shalt ha’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\n’Tis a good hearing when children are toward.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nBut a harsh hearing when women are froward.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome, Kate, we’ll to bed.\\r\\nWe three are married, but you two are sped.\\r\\n’Twas I won the wager,\\r\\n[_To Lucentio._] though you hit the white;\\r\\nAnd being a winner, God give you good night!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Petrucio and Katherina._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nNow go thy ways; thou hast tam’d a curst shrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\n’Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tam’d so.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE TEMPEST\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. On a ship at sea; a tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning\\r\\nheard.\\r\\nScene II. The Island. Before the cell of Prospero.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. Another part of the island.\\r\\nScene II. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Before Prospero’s cell.\\r\\nScene II. Another part of the island.\\r\\nScene III. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Before Prospero’s cell.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Before the cell of Prospero.\\r\\nEpilogue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO, King of Naples\\r\\nSEBASTIAN, his brother\\r\\nPROSPERO, the right Duke of Milan\\r\\nANTONIO, his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan\\r\\nFERDINAND, Son to the King of Naples\\r\\nGONZALO, an honest old counsellor\\r\\nADRIAN, Lord\\r\\nFRANCISCO, Lord\\r\\nCALIBAN, a savage and deformed slave\\r\\nTRINCULO, a jester\\r\\nSTEPHANO, a drunken butler\\r\\nMASTER OF A SHIP\\r\\nBOATSWAIN\\r\\nMARINERS\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA, daughter to Prospero\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL, an airy Spirit\\r\\n\\r\\nIRIS, presented by Spirits\\r\\nCERES, presented by Spirits\\r\\nJUNO, presented by Spirits\\r\\nNYMPHS, presented by Spirits\\r\\nREAPERS, presented by Spirits\\r\\n\\r\\nOther Spirits attending on Prospero\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: The sea, with a Ship; afterwards an Island.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. On a ship at sea; a tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning\\r\\nheard.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Shipmaster and a Boatswain severally.\\r\\n\\r\\nMASTER.\\r\\nBoatswain!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nHere, master: what cheer?\\r\\n\\r\\nMASTER.\\r\\nGood! Speak to the mariners: fall to ’t yarely, or we run ourselves\\r\\naground: bestir, bestir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Mariners.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nHeigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! yare, yare! Take in the\\r\\ntopsail. Tend to th’ master’s whistle. Blow till thou burst thy wind,\\r\\nif room enough.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdinand, Gonzalo and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nGood boatswain, have care. Where’s the master?\\r\\nPlay the men.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nI pray now, keep below.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWhere is the master, boson?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nDo you not hear him? You mar our labour: keep your cabins: you do\\r\\nassist the storm.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nNay, good, be patient.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nWhen the sea is. Hence! What cares these roarers for the name of king?\\r\\nTo cabin! silence! Trouble us not.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nGood, yet remember whom thou hast aboard.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nNone that I more love than myself. You are a counsellor: if you can\\r\\ncommand these elements to silence, and work the peace of the present,\\r\\nwe will not hand a rope more. Use your authority: if you cannot, give\\r\\nthanks you have lived so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin\\r\\nfor the mischance of the hour, if it so hap.—Cheerly, good hearts!—Out\\r\\nof our way, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI have great comfort from this fellow. Methinks he hath no drowning\\r\\nmark upon him. His complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good\\r\\nFate, to his hanging! Make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our\\r\\nown doth little advantage! If he be not born to be hang’d, our case is\\r\\nmiserable.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Boatswain.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nDown with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring her to try wi’ th’\\r\\nmaincourse.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A cry within._]\\r\\n\\r\\n A plague upon this howling! They are louder than the weather or our\\r\\n office.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian, Antonio and Gonzalo.\\r\\n\\r\\nYet again! What do you here? Shall we give o’er, and drown? Have you a\\r\\nmind to sink?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA pox o’ your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nWork you, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHang, cur, hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker! We are less afraid\\r\\nto be drowned than thou art.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI’ll warrant him for drowning, though the ship were no stronger than a\\r\\nnutshell, and as leaky as an unstanched wench.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nLay her a-hold, a-hold! Set her two courses: off to sea again: lay her\\r\\noff.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Mariners, wet.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINERS.\\r\\nAll lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nWhat, must our mouths be cold?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nThe King and Prince at prayers! Let’s assist them,\\r\\nFor our case is as theirs.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI am out of patience.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWe are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards.\\r\\nThis wide-chapp’d rascal—would thou might’st lie drowning\\r\\nThe washing of ten tides!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nHe’ll be hang’d yet,\\r\\nThough every drop of water swear against it,\\r\\nAnd gape at wid’st to glut him.\\r\\n\\r\\n_A confused noise within: _“Mercy on us!”—\\r\\n“We split, we split!”—“Farewell, my wife and children!”—\\r\\n“Farewell, brother!”—“We split, we split, we split!”\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLet’s all sink wi’ th’ King.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nLet’s take leave of him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nNow would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren\\r\\nground. Long heath, brown furze, anything. The wills above be done! but\\r\\nI would fain die a dry death.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The Island. Before the cell of Prospero.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Prospero and Miranda.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nIf by your art, my dearest father, you have\\r\\nPut the wild waters in this roar, allay them.\\r\\nThe sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,\\r\\nBut that the sea, mounting to th’ welkin’s cheek,\\r\\nDashes the fire out. O! I have suffered\\r\\nWith those that I saw suffer! A brave vessel,\\r\\nWho had, no doubt, some noble creature in her,\\r\\nDash’d all to pieces. O, the cry did knock\\r\\nAgainst my very heart. Poor souls, they perish’d.\\r\\nHad I been any god of power, I would\\r\\nHave sunk the sea within the earth, or ere\\r\\nIt should the good ship so have swallow’d and\\r\\nThe fraughting souls within her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBe collected:\\r\\nNo more amazement: tell your piteous heart\\r\\nThere’s no harm done.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO, woe the day!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNo harm.\\r\\nI have done nothing but in care of thee,\\r\\nOf thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who\\r\\nArt ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing\\r\\nOf whence I am, nor that I am more better\\r\\nThan Prospero, master of a full poor cell,\\r\\nAnd thy no greater father.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nMore to know\\r\\nDid never meddle with my thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n’Tis time\\r\\nI should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand,\\r\\nAnd pluck my magic garment from me.—So:\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Lays down his mantle._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLie there my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.\\r\\nThe direful spectacle of the wrack, which touch’d\\r\\nThe very virtue of compassion in thee,\\r\\nI have with such provision in mine art\\r\\nSo safely ordered that there is no soul—\\r\\nNo, not so much perdition as an hair\\r\\nBetid to any creature in the vessel\\r\\nWhich thou heard’st cry, which thou saw’st sink. Sit down;\\r\\nFor thou must now know farther.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nYou have often\\r\\nBegun to tell me what I am, but stopp’d,\\r\\nAnd left me to a bootless inquisition,\\r\\nConcluding “Stay; not yet.”\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThe hour’s now come,\\r\\nThe very minute bids thee ope thine ear;\\r\\nObey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember\\r\\nA time before we came unto this cell?\\r\\nI do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not\\r\\nOut three years old.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nCertainly, sir, I can.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBy what? By any other house, or person?\\r\\nOf anything the image, tell me, that\\r\\nHath kept with thy remembrance.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\n’Tis far off,\\r\\nAnd rather like a dream than an assurance\\r\\nThat my remembrance warrants. Had I not\\r\\nFour or five women once that tended me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it\\r\\nThat this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else\\r\\nIn the dark backward and abysm of time?\\r\\nIf thou rememb’rest aught ere thou cam’st here,\\r\\nHow thou cam’st here, thou mayst.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nBut that I do not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nTwelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since,\\r\\nThy father was the Duke of Milan, and\\r\\nA prince of power.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nSir, are not you my father?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThy mother was a piece of virtue, and\\r\\nShe said thou wast my daughter. And thy father\\r\\nWas Duke of Milan, and his only heir\\r\\nAnd princess, no worse issued.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO, the heavens!\\r\\nWhat foul play had we that we came from thence?\\r\\nOr blessed was’t we did?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBoth, both, my girl.\\r\\nBy foul play, as thou say’st, were we heav’d thence;\\r\\nBut blessedly holp hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO, my heart bleeds\\r\\nTo think o’ th’ teen that I have turn’d you to,\\r\\nWhich is from my remembrance. Please you, farther.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nMy brother and thy uncle, call’d Antonio—\\r\\nI pray thee, mark me, that a brother should\\r\\nBe so perfidious!—he whom next thyself\\r\\nOf all the world I lov’d, and to him put\\r\\nThe manage of my state; as at that time\\r\\nThrough all the signories it was the first,\\r\\nAnd Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed\\r\\nIn dignity, and for the liberal arts,\\r\\nWithout a parallel: those being all my study,\\r\\nThe government I cast upon my brother,\\r\\nAnd to my state grew stranger, being transported\\r\\nAnd rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle—\\r\\nDost thou attend me?\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nSir, most heedfully.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBeing once perfected how to grant suits,\\r\\nHow to deny them, who t’ advance, and who\\r\\nTo trash for over-topping, new created\\r\\nThe creatures that were mine, I say, or chang’d ’em,\\r\\nOr else new form’d ’em: having both the key\\r\\nOf officer and office, set all hearts i’ th’ state\\r\\nTo what tune pleas’d his ear: that now he was\\r\\nThe ivy which had hid my princely trunk,\\r\\nAnd suck’d my verdure out on ’t. Thou attend’st not.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO, good sir! I do.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nI pray thee, mark me.\\r\\nI, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated\\r\\nTo closeness and the bettering of my mind\\r\\nWith that which, but by being so retir’d,\\r\\nO’er-priz’d all popular rate, in my false brother\\r\\nAwak’d an evil nature; and my trust,\\r\\nLike a good parent, did beget of him\\r\\nA falsehood in its contrary as great\\r\\nAs my trust was; which had indeed no limit,\\r\\nA confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded,\\r\\nNot only with what my revenue yielded,\\r\\nBut what my power might else exact, like one\\r\\nWho having into truth, by telling of it,\\r\\nMade such a sinner of his memory,\\r\\nTo credit his own lie, he did believe\\r\\nHe was indeed the Duke; out o’ the substitution,\\r\\nAnd executing th’ outward face of royalty,\\r\\nWith all prerogative. Hence his ambition growing—\\r\\nDost thou hear?\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nYour tale, sir, would cure deafness.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nTo have no screen between this part he play’d\\r\\nAnd him he play’d it for, he needs will be\\r\\nAbsolute Milan. Me, poor man, my library\\r\\nWas dukedom large enough: of temporal royalties\\r\\nHe thinks me now incapable; confederates,\\r\\nSo dry he was for sway, wi’ th’ King of Naples\\r\\nTo give him annual tribute, do him homage,\\r\\nSubject his coronet to his crown, and bend\\r\\nThe dukedom, yet unbow’d—alas, poor Milan!—\\r\\nTo most ignoble stooping.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO the heavens!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nMark his condition, and the event; then tell me\\r\\nIf this might be a brother.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nI should sin\\r\\nTo think but nobly of my grandmother:\\r\\nGood wombs have borne bad sons.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNow the condition.\\r\\nThis King of Naples, being an enemy\\r\\nTo me inveterate, hearkens my brother’s suit;\\r\\nWhich was, that he, in lieu o’ th’ premises\\r\\nOf homage and I know not how much tribute,\\r\\nShould presently extirpate me and mine\\r\\nOut of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan,\\r\\nWith all the honours on my brother: whereon,\\r\\nA treacherous army levied, one midnight\\r\\nFated to th’ purpose, did Antonio open\\r\\nThe gates of Milan; and, i’ th’ dead of darkness,\\r\\nThe ministers for th’ purpose hurried thence\\r\\nMe and thy crying self.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAlack, for pity!\\r\\nI, not rememb’ring how I cried out then,\\r\\nWill cry it o’er again: it is a hint\\r\\nThat wrings mine eyes to ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHear a little further,\\r\\nAnd then I’ll bring thee to the present business\\r\\nWhich now’s upon us; without the which this story\\r\\nWere most impertinent.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nWherefore did they not\\r\\nThat hour destroy us?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nWell demanded, wench:\\r\\nMy tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not,\\r\\nSo dear the love my people bore me, nor set\\r\\nA mark so bloody on the business; but\\r\\nWith colours fairer painted their foul ends.\\r\\nIn few, they hurried us aboard a bark,\\r\\nBore us some leagues to sea, where they prepared\\r\\nA rotten carcass of a butt, not rigg’d,\\r\\nNor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats\\r\\nInstinctively have quit it. There they hoist us,\\r\\nTo cry to th’ sea, that roar’d to us; to sigh\\r\\nTo th’ winds, whose pity, sighing back again,\\r\\nDid us but loving wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAlack, what trouble\\r\\nWas I then to you!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nO, a cherubin\\r\\nThou wast that did preserve me. Thou didst smile,\\r\\nInfused with a fortitude from heaven,\\r\\nWhen I have deck’d the sea with drops full salt,\\r\\nUnder my burden groan’d: which rais’d in me\\r\\nAn undergoing stomach, to bear up\\r\\nAgainst what should ensue.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nHow came we ashore?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBy Providence divine.\\r\\nSome food we had and some fresh water that\\r\\nA noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,\\r\\nOut of his charity, who being then appointed\\r\\nMaster of this design, did give us, with\\r\\nRich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries,\\r\\nWhich since have steaded much: so, of his gentleness,\\r\\nKnowing I lov’d my books, he furnish’d me\\r\\nFrom mine own library with volumes that\\r\\nI prize above my dukedom.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nWould I might\\r\\nBut ever see that man!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNow I arise.\\r\\nSit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.\\r\\nHere in this island we arriv’d; and here\\r\\nHave I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit\\r\\nThan other princes can, that have more time\\r\\nFor vainer hours, and tutors not so careful.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nHeavens thank you for ’t! And now, I pray you, sir,\\r\\nFor still ’tis beating in my mind, your reason\\r\\nFor raising this sea-storm?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nKnow thus far forth.\\r\\nBy accident most strange, bountiful Fortune,\\r\\nNow my dear lady, hath mine enemies\\r\\nBrought to this shore; and by my prescience\\r\\nI find my zenith doth depend upon\\r\\nA most auspicious star, whose influence\\r\\nIf now I court not but omit, my fortunes\\r\\nWill ever after droop. Here cease more questions;\\r\\nThou art inclin’d to sleep; ’tis a good dulness,\\r\\nAnd give it way. I know thou canst not choose.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Miranda sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome away, servant, come! I am ready now.\\r\\nApproach, my Ariel. Come!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ariel.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nAll hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come\\r\\nTo answer thy best pleasure; be’t to fly,\\r\\nTo swim, to dive into the fire, to ride\\r\\nOn the curl’d clouds, to thy strong bidding task\\r\\nAriel and all his quality.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHast thou, spirit,\\r\\nPerform’d to point the tempest that I bade thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nTo every article.\\r\\nI boarded the King’s ship; now on the beak,\\r\\nNow in the waist, the deck, in every cabin,\\r\\nI flam’d amazement; sometime I’d divide,\\r\\nAnd burn in many places; on the topmast,\\r\\nThe yards, and boresprit, would I flame distinctly,\\r\\nThen meet and join. Jove’s lightning, the precursors\\r\\nO’ th’ dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary\\r\\nAnd sight-outrunning were not: the fire and cracks\\r\\nOf sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune\\r\\nSeem to besiege and make his bold waves tremble,\\r\\nYea, his dread trident shake.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nMy brave spirit!\\r\\nWho was so firm, so constant, that this coil\\r\\nWould not infect his reason?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nNot a soul\\r\\nBut felt a fever of the mad, and play’d\\r\\nSome tricks of desperation. All but mariners\\r\\nPlunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel,\\r\\nThen all afire with me: the King’s son, Ferdinand,\\r\\nWith hair up-staring—then like reeds, not hair—\\r\\nWas the first man that leapt; cried “Hell is empty,\\r\\nAnd all the devils are here.”\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nWhy, that’s my spirit!\\r\\nBut was not this nigh shore?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nClose by, my master.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBut are they, Ariel, safe?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nNot a hair perish’d;\\r\\nOn their sustaining garments not a blemish,\\r\\nBut fresher than before: and, as thou bad’st me,\\r\\nIn troops I have dispers’d them ’bout the isle.\\r\\nThe King’s son have I landed by himself,\\r\\nWhom I left cooling of the air with sighs\\r\\nIn an odd angle of the isle, and sitting,\\r\\nHis arms in this sad knot.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nOf the King’s ship\\r\\nThe mariners, say how thou hast dispos’d,\\r\\nAnd all the rest o’ th’ fleet?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nSafely in harbour\\r\\nIs the King’s ship; in the deep nook, where once\\r\\nThou call’dst me up at midnight to fetch dew\\r\\nFrom the still-vex’d Bermoothes; there she’s hid:\\r\\nThe mariners all under hatches stowed;\\r\\nWho, with a charm join’d to their suff’red labour,\\r\\nI have left asleep: and for the rest o’ th’ fleet,\\r\\nWhich I dispers’d, they all have met again,\\r\\nAnd are upon the Mediterranean flote\\r\\nBound sadly home for Naples,\\r\\nSupposing that they saw the King’s ship wrack’d,\\r\\nAnd his great person perish.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAriel, thy charge\\r\\nExactly is perform’d; but there’s more work.\\r\\nWhat is the time o’ th’ day?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nPast the mid season.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAt least two glasses. The time ’twixt six and now\\r\\nMust by us both be spent most preciously.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nIs there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains,\\r\\nLet me remember thee what thou hast promis’d,\\r\\nWhich is not yet perform’d me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHow now! moody?\\r\\nWhat is’t thou canst demand?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nMy liberty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBefore the time be out? No more!\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI prithee,\\r\\nRemember I have done thee worthy service;\\r\\nTold thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv’d\\r\\nWithout or grudge or grumblings: thou didst promise\\r\\nTo bate me a full year.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nDost thou forget\\r\\nFrom what a torment I did free thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou dost, and think’st it much to tread the ooze\\r\\nOf the salt deep,\\r\\nTo run upon the sharp wind of the north,\\r\\nTo do me business in the veins o’ th’ earth\\r\\nWhen it is bak’d with frost.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI do not, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot\\r\\nThe foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy\\r\\nWas grown into a hoop? Hast thou forgot her?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nNo, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou hast. Where was she born? Speak; tell me.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nSir, in Argier.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nO, was she so? I must\\r\\nOnce in a month recount what thou hast been,\\r\\nWhich thou forget’st. This damn’d witch Sycorax,\\r\\nFor mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible\\r\\nTo enter human hearing, from Argier,\\r\\nThou know’st, was banish’d: for one thing she did\\r\\nThey would not take her life. Is not this true?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nAy, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThis blue-ey’d hag was hither brought with child,\\r\\nAnd here was left by th’ sailors. Thou, my slave,\\r\\nAs thou report’st thyself, wast then her servant;\\r\\nAnd, for thou wast a spirit too delicate\\r\\nTo act her earthy and abhorr’d commands,\\r\\nRefusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,\\r\\nBy help of her more potent ministers,\\r\\nAnd in her most unmitigable rage,\\r\\nInto a cloven pine; within which rift\\r\\nImprison’d, thou didst painfully remain\\r\\nA dozen years; within which space she died,\\r\\nAnd left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groans\\r\\nAs fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island—\\r\\nSave for the son that she did litter here,\\r\\nA freckl’d whelp, hag-born—not honour’d with\\r\\nA human shape.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nYes, Caliban her son.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nDull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban,\\r\\nWhom now I keep in service. Thou best know’st\\r\\nWhat torment I did find thee in; thy groans\\r\\nDid make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts\\r\\nOf ever-angry bears: it was a torment\\r\\nTo lay upon the damn’d, which Sycorax\\r\\nCould not again undo; it was mine art,\\r\\nWhen I arriv’d and heard thee, that made gape\\r\\nThe pine, and let thee out.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI thank thee, master.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nIf thou more murmur’st, I will rend an oak\\r\\nAnd peg thee in his knotty entrails till\\r\\nThou hast howl’d away twelve winters.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nPardon, master:\\r\\nI will be correspondent to command,\\r\\nAnd do my spriting gently.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nDo so; and after two days\\r\\nI will discharge thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThat’s my noble master!\\r\\nWhat shall I do? Say what? What shall I do?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nGo make thyself like a nymph o’ th’ sea. Be subject\\r\\nTo no sight but thine and mine; invisible\\r\\nTo every eyeball else. Go, take this shape,\\r\\nAnd hither come in ’t. Go, hence with diligence!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Ariel._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAwake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well;\\r\\nAwake!\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\n[_Waking._] The strangeness of your story put\\r\\nHeaviness in me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nShake it off. Come on;\\r\\nWe’ll visit Caliban my slave, who never\\r\\nYields us kind answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\n’Tis a villain, sir,\\r\\nI do not love to look on.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBut as ’tis,\\r\\nWe cannot miss him: he does make our fire,\\r\\nFetch in our wood; and serves in offices\\r\\nThat profit us. What ho! slave! Caliban!\\r\\nThou earth, thou! Speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\n[_Within._] There’s wood enough within.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nCome forth, I say; there’s other business for thee.\\r\\nCome, thou tortoise! when?\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel like a water-nymph.\\r\\n\\r\\nFine apparition! My quaint Ariel,\\r\\nHark in thine ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nMy lord, it shall be done.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself\\r\\nUpon thy wicked dam, come forth!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Caliban.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nAs wicked dew as e’er my mother brush’d\\r\\nWith raven’s feather from unwholesome fen\\r\\nDrop on you both! A south-west blow on ye,\\r\\nAnd blister you all o’er!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nFor this, be sure, tonight thou shalt have cramps,\\r\\nSide-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins\\r\\nShall forth at vast of night that they may work\\r\\nAll exercise on thee. Thou shalt be pinch’d\\r\\nAs thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging\\r\\nThan bees that made them.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI must eat my dinner.\\r\\nThis island’s mine, by Sycorax my mother,\\r\\nWhich thou tak’st from me. When thou cam’st first,\\r\\nThou strok’st me and made much of me; wouldst give me\\r\\nWater with berries in ’t; and teach me how\\r\\nTo name the bigger light, and how the less,\\r\\nThat burn by day and night: and then I lov’d thee,\\r\\nAnd show’d thee all the qualities o’ th’ isle,\\r\\nThe fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place, and fertile.\\r\\nCurs’d be I that did so! All the charms\\r\\nOf Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you!\\r\\nFor I am all the subjects that you have,\\r\\nWhich first was mine own King; and here you sty me\\r\\nIn this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me\\r\\nThe rest o’ th’ island.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou most lying slave,\\r\\nWhom stripes may move, not kindness! I have us’d thee,\\r\\nFilth as thou art, with human care, and lodg’d thee\\r\\nIn mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate\\r\\nThe honour of my child.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nOh ho! Oh ho! Would ’t had been done!\\r\\nThou didst prevent me; I had peopled else\\r\\nThis isle with Calibans.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAbhorred slave,\\r\\nWhich any print of goodness wilt not take,\\r\\nBeing capable of all ill! I pitied thee,\\r\\nTook pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour\\r\\nOne thing or other: when thou didst not, savage,\\r\\nKnow thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like\\r\\nA thing most brutish, I endow’d thy purposes\\r\\nWith words that made them known. But thy vile race,\\r\\nThough thou didst learn, had that in ’t which good natures\\r\\nCould not abide to be with; therefore wast thou\\r\\nDeservedly confin’d into this rock,\\r\\nWho hadst deserv’d more than a prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nYou taught me language, and my profit on ’t\\r\\nIs, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you,\\r\\nFor learning me your language!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHag-seed, hence!\\r\\nFetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou ’rt best,\\r\\nTo answer other business. Shrug’st thou, malice?\\r\\nIf thou neglect’st, or dost unwillingly\\r\\nWhat I command, I’ll rack thee with old cramps,\\r\\nFill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar,\\r\\nThat beasts shall tremble at thy din.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nNo, pray thee.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I must obey. His art is of such power,\\r\\nIt would control my dam’s god, Setebos,\\r\\nAnd make a vassal of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSo, slave, hence!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Caliban._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel, playing and singing; Ferdinand following.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL’S SONG.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n_Come unto these yellow sands,\\r\\n And then take hands:\\r\\nCurtsied when you have, and kiss’d\\r\\n The wild waves whist.\\r\\nFoot it featly here and there,\\r\\n And sweet sprites bear\\r\\nThe burden. Hark, hark!_\\r\\n Burden dispersedly. _Bow-wow.\\r\\nThe watch dogs bark._\\r\\n [Burden dispersedly.] _Bow-wow.\\r\\nHark, hark! I hear\\r\\nThe strain of strutting chanticleer\\r\\n Cry cock-a-diddle-dow._\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nWhere should this music be? i’ th’ air or th’ earth?\\r\\nIt sounds no more; and sure it waits upon\\r\\nSome god o’ th’ island. Sitting on a bank,\\r\\nWeeping again the King my father’s wrack,\\r\\nThis music crept by me upon the waters,\\r\\nAllaying both their fury and my passion\\r\\nWith its sweet air: thence I have follow’d it,\\r\\nOr it hath drawn me rather,—but ’tis gone.\\r\\nNo, it begins again.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n_Full fathom five thy father lies.\\r\\n Of his bones are coral made.\\r\\nThose are pearls that were his eyes.\\r\\n Nothing of him that doth fade\\r\\nBut doth suffer a sea-change\\r\\nInto something rich and strange.\\r\\nSea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:_\\r\\n Burden: _Ding-dong.\\r\\nHark! now I hear them: ding-dong, bell._\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nThe ditty does remember my drown’d father.\\r\\nThis is no mortal business, nor no sound\\r\\nThat the earth owes:—I hear it now above me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThe fringed curtains of thine eye advance,\\r\\nAnd say what thou seest yond.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nWhat is’t? a spirit?\\r\\nLord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir,\\r\\nIt carries a brave form. But ’tis a spirit.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNo, wench; it eats and sleeps and hath such senses\\r\\nAs we have, such. This gallant which thou seest\\r\\nWas in the wrack; and, but he’s something stain’d\\r\\nWith grief,—that’s beauty’s canker,—thou mightst call him\\r\\nA goodly person: he hath lost his fellows\\r\\nAnd strays about to find ’em.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nI might call him\\r\\nA thing divine; for nothing natural\\r\\nI ever saw so noble.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] It goes on, I see,\\r\\nAs my soul prompts it. Spirit, fine spirit! I’ll free thee\\r\\nWithin two days for this.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nMost sure, the goddess\\r\\nOn whom these airs attend! Vouchsafe, my prayer\\r\\nMay know if you remain upon this island;\\r\\nAnd that you will some good instruction give\\r\\nHow I may bear me here: my prime request,\\r\\nWhich I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder!\\r\\nIf you be maid or no?\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nNo wonder, sir;\\r\\nBut certainly a maid.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nMy language! Heavens!\\r\\nI am the best of them that speak this speech,\\r\\nWere I but where ’tis spoken.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHow! the best?\\r\\nWhat wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nA single thing, as I am now, that wonders\\r\\nTo hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me;\\r\\nAnd that he does I weep: myself am Naples,\\r\\nWho with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld\\r\\nThe King my father wrack’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAlack, for mercy!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nYes, faith, and all his lords, the Duke of Milan,\\r\\nAnd his brave son being twain.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] The Duke of Milan\\r\\nAnd his more braver daughter could control thee,\\r\\nIf now ’twere fit to do’t. At the first sight\\r\\nThey have changed eyes. Delicate Ariel,\\r\\nI’ll set thee free for this. [_To Ferdinand._] A word, good sir.\\r\\nI fear you have done yourself some wrong: a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nWhy speaks my father so ungently? This\\r\\nIs the third man that e’er I saw; the first\\r\\nThat e’er I sigh’d for. Pity move my father\\r\\nTo be inclin’d my way!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nO! if a virgin,\\r\\nAnd your affection not gone forth, I’ll make you\\r\\nThe Queen of Naples.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSoft, sir; one word more.\\r\\n[_Aside._] They are both in either’s powers. But this swift business\\r\\nI must uneasy make, lest too light winning\\r\\nMake the prize light. [_To Ferdinand._] One word more. I charge thee\\r\\nThat thou attend me. Thou dost here usurp\\r\\nThe name thou ow’st not; and hast put thyself\\r\\nUpon this island as a spy, to win it\\r\\nFrom me, the lord on ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nNo, as I am a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nThere’s nothing ill can dwell in such a temple:\\r\\nIf the ill spirit have so fair a house,\\r\\nGood things will strive to dwell with ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_To Ferdinand._] Follow me.—\\r\\n[_To Miranda._] Speak not you for him; he’s a traitor.\\r\\n[_To Ferdinand._] Come;\\r\\nI’ll manacle thy neck and feet together:\\r\\nSea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be\\r\\nThe fresh-brook mussels, wither’d roots, and husks\\r\\nWherein the acorn cradled. Follow.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nNo;\\r\\nI will resist such entertainment till\\r\\nMine enemy has more power.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He draws, and is charmed from moving._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO dear father!\\r\\nMake not too rash a trial of him, for\\r\\nHe’s gentle, and not fearful.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nWhat! I say,\\r\\nMy foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor;\\r\\nWho mak’st a show, but dar’st not strike, thy conscience\\r\\nIs so possess’d with guilt: come from thy ward,\\r\\nFor I can here disarm thee with this stick\\r\\nAnd make thy weapon drop.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nBeseech you, father!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHence! Hang not on my garments.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nSir, have pity;\\r\\nI’ll be his surety.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSilence! One word more\\r\\nShall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What!\\r\\nAn advocate for an impostor? hush!\\r\\nThou think’st there is no more such shapes as he,\\r\\nHaving seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench!\\r\\nTo th’ most of men this is a Caliban,\\r\\nAnd they to him are angels.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nMy affections\\r\\nAre then most humble; I have no ambition\\r\\nTo see a goodlier man.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_To Ferdinand._] Come on; obey:\\r\\nThy nerves are in their infancy again,\\r\\nAnd have no vigour in them.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nSo they are:\\r\\nMy spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.\\r\\nMy father’s loss, the weakness which I feel,\\r\\nThe wrack of all my friends, nor this man’s threats,\\r\\nTo whom I am subdued, are but light to me,\\r\\nMight I but through my prison once a day\\r\\nBehold this maid: all corners else o’ th’ earth\\r\\nLet liberty make use of; space enough\\r\\nHave I in such a prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] It works. [_To Ferdinand._] Come on.\\r\\nThou hast done well, fine Ariel! [_To Ferdinand._] Follow me.\\r\\n[_To Ariel._] Hark what thou else shalt do me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nBe of comfort;\\r\\nMy father’s of a better nature, sir,\\r\\nThan he appears by speech: this is unwonted\\r\\nWhich now came from him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou shalt be as free\\r\\nAs mountain winds; but then exactly do\\r\\nAll points of my command.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nTo th’ syllable.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_To Ferdinand._] Come, follow. Speak not for him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, Adrian, Francisco and\\r\\n others.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nBeseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause,\\r\\nSo have we all, of joy; for our escape\\r\\nIs much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe\\r\\nIs common; every day, some sailor’s wife,\\r\\nThe masters of some merchant and the merchant,\\r\\nHave just our theme of woe; but for the miracle,\\r\\nI mean our preservation, few in millions\\r\\nCan speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh\\r\\nOur sorrow with our comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nPrithee, peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHe receives comfort like cold porridge.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe visitor will not give him o’er so.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nLook, he’s winding up the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nSir,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nOne: tell.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWhen every grief is entertain’d that’s offer’d,\\r\\nComes to the entertainer—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA dollar.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nDolour comes to him, indeed: you have spoken truer than you purposed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nYou have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nTherefore, my lord,—\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nFie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI prithee, spare.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWell, I have done: but yet—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHe will be talking.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWhich, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nThe old cock.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe cockerel.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nDone. The wager?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nA laughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA match!\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nThough this island seem to be desert,—\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHa, ha, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nSo. You’re paid.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nUninhabitable, and almost inaccessible,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nYet—\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nYet—\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHe could not miss ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nIt must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temperance.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTemperance was a delicate wench.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAy, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nThe air breathes upon us here most sweetly.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAs if it had lungs, and rotten ones.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nOr, as ’twere perfum’d by a fen.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nHere is everything advantageous to life.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTrue; save means to live.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nOf that there’s none, or little.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nHow lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe ground indeed is tawny.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWith an eye of green in’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHe misses not much.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nNo; he doth but mistake the truth totally.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nBut the rarity of it is,—which is indeed almost beyond credit,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAs many vouch’d rarities are.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nThat our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold\\r\\nnotwithstanding their freshness and glosses, being rather new-dyed than\\r\\nstained with salt water.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIf but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say he lies?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAy, or very falsely pocket up his report.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nMethinks our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in\\r\\nAfric, at the marriage of the King’s fair daughter Claribel to the King\\r\\nof Tunis.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n’Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nTunis was never graced before with such a paragon to their Queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nNot since widow Dido’s time.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWidow! a pox o’ that! How came that widow in? Widow Dido!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhat if he had said, widower Aeneas too?\\r\\nGood Lord, how you take it!\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nWidow Dido said you? You make me study of that; she was of Carthage,\\r\\nnot of Tunis.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nThis Tunis, sir, was Carthage.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nCarthage?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI assure you, Carthage.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHis word is more than the miraculous harp.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHe hath rais’d the wall, and houses too.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWhat impossible matter will he make easy next?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI think he will carry this island home in his pocket, and give it his\\r\\nson for an apple.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nAy.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWhy, in good time.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\n[_To Alonso._] Sir, we were talking that our garments seem now as fresh\\r\\nas when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now\\r\\nQueen.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd the rarest that e’er came there.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nBate, I beseech you, widow Dido.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nO! widow Dido; ay, widow Dido.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nIs not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it? I mean, in\\r\\na sort.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThat sort was well fish’d for.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWhen I wore it at your daughter’s marriage?\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nYou cram these words into mine ears against\\r\\nThe stomach of my sense. Would I had never\\r\\nMarried my daughter there! for, coming thence,\\r\\nMy son is lost; and, in my rate, she too,\\r\\nWho is so far from Italy removed,\\r\\nI ne’er again shall see her. O thou mine heir\\r\\nOf Naples and of Milan, what strange fish\\r\\nHath made his meal on thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCISCO.\\r\\nSir, he may live:\\r\\nI saw him beat the surges under him,\\r\\nAnd ride upon their backs. He trod the water,\\r\\nWhose enmity he flung aside, and breasted\\r\\nThe surge most swoln that met him. His bold head\\r\\n’Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oared\\r\\nHimself with his good arms in lusty stroke\\r\\nTo th’ shore, that o’er his wave-worn basis bowed,\\r\\nAs stooping to relieve him. I not doubt\\r\\nHe came alive to land.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nNo, no, he’s gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nSir, you may thank yourself for this great loss,\\r\\nThat would not bless our Europe with your daughter,\\r\\nBut rather lose her to an African;\\r\\nWhere she, at least, is banish’d from your eye,\\r\\nWho hath cause to wet the grief on ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nPrithee, peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nYou were kneel’d to, and importun’d otherwise\\r\\nBy all of us; and the fair soul herself\\r\\nWeigh’d between loathness and obedience at\\r\\nWhich end o’ th’ beam should bow. We have lost your son,\\r\\nI fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have\\r\\nMore widows in them of this business’ making,\\r\\nThan we bring men to comfort them.\\r\\nThe fault’s your own.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nSo is the dear’st o’ th’ loss.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nMy lord Sebastian,\\r\\nThe truth you speak doth lack some gentleness\\r\\nAnd time to speak it in. You rub the sore,\\r\\nWhen you should bring the plaster.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nVery well.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd most chirurgeonly.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nIt is foul weather in us all, good sir,\\r\\nWhen you are cloudy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nFoul weather?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nVery foul.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nHad I plantation of this isle, my lord,—\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHe’d sow ’t with nettle-seed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nOr docks, or mallows.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nAnd were the King on’t, what would I do?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n’Scape being drunk for want of wine.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI’ th’ commonwealth I would by contraries\\r\\nExecute all things; for no kind of traffic\\r\\nWould I admit; no name of magistrate;\\r\\nLetters should not be known; riches, poverty,\\r\\nAnd use of service, none; contract, succession,\\r\\nBourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;\\r\\nNo use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;\\r\\nNo occupation; all men idle, all;\\r\\nAnd women too, but innocent and pure;\\r\\nNo sovereignty,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nYet he would be King on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nAll things in common nature should produce\\r\\nWithout sweat or endeavour; treason, felony,\\r\\nSword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine,\\r\\nWould I not have; but nature should bring forth,\\r\\nOf it own kind, all foison, all abundance,\\r\\nTo feed my innocent people.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nNo marrying ’mong his subjects?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nNone, man; all idle; whores and knaves.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI would with such perfection govern, sir,\\r\\nT’ excel the Golden Age.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nSave his Majesty!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLong live Gonzalo!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nAnd,—do you mark me, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nPrithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI do well believe your highness; and did it to minister occasion to\\r\\nthese gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs that they\\r\\nalways use to laugh at nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\n’Twas you we laughed at.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWho in this kind of merry fooling am nothing to you. So you may\\r\\ncontinue, and laugh at nothing still.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWhat a blow was there given!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAn it had not fallen flat-long.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nYou are gentlemen of brave mettle. You would lift the moon out of her\\r\\nsphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ariel, invisible, playing solemn music.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWe would so, and then go a-bat-fowling.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nNay, good my lord, be not angry.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nNo, I warrant you; I will not adventure my discretion so weakly. Will\\r\\nyou laugh me asleep, for I am very heavy?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nGo sleep, and hear us.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_All sleep but Alonso, Sebastian and Antonio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nWhat, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes\\r\\nWould, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find\\r\\nThey are inclin’d to do so.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nPlease you, sir,\\r\\nDo not omit the heavy offer of it:\\r\\nIt seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,\\r\\nIt is a comforter.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWe two, my lord,\\r\\nWill guard your person while you take your rest,\\r\\nAnd watch your safety.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nThank you. Wondrous heavy!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alonso sleeps. Exit Ariel._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhat a strange drowsiness possesses them!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIt is the quality o’ th’ climate.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhy\\r\\nDoth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not\\r\\nMyself dispos’d to sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nNor I. My spirits are nimble.\\r\\nThey fell together all, as by consent;\\r\\nThey dropp’d, as by a thunder-stroke. What might,\\r\\nWorthy Sebastian? O, what might?—No more.\\r\\nAnd yet methinks I see it in thy face,\\r\\nWhat thou shouldst be. Th’ occasion speaks thee; and\\r\\nMy strong imagination sees a crown\\r\\nDropping upon thy head.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhat, art thou waking?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nDo you not hear me speak?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI do; and surely\\r\\nIt is a sleepy language, and thou speak’st\\r\\nOut of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say?\\r\\nThis is a strange repose, to be asleep\\r\\nWith eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving,\\r\\nAnd yet so fast asleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nNoble Sebastian,\\r\\nThou let’st thy fortune sleep—die rather; wink’st\\r\\nWhiles thou art waking.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nThou dost snore distinctly:\\r\\nThere’s meaning in thy snores.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI am more serious than my custom; you\\r\\nMust be so too, if heed me; which to do\\r\\nTrebles thee o’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWell, I am standing water.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI’ll teach you how to flow.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nDo so: to ebb,\\r\\nHereditary sloth instructs me.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nO,\\r\\nIf you but knew how you the purpose cherish\\r\\nWhiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it,\\r\\nYou more invest it! Ebbing men indeed,\\r\\nMost often, do so near the bottom run\\r\\nBy their own fear or sloth.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nPrithee, say on:\\r\\nThe setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim\\r\\nA matter from thee, and a birth, indeed\\r\\nWhich throes thee much to yield.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThus, sir:\\r\\nAlthough this lord of weak remembrance, this\\r\\nWho shall be of as little memory\\r\\nWhen he is earth’d, hath here almost persuaded,—\\r\\nFor he’s a spirit of persuasion, only\\r\\nProfesses to persuade,—the King his son’s alive,\\r\\n’Tis as impossible that he’s undrown’d\\r\\nAs he that sleeps here swims.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI have no hope\\r\\nThat he’s undrown’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nO, out of that “no hope”\\r\\nWhat great hope have you! No hope that way is\\r\\nAnother way so high a hope, that even\\r\\nAmbition cannot pierce a wink beyond,\\r\\nBut doubts discovery there. Will you grant with me\\r\\nThat Ferdinand is drown’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHe’s gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThen tell me,\\r\\nWho’s the next heir of Naples?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nClaribel.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nShe that is Queen of Tunis; she that dwells\\r\\nTen leagues beyond man’s life; she that from Naples\\r\\nCan have no note, unless the sun were post—\\r\\nThe Man i’ th’ Moon’s too slow—till newborn chins\\r\\nBe rough and razorable; she that from whom\\r\\nWe all were sea-swallow’d, though some cast again,\\r\\nAnd by that destiny, to perform an act\\r\\nWhereof what’s past is prologue, what to come\\r\\nIn yours and my discharge.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhat stuff is this! How say you?\\r\\n’Tis true, my brother’s daughter’s Queen of Tunis;\\r\\nSo is she heir of Naples; ’twixt which regions\\r\\nThere is some space.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nA space whose ev’ry cubit\\r\\nSeems to cry out “How shall that Claribel\\r\\nMeasure us back to Naples? Keep in Tunis,\\r\\nAnd let Sebastian wake.” Say this were death\\r\\nThat now hath seiz’d them; why, they were no worse\\r\\nThan now they are. There be that can rule Naples\\r\\nAs well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate\\r\\nAs amply and unnecessarily\\r\\nAs this Gonzalo. I myself could make\\r\\nA chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore\\r\\nThe mind that I do! What a sleep were this\\r\\nFor your advancement! Do you understand me?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nMethinks I do.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd how does your content\\r\\nTender your own good fortune?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI remember\\r\\nYou did supplant your brother Prospero.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTrue.\\r\\nAnd look how well my garments sit upon me;\\r\\nMuch feater than before; my brother’s servants\\r\\nWere then my fellows; now they are my men.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nBut, for your conscience.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAy, sir; where lies that? If ’twere a kibe,\\r\\n’Twould put me to my slipper: but I feel not\\r\\nThis deity in my bosom: twenty consciences\\r\\nThat stand ’twixt me and Milan, candied be they\\r\\nAnd melt ere they molest! Here lies your brother,\\r\\nNo better than the earth he lies upon,\\r\\nIf he were that which now he’s like, that’s dead;\\r\\nWhom I, with this obedient steel, three inches of it,\\r\\nCan lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus,\\r\\nTo the perpetual wink for aye might put\\r\\nThis ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who\\r\\nShould not upbraid our course. For all the rest,\\r\\nThey’ll take suggestion as a cat laps milk.\\r\\nThey’ll tell the clock to any business that\\r\\nWe say befits the hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nThy case, dear friend,\\r\\nShall be my precedent: as thou got’st Milan,\\r\\nI’ll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one stroke\\r\\nShall free thee from the tribute which thou payest,\\r\\nAnd I the King shall love thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nDraw together,\\r\\nAnd when I rear my hand, do you the like,\\r\\nTo fall it on Gonzalo.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nO, but one word.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They converse apart._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Music. Re-enter Ariel, invisible.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nMy master through his art foresees the danger\\r\\nThat you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth—\\r\\nFor else his project dies—to keep them living.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sings in Gonzalo’s ear._]\\r\\n_While you here do snoring lie,\\r\\nOpen-ey’d conspiracy\\r\\n His time doth take.\\r\\nIf of life you keep a care,\\r\\nShake off slumber, and beware.\\r\\n Awake! awake!_\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThen let us both be sudden.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nNow, good angels\\r\\nPreserve the King!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They wake._]\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nWhy, how now! Ho, awake! Why are you drawn?\\r\\nWherefore this ghastly looking?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhiles we stood here securing your repose,\\r\\nEven now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing\\r\\nLike bulls, or rather lions; did ’t not wake you?\\r\\nIt struck mine ear most terribly.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI heard nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nO! ’twas a din to fright a monster’s ear,\\r\\nTo make an earthquake. Sure, it was the roar\\r\\nOf a whole herd of lions.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nHeard you this, Gonzalo?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nUpon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming,\\r\\nAnd that a strange one too, which did awake me.\\r\\nI shak’d you, sir, and cried; as mine eyes open’d,\\r\\nI saw their weapons drawn:—there was a noise,\\r\\nThat’s verily. ’Tis best we stand upon our guard,\\r\\nOr that we quit this place: let’s draw our weapons.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nLead off this ground, and let’s make further search\\r\\nFor my poor son.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nHeavens keep him from these beasts!\\r\\nFor he is, sure, i’ th’ island.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nLead away.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with the others._]\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nProspero my lord shall know what I have done:\\r\\nSo, King, go safely on to seek thy son.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Caliban with a burden of wood. A noise of thunder heard.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nAll the infections that the sun sucks up\\r\\nFrom bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him\\r\\nBy inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me,\\r\\nAnd yet I needs must curse. But they’ll nor pinch,\\r\\nFright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i’ the mire,\\r\\nNor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark\\r\\nOut of my way, unless he bid ’em; but\\r\\nFor every trifle are they set upon me,\\r\\nSometime like apes that mow and chatter at me,\\r\\nAnd after bite me; then like hedgehogs which\\r\\nLie tumbling in my barefoot way, and mount\\r\\nTheir pricks at my footfall; sometime am I\\r\\nAll wound with adders, who with cloven tongues\\r\\nDo hiss me into madness.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Trinculo.\\r\\n\\r\\nLo, now, lo!\\r\\nHere comes a spirit of his, and to torment me\\r\\nFor bringing wood in slowly. I’ll fall flat;\\r\\nPerchance he will not mind me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nHere’s neither bush nor shrub to bear off any weather at all, and\\r\\nanother storm brewing; I hear it sing i’ th’ wind. Yond same black\\r\\ncloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul bombard that would shed his\\r\\nliquor. If it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to hide\\r\\nmy head: yond same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. What have\\r\\nwe here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish;\\r\\na very ancient and fish-like smell; a kind of not of the newest\\r\\nPoor-John. A strange fish! Were I in England now, as once I was, and\\r\\nhad but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a\\r\\npiece of silver: there would this monster make a man; any strange beast\\r\\nthere makes a man. When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame\\r\\nbeggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg’d like a man,\\r\\nand his fins like arms! Warm, o’ my troth! I do now let loose my\\r\\nopinion, hold it no longer: this is no fish, but an islander, that hath\\r\\nlately suffered by thunderbolt. [_Thunder._] Alas, the storm is come\\r\\nagain! My best way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no other\\r\\nshelter hereabout: misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows. I\\r\\nwill here shroud till the dregs of the storm be past.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Stephano singing; a bottle in his hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\n_I shall no more to sea, to sea,\\r\\nHere shall I die ashore—_\\r\\n\\r\\nThis is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man’s funeral.\\r\\nWell, here’s my comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Drinks._]\\r\\n\\r\\n_The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I,\\r\\n The gunner, and his mate,\\r\\nLov’d Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,\\r\\n But none of us car’d for Kate:\\r\\n For she had a tongue with a tang,\\r\\n Would cry to a sailor “Go hang!”\\r\\nShe lov’d not the savour of tar nor of pitch,\\r\\nYet a tailor might scratch her where’er she did itch.\\r\\n Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang._\\r\\n\\r\\nThis is a scurvy tune too: but here’s my comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Drinks._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nDo not torment me: O!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter? Have we devils here? Do you put tricks upon ’s with\\r\\nsavages and men of Ind? Ha? I have not scap’d drowning, to be afeard\\r\\nnow of your four legs; for it hath been said, As proper a man as ever\\r\\nwent on four legs cannot make him give ground; and it shall be said so\\r\\nagain, while Stephano breathes at’ nostrils.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThe spirit torments me: O!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThis is some monster of the isle with four legs, who hath got, as I\\r\\ntake it, an ague. Where the devil should he learn our language? I will\\r\\ngive him some relief, if it be but for that. If I can recover him and\\r\\nkeep him tame, and get to Naples with him, he’s a present for any\\r\\nemperor that ever trod on neat’s-leather.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nDo not torment me, prithee; I’ll bring my wood home faster.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHe’s in his fit now, and does not talk after the wisest. He shall taste\\r\\nof my bottle: if he have never drunk wine afore, it will go near to\\r\\nremove his fit. If I can recover him, and keep him tame, I will not\\r\\ntake too much for him. He shall pay for him that hath him, and that\\r\\nsoundly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon,\\r\\nI know it by thy trembling: now Prosper works upon thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nCome on your ways. Open your mouth; here is that which will give\\r\\nlanguage to you, cat. Open your mouth. This will shake your shaking, I\\r\\ncan tell you, and that soundly. [_gives Caliban a drink_] You cannot\\r\\ntell who’s your friend: open your chaps again.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI should know that voice: it should be—but he is drowned; and these are\\r\\ndevils. O, defend me!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nFour legs and two voices; a most delicate monster! His forward voice\\r\\nnow is to speak well of his friend; his backward voice is to utter foul\\r\\nspeeches and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will recover him,\\r\\nI will help his ague. Come. Amen! I will pour some in thy other mouth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nStephano!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nDoth thy other mouth call me? Mercy! mercy!\\r\\nThis is a devil, and no monster: I will leave him; I\\r\\nhave no long spoon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nStephano! If thou beest Stephano, touch me, and speak to me; for I am\\r\\nTrinculo—be not afeared—thy good friend Trinculo.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nIf thou beest Trinculo, come forth. I’ll pull thee by the lesser legs:\\r\\nif any be Trinculo’s legs, these are they. Thou art very Trinculo\\r\\nindeed! How cam’st thou to be the siege of this moon-calf? Can he vent\\r\\nTrinculos?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI took him to be kill’d with a thunderstroke. But art thou not drown’d,\\r\\nStephano? I hope now thou are not drown’d. Is the storm overblown? I\\r\\nhid me under the dead moon-calf’s gaberdine for fear of the storm. And\\r\\nart thou living, Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitans scap’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nPrithee, do not turn me about. My stomach is not constant.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\n[_Aside._] These be fine things, an if they be not sprites.\\r\\nThat’s a brave god, and bears celestial liquor.\\r\\nI will kneel to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHow didst thou scape? How cam’st thou hither? Swear by this bottle how\\r\\nthou cam’st hither—I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors\\r\\nheaved o’erboard, by this bottle! which I made of the bark of a tree\\r\\nwith mine own hands, since I was cast ashore.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI’ll swear upon that bottle to be thy true subject, for the liquor is\\r\\nnot earthly.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHere. Swear then how thou escapedst.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nSwum ashore, man, like a duck: I can swim like a duck, I’ll be sworn.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHere, kiss the book. Though thou canst swim like a duck, thou art made\\r\\nlike a goose.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nO Stephano, hast any more of this?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThe whole butt, man: my cellar is in a rock by th’ seaside, where my\\r\\nwine is hid. How now, moon-calf! How does thine ague?\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nHast thou not dropped from heaven?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nOut o’ the moon, I do assure thee: I was the Man in the Moon, when time\\r\\nwas.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee. My mistress showed me\\r\\nthee, and thy dog, and thy bush.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nCome, swear to that. Kiss the book. I will furnish it anon with new\\r\\ncontents. Swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nBy this good light, this is a very shallow monster. I afeard of him? A\\r\\nvery weak monster. The Man i’ the Moon! A most poor credulous monster!\\r\\nWell drawn, monster, in good sooth!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI’ll show thee every fertile inch o’ the island; and I will kiss thy\\r\\nfoot. I prithee, be my god.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nBy this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster. When ’s god’s\\r\\nasleep, he’ll rob his bottle.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI’ll kiss thy foot. I’ll swear myself thy subject.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nCome on, then; down, and swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed monster. A most\\r\\nscurvy monster! I could find in my heart to beat him,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nCome, kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nBut that the poor monster’s in drink. An abominable monster!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI’ll show thee the best springs; I’ll pluck thee berries;\\r\\nI’ll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough.\\r\\nA plague upon the tyrant that I serve!\\r\\nI’ll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee,\\r\\nThou wondrous man.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nA most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of a poor drunkard!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI prithee, let me bring thee where crabs grow;\\r\\nAnd I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts;\\r\\nShow thee a jay’s nest, and instruct thee how\\r\\nTo snare the nimble marmoset; I’ll bring thee\\r\\nTo clustering filberts, and sometimes I’ll get thee\\r\\nYoung scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nI prithee now, lead the way without any more talking. Trinculo, the\\r\\nKing and all our company else being drowned, we will inherit here.\\r\\nHere, bear my bottle. Fellow Trinculo, we’ll fill him by and by again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\n[_Sings drunkenly._] _Farewell, master; farewell, farewell!_\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nA howling monster, a drunken monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\n_No more dams I’ll make for fish;\\r\\nNor fetch in firing\\r\\nAt requiring,\\r\\nNor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish;\\r\\n’Ban ’Ban, Cacaliban,\\r\\nHas a new master—Get a new man._\\r\\nFreedom, high-day! high-day, freedom! freedom,\\r\\nhigh-day, freedom!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nO brave monster! lead the way.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Before Prospero’s cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ferdinand bearing a log.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nThere be some sports are painful, and their labour\\r\\nDelight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness\\r\\nAre nobly undergone; and most poor matters\\r\\nPoint to rich ends. This my mean task\\r\\nWould be as heavy to me as odious, but\\r\\nThe mistress which I serve quickens what’s dead,\\r\\nAnd makes my labours pleasures: O, she is\\r\\nTen times more gentle than her father’s crabbed,\\r\\nAnd he’s compos’d of harshness. I must remove\\r\\nSome thousands of these logs, and pile them up,\\r\\nUpon a sore injunction: my sweet mistress\\r\\nWeeps when she sees me work, and says such baseness\\r\\nHad never like executor. I forget:\\r\\nBut these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours,\\r\\nMost busy, least when I do it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Miranda and Prospero behind.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAlas now, pray you,\\r\\nWork not so hard: I would the lightning had\\r\\nBurnt up those logs that you are enjoin’d to pile!\\r\\nPray, set it down and rest you. When this burns,\\r\\n’Twill weep for having wearied you. My father\\r\\nIs hard at study; pray, now, rest yourself:\\r\\nHe’s safe for these three hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nO most dear mistress,\\r\\nThe sun will set, before I shall discharge\\r\\nWhat I must strive to do.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nIf you’ll sit down,\\r\\nI’ll bear your logs the while. Pray give me that;\\r\\nI’ll carry it to the pile.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nNo, precious creature;\\r\\nI had rather crack my sinews, break my back,\\r\\nThan you should such dishonour undergo,\\r\\nWhile I sit lazy by.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nIt would become me\\r\\nAs well as it does you: and I should do it\\r\\nWith much more ease; for my good will is to it,\\r\\nAnd yours it is against.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Poor worm! thou art infected.\\r\\nThis visitation shows it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nYou look wearily.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nNo, noble mistress; ’tis fresh morning with me\\r\\nWhen you are by at night. I do beseech you—\\r\\nChiefly that I might set it in my prayers—\\r\\nWhat is your name?\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nMiranda—O my father!\\r\\nI have broke your hest to say so.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nAdmir’d Miranda!\\r\\nIndeed, the top of admiration; worth\\r\\nWhat’s dearest to the world! Full many a lady\\r\\nI have ey’d with best regard, and many a time\\r\\nTh’ harmony of their tongues hath into bondage\\r\\nBrought my too diligent ear: for several virtues\\r\\nHave I lik’d several women; never any\\r\\nWith so full soul but some defect in her\\r\\nDid quarrel with the noblest grace she ow’d,\\r\\nAnd put it to the foil: but you, O you,\\r\\nSo perfect and so peerless, are created\\r\\nOf every creature’s best.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nI do not know\\r\\nOne of my sex; no woman’s face remember,\\r\\nSave, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen\\r\\nMore that I may call men than you, good friend,\\r\\nAnd my dear father: how features are abroad,\\r\\nI am skilless of; but, by my modesty,\\r\\nThe jewel in my dower, I would not wish\\r\\nAny companion in the world but you;\\r\\nNor can imagination form a shape,\\r\\nBesides yourself, to like of. But I prattle\\r\\nSomething too wildly, and my father’s precepts\\r\\nI therein do forget.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nI am, in my condition,\\r\\nA prince, Miranda; I do think, a King;\\r\\nI would not so!—and would no more endure\\r\\nThis wooden slavery than to suffer\\r\\nThe flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak:\\r\\nThe very instant that I saw you, did\\r\\nMy heart fly to your service; there resides,\\r\\nTo make me slave to it; and for your sake\\r\\nAm I this patient log-man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nDo you love me?\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nO heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound,\\r\\nAnd crown what I profess with kind event,\\r\\nIf I speak true; if hollowly, invert\\r\\nWhat best is boded me to mischief! I,\\r\\nBeyond all limit of what else i’ the world,\\r\\nDo love, prize, honour you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nI am a fool\\r\\nTo weep at what I am glad of.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Fair encounter\\r\\nOf two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace\\r\\nOn that which breeds between ’em!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nWherefore weep you?\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAt mine unworthiness, that dare not offer\\r\\nWhat I desire to give; and much less take\\r\\nWhat I shall die to want. But this is trifling;\\r\\nAnd all the more it seeks to hide itself,\\r\\nThe bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning!\\r\\nAnd prompt me, plain and holy innocence!\\r\\nI am your wife if you will marry me;\\r\\nIf not, I’ll die your maid: to be your fellow\\r\\nYou may deny me; but I’ll be your servant,\\r\\nWhether you will or no.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nMy mistress, dearest;\\r\\nAnd I thus humble ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nMy husband, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nAy, with a heart as willing\\r\\nAs bondage e’er of freedom: here’s my hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAnd mine, with my heart in ’t: and now farewell\\r\\nTill half an hour hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nA thousand thousand!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Ferdinand and Miranda severally._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSo glad of this as they, I cannot be,\\r\\nWho are surpris’d withal; but my rejoicing\\r\\nAt nothing can be more. I’ll to my book;\\r\\nFor yet, ere supper time, must I perform\\r\\nMuch business appertaining.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Caliban with a bottle, Stephano and Trinculo.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nTell not me:—when the butt is out we will drink water; not a drop\\r\\nbefore: therefore bear up, and board ’em. Servant-monster, drink to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nServant-monster! The folly of this island! They say there’s but five\\r\\nupon this isle; we are three of them; if th’ other two be brained like\\r\\nus, the state totters.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nDrink, servant-monster, when I bid thee: thy eyes are almost set in thy\\r\\nhead.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nWhere should they be set else? He were a brave monster indeed, if they\\r\\nwere set in his tail.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMy man-monster hath drown’d his tongue in sack: for my part, the sea\\r\\ncannot drown me; I swam, ere I could recover the shore, five-and-thirty\\r\\nleagues, off and on, by this light. Thou shalt be my lieutenant,\\r\\nmonster, or my standard.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nYour lieutenant, if you list; he’s no standard.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nWe’ll not run, Monsieur monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nNor go neither. But you’ll lie like dogs, and yet say nothing neither.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMoon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest a good moon-calf.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nHow does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe. I’ll not serve him, he is\\r\\nnot valiant.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThou liest, most ignorant monster: I am in case to justle a constable.\\r\\nWhy, thou deboshed fish thou, was there ever man a coward that hath\\r\\ndrunk so much sack as I today? Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being\\r\\nbut half a fish and half a monster?\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nLo, how he mocks me! wilt thou let him, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\n“Lord” quoth he! That a monster should be such a natural!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nLo, lo again! bite him to death, I prithee.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nTrinculo, keep a good tongue in your head: if you prove a mutineer, the\\r\\nnext tree! The poor monster’s my subject, and he shall not suffer\\r\\nindignity.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleas’d to hearken once again to\\r\\nthe suit I made to thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMarry. will I. Kneel and repeat it. I will stand, and so shall\\r\\nTrinculo.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ariel, invisible.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nAs I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant, a sorcerer, that by\\r\\nhis cunning hath cheated me of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThou liest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou;\\r\\nI would my valiant master would destroy thee;\\r\\nI do not lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nTrinculo, if you trouble him any more in his tale, by this hand, I will\\r\\nsupplant some of your teeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nWhy, I said nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMum, then, and no more. Proceed.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI say, by sorcery he got this isle;\\r\\nFrom me he got it. If thy greatness will,\\r\\nRevenge it on him,—for I know thou dar’st;\\r\\nBut this thing dare not,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThat’s most certain.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThou shalt be lord of it and I’ll serve thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHow now shall this be compassed? Canst thou bring me to the party?\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nYea, yea, my lord: I’ll yield him thee asleep,\\r\\nWhere thou mayst knock a nail into his head.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThou liest. Thou canst not.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nWhat a pied ninny’s this! Thou scurvy patch!\\r\\nI do beseech thy greatness, give him blows,\\r\\nAnd take his bottle from him: when that’s gone\\r\\nHe shall drink nought but brine; for I’ll not show him\\r\\nWhere the quick freshes are.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nTrinculo, run into no further danger: interrupt the monster one word\\r\\nfurther, and by this hand, I’ll turn my mercy out o’ doors, and make a\\r\\nstock-fish of thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nWhy, what did I? I did nothing. I’ll go farther off.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nDidst thou not say he lied?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThou liest.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nDo I so? Take thou that.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Strikes Trinculo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAs you like this, give me the lie another time.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI did not give the lie. Out o’ your wits and hearing too? A pox o’ your\\r\\nbottle! this can sack and drinking do. A murrain on your monster, and\\r\\nthe devil take your fingers!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nHa, ha, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nNow, forward with your tale.—Prithee stand further off.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nBeat him enough: after a little time,\\r\\nI’ll beat him too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nStand farther.—Come, proceed.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nWhy, as I told thee, ’tis a custom with him\\r\\nI’ th’ afternoon to sleep: there thou mayst brain him,\\r\\nHaving first seiz’d his books; or with a log\\r\\nBatter his skull, or paunch him with a stake,\\r\\nOr cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember\\r\\nFirst to possess his books; for without them\\r\\nHe’s but a sot, as I am, nor hath not\\r\\nOne spirit to command: they all do hate him\\r\\nAs rootedly as I. Burn but his books.\\r\\nHe has brave utensils,—for so he calls them,—\\r\\nWhich, when he has a house, he’ll deck withal.\\r\\nAnd that most deeply to consider is\\r\\nThe beauty of his daughter; he himself\\r\\nCalls her a nonpareil: I never saw a woman\\r\\nBut only Sycorax my dam and she;\\r\\nBut she as far surpasseth Sycorax\\r\\nAs great’st does least.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nIs it so brave a lass?\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nAy, lord, she will become thy bed, I warrant,\\r\\nAnd bring thee forth brave brood.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMonster, I will kill this man. His daughter and I will be king and\\r\\nqueen,—save our graces!—and Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys.\\r\\nDost thou like the plot, Trinculo?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nExcellent.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nGive me thy hand: I am sorry I beat thee; but while thou liv’st, keep a\\r\\ngood tongue in thy head.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nWithin this half hour will he be asleep.\\r\\nWilt thou destroy him then?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nAy, on mine honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThis will I tell my master.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThou mak’st me merry. I am full of pleasure.\\r\\nLet us be jocund: will you troll the catch\\r\\nYou taught me but while-ere?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nAt thy request, monster, I will do reason, any reason. Come on,\\r\\nTrinculo, let us sing.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n\\r\\n_Flout ’em and cout ’em,\\r\\nand scout ’em and flout ’em:\\r\\n Thought is free._\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThat’s not the tune.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Ariel plays the tune on a tabor and pipe._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nWhat is this same?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThis is the tune of our catch, played by the picture of Nobody.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nIf thou beest a man, show thyself in thy likeness: if thou beest a\\r\\ndevil, take ’t as thou list.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nO, forgive me my sins!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHe that dies pays all debts: I defy thee. Mercy upon us!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nArt thou afeard?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nNo, monster, not I.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nBe not afeard. The isle is full of noises,\\r\\nSounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not.\\r\\nSometimes a thousand twangling instruments\\r\\nWill hum about mine ears; and sometimes voices,\\r\\nThat, if I then had wak’d after long sleep,\\r\\nWill make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,\\r\\nThe clouds methought would open and show riches\\r\\nReady to drop upon me; that, when I wak’d,\\r\\nI cried to dream again.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThis will prove a brave kingdom to me, where I shall have my music for\\r\\nnothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nWhen Prospero is destroyed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThat shall be by and by: I remember the story.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThe sound is going away. Let’s follow it, and after do our work.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nLead, monster: we’ll follow. I would I could see this taborer! he lays\\r\\nit on. Wilt come?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI’ll follow, Stephano.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo Adrian, Francisco, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nBy ’r lakin, I can go no further, sir;\\r\\nMy old bones ache: here’s a maze trod, indeed,\\r\\nThrough forth-rights and meanders! By your patience,\\r\\nI needs must rest me.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nOld lord, I cannot blame thee,\\r\\nWho am myself attach’d with weariness\\r\\nTo th’ dulling of my spirits: sit down, and rest.\\r\\nEven here I will put off my hope, and keep it\\r\\nNo longer for my flatterer: he is drown’d\\r\\nWhom thus we stray to find; and the sea mocks\\r\\nOur frustrate search on land. Well, let him go.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Sebastian._] I am right glad that he’s\\r\\nso out of hope.\\r\\nDo not, for one repulse, forgo the purpose\\r\\nThat you resolv’d to effect.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n[_Aside to Antonio._] The next advantage\\r\\nWill we take throughly.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Sebastian._] Let it be tonight;\\r\\nFor, now they are oppress’d with travel, they\\r\\nWill not, nor cannot, use such vigilance\\r\\nAs when they are fresh.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n[_Aside to Antonio._] I say, tonight: no more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Solemn and strange music: and Prospero above, invisible. Enter several\\r\\n strange Shapes, bringing in a banquet: they dance about it with gentle\\r\\n actions of salutation; and inviting the King &c., to eat, they depart.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nWhat harmony is this? My good friends, hark!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nMarvellous sweet music!\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nGive us kind keepers, heavens! What were these?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA living drollery. Now I will believe\\r\\nThat there are unicorns; that in Arabia\\r\\nThere is one tree, the phoenix’ throne; one phoenix\\r\\nAt this hour reigning there.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI’ll believe both;\\r\\nAnd what does else want credit, come to me,\\r\\nAnd I’ll be sworn ’tis true: travellers ne’er did lie,\\r\\nThough fools at home condemn them.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nIf in Naples\\r\\nI should report this now, would they believe me?\\r\\nIf I should say, I saw such islanders,—\\r\\nFor, certes, these are people of the island,—\\r\\nWho, though, they are of monstrous shape, yet, note,\\r\\nTheir manners are more gentle, kind, than of\\r\\nOur human generation you shall find\\r\\nMany, nay, almost any.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Honest lord,\\r\\nThou hast said well; for some of you there present\\r\\nAre worse than devils.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI cannot too much muse\\r\\nSuch shapes, such gesture, and such sound, expressing—\\r\\nAlthough they want the use of tongue—a kind\\r\\nOf excellent dumb discourse.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Praise in departing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCISCO.\\r\\nThey vanish’d strangely.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nNo matter, since\\r\\nThey have left their viands behind; for we have stomachs.—\\r\\nWill’t please you taste of what is here?\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nNot I.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nFaith, sir, you need not fear. When we were boys,\\r\\nWho would believe that there were mountaineers\\r\\nDewlapp’d like bulls, whose throats had hanging at ’em\\r\\nWallets of flesh? Or that there were such men\\r\\nWhose heads stood in their breasts? which now we find\\r\\nEach putter-out of five for one will bring us\\r\\nGood warrant of.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI will stand to, and feed,\\r\\nAlthough my last, no matter, since I feel\\r\\nThe best is past. Brother, my lord the duke,\\r\\nStand to, and do as we.\\r\\n\\r\\n Thunder and lightning. Enter Ariel like a Harpy; claps his wings upon\\r\\n the table; and, with a quaint device, the banquet vanishes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nYou are three men of sin, whom Destiny,\\r\\nThat hath to instrument this lower world\\r\\nAnd what is in’t,—the never-surfeited sea\\r\\nHath caused to belch up you; and on this island\\r\\nWhere man doth not inhabit; you ’mongst men\\r\\nBeing most unfit to live. I have made you mad;\\r\\nAnd even with such-like valour men hang and drown\\r\\nTheir proper selves.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Seeing Alonso, Sebastian &c., draw their swords._]\\r\\n\\r\\nYou fools! I and my fellows\\r\\nAre ministers of Fate: the elements\\r\\nOf whom your swords are temper’d may as well\\r\\nWound the loud winds, or with bemock’d-at stabs\\r\\nKill the still-closing waters, as diminish\\r\\nOne dowle that’s in my plume. My fellow-ministers\\r\\nAre like invulnerable. If you could hurt,\\r\\nYour swords are now too massy for your strengths,\\r\\nAnd will not be uplifted. But, remember—\\r\\nFor that’s my business to you,—that you three\\r\\nFrom Milan did supplant good Prospero;\\r\\nExpos’d unto the sea, which hath requit it,\\r\\nHim and his innocent child: for which foul deed\\r\\nThe powers, delaying, not forgetting, have\\r\\nIncens’d the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures,\\r\\nAgainst your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso,\\r\\nThey have bereft; and do pronounce, by me\\r\\nLing’ring perdition,—worse than any death\\r\\nCan be at once,—shall step by step attend\\r\\nYou and your ways; whose wraths to guard you from—\\r\\nWhich here, in this most desolate isle, else falls\\r\\nUpon your heads,—is nothing but heart-sorrow,\\r\\nAnd a clear life ensuing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He vanishes in thunder: then, to soft music, enter the Shapes again,\\r\\n and dance, with mocks and mows, and carry out the table._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Bravely the figure of this Harpy hast thou\\r\\nPerform’d, my Ariel; a grace it had, devouring.\\r\\nOf my instruction hast thou nothing bated\\r\\nIn what thou hadst to say: so, with good life\\r\\nAnd observation strange, my meaner ministers\\r\\nTheir several kinds have done. My high charms work,\\r\\nAnd these mine enemies are all knit up\\r\\nIn their distractions; they now are in my power;\\r\\nAnd in these fits I leave them, while I visit\\r\\nYoung Ferdinand,—whom they suppose is drown’d,—\\r\\nAnd his and mine lov’d darling.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit above._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI’ the name of something holy, sir, why stand you\\r\\nIn this strange stare?\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nO, it is monstrous! monstrous!\\r\\nMethought the billows spoke, and told me of it;\\r\\nThe winds did sing it to me; and the thunder,\\r\\nThat deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc’d\\r\\nThe name of Prosper: it did bass my trespass.\\r\\nTherefore my son i’ th’ ooze is bedded; and\\r\\nI’ll seek him deeper than e’er plummet sounded,\\r\\nAnd with him there lie mudded.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nBut one fiend at a time,\\r\\nI’ll fight their legions o’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI’ll be thy second.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sebastian and Antonio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nAll three of them are desperate: their great guilt,\\r\\nLike poison given to work a great time after,\\r\\nNow ’gins to bite the spirits. I do beseech you\\r\\nThat are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly\\r\\nAnd hinder them from what this ecstasy\\r\\nMay now provoke them to.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nFollow, I pray you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Before Prospero’s cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Prospero, Ferdinand and Miranda.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nIf I have too austerely punish’d you,\\r\\nYour compensation makes amends: for I\\r\\nHave given you here a third of mine own life,\\r\\nOr that for which I live; who once again\\r\\nI tender to thy hand: all thy vexations\\r\\nWere but my trials of thy love, and thou\\r\\nHast strangely stood the test: here, afore Heaven,\\r\\nI ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand,\\r\\nDo not smile at me that I boast her off,\\r\\nFor thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise,\\r\\nAnd make it halt behind her.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nI do believe it\\r\\nAgainst an oracle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThen, as my gift and thine own acquisition\\r\\nWorthily purchas’d, take my daughter: but\\r\\nIf thou dost break her virgin knot before\\r\\nAll sanctimonious ceremonies may\\r\\nWith full and holy rite be minister’d,\\r\\nNo sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall\\r\\nTo make this contract grow; but barren hate,\\r\\nSour-ey’d disdain, and discord shall bestrew\\r\\nThe union of your bed with weeds so loathly\\r\\nThat you shall hate it both: therefore take heed,\\r\\nAs Hymen’s lamps shall light you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nAs I hope\\r\\nFor quiet days, fair issue, and long life,\\r\\nWith such love as ’tis now, the murkiest den,\\r\\nThe most opportune place, the strong’st suggestion\\r\\nOur worser genius can, shall never melt\\r\\nMine honour into lust, to take away\\r\\nThe edge of that day’s celebration,\\r\\nWhen I shall think, or Phoebus’ steeds are founder’d,\\r\\nOr Night kept chain’d below.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nFairly spoke:\\r\\nSit, then, and talk with her, she is thine own.\\r\\nWhat, Ariel! my industrious servant, Ariel!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ariel.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nWhat would my potent master? here I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou and thy meaner fellows your last service\\r\\nDid worthily perform; and I must use you\\r\\nIn such another trick. Go bring the rabble,\\r\\nO’er whom I give thee power, here to this place.\\r\\nIncite them to quick motion; for I must\\r\\nBestow upon the eyes of this young couple\\r\\nSome vanity of mine art: it is my promise,\\r\\nAnd they expect it from me.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nPresently?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAy, with a twink.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nBefore you can say “Come” and “Go,”\\r\\nAnd breathe twice, and cry “so, so,”\\r\\nEach one, tripping on his toe,\\r\\nWill be here with mop and mow.\\r\\nDo you love me, master? no?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nDearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not approach\\r\\nTill thou dost hear me call.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nWell, I conceive.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nLook, thou be true; do not give dalliance\\r\\nToo much the rein: the strongest oaths are straw\\r\\nTo th’ fire i’ the blood: be more abstemious,\\r\\nOr else good night your vow!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nI warrant you, sir;\\r\\nThe white cold virgin snow upon my heart\\r\\nAbates the ardour of my liver.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nWell.\\r\\nNow come, my Ariel! bring a corollary,\\r\\nRather than want a spirit: appear, and pertly.\\r\\nNo tongue! all eyes! be silent.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Soft music._]\\r\\n\\r\\n A Masque. Enter Iris.\\r\\n\\r\\nIRIS.\\r\\nCeres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas\\r\\nOf wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas;\\r\\nThy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,\\r\\nAnd flat meads thatch’d with stover, them to keep;\\r\\nThy banks with pioned and twilled brims,\\r\\nWhich spongy April at thy hest betrims,\\r\\nTo make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom groves,\\r\\nWhose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves,\\r\\nBeing lass-lorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard;\\r\\nAnd thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard,\\r\\nWhere thou thyself dost air: the Queen o’ th’ sky,\\r\\nWhose wat’ry arch and messenger am I,\\r\\nBids thee leave these; and with her sovereign grace,\\r\\nHere on this grass-plot, in this very place,\\r\\nTo come and sport; her peacocks fly amain:\\r\\nApproach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ceres.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERES.\\r\\nHail, many-colour’d messenger, that ne’er\\r\\nDost disobey the wife of Jupiter;\\r\\nWho with thy saffron wings upon my flowers\\r\\nDiffusest honey drops, refreshing showers;\\r\\nAnd with each end of thy blue bow dost crown\\r\\nMy bosky acres and my unshrubb’d down,\\r\\nRich scarf to my proud earth; why hath thy queen\\r\\nSummon’d me hither to this short-grass’d green?\\r\\n\\r\\nIRIS.\\r\\nA contract of true love to celebrate,\\r\\nAnd some donation freely to estate\\r\\nOn the blest lovers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERES.\\r\\nTell me, heavenly bow,\\r\\nIf Venus or her son, as thou dost know,\\r\\nDo now attend the queen? Since they did plot\\r\\nThe means that dusky Dis my daughter got,\\r\\nHer and her blind boy’s scandal’d company\\r\\nI have forsworn.\\r\\n\\r\\nIRIS.\\r\\nOf her society\\r\\nBe not afraid. I met her deity\\r\\nCutting the clouds towards Paphos, and her son\\r\\nDove-drawn with her. Here thought they to have done\\r\\nSome wanton charm upon this man and maid,\\r\\nWhose vows are, that no bed-right shall be paid\\r\\nTill Hymen’s torch be lighted; but in vain.\\r\\nMars’s hot minion is return’d again;\\r\\nHer waspish-headed son has broke his arrows,\\r\\nSwears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows,\\r\\nAnd be a boy right out.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERES.\\r\\nHighest queen of State,\\r\\nGreat Juno comes; I know her by her gait.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juno.\\r\\n\\r\\nJUNO.\\r\\nHow does my bounteous sister? Go with me\\r\\nTo bless this twain, that they may prosperous be,\\r\\nAnd honour’d in their issue.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They sing._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJUNO.\\r\\n_Honour, riches, marriage-blessing,\\r\\nLong continuance, and increasing,\\r\\nHourly joys be still upon you!\\r\\nJuno sings her blessings on you._\\r\\n\\r\\nCERES.\\r\\n_Earth’s increase, foison plenty,\\r\\nBarns and gamers never empty;\\r\\nVines with clust’ring bunches growing;\\r\\nPlants with goodly burden bowing;\\r\\nSpring come to you at the farthest\\r\\nIn the very end of harvest!\\r\\nScarcity and want shall shun you;\\r\\nCeres’ blessing so is on you._\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nThis is a most majestic vision, and\\r\\nHarmonious charmingly. May I be bold\\r\\nTo think these spirits?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSpirits, which by mine art\\r\\nI have from their confines call’d to enact\\r\\nMy present fancies.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nLet me live here ever.\\r\\nSo rare a wonder’d father and a wise,\\r\\nMakes this place Paradise.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Juno and Ceres whisper, and send Iris on employment._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSweet now, silence!\\r\\nJuno and Ceres whisper seriously,\\r\\nThere’s something else to do: hush, and be mute,\\r\\nOr else our spell is marr’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nIRIS.\\r\\nYou nymphs, call’d Naiads, of the windring brooks,\\r\\nWith your sedg’d crowns and ever-harmless looks,\\r\\nLeave your crisp channels, and on this green land\\r\\nAnswer your summons; Juno does command.\\r\\nCome, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate\\r\\nA contract of true love. Be not too late.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter certain Nymphs.\\r\\n\\r\\nYou sun-burn’d sicklemen, of August weary,\\r\\nCome hither from the furrow, and be merry:\\r\\nMake holiday: your rye-straw hats put on,\\r\\nAnd these fresh nymphs encounter every one\\r\\nIn country footing.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter certain Reapers, properly habited: they join with the Nymphs in\\r\\n a graceful dance; towards the end whereof Prospero starts suddenly,\\r\\n and speaks; after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused noise,\\r\\n they heavily vanish.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I had forgot that foul conspiracy\\r\\nOf the beast Caliban and his confederates\\r\\nAgainst my life: the minute of their plot\\r\\nIs almost come. [_To the Spirits._] Well done! avoid; no\\r\\nmore!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nThis is strange: your father’s in some passion\\r\\nThat works him strongly.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nNever till this day\\r\\nSaw I him touch’d with anger so distemper’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nYou do look, my son, in a mov’d sort,\\r\\nAs if you were dismay’d: be cheerful, sir:\\r\\nOur revels now are ended. These our actors,\\r\\nAs I foretold you, were all spirits and\\r\\nAre melted into air, into thin air:\\r\\nAnd, like the baseless fabric of this vision,\\r\\nThe cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,\\r\\nThe solemn temples, the great globe itself,\\r\\nYea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,\\r\\nAnd, like this insubstantial pageant faded,\\r\\nLeave not a rack behind. We are such stuff\\r\\nAs dreams are made on, and our little life\\r\\nIs rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex’d:\\r\\nBear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled.\\r\\nBe not disturb’d with my infirmity.\\r\\nIf you be pleas’d, retire into my cell\\r\\nAnd there repose: a turn or two I’ll walk,\\r\\nTo still my beating mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND, MIRANDA.\\r\\nWe wish your peace.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nCome, with a thought. I thank thee, Ariel. Come!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ariel.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThy thoughts I cleave to. What’s thy pleasure?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSpirit,\\r\\nWe must prepare to meet with Caliban.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nAy, my commander. When I presented Ceres,\\r\\nI thought to have told thee of it; but I fear’d\\r\\nLest I might anger thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSay again, where didst thou leave these varlets?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking;\\r\\nSo full of valour that they smote the air\\r\\nFor breathing in their faces; beat the ground\\r\\nFor kissing of their feet; yet always bending\\r\\nTowards their project. Then I beat my tabor;\\r\\nAt which, like unback’d colts, they prick’d their ears,\\r\\nAdvanc’d their eyelids, lifted up their noses\\r\\nAs they smelt music: so I charm’d their ears,\\r\\nThat calf-like they my lowing follow’d through\\r\\nTooth’d briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and thorns,\\r\\nWhich enter’d their frail shins: at last I left them\\r\\nI’ th’ filthy-mantled pool beyond your cell,\\r\\nThere dancing up to th’ chins, that the foul lake\\r\\nO’erstunk their feet.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThis was well done, my bird.\\r\\nThy shape invisible retain thou still:\\r\\nThe trumpery in my house, go bring it hither\\r\\nFor stale to catch these thieves.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI go, I go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nA devil, a born devil, on whose nature\\r\\nNurture can never stick; on whom my pains,\\r\\nHumanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost;\\r\\nAnd as with age his body uglier grows,\\r\\nSo his mind cankers. I will plague them all,\\r\\nEven to roaring.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel, loaden with glistering apparel, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, hang them on this line.\\r\\n\\r\\n Prospero and Ariel remain invisible. Enter Caliban, Stephano and\\r\\n Trinculo all wet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nPray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not\\r\\nHear a foot fall: we now are near his cell.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMonster, your fairy, which you say is a harmless fairy, has done little\\r\\nbetter than played the Jack with us.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nMonster, I do smell all horse-piss; at which my nose is in great\\r\\nindignation.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nSo is mine. Do you hear, monster? If I should take a displeasure\\r\\nagainst you, look you,—\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThou wert but a lost monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nGood my lord, give me thy favour still.\\r\\nBe patient, for the prize I’ll bring thee to\\r\\nShall hoodwink this mischance: therefore speak softly.\\r\\nAll’s hush’d as midnight yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nAy, but to lose our bottles in the pool!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThere is not only disgrace and dishonour in that, monster, but an\\r\\ninfinite loss.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThat’s more to me than my wetting: yet this is your harmless fairy,\\r\\nmonster.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nI will fetch off my bottle, though I be o’er ears for my labour.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nPrithee, my King, be quiet. Seest thou here,\\r\\nThis is the mouth o’ th’ cell: no noise, and enter.\\r\\nDo that good mischief which may make this island\\r\\nThine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban,\\r\\nFor aye thy foot-licker.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nGive me thy hand. I do begin to have bloody thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nO King Stephano! O peer! O worthy Stephano!\\r\\nLook what a wardrobe here is for thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nLet it alone, thou fool; it is but trash.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nO, ho, monster! we know what belongs to a frippery. O King Stephano!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nPut off that gown, Trinculo; by this hand, I’ll have that gown.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThy Grace shall have it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThe dropsy drown this fool! What do you mean\\r\\nTo dote thus on such luggage? Let’t alone,\\r\\nAnd do the murder first. If he awake,\\r\\nFrom toe to crown he’ll fill our skins with pinches,\\r\\nMake us strange stuff.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nBe you quiet, monster. Mistress line, is not this my jerkin? Now is the\\r\\njerkin under the line: now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair, and\\r\\nprove a bald jerkin.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nDo, do: we steal by line and level, an’t like your Grace.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nI thank thee for that jest. Here’s a garment for ’t: wit shall not go\\r\\nunrewarded while I am King of this country. “Steal by line and level,”\\r\\nis an excellent pass of pate. There’s another garment for ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nMonster, come, put some lime upon your fingers, and away with the rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI will have none on’t. We shall lose our time,\\r\\nAnd all be turn’d to barnacles, or to apes\\r\\nWith foreheads villainous low.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMonster, lay-to your fingers: help to bear this away where my hogshead\\r\\nof wine is, or I’ll turn you out of my kingdom. Go to, carry this.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nAnd this.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nAy, and this.\\r\\n\\r\\n A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits, in shape of dogs and\\r\\n hounds, and hunt them about; Prospero and Ariel setting them on.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHey, Mountain, hey!\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nSilver! there it goes, Silver!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nFury, Fury! There, Tyrant, there! hark, hark!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo are driven out._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGo, charge my goblins that they grind their joints\\r\\nWith dry convulsions; shorten up their sinews\\r\\nWith aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted make them\\r\\nThan pard, or cat o’ mountain.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nHark, they roar.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nLet them be hunted soundly. At this hour\\r\\nLies at my mercy all mine enemies.\\r\\nShortly shall all my labours end, and thou\\r\\nShalt have the air at freedom. For a little\\r\\nFollow, and do me service.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Before the cell of Prospero.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Prospero in his magic robes, and Ariel.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNow does my project gather to a head:\\r\\nMy charms crack not; my spirits obey, and time\\r\\nGoes upright with his carriage. How’s the day?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nOn the sixth hour; at which time, my lord,\\r\\nYou said our work should cease.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nI did say so,\\r\\nWhen first I rais’d the tempest. Say, my spirit,\\r\\nHow fares the King and ’s followers?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nConfin’d together\\r\\nIn the same fashion as you gave in charge,\\r\\nJust as you left them; all prisoners, sir,\\r\\nIn the line-grove which weather-fends your cell;\\r\\nThey cannot budge till your release. The King,\\r\\nHis brother, and yours, abide all three distracted,\\r\\nAnd the remainder mourning over them,\\r\\nBrimful of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly\\r\\nHim you term’d, sir, “the good old lord, Gonzalo”.\\r\\nHis tears run down his beard, like winter’s drops\\r\\nFrom eaves of reeds; your charm so strongly works ’em,\\r\\nThat if you now beheld them, your affections\\r\\nWould become tender.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nDost thou think so, spirit?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nMine would, sir, were I human.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAnd mine shall.\\r\\nHast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling\\r\\nOf their afflictions, and shall not myself,\\r\\nOne of their kind, that relish all as sharply\\r\\nPassion as they, be kindlier mov’d than thou art?\\r\\nThough with their high wrongs I am struck to th’ quick,\\r\\nYet with my nobler reason ’gainst my fury\\r\\nDo I take part: the rarer action is\\r\\nIn virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent,\\r\\nThe sole drift of my purpose doth extend\\r\\nNot a frown further. Go release them, Ariel.\\r\\nMy charms I’ll break, their senses I’ll restore,\\r\\nAnd they shall be themselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI’ll fetch them, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nYe elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and\\r\\ngroves;\\r\\nAnd ye that on the sands with printless foot\\r\\nDo chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him\\r\\nWhen he comes back; you demi-puppets that\\r\\nBy moonshine do the green sour ringlets make,\\r\\nWhereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime\\r\\nIs to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice\\r\\nTo hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid,\\r\\nWeak masters though ye be, I have bedimm’d\\r\\nThe noontide sun, call’d forth the mutinous winds,\\r\\nAnd ’twixt the green sea and the azur’d vault\\r\\nSet roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder\\r\\nHave I given fire, and rifted Jove’s stout oak\\r\\nWith his own bolt; the strong-bas’d promontory\\r\\nHave I made shake, and by the spurs pluck’d up\\r\\nThe pine and cedar: graves at my command\\r\\nHave wak’d their sleepers, op’d, and let ’em forth\\r\\nBy my so potent art. But this rough magic\\r\\nI here abjure; and, when I have requir’d\\r\\nSome heavenly music,—which even now I do,—\\r\\nTo work mine end upon their senses that\\r\\nThis airy charm is for, I’ll break my staff,\\r\\nBury it certain fathoms in the earth,\\r\\nAnd deeper than did ever plummet sound\\r\\nI’ll drown my book.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Solem music._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel: after him, Alonso with a frantic gesture, attended by\\r\\n Gonzalo, Sebastian and Antonio in like manner, attended by Adrian and\\r\\n Francisco: they all enter the circle which Prospero had made, and\\r\\n there stand charmed; which Prospero observing, speaks.\\r\\n\\r\\nA solemn air, and the best comforter\\r\\nTo an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains,\\r\\nNow useless, boil’d within thy skull! There stand,\\r\\nFor you are spell-stopp’d.\\r\\nHoly Gonzalo, honourable man,\\r\\nMine eyes, e’en sociable to the show of thine,\\r\\nFall fellowly drops. The charm dissolves apace;\\r\\nAnd as the morning steals upon the night,\\r\\nMelting the darkness, so their rising senses\\r\\nBegin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle\\r\\nTheir clearer reason. O good Gonzalo!\\r\\nMy true preserver, and a loyal sir\\r\\nTo him thou follow’st, I will pay thy graces\\r\\nHome, both in word and deed. Most cruelly\\r\\nDidst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter:\\r\\nThy brother was a furtherer in the act.\\r\\nThou art pinch’d for ’t now, Sebastian. Flesh and blood,\\r\\nYou, brother mine, that entertain’d ambition,\\r\\nExpell’d remorse and nature, who, with Sebastian,—\\r\\nWhose inward pinches therefore are most strong,\\r\\nWould here have kill’d your King; I do forgive thee,\\r\\nUnnatural though thou art. Their understanding\\r\\nBegins to swell, and the approaching tide\\r\\nWill shortly fill the reasonable shores\\r\\nThat now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them\\r\\nThat yet looks on me, or would know me. Ariel,\\r\\nFetch me the hat and rapier in my cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Ariel._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI will discase me, and myself present\\r\\nAs I was sometime Milan. Quickly, spirit;\\r\\nThou shalt ere long be free.\\r\\n\\r\\n Ariel re-enters, singing, and helps to attire Prospero.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL\\r\\n_Where the bee sucks, there suck I:\\r\\nIn a cowslip’s bell I lie;\\r\\nThere I couch when owls do cry.\\r\\nOn the bat’s back I do fly\\r\\nAfter summer merrily.\\r\\nMerrily, merrily shall I live now\\r\\nUnder the blossom that hangs on the bough._\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nWhy, that’s my dainty Ariel! I shall miss thee;\\r\\nBut yet thou shalt have freedom; so, so, so.\\r\\nTo the King’s ship, invisible as thou art:\\r\\nThere shalt thou find the mariners asleep\\r\\nUnder the hatches; the master and the boatswain\\r\\nBeing awake, enforce them to this place,\\r\\nAnd presently, I prithee.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI drink the air before me, and return\\r\\nOr ere your pulse twice beat.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nAll torment, trouble, wonder and amazement\\r\\nInhabits here. Some heavenly power guide us\\r\\nOut of this fearful country!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBehold, sir King,\\r\\nThe wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero.\\r\\nFor more assurance that a living prince\\r\\nDoes now speak to thee, I embrace thy body;\\r\\nAnd to thee and thy company I bid\\r\\nA hearty welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nWhe’er thou be’st he or no,\\r\\nOr some enchanted trifle to abuse me,\\r\\nAs late I have been, I not know: thy pulse\\r\\nBeats, as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee,\\r\\nTh’ affliction of my mind amends, with which,\\r\\nI fear, a madness held me: this must crave,\\r\\nAn if this be at all, a most strange story.\\r\\nThy dukedom I resign, and do entreat\\r\\nThou pardon me my wrongs. But how should Prospero\\r\\nBe living and be here?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nFirst, noble friend,\\r\\nLet me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot\\r\\nBe measur’d or confin’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWhether this be\\r\\nOr be not, I’ll not swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nYou do yet taste\\r\\nSome subtleties o’ the isle, that will not let you\\r\\nBelieve things certain. Welcome, my friends all.\\r\\n[_Aside to Sebastian and Antonio._] But you, my brace of lords, were I\\r\\nso minded,\\r\\nI here could pluck his highness’ frown upon you,\\r\\nAnd justify you traitors: at this time\\r\\nI will tell no tales.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n[_Aside._] The devil speaks in him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\nFor you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother\\r\\nWould even infect my mouth, I do forgive\\r\\nThy rankest fault, all of them; and require\\r\\nMy dukedom of thee, which perforce I know\\r\\nThou must restore.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nIf thou beest Prospero,\\r\\nGive us particulars of thy preservation;\\r\\nHow thou hast met us here, whom three hours since\\r\\nWere wrack’d upon this shore; where I have lost,—\\r\\nHow sharp the point of this remembrance is!—\\r\\nMy dear son Ferdinand.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nI am woe for ’t, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nIrreparable is the loss, and patience\\r\\nSays it is past her cure.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nI rather think\\r\\nYou have not sought her help, of whose soft grace,\\r\\nFor the like loss I have her sovereign aid,\\r\\nAnd rest myself content.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nYou the like loss!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAs great to me, as late; and, supportable\\r\\nTo make the dear loss, have I means much weaker\\r\\nThan you may call to comfort you, for I\\r\\nHave lost my daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nA daughter?\\r\\nO heavens, that they were living both in Naples,\\r\\nThe King and Queen there! That they were, I wish\\r\\nMyself were mudded in that oozy bed\\r\\nWhere my son lies. When did you lose your daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nIn this last tempest. I perceive, these lords\\r\\nAt this encounter do so much admire\\r\\nThat they devour their reason, and scarce think\\r\\nTheir eyes do offices of truth, their words\\r\\nAre natural breath; but, howsoe’er you have\\r\\nBeen justled from your senses, know for certain\\r\\nThat I am Prospero, and that very duke\\r\\nWhich was thrust forth of Milan; who most strangely\\r\\nUpon this shore, where you were wrack’d, was landed\\r\\nTo be the lord on’t. No more yet of this;\\r\\nFor ’tis a chronicle of day by day,\\r\\nNot a relation for a breakfast nor\\r\\nBefitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir.\\r\\nThis cell’s my court: here have I few attendants,\\r\\nAnd subjects none abroad: pray you, look in.\\r\\nMy dukedom since you have given me again,\\r\\nI will requite you with as good a thing;\\r\\nAt least bring forth a wonder, to content ye\\r\\nAs much as me my dukedom.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere Prospero discovers Ferdinand and Miranda playing at chess.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nSweet lord, you play me false.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nNo, my dearest love,\\r\\nI would not for the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nYes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle,\\r\\nAnd I would call it fair play.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nIf this prove\\r\\nA vision of the island, one dear son\\r\\nShall I twice lose.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA most high miracle!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nThough the seas threaten, they are merciful.\\r\\nI have curs’d them without cause.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kneels to Alonso._]\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nNow all the blessings\\r\\nOf a glad father compass thee about!\\r\\nArise, and say how thou cam’st here.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO, wonder!\\r\\nHow many goodly creatures are there here!\\r\\nHow beauteous mankind is! O brave new world\\r\\nThat has such people in ’t!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n’Tis new to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nWhat is this maid, with whom thou wast at play?\\r\\nYour eld’st acquaintance cannot be three hours:\\r\\nIs she the goddess that hath sever’d us,\\r\\nAnd brought us thus together?\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nSir, she is mortal;\\r\\nBut by immortal Providence she’s mine.\\r\\nI chose her when I could not ask my father\\r\\nFor his advice, nor thought I had one. She\\r\\nIs daughter to this famous Duke of Milan,\\r\\nOf whom so often I have heard renown,\\r\\nBut never saw before; of whom I have\\r\\nReceiv’d a second life; and second father\\r\\nThis lady makes him to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI am hers:\\r\\nBut, O, how oddly will it sound that I\\r\\nMust ask my child forgiveness!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThere, sir, stop:\\r\\nLet us not burden our remembrances with\\r\\nA heaviness that’s gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI have inly wept,\\r\\nOr should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods,\\r\\nAnd on this couple drop a blessed crown;\\r\\nFor it is you that have chalk’d forth the way\\r\\nWhich brought us hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI say, Amen, Gonzalo!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWas Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue\\r\\nShould become Kings of Naples? O, rejoice\\r\\nBeyond a common joy, and set it down\\r\\nWith gold on lasting pillars: in one voyage\\r\\nDid Claribel her husband find at Tunis,\\r\\nAnd Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife\\r\\nWhere he himself was lost; Prospero his dukedom\\r\\nIn a poor isle; and all of us ourselves,\\r\\nWhen no man was his own.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\n[_To Ferdinand and Miranda._] Give me your hands:\\r\\nLet grief and sorrow still embrace his heart\\r\\nThat doth not wish you joy!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nBe it so. Amen!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel with the Master and Boatswain amazedly following.\\r\\n\\r\\nO look, sir, look, sir! Here are more of us.\\r\\nI prophesied, if a gallows were on land,\\r\\nThis fellow could not drown. Now, blasphemy,\\r\\nThat swear’st grace o’erboard, not an oath on shore?\\r\\nHast thou no mouth by land? What is the news?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nThe best news is that we have safely found\\r\\nOur King and company. The next, our ship,—\\r\\nWhich but three glasses since, we gave out split,\\r\\nIs tight and yare, and bravely rigg’d as when\\r\\nWe first put out to sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\n[_Aside to Prospero._] Sir, all this service\\r\\nHave I done since I went.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Ariel._] My tricksy spirit!\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nThese are not natural events; they strengthen\\r\\nFrom strange to stranger. Say, how came you hither?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nIf I did think, sir, I were well awake,\\r\\nI’d strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep,\\r\\nAnd,—how, we know not,—all clapp’d under hatches,\\r\\nWhere, but even now, with strange and several noises\\r\\nOf roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains,\\r\\nAnd mo diversity of sounds, all horrible,\\r\\nWe were awak’d; straightway, at liberty:\\r\\nWhere we, in all her trim, freshly beheld\\r\\nOur royal, good, and gallant ship; our master\\r\\nCap’ring to eye her. On a trice, so please you,\\r\\nEven in a dream, were we divided from them,\\r\\nAnd were brought moping hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\n[_Aside to Prospero._] Was’t well done?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Ariel._] Bravely, my diligence. Thou shalt be free.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nThis is as strange a maze as e’er men trod;\\r\\nAnd there is in this business more than nature\\r\\nWas ever conduct of: some oracle\\r\\nMust rectify our knowledge.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSir, my liege,\\r\\nDo not infest your mind with beating on\\r\\nThe strangeness of this business. At pick’d leisure,\\r\\nWhich shall be shortly, single I’ll resolve you,\\r\\nWhich to you shall seem probable, of every\\r\\nThese happen’d accidents; till when, be cheerful\\r\\nAnd think of each thing well. [_Aside to Ariel._] Come hither, spirit;\\r\\nSet Caliban and his companions free;\\r\\nUntie the spell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Ariel._]\\r\\n\\r\\n How fares my gracious sir?\\r\\nThere are yet missing of your company\\r\\nSome few odd lads that you remember not.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel driving in Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo in their\\r\\n stolen apparel.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nEvery man shift for all the rest, and let no man take care for himself,\\r\\nfor all is but fortune.—Coragio! bully-monster, coragio!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nIf these be true spies which I wear in my head, here’s a goodly sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nO Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed.\\r\\nHow fine my master is! I am afraid\\r\\nHe will chastise me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHa, ha!\\r\\nWhat things are these, my lord Antonio?\\r\\nWill money buy them?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nVery like; one of them\\r\\nIs a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nMark but the badges of these men, my lords,\\r\\nThen say if they be true. This mis-shapen knave,\\r\\nHis mother was a witch; and one so strong\\r\\nThat could control the moon, make flows and ebbs,\\r\\nAnd deal in her command without her power.\\r\\nThese three have robb’d me; and this demi-devil,\\r\\nFor he’s a bastard one, had plotted with them\\r\\nTo take my life. Two of these fellows you\\r\\nMust know and own; this thing of darkness I\\r\\nAcknowledge mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI shall be pinch’d to death.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nIs not this Stephano, my drunken butler?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHe is drunk now: where had he wine?\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nAnd Trinculo is reeling-ripe: where should they\\r\\nFind this grand liquor that hath gilded ’em?\\r\\nHow cam’st thou in this pickle?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI have been in such a pickle since I saw you last that, I fear me, will\\r\\nnever out of my bones. I shall not fear fly-blowing.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhy, how now, Stephano!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nO! touch me not. I am not Stephano, but a cramp.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nYou’d be King o’ the isle, sirrah?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nI should have been a sore one, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nThis is as strange a thing as e’er I look’d on.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Pointing to Caliban._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHe is as disproportioned in his manners\\r\\nAs in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell;\\r\\nTake with you your companions. As you look\\r\\nTo have my pardon, trim it handsomely.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nAy, that I will; and I’ll be wise hereafter,\\r\\nAnd seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass\\r\\nWas I, to take this drunkard for a god,\\r\\nAnd worship this dull fool!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nGo to; away!\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nHence, and bestow your luggage where you found it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nOr stole it, rather.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSir, I invite your Highness and your train\\r\\nTo my poor cell, where you shall take your rest\\r\\nFor this one night; which, part of it, I’ll waste\\r\\nWith such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it\\r\\nGo quick away: the story of my life\\r\\nAnd the particular accidents gone by\\r\\nSince I came to this isle: and in the morn\\r\\nI’ll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples,\\r\\nWhere I have hope to see the nuptial\\r\\nOf these our dear-belov’d solemnized;\\r\\nAnd thence retire me to my Milan, where\\r\\nEvery third thought shall be my grave.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI long\\r\\nTo hear the story of your life, which must\\r\\nTake the ear strangely.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nI’ll deliver all;\\r\\nAnd promise you calm seas, auspicious gales,\\r\\nAnd sail so expeditious that shall catch\\r\\nYour royal fleet far off. [_Aside to Ariel._] My Ariel,\\r\\nchick,\\r\\nThat is thy charge: then to the elements\\r\\nBe free, and fare thou well! Please you, draw near.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEPILOGUE\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNow my charms are all o’erthrown,\\r\\nAnd what strength I have’s mine own,\\r\\nWhich is most faint. Now ’tis true,\\r\\nI must be here confin’d by you,\\r\\nOr sent to Naples. Let me not,\\r\\nSince I have my dukedom got,\\r\\nAnd pardon’d the deceiver, dwell\\r\\nIn this bare island by your spell,\\r\\nBut release me from my bands\\r\\nWith the help of your good hands.\\r\\nGentle breath of yours my sails\\r\\nMust fill, or else my project fails,\\r\\nWhich was to please. Now I want\\r\\nSpirits to enforce, art to enchant;\\r\\nAnd my ending is despair,\\r\\nUnless I be reliev’d by prayer,\\r\\nWhich pierces so that it assaults\\r\\nMercy itself, and frees all faults.\\r\\n As you from crimes would pardon’d be,\\r\\n Let your indulgence set me free.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE LIFE OF TIMON OF ATHENS\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON of Athens\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS\\r\\n LUCULLUS\\r\\n SEMPRONIUS\\r\\n flattering lords\\r\\n\\r\\n VENTIDIUS, one of Timon\\'s false friends\\r\\n ALCIBIADES, an Athenian captain\\r\\n APEMANTUS, a churlish philosopher\\r\\n FLAVIUS, steward to Timon\\r\\n\\r\\n FLAMINIUS\\r\\n LUCILIUS\\r\\n SERVILIUS\\r\\n Timon\\'s servants\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPHIS\\r\\n PHILOTUS\\r\\n TITUS\\r\\n HORTENSIUS\\r\\n servants to Timon\\'s creditors\\r\\n\\r\\n POET PAINTER JEWELLER MERCHANT MERCER AN OLD ATHENIAN THREE\\r\\n STRANGERS A PAGE A FOOL\\r\\n\\r\\n PHRYNIA\\r\\n TIMANDRA\\r\\n mistresses to Alcibiades\\r\\n\\r\\n CUPID\\r\\n AMAZONS\\r\\n in the Masque\\r\\n\\r\\n Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Servants, Thieves, and\\r\\n Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Athens and the neighbouring woods\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. Athens. TIMON\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter POET, PAINTER, JEWELLER, MERCHANT, and MERCER, at several doors\\r\\n\\r\\n POET. Good day, sir.\\r\\n PAINTER. I am glad y\\'are well.\\r\\n POET. I have not seen you long; how goes the world?\\r\\n PAINTER. It wears, sir, as it grows.\\r\\n POET. Ay, that\\'s well known.\\r\\n But what particular rarity? What strange,\\r\\n Which manifold record not matches? See,\\r\\n Magic of bounty, all these spirits thy power\\r\\n Hath conjur\\'d to attend! I know the merchant.\\r\\n PAINTER. I know them both; th\\' other\\'s a jeweller.\\r\\n MERCHANT. O, \\'tis a worthy lord!\\r\\n JEWELLER. Nay, that\\'s most fix\\'d.\\r\\n MERCHANT. A most incomparable man; breath\\'d, as it were,\\r\\n To an untirable and continuate goodness.\\r\\n He passes.\\r\\n JEWELLER. I have a jewel here-\\r\\n MERCHANT. O, pray let\\'s see\\'t. For the Lord Timon, sir?\\r\\n JEWELLER. If he will touch the estimate. But for that-\\r\\n POET. When we for recompense have prais\\'d the vile,\\r\\n It stains the glory in that happy verse\\r\\n Which aptly sings the good.\\r\\n MERCHANT. [Looking at the jewel] \\'Tis a good form.\\r\\n JEWELLER. And rich. Here is a water, look ye.\\r\\n PAINTER. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication\\r\\n To the great lord.\\r\\n POET. A thing slipp\\'d idly from me.\\r\\n Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes\\r\\n From whence \\'tis nourish\\'d. The fire i\\' th\\' flint\\r\\n Shows not till it be struck: our gentle flame\\r\\n Provokes itself, and like the current flies\\r\\n Each bound it chafes. What have you there?\\r\\n PAINTER. A picture, sir. When comes your book forth?\\r\\n POET. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir.\\r\\n Let\\'s see your piece.\\r\\n PAINTER. \\'Tis a good piece.\\r\\n POET. So \\'tis; this comes off well and excellent.\\r\\n PAINTER. Indifferent.\\r\\n POET. Admirable. How this grace\\r\\n Speaks his own standing! What a mental power\\r\\n This eye shoots forth! How big imagination\\r\\n Moves in this lip! To th\\' dumbness of the gesture\\r\\n One might interpret.\\r\\n PAINTER. It is a pretty mocking of the life.\\r\\n Here is a touch; is\\'t good?\\r\\n POET. I will say of it\\r\\n It tutors nature. Artificial strife\\r\\n Lives in these touches, livelier than life.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter certain SENATORS, and pass over\\r\\n\\r\\n PAINTER. How this lord is followed!\\r\\n POET. The senators of Athens- happy man!\\r\\n PAINTER. Look, moe!\\r\\n POET. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors.\\r\\n I have in this rough work shap\\'d out a man\\r\\n Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug\\r\\n With amplest entertainment. My free drift\\r\\n Halts not particularly, but moves itself\\r\\n In a wide sea of tax. No levell\\'d malice\\r\\n Infects one comma in the course I hold,\\r\\n But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,\\r\\n Leaving no tract behind.\\r\\n PAINTER. How shall I understand you?\\r\\n POET. I will unbolt to you.\\r\\n You see how all conditions, how all minds-\\r\\n As well of glib and slipp\\'ry creatures as\\r\\n Of grave and austere quality, tender down\\r\\n Their services to Lord Timon. His large fortune,\\r\\n Upon his good and gracious nature hanging,\\r\\n Subdues and properties to his love and tendance\\r\\n All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-fac\\'d flatterer\\r\\n To Apemantus, that few things loves better\\r\\n Than to abhor himself; even he drops down\\r\\n The knee before him, and returns in peace\\r\\n Most rich in Timon\\'s nod.\\r\\n PAINTER. I saw them speak together.\\r\\n POET. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill\\r\\n Feign\\'d Fortune to be thron\\'d. The base o\\' th\\' mount\\r\\n Is rank\\'d with all deserts, all kind of natures\\r\\n That labour on the bosom of this sphere\\r\\n To propagate their states. Amongst them all\\r\\n Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix\\'d\\r\\n One do I personate of Lord Timon\\'s frame,\\r\\n Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her;\\r\\n Whose present grace to present slaves and servants\\r\\n Translates his rivals.\\r\\n PAINTER. \\'Tis conceiv\\'d to scope.\\r\\n This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks,\\r\\n With one man beckon\\'d from the rest below,\\r\\n Bowing his head against the steepy mount\\r\\n To climb his happiness, would be well express\\'d\\r\\n In our condition.\\r\\n POET. Nay, sir, but hear me on.\\r\\n All those which were his fellows but of late-\\r\\n Some better than his value- on the moment\\r\\n Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance,\\r\\n Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear,\\r\\n Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him\\r\\n Drink the free air.\\r\\n PAINTER. Ay, marry, what of these?\\r\\n POET. When Fortune in her shift and change of mood\\r\\n Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants,\\r\\n Which labour\\'d after him to the mountain\\'s top\\r\\n Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down,\\r\\n Not one accompanying his declining foot.\\r\\n PAINTER. \\'Tis common.\\r\\n A thousand moral paintings I can show\\r\\n That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune\\'s\\r\\n More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well\\r\\n To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen\\r\\n The foot above the head.\\r\\n\\r\\n Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, addressing himself\\r\\n courteously to every suitor, a MESSENGER from\\r\\n VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other\\r\\n servants following\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. Imprison\\'d is he, say you?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Ay, my good lord. Five talents is his debt;\\r\\n His means most short, his creditors most strait.\\r\\n Your honourable letter he desires\\r\\n To those have shut him up; which failing,\\r\\n Periods his comfort.\\r\\n TIMON. Noble Ventidius! Well.\\r\\n I am not of that feather to shake of\\r\\n My friend when he must need me. I do know him\\r\\n A gentleman that well deserves a help,\\r\\n Which he shall have. I\\'ll pay the debt, and free him.\\r\\n MESSENGER. Your lordship ever binds him.\\r\\n TIMON. Commend me to him; I will send his ransom;\\r\\n And being enfranchis\\'d, bid him come to me.\\r\\n \\'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,\\r\\n But to support him after. Fare you well.\\r\\n MESSENGER. All happiness to your honour! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter an OLD ATHENIAN\\r\\n\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Lord Timon, hear me speak.\\r\\n TIMON. Freely, good father.\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Thou hast a servant nam\\'d Lucilius.\\r\\n TIMON. I have so; what of him?\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee.\\r\\n TIMON. Attends he here, or no? Lucilius!\\r\\n LUCILIUS. Here, at your lordship\\'s service.\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature,\\r\\n By night frequents my house. I am a man\\r\\n That from my first have been inclin\\'d to thrift,\\r\\n And my estate deserves an heir more rais\\'d\\r\\n Than one which holds a trencher.\\r\\n TIMON. Well; what further?\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. One only daughter have I, no kin else,\\r\\n On whom I may confer what I have got.\\r\\n The maid is fair, o\\' th\\' youngest for a bride,\\r\\n And I have bred her at my dearest cost\\r\\n In qualities of the best. This man of thine\\r\\n Attempts her love; I prithee, noble lord,\\r\\n Join with me to forbid him her resort;\\r\\n Myself have spoke in vain.\\r\\n TIMON. The man is honest.\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Therefore he will be, Timon.\\r\\n His honesty rewards him in itself;\\r\\n It must not bear my daughter.\\r\\n TIMON. Does she love him?\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. She is young and apt:\\r\\n Our own precedent passions do instruct us\\r\\n What levity\\'s in youth.\\r\\n TIMON. Love you the maid?\\r\\n LUCILIUS. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it.\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. If in her marriage my consent be missing,\\r\\n I call the gods to witness I will choose\\r\\n Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world,\\r\\n And dispossess her all.\\r\\n TIMON. How shall she be endow\\'d,\\r\\n If she be mated with an equal husband?\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Three talents on the present; in future, all.\\r\\n TIMON. This gentleman of mine hath serv\\'d me long;.\\r\\n To build his fortune I will strain a little,\\r\\n For \\'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter:\\r\\n What you bestow, in him I\\'ll counterpoise,\\r\\n And make him weigh with her.\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Most noble lord,\\r\\n Pawn me to this your honour, she is his.\\r\\n TIMON. My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise.\\r\\n LUCILIUS. Humbly I thank your lordship. Never may\\r\\n That state or fortune fall into my keeping\\r\\n Which is not owed to you!\\r\\n Exeunt LUCILIUS and OLD ATHENIAN\\r\\n POET. [Presenting his poem] Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your\\r\\n lordship!\\r\\n TIMON. I thank you; you shall hear from me anon;\\r\\n Go not away. What have you there, my friend?\\r\\n PAINTER. A piece of painting, which I do beseech\\r\\n Your lordship to accept.\\r\\n TIMON. Painting is welcome.\\r\\n The painting is almost the natural man;\\r\\n For since dishonour traffics with man\\'s nature,\\r\\n He is but outside; these pencill\\'d figures are\\r\\n Even such as they give out. I like your work,\\r\\n And you shall find I like it; wait attendance\\r\\n Till you hear further from me.\\r\\n PAINTER. The gods preserve ye!\\r\\n TIMON. Well fare you, gentleman. Give me your hand;\\r\\n We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel\\r\\n Hath suffered under praise.\\r\\n JEWELLER. What, my lord! Dispraise?\\r\\n TIMON. A mere satiety of commendations;\\r\\n If I should pay you for\\'t as \\'tis extoll\\'d,\\r\\n It would unclew me quite.\\r\\n JEWELLER. My lord, \\'tis rated\\r\\n As those which sell would give; but you well know\\r\\n Things of like value, differing in the owners,\\r\\n Are prized by their masters. Believe\\'t, dear lord,\\r\\n You mend the jewel by the wearing it.\\r\\n TIMON. Well mock\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter APEMANTUS\\r\\n\\r\\n MERCHANT. No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue,\\r\\n Which all men speak with him.\\r\\n TIMON. Look who comes here; will you be chid?\\r\\n JEWELLER. We\\'ll bear, with your lordship.\\r\\n MERCHANT. He\\'ll spare none.\\r\\n TIMON. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow;\\r\\n When thou art Timon\\'s dog, and these knaves honest.\\r\\n TIMON. Why dost thou call them knaves? Thou know\\'st them not.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Are they not Athenians?\\r\\n TIMON. Yes.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Then I repent not.\\r\\n JEWELLER. You know me, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou know\\'st I do; I call\\'d thee by thy name.\\r\\n TIMON. Thou art proud, Apemantus.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Of nothing so much as that I am not like Timon.\\r\\n TIMON. Whither art going?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. To knock out an honest Athenian\\'s brains.\\r\\n TIMON. That\\'s a deed thou\\'t die for.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Right, if doing nothing be death by th\\' law.\\r\\n TIMON. How lik\\'st thou this picture, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. The best, for the innocence.\\r\\n TIMON. Wrought he not well that painted it?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. He wrought better that made the painter; and yet he\\'s\\r\\n but a filthy piece of work.\\r\\n PAINTER. Y\\'are a dog.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thy mother\\'s of my generation; what\\'s she, if I be a dog?\\r\\n TIMON. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No; I eat not lords.\\r\\n TIMON. An thou shouldst, thou\\'dst anger ladies.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. O, they eat lords; so they come by great bellies.\\r\\n TIMON. That\\'s a lascivious apprehension.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. So thou apprehend\\'st it take it for thy labour.\\r\\n TIMON. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Not so well as plain dealing, which will not cost a man\\r\\n a doit.\\r\\n TIMON. What dost thou think \\'tis worth?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Not worth my thinking. How now, poet!\\r\\n POET. How now, philosopher!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou liest.\\r\\n POET. Art not one?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Yes.\\r\\n POET. Then I lie not.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Art not a poet?\\r\\n POET. Yes.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Then thou liest. Look in thy last work, where thou hast\\r\\n feign\\'d him a worthy fellow.\\r\\n POET. That\\'s not feign\\'d- he is so.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy\\r\\n labour. He that loves to be flattered is worthy o\\' th\\' flatterer.\\r\\n Heavens, that I were a lord!\\r\\n TIMON. What wouldst do then, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. E\\'en as Apemantus does now: hate a lord with my heart.\\r\\n TIMON. What, thyself?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ay.\\r\\n TIMON. Wherefore?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. That I had no angry wit to be a lord.- Art not thou a\\r\\n merchant?\\r\\n MERCHANT. Ay, Apemantus.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not!\\r\\n MERCHANT. If traffic do it, the gods do it.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Traffic\\'s thy god, and thy god confound thee!\\r\\n\\r\\n Trumpet sounds. Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. What trumpet\\'s that?\\r\\n MESSENGER. \\'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse,\\r\\n All of companionship.\\r\\n TIMON. Pray entertain them; give them guide to us.\\r\\n Exeunt some attendants\\r\\n You must needs dine with me. Go not you hence\\r\\n Till I have thank\\'d you. When dinner\\'s done\\r\\n Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ALCIBIADES, with the rest\\r\\n\\r\\n Most welcome, sir! [They salute]\\r\\n APEMANTUS. So, so, there!\\r\\n Aches contract and starve your supple joints!\\r\\n That there should be small love amongst these sweet knaves,\\r\\n And all this courtesy! The strain of man\\'s bred out\\r\\n Into baboon and monkey.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Sir, you have sav\\'d my longing, and I feed\\r\\n Most hungerly on your sight.\\r\\n TIMON. Right welcome, sir!\\r\\n Ere we depart we\\'ll share a bounteous time\\r\\n In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in.\\r\\n Exeunt all but APEMANTUS\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST LORD. What time o\\' day is\\'t, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Time to be honest.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. That time serves still.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. The more accursed thou that still omit\\'st it.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Thou art going to Lord Timon\\'s feast.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ay; to see meat fill knaves and wine heat fools.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Fare thee well, fare thee well.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Why, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean to give\\r\\n thee none.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Hang thyself.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding; make thy requests\\r\\n to thy friend.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Away, unpeaceable dog, or I\\'ll spurn thee hence.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I will fly, like a dog, the heels o\\' th\\' ass. Exit\\r\\n FIRST LORD. He\\'s opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in\\r\\n And taste Lord Timon\\'s bounty? He outgoes\\r\\n The very heart of kindness.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. He pours it out: Plutus, the god of gold,\\r\\n Is but his steward; no meed but he repays\\r\\n Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him\\r\\n But breeds the giver a return exceeding\\r\\n All use of quittance.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. The noblest mind he carries\\r\\n That ever govern\\'d man.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Long may he live in fortunes! shall we in?\\r\\n FIRST LORD. I\\'ll keep you company. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A room of state in TIMON\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nHautboys playing loud music. A great banquet serv\\'d in;\\r\\nFLAVIUS and others attending; and then enter LORD TIMON, the states,\\r\\nthe ATHENIAN LORDS, VENTIDIUS, which TIMON redeem\\'d from prison.\\r\\nThen comes, dropping after all, APEMANTUS, discontentedly, like himself\\r\\n\\r\\n VENTIDIUS. Most honoured Timon,\\r\\n It hath pleas\\'d the gods to remember my father\\'s age,\\r\\n And call him to long peace.\\r\\n He is gone happy, and has left me rich.\\r\\n Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound\\r\\n To your free heart, I do return those talents,\\r\\n Doubled with thanks and service, from whose help\\r\\n I deriv\\'d liberty.\\r\\n TIMON. O, by no means,\\r\\n Honest Ventidius! You mistake my love;\\r\\n I gave it freely ever; and there\\'s none\\r\\n Can truly say he gives, if he receives.\\r\\n If our betters play at that game, we must not dare\\r\\n To imitate them: faults that are rich are fair.\\r\\n VENTIDIUS. A noble spirit!\\r\\n TIMON. Nay, my lords, ceremony was but devis\\'d at first\\r\\n To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes,\\r\\n Recanting goodness, sorry ere \\'tis shown;\\r\\n But where there is true friendship there needs none.\\r\\n Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes\\r\\n Than my fortunes to me. [They sit]\\r\\n FIRST LORD. My lord, we always have confess\\'d it.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ho, ho, confess\\'d it! Hang\\'d it, have you not?\\r\\n TIMON. O, Apemantus, you are welcome.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No;\\r\\n You shall not make me welcome.\\r\\n I come to have thee thrust me out of doors.\\r\\n TIMON. Fie, th\\'art a churl; ye have got a humour there\\r\\n Does not become a man; \\'tis much to blame.\\r\\n They say, my lords, Ira furor brevis est; but yond man is ever\\r\\n angry. Go, let him have a table by himself; for he does neither\\r\\n affect company nor is he fit for\\'t indeed.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon.\\r\\n I come to observe; I give thee warning on\\'t.\\r\\n TIMON. I take no heed of thee. Th\\'art an Athenian, therefore\\r\\n welcome. I myself would have no power; prithee let my meat make\\r\\n thee silent.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I scorn thy meat; \\'t\\'would choke me, for I should ne\\'er\\r\\n flatter thee. O you gods, what a number of men eats Timon, and he\\r\\n sees \\'em not! It grieves me to see so many dip their meat in one\\r\\n man\\'s blood; and all the madness is, he cheers them up too.\\r\\n I wonder men dare trust themselves with men.\\r\\n Methinks they should invite them without knives:\\r\\n Good for their meat and safer for their lives.\\r\\n There\\'s much example for\\'t; the fellow that sits next him now,\\r\\n parts bread with him, pledges the breath of him in a divided\\r\\n draught, is the readiest man to kill him. \\'T has been proved. If\\r\\n I were a huge man I should fear to drink at meals.\\r\\n Lest they should spy my windpipe\\'s dangerous notes:\\r\\n Great men should drink with harness on their throats.\\r\\n TIMON. My lord, in heart! and let the health go round.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Let it flow this way, my good lord.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Flow this way! A brave fellow! He keeps his tides well.\\r\\n Those healths will make thee and thy state look ill, Timon.\\r\\n Here\\'s that which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, which\\r\\n ne\\'er left man i\\' th\\' mire.\\r\\n This and my food are equals; there\\'s no odds.\\'\\r\\n Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods.\\r\\n\\r\\n APEMANTUS\\' Grace\\r\\n\\r\\n Immortal gods, I crave no pelf;\\r\\n I pray for no man but myself.\\r\\n Grant I may never prove so fond\\r\\n To trust man on his oath or bond,\\r\\n Or a harlot for her weeping,\\r\\n Or a dog that seems a-sleeping,\\r\\n Or a keeper with my freedom,\\r\\n Or my friends, if I should need \\'em.\\r\\n Amen. So fall to\\'t.\\r\\n Rich men sin, and I eat root. [Eats and drinks]\\r\\n\\r\\n Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus!\\r\\n TIMON. Captain Alcibiades, your heart\\'s in the field now.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. My heart is ever at your service, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies than dinner of\\r\\n friends.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. So they were bleeding new, my lord, there\\'s no meat\\r\\n like \\'em; I could wish my best friend at such a feast.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Would all those flatterers were thine enemies then, that\\r\\n then thou mightst kill \\'em, and bid me to \\'em.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you\\r\\n would once use our hearts, whereby we might express some part of\\r\\n our zeals, we should think ourselves for ever perfect.\\r\\n TIMON. O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themselves have\\r\\n provided that I shall have much help from you. How had you been\\r\\n my friends else? Why have you that charitable title from\\r\\n thousands, did not you chiefly belong to my heart? I have told\\r\\n more of you to myself than you can with modesty speak in your own\\r\\n behalf; and thus far I confirm you. O you gods, think I, what\\r\\n need we have any friends if we should ne\\'er have need of \\'em?\\r\\n They were the most needless creatures living, should we ne\\'er\\r\\n have use for \\'em; and would most resemble sweet instruments hung\\r\\n up in cases, that keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have\\r\\n often wish\\'d myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you. We\\r\\n are born to do benefits; and what better or properer can we call\\r\\n our own than the riches of our friends? O, what a precious\\r\\n comfort \\'tis to have so many like brothers commanding one\\r\\n another\\'s fortunes! O, joy\\'s e\\'en made away ere\\'t can be born!\\r\\n Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks. To forget their\\r\\n faults, I drink to you.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou weep\\'st to make them drink, Timon.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Joy had the like conception in our eyes,\\r\\n And at that instant like a babe sprung up.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ho, ho! I laugh to think that babe a bastard.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. I promise you, my lord, you mov\\'d me much.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Much! [Sound tucket]\\r\\n TIMON. What means that trump?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n How now?\\r\\n SERVANT. Please you, my lord, there are certain ladies most\\r\\n desirous of admittance.\\r\\n TIMON. Ladies! What are their wills?\\r\\n SERVANT. There comes with them a forerunner, my lord, which bears\\r\\n that office to signify their pleasures.\\r\\n TIMON. I pray let them be admitted.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CUPID\\r\\n CUPID. Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all\\r\\n That of his bounties taste! The five best Senses\\r\\n Acknowledge thee their patron, and come freely\\r\\n To gratulate thy plenteous bosom. Th\\' Ear,\\r\\n Taste, Touch, Smell, pleas\\'d from thy table rise;\\r\\n They only now come but to feast thine eyes.\\r\\n TIMON. They\\'re welcome all; let \\'em have kind admittance.\\r\\n Music, make their welcome. Exit CUPID\\r\\n FIRST LORD. You see, my lord, how ample y\\'are belov\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Music. Re-enter CUPID, witb a Masque of LADIES as Amazons,\\r\\n with lutes in their hands, dancing and playing\\r\\n\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Hoy-day, what a sweep of vanity comes this way!\\r\\n They dance? They are mad women.\\r\\n Like madness is the glory of this life,\\r\\n As this pomp shows to a little oil and root.\\r\\n We make ourselves fools to disport ourselves,\\r\\n And spend our flatteries to drink those men\\r\\n Upon whose age we void it up again\\r\\n With poisonous spite and envy.\\r\\n Who lives that\\'s not depraved or depraves?\\r\\n Who dies that bears not one spurn to their graves\\r\\n Of their friends\\' gift?\\r\\n I should fear those that dance before me now\\r\\n Would one day stamp upon me. \\'T has been done:\\r\\n Men shut their doors against a setting sun.\\r\\n\\r\\n The LORDS rise from table, with much adoring of\\r\\n TIMON; and to show their loves, each single out an\\r\\n Amazon, and all dance, men witb women, a lofty\\r\\n strain or two to the hautboys, and cease\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. You have done our pleasures much grace, fair ladies,\\r\\n Set a fair fashion on our entertainment,\\r\\n Which was not half so beautiful and kind;\\r\\n You have added worth unto\\'t and lustre,\\r\\n And entertain\\'d me with mine own device;\\r\\n I am to thank you for\\'t.\\r\\n FIRST LADY. My lord, you take us even at the best.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Faith, for the worst is filthy, and would not hold\\r\\n taking, I doubt me.\\r\\n TIMON. Ladies, there is an idle banquet attends you;\\r\\n Please you to dispose yourselves.\\r\\n ALL LADIES. Most thankfully, my lord.\\r\\n Exeunt CUPID and LADIES\\r\\n TIMON. Flavius!\\r\\n FLAVIUS. My lord?\\r\\n TIMON. The little casket bring me hither.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Yes, my lord. [Aside] More jewels yet!\\r\\n There is no crossing him in\\'s humour,\\r\\n Else I should tell him- well i\\' faith, I should-\\r\\n When all\\'s spent, he\\'d be cross\\'d then, an he could.\\r\\n \\'Tis pity bounty had not eyes behind,\\r\\n That man might ne\\'er be wretched for his mind. Exit\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Where be our men?\\r\\n SERVANT. Here, my lord, in readiness.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Our horses!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter FLAVIUS, with the casket\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. O my friends,\\r\\n I have one word to say to you. Look you, my good lord,\\r\\n I must entreat you honour me so much\\r\\n As to advance this jewel; accept it and wear it,\\r\\n Kind my lord.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. I am so far already in your gifts-\\r\\n ALL. So are we all.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. My lord, there are certain nobles of the Senate newly\\r\\n alighted and come to visit you.\\r\\n TIMON. They are fairly welcome. Exit SERVANT\\r\\n FLAVIUS. I beseech your honour, vouchsafe me a word; it does\\r\\n concern you near.\\r\\n TIMON. Near! Why then, another time I\\'ll hear thee. I prithee let\\'s\\r\\n be provided to show them entertainment.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. [Aside] I scarce know how.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. May it please vour honour, Lord Lucius, out of his\\r\\n free love, hath presented to you four milk-white horses, trapp\\'d\\r\\n in silver.\\r\\n TIMON. I shall accept them fairly. Let the presents\\r\\n Be worthily entertain\\'d. Exit SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a third SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n How now! What news?\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. Please you, my lord, that honourable gentleman, Lord\\r\\n Lucullus, entreats your company to-morrow to hunt with him and\\r\\n has sent your honour two brace of greyhounds.\\r\\n TIMON. I\\'ll hunt with him; and let them be receiv\\'d,\\r\\n Not without fair reward. Exit SERVANT\\r\\n FLAVIUS. [Aside] What will this come to?\\r\\n He commands us to provide and give great gifts,\\r\\n And all out of an empty coffer;\\r\\n Nor will he know his purse, or yield me this,\\r\\n To show him what a beggar his heart is,\\r\\n Being of no power to make his wishes good.\\r\\n His promises fly so beyond his state\\r\\n That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes\\r\\n For ev\\'ry word. He is so kind that he now\\r\\n Pays interest for\\'t; his land\\'s put to their books.\\r\\n Well, would I were gently put out of office\\r\\n Before I were forc\\'d out!\\r\\n Happier is he that has no friend to feed\\r\\n Than such that do e\\'en enemies exceed.\\r\\n I bleed inwardly for my lord. Exit\\r\\n TIMON. You do yourselves much wrong;\\r\\n You bate too much of your own merits.\\r\\n Here, my lord, a trifle of our love.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. With more than common thanks I will receive it.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. O, he\\'s the very soul of bounty!\\r\\n TIMON. And now I remember, my lord, you gave good words the other\\r\\n day of a bay courser I rode on. \\'Tis yours because you lik\\'d it.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. O, I beseech you pardon me, my lord, in that.\\r\\n TIMON. You may take my word, my lord: I know no man\\r\\n Can justly praise but what he does affect.\\r\\n I weigh my friend\\'s affection with mine own.\\r\\n I\\'ll tell you true; I\\'ll call to you.\\r\\n ALL LORDS. O, none so welcome!\\r\\n TIMON. I take all and your several visitations\\r\\n So kind to heart \\'tis not enough to give;\\r\\n Methinks I could deal kingdoms to my friends\\r\\n And ne\\'er be weary. Alcibiades,\\r\\n Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich.\\r\\n It comes in charity to thee; for all thy living\\r\\n Is \\'mongst the dead, and all the lands thou hast\\r\\n Lie in a pitch\\'d field.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Ay, defil\\'d land, my lord.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. We are so virtuously bound-\\r\\n TIMON. And so am I to you.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. So infinitely endear\\'d-\\r\\n TIMON. All to you. Lights, more lights!\\r\\n FIRST LORD. The best of happiness, honour, and fortunes, keep with\\r\\n you, Lord Timon!\\r\\n TIMON. Ready for his friends.\\r\\n Exeunt all but APEMANTUS and TIMON\\r\\n APEMANTUS. What a coil\\'s here!\\r\\n Serving of becks and jutting-out of bums!\\r\\n I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums\\r\\n That are given for \\'em. Friendship\\'s full of dregs:\\r\\n Methinks false hearts should never have sound legs.\\r\\n Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on curtsies.\\r\\n TIMON. Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen\\r\\n I would be good to thee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No, I\\'ll nothing; for if I should be brib\\'d too, there\\r\\n would be none left to rail upon thee, and then thou wouldst sin\\r\\n the faster. Thou giv\\'st so long, Timon, I fear me thou wilt give\\r\\n away thyself in paper shortly. What needs these feasts, pomps,\\r\\n and vain-glories?\\r\\n TIMON. Nay, an you begin to rail on society once, I am sworn not to\\r\\n give regard to you. Farewell; and come with better music.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n APEMANTUS. So. Thou wilt not hear me now: thou shalt not then. I\\'ll\\r\\n lock thy heaven from thee.\\r\\n O that men\\'s ears should be\\r\\n To counsel deaf, but not to flattery! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. A SENATOR\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter A SENATOR, with papers in his hand\\r\\n\\r\\n SENATOR. And late, five thousand. To Varro and to Isidore\\r\\n He owes nine thousand; besides my former sum,\\r\\n Which makes it five and twenty. Still in motion\\r\\n Of raging waste? It cannot hold; it will not.\\r\\n If I want gold, steal but a beggar\\'s dog\\r\\n And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold.\\r\\n If I would sell my horse and buy twenty moe\\r\\n Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon,\\r\\n Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me straight,\\r\\n And able horses. No porter at his gate,\\r\\n But rather one that smiles and still invites\\r\\n All that pass by. It cannot hold; no reason\\r\\n Can sound his state in safety. Caphis, ho!\\r\\n Caphis, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CAPHIS\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPHIS. Here, sir; what is your pleasure?\\r\\n SENATOR. Get on your cloak and haste you to Lord Timon;\\r\\n Importune him for my moneys; be not ceas\\'d\\r\\n With slight denial, nor then silenc\\'d when\\r\\n \\'Commend me to your master\\' and the cap\\r\\n Plays in the right hand, thus; but tell him\\r\\n My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn\\r\\n Out of mine own; his days and times are past,\\r\\n And my reliances on his fracted dates\\r\\n Have smit my credit. I love and honour him,\\r\\n But must not break my back to heal his finger.\\r\\n Immediate are my needs, and my relief\\r\\n Must not be toss\\'d and turn\\'d to me in words,\\r\\n But find supply immediate. Get you gone;\\r\\n Put on a most importunate aspect,\\r\\n A visage of demand; for I do fear,\\r\\n When every feather sticks in his own wing,\\r\\n Lord Timon will be left a naked gull,\\r\\n Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone.\\r\\n CAPHIS. I go, sir.\\r\\n SENATOR. Take the bonds along with you,\\r\\n And have the dates in compt.\\r\\n CAPHIS. I will, sir.\\r\\n SENATOR. Go. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Before TIMON\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FLAVIUS, TIMON\\'S Steward, with many bills in his hand\\r\\n\\r\\n FLAVIUS. No care, no stop! So senseless of expense\\r\\n That he will neither know how to maintain it\\r\\n Nor cease his flow of riot; takes no account\\r\\n How things go from him, nor resumes no care\\r\\n Of what is to continue. Never mind\\r\\n Was to be so unwise to be so kind.\\r\\n What shall be done? He will not hear till feel.\\r\\n I must be round with him. Now he comes from hunting.\\r\\n Fie, fie, fie, fie!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CAPHIS, and the SERVANTS Of ISIDORE and VARRO\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPHIS. Good even, Varro. What, you come for money?\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. Is\\'t not your business too?\\r\\n CAPHIS. It is. And yours too, Isidore?\\r\\n ISIDORE\\'S SERVANT. It is so.\\r\\n CAPHIS. Would we were all discharg\\'d!\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. I fear it.\\r\\n CAPHIS. Here comes the lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TIMON and his train, with ALCIBIADES\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. So soon as dinner\\'s done we\\'ll forth again,\\r\\n My Alcibiades.- With me? What is your will?\\r\\n CAPHIS. My lord, here is a note of certain dues.\\r\\n TIMON. Dues! Whence are you?\\r\\n CAPHIS. Of Athens here, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. Go to my steward.\\r\\n CAPHIS. Please it your lordship, he hath put me off\\r\\n To the succession of new days this month.\\r\\n My master is awak\\'d by great occasion\\r\\n To call upon his own, and humbly prays you\\r\\n That with your other noble parts you\\'ll suit\\r\\n In giving him his right.\\r\\n TIMON. Mine honest friend,\\r\\n I prithee but repair to me next morning.\\r\\n CAPHIS. Nay, good my lord-\\r\\n TIMON. Contain thyself, good friend.\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. One Varro\\'s servant, my good lord-\\r\\n ISIDORE\\'S SERVANT. From Isidore: he humbly prays your speedy\\r\\n payment-\\r\\n CAPHIS. If you did know, my lord, my master\\'s wants-\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. \\'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six weeks and\\r\\n past.\\r\\n ISIDORE\\'S SERVANT. Your steward puts me off, my lord; and\\r\\n I am sent expressly to your lordship.\\r\\n TIMON. Give me breath.\\r\\n I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on;\\r\\n I\\'ll wait upon you instantly.\\r\\n Exeunt ALCIBIADES and LORDS\\r\\n [To FLAVIUS] Come hither. Pray you,\\r\\n How goes the world that I am thus encount\\'red\\r\\n With clamorous demands of date-broke bonds\\r\\n And the detention of long-since-due debts,\\r\\n Against my honour?\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Please you, gentlemen,\\r\\n The time is unagreeable to this business.\\r\\n Your importunacy cease till after dinner,\\r\\n That I may make his lordship understand\\r\\n Wherefore you are not paid.\\r\\n TIMON. Do so, my friends.\\r\\n See them well entertain\\'d. Exit\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Pray draw near. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter APEMANTUS and FOOL\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPHIS. Stay, stay, here comes the fool with Apemantus.\\r\\n Let\\'s ha\\' some sport with \\'em.\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. Hang him, he\\'ll abuse us!\\r\\n ISIDORE\\'S SERVANT. A plague upon him, dog!\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. How dost, fool?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Dost dialogue with thy shadow?\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. I speak not to thee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No, \\'tis to thyself. [To the FOOL] Come away.\\r\\n ISIDORE\\'S SERVANT. [To VARRO\\'S SERVANT] There\\'s the fool hangs on\\r\\n your back already.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No, thou stand\\'st single; th\\'art not on him yet.\\r\\n CAPHIS. Where\\'s the fool now?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. He last ask\\'d the question. Poor rogues and usurers\\'\\r\\n men! Bawds between gold and want!\\r\\n ALL SERVANTS. What are we, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Asses.\\r\\n ALL SERVANTS. Why?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. That you ask me what you are, and do not know\\r\\n yourselves. Speak to \\'em, fool.\\r\\n FOOL. How do you, gentlemen?\\r\\n ALL SERVANTS. Gramercies, good fool. How does your mistress?\\r\\n FOOL. She\\'s e\\'en setting on water to scald such chickens as you\\r\\n are. Would we could see you at Corinth!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Good! gramercy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n FOOL. Look you, here comes my mistress\\' page.\\r\\n PAGE. [To the FOOL] Why, how now, Captain? What do you in this wise\\r\\n company? How dost thou, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I might answer thee\\r\\n profitably!\\r\\n PAGE. Prithee, Apemantus, read me the superscription of these\\r\\n letters; I know not which is which.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Canst not read?\\r\\n PAGE. No.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. There will little learning die, then, that day thou art\\r\\n hang\\'d. This is to Lord Timon; this to Alcibiades. Go; thou wast\\r\\n born a bastard, and thou\\'t die a bawd.\\r\\n PAGE. Thou wast whelp\\'d a dog, and thou shalt famish dog\\'s death.\\r\\n Answer not: I am gone. Exit PAGE\\r\\n APEMANTUS. E\\'en so thou outrun\\'st grace.\\r\\n Fool, I will go with you to Lord Timon\\'s.\\r\\n FOOL. Will you leave me there?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. If Timon stay at home. You three serve three usurers?\\r\\n ALL SERVANTS. Ay; would they serv\\'d us!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. So would I- as good a trick as ever hangman serv\\'d\\r\\n thief.\\r\\n FOOL. Are you three usurers\\' men?\\r\\n ALL SERVANTS. Ay, fool.\\r\\n FOOL. I think no usurer but has a fool to his servant. My mistress\\r\\n is one, and I am her fool. When men come to borrow of your\\r\\n masters, they approach sadly and go away merry; but they enter my\\r\\n mistress\\' house merrily and go away sadly. The reason of this?\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. I could render one.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Do it then, that we may account thee a whoremaster and a\\r\\n knave; which notwithstanding, thou shalt be no less esteemed.\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. What is a whoremaster, fool?\\r\\n FOOL. A fool in good clothes, and something like thee. \\'Tis a\\r\\n spirit. Sometime \\'t appears like a lord; sometime like a lawyer;\\r\\n sometime like a philosopher, with two stones moe than\\'s\\r\\n artificial one. He is very often like a knight; and, generally,\\r\\n in all shapes that man goes up and down in from fourscore to\\r\\n thirteen, this spirit walks in.\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. Thou art not altogether a fool.\\r\\n FOOL. Nor thou altogether a wise man.\\r\\n As much foolery as I have, so much wit thou lack\\'st.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. That answer might have become Apemantus.\\r\\n VARRO\\'S SERVANT. Aside, aside; here comes Lord Timon.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Come with me, fool, come.\\r\\n FOOL. I do not always follow lover, elder brother, and woman;\\r\\n sometime the philosopher.\\r\\n Exeunt APEMANTUS and FOOL\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Pray you walk near; I\\'ll speak with you anon.\\r\\n Exeunt SERVANTS\\r\\n TIMON. You make me marvel wherefore ere this time\\r\\n Had you not fully laid my state before me,\\r\\n That I might so have rated my expense\\r\\n As I had leave of means.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. You would not hear me\\r\\n At many leisures I propos\\'d.\\r\\n TIMON. Go to;\\r\\n Perchance some single vantages you took\\r\\n When my indisposition put you back,\\r\\n And that unaptness made your minister\\r\\n Thus to excuse yourself.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. O my good lord,\\r\\n At many times I brought in my accounts,\\r\\n Laid them before you; you would throw them off\\r\\n And say you found them in mine honesty.\\r\\n When, for some trifling present, you have bid me\\r\\n Return so much, I have shook my head and wept;\\r\\n Yea, \\'gainst th\\' authority of manners, pray\\'d you\\r\\n To hold your hand more close. I did endure\\r\\n Not seldom, nor no slight checks, when I have\\r\\n Prompted you in the ebb of your estate\\r\\n And your great flow of debts. My lov\\'d lord,\\r\\n Though you hear now- too late!- yet now\\'s a time:\\r\\n The greatest of your having lacks a half\\r\\n To pay your present debts.\\r\\n TIMON. Let all my land be sold.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. \\'Tis all engag\\'d, some forfeited and gone;\\r\\n And what remains will hardly stop the mouth\\r\\n Of present dues. The future comes apace;\\r\\n What shall defend the interim? And at length\\r\\n How goes our reck\\'ning?\\r\\n TIMON. To Lacedaemon did my land extend.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. O my good lord, the world is but a word;\\r\\n Were it all yours to give it in a breath,\\r\\n How quickly were it gone!\\r\\n TIMON. You tell me true.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. If you suspect my husbandry or falsehood,\\r\\n Call me before th\\' exactest auditors\\r\\n And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me,\\r\\n When all our offices have been oppress\\'d\\r\\n With riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept\\r\\n With drunken spilth of wine, when every room\\r\\n Hath blaz\\'d with lights and bray\\'d with minstrelsy,\\r\\n I have retir\\'d me to a wasteful cock\\r\\n And set mine eyes at flow.\\r\\n TIMON. Prithee no more.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. \\'Heavens,\\' have I said \\'the bounty of this lord!\\r\\n How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants\\r\\n This night englutted! Who is not Lord Timon\\'s?\\r\\n What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is Lord Timon\\'s?\\r\\n Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon!\\'\\r\\n Ah! when the means are gone that buy this praise,\\r\\n The breath is gone whereof this praise is made.\\r\\n Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter show\\'rs,\\r\\n These flies are couch\\'d.\\r\\n TIMON. Come, sermon me no further.\\r\\n No villainous bounty yet hath pass\\'d my heart;\\r\\n Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given.\\r\\n Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack\\r\\n To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart:\\r\\n If I would broach the vessels of my love,\\r\\n And try the argument of hearts by borrowing,\\r\\n Men and men\\'s fortunes could I frankly use\\r\\n As I can bid thee speak.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Assurance bless your thoughts!\\r\\n TIMON. And, in some sort, these wants of mine are crown\\'d\\r\\n That I account them blessings; for by these\\r\\n Shall I try friends. You shall perceive how you\\r\\n Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my friends.\\r\\n Within there! Flaminius! Servilius!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FLAMINIUS, SERVILIUS, and another SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANTS. My lord! my lord!\\r\\n TIMON. I will dispatch you severally- you to Lord Lucius; to Lord\\r\\n Lucullus you; I hunted with his honour to-day. You to Sempronius.\\r\\n Commend me to their loves; and I am proud, say, that my occasions\\r\\n have found time to use \\'em toward a supply of money. Let the\\r\\n request be fifty talents.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. As you have said, my lord. Exeunt SERVANTS\\r\\n FLAVIUS. [Aside] Lord Lucius and Lucullus? Humh!\\r\\n TIMON. Go you, sir, to the senators,\\r\\n Of whom, even to the state\\'s best health, I have\\r\\n Deserv\\'d this hearing. Bid \\'em send o\\' th\\' instant\\r\\n A thousand talents to me.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. I have been bold,\\r\\n For that I knew it the most general way,\\r\\n To them to use your signet and your name;\\r\\n But they do shake their heads, and I am here\\r\\n No richer in return.\\r\\n TIMON. Is\\'t true? Can\\'t be?\\r\\n FLAVIUS. They answer, in a joint and corporate voice,\\r\\n That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot\\r\\n Do what they would, are sorry- you are honourable-\\r\\n But yet they could have wish\\'d- they know not-\\r\\n Something hath been amiss- a noble nature\\r\\n May catch a wrench- would all were well!- \\'tis pity-\\r\\n And so, intending other serious matters,\\r\\n After distasteful looks, and these hard fractions,\\r\\n With certain half-caps and cold-moving nods,\\r\\n They froze me into silence.\\r\\n TIMON. You gods, reward them!\\r\\n Prithee, man, look cheerly. These old fellows\\r\\n Have their ingratitude in them hereditary.\\r\\n Their blood is cak\\'d, \\'tis cold, it seldom flows;\\r\\n \\'Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind;\\r\\n And nature, as it grows again toward earth,\\r\\n Is fashion\\'d for the journey dull and heavy.\\r\\n Go to Ventidius. Prithee be not sad,\\r\\n Thou art true and honest; ingeniously I speak,\\r\\n No blame belongs to thee. Ventidius lately\\r\\n Buried his father, by whose death he\\'s stepp\\'d\\r\\n Into a great estate. When he was poor,\\r\\n Imprison\\'d, and in scarcity of friends,\\r\\n I clear\\'d him with five talents. Greet him from me,\\r\\n Bid him suppose some good necessity\\r\\n Touches his friend, which craves to be rememb\\'red\\r\\n With those five talents. That had, give\\'t these fellows\\r\\n To whom \\'tis instant due. Nev\\'r speak or think\\r\\n That Timon\\'s fortunes \\'mong his friends can sink.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. I would I could not think it.\\r\\n That thought is bounty\\'s foe;\\r\\n Being free itself, it thinks all others so. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. LUCULLUS\\' house\\r\\n\\r\\nFLAMINIUS waiting to speak with LUCULLUS. Enter SERVANT to him\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. I have told my lord of you; he is coming down to you.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. I thank you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LUCULLUS\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. Here\\'s my lord.\\r\\n LUCULLUS. [Aside] One of Lord Timon\\'s men? A gift, I warrant. Why,\\r\\n this hits right; I dreamt of a silver basin and ewer to-night-\\r\\n Flaminius, honest Flaminius, you are very respectively welcome,\\r\\n sir. Fill me some wine. [Exit SERVANT] And how does that\\r\\n honourable, complete, freehearted gentleman of Athens, thy very\\r\\n bountiful good lord and master?\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. His health is well, sir.\\r\\n LUCULLUS. I am right glad that his health is well, sir. And what\\r\\n hast thou there under thy cloak, pretty Flaminius?\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir, which in my lord\\'s\\r\\n behalf I come to entreat your honour to supply; who, having\\r\\n great and instant occasion to use fifty talents, hath sent to\\r\\n your lordship to furnish him, nothing doubting your present\\r\\n assistance therein.\\r\\n LUCULLIUS. La, la, la, la! \\'Nothing doubting\\' says he? Alas, good\\r\\n lord! a noble gentleman \\'tis, if he would not keep so good a\\r\\n house. Many a time and often I ha\\' din\\'d with him and told him\\r\\n on\\'t; and come again to supper to him of purpose to have him\\r\\n spend less; and yet he would embrace no counsel, take no warning\\r\\n by my coming. Every man has his fault, and honesty is his. I ha\\'\\r\\n told him on\\'t, but I could ne\\'er get him from\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter SERVANT, with wine\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. Please your lordship, here is the wine.\\r\\n LUCULLUS. Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. Here\\'s to thee.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. Your lordship speaks your pleasure.\\r\\n LUCULLUS. I have observed thee always for a towardly prompt spirit,\\r\\n give thee thy due, and one that knows what belongs to reason, and\\r\\n canst use the time well, if the time use thee well. Good parts in\\r\\n thee. [To SERVANT] Get you gone, sirrah. [Exit SERVANT] Draw\\r\\n nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord\\'s a bountiful gentleman; but\\r\\n thou art wise, and thou know\\'st well enough, although thou com\\'st\\r\\n to me, that this is no time to lend money, especially upon bare\\r\\n friendship without security. Here\\'s three solidares for thee.\\r\\n Good boy, wink at me, and say thou saw\\'st me not. Fare thee well.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. Is\\'t possible the world should so much differ,\\r\\n And we alive that liv\\'d? Fly, damned baseness,\\r\\n To him that worships thee. [Throwing the money back]\\r\\n LUCULLUS. Ha! Now I see thou art a fool, and fit for thy master.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. May these add to the number that may scald thee!\\r\\n Let molten coin be thy damnation,\\r\\n Thou disease of a friend and not himself!\\r\\n Has friendship such a faint and milky heart\\r\\n It turns in less than two nights? O you gods,\\r\\n I feel my master\\'s passion! This slave\\r\\n Unto his honour has my lord\\'s meat in him;\\r\\n Why should it thrive and turn to nutriment\\r\\n When he is turn\\'d to poison?\\r\\n O, may diseases only work upon\\'t!\\r\\n And when he\\'s sick to death, let not that part of nature\\r\\n Which my lord paid for be of any power\\r\\n To expel sickness, but prolong his hour! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A public place\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Lucius, with three STRANGERS\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS. Who, the Lord Timon? He is my very good friend, and an\\r\\n honourable gentleman.\\r\\n FIRST STRANGER. We know him for no less, though we are but\\r\\n strangers to him. But I can tell you one thing, my lord, and\\r\\n which I hear from common rumours: now Lord Timon\\'s happy hours\\r\\n are done and past, and his estate shrinks from him.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Fie, no: do not believe it; he cannot want for money.\\r\\n SECOND STRANGER. But believe you this, my lord, that not long ago\\r\\n one of his men was with the Lord Lucullus to borrow so many\\r\\n talents; nay, urg\\'d extremely for\\'t, and showed what necessity\\r\\n belong\\'d to\\'t, and yet was denied.\\r\\n LUCIUS. How?\\r\\n SECOND STRANGER. I tell you, denied, my lord.\\r\\n LUCIUS. What a strange case was that! Now, before the gods, I am\\r\\n asham\\'d on\\'t. Denied that honourable man! There was very little\\r\\n honour show\\'d in\\'t. For my own part, I must needs confess I have\\r\\n received some small kindnesses from him, as money, plate, jewels,\\r\\n and such-like trifles, nothing comparing to his; yet, had he\\r\\n mistook him and sent to me, I should ne\\'er have denied his\\r\\n occasion so many talents.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SERVILIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVILIUS. See, by good hap, yonder\\'s my lord; I have sweat to see\\r\\n his honour.- My honour\\'d lord!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Servilius? You are kindly met, sir. Fare thee well; commend\\r\\n me to thy honourable virtuous lord, my very exquisite friend.\\r\\n SERVILIUS. May it please your honour, my lord hath sent-\\r\\n LUCIUS. Ha! What has he sent? I am so much endeared to that lord:\\r\\n he\\'s ever sending. How shall I thank him, think\\'st thou? And what\\r\\n has he sent now?\\r\\n SERVILIUS. Has only sent his present occasion now, my lord,\\r\\n requesting your lordship to supply his instant use with so many\\r\\n talents.\\r\\n LUCIUS. I know his lordship is but merry with me;\\r\\n He cannot want fifty-five hundred talents.\\r\\n SERVILIUS. But in the mean time he wants less, my lord.\\r\\n If his occasion were not virtuous\\r\\n I should not urge it half so faithfully.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius?\\r\\n SERVILIUS. Upon my soul, \\'tis true, sir.\\r\\n LUCIUS. What a wicked beast was I to disfurnish myself against such\\r\\n a good time, when I might ha\\' shown myself honourable! How\\r\\n unluckily it happ\\'ned that I should purchase the day before for a\\r\\n little part and undo a great deal of honour! Servilius, now\\r\\n before the gods, I am not able to do- the more beast, I say! I\\r\\n was sending to use Lord Timon myself, these gentlemen can\\r\\n witness; but I would not for the wealth of Athens I had done\\'t\\r\\n now. Commend me bountifully to his good lordship, and I hope his\\r\\n honour will conceive the fairest of me, because I have no power\\r\\n to be kind. And tell him this from me: I count it one of my\\r\\n greatest afflictions, say, that I cannot pleasure such an\\r\\n honourable gentleman. Good Servilius, will you befriend me so far\\r\\n as to use mine own words to him?\\r\\n SERVILIUS. Yes, sir, I shall.\\r\\n LUCIUS. I\\'ll look you out a good turn, Servilius.\\r\\n Exit SERVILIUS\\r\\n True, as you said, Timon is shrunk indeed;\\r\\n And he that\\'s once denied will hardly speed. Exit\\r\\n FIRST STRANGER. Do you observe this, Hostilius?\\r\\n SECOND STRANGER. Ay, too well.\\r\\n FIRST STRANGER. Why, this is the world\\'s soul; and just of the same\\r\\n piece\\r\\n Is every flatterer\\'s spirit. Who can call him his friend\\r\\n That dips in the same dish? For, in my knowing,\\r\\n Timon has been this lord\\'s father,\\r\\n And kept his credit with his purse;\\r\\n Supported his estate; nay, Timon\\'s money\\r\\n Has paid his men their wages. He ne\\'er drinks\\r\\n But Timon\\'s silver treads upon his lip;\\r\\n And yet- O, see the monstrousness of man\\r\\n When he looks out in an ungrateful shape!-\\r\\n He does deny him, in respect of his,\\r\\n What charitable men afford to beggars.\\r\\n THIRD STRANGER. Religion groans at it.\\r\\n FIRST STRANGER. For mine own part,\\r\\n I never tasted Timon in my life,\\r\\n Nor came any of his bounties over me\\r\\n To mark me for his friend; yet I protest,\\r\\n For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue,\\r\\n And honourable carriage,\\r\\n Had his necessity made use of me,\\r\\n I would have put my wealth into donation,\\r\\n And the best half should have return\\'d to him,\\r\\n So much I love his heart. But I perceive\\r\\n Men must learn now with pity to dispense;\\r\\n For policy sits above conscience. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. SEMPRONIUS\\' house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SEMPRONIUS and a SERVANT of TIMON\\'S\\r\\n\\r\\n SEMPRONIUS. Must he needs trouble me in\\'t? Hum! \\'Bove all others?\\r\\n He might have tried Lord Lucius or Lucullus;\\r\\n And now Ventidius is wealthy too,\\r\\n Whom he redeem\\'d from prison. All these\\r\\n Owe their estates unto him.\\r\\n SERVANT. My lord,\\r\\n They have all been touch\\'d and found base metal, for\\r\\n They have all denied him.\\r\\n SEMPRONIUS. How! Have they denied him?\\r\\n Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him?\\r\\n And does he send to me? Three? Humh!\\r\\n It shows but little love or judgment in him.\\r\\n Must I be his last refuge? His friends, like physicians,\\r\\n Thrice give him over. Must I take th\\' cure upon me?\\r\\n Has much disgrac\\'d me in\\'t; I\\'m angry at him,\\r\\n That might have known my place. I see no sense for\\'t,\\r\\n But his occasions might have woo\\'d me first;\\r\\n For, in my conscience, I was the first man\\r\\n That e\\'er received gift from him.\\r\\n And does he think so backwardly of me now\\r\\n That I\\'ll requite it last? No;\\r\\n So it may prove an argument of laughter\\r\\n To th\\' rest, and I \\'mongst lords be thought a fool.\\r\\n I\\'d rather than the worth of thrice the sum\\r\\n Had sent to me first, but for my mind\\'s sake;\\r\\n I\\'d such a courage to do him good. But now return,\\r\\n And with their faint reply this answer join:\\r\\n Who bates mine honour shall not know my coin. Exit\\r\\n SERVANT. Excellent! Your lordship\\'s a goodly villain. The devil\\r\\n knew not what he did when he made man politic- he cross\\'d himself\\r\\n by\\'t; and I cannot think but, in the end, the villainies of man\\r\\n will set him clear. How fairly this lord strives to appear foul!\\r\\n Takes virtuous copies to be wicked, like those that under hot\\r\\n ardent zeal would set whole realms on fire.\\r\\n Of such a nature is his politic love.\\r\\n This was my lord\\'s best hope; now all are fled,\\r\\n Save only the gods. Now his friends are dead,\\r\\n Doors that were ne\\'er acquainted with their wards\\r\\n Many a bounteous year must be employ\\'d\\r\\n Now to guard sure their master.\\r\\n And this is all a liberal course allows:\\r\\n Who cannot keep his wealth must keep his house. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A hall in TIMON\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter two Of VARRO\\'S MEN, meeting LUCIUS\\' SERVANT, and others, all\\r\\nbeing servants of TIMON\\'s creditors, to wait for his coming out. Then\\r\\nenter TITUS and HORTENSIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST VARRO\\'S SERVANT. Well met; good morrow, Titus and Hortensius.\\r\\n TITUS. The like to you, kind Varro.\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. Lucius! What, do we meet together?\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Ay, and I think one business does command us all;\\r\\n for mine is money.\\r\\n TITUS. So is theirs and ours.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PHILOTUS\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. And Sir Philotus too!\\r\\n PHILOTUS. Good day at once.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. welcome, good brother, what do you think the hour?\\r\\n PHILOTUS. Labouring for nine.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. So much?\\r\\n PHILOTUS. Is not my lord seen yet?\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Not yet.\\r\\n PHILOTUS. I wonder on\\'t; he was wont to shine at seven.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Ay, but the days are wax\\'d shorter with him;\\r\\n You must consider that a prodigal course\\r\\n Is like the sun\\'s, but not like his recoverable.\\r\\n I fear\\r\\n \\'Tis deepest winter in Lord Timon\\'s purse;\\r\\n That is, one may reach deep enough and yet\\r\\n Find little.\\r\\n PHILOTUS. I am of your fear for that.\\r\\n TITUS. I\\'ll show you how t\\' observe a strange event.\\r\\n Your lord sends now for money.\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. Most true, he does.\\r\\n TITUS. And he wears jewels now of Timon\\'s gift,\\r\\n For which I wait for money.\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. It is against my heart.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Mark how strange it shows\\r\\n Timon in this should pay more than he owes;\\r\\n And e\\'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels\\r\\n And send for money for \\'em.\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. I\\'m weary of this charge, the gods can witness;\\r\\n I know my lord hath spent of Timon\\'s wealth,\\r\\n And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth.\\r\\n FIRST VARRO\\'S SERVANT. Yes, mine\\'s three thousand crowns; what\\'s\\r\\n yours?\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Five thousand mine.\\r\\n FIRST VARRO\\'S SERVANT. \\'Tis much deep; and it should seem by th\\'\\r\\n sum\\r\\n Your master\\'s confidence was above mine,\\r\\n Else surely his had equall\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FLAMINIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. One of Lord Timon\\'s men.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Flaminius! Sir, a word. Pray, is my lord ready to\\r\\n come forth?\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. No, indeed, he is not.\\r\\n TITUS. We attend his lordship; pray signify so much.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. I need not tell him that; he knows you are to diligent.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FLAVIUS, in a cloak, muffled\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Ha! Is not that his steward muffled so?\\r\\n He goes away in a cloud. Call him, call him.\\r\\n TITUS. Do you hear, sir?\\r\\n SECOND VARRO\\'S SERVANT. By your leave, sir.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. What do ye ask of me, my friend?\\r\\n TITUS. We wait for certain money here, sir.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Ay,\\r\\n If money were as certain as your waiting,\\r\\n \\'Twere sure enough.\\r\\n Why then preferr\\'d you not your sums and bills\\r\\n When your false masters eat of my lord\\'s meat?\\r\\n Then they could smile, and fawn upon his debts,\\r\\n And take down th\\' int\\'rest into their glutt\\'nous maws.\\r\\n You do yourselves but wrong to stir me up;\\r\\n Let me pass quietly.\\r\\n Believe\\'t, my lord and I have made an end:\\r\\n I have no more to reckon, he to spend.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Ay, but this answer will not serve.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. If \\'twill not serve, \\'tis not so base as you,\\r\\n For you serve knaves. Exit\\r\\n FIRST VARRO\\'S SERVANT. How! What does his cashier\\'d worship mutter?\\r\\n SECOND VARRO\\'S SERVANT. No matter what; he\\'s poor, and that\\'s\\r\\n revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he that has no house\\r\\n to put his head in? Such may rail against great buildings.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SERVILIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. O, here\\'s Servilius; now we shall know some answer.\\r\\n SERVILIUS. If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to repair some other\\r\\n hour, I should derive much from\\'t; for take\\'t of my soul, my lord\\r\\n leans wondrously to discontent. His comfortable temper has\\r\\n forsook him; he\\'s much out of health and keeps his chamber.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Many do keep their chambers are not sick;\\r\\n And if it be so far beyond his health,\\r\\n Methinks he should the sooner pay his debts,\\r\\n And make a clear way to the gods.\\r\\n SERVILIUS. Good gods!\\r\\n TITUS. We cannot take this for answer, sir.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. [Within] Servilius, help! My lord! my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TIMON, in a rage, FLAMINIUS following\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. What, are my doors oppos\\'d against my passage?\\r\\n Have I been ever free, and must my house\\r\\n Be my retentive enemy, my gaol?\\r\\n The place which I have feasted, does it now,\\r\\n Like all mankind, show me an iron heart?\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Put in now, Titus.\\r\\n TITUS. My lord, here is my bill.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Here\\'s mine.\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. And mine, my lord.\\r\\n BOTH VARRO\\'S SERVANTS. And ours, my lord.\\r\\n PHILOTUS. All our bills.\\r\\n TIMON. Knock me down with \\'em; cleave me to the girdle.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Alas, my lord-\\r\\n TIMON. Cut my heart in sums.\\r\\n TITUS. Mine, fifty talents.\\r\\n TIMON. Tell out my blood.\\r\\n LUCIUS\\' SERVANT. Five thousand crowns, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. Five thousand drops pays that. What yours? and yours?\\r\\n FIRST VARRO\\'S SERVANT. My lord-\\r\\n SECOND VARRO\\'S SERVANT. My lord-\\r\\n TIMON. Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon you! Exit\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their caps at\\r\\n their money. These debts may well be call\\'d desperate ones, for a\\r\\n madman owes \\'em. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. They have e\\'en put my breath from me, the slaves.\\r\\n Creditors? Devils!\\r\\n FLAVIUS. My dear lord-\\r\\n TIMON. What if it should be so?\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. My lord-\\r\\n TIMON. I\\'ll have it so. My steward!\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Here, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. So fitly? Go, bid all my friends again:\\r\\n Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius- all.\\r\\n I\\'ll once more feast the rascals.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. O my lord,\\r\\n You only speak from your distracted soul;\\r\\n There is not so much left to furnish out\\r\\n A moderate table.\\r\\n TIMON. Be it not in thy care.\\r\\n Go, I charge thee, invite them all; let in the tide\\r\\n Of knaves once more; my cook and I\\'ll provide. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. The Senate House\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter three SENATORS at one door, ALCIBIADES meeting them, with\\r\\nattendants\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. My lord, you have my voice to\\'t: the fault\\'s bloody.\\r\\n \\'Tis necessary he should die:\\r\\n Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. Most true; the law shall bruise him.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Honour, health, and compassion, to the Senate!\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Now, Captain?\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I am an humble suitor to your virtues;\\r\\n For pity is the virtue of the law,\\r\\n And none but tyrants use it cruelly.\\r\\n It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy\\r\\n Upon a friend of mine, who in hot blood\\r\\n Hath stepp\\'d into the law, which is past depth\\r\\n To those that without heed do plunge into\\'t.\\r\\n He is a man, setting his fate aside,\\r\\n Of comely virtues;\\r\\n Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice-\\r\\n An honour in him which buys out his fault-\\r\\n But with a noble fury and fair spirit,\\r\\n Seeing his reputation touch\\'d to death,\\r\\n He did oppose his foe;\\r\\n And with such sober and unnoted passion\\r\\n He did behove his anger ere \\'twas spent,\\r\\n As if he had but prov\\'d an argument.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. You undergo too strict a paradox,\\r\\n Striving to make an ugly deed look fair;\\r\\n Your words have took such pains as if they labour\\'d\\r\\n To bring manslaughter into form and set\\r\\n Quarrelling upon the head of valour; which, indeed,\\r\\n Is valour misbegot, and came into the world\\r\\n When sects and factions were newly born.\\r\\n He\\'s truly valiant that can wisely suffer\\r\\n The worst that man can breathe,\\r\\n And make his wrongs his outsides,\\r\\n To wear them like his raiment, carelessly,\\r\\n And ne\\'er prefer his injuries to his heart,\\r\\n To bring it into danger.\\r\\n If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill,\\r\\n What folly \\'tis to hazard life for ill!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. My lord-\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. You cannot make gross sins look clear:\\r\\n To revenge is no valour, but to bear.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. My lords, then, under favour, pardon me\\r\\n If I speak like a captain:\\r\\n Why do fond men expose themselves to battle,\\r\\n And not endure all threats? Sleep upon\\'t,\\r\\n And let the foes quietly cut their throats,\\r\\n Without repugnancy? If there be\\r\\n Such valour in the bearing, what make we\\r\\n Abroad? Why, then, women are more valiant,\\r\\n That stay at home, if bearing carry it;\\r\\n And the ass more captain than the lion; the fellow\\r\\n Loaden with irons wiser than the judge,\\r\\n If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords,\\r\\n As you are great, be pitifully good.\\r\\n Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood?\\r\\n To kill, I grant, is sin\\'s extremest gust;\\r\\n But, in defence, by mercy, \\'tis most just.\\r\\n To be in anger is impiety;\\r\\n But who is man that is not angry?\\r\\n Weigh but the crime with this.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. You breathe in vain.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. In vain! His service done\\r\\n At Lacedaemon and Byzantium\\r\\n Were a sufficient briber for his life.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. What\\'s that?\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Why, I say, my lords, has done fair service,\\r\\n And slain in fight many of your enemies;\\r\\n How full of valour did he bear himself\\r\\n In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds!\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. He has made too much plenty with \\'em.\\r\\n He\\'s a sworn rioter; he has a sin that often\\r\\n Drowns him and takes his valour prisoner.\\r\\n If there were no foes, that were enough\\r\\n To overcome him. In that beastly fury\\r\\n He has been known to commit outrages\\r\\n And cherish factions. \\'Tis inferr\\'d to us\\r\\n His days are foul and his drink dangerous.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. He dies.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Hard fate! He might have died in war.\\r\\n My lords, if not for any parts in him-\\r\\n Though his right arm might purchase his own time,\\r\\n And be in debt to none- yet, more to move you,\\r\\n Take my deserts to his, and join \\'em both;\\r\\n And, for I know your reverend ages love\\r\\n Security, I\\'ll pawn my victories, all\\r\\n My honours to you, upon his good returns.\\r\\n If by this crime he owes the law his life,\\r\\n Why, let the war receive\\'t in valiant gore;\\r\\n For law is strict, and war is nothing more.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. We are for law: he dies. Urge it no more\\r\\n On height of our displeasure. Friend or brother,\\r\\n He forfeits his own blood that spills another.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Must it be so? It must not be. My lords,\\r\\n I do beseech you, know me.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. How!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Call me to your remembrances.\\r\\n THIRD SENATOR. What!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I cannot think but your age has forgot me;\\r\\n It could not else be I should prove so base\\r\\n To sue, and be denied such common grace.\\r\\n My wounds ache at you.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Do you dare our anger?\\r\\n \\'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect:\\r\\n We banish thee for ever.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Banish me!\\r\\n Banish your dotage! Banish usury\\r\\n That makes the Senate ugly.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. If after two days\\' shine Athens contain thee,\\r\\n Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell our spirit,\\r\\n He shall be executed presently. Exeunt SENATORS\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Now the gods keep you old enough that you may live\\r\\n Only in bone, that none may look on you!\\r\\n I\\'m worse than mad; I have kept back their foes,\\r\\n While they have told their money and let out\\r\\n Their coin upon large interest, I myself\\r\\n Rich only in large hurts. All those for this?\\r\\n Is this the balsam that the usuring Senate\\r\\n Pours into captains\\' wounds? Banishment!\\r\\n It comes not ill; I hate not to be banish\\'d;\\r\\n It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury,\\r\\n That I may strike at Athens. I\\'ll cheer up\\r\\n My discontented troops, and lay for hearts.\\r\\n \\'Tis honour with most lands to be at odds;\\r\\n Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. A banqueting hall in TIMON\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nMusic. Tables set out; servants attending. Enter divers LORDS, friends\\r\\nof TIMON, at several doors\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST LORD. The good time of day to you, sir.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. I also wish it to you. I think this honourable lord\\r\\n did but try us this other day.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Upon that were my thoughts tiring when we encount\\'red.\\r\\n I hope it is not so low with him as he made it seem in the trial\\r\\n of his several friends.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. It should not be, by the persuasion of his new\\r\\n feasting.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. I should think so. He hath sent me an earnest inviting,\\r\\n which many my near occasions did urge me to put off; but he hath\\r\\n conjur\\'d me beyond them, and I must needs appear.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. In like manner was I in debt to my importunate\\r\\n business, but he would not hear my excuse. I am sorry, when he\\r\\n sent to borrow of me, that my provision was out.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. I am sick of that grief too, as I understand how all\\r\\n things go.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Every man here\\'s so. What would he have borrowed of\\r\\n you?\\r\\n FIRST LORD. A thousand pieces.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. A thousand pieces!\\r\\n FIRST LORD. What of you?\\r\\n SECOND LORD. He sent to me, sir- here he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TIMON and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. With all my heart, gentlemen both! And how fare you?\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Ever at the best, hearing well of your lordship.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. The swallow follows not summer more willing than we\\r\\n your lordship.\\r\\n TIMON. [Aside] Nor more willingly leaves winter; such summer-birds\\r\\n are men- Gentlemen, our dinner will not recompense this long\\r\\n stay; feast your ears with the music awhile, if they will fare so\\r\\n harshly o\\' th\\' trumpet\\'s sound; we shall to\\'t presently.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. I hope it remains not unkindly with your lordship that\\r\\n I return\\'d you an empty messenger.\\r\\n TIMON. O sir, let it not trouble you.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. My noble lord-\\r\\n TIMON. Ah, my good friend, what cheer?\\r\\n SECOND LORD. My most honourable lord, I am e\\'en sick of shame that,\\r\\n when your lordship this other day sent to me, I was so\\r\\n unfortunate a beggar.\\r\\n TIMON. Think not on\\'t, sir.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. If you had sent but two hours before-\\r\\n TIMON. Let it not cumber your better remembrance. [The banquet\\r\\n brought in] Come, bring in all together.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. All cover\\'d dishes!\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Royal cheer, I warrant you.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. Doubt not that, if money and the season can yield it.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. How do you? What\\'s the news?\\r\\n THIRD LORD. Alcibiades is banish\\'d. Hear you of it?\\r\\n FIRST AND SECOND LORDS. Alcibiades banish\\'d!\\r\\n THIRD LORD. \\'Tis so, be sure of it.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. How? how?\\r\\n SECOND LORD. I pray you, upon what?\\r\\n TIMON. My worthy friends, will you draw near?\\r\\n THIRD LORD. I\\'ll tell you more anon. Here\\'s a noble feast toward.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. This is the old man still.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. Will\\'t hold? Will\\'t hold?\\r\\n SECOND LORD. It does; but time will- and so-\\r\\n THIRD LORD. I do conceive.\\r\\n TIMON. Each man to his stool with that spur as he would to the lip\\r\\n of his mistress; your diet shall be in all places alike. Make not\\r\\n a city feast of it, to let the meat cool ere we can agree upon\\r\\n the first place. Sit, sit. The gods require our thanks:\\r\\n\\r\\n You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with thankfulness. For\\r\\n your own gifts make yourselves prais\\'d; but reserve still to give,\\r\\n lest your deities be despised. Lend to each man enough, that one\\r\\n need not lend to another; for were your god-heads to borrow of men,\\r\\n men would forsake the gods. Make the meat be beloved more than the\\r\\n man that gives it. Let no assembly of twenty be without a score of\\r\\n villains. If there sit twelve women at the table, let a dozen of\\r\\n them be- as they are. The rest of your foes, O gods, the senators\\r\\n of Athens, together with the common lag of people, what is amiss in\\r\\n them, you gods, make suitable for destruction. For these my present\\r\\n friends, as they are to me nothing, so in nothing bless them, and\\r\\n to nothing are they welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\n Uncover, dogs, and lap. [The dishes are uncovered and\\r\\n seen to he full of warm water]\\r\\n SOME SPEAK. What does his lordship mean?\\r\\n SOME OTHER. I know not.\\r\\n TIMON. May you a better feast never behold,\\r\\n You knot of mouth-friends! Smoke and lukewarm water\\r\\n Is your perfection. This is Timon\\'s last;\\r\\n Who, stuck and spangled with your flatteries,\\r\\n Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces\\r\\n [Throwing the water in their faces]\\r\\n Your reeking villainy. Live loath\\'d and long,\\r\\n Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites,\\r\\n Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears,\\r\\n You fools of fortune, trencher friends, time\\'s flies,\\r\\n Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-lacks!\\r\\n Of man and beast the infinite malady\\r\\n Crust you quite o\\'er! What, dost thou go?\\r\\n Soft, take thy physic first; thou too, and thou.\\r\\n Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none. [Throws the\\r\\n dishes at them, and drives them out]\\r\\n What, all in motion? Henceforth be no feast\\r\\n Whereat a villain\\'s not a welcome guest.\\r\\n Burn house! Sink Athens! Henceforth hated be\\r\\n Of Timon man and all humanity! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter the LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST LORD. How now, my lords!\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Know you the quality of Lord Timon\\'s fury?\\r\\n THIRD LORD. Push! Did you see my cap?\\r\\n FOURTH LORD. I have lost my gown.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. He\\'s but a mad lord, and nought but humours sways him.\\r\\n He gave me a jewel th\\' other day, and now he has beat it out of\\r\\n my hat. Did you see my jewel?\\r\\n THIRD LORD. Did you see my cap?\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Here \\'tis.\\r\\n FOURTH LORD. Here lies my gown.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Let\\'s make no stay.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Lord Timon\\'s mad.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. I feel\\'t upon my bones.\\r\\n FOURTH LORD. One day he gives us diamonds, next day stones.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I. Without the walls of Athens\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TIMON\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. Let me look back upon thee. O thou wall\\r\\n That girdles in those wolves, dive in the earth\\r\\n And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent.\\r\\n Obedience, fail in children! Slaves and fools,\\r\\n Pluck the grave wrinkled Senate from the bench\\r\\n And minister in their steads. To general filths\\r\\n Convert, o\\' th\\' instant, green virginity.\\r\\n Do\\'t in your parents\\' eyes. Bankrupts, hold fast;\\r\\n Rather than render back, out with your knives\\r\\n And cut your trusters\\' throats. Bound servants, steal:\\r\\n Large-handed robbers your grave masters are,\\r\\n And pill by law. Maid, to thy master\\'s bed:\\r\\n Thy mistress is o\\' th\\' brothel. Son of sixteen,\\r\\n Pluck the lin\\'d crutch from thy old limping sire,\\r\\n With it beat out his brains. Piety and fear,\\r\\n Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth,\\r\\n Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood,\\r\\n Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades,\\r\\n Degrees, observances, customs and laws,\\r\\n Decline to your confounding contraries\\r\\n And let confusion live. Plagues incident to men,\\r\\n Your potent and infectious fevers heap\\r\\n On Athens, ripe for stroke. Thou cold sciatica,\\r\\n Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt\\r\\n As lamely as their manners. Lust and liberty,\\r\\n Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth,\\r\\n That \\'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive\\r\\n And drown themselves in riot. Itches, blains,\\r\\n Sow all th\\' Athenian bosoms, and their crop\\r\\n Be general leprosy! Breath infect breath,\\r\\n That their society, as their friendship, may\\r\\n Be merely poison! Nothing I\\'ll bear from thee\\r\\n But nakedness, thou detestable town!\\r\\n Take thou that too, with multiplying bans.\\r\\n Timon will to the woods, where he shall find\\r\\n Th\\' unkindest beast more kinder than mankind.\\r\\n The gods confound- hear me, you good gods all-\\r\\n The Athenians both within and out that wall!\\r\\n And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow\\r\\n To the whole race of mankind, high and low!\\r\\n Amen. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Athens. TIMON\\'s house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FLAVIUS, with two or three SERVANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. Hear you, Master Steward, where\\'s our master?\\r\\n Are we undone, cast off, nothing remaining?\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you?\\r\\n Let me be recorded by the righteous gods,\\r\\n I am as poor as you.\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. Such a house broke!\\r\\n So noble a master fall\\'n! All gone, and not\\r\\n One friend to take his fortune by the arm\\r\\n And go along with him?\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. As we do turn our backs\\r\\n From our companion, thrown into his grave,\\r\\n So his familiars to his buried fortunes\\r\\n Slink all away; leave their false vows with him,\\r\\n Like empty purses pick\\'d; and his poor self,\\r\\n A dedicated beggar to the air,\\r\\n With his disease of all-shunn\\'d poverty,\\r\\n Walks, like contempt, alone. More of our fellows.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter other SERVANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n FLAVIUS. All broken implements of a ruin\\'d house.\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. Yet do our hearts wear Timon\\'s livery;\\r\\n That see I by our faces. We are fellows still,\\r\\n Serving alike in sorrow. Leak\\'d is our bark;\\r\\n And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck,\\r\\n Hearing the surges threat. We must all part\\r\\n Into this sea of air.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Good fellows all,\\r\\n The latest of my wealth I\\'ll share amongst you.\\r\\n Wherever we shall meet, for Timon\\'s sake,\\r\\n Let\\'s yet be fellows; let\\'s shake our heads and say,\\r\\n As \\'twere a knell unto our master\\'s fortune,\\r\\n \\'We have seen better days.\\' Let each take some.\\r\\n [Giving them money]\\r\\n Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more!\\r\\n Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor.\\r\\n [Embrace, and part several ways]\\r\\n O the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us!\\r\\n Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt,\\r\\n Since riches point to misery and contempt?\\r\\n Who would be so mock\\'d with glory, or to live\\r\\n But in a dream of friendship,\\r\\n To have his pomp, and all what state compounds,\\r\\n But only painted, like his varnish\\'d friends?\\r\\n Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart,\\r\\n Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood,\\r\\n When man\\'s worst sin is he does too much good!\\r\\n Who then dares to be half so kind again?\\r\\n For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men.\\r\\n My dearest lord- blest to be most accurst,\\r\\n Rich only to be wretched- thy great fortunes\\r\\n Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord!\\r\\n He\\'s flung in rage from this ingrateful seat\\r\\n Of monstrous friends; nor has he with him to\\r\\n Supply his life, or that which can command it.\\r\\n I\\'ll follow and enquire him out.\\r\\n I\\'ll ever serve his mind with my best will;\\r\\n Whilst I have gold, I\\'ll be his steward still. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The woods near the sea-shore. Before TIMON\\'S cave\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TIMON in the woods\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth\\r\\n Rotten humidity; below thy sister\\'s orb\\r\\n Infect the air! Twinn\\'d brothers of one womb-\\r\\n Whose procreation, residence, and birth,\\r\\n Scarce is dividant- touch them with several fortunes:\\r\\n The greater scorns the lesser. Not nature,\\r\\n To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune\\r\\n But by contempt of nature.\\r\\n Raise me this beggar and deny\\'t that lord:\\r\\n The senator shall bear contempt hereditary,\\r\\n The beggar native honour.\\r\\n It is the pasture lards the rother\\'s sides,\\r\\n The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares,\\r\\n In purity of manhood stand upright,\\r\\n And say \\'This man\\'s a flatterer\\'? If one be,\\r\\n So are they all; for every grise of fortune\\r\\n Is smooth\\'d by that below. The learned pate\\r\\n Ducks to the golden fool. All\\'s oblique;\\r\\n There\\'s nothing level in our cursed natures\\r\\n But direct villainy. Therefore be abhorr\\'d\\r\\n All feasts, societies, and throngs of men!\\r\\n His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains.\\r\\n Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots.\\r\\n [Digging]\\r\\n Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate\\r\\n With thy most operant poison. What is here?\\r\\n Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods,\\r\\n I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens!\\r\\n Thus much of this will make black white, foul fair,\\r\\n Wrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant.\\r\\n Ha, you gods! why this? What, this, you gods? Why, this\\r\\n Will lug your priests and servants from your sides,\\r\\n Pluck stout men\\'s pillows from below their heads-\\r\\n This yellow slave\\r\\n Will knit and break religions, bless th\\' accurs\\'d,\\r\\n Make the hoar leprosy ador\\'d, place thieves\\r\\n And give them title, knee, and approbation,\\r\\n With senators on the bench. This is it\\r\\n That makes the wappen\\'d widow wed again-\\r\\n She whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores\\r\\n Would cast the gorge at this embalms and spices\\r\\n To th \\'April day again. Come, damn\\'d earth,\\r\\n Thou common whore of mankind, that puts odds\\r\\n Among the rout of nations, I will make thee\\r\\n Do thy right nature. [March afar off]\\r\\n Ha! a drum? Th\\'art quick,\\r\\n But yet I\\'ll bury thee. Thou\\'t go, strong thief,\\r\\n When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand.\\r\\n Nay, stay thou out for earnest. [Keeping some gold]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ALCIBIADES, with drum and fife, in warlike\\r\\n manner; and PHRYNIA and TIMANDRA\\r\\n\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. What art thou there? Speak.\\r\\n TIMON. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart\\r\\n For showing me again the eyes of man!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee\\r\\n That art thyself a man?\\r\\n TIMON. I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind.\\r\\n For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog,\\r\\n That I might love thee something.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I know thee well;\\r\\n But in thy fortunes am unlearn\\'d and strange.\\r\\n TIMON. I know thee too; and more than that I know thee\\r\\n I not desire to know. Follow thy drum;\\r\\n With man\\'s blood paint the ground, gules, gules.\\r\\n Religious canons, civil laws, are cruel;\\r\\n Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine\\r\\n Hath in her more destruction than thy sword\\r\\n For all her cherubin look.\\r\\n PHRYNIA. Thy lips rot off!\\r\\n TIMON. I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns\\r\\n To thine own lips again.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. How came the noble Timon to this change?\\r\\n TIMON. As the moon does, by wanting light to give.\\r\\n But then renew I could not, like the moon;\\r\\n There were no suns to borrow of.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Noble Timon,\\r\\n What friendship may I do thee?\\r\\n TIMON. None, but to\\r\\n Maintain my opinion.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. What is it, Timon?\\r\\n TIMON. Promise me friendship, but perform none. If thou wilt not\\r\\n promise, the gods plague thee, for thou art man! If thou dost\\r\\n perform, confound thee, for thou art a man!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries.\\r\\n TIMON. Thou saw\\'st them when I had prosperity.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I see them now; then was a blessed time.\\r\\n TIMON. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots.\\r\\n TIMANDRA. Is this th\\' Athenian minion whom the world\\r\\n Voic\\'d so regardfully?\\r\\n TIMON. Art thou Timandra?\\r\\n TIMANDRA. Yes.\\r\\n TIMON. Be a whore still; they love thee not that use thee.\\r\\n Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust.\\r\\n Make use of thy salt hours. Season the slaves\\r\\n For tubs and baths; bring down rose-cheek\\'d youth\\r\\n To the tub-fast and the diet.\\r\\n TIMANDRA. Hang thee, monster!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Pardon him, sweet Timandra, for his wits\\r\\n Are drown\\'d and lost in his calamities.\\r\\n I have but little gold of late, brave Timon,\\r\\n The want whereof doth daily make revolt\\r\\n In my penurious band. I have heard, and griev\\'d,\\r\\n How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth,\\r\\n Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states,\\r\\n But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them-\\r\\n TIMON. I prithee beat thy drum and get thee gone.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon.\\r\\n TIMON. How dost thou pity him whom thou dost trouble?\\r\\n I had rather be alone.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Why, fare thee well;\\r\\n Here is some gold for thee.\\r\\n TIMON. Keep it: I cannot eat it.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap-\\r\\n TIMON. War\\'st thou \\'gainst Athens?\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Ay, Timon, and have cause.\\r\\n TIMON. The gods confound them all in thy conquest;\\r\\n And thee after, when thou hast conquer\\'d!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Why me, Timon?\\r\\n TIMON. That by killing of villains\\r\\n Thou wast born to conquer my country.\\r\\n Put up thy gold. Go on. Here\\'s gold. Go on.\\r\\n Be as a planetary plague, when Jove\\r\\n Will o\\'er some high-vic\\'d city hang his poison\\r\\n In the sick air; let not thy sword skip one.\\r\\n Pity not honour\\'d age for his white beard:\\r\\n He is an usurer. Strike me the counterfeit matron:\\r\\n It is her habit only that is honest,\\r\\n Herself\\'s a bawd. Let not the virgin\\'s cheek\\r\\n Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk paps\\r\\n That through the window bars bore at men\\'s eyes\\r\\n Are not within the leaf of pity writ,\\r\\n But set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe\\r\\n Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy;\\r\\n Think it a bastard whom the oracle\\r\\n Hath doubtfully pronounc\\'d thy throat shall cut,\\r\\n And mince it sans remorse. Swear against abjects;\\r\\n Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes,\\r\\n Whose proof nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,\\r\\n Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding,\\r\\n Shall pierce a jot. There\\'s gold to pay thy soldiers.\\r\\n Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent,\\r\\n Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Hast thou gold yet? I\\'ll take the gold thou givest me,\\r\\n Not all thy counsel.\\r\\n TIMON. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven\\'s curse upon thee!\\r\\n PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. Give us some gold, good Timon.\\r\\n Hast thou more?\\r\\n TIMON. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade,\\r\\n And to make whores a bawd. Hold up, you sluts,\\r\\n Your aprons mountant; you are not oathable,\\r\\n Although I know you\\'ll swear, terribly swear,\\r\\n Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues,\\r\\n Th\\' immortal gods that hear you. Spare your oaths;\\r\\n I\\'ll trust to your conditions. Be whores still;\\r\\n And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you-\\r\\n Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up;\\r\\n Let your close fire predominate his smoke,\\r\\n And be no turncoats. Yet may your pains six months\\r\\n Be quite contrary! And thatch your poor thin roofs\\r\\n With burdens of the dead- some that were hang\\'d,\\r\\n No matter. Wear them, betray with them. Whore still;\\r\\n Paint till a horse may mire upon your face.\\r\\n A pox of wrinkles!\\r\\n PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. Well, more gold. What then?\\r\\n Believe\\'t that we\\'ll do anything for gold.\\r\\n TIMON. Consumptions sow\\r\\n In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins,\\r\\n And mar men\\'s spurring. Crack the lawyer\\'s voice,\\r\\n That he may never more false title plead,\\r\\n Nor sound his quillets shrilly. Hoar the flamen,\\r\\n That scolds against the quality of flesh\\r\\n And not believes himself. Down with the nose,\\r\\n Down with it flat, take the bridge quite away\\r\\n Of him that, his particular to foresee,\\r\\n Smells from the general weal. Make curl\\'d-pate ruffians bald,\\r\\n And let the unscarr\\'d braggarts of the war\\r\\n Derive some pain from you. Plague all,\\r\\n That your activity may defeat and quell\\r\\n The source of all erection. There\\'s more gold.\\r\\n Do you damn others, and let this damn you,\\r\\n And ditches grave you all!\\r\\n PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. More counsel with more money, bounteous\\r\\n Timon.\\r\\n TIMON. More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Strike up the drum towards Athens. Farewell, Timon;\\r\\n If I thrive well, I\\'ll visit thee again.\\r\\n TIMON. If I hope well, I\\'ll never see thee more.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I never did thee harm.\\r\\n TIMON. Yes, thou spok\\'st well of me.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Call\\'st thou that harm?\\r\\n TIMON. Men daily find it. Get thee away, and take\\r\\n Thy beagles with thee.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. We but offend him. Strike.\\r\\n Drum beats. Exeunt all but TIMON\\r\\n TIMON. That nature, being sick of man\\'s unkindness,\\r\\n Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou, [Digging]\\r\\n Whose womb unmeasurable and infinite breast\\r\\n Teems and feeds all; whose self-same mettle,\\r\\n Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff\\'d,\\r\\n Engenders the black toad and adder blue,\\r\\n The gilded newt and eyeless venom\\'d worm,\\r\\n With all th\\' abhorred births below crisp heaven\\r\\n Whereon Hyperion\\'s quick\\'ning fire doth shine-\\r\\n Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate,\\r\\n From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root!\\r\\n Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb,\\r\\n Let it no more bring out ingrateful man!\\r\\n Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears;\\r\\n Teem with new monsters whom thy upward face\\r\\n Hath to the marbled mansion all above\\r\\n Never presented!- O, a root! Dear thanks!-\\r\\n Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas,\\r\\n Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts\\r\\n And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind,\\r\\n That from it all consideration slips-\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter APEMANTUS\\r\\n\\r\\n More man? Plague, plague!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I was directed hither. Men report\\r\\n Thou dost affect my manners and dost use them.\\r\\n TIMON. \\'Tis, then, because thou dost not keep a dog,\\r\\n Whom I would imitate. Consumption catch thee!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. This is in thee a nature but infected,\\r\\n A poor unmanly melancholy sprung\\r\\n From change of fortune. Why this spade, this place?\\r\\n This slave-like habit and these looks of care?\\r\\n Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft,\\r\\n Hug their diseas\\'d perfumes, and have forgot\\r\\n That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods\\r\\n By putting on the cunning of a carper.\\r\\n Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive\\r\\n By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee,\\r\\n And let his very breath whom thou\\'lt observe\\r\\n Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain,\\r\\n And call it excellent. Thou wast told thus;\\r\\n Thou gav\\'st thine ears, like tapsters that bade welcome,\\r\\n To knaves and all approachers. \\'Tis most just\\r\\n That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again\\r\\n Rascals should have\\'t. Do not assume my likeness.\\r\\n TIMON. Were I like thee, I\\'d throw away myself.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself;\\r\\n A madman so long, now a fool. What, think\\'st\\r\\n That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain,\\r\\n Will put thy shirt on warm? Will these moist trees,\\r\\n That have outliv\\'d the eagle, page thy heels\\r\\n And skip when thou point\\'st out? Will the cold brook,\\r\\n Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste\\r\\n To cure thy o\\'ernight\\'s surfeit? Call the creatures\\r\\n Whose naked natures live in all the spite\\r\\n Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks,\\r\\n To the conflicting elements expos\\'d,\\r\\n Answer mere nature- bid them flatter thee.\\r\\n O, thou shalt find-\\r\\n TIMON. A fool of thee. Depart.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I love thee better now than e\\'er I did.\\r\\n TIMON. I hate thee worse.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Why?\\r\\n TIMON. Thou flatter\\'st misery.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I flatter not, but say thou art a caitiff.\\r\\n TIMON. Why dost thou seek me out?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. To vex thee.\\r\\n TIMON. Always a villain\\'s office or a fool\\'s.\\r\\n Dost please thyself in\\'t?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ay.\\r\\n TIMON. What, a knave too?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on\\r\\n To castigate thy pride, \\'twere well; but thou\\r\\n Dost it enforcedly. Thou\\'dst courtier be again\\r\\n Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery\\r\\n Outlives incertain pomp, is crown\\'d before.\\r\\n The one is filling still, never complete;\\r\\n The other, at high wish. Best state, contentless,\\r\\n Hath a distracted and most wretched being,\\r\\n Worse than the worst, content.\\r\\n Thou should\\'st desire to die, being miserable.\\r\\n TIMON. Not by his breath that is more miserable.\\r\\n Thou art a slave whom Fortune\\'s tender arm\\r\\n With favour never clasp\\'d, but bred a dog.\\r\\n Hadst thou, like us from our first swath, proceeded\\r\\n The sweet degrees that this brief world affords\\r\\n To such as may the passive drugs of it\\r\\n Freely command, thou wouldst have plung\\'d thyself\\r\\n In general riot, melted down thy youth\\r\\n In different beds of lust, and never learn\\'d\\r\\n The icy precepts of respect, but followed\\r\\n The sug\\'red game before thee. But myself,\\r\\n Who had the world as my confectionary;\\r\\n The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men\\r\\n At duty, more than I could frame employment;\\r\\n That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves\\r\\n Do on the oak, have with one winter\\'s brush\\r\\n Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare\\r\\n For every storm that blows- I to bear this,\\r\\n That never knew but better, is some burden.\\r\\n Thy nature did commence in sufferance; time\\r\\n Hath made thee hard in\\'t. Why shouldst thou hate men?\\r\\n They never flatter\\'d thee. What hast thou given?\\r\\n If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag,\\r\\n Must be thy subject; who, in spite, put stuff\\r\\n To some she-beggar and compounded thee\\r\\n Poor rogue hereditary. Hence, be gone.\\r\\n If thou hadst not been born the worst of men,\\r\\n Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Art thou proud yet?\\r\\n TIMON. Ay, that I am not thee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I, that I was\\r\\n No prodigal.\\r\\n TIMON. I, that I am one now.\\r\\n Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee,\\r\\n I\\'d give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone.\\r\\n That the whole life of Athens were in this!\\r\\n Thus would I eat it. [Eating a root]\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Here! I will mend thy feast.\\r\\n [Offering him food]\\r\\n TIMON. First mend my company: take away thyself.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. So I shall mend mine own by th\\' lack of thine.\\r\\n TIMON. \\'Tis not well mended so; it is but botch\\'d.\\r\\n If not, I would it were.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. What wouldst thou have to Athens?\\r\\n TIMON. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt,\\r\\n Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Here is no use for gold.\\r\\n TIMON. The best and truest;\\r\\n For here it sleeps and does no hired harm.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Where liest a nights, Timon?\\r\\n TIMON. Under that\\'s above me.\\r\\n Where feed\\'st thou a days, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Where my stomach. finds meat; or rather, where I eat it.\\r\\n TIMON. Would poison were obedient, and knew my mind!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Where wouldst thou send it?\\r\\n TIMON. To sauce thy dishes.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. The middle of humanity thou never knewest, but the\\r\\n extremity of both ends. When thou wast in thy gilt and thy\\r\\n perfume, they mock\\'d thee for too much curiosity; in thy rags\\r\\n thou know\\'st none, but art despis\\'d for the contrary. There\\'s a\\r\\n medlar for thee; eat it.\\r\\n TIMON. On what I hate I feed not.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Dost hate a medlar?\\r\\n TIMON. Ay, though it look like thee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. An th\\' hadst hated medlars sooner, thou shouldst have\\r\\n loved thyself better now. What man didst thou ever know unthrift\\r\\n that was beloved after his means?\\r\\n TIMON. Who, without those means thou talk\\'st of, didst thou ever\\r\\n know belov\\'d?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Myself.\\r\\n TIMON. I understand thee: thou hadst some means to keep a dog.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. What things in the world canst thou nearest compare to\\r\\n thy flatterers?\\r\\n TIMON. Women nearest; but men, men are the things themselves. What\\r\\n wouldst thou do with the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy\\r\\n power?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men.\\r\\n TIMON. Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the confusion of men, and\\r\\n remain a beast with the beasts?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ay, Timon.\\r\\n TIMON. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee t\\' attain to!\\r\\n If thou wert the lion, the fox would beguile thee; if thou wert\\r\\n the lamb, the fox would eat thee; if thou wert the fox, the lion\\r\\n would suspect thee, when, peradventure, thou wert accus\\'d by the\\r\\n ass. If thou wert the ass, thy dulness would torment thee; and\\r\\n still thou liv\\'dst but as a breakfast to the wolf. If thou wert\\r\\n the wolf, thy greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou\\r\\n shouldst hazard thy life for thy dinner. Wert thou the unicorn,\\r\\n pride and wrath would confound thee, and make thine own self the\\r\\n conquest of thy fury. Wert thou bear, thou wouldst be kill\\'d by\\r\\n the horse; wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be seiz\\'d by the\\r\\n leopard; wert thou a leopard, thou wert german to the lion, and\\r\\n the spots of thy kindred were jurors on thy life. All thy safety\\r\\n were remotion, and thy defence absence. What beast couldst thou\\r\\n be that were not subject to a beast? And what beast art thou\\r\\n already, that seest not thy loss in transformation!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. If thou couldst please me with speaking to me, thou\\r\\n mightst have hit upon it here. The commonwealth of Athens is\\r\\n become a forest of beasts.\\r\\n TIMON. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art out of the\\r\\n city?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Yonder comes a poet and a painter. The plague of company\\r\\n light upon thee! I will fear to catch it, and give way. When I\\r\\n know not what else to do, I\\'ll see thee again.\\r\\n TIMON. When there is nothing living but thee, thou shalt be\\r\\n welcome. I had rather be a beggar\\'s dog than Apemantus.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou art the cap of all the fools alive.\\r\\n TIMON. Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. A plague on thee! thou art too bad to curse.\\r\\n TIMON. All villains that do stand by thee are pure.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. There is no leprosy but what thou speak\\'st.\\r\\n TIMON. If I name thee.\\r\\n I\\'ll beat thee- but I should infect my hands.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I would my tongue could rot them off!\\r\\n TIMON. Away, thou issue of a mangy dog!\\r\\n Choler does kill me that thou art alive;\\r\\n I swoon to see thee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Would thou wouldst burst!\\r\\n TIMON. Away,\\r\\n Thou tedious rogue! I am sorry I shall lose\\r\\n A stone by thee. [Throws a stone at him]\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Beast!\\r\\n TIMON. Slave!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Toad!\\r\\n TIMON. Rogue, rogue, rogue!\\r\\n I am sick of this false world, and will love nought\\r\\n But even the mere necessities upon\\'t.\\r\\n Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave;\\r\\n Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat\\r\\n Thy gravestone daily; make thine epitaph,\\r\\n That death in me at others\\' lives may laugh.\\r\\n [Looks at the gold] O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce\\r\\n \\'Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler\\r\\n Of Hymen\\'s purest bed! thou valiant Mars!\\r\\n Thou ever young, fresh, lov\\'d, and delicate wooer,\\r\\n Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow\\r\\n That lies on Dian\\'s lap! thou visible god,\\r\\n That sold\\'rest close impossibilities,\\r\\n And mak\\'st them kiss! that speak\\'st with every tongue\\r\\n To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts!\\r\\n Think thy slave man rebels, and by thy virtue\\r\\n Set them into confounding odds, that beasts\\r\\n May have the world in empire!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Would \\'twere so!\\r\\n But not till I am dead. I\\'ll say th\\' hast gold.\\r\\n Thou wilt be throng\\'d to shortly.\\r\\n TIMON. Throng\\'d to?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ay.\\r\\n TIMON. Thy back, I prithee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Live, and love thy misery!\\r\\n TIMON. Long live so, and so die! [Exit APEMANTUS] I am quit. More\\r\\n things like men? Eat, Timon, and abhor them.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the BANDITTI\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST BANDIT. Where should he have this gold? It is some poor\\r\\n fragment, some slender ort of his remainder. The mere want of\\r\\n gold and the falling-from of his friends drove him into this\\r\\n melancholy.\\r\\n SECOND BANDIT. It is nois\\'d he hath a mass of treasure.\\r\\n THIRD BANDIT. Let us make the assay upon him; if he care not for\\'t,\\r\\n he will supply us easily; if he covetously reserve it, how\\r\\n shall\\'s get it?\\r\\n SECOND BANDIT. True; for he bears it not about him. \\'Tis hid.\\r\\n FIRST BANDIT. Is not this he?\\r\\n BANDITTI. Where?\\r\\n SECOND BANDIT. \\'Tis his description.\\r\\n THIRD BANDIT. He; I know him.\\r\\n BANDITTI. Save thee, Timon!\\r\\n TIMON. Now, thieves?\\r\\n BANDITTI. Soldiers, not thieves.\\r\\n TIMON. Both too, and women\\'s sons.\\r\\n BANDITTI. We are not thieves, but men that much do want.\\r\\n TIMON. Your greatest want is, you want much of meat.\\r\\n Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots;\\r\\n Within this mile break forth a hundred springs;\\r\\n The oaks bear mast, the briars scarlet hips;\\r\\n The bounteous housewife Nature on each bush\\r\\n Lays her full mess before you. Want! Why want?\\r\\n FIRST BANDIT. We cannot live on grass, on berries, water,\\r\\n As beasts and birds and fishes.\\r\\n TIMON. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and fishes;\\r\\n You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con\\r\\n That you are thieves profess\\'d, that you work not\\r\\n In holier shapes; for there is boundless theft\\r\\n In limited professions. Rascal thieves,\\r\\n Here\\'s gold. Go, suck the subtle blood o\\' th\\' grape\\r\\n Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth,\\r\\n And so scape hanging. Trust not the physician;\\r\\n His antidotes are poison, and he slays\\r\\n Moe than you rob. Take wealth and lives together;\\r\\n Do villainy, do, since you protest to do\\'t,\\r\\n Like workmen. I\\'ll example you with thievery:\\r\\n The sun\\'s a thief, and with his great attraction\\r\\n Robs the vast sea; the moon\\'s an arrant thief,\\r\\n And her pale fire she snatches from the sun;\\r\\n The sea\\'s a thief, whose liquid surge resolves\\r\\n The moon into salt tears; the earth\\'s a thief,\\r\\n That feeds and breeds by a composture stol\\'n\\r\\n From gen\\'ral excrement- each thing\\'s a thief.\\r\\n The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power\\r\\n Has uncheck\\'d theft. Love not yourselves; away,\\r\\n Rob one another. There\\'s more gold. Cut throats;\\r\\n All that you meet are thieves. To Athens go,\\r\\n Break open shops; nothing can you steal\\r\\n But thieves do lose it. Steal not less for this\\r\\n I give you; and gold confound you howsoe\\'er!\\r\\n Amen.\\r\\n THIRD BANDIT. Has almost charm\\'d me from my profession by\\r\\n persuading me to it.\\r\\n FIRST BANDIT. \\'Tis in the malice of mankind that he thus advises\\r\\n us; not to have us thrive in our mystery.\\r\\n SECOND BANDIT. I\\'ll believe him as an enemy, and give over my\\r\\n trade.\\r\\n FIRST BANDIT. Let us first see peace in Athens. There is no time so\\r\\n miserable but a man may be true. Exeunt THIEVES\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FLAVIUS, to TIMON\\r\\n\\r\\n FLAVIUS. O you gods!\\r\\n Is yond despis\\'d and ruinous man my lord?\\r\\n Full of decay and failing? O monument\\r\\n And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow\\'d!\\r\\n What an alteration of honour\\r\\n Has desp\\'rate want made!\\r\\n What viler thing upon the earth than friends,\\r\\n Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends!\\r\\n How rarely does it meet with this time\\'s guise,\\r\\n When man was wish\\'d to love his enemies!\\r\\n Grant I may ever love, and rather woo\\r\\n Those that would mischief me than those that do!\\r\\n Has caught me in his eye; I will present\\r\\n My honest grief unto him, and as my lord\\r\\n Still serve him with my life. My dearest master!\\r\\n TIMON. Away! What art thou?\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Have you forgot me, sir?\\r\\n TIMON. Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men;\\r\\n Then, if thou grant\\'st th\\'art a man, I have forgot thee.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. An honest poor servant of yours.\\r\\n TIMON. Then I know thee not.\\r\\n I never had honest man about me, I.\\r\\n All I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. The gods are witness,\\r\\n Nev\\'r did poor steward wear a truer grief\\r\\n For his undone lord than mine eyes for you.\\r\\n TIMON. What, dost thou weep? Come nearer. Then I love thee\\r\\n Because thou art a woman and disclaim\\'st\\r\\n Flinty mankind, whose eyes do never give\\r\\n But thorough lust and laughter. Pity\\'s sleeping.\\r\\n Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with weeping!\\r\\n FLAVIUS. I beg of you to know me, good my lord,\\r\\n T\\' accept my grief, and whilst this poor wealth lasts\\r\\n To entertain me as your steward still.\\r\\n TIMON. Had I a steward\\r\\n So true, so just, and now so comfortable?\\r\\n It almost turns my dangerous nature mild.\\r\\n Let me behold thy face. Surely, this man\\r\\n Was born of woman.\\r\\n Forgive my general and exceptless rashness,\\r\\n You perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim\\r\\n One honest man- mistake me not, but one;\\r\\n No more, I pray- and he\\'s a steward.\\r\\n How fain would I have hated all mankind!\\r\\n And thou redeem\\'st thyself. But all, save thee,\\r\\n I fell with curses.\\r\\n Methinks thou art more honest now than wise;\\r\\n For by oppressing and betraying me\\r\\n Thou mightst have sooner got another service;\\r\\n For many so arrive at second masters\\r\\n Upon their first lord\\'s neck. But tell me true,\\r\\n For I must ever doubt though ne\\'er so sure,\\r\\n Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous,\\r\\n If not a usuring kindness, and as rich men deal gifts,\\r\\n Expecting in return twenty for one?\\r\\n FLAVIUS. No, my most worthy master, in whose breast\\r\\n Doubt and suspect, alas, are plac\\'d too late!\\r\\n You should have fear\\'d false times when you did feast:\\r\\n Suspect still comes where an estate is least.\\r\\n That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love,\\r\\n Duty, and zeal, to your unmatched mind,\\r\\n Care of your food and living; and believe it,\\r\\n My most honour\\'d lord,\\r\\n For any benefit that points to me,\\r\\n Either in hope or present, I\\'d exchange\\r\\n For this one wish, that you had power and wealth\\r\\n To requite me by making rich yourself.\\r\\n TIMON. Look thee, \\'tis so! Thou singly honest man,\\r\\n Here, take. The gods, out of my misery,\\r\\n Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy,\\r\\n But thus condition\\'d; thou shalt build from men;\\r\\n Hate all, curse all, show charity to none,\\r\\n But let the famish\\'d flesh slide from the bone\\r\\n Ere thou relieve the beggar. Give to dogs\\r\\n What thou deniest to men; let prisons swallow \\'em,\\r\\n Debts wither \\'em to nothing. Be men like blasted woods,\\r\\n And may diseases lick up their false bloods!\\r\\n And so, farewell and thrive.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. O, let me stay\\r\\n And comfort you, my master.\\r\\n TIMON. If thou hat\\'st curses,\\r\\n Stay not; fly whilst thou art blest and free.\\r\\n Ne\\'er see thou man, and let me ne\\'er see thee.\\r\\n Exeunt severally\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. The woods. Before TIMON\\'s cave\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter POET and PAINTER\\r\\n\\r\\n PAINTER. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he\\r\\n abides.\\r\\n POET. to be thought of him? Does the rumour hold for true that he\\'s\\r\\n so full of gold?\\r\\n PAINTER. Certain. Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had\\r\\n gold of him. He likewise enrich\\'d poor straggling soldiers with\\r\\n great quantity. \\'Tis said he gave unto his steward a mighty sum.\\r\\n POET. Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends?\\r\\n PAINTER. Nothing else. You shall see him a palm in Athens again,\\r\\n and flourish with the highest. Therefore \\'tis not amiss we tender\\r\\n our loves to him in this suppos\\'d distress of his; it will show\\r\\n honestly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with what\\r\\n they travail for, if it be just and true report that goes of his\\r\\n having.\\r\\n POET. What have you now to present unto him?\\r\\n PAINTER. Nothing at this time but my visitation; only I will\\r\\n promise him an excellent piece.\\r\\n POET. I must serve him so too, tell him of an intent that\\'s coming\\r\\n toward him.\\r\\n PAINTER. Good as the best. Promising is the very air o\\' th\\' time;\\r\\n it opens the eyes of expectation. Performance is ever the duller\\r\\n for his act, and but in the plainer and simpler kind of people\\r\\n the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most\\r\\n courtly and fashionable; performance is a kind of will or\\r\\n testament which argues a great sickness in his judgment that\\r\\n makes it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TIMON from his cave\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. [Aside] Excellent workman! Thou canst not paint a man so bad\\r\\n as is thyself.\\r\\n POET. I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him. It\\r\\n must be a personating of himself; a satire against the softness\\r\\n of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that\\r\\n follow youth and opulency.\\r\\n TIMON. [Aside] Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own\\r\\n work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have\\r\\n gold for thee.\\r\\n POET. Nay, let\\'s seek him;\\r\\n Then do we sin against our own estate\\r\\n When we may profit meet and come too late.\\r\\n PAINTER. True;\\r\\n When the day serves, before black-corner\\'d night,\\r\\n Find what thou want\\'st by free and offer\\'d light.\\r\\n Come.\\r\\n TIMON. [Aside] I\\'ll meet you at the turn. What a god\\'s gold,\\r\\n That he is worshipp\\'d in a baser temple\\r\\n Than where swine feed!\\r\\n \\'Tis thou that rig\\'st the bark and plough\\'st the foam,\\r\\n Settlest admired reverence in a slave.\\r\\n To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye\\r\\n Be crown\\'d with plagues, that thee alone obey!\\r\\n Fit I meet them. [Advancing from his cave]\\r\\n POET. Hail, worthy Timon!\\r\\n PAINTER. Our late noble master!\\r\\n TIMON. Have I once liv\\'d to see two honest men?\\r\\n POET. Sir,\\r\\n Having often of your open bounty tasted,\\r\\n Hearing you were retir\\'d, your friends fall\\'n off,\\r\\n Whose thankless natures- O abhorred spirits!-\\r\\n Not all the whips of heaven are large enough-\\r\\n What! to you,\\r\\n Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence\\r\\n To their whole being! I am rapt, and cannot cover\\r\\n The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude\\r\\n With any size of words.\\r\\n TIMON. Let it go naked: men may see\\'t the better.\\r\\n You that are honest, by being what you are,\\r\\n Make them best seen and known.\\r\\n PAINTER. He and myself\\r\\n Have travail\\'d in the great show\\'r of your gifts,\\r\\n And sweetly felt it.\\r\\n TIMON. Ay, you are honest men.\\r\\n PAINTER. We are hither come to offer you our service.\\r\\n TIMON. Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you?\\r\\n Can you eat roots, and drink cold water- No?\\r\\n BOTH. What we can do, we\\'ll do, to do you service.\\r\\n TIMON. Y\\'are honest men. Y\\'have heard that I have gold;\\r\\n I am sure you have. Speak truth; y\\'are honest men.\\r\\n PAINTER. So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore\\r\\n Came not my friend nor I.\\r\\n TIMON. Good honest men! Thou draw\\'st a counterfeit\\r\\n Best in all Athens. Th\\'art indeed the best;\\r\\n Thou counterfeit\\'st most lively.\\r\\n PAINTER. So, so, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. E\\'en so, sir, as I say. [To To POET] And for thy fiction,\\r\\n Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth\\r\\n That thou art even natural in thine art.\\r\\n But for all this, my honest-natur\\'d friends,\\r\\n I must needs say you have a little fault.\\r\\n Marry, \\'tis not monstrous in you; neither wish I\\r\\n You take much pains to mend.\\r\\n BOTH. Beseech your honour\\r\\n To make it known to us.\\r\\n TIMON. You\\'ll take it ill.\\r\\n BOTH. Most thankfully, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. Will you indeed?\\r\\n BOTH. Doubt it not, worthy lord.\\r\\n TIMON. There\\'s never a one of you but trusts a knave\\r\\n That mightily deceives you.\\r\\n BOTH. Do we, my lord?\\r\\n TIMON. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble,\\r\\n Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him,\\r\\n Keep in your bosom; yet remain assur\\'d\\r\\n That he\\'s a made-up villain.\\r\\n PAINTER. I know not such, my lord.\\r\\n POET. Nor I.\\r\\n TIMON. Look you, I love you well; I\\'ll give you gold,\\r\\n Rid me these villains from your companies.\\r\\n Hang them or stab them, drown them in a draught,\\r\\n Confound them by some course, and come to me,\\r\\n I\\'ll give you gold enough.\\r\\n BOTH. Name them, my lord; let\\'s know them.\\r\\n TIMON. You that way, and you this- but two in company;\\r\\n Each man apart, all single and alone,\\r\\n Yet an arch-villain keeps him company.\\r\\n [To the PAINTER] If, where thou art, two villians shall not be,\\r\\n Come not near him. [To the POET] If thou wouldst not reside\\r\\n But where one villain is, then him abandon.-\\r\\n Hence, pack! there\\'s gold; you came for gold, ye slaves.\\r\\n [To the PAINTER] You have work for me; there\\'s payment; hence!\\r\\n [To the POET] You are an alchemist; make gold of that.-\\r\\n Out, rascal dogs! [Beats and drives them out]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FLAVIUS and two SENATORS\\r\\n\\r\\n FLAVIUS. It is vain that you would speak with Timon;\\r\\n For he is set so only to himself\\r\\n That nothing but himself which looks like man\\r\\n Is friendly with him.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Bring us to his cave.\\r\\n It is our part and promise to th\\' Athenians\\r\\n To speak with Timon.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. At all times alike\\r\\n Men are not still the same; \\'twas time and griefs\\r\\n That fram\\'d him thus. Time, with his fairer hand,\\r\\n Offering the fortunes of his former days,\\r\\n The former man may make him. Bring us to him,\\r\\n And chance it as it may.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Here is his cave.\\r\\n Peace and content be here! Lord Timon! Timon!\\r\\n Look out, and speak to friends. Th\\' Athenians\\r\\n By two of their most reverend Senate greet thee.\\r\\n Speak to them, noble Timon.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TIMON out of his cave\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. Thou sun that comforts, burn. Speak and be hang\\'d!\\r\\n For each true word a blister, and each false\\r\\n Be as a cauterizing to the root o\\' th\\' tongue,\\r\\n Consuming it with speaking!\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Worthy Timon-\\r\\n TIMON. Of none but such as you, and you of Timon.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon.\\r\\n TIMON. I thank them; and would send them back the plague,\\r\\n Could I but catch it for them.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. O, forget\\r\\n What we are sorry for ourselves in thee.\\r\\n The senators with one consent of love\\r\\n Entreat thee back to Athens, who have thought\\r\\n On special dignities, which vacant lie\\r\\n For thy best use and wearing.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. They confess\\r\\n Toward thee forgetfulness too general, gross;\\r\\n Which now the public body, which doth seldom\\r\\n Play the recanter, feeling in itself\\r\\n A lack of Timon\\'s aid, hath sense withal\\r\\n Of it own fail, restraining aid to Timon,\\r\\n And send forth us to make their sorrowed render,\\r\\n Together with a recompense more fruitful\\r\\n Than their offence can weigh down by the dram;\\r\\n Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth\\r\\n As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs\\r\\n And write in thee the figures of their love,\\r\\n Ever to read them thine.\\r\\n TIMON. You witch me in it;\\r\\n Surprise me to the very brink of tears.\\r\\n Lend me a fool\\'s heart and a woman\\'s eyes,\\r\\n And I\\'ll beweep these comforts, worthy senators.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Therefore so please thee to return with us,\\r\\n And of our Athens, thine and ours, to take\\r\\n The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks,\\r\\n Allow\\'d with absolute power, and thy good name\\r\\n Live with authority. So soon we shall drive back\\r\\n Of Alcibiades th\\' approaches wild,\\r\\n Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up\\r\\n His country\\'s peace.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. And shakes his threat\\'ning sword\\r\\n Against the walls of Athens.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Therefore, Timon-\\r\\n TIMON. Well, sir, I will. Therefore I will, sir, thus:\\r\\n If Alcibiades kill my countrymen,\\r\\n Let Alcibiades know this of Timon,\\r\\n That Timon cares not. But if he sack fair Athens,\\r\\n And take our goodly aged men by th\\' beards,\\r\\n Giving our holy virgins to the stain\\r\\n Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain\\'d war,\\r\\n Then let him know- and tell him Timon speaks it\\r\\n In pity of our aged and our youth-\\r\\n I cannot choose but tell him that I care not,\\r\\n And let him take\\'t at worst; for their knives care not,\\r\\n While you have throats to answer. For myself,\\r\\n There\\'s not a whittle in th\\' unruly camp\\r\\n But I do prize it at my love before\\r\\n The reverend\\'st throat in Athens. So I leave you\\r\\n To the protection of the prosperous gods,\\r\\n As thieves to keepers.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Stay not, all\\'s in vain.\\r\\n TIMON. Why, I was writing of my epitaph;\\r\\n It will be seen to-morrow. My long sickness\\r\\n Of health and living now begins to mend,\\r\\n And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still;\\r\\n Be Alcibiades your plague, you his,\\r\\n And last so long enough!\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. We speak in vain.\\r\\n TIMON. But yet I love my country, and am not\\r\\n One that rejoices in the common wreck,\\r\\n As common bruit doth put it.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. That\\'s well spoke.\\r\\n TIMON. Commend me to my loving countrymen-\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. These words become your lips as they pass through\\r\\n them.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. And enter in our ears like great triumphers\\r\\n In their applauding gates.\\r\\n TIMON. Commend me to them,\\r\\n And tell them that, to ease them of their griefs,\\r\\n Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses,\\r\\n Their pangs of love, with other incident throes\\r\\n That nature\\'s fragile vessel doth sustain\\r\\n In life\\'s uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them-\\r\\n I\\'ll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades\\' wrath.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. I like this well; he will return again.\\r\\n TIMON. I have a tree, which grows here in my close,\\r\\n That mine own use invites me to cut down,\\r\\n And shortly must I fell it. Tell my friends,\\r\\n Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree\\r\\n From high to low throughout, that whoso please\\r\\n To stop affliction, let him take his haste,\\r\\n Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe,\\r\\n And hang himself. I pray you do my greeting.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Trouble him no further; thus you still shall find him.\\r\\n TIMON. Come not to me again; but say to Athens\\r\\n Timon hath made his everlasting mansion\\r\\n Upon the beached verge of the salt flood,\\r\\n Who once a day with his embossed froth\\r\\n The turbulent surge shall cover. Thither come,\\r\\n And let my gravestone be your oracle.\\r\\n Lips, let sour words go by and language end:\\r\\n What is amiss, plague and infection mend!\\r\\n Graves only be men\\'s works and death their gain!\\r\\n Sun, hide thy beams. Timon hath done his reign.\\r\\n Exit TIMON into his cave\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. His discontents are unremovably\\r\\n Coupled to nature.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. Our hope in him is dead. Let us return\\r\\n And strain what other means is left unto us\\r\\n In our dear peril.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. It requires swift foot. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Before the walls of Athens\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter two other SENATORS with a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Thou hast painfully discover\\'d; are his files\\r\\n As full as thy report?\\r\\n MESSENGER. I have spoke the least.\\r\\n Besides, his expedition promises\\r\\n Present approach.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. We stand much hazard if they bring not Timon.\\r\\n MESSENGER. I met a courier, one mine ancient friend,\\r\\n Whom, though in general part we were oppos\\'d,\\r\\n Yet our old love had a particular force,\\r\\n And made us speak like friends. This man was riding\\r\\n From Alcibiades to Timon\\'s cave\\r\\n With letters of entreaty, which imported\\r\\n His fellowship i\\' th\\' cause against your city,\\r\\n In part for his sake mov\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the other SENATORS, from TIMON\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Here come our brothers.\\r\\n THIRD SENATOR. No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect.\\r\\n The enemies\\' drum is heard, and fearful scouring\\r\\n Doth choke the air with dust. In, and prepare.\\r\\n Ours is the fall, I fear; our foes the snare. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The TIMON\\'s cave, and a rude tomb seen\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a SOLDIER in the woods, seeking TIMON\\r\\n\\r\\n SOLDIER. By all description this should be the place.\\r\\n Who\\'s here? Speak, ho! No answer? What is this?\\r\\n Timon is dead, who hath outstretch\\'d his span.\\r\\n Some beast rear\\'d this; here does not live a man.\\r\\n Dead, sure; and this his grave. What\\'s on this tomb\\r\\n I cannot read; the character I\\'ll take with wax.\\r\\n Our captain hath in every figure skill,\\r\\n An ag\\'d interpreter, though young in days;\\r\\n Before proud Athens he\\'s set down by this,\\r\\n Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Before the walls of Athens\\r\\n\\r\\nTrumpets sound. Enter ALCIBIADES with his powers before Athens\\r\\n\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Sound to this coward and lascivious town\\r\\n Our terrible approach.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound a parley. The SENATORS appear upon the walls\\r\\n\\r\\n Till now you have gone on and fill\\'d the time\\r\\n With all licentious measure, making your wills\\r\\n The scope of justice; till now, myself, and such\\r\\n As slept within the shadow of your power,\\r\\n Have wander\\'d with our travers\\'d arms, and breath\\'d\\r\\n Our sufferance vainly. Now the time is flush,\\r\\n When crouching marrow, in the bearer strong,\\r\\n Cries of itself \\'No more!\\' Now breathless wrong\\r\\n Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease,\\r\\n And pursy insolence shall break his wind\\r\\n With fear and horrid flight.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Noble and young,\\r\\n When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit,\\r\\n Ere thou hadst power or we had cause of fear,\\r\\n We sent to thee, to give thy rages balm,\\r\\n To wipe out our ingratitude with loves\\r\\n Above their quantity.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. So did we woo\\r\\n Transformed Timon to our city\\'s love\\r\\n By humble message and by promis\\'d means.\\r\\n We were not all unkind, nor all deserve\\r\\n The common stroke of war.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. These walls of ours\\r\\n Were not erected by their hands from whom\\r\\n You have receiv\\'d your griefs; nor are they such\\r\\n That these great tow\\'rs, trophies, and schools, should fall\\r\\n For private faults in them.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. Nor are they living\\r\\n Who were the motives that you first went out;\\r\\n Shame, that they wanted cunning, in excess\\r\\n Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord,\\r\\n Into our city with thy banners spread.\\r\\n By decimation and a tithed death-\\r\\n If thy revenges hunger for that food\\r\\n Which nature loathes- take thou the destin\\'d tenth,\\r\\n And by the hazard of the spotted die\\r\\n Let die the spotted.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. All have not offended;\\r\\n For those that were, it is not square to take,\\r\\n On those that are, revenge: crimes, like lands,\\r\\n Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman,\\r\\n Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage;\\r\\n Spare thy Athenian cradle, and those kin\\r\\n Which, in the bluster of thy wrath, must fall\\r\\n With those that have offended. Like a shepherd\\r\\n Approach the fold and cull th\\' infected forth,\\r\\n But kill not all together.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. What thou wilt,\\r\\n Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile\\r\\n Than hew to\\'t with thy sword.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Set but thy foot\\r\\n Against our rampir\\'d gates and they shall ope,\\r\\n So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before\\r\\n To say thou\\'t enter friendly.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. Throw thy glove,\\r\\n Or any token of thine honour else,\\r\\n That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress\\r\\n And not as our confusion, all thy powers\\r\\n Shall make their harbour in our town till we\\r\\n Have seal\\'d thy full desire.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Then there\\'s my glove;\\r\\n Descend, and open your uncharged ports.\\r\\n Those enemies of Timon\\'s and mine own,\\r\\n Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof,\\r\\n Fall, and no more. And, to atone your fears\\r\\n With my more noble meaning, not a man\\r\\n Shall pass his quarter or offend the stream\\r\\n Of regular justice in your city\\'s bounds,\\r\\n But shall be render\\'d to your public laws\\r\\n At heaviest answer.\\r\\n BOTH. \\'Tis most nobly spoken.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Descend, and keep your words.\\r\\n [The SENATORS descend and open the gates]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a SOLDIER as a Messenger\\r\\n\\r\\n SOLDIER. My noble General, Timon is dead;\\r\\n Entomb\\'d upon the very hem o\\' th\\' sea;\\r\\n And on his grave-stone this insculpture, which\\r\\n With wax I brought away, whose soft impression\\r\\n Interprets for my poor ignorance.\\r\\n\\r\\n ALCIBIADES reads the Epitaph\\r\\n\\r\\n \\'Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft;\\r\\n Seek not my name. A plague consume you wicked caitiffs left!\\r\\n Here lie I, Timon, who alive all living men did hate.\\r\\n Pass by, and curse thy fill; but pass, and stay not here thy\\r\\n gait.\\'\\r\\n These well express in thee thy latter spirits.\\r\\n Though thou abhorr\\'dst in us our human griefs,\\r\\n Scorn\\'dst our brain\\'s flow, and those our droplets which\\r\\n From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit\\r\\n Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye\\r\\n On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead\\r\\n Is noble Timon, of whose memory\\r\\n Hereafter more. Bring me into your city,\\r\\n And I will use the olive, with my sword;\\r\\n Make war breed peace, make peace stint war, make each\\r\\n Prescribe to other, as each other\\'s leech.\\r\\n Let our drums strike. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE TRAGEDY OF TITUS ANDRONICUS\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personae\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS, son to the late Emperor of Rome, afterwards Emperor\\r\\n BASSIANUS, brother to Saturninus\\r\\n TITUS ANDRONICUS, a noble Roman\\r\\n MARCUS ANDRONICUS, Tribune of the People, and brother to Titus\\r\\n\\r\\n Sons to Titus Andronicus:\\r\\n LUCIUS\\r\\n QUINTUS\\r\\n MARTIUS\\r\\n MUTIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n YOUNG LUCIUS, a boy, son to Lucius\\r\\n PUBLIUS, son to Marcus Andronicus\\r\\n\\r\\n Kinsmen to Titus:\\r\\n SEMPRONIUS\\r\\n CAIUS\\r\\n VALENTINE\\r\\n\\r\\n AEMILIUS, a noble Roman\\r\\n\\r\\n Sons to Tamora:\\r\\n ALARBUS\\r\\n DEMETRIUS\\r\\n CHIRON\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON, a Moor, beloved by Tamora\\r\\n A CAPTAIN\\r\\n A MESSENGER\\r\\n A CLOWN\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA, Queen of the Goths\\r\\n LAVINIA, daughter to Titus Andronicus\\r\\n A NURSE, and a black CHILD\\r\\n\\r\\n Romans and Goths, Senators, Tribunes, Officers, Soldiers, and\\r\\n Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE: Rome and the neighbourhood\\r\\n\\r\\nACT 1. SCENE I. Rome. Before the Capitol\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter the TRIBUNES and SENATORS aloft; and then enter below\\r\\nSATURNINUS and his followers at one door, and BASSIANUS and his\\r\\nfollowers at the other, with drums and trumpets\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Noble patricians, patrons of my right,\\r\\n Defend the justice of my cause with arms;\\r\\n And, countrymen, my loving followers,\\r\\n Plead my successive title with your swords.\\r\\n I am his first born son that was the last\\r\\n That ware the imperial diadem of Rome;\\r\\n Then let my father\\'s honours live in me,\\r\\n Nor wrong mine age with this indignity.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Romans, friends, followers, favourers of my right,\\r\\n If ever Bassianus, Caesar\\'s son,\\r\\n Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome,\\r\\n Keep then this passage to the Capitol;\\r\\n And suffer not dishonour to approach\\r\\n The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate,\\r\\n To justice, continence, and nobility;\\r\\n But let desert in pure election shine;\\r\\n And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS aloft, with the crown\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCUS. Princes, that strive by factions and by friends\\r\\n Ambitiously for rule and empery,\\r\\n Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand\\r\\n A special party, have by common voice\\r\\n In election for the Roman empery\\r\\n Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius\\r\\n For many good and great deserts to Rome.\\r\\n A nobler man, a braver warrior,\\r\\n Lives not this day within the city walls.\\r\\n He by the Senate is accited home,\\r\\n From weary wars against the barbarous Goths,\\r\\n That with his sons, a terror to our foes,\\r\\n Hath yok\\'d a nation strong, train\\'d up in arms.\\r\\n Ten years are spent since first he undertook\\r\\n This cause of Rome, and chastised with arms\\r\\n Our enemies\\' pride; five times he hath return\\'d\\r\\n Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons\\r\\n In coffins from the field; and at this day\\r\\n To the monument of that Andronici\\r\\n Done sacrifice of expiation,\\r\\n And slain the noblest prisoner of the Goths.\\r\\n And now at last, laden with honour\\'s spoils,\\r\\n Returns the good Andronicus to Rome,\\r\\n Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms.\\r\\n Let us entreat, by honour of his name\\r\\n Whom worthily you would have now succeed,\\r\\n And in the Capitol and Senate\\'s right,\\r\\n Whom you pretend to honour and adore,\\r\\n That you withdraw you and abate your strength,\\r\\n Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should,\\r\\n Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. How fair the Tribune speaks to calm my thoughts.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy\\r\\n In thy uprightness and integrity,\\r\\n And so I love and honour thee and thine,\\r\\n Thy noble brother Titus and his sons,\\r\\n And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all,\\r\\n Gracious Lavinia, Rome\\'s rich ornament,\\r\\n That I will here dismiss my loving friends,\\r\\n And to my fortunes and the people\\'s favour\\r\\n Commit my cause in balance to be weigh\\'d.\\r\\n Exeunt the soldiers of BASSIANUS\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Friends, that have been thus forward in my right,\\r\\n I thank you all and here dismiss you all,\\r\\n And to the love and favour of my country\\r\\n Commit myself, my person, and the cause.\\r\\n Exeunt the soldiers of SATURNINUS\\r\\n Rome, be as just and gracious unto me\\r\\n As I am confident and kind to thee.\\r\\n Open the gates and let me in.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor.\\r\\n [Flourish. They go up into the Senate House]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a CAPTAIN\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPTAIN. Romans, make way. The good Andronicus,\\r\\n Patron of virtue, Rome\\'s best champion,\\r\\n Successful in the battles that he fights,\\r\\n With honour and with fortune is return\\'d\\r\\n From where he circumscribed with his sword\\r\\n And brought to yoke the enemies of Rome.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound drums and trumpets, and then enter MARTIUS and MUTIUS,\\r\\n two of TITUS\\' sons; and then two men bearing a coffin covered\\r\\n with black; then LUCIUS and QUINTUS, two other sons; then TITUS\\r\\n ANDRONICUS; and then TAMORA the Queen of Goths, with her three\\r\\n sons, ALARBUS, DEMETRIUS, and CHIRON, with AARON the Moor, and\\r\\n others, as many as can be. Then set down the coffin and TITUS\\r\\n speaks\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds!\\r\\n Lo, as the bark that hath discharg\\'d her fraught\\r\\n Returns with precious lading to the bay\\r\\n From whence at first she weigh\\'d her anchorage,\\r\\n Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs,\\r\\n To re-salute his country with his tears,\\r\\n Tears of true joy for his return to Rome.\\r\\n Thou great defender of this Capitol,\\r\\n Stand gracious to the rites that we intend!\\r\\n Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons,\\r\\n Half of the number that King Priam had,\\r\\n Behold the poor remains, alive and dead!\\r\\n These that survive let Rome reward with love;\\r\\n These that I bring unto their latest home,\\r\\n With burial amongst their ancestors.\\r\\n Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my sword.\\r\\n Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own,\\r\\n Why suffer\\'st thou thy sons, unburied yet,\\r\\n To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx?\\r\\n Make way to lay them by their brethren.\\r\\n [They open the tomb]\\r\\n There greet in silence, as the dead are wont,\\r\\n And sleep in peace, slain in your country\\'s wars.\\r\\n O sacred receptacle of my joys,\\r\\n Sweet cell of virtue and nobility,\\r\\n How many sons hast thou of mine in store\\r\\n That thou wilt never render to me more!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths,\\r\\n That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile\\r\\n Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh\\r\\n Before this earthy prison of their bones,\\r\\n That so the shadows be not unappeas\\'d,\\r\\n Nor we disturb\\'d with prodigies on earth.\\r\\n TITUS. I give him you- the noblest that survives,\\r\\n The eldest son of this distressed queen.\\r\\n TAMORA. Stay, Roman brethen! Gracious conqueror,\\r\\n Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed,\\r\\n A mother\\'s tears in passion for her son;\\r\\n And if thy sons were ever dear to thee,\\r\\n O, think my son to be as dear to me!\\r\\n Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome\\r\\n To beautify thy triumphs, and return\\r\\n Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke;\\r\\n But must my sons be slaughtered in the streets\\r\\n For valiant doings in their country\\'s cause?\\r\\n O, if to fight for king and commonweal\\r\\n Were piety in thine, it is in these.\\r\\n Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood.\\r\\n Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods?\\r\\n Draw near them then in being merciful.\\r\\n Sweet mercy is nobility\\'s true badge.\\r\\n Thrice-noble Titus, spare my first-born son.\\r\\n TITUS. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me.\\r\\n These are their brethren, whom your Goths beheld\\r\\n Alive and dead; and for their brethren slain\\r\\n Religiously they ask a sacrifice.\\r\\n To this your son is mark\\'d, and die he must\\r\\n T\\' appease their groaning shadows that are gone.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Away with him, and make a fire straight;\\r\\n And with our swords, upon a pile of wood,\\r\\n Let\\'s hew his limbs till they be clean consum\\'d.\\r\\n Exeunt TITUS\\' SONS, with ALARBUS\\r\\n TAMORA. O cruel, irreligious piety!\\r\\n CHIRON. Was never Scythia half so barbarous!\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome.\\r\\n Alarbus goes to rest, and we survive\\r\\n To tremble under Titus\\' threat\\'ning look.\\r\\n Then, madam, stand resolv\\'d, but hope withal\\r\\n The self-same gods that arm\\'d the Queen of Troy\\r\\n With opportunity of sharp revenge\\r\\n Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent\\r\\n May favour Tamora, the Queen of Goths-\\r\\n When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen-\\r\\n To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and\\r\\n MUTIUS, the sons of ANDRONICUS, with their swords bloody\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS. See, lord and father, how we have perform\\'d\\r\\n Our Roman rites: Alarbus\\' limbs are lopp\\'d,\\r\\n And entrails feed the sacrificing fire,\\r\\n Whose smoke like incense doth perfume the sky.\\r\\n Remaineth nought but to inter our brethren,\\r\\n And with loud \\'larums welcome them to Rome.\\r\\n TITUS. Let it be so, and let Andronicus\\r\\n Make this his latest farewell to their souls.\\r\\n [Sound trumpets and lay the coffin in the tomb]\\r\\n In peace and honour rest you here, my sons;\\r\\n Rome\\'s readiest champions, repose you here in rest,\\r\\n Secure from worldly chances and mishaps!\\r\\n Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells,\\r\\n Here grow no damned drugs, here are no storms,\\r\\n No noise, but silence and eternal sleep.\\r\\n In peace and honour rest you here, my sons!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LAVINIA\\r\\n\\r\\n LAVINIA. In peace and honour live Lord Titus long;\\r\\n My noble lord and father, live in fame!\\r\\n Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears\\r\\n I render for my brethren\\'s obsequies;\\r\\n And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy\\r\\n Shed on this earth for thy return to Rome.\\r\\n O, bless me here with thy victorious hand,\\r\\n Whose fortunes Rome\\'s best citizens applaud!\\r\\n TITUS. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserv\\'d\\r\\n The cordial of mine age to glad my heart!\\r\\n Lavinia, live; outlive thy father\\'s days,\\r\\n And fame\\'s eternal date, for virtue\\'s praise!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, above, MARCUS ANDRONICUS and TRIBUNES;\\r\\n re-enter SATURNINUS, BASSIANUS, and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCUS. Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother,\\r\\n Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome!\\r\\n TITUS. Thanks, gentle Tribune, noble brother Marcus.\\r\\n MARCUS. And welcome, nephews, from successful wars,\\r\\n You that survive and you that sleep in fame.\\r\\n Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all\\r\\n That in your country\\'s service drew your swords;\\r\\n But safer triumph is this funeral pomp\\r\\n That hath aspir\\'d to Solon\\'s happiness\\r\\n And triumphs over chance in honour\\'s bed.\\r\\n Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome,\\r\\n Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been,\\r\\n Send thee by me, their Tribune and their trust,\\r\\n This par]iament of white and spotless hue;\\r\\n And name thee in election for the empire\\r\\n With these our late-deceased Emperor\\'s sons:\\r\\n Be candidatus then, and put it on,\\r\\n And help to set a head on headless Rome.\\r\\n TITUS. A better head her glorious body fits\\r\\n Than his that shakes for age and feebleness.\\r\\n What should I don this robe and trouble you?\\r\\n Be chosen with proclamations to-day,\\r\\n To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life,\\r\\n And set abroad new business for you all?\\r\\n Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years,\\r\\n And led my country\\'s strength successfully,\\r\\n And buried one and twenty valiant sons,\\r\\n Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms,\\r\\n In right and service of their noble country.\\r\\n Give me a staff of honour for mine age,\\r\\n But not a sceptre to control the world.\\r\\n Upright he held it, lords, that held it last.\\r\\n MARCUS. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Proud and ambitious Tribune, canst thou tell?\\r\\n TITUS. Patience, Prince Saturninus.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Romans, do me right.\\r\\n Patricians, draw your swords, and sheathe them not\\r\\n Till Saturninus be Rome\\'s Emperor.\\r\\n Andronicus, would thou were shipp\\'d to hell\\r\\n Rather than rob me of the people\\'s hearts!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good\\r\\n That noble-minded Titus means to thee!\\r\\n TITUS. Content thee, Prince; I will restore to thee\\r\\n The people\\'s hearts, and wean them from themselves.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee,\\r\\n But honour thee, and will do till I die.\\r\\n My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends,\\r\\n I will most thankful be; and thanks to men\\r\\n Of noble minds is honourable meed.\\r\\n TITUS. People of Rome, and people\\'s Tribunes here,\\r\\n I ask your voices and your suffrages:\\r\\n Will ye bestow them friendly on Andronicus?\\r\\n TRIBUNES. To gratify the good Andronicus,\\r\\n And gratulate his safe return to Rome,\\r\\n The people will accept whom he admits.\\r\\n TITUS. Tribunes, I thank you; and this suit I make,\\r\\n That you create our Emperor\\'s eldest son,\\r\\n Lord Saturnine; whose virtues will, I hope,\\r\\n Reflect on Rome as Titan\\'s rays on earth,\\r\\n And ripen justice in this commonweal.\\r\\n Then, if you will elect by my advice,\\r\\n Crown him, and say \\'Long live our Emperor!\\'\\r\\n MARCUS. With voices and applause of every sort,\\r\\n Patricians and plebeians, we create\\r\\n Lord Saturninus Rome\\'s great Emperor;\\r\\n And say \\'Long live our Emperor Saturnine!\\'\\r\\n [A long flourish till they come down]\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done\\r\\n To us in our election this day\\r\\n I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts,\\r\\n And will with deeds requite thy gentleness;\\r\\n And for an onset, Titus, to advance\\r\\n Thy name and honourable family,\\r\\n Lavinia will I make my emperess,\\r\\n Rome\\'s royal mistress, mistress of my heart,\\r\\n And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse.\\r\\n Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee?\\r\\n TITUS. It doth, my worthy lord, and in this match\\r\\n I hold me highly honoured of your Grace,\\r\\n And here in sight of Rome, to Saturnine,\\r\\n King and commander of our commonweal,\\r\\n The wide world\\'s Emperor, do I consecrate\\r\\n My sword, my chariot, and my prisoners,\\r\\n Presents well worthy Rome\\'s imperious lord;\\r\\n Receive them then, the tribute that I owe,\\r\\n Mine honour\\'s ensigns humbled at thy feet.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life.\\r\\n How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts\\r\\n Rome shall record; and when I do forget\\r\\n The least of these unspeakable deserts,\\r\\n Romans, forget your fealty to me.\\r\\n TITUS. [To TAMORA] Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor;\\r\\n To him that for your honour and your state\\r\\n Will use you nobly and your followers.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. [Aside] A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue\\r\\n That I would choose, were I to choose anew.-\\r\\n Clear up, fair Queen, that cloudy countenance;\\r\\n Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer,\\r\\n Thou com\\'st not to be made a scorn in Rome-\\r\\n Princely shall be thy usage every way.\\r\\n Rest on my word, and let not discontent\\r\\n Daunt all your hopes. Madam, he comforts you\\r\\n Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths.\\r\\n Lavinia, you are not displeas\\'d with this?\\r\\n LAVINIA. Not I, my lord, sith true nobility\\r\\n Warrants these words in princely courtesy.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go.\\r\\n Ransomless here we set our prisoners free.\\r\\n Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum.\\r\\n [Flourish]\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine.\\r\\n [Seizing LAVINIA]\\r\\n TITUS. How, sir! Are you in earnest then, my lord?\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Ay, noble Titus, and resolv\\'d withal\\r\\n To do myself this reason and this right.\\r\\n MARCUS. Suum cuique is our Roman justice:\\r\\n This prince in justice seizeth but his own.\\r\\n LUCIUS. And that he will and shall, if Lucius live.\\r\\n TITUS. Traitors, avaunt! Where is the Emperor\\'s guard?\\r\\n Treason, my lord- Lavinia is surpris\\'d!\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Surpris\\'d! By whom?\\r\\n BASSIANUS. By him that justly may\\r\\n Bear his betroth\\'d from all the world away.\\r\\n Exeunt BASSIANUS and MARCUS with LAVINIA\\r\\n MUTIUS. Brothers, help to convey her hence away,\\r\\n And with my sword I\\'ll keep this door safe.\\r\\n Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS\\r\\n TITUS. Follow, my lord, and I\\'ll soon bring her back.\\r\\n MUTIUS. My lord, you pass not here.\\r\\n TITUS. What, villain boy!\\r\\n Bar\\'st me my way in Rome?\\r\\n MUTIUS. Help, Lucius, help!\\r\\n TITUS kills him. During the fray, exeunt SATURNINUS,\\r\\n TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, and AARON\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Lucius\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS. My lord, you are unjust, and more than so:\\r\\n In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son.\\r\\n TITUS. Nor thou nor he are any sons of mine;\\r\\n My sons would never so dishonour me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter aloft the EMPEROR\\r\\n with TAMORA and her two Sons, and AARON the Moor\\r\\n\\r\\n Traitor, restore Lavinia to the Emperor.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife,\\r\\n That is another\\'s lawful promis\\'d love. Exit\\r\\n SATURNINUS. No, Titus, no; the Emperor needs her not,\\r\\n Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock.\\r\\n I\\'ll trust by leisure him that mocks me once;\\r\\n Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons,\\r\\n Confederates all thus to dishonour me.\\r\\n Was there none else in Rome to make a stale\\r\\n But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus,\\r\\n Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine\\r\\n That saidst I begg\\'d the empire at thy hands.\\r\\n TITUS. O monstrous! What reproachful words are these?\\r\\n SATURNINUS. But go thy ways; go, give that changing piece\\r\\n To him that flourish\\'d for her with his sword.\\r\\n A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy;\\r\\n One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons,\\r\\n To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome.\\r\\n TITUS. These words are razors to my wounded heart.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. And therefore, lovely Tamora, Queen of Goths,\\r\\n That, like the stately Phoebe \\'mongst her nymphs,\\r\\n Dost overshine the gallant\\'st dames of Rome,\\r\\n If thou be pleas\\'d with this my sudden choice,\\r\\n Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride\\r\\n And will create thee Emperess of Rome.\\r\\n Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice?\\r\\n And here I swear by all the Roman gods-\\r\\n Sith priest and holy water are so near,\\r\\n And tapers burn so bright, and everything\\r\\n In readiness for Hymenaeus stand-\\r\\n I will not re-salute the streets of Rome,\\r\\n Or climb my palace, till from forth this place\\r\\n I lead espous\\'d my bride along with me.\\r\\n TAMORA. And here in sight of heaven to Rome I swear,\\r\\n If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths,\\r\\n She will a handmaid be to his desires,\\r\\n A loving nurse, a mother to his youth.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Ascend, fair Queen, Pantheon. Lords, accompany\\r\\n Your noble Emperor and his lovely bride,\\r\\n Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine,\\r\\n Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered;\\r\\n There shall we consummate our spousal rites.\\r\\n Exeunt all but TITUS\\r\\n TITUS. I am not bid to wait upon this bride.\\r\\n TITUS, when wert thou wont to walk alone,\\r\\n Dishonoured thus, and challenged of wrongs?\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter MARCUS,\\r\\n and TITUS\\' SONS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCUS. O Titus, see, O, see what thou hast done!\\r\\n In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son.\\r\\n TITUS. No, foolish Tribune, no; no son of mine-\\r\\n Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed\\r\\n That hath dishonoured all our family;\\r\\n Unworthy brother and unworthy sons!\\r\\n LUCIUS. But let us give him burial, as becomes;\\r\\n Give Mutius burial with our bretheren.\\r\\n TITUS. Traitors, away! He rests not in this tomb.\\r\\n This monument five hundred years hath stood,\\r\\n Which I have sumptuously re-edified;\\r\\n Here none but soldiers and Rome\\'s servitors\\r\\n Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls.\\r\\n Bury him where you can, he comes not here.\\r\\n MARCUS. My lord, this is impiety in you.\\r\\n My nephew Mutius\\' deeds do plead for him;\\r\\n He must be buried with his bretheren.\\r\\n QUINTUS & MARTIUS. And shall, or him we will accompany.\\r\\n TITUS. \\'And shall!\\' What villain was it spake that word?\\r\\n QUINTUS. He that would vouch it in any place but here.\\r\\n TITUS. What, would you bury him in my despite?\\r\\n MARCUS. No, noble Titus, but entreat of thee\\r\\n To pardon Mutius and to bury him.\\r\\n TITUS. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest,\\r\\n And with these boys mine honour thou hast wounded.\\r\\n My foes I do repute you every one;\\r\\n So trouble me no more, but get you gone.\\r\\n MARTIUS. He is not with himself; let us withdraw.\\r\\n QUINTUS. Not I, till Mutius\\' bones be buried.\\r\\n [The BROTHER and the SONS kneel]\\r\\n MARCUS. Brother, for in that name doth nature plead-\\r\\n QUINTUS. Father, and in that name doth nature speak-\\r\\n TITUS. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed.\\r\\n MARCUS. Renowned Titus, more than half my soul-\\r\\n LUCIUS. Dear father, soul and substance of us all-\\r\\n MARCUS. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter\\r\\n His noble nephew here in virtue\\'s nest,\\r\\n That died in honour and Lavinia\\'s cause.\\r\\n Thou art a Roman- be not barbarous.\\r\\n The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax,\\r\\n That slew himself; and wise Laertes\\' son\\r\\n Did graciously plead for his funerals.\\r\\n Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy,\\r\\n Be barr\\'d his entrance here.\\r\\n TITUS. Rise, Marcus, rise;\\r\\n The dismal\\'st day is this that e\\'er I saw,\\r\\n To be dishonoured by my sons in Rome!\\r\\n Well, bury him, and bury me the next.\\r\\n [They put MUTIUS in the tomb]\\r\\n LUCIUS. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends,\\r\\n Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb.\\r\\n ALL. [Kneeling] No man shed tears for noble Mutius;\\r\\n He lives in fame that died in virtue\\'s cause.\\r\\n MARCUS. My lord- to step out of these dreary dumps-\\r\\n How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths\\r\\n Is of a sudden thus advanc\\'d in Rome?\\r\\n TITUS. I know not, Marcus, but I know it is-\\r\\n Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell.\\r\\n Is she not, then, beholding to the man\\r\\n That brought her for this high good turn so far?\\r\\n MARCUS. Yes, and will nobly him remunerate.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Re-enter the EMPEROR, TAMORA\\r\\n and her two SONS, with the MOOR, at one door;\\r\\n at the other door, BASSIANUS and LAVINIA, with others\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS. So, Bassianus, you have play\\'d your prize:\\r\\n God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride!\\r\\n BASSIANUS. And you of yours, my lord! I say no more,\\r\\n Nor wish no less; and so I take my leave.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Traitor, if Rome have law or we have power,\\r\\n Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own,\\r\\n My true betrothed love, and now my wife?\\r\\n But let the laws of Rome determine all;\\r\\n Meanwhile am I possess\\'d of that is mine.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. \\'Tis good, sir. You are very short with us;\\r\\n But if we live we\\'ll be as sharp with you.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. My lord, what I have done, as best I may,\\r\\n Answer I must, and shall do with my life.\\r\\n Only thus much I give your Grace to know:\\r\\n By all the duties that I owe to Rome,\\r\\n This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here,\\r\\n Is in opinion and in honour wrong\\'d,\\r\\n That, in the rescue of Lavinia,\\r\\n With his own hand did slay his youngest son,\\r\\n In zeal to you, and highly mov\\'d to wrath\\r\\n To be controll\\'d in that he frankly gave.\\r\\n Receive him then to favour, Saturnine,\\r\\n That hath express\\'d himself in all his deeds\\r\\n A father and a friend to thee and Rome.\\r\\n TITUS. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds.\\r\\n \\'Tis thou and those that have dishonoured me.\\r\\n Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge\\r\\n How I have lov\\'d and honoured Saturnine!\\r\\n TAMORA. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora\\r\\n Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine,\\r\\n Then hear me speak indifferently for all;\\r\\n And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. What, madam! be dishonoured openly,\\r\\n And basely put it up without revenge?\\r\\n TAMORA. Not so, my lord; the gods of Rome forfend\\r\\n I should be author to dishonour you!\\r\\n But on mine honour dare I undertake\\r\\n For good Lord Titus\\' innocence in all,\\r\\n Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs.\\r\\n Then at my suit look graciously on him;\\r\\n Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose,\\r\\n Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart.\\r\\n [Aside to SATURNINUS] My lord, be rul\\'d by me,\\r\\n be won at last;\\r\\n Dissemble all your griefs and discontents.\\r\\n You are but newly planted in your throne;\\r\\n Lest, then, the people, and patricians too,\\r\\n Upon a just survey take Titus\\' part,\\r\\n And so supplant you for ingratitude,\\r\\n Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin,\\r\\n Yield at entreats, and then let me alone:\\r\\n I\\'ll find a day to massacre them all,\\r\\n And raze their faction and their family,\\r\\n The cruel father and his traitorous sons,\\r\\n To whom I sued for my dear son\\'s life;\\r\\n And make them know what \\'tis to let a queen\\r\\n Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain.-\\r\\n Come, come, sweet Emperor; come, Andronicus.\\r\\n Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart\\r\\n That dies in tempest of thy angry frown.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Rise, Titus, rise; my Empress hath prevail\\'d.\\r\\n TITUS. I thank your Majesty and her, my lord;\\r\\n These words, these looks, infuse new life in me.\\r\\n TAMORA. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome,\\r\\n A Roman now adopted happily,\\r\\n And must advise the Emperor for his good.\\r\\n This day all quarrels die, Andronicus;\\r\\n And let it be mine honour, good my lord,\\r\\n That I have reconcil\\'d your friends and you.\\r\\n For you, Prince Bassianus, I have pass\\'d\\r\\n My word and promise to the Emperor\\r\\n That you will be more mild and tractable.\\r\\n And fear not, lords- and you, Lavinia.\\r\\n By my advice, all humbled on your knees,\\r\\n You shall ask pardon of his Majesty.\\r\\n LUCIUS. We do, and vow to heaven and to his Highness\\r\\n That what we did was mildly as we might,\\r\\n Tend\\'ring our sister\\'s honour and our own.\\r\\n MARCUS. That on mine honour here do I protest.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Away, and talk not; trouble us no more.\\r\\n TAMORA. Nay, nay, sweet Emperor, we must all be friends.\\r\\n The Tribune and his nephews kneel for grace.\\r\\n I will not be denied. Sweet heart, look back.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Marcus, for thy sake, and thy brother\\'s here,\\r\\n And at my lovely Tamora\\'s entreats,\\r\\n I do remit these young men\\'s heinous faults.\\r\\n Stand up.\\r\\n Lavinia, though you left me like a churl,\\r\\n I found a friend; and sure as death I swore\\r\\n I would not part a bachelor from the priest.\\r\\n Come, if the Emperor\\'s court can feast two brides,\\r\\n You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends.\\r\\n This day shall be a love-day, Tamora.\\r\\n TITUS. To-morrow, and it please your Majesty\\r\\n To hunt the panther and the hart with me,\\r\\n With horn and hound we\\'ll give your Grace bonjour.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too.\\r\\n Exeunt. Sound trumpets\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. Rome. Before the palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter AARON\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus\\' top,\\r\\n Safe out of Fortune\\'s shot, and sits aloft,\\r\\n Secure of thunder\\'s crack or lightning flash,\\r\\n Advanc\\'d above pale envy\\'s threat\\'ning reach.\\r\\n As when the golden sun salutes the morn,\\r\\n And, having gilt the ocean with his beams,\\r\\n Gallops the zodiac in his glistening coach\\r\\n And overlooks the highest-peering hills,\\r\\n So Tamora.\\r\\n Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait,\\r\\n And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown.\\r\\n Then, Aaron, arm thy heart and fit thy thoughts\\r\\n To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress,\\r\\n And mount her pitch whom thou in triumph long.\\r\\n Hast prisoner held, fett\\'red in amorous chains,\\r\\n And faster bound to Aaron\\'s charming eyes\\r\\n Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus.\\r\\n Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts!\\r\\n I will be bright and shine in pearl and gold,\\r\\n To wait upon this new-made emperess.\\r\\n To wait, said I? To wanton with this queen,\\r\\n This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph,\\r\\n This siren that will charm Rome\\'s Saturnine,\\r\\n And see his shipwreck and his commonweal\\'s.\\r\\n Hullo! what storm is this?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CHIRON and DEMETRIUS, braving\\r\\n\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Chiron, thy years wants wit, thy wits wants edge\\r\\n And manners, to intrude where I am grac\\'d,\\r\\n And may, for aught thou knowest, affected be.\\r\\n CHIRON. Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all;\\r\\n And so in this, to bear me down with braves.\\r\\n \\'Tis not the difference of a year or two\\r\\n Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate:\\r\\n I am as able and as fit as thou\\r\\n To serve and to deserve my mistress\\' grace;\\r\\n And that my sword upon thee shall approve,\\r\\n And plead my passions for Lavinia\\'s love.\\r\\n AARON. [Aside] Clubs, clubs! These lovers will not keep the\\r\\n peace.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Why, boy, although our mother, unadvis\\'d,\\r\\n Gave you a dancing rapier by your side,\\r\\n Are you so desperate grown to threat your friends?\\r\\n Go to; have your lath glued within your sheath\\r\\n Till you know better how to handle it.\\r\\n CHIRON. Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I have,\\r\\n Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Ay, boy, grow ye so brave? [They draw]\\r\\n AARON. [Coming forward] Why, how now, lords!\\r\\n So near the Emperor\\'s palace dare ye draw\\r\\n And maintain such a quarrel openly?\\r\\n Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge:\\r\\n I would not for a million of gold\\r\\n The cause were known to them it most concerns;\\r\\n Nor would your noble mother for much more\\r\\n Be so dishonoured in the court of Rome.\\r\\n For shame, put up.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Not I, till I have sheath\\'d\\r\\n My rapier in his bosom, and withal\\r\\n Thrust those reproachful speeches down his throat\\r\\n That he hath breath\\'d in my dishonour here.\\r\\n CHIRON. For that I am prepar\\'d and full resolv\\'d,\\r\\n Foul-spoken coward, that thund\\'rest with thy tongue,\\r\\n And with thy weapon nothing dar\\'st perform.\\r\\n AARON. Away, I say!\\r\\n Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore,\\r\\n This pretty brabble will undo us all.\\r\\n Why, lords, and think you not how dangerous\\r\\n It is to jet upon a prince\\'s right?\\r\\n What, is Lavinia then become so loose,\\r\\n Or Bassianus so degenerate,\\r\\n That for her love such quarrels may be broach\\'d\\r\\n Without controlment, justice, or revenge?\\r\\n Young lords, beware; an should the Empress know\\r\\n This discord\\'s ground, the music would not please.\\r\\n CHIRON. I care not, I, knew she and all the world:\\r\\n I love Lavinia more than all the world.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner choice:\\r\\n Lavina is thine elder brother\\'s hope.\\r\\n AARON. Why, are ye mad, or know ye not in Rome\\r\\n How furious and impatient they be,\\r\\n And cannot brook competitors in love?\\r\\n I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths\\r\\n By this device.\\r\\n CHIRON. Aaron, a thousand deaths\\r\\n Would I propose to achieve her whom I love.\\r\\n AARON. To achieve her- how?\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Why mak\\'st thou it so strange?\\r\\n She is a woman, therefore may be woo\\'d;\\r\\n She is a woman, therefore may be won;\\r\\n She is Lavinia, therefore must be lov\\'d.\\r\\n What, man! more water glideth by the mill\\r\\n Than wots the miller of; and easy it is\\r\\n Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know.\\r\\n Though Bassianus be the Emperor\\'s brother,\\r\\n Better than he have worn Vulcan\\'s badge.\\r\\n AARON. [Aside] Ay, and as good as Saturninus may.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Then why should he despair that knows to court it\\r\\n With words, fair looks, and liberality?\\r\\n What, hast not thou full often struck a doe,\\r\\n And borne her cleanly by the keeper\\'s nose?\\r\\n AARON. Why, then, it seems some certain snatch or so\\r\\n Would serve your turns.\\r\\n CHIRON. Ay, so the turn were served.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Aaron, thou hast hit it.\\r\\n AARON. Would you had hit it too!\\r\\n Then should not we be tir\\'d with this ado.\\r\\n Why, hark ye, hark ye! and are you such fools\\r\\n To square for this? Would it offend you, then,\\r\\n That both should speed?\\r\\n CHIRON. Faith, not me.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Nor me, so I were one.\\r\\n AARON. For shame, be friends, and join for that you jar.\\r\\n \\'Tis policy and stratagem must do\\r\\n That you affect; and so must you resolve\\r\\n That what you cannot as you would achieve,\\r\\n You must perforce accomplish as you may.\\r\\n Take this of me: Lucrece was not more chaste\\r\\n Than this Lavinia, Bassianus\\' love.\\r\\n A speedier course than ling\\'ring languishment\\r\\n Must we pursue, and I have found the path.\\r\\n My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand;\\r\\n There will the lovely Roman ladies troop;\\r\\n The forest walks are wide and spacious,\\r\\n And many unfrequented plots there are\\r\\n Fitted by kind for rape and villainy.\\r\\n Single you thither then this dainty doe,\\r\\n And strike her home by force if not by words.\\r\\n This way, or not at all, stand you in hope.\\r\\n Come, come, our Empress, with her sacred wit\\r\\n To villainy and vengeance consecrate,\\r\\n Will we acquaint with all what we intend;\\r\\n And she shall file our engines with advice\\r\\n That will not suffer you to square yourselves,\\r\\n But to your wishes\\' height advance you both.\\r\\n The Emperor\\'s court is like the house of Fame,\\r\\n The palace full of tongues, of eyes, and ears;\\r\\n The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull.\\r\\n There speak and strike, brave boys, and take your turns;\\r\\n There serve your lust, shadowed from heaven\\'s eye,\\r\\n And revel in Lavinia\\'s treasury.\\r\\n CHIRON. Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream\\r\\n To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits,\\r\\n Per Styga, per manes vehor. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A forest near Rome\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TITUS ANDRONICUS, and his three sons, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS,\\r\\nmaking a noise with hounds and horns; and MARCUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey,\\r\\n The fields are fragrant, and the woods are green.\\r\\n Uncouple here, and let us make a bay,\\r\\n And wake the Emperor and his lovely bride,\\r\\n And rouse the Prince, and ring a hunter\\'s peal,\\r\\n That all the court may echo with the noise.\\r\\n Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours,\\r\\n To attend the Emperor\\'s person carefully.\\r\\n I have been troubled in my sleep this night,\\r\\n But dawning day new comfort hath inspir\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n Here a cry of hounds, and wind horns in a peal.\\r\\n Then enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA, BASSIANUS LAVINIA,\\r\\n CHIRON, DEMETRIUS, and their attendants\\r\\n Many good morrows to your Majesty!\\r\\n Madam, to you as many and as good!\\r\\n I promised your Grace a hunter\\'s peal.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. And you have rung it lustily, my lords-\\r\\n Somewhat too early for new-married ladies.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Lavinia, how say you?\\r\\n LAVINIA. I say no;\\r\\n I have been broad awake two hours and more.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Come on then, horse and chariots let us have,\\r\\n And to our sport. [To TAMORA] Madam, now shall ye see\\r\\n Our Roman hunting.\\r\\n MARCUS. I have dogs, my lord,\\r\\n Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase,\\r\\n And climb the highest promontory top.\\r\\n TITUS. And I have horse will follow where the game\\r\\n Makes way, and run like swallows o\\'er the plain.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor hound,\\r\\n But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A lonely part of the forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter AARON alone, with a bag of gold\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON. He that had wit would think that I had none,\\r\\n To bury so much gold under a tree\\r\\n And never after to inherit it.\\r\\n Let him that thinks of me so abjectly\\r\\n Know that this gold must coin a stratagem,\\r\\n Which, cunningly effected, will beget\\r\\n A very excellent piece of villainy.\\r\\n And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest\\r\\n [Hides the gold]\\r\\n That have their alms out of the Empress\\' chest.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TAMORA alone, to the Moor\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look\\'st thou sad\\r\\n When everything does make a gleeful boast?\\r\\n The birds chant melody on every bush;\\r\\n The snakes lie rolled in the cheerful sun;\\r\\n The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind\\r\\n And make a chequer\\'d shadow on the ground;\\r\\n Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit,\\r\\n And while the babbling echo mocks the hounds,\\r\\n Replying shrilly to the well-tun\\'d horns,\\r\\n As if a double hunt were heard at once,\\r\\n Let us sit down and mark their yellowing noise;\\r\\n And- after conflict such as was suppos\\'d\\r\\n The wand\\'ring prince and Dido once enjoyed,\\r\\n When with a happy storm they were surpris\\'d,\\r\\n And curtain\\'d with a counsel-keeping cave-\\r\\n We may, each wreathed in the other\\'s arms,\\r\\n Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber,\\r\\n Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds\\r\\n Be unto us as is a nurse\\'s song\\r\\n Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep.\\r\\n AARON. Madam, though Venus govern your desires,\\r\\n Saturn is dominator over mine.\\r\\n What signifies my deadly-standing eye,\\r\\n My silence and my cloudy melancholy,\\r\\n My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls\\r\\n Even as an adder when she doth unroll\\r\\n To do some fatal execution?\\r\\n No, madam, these are no venereal signs.\\r\\n Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand,\\r\\n Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.\\r\\n Hark, Tamora, the empress of my soul,\\r\\n Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee-\\r\\n This is the day of doom for Bassianus;\\r\\n His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day,\\r\\n Thy sons make pillage of her chastity,\\r\\n And wash their hands in Bassianus\\' blood.\\r\\n Seest thou this letter? Take it up, I pray thee,\\r\\n And give the King this fatal-plotted scroll.\\r\\n Now question me no more; we are espied.\\r\\n Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty,\\r\\n Which dreads not yet their lives\\' destruction.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BASSIANUS and LAVINIA\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA. Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life!\\r\\n AARON. No more, great Empress: Bassianus comes.\\r\\n Be cross with him; and I\\'ll go fetch thy sons\\r\\n To back thy quarrels, whatsoe\\'er they be. Exit\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Who have we here? Rome\\'s royal Emperess,\\r\\n Unfurnish\\'d of her well-beseeming troop?\\r\\n Or is it Dian, habited like her,\\r\\n Who hath abandoned her holy groves\\r\\n To see the general hunting in this forest?\\r\\n TAMORA. Saucy controller of my private steps!\\r\\n Had I the pow\\'r that some say Dian had,\\r\\n Thy temples should be planted presently\\r\\n With horns, as was Actaeon\\'s; and the hounds\\r\\n Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs,\\r\\n Unmannerly intruder as thou art!\\r\\n LAVINIA. Under your patience, gentle Emperess,\\r\\n \\'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning,\\r\\n And to be doubted that your Moor and you\\r\\n Are singled forth to try thy experiments.\\r\\n Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day!\\r\\n \\'Tis pity they should take him for a stag.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Believe me, Queen, your swarth Cimmerian\\r\\n Doth make your honour of his body\\'s hue,\\r\\n Spotted, detested, and abominable.\\r\\n Why are you sequest\\'red from all your train,\\r\\n Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed,\\r\\n And wand\\'red hither to an obscure plot,\\r\\n Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor,\\r\\n If foul desire had not conducted you?\\r\\n LAVINIA. And, being intercepted in your sport,\\r\\n Great reason that my noble lord be rated\\r\\n For sauciness. I pray you let us hence,\\r\\n And let her joy her raven-coloured love;\\r\\n This valley fits the purpose passing well.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. The King my brother shall have notice of this.\\r\\n LAVINIA. Ay, for these slips have made him noted long.\\r\\n Good king, to be so mightily abused!\\r\\n TAMORA. Why, I have patience to endure all this.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CHIRON and DEMETRIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious mother!\\r\\n Why doth your Highness look so pale and wan?\\r\\n TAMORA. Have I not reason, think you, to look pale?\\r\\n These two have \\'ticed me hither to this place.\\r\\n A barren detested vale you see it is:\\r\\n The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean,\\r\\n Overcome with moss and baleful mistletoe;\\r\\n Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds,\\r\\n Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven.\\r\\n And when they show\\'d me this abhorred pit,\\r\\n They told me, here, at dead time of the night,\\r\\n A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes,\\r\\n Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins,\\r\\n Would make such fearful and confused cries\\r\\n As any mortal body hearing it\\r\\n Should straight fall mad or else die suddenly.\\r\\n No sooner had they told this hellish tale\\r\\n But straight they told me they would bind me here\\r\\n Unto the body of a dismal yew,\\r\\n And leave me to this miserable death.\\r\\n And then they call\\'d me foul adulteress,\\r\\n Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms\\r\\n That ever ear did hear to such effect;\\r\\n And had you not by wondrous fortune come,\\r\\n This vengeance on me had they executed.\\r\\n Revenge it, as you love your mother\\'s life,\\r\\n Or be ye not henceforth call\\'d my children.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. This is a witness that I am thy son.\\r\\n [Stabs BASSIANUS]\\r\\n CHIRON. And this for me, struck home to show my strength.\\r\\n [Also stabs]\\r\\n LAVINIA. Ay, come, Semiramis- nay, barbarous Tamora,\\r\\n For no name fits thy nature but thy own!\\r\\n TAMORA. Give me the poniard; you shall know, my boys,\\r\\n Your mother\\'s hand shall right your mother\\'s wrong.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Stay, madam, here is more belongs to her;\\r\\n First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw.\\r\\n This minion stood upon her chastity,\\r\\n Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty,\\r\\n And with that painted hope braves your mightiness;\\r\\n And shall she carry this unto her grave?\\r\\n CHIRON. An if she do, I would I were an eunuch.\\r\\n Drag hence her husband to some secret hole,\\r\\n And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust.\\r\\n TAMORA. But when ye have the honey we desire,\\r\\n Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting.\\r\\n CHIRON. I warrant you, madam, we will make that sure.\\r\\n Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy\\r\\n That nice-preserved honesty of yours.\\r\\n LAVINIA. O Tamora! thou bearest a woman\\'s face-\\r\\n TAMORA. I will not hear her speak; away with her!\\r\\n LAVINIA. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Listen, fair madam: let it be your glory\\r\\n To see her tears; but be your heart to them\\r\\n As unrelenting flint to drops of rain.\\r\\n LAVINIA. When did the tiger\\'s young ones teach the dam?\\r\\n O, do not learn her wrath- she taught it thee;\\r\\n The milk thou suck\\'dst from her did turn to marble,\\r\\n Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny.\\r\\n Yet every mother breeds not sons alike:\\r\\n [To CHIRON] Do thou entreat her show a woman\\'s pity.\\r\\n CHIRON. What, wouldst thou have me prove myself a bastard?\\r\\n LAVINIA. \\'Tis true, the raven doth not hatch a lark.\\r\\n Yet have I heard- O, could I find it now!-\\r\\n The lion, mov\\'d with pity, did endure\\r\\n To have his princely paws par\\'d all away.\\r\\n Some say that ravens foster forlorn children,\\r\\n The whilst their own birds famish in their nests;\\r\\n O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no,\\r\\n Nothing so kind, but something pitiful!\\r\\n TAMORA. I know not what it means; away with her!\\r\\n LAVINIA. O, let me teach thee! For my father\\'s sake,\\r\\n That gave thee life when well he might have slain thee,\\r\\n Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears.\\r\\n TAMORA. Hadst thou in person ne\\'er offended me,\\r\\n Even for his sake am I pitiless.\\r\\n Remember, boys, I pour\\'d forth tears in vain\\r\\n To save your brother from the sacrifice;\\r\\n But fierce Andronicus would not relent.\\r\\n Therefore away with her, and use her as you will;\\r\\n The worse to her the better lov\\'d of me.\\r\\n LAVINIA. O Tamora, be call\\'d a gentle queen,\\r\\n And with thine own hands kill me in this place!\\r\\n For \\'tis not life that I have begg\\'d so long;\\r\\n Poor I was slain when Bassianus died.\\r\\n TAMORA. What beg\\'st thou, then? Fond woman, let me go.\\r\\n LAVINIA. \\'Tis present death I beg; and one thing more,\\r\\n That womanhood denies my tongue to tell:\\r\\n O, keep me from their worse than killing lust,\\r\\n And tumble me into some loathsome pit,\\r\\n Where never man\\'s eye may behold my body;\\r\\n Do this, and be a charitable murderer.\\r\\n TAMORA. So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee;\\r\\n No, let them satisfy their lust on thee.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Away! for thou hast stay\\'d us here too long.\\r\\n LAVINIA. No grace? no womanhood? Ah, beastly creature,\\r\\n The blot and enemy to our general name!\\r\\n Confusion fall-\\r\\n CHIRON. Nay, then I\\'ll stop your mouth. Bring thou her husband.\\r\\n This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him.\\r\\n\\r\\n DEMETRIUS throws the body\\r\\n of BASSIANUS into the pit; then exeunt\\r\\n DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, dragging off LAVINIA\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA. Farewell, my sons; see that you make her sure.\\r\\n Ne\\'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed\\r\\n Till all the Andronici be made away.\\r\\n Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor,\\r\\n And let my spleenful sons this trull deflower. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter AARON, with two\\r\\n of TITUS\\' sons, QUINTUS and MARTIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON. Come on, my lords, the better foot before;\\r\\n Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit\\r\\n Where I espied the panther fast asleep.\\r\\n QUINTUS. My sight is very dull, whate\\'er it bodes.\\r\\n MARTIUS. And mine, I promise you; were it not for shame,\\r\\n Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile.\\r\\n [Falls into the pit]\\r\\n QUINTUS. What, art thou fallen? What subtle hole is this,\\r\\n Whose mouth is covered with rude-growing briers,\\r\\n Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood\\r\\n As fresh as morning dew distill\\'d on flowers?\\r\\n A very fatal place it seems to me.\\r\\n Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall?\\r\\n MARTIUS. O brother, with the dismal\\'st object hurt\\r\\n That ever eye with sight made heart lament!\\r\\n AARON. [Aside] Now will I fetch the King to find them here,\\r\\n That he thereby may have a likely guess\\r\\n How these were they that made away his brother. Exit\\r\\n MARTIUS. Why dost not comfort me, and help me out\\r\\n From this unhallow\\'d and blood-stained hole?\\r\\n QUINTUS. I am surprised with an uncouth fear;\\r\\n A chilling sweat o\\'er-runs my trembling joints;\\r\\n My heart suspects more than mine eye can see.\\r\\n MARTIUS. To prove thou hast a true divining heart,\\r\\n Aaron and thou look down into this den,\\r\\n And see a fearful sight of blood and death.\\r\\n QUINTUS. Aaron is gone, and my compassionate heart\\r\\n Will not permit mine eyes once to behold\\r\\n The thing whereat it trembles by surmise;\\r\\n O, tell me who it is, for ne\\'er till now\\r\\n Was I a child to fear I know not what.\\r\\n MARTIUS. Lord Bassianus lies beray\\'d in blood,\\r\\n All on a heap, like to a slaughtered lamb,\\r\\n In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit.\\r\\n QUINTUS. If it be dark, how dost thou know \\'tis he?\\r\\n MARTIUS. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear\\r\\n A precious ring that lightens all this hole,\\r\\n Which, like a taper in some monument,\\r\\n Doth shine upon the dead man\\'s earthy cheeks,\\r\\n And shows the ragged entrails of this pit;\\r\\n So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus\\r\\n When he by night lay bath\\'d in maiden blood.\\r\\n O brother, help me with thy fainting hand-\\r\\n If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath-\\r\\n Out of this fell devouring receptacle,\\r\\n As hateful as Cocytus\\' misty mouth.\\r\\n QUINTUS. Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out,\\r\\n Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good,\\r\\n I may be pluck\\'d into the swallowing womb\\r\\n Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus\\' grave.\\r\\n I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink.\\r\\n MARTIUS. Nor I no strength to climb without thy help.\\r\\n QUINTUS. Thy hand once more; I will not loose again,\\r\\n Till thou art here aloft, or I below.\\r\\n Thou canst not come to me- I come to thee. [Falls in]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the EMPEROR and AARON the Moor\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Along with me! I\\'ll see what hole is here,\\r\\n And what he is that now is leapt into it.\\r\\n Say, who art thou that lately didst descend\\r\\n Into this gaping hollow of the earth?\\r\\n MARTIUS. The unhappy sons of old Andronicus,\\r\\n Brought hither in a most unlucky hour,\\r\\n To find thy brother Bassianus dead.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. My brother dead! I know thou dost but jest:\\r\\n He and his lady both are at the lodge\\r\\n Upon the north side of this pleasant chase;\\r\\n \\'Tis not an hour since I left them there.\\r\\n MARTIUS. We know not where you left them all alive;\\r\\n But, out alas! here have we found him dead.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter TAMORA, with\\r\\n attendants; TITUS ANDRONICUS and Lucius\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA. Where is my lord the King?\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Here, Tamora; though griev\\'d with killing grief.\\r\\n TAMORA. Where is thy brother Bassianus?\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound;\\r\\n Poor Bassianus here lies murdered.\\r\\n TAMORA. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ,\\r\\n The complot of this timeless tragedy;\\r\\n And wonder greatly that man\\'s face can fold\\r\\n In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny.\\r\\n [She giveth SATURNINE a letter]\\r\\n SATURNINUS. [Reads] \\'An if we miss to meet him handsomely,\\r\\n Sweet huntsman- Bassianus \\'tis we mean-\\r\\n Do thou so much as dig the grave for him.\\r\\n Thou know\\'st our meaning. Look for thy reward\\r\\n Among the nettles at the elder-tree\\r\\n Which overshades the mouth of that same pit\\r\\n Where we decreed to bury Bassianus.\\r\\n Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.\\'\\r\\n O Tamora! was ever heard the like?\\r\\n This is the pit and this the elder-tree.\\r\\n Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out\\r\\n That should have murdered Bassianus here.\\r\\n AARON. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. [To TITUS] Two of thy whelps, fell curs of bloody\\r\\n kind,\\r\\n Have here bereft my brother of his life.\\r\\n Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison;\\r\\n There let them bide until we have devis\\'d\\r\\n Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them.\\r\\n TAMORA. What, are they in this pit? O wondrous thing!\\r\\n How easily murder is discovered!\\r\\n TITUS. High Emperor, upon my feeble knee\\r\\n I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed,\\r\\n That this fell fault of my accursed sons-\\r\\n Accursed if the fault be prov\\'d in them-\\r\\n SATURNINUS. If it be prov\\'d! You see it is apparent.\\r\\n Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you?\\r\\n TAMORA. Andronicus himself did take it up.\\r\\n TITUS. I did, my lord, yet let me be their bail;\\r\\n For, by my fathers\\' reverend tomb, I vow\\r\\n They shall be ready at your Highness\\' will\\r\\n To answer their suspicion with their lives.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Thou shalt not bail them; see thou follow me.\\r\\n Some bring the murdered body, some the murderers;\\r\\n Let them not speak a word- the guilt is plain;\\r\\n For, by my soul, were there worse end than death,\\r\\n That end upon them should be executed.\\r\\n TAMORA. Andronicus, I will entreat the King.\\r\\n Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough.\\r\\n TITUS. Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Another part of the forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the Empress\\' sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, with LAVINIA, her hands\\r\\ncut off, and her tongue cut out, and ravish\\'d\\r\\n\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak,\\r\\n Who \\'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish\\'d thee.\\r\\n CHIRON. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so,\\r\\n An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. See how with signs and tokens she can scrowl.\\r\\n CHIRON. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash;\\r\\n And so let\\'s leave her to her silent walks.\\r\\n CHIRON. An \\'twere my cause, I should go hang myself.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord.\\r\\n Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON\\r\\n\\r\\n Wind horns. Enter MARCUS, from hunting\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCUS. Who is this?- my niece, that flies away so fast?\\r\\n Cousin, a word: where is your husband?\\r\\n If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me!\\r\\n If I do wake, some planet strike me down,\\r\\n That I may slumber an eternal sleep!\\r\\n Speak, gentle niece. What stern ungentle hands\\r\\n Hath lopp\\'d, and hew\\'d, and made thy body bare\\r\\n Of her two branches- those sweet ornaments\\r\\n Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in,\\r\\n And might not gain so great a happiness\\r\\n As half thy love? Why dost not speak to me?\\r\\n Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,\\r\\n Like to a bubbling fountain stirr\\'d with wind,\\r\\n Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips,\\r\\n Coming and going with thy honey breath.\\r\\n But sure some Tereus hath deflowered thee,\\r\\n And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue.\\r\\n Ah, now thou turn\\'st away thy face for shame!\\r\\n And notwithstanding all this loss of blood-\\r\\n As from a conduit with three issuing spouts-\\r\\n Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan\\'s face\\r\\n Blushing to be encount\\'red with a cloud.\\r\\n Shall I speak for thee? Shall I say \\'tis so?\\r\\n O, that I knew thy heart, and knew the beast,\\r\\n That I might rail at him to ease my mind!\\r\\n Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp\\'d,\\r\\n Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.\\r\\n Fair Philomel, why she but lost her tongue,\\r\\n And in a tedious sampler sew\\'d her mind;\\r\\n But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee.\\r\\n A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met,\\r\\n And he hath cut those pretty fingers off\\r\\n That could have better sew\\'d than Philomel.\\r\\n O, had the monster seen those lily hands\\r\\n Tremble like aspen leaves upon a lute\\r\\n And make the silken strings delight to kiss them,\\r\\n He would not then have touch\\'d them for his life!\\r\\n Or had he heard the heavenly harmony\\r\\n Which that sweet tongue hath made,\\r\\n He would have dropp\\'d his knife, and fell asleep,\\r\\n As Cerberus at the Thracian poet\\'s feet.\\r\\n Come, let us go, and make thy father blind,\\r\\n For such a sight will blind a father\\'s eye;\\r\\n One hour\\'s storm will drown the fragrant meads,\\r\\n What will whole months of tears thy father\\'s eyes?\\r\\n Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee;\\r\\n O, could our mourning case thy misery! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. Rome. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the JUDGES, TRIBUNES, and SENATORS, with TITUS\\' two sons MARTIUS\\r\\nand QUINTUS bound, passing on the stage to the place of execution, and\\r\\nTITUS going before, pleading\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Hear me, grave fathers; noble Tribunes, stay!\\r\\n For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent\\r\\n In dangerous wars whilst you securely slept;\\r\\n For all my blood in Rome\\'s great quarrel shed,\\r\\n For all the frosty nights that I have watch\\'d,\\r\\n And for these bitter tears, which now you see\\r\\n Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks,\\r\\n Be pitiful to my condemned sons,\\r\\n Whose souls are not corrupted as \\'tis thought.\\r\\n For two and twenty sons I never wept,\\r\\n Because they died in honour\\'s lofty bed.\\r\\n [ANDRONICUS lieth down, and the judges\\r\\n pass by him with the prisoners, and exeunt]\\r\\n For these, Tribunes, in the dust I write\\r\\n My heart\\'s deep languor and my soul\\'s sad tears.\\r\\n Let my tears stanch the earth\\'s dry appetite;\\r\\n My sons\\' sweet blood will make it shame and blush.\\r\\n O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain\\r\\n That shall distil from these two ancient urns,\\r\\n Than youthful April shall with all his show\\'rs.\\r\\n In summer\\'s drought I\\'ll drop upon thee still;\\r\\n In winter with warm tears I\\'ll melt the snow\\r\\n And keep eternal spring-time on thy face,\\r\\n So thou refuse to drink my dear sons\\' blood.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucius with his weapon drawn\\r\\n\\r\\n O reverend Tribunes! O gentle aged men!\\r\\n Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death,\\r\\n And let me say, that never wept before,\\r\\n My tears are now prevailing orators.\\r\\n LUCIUS. O noble father, you lament in vain;\\r\\n The Tribunes hear you not, no man is by,\\r\\n And you recount your sorrows to a stone.\\r\\n TITUS. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead!\\r\\n Grave Tribunes, once more I entreat of you.\\r\\n LUCIUS. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, \\'tis no matter, man: if they did hear,\\r\\n They would not mark me; if they did mark,\\r\\n They would not pity me; yet plead I must,\\r\\n And bootless unto them.\\r\\n Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones;\\r\\n Who though they cannot answer my distress,\\r\\n Yet in some sort they are better than the Tribunes,\\r\\n For that they will not intercept my tale.\\r\\n When I do weep, they humbly at my feet\\r\\n Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me;\\r\\n And were they but attired in grave weeds,\\r\\n Rome could afford no tribunes like to these.\\r\\n A stone is soft as wax: tribunes more hard than stones.\\r\\n A stone is silent and offendeth not,\\r\\n And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death.\\r\\n [Rises]\\r\\n But wherefore stand\\'st thou with thy weapon drawn?\\r\\n LUCIUS. To rescue my two brothers from their death;\\r\\n For which attempt the judges have pronounc\\'d\\r\\n My everlasting doom of banishment.\\r\\n TITUS. O happy man! they have befriended thee.\\r\\n Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive\\r\\n That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers?\\r\\n Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey\\r\\n But me and mine; how happy art thou then\\r\\n From these devourers to be banished!\\r\\n But who comes with our brother Marcus here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MARCUS with LAVINIA\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCUS. Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep,\\r\\n Or if not so, thy noble heart to break.\\r\\n I bring consuming sorrow to thine age.\\r\\n TITUS. Will it consume me? Let me see it then.\\r\\n MARCUS. This was thy daughter.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, Marcus, so she is.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Ay me! this object kills me.\\r\\n TITUS. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her.\\r\\n Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand\\r\\n Hath made thee handless in thy father\\'s sight?\\r\\n What fool hath added water to the sea,\\r\\n Or brought a fagot to bright-burning Troy?\\r\\n My grief was at the height before thou cam\\'st,\\r\\n And now like Nilus it disdaineth bounds.\\r\\n Give me a sword, I\\'ll chop off my hands too,\\r\\n For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain;\\r\\n And they have nurs\\'d this woe in feeding life;\\r\\n In bootless prayer have they been held up,\\r\\n And they have serv\\'d me to effectless use.\\r\\n Now all the service I require of them\\r\\n Is that the one will help to cut the other.\\r\\n \\'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands;\\r\\n For hands to do Rome service is but vain.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr\\'d thee?\\r\\n MARCUS. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts\\r\\n That blabb\\'d them with such pleasing eloquence\\r\\n Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage,\\r\\n Where like a sweet melodious bird it sung\\r\\n Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear!\\r\\n LUCIUS. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed?\\r\\n MARCUS. O, thus I found her straying in the park,\\r\\n Seeking to hide herself as doth the deer\\r\\n That hath receiv\\'d some unrecuring wound.\\r\\n TITUS. It was my dear, and he that wounded her\\r\\n Hath hurt me more than had he kill\\'d me dead;\\r\\n For now I stand as one upon a rock,\\r\\n Environ\\'d with a wilderness of sea,\\r\\n Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave,\\r\\n Expecting ever when some envious surge\\r\\n Will in his brinish bowels swallow him.\\r\\n This way to death my wretched sons are gone;\\r\\n Here stands my other son, a banish\\'d man,\\r\\n And here my brother, weeping at my woes.\\r\\n But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn\\r\\n Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul.\\r\\n Had I but seen thy picture in this plight,\\r\\n It would have madded me; what shall I do\\r\\n Now I behold thy lively body so?\\r\\n Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears,\\r\\n Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr\\'d thee;\\r\\n Thy husband he is dead, and for his death\\r\\n Thy brothers are condemn\\'d, and dead by this.\\r\\n Look, Marcus! Ah, son Lucius, look on her!\\r\\n When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears\\r\\n Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey dew\\r\\n Upon a gath\\'red lily almost withered.\\r\\n MARCUS. Perchance she weeps because they kill\\'d her husband;\\r\\n Perchance because she knows them innocent.\\r\\n TITUS. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful,\\r\\n Because the law hath ta\\'en revenge on them.\\r\\n No, no, they would not do so foul a deed;\\r\\n Witness the sorrow that their sister makes.\\r\\n Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips,\\r\\n Or make some sign how I may do thee ease.\\r\\n Shall thy good uncle and thy brother Lucius\\r\\n And thou and I sit round about some fountain,\\r\\n Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks\\r\\n How they are stain\\'d, like meadows yet not dry\\r\\n With miry slime left on them by a flood?\\r\\n And in the fountain shall we gaze so long,\\r\\n Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness,\\r\\n And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears?\\r\\n Or shall we cut away our hands like thine?\\r\\n Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows\\r\\n Pass the remainder of our hateful days?\\r\\n What shall we do? Let us that have our tongues\\r\\n Plot some device of further misery\\r\\n To make us wonder\\'d at in time to come.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Sweet father, cease your tears; for at your grief\\r\\n See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps.\\r\\n MARCUS. Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes.\\r\\n TITUS. Ah, Marcus, Marcus! Brother, well I wot\\r\\n Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine,\\r\\n For thou, poor man, hast drown\\'d it with thine own.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks.\\r\\n TITUS. Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs.\\r\\n Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say\\r\\n That to her brother which I said to thee:\\r\\n His napkin, with his true tears all bewet,\\r\\n Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks.\\r\\n O, what a sympathy of woe is this\\r\\n As far from help as Limbo is from bliss!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter AARON the Moor\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON. Titus Andronicus, my lord the Emperor\\r\\n Sends thee this word, that, if thou love thy sons,\\r\\n Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus,\\r\\n Or any one of you, chop off your hand\\r\\n And send it to the King: he for the same\\r\\n Will send thee hither both thy sons alive,\\r\\n And that shall be the ransom for their fault.\\r\\n TITUS. O gracious Emperor! O gentle Aaron!\\r\\n Did ever raven sing so like a lark\\r\\n That gives sweet tidings of the sun\\'s uprise?\\r\\n With all my heart I\\'ll send the Emperor my hand.\\r\\n Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off?\\r\\n LUCIUS. Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine,\\r\\n That hath thrown down so many enemies,\\r\\n Shall not be sent. My hand will serve the turn,\\r\\n My youth can better spare my blood than you,\\r\\n And therefore mine shall save my brothers\\' lives.\\r\\n MARCUS. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome\\r\\n And rear\\'d aloft the bloody battle-axe,\\r\\n Writing destruction on the enemy\\'s castle?\\r\\n O, none of both but are of high desert!\\r\\n My hand hath been but idle; let it serve\\r\\n To ransom my two nephews from their death;\\r\\n Then have I kept it to a worthy end.\\r\\n AARON. Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along,\\r\\n For fear they die before their pardon come.\\r\\n MARCUS. My hand shall go.\\r\\n LUCIUS. By heaven, it shall not go!\\r\\n TITUS. Sirs, strive no more; such with\\'red herbs as these\\r\\n Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son,\\r\\n Let me redeem my brothers both from death.\\r\\n MARCUS. And for our father\\'s sake and mother\\'s care,\\r\\n Now let me show a brother\\'s love to thee.\\r\\n TITUS. Agree between you; I will spare my hand.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Then I\\'ll go fetch an axe.\\r\\n MARCUS. But I will use the axe.\\r\\n Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS\\r\\n TITUS. Come hither, Aaron, I\\'ll deceive them both;\\r\\n Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.\\r\\n AARON. [Aside] If that be call\\'d deceit, I will be honest,\\r\\n And never whilst I live deceive men so;\\r\\n But I\\'ll deceive you in another sort,\\r\\n And that you\\'ll say ere half an hour pass.\\r\\n [He cuts off TITUS\\' hand]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Now stay your strife. What shall be is dispatch\\'d.\\r\\n Good Aaron, give his Majesty my hand;\\r\\n Tell him it was a hand that warded him\\r\\n From thousand dangers; bid him bury it.\\r\\n More hath it merited- that let it have.\\r\\n As for my sons, say I account of them\\r\\n As jewels purchas\\'d at an easy price;\\r\\n And yet dear too, because I bought mine own.\\r\\n AARON. I go, Andronicus; and for thy hand\\r\\n Look by and by to have thy sons with thee.\\r\\n [Aside] Their heads I mean. O, how this villainy\\r\\n Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it!\\r\\n Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace:\\r\\n Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit\\r\\n TITUS. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven,\\r\\n And bow this feeble ruin to the earth;\\r\\n If any power pities wretched tears,\\r\\n To that I call! [To LAVINIA] What, would\\'st thou kneel with me?\\r\\n Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers,\\r\\n Or with our sighs we\\'ll breathe the welkin dim\\r\\n And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds\\r\\n When they do hug him in their melting bosoms.\\r\\n MARCUS. O brother, speak with possibility,\\r\\n And do not break into these deep extremes.\\r\\n TITUS. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom?\\r\\n Then be my passions bottomless with them.\\r\\n MARCUS. But yet let reason govern thy lament.\\r\\n TITUS. If there were reason for these miseries,\\r\\n Then into limits could I bind my woes.\\r\\n When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o\\'erflow?\\r\\n If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,\\r\\n Threat\\'ning the welkin with his big-swol\\'n face?\\r\\n And wilt thou have a reason for this coil?\\r\\n I am the sea; hark how her sighs do blow.\\r\\n She is the weeping welkin, I the earth;\\r\\n Then must my sea be moved with her sighs;\\r\\n Then must my earth with her continual tears\\r\\n Become a deluge, overflow\\'d and drown\\'d;\\r\\n For why my bowels cannot hide her woes,\\r\\n But like a drunkard must I vomit them.\\r\\n Then give me leave; for losers will have leave\\r\\n To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER, with two heads and a hand\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid\\r\\n For that good hand thou sent\\'st the Emperor.\\r\\n Here are the heads of thy two noble sons;\\r\\n And here\\'s thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back-\\r\\n Thy grief their sports, thy resolution mock\\'d,\\r\\n That woe is me to think upon thy woes,\\r\\n More than remembrance of my father\\'s death. Exit\\r\\n MARCUS. Now let hot Aetna cool in Sicily,\\r\\n And be my heart an ever-burning hell!\\r\\n These miseries are more than may be borne.\\r\\n To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal,\\r\\n But sorrow flouted at is double death.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound,\\r\\n And yet detested life not shrink thereat!\\r\\n That ever death should let life bear his name,\\r\\n Where life hath no more interest but to breathe!\\r\\n [LAVINIA kisses TITUS]\\r\\n MARCUS. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless\\r\\n As frozen water to a starved snake.\\r\\n TITUS. When will this fearful slumber have an end?\\r\\n MARCUS. Now farewell, flatt\\'ry; die, Andronicus.\\r\\n Thou dost not slumber: see thy two sons\\' heads,\\r\\n Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here;\\r\\n Thy other banish\\'d son with this dear sight\\r\\n Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I,\\r\\n Even like a stony image, cold and numb.\\r\\n Ah! now no more will I control thy griefs.\\r\\n Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand\\r\\n Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight\\r\\n The closing up of our most wretched eyes.\\r\\n Now is a time to storm; why art thou still?\\r\\n TITUS. Ha, ha, ha!\\r\\n MARCUS. Why dost thou laugh? It fits not with this hour.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, I have not another tear to shed;\\r\\n Besides, this sorrow is an enemy,\\r\\n And would usurp upon my wat\\'ry eyes\\r\\n And make them blind with tributary tears.\\r\\n Then which way shall I find Revenge\\'s cave?\\r\\n For these two heads do seem to speak to me,\\r\\n And threat me I shall never come to bliss\\r\\n Till all these mischiefs be return\\'d again\\r\\n Even in their throats that have committed them.\\r\\n Come, let me see what task I have to do.\\r\\n You heavy people, circle me about,\\r\\n That I may turn me to each one of you\\r\\n And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs.\\r\\n The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head,\\r\\n And in this hand the other will I bear.\\r\\n And, Lavinia, thou shalt be employ\\'d in this;\\r\\n Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth.\\r\\n As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight;\\r\\n Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay.\\r\\n Hie to the Goths and raise an army there;\\r\\n And if ye love me, as I think you do,\\r\\n Let\\'s kiss and part, for we have much to do.\\r\\n Exeunt all but Lucius\\r\\n LUCIUS. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father,\\r\\n The woefull\\'st man that ever liv\\'d in Rome.\\r\\n Farewell, proud Rome; till Lucius come again,\\r\\n He leaves his pledges dearer than his life.\\r\\n Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister;\\r\\n O, would thou wert as thou tofore hast been!\\r\\n But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives\\r\\n But in oblivion and hateful griefs.\\r\\n If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs\\r\\n And make proud Saturnine and his emperess\\r\\n Beg at the gates like Tarquin and his queen.\\r\\n Now will I to the Goths, and raise a pow\\'r\\r\\n To be reveng\\'d on Rome and Saturnine. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Rome. TITUS\\' house\\r\\n\\r\\nA banquet.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TITUS, MARCUS, LAVINIA, and the boy YOUNG LUCIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. So so, now sit; and look you eat no more\\r\\n Than will preserve just so much strength in us\\r\\n As will revenge these bitter woes of ours.\\r\\n Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot;\\r\\n Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands,\\r\\n And cannot passionate our tenfold grief\\r\\n With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine\\r\\n Is left to tyrannize upon my breast;\\r\\n Who, when my heart, all mad with misery,\\r\\n Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,\\r\\n Then thus I thump it down.\\r\\n [To LAVINIA] Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs!\\r\\n When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating,\\r\\n Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still.\\r\\n Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans;\\r\\n Or get some little knife between thy teeth\\r\\n And just against thy heart make thou a hole,\\r\\n That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall\\r\\n May run into that sink and, soaking in,\\r\\n Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears.\\r\\n MARCUS. Fie, brother, fie! Teach her not thus to lay\\r\\n Such violent hands upon her tender life.\\r\\n TITUS. How now! Has sorrow made thee dote already?\\r\\n Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I.\\r\\n What violent hands can she lay on her life?\\r\\n Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands?\\r\\n To bid Aeneas tell the tale twice o\\'er\\r\\n How Troy was burnt and he made miserable?\\r\\n O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands,\\r\\n Lest we remember still that we have none.\\r\\n Fie, fie, how franticly I square my talk,\\r\\n As if we should forget we had no hands,\\r\\n If Marcus did not name the word of hands!\\r\\n Come, let\\'s fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this:\\r\\n Here is no drink. Hark, Marcus, what she says-\\r\\n I can interpret all her martyr\\'d signs;\\r\\n She says she drinks no other drink but tears,\\r\\n Brew\\'d with her sorrow, mesh\\'d upon her cheeks.\\r\\n Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought;\\r\\n In thy dumb action will I be as perfect\\r\\n As begging hermits in their holy prayers.\\r\\n Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven,\\r\\n Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign,\\r\\n But I of these will wrest an alphabet,\\r\\n And by still practice learn to know thy meaning.\\r\\n BOY. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments;\\r\\n Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale.\\r\\n MARCUS. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov\\'d,\\r\\n Doth weep to see his grandsire\\'s heaviness.\\r\\n TITUS. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears,\\r\\n And tears will quickly melt thy life away.\\r\\n [MARCUS strikes the dish with a knife]\\r\\n What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife?\\r\\n MARCUS. At that that I have kill\\'d, my lord- a fly.\\r\\n TITUS. Out on thee, murderer, thou kill\\'st my heart!\\r\\n Mine eyes are cloy\\'d with view of tyranny;\\r\\n A deed of death done on the innocent\\r\\n Becomes not Titus\\' brother. Get thee gone;\\r\\n I see thou art not for my company.\\r\\n MARCUS. Alas, my lord, I have but kill\\'d a fly.\\r\\n TITUS. \\'But!\\' How if that fly had a father and mother?\\r\\n How would he hang his slender gilded wings\\r\\n And buzz lamenting doings in the air!\\r\\n Poor harmless fly,\\r\\n That with his pretty buzzing melody\\r\\n Came here to make us merry! And thou hast kill\\'d him.\\r\\n MARCUS. Pardon me, sir; it was a black ill-favour\\'d fly,\\r\\n Like to the Empress\\' Moor; therefore I kill\\'d him.\\r\\n TITUS. O, O, O!\\r\\n Then pardon me for reprehending thee,\\r\\n For thou hast done a charitable deed.\\r\\n Give me thy knife, I will insult on him,\\r\\n Flattering myself as if it were the Moor\\r\\n Come hither purposely to poison me.\\r\\n There\\'s for thyself, and that\\'s for Tamora.\\r\\n Ah, sirrah!\\r\\n Yet, I think, we are not brought so low\\r\\n But that between us we can kill a fly\\r\\n That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor.\\r\\n MARCUS. Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought on him,\\r\\n He takes false shadows for true substances.\\r\\n TITUS. Come, take away. Lavinia, go with me;\\r\\n I\\'ll to thy closet, and go read with thee\\r\\n Sad stories chanced in the times of old.\\r\\n Come, boy, and go with me; thy sight is young,\\r\\n And thou shalt read when mine begin to dazzle. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I. Rome. TITUS\\' garden\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter YOUNG LUCIUS and LAVINIA running after him, and the boy flies\\r\\nfrom her with his books under his arm.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TITUS and MARCUS\\r\\n\\r\\n BOY. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia\\r\\n Follows me everywhere, I know not why.\\r\\n Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes!\\r\\n Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean.\\r\\n MARCUS. Stand by me, Lucius; do not fear thine aunt.\\r\\n TITUS. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm.\\r\\n BOY. Ay, when my father was in Rome she did.\\r\\n MARCUS. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs?\\r\\n TITUS. Fear her not, Lucius; somewhat doth she mean.\\r\\n See, Lucius, see how much she makes of thee.\\r\\n Somewhither would she have thee go with her.\\r\\n Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care\\r\\n Read to her sons than she hath read to thee\\r\\n Sweet poetry and Tully\\'s Orator.\\r\\n MARCUS. Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus?\\r\\n BOY. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess,\\r\\n Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her;\\r\\n For I have heard my grandsire say full oft\\r\\n Extremity of griefs would make men mad;\\r\\n And I have read that Hecuba of Troy\\r\\n Ran mad for sorrow. That made me to fear;\\r\\n Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt\\r\\n Loves me as dear as e\\'er my mother did,\\r\\n And would not, but in fury, fright my youth;\\r\\n Which made me down to throw my books, and fly-\\r\\n Causeless, perhaps. But pardon me, sweet aunt;\\r\\n And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go,\\r\\n I will most willingly attend your ladyship.\\r\\n MARCUS. Lucius, I will. [LAVINIA turns over with her\\r\\n stumps the books which Lucius has let fall]\\r\\n TITUS. How now, Lavinia! Marcus, what means this?\\r\\n Some book there is that she desires to see.\\r\\n Which is it, girl, of these?- Open them, boy.-\\r\\n But thou art deeper read and better skill\\'d;\\r\\n Come and take choice of all my library,\\r\\n And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens\\r\\n Reveal the damn\\'d contriver of this deed.\\r\\n Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus?\\r\\n MARCUS. I think she means that there were more than one\\r\\n Confederate in the fact; ay, more there was,\\r\\n Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge.\\r\\n TITUS. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so?\\r\\n BOY. Grandsire, \\'tis Ovid\\'s Metamorphoses;\\r\\n My mother gave it me.\\r\\n MARCUS. For love of her that\\'s gone,\\r\\n Perhaps she cull\\'d it from among the rest.\\r\\n TITUS. Soft! So busily she turns the leaves! Help her.\\r\\n What would she find? Lavinia, shall I read?\\r\\n This is the tragic tale of Philomel\\r\\n And treats of Tereus\\' treason and his rape;\\r\\n And rape, I fear, was root of thy annoy.\\r\\n MARCUS. See, brother, see! Note how she quotes the leaves.\\r\\n TITUS. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpris\\'d, sweet girl,\\r\\n Ravish\\'d and wrong\\'d as Philomela was,\\r\\n Forc\\'d in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods?\\r\\n See, see!\\r\\n Ay, such a place there is where we did hunt-\\r\\n O, had we never, never hunted there!-\\r\\n Pattern\\'d by that the poet here describes,\\r\\n By nature made for murders and for rapes.\\r\\n MARCUS. O, why should nature build so foul a den,\\r\\n Unless the gods delight in tragedies?\\r\\n TITUS. Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none but friends,\\r\\n What Roman lord it was durst do the deed.\\r\\n Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst,\\r\\n That left the camp to sin in Lucrece\\' bed?\\r\\n MARCUS. Sit down, sweet niece; brother, sit down by me.\\r\\n Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,\\r\\n Inspire me, that I may this treason find!\\r\\n My lord, look here! Look here, Lavinia!\\r\\n [He writes his name with his\\r\\n staff, and guides it with feet and mouth]\\r\\n This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst,\\r\\n This after me. I have writ my name\\r\\n Without the help of any hand at all.\\r\\n Curs\\'d be that heart that forc\\'d us to this shift!\\r\\n Write thou, good niece, and here display at last\\r\\n What God will have discovered for revenge.\\r\\n Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain,\\r\\n That we may know the traitors and the truth!\\r\\n [She takes the staff in her mouth\\r\\n and guides it with stumps, and writes]\\r\\n O, do ye read, my lord, what she hath writ?\\r\\n TITUS. \\'Stuprum- Chiron- Demetrius.\\'\\r\\n MARCUS. What, what! the lustful sons of Tamora\\r\\n Performers of this heinous bloody deed?\\r\\n TITUS. Magni Dominator poli,\\r\\n Tam lentus audis scelera? tam lentus vides?\\r\\n MARCUS. O, calm thee, gentle lord! although I know\\r\\n There is enough written upon this earth\\r\\n To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts,\\r\\n And arm the minds of infants to exclaims.\\r\\n My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel;\\r\\n And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector\\'s hope;\\r\\n And swear with me- as, with the woeful fere\\r\\n And father of that chaste dishonoured dame,\\r\\n Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece\\' rape-\\r\\n That we will prosecute, by good advice,\\r\\n Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths,\\r\\n And see their blood or die with this reproach.\\r\\n TITUS. \\'Tis sure enough, an you knew how;\\r\\n But if you hunt these bear-whelps, then beware:\\r\\n The dam will wake; and if she wind ye once,\\r\\n She\\'s with the lion deeply still in league,\\r\\n And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back,\\r\\n And when he sleeps will she do what she list.\\r\\n You are a young huntsman, Marcus; let alone;\\r\\n And come, I will go get a leaf of brass,\\r\\n And with a gad of steel will write these words,\\r\\n And lay it by. The angry northern wind\\r\\n Will blow these sands like Sibyl\\'s leaves abroad,\\r\\n And where\\'s our lesson, then? Boy, what say you?\\r\\n BOY. I say, my lord, that if I were a man\\r\\n Their mother\\'s bedchamber should not be safe\\r\\n For these base bondmen to the yoke of Rome.\\r\\n MARCUS. Ay, that\\'s my boy! Thy father hath full oft\\r\\n For his ungrateful country done the like.\\r\\n BOY. And, uncle, so will I, an if I live.\\r\\n TITUS. Come, go with me into mine armoury.\\r\\n Lucius, I\\'ll fit thee; and withal my boy\\r\\n Shall carry from me to the Empress\\' sons\\r\\n Presents that I intend to send them both.\\r\\n Come, come; thou\\'lt do my message, wilt thou not?\\r\\n BOY. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire.\\r\\n TITUS. No, boy, not so; I\\'ll teach thee another course.\\r\\n Lavinia, come. Marcus, look to my house.\\r\\n Lucius and I\\'ll go brave it at the court;\\r\\n Ay, marry, will we, sir! and we\\'ll be waited on.\\r\\n Exeunt TITUS, LAVINIA, and YOUNG LUCIUS\\r\\n MARCUS. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan\\r\\n And not relent, or not compassion him?\\r\\n Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy,\\r\\n That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart\\r\\n Than foemen\\'s marks upon his batt\\'red shield,\\r\\n But yet so just that he will not revenge.\\r\\n Revenge the heavens for old Andronicus! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Rome. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter AARON, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, at one door; and at the other door,\\r\\nYOUNG LUCIUS and another with a bundle of weapons, and verses writ upon\\r\\nthem\\r\\n\\r\\n CHIRON. Demetrius, here\\'s the son of Lucius;\\r\\n He hath some message to deliver us.\\r\\n AARON. Ay, some mad message from his mad grandfather.\\r\\n BOY. My lords, with all the humbleness I may,\\r\\n I greet your honours from Andronicus-\\r\\n [Aside] And pray the Roman gods confound you both!\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Gramercy, lovely Lucius. What\\'s the news?\\r\\n BOY. [Aside] That you are both decipher\\'d, that\\'s the news,\\r\\n For villains mark\\'d with rape.- May it please you,\\r\\n My grandsire, well advis\\'d, hath sent by me\\r\\n The goodliest weapons of his armoury\\r\\n To gratify your honourable youth,\\r\\n The hope of Rome; for so he bid me say;\\r\\n And so I do, and with his gifts present\\r\\n Your lordships, that, whenever you have need,\\r\\n You may be armed and appointed well.\\r\\n And so I leave you both- [Aside] like bloody villains.\\r\\n Exeunt YOUNG LUCIUS and attendant\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. What\\'s here? A scroll, and written round about.\\r\\n Let\\'s see:\\r\\n [Reads] \\'Integer vitae, scelerisque purus,\\r\\n Non eget Mauri iaculis, nec arcu.\\'\\r\\n CHIRON. O, \\'tis a verse in Horace, I know it well;\\r\\n I read it in the grammar long ago.\\r\\n AARON. Ay, just- a verse in Horace. Right, you have it.\\r\\n [Aside] Now, what a thing it is to be an ass!\\r\\n Here\\'s no sound jest! The old man hath found their guilt,\\r\\n And sends them weapons wrapp\\'d about with lines\\r\\n That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick.\\r\\n But were our witty Empress well afoot,\\r\\n She would applaud Andronicus\\' conceit.\\r\\n But let her rest in her unrest awhile-\\r\\n And now, young lords, was\\'t not a happy star\\r\\n Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so,\\r\\n Captives, to be advanced to this height?\\r\\n It did me good before the palace gate\\r\\n To brave the Tribune in his brother\\'s hearing.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. But me more good to see so great a lord\\r\\n Basely insinuate and send us gifts.\\r\\n AARON. Had he not reason, Lord Demetrius?\\r\\n Did you not use his daughter very friendly?\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. I would we had a thousand Roman dames\\r\\n At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust.\\r\\n CHIRON. A charitable wish and full of love.\\r\\n AARON. Here lacks but your mother for to say amen.\\r\\n CHIRON. And that would she for twenty thousand more.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Come, let us go and pray to all the gods\\r\\n For our beloved mother in her pains.\\r\\n AARON. [Aside] Pray to the devils; the gods have given us over.\\r\\n [Trumpets sound]\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Why do the Emperor\\'s trumpets flourish thus?\\r\\n CHIRON. Belike, for joy the Emperor hath a son.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Soft! who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NURSE, with a blackamoor CHILD\\r\\n\\r\\n NURSE. Good morrow, lords.\\r\\n O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor?\\r\\n AARON. Well, more or less, or ne\\'er a whit at all,\\r\\n Here Aaron is; and what with Aaron now?\\r\\n NURSE. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone!\\r\\n Now help, or woe betide thee evermore!\\r\\n AARON. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep!\\r\\n What dost thou wrap and fumble in thy arms?\\r\\n NURSE. O, that which I would hide from heaven\\'s eye:\\r\\n Our Empress\\' shame and stately Rome\\'s disgrace!\\r\\n She is delivered, lord; she is delivered.\\r\\n AARON. To whom?\\r\\n NURSE. I mean she is brought a-bed.\\r\\n AARON. Well, God give her good rest! What hath he sent her?\\r\\n NURSE. A devil.\\r\\n AARON. Why, then she is the devil\\'s dam;\\r\\n A joyful issue.\\r\\n NURSE. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue!\\r\\n Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad\\r\\n Amongst the fair-fac\\'d breeders of our clime;\\r\\n The Empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal,\\r\\n And bids thee christen it with thy dagger\\'s point.\\r\\n AARON. Zounds, ye whore! Is black so base a hue?\\r\\n Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom sure.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Villain, what hast thou done?\\r\\n AARON. That which thou canst not undo.\\r\\n CHIRON. Thou hast undone our mother.\\r\\n AARON. Villain, I have done thy mother.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone her.\\r\\n Woe to her chance, and damn\\'d her loathed choice!\\r\\n Accurs\\'d the offspring of so foul a fiend!\\r\\n CHIRON. It shall not live.\\r\\n AARON. It shall not die.\\r\\n NURSE. Aaron, it must; the mother wills it so.\\r\\n AARON. What, must it, nurse? Then let no man but I\\r\\n Do execution on my flesh and blood.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. I\\'ll broach the tadpole on my rapier\\'s point.\\r\\n Nurse, give it me; my sword shall soon dispatch it.\\r\\n AARON. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels up.\\r\\n [Takes the CHILD from the NURSE, and draws]\\r\\n Stay, murderous villains, will you kill your brother!\\r\\n Now, by the burning tapers of the sky\\r\\n That shone so brightly when this boy was got,\\r\\n He dies upon my scimitar\\'s sharp point\\r\\n That touches this my first-born son and heir.\\r\\n I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus,\\r\\n With all his threat\\'ning band of Typhon\\'s brood,\\r\\n Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war,\\r\\n Shall seize this prey out of his father\\'s hands.\\r\\n What, what, ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys!\\r\\n Ye white-lim\\'d walls! ye alehouse painted signs!\\r\\n Coal-black is better than another hue\\r\\n In that it scorns to bear another hue;\\r\\n For all the water in the ocean\\r\\n Can never turn the swan\\'s black legs to white,\\r\\n Although she lave them hourly in the flood.\\r\\n Tell the Empress from me I am of age\\r\\n To keep mine own- excuse it how she can.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus?\\r\\n AARON. My mistress is my mistress: this my self,\\r\\n The vigour and the picture of my youth.\\r\\n This before all the world do I prefer;\\r\\n This maugre all the world will I keep safe,\\r\\n Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. By this our mother is for ever sham\\'d.\\r\\n CHIRON. Rome will despise her for this foul escape.\\r\\n NURSE. The Emperor in his rage will doom her death.\\r\\n CHIRON. I blush to think upon this ignomy.\\r\\n AARON. Why, there\\'s the privilege your beauty bears:\\r\\n Fie, treacherous hue, that will betray with blushing\\r\\n The close enacts and counsels of thy heart!\\r\\n Here\\'s a young lad fram\\'d of another leer.\\r\\n Look how the black slave smiles upon the father,\\r\\n As who should say \\'Old lad, I am thine own.\\'\\r\\n He is your brother, lords, sensibly fed\\r\\n Of that self-blood that first gave life to you;\\r\\n And from your womb where you imprisoned were\\r\\n He is enfranchised and come to light.\\r\\n Nay, he is your brother by the surer side,\\r\\n Although my seal be stamped in his face.\\r\\n NURSE. Aaron, what shall I say unto the Empress?\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done,\\r\\n And we will all subscribe to thy advice.\\r\\n Save thou the child, so we may all be safe.\\r\\n AARON. Then sit we down and let us all consult.\\r\\n My son and I will have the wind of you:\\r\\n Keep there; now talk at pleasure of your safety.\\r\\n [They sit]\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. How many women saw this child of his?\\r\\n AARON. Why, so, brave lords! When we join in league\\r\\n I am a lamb; but if you brave the Moor,\\r\\n The chafed boar, the mountain lioness,\\r\\n The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms.\\r\\n But say, again, how many saw the child?\\r\\n NURSE. Cornelia the midwife and myself;\\r\\n And no one else but the delivered Empress.\\r\\n AARON. The Emperess, the midwife, and yourself.\\r\\n Two may keep counsel when the third\\'s away:\\r\\n Go to the Empress, tell her this I said. [He kills her]\\r\\n Weeke weeke!\\r\\n So cries a pig prepared to the spit.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. What mean\\'st thou, Aaron? Wherefore didst thou this?\\r\\n AARON. O Lord, sir, \\'tis a deed of policy.\\r\\n Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours-\\r\\n A long-tongu\\'d babbling gossip? No, lords, no.\\r\\n And now be it known to you my full intent:\\r\\n Not far, one Muliteus, my countryman-\\r\\n His wife but yesternight was brought to bed;\\r\\n His child is like to her, fair as you are.\\r\\n Go pack with him, and give the mother gold,\\r\\n And tell them both the circumstance of all,\\r\\n And how by this their child shall be advanc\\'d,\\r\\n And be received for the Emperor\\'s heir\\r\\n And substituted in the place of mine,\\r\\n To calm this tempest whirling in the court;\\r\\n And let the Emperor dandle him for his own.\\r\\n Hark ye, lords. You see I have given her physic,\\r\\n [Pointing to the NURSE]\\r\\n And you must needs bestow her funeral;\\r\\n The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms.\\r\\n This done, see that you take no longer days,\\r\\n But send the midwife presently to me.\\r\\n The midwife and the nurse well made away,\\r\\n Then let the ladies tattle what they please.\\r\\n CHIRON. Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air\\r\\n With secrets.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. For this care of Tamora,\\r\\n Herself and hers are highly bound to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, bearing off the dead NURSE\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies,\\r\\n There to dispose this treasure in mine arms,\\r\\n And secretly to greet the Empress\\' friends.\\r\\n Come on, you thick-lipp\\'d slave, I\\'ll bear you hence;\\r\\n For it is you that puts us to our shifts.\\r\\n I\\'ll make you feed on berries and on roots,\\r\\n And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat,\\r\\n And cabin in a cave, and bring you up\\r\\n To be a warrior and command a camp.\\r\\n Exit with the CHILD\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Rome. A public place\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TITUS, bearing arrows with letters on the ends of them; with him\\r\\nMARCUS, YOUNG LUCIUS, and other gentlemen, PUBLIUS, SEMPRONIUS, and\\r\\nCAIUS, with bows\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Come, Marcus, come; kinsmen, this is the way.\\r\\n Sir boy, let me see your archery;\\r\\n Look ye draw home enough, and \\'tis there straight.\\r\\n Terras Astrea reliquit,\\r\\n Be you rememb\\'red, Marcus; she\\'s gone, she\\'s fled.\\r\\n Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall\\r\\n Go sound the ocean and cast your nets;\\r\\n Happily you may catch her in the sea;\\r\\n Yet there\\'s as little justice as at land.\\r\\n No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it;\\r\\n \\'Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade,\\r\\n And pierce the inmost centre of the earth;\\r\\n Then, when you come to Pluto\\'s region,\\r\\n I pray you deliver him this petition.\\r\\n Tell him it is for justice and for aid,\\r\\n And that it comes from old Andronicus,\\r\\n Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome.\\r\\n Ah, Rome! Well, well, I made thee miserable\\r\\n What time I threw the people\\'s suffrages\\r\\n On him that thus doth tyrannize o\\'er me.\\r\\n Go get you gone; and pray be careful all,\\r\\n And leave you not a man-of-war unsearch\\'d.\\r\\n This wicked Emperor may have shipp\\'d her hence;\\r\\n And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.\\r\\n MARCUS. O Publius, is not this a heavy case,\\r\\n To see thy noble uncle thus distract?\\r\\n PUBLIUS. Therefore, my lords, it highly us concerns\\r\\n By day and night t\\' attend him carefully,\\r\\n And feed his humour kindly as we may\\r\\n Till time beget some careful remedy.\\r\\n MARCUS. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy.\\r\\n Join with the Goths, and with revengeful war\\r\\n Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude,\\r\\n And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.\\r\\n TITUS. Publius, how now? How now, my masters?\\r\\n What, have you met with her?\\r\\n PUBLIUS. No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word,\\r\\n If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall.\\r\\n Marry, for Justice, she is so employ\\'d,\\r\\n He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else,\\r\\n So that perforce you must needs stay a time.\\r\\n TITUS. He doth me wrong to feed me with delays.\\r\\n I\\'ll dive into the burning lake below\\r\\n And pull her out of Acheron by the heels.\\r\\n Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we,\\r\\n No big-bon\\'d men fram\\'d of the Cyclops\\' size;\\r\\n But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back,\\r\\n Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can bear;\\r\\n And, sith there\\'s no justice in earth nor hell,\\r\\n We will solicit heaven, and move the gods\\r\\n To send down justice for to wreak our wrongs.\\r\\n Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus.\\r\\n [He gives them the arrows]\\r\\n \\'Ad Jovem\\' that\\'s for you; here \\'Ad Apollinem.\\'\\r\\n \\'Ad Martem\\' that\\'s for myself.\\r\\n Here, boy, \\'To Pallas\\'; here \\'To Mercury.\\'\\r\\n \\'To Saturn,\\' Caius- not to Saturnine:\\r\\n You were as good to shoot against the wind.\\r\\n To it, boy. Marcus, loose when I bid.\\r\\n Of my word, I have written to effect;\\r\\n There\\'s not a god left unsolicited.\\r\\n MARCUS. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court;\\r\\n We will afflict the Emperor in his pride.\\r\\n TITUS. Now, masters, draw. [They shoot] O, well said, Lucius!\\r\\n Good boy, in Virgo\\'s lap! Give it Pallas.\\r\\n MARCUS. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon;\\r\\n Your letter is with Jupiter by this.\\r\\n TITUS. Ha! ha!\\r\\n Publius, Publius, hast thou done?\\r\\n See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus\\' horns.\\r\\n MARCUS. This was the sport, my lord: when Publius shot,\\r\\n The Bull, being gall\\'d, gave Aries such a knock\\r\\n That down fell both the Ram\\'s horns in the court;\\r\\n And who should find them but the Empress\\' villain?\\r\\n She laugh\\'d, and told the Moor he should not choose\\r\\n But give them to his master for a present.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, there it goes! God give his lordship joy!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the CLOWN, with a basket and two pigeons in it\\r\\n\\r\\n News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come.\\r\\n Sirrah, what tidings? Have you any letters?\\r\\n Shall I have justice? What says Jupiter?\\r\\n CLOWN. Ho, the gibbet-maker? He says that he hath taken them down\\r\\n again, for the man must not be hang\\'d till the next week.\\r\\n TITUS. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee?\\r\\n CLOWN. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank with him in all\\r\\n my life.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?\\r\\n CLOWN. Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, didst thou not come from heaven?\\r\\n CLOWN. From heaven! Alas, sir, I never came there. God forbid I\\r\\n should be so bold to press to heaven in my young days. Why, I am\\r\\n going with my pigeons to the Tribunal Plebs, to take up a matter\\r\\n of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the Emperal\\'s men.\\r\\n MARCUS. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to serve for your\\r\\n oration; and let him deliver the pigeons to the Emperor from you.\\r\\n TITUS. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the Emperor with a\\r\\n grace?\\r\\n CLOWN. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life.\\r\\n TITUS. Sirrah, come hither. Make no more ado,\\r\\n But give your pigeons to the Emperor;\\r\\n By me thou shalt have justice at his hands.\\r\\n Hold, hold! Meanwhile here\\'s money for thy charges.\\r\\n Give me pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver up a\\r\\n supplication?\\r\\n CLOWN. Ay, sir.\\r\\n TITUS. Then here is a supplication for you. And when you come to\\r\\n him, at the first approach you must kneel; then kiss his foot;\\r\\n then deliver up your pigeons; and then look for your reward. I\\'ll\\r\\n be at hand, sir; see you do it bravely.\\r\\n CLOWN. I warrant you, sir; let me alone.\\r\\n TITUS. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come let me see it.\\r\\n Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration;\\r\\n For thou hast made it like a humble suppliant.\\r\\n And when thou hast given it to the Emperor,\\r\\n Knock at my door, and tell me what he says.\\r\\n CLOWN. God be with you, sir; I will.\\r\\n TITUS. Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, follow me. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Rome. Before the palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the EMPEROR, and the EMPRESS and her two sons, DEMETRIUS and\\r\\nCHIRON; LORDS and others. The EMPEROR brings the arrows in his hand\\r\\nthat TITUS shot at him\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Why, lords, what wrongs are these! Was ever seen\\r\\n An emperor in Rome thus overborne,\\r\\n Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent\\r\\n Of egal justice, us\\'d in such contempt?\\r\\n My lords, you know, as know the mightful gods,\\r\\n However these disturbers of our peace\\r\\n Buzz in the people\\'s ears, there nought hath pass\\'d\\r\\n But even with law against the wilful sons\\r\\n Of old Andronicus. And what an if\\r\\n His sorrows have so overwhelm\\'d his wits,\\r\\n Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks,\\r\\n His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness?\\r\\n And now he writes to heaven for his redress.\\r\\n See, here\\'s \\'To Jove\\' and this \\'To Mercury\\';\\r\\n This \\'To Apollo\\'; this \\'To the God of War\\'-\\r\\n Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome!\\r\\n What\\'s this but libelling against the Senate,\\r\\n And blazoning our unjustice every where?\\r\\n A goodly humour, is it not, my lords?\\r\\n As who would say in Rome no justice were.\\r\\n But if I live, his feigned ecstasies\\r\\n Shall be no shelter to these outrages;\\r\\n But he and his shall know that justice lives\\r\\n In Saturninus\\' health; whom, if she sleep,\\r\\n He\\'ll so awake as he in fury shall\\r\\n Cut off the proud\\'st conspirator that lives.\\r\\n TAMORA. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine,\\r\\n Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts,\\r\\n Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus\\' age,\\r\\n Th\\' effects of sorrow for his valiant sons\\r\\n Whose loss hath pierc\\'d him deep and scarr\\'d his heart;\\r\\n And rather comfort his distressed plight\\r\\n Than prosecute the meanest or the best\\r\\n For these contempts. [Aside] Why, thus it shall become\\r\\n High-witted Tamora to gloze with all.\\r\\n But, Titus, I have touch\\'d thee to the quick,\\r\\n Thy life-blood out; if Aaron now be wise,\\r\\n Then is all safe, the anchor in the port.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CLOWN\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, good fellow! Wouldst thou speak with us?\\r\\n CLOWN. Yes, forsooth, an your mistriship be Emperial.\\r\\n TAMORA. Empress I am, but yonder sits the Emperor.\\r\\n CLOWN. \\'Tis he.- God and Saint Stephen give you godden. I have\\r\\n brought you a letter and a couple of pigeons here.\\r\\n [SATURNINUS reads the letter]\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Go take him away, and hang him presently.\\r\\n CLOWN. How much money must I have?\\r\\n TAMORA. Come, sirrah, you must be hang\\'d.\\r\\n CLOWN. Hang\\'d! by\\'r lady, then I have brought up a neck to a fair\\r\\n end. [Exit guarded]\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs!\\r\\n Shall I endure this monstrous villainy?\\r\\n I know from whence this same device proceeds.\\r\\n May this be borne- as if his traitorous sons\\r\\n That died by law for murder of our brother\\r\\n Have by my means been butchered wrongfully?\\r\\n Go drag the villain hither by the hair;\\r\\n Nor age nor honour shall shape privilege.\\r\\n For this proud mock I\\'ll be thy slaughterman,\\r\\n Sly frantic wretch, that holp\\'st to make me great,\\r\\n In hope thyself should govern Rome and me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NUNTIUS AEMILIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n What news with thee, Aemilius?\\r\\n AEMILIUS. Arm, my lords! Rome never had more cause.\\r\\n The Goths have gathered head; and with a power\\r\\n Of high resolved men, bent to the spoil,\\r\\n They hither march amain, under conduct\\r\\n Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus;\\r\\n Who threats in course of this revenge to do\\r\\n As much as ever Coriolanus did.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths?\\r\\n These tidings nip me, and I hang the head\\r\\n As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storms.\\r\\n Ay, now begins our sorrows to approach.\\r\\n \\'Tis he the common people love so much;\\r\\n Myself hath often heard them say-\\r\\n When I have walked like a private man-\\r\\n That Lucius\\' banishment was wrongfully,\\r\\n And they have wish\\'d that Lucius were their emperor.\\r\\n TAMORA. Why should you fear? Is not your city strong?\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius,\\r\\n And will revolt from me to succour him.\\r\\n TAMORA. King, be thy thoughts imperious like thy name!\\r\\n Is the sun dimm\\'d, that gnats do fly in it?\\r\\n The eagle suffers little birds to sing,\\r\\n And is not careful what they mean thereby,\\r\\n Knowing that with the shadow of his wings\\r\\n He can at pleasure stint their melody;\\r\\n Even so mayest thou the giddy men of Rome.\\r\\n Then cheer thy spirit; for know thou, Emperor,\\r\\n I will enchant the old Andronicus\\r\\n With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous,\\r\\n Than baits to fish or honey-stalks to sheep,\\r\\n When as the one is wounded with the bait,\\r\\n The other rotted with delicious feed.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. But he will not entreat his son for us.\\r\\n TAMORA. If Tamora entreat him, then he will;\\r\\n For I can smooth and fill his aged ears\\r\\n With golden promises, that, were his heart\\r\\n Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf,\\r\\n Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue.\\r\\n [To AEMILIUS] Go thou before to be our ambassador;\\r\\n Say that the Emperor requests a parley\\r\\n Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting\\r\\n Even at his father\\'s house, the old Andronicus.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Aemilius, do this message honourably;\\r\\n And if he stand on hostage for his safety,\\r\\n Bid him demand what pledge will please him best.\\r\\n AEMILIUS. Your bidding shall I do effectually. Exit\\r\\n TAMORA. Now will I to that old Andronicus,\\r\\n And temper him with all the art I have,\\r\\n To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths.\\r\\n And now, sweet Emperor, be blithe again,\\r\\n And bury all thy fear in my devices.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Then go successantly, and plead to him.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. Plains near Rome\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter LUCIUS with an army of GOTHS with drums and colours\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS. Approved warriors and my faithful friends,\\r\\n I have received letters from great Rome\\r\\n Which signifies what hate they bear their Emperor\\r\\n And how desirous of our sight they are.\\r\\n Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness,\\r\\n Imperious and impatient of your wrongs;\\r\\n And wherein Rome hath done you any scath,\\r\\n Let him make treble satisfaction.\\r\\n FIRST GOTH. Brave slip, sprung from the great Andronicus,\\r\\n Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort,\\r\\n Whose high exploits and honourable deeds\\r\\n Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt,\\r\\n Be bold in us: we\\'ll follow where thou lead\\'st,\\r\\n Like stinging bees in hottest summer\\'s day,\\r\\n Led by their master to the flow\\'red fields,\\r\\n And be aveng\\'d on cursed Tamora.\\r\\n ALL THE GOTHS. And as he saith, so say we all with him.\\r\\n LUCIUS. I humbly thank him, and I thank you all.\\r\\n But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a GOTH, leading AARON with his CHILD in his arms\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND GOTH. Renowned Lucius, from our troops I stray\\'d\\r\\n To gaze upon a ruinous monastery;\\r\\n And as I earnestly did fix mine eye\\r\\n Upon the wasted building, suddenly\\r\\n I heard a child cry underneath a wall.\\r\\n I made unto the noise, when soon I heard\\r\\n The crying babe controll\\'d with this discourse:\\r\\n \\'Peace, tawny slave, half me and half thy dam!\\r\\n Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art,\\r\\n Had nature lent thee but thy mother\\'s look,\\r\\n Villain, thou mightst have been an emperor;\\r\\n But where the bull and cow are both milk-white,\\r\\n They never do beget a coal-black calf.\\r\\n Peace, villain, peace!\\'- even thus he rates the babe-\\r\\n \\'For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth,\\r\\n Who, when he knows thou art the Empress\\' babe,\\r\\n Will hold thee dearly for thy mother\\'s sake.\\'\\r\\n With this, my weapon drawn, I rush\\'d upon him,\\r\\n Surpris\\'d him suddenly, and brought him hither\\r\\n To use as you think needful of the man.\\r\\n LUCIUS. O worthy Goth, this is the incarnate devil\\r\\n That robb\\'d Andronicus of his good hand;\\r\\n This is the pearl that pleas\\'d your Empress\\' eye;\\r\\n And here\\'s the base fruit of her burning lust.\\r\\n Say, wall-ey\\'d slave, whither wouldst thou convey\\r\\n This growing image of thy fiend-like face?\\r\\n Why dost not speak? What, deaf? Not a word?\\r\\n A halter, soldiers! Hang him on this tree,\\r\\n And by his side his fruit of bastardy.\\r\\n AARON. Touch not the boy, he is of royal blood.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Too like the sire for ever being good.\\r\\n First hang the child, that he may see it sprawl-\\r\\n A sight to vex the father\\'s soul withal.\\r\\n Get me a ladder.\\r\\n [A ladder brought, which AARON is made to climb]\\r\\n AARON. Lucius, save the child,\\r\\n And bear it from me to the Emperess.\\r\\n If thou do this, I\\'ll show thee wondrous things\\r\\n That highly may advantage thee to hear;\\r\\n If thou wilt not, befall what may befall,\\r\\n I\\'ll speak no more but \\'Vengeance rot you all!\\'\\r\\n LUCIUS. Say on; an if it please me which thou speak\\'st,\\r\\n Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourish\\'d.\\r\\n AARON. An if it please thee! Why, assure thee, Lucius,\\r\\n \\'Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak;\\r\\n For I must talk of murders, rapes, and massacres,\\r\\n Acts of black night, abominable deeds,\\r\\n Complots of mischief, treason, villainies,\\r\\n Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perform\\'d;\\r\\n And this shall all be buried in my death,\\r\\n Unless thou swear to me my child shall live.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Tell on thy mind; I say thy child shall live.\\r\\n AARON. Swear that he shall, and then I will begin.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Who should I swear by? Thou believest no god;\\r\\n That granted, how canst thou believe an oath?\\r\\n AARON. What if I do not? as indeed I do not;\\r\\n Yet, for I know thou art religious\\r\\n And hast a thing within thee called conscience,\\r\\n With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies\\r\\n Which I have seen thee careful to observe,\\r\\n Therefore I urge thy oath. For that I know\\r\\n An idiot holds his bauble for a god,\\r\\n And keeps the oath which by that god he swears,\\r\\n To that I\\'ll urge him. Therefore thou shalt vow\\r\\n By that same god- what god soe\\'er it be\\r\\n That thou adorest and hast in reverence-\\r\\n To save my boy, to nourish and bring him up;\\r\\n Or else I will discover nought to thee.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Even by my god I swear to thee I will.\\r\\n AARON. First know thou, I begot him on the Empress.\\r\\n LUCIUS. O most insatiate and luxurious woman!\\r\\n AARON. Tut, Lucius, this was but a deed of charity\\r\\n To that which thou shalt hear of me anon.\\r\\n \\'Twas her two sons that murdered Bassianus;\\r\\n They cut thy sister\\'s tongue, and ravish\\'d her,\\r\\n And cut her hands, and trimm\\'d her as thou sawest.\\r\\n LUCIUS. O detestable villain! Call\\'st thou that trimming?\\r\\n AARON. Why, she was wash\\'d, and cut, and trimm\\'d, and \\'twas\\r\\n Trim sport for them which had the doing of it.\\r\\n LUCIUS. O barbarous beastly villains like thyself!\\r\\n AARON. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them.\\r\\n That codding spirit had they from their mother,\\r\\n As sure a card as ever won the set;\\r\\n That bloody mind, I think, they learn\\'d of me,\\r\\n As true a dog as ever fought at head.\\r\\n Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth.\\r\\n I train\\'d thy brethren to that guileful hole\\r\\n Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay;\\r\\n I wrote the letter that thy father found,\\r\\n And hid the gold within that letter mention\\'d,\\r\\n Confederate with the Queen and her two sons;\\r\\n And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue,\\r\\n Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it?\\r\\n I play\\'d the cheater for thy father\\'s hand,\\r\\n And, when I had it, drew myself apart\\r\\n And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter.\\r\\n I pried me through the crevice of a wall,\\r\\n When, for his hand, he had his two sons\\' heads;\\r\\n Beheld his tears, and laugh\\'d so heartily\\r\\n That both mine eyes were rainy like to his;\\r\\n And when I told the Empress of this sport,\\r\\n She swooned almost at my pleasing tale,\\r\\n And for my tidings gave me twenty kisses.\\r\\n GOTH. What, canst thou say all this and never blush?\\r\\n AARON. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds?\\r\\n AARON. Ay, that I had not done a thousand more.\\r\\n Even now I curse the day- and yet, I think,\\r\\n Few come within the compass of my curse-\\r\\n Wherein I did not some notorious ill;\\r\\n As kill a man, or else devise his death;\\r\\n Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it;\\r\\n Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself;\\r\\n Set deadly enmity between two friends;\\r\\n Make poor men\\'s cattle break their necks;\\r\\n Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night,\\r\\n And bid the owners quench them with their tears.\\r\\n Oft have I digg\\'d up dead men from their graves,\\r\\n And set them upright at their dear friends\\' door\\r\\n Even when their sorrows almost was forgot,\\r\\n And on their skins, as on the bark of trees,\\r\\n Have with my knife carved in Roman letters\\r\\n \\'Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.\\'\\r\\n Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things\\r\\n As willingly as one would kill a fly;\\r\\n And nothing grieves me heartily indeed\\r\\n But that I cannot do ten thousand more.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Bring down the devil, for he must not die\\r\\n So sweet a death as hanging presently.\\r\\n AARON. If there be devils, would I were a devil,\\r\\n To live and burn in everlasting fire,\\r\\n So I might have your company in hell\\r\\n But to torment you with my bitter tongue!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak no more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter AEMILIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n GOTH. My lord, there is a messenger from Rome\\r\\n Desires to be admitted to your presence.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Let him come near.\\r\\n Welcome, Aemilius. What\\'s the news from Rome?\\r\\n AEMILIUS. Lord Lucius, and you Princes of the Goths,\\r\\n The Roman Emperor greets you all by me;\\r\\n And, for he understands you are in arms,\\r\\n He craves a parley at your father\\'s house,\\r\\n Willing you to demand your hostages,\\r\\n And they shall be immediately deliver\\'d.\\r\\n FIRST GOTH. What says our general?\\r\\n LUCIUS. Aemilius, let the Emperor give his pledges\\r\\n Unto my father and my uncle Marcus.\\r\\n And we will come. March away. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Rome. Before TITUS\\' house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TAMORA, and her two sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, disguised\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA. Thus, in this strange and sad habiliment,\\r\\n I will encounter with Andronicus,\\r\\n And say I am Revenge, sent from below\\r\\n To join with him and right his heinous wrongs.\\r\\n Knock at his study, where they say he keeps\\r\\n To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge;\\r\\n Tell him Revenge is come to join with him,\\r\\n And work confusion on his enemies.\\r\\n\\r\\n They knock and TITUS opens his study door, above\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Who doth molest my contemplation?\\r\\n Is it your trick to make me ope the door,\\r\\n That so my sad decrees may fly away\\r\\n And all my study be to no effect?\\r\\n You are deceiv\\'d; for what I mean to do\\r\\n See here in bloody lines I have set down;\\r\\n And what is written shall be executed.\\r\\n TAMORA. Titus, I am come to talk with thee.\\r\\n TITUS. No, not a word. How can I grace my talk,\\r\\n Wanting a hand to give it that accord?\\r\\n Thou hast the odds of me; therefore no more.\\r\\n TAMORA. If thou didst know me, thou wouldst talk with me.\\r\\n TITUS. I am not mad, I know thee well enough:\\r\\n Witness this wretched stump, witness these crimson lines;\\r\\n Witness these trenches made by grief and care;\\r\\n Witness the tiring day and heavy night;\\r\\n Witness all sorrow that I know thee well\\r\\n For our proud Empress, mighty Tamora.\\r\\n Is not thy coming for my other hand?\\r\\n TAMORA. Know thou, sad man, I am not Tamora:\\r\\n She is thy enemy and I thy friend.\\r\\n I am Revenge, sent from th\\' infernal kingdom\\r\\n To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind\\r\\n By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes.\\r\\n Come down and welcome me to this world\\'s light;\\r\\n Confer with me of murder and of death;\\r\\n There\\'s not a hollow cave or lurking-place,\\r\\n No vast obscurity or misty vale,\\r\\n Where bloody murder or detested rape\\r\\n Can couch for fear but I will find them out;\\r\\n And in their ears tell them my dreadful name-\\r\\n Revenge, which makes the foul offender quake.\\r\\n TITUS. Art thou Revenge? and art thou sent to me\\r\\n To be a torment to mine enemies?\\r\\n TAMORA. I am; therefore come down and welcome me.\\r\\n TITUS. Do me some service ere I come to thee.\\r\\n Lo, by thy side where Rape and Murder stands;\\r\\n Now give some surance that thou art Revenge-\\r\\n Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot wheels;\\r\\n And then I\\'ll come and be thy waggoner\\r\\n And whirl along with thee about the globes.\\r\\n Provide thee two proper palfreys, black as jet,\\r\\n To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away,\\r\\n And find out murderers in their guilty caves;\\r\\n And when thy car is loaden with their heads,\\r\\n I will dismount, and by thy waggon wheel\\r\\n Trot, like a servile footman, all day long,\\r\\n Even from Hyperion\\'s rising in the east\\r\\n Until his very downfall in the sea.\\r\\n And day by day I\\'ll do this heavy task,\\r\\n So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there.\\r\\n TAMORA. These are my ministers, and come with me.\\r\\n TITUS. Are they thy ministers? What are they call\\'d?\\r\\n TAMORA. Rape and Murder; therefore called so\\r\\n \\'Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men.\\r\\n TITUS. Good Lord, how like the Empress\\' sons they are!\\r\\n And you the Empress! But we worldly men\\r\\n Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes.\\r\\n O sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee;\\r\\n And, if one arm\\'s embracement will content thee,\\r\\n I will embrace thee in it by and by.\\r\\n TAMORA. This closing with him fits his lunacy.\\r\\n Whate\\'er I forge to feed his brain-sick humours,\\r\\n Do you uphold and maintain in your speeches,\\r\\n For now he firmly takes me for Revenge;\\r\\n And, being credulous in this mad thought,\\r\\n I\\'ll make him send for Lucius his son,\\r\\n And whilst I at a banquet hold him sure,\\r\\n I\\'ll find some cunning practice out of hand\\r\\n To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths,\\r\\n Or, at the least, make them his enemies.\\r\\n See, here he comes, and I must ply my theme.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TITUS, below\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee.\\r\\n Welcome, dread Fury, to my woeful house.\\r\\n Rapine and Murder, you are welcome too.\\r\\n How like the Empress and her sons you are!\\r\\n Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor.\\r\\n Could not all hell afford you such a devil?\\r\\n For well I wot the Empress never wags\\r\\n But in her company there is a Moor;\\r\\n And, would you represent our queen aright,\\r\\n It were convenient you had such a devil.\\r\\n But welcome as you are. What shall we do?\\r\\n TAMORA. What wouldst thou have us do, Andronicus?\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Show me a murderer, I\\'ll deal with him.\\r\\n CHIRON. Show me a villain that hath done a rape,\\r\\n And I am sent to be reveng\\'d on him.\\r\\n TAMORA. Show me a thousand that hath done thee wrong,\\r\\n And I will be revenged on them all.\\r\\n TITUS. Look round about the wicked streets of Rome,\\r\\n And when thou find\\'st a man that\\'s like thyself,\\r\\n Good Murder, stab him; he\\'s a murderer.\\r\\n Go thou with him, and when it is thy hap\\r\\n To find another that is like to thee,\\r\\n Good Rapine, stab him; he is a ravisher.\\r\\n Go thou with them; and in the Emperor\\'s court\\r\\n There is a queen, attended by a Moor;\\r\\n Well shalt thou know her by thine own proportion,\\r\\n For up and down she doth resemble thee.\\r\\n I pray thee, do on them some violent death;\\r\\n They have been violent to me and mine.\\r\\n TAMORA. Well hast thou lesson\\'d us; this shall we do.\\r\\n But would it please thee, good Andronicus,\\r\\n To send for Lucius, thy thrice-valiant son,\\r\\n Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike Goths,\\r\\n And bid him come and banquet at thy house;\\r\\n When he is here, even at thy solemn feast,\\r\\n I will bring in the Empress and her sons,\\r\\n The Emperor himself, and all thy foes;\\r\\n And at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel,\\r\\n And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart.\\r\\n What says Andronicus to this device?\\r\\n TITUS. Marcus, my brother! \\'Tis sad Titus calls.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MARCUS\\r\\n\\r\\n Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius;\\r\\n Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths.\\r\\n Bid him repair to me, and bring with him\\r\\n Some of the chiefest princes of the Goths;\\r\\n Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are.\\r\\n Tell him the Emperor and the Empress too\\r\\n Feast at my house, and he shall feast with them.\\r\\n This do thou for my love; and so let him,\\r\\n As he regards his aged father\\'s life.\\r\\n MARCUS. This will I do, and soon return again. Exit\\r\\n TAMORA. Now will I hence about thy business,\\r\\n And take my ministers along with me.\\r\\n TITUS. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with me,\\r\\n Or else I\\'ll call my brother back again,\\r\\n And cleave to no revenge but Lucius.\\r\\n TAMORA. [Aside to her sons] What say you, boys? Will you abide\\r\\n with him,\\r\\n Whiles I go tell my lord the Emperor\\r\\n How I have govern\\'d our determin\\'d jest?\\r\\n Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair,\\r\\n And tarry with him till I turn again.\\r\\n TITUS. [Aside] I knew them all, though they suppos\\'d me mad,\\r\\n And will o\\'er reach them in their own devices,\\r\\n A pair of cursed hell-hounds and their dam.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Madam, depart at pleasure; leave us here.\\r\\n TAMORA. Farewell, Andronicus, Revenge now goes\\r\\n To lay a complot to betray thy foes.\\r\\n TITUS. I know thou dost; and, sweet Revenge, farewell.\\r\\n Exit TAMORA\\r\\n CHIRON. Tell us, old man, how shall we be employ\\'d?\\r\\n TITUS. Tut, I have work enough for you to do.\\r\\n Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PUBLIUS, CAIUS, and VALENTINE\\r\\n\\r\\n PUBLIUS. What is your will?\\r\\n TITUS. Know you these two?\\r\\n PUBLIUS. The Empress\\' sons, I take them: Chiron, Demetrius.\\r\\n TITUS. Fie, Publius, fie! thou art too much deceiv\\'d.\\r\\n The one is Murder, and Rape is the other\\'s name;\\r\\n And therefore bind them, gentle Publius-\\r\\n Caius and Valentine, lay hands on them.\\r\\n Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour,\\r\\n And now I find it; therefore bind them sure,\\r\\n And stop their mouths if they begin to cry. Exit\\r\\n [They lay hold on CHIRON and DEMETRIUS]\\r\\n CHIRON. Villains, forbear! we are the Empress\\' sons.\\r\\n PUBLIUS. And therefore do we what we are commanded.\\r\\n Stop close their mouths, let them not speak a word.\\r\\n Is he sure bound? Look that you bind them fast.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter TITUS ANDRONICUS\\r\\n with a knife, and LAVINIA, with a basin\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Come, come, Lavinia; look, thy foes are bound.\\r\\n Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to me;\\r\\n But let them hear what fearful words I utter.\\r\\n O villains, Chiron and Demetrius!\\r\\n Here stands the spring whom you have stain\\'d with mud;\\r\\n This goodly summer with your winter mix\\'d.\\r\\n You kill\\'d her husband; and for that vile fault\\r\\n Two of her brothers were condemn\\'d to death,\\r\\n My hand cut off and made a merry jest;\\r\\n Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that more dear\\r\\n Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity,\\r\\n Inhuman traitors, you constrain\\'d and forc\\'d.\\r\\n What would you say, if I should let you speak?\\r\\n Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace.\\r\\n Hark, wretches! how I mean to martyr you.\\r\\n This one hand yet is left to cut your throats,\\r\\n Whiles that Lavinia \\'tween her stumps doth hold\\r\\n The basin that receives your guilty blood.\\r\\n You know your mother means to feast with me,\\r\\n And calls herself Revenge, and thinks me mad.\\r\\n Hark, villains! I will grind your bones to dust,\\r\\n And with your blood and it I\\'ll make a paste;\\r\\n And of the paste a coffin I will rear,\\r\\n And make two pasties of your shameful heads;\\r\\n And bid that strumpet, your unhallowed dam,\\r\\n Like to the earth, swallow her own increase.\\r\\n This is the feast that I have bid her to,\\r\\n And this the banquet she shall surfeit on;\\r\\n For worse than Philomel you us\\'d my daughter,\\r\\n And worse than Progne I will be reveng\\'d.\\r\\n And now prepare your throats. Lavinia, come,\\r\\n Receive the blood; and when that they are dead,\\r\\n Let me go grind their bones to powder small,\\r\\n And with this hateful liquor temper it;\\r\\n And in that paste let their vile heads be bak\\'d.\\r\\n Come, come, be every one officious\\r\\n To make this banquet, which I wish may prove\\r\\n More stern and bloody than the Centaurs\\' feast.\\r\\n [He cuts their throats]\\r\\n So.\\r\\n Now bring them in, for I will play the cook,\\r\\n And see them ready against their mother comes.\\r\\n Exeunt, bearing the dead bodies\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The court of TITUS\\' house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Lucius, MARCUS, and the GOTHS, with AARON prisoner, and his CHILD\\r\\nin the arms of an attendant\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS. Uncle Marcus, since \\'tis my father\\'s mind\\r\\n That I repair to Rome, I am content.\\r\\n FIRST GOTH. And ours with thine, befall what fortune will.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous Moor,\\r\\n This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil;\\r\\n Let him receive no sust\\'nance, fetter him,\\r\\n Till he be brought unto the Empress\\' face\\r\\n For testimony of her foul proceedings.\\r\\n And see the ambush of our friends be strong;\\r\\n I fear the Emperor means no good to us.\\r\\n AARON. Some devil whisper curses in my ear,\\r\\n And prompt me that my tongue may utter forth\\r\\n The venomous malice of my swelling heart!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Away, inhuman dog, unhallowed slave!\\r\\n Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in.\\r\\n Exeunt GOTHS with AARON. Flourish within\\r\\n The trumpets show the Emperor is at hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound trumpets. Enter SATURNINUS and\\r\\n TAMORA, with AEMILIUS, TRIBUNES, SENATORS, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS. What, hath the firmament more suns than one?\\r\\n LUCIUS. What boots it thee to can thyself a sun?\\r\\n MARCUS. Rome\\'s Emperor, and nephew, break the parle;\\r\\n These quarrels must be quietly debated.\\r\\n The feast is ready which the careful Titus\\r\\n Hath ordain\\'d to an honourable end,\\r\\n For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome.\\r\\n Please you, therefore, draw nigh and take your places.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Marcus, we will.\\r\\n [A table brought in. The company sit down]\\r\\n\\r\\n Trumpets sounding, enter TITUS\\r\\n like a cook, placing the dishes, and LAVINIA\\r\\n with a veil over her face; also YOUNG LUCIUS, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Welcome, my lord; welcome, dread Queen;\\r\\n Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lucius;\\r\\n And welcome all. Although the cheer be poor,\\r\\n \\'Twill fill your stomachs; please you eat of it.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Why art thou thus attir\\'d, Andronicus?\\r\\n TITUS. Because I would be sure to have all well\\r\\n To entertain your Highness and your Empress.\\r\\n TAMORA. We are beholding to you, good Andronicus.\\r\\n TITUS. An if your Highness knew my heart, you were.\\r\\n My lord the Emperor, resolve me this:\\r\\n Was it well done of rash Virginius\\r\\n To slay his daughter with his own right hand,\\r\\n Because she was enforc\\'d, stain\\'d, and deflower\\'d?\\r\\n SATURNINUS. It was, Andronicus.\\r\\n TITUS. Your reason, mighty lord.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Because the girl should not survive her shame,\\r\\n And by her presence still renew his sorrows.\\r\\n TITUS. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual;\\r\\n A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant\\r\\n For me, most wretched, to perform the like.\\r\\n Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee; [He kills her]\\r\\n And with thy shame thy father\\'s sorrow die!\\r\\n SATURNINUS. What hast thou done, unnatural and unkind?\\r\\n TITUS. Kill\\'d her for whom my tears have made me blind.\\r\\n I am as woeful as Virginius was,\\r\\n And have a thousand times more cause than he\\r\\n To do this outrage; and it now is done.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. What, was she ravish\\'d? Tell who did the deed.\\r\\n TITUS. Will\\'t please you eat? Will\\'t please your Highness feed?\\r\\n TAMORA. Why hast thou slain thine only daughter thus?\\r\\n TITUS. Not I; \\'twas Chiron and Demetrius.\\r\\n They ravish\\'d her, and cut away her tongue;\\r\\n And they, \\'twas they, that did her all this wrong.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Go, fetch them hither to us presently.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, there they are, both baked in this pie,\\r\\n Whereof their mother daintily hath fed,\\r\\n Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred.\\r\\n \\'Tis true, \\'tis true: witness my knife\\'s sharp point.\\r\\n [He stabs the EMPRESS]\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed!\\r\\n [He stabs TITUS]\\r\\n LUCIUS. Can the son\\'s eye behold his father bleed?\\r\\n There\\'s meed for meed, death for a deadly deed.\\r\\n [He stabs SATURNINUS. A great tumult. LUCIUS,\\r\\n MARCUS, and their friends go up into the balcony]\\r\\n MARCUS. You sad-fac\\'d men, people and sons of Rome,\\r\\n By uproars sever\\'d, as a flight of fowl\\r\\n Scatter\\'d by winds and high tempestuous gusts?\\r\\n O, let me teach you how to knit again\\r\\n This scattered corn into one mutual sheaf,\\r\\n These broken limbs again into one body;\\r\\n Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself,\\r\\n And she whom mighty kingdoms curtsy to,\\r\\n Like a forlorn and desperate castaway,\\r\\n Do shameful execution on herself.\\r\\n But if my frosty signs and chaps of age,\\r\\n Grave witnesses of true experience,\\r\\n Cannot induce you to attend my words,\\r\\n [To Lucius] Speak, Rome\\'s dear friend, as erst our ancestor,\\r\\n When with his solemn tongue he did discourse\\r\\n To love-sick Dido\\'s sad attending ear\\r\\n The story of that baleful burning night,\\r\\n When subtle Greeks surpris\\'d King Priam\\'s Troy.\\r\\n Tell us what Sinon hath bewitch\\'d our ears,\\r\\n Or who hath brought the fatal engine in\\r\\n That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound.\\r\\n My heart is not compact of flint nor steel;\\r\\n Nor can I utter all our bitter grief,\\r\\n But floods of tears will drown my oratory\\r\\n And break my utt\\'rance, even in the time\\r\\n When it should move ye to attend me most,\\r\\n And force you to commiseration.\\r\\n Here\\'s Rome\\'s young Captain, let him tell the tale;\\r\\n While I stand by and weep to hear him speak.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Then, gracious auditory, be it known to you\\r\\n That Chiron and the damn\\'d Demetrius\\r\\n Were they that murd\\'red our Emperor\\'s brother;\\r\\n And they it were that ravished our sister.\\r\\n For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded,\\r\\n Our father\\'s tears despis\\'d, and basely cozen\\'d\\r\\n Of that true hand that fought Rome\\'s quarrel out\\r\\n And sent her enemies unto the grave.\\r\\n Lastly, myself unkindly banished,\\r\\n The gates shut on me, and turn\\'d weeping out,\\r\\n To beg relief among Rome\\'s enemies;\\r\\n Who drown\\'d their enmity in my true tears,\\r\\n And op\\'d their arms to embrace me as a friend.\\r\\n I am the turned forth, be it known to you,\\r\\n That have preserv\\'d her welfare in my blood\\r\\n And from her bosom took the enemy\\'s point,\\r\\n Sheathing the steel in my advent\\'rous body.\\r\\n Alas! you know I am no vaunter, I;\\r\\n My scars can witness, dumb although they are,\\r\\n That my report is just and full of truth.\\r\\n But, soft! methinks I do digress too much,\\r\\n Citing my worthless praise. O, pardon me!\\r\\n For when no friends are by, men praise themselves.\\r\\n MARCUS. Now is my turn to speak. Behold the child.\\r\\n [Pointing to the CHILD in an attendant\\'s arms]\\r\\n Of this was Tamora delivered,\\r\\n The issue of an irreligious Moor,\\r\\n Chief architect and plotter of these woes.\\r\\n The villain is alive in Titus\\' house,\\r\\n Damn\\'d as he is, to witness this is true.\\r\\n Now judge what cause had Titus to revenge\\r\\n These wrongs unspeakable, past patience,\\r\\n Or more than any living man could bear.\\r\\n Now have you heard the truth: what say you, Romans?\\r\\n Have we done aught amiss, show us wherein,\\r\\n And, from the place where you behold us pleading,\\r\\n The poor remainder of Andronici\\r\\n Will, hand in hand, all headlong hurl ourselves,\\r\\n And on the ragged stones beat forth our souls,\\r\\n And make a mutual closure of our house.\\r\\n Speak, Romans, speak; and if you say we shall,\\r\\n Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall.\\r\\n AEMILIUS. Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome,\\r\\n And bring our Emperor gently in thy hand,\\r\\n Lucius our Emperor; for well I know\\r\\n The common voice do cry it shall be so.\\r\\n ALL. Lucius, all hail, Rome\\'s royal Emperor!\\r\\n MARCUS. Go, go into old Titus\\' sorrowful house,\\r\\n And hither hale that misbelieving Moor\\r\\n To be adjudg\\'d some direful slaught\\'ring death,\\r\\n As punishment for his most wicked life. Exeunt some\\r\\n attendants. LUCIUS, MARCUS, and the others descend\\r\\n ALL. Lucius, all hail, Rome\\'s gracious governor!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Thanks, gentle Romans! May I govern so\\r\\n To heal Rome\\'s harms and wipe away her woe!\\r\\n But, gentle people, give me aim awhile,\\r\\n For nature puts me to a heavy task.\\r\\n Stand all aloof; but, uncle, draw you near\\r\\n To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk.\\r\\n O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips. [Kisses TITUS]\\r\\n These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain\\'d face,\\r\\n The last true duties of thy noble son!\\r\\n MARCUS. Tear for tear and loving kiss for kiss\\r\\n Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips.\\r\\n O, were the sum of these that I should pay\\r\\n Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Come hither, boy; come, come, come, and learn of us\\r\\n To melt in showers. Thy grandsire lov\\'d thee well;\\r\\n Many a time he danc\\'d thee on his knee,\\r\\n Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow;\\r\\n Many a story hath he told to thee,\\r\\n And bid thee bear his pretty tales in mind\\r\\n And talk of them when he was dead and gone.\\r\\n MARCUS. How many thousand times hath these poor lips,\\r\\n When they were living, warm\\'d themselves on thine!\\r\\n O, now, sweet boy, give them their latest kiss!\\r\\n Bid him farewell; commit him to the grave;\\r\\n Do them that kindness, and take leave of them.\\r\\n BOY. O grandsire, grandsire! ev\\'n with all my heart\\r\\n Would I were dead, so you did live again!\\r\\n O Lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping;\\r\\n My tears will choke me, if I ope my mouth.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter attendants with AARON\\r\\n\\r\\n A ROMAN. You sad Andronici, have done with woes;\\r\\n Give sentence on the execrable wretch\\r\\n That hath been breeder of these dire events.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish him;\\r\\n There let him stand and rave and cry for food.\\r\\n If any one relieves or pities him,\\r\\n For the offence he dies. This is our doom.\\r\\n Some stay to see him fast\\'ned in the earth.\\r\\n AARON. Ah, why should wrath be mute and fury dumb?\\r\\n I am no baby, I, that with base prayers\\r\\n I should repent the evils I have done;\\r\\n Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did\\r\\n Would I perform, if I might have my will.\\r\\n If one good deed in all my life I did,\\r\\n I do repent it from my very soul.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Some loving friends convey the Emperor hence,\\r\\n And give him burial in his father\\'s grave.\\r\\n My father and Lavinia shall forthwith\\r\\n Be closed in our household\\'s monument.\\r\\n As for that ravenous tiger, Tamora,\\r\\n No funeral rite, nor man in mourning weed,\\r\\n No mournful bell shall ring her burial;\\r\\n But throw her forth to beasts and birds to prey.\\r\\n Her life was beastly and devoid of pity,\\r\\n And being dead, let birds on her take pity. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE HISTORY OF TROILUS AND CRESSIDA\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nPrologue.\\r\\nScene I. Troy. Before PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\nScene II. Troy. A street.\\r\\nScene III. The Grecian camp. Before AGAMEMNON’S tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. The Grecian camp.\\r\\nScene II. Troy. PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\nScene III. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Troy. PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\nScene II. Troy. PANDARUS’ orchard.\\r\\nScene III. The Greek camp.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Troy. A street.\\r\\nScene II. Troy. The court of PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\nScene III. Troy. A street before PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\nScene IV. Troy. PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\nScene V. The Grecian camp. Lists set out.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES.\\r\\nScene II. The Grecian camp. Before CALCHAS’ tent.\\r\\nScene III. Troy. Before PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\nScene IV. The plain between Troy and the Grecian camp.\\r\\nScene V. Another part of the plain.\\r\\nScene VI. Another part of the plain.\\r\\nScene VII. Another part of the plain.\\r\\nScene VIII. Another part of the plain.\\r\\nScene IX. Another part of the plain.\\r\\nScene X. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM, King of Troy\\r\\n\\r\\nHis sons:\\r\\nHECTOR\\r\\nTROILUS\\r\\nPARIS\\r\\nDEIPHOBUS\\r\\nHELENUS\\r\\nMARGARELON, a bastard son of Priam\\r\\n\\r\\nTrojan commanders:\\r\\nAENEAS\\r\\nANTENOR\\r\\n\\r\\nCALCHAS, a Trojan priest, taking part with the Greeks\\r\\nPANDARUS, uncle to Cressida\\r\\nAGAMEMNON, the Greek general\\r\\nMENELAUS, his brother\\r\\n\\r\\nGreek commanders:\\r\\nACHILLES\\r\\nAJAX\\r\\nULYSSES\\r\\nNESTOR\\r\\nDIOMEDES\\r\\nPATROCLUS\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES, a deformed and scurrilous Greek\\r\\nALEXANDER, servant to Cressida\\r\\nSERVANT to Troilus\\r\\nSERVANT to Paris\\r\\nSERVANT to Diomedes\\r\\nHELEN, wife to Menelaus\\r\\nANDROMACHE, wife to Hector\\r\\nCASSANDRA, daughter to Priam, a prophetess\\r\\nCRESSIDA, daughter to Calchas\\r\\n\\r\\nTrojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Troy and the Greek camp before it\\r\\n\\r\\nPROLOGUE\\r\\n\\r\\nIn Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece\\r\\nThe princes orgulous, their high blood chaf’d,\\r\\nHave to the port of Athens sent their ships\\r\\nFraught with the ministers and instruments\\r\\nOf cruel war. Sixty and nine that wore\\r\\nTheir crownets regal from the Athenian bay\\r\\nPut forth toward Phrygia; and their vow is made\\r\\nTo ransack Troy, within whose strong immures\\r\\nThe ravish’d Helen, Menelaus’ queen,\\r\\nWith wanton Paris sleeps—and that’s the quarrel.\\r\\nTo Tenedos they come,\\r\\nAnd the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge\\r\\nTheir war-like fraughtage. Now on Dardan plains\\r\\nThe fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch\\r\\nTheir brave pavilions: Priam’s six-gated city,\\r\\nDardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Troien,\\r\\nAnd Antenorides, with massy staples\\r\\nAnd corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,\\r\\nStir up the sons of Troy.\\r\\nNow expectation, tickling skittish spirits\\r\\nOn one and other side, Trojan and Greek,\\r\\nSets all on hazard. And hither am I come\\r\\nA prologue arm’d, but not in confidence\\r\\nOf author’s pen or actor’s voice, but suited\\r\\nIn like conditions as our argument,\\r\\nTo tell you, fair beholders, that our play\\r\\nLeaps o’er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils,\\r\\nBeginning in the middle; starting thence away,\\r\\nTo what may be digested in a play.\\r\\nLike or find fault; do as your pleasures are;\\r\\nNow good or bad, ’tis but the chance of war.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Troy. Before PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus armed, and Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCall here my varlet; I’ll unarm again.\\r\\nWhy should I war without the walls of Troy\\r\\nThat find such cruel battle here within?\\r\\nEach Trojan that is master of his heart,\\r\\nLet him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWill this gear ne’er be mended?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThe Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength,\\r\\nFierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant;\\r\\nBut I am weaker than a woman’s tear,\\r\\nTamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance,\\r\\nLess valiant than the virgin in the night,\\r\\nAnd skilless as unpractis’d infancy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell, I have told you enough of this; for my part, I’ll not meddle nor\\r\\nmake no farther. He that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry\\r\\nthe grinding.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHave I not tarried?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHave I not tarried?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nStill have I tarried.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, to the leavening; but here’s yet in the word ‘hereafter’ the\\r\\nkneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the\\r\\nbaking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance burn your\\r\\nlips.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nPatience herself, what goddess e’er she be,\\r\\nDoth lesser blench at suff’rance than I do.\\r\\nAt Priam’s royal table do I sit;\\r\\nAnd when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,\\r\\nSo, traitor! ‘when she comes’! when she is thence?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell, she look’d yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any\\r\\nwoman else.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI was about to tell thee: when my heart,\\r\\nAs wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain,\\r\\nLest Hector or my father should perceive me,\\r\\nI have, as when the sun doth light a storm,\\r\\nBuried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile.\\r\\nBut sorrow that is couch’d in seeming gladness\\r\\nIs like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAn her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen’s, well, go to, there\\r\\nwere no more comparison between the women. But, for my part, she is my\\r\\nkinswoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her, but I would\\r\\nsomebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise\\r\\nyour sister Cassandra’s wit; but—\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,\\r\\nWhen I do tell thee there my hopes lie drown’d,\\r\\nReply not in how many fathoms deep\\r\\nThey lie indrench’d. I tell thee I am mad\\r\\nIn Cressid’s love. Thou answer’st ‘She is fair’;\\r\\nPour’st in the open ulcer of my heart\\r\\nHer eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice,\\r\\nHandlest in thy discourse. O! that her hand,\\r\\nIn whose comparison all whites are ink\\r\\nWriting their own reproach; to whose soft seizure\\r\\nThe cygnet’s down is harsh, and spirit of sense\\r\\nHard as the palm of ploughman! This thou tell’st me,\\r\\nAs true thou tell’st me, when I say I love her;\\r\\nBut, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,\\r\\nThou lay’st in every gash that love hath given me\\r\\nThe knife that made it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI speak no more than truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThou dost not speak so much.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFaith, I’ll not meddle in’t. Let her be as she is: if she be fair, ’tis\\r\\nthe better for her; and she be not, she has the mends in her own hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nGood Pandarus! How now, Pandarus!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI have had my labour for my travail, ill thought on of her and ill\\r\\nthought on of you; gone between and between, but small thanks for my\\r\\nlabour.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat! art thou angry, Pandarus? What! with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nBecause she’s kin to me, therefore she’s not so fair as Helen. And she\\r\\nwere not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday as Helen is on\\r\\nSunday. But what care I? I care not and she were a blackamoor; ’tis all\\r\\none to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nSay I she is not fair?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI do not care whether you do or no. She’s a fool to stay behind her\\r\\nfather. Let her to the Greeks; and so I’ll tell her the next time I see\\r\\nher. For my part, I’ll meddle nor make no more i’ the matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nPandarus—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNot I.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nSweet Pandarus—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nPray you, speak no more to me: I will leave all as I found it, and\\r\\nthere an end.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Pandarus. An alarum._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nPeace, you ungracious clamours! Peace, rude sounds!\\r\\nFools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair,\\r\\nWhen with your blood you daily paint her thus.\\r\\nI cannot fight upon this argument;\\r\\nIt is too starv’d a subject for my sword.\\r\\nBut Pandarus, O gods! how do you plague me!\\r\\nI cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar;\\r\\nAnd he’s as tetchy to be woo’d to woo\\r\\nAs she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.\\r\\nTell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne’s love,\\r\\nWhat Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?\\r\\nHer bed is India; there she lies, a pearl;\\r\\nBetween our Ilium and where she resides\\r\\nLet it be call’d the wild and wandering flood;\\r\\nOurself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar\\r\\nOur doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHow now, Prince Troilus! Wherefore not afield?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBecause not there. This woman’s answer sorts,\\r\\nFor womanish it is to be from thence.\\r\\nWhat news, Aeneas, from the field today?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nThat Paris is returned home, and hurt.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBy whom, Aeneas?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nTroilus, by Menelaus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nLet Paris bleed: ’tis but a scar to scorn;\\r\\nParis is gor’d with Menelaus’ horn.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alarum._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHark what good sport is out of town today!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBetter at home, if ‘would I might’ were ‘may.’\\r\\nBut to the sport abroad. Are you bound thither?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nIn all swift haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCome, go we then together.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Troy. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cressida and her man Alexander.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWho were those went by?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nQueen Hecuba and Helen.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAnd whither go they?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nUp to the eastern tower,\\r\\nWhose height commands as subject all the vale,\\r\\nTo see the battle. Hector, whose patience\\r\\nIs as a virtue fix’d, today was mov’d.\\r\\nHe chid Andromache, and struck his armourer;\\r\\nAnd, like as there were husbandry in war,\\r\\nBefore the sun rose he was harness’d light,\\r\\nAnd to the field goes he; where every flower\\r\\nDid as a prophet weep what it foresaw\\r\\nIn Hector’s wrath.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat was his cause of anger?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nThe noise goes, this: there is among the Greeks\\r\\nA lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector;\\r\\nThey call him Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGood; and what of him?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nThey say he is a very man _per se_\\r\\nAnd stands alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSo do all men, unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs.\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nThis man, lady, hath robb’d many beasts of their particular additions:\\r\\nhe is as valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the\\r\\nelephant—a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours that his valour\\r\\nis crush’d into folly, his folly sauced with discretion. There is no\\r\\nman hath a virtue that he hath not a glimpse of, nor any man an attaint\\r\\nbut he carries some stain of it; he is melancholy without cause and\\r\\nmerry against the hair; he hath the joints of everything; but\\r\\neverything so out of joint that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and\\r\\nno use, or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBut how should this man, that makes me smile, make Hector angry?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nThey say he yesterday cop’d Hector in the battle and struck him down,\\r\\nthe disdain and shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and\\r\\nwaking.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWho comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nMadam, your uncle Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHector’s a gallant man.\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nAs may be in the world, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat’s that? What’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGood morrow, uncle Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nGood morrow, cousin Cressid. What do you talk of?—Good morrow,\\r\\nAlexander.—How do you, cousin? When were you at Ilium?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThis morning, uncle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat were you talking of when I came? Was Hector arm’d and gone ere you\\r\\ncame to Ilium? Helen was not up, was she?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHector was gone; but Helen was not up.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nE’en so. Hector was stirring early.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThat were we talking of, and of his anger.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWas he angry?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSo he says here.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nTrue, he was so; I know the cause too; he’ll lay about him today, I can\\r\\ntell them that. And there’s Troilus will not come far behind him; let\\r\\nthem take heed of Troilus, I can tell them that too.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat, is he angry too?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWho, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO Jupiter! there’s no comparison.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a man if you see him?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAy, if I ever saw him before and knew him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell, I say Troilus is Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThen you say as I say, for I am sure he is not Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNo, nor Hector is not Troilus in some degrees.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\n’Tis just to each of them: he is himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHimself! Alas, poor Troilus! I would he were!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSo he is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nCondition I had gone barefoot to India.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHe is not Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHimself! no, he’s not himself. Would a’ were himself! Well, the gods\\r\\nare above; time must friend or end. Well, Troilus, well! I would my\\r\\nheart were in her body! No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nExcuse me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHe is elder.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nPardon me, pardon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nTh’other’s not come to’t; you shall tell me another tale when\\r\\nth’other’s come to’t. Hector shall not have his wit this year.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHe shall not need it if he have his own.\\r\\n\\r\\nANDARUS.\\r\\nNor his qualities.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNo matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNor his beauty.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\n’Twould not become him: his own’s better.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou have no judgement, niece. Helen herself swore th’other day that\\r\\nTroilus, for a brown favour, for so ’tis, I must confess—not brown\\r\\nneither—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNo, but brown.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFaith, to say truth, brown and not brown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nTo say the truth, true and not true.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nShe prais’d his complexion above Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhy, Paris hath colour enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nSo he has.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThen Troilus should have too much. If she prais’d him above, his\\r\\ncomplexion is higher than his; he having colour enough, and the other\\r\\nhigher, is too flaming a praise for a good complexion. I had as lief\\r\\nHelen’s golden tongue had commended Troilus for a copper nose.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI swear to you I think Helen loves him better than Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThen she’s a merry Greek indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNay, I am sure she does. She came to him th’other day into the\\r\\ncompass’d window—and you know he has not past three or four hairs on\\r\\nhis chin—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIndeed a tapster’s arithmetic may soon bring his particulars therein to\\r\\na total.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhy, he is very young, and yet will he within three pound lift as much\\r\\nas his brother Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIs he so young a man and so old a lifter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nBut to prove to you that Helen loves him: she came and puts me her\\r\\nwhite hand to his cloven chin—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nJuno have mercy! How came it cloven?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhy, you know, ’tis dimpled. I think his smiling becomes him better\\r\\nthan any man in all Phrygia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO, he smiles valiantly!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nDoes he not?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO yes, an ’twere a cloud in autumn!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhy, go to, then! But to prove to you that Helen loves Troilus—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nTroilus will stand to the proof, if you’ll prove it so.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nTroilus! Why, he esteems her no more than I esteem an addle egg.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIf you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle head, you would\\r\\neat chickens i’ th’ shell.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI cannot choose but laugh to think how she tickled his chin. Indeed,\\r\\nshe has a marvell’s white hand, I must needs confess.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWithout the rack.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAnd she takes upon her to spy a white hair on his chin.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAlas, poor chin! Many a wart is richer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nBut there was such laughing! Queen Hecuba laugh’d that her eyes ran\\r\\no’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWith millstones.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAnd Cassandra laugh’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBut there was a more temperate fire under the pot of her eyes. Did her\\r\\neyes run o’er too?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAnd Hector laugh’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAt what was all this laughing?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nMarry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus’ chin.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAnd’t had been a green hair I should have laugh’d too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThey laugh’d not so much at the hair as at his pretty answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat was his answer?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nQuoth she ‘Here’s but two and fifty hairs on your chin, and one of them\\r\\nis white.’\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThis is her question.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThat’s true; make no question of that. ‘Two and fifty hairs,’ quoth he\\r\\n‘and one white. That white hair is my father, and all the rest are his\\r\\nsons.’ ‘Jupiter!’ quoth she ‘which of these hairs is Paris my husband?’\\r\\n‘The forked one,’ quoth he, ’pluck’t out and give it him.’ But there\\r\\nwas such laughing! and Helen so blush’d, and Paris so chaf’d; and all\\r\\nthe rest so laugh’d that it pass’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSo let it now; for it has been a great while going by.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; think on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSo I do.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI’ll be sworn ’tis true; he will weep you, and ’twere a man born in\\r\\nApril.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAnd I’ll spring up in his tears, an ’twere a nettle against May.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sound a retreat._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHark! they are coming from the field. Shall we stand up here and see\\r\\nthem as they pass toward Ilium? Good niece, do, sweet niece Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAt your pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHere, here, here’s an excellent place; here we may see most bravely.\\r\\nI’ll tell you them all by their names as they pass by; but mark Troilus\\r\\nabove the rest.\\r\\n\\r\\n [Aeneas _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSpeak not so loud.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThat’s Aeneas. Is not that a brave man? He’s one of the flowers of\\r\\nTroy, I can tell you. But mark Troilus; you shall see anon.\\r\\n\\r\\n [Antenor _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWho’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThat’s Antenor. He has a shrewd wit, I can tell you; and he’s a man\\r\\ngood enough; he’s one o’ th’ soundest judgements in Troy, whosoever,\\r\\nand a proper man of person. When comes Troilus? I’ll show you Troilus\\r\\nanon. If he see me, you shall see him nod at me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWill he give you the nod?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou shall see.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIf he do, the rich shall have more.\\r\\n\\r\\n [Hector _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThat’s Hector, that, that, look you, that; there’s a fellow! Go thy\\r\\nway, Hector! There’s a brave man, niece. O brave Hector! Look how he\\r\\nlooks. There’s a countenance! Is’t not a brave man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO, a brave man!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIs a’ not? It does a man’s heart good. Look you what hacks are on his\\r\\nhelmet! Look you yonder, do you see? Look you there. There’s no\\r\\njesting; there’s laying on; take’t off who will, as they say. There be\\r\\nhacks.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBe those with swords?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nSwords! anything, he cares not; and the devil come to him, it’s all\\r\\none. By God’s lid, it does one’s heart good. Yonder comes Paris, yonder\\r\\ncomes Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\n [Paris _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nLook ye yonder, niece; is’t not a gallant man too, is’t not? Why, this\\r\\nis brave now. Who said he came hurt home today? He’s not hurt. Why,\\r\\nthis will do Helen’s heart good now, ha! Would I could see Troilus now!\\r\\nYou shall see Troilus anon.\\r\\n\\r\\n [Helenus _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWho’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThat’s Helenus. I marvel where Troilus is. That’s\\r\\nHelenus. I think he went not forth today. That’s Helenus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nCan Helenus fight, uncle?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHelenus! no. Yes, he’ll fight indifferent well. I marvel where Troilus\\r\\nis. Hark! do you not hear the people cry ‘Troilus’?—Helenus is a\\r\\npriest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat sneaking fellow comes yonder?\\r\\n\\r\\n [Troilus _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhere? yonder? That’s Deiphobus. ’Tis Troilus. There’s a man, niece.\\r\\nHem! Brave Troilus, the prince of chivalry!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nPeace, for shame, peace!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nMark him; note him. O brave Troilus! Look well upon him, niece; look\\r\\nyou how his sword is bloodied, and his helm more hack’d than Hector’s;\\r\\nand how he looks, and how he goes! O admirable youth! he never saw\\r\\nthree and twenty. Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way. Had I a sister were\\r\\na grace or a daughter a goddess, he should take his choice. O admirable\\r\\nman! Paris? Paris is dirt to him; and, I warrant, Helen, to change,\\r\\nwould give an eye to boot.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHere comes more.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Common soldiers pass_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAsses, fools, dolts! chaff and bran, chaff and bran! porridge after\\r\\nmeat! I could live and die in the eyes of Troilus. Ne’er look, ne’er\\r\\nlook; the eagles are gone. Crows and daws, crows and daws! I had rather\\r\\nbe such a man as Troilus than Agamemnon and all Greece.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThere is amongst the Greeks Achilles, a better man than Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAchilles? A drayman, a porter, a very camel!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWell, well.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell, well! Why, have you any discretion? Have you any eyes? Do you\\r\\nknow what a man is? Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse,\\r\\nmanhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality, and such\\r\\nlike, the spice and salt that season a man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAy, a minc’d man; and then to be bak’d with no date in the pie, for\\r\\nthen the man’s date is out.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou are such a woman! A man knows not at what ward you lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nUpon my back, to defend my belly; upon my wit, to defend my wiles; upon\\r\\nmy secrecy, to defend mine honesty; my mask, to defend my beauty; and\\r\\nyou, to defend all these; and at all these wards I lie, at a thousand\\r\\nwatches.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nSay one of your watches.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNay, I’ll watch you for that; and that’s one of the chiefest of them\\r\\ntoo. If I cannot ward what I would not have hit, I can watch you for\\r\\ntelling how I took the blow; unless it swell past hiding, and then it’s\\r\\npast watching.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou are such another!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus\\' Boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nSir, my lord would instantly speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhere?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nAt your own house; there he unarms him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nGood boy, tell him I come. [_Exit_ Boy.] I doubt he be hurt. Fare ye\\r\\nwell, good niece.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAdieu, uncle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI will be with you, niece, by and by.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nTo bring, uncle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, a token from Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Pandarus.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBy the same token, you are a bawd.\\r\\nWords, vows, gifts, tears, and love’s full sacrifice,\\r\\nHe offers in another’s enterprise;\\r\\nBut more in Troilus thousand-fold I see\\r\\nThan in the glass of Pandar’s praise may be,\\r\\nYet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing:\\r\\nThings won are done; joy’s soul lies in the doing.\\r\\nThat she belov’d knows naught that knows not this:\\r\\nMen prize the thing ungain’d more than it is.\\r\\nThat she was never yet that ever knew\\r\\nLove got so sweet as when desire did sue;\\r\\nTherefore this maxim out of love I teach:\\r\\n‘Achievement is command; ungain’d, beseech.’\\r\\nThen though my heart’s content firm love doth bear,\\r\\nNothing of that shall from mine eyes appear.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The Grecian camp. Before AGAMEMNON’S tent.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sennet. Enter Agamemnon, Nestor, Ulysses, Diomedes, Menelaus and\\r\\n others.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nPrinces,\\r\\nWhat grief hath set these jaundies o’er your cheeks?\\r\\nThe ample proposition that hope makes\\r\\nIn all designs begun on earth below\\r\\nFails in the promis’d largeness; checks and disasters\\r\\nGrow in the veins of actions highest rear’d,\\r\\nAs knots, by the conflux of meeting sap,\\r\\nInfects the sound pine, and diverts his grain\\r\\nTortive and errant from his course of growth.\\r\\nNor, princes, is it matter new to us\\r\\nThat we come short of our suppose so far\\r\\nThat after seven years’ siege yet Troy walls stand;\\r\\nSith every action that hath gone before,\\r\\nWhereof we have record, trial did draw\\r\\nBias and thwart, not answering the aim,\\r\\nAnd that unbodied figure of the thought\\r\\nThat gave’t surmised shape. Why then, you princes,\\r\\nDo you with cheeks abash’d behold our works\\r\\nAnd call them shames, which are, indeed, naught else\\r\\nBut the protractive trials of great Jove\\r\\nTo find persistive constancy in men;\\r\\nThe fineness of which metal is not found\\r\\nIn fortune’s love? For then the bold and coward,\\r\\nThe wise and fool, the artist and unread,\\r\\nThe hard and soft, seem all affin’d and kin.\\r\\nBut in the wind and tempest of her frown\\r\\nDistinction, with a broad and powerful fan,\\r\\nPuffing at all, winnows the light away;\\r\\nAnd what hath mass or matter by itself\\r\\nLies rich in virtue and unmingled.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWith due observance of thy godlike seat,\\r\\nGreat Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply\\r\\nThy latest words. In the reproof of chance\\r\\nLies the true proof of men. The sea being smooth,\\r\\nHow many shallow bauble boats dare sail\\r\\nUpon her patient breast, making their way\\r\\nWith those of nobler bulk!\\r\\nBut let the ruffian Boreas once enrage\\r\\nThe gentle Thetis, and anon behold\\r\\nThe strong-ribb’d bark through liquid mountains cut,\\r\\nBounding between the two moist elements\\r\\nLike Perseus’ horse. Where’s then the saucy boat,\\r\\nWhose weak untimber’d sides but even now\\r\\nCo-rivall’d greatness? Either to harbour fled\\r\\nOr made a toast for Neptune. Even so\\r\\nDoth valour’s show and valour’s worth divide\\r\\nIn storms of fortune; for in her ray and brightness\\r\\nThe herd hath more annoyance by the breeze\\r\\nThan by the tiger; but when the splitting wind\\r\\nMakes flexible the knees of knotted oaks,\\r\\nAnd flies fled under shade—why, then the thing of courage,\\r\\nAs rous’d with rage, with rage doth sympathise,\\r\\nAnd with an accent tun’d in self-same key\\r\\nRetorts to chiding fortune.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAgamemnon,\\r\\nThou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece,\\r\\nHeart of our numbers, soul and only spirit\\r\\nIn whom the tempers and the minds of all\\r\\nShould be shut up—hear what Ulysses speaks.\\r\\nBesides th’applause and approbation\\r\\nThe which, [_To Agamemnon_] most mighty, for thy place and sway,\\r\\n[_To Nestor_] And, thou most reverend, for thy stretch’d-out life,\\r\\nI give to both your speeches—which were such\\r\\nAs Agamemnon and the hand of Greece\\r\\nShould hold up high in brass; and such again\\r\\nAs venerable Nestor, hatch’d in silver,\\r\\nShould with a bond of air, strong as the axle-tree\\r\\nOn which heaven rides, knit all the Greekish ears\\r\\nTo his experienc’d tongue—yet let it please both,\\r\\nThou great, and wise, to hear Ulysses speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nSpeak, Prince of Ithaca; and be’t of less expect\\r\\nThat matter needless, of importless burden,\\r\\nDivide thy lips than we are confident,\\r\\nWhen rank Thersites opes his mastic jaws,\\r\\nWe shall hear music, wit, and oracle.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nTroy, yet upon his basis, had been down,\\r\\nAnd the great Hector’s sword had lack’d a master,\\r\\nBut for these instances:\\r\\nThe specialty of rule hath been neglected;\\r\\nAnd look how many Grecian tents do stand\\r\\nHollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions.\\r\\nWhen that the general is not like the hive,\\r\\nTo whom the foragers shall all repair,\\r\\nWhat honey is expected? Degree being vizarded,\\r\\nTh’unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask.\\r\\nThe heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre,\\r\\nObserve degree, priority, and place,\\r\\nInsisture, course, proportion, season, form,\\r\\nOffice, and custom, in all line of order;\\r\\nAnd therefore is the glorious planet Sol\\r\\nIn noble eminence enthron’d and spher’d\\r\\nAmidst the other, whose med’cinable eye\\r\\nCorrects the influence of evil planets,\\r\\nAnd posts, like the commandment of a king,\\r\\nSans check, to good and bad. But when the planets\\r\\nIn evil mixture to disorder wander,\\r\\nWhat plagues and what portents, what mutiny,\\r\\nWhat raging of the sea, shaking of earth,\\r\\nCommotion in the winds! Frights, changes, horrors,\\r\\nDivert and crack, rend and deracinate,\\r\\nThe unity and married calm of states\\r\\nQuite from their fixture! O, when degree is shak’d,\\r\\nWhich is the ladder of all high designs,\\r\\nThe enterprise is sick! How could communities,\\r\\nDegrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities,\\r\\nPeaceful commerce from dividable shores,\\r\\nThe primogenity and due of birth,\\r\\nPrerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels,\\r\\nBut by degree stand in authentic place?\\r\\nTake but degree away, untune that string,\\r\\nAnd hark what discord follows! Each thing melts\\r\\nIn mere oppugnancy: the bounded waters\\r\\nShould lift their bosoms higher than the shores,\\r\\nAnd make a sop of all this solid globe;\\r\\nStrength should be lord of imbecility,\\r\\nAnd the rude son should strike his father dead;\\r\\nForce should be right; or, rather, right and wrong—\\r\\nBetween whose endless jar justice resides—\\r\\nShould lose their names, and so should justice too.\\r\\nThen everything includes itself in power,\\r\\nPower into will, will into appetite;\\r\\nAnd appetite, an universal wolf,\\r\\nSo doubly seconded with will and power,\\r\\nMust make perforce an universal prey,\\r\\nAnd last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon,\\r\\nThis chaos, when degree is suffocate,\\r\\nFollows the choking.\\r\\nAnd this neglection of degree it is\\r\\nThat by a pace goes backward, with a purpose\\r\\nIt hath to climb. The general’s disdain’d\\r\\nBy him one step below, he by the next,\\r\\nThat next by him beneath; so every step,\\r\\nExampl’d by the first pace that is sick\\r\\nOf his superior, grows to an envious fever\\r\\nOf pale and bloodless emulation.\\r\\nAnd ’tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot,\\r\\nNot her own sinews. To end a tale of length,\\r\\nTroy in our weakness stands, not in her strength.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nMost wisely hath Ulysses here discover’d\\r\\nThe fever whereof all our power is sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nThe nature of the sickness found, Ulysses,\\r\\nWhat is the remedy?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThe great Achilles, whom opinion crowns\\r\\nThe sinew and the forehand of our host,\\r\\nHaving his ear full of his airy fame,\\r\\nGrows dainty of his worth, and in his tent\\r\\nLies mocking our designs; with him Patroclus\\r\\nUpon a lazy bed the livelong day\\r\\nBreaks scurril jests;\\r\\nAnd with ridiculous and awkward action—\\r\\nWhich, slanderer, he imitation calls—\\r\\nHe pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon,\\r\\nThy topless deputation he puts on;\\r\\nAnd like a strutting player whose conceit\\r\\nLies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich\\r\\nTo hear the wooden dialogue and sound\\r\\n’Twixt his stretch’d footing and the scaffoldage—\\r\\nSuch to-be-pitied and o’er-wrested seeming\\r\\nHe acts thy greatness in; and when he speaks\\r\\n’Tis like a chime a-mending; with terms unsquar’d,\\r\\nWhich, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp’d,\\r\\nWould seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff\\r\\nThe large Achilles, on his press’d bed lolling,\\r\\nFrom his deep chest laughs out a loud applause;\\r\\nCries ‘Excellent! ’Tis Agamemnon right!\\r\\nNow play me Nestor; hem, and stroke thy beard,\\r\\nAs he being drest to some oration.’\\r\\nThat’s done—as near as the extremest ends\\r\\nOf parallels, as like as Vulcan and his wife;\\r\\nYet god Achilles still cries ‘Excellent!\\r\\n’Tis Nestor right. Now play him me, Patroclus,\\r\\nArming to answer in a night alarm.’\\r\\nAnd then, forsooth, the faint defects of age\\r\\nMust be the scene of mirth: to cough and spit\\r\\nAnd, with a palsy fumbling on his gorget,\\r\\nShake in and out the rivet. And at this sport\\r\\nSir Valour dies; cries ‘O, enough, Patroclus;\\r\\nOr give me ribs of steel! I shall split all\\r\\nIn pleasure of my spleen.’ And in this fashion\\r\\nAll our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes,\\r\\nSeverals and generals of grace exact,\\r\\nAchievements, plots, orders, preventions,\\r\\nExcitements to the field or speech for truce,\\r\\nSuccess or loss, what is or is not, serves\\r\\nAs stuff for these two to make paradoxes.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nAnd in the imitation of these twain—\\r\\nWho, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns\\r\\nWith an imperial voice—many are infect.\\r\\nAjax is grown self-will’d and bears his head\\r\\nIn such a rein, in full as proud a place\\r\\nAs broad Achilles; keeps his tent like him;\\r\\nMakes factious feasts; rails on our state of war\\r\\nBold as an oracle, and sets Thersites,\\r\\nA slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint,\\r\\nTo match us in comparisons with dirt,\\r\\nTo weaken and discredit our exposure,\\r\\nHow rank soever rounded in with danger.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThey tax our policy and call it cowardice,\\r\\nCount wisdom as no member of the war,\\r\\nForestall prescience, and esteem no act\\r\\nBut that of hand. The still and mental parts\\r\\nThat do contrive how many hands shall strike\\r\\nWhen fitness calls them on, and know, by measure\\r\\nOf their observant toil, the enemies’ weight—\\r\\nWhy, this hath not a finger’s dignity:\\r\\nThey call this bed-work, mapp’ry, closet-war;\\r\\nSo that the ram that batters down the wall,\\r\\nFor the great swinge and rudeness of his poise,\\r\\nThey place before his hand that made the engine,\\r\\nOr those that with the fineness of their souls\\r\\nBy reason guide his execution.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nLet this be granted, and Achilles’ horse\\r\\nMakes many Thetis’ sons.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Tucket_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat trumpet? Look, Menelaus.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nFrom Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat would you fore our tent?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nIs this great Agamemnon’s tent, I pray you?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nEven this.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nMay one that is a herald and a prince\\r\\nDo a fair message to his kingly eyes?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWith surety stronger than Achilles’ arm\\r\\nFore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice\\r\\nCall Agamemnon head and general.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nFair leave and large security. How may\\r\\nA stranger to those most imperial looks\\r\\nKnow them from eyes of other mortals?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHow?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nAy;\\r\\nI ask, that I might waken reverence,\\r\\nAnd bid the cheek be ready with a blush\\r\\nModest as morning when she coldly eyes\\r\\nThe youthful Phoebus.\\r\\nWhich is that god in office, guiding men?\\r\\nWhich is the high and mighty Agamemnon?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nThis Trojan scorns us, or the men of Troy\\r\\nAre ceremonious courtiers.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nCourtiers as free, as debonair, unarm’d,\\r\\nAs bending angels; that’s their fame in peace.\\r\\nBut when they would seem soldiers, they have galls,\\r\\nGood arms, strong joints, true swords; and, Jove’s accord,\\r\\nNothing so full of heart. But peace, Aeneas,\\r\\nPeace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips.\\r\\nThe worthiness of praise distains his worth,\\r\\nIf that the prais’d himself bring the praise forth;\\r\\nBut what the repining enemy commends,\\r\\nThat breath fame blows; that praise, sole pure, transcends.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nSir, you of Troy, call you yourself Aeneas?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nAy, Greek, that is my name.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat’s your affairs, I pray you?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nSir, pardon; ’tis for Agamemnon’s ears.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON\\r\\nHe hears naught privately that comes from Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nNor I from Troy come not to whisper with him;\\r\\nI bring a trumpet to awake his ear,\\r\\nTo set his sense on the attentive bent,\\r\\nAnd then to speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nSpeak frankly as the wind;\\r\\nIt is not Agamemnon’s sleeping hour.\\r\\nThat thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake,\\r\\nHe tells thee so himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nTrumpet, blow loud,\\r\\nSend thy brass voice through all these lazy tents;\\r\\nAnd every Greek of mettle, let him know\\r\\nWhat Troy means fairly shall be spoke aloud.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sound trumpet_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nWe have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy\\r\\nA prince called Hector—Priam is his father—\\r\\nWho in this dull and long-continued truce\\r\\nIs resty grown; he bade me take a trumpet\\r\\nAnd to this purpose speak: Kings, princes, lords!\\r\\nIf there be one among the fair’st of Greece\\r\\nThat holds his honour higher than his ease,\\r\\nThat feeds his praise more than he fears his peril,\\r\\nThat knows his valour and knows not his fear,\\r\\nThat loves his mistress more than in confession\\r\\nWith truant vows to her own lips he loves,\\r\\nAnd dare avow her beauty and her worth\\r\\nIn other arms than hers—to him this challenge.\\r\\nHector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks,\\r\\nShall make it good or do his best to do it:\\r\\nHe hath a lady wiser, fairer, truer,\\r\\nThan ever Greek did couple in his arms;\\r\\nAnd will tomorrow with his trumpet call\\r\\nMid-way between your tents and walls of Troy\\r\\nTo rouse a Grecian that is true in love.\\r\\nIf any come, Hector shall honour him;\\r\\nIf none, he’ll say in Troy, when he retires,\\r\\nThe Grecian dames are sunburnt and not worth\\r\\nThe splinter of a lance. Even so much.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nThis shall be told our lovers, Lord Aeneas.\\r\\nIf none of them have soul in such a kind,\\r\\nWe left them all at home. But we are soldiers;\\r\\nAnd may that soldier a mere recreant prove\\r\\nThat means not, hath not, or is not in love.\\r\\nIf then one is, or hath, or means to be,\\r\\nThat one meets Hector; if none else, I am he.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nTell him of Nestor, one that was a man\\r\\nWhen Hector’s grandsire suck’d. He is old now;\\r\\nBut if there be not in our Grecian host\\r\\nA noble man that hath one spark of fire\\r\\nTo answer for his love, tell him from me\\r\\nI’ll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver,\\r\\nAnd in my vambrace put this wither’d brawns,\\r\\nAnd meeting him, will tell him that my lady\\r\\nWas fairer than his grandam, and as chaste\\r\\nAs may be in the world. His youth in flood,\\r\\nI’ll prove this troth with my three drops of blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nNow heavens forfend such scarcity of youth!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nFair Lord Aeneas, let me touch your hand;\\r\\nTo our pavilion shall I lead you, sir.\\r\\nAchilles shall have word of this intent;\\r\\nSo shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent.\\r\\nYourself shall feast with us before you go,\\r\\nAnd find the welcome of a noble foe.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Ulysses and Nestor_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNestor!\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWhat says Ulysses?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI have a young conception in my brain;\\r\\nBe you my time to bring it to some shape.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWhat is’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThis ’tis:\\r\\nBlunt wedges rive hard knots. The seeded pride\\r\\nThat hath to this maturity blown up\\r\\nIn rank Achilles must or now be cropp’d\\r\\nOr, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil\\r\\nTo overbulk us all.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWell, and how?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThis challenge that the gallant Hector sends,\\r\\nHowever it is spread in general name,\\r\\nRelates in purpose only to Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nTrue. The purpose is perspicuous even as substance\\r\\nWhose grossness little characters sum up;\\r\\nAnd, in the publication, make no strain\\r\\nBut that Achilles, were his brain as barren\\r\\nAs banks of Libya—though, Apollo knows,\\r\\n’Tis dry enough—will with great speed of judgement,\\r\\nAy, with celerity, find Hector’s purpose\\r\\nPointing on him.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAnd wake him to the answer, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWhy, ’tis most meet. Who may you else oppose\\r\\nThat can from Hector bring those honours off,\\r\\nIf not Achilles? Though ’t be a sportful combat,\\r\\nYet in this trial much opinion dwells\\r\\nFor here the Trojans taste our dear’st repute\\r\\nWith their fin’st palate; and trust to me, Ulysses,\\r\\nOur imputation shall be oddly pois’d\\r\\nIn this vile action; for the success,\\r\\nAlthough particular, shall give a scantling\\r\\nOf good or bad unto the general;\\r\\nAnd in such indexes, although small pricks\\r\\nTo their subsequent volumes, there is seen\\r\\nThe baby figure of the giant mass\\r\\nOf things to come at large. It is suppos’d\\r\\nHe that meets Hector issues from our choice;\\r\\nAnd choice, being mutual act of all our souls,\\r\\nMakes merit her election, and doth boil,\\r\\nAs ’twere from forth us all, a man distill’d\\r\\nOut of our virtues; who miscarrying,\\r\\nWhat heart receives from hence a conquering part,\\r\\nTo steel a strong opinion to themselves?\\r\\nWhich entertain’d, limbs are his instruments,\\r\\nIn no less working than are swords and bows\\r\\nDirective by the limbs.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nGive pardon to my speech. Therefore ’tis meet\\r\\nAchilles meet not Hector. Let us, like merchants,\\r\\nFirst show foul wares, and think perchance they’ll sell;\\r\\nIf not, the lustre of the better shall exceed\\r\\nBy showing the worse first. Do not consent\\r\\nThat ever Hector and Achilles meet;\\r\\nFor both our honour and our shame in this\\r\\nAre dogg’d with two strange followers.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nI see them not with my old eyes. What are they?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWhat glory our Achilles shares from Hector,\\r\\nWere he not proud, we all should share with him;\\r\\nBut he already is too insolent;\\r\\nAnd it were better parch in Afric sun\\r\\nThan in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,\\r\\nShould he scape Hector fair. If he were foil’d,\\r\\nWhy, then we do our main opinion crush\\r\\nIn taint of our best man. No, make a lott’ry;\\r\\nAnd, by device, let blockish Ajax draw\\r\\nThe sort to fight with Hector. Among ourselves\\r\\nGive him allowance for the better man;\\r\\nFor that will physic the great Myrmidon,\\r\\nWho broils in loud applause, and make him fall\\r\\nHis crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends.\\r\\nIf the dull brainless Ajax come safe off,\\r\\nWe’ll dress him up in voices; if he fail,\\r\\nYet go we under our opinion still\\r\\nThat we have better men. But, hit or miss,\\r\\nOur project’s life this shape of sense assumes—\\r\\nAjax employ’d plucks down Achilles’ plumes.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nNow, Ulysses, I begin to relish thy advice;\\r\\nAnd I will give a taste thereof forthwith\\r\\nTo Agamemnon. Go we to him straight.\\r\\nTwo curs shall tame each other: pride alone\\r\\nMust tarre the mastiffs on, as ’twere their bone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Grecian camp.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ajax and Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThersites!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAgamemnon—how if he had boils, full, all over, generally?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThersites!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAnd those boils did run—say so. Did not the general run then? Were not\\r\\nthat a botchy core?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nDog!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThen there would come some matter from him;\\r\\nI see none now.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThou bitch-wolf’s son, canst thou not hear? Feel, then.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Strikes him_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThe plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nSpeak, then, thou unsalted leaven, speak. I will beat thee into\\r\\nhandsomeness.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness; but I think thy horse\\r\\nwill sooner con an oration than thou learn a prayer without book. Thou\\r\\ncanst strike, canst thou? A red murrain o’ thy jade’s tricks!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nToadstool, learn me the proclamation.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nDost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest me thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThe proclamation!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThou art proclaim’d fool, I think.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nDo not, porpentine, do not; my fingers itch.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI would thou didst itch from head to foot and I had the scratching of\\r\\nthee; I would make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art\\r\\nforth in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI say, the proclamation.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles; and thou art as full\\r\\nof envy at his greatness as Cerberus is at Proserpina’s beauty—ay, that\\r\\nthou bark’st at him.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nMistress Thersites!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThou shouldst strike him.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nCobloaf!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHe would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a sailor breaks a\\r\\nbiscuit.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nYou whoreson cur!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Strikes him_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nDo, do.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThou stool for a witch!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAy, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! Thou hast no more brain than I\\r\\nhave in mine elbows; an asinico may tutor thee. You scurvy valiant ass!\\r\\nThou art here but to thrash Trojans, and thou art bought and sold among\\r\\nthose of any wit like a barbarian slave. If thou use to beat me, I will\\r\\nbegin at thy heel and tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of no\\r\\nbowels, thou!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nYou dog!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nYou scurvy lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nYou cur!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Strikes him_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nMars his idiot! Do, rudeness; do, camel; do, do.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles and Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhy, how now, Ajax! Wherefore do ye thus?\\r\\nHow now, Thersites! What’s the matter, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nYou see him there, do you?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nAy; what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNay, look upon him.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nSo I do. What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNay, but regard him well.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWell! why, so I do.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nBut yet you look not well upon him; for whosomever you take him to be,\\r\\nhe is Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI know that, fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAy, but that fool knows not himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nTherefore I beat thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nLo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! His evasions have ears\\r\\nthus long. I have bobb’d his brain more than he has beat my bones. I\\r\\nwill buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia mater is not worth the\\r\\nninth part of a sparrow. This lord, Achilles—Ajax, who wears his wit in\\r\\nhis belly and his guts in his head—I’ll tell you what I say of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI say this Ajax—\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Ajax offers to strike him_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nNay, good Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHas not so much wit—\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nNay, I must hold you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAs will stop the eye of Helen’s needle, for whom he comes to fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nPeace, fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI would have peace and quietness, but the fool will not— he there; that\\r\\nhe; look you there.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nO thou damned cur! I shall—\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWill you set your wit to a fool’s?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNo, I warrant you, the fool’s will shame it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nGood words, Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat’s the quarrel?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI bade the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the proclamation, and he\\r\\nrails upon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI serve thee not.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWell, go to, go to.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI serve here voluntary.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nYour last service was suff’rance; ’twas not voluntary. No man is beaten\\r\\nvoluntary. Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nE’en so; a great deal of your wit too lies in your sinews, or else\\r\\nthere be liars. Hector shall have a great catch and knock out either of\\r\\nyour brains: a’ were as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat, with me too, Thersites?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThere’s Ulysses and old Nestor—whose wit was mouldy ere your grandsires\\r\\nhad nails on their toes—yoke you like draught oxen, and make you plough\\r\\nup the wars.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat, what?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nYes, good sooth. To Achilles, to Ajax, to—\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI shall cut out your tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\n’Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as thou afterwards.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nNo more words, Thersites; peace!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI will hold my peace when Achilles’ brach bids me, shall I?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nThere’s for you, Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI will see you hang’d like clotpoles ere I come any more to your tents.\\r\\nI will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of\\r\\nfools.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nA good riddance.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nMarry, this, sir, is proclaim’d through all our host,\\r\\nThat Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun,\\r\\nWill with a trumpet ’twixt our tents and Troy,\\r\\nTomorrow morning, call some knight to arms\\r\\nThat hath a stomach; and such a one that dare\\r\\nMaintain I know not what; ’tis trash. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nFarewell. Who shall answer him?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI know not; ’tis put to lott’ry, otherwise,\\r\\nHe knew his man.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nO, meaning you? I will go learn more of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Troy. PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris and Helenus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nAfter so many hours, lives, speeches spent,\\r\\nThus once again says Nestor from the Greeks:\\r\\n‘Deliver Helen, and all damage else—\\r\\nAs honour, loss of time, travail, expense,\\r\\nWounds, friends, and what else dear that is consum’d\\r\\nIn hot digestion of this cormorant war—\\r\\nShall be struck off.’ Hector, what say you to’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nThough no man lesser fears the Greeks than I,\\r\\nAs far as toucheth my particular,\\r\\nYet, dread Priam,\\r\\nThere is no lady of more softer bowels,\\r\\nMore spongy to suck in the sense of fear,\\r\\nMore ready to cry out ‘Who knows what follows?’\\r\\nThan Hector is. The wound of peace is surety,\\r\\nSurety secure; but modest doubt is call’d\\r\\nThe beacon of the wise, the tent that searches\\r\\nTo th’ bottom of the worst. Let Helen go.\\r\\nSince the first sword was drawn about this question,\\r\\nEvery tithe soul ’mongst many thousand dismes\\r\\nHath been as dear as Helen—I mean, of ours.\\r\\nIf we have lost so many tenths of ours\\r\\nTo guard a thing not ours, nor worth to us,\\r\\nHad it our name, the value of one ten,\\r\\nWhat merit’s in that reason which denies\\r\\nThe yielding of her up?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFie, fie, my brother!\\r\\nWeigh you the worth and honour of a king,\\r\\nSo great as our dread father’s, in a scale\\r\\nOf common ounces? Will you with counters sum\\r\\nThe past-proportion of his infinite,\\r\\nAnd buckle in a waist most fathomless\\r\\nWith spans and inches so diminutive\\r\\nAs fears and reasons? Fie, for godly shame!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENUS.\\r\\nNo marvel though you bite so sharp of reasons,\\r\\nYou are so empty of them. Should not our father\\r\\nBear the great sway of his affairs with reason,\\r\\nBecause your speech hath none that tells him so?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYou are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest;\\r\\nYou fur your gloves with reason. Here are your reasons:\\r\\nYou know an enemy intends you harm;\\r\\nYou know a sword employ’d is perilous,\\r\\nAnd reason flies the object of all harm.\\r\\nWho marvels, then, when Helenus beholds\\r\\nA Grecian and his sword, if he do set\\r\\nThe very wings of reason to his heels\\r\\nAnd fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,\\r\\nOr like a star disorb’d? Nay, if we talk of reason,\\r\\nLet’s shut our gates and sleep. Manhood and honour\\r\\nShould have hare hearts, would they but fat their thoughts\\r\\nWith this cramm’d reason. Reason and respect\\r\\nMake livers pale and lustihood deject.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nBrother, she is not worth what she doth cost the keeping.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat’s aught but as ’tis valued?\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nBut value dwells not in particular will:\\r\\nIt holds his estimate and dignity\\r\\nAs well wherein ’tis precious of itself\\r\\nAs in the prizer. ’Tis mad idolatry\\r\\nTo make the service greater than the god,\\r\\nAnd the will dotes that is attributive\\r\\nTo what infectiously itself affects,\\r\\nWithout some image of th’affected merit.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI take today a wife, and my election\\r\\nIs led on in the conduct of my will;\\r\\nMy will enkindled by mine eyes and ears,\\r\\nTwo traded pilots ’twixt the dangerous shores\\r\\nOf will and judgement: how may I avoid,\\r\\nAlthough my will distaste what it elected,\\r\\nThe wife I chose? There can be no evasion\\r\\nTo blench from this and to stand firm by honour.\\r\\nWe turn not back the silks upon the merchant\\r\\nWhen we have soil’d them; nor the remainder viands\\r\\nWe do not throw in unrespective sieve,\\r\\nBecause we now are full. It was thought meet\\r\\nParis should do some vengeance on the Greeks;\\r\\nYour breath with full consent bellied his sails;\\r\\nThe seas and winds, old wranglers, took a truce,\\r\\nAnd did him service. He touch’d the ports desir’d;\\r\\nAnd for an old aunt whom the Greeks held captive\\r\\nHe brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and freshness\\r\\nWrinkles Apollo’s, and makes stale the morning.\\r\\nWhy keep we her? The Grecians keep our aunt.\\r\\nIs she worth keeping? Why, she is a pearl\\r\\nWhose price hath launch’d above a thousand ships,\\r\\nAnd turn’d crown’d kings to merchants.\\r\\nIf you’ll avouch ’twas wisdom Paris went—\\r\\nAs you must needs, for you all cried ‘Go, go’—\\r\\nIf you’ll confess he brought home worthy prize—\\r\\nAs you must needs, for you all clapp’d your hands,\\r\\nAnd cried ‘Inestimable!’—why do you now\\r\\nThe issue of your proper wisdoms rate,\\r\\nAnd do a deed that never Fortune did—\\r\\nBeggar the estimation which you priz’d\\r\\nRicher than sea and land? O theft most base,\\r\\nThat we have stol’n what we do fear to keep!\\r\\nBut thieves unworthy of a thing so stol’n\\r\\nThat in their country did them that disgrace\\r\\nWe fear to warrant in our native place!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Cry, Trojans, cry.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nWhat noise, what shriek is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\n’Tis our mad sister; I do know her voice.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Cry, Trojans.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nIt is Cassandra.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassandra, raving.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nCry, Trojans, cry. Lend me ten thousand eyes,\\r\\nAnd I will fill them with prophetic tears.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nPeace, sister, peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nVirgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled eld,\\r\\nSoft infancy, that nothing canst but cry,\\r\\nAdd to my clamours. Let us pay betimes\\r\\nA moiety of that mass of moan to come.\\r\\nCry, Trojans, cry. Practise your eyes with tears.\\r\\nTroy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand;\\r\\nOur firebrand brother, Paris, burns us all.\\r\\nCry, Trojans, cry, A Helen and a woe!\\r\\nCry, cry. Troy burns, or else let Helen go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nNow, youthful Troilus, do not these high strains\\r\\nOf divination in our sister work\\r\\nSome touches of remorse? Or is your blood\\r\\nSo madly hot, that no discourse of reason,\\r\\nNor fear of bad success in a bad cause,\\r\\nCan qualify the same?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhy, brother Hector,\\r\\nWe may not think the justness of each act\\r\\nSuch and no other than event doth form it;\\r\\nNor once deject the courage of our minds\\r\\nBecause Cassandra’s mad. Her brain-sick raptures\\r\\nCannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel\\r\\nWhich hath our several honours all engag’d\\r\\nTo make it gracious. For my private part,\\r\\nI am no more touch’d than all Priam’s sons;\\r\\nAnd Jove forbid there should be done amongst us\\r\\nSuch things as might offend the weakest spleen\\r\\nTo fight for and maintain.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nElse might the world convince of levity\\r\\nAs well my undertakings as your counsels;\\r\\nBut I attest the gods, your full consent\\r\\nGave wings to my propension, and cut off\\r\\nAll fears attending on so dire a project.\\r\\nFor what, alas, can these my single arms?\\r\\nWhat propugnation is in one man’s valour\\r\\nTo stand the push and enmity of those\\r\\nThis quarrel would excite? Yet I protest,\\r\\nWere I alone to pass the difficulties,\\r\\nAnd had as ample power as I have will,\\r\\nParis should ne’er retract what he hath done,\\r\\nNor faint in the pursuit.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nParis, you speak\\r\\nLike one besotted on your sweet delights.\\r\\nYou have the honey still, but these the gall;\\r\\nSo to be valiant is no praise at all.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nSir, I propose not merely to myself\\r\\nThe pleasures such a beauty brings with it;\\r\\nBut I would have the soil of her fair rape\\r\\nWip’d off in honourable keeping her.\\r\\nWhat treason were it to the ransack’d queen,\\r\\nDisgrace to your great worths, and shame to me,\\r\\nNow to deliver her possession up\\r\\nOn terms of base compulsion! Can it be,\\r\\nThat so degenerate a strain as this\\r\\nShould once set footing in your generous bosoms?\\r\\nThere’s not the meanest spirit on our party\\r\\nWithout a heart to dare or sword to draw\\r\\nWhen Helen is defended; nor none so noble\\r\\nWhose life were ill bestow’d or death unfam’d,\\r\\nWhere Helen is the subject. Then, I say,\\r\\nWell may we fight for her whom we know well\\r\\nThe world’s large spaces cannot parallel.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nParis and Troilus, you have both said well;\\r\\nAnd on the cause and question now in hand\\r\\nHave gloz’d, but superficially; not much\\r\\nUnlike young men, whom Aristotle thought\\r\\nUnfit to hear moral philosophy.\\r\\nThe reasons you allege do more conduce\\r\\nTo the hot passion of distemp’red blood\\r\\nThan to make up a free determination\\r\\n’Twixt right and wrong; for pleasure and revenge\\r\\nHave ears more deaf than adders to the voice\\r\\nOf any true decision. Nature craves\\r\\nAll dues be rend’red to their owners. Now,\\r\\nWhat nearer debt in all humanity\\r\\nThan wife is to the husband? If this law\\r\\nOf nature be corrupted through affection;\\r\\nAnd that great minds, of partial indulgence\\r\\nTo their benumbed wills, resist the same;\\r\\nThere is a law in each well-order’d nation\\r\\nTo curb those raging appetites that are\\r\\nMost disobedient and refractory.\\r\\nIf Helen, then, be wife to Sparta’s king—\\r\\nAs it is known she is—these moral laws\\r\\nOf nature and of nations speak aloud\\r\\nTo have her back return’d. Thus to persist\\r\\nIn doing wrong extenuates not wrong,\\r\\nBut makes it much more heavy. Hector’s opinion\\r\\nIs this, in way of truth. Yet, ne’ertheless,\\r\\nMy spritely brethren, I propend to you\\r\\nIn resolution to keep Helen still;\\r\\nFor ’tis a cause that hath no mean dependence\\r\\nUpon our joint and several dignities.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhy, there you touch’d the life of our design.\\r\\nWere it not glory that we more affected\\r\\nThan the performance of our heaving spleens,\\r\\nI would not wish a drop of Trojan blood\\r\\nSpent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector,\\r\\nShe is a theme of honour and renown,\\r\\nA spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds,\\r\\nWhose present courage may beat down our foes,\\r\\nAnd fame in time to come canonize us;\\r\\nFor I presume brave Hector would not lose\\r\\nSo rich advantage of a promis’d glory\\r\\nAs smiles upon the forehead of this action\\r\\nFor the wide world’s revenue.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI am yours,\\r\\nYou valiant offspring of great Priamus.\\r\\nI have a roisting challenge sent amongst\\r\\nThe dull and factious nobles of the Greeks\\r\\nWill strike amazement to their drowsy spirits.\\r\\nI was advertis’d their great general slept,\\r\\nWhilst emulation in the army crept.\\r\\nThis, I presume, will wake him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thersites, solus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHow now, Thersites! What, lost in the labyrinth of thy fury? Shall the\\r\\nelephant Ajax carry it thus? He beats me, and I rail at him. O worthy\\r\\nsatisfaction! Would it were otherwise: that I could beat him, whilst he\\r\\nrail’d at me! ‘Sfoot, I’ll learn to conjure and raise devils, but I’ll\\r\\nsee some issue of my spiteful execrations. Then there’s Achilles, a\\r\\nrare engineer! If Troy be not taken till these two undermine it, the\\r\\nwalls will stand till they fall of themselves. O thou great\\r\\nthunder-darter of Olympus, forget that thou art Jove, the king of gods,\\r\\nand, Mercury, lose all the serpentine craft of thy caduceus, if ye take\\r\\nnot that little little less than little wit from them that they have!\\r\\nwhich short-arm’d ignorance itself knows is so abundant scarce, it will\\r\\nnot in circumvention deliver a fly from a spider without drawing their\\r\\nmassy irons and cutting the web. After this, the vengeance on the whole\\r\\ncamp! or, rather, the Neapolitan bone-ache! for that, methinks, is the\\r\\ncurse depending on those that war for a placket. I have said my\\r\\nprayers; and devil Envy say ‘Amen.’ What ho! my Lord Achilles!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWho’s there? Thersites! Good Thersites, come in and rail.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nIf I could a’ rememb’red a gilt counterfeit, thou wouldst not have\\r\\nslipp’d out of my contemplation; but it is no matter; thyself upon\\r\\nthyself! The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in\\r\\ngreat revenue! Heaven bless thee from a tutor, and discipline come not\\r\\nnear thee! Let thy blood be thy direction till thy death. Then if she\\r\\nthat lays thee out says thou art a fair corse, I’ll be sworn and sworn\\r\\nupon’t she never shrouded any but lazars. Amen. Where’s Achilles?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWhat, art thou devout? Wast thou in prayer?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAy, the heavens hear me!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWho’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nThersites, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhere, where? O, where? Art thou come? Why, my cheese, my digestion,\\r\\nwhy hast thou not served thyself in to my table so many meals? Come,\\r\\nwhat’s Agamemnon?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThy commander, Achilles. Then tell me, Patroclus, what’s Achilles?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nThy lord, Thersites. Then tell me, I pray thee, what’s Thersites?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThy knower, Patroclus. Then tell me, Patroclus, what art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nThou must tell that knowest.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nO, tell, tell,\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI’ll decline the whole question. Agamemnon commands Achilles; Achilles\\r\\nis my lord; I am Patroclus’ knower; and Patroclus is a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nYou rascal!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nPeace, fool! I have not done.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nHe is a privileg’d man. Proceed, Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAgamemnon is a fool; Achilles is a fool; Thersites is a fool; and, as\\r\\naforesaid, Patroclus is a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nDerive this; come.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAgamemnon is a fool to offer to command Achilles; Achilles is a fool to\\r\\nbe commanded of Agamemnon; Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool;\\r\\nand this Patroclus is a fool positive.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWhy am I a fool?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nMake that demand of the Creator. It suffices me thou art. Look you, who\\r\\ncomes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Diomedes, Ajax and Calchas.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nCome, Patroclus, I’ll speak with nobody. Come in with me, Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHere is such patchery, such juggling, and such knavery. All the\\r\\nargument is a whore and a cuckold—a good quarrel to draw emulous\\r\\nfactions and bleed to death upon. Now the dry serpigo on the subject,\\r\\nand war and lechery confound all!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhere is Achilles?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWithin his tent; but ill-dispos’d, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nLet it be known to him that we are here.\\r\\nHe sate our messengers; and we lay by\\r\\nOur appertainings, visiting of him.\\r\\nLet him be told so; lest, perchance, he think\\r\\nWe dare not move the question of our place\\r\\nOr know not what we are.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nI shall say so to him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWe saw him at the opening of his tent.\\r\\nHe is not sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nYes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart. You may call it melancholy, if you\\r\\nwill favour the man; but, by my head, ’tis pride. But why, why? Let him\\r\\nshow us a cause. A word, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Takes Agamemnon aside_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWhat moves Ajax thus to bay at him?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAchilles hath inveigled his fool from him.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWho, Thersites?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nHe.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nThen will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his argument.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNo; you see he is his argument that has his argument, Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nAll the better; their fraction is more our wish than their faction. But\\r\\nit was a strong composure a fool could disunite!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThe amity that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nNo Achilles with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThe elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy; his legs are legs for\\r\\nnecessity, not for flexure.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nAchilles bids me say he is much sorry\\r\\nIf any thing more than your sport and pleasure\\r\\nDid move your greatness and this noble state\\r\\nTo call upon him; he hopes it is no other\\r\\nBut for your health and your digestion sake,\\r\\nAn after-dinner’s breath.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHear you, Patroclus.\\r\\nWe are too well acquainted with these answers;\\r\\nBut his evasion, wing’d thus swift with scorn,\\r\\nCannot outfly our apprehensions.\\r\\nMuch attribute he hath, and much the reason\\r\\nWhy we ascribe it to him. Yet all his virtues,\\r\\nNot virtuously on his own part beheld,\\r\\nDo in our eyes begin to lose their gloss;\\r\\nYea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish,\\r\\nAre like to rot untasted. Go and tell him\\r\\nWe come to speak with him; and you shall not sin\\r\\nIf you do say we think him over-proud\\r\\nAnd under-honest, in self-assumption greater\\r\\nThan in the note of judgement; and worthier than himself\\r\\nHere tend the savage strangeness he puts on,\\r\\nDisguise the holy strength of their command,\\r\\nAnd underwrite in an observing kind\\r\\nHis humorous predominance; yea, watch\\r\\nHis course and time, his ebbs and flows, as if\\r\\nThe passage and whole stream of this commencement\\r\\nRode on his tide. Go tell him this, and add\\r\\nThat if he overhold his price so much\\r\\nWe’ll none of him, but let him, like an engine\\r\\nNot portable, lie under this report:\\r\\nBring action hither; this cannot go to war.\\r\\nA stirring dwarf we do allowance give\\r\\nBefore a sleeping giant. Tell him so.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nI shall, and bring his answer presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nIn second voice we’ll not be satisfied;\\r\\nWe come to speak with him. Ulysses, enter you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Ulysses.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWhat is he more than another?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nNo more than what he thinks he is.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nIs he so much? Do you not think he thinks himself a better man than I\\r\\nam?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nNo question.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWill you subscribe his thought and say he is?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nNo, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as valiant, as wise, no less noble,\\r\\nmuch more gentle, and altogether more tractable.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWhy should a man be proud? How doth pride grow? I know not what pride\\r\\nis.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nYour mind is the clearer, Ajax, and your virtues the fairer. He that is\\r\\nproud eats up himself. Pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own\\r\\nchronicle; and whatever praises itself but in the deed devours the deed\\r\\nin the praise.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ulysses.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI do hate a proud man as I do hate the engend’ring of toads.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\n[_Aside._] And yet he loves himself: is’t not strange?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAchilles will not to the field tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat’s his excuse?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nHe doth rely on none;\\r\\nBut carries on the stream of his dispose,\\r\\nWithout observance or respect of any,\\r\\nIn will peculiar and in self-admission.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhy will he not, upon our fair request,\\r\\nUntent his person and share th’air with us?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThings small as nothing, for request’s sake only,\\r\\nHe makes important; possess’d he is with greatness,\\r\\nAnd speaks not to himself but with a pride\\r\\nThat quarrels at self-breath. Imagin’d worth\\r\\nHolds in his blood such swol’n and hot discourse\\r\\nThat ’twixt his mental and his active parts\\r\\nKingdom’d Achilles in commotion rages,\\r\\nAnd batters down himself. What should I say?\\r\\nHe is so plaguy proud that the death tokens of it\\r\\nCry ‘No recovery.’\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nLet Ajax go to him.\\r\\nDear lord, go you and greet him in his tent.\\r\\n’Tis said he holds you well; and will be led\\r\\nAt your request a little from himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nO Agamemnon, let it not be so!\\r\\nWe’ll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes\\r\\nWhen they go from Achilles. Shall the proud lord\\r\\nThat bastes his arrogance with his own seam\\r\\nAnd never suffers matter of the world\\r\\nEnter his thoughts, save such as doth revolve\\r\\nAnd ruminate himself—shall he be worshipp’d\\r\\nOf that we hold an idol more than he?\\r\\nNo, this thrice worthy and right valiant lord\\r\\nShall not so stale his palm, nobly acquir’d,\\r\\nNor, by my will, assubjugate his merit,\\r\\nAs amply titled as Achilles is,\\r\\nBy going to Achilles.\\r\\nThat were to enlard his fat-already pride,\\r\\nAnd add more coals to Cancer when he burns\\r\\nWith entertaining great Hyperion.\\r\\nThis lord go to him! Jupiter forbid,\\r\\nAnd say in thunder ‘Achilles go to him.’\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] O, this is well! He rubs the vein of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] And how his silence drinks up this applause!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nIf I go to him, with my armed fist I’ll pash him o’er the face.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nO, no, you shall not go.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nAn a’ be proud with me I’ll pheeze his pride.\\r\\nLet me go to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNot for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nA paltry, insolent fellow!\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] How he describes himself!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nCan he not be sociable?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] The raven chides blackness.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI’ll let his humours blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] He will be the physician that should be the patient.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nAnd all men were o’ my mind—\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] Wit would be out of fashion.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nA’ should not bear it so, a’ should eat’s words first.\\r\\nShall pride carry it?\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] And ’twould, you’d carry half.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] A’ would have ten shares.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI will knead him, I’ll make him supple.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] He’s not yet through warm. Force him with praises; pour in,\\r\\npour in; his ambition is dry.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n[_To Agamemnon_.] My lord, you feed too much on this dislike.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nOur noble general, do not do so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nYou must prepare to fight without Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWhy ’tis this naming of him does him harm.\\r\\nHere is a man—but ’tis before his face;\\r\\nI will be silent.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWherefore should you so?\\r\\nHe is not emulous, as Achilles is.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nKnow the whole world, he is as valiant.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nA whoreson dog, that shall palter with us thus!\\r\\nWould he were a Trojan!\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWhat a vice were it in Ajax now—\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nIf he were proud.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nOr covetous of praise.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAy, or surly borne.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nOr strange, or self-affected.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet composure\\r\\nPraise him that gat thee, she that gave thee suck;\\r\\nFam’d be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature\\r\\nThrice fam’d beyond, beyond all erudition;\\r\\nBut he that disciplin’d thine arms to fight—\\r\\nLet Mars divide eternity in twain\\r\\nAnd give him half; and, for thy vigour,\\r\\nBull-bearing Milo his addition yield\\r\\nTo sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom,\\r\\nWhich, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines\\r\\nThy spacious and dilated parts. Here’s Nestor,\\r\\nInstructed by the antiquary times—\\r\\nHe must, he is, he cannot but be wise;\\r\\nBut pardon, father Nestor, were your days\\r\\nAs green as Ajax’ and your brain so temper’d,\\r\\nYou should not have the eminence of him,\\r\\nBut be as Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nShall I call you father?\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nAy, my good son.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nBe rul’d by him, Lord Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThere is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles\\r\\nKeeps thicket. Please it our great general\\r\\nTo call together all his state of war;\\r\\nFresh kings are come to Troy. Tomorrow\\r\\nWe must with all our main of power stand fast;\\r\\nAnd here’s a lord—come knights from east to west\\r\\nAnd cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nGo we to council. Let Achilles sleep.\\r\\nLight boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Troy. PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Music sounds within. Enter Pandarus and a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFriend, you—pray you, a word. Do you not follow the young Lord Paris?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nAy, sir, when he goes before me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou depend upon him, I mean?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nSir, I do depend upon the Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou depend upon a notable gentleman; I must needs praise him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThe Lord be praised!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou know me, do you not?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nFaith, sir, superficially.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFriend, know me better: I am the Lord Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI hope I shall know your honour better.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI do desire it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nYou are in the state of grace?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nGrace? Not so, friend; honour and lordship are my titles. What music is\\r\\nthis?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI do but partly know, sir; it is music in parts.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nKnow you the musicians?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nWholly, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWho play they to?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nTo the hearers, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAt whose pleasure, friend?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nAt mine, sir, and theirs that love music.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nCommand, I mean, friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nWho shall I command, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFriend, we understand not one another: I am too courtly, and thou art\\r\\ntoo cunning. At whose request do these men play?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThat’s to’t, indeed, sir. Marry, sir, at the request of Paris my lord,\\r\\nwho is there in person; with him the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of\\r\\nbeauty, love’s invisible soul—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWho, my cousin, Cressida?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nNo, sir, Helen. Could not you find out that by her attributes?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIt should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the Lady Cressida. I\\r\\ncome to speak with Paris from the Prince Troilus; I will make a\\r\\ncomplimental assault upon him, for my business seethes.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nSodden business! There’s a stew’d phrase indeed!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paris and Helen, attended.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair company! Fair desires, in\\r\\nall fair measure, fairly guide them—especially to you, fair queen! Fair\\r\\nthoughts be your fair pillow.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nDear lord, you are full of fair words.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. Fair prince, here is good\\r\\nbroken music.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nYou have broke it, cousin; and by my life, you shall make it whole\\r\\nagain; you shall piece it out with a piece of your performance.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nHe is full of harmony.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nTruly, lady, no.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nO, sir—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nRude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nWell said, my lord. Well, you say so in fits.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI have business to my lord, dear queen. My lord, will you vouchsafe me\\r\\na word?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nNay, this shall not hedge us out. We’ll hear you sing, certainly—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell sweet queen, you are pleasant with me. But, marry, thus, my lord:\\r\\nmy dear lord and most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus—\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nMy Lord Pandarus, honey-sweet lord—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nGo to, sweet queen, go to—commends himself most affectionately to you—\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nYou shall not bob us out of our melody. If you do, our melancholy upon\\r\\nyour head!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nSweet queen, sweet queen; that’s a sweet queen, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nAnd to make a sweet lady sad is a sour offence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall it not, in truth, la.\\r\\nNay, I care not for such words; no, no.—And, my lord, he desires you\\r\\nthat, if the King call for him at supper, you will make his excuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nMy Lord Pandarus!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat says my sweet queen, my very very sweet queen?\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nWhat exploit’s in hand? Where sups he tonight?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nNay, but, my lord—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat says my sweet queen?—My cousin will fall out with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nYou must not know where he sups.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nI’ll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNo, no, no such matter; you are wide. Come, your disposer is sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nWell, I’ll make’s excuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, good my lord. Why should you say Cressida?\\r\\nNo, your poor disposer’s sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nI spy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou spy! What do you spy?—Come, give me an instrument. Now, sweet\\r\\nqueen.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nWhy, this is kindly done.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nMy niece is horribly in love with a thing you have, sweet queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nShe shall have it, my lord, if it be not my Lord Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHe? No, she’ll none of him; they two are twain.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nFalling in, after falling out, may make them three.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nCome, come. I’ll hear no more of this; I’ll sing you a song now.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nAy, ay, prithee now. By my troth, sweet lord, thou hast a fine\\r\\nforehead.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, you may, you may.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nLet thy song be love. This love will undo us all. O Cupid, Cupid,\\r\\nCupid!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nLove! Ay, that it shall, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nAy, good now, love, love, nothing but love.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIn good troth, it begins so.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sings_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n _Love, love, nothing but love, still love, still more!\\r\\n For, oh, love’s bow\\r\\n Shoots buck and doe;\\r\\n The shaft confounds\\r\\n Not that it wounds,\\r\\n But tickles still the sore.\\r\\n These lovers cry, O ho, they die!\\r\\n Yet that which seems the wound to kill\\r\\n Doth turn O ho! to ha! ha! he!\\r\\n So dying love lives still.\\r\\n O ho! a while, but ha! ha! ha!\\r\\n O ho! groans out for ha! ha! ha!—hey ho!_\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nIn love, i’ faith, to the very tip of the nose.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHe eats nothing but doves, love; and that breeds hot blood, and hot\\r\\nblood begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot\\r\\ndeeds is love.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIs this the generation of love: hot blood, hot thoughts, and hot deeds?\\r\\nWhy, they are vipers. Is love a generation of vipers? Sweet lord, who’s\\r\\na-field today?\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the gallantry of Troy. I\\r\\nwould fain have arm’d today, but my Nell would not have it so. How\\r\\nchance my brother Troilus went not?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nHe hangs the lip at something. You know all, Lord Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNot I, honey-sweet queen. I long to hear how they spend today. You’ll\\r\\nremember your brother’s excuse?\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nTo a hair.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFarewell, sweet queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nCommend me to your niece.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI will, sweet queen.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit. Sound a retreat_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThey’re come from the field. Let us to Priam’s hall\\r\\nTo greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you\\r\\nTo help unarm our Hector. His stubborn buckles,\\r\\nWith these your white enchanting fingers touch’d,\\r\\nShall more obey than to the edge of steel\\r\\nOr force of Greekish sinews; you shall do more\\r\\nThan all the island kings—disarm great Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\n’Twill make us proud to be his servant, Paris;\\r\\nYea, what he shall receive of us in duty\\r\\nGives us more palm in beauty than we have,\\r\\nYea, overshines ourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nSweet, above thought I love thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Troy. PANDARUS’ orchard.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus and Troilus’ Boy, meeting.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHow now! Where’s thy master? At my cousin Cressida’s?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nNo, sir; he stays for you to conduct him thither.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nO, here he comes. How now, how now?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nSirrah, walk off.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Boy.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHave you seen my cousin?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNo, Pandarus. I stalk about her door\\r\\nLike a strange soul upon the Stygian banks\\r\\nStaying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon,\\r\\nAnd give me swift transportance to these fields\\r\\nWhere I may wallow in the lily beds\\r\\nPropos’d for the deserver! O gentle Pandar,\\r\\nfrom Cupid’s shoulder pluck his painted wings,\\r\\nand fly with me to Cressid!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWalk here i’ th’ orchard, I’ll bring her straight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI am giddy; expectation whirls me round.\\r\\nTh’imaginary relish is so sweet\\r\\nThat it enchants my sense; what will it be\\r\\nWhen that the wat’ry palate tastes indeed\\r\\nLove’s thrice-repured nectar? Death, I fear me;\\r\\nSounding destruction; or some joy too fine,\\r\\nToo subtle-potent, tun’d too sharp in sweetness,\\r\\nFor the capacity of my ruder powers.\\r\\nI fear it much; and I do fear besides\\r\\nThat I shall lose distinction in my joys;\\r\\nAs doth a battle, when they charge on heaps\\r\\nThe enemy flying.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nShe’s making her ready, she’ll come straight; you must be witty now.\\r\\nShe does so blush, and fetches her wind so short, as if she were fray’d\\r\\nwith a sprite. I’ll fetch her. It is the prettiest villain; she fetches\\r\\nher breath as short as a new-ta’en sparrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nEven such a passion doth embrace my bosom.\\r\\nMy heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse,\\r\\nAnd all my powers do their bestowing lose,\\r\\nLike vassalage at unawares encount’ring\\r\\nThe eye of majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Pandarus with Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nCome, come, what need you blush? Shame’s a baby. Here she is now; swear\\r\\nthe oaths now to her that you have sworn to me.—What, are you gone\\r\\nagain? You must be watch’d ere you be made tame, must you? Come your\\r\\nways, come your ways; and you draw backward, we’ll put you i’ th’\\r\\nfills. Why do you not speak to her? Come, draw this curtain and let’s\\r\\nsee your picture. Alas the day, how loath you are to offend daylight!\\r\\nAnd ’twere dark, you’d close sooner. So, so; rub on, and kiss the\\r\\nmistress. How now, a kiss in fee-farm! Build there, carpenter; the air\\r\\nis sweet. Nay, you shall fight your hearts out ere I part you. The\\r\\nfalcon as the tercel, for all the ducks i’ th’ river. Go to, go to.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYou have bereft me of all words, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWords pay no debts, give her deeds; but she’ll bereave you o’ th’ deeds\\r\\ntoo, if she call your activity in question. What, billing again? Here’s\\r\\n‘In witness whereof the parties interchangeably.’ Come in, come in;\\r\\nI’ll go get a fire.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWill you walk in, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO Cressid, how often have I wish’d me thus!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWish’d, my lord! The gods grant—O my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat should they grant? What makes this pretty abruption? What too\\r\\ncurious dreg espies my sweet lady in the fountain of our love?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nMore dregs than water, if my fears have eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFears make devils of cherubins; they never see truly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBlind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds safer footing than blind\\r\\nreason stumbling without fear. To fear the worst oft cures the worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO, let my lady apprehend no fear! In all Cupid’s pageant there is\\r\\npresented no monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNor nothing monstrous neither?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNothing, but our undertakings when we vow to weep seas, live in fire,\\r\\neat rocks, tame tigers; thinking it harder for our mistress to devise\\r\\nimposition enough than for us to undergo any difficulty imposed. This\\r\\nis the monstruosity in love, lady, that the will is infinite, and the\\r\\nexecution confin’d; that the desire is boundless, and the act a slave\\r\\nto limit.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThey say all lovers swear more performance than they are able, and yet\\r\\nreserve an ability that they never perform; vowing more than the\\r\\nperfection of ten, and discharging less than the tenth part of one.\\r\\nThey that have the voice of lions and the act of hares, are they not\\r\\nmonsters?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAre there such? Such are not we. Praise us as we are tasted, allow us\\r\\nas we prove; our head shall go bare till merit crown it. No perfection\\r\\nin reversion shall have a praise in present. We will not name desert\\r\\nbefore his birth; and, being born, his addition shall be humble. Few\\r\\nwords to fair faith: Troilus shall be such to Cressid as what envy can\\r\\nsay worst shall be a mock for his truth; and what truth can speak\\r\\ntruest not truer than Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWill you walk in, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat, blushing still? Have you not done talking yet?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWell, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI thank you for that; if my lord get a boy of you, you’ll give him me.\\r\\nBe true to my lord; if he flinch, chide me for it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYou know now your hostages: your uncle’s word and my firm faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNay, I’ll give my word for her too: our kindred, though they be long\\r\\nere they are wooed, they are constant being won; they are burs, I can\\r\\ntell you; they’ll stick where they are thrown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBoldness comes to me now and brings me heart.\\r\\nPrince Troilus, I have lov’d you night and day\\r\\nFor many weary months.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhy was my Cressid then so hard to win?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHard to seem won; but I was won, my lord,\\r\\nWith the first glance that ever—pardon me.\\r\\nIf I confess much, you will play the tyrant.\\r\\nI love you now; but till now not so much\\r\\nBut I might master it. In faith, I lie;\\r\\nMy thoughts were like unbridled children, grown\\r\\nToo headstrong for their mother. See, we fools!\\r\\nWhy have I blabb’d? Who shall be true to us,\\r\\nWhen we are so unsecret to ourselves?\\r\\nBut, though I lov’d you well, I woo’d you not;\\r\\nAnd yet, good faith, I wish’d myself a man,\\r\\nOr that we women had men’s privilege\\r\\nOf speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue,\\r\\nFor in this rapture I shall surely speak\\r\\nThe thing I shall repent. See, see, your silence,\\r\\nCunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws\\r\\nMy very soul of counsel. Stop my mouth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAnd shall, albeit sweet music issues thence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nPretty, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nMy lord, I do beseech you, pardon me;\\r\\n’Twas not my purpose thus to beg a kiss.\\r\\nI am asham’d. O heavens! what have I done?\\r\\nFor this time will I take my leave, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYour leave, sweet Cressid!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nLeave! And you take leave till tomorrow morning—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nPray you, content you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat offends you, lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSir, mine own company.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYou cannot shun yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nLet me go and try.\\r\\nI have a kind of self resides with you;\\r\\nBut an unkind self, that itself will leave\\r\\nTo be another’s fool. I would be gone.\\r\\nWhere is my wit? I know not what I speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWell know they what they speak that speak so wisely.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nPerchance, my lord, I show more craft than love;\\r\\nAnd fell so roundly to a large confession\\r\\nTo angle for your thoughts; but you are wise—\\r\\nOr else you love not; for to be wise and love\\r\\nExceeds man’s might; that dwells with gods above.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO that I thought it could be in a woman—\\r\\nAs, if it can, I will presume in you—\\r\\nTo feed for aye her lamp and flames of love;\\r\\nTo keep her constancy in plight and youth,\\r\\nOutliving beauty’s outward, with a mind\\r\\nThat doth renew swifter than blood decays!\\r\\nOr that persuasion could but thus convince me\\r\\nThat my integrity and truth to you\\r\\nMight be affronted with the match and weight\\r\\nOf such a winnowed purity in love.\\r\\nHow were I then uplifted! But, alas,\\r\\nI am as true as truth’s simplicity,\\r\\nAnd simpler than the infancy of truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIn that I’ll war with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO virtuous fight,\\r\\nWhen right with right wars who shall be most right!\\r\\nTrue swains in love shall in the world to come\\r\\nApprove their truth by Troilus, when their rhymes,\\r\\nFull of protest, of oath, and big compare,\\r\\nWant similes, truth tir’d with iteration—\\r\\nAs true as steel, as plantage to the moon,\\r\\nAs sun to day, as turtle to her mate,\\r\\nAs iron to adamant, as earth to th’ centre—\\r\\nYet, after all comparisons of truth,\\r\\nAs truth’s authentic author to be cited,\\r\\n‘As true as Troilus’ shall crown up the verse\\r\\nAnd sanctify the numbers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nProphet may you be!\\r\\nIf I be false, or swerve a hair from truth,\\r\\nWhen time is old and hath forgot itself,\\r\\nWhen waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy,\\r\\nAnd blind oblivion swallow’d cities up,\\r\\nAnd mighty states characterless are grated\\r\\nTo dusty nothing—yet let memory\\r\\nFrom false to false, among false maids in love,\\r\\nUpbraid my falsehood when th’ have said ‘As false\\r\\nAs air, as water, wind, or sandy earth,\\r\\nAs fox to lamb, or wolf to heifer’s calf,\\r\\nPard to the hind, or stepdame to her son’—\\r\\nYea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood,\\r\\n‘As false as Cressid.’\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nGo to, a bargain made; seal it, seal it; I’ll be the witness. Here I\\r\\nhold your hand; here my cousin’s. If ever you prove false one to\\r\\nanother, since I have taken such pains to bring you together, let all\\r\\npitiful goers-between be call’d to the world’s end after my name—call\\r\\nthem all Pandars; let all constant men be Troiluses, all false women\\r\\nCressids, and all brokers between Pandars. Say ‘Amen.’\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAmen. Whereupon I will show you a chamber and a bed; which bed, because\\r\\nit shall not speak of your pretty encounters, press it to death. Away!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus and Cressida_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here,\\r\\nBed, chamber, pander, to provide this gear!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The Greek camp.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Diomedes, Nestor, Ajax, Menelaus\\r\\n and Calchas.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALCHAS.\\r\\nNow, Princes, for the service I have done,\\r\\nTh’advantage of the time prompts me aloud\\r\\nTo call for recompense. Appear it to your mind\\r\\nThat, through the sight I bear in things to come,\\r\\nI have abandon’d Troy, left my possession,\\r\\nIncurr’d a traitor’s name, expos’d myself\\r\\nFrom certain and possess’d conveniences\\r\\nTo doubtful fortunes, sequest’ring from me all\\r\\nThat time, acquaintance, custom, and condition,\\r\\nMade tame and most familiar to my nature;\\r\\nAnd here, to do you service, am become\\r\\nAs new into the world, strange, unacquainted—\\r\\nI do beseech you, as in way of taste,\\r\\nTo give me now a little benefit\\r\\nOut of those many regist’red in promise,\\r\\nWhich you say live to come in my behalf.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat wouldst thou of us, Trojan? Make demand.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALCHAS.\\r\\nYou have a Trojan prisoner call’d Antenor,\\r\\nYesterday took; Troy holds him very dear.\\r\\nOft have you—often have you thanks therefore—\\r\\nDesir’d my Cressid in right great exchange,\\r\\nWhom Troy hath still denied; but this Antenor,\\r\\nI know, is such a wrest in their affairs\\r\\nThat their negotiations all must slack\\r\\nWanting his manage; and they will almost\\r\\nGive us a prince of blood, a son of Priam,\\r\\nIn change of him. Let him be sent, great Princes,\\r\\nAnd he shall buy my daughter; and her presence\\r\\nShall quite strike off all service I have done\\r\\nIn most accepted pain.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nLet Diomedes bear him,\\r\\nAnd bring us Cressid hither. Calchas shall have\\r\\nWhat he requests of us. Good Diomed,\\r\\nFurnish you fairly for this interchange;\\r\\nWithal, bring word if Hector will tomorrow\\r\\nBe answer’d in his challenge. Ajax is ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nThis shall I undertake; and ’tis a burden\\r\\nWhich I am proud to bear.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Diomedes and Calchas_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Achilles and Patroclus stand in their tent_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAchilles stands i’ th’entrance of his tent.\\r\\nPlease it our general pass strangely by him,\\r\\nAs if he were forgot; and, Princes all,\\r\\nLay negligent and loose regard upon him.\\r\\nI will come last. ’Tis like he’ll question me\\r\\nWhy such unplausive eyes are bent, why turn’d on him.\\r\\nIf so, I have derision med’cinable\\r\\nTo use between your strangeness and his pride,\\r\\nWhich his own will shall have desire to drink.\\r\\nIt may do good. Pride hath no other glass\\r\\nTo show itself but pride; for supple knees\\r\\nFeed arrogance and are the proud man’s fees.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWe’ll execute your purpose, and put on\\r\\nA form of strangeness as we pass along.\\r\\nSo do each lord; and either greet him not,\\r\\nOr else disdainfully, which shall shake him more\\r\\nThan if not look’d on. I will lead the way.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat comes the general to speak with me?\\r\\nYou know my mind. I’ll fight no more ’gainst Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat says Achilles? Would he aught with us?\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWould you, my lord, aught with the general?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nNothing, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nThe better.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Agamemnon and Nestor_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nGood day, good day.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nHow do you? How do you?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat, does the cuckold scorn me?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nHow now, Patroclus?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nGood morrow, Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nHa?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nGood morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nAy, and good next day too.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat mean these fellows? Know they not Achilles?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nThey pass by strangely. They were us’d to bend,\\r\\nTo send their smiles before them to Achilles,\\r\\nTo come as humbly as they us’d to creep\\r\\nTo holy altars.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat, am I poor of late?\\r\\n’Tis certain, greatness, once fall’n out with fortune,\\r\\nMust fall out with men too. What the declin’d is,\\r\\nHe shall as soon read in the eyes of others\\r\\nAs feel in his own fall; for men, like butterflies,\\r\\nShow not their mealy wings but to the summer;\\r\\nAnd not a man for being simply man\\r\\nHath any honour, but honour for those honours\\r\\nThat are without him, as place, riches, and favour,\\r\\nPrizes of accident, as oft as merit;\\r\\nWhich when they fall, as being slippery standers,\\r\\nThe love that lean’d on them as slippery too,\\r\\nDoth one pluck down another, and together\\r\\nDie in the fall. But ’tis not so with me:\\r\\nFortune and I are friends; I do enjoy\\r\\nAt ample point all that I did possess\\r\\nSave these men’s looks; who do, methinks, find out\\r\\nSomething not worth in me such rich beholding\\r\\nAs they have often given. Here is Ulysses.\\r\\nI’ll interrupt his reading.\\r\\nHow now, Ulysses!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNow, great Thetis’ son!\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat are you reading?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nA strange fellow here\\r\\nWrites me that man—how dearly ever parted,\\r\\nHow much in having, or without or in—\\r\\nCannot make boast to have that which he hath,\\r\\nNor feels not what he owes, but by reflection;\\r\\nAs when his virtues shining upon others\\r\\nHeat them, and they retort that heat again\\r\\nTo the first giver.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nThis is not strange, Ulysses.\\r\\nThe beauty that is borne here in the face\\r\\nThe bearer knows not, but commends itself\\r\\nTo others’ eyes; nor doth the eye itself—\\r\\nThat most pure spirit of sense—behold itself,\\r\\nNot going from itself; but eye to eye opposed\\r\\nSalutes each other with each other’s form;\\r\\nFor speculation turns not to itself\\r\\nTill it hath travell’d, and is mirror’d there\\r\\nWhere it may see itself. This is not strange at all.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI do not strain at the position—\\r\\nIt is familiar—but at the author’s drift;\\r\\nWho, in his circumstance, expressly proves\\r\\nThat no man is the lord of anything,\\r\\nThough in and of him there be much consisting,\\r\\nTill he communicate his parts to others;\\r\\nNor doth he of himself know them for aught\\r\\nTill he behold them formed in the applause\\r\\nWhere th’are extended; who, like an arch, reverb’rate\\r\\nThe voice again; or, like a gate of steel\\r\\nFronting the sun, receives and renders back\\r\\nHis figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this;\\r\\nAnd apprehended here immediately\\r\\nTh’unknown Ajax. Heavens, what a man is there!\\r\\nA very horse that has he knows not what!\\r\\nNature, what things there are\\r\\nMost abject in regard and dear in use!\\r\\nWhat things again most dear in the esteem\\r\\nAnd poor in worth! Now shall we see tomorrow—\\r\\nAn act that very chance doth throw upon him—\\r\\nAjax renown’d. O heavens, what some men do,\\r\\nWhile some men leave to do!\\r\\nHow some men creep in skittish Fortune’s hall,\\r\\nWhiles others play the idiots in her eyes!\\r\\nHow one man eats into another’s pride,\\r\\nWhile pride is fasting in his wantonness!\\r\\nTo see these Grecian lords!—why, even already\\r\\nThey clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder,\\r\\nAs if his foot were on brave Hector’s breast,\\r\\nAnd great Troy shrieking.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI do believe it; for they pass’d by me\\r\\nAs misers do by beggars, neither gave to me\\r\\nGood word nor look. What, are my deeds forgot?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nTime hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,\\r\\nWherein he puts alms for oblivion,\\r\\nA great-siz’d monster of ingratitudes.\\r\\nThose scraps are good deeds past, which are devour’d\\r\\nAs fast as they are made, forgot as soon\\r\\nAs done. Perseverance, dear my lord,\\r\\nKeeps honour bright. To have done is to hang\\r\\nQuite out of fashion, like a rusty mail\\r\\nIn monumental mock’ry. Take the instant way;\\r\\nFor honour travels in a strait so narrow—\\r\\nWhere one but goes abreast. Keep then the path,\\r\\nFor emulation hath a thousand sons\\r\\nThat one by one pursue; if you give way,\\r\\nOr hedge aside from the direct forthright,\\r\\nLike to an ent’red tide they all rush by\\r\\nAnd leave you hindmost;\\r\\nOr, like a gallant horse fall’n in first rank,\\r\\nLie there for pavement to the abject rear,\\r\\nO’er-run and trampled on. Then what they do in present,\\r\\nThough less than yours in past, must o’ertop yours;\\r\\nFor Time is like a fashionable host,\\r\\nThat slightly shakes his parting guest by th’hand;\\r\\nAnd with his arms out-stretch’d, as he would fly,\\r\\nGrasps in the comer. The welcome ever smiles,\\r\\nAnd farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek\\r\\nRemuneration for the thing it was;\\r\\nFor beauty, wit,\\r\\nHigh birth, vigour of bone, desert in service,\\r\\nLove, friendship, charity, are subjects all\\r\\nTo envious and calumniating Time.\\r\\nOne touch of nature makes the whole world kin—\\r\\nThat all with one consent praise new-born gauds,\\r\\nThough they are made and moulded of things past,\\r\\nAnd give to dust that is a little gilt\\r\\nMore laud than gilt o’er-dusted.\\r\\nThe present eye praises the present object.\\r\\nThen marvel not, thou great and complete man,\\r\\nThat all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax,\\r\\nSince things in motion sooner catch the eye\\r\\nThan what stirs not. The cry went once on thee,\\r\\nAnd still it might, and yet it may again,\\r\\nIf thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive\\r\\nAnd case thy reputation in thy tent,\\r\\nWhose glorious deeds but in these fields of late\\r\\nMade emulous missions ’mongst the gods themselves,\\r\\nAnd drave great Mars to faction.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nOf this my privacy\\r\\nI have strong reasons.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nBut ’gainst your privacy\\r\\nThe reasons are more potent and heroical.\\r\\n’Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love\\r\\nWith one of Priam’s daughters.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nHa! known!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nIs that a wonder?\\r\\nThe providence that’s in a watchful state\\r\\nKnows almost every grain of Plutus’ gold;\\r\\nFinds bottom in th’uncomprehensive deeps;\\r\\nKeeps place with thought, and almost, like the gods,\\r\\nDo thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.\\r\\nThere is a mystery—with whom relation\\r\\nDurst never meddle—in the soul of state,\\r\\nWhich hath an operation more divine\\r\\nThan breath or pen can give expressure to.\\r\\nAll the commerce that you have had with Troy\\r\\nAs perfectly is ours as yours, my lord;\\r\\nAnd better would it fit Achilles much\\r\\nTo throw down Hector than Polyxena.\\r\\nBut it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home,\\r\\nWhen fame shall in our island sound her trump,\\r\\nAnd all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing\\r\\n‘Great Hector’s sister did Achilles win;\\r\\nBut our great Ajax bravely beat down him.’\\r\\nFarewell, my lord. I as your lover speak.\\r\\nThe fool slides o’er the ice that you should break.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nTo this effect, Achilles, have I mov’d you.\\r\\nA woman impudent and mannish grown\\r\\nIs not more loath’d than an effeminate man\\r\\nIn time of action. I stand condemn’d for this;\\r\\nThey think my little stomach to the war\\r\\nAnd your great love to me restrains you thus.\\r\\nSweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid\\r\\nShall from your neck unloose his amorous fold,\\r\\nAnd, like a dew-drop from the lion’s mane,\\r\\nBe shook to air.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nShall Ajax fight with Hector?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nAy, and perhaps receive much honour by him.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI see my reputation is at stake;\\r\\nMy fame is shrewdly gor’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nO, then, beware:\\r\\nThose wounds heal ill that men do give themselves;\\r\\nOmission to do what is necessary\\r\\nSeals a commission to a blank of danger;\\r\\nAnd danger, like an ague, subtly taints\\r\\nEven then when they sit idly in the sun.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nGo call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus.\\r\\nI’ll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him\\r\\nT’invite the Trojan lords, after the combat,\\r\\nTo see us here unarm’d. I have a woman’s longing,\\r\\nAn appetite that I am sick withal,\\r\\nTo see great Hector in his weeds of peace;\\r\\nTo talk with him, and to behold his visage,\\r\\nEven to my full of view.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nA labour sav’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nA wonder!\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAjax goes up and down the field asking for himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nHow so?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHe must fight singly tomorrow with Hector, and is so prophetically\\r\\nproud of an heroical cudgelling that he raves in saying nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nHow can that be?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWhy, a’ stalks up and down like a peacock—a stride and a stand;\\r\\nruminates like an hostess that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set\\r\\ndown her reckoning, bites his lip with a politic regard, as who should\\r\\nsay ‘There were wit in this head, and ’twould out’; and so there is;\\r\\nbut it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not show\\r\\nwithout knocking. The man’s undone for ever; for if Hector break not\\r\\nhis neck i’ th’ combat, he’ll break’t himself in vainglory. He knows\\r\\nnot me. I said ‘Good morrow, Ajax’; and he replies ‘Thanks, Agamemnon.’\\r\\nWhat think you of this man that takes me for the general? He’s grown a\\r\\nvery land fish, languageless, a monster. A plague of opinion! A man may\\r\\nwear it on both sides, like leather jerkin.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nThou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWho, I? Why, he’ll answer nobody; he professes not answering. Speaking\\r\\nis for beggars: he wears his tongue in’s arms. I will put on his\\r\\npresence. Let Patroclus make his demands to me, you shall see the\\r\\npageant of Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nTo him, Patroclus. Tell him I humbly desire the valiant Ajax to invite\\r\\nthe most valorous Hector to come unarm’d to my tent; and to procure\\r\\nsafe conduct for his person of the magnanimous and most illustrious\\r\\nsix-or-seven-times-honour’d Captain General of the Grecian army,\\r\\nAgamemnon. Do this.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nJove bless great Ajax!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHum!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nI come from the worthy Achilles—\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHa!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWho most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his tent—\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHum!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nAnd to procure safe conduct from Agamemnon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAgamemnon?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nAy, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHa!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWhat you say to’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nGod buy you, with all my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nYour answer, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nIf tomorrow be a fair day, by eleven of the clock it will go one way or\\r\\nother. Howsoever, he shall pay for me ere he has me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nYour answer, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nFare ye well, with all my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhy, but he is not in this tune, is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNo, but out of tune thus. What music will be in him when Hector has\\r\\nknock’d out his brains, I know not; but, I am sure, none; unless the\\r\\nfiddler Apollo get his sinews to make catlings on.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nCome, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nLet me bear another to his horse; for that’s the more capable creature.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nMy mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr’d;\\r\\nAnd I myself see not the bottom of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Achilles and Patroclus_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWould the fountain of your mind were clear again, that I might water an\\r\\nass at it. I had rather be a tick in a sheep than such a valiant\\r\\nignorance.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Troy. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, at one side, Aeneas and servant with a torch; at another Paris,\\r\\n Deiphobus, Antenor, Diomedes the Grecian, and others, with torches.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nSee, ho! Who is that there?\\r\\n\\r\\nDEIPHOBUS.\\r\\nIt is the Lord Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nIs the Prince there in person?\\r\\nHad I so good occasion to lie long\\r\\nAs you, Prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business\\r\\nShould rob my bed-mate of my company.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nThat’s my mind too. Good morrow, Lord Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nA valiant Greek, Aeneas—take his hand:\\r\\nWitness the process of your speech, wherein\\r\\nYou told how Diomed, a whole week by days,\\r\\nDid haunt you in the field.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHealth to you, valiant sir,\\r\\nDuring all question of the gentle truce;\\r\\nBut when I meet you arm’d, as black defiance\\r\\nAs heart can think or courage execute.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nThe one and other Diomed embraces.\\r\\nOur bloods are now in calm; and so long health!\\r\\nBut when contention and occasion meet,\\r\\nBy Jove, I’ll play the hunter for thy life\\r\\nWith all my force, pursuit, and policy.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nAnd thou shalt hunt a lion that will fly\\r\\nWith his face backward. In humane gentleness,\\r\\nWelcome to Troy! Now, by Anchises’ life,\\r\\nWelcome indeed! By Venus’ hand I swear\\r\\nNo man alive can love in such a sort\\r\\nThe thing he means to kill, more excellently.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWe sympathise. Jove let Aeneas live,\\r\\nIf to my sword his fate be not the glory,\\r\\nA thousand complete courses of the sun!\\r\\nBut in mine emulous honour let him die\\r\\nWith every joint a wound, and that tomorrow!\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nWe know each other well.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWe do; and long to know each other worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThis is the most despiteful gentle greeting\\r\\nThe noblest hateful love, that e’er I heard of.\\r\\nWhat business, lord, so early?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nI was sent for to the King; but why, I know not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHis purpose meets you: ’twas to bring this Greek\\r\\nTo Calchas’ house, and there to render him,\\r\\nFor the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid.\\r\\nLet’s have your company; or, if you please,\\r\\nHaste there before us. I constantly believe—\\r\\nOr rather call my thought a certain knowledge—\\r\\nMy brother Troilus lodges there tonight.\\r\\nRouse him and give him note of our approach,\\r\\nWith the whole quality wherefore; I fear\\r\\nWe shall be much unwelcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nThat I assure you:\\r\\nTroilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece\\r\\nThan Cressid borne from Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThere is no help;\\r\\nThe bitter disposition of the time\\r\\nWill have it so. On, lord; we’ll follow you.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nGood morrow, all.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with servant_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nAnd tell me, noble Diomed, faith, tell me true,\\r\\nEven in the soul of sound good-fellowship,\\r\\nWho in your thoughts deserves fair Helen best,\\r\\nMyself, or Menelaus?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nBoth alike:\\r\\nHe merits well to have her that doth seek her,\\r\\nNot making any scruple of her soilure,\\r\\nWith such a hell of pain and world of charge;\\r\\nAnd you as well to keep her that defend her,\\r\\nNot palating the taste of her dishonour,\\r\\nWith such a costly loss of wealth and friends.\\r\\nHe like a puling cuckold would drink up\\r\\nThe lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece;\\r\\nYou, like a lecher, out of whorish loins\\r\\nAre pleas’d to breed out your inheritors.\\r\\nBoth merits pois’d, each weighs nor less nor more,\\r\\nBut he as he, the heavier for a whore.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nYou are too bitter to your country-woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nShe’s bitter to her country. Hear me, Paris:\\r\\nFor every false drop in her bawdy veins\\r\\nA Grecian’s life hath sunk; for every scruple\\r\\nOf her contaminated carrion weight\\r\\nA Trojan hath been slain. Since she could speak,\\r\\nShe hath not given so many good words breath\\r\\nAs for her Greeks and Trojans suff’red death.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nFair Diomed, you do as chapmen do,\\r\\nDispraise the thing that you desire to buy;\\r\\nBut we in silence hold this virtue well,\\r\\nWe’ll not commend what we intend to sell.\\r\\nHere lies our way.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Troy. The court of PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus and Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nDear, trouble not yourself; the morn is cold.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThen, sweet my lord, I’ll call mine uncle down;\\r\\nHe shall unbolt the gates.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nTrouble him not;\\r\\nTo bed, to bed! Sleep kill those pretty eyes,\\r\\nAnd give as soft attachment to thy senses\\r\\nAs infants empty of all thought!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGood morrow, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI prithee now, to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAre you aweary of me?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO Cressida! but that the busy day,\\r\\nWak’d by the lark, hath rous’d the ribald crows,\\r\\nAnd dreaming night will hide our joys no longer,\\r\\nI would not from thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNight hath been too brief.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBeshrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays\\r\\nAs tediously as hell, but flies the grasps of love\\r\\nWith wings more momentary-swift than thought.\\r\\nYou will catch cold, and curse me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nPrithee tarry.\\r\\nYou men will never tarry.\\r\\nO foolish Cressid! I might have still held off,\\r\\nAnd then you would have tarried. Hark! there’s one up.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\n[_Within._] What’s all the doors open here?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nIt is your uncle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nA pestilence on him! Now will he be mocking.\\r\\nI shall have such a life!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHow now, how now! How go maidenheads?\\r\\nHere, you maid! Where’s my cousin Cressid?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGo hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle.\\r\\nYou bring me to do, and then you flout me too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nTo do what? to do what? Let her say what.\\r\\nWhat have I brought you to do?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nCome, come, beshrew your heart! You’ll ne’er be good, nor suffer\\r\\nothers.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHa, ha! Alas, poor wretch! Ah, poor capocchia! Hast not slept tonight?\\r\\nWould he not, a naughty man, let it sleep? A bugbear take him!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nDid not I tell you? Would he were knock’d i’ th’ head!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_One knocks_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nWho’s that at door? Good uncle, go and see.\\r\\nMy lord, come you again into my chamber.\\r\\nYou smile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHa! ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nCome, you are deceiv’d, I think of no such thing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knock_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow earnestly they knock! Pray you come in:\\r\\nI would not for half Troy have you seen here.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus and Cressida_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWho’s there? What’s the matter? Will you beat down the door? How now?\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nGood morrow, lord, good morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWho’s there? My lord Aeneas? By my troth,\\r\\nI knew you not. What news with you so early?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nIs not Prince Troilus here?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHere! What should he do here?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nCome, he is here, my lord; do not deny him.\\r\\nIt doth import him much to speak with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIs he here, say you? It’s more than I know, I’ll be sworn. For my own\\r\\npart, I came in late. What should he do here?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nWho, nay then! Come, come, you’ll do him wrong ere you are ware; you’ll\\r\\nbe so true to him to be false to him. Do not you know of him, but yet\\r\\ngo fetch him hither; go.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHow now! What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nMy lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you,\\r\\nMy matter is so rash. There is at hand\\r\\nParis your brother, and Deiphobus,\\r\\nThe Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor\\r\\nDeliver’d to us; and for him forthwith,\\r\\nEre the first sacrifice, within this hour,\\r\\nWe must give up to Diomedes’ hand\\r\\nThe Lady Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nIs it so concluded?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nBy Priam and the general state of Troy.\\r\\nThey are at hand, and ready to effect it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHow my achievements mock me!\\r\\nI will go meet them; and, my Lord Aeneas,\\r\\nWe met by chance; you did not find me here.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nGood, good, my lord, the secrets of neighbour Pandar\\r\\nHave not more gift in taciturnity.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus and Aeneas_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIs’t possible? No sooner got but lost? The devil take Antenor! The\\r\\nyoung prince will go mad. A plague upon Antenor! I would they had\\r\\nbroke’s neck.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHow now! What’s the matter? Who was here?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAh, ah!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhy sigh you so profoundly? Where’s my lord? Gone? Tell me, sweet\\r\\nuncle, what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWould I were as deep under the earth as I am above!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO the gods! What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nPray thee get thee in. Would thou hadst ne’er been born! I knew thou\\r\\nwouldst be his death! O, poor gentleman! A plague upon Antenor!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGood uncle, I beseech you, on my knees I beseech you, what’s the\\r\\nmatter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone; thou art chang’d for\\r\\nAntenor; thou must to thy father, and be gone from Troilus. ’Twill be\\r\\nhis death; ’twill be his bane; he cannot bear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO you immortal gods! I will not go.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThou must.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI will not, uncle. I have forgot my father;\\r\\nI know no touch of consanguinity,\\r\\nNo kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me\\r\\nAs the sweet Troilus. O you gods divine,\\r\\nMake Cressid’s name the very crown of falsehood,\\r\\nIf ever she leave Troilus! Time, force, and death,\\r\\nDo to this body what extremes you can,\\r\\nBut the strong base and building of my love\\r\\nIs as the very centre of the earth,\\r\\nDrawing all things to it. I’ll go in and weep—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nDo, do.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nTear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks,\\r\\nCrack my clear voice with sobs and break my heart,\\r\\nWith sounding ‘Troilus.’ I will not go from Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Troy. A street before PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paris, Troilus, Aeneas, Deiphobus, Antenor and Diomedes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nIt is great morning; and the hour prefix’d\\r\\nFor her delivery to this valiant Greek\\r\\nComes fast upon. Good my brother Troilus,\\r\\nTell you the lady what she is to do\\r\\nAnd haste her to the purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWalk into her house.\\r\\nI’ll bring her to the Grecian presently;\\r\\nAnd to his hand when I deliver her,\\r\\nThink it an altar, and thy brother Troilus\\r\\nA priest, there off’ring to it his own heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nI know what ’tis to love,\\r\\nAnd would, as I shall pity, I could help!\\r\\nPlease you walk in, my lords?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Troy. PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus and Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nBe moderate, be moderate.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhy tell you me of moderation?\\r\\nThe grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste,\\r\\nAnd violenteth in a sense as strong\\r\\nAs that which causeth it. How can I moderate it?\\r\\nIf I could temporize with my affections\\r\\nOr brew it to a weak and colder palate,\\r\\nThe like allayment could I give my grief.\\r\\nMy love admits no qualifying dross;\\r\\nNo more my grief, in such a precious loss.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHere, here, here he comes. Ah, sweet ducks!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\n[_Embracing him_.] O Troilus! Troilus!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat a pair of spectacles is here! Let me embrace too. ‘O heart,’ as\\r\\nthe goodly saying is,—\\r\\n\\r\\n O heart, heavy heart,\\r\\n Why sigh’st thou without breaking?\\r\\n\\r\\nwhere he answers again\\r\\n\\r\\n Because thou canst not ease thy smart\\r\\n By friendship nor by speaking.\\r\\n\\r\\nThere was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast away nothing, for we may\\r\\nlive to have need of such a verse. We see it, we see it. How now,\\r\\nlambs!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCressid, I love thee in so strain’d a purity\\r\\nThat the bless’d gods, as angry with my fancy,\\r\\nMore bright in zeal than the devotion which\\r\\nCold lips blow to their deities, take thee from me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHave the gods envy?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, ay, ay, ay; ’tis too plain a case.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAnd is it true that I must go from Troy?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nA hateful truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat! and from Troilus too?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFrom Troy and Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAnd suddenly; where injury of chance\\r\\nPuts back leave-taking, justles roughly by\\r\\nAll time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips\\r\\nOf all rejoindure, forcibly prevents\\r\\nOur lock’d embrasures, strangles our dear vows\\r\\nEven in the birth of our own labouring breath.\\r\\nWe two, that with so many thousand sighs\\r\\nDid buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves\\r\\nWith the rude brevity and discharge of one.\\r\\nInjurious time now with a robber’s haste\\r\\nCrams his rich thiev’ry up, he knows not how.\\r\\nAs many farewells as be stars in heaven,\\r\\nWith distinct breath and consign’d kisses to them,\\r\\nHe fumbles up into a loose adieu,\\r\\nAnd scants us with a single famish’d kiss,\\r\\nDistasted with the salt of broken tears.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] My lord, is the lady ready?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHark! you are call’d. Some say the Genius\\r\\nCries so to him that instantly must die.\\r\\nBid them have patience; she shall come anon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhere are my tears? Rain, to lay this wind, or my heart will be blown\\r\\nup by my throat!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI must then to the Grecians?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNo remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nA woeful Cressid ’mongst the merry Greeks!\\r\\nWhen shall we see again?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHear me, my love. Be thou but true of heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI true? How now! What wicked deem is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNay, we must use expostulation kindly,\\r\\nFor it is parting from us.\\r\\nI speak not ‘Be thou true’ as fearing thee,\\r\\nFor I will throw my glove to Death himself\\r\\nThat there’s no maculation in thy heart;\\r\\nBut ‘Be thou true’ say I to fashion in\\r\\nMy sequent protestation: be thou true,\\r\\nAnd I will see thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO! you shall be expos’d, my lord, to dangers\\r\\nAs infinite as imminent! But I’ll be true.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAnd I’ll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAnd you this glove. When shall I see you?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI will corrupt the Grecian sentinels\\r\\nTo give thee nightly visitation.\\r\\nBut yet be true.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO heavens! ‘Be true’ again!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHear why I speak it, love.\\r\\nThe Grecian youths are full of quality;\\r\\nThey’re loving, well compos’d, with gifts of nature,\\r\\nFlowing and swelling o’er with arts and exercise.\\r\\nHow novelty may move, and parts with person,\\r\\nAlas, a kind of godly jealousy,\\r\\nWhich, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin,\\r\\nMakes me afear’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO heavens! you love me not!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nDie I a villain then!\\r\\nIn this I do not call your faith in question\\r\\nSo mainly as my merit. I cannot sing,\\r\\nNor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk,\\r\\nNor play at subtle games; fair virtues all,\\r\\nTo which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant;\\r\\nBut I can tell that in each grace of these\\r\\nThere lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil\\r\\nThat tempts most cunningly. But be not tempted.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nDo you think I will?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\nBut something may be done that we will not;\\r\\nAnd sometimes we are devils to ourselves,\\r\\nWhen we will tempt the frailty of our powers,\\r\\nPresuming on their changeful potency.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Nay, good my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCome, kiss; and let us part.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Brother Troilus!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nGood brother, come you hither;\\r\\nAnd bring Aeneas and the Grecian with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nMy lord, will you be true?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWho, I? Alas, it is my vice, my fault!\\r\\nWhiles others fish with craft for great opinion,\\r\\nI with great truth catch mere simplicity;\\r\\nWhilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns,\\r\\nWith truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.\\r\\nFear not my truth: the moral of my wit\\r\\nIs plain and true; there’s all the reach of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Aeneas, Paris, Antenor, Deiphobus and Diomedes.\\r\\n\\r\\nWelcome, Sir Diomed! Here is the lady\\r\\nWhich for Antenor we deliver you;\\r\\nAt the port, lord, I’ll give her to thy hand,\\r\\nAnd by the way possess thee what she is.\\r\\nEntreat her fair; and, by my soul, fair Greek,\\r\\nIf e’er thou stand at mercy of my sword,\\r\\nName Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe\\r\\nAs Priam is in Ilion.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nFair Lady Cressid,\\r\\nSo please you, save the thanks this prince expects.\\r\\nThe lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek,\\r\\nPleads your fair usage; and to Diomed\\r\\nYou shall be mistress, and command him wholly.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nGrecian, thou dost not use me courteously\\r\\nTo shame the zeal of my petition to thee\\r\\nIn praising her. I tell thee, lord of Greece,\\r\\nShe is as far high-soaring o’er thy praises\\r\\nAs thou unworthy to be call’d her servant.\\r\\nI charge thee use her well, even for my charge;\\r\\nFor, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not,\\r\\nThough the great bulk Achilles be thy guard,\\r\\nI’ll cut thy throat.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nO, be not mov’d, Prince Troilus.\\r\\nLet me be privileg’d by my place and message\\r\\nTo be a speaker free: when I am hence\\r\\nI’ll answer to my lust. And know you, lord,\\r\\nI’ll nothing do on charge: to her own worth\\r\\nShe shall be priz’d. But that you say ‘Be’t so,’\\r\\nI speak it in my spirit and honour, ‘No.’\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCome, to the port. I’ll tell thee, Diomed,\\r\\nThis brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head.\\r\\nLady, give me your hand; and, as we walk,\\r\\nTo our own selves bend we our needful talk.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus, Cressida and Diomedes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sound trumpet_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHark! Hector’s trumpet.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHow have we spent this morning!\\r\\nThe Prince must think me tardy and remiss,\\r\\nThat swore to ride before him to the field.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\n’Tis Troilus’ fault. Come, come to field with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEIPHOBUS.\\r\\nLet us make ready straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nYea, with a bridegroom’s fresh alacrity\\r\\nLet us address to tend on Hector’s heels.\\r\\nThe glory of our Troy doth this day lie\\r\\nOn his fair worth and single chivalry.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. The Grecian camp. Lists set out.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ajax, armed; Agamemnon, Achilles, Patroclus, Menelaus, Ulysses,\\r\\n Nestor and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHere art thou in appointment fresh and fair,\\r\\nAnticipating time with starting courage.\\r\\nGive with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy,\\r\\nThou dreadful Ajax, that the appalled air\\r\\nMay pierce the head of the great combatant,\\r\\nAnd hale him hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThou, trumpet, there’s my purse.\\r\\nNow crack thy lungs and split thy brazen pipe;\\r\\nBlow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek\\r\\nOut-swell the colic of puff’d Aquilon.\\r\\nCome, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood:\\r\\nThou blowest for Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Trumpet sounds_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNo trumpet answers.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\n’Tis but early days.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nIs not yond Diomed, with Calchas’ daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n’Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait:\\r\\nHe rises on the toe. That spirit of his\\r\\nIn aspiration lifts him from the earth.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Diomedes and Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nIs this the Lady Cressid?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nEven she.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nMost dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nOur general doth salute you with a kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYet is the kindness but particular;\\r\\n’Twere better she were kiss’d in general.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nAnd very courtly counsel: I’ll begin.\\r\\nSo much for Nestor.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI’ll take that winter from your lips, fair lady.\\r\\nAchilles bids you welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nI had good argument for kissing once.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nBut that’s no argument for kissing now;\\r\\nFor thus popp’d Paris in his hardiment,\\r\\nAnd parted thus you and your argument.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nO deadly gall, and theme of all our scorns!\\r\\nFor which we lose our heads to gild his horns.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nThe first was Menelaus’ kiss; this, mine:\\r\\nPatroclus kisses you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nO, this is trim!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nParis and I kiss evermore for him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nI’ll have my kiss, sir. Lady, by your leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIn kissing, do you render or receive?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nBoth take and give.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI’ll make my match to live,\\r\\nThe kiss you take is better than you give;\\r\\nTherefore no kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nI’ll give you boot; I’ll give you three for one.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nYou are an odd man; give even or give none.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nAn odd man, lady! Every man is odd.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNo, Paris is not; for you know ’tis true\\r\\nThat you are odd, and he is even with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nYou fillip me o’ th’head.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNo, I’ll be sworn.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nIt were no match, your nail against his horn.\\r\\nMay I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nYou may.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI do desire it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhy, beg then.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWhy then, for Venus’ sake give me a kiss\\r\\nWhen Helen is a maid again, and his.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI am your debtor; claim it when ’tis due.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNever’s my day, and then a kiss of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nLady, a word. I’ll bring you to your father.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with_ Cressida.]\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nA woman of quick sense.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nFie, fie upon her!\\r\\nThere’s language in her eye, her cheek, her lip,\\r\\nNay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out\\r\\nAt every joint and motive of her body.\\r\\nO! these encounterers so glib of tongue\\r\\nThat give a coasting welcome ere it comes,\\r\\nAnd wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts\\r\\nTo every tickling reader! Set them down\\r\\nFor sluttish spoils of opportunity,\\r\\nAnd daughters of the game.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Trumpet within_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nThe Trojans’ trumpet.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nYonder comes the troop.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector, armed; Aeneas, Troilus, Paris, Deiphobus and other\\r\\nTrojans, with attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHail, all you state of Greece! What shall be done\\r\\nTo him that victory commands? Or do you purpose\\r\\nA victor shall be known? Will you the knights\\r\\nShall to the edge of all extremity\\r\\nPursue each other, or shall be divided\\r\\nBy any voice or order of the field?\\r\\nHector bade ask.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhich way would Hector have it?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHe cares not; he’ll obey conditions.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\n’Tis done like Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nBut securely done,\\r\\nA little proudly, and great deal misprising\\r\\nThe knight oppos’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nIf not Achilles, sir,\\r\\nWhat is your name?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nIf not Achilles, nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nTherefore Achilles. But whate’er, know this:\\r\\nIn the extremity of great and little\\r\\nValour and pride excel themselves in Hector;\\r\\nThe one almost as infinite as all,\\r\\nThe other blank as nothing. Weigh him well,\\r\\nAnd that which looks like pride is courtesy.\\r\\nThis Ajax is half made of Hector’s blood;\\r\\nIn love whereof half Hector stays at home;\\r\\nHalf heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek\\r\\nThis blended knight, half Trojan and half Greek.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nA maiden battle then? O! I perceive you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Diomedes.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHere is Sir Diomed. Go, gentle knight,\\r\\nStand by our Ajax. As you and Lord Aeneas\\r\\nConsent upon the order of their fight,\\r\\nSo be it; either to the uttermost,\\r\\nOr else a breath. The combatants being kin\\r\\nHalf stints their strife before their strokes begin.\\r\\n\\r\\nAjax and Hector enter the lists.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThey are oppos’d already.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat Trojan is that same that looks so heavy?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThe youngest son of Priam, a true knight;\\r\\nNot yet mature, yet matchless; firm of word;\\r\\nSpeaking in deeds and deedless in his tongue;\\r\\nNot soon provok’d, nor being provok’d soon calm’d;\\r\\nHis heart and hand both open and both free;\\r\\nFor what he has he gives, what thinks he shows,\\r\\nYet gives he not till judgement guide his bounty,\\r\\nNor dignifies an impure thought with breath;\\r\\nManly as Hector, but more dangerous;\\r\\nFor Hector in his blaze of wrath subscribes\\r\\nTo tender objects, but he in heat of action\\r\\nIs more vindicative than jealous love.\\r\\nThey call him Troilus, and on him erect\\r\\nA second hope as fairly built as Hector.\\r\\nThus says Aeneas, one that knows the youth\\r\\nEven to his inches, and, with private soul,\\r\\nDid in great Ilion thus translate him to me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alarum. Hector and Ajax fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nThey are in action.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nNow, Ajax, hold thine own!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHector, thou sleep’st; awake thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHis blows are well dispos’d. There, Ajax!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Trumpets cease_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nYou must no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nPrinces, enough, so please you.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI am not warm yet; let us fight again.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nAs Hector pleases.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWhy, then will I no more.\\r\\nThou art, great lord, my father’s sister’s son,\\r\\nA cousin-german to great Priam’s seed;\\r\\nThe obligation of our blood forbids\\r\\nA gory emulation ’twixt us twain:\\r\\nWere thy commixtion Greek and Trojan so\\r\\nThat thou could’st say ‘This hand is Grecian all,\\r\\nAnd this is Trojan; the sinews of this leg\\r\\nAll Greek, and this all Troy; my mother’s blood\\r\\nRuns on the dexter cheek, and this sinister\\r\\nBounds in my father’s; by Jove multipotent,\\r\\nThou shouldst not bear from me a Greekish member\\r\\nWherein my sword had not impressure made\\r\\nOf our rank feud; but the just gods gainsay\\r\\nThat any drop thou borrow’dst from thy mother,\\r\\nMy sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword\\r\\nBe drained! Let me embrace thee, Ajax.\\r\\nBy him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms;\\r\\nHector would have them fall upon him thus.\\r\\nCousin, all honour to thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI thank thee, Hector.\\r\\nThou art too gentle and too free a man.\\r\\nI came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence\\r\\nA great addition earned in thy death.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nNot Neoptolemus so mirable,\\r\\nOn whose bright crest Fame with her loud’st Oyes\\r\\nCries ‘This is he!’ could promise to himself\\r\\nA thought of added honour torn from Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nThere is expectance here from both the sides\\r\\nWhat further you will do.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWe’ll answer it:\\r\\nThe issue is embracement. Ajax, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nIf I might in entreaties find success,\\r\\nAs seld’ I have the chance, I would desire\\r\\nMy famous cousin to our Grecian tents.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\n’Tis Agamemnon’s wish; and great Achilles\\r\\nDoth long to see unarm’d the valiant Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nAeneas, call my brother Troilus to me,\\r\\nAnd signify this loving interview\\r\\nTo the expecters of our Trojan part;\\r\\nDesire them home. Give me thy hand, my cousin;\\r\\nI will go eat with thee, and see your knights.\\r\\n\\r\\nAgamemnon and the rest of the Greeks come forward.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nGreat Agamemnon comes to meet us here.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nThe worthiest of them tell me name by name;\\r\\nBut for Achilles, my own searching eyes\\r\\nShall find him by his large and portly size.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWorthy all arms! as welcome as to one\\r\\nThat would be rid of such an enemy.\\r\\nBut that’s no welcome. Understand more clear,\\r\\nWhat’s past and what’s to come is strew’d with husks\\r\\nAnd formless ruin of oblivion;\\r\\nBut in this extant moment, faith and troth,\\r\\nStrain’d purely from all hollow bias-drawing,\\r\\nBids thee with most divine integrity,\\r\\nFrom heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI thank thee, most imperious Agamemnon.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\n[_To Troilus._] My well-fam’d lord of Troy, no less to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nLet me confirm my princely brother’s greeting.\\r\\nYou brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWho must we answer?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nThe noble Menelaus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nO you, my lord? By Mars his gauntlet, thanks!\\r\\nMock not that I affect the untraded oath;\\r\\nYour quondam wife swears still by Venus’ glove.\\r\\nShe’s well, but bade me not commend her to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nName her not now, sir; she’s a deadly theme.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nO, pardon; I offend.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nI have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft,\\r\\nLabouring for destiny, make cruel way\\r\\nThrough ranks of Greekish youth; and I have seen thee,\\r\\nAs hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed,\\r\\nDespising many forfeits and subduements,\\r\\nWhen thou hast hung thy advanced sword i’ th’air,\\r\\nNot letting it decline on the declined;\\r\\nThat I have said to some my standers-by\\r\\n‘Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!’\\r\\nAnd I have seen thee pause and take thy breath,\\r\\nWhen that a ring of Greeks have shrap’d thee in,\\r\\nLike an Olympian wrestling. This have I seen;\\r\\nBut this thy countenance, still lock’d in steel,\\r\\nI never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire,\\r\\nAnd once fought with him. He was a soldier good,\\r\\nBut, by great Mars, the captain of us all,\\r\\nNever like thee. O, let an old man embrace thee;\\r\\nAnd, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\n’Tis the old Nestor.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nLet me embrace thee, good old chronicle,\\r\\nThat hast so long walk’d hand in hand with time.\\r\\nMost reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nI would my arms could match thee in contention\\r\\nAs they contend with thee in courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI would they could.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nHa!\\r\\nBy this white beard, I’d fight with thee tomorrow.\\r\\nWell, welcome, welcome! I have seen the time.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI wonder now how yonder city stands,\\r\\nWhen we have here her base and pillar by us.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI know your favour, Lord Ulysses, well.\\r\\nAh, sir, there’s many a Greek and Trojan dead,\\r\\nSince first I saw yourself and Diomed\\r\\nIn Ilion on your Greekish embassy.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nSir, I foretold you then what would ensue.\\r\\nMy prophecy is but half his journey yet;\\r\\nFor yonder walls, that pertly front your town,\\r\\nYon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds,\\r\\nMust kiss their own feet.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI must not believe you.\\r\\nThere they stand yet; and modestly I think\\r\\nThe fall of every Phrygian stone will cost\\r\\nA drop of Grecian blood. The end crowns all;\\r\\nAnd that old common arbitrator, Time,\\r\\nWill one day end it.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nSo to him we leave it.\\r\\nMost gentle and most valiant Hector, welcome.\\r\\nAfter the General, I beseech you next\\r\\nTo feast with me and see me at my tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI shall forestall thee, Lord Ulysses, thou!\\r\\nNow, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee;\\r\\nI have with exact view perus’d thee, Hector,\\r\\nAnd quoted joint by joint.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nIs this Achilles?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI am Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nStand fair, I pray thee; let me look on thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nBehold thy fill.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nNay, I have done already.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nThou art too brief. I will the second time,\\r\\nAs I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nO, like a book of sport thou’lt read me o’er;\\r\\nBut there’s more in me than thou understand’st.\\r\\nWhy dost thou so oppress me with thine eye?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nTell me, you heavens, in which part of his body\\r\\nShall I destroy him? Whether there, or there, or there?\\r\\nThat I may give the local wound a name,\\r\\nAnd make distinct the very breach whereout\\r\\nHector’s great spirit flew. Answer me, heavens.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nIt would discredit the blest gods, proud man,\\r\\nTo answer such a question. Stand again.\\r\\nThink’st thou to catch my life so pleasantly\\r\\nAs to prenominate in nice conjecture\\r\\nWhere thou wilt hit me dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI tell thee yea.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWert thou an oracle to tell me so,\\r\\nI’d not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well;\\r\\nFor I’ll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there;\\r\\nBut, by the forge that stithied Mars his helm,\\r\\nI’ll kill thee everywhere, yea, o’er and o’er.\\r\\nYou wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag.\\r\\nHis insolence draws folly from my lips;\\r\\nBut I’ll endeavour deeds to match these words,\\r\\nOr may I never—\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nDo not chafe thee, cousin;\\r\\nAnd you, Achilles, let these threats alone\\r\\nTill accident or purpose bring you to’t.\\r\\nYou may have every day enough of Hector,\\r\\nIf you have stomach. The general state, I fear,\\r\\nCan scarce entreat you to be odd with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI pray you let us see you in the field;\\r\\nWe have had pelting wars since you refus’d\\r\\nThe Grecians’ cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nDost thou entreat me, Hector?\\r\\nTomorrow do I meet thee, fell as death;\\r\\nTonight all friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nThy hand upon that match.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nFirst, all you peers of Greece, go to my tent;\\r\\nThere in the full convive we; afterwards,\\r\\nAs Hector’s leisure and your bounties shall\\r\\nConcur together, severally entreat him.\\r\\nBeat loud the tambourines, let the trumpets blow,\\r\\nThat this great soldier may his welcome know.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Troilus and Ulysses_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nMy Lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you,\\r\\nIn what place of the field doth Calchas keep?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAt Menelaus’ tent, most princely Troilus.\\r\\nThere Diomed doth feast with him tonight,\\r\\nWho neither looks upon the heaven nor earth,\\r\\nBut gives all gaze and bent of amorous view\\r\\nOn the fair Cressid.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nShall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so much,\\r\\nAfter we part from Agamemnon’s tent,\\r\\nTo bring me thither?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYou shall command me, sir.\\r\\nAs gentle tell me of what honour was\\r\\nThis Cressida in Troy? Had she no lover there\\r\\nThat wails her absence?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO, sir, to such as boasting show their scars\\r\\nA mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord?\\r\\nShe was belov’d, she lov’d; she is, and doth;\\r\\nBut still sweet love is food for fortune’s tooth.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles and Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI’ll heat his blood with Greekish wine tonight,\\r\\nWhich with my scimitar I’ll cool tomorrow.\\r\\nPatroclus, let us feast him to the height.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nHere comes Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nHow now, thou core of envy!\\r\\nThou crusty batch of nature, what’s the news?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWhy, thou picture of what thou seemest, and idol of idiot worshippers,\\r\\nhere’s a letter for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nFrom whence, fragment?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWhy, thou full dish of fool, from Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWho keeps the tent now?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThe surgeon’s box or the patient’s wound.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWell said, adversity! And what needs these tricks?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nPrithee, be silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk; thou art said to be\\r\\nAchilles’ male varlet.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nMale varlet, you rogue! What’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWhy, his masculine whore. Now, the rotten diseases of the south, the\\r\\nguts-griping ruptures, catarrhs, loads o’ gravel in the back,\\r\\nlethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs,\\r\\nbladders full of imposthume, sciaticas, lime-kilns i’ th’ palm,\\r\\nincurable bone-ache, and the rivelled fee-simple of the tetter, take\\r\\nand take again such preposterous discoveries!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWhy, thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest thou to curse thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nDo I curse thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWhy, no, you ruinous butt; you whoreson indistinguishable cur, no.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNo! Why art thou, then, exasperate, thou idle immaterial skein of\\r\\nsleave silk, thou green sarcenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a\\r\\nprodigal’s purse, thou? Ah, how the poor world is pestered with such\\r\\nwater-flies, diminutives of nature!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nOut, gall!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nFinch egg!\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nMy sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite\\r\\nFrom my great purpose in tomorrow’s battle.\\r\\nHere is a letter from Queen Hecuba,\\r\\nA token from her daughter, my fair love,\\r\\nBoth taxing me and gaging me to keep\\r\\nAn oath that I have sworn. I will not break it.\\r\\nFall Greeks; fail fame; honour or go or stay;\\r\\nMy major vow lies here, this I’ll obey.\\r\\nCome, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent;\\r\\nThis night in banqueting must all be spent.\\r\\nAway, Patroclus!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with_ Patroclus.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWith too much blood and too little brain these two may run mad; but, if\\r\\nwith too much brain and too little blood they do, I’ll be a curer of\\r\\nmadmen. Here’s Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough, and one that loves\\r\\nquails, but he has not so much brain as ear-wax; and the goodly\\r\\ntransformation of Jupiter there, his brother, the bull, the primitive\\r\\nstatue and oblique memorial of cuckolds, a thrifty shoeing-horn in a\\r\\nchain at his brother’s leg, to what form but that he is, should wit\\r\\nlarded with malice, and malice forced with wit, turn him to? To an ass,\\r\\nwere nothing: he is both ass and ox. To an ox, were nothing: he is both\\r\\nox and ass. To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchook, a toad, a lizard,\\r\\nan owl, a puttock, or a herring without a roe, I would not care; but to\\r\\nbe Menelaus, I would conspire against destiny. Ask me not what I would\\r\\nbe, if I were not Thersites; for I care not to be the louse of a lazar,\\r\\nso I were not Menelaus. Hey-day! sprites and fires!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajax, Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Menelaus and\\r\\n Diomedes with lights.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWe go wrong, we go wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nNo, yonder ’tis;\\r\\nThere, where we see the lights.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI trouble you.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nNo, not a whit.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nHere comes himself to guide you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWelcome, brave Hector; welcome, Princes all.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nSo now, fair Prince of Troy, I bid good night;\\r\\nAjax commands the guard to tend on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nThanks, and good night to the Greeks’ general.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nGood night, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nGood night, sweet Lord Menelaus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nSweet draught! ‘Sweet’ quoth a’!\\r\\nSweet sink, sweet sewer!\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nGood night and welcome, both at once, to those\\r\\nThat go or tarry.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nGood night.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Agamemnon and Menelaus_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nOld Nestor tarries; and you too, Diomed,\\r\\nKeep Hector company an hour or two.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI cannot, lord; I have important business,\\r\\nThe tide whereof is now. Good night, great Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nGive me your hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n[_Aside to Troilus._] Follow his torch; he goes to\\r\\nCalchas’ tent; I’ll keep you company.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nSweet sir, you honour me.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nAnd so, good night.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Diomedes, Ulysses and Troilus following._]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nCome, come, enter my tent.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but_ Thersites.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThat same Diomed’s a false-hearted rogue, a most unjust knave; I will\\r\\nno more trust him when he leers than I will a serpent when he hisses.\\r\\nHe will spend his mouth and promise, like Brabbler the hound; but when\\r\\nhe performs, astronomers foretell it: it is prodigious, there will come\\r\\nsome change; the sun borrows of the moon when Diomed keeps his word. I\\r\\nwill rather leave to see Hector than not to dog him. They say he keeps\\r\\na Trojan drab, and uses the traitor Calchas’ tent. I’ll after. Nothing\\r\\nbut lechery! All incontinent varlets!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The Grecian camp. Before CALCHAS’ tent.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Diomedes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhat, are you up here, ho! Speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALCHAS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Who calls?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nDiomed. Calchas, I think. Where’s your daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nCALCHAS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] She comes to you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus and Ulysses, at a distance; after them Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nStand where the torch may not discover us.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCressid comes forth to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nHow now, my charge!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNow, my sweet guardian! Hark, a word with you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Whispers_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYea, so familiar?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nShe will sing any man at first sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAnd any man may sing her, if he can take her cliff; she’s noted.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWill you remember?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nRemember! Yes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nNay, but do, then;\\r\\nAnd let your mind be coupled with your words.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat should she remember?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nList!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to folly.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nRoguery!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nNay, then—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI’ll tell you what—\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nFo, fo! come, tell a pin; you are a forsworn.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIn faith, I cannot. What would you have me do?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nA juggling trick, to be secretly open.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhat did you swear you would bestow on me?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI prithee, do not hold me to mine oath;\\r\\nBid me do anything but that, sweet Greek.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nGood night.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHold, patience!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nHow now, Trojan!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nDiomed!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nNo, no, good night; I’ll be your fool no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThy better must.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHark! a word in your ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO plague and madness!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYou are moved, Prince; let us depart, I pray,\\r\\nLest your displeasure should enlarge itself\\r\\nTo wrathful terms. This place is dangerous;\\r\\nThe time right deadly; I beseech you, go.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBehold, I pray you.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNay, good my lord, go off;\\r\\nYou flow to great distraction; come, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI pray thee stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYou have not patience; come.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI pray you, stay; by hell and all hell’s torments,\\r\\nI will not speak a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nAnd so, good night.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNay, but you part in anger.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nDoth that grieve thee? O withered truth!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nHow now, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBy Jove, I will be patient.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGuardian! Why, Greek!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nFo, fo! adieu! you palter.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIn faith, I do not. Come hither once again.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYou shake, my lord, at something; will you go?\\r\\nYou will break out.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nShe strokes his cheek.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nCome, come.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a word:\\r\\nThere is between my will and all offences\\r\\nA guard of patience. Stay a little while.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHow the devil Luxury, with his fat rump and potato finger, tickles\\r\\nthese together! Fry, lechery, fry!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nBut will you, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIn faith, I will, la; never trust me else.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nGive me some token for the surety of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI’ll fetch you one.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYou have sworn patience.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFear me not, my lord;\\r\\nI will not be myself, nor have cognition\\r\\nOf what I feel. I am all patience.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNow the pledge; now, now, now!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHere, Diomed, keep this sleeve.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO beauty! where is thy faith?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nMy lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI will be patient; outwardly I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nYou look upon that sleeve; behold it well.\\r\\nHe lov’d me—O false wench!—Give’t me again.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhose was’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIt is no matter, now I have’t again.\\r\\nI will not meet with you tomorrow night.\\r\\nI prithee, Diomed, visit me no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNow she sharpens. Well said, whetstone.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI shall have it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat, this?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nAy, that.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO all you gods! O pretty, pretty pledge!\\r\\nThy master now lies thinking on his bed\\r\\nOf thee and me, and sighs, and takes my glove,\\r\\nAnd gives memorial dainty kisses to it,\\r\\nAs I kiss thee. Nay, do not snatch it from me;\\r\\nHe that takes that doth take my heart withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI had your heart before; this follows it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI did swear patience.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nYou shall not have it, Diomed; faith, you shall not;\\r\\nI’ll give you something else.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI will have this. Whose was it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIt is no matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nCome, tell me whose it was.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\n’Twas one’s that lov’d me better than you will.\\r\\nBut, now you have it, take it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhose was it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBy all Diana’s waiting women yond,\\r\\nAnd by herself, I will not tell you whose.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nTomorrow will I wear it on my helm,\\r\\nAnd grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWert thou the devil and wor’st it on thy horn,\\r\\nIt should be challeng’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWell, well, ’tis done, ’tis past; and yet it is not;\\r\\nI will not keep my word.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhy, then farewell;\\r\\nThou never shalt mock Diomed again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nYou shall not go. One cannot speak a word\\r\\nBut it straight starts you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI do not like this fooling.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNor I, by Pluto; but that that likes not you\\r\\nPleases me best.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhat, shall I come? The hour?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAy, come; O Jove! Do come. I shall be plagu’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nFarewell till then.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGood night. I prithee come.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Diomedes.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTroilus, farewell! One eye yet looks on thee;\\r\\nBut with my heart the other eye doth see.\\r\\nAh, poor our sex! this fault in us I find,\\r\\nThe error of our eye directs our mind.\\r\\nWhat error leads must err; O, then conclude,\\r\\nMinds sway’d by eyes are full of turpitude.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nA proof of strength she could not publish more,\\r\\nUnless she said ‘My mind is now turn’d whore.’\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAll’s done, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nIt is.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWhy stay we, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nTo make a recordation to my soul\\r\\nOf every syllable that here was spoke.\\r\\nBut if I tell how these two did co-act,\\r\\nShall I not lie in publishing a truth?\\r\\nSith yet there is a credence in my heart,\\r\\nAn esperance so obstinately strong,\\r\\nThat doth invert th’attest of eyes and ears;\\r\\nAs if those organs had deceptious functions\\r\\nCreated only to calumniate.\\r\\nWas Cressid here?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI cannot conjure, Trojan.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nShe was not, sure.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nMost sure she was.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhy, my negation hath no taste of madness.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNor mine, my lord. Cressid was here but now.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nLet it not be believ’d for womanhood.\\r\\nThink, we had mothers; do not give advantage\\r\\nTo stubborn critics, apt, without a theme,\\r\\nFor depravation, to square the general sex\\r\\nBy Cressid’s rule. Rather think this not Cressid.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWhat hath she done, Prince, that can soil our mothers?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNothing at all, unless that this were she.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWill he swagger himself out on’s own eyes?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThis she? No; this is Diomed’s Cressida.\\r\\nIf beauty have a soul, this is not she;\\r\\nIf souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimonies,\\r\\nIf sanctimony be the god’s delight,\\r\\nIf there be rule in unity itself,\\r\\nThis was not she. O madness of discourse,\\r\\nThat cause sets up with and against itself!\\r\\nBi-fold authority! where reason can revolt\\r\\nWithout perdition, and loss assume all reason\\r\\nWithout revolt: this is, and is not, Cressid.\\r\\nWithin my soul there doth conduce a fight\\r\\nOf this strange nature, that a thing inseparate\\r\\nDivides more wider than the sky and earth;\\r\\nAnd yet the spacious breadth of this division\\r\\nAdmits no orifice for a point as subtle\\r\\nAs Ariachne’s broken woof to enter.\\r\\nInstance, O instance! strong as Pluto’s gates:\\r\\nCressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven.\\r\\nInstance, O instance! strong as heaven itself:\\r\\nThe bonds of heaven are slipp’d, dissolv’d, and loos’d;\\r\\nAnd with another knot, five-finger-tied,\\r\\nThe fractions of her faith, orts of her love,\\r\\nThe fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy relics\\r\\nOf her o’er-eaten faith, are given to Diomed.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nMay worthy Troilus be half attach’d\\r\\nWith that which here his passion doth express?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAy, Greek; and that shall be divulged well\\r\\nIn characters as red as Mars his heart\\r\\nInflam’d with Venus. Never did young man fancy\\r\\nWith so eternal and so fix’d a soul.\\r\\nHark, Greek: as much as I do Cressid love,\\r\\nSo much by weight hate I her Diomed.\\r\\nThat sleeve is mine that he’ll bear on his helm;\\r\\nWere it a casque compos’d by Vulcan’s skill\\r\\nMy sword should bite it. Not the dreadful spout\\r\\nWhich shipmen do the hurricano call,\\r\\nConstring’d in mass by the almighty sun,\\r\\nShall dizzy with more clamour Neptune’s ear\\r\\nIn his descent than shall my prompted sword\\r\\nFalling on Diomed.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHe’ll tickle it for his concupy.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO Cressid! O false Cressid! false, false, false!\\r\\nLet all untruths stand by thy stained name,\\r\\nAnd they’ll seem glorious.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nO, contain yourself;\\r\\nYour passion draws ears hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nI have been seeking you this hour, my lord.\\r\\nHector, by this, is arming him in Troy;\\r\\nAjax, your guard, stays to conduct you home.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHave with you, Prince. My courteous lord, adieu.\\r\\nFairwell, revolted fair! and, Diomed,\\r\\nStand fast, and wear a castle on thy head.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI’ll bring you to the gates.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAccept distracted thanks.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus, Aeneas and Ulysses_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES. Would I could meet that rogue Diomed! I would croak like a\\r\\nraven; I would bode, I would bode. Patroclus will give me anything for\\r\\nthe intelligence of this whore; the parrot will not do more for an\\r\\nalmond than he for a commodious drab. Lechery, lechery! Still wars and\\r\\nlechery! Nothing else holds fashion. A burning devil take them!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Troy. Before PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector and Andromache.\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nWhen was my lord so much ungently temper’d\\r\\nTo stop his ears against admonishment?\\r\\nUnarm, unarm, and do not fight today.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nYou train me to offend you; get you in.\\r\\nBy all the everlasting gods, I’ll go.\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nMy dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the day.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nNo more, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassandra.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nWhere is my brother Hector?\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nHere, sister, arm’d, and bloody in intent.\\r\\nConsort with me in loud and dear petition,\\r\\nPursue we him on knees; for I have dreamt\\r\\nOf bloody turbulence, and this whole night\\r\\nHath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nO, ’tis true!\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nHo! bid my trumpet sound.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nNo notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet brother!\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nBe gone, I say. The gods have heard me swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nThe gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows;\\r\\nThey are polluted off’rings, more abhorr’d\\r\\nThan spotted livers in the sacrifice.\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nO, be persuaded! Do not count it holy\\r\\nTo hurt by being just. It is as lawful,\\r\\nFor we would give much, to use violent thefts\\r\\nAnd rob in the behalf of charity.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nIt is the purpose that makes strong the vow;\\r\\nBut vows to every purpose must not hold.\\r\\nUnarm, sweet Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nHold you still, I say.\\r\\nMine honour keeps the weather of my fate.\\r\\nLife every man holds dear; but the dear man\\r\\nHolds honour far more precious dear than life.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, young man! Mean’st thou to fight today?\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nCassandra, call my father to persuade.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Cassandra.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nNo, faith, young Troilus; doff thy harness, youth;\\r\\nI am today i’ th’vein of chivalry.\\r\\nLet grow thy sinews till their knots be strong,\\r\\nAnd tempt not yet the brushes of the war.\\r\\nUnarm thee, go; and doubt thou not, brave boy,\\r\\nI’ll stand today for thee and me and Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBrother, you have a vice of mercy in you,\\r\\nWhich better fits a lion than a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWhat vice is that? Good Troilus, chide me for it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhen many times the captive Grecian falls,\\r\\nEven in the fan and wind of your fair sword,\\r\\nYou bid them rise and live.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nO, ’tis fair play!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFool’s play, by heaven, Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nHow now? how now?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFor th’ love of all the gods,\\r\\nLet’s leave the hermit Pity with our mother;\\r\\nAnd when we have our armours buckled on,\\r\\nThe venom’d vengeance ride upon our swords,\\r\\nSpur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth!\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nFie, savage, fie!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHector, then ’tis wars.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nTroilus, I would not have you fight today.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWho should withhold me?\\r\\nNot fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars\\r\\nBeckoning with fiery truncheon my retire;\\r\\nNot Priamus and Hecuba on knees,\\r\\nTheir eyes o’er-galled with recourse of tears;\\r\\nNor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn,\\r\\nOppos’d to hinder me, should stop my way,\\r\\nBut by my ruin.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Cassandra with Priam.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nLay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast;\\r\\nHe is thy crutch; now if thou lose thy stay,\\r\\nThou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee,\\r\\nFall all together.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nCome, Hector, come, go back.\\r\\nThy wife hath dreamt; thy mother hath had visions;\\r\\nCassandra doth foresee; and I myself\\r\\nAm like a prophet suddenly enrapt\\r\\nTo tell thee that this day is ominous.\\r\\nTherefore, come back.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nAeneas is a-field;\\r\\nAnd I do stand engag’d to many Greeks,\\r\\nEven in the faith of valour, to appear\\r\\nThis morning to them.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nAy, but thou shalt not go.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI must not break my faith.\\r\\nYou know me dutiful; therefore, dear sir,\\r\\nLet me not shame respect; but give me leave\\r\\nTo take that course by your consent and voice\\r\\nWhich you do here forbid me, royal Priam.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nO Priam, yield not to him!\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nDo not, dear father.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nAndromache, I am offended with you.\\r\\nUpon the love you bear me, get you in.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Andromache.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThis foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl\\r\\nMakes all these bodements.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nO, farewell, dear Hector!\\r\\nLook how thou diest. Look how thy eye turns pale.\\r\\nLook how thy wounds do bleed at many vents.\\r\\nHark how Troy roars; how Hecuba cries out;\\r\\nHow poor Andromache shrills her dolours forth;\\r\\nBehold distraction, frenzy, and amazement,\\r\\nLike witless antics, one another meet,\\r\\nAnd all cry, ‘Hector! Hector’s dead! O Hector!’\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAway, away!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nFarewell! yet, soft! Hector, I take my leave.\\r\\nThou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nYou are amaz’d, my liege, at her exclaim.\\r\\nGo in, and cheer the town; we’ll forth, and fight,\\r\\nDo deeds worth praise and tell you them at night.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nFarewell. The gods with safety stand about thee!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt severally Priam and Hector. Alarums._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThey are at it, hark! Proud Diomed, believe,\\r\\nI come to lose my arm or win my sleeve.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nDo you hear, my lord? Do you hear?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat now?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHere’s a letter come from yond poor girl.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nLet me read.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nA whoreson tisick, a whoreson rascally tisick, so troubles me, and the\\r\\nfoolish fortune of this girl, and what one thing, what another, that I\\r\\nshall leave you one o’ these days; and I have a rheum in mine eyes too,\\r\\nand such an ache in my bones that unless a man were curs’d I cannot\\r\\ntell what to think on’t. What says she there?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWords, words, mere words, no matter from the heart;\\r\\nTh’effect doth operate another way.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Tearing the letter_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nGo, wind, to wind, there turn and change together.\\r\\nMy love with words and errors still she feeds,\\r\\nBut edifies another with her deeds.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt severally_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The plain between Troy and the Grecian camp.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarums. Excursions. Enter Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNow they are clapper-clawing one another; I’ll go look on. That\\r\\ndissembling abominable varlet, Diomed, has got that same scurvy doting\\r\\nfoolish young knave’s sleeve of Troy there in his helm. I would fain\\r\\nsee them meet, that that same young Trojan ass that loves the whore\\r\\nthere might send that Greekish whoremasterly villain with the sleeve\\r\\nback to the dissembling luxurious drab of a sleeve-less errand. O’ the\\r\\nother side, the policy of those crafty swearing rascals that stale old\\r\\nmouse-eaten dry cheese, Nestor, and that same dog-fox, Ulysses, is not\\r\\nprov’d worth a blackberry. They set me up, in policy, that mongrel cur,\\r\\nAjax, against that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles; and now is the cur,\\r\\nAjax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not arm today; whereupon\\r\\nthe Grecians begin to proclaim barbarism, and policy grows into an ill\\r\\nopinion.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Diomedes, Troilus following.\\r\\n\\r\\nSoft! here comes sleeve, and t’other.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFly not; for shouldst thou take the river Styx, I would swim after.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nThou dost miscall retire.\\r\\nI do not fly; but advantageous care\\r\\nWithdrew me from the odds of multitude.\\r\\nHave at thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHold thy whore, Grecian; now for thy whore,\\r\\nTrojan! now the sleeve, now the sleeve!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus and Diomedes fighting_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWhat art thou, Greek? Art thou for Hector’s match?\\r\\nArt thou of blood and honour?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNo, no I am a rascal; a scurvy railing knave; a very filthy rogue.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI do believe thee. Live.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nGod-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; but a plague break thy neck for\\r\\nfrighting me! What’s become of the wenching rogues? I think they have\\r\\nswallowed one another. I would laugh at that miracle. Yet, in a sort,\\r\\nlechery eats itself. I’ll seek them.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Diomedes and a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nGo, go, my servant, take thou Troilus’ horse;\\r\\nPresent the fair steed to my lady Cressid.\\r\\nFellow, commend my service to her beauty;\\r\\nTell her I have chastis’d the amorous Trojan,\\r\\nAnd am her knight by proof.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI go, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Agamemnon.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nRenew, renew! The fierce Polydamas\\r\\nHath beat down Menon; bastard Margarelon\\r\\nHath Doreus prisoner,\\r\\nAnd stands colossus-wise, waving his beam,\\r\\nUpon the pashed corses of the kings\\r\\nEpistrophus and Cedius. Polixenes is slain;\\r\\nAmphimacus and Thoas deadly hurt;\\r\\nPatroclus ta’en, or slain; and Palamedes\\r\\nSore hurt and bruis’d. The dreadful Sagittary\\r\\nAppals our numbers. Haste we, Diomed,\\r\\nTo reinforcement, or we perish all.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nestor.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nGo, bear Patroclus’ body to Achilles,\\r\\nAnd bid the snail-pac’d Ajax arm for shame.\\r\\nThere is a thousand Hectors in the field;\\r\\nNow here he fights on Galathe his horse,\\r\\nAnd there lacks work; anon he’s there afoot,\\r\\nAnd there they fly or die, like scaled sculls\\r\\nBefore the belching whale; then is he yonder,\\r\\nAnd there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge,\\r\\nFall down before him like the mower’s swath.\\r\\nHere, there, and everywhere, he leaves and takes;\\r\\nDexterity so obeying appetite\\r\\nThat what he will he does, and does so much\\r\\nThat proof is call’d impossibility.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ulysses.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nO, courage, courage, courage, Princes! Great Achilles\\r\\nIs arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance.\\r\\nPatroclus’ wounds have rous’d his drowsy blood,\\r\\nTogether with his mangled Myrmidons,\\r\\nThat noseless, handless, hack’d and chipp’d, come to him,\\r\\nCrying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend\\r\\nAnd foams at mouth, and he is arm’d and at it,\\r\\nRoaring for Troilus; who hath done today\\r\\nMad and fantastic execution,\\r\\nEngaging and redeeming of himself\\r\\nWith such a careless force and forceless care\\r\\nAs if that lust, in very spite of cunning,\\r\\nBade him win all.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nTroilus! thou coward Troilus!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nAy, there, there.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nSo, so, we draw together.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhere is this Hector?\\r\\nCome, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face;\\r\\nKnow what it is to meet Achilles angry.\\r\\nHector! where’s Hector? I will none but Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nTroilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy head.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Diomedes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nTroilus, I say! Where’s Troilus?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWhat wouldst thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI would correct him.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWere I the general, thou shouldst have my office\\r\\nEre that correction. Troilus, I say! What, Troilus!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO traitor Diomed! Turn thy false face, thou traitor,\\r\\nAnd pay thy life thou owest me for my horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nHa! art thou there?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI’ll fight with him alone. Stand, Diomed.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nHe is my prize. I will not look upon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCome, both, you cogging Greeks; have at you both!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt fighting_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nYea, Troilus? O, well fought, my youngest brother!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nNow do I see thee. Ha! have at thee, Hector!\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nPause, if thou wilt.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan.\\r\\nBe happy that my arms are out of use;\\r\\nMy rest and negligence befriend thee now,\\r\\nBut thou anon shalt hear of me again;\\r\\nTill when, go seek thy fortune.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nFare thee well.\\r\\nI would have been much more a fresher man,\\r\\nHad I expected thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, my brother!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAjax hath ta’en Aeneas. Shall it be?\\r\\nNo, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven,\\r\\nHe shall not carry him; I’ll be ta’en too,\\r\\nOr bring him off. Fate, hear me what I say:\\r\\nI reck not though thou end my life today.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter one in armour.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nStand, stand, thou Greek; thou art a goodly mark.\\r\\nNo? wilt thou not? I like thy armour well;\\r\\nI’ll frush it and unlock the rivets all\\r\\nBut I’ll be master of it. Wilt thou not, beast, abide?\\r\\nWhy then, fly on; I’ll hunt thee for thy hide.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles with Myrmidons.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nCome here about me, you my Myrmidons;\\r\\nMark what I say. Attend me where I wheel;\\r\\nStrike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath;\\r\\nAnd when I have the bloody Hector found,\\r\\nEmpale him with your weapons round about;\\r\\nIn fellest manner execute your arms.\\r\\nFollow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye.\\r\\nIt is decreed Hector the great must die.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Menelaus and Paris, fighting; then Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThe cuckold and the cuckold-maker are at it. Now, bull! Now, dog! ’Loo,\\r\\nParis, ’loo! now my double-hen’d Spartan! ’loo, Paris, ’loo! The bull\\r\\nhas the game. ’Ware horns, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Paris and Menelaus_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Margarelon.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARGARELON.\\r\\nTurn, slave, and fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWhat art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARGARELON.\\r\\nA bastard son of Priam’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI am a bastard too; I love bastards. I am a bastard begot, bastard\\r\\ninstructed, bastard in mind, bastard in valour, in everything\\r\\nillegitimate. One bear will not bite another, and wherefore should one\\r\\nbastard? Take heed, the quarrel’s most ominous to us: if the son of a\\r\\nwhore fight for a whore, he tempts judgement. Farewell, bastard.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMARGARELON.\\r\\nThe devil take thee, coward!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VIII. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nMost putrified core so fair without,\\r\\nThy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life.\\r\\nNow is my day’s work done; I’ll take my breath:\\r\\nRest, sword; thou hast thy fill of blood and death!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Disarms_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles and Myrmidons.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nLook, Hector, how the sun begins to set,\\r\\nHow ugly night comes breathing at his heels;\\r\\nEven with the vail and dark’ning of the sun,\\r\\nTo close the day up, Hector’s life is done.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI am unarm’d; forego this vantage, Greek.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nStrike, fellows, strike; this is the man I seek.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Hector falls_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSo, Ilion, fall thou next! Now, Troy, sink down;\\r\\nHere lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone.\\r\\nOn, Myrmidons, and cry you all amain\\r\\n‘Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.’\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A retreat sounded_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHark! a retire upon our Grecian part.\\r\\n\\r\\nMYRMIDON.\\r\\nThe Trojan trumpets sound the like, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nThe dragon wing of night o’erspreads the earth\\r\\nAnd, stickler-like, the armies separates.\\r\\nMy half-supp’d sword, that frankly would have fed,\\r\\nPleas’d with this dainty bait, thus goes to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sheathes his sword_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, tie his body to my horse’s tail;\\r\\nAlong the field I will the Trojan trail.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IX. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound retreat. Shout. Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Nestor,\\r\\n Diomedes and the rest, marching.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHark! hark! what shout is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nPeace, drums!\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLDIERS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Achilles! Achilles! Hector’s slain. Achilles!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nThe bruit is, Hector’s slain, and by Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nIf it be so, yet bragless let it be;\\r\\nGreat Hector was as good a man as he.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nMarch patiently along. Let one be sent\\r\\nTo pray Achilles see us at our tent.\\r\\nIf in his death the gods have us befriended;\\r\\nGreat Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE X. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Aeneas, Paris, Antenor and Deiphobus.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nStand, ho! yet are we masters of the field.\\r\\nNever go home; here starve we out the night.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHector is slain.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nHector! The gods forbid!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHe’s dead, and at the murderer’s horse’s tail,\\r\\nIn beastly sort, dragg’d through the shameful field.\\r\\nFrown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed.\\r\\nSit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy.\\r\\nI say at once let your brief plagues be mercy,\\r\\nAnd linger not our sure destructions on.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nMy lord, you do discomfort all the host.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYou understand me not that tell me so.\\r\\nI do not speak of flight, of fear of death,\\r\\nBut dare all imminence that gods and men\\r\\nAddress their dangers in. Hector is gone.\\r\\nWho shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba?\\r\\nLet him that will a screech-owl aye be call’d\\r\\nGo in to Troy, and say there ‘Hector’s dead.’\\r\\nThere is a word will Priam turn to stone;\\r\\nMake wells and Niobes of the maids and wives,\\r\\nCold statues of the youth; and, in a word,\\r\\nScare Troy out of itself. But, march away;\\r\\nHector is dead; there is no more to say.\\r\\nStay yet. You vile abominable tents,\\r\\nThus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains,\\r\\nLet Titan rise as early as he dare,\\r\\nI’ll through and through you. And, thou great-siz’d coward,\\r\\nNo space of earth shall sunder our two hates;\\r\\nI’ll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still,\\r\\nThat mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy’s thoughts.\\r\\nStrike a free march to Troy. With comfort go;\\r\\nHope of revenge shall hide our inward woe.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nBut hear you, hear you!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHence, broker-lackey. Ignominy and shame\\r\\nPursue thy life, and live aye with thy name!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but_ Pandarus.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nA goodly medicine for my aching bones! O world! world! Thus is the poor\\r\\nagent despis’d! O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a-work,\\r\\nand how ill requited! Why should our endeavour be so lov’d, and the\\r\\nperformance so loathed? What verse for it? What instance for it? Let me\\r\\nsee—\\r\\n\\r\\n Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing\\r\\n Till he hath lost his honey and his sting;\\r\\n And being once subdu’d in armed trail,\\r\\n Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail.\\r\\n\\r\\nGood traders in the flesh, set this in your painted cloths.\\r\\nAs many as be here of Pandar’s hall,\\r\\nYour eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar’s fall;\\r\\nOr, if you cannot weep, yet give some groans,\\r\\nThough not for me, yet for your aching bones.\\r\\nBrethren and sisters of the hold-door trade,\\r\\nSome two months hence my will shall here be made.\\r\\nIt should be now, but that my fear is this,\\r\\nSome galled goose of Winchester would hiss.\\r\\nTill then I’ll sweat and seek about for eases,\\r\\nAnd at that time bequeath you my diseases.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. An Apartment in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\nScene II. The sea-coast.\\r\\nScene III. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\nScene V. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. The sea-coast.\\r\\nScene II. A street.\\r\\nScene III. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\nScene V. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\nScene II. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene III. A street.\\r\\nScene IV. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. The Street before Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene II. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene III. Olivia’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. The Street before Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nORSINO, Duke of Illyria.\\r\\nVALENTINE, Gentleman attending on the Duke\\r\\nCURIO, Gentleman attending on the Duke\\r\\nVIOLA, in love with the Duke.\\r\\nSEBASTIAN, a young Gentleman, twin brother to Viola.\\r\\nA SEA CAPTAIN, friend to Viola\\r\\nANTONIO, a Sea Captain, friend to Sebastian.\\r\\nOLIVIA, a rich Countess.\\r\\nMARIA, Olivia’s Woman.\\r\\nSIR TOBY BELCH, Uncle of Olivia.\\r\\nSIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.\\r\\nMALVOLIO, Steward to Olivia.\\r\\nFABIAN, Servant to Olivia.\\r\\nCLOWN, Servant to Olivia.\\r\\nPRIEST\\r\\nLords, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and other Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: A City in Illyria; and the Sea-coast near it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. An Apartment in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Orsino, Duke of Illyria, Curio, and other Lords; Musicians\\r\\n attending.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nIf music be the food of love, play on,\\r\\nGive me excess of it; that, surfeiting,\\r\\nThe appetite may sicken and so die.\\r\\nThat strain again, it had a dying fall;\\r\\nO, it came o’er my ear like the sweet sound\\r\\nThat breathes upon a bank of violets,\\r\\nStealing and giving odour. Enough; no more;\\r\\n’Tis not so sweet now as it was before.\\r\\nO spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou,\\r\\nThat notwithstanding thy capacity\\r\\nReceiveth as the sea, nought enters there,\\r\\nOf what validity and pitch soever,\\r\\nBut falls into abatement and low price\\r\\nEven in a minute! So full of shapes is fancy,\\r\\nThat it alone is high fantastical.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURIO.\\r\\nWill you go hunt, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat, Curio?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURIO.\\r\\nThe hart.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhy so I do, the noblest that I have.\\r\\nO, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,\\r\\nMethought she purg’d the air of pestilence;\\r\\nThat instant was I turn’d into a hart,\\r\\nAnd my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,\\r\\nE’er since pursue me. How now? what news from her?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Valentine.\\r\\n\\r\\nVALENTINE.\\r\\nSo please my lord, I might not be admitted,\\r\\nBut from her handmaid do return this answer:\\r\\nThe element itself, till seven years’ heat,\\r\\nShall not behold her face at ample view;\\r\\nBut like a cloistress she will veiled walk,\\r\\nAnd water once a day her chamber round\\r\\nWith eye-offending brine: all this to season\\r\\nA brother’s dead love, which she would keep fresh\\r\\nAnd lasting in her sad remembrance.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO, she that hath a heart of that fine frame\\r\\nTo pay this debt of love but to a brother,\\r\\nHow will she love, when the rich golden shaft\\r\\nHath kill’d the flock of all affections else\\r\\nThat live in her; when liver, brain, and heart,\\r\\nThese sovereign thrones, are all supplied and fill’d\\r\\nHer sweet perfections with one self king!\\r\\nAway before me to sweet beds of flowers,\\r\\nLove-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The sea-coast.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Viola, a Captain and Sailors.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhat country, friends, is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nThis is Illyria, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd what should I do in Illyria?\\r\\nMy brother he is in Elysium.\\r\\nPerchance he is not drown’d. What think you, sailors?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nIt is perchance that you yourself were sav’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nO my poor brother! and so perchance may he be.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nTrue, madam; and to comfort you with chance,\\r\\nAssure yourself, after our ship did split,\\r\\nWhen you, and those poor number sav’d with you,\\r\\nHung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,\\r\\nMost provident in peril, bind himself,\\r\\n(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice)\\r\\nTo a strong mast that liv’d upon the sea;\\r\\nWhere, like Arion on the dolphin’s back,\\r\\nI saw him hold acquaintance with the waves\\r\\nSo long as I could see.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nFor saying so, there’s gold!\\r\\nMine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,\\r\\nWhereto thy speech serves for authority,\\r\\nThe like of him. Know’st thou this country?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nAy, madam, well, for I was bred and born\\r\\nNot three hours’ travel from this very place.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWho governs here?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nA noble duke, in nature as in name.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhat is his name?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nOrsino.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nOrsino! I have heard my father name him.\\r\\nHe was a bachelor then.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nAnd so is now, or was so very late;\\r\\nFor but a month ago I went from hence,\\r\\nAnd then ’twas fresh in murmur, (as, you know,\\r\\nWhat great ones do, the less will prattle of)\\r\\nThat he did seek the love of fair Olivia.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhat’s she?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nA virtuous maid, the daughter of a count\\r\\nThat died some twelvemonth since; then leaving her\\r\\nIn the protection of his son, her brother,\\r\\nWho shortly also died; for whose dear love\\r\\nThey say, she hath abjur’d the company\\r\\nAnd sight of men.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nO that I served that lady,\\r\\nAnd might not be delivered to the world,\\r\\nTill I had made mine own occasion mellow,\\r\\nWhat my estate is.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nThat were hard to compass,\\r\\nBecause she will admit no kind of suit,\\r\\nNo, not the Duke’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThere is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain;\\r\\nAnd though that nature with a beauteous wall\\r\\nDoth oft close in pollution, yet of thee\\r\\nI will believe thou hast a mind that suits\\r\\nWith this thy fair and outward character.\\r\\nI pray thee, and I’ll pay thee bounteously,\\r\\nConceal me what I am, and be my aid\\r\\nFor such disguise as haply shall become\\r\\nThe form of my intent. I’ll serve this duke;\\r\\nThou shalt present me as an eunuch to him.\\r\\nIt may be worth thy pains; for I can sing,\\r\\nAnd speak to him in many sorts of music,\\r\\nThat will allow me very worth his service.\\r\\nWhat else may hap, to time I will commit;\\r\\nOnly shape thou thy silence to my wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nBe you his eunuch and your mute I’ll be;\\r\\nWhen my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI thank thee. Lead me on.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat a plague means my niece to take the death of her brother thus? I\\r\\nam sure care’s an enemy to life.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nBy my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o’ nights; your cousin,\\r\\nmy lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, let her except, before excepted.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAy, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nConfine? I’ll confine myself no finer than I am. These clothes are good\\r\\nenough to drink in, and so be these boots too; and they be not, let\\r\\nthem hang themselves in their own straps.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThat quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard my lady talk of it\\r\\nyesterday; and of a foolish knight that you brought in one night here\\r\\nto be her wooer.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWho? Sir Andrew Aguecheek?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAy, he.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHe’s as tall a man as any’s in Illyria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nWhat’s that to th’ purpose?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, he has three thousand ducats a year.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAy, but he’ll have but a year in all these ducats. He’s a very fool,\\r\\nand a prodigal.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nFie, that you’ll say so! he plays o’ the viol-de-gamboys, and speaks\\r\\nthree or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the\\r\\ngood gifts of nature.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nHe hath indeed, almost natural: for, besides that he’s a fool, he’s a\\r\\ngreat quarreller; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay\\r\\nthe gust he hath in quarrelling, ’tis thought among the prudent he\\r\\nwould quickly have the gift of a grave.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nBy this hand, they are scoundrels and substractors that say so of him.\\r\\nWho are they?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThey that add, moreover, he’s drunk nightly in your company.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWith drinking healths to my niece; I’ll drink to her as long as there\\r\\nis a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria. He’s a coward and a\\r\\ncoystril that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o’ the\\r\\ntoe like a parish top. What, wench! _Castiliano vulgo:_ for here comes\\r\\nSir Andrew Agueface.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGUECHEEK.\\r\\nSir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nSweet Sir Andrew!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBless you, fair shrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAnd you too, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAccost, Sir Andrew, accost.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhat’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMy niece’s chamber-maid.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nGood Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMy name is Mary, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nGood Mistress Mary Accost,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nYou mistake, knight: accost is front her, board her, woo her, assail\\r\\nher.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBy my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the\\r\\nmeaning of accost?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nFare you well, gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never draw sword\\r\\nagain.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair\\r\\nlady, do you think you have fools in hand?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nSir, I have not you by the hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nMarry, but you shall have, and here’s my hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNow, sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring your hand to th’ buttery\\r\\nbar and let it drink.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWherefore, sweetheart? What’s your metaphor?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nIt’s dry, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhy, I think so; I am not such an ass but I can keep my hand dry. But\\r\\nwhat’s your jest?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nA dry jest, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAre you full of them?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAy, sir, I have them at my fingers’ ends: marry, now I let go your\\r\\nhand, I am barren.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nO knight, thou lack’st a cup of canary: When did I see thee so put\\r\\ndown?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNever in your life, I think, unless you see canary put me down.\\r\\nMethinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary\\r\\nman has; but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm\\r\\nto my wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nNo question.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd I thought that, I’d forswear it. I’ll ride home tomorrow, Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Pourquoy_, my dear knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhat is _pourquoy?_ Do, or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in\\r\\nthe tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting. O, had I\\r\\nbut followed the arts!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThen hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhy, would that have mended my hair?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPast question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBut it becomes me well enough, does’t not?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nExcellent, it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I hope to see a\\r\\nhouswife take thee between her legs, and spin it off.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFaith, I’ll home tomorrow, Sir Toby; your niece will not be seen, or if\\r\\nshe be, it’s four to one she’ll none of me; the Count himself here hard\\r\\nby woos her.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nShe’ll none o’ the Count; she’ll not match above her degree, neither in\\r\\nestate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear’t. Tut, there’s life\\r\\nin’t, man.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI’ll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o’ the strangest mind i’ the\\r\\nworld; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nArt thou good at these kick-shawses, knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAs any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my\\r\\nbetters; and yet I will not compare with an old man.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFaith, I can cut a caper.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd I can cut the mutton to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in\\r\\nIllyria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWherefore are these things hid? Wherefore have these gifts a curtain\\r\\nbefore ’em? Are they like to take dust, like Mistress Mall’s picture?\\r\\nWhy dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a\\r\\ncoranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not so much as make\\r\\nwater but in a sink-a-pace. What dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide\\r\\nvirtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it\\r\\nwas formed under the star of a galliard.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAy, ’tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a dam’d-colour’d\\r\\nstock. Shall we set about some revels?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat shall we do else? Were we not born under Taurus?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nTaurus? That’s sides and heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nNo, sir, it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper. Ha, higher: ha,\\r\\nha, excellent!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Valentine and Viola in man’s attire.\\r\\n\\r\\nVALENTINE.\\r\\nIf the duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like\\r\\nto be much advanced; he hath known you but three days, and already you\\r\\nare no stranger.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nYou either fear his humour or my negligence, that you call in question\\r\\nthe continuance of his love. Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours?\\r\\n\\r\\nVALENTINE.\\r\\nNo, believe me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Duke, Curio and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI thank you. Here comes the Count.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWho saw Cesario, ho?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nOn your attendance, my lord, here.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nStand you awhile aloof.—Cesario,\\r\\nThou know’st no less but all; I have unclasp’d\\r\\nTo thee the book even of my secret soul.\\r\\nTherefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her,\\r\\nBe not denied access, stand at her doors,\\r\\nAnd tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow\\r\\nTill thou have audience.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSure, my noble lord,\\r\\nIf she be so abandon’d to her sorrow\\r\\nAs it is spoke, she never will admit me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBe clamorous and leap all civil bounds,\\r\\nRather than make unprofited return.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSay I do speak with her, my lord, what then?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO then unfold the passion of my love,\\r\\nSurprise her with discourse of my dear faith;\\r\\nIt shall become thee well to act my woes;\\r\\nShe will attend it better in thy youth,\\r\\nThan in a nuncio’s of more grave aspect.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI think not so, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nDear lad, believe it;\\r\\nFor they shall yet belie thy happy years,\\r\\nThat say thou art a man: Diana’s lip\\r\\nIs not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe\\r\\nIs as the maiden’s organ, shrill and sound,\\r\\nAnd all is semblative a woman’s part.\\r\\nI know thy constellation is right apt\\r\\nFor this affair. Some four or five attend him:\\r\\nAll, if you will; for I myself am best\\r\\nWhen least in company. Prosper well in this,\\r\\nAnd thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,\\r\\nTo call his fortunes thine.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI’ll do my best\\r\\nTo woo your lady. [_Aside._] Yet, a barful strife!\\r\\nWhoe’er I woo, myself would be his wife.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay; either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips so\\r\\nwide as a bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse: my lady will hang\\r\\nthee for thy absence.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLet her hang me: he that is well hanged in this world needs to fear no\\r\\ncolours.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMake that good.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe shall see none to fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nA good lenten answer. I can tell thee where that saying was born, of I\\r\\nfear no colours.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhere, good Mistress Mary?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nIn the wars, and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWell, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let\\r\\nthem use their talents.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nYet you will be hanged for being so long absent; or to be turned away;\\r\\nis not that as good as a hanging to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMany a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and for turning away, let\\r\\nsummer bear it out.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nYou are resolute then?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot so, neither, but I am resolved on two points.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThat if one break, the other will hold; or if both break, your gaskins\\r\\nfall.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nApt, in good faith, very apt! Well, go thy way; if Sir Toby would leave\\r\\ndrinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve’s flesh as any in Illyria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nPeace, you rogue, no more o’ that. Here comes my lady: make your excuse\\r\\nwisely, you were best.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia with Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWit, and’t be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits that think\\r\\nthey have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I that am sure I lack\\r\\nthee, may pass for a wise man. For what says Quinapalus? Better a witty\\r\\nfool than a foolish wit. God bless thee, lady!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nTake the fool away.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nDo you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGo to, y’are a dry fool; I’ll no more of you. Besides, you grow\\r\\ndishonest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTwo faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend: for give\\r\\nthe dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest man\\r\\nmend himself, if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let\\r\\nthe botcher mend him. Anything that’s mended is but patched; virtue\\r\\nthat transgresses is but patched with sin, and sin that amends is but\\r\\npatched with virtue. If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if\\r\\nit will not, what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so\\r\\nbeauty’s a flower. The lady bade take away the fool, therefore, I say\\r\\nagain, take her away.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSir, I bade them take away you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMisprision in the highest degree! Lady, _cucullus non facit monachum:_\\r\\nthat’s as much to say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna,\\r\\ngive me leave to prove you a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nCan you do it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nDexteriously, good madonna.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nMake your proof.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI must catechize you for it, madonna. Good my mouse of virtue, answer\\r\\nme.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWell sir, for want of other idleness, I’ll ’bide your proof.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGood madonna, why mourn’st thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGood fool, for my brother’s death.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI think his soul is in hell, madonna.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI know his soul is in heaven, fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThe more fool you, madonna, to mourn for your brother’s soul being in\\r\\nheaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nYes; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him. Infirmity, that\\r\\ndecays the wise, doth ever make the better fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGod send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your\\r\\nfolly! Sir Toby will be sworn that I am no fox; but he will not pass\\r\\nhis word for twopence that you are no fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHow say you to that, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal; I saw him\\r\\nput down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain\\r\\nthan a stone. Look you now, he’s out of his guard already; unless you\\r\\nlaugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest I take\\r\\nthese wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than\\r\\nthe fools’ zanies.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered\\r\\nappetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to\\r\\ntake those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon bullets. There is\\r\\nno slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no\\r\\nrailing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNow Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speak’st well of fools!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMadam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much desires to speak\\r\\nwith you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nFrom the Count Orsino, is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nI know not, madam; ’tis a fair young man, and well attended.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWho of my people hold him in delay?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nSir Toby, madam, your kinsman.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nFetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman. Fie on him!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGo you, Malvolio. If it be a suit from the Count, I am sick, or not at\\r\\nhome. What you will, to dismiss it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Malvolio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool:\\r\\nwhose skull Jove cram with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin\\r\\nhas a most weak _pia mater_.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nBy mine honour, half drunk. What is he at the gate, cousin?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nA gentleman? What gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n’Tis a gentleman here. A plague o’ these pickle-herrings! How now, sot?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGood Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nCousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLechery! I defy lechery. There’s one at the gate.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAy, marry, what is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLet him be the devil an he will, I care not: give me faith, say I.\\r\\nWell, it’s all one.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat’s a drunken man like, fool?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLike a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes\\r\\nhim a fool, the second mads him, and a third drowns him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGo thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit o’ my coz; for he’s in\\r\\nthe third degree of drink; he’s drowned. Go, look after him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look to the madman.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMadam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you\\r\\nwere sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes\\r\\nto speak with you. I told him you were asleep; he seems to have a\\r\\nforeknowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What\\r\\nis to be said to him, lady? He’s fortified against any denial.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nTell him, he shall not speak with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nHas been told so; and he says he’ll stand at your door like a sheriff’s\\r\\npost, and be the supporter of a bench, but he’ll speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat kind o’ man is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nWhy, of mankind.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat manner of man?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nOf very ill manner; he’ll speak with you, will you or no.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nOf what personage and years is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nNot yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash\\r\\nis before ’tis a peascod, or a codling, when ’tis almost an apple. ’Tis\\r\\nwith him in standing water, between boy and man. He is very\\r\\nwell-favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly. One would think his\\r\\nmother’s milk were scarce out of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nLet him approach. Call in my gentlewoman.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGentlewoman, my lady calls.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGive me my veil; come, throw it o’er my face.\\r\\nWe’ll once more hear Orsino’s embassy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Viola.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThe honourable lady of the house, which is she?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSpeak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMost radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty,—I pray you, tell me if\\r\\nthis be the lady of the house, for I never saw her. I would be loath to\\r\\ncast away my speech; for besides that it is excellently well penned, I\\r\\nhave taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no\\r\\nscorn; I am very comptible, even to the least sinister usage.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhence came you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI can say little more than I have studied, and that question’s out of\\r\\nmy part. Good gentle one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady\\r\\nof the house, that I may proceed in my speech.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAre you a comedian?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNo, my profound heart: and yet, by the very fangs of malice I swear, I\\r\\nam not that I play. Are you the lady of the house?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIf I do not usurp myself, I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMost certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what is yours\\r\\nto bestow is not yours to reserve. But this is from my commission. I\\r\\nwill on with my speech in your praise, and then show you the heart of\\r\\nmy message.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nCome to what is important in’t: I forgive you the praise.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAlas, I took great pains to study it, and ’tis poetical.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIt is the more like to be feigned; I pray you keep it in. I heard you\\r\\nwere saucy at my gates; and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at\\r\\nyou than to hear you. If you be mad, be gone; if you have reason, be\\r\\nbrief: ’tis not that time of moon with me to make one in so skipping a\\r\\ndialogue.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nWill you hoist sail, sir? Here lies your way.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNo, good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification\\r\\nfor your giant, sweet lady. Tell me your mind. I am a messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it\\r\\nis so fearful. Speak your office.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIt alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of\\r\\nhomage; I hold the olive in my hand: my words are as full of peace as\\r\\nmatter.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nYet you began rudely. What are you? What would you?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThe rudeness that hath appeared in me have I learned from my\\r\\nentertainment. What I am and what I would are as secret as maidenhead:\\r\\nto your ears, divinity; to any other’s, profanation.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGive us the place alone: we will hear this divinity.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, sir, what is your text?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMost sweet lady—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nA comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your\\r\\ntext?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIn Orsino’s bosom.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIn his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nTo answer by the method, in the first of his heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nGood madam, let me see your face.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHave you any commission from your lord to negotiate with my face? You\\r\\nare now out of your text: but we will draw the curtain and show you the\\r\\npicture. [_Unveiling._] Look you, sir, such a one I was this present.\\r\\nIs’t not well done?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nExcellently done, if God did all.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\n’Tis in grain, sir; ’twill endure wind and weather.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n’Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white\\r\\nNature’s own sweet and cunning hand laid on.\\r\\nLady, you are the cruel’st she alive\\r\\nIf you will lead these graces to the grave,\\r\\nAnd leave the world no copy.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give out divers schedules\\r\\nof my beauty. It shall be inventoried and every particle and utensil\\r\\nlabelled to my will: as, item, two lips indifferent red; item, two grey\\r\\neyes with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were\\r\\nyou sent hither to praise me?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI see you what you are, you are too proud;\\r\\nBut, if you were the devil, you are fair.\\r\\nMy lord and master loves you. O, such love\\r\\nCould be but recompens’d though you were crown’d\\r\\nThe nonpareil of beauty!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHow does he love me?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWith adorations, fertile tears,\\r\\nWith groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nYour lord does know my mind, I cannot love him:\\r\\nYet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,\\r\\nOf great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;\\r\\nIn voices well divulg’d, free, learn’d, and valiant,\\r\\nAnd in dimension and the shape of nature,\\r\\nA gracious person. But yet I cannot love him.\\r\\nHe might have took his answer long ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIf I did love you in my master’s flame,\\r\\nWith such a suff’ring, such a deadly life,\\r\\nIn your denial I would find no sense,\\r\\nI would not understand it.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy, what would you?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMake me a willow cabin at your gate,\\r\\nAnd call upon my soul within the house;\\r\\nWrite loyal cantons of contemned love,\\r\\nAnd sing them loud even in the dead of night;\\r\\nHallow your name to the reverberate hills,\\r\\nAnd make the babbling gossip of the air\\r\\nCry out Olivia! O, you should not rest\\r\\nBetween the elements of air and earth,\\r\\nBut you should pity me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nYou might do much.\\r\\nWhat is your parentage?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAbove my fortunes, yet my state is well:\\r\\nI am a gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGet you to your lord;\\r\\nI cannot love him: let him send no more,\\r\\nUnless, perchance, you come to me again,\\r\\nTo tell me how he takes it. Fare you well:\\r\\nI thank you for your pains: spend this for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI am no fee’d post, lady; keep your purse;\\r\\nMy master, not myself, lacks recompense.\\r\\nLove make his heart of flint that you shall love,\\r\\nAnd let your fervour like my master’s be\\r\\nPlac’d in contempt. Farewell, fair cruelty.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat is your parentage?\\r\\n‘Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:\\r\\nI am a gentleman.’ I’ll be sworn thou art;\\r\\nThy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,\\r\\nDo give thee five-fold blazon. Not too fast: soft, soft!\\r\\nUnless the master were the man. How now?\\r\\nEven so quickly may one catch the plague?\\r\\nMethinks I feel this youth’s perfections\\r\\nWith an invisible and subtle stealth\\r\\nTo creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.\\r\\nWhat ho, Malvolio!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nHere, madam, at your service.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nRun after that same peevish messenger\\r\\nThe County’s man: he left this ring behind him,\\r\\nWould I or not; tell him, I’ll none of it.\\r\\nDesire him not to flatter with his lord,\\r\\nNor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him.\\r\\nIf that the youth will come this way tomorrow,\\r\\nI’ll give him reasons for’t. Hie thee, Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMadam, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI do I know not what, and fear to find\\r\\nMine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.\\r\\nFate, show thy force, ourselves we do not owe.\\r\\nWhat is decreed must be; and be this so!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The sea-coast.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio and Sebastian.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWill you stay no longer? Nor will you not that I go with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nBy your patience, no; my stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of\\r\\nmy fate might perhaps distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you\\r\\nyour leave that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompense for\\r\\nyour love, to lay any of them on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLet me know of you whither you are bound.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nNo, sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I\\r\\nperceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not\\r\\nextort from me what I am willing to keep in. Therefore it charges me in\\r\\nmanners the rather to express myself. You must know of me then,\\r\\nAntonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Roderigo; my father was\\r\\nthat Sebastian of Messaline whom I know you have heard of. He left\\r\\nbehind him myself and a sister, both born in an hour. If the heavens\\r\\nhad been pleased, would we had so ended! But you, sir, altered that,\\r\\nfor some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea was my\\r\\nsister drowned.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAlas the day!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many\\r\\naccounted beautiful. But though I could not with such estimable wonder\\r\\noverfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore\\r\\na mind that envy could not but call fair. She is drowned already, sir,\\r\\nwith salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with\\r\\nmore.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nPardon me, sir, your bad entertainment.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nO good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIf you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nIf you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you\\r\\nhave recovered, desire it not. Fare ye well at once; my bosom is full\\r\\nof kindness, and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that upon\\r\\nthe least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to\\r\\nthe Count Orsino’s court: farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe gentleness of all the gods go with thee!\\r\\nI have many enemies in Orsino’s court,\\r\\nElse would I very shortly see thee there:\\r\\nBut come what may, I do adore thee so,\\r\\nThat danger shall seem sport, and I will go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Viola; Malvolio at several doors.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nWere you not even now with the Countess Olivia?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nEven now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nShe returns this ring to you, sir; you might have saved me my pains, to\\r\\nhave taken it away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you should put\\r\\nyour lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him. And one\\r\\nthing more, that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs,\\r\\nunless it be to report your lord’s taking of this. Receive it so.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nShe took the ring of me: I’ll none of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nCome sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is it should be\\r\\nso returned. If it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if\\r\\nnot, be it his that finds it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI left no ring with her; what means this lady?\\r\\nFortune forbid my outside have not charm’d her!\\r\\nShe made good view of me, indeed, so much,\\r\\nThat methought her eyes had lost her tongue,\\r\\nFor she did speak in starts distractedly.\\r\\nShe loves me, sure, the cunning of her passion\\r\\nInvites me in this churlish messenger.\\r\\nNone of my lord’s ring? Why, he sent her none.\\r\\nI am the man; if it be so, as ’tis,\\r\\nPoor lady, she were better love a dream.\\r\\nDisguise, I see thou art a wickedness\\r\\nWherein the pregnant enemy does much.\\r\\nHow easy is it for the proper false\\r\\nIn women’s waxen hearts to set their forms!\\r\\nAlas, our frailty is the cause, not we,\\r\\nFor such as we are made of, such we be.\\r\\nHow will this fadge? My master loves her dearly,\\r\\nAnd I, poor monster, fond as much on him,\\r\\nAnd she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.\\r\\nWhat will become of this? As I am man,\\r\\nMy state is desperate for my master’s love;\\r\\nAs I am woman (now alas the day!)\\r\\nWhat thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe!\\r\\nO time, thou must untangle this, not I,\\r\\nIt is too hard a knot for me t’untie!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nApproach, Sir Andrew; not to be abed after midnight, is to be up\\r\\nbetimes; and _diluculo surgere_, thou know’st.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNay, by my troth, I know not; but I know to be up late is to be up\\r\\nlate.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA false conclusion; I hate it as an unfilled can. To be up after\\r\\nmidnight, and to go to bed then is early: so that to go to bed after\\r\\nmidnight is to go to bed betimes. Does not our lives consist of the\\r\\nfour elements?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFaith, so they say, but I think it rather consists of eating and\\r\\ndrinking.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTh’art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.\\r\\nMarian, I say! a stoup of wine.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nHere comes the fool, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHow now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of “we three”?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWelcome, ass. Now let’s have a catch.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBy my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty\\r\\nshillings I had such a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool\\r\\nhas. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night when thou\\r\\nspok’st of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of\\r\\nQueubus; ’twas very good, i’ faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman.\\r\\nHadst it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio’s nose is no whipstock. My\\r\\nlady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nExcellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a\\r\\nsong.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome on, there is sixpence for you. Let’s have a song.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nThere’s a testril of me too: if one knight give a—\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWould you have a love-song, or a song of good life?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA love-song, a love-song.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAy, ay. I care not for good life.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN. [_sings._]\\r\\n _O mistress mine, where are you roaming?\\r\\n O stay and hear, your true love’s coming,\\r\\n That can sing both high and low.\\r\\n Trip no further, pretty sweeting.\\r\\n Journeys end in lovers meeting,\\r\\n Every wise man’s son doth know._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nExcellent good, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGood, good.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n _What is love? ’Tis not hereafter,\\r\\n Present mirth hath present laughter.\\r\\n What’s to come is still unsure.\\r\\n In delay there lies no plenty,\\r\\n Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty.\\r\\n Youth’s a stuff will not endure._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nA mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA contagious breath.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nVery sweet and contagious, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the\\r\\nwelkin dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch that will\\r\\ndraw three souls out of one weaver? Shall we do that?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd you love me, let’s do’t: I am dog at a catch.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBy’r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nMost certain. Let our catch be, “Thou knave.”\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n“Hold thy peace, thou knave” knight? I shall be constrain’d in’t to\\r\\ncall thee knave, knight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call me knave. Begin,\\r\\nfool; it begins “Hold thy peace.”\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI shall never begin if I hold my peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nGood, i’ faith! Come, begin.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Catch sung._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nWhat a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not called up her\\r\\nsteward Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMy lady’s a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio’s a Peg-a-Ramsey, and\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Three merry men be we._ Am not I consanguineous? Am I not\\r\\nof her blood? Tilly-vally! “Lady”! _There dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady,\\r\\nLady._\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBeshrew me, the knight’s in admirable fooling.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAy, he does well enough if he be disposed, and so do I too; he does it\\r\\nwith a better grace, but I do it more natural.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _O’ the twelfth day of December—_\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nFor the love o’ God, peace!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMy masters, are you mad? Or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor\\r\\nhonesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make\\r\\nan ale-house of my lady’s house, that ye squeak out your coziers’\\r\\ncatches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect\\r\\nof place, persons, nor time, in you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWe did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you that,\\r\\nthough she harbours you as her kinsman she’s nothing allied to your\\r\\ndisorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanours, you are\\r\\nwelcome to the house; if not, and it would please you to take leave of\\r\\nher, she is very willing to bid you farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone._\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay, good Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _His eyes do show his days are almost done._\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nIs’t even so?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _But I will never die._\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Sir Toby, there you lie._\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nThis is much credit to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Shall I bid him go?_\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _What and if you do?_\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Shall I bid him go, and spare not?_\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _O, no, no, no, no, you dare not._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nOut o’ tune? sir, ye lie. Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think,\\r\\nbecause thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i’ the mouth too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTh’art i’ the right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs. A stoup of\\r\\nwine, Maria!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMistress Mary, if you prized my lady’s favour at anything more than\\r\\ncontempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule; she shall\\r\\nknow of it, by this hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nGo shake your ears.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man’s a-hungry, to challenge\\r\\nhim the field, and then to break promise with him and make a fool of\\r\\nhim.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nDo’t, knight. I’ll write thee a challenge; or I’ll deliver thy\\r\\nindignation to him by word of mouth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nSweet Sir Toby, be patient for tonight. Since the youth of the Count’s\\r\\nwas today with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur\\r\\nMalvolio, let me alone with him. If I do not gull him into a nayword,\\r\\nand make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie\\r\\nstraight in my bed. I know I can do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPossess us, possess us, tell us something of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMarry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nO, if I thought that, I’d beat him like a dog.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat, for being a Puritan? Thy exquisite reason, dear knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI have no exquisite reason for’t, but I have reason good enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThe devil a Puritan that he is, or anything constantly but a\\r\\ntime-pleaser, an affectioned ass that cons state without book and\\r\\nutters it by great swarths; the best persuaded of himself, so crammed\\r\\n(as he thinks) with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith that\\r\\nall that look on him love him. And on that vice in him will my revenge\\r\\nfind notable cause to work.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat wilt thou do?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nI will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love, wherein by the\\r\\ncolour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the\\r\\nexpressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself\\r\\nmost feelingly personated. I can write very like my lady your niece; on\\r\\na forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nExcellent! I smell a device.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI have’t in my nose too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHe shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from\\r\\nmy niece, and that she is in love with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMy purpose is indeed a horse of that colour.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd your horse now would make him an ass.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAss, I doubt not.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nO ’twill be admirable!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nSport royal, I warrant you. I know my physic will work with him. I will\\r\\nplant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the\\r\\nletter. Observe his construction of it. For this night, to bed, and\\r\\ndream on the event. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGood night, Penthesilea.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBefore me, she’s a good wench.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nShe’s a beagle true bred, and one that adores me. What o’ that?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI was adored once too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLet’s to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for more money.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nIf I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nSend for money, knight; if thou hast her not i’ th’ end, call me cut.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nIf I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, come, I’ll go burn some sack, ’tis too late to go to bed now.\\r\\nCome, knight, come, knight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Duke, Viola, Curio and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGive me some music. Now, good morrow, friends.\\r\\nNow, good Cesario, but that piece of song,\\r\\nThat old and antique song we heard last night;\\r\\nMethought it did relieve my passion much,\\r\\nMore than light airs and recollected terms\\r\\nOf these most brisk and giddy-paced times.\\r\\nCome, but one verse.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURIO.\\r\\nHe is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWho was it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURIO.\\r\\nFeste, the jester, my lord, a fool that the Lady Olivia’s father took\\r\\nmuch delight in. He is about the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nSeek him out, and play the tune the while.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Curio. Music plays._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome hither, boy. If ever thou shalt love,\\r\\nIn the sweet pangs of it remember me:\\r\\nFor such as I am, all true lovers are,\\r\\nUnstaid and skittish in all motions else,\\r\\nSave in the constant image of the creature\\r\\nThat is belov’d. How dost thou like this tune?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIt gives a very echo to the seat\\r\\nWhere love is throned.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThou dost speak masterly.\\r\\nMy life upon’t, young though thou art, thine eye\\r\\nHath stayed upon some favour that it loves.\\r\\nHath it not, boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nA little, by your favour.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat kind of woman is’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nOf your complexion.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nShe is not worth thee, then. What years, i’ faith?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAbout your years, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nToo old, by heaven! Let still the woman take\\r\\nAn elder than herself; so wears she to him,\\r\\nSo sways she level in her husband’s heart.\\r\\nFor, boy, however we do praise ourselves,\\r\\nOur fancies are more giddy and unfirm,\\r\\nMore longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,\\r\\nThan women’s are.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI think it well, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThen let thy love be younger than thyself,\\r\\nOr thy affection cannot hold the bent:\\r\\nFor women are as roses, whose fair flower\\r\\nBeing once display’d, doth fall that very hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd so they are: alas, that they are so;\\r\\nTo die, even when they to perfection grow!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Curio and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO, fellow, come, the song we had last night.\\r\\nMark it, Cesario, it is old and plain;\\r\\nThe spinsters and the knitters in the sun,\\r\\nAnd the free maids, that weave their thread with bones\\r\\nDo use to chant it: it is silly sooth,\\r\\nAnd dallies with the innocence of love\\r\\nLike the old age.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAre you ready, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAy; prithee, sing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\n The Clown’s song.\\r\\n\\r\\n_ Come away, come away, death.\\r\\n And in sad cypress let me be laid.\\r\\n Fly away, fly away, breath;\\r\\n I am slain by a fair cruel maid.\\r\\n My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,\\r\\n O, prepare it!\\r\\n My part of death no one so true\\r\\n Did share it._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ Not a flower, not a flower sweet,\\r\\n On my black coffin let there be strown:\\r\\n Not a friend, not a friend greet\\r\\n My poor corpse where my bones shall be thrown:\\r\\n A thousand thousand sighs to save,\\r\\n Lay me, O, where\\r\\n Sad true lover never find my grave,\\r\\n To weep there._\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThere’s for thy pains.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI’ll pay thy pleasure, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTruly sir, and pleasure will be paid one time or another.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGive me now leave to leave thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNow the melancholy god protect thee, and the tailor make thy doublet of\\r\\nchangeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal. I would have men of\\r\\nsuch constancy put to sea, that their business might be everything, and\\r\\ntheir intent everywhere, for that’s it that always makes a good voyage\\r\\nof nothing. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nLet all the rest give place.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Curio and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOnce more, Cesario,\\r\\nGet thee to yond same sovereign cruelty.\\r\\nTell her my love, more noble than the world,\\r\\nPrizes not quantity of dirty lands;\\r\\nThe parts that fortune hath bestow’d upon her,\\r\\nTell her I hold as giddily as fortune;\\r\\nBut ’tis that miracle and queen of gems\\r\\nThat nature pranks her in attracts my soul.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nBut if she cannot love you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI cannot be so answer’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSooth, but you must.\\r\\nSay that some lady, as perhaps there is,\\r\\nHath for your love as great a pang of heart\\r\\nAs you have for Olivia: you cannot love her;\\r\\nYou tell her so. Must she not then be answer’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThere is no woman’s sides\\r\\nCan bide the beating of so strong a passion\\r\\nAs love doth give my heart: no woman’s heart\\r\\nSo big, to hold so much; they lack retention.\\r\\nAlas, their love may be called appetite,\\r\\nNo motion of the liver, but the palate,\\r\\nThat suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt;\\r\\nBut mine is all as hungry as the sea,\\r\\nAnd can digest as much. Make no compare\\r\\nBetween that love a woman can bear me\\r\\nAnd that I owe Olivia.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAy, but I know—\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat dost thou know?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nToo well what love women to men may owe.\\r\\nIn faith, they are as true of heart as we.\\r\\nMy father had a daughter loved a man,\\r\\nAs it might be perhaps, were I a woman,\\r\\nI should your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAnd what’s her history?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nA blank, my lord. She never told her love,\\r\\nBut let concealment, like a worm i’ th’ bud,\\r\\nFeed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought,\\r\\nAnd with a green and yellow melancholy\\r\\nShe sat like patience on a monument,\\r\\nSmiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed?\\r\\nWe men may say more, swear more, but indeed,\\r\\nOur shows are more than will; for still we prove\\r\\nMuch in our vows, but little in our love.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBut died thy sister of her love, my boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI am all the daughters of my father’s house,\\r\\nAnd all the brothers too: and yet I know not.\\r\\nSir, shall I to this lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAy, that’s the theme.\\r\\nTo her in haste. Give her this jewel; say\\r\\nMy love can give no place, bide no denay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome thy ways, Signior Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNay, I’ll come. If I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boiled to\\r\\ndeath with melancholy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter\\r\\ncome by some notable shame?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nI would exult, man. You know he brought me out o’ favour with my lady\\r\\nabout a bear-baiting here.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo anger him we’ll have the bear again, and we will fool him black and\\r\\nblue, shall we not, Sir Andrew?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd we do not, it is pity of our lives.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHere comes the little villain. How now, my metal of India?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nGet ye all three into the box-tree. Malvolio’s coming down this walk;\\r\\nhe has been yonder i’ the sun practising behaviour to his own shadow\\r\\nthis half hour: observe him, for the love of mockery; for I know this\\r\\nletter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of\\r\\njesting! [_The men hide themselves._] Lie thou there; [_Throws down a\\r\\nletter_] for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n’Tis but fortune, all is fortune. Maria once told me she did affect me,\\r\\nand I have heard herself come thus near, that should she fancy, it\\r\\nshould be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more\\r\\nexalted respect than anyone else that follows her. What should I think\\r\\non’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHere’s an overweening rogue!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets\\r\\nunder his advanced plumes!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Slight, I could so beat the rogue!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPeace, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nTo be Count Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAh, rogue!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nPistol him, pistol him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPeace, peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nThere is example for’t. The lady of the Strachy married the yeoman of\\r\\nthe wardrobe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFie on him, Jezebel!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO, peace! now he’s deeply in; look how imagination blows him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nHaving been three months married to her, sitting in my state—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nO for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nCalling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown; having come\\r\\nfrom a day-bed, where I have left Olivia sleeping.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nFire and brimstone!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO, peace, peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAnd then to have the humour of state; and after a demure travel of\\r\\nregard, telling them I know my place as I would they should do theirs,\\r\\nto ask for my kinsman Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nBolts and shackles!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO, peace, peace, peace! Now, now.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSeven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him. I frown\\r\\nthe while, and perchance wind up my watch, or play with some rich\\r\\njewel. Toby approaches; curtsies there to me—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nShall this fellow live?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThough our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an\\r\\naustere regard of control—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd does not Toby take you a blow o’ the lips then?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSaying ‘Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me\\r\\nthis prerogative of speech—’\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat, what?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘You must amend your drunkenness.’\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nOut, scab!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight—’\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nThat’s me, I warrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘One Sir Andrew.’\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI knew ’twas I, for many do call me fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n[_Taking up the letter._] What employment have we here?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNow is the woodcock near the gin.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nO, peace! And the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nBy my life, this is my lady’s hand: these be her very C’s, her U’s, and\\r\\nher T’s, and thus makes she her great P’s. It is in contempt of\\r\\nquestion, her hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nHer C’s, her U’s, and her T’s. Why that?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n[_Reads._] _To the unknown beloved, this, and my good wishes._ Her very\\r\\nphrases! By your leave, wax. Soft! and the impressure her Lucrece, with\\r\\nwhich she uses to seal: ’tis my lady. To whom should this be?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThis wins him, liver and all.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n[_Reads._]\\r\\n_ Jove knows I love,\\r\\n But who?\\r\\n Lips, do not move,\\r\\n No man must know._\\r\\n\\r\\n‘No man must know.’ What follows? The numbers alter’d! ‘No man must\\r\\nknow.’—If this should be thee, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMarry, hang thee, brock!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n_ I may command where I adore,\\r\\n But silence, like a Lucrece knife,\\r\\n With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore;\\r\\n M.O.A.I. doth sway my life._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nA fustian riddle!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nExcellent wench, say I.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘M.O.A.I. doth sway my life.’—Nay, but first let me see, let me see,\\r\\nlet me see.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nWhat dish o’ poison has she dressed him!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd with what wing the staniel checks at it!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘I may command where I adore.’ Why, she may command me: I serve her,\\r\\nshe is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There is\\r\\nno obstruction in this. And the end—what should that alphabetical\\r\\nposition portend? If I could make that resemble something in me!\\r\\nSoftly! ‘M.O.A.I.’—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nO, ay, make up that:—he is now at a cold scent.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nSowter will cry upon’t for all this, though it be as rank as a fox.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘M’—Malvolio; ‘M!’ Why, that begins my name!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nDid not I say he would work it out? The cur is excellent at faults.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘M’—But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that suffers under\\r\\nprobation: ‘A’ should follow, but ‘O’ does.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nAnd ‘O’ shall end, I hope.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAy, or I’ll cudgel him, and make him cry ‘O!’\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAnd then ‘I’ comes behind.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nAy, and you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at\\r\\nyour heels than fortunes before you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘M.O.A.I.’ This simulation is not as the former: and yet, to crush this\\r\\na little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my\\r\\nname. Soft, here follows prose.\\r\\n[_Reads._] _If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above\\r\\nthee, but be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve\\r\\ngreatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ’em. Thy fates open\\r\\ntheir hands, let thy blood and spirit embrace them. And, to inure\\r\\nthyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough and appear\\r\\nfresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants. Let thy tongue\\r\\ntang arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity. She\\r\\nthus advises thee that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy\\r\\nyellow stockings, and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered. I say,\\r\\nremember. Go to, thou art made, if thou desir’st to be so. If not, let\\r\\nme see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to\\r\\ntouch Fortune’s fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with\\r\\nthee,\\r\\n The Fortunate Unhappy._\\r\\n\\r\\nDaylight and champian discovers not more! This is open. I will be\\r\\nproud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash\\r\\noff gross acquaintance, I will be point-device, the very man. I do not\\r\\nnow fool myself, to let imagination jade me; for every reason excites\\r\\nto this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of\\r\\nlate, she did praise my leg being cross-gartered, and in this she\\r\\nmanifests herself to my love, and with a kind of injunction, drives me\\r\\nto these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be\\r\\nstrange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even with the\\r\\nswiftness of putting on. Jove and my stars be praised!—Here is yet a\\r\\npostscript. [_Reads._] _Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If\\r\\nthou entertain’st my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles\\r\\nbecome thee well. Therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet,\\r\\nI prithee._ Jove, I thank thee. I will smile, I will do everything that\\r\\nthou wilt have me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nI will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be\\r\\npaid from the Sophy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI could marry this wench for this device.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nSo could I too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd ask no other dowry with her but such another jest.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNor I neither.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nHere comes my noble gull-catcher.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWilt thou set thy foot o’ my neck?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nOr o’ mine either?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nShall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy bond-slave?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI’ faith, or I either?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, thou hast put him in such a dream, that when the image of it\\r\\nleaves him he must run mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay, but say true, does it work upon him?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLike aqua-vitae with a midwife.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nIf you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach\\r\\nbefore my lady: he will come to her in yellow stockings, and ’tis a\\r\\ncolour she abhors, and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests; and he\\r\\nwill smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her\\r\\ndisposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot\\r\\nbut turn him into a notable contempt. If you will see it, follow me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI’ll make one too.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Viola and Clown with a tabor.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSave thee, friend, and thy music. Dost thou live by thy tabor?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, sir, I live by the church.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nArt thou a churchman?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo such matter, sir. I do live by the church, for I do live at my\\r\\nhouse, and my house doth stand by the church.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSo thou mayst say the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near\\r\\nhim; or the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the\\r\\nchurch.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYou have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is but a chev’ril glove\\r\\nto a good wit. How quickly the wrong side may be turned outward!\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNay, that’s certain; they that dally nicely with words may quickly make\\r\\nthem wanton.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI would, therefore, my sister had had no name, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhy, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, sir, her name’s a word; and to dally with that word might make my\\r\\nsister wanton. But indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds\\r\\ndisgraced them.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThy reason, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTroth, sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so\\r\\nfalse, I am loath to prove reason with them.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI warrant thou art a merry fellow, and car’st for nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot so, sir, I do care for something. But in my conscience, sir, I do\\r\\nnot care for you. If that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would\\r\\nmake you invisible.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nArt not thou the Lady Olivia’s fool?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly. She will keep no fool,\\r\\nsir, till she be married, and fools are as like husbands as pilchards\\r\\nare to herrings, the husband’s the bigger. I am indeed not her fool,\\r\\nbut her corrupter of words.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI saw thee late at the Count Orsino’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nFoolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines\\r\\neverywhere. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with\\r\\nyour master as with my mistress. I think I saw your wisdom there.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNay, and thou pass upon me, I’ll no more with thee. Hold, there’s\\r\\nexpenses for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNow Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nBy my troth, I’ll tell thee, I am almost sick for one, though I would\\r\\nnot have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWould not a pair of these have bred, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nYes, being kept together, and put to use.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this\\r\\nTroilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI understand you, sir; ’tis well begged.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThe matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar: Cressida\\r\\nwas a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will conster to them whence you\\r\\ncome; who you are and what you would are out of my welkin. I might say\\r\\n“element”, but the word is overworn.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThis fellow is wise enough to play the fool,\\r\\nAnd to do that well, craves a kind of wit:\\r\\nHe must observe their mood on whom he jests,\\r\\nThe quality of persons, and the time,\\r\\nAnd like the haggard, check at every feather\\r\\nThat comes before his eye. This is a practice\\r\\nAs full of labour as a wise man’s art:\\r\\nFor folly, that he wisely shows, is fit;\\r\\nBut wise men, folly-fall’n, quite taint their wit.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nSave you, gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n_Dieu vous garde, monsieur._\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n_Et vous aussi; votre serviteur._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI hope, sir, you are, and I am yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWill you encounter the house? My niece is desirous you should enter, if\\r\\nyour trade be to her.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI am bound to your niece, sir, I mean, she is the list of my voyage.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTaste your legs, sir, put them to motion.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean\\r\\nby bidding me taste my legs.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI mean, to go, sir, to enter.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI will answer you with gait and entrance: but we are prevented.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMost excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odours on you!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nThat youth’s a rare courtier. ‘Rain odours,’ well.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and\\r\\nvouchsafed car.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n‘Odours,’ ‘pregnant,’ and ‘vouchsafed.’—I’ll get ’em all three ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nLet the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGive me your hand, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy duty, madam, and most humble service.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat is your name?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nCesario is your servant’s name, fair princess.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nMy servant, sir! ’Twas never merry world,\\r\\nSince lowly feigning was call’d compliment:\\r\\nY’are servant to the Count Orsino, youth.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd he is yours, and his must needs be yours.\\r\\nYour servant’s servant is your servant, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nFor him, I think not on him: for his thoughts,\\r\\nWould they were blanks rather than fill’d with me!\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMadam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts\\r\\nOn his behalf.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, by your leave, I pray you.\\r\\nI bade you never speak again of him.\\r\\nBut would you undertake another suit,\\r\\nI had rather hear you to solicit that\\r\\nThan music from the spheres.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nDear lady—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGive me leave, beseech you. I did send,\\r\\nAfter the last enchantment you did here,\\r\\nA ring in chase of you. So did I abuse\\r\\nMyself, my servant, and, I fear me, you.\\r\\nUnder your hard construction must I sit;\\r\\nTo force that on you in a shameful cunning,\\r\\nWhich you knew none of yours. What might you think?\\r\\nHave you not set mine honour at the stake,\\r\\nAnd baited it with all th’ unmuzzled thoughts\\r\\nThat tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving\\r\\nEnough is shown. A cypress, not a bosom,\\r\\nHides my heart: so let me hear you speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI pity you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nThat’s a degree to love.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNo, not a grize; for ’tis a vulgar proof\\r\\nThat very oft we pity enemies.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy then methinks ’tis time to smile again.\\r\\nO world, how apt the poor are to be proud!\\r\\nIf one should be a prey, how much the better\\r\\nTo fall before the lion than the wolf! [_Clock strikes._]\\r\\nThe clock upbraids me with the waste of time.\\r\\nBe not afraid, good youth, I will not have you.\\r\\nAnd yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest,\\r\\nYour wife is like to reap a proper man.\\r\\nThere lies your way, due west.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThen westward ho!\\r\\nGrace and good disposition attend your ladyship!\\r\\nYou’ll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nStay:\\r\\nI prithee tell me what thou think’st of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThat you do think you are not what you are.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIf I think so, I think the same of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThen think you right; I am not what I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI would you were as I would have you be.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWould it be better, madam, than I am?\\r\\nI wish it might, for now I am your fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO what a deal of scorn looks beautiful\\r\\nIn the contempt and anger of his lip!\\r\\nA murd’rous guilt shows not itself more soon\\r\\nThan love that would seem hid. Love’s night is noon.\\r\\nCesario, by the roses of the spring,\\r\\nBy maidhood, honour, truth, and everything,\\r\\nI love thee so, that maugre all thy pride,\\r\\nNor wit nor reason can my passion hide.\\r\\nDo not extort thy reasons from this clause,\\r\\nFor that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause;\\r\\nBut rather reason thus with reason fetter:\\r\\nLove sought is good, but given unsought is better.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nBy innocence I swear, and by my youth,\\r\\nI have one heart, one bosom, and one truth,\\r\\nAnd that no woman has; nor never none\\r\\nShall mistress be of it, save I alone.\\r\\nAnd so adieu, good madam; never more\\r\\nWill I my master’s tears to you deplore.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nYet come again: for thou perhaps mayst move\\r\\nThat heart, which now abhors, to like his love.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNo, faith, I’ll not stay a jot longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nYou must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nMarry, I saw your niece do more favours to the Count’s servingman than\\r\\never she bestowed upon me; I saw’t i’ th’ orchard.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nDid she see thee the while, old boy? Tell me that.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAs plain as I see you now.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThis was a great argument of love in her toward you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Slight! will you make an ass o’ me?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nI will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment and reason.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd they have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a sailor.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nShe did show favour to the youth in your sight only to exasperate you,\\r\\nto awake your dormouse valour, to put fire in your heart and brimstone\\r\\nin your liver. You should then have accosted her, and with some\\r\\nexcellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have banged the\\r\\nyouth into dumbness. This was looked for at your hand, and this was\\r\\nbalked: the double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash off, and\\r\\nyou are now sailed into the north of my lady’s opinion; where you will\\r\\nhang like an icicle on Dutchman’s beard, unless you do redeem it by\\r\\nsome laudable attempt, either of valour or policy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd’t be any way, it must be with valour, for policy I hate; I had as\\r\\nlief be a Brownist as a politician.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valour. Challenge me\\r\\nthe Count’s youth to fight with him. Hurt him in eleven places; my\\r\\nniece shall take note of it, and assure thyself there is no love-broker\\r\\nin the world can more prevail in man’s commendation with woman than\\r\\nreport of valour.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThere is no way but this, Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWill either of you bear me a challenge to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGo, write it in a martial hand, be curst and brief; it is no matter how\\r\\nwitty, so it be eloquent and full of invention. Taunt him with the\\r\\nlicence of ink. If thou ‘thou’st’ him some thrice, it shall not be\\r\\namiss, and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of paper, although the\\r\\nsheet were big enough for the bed of Ware in England, set ’em down. Go\\r\\nabout it. Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou write with a\\r\\ngoose-pen, no matter. About it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhere shall I find you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWe’ll call thee at the cubiculo. Go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Sir Andrew._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThis is a dear manikin to you, Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI have been dear to him, lad, some two thousand strong, or so.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nWe shall have a rare letter from him; but you’ll not deliver it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nNever trust me then. And by all means stir on the youth to an answer. I\\r\\nthink oxen and wainropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he\\r\\nwere opened and you find so much blood in his liver as will clog the\\r\\nfoot of a flea, I’ll eat the rest of th’ anatomy.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nAnd his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage of\\r\\ncruelty.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLook where the youngest wren of nine comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nIf you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches,\\r\\nfollow me. Yond gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very renegado; for\\r\\nthere is no Christian that means to be saved by believing rightly can\\r\\never believe such impossible passages of grossness. He’s in yellow\\r\\nstockings.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd cross-gartered?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMost villainously; like a pedant that keeps a school i’ th’ church. I\\r\\nhave dogged him like his murderer. He does obey every point of the\\r\\nletter that I dropped to betray him. He does smile his face into more\\r\\nlines than is in the new map with the augmentation of the Indies. You\\r\\nhave not seen such a thing as ’tis. I can hardly forbear hurling\\r\\nthings at him. I know my lady will strike him. If she do, he’ll smile\\r\\nand take’t for a great favour.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, bring us, bring us where he is.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian and Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI would not by my will have troubled you,\\r\\nBut since you make your pleasure of your pains,\\r\\nI will no further chide you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI could not stay behind you: my desire,\\r\\nMore sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth;\\r\\nAnd not all love to see you, though so much,\\r\\nAs might have drawn one to a longer voyage,\\r\\nBut jealousy what might befall your travel,\\r\\nBeing skilless in these parts; which to a stranger,\\r\\nUnguided and unfriended, often prove\\r\\nRough and unhospitable. My willing love,\\r\\nThe rather by these arguments of fear,\\r\\nSet forth in your pursuit.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nMy kind Antonio,\\r\\nI can no other answer make but thanks,\\r\\nAnd thanks, and ever thanks; and oft good turns\\r\\nAre shuffled off with such uncurrent pay.\\r\\nBut were my worth, as is my conscience, firm,\\r\\nYou should find better dealing. What’s to do?\\r\\nShall we go see the relics of this town?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTomorrow, sir; best first go see your lodging.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI am not weary, and ’tis long to night;\\r\\nI pray you, let us satisfy our eyes\\r\\nWith the memorials and the things of fame\\r\\nThat do renown this city.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWould you’d pardon me.\\r\\nI do not without danger walk these streets.\\r\\nOnce in a sea-fight, ’gainst the Count his galleys,\\r\\nI did some service, of such note indeed,\\r\\nThat were I ta’en here, it would scarce be answer’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nBelike you slew great number of his people.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTh’ offence is not of such a bloody nature,\\r\\nAlbeit the quality of the time and quarrel\\r\\nMight well have given us bloody argument.\\r\\nIt might have since been answered in repaying\\r\\nWhat we took from them, which for traffic’s sake,\\r\\nMost of our city did. Only myself stood out,\\r\\nFor which, if I be lapsed in this place,\\r\\nI shall pay dear.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nDo not then walk too open.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIt doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here’s my purse.\\r\\nIn the south suburbs, at the Elephant,\\r\\nIs best to lodge. I will bespeak our diet\\r\\nWhiles you beguile the time and feed your knowledge\\r\\nWith viewing of the town. There shall you have me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhy I your purse?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHaply your eye shall light upon some toy\\r\\nYou have desire to purchase; and your store,\\r\\nI think, is not for idle markets, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI’ll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for an hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTo th’ Elephant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI do remember.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI have sent after him. He says he’ll come;\\r\\nHow shall I feast him? What bestow of him?\\r\\nFor youth is bought more oft than begg’d or borrow’d.\\r\\nI speak too loud.—\\r\\nWhere’s Malvolio?—He is sad and civil,\\r\\nAnd suits well for a servant with my fortunes;\\r\\nWhere is Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nHe’s coming, madam:\\r\\nBut in very strange manner. He is sure possessed, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy, what’s the matter? Does he rave?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNo, madam, he does nothing but smile: your ladyship were best to have\\r\\nsome guard about you if he come, for sure the man is tainted in ’s\\r\\nwits.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGo call him hither. I’m as mad as he,\\r\\nIf sad and merry madness equal be.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSweet lady, ho, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSmil’st thou? I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSad, lady? I could be sad: this does make some obstruction in the\\r\\nblood, this cross-gartering. But what of that? If it please the eye of\\r\\none, it is with me as the very true sonnet is: ‘Please one and please\\r\\nall.’\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy, how dost thou, man? What is the matter with thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nNot black in my mind, though yellow in my legs. It did come to his\\r\\nhands, and commands shall be executed. I think we do know the sweet\\r\\nRoman hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nTo bed? Ay, sweetheart, and I’ll come to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGod comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand so oft?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nHow do you, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAt your request? Yes, nightingales answer daws!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nWhy appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Be not afraid of greatness.’ ’Twas well writ.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat mean’st thou by that, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Some are born great’—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHa?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Some achieve greatness’—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat say’st thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘And some have greatness thrust upon them.’\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHeaven restore thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Remember who commended thy yellow stockings’—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nThy yellow stockings?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘And wished to see thee cross-gartered.’\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nCross-gartered?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Go to: thou art made, if thou desir’st to be so:’—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAm I made?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘If not, let me see thee a servant still.’\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy, this is very midsummer madness.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMadam, the young gentleman of the Count Orsino’s is returned; I could\\r\\nhardly entreat him back. He attends your ladyship’s pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI’ll come to him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGood Maria, let this fellow be looked to. Where’s my cousin Toby? Let\\r\\nsome of my people have a special care of him; I would not have him\\r\\nmiscarry for the half of my dowry.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Olivia and Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nO ho, do you come near me now? No worse man than Sir Toby to look to\\r\\nme. This concurs directly with the letter: she sends him on purpose,\\r\\nthat I may appear stubborn to him; for she incites me to that in the\\r\\nletter. ‘Cast thy humble slough,’ says she; ‘be opposite with a\\r\\nkinsman, surly with servants, let thy tongue tang with arguments of\\r\\nstate, put thyself into the trick of singularity,’ and consequently,\\r\\nsets down the manner how: as, a sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow\\r\\ntongue, in the habit of some sir of note, and so forth. I have limed\\r\\nher, but it is Jove’s doing, and Jove make me thankful! And when she\\r\\nwent away now, ‘Let this fellow be looked to;’ ‘Fellow!’ not\\r\\n‘Malvolio’, nor after my degree, but ‘fellow’. Why, everything adheres\\r\\ntogether, that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no\\r\\nobstacle, no incredulous or unsafe circumstance. What can be said?\\r\\nNothing that can be can come between me and the full prospect of my\\r\\nhopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby, Fabian and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhich way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all the devils of hell be\\r\\ndrawn in little, and Legion himself possessed him, yet I’ll speak to\\r\\nhim.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nHere he is, here he is. How is’t with you, sir? How is’t with you, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGo off, I discard you. Let me enjoy my private. Go off.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nLo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! Did not I tell you? Sir\\r\\nToby, my lady prays you to have a care of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAh, ha! does she so?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGo to, go to; peace, peace, we must deal gently with him. Let me alone.\\r\\nHow do you, Malvolio? How is’t with you? What, man! defy the devil!\\r\\nConsider, he’s an enemy to mankind.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nDo you know what you say?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nLa you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at heart! Pray\\r\\nGod he be not bewitched.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nCarry his water to th’ wise woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMarry, and it shall be done tomorrow morning, if I live. My lady would\\r\\nnot lose him for more than I’ll say.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nHow now, mistress!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nO Lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPrithee hold thy peace, this is not the way. Do you not see you move\\r\\nhim? Let me alone with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNo way but gentleness, gently, gently. The fiend is rough, and will not\\r\\nbe roughly used.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, how now, my bawcock? How dost thou, chuck?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAy, biddy, come with me. What, man, ’tis not for gravity to play at\\r\\ncherry-pit with Satan. Hang him, foul collier!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nGet him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, get him to pray.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMy prayers, minx?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNo, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGo, hang yourselves all! You are idle, shallow things. I am not of your\\r\\nelement. You shall know more hereafter.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nIf this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an\\r\\nimprobable fiction.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHis very genius hath taken the infection of the device, man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay, pursue him now, lest the device take air and taint.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nWhy, we shall make him mad indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThe house will be the quieter.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, we’ll have him in a dark room and bound. My niece is already in\\r\\nthe belief that he’s mad. We may carry it thus for our pleasure, and\\r\\nhis penance, till our very pastime, tired out of breath, prompt us to\\r\\nhave mercy on him, at which time we will bring the device to the bar,\\r\\nand crown thee for a finder of madmen. But see, but see!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nMore matter for a May morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nHere’s the challenge, read it. I warrant there’s vinegar and pepper\\r\\nin’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nIs’t so saucy?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAy, is’t, I warrant him. Do but read.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGive me. [_Reads._] _Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art but a scurvy\\r\\nfellow._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nGood, and valiant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, why I do call thee so, for I\\r\\nwill show thee no reason for’t._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nA good note, that keeps you from the blow of the law.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Thou comest to the Lady Olivia, and in my sight she uses thee kindly:\\r\\nbut thou liest in thy throat; that is not the matter I challenge thee\\r\\nfor._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nVery brief, and to exceeding good sense—less.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_I will waylay thee going home; where if it be thy chance to kill me—_\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nGood.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Thou kill’st me like a rogue and a villain._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nStill you keep o’ th’ windy side of the law. Good.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Fare thee well, and God have mercy upon one of our souls! He may have\\r\\nmercy upon mine, but my hope is better, and so look to thyself. Thy\\r\\nfriend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy,\\r\\n Andrew Aguecheek._\\r\\nIf this letter move him not, his legs cannot. I’ll give’t him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nYou may have very fit occasion for’t. He is now in some commerce with\\r\\nmy lady, and will by and by depart.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGo, Sir Andrew. Scout me for him at the corner of the orchard, like a\\r\\nbum-baily. So soon as ever thou seest him, draw, and as thou draw’st,\\r\\nswear horrible, for it comes to pass oft that a terrible oath, with a\\r\\nswaggering accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood more approbation\\r\\nthan ever proof itself would have earned him. Away.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNay, let me alone for swearing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nNow will not I deliver his letter, for the behaviour of the young\\r\\ngentleman gives him out to be of good capacity and breeding; his\\r\\nemployment between his lord and my niece confirms no less. Therefore\\r\\nthis letter, being so excellently ignorant, will breed no terror in the\\r\\nyouth. He will find it comes from a clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver\\r\\nhis challenge by word of mouth, set upon Aguecheek notable report of\\r\\nvalour, and drive the gentleman (as I know his youth will aptly receive\\r\\nit) into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and\\r\\nimpetuosity. This will so fright them both that they will kill one\\r\\nanother by the look, like cockatrices.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and Viola.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nHere he comes with your niece; give them way till he take leave, and\\r\\npresently after him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI will meditate the while upon some horrid message for a challenge.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sir Toby, Fabian and Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI have said too much unto a heart of stone,\\r\\nAnd laid mine honour too unchary on’t:\\r\\nThere’s something in me that reproves my fault:\\r\\nBut such a headstrong potent fault it is,\\r\\nThat it but mocks reproof.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWith the same ’haviour that your passion bears\\r\\nGoes on my master’s griefs.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHere, wear this jewel for me, ’tis my picture.\\r\\nRefuse it not, it hath no tongue to vex you.\\r\\nAnd I beseech you come again tomorrow.\\r\\nWhat shall you ask of me that I’ll deny,\\r\\nThat honour sav’d, may upon asking give?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNothing but this, your true love for my master.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHow with mine honour may I give him that\\r\\nWhich I have given to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI will acquit you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWell, come again tomorrow. Fare thee well;\\r\\nA fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGentleman, God save thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThat defence thou hast, betake thee to’t. Of what nature the wrongs are\\r\\nthou hast done him, I know not, but thy intercepter, full of despite,\\r\\nbloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard end. Dismount thy\\r\\ntuck, be yare in thy preparation, for thy assailant is quick, skilful,\\r\\nand deadly.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nYou mistake, sir; I am sure no man hath any quarrel to me. My\\r\\nremembrance is very free and clear from any image of offence done to\\r\\nany man.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nYou’ll find it otherwise, I assure you. Therefore, if you hold your\\r\\nlife at any price, betake you to your guard, for your opposite hath in\\r\\nhim what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can furnish man withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI pray you, sir, what is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHe is knight, dubbed with unhatched rapier, and on carpet\\r\\nconsideration, but he is a devil in private brawl. Souls and bodies\\r\\nhath he divorced three, and his incensement at this moment is so\\r\\nimplacable that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of death and\\r\\nsepulchre. Hob, nob is his word; give’t or take’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI will return again into the house and desire some conduct of the lady.\\r\\nI am no fighter. I have heard of some kind of men that put quarrels\\r\\npurposely on others to taste their valour: belike this is a man of that\\r\\nquirk.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nSir, no. His indignation derives itself out of a very competent injury;\\r\\ntherefore, get you on and give him his desire. Back you shall not to\\r\\nthe house, unless you undertake that with me which with as much safety\\r\\nyou might answer him. Therefore on, or strip your sword stark naked,\\r\\nfor meddle you must, that’s certain, or forswear to wear iron about\\r\\nyou.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThis is as uncivil as strange. I beseech you, do me this courteous\\r\\noffice, as to know of the knight what my offence to him is. It is\\r\\nsomething of my negligence, nothing of my purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you by this gentleman till my\\r\\nreturn.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Sir Toby._]\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nPray you, sir, do you know of this matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nI know the knight is incensed against you, even to a mortal\\r\\narbitrement, but nothing of the circumstance more.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI beseech you, what manner of man is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNothing of that wonderful promise, to read him by his form, as you are\\r\\nlike to find him in the proof of his valour. He is indeed, sir, the\\r\\nmost skilful, bloody, and fatal opposite that you could possibly have\\r\\nfound in any part of Illyria. Will you walk towards him? I will make\\r\\nyour peace with him if I can.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI shall be much bound to you for’t. I am one that had rather go with\\r\\nsir priest than sir knight: I care not who knows so much of my mettle.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, man, he’s a very devil. I have not seen such a firago. I had a\\r\\npass with him, rapier, scabbard, and all, and he gives me the stuck-in\\r\\nwith such a mortal motion that it is inevitable; and on the answer, he\\r\\npays you as surely as your feet hits the ground they step on. They say\\r\\nhe has been fencer to the Sophy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nPox on’t, I’ll not meddle with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAy, but he will not now be pacified: Fabian can scarce hold him yonder.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nPlague on’t, an I thought he had been valiant, and so cunning in fence,\\r\\nI’d have seen him damned ere I’d have challenged him. Let him let the\\r\\nmatter slip, and I’ll give him my horse, grey Capilet.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI’ll make the motion. Stand here, make a good show on’t. This shall end\\r\\nwithout the perdition of souls. [_Aside._] Marry, I’ll ride your horse\\r\\nas well as I ride you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fabian and Viola.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_To Fabian._] I have his horse to take up the quarrel. I have\\r\\npersuaded him the youth’s a devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nHe is as horribly conceited of him, and pants and looks pale, as if a\\r\\nbear were at his heels.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThere’s no remedy, sir, he will fight with you for’s oath sake. Marry,\\r\\nhe hath better bethought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now\\r\\nscarce to be worth talking of. Therefore, draw for the supportance of\\r\\nhis vow; he protests he will not hurt you.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Pray God defend me! A little thing would make me tell them\\r\\nhow much I lack of a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nGive ground if you see him furious.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, Sir Andrew, there’s no remedy, the gentleman will for his\\r\\nhonour’s sake have one bout with you. He cannot by the duello avoid it;\\r\\nbut he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier, he will not\\r\\nhurt you. Come on: to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n[_Draws._] Pray God he keep his oath!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n[_Draws._] I do assure you ’tis against my will.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nPut up your sword. If this young gentleman\\r\\nHave done offence, I take the fault on me.\\r\\nIf you offend him, I for him defy you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nYou, sir? Why, what are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\n[_Draws._] One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more\\r\\nThan you have heard him brag to you he will.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Draws._] Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Officers.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO good Sir Toby, hold! Here come the officers.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_To Antonio._] I’ll be with you anon.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n[_To Sir Andrew._] Pray, sir, put your sword up, if you please.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nMarry, will I, sir; and for that I promised you, I’ll be as good as my\\r\\nword. He will bear you easily, and reins well.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nThis is the man; do thy office.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND OFFICER.\\r\\nAntonio, I arrest thee at the suit\\r\\nOf Count Orsino.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nYou do mistake me, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nNo, sir, no jot. I know your favour well,\\r\\nThough now you have no sea-cap on your head.—\\r\\nTake him away, he knows I know him well.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI must obey. This comes with seeking you;\\r\\nBut there’s no remedy, I shall answer it.\\r\\nWhat will you do? Now my necessity\\r\\nMakes me to ask you for my purse. It grieves me\\r\\nMuch more for what I cannot do for you,\\r\\nThan what befalls myself. You stand amaz’d,\\r\\nBut be of comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND OFFICER.\\r\\nCome, sir, away.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI must entreat of you some of that money.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhat money, sir?\\r\\nFor the fair kindness you have show’d me here,\\r\\nAnd part being prompted by your present trouble,\\r\\nOut of my lean and low ability\\r\\nI’ll lend you something. My having is not much;\\r\\nI’ll make division of my present with you.\\r\\nHold, there’s half my coffer.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWill you deny me now?\\r\\nIs’t possible that my deserts to you\\r\\nCan lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery,\\r\\nLest that it make me so unsound a man\\r\\nAs to upbraid you with those kindnesses\\r\\nThat I have done for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI know of none,\\r\\nNor know I you by voice or any feature.\\r\\nI hate ingratitude more in a man\\r\\nThan lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness,\\r\\nOr any taint of vice whose strong corruption\\r\\nInhabits our frail blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nO heavens themselves!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND OFFICER.\\r\\nCome, sir, I pray you go.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLet me speak a little. This youth that you see here\\r\\nI snatch’d one half out of the jaws of death,\\r\\nReliev’d him with such sanctity of love;\\r\\nAnd to his image, which methought did promise\\r\\nMost venerable worth, did I devotion.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nWhat’s that to us? The time goes by. Away!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nBut O how vile an idol proves this god!\\r\\nThou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame.\\r\\nIn nature there’s no blemish but the mind;\\r\\nNone can be call’d deform’d but the unkind.\\r\\nVirtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil\\r\\nAre empty trunks, o’erflourished by the devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nThe man grows mad, away with him. Come, come, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLead me on.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Officers with Antonio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMethinks his words do from such passion fly\\r\\nThat he believes himself; so do not I.\\r\\nProve true, imagination, O prove true,\\r\\nThat I, dear brother, be now ta’en for you!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome hither, knight; come hither, Fabian. We’ll whisper o’er a couplet\\r\\nor two of most sage saws.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nHe nam’d Sebastian. I my brother know\\r\\nYet living in my glass; even such and so\\r\\nIn favour was my brother, and he went\\r\\nStill in this fashion, colour, ornament,\\r\\nFor him I imitate. O if it prove,\\r\\nTempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward than a hare. His\\r\\ndishonesty appears in leaving his friend here in necessity, and denying\\r\\nhim; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nA coward, a most devout coward, religious in it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Slid, I’ll after him again and beat him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nDo, cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd I do not—\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nCome, let’s see the event.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI dare lay any money ’twill be nothing yet.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Street before Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWill you make me believe that I am not sent for you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nGo to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow.\\r\\nLet me be clear of thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWell held out, i’ faith! No, I do not know you, nor I am not sent to\\r\\nyou by my lady, to bid you come speak with her; nor your name is not\\r\\nMaster Cesario; nor this is not my nose neither. Nothing that is so, is\\r\\nso.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI prithee vent thy folly somewhere else,\\r\\nThou know’st not me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nVent my folly! He has heard that word of some great man, and now\\r\\napplies it to a fool. Vent my folly! I am afraid this great lubber, the\\r\\nworld, will prove a cockney. I prithee now, ungird thy strangeness, and\\r\\ntell me what I shall vent to my lady. Shall I vent to her that thou art\\r\\ncoming?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me.\\r\\nThere’s money for thee; if you tarry longer\\r\\nI shall give worse payment.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBy my troth, thou hast an open hand. These wise men that give fools\\r\\nmoney get themselves a good report—after fourteen years’ purchase.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNow sir, have I met you again? There’s for you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Striking Sebastian._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhy, there’s for thee, and there, and there.\\r\\nAre all the people mad?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Beating Sir Andrew._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHold, sir, or I’ll throw your dagger o’er the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThis will I tell my lady straight. I would not be in some of your coats\\r\\nfor twopence.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome on, sir, hold!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNay, let him alone, I’ll go another way to work with him. I’ll have an\\r\\naction of battery against him, if there be any law in Illyria. Though I\\r\\nstruck him first, yet it’s no matter for that.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nLet go thy hand!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my young soldier, put up your\\r\\niron: you are well fleshed. Come on.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI will be free from thee. What wouldst thou now?\\r\\nIf thou dar’st tempt me further, draw thy sword.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Draws._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat, what? Nay, then, I must have an ounce or two of this malapert\\r\\nblood from you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Draws._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHold, Toby! On thy life I charge thee hold!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMadam.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWill it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch,\\r\\nFit for the mountains and the barbarous caves,\\r\\nWhere manners ne’er were preach’d! Out of my sight!\\r\\nBe not offended, dear Cesario.\\r\\nRudesby, be gone!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Fabian._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI prithee, gentle friend,\\r\\nLet thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway\\r\\nIn this uncivil and unjust extent\\r\\nAgainst thy peace. Go with me to my house,\\r\\nAnd hear thou there how many fruitless pranks\\r\\nThis ruffian hath botch’d up, that thou thereby\\r\\nMayst smile at this. Thou shalt not choose but go.\\r\\nDo not deny. Beshrew his soul for me,\\r\\nHe started one poor heart of mine, in thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhat relish is in this? How runs the stream?\\r\\nOr I am mad, or else this is a dream.\\r\\nLet fancy still my sense in Lethe steep;\\r\\nIf it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nNay, come, I prithee. Would thou’dst be ruled by me!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nMadam, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, say so, and so be!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay, I prithee, put on this gown and this beard; make him believe thou\\r\\nart Sir Topas the curate. Do it quickly. I’ll call Sir Toby the whilst.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWell, I’ll put it on, and I will dissemble myself in’t, and I would I\\r\\nwere the first that ever dissembled in such a gown. I am not tall\\r\\nenough to become the function well, nor lean enough to be thought a\\r\\ngood student, but to be said, an honest man and a good housekeeper goes\\r\\nas fairly as to say, a careful man and a great scholar. The competitors\\r\\nenter.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nJove bless thee, Master Parson.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n_Bonos dies_, Sir Toby: for as the old hermit of Prague, that never saw\\r\\npen and ink, very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, ‘That that\\r\\nis, is’: so I, being Master Parson, am Master Parson; for what is\\r\\n‘that’ but ‘that’? and ‘is’ but ‘is’?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo him, Sir Topas.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat ho, I say! Peace in this prison!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThe knave counterfeits well. A good knave.\\r\\n\\r\\nMalvolio within.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nWho calls there?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nSir Topas the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio the lunatic.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go to my lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nOut, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest thou this man? Talkest thou nothing\\r\\nbut of ladies?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWell said, Master Parson.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Topas, never was man thus wronged. Good Sir Topas, do not think I\\r\\nam mad. They have laid me here in hideous darkness.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nFie, thou dishonest Satan! I call thee by the most modest terms, for I\\r\\nam one of those gentle ones that will use the devil himself with\\r\\ncourtesy. Say’st thou that house is dark?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAs hell, Sir Topas.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, it hath bay windows transparent as barricadoes, and the\\r\\nclerestories toward the south-north are as lustrous as ebony; and yet\\r\\ncomplainest thou of obstruction?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI am not mad, Sir Topas. I say to you this house is dark.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMadman, thou errest. I say there is no darkness but ignorance, in which\\r\\nthou art more puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI say this house is as dark as ignorance, though ignorance were as dark\\r\\nas hell; and I say there was never man thus abused. I am no more mad\\r\\nthan you are. Make the trial of it in any constant question.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning wildfowl?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nThat the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat think’st thou of his opinion?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI think nobly of the soul, and no way approve his opinion.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nFare thee well. Remain thou still in darkness. Thou shalt hold the\\r\\nopinion of Pythagoras ere I will allow of thy wits, and fear to kill a\\r\\nwoodcock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee well.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Topas, Sir Topas!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMy most exquisite Sir Topas!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNay, I am for all waters.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThou mightst have done this without thy beard and gown. He sees thee\\r\\nnot.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo him in thine own voice, and bring me word how thou find’st him. I\\r\\nwould we were well rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently\\r\\ndelivered, I would he were, for I am now so far in offence with my\\r\\nniece that I cannot pursue with any safety this sport to the upshot.\\r\\nCome by and by to my chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sir Toby and Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Singing._]\\r\\n _Hey, Robin, jolly Robin,\\r\\n Tell me how thy lady does._\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n _My lady is unkind, perdy._\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n _Alas, why is she so?_\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n _She loves another_—\\r\\nWho calls, ha?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGood fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at my hand, help me to a\\r\\ncandle, and pen, ink, and paper. As I am a gentleman, I will live to be\\r\\nthankful to thee for’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMaster Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAy, good fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool, there was never man so notoriously abused. I am as well in my\\r\\nwits, fool, as thou art.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBut as well? Then you are mad indeed, if you be no better in your wits\\r\\nthan a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nThey have here propertied me; keep me in darkness, send ministers to\\r\\nme, asses, and do all they can to face me out of my wits.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAdvise you what you say: the minister is here. [_As Sir Topas_]\\r\\nMalvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens restore. Endeavour thyself to\\r\\nsleep, and leave thy vain bibble-babble.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Topas!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_As Sir Topas_] Maintain no words with him, good fellow. [_As\\r\\nhimself_] Who, I, sir? not I, sir. God buy you, good Sir Topas. [_As\\r\\nSir Topas_] Marry, amen. [_As himself_] I will sir, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool, fool, fool, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? I am shent for speaking to\\r\\nyou.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGood fool, help me to some light and some paper. I tell thee I am as\\r\\nwell in my wits as any man in Illyria.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWell-a-day that you were, sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nBy this hand, I am. Good fool, some ink, paper, and light, and convey\\r\\nwhat I will set down to my lady. It shall advantage thee more than ever\\r\\nthe bearing of letter did.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI will help you to’t. But tell me true, are you not mad indeed? or do\\r\\nyou but counterfeit?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nBelieve me, I am not. I tell thee true.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNay, I’ll ne’er believe a madman till I see his brains. I will fetch\\r\\nyou light, and paper, and ink.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool, I’ll requite it in the highest degree: I prithee be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Singing._]\\r\\n _I am gone, sir, and anon, sir,\\r\\n I’ll be with you again,\\r\\n In a trice, like to the old Vice,\\r\\n Your need to sustain;\\r\\n Who with dagger of lath, in his rage and his wrath,\\r\\n Cries ‘ah, ha!’ to the devil:\\r\\n Like a mad lad, ‘Pare thy nails, dad.\\r\\n Adieu, goodman devil.’_\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Olivia’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nThis is the air; that is the glorious sun,\\r\\nThis pearl she gave me, I do feel’t and see’t,\\r\\nAnd though ’tis wonder that enwraps me thus,\\r\\nYet ’tis not madness. Where’s Antonio, then?\\r\\nI could not find him at the Elephant,\\r\\nYet there he was, and there I found this credit,\\r\\nThat he did range the town to seek me out.\\r\\nHis counsel now might do me golden service.\\r\\nFor though my soul disputes well with my sense\\r\\nThat this may be some error, but no madness,\\r\\nYet doth this accident and flood of fortune\\r\\nSo far exceed all instance, all discourse,\\r\\nThat I am ready to distrust mine eyes\\r\\nAnd wrangle with my reason that persuades me\\r\\nTo any other trust but that I am mad,\\r\\nOr else the lady’s mad; yet if ’twere so,\\r\\nShe could not sway her house, command her followers,\\r\\nTake and give back affairs and their dispatch,\\r\\nWith such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing\\r\\nAs I perceive she does. There’s something in’t\\r\\nThat is deceivable. But here the lady comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and a Priest.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nBlame not this haste of mine. If you mean well,\\r\\nNow go with me and with this holy man\\r\\nInto the chantry by: there, before him\\r\\nAnd underneath that consecrated roof,\\r\\nPlight me the full assurance of your faith,\\r\\nThat my most jealous and too doubtful soul\\r\\nMay live at peace. He shall conceal it\\r\\nWhiles you are willing it shall come to note,\\r\\nWhat time we will our celebration keep\\r\\nAccording to my birth. What do you say?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI’ll follow this good man, and go with you,\\r\\nAnd having sworn truth, ever will be true.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nThen lead the way, good father, and heavens so shine,\\r\\nThat they may fairly note this act of mine!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Street before Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNow, as thou lov’st me, let me see his letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGood Master Fabian, grant me another request.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nAnything.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nDo not desire to see this letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThis is to give a dog, and in recompense desire my dog again.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Duke, Viola, Curio and Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBelong you to the Lady Olivia, friends?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy, sir, we are some of her trappings.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI know thee well. How dost thou, my good fellow?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTruly, sir, the better for my foes, and the worse for my friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nJust the contrary; the better for thy friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, sir, the worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHow can that be?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMarry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass of me. Now my foes tell me\\r\\nplainly I am an ass: so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge\\r\\nof myself, and by my friends I am abused. So that, conclusions to be as\\r\\nkisses, if your four negatives make your two affirmatives, why then,\\r\\nthe worse for my friends, and the better for my foes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhy, this is excellent.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBy my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be one of my friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThou shalt not be the worse for me; there’s gold.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBut that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would you could make it\\r\\nanother.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO, you give me ill counsel.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nPut your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once, and let your flesh\\r\\nand blood obey it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWell, I will be so much a sinner to be a double-dealer: there’s\\r\\nanother.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n_Primo, secundo, tertio_, is a good play, and the old saying is, the\\r\\nthird pays for all; the triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure; or\\r\\nthe bells of Saint Bennet, sir, may put you in mind—one, two, three.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nYou can fool no more money out of me at this throw. If you will let\\r\\nyour lady know I am here to speak with her, and bring her along with\\r\\nyou, it may awake my bounty further.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMarry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come again. I go, sir, but I\\r\\nwould not have you to think that my desire of having is the sin of\\r\\ncovetousness: but as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap, I will\\r\\nawake it anon.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio and Officers.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nHere comes the man, sir, that did rescue me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThat face of his I do remember well.\\r\\nYet when I saw it last it was besmear’d\\r\\nAs black as Vulcan, in the smoke of war.\\r\\nA baubling vessel was he captain of,\\r\\nFor shallow draught and bulk unprizable,\\r\\nWith which such scathful grapple did he make\\r\\nWith the most noble bottom of our fleet,\\r\\nThat very envy and the tongue of loss\\r\\nCried fame and honour on him. What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nOrsino, this is that Antonio\\r\\nThat took the _Phoenix_ and her fraught from Candy,\\r\\nAnd this is he that did the _Tiger_ board\\r\\nWhen your young nephew Titus lost his leg.\\r\\nHere in the streets, desperate of shame and state,\\r\\nIn private brabble did we apprehend him.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nHe did me kindness, sir; drew on my side,\\r\\nBut in conclusion, put strange speech upon me.\\r\\nI know not what ’twas, but distraction.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nNotable pirate, thou salt-water thief,\\r\\nWhat foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies,\\r\\nWhom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear,\\r\\nHast made thine enemies?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nOrsino, noble sir,\\r\\nBe pleased that I shake off these names you give me:\\r\\nAntonio never yet was thief or pirate,\\r\\nThough, I confess, on base and ground enough,\\r\\nOrsino’s enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither:\\r\\nThat most ingrateful boy there by your side\\r\\nFrom the rude sea’s enraged and foamy mouth\\r\\nDid I redeem; a wreck past hope he was.\\r\\nHis life I gave him, and did thereto add\\r\\nMy love, without retention or restraint,\\r\\nAll his in dedication. For his sake\\r\\nDid I expose myself, pure for his love,\\r\\nInto the danger of this adverse town;\\r\\nDrew to defend him when he was beset;\\r\\nWhere being apprehended, his false cunning\\r\\n(Not meaning to partake with me in danger)\\r\\nTaught him to face me out of his acquaintance,\\r\\nAnd grew a twenty years’ removed thing\\r\\nWhile one would wink; denied me mine own purse,\\r\\nWhich I had recommended to his use\\r\\nNot half an hour before.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nHow can this be?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhen came he to this town?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nToday, my lord; and for three months before,\\r\\nNo int’rim, not a minute’s vacancy,\\r\\nBoth day and night did we keep company.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHere comes the Countess, now heaven walks on earth.\\r\\nBut for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness.\\r\\nThree months this youth hath tended upon me;\\r\\nBut more of that anon. Take him aside.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat would my lord, but that he may not have,\\r\\nWherein Olivia may seem serviceable?\\r\\nCesario, you do not keep promise with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMadam?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGracious Olivia—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat do you say, Cesario? Good my lord—\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy lord would speak, my duty hushes me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIf it be aught to the old tune, my lord,\\r\\nIt is as fat and fulsome to mine ear\\r\\nAs howling after music.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nStill so cruel?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nStill so constant, lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat, to perverseness? You uncivil lady,\\r\\nTo whose ingrate and unauspicious altars\\r\\nMy soul the faithfull’st off’rings hath breathed out\\r\\nThat e’er devotion tender’d! What shall I do?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nEven what it please my lord that shall become him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhy should I not, had I the heart to do it,\\r\\nLike to the Egyptian thief at point of death,\\r\\nKill what I love?—a savage jealousy\\r\\nThat sometime savours nobly. But hear me this:\\r\\nSince you to non-regardance cast my faith,\\r\\nAnd that I partly know the instrument\\r\\nThat screws me from my true place in your favour,\\r\\nLive you the marble-breasted tyrant still.\\r\\nBut this your minion, whom I know you love,\\r\\nAnd whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly,\\r\\nHim will I tear out of that cruel eye\\r\\nWhere he sits crowned in his master’s spite.—\\r\\nCome, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief:\\r\\nI’ll sacrifice the lamb that I do love,\\r\\nTo spite a raven’s heart within a dove.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd I, most jocund, apt, and willingly,\\r\\nTo do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhere goes Cesario?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAfter him I love\\r\\nMore than I love these eyes, more than my life,\\r\\nMore, by all mores, than e’er I shall love wife.\\r\\nIf I do feign, you witnesses above\\r\\nPunish my life for tainting of my love.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAh me, detested! how am I beguil’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWho does beguile you? Who does do you wrong?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long?\\r\\nCall forth the holy father.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit an Attendant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\n[_To Viola._] Come, away!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHusband?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAy, husband. Can he that deny?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHer husband, sirrah?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNo, my lord, not I.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAlas, it is the baseness of thy fear\\r\\nThat makes thee strangle thy propriety.\\r\\nFear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up.\\r\\nBe that thou know’st thou art, and then thou art\\r\\nAs great as that thou fear’st.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Priest.\\r\\n\\r\\nO, welcome, father!\\r\\nFather, I charge thee, by thy reverence\\r\\nHere to unfold—though lately we intended\\r\\nTo keep in darkness what occasion now\\r\\nReveals before ’tis ripe—what thou dost know\\r\\nHath newly passed between this youth and me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIEST.\\r\\nA contract of eternal bond of love,\\r\\nConfirmed by mutual joinder of your hands,\\r\\nAttested by the holy close of lips,\\r\\nStrengthen’d by interchangement of your rings,\\r\\nAnd all the ceremony of this compact\\r\\nSealed in my function, by my testimony;\\r\\nSince when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave,\\r\\nI have travelled but two hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO thou dissembling cub! What wilt thou be\\r\\nWhen time hath sowed a grizzle on thy case?\\r\\nOr will not else thy craft so quickly grow\\r\\nThat thine own trip shall be thine overthrow?\\r\\nFarewell, and take her; but direct thy feet\\r\\nWhere thou and I henceforth may never meet.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy lord, I do protest—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, do not swear.\\r\\nHold little faith, though thou has too much fear.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFor the love of God, a surgeon! Send one presently to Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Has broke my head across, and has given Sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too.\\r\\nFor the love of God, your help! I had rather than forty pound I were at\\r\\nhome.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWho has done this, Sir Andrew?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nThe Count’s gentleman, one Cesario. We took him for a coward, but he’s\\r\\nthe very devil incardinate.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nMy gentleman, Cesario?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Od’s lifelings, here he is!—You broke my head for nothing; and that\\r\\nthat I did, I was set on to do’t by Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhy do you speak to me? I never hurt you:\\r\\nYou drew your sword upon me without cause,\\r\\nBut I bespake you fair and hurt you not.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby, drunk, led by the Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nIf a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me. I think you set\\r\\nnothing by a bloody coxcomb. Here comes Sir Toby halting, you shall\\r\\nhear more: but if he had not been in drink, he would have tickled you\\r\\nothergates than he did.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHow now, gentleman? How is’t with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThat’s all one; ’has hurt me, and there’s th’ end on’t. Sot, didst see\\r\\nDick Surgeon, sot?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nO, he’s drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes were set at eight i’\\r\\nth’ morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThen he’s a rogue, and a passy measures pavin. I hate a drunken rogue.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAway with him. Who hath made this havoc with them?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI’ll help you, Sir Toby, because we’ll be dressed together.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWill you help? An ass-head, and a coxcomb, and a knave, a thin-faced\\r\\nknave, a gull?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGet him to bed, and let his hurt be looked to.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Clown, Fabian, Sir Toby and Sir Andrew._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman;\\r\\nBut had it been the brother of my blood,\\r\\nI must have done no less with wit and safety.\\r\\nYou throw a strange regard upon me, and by that\\r\\nI do perceive it hath offended you.\\r\\nPardon me, sweet one, even for the vows\\r\\nWe made each other but so late ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nOne face, one voice, one habit, and two persons!\\r\\nA natural perspective, that is, and is not!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAntonio, O my dear Antonio!\\r\\nHow have the hours rack’d and tortur’d me\\r\\nSince I have lost thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nSebastian are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nFear’st thou that, Antonio?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHow have you made division of yourself?\\r\\nAn apple cleft in two is not more twin\\r\\nThan these two creatures. Which is Sebastian?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nMost wonderful!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nDo I stand there? I never had a brother:\\r\\nNor can there be that deity in my nature\\r\\nOf here and everywhere. I had a sister,\\r\\nWhom the blind waves and surges have devoured.\\r\\nOf charity, what kin are you to me?\\r\\nWhat countryman? What name? What parentage?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nOf Messaline: Sebastian was my father;\\r\\nSuch a Sebastian was my brother too:\\r\\nSo went he suited to his watery tomb.\\r\\nIf spirits can assume both form and suit,\\r\\nYou come to fright us.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA spirit I am indeed,\\r\\nBut am in that dimension grossly clad,\\r\\nWhich from the womb I did participate.\\r\\nWere you a woman, as the rest goes even,\\r\\nI should my tears let fall upon your cheek,\\r\\nAnd say, ‘Thrice welcome, drowned Viola.’\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy father had a mole upon his brow.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAnd so had mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd died that day when Viola from her birth\\r\\nHad numbered thirteen years.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nO, that record is lively in my soul!\\r\\nHe finished indeed his mortal act\\r\\nThat day that made my sister thirteen years.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIf nothing lets to make us happy both\\r\\nBut this my masculine usurp’d attire,\\r\\nDo not embrace me till each circumstance\\r\\nOf place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump\\r\\nThat I am Viola; which to confirm,\\r\\nI’ll bring you to a captain in this town,\\r\\nWhere lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help\\r\\nI was preserv’d to serve this noble count.\\r\\nAll the occurrence of my fortune since\\r\\nHath been between this lady and this lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n[_To Olivia._] So comes it, lady, you have been mistook.\\r\\nBut nature to her bias drew in that.\\r\\nYou would have been contracted to a maid;\\r\\nNor are you therein, by my life, deceived:\\r\\nYou are betroth’d both to a maid and man.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBe not amazed; right noble is his blood.\\r\\nIf this be so, as yet the glass seems true,\\r\\nI shall have share in this most happy wreck.\\r\\n[_To Viola._] Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times\\r\\nThou never shouldst love woman like to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd all those sayings will I over-swear,\\r\\nAnd all those swearings keep as true in soul\\r\\nAs doth that orbed continent the fire\\r\\nThat severs day from night.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGive me thy hand,\\r\\nAnd let me see thee in thy woman’s weeds.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThe captain that did bring me first on shore\\r\\nHath my maid’s garments. He, upon some action,\\r\\nIs now in durance, at Malvolio’s suit,\\r\\nA gentleman and follower of my lady’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHe shall enlarge him. Fetch Malvolio hither.\\r\\nAnd yet, alas, now I remember me,\\r\\nThey say, poor gentleman, he’s much distract.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown, with a letter and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nA most extracting frenzy of mine own\\r\\nFrom my remembrance clearly banished his.\\r\\nHow does he, sirrah?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTruly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the stave’s end as well as a man in\\r\\nhis case may do. Has here writ a letter to you. I should have given it\\r\\nyou today morning, but as a madman’s epistles are no gospels, so it\\r\\nskills not much when they are delivered.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nOpen ’t, and read it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLook then to be well edified, when the fool delivers the madman. _By\\r\\nthe Lord, madam,—_\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHow now, art thou mad?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, madam, I do but read madness: an your ladyship will have it as it\\r\\nought to be, you must allow _vox_.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nPrithee, read i’ thy right wits.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nSo I do, madonna. But to read his right wits is to read thus; therefore\\r\\nperpend, my princess, and give ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\n[_To Fabian._] Read it you, sirrah.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\n[_Reads._] _By the Lord, madam, you wrong me, and the world shall know\\r\\nit. Though you have put me into darkness and given your drunken cousin\\r\\nrule over me, yet have I the benefit of my senses as well as your\\r\\nladyship. I have your own letter that induced me to the semblance I put\\r\\non; with the which I doubt not but to do myself much right or you much\\r\\nshame. Think of me as you please. I leave my duty a little unthought\\r\\nof, and speak out of my injury.\\r\\n The madly-used Malvolio._\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nDid he write this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThis savours not much of distraction.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSee him delivered, Fabian, bring him hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Fabian._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMy lord, so please you, these things further thought on,\\r\\nTo think me as well a sister, as a wife,\\r\\nOne day shall crown th’ alliance on’t, so please you,\\r\\nHere at my house, and at my proper cost.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nMadam, I am most apt t’ embrace your offer.\\r\\n[_To Viola._] Your master quits you; and for your service done him,\\r\\nSo much against the mettle of your sex,\\r\\nSo far beneath your soft and tender breeding,\\r\\nAnd since you call’d me master for so long,\\r\\nHere is my hand; you shall from this time be\\r\\nYou master’s mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nA sister? You are she.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fabian and Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nIs this the madman?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAy, my lord, this same.\\r\\nHow now, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMadam, you have done me wrong,\\r\\nNotorious wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHave I, Malvolio? No.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nLady, you have. Pray you peruse that letter.\\r\\nYou must not now deny it is your hand,\\r\\nWrite from it, if you can, in hand, or phrase,\\r\\nOr say ’tis not your seal, not your invention:\\r\\nYou can say none of this. Well, grant it then,\\r\\nAnd tell me, in the modesty of honour,\\r\\nWhy you have given me such clear lights of favour,\\r\\nBade me come smiling and cross-garter’d to you,\\r\\nTo put on yellow stockings, and to frown\\r\\nUpon Sir Toby, and the lighter people;\\r\\nAnd acting this in an obedient hope,\\r\\nWhy have you suffer’d me to be imprison’d,\\r\\nKept in a dark house, visited by the priest,\\r\\nAnd made the most notorious geck and gull\\r\\nThat e’er invention played on? Tell me why?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAlas, Malvolio, this is not my writing,\\r\\nThough I confess, much like the character:\\r\\nBut out of question, ’tis Maria’s hand.\\r\\nAnd now I do bethink me, it was she\\r\\nFirst told me thou wast mad; then cam’st in smiling,\\r\\nAnd in such forms which here were presuppos’d\\r\\nUpon thee in the letter. Prithee, be content.\\r\\nThis practice hath most shrewdly pass’d upon thee.\\r\\nBut when we know the grounds and authors of it,\\r\\nThou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge\\r\\nOf thine own cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nGood madam, hear me speak,\\r\\nAnd let no quarrel, nor no brawl to come,\\r\\nTaint the condition of this present hour,\\r\\nWhich I have wonder’d at. In hope it shall not,\\r\\nMost freely I confess, myself and Toby\\r\\nSet this device against Malvolio here,\\r\\nUpon some stubborn and uncourteous parts\\r\\nWe had conceiv’d against him. Maria writ\\r\\nThe letter, at Sir Toby’s great importance,\\r\\nIn recompense whereof he hath married her.\\r\\nHow with a sportful malice it was follow’d\\r\\nMay rather pluck on laughter than revenge,\\r\\nIf that the injuries be justly weigh’d\\r\\nThat have on both sides passed.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAlas, poor fool, how have they baffled thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, ‘some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have\\r\\ngreatness thrown upon them.’ I was one, sir, in this interlude, one Sir\\r\\nTopas, sir, but that’s all one. ‘By the Lord, fool, I am not mad.’ But\\r\\ndo you remember? ‘Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal? And you\\r\\nsmile not, he’s gagged’? And thus the whirligig of time brings in his\\r\\nrevenges.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI’ll be revenged on the whole pack of you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHe hath been most notoriously abus’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nPursue him, and entreat him to a peace:\\r\\nHe hath not told us of the captain yet.\\r\\nWhen that is known, and golden time convents,\\r\\nA solemn combination shall be made\\r\\nOf our dear souls.—Meantime, sweet sister,\\r\\nWe will not part from hence.—Cesario, come:\\r\\nFor so you shall be while you are a man;\\r\\nBut when in other habits you are seen,\\r\\nOrsino’s mistress, and his fancy’s queen.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Clown sings.\\r\\n\\r\\n_ When that I was and a little tiny boy,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n A foolish thing was but a toy,\\r\\n For the rain it raineth every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ But when I came to man’s estate,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n ’Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,\\r\\n For the rain it raineth every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ But when I came, alas, to wive,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n By swaggering could I never thrive,\\r\\n For the rain it raineth every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ But when I came unto my beds,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n With toss-pots still had drunken heads,\\r\\n For the rain it raineth every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ A great while ago the world begun,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n But that’s all one, our play is done,\\r\\n And we’ll strive to please you every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE OF MILAN, father to Silvia\\r\\n VALENTINE, one of the two gentlemen\\r\\n PROTEUS, \" \" \" \" \"\\r\\n ANTONIO, father to Proteus\\r\\n THURIO, a foolish rival to Valentine\\r\\n EGLAMOUR, agent for Silvia in her escape\\r\\n SPEED, a clownish servant to Valentine\\r\\n LAUNCE, the like to Proteus\\r\\n PANTHINO, servant to Antonio\\r\\n HOST, where Julia lodges in Milan\\r\\n OUTLAWS, with Valentine\\r\\n\\r\\n JULIA, a lady of Verona, beloved of Proteus\\r\\n SILVIA, the Duke\\'s daughter, beloved of Valentine\\r\\n LUCETTA, waiting-woman to Julia\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANTS MUSICIANS\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Verona; Milan; the frontiers of Mantua\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. Verona. An open place\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter VALENTINE and PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n VALENTINE. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus:\\r\\n Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.\\r\\n Were\\'t not affection chains thy tender days\\r\\n To the sweet glances of thy honour\\'d love,\\r\\n I rather would entreat thy company\\r\\n To see the wonders of the world abroad,\\r\\n Than, living dully sluggardiz\\'d at home,\\r\\n Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.\\r\\n But since thou lov\\'st, love still, and thrive therein,\\r\\n Even as I would, when I to love begin.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu!\\r\\n Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest\\r\\n Some rare noteworthy object in thy travel.\\r\\n Wish me partaker in thy happiness\\r\\n When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger,\\r\\n If ever danger do environ thee,\\r\\n Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,\\r\\n For I will be thy headsman, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. And on a love-book pray for my success?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Upon some book I love I\\'ll pray for thee.\\r\\n VALENTINE. That\\'s on some shallow story of deep love:\\r\\n How young Leander cross\\'d the Hellespont.\\r\\n PROTEUS. That\\'s a deep story of a deeper love;\\r\\n For he was more than over shoes in love.\\r\\n VALENTINE. \\'Tis true; for you are over boots in love,\\r\\n And yet you never swum the Hellespont.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Over the boots! Nay, give me not the boots.\\r\\n VALENTINE. No, I will not, for it boots thee not.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What?\\r\\n VALENTINE. To be in love- where scorn is bought with groans,\\r\\n Coy looks with heart-sore sighs, one fading moment\\'s mirth\\r\\n With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights;\\r\\n If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain;\\r\\n If lost, why then a grievous labour won;\\r\\n However, but a folly bought with wit,\\r\\n Or else a wit by folly vanquished.\\r\\n PROTEUS. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.\\r\\n VALENTINE. So, by your circumstance, I fear you\\'ll prove.\\r\\n PROTEUS. \\'Tis love you cavil at; I am not Love.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Love is your master, for he masters you;\\r\\n And he that is so yoked by a fool,\\r\\n Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud\\r\\n The eating canker dwells, so eating love\\r\\n Inhabits in the finest wits of all.\\r\\n VALENTINE. And writers say, as the most forward bud\\r\\n Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,\\r\\n Even so by love the young and tender wit\\r\\n Is turn\\'d to folly, blasting in the bud,\\r\\n Losing his verdure even in the prime,\\r\\n And all the fair effects of future hopes.\\r\\n But wherefore waste I time to counsel the\\r\\n That art a votary to fond desire?\\r\\n Once more adieu. My father at the road\\r\\n Expects my coming, there to see me shipp\\'d.\\r\\n PROTEUS. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave.\\r\\n To Milan let me hear from thee by letters\\r\\n Of thy success in love, and what news else\\r\\n Betideth here in absence of thy friend;\\r\\n And I likewise will visit thee with mine.\\r\\n PROTEUS. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan!\\r\\n VALENTINE. As much to you at home; and so farewell!\\r\\n Exit VALENTINE\\r\\n PROTEUS. He after honour hunts, I after love;\\r\\n He leaves his friends to dignify them more:\\r\\n I leave myself, my friends, and all for love.\\r\\n Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphis\\'d me,\\r\\n Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,\\r\\n War with good counsel, set the world at nought;\\r\\n Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n SPEED. Sir Proteus, save you! Saw you my master?\\r\\n PROTEUS. But now he parted hence to embark for Milan.\\r\\n SPEED. Twenty to one then he is shipp\\'d already,\\r\\n And I have play\\'d the sheep in losing him.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray,\\r\\n An if the shepherd be awhile away.\\r\\n SPEED. You conclude that my master is a shepherd then, and\\r\\n I a sheep?\\r\\n PROTEUS. I do.\\r\\n SPEED. Why then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep.\\r\\n PROTEUS. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep.\\r\\n SPEED. This proves me still a sheep.\\r\\n PROTEUS. True; and thy master a shepherd.\\r\\n SPEED. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.\\r\\n PROTEUS. It shall go hard but I\\'ll prove it by another.\\r\\n SPEED. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the\\r\\n shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me;\\r\\n therefore, I am no sheep.\\r\\n PROTEUS. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd; the shepherd for\\r\\n food follows not the sheep: thou for wages followest thy master;\\r\\n thy master for wages follows not thee. Therefore, thou art a\\r\\n sheep.\\r\\n SPEED. Such another proof will make me cry \\'baa.\\'\\r\\n PROTEUS. But dost thou hear? Gav\\'st thou my letter to Julia?\\r\\n SPEED. Ay, sir; I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her, a lac\\'d\\r\\n mutton; and she, a lac\\'d mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing\\r\\n for my labour.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Here\\'s too small a pasture for such store of muttons.\\r\\n SPEED. If the ground be overcharg\\'d, you were best stick her.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Nay, in that you are astray: \\'twere best pound you.\\r\\n SPEED. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your\\r\\n letter.\\r\\n PROTEUS. You mistake; I mean the pound- a pinfold.\\r\\n SPEED. From a pound to a pin? Fold it over and over,\\r\\n \\'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But what said she?\\r\\n SPEED. [Nodding] Ay.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Nod- ay. Why, that\\'s \\'noddy.\\'\\r\\n SPEED. You mistook, sir; I say she did nod; and you ask me if she\\r\\n did nod; and I say \\'Ay.\\'\\r\\n PROTEUS. And that set together is \\'noddy.\\'\\r\\n SPEED. Now you have taken the pains to set it together, take it for\\r\\n your pains.\\r\\n PROTEUS. No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter.\\r\\n SPEED. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, sir, how do you bear with me?\\r\\n SPEED. Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly; having nothing but the\\r\\n word \\'noddy\\' for my pains.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.\\r\\n SPEED. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Come, come, open the matter; in brief, what said she?\\r\\n SPEED. Open your purse, that the money and the matter may be both\\r\\n at once delivered.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she?\\r\\n SPEED. Truly, sir, I think you\\'ll hardly win her.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her?\\r\\n SPEED. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; no, not so\\r\\n much as a ducat for delivering your letter; and being so hard to\\r\\n me that brought your mind, I fear she\\'ll prove as hard to you in\\r\\n telling your mind. Give her no token but stones, for she\\'s as\\r\\n hard as steel.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What said she? Nothing?\\r\\n SPEED. No, not so much as \\'Take this for thy pains.\\' To testify\\r\\n your bounty, I thank you, you have testern\\'d me; in requital\\r\\n whereof, henceforth carry your letters yourself; and so, sir,\\r\\n I\\'ll commend you to my master.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck,\\r\\n Which cannot perish, having thee aboard,\\r\\n Being destin\\'d to a drier death on shore. Exit SPEED\\r\\n I must go send some better messenger.\\r\\n I fear my Julia would not deign my lines,\\r\\n Receiving them from such a worthless post. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Verona. The garden Of JULIA\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter JULIA and LUCETTA\\r\\n\\r\\n JULIA. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone,\\r\\n Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Ay, madam; so you stumble not unheedfully.\\r\\n JULIA. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen\\r\\n That every day with parle encounter me,\\r\\n In thy opinion which is worthiest love?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Please you, repeat their names; I\\'ll show my mind\\r\\n According to my shallow simple skill.\\r\\n JULIA. What think\\'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?\\r\\n LUCETTA. As of a knight well-spoken, neat, and fine;\\r\\n But, were I you, he never should be mine.\\r\\n JULIA. What think\\'st thou of the rich Mercatio?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Well of his wealth; but of himself, so so.\\r\\n JULIA. What think\\'st thou of the gentle Proteus?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Lord, Lord! to see what folly reigns in us!\\r\\n JULIA. How now! what means this passion at his name?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Pardon, dear madam; \\'tis a passing shame\\r\\n That I, unworthy body as I am,\\r\\n Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen.\\r\\n JULIA. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Then thus: of many good I think him best.\\r\\n JULIA. Your reason?\\r\\n LUCETTA. I have no other but a woman\\'s reason:\\r\\n I think him so, because I think him so.\\r\\n JULIA. And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away.\\r\\n JULIA. Why, he, of all the rest, hath never mov\\'d me.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye.\\r\\n JULIA. His little speaking shows his love but small.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Fire that\\'s closest kept burns most of all.\\r\\n JULIA. They do not love that do not show their love.\\r\\n LUCETTA. O, they love least that let men know their love.\\r\\n JULIA. I would I knew his mind.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Peruse this paper, madam.\\r\\n JULIA. \\'To Julia\\'- Say, from whom?\\r\\n LUCETTA. That the contents will show.\\r\\n JULIA. Say, say, who gave it thee?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Sir Valentine\\'s page; and sent, I think, from Proteus.\\r\\n He would have given it you; but I, being in the way,\\r\\n Did in your name receive it; pardon the fault, I pray.\\r\\n JULIA. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker!\\r\\n Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines?\\r\\n To whisper and conspire against my youth?\\r\\n Now, trust me, \\'tis an office of great worth,\\r\\n And you an officer fit for the place.\\r\\n There, take the paper; see it be return\\'d;\\r\\n Or else return no more into my sight.\\r\\n LUCETTA. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate.\\r\\n JULIA. Will ye be gone?\\r\\n LUCETTA. That you may ruminate. Exit\\r\\n JULIA. And yet, I would I had o\\'erlook\\'d the letter.\\r\\n It were a shame to call her back again,\\r\\n And pray her to a fault for which I chid her.\\r\\n What fool is she, that knows I am a maid\\r\\n And would not force the letter to my view!\\r\\n Since maids, in modesty, say \\'No\\' to that\\r\\n Which they would have the profferer construe \\'Ay.\\'\\r\\n Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love,\\r\\n That like a testy babe will scratch the nurse,\\r\\n And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod!\\r\\n How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence,\\r\\n When willingly I would have had her here!\\r\\n How angerly I taught my brow to frown,\\r\\n When inward joy enforc\\'d my heart to smile!\\r\\n My penance is to call Lucetta back\\r\\n And ask remission for my folly past.\\r\\n What ho! Lucetta!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter LUCETTA\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCETTA. What would your ladyship?\\r\\n JULIA. Is\\'t near dinner time?\\r\\n LUCETTA. I would it were,\\r\\n That you might kill your stomach on your meat\\r\\n And not upon your maid.\\r\\n JULIA. What is\\'t that you took up so gingerly?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Nothing.\\r\\n JULIA. Why didst thou stoop then?\\r\\n LUCETTA. To take a paper up that I let fall.\\r\\n JULIA. And is that paper nothing?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Nothing concerning me.\\r\\n JULIA. Then let it lie for those that it concerns.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns,\\r\\n Unless it have a false interpreter.\\r\\n JULIA. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme.\\r\\n LUCETTA. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune.\\r\\n Give me a note; your ladyship can set.\\r\\n JULIA. As little by such toys as may be possible.\\r\\n Best sing it to the tune of \\'Light o\\' Love.\\'\\r\\n LUCETTA. It is too heavy for so light a tune.\\r\\n JULIA. Heavy! belike it hath some burden then.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Ay; and melodious were it, would you sing it.\\r\\n JULIA. And why not you?\\r\\n LUCETTA. I cannot reach so high.\\r\\n JULIA. Let\\'s see your song. [LUCETTA withholds the letter]\\r\\n How now, minion!\\r\\n LUCETTA. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out.\\r\\n And yet methinks I do not like this tune.\\r\\n JULIA. You do not!\\r\\n LUCETTA. No, madam; \\'tis too sharp.\\r\\n JULIA. You, minion, are too saucy.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Nay, now you are too flat\\r\\n And mar the concord with too harsh a descant;\\r\\n There wanteth but a mean to fill your song.\\r\\n JULIA. The mean is drown\\'d with your unruly bass.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus.\\r\\n JULIA. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me.\\r\\n Here is a coil with protestation! [Tears the letter]\\r\\n Go, get you gone; and let the papers lie.\\r\\n You would be fing\\'ring them, to anger me.\\r\\n LUCETTA. She makes it strange; but she would be best pleas\\'d\\r\\n To be so ang\\'red with another letter. Exit\\r\\n JULIA. Nay, would I were so ang\\'red with the same!\\r\\n O hateful hands, to tear such loving words!\\r\\n Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey\\r\\n And kill the bees that yield it with your stings!\\r\\n I\\'ll kiss each several paper for amends.\\r\\n Look, here is writ \\'kind Julia.\\' Unkind Julia,\\r\\n As in revenge of thy ingratitude,\\r\\n I throw thy name against the bruising stones,\\r\\n Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain.\\r\\n And here is writ \\'love-wounded Proteus.\\'\\r\\n Poor wounded name! my bosom,,as a bed,\\r\\n Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly heal\\'d;\\r\\n And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss.\\r\\n But twice or thrice was \\'Proteus\\' written down.\\r\\n Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away\\r\\n Till I have found each letter in the letter-\\r\\n Except mine own name; that some whirlwind bear\\r\\n Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock,\\r\\n And throw it thence into the raging sea.\\r\\n Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ:\\r\\n \\'Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus,\\r\\n To the sweet Julia.\\' That I\\'ll tear away;\\r\\n And yet I will not, sith so prettily\\r\\n He couples it to his complaining names.\\r\\n Thus will I fold them one upon another;\\r\\n Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter LUCETTA\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCETTA. Madam,\\r\\n Dinner is ready, and your father stays.\\r\\n JULIA. Well, let us go.\\r\\n LUCETTA. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here?\\r\\n JULIA. If you respect them, best to take them up.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down;\\r\\n Yet here they shall not lie for catching cold.\\r\\n JULIA. I see you have a month\\'s mind to them.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see;\\r\\n I see things too, although you judge I wink.\\r\\n JULIA. Come, come; will\\'t please you go? Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Verona. ANTONIO\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ANTONIO and PANTHINO\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that\\r\\n Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?\\r\\n PANTHINO. \\'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Why, what of him?\\r\\n PANTHINO. He wond\\'red that your lordship\\r\\n Would suffer him to spend his youth at home,\\r\\n While other men, of slender reputation,\\r\\n Put forth their sons to seek preferment out:\\r\\n Some to the wars, to try their fortune there;\\r\\n Some to discover islands far away;\\r\\n Some to the studious universities.\\r\\n For any, or for all these exercises,\\r\\n He said that Proteus, your son, was meet;\\r\\n And did request me to importune you\\r\\n To let him spend his time no more at home,\\r\\n Which would be great impeachment to his age,\\r\\n In having known no travel in his youth.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Nor need\\'st thou much importune me to that\\r\\n Whereon this month I have been hammering.\\r\\n I have consider\\'d well his loss of time,\\r\\n And how he cannot be a perfect man,\\r\\n Not being tried and tutor\\'d in the world:\\r\\n Experience is by industry achiev\\'d,\\r\\n And perfected by the swift course of time.\\r\\n Then tell me whither were I best to send him.\\r\\n PANTHINO. I think your lordship is not ignorant\\r\\n How his companion, youthful Valentine,\\r\\n Attends the Emperor in his royal court.\\r\\n ANTONIO. I know it well.\\r\\n PANTHINO. \\'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither:\\r\\n There shall he practise tilts and tournaments,\\r\\n Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen,\\r\\n And be in eye of every exercise\\r\\n Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth.\\r\\n ANTONIO. I like thy counsel; well hast thou advis\\'d;\\r\\n And that thou mayst perceive how well I like it,\\r\\n The execution of it shall make known:\\r\\n Even with the speediest expedition\\r\\n I will dispatch him to the Emperor\\'s court.\\r\\n PANTHINO. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso\\r\\n With other gentlemen of good esteem\\r\\n Are journeying to salute the Emperor,\\r\\n And to commend their service to his will.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Good company; with them shall Proteus go.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n And- in good time!- now will we break with him.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life!\\r\\n Here is her hand, the agent of her heart;\\r\\n Here is her oath for love, her honour\\'s pawn.\\r\\n O that our fathers would applaud our loves,\\r\\n To seal our happiness with their consents!\\r\\n O heavenly Julia!\\r\\n ANTONIO. How now! What letter are you reading there?\\r\\n PROTEUS. May\\'t please your lordship, \\'tis a word or two\\r\\n Of commendations sent from Valentine,\\r\\n Deliver\\'d by a friend that came from him.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Lend me the letter; let me see what news.\\r\\n PROTEUS. There is no news, my lord; but that he writes\\r\\n How happily he lives, how well-belov\\'d\\r\\n And daily graced by the Emperor;\\r\\n Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune.\\r\\n ANTONIO. And how stand you affected to his wish?\\r\\n PROTEUS. As one relying on your lordship\\'s will,\\r\\n And not depending on his friendly wish.\\r\\n ANTONIO. My will is something sorted with his wish.\\r\\n Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed;\\r\\n For what I will, I will, and there an end.\\r\\n I am resolv\\'d that thou shalt spend some time\\r\\n With Valentinus in the Emperor\\'s court;\\r\\n What maintenance he from his friends receives,\\r\\n Like exhibition thou shalt have from me.\\r\\n To-morrow be in readiness to go-\\r\\n Excuse it not, for I am peremptory.\\r\\n PROTEUS. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided;\\r\\n Please you, deliberate a day or two.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Look what thou want\\'st shall be sent after thee.\\r\\n No more of stay; to-morrow thou must go.\\r\\n Come on, Panthino; you shall be employ\\'d\\r\\n To hasten on his expedition.\\r\\n Exeunt ANTONIO and PANTHINO\\r\\n PROTEUS. Thus have I shunn\\'d the fire for fear of burning,\\r\\n And drench\\'d me in the sea, where I am drown\\'d.\\r\\n I fear\\'d to show my father Julia\\'s letter,\\r\\n Lest he should take exceptions to my love;\\r\\n And with the vantage of mine own excuse\\r\\n Hath he excepted most against my love.\\r\\n O, how this spring of love resembleth\\r\\n The uncertain glory of an April day,\\r\\n Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,\\r\\n And by an by a cloud takes all away!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PANTHINO\\r\\n\\r\\n PANTHINO. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you;\\r\\n He is in haste; therefore, I pray you, go.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, this it is: my heart accords thereto;\\r\\n And yet a thousand times it answers \\'No.\\' Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter VALENTINE and SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n SPEED. Sir, your glove.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Not mine: my gloves are on.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, then, this may be yours; for this is but one.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ha! let me see; ay, give it me, it\\'s mine;\\r\\n Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine!\\r\\n Ah, Silvia! Silvia!\\r\\n SPEED. [Calling] Madam Silvia! Madam Silvia!\\r\\n VALENTINE. How now, sirrah?\\r\\n SPEED. She is not within hearing, sir.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, sir, who bade you call her?\\r\\n SPEED. Your worship, sir; or else I mistook.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Well, you\\'ll still be too forward.\\r\\n SPEED. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Go to, sir; tell me, do you know Madam Silvia?\\r\\n SPEED. She that your worship loves?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, how know you that I am in love?\\r\\n SPEED. Marry, by these special marks: first, you have learn\\'d, like\\r\\n Sir Proteus, to wreath your arms like a malcontent; to relish a\\r\\n love-song, like a robin redbreast; to walk alone, like one that\\r\\n had the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had lost his\\r\\n A B C; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her grandam;\\r\\n to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, like one that fears\\r\\n robbing; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were\\r\\n wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you walk\\'d, to\\r\\n walk like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently\\r\\n after dinner; when you look\\'d sadly, it was for want of money.\\r\\n And now you are metamorphis\\'d with a mistress, that, when I look\\r\\n on you, I can hardly think you my master.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Are all these things perceiv\\'d in me?\\r\\n SPEED. They are all perceiv\\'d without ye.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Without me? They cannot.\\r\\n SPEED. Without you! Nay, that\\'s certain; for, without you were so\\r\\n simple, none else would; but you are so without these follies\\r\\n that these follies are within you, and shine through you like the\\r\\n water in an urinal, that not an eye that sees you but is a\\r\\n physician to comment on your malady.\\r\\n VALENTINE. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia?\\r\\n SPEED. She that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Hast thou observ\\'d that? Even she, I mean.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, sir, I know her not.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet know\\'st\\r\\n her not?\\r\\n SPEED. Is she not hard-favour\\'d, sir?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Not so fair, boy, as well-favour\\'d.\\r\\n SPEED. Sir, I know that well enough.\\r\\n VALENTINE. What dost thou know?\\r\\n SPEED. That she is not so fair as, of you, well-favour\\'d.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I mean that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour\\r\\n infinite.\\r\\n SPEED. That\\'s because the one is painted, and the other out of all\\r\\n count.\\r\\n VALENTINE. How painted? and how out of count?\\r\\n SPEED. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, that no man counts\\r\\n of her beauty.\\r\\n VALENTINE. How esteem\\'st thou me? I account of her beauty.\\r\\n SPEED. You never saw her since she was deform\\'d.\\r\\n VALENTINE. How long hath she been deform\\'d?\\r\\n SPEED. Ever since you lov\\'d her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I have lov\\'d her ever since I saw her, and still\\r\\n I see her beautiful.\\r\\n SPEED. If you love her, you cannot see her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why?\\r\\n SPEED. Because Love is blind. O that you had mine eyes; or your own\\r\\n eyes had the lights they were wont to have when you chid at Sir\\r\\n Proteus for going ungarter\\'d!\\r\\n VALENTINE. What should I see then?\\r\\n SPEED. Your own present folly and her passing deformity; for he,\\r\\n being in love, could not see to garter his hose; and you, being\\r\\n in love, cannot see to put on your hose.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last morning you\\r\\n could not see to wipe my shoes.\\r\\n SPEED. True, sir; I was in love with my bed. I thank you, you\\r\\n swing\\'d me for my love, which makes me the bolder to chide you\\r\\n for yours.\\r\\n VALENTINE. In conclusion, I stand affected to her.\\r\\n SPEED. I would you were set, so your affection would cease.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Last night she enjoin\\'d me to write some lines to one\\r\\n she loves.\\r\\n SPEED. And have you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I have.\\r\\n SPEED. Are they not lamely writ?\\r\\n VALENTINE. No, boy, but as well as I can do them.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA\\r\\n\\r\\n Peace! here she comes.\\r\\n SPEED. [Aside] O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet!\\r\\n Now will he interpret to her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Madam and mistress, a thousand good morrows.\\r\\n SPEED. [Aside] O, give ye good ev\\'n!\\r\\n Here\\'s a million of manners.\\r\\n SILVIA. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand.\\r\\n SPEED. [Aside] He should give her interest, and she gives it him.\\r\\n VALENTINE. As you enjoin\\'d me, I have writ your letter\\r\\n Unto the secret nameless friend of yours;\\r\\n Which I was much unwilling to proceed in,\\r\\n But for my duty to your ladyship.\\r\\n SILVIA. I thank you, gentle servant. \\'Tis very clerkly done.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off;\\r\\n For, being ignorant to whom it goes,\\r\\n I writ at random, very doubtfully.\\r\\n SILVIA. Perchance you think too much of so much pains?\\r\\n VALENTINE. No, madam; so it stead you, I will write,\\r\\n Please you command, a thousand times as much;\\r\\n And yet-\\r\\n SILVIA. A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel;\\r\\n And yet I will not name it- and yet I care not.\\r\\n And yet take this again- and yet I thank you-\\r\\n Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.\\r\\n SPEED. [Aside] And yet you will; and yet another\\' yet.\\'\\r\\n VALENTINE. What means your ladyship? Do you not like it?\\r\\n SILVIA. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ;\\r\\n But, since unwillingly, take them again.\\r\\n Nay, take them. [Gives hack the letter]\\r\\n VALENTINE. Madam, they are for you.\\r\\n SILVIA. Ay, ay, you writ them, sir, at my request;\\r\\n But I will none of them; they are for you:\\r\\n I would have had them writ more movingly.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Please you, I\\'ll write your ladyship another.\\r\\n SILVIA. And when it\\'s writ, for my sake read it over;\\r\\n And if it please you, so; if not, why, so.\\r\\n VALENTINE. If it please me, madam, what then?\\r\\n SILVIA. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour.\\r\\n And so good morrow, servant. Exit SILVIA\\r\\n SPEED. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible,\\r\\n As a nose on a man\\'s face, or a weathercock on a steeple!\\r\\n My master sues to her; and she hath taught her suitor,\\r\\n He being her pupil, to become her tutor.\\r\\n O excellent device! Was there ever heard a better,\\r\\n That my master, being scribe, to himself should write the letter?\\r\\n VALENTINE. How now, sir! What are you reasoning with yourself?\\r\\n SPEED. Nay, I was rhyming: \\'tis you that have the reason.\\r\\n VALENTINE. To do what?\\r\\n SPEED. To be a spokesman from Madam Silvia?\\r\\n VALENTINE. To whom?\\r\\n SPEED. To yourself; why, she woos you by a figure.\\r\\n VALENTINE. What figure?\\r\\n SPEED. By a letter, I should say.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, she hath not writ to me.\\r\\n SPEED. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself?\\r\\n Why, do you not perceive the jest?\\r\\n VALENTINE. No, believe me.\\r\\n SPEED. No believing you indeed, sir. But did you perceive her\\r\\n earnest?\\r\\n VALENTINE. She gave me none except an angry word.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, she hath given you a letter.\\r\\n VALENTINE. That\\'s the letter I writ to her friend.\\r\\n SPEED. And that letter hath she deliver\\'d, and there an end.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I would it were no worse.\\r\\n SPEED. I\\'ll warrant you \\'tis as well.\\r\\n \\'For often have you writ to her; and she, in modesty,\\r\\n Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply;\\r\\n Or fearing else some messenger that might her mind discover,\\r\\n Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.\\'\\r\\n All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. Why muse you,\\r\\n sir? \\'Tis dinner time.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I have din\\'d.\\r\\n SPEED. Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can feed on\\r\\n the air, I am one that am nourish\\'d by my victuals, and would\\r\\n fain have meat. O, be not like your mistress! Be moved, be moved.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Verona. JULIA\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PROTEUS and JULIA\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Have patience, gentle Julia.\\r\\n JULIA. I must, where is no remedy.\\r\\n PROTEUS. When possibly I can, I will return.\\r\\n JULIA. If you turn not, you will return the sooner.\\r\\n Keep this remembrance for thy Julia\\'s sake.\\r\\n [Giving a ring]\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, then, we\\'ll make exchange. Here, take you this.\\r\\n JULIA. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Here is my hand for my true constancy;\\r\\n And when that hour o\\'erslips me in the day\\r\\n Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake,\\r\\n The next ensuing hour some foul mischance\\r\\n Torment me for my love\\'s forgetfulness!\\r\\n My father stays my coming; answer not;\\r\\n The tide is now- nay, not thy tide of tears:\\r\\n That tide will stay me longer than I should.\\r\\n Julia, farewell! Exit JULIA\\r\\n What, gone without a word?\\r\\n Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak;\\r\\n For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PANTHINO\\r\\n\\r\\n PANTHINO. Sir Proteus, you are stay\\'d for.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go; I come, I come.\\r\\n Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Verona. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter LAUNCE, leading a dog\\r\\n\\r\\n LAUNCE. Nay, \\'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping; all the\\r\\n kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have receiv\\'d my\\r\\n proportion, like the Prodigious Son, and am going with Sir Proteus to\\r\\n the Imperial\\'s court. I think Crab my dog be the sourest-natured dog\\r\\n that lives: my mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying,\\r\\n our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a\\r\\n great perplexity; yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear.\\r\\n He is a stone, a very pebble stone, and has no more pity in him than\\r\\n a dog. A Jew would have wept to have seen our parting; why, my\\r\\n grandam having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting.\\r\\n Nay, I\\'ll show you the manner of it. This shoe is my father; no, this\\r\\n left shoe is my father; no, no, left shoe is my mother; nay, that\\r\\n cannot be so neither; yes, it is so, it is so, it hath the worser\\r\\n sole. This shoe with the hole in it is my mother, and this my father.\\r\\n A vengeance on \\'t! There \\'tis. Now, sir, this staff is my sister,\\r\\n for, look you, she is as white as a lily and as small as a wand; this\\r\\n hat is Nan our maid; I am the dog; no, the dog is himself, and I am\\r\\n the dog- O, the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so, so. Now come I to\\r\\n my father: \\'Father, your blessing.\\' Now should not the shoe speak a\\r\\n word for weeping; now should I kiss my father; well, he weeps on. Now\\r\\n come I to my mother. O that she could speak now like a wood woman!\\r\\n Well, I kiss her- why there \\'tis; here\\'s my mother\\'s breath up and\\r\\n down. Now come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes. Now the dog\\r\\n all this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word; but see how I lay\\r\\n the dust with my tears.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PANTHINO\\r\\n\\r\\n PANTHINO. Launce, away, away, aboard! Thy master is shipp\\'d, and\\r\\n thou art to post after with oars. What\\'s the matter? Why weep\\'st\\r\\n thou, man? Away, ass! You\\'ll lose the tide if you tarry any\\r\\n longer.\\r\\n LAUNCE. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the\\r\\n unkindest tied that ever any man tied.\\r\\n PANTHINO. What\\'s the unkindest tide?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, he that\\'s tied here, Crab, my dog.\\r\\n PANTHINO. Tut, man, I mean thou\\'lt lose the flood, and, in losing\\r\\n the flood, lose thy voyage, and, in losing thy voyage, lose thy\\r\\n master, and, in losing thy master, lose thy service, and, in\\r\\n losing thy service- Why dost thou stop my mouth?\\r\\n LAUNCE. For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue.\\r\\n PANTHINO. Where should I lose my tongue?\\r\\n LAUNCE. In thy tale.\\r\\n PANTHINO. In thy tail!\\r\\n LAUNCE. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the\\r\\n service, and the tied! Why, man, if the river were dry, I am able\\r\\n to fill it with my tears; if the wind were down, I could drive\\r\\n the boat with my sighs.\\r\\n PANTHINO. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Sir, call me what thou dar\\'st.\\r\\n PANTHINO. Will thou go?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Well, I will go. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SILVIA, VALENTINE, THURIO, and SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n SILVIA. Servant!\\r\\n VALENTINE. Mistress?\\r\\n SPEED. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, boy, it\\'s for love.\\r\\n SPEED. Not of you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Of my mistress, then.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Twere good you knock\\'d him. Exit\\r\\n SILVIA. Servant, you are sad.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Indeed, madam, I seem so.\\r\\n THURIO. Seem you that you are not?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Haply I do.\\r\\n THURIO. So do counterfeits.\\r\\n VALENTINE. So do you.\\r\\n THURIO. What seem I that I am not?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Wise.\\r\\n THURIO. What instance of the contrary?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Your folly.\\r\\n THURIO. And how quote you my folly?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I quote it in your jerkin.\\r\\n THURIO. My jerkin is a doublet.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Well, then, I\\'ll double your folly.\\r\\n THURIO. How?\\r\\n SILVIA. What, angry, Sir Thurio! Do you change colour?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of chameleon.\\r\\n THURIO. That hath more mind to feed on your blood than live in your\\r\\n air.\\r\\n VALENTINE. You have said, sir.\\r\\n THURIO. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin.\\r\\n SILVIA. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off.\\r\\n VALENTINE. \\'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver.\\r\\n SILVIA. Who is that, servant?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire. Sir Thurio\\r\\n borrows his wit from your ladyship\\'s looks, and spends what he\\r\\n borrows kindly in your company.\\r\\n THURIO. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your\\r\\n wit bankrupt.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I know it well, sir; you have an exchequer of words,\\r\\n and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers; for it\\r\\n appears by their bare liveries that they live by your bare words.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUKE\\r\\n\\r\\n SILVIA. No more, gentlemen, no more. Here comes my father.\\r\\n DUKE. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset.\\r\\n Sir Valentine, your father is in good health.\\r\\n What say you to a letter from your friends\\r\\n Of much good news?\\r\\n VALENTINE. My lord, I will be thankful\\r\\n To any happy messenger from thence.\\r\\n DUKE. Know ye Don Antonio, your countryman?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman\\r\\n To be of worth and worthy estimation,\\r\\n And not without desert so well reputed.\\r\\n DUKE. Hath he not a son?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord; a son that well deserves\\r\\n The honour and regard of such a father.\\r\\n DUKE. You know him well?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I knew him as myself; for from our infancy\\r\\n We have convers\\'d and spent our hours together;\\r\\n And though myself have been an idle truant,\\r\\n Omitting the sweet benefit of time\\r\\n To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection,\\r\\n Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that\\'s his name,\\r\\n Made use and fair advantage of his days:\\r\\n His years but young, but his experience old;\\r\\n His head unmellowed, but his judgment ripe;\\r\\n And, in a word, for far behind his worth\\r\\n Comes all the praises that I now bestow,\\r\\n He is complete in feature and in mind,\\r\\n With all good grace to grace a gentleman.\\r\\n DUKE. Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good,\\r\\n He is as worthy for an empress\\' love\\r\\n As meet to be an emperor\\'s counsellor.\\r\\n Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me\\r\\n With commendation from great potentates,\\r\\n And here he means to spend his time awhile.\\r\\n I think \\'tis no unwelcome news to you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Should I have wish\\'d a thing, it had been he.\\r\\n DUKE. Welcome him, then, according to his worth-\\r\\n Silvia, I speak to you, and you, Sir Thurio;\\r\\n For Valentine, I need not cite him to it.\\r\\n I will send him hither to you presently. Exit DUKE\\r\\n VALENTINE. This is the gentleman I told your ladyship\\r\\n Had come along with me but that his mistresss\\r\\n Did hold his eyes lock\\'d in her crystal looks.\\r\\n SILVIA. Belike that now she hath enfranchis\\'d them\\r\\n Upon some other pawn for fealty.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still.\\r\\n SILVIA. Nay, then, he should be blind; and, being blind,\\r\\n How could he see his way to seek out you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes.\\r\\n THURIO. They say that Love hath not an eye at all.\\r\\n VALENTINE. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself;\\r\\n Upon a homely object Love can wink. Exit THURIO\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n SILVIA. Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Welcome, dear Proteus! Mistress, I beseech you\\r\\n Confirm his welcome with some special favour.\\r\\n SILVIA. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither,\\r\\n If this be he you oft have wish\\'d to hear from.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Mistress, it is; sweet lady, entertain him\\r\\n To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship.\\r\\n SILVIA. Too low a mistress for so high a servant.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant\\r\\n To have a look of such a worthy mistress.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Leave off discourse of disability;\\r\\n Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.\\r\\n PROTEUS. My duty will I boast of, nothing else.\\r\\n SILVIA. And duty never yet did want his meed.\\r\\n Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress.\\r\\n PROTEUS. I\\'ll die on him that says so but yourself.\\r\\n SILVIA. That you are welcome?\\r\\n PROTEUS. That you are worthless.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter THURIO\\r\\n\\r\\n THURIO. Madam, my lord your father would speak with you.\\r\\n SILVIA. I wait upon his pleasure. Come, Sir Thurio,\\r\\n Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome.\\r\\n I\\'ll leave you to confer of home affairs;\\r\\n When you have done we look to hear from you.\\r\\n PROTEUS. We\\'ll both attend upon your ladyship.\\r\\n Exeunt SILVIA and THURIO\\r\\n VALENTINE. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Your friends are well, and have them much commended.\\r\\n VALENTINE. And how do yours?\\r\\n PROTEUS. I left them all in health.\\r\\n VALENTINE. How does your lady, and how thrives your love?\\r\\n PROTEUS. My tales of love were wont to weary you;\\r\\n I know you joy not in a love-discourse.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter\\'d now;\\r\\n I have done penance for contemning Love,\\r\\n Whose high imperious thoughts have punish\\'d me\\r\\n With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,\\r\\n With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs;\\r\\n For, in revenge of my contempt of love,\\r\\n Love hath chas\\'d sleep from my enthralled eyes\\r\\n And made them watchers of mine own heart\\'s sorrow.\\r\\n O gentle Proteus, Love\\'s a mighty lord,\\r\\n And hath so humbled me as I confess\\r\\n There is no woe to his correction,\\r\\n Nor to his service no such joy on earth.\\r\\n Now no discourse, except it be of love;\\r\\n Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep,\\r\\n Upon the very naked name of love.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye.\\r\\n Was this the idol that you worship so?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint?\\r\\n PROTEUS. No; but she is an earthly paragon.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Call her divine.\\r\\n PROTEUS. I will not flatter her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. O, flatter me; for love delights in praises!\\r\\n PROTEUS. When I was sick you gave me bitter pills,\\r\\n And I must minister the like to you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Then speak the truth by her; if not divine,\\r\\n Yet let her be a principality,\\r\\n Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Except my mistress.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Sweet, except not any;\\r\\n Except thou wilt except against my love.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Have I not reason to prefer mine own?\\r\\n VALENTINE. And I will help thee to prefer her too:\\r\\n She shall be dignified with this high honour-\\r\\n To bear my lady\\'s train, lest the base earth\\r\\n Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss\\r\\n And, of so great a favour growing proud,\\r\\n Disdain to root the summer-swelling flow\\'r\\r\\n And make rough winter everlastingly.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Pardon me, Proteus; all I can is nothing\\r\\n To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing;\\r\\n She is alone.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Then let her alone.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Not for the world! Why, man, she is mine own;\\r\\n And I as rich in having such a jewel\\r\\n As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,\\r\\n The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.\\r\\n Forgive me that I do not dream on thee,\\r\\n Because thou seest me dote upon my love.\\r\\n My foolish rival, that her father likes\\r\\n Only for his possessions are so huge,\\r\\n Is gone with her along; and I must after,\\r\\n For love, thou know\\'st, is full of jealousy.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But she loves you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, and we are betroth\\'d; nay more, our marriage-hour,\\r\\n With all the cunning manner of our flight,\\r\\n Determin\\'d of- how I must climb her window,\\r\\n The ladder made of cords, and all the means\\r\\n Plotted and \\'greed on for my happiness.\\r\\n Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber,\\r\\n In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go on before; I shall enquire you forth;\\r\\n I must unto the road to disembark\\r\\n Some necessaries that I needs must use;\\r\\n And then I\\'ll presently attend you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Will you make haste?\\r\\n PROTEUS. I will. Exit VALENTINE\\r\\n Even as one heat another heat expels\\r\\n Or as one nail by strength drives out another,\\r\\n So the remembrance of my former love\\r\\n Is by a newer object quite forgotten.\\r\\n Is it my mind, or Valentinus\\' praise,\\r\\n Her true perfection, or my false transgression,\\r\\n That makes me reasonless to reason thus?\\r\\n She is fair; and so is Julia that I love-\\r\\n That I did love, for now my love is thaw\\'d;\\r\\n Which like a waxen image \\'gainst a fire\\r\\n Bears no impression of the thing it was.\\r\\n Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold,\\r\\n And that I love him not as I was wont.\\r\\n O! but I love his lady too too much,\\r\\n And that\\'s the reason I love him so little.\\r\\n How shall I dote on her with more advice\\r\\n That thus without advice begin to love her!\\r\\n \\'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,\\r\\n And that hath dazzled my reason\\'s light;\\r\\n But when I look on her perfections,\\r\\n There is no reason but I shall be blind.\\r\\n If I can check my erring love, I will;\\r\\n If not, to compass her I\\'ll use my skill. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Milan. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SPEED and LAUNCE severally\\r\\n\\r\\n SPEED. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Padua.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not welcome. I\\r\\n reckon this always, that a man is never undone till he be hang\\'d,\\r\\n nor never welcome to a place till some certain shot be paid, and\\r\\n the hostess say \\'Welcome!\\'\\r\\n SPEED. Come on, you madcap; I\\'ll to the alehouse with you\\r\\n presently; where, for one shot of five pence, thou shalt have\\r\\n five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part with\\r\\n Madam Julia?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Marry, after they clos\\'d in earnest, they parted very\\r\\n fairly in jest.\\r\\n SPEED. But shall she marry him?\\r\\n LAUNCE. No.\\r\\n SPEED. How then? Shall he marry her?\\r\\n LAUNCE. No, neither.\\r\\n SPEED. What, are they broken?\\r\\n LAUNCE. No, they are both as whole as a fish.\\r\\n SPEED. Why then, how stands the matter with them?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Marry, thus: when it stands well with him, it stands well\\r\\n with her.\\r\\n SPEED. What an ass art thou! I understand thee not.\\r\\n LAUNCE. What a block art thou that thou canst not! My staff\\r\\n understands me.\\r\\n SPEED. What thou say\\'st?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Ay, and what I do too; look thee, I\\'ll but lean, and my\\r\\n staff understands me.\\r\\n SPEED. It stands under thee, indeed.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one.\\r\\n SPEED. But tell me true, will\\'t be a match?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Ask my dog. If he say ay, it will; if he say no, it will;\\r\\n if he shake his tail and say nothing, it will.\\r\\n SPEED. The conclusion is, then, that it will.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but by a\\r\\n parable.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how say\\'st thou\\r\\n that my master is become a notable lover?\\r\\n LAUNCE. I never knew him otherwise.\\r\\n SPEED. Than how?\\r\\n LAUNCE. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistak\\'st me.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, fool, I meant not thee, I meant thy master.\\r\\n SPEED. I tell thee my master is become a hot lover.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, I tell thee I care not though he burn himself in love.\\r\\n If thou wilt, go with me to the alehouse; if not, thou art an\\r\\n Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian.\\r\\n SPEED. Why?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Because thou hast not so much charity in thee as to go to\\r\\n the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go?\\r\\n SPEED. At thy service. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Milan. The DUKE\\'s palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn;\\r\\n To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn;\\r\\n To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn;\\r\\n And ev\\'n that pow\\'r which gave me first my oath\\r\\n Provokes me to this threefold perjury:\\r\\n Love bade me swear, and Love bids me forswear.\\r\\n O sweet-suggesting Love, if thou hast sinn\\'d,\\r\\n Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it!\\r\\n At first I did adore a twinkling star,\\r\\n But now I worship a celestial sun.\\r\\n Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken;\\r\\n And he wants wit that wants resolved will\\r\\n To learn his wit t\\' exchange the bad for better.\\r\\n Fie, fie, unreverend tongue, to call her bad\\r\\n Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr\\'d\\r\\n With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths!\\r\\n I cannot leave to love, and yet I do;\\r\\n But there I leave to love where I should love.\\r\\n Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose;\\r\\n If I keep them, I needs must lose myself;\\r\\n If I lose them, thus find I by their loss:\\r\\n For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia.\\r\\n I to myself am dearer than a friend;\\r\\n For love is still most precious in itself;\\r\\n And Silvia- witness heaven, that made her fair!-\\r\\n Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.\\r\\n I will forget that Julia is alive,\\r\\n Rememb\\'ring that my love to her is dead;\\r\\n And Valentine I\\'ll hold an enemy,\\r\\n Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend.\\r\\n I cannot now prove constant to myself\\r\\n Without some treachery us\\'d to Valentine.\\r\\n This night he meaneth with a corded ladder\\r\\n To climb celestial Silvia\\'s chamber window,\\r\\n Myself in counsel, his competitor.\\r\\n Now presently I\\'ll give her father notice\\r\\n Of their disguising and pretended flight,\\r\\n Who, all enrag\\'d, will banish Valentine,\\r\\n For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter;\\r\\n But, Valentine being gone, I\\'ll quickly cross\\r\\n By some sly trick blunt Thurio\\'s dull proceeding.\\r\\n Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift,\\r\\n As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. Verona. JULIA\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter JULIA and LUCETTA\\r\\n\\r\\n JULIA. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me;\\r\\n And, ev\\'n in kind love, I do conjure thee,\\r\\n Who art the table wherein all my thoughts\\r\\n Are visibly character\\'d and engrav\\'d,\\r\\n To lesson me and tell me some good mean\\r\\n How, with my honour, I may undertake\\r\\n A journey to my loving Proteus.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Alas, the way is wearisome and long!\\r\\n JULIA. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary\\r\\n To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps;\\r\\n Much less shall she that hath Love\\'s wings to fly,\\r\\n And when the flight is made to one so dear,\\r\\n Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Better forbear till Proteus make return.\\r\\n JULIA. O, know\\'st thou not his looks are my soul\\'s food?\\r\\n Pity the dearth that I have pined in\\r\\n By longing for that food so long a time.\\r\\n Didst thou but know the inly touch of love.\\r\\n Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow\\r\\n As seek to quench the fire of love with words.\\r\\n LUCETTA. I do not seek to quench your love\\'s hot fire,\\r\\n But qualify the fire\\'s extreme rage,\\r\\n Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.\\r\\n JULIA. The more thou dam\\'st it up, the more it burns.\\r\\n The current that with gentle murmur glides,\\r\\n Thou know\\'st, being stopp\\'d, impatiently doth rage;\\r\\n But when his fair course is not hindered,\\r\\n He makes sweet music with th\\' enamell\\'d stones,\\r\\n Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge\\r\\n He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;\\r\\n And so by many winding nooks he strays,\\r\\n With willing sport, to the wild ocean.\\r\\n Then let me go, and hinder not my course.\\r\\n I\\'ll be as patient as a gentle stream,\\r\\n And make a pastime of each weary step,\\r\\n Till the last step have brought me to my love;\\r\\n And there I\\'ll rest as, after much turmoil,\\r\\n A blessed soul doth in Elysium.\\r\\n LUCETTA. But in what habit will you go along?\\r\\n JULIA. Not like a woman, for I would prevent\\r\\n The loose encounters of lascivious men;\\r\\n Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds\\r\\n As may beseem some well-reputed page.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Why then, your ladyship must cut your hair.\\r\\n JULIA. No, girl; I\\'ll knit it up in silken strings\\r\\n With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots-\\r\\n To be fantastic may become a youth\\r\\n Of greater time than I shall show to be.\\r\\n LUCETTA. What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches?\\r\\n JULIA. That fits as well as \\'Tell me, good my lord,\\r\\n What compass will you wear your farthingale.\\'\\r\\n Why ev\\'n what fashion thou best likes, Lucetta.\\r\\n LUCETTA. You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam.\\r\\n JULIA. Out, out, Lucetta, that will be ill-favour\\'d.\\r\\n LUCETTA. A round hose, madam, now\\'s not worth a pin,\\r\\n Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on.\\r\\n JULIA. Lucetta, as thou lov\\'st me, let me have\\r\\n What thou think\\'st meet, and is most mannerly.\\r\\n But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me\\r\\n For undertaking so unstaid a journey?\\r\\n I fear me it will make me scandaliz\\'d.\\r\\n LUCETTA. If you think so, then stay at home and go not.\\r\\n JULIA. Nay, that I will not.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Then never dream on infamy, but go.\\r\\n If Proteus like your journey when you come,\\r\\n No matter who\\'s displeas\\'d when you are gone.\\r\\n I fear me he will scarce be pleas\\'d withal.\\r\\n JULIA. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear:\\r\\n A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears,\\r\\n And instances of infinite of love,\\r\\n Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.\\r\\n LUCETTA. All these are servants to deceitful men.\\r\\n JULIA. Base men that use them to so base effect!\\r\\n But truer stars did govern Proteus\\' birth;\\r\\n His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles,\\r\\n His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate,\\r\\n His tears pure messengers sent from his heart,\\r\\n His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Pray heav\\'n he prove so when you come to him.\\r\\n JULIA. Now, as thou lov\\'st me, do him not that wrong\\r\\n To bear a hard opinion of his truth;\\r\\n Only deserve my love by loving him.\\r\\n And presently go with me to my chamber,\\r\\n To take a note of what I stand in need of\\r\\n To furnish me upon my longing journey.\\r\\n All that is mine I leave at thy dispose,\\r\\n My goods, my lands, my reputation;\\r\\n Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence.\\r\\n Come, answer not, but to it presently;\\r\\n I am impatient of my tarriance. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile;\\r\\n We have some secrets to confer about. Exit THURIO\\r\\n Now tell me, Proteus, what\\'s your will with me?\\r\\n PROTEUS. My gracious lord, that which I would discover\\r\\n The law of friendship bids me to conceal;\\r\\n But, when I call to mind your gracious favours\\r\\n Done to me, undeserving as I am,\\r\\n My duty pricks me on to utter that\\r\\n Which else no worldly good should draw from me.\\r\\n Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend,\\r\\n This night intends to steal away your daughter;\\r\\n Myself am one made privy to the plot.\\r\\n I know you have determin\\'d to bestow her\\r\\n On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;\\r\\n And should she thus be stol\\'n away from you,\\r\\n It would be much vexation to your age.\\r\\n Thus, for my duty\\'s sake, I rather chose\\r\\n To cross my friend in his intended drift\\r\\n Than, by concealing it, heap on your head\\r\\n A pack of sorrows which would press you down,\\r\\n Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.\\r\\n DUKE. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care,\\r\\n Which to requite, command me while I live.\\r\\n This love of theirs myself have often seen,\\r\\n Haply when they have judg\\'d me fast asleep,\\r\\n And oftentimes have purpos\\'d to forbid\\r\\n Sir Valentine her company and my court;\\r\\n But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err\\r\\n And so, unworthily, disgrace the man,\\r\\n A rashness that I ever yet have shunn\\'d,\\r\\n I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find\\r\\n That which thyself hast now disclos\\'d to me.\\r\\n And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this,\\r\\n Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,\\r\\n I nightly lodge her in an upper tow\\'r,\\r\\n The key whereof myself have ever kept;\\r\\n And thence she cannot be convey\\'d away.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Know, noble lord, they have devis\\'d a mean\\r\\n How he her chamber window will ascend\\r\\n And with a corded ladder fetch her down;\\r\\n For which the youthful lover now is gone,\\r\\n And this way comes he with it presently;\\r\\n Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.\\r\\n But, good my lord, do it so cunningly\\r\\n That my discovery be not aimed at;\\r\\n For love of you, not hate unto my friend,\\r\\n Hath made me publisher of this pretence.\\r\\n DUKE. Upon mine honour, he shall never know\\r\\n That I had any light from thee of this.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Adieu, my lord; Sir Valentine is coming. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter VALENTINE\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Please it your Grace, there is a messenger\\r\\n That stays to bear my letters to my friends,\\r\\n And I am going to deliver them.\\r\\n DUKE. Be they of much import?\\r\\n VALENTINE. The tenour of them doth but signify\\r\\n My health and happy being at your court.\\r\\n DUKE. Nay then, no matter; stay with me awhile;\\r\\n I am to break with thee of some affairs\\r\\n That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret.\\r\\n \\'Tis not unknown to thee that I have sought\\r\\n To match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the match\\r\\n Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman\\r\\n Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities\\r\\n Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter.\\r\\n Cannot your grace win her to fancy him?\\r\\n DUKE. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward,\\r\\n Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty;\\r\\n Neither regarding that she is my child\\r\\n Nor fearing me as if I were her father;\\r\\n And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers,\\r\\n Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her;\\r\\n And, where I thought the remnant of mine age\\r\\n Should have been cherish\\'d by her childlike duty,\\r\\n I now am full resolv\\'d to take a wife\\r\\n And turn her out to who will take her in.\\r\\n Then let her beauty be her wedding-dow\\'r;\\r\\n For me and my possessions she esteems not.\\r\\n VALENTINE. What would your Grace have me to do in this?\\r\\n DUKE. There is a lady, in Verona here,\\r\\n Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy,\\r\\n And nought esteems my aged eloquence.\\r\\n Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor-\\r\\n For long agone I have forgot to court;\\r\\n Besides, the fashion of the time is chang\\'d-\\r\\n How and which way I may bestow myself\\r\\n To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words:\\r\\n Dumb jewels often in their silent kind\\r\\n More than quick words do move a woman\\'s mind.\\r\\n DUKE. But she did scorn a present that I sent her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. A woman sometime scorns what best contents her.\\r\\n Send her another; never give her o\\'er,\\r\\n For scorn at first makes after-love the more.\\r\\n If she do frown, \\'tis not in hate of you,\\r\\n But rather to beget more love in you;\\r\\n If she do chide, \\'tis not to have you gone,\\r\\n For why, the fools are mad if left alone.\\r\\n Take no repulse, whatever she doth say;\\r\\n For \\'Get you gone\\' she doth not mean \\'Away!\\'\\r\\n Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces;\\r\\n Though ne\\'er so black, say they have angels\\' faces.\\r\\n That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man,\\r\\n If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.\\r\\n DUKE. But she I mean is promis\\'d by her friends\\r\\n Unto a youthful gentleman of worth;\\r\\n And kept severely from resort of men,\\r\\n That no man hath access by day to her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why then I would resort to her by night.\\r\\n DUKE. Ay, but the doors be lock\\'d and keys kept safe,\\r\\n That no man hath recourse to her by night.\\r\\n VALENTINE. What lets but one may enter at her window?\\r\\n DUKE. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground,\\r\\n And built so shelving that one cannot climb it\\r\\n Without apparent hazard of his life.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why then a ladder, quaintly made of cords,\\r\\n To cast up with a pair of anchoring hooks,\\r\\n Would serve to scale another Hero\\'s tow\\'r,\\r\\n So bold Leander would adventure it.\\r\\n DUKE. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood,\\r\\n Advise me where I may have such a ladder.\\r\\n VALENTINE. When would you use it? Pray, sir, tell me that.\\r\\n DUKE. This very night; for Love is like a child,\\r\\n That longs for everything that he can come by.\\r\\n VALENTINE. By seven o\\'clock I\\'ll get you such a ladder.\\r\\n DUKE. But, hark thee; I will go to her alone;\\r\\n How shall I best convey the ladder thither?\\r\\n VALENTINE. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it\\r\\n Under a cloak that is of any length.\\r\\n DUKE. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Then let me see thy cloak.\\r\\n I\\'ll get me one of such another length.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?\\r\\n I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.\\r\\n What letter is this same? What\\'s here? \\'To Silvia\\'!\\r\\n And here an engine fit for my proceeding!\\r\\n I\\'ll be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads]\\r\\n \\'My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly,\\r\\n And slaves they are to me, that send them flying.\\r\\n O, could their master come and go as lightly,\\r\\n Himself would lodge where, senseless, they are lying!\\r\\n My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them,\\r\\n While I, their king, that thither them importune,\\r\\n Do curse the grace that with such grace hath blest them,\\r\\n Because myself do want my servants\\' fortune.\\r\\n I curse myself, for they are sent by me,\\r\\n That they should harbour where their lord should be.\\'\\r\\n What\\'s here?\\r\\n \\'Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee.\\'\\r\\n \\'Tis so; and here\\'s the ladder for the purpose.\\r\\n Why, Phaethon- for thou art Merops\\' son-\\r\\n Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car,\\r\\n And with thy daring folly burn the world?\\r\\n Wilt thou reach stars because they shine on thee?\\r\\n Go, base intruder, over-weening slave,\\r\\n Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates;\\r\\n And think my patience, more than thy desert,\\r\\n Is privilege for thy departure hence.\\r\\n Thank me for this more than for all the favours\\r\\n Which, all too much, I have bestow\\'d on thee.\\r\\n But if thou linger in my territories\\r\\n Longer than swiftest expedition\\r\\n Will give thee time to leave our royal court,\\r\\n By heaven! my wrath shall far exceed the love\\r\\n I ever bore my daughter or thyself.\\r\\n Be gone; I will not hear thy vain excuse,\\r\\n But, as thou lov\\'st thy life, make speed from hence. Exit\\r\\n VALENTINE. And why not death rather than living torment?\\r\\n To die is to be banish\\'d from myself,\\r\\n And Silvia is myself; banish\\'d from her\\r\\n Is self from self, a deadly banishment.\\r\\n What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?\\r\\n What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by?\\r\\n Unless it be to think that she is by,\\r\\n And feed upon the shadow of perfection.\\r\\n Except I be by Silvia in the night,\\r\\n There is no music in the nightingale;\\r\\n Unless I look on Silvia in the day,\\r\\n There is no day for me to look upon.\\r\\n She is my essence, and I leave to be\\r\\n If I be not by her fair influence\\r\\n Foster\\'d, illumin\\'d, cherish\\'d, kept alive.\\r\\n I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom:\\r\\n Tarry I here, I but attend on death;\\r\\n But fly I hence, I fly away from life.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Run, boy, run, run, seek him out.\\r\\n LAUNCE. So-ho, so-ho!\\r\\n PROTEUS. What seest thou?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Him we go to find: there\\'s not a hair on \\'s head but \\'tis a\\r\\n Valentine.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Valentine?\\r\\n VALENTINE. No.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Who then? his spirit?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Neither.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What then?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Nothing.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Who wouldst thou strike?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Nothing.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Villain, forbear.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, sir, I\\'ll strike nothing. I pray you-\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, a word.\\r\\n VALENTINE. My ears are stopp\\'d and cannot hear good news,\\r\\n So much of bad already hath possess\\'d them.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine,\\r\\n For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Is Silvia dead?\\r\\n PROTEUS. No, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia.\\r\\n Hath she forsworn me?\\r\\n PROTEUS. No, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me.\\r\\n What is your news?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished.\\r\\n PROTEUS. That thou art banished- O, that\\'s the news!-\\r\\n From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend.\\r\\n VALENTINE. O, I have fed upon this woe already,\\r\\n And now excess of it will make me surfeit.\\r\\n Doth Silvia know that I am banished?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ay, ay; and she hath offered to the doom-\\r\\n Which, unrevers\\'d, stands in effectual force-\\r\\n A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears;\\r\\n Those at her father\\'s churlish feet she tender\\'d;\\r\\n With them, upon her knees, her humble self,\\r\\n Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them\\r\\n As if but now they waxed pale for woe.\\r\\n But neither bended knees, pure hands held up,\\r\\n Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears,\\r\\n Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire-\\r\\n But Valentine, if he be ta\\'en, must die.\\r\\n Besides, her intercession chaf\\'d him so,\\r\\n When she for thy repeal was suppliant,\\r\\n That to close prison he commanded her,\\r\\n With many bitter threats of biding there.\\r\\n VALENTINE. No more; unless the next word that thou speak\\'st\\r\\n Have some malignant power upon my life:\\r\\n If so, I pray thee breathe it in mine ear,\\r\\n As ending anthem of my endless dolour.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help,\\r\\n And study help for that which thou lament\\'st.\\r\\n Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.\\r\\n Here if thou stay thou canst not see thy love;\\r\\n Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life.\\r\\n Hope is a lover\\'s staff; walk hence with that,\\r\\n And manage it against despairing thoughts.\\r\\n Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence,\\r\\n Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver\\'d\\r\\n Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love.\\r\\n The time now serves not to expostulate.\\r\\n Come, I\\'ll convey thee through the city gate;\\r\\n And, ere I part with thee, confer at large\\r\\n Of all that may concern thy love affairs.\\r\\n As thou lov\\'st Silvia, though not for thyself,\\r\\n Regard thy danger, and along with me.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy,\\r\\n Bid him make haste and meet me at the Northgate.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. O my dear Silvia! Hapless Valentine!\\r\\n Exeunt VALENTINE and PROTEUS\\r\\n LAUNCE. I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have the wit to think\\r\\n my master is a kind of a knave; but that\\'s all one if he be but\\r\\n one knave. He lives not now that knows me to be in love; yet I am\\r\\n in love; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me; nor\\r\\n who \\'tis I love; and yet \\'tis a woman; but what woman I will not\\r\\n tell myself; and yet \\'tis a milkmaid; yet \\'tis not a maid, for\\r\\n she hath had gossips; yet \\'tis a maid, for she is her master\\'s\\r\\n maid and serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a\\r\\n water-spaniel- which is much in a bare Christian. Here is the\\r\\n cate-log [Pulling out a paper] of her condition. \\'Inprimis: She\\r\\n can fetch and carry.\\' Why, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse\\r\\n cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore is she better than a\\r\\n jade. \\'Item: She can milk.\\' Look you, a sweet virtue in a maid\\r\\n with clean hands.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n SPEED. How now, Signior Launce! What news with your mastership?\\r\\n LAUNCE. With my master\\'s ship? Why, it is at sea.\\r\\n SPEED. Well, your old vice still: mistake the word. What news,\\r\\n then, in your paper?\\r\\n LAUNCE. The black\\'st news that ever thou heard\\'st.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, man? how black?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, as black as ink.\\r\\n SPEED. Let me read them.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Fie on thee, jolt-head; thou canst not read.\\r\\n SPEED. Thou liest; I can.\\r\\n LAUNCE. I will try thee. Tell me this: Who begot thee?\\r\\n SPEED. Marry, the son of my grandfather.\\r\\n LAUNCE. O illiterate loiterer. It was the son of thy grandmother.\\r\\n This proves that thou canst not read.\\r\\n SPEED. Come, fool, come; try me in thy paper.\\r\\n LAUNCE. [Handing over the paper] There; and Saint Nicholas be thy\\r\\n speed.\\r\\n SPEED. [Reads] \\'Inprimis: She can milk.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Ay, that she can.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She brews good ale.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. And thereof comes the proverb: Blessing of your heart, you\\r\\n brew good ale.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She can sew.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. That\\'s as much as to say \\'Can she so?\\'\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She can knit.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when she can\\r\\n knit him a stock.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She can wash and scour.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. A special virtue; for then she need not be wash\\'d and\\r\\n scour\\'d.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She can spin.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can spin for\\r\\n her living.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath many nameless virtues.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. That\\'s as much as to say \\'bastard virtues\\'; that indeed\\r\\n know not their fathers, and therefore have no names.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Here follow her vices.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Close at the heels of her virtues.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is not to be kiss\\'d fasting, in respect of her\\r\\n breath.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast.\\r\\n Read on.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath a sweet mouth.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. That makes amends for her sour breath.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She doth talk in her sleep.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. It\\'s no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is slow in words.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. O villain, that set this down among her vices! To be slow\\r\\n in words is a woman\\'s only virtue. I pray thee, out with\\'t; and\\r\\n place it for her chief virtue.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is proud.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Out with that too; it was Eve\\'s legacy, and cannot be ta\\'en\\r\\n from her.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath no teeth.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. I care not for that neither, because I love crusts.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is curst.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She will often praise her liquor.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. If her liquor be good, she shall; if she will not, I will;\\r\\n for good things should be praised.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is too liberal.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Of her tongue she cannot, for that\\'s writ down she is slow\\r\\n of; of her purse she shall not, for that I\\'ll keep shut. Now of\\r\\n another thing she may, and that cannot I help. Well, proceed.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath more hair than wit, and more faults\\r\\n than hairs, and more wealth than faults.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Stop there; I\\'ll have her; she was mine, and not mine,\\r\\n twice or thrice in that last article. Rehearse that once more.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath more hair than wit\\'-\\r\\n LAUNCE. More hair than wit. It may be; I\\'ll prove it: the cover of\\r\\n the salt hides the salt, and therefore it is more than the salt;\\r\\n the hair that covers the wit is more than the wit, for the\\r\\n greater hides the less. What\\'s next?\\r\\n SPEED. \\'And more faults than hairs\\'-\\r\\n LAUNCE. That\\'s monstrous. O that that were out!\\r\\n SPEED. \\'And more wealth than faults.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well, I\\'ll have\\r\\n her; an if it be a match, as nothing is impossible-\\r\\n SPEED. What then?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, then will I tell thee- that thy master stays for thee\\r\\n at the Northgate.\\r\\n SPEED. For me?\\r\\n LAUNCE. For thee! ay, who art thou? He hath stay\\'d for a better man\\r\\n than thee.\\r\\n SPEED. And must I go to him?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Thou must run to him, for thou hast stay\\'d so long that\\r\\n going will scarce serve the turn.\\r\\n SPEED. Why didst not tell me sooner? Pox of your love letters!\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n LAUNCE. Now will he be swing\\'d for reading my letter. An unmannerly\\r\\n slave that will thrust himself into secrets! I\\'ll after, to\\r\\n rejoice in the boy\\'s correction. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE and THURIO\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you\\r\\n Now Valentine is banish\\'d from her sight.\\r\\n THURIO. Since his exile she hath despis\\'d me most,\\r\\n Forsworn my company and rail\\'d at me,\\r\\n That I am desperate of obtaining her.\\r\\n DUKE. This weak impress of love is as a figure\\r\\n Trenched in ice, which with an hour\\'s heat\\r\\n Dissolves to water and doth lose his form.\\r\\n A little time will melt her frozen thoughts,\\r\\n And worthless Valentine shall be forgot.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, Sir Proteus! Is your countryman,\\r\\n According to our proclamation, gone?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Gone, my good lord.\\r\\n DUKE. My daughter takes his going grievously.\\r\\n PROTEUS. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief.\\r\\n DUKE. So I believe; but Thurio thinks not so.\\r\\n Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee-\\r\\n For thou hast shown some sign of good desert-\\r\\n Makes me the better to confer with thee.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Longer than I prove loyal to your Grace\\r\\n Let me not live to look upon your Grace.\\r\\n DUKE. Thou know\\'st how willingly I would effect\\r\\n The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter.\\r\\n PROTEUS. I do, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant\\r\\n How she opposes her against my will.\\r\\n PROTEUS. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here.\\r\\n DUKE. Ay, and perversely she persevers so.\\r\\n What might we do to make the girl forget\\r\\n The love of Valentine, and love Sir Thurio?\\r\\n PROTEUS. The best way is to slander Valentine\\r\\n With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent-\\r\\n Three things that women highly hold in hate.\\r\\n DUKE. Ay, but she\\'ll think that it is spoke in hate.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ay, if his enemy deliver it;\\r\\n Therefore it must with circumstance be spoken\\r\\n By one whom she esteemeth as his friend.\\r\\n DUKE. Then you must undertake to slander him.\\r\\n PROTEUS. And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do:\\r\\n \\'Tis an ill office for a gentleman,\\r\\n Especially against his very friend.\\r\\n DUKE. Where your good word cannot advantage him,\\r\\n Your slander never can endamage him;\\r\\n Therefore the office is indifferent,\\r\\n Being entreated to it by your friend.\\r\\n PROTEUS. You have prevail\\'d, my lord; if I can do it\\r\\n By aught that I can speak in his dispraise,\\r\\n She shall not long continue love to him.\\r\\n But say this weed her love from Valentine,\\r\\n It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio.\\r\\n THURIO. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him,\\r\\n Lest it should ravel and be good to none,\\r\\n You must provide to bottom it on me;\\r\\n Which must be done by praising me as much\\r\\n As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine.\\r\\n DUKE. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind,\\r\\n Because we know, on Valentine\\'s report,\\r\\n You are already Love\\'s firm votary\\r\\n And cannot soon revolt and change your mind.\\r\\n Upon this warrant shall you have access\\r\\n Where you with Silvia may confer at large-\\r\\n For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy,\\r\\n And, for your friend\\'s sake, will be glad of you-\\r\\n Where you may temper her by your persuasion\\r\\n To hate young Valentine and love my friend.\\r\\n PROTEUS. As much as I can do I will effect.\\r\\n But you, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough;\\r\\n You must lay lime to tangle her desires\\r\\n By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes\\r\\n Should be full-fraught with serviceable vows.\\r\\n DUKE. Ay,\\r\\n Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Say that upon the altar of her beauty\\r\\n You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart;\\r\\n Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears\\r\\n Moist it again, and frame some feeling line\\r\\n That may discover such integrity;\\r\\n For Orpheus\\' lute was strung with poets\\' sinews,\\r\\n Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,\\r\\n Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans\\r\\n Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.\\r\\n After your dire-lamenting elegies,\\r\\n Visit by night your lady\\'s chamber window\\r\\n With some sweet consort; to their instruments\\r\\n Tune a deploring dump- the night\\'s dead silence\\r\\n Will well become such sweet-complaining grievance.\\r\\n This, or else nothing, will inherit her.\\r\\n DUKE. This discipline shows thou hast been in love.\\r\\n THURIO. And thy advice this night I\\'ll put in practice;\\r\\n Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver,\\r\\n Let us into the city presently\\r\\n To sort some gentlemen well skill\\'d in music.\\r\\n I have a sonnet that will serve the turn\\r\\n To give the onset to thy good advice.\\r\\n DUKE. About it, gentlemen!\\r\\n PROTEUS. We\\'ll wait upon your Grace till after supper,\\r\\n And afterward determine our proceedings.\\r\\n DUKE. Even now about it! I will pardon you. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I. The frontiers of Mantua. A forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter certain OUTLAWS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Fellows, stand fast; I see a passenger.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter VALENTINE and SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about ye;\\r\\n If not, we\\'ll make you sit, and rifle you.\\r\\n SPEED. Sir, we are undone; these are the villains\\r\\n That all the travellers do fear so much.\\r\\n VALENTINE. My friends-\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. That\\'s not so, sir; we are your enemies.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Peace! we\\'ll hear him.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. Ay, by my beard, will we; for he is a proper man.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Then know that I have little wealth to lose;\\r\\n A man I am cross\\'d with adversity;\\r\\n My riches are these poor habiliments,\\r\\n Of which if you should here disfurnish me,\\r\\n You take the sum and substance that I have.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Whither travel you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. To Verona.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Whence came you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. From Milan.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. Have you long sojourn\\'d there?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Some sixteen months, and longer might have stay\\'d,\\r\\n If crooked fortune had not thwarted me.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. What, were you banish\\'d thence?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I was.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. For what offence?\\r\\n VALENTINE. For that which now torments me to rehearse:\\r\\n I kill\\'d a man, whose death I much repent;\\r\\n But yet I slew him manfully in fight,\\r\\n Without false vantage or base treachery.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Why, ne\\'er repent it, if it were done so.\\r\\n But were you banish\\'d for so small a fault?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I was, and held me glad of such a doom.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Have you the tongues?\\r\\n VALENTINE. My youthful travel therein made me happy,\\r\\n Or else I often had been miserable.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood\\'s fat friar,\\r\\n This fellow were a king for our wild faction!\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. We\\'ll have him. Sirs, a word.\\r\\n SPEED. Master, be one of them; it\\'s an honourable kind of thievery.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Peace, villain!\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Tell us this: have you anything to take to?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Nothing but my fortune.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. Know, then, that some of us are gentlemen,\\r\\n Such as the fury of ungovern\\'d youth\\r\\n Thrust from the company of awful men;\\r\\n Myself was from Verona banished\\r\\n For practising to steal away a lady,\\r\\n An heir, and near allied unto the Duke.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman\\r\\n Who, in my mood, I stabb\\'d unto the heart.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. And I for such-like petty crimes as these.\\r\\n But to the purpose- for we cite our faults\\r\\n That they may hold excus\\'d our lawless lives;\\r\\n And, partly, seeing you are beautified\\r\\n With goodly shape, and by your own report\\r\\n A linguist, and a man of such perfection\\r\\n As we do in our quality much want-\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Indeed, because you are a banish\\'d man,\\r\\n Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you.\\r\\n Are you content to be our general-\\r\\n To make a virtue of necessity,\\r\\n And live as we do in this wilderness?\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. What say\\'st thou? Wilt thou be of our consort?\\r\\n Say \\'ay\\' and be the captain of us all.\\r\\n We\\'ll do thee homage, and be rul\\'d by thee,\\r\\n Love thee as our commander and our king.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. But if thou scorn our courtesy thou diest.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offer\\'d.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I take your offer, and will live with you,\\r\\n Provided that you do no outrages\\r\\n On silly women or poor passengers.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. No, we detest such vile base practices.\\r\\n Come, go with us; we\\'ll bring thee to our crews,\\r\\n And show thee all the treasure we have got;\\r\\n Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Milan. Outside the DUKE\\'S palace, under SILVIA\\'S window\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Already have I been false to Valentine,\\r\\n And now I must be as unjust to Thurio.\\r\\n Under the colour of commending him\\r\\n I have access my own love to prefer;\\r\\n But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy,\\r\\n To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.\\r\\n When I protest true loyalty to her,\\r\\n She twits me with my falsehood to my friend;\\r\\n When to her beauty I commend my vows,\\r\\n She bids me think how I have been forsworn\\r\\n In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov\\'d;\\r\\n And notwithstanding all her sudden quips,\\r\\n The least whereof would quell a lover\\'s hope,\\r\\n Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love\\r\\n The more it grows and fawneth on her still.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter THURIO and MUSICIANS\\r\\n\\r\\n But here comes Thurio. Now must we to her window,\\r\\n And give some evening music to her ear.\\r\\n THURIO. How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept before us?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ay, gentle Thurio; for you know that love\\r\\n Will creep in service where it cannot go.\\r\\n THURIO. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence.\\r\\n THURIO. Who? Silvia?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ay, Silvia- for your sake.\\r\\n THURIO. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen,\\r\\n Let\\'s tune, and to it lustily awhile.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter at a distance, HOST, and JULIA in boy\\'s clothes\\r\\n\\r\\n HOST. Now, my young guest, methinks you\\'re allycholly; I pray you,\\r\\n why is it?\\r\\n JULIA. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry.\\r\\n HOST. Come, we\\'ll have you merry; I\\'ll bring you where you shall\\r\\n hear music, and see the gentleman that you ask\\'d for.\\r\\n JULIA. But shall I hear him speak?\\r\\n HOST. Ay, that you shall. [Music plays]\\r\\n JULIA. That will be music.\\r\\n HOST. Hark, hark!\\r\\n JULIA. Is he among these?\\r\\n HOST. Ay; but peace! let\\'s hear \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\n SONG\\r\\n Who is Silvia? What is she,\\r\\n That all our swains commend her?\\r\\n Holy, fair, and wise is she;\\r\\n The heaven such grace did lend her,\\r\\n That she might admired be.\\r\\n\\r\\n Is she kind as she is fair?\\r\\n For beauty lives with kindness.\\r\\n Love doth to her eyes repair,\\r\\n To help him of his blindness;\\r\\n And, being help\\'d, inhabits there.\\r\\n\\r\\n Then to Silvia let us sing\\r\\n That Silvia is excelling;\\r\\n She excels each mortal thing\\r\\n Upon the dull earth dwelling.\\r\\n \\'To her let us garlands bring.\\r\\n\\r\\n HOST. How now, are you sadder than you were before?\\r\\n How do you, man? The music likes you not.\\r\\n JULIA. You mistake; the musician likes me not.\\r\\n HOST. Why, my pretty youth?\\r\\n JULIA. He plays false, father.\\r\\n HOST. How, out of tune on the strings?\\r\\n JULIA. Not so; but yet so false that he grieves my very\\r\\n heart-strings.\\r\\n HOST. You have a quick ear.\\r\\n JULIA. Ay, I would I were deaf; it makes me have a slow heart.\\r\\n HOST. I perceive you delight not in music.\\r\\n JULIA. Not a whit, when it jars so.\\r\\n HOST. Hark, what fine change is in the music!\\r\\n JULIA. Ay, that change is the spite.\\r\\n HOST. You would have them always play but one thing?\\r\\n JULIA. I would always have one play but one thing.\\r\\n But, Host, doth this Sir Proteus, that we talk on,\\r\\n Often resort unto this gentlewoman?\\r\\n HOST. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me: he lov\\'d her out of\\r\\n all nick.\\r\\n JULIA. Where is Launce?\\r\\n HOST. Gone to seek his dog, which to-morrow, by his master\\'s\\r\\n command, he must carry for a present to his lady.\\r\\n JULIA. Peace, stand aside; the company parts.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sir Thurio, fear not you; I will so plead\\r\\n That you shall say my cunning drift excels.\\r\\n THURIO. Where meet we?\\r\\n PROTEUS. At Saint Gregory\\'s well.\\r\\n THURIO. Farewell. Exeunt THURIO and MUSICIANS\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA above, at her window\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Madam, good ev\\'n to your ladyship.\\r\\n SILVIA. I thank you for your music, gentlemen.\\r\\n Who is that that spake?\\r\\n PROTEUS. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart\\'s truth,\\r\\n You would quickly learn to know him by his voice.\\r\\n SILVIA. Sir Proteus, as I take it.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant.\\r\\n SILVIA. What\\'s your will?\\r\\n PROTEUS. That I may compass yours.\\r\\n SILVIA. You have your wish; my will is even this,\\r\\n That presently you hie you home to bed.\\r\\n Thou subtle, perjur\\'d, false, disloyal man,\\r\\n Think\\'st thou I am so shallow, so conceitless,\\r\\n To be seduced by thy flattery\\r\\n That hast deceiv\\'d so many with thy vows?\\r\\n Return, return, and make thy love amends.\\r\\n For me, by this pale queen of night I swear,\\r\\n I am so far from granting thy request\\r\\n That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit,\\r\\n And by and by intend to chide myself\\r\\n Even for this time I spend in talking to thee.\\r\\n PROTEUS. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady;\\r\\n But she is dead.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] \\'Twere false, if I should speak it;\\r\\n For I am sure she is not buried.\\r\\n SILVIA. Say that she be; yet Valentine, thy friend,\\r\\n Survives, to whom, thyself art witness,\\r\\n I am betroth\\'d; and art thou not asham\\'d\\r\\n To wrong him with thy importunacy?\\r\\n PROTEUS. I likewise hear that Valentine is dead.\\r\\n SILVIA. And so suppose am I; for in his grave\\r\\n Assure thyself my love is buried.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth.\\r\\n SILVIA. Go to thy lady\\'s grave, and call hers thence;\\r\\n Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] He heard not that.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate,\\r\\n Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love,\\r\\n The picture that is hanging in your chamber;\\r\\n To that I\\'ll speak, to that I\\'ll sigh and weep;\\r\\n For, since the substance of your perfect self\\r\\n Is else devoted, I am but a shadow;\\r\\n And to your shadow will I make true love.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] If \\'twere a substance, you would, sure, deceive it\\r\\n And make it but a shadow, as I am.\\r\\n SILVIA. I am very loath to be your idol, sir;\\r\\n But since your falsehood shall become you well\\r\\n To worship shadows and adore false shapes,\\r\\n Send to me in the morning, and I\\'ll send it;\\r\\n And so, good rest.\\r\\n PROTEUS. As wretches have o\\'ernight\\r\\n That wait for execution in the morn.\\r\\n Exeunt PROTEUS and SILVIA\\r\\n JULIA. Host, will you go?\\r\\n HOST. By my halidom, I was fast asleep.\\r\\n JULIA. Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus?\\r\\n HOST. Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think \\'tis almost day.\\r\\n JULIA. Not so; but it hath been the longest night\\r\\n That e\\'er I watch\\'d, and the most heaviest. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Under SILVIA\\'S window\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter EGLAMOUR\\r\\n\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. This is the hour that Madam Silvia\\r\\n Entreated me to call and know her mind;\\r\\n There\\'s some great matter she\\'d employ me in.\\r\\n Madam, madam!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA above, at her window\\r\\n\\r\\n SILVIA. Who calls?\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. Your servant and your friend;\\r\\n One that attends your ladyship\\'s command.\\r\\n SILVIA. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow!\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. As many, worthy lady, to yourself!\\r\\n According to your ladyship\\'s impose,\\r\\n I am thus early come to know what service\\r\\n It is your pleasure to command me in.\\r\\n SILVIA. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman-\\r\\n Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not-\\r\\n Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplish\\'d.\\r\\n Thou art not ignorant what dear good will\\r\\n I bear unto the banish\\'d Valentine;\\r\\n Nor how my father would enforce me marry\\r\\n Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhors.\\r\\n Thyself hast lov\\'d; and I have heard thee say\\r\\n No grief did ever come so near thy heart\\r\\n As when thy lady and thy true love died,\\r\\n Upon whose grave thou vow\\'dst pure chastity.\\r\\n Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine,\\r\\n To Mantua, where I hear he makes abode;\\r\\n And, for the ways are dangerous to pass,\\r\\n I do desire thy worthy company,\\r\\n Upon whose faith and honour I repose.\\r\\n Urge not my father\\'s anger, Eglamour,\\r\\n But think upon my grief, a lady\\'s grief,\\r\\n And on the justice of my flying hence\\r\\n To keep me from a most unholy match,\\r\\n Which heaven and fortune still rewards with plagues.\\r\\n I do desire thee, even from a heart\\r\\n As full of sorrows as the sea of sands,\\r\\n To bear me company and go with me;\\r\\n If not, to hide what I have said to thee,\\r\\n That I may venture to depart alone.\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. Madam, I pity much your grievances;\\r\\n Which since I know they virtuously are plac\\'d,\\r\\n I give consent to go along with you,\\r\\n Recking as little what betideth me\\r\\n As much I wish all good befortune you.\\r\\n When will you go?\\r\\n SILVIA. This evening coming.\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. Where shall I meet you?\\r\\n SILVIA. At Friar Patrick\\'s cell,\\r\\n Where I intend holy confession.\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. I will not fail your ladyship. Good morrow, gentle lady.\\r\\n SILVIA. Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Under SILVIA\\'S Window\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter LAUNCE with his dog\\r\\n\\r\\n LAUNCE. When a man\\'s servant shall play the cur with him, look you,\\r\\n it goes hard- one that I brought up of a puppy; one that I sav\\'d from\\r\\n drowning, when three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went\\r\\n to it. I have taught him, even as one would say precisely \\'Thus I\\r\\n would teach a dog.\\' I was sent to deliver him as a present to\\r\\n Mistress Silvia from my master; and I came no sooner into the\\r\\n dining-chamber, but he steps me to her trencher and steals her\\r\\n capon\\'s leg. O, \\'tis a foul thing when a cur cannot keep himself in\\r\\n all companies! I would have, as one should say, one that takes upon\\r\\n him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all things. If I\\r\\n had not had more wit than he, to take a fault upon me that he did, I\\r\\n think verily he had been hang\\'d for\\'t; sure as I live, he had\\r\\n suffer\\'d for\\'t. You shall judge. He thrusts me himself into the\\r\\n company of three or four gentleman-like dogs under the Duke\\'s table;\\r\\n he had not been there, bless the mark, a pissing while but all the\\r\\n chamber smelt him. \\'Out with the dog\\' says one; \\'What cur is that?\\'\\r\\n says another; \\'Whip him out\\' says the third; \\'Hang him up\\' says the\\r\\n Duke. I, having been acquainted with the smell before, knew it was\\r\\n Crab, and goes me to the fellow that whips the dogs. \\'Friend,\\' quoth\\r\\n I \\'you mean to whip the dog.\\' \\'Ay, marry do I\\' quoth he. \\'You do him\\r\\n the more wrong,\\' quoth I; \"twas I did the thing you wot of.\\' He makes\\r\\n me no more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. How many masters\\r\\n would do this for his servant? Nay, I\\'ll be sworn, I have sat in the\\r\\n stock for puddings he hath stol\\'n, otherwise he had been executed; I\\r\\n have stood on the pillory for geese he hath kill\\'d, otherwise he had\\r\\n suffer\\'d for\\'t. Thou think\\'st not of this now. Nay, I remember the\\r\\n trick you serv\\'d me when I took my leave of Madam Silvia. Did not I\\r\\n bid thee still mark me and do as I do? When didst thou see me heave\\r\\n up my leg and make water against a gentlewoman\\'s farthingale? Didst\\r\\n thou ever see me do such a trick?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS, and JULIA in boy\\'s clothes\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well,\\r\\n And will employ thee in some service presently.\\r\\n JULIA. In what you please; I\\'ll do what I can.\\r\\n PROTEUS..I hope thou wilt. [To LAUNCE] How now, you whoreson\\r\\n peasant!\\r\\n Where have you been these two days loitering?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia the dog you bade me.\\r\\n PROTEUS. And what says she to my little jewel?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Marry, she says your dog was a cur, and tells you currish\\r\\n thanks is good enough for such a present.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But she receiv\\'d my dog?\\r\\n LAUNCE. No, indeed, did she not; here have I brought him back\\r\\n again.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What, didst thou offer her this from me?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Ay, sir; the other squirrel was stol\\'n from me by the\\r\\n hangman\\'s boys in the market-place; and then I offer\\'d her mine\\r\\n own, who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift\\r\\n the greater.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go, get thee hence and find my dog again,\\r\\n Or ne\\'er return again into my sight.\\r\\n Away, I say. Stayest thou to vex me here? Exit LAUNCE\\r\\n A slave that still an end turns me to shame!\\r\\n Sebastian, I have entertained thee\\r\\n Partly that I have need of such a youth\\r\\n That can with some discretion do my business,\\r\\n For \\'tis no trusting to yond foolish lout,\\r\\n But chiefly for thy face and thy behaviour,\\r\\n Which, if my augury deceive me not,\\r\\n Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth;\\r\\n Therefore, know thou, for this I entertain thee.\\r\\n Go presently, and take this ring with thee,\\r\\n Deliver it to Madam Silvia-\\r\\n She lov\\'d me well deliver\\'d it to me.\\r\\n JULIA. It seems you lov\\'d not her, to leave her token.\\r\\n She is dead, belike?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Not so; I think she lives.\\r\\n JULIA. Alas!\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why dost thou cry \\'Alas\\'?\\r\\n JULIA. I cannot choose\\r\\n But pity her.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Wherefore shouldst thou pity her?\\r\\n JULIA. Because methinks that she lov\\'d you as well\\r\\n As you do love your lady Silvia.\\r\\n She dreams on him that has forgot her love:\\r\\n You dote on her that cares not for your love.\\r\\n \\'Tis pity love should be so contrary;\\r\\n And thinking on it makes me cry \\'Alas!\\'\\r\\n PROTEUS. Well, give her that ring, and therewithal\\r\\n This letter. That\\'s her chamber. Tell my lady\\r\\n I claim the promise for her heavenly picture.\\r\\n Your message done, hie home unto my chamber,\\r\\n Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary. Exit PROTEUS\\r\\n JULIA. How many women would do such a message?\\r\\n Alas, poor Proteus, thou hast entertain\\'d\\r\\n A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs.\\r\\n Alas, poor fool, why do I pity him\\r\\n That with his very heart despiseth me?\\r\\n Because he loves her, he despiseth me;\\r\\n Because I love him, I must pity him.\\r\\n This ring I gave him, when he parted from me,\\r\\n To bind him to remember my good will;\\r\\n And now am I, unhappy messenger,\\r\\n To plead for that which I would not obtain,\\r\\n To carry that which I would have refus\\'d,\\r\\n To praise his faith, which I would have disprais\\'d.\\r\\n I am my master\\'s true confirmed love,\\r\\n But cannot be true servant to my master\\r\\n Unless I prove false traitor to myself.\\r\\n Yet will I woo for him, but yet so coldly\\r\\n As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA, attended\\r\\n\\r\\n Gentlewoman, good day! I pray you be my mean\\r\\n To bring me where to speak with Madam Silvia.\\r\\n SILVIA. What would you with her, if that I be she?\\r\\n JULIA. If you be she, I do entreat your patience\\r\\n To hear me speak the message I am sent on.\\r\\n SILVIA. From whom?\\r\\n JULIA. From my master, Sir Proteus, madam.\\r\\n SILVIA. O, he sends you for a picture?\\r\\n JULIA. Ay, madam.\\r\\n SILVIA. Ursula, bring my picture there.\\r\\n Go, give your master this. Tell him from me,\\r\\n One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget,\\r\\n Would better fit his chamber than this shadow.\\r\\n JULIA. Madam, please you peruse this letter.\\r\\n Pardon me, madam; I have unadvis\\'d\\r\\n Deliver\\'d you a paper that I should not.\\r\\n This is the letter to your ladyship.\\r\\n SILVIA. I pray thee let me look on that again.\\r\\n JULIA. It may not be; good madam, pardon me.\\r\\n SILVIA. There, hold!\\r\\n I will not look upon your master\\'s lines.\\r\\n I know they are stuff\\'d with protestations,\\r\\n And full of new-found oaths, which he wul break\\r\\n As easily as I do tear his paper.\\r\\n JULIA. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring.\\r\\n SILVIA. The more shame for him that he sends it me;\\r\\n For I have heard him say a thousand times\\r\\n His Julia gave it him at his departure.\\r\\n Though his false finger have profan\\'d the ring,\\r\\n Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong.\\r\\n JULIA. She thanks you.\\r\\n SILVIA. What say\\'st thou?\\r\\n JULIA. I thank you, madam, that you tender her.\\r\\n Poor gentlewoman, my master wrongs her much.\\r\\n SILVIA. Dost thou know her?\\r\\n JULIA. Almost as well as I do know myself.\\r\\n To think upon her woes, I do protest\\r\\n That I have wept a hundred several times.\\r\\n SILVIA. Belike she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her.\\r\\n JULIA. I think she doth, and that\\'s her cause of sorrow.\\r\\n SILVIA. Is she not passing fair?\\r\\n JULIA. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is.\\r\\n When she did think my master lov\\'d her well,\\r\\n She, in my judgment, was as fair as you;\\r\\n But since she did neglect her looking-glass\\r\\n And threw her sun-expelling mask away,\\r\\n The air hath starv\\'d the roses in her cheeks\\r\\n And pinch\\'d the lily-tincture of her face,\\r\\n That now she is become as black as I.\\r\\n SILVIA. How tall was she?\\r\\n JULIA. About my stature; for at Pentecost,\\r\\n When all our pageants of delight were play\\'d,\\r\\n Our youth got me to play the woman\\'s part,\\r\\n And I was trimm\\'d in Madam Julia\\'s gown;\\r\\n Which served me as fit, by all men\\'s judgments,\\r\\n As if the garment had been made for me;\\r\\n Therefore I know she is about my height.\\r\\n And at that time I made her weep a good,\\r\\n For I did play a lamentable part.\\r\\n Madam, \\'twas Ariadne passioning\\r\\n For Theseus\\' perjury and unjust flight;\\r\\n Which I so lively acted with my tears\\r\\n That my poor mistress, moved therewithal,\\r\\n Wept bitterly; and would I might be dead\\r\\n If I in thought felt not her very sorrow.\\r\\n SILVIA. She is beholding to thee, gentle youth.\\r\\n Alas, poor lady, desolate and left!\\r\\n I weep myself, to think upon thy words.\\r\\n Here, youth, there is my purse; I give thee this\\r\\n For thy sweet mistress\\' sake, because thou lov\\'st her.\\r\\n Farewell. Exit SILVIA with ATTENDANTS\\r\\n JULIA. And she shall thank you for\\'t, if e\\'er you know her.\\r\\n A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful!\\r\\n I hope my master\\'s suit will be but cold,\\r\\n Since she respects my mistress\\' love so much.\\r\\n Alas, how love can trifle with itself!\\r\\n Here is her picture; let me see. I think,\\r\\n If I had such a tire, this face of mine\\r\\n Were full as lovely as is this of hers;\\r\\n And yet the painter flatter\\'d her a little,\\r\\n Unless I flatter with myself too much.\\r\\n Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow;\\r\\n If that be all the difference in his love,\\r\\n I\\'ll get me such a colour\\'d periwig.\\r\\n Her eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine;\\r\\n Ay, but her forehead\\'s low, and mine\\'s as high.\\r\\n What should it be that he respects in her\\r\\n But I can make respective in myself,\\r\\n If this fond Love were not a blinded god?\\r\\n Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up,\\r\\n For \\'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form,\\r\\n Thou shalt be worshipp\\'d, kiss\\'d, lov\\'d, and ador\\'d!\\r\\n And were there sense in his idolatry\\r\\n My substance should be statue in thy stead.\\r\\n I\\'ll use thee kindly for thy mistress\\' sake,\\r\\n That us\\'d me so; or else, by Jove I vow,\\r\\n I should have scratch\\'d out your unseeing eyes,\\r\\n To make my master out of love with thee. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. Milan. An abbey\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter EGLAMOUR\\r\\n\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. The sun begins to gild the western sky,\\r\\n And now it is about the very hour\\r\\n That Silvia at Friar Patrick\\'s cell should meet me.\\r\\n She will not fail, for lovers break not hours\\r\\n Unless it be to come before their time,\\r\\n So much they spur their expedition.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA\\r\\n\\r\\n See where she comes. Lady, a happy evening!\\r\\n SILVIA. Amen, amen! Go on, good Eglamour,\\r\\n Out at the postern by the abbey wall;\\r\\n I fear I am attended by some spies.\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. Fear not. The forest is not three leagues off;\\r\\n If we recover that, we are sure enough. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter THURIO, PROTEUS, and JULIA as SEBASTIAN\\r\\n\\r\\n THURIO. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit?\\r\\n PROTEUS. O, sir, I find her milder than she was;\\r\\n And yet she takes exceptions at your person.\\r\\n THURIO. What, that my leg is too long?\\r\\n PROTEUS. No; that it is too little.\\r\\n THURIO. I\\'ll wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] But love will not be spurr\\'d to what it loathes.\\r\\n THURIO. What says she to my face?\\r\\n PROTEUS. She says it is a fair one.\\r\\n THURIO. Nay, then, the wanton lies; my face is black.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But pearls are fair; and the old saying is:\\r\\n Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies\\' eyes.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] \\'Tis true, such pearls as put out ladies\\' eyes;\\r\\n For I had rather wink than look on them.\\r\\n THURIO. How likes she my discourse?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ill, when you talk of war.\\r\\n THURIO. But well when I discourse of love and peace?\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] But better, indeed, when you hold your peace.\\r\\n THURIO. What says she to my valour?\\r\\n PROTEUS. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] She needs not, when she knows it cowardice.\\r\\n THURIO. What says she to my birth?\\r\\n PROTEUS. That you are well deriv\\'d.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] True; from a gentleman to a fool.\\r\\n THURIO. Considers she my possessions?\\r\\n PROTEUS. O, ay; and pities them.\\r\\n THURIO. Wherefore?\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] That such an ass should owe them.\\r\\n PROTEUS. That they are out by lease.\\r\\n JULIA. Here comes the Duke.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUKE\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. How now, Sir Proteus! how now, Thurio!\\r\\n Which of you saw Sir Eglamour of late?\\r\\n THURIO. Not I.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Nor I.\\r\\n DUKE. Saw you my daughter?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Neither.\\r\\n DUKE. Why then,\\r\\n She\\'s fled unto that peasant Valentine;\\r\\n And Eglamour is in her company.\\r\\n \\'Tis true; for Friar Lawrence met them both\\r\\n As he in penance wander\\'d through the forest;\\r\\n Him he knew well, and guess\\'d that it was she,\\r\\n But, being mask\\'d, he was not sure of it;\\r\\n Besides, she did intend confession\\r\\n At Patrick\\'s cell this even; and there she was not.\\r\\n These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence;\\r\\n Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse,\\r\\n But mount you presently, and meet with me\\r\\n Upon the rising of the mountain foot\\r\\n That leads toward Mantua, whither they are fled.\\r\\n Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. Exit\\r\\n THURIO. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl\\r\\n That flies her fortune when it follows her.\\r\\n I\\'ll after, more to be reveng\\'d on Eglamour\\r\\n Than for the love of reckless Silvia. Exit\\r\\n PROTEUS. And I will follow, more for Silvia\\'s love\\r\\n Than hate of Eglamour, that goes with her. Exit\\r\\n JULIA. And I will follow, more to cross that love\\r\\n Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The frontiers of Mantua. The forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter OUTLAWS with SILVA\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Come, come.\\r\\n Be patient; we must bring you to our captain.\\r\\n SILVIA. A thousand more mischances than this one\\r\\n Have learn\\'d me how to brook this patiently.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Come, bring her away.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Where is the gentleman that was with her?\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Being nimble-footed, he hath outrun us,\\r\\n But Moyses and Valerius follow him.\\r\\n Go thou with her to the west end of the wood;\\r\\n There is our captain; we\\'ll follow him that\\'s fled.\\r\\n The thicket is beset; he cannot \\'scape.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Come, I must bring you to our captain\\'s cave;\\r\\n Fear not; he bears an honourable mind,\\r\\n And will not use a woman lawlessly.\\r\\n SILVIA. O Valentine, this I endure for thee! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Another part of the forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter VALENTINE\\r\\n\\r\\n VALENTINE. How use doth breed a habit in a man!\\r\\n This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,\\r\\n I better brook than flourishing peopled towns.\\r\\n Here can I sit alone, unseen of any,\\r\\n And to the nightingale\\'s complaining notes\\r\\n Tune my distresses and record my woes.\\r\\n O thou that dost inhabit in my breast,\\r\\n Leave not the mansion so long tenantless,\\r\\n Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall\\r\\n And leave no memory of what it was!\\r\\n Repair me with thy presence, Silvia:\\r\\n Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain.\\r\\n What halloing and what stir is this to-day?\\r\\n These are my mates, that make their wills their law,\\r\\n Have some unhappy passenger in chase.\\r\\n They love me well; yet I have much to do\\r\\n To keep them from uncivil outrages.\\r\\n Withdraw thee, Valentine. Who\\'s this comes here?\\r\\n [Steps aside]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS, SILVIA, and JULIA as Sebastian\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Madam, this service I have done for you,\\r\\n Though you respect not aught your servant doth,\\r\\n To hazard life, and rescue you from him\\r\\n That would have forc\\'d your honour and your love.\\r\\n Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look;\\r\\n A smaller boon than this I cannot beg,\\r\\n And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give.\\r\\n VALENTINE. [Aside] How like a dream is this I see and hear!\\r\\n Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile.\\r\\n SILVIA. O miserable, unhappy that I am!\\r\\n PROTEUS. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came;\\r\\n But by my coming I have made you happy.\\r\\n SILVIA. By thy approach thou mak\\'st me most unhappy.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] And me, when he approacheth to your presence.\\r\\n SILVIA. Had I been seized by a hungry lion,\\r\\n I would have been a breakfast to the beast\\r\\n Rather than have false Proteus rescue me.\\r\\n O, heaven be judge how I love Valentine,\\r\\n Whose life\\'s as tender to me as my soul!\\r\\n And full as much, for more there cannot be,\\r\\n I do detest false, perjur\\'d Proteus.\\r\\n Therefore be gone; solicit me no more.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What dangerous action, stood it next to death,\\r\\n Would I not undergo for one calm look?\\r\\n O, \\'tis the curse in love, and still approv\\'d,\\r\\n When women cannot love where they\\'re belov\\'d!\\r\\n SILVIA. When Proteus cannot love where he\\'s belov\\'d!\\r\\n Read over Julia\\'s heart, thy first best love,\\r\\n For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith\\r\\n Into a thousand oaths; and all those oaths\\r\\n Descended into perjury, to love me.\\r\\n Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou\\'dst two,\\r\\n And that\\'s far worse than none; better have none\\r\\n Than plural faith, which is too much by one.\\r\\n Thou counterfeit to thy true friend!\\r\\n PROTEUS. In love,\\r\\n Who respects friend?\\r\\n SILVIA. All men but Proteus.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words\\r\\n Can no way change you to a milder form,\\r\\n I\\'ll woo you like a soldier, at arms\\' end,\\r\\n And love you \\'gainst the nature of love- force ye.\\r\\n SILVIA. O heaven!\\r\\n PROTEUS. I\\'ll force thee yield to my desire.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ruffian! let go that rude uncivil touch;\\r\\n Thou friend of an ill fashion!\\r\\n PROTEUS. Valentine!\\r\\n VALENTINE. Thou common friend, that\\'s without faith or love-\\r\\n For such is a friend now; treacherous man,\\r\\n Thou hast beguil\\'d my hopes; nought but mine eye\\r\\n Could have persuaded me. Now I dare not say\\r\\n I have one friend alive: thou wouldst disprove me.\\r\\n Who should be trusted, when one\\'s own right hand\\r\\n Is perjured to the bosom? Proteus,\\r\\n I am sorry I must never trust thee more,\\r\\n But count the world a stranger for thy sake.\\r\\n The private wound is deepest. O time most accurst!\\r\\n \\'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst!\\r\\n PROTEUS. My shame and guilt confounds me.\\r\\n Forgive me, Valentine; if hearty sorrow\\r\\n Be a sufficient ransom for offence,\\r\\n I tender \\'t here; I do as truly suffer\\r\\n As e\\'er I did commit.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Then I am paid;\\r\\n And once again I do receive thee honest.\\r\\n Who by repentance is not satisfied\\r\\n Is nor of heaven nor earth, for these are pleas\\'d;\\r\\n By penitence th\\' Eternal\\'s wrath\\'s appeas\\'d.\\r\\n And, that my love may appear plain and free,\\r\\n All that was mine in Silvia I give thee.\\r\\n JULIA. O me unhappy! [Swoons]\\r\\n PROTEUS. Look to the boy.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, boy! why, wag! how now!\\r\\n What\\'s the matter? Look up; speak.\\r\\n JULIA. O good sir, my master charg\\'d me to deliver a ring to Madam\\r\\n Silvia, which, out of my neglect, was never done.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Where is that ring, boy?\\r\\n JULIA. Here \\'tis; this is it.\\r\\n PROTEUS. How! let me see. Why, this is the ring I gave to Julia.\\r\\n JULIA. O, cry you mercy, sir, I have mistook;\\r\\n This is the ring you sent to Silvia.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But how cam\\'st thou by this ring?\\r\\n At my depart I gave this unto Julia.\\r\\n JULIA. And Julia herself did give it me;\\r\\n And Julia herself have brought it hither.\\r\\n PROTEUS. How! Julia!\\r\\n JULIA. Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths,\\r\\n And entertain\\'d \\'em deeply in her heart.\\r\\n How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root!\\r\\n O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush!\\r\\n Be thou asham\\'d that I have took upon me\\r\\n Such an immodest raiment- if shame live\\r\\n In a disguise of love.\\r\\n It is the lesser blot, modesty finds,\\r\\n Women to change their shapes than men their minds.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Than men their minds! \\'tis true. O heaven, were man\\r\\n But constant, he were perfect! That one error\\r\\n Fills him with faults; makes him run through all th\\' sins:\\r\\n Inconstancy falls off ere it begins.\\r\\n What is in Silvia\\'s face but I may spy\\r\\n More fresh in Julia\\'s with a constant eye?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Come, come, a hand from either.\\r\\n Let me be blest to make this happy close;\\r\\n \\'Twere pity two such friends should be long foes.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish for ever.\\r\\n JULIA. And I mine.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter OUTLAWS, with DUKE and THURIO\\r\\n\\r\\n OUTLAW. A prize, a prize, a prize!\\r\\n VALENTINE. Forbear, forbear, I say; it is my lord the Duke.\\r\\n Your Grace is welcome to a man disgrac\\'d,\\r\\n Banished Valentine.\\r\\n DUKE. Sir Valentine!\\r\\n THURIO. Yonder is Silvia; and Silvia\\'s mine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death;\\r\\n Come not within the measure of my wrath;\\r\\n Do not name Silvia thine; if once again,\\r\\n Verona shall not hold thee. Here she stands\\r\\n Take but possession of her with a touch-\\r\\n I dare thee but to breathe upon my love.\\r\\n THURIO. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I;\\r\\n I hold him but a fool that will endanger\\r\\n His body for a girl that loves him not.\\r\\n I claim her not, and therefore she is thine.\\r\\n DUKE. The more degenerate and base art thou\\r\\n To make such means for her as thou hast done\\r\\n And leave her on such slight conditions.\\r\\n Now, by the honour of my ancestry,\\r\\n I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine,\\r\\n And think thee worthy of an empress\\' love.\\r\\n Know then, I here forget all former griefs,\\r\\n Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again,\\r\\n Plead a new state in thy unrivall\\'d merit,\\r\\n To which I thus subscribe: Sir Valentine,\\r\\n Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv\\'d;\\r\\n Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv\\'d her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I thank your Grace; the gift hath made me happy.\\r\\n I now beseech you, for your daughter\\'s sake,\\r\\n To grant one boon that I shall ask of you.\\r\\n DUKE. I grant it for thine own, whate\\'er it be.\\r\\n VALENTINE. These banish\\'d men, that I have kept withal,\\r\\n Are men endu\\'d with worthy qualities;\\r\\n Forgive them what they have committed here,\\r\\n And let them be recall\\'d from their exile:\\r\\n They are reformed, civil, full of good,\\r\\n And fit for great employment, worthy lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Thou hast prevail\\'d; I pardon them, and thee;\\r\\n Dispose of them as thou know\\'st their deserts.\\r\\n Come, let us go; we will include all jars\\r\\n With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity.\\r\\n VALENTINE. And, as we walk along, I dare be bold\\r\\n With our discourse to make your Grace to smile.\\r\\n What think you of this page, my lord?\\r\\n DUKE. I think the boy hath grace in him; he blushes.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I warrant you, my lord- more grace than boy.\\r\\n DUKE. What mean you by that saying?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Please you, I\\'ll tell you as we pass along,\\r\\n That you will wonder what hath fortuned.\\r\\n Come, Proteus, \\'tis your penance but to hear\\r\\n The story of your loves discovered.\\r\\n That done, our day of marriage shall be yours;\\r\\n One feast, one house, one mutual happiness! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN:\\r\\n\\r\\nPresented at the Blackfriers by the Kings Maiesties servants, with\\r\\ngreat applause:\\r\\n\\r\\nWritten by the memorable Worthies of their time;\\r\\n\\r\\nMr John Fletcher, Gent., and\\r\\nMr William Shakspeare, Gent.\\r\\n\\r\\nPrinted at London by Tho. Cotes, for John Waterson: and are to be sold\\r\\nat the signe of the Crowne in Pauls Church-yard. 1634.\\r\\n\\r\\n(The Persons represented in the Play.\\r\\n\\r\\nHymen,\\r\\nTheseus,\\r\\nHippolita, Bride to Theseus\\r\\nEmelia, Sister to Theseus\\r\\n[Emelia\\'s Woman],\\r\\nNymphs,\\r\\nThree Queens,\\r\\nThree valiant Knights,\\r\\nPalamon, and\\r\\nArcite, The two Noble Kinsmen, in love with fair Emelia\\r\\n[Valerius],\\r\\nPerithous,\\r\\n[A Herald],\\r\\n[A Gentleman],\\r\\n[A Messenger],\\r\\n[A Servant],\\r\\n[Wooer],\\r\\n[Keeper],\\r\\nJaylor,\\r\\nHis Daughter, in love with Palamon\\r\\n[His brother],\\r\\n[A Doctor],\\r\\n[4] Countreymen,\\r\\n[2 Friends of the Jaylor],\\r\\n[3 Knights],\\r\\n[Nel, and other]\\r\\nWenches,\\r\\nA Taborer,\\r\\nGerrold, A Schoolmaster.)\\r\\n\\r\\nPROLOGUE.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\nNew Playes, and Maydenheads, are neare a kin,\\r\\nMuch follow\\'d both, for both much mony g\\'yn,\\r\\nIf they stand sound, and well: And a good Play\\r\\n(Whose modest Sceanes blush on his marriage day,\\r\\nAnd shake to loose his honour) is like hir\\r\\nThat after holy Tye and first nights stir\\r\\nYet still is Modestie, and still retaines\\r\\nMore of the maid to sight, than Husbands paines;\\r\\nWe pray our Play may be so; For I am sure\\r\\nIt has a noble Breeder, and a pure,\\r\\nA learned, and a Poet never went\\r\\nMore famous yet twixt Po and silver Trent:\\r\\nChaucer (of all admir\\'d) the Story gives,\\r\\nThere constant to Eternity it lives.\\r\\nIf we let fall the Noblenesse of this,\\r\\nAnd the first sound this child heare, be a hisse,\\r\\nHow will it shake the bones of that good man,\\r\\nAnd make him cry from under ground, \\'O fan\\r\\nFrom me the witles chaffe of such a wrighter\\r\\nThat blastes my Bayes, and my fam\\'d workes makes lighter\\r\\nThen Robin Hood!\\' This is the feare we bring;\\r\\nFor to say Truth, it were an endlesse thing,\\r\\nAnd too ambitious, to aspire to him,\\r\\nWeake as we are, and almost breathlesse swim\\r\\nIn this deepe water. Do but you hold out\\r\\nYour helping hands, and we shall take about,\\r\\nAnd something doe to save us: You shall heare\\r\\nSceanes, though below his Art, may yet appeare\\r\\nWorth two houres travell. To his bones sweet sleepe:\\r\\nContent to you. If this play doe not keepe\\r\\nA little dull time from us, we perceave\\r\\nOur losses fall so thicke, we must needs leave. [Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (Athens. Before a temple.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Hymen with a Torch burning: a Boy, in a white Robe before\\r\\n singing, and strewing Flowres: After Hymen, a Nimph, encompast\\r\\nin\\r\\n her Tresses, bearing a wheaten Garland. Then Theseus betweene\\r\\n two other Nimphs with wheaten Chaplets on their heades. Then\\r\\n Hipolita the Bride, lead by Pirithous, and another holding a\\r\\n Garland over her head (her Tresses likewise hanging.) After\\r\\n her Emilia holding up her Traine. (Artesius and Attendants.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Song, [Musike.]\\r\\n\\r\\nRoses their sharpe spines being gon,\\r\\nNot royall in their smels alone,\\r\\nBut in their hew.\\r\\nMaiden Pinckes, of odour faint,\\r\\nDazies smel-lesse, yet most quaint\\r\\nAnd sweet Time true.\\r\\n\\r\\nPrim-rose first borne child of Ver,\\r\\nMerry Spring times Herbinger,\\r\\nWith her bels dimme.\\r\\nOxlips, in their Cradles growing,\\r\\nMary-golds, on death beds blowing,\\r\\nLarkes-heeles trymme.\\r\\n\\r\\nAll deere natures children sweete,\\r\\nLy fore Bride and Bridegroomes feete, [Strew Flowers.]\\r\\nBlessing their sence.\\r\\nNot an angle of the aire,\\r\\nBird melodious, or bird faire,\\r\\nIs absent hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Crow, the slaundrous Cuckoe, nor\\r\\nThe boding Raven, nor Chough hore\\r\\nNor chattring Pie,\\r\\nMay on our Bridehouse pearch or sing,\\r\\nOr with them any discord bring,\\r\\nBut from it fly.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter 3. Queenes in Blacke, with vailes staind, with imperiall\\r\\n Crownes. The 1. Queene fals downe at the foote of Theseus; The\\r\\n 2. fals downe at the foote of Hypolita. The 3. before Emilia.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nFor pitties sake and true gentilities,\\r\\nHeare, and respect me.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nFor your Mothers sake,\\r\\nAnd as you wish your womb may thrive with faire ones,\\r\\nHeare and respect me.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN\\r\\nNow for the love of him whom Iove hath markd\\r\\nThe honour of your Bed, and for the sake\\r\\nOf cleere virginity, be Advocate\\r\\nFor us, and our distresses. This good deede\\r\\nShall raze you out o\\'th Booke of Trespasses\\r\\nAll you are set downe there.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSad Lady, rise.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nStand up.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNo knees to me.\\r\\nWhat woman I may steed that is distrest,\\r\\nDoes bind me to her.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat\\'s your request? Deliver you for all.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nWe are 3. Queenes, whose Soveraignes fel before\\r\\nThe wrath of cruell Creon; who endured\\r\\nThe Beakes of Ravens, Tallents of the Kights,\\r\\nAnd pecks of Crowes, in the fowle feilds of Thebs.\\r\\nHe will not suffer us to burne their bones,\\r\\nTo urne their ashes, nor to take th\\' offence\\r\\nOf mortall loathsomenes from the blest eye\\r\\nOf holy Phoebus, but infects the windes\\r\\nWith stench of our slaine Lords. O pitty, Duke:\\r\\nThou purger of the earth, draw thy feard Sword\\r\\nThat does good turnes to\\'th world; give us the Bones\\r\\nOf our dead Kings, that we may Chappell them;\\r\\nAnd of thy boundles goodnes take some note\\r\\nThat for our crowned heades we have no roofe,\\r\\nSave this which is the Lyons, and the Beares,\\r\\nAnd vault to every thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nPray you, kneele not:\\r\\nI was transported with your Speech, and suffer\\'d\\r\\nYour knees to wrong themselves; I have heard the fortunes\\r\\nOf your dead Lords, which gives me such lamenting\\r\\nAs wakes my vengeance, and revenge for\\'em,\\r\\nKing Capaneus was your Lord: the day\\r\\nThat he should marry you, at such a season,\\r\\nAs now it is with me, I met your Groome,\\r\\nBy Marsis Altar; you were that time faire,\\r\\nNot Iunos Mantle fairer then your Tresses,\\r\\nNor in more bounty spread her. Your wheaten wreathe\\r\\nWas then nor threashd, nor blasted; Fortune at you\\r\\nDimpled her Cheeke with smiles: Hercules our kinesman\\r\\n(Then weaker than your eies) laide by his Club,\\r\\nHe tumbled downe upon his Nemean hide\\r\\nAnd swore his sinews thawd: O greife, and time,\\r\\nFearefull consumers, you will all devoure.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nO, I hope some God,\\r\\nSome God hath put his mercy in your manhood\\r\\nWhereto heel infuse powre, and presse you forth\\r\\nOur undertaker.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nO no knees, none, Widdow,\\r\\nVnto the Helmeted Belona use them,\\r\\nAnd pray for me your Souldier.\\r\\nTroubled I am. [turnes away.]\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nHonoured Hypolita,\\r\\nMost dreaded Amazonian, that hast slaine\\r\\nThe Sith-tuskd Bore; that with thy Arme as strong\\r\\nAs it is white, wast neere to make the male\\r\\nTo thy Sex captive, but that this thy Lord,\\r\\nBorne to uphold Creation in that honour\\r\\nFirst nature stilde it in, shrunke thee into\\r\\nThe bownd thou wast ore-flowing, at once subduing\\r\\nThy force, and thy affection: Soldiresse\\r\\nThat equally canst poize sternenes with pitty,\\r\\nWhom now I know hast much more power on him\\r\\nThen ever he had on thee, who ow\\'st his strength\\r\\nAnd his Love too, who is a Servant for\\r\\nThe Tenour of thy Speech: Deere Glasse of Ladies,\\r\\nBid him that we, whom flaming war doth scortch,\\r\\nVnder the shaddow of his Sword may coole us:\\r\\nRequire him he advance it ore our heades;\\r\\nSpeak\\'t in a womans key: like such a woman\\r\\nAs any of us three; weepe ere you faile;\\r\\nLend us a knee;\\r\\nBut touch the ground for us no longer time\\r\\nThen a Doves motion, when the head\\'s pluckt off:\\r\\nTell him if he i\\'th blood cizd field lay swolne,\\r\\nShowing the Sun his Teeth, grinning at the Moone,\\r\\nWhat you would doe.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nPoore Lady, say no more:\\r\\nI had as leife trace this good action with you\\r\\nAs that whereto I am going, and never yet\\r\\nWent I so willing way. My Lord is taken\\r\\nHart deepe with your distresse: Let him consider:\\r\\nIle speake anon.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nO my petition was [kneele to Emilia.]\\r\\nSet downe in yce, which by hot greefe uncandied\\r\\nMelts into drops, so sorrow, wanting forme,\\r\\nIs prest with deeper matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPray stand up,\\r\\nYour greefe is written in your cheeke.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nO woe,\\r\\nYou cannot reade it there, there through my teares—\\r\\nLike wrinckled peobles in a glassie streame\\r\\nYou may behold \\'em. Lady, Lady, alacke,\\r\\nHe that will all the Treasure know o\\'th earth\\r\\nMust know the Center too; he that will fish\\r\\nFor my least minnow, let him lead his line\\r\\nTo catch one at my heart. O pardon me:\\r\\nExtremity, that sharpens sundry wits,\\r\\nMakes me a Foole.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPray you say nothing, pray you:\\r\\nWho cannot feele nor see the raine, being in\\'t,\\r\\nKnowes neither wet nor dry: if that you were\\r\\nThe ground-peece of some Painter, I would buy you\\r\\nT\\'instruct me gainst a Capitall greefe indeed—\\r\\nSuch heart peirc\\'d demonstration; but, alas,\\r\\nBeing a naturall Sifter of our Sex\\r\\nYour sorrow beates so ardently upon me,\\r\\nThat it shall make a counter reflect gainst\\r\\nMy Brothers heart, and warme it to some pitty,\\r\\nThough it were made of stone: pray, have good comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nForward to\\'th Temple, leave not out a Iot\\r\\nO\\'th sacred Ceremony.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nO, This Celebration\\r\\nWill long last, and be more costly then\\r\\nYour Suppliants war: Remember that your Fame\\r\\nKnowles in the eare o\\'th world: what you doe quickly\\r\\nIs not done rashly; your first thought is more\\r\\nThen others laboured meditance: your premeditating\\r\\nMore then their actions: But, oh Iove! your actions,\\r\\nSoone as they mooves, as Asprayes doe the fish,\\r\\nSubdue before they touch: thinke, deere Duke, thinke\\r\\nWhat beds our slaine Kings have.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nWhat greifes our beds,\\r\\nThat our deere Lords have none.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nNone fit for \\'th dead:\\r\\nThose that with Cordes, Knives, drams precipitance,\\r\\nWeary of this worlds light, have to themselves\\r\\nBeene deathes most horrid Agents, humaine grace\\r\\nAffords them dust and shaddow.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nBut our Lords\\r\\nLy blistring fore the visitating Sunne,\\r\\nAnd were good Kings, when living.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nIt is true, and I will give you comfort,\\r\\nTo give your dead Lords graves: the which to doe,\\r\\nMust make some worke with Creon.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nAnd that worke presents it selfe to\\'th doing:\\r\\nNow twill take forme, the heates are gone to morrow.\\r\\nThen, booteles toyle must recompence it selfe\\r\\nWith it\\'s owne sweat; Now he\\'s secure,\\r\\nNot dreames we stand before your puissance\\r\\nWrinching our holy begging in our eyes\\r\\nTo make petition cleere.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nNow you may take him, drunke with his victory.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nAnd his Army full of Bread, and sloth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nArtesius, that best knowest\\r\\nHow to draw out fit to this enterprise\\r\\nThe prim\\'st for this proceeding, and the number\\r\\nTo carry such a businesse, forth and levy\\r\\nOur worthiest Instruments, whilst we despatch\\r\\nThis grand act of our life, this daring deede\\r\\nOf Fate in wedlocke.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nDowagers, take hands;\\r\\nLet us be Widdowes to our woes: delay\\r\\nCommends us to a famishing hope.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nFarewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nWe come unseasonably: But when could greefe\\r\\nCull forth, as unpanged judgement can, fit\\'st time\\r\\nFor best solicitation.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhy, good Ladies,\\r\\nThis is a service, whereto I am going,\\r\\nGreater then any was; it more imports me\\r\\nThen all the actions that I have foregone,\\r\\nOr futurely can cope.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nThe more proclaiming\\r\\nOur suit shall be neglected: when her Armes\\r\\nAble to locke Iove from a Synod, shall\\r\\nBy warranting Moone-light corslet thee, oh, when\\r\\nHer twyning Cherries shall their sweetnes fall\\r\\nVpon thy tastefull lips, what wilt thou thinke\\r\\nOf rotten Kings or blubberd Queenes, what care\\r\\nFor what thou feelst not? what thou feelst being able\\r\\nTo make Mars spurne his Drom. O, if thou couch\\r\\nBut one night with her, every howre in\\'t will\\r\\nTake hostage of thee for a hundred, and\\r\\nThou shalt remember nothing more then what\\r\\nThat Banket bids thee too.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nThough much unlike [Kneeling.]\\r\\nYou should be so transported, as much sorry\\r\\nI should be such a Suitour; yet I thinke,\\r\\nDid I not by th\\'abstayning of my joy,\\r\\nWhich breeds a deeper longing, cure their surfeit\\r\\nThat craves a present medcine, I should plucke\\r\\nAll Ladies scandall on me. Therefore, Sir,\\r\\nAs I shall here make tryall of my prayres,\\r\\nEither presuming them to have some force,\\r\\nOr sentencing for ay their vigour dombe:\\r\\nProrogue this busines we are going about, and hang\\r\\nYour Sheild afore your Heart, about that necke\\r\\nWhich is my ffee, and which I freely lend\\r\\nTo doe these poore Queenes service.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL QUEENS.\\r\\nOh helpe now,\\r\\nOur Cause cries for your knee.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIf you grant not [Kneeling.]\\r\\nMy Sister her petition in that force,\\r\\nWith that Celerity and nature, which\\r\\nShee makes it in, from henceforth ile not dare\\r\\nTo aske you any thing, nor be so hardy\\r\\nEver to take a Husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nPray stand up.\\r\\nI am entreating of my selfe to doe\\r\\nThat which you kneele to have me. Pyrithous,\\r\\nLeade on the Bride; get you and pray the Gods\\r\\nFor successe, and returne; omit not any thing\\r\\nIn the pretended Celebration. Queenes,\\r\\nFollow your Soldier. As before, hence you [to Artesius]\\r\\nAnd at the banckes of Aulis meete us with\\r\\nThe forces you can raise, where we shall finde\\r\\nThe moytie of a number, for a busines\\r\\nMore bigger look\\'t. Since that our Theame is haste,\\r\\nI stamp this kisse upon thy currant lippe;\\r\\nSweete, keepe it as my Token. Set you forward,\\r\\nFor I will see you gone. [Exeunt towards the Temple.]\\r\\nFarewell, my beauteous Sister: Pyrithous,\\r\\nKeepe the feast full, bate not an howre on\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nSir,\\r\\nIle follow you at heeles; The Feasts solempnity\\r\\nShall want till your returne.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nCosen, I charge you\\r\\nBoudge not from Athens; We shall be returning\\r\\nEre you can end this Feast, of which, I pray you,\\r\\nMake no abatement; once more, farewell all.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nThus do\\'st thou still make good the tongue o\\'th world.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nAnd earnst a Deity equal with Mars.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nIf not above him, for\\r\\nThou being but mortall makest affections bend\\r\\nTo Godlike honours; they themselves, some say,\\r\\nGrone under such a Mastry.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAs we are men,\\r\\nThus should we doe; being sensually subdude,\\r\\nWe loose our humane tytle. Good cheere, Ladies. [Florish.]\\r\\nNow turne we towards your Comforts. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (Thebs).\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon, and Arcite.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDeere Palamon, deerer in love then Blood\\r\\nAnd our prime Cosen, yet unhardned in\\r\\nThe Crimes of nature; Let us leave the Citty\\r\\nThebs, and the temptings in\\'t, before we further\\r\\nSully our glosse of youth:\\r\\nAnd here to keepe in abstinence we shame\\r\\nAs in Incontinence; for not to swim\\r\\nI\\'th aide o\\'th Current were almost to sincke,\\r\\nAt least to frustrate striving, and to follow\\r\\nThe common Streame, twold bring us to an Edy\\r\\nWhere we should turne or drowne; if labour through,\\r\\nOur gaine but life, and weakenes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYour advice\\r\\nIs cride up with example: what strange ruins\\r\\nSince first we went to Schoole, may we perceive\\r\\nWalking in Thebs? Skars, and bare weedes\\r\\nThe gaine o\\'th Martialist, who did propound\\r\\nTo his bold ends honour, and golden Ingots,\\r\\nWhich though he won, he had not, and now flurted\\r\\nBy peace for whom he fought: who then shall offer\\r\\nTo Marsis so scornd Altar? I doe bleede\\r\\nWhen such I meete, and wish great Iuno would\\r\\nResume her ancient fit of Ielouzie\\r\\nTo get the Soldier worke, that peace might purge\\r\\nFor her repletion, and retaine anew\\r\\nHer charitable heart now hard, and harsher\\r\\nThen strife or war could be.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nAre you not out?\\r\\nMeete you no ruine but the Soldier in\\r\\nThe Cranckes and turnes of Thebs? you did begin\\r\\nAs if you met decaies of many kindes:\\r\\nPerceive you none, that doe arowse your pitty\\r\\nBut th\\'un-considerd Soldier?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes, I pitty\\r\\nDecaies where ere I finde them, but such most\\r\\nThat, sweating in an honourable Toyle,\\r\\nAre paide with yce to coole \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTis not this\\r\\nI did begin to speake of: This is vertue\\r\\nOf no respect in Thebs; I spake of Thebs\\r\\nHow dangerous if we will keepe our Honours,\\r\\nIt is for our resyding, where every evill\\r\\nHath a good cullor; where eve\\'ry seeming good\\'s\\r\\nA certaine evill, where not to be ev\\'n Iumpe\\r\\nAs they are, here were to be strangers, and\\r\\nSuch things to be, meere Monsters.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTis in our power,\\r\\n(Vnlesse we feare that Apes can Tutor\\'s) to\\r\\nBe Masters of our manners: what neede I\\r\\nAffect anothers gate, which is not catching\\r\\nWhere there is faith, or to be fond upon\\r\\nAnothers way of speech, when by mine owne\\r\\nI may be reasonably conceiv\\'d; sav\\'d too,\\r\\nSpeaking it truly? why am I bound\\r\\nBy any generous bond to follow him\\r\\nFollowes his Taylor, haply so long untill\\r\\nThe follow\\'d make pursuit? or let me know,\\r\\nWhy mine owne Barber is unblest, with him\\r\\nMy poore Chinne too, for tis not Cizard iust\\r\\nTo such a Favorites glasse: What Cannon is there\\r\\nThat does command my Rapier from my hip\\r\\nTo dangle\\'t in my hand, or to go tip toe\\r\\nBefore the streete be foule? Either I am\\r\\nThe fore-horse in the Teame, or I am none\\r\\nThat draw i\\'th sequent trace: these poore sleight sores\\r\\nNeede not a plantin; That which rips my bosome\\r\\nAlmost to\\'th heart\\'s—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nOur Vncle Creon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHe,\\r\\nA most unbounded Tyrant, whose successes\\r\\nMakes heaven unfeard, and villany assured\\r\\nBeyond its power there\\'s nothing, almost puts\\r\\nFaith in a feavour, and deifies alone\\r\\nVoluble chance; who onely attributes\\r\\nThe faculties of other Instruments\\r\\nTo his owne Nerves and act; Commands men service,\\r\\nAnd what they winne in\\'t, boot and glory; on(e)\\r\\nThat feares not to do harm; good, dares not; Let\\r\\nThe blood of mine that\\'s sibbe to him be suckt\\r\\nFrom me with Leeches; Let them breake and fall\\r\\nOff me with that corruption.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nCleere spirited Cozen,\\r\\nLets leave his Court, that we may nothing share\\r\\nOf his lowd infamy: for our milke\\r\\nWill relish of the pasture, and we must\\r\\nBe vile or disobedient, not his kinesmen\\r\\nIn blood, unlesse in quality.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNothing truer:\\r\\nI thinke the Ecchoes of his shames have dea\\'ft\\r\\nThe eares of heav\\'nly Iustice: widdows cryes\\r\\nDescend againe into their throates, and have not\\r\\n\\r\\n[enter Valerius.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDue audience of the Gods.—Valerius!\\r\\n\\r\\nVALERIUS.\\r\\nThe King cals for you; yet be leaden footed,\\r\\nTill his great rage be off him. Phebus, when\\r\\nHe broke his whipstocke and exclaimd against\\r\\nThe Horses of the Sun, but whisperd too\\r\\nThe lowdenesse of his Fury.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nSmall windes shake him:\\r\\nBut whats the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nVALERIUS.\\r\\nTheseus (who where he threates appals,) hath sent\\r\\nDeadly defyance to him, and pronounces\\r\\nRuine to Thebs; who is at hand to seale\\r\\nThe promise of his wrath.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nLet him approach;\\r\\nBut that we feare the Gods in him, he brings not\\r\\nA jot of terrour to us; Yet what man\\r\\nThirds his owne worth (the case is each of ours)\\r\\nWhen that his actions dregd with minde assurd\\r\\nTis bad he goes about?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nLeave that unreasond.\\r\\nOur services stand now for Thebs, not Creon,\\r\\nYet to be neutrall to him were dishonour;\\r\\nRebellious to oppose: therefore we must\\r\\nWith him stand to the mercy of our Fate,\\r\\nWho hath bounded our last minute.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSo we must.\\r\\nIst sed this warres a foote? or it shall be,\\r\\nOn faile of some condition?\\r\\n\\r\\nVALERIUS.\\r\\nTis in motion\\r\\nThe intelligence of state came in the instant\\r\\nWith the defier.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nLets to the king, who, were he\\r\\nA quarter carrier of that honour which\\r\\nHis Enemy come in, the blood we venture\\r\\nShould be as for our health, which were not spent,\\r\\nRather laide out for purchase: but, alas,\\r\\nOur hands advanc\\'d before our hearts, what will\\r\\nThe fall o\\'th stroke doe damage?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nLet th\\'event,\\r\\nThat never erring Arbitratour, tell us\\r\\nWhen we know all our selves, and let us follow\\r\\nThe becking of our chance. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (Before the gates of Athens.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Pirithous, Hipolita, Emilia.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nNo further.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nSir, farewell; repeat my wishes\\r\\nTo our great Lord, of whose succes I dare not\\r\\nMake any timerous question; yet I wish him\\r\\nExces and overflow of power, and\\'t might be,\\r\\nTo dure ill-dealing fortune: speede to him,\\r\\nStore never hurtes good Gouernours.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThough I know\\r\\nHis Ocean needes not my poore drops, yet they\\r\\nMust yeild their tribute there. My precious Maide,\\r\\nThose best affections, that the heavens infuse\\r\\nIn their best temperd peices, keepe enthroand\\r\\nIn your deare heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThanckes, Sir. Remember me\\r\\nTo our all royall Brother, for whose speede\\r\\nThe great Bellona ile sollicite; and\\r\\nSince in our terrene State petitions are not\\r\\nWithout giftes understood, Ile offer to her\\r\\nWhat I shall be advised she likes: our hearts\\r\\nAre in his Army, in his Tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nIn\\'s bosome:\\r\\nWe have bin Soldiers, and wee cannot weepe\\r\\nWhen our Friends don their helmes, or put to sea,\\r\\nOr tell of Babes broachd on the Launce, or women\\r\\nThat have sod their Infants in (and after eate them)\\r\\nThe brine, they wept at killing \\'em; Then if\\r\\nYou stay to see of us such Spincsters, we\\r\\nShould hold you here for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nPeace be to you,\\r\\nAs I pursue this war, which shall be then\\r\\nBeyond further requiring. [Exit Pir.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHow his longing\\r\\nFollowes his Friend! since his depart, his sportes\\r\\nThough craving seriousnes, and skill, past slightly\\r\\nHis careles execution, where nor gaine\\r\\nMade him regard, or losse consider; but\\r\\nPlaying one busines in his hand, another\\r\\nDirecting in his head, his minde, nurse equall\\r\\nTo these so diffring Twyns—have you observ\\'d him,\\r\\nSince our great Lord departed?\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nWith much labour,\\r\\nAnd I did love him fort: they two have Cabind\\r\\nIn many as dangerous, as poore a Corner,\\r\\nPerill and want contending; they have skift\\r\\nTorrents whose roring tyranny and power\\r\\nI\\'th least of these was dreadfull, and they have\\r\\nFought out together, where Deaths-selfe was lodgd,\\r\\nYet fate hath brought them off: Their knot of love,\\r\\nTide, weau\\'d, intangled, with so true, so long,\\r\\nAnd with a finger of so deepe a cunning,\\r\\nMay be outworne, never undone. I thinke\\r\\nTheseus cannot be umpire to himselfe,\\r\\nCleaving his conscience into twaine and doing\\r\\nEach side like Iustice, which he loves best.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nDoubtlesse\\r\\nThere is a best, and reason has no manners\\r\\nTo say it is not you: I was acquainted\\r\\nOnce with a time, when I enjoyd a Play-fellow;\\r\\nYou were at wars, when she the grave enrichd,\\r\\nWho made too proud the Bed, tooke leave o th Moone\\r\\n(Which then lookt pale at parting) when our count\\r\\nWas each eleven.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nTwas Flaui(n)a.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\nYou talke of Pirithous and Theseus love;\\r\\nTheirs has more ground, is more maturely seasond,\\r\\nMore buckled with strong Iudgement and their needes\\r\\nThe one of th\\'other may be said to water [2. Hearses ready\\r\\n with Palamon: and Arcite: the 3. Queenes. Theseus: and his\\r\\n Lordes ready.]\\r\\nTheir intertangled rootes of love; but I\\r\\nAnd shee I sigh and spoke of were things innocent,\\r\\nLou\\'d for we did, and like the Elements\\r\\nThat know not what, nor why, yet doe effect\\r\\nRare issues by their operance, our soules\\r\\nDid so to one another; what she lik\\'d,\\r\\nWas then of me approov\\'d, what not, condemd,\\r\\nNo more arraignment; the flowre that I would plucke\\r\\nAnd put betweene my breasts (then but beginning\\r\\nTo swell about the blossome) oh, she would long\\r\\nTill shee had such another, and commit it\\r\\nTo the like innocent Cradle, where Phenix like\\r\\nThey dide in perfume: on my head no toy\\r\\nBut was her patterne; her affections (pretty,\\r\\nThough, happely, her careles were) I followed\\r\\nFor my most serious decking; had mine eare\\r\\nStolne some new aire, or at adventure humd on\\r\\nFrom musicall Coynadge, why it was a note\\r\\nWhereon her spirits would sojourne (rather dwell on)\\r\\nAnd sing it in her slumbers. This rehearsall\\r\\n(Which ev\\'ry innocent wots well comes in\\r\\nLike old importments bastard) has this end,\\r\\nThat the true love tweene Mayde, and mayde, may be\\r\\nMore then in sex idividuall.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nY\\'are out of breath\\r\\nAnd this high speeded pace, is but to say\\r\\nThat you shall never like the Maide Flavina\\r\\nLove any that\\'s calld Man.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI am sure I shall not.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nNow, alacke, weake Sister,\\r\\nI must no more beleeve thee in this point\\r\\n(Though in\\'t I know thou dost beleeve thy selfe,)\\r\\nThen I will trust a sickely appetite,\\r\\nThat loathes even as it longs; but, sure, my Sister,\\r\\nIf I were ripe for your perswasion, you\\r\\nHave saide enough to shake me from the Arme\\r\\nOf the all noble Theseus, for whose fortunes\\r\\nI will now in, and kneele with great assurance,\\r\\nThat we, more then his Pirothous, possesse\\r\\nThe high throne in his heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI am not\\r\\nAgainst your faith; yet I continew mine. [Exeunt. Cornets.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. (A field before Thebes. Dead bodies lying on the ground.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[A Battaile strooke within: Then a Retrait: Florish. Then\\r\\n Enter Theseus (victor), (Herald and Attendants:) the three\\r\\n Queenes meete him, and fall on their faces before him.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nTo thee no starre be darke.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nBoth heaven and earth\\r\\nFriend thee for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nAll the good that may\\r\\nBe wishd upon thy head, I cry Amen too\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nTh\\'imparciall Gods, who from the mounted heavens\\r\\nView us their mortall Heard, behold who erre,\\r\\nAnd in their time chastice: goe and finde out\\r\\nThe bones of your dead Lords, and honour them\\r\\nWith treble Ceremonie; rather then a gap\\r\\nShould be in their deere rights, we would supply\\'t.\\r\\nBut those we will depute, which shall invest\\r\\nYou in your dignities, and even each thing\\r\\nOur hast does leave imperfect: So, adiew,\\r\\nAnd heavens good eyes looke on you. What are those? [Exeunt\\r\\nQueenes.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nMen of great quality, as may be judgd\\r\\nBy their appointment; Sone of Thebs have told\\'s\\r\\nThey are Sisters children, Nephewes to the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nBy\\'th Helme of Mars, I saw them in the war,\\r\\nLike to a paire of Lions, smeard with prey,\\r\\nMake lanes in troopes agast. I fixt my note\\r\\nConstantly on them; for they were a marke\\r\\nWorth a god\\'s view: what prisoner was\\'t that told me\\r\\nWhen I enquired their names?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nWi\\'leave, they\\'r called Arcite and Palamon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nTis right: those, those. They are not dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nNor in a state of life: had they bin taken,\\r\\nWhen their last hurts were given, twas possible [3. Hearses\\r\\nready.]\\r\\nThey might have bin recovered; Yet they breathe\\r\\nAnd haue the name of men.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThen like men use \\'em.\\r\\nThe very lees of such (millions of rates)\\r\\nExceede the wine of others: all our Surgions\\r\\nConvent in their behoofe; our richest balmes\\r\\nRather then niggard, waft: their lives concerne us\\r\\nMuch more then Thebs is worth: rather then have \\'em\\r\\nFreed of this plight, and in their morning state\\r\\n(Sound and at liberty) I would \\'em dead;\\r\\nBut forty thousand fold we had rather have \\'em\\r\\nPrisoners to us then death. Beare \\'em speedily\\r\\nFrom our kinde aire, to them unkinde, and minister\\r\\nWhat man to man may doe—for our sake more,\\r\\nSince I have knowne frights, fury, friends beheastes,\\r\\nLoves provocations, zeale, a mistris Taske,\\r\\nDesire of liberty, a feavour, madnes,\\r\\nHath set a marke which nature could not reach too\\r\\nWithout some imposition: sicknes in will\\r\\nOr wrastling strength in reason. For our Love\\r\\nAnd great Appollos mercy, all our best\\r\\nTheir best skill tender. Leade into the Citty,\\r\\nWhere having bound things scatterd, we will post [Florish.]\\r\\nTo Athens for(e) our Army [Exeunt. Musicke.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5. (Another part of the same.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter the Queenes with the Hearses of their Knightes, in a\\r\\n Funerall Solempnity, &c.]\\r\\n\\r\\nVrnes and odours bring away,\\r\\nVapours, sighes, darken the day;\\r\\nOur dole more deadly lookes than dying;\\r\\nBalmes, and Gummes, and heavy cheeres,\\r\\nSacred vials fill\\'d with teares,\\r\\nAnd clamors through the wild ayre flying.\\r\\n\\r\\nCome all sad and solempne Showes,\\r\\nThat are quick-eyd pleasures foes;\\r\\nWe convent nought else but woes.\\r\\nWe convent, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nThis funeral path brings to your housholds grave:\\r\\nIoy ceaze on you againe: peace sleepe with him.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nAnd this to yours.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nYours this way: Heavens lend\\r\\nA thousand differing waies to one sure end.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nThis world\\'s a Citty full of straying Streetes, And Death\\'s the market\\r\\nplace, where each one meetes. [Exeunt severally.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (Athens. A garden, with a prison in the background.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iailor, and Wooer.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI may depart with little, while I live; some thing I may cast to you,\\r\\nnot much: Alas, the Prison I keepe, though it be for great ones, yet\\r\\nthey seldome come; Before one Salmon, you shall take a number of\\r\\nMinnowes. I am given out to be better lyn\\'d then it can appeare to me\\r\\nreport is a true Speaker: I would I were really that I am deliverd to\\r\\nbe. Marry, what I have (be it what it will) I will assure upon my\\r\\ndaughter at the day of my death.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nSir, I demaund no more then your owne offer, and I will estate\\r\\nyour\\r\\nDaughter in what I have promised.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWel, we will talke more of this, when the solemnity is past. But have\\r\\nyou a full promise of her? When that shall be seene, I tender my\\r\\nconsent.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Daughter.]\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI have Sir; here shee comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYour Friend and I have chanced to name you here, upon the old busines:\\r\\nBut no more of that now; so soone as the Court hurry is over, we will\\r\\nhave an end of it: I\\'th meane time looke tenderly to the two Prisoners.\\r\\n I can tell you they are princes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nThese strewings are for their Chamber; tis pitty they are in prison,\\r\\nand twer pitty they should be out: I doe thinke they have patience to\\r\\nmake any adversity asham\\'d; the prison it selfe is proud of \\'em; and\\r\\nthey have all the world in their Chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThey are fam\\'d to be a paire of absolute men.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nBy my troth, I think Fame but stammers \\'em; they stand a greise above\\r\\nthe reach of report.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI heard them reported in the Battaile to be the only doers.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nNay, most likely, for they are noble suffrers; I mervaile how they\\r\\nwould have lookd had they beene Victors, that with such a constant\\r\\nNobility enforce a freedome out of Bondage, making misery their Mirth,\\r\\nand affliction a toy to jest at.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nDoe they so?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIt seemes to me they have no more sence of their Captivity, then I of\\r\\nruling Athens: they eate well, looke merrily, discourse of many things,\\r\\nbut nothing of their owne restraint, and disasters: yet sometime a\\r\\ndevided sigh, martyrd as \\'twer i\\'th deliverance, will breake from one\\r\\nof them; when the other presently gives it so sweete a rebuke, that I\\r\\ncould wish my selfe a Sigh to be so chid, or at least a Sigher to be\\r\\ncomforted.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI never saw \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThe Duke himselfe came privately in the night,\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon, and Arcite, above.]\\r\\n\\r\\nand so did they: what the reason of it is, I know not: Looke, yonder\\r\\nthey are! that\\'s Arcite lookes out.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nNo, Sir, no, that\\'s Palamon: Arcite is the lower of the twaine; you may\\r\\nperceive a part of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nGoe too, leave your pointing; they would not make us their object; out\\r\\nof their sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIt is a holliday to looke on them: Lord, the diffrence of men!\\r\\n [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (The prison)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon, and Arcite in prison.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHow doe you, Noble Cosen?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHow doe you, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhy strong inough to laugh at misery,\\r\\nAnd beare the chance of warre, yet we are prisoners,\\r\\nI feare, for ever, Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI beleeve it,\\r\\nAnd to that destiny have patiently\\r\\nLaide up my houre to come.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO Cosen Arcite,\\r\\nWhere is Thebs now? where is our noble Country?\\r\\nWhere are our friends, and kindreds? never more\\r\\nMust we behold those comforts, never see\\r\\nThe hardy youthes strive for the Games of honour\\r\\n(Hung with the painted favours of their Ladies,\\r\\nLike tall Ships under saile) then start among\\'st \\'em\\r\\nAnd as an Eastwind leave \\'en all behinde us,\\r\\nLike lazy Clowdes, whilst Palamon and Arcite,\\r\\nEven in the wagging of a wanton leg\\r\\nOut-stript the peoples praises, won the Garlands,\\r\\nEre they have time to wish \\'em ours. O never\\r\\nShall we two exercise, like Twyns of honour,\\r\\nOur Armes againe, and feele our fyry horses\\r\\nLike proud Seas under us: our good Swords now\\r\\n(Better the red-eyd god of war nev\\'r wore)\\r\\nRavishd our sides, like age must run to rust,\\r\\nAnd decke the Temples of those gods that hate us:\\r\\nThese hands shall never draw\\'em out like lightning,\\r\\nTo blast whole Armies more.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNo, Palamon,\\r\\nThose hopes are Prisoners with us; here we are\\r\\nAnd here the graces of our youthes must wither\\r\\nLike a too-timely Spring; here age must finde us,\\r\\nAnd, which is heaviest, Palamon, unmarried;\\r\\nThe sweete embraces of a loving wife,\\r\\nLoden with kisses, armd with thousand Cupids\\r\\nShall never claspe our neckes, no issue know us,\\r\\nNo figures of our selves shall we ev\\'r see,\\r\\nTo glad our age, and like young Eagles teach \\'em\\r\\nBoldly to gaze against bright armes, and say:\\r\\n\\'Remember what your fathers were, and conquer.\\'\\r\\nThe faire-eyd Maides, shall weepe our Banishments,\\r\\nAnd in their Songs, curse ever-blinded fortune,\\r\\nTill shee for shame see what a wrong she has done\\r\\nTo youth and nature. This is all our world;\\r\\nWe shall know nothing here but one another,\\r\\nHeare nothing but the Clocke that tels our woes.\\r\\nThe Vine shall grow, but we shall never see it:\\r\\nSommer shall come, and with her all delights;\\r\\nBut dead-cold winter must inhabite here still.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTis too true, Arcite. To our Theban houndes,\\r\\nThat shooke the aged Forrest with their ecchoes,\\r\\nNo more now must we halloa, no more shake\\r\\nOur pointed Iavelyns, whilst the angry Swine\\r\\nFlyes like a parthian quiver from our rages,\\r\\nStrucke with our well-steeld Darts: All valiant uses\\r\\n(The foode, and nourishment of noble mindes,)\\r\\nIn us two here shall perish; we shall die\\r\\n(Which is the curse of honour) lastly\\r\\nChildren of greife, and Ignorance.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYet, Cosen,\\r\\nEven from the bottom of these miseries,\\r\\nFrom all that fortune can inflict upon us,\\r\\nI see two comforts rysing, two meere blessings,\\r\\nIf the gods please: to hold here a brave patience,\\r\\nAnd the enjoying of our greefes together.\\r\\nWhilst Palamon is with me, let me perish\\r\\nIf I thinke this our prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nCerteinly,\\r\\nTis a maine goodnes, Cosen, that our fortunes\\r\\nWere twyn\\'d together; tis most true, two soules\\r\\nPut in two noble Bodies—let \\'em suffer\\r\\nThe gaule of hazard, so they grow together—\\r\\nWill never sincke; they must not, say they could:\\r\\nA willing man dies sleeping, and all\\'s done.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nShall we make worthy uses of this place\\r\\nThat all men hate so much?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHow, gentle Cosen?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nLet\\'s thinke this prison holy sanctuary,\\r\\nTo keepe us from corruption of worse men.\\r\\nWe are young and yet desire the waies of honour,\\r\\nThat liberty and common Conversation,\\r\\nThe poyson of pure spirits, might like women\\r\\nWooe us to wander from. What worthy blessing\\r\\nCan be but our Imaginations\\r\\nMay make it ours? And heere being thus together,\\r\\nWe are an endles mine to one another;\\r\\nWe are one anothers wife, ever begetting\\r\\nNew birthes of love; we are father, friends, acquaintance;\\r\\nWe are, in one another, Families,\\r\\nI am your heire, and you are mine: This place\\r\\nIs our Inheritance, no hard Oppressour\\r\\nDare take this from us; here, with a little patience,\\r\\nWe shall live long, and loving: No surfeits seeke us:\\r\\nThe hand of war hurts none here, nor the Seas\\r\\nSwallow their youth: were we at liberty,\\r\\nA wife might part us lawfully, or busines;\\r\\nQuarrels consume us, Envy of ill men\\r\\nGrave our acquaintance; I might sicken, Cosen,\\r\\nWhere you should never know it, and so perish\\r\\nWithout your noble hand to close mine eies,\\r\\nOr praiers to the gods: a thousand chaunces,\\r\\nWere we from hence, would seaver us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou have made me\\r\\n(I thanke you, Cosen Arcite) almost wanton\\r\\nWith my Captivity: what a misery\\r\\nIt is to live abroade, and every where!\\r\\nTis like a Beast, me thinkes: I finde the Court here—\\r\\nI am sure, a more content; and all those pleasures\\r\\nThat wooe the wils of men to vanity,\\r\\nI see through now, and am sufficient\\r\\nTo tell the world, tis but a gaudy shaddow,\\r\\nThat old Time, as he passes by, takes with him.\\r\\nWhat had we bin, old in the Court of Creon,\\r\\nWhere sin is Iustice, lust and ignorance\\r\\nThe vertues of the great ones! Cosen Arcite,\\r\\nHad not the loving gods found this place for us,\\r\\nWe had died as they doe, ill old men, unwept,\\r\\nAnd had their Epitaphes, the peoples Curses:\\r\\nShall I say more?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI would heare you still.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYe shall.\\r\\nIs there record of any two that lov\\'d\\r\\nBetter then we doe, Arcite?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSure, there cannot.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI doe not thinke it possible our friendship\\r\\nShould ever leave us.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTill our deathes it cannot;\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Emilia and her woman (below).]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd after death our spirits shall be led\\r\\nTo those that love eternally. Speake on, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThis garden has a world of pleasures in\\'t.\\r\\nWhat Flowre is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nTis calld Narcissus, Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat was a faire Boy, certaine, but a foole,\\r\\nTo love himselfe; were there not maides enough?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nPray forward.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nOr were they all hard hearted?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nThey could not be to one so faire.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThou wouldst not.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nI thinke I should not, Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat\\'s a good wench:\\r\\nBut take heede to your kindnes though.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nWhy, Madam?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMen are mad things.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWill ye goe forward, Cosen?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nCanst not thou worke such flowers in silke, wench?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIle have a gowne full of \\'em, and of these;\\r\\nThis is a pretty colour, wilt not doe\\r\\nRarely upon a Skirt, wench?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nDeinty, Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nCosen, Cosen, how doe you, Sir? Why, Palamon?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNever till now I was in prison, Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWhy whats the matter, Man?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBehold, and wonder.\\r\\nBy heaven, shee is a Goddesse.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHa.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDoe reverence. She is a Goddesse, Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nOf all Flowres, me thinkes a Rose is best.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nWhy, gentle Madam?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIt is the very Embleme of a Maide.\\r\\nFor when the west wind courts her gently,\\r\\nHow modestly she blowes, and paints the Sun,\\r\\nWith her chaste blushes! When the North comes neere her,\\r\\nRude and impatient, then, like Chastity,\\r\\nShee lockes her beauties in her bud againe,\\r\\nAnd leaves him to base briers.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nYet, good Madam,\\r\\nSometimes her modesty will blow so far\\r\\nShe fals for\\'t: a Mayde,\\r\\nIf shee have any honour, would be loth\\r\\nTo take example by her.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThou art wanton.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nShe is wondrous faire.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nShe is beauty extant.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThe Sun grows high, lets walk in: keep these flowers;\\r\\nWeele see how neere Art can come neere their colours.\\r\\nI am wondrous merry hearted, I could laugh now.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nI could lie downe, I am sure.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAnd take one with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nThat\\'s as we bargaine, Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWell, agree then. [Exeunt Emilia and woman.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhat thinke you of this beauty?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTis a rare one.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIs\\'t but a rare one?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, a matchles beauty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMight not a man well lose himselfe and love her?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI cannot tell what you have done, I have;\\r\\nBeshrew mine eyes for\\'t: now I feele my Shackles.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou love her, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWho would not?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAnd desire her?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBefore my liberty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI saw her first.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat\\'s nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBut it shall be.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI saw her too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes, but you must not love her.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI will not as you doe, to worship her,\\r\\nAs she is heavenly, and a blessed Goddes;\\r\\nI love her as a woman, to enjoy her:\\r\\nSo both may love.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou shall not love at all.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNot love at all!\\r\\nWho shall deny me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI, that first saw her; I, that tooke possession\\r\\nFirst with mine eyes of all those beauties\\r\\nIn her reveald to mankinde: if thou lou\\'st her,\\r\\nOr entertain\\'st a hope to blast my wishes,\\r\\nThou art a Traytour, Arcite, and a fellow\\r\\nFalse as thy Title to her: friendship, blood,\\r\\nAnd all the tyes betweene us I disclaime,\\r\\nIf thou once thinke upon her.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, I love her,\\r\\nAnd if the lives of all my name lay on it,\\r\\nI must doe so; I love her with my soule:\\r\\nIf that will lose ye, farewell, Palamon;\\r\\nI say againe, I love, and in loving her maintaine\\r\\nI am as worthy and as free a lover,\\r\\nAnd have as just a title to her beauty\\r\\nAs any Palamon or any living\\r\\nThat is a mans Sonne.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHave I cald thee friend?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, and have found me so; why are you mov\\'d thus?\\r\\nLet me deale coldly with you: am not I\\r\\nPart of your blood, part of your soule? you have told me\\r\\nThat I was Palamon, and you were Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nAm not I liable to those affections,\\r\\nThose joyes, greifes, angers, feares, my friend shall suffer?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYe may be.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWhy, then, would you deale so cunningly,\\r\\nSo strangely, so vnlike a noble kinesman,\\r\\nTo love alone? speake truely: doe you thinke me\\r\\nVnworthy of her sight?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNo; but unjust,\\r\\nIf thou pursue that sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBecause an other\\r\\nFirst sees the Enemy, shall I stand still\\r\\nAnd let mine honour downe, and never charge?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes, if he be but one.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBut say that one\\r\\nHad rather combat me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nLet that one say so,\\r\\nAnd use thy freedome; els if thou pursuest her,\\r\\nBe as that cursed man that hates his Country,\\r\\nA branded villaine.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou are mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI must be,\\r\\nTill thou art worthy, Arcite; it concernes me,\\r\\nAnd in this madnes, if I hazard thee\\r\\nAnd take thy life, I deale but truely.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nFie, Sir,\\r\\nYou play the Childe extreamely: I will love her,\\r\\nI must, I ought to doe so, and I dare;\\r\\nAnd all this justly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO that now, that now\\r\\nThy false-selfe and thy friend had but this fortune,\\r\\nTo be one howre at liberty, and graspe\\r\\nOur good Swords in our hands! I would quickly teach thee\\r\\nWhat \\'twer to filch affection from another:\\r\\nThou art baser in it then a Cutpurse;\\r\\nPut but thy head out of this window more,\\r\\nAnd as I have a soule, Ile naile thy life too\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThou dar\\'st not, foole, thou canst not, thou art feeble.\\r\\nPut my head out? Ile throw my Body out,\\r\\nAnd leape the garden, when I see her next\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Keeper.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd pitch between her armes to anger thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNo more; the keeper\\'s comming; I shall live\\r\\nTo knocke thy braines out with my Shackles.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDoe.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nBy your leave, Gentlemen—\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNow, honest keeper?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nLord Arcite, you must presently to\\'th Duke;\\r\\nThe cause I know not yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am ready, keeper.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nPrince Palamon, I must awhile bereave you\\r\\nOf your faire Cosens Company. [Exeunt Arcite, and Keeper.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAnd me too,\\r\\nEven when you please, of life. Why is he sent for?\\r\\nIt may be he shall marry her; he\\'s goodly,\\r\\nAnd like enough the Duke hath taken notice\\r\\nBoth of his blood and body: But his falsehood!\\r\\nWhy should a friend be treacherous? If that\\r\\nGet him a wife so noble, and so faire,\\r\\nLet honest men ne\\'re love againe. Once more\\r\\nI would but see this faire One. Blessed Garden,\\r\\nAnd fruite, and flowers more blessed, that still blossom\\r\\nAs her bright eies shine on ye! would I were,\\r\\nFor all the fortune of my life hereafter,\\r\\nYon little Tree, yon blooming Apricocke;\\r\\nHow I would spread, and fling my wanton armes\\r\\nIn at her window; I would bring her fruite\\r\\nFit for the Gods to feed on: youth and pleasure\\r\\nStill as she tasted should be doubled on her,\\r\\nAnd if she be not heavenly, I would make her\\r\\nSo neere the Gods in nature, they should feare her,\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Keeper.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd then I am sure she would love me. How now, keeper.\\r\\nWher\\'s Arcite?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nBanishd: Prince Pirithous\\r\\nObtained his liberty; but never more\\r\\nVpon his oth and life must he set foote\\r\\nVpon this Kingdome.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHees a blessed man!\\r\\nHe shall see Thebs againe, and call to Armes\\r\\nThe bold yong men, that, when he bids \\'em charge,\\r\\nFall on like fire: Arcite shall have a Fortune,\\r\\nIf he dare make himselfe a worthy Lover,\\r\\nYet in the Feild to strike a battle for her;\\r\\nAnd if he lose her then, he\\'s a cold Coward;\\r\\nHow bravely may he beare himselfe to win her\\r\\nIf he be noble Arcite—thousand waies.\\r\\nWere I at liberty, I would doe things\\r\\nOf such a vertuous greatnes, that this Lady,\\r\\nThis blushing virgine, should take manhood to her\\r\\nAnd seeke to ravish me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nMy Lord for you\\r\\nI have this charge too—\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTo discharge my life?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nNo, but from this place to remoove your Lordship:\\r\\nThe windowes are too open.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDevils take \\'em,\\r\\nThat are so envious to me! pre\\'thee kill me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nAnd hang for\\'t afterward.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBy this good light,\\r\\nHad I a sword I would kill thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nWhy, my Lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThou bringst such pelting scuruy news continually\\r\\nThou art not worthy life. I will not goe.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nIndeede, you must, my Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMay I see the garden?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nNoe.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThen I am resolud, I will not goe.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nI must constraine you then: and for you are dangerous,\\r\\nIle clap more yrons on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDoe, good keeper.\\r\\nIle shake \\'em so, ye shall not sleepe;\\r\\nIle make ye a new Morrisse: must I goe?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nThere is no remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nFarewell, kinde window.\\r\\nMay rude winde never hurt thee. O, my Lady,\\r\\nIf ever thou hast felt what sorrow was,\\r\\nDreame how I suffer. Come; now bury me. [Exeunt Palamon, and\\r\\nKeeper.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (The country near Athens.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Arcite.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBanishd the kingdome? tis a benefit,\\r\\nA mercy I must thanke \\'em for, but banishd\\r\\nThe free enjoying of that face I die for,\\r\\nOh twas a studdied punishment, a death\\r\\nBeyond Imagination: Such a vengeance\\r\\nThat, were I old and wicked, all my sins\\r\\nCould never plucke upon me. Palamon,\\r\\nThou ha\\'st the Start now, thou shalt stay and see\\r\\nHer bright eyes breake each morning gainst thy window,\\r\\nAnd let in life into thee; thou shalt feede\\r\\nVpon the sweetenes of a noble beauty,\\r\\nThat nature nev\\'r exceeded, nor nev\\'r shall:\\r\\nGood gods! what happines has Palamon!\\r\\nTwenty to one, hee\\'le come to speake to her,\\r\\nAnd if she be as gentle as she\\'s faire,\\r\\nI know she\\'s his; he has a Tongue will tame\\r\\nTempests, and make the wild Rockes wanton.\\r\\nCome what can come,\\r\\nThe worst is death; I will not leave the Kingdome.\\r\\nI know mine owne is but a heape of ruins,\\r\\nAnd no redresse there; if I goe, he has her.\\r\\nI am resolu\\'d an other shape shall make me,\\r\\nOr end my fortunes. Either way, I am happy:\\r\\nIle see her, and be neere her, or no more.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter 4. Country people, & one with a garlond before them.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nMy Masters, ile be there, that\\'s certaine\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nAnd Ile be there.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nAnd I.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWhy, then, have with ye, Boyes; Tis but a chiding.\\r\\nLet the plough play to day, ile tick\\'lt out\\r\\nOf the Iades tailes to morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nI am sure\\r\\nTo have my wife as jealous as a Turkey:\\r\\nBut that\\'s all one; ile goe through, let her mumble.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nClap her aboard to morrow night, and stoa her,\\r\\nAnd all\\'s made up againe.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nI, doe but put a feskue in her fist, and you shall see her\\r\\nTake a new lesson out, and be a good wench.\\r\\nDoe we all hold against the Maying?\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nHold? what should aile us?\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nArcas will be there.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nAnd Sennois.\\r\\nAnd Rycas, and 3. better lads nev\\'r dancd\\r\\nUnder green Tree. And yee know what wenches: ha?\\r\\nBut will the dainty Domine, the Schoolemaster,\\r\\nKeep touch, doe you thinke? for he do\\'s all, ye know.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nHee\\'l eate a hornebooke ere he faile: goe too, the matter\\'s too farre\\r\\ndriven betweene him and the Tanners daughter, to let slip now, and she\\r\\nmust see the Duke, and she must daunce too.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nShall we be lusty?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nAll the Boyes in Athens blow wind i\\'th breech on\\'s, and heere ile be\\r\\nand there ile be, for our Towne, and here againe, and there againe: ha,\\r\\nBoyes, heigh for the weavers.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nThis must be done i\\'th woods.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nO, pardon me.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nBy any meanes, our thing of learning saies so:\\r\\nWhere he himselfe will edifie the Duke\\r\\nMost parlously in our behalfes: hees excellent i\\'th woods;\\r\\nBring him to\\'th plaines, his learning makes no cry.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWeele see the sports, then; every man to\\'s Tackle:\\r\\nAnd, Sweete Companions, lets rehearse by any meanes,\\r\\nBefore the Ladies see us, and doe sweetly,\\r\\nAnd God knows what May come on\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nContent; the sports once ended, wee\\'l performe.\\r\\nAway, Boyes and hold.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBy your leaves, honest friends: pray you, whither goe you?\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWhither? why, what a question\\'s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, tis a question, to me that know not.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nTo the Games, my Friend.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWhere were you bred, you know it not?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNot farre, Sir,\\r\\nAre there such Games to day?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nYes, marry, are there:\\r\\nAnd such as you neuer saw; The Duke himselfe\\r\\nWill be in person there.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWhat pastimes are they?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWrastling, and Running.—Tis a pretty Fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nThou wilt not goe along?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNot yet, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWell, Sir,\\r\\nTake your owne time: come, Boyes.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nMy minde misgives me;\\r\\nThis fellow has a veng\\'ance tricke o\\'th hip:\\r\\nMarke how his Bodi\\'s made for\\'t\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nIle be hangd, though,\\r\\nIf he dare venture; hang him, plumb porredge,\\r\\nHe wrastle? he rost eggs! Come, lets be gon, Lads. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThis is an offerd oportunity\\r\\nI durst not wish for. Well I could have wrestled,\\r\\nThe best men calld it excellent, and run—\\r\\nSwifter the winde upon a feild of Corne\\r\\n(Curling the wealthy eares) never flew: Ile venture,\\r\\nAnd in some poore disguize be there; who knowes\\r\\nWhether my browes may not be girt with garlands?\\r\\nAnd happines preferre me to a place,\\r\\nWhere I may ever dwell in sight of her. [Exit Arcite.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. (Athens. A room in the prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iailors Daughter alone.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWhy should I love this Gentleman? Tis odds\\r\\nHe never will affect me; I am base,\\r\\nMy Father the meane Keeper of his Prison,\\r\\nAnd he a prince: To marry him is hopelesse;\\r\\nTo be his whore is witles. Out upon\\'t,\\r\\nWhat pushes are we wenches driven to,\\r\\nWhen fifteene once has found us! First, I saw him;\\r\\nI (seeing) thought he was a goodly man;\\r\\nHe has as much to please a woman in him,\\r\\n(If he please to bestow it so) as ever\\r\\nThese eyes yet lookt on. Next, I pittied him,\\r\\nAnd so would any young wench, o\\' my Conscience,\\r\\nThat ever dream\\'d, or vow\\'d her Maydenhead\\r\\nTo a yong hansom Man; Then I lov\\'d him,\\r\\nExtreamely lov\\'d him, infinitely lov\\'d him;\\r\\nAnd yet he had a Cosen, faire as he too.\\r\\nBut in my heart was Palamon, and there,\\r\\nLord, what a coyle he keepes! To heare him\\r\\nSing in an evening, what a heaven it is!\\r\\nAnd yet his Songs are sad ones. Fairer spoken\\r\\nWas never Gentleman. When I come in\\r\\nTo bring him water in a morning, first\\r\\nHe bowes his noble body, then salutes me, thus:\\r\\n\\'Faire, gentle Mayde, good morrow; may thy goodnes\\r\\nGet thee a happy husband.\\' Once he kist me.\\r\\nI lov\\'d my lips the better ten daies after.\\r\\nWould he would doe so ev\\'ry day! He greives much,\\r\\nAnd me as much to see his misery.\\r\\nWhat should I doe, to make him know I love him?\\r\\nFor I would faine enjoy him. Say I ventur\\'d\\r\\nTo set him free? what saies the law then? Thus much\\r\\nFor Law, or kindred! I will doe it,\\r\\nAnd this night, or to morrow, he shall love me. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5. (An open place in Athens.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Pirithous, Emilia: Arcite with a\\r\\nGarland, &c.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[This short florish of Cornets and Showtes within.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou have done worthily; I have not seene,\\r\\nSince Hercules, a man of tougher synewes;\\r\\nWhat ere you are, you run the best, and wrastle,\\r\\nThat these times can allow.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am proud to please you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat Countrie bred you?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThis; but far off, Prince.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAre you a Gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nMy father said so;\\r\\nAnd to those gentle uses gave me life.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAre you his heire?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHis yongest, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYour Father\\r\\nSure is a happy Sire then: what prooves you?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nA little of all noble Quallities:\\r\\nI could have kept a Hawke, and well have holloa\\'d\\r\\nTo a deepe crie of Dogges; I dare not praise\\r\\nMy feat in horsemanship, yet they that knew me\\r\\nWould say it was my best peece: last, and greatest,\\r\\nI would be thought a Souldier.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou are perfect.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nVpon my soule, a proper man.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHe is so.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nHow doe you like him, Ladie?\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nI admire him;\\r\\nI have not seene so yong a man so noble\\r\\n(If he say true,) of his sort.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBeleeve,\\r\\nHis mother was a wondrous handsome woman;\\r\\nHis face, me thinkes, goes that way.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nBut his Body\\r\\nAnd firie minde illustrate a brave Father.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nMarke how his vertue, like a hidden Sun,\\r\\nBreakes through his baser garments.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nHee\\'s well got, sure.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat made you seeke this place, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNoble Theseus,\\r\\nTo purchase name, and doe my ablest service\\r\\nTo such a well-found wonder as thy worth,\\r\\nFor onely in thy Court, of all the world,\\r\\nDwells faire-eyd honor.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nAll his words are worthy.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSir, we are much endebted to your travell,\\r\\nNor shall you loose your wish: Perithous,\\r\\nDispose of this faire Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThankes, Theseus.\\r\\nWhat ere you are y\\'ar mine, and I shall give you\\r\\nTo a most noble service, to this Lady,\\r\\nThis bright yong Virgin; pray, observe her goodnesse;\\r\\nYou have honourd hir faire birth-day with your vertues,\\r\\nAnd as your due y\\'ar hirs: kisse her faire hand, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSir, y\\'ar a noble Giver: dearest Bewtie,\\r\\nThus let me seale my vowd faith: when your Servant\\r\\n(Your most unworthie Creature) but offends you,\\r\\nCommand him die, he shall.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat were too cruell.\\r\\nIf you deserve well, Sir, I shall soone see\\'t:\\r\\nY\\'ar mine, and somewhat better than your rancke\\r\\nIle use you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nIle see you furnish\\'d, and because you say\\r\\nYou are a horseman, I must needs intreat you\\r\\nThis after noone to ride, but tis a rough one.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI like him better, Prince, I shall not then\\r\\nFreeze in my Saddle.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSweet, you must be readie,\\r\\nAnd you, Emilia, and you, Friend, and all,\\r\\nTo morrow by the Sun, to doe observance\\r\\nTo flowry May, in Dians wood: waite well, Sir,\\r\\nVpon your Mistris. Emely, I hope\\r\\nHe shall not goe a foote.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat were a shame, Sir,\\r\\nWhile I have horses: take your choice, and what\\r\\nYou want at any time, let me but know it;\\r\\nIf you serve faithfully, I dare assure you\\r\\nYou\\'l finde a loving Mistris.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf I doe not,\\r\\nLet me finde that my Father ever hated,\\r\\nDisgrace and blowes.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nGo, leade the way; you have won it:\\r\\nIt shall be so; you shall receave all dues\\r\\nFit for the honour you have won; Twer wrong else.\\r\\nSister, beshrew my heart, you have a Servant,\\r\\nThat, if I were a woman, would be Master,\\r\\nBut you are wise. [Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI hope too wise for that, Sir. [Exeunt omnes.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 6. (Before the prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylors Daughter alone.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nLet all the Dukes, and all the divells rore,\\r\\nHe is at liberty: I have venturd for him,\\r\\nAnd out I have brought him to a little wood\\r\\nA mile hence. I have sent him, where a Cedar,\\r\\nHigher than all the rest, spreads like a plane\\r\\nFast by a Brooke, and there he shall keepe close,\\r\\nTill I provide him Fyles and foode, for yet\\r\\nHis yron bracelets are not off. O Love,\\r\\nWhat a stout hearted child thou art! My Father\\r\\nDurst better have indur\\'d cold yron, than done it:\\r\\nI love him beyond love and beyond reason,\\r\\nOr wit, or safetie: I have made him know it.\\r\\nI care not, I am desperate; If the law\\r\\nFinde me, and then condemne me for\\'t, some wenches,\\r\\nSome honest harted Maides, will sing my Dirge,\\r\\nAnd tell to memory my death was noble,\\r\\nDying almost a Martyr: That way he takes,\\r\\nI purpose is my way too: Sure he cannot\\r\\nBe so unmanly, as to leave me here;\\r\\nIf he doe, Maides will not so easily\\r\\nTrust men againe: And yet he has not thank\\'d me\\r\\nFor what I have done: no not so much as kist me,\\r\\nAnd that (me thinkes) is not so well; nor scarcely\\r\\nCould I perswade him to become a Freeman,\\r\\nHe made such scruples of the wrong he did\\r\\nTo me, and to my Father. Yet I hope,\\r\\nWhen he considers more, this love of mine\\r\\nWill take more root within him: Let him doe\\r\\nWhat he will with me, so he use me kindly;\\r\\nFor use me so he shall, or ile proclaime him,\\r\\nAnd to his face, no man. Ile presently\\r\\nProvide him necessaries, and packe my cloathes up,\\r\\nAnd where there is a patch of ground Ile venture,\\r\\nSo hee be with me; By him, like a shadow,\\r\\nIle ever dwell; within this houre the whoobub\\r\\nWill be all ore the prison: I am then\\r\\nKissing the man they looke for: farewell, Father;\\r\\nGet many more such prisoners and such daughters,\\r\\nAnd shortly you may keepe your selfe. Now to him!\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (A forest near Athens.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Cornets in sundry places. Noise and hallowing as people a\\r\\nMaying.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Arcite alone.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThe Duke has lost Hypolita; each tooke\\r\\nA severall land. This is a solemne Right\\r\\nThey owe bloomd May, and the Athenians pay it\\r\\nTo\\'th heart of Ceremony. O Queene Emilia,\\r\\nFresher then May, sweeter\\r\\nThen hir gold Buttons on the bowes, or all\\r\\nTh\\'enamelld knackes o\\'th Meade or garden: yea,\\r\\nWe challenge too the bancke of any Nymph\\r\\nThat makes the streame seeme flowers; thou, o Iewell\\r\\nO\\'th wood, o\\'th world, hast likewise blest a place\\r\\nWith thy sole presence: in thy rumination\\r\\nThat I, poore man, might eftsoones come betweene\\r\\nAnd chop on some cold thought! thrice blessed chance,\\r\\nTo drop on such a Mistris, expectation\\r\\nMost giltlesse on\\'t! tell me, O Lady Fortune,\\r\\n(Next after Emely my Soveraigne) how far\\r\\nI may be prowd. She takes strong note of me,\\r\\nHath made me neere her; and this beuteous Morne\\r\\n(The prim\\'st of all the yeare) presents me with\\r\\nA brace of horses: two such Steeds might well\\r\\nBe by a paire of Kings backt, in a Field\\r\\nThat their crownes titles tride. Alas, alas,\\r\\nPoore Cosen Palamon, poore prisoner, thou\\r\\nSo little dream\\'st upon my fortune, that\\r\\nThou thinkst thy selfe the happier thing, to be\\r\\nSo neare Emilia; me thou deem\\'st at Thebs,\\r\\nAnd therein wretched, although free. But if\\r\\nThou knew\\'st my Mistris breathd on me, and that\\r\\nI ear\\'d her language, livde in her eye, O Coz,\\r\\nWhat passion would enclose thee!\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon as out of a Bush, with his Shackles: bends his fist at\\r\\nArcite.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTraytor kinesman,\\r\\nThou shouldst perceive my passion, if these signes\\r\\nOf prisonment were off me, and this hand\\r\\nBut owner of a Sword: By all othes in one,\\r\\nI and the iustice of my love would make thee\\r\\nA confest Traytor. O thou most perfidious\\r\\nThat ever gently lookd; the voydest of honour,\\r\\nThat eu\\'r bore gentle Token; falsest Cosen\\r\\nThat ever blood made kin, call\\'st thou hir thine?\\r\\nIle prove it in my Shackles, with these hands,\\r\\nVoid of appointment, that thou ly\\'st, and art\\r\\nA very theefe in love, a Chaffy Lord,\\r\\nNor worth the name of villaine: had I a Sword\\r\\nAnd these house clogges away—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDeere Cosin Palamon—\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nCosoner Arcite, give me language such\\r\\nAs thou hast shewd me feate.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNot finding in\\r\\nThe circuit of my breast any grosse stuffe\\r\\nTo forme me like your blazon, holds me to\\r\\nThis gentlenesse of answer; tis your passion\\r\\nThat thus mistakes, the which to you being enemy,\\r\\nCannot to me be kind: honor, and honestie\\r\\nI cherish, and depend on, how so ev\\'r\\r\\nYou skip them in me, and with them, faire Coz,\\r\\nIle maintaine my proceedings; pray, be pleas\\'d\\r\\nTo shew in generous termes your griefes, since that\\r\\nYour question\\'s with your equall, who professes\\r\\nTo cleare his owne way with the minde and Sword\\r\\nOf a true Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThat thou durst, Arcite!\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nMy Coz, my Coz, you have beene well advertis\\'d\\r\\nHow much I dare, y\\'ave seene me use my Sword\\r\\nAgainst th\\'advice of feare: sure, of another\\r\\nYou would not heare me doubted, but your silence\\r\\nShould breake out, though i\\'th Sanctuary.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nSir,\\r\\nI have seene you move in such a place, which well\\r\\nMight justifie your manhood; you were calld\\r\\nA good knight and a bold; But the whole weeke\\'s not faire,\\r\\nIf any day it rayne: Their valiant temper\\r\\nMen loose when they encline to trecherie,\\r\\nAnd then they fight like coupelld Beares, would fly\\r\\nWere they not tyde.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nKinsman, you might as well\\r\\nSpeake this and act it in your Glasse, as to\\r\\nHis eare which now disdaines you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nCome up to me,\\r\\nQuit me of these cold Gyves, give me a Sword,\\r\\nThough it be rustie, and the charity\\r\\nOf one meale lend me; Come before me then,\\r\\nA good Sword in thy hand, and doe but say\\r\\nThat Emily is thine: I will forgive\\r\\nThe trespasse thou hast done me, yea, my life,\\r\\nIf then thou carry\\'t, and brave soules in shades\\r\\nThat have dyde manly, which will seeke of me\\r\\nSome newes from earth, they shall get none but this,\\r\\nThat thou art brave and noble.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBe content:\\r\\nAgaine betake you to your hawthorne house;\\r\\nWith counsaile of the night, I will be here\\r\\nWith wholesome viands; these impediments\\r\\nWill I file off; you shall have garments and\\r\\nPerfumes to kill the smell o\\'th prison; after,\\r\\nWhen you shall stretch your selfe and say but, \\'Arcite,\\r\\nI am in plight,\\' there shall be at your choyce\\r\\nBoth Sword and Armour.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nOh you heavens, dares any\\r\\nSo noble beare a guilty busines! none\\r\\nBut onely Arcite, therefore none but Arcite\\r\\nIn this kinde is so bold.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSweete Palamon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI doe embrace you and your offer,—for\\r\\nYour offer doo\\'t I onely, Sir; your person,\\r\\nWithout hipocrisy I may not wish [Winde hornes of Cornets.]\\r\\nMore then my Swords edge ont.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou heare the Hornes;\\r\\nEnter your Musite least this match between\\'s\\r\\nBe crost, er met: give me your hand; farewell.\\r\\nIle bring you every needfull thing: I pray you,\\r\\nTake comfort and be strong.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nPray hold your promise;\\r\\nAnd doe the deede with a bent brow: most certaine\\r\\nYou love me not, be rough with me, and powre\\r\\nThis oile out of your language; by this ayre,\\r\\nI could for each word give a Cuffe, my stomach\\r\\nNot reconcild by reason.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nPlainely spoken,\\r\\nYet pardon me hard language: when I spur [Winde hornes.]\\r\\nMy horse, I chide him not; content and anger\\r\\nIn me have but one face. Harke, Sir, they call\\r\\nThe scatterd to the Banket; you must guesse\\r\\nI have an office there.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nSir, your attendance\\r\\nCannot please heaven, and I know your office\\r\\nVnjustly is atcheev\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf a good title,\\r\\nI am perswaded this question sicke between\\'s\\r\\nBy bleeding must be cur\\'d. I am a Suitour,\\r\\nThat to your Sword you will bequeath this plea\\r\\nAnd talke of it no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBut this one word:\\r\\nYou are going now to gaze upon my Mistris,\\r\\nFor note you, mine she is—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNay, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNay, pray you,\\r\\nYou talke of feeding me to breed me strength:\\r\\nYou are going now to looke upon a Sun\\r\\nThat strengthens what it lookes on; there\\r\\nYou have a vantage ore me, but enjoy\\'t till\\r\\nI may enforce my remedy. Farewell. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (Another Part of the forest.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylors daughter alone.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nHe has mistooke the Brake I meant, is gone\\r\\nAfter his fancy. Tis now welnigh morning;\\r\\nNo matter, would it were perpetuall night,\\r\\nAnd darkenes Lord o\\'th world. Harke, tis a woolfe:\\r\\nIn me hath greife slaine feare, and but for one thing\\r\\nI care for nothing, and that\\'s Palamon.\\r\\nI wreake not if the wolves would jaw me, so\\r\\nHe had this File: what if I hallowd for him?\\r\\nI cannot hallow: if I whoop\\'d, what then?\\r\\nIf he not answeard, I should call a wolfe,\\r\\nAnd doe him but that service. I have heard\\r\\nStrange howles this live-long night, why may\\'t not be\\r\\nThey have made prey of him? he has no weapons,\\r\\nHe cannot run, the Iengling of his Gives\\r\\nMight call fell things to listen, who have in them\\r\\nA sence to know a man unarmd, and can\\r\\nSmell where resistance is. Ile set it downe\\r\\nHe\\'s torne to peeces; they howld many together\\r\\nAnd then they fed on him: So much for that,\\r\\nBe bold to ring the Bell; how stand I then?\\r\\nAll\\'s char\\'d when he is gone. No, no, I lye,\\r\\nMy Father\\'s to be hang\\'d for his escape;\\r\\nMy selfe to beg, if I prizd life so much\\r\\nAs to deny my act, but that I would not,\\r\\nShould I try death by dussons.—I am mop\\'t,\\r\\nFood tooke I none these two daies,\\r\\nSipt some water. I have not closd mine eyes\\r\\nSave when my lids scowrd off their brine; alas,\\r\\nDissolue my life, Let not my sence unsettle,\\r\\nLeast I should drowne, or stab or hang my selfe.\\r\\nO state of Nature, faile together in me,\\r\\nSince thy best props are warpt! So, which way now?\\r\\nThe best way is the next way to a grave:\\r\\nEach errant step beside is torment. Loe,\\r\\nThe Moone is down, the Cryckets chirpe, the Schreichowle\\r\\nCalls in the dawne; all offices are done\\r\\nSave what I faile in: But the point is this,\\r\\nAn end, and that is all. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (Same as Scene I.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Arcite, with Meate, Wine, and Files.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI should be neere the place: hoa, Cosen Palamon. [Enter\\r\\nPalamon.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nArcite?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThe same: I have brought you foode and files.\\r\\nCome forth and feare not, here\\'s no Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNor none so honest, Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat\\'s no matter,\\r\\nWee\\'l argue that hereafter: Come, take courage;\\r\\nYou shall not dye thus beastly: here, Sir, drinke;\\r\\nI know you are faint: then ile talke further with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nArcite, thou mightst now poyson me.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI might,\\r\\nBut I must feare you first: Sit downe, and, good, now\\r\\nNo more of these vaine parlies; let us not,\\r\\nHaving our ancient reputation with us,\\r\\nMake talke for Fooles and Cowards. To your health, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDoe.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nPray, sit downe then; and let me entreate you,\\r\\nBy all the honesty and honour in you,\\r\\nNo mention of this woman: t\\'will disturbe us;\\r\\nWe shall have time enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWell, Sir, Ile pledge you.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDrinke a good hearty draught; it breeds good blood, man.\\r\\nDoe not you feele it thaw you?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nStay, Ile tell you after a draught or two more.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSpare it not, the Duke has more, Cuz: Eate now.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am glad you have so good a stomach.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI am gladder I have so good meate too\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIs\\'t not mad lodging here in the wild woods, Cosen?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes, for them that have wilde Consciences.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHow tasts your vittails? your hunger needs no sawce, I see.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNot much;\\r\\nBut if it did, yours is too tart, sweete Cosen: what is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nVenison.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTis a lusty meate:\\r\\nGiue me more wine; here, Arcite, to the wenches\\r\\nWe have known in our daies. The Lord Stewards daughter,\\r\\nDoe you remember her?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nAfter you, Cuz.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nShe lov\\'d a black-haird man.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nShe did so; well, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAnd I have heard some call him Arcite, and—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nOut with\\'t, faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nShe met him in an Arbour:\\r\\nWhat did she there, Cuz? play o\\'th virginals?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSomething she did, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMade her groane a moneth for\\'t, or 2. or 3. or 10.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThe Marshals Sister\\r\\nHad her share too, as I remember, Cosen,\\r\\nElse there be tales abroade; you\\'l pledge her?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nA pretty broune wench t\\'is. There was a time\\r\\nWhen yong men went a hunting, and a wood,\\r\\nAnd a broade Beech: and thereby hangs a tale:—heigh ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nFor Emily, upon my life! Foole,\\r\\nAway with this straind mirth; I say againe,\\r\\nThat sigh was breathd for Emily; base Cosen,\\r\\nDar\\'st thou breake first?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou are wide.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBy heaven and earth, ther\\'s nothing in thee honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThen Ile leave you: you are a Beast now.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAs thou makst me, Traytour.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTher\\'s all things needfull, files and shirts, and perfumes:\\r\\nIle come againe some two howres hence, and bring\\r\\nThat that shall quiet all,\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nA Sword and Armour?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nFeare me not; you are now too fowle; farewell.\\r\\nGet off your Trinkets; you shall want nought.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nSir, ha—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIle heare no more. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIf he keepe touch, he dies for\\'t. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. (Another part of the forest.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylors daughter.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI am very cold, and all the Stars are out too,\\r\\nThe little Stars, and all, that looke like aglets:\\r\\nThe Sun has seene my Folly. Palamon!\\r\\nAlas no; hees in heaven. Where am I now?\\r\\nYonder\\'s the sea, and ther\\'s a Ship; how\\'t tumbles!\\r\\nAnd ther\\'s a Rocke lies watching under water;\\r\\nNow, now, it beates upon it; now, now, now,\\r\\nTher\\'s a leak sprung, a sound one, how they cry!\\r\\nSpoon her before the winde, you\\'l loose all els:\\r\\nVp with a course or two, and take about, Boyes.\\r\\nGood night, good night, y\\'ar gone.—I am very hungry.\\r\\nWould I could finde a fine Frog; he would tell me\\r\\nNewes from all parts o\\'th world, then would I make\\r\\nA Carecke of a Cockle shell, and sayle\\r\\nBy east and North East to the King of Pigmes,\\r\\nFor he tels fortunes rarely. Now my Father,\\r\\nTwenty to one, is trust up in a trice\\r\\nTo morrow morning; Ile say never a word.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Sing.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFor ile cut my greene coat a foote above my knee, And ile clip my\\r\\nyellow lockes an inch below mine eie. hey, nonny, nonny, nonny, He\\'s\\r\\nbuy me a white Cut, forth for to ride And ile goe seeke him, throw the\\r\\nworld that is so wide hey nonny, nonny, nonny.\\r\\n\\r\\nO for a pricke now like a Nightingale,\\r\\nTo put my breast against. I shall sleepe like a Top else.\\r\\n[Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5. (Another part of the forest.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter a Schoole master, 4. Countrymen, and Bavian. 2. or 3. wenches,\\r\\nwith a Taborer.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nFy, fy, what tediosity, & disensanity is here among ye? have my\\r\\nRudiments bin labourd so long with ye? milkd unto ye, and by a figure\\r\\neven the very plumbroth & marrow of my understanding laid upon ye? and\\r\\ndo you still cry: where, and how, & wherfore? you most course freeze\\r\\ncapacities, ye jane Iudgements, have I saide: thus let be, and there\\r\\nlet be, and then let be, and no man understand mee? Proh deum, medius\\r\\nfidius, ye are all dunces! For why, here stand I, Here the Duke comes,\\r\\nthere are you close in the Thicket; the Duke appeares, I meete him and\\r\\nunto him I utter learned things and many figures; he heares, and nods,\\r\\nand hums, and then cries: rare, and I goe forward; at length I fling my\\r\\nCap up; marke there; then do you, as once did Meleager and the Bore,\\r\\nbreak comly out before him: like true lovers, cast your selves in a\\r\\nBody decently, and sweetly, by a figure trace and turne, Boyes.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nAnd sweetly we will doe it Master Gerrold.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nDraw up the Company. Where\\'s the Taborour?\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nWhy, Timothy!\\r\\n\\r\\nTABORER.\\r\\nHere, my mad boyes, have at ye.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nBut I say, where\\'s their women?\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nHere\\'s Friz and Maudline.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nAnd little Luce with the white legs, and bouncing Barbery.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nAnd freckeled Nel, that never faild her Master.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nWher be your Ribands, maids? swym with your Bodies\\r\\nAnd carry it sweetly, and deliverly\\r\\nAnd now and then a fauour, and a friske.\\r\\n\\r\\nNEL.\\r\\nLet us alone, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nWher\\'s the rest o\\'th Musicke?\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nDispersd as you commanded.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nCouple, then,\\r\\nAnd see what\\'s wanting; wher\\'s the Bavian?\\r\\nMy friend, carry your taile without offence\\r\\nOr scandall to the Ladies; and be sure\\r\\nYou tumble with audacity and manhood;\\r\\nAnd when you barke, doe it with judgement.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAVIAN.\\r\\nYes, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nQuo usque tandem? Here is a woman wanting.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nWe may goe whistle: all the fat\\'s i\\'th fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nWe have,\\r\\nAs learned Authours utter, washd a Tile,\\r\\nWe have beene FATUUS, and laboured vainely.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nThis is that scornefull peece, that scurvy hilding,\\r\\nThat gave her promise faithfully, she would be here,\\r\\nCicely the Sempsters daughter:\\r\\nThe next gloves that I give her shall be dog skin;\\r\\nNay and she faile me once—you can tell, Arcas,\\r\\nShe swore by wine and bread, she would not breake.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nAn Eele and woman,\\r\\nA learned Poet sayes, unles by\\'th taile\\r\\nAnd with thy teeth thou hold, will either faile.\\r\\nIn manners this was false position\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nA fire ill take her; do\\'s she flinch now?\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nWhat\\r\\nShall we determine, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nNothing.\\r\\nOur busines is become a nullity;\\r\\nYea, and a woefull, and a pittious nullity.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nNow when the credite of our Towne lay on it,\\r\\nNow to be frampall, now to pisse o\\'th nettle!\\r\\nGoe thy waies; ile remember thee, ile fit thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylors daughter.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\n[Sings.]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe George alow came from the South,\\r\\nFrom the coast of Barbary a.\\r\\nAnd there he met with brave gallants of war\\r\\nBy one, by two, by three, a.\\r\\n\\r\\nWell haild, well haild, you jolly gallants,\\r\\nAnd whither now are you bound a?\\r\\nO let me have your company [Chaire and stooles out.]\\r\\nTill (I) come to the sound a.\\r\\n\\r\\nThere was three fooles, fell out about an howlet:\\r\\nThe one sed it was an owle,\\r\\nThe other he sed nay,\\r\\nThe third he sed it was a hawke,\\r\\nAnd her bels wer cut away.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nTher\\'s a dainty mad woman M(aiste)r\\r\\nComes i\\'th Nick, as mad as a march hare:\\r\\nIf wee can get her daunce, wee are made againe:\\r\\nI warrant her, shee\\'l doe the rarest gambols.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nA mad woman? we are made, Boyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nAnd are you mad, good woman?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI would be sorry else;\\r\\nGive me your hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nWhy?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI can tell your fortune.\\r\\nYou are a foole: tell ten. I have pozd him: Buz!\\r\\nFriend you must eate no whitebread; if you doe,\\r\\nYour teeth will bleede extreamely. Shall we dance, ho?\\r\\nI know you, y\\'ar a Tinker: Sirha Tinker,\\r\\nStop no more holes, but what you should.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nDij boni. A Tinker, Damzell?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nOr a Conjurer:\\r\\nRaise me a devill now, and let him play\\r\\nQuipassa o\\'th bels and bones.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nGoe, take her,\\r\\nAnd fluently perswade her to a peace:\\r\\nEt opus exegi, quod nec Iouis ira, nec ignis.\\r\\nStrike up, and leade her in.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nCome, Lasse, lets trip it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIle leade. [Winde Hornes.]\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nDoe, doe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nPerswasively, and cunningly: away, boyes, [Ex. all but\\r\\nSchoolemaster.]\\r\\nI heare the hornes: give me some meditation,\\r\\nAnd marke your Cue.—Pallas inspire me.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Thes. Pir. Hip. Emil. Arcite, and traine.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThis way the Stag tooke.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nStay, and edifie.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat have we here?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nSome Countrey sport, upon my life, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWell, Sir, goe forward, we will edifie.\\r\\nLadies, sit downe, wee\\'l stay it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nThou, doughtie Duke, all haile: all haile, sweet Ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThis is a cold beginning.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nIf you but favour, our Country pastime made is.\\r\\nWe are a few of those collected here,\\r\\nThat ruder Tongues distinguish villager;\\r\\nAnd to say veritie, and not to fable,\\r\\nWe are a merry rout, or else a rable,\\r\\nOr company, or, by a figure, Choris,\\r\\nThat fore thy dignitie will dance a Morris.\\r\\nAnd I, that am the rectifier of all,\\r\\nBy title Pedagogus, that let fall\\r\\nThe Birch upon the breeches of the small ones,\\r\\nAnd humble with a Ferula the tall ones,\\r\\nDoe here present this Machine, or this frame:\\r\\nAnd daintie Duke, whose doughtie dismall fame\\r\\nFrom Dis to Dedalus, from post to pillar,\\r\\nIs blowne abroad, helpe me thy poore well willer,\\r\\nAnd with thy twinckling eyes looke right and straight\\r\\nVpon this mighty MORR—of mickle waight;\\r\\nIS now comes in, which being glewd together,\\r\\nMakes MORRIS, and the cause that we came hether.\\r\\nThe body of our sport, of no small study,\\r\\nI first appeare, though rude, and raw, and muddy,\\r\\nTo speake before thy noble grace this tenner:\\r\\nAt whose great feete I offer up my penner.\\r\\nThe next the Lord of May and Lady bright,\\r\\nThe Chambermaid and Servingman by night\\r\\nThat seeke out silent hanging: Then mine Host\\r\\nAnd his fat Spowse, that welcomes to their cost\\r\\nThe gauled Traveller, and with a beckning\\r\\nInformes the Tapster to inflame the reckning:\\r\\nThen the beast eating Clowne, and next the foole,\\r\\nThe Bavian, with long tayle and eke long toole,\\r\\nCum multis alijs that make a dance:\\r\\nSay \\'I,\\' and all shall presently advance.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI, I, by any meanes, deere Domine.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nProduce.\\r\\n\\r\\n(SCHOOLMASTER.)\\r\\nIntrate, filij; Come forth, and foot it.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Musicke, Dance. Knocke for Schoole.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter the Dance.]\\r\\n\\r\\nLadies, if we have beene merry,\\r\\nAnd have pleasd yee with a derry,\\r\\nAnd a derry, and a downe,\\r\\nSay the Schoolemaster\\'s no Clowne:\\r\\nDuke, if we have pleasd thee too,\\r\\nAnd have done as good Boyes should doe,\\r\\nGive us but a tree or twaine\\r\\nFor a Maypole, and againe,\\r\\nEre another yeare run out,\\r\\nWee\\'l make thee laugh and all this rout.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nTake 20., Domine; how does my sweet heart?\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nNever so pleasd, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nTwas an excellent dance, and for a preface\\r\\nI never heard a better.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSchoolemaster, I thanke you.—One see\\'em all rewarded.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nAnd heer\\'s something to paint your Pole withall.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNow to our sports againe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nMay the Stag thou huntst stand long,\\r\\nAnd thy dogs be swift and strong:\\r\\nMay they kill him without lets,\\r\\nAnd the Ladies eate his dowsets!\\r\\nCome, we are all made. [Winde Hornes.]\\r\\nDij Deoeq(ue) omnes, ye have danc\\'d rarely, wenches. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 6. (Same as Scene III.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon from the Bush.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAbout this houre my Cosen gave his faith\\r\\nTo visit me againe, and with him bring\\r\\nTwo Swords, and two good Armors; if he faile,\\r\\nHe\\'s neither man nor Souldier. When he left me,\\r\\nI did not thinke a weeke could have restord\\r\\nMy lost strength to me, I was growne so low,\\r\\nAnd Crest-falne with my wants: I thanke thee, Arcite,\\r\\nThou art yet a faire Foe; and I feele my selfe\\r\\nWith this refreshing, able once againe\\r\\nTo out dure danger: To delay it longer\\r\\nWould make the world think, when it comes to hearing,\\r\\nThat I lay fatting like a Swine to fight,\\r\\nAnd not a Souldier: Therefore, this blest morning\\r\\nShall be the last; and that Sword he refuses,\\r\\nIf it but hold, I kill him with; tis Iustice:\\r\\nSo love, and Fortune for me!—O, good morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Arcite with Armors and Swords.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nGood morrow, noble kinesman.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI have put you to too much paines, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat too much, faire Cosen,\\r\\nIs but a debt to honour, and my duty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWould you were so in all, Sir; I could wish ye\\r\\nAs kinde a kinsman, as you force me finde\\r\\nA beneficiall foe, that my embraces\\r\\nMight thanke ye, not my blowes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI shall thinke either, well done,\\r\\nA noble recompence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThen I shall quit you.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDefy me in these faire termes, and you show\\r\\nMore then a Mistris to me, no more anger\\r\\nAs you love any thing that\\'s honourable:\\r\\nWe were not bred to talke, man; when we are arm\\'d\\r\\nAnd both upon our guards, then let our fury,\\r\\nLike meeting of two tides, fly strongly from us,\\r\\nAnd then to whom the birthright of this Beauty\\r\\nTruely pertaines (without obbraidings, scornes,\\r\\nDispisings of our persons, and such powtings,\\r\\nFitter for Girles and Schooleboyes) will be seene\\r\\nAnd quickly, yours, or mine: wilt please you arme, Sir,\\r\\nOr if you feele your selfe not fitting yet\\r\\nAnd furnishd with your old strength, ile stay, Cosen,\\r\\nAnd ev\\'ry day discourse you into health,\\r\\nAs I am spard: your person I am friends with,\\r\\nAnd I could wish I had not saide I lov\\'d her,\\r\\nThough I had dide; But loving such a Lady\\r\\nAnd justifying my Love, I must not fly from\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nArcite, thou art so brave an enemy,\\r\\nThat no man but thy Cosen\\'s fit to kill thee:\\r\\nI am well and lusty, choose your Armes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nChoose you, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWilt thou exceede in all, or do\\'st thou doe it\\r\\nTo make me spare thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf you thinke so, Cosen,\\r\\nYou are deceived, for as I am a Soldier,\\r\\nI will not spare you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThat\\'s well said.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou\\'l finde it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThen, as I am an honest man and love\\r\\nWith all the justice of affection,\\r\\nIle pay thee soundly. This ile take.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat\\'s mine, then;\\r\\nIle arme you first.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDo: pray thee, tell me, Cosen,\\r\\nWhere gotst thou this good Armour?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTis the Dukes,\\r\\nAnd to say true, I stole it; doe I pinch you?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNoe.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIs\\'t not too heavie?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI have worne a lighter,\\r\\nBut I shall make it serve.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIle buckl\\'t close.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBy any meanes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou care not for a Grand guard?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNo, no; wee\\'l use no horses: I perceave\\r\\nYou would faine be at that Fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am indifferent.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nFaith, so am I: good Cosen, thrust the buckle\\r\\nThrough far enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI warrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMy Caske now.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWill you fight bare-armd?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWe shall be the nimbler.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBut use your Gauntlets though; those are o\\'th least,\\r\\nPrethee take mine, good Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThanke you, Arcite.\\r\\nHow doe I looke? am I falne much away?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nFaith, very little; love has usd you kindly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIle warrant thee, Ile strike home.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDoe, and spare not;\\r\\nIle give you cause, sweet Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNow to you, Sir:\\r\\nMe thinkes this Armor\\'s very like that, Arcite,\\r\\nThou wor\\'st the day the 3. Kings fell, but lighter.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat was a very good one; and that day,\\r\\nI well remember, you outdid me, Cosen.\\r\\nI never saw such valour: when you chargd\\r\\nVpon the left wing of the Enemie,\\r\\nI spurd hard to come up, and under me\\r\\nI had a right good horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou had indeede; a bright Bay, I remember.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, but all\\r\\nWas vainely labour\\'d in me; you outwent me,\\r\\nNor could my wishes reach you; yet a little\\r\\nI did by imitation.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMore by vertue;\\r\\nYou are modest, Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWhen I saw you charge first,\\r\\nMe thought I heard a dreadfull clap of Thunder\\r\\nBreake from the Troope.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBut still before that flew\\r\\nThe lightning of your valour. Stay a little,\\r\\nIs not this peece too streight?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNo, no, tis well.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI would have nothing hurt thee but my Sword,\\r\\nA bruise would be dishonour.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNow I am perfect.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nStand off, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTake my Sword, I hold it better.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI thanke ye: No, keepe it; your life lyes on it.\\r\\nHere\\'s one; if it but hold, I aske no more\\r\\nFor all my hopes: My Cause and honour guard me! [They bow\\r\\n severall wayes: then advance and stand.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nAnd me my love! Is there ought else to say?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThis onely, and no more: Thou art mine Aunts Son,\\r\\nAnd that blood we desire to shed is mutuall;\\r\\nIn me, thine, and in thee, mine. My Sword\\r\\nIs in my hand, and if thou killst me,\\r\\nThe gods and I forgive thee; If there be\\r\\nA place prepar\\'d for those that sleepe in honour,\\r\\nI wish his wearie soule that falls may win it:\\r\\nFight bravely, Cosen; give me thy noble hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHere, Palamon: This hand shall never more\\r\\nCome neare thee with such friendship.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI commend thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf I fall, curse me, and say I was a coward,\\r\\nFor none but such dare die in these just Tryalls.\\r\\nOnce more farewell, my Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nFarewell, Arcite. [Fight.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Hornes within: they stand.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nLoe, Cosen, loe, our Folly has undon us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhy?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThis is the Duke, a hunting as I told you.\\r\\nIf we be found, we are wretched. O retire\\r\\nFor honours sake, and safety presently\\r\\nInto your Bush agen; Sir, we shall finde\\r\\nToo many howres to dye in: gentle Cosen,\\r\\nIf you be seene you perish instantly\\r\\nFor breaking prison, and I, if you reveale me,\\r\\nFor my contempt. Then all the world will scorne us,\\r\\nAnd say we had a noble difference,\\r\\nBut base disposers of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNo, no, Cosen,\\r\\nI will no more be hidden, nor put off\\r\\nThis great adventure to a second Tryall:\\r\\nI know your cunning, and I know your cause;\\r\\nHe that faints now, shame take him: put thy selfe\\r\\nVpon thy present guard—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou are not mad?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nOr I will make th\\'advantage of this howre\\r\\nMine owne, and what to come shall threaten me,\\r\\nI feare lesse then my fortune: know, weake Cosen,\\r\\nI love Emilia, and in that ile bury\\r\\nThee, and all crosses else.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThen, come what can come,\\r\\nThou shalt know, Palamon, I dare as well\\r\\nDie, as discourse, or sleepe: Onely this feares me,\\r\\nThe law will have the honour of our ends.\\r\\nHave at thy life.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nLooke to thine owne well, Arcite. [Fight againe. Hornes.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Perithous and traine.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat ignorant and mad malicious Traitors,\\r\\nAre you, That gainst the tenor of my Lawes\\r\\nAre making Battaile, thus like Knights appointed,\\r\\nWithout my leave, and Officers of Armes?\\r\\nBy Castor, both shall dye.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHold thy word, Theseus.\\r\\nWe are certainly both Traitors, both despisers\\r\\nOf thee and of thy goodnesse: I am Palamon,\\r\\nThat cannot love thee, he that broke thy Prison;\\r\\nThinke well what that deserves: and this is Arcite,\\r\\nA bolder Traytor never trod thy ground,\\r\\nA Falser neu\\'r seem\\'d friend: This is the man\\r\\nWas begd and banish\\'d; this is he contemnes thee\\r\\nAnd what thou dar\\'st doe, and in this disguise\\r\\nAgainst thy owne Edict followes thy Sister,\\r\\nThat fortunate bright Star, the faire Emilia,\\r\\nWhose servant, (if there be a right in seeing,\\r\\nAnd first bequeathing of the soule to) justly\\r\\nI am, and, which is more, dares thinke her his.\\r\\nThis treacherie, like a most trusty Lover,\\r\\nI call\\'d him now to answer; if thou bee\\'st,\\r\\nAs thou art spoken, great and vertuous,\\r\\nThe true descider of all injuries,\\r\\nSay, \\'Fight againe,\\' and thou shalt see me, Theseus,\\r\\nDoe such a Iustice, thou thy selfe wilt envie.\\r\\nThen take my life; Ile wooe thee too\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nO heaven,\\r\\nWhat more then man is this!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI have sworne.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWe seeke not\\r\\nThy breath of mercy, Theseus. Tis to me\\r\\nA thing as soone to dye, as thee to say it,\\r\\nAnd no more mov\\'d: where this man calls me Traitor,\\r\\nLet me say thus much: if in love be Treason,\\r\\nIn service of so excellent a Beutie,\\r\\nAs I love most, and in that faith will perish,\\r\\nAs I have brought my life here to confirme it,\\r\\nAs I have serv\\'d her truest, worthiest,\\r\\nAs I dare kill this Cosen, that denies it,\\r\\nSo let me be most Traitor, and ye please me.\\r\\nFor scorning thy Edict, Duke, aske that Lady\\r\\nWhy she is faire, and why her eyes command me\\r\\nStay here to love her; and if she say \\'Traytor,\\'\\r\\nI am a villaine fit to lye unburied.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThou shalt have pitty of us both, o Theseus,\\r\\nIf unto neither thou shew mercy; stop\\r\\n(As thou art just) thy noble eare against us.\\r\\nAs thou art valiant, for thy Cosens soule\\r\\nWhose 12. strong labours crowne his memory,\\r\\nLets die together, at one instant, Duke,\\r\\nOnely a little let him fall before me,\\r\\nThat I may tell my Soule he shall not have her.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI grant your wish, for, to say true, your Cosen\\r\\nHas ten times more offended; for I gave him\\r\\nMore mercy then you found, Sir, your offenses\\r\\nBeing no more then his. None here speake for \\'em,\\r\\nFor, ere the Sun set, both shall sleepe for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nAlas the pitty! now or never, Sister,\\r\\nSpeake, not to be denide; That face of yours\\r\\nWill beare the curses else of after ages\\r\\nFor these lost Cosens.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIn my face, deare Sister,\\r\\nI finde no anger to \\'em, nor no ruyn;\\r\\nThe misadventure of their owne eyes kill \\'em;\\r\\nYet that I will be woman, and have pitty,\\r\\nMy knees shall grow to\\'th ground but Ile get mercie.\\r\\nHelpe me, deare Sister; in a deede so vertuous\\r\\nThe powers of all women will be with us.\\r\\nMost royall Brother—\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nSir, by our tye of Marriage—\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBy your owne spotlesse honour—\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nBy that faith,\\r\\nThat faire hand, and that honest heart you gave me.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBy that you would have pitty in another,\\r\\nBy your owne vertues infinite.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nBy valour,\\r\\nBy all the chaste nights I have ever pleasd you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThese are strange Conjurings.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nNay, then, Ile in too:\\r\\nBy all our friendship, Sir, by all our dangers,\\r\\nBy all you love most: warres and this sweet Lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBy that you would have trembled to deny,\\r\\nA blushing Maide.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nBy your owne eyes: By strength,\\r\\nIn which you swore I went beyond all women,\\r\\nAlmost all men, and yet I yeelded, Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nTo crowne all this: By your most noble soule,\\r\\nWhich cannot want due mercie, I beg first.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nNext, heare my prayers.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nLast, let me intreate, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nFor mercy.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nMercy.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMercy on these Princes.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYe make my faith reele: Say I felt\\r\\nCompassion to\\'em both, how would you place it?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nVpon their lives: But with their banishments.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou are a right woman, Sister; you have pitty,\\r\\nBut want the vnderstanding where to use it.\\r\\nIf you desire their lives, invent a way\\r\\nSafer then banishment: Can these two live\\r\\nAnd have the agony of love about \\'em,\\r\\nAnd not kill one another? Every day\\r\\nThey\\'ld fight about you; howrely bring your honour\\r\\nIn publique question with their Swords. Be wise, then,\\r\\nAnd here forget \\'em; it concernes your credit\\r\\nAnd my oth equally: I have said they die;\\r\\nBetter they fall by\\'th law, then one another.\\r\\nBow not my honor.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO my noble Brother,\\r\\nThat oth was rashly made, and in your anger,\\r\\nYour reason will not hold it; if such vowes\\r\\nStand for expresse will, all the world must perish.\\r\\nBeside, I have another oth gainst yours,\\r\\nOf more authority, I am sure more love,\\r\\nNot made in passion neither, but good heede.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat is it, Sister?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nVrge it home, brave Lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat you would nev\\'r deny me any thing\\r\\nFit for my modest suit, and your free granting:\\r\\nI tye you to your word now; if ye fall in\\'t,\\r\\nThinke how you maime your honour,\\r\\n(For now I am set a begging, Sir, I am deafe\\r\\nTo all but your compassion.) How, their lives\\r\\nMight breed the ruine of my name, Opinion!\\r\\nShall any thing that loves me perish for me?\\r\\nThat were a cruell wisedome; doe men proyne\\r\\nThe straight yong Bowes that blush with thousand Blossoms,\\r\\nBecause they may be rotten? O Duke Theseus,\\r\\nThe goodly Mothers that have groand for these,\\r\\nAnd all the longing Maides that ever lov\\'d,\\r\\nIf your vow stand, shall curse me and my Beauty,\\r\\nAnd in their funerall songs for these two Cosens\\r\\nDespise my crueltie, and cry woe worth me,\\r\\nTill I am nothing but the scorne of women;\\r\\nFor heavens sake save their lives, and banish \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nOn what conditions?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nSweare\\'em never more\\r\\nTo make me their Contention, or to know me,\\r\\nTo tread upon thy Dukedome; and to be,\\r\\nWhere ever they shall travel, ever strangers\\r\\nTo one another.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIle be cut a peeces\\r\\nBefore I take this oth: forget I love her?\\r\\nO all ye gods dispise me, then! Thy Banishment\\r\\nI not mislike, so we may fairely carry\\r\\nOur Swords and cause along: else, never trifle,\\r\\nBut take our lives, Duke: I must love and will,\\r\\nAnd for that love must and dare kill this Cosen\\r\\nOn any peece the earth has.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWill you, Arcite,\\r\\nTake these conditions?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHe\\'s a villaine, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThese are men.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNo, never, Duke: Tis worse to me than begging\\r\\nTo take my life so basely; though I thinke\\r\\nI never shall enjoy her, yet ile preserve\\r\\nThe honour of affection, and dye for her,\\r\\nMake death a Devill.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat may be done? for now I feele compassion.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nLet it not fall agen, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSay, Emilia,\\r\\nIf one of them were dead, as one must, are you\\r\\nContent to take th\\'other to your husband?\\r\\nThey cannot both enjoy you; They are Princes\\r\\nAs goodly as your owne eyes, and as noble\\r\\nAs ever fame yet spoke of; looke upon \\'em,\\r\\nAnd if you can love, end this difference.\\r\\nI give consent; are you content too, Princes?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTH.\\r\\nWith all our soules.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nHe that she refuses\\r\\nMust dye, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTH.\\r\\nAny death thou canst invent, Duke.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIf I fall from that mouth, I fall with favour,\\r\\nAnd Lovers yet unborne shall blesse my ashes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf she refuse me, yet my grave will wed me,\\r\\nAnd Souldiers sing my Epitaph.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nMake choice, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI cannot, Sir, they are both too excellent:\\r\\nFor me, a hayre shall never fall of these men.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nWhat will become of \\'em?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThus I ordaine it;\\r\\nAnd by mine honor, once againe, it stands,\\r\\nOr both shall dye:—You shall both to your Countrey,\\r\\nAnd each within this moneth, accompanied\\r\\nWith three faire Knights, appeare againe in this place,\\r\\nIn which Ile plant a Pyramid; and whether,\\r\\nBefore us that are here, can force his Cosen\\r\\nBy fayre and knightly strength to touch the Pillar,\\r\\nHe shall enjoy her: the other loose his head,\\r\\nAnd all his friends; Nor shall he grudge to fall,\\r\\nNor thinke he dies with interest in this Lady:\\r\\nWill this content yee?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes: here, Cosen Arcite,\\r\\nI am friends againe, till that howre.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI embrace ye.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAre you content, Sister?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYes, I must, Sir,\\r\\nEls both miscarry.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nCome, shake hands againe, then;\\r\\nAnd take heede, as you are Gentlemen, this Quarrell\\r\\nSleepe till the howre prefixt; and hold your course.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWe dare not faile thee, Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nCome, Ile give ye\\r\\nNow usage like to Princes, and to Friends:\\r\\nWhen ye returne, who wins, Ile settle heere;\\r\\nWho looses, yet Ile weepe upon his Beere. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (Athens. A room in the prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iailor and his friend.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHeare you no more? was nothing saide of me\\r\\nConcerning the escape of Palamon?\\r\\nGood Sir, remember.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nNothing that I heard,\\r\\nFor I came home before the busines\\r\\nWas fully ended: Yet I might perceive,\\r\\nEre I departed, a great likelihood\\r\\nOf both their pardons: For Hipolita,\\r\\nAnd faire-eyd Emilie, upon their knees\\r\\nBegd with such hansom pitty, that the Duke\\r\\nMe thought stood staggering, whether he should follow\\r\\nHis rash oth, or the sweet compassion\\r\\nOf those two Ladies; and to second them,\\r\\nThat truely noble Prince Perithous,\\r\\nHalfe his owne heart, set in too, that I hope\\r\\nAll shall be well: Neither heard I one question\\r\\nOf your name or his scape.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter 2. Friend.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nPray heaven it hold so.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nBe of good comfort, man; I bring you newes,\\r\\nGood newes.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThey are welcome,\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nPalamon has cleerd you,\\r\\nAnd got your pardon, and discoverd how\\r\\nAnd by whose meanes he escapt, which was your Daughters,\\r\\nWhose pardon is procurd too; and the Prisoner,\\r\\nNot to be held ungratefull to her goodnes,\\r\\nHas given a summe of money to her Marriage,\\r\\nA large one, ile assure you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYe are a good man\\r\\nAnd ever bring good newes.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nHow was it ended?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nWhy, as it should be; they that nev\\'r begd\\r\\nBut they prevaild, had their suites fairely granted,\\r\\nThe prisoners have their lives.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nI knew t\\'would be so.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nBut there be new conditions, which you\\'l heare of\\r\\nAt better time.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI hope they are good.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nThey are honourable,\\r\\nHow good they\\'l prove, I know not.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Wooer.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nT\\'will be knowne.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nAlas, Sir, wher\\'s your Daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWhy doe you aske?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nO, Sir, when did you see her?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nHow he lookes?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThis morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nWas she well? was she in health, Sir?\\r\\nWhen did she sleepe?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nThese are strange Questions.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI doe not thinke she was very well, for now\\r\\nYou make me minde her, but this very day\\r\\nI ask\\'d her questions, and she answered me\\r\\nSo farre from what she was, so childishly,\\r\\nSo sillily, as if she were a foole,\\r\\nAn Inocent, and I was very angry.\\r\\nBut what of her, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nNothing but my pitty;\\r\\nBut you must know it, and as good by me\\r\\nAs by an other that lesse loves her—\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWell, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nNot right?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nNot well?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nNo, Sir, not well.\\r\\nTis too true, she is mad.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nIt cannot be.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nBeleeve, you\\'l finde it so.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI halfe suspected\\r\\nWhat you (have) told me: the gods comfort her:\\r\\nEither this was her love to Palamon,\\r\\nOr feare of my miscarrying on his scape,\\r\\nOr both.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nTis likely.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nBut why all this haste, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nIle tell you quickly. As I late was angling\\r\\nIn the great Lake that lies behind the Pallace,\\r\\nFrom the far shore, thicke set with reedes and Sedges,\\r\\nAs patiently I was attending sport,\\r\\nI heard a voyce, a shrill one, and attentive\\r\\nI gave my eare, when I might well perceive\\r\\nT\\'was one that sung, and by the smallnesse of it\\r\\nA boy or woman. I then left my angle\\r\\nTo his owne skill, came neere, but yet perceivd not\\r\\nWho made the sound, the rushes and the Reeds\\r\\nHad so encompast it: I laide me downe\\r\\nAnd listned to the words she sung, for then,\\r\\nThrough a small glade cut by the Fisher men,\\r\\nI saw it was your Daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nPray, goe on, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nShe sung much, but no sence; onely I heard her\\r\\nRepeat this often: \\'Palamon is gone,\\r\\nIs gone to\\'th wood to gather Mulberies;\\r\\nIle finde him out to morrow.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nPretty soule.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\n\\'His shackles will betray him, hee\\'l be taken,\\r\\nAnd what shall I doe then? Ile bring a beavy,\\r\\nA hundred blacke eyd Maides, that love as I doe,\\r\\nWith Chaplets on their heads of Daffadillies,\\r\\nWith cherry-lips, and cheekes of Damaske Roses,\\r\\nAnd all wee\\'l daunce an Antique fore the Duke,\\r\\nAnd beg his pardon.\\' Then she talk\\'d of you, Sir;\\r\\nThat you must loose your head to morrow morning,\\r\\nAnd she must gather flowers to bury you,\\r\\nAnd see the house made handsome: then she sung\\r\\nNothing but \\'Willow, willow, willow,\\' and betweene\\r\\nEver was, \\'Palamon, faire Palamon,\\'\\r\\nAnd \\'Palamon was a tall yong man.\\' The place\\r\\nWas knee deepe where she sat; her careles Tresses\\r\\nA wreathe of bull-rush rounded; about her stucke\\r\\nThousand fresh water flowers of severall cullors,\\r\\nThat me thought she appeard like the faire Nimph\\r\\nThat feedes the lake with waters, or as Iris\\r\\nNewly dropt downe from heaven; Rings she made\\r\\nOf rushes that grew by, and to \\'em spoke\\r\\nThe prettiest posies: \\'Thus our true love\\'s tide,\\'\\r\\n\\'This you may loose, not me,\\' and many a one:\\r\\nAnd then she wept, and sung againe, and sigh\\'d,\\r\\nAnd with the same breath smil\\'d, and kist her hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nAlas, what pitty it is!\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI made in to her.\\r\\nShe saw me, and straight sought the flood; I sav\\'d her,\\r\\nAnd set her safe to land: when presently\\r\\nShe slipt away, and to the Citty made,\\r\\nWith such a cry and swiftnes, that, beleeve me,\\r\\nShee left me farre behinde her; three or foure\\r\\nI saw from farre off crosse her, one of \\'em\\r\\nI knew to be your brother; where she staid,\\r\\nAnd fell, scarce to be got away: I left them with her, [Enter\\r\\n Brother, Daughter, and others.]\\r\\nAnd hether came to tell you. Here they are.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER. [sings.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMay you never more enjoy the light, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nIs not this a fine Song?\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nO, a very fine one.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI can sing twenty more.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nI thinke you can.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYes, truely, can I; I can sing the Broome,\\r\\nAnd Bony Robin. Are not you a tailour?\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWher\\'s my wedding Gowne?\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nIle bring it to morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nDoe, very rarely; I must be abroad else\\r\\nTo call the Maides, and pay the Minstrels,\\r\\nFor I must loose my Maydenhead by cock-light;\\r\\nTwill never thrive else.\\r\\n[Singes.] O faire, oh sweete, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nYou must ev\\'n take it patiently.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nTis true.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nGood ev\\'n, good men; pray, did you ever heare\\r\\nOf one yong Palamon?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYes, wench, we know him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIs\\'t not a fine yong Gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nTis Love.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nBy no meane crosse her; she is then distemperd\\r\\nFar worse then now she showes.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nYes, he\\'s a fine man.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nO, is he so? you have a Sister?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nBut she shall never have him, tell her so,\\r\\nFor a tricke that I know; y\\'had best looke to her,\\r\\nFor if she see him once, she\\'s gone, she\\'s done,\\r\\nAnd undon in an howre. All the young Maydes\\r\\nOf our Towne are in love with him, but I laugh at \\'em\\r\\nAnd let \\'em all alone; Is\\'t not a wise course?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nThere is at least two hundred now with child by him—\\r\\nThere must be fowre; yet I keepe close for all this,\\r\\nClose as a Cockle; and all these must be Boyes,\\r\\nHe has the tricke on\\'t, and at ten yeares old\\r\\nThey must be all gelt for Musitians,\\r\\nAnd sing the wars of Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nThis is strange.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAs ever you heard, but say nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nThey come from all parts of the Dukedome to him;\\r\\nIle warrant ye, he had not so few last night\\r\\nAs twenty to dispatch: hee\\'l tickl\\'t up\\r\\nIn two howres, if his hand be in.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nShe\\'s lost\\r\\nPast all cure.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nHeaven forbid, man.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nCome hither, you are a wise man.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nDo\\'s she know him?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nNo, would she did.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYou are master of a Ship?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWher\\'s your Compasse?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHeere.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nSet it too\\'th North.\\r\\nAnd now direct your course to\\'th wood, wher Palamon\\r\\nLyes longing for me; For the Tackling\\r\\nLet me alone; Come, waygh, my hearts, cheerely!\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nOwgh, owgh, owgh, tis up, the wind\\'s faire,\\r\\nTop the Bowling, out with the maine saile;\\r\\nWher\\'s your Whistle, Master?\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nLets get her in.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nVp to the top, Boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nWher\\'s the Pilot?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nHeere.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWhat ken\\'st thou?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nA faire wood.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nBeare for it, master: take about! [Singes.]\\r\\nWhen Cinthia with her borrowed light, &c. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (A Room in the Palace.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Emilia alone, with 2. Pictures.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYet I may binde those wounds up, that must open\\r\\nAnd bleed to death for my sake else; Ile choose,\\r\\nAnd end their strife: Two such yong hansom men\\r\\nShall never fall for me, their weeping Mothers,\\r\\nFollowing the dead cold ashes of their Sonnes,\\r\\nShall never curse my cruelty. Good heaven,\\r\\nWhat a sweet face has Arcite! if wise nature,\\r\\nWith all her best endowments, all those beuties\\r\\nShe sowes into the birthes of noble bodies,\\r\\nWere here a mortall woman, and had in her\\r\\nThe coy denialls of yong Maydes, yet doubtles,\\r\\nShe would run mad for this man: what an eye,\\r\\nOf what a fyry sparkle, and quick sweetnes,\\r\\nHas this yong Prince! Here Love himselfe sits smyling,\\r\\nIust such another wanton Ganimead\\r\\nSet Jove a fire with, and enforcd the god\\r\\nSnatch up the goodly Boy, and set him by him\\r\\nA shining constellation: What a brow,\\r\\nOf what a spacious Majesty, he carries!\\r\\nArch\\'d like the great eyd Iuno\\'s, but far sweeter,\\r\\nSmoother then Pelops Shoulder! Fame and honour,\\r\\nMe thinks, from hence, as from a Promontory\\r\\nPointed in heaven, should clap their wings, and sing\\r\\nTo all the under world the Loves and Fights\\r\\nOf gods, and such men neere \\'em. Palamon\\r\\nIs but his foyle, to him a meere dull shadow:\\r\\nHee\\'s swarth and meagre, of an eye as heavy\\r\\nAs if he had lost his mother; a still temper,\\r\\nNo stirring in him, no alacrity,\\r\\nOf all this sprightly sharpenes not a smile;\\r\\nYet these that we count errours may become him:\\r\\nNarcissus was a sad Boy, but a heavenly:—\\r\\nOh who can finde the bent of womans fancy?\\r\\nI am a Foole, my reason is lost in me;\\r\\nI have no choice, and I have ly\\'d so lewdly\\r\\nThat women ought to beate me. On my knees\\r\\nI aske thy pardon, Palamon; thou art alone,\\r\\nAnd only beutifull, and these the eyes,\\r\\nThese the bright lamps of beauty, that command\\r\\nAnd threaten Love, and what yong Mayd dare crosse \\'em?\\r\\nWhat a bold gravity, and yet inviting,\\r\\nHas this browne manly face! O Love, this only\\r\\nFrom this howre is Complexion: Lye there, Arcite,\\r\\nThou art a changling to him, a meere Gipsey,\\r\\nAnd this the noble Bodie. I am sotted,\\r\\nVtterly lost: My Virgins faith has fled me;\\r\\nFor if my brother but even now had ask\\'d me\\r\\nWhether I lov\\'d, I had run mad for Arcite;\\r\\nNow, if my Sister, More for Palamon.\\r\\nStand both together: Now, come aske me, Brother.—\\r\\nAlas, I know not! Aske me now, sweet Sister;—\\r\\nI may goe looke. What a meere child is Fancie,\\r\\nThat, having two faire gawdes of equall sweetnesse,\\r\\nCannot distinguish, but must crie for both.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter (a) Gent(leman.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHow now, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nFrom the Noble Duke your Brother,\\r\\nMadam, I bring you newes: The Knights are come.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nTo end the quarrell?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWould I might end first:\\r\\nWhat sinnes have I committed, chast Diana,\\r\\nThat my unspotted youth must now be soyld\\r\\nWith blood of Princes? and my Chastitie\\r\\nBe made the Altar, where the lives of Lovers\\r\\n(Two greater and two better never yet\\r\\nMade mothers joy) must be the sacrifice\\r\\nTo my unhappy Beautie?\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Perithous and attendants.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nBring \\'em in\\r\\nQuickly, By any meanes; I long to see \\'em.—\\r\\nYour two contending Lovers are return\\'d,\\r\\nAnd with them their faire Knights: Now, my faire Sister,\\r\\nYou must love one of them.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI had rather both,\\r\\nSo neither for my sake should fall untimely.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Messenger. (Curtis.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWho saw \\'em?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nI, a while.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nAnd I.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nFrom whence come you, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nFrom the Knights.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nPray, speake,\\r\\nYou that have seene them, what they are.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nI will, Sir,\\r\\nAnd truly what I thinke: Six braver spirits\\r\\nThen these they have brought, (if we judge by the outside)\\r\\nI never saw, nor read of. He that stands\\r\\nIn the first place with Arcite, by his seeming,\\r\\nShould be a stout man, by his face a Prince,\\r\\n(His very lookes so say him) his complexion,\\r\\nNearer a browne, than blacke, sterne, and yet noble,\\r\\nWhich shewes him hardy, fearelesse, proud of dangers:\\r\\nThe circles of his eyes show fire within him,\\r\\nAnd as a heated Lyon, so he lookes;\\r\\nHis haire hangs long behind him, blacke and shining\\r\\nLike Ravens wings: his shoulders broad and strong,\\r\\nArmd long and round, and on his Thigh a Sword\\r\\nHung by a curious Bauldricke, when he frownes\\r\\nTo seale his will with: better, o\\'my conscience\\r\\nWas never Souldiers friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThou ha\\'st well describde him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nYet a great deale short,\\r\\nMe thinkes, of him that\\'s first with Palamon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nPray, speake him, friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nI ghesse he is a Prince too,\\r\\nAnd, if it may be, greater; for his show\\r\\nHas all the ornament of honour in\\'t:\\r\\nHee\\'s somewhat bigger, then the Knight he spoke of,\\r\\nBut of a face far sweeter; His complexion\\r\\nIs (as a ripe grape) ruddy: he has felt,\\r\\nWithout doubt, what he fights for, and so apter\\r\\nTo make this cause his owne: In\\'s face appeares\\r\\nAll the faire hopes of what he undertakes,\\r\\nAnd when he\\'s angry, then a setled valour\\r\\n(Not tainted with extreames) runs through his body,\\r\\nAnd guides his arme to brave things: Feare he cannot,\\r\\nHe shewes no such soft temper; his head\\'s yellow,\\r\\nHard hayr\\'d, and curld, thicke twind like Ivy tods,\\r\\nNot to undoe with thunder; In his face\\r\\nThe liverie of the warlike Maide appeares,\\r\\nPure red, and white, for yet no beard has blest him.\\r\\nAnd in his rowling eyes sits victory,\\r\\nAs if she ever ment to court his valour:\\r\\nHis Nose stands high, a Character of honour.\\r\\nHis red lips, after fights, are fit for Ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMust these men die too?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nWhen he speakes, his tongue\\r\\nSounds like a Trumpet; All his lyneaments\\r\\nAre as a man would wish \\'em, strong and cleane,\\r\\nHe weares a well-steeld Axe, the staffe of gold;\\r\\nHis age some five and twenty.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nTher\\'s another,\\r\\nA little man, but of a tough soule, seeming\\r\\nAs great as any: fairer promises\\r\\nIn such a Body yet I never look\\'d on.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nO, he that\\'s freckle fac\\'d?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThe same, my Lord;\\r\\nAre they not sweet ones?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nYes, they are well.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nMe thinkes,\\r\\nBeing so few, and well disposd, they show\\r\\nGreat, and fine art in nature: he\\'s white hair\\'d,\\r\\nNot wanton white, but such a manly colour\\r\\nNext to an aborne; tough, and nimble set,\\r\\nWhich showes an active soule; his armes are brawny,\\r\\nLinde with strong sinewes: To the shoulder peece\\r\\nGently they swell, like women new conceav\\'d,\\r\\nWhich speakes him prone to labour, never fainting\\r\\nVnder the waight of Armes; stout harted, still,\\r\\nBut when he stirs, a Tiger; he\\'s gray eyd,\\r\\nWhich yeelds compassion where he conquers: sharpe\\r\\nTo spy advantages, and where he finds \\'em,\\r\\nHe\\'s swift to make \\'em his: He do\\'s no wrongs,\\r\\nNor takes none; he\\'s round fac\\'d, and when he smiles\\r\\nHe showes a Lover, when he frownes, a Souldier:\\r\\nAbout his head he weares the winners oke,\\r\\nAnd in it stucke the favour of his Lady:\\r\\nHis age, some six and thirtie. In his hand\\r\\nHe beares a charging Staffe, embost with silver.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAre they all thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThey are all the sonnes of honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNow, as I have a soule, I long to see\\'em.\\r\\nLady, you shall see men fight now.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nI wish it,\\r\\nBut not the cause, my Lord; They would show\\r\\nBravely about the Titles of two Kingdomes;\\r\\nTis pitty Love should be so tyrannous:\\r\\nO my soft harted Sister, what thinke you?\\r\\nWeepe not, till they weepe blood, Wench; it must be.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou have steel\\'d \\'em with your Beautie.—Honord Friend,\\r\\nTo you I give the Feild; pray, order it\\r\\nFitting the persons that must use it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nYes, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nCome, Ile goe visit \\'em: I cannot stay,\\r\\nTheir fame has fir\\'d me so; Till they appeare.\\r\\nGood Friend, be royall.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThere shall want no bravery.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPoore wench, goe weepe, for whosoever wins,\\r\\nLooses a noble Cosen for thy sins. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (A room in the prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iailor, Wooer, Doctor.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHer distraction is more at some time of the Moone, then at other some,\\r\\nis it not?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nShe is continually in a harmelesse distemper, sleepes little,\\r\\naltogether without appetite, save often drinking, dreaming of another\\r\\nworld, and a better; and what broken peece of matter so\\'ere she\\'s\\r\\nabout, the name Palamon lardes it, that she farces ev\\'ry busines\\r\\nwithall, fyts it to every question.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Daughter.]\\r\\n\\r\\nLooke where shee comes, you shall perceive her behaviour.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI have forgot it quite; The burden on\\'t, was DOWNE A, DOWNE A, and pend\\r\\nby no worse man, then Giraldo, Emilias Schoolemaster; he\\'s as\\r\\nFantasticall too, as ever he may goe upon\\'s legs,—for in the next world\\r\\nwill Dido see Palamon, and then will she be out of love with Eneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWhat stuff\\'s here? pore soule!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nEv\\'n thus all day long.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nNow for this Charme, that I told you of: you must bring a peece of\\r\\nsilver on the tip of your tongue, or no ferry: then, if it be your\\r\\nchance to come where the blessed spirits, as ther\\'s a sight now—we\\r\\nmaids that have our Lyvers perish\\'d, crakt to peeces with Love, we\\r\\nshall come there, and doe nothing all day long but picke flowers with\\r\\nProserpine; then will I make Palamon a Nosegay; then let him marke\\r\\nme,—then—\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHow prettily she\\'s amisse? note her a little further.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nFaith, ile tell you, sometime we goe to Barly breake, we of the\\r\\nblessed; alas, tis a sore life they have i\\'th other place, such\\r\\nburning, frying, boyling, hissing, howling, chattring, cursing, oh they\\r\\nhave shrowd measure! take heede; if one be mad, or hang or drowne\\r\\nthemselves, thither they goe, Iupiter blesse vs, and there shall we be\\r\\nput in a Caldron of lead, and Vsurers grease, amongst a whole million\\r\\nof cutpurses, and there boyle like a Gamon of Bacon that will never be\\r\\nenough. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHow her braine coynes!\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nLords and Courtiers, that have got maids with Child, they are in this\\r\\nplace: they shall stand in fire up to the Nav\\'le, and in yce up to\\'th\\r\\nhart, and there th\\'offending part burnes, and the deceaving part\\r\\nfreezes; in troth, a very greevous punishment, as one would thinke, for\\r\\nsuch a Trifle; beleve me, one would marry a leaprous witch, to be rid\\r\\non\\'t, Ile assure you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHow she continues this fancie! Tis not an engraffed Madnesse, but a\\r\\nmost thicke, and profound mellencholly.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nTo heare there a proud Lady, and a proud Citty wiffe, howle together! I\\r\\nwere a beast and il\\'d call it good sport: one cries, \\'O this smoake!\\'\\r\\nanother, \\'this fire!\\' One cries, \\'O, that ever I did it behind the\\r\\narras!\\' and then howles; th\\'other curses a suing fellow and her garden\\r\\nhouse. [Sings] I will be true, my stars, my fate, &c. [Exit Daugh.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWhat thinke you of her, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nI thinke she has a perturbed minde, which I cannot minister to.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nAlas, what then?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nVnderstand you, she ever affected any man, ere she beheld\\r\\nPalamon?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI was once, Sir, in great hope she had fixd her liking on this\\r\\ngentleman, my friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI did thinke so too, and would account I had a great pen-worth on\\'t, to\\r\\ngive halfe my state, that both she and I at this present stood\\r\\nunfainedly on the same tearmes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nThat intemprat surfeit of her eye hath distemperd the other sences:\\r\\nthey may returne and settle againe to execute their preordaind\\r\\nfaculties, but they are now in a most extravagant vagary. This you\\r\\nmust doe: Confine her to a place, where the light may rather seeme to\\r\\nsteale in, then be permitted; take vpon you (yong Sir, her friend) the\\r\\nname of Palamon; say you come to eate with her, and to commune of Love;\\r\\nthis will catch her attention, for this her minde beates upon; other\\r\\nobjects that are inserted tweene her minde and eye become the prankes\\r\\nand friskins of her madnes; Sing to her such greene songs of Love, as\\r\\nshe sayes Palamon hath sung in prison; Come to her, stucke in as sweet\\r\\nflowers as the season is mistres of, and thereto make an addition of\\r\\nsom other compounded odours, which are grateful to the sence: all this\\r\\nshall become Palamon, for Palamon can sing, and Palamon is sweet, and\\r\\nev\\'ry good thing: desire to eate with her, carve her, drinke to her,\\r\\nand still among, intermingle your petition of grace and acceptance into\\r\\nher favour: Learne what Maides have beene her companions and\\r\\nplay-pheeres, and let them repaire to her with Palamon in their\\r\\nmouthes, and appeare with tokens, as if they suggested for him. It is a\\r\\nfalsehood she is in, which is with falsehood to be combated. This may\\r\\nbring her to eate, to sleepe, and reduce what\\'s now out of square in\\r\\nher, into their former law, and regiment; I have seene it approved, how\\r\\nmany times I know not, but to make the number more, I have great hope\\r\\nin this. I will, betweene the passages of this project, come in with\\r\\nmy applyance: Let us put it in execution, and hasten the successe,\\r\\nwhich, doubt not, will bring forth comfort. [Florish. Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (Before the Temples of Mars, Venus, and Diana.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Thesius, Perithous, Hipolita, attendants.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNow let\\'em enter, and before the gods\\r\\nTender their holy prayers: Let the Temples\\r\\nBurne bright with sacred fires, and the Altars\\r\\nIn hallowed clouds commend their swelling Incense\\r\\nTo those above us: Let no due be wanting; [Florish of Cornets.]\\r\\nThey have a noble worke in hand, will honour\\r\\nThe very powers that love \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon and Arcite, and their Knights.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nSir, they enter.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou valiant and strong harted Enemies,\\r\\nYou royall German foes, that this day come\\r\\nTo blow that furnesse out that flames betweene ye:\\r\\nLay by your anger for an houre, and dove-like,\\r\\nBefore the holy Altars of your helpers,\\r\\n(The all feard gods) bow downe your stubborne bodies.\\r\\nYour ire is more than mortall; So your helpe be,\\r\\nAnd as the gods regard ye, fight with Iustice;\\r\\nIle leave you to your prayers, and betwixt ye\\r\\nI part my wishes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nHonour crowne the worthiest. [Exit Theseus, and his traine.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThe glasse is running now that cannot finish\\r\\nTill one of us expire: Thinke you but thus,\\r\\nThat were there ought in me which strove to show\\r\\nMine enemy in this businesse, wer\\'t one eye\\r\\nAgainst another, Arme opprest by Arme,\\r\\nI would destroy th\\'offender, Coz, I would,\\r\\nThough parcell of my selfe: Then from this gather\\r\\nHow I should tender you.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am in labour\\r\\nTo push your name, your auncient love, our kindred\\r\\nOut of my memory; and i\\'th selfe same place\\r\\nTo seate something I would confound: So hoyst we\\r\\nThe sayles, that must these vessells port even where\\r\\nThe heavenly Lymiter pleases.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou speake well;\\r\\nBefore I turne, Let me embrace thee, Cosen:\\r\\nThis I shall never doe agen.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nOne farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhy, let it be so: Farewell, Coz. [Exeunt Palamon and his\\r\\nKnights.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nFarewell, Sir.—\\r\\nKnights, Kinsemen, Lovers, yea, my Sacrifices,\\r\\nTrue worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in you\\r\\nExpells the seedes of feare, and th\\'apprehension\\r\\nWhich still is farther off it, Goe with me\\r\\nBefore the god of our profession: There\\r\\nRequire of him the hearts of Lyons, and\\r\\nThe breath of Tigers, yea, the fearcenesse too,\\r\\nYea, the speed also,—to goe on, I meane,\\r\\nElse wish we to be Snayles: you know my prize\\r\\nMust be drag\\'d out of blood; force and great feate\\r\\nMust put my Garland on, where she stickes\\r\\nThe Queene of Flowers: our intercession then\\r\\nMust be to him that makes the Campe a Cestron\\r\\nBrymd with the blood of men: give me your aide\\r\\nAnd bend your spirits towards him. [They kneele.]\\r\\nThou mighty one, that with thy power hast turnd\\r\\nGreene Neptune into purple, (whose Approach)\\r\\nComets prewarne, whose havocke in vaste Feild\\r\\nVnearthed skulls proclaime, whose breath blowes downe,\\r\\nThe teeming Ceres foyzon, who doth plucke\\r\\nWith hand armypotent from forth blew clowdes\\r\\nThe masond Turrets, that both mak\\'st and break\\'st\\r\\nThe stony girthes of Citties: me thy puple,\\r\\nYongest follower of thy Drom, instruct this day\\r\\nWith military skill, that to thy lawde\\r\\nI may advance my Streamer, and by thee,\\r\\nBe stil\\'d the Lord o\\'th day: give me, great Mars,\\r\\nSome token of thy pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Here they fall on their faces as formerly, and there is heard\\r\\n clanging of Armor, with a short Thunder as the burst of a\\r\\nBattaile,\\r\\n whereupon they all rise and bow to the Altar.]\\r\\n\\r\\nO Great Corrector of enormous times,\\r\\nShaker of ore-rank States, thou grand decider\\r\\nOf dustie and old tytles, that healst with blood\\r\\nThe earth when it is sicke, and curst the world\\r\\nO\\'th pluresie of people; I doe take\\r\\nThy signes auspiciously, and in thy name\\r\\nTo my designe march boldly. Let us goe. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon and his Knights, with the former observance.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nOur stars must glister with new fire, or be\\r\\nTo daie extinct; our argument is love,\\r\\nWhich if the goddesse of it grant, she gives\\r\\nVictory too: then blend your spirits with mine,\\r\\nYou, whose free noblenesse doe make my cause\\r\\nYour personall hazard; to the goddesse Venus\\r\\nCommend we our proceeding, and implore\\r\\nHer power unto our partie. [Here they kneele as formerly.]\\r\\nHaile, Soveraigne Queene of secrets, who hast power\\r\\nTo call the feircest Tyrant from his rage,\\r\\nAnd weepe unto a Girle; that ha\\'st the might,\\r\\nEven with an ey-glance, to choke Marsis Drom\\r\\nAnd turne th\\'allarme to whispers; that canst make\\r\\nA Criple florish with his Crutch, and cure him\\r\\nBefore Apollo; that may\\'st force the King\\r\\nTo be his subjects vassaile, and induce\\r\\nStale gravitie to daunce; the pould Bachelour—\\r\\nWhose youth, like wonton Boyes through Bonfyres,\\r\\nHave skipt thy flame—at seaventy thou canst catch\\r\\nAnd make him, to the scorne of his hoarse throate,\\r\\nAbuse yong laies of love: what godlike power\\r\\nHast thou not power upon? To Phoebus thou\\r\\nAdd\\'st flames hotter then his; the heavenly fyres\\r\\nDid scortch his mortall Son, thine him; the huntresse\\r\\nAll moyst and cold, some say, began to throw\\r\\nHer Bow away, and sigh. Take to thy grace\\r\\nMe, thy vowd Souldier, who doe beare thy yoke\\r\\nAs t\\'wer a wreath of Roses, yet is heavier\\r\\nThen Lead it selfe, stings more than Nettles.\\r\\nI have never beene foule mouthd against thy law,\\r\\nNev\\'r reveald secret, for I knew none—would not,\\r\\nHad I kend all that were; I never practised\\r\\nVpon mans wife, nor would the Libells reade\\r\\nOf liberall wits; I never at great feastes\\r\\nSought to betray a Beautie, but have blush\\'d\\r\\nAt simpring Sirs that did; I have beene harsh\\r\\nTo large Confessors, and have hotly ask\\'d them\\r\\nIf they had Mothers: I had one, a woman,\\r\\nAnd women t\\'wer they wrong\\'d. I knew a man\\r\\nOf eightie winters, this I told them, who\\r\\nA Lasse of foureteene brided; twas thy power\\r\\nTo put life into dust; the aged Crampe\\r\\nHad screw\\'d his square foote round,\\r\\nThe Gout had knit his fingers into knots,\\r\\nTorturing Convulsions from his globie eyes,\\r\\nHad almost drawne their spheeres, that what was life\\r\\nIn him seem\\'d torture: this Anatomie\\r\\nHad by his yong faire pheare a Boy, and I\\r\\nBeleev\\'d it was him, for she swore it was,\\r\\nAnd who would not beleeve her? briefe, I am\\r\\nTo those that prate and have done no Companion;\\r\\nTo those that boast and have not a defyer;\\r\\nTo those that would and cannot a Rejoycer.\\r\\nYea, him I doe not love, that tells close offices\\r\\nThe fowlest way, nor names concealements in\\r\\nThe boldest language: such a one I am,\\r\\nAnd vow that lover never yet made sigh\\r\\nTruer then I. O, then, most soft, sweet goddesse,\\r\\nGive me the victory of this question, which\\r\\nIs true loves merit, and blesse me with a signe\\r\\nOf thy great pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Here Musicke is heard, Doves are seene to flutter; they fall\\r\\n againe upon their faces, then on their knees.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO thou, that from eleven to ninetie raign\\'st\\r\\nIn mortall bosomes, whose chase is this world,\\r\\nAnd we in heards thy game: I give thee thankes\\r\\nFor this faire Token, which, being layd unto\\r\\nMine innocent true heart, armes in assurance [They bow.]\\r\\nMy body to this businesse. Let us rise\\r\\nAnd bow before the goddesse: Time comes on. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Still Musicke of Records.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Emilia in white, her haire about her shoulders, (wearing) a\\r\\nwheaten wreath: One in white holding up her traine, her haire stucke\\r\\nwith flowers: One before her carrying a silver Hynde, in which is\\r\\nconveyd Incense and sweet odours, which being set upon the Altar (of\\r\\nDiana) her maides standing a loofe, she sets fire to it; then they\\r\\ncurtsey and kneele.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO sacred, shadowie, cold and constant Queene,\\r\\nAbandoner of Revells, mute, contemplative,\\r\\nSweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure\\r\\nAs windefand Snow, who to thy femall knights\\r\\nAlow\\'st no more blood than will make a blush,\\r\\nWhich is their orders robe: I heere, thy Priest,\\r\\nAm humbled fore thine Altar; O vouchsafe,\\r\\nWith that thy rare greene eye, which never yet\\r\\nBeheld thing maculate, looke on thy virgin;\\r\\nAnd, sacred silver Mistris, lend thine eare\\r\\n(Which nev\\'r heard scurrill terme, into whose port\\r\\nNe\\'re entred wanton found,) to my petition\\r\\nSeasond with holy feare: This is my last\\r\\nOf vestall office; I am bride habited,\\r\\nBut mayden harted, a husband I have pointed,\\r\\nBut doe not know him; out of two I should\\r\\nChoose one and pray for his successe, but I\\r\\nAm guiltlesse of election: of mine eyes,\\r\\nWere I to loose one, they are equall precious,\\r\\nI could doombe neither, that which perish\\'d should\\r\\nGoe too\\'t unsentenc\\'d: Therefore, most modest Queene,\\r\\nHe of the two Pretenders, that best loves me\\r\\nAnd has the truest title in\\'t, Let him\\r\\nTake off my wheaten Gerland, or else grant\\r\\nThe fyle and qualitie I hold, I may\\r\\nContinue in thy Band.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Here the Hynde vanishes under the Altar: and in the place ascends\\r\\n a Rose Tree, having one Rose upon it.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSee what our Generall of Ebbs and Flowes\\r\\nOut from the bowells of her holy Altar\\r\\nWith sacred act advances! But one Rose:\\r\\nIf well inspird, this Battaile shal confound\\r\\nBoth these brave Knights, and I, a virgin flowre\\r\\nMust grow alone unpluck\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Here is heard a sodaine twang of Instruments, and the Rose fals\\\\\\r\\n from the Tree (which vanishes under the altar.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe flowre is falne, the Tree descends: O, Mistris,\\r\\nThou here dischargest me; I shall be gather\\'d:\\r\\nI thinke so, but I know not thine owne will;\\r\\nVnclaspe thy Misterie.—I hope she\\'s pleas\\'d,\\r\\nHer Signes were gratious. [They curtsey and Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (A darkened Room in the Prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Doctor, Iaylor and Wooer, in habite of Palamon.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHas this advice I told you, done any good upon her?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nO very much; The maids that kept her company\\r\\nHave halfe perswaded her that I am Palamon;\\r\\nWithin this halfe houre she came smiling to me,\\r\\nAnd asked me what I would eate, and when I would kisse her:\\r\\nI told her presently, and kist her twice.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nTwas well done; twentie times had bin far better,\\r\\nFor there the cure lies mainely.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nThen she told me\\r\\nShe would watch with me to night, for well she knew\\r\\nWhat houre my fit would take me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nLet her doe so,\\r\\nAnd when your fit comes, fit her home,\\r\\nAnd presently.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nShe would have me sing.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYou did so?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nTwas very ill done, then;\\r\\nYou should observe her ev\\'ry way.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nAlas,\\r\\nI have no voice, Sir, to confirme her that way.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nThat\\'s all one, if yee make a noyse;\\r\\nIf she intreate againe, doe any thing,—\\r\\nLye with her, if she aske you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHoa, there, Doctor!\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYes, in the waie of cure.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nBut first, by your leave,\\r\\nI\\'th way of honestie.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nThat\\'s but a nicenesse,\\r\\nNev\\'r cast your child away for honestie;\\r\\nCure her first this way, then if shee will be honest,\\r\\nShe has the path before her.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThanke yee, Doctor.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nPray, bring her in,\\r\\nAnd let\\'s see how shee is.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI will, and tell her\\r\\nHer Palamon staies for her: But, Doctor,\\r\\nMe thinkes you are i\\'th wrong still. [Exit Iaylor.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nGoe, goe:\\r\\nYou Fathers are fine Fooles: her honesty?\\r\\nAnd we should give her physicke till we finde that—\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nWhy, doe you thinke she is not honest, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHow old is she?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nShe\\'s eighteene.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nShe may be,\\r\\nBut that\\'s all one; tis nothing to our purpose.\\r\\nWhat ere her Father saies, if you perceave\\r\\nHer moode inclining that way that I spoke of,\\r\\nVidelicet, the way of flesh—you have me?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nYet, very well, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nPlease her appetite,\\r\\nAnd doe it home; it cures her, ipso facto,\\r\\nThe mellencholly humour that infects her.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI am of your minde, Doctor.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylor, Daughter, Maide.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYou\\'l finde it so; she comes, pray humour her.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nCome, your Love Palamon staies for you, childe,\\r\\nAnd has done this long houre, to visite you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI thanke him for his gentle patience;\\r\\nHe\\'s a kind Gentleman, and I am much bound to him.\\r\\nDid you nev\\'r see the horse he gave me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nHow doe you like him?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHe\\'s a very faire one.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYou never saw him dance?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI have often.\\r\\nHe daunces very finely, very comely,\\r\\nAnd for a Iigge, come cut and long taile to him,\\r\\nHe turnes ye like a Top.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThat\\'s fine, indeede.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nHee\\'l dance the Morris twenty mile an houre,\\r\\nAnd that will founder the best hobby-horse\\r\\n(If I have any skill) in all the parish,\\r\\nAnd gallops to the turne of LIGHT A\\' LOVE:\\r\\nWhat thinke you of this horse?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHaving these vertues,\\r\\nI thinke he might be broght to play at Tennis.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAlas, that\\'s nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nCan he write and reade too?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nA very faire hand, and casts himselfe th\\'accounts\\r\\nOf all his hay and provender: That Hostler\\r\\nMust rise betime that cozens him. You know\\r\\nThe Chestnut Mare the Duke has?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nVery well.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nShe is horribly in love with him, poore beast,\\r\\nBut he is like his master, coy and scornefull.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWhat dowry has she?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nSome two hundred Bottles,\\r\\nAnd twenty strike of Oates; but hee\\'l ne\\'re have her;\\r\\nHe lispes in\\'s neighing, able to entice\\r\\nA Millars Mare: Hee\\'l be the death of her.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWhat stuffe she utters!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nMake curtsie; here your love comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nPretty soule,\\r\\nHow doe ye? that\\'s a fine maide, ther\\'s a curtsie!\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYours to command ith way of honestie.\\r\\nHow far is\\'t now to\\'th end o\\'th world, my Masters?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWhy, a daies Iorney, wench.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWill you goe with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nWhat shall we doe there, wench?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWhy, play at stoole ball:\\r\\nWhat is there else to doe?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI am content,\\r\\nIf we shall keepe our wedding there.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nTis true:\\r\\nFor there, I will assure you, we shall finde\\r\\nSome blind Priest for the purpose, that will venture\\r\\nTo marry us, for here they are nice, and foolish;\\r\\nBesides, my father must be hang\\'d to morrow\\r\\nAnd that would be a blot i\\'th businesse.\\r\\nAre not you Palamon?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nDoe not you know me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYes, but you care not for me; I have nothing\\r\\nBut this pore petticoate, and too corse Smockes.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nThat\\'s all one; I will have you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWill you surely?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nYes, by this faire hand, will I.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWee\\'l to bed, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nEv\\'n when you will. [Kisses her.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nO Sir, you would faine be nibling.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nWhy doe you rub my kisse off?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nTis a sweet one,\\r\\nAnd will perfume me finely against the wedding.\\r\\nIs not this your Cosen Arcite?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYes, sweet heart,\\r\\nAnd I am glad my Cosen Palamon\\r\\nHas made so faire a choice.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nDoe you thinke hee\\'l have me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYes, without doubt.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nDoe you thinke so too?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWe shall have many children:—Lord, how y\\'ar growne!\\r\\nMy Palamon, I hope, will grow, too, finely,\\r\\nNow he\\'s at liberty: Alas, poore Chicken,\\r\\nHe was kept downe with hard meate and ill lodging,\\r\\nBut ile kisse him up againe.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Emter a Messenger.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nWhat doe you here? you\\'l loose the noblest sight\\r\\nThat ev\\'r was seene.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nAre they i\\'th Field?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThey are.\\r\\nYou beare a charge there too.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nIle away straight.\\r\\nI must ev\\'n leave you here.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nNay, wee\\'l goe with you;\\r\\nI will not loose the Fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHow did you like her?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nIle warrant you, within these 3. or 4. daies\\r\\nIle make her right againe. You must not from her,\\r\\nBut still preserve her in this way.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI will.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nLets get her in.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nCome, sweete, wee\\'l goe to dinner;\\r\\nAnd then weele play at Cardes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAnd shall we kisse too?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nA hundred times.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAnd twenty.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI, and twenty.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAnd then wee\\'l sleepe together.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nTake her offer.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nYes, marry, will we.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nBut you shall not hurt me.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI will not, sweete.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIf you doe, Love, ile cry. [Florish. Exeunt]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (A Place near the Lists.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Perithous: and some Attendants,\\r\\n (T. Tucke: Curtis.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIle no step further.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nWill you loose this sight?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI had rather see a wren hawke at a fly\\r\\nThen this decision; ev\\'ry blow that falls\\r\\nThreats a brave life, each stroake laments\\r\\nThe place whereon it fals, and sounds more like\\r\\nA Bell then blade: I will stay here;\\r\\nIt is enough my hearing shall be punishd\\r\\nWith what shall happen—gainst the which there is\\r\\nNo deaffing, but to heare—not taint mine eye\\r\\nWith dread sights, it may shun.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nSir, my good Lord,\\r\\nYour Sister will no further.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nOh, she must.\\r\\nShe shall see deeds of honour in their kinde,\\r\\nWhich sometime show well, pencild. Nature now\\r\\nShall make and act the Story, the beleife\\r\\nBoth seald with eye and eare; you must be present,\\r\\nYou are the victours meede, the price, and garlond\\r\\nTo crowne the Questions title.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPardon me;\\r\\nIf I were there, I\\'ld winke.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou must be there;\\r\\nThis Tryall is as t\\'wer i\\'th night, and you\\r\\nThe onely star to shine.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI am extinct;\\r\\nThere is but envy in that light, which showes\\r\\nThe one the other: darkenes, which ever was\\r\\nThe dam of horrour, who do\\'s stand accurst\\r\\nOf many mortall Millions, may even now,\\r\\nBy casting her blacke mantle over both,\\r\\nThat neither coulde finde other, get her selfe\\r\\nSome part of a good name, and many a murther\\r\\nSet off wherto she\\'s guilty.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nYou must goe.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIn faith, I will not.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhy, the knights must kindle\\r\\nTheir valour at your eye: know, of this war\\r\\nYou are the Treasure, and must needes be by\\r\\nTo give the Service pay.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nSir, pardon me;\\r\\nThe tytle of a kingdome may be tride\\r\\nOut of it selfe.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWell, well, then, at your pleasure;\\r\\nThose that remaine with you could wish their office\\r\\nTo any of their Enemies.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nFarewell, Sister;\\r\\nI am like to know your husband fore your selfe\\r\\nBy some small start of time: he whom the gods\\r\\nDoe of the two know best, I pray them he\\r\\nBe made your Lot.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt Theseus, Hipolita, Perithous, &c.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nArcite is gently visagd; yet his eye\\r\\nIs like an Engyn bent, or a sharpe weapon\\r\\nIn a soft sheath; mercy and manly courage\\r\\nAre bedfellowes in his visage. Palamon\\r\\nHas a most menacing aspect: his brow\\r\\nIs grav\\'d, and seemes to bury what it frownes on;\\r\\nYet sometime tis not so, but alters to\\r\\nThe quallity of his thoughts; long time his eye\\r\\nWill dwell upon his object. Mellencholly\\r\\nBecomes him nobly; So do\\'s Arcites mirth,\\r\\nBut Palamons sadnes is a kinde of mirth,\\r\\nSo mingled, as if mirth did make him sad,\\r\\nAnd sadnes, merry; those darker humours that\\r\\nSticke misbecomingly on others, on them\\r\\nLive in faire dwelling. [Cornets. Trompets sound as to a\\r\\ncharge.]\\r\\nHarke, how yon spurs to spirit doe incite\\r\\nThe Princes to their proofe! Arcite may win me,\\r\\nAnd yet may Palamon wound Arcite to\\r\\nThe spoyling of his figure. O, what pitty\\r\\nEnough for such a chance; if I were by,\\r\\nI might doe hurt, for they would glance their eies\\r\\nToward my Seat, and in that motion might\\r\\nOmit a ward, or forfeit an offence\\r\\nWhich crav\\'d that very time: it is much better\\r\\nI am not there; oh better never borne\\r\\nThen minister to such harme. [Cornets. A great cry and noice within,\\r\\n crying \\'a Palamon\\'.] What is the chance?\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Servant.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThe Crie\\'s \\'a Palamon\\'.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThen he has won! Twas ever likely;\\r\\nHe lookd all grace and successe, and he is\\r\\nDoubtlesse the prim\\'st of men: I pre\\'thee, run\\r\\nAnd tell me how it goes. [Showt, and Cornets: Crying, \\'a\\r\\nPalamon.\\']\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nStill Palamon.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nRun and enquire. Poore Servant, thou hast lost;\\r\\nVpon my right side still I wore thy picture,\\r\\nPalamons on the left: why so, I know not;\\r\\nI had no end in\\'t else, chance would have it so.\\r\\nOn the sinister side the heart lyes; Palamon\\r\\nHad the best boding chance. [Another cry, and showt within, and\\r\\n Cornets.] This burst of clamour\\r\\nIs sure th\\'end o\\'th Combat.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Servant.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThey saide that Palamon had Arcites body\\r\\nWithin an inch o\\'th Pyramid, that the cry\\r\\nWas generall \\'a Palamon\\': But, anon,\\r\\nTh\\'Assistants made a brave redemption, and\\r\\nThe two bold Tytlers, at this instant are\\r\\nHand to hand at it.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWere they metamorphisd\\r\\nBoth into one! oh why? there were no woman\\r\\nWorth so composd a Man: their single share,\\r\\nTheir noblenes peculier to them, gives\\r\\nThe prejudice of disparity, values shortnes, [Cornets. Cry within,\\r\\n Arcite, Arcite.]\\r\\nTo any Lady breathing—More exulting?\\r\\nPalamon still?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nNay, now the sound is Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI pre\\'thee, lay attention to the Cry, [Cornets. A great showt and\\r\\ncry, \\'Arcite, victory!\\'] Set both thine eares to\\'th busines.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThe cry is\\r\\n\\'Arcite\\', and \\'victory\\', harke: \\'Arcite, victory!\\'\\r\\nThe Combats consummation is proclaim\\'d\\r\\nBy the wind Instruments.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHalfe sights saw\\r\\nThat Arcite was no babe; god\\'s lyd, his richnes\\r\\nAnd costlines of spirit look\\'t through him, it could\\r\\nNo more be hid in him then fire in flax,\\r\\nThen humble banckes can goe to law with waters,\\r\\nThat drift windes force to raging: I did thinke\\r\\nGood Palamon would miscarry; yet I knew not\\r\\nWhy I did thinke so; Our reasons are not prophets,\\r\\nWhen oft our fancies are. They are comming off:\\r\\nAlas, poore Palamon! [Cornets.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Pirithous, Arcite as victor, and\\r\\n attendants, &c.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nLo, where our Sister is in expectation,\\r\\nYet quaking, and unsetled.—Fairest Emily,\\r\\nThe gods by their divine arbitrament\\r\\nHave given you this Knight; he is a good one\\r\\nAs ever strooke at head. Give me your hands;\\r\\nReceive you her, you him; be plighted with\\r\\nA love that growes, as you decay.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nEmily,\\r\\nTo buy you, I have lost what\\'s deerest to me,\\r\\nSave what is bought, and yet I purchase cheapely,\\r\\nAs I doe rate your value.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nO loved Sister,\\r\\nHe speakes now of as brave a Knight as ere\\r\\nDid spur a noble Steed: Surely, the gods\\r\\nWould have him die a Batchelour, least his race\\r\\nShould shew i\\'th world too godlike: His behaviour\\r\\nSo charmed me, that me thought Alcides was\\r\\nTo him a sow of lead: if I could praise\\r\\nEach part of him to\\'th all I have spoke, your Arcite\\r\\nDid not loose by\\'t; For he that was thus good\\r\\nEncountred yet his Better. I have heard\\r\\nTwo emulous Philomels beate the eare o\\'th night\\r\\nWith their contentious throates, now one the higher,\\r\\nAnon the other, then againe the first,\\r\\nAnd by and by out breasted, that the sence\\r\\nCould not be judge betweene \\'em: So it far\\'d\\r\\nGood space betweene these kinesmen; till heavens did\\r\\nMake hardly one the winner. Weare the Girlond\\r\\nWith joy that you have won: For the subdude,\\r\\nGive them our present Iustice, since I know\\r\\nTheir lives but pinch \\'em; Let it here be done.\\r\\nThe Sceane\\'s not for our seeing, goe we hence,\\r\\nRight joyfull, with some sorrow.—Arme your prize,\\r\\nI know you will not loose her.—Hipolita,\\r\\nI see one eye of yours conceives a teare\\r\\nThe which it will deliver. [Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIs this wynning?\\r\\nOh all you heavenly powers, where is your mercy?\\r\\nBut that your wils have saide it must be so,\\r\\nAnd charge me live to comfort this unfriended,\\r\\nThis miserable Prince, that cuts away\\r\\nA life more worthy from him then all women,\\r\\nI should, and would, die too.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nInfinite pitty,\\r\\nThat fowre such eies should be so fixd on one\\r\\nThat two must needes be blinde fort.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSo it is. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. (The same; a Block prepared.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon and his Knightes pyniond: Iaylor, Executioner, &c.\\r\\nGard.]\\r\\n\\r\\n(PALAMON.)\\r\\nTher\\'s many a man alive that hath out liv\\'d\\r\\nThe love o\\'th people; yea, i\\'th selfesame state\\r\\nStands many a Father with his childe; some comfort\\r\\nWe have by so considering: we expire\\r\\nAnd not without mens pitty. To live still,\\r\\nHave their good wishes; we prevent\\r\\nThe loathsome misery of age, beguile\\r\\nThe Gowt and Rheume, that in lag howres attend\\r\\nFor grey approachers; we come towards the gods\\r\\nYong and unwapper\\'d, not halting under Crymes\\r\\nMany and stale: that sure shall please the gods,\\r\\nSooner than such, to give us Nectar with \\'em,\\r\\nFor we are more cleare Spirits. My deare kinesmen,\\r\\nWhose lives (for this poore comfort) are laid downe,\\r\\nYou have sould \\'em too too cheape.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. KNIGHT.\\r\\nWhat ending could be\\r\\nOf more content? ore us the victors have\\r\\nFortune, whose title is as momentary,\\r\\nAs to us death is certaine: A graine of honour\\r\\nThey not ore\\'-weigh us.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. KNIGHT.\\r\\nLet us bid farewell;\\r\\nAnd with our patience anger tottring Fortune,\\r\\nWho at her certain\\'st reeles.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. KNIGHT.\\r\\nCome; who begins?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nEv\\'n he that led you to this Banket shall\\r\\nTaste to you all.—Ah ha, my Friend, my Friend,\\r\\nYour gentle daughter gave me freedome once;\\r\\nYou\\'l see\\'t done now for ever: pray, how do\\'es she?\\r\\nI heard she was not well; her kind of ill\\r\\nGave me some sorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nSir, she\\'s well restor\\'d,\\r\\nAnd to be marryed shortly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBy my short life,\\r\\nI am most glad on\\'t; Tis the latest thing\\r\\nI shall be glad of; pre\\'thee tell her so:\\r\\nCommend me to her, and to peece her portion,\\r\\nTender her this. [Gives purse.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. KNIGHT.\\r\\nNay lets be offerers all.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. KNIGHT.\\r\\nIs it a maide?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nVerily, I thinke so,\\r\\nA right good creature, more to me deserving\\r\\nThen I can quight or speake of.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL KNIGHTS.\\r\\nCommend us to her. [They give their purses.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThe gods requight you all,\\r\\nAnd make her thankefull.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAdiew; and let my life be now as short,\\r\\nAs my leave taking. [Lies on the Blocke.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. KNIGHT.\\r\\nLeade, couragious Cosin.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. KNIGHT.\\r\\nWee\\'l follow cheerefully. [A great noise within crying, \\'run, save,\\r\\nhold!\\']\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter in hast a Messenger.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nHold, hold! O hold, hold, hold!\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Pirithous in haste.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nHold! hoa! It is a cursed hast you made,\\r\\nIf you have done so quickly. Noble Palamon,\\r\\nThe gods will shew their glory in a life,\\r\\nThat thou art yet to leade.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nCan that be,\\r\\nWhen Venus, I have said, is false? How doe things fare?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nArise, great Sir, and give the tydings eare\\r\\nThat are most dearly sweet and bitter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhat\\r\\nHath wakt us from our dreame?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nList then: your Cosen,\\r\\nMounted upon a Steed that Emily\\r\\nDid first bestow on him, a blacke one, owing\\r\\nNot a hayre worth of white—which some will say\\r\\nWeakens his price, and many will not buy\\r\\nHis goodnesse with this note: Which superstition\\r\\nHeere findes allowance—On this horse is Arcite\\r\\nTrotting the stones of Athens, which the Calkins\\r\\nDid rather tell then trample; for the horse\\r\\nWould make his length a mile, if\\'t pleas\\'d his Rider\\r\\nTo put pride in him: as he thus went counting\\r\\nThe flinty pavement, dancing, as t\\'wer, to\\'th Musicke\\r\\nHis owne hoofes made; (for as they say from iron\\r\\nCame Musickes origen) what envious Flint,\\r\\nCold as old Saturne, and like him possest\\r\\nWith fire malevolent, darted a Sparke,\\r\\nOr what feirce sulphur else, to this end made,\\r\\nI comment not;—the hot horse, hot as fire,\\r\\nTooke Toy at this, and fell to what disorder\\r\\nHis power could give his will; bounds, comes on end,\\r\\nForgets schoole dooing, being therein traind,\\r\\nAnd of kind mannadge; pig-like he whines\\r\\nAt the sharpe Rowell, which he freats at rather\\r\\nThen any jot obaies; seekes all foule meanes\\r\\nOf boystrous and rough Iadrie, to dis-seate\\r\\nHis Lord, that kept it bravely: when nought serv\\'d,\\r\\nWhen neither Curb would cracke, girth breake nor diffring plunges\\r\\nDis-roote his Rider whence he grew, but that\\r\\nHe kept him tweene his legges, on his hind hoofes on end he stands,\\r\\nThat Arcites leggs, being higher then his head,\\r\\nSeem\\'d with strange art to hand: His victors wreath\\r\\nEven then fell off his head: and presently\\r\\nBackeward the Iade comes ore, and his full poyze\\r\\nBecomes the Riders loade: yet is he living,\\r\\nBut such a vessell tis, that floates but for\\r\\nThe surge that next approaches: he much desires\\r\\nTo have some speech with you: Loe he appeares.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Arcite in a chaire.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO miserable end of our alliance!\\r\\nThe gods are mightie, Arcite: if thy heart,\\r\\nThy worthie, manly heart, be yet unbroken,\\r\\nGive me thy last words; I am Palamon,\\r\\nOne that yet loves thee dying.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTake Emilia\\r\\nAnd with her all the worlds joy: Reach thy hand:\\r\\nFarewell: I have told my last houre. I was false,\\r\\nYet never treacherous: Forgive me, Cosen:—\\r\\nOne kisse from faire Emilia: Tis done:\\r\\nTake her: I die.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThy brave soule seeke Elizium.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIle close thine eyes, Prince; blessed soules be with thee!\\r\\nThou art a right good man, and while I live,\\r\\nThis day I give to teares.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAnd I to honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nIn this place first you fought: ev\\'n very here\\r\\nI sundred you: acknowledge to the gods\\r\\nOur thankes that you are living.\\r\\nHis part is playd, and though it were too short,\\r\\nHe did it well: your day is lengthned, and\\r\\nThe blissefull dew of heaven do\\'s arowze you.\\r\\nThe powerfull Venus well hath grac\\'d her Altar,\\r\\nAnd given you your love: Our Master Mars\\r\\nHath vouch\\'d his Oracle, and to Arcite gave\\r\\nThe grace of the Contention: So the Deities\\r\\nHave shewd due justice: Beare this hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO Cosen,\\r\\nThat we should things desire, which doe cost us\\r\\nThe losse of our desire! That nought could buy\\r\\nDeare love, but losse of deare love!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNever Fortune\\r\\nDid play a subtler Game: The conquerd triumphes,\\r\\nThe victor has the Losse: yet in the passage\\r\\nThe gods have beene most equall: Palamon,\\r\\nYour kinseman hath confest the right o\\'th Lady\\r\\nDid lye in you, for you first saw her, and\\r\\nEven then proclaimd your fancie: He restord her\\r\\nAs your stolne Iewell, and desir\\'d your spirit\\r\\nTo send him hence forgiven; The gods my justice\\r\\nTake from my hand, and they themselves become\\r\\nThe Executioners: Leade your Lady off;\\r\\nAnd call your Lovers from the stage of death,\\r\\nWhom I adopt my Frinds. A day or two\\r\\nLet us looke sadly, and give grace unto\\r\\nThe Funerall of Arcite; in whose end\\r\\nThe visages of Bridegroomes weele put on\\r\\nAnd smile with Palamon; for whom an houre,\\r\\nBut one houre, since, I was as dearely sorry,\\r\\nAs glad of Arcite: and am now as glad,\\r\\nAs for him sorry. O you heavenly Charmers,\\r\\nWhat things you make of us! For what we lacke\\r\\nWe laugh, for what we have, are sorry: still\\r\\nAre children in some kind. Let us be thankefull\\r\\nFor that which is, and with you leave dispute\\r\\nThat are above our question. Let\\'s goe off,\\r\\nAnd beare us like the time. [Florish. Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEPILOGUE\\r\\n\\r\\nI would now aske ye how ye like the Play,\\r\\nBut, as it is with Schoole Boyes, cannot say,\\r\\nI am cruell fearefull: pray, yet stay a while,\\r\\nAnd let me looke upon ye: No man smile?\\r\\nThen it goes hard, I see; He that has\\r\\nLov\\'d a yong hansome wench, then, show his face—\\r\\nTis strange if none be heere—and if he will\\r\\nAgainst his Conscience, let him hisse, and kill\\r\\nOur Market: Tis in vaine, I see, to stay yee;\\r\\nHave at the worst can come, then! Now what say ye?\\r\\nAnd yet mistake me not: I am not bold;\\r\\nWe have no such cause. If the tale we have told\\r\\n(For tis no other) any way content ye\\r\\n(For to that honest purpose it was ment ye)\\r\\nWe have our end; and ye shall have ere long,\\r\\nI dare say, many a better, to prolong\\r\\nYour old loves to us: we, and all our might\\r\\nRest at your service. Gentlemen, good night. [Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE WINTER’S TALE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Sicilia. An Antechamber in Leontes’ Palace.\\r\\nScene II. The same. A Room of State in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. Sicilia. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\nScene II. The same. The outer Room of a Prison.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Sicilia. A Street in some Town.\\r\\nScene II. The same. A Court of Justice.\\r\\nScene III. Bohemia. A desert Country near the Sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Prologue.\\r\\nScene II. Bohemia. A Room in the palace of Polixenes.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A Road near the Shepherd’s cottage.\\r\\nScene IV. The same. A Shepherd’s Cottage.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Sicilia. A Room in the palace of Leontes.\\r\\nScene II. The same. Before the Palace.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A Room in Paulina’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES, King of Sicilia\\r\\nMAMILLIUS, his son\\r\\nCAMILLO, Sicilian Lord\\r\\nANTIGONUS, Sicilian Lord\\r\\nCLEOMENES, Sicilian Lord\\r\\nDION, Sicilian Lord\\r\\nPOLIXENES, King of Bohemia\\r\\nFLORIZEL, his son\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS, a Bohemian Lord\\r\\nAn Old Shepherd, reputed father of Perdita\\r\\nCLOWN, his son\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS, a rogue\\r\\nA Mariner\\r\\nA Gaoler\\r\\nServant to the Old Shepherd\\r\\nOther Sicilian Lords\\r\\nSicilian Gentlemen\\r\\nOfficers of a Court of Judicature\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE, Queen to Leontes\\r\\nPERDITA, daughter to Leontes and Hermione\\r\\nPAULINA, wife to Antigonus\\r\\nEMILIA, a lady attending on the Queen\\r\\nMOPSA, shepherdess\\r\\nDORCAS, shepherdess\\r\\nOther Ladies, attending on the Queen\\r\\n\\r\\nLords, Ladies, and Attendants; Satyrs for a Dance; Shepherds,\\r\\nShepherdesses, Guards, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nTIME, as Chorus\\r\\n\\r\\nScene: Sometimes in Sicilia; sometimes in Bohemia.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Sicilia. An Antechamber in Leontes’ Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Camillo and Archidamus.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nIf you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on the like occasion\\r\\nwhereon my services are now on foot, you shall see, as I have said,\\r\\ngreat difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI think this coming summer the King of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the\\r\\nvisitation which he justly owes him.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nWherein our entertainment shall shame us; we will be justified in our\\r\\nloves. For indeed,—\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBeseech you—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nVerily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge. We cannot with such\\r\\nmagnificence—in so rare—I know not what to say. We will give you sleepy\\r\\ndrinks, that your senses, unintelligent of our insufficience, may,\\r\\nthough they cannot praise us, as little accuse us.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nYou pay a great deal too dear for what’s given freely.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nBelieve me, I speak as my understanding instructs me and as mine\\r\\nhonesty puts it to utterance.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bohemia. They were trained\\r\\ntogether in their childhoods, and there rooted betwixt them then such\\r\\nan affection which cannot choose but branch now. Since their more\\r\\nmature dignities and royal necessities made separation of their\\r\\nsociety, their encounters, though not personal, have been royally\\r\\nattorneyed with interchange of gifts, letters, loving embassies, that\\r\\nthey have seemed to be together, though absent; shook hands, as over a\\r\\nvast; and embraced as it were from the ends of opposed winds. The\\r\\nheavens continue their loves!\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nI think there is not in the world either malice or matter to alter it.\\r\\nYou have an unspeakable comfort of your young Prince Mamillius. It is a\\r\\ngentleman of the greatest promise that ever came into my note.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI very well agree with you in the hopes of him. It is a gallant child;\\r\\none that indeed physics the subject, makes old hearts fresh. They that\\r\\nwent on crutches ere he was born desire yet their life to see him a\\r\\nman.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nWould they else be content to die?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nYes, if there were no other excuse why they should desire to live.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nIf the king had no son, they would desire to live on crutches till he\\r\\nhad one.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. A Room of State in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Hermione, Mamillius, Camillo and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nNine changes of the watery star hath been\\r\\nThe shepherd’s note since we have left our throne\\r\\nWithout a burden. Time as long again\\r\\nWould be fill’d up, my brother, with our thanks;\\r\\nAnd yet we should, for perpetuity,\\r\\nGo hence in debt: and therefore, like a cipher,\\r\\nYet standing in rich place, I multiply\\r\\nWith one “we thank you” many thousands more\\r\\nThat go before it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nStay your thanks a while,\\r\\nAnd pay them when you part.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nSir, that’s tomorrow.\\r\\nI am question’d by my fears, of what may chance\\r\\nOr breed upon our absence; that may blow\\r\\nNo sneaping winds at home, to make us say\\r\\n“This is put forth too truly.” Besides, I have stay’d\\r\\nTo tire your royalty.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWe are tougher, brother,\\r\\nThan you can put us to ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nNo longer stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nOne seve’night longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nVery sooth, tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWe’ll part the time between ’s then: and in that\\r\\nI’ll no gainsaying.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nPress me not, beseech you, so,\\r\\nThere is no tongue that moves, none, none i’ th’ world,\\r\\nSo soon as yours, could win me: so it should now,\\r\\nWere there necessity in your request, although\\r\\n’Twere needful I denied it. My affairs\\r\\nDo even drag me homeward: which to hinder\\r\\nWere, in your love a whip to me; my stay\\r\\nTo you a charge and trouble: to save both,\\r\\nFarewell, our brother.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTongue-tied, our queen? Speak you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nI had thought, sir, to have held my peace until\\r\\nYou had drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir,\\r\\nCharge him too coldly. Tell him you are sure\\r\\nAll in Bohemia’s well: this satisfaction\\r\\nThe by-gone day proclaimed. Say this to him,\\r\\nHe’s beat from his best ward.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWell said, Hermione.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nTo tell he longs to see his son were strong.\\r\\nBut let him say so then, and let him go;\\r\\nBut let him swear so, and he shall not stay,\\r\\nWe’ll thwack him hence with distaffs.\\r\\n[_To Polixenes._] Yet of your royal presence I’ll adventure\\r\\nThe borrow of a week. When at Bohemia\\r\\nYou take my lord, I’ll give him my commission\\r\\nTo let him there a month behind the gest\\r\\nPrefix’d for’s parting:—yet, good deed, Leontes,\\r\\nI love thee not a jar of th’ clock behind\\r\\nWhat lady she her lord. You’ll stay?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nNo, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNay, but you will?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI may not, verily.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nVerily!\\r\\nYou put me off with limber vows; but I,\\r\\nThough you would seek t’ unsphere the stars with oaths,\\r\\nShould yet say “Sir, no going.” Verily,\\r\\nYou shall not go. A lady’s verily is\\r\\nAs potent as a lord’s. Will go yet?\\r\\nForce me to keep you as a prisoner,\\r\\nNot like a guest: so you shall pay your fees\\r\\nWhen you depart, and save your thanks. How say you?\\r\\nMy prisoner or my guest? By your dread “verily,”\\r\\nOne of them you shall be.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nYour guest, then, madam.\\r\\nTo be your prisoner should import offending;\\r\\nWhich is for me less easy to commit\\r\\nThan you to punish.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNot your gaoler then,\\r\\nBut your kind hostess. Come, I’ll question you\\r\\nOf my lord’s tricks and yours when you were boys.\\r\\nYou were pretty lordings then.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWe were, fair queen,\\r\\nTwo lads that thought there was no more behind\\r\\nBut such a day tomorrow as today,\\r\\nAnd to be boy eternal.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWas not my lord\\r\\nThe verier wag o’ th’ two?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWe were as twinn’d lambs that did frisk i’ th’ sun\\r\\nAnd bleat the one at th’ other. What we chang’d\\r\\nWas innocence for innocence; we knew not\\r\\nThe doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream’d\\r\\nThat any did. Had we pursu’d that life,\\r\\nAnd our weak spirits ne’er been higher rear’d\\r\\nWith stronger blood, we should have answer’d heaven\\r\\nBoldly “Not guilty,” the imposition clear’d\\r\\nHereditary ours.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nBy this we gather\\r\\nYou have tripp’d since.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nO my most sacred lady,\\r\\nTemptations have since then been born to ’s! for\\r\\nIn those unfledg’d days was my wife a girl;\\r\\nYour precious self had then not cross’d the eyes\\r\\nOf my young play-fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nGrace to boot!\\r\\nOf this make no conclusion, lest you say\\r\\nYour queen and I are devils. Yet go on;\\r\\nTh’ offences we have made you do we’ll answer,\\r\\nIf you first sinn’d with us, and that with us\\r\\nYou did continue fault, and that you slipp’d not\\r\\nWith any but with us.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nIs he won yet?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nHe’ll stay, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nAt my request he would not.\\r\\nHermione, my dearest, thou never spok’st\\r\\nTo better purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNever?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNever but once.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWhat! have I twice said well? when was’t before?\\r\\nI prithee tell me. Cram ’s with praise, and make ’s\\r\\nAs fat as tame things: one good deed dying tongueless\\r\\nSlaughters a thousand waiting upon that.\\r\\nOur praises are our wages. You may ride ’s\\r\\nWith one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere\\r\\nWith spur we heat an acre. But to th’ goal:\\r\\nMy last good deed was to entreat his stay.\\r\\nWhat was my first? It has an elder sister,\\r\\nOr I mistake you: O, would her name were Grace!\\r\\nBut once before I spoke to the purpose—when?\\r\\nNay, let me have’t; I long.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhy, that was when\\r\\nThree crabbed months had sour’d themselves to death,\\r\\nEre I could make thee open thy white hand\\r\\nAnd clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter\\r\\n“I am yours for ever.”\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\n’Tis Grace indeed.\\r\\nWhy, lo you now, I have spoke to th’ purpose twice.\\r\\nThe one for ever earn’d a royal husband;\\r\\nTh’ other for some while a friend.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Giving her hand to Polixenes._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Too hot, too hot!\\r\\nTo mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.\\r\\nI have _tremor cordis_ on me. My heart dances,\\r\\nBut not for joy,—not joy. This entertainment\\r\\nMay a free face put on, derive a liberty\\r\\nFrom heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom,\\r\\nAnd well become the agent: ’t may, I grant:\\r\\nBut to be paddling palms and pinching fingers,\\r\\nAs now they are, and making practis’d smiles\\r\\nAs in a looking-glass; and then to sigh, as ’twere\\r\\nThe mort o’ th’ deer. O, that is entertainment\\r\\nMy bosom likes not, nor my brows. Mamillius,\\r\\nArt thou my boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nAy, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI’ fecks!\\r\\nWhy, that’s my bawcock. What! hast smutch’d thy nose?\\r\\nThey say it is a copy out of mine. Come, captain,\\r\\nWe must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain:\\r\\nAnd yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf\\r\\nAre all call’d neat.—Still virginalling\\r\\nUpon his palm?—How now, you wanton calf!\\r\\nArt thou my calf?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nYes, if you will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou want’st a rough pash and the shoots that I have\\r\\nTo be full like me:—yet they say we are\\r\\nAlmost as like as eggs; women say so,\\r\\nThat will say anything. But were they false\\r\\nAs o’er-dy’d blacks, as wind, as waters, false\\r\\nAs dice are to be wish’d by one that fixes\\r\\nNo bourn ’twixt his and mine, yet were it true\\r\\nTo say this boy were like me. Come, sir page,\\r\\nLook on me with your welkin eye: sweet villain!\\r\\nMost dear’st! my collop! Can thy dam?—may’t be?\\r\\nAffection! thy intention stabs the centre:\\r\\nThou dost make possible things not so held,\\r\\nCommunicat’st with dreams;—how can this be?—\\r\\nWith what’s unreal thou coactive art,\\r\\nAnd fellow’st nothing: then ’tis very credent\\r\\nThou may’st co-join with something; and thou dost,\\r\\nAnd that beyond commission, and I find it,\\r\\nAnd that to the infection of my brains\\r\\nAnd hardening of my brows.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWhat means Sicilia?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nHe something seems unsettled.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nHow, my lord?\\r\\nWhat cheer? How is’t with you, best brother?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nYou look\\r\\nAs if you held a brow of much distraction:\\r\\nAre you mov’d, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNo, in good earnest.\\r\\nHow sometimes nature will betray its folly,\\r\\nIts tenderness, and make itself a pastime\\r\\nTo harder bosoms! Looking on the lines\\r\\nOf my boy’s face, methoughts I did recoil\\r\\nTwenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech’d,\\r\\nIn my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzled\\r\\nLest it should bite its master, and so prove,\\r\\nAs ornaments oft do, too dangerous.\\r\\nHow like, methought, I then was to this kernel,\\r\\nThis squash, this gentleman. Mine honest friend,\\r\\nWill you take eggs for money?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nNo, my lord, I’ll fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou will? Why, happy man be ’s dole! My brother,\\r\\nAre you so fond of your young prince as we\\r\\nDo seem to be of ours?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nIf at home, sir,\\r\\nHe’s all my exercise, my mirth, my matter:\\r\\nNow my sworn friend, and then mine enemy;\\r\\nMy parasite, my soldier, statesman, all.\\r\\nHe makes a July’s day short as December;\\r\\nAnd with his varying childness cures in me\\r\\nThoughts that would thick my blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nSo stands this squire\\r\\nOffic’d with me. We two will walk, my lord,\\r\\nAnd leave you to your graver steps. Hermione,\\r\\nHow thou lov’st us show in our brother’s welcome;\\r\\nLet what is dear in Sicily be cheap:\\r\\nNext to thyself and my young rover, he’s\\r\\nApparent to my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nIf you would seek us,\\r\\nWe are yours i’ the garden. Shall ’s attend you there?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTo your own bents dispose you: you’ll be found,\\r\\nBe you beneath the sky. [_Aside._] I am angling now,\\r\\nThough you perceive me not how I give line.\\r\\nGo to, go to!\\r\\nHow she holds up the neb, the bill to him!\\r\\nAnd arms her with the boldness of a wife\\r\\nTo her allowing husband!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Polixenes, Hermione and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGone already!\\r\\nInch-thick, knee-deep, o’er head and ears a fork’d one!—\\r\\nGo, play, boy, play. Thy mother plays, and I\\r\\nPlay too; but so disgrac’d a part, whose issue\\r\\nWill hiss me to my grave: contempt and clamour\\r\\nWill be my knell. Go, play, boy, play. There have been,\\r\\nOr I am much deceiv’d, cuckolds ere now;\\r\\nAnd many a man there is, even at this present,\\r\\nNow while I speak this, holds his wife by th’ arm,\\r\\nThat little thinks she has been sluic’d in ’s absence,\\r\\nAnd his pond fish’d by his next neighbour, by\\r\\nSir Smile, his neighbour. Nay, there’s comfort in ’t,\\r\\nWhiles other men have gates, and those gates open’d,\\r\\nAs mine, against their will. Should all despair\\r\\nThat hath revolted wives, the tenth of mankind\\r\\nWould hang themselves. Physic for’t there’s none;\\r\\nIt is a bawdy planet, that will strike\\r\\nWhere ’tis predominant; and ’tis powerful, think it,\\r\\nFrom east, west, north, and south. Be it concluded,\\r\\nNo barricado for a belly. Know’t;\\r\\nIt will let in and out the enemy\\r\\nWith bag and baggage. Many thousand of us\\r\\nHave the disease, and feel’t not.—How now, boy!\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nI am like you, they say.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhy, that’s some comfort.\\r\\nWhat! Camillo there?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nAy, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGo play, Mamillius; thou’rt an honest man.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Mamillius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCamillo, this great sir will yet stay longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nYou had much ado to make his anchor hold:\\r\\nWhen you cast out, it still came home.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nDidst note it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHe would not stay at your petitions; made\\r\\nHis business more material.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nDidst perceive it?\\r\\n[_Aside._] They’re here with me already; whisp’ring, rounding,\\r\\n“Sicilia is a so-forth.” ’Tis far gone\\r\\nWhen I shall gust it last.—How came’t, Camillo,\\r\\nThat he did stay?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nAt the good queen’s entreaty.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nAt the queen’s be’t: “good” should be pertinent,\\r\\nBut so it is, it is not. Was this taken\\r\\nBy any understanding pate but thine?\\r\\nFor thy conceit is soaking, will draw in\\r\\nMore than the common blocks. Not noted, is’t,\\r\\nBut of the finer natures? by some severals\\r\\nOf head-piece extraordinary? lower messes\\r\\nPerchance are to this business purblind? say.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBusiness, my lord? I think most understand\\r\\nBohemia stays here longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHa?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nStays here longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nAy, but why?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nTo satisfy your highness, and the entreaties\\r\\nOf our most gracious mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nSatisfy?\\r\\nTh’ entreaties of your mistress? Satisfy?\\r\\nLet that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo,\\r\\nWith all the nearest things to my heart, as well\\r\\nMy chamber-counsels, wherein, priest-like, thou\\r\\nHast cleans’d my bosom; I from thee departed\\r\\nThy penitent reform’d. But we have been\\r\\nDeceiv’d in thy integrity, deceiv’d\\r\\nIn that which seems so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBe it forbid, my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTo bide upon’t: thou art not honest; or,\\r\\nIf thou inclin’st that way, thou art a coward,\\r\\nWhich hoxes honesty behind, restraining\\r\\nFrom course requir’d; or else thou must be counted\\r\\nA servant grafted in my serious trust,\\r\\nAnd therein negligent; or else a fool\\r\\nThat seest a game play’d home, the rich stake drawn,\\r\\nAnd tak’st it all for jest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nMy gracious lord,\\r\\nI may be negligent, foolish, and fearful;\\r\\nIn every one of these no man is free,\\r\\nBut that his negligence, his folly, fear,\\r\\nAmong the infinite doings of the world,\\r\\nSometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord,\\r\\nIf ever I were wilful-negligent,\\r\\nIt was my folly; if industriously\\r\\nI play’d the fool, it was my negligence,\\r\\nNot weighing well the end; if ever fearful\\r\\nTo do a thing, where I the issue doubted,\\r\\nWhereof the execution did cry out\\r\\nAgainst the non-performance, ’twas a fear\\r\\nWhich oft affects the wisest: these, my lord,\\r\\nAre such allow’d infirmities that honesty\\r\\nIs never free of. But, beseech your Grace,\\r\\nBe plainer with me; let me know my trespass\\r\\nBy its own visage: if I then deny it,\\r\\n’Tis none of mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHa’ not you seen, Camillo?\\r\\n(But that’s past doubt: you have, or your eye-glass\\r\\nIs thicker than a cuckold’s horn) or heard?\\r\\n(For, to a vision so apparent, rumour\\r\\nCannot be mute) or thought? (for cogitation\\r\\nResides not in that man that does not think)\\r\\nMy wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess,\\r\\nOr else be impudently negative,\\r\\nTo have nor eyes nor ears nor thought, then say\\r\\nMy wife’s a hobby-horse, deserves a name\\r\\nAs rank as any flax-wench that puts to\\r\\nBefore her troth-plight: say’t and justify’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI would not be a stander-by to hear\\r\\nMy sovereign mistress clouded so, without\\r\\nMy present vengeance taken: ’shrew my heart,\\r\\nYou never spoke what did become you less\\r\\nThan this; which to reiterate were sin\\r\\nAs deep as that, though true.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nIs whispering nothing?\\r\\nIs leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses?\\r\\nKissing with inside lip? Stopping the career\\r\\nOf laughter with a sigh?—a note infallible\\r\\nOf breaking honesty?—horsing foot on foot?\\r\\nSkulking in corners? Wishing clocks more swift?\\r\\nHours, minutes? Noon, midnight? and all eyes\\r\\nBlind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only,\\r\\nThat would unseen be wicked? Is this nothing?\\r\\nWhy, then the world and all that’s in’t is nothing,\\r\\nThe covering sky is nothing, Bohemia nothing,\\r\\nMy wife is nothing, nor nothing have these nothings,\\r\\nIf this be nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nGood my lord, be cur’d\\r\\nOf this diseas’d opinion, and betimes,\\r\\nFor ’tis most dangerous.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nSay it be, ’tis true.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNo, no, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nIt is; you lie, you lie:\\r\\nI say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee,\\r\\nPronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave,\\r\\nOr else a hovering temporizer that\\r\\nCanst with thine eyes at once see good and evil,\\r\\nInclining to them both. Were my wife’s liver\\r\\nInfected as her life, she would not live\\r\\nThe running of one glass.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nWho does infect her?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhy, he that wears her like her medal, hanging\\r\\nAbout his neck, Bohemia: who, if I\\r\\nHad servants true about me, that bare eyes\\r\\nTo see alike mine honour as their profits,\\r\\nTheir own particular thrifts, they would do that\\r\\nWhich should undo more doing: ay, and thou,\\r\\nHis cupbearer,—whom I from meaner form\\r\\nHave bench’d and rear’d to worship, who mayst see\\r\\nPlainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees heaven,\\r\\nHow I am galled,—mightst bespice a cup,\\r\\nTo give mine enemy a lasting wink;\\r\\nWhich draught to me were cordial.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSir, my lord,\\r\\nI could do this, and that with no rash potion,\\r\\nBut with a ling’ring dram, that should not work\\r\\nMaliciously like poison. But I cannot\\r\\nBelieve this crack to be in my dread mistress,\\r\\nSo sovereignly being honourable.\\r\\nI have lov’d thee,—\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nMake that thy question, and go rot!\\r\\nDost think I am so muddy, so unsettled,\\r\\nTo appoint myself in this vexation; sully\\r\\nThe purity and whiteness of my sheets,\\r\\n(Which to preserve is sleep, which being spotted\\r\\nIs goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps)\\r\\nGive scandal to the blood o’ th’ prince, my son,\\r\\n(Who I do think is mine, and love as mine)\\r\\nWithout ripe moving to’t? Would I do this?\\r\\nCould man so blench?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI must believe you, sir:\\r\\nI do; and will fetch off Bohemia for’t;\\r\\nProvided that, when he’s remov’d, your highness\\r\\nWill take again your queen as yours at first,\\r\\nEven for your son’s sake, and thereby for sealing\\r\\nThe injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms\\r\\nKnown and allied to yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou dost advise me\\r\\nEven so as I mine own course have set down:\\r\\nI’ll give no blemish to her honour, none.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nMy lord,\\r\\nGo then; and with a countenance as clear\\r\\nAs friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia\\r\\nAnd with your queen. I am his cupbearer.\\r\\nIf from me he have wholesome beverage,\\r\\nAccount me not your servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThis is all:\\r\\nDo’t, and thou hast the one half of my heart;\\r\\nDo’t not, thou splitt’st thine own.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI’ll do’t, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI will seem friendly, as thou hast advis’d me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nO miserable lady! But, for me,\\r\\nWhat case stand I in? I must be the poisoner\\r\\nOf good Polixenes, and my ground to do’t\\r\\nIs the obedience to a master; one\\r\\nWho, in rebellion with himself, will have\\r\\nAll that are his so too. To do this deed,\\r\\nPromotion follows. If I could find example\\r\\nOf thousands that had struck anointed kings\\r\\nAnd flourish’d after, I’d not do’t. But since\\r\\nNor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one,\\r\\nLet villainy itself forswear’t. I must\\r\\nForsake the court: to do’t, or no, is certain\\r\\nTo me a break-neck. Happy star reign now!\\r\\nHere comes Bohemia.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Polixenes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThis is strange. Methinks\\r\\nMy favour here begins to warp. Not speak?\\r\\nGood day, Camillo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHail, most royal sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWhat is the news i’ th’ court?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNone rare, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThe king hath on him such a countenance\\r\\nAs he had lost some province, and a region\\r\\nLov’d as he loves himself. Even now I met him\\r\\nWith customary compliment, when he,\\r\\nWafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling\\r\\nA lip of much contempt, speeds from me, and\\r\\nSo leaves me to consider what is breeding\\r\\nThat changes thus his manners.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI dare not know, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nHow, dare not? Do not? Do you know, and dare not?\\r\\nBe intelligent to me? ’Tis thereabouts;\\r\\nFor, to yourself, what you do know, you must,\\r\\nAnd cannot say you dare not. Good Camillo,\\r\\nYour chang’d complexions are to me a mirror\\r\\nWhich shows me mine chang’d too; for I must be\\r\\nA party in this alteration, finding\\r\\nMyself thus alter’d with’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThere is a sickness\\r\\nWhich puts some of us in distemper, but\\r\\nI cannot name the disease, and it is caught\\r\\nOf you that yet are well.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nHow caught of me?\\r\\nMake me not sighted like the basilisk.\\r\\nI have look’d on thousands who have sped the better\\r\\nBy my regard, but kill’d none so. Camillo,—\\r\\nAs you are certainly a gentleman, thereto\\r\\nClerk-like, experienc’d, which no less adorns\\r\\nOur gentry than our parents’ noble names,\\r\\nIn whose success we are gentle,—I beseech you,\\r\\nIf you know aught which does behove my knowledge\\r\\nThereof to be inform’d, imprison’t not\\r\\nIn ignorant concealment.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI may not answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nA sickness caught of me, and yet I well?\\r\\nI must be answer’d. Dost thou hear, Camillo,\\r\\nI conjure thee, by all the parts of man\\r\\nWhich honour does acknowledge, whereof the least\\r\\nIs not this suit of mine, that thou declare\\r\\nWhat incidency thou dost guess of harm\\r\\nIs creeping toward me; how far off, how near;\\r\\nWhich way to be prevented, if to be;\\r\\nIf not, how best to bear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSir, I will tell you;\\r\\nSince I am charg’d in honour, and by him\\r\\nThat I think honourable. Therefore mark my counsel,\\r\\nWhich must be ev’n as swiftly follow’d as\\r\\nI mean to utter it, or both yourself and me\\r\\nCry lost, and so goodnight!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nOn, good Camillo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI am appointed him to murder you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nBy whom, Camillo?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBy the king.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nFor what?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHe thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears,\\r\\nAs he had seen’t or been an instrument\\r\\nTo vice you to’t, that you have touch’d his queen\\r\\nForbiddenly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nO, then my best blood turn\\r\\nTo an infected jelly, and my name\\r\\nBe yok’d with his that did betray the Best!\\r\\nTurn then my freshest reputation to\\r\\nA savour that may strike the dullest nostril\\r\\nWhere I arrive, and my approach be shunn’d,\\r\\nNay, hated too, worse than the great’st infection\\r\\nThat e’er was heard or read!\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSwear his thought over\\r\\nBy each particular star in heaven and\\r\\nBy all their influences, you may as well\\r\\nForbid the sea for to obey the moon\\r\\nAs or by oath remove or counsel shake\\r\\nThe fabric of his folly, whose foundation\\r\\nIs pil’d upon his faith, and will continue\\r\\nThe standing of his body.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nHow should this grow?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI know not: but I am sure ’tis safer to\\r\\nAvoid what’s grown than question how ’tis born.\\r\\nIf therefore you dare trust my honesty,\\r\\nThat lies enclosed in this trunk, which you\\r\\nShall bear along impawn’d, away tonight.\\r\\nYour followers I will whisper to the business,\\r\\nAnd will by twos and threes, at several posterns,\\r\\nClear them o’ th’ city. For myself, I’ll put\\r\\nMy fortunes to your service, which are here\\r\\nBy this discovery lost. Be not uncertain,\\r\\nFor, by the honour of my parents, I\\r\\nHave utter’d truth: which if you seek to prove,\\r\\nI dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer\\r\\nThan one condemned by the king’s own mouth,\\r\\nThereon his execution sworn.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI do believe thee.\\r\\nI saw his heart in ’s face. Give me thy hand,\\r\\nBe pilot to me, and thy places shall\\r\\nStill neighbour mine. My ships are ready, and\\r\\nMy people did expect my hence departure\\r\\nTwo days ago. This jealousy\\r\\nIs for a precious creature: as she’s rare,\\r\\nMust it be great; and, as his person’s mighty,\\r\\nMust it be violent; and as he does conceive\\r\\nHe is dishonour’d by a man which ever\\r\\nProfess’d to him, why, his revenges must\\r\\nIn that be made more bitter. Fear o’ershades me.\\r\\nGood expedition be my friend, and comfort\\r\\nThe gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing\\r\\nOf his ill-ta’en suspicion! Come, Camillo,\\r\\nI will respect thee as a father if\\r\\nThou bear’st my life off hence. Let us avoid.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nIt is in mine authority to command\\r\\nThe keys of all the posterns: please your highness\\r\\nTo take the urgent hour. Come, sir, away.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Sicilia. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hermione, Mamillius and Ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nTake the boy to you: he so troubles me,\\r\\n’Tis past enduring.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LADY.\\r\\nCome, my gracious lord,\\r\\nShall I be your playfellow?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nNo, I’ll none of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LADY.\\r\\nWhy, my sweet lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nYou’ll kiss me hard, and speak to me as if\\r\\nI were a baby still. I love you better.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LADY.\\r\\nAnd why so, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nNot for because\\r\\nYour brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say,\\r\\nBecome some women best, so that there be not\\r\\nToo much hair there, but in a semicircle\\r\\nOr a half-moon made with a pen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LADY.\\r\\nWho taught this?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nI learn’d it out of women’s faces. Pray now,\\r\\nWhat colour are your eyebrows?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LADY.\\r\\nBlue, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nNay, that’s a mock. I have seen a lady’s nose\\r\\nThat has been blue, but not her eyebrows.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LADY.\\r\\nHark ye,\\r\\nThe queen your mother rounds apace. We shall\\r\\nPresent our services to a fine new prince\\r\\nOne of these days, and then you’d wanton with us,\\r\\nIf we would have you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LADY.\\r\\nShe is spread of late\\r\\nInto a goodly bulk: good time encounter her!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWhat wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now\\r\\nI am for you again. Pray you sit by us,\\r\\nAnd tell ’s a tale.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nMerry or sad shall’t be?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nAs merry as you will.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nA sad tale’s best for winter. I have one\\r\\nOf sprites and goblins.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nLet’s have that, good sir.\\r\\nCome on, sit down. Come on, and do your best\\r\\nTo fright me with your sprites: you’re powerful at it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nThere was a man,—\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNay, come, sit down, then on.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nDwelt by a churchyard. I will tell it softly,\\r\\nYond crickets shall not hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nCome on then,\\r\\nAnd give’t me in mine ear.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords and Guards.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWas he met there? his train? Camillo with him?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nBehind the tuft of pines I met them, never\\r\\nSaw I men scour so on their way: I ey’d them\\r\\nEven to their ships.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow blest am I\\r\\nIn my just censure, in my true opinion!\\r\\nAlack, for lesser knowledge! How accurs’d\\r\\nIn being so blest! There may be in the cup\\r\\nA spider steep’d, and one may drink, depart,\\r\\nAnd yet partake no venom, for his knowledge\\r\\nIs not infected; but if one present\\r\\nTh’ abhorr’d ingredient to his eye, make known\\r\\nHow he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides,\\r\\nWith violent hefts. I have drunk, and seen the spider.\\r\\nCamillo was his help in this, his pander.\\r\\nThere is a plot against my life, my crown;\\r\\nAll’s true that is mistrusted. That false villain\\r\\nWhom I employ’d, was pre-employ’d by him.\\r\\nHe has discover’d my design, and I\\r\\nRemain a pinch’d thing; yea, a very trick\\r\\nFor them to play at will. How came the posterns\\r\\nSo easily open?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nBy his great authority,\\r\\nWhich often hath no less prevail’d than so\\r\\nOn your command.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI know’t too well.\\r\\nGive me the boy. I am glad you did not nurse him.\\r\\nThough he does bear some signs of me, yet you\\r\\nHave too much blood in him.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWhat is this? sport?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nBear the boy hence, he shall not come about her,\\r\\nAway with him, and let her sport herself\\r\\nWith that she’s big with; for ’tis Polixenes\\r\\nHas made thee swell thus.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Mamillius with some of the Guards._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nBut I’d say he had not,\\r\\nAnd I’ll be sworn you would believe my saying,\\r\\nHowe’er you learn th’ nayward.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou, my lords,\\r\\nLook on her, mark her well. Be but about\\r\\nTo say, “she is a goodly lady,” and\\r\\nThe justice of your hearts will thereto add\\r\\n“’Tis pity she’s not honest, honourable”:\\r\\nPraise her but for this her without-door form,\\r\\nWhich on my faith deserves high speech, and straight\\r\\nThe shrug, the hum or ha, these petty brands\\r\\nThat calumny doth use—O, I am out,\\r\\nThat mercy does; for calumny will sear\\r\\nVirtue itself—these shrugs, these hum’s, and ha’s,\\r\\nWhen you have said “she’s goodly,” come between,\\r\\nEre you can say “she’s honest”: but be it known,\\r\\nFrom him that has most cause to grieve it should be,\\r\\nShe’s an adultress!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nShould a villain say so,\\r\\nThe most replenish’d villain in the world,\\r\\nHe were as much more villain: you, my lord,\\r\\nDo but mistake.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou have mistook, my lady,\\r\\nPolixenes for Leontes O thou thing,\\r\\nWhich I’ll not call a creature of thy place,\\r\\nLest barbarism, making me the precedent,\\r\\nShould a like language use to all degrees,\\r\\nAnd mannerly distinguishment leave out\\r\\nBetwixt the prince and beggar. I have said\\r\\nShe’s an adultress; I have said with whom:\\r\\nMore, she’s a traitor, and Camillo is\\r\\nA federary with her; and one that knows\\r\\nWhat she should shame to know herself\\r\\nBut with her most vile principal, that she’s\\r\\nA bed-swerver, even as bad as those\\r\\nThat vulgars give bold’st titles; ay, and privy\\r\\nTo this their late escape.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNo, by my life,\\r\\nPrivy to none of this. How will this grieve you,\\r\\nWhen you shall come to clearer knowledge, that\\r\\nYou thus have publish’d me! Gentle my lord,\\r\\nYou scarce can right me throughly then, to say\\r\\nYou did mistake.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNo. If I mistake\\r\\nIn those foundations which I build upon,\\r\\nThe centre is not big enough to bear\\r\\nA school-boy’s top. Away with her to prison!\\r\\nHe who shall speak for her is afar off guilty\\r\\nBut that he speaks.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nThere’s some ill planet reigns:\\r\\nI must be patient till the heavens look\\r\\nWith an aspect more favourable. Good my lords,\\r\\nI am not prone to weeping, as our sex\\r\\nCommonly are; the want of which vain dew\\r\\nPerchance shall dry your pities. But I have\\r\\nThat honourable grief lodg’d here which burns\\r\\nWorse than tears drown: beseech you all, my lords,\\r\\nWith thoughts so qualified as your charities\\r\\nShall best instruct you, measure me; and so\\r\\nThe king’s will be perform’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nShall I be heard?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWho is’t that goes with me? Beseech your highness\\r\\nMy women may be with me, for you see\\r\\nMy plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools;\\r\\nThere is no cause: when you shall know your mistress\\r\\nHas deserv’d prison, then abound in tears\\r\\nAs I come out: this action I now go on\\r\\nIs for my better grace. Adieu, my lord:\\r\\nI never wish’d to see you sorry; now\\r\\nI trust I shall. My women, come; you have leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGo, do our bidding. Hence!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Queen and Ladies with Guards._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nBeseech your highness, call the queen again.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nBe certain what you do, sir, lest your justice\\r\\nProve violence, in the which three great ones suffer,\\r\\nYourself, your queen, your son.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nFor her, my lord,\\r\\nI dare my life lay down, and will do’t, sir,\\r\\nPlease you to accept it, that the queen is spotless\\r\\nI’ th’ eyes of heaven and to you—I mean\\r\\nIn this which you accuse her.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nIf it prove\\r\\nShe’s otherwise, I’ll keep my stables where\\r\\nI lodge my wife; I’ll go in couples with her;\\r\\nThan when I feel and see her no further trust her.\\r\\nFor every inch of woman in the world,\\r\\nAy, every dram of woman’s flesh, is false,\\r\\nIf she be.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHold your peaces.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nGood my lord,—\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nIt is for you we speak, not for ourselves:\\r\\nYou are abus’d, and by some putter-on\\r\\nThat will be damn’d for’t: would I knew the villain,\\r\\nI would land-damn him. Be she honour-flaw’d,\\r\\nI have three daughters; the eldest is eleven;\\r\\nThe second and the third, nine and some five;\\r\\nIf this prove true, they’ll pay for’t. By mine honour,\\r\\nI’ll geld ’em all; fourteen they shall not see,\\r\\nTo bring false generations: they are co-heirs,\\r\\nAnd I had rather glib myself than they\\r\\nShould not produce fair issue.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nCease; no more.\\r\\nYou smell this business with a sense as cold\\r\\nAs is a dead man’s nose: but I do see’t and feel’t,\\r\\nAs you feel doing thus; and see withal\\r\\nThe instruments that feel.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nIf it be so,\\r\\nWe need no grave to bury honesty.\\r\\nThere’s not a grain of it the face to sweeten\\r\\nOf the whole dungy earth.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat! Lack I credit?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nI had rather you did lack than I, my lord,\\r\\nUpon this ground: and more it would content me\\r\\nTo have her honour true than your suspicion,\\r\\nBe blam’d for’t how you might.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhy, what need we\\r\\nCommune with you of this, but rather follow\\r\\nOur forceful instigation? Our prerogative\\r\\nCalls not your counsels, but our natural goodness\\r\\nImparts this; which, if you, or stupified\\r\\nOr seeming so in skill, cannot or will not\\r\\nRelish a truth, like us, inform yourselves\\r\\nWe need no more of your advice: the matter,\\r\\nThe loss, the gain, the ord’ring on’t, is all\\r\\nProperly ours.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nAnd I wish, my liege,\\r\\nYou had only in your silent judgement tried it,\\r\\nWithout more overture.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow could that be?\\r\\nEither thou art most ignorant by age,\\r\\nOr thou wert born a fool. Camillo’s flight,\\r\\nAdded to their familiarity,\\r\\n(Which was as gross as ever touch’d conjecture,\\r\\nThat lack’d sight only, nought for approbation\\r\\nBut only seeing, all other circumstances\\r\\nMade up to th’ deed) doth push on this proceeding.\\r\\nYet, for a greater confirmation\\r\\n(For in an act of this importance, ’twere\\r\\nMost piteous to be wild), I have dispatch’d in post\\r\\nTo sacred Delphos, to Apollo’s temple,\\r\\nCleomenes and Dion, whom you know\\r\\nOf stuff’d sufficiency: now from the oracle\\r\\nThey will bring all, whose spiritual counsel had,\\r\\nShall stop or spur me. Have I done well?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nWell done, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThough I am satisfied, and need no more\\r\\nThan what I know, yet shall the oracle\\r\\nGive rest to the minds of others, such as he\\r\\nWhose ignorant credulity will not\\r\\nCome up to th’ truth. So have we thought it good\\r\\nFrom our free person she should be confin’d,\\r\\nLest that the treachery of the two fled hence\\r\\nBe left her to perform. Come, follow us;\\r\\nWe are to speak in public; for this business\\r\\nWill raise us all.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] To laughter, as I take it,\\r\\nIf the good truth were known.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. The outer Room of a Prison.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paulina a Gentleman and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThe keeper of the prison, call to him;\\r\\nLet him have knowledge who I am.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit the Gentleman._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGood lady!\\r\\nNo court in Europe is too good for thee;\\r\\nWhat dost thou then in prison?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gentleman with the Gaoler.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, good sir,\\r\\nYou know me, do you not?\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nFor a worthy lady\\r\\nAnd one who much I honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nPray you then,\\r\\nConduct me to the queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nI may not, madam.\\r\\nTo the contrary I have express commandment.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nHere’s ado, to lock up honesty and honour from\\r\\nTh’ access of gentle visitors! Is’t lawful, pray you,\\r\\nTo see her women? any of them? Emilia?\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nSo please you, madam,\\r\\nTo put apart these your attendants, I\\r\\nShall bring Emilia forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI pray now, call her.\\r\\nWithdraw yourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Gentleman and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nAnd, madam,\\r\\nI must be present at your conference.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWell, be’t so, prithee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Gaoler._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHere’s such ado to make no stain a stain\\r\\nAs passes colouring.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Gaoler with Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nDear gentlewoman,\\r\\nHow fares our gracious lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAs well as one so great and so forlorn\\r\\nMay hold together: on her frights and griefs,\\r\\n(Which never tender lady hath borne greater)\\r\\nShe is, something before her time, deliver’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nA boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nA daughter; and a goodly babe,\\r\\nLusty, and like to live: the queen receives\\r\\nMuch comfort in ’t; says “My poor prisoner,\\r\\nI am as innocent as you.”\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI dare be sworn.\\r\\nThese dangerous unsafe lunes i’ th’ king, beshrew them!\\r\\nHe must be told on’t, and he shall: the office\\r\\nBecomes a woman best. I’ll take’t upon me.\\r\\nIf I prove honey-mouth’d, let my tongue blister,\\r\\nAnd never to my red-look’d anger be\\r\\nThe trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia,\\r\\nCommend my best obedience to the queen.\\r\\nIf she dares trust me with her little babe,\\r\\nI’ll show’t the king, and undertake to be\\r\\nHer advocate to th’ loud’st. We do not know\\r\\nHow he may soften at the sight o’ th’ child:\\r\\nThe silence often of pure innocence\\r\\nPersuades, when speaking fails.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMost worthy madam,\\r\\nYour honour and your goodness is so evident,\\r\\nThat your free undertaking cannot miss\\r\\nA thriving issue: there is no lady living\\r\\nSo meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship\\r\\nTo visit the next room, I’ll presently\\r\\nAcquaint the queen of your most noble offer,\\r\\nWho but today hammer’d of this design,\\r\\nBut durst not tempt a minister of honour,\\r\\nLest she should be denied.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nTell her, Emilia,\\r\\nI’ll use that tongue I have: if wit flow from ’t\\r\\nAs boldness from my bosom, let’t not be doubted\\r\\nI shall do good.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNow be you blest for it!\\r\\nI’ll to the queen: please you come something nearer.\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nMadam, if ’t please the queen to send the babe,\\r\\nI know not what I shall incur to pass it,\\r\\nHaving no warrant.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nYou need not fear it, sir:\\r\\nThis child was prisoner to the womb, and is,\\r\\nBy law and process of great nature thence\\r\\nFreed and enfranchis’d: not a party to\\r\\nThe anger of the king, nor guilty of,\\r\\nIf any be, the trespass of the queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nI do believe it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nDo not you fear: upon mine honour, I\\r\\nWill stand betwixt you and danger.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords and other Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNor night nor day no rest: it is but weakness\\r\\nTo bear the matter thus, mere weakness. If\\r\\nThe cause were not in being,—part o’ th’ cause,\\r\\nShe th’ adultress; for the harlot king\\r\\nIs quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank\\r\\nAnd level of my brain, plot-proof. But she\\r\\nI can hook to me. Say that she were gone,\\r\\nGiven to the fire, a moiety of my rest\\r\\nMight come to me again. Who’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST ATTENDANT.\\r\\nMy lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow does the boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST ATTENDANT.\\r\\nHe took good rest tonight;\\r\\n’Tis hop’d his sickness is discharg’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTo see his nobleness,\\r\\nConceiving the dishonour of his mother.\\r\\nHe straight declin’d, droop’d, took it deeply,\\r\\nFasten’d and fix’d the shame on’t in himself,\\r\\nThrew off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep,\\r\\nAnd downright languish’d. Leave me solely: go,\\r\\nSee how he fares.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit First Attendant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFie, fie! no thought of him.\\r\\nThe very thought of my revenges that way\\r\\nRecoil upon me: in himself too mighty,\\r\\nAnd in his parties, his alliance. Let him be,\\r\\nUntil a time may serve. For present vengeance,\\r\\nTake it on her. Camillo and Polixenes\\r\\nLaugh at me; make their pastime at my sorrow:\\r\\nThey should not laugh if I could reach them, nor\\r\\nShall she, within my power.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paulina carrying a baby, with Antigonus, lords and servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nYou must not enter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNay, rather, good my lords, be second to me:\\r\\nFear you his tyrannous passion more, alas,\\r\\nThan the queen’s life? a gracious innocent soul,\\r\\nMore free than he is jealous.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nThat’s enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMadam, he hath not slept tonight; commanded\\r\\nNone should come at him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNot so hot, good sir;\\r\\nI come to bring him sleep. ’Tis such as you,\\r\\nThat creep like shadows by him, and do sigh\\r\\nAt each his needless heavings,—such as you\\r\\nNourish the cause of his awaking. I\\r\\nDo come with words as med’cinal as true,\\r\\nHonest as either, to purge him of that humour\\r\\nThat presses him from sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat noise there, ho?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNo noise, my lord; but needful conference\\r\\nAbout some gossips for your highness.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow!\\r\\nAway with that audacious lady! Antigonus,\\r\\nI charg’d thee that she should not come about me.\\r\\nI knew she would.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI told her so, my lord,\\r\\nOn your displeasure’s peril and on mine,\\r\\nShe should not visit you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat, canst not rule her?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nFrom all dishonesty he can. In this,\\r\\nUnless he take the course that you have done,\\r\\nCommit me for committing honour—trust it,\\r\\nHe shall not rule me.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nLa you now, you hear.\\r\\nWhen she will take the rein I let her run;\\r\\nBut she’ll not stumble.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nGood my liege, I come,—\\r\\nAnd, I beseech you hear me, who professes\\r\\nMyself your loyal servant, your physician,\\r\\nYour most obedient counsellor, yet that dares\\r\\nLess appear so, in comforting your evils,\\r\\nThan such as most seem yours—I say I come\\r\\nFrom your good queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGood queen!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nGood queen, my lord, good queen: I say, good queen,\\r\\nAnd would by combat make her good, so were I\\r\\nA man, the worst about you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nForce her hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nLet him that makes but trifles of his eyes\\r\\nFirst hand me: on mine own accord I’ll off;\\r\\nBut first I’ll do my errand. The good queen,\\r\\n(For she is good) hath brought you forth a daughter;\\r\\nHere ’tis; commends it to your blessing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Laying down the child._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nOut!\\r\\nA mankind witch! Hence with her, out o’ door:\\r\\nA most intelligencing bawd!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNot so.\\r\\nI am as ignorant in that as you\\r\\nIn so entitling me; and no less honest\\r\\nThan you are mad; which is enough, I’ll warrant,\\r\\nAs this world goes, to pass for honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTraitors!\\r\\nWill you not push her out? [_To Antigonus._] Give her the bastard,\\r\\nThou dotard! Thou art woman-tir’d, unroosted\\r\\nBy thy Dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard,\\r\\nTake’t up, I say; give’t to thy crone.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nFor ever\\r\\nUnvenerable be thy hands, if thou\\r\\nTak’st up the princess by that forced baseness\\r\\nWhich he has put upon ’t!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHe dreads his wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nSo I would you did; then ’twere past all doubt\\r\\nYou’d call your children yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nA nest of traitors!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI am none, by this good light.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNor I; nor any\\r\\nBut one that’s here, and that’s himself. For he\\r\\nThe sacred honour of himself, his queen’s,\\r\\nHis hopeful son’s, his babe’s, betrays to slander,\\r\\nWhose sting is sharper than the sword’s; and will not,\\r\\n(For, as the case now stands, it is a curse\\r\\nHe cannot be compell’d to’t) once remove\\r\\nThe root of his opinion, which is rotten\\r\\nAs ever oak or stone was sound.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nA callat\\r\\nOf boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband,\\r\\nAnd now baits me! This brat is none of mine;\\r\\nIt is the issue of Polixenes.\\r\\nHence with it, and together with the dam\\r\\nCommit them to the fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nIt is yours;\\r\\nAnd, might we lay th’ old proverb to your charge,\\r\\nSo like you ’tis the worse. Behold, my lords,\\r\\nAlthough the print be little, the whole matter\\r\\nAnd copy of the father: eye, nose, lip,\\r\\nThe trick of ’s frown, his forehead; nay, the valley,\\r\\nThe pretty dimples of his chin and cheek; his smiles;\\r\\nThe very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger:\\r\\nAnd thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it\\r\\nSo like to him that got it, if thou hast\\r\\nThe ordering of the mind too, ’mongst all colours\\r\\nNo yellow in ’t, lest she suspect, as he does,\\r\\nHer children not her husband’s!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nA gross hag!\\r\\nAnd, losel, thou art worthy to be hang’d\\r\\nThat wilt not stay her tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nHang all the husbands\\r\\nThat cannot do that feat, you’ll leave yourself\\r\\nHardly one subject.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nOnce more, take her hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nA most unworthy and unnatural lord\\r\\nCan do no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI’ll have thee burnt.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI care not.\\r\\nIt is an heretic that makes the fire,\\r\\nNot she which burns in ’t. I’ll not call you tyrant;\\r\\nBut this most cruel usage of your queen,\\r\\nNot able to produce more accusation\\r\\nThan your own weak-hing’d fancy, something savours\\r\\nOf tyranny, and will ignoble make you,\\r\\nYea, scandalous to the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nOn your allegiance,\\r\\nOut of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant,\\r\\nWhere were her life? She durst not call me so,\\r\\nIf she did know me one. Away with her!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI pray you, do not push me; I’ll be gone.\\r\\nLook to your babe, my lord; ’tis yours: Jove send her\\r\\nA better guiding spirit! What needs these hands?\\r\\nYou that are thus so tender o’er his follies,\\r\\nWill never do him good, not one of you.\\r\\nSo, so. Farewell; we are gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.\\r\\nMy child? Away with’t. Even thou, that hast\\r\\nA heart so tender o’er it, take it hence,\\r\\nAnd see it instantly consum’d with fire;\\r\\nEven thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight:\\r\\nWithin this hour bring me word ’tis done,\\r\\nAnd by good testimony, or I’ll seize thy life,\\r\\nWith that thou else call’st thine. If thou refuse\\r\\nAnd wilt encounter with my wrath, say so;\\r\\nThe bastard brains with these my proper hands\\r\\nShall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire;\\r\\nFor thou set’st on thy wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI did not, sir:\\r\\nThese lords, my noble fellows, if they please,\\r\\nCan clear me in ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORDS\\r\\nWe can: my royal liege,\\r\\nHe is not guilty of her coming hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou’re liars all.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nBeseech your highness, give us better credit:\\r\\nWe have always truly serv’d you; and beseech\\r\\nSo to esteem of us. And on our knees we beg,\\r\\nAs recompense of our dear services\\r\\nPast and to come, that you do change this purpose,\\r\\nWhich being so horrible, so bloody, must\\r\\nLead on to some foul issue. We all kneel.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI am a feather for each wind that blows.\\r\\nShall I live on to see this bastard kneel\\r\\nAnd call me father? better burn it now\\r\\nThan curse it then. But be it; let it live.\\r\\nIt shall not neither. [_To Antigonus._] You, sir, come you hither,\\r\\nYou that have been so tenderly officious\\r\\nWith Lady Margery, your midwife, there,\\r\\nTo save this bastard’s life—for ’tis a bastard,\\r\\nSo sure as this beard’s grey. What will you adventure\\r\\nTo save this brat’s life?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nAnything, my lord,\\r\\nThat my ability may undergo,\\r\\nAnd nobleness impose: at least thus much:\\r\\nI’ll pawn the little blood which I have left\\r\\nTo save the innocent. Anything possible.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nIt shall be possible. Swear by this sword\\r\\nThou wilt perform my bidding.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nMark, and perform it, seest thou? for the fail\\r\\nOf any point in’t shall not only be\\r\\nDeath to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongu’d wife,\\r\\nWhom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee,\\r\\nAs thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry\\r\\nThis female bastard hence, and that thou bear it\\r\\nTo some remote and desert place, quite out\\r\\nOf our dominions; and that there thou leave it,\\r\\nWithout more mercy, to it own protection\\r\\nAnd favour of the climate. As by strange fortune\\r\\nIt came to us, I do in justice charge thee,\\r\\nOn thy soul’s peril and thy body’s torture,\\r\\nThat thou commend it strangely to some place\\r\\nWhere chance may nurse or end it. Take it up.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI swear to do this, though a present death\\r\\nHad been more merciful. Come on, poor babe:\\r\\nSome powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens\\r\\nTo be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say,\\r\\nCasting their savageness aside, have done\\r\\nLike offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous\\r\\nIn more than this deed does require! And blessing\\r\\nAgainst this cruelty, fight on thy side,\\r\\nPoor thing, condemn’d to loss!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with the child._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNo, I’ll not rear\\r\\nAnother’s issue.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nPlease your highness, posts\\r\\nFrom those you sent to th’ oracle are come\\r\\nAn hour since: Cleomenes and Dion,\\r\\nBeing well arriv’d from Delphos, are both landed,\\r\\nHasting to th’ court.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nSo please you, sir, their speed\\r\\nHath been beyond account.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTwenty-three days\\r\\nThey have been absent: ’tis good speed; foretells\\r\\nThe great Apollo suddenly will have\\r\\nThe truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords;\\r\\nSummon a session, that we may arraign\\r\\nOur most disloyal lady; for, as she hath\\r\\nBeen publicly accus’d, so shall she have\\r\\nA just and open trial. While she lives,\\r\\nMy heart will be a burden to me. Leave me,\\r\\nAnd think upon my bidding.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Sicilia. A Street in some Town.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cleomenes and Dion.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nThe climate’s delicate; the air most sweet,\\r\\nFertile the isle, the temple much surpassing\\r\\nThe common praise it bears.\\r\\n\\r\\nDION.\\r\\nI shall report,\\r\\nFor most it caught me, the celestial habits\\r\\n(Methinks I so should term them) and the reverence\\r\\nOf the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice!\\r\\nHow ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly,\\r\\nIt was i’ th’ offering!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nBut of all, the burst\\r\\nAnd the ear-deaf’ning voice o’ th’ oracle,\\r\\nKin to Jove’s thunder, so surprised my sense\\r\\nThat I was nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nDION.\\r\\nIf the event o’ th’ journey\\r\\nProve as successful to the queen,—O, be’t so!—\\r\\nAs it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy,\\r\\nThe time is worth the use on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nGreat Apollo\\r\\nTurn all to th’ best! These proclamations,\\r\\nSo forcing faults upon Hermione,\\r\\nI little like.\\r\\n\\r\\nDION.\\r\\nThe violent carriage of it\\r\\nWill clear or end the business: when the oracle,\\r\\n(Thus by Apollo’s great divine seal’d up)\\r\\nShall the contents discover, something rare\\r\\nEven then will rush to knowledge. Go. Fresh horses!\\r\\nAnd gracious be the issue!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. A Court of Justice.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Lords and Officers appear, properly seated.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThis sessions (to our great grief we pronounce)\\r\\nEven pushes ’gainst our heart: the party tried\\r\\nThe daughter of a king, our wife, and one\\r\\nOf us too much belov’d. Let us be clear’d\\r\\nOf being tyrannous, since we so openly\\r\\nProceed in justice, which shall have due course,\\r\\nEven to the guilt or the purgation.\\r\\nProduce the prisoner.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nIt is his highness’ pleasure that the queen\\r\\nAppear in person here in court. Silence!\\r\\n\\r\\n Hermione is brought in guarded; Paulina and Ladies attending.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nRead the indictment.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\n[_Reads._] “Hermione, queen to the worthy Leontes, king of Sicilia,\\r\\nthou art here accused and arraigned of high treason, in committing\\r\\nadultery with Polixenes, king of Bohemia; and conspiring with Camillo\\r\\nto take away the life of our sovereign lord the king, thy royal\\r\\nhusband: the pretence whereof being by circumstances partly laid open,\\r\\nthou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance of a true subject,\\r\\ndidst counsel and aid them, for their better safety, to fly away by\\r\\nnight.”\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nSince what I am to say must be but that\\r\\nWhich contradicts my accusation, and\\r\\nThe testimony on my part no other\\r\\nBut what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me\\r\\nTo say “Not guilty”. Mine integrity,\\r\\nBeing counted falsehood, shall, as I express it,\\r\\nBe so receiv’d. But thus, if powers divine\\r\\nBehold our human actions, as they do,\\r\\nI doubt not, then, but innocence shall make\\r\\nFalse accusation blush, and tyranny\\r\\nTremble at patience. You, my lord, best know,\\r\\nWho least will seem to do so, my past life\\r\\nHath been as continent, as chaste, as true,\\r\\nAs I am now unhappy; which is more\\r\\nThan history can pattern, though devis’d\\r\\nAnd play’d to take spectators. For behold me,\\r\\nA fellow of the royal bed, which owe\\r\\nA moiety of the throne, a great king’s daughter,\\r\\nThe mother to a hopeful prince, here standing\\r\\nTo prate and talk for life and honour ’fore\\r\\nWho please to come and hear. For life, I prize it\\r\\nAs I weigh grief, which I would spare. For honour,\\r\\n’Tis a derivative from me to mine,\\r\\nAnd only that I stand for. I appeal\\r\\nTo your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes\\r\\nCame to your court, how I was in your grace,\\r\\nHow merited to be so; since he came,\\r\\nWith what encounter so uncurrent I\\r\\nHave strain’d t’ appear thus: if one jot beyond\\r\\nThe bound of honour, or in act or will\\r\\nThat way inclining, harden’d be the hearts\\r\\nOf all that hear me, and my near’st of kin\\r\\nCry fie upon my grave!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI ne’er heard yet\\r\\nThat any of these bolder vices wanted\\r\\nLess impudence to gainsay what they did\\r\\nThan to perform it first.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nThat’s true enough;\\r\\nThough ’tis a saying, sir, not due to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou will not own it.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nMore than mistress of\\r\\nWhich comes to me in name of fault, I must not\\r\\nAt all acknowledge. For Polixenes,\\r\\nWith whom I am accus’d, I do confess\\r\\nI lov’d him as in honour he requir’d,\\r\\nWith such a kind of love as might become\\r\\nA lady like me; with a love even such,\\r\\nSo and no other, as yourself commanded:\\r\\nWhich not to have done, I think had been in me\\r\\nBoth disobedience and ingratitude\\r\\nTo you and toward your friend, whose love had spoke,\\r\\nEver since it could speak, from an infant, freely,\\r\\nThat it was yours. Now, for conspiracy,\\r\\nI know not how it tastes, though it be dish’d\\r\\nFor me to try how: all I know of it\\r\\nIs that Camillo was an honest man;\\r\\nAnd why he left your court, the gods themselves,\\r\\nWotting no more than I, are ignorant.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou knew of his departure, as you know\\r\\nWhat you have underta’en to do in ’s absence.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nSir,\\r\\nYou speak a language that I understand not:\\r\\nMy life stands in the level of your dreams,\\r\\nWhich I’ll lay down.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYour actions are my dreams.\\r\\nYou had a bastard by Polixenes,\\r\\nAnd I but dream’d it. As you were past all shame\\r\\n(Those of your fact are so) so past all truth,\\r\\nWhich to deny concerns more than avails; for as\\r\\nThy brat hath been cast out, like to itself,\\r\\nNo father owning it (which is, indeed,\\r\\nMore criminal in thee than it), so thou\\r\\nShalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage\\r\\nLook for no less than death.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nSir, spare your threats:\\r\\nThe bug which you would fright me with, I seek.\\r\\nTo me can life be no commodity.\\r\\nThe crown and comfort of my life, your favour,\\r\\nI do give lost, for I do feel it gone,\\r\\nBut know not how it went. My second joy,\\r\\nAnd first-fruits of my body, from his presence\\r\\nI am barr’d, like one infectious. My third comfort,\\r\\nStarr’d most unluckily, is from my breast,\\r\\n(The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth)\\r\\nHal’d out to murder; myself on every post\\r\\nProclaim’d a strumpet; with immodest hatred\\r\\nThe child-bed privilege denied, which ’longs\\r\\nTo women of all fashion; lastly, hurried\\r\\nHere to this place, i’ th’ open air, before\\r\\nI have got strength of limit. Now, my liege,\\r\\nTell me what blessings I have here alive,\\r\\nThat I should fear to die. Therefore proceed.\\r\\nBut yet hear this: mistake me not: no life,\\r\\nI prize it not a straw, but for mine honour,\\r\\nWhich I would free, if I shall be condemn’d\\r\\nUpon surmises, all proofs sleeping else\\r\\nBut what your jealousies awake I tell you\\r\\n’Tis rigour, and not law. Your honours all,\\r\\nI do refer me to the oracle:\\r\\nApollo be my judge!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nThis your request\\r\\nIs altogether just: therefore bring forth,\\r\\nAnd in Apollo’s name, his oracle:\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt certain Officers._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nThe Emperor of Russia was my father.\\r\\nO that he were alive, and here beholding\\r\\nHis daughter’s trial! that he did but see\\r\\nThe flatness of my misery; yet with eyes\\r\\nOf pity, not revenge!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Officers with Cleomenes and Dion.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nYou here shall swear upon this sword of justice,\\r\\nThat you, Cleomenes and Dion, have\\r\\nBeen both at Delphos, and from thence have brought\\r\\nThis seal’d-up oracle, by the hand deliver’d\\r\\nOf great Apollo’s priest; and that since then\\r\\nYou have not dared to break the holy seal,\\r\\nNor read the secrets in’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES, DION.\\r\\nAll this we swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nBreak up the seals and read.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\n[_Reads._] “Hermione is chaste; Polixenes blameless; Camillo a true\\r\\nsubject; Leontes a jealous tyrant; his innocent babe truly begotten;\\r\\nand the king shall live without an heir, if that which is lost be not\\r\\nfound.”\\r\\n\\r\\nLORDS\\r\\nNow blessed be the great Apollo!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nPraised!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHast thou read truth?\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nAy, my lord, even so\\r\\nAs it is here set down.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThere is no truth at all i’ th’ oracle:\\r\\nThe sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant hastily.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMy lord the king, the king!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat is the business?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nO sir, I shall be hated to report it.\\r\\nThe prince your son, with mere conceit and fear\\r\\nOf the queen’s speed, is gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow! gone?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nIs dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nApollo’s angry, and the heavens themselves\\r\\nDo strike at my injustice.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Hermione faints._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now there?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThis news is mortal to the queen. Look down\\r\\nAnd see what death is doing.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTake her hence:\\r\\nHer heart is but o’ercharg’d; she will recover.\\r\\nI have too much believ’d mine own suspicion.\\r\\nBeseech you tenderly apply to her\\r\\nSome remedies for life.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Paulina and Ladies with Hermione._]\\r\\n\\r\\nApollo, pardon\\r\\nMy great profaneness ’gainst thine oracle!\\r\\nI’ll reconcile me to Polixenes,\\r\\nNew woo my queen,\\t recall the good Camillo,\\r\\nWhom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy;\\r\\nFor, being transported by my jealousies\\r\\nTo bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose\\r\\nCamillo for the minister to poison\\r\\nMy friend Polixenes: which had been done,\\r\\nBut that the good mind of Camillo tardied\\r\\nMy swift command, though I with death and with\\r\\nReward did threaten and encourage him,\\r\\nNot doing it and being done. He, most humane\\r\\nAnd fill’d with honour, to my kingly guest\\r\\nUnclasp’d my practice, quit his fortunes here,\\r\\nWhich you knew great, and to the certain hazard\\r\\nOf all incertainties himself commended,\\r\\nNo richer than his honour. How he glisters\\r\\nThorough my rust! And how his piety\\r\\nDoes my deeds make the blacker!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paulina.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWoe the while!\\r\\nO, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,\\r\\nBreak too!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nWhat fit is this, good lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWhat studied torments, tyrant, hast for me?\\r\\nWhat wheels? racks? fires? what flaying? boiling\\r\\nIn leads or oils? What old or newer torture\\r\\nMust I receive, whose every word deserves\\r\\nTo taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny,\\r\\nTogether working with thy jealousies,\\r\\nFancies too weak for boys, too green and idle\\r\\nFor girls of nine. O, think what they have done,\\r\\nAnd then run mad indeed, stark mad! for all\\r\\nThy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.\\r\\nThat thou betray’dst Polixenes, ’twas nothing;\\r\\nThat did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant\\r\\nAnd damnable ingrateful; nor was’t much\\r\\nThou wouldst have poison’d good Camillo’s honour,\\r\\nTo have him kill a king; poor trespasses,\\r\\nMore monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon\\r\\nThe casting forth to crows thy baby daughter,\\r\\nTo be or none or little, though a devil\\r\\nWould have shed water out of fire ere done’t,\\r\\nNor is’t directly laid to thee the death\\r\\nOf the young prince, whose honourable thoughts,\\r\\nThoughts high for one so tender, cleft the heart\\r\\nThat could conceive a gross and foolish sire\\r\\nBlemish’d his gracious dam: this is not, no,\\r\\nLaid to thy answer: but the last—O lords,\\r\\nWhen I have said, cry Woe!—the queen, the queen,\\r\\nThe sweet’st, dear’st creature’s dead, and vengeance for’t\\r\\nNot dropp’d down yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nThe higher powers forbid!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI say she’s dead: I’ll swear’t. If word nor oath\\r\\nPrevail not, go and see: if you can bring\\r\\nTincture, or lustre, in her lip, her eye,\\r\\nHeat outwardly or breath within, I’ll serve you\\r\\nAs I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant!\\r\\nDo not repent these things, for they are heavier\\r\\nThan all thy woes can stir. Therefore betake thee\\r\\nTo nothing but despair. A thousand knees\\r\\nTen thousand years together, naked, fasting,\\r\\nUpon a barren mountain, and still winter\\r\\nIn storm perpetual, could not move the gods\\r\\nTo look that way thou wert.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGo on, go on:\\r\\nThou canst not speak too much; I have deserv’d\\r\\nAll tongues to talk their bitterest.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nSay no more:\\r\\nHowe’er the business goes, you have made fault\\r\\nI’ th’ boldness of your speech.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI am sorry for ’t:\\r\\nAll faults I make, when I shall come to know them,\\r\\nI do repent. Alas, I have show’d too much\\r\\nThe rashness of a woman: he is touch’d\\r\\nTo th’ noble heart. What’s gone and what’s past help,\\r\\nShould be past grief. Do not receive affliction\\r\\nAt my petition; I beseech you, rather\\r\\nLet me be punish’d, that have minded you\\r\\nOf what you should forget. Now, good my liege,\\r\\nSir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman:\\r\\nThe love I bore your queen—lo, fool again!\\r\\nI’ll speak of her no more, nor of your children.\\r\\nI’ll not remember you of my own lord,\\r\\nWho is lost too. Take your patience to you,\\r\\nAnd I’ll say nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou didst speak but well\\r\\nWhen most the truth, which I receive much better\\r\\nThan to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me\\r\\nTo the dead bodies of my queen and son:\\r\\nOne grave shall be for both. Upon them shall\\r\\nThe causes of their death appear, unto\\r\\nOur shame perpetual. Once a day I’ll visit\\r\\nThe chapel where they lie, and tears shed there\\r\\nShall be my recreation. So long as nature\\r\\nWill bear up with this exercise, so long\\r\\nI daily vow to use it. Come, and lead me\\r\\nTo these sorrows.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Bohemia. A desert Country near the Sea.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antigonus with the Child and a Mariner.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nThou art perfect, then, our ship hath touch’d upon\\r\\nThe deserts of Bohemia?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINER.\\r\\nAy, my lord, and fear\\r\\nWe have landed in ill time: the skies look grimly,\\r\\nAnd threaten present blusters. In my conscience,\\r\\nThe heavens with that we have in hand are angry,\\r\\nAnd frown upon ’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nTheir sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard;\\r\\nLook to thy bark: I’ll not be long before\\r\\nI call upon thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINER.\\r\\nMake your best haste, and go not\\r\\nToo far i’ th’ land: ’tis like to be loud weather;\\r\\nBesides, this place is famous for the creatures\\r\\nOf prey that keep upon ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nGo thou away:\\r\\nI’ll follow instantly.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINER.\\r\\nI am glad at heart\\r\\nTo be so rid o’ th’ business.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nCome, poor babe.\\r\\nI have heard, but not believ’d, the spirits of the dead\\r\\nMay walk again: if such thing be, thy mother\\r\\nAppear’d to me last night; for ne’er was dream\\r\\nSo like a waking. To me comes a creature,\\r\\nSometimes her head on one side, some another.\\r\\nI never saw a vessel of like sorrow,\\r\\nSo fill’d and so becoming: in pure white robes,\\r\\nLike very sanctity, she did approach\\r\\nMy cabin where I lay: thrice bow’d before me,\\r\\nAnd, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes\\r\\nBecame two spouts. The fury spent, anon\\r\\nDid this break from her: “Good Antigonus,\\r\\nSince fate, against thy better disposition,\\r\\nHath made thy person for the thrower-out\\r\\nOf my poor babe, according to thine oath,\\r\\nPlaces remote enough are in Bohemia,\\r\\nThere weep, and leave it crying. And, for the babe\\r\\nIs counted lost for ever, Perdita\\r\\nI prithee call’t. For this ungentle business,\\r\\nPut on thee by my lord, thou ne’er shalt see\\r\\nThy wife Paulina more.” And so, with shrieks,\\r\\nShe melted into air. Affrighted much,\\r\\nI did in time collect myself and thought\\r\\nThis was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys,\\r\\nYet for this once, yea, superstitiously,\\r\\nI will be squar’d by this. I do believe\\r\\nHermione hath suffer’d death, and that\\r\\nApollo would, this being indeed the issue\\r\\nOf King Polixenes, it should here be laid,\\r\\nEither for life or death, upon the earth\\r\\nOf its right father. Blossom, speed thee well! There lie; and there thy\\r\\ncharacter: there these;\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Laying down the child and a bundle._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich may if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,\\r\\nAnd still rest thine. The storm begins: poor wretch,\\r\\nThat for thy mother’s fault art thus expos’d\\r\\nTo loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot,\\r\\nBut my heart bleeds, and most accurs’d am I\\r\\nTo be by oath enjoin’d to this. Farewell!\\r\\nThe day frowns more and more. Thou’rt like to have\\r\\nA lullaby too rough. I never saw\\r\\nThe heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour!\\r\\nWell may I get aboard! This is the chase:\\r\\nI am gone for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit, pursued by a bear._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter an old Shepherd.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nI would there were no age between ten and three-and-twenty, or that\\r\\nyouth would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the between but\\r\\ngetting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing,\\r\\nfighting—Hark you now! Would any but these boiled brains of nineteen\\r\\nand two-and-twenty hunt this weather? They have scared away two of my\\r\\nbest sheep, which I fear the wolf will sooner find than the master: if\\r\\nanywhere I have them, ’tis by the sea-side, browsing of ivy. Good luck,\\r\\nan ’t be thy will, what have we here?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Taking up the child._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Mercy on ’s, a bairn! A very pretty bairn! A boy or a child, I wonder?\\r\\n A pretty one; a very pretty one. Sure, some scape. Though I am not\\r\\n bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This has\\r\\n been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work. They\\r\\n were warmer that got this than the poor thing is here. I’ll take it up\\r\\n for pity: yet I’ll tarry till my son come; he halloed but even now.\\r\\n Whoa-ho-hoa!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHilloa, loa!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWhat, art so near? If thou’lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead\\r\\nand rotten, come hither. What ail’st thou, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI have seen two such sights, by sea and by land! But I am not to say it\\r\\nis a sea, for it is now the sky: betwixt the firmament and it, you\\r\\ncannot thrust a bodkin’s point.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWhy, boy, how is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up\\r\\nthe shore! But that’s not to the point. O, the most piteous cry of the\\r\\npoor souls! sometimes to see ’em, and not to see ’em. Now the ship\\r\\nboring the moon with her mainmast, and anon swallowed with yest and\\r\\nfroth, as you’d thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land\\r\\nservice, to see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone, how he cried\\r\\nto me for help, and said his name was Antigonus, a nobleman. But to\\r\\nmake an end of the ship, to see how the sea flap-dragon’d it: but\\r\\nfirst, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them, and how the\\r\\npoor gentleman roared, and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder\\r\\nthan the sea or weather.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nName of mercy, when was this, boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNow, now. I have not winked since I saw these sights: the men are not\\r\\nyet cold under water, nor the bear half dined on the gentleman. He’s at\\r\\nit now.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWould I had been by to have helped the old man!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI would you had been by the ship side, to have helped her: there your\\r\\ncharity would have lacked footing.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nHeavy matters, heavy matters! But look thee here, boy. Now bless\\r\\nthyself: thou met’st with things dying, I with things new-born. Here’s\\r\\na sight for thee. Look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire’s child! Look\\r\\nthee here; take up, take up, boy; open’t. So, let’s see. It was told me\\r\\nI should be rich by the fairies. This is some changeling: open’t.\\r\\nWhat’s within, boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYou’re a made old man. If the sins of your youth are forgiven you,\\r\\nyou’re well to live. Gold! all gold!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nThis is fairy gold, boy, and ’twill prove so. Up with it, keep it\\r\\nclose: home, home, the next way. We are lucky, boy, and to be so still\\r\\nrequires nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep go: come, good boy, the next\\r\\nway home.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGo you the next way with your findings. I’ll go see if the bear be gone\\r\\nfrom the gentleman, and how much he hath eaten. They are never curst\\r\\nbut when they are hungry: if there be any of him left, I’ll bury it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nThat’s a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that which is left of him\\r\\nwhat he is, fetch me to th’ sight of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMarry, will I; and you shall help to put him i’ th’ ground.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\n’Tis a lucky day, boy, and we’ll do good deeds on ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Time, the Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTIME.\\r\\nI that please some, try all: both joy and terror\\r\\nOf good and bad, that makes and unfolds error,\\r\\nNow take upon me, in the name of Time,\\r\\nTo use my wings. Impute it not a crime\\r\\nTo me or my swift passage, that I slide\\r\\nO’er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried\\r\\nOf that wide gap, since it is in my power\\r\\nTo o’erthrow law, and in one self-born hour\\r\\nTo plant and o’erwhelm custom. Let me pass\\r\\nThe same I am, ere ancient’st order was\\r\\nOr what is now received. I witness to\\r\\nThe times that brought them in; so shall I do\\r\\nTo th’ freshest things now reigning, and make stale\\r\\nThe glistering of this present, as my tale\\r\\nNow seems to it. Your patience this allowing,\\r\\nI turn my glass, and give my scene such growing\\r\\nAs you had slept between. Leontes leaving\\r\\nTh’ effects of his fond jealousies, so grieving\\r\\nThat he shuts up himself, imagine me,\\r\\nGentle spectators, that I now may be\\r\\nIn fair Bohemia, and remember well,\\r\\nI mentioned a son o’ th’ king’s, which Florizel\\r\\nI now name to you; and with speed so pace\\r\\nTo speak of Perdita, now grown in grace\\r\\nEqual with wondering. What of her ensues\\r\\nI list not prophesy; but let Time’s news\\r\\nBe known when ’tis brought forth. A shepherd’s daughter,\\r\\nAnd what to her adheres, which follows after,\\r\\nIs th’ argument of Time. Of this allow,\\r\\nIf ever you have spent time worse ere now;\\r\\nIf never, yet that Time himself doth say\\r\\nHe wishes earnestly you never may.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Bohemia. A Room in the palace of Polixenes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Polixenes and Camillo.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: ’tis a sickness\\r\\ndenying thee anything; a death to grant this.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nIt is fifteen years since I saw my country. Though I have for the most\\r\\npart been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the\\r\\npenitent king, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling sorrows I\\r\\nmight be some allay, or I o’erween to think so,—which is another spur\\r\\nto my departure.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nAs thou lov’st me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services by\\r\\nleaving me now: the need I have of thee, thine own goodness hath made;\\r\\nbetter not to have had thee than thus to want thee. Thou, having made\\r\\nme businesses which none without thee can sufficiently manage, must\\r\\neither stay to execute them thyself, or take away with thee the very\\r\\nservices thou hast done, which if I have not enough considered (as too\\r\\nmuch I cannot) to be more thankful to thee shall be my study; and my\\r\\nprofit therein the heaping friendships. Of that fatal country Sicilia,\\r\\nprithee speak no more; whose very naming punishes me with the\\r\\nremembrance of that penitent, as thou call’st him, and reconciled king,\\r\\nmy brother; whose loss of his most precious queen and children are even\\r\\nnow to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when sawest thou the Prince\\r\\nFlorizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not being\\r\\ngracious, than they are in losing them when they have approved their\\r\\nvirtues.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSir, it is three days since I saw the prince. What his happier affairs\\r\\nmay be, are to me unknown, but I have missingly noted he is of late\\r\\nmuch retired from court, and is less frequent to his princely exercises\\r\\nthan formerly he hath appeared.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care; so far that I\\r\\nhave eyes under my service which look upon his removedness; from whom I\\r\\nhave this intelligence, that he is seldom from the house of a most\\r\\nhomely shepherd, a man, they say, that from very nothing, and beyond\\r\\nthe imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of most rare\\r\\nnote: the report of her is extended more than can be thought to begin\\r\\nfrom such a cottage.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThat’s likewise part of my intelligence: but, I fear, the angle that\\r\\nplucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the place, where we\\r\\nwill, not appearing what we are, have some question with the shepherd;\\r\\nfrom whose simplicity I think it not uneasy to get the cause of my\\r\\nson’s resort thither. Prithee, be my present partner in this business,\\r\\nand lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI willingly obey your command.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nMy best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A Road near the Shepherd’s cottage.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Autolycus, singing.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_When daffodils begin to peer,\\r\\n With, hey! the doxy over the dale,\\r\\nWhy, then comes in the sweet o’ the year,\\r\\n For the red blood reigns in the winter’s pale._\\r\\n\\r\\n_The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,\\r\\n With, hey! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!\\r\\nDoth set my pugging tooth on edge;\\r\\n For a quart of ale is a dish for a king._\\r\\n\\r\\n_The lark, that tirra-lirra chants,\\r\\n With, hey! with, hey! the thrush and the jay,\\r\\nAre summer songs for me and my aunts,\\r\\n While we lie tumbling in the hay._\\r\\n\\r\\nI have served Prince Florizel, and in my time wore three-pile, but now\\r\\nI am out of service.\\r\\n\\r\\n_But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?\\r\\n The pale moon shines by night:\\r\\nAnd when I wander here and there,\\r\\n I then do most go right._\\r\\n\\r\\n_If tinkers may have leave to live,\\r\\n And bear the sow-skin budget,\\r\\nThen my account I well may give\\r\\n And in the stocks avouch it._\\r\\n\\r\\nMy traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen. My\\r\\nfather named me Autolycus; who being, I as am, littered under Mercury,\\r\\nwas likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and drab I\\r\\npurchased this caparison, and my revenue is the silly cheat. Gallows\\r\\nand knock are too powerful on the highway. Beating and hanging are\\r\\nterrors to me. For the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. A\\r\\nprize! a prize!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLet me see: every ’leven wether tods; every tod yields pound and odd\\r\\nshilling; fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool to?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] If the springe hold, the cock’s mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI cannot do’t without counters. Let me see; what am I to buy for our\\r\\nsheep-shearing feast? “Three pound of sugar, five pound of currants,\\r\\nrice”—what will this sister of mine do with rice? But my father hath\\r\\nmade her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She hath made me\\r\\nfour-and-twenty nosegays for the shearers, three-man song-men all, and\\r\\nvery good ones; but they are most of them means and basses, but one\\r\\npuritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have\\r\\nsaffron to colour the warden pies; “mace; dates”, none, that’s out of\\r\\nmy note; “nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger”, but that I may beg;\\r\\n“four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o’ th’ sun.”\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Grovelling on the ground._] O that ever I was born!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI’ th’ name of me!\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO, help me, help me! Pluck but off these rags; and then, death, death!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather\\r\\nthan have these off.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more than the stripes I\\r\\nhave received, which are mighty ones and millions.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta’en from me, and\\r\\nthese detestable things put upon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat, by a horseman or a footman?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nA footman, sweet sir, a footman.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIndeed, he should be a footman by the garments he has left with thee:\\r\\nif this be a horseman’s coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me\\r\\nthy hand, I’ll help thee: come, lend me thy hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Helping him up._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO, good sir, tenderly, O!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlas, poor soul!\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO, good sir, softly, good sir. I fear, sir, my shoulder blade is out.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHow now! canst stand?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nSoftly, dear sir! [_Picks his pocket._] good sir, softly. You ha’ done\\r\\nme a charitable office.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nDost lack any money? I have a little money for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nNo, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: I have a kinsman not past\\r\\nthree-quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going. I shall there\\r\\nhave money or anything I want. Offer me no money, I pray you; that\\r\\nkills my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat manner of fellow was he that robbed you?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nA fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-my-dames. I\\r\\nknew him once a servant of the prince; I cannot tell, good sir, for\\r\\nwhich of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the\\r\\ncourt.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHis vices, you would say; there’s no virtue whipped out of the court.\\r\\nThey cherish it to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but\\r\\nabide.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nVices, I would say, sir. I know this man well. He hath been since an\\r\\nape-bearer, then a process-server, a bailiff. Then he compassed a\\r\\nmotion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker’s wife within a mile\\r\\nwhere my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish\\r\\nprofessions, he settled only in rogue. Some call him Autolycus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nOut upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he haunts wakes, fairs, and\\r\\nbear-baitings.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nVery true, sir; he, sir, he; that’s the rogue that put me into this\\r\\napparel.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia. If you had but looked big and\\r\\nspit at him, he’d have run.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter. I am false of heart that\\r\\nway; and that he knew, I warrant him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHow do you now?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nSweet sir, much better than I was. I can stand and walk: I will even\\r\\ntake my leave of you and pace softly towards my kinsman’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nShall I bring thee on the way?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nNo, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThen fare thee well. I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nProsper you, sweet sir!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I’ll be with you\\r\\n at your sheep-shearing too. If I make not this cheat bring out\\r\\n another, and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled, and my name\\r\\n put in the book of virtue!\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n_Jog on, jog on, the footpath way,\\r\\n And merrily hent the stile-a:\\r\\nA merry heart goes all the day,\\r\\n Your sad tires in a mile-a._\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The same. A Shepherd’s Cottage.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Florizel and Perdita.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nThese your unusual weeds to each part of you\\r\\nDo give a life, no shepherdess, but Flora\\r\\nPeering in April’s front. This your sheep-shearing\\r\\nIs as a meeting of the petty gods,\\r\\nAnd you the queen on ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nSir, my gracious lord,\\r\\nTo chide at your extremes it not becomes me;\\r\\nO, pardon that I name them! Your high self,\\r\\nThe gracious mark o’ th’ land, you have obscur’d\\r\\nWith a swain’s wearing, and me, poor lowly maid,\\r\\nMost goddess-like prank’d up. But that our feasts\\r\\nIn every mess have folly, and the feeders\\r\\nDigest it with a custom, I should blush\\r\\nTo see you so attir’d; swoon, I think,\\r\\nTo show myself a glass.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI bless the time\\r\\nWhen my good falcon made her flight across\\r\\nThy father’s ground.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nNow Jove afford you cause!\\r\\nTo me the difference forges dread. Your greatness\\r\\nHath not been us’d to fear. Even now I tremble\\r\\nTo think your father, by some accident,\\r\\nShould pass this way, as you did. O, the Fates!\\r\\nHow would he look to see his work, so noble,\\r\\nVilely bound up? What would he say? Or how\\r\\nShould I, in these my borrow’d flaunts, behold\\r\\nThe sternness of his presence?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nApprehend\\r\\nNothing but jollity. The gods themselves,\\r\\nHumbling their deities to love, have taken\\r\\nThe shapes of beasts upon them. Jupiter\\r\\nBecame a bull and bellow’d; the green Neptune\\r\\nA ram and bleated; and the fire-rob’d god,\\r\\nGolden Apollo, a poor humble swain,\\r\\nAs I seem now. Their transformations\\r\\nWere never for a piece of beauty rarer,\\r\\nNor in a way so chaste, since my desires\\r\\nRun not before mine honour, nor my lusts\\r\\nBurn hotter than my faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nO, but, sir,\\r\\nYour resolution cannot hold when ’tis\\r\\nOppos’d, as it must be, by the power of the king:\\r\\nOne of these two must be necessities,\\r\\nWhich then will speak, that you must change this purpose,\\r\\nOr I my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nThou dearest Perdita,\\r\\nWith these forc’d thoughts, I prithee, darken not\\r\\nThe mirth o’ th’ feast. Or I’ll be thine, my fair,\\r\\nOr not my father’s. For I cannot be\\r\\nMine own, nor anything to any, if\\r\\nI be not thine. To this I am most constant,\\r\\nThough destiny say no. Be merry, gentle.\\r\\nStrangle such thoughts as these with anything\\r\\nThat you behold the while. Your guests are coming:\\r\\nLift up your countenance, as it were the day\\r\\nOf celebration of that nuptial which\\r\\nWe two have sworn shall come.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nO lady Fortune,\\r\\nStand you auspicious!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nSee, your guests approach:\\r\\nAddress yourself to entertain them sprightly,\\r\\nAnd let’s be red with mirth.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Shepherd with Polixenes and Camillo, disguised; Clown, Mopsa,\\r\\n Dorcas with others.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nFie, daughter! When my old wife liv’d, upon\\r\\nThis day she was both pantler, butler, cook,\\r\\nBoth dame and servant; welcom’d all; serv’d all;\\r\\nWould sing her song and dance her turn; now here\\r\\nAt upper end o’ th’ table, now i’ th’ middle;\\r\\nOn his shoulder, and his; her face o’ fire\\r\\nWith labour, and the thing she took to quench it\\r\\nShe would to each one sip. You are retired,\\r\\nAs if you were a feasted one, and not\\r\\nThe hostess of the meeting: pray you, bid\\r\\nThese unknown friends to ’s welcome, for it is\\r\\nA way to make us better friends, more known.\\r\\nCome, quench your blushes, and present yourself\\r\\nThat which you are, mistress o’ th’ feast. Come on,\\r\\nAnd bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,\\r\\nAs your good flock shall prosper.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\n[_To Polixenes._] Sir, welcome.\\r\\nIt is my father’s will I should take on me\\r\\nThe hostess-ship o’ the day.\\r\\n[_To Camillo._] You’re welcome, sir.\\r\\nGive me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs,\\r\\nFor you there’s rosemary and rue; these keep\\r\\nSeeming and savour all the winter long.\\r\\nGrace and remembrance be to you both!\\r\\nAnd welcome to our shearing!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nShepherdess—\\r\\nA fair one are you—well you fit our ages\\r\\nWith flowers of winter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nSir, the year growing ancient,\\r\\nNot yet on summer’s death nor on the birth\\r\\nOf trembling winter, the fairest flowers o’ th’ season\\r\\nAre our carnations and streak’d gillyvors,\\r\\nWhich some call nature’s bastards: of that kind\\r\\nOur rustic garden’s barren; and I care not\\r\\nTo get slips of them.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWherefore, gentle maiden,\\r\\nDo you neglect them?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nFor I have heard it said\\r\\nThere is an art which, in their piedness, shares\\r\\nWith great creating nature.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nSay there be;\\r\\nYet nature is made better by no mean\\r\\nBut nature makes that mean. So, over that art\\r\\nWhich you say adds to nature, is an art\\r\\nThat nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry\\r\\nA gentler scion to the wildest stock,\\r\\nAnd make conceive a bark of baser kind\\r\\nBy bud of nobler race. This is an art\\r\\nWhich does mend nature, change it rather, but\\r\\nThe art itself is nature.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nSo it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThen make your garden rich in gillyvors,\\r\\nAnd do not call them bastards.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nI’ll not put\\r\\nThe dibble in earth to set one slip of them;\\r\\nNo more than, were I painted, I would wish\\r\\nThis youth should say ’twere well, and only therefore\\r\\nDesire to breed by me. Here’s flowers for you:\\r\\nHot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram,\\r\\nThe marigold, that goes to bed with th’ sun\\r\\nAnd with him rises weeping. These are flowers\\r\\nOf middle summer, and I think they are given\\r\\nTo men of middle age. You’re very welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI should leave grazing, were I of your flock,\\r\\nAnd only live by gazing.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nOut, alas!\\r\\nYou’d be so lean that blasts of January\\r\\nWould blow you through and through. [_To Florizel_] Now, my fair’st\\r\\nfriend,\\r\\nI would I had some flowers o’ th’ spring, that might\\r\\nBecome your time of day; and yours, and yours,\\r\\nThat wear upon your virgin branches yet\\r\\nYour maidenheads growing. O Proserpina,\\r\\nFrom the flowers now that, frighted, thou let’st fall\\r\\nFrom Dis’s waggon! daffodils,\\r\\nThat come before the swallow dares, and take\\r\\nThe winds of March with beauty; violets dim,\\r\\nBut sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes\\r\\nOr Cytherea’s breath; pale primroses,\\r\\nThat die unmarried ere they can behold\\r\\nBright Phoebus in his strength (a malady\\r\\nMost incident to maids); bold oxlips and\\r\\nThe crown imperial; lilies of all kinds,\\r\\nThe flower-de-luce being one. O, these I lack,\\r\\nTo make you garlands of; and my sweet friend,\\r\\nTo strew him o’er and o’er!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWhat, like a corse?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nNo, like a bank for love to lie and play on;\\r\\nNot like a corse; or if, not to be buried,\\r\\nBut quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers.\\r\\nMethinks I play as I have seen them do\\r\\nIn Whitsun pastorals. Sure this robe of mine\\r\\nDoes change my disposition.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWhat you do\\r\\nStill betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,\\r\\nI’d have you do it ever. When you sing,\\r\\nI’d have you buy and sell so, so give alms,\\r\\nPray so; and, for the ord’ring your affairs,\\r\\nTo sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you\\r\\nA wave o’ th’ sea, that you might ever do\\r\\nNothing but that, move still, still so,\\r\\nAnd own no other function. Each your doing,\\r\\nSo singular in each particular,\\r\\nCrowns what you are doing in the present deeds,\\r\\nThat all your acts are queens.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nO Doricles,\\r\\nYour praises are too large. But that your youth,\\r\\nAnd the true blood which peeps fairly through ’t,\\r\\nDo plainly give you out an unstained shepherd,\\r\\nWith wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,\\r\\nYou woo’d me the false way.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI think you have\\r\\nAs little skill to fear as I have purpose\\r\\nTo put you to ’t. But, come; our dance, I pray.\\r\\nYour hand, my Perdita. So turtles pair\\r\\nThat never mean to part.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nI’ll swear for ’em.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThis is the prettiest low-born lass that ever\\r\\nRan on the green-sward. Nothing she does or seems\\r\\nBut smacks of something greater than herself,\\r\\nToo noble for this place.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHe tells her something\\r\\nThat makes her blood look out. Good sooth, she is\\r\\nThe queen of curds and cream.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nCome on, strike up.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nMopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic, to mend her kissing with!\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nNow, in good time!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.\\r\\nCome, strike up.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music. Here a dance Of Shepherds and Shepherdesses._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nPray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this\\r\\nWhich dances with your daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nThey call him Doricles; and boasts himself\\r\\nTo have a worthy feeding. But I have it\\r\\nUpon his own report, and I believe it.\\r\\nHe looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter.\\r\\nI think so too; for never gaz’d the moon\\r\\nUpon the water as he’ll stand and read,\\r\\nAs ’twere, my daughter’s eyes. And, to be plain,\\r\\nI think there is not half a kiss to choose\\r\\nWho loves another best.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nShe dances featly.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nSo she does anything, though I report it\\r\\nThat should be silent. If young Doricles\\r\\nDo light upon her, she shall bring him that\\r\\nWhich he not dreams of.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nO master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never\\r\\ndance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you.\\r\\nHe sings several tunes faster than you’ll tell money. He utters them as\\r\\nhe had eaten ballads, and all men’s ears grew to his tunes.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe could never come better: he shall come in. I love a ballad but even\\r\\ntoo well, if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant\\r\\nthing indeed and sung lamentably.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nHe hath songs for man or woman of all sizes. No milliner can so fit his\\r\\ncustomers with gloves. He has the prettiest love-songs for maids, so\\r\\nwithout bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burdens of dildos\\r\\nand fadings, “jump her and thump her”; and where some stretch-mouthed\\r\\nrascal would, as it were, mean mischief and break a foul gap into the\\r\\nmatter, he makes the maid to answer “Whoop, do me no harm, good man”;\\r\\nputs him off, slights him, with “Whoop, do me no harm, good man.”\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThis is a brave fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBelieve me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. Has he any\\r\\nunbraided wares?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nHe hath ribbons of all the colours i’ th’ rainbow; points, more than\\r\\nall the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to\\r\\nhim by th’ gross; inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns; why he sings ’em\\r\\nover as they were gods or goddesses; you would think a smock were a\\r\\nshe-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand and the work about the\\r\\nsquare on ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nPrithee bring him in; and let him approach singing.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nForewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in ’s tunes.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYou have of these pedlars that have more in them than you’d think,\\r\\nsister.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nAy, good brother, or go about to think.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Autolycus, singing.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_Lawn as white as driven snow,\\r\\nCypress black as e’er was crow,\\r\\nGloves as sweet as damask roses,\\r\\nMasks for faces and for noses,\\r\\nBugle-bracelet, necklace amber,\\r\\nPerfume for a lady’s chamber,\\r\\nGolden quoifs and stomachers\\r\\nFor my lads to give their dears,\\r\\nPins and poking-sticks of steel,\\r\\nWhat maids lack from head to heel.\\r\\nCome buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;\\r\\nBuy, lads, or else your lasses cry.\\r\\nCome, buy._\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIf I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no money of me;\\r\\nbut being enthralled as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain\\r\\nribbons and gloves.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nI was promised them against the feast; but they come not too late now.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nHe hath promised you more than that, or there be liars.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nHe hath paid you all he promised you. Maybe he has paid you more, which\\r\\nwill shame you to give him again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIs there no manners left among maids? Will they wear their plackets\\r\\nwhere they should bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you\\r\\nare going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle of these secrets, but you\\r\\nmust be tittle-tattling before all our guests? ’Tis well they are\\r\\nwhispering. Clamour your tongues, and not a word more.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nI have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry lace and a pair of sweet\\r\\ngloves.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHave I not told thee how I was cozened by the way and lost all my\\r\\nmoney?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAnd indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to\\r\\nbe wary.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nFear not thou, man. Thou shalt lose nothing here.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat hast here? Ballads?\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nPray now, buy some. I love a ballad in print alife, for then we are\\r\\nsure they are true.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHere’s one to a very doleful tune. How a usurer’s wife was brought to\\r\\nbed of twenty money-bags at a burden, and how she longed to eat adders’\\r\\nheads and toads carbonadoed.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nIs it true, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nVery true, and but a month old.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nBless me from marrying a usurer!\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHere’s the midwife’s name to’t, one Mistress Taleporter, and five or\\r\\nsix honest wives that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad?\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nPray you now, buy it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nCome on, lay it by; and let’s first see more ballads. We’ll buy the\\r\\nother things anon.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHere’s another ballad, of a fish that appeared upon the coast on\\r\\nWednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water,\\r\\nand sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids. It was thought\\r\\nshe was a woman, and was turned into a cold fish for she would not\\r\\nexchange flesh with one that loved her. The ballad is very pitiful, and\\r\\nas true.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nIs it true too, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nFive justices’ hands at it, and witnesses more than my pack will hold.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLay it by too: another.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nThis is a merry ballad; but a very pretty one.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nLet’s have some merry ones.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nWhy, this is a passing merry one and goes to the tune of “Two maids\\r\\nwooing a man.” There’s scarce a maid westward but she sings it. ’Tis in\\r\\nrequest, I can tell you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nWe can both sing it: if thou’lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; ’tis in\\r\\nthree parts.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nWe had the tune on ’t a month ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI can bear my part; you must know ’tis my occupation: have at it with\\r\\nyou.\\r\\n\\r\\nSONG.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_Get you hence, for I must go\\r\\nWhere it fits not you to know._\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_Whither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\n_O, whither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_Whither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\n_It becomes thy oath full well\\r\\nThou to me thy secrets tell._\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_Me too! Let me go thither._\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nOr thou goest to th’ grange or mill.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_If to either, thou dost ill._\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_Neither._\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_What, neither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_Neither._\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_Thou hast sworn my love to be._\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\n_Thou hast sworn it more to me.\\r\\nThen whither goest? Say, whither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWe’ll have this song out anon by ourselves. My father and the gentlemen\\r\\nare in sad talk, and we’ll not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack\\r\\nafter me. Wenches, I’ll buy for you both. Pedlar, let’s have the first\\r\\nchoice. Follow me, girls.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with Dorcas and Mopsa._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] And you shall pay well for ’em.\\r\\n\\r\\nSONG.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n _Will you buy any tape,\\r\\n Or lace for your cape,\\r\\nMy dainty duck, my dear-a?\\r\\n Any silk, any thread,\\r\\n Any toys for your head,\\r\\nOf the new’st and fin’st, fin’st wear-a?\\r\\n Come to the pedlar;\\r\\n Money’s a meddler\\r\\nThat doth utter all men’s ware-a._\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMaster, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds,\\r\\nthree swine-herds, that have made themselves all men of hair. They call\\r\\nthemselves saltiers, and they have dance which the wenches say is a\\r\\ngallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in ’t; but they themselves\\r\\nare o’ the mind (if it be not too rough for some that know little but\\r\\nbowling) it will please plentifully.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAway! we’ll none on ’t. Here has been too much homely foolery already.\\r\\nI know, sir, we weary you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nYou weary those that refresh us: pray, let’s see these four threes of\\r\\nherdsmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nOne three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danced before the\\r\\nking; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half\\r\\nby th’ square.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nLeave your prating: since these good men are pleased, let them come in;\\r\\nbut quickly now.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nWhy, they stay at door, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Twelve Rustics, habited like Satyrs. They dance, and then\\r\\n exeunt.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nO, father, you’ll know more of that hereafter.\\r\\n[_To Camillo._] Is it not too far gone? ’Tis time to part them.\\r\\nHe’s simple and tells much. [_To Florizel._] How now, fair shepherd!\\r\\nYour heart is full of something that does take\\r\\nYour mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young\\r\\nAnd handed love, as you do, I was wont\\r\\nTo load my she with knacks: I would have ransack’d\\r\\nThe pedlar’s silken treasury and have pour’d it\\r\\nTo her acceptance. You have let him go,\\r\\nAnd nothing marted with him. If your lass\\r\\nInterpretation should abuse, and call this\\r\\nYour lack of love or bounty, you were straited\\r\\nFor a reply, at least if you make a care\\r\\nOf happy holding her.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nOld sir, I know\\r\\nShe prizes not such trifles as these are:\\r\\nThe gifts she looks from me are pack’d and lock’d\\r\\nUp in my heart, which I have given already,\\r\\nBut not deliver’d. O, hear me breathe my life\\r\\nBefore this ancient sir, who, it should seem,\\r\\nHath sometime lov’d. I take thy hand! this hand,\\r\\nAs soft as dove’s down and as white as it,\\r\\nOr Ethiopian’s tooth, or the fann’d snow that’s bolted\\r\\nBy th’ northern blasts twice o’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWhat follows this?\\r\\nHow prettily the young swain seems to wash\\r\\nThe hand was fair before! I have put you out.\\r\\nBut to your protestation. Let me hear\\r\\nWhat you profess.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nDo, and be witness to ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nAnd this my neighbour, too?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nAnd he, and more\\r\\nThan he, and men, the earth, the heavens, and all:\\r\\nThat were I crown’d the most imperial monarch,\\r\\nThereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth\\r\\nThat ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge\\r\\nMore than was ever man’s, I would not prize them\\r\\nWithout her love; for her employ them all;\\r\\nCommend them and condemn them to her service,\\r\\nOr to their own perdition.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nFairly offer’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThis shows a sound affection.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nBut my daughter,\\r\\nSay you the like to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nI cannot speak\\r\\nSo well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better:\\r\\nBy th’ pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out\\r\\nThe purity of his.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nTake hands, a bargain!\\r\\nAnd, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to’t.\\r\\nI give my daughter to him, and will make\\r\\nHer portion equal his.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nO, that must be\\r\\nI’ th’ virtue of your daughter: one being dead,\\r\\nI shall have more than you can dream of yet;\\r\\nEnough then for your wonder. But come on,\\r\\nContract us ’fore these witnesses.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nCome, your hand;\\r\\nAnd, daughter, yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nSoft, swain, awhile, beseech you;\\r\\nHave you a father?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI have; but what of him?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nKnows he of this?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nHe neither does nor shall.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nMethinks a father\\r\\nIs at the nuptial of his son a guest\\r\\nThat best becomes the table. Pray you once more,\\r\\nIs not your father grown incapable\\r\\nOf reasonable affairs? is he not stupid\\r\\nWith age and alt’ring rheums? can he speak? hear?\\r\\nKnow man from man? dispute his own estate?\\r\\nLies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing\\r\\nBut what he did being childish?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nNo, good sir;\\r\\nHe has his health, and ampler strength indeed\\r\\nThan most have of his age.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nBy my white beard,\\r\\nYou offer him, if this be so, a wrong\\r\\nSomething unfilial: reason my son\\r\\nShould choose himself a wife, but as good reason\\r\\nThe father, all whose joy is nothing else\\r\\nBut fair posterity, should hold some counsel\\r\\nIn such a business.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI yield all this;\\r\\nBut for some other reasons, my grave sir,\\r\\nWhich ’tis not fit you know, I not acquaint\\r\\nMy father of this business.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nLet him know ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nHe shall not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nPrithee let him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nNo, he must not.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nLet him, my son: he shall not need to grieve\\r\\nAt knowing of thy choice.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nCome, come, he must not.\\r\\nMark our contract.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\n[_Discovering himself._] Mark your divorce, young sir,\\r\\nWhom son I dare not call; thou art too base\\r\\nTo be acknowledged: thou a sceptre’s heir,\\r\\nThat thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou, old traitor,\\r\\nI am sorry that, by hanging thee, I can\\r\\nBut shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece\\r\\nOf excellent witchcraft, whom of force must know\\r\\nThe royal fool thou cop’st with,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nO, my heart!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI’ll have thy beauty scratch’d with briers and made\\r\\nMore homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy,\\r\\nIf I may ever know thou dost but sigh\\r\\nThat thou no more shalt see this knack (as never\\r\\nI mean thou shalt), we’ll bar thee from succession;\\r\\nNot hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,\\r\\nFar than Deucalion off. Mark thou my words.\\r\\nFollow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time,\\r\\nThough full of our displeasure, yet we free thee\\r\\nFrom the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment,\\r\\nWorthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too\\r\\nThat makes himself, but for our honour therein,\\r\\nUnworthy thee. If ever henceforth thou\\r\\nThese rural latches to his entrance open,\\r\\nOr hoop his body more with thy embraces,\\r\\nI will devise a death as cruel for thee\\r\\nAs thou art tender to ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nEven here undone.\\r\\nI was not much afeard, for once or twice\\r\\nI was about to speak, and tell him plainly\\r\\nThe selfsame sun that shines upon his court\\r\\nHides not his visage from our cottage, but\\r\\nLooks on alike. [_To Florizel._] Will’t please you, sir, be gone?\\r\\nI told you what would come of this. Beseech you,\\r\\nOf your own state take care. This dream of mine—\\r\\nBeing now awake, I’ll queen it no inch farther,\\r\\nBut milk my ewes, and weep.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nWhy, how now, father!\\r\\nSpeak ere thou diest.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nI cannot speak, nor think,\\r\\nNor dare to know that which I know. O sir,\\r\\nYou have undone a man of fourscore three,\\r\\nThat thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea,\\r\\nTo die upon the bed my father died,\\r\\nTo lie close by his honest bones; but now\\r\\nSome hangman must put on my shroud and lay me\\r\\nWhere no priest shovels in dust. O cursed wretch,\\r\\nThat knew’st this was the prince, and wouldst adventure\\r\\nTo mingle faith with him! Undone, undone!\\r\\nIf I might die within this hour, I have liv’d\\r\\nTo die when I desire.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWhy look you so upon me?\\r\\nI am but sorry, not afeard; delay’d,\\r\\nBut nothing alt’red: what I was, I am:\\r\\nMore straining on for plucking back; not following\\r\\nMy leash unwillingly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nGracious my lord,\\r\\nYou know your father’s temper: at this time\\r\\nHe will allow no speech (which I do guess\\r\\nYou do not purpose to him) and as hardly\\r\\nWill he endure your sight as yet, I fear:\\r\\nThen, till the fury of his highness settle,\\r\\nCome not before him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI not purpose it.\\r\\nI think Camillo?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nEven he, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nHow often have I told you ’twould be thus!\\r\\nHow often said my dignity would last\\r\\nBut till ’twere known!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nIt cannot fail but by\\r\\nThe violation of my faith; and then\\r\\nLet nature crush the sides o’ th’ earth together\\r\\nAnd mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks.\\r\\nFrom my succession wipe me, father; I\\r\\nAm heir to my affection.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBe advis’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI am, and by my fancy. If my reason\\r\\nWill thereto be obedient, I have reason;\\r\\nIf not, my senses, better pleas’d with madness,\\r\\nDo bid it welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThis is desperate, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nSo call it: but it does fulfil my vow.\\r\\nI needs must think it honesty. Camillo,\\r\\nNot for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may\\r\\nBe thereat glean’d; for all the sun sees or\\r\\nThe close earth wombs, or the profound seas hides\\r\\nIn unknown fathoms, will I break my oath\\r\\nTo this my fair belov’d. Therefore, I pray you,\\r\\nAs you have ever been my father’s honour’d friend,\\r\\nWhen he shall miss me,—as, in faith, I mean not\\r\\nTo see him any more,—cast your good counsels\\r\\nUpon his passion: let myself and fortune\\r\\nTug for the time to come. This you may know,\\r\\nAnd so deliver, I am put to sea\\r\\nWith her whom here I cannot hold on shore;\\r\\nAnd, most opportune to her need, I have\\r\\nA vessel rides fast by, but not prepar’d\\r\\nFor this design. What course I mean to hold\\r\\nShall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor\\r\\nConcern me the reporting.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nO my lord,\\r\\nI would your spirit were easier for advice,\\r\\nOr stronger for your need.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nHark, Perdita. [_Takes her aside._]\\r\\n[_To Camillo._] I’ll hear you by and by.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHe’s irremovable,\\r\\nResolv’d for flight. Now were I happy if\\r\\nHis going I could frame to serve my turn,\\r\\nSave him from danger, do him love and honour,\\r\\nPurchase the sight again of dear Sicilia\\r\\nAnd that unhappy king, my master, whom\\r\\nI so much thirst to see.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nNow, good Camillo,\\r\\nI am so fraught with curious business that\\r\\nI leave out ceremony.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSir, I think\\r\\nYou have heard of my poor services, i’ th’ love\\r\\nThat I have borne your father?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nVery nobly\\r\\nHave you deserv’d: it is my father’s music\\r\\nTo speak your deeds, not little of his care\\r\\nTo have them recompens’d as thought on.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nWell, my lord,\\r\\nIf you may please to think I love the king,\\r\\nAnd, through him, what’s nearest to him, which is\\r\\nYour gracious self, embrace but my direction,\\r\\nIf your more ponderous and settled project\\r\\nMay suffer alteration. On mine honour,\\r\\nI’ll point you where you shall have such receiving\\r\\nAs shall become your highness; where you may\\r\\nEnjoy your mistress; from the whom, I see,\\r\\nThere’s no disjunction to be made, but by,\\r\\nAs heavens forfend, your ruin. Marry her,\\r\\nAnd with my best endeavours in your absence\\r\\nYour discontenting father strive to qualify\\r\\nAnd bring him up to liking.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nHow, Camillo,\\r\\nMay this, almost a miracle, be done?\\r\\nThat I may call thee something more than man,\\r\\nAnd after that trust to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHave you thought on\\r\\nA place whereto you’ll go?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nNot any yet.\\r\\nBut as th’ unthought-on accident is guilty\\r\\nTo what we wildly do, so we profess\\r\\nOurselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies\\r\\nOf every wind that blows.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThen list to me:\\r\\nThis follows, if you will not change your purpose,\\r\\nBut undergo this flight, make for Sicilia,\\r\\nAnd there present yourself and your fair princess,\\r\\nFor so, I see, she must be, ’fore Leontes:\\r\\nShe shall be habited as it becomes\\r\\nThe partner of your bed. Methinks I see\\r\\nLeontes opening his free arms and weeping\\r\\nHis welcomes forth; asks thee, the son, forgiveness,\\r\\nAs ’twere i’ th’ father’s person; kisses the hands\\r\\nOf your fresh princess; o’er and o’er divides him\\r\\n’Twixt his unkindness and his kindness. Th’ one\\r\\nHe chides to hell, and bids the other grow\\r\\nFaster than thought or time.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWorthy Camillo,\\r\\nWhat colour for my visitation shall I\\r\\nHold up before him?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSent by the king your father\\r\\nTo greet him and to give him comforts. Sir,\\r\\nThe manner of your bearing towards him, with\\r\\nWhat you (as from your father) shall deliver,\\r\\nThings known betwixt us three, I’ll write you down,\\r\\nThe which shall point you forth at every sitting\\r\\nWhat you must say; that he shall not perceive\\r\\nBut that you have your father’s bosom there\\r\\nAnd speak his very heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI am bound to you:\\r\\nThere is some sap in this.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nA course more promising\\r\\nThan a wild dedication of yourselves\\r\\nTo unpath’d waters, undream’d shores, most certain\\r\\nTo miseries enough: no hope to help you,\\r\\nBut as you shake off one to take another:\\r\\nNothing so certain as your anchors, who\\r\\nDo their best office if they can but stay you\\r\\nWhere you’ll be loath to be. Besides, you know\\r\\nProsperity’s the very bond of love,\\r\\nWhose fresh complexion and whose heart together\\r\\nAffliction alters.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nOne of these is true:\\r\\nI think affliction may subdue the cheek,\\r\\nBut not take in the mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nYea, say you so?\\r\\nThere shall not at your father’s house, these seven years\\r\\nBe born another such.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nMy good Camillo,\\r\\nShe is as forward of her breeding as\\r\\nShe is i’ th’ rear our birth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI cannot say ’tis pity\\r\\nShe lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress\\r\\nTo most that teach.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nYour pardon, sir; for this\\r\\nI’ll blush you thanks.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nMy prettiest Perdita!\\r\\nBut, O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo,\\r\\nPreserver of my father, now of me,\\r\\nThe medicine of our house, how shall we do?\\r\\nWe are not furnish’d like Bohemia’s son,\\r\\nNor shall appear in Sicilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nMy lord,\\r\\nFear none of this. I think you know my fortunes\\r\\nDo all lie there: it shall be so my care\\r\\nTo have you royally appointed as if\\r\\nThe scene you play were mine. For instance, sir,\\r\\nThat you may know you shall not want,—one word.\\r\\n[_They talk aside._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Autolycus.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHa, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn brother, a very\\r\\nsimple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery. Not a counterfeit stone,\\r\\nnot a ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape,\\r\\nglove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting.\\r\\nThey throng who should buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallowed\\r\\nand brought a benediction to the buyer: by which means I saw whose\\r\\npurse was best in picture; and what I saw, to my good use I remembered.\\r\\nMy clown (who wants but something to be a reasonable man) grew so in\\r\\nlove with the wenches’ song that he would not stir his pettitoes till\\r\\nhe had both tune and words; which so drew the rest of the herd to me\\r\\nthat all their other senses stuck in ears: you might have pinched a\\r\\nplacket, it was senseless; ’twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse;\\r\\nI would have filed keys off that hung in chains: no hearing, no\\r\\nfeeling, but my sir’s song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that in\\r\\nthis time of lethargy I picked and cut most of their festival purses;\\r\\nand had not the old man come in with a whoobub against his daughter and\\r\\nthe king’s son, and scared my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a\\r\\npurse alive in the whole army.\\r\\n\\r\\n Camillo, Florizel and Perdita come forward.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNay, but my letters, by this means being there\\r\\nSo soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nAnd those that you’ll procure from king Leontes?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nShall satisfy your father.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nHappy be you!\\r\\nAll that you speak shows fair.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\n[_Seeing Autolycus._] Who have we here?\\r\\nWe’ll make an instrument of this; omit\\r\\nNothing may give us aid.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] If they have overheard me now,—why, hanging.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHow now, good fellow! why shakest thou so? Fear not, man; here’s no\\r\\nharm intended to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI am a poor fellow, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nWhy, be so still; here’s nobody will steal that from thee: yet, for the\\r\\noutside of thy poverty we must make an exchange; therefore discase thee\\r\\ninstantly,—thou must think there’s a necessity in’t—and change garments\\r\\nwith this gentleman: though the pennyworth on his side be the worst,\\r\\nyet hold thee, there’s some boot.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Giving money._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI am a poor fellow, sir: [_Aside._] I know ye well enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNay, prithee dispatch: the gentleman is half flayed already.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAre you in earnest, sir? [_Aside._] I smell the trick on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nDispatch, I prithee.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nIndeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot with conscience take it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nUnbuckle, unbuckle.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Florizel and Autolycus exchange garments._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFortunate mistress,—let my prophecy\\r\\nCome home to you!—you must retire yourself\\r\\nInto some covert. Take your sweetheart’s hat\\r\\nAnd pluck it o’er your brows, muffle your face,\\r\\nDismantle you; and, as you can, disliken\\r\\nThe truth of your own seeming; that you may\\r\\n(For I do fear eyes over) to shipboard\\r\\nGet undescried.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nI see the play so lies\\r\\nThat I must bear a part.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNo remedy.\\r\\nHave you done there?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nShould I now meet my father,\\r\\nHe would not call me son.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNay, you shall have no hat. [_Giving it to Perdita._]\\r\\nCome, lady, come. Farewell, my friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAdieu, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nO Perdita, what have we twain forgot?\\r\\nPray you a word.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They converse apart._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] What I do next, shall be to tell the king\\r\\nOf this escape, and whither they are bound;\\r\\nWherein my hope is I shall so prevail\\r\\nTo force him after: in whose company\\r\\nI shall re-view Sicilia; for whose sight\\r\\nI have a woman’s longing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nFortune speed us!\\r\\nThus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThe swifter speed the better.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Florizel, Perdita and Camillo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI understand the business, I hear it. To have an open ear, a quick eye,\\r\\nand a nimble hand, is necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is\\r\\nrequisite also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see this is\\r\\nthe time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an exchange had this\\r\\nbeen without boot! What a boot is here with this exchange! Sure the\\r\\ngods do this year connive at us, and we may do anything extempore. The\\r\\nprince himself is about a piece of iniquity, stealing away from his\\r\\nfather with his clog at his heels: if I thought it were a piece of\\r\\nhonesty to acquaint the king withal, I would not do’t: I hold it the\\r\\nmore knavery to conceal it; and therein am I constant to my profession.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown and Shepherd.\\r\\n\\r\\nAside, aside; here is more matter for a hot brain: every lane’s end,\\r\\nevery shop, church, session, hanging, yields a careful man work.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nSee, see; what a man you are now! There is no other way but to tell the\\r\\nking she’s a changeling, and none of your flesh and blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nNay, but hear me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNay, but hear me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nGo to, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nShe being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood has not\\r\\noffended the king; and so your flesh and blood is not to be punished by\\r\\nhim. Show those things you found about her, those secret things, all\\r\\nbut what she has with her: this being done, let the law go whistle, I\\r\\nwarrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nI will tell the king all, every word, yea, and his son’s pranks too;\\r\\nwho, I may say, is no honest man neither to his father nor to me, to go\\r\\nabout to make me the king’s brother-in-law.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIndeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you could have been to him,\\r\\nand then your blood had been the dearer by I know how much an ounce.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Very wisely, puppies!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWell, let us to the king: there is that in this fardel will make him\\r\\nscratch his beard.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I know not what impediment this complaint may be to the\\r\\nflight of my master.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nPray heartily he be at’ palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by\\r\\nchance. Let me pocket up my pedlar’s excrement. [_Takes off his false\\r\\nbeard._] How now, rustics! whither are you bound?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nTo the palace, an it like your worship.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nYour affairs there, what, with whom, the condition of that fardel, the\\r\\nplace of your dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having,\\r\\nbreeding, and anything that is fitting to be known? discover!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWe are but plain fellows, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nA lie; you are rough and hairy. Let me have no lying. It becomes none\\r\\nbut tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the lie; but we pay them\\r\\nfor it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore they do not\\r\\ngive us the lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYour worship had like to have given us one, if you had not taken\\r\\nyourself with the manner.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAre you a courtier, an ’t like you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nWhether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest thou not the air of\\r\\nthe court in these enfoldings? hath not my gait in it the measure of\\r\\nthe court? receives not thy nose court-odour from me? reflect I not on\\r\\nthy baseness court-contempt? Think’st thou, for that I insinuate, or\\r\\ntoaze from thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier? I am courtier\\r\\n_cap-a-pe_, and one that will either push on or pluck back thy business\\r\\nthere. Whereupon I command thee to open thy affair.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nMy business, sir, is to the king.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nWhat advocate hast thou to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nI know not, an ’t like you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAdvocate’s the court-word for a pheasant. Say you have none.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nNone, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHow bless’d are we that are not simple men!\\r\\nYet nature might have made me as these are,\\r\\nTherefore I will not disdain.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThis cannot be but a great courtier.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nHis garments are rich, but he wears them not handsomely.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe seems to be the more noble in being fantastical: a great man, I’ll\\r\\nwarrant; I know by the picking on’s teeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nThe fardel there? What’s i’ th’ fardel? Wherefore that box?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nSir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box which none must\\r\\nknow but the king; and which he shall know within this hour, if I may\\r\\ncome to th’ speech of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAge, thou hast lost thy labour.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWhy, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nThe king is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a new ship to purge\\r\\nmelancholy and air himself: for, if thou beest capable of things\\r\\nserious, thou must know the king is full of grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nSo ’tis said, sir; about his son, that should have married a shepherd’s\\r\\ndaughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nIf that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly. The curses he shall\\r\\nhave, the tortures he shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart\\r\\nof monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThink you so, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nNot he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy and vengeance bitter;\\r\\nbut those that are germane to him, though removed fifty times, shall\\r\\nall come under the hangman: which, though it be great pity, yet it is\\r\\nnecessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have\\r\\nhis daughter come into grace! Some say he shall be stoned; but that\\r\\ndeath is too soft for him, say I. Draw our throne into a sheepcote! All\\r\\ndeaths are too few, the sharpest too easy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHas the old man e’er a son, sir, do you hear, an ’t like you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHe has a son, who shall be flayed alive; then ’nointed over with honey,\\r\\nset on the head of a wasp’s nest; then stand till he be three quarters\\r\\nand a dram dead; then recovered again with aqua-vitæ or some other hot\\r\\ninfusion; then, raw as he is, and in the hottest day prognostication\\r\\nproclaims, shall he be set against a brick wall, the sun looking with a\\r\\nsouthward eye upon him, where he is to behold him with flies blown to\\r\\ndeath. But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are\\r\\nto be smiled at, their offences being so capital? Tell me (for you seem\\r\\nto be honest plain men) what you have to the king. Being something\\r\\ngently considered, I’ll bring you where he is aboard, tender your\\r\\npersons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfs; and if it be in\\r\\nman besides the king to effect your suits, here is man shall do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe seems to be of great authority: close with him, give him gold; and\\r\\nthough authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with\\r\\ngold: show the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand, and no\\r\\nmore ado. Remember: “ston’d” and “flayed alive”.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAn ’t please you, sir, to undertake the business for us, here is that\\r\\ngold I have. I’ll make it as much more, and leave this young man in\\r\\npawn till I bring it you.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAfter I have done what I promised?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAy, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nWell, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this business?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIn some sort, sir: but though my case be a pitiful one, I hope I shall\\r\\nnot be flayed out of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO, that’s the case of the shepherd’s son. Hang him, he’ll be made an\\r\\nexample.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nComfort, good comfort! We must to the king and show our strange sights.\\r\\nHe must know ’tis none of your daughter nor my sister; we are gone\\r\\nelse. Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does when the\\r\\nbusiness is performed, and remain, as he says, your pawn till it be\\r\\nbrought you.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side; go on the\\r\\nright-hand. I will but look upon the hedge, and follow you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWe are blessed in this man, as I may say, even blessed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nLet’s before, as he bids us. He was provided to do us good.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Shepherd and Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nIf I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would not suffer me: she\\r\\ndrops booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion:\\r\\ngold, and a means to do the prince my master good; which who knows how\\r\\nthat may turn back to my advancement? I will bring these two moles,\\r\\nthese blind ones, aboard him. If he think it fit to shore them again\\r\\nand that the complaint they have to the king concerns him nothing, let\\r\\nhim call me rogue for being so far officious; for I am proof against\\r\\nthat title and what shame else belongs to ’t. To him will I present\\r\\nthem. There may be matter in it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Sicilia. A Room in the palace of Leontes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Cleomenes, Dion, Paulina and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nSir, you have done enough, and have perform’d\\r\\nA saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make\\r\\nWhich you have not redeem’d; indeed, paid down\\r\\nMore penitence than done trespass: at the last,\\r\\nDo as the heavens have done, forget your evil;\\r\\nWith them, forgive yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhilst I remember\\r\\nHer and her virtues, I cannot forget\\r\\nMy blemishes in them; and so still think of\\r\\nThe wrong I did myself: which was so much\\r\\nThat heirless it hath made my kingdom, and\\r\\nDestroy’d the sweet’st companion that e’er man\\r\\nBred his hopes out of.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nTrue, too true, my lord.\\r\\nIf, one by one, you wedded all the world,\\r\\nOr from the all that are took something good,\\r\\nTo make a perfect woman, she you kill’d\\r\\nWould be unparallel’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI think so. Kill’d!\\r\\nShe I kill’d! I did so: but thou strik’st me\\r\\nSorely, to say I did: it is as bitter\\r\\nUpon thy tongue as in my thought. Now, good now,\\r\\nSay so but seldom.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nNot at all, good lady.\\r\\nYou might have spoken a thousand things that would\\r\\nHave done the time more benefit and grac’d\\r\\nYour kindness better.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nYou are one of those\\r\\nWould have him wed again.\\r\\n\\r\\nDION.\\r\\nIf you would not so,\\r\\nYou pity not the state, nor the remembrance\\r\\nOf his most sovereign name; consider little\\r\\nWhat dangers, by his highness’ fail of issue,\\r\\nMay drop upon his kingdom, and devour\\r\\nIncertain lookers-on. What were more holy\\r\\nThan to rejoice the former queen is well?\\r\\nWhat holier than, for royalty’s repair,\\r\\nFor present comfort, and for future good,\\r\\nTo bless the bed of majesty again\\r\\nWith a sweet fellow to ’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThere is none worthy,\\r\\nRespecting her that’s gone. Besides, the gods\\r\\nWill have fulfill’d their secret purposes;\\r\\nFor has not the divine Apollo said,\\r\\nIs ’t not the tenor of his oracle,\\r\\nThat king Leontes shall not have an heir\\r\\nTill his lost child be found? Which that it shall,\\r\\nIs all as monstrous to our human reason\\r\\nAs my Antigonus to break his grave\\r\\nAnd come again to me; who, on my life,\\r\\nDid perish with the infant. ’Tis your counsel\\r\\nMy lord should to the heavens be contrary,\\r\\nOppose against their wills. [_To Leontes._] Care not for issue;\\r\\nThe crown will find an heir. Great Alexander\\r\\nLeft his to th’ worthiest; so his successor\\r\\nWas like to be the best.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGood Paulina,\\r\\nWho hast the memory of Hermione,\\r\\nI know, in honour, O that ever I\\r\\nHad squar’d me to thy counsel! Then, even now,\\r\\nI might have look’d upon my queen’s full eyes,\\r\\nHave taken treasure from her lips,—\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nAnd left them\\r\\nMore rich for what they yielded.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou speak’st truth.\\r\\nNo more such wives; therefore, no wife: one worse,\\r\\nAnd better us’d, would make her sainted spirit\\r\\nAgain possess her corpse, and on this stage,\\r\\n(Where we offenders now appear) soul-vexed,\\r\\nAnd begin “Why to me?”\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nHad she such power,\\r\\nShe had just cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nShe had; and would incense me\\r\\nTo murder her I married.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI should so.\\r\\nWere I the ghost that walk’d, I’d bid you mark\\r\\nHer eye, and tell me for what dull part in ’t\\r\\nYou chose her: then I’d shriek, that even your ears\\r\\nShould rift to hear me; and the words that follow’d\\r\\nShould be “Remember mine.”\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nStars, stars,\\r\\nAnd all eyes else dead coals! Fear thou no wife;\\r\\nI’ll have no wife, Paulina.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWill you swear\\r\\nNever to marry but by my free leave?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNever, Paulina; so be bless’d my spirit!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThen, good my lords, bear witness to his oath.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nYou tempt him over-much.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nUnless another,\\r\\nAs like Hermione as is her picture,\\r\\nAffront his eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nGood madam,—\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI have done.\\r\\nYet, if my lord will marry,—if you will, sir,\\r\\nNo remedy but you will,—give me the office\\r\\nTo choose you a queen: she shall not be so young\\r\\nAs was your former, but she shall be such\\r\\nAs, walk’d your first queen’s ghost, it should take joy\\r\\nTo see her in your arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nMy true Paulina,\\r\\nWe shall not marry till thou bid’st us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThat\\r\\nShall be when your first queen’s again in breath;\\r\\nNever till then.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nOne that gives out himself Prince Florizel,\\r\\nSon of Polixenes, with his princess (she\\r\\nThe fairest I have yet beheld) desires access\\r\\nTo your high presence.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat with him? he comes not\\r\\nLike to his father’s greatness: his approach,\\r\\nSo out of circumstance and sudden, tells us\\r\\n’Tis not a visitation fram’d, but forc’d\\r\\nBy need and accident. What train?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nBut few,\\r\\nAnd those but mean.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHis princess, say you, with him?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nAy, the most peerless piece of earth, I think,\\r\\nThat e’er the sun shone bright on.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nO Hermione,\\r\\nAs every present time doth boast itself\\r\\nAbove a better gone, so must thy grave\\r\\nGive way to what’s seen now! Sir, you yourself\\r\\nHave said and writ so,—but your writing now\\r\\nIs colder than that theme,—‘She had not been,\\r\\nNor was not to be equall’d’; thus your verse\\r\\nFlow’d with her beauty once; ’tis shrewdly ebb’d,\\r\\nTo say you have seen a better.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nPardon, madam:\\r\\nThe one I have almost forgot,—your pardon;—\\r\\nThe other, when she has obtain’d your eye,\\r\\nWill have your tongue too. This is a creature,\\r\\nWould she begin a sect, might quench the zeal\\r\\nOf all professors else; make proselytes\\r\\nOf who she but bid follow.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nHow! not women?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nWomen will love her that she is a woman\\r\\nMore worth than any man; men, that she is\\r\\nThe rarest of all women.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGo, Cleomenes;\\r\\nYourself, assisted with your honour’d friends,\\r\\nBring them to our embracement.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Cleomenes and others._]\\r\\n\\r\\nStill, ’tis strange\\r\\nHe thus should steal upon us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nHad our prince,\\r\\nJewel of children, seen this hour, he had pair’d\\r\\nWell with this lord. There was not full a month\\r\\nBetween their births.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nPrithee no more; cease; Thou know’st\\r\\nHe dies to me again when talk’d of: sure,\\r\\nWhen I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches\\r\\nWill bring me to consider that which may\\r\\nUnfurnish me of reason. They are come.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Florizel, Perdita, Cleomenes and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nYour mother was most true to wedlock, prince;\\r\\nFor she did print your royal father off,\\r\\nConceiving you. Were I but twenty-one,\\r\\nYour father’s image is so hit in you,\\r\\nHis very air, that I should call you brother,\\r\\nAs I did him, and speak of something wildly\\r\\nBy us perform’d before. Most dearly welcome!\\r\\nAnd your fair princess,—goddess! O, alas!\\r\\nI lost a couple that ’twixt heaven and earth\\r\\nMight thus have stood, begetting wonder, as\\r\\nYou, gracious couple, do! And then I lost,—\\r\\nAll mine own folly,—the society,\\r\\nAmity too, of your brave father, whom,\\r\\nThough bearing misery, I desire my life\\r\\nOnce more to look on him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nBy his command\\r\\nHave I here touch’d Sicilia, and from him\\r\\nGive you all greetings that a king, at friend,\\r\\nCan send his brother: and, but infirmity,\\r\\nWhich waits upon worn times, hath something seiz’d\\r\\nHis wish’d ability, he had himself\\r\\nThe lands and waters ’twixt your throne and his\\r\\nMeasur’d, to look upon you; whom he loves,\\r\\nHe bade me say so,—more than all the sceptres\\r\\nAnd those that bear them living.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO my brother,—\\r\\nGood gentleman!—the wrongs I have done thee stir\\r\\nAfresh within me; and these thy offices,\\r\\nSo rarely kind, are as interpreters\\r\\nOf my behind-hand slackness! Welcome hither,\\r\\nAs is the spring to the earth. And hath he too\\r\\nExpos’d this paragon to the fearful usage,\\r\\nAt least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune,\\r\\nTo greet a man not worth her pains, much less\\r\\nTh’ adventure of her person?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nGood, my lord,\\r\\nShe came from Libya.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhere the warlike Smalus,\\r\\nThat noble honour’d lord, is fear’d and lov’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nMost royal sir, from thence; from him, whose daughter\\r\\nHis tears proclaim’d his, parting with her: thence,\\r\\nA prosperous south-wind friendly, we have cross’d,\\r\\nTo execute the charge my father gave me\\r\\nFor visiting your highness: my best train\\r\\nI have from your Sicilian shores dismiss’d;\\r\\nWho for Bohemia bend, to signify\\r\\nNot only my success in Libya, sir,\\r\\nBut my arrival, and my wife’s, in safety\\r\\nHere, where we are.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThe blessed gods\\r\\nPurge all infection from our air whilst you\\r\\nDo climate here! You have a holy father,\\r\\nA graceful gentleman; against whose person,\\r\\nSo sacred as it is, I have done sin,\\r\\nFor which the heavens, taking angry note,\\r\\nHave left me issueless. And your father’s bless’d,\\r\\nAs he from heaven merits it, with you,\\r\\nWorthy his goodness. What might I have been,\\r\\nMight I a son and daughter now have look’d on,\\r\\nSuch goodly things as you!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nMost noble sir,\\r\\nThat which I shall report will bear no credit,\\r\\nWere not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir,\\r\\nBohemia greets you from himself by me;\\r\\nDesires you to attach his son, who has—\\r\\nHis dignity and duty both cast off—\\r\\nFled from his father, from his hopes, and with\\r\\nA shepherd’s daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhere’s Bohemia? speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nHere in your city; I now came from him.\\r\\nI speak amazedly, and it becomes\\r\\nMy marvel and my message. To your court\\r\\nWhiles he was hast’ning—in the chase, it seems,\\r\\nOf this fair couple—meets he on the way\\r\\nThe father of this seeming lady and\\r\\nHer brother, having both their country quitted\\r\\nWith this young prince.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nCamillo has betray’d me;\\r\\nWhose honour and whose honesty till now,\\r\\nEndur’d all weathers.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nLay ’t so to his charge.\\r\\nHe’s with the king your father.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWho? Camillo?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nCamillo, sir; I spake with him; who now\\r\\nHas these poor men in question. Never saw I\\r\\nWretches so quake: they kneel, they kiss the earth;\\r\\nForswear themselves as often as they speak.\\r\\nBohemia stops his ears, and threatens them\\r\\nWith divers deaths in death.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nO my poor father!\\r\\nThe heaven sets spies upon us, will not have\\r\\nOur contract celebrated.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou are married?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWe are not, sir, nor are we like to be.\\r\\nThe stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first.\\r\\nThe odds for high and low’s alike.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nMy lord,\\r\\nIs this the daughter of a king?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nShe is,\\r\\nWhen once she is my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThat “once”, I see by your good father’s speed,\\r\\nWill come on very slowly. I am sorry,\\r\\nMost sorry, you have broken from his liking,\\r\\nWhere you were tied in duty; and as sorry\\r\\nYour choice is not so rich in worth as beauty,\\r\\nThat you might well enjoy her.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nDear, look up:\\r\\nThough Fortune, visible an enemy,\\r\\nShould chase us with my father, power no jot\\r\\nHath she to change our loves. Beseech you, sir,\\r\\nRemember since you ow’d no more to time\\r\\nThan I do now: with thought of such affections,\\r\\nStep forth mine advocate. At your request\\r\\nMy father will grant precious things as trifles.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWould he do so, I’d beg your precious mistress,\\r\\nWhich he counts but a trifle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nSir, my liege,\\r\\nYour eye hath too much youth in ’t: not a month\\r\\n’Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes\\r\\nThan what you look on now.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI thought of her\\r\\nEven in these looks I made. [_To Florizel._] But your petition\\r\\nIs yet unanswer’d. I will to your father.\\r\\nYour honour not o’erthrown by your desires,\\r\\nI am friend to them and you: upon which errand\\r\\nI now go toward him; therefore follow me,\\r\\nAnd mark what way I make. Come, good my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. Before the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Autolycus and a Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nBeseech you, sir, were you present at this relation?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI was by at the opening of the fardel, heard the old shepherd deliver\\r\\nthe manner how he found it: whereupon, after a little amazedness, we\\r\\nwere all commanded out of the chamber; only this, methought I heard the\\r\\nshepherd say he found the child.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI would most gladly know the issue of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI make a broken delivery of the business; but the changes I perceived\\r\\nin the king and Camillo were very notes of admiration. They seemed\\r\\nalmost, with staring on one another, to tear the cases of their eyes.\\r\\nThere was speech in their dumbness, language in their very gesture;\\r\\nthey looked as they had heard of a world ransomed, or one destroyed. A\\r\\nnotable passion of wonder appeared in them; but the wisest beholder,\\r\\nthat knew no more but seeing could not say if th’ importance were joy\\r\\nor sorrow; but in the extremity of the one, it must needs be. Here\\r\\ncomes a gentleman that happily knows more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe news, Rogero?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNothing but bonfires: the oracle is fulfilled: the king’s daughter is\\r\\nfound: such a deal of wonder is broken out within this hour that\\r\\nballad-makers cannot be able to express it. Here comes the Lady\\r\\nPaulina’s steward: he can deliver you more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a third Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\n How goes it now, sir? This news, which is called true, is so like an\\r\\n old tale that the verity of it is in strong suspicion. Has the king\\r\\n found his heir?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nMost true, if ever truth were pregnant by circumstance. That which you\\r\\nhear you’ll swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The\\r\\nmantle of Queen Hermione’s, her jewel about the neck of it, the letters\\r\\nof Antigonus found with it, which they know to be his character; the\\r\\nmajesty of the creature in resemblance of the mother, the affection of\\r\\nnobleness which nature shows above her breeding, and many other\\r\\nevidences proclaim her with all certainty to be the king’s daughter.\\r\\nDid you see the meeting of the two kings?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThen you have lost a sight which was to be seen, cannot be spoken of.\\r\\nThere might you have beheld one joy crown another, so and in such\\r\\nmanner that it seemed sorrow wept to take leave of them, for their joy\\r\\nwaded in tears. There was casting up of eyes, holding up of hands, with\\r\\ncountenance of such distraction that they were to be known by garment,\\r\\nnot by favour. Our king, being ready to leap out of himself for joy of\\r\\nhis found daughter, as if that joy were now become a loss, cries “O,\\r\\nthy mother, thy mother!” then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces\\r\\nhis son-in-law; then again worries he his daughter with clipping her;\\r\\nnow he thanks the old shepherd, which stands by like a weather-bitten\\r\\nconduit of many kings’ reigns. I never heard of such another encounter,\\r\\nwhich lames report to follow it, and undoes description to do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWhat, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried hence the child?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nLike an old tale still, which will have matter to rehearse, though\\r\\ncredit be asleep and not an ear open. He was torn to pieces with a\\r\\nbear: this avouches the shepherd’s son, who has not only his innocence,\\r\\nwhich seems much, to justify him, but a handkerchief and rings of his\\r\\nthat Paulina knows.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWhat became of his bark and his followers?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWrecked the same instant of their master’s death, and in the view of\\r\\nthe shepherd: so that all the instruments which aided to expose the\\r\\nchild were even then lost when it was found. But O, the noble combat\\r\\nthat ’twixt joy and sorrow was fought in Paulina! She had one eye\\r\\ndeclined for the loss of her husband, another elevated that the oracle\\r\\nwas fulfilled. She lifted the princess from the earth, and so locks her\\r\\nin embracing, as if she would pin her to her heart, that she might no\\r\\nmore be in danger of losing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThe dignity of this act was worth the audience of kings and princes;\\r\\nfor by such was it acted.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nOne of the prettiest touches of all, and that which angled for mine\\r\\neyes (caught the water, though not the fish) was, when at the relation\\r\\nof the queen’s death (with the manner how she came to it bravely\\r\\nconfessed and lamented by the king) how attentivenes wounded his\\r\\ndaughter; till, from one sign of dolour to another, she did, with an\\r\\n“Alas,” I would fain say, bleed tears, for I am sure my heart wept\\r\\nblood. Who was most marble there changed colour; some swooned, all\\r\\nsorrowed: if all the world could have seen it, the woe had been\\r\\nuniversal.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nAre they returned to the court?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNo: the princess hearing of her mother’s statue, which is in the\\r\\nkeeping of Paulina,—a piece many years in doing and now newly performed\\r\\nby that rare Italian master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself\\r\\neternity, and could put breath into his work, would beguile Nature of\\r\\nher custom, so perfectly he is her ape: he so near to Hermione hath\\r\\ndone Hermione that they say one would speak to her and stand in hope of\\r\\nanswer. Thither with all greediness of affection are they gone, and\\r\\nthere they intend to sup.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI thought she had some great matter there in hand; for she hath\\r\\nprivately twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione,\\r\\nvisited that removed house. Shall we thither, and with our company\\r\\npiece the rejoicing?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWho would be thence that has the benefit of access? Every wink of an\\r\\neye some new grace will be born. Our absence makes us unthrifty to our\\r\\nknowledge. Let’s along.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Gentlemen._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nNow, had I not the dash of my former life in me, would preferment drop\\r\\non my head. I brought the old man and his son aboard the prince; told\\r\\nhim I heard them talk of a fardel and I know not what. But he at that\\r\\ntime over-fond of the shepherd’s daughter (so he then took her to be),\\r\\nwho began to be much sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity of\\r\\nweather continuing, this mystery remained undiscover’d. But ’tis all\\r\\none to me; for had I been the finder-out of this secret, it would not\\r\\nhave relish’d among my other discredits.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Shepherd and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere come those I have done good to against my will, and already\\r\\nappearing in the blossoms of their fortune.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nCome, boy; I am past more children, but thy sons and daughters will be\\r\\nall gentlemen born.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYou are well met, sir. You denied to fight with me this other day,\\r\\nbecause I was no gentleman born. See you these clothes? Say you see\\r\\nthem not and think me still no gentleman born: you were best say these\\r\\nrobes are not gentlemen born. Give me the lie, do; and try whether I am\\r\\nnot now a gentleman born.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI know you are now, sir, a gentleman born.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy, and have been so any time these four hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAnd so have I, boy!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nSo you have: but I was a gentleman born before my father; for the\\r\\nking’s son took me by the hand and called me brother; and then the two\\r\\nkings called my father brother; and then the prince, my brother, and\\r\\nthe princess, my sister, called my father father; and so we wept; and\\r\\nthere was the first gentleman-like tears that ever we shed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWe may live, son, to shed many more.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy; or else ’twere hard luck, being in so preposterous estate as we\\r\\nare.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the faults I have committed\\r\\nto your worship, and to give me your good report to the prince my\\r\\nmaster.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nPrithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThou wilt amend thy life?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAy, an it like your good worship.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGive me thy hand: I will swear to the prince thou art as honest a true\\r\\nfellow as any is in Bohemia.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nYou may say it, but not swear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and franklins say it,\\r\\nI’ll swear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nHow if it be false, son?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIf it be ne’er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in the behalf of\\r\\nhis friend. And I’ll swear to the prince thou art a tall fellow of thy\\r\\nhands and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art no tall\\r\\nfellow of thy hands and that thou wilt be drunk: but I’ll swear it; and\\r\\nI would thou wouldst be a tall fellow of thy hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI will prove so, sir, to my power.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy, by any means, prove a tall fellow: if I do not wonder how thou\\r\\ndar’st venture to be drunk, not being a tall fellow, trust me not.\\r\\nHark! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see the\\r\\nqueen’s picture. Come, follow us: we’ll be thy good masters.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A Room in Paulina’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Florizel, Perdita, Camillo, Paulina, Lords\\r\\n and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO grave and good Paulina, the great comfort\\r\\nThat I have had of thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWhat, sovereign sir,\\r\\nI did not well, I meant well. All my services\\r\\nYou have paid home: but that you have vouchsaf’d,\\r\\nWith your crown’d brother and these your contracted\\r\\nHeirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit,\\r\\nIt is a surplus of your grace which never\\r\\nMy life may last to answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO Paulina,\\r\\nWe honour you with trouble. But we came\\r\\nTo see the statue of our queen: your gallery\\r\\nHave we pass’d through, not without much content\\r\\nIn many singularities; but we saw not\\r\\nThat which my daughter came to look upon,\\r\\nThe statue of her mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nAs she liv’d peerless,\\r\\nSo her dead likeness, I do well believe,\\r\\nExcels whatever yet you look’d upon\\r\\nOr hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it\\r\\nLonely, apart. But here it is: prepare\\r\\nTo see the life as lively mock’d as ever\\r\\nStill sleep mock’d death. Behold, and say ’tis well.\\r\\n\\r\\n Paulina undraws a curtain, and discovers Hermione standing as a\\r\\n statue.\\r\\n\\r\\nI like your silence, it the more shows off\\r\\nYour wonder: but yet speak. First you, my liege.\\r\\nComes it not something near?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHer natural posture!\\r\\nChide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed\\r\\nThou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she\\r\\nIn thy not chiding; for she was as tender\\r\\nAs infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina,\\r\\nHermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing\\r\\nSo aged as this seems.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nO, not by much!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nSo much the more our carver’s excellence,\\r\\nWhich lets go by some sixteen years and makes her\\r\\nAs she liv’d now.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nAs now she might have done,\\r\\nSo much to my good comfort as it is\\r\\nNow piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood,\\r\\nEven with such life of majesty, warm life,\\r\\nAs now it coldly stands, when first I woo’d her!\\r\\nI am asham’d: does not the stone rebuke me\\r\\nFor being more stone than it? O royal piece,\\r\\nThere’s magic in thy majesty, which has\\r\\nMy evils conjur’d to remembrance and\\r\\nFrom thy admiring daughter took the spirits,\\r\\nStanding like stone with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nAnd give me leave,\\r\\nAnd do not say ’tis superstition, that\\r\\nI kneel, and then implore her blessing. Lady,\\r\\nDear queen, that ended when I but began,\\r\\nGive me that hand of yours to kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nO, patience!\\r\\nThe statue is but newly fix’d, the colour’s\\r\\nNot dry.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nMy lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on,\\r\\nWhich sixteen winters cannot blow away,\\r\\nSo many summers dry. Scarce any joy\\r\\nDid ever so long live; no sorrow\\r\\nBut kill’d itself much sooner.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nDear my brother,\\r\\nLet him that was the cause of this have power\\r\\nTo take off so much grief from you as he\\r\\nWill piece up in himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nIndeed, my lord,\\r\\nIf I had thought the sight of my poor image\\r\\nWould thus have wrought you—for the stone is mine—\\r\\nI’d not have show’d it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nDo not draw the curtain.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNo longer shall you gaze on’t, lest your fancy\\r\\nMay think anon it moves.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nLet be, let be.\\r\\nWould I were dead, but that methinks already—\\r\\nWhat was he that did make it? See, my lord,\\r\\nWould you not deem it breath’d? And that those veins\\r\\nDid verily bear blood?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nMasterly done:\\r\\nThe very life seems warm upon her lip.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThe fixture of her eye has motion in ’t,\\r\\nAs we are mock’d with art.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI’ll draw the curtain:\\r\\nMy lord’s almost so far transported that\\r\\nHe’ll think anon it lives.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO sweet Paulina,\\r\\nMake me to think so twenty years together!\\r\\nNo settled senses of the world can match\\r\\nThe pleasure of that madness. Let ’t alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr’d you: but\\r\\nI could afflict you further.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nDo, Paulina;\\r\\nFor this affliction has a taste as sweet\\r\\nAs any cordial comfort. Still methinks\\r\\nThere is an air comes from her. What fine chisel\\r\\nCould ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me,\\r\\nFor I will kiss her!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nGood my lord, forbear:\\r\\nThe ruddiness upon her lip is wet;\\r\\nYou’ll mar it if you kiss it, stain your own\\r\\nWith oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNo, not these twenty years.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nSo long could I\\r\\nStand by, a looker on.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nEither forbear,\\r\\nQuit presently the chapel, or resolve you\\r\\nFor more amazement. If you can behold it,\\r\\nI’ll make the statue move indeed, descend,\\r\\nAnd take you by the hand. But then you’ll think\\r\\n(Which I protest against) I am assisted\\r\\nBy wicked powers.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat you can make her do\\r\\nI am content to look on: what to speak,\\r\\nI am content to hear; for ’tis as easy\\r\\nTo make her speak as move.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nIt is requir’d\\r\\nYou do awake your faith. Then all stand still;\\r\\nOr those that think it is unlawful business\\r\\nI am about, let them depart.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nProceed:\\r\\nNo foot shall stir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nMusic, awake her: strike! [_Music._]\\r\\n’Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach;\\r\\nStrike all that look upon with marvel. Come;\\r\\nI’ll fill your grave up: stir; nay, come away.\\r\\nBequeath to death your numbness, for from him\\r\\nDear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs.\\r\\n\\r\\n Hermione comes down from the pedestal.\\r\\n\\r\\nStart not; her actions shall be holy as\\r\\nYou hear my spell is lawful. Do not shun her\\r\\nUntil you see her die again; for then\\r\\nYou kill her double. Nay, present your hand:\\r\\nWhen she was young you woo’d her; now in age\\r\\nIs she become the suitor?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\n[_Embracing her._] O, she’s warm!\\r\\nIf this be magic, let it be an art\\r\\nLawful as eating.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nShe embraces him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nShe hangs about his neck.\\r\\nIf she pertain to life, let her speak too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nAy, and make it manifest where she has liv’d,\\r\\nOr how stol’n from the dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThat she is living,\\r\\nWere it but told you, should be hooted at\\r\\nLike an old tale; but it appears she lives,\\r\\nThough yet she speak not. Mark a little while.\\r\\nPlease you to interpose, fair madam. Kneel\\r\\nAnd pray your mother’s blessing. Turn, good lady,\\r\\nOur Perdita is found.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Presenting Perdita who kneels to Hermione._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nYou gods, look down,\\r\\nAnd from your sacred vials pour your graces\\r\\nUpon my daughter’s head! Tell me, mine own,\\r\\nWhere hast thou been preserv’d? where liv’d? how found\\r\\nThy father’s court? for thou shalt hear that I,\\r\\nKnowing by Paulina that the oracle\\r\\nGave hope thou wast in being, have preserv’d\\r\\nMyself to see the issue.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThere’s time enough for that;\\r\\nLest they desire upon this push to trouble\\r\\nYour joys with like relation. Go together,\\r\\nYou precious winners all; your exultation\\r\\nPartake to everyone. I, an old turtle,\\r\\nWill wing me to some wither’d bough, and there\\r\\nMy mate, that’s never to be found again,\\r\\nLament till I am lost.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO peace, Paulina!\\r\\nThou shouldst a husband take by my consent,\\r\\nAs I by thine a wife: this is a match,\\r\\nAnd made between ’s by vows. Thou hast found mine;\\r\\nBut how, is to be question’d; for I saw her,\\r\\nAs I thought, dead; and have in vain said many\\r\\nA prayer upon her grave. I’ll not seek far—\\r\\nFor him, I partly know his mind—to find thee\\r\\nAn honourable husband. Come, Camillo,\\r\\nAnd take her by the hand, whose worth and honesty\\r\\nIs richly noted, and here justified\\r\\nBy us, a pair of kings. Let’s from this place.\\r\\nWhat! look upon my brother: both your pardons,\\r\\nThat e’er I put between your holy looks\\r\\nMy ill suspicion. This your son-in-law,\\r\\nAnd son unto the king, whom heavens directing,\\r\\nIs troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina,\\r\\nLead us from hence; where we may leisurely\\r\\nEach one demand, and answer to his part\\r\\nPerform’d in this wide gap of time, since first\\r\\nWe were dissever’d. Hastily lead away!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nA LOVER’S COMPLAINT\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nFrom off a hill whose concave womb reworded\\r\\nA plaintful story from a sist’ring vale,\\r\\nMy spirits t’attend this double voice accorded,\\r\\nAnd down I laid to list the sad-tun’d tale;\\r\\nEre long espied a fickle maid full pale,\\r\\nTearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,\\r\\nStorming her world with sorrow’s wind and rain.\\r\\n\\r\\nUpon her head a platted hive of straw,\\r\\nWhich fortified her visage from the sun,\\r\\nWhereon the thought might think sometime it saw\\r\\nThe carcass of a beauty spent and done;\\r\\nTime had not scythed all that youth begun,\\r\\nNor youth all quit, but spite of heaven’s fell rage\\r\\nSome beauty peeped through lattice of sear’d age.\\r\\n\\r\\nOft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,\\r\\nWhich on it had conceited characters,\\r\\nLaund’ring the silken figures in the brine\\r\\nThat seasoned woe had pelleted in tears,\\r\\nAnd often reading what contents it bears;\\r\\nAs often shrieking undistinguish’d woe,\\r\\nIn clamours of all size, both high and low.\\r\\n\\r\\nSometimes her levell’d eyes their carriage ride,\\r\\nAs they did batt’ry to the spheres intend;\\r\\nSometime diverted their poor balls are tied\\r\\nTo th’orbed earth; sometimes they do extend\\r\\nTheir view right on; anon their gazes lend\\r\\nTo every place at once, and nowhere fix’d,\\r\\nThe mind and sight distractedly commix’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,\\r\\nProclaim’d in her a careless hand of pride;\\r\\nFor some untuck’d descended her sheav’d hat,\\r\\nHanging her pale and pined cheek beside;\\r\\nSome in her threaden fillet still did bide,\\r\\nAnd, true to bondage, would not break from thence,\\r\\nThough slackly braided in loose negligence.\\r\\n\\r\\nA thousand favours from a maund she drew,\\r\\nOf amber, crystal, and of beaded jet,\\r\\nWhich one by one she in a river threw,\\r\\nUpon whose weeping margent she was set,\\r\\nLike usury applying wet to wet,\\r\\nOr monarchs’ hands, that lets not bounty fall\\r\\nWhere want cries ‘some,’ but where excess begs ‘all’.\\r\\n\\r\\nOf folded schedules had she many a one,\\r\\nWhich she perus’d, sigh’d, tore and gave the flood;\\r\\nCrack’d many a ring of posied gold and bone,\\r\\nBidding them find their sepulchres in mud;\\r\\nFound yet mo letters sadly penn’d in blood,\\r\\nWith sleided silk, feat and affectedly\\r\\nEnswath’d, and seal’d to curious secrecy.\\r\\n\\r\\nThese often bath’d she in her fluxive eyes,\\r\\nAnd often kiss’d, and often gave to tear;\\r\\nCried, ‘O false blood, thou register of lies,\\r\\nWhat unapproved witness dost thou bear!\\r\\nInk would have seem’d more black and damned here!’\\r\\nThis said, in top of rage the lines she rents,\\r\\nBig discontent so breaking their contents.\\r\\n\\r\\nA reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh,\\r\\nSometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew\\r\\nOf court, of city, and had let go by\\r\\nThe swiftest hours observed as they flew,\\r\\nTowards this afflicted fancy fastly drew;\\r\\nAnd, privileg’d by age, desires to know\\r\\nIn brief the grounds and motives of her woe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo slides he down upon his grained bat,\\r\\nAnd comely distant sits he by her side,\\r\\nWhen he again desires her, being sat,\\r\\nHer grievance with his hearing to divide:\\r\\nIf that from him there may be aught applied\\r\\nWhich may her suffering ecstasy assuage,\\r\\n’Tis promised in the charity of age.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Father,’ she says, ‘though in me you behold\\r\\nThe injury of many a blasting hour,\\r\\nLet it not tell your judgement I am old,\\r\\nNot age, but sorrow, over me hath power.\\r\\nI might as yet have been a spreading flower,\\r\\nFresh to myself, if I had self-applied\\r\\nLove to myself, and to no love beside.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘But woe is me! Too early I attended\\r\\nA youthful suit; it was to gain my grace;\\r\\nO one by nature’s outwards so commended,\\r\\nThat maiden’s eyes stuck over all his face,\\r\\nLove lack’d a dwelling and made him her place;\\r\\nAnd when in his fair parts she did abide,\\r\\nShe was new lodg’d and newly deified.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘His browny locks did hang in crooked curls,\\r\\nAnd every light occasion of the wind\\r\\nUpon his lips their silken parcels hurls,\\r\\nWhat’s sweet to do, to do will aptly find,\\r\\nEach eye that saw him did enchant the mind:\\r\\nFor on his visage was in little drawn,\\r\\nWhat largeness thinks in paradise was sawn.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Small show of man was yet upon his chin;\\r\\nHis phoenix down began but to appear,\\r\\nLike unshorn velvet, on that termless skin,\\r\\nWhose bare out-bragg’d the web it seemed to wear.\\r\\nYet show’d his visage by that cost more dear,\\r\\nAnd nice affections wavering stood in doubt\\r\\nIf best were as it was, or best without.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘His qualities were beauteous as his form,\\r\\nFor maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free;\\r\\nYet if men mov’d him, was he such a storm\\r\\nAs oft ’twixt May and April is to see,\\r\\nWhen winds breathe sweet, unruly though they be.\\r\\nHis rudeness so with his authoriz’d youth\\r\\nDid livery falseness in a pride of truth.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Well could he ride, and often men would say\\r\\nThat horse his mettle from his rider takes,\\r\\nProud of subjection, noble by the sway,\\r\\nWhat rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes!\\r\\nAnd controversy hence a question takes,\\r\\nWhether the horse by him became his deed,\\r\\nOr he his manage by th’ well-doing steed.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘But quickly on this side the verdict went,\\r\\nHis real habitude gave life and grace\\r\\nTo appertainings and to ornament,\\r\\nAccomplish’d in himself, not in his case;\\r\\nAll aids, themselves made fairer by their place,\\r\\nCame for additions; yet their purpos’d trim\\r\\nPiec’d not his grace, but were all grac’d by him.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘So on the tip of his subduing tongue\\r\\nAll kind of arguments and question deep,\\r\\nAll replication prompt, and reason strong,\\r\\nFor his advantage still did wake and sleep,\\r\\nTo make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep:\\r\\nHe had the dialect and different skill,\\r\\nCatching all passions in his craft of will.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘That he did in the general bosom reign\\r\\nOf young, of old, and sexes both enchanted,\\r\\nTo dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain\\r\\nIn personal duty, following where he haunted,\\r\\nConsent’s bewitch’d, ere he desire, have granted,\\r\\nAnd dialogued for him what he would say,\\r\\nAsk’d their own wills, and made their wills obey.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Many there were that did his picture get\\r\\nTo serve their eyes, and in it put their mind,\\r\\nLike fools that in th’ imagination set\\r\\nThe goodly objects which abroad they find\\r\\nOf lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign’d,\\r\\nAnd labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them,\\r\\nThan the true gouty landlord which doth owe them.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘So many have, that never touch’d his hand,\\r\\nSweetly suppos’d them mistress of his heart.\\r\\nMy woeful self that did in freedom stand,\\r\\nAnd was my own fee-simple (not in part)\\r\\nWhat with his art in youth, and youth in art,\\r\\nThrew my affections in his charmed power,\\r\\nReserv’d the stalk and gave him all my flower.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Yet did I not, as some my equals did,\\r\\nDemand of him, nor being desired yielded,\\r\\nFinding myself in honour so forbid,\\r\\nWith safest distance I mine honour shielded.\\r\\nExperience for me many bulwarks builded\\r\\nOf proofs new-bleeding, which remain’d the foil\\r\\nOf this false jewel, and his amorous spoil.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘But ah! Who ever shunn’d by precedent\\r\\nThe destin’d ill she must herself assay,\\r\\nOr force’d examples ’gainst her own content,\\r\\nTo put the by-pass’d perils in her way?\\r\\nCounsel may stop a while what will not stay:\\r\\nFor when we rage, advice is often seen\\r\\nBy blunting us to make our wills more keen.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood,\\r\\nThat we must curb it upon others’ proof,\\r\\nTo be forbode the sweets that seems so good,\\r\\nFor fear of harms that preach in our behoof.\\r\\nO appetite, from judgement stand aloof!\\r\\nThe one a palate hath that needs will taste,\\r\\nThough reason weep and cry, “It is thy last.”\\r\\n\\r\\n‘For further I could say, “This man’s untrue”,\\r\\nAnd knew the patterns of his foul beguiling;\\r\\nHeard where his plants in others’ orchards grew,\\r\\nSaw how deceits were gilded in his smiling;\\r\\nKnew vows were ever brokers to defiling;\\r\\nThought characters and words merely but art,\\r\\nAnd bastards of his foul adulterate heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘And long upon these terms I held my city,\\r\\nTill thus he ’gan besiege me: “Gentle maid,\\r\\nHave of my suffering youth some feeling pity,\\r\\nAnd be not of my holy vows afraid:\\r\\nThat’s to ye sworn, to none was ever said,\\r\\nFor feasts of love I have been call’d unto,\\r\\nTill now did ne’er invite, nor never woo.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“All my offences that abroad you see\\r\\nAre errors of the blood, none of the mind:\\r\\nLove made them not; with acture they may be,\\r\\nWhere neither party is nor true nor kind,\\r\\nThey sought their shame that so their shame did find,\\r\\nAnd so much less of shame in me remains,\\r\\nBy how much of me their reproach contains.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Among the many that mine eyes have seen,\\r\\nNot one whose flame my heart so much as warmed,\\r\\nOr my affection put to th’ smallest teen,\\r\\nOr any of my leisures ever charmed:\\r\\nHarm have I done to them, but ne’er was harmed;\\r\\nKept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free,\\r\\nAnd reign’d commanding in his monarchy.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Look here what tributes wounded fancies sent me,\\r\\nOf pallid pearls and rubies red as blood,\\r\\nFiguring that they their passions likewise lent me\\r\\nOf grief and blushes, aptly understood\\r\\nIn bloodless white and the encrimson’d mood;\\r\\nEffects of terror and dear modesty,\\r\\nEncamp’d in hearts, but fighting outwardly.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“And, lo! behold these talents of their hair,\\r\\nWith twisted metal amorously empleach’d,\\r\\nI have receiv’d from many a several fair,\\r\\nTheir kind acceptance weepingly beseech’d,\\r\\nWith th’ annexions of fair gems enrich’d,\\r\\nAnd deep-brain’d sonnets that did amplify\\r\\nEach stone’s dear nature, worth and quality.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“The diamond, why ’twas beautiful and hard,\\r\\nWhereto his invis’d properties did tend,\\r\\nThe deep green emerald, in whose fresh regard\\r\\nWeak sights their sickly radiance do amend;\\r\\nThe heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend\\r\\nWith objects manifold; each several stone,\\r\\nWith wit well blazon’d smil’d, or made some moan.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Lo, all these trophies of affections hot,\\r\\nOf pensiv’d and subdued desires the tender,\\r\\nNature hath charg’d me that I hoard them not,\\r\\nBut yield them up where I myself must render,\\r\\nThat is, to you, my origin and ender:\\r\\nFor these of force must your oblations be,\\r\\nSince I their altar, you empatron me.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“O then advance of yours that phraseless hand,\\r\\nWhose white weighs down the airy scale of praise;\\r\\nTake all these similes to your own command,\\r\\nHallowed with sighs that burning lungs did raise:\\r\\nWhat me, your minister for you, obeys,\\r\\nWorks under you; and to your audit comes\\r\\nTheir distract parcels in combined sums.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Lo, this device was sent me from a nun,\\r\\nOr sister sanctified of holiest note,\\r\\nWhich late her noble suit in court did shun,\\r\\nWhose rarest havings made the blossoms dote;\\r\\nFor she was sought by spirits of richest coat,\\r\\nBut kept cold distance, and did thence remove\\r\\nTo spend her living in eternal love.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“But O, my sweet, what labour is’t to leave\\r\\nThe thing we have not, mast’ring what not strives,\\r\\nPlaning the place which did no form receive,\\r\\nPlaying patient sports in unconstrained gyves,\\r\\nShe that her fame so to herself contrives,\\r\\nThe scars of battle ’scapeth by the flight,\\r\\nAnd makes her absence valiant, not her might.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“O pardon me, in that my boast is true,\\r\\nThe accident which brought me to her eye,\\r\\nUpon the moment did her force subdue,\\r\\nAnd now she would the caged cloister fly:\\r\\nReligious love put out religion’s eye:\\r\\nNot to be tempted would she be immur’d,\\r\\nAnd now to tempt all, liberty procur’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“How mighty then you are, O hear me tell!\\r\\nThe broken bosoms that to me belong\\r\\nHave emptied all their fountains in my well,\\r\\nAnd mine I pour your ocean all among:\\r\\nI strong o’er them, and you o’er me being strong,\\r\\nMust for your victory us all congest,\\r\\nAs compound love to physic your cold breast.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“My parts had pow’r to charm a sacred nun,\\r\\nWho, disciplin’d and dieted in grace,\\r\\nBeliev’d her eyes when they t’assail begun,\\r\\nAll vows and consecrations giving place.\\r\\nO most potential love! Vow, bond, nor space,\\r\\nIn thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine,\\r\\nFor thou art all and all things else are thine.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“When thou impressest, what are precepts worth\\r\\nOf stale example? When thou wilt inflame,\\r\\nHow coldly those impediments stand forth,\\r\\nOf wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame!\\r\\nLove’s arms are peace, ’gainst rule, ’gainst sense, ’gainst shame,\\r\\nAnd sweetens, in the suff’ring pangs it bears,\\r\\nThe aloes of all forces, shocks and fears.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Now all these hearts that do on mine depend,\\r\\nFeeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine,\\r\\nAnd supplicant their sighs to your extend,\\r\\nTo leave the batt’ry that you make ’gainst mine,\\r\\nLending soft audience to my sweet design,\\r\\nAnd credent soul to that strong-bonded oath,\\r\\nThat shall prefer and undertake my troth.”\\r\\n\\r\\n‘This said, his wat’ry eyes he did dismount,\\r\\nWhose sights till then were levell’d on my face;\\r\\nEach cheek a river running from a fount\\r\\nWith brinish current downward flowed apace.\\r\\nO how the channel to the stream gave grace!\\r\\nWho, glaz’d with crystal gate the glowing roses\\r\\nThat flame through water which their hue encloses.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies\\r\\nIn the small orb of one particular tear!\\r\\nBut with the inundation of the eyes\\r\\nWhat rocky heart to water will not wear?\\r\\nWhat breast so cold that is not warmed here?\\r\\nO cleft effect! Cold modesty, hot wrath,\\r\\nBoth fire from hence and chill extincture hath.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘For lo, his passion, but an art of craft,\\r\\nEven there resolv’d my reason into tears;\\r\\nThere my white stole of chastity I daff’d,\\r\\nShook off my sober guards, and civil fears,\\r\\nAppear to him as he to me appears,\\r\\nAll melting, though our drops this diff’rence bore:\\r\\nHis poison’d me, and mine did him restore.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘In him a plenitude of subtle matter,\\r\\nApplied to cautels, all strange forms receives,\\r\\nOf burning blushes, or of weeping water,\\r\\nOr swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves,\\r\\nIn either’s aptness, as it best deceives,\\r\\nTo blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes,\\r\\nOr to turn white and swoon at tragic shows.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘That not a heart which in his level came\\r\\nCould ’scape the hail of his all-hurting aim,\\r\\nShowing fair nature is both kind and tame;\\r\\nAnd veil’d in them, did win whom he would maim.\\r\\nAgainst the thing he sought he would exclaim;\\r\\nWhen he most burned in heart-wish’d luxury,\\r\\nHe preach’d pure maid, and prais’d cold chastity.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Thus merely with the garment of a grace,\\r\\nThe naked and concealed fiend he cover’d,\\r\\nThat th’unexperient gave the tempter place,\\r\\nWhich, like a cherubin, above them hover’d.\\r\\nWho, young and simple, would not be so lover’d?\\r\\nAy me! I fell, and yet do question make\\r\\nWhat I should do again for such a sake.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘O, that infected moisture of his eye,\\r\\nO, that false fire which in his cheek so glow’d!\\r\\nO, that forc’d thunder from his heart did fly,\\r\\nO, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestow’d,\\r\\nO, all that borrowed motion, seeming owed,\\r\\nWould yet again betray the fore-betrayed,\\r\\nAnd new pervert a reconciled maid.’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE PASSIONATE PILGRIM\\r\\n\\r\\nI.\\r\\n\\r\\nDid not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,\\r\\n\\'Gainst whom the world could not hold argument,\\r\\nPersuade my heart to this false perjury?\\r\\nVows for thee broke deserve not punishment.\\r\\nA woman I forswore; but I will prove,\\r\\nThou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:\\r\\nMy vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;\\r\\nThy grace being gain\\'d cures all disgrace in me.\\r\\nMy vow was breath, and breath a vapour is;\\r\\nThen, thou fair sun, that on this earth doth shine,\\r\\nExhale this vapour vow; in thee it is:\\r\\nIf broken, then it is no fault of mine.\\r\\n If by me broke, what fool is not so wise\\r\\n To break an oath, to win a paradise?\\r\\n\\r\\nII.\\r\\n\\r\\nSweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook\\r\\nWith young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green,\\r\\nDid court the lad with many a lovely look,\\r\\nSuch looks as none could look but beauty\\'s queen.\\r\\nShe told him stories to delight his ear;\\r\\nShe show\\'d him favours to allure his eye;\\r\\nTo win his heart, she touch\\'d him here and there:\\r\\nTouches so soft still conquer chastity.\\r\\nBut whether unripe years did want conceit,\\r\\nOr he refus\\'d to take her figur\\'d proffer,\\r\\nThe tender nibbler would not touch the bait,\\r\\nBut smile and jest at every gentle offer:\\r\\n Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward;\\r\\n He rose and ran away; ah, fool too froward!\\r\\n\\r\\nIII.\\r\\n\\r\\nIf love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?\\r\\nO never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow\\'d:\\r\\nThough to myself forsworn, to thee I\\'ll constant prove;\\r\\nThose thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like osiers bow\\'d.\\r\\nStudy his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes,\\r\\nWhere all those pleasures live that art can comprehend.\\r\\nIf knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;\\r\\nWell learned is that tongue that well can thee commend;\\r\\nAll ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;\\r\\nWhich is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire:\\r\\nThy eye Jove\\'s lightning seems, thy voice his dreadful thunder,\\r\\nWhich (not to anger bent) is music and sweet fire.\\r\\n Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong,\\r\\n To sing heavens\\' praise with such an earthly tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nIV.\\r\\n\\r\\nScarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn,\\r\\nAnd scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade,\\r\\nWhen Cytherea, all in love forlorn,\\r\\nA longing tarriance for Adonis made,\\r\\nUnder an osier growing by a brook,\\r\\nA brook where Adon used to cool his spleen.\\r\\nHot was the day; she hotter that did look\\r\\nFor his approach, that often there had been.\\r\\nAnon he comes, and throws his mantle by,\\r\\nAnd stood stark naked on the brook\\'s green brim;\\r\\nThe sun look\\'d on the world with glorious eye,\\r\\nYet not so wistly as this queen on him:\\r\\n He, spying her, bounc\\'d in, whereas he stood;\\r\\n O Jove, quoth she, why was not I a flood?\\r\\n\\r\\nV.\\r\\n\\r\\nFair is my love, but not so fair as fickle;\\r\\nMild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty;\\r\\nBrighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle;\\r\\nSofter than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty:\\r\\n A lily pale, with damask die to grace her,\\r\\n None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer lips to mine how often hath she join\\'d,\\r\\nBetween each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!\\r\\nHow many tales to please me hath she coin\\'d,\\r\\nDreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing!\\r\\n Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings,\\r\\n Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe burn\\'d with love, as straw with fire flameth;\\r\\nShe burn\\'d out love, as soon as straw outburneth;\\r\\nShe fram\\'d the love, and yet she foil\\'d the framing;\\r\\nShe bade love last, and yet she fell a turning.\\r\\n Was this a lover, or a lecher whether?\\r\\n Bad in the best, though excellent in neither.\\r\\n\\r\\nVI.\\r\\n\\r\\nIf music and sweet poetry agree,\\r\\nAs they must needs, the sister and the brother,\\r\\nThen must the love be great \\'twixt thee and me,\\r\\nBecause thou lovest the one, and I the other.\\r\\nDowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch\\r\\nUpon the lute doth ravish human sense;\\r\\nSpenser to me, whose deep conceit is such\\r\\nAs, passing all conceit, needs no defence.\\r\\nThou lov\\'st to hear the sweet melodious sound\\r\\nThat Phoebus\\' lute, the queen of music, makes;\\r\\nAnd I in deep delight am chiefly drown\\'d\\r\\nWhenas himself to singing he betakes.\\r\\n One god is god of both, as poets feign;\\r\\n One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.\\r\\n\\r\\nVII.\\r\\n\\r\\nFair was the morn when the fair queen of love,\\r\\n * * * * * *\\r\\nPaler for sorrow than her milk-white dove,\\r\\nFor Adon\\'s sake, a youngster proud and wild;\\r\\nHer stand she takes upon a steep-up hill:\\r\\nAnon Adonis comes with horn and hounds;\\r\\nShe, silly queen, with more than love\\'s good will,\\r\\nForbade the boy he should not pass those grounds;\\r\\nOnce, quoth she, did I see a fair sweet youth\\r\\nHere in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar,\\r\\nDeep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth!\\r\\nSee, in my thigh, quoth she, here was the sore.\\r\\n She showed hers: he saw more wounds than one,\\r\\n And blushing fled, and left her all alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIII.\\r\\n\\r\\nSweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck\\'d, soon vaded,\\r\\nPluck\\'d in the bud, and vaded in the spring!\\r\\nBright orient pearl, alack! too timely shaded!\\r\\nFair creature, kill\\'d too soon by death\\'s sharp sting!\\r\\n Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree,\\r\\n And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.\\r\\n\\r\\nI weep for thee, and yet no cause I have;\\r\\nFor why? thou left\\'st me nothing in thy will:\\r\\nAnd yet thou left\\'st me more than I did crave;\\r\\nFor why? I craved nothing of thee still:\\r\\n O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee,\\r\\n Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIX.\\r\\n\\r\\nVenus, with young Adonis sitting by her,\\r\\nUnder a myrtle shade, began to woo him:\\r\\nShe told the youngling how god Mars did try her,\\r\\nAnd as he fell to her, so fell she to him.\\r\\nEven thus, quoth she, the warlike god embrac\\'d me,\\r\\nAnd then she clipp\\'d Adonis in her arms;\\r\\nEven thus, quoth she, the warlike god unlaced me;\\r\\nAs if the boy should use like loving charms;\\r\\nEven thus, quoth she, he seized on my lips,\\r\\nAnd with her lips on his did act the seizure;\\r\\nAnd as she fetched breath, away he skips,\\r\\nAnd would not take her meaning nor her pleasure.\\r\\n Ah! that I had my lady at this bay,\\r\\n To kiss and clip me till I run away!\\r\\n\\r\\nX.\\r\\n\\r\\n Crabbed age and youth\\r\\n Cannot live together\\r\\n Youth is full of pleasance,\\r\\n Age is full of care;\\r\\n Youth like summer morn,\\r\\n Age like winter weather;\\r\\n Youth like summer brave,\\r\\n Age like winter bare;\\r\\n Youth is full of sport,\\r\\n Age\\'s breath is short;\\r\\n Youth is nimble, age is lame;\\r\\n Youth is hot and bold,\\r\\n Age is weak and cold;\\r\\n Youth is wild, and age is tame.\\r\\n Age, I do abhor thee;\\r\\n Youth, I do adore thee;\\r\\n O, my love, my love is young!\\r\\n Age, I do defy thee;\\r\\n O, sweet shepherd, hie thee,\\r\\n For methinks thou stay\\'st too long.\\r\\n\\r\\nXI.\\r\\n\\r\\nBeauty is but a vain and doubtful good,\\r\\nA shining gloss that vadeth suddenly;\\r\\nA flower that dies when first it \\'gins to bud;\\r\\nA brittle glass, that\\'s broken presently:\\r\\n A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,\\r\\n Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd as goods lost are seld or never found,\\r\\nAs vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh,\\r\\nAs flowers dead lie wither\\'d on the ground,\\r\\nAs broken glass no cement can redress,\\r\\n So beauty blemish\\'d once, for ever\\'s lost,\\r\\n In spite of physic, painting, pain and cost.\\r\\n\\r\\nXII.\\r\\n\\r\\nGood night, good rest. Ah! neither be my share:\\r\\nShe bade good night that kept my rest away;\\r\\nAnd daff\\'d me to a cabin hang\\'d with care,\\r\\nTo descant on the doubts of my decay.\\r\\n Farewell, quoth she, and come again tomorrow:\\r\\n Fare well I could not, for I supp\\'d with sorrow;\\r\\n\\r\\nYet at my parting sweetly did she smile,\\r\\nIn scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether:\\r\\n\\'T may be, she joy\\'d to jest at my exile,\\r\\n\\'T may be, again to make me wander thither:\\r\\n \\'Wander,\\' a word for shadows like myself,\\r\\n As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.\\r\\n\\r\\nXIII.\\r\\n\\r\\nLord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east!\\r\\nMy heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise\\r\\nDoth cite each moving sense from idle rest.\\r\\nNot daring trust the office of mine eyes,\\r\\n While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,\\r\\n And wish her lays were tuned like the lark;\\r\\n\\r\\nFor she doth welcome daylight with her ditty,\\r\\nAnd drives away dark dismal-dreaming night:\\r\\nThe night so pack\\'d, I post unto my pretty;\\r\\nHeart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight;\\r\\n Sorrow chang\\'d to solace, solace mix\\'d with sorrow;\\r\\n For why, she sigh\\'d and bade me come tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nWere I with her, the night would post too soon;\\r\\nBut now are minutes added to the hours;\\r\\nTo spite me now, each minute seems a moon;\\r\\nYet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers!\\r\\n Pack night, peep day; good day, of night now borrow:\\r\\n Short, night, to-night, and length thyself to-morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nLet the bird of loudest lay,\\r\\nOn the sole Arabian tree,\\r\\nHerald sad and trumpet be,\\r\\nTo whose sound chaste wings obey.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut thou shrieking harbinger,\\r\\nFoul precurrer of the fiend,\\r\\nAugur of the fever’s end,\\r\\nTo this troop come thou not near.\\r\\n\\r\\nFrom this session interdict\\r\\nEvery fowl of tyrant wing,\\r\\nSave the eagle, feather’d king;\\r\\nKeep the obsequy so strict.\\r\\n\\r\\nLet the priest in surplice white,\\r\\nThat defunctive music can,\\r\\nBe the death-divining swan,\\r\\nLest the requiem lack his right.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd thou treble-dated crow,\\r\\nThat thy sable gender mak’st\\r\\nWith the breath thou giv’st and tak’st,\\r\\n’Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere the anthem doth commence:\\r\\nLove and constancy is dead;\\r\\nPhoenix and the turtle fled\\r\\nIn a mutual flame from hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo they lov’d, as love in twain\\r\\nHad the essence but in one;\\r\\nTwo distincts, division none:\\r\\nNumber there in love was slain.\\r\\n\\r\\nHearts remote, yet not asunder;\\r\\nDistance and no space was seen\\r\\n’Twixt this turtle and his queen;\\r\\nBut in them it were a wonder.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo between them love did shine,\\r\\nThat the turtle saw his right\\r\\nFlaming in the phoenix’ sight;\\r\\nEither was the other’s mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nProperty was thus appalled,\\r\\nThat the self was not the same;\\r\\nSingle nature’s double name\\r\\nNeither two nor one was called.\\r\\n\\r\\nReason, in itself confounded,\\r\\nSaw division grow together;\\r\\nTo themselves yet either neither,\\r\\nSimple were so well compounded.\\r\\n\\r\\nThat it cried, How true a twain\\r\\nSeemeth this concordant one!\\r\\nLove hath reason, reason none,\\r\\nIf what parts can so remain.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhereupon it made this threne\\r\\nTo the phoenix and the dove,\\r\\nCo-supremes and stars of love,\\r\\nAs chorus to their tragic scene.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n THRENOS\\r\\n\\r\\nBeauty, truth, and rarity.\\r\\nGrace in all simplicity,\\r\\nHere enclos’d in cinders lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nDeath is now the phoenix’ nest;\\r\\nAnd the turtle’s loyal breast\\r\\nTo eternity doth rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nLeaving no posterity:—\\r\\n’Twas not their infirmity,\\r\\nIt was married chastity.\\r\\n\\r\\nTruth may seem, but cannot be;\\r\\nBeauty brag, but ’tis not she;\\r\\nTruth and beauty buried be.\\r\\n\\r\\nTo this urn let those repair\\r\\nThat are either true or fair;\\r\\nFor these dead birds sigh a prayer.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE RAPE OF LUCRECE\\r\\n\\r\\n TO THE\\r\\n\\r\\n RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,\\r\\n\\r\\n EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TITCHFIELD.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE love I dedicate to your Lordship is without end; whereof this\\r\\npamphlet, without beginning, is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant\\r\\nI have of your honourable disposition, not the worth of my untutored\\r\\nlines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours; what\\r\\nI have to do is yours; being part in all I have, devoted yours. Were\\r\\nmy worth greater, my duty would show greater; meantime, as it is, it is\\r\\nbound to your Lordship, to whom I wish long life, still lengthened with\\r\\nall happiness.\\r\\n\\r\\n Your Lordship\\'s in all duty,\\r\\n WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.\\r\\n\\r\\n THE ARGUMENT.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS TARQUINIUS (for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus), after he\\r\\nhad caused his own father-in-law, Servius Tullius, to be cruelly\\r\\nmurdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not requiring or\\r\\nstaying for the people\\'s suffrages, had possessed himself of the\\r\\nkingdom, went, accompanied with his sons and other noblemen of Rome, to\\r\\nbesiege Ardea. During which siege the principal men of the army\\r\\nmeeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquinius, the king\\'s son,\\r\\nin their discourses after supper, every one commended the virtues of\\r\\nhis own wife; among whom Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity\\r\\nof his wife Lucretia. In that pleasant humour they all posted to Rome;\\r\\nand intending, by their secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of\\r\\nthat which every one had before avouched, only Collatinus finds his\\r\\nwife, though it were late in the night, spinning amongst her maids: the\\r\\nother ladies were all found dancing and revelling, or in several\\r\\ndisports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus the victory, and\\r\\nhis wife the fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius being inflamed with\\r\\nLucrece\\'s beauty, yet smothering his passions for the present, departed\\r\\nwith the rest back to the camp; from whence he shortly after privily\\r\\nwithdrew himself, and was (according to his estate) royally entertained\\r\\nand lodged by Lucrece at Collatium. The same night he treacherously\\r\\nstealeth into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the\\r\\nmorning speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight, hastily\\r\\ndispatched messengers, one to Rome for her father, another to the camp\\r\\nfor Collatine. They came, the one accompanied with Junius Brutus, the\\r\\nother with Publius Valerius; and finding Lucrece attired in mourning\\r\\nhabit, demanded the cause of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of\\r\\nthem for her revenge, revealed the actor, and whole manner of his\\r\\ndealing, and withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one\\r\\nconsent they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the\\r\\nTarquins; and bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted the\\r\\npeople with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a bitter\\r\\ninvective against the tyranny of the king; wherewith the people were so\\r\\nmoved, that with one consent and a general acclamation the Tarquins\\r\\nwere all exiled, and the state government changed from kings to\\r\\nconsuls.\\r\\n\\r\\n_______________________________________________________________\\r\\n\\r\\nFrom the besieged Ardea all in post,\\r\\nBorne by the trustless wings of false desire,\\r\\nLust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host,\\r\\nAnd to Collatium bears the lightless fire\\r\\nWhich, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire\\r\\n And girdle with embracing flames the waist\\r\\n Of Collatine\\'s fair love, Lucrece the chaste.\\r\\n\\r\\nHaply that name of chaste unhapp\\'ly set\\r\\nThis bateless edge on his keen appetite;\\r\\nWhen Collatine unwisely did not let\\r\\nTo praise the clear unmatched red and white\\r\\nWhich triumph\\'d in that sky of his delight,\\r\\n Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven\\'s beauties,\\r\\n With pure aspects did him peculiar duties.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor he the night before, in Tarquin\\'s tent,\\r\\nUnlock\\'d the treasure of his happy state;\\r\\nWhat priceless wealth the heavens had him lent\\r\\nIn the possession of his beauteous mate;\\r\\nReckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate,\\r\\n That kings might be espoused to more fame,\\r\\n But king nor peer to such a peerless dame.\\r\\n\\r\\nO happiness enjoy\\'d but of a few!\\r\\nAnd, if possess\\'d, as soon decay\\'d and done\\r\\nAs is the morning\\'s silver-melting dew\\r\\nAgainst the golden splendour of the sun!\\r\\nAn expir\\'d date, cancell\\'d ere well begun:\\r\\n Honour and beauty, in the owner\\'s arms,\\r\\n Are weakly fortress\\'d from a world of harms.\\r\\n\\r\\nBeauty itself doth of itself persuade\\r\\nThe eyes of men without an orator;\\r\\nWhat needeth then apologies be made,\\r\\nTo set forth that which is so singular?\\r\\nOr why is Collatine the publisher\\r\\n Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown\\r\\n From thievish ears, because it is his own?\\r\\n\\r\\nPerchance his boast of Lucrece\\' sovereignty\\r\\nSuggested this proud issue of a king;\\r\\nFor by our ears our hearts oft tainted be:\\r\\nPerchance that envy of so rich a thing,\\r\\nBraving compare, disdainfully did sting\\r\\n His high-pitch\\'d thoughts, that meaner men should vaunt\\r\\n That golden hap which their superiors want.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut some untimely thought did instigate\\r\\nHis all-too-timeless speed, if none of those;\\r\\nHis honour, his affairs, his friends, his state,\\r\\nNeglected all, with swift intent he goes\\r\\nTo quench the coal which in his liver glows.\\r\\n O rash false heat, wrapp\\'d in repentant cold,\\r\\n Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne\\'er grows old!\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen at Collatium this false lord arriv\\'d,\\r\\nWell was he welcom\\'d by the Roman dame,\\r\\nWithin whose face beauty and virtue striv\\'d\\r\\nWhich of them both should underprop her fame:\\r\\nWhen virtue bragg\\'d, beauty would blush for shame;\\r\\n When beauty boasted blushes, in despite\\r\\n Virtue would stain that or with silver white.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut beauty, in that white intituled,\\r\\nFrom Venus\\' doves doth challenge that fair field:\\r\\nThen virtue claims from beauty beauty\\'s red,\\r\\nWhich virtue gave the golden age, to gild\\r\\nTheir silver cheeks, and call\\'d it then their shield;\\r\\n Teaching them thus to use it in the fight,—\\r\\n When shame assail\\'d, the red should fence the white.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis heraldry in Lucrece\\' face was seen,\\r\\nArgued by beauty\\'s red, and virtue\\'s white:\\r\\nOf either\\'s colour was the other queen,\\r\\nProving from world\\'s minority their right:\\r\\nYet their ambition makes them still to fight;\\r\\n The sovereignty of either being so great,\\r\\n That oft they interchange each other\\'s seat.\\r\\n\\r\\nTheir silent war of lilies and of roses,\\r\\nWhich Tarquin view\\'d in her fair face\\'s field,\\r\\nIn their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses;\\r\\nWhere, lest between them both it should be kill\\'d,\\r\\nThe coward captive vanquish\\'d doth yield\\r\\n To those two armies that would let him go,\\r\\n Rather than triumph in so false a foe.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow thinks he that her husband\\'s shallow tongue,\\r\\n(The niggard prodigal that prais\\'d her so)\\r\\nIn that high task hath done her beauty wrong,\\r\\nWhich far exceeds his barren skill to show:\\r\\nTherefore that praise which Collatine doth owe\\r\\n Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise,\\r\\n In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis earthly saint, adored by this devil,\\r\\nLittle suspecteth the false worshipper;\\r\\nFor unstain\\'d thoughts do seldom dream on evil;\\r\\nBirds never lim\\'d no secret bushes fear:\\r\\nSo guiltless she securely gives good cheer\\r\\n And reverend welcome to her princely guest,\\r\\n Whose inward ill no outward harm express\\'d:\\r\\n\\r\\nFor that he colour\\'d with his high estate,\\r\\nHiding base sin in plaits of majesty;\\r\\nThat nothing in him seem\\'d inordinate,\\r\\nSave sometime too much wonder of his eye,\\r\\nWhich, having all, all could not satisfy;\\r\\n But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store,\\r\\n That, cloy\\'d with much, he pineth still for more.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut she, that never cop\\'d with stranger eyes,\\r\\nCould pick no meaning from their parling looks,\\r\\nNor read the subtle-shining secrecies\\r\\nWrit in the glassy margents of such books;\\r\\nShe touch\\'d no unknown baits, nor fear\\'d no hooks;\\r\\n Nor could she moralize his wanton sight,\\r\\n More than his eyes were open\\'d to the light.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe stories to her ears her husband\\'s fame,\\r\\nWon in the fields of fruitful Italy;\\r\\nAnd decks with praises Collatine\\'s high name,\\r\\nMade glorious by his manly chivalry\\r\\nWith bruised arms and wreaths of victory:\\r\\n Her joy with heav\\'d-up hand she doth express,\\r\\n And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success.\\r\\n\\r\\nFar from the purpose of his coming hither,\\r\\nHe makes excuses for his being there.\\r\\nNo cloudy show of stormy blustering weather\\r\\nDoth yet in his fair welkin once appear;\\r\\nTill sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear,\\r\\n Upon the world dim darkness doth display,\\r\\n And in her vaulty prison stows the day.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor then is Tarquin brought unto his bed,\\r\\nIntending weariness with heavy spright;\\r\\nFor, after supper, long he questioned\\r\\nWith modest Lucrece, and wore out the night:\\r\\nNow leaden slumber with life\\'s strength doth fight;\\r\\n And every one to rest themselves betake,\\r\\n Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds, that wake.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving\\r\\nThe sundry dangers of his will\\'s obtaining;\\r\\nYet ever to obtain his will resolving,\\r\\nThough weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining:\\r\\nDespair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining;\\r\\n And when great treasure is the meed propos\\'d,\\r\\n Though death be adjunct, there\\'s no death suppos\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nThose that much covet are with gain so fond,\\r\\nFor what they have not, that which they possess\\r\\nThey scatter and unloose it from their bond,\\r\\nAnd so, by hoping more, they have but less;\\r\\nOr, gaining more, the profit of excess\\r\\n Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain,\\r\\n That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe aim of all is but to nurse the life\\r\\nWith honour, wealth, and ease, in waning age;\\r\\nAnd in this aim there is such thwarting strife,\\r\\nThat one for all, or all for one we gage;\\r\\nAs life for honour in fell battles\\' rage;\\r\\n Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost\\r\\n The death of all, and all together lost.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo that in vent\\'ring ill we leave to be\\r\\nThe things we are, for that which we expect;\\r\\nAnd this ambitious foul infirmity,\\r\\nIn having much, torments us with defect\\r\\nOf that we have: so then we do neglect\\r\\n The thing we have; and, all for want of wit,\\r\\n Make something nothing, by augmenting it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSuch hazard now must doting Tarquin make,\\r\\nPawning his honour to obtain his lust;\\r\\nAnd for himself himself he must forsake:\\r\\nThen where is truth, if there be no self-trust?\\r\\nWhen shall he think to find a stranger just,\\r\\n When he himself himself confounds, betrays\\r\\n To slanderous tongues and wretched hateful days?\\r\\n\\r\\nNow stole upon the time the dead of night,\\r\\nWhen heavy sleep had closed up mortal eyes:\\r\\nNo comfortable star did lend his light,\\r\\nNo noise but owls\\' and wolves\\' death-boding cries;\\r\\nNow serves the season that they may surprise\\r\\n The silly lambs; pure thoughts are dead and still,\\r\\n While lust and murder wake to stain and kill.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd now this lustful lord leap\\'d from his bed,\\r\\nThrowing his mantle rudely o\\'er his arm;\\r\\nIs madly toss\\'d between desire and dread;\\r\\nTh\\' one sweetly flatters, th\\' other feareth harm;\\r\\nBut honest Fear, bewitch\\'d with lust\\'s foul charm,\\r\\n Doth too too oft betake him to retire,\\r\\n Beaten away by brain-sick rude Desire.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis falchion on a flint he softly smiteth,\\r\\nThat from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly;\\r\\nWhereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth,\\r\\nWhich must be lode-star to his lustful eye;\\r\\nAnd to the flame thus speaks advisedly:\\r\\n \\'As from this cold flint I enforced this fire,\\r\\n So Lucrece must I force to my desire.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere pale with fear he doth premeditate\\r\\nThe dangers of his loathsome enterprise,\\r\\nAnd in his inward mind he doth debate\\r\\nWhat following sorrow may on this arise;\\r\\nThen looking scornfully, he doth despise\\r\\n His naked armour of still-slaughter\\'d lust,\\r\\n And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not\\r\\nTo darken her whose light excelleth thine:\\r\\nAnd die, unhallow\\'d thoughts, before you blot\\r\\nWith your uncleanness that which is divine!\\r\\nOffer pure incense to so pure a shrine:\\r\\n Let fair humanity abhor the deed\\r\\n That spots and stains love\\'s modest snow-white weed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O shame to knighthood and to shining arms!\\r\\nO foul dishonour to my household\\'s grave!\\r\\nO impious act, including all foul harms!\\r\\nA martial man to be soft fancy\\'s slave!\\r\\nTrue valour still a true respect should have;\\r\\n Then my digression is so vile, so base,\\r\\n That it will live engraven in my face.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive,\\r\\nAnd be an eye-sore in my golden coat;\\r\\nSome loathsome dash the herald will contrive,\\r\\nTo cipher me how fondly I did dote;\\r\\nThat my posterity, sham\\'d with the note,\\r\\n Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin\\r\\n To wish that I their father had not been.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'What win I, if I gain the thing I seek?\\r\\nA dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy:\\r\\nWho buys a minute\\'s mirth to wail a week?\\r\\nOr sells eternity to get a toy?\\r\\nFor one sweet grape who will the vine destroy?\\r\\n Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown,\\r\\n Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'If Collatinus dream of my intent,\\r\\nWill he not wake, and in a desperate rage\\r\\nPost hither, this vile purpose to prevent?\\r\\nThis siege that hath engirt his marriage,\\r\\nThis blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage,\\r\\n This dying virtue, this surviving shame,\\r\\n Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O, what excuse can my invention make\\r\\nWhen thou shalt charge me with so black a deed?\\r\\nWill not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake?\\r\\nMine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed?\\r\\nThe guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed;\\r\\n And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly,\\r\\n But, coward-like, with trembling terror die.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Had Collatinus kill\\'d my son or sire,\\r\\nOr lain in ambush to betray my life,\\r\\nOr were he not my dear friend, this desire\\r\\nMight have excuse to work upon his wife;\\r\\nAs in revenge or quittal of such strife:\\r\\n But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend,\\r\\n The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Shameful it is;—ay, if the fact be known:\\r\\nHateful it is:— there is no hate in loving;\\r\\nI\\'ll beg her love;—but she is not her own;\\r\\nThe worst is but denial and reproving:\\r\\nMy will is strong, past reason\\'s weak removing.\\r\\n Who fears a sentence or an old man\\'s saw\\r\\n Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThus, graceless, holds he disputation\\r\\n\\'Tween frozen conscience and hot-burning will,\\r\\nAnd with good thoughts makes dispensation,\\r\\nUrging the worser sense for vantage still;\\r\\nWhich in a moment doth confound and kill\\r\\n All pure effects, and doth so far proceed,\\r\\n That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed.\\r\\n\\r\\nQuoth he, \\'She took me kindly by the hand,\\r\\nAnd gaz\\'d for tidings in my eager eyes,\\r\\nFearing some hard news from the warlike band,\\r\\nWhere her beloved Collatinus lies.\\r\\nO how her fear did make her colour rise!\\r\\n First red as roses that on lawn we lay,\\r\\n Then white as lawn, the roses took away.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And how her hand, in my hand being lock\\'d,\\r\\nForc\\'d it to tremble with her loyal fear;\\r\\nWhich struck her sad, and then it faster rock\\'d,\\r\\nUntil her husband\\'s welfare she did hear;\\r\\nWhereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer,\\r\\n That had Narcissus seen her as she stood,\\r\\n Self-love had never drown\\'d him in the flood.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why hunt I then for colour or excuses?\\r\\nAll orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth;\\r\\nPoor wretches have remorse in poor abuses;\\r\\nLove thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth:\\r\\nAffection is my captain, and he leadeth;\\r\\n And when his gaudy banner is display\\'d,\\r\\n The coward fights and will not be dismay\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Then, childish fear, avaunt! debating, die!\\r\\nRespect and reason wait on wrinkled age!\\r\\nMy heart shall never countermand mine eye;\\r\\nSad pause and deep regard beseem the sage;\\r\\nMy part is youth, and beats these from the stage:\\r\\n Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize;\\r\\n Then who fears sinking where such treasure lies?\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nAs corn o\\'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear\\r\\nIs almost chok\\'d by unresisted lust.\\r\\nAway he steals with opening, listening ear,\\r\\nFull of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust;\\r\\nBoth which, as servitors to the unjust,\\r\\n So cross him with their opposite persuasion,\\r\\n That now he vows a league, and now invasion.\\r\\n\\r\\nWithin his thought her heavenly image sits,\\r\\nAnd in the self-same seat sits Collatine:\\r\\nThat eye which looks on her confounds his wits;\\r\\nThat eye which him beholds, as more divine,\\r\\nUnto a view so false will not incline;\\r\\n But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart,\\r\\n Which once corrupted takes the worser part;\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd therein heartens up his servile powers,\\r\\nWho, flatter\\'d by their leader\\'s jocund show,\\r\\nStuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours;\\r\\nAnd as their captain, so their pride doth grow.\\r\\nPaying more slavish tribute than they owe.\\r\\n By reprobate desire thus madly led,\\r\\n The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece\\' bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe locks between her chamber and his will,\\r\\nEach one by him enforc\\'d retires his ward;\\r\\nBut, as they open they all rate his ill,\\r\\nWhich drives the creeping thief to some regard,\\r\\nThe threshold grates the door to have him heard;\\r\\n Night-wand\\'ring weasels shriek to see him there;\\r\\n They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs each unwilling portal yields him way,\\r\\nThrough little vents and crannies of the place\\r\\nThe wind wars with his torch, to make him stay,\\r\\nAnd blows the smoke of it into his face,\\r\\nExtinguishing his conduct in this case;\\r\\n But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch,\\r\\n Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch:\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd being lighted, by the light he spies\\r\\nLucretia\\'s glove, wherein her needle sticks;\\r\\nHe takes it from the rushes where it lies,\\r\\nAnd griping it, the neeld his finger pricks:\\r\\nAs who should say this glove to wanton tricks\\r\\n Is not inur\\'d: return again in haste;\\r\\n Thou see\\'st our mistress\\' ornaments are chaste.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut all these poor forbiddings could not stay him;\\r\\nHe in the worst sense construes their denial:\\r\\nThe doors, the wind, the glove that did delay him,\\r\\nHe takes for accidental things of trial;\\r\\nOr as those bars which stop the hourly dial,\\r\\n Who with a lingering stay his course doth let,\\r\\n Till every minute pays the hour his debt.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So, so,\\' quoth he, \\'these lets attend the time,\\r\\nLike little frosts that sometime threat the spring.\\r\\nTo add a more rejoicing to the prime,\\r\\nAnd give the sneaped birds more cause to sing.\\r\\nPain pays the income of each precious thing;\\r\\n Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves and sands,\\r\\n The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nNow is he come unto the chamber door,\\r\\nThat shuts him from the heaven of his thought,\\r\\nWhich with a yielding latch, and with no more,\\r\\nHath barr\\'d him from the blessed thing he sought.\\r\\nSo from himself impiety hath wrought,\\r\\n That for his prey to pray he doth begin,\\r\\n As if the heavens should countenance his sin.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut in the midst of his unfruitful prayer,\\r\\nHaving solicited the eternal power,\\r\\nThat his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair,\\r\\nAnd they would stand auspicious to the hour,\\r\\nEven there he starts:—quoth he, \\'I must de-flower;\\r\\n The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact,\\r\\n How can they then assist me in the act?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide!\\r\\nMy will is back\\'d with resolution:\\r\\nThoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried,\\r\\nThe blackest sin is clear\\'d with absolution;\\r\\nAgainst love\\'s fire fear\\'s frost hath dissolution.\\r\\n The eye of heaven is out, and misty night\\r\\n Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, his guilty hand pluck\\'d up the latch,\\r\\nAnd with his knee the door he opens wide:\\r\\nThe dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch;\\r\\nThus treason works ere traitors be espied.\\r\\nWho sees the lurking serpent steps aside;\\r\\n But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing,\\r\\n Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting.\\r\\n\\r\\nInto the chamber wickedly he stalks,\\r\\nAnd gazeth on her yet unstained bed.\\r\\nThe curtains being close, about he walks,\\r\\nRolling his greedy eyeballs in his head:\\r\\nBy their high treason is his heart misled;\\r\\n Which gives the watch-word to his hand full soon\\r\\n To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook, as the fair and fiery-pointed sun,\\r\\nRushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight;\\r\\nEven so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun\\r\\nTo wink, being blinded with a greater light:\\r\\nWhether it is that she reflects so bright,\\r\\n That dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed;\\r\\n But blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed.\\r\\n\\r\\nO, had they in that darksome prison died,\\r\\nThen had they seen the period of their ill!\\r\\nThen Collatine again by Lucrece\\' side\\r\\nIn his clear bed might have reposed still:\\r\\nBut they must ope, this blessed league to kill;\\r\\n And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight\\r\\n Must sell her joy, her life, her world\\'s delight.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer lily hand her rosy cheek lies under,\\r\\nCozening the pillow of a lawful kiss;\\r\\nWho, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder,\\r\\nSwelling on either side to want his bliss;\\r\\nBetween whose hills her head entombed is:\\r\\n Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies,\\r\\n To be admir\\'d of lewd unhallow\\'d eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nWithout the bed her other fair hand was,\\r\\nOn the green coverlet; whose perfect white\\r\\nShow\\'d like an April daisy on the grass,\\r\\nWith pearly sweat, resembling dew of night,\\r\\nHer eyes, like marigolds, had sheath\\'d their light,\\r\\n And canopied in darkness sweetly lay,\\r\\n Till they might open to adorn the day.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer hair, like golden threads, play\\'d with her breath;\\r\\nO modest wantons! wanton modesty!\\r\\nShowing life\\'s triumph in the map of death,\\r\\nAnd death\\'s dim look in life\\'s mortality:\\r\\nEach in her sleep themselves so beautify,\\r\\n As if between them twain there were no strife,\\r\\n But that life liv\\'d in death, and death in life.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue,\\r\\nA pair of maiden worlds unconquered,\\r\\nSave of their lord no bearing yoke they knew,\\r\\nAnd him by oath they truly honoured.\\r\\nThese worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred:\\r\\n Who, like a foul usurper, went about\\r\\n From this fair throne to heave the owner out.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat could he see but mightily he noted?\\r\\nWhat did he note but strongly he desir\\'d?\\r\\nWhat he beheld, on that he firmly doted,\\r\\nAnd in his will his wilful eye he tir\\'d.\\r\\nWith more than admiration he admir\\'d\\r\\n Her azure veins, her alabaster skin,\\r\\n Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs the grim lion fawneth o\\'er his prey,\\r\\nSharp hunger by the conquest satisfied,\\r\\nSo o\\'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay,\\r\\nHis rage of lust by grazing qualified;\\r\\nSlack\\'d, not suppress\\'d; for standing by her side,\\r\\n His eye, which late this mutiny restrains,\\r\\n Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins:\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting,\\r\\nObdurate vassals. fell exploits effecting,\\r\\nIn bloody death and ravishment delighting,\\r\\nNor children\\'s tears nor mothers\\' groans respecting,\\r\\nSwell in their pride, the onset still expecting:\\r\\n Anon his beating heart, alarum striking,\\r\\n Gives the hot charge and bids them do their liking.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis drumming heart cheers up his burning eye,\\r\\nHis eye commends the leading to his hand;\\r\\nHis hand, as proud of such a dignity,\\r\\nSmoking with pride, march\\'d on to make his stand\\r\\nOn her bare breast, the heart of all her land;\\r\\n Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale,\\r\\n Left their round turrets destitute and pale.\\r\\n\\r\\nThey, mustering to the quiet cabinet\\r\\nWhere their dear governess and lady lies,\\r\\nDo tell her she is dreadfully beset,\\r\\nAnd fright her with confusion of their cries:\\r\\nShe, much amaz\\'d, breaks ope her lock\\'d-up eyes,\\r\\n Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold,\\r\\n Are by his flaming torch dimm\\'d and controll\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nImagine her as one in dead of night\\r\\nFrom forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking,\\r\\nThat thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite,\\r\\nWhose grim aspect sets every joint a shaking:\\r\\nWhat terror \\'tis! but she, in worser taking,\\r\\n From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view\\r\\n The sight which makes supposed terror true.\\r\\n\\r\\nWrapp\\'d and confounded in a thousand fears,\\r\\nLike to a new-kill\\'d bird she trembling lies;\\r\\nShe dares not look; yet, winking, there appears\\r\\nQuick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes:\\r\\nSuch shadows are the weak brain\\'s forgeries:\\r\\n Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights,\\r\\n In darkness daunts them with more dreadful sights.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis hand, that yet remains upon her breast,\\r\\n(Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall!)\\r\\nMay feel her heart, poor citizen, distress\\'d,\\r\\nWounding itself to death, rise up and fall,\\r\\nBeating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal.\\r\\n This moves in him more rage, and lesser pity,\\r\\n To make the breach, and enter this sweet city.\\r\\n\\r\\nFirst, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin\\r\\nTo sound a parley to his heartless foe,\\r\\nWho o\\'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin,\\r\\nThe reason of this rash alarm to know,\\r\\nWhich he by dumb demeanour seeks to show;\\r\\n But she with vehement prayers urgeth still\\r\\n Under what colour he commits this ill.\\r\\n\\r\\nThus he replies: \\'The colour in thy face,\\r\\n(That even for anger makes the lily pale,\\r\\nAnd the red rose blush at her own disgrace)\\r\\nShall plead for me and tell my loving tale:\\r\\nUnder that colour am I come to scale\\r\\n Thy never-conquer\\'d fort: the fault is thine,\\r\\n For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide:\\r\\nThy beauty hath ensnared thee to this night,\\r\\nWhere thou with patience must my will abide,\\r\\nMy will that marks thee for my earth\\'s delight,\\r\\nWhich I to conquer sought with all my might;\\r\\n But as reproof and reason beat it dead,\\r\\n By thy bright beauty was it newly bred.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'I see what crosses my attempt will bring;\\r\\nI know what thorns the growing rose defends;\\r\\nI think the honey guarded with a sting;\\r\\nAll this, beforehand, counsel comprehends:\\r\\nBut will is deaf, and hears no heedful friends;\\r\\n Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty,\\r\\n And dotes on what he looks, \\'gainst law or duty.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'I have debated, even in my soul,\\r\\nWhat wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall breed;\\r\\nBut nothing can Affection\\'s course control,\\r\\nOr stop the headlong fury of his speed.\\r\\nI know repentant tears ensue the deed,\\r\\n Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity;\\r\\n Yet strike I to embrace mine infamy.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade,\\r\\nWhich, like a falcon towering in the skies,\\r\\nCoucheth the fowl below with his wings\\' shade,\\r\\nWhose crooked beak threats if he mount he dies:\\r\\nSo under his insulting falchion lies\\r\\n Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells\\r\\n With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon\\'s bells.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Lucrece,\\' quoth he, \\'this night I must enjoy thee:\\r\\nIf thou deny, then force must work my way,\\r\\nFor in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee;\\r\\nThat done, some worthless slave of thine I\\'ll slay.\\r\\nTo kill thine honour with thy life\\'s decay;\\r\\n And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him,\\r\\n Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So thy surviving husband shall remain\\r\\nThe scornful mark of every open eye;\\r\\nThy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain,\\r\\nThy issue blurr\\'d with nameless bastardy:\\r\\nAnd thou, the author of their obloquy,\\r\\n Shalt have thy trespass cited up in rhymes,\\r\\n And sung by children in succeeding times.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend:\\r\\nThe fault unknown is as a thought unacted;\\r\\nA little harm, done to a great good end,\\r\\nFor lawful policy remains enacted.\\r\\nThe poisonous simple sometimes is compacted\\r\\n In a pure compound; being so applied,\\r\\n His venom in effect is purified.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Then, for thy husband and thy children\\'s sake,\\r\\nTender my suit: bequeath not to their lot\\r\\nThe shame that from them no device can take,\\r\\nThe blemish that will never be forgot;\\r\\nWorse than a slavish wipe, or birth-hour\\'s blot:\\r\\n For marks descried in men\\'s nativity\\r\\n Are nature\\'s faults, not their own infamy.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere with a cockatrice\\' dead-killing eye\\r\\nHe rouseth up himself and makes a pause;\\r\\nWhile she, the picture of pure piety,\\r\\nLike a white hind under the grype\\'s sharp claws,\\r\\nPleads in a wilderness where are no laws,\\r\\n To the rough beast that knows no gentle right,\\r\\n Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut when a black-fac\\'d cloud the world doth threat,\\r\\nIn his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding,\\r\\nFrom earth\\'s dark womb some gentle gust doth get,\\r\\nWhich blows these pitchy vapours from their biding,\\r\\nHindering their present fall by this dividing;\\r\\n So his unhallow\\'d haste her words delays,\\r\\n And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays.\\r\\n\\r\\nYet, foul night-working cat, he doth but dally,\\r\\nWhile in his hold-fast foot the weak mouse panteth;\\r\\nHer sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly,\\r\\nA swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth:\\r\\nHis ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth\\r\\n No penetrable entrance to her plaining:\\r\\n Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer pity-pleading eyes are sadly fix\\'d\\r\\nIn the remorseless wrinkles of his face;\\r\\nHer modest eloquence with sighs is mix\\'d,\\r\\nWhich to her oratory adds more grace.\\r\\nShe puts the period often from his place,\\r\\n And midst the sentence so her accent breaks,\\r\\n That twice she doth begin ere once she speaks.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe conjures him by high almighty Jove,\\r\\nBy knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship\\'s oath,\\r\\nBy her untimely tears, her husband\\'s love,\\r\\nBy holy human law, and common troth,\\r\\nBy heaven and earth, and all the power of both,\\r\\n That to his borrow\\'d bed he make retire,\\r\\n And stoop to honour, not to foul desire.\\r\\n\\r\\nQuoth she, \\'Reward not hospitality\\r\\nWith such black payment as thou hast pretended;\\r\\nMud not the fountain that gave drink to thee;\\r\\nMar not the thing that cannot be amended;\\r\\nEnd thy ill aim before the shoot be ended:\\r\\n He is no woodman that doth bend his bow\\r\\n To strike a poor unseasonable doe.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'My husband is thy friend; for his sake spare me;\\r\\nThyself art mighty; for thine own sake leave me;\\r\\nMyself a weakling, do not then ensnare me;\\r\\nThou look\\'st not like deceit; do not deceive me;\\r\\nMy sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave thee.\\r\\n If ever man were mov\\'d with woman\\'s moans,\\r\\n Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'All which together, like a troubled ocean,\\r\\nBeat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening heart;\\r\\nTo soften it with their continual motion;\\r\\nFor stones dissolv\\'d to water do convert.\\r\\nO, if no harder than a stone thou art,\\r\\n Melt at my tears, and be compassionate!\\r\\n Soft pity enters at an iron gate.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'In Tarquin\\'s likeness I did entertain thee;\\r\\nHast thou put on his shape to do him shame?\\r\\nTo all the host of heaven I complain me,\\r\\nThou wrong\\'st his honour, wound\\'st his princely name.\\r\\nThou art not what thou seem\\'st; and if the same,\\r\\n Thou seem\\'st not what thou art, a god, a king;\\r\\n For kings like gods should govern every thing.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'How will thy shame be seeded in thine age,\\r\\nWhen thus thy vices bud before thy spring!\\r\\nIf in thy hope thou dar\\'st do such outrage,\\r\\nWhat dar\\'st thou not when once thou art a king!\\r\\nO, be remember\\'d, no outrageous thing\\r\\n From vassal actors can he wip\\'d away;\\r\\n Then kings\\' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'This deed will make thee only lov\\'d for fear,\\r\\nBut happy monarchs still are fear\\'d for love:\\r\\nWith foul offenders thou perforce must bear,\\r\\nWhen they in thee the like offences prove:\\r\\nIf but for fear of this, thy will remove;\\r\\n For princes are the glass, the school, the book,\\r\\n Where subjects eyes do learn, do read, do look.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall learn?\\r\\nMust he in thee read lectures of such shame:\\r\\nWilt thou be glass, wherein it shall discern\\r\\nAuthority for sin, warrant for blame,\\r\\nTo privilege dishonour in thy name?\\r\\n Thou back\\'st reproach against long-living laud,\\r\\n And mak\\'st fair reputation but a bawd.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Hast thou command? by him that gave it thee,\\r\\nFrom a pure heart command thy rebel will:\\r\\nDraw not thy sword to guard iniquity,\\r\\nFor it was lent thee all that brood to kill.\\r\\nThy princely office how canst thou fulfill,\\r\\n When, pattern\\'d by thy fault, foul Sin may say\\r\\n He learn\\'d to sin, and thou didst teach the way?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Think but how vile a spectacle it were\\r\\nTo view thy present trespass in another.\\r\\nMen\\'s faults do seldom to themselves appear;\\r\\nTheir own transgressions partially they smother:\\r\\nThis guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother.\\r\\n O how are they wrapp\\'d in with infamies\\r\\n That from their own misdeeds askaunce their eyes!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'To thee, to thee, my heav\\'d-up hands appeal,\\r\\nNot to seducing lust, thy rash relier;\\r\\nI sue for exil\\'d majesty\\'s repeal;\\r\\nLet him return, and flattering thoughts retire:\\r\\nHis true respect will \\'prison false desire,\\r\\n And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne,\\r\\n That thou shalt see thy state, and pity mine.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Have done,\\' quoth he: \\'my uncontrolled tide\\r\\nTurns not, but swells the higher by this let.\\r\\nSmall lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide,\\r\\nAnd with the wind in greater fury fret:\\r\\nThe petty streams that pay a daily debt\\r\\n To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls\\' haste,\\r\\n Add to his flow, but alter not his taste.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thou art,\\' quoth she, \\'a sea, a sovereign king;\\r\\nAnd, lo, there falls into thy boundless flood\\r\\nBlack lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning,\\r\\nWho seek to stain the ocean of thy blood.\\r\\nIf all these petty ills shall change thy good,\\r\\n Thy sea within a puddle\\'s womb is hears\\'d,\\r\\n And not the puddle in thy sea dispers\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So shall these slaves be king, and thou their slave;\\r\\nThou nobly base, they basely dignified;\\r\\nThou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave;\\r\\nThou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride:\\r\\nThe lesser thing should not the greater hide;\\r\\n The cedar stoops not to the base shrub\\'s foot,\\r\\n But low shrubs whither at the cedar\\'s root.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state\\'—\\r\\n\\'No more,\\' quoth he; \\'by heaven, I will not hear thee:\\r\\nYield to my love; if not, enforced hate,\\r\\nInstead of love\\'s coy touch, shall rudely tear thee;\\r\\nThat done, despitefully I mean to bear thee\\r\\n Unto the base bed of some rascal groom,\\r\\n To be thy partner in this shameful doom.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, he sets his foot upon the light,\\r\\nFor light and lust are deadly enemies;\\r\\nShame folded up in blind concealing night,\\r\\nWhen most unseen, then most doth tyrannize.\\r\\nThe wolf hath seiz\\'d his prey, the poor lamb cries;\\r\\n Till with her own white fleece her voice controll\\'d\\r\\n Entombs her outcry in her lips\\' sweet fold:\\r\\n\\r\\nFor with the nightly linen that she wears\\r\\nHe pens her piteous clamours in her head;\\r\\nCooling his hot face in the chastest tears\\r\\nThat ever modest eyes with sorrow shed.\\r\\nO, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed!\\r\\n The spots whereof could weeping purify,\\r\\n Her tears should drop on them perpetually.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut she hath lost a dearer thing than life,\\r\\nAnd he hath won what he would lose again.\\r\\nThis forced league doth force a further strife;\\r\\nThis momentary joy breeds months of pain,\\r\\nThis hot desire converts to cold disdain:\\r\\n Pure Chastity is rifled of her store,\\r\\n And Lust, the thief, far poorer than before.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook, as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk,\\r\\nUnapt for tender smell or speedy flight,\\r\\nMake slow pursuit, or altogether balk\\r\\nThe prey wherein by nature they delight;\\r\\nSo surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night:\\r\\n His taste delicious, in digestion souring,\\r\\n Devours his will, that liv\\'d by foul devouring.\\r\\n\\r\\nO deeper sin than bottomless conceit\\r\\nCan comprehend in still imagination!\\r\\nDrunken desire must vomit his receipt,\\r\\nEre he can see his own abomination.\\r\\nWhile lust is in his pride no exclamation\\r\\n Can curb his heat, or rein his rash desire,\\r\\n Till, like a jade, self-will himself doth tire.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd then with lank and lean discolour\\'d cheek,\\r\\nWith heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace,\\r\\nFeeble desire, all recreant, poor, and meek,\\r\\nLike to a bankrupt beggar wails his case:\\r\\nThe flesh being proud, desire doth fight with Grace,\\r\\n For there it revels; and when that decays,\\r\\n The guilty rebel for remission prays.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo fares it with this faultful lord of Rome,\\r\\nWho this accomplishment so hotly chas\\'d;\\r\\nFor now against himself he sounds this doom,\\r\\nThat through the length of times he stands disgrac\\'d:\\r\\nBesides, his soul\\'s fair temple is defac\\'d;\\r\\n To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares,\\r\\n To ask the spotted princess how she fares.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe says, her subjects with foul insurrection\\r\\nHave batter\\'d down her consecrated wall,\\r\\nAnd by their mortal fault brought in subjection\\r\\nHer immortality, and made her thrall\\r\\nTo living death, and pain perpetual;\\r\\n Which in her prescience she controlled still,\\r\\n But her foresight could not forestall their will.\\r\\n\\r\\nEven in this thought through the dark night he stealeth,\\r\\nA captive victor that hath lost in gain;\\r\\nBearing away the wound that nothing healeth,\\r\\nThe scar that will, despite of cure, remain;\\r\\nLeaving his spoil perplex\\'d in greater pain.\\r\\n She hears the load of lust he left behind,\\r\\n And he the burthen of a guilty mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe like a thievish dog creeps sadly thence;\\r\\nShe like a wearied lamb lies panting there;\\r\\nHe scowls, and hates himself for his offence;\\r\\nShe, desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear;\\r\\nHe faintly flies, sweating with guilty fear;\\r\\n She stays, exclaiming on the direful night;\\r\\n He runs, and chides his vanish\\'d, loath\\'d delight.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe thence departs a heavy convertite;\\r\\nShe there remains a hopeless castaway:\\r\\nHe in his speed looks for the morning light;\\r\\nShe prays she never may behold the day;\\r\\n\\'For day,\\' quoth she, \\'night\\'s scapes doth open lay;\\r\\n And my true eyes have never practis\\'d how\\r\\n To cloak offences with a cunning brow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'They think not but that every eye can see\\r\\nThe same disgrace which they themselves behold;\\r\\nAnd therefore would they still in darkness be,\\r\\nTo have their unseen sin remain untold;\\r\\nFor they their guilt with weeping will unfold,\\r\\n And grave, like water that doth eat in steel,\\r\\n Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere she exclaims against repose and rest,\\r\\nAnd bids her eyes hereafter still be blind.\\r\\nShe wakes her heart by beating on her breast,\\r\\nAnd bids it leap from thence, where it may find\\r\\nSome purer chest, to close so pure a mind.\\r\\n Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite\\r\\n Against the unseen secrecy of night:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O comfort-killing night, image of hell!\\r\\nDim register and notary of shame!\\r\\nBlack stage for tragedies and murders fell!\\r\\nVast sin-concealing chaos! nurse of blame!\\r\\nBlind muffled bawd! dark harbour for defame!\\r\\n Grim cave of death, whispering conspirator\\r\\n With close-tongued treason and the ravisher!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O hateful, vaporous, and foggy night!\\r\\nSince thou art guilty of my cureless crime,\\r\\nMuster thy mists to meet the eastern light,\\r\\nMake war against proportion\\'d course of time!\\r\\nOr if thou wilt permit the sun to climb\\r\\n His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed,\\r\\n Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'With rotten damps ravish the morning air;\\r\\nLet their exhal\\'d unwholesome breaths make sick\\r\\nThe life of purity, the supreme fair,\\r\\nEre he arrive his weary noontide prick;\\r\\nAnd let thy misty vapours march so thick,\\r\\n That in their smoky ranks his smother\\'d light\\r\\n May set at noon and make perpetual night.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Were Tarquin night (as he is but night\\'s child),\\r\\nThe silver-shining queen he would distain;\\r\\nHer twinkling handmaids too, by him defil\\'d,\\r\\nThrough Night\\'s black bosom should not peep again:\\r\\nSo should I have co-partners in my pain:\\r\\n And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage,\\r\\n As palmers\\' chat makes short their pilgrimage.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Where now I have no one to blush with me,\\r\\nTo cross their arms and hang their heads with mine,\\r\\nTo mask their brows, and hide their infamy;\\r\\nBut I alone alone must sit and pine,\\r\\nSeasoning the earth with showers of silver brine,\\r\\n Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans,\\r\\n Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke,\\r\\nLet not the jealous day behold that face\\r\\nWhich underneath thy black all-hiding cloak\\r\\nImmodesty lies martyr\\'d with disgrace!\\r\\nKeep still possession of thy gloomy place,\\r\\n That all the faults which in thy reign are made,\\r\\n May likewise be sepulchred in thy shade!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Make me not object to the tell-tale day!\\r\\nThe light will show, character\\'d in my brow,\\r\\nThe story of sweet chastity\\'s decay,\\r\\nThe impious breach of holy wedlock vow:\\r\\nYea, the illiterate, that know not how\\r\\n To cipher what is writ in learned books,\\r\\n Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story\\r\\nAnd fright her crying babe with Tarquin\\'s name;\\r\\nThe orator, to deck his oratory,\\r\\nWill couple my reproach to Tarquin\\'s shame:\\r\\nFeast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame,\\r\\n Will tie the hearers to attend each line,\\r\\n How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Let my good name, that senseless reputation,\\r\\nFor Collatine\\'s dear love be kept unspotted:\\r\\nIf that be made a theme for disputation,\\r\\nThe branches of another root are rotted,\\r\\nAnd undeserved reproach to him allotted,\\r\\n That is as clear from this attaint of mine\\r\\n As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O unseen shame! invisible disgrace!\\r\\nO unfelt sore! crest-wounding, private scar!\\r\\nReproach is stamp\\'d in Collatinus\\' face,\\r\\nAnd Tarquin\\'s eye may read the mot afar,\\r\\nHow he in peace is wounded, not in war.\\r\\n Alas, how many bear such shameful blows,\\r\\n Which not themselves, but he that gives them knows!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me,\\r\\nFrom me by strong assault it is bereft.\\r\\nMy honey lost, and I, a drone-like bee,\\r\\nHave no perfection of my summer left,\\r\\nBut robb\\'d and ransack\\'d by injurious theft:\\r\\n In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept,\\r\\n And suck\\'d the honey which thy chaste bee kept.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Yet am I guilty of thy honour\\'s wrack;—\\r\\nYet for thy honour did I entertain him;\\r\\nComing from thee, I could not put him back,\\r\\nFor it had been dishonour to disdain him:\\r\\nBesides, of weariness he did complain him,\\r\\n And talk\\'d of virtue:—O unlook\\'d-for evil,\\r\\n When virtue is profan\\'d in such a devil!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud?\\r\\nOr hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows\\' nests?\\r\\nOr toads infect fair founts with venom mud?\\r\\nOr tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts?\\r\\nOr kings be breakers of their own behests?\\r\\n But no perfection is so absolute,\\r\\n That some impurity doth not pollute.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'The aged man that coffers up his gold\\r\\nIs plagued with cramps, and gouts, and painful fits;\\r\\nAnd scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold,\\r\\nBut like still-pining Tantalus he sits,\\r\\nAnd useless barns the harvest of his wits;\\r\\n Having no other pleasure of his gain\\r\\n But torment that it cannot cure his pain.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So then he hath it when he cannot use it,\\r\\nAnd leaves it to be master\\'d by his young;\\r\\nWho in their pride do presently abuse it:\\r\\nTheir father was too weak, and they too strong,\\r\\nTo hold their cursed-blessed fortune long.\\r\\n The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours,\\r\\n Even in the moment that we call them ours.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring;\\r\\nUnwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers;\\r\\nThe adder hisses where the sweet birds sing;\\r\\nWhat virtue breeds iniquity devours:\\r\\nWe have no good that we can say is ours,\\r\\n But ill-annexed Opportunity\\r\\n Or kills his life or else his quality.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O Opportunity, thy guilt is great:\\r\\n\\'Tis thou that executest the traitor\\'s treason;\\r\\nThou set\\'st the wolf where he the lamb may get;\\r\\nWhoever plots the sin, thou \\'point\\'st the season;\\r\\n\\'Tis thou that spurn\\'st at right, at law, at reason;\\r\\n And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him,\\r\\n Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thou mak\\'st the vestal violate her oath;\\r\\nThou blow\\'st the fire when temperance is thaw\\'d;\\r\\nThou smother\\'st honesty, thou murther\\'st troth;\\r\\nThou foul abettor! thou notorious bawd!\\r\\nThou plantest scandal and displacest laud:\\r\\n Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief,\\r\\n Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame,\\r\\nThy private feasting to a public fast;\\r\\nThy smoothing titles to a ragged name,\\r\\nThy sugar\\'d tongue to bitter wormwood taste:\\r\\nThy violent vanities can never last.\\r\\n How comes it then, vile Opportunity,\\r\\n Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'When wilt thou be the humble suppliant\\'s friend,\\r\\nAnd bring him where his suit may be obtain\\'d?\\r\\nWhen wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end?\\r\\nOr free that soul which wretchedness hath chain\\'d?\\r\\nGive physic to the sick, ease to the pain\\'d?\\r\\n The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee;\\r\\n But they ne\\'er meet with Opportunity.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'The patient dies while the physician sleeps;\\r\\nThe orphan pines while the oppressor feeds;\\r\\nJustice is feasting while the widow weeps;\\r\\nAdvice is sporting while infection breeds;\\r\\nThou grant\\'st no time for charitable deeds:\\r\\n Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder\\'s rages,\\r\\n Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'When truth and virtue have to do with thee,\\r\\nA thousand crosses keep them from thy aid;\\r\\nThey buy thy help; but Sin ne\\'er gives a fee,\\r\\nHe gratis comes; and thou art well appay\\'d\\r\\nAs well to hear as grant what he hath said.\\r\\n My Collatine would else have come to me\\r\\n When Tarquin did, but he was stay\\'d by thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Guilty thou art of murder and of theft;\\r\\nGuilty of perjury and subornation;\\r\\nGuilty of treason, forgery, and shift;\\r\\nGuilty of incest, that abomination:\\r\\nAn accessory by thine inclination\\r\\n To all sins past, and all that are to come,\\r\\n From the creation to the general doom.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Mis-shapen Time, copesmate of ugly night,\\r\\nSwift subtle post, carrier of grisly care,\\r\\nEater of youth, false slave to false delight,\\r\\nBase watch of woes, sin\\'s pack-horse, virtue\\'s snare;\\r\\nThou nursest all and murtherest all that are:\\r\\n O hear me then, injurious, shifting Time!\\r\\n Be guilty of my death, since of my crime.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why hath thy servant, Opportunity,\\r\\nBetray\\'d the hours thou gav\\'st me to repose?\\r\\nCancell\\'d my fortunes, and enchained me\\r\\nTo endless date of never-ending woes?\\r\\nTime\\'s office is to fine the hate of foes;\\r\\n To eat up errors by opinion bred,\\r\\n Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Time\\'s glory is to calm contending kings,\\r\\nTo unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light,\\r\\nTo stamp the seal of time in aged things,\\r\\nTo wake the morn, and sentinel the night,\\r\\nTo wrong the wronger till he render right;\\r\\n To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours,\\r\\n And smear with dust their glittering golden towers:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'To fill with worm-holes stately monuments,\\r\\nTo feed oblivion with decay of things,\\r\\nTo blot old books and alter their contents,\\r\\nTo pluck the quills from ancient ravens\\' wings,\\r\\nTo dry the old oak\\'s sap and cherish springs;\\r\\n To spoil antiquities of hammer\\'d steel,\\r\\n And turn the giddy round of Fortune\\'s wheel;\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'To show the beldame daughters of her daughter,\\r\\nTo make the child a man, the man a child,\\r\\nTo slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter,\\r\\nTo tame the unicorn and lion wild,\\r\\nTo mock the subtle, in themselves beguil\\'d;\\r\\n To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops,\\r\\n And waste huge stones with little water-drops.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why work\\'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage,\\r\\nUnless thou couldst return to make amends?\\r\\nOne poor retiring minute in an age\\r\\nWould purchase thee a thousand thousand friends,\\r\\nLending him wit that to bad debtors lends:\\r\\n O, this dread night, wouldst thou one hour come back,\\r\\n I could prevent this storm, and shun thy wrack!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thou cease!ess lackey to eternity,\\r\\nWith some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight:\\r\\nDevise extremes beyond extremity,\\r\\nTo make him curse this cursed crimeful night:\\r\\nLet ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright;\\r\\n And the dire thought of his committed evil\\r\\n Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances,\\r\\nAfflict him in his bed with bedrid groans;\\r\\nLet there bechance him pitiful mischances,\\r\\nTo make him moan; but pity not his moans:\\r\\nStone him with harden\\'d hearts, harder than stones;\\r\\n And let mild women to him lose their mildness,\\r\\n Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Let him have time to tear his curled hair,\\r\\nLet him have time against himself to rave,\\r\\nLet him have time of Time\\'s help to despair,\\r\\nLet him have time to live a loathed slave,\\r\\nLet him have time a beggar\\'s orts to crave;\\r\\n And time to see one that by alms doth live\\r\\n Disdain to him disdained scraps to give.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Let him have time to see his friends his foes,\\r\\nAnd merry fools to mock at him resort;\\r\\nLet him have time to mark how slow time goes\\r\\nIn time of sorrow, and how swift and short\\r\\nHis time of folly and his time of sport:\\r\\n And ever let his unrecalling crime\\r\\n Have time to wail the abusing of his time.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad,\\r\\nTeach me to curse him that thou taught\\'st this ill!\\r\\nAt his own shadow let the thief run mad!\\r\\nHimself himself seek every hour to kill!\\r\\nSuch wretched hands such wretched blood should spill:\\r\\n For who so base would such an office have\\r\\n As slanderous deathsman to so base a slave?\\r\\n\\r\\nThe baser is he, coming from a king,\\r\\nTo shame his hope with deeds degenerate.\\r\\nThe mightier man, the mightier is the thing\\r\\nThat makes him honour\\'d, or begets him hate;\\r\\nFor greatest scandal waits on greatest state.\\r\\n The moon being clouded presently is miss\\'d,\\r\\n But little stars may hide them when they list.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire,\\r\\nAnd unperceived fly with the filth away;\\r\\nBut if the like the snow-white swan desire,\\r\\nThe stain upon his silver down will stay.\\r\\nPoor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day:\\r\\n Gnats are unnoted wheresoe\\'er they fly,\\r\\n But eagles gazed upon with every eye.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Out, idle words, servants to shallow fools!\\r\\nUnprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators!\\r\\nBusy yourselves in skill-contending schools;\\r\\nDebate where leisure serves with dull debaters;\\r\\nTo trembling clients be you mediators:\\r\\n For me, I force not argument a straw,\\r\\n Since that my case is past the help of law.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'In vain I rail at Opportunity,\\r\\nAt Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful night;\\r\\nIn vain I cavil with mine infamy,\\r\\nIn vain I spurn at my confirm\\'d despite:\\r\\nThis helpless smoke of words doth me no right.\\r\\n The remedy indeed to do me good\\r\\n Is to let forth my foul-defil\\'d blood.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Poor hand, why quiver\\'st thou at this decree?\\r\\nHonour thyself to rid me of this shame;\\r\\nFor if I die, my honour lives in thee;\\r\\nBut if I live, thou livest in my defame:\\r\\nSince thou couldst not defend thy loyal dame,\\r\\n And wast afear\\'d to scratch her wicked foe,\\r\\n Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, from her be-tumbled couch she starteth,\\r\\nTo find some desperate instrument of death:\\r\\nBut this no slaughter-house no tool imparteth,\\r\\nTo make more vent for passage of her breath;\\r\\nWhich, thronging through her lips, so vanisheth\\r\\n As smoke from Aetna, that in air consumes,\\r\\n Or that which from discharged cannon fumes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'In vain,\\' quoth she, \\'I live, and seek in vain\\r\\nSome happy mean to end a hapless life.\\r\\nI fear\\'d by Tarquin\\'s falchion to be slain,\\r\\nYet for the self-same purpose seek a knife:\\r\\nBut when I fear\\'d I was a loyal wife:\\r\\n So am I now:—O no, that cannot be;\\r\\n Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O! that is gone for which I sought to live,\\r\\nAnd therefore now I need not fear to die.\\r\\nTo clear this spot by death, at least I give\\r\\nA badge of fame to slander\\'s livery;\\r\\nA dying life to living infamy;\\r\\n Poor helpless help, the treasure stolen away,\\r\\n To burn the guiltless casket where it lay!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know\\r\\nThe stained taste of violated troth;\\r\\nI will not wrong thy true affection so,\\r\\nTo flatter thee with an infringed oath;\\r\\nThis bastard graff shall never come to growth:\\r\\n He shall not boast who did thy stock pollute\\r\\n That thou art doting father of his fruit.\\r\\n\\r\\nNor shall he smile at thee in secret thought,\\r\\nNor laugh with his companions at thy state;\\r\\nBut thou shalt know thy interest was not bought\\r\\nBasely with gold, but stolen from forth thy gate.\\r\\nFor me, I am the mistress of my fate,\\r\\n And with my trespass never will dispense,\\r\\n Till life to death acquit my forced offence.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'I will not poison thee with my attaint,\\r\\nNor fold my fault in cleanly-coin\\'d excuses;\\r\\nMy sable ground of sin I will not paint,\\r\\nTo hide the truth of this false night\\'s abuses;\\r\\nMy tongue shall utter all; mine eyes, like sluices,\\r\\n As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale,\\r\\n Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this; lamenting Philomel had ended\\r\\nThe well-tun\\'d warble of her nightly sorrow,\\r\\nAnd solemn night with slow-sad gait descended\\r\\nTo ugly hell; when, lo, the blushing morrow\\r\\nLends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow:\\r\\n But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see,\\r\\n And therefore still in night would cloister\\'d be.\\r\\n\\r\\nRevealing day through every cranny spies,\\r\\nAnd seems to point her out where she sits weeping,\\r\\nTo whom she sobbing speaks: \\'O eye of eyes,\\r\\nWhy pryest thou through my window? leave thy peeping;\\r\\nMock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleeping:\\r\\n Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light,\\r\\n For day hath nought to do what\\'s done by night.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThus cavils she with every thing she sees:\\r\\nTrue grief is fond and testy as a child,\\r\\nWho wayward once, his mood with nought agrees.\\r\\nOld woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild;\\r\\nContinuance tames the one: the other wild,\\r\\n Like an unpractis\\'d swimmer plunging still\\r\\n With too much labour drowns for want of skill.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo she, deep-drenched in a sea of care,\\r\\nHolds disputation with each thing she views,\\r\\nAnd to herself all sorrow doth compare;\\r\\nNo object but her passion\\'s strength renews;\\r\\nAnd as one shifts, another straight ensues:\\r\\n Sometime her grief is dumb and hath no words;\\r\\n Sometime \\'tis mad, and too much talk affords.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe little birds that tune their morning\\'s joy\\r\\nMake her moans mad with their sweet melody.\\r\\nFor mirth doth search the bottom of annoy;\\r\\nSad souls are slain in merry company:\\r\\nGrief best is pleas\\'d with grief\\'s society:\\r\\n True sorrow then is feelingly suffic\\'d\\r\\n When with like semblance it is sympathiz\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Tis double death to drown in ken of shore;\\r\\nHe ten times pines that pines beholding food;\\r\\nTo see the salve doth make the wound ache more;\\r\\nGreat grief grieves most at that would do it good;\\r\\nDeep woes roll forward like a gentle flood;\\r\\n Who, being stopp\\'d, the bounding banks o\\'erflows;\\r\\n Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'You mocking birds,\\' quoth she, \\'your tunes entomb\\r\\nWithin your hollow-swelling feather\\'d breasts,\\r\\nAnd in my hearing be you mute and dumb!\\r\\n(My restless discord loves no stops nor rests;\\r\\nA woeful hostess brooks not merry guests:)\\r\\n Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears;\\r\\n Distress likes dumps when time is kept with tears.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Come, Philomel, that sing\\'st of ravishment,\\r\\nMake thy sad grove in my dishevell\\'d hair:\\r\\nAs the dank earth weeps at thy languishment,\\r\\nSo I at each sad strain will strain a tear,\\r\\nAnd with deep groans the diapason bear:\\r\\n For burthen-wise I\\'ll hum on Tarquin still,\\r\\n While thou on Tereus descant\\'st better skill.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And whiles against a thorn thou bear\\'st thy part,\\r\\nTo keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I,\\r\\nTo imitate thee well, against my heart\\r\\nWill fix a sharp knife, to affright mine eye;\\r\\nWho, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die.\\r\\n These means, as frets upon an instrument,\\r\\n Shall tune our heart-strings to true languishment.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And for, poor bird, thou sing\\'st not in the day,\\r\\nAs shaming any eye should thee behold,\\r\\nSome dark deep desert, seated from the way,\\r\\nThat knows not parching heat nor freezing cold,\\r\\nWill we find out; and there we will unfold\\r\\n To creatures stern sad tunes, to change their kinds:\\r\\n Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nAs the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze,\\r\\nWildly determining which way to fly,\\r\\nOr one encompass\\'d with a winding maze,\\r\\nThat cannot tread the way out readily;\\r\\nSo with herself is she in mutiny,\\r\\n To live or die which of the twain were better,\\r\\n When life is sham\\'d, and Death reproach\\'s debtor.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'To kill myself,\\' quoth she, \\'alack! what were it,\\r\\nBut with my body my poor soul\\'s pollution?\\r\\nThey that lose half with greater patience bear it\\r\\nThan they whose whole is swallow\\'d in confusion.\\r\\nThat mother tries a merciless conclusion\\r\\n Who, having two sweet babes, when death takes one,\\r\\n Will slay the other, and be nurse to none.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'My body or my soul, which was the dearer,\\r\\nWhen the one pure, the other made divine?\\r\\nWhose love of either to myself was nearer?\\r\\nWhen both were kept for heaven and Collatine?\\r\\nAh, me! the bark peel\\'d from the lofty pine,\\r\\n His leaves will wither, and his sap decay;\\r\\n So must my soul, her bark being peel\\'d away.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Her house is sack\\'d, her quiet interrupted,\\r\\nHer mansion batter\\'d by the enemy;\\r\\nHer sacred temple spotted, spoil\\'d, corrupted,\\r\\nGrossly engirt with daring infamy:\\r\\nThen let it not be call\\'d impiety,\\r\\n If in this blemish\\'d fort I make some hole\\r\\n Through which I may convey this troubled soul.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Yet die I will not till my Collatine\\r\\nHave heard the cause of my untimely death;\\r\\nThat he may vow, in that sad hour of mine,\\r\\nRevenge on him that made me stop my breath.\\r\\nMy stained blood to Tarquin I\\'ll bequeath,\\r\\n Which by him tainted shall for him be spent,\\r\\n And as his due writ in my testament.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'My honour I\\'ll bequeath unto the knife\\r\\nThat wounds my body so dishonoured.\\r\\n\\'Tis honour to deprive dishonour\\'d life;\\r\\nThe one will live, the other being dead:\\r\\nSo of shame\\'s ashes shall my fame be bred;\\r\\n For in my death I murther shameful scorn:\\r\\n My shame so dead, mine honour is new-born.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost,\\r\\nWhat legacy shall I bequeath to thee?\\r\\nMy resolution, Love, shall be thy boast,\\r\\nBy whose example thou reveng\\'d mayst be.\\r\\nHow Tarquin must be used, read it in me:\\r\\n Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe,\\r\\n And, for my sake, serve thou false Tarquin so.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'This brief abridgement of my will I make:\\r\\nMy soul and body to the skies and ground;\\r\\nMy resolution, husband, do thou take;\\r\\nMine honour be the knife\\'s that makes my wound;\\r\\nMy shame be his that did my fame confound;\\r\\n And all my fame that lives disburs\\'d be\\r\\n To those that live, and think no shame of me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee this will;\\r\\nHow was I overseen that thou shalt see it!\\r\\nMy blood shall wash the slander of mine ill;\\r\\nMy life\\'s foul deed my life\\'s fair end shall free it.\\r\\nFaint not, faint heart, but stoutly say \"so be it:\"\\r\\n Yield to my hand; my hand shall conquer thee;\\r\\n Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis plot of death when sadly she had laid,\\r\\nAnd wip\\'d the brinish pearl from her bright eyes,\\r\\nWith untun\\'d tongue she hoarsely call\\'d her maid,\\r\\nWhose swift obedience to her mistress hies;\\r\\nFor fleet-wing\\'d duty with thought\\'s feathers flies.\\r\\n Poor Lucrece\\' cheeks unto her maid seem so\\r\\n As winter meads when sun doth melt their snow.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer mistress she doth give demure good-morrow,\\r\\nWith soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty,\\r\\nAnd sorts a sad look to her lady\\'s sorrow,\\r\\n(For why her face wore sorrow\\'s livery,)\\r\\nBut durst not ask of her audaciously\\r\\n Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so,\\r\\n Nor why her fair cheeks over-wash\\'d with woe.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut as the earth doth weep, the sun being set,\\r\\nEach flower moisten\\'d like a melting eye;\\r\\nEven so the maid with swelling drops \\'gan wet\\r\\nHer circled eyne, enforc\\'d by sympathy\\r\\nOf those fair suns, set in her mistress\\' sky,\\r\\n Who in a salt-wav\\'d ocean quench their light,\\r\\n Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night.\\r\\n\\r\\nA pretty while these pretty creatures stand,\\r\\nLike ivory conduits coral cisterns filling:\\r\\nOne justly weeps; the other takes in hand\\r\\nNo cause, but company, of her drops spilling:\\r\\nTheir gentle sex to weep are often willing:\\r\\n Grieving themselves to guess at others\\' smarts,\\r\\n And then they drown their eyes or break their hearts.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor men have marble, women waxen minds,\\r\\nAnd therefore are they form\\'d as marble will;\\r\\nThe weak oppress\\'d, the impression of strange kinds\\r\\nIs form\\'d in them by force, by fraud, or skill:\\r\\nThen call them not the authors of their ill,\\r\\n No more than wax shall be accounted evil,\\r\\n Wherein is stamp\\'d the semblance of a devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nTheir smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain,\\r\\nLays open all the little worms that creep;\\r\\nIn men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain\\r\\nCave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep:\\r\\nThrough crystal walls each little mote will peep:\\r\\n Though men can cover crimes with bold stern looks,\\r\\n Poor women\\'s faces are their own faults\\' books.\\r\\n\\r\\nNo man inveigb against the wither\\'d flower,\\r\\nBut chide rough winter that the flower hath kill\\'d!\\r\\nNot that devour\\'d, but that which doth devour,\\r\\nIs worthy blame. O, let it not be hild\\r\\nPoor women\\'s faults, that they are so fulfill\\'d\\r\\n With men\\'s abuses! those proud lords, to blame,\\r\\n Make weak-made women tenants to their shame.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe precedent whereof in Lucrece view,\\r\\nAssail\\'d by night with circumstances strong\\r\\nOf present death, and shame that might ensue\\r\\nBy that her death, to do her husband wrong:\\r\\nSuch danger to resistance did belong;\\r\\n The dying fear through all her body spread;\\r\\n And who cannot abuse a body dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this, mild Patience bid fair Lucrece speak\\r\\nTo the poor counterfeit of her complaining:\\r\\n\\'My girl,\\' quoth she, \\'on what occasion break\\r\\nThose tears from thee, that down thy cheeks are raining?\\r\\nIf thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining,\\r\\n Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood:\\r\\n If tears could help, mine own would do me good.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'But tell me, girl, when went\\'—(and there she stay\\'d\\r\\nTill after a deep groan) \\'Tarquin from, hence?\\'\\r\\n\\'Madam, ere I was up,\\' replied the maid,\\r\\n\\'The more to blame my sluggard negligence:\\r\\nYet with the fault I thus far can dispense;\\r\\n Myself was stirring ere the break of day,\\r\\n And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'But, lady, if your maid may be so bold,\\r\\nShe would request to know your heaviness.\\'\\r\\n\\'O peace!\\' quoth Lucrece: \\'if it should be told,\\r\\nThe repetition cannot make it less;\\r\\nFor more it is than I can well express:\\r\\n And that deep torture may be call\\'d a hell,\\r\\n When more is felt than one hath power to tell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen—\\r\\nYet save that labour, for I have them here.\\r\\nWhat should I say?—One of my husband\\'s men\\r\\nBid thou be ready, by and by, to bear\\r\\nA letter to my lord, my love, my dear;\\r\\n Bid him with speed prepare to carry it;\\r\\n The cause craves haste, and it will soon be writ.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHer maid is gone, and she prepares to write,\\r\\nFirst hovering o\\'er the paper with her quill:\\r\\nConceit and grief an eager combat fight;\\r\\nWhat wit sets down is blotted straight with will;\\r\\nThis is too curious-good, this blunt and ill:\\r\\n Much like a press of people at a door,\\r\\n Throng her inventions, which shall go before.\\r\\n\\r\\nAt last she thus begins:—\\'Thou worthy lord\\r\\nOf that unworthy wife that greeteth thee,\\r\\nHealth to thy person! next vouchsafe to afford\\r\\n(If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see)\\r\\nSome present speed to come and visit me:\\r\\n So, I commend me from our house in grief:\\r\\n My woes are tedious, though my words are brief.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere folds she up the tenor of her woe,\\r\\nHer certain sorrow writ uncertainly.\\r\\nBy this short schedule Collatine may know\\r\\nHer grief, but not her grief\\'s true quality;\\r\\nShe dares not thereof make discovery,\\r\\n Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse,\\r\\n Ere she with blood had stain\\'d her stain\\'d excuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nBesides, the life and feeling of her passion\\r\\nShe hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her;\\r\\nWhen sighs, and groans, and tears may grace the fashion\\r\\nOf her disgrace, the better so to clear her\\r\\nFrom that suspicion which the world my might bear her.\\r\\n To shun this blot, she would not blot the letter\\r\\n With words, till action might become them better.\\r\\n\\r\\nTo see sad sights moves more than hear them told;\\r\\nFor then the eye interprets to the ear\\r\\nThe heavy motion that it doth behold,\\r\\nWhen every part a part of woe doth bear.\\r\\n\\'Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear:\\r\\n Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow fords,\\r\\n And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of words.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer letter now is seal\\'d, and on it writ\\r\\n\\'At Ardea to my lord with more than haste;\\'\\r\\nThe post attends, and she delivers it,\\r\\nCharging the sour-fac\\'d groom to hie as fast\\r\\nAs lagging fowls before the northern blast.\\r\\n Speed more than speed but dull and slow she deems:\\r\\n Extremely still urgeth such extremes.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe homely villain court\\'sies to her low;\\r\\nAnd, blushing on her, with a steadfast eye\\r\\nReceives the scroll, without or yea or no,\\r\\nAnd forth with bashful innocence doth hie.\\r\\nBut they whose guilt within their bosoms lie\\r\\n Imagine every eye beholds their blame;\\r\\n For Lucrece thought he blush\\'d to see her shame:\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen, silly groom! God wot, it was defect\\r\\nOf spirit, life, and bold audacity.\\r\\nSuch harmless creatures have a true respect\\r\\nTo talk in deeds, while others saucily\\r\\nPromise more speed, but do it leisurely:\\r\\n Even so this pattern of the worn-out age\\r\\n Pawn\\'d honest looks, but laid no words to gage.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis kindled duty kindled her mistrust,\\r\\nThat two red fires in both their faces blaz\\'d;\\r\\nShe thought he blush\\'d, as knowing Tarquin\\'s lust,\\r\\nAnd, blushing with him, wistly on him gaz\\'d;\\r\\nHer earnest eye did make him more amaz\\'d:\\r\\n The more saw the blood his cheeks replenish,\\r\\n The more she thought he spied in her some blemish.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut long she thinks till he return again,\\r\\nAnd yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone.\\r\\nThe weary time she cannot entertain,\\r\\nFor now \\'tis stale to sigh, to weep, to groan:\\r\\nSo woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan,\\r\\n That she her plaints a little while doth stay,\\r\\n Pausing for means to mourn some newer way.\\r\\n\\r\\nAt last she calls to mind where hangs a piece\\r\\nOf skilful painting, made for Priam\\'s Troy;\\r\\nBefore the which is drawn the power of Greece,\\r\\nFor Helen\\'s rape the city to destroy,\\r\\nThreat\\'ning cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy;\\r\\n Which the conceited painter drew so proud,\\r\\n As heaven (it seem\\'d) to kiss the turrets bow\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nA thousand lamentable objects there,\\r\\nIn scorn of Nature, Art gave lifeless life:\\r\\nMany a dry drop seem\\'d a weeping tear,\\r\\nShed for the slaughter\\'d husband by the wife:\\r\\nThe red blood reek\\'d, to show the painter\\'s strife;\\r\\n The dying eyes gleam\\'d forth their ashy lights,\\r\\n Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights.\\r\\n\\r\\nThere might you see the labouring pioner\\r\\nBegrim\\'d with sweat, and smeared all with dust;\\r\\nAnd from the towers of Troy there would appear\\r\\nThe very eyes of men through loopholes thrust,\\r\\nGazing upon the Greeks with little lust:\\r\\n Such sweet observance in this work was had,\\r\\n That one might see those far-off eyes look sad.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn great commanders grace and majesty\\r\\nYou might behold, triumphing in their faces;\\r\\nIn youth, quick bearing and dexterity;\\r\\nAnd here and there the painter interlaces\\r\\nPale cowards, marching on with trembling paces;\\r\\n Which heartless peasants did so well resemble,\\r\\n That one would swear he saw them quake and tremble.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn Ajax and Ulysses, O, what art\\r\\nOf physiognomy might one behold!\\r\\nThe face of either \\'cipher\\'d either\\'s heart;\\r\\nTheir face their manners most expressly told:\\r\\nIn Ajax\\' eyes blunt rage and rigour roll\\'d;\\r\\n But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent\\r\\n Show\\'d deep regard and smiling government.\\r\\n\\r\\nThere pleading might you see grave Nestor stand,\\r\\nAs\\'t were encouraging the Greeks to fight;\\r\\nMaking such sober action with his hand\\r\\nThat it beguiled attention, charm\\'d the sight:\\r\\nIn speech, it seem\\'d, his beard, all silver white,\\r\\n Wagg\\'d up and down, and from his lips did fly\\r\\n Thin winding breath, which purl\\'d up to the sky.\\r\\n\\r\\nAbout him were a press of gaping faces,\\r\\nWhich seem\\'d to swallow up his sound advice;\\r\\nAll jointly listening, but with several graces,\\r\\nAs if some mermaid did their ears entice;\\r\\nSome high, some low, the painter was so nice:\\r\\n The scalps of many, almost hid behind,\\r\\n To jump up higher seem\\'d to mock the mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere one man\\'s hand lean\\'d on another\\'s head,\\r\\nHis nose being shadow\\'d by his neighbour\\'s ear;\\r\\nHere one being throng\\'d bears back, all boll\\'n and red;\\r\\nAnother smother\\'d seems to pelt and swear;\\r\\nAnd in their rage such signs of rage they bear,\\r\\n As, but for loss of Nestor\\'s golden words,\\r\\n It seem\\'d they would debate with angry swords.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor much imaginary work was there;\\r\\nConceit deceitful, so compact, so kind,\\r\\nThat for Achilles\\' image stood his spear,\\r\\nGrip\\'d in an armed hand; himself, behind,\\r\\nWas left unseen, save to the eye of mind:\\r\\n A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head,\\r\\n Stood for the whole to be imagined,\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd from the walls of strong-besieged Troy\\r\\nWhen their brave hope, bold Hector, march\\'d to field,\\r\\nStood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy\\r\\nTo see their youthful sons bright weapons wield;\\r\\nAnd to their hope they such odd action yield,\\r\\n That through their light joy seemed to appear,\\r\\n (Like bright things stain\\'d) a kind of heavy fear,\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd, from the strond of Dardan, where they fought,\\r\\nTo Simois\\' reedy banks, the red blood ran,\\r\\nWhose waves to imitate the battle sought\\r\\nWith swelling ridges; and their ranks began\\r\\nTo break upon the galled shore, and than\\r\\n Retire again, till, meeting greater ranks,\\r\\n They join, and shoot their foam at Simois\\' banks.\\r\\n\\r\\nTo this well-painted piece is Lucrece come,\\r\\nTo find a face where all distress is stell\\'d.\\r\\nMany she sees where cares have carved some,\\r\\nBut none where all distress and dolour dwell\\'d,\\r\\nTill she despairing Hecuba beheld,\\r\\n Staring on Priam\\'s wounds with her old eyes,\\r\\n Which bleeding under Pyrrhus\\' proud foot lies.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn her the painter had anatomiz\\'d\\r\\nTime\\'s ruin, beauty\\'s wrack, and grim care\\'s reign:\\r\\nHer cheeks with chops and wrinkles were disguis\\'d;\\r\\nOf what she was no semblance did remain:\\r\\nHer blue blood, chang\\'d to black in every vein,\\r\\n Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had fed,\\r\\n Show\\'d life imprison\\'d in a body dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nOn this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes,\\r\\nAnd shapes her sorrow to the beldame\\'s woes,\\r\\nWho nothing wants to answer her but cries,\\r\\nAnd bitter words to ban her cruel foes:\\r\\nThe painter was no god to lend her those;\\r\\n And therefore Lucrece swears he did her wrong,\\r\\n To give her so much grief, and not a tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Poor instrument,\\' quoth she, \\'without a sound,\\r\\nI\\'ll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue;\\r\\nAnd drop sweet balm in Priam\\'s painted wound,\\r\\nAnd rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong,\\r\\nAnd with my tears quench Troy that burns so long;\\r\\n And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes\\r\\n Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Show me the strumpet that began this stir,\\r\\nThat with my nails her beauty I may tear.\\r\\nThy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur\\r\\nThis load of wrath that burning Troy doth bear;\\r\\nThy eye kindled the fire that burneth here:\\r\\n And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye,\\r\\n The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter die.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why should the private pleasure of some one\\r\\nBecome the public plague of many mo?\\r\\nLet sin, alone committed, light alone\\r\\nUpon his head that hath transgressed so.\\r\\nLet guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe:\\r\\n For one\\'s offence why should so many fall,\\r\\n To plague a private sin in general?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Lo, here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies,\\r\\nHere manly Hector faints, here Troilus swounds;\\r\\nHere friend by friend in bloody channel lies,\\r\\nAnd friend to friend gives unadvised wounds,\\r\\nAnd one man\\'s lust these many lives confounds:\\r\\n Had doting Priam check\\'d his son\\'s desire,\\r\\n Troy had been bright with fame and not with fire.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere feelingly she weeps Troy\\'s painted woes:\\r\\nFor sorrow, like a heavy-hanging bell,\\r\\nOnce set on ringing, with his own weight goes;\\r\\nThen little strength rings out the doleful knell:\\r\\nSo Lucrece set a-work sad tales doth tell\\r\\n To pencill\\'d pensiveness and colour\\'d sorrow;\\r\\n She lends them words, and she their looks doth borrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe throws her eyes about the painting round,\\r\\nAnd whom she finds forlorn she doth lament:\\r\\nAt last she sees a wretched image bound,\\r\\nThat piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent:\\r\\nHis face, though full of cares, yet show\\'d content;\\r\\n Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes,\\r\\n So mild, that Patience seem\\'d to scorn his woes.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn him the painter labour\\'d with his skill\\r\\nTo hide deceit, and give the harmless show\\r\\nAn humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still,\\r\\nA brow unbent, that seem\\'d to welcome woe;\\r\\nCheeks neither red nor pale, but mingled so\\r\\n That blushing red no guilty instance gave,\\r\\n Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut, like a constant and confirmed devil,\\r\\nHe entertain\\'d a show so seeming just,\\r\\nAnd therein so ensconc\\'d his secret evil,\\r\\nThat jealousy itself cold not mistrust\\r\\nFalse-creeping craft and perjury should thrust\\r\\n Into so bright a day such black-fac\\'d storms,\\r\\n Or blot with hell-born sin such saint-like forms.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe well-skill\\'d workman this mild image drew\\r\\nFor perjur\\'d Sinon, whose enchanting story\\r\\nThe credulous Old Priam after slew;\\r\\nWhose words, like wildfire, burnt the shining glory\\r\\nOf rich-built Ilion, that the skies were sorry,\\r\\n And little stars shot from their fixed places,\\r\\n When their glass fell wherein they view\\'d their faces.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis picture she advisedly perus\\'d,\\r\\nAnd chid the painter for his wondrous skill;\\r\\nSaying, some shape in Sinon\\'s was abus\\'d;\\r\\nSo fair a form lodged not a mind so ill:\\r\\nAnd still on him she gaz\\'d; and gazing still,\\r\\n Such signs of truth in his plain face she spied,\\r\\n That she concludes the picture was belied.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'It cannot be,\\' quoth she, \\'that so much guile\\'—\\r\\n(She would have said) \\'can lurk in such a look;\\'\\r\\nBut Tarquin\\'s shape came in her mind the while,\\r\\nAnd from her tongue \\'can lurk\\' from \\'cannot\\' took;\\r\\n\\'It cannot be\\' she in that sense forsook,\\r\\n And turn\\'d it thus: \\'It cannot be, I find,\\r\\n But such a face should bear a wicked mind:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'For even as subtle Sinon here is painted,\\r\\nSo sober-sad, so weary, and so mild,\\r\\n(As if with grief or travail he had fainted,)\\r\\nTo me came Tarquin armed; so beguil\\'d\\r\\nWith outward honesty, but yet defil\\'d\\r\\n With inward vice: as Priam him did cherish,\\r\\n So did I Tarquin; so my Troy did perish.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes,\\r\\nTo see those borrow\\'d tears that Sinon sheds.\\r\\nPriam, why art thou old and yet not wise?\\r\\nFor every tear he falls a Trojan bleeds;\\r\\nHis eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds;\\r\\n Those round clear pearls of his that move thy pity,\\r\\n Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Such devils steal effects from lightless hell;\\r\\nFor Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold,\\r\\nAnd in that cold hot-burning fire doth dwell;\\r\\nThese contraries such unity do hold,\\r\\nOnly to flatter fools, and make them bold;\\r\\n So Priam\\'s trust false Sinon\\'s tears doth flatter,\\r\\n That he finds means to burn his Troy with water.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere, all enrag\\'d, such passion her assails,\\r\\nThat patience is quite beaten from her breast.\\r\\nShe tears the senseless Sinon with her nails,\\r\\nComparing him to that unhappy guest\\r\\nWhose deed hath made herself herself detest;\\r\\n At last she smilingly with this gives o\\'er;\\r\\n \\'Fool, fool!\\' quoth she, \\'his wounds will not be sore.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow,\\r\\nAnd time doth weary time with her complaining.\\r\\nShe looks for night, and then she longs for morrow,\\r\\nAnd both she thinks too long with her remaining:\\r\\nShort time seems long in sorrow\\'s sharp sustaining.\\r\\n Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps;\\r\\n And they that watch see time how slow it creeps.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich all this time hath overslipp\\'d her thought,\\r\\nThat she with painted images hath spent;\\r\\nBeing from the feeling of her own grief brought\\r\\nBy deep surmise of others\\' detriment:\\r\\nLosing her woes in shows of discontent.\\r\\n It easeth some, though none it ever cur\\'d,\\r\\n To think their dolour others have endur\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut now the mindful messenger, come back,\\r\\nBrings home his lord and other company;\\r\\nWho finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black:\\r\\nAnd round about her tear-distained eye\\r\\nBlue circles stream\\'d, like rainbows in the sky.\\r\\n These water-galls in her dim element\\r\\n Foretell new storms to those already spent.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich when her sad-beholding husband saw,\\r\\nAmazedly in her sad face he stares:\\r\\nHer eyes, though sod in tears, look\\'d red and raw,\\r\\nHer lively colour kill\\'d with deadly cares.\\r\\nHe hath no power to ask her how she fares,\\r\\n Both stood, like old acquaintance in a trance,\\r\\n Met far from home, wondering each other\\'s chance.\\r\\n\\r\\nAt last he takes her by the bloodless hand,\\r\\nAnd thus begins: \\'What uncouth ill event\\r\\nHath thee befall\\'n, that thou dost trembling stand?\\r\\nSweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spent?\\r\\nWhy art thou thus attir\\'d in discontent?\\r\\n Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness,\\r\\n And tell thy grief, that we may give redress.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThree times with sighs she gives her sorrow fire,\\r\\nEre once she can discharge one word of woe:\\r\\nAt length address\\'d to answer his desire,\\r\\nShe modestly prepares to let them know\\r\\nHer honour is ta\\'en prisoner by the foe;\\r\\n While Collatine and his consorted lords\\r\\n With sad attention long to hear her words.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd now this pale swan in her watery nest\\r\\nBegins the sad dirge of her certain ending:\\r\\n\\'Few words,\\' quoth she, \\'shall fit the trespass best,\\r\\nWhere no excuse can give the fault amending:\\r\\nIn me more woes than words are now depending;\\r\\n And my laments would be drawn out too long,\\r\\n To tell them all with one poor tired tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Then be this all the task it hath to say:—\\r\\nDear husband, in the interest of thy bed\\r\\nA stranger came, and on that pillow lay\\r\\nWhere thou wast wont to rest thy weary head;\\r\\nAnd what wrong else may be imagined\\r\\n By foul enforcement might be done to me,\\r\\n From that, alas! thy Lucrece is not free.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight,\\r\\nWith shining falchion in my chamber came\\r\\nA creeping creature, with a flaming light,\\r\\nAnd softly cried Awake, thou Roman dame,\\r\\nAnd entertain my love; else lasting shame\\r\\n On thee and thine this night I will inflict,\\r\\n If thou my love\\'s desire do contradict.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'For some hard-favour\\'d groom of thine, quoth he,\\r\\nUnless thou yoke thy liking to my will,\\r\\nI\\'ll murder straight, and then I\\'ll slaughter thee\\r\\nAnd swear I found you where you did fulfil\\r\\nThe loathsome act of lust, and so did kill\\r\\n The lechers in their deed: this act will be\\r\\n My fame and thy perpetual infamy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'With this, I did begin to start and cry,\\r\\nAnd then against my heart he sets his sword,\\r\\nSwearing, unless I took all patiently,\\r\\nI should not live to speak another word;\\r\\nSo should my shame still rest upon record,\\r\\n And never be forgot in mighty Rome\\r\\n The adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak,\\r\\nAnd far the weaker with so strong a fear:\\r\\nMy bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak;\\r\\nNo rightful plea might plead for justice there:\\r\\nHis scarlet lust came evidence to swear\\r\\n That my poor beauty had purloin\\'d his eyes;\\r\\n And when the judge is robb\\'d the prisoner dies.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O, teach me how to make mine own excuse!\\r\\nOr at the least this refuge let me find;\\r\\nThough my gross blood be stain\\'d with this abuse,\\r\\nImmaculate and spotless is my mind;\\r\\nThat was not forc\\'d; that never was inclin\\'d\\r\\n To accessary yieldings, but still pure\\r\\n Doth in her poison\\'d closet yet endure.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nLo, here, the hopeless merchant of this loss,\\r\\nWith head declin\\'d, and voice damm\\'d up with woe,\\r\\nWith sad set eyes, and wretched arms across,\\r\\nFrom lips new-waxen pale begins to blow\\r\\nThe grief away that stops his answer so:\\r\\n But wretched as he is he strives in vain;\\r\\n What he breathes out his breath drinks up again.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs through an arch the violent roaring tide\\r\\nOutruns the eye that doth behold his haste;\\r\\nYet in the eddy boundeth in his pride\\r\\nBack to the strait that forc\\'d him on so fast;\\r\\nIn rage sent out, recall\\'d in rage, being past:\\r\\n Even so his sighs, his sorrows make a saw.\\r\\n To push grief on, and back the same grief draw.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich speechless woe of his poor she attendeth,\\r\\nAnd his untimely frenzy thus awaketh:\\r\\n\\'Dear Lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth\\r\\nAnother power; no flood by raining slaketh.\\r\\nMy woe too sensible thy passion maketh\\r\\n More feeling-painful: let it then suffice\\r\\n To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And for my sake, when I might charm thee so,\\r\\nFor she that was thy Lucrece,—now attend me;\\r\\nBe suddenly revenged on my foe,\\r\\nThine, mine, his own: suppose thou dost defend me\\r\\nFrom what is past: the help that thou shalt lend me\\r\\n Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die;\\r\\n For sparing justice feeds iniquity.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'But ere I name him, you fair lords,\\' quoth she,\\r\\n(Speaking to those that came with Collatine)\\r\\n\\'Shall plight your honourable faiths to me,\\r\\nWith swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine;\\r\\nFor \\'tis a meritorious fair design\\r\\n To chase injustice with revengeful arms:\\r\\n Knights, by their oaths, should right poor ladies\\' harms.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nAt this request, with noble disposition\\r\\nEach present lord began to promise aid,\\r\\nAs bound in knighthood to her imposition,\\r\\nLonging to hear the hateful foe bewray\\'d.\\r\\nBut she, that yet her sad task hath not said,\\r\\n The protestation stops. \\'O, speak,\\' quoth she,\\r\\n \\'How may this forced stain be wip\\'d from me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'What is the quality of mine offence,\\r\\nBeing constrain\\'d with dreadful circumstance?\\r\\nMay my pure mind with the foul act dispense,\\r\\nMy low-declined honour to advance?\\r\\nMay any terms acquit me from this chance?\\r\\n The poison\\'d fountain clears itself again;\\r\\n And why not I from this compelled stain?\\r\\n\\r\\nWith this, they all at once began to say,\\r\\nHer body\\'s stain her mind untainted clears;\\r\\nWhile with a joyless smile she turns away\\r\\nThe face, that map which deep impression bears\\r\\nOf hard misfortune, carv\\'d in it with tears.\\r\\n \\'No, no,\\' quoth she, \\'no dame, hereafter living,\\r\\n By my excuse shall claim excuse\\'s giving.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere with a sigh, as if her heart would break,\\r\\nShe throws forth Tarquin\\'s name: \\'He, he,\\' she says,\\r\\nBut more than \\'he\\' her poor tongue could not speak;\\r\\nTill after many accents and delays,\\r\\nUntimely breathings, sick and short assays,\\r\\n She utters this: \\'He, he, fair lords, \\'tis he,\\r\\n That guides this hand to give this wound to me.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nEven here she sheathed in her harmless breast\\r\\nA harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheath\\'d:\\r\\nThat blow did bail it from the deep unrest\\r\\nOf that polluted prison where it breath\\'d:\\r\\nHer contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeath\\'d\\r\\n Her winged sprite, and through her wounds doth fly\\r\\n Life\\'s lasting date from cancell\\'d destiny.\\r\\n\\r\\nStone-still, astonish\\'d with this deadly deed,\\r\\nStood Collatine and all his lordly crew;\\r\\nTill Lucrece\\' father that beholds her bleed,\\r\\nHimself on her self-slaughter\\'d body threw;\\r\\nAnd from the purple fountain Brutus drew\\r\\n The murderous knife, and, as it left the place,\\r\\n Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase;\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd bubbling from her breast, it doth divide\\r\\nIn two slow rivers, that the crimson blood\\r\\nCircles her body in on every side,\\r\\nWho, like a late-sack\\'d island, vastly stood\\r\\nBare and unpeopled, in this fearful flood.\\r\\n Some of her blood still pure and red remain\\'d,\\r\\n And some look\\'d black, and that false Tarquin stain\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nAbout the mourning and congealed face\\r\\nOf that black blood a watery rigol goes,\\r\\nWhich seems to weep upon the tainted place:\\r\\nAnd ever since, as pitying Lucrece\\' woes,\\r\\nCorrupted blood some watery token shows;\\r\\n And blood untainted still doth red abide,\\r\\n Blushing at that which is so putrified.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Daughter, dear daughter,\\' old Lucretius cries,\\r\\n\\'That life was mine which thou hast here depriv\\'d.\\r\\nIf in the child the father\\'s image lies,\\r\\nWhere shall I live now Lucrece is unliv\\'d?\\r\\nThou wast not to this end from me deriv\\'d\\r\\n If children pre-decease progenitors,\\r\\n We are their offspring, and they none of ours.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Poor broken glass, I often did behold\\r\\nIn thy sweet semblance my old age new born;\\r\\nBut now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old,\\r\\nShows me a bare-bon\\'d death by time outworn;\\r\\nO, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn!\\r\\n And shiver\\'d all the beauty of my glass,\\r\\n That I no more can see what once I was!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O time, cease thou thy course and last no longer,\\r\\nIf they surcease to be that should survive.\\r\\nShall rotten death make conquest of the stronger,\\r\\nAnd leave the faltering feeble souls alive?\\r\\nThe old bees die, the young possess their hive:\\r\\n Then live, sweet Lucrece, live again, and see\\r\\n Thy father die, and not thy father thee!\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this starts Collatine as from a dream,\\r\\nAnd bids Lucretius give his sorrow place;\\r\\nAnd then in key-cold Lucrece\\' bleeding stream\\r\\nHe falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face,\\r\\nAnd counterfeits to die with her a space;\\r\\n Till manly shame bids him possess his breath,\\r\\n And live, to be revenged on her death.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe deep vexation of his inward soul\\r\\nHath serv\\'d a dumb arrest upon his tongue;\\r\\nWho, mad that sorrow should his use control,\\r\\nOr keep him from heart-easing words so long,\\r\\nBegins to talk; but through his lips do throng\\r\\n Weak words, so thick come in his poor heart\\'s aid,\\r\\n That no man could distinguish what he said.\\r\\n\\r\\nYet sometime \\'Tarquin\\' was pronounced plain,\\r\\nBut through his teeth, as if the name he tore.\\r\\nThis windy tempest, till it blow up rain,\\r\\nHeld back his sorrow\\'s tide, to make it more;\\r\\nAt last it rains, and busy winds give o\\'er:\\r\\n Then son and father weep with equal strife,\\r\\n Who should weep most, for daughter or for wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe one doth call her his, the other his,\\r\\nYet neither may possess the claim they lay,\\r\\nThe father says \\'She\\'s mine,\\' \\'O, mine she is,\\'\\r\\nReplies her husband: \\'do not take away\\r\\nMy sorrow\\'s interest; let no mourner say\\r\\n He weeps for her, for she was only mine,\\r\\n And only must be wail\\'d by Collatine.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O,\\' quoth Lucretius, \\'I did give that life\\r\\nWhich she too early and too late hath spill\\'d.\\'\\r\\n\\'Woe, woe,\\' quoth Collatine, \\'she was my wife,\\r\\nI owed her, and \\'tis mine that she hath kill\\'d.\\'\\r\\n\\'My daughter\\' and \\'my wife\\' with clamours fill\\'d\\r\\n The dispers\\'d air, who, holding Lucrece\\' life,\\r\\n Answer\\'d their cries, \\'My daughter!\\' and \\'My wife!\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nBrutus, who pluck\\'d the knife from Lucrece\\' side,\\r\\nSeeing such emulation in their woe,\\r\\nBegan to clothe his wit in state and pride,\\r\\nBurying in Lucrece\\' wound his folly\\'s show.\\r\\nHe with the Romans was esteemed so\\r\\n As silly-jeering idiots are with kings,\\r\\n For sportive words, and uttering foolish things:\\r\\n\\r\\nBut now he throws that shallow habit by,\\r\\nWherein deep policy did him disguise;\\r\\nAnd arm\\'d his long-hid wits advisedly,\\r\\nTo check the tears in Collatinus\\' eyes.\\r\\n\\'Thou wronged lord of Rome,\\' quoth he, \\'arise;\\r\\n Let my unsounded self, suppos\\'d a fool,\\r\\n Now set thy long-experienc\\'d wit to school.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe?\\r\\nDo wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous deeds?\\r\\nIs it revenge to give thyself a blow,\\r\\nFor his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds?\\r\\nSuch childish humour from weak minds proceeds:\\r\\n Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so,\\r\\n To slay herself, that should have slain her foe.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart\\r\\nIn such relenting dew of lamentations,\\r\\nBut kneel with me, and help to bear thy part,\\r\\nTo rouse our Roman gods with invocations,\\r\\nThat they will suffer these abominations,\\r\\n (Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgrac\\'d,)\\r\\n By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chas\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Now, by the Capitol that we adore,\\r\\nAnd by this chaste blood so unjustly stain\\'d,\\r\\nBy heaven\\'s fair sun that breeds the fat earth\\'s store,\\r\\nBy all our country rights in Rome maintain\\'d,\\r\\nAnd by chaste Lucrece\\' soul that late complain\\'d\\r\\n Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife,\\r\\n We will revenge the death of this true wife.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, he struck his hand upon his breast,\\r\\nAnd kiss\\'d the fatal knife, to end his vow;\\r\\nAnd to his protestation urg\\'d the rest,\\r\\nWho, wondering at him, did his words allow;\\r\\nThen jointly to the ground their knees they bow;\\r\\n And that deep vow, which Brutus made before,\\r\\n He doth again repeat, and that they swore.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen they had sworn to this advised doom,\\r\\nThey did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence;\\r\\nTo show her bleeding body thorough Rome,\\r\\nAnd so to publish Tarquin\\'s foul offence:\\r\\nWhich being done with speedy diligence,\\r\\n The Romans plausibly did give consent\\r\\n To Tarquin\\'s everlasting banishment.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VENUS AND ADONIS\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n _Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo\\r\\n Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua._\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE\\r\\nHENRY WRIOTHESLEY, EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON,\\r\\nand Baron of Titchfield.\\r\\n\\r\\nRight Honourable, I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my\\r\\nunpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will censure me\\r\\nfor choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burthen: only, if\\r\\nyour honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow\\r\\nto take advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some\\r\\ngraver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I\\r\\nshall be sorry it had so noble a godfather, and never after ear so\\r\\nbarren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it\\r\\nto your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart’s content;\\r\\nwhich I wish may always answer your own wish and the world’s hopeful\\r\\nexpectation.\\r\\n\\r\\nYour honour’s in all duty,\\r\\nWILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VENUS AND ADONIS\\r\\n\\r\\nEven as the sun with purple-colour’d face\\r\\nHad ta’en his last leave of the weeping morn,\\r\\nRose-cheek’d Adonis tried him to the chase;\\r\\nHunting he lov’d, but love he laugh’d to scorn; 4\\r\\n Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,\\r\\n And like a bold-fac’d suitor ’gins to woo him.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Thrice fairer than myself,” thus she began,\\r\\n“The field’s chief flower, sweet above compare, 8\\r\\nStain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,\\r\\nMore white and red than doves or roses are:\\r\\n Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,\\r\\n Saith that the world hath ending with thy life. 12\\r\\n\\r\\n“Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,\\r\\nAnd rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;\\r\\nIf thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed\\r\\nA thousand honey secrets shalt thou know: 16\\r\\n Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,\\r\\n And being set, I’ll smother thee with kisses.\\r\\n\\r\\n“And yet not cloy thy lips with loath’d satiety,\\r\\nBut rather famish them amid their plenty, 20\\r\\nMaking them red, and pale, with fresh variety:\\r\\nTen kisses short as one, one long as twenty:\\r\\n A summer’s day will seem an hour but short,\\r\\n Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.” 24\\r\\n\\r\\nWith this she seizeth on his sweating palm,\\r\\nThe precedent of pith and livelihood,\\r\\nAnd trembling in her passion, calls it balm,\\r\\nEarth’s sovereign salve to do a goddess good: 28\\r\\n Being so enrag’d, desire doth lend her force\\r\\n Courageously to pluck him from his horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nOver one arm the lusty courser’s rein,\\r\\nUnder her other was the tender boy, 32\\r\\nWho blush’d and pouted in a dull disdain,\\r\\nWith leaden appetite, unapt to toy;\\r\\n She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,\\r\\n He red for shame, but frosty in desire. 36\\r\\n\\r\\nThe studded bridle on a ragged bough\\r\\nNimbly she fastens;—O! how quick is love!—\\r\\nThe steed is stalled up, and even now\\r\\nTo tie the rider she begins to prove: 40\\r\\n Backward she push’d him, as she would be thrust,\\r\\n And govern’d him in strength, though not in lust.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo soon was she along, as he was down,\\r\\nEach leaning on their elbows and their hips: 44\\r\\nNow doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,\\r\\nAnd ’gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips,\\r\\n And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,\\r\\n “If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.” 48\\r\\n\\r\\nHe burns with bashful shame, she with her tears\\r\\nDoth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;\\r\\nThen with her windy sighs and golden hairs\\r\\nTo fan and blow them dry again she seeks. 52\\r\\n He saith she is immodest, blames her miss;\\r\\n What follows more, she murders with a kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nEven as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,\\r\\nTires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone, 56\\r\\nShaking her wings, devouring all in haste,\\r\\nTill either gorge be stuff’d or prey be gone:\\r\\n Even so she kiss’d his brow, his cheek, his chin,\\r\\n And where she ends she doth anew begin. 60\\r\\n\\r\\nForc’d to content, but never to obey,\\r\\nPanting he lies, and breatheth in her face.\\r\\nShe feedeth on the steam, as on a prey,\\r\\nAnd calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace, 64\\r\\n Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers\\r\\n So they were dew’d with such distilling showers.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook how a bird lies tangled in a net,\\r\\nSo fasten’d in her arms Adonis lies; 68\\r\\nPure shame and aw’d resistance made him fret,\\r\\nWhich bred more beauty in his angry eyes:\\r\\n Rain added to a river that is rank\\r\\n Perforce will force it overflow the bank. 72\\r\\n\\r\\nStill she entreats, and prettily entreats,\\r\\nFor to a pretty ear she tunes her tale.\\r\\nStill is he sullen, still he lours and frets,\\r\\n’Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy pale; 76\\r\\n Being red she loves him best, and being white,\\r\\n Her best is better’d with a more delight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook how he can, she cannot choose but love;\\r\\nAnd by her fair immortal hand she swears, 80\\r\\nFrom his soft bosom never to remove,\\r\\nTill he take truce with her contending tears,\\r\\n Which long have rain’d, making her cheeks all wet;\\r\\n And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.\\r\\n\\r\\nUpon this promise did he raise his chin, 85\\r\\nLike a dive-dapper peering through a wave,\\r\\nWho, being look’d on, ducks as quickly in;\\r\\nSo offers he to give what she did crave, 88\\r\\n But when her lips were ready for his pay,\\r\\n He winks, and turns his lips another way.\\r\\n\\r\\nNever did passenger in summer’s heat\\r\\nMore thirst for drink than she for this good turn. 92\\r\\nHer help she sees, but help she cannot get;\\r\\nShe bathes in water, yet her fire must burn:\\r\\n “O! pity,” ’gan she cry, “flint-hearted boy,\\r\\n ’Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy? 96\\r\\n\\r\\n“I have been woo’d as I entreat thee now,\\r\\nEven by the stern and direful god of war,\\r\\nWhose sinewy neck in battle ne’er did bow,\\r\\nWho conquers where he comes in every jar; 100\\r\\n Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,\\r\\n And begg’d for that which thou unask’d shalt have.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Over my altars hath he hung his lance,\\r\\nHis batter’d shield, his uncontrolled crest, 104\\r\\nAnd for my sake hath learn’d to sport and dance,\\r\\nTo toy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest;\\r\\n Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red\\r\\n Making my arms his field, his tent my bed. 108\\r\\n\\r\\n“Thus he that overrul’d I oversway’d,\\r\\nLeading him prisoner in a red rose chain:\\r\\nStrong-temper’d steel his stronger strength obey’d,\\r\\nYet was he servile to my coy disdain. 112\\r\\n Oh be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,\\r\\n For mast’ring her that foil’d the god of fight.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine,\\r\\nThough mine be not so fair, yet are they red, 116\\r\\nThe kiss shall be thine own as well as mine:\\r\\nWhat see’st thou in the ground? hold up thy head,\\r\\n Look in mine eyeballs, there thy beauty lies;\\r\\n Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes? 120\\r\\n\\r\\n“Art thou asham’d to kiss? then wink again,\\r\\nAnd I will wink; so shall the day seem night.\\r\\nLove keeps his revels where there are but twain;\\r\\nBe bold to play, our sport is not in sight, 124\\r\\n These blue-vein’d violets whereon we lean\\r\\n Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.\\r\\n\\r\\n“The tender spring upon thy tempting lip 127\\r\\nShows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted,\\r\\nMake use of time, let not advantage slip;\\r\\nBeauty within itself should not be wasted,\\r\\n Fair flowers that are not gather’d in their prime\\r\\n Rot, and consume themselves in little time. 132\\r\\n\\r\\n“Were I hard-favour’d, foul, or wrinkled old,\\r\\nIll-nurtur’d, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,\\r\\nO’erworn, despised, rheumatic, and cold,\\r\\nThick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice, 136\\r\\n Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee;\\r\\n But having no defects, why dost abhor me?\\r\\n\\r\\n“Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow, 139\\r\\nMine eyes are grey and bright, and quick in turning;\\r\\nMy beauty as the spring doth yearly grow,\\r\\nMy flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning,\\r\\n My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt,\\r\\n Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt. 144\\r\\n\\r\\n“Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,\\r\\nOr like a fairy, trip upon the green,\\r\\nOr like a nymph, with long dishevell’d hair,\\r\\nDance on the sands, and yet no footing seen. 148\\r\\n Love is a spirit all compact of fire,\\r\\n Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie: 151\\r\\nThese forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me;\\r\\nTwo strengthless doves will draw me through the sky,\\r\\nFrom morn till night, even where I list to sport me.\\r\\n Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be\\r\\n That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee? 156\\r\\n\\r\\n“Is thine own heart to thine own face affected?\\r\\nCan thy right hand seize love upon thy left?\\r\\nThen woo thyself, be of thyself rejected,\\r\\nSteal thine own freedom, and complain on theft. 160\\r\\n Narcissus so himself himself forsook,\\r\\n And died to kiss his shadow in the brook.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Torches are made to light, jewels to wear,\\r\\nDainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use, 164\\r\\nHerbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear;\\r\\nThings growing to themselves are growth’s abuse,\\r\\n Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth beauty;\\r\\n Thou wast begot; to get it is thy duty. 168\\r\\n\\r\\n“Upon the earth’s increase why shouldst thou feed,\\r\\nUnless the earth with thy increase be fed?\\r\\nBy law of nature thou art bound to breed,\\r\\nThat thine may live when thou thyself art dead; 172\\r\\n And so in spite of death thou dost survive,\\r\\n In that thy likeness still is left alive.”\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this the love-sick queen began to sweat,\\r\\nFor where they lay the shadow had forsook them, 176\\r\\nAnd Titan, tired in the midday heat,\\r\\nWith burning eye did hotly overlook them,\\r\\n Wishing Adonis had his team to guide,\\r\\n So he were like him and by Venus’ side. 180\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd now Adonis with a lazy spright,\\r\\nAnd with a heavy, dark, disliking eye,\\r\\nHis louring brows o’erwhelming his fair sight,\\r\\nLike misty vapours when they blot the sky, 184\\r\\n Souring his cheeks, cries, “Fie, no more of love:\\r\\n The sun doth burn my face; I must remove.”\\r\\n\\r\\n“Ay me,” quoth Venus, “young, and so unkind!\\r\\nWhat bare excuses mak’st thou to be gone! 188\\r\\nI’ll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind\\r\\nShall cool the heat of this descending sun:\\r\\n I’ll make a shadow for thee of my hairs;\\r\\n If they burn too, I’ll quench them with my tears. 192\\r\\n\\r\\n“The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm,\\r\\nAnd lo I lie between that sun and thee:\\r\\nThe heat I have from thence doth little harm,\\r\\nThine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me; 196\\r\\n And were I not immortal, life were done,\\r\\n Between this heavenly and earthly sun.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel?\\r\\nNay more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth: 200\\r\\nArt thou a woman’s son and canst not feel\\r\\nWhat ’tis to love, how want of love tormenteth?\\r\\n O had thy mother borne so hard a mind,\\r\\n She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind. 204\\r\\n\\r\\n“What am I that thou shouldst contemn me this?\\r\\nOr what great danger dwells upon my suit?\\r\\nWhat were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss?\\r\\nSpeak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute: 208\\r\\n Give me one kiss, I’ll give it thee again,\\r\\n And one for int’rest, if thou wilt have twain.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,\\r\\nWell-painted idol, image dull and dead, 212\\r\\nStatue contenting but the eye alone,\\r\\nThing like a man, but of no woman bred:\\r\\n Thou art no man, though of a man’s complexion,\\r\\n For men will kiss even by their own direction.” 216\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue,\\r\\nAnd swelling passion doth provoke a pause;\\r\\nRed cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong;\\r\\nBeing judge in love, she cannot right her cause. 220\\r\\n And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak,\\r\\n And now her sobs do her intendments break.\\r\\n\\r\\nSometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand,\\r\\nNow gazeth she on him, now on the ground; 224\\r\\nSometimes her arms infold him like a band:\\r\\nShe would, he will not in her arms be bound;\\r\\n And when from thence he struggles to be gone,\\r\\n She locks her lily fingers one in one. 228\\r\\n\\r\\n“Fondling,” she saith, “since I have hemm’d thee here\\r\\nWithin the circuit of this ivory pale,\\r\\nI’ll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer;\\r\\nFeed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale: 232\\r\\n Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry,\\r\\n Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Within this limit is relief enough,\\r\\nSweet bottom grass and high delightful plain, 236\\r\\nRound rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough,\\r\\nTo shelter thee from tempest and from rain:\\r\\n Then be my deer, since I am such a park, 239\\r\\n No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark.”\\r\\n\\r\\nAt this Adonis smiles as in disdain,\\r\\nThat in each cheek appears a pretty dimple;\\r\\nLove made those hollows, if himself were slain,\\r\\nHe might be buried in a tomb so simple; 244\\r\\n Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie,\\r\\n Why there love liv’d, and there he could not die.\\r\\n\\r\\nThese lovely caves, these round enchanting pits,\\r\\nOpen’d their mouths to swallow Venus’ liking. 248\\r\\nBeing mad before, how doth she now for wits?\\r\\nStruck dead at first, what needs a second striking?\\r\\n Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn,\\r\\n To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn! 252\\r\\n\\r\\nNow which way shall she turn? what shall she say?\\r\\nHer words are done, her woes the more increasing;\\r\\nThe time is spent, her object will away,\\r\\nAnd from her twining arms doth urge releasing: 256\\r\\n “Pity,” she cries; “some favour, some remorse!”\\r\\n Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut lo from forth a copse that neighbours by,\\r\\nA breeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud, 260\\r\\nAdonis’ tramping courser doth espy,\\r\\nAnd forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud:\\r\\n The strong-neck’d steed, being tied unto a tree,\\r\\n Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he. 264\\r\\n\\r\\nImperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,\\r\\nAnd now his woven girths he breaks asunder;\\r\\nThe bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,\\r\\nWhose hollow womb resounds like heaven’s thunder;\\r\\n The iron bit he crusheth ’tween his teeth, 269\\r\\n Controlling what he was controlled with.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis ears up-prick’d; his braided hanging mane\\r\\nUpon his compass’d crest now stand on end; 272\\r\\nHis nostrils drink the air, and forth again,\\r\\nAs from a furnace, vapours doth he send:\\r\\n His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire,\\r\\n Shows his hot courage and his high desire. 276\\r\\n\\r\\nSometime he trots, as if he told the steps,\\r\\nWith gentle majesty and modest pride;\\r\\nAnon he rears upright, curvets and leaps,\\r\\nAs who should say, “Lo thus my strength is tried;\\r\\n And this I do to captivate the eye 281\\r\\n Of the fair breeder that is standing by.”\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat recketh he his rider’s angry stir,\\r\\nHis flattering “Holla”, or his “Stand, I say”? 284\\r\\nWhat cares he now for curb or pricking spur?\\r\\nFor rich caparisons or trappings gay?\\r\\n He sees his love, and nothing else he sees,\\r\\n Nor nothing else with his proud sight agrees. 288\\r\\n\\r\\nLook when a painter would surpass the life,\\r\\nIn limning out a well-proportion’d steed,\\r\\nHis art with nature’s workmanship at strife,\\r\\nAs if the dead the living should exceed: 292\\r\\n So did this horse excel a common one,\\r\\n In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone.\\r\\n\\r\\nRound-hoof’d, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long,\\r\\nBroad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril wide,\\r\\nHigh crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong,\\r\\nThin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide:\\r\\n Look, what a horse should have he did not lack,\\r\\n Save a proud rider on so proud a back. 300\\r\\n\\r\\nSometimes he scuds far off, and there he stares;\\r\\nAnon he starts at stirring of a feather:\\r\\nTo bid the wind a base he now prepares,\\r\\nAnd where he run or fly they know not whether; 304\\r\\n For through his mane and tail the high wind sings,\\r\\n Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather’d wings.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe looks upon his love, and neighs unto her;\\r\\nShe answers him as if she knew his mind, 308\\r\\nBeing proud, as females are, to see him woo her,\\r\\nShe puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind,\\r\\n Spurns at his love and scorns the heat he feels,\\r\\n Beating his kind embracements with her heels. 312\\r\\n\\r\\nThen like a melancholy malcontent,\\r\\nHe vails his tail that like a falling plume,\\r\\nCool shadow to his melting buttock lent:\\r\\nHe stamps, and bites the poor flies in his fume. 316\\r\\n His love, perceiving how he was enrag’d,\\r\\n Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis testy master goeth about to take him,\\r\\nWhen lo the unback’d breeder, full of fear, 320\\r\\nJealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him,\\r\\nWith her the horse, and left Adonis there:\\r\\n As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them,\\r\\n Outstripping crows that strive to overfly them. 324\\r\\n\\r\\nAll swoln with chafing, down Adonis sits,\\r\\nBanning his boisterous and unruly beast;\\r\\nAnd now the happy season once more fits\\r\\nThat love-sick love by pleading may be blest; 328\\r\\n For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong,\\r\\n When it is barr’d the aidance of the tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nAn oven that is stopp’d, or river stay’d,\\r\\nBurneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage: 332\\r\\nSo of concealed sorrow may be said,\\r\\nFree vent of words love’s fire doth assuage;\\r\\n But when the heart’s attorney once is mute,\\r\\n The client breaks, as desperate in his suit. 336\\r\\n\\r\\nHe sees her coming, and begins to glow,\\r\\nEven as a dying coal revives with wind,\\r\\nAnd with his bonnet hides his angry brow,\\r\\nLooks on the dull earth with disturbed mind, 340\\r\\n Taking no notice that she is so nigh,\\r\\n For all askance he holds her in his eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nO what a sight it was, wistly to view\\r\\nHow she came stealing to the wayward boy, 344\\r\\nTo note the fighting conflict of her hue,\\r\\nHow white and red each other did destroy:\\r\\n But now her cheek was pale, and by and by\\r\\n It flash’d forth fire, as lightning from the sky. 348\\r\\n\\r\\nNow was she just before him as he sat,\\r\\nAnd like a lowly lover down she kneels;\\r\\nWith one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,\\r\\nHer other tender hand his fair cheek feels: 352\\r\\n His tend’rer cheek receives her soft hand’s print,\\r\\n As apt as new-fall’n snow takes any dint.\\r\\n\\r\\nOh what a war of looks was then between them,\\r\\nHer eyes petitioners to his eyes suing, 356\\r\\nHis eyes saw her eyes, as they had not seen them,\\r\\nHer eyes woo’d still, his eyes disdain’d the wooing:\\r\\n And all this dumb play had his acts made plain\\r\\n With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain.\\r\\n\\r\\nFull gently now she takes him by the hand, 361\\r\\nA lily prison’d in a gaol of snow,\\r\\nOr ivory in an alabaster band,\\r\\nSo white a friend engirts so white a foe: 364\\r\\n This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling,\\r\\n Show’d like two silver doves that sit a-billing.\\r\\n\\r\\nOnce more the engine of her thoughts began:\\r\\n“O fairest mover on this mortal round, 368\\r\\nWould thou wert as I am, and I a man,\\r\\nMy heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound,\\r\\n For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee,\\r\\n Though nothing but my body’s bane would cure thee.”\\r\\n\\r\\n“Give me my hand,” saith he, “why dost thou feel it?”\\r\\n“Give me my heart,” saith she, “and thou shalt have it.\\r\\nO give it me lest thy hard heart do steel it,\\r\\nAnd being steel’d, soft sighs can never grave it. 376\\r\\n Then love’s deep groans I never shall regard,\\r\\n Because Adonis’ heart hath made mine hard.”\\r\\n\\r\\n“For shame,” he cries, “let go, and let me go,\\r\\nMy day’s delight is past, my horse is gone, 380\\r\\nAnd ’tis your fault I am bereft him so,\\r\\nI pray you hence, and leave me here alone,\\r\\n For all my mind, my thought, my busy care,\\r\\n Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.” 384\\r\\n\\r\\nThus she replies: “Thy palfrey as he should,\\r\\nWelcomes the warm approach of sweet desire,\\r\\nAffection is a coal that must be cool’d;\\r\\nElse, suffer’d, it will set the heart on fire, 388\\r\\n The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none;\\r\\n Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n“How like a jade he stood tied to the tree,\\r\\nServilely master’d with a leathern rein! 392\\r\\nBut when he saw his love, his youth’s fair fee,\\r\\nHe held such petty bondage in disdain;\\r\\n Throwing the base thong from his bending crest,\\r\\n Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast. 396\\r\\n\\r\\n“Who sees his true-love in her naked bed,\\r\\nTeaching the sheets a whiter hue than white,\\r\\nBut when his glutton eye so full hath fed,\\r\\nHis other agents aim at like delight? 400\\r\\n Who is so faint that dare not be so bold\\r\\n To touch the fire, the weather being cold?\\r\\n\\r\\n“Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy,\\r\\nAnd learn of him, I heartily beseech thee, 404\\r\\nTo take advantage on presented joy,\\r\\nThough I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee.\\r\\n O learn to love, the lesson is but plain,\\r\\n And once made perfect, never lost again.” 408\\r\\n\\r\\n“I know not love,” quoth he, “nor will not know it,\\r\\nUnless it be a boar, and then I chase it;\\r\\n’Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it;\\r\\nMy love to love is love but to disgrace it; 412\\r\\n For I have heard, it is a life in death,\\r\\n That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish’d?\\r\\nWho plucks the bud before one leaf put forth? 416\\r\\nIf springing things be any jot diminish’d,\\r\\nThey wither in their prime, prove nothing worth;\\r\\n The colt that’s back’d and burden’d being young,\\r\\n Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong. 420\\r\\n\\r\\n“You hurt my hand with wringing. Let us part,\\r\\nAnd leave this idle theme, this bootless chat:\\r\\nRemove your siege from my unyielding heart,\\r\\nTo love’s alarms it will not ope the gate: 424\\r\\n Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flatt’ry;\\r\\n For where a heart is hard they make no batt’ry.”\\r\\n\\r\\n“What! canst thou talk?” quoth she, “hast thou a tongue?\\r\\nO would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing; 428\\r\\nThy mermaid’s voice hath done me double wrong;\\r\\nI had my load before, now press’d with bearing:\\r\\n Melodious discord, heavenly tune, harsh-sounding,\\r\\n Ear’s deep sweet music, and heart’s deep sore wounding.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love 433\\r\\nThat inward beauty and invisible;\\r\\nOr were I deaf, thy outward parts would move\\r\\nEach part in me that were but sensible: 436\\r\\n Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see,\\r\\n Yet should I be in love by touching thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Say that the sense of feeling were bereft me,\\r\\nAnd that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch, 440\\r\\nAnd nothing but the very smell were left me,\\r\\nYet would my love to thee be still as much;\\r\\n For from the stillitory of thy face excelling\\r\\n Comes breath perfum’d, that breedeth love by smelling.\\r\\n\\r\\n“But oh what banquet wert thou to the taste, 445\\r\\nBeing nurse and feeder of the other four;\\r\\nWould they not wish the feast might ever last,\\r\\nAnd bid suspicion double-lock the door,\\r\\n Lest jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest,\\r\\n Should by his stealing in disturb the feast?” 448\\r\\n\\r\\nOnce more the ruby-colour’d portal open’d,\\r\\nWhich to his speech did honey passage yield, 452\\r\\nLike a red morn that ever yet betoken’d\\r\\nWrack to the seaman, tempest to the field,\\r\\n Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds,\\r\\n Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds. 456\\r\\n\\r\\nThis ill presage advisedly she marketh:\\r\\nEven as the wind is hush’d before it raineth,\\r\\nOr as the wolf doth grin before he barketh,\\r\\nOr as the berry breaks before it staineth, 460\\r\\n Or like the deadly bullet of a gun,\\r\\n His meaning struck her ere his words begun.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd at his look she flatly falleth down\\r\\nFor looks kill love, and love by looks reviveth; 464\\r\\nA smile recures the wounding of a frown;\\r\\nBut blessed bankrout, that by love so thriveth!\\r\\n The silly boy, believing she is dead,\\r\\n Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red. 468\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd all amaz’d brake off his late intent,\\r\\nFor sharply he did think to reprehend her,\\r\\nWhich cunning love did wittily prevent:\\r\\nFair fall the wit that can so well defend her! 472\\r\\n For on the grass she lies as she were slain,\\r\\n Till his breath breatheth life in her again.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks,\\r\\nHe bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard, 476\\r\\nHe chafes her lips; a thousand ways he seeks\\r\\nTo mend the hurt that his unkindness marr’d:\\r\\n He kisses her; and she, by her good will,\\r\\n Will never rise, so he will kiss her still. 480\\r\\n\\r\\nThe night of sorrow now is turn’d to day:\\r\\nHer two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth,\\r\\nLike the fair sun when in his fresh array\\r\\nHe cheers the morn, and all the world relieveth: 484\\r\\n And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,\\r\\n So is her face illumin’d with her eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhose beams upon his hairless face are fix’d,\\r\\nAs if from thence they borrow’d all their shine. 488\\r\\nWere never four such lamps together mix’d,\\r\\nHad not his clouded with his brow’s repine;\\r\\n But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light\\r\\n Shone like the moon in water seen by night. 492\\r\\n\\r\\n“O where am I?” quoth she, “in earth or heaven?\\r\\nOr in the ocean drench’d, or in the fire?\\r\\nWhat hour is this? or morn or weary even?\\r\\nDo I delight to die, or life desire? 496\\r\\n But now I liv’d, and life was death’s annoy;\\r\\n But now I died, and death was lively joy.\\r\\n\\r\\n“O thou didst kill me; kill me once again:\\r\\nThy eyes’ shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine, 500\\r\\nHath taught them scornful tricks, and such disdain,\\r\\nThat they have murder’d this poor heart of mine;\\r\\n And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen,\\r\\n But for thy piteous lips no more had seen. 504\\r\\n\\r\\n“Long may they kiss each other for this cure!\\r\\nOh never let their crimson liveries wear,\\r\\nAnd as they last, their verdure still endure,\\r\\nTo drive infection from the dangerous year: 508\\r\\n That the star-gazers, having writ on death,\\r\\n May say, the plague is banish’d by thy breath.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted,\\r\\nWhat bargains may I make, still to be sealing? 512\\r\\nTo sell myself I can be well contented,\\r\\nSo thou wilt buy, and pay, and use good dealing;\\r\\n Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips,\\r\\n Set thy seal manual on my wax-red lips. 516\\r\\n\\r\\n“A thousand kisses buys my heart from me;\\r\\nAnd pay them at thy leisure, one by one,\\r\\nWhat is ten hundred touches unto thee?\\r\\nAre they not quickly told and quickly gone? 520\\r\\n Say, for non-payment that the debt should double,\\r\\n Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?”\\r\\n\\r\\n“Fair queen,” quoth he, “if any love you owe me,\\r\\nMeasure my strangeness with my unripe years: 524\\r\\nBefore I know myself, seek not to know me;\\r\\nNo fisher but the ungrown fry forbears:\\r\\n The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast,\\r\\n Or being early pluck’d, is sour to taste. 528\\r\\n\\r\\n“Look the world’s comforter, with weary gait\\r\\nHis day’s hot task hath ended in the west;\\r\\nThe owl, night’s herald, shrieks, ’tis very late;\\r\\nThe sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest, 532\\r\\n And coal-black clouds that shadow heaven’s light\\r\\n Do summon us to part, and bid good night.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Now let me say good night, and so say you;\\r\\nIf you will say so, you shall have a kiss.” 536\\r\\n“Good night,” quoth she; and ere he says adieu,\\r\\nThe honey fee of parting tender’d is:\\r\\n Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace;\\r\\n Incorporate then they seem, face grows to face. 540\\r\\n\\r\\nTill breathless he disjoin’d, and backward drew\\r\\nThe heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth,\\r\\nWhose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew,\\r\\nWhereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth, 544\\r\\n He with her plenty press’d, she faint with dearth,\\r\\n Their lips together glued, fall to the earth.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow quick desire hath caught the yielding prey,\\r\\nAnd glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth; 548\\r\\nHer lips are conquerors, his lips obey,\\r\\nPaying what ransom the insulter willeth;\\r\\n Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high,\\r\\n That she will draw his lips’ rich treasure dry. 552\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd having felt the sweetness of the spoil,\\r\\nWith blindfold fury she begins to forage;\\r\\nHer face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil,\\r\\nAnd careless lust stirs up a desperate courage, 556\\r\\n Planting oblivion, beating reason back,\\r\\n Forgetting shame’s pure blush and honour’s wrack.\\r\\n\\r\\nHot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing,\\r\\nLike a wild bird being tam’d with too much handling,\\r\\nOr as the fleet-foot roe that’s tir’d with chasing, 561\\r\\nOr like the froward infant still’d with dandling:\\r\\n He now obeys, and now no more resisteth,\\r\\n While she takes all she can, not all she listeth. 564\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat wax so frozen but dissolves with temp’ring,\\r\\nAnd yields at last to every light impression?\\r\\nThings out of hope are compass’d oft with vent’ring,\\r\\nChiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission: 568\\r\\n Affection faints not like a pale-fac’d coward,\\r\\n But then woos best when most his choice is froward.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen he did frown, O had she then gave over,\\r\\nSuch nectar from his lips she had not suck’d. 572\\r\\nFoul words and frowns must not repel a lover;\\r\\nWhat though the rose have prickles, yet ’tis pluck’d.\\r\\n Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast,\\r\\n Yet love breaks through, and picks them all at last.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor pity now she can no more detain him; 577\\r\\nThe poor fool prays her that he may depart:\\r\\nShe is resolv’d no longer to restrain him,\\r\\nBids him farewell, and look well to her heart, 580\\r\\n The which by Cupid’s bow she doth protest,\\r\\n He carries thence encaged in his breast.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Sweet boy,” she says, “this night I’ll waste in sorrow,\\r\\nFor my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch. 584\\r\\nTell me, love’s master, shall we meet tomorrow\\r\\nSay, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match?”\\r\\n He tells her no, tomorrow he intends\\r\\n To hunt the boar with certain of his friends. 588\\r\\n\\r\\n“The boar!” quoth she; whereat a sudden pale,\\r\\nLike lawn being spread upon the blushing rose,\\r\\nUsurps her cheek, she trembles at his tale,\\r\\nAnd on his neck her yoking arms she throws. 592\\r\\n She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck,\\r\\n He on her belly falls, she on her back.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow is she in the very lists of love,\\r\\nHer champion mounted for the hot encounter: 596\\r\\nAll is imaginary she doth prove,\\r\\nHe will not manage her, although he mount her;\\r\\n That worse than Tantalus’ is her annoy,\\r\\n To clip Elysium and to lack her joy. 600\\r\\n\\r\\nEven as poor birds, deceiv’d with painted grapes,\\r\\nDo surfeit by the eye and pine the maw:\\r\\nEven so she languisheth in her mishaps,\\r\\nAs those poor birds that helpless berries saw. 604\\r\\n The warm effects which she in him finds missing,\\r\\n She seeks to kindle with continual kissing.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut all in vain, good queen, it will not be,\\r\\nShe hath assay’d as much as may be prov’d; 608\\r\\nHer pleading hath deserv’d a greater fee;\\r\\nShe’s love, she loves, and yet she is not lov’d.\\r\\n “Fie, fie,” he says, “you crush me; let me go;\\r\\n You have no reason to withhold me so.” 612\\r\\n\\r\\n“Thou hadst been gone,” quoth she, “sweet boy, ere this,\\r\\nBut that thou told’st me thou wouldst hunt the boar.\\r\\nOh be advis’d; thou know’st not what it is,\\r\\nWith javelin’s point a churlish swine to gore, 616\\r\\n Whose tushes never sheath’d he whetteth still,\\r\\n Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill.\\r\\n\\r\\n“On his bow-back he hath a battle set\\r\\nOf bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes; 620\\r\\nHis eyes like glow-worms shine when he doth fret;\\r\\nHis snout digs sepulchres where’er he goes;\\r\\n Being mov’d, he strikes whate’er is in his way,\\r\\n And whom he strikes his crooked tushes slay. 624\\r\\n\\r\\n“His brawny sides, with hairy bristles armed,\\r\\nAre better proof than thy spear’s point can enter;\\r\\nHis short thick neck cannot be easily harmed;\\r\\nBeing ireful, on the lion he will venture: 628\\r\\n The thorny brambles and embracing bushes,\\r\\n As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Alas! he naught esteems that face of thine,\\r\\nTo which love’s eyes pay tributary gazes; 632\\r\\nNor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne,\\r\\nWhose full perfection all the world amazes;\\r\\n But having thee at vantage, wondrous dread!\\r\\n Would root these beauties as he roots the mead.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Oh let him keep his loathsome cabin still, 637\\r\\nBeauty hath naught to do with such foul fiends:\\r\\nCome not within his danger by thy will;\\r\\nThey that thrive well, take counsel of their friends.\\r\\n When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble,\\r\\n I fear’d thy fortune, and my joints did tremble.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Didst thou not mark my face, was it not white?\\r\\nSaw’st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye? 644\\r\\nGrew I not faint, and fell I not downright?\\r\\nWithin my bosom, whereon thou dost lie,\\r\\n My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest,\\r\\n But like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast.\\r\\n\\r\\n“For where love reigns, disturbing jealousy 649\\r\\nDoth call himself affection’s sentinel;\\r\\nGives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny,\\r\\nAnd in a peaceful hour doth cry “Kill, kill!” 652\\r\\n Distemp’ring gentle love in his desire,\\r\\n As air and water do abate the fire.\\r\\n\\r\\n“This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy,\\r\\nThis canker that eats up love’s tender spring, 656\\r\\nThis carry-tale, dissentious jealousy,\\r\\nThat sometime true news, sometime false doth bring,\\r\\n Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear,\\r\\n That if I love thee, I thy death should fear. 660\\r\\n\\r\\n“And more than so, presenteth to mine eye\\r\\nThe picture of an angry chafing boar,\\r\\nUnder whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie\\r\\nAn image like thyself, all stain’d with gore; 664\\r\\n Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed,\\r\\n Doth make them droop with grief and hang the head.\\r\\n\\r\\n“What should I do, seeing thee so indeed,\\r\\nThat tremble at th’imagination? 668\\r\\nThe thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed,\\r\\nAnd fear doth teach it divination:\\r\\n I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow,\\r\\n If thou encounter with the boar tomorrow. 672\\r\\n\\r\\n“But if thou needs wilt hunt, be rul’d by me;\\r\\nUncouple at the timorous flying hare,\\r\\nOr at the fox which lives by subtilty,\\r\\nOr at the roe which no encounter dare: 676\\r\\n Pursue these fearful creatures o’er the downs,\\r\\n And on thy well-breath’d horse keep with thy hounds.\\r\\n\\r\\n“And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare,\\r\\nMark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles 680\\r\\nHow he outruns the wind, and with what care\\r\\nHe cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles:\\r\\n The many musits through the which he goes\\r\\n Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes. 684\\r\\n\\r\\n“Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep,\\r\\nTo make the cunning hounds mistake their smell,\\r\\nAnd sometime where earth-delving conies keep,\\r\\nTo stop the loud pursuers in their yell, 688\\r\\n And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer;\\r\\n Danger deviseth shifts, wit waits on fear.\\r\\n\\r\\n“For there his smell with others being mingled, 691\\r\\nThe hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt,\\r\\nCeasing their clamorous cry, till they have singled\\r\\nWith much ado the cold fault cleanly out;\\r\\n Then do they spend their mouths: echo replies,\\r\\n As if another chase were in the skies. 696\\r\\n\\r\\n“By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill,\\r\\nStands on his hinder legs with list’ning ear,\\r\\nTo hearken if his foes pursue him still.\\r\\nAnon their loud alarums he doth hear; 700\\r\\n And now his grief may be compared well\\r\\n To one sore sick that hears the passing bell.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch\\r\\nTurn, and return, indenting with the way, 704\\r\\nEach envious briar his weary legs do scratch,\\r\\nEach shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay:\\r\\n For misery is trodden on by many,\\r\\n And being low never reliev’d by any. 708\\r\\n\\r\\n“Lie quietly, and hear a little more;\\r\\nNay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise:\\r\\nTo make thee hate the hunting of the boar,\\r\\nUnlike myself thou hear’st me moralize, 712\\r\\n Applying this to that, and so to so,\\r\\n For love can comment upon every woe.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Where did I leave?” “No matter where,” quoth he\\r\\n“Leave me, and then the story aptly ends: 716\\r\\nThe night is spent.” “Why, what of that?” quoth she.\\r\\n“I am,” quoth he, “expected of my friends;\\r\\n And now ’tis dark, and going I shall fall.”\\r\\n “In night,” quoth she, “desire sees best of all.” 720\\r\\n\\r\\nBut if thou fall, oh then imagine this,\\r\\nThe earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips,\\r\\nAnd all is but to rob thee of a kiss. 723\\r\\nRich preys make true men thieves; so do thy lips\\r\\n Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn,\\r\\n Lest she should steal a kiss and die forsworn.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Now of this dark night I perceive the reason:\\r\\nCynthia for shame obscures her silver shine 728\\r\\nTill forging nature be condemn’d of treason,\\r\\nFor stealing moulds from heaven, that were divine;\\r\\n Wherein she fram’d thee, in high heaven’s despite,\\r\\n To shame the sun by day and her by night. 732\\r\\n\\r\\n“And therefore hath she brib’d the destinies,\\r\\nTo cross the curious workmanship of nature,\\r\\nTo mingle beauty with infirmities,\\r\\nAnd pure perfection with impure defeature, 736\\r\\n Making it subject to the tyranny\\r\\n Of mad mischances and much misery.\\r\\n\\r\\n“As burning fevers, agues pale and faint,\\r\\nLife-poisoning pestilence and frenzies wood, 740\\r\\nThe marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint\\r\\nDisorder breeds by heating of the blood;\\r\\n Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn’d despair,\\r\\n Swear nature’s death, for framing thee so fair. 744\\r\\n\\r\\n“And not the least of all these maladies\\r\\nBut in one minute’s fight brings beauty under:\\r\\nBoth favour, savour, hue and qualities,\\r\\nWhereat th’impartial gazer late did wonder, 748\\r\\n Are on the sudden wasted, thaw’d and done,\\r\\n As mountain snow melts with the midday sun.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Therefore despite of fruitless chastity,\\r\\nLove-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns, 752\\r\\nThat on the earth would breed a scarcity\\r\\nAnd barren dearth of daughters and of sons,\\r\\n Be prodigal: the lamp that burns by night\\r\\n Dries up his oil to lend the world his light. 756\\r\\n\\r\\n“What is thy body but a swallowing grave,\\r\\nSeeming to bury that posterity,\\r\\nWhich by the rights of time thou needs must have,\\r\\nIf thou destroy them not in dark obscurity? 760\\r\\n If so, the world will hold thee in disdain,\\r\\n Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.\\r\\n\\r\\n“So in thyself thyself art made away;\\r\\nA mischief worse than civil home-bred strife, 764\\r\\nOr theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay,\\r\\nOr butcher sire that reeves his son of life.\\r\\n Foul cank’ring rust the hidden treasure frets,\\r\\n But gold that’s put to use more gold begets.” 768\\r\\n\\r\\n“Nay then,” quoth Adon, “you will fall again\\r\\nInto your idle over-handled theme;\\r\\nThe kiss I gave you is bestow’d in vain,\\r\\nAnd all in vain you strive against the stream; 772\\r\\n For by this black-fac’d night, desire’s foul nurse,\\r\\n Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse.\\r\\n\\r\\n“If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues,\\r\\nAnd every tongue more moving than your own, 776\\r\\nBewitching like the wanton mermaid’s songs,\\r\\nYet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown;\\r\\n For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear,\\r\\n And will not let a false sound enter there. 780\\r\\n\\r\\n“Lest the deceiving harmony should run\\r\\nInto the quiet closure of my breast,\\r\\nAnd then my little heart were quite undone,\\r\\nIn his bedchamber to be barr’d of rest. 784\\r\\n No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan,\\r\\n But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.\\r\\n\\r\\n“What have you urg’d that I cannot reprove?\\r\\nThe path is smooth that leadeth on to danger; 790\\r\\nI hate not love, but your device in love\\r\\nThat lends embracements unto every stranger.\\r\\n You do it for increase: O strange excuse!\\r\\n When reason is the bawd to lust’s abuse. 792\\r\\n\\r\\n“Call it not, love, for love to heaven is fled,\\r\\nSince sweating lust on earth usurp’d his name;\\r\\nUnder whose simple semblance he hath fed\\r\\nUpon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame; 796\\r\\n Which the hot tyrant stains and soon bereaves,\\r\\n As caterpillars do the tender leaves.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Love comforteth like sunshine after rain,\\r\\nBut lust’s effect is tempest after sun; 800\\r\\nLove’s gentle spring doth always fresh remain,\\r\\nLust’s winter comes ere summer half be done.\\r\\n Love surfeits not, lust like a glutton dies;\\r\\n Love is all truth, lust full of forged lies. 804\\r\\n\\r\\n“More I could tell, but more I dare not say;\\r\\nThe text is old, the orator too green.\\r\\nTherefore, in sadness, now I will away;\\r\\nMy face is full of shame, my heart of teen, 808\\r\\n Mine ears, that to your wanton talk attended\\r\\n Do burn themselves for having so offended.”\\r\\n\\r\\nWith this he breaketh from the sweet embrace 811\\r\\nOf those fair arms which bound him to her breast,\\r\\nAnd homeward through the dark laund runs apace;\\r\\nLeaves love upon her back deeply distress’d.\\r\\n Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky,\\r\\n So glides he in the night from Venus’ eye. 816\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich after him she darts, as one on shore\\r\\nGazing upon a late embarked friend,\\r\\nTill the wild waves will have him seen no more,\\r\\nWhose ridges with the meeting clouds contend: 820\\r\\n So did the merciless and pitchy night\\r\\n Fold in the object that did feed her sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhereat amaz’d, as one that unaware\\r\\nHath dropp’d a precious jewel in the flood, 824\\r\\nOr ’stonish’d as night-wanderers often are,\\r\\nTheir light blown out in some mistrustful wood;\\r\\n Even so confounded in the dark she lay,\\r\\n Having lost the fair discovery of her way. 828\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd now she beats her heart, whereat it groans,\\r\\nThat all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled,\\r\\nMake verbal repetition of her moans;\\r\\nPassion on passion deeply is redoubled: 832\\r\\n “Ay me!” she cries, and twenty times, “Woe, woe!”\\r\\n And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe marking them, begins a wailing note,\\r\\nAnd sings extemporally a woeful ditty; 836\\r\\nHow love makes young men thrall, and old men dote,\\r\\nHow love is wise in folly foolish witty:\\r\\n Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe,\\r\\n And still the choir of echoes answer so. 840\\r\\n\\r\\nHer song was tedious, and outwore the night,\\r\\nFor lovers’ hours are long, though seeming short,\\r\\nIf pleas’d themselves, others they think, delight\\r\\nIn such like circumstance, with such like sport: 844\\r\\n Their copious stories oftentimes begun,\\r\\n End without audience, and are never done.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor who hath she to spend the night withal,\\r\\nBut idle sounds resembling parasites; 848\\r\\nLike shrill-tongu’d tapsters answering every call,\\r\\nSoothing the humour of fantastic wits?\\r\\n She says, “’Tis so:” they answer all, “’Tis so;”\\r\\n And would say after her, if she said “No.” 852\\r\\n\\r\\nLo here the gentle lark, weary of rest,\\r\\nFrom his moist cabinet mounts up on high,\\r\\nAnd wakes the morning, from whose silver breast\\r\\nThe sun ariseth in his majesty; 856\\r\\n Who doth the world so gloriously behold,\\r\\n That cedar tops and hills seem burnish’d gold.\\r\\n\\r\\nVenus salutes him with this fair good morrow:\\r\\n“Oh thou clear god, and patron of all light, 860\\r\\nFrom whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow\\r\\nThe beauteous influence that makes him bright,\\r\\n There lives a son that suck’d an earthly mother,\\r\\n May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.”\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove, 865\\r\\nMusing the morning is so much o’erworn,\\r\\nAnd yet she hears no tidings of her love;\\r\\nShe hearkens for his hounds and for his horn. 868\\r\\n Anon she hears them chant it lustily,\\r\\n And all in haste she coasteth to the cry.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd as she runs, the bushes in the way\\r\\nSome catch her by the neck, some kiss her face, 872\\r\\nSome twine about her thigh to make her stay:\\r\\nShe wildly breaketh from their strict embrace,\\r\\n Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache,\\r\\n Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake. 876\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this she hears the hounds are at a bay,\\r\\nWhereat she starts like one that spies an adder\\r\\nWreath’d up in fatal folds just in his way,\\r\\nThe fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder; 880\\r\\n Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds\\r\\n Appals her senses, and her spirit confounds.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor now she knows it is no gentle chase,\\r\\nBut the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud, 884\\r\\nBecause the cry remaineth in one place,\\r\\nWhere fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud,\\r\\n Finding their enemy to be so curst,\\r\\n They all strain court’sy who shall cope him first. 888\\r\\n\\r\\nThis dismal cry rings sadly in her ear,\\r\\nThrough which it enters to surprise her heart;\\r\\nWho overcome by doubt and bloodless fear,\\r\\nWith cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part; 892\\r\\n Like soldiers when their captain once doth yield,\\r\\n They basely fly and dare not stay the field.\\r\\n\\r\\nThus stands she in a trembling ecstasy,\\r\\nTill cheering up her senses sore dismay’d, 896\\r\\nShe tells them ’tis a causeless fantasy,\\r\\nAnd childish error, that they are afraid;\\r\\n Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more:\\r\\n And with that word, she spied the hunted boar. 900\\r\\n\\r\\nWhose frothy mouth bepainted all with red,\\r\\nLike milk and blood being mingled both together,\\r\\nA second fear through all her sinews spread,\\r\\nWhich madly hurries her she knows not whither: 904\\r\\n This way she runs, and now she will no further,\\r\\n But back retires, to rate the boar for murther.\\r\\n\\r\\nA thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways,\\r\\nShe treads the path that she untreads again; 908\\r\\nHer more than haste is mated with delays,\\r\\nLike the proceedings of a drunken brain,\\r\\n Full of respects, yet naught at all respecting,\\r\\n In hand with all things, naught at all effecting.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere kennel’d in a brake she finds a hound, 913\\r\\nAnd asks the weary caitiff for his master,\\r\\nAnd there another licking of his wound,\\r\\n’Gainst venom’d sores the only sovereign plaster. 916\\r\\n And here she meets another sadly scowling,\\r\\n To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen he hath ceas’d his ill-resounding noise,\\r\\nAnother flap-mouth’d mourner, black and grim, 920\\r\\nAgainst the welkin volleys out his voice;\\r\\nAnother and another answer him,\\r\\n Clapping their proud tails to the ground below,\\r\\n Shaking their scratch’d ears, bleeding as they go.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook how the world’s poor people are amazed 925\\r\\nAt apparitions, signs, and prodigies,\\r\\nWhereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed,\\r\\nInfusing them with dreadful prophecies; 928\\r\\n So she at these sad sighs draws up her breath,\\r\\n And sighing it again, exclaims on death.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Hard-favour’d tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean, 931\\r\\nHateful divorce of love,” thus chides she death,\\r\\n“Grim-grinning ghost, earth’s worm, what dost thou mean?\\r\\nTo stifle beauty and to steal his breath,\\r\\n Who when he liv’d, his breath and beauty set\\r\\n Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet. 936\\r\\n\\r\\n“If he be dead, O no, it cannot be,\\r\\nSeeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it,\\r\\nO yes, it may, thou hast no eyes to see,\\r\\nBut hatefully at random dost thou hit. 940\\r\\n Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart\\r\\n Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant’s heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke,\\r\\nAnd hearing him, thy power had lost his power. 944\\r\\nThe destinies will curse thee for this stroke;\\r\\nThey bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck’st a flower.\\r\\n Love’s golden arrow at him should have fled,\\r\\n And not death’s ebon dart to strike him dead. 948\\r\\n\\r\\n“Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok’st such weeping?\\r\\nWhat may a heavy groan advantage thee?\\r\\nWhy hast thou cast into eternal sleeping\\r\\nThose eyes that taught all other eyes to see? 952\\r\\n Now nature cares not for thy mortal vigour,\\r\\n Since her best work is ruin’d with thy rigour.”\\r\\n\\r\\nHere overcome, as one full of despair,\\r\\nShe vail’d her eyelids, who like sluices stopp’d 956\\r\\nThe crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair\\r\\nIn the sweet channel of her bosom dropp’d\\r\\n But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain,\\r\\n And with his strong course opens them again. 960\\r\\n\\r\\nO how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow;\\r\\nHer eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye;\\r\\nBoth crystals, where they view’d each other’s sorrow,\\r\\nSorrow that friendly sighs sought still to dry; 964\\r\\n But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain,\\r\\n Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.\\r\\n\\r\\nVariable passions throng her constant woe,\\r\\nAs striving who should best become her grief; 968\\r\\nAll entertain’d, each passion labours so,\\r\\nThat every present sorrow seemeth chief,\\r\\n But none is best, then join they all together,\\r\\n Like many clouds consulting for foul weather. 972\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this, far off she hears some huntsman holla;\\r\\nA nurse’s song ne’er pleas’d her babe so well:\\r\\nThe dire imagination she did follow\\r\\nThis sound of hope doth labour to expel; 976\\r\\n For now reviving joy bids her rejoice,\\r\\n And flatters her it is Adonis’ voice.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhereat her tears began to turn their tide,\\r\\nBeing prison’d in her eye, like pearls in glass; 980\\r\\nYet sometimes falls an orient drop beside,\\r\\nWhich her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass\\r\\n To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground,\\r\\n Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nO hard-believing love, how strange it seems 985\\r\\nNot to believe, and yet too credulous;\\r\\nThy weal and woe are both of them extremes;\\r\\nDespair and hope make thee ridiculous, 988\\r\\n The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,\\r\\n In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow she unweaves the web that she hath wrought,\\r\\nAdonis lives, and death is not to blame; 992\\r\\nIt was not she that call’d him all to naught;\\r\\nNow she adds honours to his hateful name.\\r\\n She clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings,\\r\\n Imperious supreme of all mortal things. 996\\r\\n\\r\\n“No, no,” quoth she, “sweet death, I did but jest;\\r\\nYet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear\\r\\nWhenas I met the boar, that bloody beast,\\r\\nWhich knows no pity, but is still severe; 1000\\r\\n Then, gentle shadow,—truth I must confess—\\r\\n I rail’d on thee, fearing my love’s decease.\\r\\n\\r\\n“’Tis not my fault, the boar provok’d my tongue;\\r\\nBe wreak’d on him, invisible commander; 1004\\r\\n’Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong;\\r\\nI did but act, he’s author of my slander.\\r\\n Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet,\\r\\n Could rule them both, without ten women’s wit.”\\r\\n\\r\\nThus hoping that Adonis is alive, 1009\\r\\nHer rash suspect she doth extenuate;\\r\\nAnd that his beauty may the better thrive,\\r\\nWith death she humbly doth insinuate; 1012\\r\\n Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs and stories\\r\\n His victories, his triumphs and his glories.\\r\\n\\r\\n“O love!” quoth she, “how much a fool was I,\\r\\nTo be of such a weak and silly mind, 1016\\r\\nTo wail his death who lives, and must not die\\r\\nTill mutual overthrow of mortal kind;\\r\\n For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,\\r\\n And beauty dead, black Chaos comes again. 1020\\r\\n\\r\\n“Fie, fie, fond love, thou art as full of fear\\r\\nAs one with treasure laden, hemm’d with thieves,\\r\\nTrifles unwitnessed with eye or ear,\\r\\nThy coward heart with false bethinking grieves.” 1024\\r\\n Even at this word she hears a merry horn,\\r\\n Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs falcon to the lure, away she flies;\\r\\nThe grass stoops not, she treads on it so light, 1028\\r\\nAnd in her haste unfortunately spies\\r\\nThe foul boar’s conquest on her fair delight;\\r\\n Which seen, her eyes, as murder’d with the view,\\r\\n Like stars asham’d of day, themselves withdrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nOr as the snail, whose tender horns being hit, 1033\\r\\nShrinks backwards in his shelly cave with pain,\\r\\nAnd there all smother’d up, in shade doth sit,\\r\\nLong after fearing to creep forth again: 1036\\r\\n So at his bloody view her eyes are fled\\r\\n Into the deep dark cabins of her head.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhere they resign their office and their light\\r\\nTo the disposing of her troubled brain, 1040\\r\\nWho bids them still consort with ugly night,\\r\\nAnd never wound the heart with looks again;\\r\\n Who like a king perplexed in his throne,\\r\\n By their suggestion gives a deadly groan. 1044\\r\\n\\r\\nWhereat each tributary subject quakes,\\r\\nAs when the wind imprison’d in the ground,\\r\\nStruggling for passage, earth’s foundation shakes,\\r\\nWhich with cold terror doth men’s minds confound.\\r\\n This mutiny each part doth so surprise 1049\\r\\n That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd being open’d, threw unwilling light\\r\\nUpon the wide wound that the boar had trench’d\\r\\nIn his soft flank, whose wonted lily white 1053\\r\\nWith purple tears that his wound wept, was drench’d.\\r\\n No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf or weed,\\r\\n But stole his blood and seem’d with him to bleed.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth, 1057\\r\\nOver one shoulder doth she hang her head,\\r\\nDumbly she passions, franticly she doteth;\\r\\nShe thinks he could not die, he is not dead: 1060\\r\\n Her voice is stopp’d, her joints forget to bow,\\r\\n Her eyes are mad, that they have wept till now.\\r\\n\\r\\nUpon his hurt she looks so steadfastly,\\r\\nThat her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three;\\r\\nAnd then she reprehends her mangling eye, 1065\\r\\nThat makes more gashes, where no breach should be:\\r\\n His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled,\\r\\n For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled.\\r\\n\\r\\n“My tongue cannot express my grief for one, 1069\\r\\nAnd yet,” quoth she, “behold two Adons dead!\\r\\nMy sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone,\\r\\nMine eyes are turn’d to fire, my heart to lead: 1072\\r\\n Heavy heart’s lead, melt at mine eyes’ red fire!\\r\\n So shall I die by drops of hot desire.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Alas poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!\\r\\nWhat face remains alive that’s worth the viewing?\\r\\nWhose tongue is music now? what canst thou boast\\r\\nOf things long since, or anything ensuing? 1078\\r\\n The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim,\\r\\n But true sweet beauty liv’d and died with him.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear! 1081\\r\\nNor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you:\\r\\nHaving no fair to lose, you need not fear;\\r\\nThe sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss you.\\r\\n But when Adonis liv’d, sun and sharp air 1085\\r\\n Lurk’d like two thieves, to rob him of his fair.\\r\\n\\r\\n“And therefore would he put his bonnet on,\\r\\nUnder whose brim the gaudy sun would peep; 1088\\r\\nThe wind would blow it off, and being gone,\\r\\nPlay with his locks; then would Adonis weep;\\r\\n And straight, in pity of his tender years,\\r\\n They both would strive who first should dry his tears.\\r\\n\\r\\n“To see his face the lion walk’d along 1093\\r\\nBehind some hedge, because he would not fear him;\\r\\nTo recreate himself when he hath sung,\\r\\nThe tiger would be tame and gently hear him. 1096\\r\\n If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey,\\r\\n And never fright the silly lamb that day.\\r\\n\\r\\n“When he beheld his shadow in the brook,\\r\\nThe fishes spread on it their golden gills; 1100\\r\\nWhen he was by, the birds such pleasure took,\\r\\nThat some would sing, some other in their bills\\r\\n Would bring him mulberries and ripe-red cherries,\\r\\n He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.\\r\\n\\r\\n“But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar, 1105\\r\\nWhose downward eye still looketh for a grave,\\r\\nNe’er saw the beauteous livery that he wore;\\r\\nWitness the entertainment that he gave. 1108\\r\\n If he did see his face, why then I know\\r\\n He thought to kiss him, and hath kill’d him so.\\r\\n\\r\\n“’Tis true, ’tis true; thus was Adonis slain:\\r\\nHe ran upon the boar with his sharp spear, 1112\\r\\nWho did not whet his teeth at him again,\\r\\nBut by a kiss thought to persuade him there;\\r\\n And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine\\r\\n Sheath’d unaware the tusk in his soft groin. 1116\\r\\n\\r\\n“Had I been tooth’d like him, I must confess,\\r\\nWith kissing him I should have kill’d him first;\\r\\nBut he is dead, and never did he bless\\r\\nMy youth with his; the more am I accurst.” 1120\\r\\n With this she falleth in the place she stood,\\r\\n And stains her face with his congealed blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe looks upon his lips, and they are pale;\\r\\nShe takes him by the hand, and that is cold, 1124\\r\\nShe whispers in his ears a heavy tale,\\r\\nAs if they heard the woeful words she told;\\r\\nShe lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes,\\r\\nWhere lo, two lamps burnt out in darkness lies.\\r\\n\\r\\nTwo glasses where herself herself beheld 1129\\r\\nA thousand times, and now no more reflect;\\r\\nTheir virtue lost, wherein they late excell’d,\\r\\nAnd every beauty robb’d of his effect. 1132\\r\\n “Wonder of time,” quoth she, “this is my spite,\\r\\n That thou being dead, the day should yet be light.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Since thou art dead, lo here I prophesy,\\r\\nSorrow on love hereafter shall attend: 1136\\r\\nIt shall be waited on with jealousy,\\r\\nFind sweet beginning, but unsavoury end;\\r\\n Ne’er settled equally, but high or low,\\r\\n That all love’s pleasure shall not match his woe.\\r\\n\\r\\n“It shall be fickle, false and full of fraud, 1141\\r\\nBud, and be blasted in a breathing while;\\r\\nThe bottom poison, and the top o’erstraw’d\\r\\nWith sweets that shall the truest sight beguile. 1144\\r\\n The strongest body shall it make most weak,\\r\\n Strike the wise dumb, and teach the fool to speak.\\r\\n\\r\\n“It shall be sparing, and too full of riot,\\r\\nTeaching decrepit age to tread the measures; 1148\\r\\nThe staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet,\\r\\nPluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures;\\r\\n It shall be raging mad, and silly mild,\\r\\n Make the young old, the old become a child. 1152\\r\\n\\r\\n“It shall suspect where is no cause of fear,\\r\\nIt shall not fear where it should most mistrust;\\r\\nIt shall be merciful, and too severe,\\r\\nAnd most deceiving when it seems most just; 1156\\r\\n Perverse it shall be, where it shows most toward,\\r\\n Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.\\r\\n\\r\\n“It shall be cause of war and dire events,\\r\\nAnd set dissension ’twixt the son and sire; 1160\\r\\nSubject and servile to all discontents,\\r\\nAs dry combustious matter is to fire,\\r\\n Sith in his prime death doth my love destroy,\\r\\n They that love best their love shall not enjoy.” 1164\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this the boy that by her side lay kill’d\\r\\nWas melted like a vapour from her sight,\\r\\nAnd in his blood that on the ground lay spill’d,\\r\\nA purple flower sprung up, chequer’d with white, 1168\\r\\n Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood\\r\\n Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell,\\r\\nComparing it to her Adonis’ breath; 1172\\r\\nAnd says within her bosom it shall dwell,\\r\\nSince he himself is reft from her by death;\\r\\n She drops the stalk, and in the breach appears\\r\\n Green-dropping sap, which she compares to tears.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Poor flower,” quoth she, “this was thy father’s guise,\\r\\nSweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire,\\r\\nFor every little grief to wet his eyes,\\r\\nTo grow unto himself was his desire, 1180\\r\\n And so ’tis thine; but know, it is as good\\r\\n To wither in my breast as in his blood.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Here was thy father’s bed, here in my breast;\\r\\nThou art the next of blood, and ’tis thy right: 1184\\r\\nLo in this hollow cradle take thy rest,\\r\\nMy throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night:\\r\\n There shall not be one minute in an hour\\r\\n Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love’s flower.”\\r\\n\\r\\nThus weary of the world, away she hies, 1189\\r\\nAnd yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid\\r\\nTheir mistress mounted through the empty skies,\\r\\nIn her light chariot quickly is convey’d; 1192\\r\\n Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen\\r\\n Means to immure herself and not be seen.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FINIS\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n* CONTENT NOTE (added in 2017) *\\r\\n\\r\\nThis Project Gutenberg eBook was originally marked as having a copyright.\\r\\nHowever, Project Gutenberg now believes that the eBook\\'s contents does\\r\\nnot actually have a copyright.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis is based on current understanding of copyright law, in which\\r\\n\"authorship\" is required to obtain a copyright. 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Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm\\r\\n\\r\\nProject Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of\\r\\nelectronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers',\n", + " '',\n", + " 'OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Venice. A street.\\r\\nScene II. Venice. Another street.\\r\\nScene III. Venice. A council chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. A seaport in Cyprus. A Platform.\\r\\nScene II. A street.\\r\\nScene III. A Hall in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\nScene II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\nScene III. Cyprus. The Garden of the Castle.\\r\\nScene IV. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\nScene II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\nScene III. Cyprus. Another Room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Cyprus. A Street.\\r\\nScene II. Cyprus. A Bedchamber in the castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE OF VENICE\\r\\nBRABANTIO, a Senator of Venice and Desdemona’s father\\r\\nOther Senators\\r\\nGRATIANO, Brother to Brabantio\\r\\nLODOVICO, Kinsman to Brabantio\\r\\nOTHELLO, a noble Moor in the service of Venice\\r\\nCASSIO, his Lieutenant\\r\\nIAGO, his Ancient\\r\\nMONTANO, Othello’s predecessor in the government of Cyprus\\r\\nRODERIGO, a Venetian Gentleman\\r\\nCLOWN, Servant to Othello\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA, Daughter to Brabantio and Wife to Othello\\r\\nEMILIA, Wife to Iago\\r\\nBIANCA, Mistress to Cassio\\r\\n\\r\\nOfficers, Gentlemen, Messenger, Musicians, Herald, Sailor, Attendants,\\r\\n&c.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: The First Act in Venice; during the rest of the Play at a\\r\\nSeaport in Cyprus.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Venice. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Roderigo and Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nTush, never tell me, I take it much unkindly\\r\\nThat thou, Iago, who hast had my purse,\\r\\nAs if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n’Sblood, but you will not hear me.\\r\\nIf ever I did dream of such a matter,\\r\\nAbhor me.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nThou told’st me, thou didst hold him in thy hate.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDespise me if I do not. Three great ones of the city,\\r\\nIn personal suit to make me his lieutenant,\\r\\nOff-capp’d to him; and by the faith of man,\\r\\nI know my price, I am worth no worse a place.\\r\\nBut he, as loving his own pride and purposes,\\r\\nEvades them, with a bombast circumstance,\\r\\nHorribly stuff’d with epithets of war:\\r\\nAnd in conclusion,\\r\\nNonsuits my mediators: for “Certes,” says he,\\r\\n“I have already chose my officer.”\\r\\nAnd what was he?\\r\\nForsooth, a great arithmetician,\\r\\nOne Michael Cassio, a Florentine,\\r\\nA fellow almost damn’d in a fair wife,\\r\\nThat never set a squadron in the field,\\r\\nNor the division of a battle knows\\r\\nMore than a spinster, unless the bookish theoric,\\r\\nWherein the toged consuls can propose\\r\\nAs masterly as he: mere prattle without practice\\r\\nIs all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election,\\r\\nAnd I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof\\r\\nAt Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds,\\r\\nChristian and heathen, must be belee’d and calm’d\\r\\nBy debitor and creditor, this counter-caster,\\r\\nHe, in good time, must his lieutenant be,\\r\\nAnd I, God bless the mark, his Moorship’s ancient.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nBy heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, there’s no remedy. ’Tis the curse of service,\\r\\nPreferment goes by letter and affection,\\r\\nAnd not by old gradation, where each second\\r\\nStood heir to the first. Now sir, be judge yourself\\r\\nWhether I in any just term am affin’d\\r\\nTo love the Moor.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI would not follow him, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, sir, content you.\\r\\nI follow him to serve my turn upon him:\\r\\nWe cannot all be masters, nor all masters\\r\\nCannot be truly follow’d. You shall mark\\r\\nMany a duteous and knee-crooking knave\\r\\nThat, doting on his own obsequious bondage,\\r\\nWears out his time, much like his master’s ass,\\r\\nFor nought but provender, and when he’s old, cashier’d.\\r\\nWhip me such honest knaves. Others there are\\r\\nWho, trimm’d in forms, and visages of duty,\\r\\nKeep yet their hearts attending on themselves,\\r\\nAnd throwing but shows of service on their lords,\\r\\nDo well thrive by them, and when they have lin’d their coats,\\r\\nDo themselves homage. These fellows have some soul,\\r\\nAnd such a one do I profess myself. For, sir,\\r\\nIt is as sure as you are Roderigo,\\r\\nWere I the Moor, I would not be Iago:\\r\\nIn following him, I follow but myself.\\r\\nHeaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,\\r\\nBut seeming so for my peculiar end.\\r\\nFor when my outward action doth demonstrate\\r\\nThe native act and figure of my heart\\r\\nIn complement extern, ’tis not long after\\r\\nBut I will wear my heart upon my sleeve\\r\\nFor daws to peck at: I am not what I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhat a full fortune does the thick-lips owe,\\r\\nIf he can carry’t thus!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCall up her father,\\r\\nRouse him, make after him, poison his delight,\\r\\nProclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen,\\r\\nAnd though he in a fertile climate dwell,\\r\\nPlague him with flies: though that his joy be joy,\\r\\nYet throw such changes of vexation on’t,\\r\\nAs it may lose some color.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nHere is her father’s house, I’ll call aloud.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo, with like timorous accent and dire yell\\r\\nAs when, by night and negligence, the fire\\r\\nIs spied in populous cities.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhat ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAwake! what ho, Brabantio! Thieves, thieves!\\r\\nLook to your house, your daughter, and your bags!\\r\\nThieves, thieves!\\r\\n\\r\\n Brabantio appears above at a window.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nWhat is the reason of this terrible summons?\\r\\nWhat is the matter there?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nSignior, is all your family within?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAre your doors locked?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nWhy, wherefore ask you this?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nZounds, sir, you’re robb’d, for shame put on your gown,\\r\\nYour heart is burst, you have lost half your soul;\\r\\nEven now, now, very now, an old black ram\\r\\nIs tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise,\\r\\nAwake the snorting citizens with the bell,\\r\\nOr else the devil will make a grandsire of you:\\r\\nArise, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nWhat, have you lost your wits?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nMost reverend signior, do you know my voice?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nNot I. What are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nMy name is Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nThe worser welcome.\\r\\nI have charg’d thee not to haunt about my doors;\\r\\nIn honest plainness thou hast heard me say\\r\\nMy daughter is not for thee; and now in madness,\\r\\nBeing full of supper and distempering draughts,\\r\\nUpon malicious bravery, dost thou come\\r\\nTo start my quiet.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nSir, sir, sir,—\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nBut thou must needs be sure\\r\\nMy spirit and my place have in them power\\r\\nTo make this bitter to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nPatience, good sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nWhat tell’st thou me of robbing?\\r\\nThis is Venice. My house is not a grange.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nMost grave Brabantio,\\r\\nIn simple and pure soul I come to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nZounds, sir, you are one of those that will not serve God if the devil\\r\\nbid you. Because we come to do you service, and you think we are\\r\\nruffians, you’ll have your daughter cover’d with a Barbary horse;\\r\\nyou’ll have your nephews neigh to you; you’ll have coursers for cousins\\r\\nand gennets for germans.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nWhat profane wretch art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are\\r\\nnow making the beast with two backs.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nThou art a villain.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou are a senator.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nThis thou shalt answer. I know thee, Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nSir, I will answer anything. But I beseech you,\\r\\nIf ’t be your pleasure, and most wise consent,\\r\\n(As partly I find it is) that your fair daughter,\\r\\nAt this odd-even and dull watch o’ the night,\\r\\nTransported with no worse nor better guard,\\r\\nBut with a knave of common hire, a gondolier,\\r\\nTo the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor:\\r\\nIf this be known to you, and your allowance,\\r\\nWe then have done you bold and saucy wrongs.\\r\\nBut if you know not this, my manners tell me,\\r\\nWe have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe\\r\\nThat from the sense of all civility,\\r\\nI thus would play and trifle with your reverence.\\r\\nYour daughter (if you have not given her leave)\\r\\nI say again, hath made a gross revolt,\\r\\nTying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes\\r\\nIn an extravagant and wheeling stranger\\r\\nOf here and everywhere. Straight satisfy yourself:\\r\\nIf she be in her chamber or your house,\\r\\nLet loose on me the justice of the state\\r\\nFor thus deluding you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nStrike on the tinder, ho!\\r\\nGive me a taper! Call up all my people!\\r\\nThis accident is not unlike my dream,\\r\\nBelief of it oppresses me already.\\r\\nLight, I say, light!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit from above._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFarewell; for I must leave you:\\r\\nIt seems not meet nor wholesome to my place\\r\\nTo be produc’d, as if I stay I shall,\\r\\nAgainst the Moor. For I do know the state,\\r\\nHowever this may gall him with some check,\\r\\nCannot with safety cast him, for he’s embark’d\\r\\nWith such loud reason to the Cyprus wars,\\r\\nWhich even now stand in act, that, for their souls,\\r\\nAnother of his fathom they have none\\r\\nTo lead their business. In which regard,\\r\\nThough I do hate him as I do hell pains,\\r\\nYet, for necessity of present life,\\r\\nI must show out a flag and sign of love,\\r\\nWhich is indeed but sign. That you shall surely find him,\\r\\nLead to the Sagittary the raised search,\\r\\nAnd there will I be with him. So, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Brabantio with Servants and torches.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nIt is too true an evil. Gone she is,\\r\\nAnd what’s to come of my despised time,\\r\\nIs naught but bitterness. Now Roderigo,\\r\\nWhere didst thou see her? (O unhappy girl!)\\r\\nWith the Moor, say’st thou? (Who would be a father!)\\r\\nHow didst thou know ’twas she? (O, she deceives me\\r\\nPast thought.) What said she to you? Get more tapers,\\r\\nRaise all my kindred. Are they married, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nTruly I think they are.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nO heaven! How got she out? O treason of the blood!\\r\\nFathers, from hence trust not your daughters’ minds\\r\\nBy what you see them act. Is there not charms\\r\\nBy which the property of youth and maidhood\\r\\nMay be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo,\\r\\nOf some such thing?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nYes, sir, I have indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nCall up my brother. O, would you had had her!\\r\\nSome one way, some another. Do you know\\r\\nWhere we may apprehend her and the Moor?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI think I can discover him, if you please\\r\\nTo get good guard, and go along with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nPray you lead on. At every house I’ll call,\\r\\nI may command at most. Get weapons, ho!\\r\\nAnd raise some special officers of night.\\r\\nOn, good Roderigo. I will deserve your pains.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Venice. Another street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello, Iago and Attendants with torches.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThough in the trade of war I have slain men,\\r\\nYet do I hold it very stuff o’ the conscience\\r\\nTo do no contriv’d murder; I lack iniquity\\r\\nSometimes to do me service: nine or ten times\\r\\nI had thought to have yerk’d him here under the ribs.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n’Tis better as it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, but he prated,\\r\\nAnd spoke such scurvy and provoking terms\\r\\nAgainst your honour,\\r\\nThat with the little godliness I have,\\r\\nI did full hard forbear him. But I pray you, sir,\\r\\nAre you fast married? Be assur’d of this,\\r\\nThat the magnifico is much belov’d\\r\\nAnd hath in his effect a voice potential\\r\\nAs double as the duke’s; he will divorce you,\\r\\nOr put upon you what restraint and grievance\\r\\nThe law (with all his might to enforce it on)\\r\\nWill give him cable.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nLet him do his spite;\\r\\nMy services, which I have done the signiory,\\r\\nShall out-tongue his complaints. ’Tis yet to know,—\\r\\nWhich, when I know that boasting is an honour,\\r\\nI shall promulgate,—I fetch my life and being\\r\\nFrom men of royal siege. And my demerits\\r\\nMay speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune\\r\\nAs this that I have reach’d. For know, Iago,\\r\\nBut that I love the gentle Desdemona,\\r\\nI would not my unhoused free condition\\r\\nPut into circumscription and confine\\r\\nFor the sea’s worth. But look, what lights come yond?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThose are the raised father and his friends:\\r\\nYou were best go in.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNot I; I must be found.\\r\\nMy parts, my title, and my perfect soul\\r\\nShall manifest me rightly. Is it they?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBy Janus, I think no.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio and Officers with torches.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe servants of the duke and my lieutenant.\\r\\nThe goodness of the night upon you, friends!\\r\\nWhat is the news?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThe duke does greet you, general,\\r\\nAnd he requires your haste-post-haste appearance\\r\\nEven on the instant.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat is the matter, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nSomething from Cyprus, as I may divine.\\r\\nIt is a business of some heat. The galleys\\r\\nHave sent a dozen sequent messengers\\r\\nThis very night at one another’s heels;\\r\\nAnd many of the consuls, rais’d and met,\\r\\nAre at the duke’s already. You have been hotly call’d for,\\r\\nWhen, being not at your lodging to be found,\\r\\nThe senate hath sent about three several quests\\r\\nTo search you out.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n’Tis well I am found by you.\\r\\nI will but spend a word here in the house,\\r\\nAnd go with you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAncient, what makes he here?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFaith, he tonight hath boarded a land carrack:\\r\\nIf it prove lawful prize, he’s made forever.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI do not understand.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHe’s married.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nTo who?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMarry to—Come, captain, will you go?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHave with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHere comes another troop to seek for you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Brabantio, Roderigo and Officers with torches and weapons.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIt is Brabantio. General, be advis’d,\\r\\nHe comes to bad intent.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHolla, stand there!\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nSignior, it is the Moor.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nDown with him, thief!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They draw on both sides._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou, Roderigo! Come, sir, I am for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nKeep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.\\r\\nGood signior, you shall more command with years\\r\\nThan with your weapons.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nO thou foul thief, where hast thou stow’d my daughter?\\r\\nDamn’d as thou art, thou hast enchanted her,\\r\\nFor I’ll refer me to all things of sense,\\r\\n(If she in chains of magic were not bound)\\r\\nWhether a maid so tender, fair, and happy,\\r\\nSo opposite to marriage, that she shunn’d\\r\\nThe wealthy curled darlings of our nation,\\r\\nWould ever have, to incur a general mock,\\r\\nRun from her guardage to the sooty bosom\\r\\nOf such a thing as thou—to fear, not to delight.\\r\\nJudge me the world, if ’tis not gross in sense,\\r\\nThat thou hast practis’d on her with foul charms,\\r\\nAbus’d her delicate youth with drugs or minerals\\r\\nThat weakens motion. I’ll have’t disputed on;\\r\\n’Tis probable, and palpable to thinking.\\r\\nI therefore apprehend and do attach thee\\r\\nFor an abuser of the world, a practiser\\r\\nOf arts inhibited and out of warrant.—\\r\\nLay hold upon him, if he do resist,\\r\\nSubdue him at his peril.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHold your hands,\\r\\nBoth you of my inclining and the rest:\\r\\nWere it my cue to fight, I should have known it\\r\\nWithout a prompter. Where will you that I go\\r\\nTo answer this your charge?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nTo prison, till fit time\\r\\nOf law and course of direct session\\r\\nCall thee to answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat if I do obey?\\r\\nHow may the duke be therewith satisfied,\\r\\nWhose messengers are here about my side,\\r\\nUpon some present business of the state,\\r\\nTo bring me to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\n’Tis true, most worthy signior,\\r\\nThe duke’s in council, and your noble self,\\r\\nI am sure is sent for.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nHow? The duke in council?\\r\\nIn this time of the night? Bring him away;\\r\\nMine’s not an idle cause. The duke himself,\\r\\nOr any of my brothers of the state,\\r\\nCannot but feel this wrong as ’twere their own.\\r\\nFor if such actions may have passage free,\\r\\nBond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Venice. A council chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\n The Duke and Senators sitting at a table; Officers attending.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThere is no composition in these news\\r\\nThat gives them credit.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nIndeed, they are disproportion’d;\\r\\nMy letters say a hundred and seven galleys.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAnd mine a hundred and forty.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SENATOR\\r\\nAnd mine two hundred:\\r\\nBut though they jump not on a just account,\\r\\n(As in these cases, where the aim reports,\\r\\n’Tis oft with difference,) yet do they all confirm\\r\\nA Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nNay, it is possible enough to judgement:\\r\\nI do not so secure me in the error,\\r\\nBut the main article I do approve\\r\\nIn fearful sense.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAILOR.\\r\\n[_Within._] What, ho! what, ho! what, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nA messenger from the galleys.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sailor.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nNow,—what’s the business?\\r\\n\\r\\nSAILOR.\\r\\nThe Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes,\\r\\nSo was I bid report here to the state\\r\\nBy Signior Angelo.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHow say you by this change?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nThis cannot be\\r\\nBy no assay of reason. ’Tis a pageant\\r\\nTo keep us in false gaze. When we consider\\r\\nThe importancy of Cyprus to the Turk;\\r\\nAnd let ourselves again but understand\\r\\nThat, as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes,\\r\\nSo may he with more facile question bear it,\\r\\nFor that it stands not in such warlike brace,\\r\\nBut altogether lacks the abilities\\r\\nThat Rhodes is dress’d in. If we make thought of this,\\r\\nWe must not think the Turk is so unskilful\\r\\nTo leave that latest which concerns him first,\\r\\nNeglecting an attempt of ease and gain,\\r\\nTo wake and wage a danger profitless.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nNay, in all confidence, he’s not for Rhodes.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nHere is more news.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThe Ottomites, reverend and gracious,\\r\\nSteering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes,\\r\\nHave there injointed them with an after fleet.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nAy, so I thought. How many, as you guess?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nOf thirty sail, and now they do re-stem\\r\\nTheir backward course, bearing with frank appearance\\r\\nTheir purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Montano,\\r\\nYour trusty and most valiant servitor,\\r\\nWith his free duty recommends you thus,\\r\\nAnd prays you to believe him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\n’Tis certain, then, for Cyprus.\\r\\nMarcus Luccicos, is not he in town?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nHe’s now in Florence.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWrite from us to him; post-post-haste dispatch.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nHere comes Brabantio and the valiant Moor.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Brabantio, Othello, Iago, Roderigo and Officers.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nValiant Othello, we must straight employ you\\r\\nAgainst the general enemy Ottoman.\\r\\n[_To Brabantio._] I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior,\\r\\nWe lack’d your counsel and your help tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nSo did I yours. Good your grace, pardon me.\\r\\nNeither my place, nor aught I heard of business\\r\\nHath rais’d me from my bed, nor doth the general care\\r\\nTake hold on me; for my particular grief\\r\\nIs of so flood-gate and o’erbearing nature\\r\\nThat it engluts and swallows other sorrows,\\r\\nAnd it is still itself.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhy, what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nMy daughter! O, my daughter!\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE and SENATORS.\\r\\nDead?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nAy, to me.\\r\\nShe is abused, stol’n from me, and corrupted\\r\\nBy spells and medicines bought of mountebanks;\\r\\nFor nature so preposterously to err,\\r\\nBeing not deficient, blind, or lame of sense,\\r\\nSans witchcraft could not.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhoe’er he be, that in this foul proceeding,\\r\\nHath thus beguil’d your daughter of herself,\\r\\nAnd you of her, the bloody book of law\\r\\nYou shall yourself read in the bitter letter,\\r\\nAfter your own sense, yea, though our proper son\\r\\nStood in your action.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nHumbly I thank your grace.\\r\\nHere is the man, this Moor, whom now it seems\\r\\nYour special mandate for the state affairs\\r\\nHath hither brought.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nWe are very sorry for ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\n[_To Othello._] What, in your own part, can you say to this?\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nNothing, but this is so.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nMost potent, grave, and reverend signiors,\\r\\nMy very noble and approv’d good masters:\\r\\nThat I have ta’en away this old man’s daughter,\\r\\nIt is most true; true, I have married her.\\r\\nThe very head and front of my offending\\r\\nHath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech,\\r\\nAnd little bless’d with the soft phrase of peace;\\r\\nFor since these arms of mine had seven years’ pith,\\r\\nTill now some nine moons wasted, they have us’d\\r\\nTheir dearest action in the tented field,\\r\\nAnd little of this great world can I speak,\\r\\nMore than pertains to feats of broil and battle,\\r\\nAnd therefore little shall I grace my cause\\r\\nIn speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,\\r\\nI will a round unvarnish’d tale deliver\\r\\nOf my whole course of love: what drugs, what charms,\\r\\nWhat conjuration, and what mighty magic,\\r\\n(For such proceeding I am charged withal)\\r\\nI won his daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nA maiden never bold:\\r\\nOf spirit so still and quiet that her motion\\r\\nBlush’d at herself; and she, in spite of nature,\\r\\nOf years, of country, credit, everything,\\r\\nTo fall in love with what she fear’d to look on!\\r\\nIt is judgement maim’d and most imperfect\\r\\nThat will confess perfection so could err\\r\\nAgainst all rules of nature, and must be driven\\r\\nTo find out practices of cunning hell,\\r\\nWhy this should be. I therefore vouch again,\\r\\nThat with some mixtures powerful o’er the blood,\\r\\nOr with some dram conjur’d to this effect,\\r\\nHe wrought upon her.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nTo vouch this is no proof;\\r\\nWithout more wider and more overt test\\r\\nThan these thin habits and poor likelihoods\\r\\nOf modern seeming do prefer against him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nBut, Othello, speak:\\r\\nDid you by indirect and forced courses\\r\\nSubdue and poison this young maid’s affections?\\r\\nOr came it by request, and such fair question\\r\\nAs soul to soul affordeth?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI do beseech you,\\r\\nSend for the lady to the Sagittary,\\r\\nAnd let her speak of me before her father.\\r\\nIf you do find me foul in her report,\\r\\nThe trust, the office I do hold of you,\\r\\nNot only take away, but let your sentence\\r\\nEven fall upon my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nFetch Desdemona hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAncient, conduct them, you best know the place.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Iago and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd till she come, as truly as to heaven\\r\\nI do confess the vices of my blood,\\r\\nSo justly to your grave ears I’ll present\\r\\nHow I did thrive in this fair lady’s love,\\r\\nAnd she in mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nSay it, Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHer father lov’d me, oft invited me,\\r\\nStill question’d me the story of my life,\\r\\nFrom year to year—the battles, sieges, fortunes,\\r\\nThat I have pass’d.\\r\\nI ran it through, even from my boyish days\\r\\nTo the very moment that he bade me tell it,\\r\\nWherein I spake of most disastrous chances,\\r\\nOf moving accidents by flood and field;\\r\\nOf hair-breadth scapes i’ th’ imminent deadly breach;\\r\\nOf being taken by the insolent foe,\\r\\nAnd sold to slavery, of my redemption thence,\\r\\nAnd portance in my traveler’s history,\\r\\nWherein of antres vast and deserts idle,\\r\\nRough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven,\\r\\nIt was my hint to speak,—such was the process;\\r\\nAnd of the Cannibals that each other eat,\\r\\nThe Anthropophagi, and men whose heads\\r\\nDo grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear\\r\\nWould Desdemona seriously incline.\\r\\nBut still the house affairs would draw her thence,\\r\\nWhich ever as she could with haste dispatch,\\r\\nShe’d come again, and with a greedy ear\\r\\nDevour up my discourse; which I observing,\\r\\nTook once a pliant hour, and found good means\\r\\nTo draw from her a prayer of earnest heart\\r\\nThat I would all my pilgrimage dilate,\\r\\nWhereof by parcels she had something heard,\\r\\nBut not intentively. I did consent,\\r\\nAnd often did beguile her of her tears,\\r\\nWhen I did speak of some distressful stroke\\r\\nThat my youth suffer’d. My story being done,\\r\\nShe gave me for my pains a world of sighs.\\r\\nShe swore, in faith, ’twas strange, ’twas passing strange;\\r\\n’Twas pitiful, ’twas wondrous pitiful.\\r\\nShe wish’d she had not heard it, yet she wish’d\\r\\nThat heaven had made her such a man: she thank’d me,\\r\\nAnd bade me, if I had a friend that lov’d her,\\r\\nI should but teach him how to tell my story,\\r\\nAnd that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake:\\r\\nShe lov’d me for the dangers I had pass’d,\\r\\nAnd I lov’d her that she did pity them.\\r\\nThis only is the witchcraft I have us’d.\\r\\nHere comes the lady. Let her witness it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona, Iago and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI think this tale would win my daughter too.\\r\\nGood Brabantio,\\r\\nTake up this mangled matter at the best.\\r\\nMen do their broken weapons rather use\\r\\nThan their bare hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nI pray you hear her speak.\\r\\nIf she confess that she was half the wooer,\\r\\nDestruction on my head, if my bad blame\\r\\nLight on the man!—Come hither, gentle mistress:\\r\\nDo you perceive in all this noble company\\r\\nWhere most you owe obedience?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy noble father,\\r\\nI do perceive here a divided duty:\\r\\nTo you I am bound for life and education.\\r\\nMy life and education both do learn me\\r\\nHow to respect you. You are the lord of duty,\\r\\nI am hitherto your daughter: but here’s my husband.\\r\\nAnd so much duty as my mother show’d\\r\\nTo you, preferring you before her father,\\r\\nSo much I challenge that I may profess\\r\\nDue to the Moor my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nGod be with you! I have done.\\r\\nPlease it your grace, on to the state affairs.\\r\\nI had rather to adopt a child than get it.—\\r\\nCome hither, Moor:\\r\\nI here do give thee that with all my heart\\r\\nWhich, but thou hast already, with all my heart\\r\\nI would keep from thee.—For your sake, jewel,\\r\\nI am glad at soul I have no other child,\\r\\nFor thy escape would teach me tyranny,\\r\\nTo hang clogs on them.—I have done, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nLet me speak like yourself, and lay a sentence,\\r\\nWhich as a grise or step may help these lovers\\r\\nInto your favour.\\r\\nWhen remedies are past, the griefs are ended\\r\\nBy seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended.\\r\\nTo mourn a mischief that is past and gone\\r\\nIs the next way to draw new mischief on.\\r\\nWhat cannot be preserved when fortune takes,\\r\\nPatience her injury a mockery makes.\\r\\nThe robb’d that smiles steals something from the thief;\\r\\nHe robs himself that spends a bootless grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nSo let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile,\\r\\nWe lose it not so long as we can smile;\\r\\nHe bears the sentence well, that nothing bears\\r\\nBut the free comfort which from thence he hears;\\r\\nBut he bears both the sentence and the sorrow\\r\\nThat, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow.\\r\\nThese sentences to sugar or to gall,\\r\\nBeing strong on both sides, are equivocal:\\r\\nBut words are words; I never yet did hear\\r\\nThat the bruis’d heart was pierced through the ear.\\r\\nI humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThe Turk with a most mighty preparation makes for Cyprus. Othello, the\\r\\nfortitude of the place is best known to you. And though we have there a\\r\\nsubstitute of most allowed sufficiency, yet opinion, a sovereign\\r\\nmistress of effects, throws a more safer voice on you: you must\\r\\ntherefore be content to slubber the gloss of your new fortunes with\\r\\nthis more stubborn and boisterous expedition.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe tyrant custom, most grave senators,\\r\\nHath made the flinty and steel couch of war\\r\\nMy thrice-driven bed of down: I do agnize\\r\\nA natural and prompt alacrity\\r\\nI find in hardness, and do undertake\\r\\nThis present wars against the Ottomites.\\r\\nMost humbly, therefore, bending to your state,\\r\\nI crave fit disposition for my wife,\\r\\nDue reference of place and exhibition,\\r\\nWith such accommodation and besort\\r\\nAs levels with her breeding.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nIf you please,\\r\\nBe’t at her father’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nI’ll not have it so.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNor I.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNor I. I would not there reside,\\r\\nTo put my father in impatient thoughts,\\r\\nBy being in his eye. Most gracious duke,\\r\\nTo my unfolding lend your prosperous ear,\\r\\nAnd let me find a charter in your voice\\r\\nT’ assist my simpleness.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat would you, Desdemona?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThat I did love the Moor to live with him,\\r\\nMy downright violence and storm of fortunes\\r\\nMay trumpet to the world: my heart’s subdued\\r\\nEven to the very quality of my lord.\\r\\nI saw Othello’s visage in his mind,\\r\\nAnd to his honours and his valiant parts\\r\\nDid I my soul and fortunes consecrate.\\r\\nSo that, dear lords, if I be left behind,\\r\\nA moth of peace, and he go to the war,\\r\\nThe rites for which I love him are bereft me,\\r\\nAnd I a heavy interim shall support\\r\\nBy his dear absence. Let me go with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nLet her have your voice.\\r\\nVouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not\\r\\nTo please the palate of my appetite,\\r\\nNor to comply with heat, the young affects\\r\\nIn me defunct, and proper satisfaction,\\r\\nBut to be free and bounteous to her mind.\\r\\nAnd heaven defend your good souls that you think\\r\\nI will your serious and great business scant\\r\\nFor she is with me. No, when light-wing’d toys\\r\\nOf feather’d Cupid seel with wanton dullness\\r\\nMy speculative and offic’d instruments,\\r\\nThat my disports corrupt and taint my business,\\r\\nLet housewives make a skillet of my helm,\\r\\nAnd all indign and base adversities\\r\\nMake head against my estimation.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBe it as you shall privately determine,\\r\\nEither for her stay or going. The affair cries haste,\\r\\nAnd speed must answer it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nYou must away tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWith all my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAt nine i’ the morning here we’ll meet again.\\r\\nOthello, leave some officer behind,\\r\\nAnd he shall our commission bring to you,\\r\\nWith such things else of quality and respect\\r\\nAs doth import you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nSo please your grace, my ancient,\\r\\nA man he is of honesty and trust,\\r\\nTo his conveyance I assign my wife,\\r\\nWith what else needful your good grace shall think\\r\\nTo be sent after me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nLet it be so.\\r\\nGood night to everyone. [_To Brabantio._] And, noble signior,\\r\\nIf virtue no delighted beauty lack,\\r\\nYour son-in-law is far more fair than black.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SENATOR.\\r\\nAdieu, brave Moor, use Desdemona well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBRABANTIO.\\r\\nLook to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see:\\r\\nShe has deceiv’d her father, and may thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Duke, Senators, Officers, &c._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nMy life upon her faith! Honest Iago,\\r\\nMy Desdemona must I leave to thee.\\r\\nI prithee, let thy wife attend on her,\\r\\nAnd bring them after in the best advantage.—\\r\\nCome, Desdemona, I have but an hour\\r\\nOf love, of worldly matters, and direction,\\r\\nTo spend with thee. We must obey the time.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Othello and Desdemona._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nIago—\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat sayst thou, noble heart?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhat will I do, thinkest thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, go to bed and sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI will incontinently drown myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIf thou dost, I shall never love thee after. Why, thou silly gentleman!\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nIt is silliness to live, when to live is torment; and then have we a\\r\\nprescription to die when death is our physician.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO villainous! I have looked upon the world for four times seven years,\\r\\nand since I could distinguish betwixt a benefit and an injury, I never\\r\\nfound man that knew how to love himself. Ere I would say I would drown\\r\\nmyself for the love of a guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with a\\r\\nbaboon.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhat should I do? I confess it is my shame to be so fond, but it is not\\r\\nin my virtue to amend it.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nVirtue! a fig! ’Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies\\r\\nare gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners. So that if we will\\r\\nplant nettles or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up thyme, supply it\\r\\nwith one gender of herbs or distract it with many, either to have it\\r\\nsterile with idleness or manured with industry, why, the power and\\r\\ncorrigible authority of this lies in our wills. If the balance of our\\r\\nlives had not one scale of reason to poise another of sensuality, the\\r\\nblood and baseness of our natures would conduct us to most preposterous\\r\\nconclusions. But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal\\r\\nstings, our unbitted lusts; whereof I take this, that you call love, to\\r\\nbe a sect, or scion.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nIt cannot be.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIt is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will. Come, be\\r\\na man. Drown thyself? Drown cats and blind puppies. I have professed me\\r\\nthy friend, and I confess me knit to thy deserving with cables of\\r\\nperdurable toughness; I could never better stead thee than now. Put\\r\\nmoney in thy purse; follow thou the wars; defeat thy favour with an\\r\\nusurped beard; I say, put money in thy purse. It cannot be that\\r\\nDesdemona should long continue her love to the Moor,—put money in thy\\r\\npurse,—nor he his to her. It was a violent commencement, and thou shalt\\r\\nsee an answerable sequestration—put but money in thy purse. These Moors\\r\\nare changeable in their wills. Fill thy purse with money. The food that\\r\\nto him now is as luscious as locusts shall be to him shortly as acerb\\r\\nas the coloquintida. She must change for youth. When she is sated with\\r\\nhis body, she will find the error of her choice. She must have change,\\r\\nshe must. Therefore put money in thy purse. If thou wilt needs damn\\r\\nthyself, do it a more delicate way than drowning. Make all the money\\r\\nthou canst. If sanctimony and a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian\\r\\nand a supersubtle Venetian be not too hard for my wits and all the\\r\\ntribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy her; therefore make money. A pox of\\r\\ndrowning thyself! It is clean out of the way: seek thou rather to be\\r\\nhanged in compassing thy joy than to be drowned and go without her.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWilt thou be fast to my hopes if I depend on the issue?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThou art sure of me. Go, make money. I have told thee often, and I\\r\\nretell thee again and again, I hate the Moor. My cause is hearted;\\r\\nthine hath no less reason. Let us be conjunctive in our revenge against\\r\\nhim: if thou canst cuckold him, thou dost thyself a pleasure, me a\\r\\nsport. There are many events in the womb of time which will be\\r\\ndelivered. Traverse, go, provide thy money. We will have more of this\\r\\ntomorrow. Adieu.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhere shall we meet i’ the morning?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAt my lodging.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI’ll be with thee betimes.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGo to, farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWhat say you?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNo more of drowning, do you hear?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI am changed. I’ll sell all my land.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThus do I ever make my fool my purse.\\r\\nFor I mine own gain’d knowledge should profane\\r\\nIf I would time expend with such a snipe\\r\\nBut for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor,\\r\\nAnd it is thought abroad that ’twixt my sheets\\r\\nHe has done my office. I know not if ’t be true,\\r\\nBut I, for mere suspicion in that kind,\\r\\nWill do as if for surety. He holds me well,\\r\\nThe better shall my purpose work on him.\\r\\nCassio’s a proper man. Let me see now,\\r\\nTo get his place, and to plume up my will\\r\\nIn double knavery. How, how? Let’s see.\\r\\nAfter some time, to abuse Othello’s ear\\r\\nThat he is too familiar with his wife.\\r\\nHe hath a person and a smooth dispose,\\r\\nTo be suspected, fram’d to make women false.\\r\\nThe Moor is of a free and open nature\\r\\nThat thinks men honest that but seem to be so,\\r\\nAnd will as tenderly be led by the nose\\r\\nAs asses are.\\r\\nI have’t. It is engender’d. Hell and night\\r\\nMust bring this monstrous birth to the world’s light.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A seaport in Cyprus. A Platform.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Montano and two Gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nWhat from the cape can you discern at sea?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNothing at all, it is a high-wrought flood.\\r\\nI cannot ’twixt the heaven and the main\\r\\nDescry a sail.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nMethinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land.\\r\\nA fuller blast ne’er shook our battlements.\\r\\nIf it hath ruffian’d so upon the sea,\\r\\nWhat ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them,\\r\\nCan hold the mortise? What shall we hear of this?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nA segregation of the Turkish fleet.\\r\\nFor do but stand upon the foaming shore,\\r\\nThe chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds,\\r\\nThe wind-shak’d surge, with high and monstrous main,\\r\\nSeems to cast water on the burning Bear,\\r\\nAnd quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole;\\r\\nI never did like molestation view\\r\\nOn the enchafed flood.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nIf that the Turkish fleet\\r\\nBe not enshelter’d, and embay’d, they are drown’d.\\r\\nIt is impossible to bear it out.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a third Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNews, lads! Our wars are done.\\r\\nThe desperate tempest hath so bang’d the Turks\\r\\nThat their designment halts. A noble ship of Venice\\r\\nHath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance\\r\\nOn most part of their fleet.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nHow? Is this true?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThe ship is here put in,\\r\\nA Veronessa; Michael Cassio,\\r\\nLieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello,\\r\\nIs come on shore; the Moor himself at sea,\\r\\nAnd is in full commission here for Cyprus.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nI am glad on’t. ’Tis a worthy governor.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nBut this same Cassio, though he speak of comfort\\r\\nTouching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly,\\r\\nAnd prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted\\r\\nWith foul and violent tempest.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nPray heavens he be;\\r\\nFor I have serv’d him, and the man commands\\r\\nLike a full soldier. Let’s to the sea-side, ho!\\r\\nAs well to see the vessel that’s come in\\r\\nAs to throw out our eyes for brave Othello,\\r\\nEven till we make the main and the aerial blue\\r\\nAn indistinct regard.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nCome, let’s do so;\\r\\nFor every minute is expectancy\\r\\nOf more arrivance.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThanks you, the valiant of this warlike isle,\\r\\nThat so approve the Moor! O, let the heavens\\r\\nGive him defence against the elements,\\r\\nFor I have lost him on a dangerous sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nIs he well shipp’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHis bark is stoutly timber’d, and his pilot\\r\\nOf very expert and approv’d allowance;\\r\\nTherefore my hopes, not surfeited to death,\\r\\nStand in bold cure.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Within._] A sail, a sail, a sail!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhat noise?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThe town is empty; on the brow o’ the sea\\r\\nStand ranks of people, and they cry “A sail!”\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMy hopes do shape him for the governor.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A shot._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThey do discharge their shot of courtesy.\\r\\nOur friends at least.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI pray you, sir, go forth,\\r\\nAnd give us truth who ’tis that is arriv’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI shall.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nBut, good lieutenant, is your general wiv’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMost fortunately: he hath achiev’d a maid\\r\\nThat paragons description and wild fame,\\r\\nOne that excels the quirks of blazoning pens,\\r\\nAnd in the essential vesture of creation\\r\\nDoes tire the ingener.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter second Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now? Who has put in?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\n’Tis one Iago, ancient to the general.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHe has had most favourable and happy speed:\\r\\nTempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds,\\r\\nThe gutter’d rocks, and congregated sands,\\r\\nTraitors ensteep’d to clog the guiltless keel,\\r\\nAs having sense of beauty, do omit\\r\\nTheir mortal natures, letting go safely by\\r\\nThe divine Desdemona.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nWhat is she?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nShe that I spake of, our great captain’s captain,\\r\\nLeft in the conduct of the bold Iago;\\r\\nWhose footing here anticipates our thoughts\\r\\nA se’nnight’s speed. Great Jove, Othello guard,\\r\\nAnd swell his sail with thine own powerful breath,\\r\\nThat he may bless this bay with his tall ship,\\r\\nMake love’s quick pants in Desdemona’s arms,\\r\\nGive renew’d fire to our extincted spirits,\\r\\nAnd bring all Cyprus comfort!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona, Iago, Roderigo, and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nO, behold,\\r\\nThe riches of the ship is come on shore!\\r\\nYe men of Cyprus, let her have your knees.\\r\\nHail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven,\\r\\nBefore, behind thee, and on every hand,\\r\\nEnwheel thee round!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI thank you, valiant Cassio.\\r\\nWhat tidings can you tell me of my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHe is not yet arrived, nor know I aught\\r\\nBut that he’s well, and will be shortly here.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, but I fear—How lost you company?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Within._] A sail, a sail!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThe great contention of the sea and skies\\r\\nParted our fellowship. But, hark! a sail.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Guns within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThey give their greeting to the citadel.\\r\\nThis likewise is a friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nSee for the news.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Gentleman._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGood ancient, you are welcome. [_To Emilia._] Welcome, mistress.\\r\\nLet it not gall your patience, good Iago,\\r\\nThat I extend my manners; ’tis my breeding\\r\\nThat gives me this bold show of courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kissing her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSir, would she give you so much of her lips\\r\\nAs of her tongue she oft bestows on me,\\r\\nYou would have enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas, she has no speech.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIn faith, too much.\\r\\nI find it still when I have list to sleep.\\r\\nMarry, before your ladyship, I grant,\\r\\nShe puts her tongue a little in her heart,\\r\\nAnd chides with thinking.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYou have little cause to say so.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCome on, come on; you are pictures out of doors,\\r\\nBells in your parlours, wild-cats in your kitchens,\\r\\nSaints in your injuries, devils being offended,\\r\\nPlayers in your housewifery, and housewives in your beds.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, fie upon thee, slanderer!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, it is true, or else I am a Turk.\\r\\nYou rise to play, and go to bed to work.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYou shall not write my praise.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNo, let me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst praise me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO gentle lady, do not put me to’t,\\r\\nFor I am nothing if not critical.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nCome on, assay.—There’s one gone to the harbour?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAy, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI am not merry, but I do beguile\\r\\nThe thing I am, by seeming otherwise.—\\r\\nCome, how wouldst thou praise me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am about it, but indeed, my invention\\r\\nComes from my pate as birdlime does from frieze,\\r\\nIt plucks out brains and all: but my Muse labours,\\r\\nAnd thus she is deliver’d.\\r\\nIf she be fair and wise, fairness and wit,\\r\\nThe one’s for use, the other useth it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWell prais’d! How if she be black and witty?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIf she be black, and thereto have a wit,\\r\\nShe’ll find a white that shall her blackness fit.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWorse and worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHow if fair and foolish?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShe never yet was foolish that was fair,\\r\\nFor even her folly help’d her to an heir.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThese are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh i’ the alehouse. What\\r\\nmiserable praise hast thou for her that’s foul and foolish?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThere’s none so foul and foolish thereunto,\\r\\nBut does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO heavy ignorance! Thou praisest the worst best. But what praise\\r\\ncouldst thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed, one that in the\\r\\nauthority of her merit did justly put on the vouch of very malice\\r\\nitself?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShe that was ever fair and never proud,\\r\\nHad tongue at will and yet was never loud,\\r\\nNever lack’d gold and yet went never gay,\\r\\nFled from her wish, and yet said, “Now I may”;\\r\\nShe that, being anger’d, her revenge being nigh,\\r\\nBade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly;\\r\\nShe that in wisdom never was so frail\\r\\nTo change the cod’s head for the salmon’s tail;\\r\\nShe that could think and ne’er disclose her mind,\\r\\nSee suitors following and not look behind;\\r\\nShe was a wight, if ever such wight were—\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nTo do what?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nTo suckle fools and chronicle small beer.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO most lame and impotent conclusion!—Do not learn of him, Emilia,\\r\\nthough he be thy husband.—How say you, Cassio? is he not a most profane\\r\\nand liberal counsellor?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHe speaks home, madam. You may relish him more in the soldier than in\\r\\nthe scholar.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] He takes her by the palm. Ay, well said, whisper. With as\\r\\nlittle a web as this will I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile\\r\\nupon her, do. I will gyve thee in thine own courtship. You say true,\\r\\n’tis so, indeed. If such tricks as these strip you out of your\\r\\nlieutenantry, it had been better you had not kissed your three fingers\\r\\nso oft, which now again you are most apt to play the sir in. Very good;\\r\\nwell kissed, an excellent courtesy! ’Tis so, indeed. Yet again your\\r\\nfingers to your lips? Would they were clyster-pipes for your sake!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Trumpets within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Moor! I know his trumpet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Tis truly so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nLet’s meet him, and receive him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nLo, where he comes!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO my fair warrior!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy dear Othello!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIt gives me wonder great as my content\\r\\nTo see you here before me. O my soul’s joy!\\r\\nIf after every tempest come such calms,\\r\\nMay the winds blow till they have waken’d death!\\r\\nAnd let the labouring bark climb hills of seas\\r\\nOlympus-high, and duck again as low\\r\\nAs hell’s from heaven! If it were now to die,\\r\\n’Twere now to be most happy, for I fear\\r\\nMy soul hath her content so absolute\\r\\nThat not another comfort like to this\\r\\nSucceeds in unknown fate.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThe heavens forbid\\r\\nBut that our loves and comforts should increase\\r\\nEven as our days do grow!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAmen to that, sweet powers!\\r\\nI cannot speak enough of this content.\\r\\nIt stops me here; it is too much of joy:\\r\\nAnd this, and this, the greatest discords be [_They kiss._]\\r\\nThat e’er our hearts shall make!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] O, you are well tun’d now,\\r\\nBut I’ll set down the pegs that make this music,\\r\\nAs honest as I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nCome, let us to the castle.—\\r\\nNews, friends, our wars are done, the Turks are drown’d.\\r\\nHow does my old acquaintance of this isle?\\r\\nHoney, you shall be well desir’d in Cyprus;\\r\\nI have found great love amongst them. O my sweet,\\r\\nI prattle out of fashion, and I dote\\r\\nIn mine own comforts.—I prithee, good Iago,\\r\\nGo to the bay and disembark my coffers.\\r\\nBring thou the master to the citadel;\\r\\nHe is a good one, and his worthiness\\r\\nDoes challenge much respect.—Come, Desdemona,\\r\\nOnce more well met at Cyprus.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Othello, Desdemona and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo thou meet me presently at the harbour. Come hither. If thou be’st\\r\\nvaliant—as, they say, base men being in love have then a nobility in\\r\\ntheir natures more than is native to them—list me. The lieutenant\\r\\ntonight watches on the court of guard: first, I must tell thee this:\\r\\nDesdemona is directly in love with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWith him? Why, ’tis not possible.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLay thy finger thus, and let thy soul be instructed. Mark me with what\\r\\nviolence she first loved the Moor, but for bragging, and telling her\\r\\nfantastical lies. And will she love him still for prating? Let not thy\\r\\ndiscreet heart think it. Her eye must be fed. And what delight shall\\r\\nshe have to look on the devil? When the blood is made dull with the act\\r\\nof sport, there should be, again to inflame it and to give satiety a\\r\\nfresh appetite, loveliness in favour, sympathy in years, manners, and\\r\\nbeauties; all which the Moor is defective in: now, for want of these\\r\\nrequired conveniences, her delicate tenderness will find itself abused,\\r\\nbegin to heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the Moor, very nature\\r\\nwill instruct her in it, and compel her to some second choice. Now sir,\\r\\nthis granted (as it is a most pregnant and unforced position) who\\r\\nstands so eminently in the degree of this fortune as Cassio does? a\\r\\nknave very voluble; no further conscionable than in putting on the mere\\r\\nform of civil and humane seeming, for the better compassing of his salt\\r\\nand most hidden loose affection? Why, none, why, none! A slipper and\\r\\nsubtle knave, a finder out of occasions; that has an eye can stamp and\\r\\ncounterfeit advantages, though true advantage never present itself: a\\r\\ndevilish knave! Besides, the knave is handsome, young, and hath all\\r\\nthose requisites in him that folly and green minds look after. A\\r\\npestilent complete knave, and the woman hath found him already.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI cannot believe that in her, she is full of most blessed condition.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBlest fig’s end! the wine she drinks is made of grapes: if she had been\\r\\nblessed, she would never have loved the Moor. Blessed pudding! Didst\\r\\nthou not see her paddle with the palm of his hand? Didst not mark that?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nYes, that I did. But that was but courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLechery, by this hand. An index and obscure prologue to the history of\\r\\nlust and foul thoughts. They met so near with their lips that their\\r\\nbreaths embrac’d together. Villainous thoughts, Roderigo! When these\\r\\nmutualities so marshal the way, hard at hand comes the master and main\\r\\nexercise, the incorporate conclusion. Pish! But, sir, be you ruled by\\r\\nme. I have brought you from Venice. Watch you tonight. For the command,\\r\\nI’ll lay’t upon you. Cassio knows you not. I’ll not be far from you. Do\\r\\nyou find some occasion to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud, or\\r\\ntainting his discipline, or from what other course you please, which\\r\\nthe time shall more favourably minister.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWell.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSir, he is rash, and very sudden in choler, and haply with his\\r\\ntruncheon may strike at you: provoke him that he may, for even out of\\r\\nthat will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny, whose qualification shall\\r\\ncome into no true taste again but by the displanting of Cassio. So\\r\\nshall you have a shorter journey to your desires by the means I shall\\r\\nthen have to prefer them, and the impediment most profitably removed,\\r\\nwithout the which there were no expectation of our prosperity.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI will do this, if I can bring it to any opportunity.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the citadel: I must fetch his\\r\\nnecessaries ashore. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nAdieu.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThat Cassio loves her, I do well believe it;\\r\\nThat she loves him, ’tis apt, and of great credit:\\r\\nThe Moor, howbeit that I endure him not,\\r\\nIs of a constant, loving, noble nature;\\r\\nAnd, I dare think, he’ll prove to Desdemona\\r\\nA most dear husband. Now, I do love her too,\\r\\nNot out of absolute lust (though peradventure\\r\\nI stand accountant for as great a sin)\\r\\nBut partly led to diet my revenge,\\r\\nFor that I do suspect the lusty Moor\\r\\nHath leap’d into my seat. The thought whereof\\r\\nDoth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards,\\r\\nAnd nothing can or shall content my soul\\r\\nTill I am even’d with him, wife for wife,\\r\\nOr, failing so, yet that I put the Moor\\r\\nAt least into a jealousy so strong\\r\\nThat judgement cannot cure. Which thing to do,\\r\\nIf this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash\\r\\nFor his quick hunting, stand the putting on,\\r\\nI’ll have our Michael Cassio on the hip,\\r\\nAbuse him to the Moor in the rank garb\\r\\n(For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too)\\r\\nMake the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me\\r\\nFor making him egregiously an ass\\r\\nAnd practicing upon his peace and quiet\\r\\nEven to madness. ’Tis here, but yet confus’d.\\r\\nKnavery’s plain face is never seen till us’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello’s Herald with a proclamation.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nIt is Othello’s pleasure, our noble and valiant general, that upon\\r\\ncertain tidings now arrived, importing the mere perdition of the\\r\\nTurkish fleet, every man put himself into triumph: some to dance, some\\r\\nto make bonfires, each man to what sport and revels his addition leads\\r\\nhim. For besides these beneficial news, it is the celebration of his\\r\\nnuptial. So much was his pleasure should be proclaimed. All offices are\\r\\nopen, and there is full liberty of feasting from this present hour of\\r\\nfive till the bell have told eleven. Heaven bless the isle of Cyprus\\r\\nand our noble general Othello!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A Hall in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello, Desdemona, Cassio and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGood Michael, look you to the guard tonight.\\r\\nLet’s teach ourselves that honourable stop,\\r\\nNot to outsport discretion.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nIago hath direction what to do.\\r\\nBut notwithstanding with my personal eye\\r\\nWill I look to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIago is most honest.\\r\\nMichael, good night. Tomorrow with your earliest\\r\\nLet me have speech with you. [_To Desdemona._] Come, my dear love,\\r\\nThe purchase made, the fruits are to ensue;\\r\\nThat profit’s yet to come ’tween me and you.—\\r\\nGood night.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Othello, Desdemona and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWelcome, Iago. We must to the watch.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNot this hour, lieutenant. ’Tis not yet ten o’ th’ clock. Our general\\r\\ncast us thus early for the love of his Desdemona; who let us not\\r\\ntherefore blame: he hath not yet made wanton the night with her; and\\r\\nshe is sport for Jove.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nShe’s a most exquisite lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd, I’ll warrant her, full of game.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nIndeed, she is a most fresh and delicate creature.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat an eye she has! methinks it sounds a parley to provocation.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAn inviting eye, and yet methinks right modest.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd when she speaks, is it not an alarm to love?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nShe is indeed perfection.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWell, happiness to their sheets! Come, lieutenant, I have a stoup of\\r\\nwine; and here without are a brace of Cyprus gallants that would fain\\r\\nhave a measure to the health of black Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nNot tonight, good Iago. I have very poor and unhappy brains for\\r\\ndrinking. I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of\\r\\nentertainment.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, they are our friends; but one cup: I’ll drink for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI have drunk but one cup tonight, and that was craftily qualified too,\\r\\nand behold, what innovation it makes here: I am unfortunate in the\\r\\ninfirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any more.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat, man! ’Tis a night of revels. The gallants desire it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhere are they?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHere at the door. I pray you, call them in.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI’ll do’t; but it dislikes me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIf I can fasten but one cup upon him,\\r\\nWith that which he hath drunk tonight already,\\r\\nHe’ll be as full of quarrel and offence\\r\\nAs my young mistress’ dog. Now my sick fool Roderigo,\\r\\nWhom love hath turn’d almost the wrong side out,\\r\\nTo Desdemona hath tonight carous’d\\r\\nPotations pottle-deep; and he’s to watch:\\r\\nThree lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits,\\r\\nThat hold their honours in a wary distance,\\r\\nThe very elements of this warlike isle,\\r\\nHave I tonight fluster’d with flowing cups,\\r\\nAnd they watch too. Now, ’mongst this flock of drunkards,\\r\\nAm I to put our Cassio in some action\\r\\nThat may offend the isle. But here they come:\\r\\nIf consequence do but approve my dream,\\r\\nMy boat sails freely, both with wind and stream.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio, Montano and Gentlemen; followed by Servant with wine.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Fore God, they have given me a rouse already.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nGood faith, a little one; not past a pint, as I am a soldier.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSome wine, ho!\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n\\r\\n _And let me the cannikin clink, clink,\\r\\n And let me the cannikin clink, clink:\\r\\n A soldier’s a man,\\r\\n O, man’s life’s but a span,\\r\\n Why then let a soldier drink._\\r\\n\\r\\nSome wine, boys!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Fore God, an excellent song.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI learned it in England, where indeed they are most potent in potting:\\r\\nyour Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander,—drink, ho!—are\\r\\nnothing to your English.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nIs your Englishman so expert in his drinking?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane dead drunk; he sweats not\\r\\nto overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit ere the next\\r\\npottle can be filled.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nTo the health of our general!\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nI am for it, lieutenant; and I’ll do you justice.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO sweet England!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n\\r\\n _King Stephen was a worthy peer,\\r\\n His breeches cost him but a crown;\\r\\n He held them sixpence all too dear,\\r\\n With that he call’d the tailor lown.\\r\\n He was a wight of high renown,\\r\\n And thou art but of low degree:\\r\\n ’Tis pride that pulls the country down,\\r\\n Then take thine auld cloak about thee._\\r\\n\\r\\nSome wine, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Fore God, this is a more exquisite song than the other.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWill you hear ’t again?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nNo, for I hold him to be unworthy of his place that does those things.\\r\\nWell, God’s above all, and there be souls must be saved, and there be\\r\\nsouls must not be saved.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIt’s true, good lieutenant.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nFor mine own part, no offence to the general, nor any man of quality, I\\r\\nhope to be saved.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd so do I too, lieutenant.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAy, but, by your leave, not before me; the lieutenant is to be saved\\r\\nbefore the ancient. Let’s have no more of this; let’s to our affairs.\\r\\nForgive us our sins! Gentlemen, let’s look to our business. Do not\\r\\nthink, gentlemen, I am drunk. This is my ancient, this is my right\\r\\nhand, and this is my left. I am not drunk now. I can stand well enough,\\r\\nand I speak well enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nExcellent well.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhy, very well then. You must not think, then, that I am drunk.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nTo the platform, masters. Come, let’s set the watch.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou see this fellow that is gone before,\\r\\nHe is a soldier fit to stand by Cæsar\\r\\nAnd give direction: and do but see his vice,\\r\\n’Tis to his virtue a just equinox,\\r\\nThe one as long as th’ other. ’Tis pity of him.\\r\\nI fear the trust Othello puts him in,\\r\\nOn some odd time of his infirmity,\\r\\nWill shake this island.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nBut is he often thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n’Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep:\\r\\nHe’ll watch the horologe a double set\\r\\nIf drink rock not his cradle.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nIt were well\\r\\nThe general were put in mind of it.\\r\\nPerhaps he sees it not, or his good nature\\r\\nPrizes the virtue that appears in Cassio,\\r\\nAnd looks not on his evils: is not this true?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Aside to him._] How now, Roderigo?\\r\\nI pray you, after the lieutenant; go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nAnd ’tis great pity that the noble Moor\\r\\nShould hazard such a place as his own second\\r\\nWith one of an ingraft infirmity:\\r\\nIt were an honest action to say so\\r\\nTo the Moor.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNot I, for this fair island.\\r\\nI do love Cassio well and would do much\\r\\nTo cure him of this evil. But, hark! What noise?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Cry within_: “Help! help!”]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio, driving in Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nZounds, you rogue, you rascal!\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter, lieutenant?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nA knave teach me my duty! I’ll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nBeat me?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nDost thou prate, rogue?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Striking Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nNay, good lieutenant;\\r\\nI pray you, sir, hold your hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nLet me go, sir,\\r\\nOr I’ll knock you o’er the mazard.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nCome, come, you’re drunk.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nDrunk?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Roderigo._] Away, I say! Go out and cry a mutiny.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNay, good lieutenant, God’s will, gentlemen.\\r\\nHelp, ho!—Lieutenant,—sir,—Montano,—sir:—\\r\\nHelp, masters! Here’s a goodly watch indeed!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A bell rings._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWho’s that which rings the bell?—Diablo, ho!\\r\\nThe town will rise. God’s will, lieutenant, hold,\\r\\nYou will be sham’d forever.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat is the matter here?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nZounds, I bleed still, I am hurt to the death.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHold, for your lives!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHold, ho! lieutenant,—sir,—Montano,—gentlemen,—\\r\\nHave you forgot all place of sense and duty?\\r\\nHold! The general speaks to you; hold, hold, for shame!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy, how now, ho! From whence ariseth this?\\r\\nAre we turn’d Turks, and to ourselves do that\\r\\nWhich heaven hath forbid the Ottomites?\\r\\nFor Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl:\\r\\nHe that stirs next to carve for his own rage\\r\\nHolds his soul light; he dies upon his motion.\\r\\nSilence that dreadful bell, it frights the isle\\r\\nFrom her propriety. What is the matter, masters?\\r\\nHonest Iago, that looks dead with grieving,\\r\\nSpeak, who began this? On thy love, I charge thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI do not know. Friends all but now, even now,\\r\\nIn quarter, and in terms like bride and groom\\r\\nDevesting them for bed; and then, but now,\\r\\nAs if some planet had unwitted men,\\r\\nSwords out, and tilting one at other’s breast,\\r\\nIn opposition bloody. I cannot speak\\r\\nAny beginning to this peevish odds;\\r\\nAnd would in action glorious I had lost\\r\\nThose legs that brought me to a part of it!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHow comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI pray you, pardon me; I cannot speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWorthy Montano, you were wont be civil.\\r\\nThe gravity and stillness of your youth\\r\\nThe world hath noted, and your name is great\\r\\nIn mouths of wisest censure: what’s the matter,\\r\\nThat you unlace your reputation thus,\\r\\nAnd spend your rich opinion for the name\\r\\nOf a night-brawler? Give me answer to it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nWorthy Othello, I am hurt to danger.\\r\\nYour officer, Iago, can inform you,\\r\\nWhile I spare speech, which something now offends me,\\r\\nOf all that I do know; nor know I aught\\r\\nBy me that’s said or done amiss this night,\\r\\nUnless self-charity be sometimes a vice,\\r\\nAnd to defend ourselves it be a sin\\r\\nWhen violence assails us.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNow, by heaven,\\r\\nMy blood begins my safer guides to rule,\\r\\nAnd passion, having my best judgement collied,\\r\\nAssays to lead the way. Zounds, if I stir,\\r\\nOr do but lift this arm, the best of you\\r\\nShall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know\\r\\nHow this foul rout began, who set it on,\\r\\nAnd he that is approv’d in this offence,\\r\\nThough he had twinn’d with me, both at a birth,\\r\\nShall lose me. What! in a town of war,\\r\\nYet wild, the people’s hearts brimful of fear,\\r\\nTo manage private and domestic quarrel,\\r\\nIn night, and on the court and guard of safety?\\r\\n’Tis monstrous. Iago, who began’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nIf partially affin’d, or leagu’d in office,\\r\\nThou dost deliver more or less than truth,\\r\\nThou art no soldier.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nTouch me not so near.\\r\\nI had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth\\r\\nThan it should do offence to Michael Cassio.\\r\\nYet I persuade myself, to speak the truth\\r\\nShall nothing wrong him. Thus it is, general:\\r\\nMontano and myself being in speech,\\r\\nThere comes a fellow crying out for help,\\r\\nAnd Cassio following him with determin’d sword,\\r\\nTo execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman\\r\\nSteps in to Cassio and entreats his pause.\\r\\nMyself the crying fellow did pursue,\\r\\nLest by his clamour (as it so fell out)\\r\\nThe town might fall in fright: he, swift of foot,\\r\\nOutran my purpose: and I return’d the rather\\r\\nFor that I heard the clink and fall of swords,\\r\\nAnd Cassio high in oath, which till tonight\\r\\nI ne’er might say before. When I came back,\\r\\n(For this was brief) I found them close together,\\r\\nAt blow and thrust, even as again they were\\r\\nWhen you yourself did part them.\\r\\nMore of this matter cannot I report.\\r\\nBut men are men; the best sometimes forget;\\r\\nThough Cassio did some little wrong to him,\\r\\nAs men in rage strike those that wish them best,\\r\\nYet surely Cassio, I believe, receiv’d\\r\\nFrom him that fled some strange indignity,\\r\\nWhich patience could not pass.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI know, Iago,\\r\\nThy honesty and love doth mince this matter,\\r\\nMaking it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee,\\r\\nBut never more be officer of mine.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona, attended.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook, if my gentle love be not rais’d up!\\r\\nI’ll make thee an example.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAll’s well now, sweeting; come away to bed.\\r\\nSir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon.\\r\\nLead him off.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Montano is led off._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIago, look with care about the town,\\r\\nAnd silence those whom this vile brawl distracted.\\r\\nCome, Desdemona: ’tis the soldiers’ life\\r\\nTo have their balmy slumbers wak’d with strife.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Iago and Cassio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat, are you hurt, lieutenant?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAy, past all surgery.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMarry, Heaven forbid!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nReputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my reputation! I\\r\\nhave lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial. My\\r\\nreputation, Iago, my reputation!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAs I am an honest man, I thought you had received some bodily wound;\\r\\nthere is more sense in that than in reputation. Reputation is an idle\\r\\nand most false imposition, oft got without merit and lost without\\r\\ndeserving. You have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute\\r\\nyourself such a loser. What, man, there are ways to recover the general\\r\\nagain: you are but now cast in his mood, a punishment more in policy\\r\\nthan in malice, even so as one would beat his offenceless dog to\\r\\naffright an imperious lion: sue to him again, and he’s yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI will rather sue to be despised than to deceive so good a commander\\r\\nwith so slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk? and\\r\\nspeak parrot? and squabble? swagger? swear? and discourse fustian with\\r\\none’s own shadow? O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name\\r\\nto be known by, let us call thee devil!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat was he that you followed with your sword? What had he done to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI know not.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quarrel, but\\r\\nnothing wherefore. O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths\\r\\nto steal away their brains! That we should with joy, pleasance, revel,\\r\\nand applause, transform ourselves into beasts!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, but you are now well enough: how came you thus recovered?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nIt hath pleased the devil drunkenness to give place to the devil wrath.\\r\\nOne unperfectness shows me another, to make me frankly despise myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCome, you are too severe a moraler. As the time, the place, and the\\r\\ncondition of this country stands, I could heartily wish this had not\\r\\nbefallen; but since it is as it is, mend it for your own good.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI will ask him for my place again; he shall tell me I am a drunkard!\\r\\nHad I as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To\\r\\nbe now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast! O\\r\\nstrange! Every inordinate cup is unbless’d, and the ingredient is a\\r\\ndevil.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCome, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well used.\\r\\nExclaim no more against it. And, good lieutenant, I think you think I\\r\\nlove you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI have well approved it, sir.—I drunk!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou, or any man living, may be drunk at a time, man. I’ll tell you what\\r\\nyou shall do. Our general’s wife is now the general; I may say so in\\r\\nthis respect, for that he hath devoted and given up himself to the\\r\\ncontemplation, mark, and denotement of her parts and graces. Confess\\r\\nyourself freely to her. Importune her help to put you in your place\\r\\nagain. She is of so free, so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition,\\r\\nshe holds it a vice in her goodness not to do more than she is\\r\\nrequested. This broken joint between you and her husband entreat her to\\r\\nsplinter, and, my fortunes against any lay worth naming, this crack of\\r\\nyour love shall grow stronger than it was before.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nYou advise me well.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI protest, in the sincerity of love and honest kindness.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI think it freely; and betimes in the morning I will beseech the\\r\\nvirtuous Desdemona to undertake for me; I am desperate of my fortunes\\r\\nif they check me here.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou are in the right. Good night, lieutenant, I must to the watch.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nGood night, honest Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd what’s he then, that says I play the villain?\\r\\nWhen this advice is free I give and honest,\\r\\nProbal to thinking, and indeed the course\\r\\nTo win the Moor again? For ’tis most easy\\r\\nThe inclining Desdemona to subdue\\r\\nIn any honest suit. She’s fram’d as fruitful\\r\\nAs the free elements. And then for her\\r\\nTo win the Moor, were’t to renounce his baptism,\\r\\nAll seals and symbols of redeemed sin,\\r\\nHis soul is so enfetter’d to her love\\r\\nThat she may make, unmake, do what she list,\\r\\nEven as her appetite shall play the god\\r\\nWith his weak function. How am I then, a villain\\r\\nTo counsel Cassio to this parallel course,\\r\\nDirectly to his good? Divinity of hell!\\r\\nWhen devils will the blackest sins put on,\\r\\nThey do suggest at first with heavenly shows,\\r\\nAs I do now: for whiles this honest fool\\r\\nPlies Desdemona to repair his fortune,\\r\\nAnd she for him pleads strongly to the Moor,\\r\\nI’ll pour this pestilence into his ear,\\r\\nThat she repeals him for her body’s lust;\\r\\nAnd by how much she strives to do him good,\\r\\nShe shall undo her credit with the Moor.\\r\\nSo will I turn her virtue into pitch,\\r\\nAnd out of her own goodness make the net\\r\\nThat shall enmesh them all.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Roderigo?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI do follow here in the chase, not like a hound that hunts, but one\\r\\nthat fills up the cry. My money is almost spent, I have been tonight\\r\\nexceedingly well cudgelled; and I think the issue will be, I shall have\\r\\nso much experience for my pains, and so, with no money at all and a\\r\\nlittle more wit, return again to Venice.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHow poor are they that have not patience!\\r\\nWhat wound did ever heal but by degrees?\\r\\nThou know’st we work by wit, and not by witchcraft,\\r\\nAnd wit depends on dilatory time.\\r\\nDoes’t not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee,\\r\\nAnd thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier’d Cassio;\\r\\nThough other things grow fair against the sun,\\r\\nYet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe.\\r\\nContent thyself awhile. By the mass, ’tis morning;\\r\\nPleasure and action make the hours seem short.\\r\\nRetire thee; go where thou art billeted.\\r\\nAway, I say, thou shalt know more hereafter.\\r\\nNay, get thee gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTwo things are to be done,\\r\\nMy wife must move for Cassio to her mistress.\\r\\nI’ll set her on;\\r\\nMyself the while to draw the Moor apart,\\r\\nAnd bring him jump when he may Cassio find\\r\\nSoliciting his wife. Ay, that’s the way.\\r\\nDull not device by coldness and delay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio and some Musicians.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMasters, play here, I will content your pains,\\r\\nSomething that’s brief; and bid “Good morrow, general.”\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, masters, have your instruments been in Naples, that they speak i’\\r\\nthe nose thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nHow, sir, how?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAre these, I pray you, wind instruments?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nAy, marry, are they, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nO, thereby hangs a tail.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWhereby hangs a tale, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMarry, sir, by many a wind instrument that I know. But, masters, here’s\\r\\nmoney for you: and the general so likes your music, that he desires\\r\\nyou, for love’s sake, to make no more noise with it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWell, sir, we will not.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIf you have any music that may not be heard, to’t again. But, as they\\r\\nsay, to hear music the general does not greatly care.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWe have none such, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThen put up your pipes in your bag, for I’ll away. Go, vanish into air,\\r\\naway!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Musicians._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nDost thou hear, mine honest friend?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, I hear not your honest friend. I hear you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nPrithee, keep up thy quillets. There’s a poor piece of gold for thee:\\r\\nif the gentlewoman that attends the general’s wife be stirring, tell\\r\\nher there’s one Cassio entreats her a little favour of speech. Wilt\\r\\nthou do this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nShe is stirring, sir; if she will stir hither, I shall seem to notify\\r\\nunto her.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nDo, good my friend.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn happy time, Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou have not been a-bed, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhy, no. The day had broke\\r\\nBefore we parted. I have made bold, Iago,\\r\\nTo send in to your wife. My suit to her\\r\\nIs, that she will to virtuous Desdemona\\r\\nProcure me some access.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI’ll send her to you presently,\\r\\nAnd I’ll devise a mean to draw the Moor\\r\\nOut of the way, that your converse and business\\r\\nMay be more free.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI humbly thank you for’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Iago._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI never knew\\r\\nA Florentine more kind and honest.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nGood morrow, good lieutenant; I am sorry\\r\\nFor your displeasure, but all will sure be well.\\r\\nThe general and his wife are talking of it,\\r\\nAnd she speaks for you stoutly: the Moor replies\\r\\nThat he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus\\r\\nAnd great affinity, and that in wholesome wisdom\\r\\nHe might not but refuse you; but he protests he loves you\\r\\nAnd needs no other suitor but his likings\\r\\nTo take the safest occasion by the front\\r\\nTo bring you in again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nYet, I beseech you,\\r\\nIf you think fit, or that it may be done,\\r\\nGive me advantage of some brief discourse\\r\\nWith Desdemona alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPray you, come in.\\r\\nI will bestow you where you shall have time\\r\\nTo speak your bosom freely.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI am much bound to you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello, Iago and Gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThese letters give, Iago, to the pilot,\\r\\nAnd by him do my duties to the senate.\\r\\nThat done, I will be walking on the works,\\r\\nRepair there to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWell, my good lord, I’ll do’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThis fortification, gentlemen, shall we see’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMEN.\\r\\nWe’ll wait upon your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Cyprus. The Garden of the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona, Cassio and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBe thou assured, good Cassio, I will do\\r\\nAll my abilities in thy behalf.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nGood madam, do. I warrant it grieves my husband\\r\\nAs if the cause were his.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, that’s an honest fellow. Do not doubt, Cassio,\\r\\nBut I will have my lord and you again\\r\\nAs friendly as you were.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nBounteous madam,\\r\\nWhatever shall become of Michael Cassio,\\r\\nHe’s never anything but your true servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI know’t. I thank you. You do love my lord.\\r\\nYou have known him long; and be you well assur’d\\r\\nHe shall in strangeness stand no farther off\\r\\nThan in a politic distance.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAy, but, lady,\\r\\nThat policy may either last so long,\\r\\nOr feed upon such nice and waterish diet,\\r\\nOr breed itself so out of circumstance,\\r\\nThat, I being absent, and my place supplied,\\r\\nMy general will forget my love and service.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nDo not doubt that. Before Emilia here\\r\\nI give thee warrant of thy place. Assure thee,\\r\\nIf I do vow a friendship, I’ll perform it\\r\\nTo the last article. My lord shall never rest,\\r\\nI’ll watch him tame, and talk him out of patience;\\r\\nHis bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift;\\r\\nI’ll intermingle everything he does\\r\\nWith Cassio’s suit. Therefore be merry, Cassio,\\r\\nFor thy solicitor shall rather die\\r\\nThan give thy cause away.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello and Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMadam, here comes my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMadam, I’ll take my leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, stay, and hear me speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMadam, not now. I am very ill at ease,\\r\\nUnfit for mine own purposes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWell, do your discretion.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Cassio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHa, I like not that.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat dost thou say?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNothing, my lord; or if—I know not what.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWas not that Cassio parted from my wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCassio, my lord? No, sure, I cannot think it,\\r\\nThat he would steal away so guilty-like,\\r\\nSeeing you coming.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI do believe ’twas he.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHow now, my lord?\\r\\nI have been talking with a suitor here,\\r\\nA man that languishes in your displeasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWho is’t you mean?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good my lord,\\r\\nIf I have any grace or power to move you,\\r\\nHis present reconciliation take;\\r\\nFor if he be not one that truly loves you,\\r\\nThat errs in ignorance and not in cunning,\\r\\nI have no judgement in an honest face.\\r\\nI prithee call him back.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWent he hence now?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAy, sooth; so humbled\\r\\nThat he hath left part of his grief with me\\r\\nTo suffer with him. Good love, call him back.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNot now, sweet Desdemon, some other time.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBut shall’t be shortly?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe sooner, sweet, for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nShall’t be tonight at supper?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNo, not tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nTomorrow dinner then?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI shall not dine at home;\\r\\nI meet the captains at the citadel.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy then tomorrow night, or Tuesday morn,\\r\\nOn Tuesday noon, or night; on Wednesday morn.\\r\\nI prithee name the time, but let it not\\r\\nExceed three days. In faith, he’s penitent;\\r\\nAnd yet his trespass, in our common reason,\\r\\n(Save that, they say, the wars must make examples\\r\\nOut of their best) is not almost a fault\\r\\nTo incur a private check. When shall he come?\\r\\nTell me, Othello: I wonder in my soul,\\r\\nWhat you would ask me, that I should deny,\\r\\nOr stand so mammering on. What? Michael Cassio,\\r\\nThat came a-wooing with you, and so many a time,\\r\\nWhen I have spoke of you dispraisingly,\\r\\nHath ta’en your part, to have so much to do\\r\\nTo bring him in! Trust me, I could do much.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nPrithee no more. Let him come when he will;\\r\\nI will deny thee nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, this is not a boon;\\r\\n’Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves,\\r\\nOr feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm,\\r\\nOr sue to you to do a peculiar profit\\r\\nTo your own person: nay, when I have a suit\\r\\nWherein I mean to touch your love indeed,\\r\\nIt shall be full of poise and difficult weight,\\r\\nAnd fearful to be granted.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI will deny thee nothing.\\r\\nWhereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this,\\r\\nTo leave me but a little to myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nShall I deny you? No, farewell, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFarewell, my Desdemona. I’ll come to thee straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nEmilia, come. Be as your fancies teach you.\\r\\nWhate’er you be, I am obedient.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nExcellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul,\\r\\nBut I do love thee! And when I love thee not,\\r\\nChaos is come again.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy noble lord,—\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat dost thou say, Iago?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDid Michael Cassio, when you woo’d my lady,\\r\\nKnow of your love?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHe did, from first to last. Why dost thou ask?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBut for a satisfaction of my thought.\\r\\nNo further harm.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy of thy thought, Iago?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI did not think he had been acquainted with her.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO yes, and went between us very oft.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIndeed?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIndeed? Ay, indeed. Discern’st thou aught in that?\\r\\nIs he not honest?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHonest, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHonest? ay, honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy lord, for aught I know.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat dost thou think?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThink, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThink, my lord? By heaven, he echoes me,\\r\\nAs if there were some monster in his thought\\r\\nToo hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something.\\r\\nI heard thee say even now, thou lik’st not that,\\r\\nWhen Cassio left my wife. What didst not like?\\r\\nAnd when I told thee he was of my counsel\\r\\nIn my whole course of wooing, thou criedst, “Indeed?”\\r\\nAnd didst contract and purse thy brow together,\\r\\nAs if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain\\r\\nSome horrible conceit: if thou dost love me,\\r\\nShow me thy thought.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy lord, you know I love you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI think thou dost;\\r\\nAnd for I know thou’rt full of love and honesty\\r\\nAnd weigh’st thy words before thou giv’st them breath,\\r\\nTherefore these stops of thine fright me the more:\\r\\nFor such things in a false disloyal knave\\r\\nAre tricks of custom; but in a man that’s just,\\r\\nThey’re close dilations, working from the heart,\\r\\nThat passion cannot rule.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFor Michael Cassio,\\r\\nI dare be sworn I think that he is honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI think so too.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMen should be what they seem;\\r\\nOr those that be not, would they might seem none!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nCertain, men should be what they seem.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy then, I think Cassio’s an honest man.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNay, yet there’s more in this:\\r\\nI prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings,\\r\\nAs thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts\\r\\nThe worst of words.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGood my lord, pardon me.\\r\\nThough I am bound to every act of duty,\\r\\nI am not bound to that all slaves are free to.\\r\\nUtter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile and false:\\r\\nAs where’s that palace whereinto foul things\\r\\nSometimes intrude not? Who has a breast so pure\\r\\nBut some uncleanly apprehensions\\r\\nKeep leets and law-days, and in session sit\\r\\nWith meditations lawful?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago,\\r\\nIf thou but think’st him wrong’d and mak’st his ear\\r\\nA stranger to thy thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI do beseech you,\\r\\nThough I perchance am vicious in my guess,\\r\\nAs, I confess, it is my nature’s plague\\r\\nTo spy into abuses, and of my jealousy\\r\\nShapes faults that are not,—that your wisdom\\r\\nFrom one that so imperfectly conceits,\\r\\nWould take no notice; nor build yourself a trouble\\r\\nOut of his scattering and unsure observance.\\r\\nIt were not for your quiet nor your good,\\r\\nNor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom,\\r\\nTo let you know my thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat dost thou mean?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGood name in man and woman, dear my lord,\\r\\nIs the immediate jewel of their souls.\\r\\nWho steals my purse steals trash. ’Tis something, nothing;\\r\\n’Twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands.\\r\\nBut he that filches from me my good name\\r\\nRobs me of that which not enriches him\\r\\nAnd makes me poor indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBy heaven, I’ll know thy thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou cannot, if my heart were in your hand,\\r\\nNor shall not, whilst ’tis in my custody.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHa?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, beware, my lord, of jealousy;\\r\\nIt is the green-ey’d monster which doth mock\\r\\nThe meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss\\r\\nWho, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;\\r\\nBut O, what damned minutes tells he o’er\\r\\nWho dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO misery!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nPoor and content is rich, and rich enough;\\r\\nBut riches fineless is as poor as winter\\r\\nTo him that ever fears he shall be poor.\\r\\nGood heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend\\r\\nFrom jealousy!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy, why is this?\\r\\nThink’st thou I’d make a life of jealousy,\\r\\nTo follow still the changes of the moon\\r\\nWith fresh suspicions? No. To be once in doubt\\r\\nIs once to be resolv’d: exchange me for a goat\\r\\nWhen I shall turn the business of my soul\\r\\nTo such exsufflicate and blown surmises,\\r\\nMatching thy inference. ’Tis not to make me jealous,\\r\\nTo say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company,\\r\\nIs free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well;\\r\\nWhere virtue is, these are more virtuous:\\r\\nNor from mine own weak merits will I draw\\r\\nThe smallest fear or doubt of her revolt,\\r\\nFor she had eyes, and chose me. No, Iago,\\r\\nI’ll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove;\\r\\nAnd on the proof, there is no more but this:\\r\\nAway at once with love or jealousy!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am glad of it, for now I shall have reason\\r\\nTo show the love and duty that I bear you\\r\\nWith franker spirit: therefore, as I am bound,\\r\\nReceive it from me. I speak not yet of proof.\\r\\nLook to your wife; observe her well with Cassio;\\r\\nWear your eye thus, not jealous nor secure.\\r\\nI would not have your free and noble nature,\\r\\nOut of self-bounty, be abus’d. Look to’t.\\r\\nI know our country disposition well;\\r\\nIn Venice they do let heaven see the pranks\\r\\nThey dare not show their husbands. Their best conscience\\r\\nIs not to leave undone, but keep unknown.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDost thou say so?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShe did deceive her father, marrying you;\\r\\nAnd when she seem’d to shake and fear your looks,\\r\\nShe loved them most.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAnd so she did.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, go to then.\\r\\nShe that so young could give out such a seeming,\\r\\nTo seal her father’s eyes up close as oak,\\r\\nHe thought ’twas witchcraft. But I am much to blame.\\r\\nI humbly do beseech you of your pardon\\r\\nFor too much loving you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI am bound to thee for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI see this hath a little dash’d your spirits.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNot a jot, not a jot.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nTrust me, I fear it has.\\r\\nI hope you will consider what is spoke\\r\\nComes from my love. But I do see you’re mov’d.\\r\\nI am to pray you not to strain my speech\\r\\nTo grosser issues nor to larger reach\\r\\nThan to suspicion.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI will not.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShould you do so, my lord,\\r\\nMy speech should fall into such vile success\\r\\nWhich my thoughts aim’d not. Cassio’s my worthy friend.\\r\\nMy lord, I see you’re mov’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNo, not much mov’d.\\r\\nI do not think but Desdemona’s honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLong live she so! And long live you to think so!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAnd yet, how nature erring from itself—\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAy, there’s the point. As, to be bold with you,\\r\\nNot to affect many proposed matches,\\r\\nOf her own clime, complexion, and degree,\\r\\nWhereto we see in all things nature tends;\\r\\nFoh! One may smell in such a will most rank,\\r\\nFoul disproportion, thoughts unnatural.\\r\\nBut pardon me: I do not in position\\r\\nDistinctly speak of her, though I may fear\\r\\nHer will, recoiling to her better judgement,\\r\\nMay fall to match you with her country forms,\\r\\nAnd happily repent.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFarewell, farewell:\\r\\nIf more thou dost perceive, let me know more;\\r\\nSet on thy wife to observe. Leave me, Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Going._] My lord, I take my leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy did I marry? This honest creature doubtless\\r\\nSees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Returning._] My lord, I would I might entreat your honour\\r\\nTo scan this thing no further. Leave it to time:\\r\\nThough it be fit that Cassio have his place,\\r\\nFor sure he fills it up with great ability,\\r\\nYet if you please to hold him off awhile,\\r\\nYou shall by that perceive him and his means.\\r\\nNote if your lady strain his entertainment\\r\\nWith any strong or vehement importunity,\\r\\nMuch will be seen in that. In the meantime,\\r\\nLet me be thought too busy in my fears\\r\\n(As worthy cause I have to fear I am)\\r\\nAnd hold her free, I do beseech your honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFear not my government.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI once more take my leave.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThis fellow’s of exceeding honesty,\\r\\nAnd knows all qualities, with a learned spirit,\\r\\nOf human dealings. If I do prove her haggard,\\r\\nThough that her jesses were my dear heartstrings,\\r\\nI’d whistle her off, and let her down the wind\\r\\nTo prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black,\\r\\nAnd have not those soft parts of conversation\\r\\nThat chamberers have, or for I am declin’d\\r\\nInto the vale of years,—yet that’s not much—\\r\\nShe’s gone, I am abus’d, and my relief\\r\\nMust be to loathe her. O curse of marriage,\\r\\nThat we can call these delicate creatures ours,\\r\\nAnd not their appetites! I had rather be a toad,\\r\\nAnd live upon the vapour of a dungeon,\\r\\nThan keep a corner in the thing I love\\r\\nFor others’ uses. Yet, ’tis the plague of great ones,\\r\\nPrerogativ’d are they less than the base,\\r\\n’Tis destiny unshunnable, like death:\\r\\nEven then this forked plague is fated to us\\r\\nWhen we do quicken. Desdemona comes.\\r\\nIf she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself!\\r\\nI’ll not believe’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHow now, my dear Othello?\\r\\nYour dinner, and the generous islanders\\r\\nBy you invited, do attend your presence.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI am to blame.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy do you speak so faintly?\\r\\nAre you not well?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI have a pain upon my forehead here.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nFaith, that’s with watching, ’twill away again;\\r\\nLet me but bind it hard, within this hour\\r\\nIt will be well.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYour napkin is too little;\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He puts the handkerchief from him, and she drops it._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLet it alone. Come, I’ll go in with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI am very sorry that you are not well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Othello and Desdemona._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI am glad I have found this napkin;\\r\\nThis was her first remembrance from the Moor.\\r\\nMy wayward husband hath a hundred times\\r\\nWoo’d me to steal it. But she so loves the token,\\r\\nFor he conjur’d her she should ever keep it,\\r\\nThat she reserves it evermore about her\\r\\nTo kiss and talk to. I’ll have the work ta’en out,\\r\\nAnd give’t Iago. What he will do with it\\r\\nHeaven knows, not I,\\r\\nI nothing but to please his fantasy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHow now? What do you here alone?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nDo not you chide. I have a thing for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nA thing for me? It is a common thing—\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHa?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nTo have a foolish wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, is that all? What will you give me now\\r\\nFor that same handkerchief?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat handkerchief?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhat handkerchief?\\r\\nWhy, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona,\\r\\nThat which so often you did bid me steal.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHast stol’n it from her?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNo, faith, she let it drop by negligence,\\r\\nAnd, to the advantage, I being here, took ’t up.\\r\\nLook, here it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nA good wench, give it me.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhat will you do with’t, that you have been so earnest\\r\\nTo have me filch it?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_Snatching it._] Why, what’s that to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIf it be not for some purpose of import,\\r\\nGive ’t me again. Poor lady, she’ll run mad\\r\\nWhen she shall lack it.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBe not acknown on’t, I have use for it.\\r\\nGo, leave me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI will in Cassio’s lodging lose this napkin,\\r\\nAnd let him find it. Trifles light as air\\r\\nAre to the jealous confirmations strong\\r\\nAs proofs of holy writ. This may do something.\\r\\nThe Moor already changes with my poison:\\r\\nDangerous conceits are in their natures poisons,\\r\\nWhich at the first are scarce found to distaste,\\r\\nBut with a little act upon the blood\\r\\nBurn like the mines of sulphur. I did say so.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook, where he comes. Not poppy, nor mandragora,\\r\\nNor all the drowsy syrups of the world,\\r\\nShall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep\\r\\nWhich thou ow’dst yesterday.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHa! ha! false to me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, how now, general? No more of that.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAvaunt! be gone! Thou hast set me on the rack.\\r\\nI swear ’tis better to be much abus’d\\r\\nThan but to know’t a little.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHow now, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat sense had I of her stol’n hours of lust?\\r\\nI saw’t not, thought it not, it harm’d not me.\\r\\nI slept the next night well, was free and merry;\\r\\nI found not Cassio’s kisses on her lips.\\r\\nHe that is robb’d, not wanting what is stol’n,\\r\\nLet him not know’t, and he’s not robb’d at all.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am sorry to hear this.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI had been happy if the general camp,\\r\\nPioners and all, had tasted her sweet body,\\r\\nSo I had nothing known. O, now, for ever\\r\\nFarewell the tranquil mind! Farewell content!\\r\\nFarewell the plumed troops and the big wars\\r\\nThat make ambition virtue! O, farewell,\\r\\nFarewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump,\\r\\nThe spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,\\r\\nThe royal banner, and all quality,\\r\\nPride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!\\r\\nAnd, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats\\r\\nThe immortal Jove’s dread clamours counterfeit,\\r\\nFarewell! Othello’s occupation’s gone!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIs’t possible, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nVillain, be sure thou prove my love a whore;\\r\\nBe sure of it. Give me the ocular proof,\\r\\nOr, by the worth of man’s eternal soul,\\r\\nThou hadst been better have been born a dog\\r\\nThan answer my wak’d wrath.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIs’t come to this?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nMake me to see’t, or at the least so prove it,\\r\\nThat the probation bear no hinge nor loop\\r\\nTo hang a doubt on, or woe upon thy life!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy noble lord,—\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIf thou dost slander her and torture me,\\r\\nNever pray more. Abandon all remorse;\\r\\nOn horror’s head horrors accumulate;\\r\\nDo deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz’d;\\r\\nFor nothing canst thou to damnation add\\r\\nGreater than that.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO grace! O heaven defend me!\\r\\nAre you a man? Have you a soul or sense?\\r\\nGod be wi’ you. Take mine office.—O wretched fool,\\r\\nThat liv’st to make thine honesty a vice!\\r\\nO monstrous world! Take note, take note, O world,\\r\\nTo be direct and honest is not safe.\\r\\nI thank you for this profit, and from hence\\r\\nI’ll love no friend, sith love breeds such offence.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNay, stay. Thou shouldst be honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI should be wise; for honesty’s a fool,\\r\\nAnd loses that it works for.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBy the world,\\r\\nI think my wife be honest, and think she is not.\\r\\nI think that thou art just, and think thou art not.\\r\\nI’ll have some proof: her name, that was as fresh\\r\\nAs Dian’s visage, is now begrim’d and black\\r\\nAs mine own face. If there be cords or knives,\\r\\nPoison or fire, or suffocating streams,\\r\\nI’ll not endure ’t. Would I were satisfied!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI see, sir, you are eaten up with passion.\\r\\nI do repent me that I put it to you.\\r\\nYou would be satisfied?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWould? Nay, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd may; but how? How satisfied, my lord?\\r\\nWould you, the supervisor, grossly gape on,\\r\\nBehold her topp’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDeath and damnation! O!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIt were a tedious difficulty, I think,\\r\\nTo bring them to that prospect. Damn them then,\\r\\nIf ever mortal eyes do see them bolster\\r\\nMore than their own! What then? How then?\\r\\nWhat shall I say? Where’s satisfaction?\\r\\nIt is impossible you should see this,\\r\\nWere they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys,\\r\\nAs salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross\\r\\nAs ignorance made drunk. But yet I say,\\r\\nIf imputation and strong circumstances,\\r\\nWhich lead directly to the door of truth,\\r\\nWill give you satisfaction, you may have’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGive me a living reason she’s disloyal.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI do not like the office,\\r\\nBut sith I am enter’d in this cause so far,\\r\\nPrick’d to ’t by foolish honesty and love,\\r\\nI will go on. I lay with Cassio lately,\\r\\nAnd being troubled with a raging tooth,\\r\\nI could not sleep.\\r\\nThere are a kind of men so loose of soul,\\r\\nThat in their sleeps will mutter their affairs.\\r\\nOne of this kind is Cassio:\\r\\nIn sleep I heard him say, “Sweet Desdemona,\\r\\nLet us be wary, let us hide our loves;”\\r\\nAnd then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand,\\r\\nCry “O sweet creature!” and then kiss me hard,\\r\\nAs if he pluck’d up kisses by the roots,\\r\\nThat grew upon my lips, then laid his leg\\r\\nOver my thigh, and sigh’d and kiss’d, and then\\r\\nCried “Cursed fate that gave thee to the Moor!”\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO monstrous! monstrous!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, this was but his dream.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBut this denoted a foregone conclusion.\\r\\n’Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd this may help to thicken other proofs\\r\\nThat do demonstrate thinly.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI’ll tear her all to pieces.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, but be wise. Yet we see nothing done,\\r\\nShe may be honest yet. Tell me but this,\\r\\nHave you not sometimes seen a handkerchief\\r\\nSpotted with strawberries in your wife’s hand?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI gave her such a one, ’twas my first gift.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI know not that: but such a handkerchief\\r\\n(I am sure it was your wife’s) did I today\\r\\nSee Cassio wipe his beard with.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIf it be that,—\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIf it be that, or any that was hers,\\r\\nIt speaks against her with the other proofs.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, that the slave had forty thousand lives!\\r\\nOne is too poor, too weak for my revenge!\\r\\nNow do I see ’tis true. Look here, Iago;\\r\\nAll my fond love thus do I blow to heaven.\\r\\n’Tis gone.\\r\\nArise, black vengeance, from thy hollow hell!\\r\\nYield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne\\r\\nTo tyrannous hate! Swell, bosom, with thy fraught,\\r\\nFor ’tis of aspics’ tongues!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYet be content.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, blood, Iago, blood!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nPatience, I say. Your mind perhaps may change.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNever, Iago. Like to the Pontic Sea,\\r\\nWhose icy current and compulsive course\\r\\nNe’er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on\\r\\nTo the Propontic and the Hellespont;\\r\\nEven so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace\\r\\nShall ne’er look back, ne’er ebb to humble love,\\r\\nTill that a capable and wide revenge\\r\\nSwallow them up. Now by yond marble heaven,\\r\\nIn the due reverence of a sacred vow [_Kneels._]\\r\\nI here engage my words.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo not rise yet. [_Kneels._]\\r\\nWitness, you ever-burning lights above,\\r\\nYou elements that clip us round about,\\r\\nWitness that here Iago doth give up\\r\\nThe execution of his wit, hands, heart,\\r\\nTo wrong’d Othello’s service! Let him command,\\r\\nAnd to obey shall be in me remorse,\\r\\nWhat bloody business ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They rise._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI greet thy love,\\r\\nNot with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous,\\r\\nAnd will upon the instant put thee to ’t.\\r\\nWithin these three days let me hear thee say\\r\\nThat Cassio’s not alive.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy friend is dead. ’Tis done at your request.\\r\\nBut let her live.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDamn her, lewd minx! O, damn her, damn her!\\r\\nCome, go with me apart, I will withdraw\\r\\nTo furnish me with some swift means of death\\r\\nFor the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am your own for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona, Emilia and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nDo you know, sirrah, where Lieutenant Cassio lies?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI dare not say he lies anywhere.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe’s a soldier; and for one to say a soldier lies is stabbing.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nGo to. Where lodges he?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTo tell you where he lodges is to tell you where I lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nCan anything be made of this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI know not where he lodges; and for me to devise a lodging, and say he\\r\\nlies here, or he lies there, were to lie in mine own throat.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nCan you inquire him out, and be edified by report?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI will catechize the world for him, that is, make questions and by them\\r\\nanswer.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nSeek him, bid him come hither. Tell him I have moved my lord on his\\r\\nbehalf, and hope all will be well.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTo do this is within the compass of man’s wit, and therefore I will\\r\\nattempt the doing it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhere should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI know not, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBelieve me, I had rather have lost my purse\\r\\nFull of crusadoes. And but my noble Moor\\r\\nIs true of mind and made of no such baseness\\r\\nAs jealous creatures are, it were enough\\r\\nTo put him to ill thinking.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIs he not jealous?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWho, he? I think the sun where he was born\\r\\nDrew all such humours from him.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nLook, where he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI will not leave him now till Cassio\\r\\nBe call’d to him. How is’t with you, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWell, my good lady. [_Aside._] O, hardness to dissemble!\\r\\nHow do you, Desdemona?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWell, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGive me your hand. This hand is moist, my lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIt yet hath felt no age nor known no sorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThis argues fruitfulness and liberal heart.\\r\\nHot, hot, and moist. This hand of yours requires\\r\\nA sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer,\\r\\nMuch castigation, exercise devout;\\r\\nFor here’s a young and sweating devil here\\r\\nThat commonly rebels. ’Tis a good hand,\\r\\nA frank one.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nYou may indeed say so,\\r\\nFor ’twas that hand that gave away my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nA liberal hand. The hearts of old gave hands,\\r\\nBut our new heraldry is hands, not hearts.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI cannot speak of this. Come now, your promise.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat promise, chuck?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI have a salt and sorry rheum offends me.\\r\\nLend me thy handkerchief.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHere, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat which I gave you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI have it not about me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNot?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, faith, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat is a fault. That handkerchief\\r\\nDid an Egyptian to my mother give.\\r\\nShe was a charmer, and could almost read\\r\\nThe thoughts of people. She told her, while she kept it,\\r\\n’Twould make her amiable and subdue my father\\r\\nEntirely to her love. But if she lost it,\\r\\nOr made a gift of it, my father’s eye\\r\\nShould hold her loathed, and his spirits should hunt\\r\\nAfter new fancies: she, dying, gave it me,\\r\\nAnd bid me, when my fate would have me wive,\\r\\nTo give it her. I did so; and take heed on’t,\\r\\nMake it a darling like your precious eye.\\r\\nTo lose’t or give’t away were such perdition\\r\\nAs nothing else could match.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n’Tis true. There’s magic in the web of it.\\r\\nA sibyl, that had number’d in the world\\r\\nThe sun to course two hundred compasses,\\r\\nIn her prophetic fury sew’d the work;\\r\\nThe worms were hallow’d that did breed the silk,\\r\\nAnd it was dyed in mummy, which the skillful\\r\\nConserv’d of maiden’s hearts.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIndeed? Is’t true?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nMost veritable, therefore look to ’t well.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThen would to God that I had never seen ’t!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHa? wherefore?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy do you speak so startingly and rash?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIs’t lost? is’t gone? speak, is it out of the way?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHeaven bless us!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nSay you?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIt is not lost, but what and if it were?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHow?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI say it is not lost.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFetch’t, let me see ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, so I can, sir, but I will not now.\\r\\nThis is a trick to put me from my suit.\\r\\nPray you, let Cassio be receiv’d again.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFetch me the handkerchief! My mind misgives.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nCome, come.\\r\\nYou’ll never meet a more sufficient man.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe handkerchief!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI pray, talk me of Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe handkerchief!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nA man that all his time\\r\\nHath founded his good fortunes on your love,\\r\\nShar’d dangers with you,—\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe handkerchief!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIn sooth, you are to blame.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAway!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIs not this man jealous?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI ne’er saw this before.\\r\\nSure there’s some wonder in this handkerchief,\\r\\nI am most unhappy in the loss of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n’Tis not a year or two shows us a man:\\r\\nThey are all but stomachs and we all but food;\\r\\nThey eat us hungerly, and when they are full,\\r\\nThey belch us.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio and Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook you, Cassio and my husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThere is no other way; ’tis she must do ’t,\\r\\nAnd, lo, the happiness! Go and importune her.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHow now, good Cassio, what’s the news with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMadam, my former suit: I do beseech you\\r\\nThat by your virtuous means I may again\\r\\nExist, and be a member of his love,\\r\\nWhom I, with all the office of my heart,\\r\\nEntirely honour. I would not be delay’d.\\r\\nIf my offence be of such mortal kind\\r\\nThat nor my service past, nor present sorrows,\\r\\nNor purpos’d merit in futurity,\\r\\nCan ransom me into his love again,\\r\\nBut to know so must be my benefit;\\r\\nSo shall I clothe me in a forc’d content,\\r\\nAnd shut myself up in some other course\\r\\nTo fortune’s alms.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas, thrice-gentle Cassio,\\r\\nMy advocation is not now in tune;\\r\\nMy lord is not my lord; nor should I know him\\r\\nWere he in favour as in humour alter’d.\\r\\nSo help me every spirit sanctified,\\r\\nAs I have spoken for you all my best,\\r\\nAnd stood within the blank of his displeasure\\r\\nFor my free speech! You must awhile be patient.\\r\\nWhat I can do I will; and more I will\\r\\nThan for myself I dare. Let that suffice you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIs my lord angry?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHe went hence but now,\\r\\nAnd certainly in strange unquietness.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCan he be angry? I have seen the cannon,\\r\\nWhen it hath blown his ranks into the air\\r\\nAnd, like the devil, from his very arm\\r\\nPuff’d his own brother, and can he be angry?\\r\\nSomething of moment then. I will go meet him.\\r\\nThere’s matter in’t indeed if he be angry.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI prithee do so.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Iago._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSomething sure of state,\\r\\nEither from Venice, or some unhatch’d practice\\r\\nMade demonstrable here in Cyprus to him,\\r\\nHath puddled his clear spirit, and in such cases\\r\\nMen’s natures wrangle with inferior things,\\r\\nThough great ones are their object. ’Tis even so.\\r\\nFor let our finger ache, and it indues\\r\\nOur other healthful members even to that sense\\r\\nOf pain. Nay, we must think men are not gods,\\r\\nNor of them look for such observancy\\r\\nAs fits the bridal. Beshrew me much, Emilia,\\r\\nI was (unhandsome warrior as I am)\\r\\nArraigning his unkindness with my soul;\\r\\nBut now I find I had suborn’d the witness,\\r\\nAnd he’s indicted falsely.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPray heaven it be state matters, as you think,\\r\\nAnd no conception nor no jealous toy\\r\\nConcerning you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas the day, I never gave him cause!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBut jealous souls will not be answer’d so;\\r\\nThey are not ever jealous for the cause,\\r\\nBut jealous for they are jealous: ’tis a monster\\r\\nBegot upon itself, born on itself.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHeaven keep that monster from Othello’s mind!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nLady, amen.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI will go seek him. Cassio, walk hereabout:\\r\\nIf I do find him fit, I’ll move your suit,\\r\\nAnd seek to effect it to my uttermost.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI humbly thank your ladyship.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nSave you, friend Cassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhat make you from home?\\r\\nHow is it with you, my most fair Bianca?\\r\\nI’ faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nAnd I was going to your lodging, Cassio.\\r\\nWhat, keep a week away? Seven days and nights?\\r\\nEight score eight hours, and lovers’ absent hours,\\r\\nMore tedious than the dial eight score times?\\r\\nO weary reckoning!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nPardon me, Bianca.\\r\\nI have this while with leaden thoughts been press’d,\\r\\nBut I shall in a more continuate time\\r\\nStrike off this score of absence. Sweet Bianca,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Giving her Desdemona’s handkerchief._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTake me this work out.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nO Cassio, whence came this?\\r\\nThis is some token from a newer friend.\\r\\nTo the felt absence now I feel a cause.\\r\\nIs’t come to this? Well, well.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nGo to, woman!\\r\\nThrow your vile guesses in the devil’s teeth,\\r\\nFrom whence you have them. You are jealous now\\r\\nThat this is from some mistress, some remembrance.\\r\\nNo, in good troth, Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhy, whose is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI know not neither. I found it in my chamber.\\r\\nI like the work well. Ere it be demanded,\\r\\nAs like enough it will, I’d have it copied.\\r\\nTake it, and do ’t, and leave me for this time.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nLeave you, wherefore?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI do attend here on the general,\\r\\nAnd think it no addition, nor my wish,\\r\\nTo have him see me woman’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhy, I pray you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nNot that I love you not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nBut that you do not love me.\\r\\nI pray you bring me on the way a little,\\r\\nAnd say if I shall see you soon at night.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Tis but a little way that I can bring you,\\r\\nFor I attend here. But I’ll see you soon.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\n’Tis very good; I must be circumstanc’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Cyprus. Before the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello and Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWill you think so?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThink so, Iago?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat,\\r\\nTo kiss in private?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAn unauthoriz’d kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nOr to be naked with her friend in bed\\r\\nAn hour or more, not meaning any harm?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNaked in bed, Iago, and not mean harm?\\r\\nIt is hypocrisy against the devil:\\r\\nThey that mean virtuously and yet do so,\\r\\nThe devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt heaven.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSo they do nothing, ’tis a venial slip.\\r\\nBut if I give my wife a handkerchief—\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat then?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy then, ’tis hers, my lord, and being hers,\\r\\nShe may, I think, bestow’t on any man.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nShe is protectress of her honour too.\\r\\nMay she give that?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHer honour is an essence that’s not seen;\\r\\nThey have it very oft that have it not:\\r\\nBut for the handkerchief—\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBy heaven, I would most gladly have forgot it.\\r\\nThou said’st (O, it comes o’er my memory,\\r\\nAs doth the raven o’er the infected house,\\r\\nBoding to all) he had my handkerchief.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAy, what of that?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat’s not so good now.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat\\r\\nIf I had said I had seen him do you wrong?\\r\\nOr heard him say (as knaves be such abroad,\\r\\nWho having, by their own importunate suit,\\r\\nOr voluntary dotage of some mistress,\\r\\nConvinced or supplied them, cannot choose\\r\\nBut they must blab.)\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHath he said anything?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHe hath, my lord, but be you well assur’d,\\r\\nNo more than he’ll unswear.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat hath he said?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFaith, that he did—I know not what he did.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat? What?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLie.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWith her?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWith her, on her, what you will.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nLie with her! lie on her!—We say lie on her when they belie her.—Lie\\r\\nwith her! that’s fulsome. Handkerchief—confessions—handkerchief! To\\r\\nconfess, and be hanged for his labour. First, to be hanged, and then to\\r\\nconfess. I tremble at it. Nature would not invest herself in such\\r\\nshadowing passion without some instruction. It is not words that shake\\r\\nme thus. Pish! Noses, ears, and lips. Is’t\\r\\npossible?—Confess?—handkerchief?—O devil!—\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Falls in a trance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWork on,\\r\\nMy medicine, work! Thus credulous fools are caught,\\r\\nAnd many worthy and chaste dames even thus,\\r\\nAll guiltless, meet reproach. What, ho! my lord!\\r\\nMy lord, I say! Othello!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Cassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMy lord is fallen into an epilepsy.\\r\\nThis is his second fit. He had one yesterday.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nRub him about the temples.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNo, forbear;\\r\\nThe lethargy must have his quiet course.\\r\\nIf not, he foams at mouth, and by and by\\r\\nBreaks out to savage madness. Look, he stirs:\\r\\nDo you withdraw yourself a little while,\\r\\nHe will recover straight. When he is gone,\\r\\nI would on great occasion speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Cassio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow is it, general? Have you not hurt your head?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDost thou mock me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI mock you? No, by heaven.\\r\\nWould you would bear your fortune like a man!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nA horned man’s a monster and a beast.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThere’s many a beast, then, in a populous city,\\r\\nAnd many a civil monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDid he confess it?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGood sir, be a man.\\r\\nThink every bearded fellow that’s but yok’d\\r\\nMay draw with you. There’s millions now alive\\r\\nThat nightly lie in those unproper beds\\r\\nWhich they dare swear peculiar: your case is better.\\r\\nO, ’tis the spite of hell, the fiend’s arch-mock,\\r\\nTo lip a wanton in a secure couch,\\r\\nAnd to suppose her chaste! No, let me know,\\r\\nAnd knowing what I am, I know what she shall be.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, thou art wise, ’tis certain.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nStand you awhile apart,\\r\\nConfine yourself but in a patient list.\\r\\nWhilst you were here o’erwhelmed with your grief,\\r\\n(A passion most unsuiting such a man)\\r\\nCassio came hither. I shifted him away,\\r\\nAnd laid good ’scuse upon your ecstasy,\\r\\nBade him anon return, and here speak with me,\\r\\nThe which he promis’d. Do but encave yourself,\\r\\nAnd mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable scorns,\\r\\nThat dwell in every region of his face;\\r\\nFor I will make him tell the tale anew,\\r\\nWhere, how, how oft, how long ago, and when\\r\\nHe hath, and is again to cope your wife:\\r\\nI say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience,\\r\\nOr I shall say you are all in all in spleen,\\r\\nAnd nothing of a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDost thou hear, Iago?\\r\\nI will be found most cunning in my patience;\\r\\nBut,—dost thou hear?—most bloody.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThat’s not amiss.\\r\\nBut yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Othello withdraws._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow will I question Cassio of Bianca,\\r\\nA housewife that by selling her desires\\r\\nBuys herself bread and clothes: it is a creature\\r\\nThat dotes on Cassio, (as ’tis the strumpet’s plague\\r\\nTo beguile many and be beguil’d by one.)\\r\\nHe, when he hears of her, cannot refrain\\r\\nFrom the excess of laughter. Here he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs he shall smile Othello shall go mad,\\r\\nAnd his unbookish jealousy must construe\\r\\nPoor Cassio’s smiles, gestures, and light behaviour\\r\\nQuite in the wrong. How do you now, lieutenant?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThe worser that you give me the addition\\r\\nWhose want even kills me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nPly Desdemona well, and you are sure on’t.\\r\\n[_Speaking lower._] Now, if this suit lay in Bianca’s power,\\r\\nHow quickly should you speed!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAlas, poor caitiff!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Look how he laughs already!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI never knew a woman love man so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nAlas, poor rogue! I think, i’ faith, she loves me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Now he denies it faintly and laughs it out.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo you hear, Cassio?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNow he importunes him\\r\\nTo tell it o’er. Go to, well said, well said.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShe gives it out that you shall marry her.\\r\\nDo you intend it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHa, ha, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDo you triumph, Roman? Do you triumph?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI marry her? What? A customer? I prithee, bear some charity to my wit,\\r\\ndo not think it so unwholesome. Ha, ha, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nSo, so, so, so. They laugh that wins.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFaith, the cry goes that you shall marry her.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nPrithee say true.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am a very villain else.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHave you scored me? Well.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThis is the monkey’s own giving out. She is persuaded I will marry her,\\r\\nout of her own love and flattery, not out of my promise.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIago beckons me. Now he begins the story.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nShe was here even now. She haunts me in every place. I was the other\\r\\nday talking on the sea-bank with certain Venetians, and thither comes\\r\\nthe bauble, and falls thus about my neck.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nCrying, “O dear Cassio!” as it were: his gesture imports it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nSo hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon me; so hales and pulls me. Ha, ha,\\r\\nha!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNow he tells how she plucked him to my chamber. O, I see that nose of\\r\\nyours, but not that dog I shall throw it to.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWell, I must leave her company.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBefore me! look where she comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\n’Tis such another fitchew! Marry, a perfum’d one.\\r\\nWhat do you mean by this haunting of me?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nLet the devil and his dam haunt you! What did you mean by that same\\r\\nhandkerchief you gave me even now? I was a fine fool to take it. I must\\r\\ntake out the work? A likely piece of work, that you should find it in\\r\\nyour chamber and not know who left it there! This is some minx’s token,\\r\\nand I must take out the work? There, give it your hobby-horse.\\r\\nWheresoever you had it, I’ll take out no work on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHow now, my sweet Bianca? How now, how now?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBy heaven, that should be my handkerchief!\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nIf you’ll come to supper tonight, you may. If you will not, come when\\r\\nyou are next prepared for.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAfter her, after her.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nFaith, I must; she’ll rail in the street else.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWill you sup there?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nFaith, I intend so.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWell, I may chance to see you, for I would very fain speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nPrithee come, will you?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGo to; say no more.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Cassio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_Coming forward._] How shall I murder him, Iago?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDid you perceive how he laughed at his vice?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO Iago!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd did you see the handkerchief?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWas that mine?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYours, by this hand: and to see how he prizes the foolish woman your\\r\\nwife! she gave it him, and he hath given it his whore.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI would have him nine years a-killing. A fine woman, a fair woman, a\\r\\nsweet woman!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, you must forget that.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, let her rot, and perish, and be damned tonight, for she shall not\\r\\nlive. No, my heart is turned to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my\\r\\nhand. O, the world hath not a sweeter creature. She might lie by an\\r\\nemperor’s side, and command him tasks.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nNay, that’s not your way.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHang her, I do but say what she is. So delicate with her needle, an\\r\\nadmirable musician! O, she will sing the savageness out of a bear! Of\\r\\nso high and plenteous wit and invention!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nShe’s the worse for all this.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, a thousand, a thousand times: and then of so gentle a condition!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAy, too gentle.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNay, that’s certain. But yet the pity of it, Iago! O Iago, the pity of\\r\\nit, Iago!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nIf you are so fond over her iniquity, give her patent to offend, for if\\r\\nit touch not you, it comes near nobody.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI will chop her into messes. Cuckold me!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, ’tis foul in her.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWith mine officer!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThat’s fouler.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGet me some poison, Iago; this night. I’ll not expostulate with her,\\r\\nlest her body and beauty unprovide my mind again. This night, Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo it not with poison, strangle her in her bed, even the bed she hath\\r\\ncontaminated.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGood, good. The justice of it pleases. Very good.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd for Cassio, let me be his undertaker. You shall hear more by\\r\\nmidnight.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nExcellent good. [_A trumpet within._] What trumpet is that same?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lodovico, Desdemona and Attendant.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSomething from Venice, sure. ’Tis Lodovico\\r\\nCome from the duke. See, your wife is with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nSave you, worthy general!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWith all my heart, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nThe duke and senators of Venice greet you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Gives him a packet._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI kiss the instrument of their pleasures.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Opens the packet and reads._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAnd what’s the news, good cousin Lodovico?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI am very glad to see you, signior.\\r\\nWelcome to Cyprus.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nI thank you. How does Lieutenant Cassio?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLives, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nCousin, there’s fall’n between him and my lord\\r\\nAn unkind breach, but you shall make all well.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAre you sure of that?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_Reads._] “This fail you not to do, as you will—”\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nHe did not call; he’s busy in the paper.\\r\\nIs there division ’twixt my lord and Cassio?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nA most unhappy one. I would do much\\r\\nTo atone them, for the love I bear to Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nFire and brimstone!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAre you wise?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat, is he angry?\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nMay be the letter mov’d him;\\r\\nFor, as I think, they do command him home,\\r\\nDeputing Cassio in his government.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nTrust me, I am glad on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIndeed!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI am glad to see you mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhy, sweet Othello?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDevil!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Striking her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI have not deserv’d this.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nMy lord, this would not be believ’d in Venice,\\r\\nThough I should swear I saw’t: ’tis very much.\\r\\nMake her amends. She weeps.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO devil, devil!\\r\\nIf that the earth could teem with woman’s tears,\\r\\nEach drop she falls would prove a crocodile.\\r\\nOut of my sight!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI will not stay to offend you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Going._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nTruly, an obedient lady.\\r\\nI do beseech your lordship, call her back.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nMistress!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat would you with her, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWho, I, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, you did wish that I would make her turn.\\r\\nSir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on,\\r\\nAnd turn again. And she can weep, sir, weep;\\r\\nAnd she’s obedient, as you say, obedient,\\r\\nVery obedient. Proceed you in your tears.\\r\\nConcerning this, sir,—O well-painted passion!\\r\\nI am commanded home.—Get you away;\\r\\nI’ll send for you anon.—Sir, I obey the mandate,\\r\\nAnd will return to Venice.—Hence, avaunt!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Desdemona._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCassio shall have my place. And, sir, tonight,\\r\\nI do entreat that we may sup together.\\r\\nYou are welcome, sir, to Cyprus. Goats and monkeys!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nIs this the noble Moor, whom our full senate\\r\\nCall all in all sufficient? Is this the nature\\r\\nWhom passion could not shake? whose solid virtue\\r\\nThe shot of accident nor dart of chance\\r\\nCould neither graze nor pierce?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHe is much chang’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nAre his wits safe? Is he not light of brain?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHe’s that he is. I may not breathe my censure\\r\\nWhat he might be. If what he might he is not,\\r\\nI would to heaven he were!\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWhat, strike his wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFaith, that was not so well; yet would I knew\\r\\nThat stroke would prove the worst!\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nIs it his use?\\r\\nOr did the letters work upon his blood,\\r\\nAnd new-create this fault?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAlas, alas!\\r\\nIt is not honesty in me to speak\\r\\nWhat I have seen and known. You shall observe him,\\r\\nAnd his own courses will denote him so\\r\\nThat I may save my speech: do but go after,\\r\\nAnd mark how he continues.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nI am sorry that I am deceiv’d in him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYou have seen nothing, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNor ever heard, nor ever did suspect.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYes, you have seen Cassio and she together.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBut then I saw no harm, and then I heard\\r\\nEach syllable that breath made up between them.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat, did they never whisper?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNever, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNor send you out o’ the way?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNever.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nTo fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor nothing?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNever, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat’s strange.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI durst, my lord, to wager she is honest,\\r\\nLay down my soul at stake: if you think other,\\r\\nRemove your thought, it doth abuse your bosom.\\r\\nIf any wretch have put this in your head,\\r\\nLet heaven requite it with the serpent’s curse,\\r\\nFor if she be not honest, chaste, and true,\\r\\nThere’s no man happy. The purest of their wives\\r\\nIs foul as slander.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBid her come hither. Go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nShe says enough. Yet she’s a simple bawd\\r\\nThat cannot say as much. This is a subtle whore,\\r\\nA closet lock and key of villainous secrets.\\r\\nAnd yet she’ll kneel and pray. I have seen her do ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Desdemona and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord, what is your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nPray, chuck, come hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat is your pleasure?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nLet me see your eyes.\\r\\nLook in my face.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat horrible fancy’s this?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_To Emilia._] Some of your function, mistress,\\r\\nLeave procreants alone, and shut the door.\\r\\nCough, or cry hem, if anybody come.\\r\\nYour mystery, your mystery. Nay, dispatch.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nUpon my knees, what doth your speech import?\\r\\nI understand a fury in your words,\\r\\nBut not the words.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy, what art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nYour wife, my lord, your true and loyal wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nCome, swear it, damn thyself,\\r\\nLest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves\\r\\nShould fear to seize thee. Therefore be double-damn’d.\\r\\nSwear thou art honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHeaven doth truly know it.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHeaven truly knows that thou art false as hell.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nTo whom, my lord? With whom? How am I false?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO Desdemona, away! away! away!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas the heavy day, why do you weep?\\r\\nAm I the motive of these tears, my lord?\\r\\nIf haply you my father do suspect\\r\\nAn instrument of this your calling back,\\r\\nLay not your blame on me. If you have lost him,\\r\\nWhy, I have lost him too.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHad it pleas’d heaven\\r\\nTo try me with affliction, had they rain’d\\r\\nAll kinds of sores and shames on my bare head,\\r\\nSteep’d me in poverty to the very lips,\\r\\nGiven to captivity me and my utmost hopes,\\r\\nI should have found in some place of my soul\\r\\nA drop of patience. But, alas, to make me\\r\\nA fixed figure for the time of scorn\\r\\nTo point his slow unmoving finger at.\\r\\nYet could I bear that too, well, very well:\\r\\nBut there, where I have garner’d up my heart,\\r\\nWhere either I must live or bear no life,\\r\\nThe fountain from the which my current runs,\\r\\nOr else dries up, to be discarded thence,\\r\\nOr keep it as a cistern for foul toads\\r\\nTo knot and gender in!—turn thy complexion there,\\r\\nPatience, thou young and rose-lipp’d cherubin,\\r\\nAy, there, look grim as hell!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI hope my noble lord esteems me honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, ay, as summer flies are in the shambles,\\r\\nThat quicken even with blowing. O thou weed,\\r\\nWho art so lovely fair, and smell’st so sweet,\\r\\nThat the sense aches at thee,\\r\\nWould thou hadst ne’er been born!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas, what ignorant sin have I committed?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWas this fair paper, this most goodly book,\\r\\nMade to write “whore” upon? What committed?\\r\\nCommitted! O thou public commoner!\\r\\nI should make very forges of my cheeks,\\r\\nThat would to cinders burn up modesty,\\r\\nDid I but speak thy deeds. What committed!\\r\\nHeaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks;\\r\\nThe bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets,\\r\\nIs hush’d within the hollow mine of earth,\\r\\nAnd will not hear it. What committed!\\r\\nImpudent strumpet!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBy heaven, you do me wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAre not you a strumpet?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, as I am a Christian:\\r\\nIf to preserve this vessel for my lord\\r\\nFrom any other foul unlawful touch\\r\\nBe not to be a strumpet, I am none.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat, not a whore?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, as I shall be sav’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, heaven forgive us!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI cry you mercy then.\\r\\nI took you for that cunning whore of Venice\\r\\nThat married with Othello.—You, mistress,\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nThat have the office opposite to Saint Peter,\\r\\nAnd keeps the gate of hell. You, you, ay, you!\\r\\nWe have done our course; there’s money for your pains.\\r\\nI pray you turn the key, and keep our counsel.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAlas, what does this gentleman conceive?\\r\\nHow do you, madam? How do you, my good lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nFaith, half asleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nGood madam, what’s the matter with my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWith who?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhy, with my lord, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWho is thy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHe that is yours, sweet lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI have none. Do not talk to me, Emilia,\\r\\nI cannot weep, nor answer have I none\\r\\nBut what should go by water. Prithee, tonight\\r\\nLay on my bed my wedding sheets, remember,\\r\\nAnd call thy husband hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHere’s a change indeed!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\n’Tis meet I should be us’d so, very meet.\\r\\nHow have I been behav’d, that he might stick\\r\\nThe small’st opinion on my least misuse?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago and Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat is your pleasure, madam? How is’t with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI cannot tell. Those that do teach young babes\\r\\nDo it with gentle means and easy tasks.\\r\\nHe might have chid me so, for, in good faith,\\r\\nI am a child to chiding.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter, lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAlas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhor’d her,\\r\\nThrown such despite and heavy terms upon her,\\r\\nAs true hearts cannot bear.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAm I that name, Iago?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat name, fair lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nSuch as she says my lord did say I was.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHe call’d her whore: a beggar in his drink\\r\\nCould not have laid such terms upon his callet.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy did he so?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI do not know. I am sure I am none such.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDo not weep, do not weep: alas the day!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHath she forsook so many noble matches,\\r\\nHer father, and her country, and her friends,\\r\\nTo be call’d whore? would it not make one weep?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIt is my wretched fortune.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBeshrew him for’t!\\r\\nHow comes this trick upon him?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNay, heaven doth know.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI will be hang’d, if some eternal villain,\\r\\nSome busy and insinuating rogue,\\r\\nSome cogging, cozening slave, to get some office,\\r\\nHave not devis’d this slander. I’ll be hang’d else.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFie, there is no such man. It is impossible.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIf any such there be, heaven pardon him!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nA halter pardon him, and hell gnaw his bones!\\r\\nWhy should he call her whore? who keeps her company?\\r\\nWhat place? what time? what form? what likelihood?\\r\\nThe Moor’s abused by some most villainous knave,\\r\\nSome base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow.\\r\\nO heaven, that such companions thou’dst unfold,\\r\\nAnd put in every honest hand a whip\\r\\nTo lash the rascals naked through the world\\r\\nEven from the east to the west!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSpeak within door.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, fie upon them! Some such squire he was\\r\\nThat turn’d your wit the seamy side without,\\r\\nAnd made you to suspect me with the Moor.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou are a fool. Go to.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas, Iago,\\r\\nWhat shall I do to win my lord again?\\r\\nGood friend, go to him. For by this light of heaven,\\r\\nI know not how I lost him. Here I kneel.\\r\\nIf e’er my will did trespass ’gainst his love,\\r\\nEither in discourse of thought or actual deed,\\r\\nOr that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense,\\r\\nDelighted them in any other form,\\r\\nOr that I do not yet, and ever did,\\r\\nAnd ever will, (though he do shake me off\\r\\nTo beggarly divorcement) love him dearly,\\r\\nComfort forswear me! Unkindness may do much;\\r\\nAnd his unkindness may defeat my life,\\r\\nBut never taint my love. I cannot say “whore,”\\r\\nIt does abhor me now I speak the word;\\r\\nTo do the act that might the addition earn\\r\\nNot the world’s mass of vanity could make me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI pray you, be content. ’Tis but his humour.\\r\\nThe business of the state does him offence,\\r\\nAnd he does chide with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIf ’twere no other,—\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n’Tis but so, I warrant.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Trumpets within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHark, how these instruments summon to supper.\\r\\nThe messengers of Venice stay the meat.\\r\\nGo in, and weep not. All things shall be well.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Roderigo?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI do not find that thou dealest justly with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat in the contrary?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nEvery day thou daffest me with some device, Iago, and rather, as it\\r\\nseems to me now, keepest from me all conveniency than suppliest me with\\r\\nthe least advantage of hope. I will indeed no longer endure it. Nor am\\r\\nI yet persuaded to put up in peace what already I have foolishly\\r\\nsuffered.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWill you hear me, Roderigo?\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nFaith, I have heard too much, for your words and performances are no\\r\\nkin together.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou charge me most unjustly.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWith naught but truth. I have wasted myself out of my means. The jewels\\r\\nyou have had from me to deliver to Desdemona would half have corrupted\\r\\na votarist: you have told me she hath received them, and returned me\\r\\nexpectations and comforts of sudden respect and acquaintance, but I\\r\\nfind none.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWell, go to, very well.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nVery well, go to, I cannot go to, man, nor ’tis not very well. Nay, I\\r\\nsay ’tis very scurvy, and begin to find myself fopped in it.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nVery well.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI tell you ’tis not very well. I will make myself known to Desdemona.\\r\\nIf she will return me my jewels, I will give over my suit and repent my\\r\\nunlawful solicitation. If not, assure yourself I will seek satisfaction\\r\\nof you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nYou have said now.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nAy, and said nothing but what I protest intendment of doing.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, now I see there’s mettle in thee, and even from this instant do\\r\\nbuild on thee a better opinion than ever before. Give me thy hand,\\r\\nRoderigo. Thou hast taken against me a most just exception, but yet I\\r\\nprotest, I have dealt most directly in thy affair.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nIt hath not appeared.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI grant indeed it hath not appeared, and your suspicion is not without\\r\\nwit and judgement. But, Roderigo, if thou hast that in thee indeed,\\r\\nwhich I have greater reason to believe now than ever,—I mean purpose,\\r\\ncourage, and valour,—this night show it. If thou the next night\\r\\nfollowing enjoy not Desdemona, take me from this world with treachery\\r\\nand devise engines for my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nWell, what is it? Is it within reason and compass?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSir, there is especial commission come from Venice to depute Cassio in\\r\\nOthello’s place.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nIs that true? Why then Othello and Desdemona return again to Venice.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, no; he goes into Mauritania, and takes away with him the fair\\r\\nDesdemona, unless his abode be lingered here by some accident: wherein\\r\\nnone can be so determinate as the removing of Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nHow do you mean “removing” of him?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhy, by making him uncapable of Othello’s place: knocking out his\\r\\nbrains.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nAnd that you would have me to do?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAy, if you dare do yourself a profit and a right. He sups tonight with\\r\\na harlotry, and thither will I go to him. He knows not yet of his\\r\\nhonourable fortune. If you will watch his going thence, which I will\\r\\nfashion to fall out between twelve and one, you may take him at your\\r\\npleasure: I will be near to second your attempt, and he shall fall\\r\\nbetween us. Come, stand not amazed at it, but go along with me. I will\\r\\nshow you such a necessity in his death that you shall think yourself\\r\\nbound to put it on him. It is now high supper-time, and the night grows\\r\\nto waste. About it.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI will hear further reason for this.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nAnd you shall be satisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Cyprus. Another Room in the Castle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Emilia and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nI do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no further.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO, pardon me; ’twill do me good to walk.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nMadam, good night. I humbly thank your ladyship.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nYour honour is most welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWill you walk, sir?—\\r\\nO, Desdemona,—\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nGet you to bed on th’ instant, I will be return’d forthwith. Dismiss\\r\\nyour attendant there. Look ’t be done.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Othello, Lodovico and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHow goes it now? He looks gentler than he did.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHe says he will return incontinent,\\r\\nHe hath commanded me to go to bed,\\r\\nAnd bade me to dismiss you.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nDismiss me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIt was his bidding. Therefore, good Emilia,\\r\\nGive me my nightly wearing, and adieu.\\r\\nWe must not now displease him.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI would you had never seen him!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nSo would not I. My love doth so approve him,\\r\\nThat even his stubbornness, his checks, his frowns,—\\r\\nPrithee, unpin me,—have grace and favour in them.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI have laid those sheets you bade me on the bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAll’s one. Good faith, how foolish are our minds!\\r\\nIf I do die before thee, prithee, shroud me\\r\\nIn one of those same sheets.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nCome, come, you talk.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nMy mother had a maid call’d Barbary,\\r\\nShe was in love, and he she lov’d prov’d mad\\r\\nAnd did forsake her. She had a song of “willow”,\\r\\nAn old thing ’twas, but it express’d her fortune,\\r\\nAnd she died singing it. That song tonight\\r\\nWill not go from my mind. I have much to do\\r\\nBut to go hang my head all at one side\\r\\nAnd sing it like poor Barbary. Prithee dispatch.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nShall I go fetch your night-gown?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, unpin me here.\\r\\nThis Lodovico is a proper man.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nA very handsome man.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHe speaks well.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot to Palestine for a\\r\\ntouch of his nether lip.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\n[_Singing._]\\r\\n _The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,\\r\\n Sing all a green willow.\\r\\n Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,\\r\\n Sing willow, willow, willow.\\r\\n The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur’d her moans,\\r\\n Sing willow, willow, willow;\\r\\n Her salt tears fell from her, and soften’d the stones;—_\\r\\n\\r\\nLay by these:—\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n _Sing willow, willow, willow._\\r\\n\\r\\nPrithee hie thee. He’ll come anon.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n _Sing all a green willow must be my garland.\\r\\nLet nobody blame him, his scorn I approve,—_\\r\\n\\r\\nNay, that’s not next. Hark! who is’t that knocks?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIt’s the wind.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n _I call’d my love false love; but what said he then?\\r\\n Sing willow, willow, willow:\\r\\n If I court mo women, you’ll couch with mo men._\\r\\n\\r\\nSo get thee gone; good night. Mine eyes do itch;\\r\\nDoth that bode weeping?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n’Tis neither here nor there.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI have heard it said so. O, these men, these men!\\r\\nDost thou in conscience think,—tell me, Emilia,—\\r\\nThat there be women do abuse their husbands\\r\\nIn such gross kind?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThere be some such, no question.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhy, would not you?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, by this heavenly light!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNor I neither by this heavenly light,\\r\\nI might do’t as well i’ the dark.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThe world’s a huge thing. It is a great price\\r\\nFor a small vice.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIn troth, I think thou wouldst not.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIn troth, I think I should, and undo’t when I had done. Marry, I would\\r\\nnot do such a thing for a joint-ring, nor for measures of lawn, nor for\\r\\ngowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor any petty exhibition; but, for the\\r\\nwhole world—why, who would not make her husband a cuckold to make him a\\r\\nmonarch? I should venture purgatory for ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBeshrew me, if I would do such a wrong for the whole world.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhy, the wrong is but a wrong i’ the world; and having the world for\\r\\nyour labour, ’tis a wrong in your own world, and you might quickly make\\r\\nit right.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI do not think there is any such woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYes, a dozen; and as many to the vantage as would store the world they\\r\\nplayed for.\\r\\nBut I do think it is their husbands’ faults\\r\\nIf wives do fall: say that they slack their duties,\\r\\nAnd pour our treasures into foreign laps;\\r\\nOr else break out in peevish jealousies,\\r\\nThrowing restraint upon us. Or say they strike us,\\r\\nOr scant our former having in despite.\\r\\nWhy, we have galls; and though we have some grace,\\r\\nYet have we some revenge. Let husbands know\\r\\nTheir wives have sense like them: they see, and smell\\r\\nAnd have their palates both for sweet and sour,\\r\\nAs husbands have. What is it that they do\\r\\nWhen they change us for others? Is it sport?\\r\\nI think it is. And doth affection breed it?\\r\\nI think it doth. Is’t frailty that thus errs?\\r\\nIt is so too. And have not we affections,\\r\\nDesires for sport, and frailty, as men have?\\r\\nThen let them use us well: else let them know,\\r\\nThe ills we do, their ills instruct us so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nGood night, good night. Heaven me such usage send,\\r\\nNot to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Cyprus. A Street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago and Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHere, stand behind this bulk. Straight will he come.\\r\\nWear thy good rapier bare, and put it home.\\r\\nQuick, quick, fear nothing; I’ll be at thy elbow.\\r\\nIt makes us, or it mars us, think on that,\\r\\nAnd fix most firm thy resolution.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nBe near at hand, I may miscarry in ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHere, at thy hand. Be bold, and take thy stand.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Retires to a little distance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI have no great devotion to the deed;\\r\\nAnd yet he hath given me satisfying reasons.\\r\\n’Tis but a man gone. Forth, my sword; he dies.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Goes to his stand._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI have rubb’d this young quat almost to the sense,\\r\\nAnd he grows angry. Now, whether he kill Cassio,\\r\\nOr Cassio him, or each do kill the other,\\r\\nEvery way makes my gain. Live Roderigo,\\r\\nHe calls me to a restitution large\\r\\nOf gold and jewels that I bobb’d from him,\\r\\nAs gifts to Desdemona.\\r\\nIt must not be. If Cassio do remain,\\r\\nHe hath a daily beauty in his life\\r\\nThat makes me ugly. And besides, the Moor\\r\\nMay unfold me to him; there stand I in much peril.\\r\\nNo, he must die. But so, I hear him coming.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nI know his gait; ’tis he. Villain, thou diest!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Rushes out, and makes a pass at Cassio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThat thrust had been mine enemy indeed,\\r\\nBut that my coat is better than thou know’st.\\r\\nI will make proof of thine.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Draws, and wounds Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nO, I am slain!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Iago rushes from his post, cuts Cassio behind in the leg, and\\r\\n exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI am maim’d forever. Help, ho! murder, murder!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Falls._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThe voice of Cassio. Iago keeps his word.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nO, villain that I am!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIt is even so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nO, help, ho! light! a surgeon!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n’Tis he. O brave Iago, honest and just,\\r\\nThat hast such noble sense of thy friend’s wrong!\\r\\nThou teachest me,—minion, your dear lies dead,\\r\\nAnd your unbless’d fate hies. Strumpet, I come!\\r\\nForth of my heart those charms, thine eyes, are blotted;\\r\\nThy bed, lust-stain’d, shall with lust’s blood be spotted.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lodovico and Gratiano.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nWhat, ho! No watch? No passage? murder, murder!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\n’Tis some mischance; the cry is very direful.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nO, help!\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nHark!\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nO wretched villain!\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nTwo or three groan. It is a heavy night.\\r\\nThese may be counterfeits. Let’s think’t unsafe\\r\\nTo come in to the cry without more help.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nNobody come? Then shall I bleed to death.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Iago with a light.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nHark!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nHere’s one comes in his shirt, with light and weapons.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWho’s there? Whose noise is this that cries on murder?\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWe do not know.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDid not you hear a cry?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nHere, here! for heaven’s sake, help me!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nThis is Othello’s ancient, as I take it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nThe same indeed, a very valiant fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat are you here that cry so grievously?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nIago? O, I am spoil’d, undone by villains!\\r\\nGive me some help.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO me, lieutenant! What villains have done this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI think that one of them is hereabout,\\r\\nAnd cannot make away.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO treacherous villains!\\r\\n[_To Lodovico and Gratiano._] What are you there?\\r\\nCome in and give some help.\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nO, help me here!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThat’s one of them.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO murderous slave! O villain!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Stabs Roderigo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRODERIGO.\\r\\nO damn’d Iago! O inhuman dog!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nKill men i’ the dark! Where be these bloody thieves?\\r\\nHow silent is this town! Ho! murder! murder!\\r\\nWhat may you be? Are you of good or evil?\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nAs you shall prove us, praise us.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSignior Lodovico?\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nHe, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI cry you mercy. Here’s Cassio hurt by villains.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nCassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHow is’t, brother?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMy leg is cut in two.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nMarry, heaven forbid!\\r\\nLight, gentlemen, I’ll bind it with my shirt.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhat is the matter, ho? Who is’t that cried?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWho is’t that cried?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nO my dear Cassio, my sweet Cassio! O Cassio, Cassio, Cassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO notable strumpet! Cassio, may you suspect\\r\\nWho they should be that have thus mangled you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nI am sorry to find you thus; I have been to seek you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nLend me a garter. So.—O, for a chair,\\r\\nTo bear him easily hence!\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nAlas, he faints! O Cassio, Cassio, Cassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nGentlemen all, I do suspect this trash\\r\\nTo be a party in this injury.\\r\\nPatience awhile, good Cassio. Come, come;\\r\\nLend me a light. Know we this face or no?\\r\\nAlas, my friend and my dear countryman\\r\\nRoderigo? No. Yes, sure; O heaven! Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWhat, of Venice?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nEven he, sir. Did you know him?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nKnow him? Ay.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nSignior Gratiano? I cry you gentle pardon.\\r\\nThese bloody accidents must excuse my manners,\\r\\nThat so neglected you.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nI am glad to see you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHow do you, Cassio? O, a chair, a chair!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nRoderigo!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nHe, he, ’tis he.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A chair brought in._]\\r\\n\\r\\nO, that’s well said; the chair.\\r\\nSome good man bear him carefully from hence,\\r\\nI’ll fetch the general’s surgeon. [_To Bianca_] For you, mistress,\\r\\nSave you your labour. He that lies slain here, Cassio,\\r\\nWas my dear friend. What malice was between you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nNone in the world. Nor do I know the man.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\n[_To Bianca._] What, look you pale?—O, bear him out o’ the air.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Cassio and Roderigo are borne off._]\\r\\n\\r\\nStay you, good gentlemen.—Look you pale, mistress?\\r\\nDo you perceive the gastness of her eye?\\r\\nNay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon.\\r\\nBehold her well. I pray you, look upon her.\\r\\nDo you see, gentlemen? Nay, guiltiness will speak\\r\\nThough tongues were out of use.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n’Las, what’s the matter? What’s the matter, husband?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCassio hath here been set on in the dark\\r\\nBy Roderigo, and fellows that are ’scap’d.\\r\\nHe’s almost slain, and Roderigo dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAlas, good gentleman! alas, good Cassio!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nThis is the fruit of whoring. Prithee, Emilia,\\r\\nGo know of Cassio where he supp’d tonight.\\r\\nWhat, do you shake at that?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nHe supp’d at my house, but I therefore shake not.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nO, did he so? I charge you go with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nFie, fie upon thee, strumpet!\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nI am no strumpet, but of life as honest\\r\\nAs you that thus abuse me.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAs I? Foh! fie upon thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nKind gentlemen, let’s go see poor Cassio dress’d.\\r\\nCome, mistress, you must tell’s another tale.\\r\\nEmilia, run you to the citadel,\\r\\nAnd tell my lord and lady what hath happ’d.\\r\\nWill you go on afore? [_Aside._] This is the night\\r\\nThat either makes me or fordoes me quite.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Cyprus. A Bedchamber in the castle.\\r\\n\\r\\nDesdemona in bed asleep; a light burning.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Othello.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIt is the cause, it is the cause, my soul,\\r\\nLet me not name it to you, you chaste stars!\\r\\nIt is the cause. Yet I’ll not shed her blood,\\r\\nNor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow,\\r\\nAnd smooth as monumental alabaster.\\r\\nYet she must die, else she’ll betray more men.\\r\\nPut out the light, and then put out the light:\\r\\nIf I quench thee, thou flaming minister,\\r\\nI can again thy former light restore,\\r\\nShould I repent me. But once put out thy light,\\r\\nThou cunning’st pattern of excelling nature,\\r\\nI know not where is that Promethean heat\\r\\nThat can thy light relume. When I have pluck’d thy rose,\\r\\nI cannot give it vital growth again,\\r\\nIt must needs wither. I’ll smell it on the tree.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kissing her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nO, balmy breath, that dost almost persuade\\r\\nJustice to break her sword! One more, one more.\\r\\nBe thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,\\r\\nAnd love thee after. One more, and this the last.\\r\\nSo sweet was ne’er so fatal. I must weep,\\r\\nBut they are cruel tears. This sorrow’s heavenly,\\r\\nIt strikes where it doth love. She wakes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWho’s there? Othello?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, Desdemona.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWill you come to bed, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHave you pray’d tonight, Desdemona?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAy, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIf you bethink yourself of any crime\\r\\nUnreconcil’d as yet to heaven and grace,\\r\\nSolicit for it straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlack, my lord, what may you mean by that?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWell, do it, and be brief, I will walk by.\\r\\nI would not kill thy unprepared spirit,\\r\\nNo, heaven forfend! I would not kill thy soul.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nTalk you of killing?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, I do.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThen heaven have mercy on me!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAmen, with all my heart!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nIf you say so, I hope you will not kill me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHum!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAnd yet I fear you, for you are fatal then\\r\\nWhen your eyes roll so: why I should fear I know not,\\r\\nSince guiltiness I know not, but yet I feel I fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThink on thy sins.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThey are loves I bear to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, and for that thou diest.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThat death’s unnatural that kills for loving.\\r\\nAlas, why gnaw you so your nether lip?\\r\\nSome bloody passion shakes your very frame.\\r\\nThese are portents; but yet I hope, I hope,\\r\\nThey do not point on me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nPeace, and be still!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nI will so. What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat handkerchief which I so loved and gave thee,\\r\\nThou gav’st to Cassio.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNo, by my life and soul!\\r\\nSend for the man and ask him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nSweet soul, take heed, take heed of perjury,\\r\\nThou’rt on thy death-bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAy, but not yet to die.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYes, presently:\\r\\nTherefore confess thee freely of thy sin.\\r\\nFor to deny each article with oath\\r\\nCannot remove nor choke the strong conception\\r\\nThat I do groan withal. Thou art to die.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nThen, Lord have mercy on me!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI say, amen.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAnd have you mercy too! I never did\\r\\nOffend you in my life,\\t never lov’d Cassio\\r\\nBut with such general warranty of heaven\\r\\nAs I might love. I never gave him token.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBy heaven, I saw my handkerchief in ’s hand.\\r\\nO perjur’d woman, thou dost stone my heart,\\r\\nAnd mak’st me call what I intend to do\\r\\nA murder, which I thought a sacrifice.\\r\\nI saw the handkerchief.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHe found it then.\\r\\nI never gave it him. Send for him hither.\\r\\nLet him confess a truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHe hath confess’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nWhat, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat he hath us’d thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHow? Unlawfully?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nHe will not say so.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNo, his mouth is stopp’d.\\r\\nHonest Iago hath ta’en order for ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, my fear interprets! What, is he dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHad all his hairs been lives, my great revenge\\r\\nHad stomach for them all.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nAlas, he is betray’d, and I undone!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nOut, strumpet! Weep’st thou for him to my face?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, banish me, my lord, but kill me not!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nDown, strumpet!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nKill me tomorrow, let me live tonight!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNay, if you strive,—\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBut half an hour!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBeing done, there is no pause.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nBut while I say one prayer!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIt is too late.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Smothers her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n[_Within._] My lord, my lord! what, ho! my lord, my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat noise is this? Not dead? Not yet quite dead?\\r\\nI that am cruel am yet merciful,\\r\\nI would not have thee linger in thy pain.\\r\\nSo, so.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n[_Within._] What, ho! my lord, my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWho’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n[_Within._] O, good my lord, I would speak a word with you!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYes. ’Tis Emilia, by and by. She’s dead.\\r\\n’Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio’s death;\\r\\nThe noise was high.—Ha! no more moving?\\r\\nStill as the grave. Shall she come in? Were’t good?\\r\\nI think she stirs again; no. What’s best to do?\\r\\nIf she come in, she’ll sure speak to my wife.\\r\\nMy wife! my wife! what wife? I have no wife.\\r\\nO, insupportable! O heavy hour!\\r\\nMethinks it should be now a huge eclipse\\r\\nOf sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe\\r\\nShould yawn at alteration.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n[_Within._] I do beseech you\\r\\nThat I may speak with you, O, good my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI had forgot thee: O, come in, Emilia.\\r\\nSoft, by and by; let me the curtains draw.\\r\\nWhere art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Unlocks the door._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat’s the matter with thee now?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, my good lord, yonder’s foul murders done!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat, now?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBut now, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nIt is the very error of the moon,\\r\\nShe comes more nearer earth than she was wont\\r\\nAnd makes men mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nCassio, my lord, hath kill’d a young Venetian\\r\\nCall’d Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nRoderigo kill’d?\\r\\nAnd Cassio kill’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNo, Cassio is not kill’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNot Cassio kill’d! Then murder’s out of tune,\\r\\nAnd sweet revenge grows harsh.\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nO, falsely, falsely murder’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAlas, what cry is that?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat? What?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nOut, and alas! That was my lady’s voice.\\r\\nHelp! help, ho! help! O lady, speak again,\\r\\nSweet Desdemona! O sweet mistress, speak!\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nA guiltless death I die.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, who hath done this deed?\\r\\n\\r\\nDESDEMONA.\\r\\nNobody; I myself. Farewell.\\r\\nCommend me to my kind lord. O, farewell!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_She dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy, how should she be murder’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAlas, who knows?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nYou heard her say herself, it was not I.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nShe said so. I must needs report the truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nShe’s like a liar, gone to burning hell.\\r\\n’Twas I that kill’d her.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, the more angel she,\\r\\nAnd you the blacker devil!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nShe turn’d to folly, and she was a whore.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThou dost belie her, and thou art a devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nShe was false as water.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThou art rash as fire, to say\\r\\nThat she was false: O, she was heavenly true!\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nCassio did top her; ask thy husband else.\\r\\nO, I were damn’d beneath all depth in hell,\\r\\nBut that I did proceed upon just grounds\\r\\nTo this extremity. Thy husband knew it all.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMy husband?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThy husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat she was false to wedlock?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, with Cassio. Nay, had she been true,\\r\\nIf heaven would make me such another world\\r\\nOf one entire and perfect chrysolite,\\r\\nI’d not have sold her for it.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMy husband?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy, ’twas he that told me first.\\r\\nAn honest man he is, and hates the slime\\r\\nThat sticks on filthy deeds.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMy husband?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhat needs this iterance, woman? I say thy husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO mistress, villainy hath made mocks with love!\\r\\nMy husband say that she was false?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHe, woman;\\r\\nI say thy husband: dost understand the word?\\r\\nMy friend, thy husband, honest, honest Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIf he say so, may his pernicious soul\\r\\nRot half a grain a day! he lies to the heart.\\r\\nShe was too fond of her most filthy bargain.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nHa!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nDo thy worst:\\r\\nThis deed of thine is no more worthy heaven\\r\\nThan thou wast worthy her.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nPeace, you were best.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThou hast not half that power to do me harm\\r\\nAs I have to be hurt. O gull! O dolt!\\r\\nAs ignorant as dirt! Thou hast done a deed\\r\\n(I care not for thy sword) I’ll make thee known,\\r\\nThough I lost twenty lives. Help! help, ho! help!\\r\\nThe Moor hath kill’d my mistress! Murder, murder!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Montano, Gratiano and Iago.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nWhat is the matter? How now, general?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO, are you come, Iago? You have done well,\\r\\nThat men must lay their murders on your neck.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWhat is the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nDisprove this villain, if thou be’st a man.\\r\\nHe says thou told’st him that his wife was false.\\r\\nI know thou didst not, thou’rt not such a villain.\\r\\nSpeak, for my heart is full.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI told him what I thought, and told no more\\r\\nThan what he found himself was apt and true.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBut did you ever tell him she was false?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI did.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYou told a lie, an odious, damned lie;\\r\\nUpon my soul, a lie; a wicked lie.\\r\\nShe false with Cassio? Did you say with Cassio?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWith Cassio, mistress. Go to, charm your tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI will not charm my tongue; I am bound to speak.\\r\\nMy mistress here lies murder’d in her bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nO heavens forfend!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAnd your reports have set the murder on.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nNay, stare not, masters, it is true indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\n’Tis a strange truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\nO monstrous act!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nVillany, villany, villany!\\r\\nI think upon’t, I think I smell’t; O villany!\\r\\nI thought so then. I’ll kill myself for grief.\\r\\nO villany, villany!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nWhat, are you mad? I charge you, get you home.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nGood gentlemen, let me have leave to speak.\\r\\n’Tis proper I obey him, but not now.\\r\\nPerchance, Iago, I will ne’er go home.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO! O! O!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Hanging over his wife._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNay, lay thee down and roar;\\r\\nFor thou hast kill’d the sweetest innocent\\r\\nThat e’er did lift up eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n[_Rising._] O, she was foul!\\r\\nI scarce did know you, uncle, there lies your niece,\\r\\nWhose breath indeed these hands have newly stopp’d.\\r\\nI know this act shows horrible and grim.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nPoor Desdemona! I am glad thy father’s dead.\\r\\nThy match was mortal to him, and pure grief\\r\\nShore his old thread in twain: did he live now,\\r\\nThis sight would make him do a desperate turn,\\r\\nYea, curse his better angel from his side,\\r\\nAnd fall to reprobance.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\n’Tis pitiful. But yet Iago knows\\r\\nThat she with Cassio hath the act of shame\\r\\nA thousand times committed; Cassio confess’d it,\\r\\nAnd she did gratify his amorous works\\r\\nWith that recognizance and pledge of love\\r\\nWhich I first gave her; I saw it in his hand.\\r\\nIt was a handkerchief, an antique token\\r\\nMy father gave my mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO heaven! O heavenly powers!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nCome, hold your peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\n’Twill out, ’twill out. I peace?\\r\\nNo, I will speak as liberal as the north.\\r\\nLet heaven and men and devils, let them all,\\r\\nAll, all, cry shame against me, yet I’ll speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nBe wise, and get you home.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI will not.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Iago offers to stab his wife._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nFie!\\r\\nYour sword upon a woman?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO thou dull Moor, that handkerchief thou speak’st of\\r\\nI found by fortune and did give my husband;\\r\\nFor often with a solemn earnestness,\\r\\nMore than indeed belong’d to such a trifle,\\r\\nHe begg’d of me to steal it.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nVillanous whore!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nShe give it Cassio! no, alas, I found it,\\r\\nAnd I did give’t my husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nFilth, thou liest!\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBy heaven, I do not, I do not, gentlemen.\\r\\nO murderous coxcomb! What should such a fool\\r\\nDo with so good a wife?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO\\r\\nAre there not stones in heaven\\r\\nBut what serve for thunder? Precious villain!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Iago stabs Emilia and then runs out._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nThe woman falls. Sure, he hath kill’d his wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAy, ay. O, lay me by my mistress’ side.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nHe’s gone, but his wife’s kill’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTANO.\\r\\n’Tis a notorious villain. Take you this weapon,\\r\\nWhich I have here recover’d from the Moor.\\r\\nCome, guard the door without, let him not pass,\\r\\nBut kill him rather. I’ll after that same villain,\\r\\nFor ’tis a damned slave.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Montano and Gratiano._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI am not valiant neither,\\r\\nBut every puny whipster gets my sword.\\r\\nBut why should honour outlive honesty?\\r\\nLet it go all.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWhat did thy song bode, lady?\\r\\nHark, canst thou hear me? I will play the swan,\\r\\nAnd die in music.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Willow, willow, willow._\\r\\nMoor, she was chaste. She lov’d thee, cruel Moor,\\r\\nSo come my soul to bliss, as I speak true;\\r\\nSo speaking as I think, I die, I die.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_She dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI have another weapon in this chamber,\\r\\nIt is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook’s temper.\\r\\nO, here it is. Uncle, I must come forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\n[_Within._] If thou attempt it, it will cost thee dear;\\r\\nThou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nLook in upon me then, and speak with me,\\r\\nOr, naked as I am, I will assault thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gratiano.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nWhat is the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nBehold, I have a weapon.\\r\\nA better never did itself sustain\\r\\nUpon a soldier’s thigh: I have seen the day\\r\\nThat with this little arm and this good sword\\r\\nI have made my way through more impediments\\r\\nThan twenty times your stop. But, O vain boast!\\r\\nWho can control his fate? ’Tis not so now.\\r\\nBe not afraid, though you do see me weapon’d.\\r\\nHere is my journey’s end, here is my butt,\\r\\nAnd very sea-mark of my utmost sail.\\r\\nDo you go back dismay’d? ’Tis a lost fear.\\r\\nMan but a rush against Othello’s breast,\\r\\nAnd he retires. Where should Othello go?\\r\\nNow, how dost thou look now? O ill-starr’d wench,\\r\\nPale as thy smock, when we shall meet at compt,\\r\\nThis look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven,\\r\\nAnd fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl!\\r\\nEven like thy chastity.\\r\\nO cursed, cursed slave! Whip me, ye devils,\\r\\nFrom the possession of this heavenly sight!\\r\\nBlow me about in winds, roast me in sulphur,\\r\\nWash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire!\\r\\nO Desdemon! Dead, Desdemon! dead! Oh, oh!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lodovico, Montano, Cassio carried in a chair, and Officers with\\r\\n Iago prisoner.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWhere is this rash and most unfortunate man?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nThat’s he that was Othello. Here I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWhere is that viper? Bring the villain forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI look down towards his feet; but that’s a fable.\\r\\nIf that thou be’st a devil, I cannot kill thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Wounds Iago._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWrench his sword from him.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nI bleed, sir, but not kill’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI am not sorry neither. I’d have thee live,\\r\\nFor in my sense ’tis happiness to die.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nO thou Othello, that wert once so good,\\r\\nFall’n in the practice of a damned slave,\\r\\nWhat shall be said to thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWhy, anything;\\r\\nAn honourable murderer, if you will.\\r\\nFor naught did I in hate, but all in honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nThis wretch hath part confess’d his villany.\\r\\nDid you and he consent in Cassio’s death?\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nAy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nDear general, I never gave you cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI do believe it, and I ask your pardon.\\r\\nWill you, I pray, demand that demi-devil\\r\\nWhy he hath thus ensnar’d my soul and body?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAGO.\\r\\nDemand me nothing. What you know, you know.\\r\\nFrom this time forth I never will speak word.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nWhat, not to pray?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nTorments will ope your lips.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nWell, thou dost best.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nSir, you shall understand what hath befall’n,\\r\\nWhich, as I think, you know not. Here is a letter\\r\\nFound in the pocket of the slain Roderigo,\\r\\nAnd here another. The one of them imports\\r\\nThe death of Cassio, to be undertook\\r\\nBy Roderigo.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO villain!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nMost heathenish and most gross!\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nNow here’s another discontented paper,\\r\\nFound in his pocket too; and this, it seems,\\r\\nRoderigo meant to have sent this damned villain,\\r\\nBut that, belike, Iago in the interim\\r\\nCame in and satisfied him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO the pernicious caitiff!\\r\\nHow came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief\\r\\nThat was my wife’s?\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nI found it in my chamber.\\r\\nAnd he himself confess’d but even now,\\r\\nThat there he dropp’d it for a special purpose\\r\\nWhich wrought to his desire.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nO fool! fool! fool!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThere is besides in Roderigo’s letter,\\r\\nHow he upbraids Iago, that he made him\\r\\nBrave me upon the watch, whereon it came\\r\\nThat I was cast. And even but now he spake,\\r\\nAfter long seeming dead, Iago hurt him,\\r\\nIago set him on.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nYou must forsake this room, and go with us.\\r\\nYour power and your command is taken off,\\r\\nAnd Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave,\\r\\nIf there be any cunning cruelty\\r\\nThat can torment him much and hold him long,\\r\\nIt shall be his. You shall close prisoner rest,\\r\\nTill that the nature of your fault be known\\r\\nTo the Venetian state. Come, bring away.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nSoft you; a word or two before you go.\\r\\nI have done the state some service, and they know’t.\\r\\nNo more of that. I pray you, in your letters,\\r\\nWhen you shall these unlucky deeds relate,\\r\\nSpeak of me as I am. Nothing extenuate,\\r\\nNor set down aught in malice. Then must you speak\\r\\nOf one that loved not wisely, but too well;\\r\\nOf one not easily jealous, but being wrought,\\r\\nPerplex’d in the extreme; of one whose hand,\\r\\nLike the base Judean, threw a pearl away\\r\\nRicher than all his tribe; of one whose subdu’d eyes,\\r\\nAlbeit unused to the melting mood,\\r\\nDrop tears as fast as the Arabian trees\\r\\nTheir medicinal gum. Set you down this.\\r\\nAnd say besides, that in Aleppo once,\\r\\nWhere a malignant and a turban’d Turk\\r\\nBeat a Venetian and traduc’d the state,\\r\\nI took by the throat the circumcised dog,\\r\\nAnd smote him, thus.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Stabs himself._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\nO bloody period!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRATIANO.\\r\\nAll that’s spoke is marr’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nOTHELLO.\\r\\nI kiss’d thee ere I kill’d thee. No way but this,\\r\\nKilling myself, to die upon a kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Falling upon Desdemona._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSIO.\\r\\nThis did I fear, but thought he had no weapon,\\r\\nFor he was great of heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nLODOVICO.\\r\\n[_To Iago._] O Spartan dog,\\r\\nMore fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea,\\r\\nLook on the tragic loading of this bed.\\r\\nThis is thy work. The object poisons sight,\\r\\nLet it be hid. Gratiano, keep the house,\\r\\nAnd seize upon the fortunes of the Moor,\\r\\nFor they succeed on you. To you, lord governor,\\r\\nRemains the censure of this hellish villain.\\r\\nThe time, the place, the torture, O, enforce it!\\r\\nMyself will straight aboard, and to the state\\r\\nThis heavy act with heavy heart relate.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nChorus. Before the palace of Antioch.\\r\\nScene I. Antioch. A room in the palace.\\r\\nScene II. Tyre. A room in the palace.\\r\\nScene III. Tyre. An ante-chamber in the Palace.\\r\\nScene IV. Tarsus. A room in the Governor’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nChorus. Chorus.\\r\\nScene I. Pentapolis. An open place by the seaside.\\r\\nScene II. The same. A public way, or platform leading to the lists.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A hall of state: a banquet prepared.\\r\\nScene IV. Tyre. A room in the Governor’s house.\\r\\nScene V. Pentapolis. A room in the palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nChorus. Chorus.\\r\\nScene I. On shipboard.\\r\\nScene II. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon’s house.\\r\\nScene III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon’s house.\\r\\nScene IV. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nChorus. Chorus.\\r\\nScene I. Tarsus. An open place near the seashore.\\r\\nScene II. Mytilene. A room in a brothel.\\r\\nScene III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon’s house.\\r\\nScene IV. Before the monument of Marina at Tarsus.\\r\\nScene V. Mytilene. A street before the brothel.\\r\\nScene VI. The same. A room in the brothel.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nChorus. Chorus.\\r\\nScene I. On board Pericles’ ship, off Mytilene.\\r\\nScene II. Before the temple of Diana at Ephesus.\\r\\nScene III. The temple of Diana at Ephesus.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS, king of Antioch.\\r\\nPERICLES, prince of Tyre.\\r\\nHELICANUS, ESCANES, two lords of Tyre.\\r\\nSIMONIDES, king of Pentapolis.\\r\\nCLEON, governor of Tarsus.\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS, governor of Mytilene.\\r\\nCERIMON, a lord of Ephesus.\\r\\nTHALIARD, a lord of Antioch.\\r\\nPHILEMON, servant to Cerimon.\\r\\nLEONINE, servant to Dionyza.\\r\\nMarshal.\\r\\nA Pandar.\\r\\nBOULT, his servant.\\r\\nThe Daughter of Antiochus.\\r\\nDIONYZA, wife to Cleon.\\r\\nTHAISA, daughter to Simonides.\\r\\nMARINA, daughter to Pericles and Thaisa.\\r\\nLYCHORIDA, nurse to Marina.\\r\\nA Bawd.\\r\\nLords, Knights, Gentlemen, Sailors, Pirates, Fishermen, and Messengers.\\r\\nDIANA.\\r\\nGOWER, as Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Dispersedly in various countries.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\n Before the palace of Antioch.\\r\\n\\r\\nTo sing a song that old was sung,\\r\\nFrom ashes ancient Gower is come;\\r\\nAssuming man’s infirmities,\\r\\nTo glad your ear, and please your eyes.\\r\\nIt hath been sung at festivals,\\r\\nOn ember-eves and holy-ales;\\r\\nAnd lords and ladies in their lives\\r\\nHave read it for restoratives:\\r\\nThe purchase is to make men glorious,\\r\\n_Et bonum quo antiquius eo melius._\\r\\nIf you, born in these latter times,\\r\\nWhen wit’s more ripe, accept my rhymes,\\r\\nAnd that to hear an old man sing\\r\\nMay to your wishes pleasure bring,\\r\\nI life would wish, and that I might\\r\\nWaste it for you, like taper-light.\\r\\nThis Antioch, then, Antiochus the Great\\r\\nBuilt up, this city, for his chiefest seat;\\r\\nThe fairest in all Syria.\\r\\nI tell you what mine authors say:\\r\\nThis king unto him took a fere,\\r\\nWho died and left a female heir,\\r\\nSo buxom, blithe, and full of face,\\r\\nAs heaven had lent her all his grace;\\r\\nWith whom the father liking took,\\r\\nAnd her to incest did provoke.\\r\\nBad child; worse father! to entice his own\\r\\nTo evil should be done by none:\\r\\nBut custom what they did begin\\r\\nWas with long use account’d no sin.\\r\\nThe beauty of this sinful dame\\r\\nMade many princes thither frame,\\r\\nTo seek her as a bedfellow,\\r\\nIn marriage pleasures playfellow:\\r\\nWhich to prevent he made a law,\\r\\nTo keep her still, and men in awe,\\r\\nThat whoso ask’d her for his wife,\\r\\nHis riddle told not, lost his life:\\r\\nSo for her many a wight did die,\\r\\nAs yon grim looks do testify.\\r\\nWhat now ensues, to the judgement your eye\\r\\nI give, my cause who best can justify.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Antioch. A room in the palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antiochus, Prince Pericles and followers.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nYoung prince of Tyre, you have at large received\\r\\nThe danger of the task you undertake.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI have, Antiochus, and, with a soul\\r\\nEmboldened with the glory of her praise,\\r\\nThink death no hazard in this enterprise.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nMusic! Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride,\\r\\nFor the embracements even of Jove himself;\\r\\nAt whose conception, till Lucina reigned,\\r\\nNature this dowry gave, to glad her presence,\\r\\nThe senate house of planets all did sit,\\r\\nTo knit in her their best perfections.\\r\\n\\r\\n Music. Enter the Daughter of Antiochus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nSee where she comes, apparell’d like the spring,\\r\\nGraces her subjects, and her thoughts the king\\r\\nOf every virtue gives renown to men!\\r\\nHer face the book of praises, where is read\\r\\nNothing but curious pleasures, as from thence\\r\\nSorrow were ever razed, and testy wrath\\r\\nCould never be her mild companion.\\r\\nYou gods that made me man, and sway in love,\\r\\nThat have inflamed desire in my breast\\r\\nTo taste the fruit of yon celestial tree,\\r\\nOr die in the adventure, be my helps,\\r\\nAs I am son and servant to your will,\\r\\nTo compass such a boundless happiness!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nPrince Pericles, —\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThat would be son to great Antiochus.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nBefore thee stands this fair Hesperides,\\r\\nWith golden fruit, but dangerous to be touch’d;\\r\\nFor death-like dragons here affright thee hard:\\r\\nHer face, like heaven, enticeth thee to view\\r\\nHer countless glory, which desert must gain;\\r\\nAnd which, without desert, because thine eye\\r\\nPresumes to reach, all the whole heap must die.\\r\\nYon sometimes famous princes, like thyself,\\r\\nDrawn by report, adventurous by desire,\\r\\nTell thee, with speechless tongues and semblance pale,\\r\\nThat without covering, save yon field of stars,\\r\\nHere they stand Martyrs, slain in Cupid’s wars;\\r\\nAnd with dead cheeks advise thee to desist\\r\\nFor going on death’s net, whom none resist.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAntiochus, I thank thee, who hath taught\\r\\nMy frail mortality to know itself,\\r\\nAnd by those fearful objects to prepare\\r\\nThis body, like to them, to what I must;\\r\\nFor death remember’d should be like a mirror,\\r\\nWho tells us life’s but breath, to trust it error.\\r\\nI’ll make my will then, and, as sick men do\\r\\nWho know the world, see heaven, but, feeling woe,\\r\\nGripe not at earthly joys as erst they did;\\r\\nSo I bequeath a happy peace to you\\r\\nAnd all good men, as every prince should do;\\r\\nMy riches to the earth from whence they came;\\r\\n[_To the daughter of Antiochus._] But my unspotted fire of love to you.\\r\\nThus ready for the way of life or death,\\r\\nI wait the sharpest blow, Antiochus.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nScorning advice, read the conclusion, then:\\r\\nWhich read and not expounded, ’tis decreed,\\r\\nAs these before thee thou thyself shalt bleed.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nOf all ’ssayed yet, mayst thou prove prosperous!\\r\\nOf all ’ssayed yet, I wish thee happiness!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES\\r\\nLike a bold champion, I assume the lists,\\r\\nNor ask advice of any other thought\\r\\nBut faithfulness and courage.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He reads the riddle._]\\r\\n\\r\\n _I am no viper, yet I feed\\r\\n On mother’s flesh which did me breed.\\r\\n I sought a husband, in which labour\\r\\n I found that kindness in a father:\\r\\n He’s father, son, and husband mild;\\r\\n I mother, wife, and yet his child.\\r\\n How they may be, and yet in two,\\r\\n As you will live resolve it you._\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSharp physic is the last: but, O you powers\\r\\nThat give heaven countless eyes to view men’s acts,\\r\\nWhy cloud they not their sights perpetually,\\r\\nIf this be true, which makes me pale to read it?\\r\\nFair glass of light, I loved you, and could still,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Takes hold of the hand of the Princess._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWere not this glorious casket stored with ill:\\r\\nBut I must tell you, now my thoughts revolt;\\r\\nFor he’s no man on whom perfections wait\\r\\nThat, knowing sin within, will touch the gate,\\r\\nYou are a fair viol, and your sense the strings;\\r\\nWho, finger’d to make man his lawful music,\\r\\nWould draw heaven down, and all the gods to hearken;\\r\\nBut being play’d upon before your time,\\r\\nHell only danceth at so harsh a chime.\\r\\nGood sooth, I care not for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nPrince Pericles, touch not, upon thy life,\\r\\nFor that’s an article within our law,\\r\\nAs dangerous as the rest. Your time’s expired:\\r\\nEither expound now, or receive your sentence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nGreat king,\\r\\nFew love to hear the sins they love to act;\\r\\n’Twould braid yourself too near for me to tell it.\\r\\nWho has a book of all that monarchs do,\\r\\nHe’s more secure to keep it shut than shown:\\r\\nFor vice repeated is like the wandering wind,\\r\\nBlows dust in others’ eyes, to spread itself;\\r\\nAnd yet the end of all is bought thus dear,\\r\\nThe breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear.\\r\\nTo stop the air would hurt them. The blind mole casts\\r\\nCopp’d hills towards heaven, to tell the earth is throng’d\\r\\nBy man’s oppression; and the poor worm doth die for’t.\\r\\nKind are earth’s gods; in vice their law’s their will;\\r\\nAnd if Jove stray, who dares say Jove doth ill?\\r\\nIt is enough you know; and it is fit,\\r\\nWhat being more known grows worse, to smother it.\\r\\nAll love the womb that their first bred,\\r\\nThen give my tongue like leave to love my head.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\n[_Aside_] Heaven, that I had thy head! He has found the meaning:\\r\\nBut I will gloze with him. — Young prince of Tyre.\\r\\nThough by the tenour of our strict edict,\\r\\nYour exposition misinterpreting,\\r\\nWe might proceed to cancel of your days;\\r\\nYet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree\\r\\nAs your fair self, doth tune us otherwise:\\r\\nForty days longer we do respite you;\\r\\nIf by which time our secret be undone,\\r\\nThis mercy shows we’ll joy in such a son:\\r\\nAnd until then your entertain shall be\\r\\nAs doth befit our honour and your worth.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Pericles._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHow courtesy would seem to cover sin,\\r\\nWhen what is done is like an hypocrite,\\r\\nThe which is good in nothing but in sight!\\r\\nIf it be true that I interpret false,\\r\\nThen were it certain you were not so bad\\r\\nAs with foul incest to abuse your soul;\\r\\nWhere now you’re both a father and a son,\\r\\nBy your untimely claspings with your child,\\r\\nWhich pleasures fits a husband, not a father;\\r\\nAnd she an eater of her mother’s flesh,\\r\\nBy the defiling of her parent’s bed;\\r\\nAnd both like serpents are, who though they feed\\r\\nOn sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed.\\r\\nAntioch, farewell! for wisdom sees, those men\\r\\nBlush not in actions blacker than the night,\\r\\nWill ’schew no course to keep them from the light.\\r\\nOne sin, I know, another doth provoke;\\r\\nMurder’s as near to lust as flame to smoke:\\r\\nPoison and treason are the hands of sin,\\r\\nAy, and the targets, to put off the shame:\\r\\nThen, lest my life be cropp’d to keep you clear,\\r\\nBy flight I’ll shun the danger which I fear.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Antiochus.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nHe hath found the meaning,\\r\\nFor which we mean to have his head.\\r\\nHe must not live to trumpet forth my infamy,\\r\\nNor tell the world Antiochus doth sin\\r\\nIn such a loathed manner;\\r\\nAnd therefore instantly this prince must die;\\r\\nFor by his fall my honour must keep high.\\r\\nWho attends us there?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thaliard.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\nDoth your highness call?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nThaliard, you are of our chamber,\\r\\nAnd our mind partakes her private actions\\r\\nTo your secrecy; and for your faithfulness\\r\\nWe will advance you. Thaliard,\\r\\nBehold, here’s poison, and here’s gold;\\r\\nWe hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill him:\\r\\nIt fits thee not to ask the reason why,\\r\\nBecause we bid it. Say, is it done?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\nMy lord, ’tis done.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nEnough.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nLet your breath cool yourself, telling your haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nMy lord, Prince Pericles is fled.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nAs thou wilt live, fly after: and like an arrow shot\\r\\nFrom a well-experienced archer hits the mark\\r\\nHis eye doth level at, so thou ne’er return\\r\\nUnless thou say ‘Prince Pericles is dead.’\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\nMy lord, if I can get him within my pistol’s length, I’ll make him sure\\r\\nenough: so, farewell to your highness.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIOCHUS.\\r\\nThaliard! adieu!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Thaliard._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTill Pericles be dead,\\r\\nMy heart can lend no succour to my head.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Tyre. A room in the palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles with his Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_To Lords without._] Let none disturb us. — Why should this change of\\r\\nthoughts,\\r\\nThe sad companion, dull-eyed melancholy,\\r\\nBe my so used a guest as not an hour\\r\\nIn the day’s glorious walk or peaceful night,\\r\\nThe tomb where grief should sleep, can breed me quiet?\\r\\nHere pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes shun them,\\r\\nAnd danger, which I fear’d, is at Antioch,\\r\\nWhose arm seems far too short to hit me here:\\r\\nYet neither pleasure’s art can joy my spirits,\\r\\nNor yet the other’s distance comfort me.\\r\\nThen it is thus: the passions of the mind,\\r\\nThat have their first conception by misdread,\\r\\nHave after-nourishment and life by care;\\r\\nAnd what was first but fear what might be done,\\r\\nGrows elder now and cares it be not done.\\r\\nAnd so with me: the great Antiochus,\\r\\n’Gainst whom I am too little to contend,\\r\\nSince he’s so great can make his will his act,\\r\\nWill think me speaking, though I swear to silence;\\r\\nNor boots it me to say I honour him.\\r\\nIf he suspect I may dishonour him:\\r\\nAnd what may make him blush in being known,\\r\\nHe’ll stop the course by which it might be known;\\r\\nWith hostile forces he’ll o’erspread the land,\\r\\nAnd with the ostent of war will look so huge,\\r\\nAmazement shall drive courage from the state;\\r\\nOur men be vanquish’d ere they do resist,\\r\\nAnd subjects punish’d that ne’er thought offence:\\r\\nWhich care of them, not pity of myself,\\r\\nWho am no more but as the tops of trees,\\r\\nWhich fence the roots they grow by and defend them,\\r\\nMakes both my body pine and soul to languish,\\r\\nAnd punish that before that he would punish.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Helicanus with other Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nJoy and all comfort in your sacred breast!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\nAnd keep your mind, till you return to us,\\r\\nPeaceful and comfortable!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nPeace, peace, and give experience tongue.\\r\\nThey do abuse the king that flatter him:\\r\\nFor flattery is the bellows blows up sin;\\r\\nThe thing the which is flatter’d, but a spark,\\r\\nTo which that spark gives heat and stronger glowing:\\r\\nWhereas reproof, obedient and in order,\\r\\nFits kings, as they are men, for they may err.\\r\\nWhen Signior Sooth here does proclaim peace,\\r\\nHe flatters you, makes war upon your life.\\r\\nPrince, pardon me, or strike me, if you please;\\r\\nI cannot be much lower than my knees.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAll leave us else, but let your cares o’erlook\\r\\nWhat shipping and what lading’s in our haven,\\r\\nAnd then return to us.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lords._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHelicanus, thou\\r\\nHast moved us: what seest thou in our looks?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nAn angry brow, dread lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nIf there be such a dart in princes’ frowns,\\r\\nHow durst thy tongue move anger to our face?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nHow dares the plants look up to heaven, from whence\\r\\nThey have their nourishment?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThou know’st I have power\\r\\nTo take thy life from thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS. [_Kneeling._]\\r\\nI have ground the axe myself;\\r\\nDo but you strike the blow.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nRise, prithee, rise.\\r\\nSit down: thou art no flatterer:\\r\\nI thank thee for it; and heaven forbid\\r\\nThat kings should let their ears hear their faults hid!\\r\\nFit counsellor and servant for a prince,\\r\\nWho by thy wisdom makest a prince thy servant,\\r\\nWhat wouldst thou have me do?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nTo bear with patience\\r\\nSuch griefs as you yourself do lay upon yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThou speak’st like a physician, Helicanus,\\r\\nThat ministers a potion unto me\\r\\nThat thou wouldst tremble to receive thyself.\\r\\nAttend me, then: I went to Antioch,\\r\\nWhere, as thou know’st, against the face of death,\\r\\nI sought the purchase of a glorious beauty,\\r\\nFrom whence an issue I might propagate,\\r\\nAre arms to princes, and bring joys to subjects.\\r\\nHer face was to mine eye beyond all wonder;\\r\\nThe rest — hark in thine ear — as black as incest,\\r\\nWhich by my knowledge found, the sinful father\\r\\nSeem’d not to strike, but smooth: but thou know’st this,\\r\\n’Tis time to fear when tyrants seems to kiss.\\r\\nWhich fear so grew in me I hither fled,\\r\\nUnder the covering of a careful night,\\r\\nWho seem’d my good protector; and, being here,\\r\\nBethought me what was past, what might succeed.\\r\\nI knew him tyrannous; and tyrants’ fears\\r\\nDecrease not, but grow faster than the years:\\r\\nAnd should he doubt, as no doubt he doth,\\r\\nThat I should open to the listening air\\r\\nHow many worthy princes’ bloods were shed,\\r\\nTo keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope,\\r\\nTo lop that doubt, he’ll fill this land with arms,\\r\\nAnd make pretence of wrong that I have done him;\\r\\nWhen all, for mine, if I may call offence,\\r\\nMust feel war’s blow, who spares not innocence:\\r\\nWhich love to all, of which thyself art one,\\r\\nWho now reprovest me for it, —\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nAlas, sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nDrew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from my cheeks,\\r\\nMusings into my mind, with thousand doubts\\r\\nHow I might stop this tempest ere it came;\\r\\nAnd finding little comfort to relieve them,\\r\\nI thought it princely charity to grieve them.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nWell, my lord, since you have given me leave to speak,\\r\\nFreely will I speak. Antiochus you fear,\\r\\nAnd justly too, I think, you fear the tyrant,\\r\\nWho either by public war or private treason\\r\\nWill take away your life.\\r\\nTherefore, my lord, go travel for a while,\\r\\nTill that his rage and anger be forgot,\\r\\nOr till the Destinies do cut his thread of life.\\r\\nYour rule direct to any; if to me,\\r\\nDay serves not light more faithful than I’ll be.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI do not doubt thy faith;\\r\\nBut should he wrong my liberties in my absence?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELCANUS.\\r\\nWe’ll mingle our bloods together in the earth,\\r\\nFrom whence we had our being and our birth.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nTyre, I now look from thee then, and to Tarsus\\r\\nIntend my travel, where I’ll hear from thee;\\r\\nAnd by whose letters I’ll dispose myself.\\r\\nThe care I had and have of subjects’ good\\r\\nOn thee I lay, whose wisdom’s strength can bear it.\\r\\nI’ll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath:\\r\\nWho shuns not to break one will sure crack both:\\r\\nBut in our orbs we’ll live so round and safe,\\r\\nThat time of both this truth shall ne’er convince,\\r\\nThou show’dst a subject’s shine, I a true prince.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Tyre. An ante-chamber in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thaliard.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\nSo, this is Tyre, and this the court. Here must I kill King Pericles;\\r\\nand if I do it not, I am sure to be hanged at home: ’tis dangerous.\\r\\nWell, I perceive he was a wise fellow, and had good discretion, that,\\r\\nbeing bid to ask what he would of the king, desired he might know none\\r\\nof his secrets: now do I see he had some reason for’t; for if a king\\r\\nbid a man be a villain, he’s bound by the indenture of his oath to be\\r\\none. Husht, here come the lords of Tyre.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Helicanus and Escanes with other Lords of Tyre.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nYou shall not need, my fellow peers of Tyre,\\r\\nFurther to question me of your king’s departure:\\r\\nHis seal’d commission, left in trust with me,\\r\\nDoth speak sufficiently he’s gone to travel.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] How? the king gone?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nIf further yet you will be satisfied,\\r\\nWhy, as it were unlicensed of your loves,\\r\\nHe would depart, I’ll give some light unto you.\\r\\nBeing at Antioch —\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] What from Antioch?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nRoyal Antiochus — on what cause I know not\\r\\nTook some displeasure at him; at least he judged so:\\r\\nAnd doubting lest that he had err’d or sinn’d,\\r\\nTo show his sorrow, he’d correct himself;\\r\\nSo puts himself unto the shipman’s toil,\\r\\nWith whom each minute threatens life or death.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Well, I perceive\\r\\nI shall not be hang’d now, although I would;\\r\\nBut since he’s gone, the king’s seas must please\\r\\nHe ’scaped the land, to perish at the sea.\\r\\nI’ll present myself. Peace to the lords of Tyre!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nLord Thaliard from Antiochus is welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHALIARD.\\r\\nFrom him I come\\r\\nWith message unto princely Pericles;\\r\\nBut since my landing I have understood\\r\\nYour lord has betook himself to unknown travels,\\r\\nMy message must return from whence it came.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nWe have no reason to desire it,\\r\\nCommended to our master, not to us:\\r\\nYet, ere you shall depart, this we desire,\\r\\nAs friends to Antioch, we may feast in Tyre.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Tarsus. A room in the Governor’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cleon, the governor of Tarsus, with Dionyza and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nMy Dionyza, shall we rest us here,\\r\\nAnd by relating tales of others’ griefs,\\r\\nSee if ’twill teach us to forget our own?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nThat were to blow at fire in hope to quench it;\\r\\nFor who digs hills because they do aspire\\r\\nThrows down one mountain to cast up a higher.\\r\\nO my distressed lord, even such our griefs are;\\r\\nHere they’re but felt, and seen with mischief’s eyes,\\r\\nBut like to groves, being topp’d, they higher rise.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nO Dionyza,\\r\\nWho wanteth food, and will not say he wants it,\\r\\nOr can conceal his hunger till he famish?\\r\\nOur tongues and sorrows do sound deep\\r\\nOur woes into the air; our eyes do weep,\\r\\nTill tongues fetch breath that may proclaim them louder;\\r\\nThat, if heaven slumber while their creatures want,\\r\\nThey may awake their helps to comfort them.\\r\\nI’ll then discourse our woes, felt several years,\\r\\nAnd wanting breath to speak, help me with tears.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nI’ll do my best, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nThis Tarsus, o’er which I have the government,\\r\\nA city on whom plenty held full hand,\\r\\nFor riches strew’d herself even in the streets;\\r\\nWhose towers bore heads so high they kiss’d the clouds,\\r\\nAnd strangers ne’er beheld but wonder’d at;\\r\\nWhose men and dames so jetted and adorn’d,\\r\\nLike one another’s glass to trim them by:\\r\\nTheir tables were stored full to glad the sight,\\r\\nAnd not so much to feed on as delight;\\r\\nAll poverty was scorn’d, and pride so great,\\r\\nThe name of help grew odious to repeat.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nO, ’tis too true.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nBut see what heaven can do! By this our change,\\r\\nThese mouths, who but of late, earth, sea, and air,\\r\\nWere all too little to content and please,\\r\\nAlthough they gave their creatures in abundance,\\r\\nAs houses are defiled for want of use,\\r\\nThey are now starved for want of exercise:\\r\\nThose palates who, not yet two summers younger,\\r\\nMust have inventions to delight the taste,\\r\\nWould now be glad of bread and beg for it:\\r\\nThose mothers who, to nousle up their babes,\\r\\nThought nought too curious, are ready now\\r\\nTo eat those little darlings whom they loved.\\r\\nSo sharp are hunger’s teeth, that man and wife\\r\\nDraw lots who first shall die to lengthen life:\\r\\nHere stands a lord, and there a lady weeping;\\r\\nHere many sink, yet those which see them fall\\r\\nHave scarce strength left to give them burial.\\r\\nIs not this true?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nOur cheeks and hollow eyes do witness it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nO, let those cities that of plenty’s cup\\r\\nAnd her prosperities so largely taste,\\r\\nWith their superflous riots, hear these tears!\\r\\nThe misery of Tarsus may be theirs.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nWhere’s the lord governor?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nHere.\\r\\nSpeak out thy sorrows which thou bring’st in haste,\\r\\nFor comfort is too far for us to expect.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nWe have descried, upon our neighbouring shore,\\r\\nA portly sail of ships make hitherward.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nI thought as much.\\r\\nOne sorrow never comes but brings an heir,\\r\\nThat may succeed as his inheritor;\\r\\nAnd so in ours: some neighbouring nation,\\r\\nTaking advantage of our misery,\\r\\nThat stuff’d the hollow vessels with their power,\\r\\nTo beat us down, the which are down already;\\r\\nAnd make a conquest of unhappy me,\\r\\nWhereas no glory’s got to overcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nThat’s the least fear; for, by the semblance\\r\\nOf their white flags display’d, they bring us peace,\\r\\nAnd come to us as favourers, not as foes.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nThou speak’st like him’s untutor’d to repeat:\\r\\nWho makes the fairest show means most deceit.\\r\\nBut bring they what they will and what they can,\\r\\nWhat need we fear?\\r\\nThe ground’s the lowest, and we are half way there.\\r\\nGo tell their general we attend him here,\\r\\nTo know for what he comes, and whence he comes,\\r\\nAnd what he craves.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nI go, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nWelcome is peace, if he on peace consist;\\r\\nIf wars, we are unable to resist.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles with Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nLord governor, for so we hear you are,\\r\\nLet not our ships and number of our men\\r\\nBe like a beacon fired to amaze your eyes.\\r\\nWe have heard your miseries as far as Tyre,\\r\\nAnd seen the desolation of your streets:\\r\\nNor come we to add sorrow to your tears,\\r\\nBut to relieve them of their heavy load;\\r\\nAnd these our ships, you happily may think\\r\\nAre like the Trojan horse was stuff’d within\\r\\nWith bloody veins, expecting overthrow,\\r\\nAre stored with corn to make your needy bread,\\r\\nAnd give them life whom hunger starved half dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nThe gods of Greece protect you!\\r\\nAnd we’ll pray for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nArise, I pray you, rise:\\r\\nWe do not look for reverence, but for love,\\r\\nAnd harbourage for ourself, our ships and men.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nThe which when any shall not gratify,\\r\\nOr pay you with unthankfulness in thought,\\r\\nBe it our wives, our children, or ourselves,\\r\\nThe curse of heaven and men succeed their evils!\\r\\nTill when, — the which I hope shall ne’er be seen, —\\r\\nYour grace is welcome to our town and us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWhich welcome we’ll accept; feast here awhile,\\r\\nUntil our stars that frown lend us a smile.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nHere have you seen a mighty king\\r\\nHis child, iwis, to incest bring;\\r\\nA better prince and benign lord,\\r\\nThat will prove awful both in deed word.\\r\\nBe quiet then as men should be,\\r\\nTill he hath pass’d necessity.\\r\\nI’ll show you those in troubles reign,\\r\\nLosing a mite, a mountain gain.\\r\\nThe good in conversation,\\r\\nTo whom I give my benison,\\r\\nIs still at Tarsus, where each man\\r\\nThinks all is writ he speken can;\\r\\nAnd to remember what he does,\\r\\nBuild his statue to make him glorious:\\r\\nBut tidings to the contrary\\r\\nAre brought your eyes; what need speak I?\\r\\n\\r\\n Dumb-show. Enter at one door Pericles talking with Cleon; all the\\r\\n train with them. Enter at another door a Gentleman with a letter to\\r\\n Pericles; Pericles shows the letter to Cleon; gives the Messenger a\\r\\n reward, and knights him. Exit Pericles at one door, and Cleon at\\r\\n another.\\r\\n\\r\\nGood Helicane, that stay’d at home.\\r\\nNot to eat honey like a drone\\r\\nFrom others’ labours; for though he strive\\r\\nTo killen bad, keep good alive;\\r\\nAnd to fulfil his prince’ desire,\\r\\nSends word of all that haps in Tyre:\\r\\nHow Thaliard came full bent with sin\\r\\nAnd had intent to murder him;\\r\\nAnd that in Tarsus was not best\\r\\nLonger for him to make his rest.\\r\\nHe, doing so, put forth to seas,\\r\\nWhere when men been, there’s seldom ease;\\r\\nFor now the wind begins to blow;\\r\\nThunder above and deeps below\\r\\nMake such unquiet, that the ship\\r\\nShould house him safe is wreck’d and split;\\r\\nAnd he, good prince, having all lost,\\r\\nBy waves from coast to coast is tost:\\r\\nAll perishen of man, of pelf,\\r\\nNe aught escapen but himself;\\r\\nTill Fortune, tired with doing bad,\\r\\nThrew him ashore, to give him glad:\\r\\nAnd here he comes. What shall be next,\\r\\nPardon old Gower, — this longs the text.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Pentapolis. An open place by the seaside.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles, wet.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nYet cease your ire, you angry stars of heaven!\\r\\nWind, rain, and thunder, remember earthly man\\r\\nIs but a substance that must yield to you;\\r\\nAnd I, as fits my nature, do obey you:\\r\\nAlas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks,\\r\\nWash’d me from shore to shore, and left me breath\\r\\nNothing to think on but ensuing death:\\r\\nLet it suffice the greatness of your powers\\r\\nTo have bereft a prince of all his fortunes;\\r\\nAnd having thrown him from your watery grave,\\r\\nHere to have death in peace is all he’ll crave.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter three Fishermen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhat, ho, Pilch!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nHa, come and bring away the nets!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhat, Patch-breech, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhat say you, master?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nLook how thou stirrest now! Come away, or I’ll fetch thee with a\\r\\nwanion.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nFaith, master, I am thinking of the poor men that were cast away before\\r\\nus even now.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nAlas, poor souls, it grieved my heart to hear what pitiful cries they\\r\\nmade to us to help them, when, well-a-day, we could scarce help\\r\\nourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nNay, master, said not I as much when I saw the porpus how he bounced\\r\\nand tumbled? They say they’re half fish, half flesh: a plague on them,\\r\\nthey ne’er come but I look to be washed. Master, I marvel how the\\r\\nfishes live in the sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhy, as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the little ones: I can\\r\\ncompare our rich misers to nothing so fitly as to a whale; a’ plays and\\r\\ntumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and at last devours them all\\r\\nat a mouthful. Such whales have I heard on o’ the land, who never leave\\r\\ngaping till they swallowed the whole parish, church, steeple, bells and\\r\\nall.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] A pretty moral.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nBut, master, if I had been the sexton, I would have been that day in\\r\\nthe belfry.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhy, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nBecause he should have swallowed me too; and when I had been in his\\r\\nbelly, I would have kept such a jangling of the bells, that he should\\r\\nnever have left, till he cast bells, steeple, church and parish up\\r\\nagain. But if the good King Simonides were of my mind, —\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Simonides?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWe would purge the land of these drones, that rob the bee of her honey.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] How from the finny subject of the sea\\r\\nThese fishers tell the infirmities of men;\\r\\nAnd from their watery empire recollect\\r\\nAll that may men approve or men detect!\\r\\nPeace be at your labour, honest fishermen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nHonest! good fellow, what’s that? If it be a day fits you, search out\\r\\nof the calendar, and nobody look after it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMay see the sea hath cast upon your coast.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhat a drunken knave was the sea to cast thee in our way!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nA man whom both the waters and the wind,\\r\\nIn that vast tennis-court, have made the ball\\r\\nFor them to play upon, entreats you pity him;\\r\\nHe asks of you, that never used to beg.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nNo, friend, cannot you beg? Here’s them in our country of Greece gets\\r\\nmore with begging than we can do with working.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nCanst thou catch any fishes, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI never practised it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nNay, then thou wilt starve, sure; for here’s nothing to be got\\r\\nnow-a-days, unless thou canst fish for’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWhat I have been I have forgot to know;\\r\\nBut what I am, want teaches me to think on:\\r\\nA man throng’d up with cold: my veins are chill,\\r\\nAnd have no more of life than may suffice\\r\\nTo give my tongue that heat to ask your help;\\r\\nWhich if you shall refuse, when I am dead,\\r\\nFor that I am a man, pray see me buried.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nDie quoth-a? Now gods forbid’t, and I have a gown here; come, put it\\r\\non; keep thee warm. Now, afore me, a handsome fellow! Come, thou shalt\\r\\ngo home, and we’ll have flesh for holidays, fish for fasting-days, and\\r\\nmoreo’er puddings and flap-jacks, and thou shalt be welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI thank you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nHark you, my friend; you said you could not beg?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI did but crave.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nBut crave! Then I’ll turn craver too, and so I shall ’scape whipping.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWhy, are your beggars whipped, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nO, not all, my friend, not all; for if all your beggars were whipped, I\\r\\nwould wish no better office than to be beadle. But, master, I’ll go\\r\\ndraw up the net.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with Third Fisherman._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] How well this honest mirth becomes their labour!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nHark you, sir, do you know where ye are?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nNot well.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhy, I’ll tell you: this is called Pentapolis, and our King, the good\\r\\nSimonides.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThe good Simonides, do you call him?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nAy, sir; and he deserves so to be called for his peaceable reign and\\r\\ngood government.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHe is a happy king, since he gains from his subjects the name of good\\r\\ngovernment. How far is his court distant from this shore?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nMarry sir, half a day’s journey: and I’ll tell you, he hath a fair\\r\\ndaughter, and tomorrow is her birth-day; and there are princes and\\r\\nknights come from all parts of the world to joust and tourney for her\\r\\nlove.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWere my fortunes equal to my desires, I could wish to make one there.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nO, sir, things must be as they may; and what a man cannot get, he may\\r\\nlawfully deal for — his wife’s soul.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Second and Third Fishermen, drawing up a net.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nHelp, master, help! here’s a fish hangs in the net, like a poor man’s\\r\\nright in the law; ’twill hardly come out. Ha! bots on’t, ’tis come at\\r\\nlast, and ’tis turned to a rusty armour.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAn armour, friends! I pray you, let me see it.\\r\\nThanks, Fortune, yet, that, after all my crosses,\\r\\nThou givest me somewhat to repair myself,\\r\\nAnd though it was mine own, part of my heritage,\\r\\nWhich my dead father did bequeath to me,\\r\\nWith this strict charge, even as he left his life.\\r\\n‘Keep it, my Pericles; it hath been a shield\\r\\n’Twixt me and death;’ — and pointed to this brace;—\\r\\n‘For that it saved me, keep it; in like necessity —\\r\\nThe which the gods protect thee from! — may defend thee.’\\r\\nIt kept where I kept, I so dearly loved it;\\r\\nTill the rough seas, that spares not any man,\\r\\nTook it in rage, though calm’d have given’t again:\\r\\nI thank thee for’t: my shipwreck now’s no ill,\\r\\nSince I have here my father gave in his will.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhat mean you sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nTo beg of you, kind friends, this coat of worth,\\r\\nFor it was sometime target to a king;\\r\\nI know it by this mark. He loved me dearly,\\r\\nAnd for his sake I wish the having of it;\\r\\nAnd that you’d guide me to your sovereign court,\\r\\nWhere with it I may appear a gentleman;\\r\\nAnd if that ever my low fortune’s better,\\r\\nI’ll pay your bounties; till then rest your debtor.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhy, wilt thou tourney for the lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI’ll show the virtue I have borne in arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWhy, d’ye take it, and the gods give thee good on’t!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nAy, but hark you, my friend; ’twas we that made up this garment through\\r\\nthe rough seams of the waters: there are certain condolements, certain\\r\\nvails. I hope, sir, if you thrive, you’ll remember from whence you had\\r\\nthem.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nBelieve’t I will.\\r\\nBy your furtherance I am clothed in steel;\\r\\nAnd spite of all the rapture of the sea,\\r\\nThis jewel holds his building on my arm:\\r\\nUnto thy value I will mount myself\\r\\nUpon a courser, whose delightful steps\\r\\nShall make the gazer joy to see him tread.\\r\\nOnly, my friend, I yet am unprovided\\r\\nOf a pair of bases.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND FISHERMAN.\\r\\nWe’ll sure provide: thou shalt have my best gown to make thee a pair;\\r\\nand I’ll bring thee to the court myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThen honour be but a goal to my will,\\r\\nThis day I’ll rise, or else add ill to ill.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. A public way, or platform leading to the lists. A\\r\\npavilion by the side of it for the reception of the King, Princess,\\r\\nLords, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAre the knights ready to begin the triumph?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nThey are, my liege;\\r\\nAnd stay your coming to present themselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nReturn them, we are ready; and our daughter,\\r\\nIn honour of whose birth these triumphs are,\\r\\nSits here, like beauty’s child, whom Nature gat\\r\\nFor men to see, and seeing wonder at.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit a Lord._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nIt pleaseth you, my royal father, to express\\r\\nMy commendations great, whose merit’s less.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nIt’s fit it should be so; for princes are\\r\\nA model, which heaven makes like to itself:\\r\\nAs jewels lose their glory if neglected,\\r\\nSo princes their renowns if not respected.\\r\\n’Tis now your honour, daughter, to entertain\\r\\nThe labour of each knight in his device.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nWhich, to preserve mine honour, I’ll perform.\\r\\n\\r\\n The first Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to\\r\\n Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nWho is the first that doth prefer himself?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nA knight of Sparta, my renowned father;\\r\\nAnd the device he bears upon his shield\\r\\nIs a black Ethiope reaching at the sun:\\r\\nThe word, _Lux tua vita mihi._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nHe loves you well that holds his life of you.\\r\\n\\r\\n The second Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to\\r\\n Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nWho is the second that presents himself?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nA prince of Macedon, my royal father;\\r\\nAnd the device he bears upon his shield\\r\\nIs an arm’d knight that’s conquer’d by a lady;\\r\\nThe motto thus, in Spanish, _Piu por dulzura que por forza._\\r\\n\\r\\n The third Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to\\r\\n Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAnd what’s the third?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nThe third of Antioch;\\r\\nAnd his device, a wreath of chivalry;\\r\\nThe word, _Me pompae provexit apex._\\r\\n\\r\\n The fourth Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to\\r\\n Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nWhat is the fourth?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nA burning torch that’s turned upside down;\\r\\nThe word, _Quod me alit me extinguit._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nWhich shows that beauty hath his power and will,\\r\\nWhich can as well inflame as it can kill.\\r\\n\\r\\n The fifth Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to\\r\\n Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nThe fifth, an hand environed with clouds,\\r\\nHolding out gold that’s by the touchstone tried;\\r\\nThe motto thus, _Sic spectanda fides._\\r\\n\\r\\n The sixth Knight, Pericles, passes in rusty armour with bases, and\\r\\n unaccompanied. He presents his device directly to Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAnd what’s the sixth and last, the which the knight himself\\r\\nWith such a graceful courtesy deliver’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nHe seems to be a stranger; but his present is\\r\\nA wither’d branch, that’s only green at top;\\r\\nThe motto, _In hac spe vivo._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nA pretty moral;\\r\\nFrom the dejected state wherein he is,\\r\\nHe hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nHe had need mean better than his outward show\\r\\nCan any way speak in his just commend;\\r\\nFor by his rusty outside he appears\\r\\nTo have practised more the whipstock than the lance.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\nHe well may be a stranger, for he comes\\r\\nTo an honour’d triumph strangely furnished.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD LORD.\\r\\nAnd on set purpose let his armour rust\\r\\nUntil this day, to scour it in the dust.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nOpinion’s but a fool, that makes us scan\\r\\nThe outward habit by the inward man.\\r\\nBut stay, the knights are coming.\\r\\nWe will withdraw into the gallery.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt. Great shouts within, and all cry_ ‘The mean Knight!’]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A hall of state: a banquet prepared.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords, Attendants and Knights, from tilting.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nKnights,\\r\\nTo say you’re welcome were superfluous.\\r\\nTo place upon the volume of your deeds,\\r\\nAs in a title-page, your worth in arms,\\r\\nWere more than you expect, or more than’s fit,\\r\\nSince every worth in show commends itself.\\r\\nPrepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast:\\r\\nYou are princes and my guests.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nBut you, my knight and guest;\\r\\nTo whom this wreath of victory I give,\\r\\nAnd crown you king of this day’s happiness.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n’Tis more by fortune, lady, than by merit.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nCall it by what you will, the day is yours;\\r\\nAnd here, I hope, is none that envies it.\\r\\nIn framing an artist, art hath thus decreed,\\r\\nTo make some good, but others to exceed;\\r\\nAnd you are her labour’d scholar. Come queen of the feast, —\\r\\nFor, daughter, so you are, — here take your place:\\r\\nMarshal the rest, as they deserve their grace.\\r\\n\\r\\nKNIGHTS.\\r\\nWe are honour’d much by good Simonides.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nYour presence glads our days; honour we love;\\r\\nFor who hates honour hates the gods above.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARSHALL.\\r\\nSir, yonder is your place.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nSome other is more fit.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST KNIGHT.\\r\\nContend not, sir; for we are gentlemen\\r\\nHave neither in our hearts nor outward eyes\\r\\nEnvied the great, nor shall the low despise.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nYou are right courteous knights.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nSit, sir, sit.\\r\\nBy Jove, I wonder, that is king of thoughts,\\r\\nThese cates resist me, he but thought upon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nBy Juno, that is queen of marriage,\\r\\nAll viands that I eat do seem unsavoury,\\r\\nWishing him my meat. Sure, he’s a gallant gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nHe’s but a country gentleman;\\r\\nHas done no more than other knights have done;\\r\\nHas broken a staff or so; so let it pass.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nTo me he seems like diamond to glass.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nYon king’s to me like to my father’s picture,\\r\\nWhich tells me in that glory once he was;\\r\\nHad princes sit, like stars, about his throne,\\r\\nAnd he the sun, for them to reverence;\\r\\nNone that beheld him, but, like lesser lights,\\r\\nDid vail their crowns to his supremacy:\\r\\nWhere now his son’s like a glow-worm in the night,\\r\\nThe which hath fire in darkness, none in light:\\r\\nWhereby I see that time’s the king of men,\\r\\nHe’s both their parent, and he is their grave,\\r\\nAnd gives them what he will, not what they crave.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nWhat, are you merry, knights?\\r\\n\\r\\nKNIGHTS.\\r\\nWho can be other in this royal presence?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nHere, with a cup that’s stored unto the brim, —\\r\\nAs you do love, fill to your mistress’ lips, —\\r\\nWe drink this health to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKNIGHTS.\\r\\nWe thank your grace.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nYet pause awhile. Yon knight doth sit too melancholy,\\r\\nAs if the entertainment in our court\\r\\nHad not a show might countervail his worth.\\r\\nNote it not you, Thaisa?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nWhat is’t to me, my father?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nO attend, my daughter:\\r\\nPrinces in this should live like god’s above,\\r\\nWho freely give to everyone that comes to honour them:\\r\\nAnd princes not doing so are like to gnats,\\r\\nWhich make a sound, but kill’d are wonder’d at.\\r\\nTherefore to make his entrance more sweet,\\r\\nHere, say we drink this standing-bowl of wine to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nAlas, my father, it befits not me\\r\\nUnto a stranger knight to be so bold:\\r\\nHe may my proffer take for an offence,\\r\\nSince men take women’s gifts for impudence.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nHow? Do as I bid you, or you’ll move me else.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Now, by the gods, he could not please me better.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAnd furthermore tell him, we desire to know of him,\\r\\nOf whence he is, his name and parentage.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nThe king my father, sir, has drunk to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI thank him.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nWishing it so much blood unto your life.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI thank both him and you, and pledge him freely.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nAnd further he desires to know of you,\\r\\nOf whence you are, your name and parentage.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nA gentleman of Tyre; my name, Pericles;\\r\\nMy education been in arts and arms;\\r\\nWho, looking for adventures in the world,\\r\\nWas by the rough seas reft of ships and men,\\r\\nAnd after shipwreck driven upon this shore.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nHe thanks your grace; names himself Pericles,\\r\\nA gentleman of Tyre,\\r\\nWho only by misfortune of the seas\\r\\nBereft of ships and men, cast on this shore.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nNow, by the gods, I pity his misfortune,\\r\\nAnd will awake him from his melancholy.\\r\\nCome, gentlemen, we sit too long on trifles,\\r\\nAnd waste the time, which looks for other revels.\\r\\nEven in your armours, as you are address’d,\\r\\nWill well become a soldier’s dance.\\r\\nI will not have excuse, with saying this,\\r\\n‘Loud music is too harsh for ladies’ heads’\\r\\nSince they love men in arms as well as beds.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Knights dance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSo, this was well ask’d, ’twas so well perform’d.\\r\\nCome, sir; here is a lady which wants breathing too:\\r\\nAnd I have heard you knights of Tyre\\r\\nAre excellent in making ladies trip;\\r\\nAnd that their measures are as excellent.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nIn those that practise them they are, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nO, that’s as much as you would be denied\\r\\nOf your fair courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Knights and Ladies dance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nUnclasp, unclasp:\\r\\nThanks gentlemen, to all; all have done well.\\r\\n[_To Pericles._] But you the best. Pages and lights to conduct\\r\\nThese knights unto their several lodgings.\\r\\n[_To Pericles._] Yours, sir, we have given order to be next our own.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI am at your grace’s pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nPrinces, it is too late to talk of love;\\r\\nAnd that’s the mark I know you level at:\\r\\nTherefore each one betake him to his rest;\\r\\nTomorrow all for speeding do their best.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Tyre. A room in the Governor’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Helicanus and Escanes.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nNo, Escanes, know this of me,\\r\\nAntiochus from incest lived not free:\\r\\nFor which the most high gods not minding longer\\r\\nTo withhold the vengeance that they had in store\\r\\nDue to this heinous capital offence,\\r\\nEven in the height and pride of all his glory,\\r\\nWhen he was seated in a chariot\\r\\nOf an inestimable value, and his daughter with him,\\r\\nA fire from heaven came and shrivell’d up\\r\\nTheir bodies, even to loathing, for they so stunk,\\r\\nThat all those eyes adored them ere their fall\\r\\nScorn now their hand should give them burial.\\r\\n\\r\\nESCANES.\\r\\n’Twas very strange\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nAnd yet but justice; for though this king were great;\\r\\nHis greatness was no guard to bar heaven’s shaft,\\r\\nBut sin had his reward.\\r\\n\\r\\nESCANES.\\r\\n’Tis very true.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two or three Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nSee, not a man in private conference\\r\\nOr council has respect with him but he.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\nIt shall no longer grieve without reproof.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD LORD.\\r\\nAnd cursed be he that will not second it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nFollow me, then. Lord Helicane, a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nWith me? and welcome: happy day, my lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nKnow that our griefs are risen to the top,\\r\\nAnd now at length they overflow their banks.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nYour griefs! for what? Wrong not your prince you love.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nWrong not yourself, then, noble Helicane;\\r\\nBut if the prince do live, let us salute him.\\r\\nOr know what ground’s made happy by his breath.\\r\\nIf in the world he live, we’ll seek him out;\\r\\nIf in his grave he rest, we’ll find him there.\\r\\nWe’ll be resolved he lives to govern us,\\r\\nOr dead, give’s cause to mourn his funeral,\\r\\nAnd leave us to our free election.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LORD.\\r\\nWhose death’s indeed the strongest in our censure:\\r\\nAnd knowing this kingdom is without a head, —\\r\\nLike goodly buildings left without a roof\\r\\nSoon fall to ruin, — your noble self,\\r\\nThat best know how to rule and how to reign,\\r\\nWe thus submit unto, — our sovereign.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nLive, noble Helicane!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nFor honour’s cause, forbear your suffrages:\\r\\nIf that you love Prince Pericles, forbear.\\r\\nTake I your wish, I leap into the seas,\\r\\nWhere’s hourly trouble for a minute’s ease.\\r\\nA twelvemonth longer, let me entreat you\\r\\nTo forbear the absence of your king;\\r\\nIf in which time expired, he not return,\\r\\nI shall with aged patience bear your yoke.\\r\\nBut if I cannot win you to this love,\\r\\nGo search like nobles, like noble subjects,\\r\\nAnd in your search spend your adventurous worth;\\r\\nWhom if you find, and win unto return,\\r\\nYou shall like diamonds sit about his crown.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nTo wisdom he’s a fool that will not yield;\\r\\nAnd since Lord Helicane enjoineth us,\\r\\nWe with our travels will endeavour us.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nThen you love us, we you, and we’ll clasp hands:\\r\\nWhen peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Pentapolis. A room in the palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Simonides reading a letter at one door; the Knights meet him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST KNIGHT.\\r\\nGood morrow to the good Simonides.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nKnights, from my daughter this I let you know,\\r\\nThat for this twelvemonth she’ll not undertake\\r\\nA married life.\\r\\nHer reason to herself is only known,\\r\\nWhich yet from her by no means can I get.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND KNIGHT.\\r\\nMay we not get access to her, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nFaith, by no means; she hath so strictly tied\\r\\nHer to her chamber, that ’tis impossible.\\r\\nOne twelve moons more she’ll wear Diana’s livery;\\r\\nThis by the eye of Cynthia hath she vow’d,\\r\\nAnd on her virgin honour will not break it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD KNIGHT.\\r\\nLoath to bid farewell, we take our leaves.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Knights._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nSo, they are well dispatch’d; now to my daughter’s letter:\\r\\nShe tells me here, she’ll wed the stranger knight,\\r\\nOr never more to view nor day nor light.\\r\\n’Tis well, mistress; your choice agrees with mine;\\r\\nI like that well: nay, how absolute she’s in’t,\\r\\nNot minding whether I dislike or no!\\r\\nWell, I do commend her choice;\\r\\nAnd will no longer have it be delay’d.\\r\\nSoft! here he comes: I must dissemble it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAll fortune to the good Simonides!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nTo you as much. Sir, I am beholding to you\\r\\nFor your sweet music this last night: I do\\r\\nProtest my ears were never better fed\\r\\nWith such delightful pleasing harmony.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nIt is your grace’s pleasure to commend;\\r\\nNot my desert.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nSir, you are music’s master.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThe worst of all her scholars, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nLet me ask you one thing:\\r\\nWhat do you think of my daughter, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nA most virtuous princess.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAnd she is fair too, is she not?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAs a fair day in summer, wondrous fair.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nSir, my daughter thinks very well of you;\\r\\nAy, so well, that you must be her master,\\r\\nAnd she will be your scholar: therefore look to it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI am unworthy for her schoolmaster.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nShe thinks not so; peruse this writing else.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] What’s here? A letter, that she loves the knight of Tyre!\\r\\n’Tis the king’s subtlety to have my life.\\r\\nO, seek not to entrap me, gracious lord,\\r\\nA stranger and distressed gentleman,\\r\\nThat never aim’d so high to love your daughter,\\r\\nBut bent all offices to honour her.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nThou hast bewitch’d my daughter,\\r\\nAnd thou art a villain.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nBy the gods, I have not:\\r\\nNever did thought of mine levy offence;\\r\\nNor never did my actions yet commence\\r\\nA deed might gain her love or your displeasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nTraitor, thou liest.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nTraitor?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nAy, traitor.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nEven in his throat — unless it be the king —\\r\\nThat calls me traitor, I return the lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Now, by the gods, I do applaud his courage.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMy actions are as noble as my thoughts,\\r\\nThat never relish’d of a base descent.\\r\\nI came unto your court for honour’s cause,\\r\\nAnd not to be a rebel to her state;\\r\\nAnd he that otherwise accounts of me,\\r\\nThis sword shall prove he’s honour’s enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nNo?\\r\\nHere comes my daughter, she can witness it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThen, as you are as virtuous as fair,\\r\\nResolve your angry father, if my tongue\\r\\nDid e’er solicit, or my hand subscribe\\r\\nTo any syllable that made love to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nWhy, sir, say if you had,\\r\\nWho takes offence at that would make me glad?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nYea, mistress, are you so peremptory?\\r\\n[_Aside._] I am glad on’t with all my heart. —\\r\\nI’ll tame you; I’ll bring you in subjection.\\r\\nWill you, not having my consent,\\r\\nBestow your love and your affections\\r\\nUpon a stranger? [_Aside._] Who, for aught I know\\r\\nMay be, nor can I think the contrary,\\r\\nAs great in blood as I myself. —\\r\\nTherefore hear you, mistress; either frame\\r\\nYour will to mine, and you, sir, hear you,\\r\\nEither be ruled by me, or I will make you —\\r\\nMan and wife. Nay, come, your hands,\\r\\nAnd lips must seal it too: and being join’d,\\r\\nI’ll thus your hopes destroy; and for further grief,\\r\\nGod give you joy! What, are you both pleased?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nYes, if you love me, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nEven as my life my blood that fosters it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nWhat, are you both agreed?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTH.\\r\\nYes, if’t please your majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIMONIDES.\\r\\nIt pleaseth me so well, that I will see you wed;\\r\\nAnd then with what haste you can, get you to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nNow sleep yslaked hath the rouse;\\r\\nNo din but snores about the house,\\r\\nMade louder by the o’erfed breast\\r\\nOf this most pompous marriage feast.\\r\\nThe cat, with eyne of burning coal,\\r\\nNow couches fore the mouse’s hole;\\r\\nAnd crickets sing at the oven’s mouth,\\r\\nAre the blither for their drouth.\\r\\nHymen hath brought the bride to bed,\\r\\nWhere, by the loss of maidenhead,\\r\\nA babe is moulded. Be attent,\\r\\nAnd time that is so briefly spent\\r\\nWith your fine fancies quaintly eche:\\r\\nWhat’s dumb in show I’ll plain with speech.\\r\\n\\r\\n Dumb-show. Enter, Pericles and Simonides at one door with Attendants;\\r\\n a Messenger meets them, kneels, and gives Pericles a letter: Pericles\\r\\n shows it Simonides; the Lords kneel to him. Then enter Thaisa with\\r\\n child, with Lychorida, a nurse. The King shows her the letter; she\\r\\n rejoices: she and Pericles take leave of her father, and depart, with\\r\\n Lychorida and their Attendants. Then exeunt Simonides and the rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nBy many a dern and painful perch\\r\\nOf Pericles the careful search,\\r\\nBy the four opposing coigns\\r\\nWhich the world together joins,\\r\\nIs made with all due diligence\\r\\nThat horse and sail and high expense\\r\\nCan stead the quest. At last from Tyre,\\r\\nFame answering the most strange enquire,\\r\\nTo th’ court of King Simonides\\r\\nAre letters brought, the tenour these:\\r\\nAntiochus and his daughter dead;\\r\\nThe men of Tyrus on the head\\r\\nOf Helicanus would set on\\r\\nThe crown of Tyre, but he will none:\\r\\nThe mutiny he there hastes t’oppress;\\r\\nSays to ’em, if King Pericles\\r\\nCome not home in twice six moons,\\r\\nHe, obedient to their dooms,\\r\\nWill take the crown. The sum of this,\\r\\nBrought hither to Pentapolis\\r\\nY-ravished the regions round,\\r\\nAnd everyone with claps can sound,\\r\\n‘Our heir apparent is a king!\\r\\nWho dreamt, who thought of such a thing?’\\r\\nBrief, he must hence depart to Tyre:\\r\\nHis queen with child makes her desire —\\r\\nWhich who shall cross? — along to go:\\r\\nOmit we all their dole and woe:\\r\\nLychorida, her nurse, she takes,\\r\\nAnd so to sea. Their vessel shakes\\r\\nOn Neptune’s billow; half the flood\\r\\nHath their keel cut: but fortune’s mood\\r\\nVaries again; the grisled north\\r\\nDisgorges such a tempest forth,\\r\\nThat, as a duck for life that dives,\\r\\nSo up and down the poor ship drives:\\r\\nThe lady shrieks, and well-a-near\\r\\nDoes fall in travail with her fear:\\r\\nAnd what ensues in this fell storm\\r\\nShall for itself itself perform.\\r\\nI nill relate, action may\\r\\nConveniently the rest convey;\\r\\nWhich might not what by me is told.\\r\\nIn your imagination hold\\r\\nThis stage the ship, upon whose deck\\r\\nThe sea-tost Pericles appears to speak.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles, on shipboard.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThou god of this great vast, rebuke these surges,\\r\\nWhich wash both heaven and hell; and thou that hast\\r\\nUpon the winds command, bind them in brass,\\r\\nHaving call’d them from the deep! O, still\\r\\nThy deafening, dreadful thunders; gently quench\\r\\nThy nimble, sulphurous flashes! O, how, Lychorida,\\r\\nHow does my queen? Thou stormest venomously;\\r\\nWilt thou spit all thyself? The seaman’s whistle\\r\\nIs as a whisper in the ears of death,\\r\\nUnheard. Lychorida! - Lucina, O!\\r\\nDivinest patroness, and midwife gentle\\r\\nTo those that cry by night, convey thy deity\\r\\nAboard our dancing boat; make swift the pangs\\r\\nOf my queen’s travails! Now, Lychorida!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lychorida with an infant.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYCHORIDA.\\r\\nHere is a thing too young for such a place,\\r\\nWho, if it had conceit, would die, as I\\r\\nAm like to do: take in your arms this piece\\r\\nOf your dead queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHow? how, Lychorida?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYCHORIDA.\\r\\nPatience, good sir; do not assist the storm.\\r\\nHere’s all that is left living of your queen,\\r\\nA little daughter: for the sake of it,\\r\\nBe manly, and take comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nO you gods!\\r\\nWhy do you make us love your goodly gifts,\\r\\nAnd snatch them straight away? We here below\\r\\nRecall not what we give, and therein may\\r\\nVie honour with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYCHORIDA.\\r\\nPatience, good sir.\\r\\nEven for this charge.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nNow, mild may be thy life!\\r\\nFor a more blustrous birth had never babe:\\r\\nQuiet and gentle thy conditions! for\\r\\nThou art the rudeliest welcome to this world\\r\\nThat ever was prince’s child. Happy what follows!\\r\\nThou hast as chiding a nativity\\r\\nAs fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make,\\r\\nTo herald thee from the womb.\\r\\nEven at the first thy loss is more than can\\r\\nThy portage quit, with all thou canst find here,\\r\\nNow, the good gods throw their best eyes upon’t!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two Sailors\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SAILOR.\\r\\nWhat courage, sir? God save you!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nCourage enough: I do not fear the flaw;\\r\\nIt hath done to me the worst. Yet, for the love\\r\\nOf this poor infant, this fresh new sea-farer,\\r\\nI would it would be quiet.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SAILOR.\\r\\nSlack the bolins there! Thou wilt not, wilt thou? Blow, and split\\r\\nthyself.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SAILOR.\\r\\nBut sea-room, and the brine and cloudy billow kiss the moon, I care\\r\\nnot.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SAILOR.\\r\\nSir, your queen must overboard: the sea works high, the wind is loud\\r\\nand will not lie till the ship be cleared of the dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThat’s your superstition.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SAILOR.\\r\\nPardon us, sir; with us at sea it has been still observed; and we are\\r\\nstrong in custom. Therefore briefly yield her; for she must overboard\\r\\nstraight.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAs you think meet. Most wretched queen!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYCHORIDA.\\r\\nHere she lies, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nA terrible childbed hast thou had, my dear;\\r\\nNo light, no fire: th’unfriendly elements\\r\\nForgot thee utterly; nor have I time\\r\\nTo give thee hallow’d to thy grave, but straight\\r\\nMust cast thee, scarcely coffin’d, in the ooze;\\r\\nWhere, for a monument upon thy bones,\\r\\nAnd e’er-remaining lamps, the belching whale\\r\\nAnd humming water must o’erwhelm thy corpse,\\r\\nLying with simple shells. O Lychorida.\\r\\nBid Nestor bring me spices, ink and paper,\\r\\nMy casket and my jewels; and bid Nicander\\r\\nBring me the satin coffer: lay the babe\\r\\nUpon the pillow: hie thee, whiles I say\\r\\nA priestly farewell to her: suddenly, woman.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Lychorida._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SAILOR.\\r\\nSir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, caulked and bitumed ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI thank thee. Mariner, say what coast is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SAILOR.\\r\\nWe are near Tarsus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThither, gentle mariner,\\r\\nAlter thy course for Tyre. When, canst thou reach it?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SAILOR.\\r\\nBy break of day, if the wind cease.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nO, make for Tarsus!\\r\\nThere will I visit Cleon, for the babe\\r\\nCannot hold out to Tyrus. There I’ll leave it\\r\\nAt careful nursing. Go thy ways, good mariner:\\r\\nI’ll bring the body presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cerimon, with a Servant, and some Persons who have been\\r\\n shipwrecked.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nPhilemon, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Philemon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILEMON.\\r\\nDoth my lord call?\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nGet fire and meat for these poor men:\\r\\n’T has been a turbulent and stormy night.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI have been in many; but such a night as this,\\r\\nTill now, I ne’er endured.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nYour master will be dead ere you return;\\r\\nThere’s nothing can be minister’d to nature\\r\\nThat can recover him. [_To Philemon._] Give this to the ’pothecary,\\r\\nAnd tell me how it works.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Cerimon._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two Gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nGood morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nGood morrow to your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nGentlemen, why do you stir so early?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nSir, our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea,\\r\\nShook as the earth did quake;\\r\\nThe very principals did seem to rend,\\r\\nAnd all to topple: pure surprise and fear\\r\\nMade me to quit the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThat is the cause we trouble you so early;\\r\\n’Tis not our husbandry.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nO, you say well.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nBut I much marvel that your lordship, having\\r\\nRich tire about you, should at these early hours\\r\\nShake off the golden slumber of repose.\\r\\n’Tis most strange,\\r\\nNature should be so conversant with pain.\\r\\nBeing thereto not compell’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nI hold it ever,\\r\\nVirtue and cunning were endowments greater\\r\\nThan nobleness and riches: careless heirs\\r\\nMay the two latter darken and expend;\\r\\nBut immortality attends the former,\\r\\nMaking a man a god. ’Tis known, I ever\\r\\nHave studied physic, through which secret art,\\r\\nBy turning o’er authorities, I have,\\r\\nTogether with my practice, made familiar\\r\\nTo me and to my aid the blest infusions\\r\\nThat dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones;\\r\\nAnd I can speak of the disturbances\\r\\nThat nature works, and of her cures; which doth give me\\r\\nA more content in course of true delight\\r\\nThan to be thirsty after tottering honour,\\r\\nOr tie my pleasure up in silken bags,\\r\\nTo please the fool and death.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nYour honour has through Ephesus pour’d forth\\r\\nYour charity, and hundreds call themselves\\r\\nYour creatures, who by you have been restored:\\r\\nAnd not your knowledge, your personal pain, but even\\r\\nYour purse, still open, hath built Lord Cerimon\\r\\nSuch strong renown as time shall never—\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two or three Servants with a chest.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nSo, lift there.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nWhat’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nSir, even now\\r\\nDid the sea toss upon our shore this chest:\\r\\n’Tis of some wreck.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nSet’t down, let’s look upon’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\n’Tis like a coffin, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nWhate’er it be,\\r\\n’Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight:\\r\\nIf the sea’s stomach be o’ercharged with gold,\\r\\n’Tis a good constraint of fortune it belches upon us.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\n’Tis so, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nHow close ’tis caulk’d and bitumed!\\r\\nDid the sea cast it up?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nI never saw so huge a billow, sir,\\r\\nAs toss’d it upon shore.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nWrench it open;\\r\\nSoft! it smells most sweetly in my sense.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nA delicate odour.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nAs ever hit my nostril. So up with it.\\r\\nO you most potent gods! what’s here? a corpse!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nMost strange!\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nShrouded in cloth of state; balm’d and entreasured\\r\\nWith full bags of spices! A passport too!\\r\\nApollo, perfect me in the characters!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Reads from a scroll._]\\r\\n\\r\\n _Here I give to understand,\\r\\n If e’er this coffin drives a-land,\\r\\n I, King Pericles, have lost\\r\\n This queen, worth all our mundane cost.\\r\\n Who finds her, give her burying;\\r\\n She was the daughter of a king:\\r\\n Besides this treasure for a fee,\\r\\n The gods requite his charity._\\r\\nIf thou livest, Pericles, thou hast a heart\\r\\nThat even cracks for woe! This chanced tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nMost likely, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nNay, certainly tonight;\\r\\nFor look how fresh she looks! They were too rough\\r\\nThat threw her in the sea. Make a fire within\\r\\nFetch hither all my boxes in my closet.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit a Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDeath may usurp on nature many hours,\\r\\nAnd yet the fire of life kindle again\\r\\nThe o’erpress’d spirits. I heard of an Egyptian\\r\\nThat had nine hours lain dead,\\r\\nWho was by good appliance recovered.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter a Servant with napkins and fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nWell said, well said; the fire and cloths.\\r\\nThe rough and woeful music that we have,\\r\\nCause it to sound, beseech you\\r\\nThe viol once more: how thou stirr’st, thou block!\\r\\nThe music there! — I pray you, give her air.\\r\\nGentlemen, this queen will live.\\r\\nNature awakes; a warmth breathes out of her.\\r\\nShe hath not been entranced above five hours.\\r\\nSee how she ’gins to blow into life’s flower again!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThe heavens, through you, increase our wonder\\r\\nAnd sets up your fame for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nShe is alive; behold, her eyelids,\\r\\nCases to those heavenly jewels which Pericles hath lost,\\r\\nBegin to part their fringes of bright gold;\\r\\nThe diamonds of a most praised water doth appear,\\r\\nTo make the world twice rich. Live, and make us weep\\r\\nTo hear your fate, fair creature, rare as you seem to be.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_She moves._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nO dear Diana,\\r\\nWhere am I? Where’s my lord? What world is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nIs not this strange?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nMost rare.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nHush, my gentle neighbours!\\r\\nLend me your hands; to the next chamber bear her.\\r\\nGet linen: now this matter must be look’d to,\\r\\nFor her relapse is mortal. Come, come;\\r\\nAnd Aesculapius guide us!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt, carrying her away._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles, Cleon, Dionyza and Lychorida with Marina in her arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMost honour’d Cleon, I must needs be gone;\\r\\nMy twelve months are expired, and Tyrus stands\\r\\nIn a litigious peace. You and your lady,\\r\\nTake from my heart all thankfulness! The gods\\r\\nMake up the rest upon you!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nYour shafts of fortune, though they hurt you mortally,\\r\\nYet glance full wanderingly on us.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nO, your sweet queen!\\r\\nThat the strict fates had pleased you had brought her hither,\\r\\nTo have bless’d mine eyes with her!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWe cannot but obey\\r\\nThe powers above us. Could I rage and roar\\r\\nAs doth the sea she lies in, yet the end\\r\\nMust be as ’tis. My gentle babe Marina,\\r\\nWhom, for she was born at sea, I have named so,\\r\\nHere I charge your charity withal,\\r\\nLeaving her the infant of your care;\\r\\nBeseeching you to give her princely training,\\r\\nThat she may be manner’d as she is born.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nFear not, my lord, but think\\r\\nYour grace, that fed my country with your corn,\\r\\nFor which the people’s prayers still fall upon you,\\r\\nMust in your child be thought on. If neglection\\r\\nShould therein make me vile, the common body,\\r\\nBy you relieved, would force me to my duty:\\r\\nBut if to that my nature need a spur,\\r\\nThe gods revenge it upon me and mine,\\r\\nTo the end of generation!\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI believe you;\\r\\nYour honour and your goodness teach me to’t,\\r\\nWithout your vows. Till she be married, madam,\\r\\nBy bright Diana, whom we honour, all\\r\\nUnscissored shall this hair of mine remain,\\r\\nThough I show ill in’t. So I take my leave.\\r\\nGood madam, make me blessed in your care\\r\\nIn bringing up my child.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nI have one myself,\\r\\nWho shall not be more dear to my respect\\r\\nThan yours, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMadam, my thanks and prayers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nWe’ll bring your grace e’en to the edge o’the shore,\\r\\nThen give you up to the mask’d Neptune and\\r\\nThe gentlest winds of heaven.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI will embrace your offer. Come, dearest madam.\\r\\nO, no tears, Lychorida, no tears.\\r\\nLook to your little mistress, on whose grace\\r\\nYou may depend hereafter. Come, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cerimon and Thaisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nMadam, this letter, and some certain jewels,\\r\\nLay with you in your coffer, which are\\r\\nAt your command. Know you the character?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nIt is my lord’s.\\r\\nThat I was shipp’d at sea, I well remember,\\r\\nEven on my groaning time; but whether there\\r\\nDeliver’d, by the holy gods,\\r\\nI cannot rightly say. But since King Pericles,\\r\\nMy wedded lord, I ne’er shall see again,\\r\\nA vestal livery will I take me to,\\r\\nAnd never more have joy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nMadam, if this you purpose as ye speak,\\r\\nDiana’s temple is not distant far,\\r\\nWhere you may abide till your date expire.\\r\\nMoreover, if you please, a niece of mine\\r\\nShall there attend you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nMy recompense is thanks, that’s all;\\r\\nYet my good will is great, though the gift small.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nImagine Pericles arrived at Tyre,\\r\\nWelcomed and settled to his own desire.\\r\\nHis woeful queen we leave at Ephesus,\\r\\nUnto Diana there a votaress.\\r\\nNow to Marina bend your mind,\\r\\nWhom our fast-growing scene must find\\r\\nAt Tarsus, and by Cleon train’d\\r\\nIn music’s letters; who hath gain’d\\r\\nOf education all the grace,\\r\\nWhich makes her both the heart and place\\r\\nOf general wonder. But, alack,\\r\\nThat monster envy, oft the wrack\\r\\nOf earned praise, Marina’s life\\r\\nSeeks to take off by treason’s knife,\\r\\nAnd in this kind our Cleon hath\\r\\nOne daughter, and a full grown wench\\r\\nEven ripe for marriage-rite; this maid\\r\\nHight Philoten: and it is said\\r\\nFor certain in our story, she\\r\\nWould ever with Marina be.\\r\\nBe’t when she weaved the sleided silk\\r\\nWith fingers long, small, white as milk;\\r\\nOr when she would with sharp needle wound,\\r\\nThe cambric, which she made more sound\\r\\nBy hurting it; or when to th’ lute\\r\\nShe sung, and made the night-bird mute\\r\\nThat still records with moan; or when\\r\\nShe would with rich and constant pen\\r\\nVail to her mistress Dian; still\\r\\nThis Philoten contends in skill\\r\\nWith absolute Marina: so\\r\\nThe dove of Paphos might with the crow\\r\\nVie feathers white. Marina gets\\r\\nAll praises, which are paid as debts,\\r\\nAnd not as given. This so darks\\r\\nIn Philoten all graceful marks,\\r\\nThat Cleon’s wife, with envy rare,\\r\\nA present murderer does prepare\\r\\nFor good Marina, that her daughter\\r\\nMight stand peerless by this slaughter.\\r\\nThe sooner her vile thoughts to stead,\\r\\nLychorida, our nurse, is dead:\\r\\nAnd cursed Dionyza hath\\r\\nThe pregnant instrument of wrath\\r\\nPrest for this blow. The unborn event\\r\\nI do commend to your content:\\r\\nOnly I carry winged time\\r\\nPost on the lame feet of my rhyme;\\r\\nWhich never could I so convey,\\r\\nUnless your thoughts went on my way.\\r\\nDionyza does appear,\\r\\nWith Leonine, a murderer.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nScene I. Tarsus. An open place near the seashore.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Dionyza with Leonine.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nThy oath remember; thou hast sworn to do’t:\\r\\n’Tis but a blow, which never shall be known.\\r\\nThou canst not do a thing in the world so soon,\\r\\nTo yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience,\\r\\nWhich is but cold, inflaming love i’ thy bosom,\\r\\nInflame too nicely; nor let pity, which\\r\\nEven women have cast off, melt thee, but be\\r\\nA soldier to thy purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nI will do’t; but yet she is a goodly creature.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nThe fitter, then, the gods should have her. Here she comes weeping for\\r\\nher only mistress’ death. Thou art resolved?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nI am resolved.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Marina with a basket of flowers.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNo, I will rob Tellus of her weed\\r\\nTo strew thy green with flowers: the yellows, blues,\\r\\nThe purple violets, and marigolds,\\r\\nShall as a carpet hang upon thy grave,\\r\\nWhile summer days do last. Ay me! poor maid,\\r\\nBorn in a tempest, when my mother died,\\r\\nThis world to me is like a lasting storm,\\r\\nWhirring me from my friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nHow now, Marina! why do you keep alone?\\r\\nHow chance my daughter is not with you?\\r\\nDo not consume your blood with sorrowing;\\r\\nHave you a nurse of me? Lord, how your favour’s\\r\\nChanged with this unprofitable woe!\\r\\nCome, give me your flowers, ere the sea mar it.\\r\\nWalk with Leonine; the air is quick there,\\r\\nAnd it pierces and sharpens the stomach.\\r\\nCome, Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNo, I pray you;\\r\\nI’ll not bereave you of your servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nCome, come;\\r\\nI love the king your father, and yourself,\\r\\nWith more than foreign heart. We every day\\r\\nExpect him here: when he shall come and find\\r\\nOur paragon to all reports thus blasted,\\r\\nHe will repent the breadth of his great voyage;\\r\\nBlame both my lord and me, that we have taken\\r\\nNo care to your best courses. Go, I pray you,\\r\\nWalk, and be cheerful once again; reserve\\r\\nThat excellent complexion, which did steal\\r\\nThe eyes of young and old. Care not for me;\\r\\nI can go home alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWell, I will go;\\r\\nBut yet I have no desire to it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nCome, come, I know ’tis good for you.\\r\\nWalk half an hour, Leonine, at the least:\\r\\nRemember what I have said.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nI warrant you, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nI’ll leave you, my sweet lady, for a while:\\r\\nPray, walk softly, do not heat your blood:\\r\\nWhat! I must have a care of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nMy thanks, sweet madam.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Dionyza._]\\r\\n\\r\\nIs this wind westerly that blows?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nSouth-west.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhen I was born the wind was north.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nWas’t so?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nMy father, as nurse said, did never fear,\\r\\nBut cried ‘Good seamen!’ to the sailors,\\r\\nGalling his kingly hands, haling ropes;\\r\\nAnd clasping to the mast, endured a sea\\r\\nThat almost burst the deck.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nWhen was this?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhen I was born:\\r\\nNever was waves nor wind more violent;\\r\\nAnd from the ladder tackle washes off\\r\\nA canvas-climber. ‘Ha!’ says one, ‘wolt out?’\\r\\nAnd with a dropping industry they skip\\r\\nFrom stem to stern: the boatswain whistles, and\\r\\nThe master calls and trebles their confusion.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nCome, say your prayers.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhat mean you?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nIf you require a little space for prayer,\\r\\nI grant it: pray; but be not tedious,\\r\\nFor the gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn\\r\\nTo do my work with haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhy will you kill me?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nTo satisfy my lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhy would she have me kill’d now?\\r\\nAs I can remember, by my troth,\\r\\nI never did her hurt in all my life:\\r\\nI never spake bad word, nor did ill turn\\r\\nTo any living creature: believe me, la,\\r\\nI never kill’d a mouse, nor hurt a fly:\\r\\nI trod upon a worm against my will,\\r\\nBut I wept for it. How have I offended,\\r\\nWherein my death might yield her any profit,\\r\\nOr my life imply her any danger?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nMy commission\\r\\nIs not to reason of the deed, but do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nYou will not do’t for all the world, I hope.\\r\\nYou are well favour’d, and your looks foreshow\\r\\nYou have a gentle heart. I saw you lately,\\r\\nWhen you caught hurt in parting two that fought:\\r\\nGood sooth, it show’d well in you: do so now:\\r\\nYour lady seeks my life; come you between,\\r\\nAnd save poor me, the weaker.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nI am sworn,\\r\\nAnd will dispatch.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He seizes her._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pirates.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST PIRATE.\\r\\nHold, villain!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Leonine runs away._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND PIRATE.\\r\\nA prize! a prize!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD PIRATE.\\r\\nHalf part, mates, half part,\\r\\nCome, let’s have her aboard suddenly.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Pirates with Marina._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Leonine.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONINE.\\r\\nThese roguing thieves serve the great pirate Valdes;\\r\\nAnd they have seized Marina. Let her go:\\r\\nThere’s no hope she will return. I’ll swear she’s dead\\r\\nAnd thrown into the sea. But I’ll see further:\\r\\nPerhaps they will but please themselves upon her,\\r\\nNot carry her aboard. If she remain,\\r\\nWhom they have ravish’d must by me be slain.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nScene II. Mytilene. A room in a brothel.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandar, Bawd and Boult.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nBoult!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nSir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nSearch the market narrowly; Mytilene is full of gallants. We lost too\\r\\nmuch money this mart by being too wenchless.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWe were never so much out of creatures. We have but poor three, and\\r\\nthey can do no more than they can do; and they with continual action\\r\\nare even as good as rotten.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nTherefore let’s have fresh ones, whate’er we pay for them. If there be\\r\\nnot a conscience to be used in every trade, we shall never prosper.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nThou sayest true: ’tis not our bringing up of poor bastards, — as, I\\r\\nthink, I have brought up some eleven —\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nAy, to eleven; and brought them down again. But shall I search the\\r\\nmarket?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhat else, man? The stuff we have, a strong wind will blow it to\\r\\npieces, they are so pitifully sodden.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nThou sayest true; they’re too unwholesome, o’ conscience. The poor\\r\\nTransylvanian is dead, that lay with the little baggage.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nAy, she quickly pooped him; she made him roast-meat for worms. But I’ll\\r\\ngo search the market.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nThree or four thousand chequins were as pretty a proportion to live\\r\\nquietly, and so give over.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhy to give over, I pray you? Is it a shame to get when we are old?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nO, our credit comes not in like the commodity, nor the commodity wages\\r\\nnot with the danger: therefore, if in our youths we could pick up some\\r\\npretty estate, ’twere not amiss to keep our door hatched. Besides, the\\r\\nsore terms we stand upon with the gods will be strong with us for\\r\\ngiving over.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nCome, others sorts offend as well as we.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nAs well as we! ay, and better too; we offend worse. Neither is our\\r\\nprofession any trade; it’s no calling. But here comes Boult.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Boult, with the Pirates and Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT\\r\\n[_To Pirates._] Come your ways. My masters, you say she’s a virgin?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST PIRATE.\\r\\nO sir, we doubt it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nMaster, I have gone through for this piece, you see: if you like her,\\r\\nso; if not, I have lost my earnest.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nBoult, has she any qualities?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nShe has a good face, speaks well and has excellent good clothes:\\r\\nthere’s no farther necessity of qualities can make her be refused.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhat is her price, Boult?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI cannot be baited one doit of a thousand pieces.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nWell, follow me, my masters, you shall have your money presently. Wife,\\r\\ntake her in; instruct her what she has to do, that she may not be raw\\r\\nin her entertainment.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Pandar and Pirates._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nBoult, take you the marks of her, the colour of her hair, complexion,\\r\\nheight, her age, with warrant of her virginity; and cry ‘He that will\\r\\ngive most shall have her first.’ Such a maidenhead were no cheap thing,\\r\\nif men were as they have been. Get this done as I command you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nPerformance shall follow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nAlack that Leonine was so slack, so slow!\\r\\nHe should have struck, not spoke; or that these pirates,\\r\\nNot enough barbarous, had not o’erboard thrown me\\r\\nFor to seek my mother!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhy lament you, pretty one?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThat I am pretty.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nCome, the gods have done their part in you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI accuse them not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nYou are light into my hands, where you are like to live.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThe more my fault\\r\\nTo scape his hands where I was like to die.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nAy, and you shall live in pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nYes, indeed shall you, and taste gentlemen of all fashions: you shall\\r\\nfare well; you shall have the difference of all complexions. What! do\\r\\nyou stop your ears?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nAre you a woman?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhat would you have me be, an I be not a woman?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nAn honest woman, or not a woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nMarry, whip the gosling: I think I shall have something to do with you.\\r\\nCome, you’re a young foolish sapling, and must be bowed as I would have\\r\\nyou.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThe gods defend me!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nIf it please the gods to defend you by men, then men must comfort you,\\r\\nmen must feed you, men stir you up. Boult’s returned.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Boult.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, sir, hast thou cried her through the market?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI have cried her almost to the number of her hairs; I have drawn her\\r\\npicture with my voice.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nAnd I prithee tell me, how dost thou find the inclination of the\\r\\npeople, especially of the younger sort?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nFaith, they listened to me as they would have hearkened to their\\r\\nfather’s testament. There was a Spaniard’s mouth so watered, that he\\r\\nwent to bed to her very description.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWe shall have him here tomorrow with his best ruff on.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nTonight, tonight. But, mistress, do you know the French knight that\\r\\ncowers i’ the hams?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWho, Monsieur Veroles?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nAy, he: he offered to cut a caper at the proclamation; but he made a\\r\\ngroan at it, and swore he would see her tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWell, well, as for him, he brought his disease hither: here he does but\\r\\nrepair it. I know he will come in our shadow, to scatter his crowns in\\r\\nthe sun.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWell, if we had of every nation a traveller, we should lodge them with\\r\\nthis sign.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_To Marina._] Pray you, come hither awhile. You have fortunes coming\\r\\nupon you. Mark me: you must seem to do that fearfully which you commit\\r\\nwillingly, despise profit where you have most gain. To weep that you\\r\\nlive as ye do makes pity in your lovers: seldom but that pity begets\\r\\nyou a good opinion, and that opinion a mere profit.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI understand you not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nO, take her home, mistress, take her home: these blushes of hers must\\r\\nbe quenched with some present practice.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nThou sayest true, i’faith so they must; for your bride goes to that\\r\\nwith shame which is her way to go with warrant.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nFaith, some do and some do not. But, mistress, if I have bargained for\\r\\nthe joint, —\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nThou mayst cut a morsel off the spit.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI may so.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD. Who should deny it? Come young one, I like the manner of your\\r\\ngarments well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nAy, by my faith, they shall not be changed yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nBoult, spend thou that in the town: report what a sojourner we have;\\r\\nyou’ll lose nothing by custom. When nature framed this piece, she meant\\r\\nthee a good turn; therefore say what a paragon she is, and thou hast\\r\\nthe harvest out of thine own report.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI warrant you, mistress, thunder shall not so awake the beds of eels as\\r\\nmy giving out her beauty stirs up the lewdly inclined. I’ll bring home\\r\\nsome tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nCome your ways; follow me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nIf fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep,\\r\\nUntied I still my virgin knot will keep.\\r\\nDiana, aid my purpose!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWhat have we to do with Diana? Pray you, will you go with us?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cleon and Dionyza.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nWhy, are you foolish? Can it be undone?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nO, Dionyza, such a piece of slaughter\\r\\nThe sun and moon ne’er look’d upon!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nI think you’ll turn a child again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nWere I chief lord of all this spacious world,\\r\\nI’d give it to undo the deed. A lady,\\r\\nMuch less in blood than virtue, yet a princess\\r\\nTo equal any single crown o’ the earth\\r\\nI’ the justice of compare! O villain Leonine!\\r\\nWhom thou hast poison’d too:\\r\\nIf thou hadst drunk to him, ’t had been a kindness\\r\\nBecoming well thy face. What canst thou say\\r\\nWhen noble Pericles shall demand his child?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nThat she is dead. Nurses are not the fates,\\r\\nTo foster it, nor ever to preserve.\\r\\nShe died at night; I’ll say so. Who can cross it?\\r\\nUnless you play the pious innocent,\\r\\nAnd for an honest attribute cry out\\r\\n‘She died by foul play.’\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nO, go to. Well, well,\\r\\nOf all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods\\r\\nDo like this worst.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nBe one of those that thinks\\r\\nThe petty wrens of Tarsus will fly hence,\\r\\nAnd open this to Pericles. I do shame\\r\\nTo think of what a noble strain you are,\\r\\nAnd of how coward a spirit.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nTo such proceeding\\r\\nWhoever but his approbation added,\\r\\nThough not his prime consent, he did not flow\\r\\nFrom honourable sources,\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nBe it so, then:\\r\\nYet none does know, but you, how she came dead,\\r\\nNor none can know, Leonine being gone.\\r\\nShe did distain my child, and stood between\\r\\nHer and her fortunes: none would look on her,\\r\\nBut cast their gazes on Marina’s face;\\r\\nWhilst ours was blurted at and held a malkin\\r\\nNot worth the time of day. It pierced me through;\\r\\nAnd though you call my course unnatural,\\r\\nYou not your child well loving, yet I find\\r\\nIt greets me as an enterprise of kindness\\r\\nPerform’d to your sole daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nHeavens forgive it!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nAnd as for Pericles, what should he say?\\r\\nWe wept after her hearse, and yet we mourn.\\r\\nHer monument is almost finish’d, and her epitaphs\\r\\nIn glittering golden characters express\\r\\nA general praise to her, and care in us\\r\\nAt whose expense ’tis done.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEON.\\r\\nThou art like the harpy,\\r\\nWhich, to betray, dost, with thine angel’s face,\\r\\nSeize with thine eagle’s talons.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIONYZA.\\r\\nYou are like one that superstitiously\\r\\nDoth swear to the gods that winter kills the flies:\\r\\nBut yet I know you’ll do as I advise.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower, before the monument of Marina at Tarsus.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nThus time we waste, and long leagues make short;\\r\\nSail seas in cockles, have and wish but for’t;\\r\\nMaking, to take your imagination,\\r\\nFrom bourn to bourn, region to region.\\r\\nBy you being pardon’d, we commit no crime\\r\\nTo use one language in each several clime\\r\\nWhere our scenes seem to live. I do beseech you\\r\\nTo learn of me, who stand i’the gaps to teach you,\\r\\nThe stages of our story. Pericles\\r\\nIs now again thwarting the wayward seas\\r\\nAttended on by many a lord and knight,\\r\\nTo see his daughter, all his life’s delight.\\r\\nOld Helicanus goes along. Behind\\r\\nIs left to govern, if you bear in mind,\\r\\nOld Escanes, whom Helicanus late\\r\\nAdvanced in time to great and high estate.\\r\\nWell-sailing ships and bounteous winds have brought\\r\\nThis king to Tarsus, — think his pilot thought;\\r\\nSo with his steerage shall your thoughts go on, —\\r\\nTo fetch his daughter home, who first is gone.\\r\\nLike motes and shadows see them move awhile;\\r\\nYour ears unto your eyes I’ll reconcile.\\r\\n\\r\\n Dumb-show. Enter Pericles at one door with all his train; Cleon and\\r\\n Dionyza at the other. Cleon shows Pericles the tomb; whereat Pericles\\r\\n makes lamentation, puts on sackcloth and in a mighty passion departs.\\r\\n Then exeunt Cleon and Dionyza.\\r\\n\\r\\nSee how belief may suffer by foul show;\\r\\nThis borrow’d passion stands for true old woe;\\r\\nAnd Pericles, in sorrow all devour’d,\\r\\nWith sighs shot through; and biggest tears o’ershower’d,\\r\\nLeaves Tarsus and again embarks. He swears\\r\\nNever to wash his face, nor cut his hairs:\\r\\nHe puts on sackcloth, and to sea he bears\\r\\nA tempest, which his mortal vessel tears,\\r\\nAnd yet he rides it out. Now please you wit\\r\\nThe epitaph is for Marina writ\\r\\nBy wicked Dionyza.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Reads the inscription on Marina’s monument._]\\r\\n\\r\\n _The fairest, sweet’st, and best lies here,\\r\\n Who wither’d in her spring of year.\\r\\n She was of Tyrus the King’s daughter,\\r\\n On whom foul death hath made this slaughter;\\r\\n Marina was she call’d; and at her birth,\\r\\n Thetis, being proud, swallow’d some part o’ the earth:\\r\\n Therefore the earth, fearing to be o’erflow’d,\\r\\n Hath Thetis’ birth-child on the heavens bestow’d:\\r\\n Wherefore she does, and swears she’ll never stint,\\r\\n Make raging battery upon shores of flint._\\r\\n\\r\\nNo visor does become black villany\\r\\nSo well as soft and tender flattery.\\r\\nLet Pericles believe his daughter’s dead,\\r\\nAnd bear his courses to be ordered\\r\\nBy Lady Fortune; while our scene must play\\r\\nHis daughter’s woe and heavy well-a-day\\r\\nIn her unholy service. Patience, then,\\r\\nAnd think you now are all in Mytilene.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Mytilene. A street before the brothel.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, from the brothel, two Gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nDid you ever hear the like?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNo, nor never shall do in such a place as this, she being once gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nBut to have divinity preached there! did you ever dream of such a\\r\\nthing?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNo, no. Come, I am for no more bawdy houses: shall’s go hear the\\r\\nvestals sing?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI’ll do anything now that is virtuous; but I am out of the road of\\r\\nrutting for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. The same. A room in the brothel.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandar, Bawd and Boult.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nWell, I had rather than twice the worth of her she had ne’er come here.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nFie, fie upon her! She’s able to freeze the god Priapus, and undo a\\r\\nwhole generation. We must either get her ravished, or be rid of her.\\r\\nWhen she should do for clients her fitment, and do me the kindness of\\r\\nour profession, she has me her quirks, her reasons, her master reasons,\\r\\nher prayers, her knees; that she would make a puritan of the devil, if\\r\\nhe should cheapen a kiss of her.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nFaith, I must ravish her, or she’ll disfurnish us of all our cavaliers,\\r\\nand make our swearers priests.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDAR.\\r\\nNow, the pox upon her green sickness for me!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nFaith, there’s no way to be rid on’t but by the way to the pox.\\r\\nHere comes the Lord Lysimachus disguised.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWe should have both lord and lown, if the peevish baggage would but\\r\\ngive way to customers.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lysimachus.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nHow now! How a dozen of virginities?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nNow, the gods to bless your honour!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI am glad to see your honour in good health.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nYou may so; ’tis the better for you that your resorters stand upon\\r\\nsound legs. How now? Wholesome iniquity have you that a man may deal\\r\\nwithal, and defy the surgeon?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nWe have here one, sir, if she would — but there never came her like in\\r\\nMytilene.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nIf she’d do the deed of darkness, thou wouldst say.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nYour honour knows what ’tis to say well enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWell, call forth, call forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nFor flesh and blood, sir, white and red, you shall see a rose; and she\\r\\nwere a rose indeed, if she had but —\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWhat, prithee?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nO, sir, I can be modest.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nThat dignifies the renown of a bawd no less than it gives a good report\\r\\nto a number to be chaste.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Boult._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nHere comes that which grows to the stalk; never plucked yet, I can\\r\\nassure you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Boult with Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nIs she not a fair creature?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nFaith, she would serve after a long voyage at sea. Well, there’s for\\r\\nyou: leave us.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nI beseech your honour, give me leave: a word, and I’ll have done\\r\\npresently.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nI beseech you, do.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\n[_To Marina._] First, I would have you note, this is an honourable man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI desire to find him so, that I may worthily note him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nNext, he’s the governor of this country, and a man whom I am bound to.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nIf he govern the country, you are bound to him indeed; but how\\r\\nhonourable he is in that, I know not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD. Pray you, without any more virginal fencing, will you use him\\r\\nkindly? He will line your apron with gold.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhat he will do graciously, I will thankfully receive.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nHa’ you done?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nMy lord, she’s not paced yet: you must take some pains to work her to\\r\\nyour manage. Come, we will leave his honour and her together. Go thy\\r\\nways.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Bawd, Pandar and Boult._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nNow, pretty one, how long have you been at this trade?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhat trade, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWhy, I cannot name’t but I shall offend.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI cannot be offended with my trade. Please you to name it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nHow long have you been of this profession?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nE’er since I can remember.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS. Did you go to’t so young? Were you a gamester at five or at\\r\\nseven?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nEarlier, too, sir, if now I be one.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWhy, the house you dwell in proclaims you to be a creature of sale.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nDo you know this house to be a place of such resort, and will come\\r\\ninto’t? I hear say you are of honourable parts, and are the governor of\\r\\nthis place.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWhy, hath your principal made known unto you who I am?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWho is my principal?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nWhy, your herb-woman; she that sets seeds and roots of shame and\\r\\niniquity. O, you have heard something of my power, and so stand aloof\\r\\nfor more serious wooing. But I protest to thee, pretty one, my\\r\\nauthority shall not see thee, or else look friendly upon thee. Come,\\r\\nbring me to some private place: come, come.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nIf you were born to honour, show it now;\\r\\nIf put upon you, make the judgement good\\r\\nThat thought you worthy of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nHow’s this? how’s this? Some more; be sage.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nFor me,\\r\\nThat am a maid, though most ungentle Fortune\\r\\nHave placed me in this sty, where, since I came,\\r\\nDiseases have been sold dearer than physic,\\r\\nO, that the gods\\r\\nWould set me free from this unhallow’d place,\\r\\nThough they did change me to the meanest bird\\r\\nThat flies i’ the purer air!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nI did not think\\r\\nThou couldst have spoke so well; ne’er dream’d thou couldst.\\r\\nHad I brought hither a corrupted mind,\\r\\nThy speech had alter’d it. Hold, here’s gold for thee:\\r\\nPersever in that clear way thou goest,\\r\\nAnd the gods strengthen thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThe good gods preserve you!\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nFor me, be you thoughten\\r\\nThat I came with no ill intent; for to me\\r\\nThe very doors and windows savour vilely.\\r\\nFare thee well. Thou art a piece of virtue, and\\r\\nI doubt not but thy training hath been noble.\\r\\nHold, here’s more gold for thee.\\r\\nA curse upon him, die he like a thief,\\r\\nThat robs thee of thy goodness! If thou dost\\r\\nHear from me, it shall be for thy good.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Boult.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI beseech your honour, one piece for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nAvaunt, thou damned door-keeper!\\r\\nYour house but for this virgin that doth prop it,\\r\\nWould sink and overwhelm you. Away!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nHow’s this? We must take another course with you. If your peevish\\r\\nchastity, which is not worth a breakfast in the cheapest country under\\r\\nthe cope, shall undo a whole household, let me be gelded like a\\r\\nspaniel. Come your ways.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhither would you have me?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nI must have your maidenhead taken off, or the common hangman shall\\r\\nexecute it. Come your ways. We’ll have no more gentlemen driven away.\\r\\nCome your ways, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Bawd.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nHow now! what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWorse and worse, mistress; she has here spoken holy words to the Lord\\r\\nLysimachus.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nO, abominable!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nShe makes our profession as it were to stink afore the face of the\\r\\ngods.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nMarry, hang her up for ever!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nThe nobleman would have dealt with her like a nobleman, and she sent\\r\\nhim away as cold as a snowball; saying his prayers too.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nBoult, take her away; use her at thy pleasure: crack the glass of her\\r\\nvirginity, and make the rest malleable.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nAn if she were a thornier piece of ground than she is, she shall be\\r\\nploughed.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nHark, hark, you gods!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAWD.\\r\\nShe conjures: away with her! Would she had never come within my doors!\\r\\nMarry, hang you! She’s born to undo us. Will you not go the way of\\r\\nwomankind? Marry, come up, my dish of chastity with rosemary and bays!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nCome, mistress; come your way with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhither wilt thou have me?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nTo take from you the jewel you hold so dear.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nPrithee, tell me one thing first.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nCome now, your one thing?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhat canst thou wish thine enemy to be?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWhy, I could wish him to be my master, or rather, my mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNeither of these are so bad as thou art,\\r\\nSince they do better thee in their command.\\r\\nThou hold’st a place, for which the pained’st fiend\\r\\nOf hell would not in reputation change:\\r\\nThou art the damned doorkeeper to every\\r\\nCoistrel that comes inquiring for his Tib.\\r\\nTo the choleric fisting of every rogue\\r\\nThy ear is liable, thy food is such\\r\\nAs hath been belch’d on by infected lungs.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWhat would you have me do? Go to the wars, would you? where a man may\\r\\nserve seven years for the loss of a leg, and have not money enough in\\r\\nthe end to buy him a wooden one?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nDo anything but this thou doest. Empty\\r\\nOld receptacles, or common shores, of filth;\\r\\nServe by indenture to the common hangman:\\r\\nAny of these ways are yet better than this;\\r\\nFor what thou professest, a baboon, could he speak,\\r\\nWould own a name too dear. O, that the gods\\r\\nWould safely deliver me from this place!\\r\\nHere, here’s gold for thee.\\r\\nIf that thy master would gain by me,\\r\\nProclaim that I can sing, weave, sew, and dance,\\r\\nWith other virtues, which I’ll keep from boast;\\r\\nAnd I will undertake all these to teach.\\r\\nI doubt not but this populous city will\\r\\nYield many scholars.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nBut can you teach all this you speak of?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nProve that I cannot, take me home again,\\r\\nAnd prostitute me to the basest groom\\r\\nThat doth frequent your house.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nWell, I will see what I can do for thee: if I can place thee, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nBut amongst honest women.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOULT.\\r\\nFaith, my acquaintance lies little amongst them. But since my master\\r\\nand mistress have bought you, there’s no going but by their consent:\\r\\ntherefore I will make them acquainted with your purpose, and I doubt\\r\\nnot but I shall find them tractable enough. Come, I’ll do for thee what\\r\\nI can; come your ways.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nMarina thus the brothel ’scapes, and chances\\r\\nInto an honest house, our story says.\\r\\nShe sings like one immortal, and she dances\\r\\nAs goddess-like to her admired lays;\\r\\nDeep clerks she dumbs; and with her nee’le composes\\r\\nNature’s own shape, of bud, bird, branch, or berry,\\r\\nThat even her art sisters the natural roses;\\r\\nHer inkle, silk, twin with the rubied cherry:\\r\\nThat pupils lacks she none of noble race,\\r\\nWho pour their bounty on her; and her gain\\r\\nShe gives the cursed bawd. Here we her place;\\r\\nAnd to her father turn our thoughts again,\\r\\nWhere we left him, on the sea. We there him lost;\\r\\nWhence, driven before the winds, he is arrived\\r\\nHere where his daughter dwells; and on this coast\\r\\nSuppose him now at anchor. The city strived\\r\\nGod Neptune’s annual feast to keep: from whence\\r\\nLysimachus our Tyrian ship espies,\\r\\nHis banners sable, trimm’d with rich expense;\\r\\nAnd to him in his barge with fervour hies.\\r\\nIn your supposing once more put your sight\\r\\nOf heavy Pericles; think this his bark:\\r\\nWhere what is done in action, more, if might,\\r\\nShall be discover’d; please you, sit and hark.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. On board Pericles’ ship, off Mytilene. A close pavilion on\\r\\ndeck, with a curtain before it; Pericles within it, reclined on a\\r\\ncouch. A barge lying beside the Tyrian vessel.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two Sailors, one belonging to the Tyrian vessel, the other to\\r\\n the barge; to them Helicanus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYRIAN SAILOR.\\r\\n[_To the Sailor of Mytilene._]\\r\\nWhere is lord Helicanus? He can resolve you.\\r\\nO, here he is.\\r\\nSir, there’s a barge put off from Mytilene,\\r\\nAnd in it is Lysimachus the governor,\\r\\nWho craves to come aboard. What is your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nThat he have his. Call up some gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYRIAN SAILOR.\\r\\nHo, gentlemen! my lord calls.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two or three Gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nDoth your lordship call?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nGentlemen, there is some of worth would come aboard;\\r\\nI pray ye, greet them fairly.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Gentlemen and the two Sailors descend and go on board the\\r\\n barge._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, from thence, Lysimachus and Lords; with the Gentlemen and the\\r\\n two Sailors.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYRIAN SAILOR.\\r\\nSir,\\r\\nThis is the man that can, in aught you would,\\r\\nResolve you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nHail, reverend sir! the gods preserve you!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nAnd you, sir, to outlive the age I am,\\r\\nAnd die as I would do.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nYou wish me well.\\r\\nBeing on shore, honouring of Neptune’s triumphs,\\r\\nSeeing this goodly vessel ride before us,\\r\\nI made to it, to know of whence you are.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nFirst, what is your place?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nI am the governor of this place you lie before.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nSir, our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king;\\r\\nA man who for this three months hath not spoken\\r\\nTo anyone, nor taken sustenance\\r\\nBut to prorogue his grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nUpon what ground is his distemperature?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\n’Twould be too tedious to repeat;\\r\\nBut the main grief springs from the loss\\r\\nOf a beloved daughter and a wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nMay we not see him?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nYou may;\\r\\nBut bootless is your sight: he will not speak\\r\\nTo any.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nYet let me obtain my wish.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nBehold him.\\r\\n[_Pericles discovered._]\\r\\nThis was a goodly person.\\r\\nTill the disaster that, one mortal night,\\r\\nDrove him to this.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nSir king, all hail! The gods preserve you!\\r\\nHail, royal sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nIt is in vain; he will not speak to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nSir, we have a maid in Mytilene, I durst wager,\\r\\nWould win some words of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\n’Tis well bethought.\\r\\nShe questionless with her sweet harmony\\r\\nAnd other chosen attractions, would allure,\\r\\nAnd make a battery through his deafen’d parts,\\r\\nWhich now are midway stopp’d:\\r\\nShe is all happy as the fairest of all,\\r\\nAnd, with her fellow maids, is now upon\\r\\nThe leafy shelter that abuts against\\r\\nThe island’s side.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Whispers a Lord who goes off in the barge of Lysimachus._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nSure, all’s effectless; yet nothing we’ll omit\\r\\nThat bears recovery’s name. But, since your kindness\\r\\nWe have stretch’d thus far, let us beseech you\\r\\nThat for our gold we may provision have,\\r\\nWherein we are not destitute for want,\\r\\nBut weary for the staleness.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nO, sir, a courtesy\\r\\nWhich if we should deny, the most just gods\\r\\nFor every graff would send a caterpillar,\\r\\nAnd so inflict our province. Yet once more\\r\\nLet me entreat to know at large the cause\\r\\nOf your king’s sorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nSit, sir, I will recount it to you:\\r\\nBut, see, I am prevented.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter from the barge, Lord with Marina and a young Lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nO, here is the lady that I sent for. Welcome, fair one!\\r\\nIs’t not a goodly presence?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nShe’s a gallant lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nShe’s such a one, that, were I well assured\\r\\nCame of a gentle kind and noble stock,\\r\\nI’d wish no better choice, and think me rarely wed.\\r\\nFair one, all goodness that consists in bounty\\r\\nExpect even here, where is a kingly patient:\\r\\nIf that thy prosperous and artificial feat\\r\\nCan draw him but to answer thee in aught,\\r\\nThy sacred physic shall receive such pay\\r\\nAs thy desires can wish.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nSir, I will use\\r\\nMy utmost skill in his recovery, provided\\r\\nThat none but I and my companion maid\\r\\nBe suffer’d to come near him.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nCome, let us leave her,\\r\\nAnd the gods make her prosperous!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Marina sings._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nMark’d he your music?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNo, nor look’d on us,\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nSee, she will speak to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nHail, sir! My lord, lend ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHum, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI am a maid,\\r\\nMy lord, that ne’er before invited eyes,\\r\\nBut have been gazed on like a comet: she speaks,\\r\\nMy lord, that, may be, hath endured a grief\\r\\nMight equal yours, if both were justly weigh’d.\\r\\nThough wayward Fortune did malign my state,\\r\\nMy derivation was from ancestors\\r\\nWho stood equivalent with mighty kings:\\r\\nBut time hath rooted out my parentage,\\r\\nAnd to the world and awkward casualties\\r\\nBound me in servitude.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I will desist;\\r\\nBut there is something glows upon my cheek,\\r\\nAnd whispers in mine ear ‘Go not till he speak.’\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMy fortunes — parentage — good parentage —\\r\\nTo equal mine! — was it not thus? what say you?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nI said, my lord, if you did know my parentage.\\r\\nYou would not do me violence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI do think so. Pray you, turn your eyes upon me.\\r\\nYou are like something that — what country-woman?\\r\\nHere of these shores?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nNo, nor of any shores:\\r\\nYet I was mortally brought forth, and am\\r\\nNo other than I appear.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI am great with woe, and shall deliver weeping.\\r\\nMy dearest wife was like this maid, and such a one\\r\\nMy daughter might have been: my queen’s square brows;\\r\\nHer stature to an inch; as wand-like straight;\\r\\nAs silver-voiced; her eyes as jewel-like\\r\\nAnd cased as richly; in pace another Juno;\\r\\nWho starves the ears she feeds, and makes them hungry,\\r\\nThe more she gives them speech. Where do you live?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nWhere I am but a stranger: from the deck\\r\\nYou may discern the place.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWhere were you bred?\\r\\nAnd how achieved you these endowments, which\\r\\nYou make more rich to owe?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nIf I should tell my history, it would seem\\r\\nLike lies disdain’d in the reporting.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nPrithee, speak:\\r\\nFalseness cannot come from thee; for thou look’st\\r\\nModest as Justice, and thou seem’st a palace\\r\\nFor the crown’d Truth to dwell in: I will believe thee,\\r\\nAnd make my senses credit thy relation\\r\\nTo points that seem impossible; for thou look’st\\r\\nLike one I loved indeed. What were thy friends?\\r\\nDidst thou not say, when I did push thee back —\\r\\nWhich was when I perceived thee — that thou cam’st\\r\\nFrom good descending?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nSo indeed I did.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nReport thy parentage. I think thou said’st\\r\\nThou hadst been toss’d from wrong to injury,\\r\\nAnd that thou thought’st thy griefs might equal mine,\\r\\nIf both were open’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nSome such thing,\\r\\nI said, and said no more but what my thoughts\\r\\nDid warrant me was likely.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nTell thy story;\\r\\nIf thine consider’d prove the thousand part\\r\\nOf my endurance, thou art a man, and I\\r\\nHave suffer’d like a girl: yet thou dost look\\r\\nLike Patience gazing on kings’ graves, and smiling\\r\\nExtremity out of act. What were thy friends?\\r\\nHow lost thou them? Thy name, my most kind virgin?\\r\\nRecount, I do beseech thee: come, sit by me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nMy name is Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nO, I am mock’d,\\r\\nAnd thou by some incensed god sent hither\\r\\nTo make the world to laugh at me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nPatience, good sir,\\r\\nOr here I’ll cease.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nNay, I’ll be patient.\\r\\nThou little know’st how thou dost startle me,\\r\\nTo call thyself Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThe name\\r\\nWas given me by one that had some power,\\r\\nMy father, and a king.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHow! a king’s daughter?\\r\\nAnd call’d Marina?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nYou said you would believe me;\\r\\nBut, not to be a troubler of your peace,\\r\\nI will end here.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nBut are you flesh and blood?\\r\\nHave you a working pulse? and are no fairy?\\r\\nMotion! Well; speak on. Where were you born?\\r\\nAnd wherefore call’d Marina?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nCall’d Marina\\r\\nFor I was born at sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nAt sea! What mother?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nMy mother was the daughter of a king;\\r\\nWho died the minute I was born,\\r\\nAs my good nurse Lychorida hath oft\\r\\nDeliver’d weeping.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nO, stop there a little! [_Aside._] This is the rarest dream that e’er\\r\\ndull sleep\\r\\nDid mock sad fools withal: this cannot be:\\r\\nMy daughter, buried. Well, where were you bred?\\r\\nI’ll hear you more, to the bottom of your story,\\r\\nAnd never interrupt you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nYou scorn: believe me, ’twere best I did give o’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI will believe you by the syllable\\r\\nOf what you shall deliver. Yet, give me leave:\\r\\nHow came you in these parts? Where were you bred?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nThe king my father did in Tarsus leave me;\\r\\nTill cruel Cleon, with his wicked wife,\\r\\nDid seek to murder me: and having woo’d\\r\\nA villain to attempt it, who having drawn to do’t,\\r\\nA crew of pirates came and rescued me;\\r\\nBrought me to Mytilene. But, good sir.\\r\\nWhither will you have me? Why do you weep? It may be,\\r\\nYou think me an impostor: no, good faith;\\r\\nI am the daughter to King Pericles,\\r\\nIf good King Pericles be.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHo, Helicanus!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Helicanus and Lysimachus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nCalls my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThou art a grave and noble counsellor,\\r\\nMost wise in general: tell me, if thou canst,\\r\\nWhat this maid is, or what is like to be,\\r\\nThat thus hath made me weep.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nI know not,\\r\\nBut here is the regent, sir, of Mytilene\\r\\nSpeaks nobly of her.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nShe would never tell\\r\\nHer parentage; being demanded that,\\r\\nShe would sit still and weep.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nO Helicanus, strike me, honour’d sir;\\r\\nGive me a gash, put me to present pain;\\r\\nLest this great sea of joys rushing upon me\\r\\nO’erbear the shores of my mortality,\\r\\nAnd drown me with their sweetness.\\r\\n[_To Marina_] O, come hither,\\r\\nThou that beget’st him that did thee beget;\\r\\nThou that wast born at sea, buried at Tarsus,\\r\\nAnd found at sea again! O Helicanus,\\r\\nDown on thy knees, thank the holy gods as loud\\r\\nAs thunder threatens us: this is Marina.\\r\\nWhat was thy mother’s name? tell me but that,\\r\\nFor truth can never be confirm’d enough,\\r\\nThough doubts did ever sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nFirst, sir, I pray, what is your title?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI am Pericles of Tyre: but tell me now\\r\\nMy drown’d queen’s name, as in the rest you said\\r\\nThou hast been godlike perfect,\\r\\nThe heir of kingdoms and another life\\r\\nTo Pericles thy father.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nIs it no more to be your daughter than\\r\\nTo say my mother’s name was Thaisa?\\r\\nThaisa was my mother, who did end\\r\\nThe minute I began.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nNow, blessing on thee! rise; thou art my child.\\r\\nGive me fresh garments. Mine own, Helicanus;\\r\\nShe is not dead at Tarsus, as she should have been,\\r\\nBy savage Cleon: she shall tell thee all;\\r\\nWhen thou shalt kneel, and justify in knowledge\\r\\nShe is thy very princess. Who is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nSir, ’tis the governor of Mytilene,\\r\\nWho, hearing of your melancholy state,\\r\\nDid come to see you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nI embrace you.\\r\\nGive me my robes. I am wild in my beholding.\\r\\nO heavens bless my girl! But, hark, what music?\\r\\nTell Helicanus, my Marina, tell him\\r\\nO’er, point by point, for yet he seems to doubt,\\r\\nHow sure you are my daughter. But, what music?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nMy lord, I hear none.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nNone!\\r\\nThe music of the spheres! List, my Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nIt is not good to cross him; give him way.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nRarest sounds! Do ye not hear?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nMusic, my lord? I hear.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMost heavenly music!\\r\\nIt nips me unto listening, and thick slumber\\r\\nHangs upon mine eyes: let me rest.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nA pillow for his head:\\r\\nSo, leave him all. Well, my companion friends,\\r\\nIf this but answer to my just belief,\\r\\nI’ll well remember you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Pericles._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Diana appears to Pericles as in a vision.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIANA.\\r\\nMy temple stands in Ephesus: hie thee thither,\\r\\nAnd do upon mine altar sacrifice.\\r\\nThere, when my maiden priests are met together,\\r\\nBefore the people all,\\r\\nReveal how thou at sea didst lose thy wife:\\r\\nTo mourn thy crosses, with thy daughter’s, call\\r\\nAnd give them repetition to the life.\\r\\nOr perform my bidding, or thou livest in woe:\\r\\nDo it, and happy; by my silver bow!\\r\\nAwake and tell thy dream.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Disappears._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nCelestial Dian, goddess argentine,\\r\\nI will obey thee. Helicanus!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Helicanus, Lysimachus and Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nSir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMy purpose was for Tarsus, there to strike\\r\\nThe inhospitable Cleon; but I am\\r\\nFor other service first: toward Ephesus\\r\\nTurn our blown sails; eftsoons I’ll tell thee why.\\r\\n[_To Lysimachus._] Shall we refresh us, sir, upon your shore,\\r\\nAnd give you gold for such provision\\r\\nAs our intents will need?\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nSir, with all my heart,\\r\\nAnd when you come ashore I have another suit.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nYou shall prevail, were it to woo my daughter;\\r\\nFor it seems you have been noble towards her.\\r\\n\\r\\nLYSIMACHUS.\\r\\nSir, lend me your arm.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nCome, my Marina.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower before the temple of Diana at Ephesus.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nNow our sands are almost run;\\r\\nMore a little, and then dumb.\\r\\nThis, my last boon, give me,\\r\\nFor such kindness must relieve me,\\r\\nThat you aptly will suppose\\r\\nWhat pageantry, what feats, what shows,\\r\\nWhat minstrelsy, and pretty din,\\r\\nThe regent made in Mytilene\\r\\nTo greet the king. So he thrived,\\r\\nThat he is promised to be wived\\r\\nTo fair Marina; but in no wise\\r\\nTill he had done his sacrifice,\\r\\nAs Dian bade: whereto being bound,\\r\\nThe interim, pray you, all confound.\\r\\nIn feather’d briefness sails are fill’d,\\r\\nAnd wishes fall out as they’re will’d.\\r\\nAt Ephesus, the temple see,\\r\\nOur king and all his company.\\r\\nThat he can hither come so soon,\\r\\nIs by your fancy’s thankful doom.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The temple of Diana at Ephesus; Thaisa standing near the\\r\\naltar, as high priestess; a number of Virgins on each side; Cerimon and\\r\\nother inhabitants of Ephesus attending.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pericles with his train; Lysimachus, Helicanus, Marina and a\\r\\n Lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHail, Dian! to perform thy just command,\\r\\nI here confess myself the King of Tyre;\\r\\nWho, frighted from my country, did wed\\r\\nAt Pentapolis the fair Thaisa.\\r\\nAt sea in childbed died she, but brought forth\\r\\nA maid child call’d Marina; whom, O goddess,\\r\\nWears yet thy silver livery. She at Tarsus\\r\\nWas nursed with Cleon; who at fourteen years\\r\\nHe sought to murder: but her better stars\\r\\nBrought her to Mytilene; ’gainst whose shore\\r\\nRiding, her fortunes brought the maid aboard us,\\r\\nWhere by her own most clear remembrance, she\\r\\nMade known herself my daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nVoice and favour!\\r\\nYou are, you are — O royal Pericles!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Faints._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nWhat means the nun? She dies! help, gentlemen!\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nNoble sir,\\r\\nIf you have told Diana’s altar true,\\r\\nThis is your wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nReverend appearer, no;\\r\\nI threw her overboard with these very arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nUpon this coast, I warrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\n’Tis most certain.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nLook to the lady; O, she’s but o’er-joy’d.\\r\\nEarly in blustering morn this lady was\\r\\nThrown upon this shore. I oped the coffin,\\r\\nFound there rich jewels; recover’d her, and placed her\\r\\nHere in Diana’s temple.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nMay we see them?\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nGreat sir, they shall be brought you to my house,\\r\\nWhither I invite you. Look, Thaisa is\\r\\nRecovered.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nO, let me look!\\r\\nIf he be none of mine, my sanctity\\r\\nWill to my sense bend no licentious ear,\\r\\nBut curb it, spite of seeing. O, my lord,\\r\\nAre you not Pericles? Like him you spake,\\r\\nLike him you are: did you not name a tempest,\\r\\nA birth, and death?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThe voice of dead Thaisa!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nThat Thaisa am I, supposed dead\\r\\nAnd drown’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nImmortal Dian!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nNow I know you better,\\r\\nWhen we with tears parted Pentapolis,\\r\\nThe king my father gave you such a ring.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Shows a ring._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nThis, this: no more, you gods! your present kindness\\r\\nMakes my past miseries sports: you shall do well,\\r\\nThat on the touching of her lips I may\\r\\nMelt and no more be seen. O, come, be buried\\r\\nA second time within these arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINA.\\r\\nMy heart\\r\\nLeaps to be gone into my mother’s bosom.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kneels to Thaisa._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nLook, who kneels here! Flesh of thy flesh, Thaisa;\\r\\nThy burden at the sea, and call’d Marina\\r\\nFor she was yielded there.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nBlest, and mine own!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELICANUS.\\r\\nHail, madam, and my queen!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nI know you not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nYou have heard me say, when I did fly from Tyre,\\r\\nI left behind an ancient substitute:\\r\\nCan you remember what I call’d the man\\r\\nI have named him oft.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\n’Twas Helicanus then.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nStill confirmation:\\r\\nEmbrace him, dear Thaisa; this is he.\\r\\nNow do I long to hear how you were found:\\r\\nHow possibly preserved; and who to thank,\\r\\nBesides the gods, for this great miracle.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nLord Cerimon, my lord; this man,\\r\\nThrough whom the gods have shown their power; that can\\r\\nFrom first to last resolve you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nReverend sir,\\r\\nThe gods can have no mortal officer\\r\\nMore like a god than you. Will you deliver\\r\\nHow this dead queen relives?\\r\\n\\r\\nCERIMON.\\r\\nI will, my lord.\\r\\nBeseech you, first go with me to my house,\\r\\nWhere shall be shown you all was found with her;\\r\\nHow she came placed here in the temple;\\r\\nNo needful thing omitted.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nPure Dian, bless thee for thy vision! I\\r\\nWill offer night-oblations to thee. Thaisa,\\r\\nThis prince, the fair betrothed of your daughter,\\r\\nShall marry her at Pentapolis.\\r\\nAnd now this ornament\\r\\nMakes me look dismal will I clip to form;\\r\\nAnd what this fourteen years no razor touch’d\\r\\nTo grace thy marriage-day, I’ll beautify.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHAISA.\\r\\nLord Cerimon hath letters of good credit, sir,\\r\\nMy father’s dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERICLES.\\r\\nHeavens make a star of him! Yet there, my queen,\\r\\nWe’ll celebrate their nuptials, and ourselves\\r\\nWill in that kingdom spend our following days:\\r\\nOur son and daughter shall in Tyrus reign.\\r\\nLord Cerimon, we do our longing stay\\r\\nTo hear the rest untold. Sir, lead’s the way.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gower.\\r\\n\\r\\nGOWER.\\r\\nIn Antiochus and his daughter you have heard\\r\\nOf monstrous lust the due and just reward:\\r\\nIn Pericles, his queen and daughter seen,\\r\\nAlthough assail’d with Fortune fierce and keen,\\r\\nVirtue preserved from fell destruction’s blast,\\r\\nLed on by heaven, and crown’d with joy at last.\\r\\nIn Helicanus may you well descry\\r\\nA figure of truth, of faith, of loyalty:\\r\\nIn reverend Cerimon there well appears\\r\\nThe worth that learned charity aye wears:\\r\\nFor wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame\\r\\nHad spread their cursed deed, the honour’d name\\r\\nOf Pericles, to rage the city turn,\\r\\nThat him and his they in his palace burn.\\r\\nThe gods for murder seemed so content\\r\\nTo punish, although not done, but meant.\\r\\nSo on your patience evermore attending,\\r\\nNew joy wait on you! Here our play has ending.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nKING RICHARD THE SECOND\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE',\n", + " ' KING RICHARD THE SECOND\\r\\n JOHN OF GAUNT, Duke of Lancaster - uncle to the King\\r\\n EDMUND LANGLEY, Duke of York - uncle to the King\\r\\n HENRY, surnamed BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford, son of\\r\\n John of Gaunt, afterwards King Henry IV\\r\\n DUKE OF AUMERLE, son of the Duke of York\\r\\n THOMAS MOWBRAY, Duke of Norfolk\\r\\n DUKE OF SURREY\\r\\n EARL OF SALISBURY\\r\\n EARL BERKELEY\\r\\n BUSHY - favourites of King Richard\\r\\n BAGOT - \" \" \" \"\\r\\n GREEN - \" \" \" \"\\r\\n EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND\\r\\n HENRY PERCY, surnamed HOTSPUR, his son\\r\\n LORD Ross LORD WILLOUGHBY\\r\\n LORD FITZWATER BISHOP OF CARLISLE\\r\\n ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER LORD MARSHAL\\r\\n SIR STEPHEN SCROOP SIR PIERCE OF EXTON\\r\\n CAPTAIN of a band of Welshmen TWO GARDENERS\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN to King Richard\\r\\n DUCHESS OF YORK\\r\\n DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER, widow of Thomas of Woodstock,\\r\\n Duke of Gloucester\\r\\n LADY attending on the Queen\\r\\n\\r\\n Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Keeper, Messenger,\\r\\n Groom, and other Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: England and Wales\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. London. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter RICHARD, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other NOBLES and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster,\\r\\n Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,\\r\\n Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son,\\r\\n Here to make good the boist\\'rous late appeal,\\r\\n Which then our leisure would not let us hear,\\r\\n Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?\\r\\n GAUNT. I have, my liege.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him\\r\\n If he appeal the Duke on ancient malice,\\r\\n Or worthily, as a good subject should,\\r\\n On some known ground of treachery in him?\\r\\n GAUNT. As near as I could sift him on that argument,\\r\\n On some apparent danger seen in him\\r\\n Aim\\'d at your Highness-no inveterate malice.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then call them to our presence: face to face\\r\\n And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear\\r\\n The accuser and the accused freely speak.\\r\\n High-stomach\\'d are they both and full of ire,\\r\\n In rage, deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BOLINGBROKE and MOWBRAY\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Many years of happy days befall\\r\\n My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Each day still better other\\'s happiness\\r\\n Until the heavens, envying earth\\'s good hap,\\r\\n Add an immortal title to your crown!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We thank you both; yet one but flatters us,\\r\\n As well appeareth by the cause you come;\\r\\n Namely, to appeal each other of high treason.\\r\\n Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object\\r\\n Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. First-heaven be the record to my speech!\\r\\n In the devotion of a subject\\'s love,\\r\\n Tend\\'ring the precious safety of my prince,\\r\\n And free from other misbegotten hate,\\r\\n Come I appellant to this princely presence.\\r\\n Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,\\r\\n And mark my greeting well; for what I speak\\r\\n My body shall make good upon this earth,\\r\\n Or my divine soul answer it in heaven-\\r\\n Thou art a traitor and a miscreant,\\r\\n Too good to be so, and too bad to live,\\r\\n Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,\\r\\n The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.\\r\\n Once more, the more to aggravate the note,\\r\\n With a foul traitor\\'s name stuff I thy throat;\\r\\n And wish-so please my sovereign-ere I move,\\r\\n What my tongue speaks, my right drawn sword may prove.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal.\\r\\n \\'Tis not the trial of a woman\\'s war,\\r\\n The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,\\r\\n Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain;\\r\\n The blood is hot that must be cool\\'d for this.\\r\\n Yet can I not of such tame patience boast\\r\\n As to be hush\\'d and nought at an to say.\\r\\n First, the fair reverence of your Highness curbs me\\r\\n From giving reins and spurs to my free speech;\\r\\n Which else would post until it had return\\'d\\r\\n These terms of treason doubled down his throat.\\r\\n Setting aside his high blood\\'s royalty,\\r\\n And let him be no kinsman to my liege,\\r\\n I do defy him, and I spit at him,\\r\\n Call him a slanderous coward and a villain;\\r\\n Which to maintain, I would allow him odds\\r\\n And meet him, were I tied to run afoot\\r\\n Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,\\r\\n Or any other ground inhabitable\\r\\n Where ever Englishman durst set his foot.\\r\\n Meantime let this defend my loyalty-\\r\\n By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage,\\r\\n Disclaiming here the kindred of the King;\\r\\n And lay aside my high blood\\'s royalty,\\r\\n Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except.\\r\\n If guilty dread have left thee so much strength\\r\\n As to take up mine honour\\'s pawn, then stoop.\\r\\n By that and all the rites of knighthood else\\r\\n Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,\\r\\n What I have spoke or thou canst worst devise.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. I take it up; and by that sword I swear\\r\\n Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder\\r\\n I\\'ll answer thee in any fair degree\\r\\n Or chivalrous design of knightly trial;\\r\\n And when I mount, alive may I not light\\r\\n If I be traitor or unjustly fight!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray\\'s charge?\\r\\n It must be great that can inherit us\\r\\n So much as of a thought of ill in him.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Look what I speak, my life shall prove it true-\\r\\n That Mowbray hath receiv\\'d eight thousand nobles\\r\\n In name of lendings for your Highness\\' soldiers,\\r\\n The which he hath detain\\'d for lewd employments\\r\\n Like a false traitor and injurious villain.\\r\\n Besides, I say and will in battle prove-\\r\\n Or here, or elsewhere to the furthest verge\\r\\n That ever was survey\\'d by English eye-\\r\\n That all the treasons for these eighteen years\\r\\n Complotted and contrived in this land\\r\\n Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.\\r\\n Further I say, and further will maintain\\r\\n Upon his bad life to make all this good,\\r\\n That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester\\'s death,\\r\\n Suggest his soon-believing adversaries,\\r\\n And consequently, like a traitor coward,\\r\\n Sluic\\'d out his innocent soul through streams of blood;\\r\\n Which blood, like sacrificing Abel\\'s, cries,\\r\\n Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth,\\r\\n To me for justice and rough chastisement;\\r\\n And, by the glorious worth of my descent,\\r\\n This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. How high a pitch his resolution soars!\\r\\n Thomas of Norfolk, what say\\'st thou to this?\\r\\n MOWBRAY. O, let my sovereign turn away his face\\r\\n And bid his ears a little while be deaf,\\r\\n Till I have told this slander of his blood\\r\\n How God and good men hate so foul a liar.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and cars.\\r\\n Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom\\'s heir,\\r\\n As he is but my father\\'s brother\\'s son,\\r\\n Now by my sceptre\\'s awe I make a vow,\\r\\n Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood\\r\\n Should nothing privilege him nor partialize\\r\\n The unstooping firmness of my upright soul.\\r\\n He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou:\\r\\n Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,\\r\\n Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest.\\r\\n Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais\\r\\n Disburs\\'d I duly to his Highness\\' soldiers;\\r\\n The other part reserv\\'d I by consent,\\r\\n For that my sovereign liege was in my debt\\r\\n Upon remainder of a dear account\\r\\n Since last I went to France to fetch his queen:\\r\\n Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester\\'s death-\\r\\n I slew him not, but to my own disgrace\\r\\n Neglected my sworn duty in that case.\\r\\n For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster,\\r\\n The honourable father to my foe,\\r\\n Once did I lay an ambush for your life,\\r\\n A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul;\\r\\n But ere I last receiv\\'d the sacrament\\r\\n I did confess it, and exactly begg\\'d\\r\\n Your Grace\\'s pardon; and I hope I had it.\\r\\n This is my fault. As for the rest appeal\\'d,\\r\\n It issues from the rancour of a villain,\\r\\n A recreant and most degenerate traitor;\\r\\n Which in myself I boldly will defend,\\r\\n And interchangeably hurl down my gage\\r\\n Upon this overweening traitor\\'s foot\\r\\n To prove myself a loyal gentleman\\r\\n Even in the best blood chamber\\'d in his bosom.\\r\\n In haste whereof, most heartily I pray\\r\\n Your Highness to assign our trial day.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul\\'d by me;\\r\\n Let\\'s purge this choler without letting blood-\\r\\n This we prescribe, though no physician;\\r\\n Deep malice makes too deep incision.\\r\\n Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed:\\r\\n Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.\\r\\n Good uncle, let this end where it begun;\\r\\n We\\'ll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son.\\r\\n GAUNT. To be a make-peace shall become my age.\\r\\n Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk\\'s gage.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And, Norfolk, throw down his.\\r\\n GAUNT. When, Harry, when?\\r\\n Obedience bids I should not bid again.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Norfolk, throw down; we bid.\\r\\n There is no boot.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot;\\r\\n My life thou shalt command, but not my shame:\\r\\n The one my duty owes; but my fair name,\\r\\n Despite of death, that lives upon my grave\\r\\n To dark dishonour\\'s use thou shalt not have.\\r\\n I am disgrac\\'d, impeach\\'d, and baffl\\'d here;\\r\\n Pierc\\'d to the soul with slander\\'s venom\\'d spear,\\r\\n The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood\\r\\n Which breath\\'d this poison.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Rage must be withstood:\\r\\n Give me his gage-lions make leopards tame.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Yea, but not change his spots. Take but my shame,\\r\\n And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord,\\r\\n The purest treasure mortal times afford\\r\\n Is spotless reputation; that away,\\r\\n Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.\\r\\n A jewel in a ten-times barr\\'d-up chest\\r\\n Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.\\r\\n Mine honour is my life; both grow in one;\\r\\n Take honour from me, and my life is done:\\r\\n Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try;\\r\\n In that I live, and for that will I die.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. O, God defend my soul from such deep sin!\\r\\n Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father\\'s sight?\\r\\n Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height\\r\\n Before this outdar\\'d dastard? Ere my tongue\\r\\n Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong\\r\\n Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear\\r\\n The slavish motive of recanting fear,\\r\\n And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace,\\r\\n Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray\\'s face.\\r\\n Exit GAUNT\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We were not born to sue, but to command;\\r\\n Which since we cannot do to make you friends,\\r\\n Be ready, as your lives shall answer it,\\r\\n At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert\\'s day.\\r\\n There shall your swords and lances arbitrate\\r\\n The swelling difference of your settled hate;\\r\\n Since we can not atone you, we shall see\\r\\n Justice design the victor\\'s chivalry.\\r\\n Lord Marshal, command our officers-at-arms\\r\\n Be ready to direct these home alarms. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. London. The DUKE OF LANCASTER\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter JOHN OF GAUNT with the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n GAUNT. Alas, the part I had in Woodstock\\'s blood\\r\\n Doth more solicit me than your exclaims\\r\\n To stir against the butchers of his life!\\r\\n But since correction lieth in those hands\\r\\n Which made the fault that we cannot correct,\\r\\n Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven;\\r\\n Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth,\\r\\n Will rain hot vengeance on offenders\\' heads.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?\\r\\n Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?\\r\\n Edward\\'s seven sons, whereof thyself art one,\\r\\n Were as seven vials of his sacred blood,\\r\\n Or seven fair branches springing from one root.\\r\\n Some of those seven are dried by nature\\'s course,\\r\\n Some of those branches by the Destinies cut;\\r\\n But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester,\\r\\n One vial full of Edward\\'s sacred blood,\\r\\n One flourishing branch of his most royal root,\\r\\n Is crack\\'d, and all the precious liquor spilt;\\r\\n Is hack\\'d down, and his summer leaves all faded,\\r\\n By envy\\'s hand and murder\\'s bloody axe.\\r\\n Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! That bed, that womb,\\r\\n That mettle, that self mould, that fashion\\'d thee,\\r\\n Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest,\\r\\n Yet art thou slain in him. Thou dost consent\\r\\n In some large measure to thy father\\'s death\\r\\n In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,\\r\\n Who was the model of thy father\\'s life.\\r\\n Call it not patience, Gaunt-it is despair;\\r\\n In suff\\'ring thus thy brother to be slaught\\'red,\\r\\n Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life,\\r\\n Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee.\\r\\n That which in mean men we entitle patience\\r\\n Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.\\r\\n What shall I say? To safeguard thine own life\\r\\n The best way is to venge my Gloucester\\'s death.\\r\\n GAUNT. God\\'s is the quarrel; for God\\'s substitute,\\r\\n His deputy anointed in His sight,\\r\\n Hath caus\\'d his death; the which if wrongfully,\\r\\n Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift\\r\\n An angry arm against His minister.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Where then, alas, may I complain myself?\\r\\n GAUNT. To God, the widow\\'s champion and defence.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.\\r\\n Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold\\r\\n Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight.\\r\\n O, sit my husband\\'s wrongs on Hereford\\'s spear,\\r\\n That it may enter butcher Mowbray\\'s breast!\\r\\n Or, if misfortune miss the first career,\\r\\n Be Mowbray\\'s sins so heavy in his bosom\\r\\n That they may break his foaming courser\\'s back\\r\\n And throw the rider headlong in the lists,\\r\\n A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford!\\r\\n Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometimes brother\\'s wife,\\r\\n With her companion, Grief, must end her life.\\r\\n GAUNT. Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry.\\r\\n As much good stay with thee as go with me!\\r\\n DUCHESS. Yet one word more- grief boundeth where it falls,\\r\\n Not with the empty hollowness, but weight.\\r\\n I take my leave before I have begun,\\r\\n For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.\\r\\n Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York.\\r\\n Lo, this is all- nay, yet depart not so;\\r\\n Though this be all, do not so quickly go;\\r\\n I shall remember more. Bid him- ah, what?-\\r\\n With all good speed at Plashy visit me.\\r\\n Alack, and what shall good old York there see\\r\\n But empty lodgings and unfurnish\\'d walls,\\r\\n Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?\\r\\n And what hear there for welcome but my groans?\\r\\n Therefore commend me; let him not come there\\r\\n To seek out sorrow that dwells every where.\\r\\n Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die;\\r\\n The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. The lists at Coventry\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the LORD MARSHAL and the DUKE OF AUMERLE\\r\\n\\r\\n MARSHAL. My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm\\'d?\\r\\n AUMERLE. Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in.\\r\\n MARSHAL. The Duke of Norfolk, spightfully and bold,\\r\\n Stays but the summons of the appelant\\'s trumpet.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Why then, the champions are prepar\\'d, and stay\\r\\n For nothing but his Majesty\\'s approach.\\r\\n\\r\\n The trumpets sound, and the KING enters with his nobles,\\r\\n GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and others. When they are set,\\r\\n enter MOWBRAY, Duke of Nor folk, in arms, defendant, and\\r\\n a HERALD\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Marshal, demand of yonder champion\\r\\n The cause of his arrival here in arms;\\r\\n Ask him his name; and orderly proceed\\r\\n To swear him in the justice of his cause.\\r\\n MARSHAL. In God\\'s name and the King\\'s, say who thou art,\\r\\n And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms;\\r\\n Against what man thou com\\'st, and what thy quarrel.\\r\\n Speak truly on thy knighthood and thy oath;\\r\\n As so defend thee heaven and thy valour!\\r\\n MOWBRAY. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk;\\r\\n Who hither come engaged by my oath-\\r\\n Which God defend a knight should violate!-\\r\\n Both to defend my loyalty and truth\\r\\n To God, my King, and my succeeding issue,\\r\\n Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me;\\r\\n And, by the grace of God and this mine arm,\\r\\n To prove him, in defending of myself,\\r\\n A traitor to my God, my King, and me.\\r\\n And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!\\r\\n\\r\\n The trumpets sound. Enter BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford,\\r\\n appellant, in armour, and a HERALD\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms,\\r\\n Both who he is and why he cometh hither\\r\\n Thus plated in habiliments of war;\\r\\n And formally, according to our law,\\r\\n Depose him in the justice of his cause.\\r\\n MARSHAL. What is thy name? and wherefore com\\'st thou hither\\r\\n Before King Richard in his royal lists?\\r\\n Against whom comest thou? and what\\'s thy quarrel?\\r\\n Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,\\r\\n Am I; who ready here do stand in arms\\r\\n To prove, by God\\'s grace and my body\\'s valour,\\r\\n In lists on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,\\r\\n That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous,\\r\\n To God of heaven, King Richard, and to me.\\r\\n And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!\\r\\n MARSHAL. On pain of death, no person be so bold\\r\\n Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists,\\r\\n Except the Marshal and such officers\\r\\n Appointed to direct these fair designs.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign\\'s hand,\\r\\n And bow my knee before his Majesty;\\r\\n For Mowbray and myself are like two men\\r\\n That vow a long and weary pilgrimage.\\r\\n Then let us take a ceremonious leave\\r\\n And loving farewell of our several friends.\\r\\n MARSHAL. The appellant in all duty greets your Highness,\\r\\n And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We will descend and fold him in our arms.\\r\\n Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,\\r\\n So be thy fortune in this royal fight!\\r\\n Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed,\\r\\n Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. O, let no noble eye profane a tear\\r\\n For me, if I be gor\\'d with Mowbray\\'s spear.\\r\\n As confident as is the falcon\\'s flight\\r\\n Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.\\r\\n My loving lord, I take my leave of you;\\r\\n Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle;\\r\\n Not sick, although I have to do with death,\\r\\n But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.\\r\\n Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet\\r\\n The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.\\r\\n O thou, the earthly author of my blood,\\r\\n Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,\\r\\n Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up\\r\\n To reach at victory above my head,\\r\\n Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers,\\r\\n And with thy blessings steel my lance\\'s point,\\r\\n That it may enter Mowbray\\'s waxen coat\\r\\n And furbish new the name of John o\\' Gaunt,\\r\\n Even in the lusty haviour of his son.\\r\\n GAUNT. God in thy good cause make thee prosperous!\\r\\n Be swift like lightning in the execution,\\r\\n And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,\\r\\n Fall like amazing thunder on the casque\\r\\n Of thy adverse pernicious enemy.\\r\\n Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Mine innocence and Saint George to thrive!\\r\\n MOWBRAY. However God or fortune cast my lot,\\r\\n There lives or dies, true to King Richard\\'s throne,\\r\\n A loyal, just, and upright gentleman.\\r\\n Never did captive with a freer heart\\r\\n Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace\\r\\n His golden uncontroll\\'d enfranchisement,\\r\\n More than my dancing soul doth celebrate\\r\\n This feast of battle with mine adversary.\\r\\n Most mighty liege, and my companion peers,\\r\\n Take from my mouth the wish of happy years.\\r\\n As gentle and as jocund as to jest\\r\\n Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Farewell, my lord, securely I espy\\r\\n Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.\\r\\n Order the trial, Marshal, and begin.\\r\\n MARSHAL. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,\\r\\n Receive thy lance; and God defend the right!\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen.\\r\\n MARSHAL. [To an officer] Go bear this lance to Thomas,\\r\\n Duke of Norfolk.\\r\\n FIRST HERALD. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,\\r\\n Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself,\\r\\n On pain to be found false and recreant,\\r\\n To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,\\r\\n A traitor to his God, his King, and him;\\r\\n And dares him to set forward to the fight.\\r\\n SECOND HERALD. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,\\r\\n On pain to be found false and recreant,\\r\\n Both to defend himself, and to approve\\r\\n Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,\\r\\n To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal,\\r\\n Courageously and with a free desire\\r\\n Attending but the signal to begin.\\r\\n MARSHAL. Sound trumpets; and set forward, combatants.\\r\\n [A charge sounded]\\r\\n Stay, the King hath thrown his warder down.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Let them lay by their helmets and their spears,\\r\\n And both return back to their chairs again.\\r\\n Withdraw with us; and let the trumpets sound\\r\\n While we return these dukes what we decree.\\r\\n\\r\\n A long flourish, while the KING consults his Council\\r\\n\\r\\n Draw near,\\r\\n And list what with our council we have done.\\r\\n For that our kingdom\\'s earth should not be soil\\'d\\r\\n With that dear blood which it hath fostered;\\r\\n And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect\\r\\n Of civil wounds plough\\'d up with neighbours\\' sword;\\r\\n And for we think the eagle-winged pride\\r\\n Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,\\r\\n With rival-hating envy, set on you\\r\\n To wake our peace, which in our country\\'s cradle\\r\\n Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;\\r\\n Which so rous\\'d up with boist\\'rous untun\\'d drums,\\r\\n With harsh-resounding trumpets\\' dreadful bray,\\r\\n And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,\\r\\n Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace\\r\\n And make us wade even in our kindred\\'s blood-\\r\\n Therefore we banish you our territories.\\r\\n You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life,\\r\\n Till twice five summers have enrich\\'d our fields\\r\\n Shall not regreet our fair dominions,\\r\\n But tread the stranger paths of banishment.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Your will be done. This must my comfort be-\\r\\n That sun that warms you here shall shine on me,\\r\\n And those his golden beams to you here lent\\r\\n Shall point on me and gild my banishment.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,\\r\\n Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:\\r\\n The sly slow hours shall not determinate\\r\\n The dateless limit of thy dear exile;\\r\\n The hopeless word of \\'never to return\\'\\r\\n Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,\\r\\n And all unlook\\'d for from your Highness\\' mouth.\\r\\n A dearer merit, not so deep a maim\\r\\n As to be cast forth in the common air,\\r\\n Have I deserved at your Highness\\' hands.\\r\\n The language I have learnt these forty years,\\r\\n My native English, now I must forgo;\\r\\n And now my tongue\\'s use is to me no more\\r\\n Than an unstringed viol or a harp;\\r\\n Or like a cunning instrument cas\\'d up\\r\\n Or, being open, put into his hands\\r\\n That knows no touch to tune the harmony.\\r\\n Within my mouth you have engaol\\'d my tongue,\\r\\n Doubly portcullis\\'d with my teeth and lips;\\r\\n And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance\\r\\n Is made my gaoler to attend on me.\\r\\n I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,\\r\\n Too far in years to be a pupil now.\\r\\n What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death,\\r\\n Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. It boots thee not to be compassionate;\\r\\n After our sentence plaining comes too late.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. Then thus I turn me from my countrv\\'s light,\\r\\n To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Return again, and take an oath with thee.\\r\\n Lay on our royal sword your banish\\'d hands;\\r\\n Swear by the duty that you owe to God,\\r\\n Our part therein we banish with yourselves,\\r\\n To keep the oath that we administer:\\r\\n You never shall, so help you truth and God,\\r\\n Embrace each other\\'s love in banishment;\\r\\n Nor never look upon each other\\'s face;\\r\\n Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile\\r\\n This louring tempest of your home-bred hate;\\r\\n Nor never by advised purpose meet\\r\\n To plot, contrive, or complot any ill,\\r\\n \\'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I swear.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. And I, to keep all this.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy.\\r\\n By this time, had the King permitted us,\\r\\n One of our souls had wand\\'red in the air,\\r\\n Banish\\'d this frail sepulchre of our flesh,\\r\\n As now our flesh is banish\\'d from this land-\\r\\n Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm;\\r\\n Since thou hast far to go, bear not along\\r\\n The clogging burden of a guilty soul.\\r\\n MOWBRAY. No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were traitor,\\r\\n My name be blotted from the book of life,\\r\\n And I from heaven banish\\'d as from hence!\\r\\n But what thou art, God, thou, and I, do know;\\r\\n And all too soon, I fear, the King shall rue.\\r\\n Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray:\\r\\n Save back to England, an the world\\'s my way. Exit\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes\\r\\n I see thy grieved heart. Thy sad aspect\\r\\n Hath from the number of his banish\\'d years\\r\\n Pluck\\'d four away. [To BOLINGBROKE] Six frozen winters spent,\\r\\n Return with welcome home from banishment.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. How long a time lies in one little word!\\r\\n Four lagging winters and four wanton springs\\r\\n End in a word: such is the breath of Kings.\\r\\n GAUNT. I thank my liege that in regard of me\\r\\n He shortens four years of my son\\'s exile;\\r\\n But little vantage shall I reap thereby,\\r\\n For ere the six years that he hath to spend\\r\\n Can change their moons and bring their times about,\\r\\n My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light\\r\\n Shall be extinct with age and endless night;\\r\\n My inch of taper will be burnt and done,\\r\\n And blindfold death not let me see my son.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live.\\r\\n GAUNT. But not a minute, King, that thou canst give:\\r\\n Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow\\r\\n And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow;\\r\\n Thou can\\'st help time to furrow me with age,\\r\\n But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage;\\r\\n Thy word is current with him for my death,\\r\\n But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thy son is banish\\'d upon good advice,\\r\\n Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave.\\r\\n Why at our justice seem\\'st thou then to lour?\\r\\n GAUNT. Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.\\r\\n You urg\\'d me as a judge; but I had rather\\r\\n You would have bid me argue like a father.\\r\\n O, had it been a stranger, not my child,\\r\\n To smooth his fault I should have been more mild.\\r\\n A partial slander sought I to avoid,\\r\\n And in the sentence my own life destroy\\'d.\\r\\n Alas, I look\\'d when some of you should say\\r\\n I was too strict to make mine own away;\\r\\n But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue\\r\\n Against my will to do myself this wrong.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so.\\r\\n Six years we banish him, and he shall go.\\r\\n Flourish. Exit KING with train\\r\\n AUMERLE. Cousin, farewell; what presence must not know,\\r\\n From where you do remain let paper show.\\r\\n MARSHAL. My lord, no leave take I, for I will ride\\r\\n As far as land will let me by your side.\\r\\n GAUNT. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,\\r\\n That thou returnest no greeting to thy friends?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I have too few to take my leave of you,\\r\\n When the tongue\\'s office should be prodigal\\r\\n To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.\\r\\n GAUNT. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Joy absent, grief is present for that time.\\r\\n GAUNT. What is six winters? They are quickly gone.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.\\r\\n GAUNT. Call it a travel that thou tak\\'st for pleasure.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,\\r\\n Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage.\\r\\n GAUNT. The sullen passage of thy weary steps\\r\\n Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set\\r\\n The precious jewel of thy home return.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make\\r\\n Will but remember me what a deal of world\\r\\n I wander from the jewels that I love.\\r\\n Must I not serve a long apprenticehood\\r\\n To foreign passages; and in the end,\\r\\n Having my freedom, boast of nothing else\\r\\n But that I was a journeyman to grief?\\r\\n GAUNT. All places that the eye of heaven visits\\r\\n Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.\\r\\n Teach thy necessity to reason thus:\\r\\n There is no virtue like necessity.\\r\\n Think not the King did banish thee,\\r\\n But thou the King. Woe doth the heavier sit\\r\\n Where it perceives it is but faintly home.\\r\\n Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour,\\r\\n And not the King exil\\'d thee; or suppose\\r\\n Devouring pestilence hangs in our air\\r\\n And thou art flying to a fresher clime.\\r\\n Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it\\r\\n To lie that way thou goest, not whence thou com\\'st.\\r\\n Suppose the singing birds musicians,\\r\\n The grass whereon thou tread\\'st the presence strew\\'d,\\r\\n The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more\\r\\n Than a delightful measure or a dance;\\r\\n For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite\\r\\n The man that mocks at it and sets it light.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. O, who can hold a fire in his hand\\r\\n By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?\\r\\n Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite\\r\\n By bare imagination of a feast?\\r\\n Or wallow naked in December snow\\r\\n By thinking on fantastic summer\\'s heat?\\r\\n O, no! the apprehension of the good\\r\\n Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.\\r\\n Fell sorrow\\'s tooth doth never rankle more\\r\\n Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore.\\r\\n GAUNT. Come, come, my son, I\\'ll bring thee on thy way.\\r\\n Had I thy youtli and cause, I would not stay.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Then, England\\'s ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu;\\r\\n My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet!\\r\\n Where\\'er I wander, boast of this I can:\\r\\n Though banish\\'d, yet a trueborn English man. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. London. The court\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the KING, with BAGOT and GREEN, at one door; and the DUKE OF\\r\\nAUMERLE at another\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We did observe. Cousin Aumerle,\\r\\n How far brought you high Hereford on his way?\\r\\n AUMERLE. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,\\r\\n But to the next high way, and there I left him.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And say, what store of parting tears were shed?\\r\\n AUMERLE. Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind,\\r\\n Which then blew bitterly against our faces,\\r\\n Awak\\'d the sleeping rheum, and so by chance\\r\\n Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What said our cousin when you parted with him?\\r\\n AUMERLE. \\'Farewell.\\'\\r\\n And, for my heart disdained that my tongue\\r\\n Should so profane the word, that taught me craft\\r\\n To counterfeit oppression of such grief\\r\\n That words seem\\'d buried in my sorrow\\'s grave.\\r\\n Marry, would the word \\'farewell\\' have length\\'ned hours\\r\\n And added years to his short banishment,\\r\\n He should have had a volume of farewells;\\r\\n But since it would not, he had none of me.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. He is our cousin, cousin; but \\'tis doubt,\\r\\n When time shall call him home from banishment,\\r\\n Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.\\r\\n Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green,\\r\\n Observ\\'d his courtship to the common people;\\r\\n How he did seem to dive into their hearts\\r\\n With humble and familiar courtesy;\\r\\n What reverence he did throw away on slaves,\\r\\n Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles\\r\\n And patient underbearing of his fortune,\\r\\n As \\'twere to banish their affects with him.\\r\\n Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;\\r\\n A brace of draymen bid God speed him well\\r\\n And had the tribute of his supple knee,\\r\\n With \\'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends\\';\\r\\n As were our England in reversion his,\\r\\n And he our subjects\\' next degree in hope.\\r\\n GREEN. Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts!\\r\\n Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland,\\r\\n Expedient manage must be made, my liege,\\r\\n Ere further leisure yicld them further means\\r\\n For their advantage and your Highness\\' loss.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We will ourself in person to this war;\\r\\n And, for our coffers, with too great a court\\r\\n And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light,\\r\\n We are enforc\\'d to farm our royal realm;\\r\\n The revenue whereof shall furnish us\\r\\n For our affairs in hand. If that come short,\\r\\n Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters;\\r\\n Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,\\r\\n They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold,\\r\\n And send them after to supply our wants;\\r\\n For we will make for Ireland presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BUSHY\\r\\n\\r\\n Bushy, what news?\\r\\n BUSHY. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord,\\r\\n Suddenly taken; and hath sent poste-haste\\r\\n To entreat your Majesty to visit him.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Where lies he?\\r\\n BUSHY. At Ely House.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Now put it, God, in the physician\\'s mind\\r\\n To help him to his grave immediately!\\r\\n The lining of his coffers shall make coats\\r\\n To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.\\r\\n Come, gentlemen, let\\'s all go visit him.\\r\\n Pray God we may make haste, and come too late!\\r\\n ALL. Amen. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. London. Ely House\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter JOHN OF GAUNT, sick, with the DUKE OF YORK, etc.\\r\\n\\r\\n GAUNT. Will the King come, that I may breathe my last\\r\\n In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth?\\r\\n YORK. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath;\\r\\n For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.\\r\\n GAUNT. O, but they say the tongues of dying men\\r\\n Enforce attention like deep harmony.\\r\\n Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain;\\r\\n For they breathe truth that breathe their words -in pain.\\r\\n He that no more must say is listen\\'d more\\r\\n Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose;\\r\\n More are men\\'s ends mark\\'d than their lives before.\\r\\n The setting sun, and music at the close,\\r\\n As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,\\r\\n Writ in remembrance more than things long past.\\r\\n Though Richard my life\\'s counsel would not hear,\\r\\n My death\\'s sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.\\r\\n YORK. No; it is stopp\\'d with other flattering sounds,\\r\\n As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond,\\r\\n Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound\\r\\n The open ear of youth doth always listen;\\r\\n Report of fashions in proud Italy,\\r\\n Whose manners still our tardy apish nation\\r\\n Limps after in base imitation.\\r\\n Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity-\\r\\n So it be new, there\\'s no respect how vile-\\r\\n That is not quickly buzz\\'d into his ears?\\r\\n Then all too late comes counsel to be heard\\r\\n Where will doth mutiny with wit\\'s regard.\\r\\n Direct not him whose way himself will choose.\\r\\n \\'Tis breath thou lack\\'st, and that breath wilt thou lose.\\r\\n GAUNT. Methinks I am a prophet new inspir\\'d,\\r\\n And thus expiring do foretell of him:\\r\\n His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,\\r\\n For violent fires soon burn out themselves;\\r\\n Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short;\\r\\n He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes;\\r\\n With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder;\\r\\n Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,\\r\\n Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.\\r\\n This royal throne of kings, this scept\\'red isle,\\r\\n This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,\\r\\n This other Eden, demi-paradise,\\r\\n This fortress built by Nature for herself\\r\\n Against infection and the hand of war,\\r\\n This happy breed of men, this little world,\\r\\n This precious stone set in the silver sea,\\r\\n Which serves it in the office of a wall,\\r\\n Or as a moat defensive to a house,\\r\\n Against the envy of less happier lands;\\r\\n This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,\\r\\n This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,\\r\\n Fear\\'d by their breed, and famous by their birth,\\r\\n Renowned for their deeds as far from home,\\r\\n For Christian service and true chivalry,\\r\\n As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry\\r\\n Of the world\\'s ransom, blessed Mary\\'s Son;\\r\\n This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,\\r\\n Dear for her reputation through the world,\\r\\n Is now leas\\'d out-I die pronouncing it-\\r\\n Like to a tenement or pelting farm.\\r\\n England, bound in with the triumphant sea,\\r\\n Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege\\r\\n Of wat\\'ry Neptune, is now bound in with shame,\\r\\n With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds;\\r\\n That England, that was wont to conquer others,\\r\\n Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.\\r\\n Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,\\r\\n How happy then were my ensuing death!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING and QUEEN, AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT,\\r\\n Ross, and WILLOUGHBY\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. The King is come; deal mildly with his youth,\\r\\n For young hot colts being rag\\'d do rage the more.\\r\\n QUEEN. How fares our noble uncle Lancaster?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What comfort, man? How is\\'t with aged Gaunt?\\r\\n GAUNT. O, how that name befits my composition!\\r\\n Old Gaunt, indeed; and gaunt in being old.\\r\\n Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast;\\r\\n And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt?\\r\\n For sleeping England long time have I watch\\'d;\\r\\n Watching breeds leanness, leanness is an gaunt.\\r\\n The pleasure that some fathers feed upon\\r\\n Is my strict fast-I mean my children\\'s looks;\\r\\n And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt.\\r\\n Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,\\r\\n Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Can sick men play so nicely with their names?\\r\\n GAUNT. No, misery makes sport to mock itself:\\r\\n Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,\\r\\n I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Should dying men flatter with those that live?\\r\\n GAUNT. No, no; men living flatter those that die.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thou, now a-dying, sayest thou flatterest me.\\r\\n GAUNT. O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.\\r\\n GAUNT. Now He that made me knows I see thee ill;\\r\\n Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill.\\r\\n Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land\\r\\n Wherein thou liest in reputation sick;\\r\\n And thou, too careless patient as thou art,\\r\\n Commit\\'st thy anointed body to the cure\\r\\n Of those physicians that first wounded thee:\\r\\n A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,\\r\\n Whose compass is no bigger than thy head;\\r\\n And yet, incaged in so small a verge,\\r\\n The waste is no whit lesser than thy land.\\r\\n O, had thy grandsire with a prophet\\'s eye\\r\\n Seen how his son\\'s son should destroy his sons,\\r\\n From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame,\\r\\n Deposing thee before thou wert possess\\'d,\\r\\n Which art possess\\'d now to depose thyself.\\r\\n Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world,\\r\\n It were a shame to let this land by lease;\\r\\n But for thy world enjoying but this land,\\r\\n Is it not more than shame to shame it so?\\r\\n Landlord of England art thou now, not King.\\r\\n Thy state of law is bondslave to the law;\\r\\n And thou-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. A lunatic lean-witted fool,\\r\\n Presuming on an ague\\'s privilege,\\r\\n Darest with thy frozen admonition\\r\\n Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood\\r\\n With fury from his native residence.\\r\\n Now by my seat\\'s right royal majesty,\\r\\n Wert thou not brother to great Edward\\'s son,\\r\\n This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head\\r\\n Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders.\\r\\n GAUNT. O, Spare me not, my brother Edward\\'s son,\\r\\n For that I was his father Edward\\'s son;\\r\\n That blood already, like the pelican,\\r\\n Hast thou tapp\\'d out, and drunkenly carous\\'d.\\r\\n My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul-\\r\\n Whom fair befall in heaven \\'mongst happy souls!-\\r\\n May be a precedent and witness good\\r\\n That thou respect\\'st not spilling Edward\\'s blood.\\r\\n Join with the present sickness that I have;\\r\\n And thy unkindness be like crooked age,\\r\\n To crop at once a too long withered flower.\\r\\n Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!\\r\\n These words hereafter thy tormentors be!\\r\\n Convey me to my bed, then to my grave.\\r\\n Love they to live that love and honour have.\\r\\n Exit, borne out by his attendants\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And let them die that age and sullens have;\\r\\n For both hast thou, and both become the grave.\\r\\n YORK. I do beseech your Majesty impute his words\\r\\n To wayward sickliness and age in him.\\r\\n He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear\\r\\n As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Right, you say true: as Hereford\\'s love, so his;\\r\\n As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NORTHUMBERLAND\\r\\n\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your Majesty.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What says he?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Nay, nothing; all is said.\\r\\n His tongue is now a stringless instrument;\\r\\n Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.\\r\\n YORK. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so!\\r\\n Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he;\\r\\n His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be.\\r\\n So much for that. Now for our Irish wars.\\r\\n We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns,\\r\\n Which live like venom where no venom else\\r\\n But only they have privilege to live.\\r\\n And for these great affairs do ask some charge,\\r\\n Towards our assistance we do seize to us\\r\\n The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables,\\r\\n Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess\\'d.\\r\\n YORK. How long shall I be patient? Ah, how long\\r\\n Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?\\r\\n Not Gloucester\\'s death, nor Hereford\\'s banishment,\\r\\n Nor Gaunt\\'s rebukes, nor England\\'s private wrongs,\\r\\n Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke\\r\\n About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,\\r\\n Have ever made me sour my patient cheek\\r\\n Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign\\'s face.\\r\\n I am the last of noble Edward\\'s sons,\\r\\n Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first.\\r\\n In war was never lion rag\\'d more fierce,\\r\\n In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,\\r\\n Than was that young and princely gentleman.\\r\\n His face thou hast, for even so look\\'d he,\\r\\n Accomplish\\'d with the number of thy hours;\\r\\n But when he frown\\'d, it was against the French\\r\\n And not against his friends. His noble hand\\r\\n Did win what he did spend, and spent not that\\r\\n Which his triumphant father\\'s hand had won.\\r\\n His hands were guilty of no kindred blood,\\r\\n But bloody with the enemies of his kin.\\r\\n O Richard! York is too far gone with grief,\\r\\n Or else he never would compare between-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, uncle, what\\'s the matter?\\r\\n YORK. O my liege,\\r\\n Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleas\\'d\\r\\n Not to be pardoned, am content withal.\\r\\n Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands\\r\\n The royalties and rights of banish\\'d Hereford?\\r\\n Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Hereford live?\\r\\n Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true?\\r\\n Did not the one deserve to have an heir?\\r\\n Is not his heir a well-deserving son?\\r\\n Take Hereford\\'s rights away, and take from Time\\r\\n His charters and his customary rights;\\r\\n Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day;\\r\\n Be not thyself-for how art thou a king\\r\\n But by fair sequence and succession?\\r\\n Now, afore God-God forbid I say true!-\\r\\n If you do wrongfully seize Hereford\\'s rights,\\r\\n Call in the letters patents that he hath\\r\\n By his attorneys-general to sue\\r\\n His livery, and deny his off\\'red homage,\\r\\n You pluck a thousand dangers on your head,\\r\\n You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts,\\r\\n And prick my tender patience to those thoughts\\r\\n Which honour and allegiance cannot think.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Think what you will, we seize into our hands\\r\\n His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands.\\r\\n YORK. I\\'ll not be by the while. My liege, farewell.\\r\\n What will ensue hereof there\\'s none can tell;\\r\\n But by bad courses may be understood\\r\\n That their events can never fall out good. Exit\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight;\\r\\n Bid him repair to us to Ely House\\r\\n To see this business. To-morrow next\\r\\n We will for Ireland; and \\'tis time, I trow.\\r\\n And we create, in absence of ourself,\\r\\n Our Uncle York Lord Governor of England;\\r\\n For he is just, and always lov\\'d us well.\\r\\n Come on, our queen; to-morrow must we part;\\r\\n Be merry, for our time of stay is short.\\r\\n Flourish. Exeunt KING, QUEEN, BUSHY, AUMERLE,\\r\\n GREEN, and BAGOT\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.\\r\\n Ross. And living too; for now his son is Duke.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. Barely in title, not in revenues.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Richly in both, if justice had her right.\\r\\n ROSS. My heart is great; but it must break with silence,\\r\\n Ere\\'t be disburdened with a liberal tongue.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne\\'er speak more\\r\\n That speaks thy words again to do thee harm!\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford?\\r\\n If it be so, out with it boldly, man;\\r\\n Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.\\r\\n ROSS. No good at all that I can do for him;\\r\\n Unless you call it good to pity him,\\r\\n Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Now, afore God, \\'tis shame such wrongs are borne\\r\\n In him, a royal prince, and many moe\\r\\n Of noble blood in this declining land.\\r\\n The King is not himself, but basely led\\r\\n By flatterers; and what they will inform,\\r\\n Merely in hate, \\'gainst any of us an,\\r\\n That will the King severely prosecute\\r\\n \\'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.\\r\\n ROSS. The commons hath he pill\\'d with grievous taxes;\\r\\n And quite lost their hearts; the nobles hath he find\\r\\n For ancient quarrels and quite lost their hearts.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. And daily new exactions are devis\\'d,\\r\\n As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what;\\r\\n But what, a God\\'s name, doth become of this?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Wars hath not wasted it, for warr\\'d he hath not,\\r\\n But basely yielded upon compromise\\r\\n That which his noble ancestors achiev\\'d with blows.\\r\\n More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.\\r\\n ROSS. The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. The King\\'s grown bankrupt like a broken man.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him.\\r\\n ROSS. He hath not money for these Irish wars,\\r\\n His burdenous taxations notwithstanding,\\r\\n But by the robbing of the banish\\'d Duke.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. His noble kinsman-most degenerate king!\\r\\n But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,\\r\\n Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm;\\r\\n We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,\\r\\n And yet we strike not, but securely perish.\\r\\n ROSS. We see the very wreck that we must suffer;\\r\\n And unavoided is the danger now\\r\\n For suffering so the causes of our wreck.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death\\r\\n I spy life peering; but I dare not say\\r\\n How near the tidings of our comfort is.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. Nay, let us share thy thoughts as thou dost ours.\\r\\n ROSS. Be confident to speak, Northumberland.\\r\\n We three are but thyself, and, speaking so,\\r\\n Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore be bold.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Then thus: I have from Le Port Blanc, a bay\\r\\n In Brittany, receiv\\'d intelligence\\r\\n That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham,\\r\\n That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,\\r\\n His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury,\\r\\n Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston,\\r\\n Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis Quoint-\\r\\n All these, well furnish\\'d by the Duke of Britaine,\\r\\n With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,\\r\\n Are making hither with all due expedience,\\r\\n And shortly mean to touch our northern shore.\\r\\n Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay\\r\\n The first departing of the King for Ireland.\\r\\n If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke,\\r\\n Imp out our drooping country\\'s broken wing,\\r\\n Redeem from broking pawn the blemish\\'d crown,\\r\\n Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre\\'s gilt,\\r\\n And make high majesty look like itself,\\r\\n Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh;\\r\\n But if you faint, as fearing to do so,\\r\\n Stay and be secret, and myself will go.\\r\\n ROSS. To horse, to horse! Urge doubts to them that fear.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. Windsor Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT\\r\\n\\r\\n BUSHY. Madam, your Majesty is too much sad.\\r\\n You promis\\'d, when you parted with the King,\\r\\n To lay aside life-harming heaviness\\r\\n And entertain a cheerful disposition.\\r\\n QUEEN. To please the King, I did; to please myself\\r\\n I cannot do it; yet I know no cause\\r\\n Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,\\r\\n Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest\\r\\n As my sweet Richard. Yet again methinks\\r\\n Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune\\'s womb,\\r\\n Is coming towards me, and my inward soul\\r\\n With nothing trembles. At some thing it grieves\\r\\n More than with parting from my lord the King.\\r\\n BUSHY. Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,\\r\\n Which shows like grief itself, but is not so;\\r\\n For sorrow\\'s eye, glazed with blinding tears,\\r\\n Divides one thing entire to many objects,\\r\\n Like perspectives which, rightly gaz\\'d upon,\\r\\n Show nothing but confusion-ey\\'d awry,\\r\\n Distinguish form. So your sweet Majesty,\\r\\n Looking awry upon your lord\\'s departure,\\r\\n Find shapes of grief more than himself to wail;\\r\\n Which, look\\'d on as it is, is nought but shadows\\r\\n Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious Queen,\\r\\n More than your lord\\'s departure weep not-more is not seen;\\r\\n Or if it be, \\'tis with false sorrow\\'s eye,\\r\\n Which for things true weeps things imaginary.\\r\\n QUEEN. It may be so; but yet my inward soul\\r\\n Persuades me it is otherwise. Howe\\'er it be,\\r\\n I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad\\r\\n As-though, on thinking, on no thought I think-\\r\\n Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.\\r\\n BUSHY. \\'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.\\r\\n QUEEN. \\'Tis nothing less: conceit is still deriv\\'d\\r\\n From some forefather grief; mine is not so,\\r\\n For nothing hath begot my something grief,\\r\\n Or something hath the nothing that I grieve;\\r\\n \\'Tis in reversion that I do possess-\\r\\n But what it is that is not yet known what,\\r\\n I cannot name; \\'tis nameless woe, I wot.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GREEN\\r\\n\\r\\n GREEN. God save your Majesty! and well met, gentlemen.\\r\\n I hope the King is not yet shipp\\'d for Ireland.\\r\\n QUEEN. Why hopest thou so? \\'Tis better hope he is;\\r\\n For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope.\\r\\n Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp\\'d?\\r\\n GREEN. That he, our hope, might have retir\\'d his power\\r\\n And driven into despair an enemy\\'s hope\\r\\n Who strongly hath set footing in this land.\\r\\n The banish\\'d Bolingbroke repeals himself,\\r\\n And with uplifted arms is safe arriv\\'d\\r\\n At Ravenspurgh.\\r\\n QUEEN. Now God in heaven forbid!\\r\\n GREEN. Ah, madam, \\'tis too true; and that is worse,\\r\\n The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy,\\r\\n The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,\\r\\n With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.\\r\\n BUSHY. Why have you not proclaim\\'d Northumberland\\r\\n And all the rest revolted faction traitors?\\r\\n GREEN. We have; whereupon the Earl of Worcester\\r\\n Hath broken his staff, resign\\'d his stewardship,\\r\\n And all the household servants fled with him\\r\\n To Bolingbroke.\\r\\n QUEEN. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe,\\r\\n And Bolingbroke my sorrow\\'s dismal heir.\\r\\n Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy;\\r\\n And I, a gasping new-deliver\\'d mother,\\r\\n Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join\\'d.\\r\\n BUSHY. Despair not, madam.\\r\\n QUEEN. Who shall hinder me?\\r\\n I will despair, and be at enmity\\r\\n With cozening hope-he is a flatterer,\\r\\n A parasite, a keeper-back of death,\\r\\n Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,\\r\\n Which false hope lingers in extremity.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YORK\\r\\n\\r\\n GREEN. Here comes the Duke of York.\\r\\n QUEEN. With signs of war about his aged neck.\\r\\n O, full of careful business are his looks!\\r\\n Uncle, for God\\'s sake, speak comfortable words.\\r\\n YORK. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts.\\r\\n Comfort\\'s in heaven; and we are on the earth,\\r\\n Where nothing lives but crosses, cares, and grief.\\r\\n Your husband, he is gone to save far off,\\r\\n Whilst others come to make him lose at home.\\r\\n Here am I left to underprop his land,\\r\\n Who, weak with age, cannot support myself.\\r\\n Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made;\\r\\n Now shall he try his friends that flatter\\'d him.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a SERVINGMAN\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVINGMAN. My lord, your son was gone before I came.\\r\\n YORK. He was-why so go all which way it will!\\r\\n The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold\\r\\n And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford\\'s side.\\r\\n Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester;\\r\\n Bid her send me presently a thousand pound.\\r\\n Hold, take my ring.\\r\\n SERVINGMAN. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship,\\r\\n To-day, as I came by, I called there-\\r\\n But I shall grieve you to report the rest.\\r\\n YORK. What is\\'t, knave?\\r\\n SERVINGMAN. An hour before I came, the Duchess died.\\r\\n YORK. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes\\r\\n Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!\\r\\n I know not what to do. I would to God,\\r\\n So my untruth had not provok\\'d him to it,\\r\\n The King had cut off my head with my brother\\'s.\\r\\n What, are there no posts dispatch\\'d for Ireland?\\r\\n How shall we do for money for these wars?\\r\\n Come, sister-cousin, I would say-pray, pardon me.\\r\\n Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts,\\r\\n And bring away the armour that is there.\\r\\n Exit SERVINGMAN\\r\\n Gentlemen, will you go muster men?\\r\\n If I know how or which way to order these affairs\\r\\n Thus disorderly thrust into my hands,\\r\\n Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen.\\r\\n T\\'one is my sovereign, whom both my oath\\r\\n And duty bids defend; t\\'other again\\r\\n Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wrong\\'d,\\r\\n Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.\\r\\n Well, somewhat we must do.-Come, cousin,\\r\\n I\\'ll dispose of you. Gentlemen, go muster up your men\\r\\n And meet me presently at Berkeley.\\r\\n I should to Plashy too,\\r\\n But time will not permit. All is uneven,\\r\\n And everything is left at six and seven.\\r\\n Exeunt YORK and QUEEN\\r\\n BUSHY. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland.\\r\\n But none returns. For us to levy power\\r\\n Proportionable to the enemy\\r\\n Is all unpossible.\\r\\n GREEN. Besides, our nearness to the King in love\\r\\n Is near the hate of those love not the King.\\r\\n BAGOT. And that is the wavering commons; for their love\\r\\n Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them,\\r\\n By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.\\r\\n BUSHY. Wherein the King stands generally condemn\\'d.\\r\\n BAGOT. If judgment lie in them, then so do we,\\r\\n Because we ever have been near the King.\\r\\n GREEN. Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristow Castle.\\r\\n The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.\\r\\n BUSHY. Thither will I with you; for little office\\r\\n Will the hateful commons perform for us,\\r\\n Except Eke curs to tear us all to pieces.\\r\\n Will you go along with us?\\r\\n BAGOT. No; I will to Ireland to his Majesty.\\r\\n Farewell. If heart\\'s presages be not vain,\\r\\n We three here part that ne\\'er shall meet again.\\r\\n BUSHY. That\\'s as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.\\r\\n GREEN. Alas, poor Duke! the task he undertakes\\r\\n Is numb\\'ring sands and drinking oceans dry.\\r\\n Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.\\r\\n Farewell at once-for once, for all, and ever.\\r\\n BUSHY. Well, we may meet again.\\r\\n BAGOT. I fear me, never. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. Gloucestershire\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND, forces\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Believe me, noble lord,\\r\\n I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire.\\r\\n These high wild hills and rough uneven ways\\r\\n Draws out our miles, and makes them wearisome;\\r\\n And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,\\r\\n Making the hard way sweet and delectable.\\r\\n But I bethink me what a weary way\\r\\n From Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be found\\r\\n In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company,\\r\\n Which, I protest, hath very much beguil\\'d\\r\\n The tediousness and process of my travel.\\r\\n But theirs is sweet\\'ned with the hope to have\\r\\n The present benefit which I possess;\\r\\n And hope to joy is little less in joy\\r\\n Than hope enjoy\\'d. By this the weary lords\\r\\n Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done\\r\\n By sight of what I have, your noble company.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Of much less value is my company\\r\\n Than your good words. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HARRY PERCY\\r\\n\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. It is my son, young Harry Percy,\\r\\n Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.\\r\\n Harry, how fares your uncle?\\r\\n PERCY. I had thought, my lord, to have learn\\'d his health of you.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Why, is he not with the Queen?\\r\\n PERCY. No, my good lord; he hath forsook the court,\\r\\n Broken his staff of office, and dispers\\'d\\r\\n The household of the King.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. What was his reason?\\r\\n He was not so resolv\\'d when last we spake together.\\r\\n PERCY. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor.\\r\\n But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh,\\r\\n To offer service to the Duke of Hereford;\\r\\n And sent me over by Berkeley, to discover\\r\\n What power the Duke of York had levied there;\\r\\n Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy?\\r\\n PERCY. No, my good lord; for that is not forgot\\r\\n Which ne\\'er I did remember; to my knowledge,\\r\\n I never in my life did look on him.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Then learn to know him now; this is the Duke.\\r\\n PERCY. My gracious lord, I tender you my service,\\r\\n Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young;\\r\\n Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm\\r\\n To more approved service and desert.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure\\r\\n I count myself in nothing else so happy\\r\\n As in a soul rememb\\'ring my good friends;\\r\\n And as my fortune ripens with thy love,\\r\\n It shall be still thy true love\\'s recompense.\\r\\n My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. How far is it to Berkeley? And what stir\\r\\n Keeps good old York there with his men of war?\\r\\n PERCY. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees,\\r\\n Mann\\'d with three hundred men, as I have heard;\\r\\n And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and Seymour-\\r\\n None else of name and noble estimate.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ross and WILLOUGHBY\\r\\n\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby,\\r\\n Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues\\r\\n A banish\\'d traitor. All my treasury\\r\\n Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich\\'d,\\r\\n Shall be your love and labour\\'s recompense.\\r\\n ROSS. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. And far surmounts our labour to attain it.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor;\\r\\n Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,\\r\\n Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BERKELEY\\r\\n\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess.\\r\\n BERKELEY. My Lord of Hereford, my message is to you.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. My lord, my answer is-\\'to Lancaster\\';\\r\\n And I am come to seek that name in England;\\r\\n And I must find that title in your tongue\\r\\n Before I make reply to aught you say.\\r\\n BERKELEY. Mistake me not, my lord; \\'tis not my meaning\\r\\n To raze one title of your honour out.\\r\\n To you, my lord, I come-what lord you will-\\r\\n From the most gracious regent of this land,\\r\\n The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on\\r\\n To take advantage of the absent time,\\r\\n And fright our native peace with self-borne arms.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YORK, attended\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I shall not need transport my words by you;\\r\\n Here comes his Grace in person. My noble uncle!\\r\\n [Kneels]\\r\\n YORK. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,\\r\\n Whose duty is deceivable and false.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. My gracious uncle!-\\r\\n YORK. Tut, tut!\\r\\n Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle.\\r\\n I am no traitor\\'s uncle; and that word \\'grace\\'\\r\\n In an ungracious mouth is but profane.\\r\\n Why have those banish\\'d and forbidden legs\\r\\n Dar\\'d once to touch a dust of England\\'s ground?\\r\\n But then more \\'why?\\'-why have they dar\\'d to march\\r\\n So many miles upon her peaceful bosom,\\r\\n Frighting her pale-fac\\'d villages with war\\r\\n And ostentation of despised arms?\\r\\n Com\\'st thou because the anointed King is hence?\\r\\n Why, foolish boy, the King is left behind,\\r\\n And in my loyal bosom lies his power.\\r\\n Were I but now lord of such hot youth\\r\\n As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself\\r\\n Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,\\r\\n From forth the ranks of many thousand French,\\r\\n O, then how quickly should this arm of mine,\\r\\n Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise the\\r\\n And minister correction to thy fault!\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE My gracious uncle, let me know my fault;\\r\\n On what condition stands it and wherein?\\r\\n YORK. Even in condition of the worst degree-\\r\\n In gross rebellion and detested treason.\\r\\n Thou art a banish\\'d man, and here art come\\r\\n Before the expiration of thy time,\\r\\n In braving arms against thy sovereign.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. As I was banish\\'d, I was banish\\'d Hereford;\\r\\n But as I come, I come for Lancaster.\\r\\n And, noble uncle, I beseech your Grace\\r\\n Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye.\\r\\n You are my father, for methinks in you\\r\\n I see old Gaunt alive. O, then, my father,\\r\\n Will you permit that I shall stand condemn\\'d\\r\\n A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties\\r\\n Pluck\\'d from my arms perforce, and given away\\r\\n To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?\\r\\n If that my cousin king be King in England,\\r\\n It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster.\\r\\n You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin;\\r\\n Had you first died, and he been thus trod down,\\r\\n He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father\\r\\n To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay.\\r\\n I am denied to sue my livery here,\\r\\n And yet my letters patents give me leave.\\r\\n My father\\'s goods are all distrain\\'d and sold;\\r\\n And these and all are all amiss employ\\'d.\\r\\n What would you have me do? I am a subject,\\r\\n And I challenge law-attorneys are denied me;\\r\\n And therefore personally I lay my claim\\r\\n To my inheritance of free descent.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. The noble Duke hath been too much abused.\\r\\n ROSS. It stands your Grace upon to do him right.\\r\\n WILLOUGHBY. Base men by his endowments are made great.\\r\\n YORK. My lords of England, let me tell you this:\\r\\n I have had feeling of my cousin\\'s wrongs,\\r\\n And labour\\'d all I could to do him right;\\r\\n But in this kind to come, in braving arms,\\r\\n Be his own carver and cut out his way,\\r\\n To find out right with wrong-it may not be;\\r\\n And you that do abet him in this kind\\r\\n Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. The noble Duke hath sworn his coming is\\r\\n But for his own; and for the right of that\\r\\n We all have strongly sworn to give him aid;\\r\\n And let him never see joy that breaks that oath!\\r\\n YORK. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms.\\r\\n I cannot mend it, I must needs confess,\\r\\n Because my power is weak and all ill left;\\r\\n But if I could, by Him that gave me life,\\r\\n I would attach you all and make you stoop\\r\\n Unto the sovereign mercy of the King;\\r\\n But since I cannot, be it known unto you\\r\\n I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well;\\r\\n Unless you please to enter in the castle,\\r\\n And there repose you for this night.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. An offer, uncle, that we will accept.\\r\\n But we must win your Grace to go with us\\r\\n To Bristow Castle, which they say is held\\r\\n By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices,\\r\\n The caterpillars of the commonwealth,\\r\\n Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.\\r\\n YORK. It may be I will go with you; but yet I\\'ll pause,\\r\\n For I am loath to break our country\\'s laws.\\r\\n Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are.\\r\\n Things past redress are now with me past care. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. A camp in Wales\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter EARL OF SALISBURY and a WELSH CAPTAIN\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPTAIN. My Lord of Salisbury, we have stay\\'d ten days\\r\\n And hardly kept our countrymen together,\\r\\n And yet we hear no tidings from the King;\\r\\n Therefore we will disperse ourselves. Farewell.\\r\\n SALISBURY. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman;\\r\\n The King reposeth all his confidence in thee.\\r\\n CAPTAIN. \\'Tis thought the King is dead; we will not stay.\\r\\n The bay trees in our country are all wither\\'d,\\r\\n And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;\\r\\n The pale-fac\\'d moon looks bloody on the earth,\\r\\n And lean-look\\'d prophets whisper fearful change;\\r\\n Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap-\\r\\n The one in fear to lose what they enjoy,\\r\\n The other to enjoy by rage and war.\\r\\n These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.\\r\\n Farewell. Our countrymen are gone and fled,\\r\\n As well assur\\'d Richard their King is dead. Exit\\r\\n SALISBURY. Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind,\\r\\n I see thy glory like a shooting star\\r\\n Fall to the base earth from the firmament!\\r\\n The sun sets weeping in the lowly west,\\r\\n Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest;\\r\\n Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes;\\r\\n And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. BOLINGBROKE\\'S camp at Bristol\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, ROSS, WILLOUGHBY,\\r\\nBUSHY and GREEN, prisoners\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Bring forth these men.\\r\\n Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls-\\r\\n Since presently your souls must part your bodies-\\r\\n With too much urging your pernicious lives,\\r\\n For \\'twere no charity; yet, to wash your blood\\r\\n From off my hands, here in the view of men\\r\\n I will unfold some causes of your deaths:\\r\\n You have misled a prince, a royal king,\\r\\n A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,\\r\\n By you unhappied and disfigured clean;\\r\\n You have in manner with your sinful hours\\r\\n Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him;\\r\\n Broke the possession of a royal bed,\\r\\n And stain\\'d the beauty of a fair queen\\'s cheeks\\r\\n With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs;\\r\\n Myself-a prince by fortune of my birth,\\r\\n Near to the King in blood, and near in love\\r\\n Till you did make him misinterpret me-\\r\\n Have stoop\\'d my neck under your injuries\\r\\n And sigh\\'d my English breath in foreign clouds,\\r\\n Eating the bitter bread of banishment,\\r\\n Whilst you have fed upon my signories,\\r\\n Dispark\\'d my parks and fell\\'d my forest woods,\\r\\n From my own windows torn my household coat,\\r\\n Raz\\'d out my imprese, leaving me no sign\\r\\n Save men\\'s opinions and my living blood\\r\\n To show the world I am a gentleman.\\r\\n This and much more, much more than twice all this,\\r\\n Condemns you to the death. See them delivered over\\r\\n To execution and the hand of death.\\r\\n BUSHY. More welcome is the stroke of death to me\\r\\n Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell.\\r\\n GREEN. My comfort is that heaven will take our souls,\\r\\n And plague injustice with the pains of hell.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch\\'d.\\r\\n Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, and others, with the prisoners\\r\\n Uncle, you say the Queen is at your house;\\r\\n For God\\'s sake, fairly let her be entreated.\\r\\n Tell her I send to her my kind commends;\\r\\n Take special care my greetings be delivered.\\r\\n YORK. A gentleman of mine I have dispatch\\'d\\r\\n With letters of your love to her at large.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away,\\r\\n To fight with Glendower and his complices.\\r\\n Awhile to work, and after holiday. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. The coast of Wales. A castle in view\\r\\n\\r\\nDrums. Flourish and colours. Enter the KING, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE,\\r\\nAUMERLE, and soldiers\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Barkloughly Castle can they this at hand?\\r\\n AUMERLE. Yea, my lord. How brooks your Grace the air\\r\\n After your late tossing on the breaking seas?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Needs must I like it well. I weep for joy\\r\\n To stand upon my kingdom once again.\\r\\n Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,\\r\\n Though rebels wound thee with their horses\\' hoofs.\\r\\n As a long-parted mother with her child\\r\\n Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting,\\r\\n So weeping-smiling greet I thee, my earth,\\r\\n And do thee favours with my royal hands.\\r\\n Feed not thy sovereign\\'s foe, my gentle earth,\\r\\n Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense;\\r\\n But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,\\r\\n And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way,\\r\\n Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet\\r\\n Which with usurping steps do trample thee;\\r\\n Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies;\\r\\n And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,\\r\\n Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder,\\r\\n Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch\\r\\n Throw death upon thy sovereign\\'s enemies.\\r\\n Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords.\\r\\n This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones\\r\\n Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king\\r\\n Shall falter under foul rebellion\\'s arms.\\r\\n CARLISLE. Fear not, my lord; that Power that made you king\\r\\n Hath power to keep you king in spite of all.\\r\\n The means that heaven yields must be embrac\\'d\\r\\n And not neglected; else, if heaven would,\\r\\n And we will not, heaven\\'s offer we refuse,\\r\\n The proffered means of succour and redress.\\r\\n AUMERLE. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss;\\r\\n Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,\\r\\n Grows strong and great in substance and in power.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Discomfortable cousin! know\\'st thou not\\r\\n That when the searching eye of heaven is hid,\\r\\n Behind the globe, that lights the lower world,\\r\\n Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen\\r\\n In murders and in outrage boldly here;\\r\\n But when from under this terrestrial ball\\r\\n He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines\\r\\n And darts his light through every guilty hole,\\r\\n Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,\\r\\n The cloak of night being pluck\\'d from off their backs,\\r\\n Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?\\r\\n So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,\\r\\n Who all this while hath revell\\'d in the night,\\r\\n Whilst we were wand\\'ring with the Antipodes,\\r\\n Shall see us rising in our throne, the east,\\r\\n His treasons will sit blushing in his face,\\r\\n Not able to endure the sight of day,\\r\\n But self-affrighted tremble at his sin.\\r\\n Not all the water in the rough rude sea\\r\\n Can wash the balm off from an anointed king;\\r\\n The breath of worldly men cannot depose\\r\\n The deputy elected by the Lord.\\r\\n For every man that Bolingbroke hath press\\'d\\r\\n To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,\\r\\n God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay\\r\\n A glorious angel. Then, if angels fight,\\r\\n Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards the right.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SALISBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power?\\r\\n SALISBURY. Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord,\\r\\n Than this weak arm. Discomfort guides my tongue,\\r\\n And bids me speak of nothing but despair.\\r\\n One day too late, I fear me, noble lord,\\r\\n Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth.\\r\\n O, call back yesterday, bid time return,\\r\\n And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men!\\r\\n To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late,\\r\\n O\\'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state;\\r\\n For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead,\\r\\n Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers\\'d, and fled.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Comfort, my liege, why looks your Grace so pale?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. But now the blood of twenty thousand men\\r\\n Did triumph in my face, and they are fled;\\r\\n And, till so much blood thither come again,\\r\\n Have I not reason to look pale and dead?\\r\\n All souls that will be safe, fly from my side;\\r\\n For time hath set a blot upon my pride.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Comfort, my liege; remember who you are.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I had forgot myself; am I not King?\\r\\n Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest.\\r\\n Is not the King\\'s name twenty thousand names?\\r\\n Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes\\r\\n At thy great glory. Look not to the ground,\\r\\n Ye favourites of a king; are we not high?\\r\\n High be our thoughts. I know my uncle York\\r\\n Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SCROOP\\r\\n\\r\\n SCROOP. More health and happiness betide my liege\\r\\n Than can my care-tun\\'d tongue deliver him.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Mine ear is open and my heart prepar\\'d.\\r\\n The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.\\r\\n Say, is my kingdom lost? Why, \\'twas my care,\\r\\n And what loss is it to be rid of care?\\r\\n Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?\\r\\n Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,\\r\\n We\\'ll serve him too, and be his fellow so.\\r\\n Revolt our subjects? That we cannot mend;\\r\\n They break their faith to God as well as us.\\r\\n Cry woe, destruction, ruin, and decay-\\r\\n The worst is death, and death will have his day.\\r\\n SCROOP. Glad am I that your Highness is so arm\\'d\\r\\n To bear the tidings of calamity.\\r\\n Like an unseasonable stormy day\\r\\n Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores,\\r\\n As if the world were all dissolv\\'d to tears,\\r\\n So high above his limits swells the rage\\r\\n Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land\\r\\n With hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel.\\r\\n White-beards have arm\\'d their thin and hairless scalps\\r\\n Against thy majesty; boys, with women\\'s voices,\\r\\n Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints\\r\\n In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown;\\r\\n Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows\\r\\n Of double-fatal yew against thy state;\\r\\n Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills\\r\\n Against thy seat: both young and old rebel,\\r\\n And all goes worse than I have power to tell.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Too well, too well thou tell\\'st a tale so in.\\r\\n Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? Where is Bagot?\\r\\n What is become of Bushy? Where is Green?\\r\\n That they have let the dangerous enemy\\r\\n Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?\\r\\n If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it.\\r\\n I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke.\\r\\n SCROOP. Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O villains, vipers, damn\\'d without redemption!\\r\\n Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!\\r\\n Snakes, in my heart-blood warm\\'d, that sting my heart!\\r\\n Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas!\\r\\n Would they make peace? Terrible hell make war\\r\\n Upon their spotted souls for this offence!\\r\\n SCROOP. Sweet love, I see, changing his property,\\r\\n Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate.\\r\\n Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made\\r\\n With heads, and not with hands; those whom you curse\\r\\n Have felt the worst of death\\'s destroying wound\\r\\n And lie full low, grav\\'d in the hollow ground.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?\\r\\n SCROOP. Ay, all of them at Bristow lost their heads.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Where is the Duke my father with his power?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. No matter where-of comfort no man speak.\\r\\n Let\\'s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;\\r\\n Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes\\r\\n Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.\\r\\n Let\\'s choose executors and talk of wills;\\r\\n And yet not so-for what can we bequeath\\r\\n Save our deposed bodies to the ground?\\r\\n Our lands, our lives, and an, are Bolingbroke\\'s.\\r\\n And nothing can we can our own but death\\r\\n And that small model of the barren earth\\r\\n Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.\\r\\n For God\\'s sake let us sit upon the ground\\r\\n And tell sad stories of the death of kings:\\r\\n How some have been depos\\'d, some slain in war,\\r\\n Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos\\'d,\\r\\n Some poison\\'d by their wives, some sleeping kill\\'d,\\r\\n All murder\\'d-for within the hollow crown\\r\\n That rounds the mortal temples of a king\\r\\n Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits,\\r\\n Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp;\\r\\n Allowing him a breath, a little scene,\\r\\n To monarchize, be fear\\'d, and kill with looks;\\r\\n Infusing him with self and vain conceit,\\r\\n As if this flesh which walls about our life\\r\\n Were brass impregnable; and, humour\\'d thus,\\r\\n Comes at the last, and with a little pin\\r\\n Bores through his castle wall, and farewell, king!\\r\\n Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood\\r\\n With solemn reverence; throw away respect,\\r\\n Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty;\\r\\n For you have but mistook me all this while.\\r\\n I live with bread like you, feel want,\\r\\n Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus,\\r\\n How can you say to me I am a king?\\r\\n CARLISLE. My lord, wise men ne\\'er sit and wail their woes,\\r\\n But presently prevent the ways to wail.\\r\\n To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength,\\r\\n Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe,\\r\\n And so your follies fight against yourself.\\r\\n Fear and be slain-no worse can come to fight;\\r\\n And fight and die is death destroying death,\\r\\n Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.\\r\\n AUMERLE. My father hath a power; inquire of him,\\r\\n And learn to make a body of a limb.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thou chid\\'st me well. Proud Bolingbroke, I come\\r\\n To change blows with thee for our day of doom.\\r\\n This ague fit of fear is over-blown;\\r\\n An easy task it is to win our own.\\r\\n Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power?\\r\\n Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.\\r\\n SCROOP. Men judge by the complexion of the sky\\r\\n The state in inclination of the day;\\r\\n So may you by my dull and heavy eye,\\r\\n My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.\\r\\n I play the torturer, by small and small\\r\\n To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:\\r\\n Your uncle York is join\\'d with Bolingbroke;\\r\\n And all your northern castles yielded up,\\r\\n And all your southern gentlemen in arms\\r\\n Upon his party.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thou hast said enough.\\r\\n [To AUMERLE] Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth\\r\\n Of that sweet way I was in to despair!\\r\\n What say you now? What comfort have we now?\\r\\n By heaven, I\\'ll hate him everlastingly\\r\\n That bids me be of comfort any more.\\r\\n Go to Flint Castle; there I\\'ll pine away;\\r\\n A king, woe\\'s slave, shall kingly woe obey.\\r\\n That power I have, discharge; and let them go\\r\\n To ear the land that hath some hope to grow,\\r\\n For I have none. Let no man speak again\\r\\n To alter this, for counsel is but vain.\\r\\n AUMERLE. My liege, one word.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. He does me double wrong\\r\\n That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.\\r\\n Discharge my followers; let them hence away,\\r\\n From Richard\\'s night to Bolingbroke\\'s fair day. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. Wales. Before Flint Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter, with drum and colours, BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, and\\r\\nforces\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. So that by this intelligence we learn\\r\\n The Welshmen are dispers\\'d; and Salisbury\\r\\n Is gone to meet the King, who lately landed\\r\\n With some few private friends upon this coast.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. The news is very fair and good, my lord.\\r\\n Richard not far from hence hath hid his head.\\r\\n YORK. It would beseem the Lord Northumberland\\r\\n To say \\'King Richard.\\' Alack the heavy day\\r\\n When such a sacred king should hide his head!\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Your Grace mistakes; only to be brief,\\r\\n Left I his title out.\\r\\n YORK. The time hath been,\\r\\n Would you have been so brief with him, he would\\r\\n Have been so brief with you to shorten you,\\r\\n For taking so the head, your whole head\\'s length.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Mistake not, uncle, further than you should.\\r\\n YORK. Take not, good cousin, further than you should,\\r\\n Lest you mistake. The heavens are over our heads.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I know it, uncle; and oppose not myself\\r\\n Against their will. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PERCY\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, Harry. What, will not this castle yield?\\r\\n PIERCY. The castle royally is mann\\'d, my lord,\\r\\n Against thy entrance.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Royally!\\r\\n Why, it contains no king?\\r\\n PERCY. Yes, my good lord,\\r\\n It doth contain a king; King Richard lies\\r\\n Within the limits of yon lime and stone;\\r\\n And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,\\r\\n Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman\\r\\n Of holy reverence; who, I cannot learn.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. [To NORTHUMBERLAND] Noble lord,\\r\\n Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle;\\r\\n Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley\\r\\n Into his ruin\\'d ears, and thus deliver:\\r\\n Henry Bolingbroke\\r\\n On both his knees doth kiss King Richard\\'s hand,\\r\\n And sends allegiance and true faith of heart\\r\\n To his most royal person; hither come\\r\\n Even at his feet to lay my arms and power,\\r\\n Provided that my banishment repeal\\'d\\r\\n And lands restor\\'d again be freely granted;\\r\\n If not, I\\'ll use the advantage of my power\\r\\n And lay the summer\\'s dust with showers of blood\\r\\n Rain\\'d from the wounds of slaughtered Englishmen;\\r\\n The which how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke\\r\\n It is such crimson tempest should bedrench\\r\\n The fresh green lap of fair King Richard\\'s land,\\r\\n My stooping duty tenderly shall show.\\r\\n Go, signify as much, while here we march\\r\\n Upon the grassy carpet of this plain.\\r\\n [NORTHUMBERLAND advances to the Castle, with a trumpet]\\r\\n Let\\'s march without the noise of threat\\'ning drum,\\r\\n That from this castle\\'s tottered battlements\\r\\n Our fair appointments may be well perus\\'d.\\r\\n Methinks King Richard and myself should meet\\r\\n With no less terror than the elements\\r\\n Of fire and water, when their thund\\'ring shock\\r\\n At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.\\r\\n Be he the fire, I\\'ll be the yielding water;\\r\\n The rage be his, whilst on the earth I rain\\r\\n My waters-on the earth, and not on him.\\r\\n March on, and mark King Richard how he looks.\\r\\n\\r\\n Parle without, and answer within; then a flourish.\\r\\n Enter on the walls, the KING, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE,\\r\\n AUMERLE, SCROOP, and SALISBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n See, see, King Richard doth himself appear,\\r\\n As doth the blushing discontented sun\\r\\n From out the fiery portal of the east,\\r\\n When he perceives the envious clouds are bent\\r\\n To dim his glory and to stain the track\\r\\n Of his bright passage to the occident.\\r\\n YORK. Yet he looks like a king. Behold, his eye,\\r\\n As bright as is the eagle\\'s, lightens forth\\r\\n Controlling majesty. Alack, alack, for woe,\\r\\n That any harm should stain so fair a show!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. [To NORTHUMBERLAND] We are amaz\\'d; and thus long\\r\\n have we stood\\r\\n To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,\\r\\n Because we thought ourself thy lawful King;\\r\\n And if we be, how dare thy joints forget\\r\\n To pay their awful duty to our presence?\\r\\n If we be not, show us the hand of God\\r\\n That hath dismiss\\'d us from our stewardship;\\r\\n For well we know no hand of blood and bone\\r\\n Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre,\\r\\n Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp.\\r\\n And though you think that all, as you have done,\\r\\n Have torn their souls by turning them from us,\\r\\n And we are barren and bereft of friends,\\r\\n Yet know-my master, God omnipotent,\\r\\n Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf\\r\\n Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike\\r\\n Your children yet unborn and unbegot,\\r\\n That lift your vassal hands against my head\\r\\n And threat the glory of my precious crown.\\r\\n Tell Bolingbroke, for yon methinks he stands,\\r\\n That every stride he makes upon my land\\r\\n Is dangerous treason; he is come to open\\r\\n The purple testament of bleeding war;\\r\\n But ere the crown he looks for live in peace,\\r\\n Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers\\' sons\\r\\n Shall ill become the flower of England\\'s face,\\r\\n Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace\\r\\n To scarlet indignation, and bedew\\r\\n Her pastures\\' grass with faithful English blood.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. The King of Heaven forbid our lord the King\\r\\n Should so with civil and uncivil arms\\r\\n Be rush\\'d upon! Thy thrice noble cousin,\\r\\n Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand;\\r\\n And by the honourable tomb he swears\\r\\n That stands upon your royal grandsire\\'s bones,\\r\\n And by the royalties of both your bloods,\\r\\n Currents that spring from one most gracious head,\\r\\n And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt,\\r\\n And by the worth and honour of himself,\\r\\n Comprising all that may be sworn or said,\\r\\n His coming hither hath no further scope\\r\\n Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg\\r\\n Enfranchisement immediate on his knees;\\r\\n Which on thy royal party granted once,\\r\\n His glittering arms he will commend to rust,\\r\\n His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart\\r\\n To faithful service of your Majesty.\\r\\n This swears he, as he is a prince, is just;\\r\\n And as I am a gentleman I credit him.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Northumberland, say thus the King returns:\\r\\n His noble cousin is right welcome hither;\\r\\n And all the number of his fair demands\\r\\n Shall be accomplish\\'d without contradiction.\\r\\n With all the gracious utterance thou hast\\r\\n Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.\\r\\n [To AUMERLE] We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not,\\r\\n To look so poorly and to speak so fair?\\r\\n Shall we call back Northumberland, and send\\r\\n Defiance to the traitor, and so die?\\r\\n AUMERLE. No, good my lord; let\\'s fight with gentle words\\r\\n Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O God, O God! that e\\'er this tongue of mine\\r\\n That laid the sentence of dread banishment\\r\\n On yon proud man should take it off again\\r\\n With words of sooth! O that I were as great\\r\\n As is my grief, or lesser than my name!\\r\\n Or that I could forget what I have been!\\r\\n Or not remember what I must be now!\\r\\n Swell\\'st thou, proud heart? I\\'ll give thee scope to beat,\\r\\n Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What must the King do now? Must he submit?\\r\\n The King shall do it. Must he be depos\\'d?\\r\\n The King shall be contented. Must he lose\\r\\n The name of king? A God\\'s name, let it go.\\r\\n I\\'ll give my jewels for a set of beads,\\r\\n My gorgeous palace for a hermitage,\\r\\n My gay apparel for an almsman\\'s gown,\\r\\n My figur\\'d goblets for a dish of wood,\\r\\n My sceptre for a palmer\\'s walking staff,\\r\\n My subjects for a pair of carved saints,\\r\\n And my large kingdom for a little grave,\\r\\n A little little grave, an obscure grave-\\r\\n Or I\\'ll be buried in the king\\'s high way,\\r\\n Some way of common trade, where subjects\\' feet\\r\\n May hourly trample on their sovereign\\'s head;\\r\\n For on my heart they tread now whilst I live,\\r\\n And buried once, why not upon my head?\\r\\n Aumerle, thou weep\\'st, my tender-hearted cousin!\\r\\n We\\'ll make foul weather with despised tears;\\r\\n Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn\\r\\n And make a dearth in this revolting land.\\r\\n Or shall we play the wantons with our woes\\r\\n And make some pretty match with shedding tears?\\r\\n As thus: to drop them still upon one place\\r\\n Till they have fretted us a pair of graves\\r\\n Within the earth; and, therein laid-there lies\\r\\n Two kinsmen digg\\'d their graves with weeping eyes.\\r\\n Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see\\r\\n I talk but idly, and you laugh at me.\\r\\n Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland,\\r\\n What says King Bolingbroke? Will his Majesty\\r\\n Give Richard leave to live till Richard die?\\r\\n You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, in the base court he doth attend\\r\\n To speak with you; may it please you to come down?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Down, down I come, like glist\\'ring Phaethon,\\r\\n Wanting the manage of unruly jades.\\r\\n In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base,\\r\\n To come at traitors\\' calls, and do them grace.\\r\\n In the base court? Come down? Down, court! down, king!\\r\\n For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing.\\r\\n Exeunt from above\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. What says his Majesty?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Sorrow and grief of heart\\r\\n Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man;\\r\\n Yet he is come.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the KING, and his attendants, below\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Stand all apart,\\r\\n And show fair duty to his Majesty. [He kneels down]\\r\\n My gracious lord-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee\\r\\n To make the base earth proud with kissing it.\\r\\n Me rather had my heart might feel your love\\r\\n Than my unpleas\\'d eye see your courtesy.\\r\\n Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know,\\r\\n [Touching his own head] Thus high at least, although your\\r\\n knee be low.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord,\\r\\n As my true service shall deserve your love.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Well you deserve. They well deserve to have\\r\\n That know the strong\\'st and surest way to get.\\r\\n Uncle, give me your hands; nay, dry your eyes:\\r\\n Tears show their love, but want their remedies.\\r\\n Cousin, I am too young to be your father,\\r\\n Though you are old enough to be my heir.\\r\\n What you will have, I\\'ll give, and willing too;\\r\\n For do we must what force will have us do.\\r\\n Set on towards London. Cousin, is it so?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Yea, my good lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then I must not say no. Flourish. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. The DUKE OF YORK\\'s garden\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the QUEEN and two LADIES\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN. What sport shall we devise here in this garden\\r\\n To drive away the heavy thought of care?\\r\\n LADY. Madam, we\\'ll play at bowls.\\r\\n QUEEN. \\'Twill make me think the world is full of rubs\\r\\n And that my fortune runs against the bias.\\r\\n LADY. Madam, we\\'ll dance.\\r\\n QUEEN. My legs can keep no measure in delight,\\r\\n When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief;\\r\\n Therefore no dancing, girl; some other sport.\\r\\n LADY. Madam, we\\'ll tell tales.\\r\\n QUEEN. Of sorrow or of joy?\\r\\n LADY. Of either, madam.\\r\\n QUEEN. Of neither, girl;\\r\\n For if of joy, being altogether wanting,\\r\\n It doth remember me the more of sorrow;\\r\\n Or if of grief, being altogether had,\\r\\n It adds more sorrow to my want of joy;\\r\\n For what I have I need not to repeat,\\r\\n And what I want it boots not to complain.\\r\\n LADY. Madam, I\\'ll sing.\\r\\n QUEEN. \\'Tis well\\' that thou hast cause;\\r\\n But thou shouldst please me better wouldst thou weep.\\r\\n LADY. I could weep, madam, would it do you good.\\r\\n QUEEN. And I could sing, would weeping do me good,\\r\\n And never borrow any tear of thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a GARDENER and two SERVANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n But stay, here come the gardeners.\\r\\n Let\\'s step into the shadow of these trees.\\r\\n My wretchedness unto a row of pins,\\r\\n They will talk of state, for every one doth so\\r\\n Against a change: woe is forerun with woe.\\r\\n [QUEEN and LADIES retire]\\r\\n GARDENER. Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks,\\r\\n Which, like unruly children, make their sire\\r\\n Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight;\\r\\n Give some supportance to the bending twigs.\\r\\n Go thou, and Eke an executioner\\r\\n Cut off the heads of too fast growing sprays\\r\\n That look too lofty in our commonwealth:\\r\\n All must be even in our government.\\r\\n You thus employ\\'d, I will go root away\\r\\n The noisome weeds which without profit suck\\r\\n The soil\\'s fertility from wholesome flowers.\\r\\n SERVANT. Why should we, in the compass of a pale,\\r\\n Keep law and form and due proportion,\\r\\n Showing, as in a model, our firm estate,\\r\\n When our sea-walled garden, the whole land,\\r\\n Is full of weeds; her fairest flowers chok\\'d up,\\r\\n Her fruit trees all unprun\\'d, her hedges ruin\\'d,\\r\\n Her knots disordered, and her wholesome herbs\\r\\n Swarming with caterpillars?\\r\\n GARDENER. Hold thy peace.\\r\\n He that hath suffer\\'d this disorder\\'d spring\\r\\n Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf;\\r\\n The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did shelter,\\r\\n That seem\\'d in eating him to hold him up,\\r\\n Are pluck\\'d up root and all by Bolingbroke-\\r\\n I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.\\r\\n SERVANT. What, are they dead?\\r\\n GARDENER. They are; and Bolingbroke\\r\\n Hath seiz\\'d the wasteful King. O, what pity is it\\r\\n That he had not so trimm\\'d and dress\\'d his land\\r\\n As we this garden! We at time of year\\r\\n Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit trees,\\r\\n Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood,\\r\\n With too much riches it confound itself;\\r\\n Had he done so to great and growing men,\\r\\n They might have Ev\\'d to bear, and he to taste\\r\\n Their fruits of duty. Superfluous branches\\r\\n We lop away, that bearing boughs may live;\\r\\n Had he done so, himself had home the crown,\\r\\n Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.\\r\\n SERVANT. What, think you the King shall be deposed?\\r\\n GARDENER. Depress\\'d he is already, and depos\\'d\\r\\n \\'Tis doubt he will be. Letters came last night\\r\\n To a dear friend of the good Duke of York\\'s\\r\\n That tell black tidings.\\r\\n QUEEN. O, I am press\\'d to death through want of speaking!\\r\\n [Coming forward]\\r\\n Thou, old Adam\\'s likeness, set to dress this garden,\\r\\n How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news?\\r\\n What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested the\\r\\n To make a second fall of cursed man?\\r\\n Why dost thou say King Richard is depos\\'d?\\r\\n Dar\\'st thou, thou little better thing than earth,\\r\\n Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how,\\r\\n Cam\\'st thou by this ill tidings? Speak, thou wretch.\\r\\n GARDENER. Pardon me, madam; little joy have\\r\\n To breathe this news; yet what I say is true.\\r\\n King Richard, he is in the mighty hold\\r\\n Of Bolingbroke. Their fortunes both are weigh\\'d.\\r\\n In your lord\\'s scale is nothing but himself,\\r\\n And some few vanities that make him light;\\r\\n But in the balance of great Bolingbroke,\\r\\n Besides himself, are all the English peers,\\r\\n And with that odds he weighs King Richard down.\\r\\n Post you to London, and you will find it so;\\r\\n I speak no more than every one doth know.\\r\\n QUEEN. Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot,\\r\\n Doth not thy embassage belong to me,\\r\\n And am I last that knows it? O, thou thinkest\\r\\n To serve me last, that I may longest keep\\r\\n Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go\\r\\n To meet at London London\\'s King in woe.\\r\\n What, was I born to this, that my sad look\\r\\n Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?\\r\\n Gard\\'ner, for telling me these news of woe,\\r\\n Pray God the plants thou graft\\'st may never grow!\\r\\n Exeunt QUEEN and LADIES\\r\\n GARDENER. Poor Queen, so that thy state might be no worse,\\r\\n I would my skill were subject to thy curse.\\r\\n Here did she fall a tear; here in this place\\r\\n I\\'ll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace.\\r\\n Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,\\r\\n In the remembrance of a weeping queen. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE 1. Westminster Hall\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter, as to the Parliament, BOLINGBROKE, AUMERLE, NORTHUMBERLAND,\\r\\nPERCY, FITZWATER, SURREY, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, the ABBOT OF\\r\\nWESTMINSTER, and others; HERALD, OFFICERS, and BAGOT\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Call forth Bagot.\\r\\n Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind-\\r\\n What thou dost know of noble Gloucester\\'s death;\\r\\n Who wrought it with the King, and who perform\\'d\\r\\n The bloody office of his timeless end.\\r\\n BAGOT. Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man.\\r\\n BAGOT. My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue\\r\\n Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver\\'d.\\r\\n In that dead time when Gloucester\\'s death was plotted\\r\\n I heard you say \\'Is not my arm of length,\\r\\n That reacheth from the restful English Court\\r\\n As far as Calais, to mine uncle\\'s head?\\'\\r\\n Amongst much other talk that very time\\r\\n I heard you say that you had rather refuse\\r\\n The offer of an hundred thousand crowns\\r\\n Than Bolingbroke\\'s return to England;\\r\\n Adding withal, how blest this land would be\\r\\n In this your cousin\\'s death.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Princes, and noble lords,\\r\\n What answer shall I make to this base man?\\r\\n Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars\\r\\n On equal terms to give him chastisement?\\r\\n Either I must, or have mine honour soil\\'d\\r\\n With the attainder of his slanderous lips.\\r\\n There is my gage, the manual seal of death\\r\\n That marks thee out for hell. I say thou liest,\\r\\n And will maintain what thou hast said is false\\r\\n In thy heart-blood, through being all too base\\r\\n To stain the temper of my knightly sword.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Bagot, forbear; thou shalt not take it up.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Excepting one, I would he were the best\\r\\n In all this presence that hath mov\\'d me so.\\r\\n FITZWATER. If that thy valour stand on sympathy,\\r\\n There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine.\\r\\n By that fair sun which shows me where thou stand\\'st,\\r\\n I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak\\'st it,\\r\\n That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester\\'s death.\\r\\n If thou deniest it twenty times, thou liest;\\r\\n And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart,\\r\\n Where it was forged, with my rapier\\'s point.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Thou dar\\'st not, coward, live to see that day.\\r\\n FITZWATER. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Fitzwater, thou art damn\\'d to hell for this.\\r\\n PERCY. Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true\\r\\n In this appeal as thou art an unjust;\\r\\n And that thou art so, there I throw my gage,\\r\\n To prove it on thee to the extremest point\\r\\n Of mortal breathing. Seize it, if thou dar\\'st.\\r\\n AUMERLE. An if I do not, may my hands rot of\\r\\n And never brandish more revengeful steel\\r\\n Over the glittering helmet of my foe!\\r\\n ANOTHER LORD. I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle;\\r\\n And spur thee on with fun as many lies\\r\\n As may be halloa\\'d in thy treacherous ear\\r\\n From sun to sun. There is my honour\\'s pawn;\\r\\n Engage it to the trial, if thou darest.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Who sets me else? By heaven, I\\'ll throw at all!\\r\\n I have a thousand spirits in one breast\\r\\n To answer twenty thousand such as you.\\r\\n SURREY. My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember well\\r\\n The very time Aumerle and you did talk.\\r\\n FITZWATER. \\'Tis very true; you were in presence then,\\r\\n And you can witness with me this is true.\\r\\n SURREY. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true.\\r\\n FITZWATER. Surrey, thou liest.\\r\\n SURREY. Dishonourable boy!\\r\\n That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword\\r\\n That it shall render vengeance and revenge\\r\\n Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do he\\r\\n In earth as quiet as thy father\\'s skull.\\r\\n In proof whereof, there is my honour\\'s pawn;\\r\\n Engage it to the trial, if thou dar\\'st.\\r\\n FITZWATER. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse!\\r\\n If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live,\\r\\n I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness,\\r\\n And spit upon him whilst I say he lies,\\r\\n And lies, and lies. There is my bond of faith,\\r\\n To tie thee to my strong correction.\\r\\n As I intend to thrive in this new world,\\r\\n Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal.\\r\\n Besides, I heard the banish\\'d Norfolk say\\r\\n That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men\\r\\n To execute the noble Duke at Calais.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage\\r\\n That Norfolk lies. Here do I throw down this,\\r\\n If he may be repeal\\'d to try his honour.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. These differences shall all rest under gage\\r\\n Till Norfolk be repeal\\'d-repeal\\'d he shall be\\r\\n And, though mine enemy, restor\\'d again\\r\\n To all his lands and signories. When he is return\\'d,\\r\\n Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.\\r\\n CARLISLE. That honourable day shall never be seen.\\r\\n Many a time hath banish\\'d Norfolk fought\\r\\n For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field,\\r\\n Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross\\r\\n Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens;\\r\\n And, toil\\'d with works of war, retir\\'d himself\\r\\n To Italy; and there, at Venice, gave\\r\\n His body to that pleasant country\\'s earth,\\r\\n And his pure soul unto his captain, Christ,\\r\\n Under whose colours he had fought so long.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Why, Bishop, is Norfolk dead?\\r\\n CARLISLE. As surely as I live, my lord.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom\\r\\n Of good old Abraham! Lords appellants,\\r\\n Your differences shall all rest under gage\\r\\n Till we assign you to your days of trial\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YORK, attended\\r\\n\\r\\n YORK. Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to the\\r\\n From plume-pluck\\'d Richard, who with willing soul\\r\\n Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields\\r\\n To the possession of thy royal hand.\\r\\n Ascend his throne, descending now from him-\\r\\n And long live Henry, fourth of that name!\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. In God\\'s name, I\\'ll ascend the regal throne.\\r\\n CARLISLE. Marry, God forbid!\\r\\n Worst in this royal presence may I speak,\\r\\n Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth.\\r\\n Would God that any in this noble presence\\r\\n Were enough noble to be upright judge\\r\\n Of noble Richard! Then true noblesse would\\r\\n Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong.\\r\\n What subject can give sentence on his king?\\r\\n And who sits here that is not Richard\\'s subject?\\r\\n Thieves are not judg\\'d but they are by to hear,\\r\\n Although apparent guilt be seen in them;\\r\\n And shall the figure of God\\'s majesty,\\r\\n His captain, steward, deputy elect,\\r\\n Anointed, crowned, planted many years,\\r\\n Be judg\\'d by subject and inferior breath,\\r\\n And he himself not present? O, forfend it, God,\\r\\n That in a Christian climate souls refin\\'d\\r\\n Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed!\\r\\n I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks,\\r\\n Stirr\\'d up by God, thus boldly for his king.\\r\\n My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king,\\r\\n Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford\\'s king;\\r\\n And if you crown him, let me prophesy-\\r\\n The blood of English shall manure the ground,\\r\\n And future ages groan for this foul act;\\r\\n Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels,\\r\\n And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars\\r\\n Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound;\\r\\n Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny,\\r\\n Shall here inhabit, and this land be call\\'d\\r\\n The field of Golgotha and dead men\\'s skulls.\\r\\n O, if you raise this house against this house,\\r\\n It will the woefullest division prove\\r\\n That ever fell upon this cursed earth.\\r\\n Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so,\\r\\n Lest child, child\\'s children, cry against you woe.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Well have you argued, sir; and, for your pains,\\r\\n Of capital treason we arrest you here.\\r\\n My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge\\r\\n To keep him safely till his day of trial.\\r\\n May it please you, lords, to grant the commons\\' suit?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view\\r\\n He may surrender; so we shall proceed\\r\\n Without suspicion.\\r\\n YORK. I will be his conduct. Exit\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Lords, you that here are under our arrest,\\r\\n Procure your sureties for your days of answer.\\r\\n Little are we beholding to your love,\\r\\n And little look\\'d for at your helping hands.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter YORK, with KING RICHARD, and OFFICERS\\r\\n bearing the regalia\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Alack, why am I sent for to a king,\\r\\n Before I have shook off the regal thoughts\\r\\n Wherewith I reign\\'d? I hardly yet have learn\\'d\\r\\n To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee.\\r\\n Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me\\r\\n To this submission. Yet I well remember\\r\\n The favours of these men. Were they not mine?\\r\\n Did they not sometime cry \\'All hail!\\' to me?\\r\\n So Judas did to Christ; but he, in twelve,\\r\\n Found truth in all but one; I, in twelve thousand, none.\\r\\n God save the King! Will no man say amen?\\r\\n Am I both priest and clerk? Well then, amen.\\r\\n God save the King! although I be not he;\\r\\n And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.\\r\\n To do what service am I sent for hither?\\r\\n YORK. To do that office of thine own good will\\r\\n Which tired majesty did make thee offer-\\r\\n The resignation of thy state and crown\\r\\n To Henry Bolingbroke.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Give me the crown. Here, cousin, seize the crown.\\r\\n Here, cousin,\\r\\n On this side my hand, and on that side thine.\\r\\n Now is this golden crown like a deep well\\r\\n That owes two buckets, filling one another;\\r\\n The emptier ever dancing in the air,\\r\\n The other down, unseen, and full of water.\\r\\n That bucket down and fun of tears am I,\\r\\n Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I thought you had been willing to resign.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. My crown I am; but still my griefs are mine.\\r\\n You may my glories and my state depose,\\r\\n But not my griefs; still am I king of those.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Part of your cares you give me with your crown.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Your cares set up do not pluck my cares down.\\r\\n My care is loss of care, by old care done;\\r\\n Your care is gain of care, by new care won.\\r\\n The cares I give I have, though given away;\\r\\n They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Are you contented to resign the crown?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, no; no, ay; for I must nothing be;\\r\\n Therefore no no, for I resign to thee.\\r\\n Now mark me how I will undo myself:\\r\\n I give this heavy weight from off my head,\\r\\n And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand,\\r\\n The pride of kingly sway from out my heart;\\r\\n With mine own tears I wash away my balm,\\r\\n With mine own hands I give away my crown,\\r\\n With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,\\r\\n With mine own breath release all duteous oaths;\\r\\n All pomp and majesty I do forswear;\\r\\n My manors, rents, revenues, I forgo;\\r\\n My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny.\\r\\n God pardon all oaths that are broke to me!\\r\\n God keep all vows unbroke are made to thee!\\r\\n Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev\\'d,\\r\\n And thou with all pleas\\'d, that hast an achiev\\'d.\\r\\n Long mayst thou live in Richard\\'s seat to sit,\\r\\n And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit.\\r\\n God save King Henry, unking\\'d Richard says,\\r\\n And send him many years of sunshine days!\\r\\n What more remains?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. No more; but that you read\\r\\n These accusations, and these grievous crimes\\r\\n Committed by your person and your followers\\r\\n Against the state and profit of this land;\\r\\n That, by confessing them, the souls of men\\r\\n May deem that you are worthily depos\\'d.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Must I do so? And must I ravel out\\r\\n My weav\\'d-up follies? Gentle Northumberland,\\r\\n If thy offences were upon record,\\r\\n Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop\\r\\n To read a lecture of them? If thou wouldst,\\r\\n There shouldst thou find one heinous article,\\r\\n Containing the deposing of a king\\r\\n And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,\\r\\n Mark\\'d with a blot, damn\\'d in the book of heaven.\\r\\n Nay, all of you that stand and look upon me\\r\\n Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself,\\r\\n Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands,\\r\\n Showing an outward pity-yet you Pilates\\r\\n Have here deliver\\'d me to my sour cross,\\r\\n And water cannot wash away your sin.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, dispatch; read o\\'er these\\r\\n articles.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Mine eyes are full of tears; I cannot see.\\r\\n And yet salt water blinds them not so much\\r\\n But they can see a sort of traitors here.\\r\\n Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,\\r\\n I find myself a traitor with the rest;\\r\\n For I have given here my soul\\'s consent\\r\\n T\\'undeck the pompous body of a king;\\r\\n Made glory base, and sovereignty a slave,\\r\\n Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. No lord of thine, thou haught insulting man,\\r\\n Nor no man\\'s lord; I have no name, no tide-\\r\\n No, not that name was given me at the font-\\r\\n But \\'tis usurp\\'d. Alack the heavy day,\\r\\n That I have worn so many winters out,\\r\\n And know not now what name to call myself!\\r\\n O that I were a mockery king of snow,\\r\\n Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke\\r\\n To melt myself away in water drops!\\r\\n Good king, great king, and yet not greatly good,\\r\\n An if my word be sterling yet in England,\\r\\n Let it command a mirror hither straight,\\r\\n That it may show me what a face I have\\r\\n Since it is bankrupt of his majesty.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Go some of you and fetch a looking-glass.\\r\\n Exit an attendant\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. Read o\\'er this paper while the glass doth come.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Fiend, thou torments me ere I come to hell.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. The Commons will not, then, be satisfied.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. They shall be satisfied. I\\'ll read enough,\\r\\n When I do see the very book indeed\\r\\n Where all my sins are writ, and that\\'s myself.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter attendant with glass\\r\\n\\r\\n Give me that glass, and therein will I read.\\r\\n No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck\\r\\n So many blows upon this face of mine\\r\\n And made no deeper wounds? O flatt\\'ring glass,\\r\\n Like to my followers in prosperity,\\r\\n Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face\\r\\n That every day under his household roof\\r\\n Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face\\r\\n That like the sun did make beholders wink?\\r\\n Is this the face which fac\\'d so many follies\\r\\n That was at last out-fac\\'d by Bolingbroke?\\r\\n A brittle glory shineth in this face;\\r\\n As brittle as the glory is the face;\\r\\n [Dashes the glass against the ground]\\r\\n For there it is, crack\\'d in a hundred shivers.\\r\\n Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport-\\r\\n How soon my sorrow hath destroy\\'d my face.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy\\'d\\r\\n The shadow of your face.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Say that again.\\r\\n The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let\\'s see.\\r\\n \\'Tis very true: my grief lies all within;\\r\\n And these external manner of laments\\r\\n Are merely shadows to the unseen grief\\r\\n That swells with silence in the tortur\\'d soul.\\r\\n There lies the substance; and I thank thee, king,\\r\\n For thy great bounty, that not only giv\\'st\\r\\n Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way\\r\\n How to lament the cause. I\\'ll beg one boon,\\r\\n And then be gone and trouble you no more.\\r\\n Shall I obtain it?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Name it, fair cousin.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Fair cousin! I am greater than a king;\\r\\n For when I was a king, my flatterers\\r\\n Were then but subjects; being now a subject,\\r\\n I have a king here to my flatterer.\\r\\n Being so great, I have no need to beg.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Yet ask.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And shall I have?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. You shall.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then give me leave to go.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Whither?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Whither you will, so I were from your sights.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Go, some of you convey him to the Tower.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O, good! Convey! Conveyers are you all,\\r\\n That rise thus nimbly by a true king\\'s fall.\\r\\n Exeunt KING RICHARD, some Lords and a Guard\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. On Wednesday next we solemnly set down\\r\\n Our coronation. Lords, prepare yourselves.\\r\\n Exeunt all but the ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER, the\\r\\n BISHOP OF CARLISLE, and AUMERLE\\r\\n ABBOT. A woeful pageant have we here beheld.\\r\\n CARLISLE. The woe\\'s to come; the children yet unborn\\r\\n Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.\\r\\n AUMERLE. You holy clergymen, is there no plot\\r\\n To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?\\r\\n ABBOT. My lord,\\r\\n Before I freely speak my mind herein,\\r\\n You shall not only take the sacrament\\r\\n To bury mine intents, but also to effect\\r\\n Whatever I shall happen to devise.\\r\\n I see your brows are full of discontent,\\r\\n Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears.\\r\\n Come home with me to supper; I will lay\\r\\n A plot shall show us all a merry day. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 1. London. A street leading to the Tower\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the QUEEN, with her attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN. This way the King will come; this is the way\\r\\n To Julius Caesar\\'s ill-erected tower,\\r\\n To whose flint bosom my condemned lord\\r\\n Is doom\\'d a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke.\\r\\n Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth\\r\\n Have any resting for her true King\\'s queen.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING RICHARD and Guard\\r\\n\\r\\n But soft, but see, or rather do not see,\\r\\n My fair rose wither. Yet look up, behold,\\r\\n That you in pity may dissolve to dew,\\r\\n And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.\\r\\n Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand;\\r\\n Thou map of honour, thou King Richard\\'s tomb,\\r\\n And not King Richard; thou most beauteous inn,\\r\\n Why should hard-favour\\'d grief be lodg\\'d in thee,\\r\\n When triumph is become an alehouse guest?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so,\\r\\n To make my end too sudden. Learn, good soul,\\r\\n To think our former state a happy dream;\\r\\n From which awak\\'d, the truth of what we are\\r\\n Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet,\\r\\n To grim Necessity; and he and\\r\\n Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France,\\r\\n And cloister thee in some religious house.\\r\\n Our holy lives must win a new world\\'s crown,\\r\\n Which our profane hours here have thrown down.\\r\\n QUEEN. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind\\r\\n Transform\\'d and weak\\'ned? Hath Bolingbroke depos\\'d\\r\\n Thine intellect? Hath he been in thy heart?\\r\\n The lion dying thrusteth forth his paw\\r\\n And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage\\r\\n To be o\\'erpow\\'r\\'d; and wilt thou, pupil-like,\\r\\n Take the correction mildly, kiss the rod,\\r\\n And fawn on rage with base humility,\\r\\n Which art a lion and the king of beasts?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. A king of beasts, indeed! If aught but beasts,\\r\\n I had been still a happy king of men.\\r\\n Good sometimes queen, prepare thee hence for France.\\r\\n Think I am dead, and that even here thou takest,\\r\\n As from my death-bed, thy last living leave.\\r\\n In winter\\'s tedious nights sit by the fire\\r\\n With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales\\r\\n Of woeful ages long ago betid;\\r\\n And ere thou bid good night, to quit their griefs\\r\\n Tell thou the lamentable tale of me,\\r\\n And send the hearers weeping to their beds;\\r\\n For why, the senseless brands will sympathize\\r\\n The heavy accent of thy moving tongue,\\r\\n And in compassion weep the fire out;\\r\\n And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black,\\r\\n For the deposing of a rightful king.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NORTHUMBERLAND attended\\r\\n\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang\\'d;\\r\\n You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.\\r\\n And, madam, there is order ta\\'en for you:\\r\\n With all swift speed you must away to France.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal\\r\\n The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,\\r\\n The time shall not be many hours of age\\r\\n More than it is, ere foul sin gathering head\\r\\n Shall break into corruption. Thou shalt think\\r\\n Though he divide the realm and give thee half\\r\\n It is too little, helping him to all;\\r\\n And he shall think that thou, which knowest the way\\r\\n To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,\\r\\n Being ne\\'er so little urg\\'d, another way\\r\\n To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne.\\r\\n The love of wicked men converts to fear;\\r\\n That fear to hate; and hate turns one or both\\r\\n To worthy danger and deserved death.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. My guilt be on my head, and there an end.\\r\\n Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Doubly divorc\\'d! Bad men, you violate\\r\\n A twofold marriage-\\'twixt my crown and me,\\r\\n And then betwixt me and my married wife.\\r\\n Let me unkiss the oath \\'twixt thee and me;\\r\\n And yet not so, for with a kiss \\'twas made.\\r\\n Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north,\\r\\n Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime;\\r\\n My wife to France, from whence set forth in pomp,\\r\\n She came adorned hither like sweet May,\\r\\n Sent back like Hallowmas or short\\'st of day.\\r\\n QUEEN. And must we be divided? Must we part?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart.\\r\\n QUEEN. Banish us both, and send the King with me.\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. That were some love, but little policy.\\r\\n QUEEN. Then whither he goes thither let me go.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. So two, together weeping, make one woe.\\r\\n Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here;\\r\\n Better far off than near, be ne\\'er the near.\\r\\n Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans.\\r\\n QUEEN. So longest way shall have the longest moans.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Twice for one step I\\'ll groan, the way being short,\\r\\n And piece the way out with a heavy heart.\\r\\n Come, come, in wooing sorrow let\\'s be brief,\\r\\n Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief.\\r\\n One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part;\\r\\n Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart.\\r\\n QUEEN. Give me mine own again; \\'twere no good part\\r\\n To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.\\r\\n So, now I have mine own again, be gone.\\r\\n That I may strive to kill it with a groan.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. We make woe wanton with this fond delay.\\r\\n Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. The DUKE OF YORK\\'s palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the DUKE OF YORK and the DUCHESS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. My Lord, you told me you would tell the rest,\\r\\n When weeping made you break the story off,\\r\\n Of our two cousins\\' coming into London.\\r\\n YORK. Where did I leave?\\r\\n DUCHESS. At that sad stop, my lord,\\r\\n Where rude misgoverned hands from windows\\' tops\\r\\n Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard\\'s head.\\r\\n YORK. Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bolingbroke,\\r\\n Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed\\r\\n Which his aspiring rider seem\\'d to know,\\r\\n With slow but stately pace kept on his course,\\r\\n Whilst all tongues cried \\'God save thee, Bolingbroke!\\'\\r\\n You would have thought the very windows spake,\\r\\n So many greedy looks of young and old\\r\\n Through casements darted their desiring eyes\\r\\n Upon his visage; and that all the walls\\r\\n With painted imagery had said at once\\r\\n \\'Jesu preserve thee! Welcome, Bolingbroke!\\'\\r\\n Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning,\\r\\n Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed\\'s neck,\\r\\n Bespake them thus, \\'I thank you, countrymen.\\'\\r\\n And thus still doing, thus he pass\\'d along.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst?\\r\\n YORK. As in a theatre the eyes of men\\r\\n After a well-grac\\'d actor leaves the stage\\r\\n Are idly bent on him that enters next,\\r\\n Thinking his prattle to be tedious;\\r\\n Even so, or with much more contempt, men\\'s eyes\\r\\n Did scowl on gentle Richard; no man cried \\'God save him!\\'\\r\\n No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home;\\r\\n But dust was thrown upon his sacred head;\\r\\n Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,\\r\\n His face still combating with tears and smiles,\\r\\n The badges of his grief and patience,\\r\\n That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel\\'d\\r\\n The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,\\r\\n And barbarism itself have pitied him.\\r\\n But heaven hath a hand in these events,\\r\\n To whose high will we bound our calm contents.\\r\\n To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,\\r\\n Whose state and honour I for aye allow.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Here comes my son Aumerle.\\r\\n YORK. Aumerle that was\\r\\n But that is lost for being Richard\\'s friend,\\r\\n And madam, you must call him Rudand now.\\r\\n I am in Parliament pledge for his truth\\r\\n And lasting fealty to the new-made king.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter AUMERLE\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now\\r\\n That strew the green lap of the new come spring?\\r\\n AUMERLE. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not.\\r\\n God knows I had as lief be none as one.\\r\\n YORK. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,\\r\\n Lest you be cropp\\'d before you come to prime.\\r\\n What news from Oxford? Do these justs and triumphs hold?\\r\\n AUMERLE. For aught I know, my lord, they do.\\r\\n YORK. You will be there, I know.\\r\\n AUMERLE. If God prevent not, I purpose so.\\r\\n YORK. What seal is that that without thy bosom?\\r\\n Yea, look\\'st thou pale? Let me see the writing.\\r\\n AUMERLE. My lord, \\'tis nothing.\\r\\n YORK. No matter, then, who see it.\\r\\n I will be satisfied; let me see the writing.\\r\\n AUMERLE. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me;\\r\\n It is a matter of small consequence\\r\\n Which for some reasons I would not have seen.\\r\\n YORK. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.\\r\\n I fear, I fear-\\r\\n DUCHESS. What should you fear?\\r\\n \\'Tis nothing but some bond that he is ent\\'red into\\r\\n For gay apparel \\'gainst the triumph-day.\\r\\n YORK. Bound to himself! What doth he with a bond\\r\\n That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.\\r\\n Boy, let me see the writing.\\r\\n AUMERLE. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it.\\r\\n YORK. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say.\\r\\n [He plucks it out of his bosom, and reads it]\\r\\n Treason, foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave!\\r\\n DUCHESS. What is the matter, my lord?\\r\\n YORK. Ho! who is within there?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a servant\\r\\n\\r\\n Saddle my horse.\\r\\n God for his mercy, what treachery is here!\\r\\n DUCHESS. Why, York, what is it, my lord?\\r\\n YORK. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse.\\r\\n Exit servant\\r\\n Now, by mine honour, by my life, my troth,\\r\\n I will appeach the villain.\\r\\n DUCHESS. What is the matter?\\r\\n YORK. Peace, foolish woman.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle?\\r\\n AUMERLE. Good mother, be content; it is no more\\r\\n Than my poor life must answer.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Thy life answer!\\r\\n YORK. Bring me my boots. I will unto the King.\\r\\n\\r\\n His man enters with his boots\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amaz\\'d.\\r\\n Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.\\r\\n YORK. Give me my boots, I say.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Why, York, what wilt thou do?\\r\\n Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?\\r\\n Have we more sons? or are we like to have?\\r\\n Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?\\r\\n And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age\\r\\n And rob me of a happy mother\\'s name?\\r\\n Is he not like thee? Is he not thine own?\\r\\n YORK. Thou fond mad woman,\\r\\n Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?\\r\\n A dozen of them here have ta\\'en the sacrament,\\r\\n And interchangeably set down their hands\\r\\n To kill the King at Oxford.\\r\\n DUCHESS. He shall be none;\\r\\n We\\'ll keep him here. Then what is that to him?\\r\\n YORK. Away, fond woman! were he twenty times my son\\r\\n I would appeach him.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Hadst thou groan\\'d for him\\r\\n As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful.\\r\\n But now I know thy mind: thou dost suspect\\r\\n That I have been disloyal to thy bed\\r\\n And that he is a bastard, not thy son.\\r\\n Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind.\\r\\n He is as like thee as a man may be\\r\\n Not like to me, or any of my kin,\\r\\n And yet I love him.\\r\\n YORK. Make way, unruly woman! Exit\\r\\n DUCHESS. After, Aumerle! Mount thee upon his horse;\\r\\n Spur post, and get before him to the King,\\r\\n And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.\\r\\n I\\'ll not be long behind; though I be old,\\r\\n I doubt not but to ride as fast as York;\\r\\n And never will I rise up from the ground\\r\\n Till Bolingbroke have pardon\\'d thee. Away, be gone.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. Windsor Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter BOLINGBROKE as King, PERCY, and other LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Can no man tell me of my unthrifty son?\\r\\n \\'Tis full three months since I did see him last.\\r\\n If any plague hang over us, \\'tis he.\\r\\n I would to God, my lords, he might be found.\\r\\n Inquire at London, \\'mongst the taverns there,\\r\\n For there, they say, he daily doth frequent\\r\\n With unrestrained loose companions,\\r\\n Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes\\r\\n And beat our watch and rob our passengers,\\r\\n Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy,\\r\\n Takes on the point of honour to support\\r\\n So dissolute a crew.\\r\\n PERCY. My lord, some two days since I saw the Prince,\\r\\n And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. And what said the gallant?\\r\\n PERCY. His answer was, he would unto the stews,\\r\\n And from the common\\'st creature pluck a glove\\r\\n And wear it as a favour; and with that\\r\\n He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. As dissolute as desperate; yet through both\\r\\n I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years\\r\\n May happily bring forth. But who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter AUMERLE amazed\\r\\n\\r\\n AUMERLE. Where is the King?\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. What means our cousin that he stares and looks\\r\\n So wildly?\\r\\n AUMERLE. God save your Grace! I do beseech your Majesty,\\r\\n To have some conference with your Grace alone.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.\\r\\n Exeunt PERCY and LORDS\\r\\n What is the matter with our cousin now?\\r\\n AUMERLE. For ever may my knees grow to the earth,\\r\\n [Kneels]\\r\\n My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth,\\r\\n Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Intended or committed was this fault?\\r\\n If on the first, how heinous e\\'er it be,\\r\\n To win thy after-love I pardon thee.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Then give me leave that I may turn the key,\\r\\n That no man enter till my tale be done.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Have thy desire.\\r\\n [The DUKE OF YORK knocks at the door and crieth]\\r\\n YORK. [Within] My liege, beware; look to thyself;\\r\\n Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. [Drawing] Villain, I\\'ll make thee safe.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast no cause to fear.\\r\\n YORK. [Within] Open the door, secure, foolhardy King.\\r\\n Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face?\\r\\n Open the door, or I will break it open.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter YORK\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. What is the matter, uncle? Speak;\\r\\n Recover breath; tell us how near is danger,\\r\\n That we may arm us to encounter it.\\r\\n YORK. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know\\r\\n The treason that my haste forbids me show.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Remember, as thou read\\'st, thy promise pass\\'d.\\r\\n I do repent me; read not my name there;\\r\\n My heart is not confederate with my hand.\\r\\n YORK. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down.\\r\\n I tore it from the traitor\\'s bosom, King;\\r\\n Fear, and not love, begets his penitence.\\r\\n Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove\\r\\n A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy!\\r\\n O loyal father of a treacherous son!\\r\\n Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain,\\r\\n From whence this stream through muddy passages\\r\\n Hath held his current and defil\\'d himself!\\r\\n Thy overflow of good converts to bad;\\r\\n And thy abundant goodness shall excuse\\r\\n This deadly blot in thy digressing son.\\r\\n YORK. So shall my virtue be his vice\\'s bawd;\\r\\n And he shall spend mine honour with his shame,\\r\\n As thriftless sons their scraping fathers\\' gold.\\r\\n Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,\\r\\n Or my sham\\'d life in his dishonour lies.\\r\\n Thou kill\\'st me in his life; giving him breath,\\r\\n The traitor lives, the true man\\'s put to death.\\r\\n DUCHESS. [Within] I What ho, my liege, for God\\'s sake, let me in.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. What shrill-voic\\'d suppliant makes this eager cry?\\r\\n DUCHESS. [Within] A woman, and thine aunt, great King; \\'tis I.\\r\\n Speak with me, pity me, open the door.\\r\\n A beggar begs that never begg\\'d before.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Our scene is alt\\'red from a serious thing,\\r\\n And now chang\\'d to \\'The Beggar and the King.\\'\\r\\n My dangerous cousin, let your mother in.\\r\\n I know she is come to pray for your foul sin.\\r\\n YORK. If thou do pardon whosoever pray,\\r\\n More sins for this forgiveness prosper may.\\r\\n This fest\\'red joint cut off, the rest rest sound;\\r\\n This let alone will all the rest confound.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUCHESS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. O King, believe not this hard-hearted man!\\r\\n Love loving not itself, none other can.\\r\\n YORK. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here?\\r\\n Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?\\r\\n DUCHESS. Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle liege.\\r\\n [Kneels]\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Rise up, good aunt.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Not yet, I thee beseech.\\r\\n For ever will I walk upon my knees,\\r\\n And never see day that the happy sees\\r\\n Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy\\r\\n By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.\\r\\n AUMERLE. Unto my mother\\'s prayers I bend my knee.\\r\\n [Kneels]\\r\\n YORK. Against them both, my true joints bended be.\\r\\n [Kneels]\\r\\n Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace!\\r\\n DUCHESS. Pleads he in earnest? Look upon his face;\\r\\n His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest;\\r\\n His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast.\\r\\n He prays but faintly and would be denied;\\r\\n We pray with heart and soul, and all beside.\\r\\n His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;\\r\\n Our knees still kneel till to the ground they grow.\\r\\n His prayers are full of false hypocrisy;\\r\\n Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.\\r\\n Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have\\r\\n That mercy which true prayer ought to have.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Good aunt, stand up.\\r\\n DUCHESS. do not say \\'stand up\\';\\r\\n Say \\'pardon\\' first, and afterwards \\'stand up.\\'\\r\\n An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,\\r\\n \\'Pardon\\' should be the first word of thy speech.\\r\\n I never long\\'d to hear a word till now;\\r\\n Say \\'pardon,\\' King; let pity teach thee how.\\r\\n The word is short, but not so short as sweet;\\r\\n No word like \\'pardon\\' for kings\\' mouths so meet.\\r\\n YORK. Speak it in French, King, say \\'pardonne moy.\\'\\r\\n DUCHESS. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?\\r\\n Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,\\r\\n That sets the word itself against the word!\\r\\n Speak \\'pardon\\' as \\'tis current in our land;\\r\\n The chopping French we do not understand.\\r\\n Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there;\\r\\n Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear,\\r\\n That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce,\\r\\n Pity may move thee \\'pardon\\' to rehearse.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Good aunt, stand up.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I do not sue to stand;\\r\\n Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.\\r\\n DUCHESS. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee!\\r\\n Yet am I sick for fear. Speak it again.\\r\\n Twice saying \\'pardon\\' doth not pardon twain,\\r\\n But makes one pardon strong.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. With all my heart\\r\\n I pardon him.\\r\\n DUCHESS. A god on earth thou art.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. But for our trusty brother-in-law and the Abbot,\\r\\n With all the rest of that consorted crew,\\r\\n Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.\\r\\n Good uncle, help to order several powers\\r\\n To Oxford, or where\\'er these traitors are.\\r\\n They shall not live within this world, I swear,\\r\\n But I will have them, if I once know where.\\r\\n Uncle, farewell; and, cousin, adieu;\\r\\n Your mother well hath pray\\'d, and prove you true.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Come, my old son; I pray God make thee new. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. Windsor Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SIR PIERCE OF EXTON and a servant\\r\\n\\r\\n EXTON. Didst thou not mark the King, what words he spake?\\r\\n \\'Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?\\'\\r\\n Was it not so?\\r\\n SERVANT. These were his very words.\\r\\n EXTON. \\'Have I no friend?\\' quoth he. He spake it twice\\r\\n And urg\\'d it twice together, did he not?\\r\\n SERVANT. He did.\\r\\n EXTON. And, speaking it, he wishtly look\\'d on me,\\r\\n As who should say \\'I would thou wert the man\\r\\n That would divorce this terror from my heart\\';\\r\\n Meaning the King at Pomfret. Come, let\\'s go.\\r\\n I am the King\\'s friend, and will rid his foe. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5. Pomfret Castle. The dungeon of the Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter KING RICHARD\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I have been studying how I may compare\\r\\n This prison where I live unto the world\\r\\n And, for because the world is populous\\r\\n And here is not a creature but myself,\\r\\n I cannot do it. Yet I\\'ll hammer it out.\\r\\n My brain I\\'ll prove the female to my soul,\\r\\n My soul the father; and these two beget\\r\\n A generation of still-breeding thoughts,\\r\\n And these same thoughts people this little world,\\r\\n In humours like the people of this world,\\r\\n For no thought is contented. The better sort,\\r\\n As thoughts of things divine, are intermix\\'d\\r\\n With scruples, and do set the word itself\\r\\n Against the word,\\r\\n As thus: \\'Come, little ones\\'; and then again,\\r\\n \\'It is as hard to come as for a camel\\r\\n To thread the postern of a small needle\\'s eye.\\'\\r\\n Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot\\r\\n Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails\\r\\n May tear a passage through the flinty ribs\\r\\n Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls;\\r\\n And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.\\r\\n Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves\\r\\n That they are not the first of fortune\\'s slaves,\\r\\n Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars\\r\\n Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame,\\r\\n That many have and others must sit there;\\r\\n And in this thought they find a kind of ease,\\r\\n Bearing their own misfortunes on the back\\r\\n Of such as have before endur\\'d the like.\\r\\n Thus play I in one person many people,\\r\\n And none contented. Sometimes am I king;\\r\\n Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar,\\r\\n And so I am. Then crushing penury\\r\\n Persuades me I was better when a king;\\r\\n Then am I king\\'d again; and by and by\\r\\n Think that I am unking\\'d by Bolingbroke,\\r\\n And straight am nothing. But whate\\'er I be,\\r\\n Nor I, nor any man that but man is,\\r\\n With nothing shall be pleas\\'d till he be eas\\'d\\r\\n With being nothing. [The music plays]\\r\\n Music do I hear?\\r\\n Ha, ha! keep time. How sour sweet music is\\r\\n When time is broke and no proportion kept!\\r\\n So is it in the music of men\\'s lives.\\r\\n And here have I the daintiness of ear\\r\\n To check time broke in a disorder\\'d string;\\r\\n But, for the concord of my state and time,\\r\\n Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.\\r\\n I wasted time, and now doth time waste me;\\r\\n For now hath time made me his numb\\'ring clock:\\r\\n My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar\\r\\n Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch,\\r\\n Whereto my finger, like a dial\\'s point,\\r\\n Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.\\r\\n Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is\\r\\n Are clamorous groans which strike upon my heart,\\r\\n Which is the bell. So sighs, and tears, and groans,\\r\\n Show minutes, times, and hours; but my time\\r\\n Runs posting on in Bolingbroke\\'s proud joy,\\r\\n While I stand fooling here, his Jack of the clock.\\r\\n This music mads me. Let it sound no more;\\r\\n For though it have holp madmen to their wits,\\r\\n In me it seems it will make wise men mad.\\r\\n Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!\\r\\n For \\'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard\\r\\n Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a GROOM of the stable\\r\\n\\r\\n GROOM. Hail, royal Prince!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thanks, noble peer!\\r\\n The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.\\r\\n What art thou? and how comest thou hither,\\r\\n Where no man never comes but that sad dog\\r\\n That brings me food to make misfortune live?\\r\\n GROOM. I was a poor groom of thy stable, King,\\r\\n When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York,\\r\\n With much ado at length have gotten leave\\r\\n To look upon my sometimes royal master\\'s face.\\r\\n O, how it ern\\'d my heart, when I beheld,\\r\\n In London streets, that coronation-day,\\r\\n When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary-\\r\\n That horse that thou so often hast bestrid,\\r\\n That horse that I so carefully have dress\\'d!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend,\\r\\n How went he under him?\\r\\n GROOM. So proudly as if he disdain\\'d the ground.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back!\\r\\n That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand;\\r\\n This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.\\r\\n Would he not stumble? would he not fall down,\\r\\n Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck\\r\\n Of that proud man that did usurp his back?\\r\\n Forgiveness, horse! Why do I rail on thee,\\r\\n Since thou, created to be aw\\'d by man,\\r\\n Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse;\\r\\n And yet I bear a burden like an ass,\\r\\n Spurr\\'d, gall\\'d, and tir\\'d, by jauncing Bolingbroke.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KEEPER with meat\\r\\n\\r\\n KEEPER. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. If thou love me, \\'tis time thou wert away.\\r\\n GROOM. my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n KEEPER. My lord, will\\'t please you to fall to?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Taste of it first as thou art wont to do.\\r\\n KEEPER. My lord, I dare not. Sir Pierce of Exton,\\r\\n Who lately came from the King, commands the contrary.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee!\\r\\n Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.\\r\\n [Beats the KEEPER]\\r\\n KEEPER. Help, help, help!\\r\\n The murderers, EXTON and servants, rush in, armed\\r\\n KING RICHARD. How now! What means death in this rude assault?\\r\\n Villain, thy own hand yields thy death\\'s instrument.\\r\\n [Snatching a weapon and killing one]\\r\\n Go thou and fill another room in hell.\\r\\n [He kills another, then EXTON strikes him down]\\r\\n That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire\\r\\n That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand\\r\\n Hath with the King\\'s blood stain\\'d the King\\'s own land.\\r\\n Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high;\\r\\n Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.\\r\\n [Dies]\\r\\n EXTON. As full of valour as of royal blood.\\r\\n Both have I spill\\'d. O, would the deed were good!\\r\\n For now the devil, that told me I did well,\\r\\n Says that this deed is chronicled in hell.\\r\\n This dead King to the living King I\\'ll bear.\\r\\n Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 6. Windsor Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE, the DUKE OF YORK, With other LORDS and\\r\\nattendants\\r\\n\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear\\r\\n Is that the rebels have consum\\'d with fire\\r\\n Our town of Ciceter in Gloucestershire;\\r\\n But whether they be ta\\'en or slain we hear not.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NORTHUMBERLAND\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, my lord. What is the news?\\r\\n NORTHUMBERLAND. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness.\\r\\n The next news is, I have to London sent\\r\\n The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent.\\r\\n The manner of their taking may appear\\r\\n At large discoursed in this paper here.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains;\\r\\n And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FITZWATER\\r\\n\\r\\n FITZWATER. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London\\r\\n The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely;\\r\\n Two of the dangerous consorted traitors\\r\\n That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot;\\r\\n Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PERCY, With the BISHOP OF CARLISLE\\r\\n\\r\\n PERCY. The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster,\\r\\n With clog of conscience and sour melancholy,\\r\\n Hath yielded up his body to the grave;\\r\\n But here is Carlisle living, to abide\\r\\n Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Carlisle, this is your doom:\\r\\n Choose out some secret place, some reverend room,\\r\\n More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life;\\r\\n So as thou liv\\'st in peace, die free from strife;\\r\\n For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,\\r\\n High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter EXTON, with attendants, hearing a coffin\\r\\n\\r\\n EXTON. Great King, within this coffin I present\\r\\n Thy buried fear. Herein all breathless lies\\r\\n The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,\\r\\n Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought\\r\\n A deed of slander with thy fatal hand\\r\\n Upon my head and all this famous land.\\r\\n EXTON. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed.\\r\\n BOLINGBROKE. They love not poison that do poison need,\\r\\n Nor do I thee. Though I did wish him dead,\\r\\n I hate the murderer, love him murdered.\\r\\n The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,\\r\\n But neither my good word nor princely favour;\\r\\n With Cain go wander thorough shades of night,\\r\\n And never show thy head by day nor light.\\r\\n Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe\\r\\n That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow.\\r\\n Come, mourn with me for what I do lament,\\r\\n And put on sullen black incontinent.\\r\\n I\\'ll make a voyage to the Holy Land,\\r\\n To wash this blood off from my guilty hand.\\r\\n March sadly after; grace my mournings here\\r\\n In weeping after this untimely bier. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n',\n", + " \"KING RICHARD THE THIRD\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personae\\r\\n\\r\\n EDWARD THE FOURTH\\r\\n\\r\\n Sons to the King\\r\\n EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES afterwards KING EDWARD V\\r\\n RICHARD, DUKE OF YORK,\\r\\n\\r\\n Brothers to the King\\r\\n GEORGE, DUKE OF CLARENCE,\\r\\n RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, afterwards KING RICHARD III\\r\\n\\r\\n A YOUNG SON OF CLARENCE (Edward, Earl of Warwick)\\r\\n HENRY, EARL OF RICHMOND, afterwards KING HENRY VII\\r\\n CARDINAL BOURCHIER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY\\r\\n THOMAS ROTHERHAM, ARCHBISHOP OF YORK\\r\\n JOHN MORTON, BISHOP OF ELY\\r\\n DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n DUKE OF NORFOLK\\r\\n EARL OF SURREY, his son\\r\\n EARL RIVERS, brother to King Edward's Queen\\r\\n MARQUIS OF DORSET and LORD GREY, her sons\\r\\n EARL OF OXFORD\\r\\n LORD HASTINGS\\r\\n LORD LOVEL\\r\\n LORD STANLEY, called also EARL OF DERBY\\r\\n SIR THOMAS VAUGHAN\\r\\n SIR RICHARD RATCLIFF\\r\\n SIR WILLIAM CATESBY\\r\\n SIR JAMES TYRREL\\r\\n SIR JAMES BLOUNT\\r\\n SIR WALTER HERBERT\\r\\n SIR WILLIAM BRANDON\\r\\n SIR ROBERT BRAKENBURY, Lieutenant of the Tower\\r\\n CHRISTOPHER URSWICK, a priest\\r\\n LORD MAYOR OF LONDON\\r\\n SHERIFF OF WILTSHIRE\\r\\n HASTINGS, a pursuivant\\r\\n TRESSEL and BERKELEY, gentlemen attending on Lady Anne\\r\\n ELIZABETH, Queen to King Edward IV\\r\\n MARGARET, widow of King Henry VI\\r\\n DUCHESS OF YORK, mother to King Edward IV\\r\\n LADY ANNE, widow of Edward, Prince of Wales, son to King\\r\\n Henry VI; afterwards married to the Duke of Gloucester\\r\\n A YOUNG DAUGHTER OF CLARENCE (Margaret Plantagenet,\\r\\n Countess of Salisbury)\\r\\n Ghosts, of Richard's victims\\r\\n Lords, Gentlemen, and Attendants; Priest, Scrivener, Page, Bishops,\\r\\n Aldermen, Citizens, Soldiers, Messengers, Murderers, Keeper\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: England\\r\\n\\r\\nKing Richard the Third\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, solus\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Now is the winter of our discontent\\r\\n Made glorious summer by this sun of York;\\r\\n And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house\\r\\n In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.\\r\\n Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;\\r\\n Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;\\r\\n Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings,\\r\\n Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.\\r\\n Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front,\\r\\n And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds\\r\\n To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,\\r\\n He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber\\r\\n To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.\\r\\n But I-that am not shap'd for sportive tricks,\\r\\n Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass-\\r\\n I-that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty\\r\\n To strut before a wanton ambling nymph-\\r\\n I-that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,\\r\\n Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,\\r\\n Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time\\r\\n Into this breathing world scarce half made up,\\r\\n And that so lamely and unfashionable\\r\\n That dogs bark at me as I halt by them-\\r\\n Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,\\r\\n Have no delight to pass away the time,\\r\\n Unless to spy my shadow in the sun\\r\\n And descant on mine own deformity.\\r\\n And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover\\r\\n To entertain these fair well-spoken days,\\r\\n I am determined to prove a villain\\r\\n And hate the idle pleasures of these days.\\r\\n Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,\\r\\n By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,\\r\\n To set my brother Clarence and the King\\r\\n In deadly hate the one against the other;\\r\\n And if King Edward be as true and just\\r\\n As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,\\r\\n This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up-\\r\\n About a prophecy which says that G\\r\\n Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.\\r\\n Dive, thoughts, down to my soul. Here Clarence comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n Brother, good day. What means this armed guard\\r\\n That waits upon your Grace?\\r\\n CLARENCE. His Majesty,\\r\\n Tend'ring my person's safety, hath appointed\\r\\n This conduct to convey me to th' Tower.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Upon what cause?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Because my name is George.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours:\\r\\n He should, for that, commit your godfathers.\\r\\n O, belike his Majesty hath some intent\\r\\n That you should be new-christ'ned in the Tower.\\r\\n But what's the matter, Clarence? May I know?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest\\r\\n As yet I do not; but, as I can learn,\\r\\n He hearkens after prophecies and dreams,\\r\\n And from the cross-row plucks the letter G,\\r\\n And says a wizard told him that by G\\r\\n His issue disinherited should be;\\r\\n And, for my name of George begins with G,\\r\\n It follows in his thought that I am he.\\r\\n These, as I learn, and such like toys as these\\r\\n Hath mov'd his Highness to commit me now.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, this it is when men are rul'd by women:\\r\\n 'Tis not the King that sends you to the Tower;\\r\\n My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she\\r\\n That tempers him to this extremity.\\r\\n Was it not she and that good man of worship,\\r\\n Antony Woodville, her brother there,\\r\\n That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower,\\r\\n From whence this present day he is delivered?\\r\\n We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.\\r\\n CLARENCE. By heaven, I think there is no man is secure\\r\\n But the Queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds\\r\\n That trudge betwixt the King and Mistress Shore.\\r\\n Heard you not what an humble suppliant\\r\\n Lord Hastings was, for her delivery?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Humbly complaining to her deity\\r\\n Got my Lord Chamberlain his liberty.\\r\\n I'll tell you what-I think it is our way,\\r\\n If we will keep in favour with the King,\\r\\n To be her men and wear her livery:\\r\\n The jealous o'er-worn widow, and herself,\\r\\n Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen,\\r\\n Are mighty gossips in our monarchy.\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. I beseech your Graces both to pardon me:\\r\\n His Majesty hath straitly given in charge\\r\\n That no man shall have private conference,\\r\\n Of what degree soever, with your brother.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Even so; an't please your worship, Brakenbury,\\r\\n You may partake of any thing we say:\\r\\n We speak no treason, man; we say the King\\r\\n Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen\\r\\n Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous;\\r\\n We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,\\r\\n A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue;\\r\\n And that the Queen's kindred are made gentlefolks.\\r\\n How say you, sir? Can you deny all this?\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. With this, my lord, myself have naught to do.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Naught to do with Mistress Shore! I tell thee,\\r\\n fellow,\\r\\n He that doth naught with her, excepting one,\\r\\n Were best to do it secretly alone.\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. What one, my lord?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Her husband, knave! Wouldst thou betray me?\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me, and\\r\\n withal\\r\\n Forbear your conference with the noble Duke.\\r\\n CLARENCE. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will\\r\\n obey.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. We are the Queen's abjects and must obey.\\r\\n Brother, farewell; I will unto the King;\\r\\n And whatsoe'er you will employ me in-\\r\\n Were it to call King Edward's widow sister-\\r\\n I will perform it to enfranchise you.\\r\\n Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood\\r\\n Touches me deeper than you can imagine.\\r\\n CLARENCE. I know it pleaseth neither of us well.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;\\r\\n I will deliver or else lie for you.\\r\\n Meantime, have patience.\\r\\n CLARENCE. I must perforce. Farewell.\\r\\n Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and guard\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Go tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return.\\r\\n Simple, plain Clarence, I do love thee so\\r\\n That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,\\r\\n If heaven will take the present at our hands.\\r\\n But who comes here? The new-delivered Hastings?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD HASTINGS\\r\\n\\r\\n HASTINGS. Good time of day unto my gracious lord!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain!\\r\\n Well are you welcome to the open air.\\r\\n How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment?\\r\\n HASTINGS. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must;\\r\\n But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks\\r\\n That were the cause of my imprisonment.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too;\\r\\n For they that were your enemies are his,\\r\\n And have prevail'd as much on him as you.\\r\\n HASTINGS. More pity that the eagles should be mew'd\\r\\n Whiles kites and buzzards prey at liberty.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What news abroad?\\r\\n HASTINGS. No news so bad abroad as this at home:\\r\\n The King is sickly, weak, and melancholy,\\r\\n And his physicians fear him mightily.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Now, by Saint John, that news is bad indeed.\\r\\n O, he hath kept an evil diet long\\r\\n And overmuch consum'd his royal person!\\r\\n 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.\\r\\n Where is he? In his bed?\\r\\n HASTINGS. He is.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Go you before, and I will follow you.\\r\\n Exit HASTINGS\\r\\n He cannot live, I hope, and must not die\\r\\n Till George be pack'd with posthorse up to heaven.\\r\\n I'll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence\\r\\n With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments;\\r\\n And, if I fail not in my deep intent,\\r\\n Clarence hath not another day to live;\\r\\n Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy,\\r\\n And leave the world for me to bustle in!\\r\\n For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter.\\r\\n What though I kill'd her husband and her father?\\r\\n The readiest way to make the wench amends\\r\\n Is to become her husband and her father;\\r\\n The which will I-not all so much for love\\r\\n As for another secret close intent\\r\\n By marrying her which I must reach unto.\\r\\n But yet I run before my horse to market.\\r\\n Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns;\\r\\n When they are gone, then must I count my gains. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. Another street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter corpse of KING HENRY THE SIXTH, with halberds to guard it;\\r\\nLADY ANNE being the mourner, attended by TRESSEL and BERKELEY\\r\\n\\r\\n ANNE. Set down, set down your honourable load-\\r\\n If honour may be shrouded in a hearse;\\r\\n Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament\\r\\n Th' untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.\\r\\n Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!\\r\\n Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!\\r\\n Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!\\r\\n Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost\\r\\n To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,\\r\\n Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughtered son,\\r\\n Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these wounds.\\r\\n Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life\\r\\n I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.\\r\\n O, cursed be the hand that made these holes!\\r\\n Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it!\\r\\n Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence!\\r\\n More direful hap betide that hated wretch\\r\\n That makes us wretched by the death of thee\\r\\n Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,\\r\\n Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives!\\r\\n If ever he have child, abortive be it,\\r\\n Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,\\r\\n Whose ugly and unnatural aspect\\r\\n May fright the hopeful mother at the view,\\r\\n And that be heir to his unhappiness!\\r\\n If ever he have wife, let her be made\\r\\n More miserable by the death of him\\r\\n Than I am made by my young lord and thee!\\r\\n Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load,\\r\\n Taken from Paul's to be interred there;\\r\\n And still as you are weary of this weight\\r\\n Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse.\\r\\n [The bearers take up the coffin]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.\\r\\n ANNE. What black magician conjures up this fiend\\r\\n To stop devoted charitable deeds?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul,\\r\\n I'll make a corse of him that disobeys!\\r\\n FIRST GENTLEMAN. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin\\r\\n pass.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Unmannerd dog! Stand thou, when I command.\\r\\n Advance thy halberd higher than my breast,\\r\\n Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot\\r\\n And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.\\r\\n [The bearers set down the coffin]\\r\\n ANNE. What, do you tremble? Are you all afraid?\\r\\n Alas, I blame you not, for you are mortal,\\r\\n And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.\\r\\n Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell!\\r\\n Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,\\r\\n His soul thou canst not have; therefore, be gone.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.\\r\\n ANNE. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence and trouble us not;\\r\\n For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell\\r\\n Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims.\\r\\n If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,\\r\\n Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.\\r\\n O, gentlemen, see, see! Dead Henry's wounds\\r\\n Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh.\\r\\n Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity,\\r\\n For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood\\r\\n From cold and empty veins where no blood dwells;\\r\\n Thy deeds inhuman and unnatural\\r\\n Provokes this deluge most unnatural.\\r\\n O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death!\\r\\n O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death!\\r\\n Either, heav'n, with lightning strike the murd'rer dead;\\r\\n Or, earth, gape open wide and eat him quick,\\r\\n As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood,\\r\\n Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Lady, you know no rules of charity,\\r\\n Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.\\r\\n ANNE. Villain, thou knowest nor law of God nor man:\\r\\n No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.\\r\\n ANNE. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. More wonderful when angels are so angry.\\r\\n Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,\\r\\n Of these supposed crimes to give me leave\\r\\n By circumstance but to acquit myself.\\r\\n ANNE. Vouchsafe, diffus'd infection of a man,\\r\\n Of these known evils but to give me leave\\r\\n By circumstance to accuse thy cursed self.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have\\r\\n Some patient leisure to excuse myself.\\r\\n ANNE. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make\\r\\n No excuse current but to hang thyself.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. By such despair I should accuse myself.\\r\\n ANNE. And by despairing shalt thou stand excused\\r\\n For doing worthy vengeance on thyself\\r\\n That didst unworthy slaughter upon others.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Say that I slew them not?\\r\\n ANNE. Then say they were not slain.\\r\\n But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I did not kill your husband.\\r\\n ANNE. Why, then he is alive.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Nay, he is dead, and slain by Edward's hands.\\r\\n ANNE. In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw\\r\\n Thy murd'rous falchion smoking in his blood;\\r\\n The which thou once didst bend against her breast,\\r\\n But that thy brothers beat aside the point.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I was provoked by her sland'rous tongue\\r\\n That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.\\r\\n ANNE. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind,\\r\\n That never dream'st on aught but butcheries.\\r\\n Didst thou not kill this king?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I grant ye.\\r\\n ANNE. Dost grant me, hedgehog? Then, God grant me to\\r\\n Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed!\\r\\n O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The better for the King of Heaven, that hath\\r\\n him.\\r\\n ANNE. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Let him thank me that holp to send him\\r\\n thither,\\r\\n For he was fitter for that place than earth.\\r\\n ANNE. And thou unfit for any place but hell.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.\\r\\n ANNE. Some dungeon.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Your bed-chamber.\\r\\n ANNE. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. So will it, madam, till I lie with you.\\r\\n ANNE. I hope so.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne,\\r\\n To leave this keen encounter of our wits,\\r\\n And fall something into a slower method-\\r\\n Is not the causer of the timeless deaths\\r\\n Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,\\r\\n As blameful as the executioner?\\r\\n ANNE. Thou wast the cause and most accurs'd effect.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Your beauty was the cause of that effect-\\r\\n Your beauty that did haunt me in my sleep\\r\\n To undertake the death of all the world\\r\\n So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.\\r\\n ANNE. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,\\r\\n These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. These eyes could not endure that beauty's\\r\\n wreck;\\r\\n You should not blemish it if I stood by.\\r\\n As all the world is cheered by the sun,\\r\\n So I by that; it is my day, my life.\\r\\n ANNE. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy life!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both.\\r\\n ANNE. I would I were, to be reveng'd on thee.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. It is a quarrel most unnatural,\\r\\n To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee.\\r\\n ANNE. It is a quarrel just and reasonable,\\r\\n To be reveng'd on him that kill'd my husband.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband\\r\\n Did it to help thee to a better husband.\\r\\n ANNE. His better doth not breathe upon the earth.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He lives that loves thee better than he could.\\r\\n ANNE. Name him.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Plantagenet.\\r\\n ANNE. Why, that was he.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The self-same name, but one of better nature.\\r\\n ANNE. Where is he?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Here. [She spits at him] Why dost thou spit\\r\\n at me?\\r\\n ANNE. Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Never came poison from so sweet a place.\\r\\n ANNE. Never hung poison on a fouler toad.\\r\\n Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.\\r\\n ANNE. Would they were basilisks to strike thee dead!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I would they were, that I might die at once;\\r\\n For now they kill me with a living death.\\r\\n Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears,\\r\\n Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops-\\r\\n These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear,\\r\\n No, when my father York and Edward wept\\r\\n To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made\\r\\n When black-fac'd Clifford shook his sword at him;\\r\\n Nor when thy warlike father, like a child,\\r\\n Told the sad story of my father's death,\\r\\n And twenty times made pause to sob and weep\\r\\n That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks\\r\\n Like trees bedash'd with rain-in that sad time\\r\\n My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear;\\r\\n And what these sorrows could not thence exhale\\r\\n Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.\\r\\n I never sued to friend nor enemy;\\r\\n My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word;\\r\\n But, now thy beauty is propos'd my fee,\\r\\n My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.\\r\\n [She looks scornfully at him]\\r\\n Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made\\r\\n For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.\\r\\n If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,\\r\\n Lo here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword;\\r\\n Which if thou please to hide in this true breast\\r\\n And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,\\r\\n I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,\\r\\n And humbly beg the death upon my knee.\\r\\n [He lays his breast open; she offers at it with his sword]\\r\\n Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry-\\r\\n But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me.\\r\\n Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward-\\r\\n But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.\\r\\n [She falls the sword]\\r\\n Take up the sword again, or take up me.\\r\\n ANNE. Arise, dissembler; though I wish thy death,\\r\\n I will not be thy executioner.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it;\\r\\n ANNE. I have already.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. That was in thy rage.\\r\\n Speak it again, and even with the word\\r\\n This hand, which for thy love did kill thy love,\\r\\n Shall for thy love kill a far truer love;\\r\\n To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.\\r\\n ANNE. I would I knew thy heart.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. 'Tis figur'd in my tongue.\\r\\n ANNE. I fear me both are false.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Then never was man true.\\r\\n ANNE. well put up your sword.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Say, then, my peace is made.\\r\\n ANNE. That shalt thou know hereafter.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. But shall I live in hope?\\r\\n ANNE. All men, I hope, live so.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.\\r\\n ANNE. To take is not to give. [Puts on the ring]\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Look how my ring encompasseth thy finger,\\r\\n Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart;\\r\\n Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.\\r\\n And if thy poor devoted servant may\\r\\n But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,\\r\\n Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.\\r\\n ANNE. What is it?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. That it may please you leave these sad designs\\r\\n To him that hath most cause to be a mourner,\\r\\n And presently repair to Crosby House;\\r\\n Where-after I have solemnly interr'd\\r\\n At Chertsey monast'ry this noble king,\\r\\n And wet his grave with my repentant tears-\\r\\n I will with all expedient duty see you.\\r\\n For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you,\\r\\n Grant me this boon.\\r\\n ANNE. With all my heart; and much it joys me too\\r\\n To see you are become so penitent.\\r\\n Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Bid me farewell.\\r\\n ANNE. 'Tis more than you deserve;\\r\\n But since you teach me how to flatter you,\\r\\n Imagine I have said farewell already.\\r\\n Exeunt two GENTLEMEN With LADY ANNE\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Sirs, take up the corse.\\r\\n GENTLEMEN. Towards Chertsey, noble lord?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. No, to White Friars; there attend my coming.\\r\\n Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER\\r\\n Was ever woman in this humour woo'd?\\r\\n Was ever woman in this humour won?\\r\\n I'll have her; but I will not keep her long.\\r\\n What! I that kill'd her husband and his father-\\r\\n To take her in her heart's extremest hate,\\r\\n With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,\\r\\n The bleeding witness of my hatred by;\\r\\n Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me,\\r\\n And I no friends to back my suit at all\\r\\n But the plain devil and dissembling looks,\\r\\n And yet to win her, all the world to nothing!\\r\\n Ha!\\r\\n Hath she forgot already that brave prince,\\r\\n Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,\\r\\n Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury?\\r\\n A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman-\\r\\n Fram'd in the prodigality of nature,\\r\\n Young, valiant, wise, and no doubt right royal-\\r\\n The spacious world cannot again afford;\\r\\n And will she yet abase her eyes on me,\\r\\n That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince\\r\\n And made her widow to a woeful bed?\\r\\n On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety?\\r\\n On me, that halts and am misshapen thus?\\r\\n My dukedom to a beggarly denier,\\r\\n I do mistake my person all this while.\\r\\n Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,\\r\\n Myself to be a marv'llous proper man.\\r\\n I'll be at charges for a looking-glass,\\r\\n And entertain a score or two of tailors\\r\\n To study fashions to adorn my body.\\r\\n Since I am crept in favour with myself,\\r\\n I will maintain it with some little cost.\\r\\n But first I'll turn yon fellow in his grave,\\r\\n And then return lamenting to my love.\\r\\n Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,\\r\\n That I may see my shadow as I pass. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter QUEEN ELIZABETH, LORD RIVERS, and LORD GREY\\r\\n\\r\\n RIVERS. Have patience, madam; there's no doubt his Majesty\\r\\n Will soon recover his accustom'd health.\\r\\n GREY. In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse;\\r\\n Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort,\\r\\n And cheer his Grace with quick and merry eyes.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. If he were dead, what would betide on\\r\\n me?\\r\\n GREY. No other harm but loss of such a lord.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. The loss of such a lord includes all\\r\\n harms.\\r\\n GREY. The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son\\r\\n To be your comforter when he is gone.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, he is young; and his minority\\r\\n Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester,\\r\\n A man that loves not me, nor none of you.\\r\\n RIVER. Is it concluded he shall be Protector?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. It is determin'd, not concluded yet;\\r\\n But so it must be, if the King miscarry.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BUCKINGHAM and DERBY\\r\\n\\r\\n GREY. Here come the Lords of Buckingham and Derby.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Good time of day unto your royal Grace!\\r\\n DERBY. God make your Majesty joyful as you have been.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. The Countess Richmond, good my Lord\\r\\n of Derby,\\r\\n To your good prayer will scarcely say amen.\\r\\n Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she's your wife\\r\\n And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd\\r\\n I hate not you for her proud arrogance.\\r\\n DERBY. I do beseech you, either not believe\\r\\n The envious slanders of her false accusers;\\r\\n Or, if she be accus'd on true report,\\r\\n Bear with her weakness, which I think proceeds\\r\\n From wayward sickness and no grounded malice.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Saw you the King to-day, my Lord of\\r\\n Derby?\\r\\n DERBY. But now the Duke of Buckingham and I\\r\\n Are come from visiting his Majesty.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. What likelihood of his amendment,\\r\\n Lords?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Madam, good hope; his Grace speaks\\r\\n cheerfully.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. God grant him health! Did you confer\\r\\n with him?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Ay, madam; he desires to make atonement\\r\\n Between the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers,\\r\\n And between them and my Lord Chamberlain;\\r\\n And sent to warn them to his royal presence.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Would all were well! But that will\\r\\n never be.\\r\\n I fear our happiness is at the height.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it.\\r\\n Who is it that complains unto the King\\r\\n That I, forsooth, am stern and love them not?\\r\\n By holy Paul, they love his Grace but lightly\\r\\n That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours.\\r\\n Because I cannot flatter and look fair,\\r\\n Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog,\\r\\n Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,\\r\\n I must be held a rancorous enemy.\\r\\n Cannot a plain man live and think no harm\\r\\n But thus his simple truth must be abus'd\\r\\n With silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?\\r\\n GREY. To who in all this presence speaks your Grace?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace.\\r\\n When have I injur'd thee? when done thee wrong,\\r\\n Or thee, or thee, or any of your faction?\\r\\n A plague upon you all! His royal Grace-\\r\\n Whom God preserve better than you would wish!-\\r\\n Cannot be quiet searce a breathing while\\r\\n But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the\\r\\n matter.\\r\\n The King, on his own royal disposition\\r\\n And not provok'd by any suitor else-\\r\\n Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred\\r\\n That in your outward action shows itself\\r\\n Against my children, brothers, and myself-\\r\\n Makes him to send that he may learn the ground.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I cannot tell; the world is grown so bad\\r\\n That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.\\r\\n Since every Jack became a gentleman,\\r\\n There's many a gentle person made a Jack.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Come, come, we know your meaning,\\r\\n brother Gloucester:\\r\\n You envy my advancement and my friends';\\r\\n God grant we never may have need of you!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Meantime, God grants that I have need of you.\\r\\n Our brother is imprison'd by your means,\\r\\n Myself disgrac'd, and the nobility\\r\\n Held in contempt; while great promotions\\r\\n Are daily given to ennoble those\\r\\n That scarce some two days since were worth a noble.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. By Him that rais'd me to this careful\\r\\n height\\r\\n From that contented hap which I enjoy'd,\\r\\n I never did incense his Majesty\\r\\n Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been\\r\\n An earnest advocate to plead for him.\\r\\n My lord, you do me shameful injury\\r\\n Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. You may deny that you were not the mean\\r\\n Of my Lord Hastings' late imprisonment.\\r\\n RIVERS. She may, my lord; for-\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. She may, Lord Rivers? Why, who knows\\r\\n not so?\\r\\n She may do more, sir, than denying that:\\r\\n She may help you to many fair preferments\\r\\n And then deny her aiding hand therein,\\r\\n And lay those honours on your high desert.\\r\\n What may she not? She may-ay, marry, may she-\\r\\n RIVERS. What, marry, may she?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What, marry, may she? Marry with a king,\\r\\n A bachelor, and a handsome stripling too.\\r\\n Iwis your grandam had a worser match.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. My Lord of Gloucester, I have too long\\r\\n borne\\r\\n Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs.\\r\\n By heaven, I will acquaint his Majesty\\r\\n Of those gross taunts that oft I have endur'd.\\r\\n I had rather be a country servant-maid\\r\\n Than a great queen with this condition-\\r\\n To be so baited, scorn'd, and stormed at.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter old QUEEN MARGARET, behind\\r\\n\\r\\n Small joy have I in being England's Queen.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. And less'ned be that small, God, I\\r\\n beseech Him!\\r\\n Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What! Threat you me with telling of the\\r\\n King?\\r\\n Tell him and spare not. Look what I have said\\r\\n I will avouch't in presence of the King.\\r\\n I dare adventure to be sent to th' Tow'r.\\r\\n 'Tis time to speak-my pains are quite forgot.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Out, devil! I do remember them to\\r\\n well:\\r\\n Thou kill'dst my husband Henry in the Tower,\\r\\n And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband\\r\\n King,\\r\\n I was a pack-horse in his great affairs,\\r\\n A weeder-out of his proud adversaries,\\r\\n A liberal rewarder of his friends;\\r\\n To royalize his blood I spent mine own.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, and much better blood than his or\\r\\n thine.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. In all which time you and your husband Grey\\r\\n Were factious for the house of Lancaster;\\r\\n And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband\\r\\n In Margaret's battle at Saint Albans slain?\\r\\n Let me put in your minds, if you forget,\\r\\n What you have been ere this, and what you are;\\r\\n Withal, what I have been, and what I am.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. A murd'rous villain, and so still thou art.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick,\\r\\n Ay, and forswore himself-which Jesu pardon!-\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Which God revenge!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. To fight on Edward's party for the crown;\\r\\n And for his meed, poor lord, he is mewed up.\\r\\n I would to God my heart were flint like Edward's,\\r\\n Or Edward's soft and pitiful like mine.\\r\\n I am too childish-foolish for this world.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Hie thee to hell for shame and leave this\\r\\n world,\\r\\n Thou cacodemon; there thy kingdom is.\\r\\n RIVERS. My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days\\r\\n Which here you urge to prove us enemies,\\r\\n We follow'd then our lord, our sovereign king.\\r\\n So should we you, if you should be our king.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar.\\r\\n Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose\\r\\n You should enjoy were you this country's king,\\r\\n As little joy you may suppose in me\\r\\n That I enjoy, being the Queen thereof.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. As little joy enjoys the Queen thereof;\\r\\n For I am she, and altogether joyless.\\r\\n I can no longer hold me patient. [Advancing]\\r\\n Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out\\r\\n In sharing that which you have pill'd from me.\\r\\n Which of you trembles not that looks on me?\\r\\n If not that, I am Queen, you bow like subjects,\\r\\n Yet that, by you depos'd, you quake like rebels?\\r\\n Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou in my\\r\\n sight?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. But repetition of what thou hast marr'd,\\r\\n That will I make before I let thee go.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Wert thou not banished on pain of death?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. I was; but I do find more pain in\\r\\n banishment\\r\\n Than death can yield me here by my abode.\\r\\n A husband and a son thou ow'st to me;\\r\\n And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance.\\r\\n This sorrow that I have by right is yours;\\r\\n And all the pleasures you usurp are mine.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. The curse my noble father laid on thee,\\r\\n When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper\\r\\n And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes,\\r\\n And then to dry them gav'st the Duke a clout\\r\\n Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland-\\r\\n His curses then from bitterness of soul\\r\\n Denounc'd against thee are all fall'n upon thee;\\r\\n And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. So just is God to right the innocent.\\r\\n HASTINGS. O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe,\\r\\n And the most merciless that e'er was heard of!\\r\\n RIVERS. Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.\\r\\n DORSET. No man but prophesied revenge for it.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. What, were you snarling all before I came,\\r\\n Ready to catch each other by the throat,\\r\\n And turn you all your hatred now on me?\\r\\n Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven\\r\\n That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death,\\r\\n Their kingdom's loss, my woeful banishment,\\r\\n Should all but answer for that peevish brat?\\r\\n Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven?\\r\\n Why then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses!\\r\\n Though not by war, by surfeit die your king,\\r\\n As ours by murder, to make him a king!\\r\\n Edward thy son, that now is Prince of Wales,\\r\\n For Edward our son, that was Prince of Wales,\\r\\n Die in his youth by like untimely violence!\\r\\n Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,\\r\\n Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self!\\r\\n Long mayest thou live to wail thy children's death,\\r\\n And see another, as I see thee now,\\r\\n Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine!\\r\\n Long die thy happy days before thy death;\\r\\n And, after many length'ned hours of grief,\\r\\n Die neither mother, wife, nor England's Queen!\\r\\n Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by,\\r\\n And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son\\r\\n Was stabb'd with bloody daggers. God, I pray him,\\r\\n That none of you may live his natural age,\\r\\n But by some unlook'd accident cut off!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd\\r\\n hag.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. And leave out thee? Stay, dog, for thou\\r\\n shalt hear me.\\r\\n If heaven have any grievous plague in store\\r\\n Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,\\r\\n O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe,\\r\\n And then hurl down their indignation\\r\\n On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace!\\r\\n The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul!\\r\\n Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st,\\r\\n And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!\\r\\n No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,\\r\\n Unless it be while some tormenting dream\\r\\n Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!\\r\\n Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog,\\r\\n Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity\\r\\n The slave of nature and the son of hell,\\r\\n Thou slander of thy heavy mother's womb,\\r\\n Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins,\\r\\n Thou rag of honour, thou detested-\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Margaret!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Richard!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ha?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. I call thee not.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I cry thee mercy then, for I did think\\r\\n That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Why, so I did, but look'd for no reply.\\r\\n O, let me make the period to my curse!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. 'Tis done by me, and ends in-Margaret.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thus have you breath'd your curse\\r\\n against yourself.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my\\r\\n fortune!\\r\\n Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider\\r\\n Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?\\r\\n Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself.\\r\\n The day will come that thou shalt wish for me\\r\\n To help thee curse this poisonous bunch-back'd toad.\\r\\n HASTINGS. False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse,\\r\\n Lest to thy harm thou move our patience.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Foul shame upon you! you have all\\r\\n mov'd mine.\\r\\n RIVERS. Were you well serv'd, you would be taught your\\r\\n duty.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. To serve me well you all should do me\\r\\n duty,\\r\\n Teach me to be your queen and you my subjects.\\r\\n O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty!\\r\\n DORSET. Dispute not with her; she is lunatic.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Peace, Master Marquis, you are malapert;\\r\\n Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current.\\r\\n O, that your young nobility could judge\\r\\n What 'twere to lose it and be miserable!\\r\\n They that stand high have many blasts to shake them,\\r\\n And if they fall they dash themselves to pieces.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Good counsel, marry; learn it, learn it, Marquis.\\r\\n DORSET. It touches you, my lord, as much as me.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ay, and much more; but I was born so high,\\r\\n Our aery buildeth in the cedar's top,\\r\\n And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. And turns the sun to shade-alas! alas!\\r\\n Witness my son, now in the shade of death,\\r\\n Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath\\r\\n Hath in eternal darkness folded up.\\r\\n Your aery buildeth in our aery's nest.\\r\\n O God that seest it, do not suffer it;\\r\\n As it is won with blood, lost be it so!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Urge neither charity nor shame to me.\\r\\n Uncharitably with me have you dealt,\\r\\n And shamefully my hopes by you are butcher'd.\\r\\n My charity is outrage, life my shame;\\r\\n And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Have done, have done.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. O princely Buckingham, I'll kiss thy\\r\\n hand\\r\\n In sign of league and amity with thee.\\r\\n Now fair befall thee and thy noble house!\\r\\n Thy garments are not spotted with our blood,\\r\\n Nor thou within the compass of my curse.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Nor no one here; for curses never pass\\r\\n The lips of those that breathe them in the air.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. I will not think but they ascend the sky\\r\\n And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace.\\r\\n O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog!\\r\\n Look when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites,\\r\\n His venom tooth will rankle to the death:\\r\\n Have not to do with him, beware of him;\\r\\n Sin, death, and hell, have set their marks on him,\\r\\n And all their ministers attend on him.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle\\r\\n counsel,\\r\\n And soothe the devil that I warn thee from?\\r\\n O, but remember this another day,\\r\\n When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow,\\r\\n And say poor Margaret was a prophetess!\\r\\n Live each of you the subjects to his hate,\\r\\n And he to yours, and all of you to God's! Exit\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My hair doth stand an end to hear her curses.\\r\\n RIVERS. And so doth mine. I muse why she's at liberty.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I cannot blame her; by God's holy Mother,\\r\\n She hath had too much wrong; and I repent\\r\\n My part thereof that I have done to her.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. I never did her any to my knowledge.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong.\\r\\n I was too hot to do somebody good\\r\\n That is too cold in thinking of it now.\\r\\n Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid;\\r\\n He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains;\\r\\n God pardon them that are the cause thereof!\\r\\n RIVERS. A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion,\\r\\n To pray for them that have done scathe to us!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. So do I ever- [Aside] being well advis'd;\\r\\n For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd myself.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n CATESBY. Madam, his Majesty doth can for you,\\r\\n And for your Grace, and you, my gracious lords.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Catesby, I come. Lords, will you go\\r\\n with me?\\r\\n RIVERS. We wait upon your Grace.\\r\\n Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl.\\r\\n The secret mischiefs that I set abroach\\r\\n I lay unto the grievous charge of others.\\r\\n Clarence, who I indeed have cast in darkness,\\r\\n I do beweep to many simple gulls;\\r\\n Namely, to Derby, Hastings, Buckingham;\\r\\n And tell them 'tis the Queen and her allies\\r\\n That stir the King against the Duke my brother.\\r\\n Now they believe it, and withal whet me\\r\\n To be reveng'd on Rivers, Dorset, Grey;\\r\\n But then I sigh and, with a piece of Scripture,\\r\\n Tell them that God bids us do good for evil.\\r\\n And thus I clothe my naked villainy\\r\\n With odd old ends stol'n forth of holy writ,\\r\\n And seem a saint when most I play the devil.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two MURDERERS\\r\\n\\r\\n But, soft, here come my executioners.\\r\\n How now, my hardy stout resolved mates!\\r\\n Are you now going to dispatch this thing?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. We are, my lord, and come to have the\\r\\n warrant,\\r\\n That we may be admitted where he is.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Well thought upon; I have it here about me.\\r\\n [Gives the warrant]\\r\\n When you have done, repair to Crosby Place.\\r\\n But, sirs, be sudden in the execution,\\r\\n Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead;\\r\\n For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps\\r\\n May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to\\r\\n prate;\\r\\n Talkers are no good doers. Be assur'd\\r\\n We go to use our hands and not our tongues.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Your eyes drop millstones when fools' eyes fall\\r\\n tears.\\r\\n I like you, lads; about your business straight;\\r\\n Go, go, dispatch.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. We will, my noble lord. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The Tower\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter CLARENCE and KEEPER\\r\\n\\r\\n KEEPER. Why looks your Grace so heavily to-day?\\r\\n CLARENCE. O, I have pass'd a miserable night,\\r\\n So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights,\\r\\n That, as I am a Christian faithful man,\\r\\n I would not spend another such a night\\r\\n Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days-\\r\\n So full of dismal terror was the time!\\r\\n KEEPER. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you\\r\\n tell me.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower\\r\\n And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy;\\r\\n And in my company my brother Gloucester,\\r\\n Who from my cabin tempted me to walk\\r\\n Upon the hatches. Thence we look'd toward England,\\r\\n And cited up a thousand heavy times,\\r\\n During the wars of York and Lancaster,\\r\\n That had befall'n us. As we pac'd along\\r\\n Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,\\r\\n Methought that Gloucester stumbled, and in falling\\r\\n Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard\\r\\n Into the tumbling billows of the main.\\r\\n O Lord, methought what pain it was to drown,\\r\\n What dreadful noise of waters in my ears,\\r\\n What sights of ugly death within my eyes!\\r\\n Methoughts I saw a thousand fearful wrecks,\\r\\n A thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon,\\r\\n Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,\\r\\n Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,\\r\\n All scatt'red in the bottom of the sea;\\r\\n Some lay in dead men's skulls, and in the holes\\r\\n Where eyes did once inhabit there were crept,\\r\\n As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,\\r\\n That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep\\r\\n And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatt'red by.\\r\\n KEEPER. Had you such leisure in the time of death\\r\\n To gaze upon these secrets of the deep?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Methought I had; and often did I strive\\r\\n To yield the ghost, but still the envious flood\\r\\n Stopp'd in my soul and would not let it forth\\r\\n To find the empty, vast, and wand'ring air;\\r\\n But smother'd it within my panting bulk,\\r\\n Who almost burst to belch it in the sea.\\r\\n KEEPER. Awak'd you not in this sore agony?\\r\\n CLARENCE. No, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life.\\r\\n O, then began the tempest to my soul!\\r\\n I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood\\r\\n With that sour ferryman which poets write of,\\r\\n Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.\\r\\n The first that there did greet my stranger soul\\r\\n Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick,\\r\\n Who spake aloud 'What scourge for perjury\\r\\n Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?'\\r\\n And so he vanish'd. Then came wand'ring by\\r\\n A shadow like an angel, with bright hair\\r\\n Dabbled in blood, and he shriek'd out aloud\\r\\n 'Clarence is come-false, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence,\\r\\n That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury.\\r\\n Seize on him, Furies, take him unto torment!'\\r\\n With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends\\r\\n Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears\\r\\n Such hideous cries that, with the very noise,\\r\\n I trembling wak'd, and for a season after\\r\\n Could not believe but that I was in hell,\\r\\n Such terrible impression made my dream.\\r\\n KEEPER. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you;\\r\\n I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Ah, Keeper, Keeper, I have done these things\\r\\n That now give evidence against my soul\\r\\n For Edward's sake, and see how he requites me!\\r\\n O God! If my deep prayers cannot appease Thee,\\r\\n But Thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds,\\r\\n Yet execute Thy wrath in me alone;\\r\\n O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children!\\r\\n KEEPER, I prithee sit by me awhile;\\r\\n My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.\\r\\n KEEPER. I will, my lord. God give your Grace good rest.\\r\\n [CLARENCE sleeps]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BRAKENBURY the Lieutenant\\r\\n\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours,\\r\\n Makes the night morning and the noontide night.\\r\\n Princes have but their titles for their glories,\\r\\n An outward honour for an inward toil;\\r\\n And for unfelt imaginations\\r\\n They often feel a world of restless cares,\\r\\n So that between their tides and low name\\r\\n There's nothing differs but the outward fame.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the two MURDERERS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Ho! who's here?\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. What wouldst thou, fellow, and how cam'st\\r\\n thou hither?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. I would speak with Clarence, and I came\\r\\n hither on my legs.\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. What, so brief?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. 'Tis better, sir, than to be tedious. Let\\r\\n him see our commission and talk no more.\\r\\n [BRAKENBURY reads it]\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. I am, in this, commanded to deliver\\r\\n The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands.\\r\\n I will not reason what is meant hereby,\\r\\n Because I will be guiltless from the meaning.\\r\\n There lies the Duke asleep; and there the keys.\\r\\n I'll to the King and signify to him\\r\\n That thus I have resign'd to you my charge.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. You may, sir; 'tis a point of wisdom. Fare\\r\\n you well. Exeunt BRAKENBURY and KEEPER\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. What, shall I stab him as he sleeps?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. No; he'll say 'twas done cowardly, when\\r\\n he wakes.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Why, he shall never wake until the great\\r\\n judgment-day.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Why, then he'll say we stabb'd him\\r\\n sleeping.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. The urging of that word judgment hath\\r\\n bred a kind of remorse in me.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. What, art thou afraid?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Not to kill him, having a warrant; but to\\r\\n be damn'd for killing him, from the which no warrant can\\r\\n defend me.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. I thought thou hadst been resolute.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. So I am, to let him live.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. I'll back to the Duke of Gloucester and\\r\\n tell him so.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Nay, I prithee, stay a little. I hope this\\r\\n passionate humour of mine will change; it was wont to\\r\\n hold me but while one tells twenty.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. How dost thou feel thyself now?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Faith, some certain dregs of conscience\\r\\n are yet within me.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Remember our reward, when the deed's\\r\\n done.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Zounds, he dies; I had forgot the reward.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Where's thy conscience now?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. O, in the Duke of Gloucester's purse!\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. When he opens his purse to give us our\\r\\n reward, thy conscience flies out.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. 'Tis no matter; let it go; there's few or\\r\\n none will entertain it.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. What if it come to thee again?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. I'll not meddle with it-it makes a man\\r\\n coward: a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; a man\\r\\n cannot swear, but it checks him; a man cannot lie with his\\r\\n neighbour's wife, but it detects him. 'Tis a blushing shame-\\r\\n fac'd spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills a man\\r\\n full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold\\r\\n that-by chance I found. It beggars any man that keeps it.\\r\\n It is turn'd out of towns and cities for a dangerous thing;\\r\\n and every man that means to live well endeavours to trust\\r\\n to himself and live without it.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Zounds, 'tis even now at my elbow,\\r\\n persuading me not to kill the Duke.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Take the devil in thy mind and believe\\r\\n him not; he would insinuate with thee but to make the\\r\\n sigh.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. I am strong-fram'd; he cannot prevail with\\r\\n me.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Spoke like a tall man that respects thy\\r\\n reputation. Come, shall we fall to work?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Take him on the costard with the hilts of\\r\\n thy sword, and then chop him in the malmsey-butt in the\\r\\n next room.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. O excellent device! and make a sop of\\r\\n him.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Soft! he wakes.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Strike!\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. No, we'll reason with him.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Where art thou, Keeper? Give me a cup of wine.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. You shall have wine enough, my lord,\\r\\n anon.\\r\\n CLARENCE. In God's name, what art thou?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. A man, as you are.\\r\\n CLARENCE. But not as I am, royal.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Nor you as we are, loyal.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. My voice is now the King's, my looks\\r\\n mine own.\\r\\n CLARENCE. How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak!\\r\\n Your eyes do menace me. Why look you pale?\\r\\n Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. To, to, to-\\r\\n CLARENCE. To murder me?\\r\\n BOTH MURDERERS. Ay, ay.\\r\\n CLARENCE. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so,\\r\\n And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it.\\r\\n Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Offended us you have not, but the King.\\r\\n CLARENCE. I shall be reconcil'd to him again.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Are you drawn forth among a world of men\\r\\n To slay the innocent? What is my offence?\\r\\n Where is the evidence that doth accuse me?\\r\\n What lawful quest have given their verdict up\\r\\n Unto the frowning judge, or who pronounc'd\\r\\n The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death?\\r\\n Before I be convict by course of law,\\r\\n To threaten me with death is most unlawful.\\r\\n I charge you, as you hope to have redemption\\r\\n By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins,\\r\\n That you depart and lay no hands on me.\\r\\n The deed you undertake is damnable.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. What we will do, we do upon command.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. And he that hath commanded is our\\r\\n King.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Erroneous vassals! the great King of kings\\r\\n Hath in the tables of his law commanded\\r\\n That thou shalt do no murder. Will you then\\r\\n Spurn at his edict and fulfil a man's?\\r\\n Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hand\\r\\n To hurl upon their heads that break his law.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. And that same vengeance doth he hurl\\r\\n on thee\\r\\n For false forswearing, and for murder too;\\r\\n Thou didst receive the sacrament to fight\\r\\n In quarrel of the house of Lancaster.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. And like a traitor to the name of God\\r\\n Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous blade\\r\\n Unripp'dst the bowels of thy sov'reign's son.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and\\r\\n defend.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. How canst thou urge God's dreadful law\\r\\n to us,\\r\\n When thou hast broke it in such dear degree?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed?\\r\\n For Edward, for my brother, for his sake.\\r\\n He sends you not to murder me for this,\\r\\n For in that sin he is as deep as I.\\r\\n If God will be avenged for the deed,\\r\\n O, know you yet He doth it publicly.\\r\\n Take not the quarrel from His pow'rful arm;\\r\\n He needs no indirect or lawless course\\r\\n To cut off those that have offended Him.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Who made thee then a bloody minister\\r\\n When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet,\\r\\n That princely novice, was struck dead by thee?\\r\\n CLARENCE. My brother's love, the devil, and my rage.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy\\r\\n faults,\\r\\n Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.\\r\\n CLARENCE. If you do love my brother, hate not me;\\r\\n I am his brother, and I love him well.\\r\\n If you are hir'd for meed, go back again,\\r\\n And I will send you to my brother Gloucester,\\r\\n Who shall reward you better for my life\\r\\n Than Edward will for tidings of my death.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. You are deceiv'd: your brother Gloucester\\r\\n hates you.\\r\\n CLARENCE. O, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear.\\r\\n Go you to him from me.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Ay, so we will.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Tell him when that our princely father York\\r\\n Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm\\r\\n And charg'd us from his soul to love each other,\\r\\n He little thought of this divided friendship.\\r\\n Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Ay, millstones; as he lesson'd us to weep.\\r\\n CLARENCE. O, do not slander him, for he is kind.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Right, as snow in harvest. Come, you\\r\\n deceive yourself:\\r\\n 'Tis he that sends us to destroy you here.\\r\\n CLARENCE. It cannot be; for he bewept my fortune\\r\\n And hugg'd me in his arms, and swore with sobs\\r\\n That he would labour my delivery.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Why, so he doth, when he delivers you\\r\\n From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Make peace with God, for you must die,\\r\\n my lord.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Have you that holy feeling in your souls\\r\\n To counsel me to make my peace with God,\\r\\n And are you yet to your own souls so blind\\r\\n That you will war with God by murd'ring me?\\r\\n O, sirs, consider: they that set you on\\r\\n To do this deed will hate you for the deed.\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. What shall we do?\\r\\n CLARENCE. Relent, and save your souls.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. Relent! No, 'tis cowardly and womanish.\\r\\n CLARENCE. Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish.\\r\\n Which of you, if you were a prince's son,\\r\\n Being pent from liberty as I am now,\\r\\n If two such murderers as yourselves came to you,\\r\\n Would not entreat for life?\\r\\n My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks;\\r\\n O, if thine eye be not a flatterer,\\r\\n Come thou on my side and entreat for me-\\r\\n As you would beg were you in my distress.\\r\\n A begging prince what beggar pities not?\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. Look behind you, my lord.\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. [Stabbing him] Take that, and that. If all\\r\\n this will not do,\\r\\n I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within.\\r\\n Exit with the body\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. A bloody deed, and desperately\\r\\n dispatch'd!\\r\\n How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands\\r\\n Of this most grievous murder!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter FIRST MURDERER\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER-How now, what mean'st thou that thou\\r\\n help'st me not?\\r\\n By heavens, the Duke shall know how slack you have\\r\\n been!\\r\\n SECOND MURDERER. I would he knew that I had sav'd his\\r\\n brother!\\r\\n Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say;\\r\\n For I repent me that the Duke is slain. Exit\\r\\n FIRST MURDERER. So do not I. Go, coward as thou art.\\r\\n Well, I'll go hide the body in some hole,\\r\\n Till that the Duke give order for his burial;\\r\\n And when I have my meed, I will away;\\r\\n For this will out, and then I must not stay. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter KING EDWARD sick, QUEEN ELIZABETH, DORSET, RIVERS,\\r\\nHASTINGS, BUCKINGHAM, GREY, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Why, so. Now have I done a good day's\\r\\n work.\\r\\n You peers, continue this united league.\\r\\n I every day expect an embassage\\r\\n From my Redeemer to redeem me hence;\\r\\n And more at peace my soul shall part to heaven,\\r\\n Since I have made my friends at peace on earth.\\r\\n Hastings and Rivers, take each other's hand;\\r\\n Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love.\\r\\n RIVERS. By heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging hate;\\r\\n And with my hand I seal my true heart's love.\\r\\n HASTINGS. So thrive I, as I truly swear the like!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Take heed you dally not before your king;\\r\\n Lest He that is the supreme King of kings\\r\\n Confound your hidden falsehood and award\\r\\n Either of you to be the other's end.\\r\\n HASTINGS. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love!\\r\\n RIVERS. And I, as I love Hastings with my heart!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Madam, yourself is not exempt from this;\\r\\n Nor you, son Dorset; Buckingham, nor you:\\r\\n You have been factious one against the other.\\r\\n Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand;\\r\\n And what you do, do it unfeignedly.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. There, Hastings; I will never more\\r\\n remember\\r\\n Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Dorset, embrace him; Hastings, love Lord\\r\\n Marquis.\\r\\n DORSET. This interchange of love, I here protest,\\r\\n Upon my part shall be inviolable.\\r\\n HASTINGS. And so swear I. [They embrace]\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this\\r\\n league\\r\\n With thy embracements to my wife's allies,\\r\\n And make me happy in your unity.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. [To the QUEEN] Whenever Buckingham\\r\\n doth turn his hate\\r\\n Upon your Grace, but with all duteous love\\r\\n Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me\\r\\n With hate in those where I expect most love!\\r\\n When I have most need to employ a friend\\r\\n And most assured that he is a friend,\\r\\n Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile,\\r\\n Be he unto me! This do I beg of God\\r\\n When I am cold in love to you or yours.\\r\\n [They embrace]\\r\\n KING EDWARD. A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham,\\r\\n Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart.\\r\\n There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here\\r\\n To make the blessed period of this peace.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. And, in good time,\\r\\n Here comes Sir Richard Ratcliff and the Duke.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER, and RATCLIFF\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Good morrow to my sovereign king and\\r\\n Queen;\\r\\n And, princely peers, a happy time of day!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day.\\r\\n Gloucester, we have done deeds of charity,\\r\\n Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate,\\r\\n Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. A blessed labour, my most sovereign lord.\\r\\n Among this princely heap, if any here,\\r\\n By false intelligence or wrong surmise,\\r\\n Hold me a foe-\\r\\n If I unwittingly, or in my rage,\\r\\n Have aught committed that is hardly borne\\r\\n To any in this presence, I desire\\r\\n To reconcile me to his friendly peace:\\r\\n 'Tis death to me to be at enmity;\\r\\n I hate it, and desire all good men's love.\\r\\n First, madam, I entreat true peace of you,\\r\\n Which I will purchase with my duteous service;\\r\\n Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham,\\r\\n If ever any grudge were lodg'd between us;\\r\\n Of you, and you, Lord Rivers, and of Dorset,\\r\\n That all without desert have frown'd on me;\\r\\n Of you, Lord Woodville, and, Lord Scales, of you;\\r\\n Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen-indeed, of all.\\r\\n I do not know that Englishman alive\\r\\n With whom my soul is any jot at odds\\r\\n More than the infant that is born to-night.\\r\\n I thank my God for my humility.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. A holy day shall this be kept hereafter.\\r\\n I would to God all strifes were well compounded.\\r\\n My sovereign lord, I do beseech your Highness\\r\\n To take our brother Clarence to your grace.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, madam, have I off'red love for this,\\r\\n To be so flouted in this royal presence?\\r\\n Who knows not that the gentle Duke is dead?\\r\\n [They all start]\\r\\n You do him injury to scorn his corse.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Who knows not he is dead! Who knows\\r\\n he is?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. All-seeing heaven, what a world is this!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest?\\r\\n DORSET. Ay, my good lord; and no man in the presence\\r\\n But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Is Clarence dead? The order was revers'd.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. But he, poor man, by your first order died,\\r\\n And that a winged Mercury did bear;\\r\\n Some tardy cripple bare the countermand\\r\\n That came too lag to see him buried.\\r\\n God grant that some, less noble and less loyal,\\r\\n Nearer in bloody thoughts, an not in blood,\\r\\n Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did,\\r\\n And yet go current from suspicion!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DERBY\\r\\n\\r\\n DERBY. A boon, my sovereign, for my service done!\\r\\n KING EDWARD. I prithee, peace; my soul is full of sorrow.\\r\\n DERBY. I Will not rise unless your Highness hear me.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Then say at once what is it thou requests.\\r\\n DERBY. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life;\\r\\n Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman\\r\\n Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.\\r\\n KING EDWARD. Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death,\\r\\n And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave?\\r\\n My brother killed no man-his fault was thought,\\r\\n And yet his punishment was bitter death.\\r\\n Who sued to me for him? Who, in my wrath,\\r\\n Kneel'd at my feet, and bid me be advis'd?\\r\\n Who spoke of brotherhood? Who spoke of love?\\r\\n Who told me how the poor soul did forsake\\r\\n The mighty Warwick and did fight for me?\\r\\n Who told me, in the field at Tewksbury\\r\\n When Oxford had me down, he rescued me\\r\\n And said 'Dear Brother, live, and be a king'?\\r\\n Who told me, when we both lay in the field\\r\\n Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me\\r\\n Even in his garments, and did give himself,\\r\\n All thin and naked, to the numb cold night?\\r\\n All this from my remembrance brutish wrath\\r\\n Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you\\r\\n Had so much race to put it in my mind.\\r\\n But when your carters or your waiting-vassals\\r\\n Have done a drunken slaughter and defac'd\\r\\n The precious image of our dear Redeemer,\\r\\n You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon;\\r\\n And I, unjustly too, must grant it you. [DERBY rises]\\r\\n But for my brother not a man would speak;\\r\\n Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself\\r\\n For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all\\r\\n Have been beholding to him in his life;\\r\\n Yet none of you would once beg for his life.\\r\\n O God, I fear thy justice will take hold\\r\\n On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this!\\r\\n Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Ah, poor Clarence!\\r\\n Exeunt some with KING and QUEEN\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. This is the fruits of rashness. Mark'd you not\\r\\n How that the guilty kindred of the Queen\\r\\n Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' death?\\r\\n O, they did urge it still unto the King!\\r\\n God will revenge it. Come, lords, will you go\\r\\n To comfort Edward with our company?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. We wait upon your Grace. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the old DUCHESS OF YORK, with the SON and DAUGHTER of CLARENCE\\r\\n\\r\\n SON. Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead?\\r\\n DUCHESS. No, boy.\\r\\n DAUGHTER. Why do you weep so oft, and beat your breast,\\r\\n And cry 'O Clarence, my unhappy son!'?\\r\\n SON. Why do you look on us, and shake your head,\\r\\n And call us orphans, wretches, castaways,\\r\\n If that our noble father were alive?\\r\\n DUCHESS. My pretty cousins, you mistake me both;\\r\\n I do lament the sickness of the King,\\r\\n As loath to lose him, not your father's death;\\r\\n It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost.\\r\\n SON. Then you conclude, my grandam, he is dead.\\r\\n The King mine uncle is to blame for it.\\r\\n God will revenge it; whom I will importune\\r\\n With earnest prayers all to that effect.\\r\\n DAUGHTER. And so will I.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Peace, children, peace! The King doth love you\\r\\n well.\\r\\n Incapable and shallow innocents,\\r\\n You cannot guess who caus'd your father's death.\\r\\n SON. Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloucester\\r\\n Told me the King, provok'd to it by the Queen,\\r\\n Devis'd impeachments to imprison him.\\r\\n And when my uncle told me so, he wept,\\r\\n And pitied me, and kindly kiss'd my cheek;\\r\\n Bade me rely on him as on my father,\\r\\n And he would love me dearly as a child.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shape,\\r\\n And with a virtuous vizor hide deep vice!\\r\\n He is my son; ay, and therein my shame;\\r\\n Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit.\\r\\n SON. Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam?\\r\\n DUCHESS. Ay, boy.\\r\\n SON. I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, with her hair about her\\r\\n ears; RIVERS and DORSET after her\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, who shall hinder me to wail and\\r\\n weep,\\r\\n To chide my fortune, and torment myself?\\r\\n I'll join with black despair against my soul\\r\\n And to myself become an enemy.\\r\\n DUCHESS. What means this scene of rude impatience?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. To make an act of tragic violence.\\r\\n EDWARD, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead.\\r\\n Why grow the branches when the root is gone?\\r\\n Why wither not the leaves that want their sap?\\r\\n If you will live, lament; if die, be brief,\\r\\n That our swift-winged souls may catch the King's,\\r\\n Or like obedient subjects follow him\\r\\n To his new kingdom of ne'er-changing night.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow\\r\\n As I had title in thy noble husband!\\r\\n I have bewept a worthy husband's death,\\r\\n And liv'd with looking on his images;\\r\\n But now two mirrors of his princely semblance\\r\\n Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death,\\r\\n And I for comfort have but one false glass,\\r\\n That grieves me when I see my shame in him.\\r\\n Thou art a widow, yet thou art a mother\\r\\n And hast the comfort of thy children left;\\r\\n But death hath snatch'd my husband from mine arms\\r\\n And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble hands-\\r\\n Clarence and Edward. O, what cause have I-\\r\\n Thine being but a moiety of my moan-\\r\\n To overgo thy woes and drown thy cries?\\r\\n SON. Ah, aunt, you wept not for our father's death!\\r\\n How can we aid you with our kindred tears?\\r\\n DAUGHTER. Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd;\\r\\n Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Give me no help in lamentation;\\r\\n I am not barren to bring forth complaints.\\r\\n All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes\\r\\n That I, being govern'd by the watery moon,\\r\\n May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world!\\r\\n Ah for my husband, for my dear Lord Edward!\\r\\n CHILDREN. Ah for our father, for our dear Lord Clarence!\\r\\n DUCHESS. Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. What stay had I but Edward? and he's\\r\\n gone.\\r\\n CHILDREN. What stay had we but Clarence? and he's gone.\\r\\n DUCHESS. What stays had I but they? and they are gone.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Was never widow had so dear a loss.\\r\\n CHILDREN. Were never orphans had so dear a loss.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Was never mother had so dear a loss.\\r\\n Alas, I am the mother of these griefs!\\r\\n Their woes are parcell'd, mine is general.\\r\\n She for an Edward weeps, and so do I:\\r\\n I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she.\\r\\n These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I:\\r\\n I for an Edward weep, so do not they.\\r\\n Alas, you three on me, threefold distress'd,\\r\\n Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow's nurse,\\r\\n And I will pamper it with lamentation.\\r\\n DORSET. Comfort, dear mother. God is much displeas'd\\r\\n That you take with unthankfulness his doing.\\r\\n In common worldly things 'tis called ungrateful\\r\\n With dull unwillingness to repay a debt\\r\\n Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent;\\r\\n Much more to be thus opposite with heaven,\\r\\n For it requires the royal debt it lent you.\\r\\n RIVERS. Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother,\\r\\n Of the young prince your son. Send straight for him;\\r\\n Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives.\\r\\n Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave,\\r\\n And plant your joys in living Edward's throne.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, DERBY,\\r\\n HASTINGS, and RATCLIFF\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Sister, have comfort. All of us have cause\\r\\n To wail the dimming of our shining star;\\r\\n But none can help our harms by wailing them.\\r\\n Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy;\\r\\n I did not see your Grace. Humbly on my knee\\r\\n I crave your blessing.\\r\\n DUCHESS. God bless thee; and put meekness in thy breast,\\r\\n Love, charity, obedience, and true duty!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Amen! [Aside] And make me die a good old\\r\\n man!\\r\\n That is the butt end of a mother's blessing;\\r\\n I marvel that her Grace did leave it out.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing\\r\\n peers,\\r\\n That bear this heavy mutual load of moan,\\r\\n Now cheer each other in each other's love.\\r\\n Though we have spent our harvest of this king,\\r\\n We are to reap the harvest of his son.\\r\\n The broken rancour of your high-swol'n hearts,\\r\\n But lately splinter'd, knit, and join'd together,\\r\\n Must gently be preserv'd, cherish'd, and kept.\\r\\n Me seemeth good that, with some little train,\\r\\n Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fet\\r\\n Hither to London, to be crown'd our King.\\r\\n\\r\\n RIVERS. Why with some little train, my Lord of\\r\\n Buckingham?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude\\r\\n The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out,\\r\\n Which would be so much the more dangerous\\r\\n By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern'd;\\r\\n Where every horse bears his commanding rein\\r\\n And may direct his course as please himself,\\r\\n As well the fear of harm as harm apparent,\\r\\n In my opinion, ought to be prevented.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I hope the King made peace with all of us;\\r\\n And the compact is firm and true in me.\\r\\n RIVERS. And so in me; and so, I think, in an.\\r\\n Yet, since it is but green, it should be put\\r\\n To no apparent likelihood of breach,\\r\\n Which haply by much company might be urg'd;\\r\\n Therefore I say with noble Buckingham\\r\\n That it is meet so few should fetch the Prince.\\r\\n HASTINGS. And so say I.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Then be it so; and go we to determine\\r\\n Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow.\\r\\n Madam, and you, my sister, will you go\\r\\n To give your censures in this business?\\r\\n Exeunt all but BUCKINGHAM and GLOUCESTER\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince,\\r\\n For God sake, let not us two stay at home;\\r\\n For by the way I'll sort occasion,\\r\\n As index to the story we late talk'd of,\\r\\n To part the Queen's proud kindred from the Prince.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My other self, my counsel's consistory,\\r\\n My oracle, my prophet, my dear cousin,\\r\\n I, as a child, will go by thy direction.\\r\\n Toward Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter one CITIZEN at one door, and another at the other\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Good morrow, neighbour. Whither away so\\r\\n fast?\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. I promise you, I scarcely know myself.\\r\\n Hear you the news abroad?\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Yes, that the King is dead.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Ill news, by'r lady; seldom comes the\\r\\n better.\\r\\n I fear, I fear 'twill prove a giddy world.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another CITIZEN\\r\\n\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Neighbours, God speed!\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Give you good morrow, sir.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Doth the news hold of good King Edward's\\r\\n death?\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while!\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Then, masters, look to see a troublous\\r\\n world.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. No, no; by God's good grace, his son shall\\r\\n reign.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Woe to that land that's govern'd by a child.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. In him there is a hope of government,\\r\\n Which, in his nonage, council under him,\\r\\n And, in his full and ripened years, himself,\\r\\n No doubt, shall then, and till then, govern well.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. So stood the state when Henry the Sixth\\r\\n Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Stood the state so? No, no, good friends,\\r\\n God wot;\\r\\n For then this land was famously enrich'd\\r\\n With politic grave counsel; then the King\\r\\n Had virtuous uncles to protect his Grace.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Why, so hath this, both by his father and\\r\\n mother.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Better it were they all came by his father,\\r\\n Or by his father there were none at all;\\r\\n For emulation who shall now be nearest\\r\\n Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not.\\r\\n O, full of danger is the Duke of Gloucester!\\r\\n And the Queen's sons and brothers haught and proud;\\r\\n And were they to be rul'd, and not to rule,\\r\\n This sickly land might solace as before.\\r\\n FIRST CITIZEN. Come, come, we fear the worst; all will be\\r\\n well.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. When clouds are seen, wise men put on\\r\\n their cloaks;\\r\\n When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand;\\r\\n When the sun sets, who doth not look for night?\\r\\n Untimely storms make men expect a dearth.\\r\\n All may be well; but, if God sort it so,\\r\\n 'Tis more than we deserve or I expect.\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Truly, the hearts of men are fun of fear.\\r\\n You cannot reason almost with a man\\r\\n That looks not heavily and fun of dread.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. Before the days of change, still is it so;\\r\\n By a divine instinct men's minds mistrust\\r\\n Ensuing danger; as by proof we see\\r\\n The water swell before a boist'rous storm.\\r\\n But leave it all to God. Whither away?\\r\\n SECOND CITIZEN. Marry, we were sent for to the justices.\\r\\n THIRD CITIZEN. And so was I; I'll bear you company.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, the young DUKE OF YORK, QUEEN ELIZABETH,\\r\\nand the DUCHESS OF YORK\\r\\n\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Last night, I hear, they lay at Stony Stratford,\\r\\n And at Northampton they do rest to-night;\\r\\n To-morrow or next day they will be here.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I long with all my heart to see the Prince.\\r\\n I hope he is much grown since last I saw him.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. But I hear no; they say my son of York\\r\\n Has almost overta'en him in his growth.\\r\\n YORK. Ay, mother; but I would not have it so.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Why, my good cousin, it is good to grow.\\r\\n YORK. Grandam, one night as we did sit at supper,\\r\\n My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow\\r\\n More than my brother. 'Ay,' quoth my uncle Gloucester\\r\\n 'Small herbs have grace: great weeds do grow apace.'\\r\\n And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast,\\r\\n Because sweet flow'rs are slow and weeds make haste.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold\\r\\n In him that did object the same to thee.\\r\\n He was the wretched'st thing when he was young,\\r\\n So long a-growing and so leisurely\\r\\n That, if his rule were true, he should be gracious.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. And so no doubt he is, my gracious madam.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I hope he is; but yet let mothers doubt.\\r\\n YORK. Now, by my troth, if I had been rememb'red,\\r\\n I could have given my uncle's Grace a flout\\r\\n To touch his growth nearer than he touch'd mine.\\r\\n DUCHESS. How, my young York? I prithee let me hear it.\\r\\n YORK. Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast\\r\\n That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old.\\r\\n 'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth.\\r\\n Grandam, this would have been a biting jest.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I prithee, pretty York, who told thee this?\\r\\n YORK. Grandam, his nurse.\\r\\n DUCHESS. His nurse! Why she was dead ere thou wast\\r\\n born.\\r\\n YORK. If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. A parlous boy! Go to, you are too\\r\\n shrewd.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Good madam, be not angry with the child.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Pitchers have ears.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. Here comes a messenger. What news?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Such news, my lord, as grieves me to report.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. How doth the Prince?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Well, madam, and in health.\\r\\n DUCHESS. What is thy news?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Lord Rivers and Lord Grey\\r\\n Are sent to Pomfret, and with them\\r\\n Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Who hath committed them?\\r\\n MESSENGER. The mighty Dukes, Gloucester and Buckingham.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. For what offence?\\r\\n MESSENGER. The sum of all I can, I have disclos'd.\\r\\n Why or for what the nobles were committed\\r\\n Is all unknown to me, my gracious lord.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ay me, I see the ruin of my house!\\r\\n The tiger now hath seiz'd the gentle hind;\\r\\n Insulting tyranny begins to jet\\r\\n Upon the innocent and aweless throne.\\r\\n Welcome, destruction, blood, and massacre!\\r\\n I see, as in a map, the end of all.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Accursed and unquiet wrangling days,\\r\\n How many of you have mine eyes beheld!\\r\\n My husband lost his life to get the crown;\\r\\n And often up and down my sons were toss'd\\r\\n For me to joy and weep their gain and loss;\\r\\n And being seated, and domestic broils\\r\\n Clean over-blown, themselves the conquerors\\r\\n Make war upon themselves-brother to brother,\\r\\n Blood to blood, self against self. O, preposterous\\r\\n And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen,\\r\\n Or let me die, to look on death no more!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Come, come, my boy; we will to\\r\\n sanctuary.\\r\\n Madam, farewell.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Stay, I will go with you.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. You have no cause.\\r\\n ARCHBISHOP. [To the QUEEN] My gracious lady, go.\\r\\n And thither bear your treasure and your goods.\\r\\n For my part, I'll resign unto your Grace\\r\\n The seal I keep; and so betide to me\\r\\n As well I tender you and all of yours!\\r\\n Go, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nThe trumpets sound. Enter the PRINCE OF WALES, GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM,\\r\\nCATESBY, CARDINAL BOURCHIER, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Welcome, sweet Prince, to London, to your\\r\\n chamber.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sovereign.\\r\\n The weary way hath made you melancholy.\\r\\n PRINCE. No, uncle; but our crosses on the way\\r\\n Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy.\\r\\n I want more uncles here to welcome me.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Sweet Prince, the untainted virtue of your\\r\\n years\\r\\n Hath not yet div'd into the world's deceit;\\r\\n Nor more can you distinguish of a man\\r\\n Than of his outward show; which, God He knows,\\r\\n Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart.\\r\\n Those uncles which you want were dangerous;\\r\\n Your Grace attended to their sug'red words\\r\\n But look'd not on the poison of their hearts.\\r\\n God keep you from them and from such false friends!\\r\\n PRINCE. God keep me from false friends! but they were\\r\\n none.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My lord, the Mayor of London comes to greet\\r\\n you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the LORD MAYOR and his train\\r\\n\\r\\n MAYOR. God bless your Grace with health and happy days!\\r\\n PRINCE. I thank you, good my lord, and thank you all.\\r\\n I thought my mother and my brother York\\r\\n Would long ere this have met us on the way.\\r\\n Fie, what a slug is Hastings, that he comes not\\r\\n To tell us whether they will come or no!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD HASTINGS\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. And, in good time, here comes the sweating\\r\\n Lord.\\r\\n PRINCE. Welcome, my lord. What, will our mother come?\\r\\n HASTINGS. On what occasion, God He knows, not I,\\r\\n The Queen your mother and your brother York\\r\\n Have taken sanctuary. The tender Prince\\r\\n Would fain have come with me to meet your Grace,\\r\\n But by his mother was perforce withheld.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Fie, what an indirect and peevish course\\r\\n Is this of hers? Lord Cardinal, will your Grace\\r\\n Persuade the Queen to send the Duke of York\\r\\n Unto his princely brother presently?\\r\\n If she deny, Lord Hastings, go with him\\r\\n And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce.\\r\\n CARDINAL. My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory\\r\\n Can from his mother win the Duke of York,\\r\\n Anon expect him here; but if she be obdurate\\r\\n To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid\\r\\n We should infringe the holy privilege\\r\\n Of blessed sanctuary! Not for all this land\\r\\n Would I be guilty of so deep a sin.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. You are too senseless-obstinate, my lord,\\r\\n Too ceremonious and traditional.\\r\\n Weigh it but with the grossness of this age,\\r\\n You break not sanctuary in seizing him.\\r\\n The benefit thereof is always granted\\r\\n To those whose dealings have deserv'd the place\\r\\n And those who have the wit to claim the place.\\r\\n This Prince hath neither claim'd it nor deserv'd it,\\r\\n And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it.\\r\\n Then, taking him from thence that is not there,\\r\\n You break no privilege nor charter there.\\r\\n Oft have I heard of sanctuary men;\\r\\n But sanctuary children never till now.\\r\\n CARDINAL. My lord, you shall o'errule my mind for once.\\r\\n Come on, Lord Hastings, will you go with me?\\r\\n HASTINGS. I go, my lord.\\r\\n PRINCE. Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may.\\r\\n Exeunt CARDINAL and HASTINGS\\r\\n Say, uncle Gloucester, if our brother come,\\r\\n Where shall we sojourn till our coronation?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Where it seems best unto your royal self.\\r\\n If I may counsel you, some day or two\\r\\n Your Highness shall repose you at the Tower,\\r\\n Then where you please and shall be thought most fit\\r\\n For your best health and recreation.\\r\\n PRINCE. I do not like the Tower, of any place.\\r\\n Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. He did, my gracious lord, begin that place,\\r\\n Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified.\\r\\n PRINCE. Is it upon record, or else reported\\r\\n Successively from age to age, he built it?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Upon record, my gracious lord.\\r\\n PRINCE. But say, my lord, it were not regist'red,\\r\\n Methinks the truth should Eve from age to age,\\r\\n As 'twere retail'd to all posterity,\\r\\n Even to the general all-ending day.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside] So wise so young, they say, do never\\r\\n live long.\\r\\n PRINCE. What say you, uncle?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I say, without characters, fame lives long.\\r\\n [Aside] Thus, like the formal vice, Iniquity,\\r\\n I moralize two meanings in one word.\\r\\n PRINCE. That Julius Caesar was a famous man;\\r\\n With what his valour did enrich his wit,\\r\\n His wit set down to make his valour live.\\r\\n Death makes no conquest of this conqueror;\\r\\n For now he lives in fame, though not in life.\\r\\n I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham-\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. What, my gracious lord?\\r\\n PRINCE. An if I live until I be a man,\\r\\n I'll win our ancient right in France again,\\r\\n Or die a soldier as I liv'd a king.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Short summers lightly have a forward\\r\\n spring.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HASTINGS, young YORK, and the CARDINAL\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Now, in good time, here comes the Duke of\\r\\n York.\\r\\n PRINCE. Richard of York, how fares our loving brother?\\r\\n YORK. Well, my dread lord; so must I can you now.\\r\\n PRINCE. Ay brother, to our grief, as it is yours.\\r\\n Too late he died that might have kept that title,\\r\\n Which by his death hath lost much majesty.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. How fares our cousin, noble Lord of York?\\r\\n YORK. I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord,\\r\\n You said that idle weeds are fast in growth.\\r\\n The Prince my brother hath outgrown me far.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He hath, my lord.\\r\\n YORK. And therefore is he idle?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. O, my fair cousin, I must not say so.\\r\\n YORK. Then he is more beholding to you than I.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He may command me as my sovereign;\\r\\n But you have power in me as in a kinsman.\\r\\n YORK. I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My dagger, little cousin? With all my heart!\\r\\n PRINCE. A beggar, brother?\\r\\n YORK. Of my kind uncle, that I know will give,\\r\\n And being but a toy, which is no grief to give.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin.\\r\\n YORK. A greater gift! O, that's the sword to it!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough.\\r\\n YORK. O, then, I see you will part but with light gifts:\\r\\n In weightier things you'll say a beggar nay.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. It is too heavy for your Grace to wear.\\r\\n YORK. I weigh it lightly, were it heavier.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What, would you have my weapon, little\\r\\n Lord?\\r\\n YORK. I would, that I might thank you as you call me.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. How?\\r\\n YORK. Little.\\r\\n PRINCE. My Lord of York will still be cross in talk.\\r\\n Uncle, your Grace knows how to bear with him.\\r\\n YORK. You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me.\\r\\n Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me;\\r\\n Because that I am little, like an ape,\\r\\n He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons!\\r\\n To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle\\r\\n He prettily and aptly taunts himself.\\r\\n So cunning and so young is wonderful.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My lord, will't please you pass along?\\r\\n Myself and my good cousin Buckingham\\r\\n Will to your mother, to entreat of her\\r\\n To meet you at the Tower and welcome you.\\r\\n YORK. What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord?\\r\\n PRINCE. My Lord Protector needs will have it so.\\r\\n YORK. I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Why, what should you fear?\\r\\n YORK. Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost.\\r\\n My grandam told me he was murder'd there.\\r\\n PRINCE. I fear no uncles dead.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Nor none that live, I hope.\\r\\n PRINCE. An if they live, I hope I need not fear.\\r\\n But come, my lord; and with a heavy heart,\\r\\n Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower.\\r\\n A sennet.\\r\\n Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, and CATESBY\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Think you, my lord, this little prating York\\r\\n Was not incensed by his subtle mother\\r\\n To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. No doubt, no doubt. O, 'tis a perilous boy;\\r\\n Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable.\\r\\n He is all the mother's, from the top to toe.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Well, let them rest. Come hither, Catesby.\\r\\n Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we intend\\r\\n As closely to conceal what we impart.\\r\\n Thou know'st our reasons urg'd upon the way.\\r\\n What think'st thou? Is it not an easy matter\\r\\n To make William Lord Hastings of our mind,\\r\\n For the instalment of this noble Duke\\r\\n In the seat royal of this famous isle?\\r\\n CATESBY. He for his father's sake so loves the Prince\\r\\n That he will not be won to aught against him.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. What think'st thou then of Stanley? Will\\r\\n not he?\\r\\n CATESBY. He will do all in all as Hastings doth.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Well then, no more but this: go, gentle\\r\\n Catesby,\\r\\n And, as it were far off, sound thou Lord Hastings\\r\\n How he doth stand affected to our purpose;\\r\\n And summon him to-morrow to the Tower,\\r\\n To sit about the coronation.\\r\\n If thou dost find him tractable to us,\\r\\n Encourage him, and tell him all our reasons;\\r\\n If he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling,\\r\\n Be thou so too, and so break off the talk,\\r\\n And give us notice of his inclination;\\r\\n For we to-morrow hold divided councils,\\r\\n Wherein thyself shalt highly be employ'd.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Commend me to Lord William. Tell him,\\r\\n Catesby,\\r\\n His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries\\r\\n To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret Castle;\\r\\n And bid my lord, for joy of this good news,\\r\\n Give Mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Good Catesby, go effect this business soundly.\\r\\n CATESBY. My good lords both, with all the heed I can.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep?\\r\\n CATESBY. You shall, my lord.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. At Crosby House, there shall you find us both.\\r\\n Exit CATESBY\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Now, my lord, what shall we do if we\\r\\n perceive\\r\\n Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Chop off his head-something we will\\r\\n determine.\\r\\n And, look when I am King, claim thou of me\\r\\n The earldom of Hereford and all the movables\\r\\n Whereof the King my brother was possess'd.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I'll claim that promise at your Grace's hand.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And look to have it yielded with all kindness.\\r\\n Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards\\r\\n We may digest our complots in some form. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nBefore LORD HASTING'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a MESSENGER to the door of HASTINGS\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. My lord, my lord! [Knocking]\\r\\n HASTINGS. [Within] Who knocks?\\r\\n MESSENGER. One from the Lord Stanley.\\r\\n HASTINGS. [Within] What is't o'clock?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Upon the stroke of four.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD HASTINGS\\r\\n\\r\\n HASTINGS. Cannot my Lord Stanley sleep these tedious\\r\\n nights?\\r\\n MESSENGER. So it appears by that I have to say.\\r\\n First, he commends him to your noble self.\\r\\n HASTINGS. What then?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Then certifies your lordship that this night\\r\\n He dreamt the boar had razed off his helm.\\r\\n Besides, he says there are two councils kept,\\r\\n And that may be determin'd at the one\\r\\n Which may make you and him to rue at th' other.\\r\\n Therefore he sends to know your lordship's pleasure-\\r\\n If you will presently take horse with him\\r\\n And with all speed post with him toward the north\\r\\n To shun the danger that his soul divines.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord;\\r\\n Bid him not fear the separated council:\\r\\n His honour and myself are at the one,\\r\\n And at the other is my good friend Catesby;\\r\\n Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us\\r\\n Whereof I shall not have intelligence.\\r\\n Tell him his fears are shallow, without instance;\\r\\n And for his dreams, I wonder he's so simple\\r\\n To trust the mock'ry of unquiet slumbers.\\r\\n To fly the boar before the boar pursues\\r\\n Were to incense the boar to follow us\\r\\n And make pursuit where he did mean no chase.\\r\\n Go, bid thy master rise and come to me;\\r\\n And we will both together to the Tower,\\r\\n Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly.\\r\\n MESSENGER. I'll go, my lord, and tell him what you say.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n CATESBY. Many good morrows to my noble lord!\\r\\n HASTINGS. Good morrow, Catesby; you are early stirring.\\r\\n What news, what news, in this our tott'ring state?\\r\\n CATESBY. It is a reeling world indeed, my lord;\\r\\n And I believe will never stand upright\\r\\n Till Richard wear the garland of the realm.\\r\\n HASTINGS. How, wear the garland! Dost thou mean the\\r\\n crown?\\r\\n CATESBY. Ay, my good lord.\\r\\n HASTINGS. I'll have this crown of mine cut from my\\r\\n shoulders\\r\\n Before I'll see the crown so foul misplac'd.\\r\\n But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it?\\r\\n CATESBY. Ay, on my life; and hopes to find you forward\\r\\n Upon his party for the gain thereof;\\r\\n And thereupon he sends you this good news,\\r\\n That this same very day your enemies,\\r\\n The kindred of the Queen, must die at Pomfret.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Indeed, I am no mourner for that news,\\r\\n Because they have been still my adversaries;\\r\\n But that I'll give my voice on Richard's side\\r\\n To bar my master's heirs in true descent,\\r\\n God knows I will not do it to the death.\\r\\n CATESBY. God keep your lordship in that gracious mind!\\r\\n HASTINGS. But I shall laugh at this a twelve month hence,\\r\\n That they which brought me in my master's hate,\\r\\n I live to look upon their tragedy.\\r\\n Well, Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older,\\r\\n I'll send some packing that yet think not on't.\\r\\n CATESBY. 'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord,\\r\\n When men are unprepar'd and look not for it.\\r\\n HASTINGS. O monstrous, monstrous! And so falls it out\\r\\n With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey; and so 'twill do\\r\\n With some men else that think themselves as safe\\r\\n As thou and I, who, as thou knowest, are dear\\r\\n To princely Richard and to Buckingham.\\r\\n CATESBY. The Princes both make high account of you-\\r\\n [Aside] For they account his head upon the bridge.\\r\\n HASTINGS. I know they do, and I have well deserv'd it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD STANLEY\\r\\n\\r\\n Come on, come on; where is your boar-spear, man?\\r\\n Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided?\\r\\n STANLEY. My lord, good morrow; good morrow, Catesby.\\r\\n You may jest on, but, by the holy rood,\\r\\n I do not like these several councils, I.\\r\\n HASTINGS. My lord, I hold my life as dear as yours,\\r\\n And never in my days, I do protest,\\r\\n Was it so precious to me as 'tis now.\\r\\n Think you, but that I know our state secure,\\r\\n I would be so triumphant as I am?\\r\\n STANLEY. The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from\\r\\n London,\\r\\n Were jocund and suppos'd their states were sure,\\r\\n And they indeed had no cause to mistrust;\\r\\n But yet you see how soon the day o'ercast.\\r\\n This sudden stab of rancour I misdoubt;\\r\\n Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward.\\r\\n What, shall we toward the Tower? The day is spent.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Come, come, have with you. Wot you what, my\\r\\n Lord?\\r\\n To-day the lords you talk'd of are beheaded.\\r\\n STANLEY. They, for their truth, might better wear their\\r\\n heads\\r\\n Than some that have accus'd them wear their hats.\\r\\n But come, my lord, let's away.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter HASTINGS, a pursuivant\\r\\n\\r\\n HASTINGS. Go on before; I'll talk with this good fellow.\\r\\n Exeunt STANLEY and CATESBY\\r\\n How now, Hastings! How goes the world with thee?\\r\\n PURSUIVANT. The better that your lordship please to ask.\\r\\n HASTINGS. I tell thee, man, 'tis better with me now\\r\\n Than when thou met'st me last where now we meet:\\r\\n Then was I going prisoner to the Tower\\r\\n By the suggestion of the Queen's allies;\\r\\n But now, I tell thee-keep it to thyself-\\r\\n This day those enernies are put to death,\\r\\n And I in better state than e'er I was.\\r\\n PURSUIVANT. God hold it, to your honour's good content!\\r\\n HASTINGS. Gramercy, Hastings; there, drink that for me.\\r\\n [Throws him his purse]\\r\\n PURSUIVANT. I thank your honour. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a PRIEST\\r\\n\\r\\n PRIEST. Well met, my lord; I am glad to see your honour.\\r\\n HASTINGS. I thank thee, good Sir John, with all my heart.\\r\\n I am in your debt for your last exercise;\\r\\n Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you.\\r\\n [He whispers in his ear]\\r\\n PRIEST. I'll wait upon your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. What, talking with a priest, Lord\\r\\n Chamberlain!\\r\\n Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest:\\r\\n Your honour hath no shriving work in hand.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Good faith, and when I met this holy man,\\r\\n The men you talk of came into my mind.\\r\\n What, go you toward the Tower?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I do, my lord, but long I cannot stay there;\\r\\n I shall return before your lordship thence.\\r\\n HASTINGS. Nay, like enough, for I stay dinner there.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. [Aside] And supper too, although thou\\r\\n knowest it not.-\\r\\n Come, will you go?\\r\\n HASTINGS. I'll wait upon your lordship. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nPomfret Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SIR RICHARD RATCLIFF, with halberds, carrying the Nobles,\\r\\nRIVERS, GREY, and VAUGHAN, to death\\r\\n\\r\\n RIVERS. Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this:\\r\\n To-day shalt thou behold a subject die\\r\\n For truth, for duty, and for loyalty.\\r\\n GREY. God bless the Prince from all the pack of you!\\r\\n A knot you are of damned blood-suckers.\\r\\n VAUGHAN. You live that shall cry woe for this hereafter.\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Dispatch; the limit of your lives is out.\\r\\n RIVERS. O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prison,\\r\\n Fatal and ominous to noble peers!\\r\\n Within the guilty closure of thy walls\\r\\n RICHARD the Second here was hack'd to death;\\r\\n And for more slander to thy dismal seat,\\r\\n We give to thee our guiltless blood to drink.\\r\\n GREY. Now Margaret's curse is fall'n upon our heads,\\r\\n When she exclaim'd on Hastings, you, and I,\\r\\n For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son.\\r\\n RIVERS. Then curs'd she Richard, then curs'd she\\r\\n Buckingham,\\r\\n Then curs'd she Hastings. O, remember, God,\\r\\n To hear her prayer for them, as now for us!\\r\\n And for my sister, and her princely sons,\\r\\n Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood,\\r\\n Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt.\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Make haste; the hour of death is expiate.\\r\\n RIVERS. Come, Grey; come, Vaughan; let us here embrace.\\r\\n Farewell, until we meet again in heaven. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The Tower\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, HASTINGS, the BISHOP of ELY, RATCLIFF, LOVEL,\\r\\nwith others and seat themselves at a table\\r\\n\\r\\n HASTINGS. Now, noble peers, the cause why we are met\\r\\n Is to determine of the coronation.\\r\\n In God's name speak-when is the royal day?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Is all things ready for the royal time?\\r\\n DERBY. It is, and wants but nomination.\\r\\n BISHOP OF ELY. To-morrow then I judge a happy day.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Who knows the Lord Protector's mind\\r\\n herein?\\r\\n Who is most inward with the noble Duke?\\r\\n BISHOP OF ELY. Your Grace, we think, should soonest know\\r\\n his mind.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. We know each other's faces; for our hearts,\\r\\n He knows no more of mine than I of yours;\\r\\n Or I of his, my lord, than you of mine.\\r\\n Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love.\\r\\n HASTINGS. I thank his Grace, I know he loves me well;\\r\\n But for his purpose in the coronation\\r\\n I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd\\r\\n His gracious pleasure any way therein.\\r\\n But you, my honourable lords, may name the time;\\r\\n And in the Duke's behalf I'll give my voice,\\r\\n Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n BISHOP OF ELY. In happy time, here comes the Duke himself.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My noble lords and cousins an, good morrow.\\r\\n I have been long a sleeper, but I trust\\r\\n My absence doth neglect no great design\\r\\n Which by my presence might have been concluded.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Had you not come upon your cue, my lord,\\r\\n WILLIAM Lord Hastings had pronounc'd your part-\\r\\n I mean, your voice for crowning of the King.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Than my Lord Hastings no man might be\\r\\n bolder;\\r\\n His lordship knows me well and loves me well.\\r\\n My lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn\\r\\n I saw good strawberries in your garden there.\\r\\n I do beseech you send for some of them.\\r\\n BISHOP of ELY. Marry and will, my lord, with all my heart.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you.\\r\\n [Takes him aside]\\r\\n Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business,\\r\\n And finds the testy gentleman so hot\\r\\n That he will lose his head ere give consent\\r\\n His master's child, as worshipfully he terms it,\\r\\n Shall lose the royalty of England's throne.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Withdraw yourself awhile; I'll go with you.\\r\\n Exeunt GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n DERBY. We have not yet set down this day of triumph.\\r\\n To-morrow, in my judgment, is too sudden;\\r\\n For I myself am not so well provided\\r\\n As else I would be, were the day prolong'd.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter the BISHOP OF ELY\\r\\n\\r\\n BISHOP OF ELY. Where is my lord the Duke of Gloucester?\\r\\n I have sent for these strawberries.\\r\\n HASTINGS. His Grace looks cheerfully and smooth this\\r\\n morning;\\r\\n There's some conceit or other likes him well\\r\\n When that he bids good morrow with such spirit.\\r\\n I think there's never a man in Christendom\\r\\n Can lesser hide his love or hate than he;\\r\\n For by his face straight shall you know his heart.\\r\\n DERBY. What of his heart perceive you in his face\\r\\n By any livelihood he show'd to-day?\\r\\n HASTINGS. Marry, that with no man here he is offended;\\r\\n For, were he, he had shown it in his looks.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve\\r\\n That do conspire my death with devilish plots\\r\\n Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevail'd\\r\\n Upon my body with their hellish charms?\\r\\n HASTINGS. The tender love I bear your Grace, my lord,\\r\\n Makes me most forward in this princely presence\\r\\n To doom th' offenders, whosoe'er they be.\\r\\n I say, my lord, they have deserved death.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Then be your eyes the witness of their evil.\\r\\n Look how I am bewitch'd; behold, mine arm\\r\\n Is like a blasted sapling wither'd up.\\r\\n And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch,\\r\\n Consorted with that harlot strumpet Shore,\\r\\n That by their witchcraft thus have marked me.\\r\\n HASTINGS. If they have done this deed, my noble lord-\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. If?-thou protector of this damned strumpet,\\r\\n Talk'st thou to me of ifs? Thou art a traitor.\\r\\n Off with his head! Now by Saint Paul I swear\\r\\n I will not dine until I see the same.\\r\\n Lovel and Ratcliff, look that it be done.\\r\\n The rest that love me, rise and follow me.\\r\\n Exeunt all but HASTINGS, LOVEL, and RATCLIFF\\r\\n HASTINGS. Woe, woe, for England! not a whit for me;\\r\\n For I, too fond, might have prevented this.\\r\\n STANLEY did dream the boar did raze our helms,\\r\\n And I did scorn it and disdain to fly.\\r\\n Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble,\\r\\n And started when he look'd upon the Tower,\\r\\n As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house.\\r\\n O, now I need the priest that spake to me!\\r\\n I now repent I told the pursuivant,\\r\\n As too triumphing, how mine enemies\\r\\n To-day at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd,\\r\\n And I myself secure in grace and favour.\\r\\n O Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse\\r\\n Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head!\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Come, come, dispatch; the Duke would be at\\r\\n dinner.\\r\\n Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head.\\r\\n HASTINGS. O momentary grace of mortal men,\\r\\n Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!\\r\\n Who builds his hope in air of your good looks\\r\\n Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast,\\r\\n Ready with every nod to tumble down\\r\\n Into the fatal bowels of the deep.\\r\\n LOVEL. Come, come, dispatch; 'tis bootless to exclaim.\\r\\n HASTINGS. O bloody Richard! Miserable England!\\r\\n I prophesy the fearfull'st time to thee\\r\\n That ever wretched age hath look'd upon.\\r\\n Come, lead me to the block; bear him my head.\\r\\n They smile at me who shortly shall be dead. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The Tower-walls\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM in rotten armour, marvellous\\r\\nill-favoured\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Come, cousin, canst thou quake and change\\r\\n thy colour,\\r\\n Murder thy breath in middle of a word,\\r\\n And then again begin, and stop again,\\r\\n As if thou were distraught and mad with terror?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian;\\r\\n Speak and look back, and pry on every side,\\r\\n Tremble and start at wagging of a straw,\\r\\n Intending deep suspicion. Ghastly looks\\r\\n Are at my service, like enforced smiles;\\r\\n And both are ready in their offices\\r\\n At any time to grace my stratagems.\\r\\n But what, is Catesby gone?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. He is; and, see, he brings the mayor along.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the LORD MAYOR and CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Lord Mayor-\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Look to the drawbridge there!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Hark! a drum.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Catesby, o'erlook the walls.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Lord Mayor, the reason we have sent-\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Look back, defend thee; here are enemies.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. God and our innocence defend and guard us!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LOVEL and RATCLIFF, with HASTINGS' head\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Be patient; they are friends-Ratcliff and Lovel.\\r\\n LOVEL. Here is the head of that ignoble traitor,\\r\\n The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. So dear I lov'd the man that I must weep.\\r\\n I took him for the plainest harmless creature\\r\\n That breath'd upon the earth a Christian;\\r\\n Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded\\r\\n The history of all her secret thoughts.\\r\\n So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue\\r\\n That, his apparent open guilt omitted,\\r\\n I mean his conversation with Shore's wife-\\r\\n He liv'd from all attainder of suspects.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Well, well, he was the covert'st shelt'red\\r\\n traitor\\r\\n That ever liv'd.\\r\\n Would you imagine, or almost believe-\\r\\n Were't not that by great preservation\\r\\n We live to tell it-that the subtle traitor\\r\\n This day had plotted, in the council-house,\\r\\n To murder me and my good Lord of Gloucester.\\r\\n MAYOR. Had he done so?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What! think you we are Turks or Infidels?\\r\\n Or that we would, against the form of law,\\r\\n Proceed thus rashly in the villain's death\\r\\n But that the extreme peril of the case,\\r\\n The peace of England and our persons' safety,\\r\\n Enforc'd us to this execution?\\r\\n MAYOR. Now, fair befall you! He deserv'd his death;\\r\\n And your good Graces both have well proceeded\\r\\n To warn false traitors from the like attempts.\\r\\n I never look'd for better at his hands\\r\\n After he once fell in with Mistress Shore.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Yet had we not determin'd he should die\\r\\n Until your lordship came to see his end-\\r\\n Which now the loving haste of these our friends,\\r\\n Something against our meanings, have prevented-\\r\\n Because, my lord, I would have had you heard\\r\\n The traitor speak, and timorously confess\\r\\n The manner and the purpose of his treasons:\\r\\n That you might well have signified the same\\r\\n Unto the citizens, who haply may\\r\\n Misconster us in him and wail his death.\\r\\n MAYOR. But, my good lord, your Grace's words shall serve\\r\\n As well as I had seen and heard him speak;\\r\\n And do not doubt, right noble Princes both,\\r\\n But I'll acquaint our duteous citizens\\r\\n With all your just proceedings in this cause.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And to that end we wish'd your lordship here,\\r\\n T' avoid the the the censures of the carping world.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Which since you come too late of our intent,\\r\\n Yet witness what you hear we did intend.\\r\\n And so, my good Lord Mayor, we bid farewell.\\r\\n Exit LORD MAYOR\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham.\\r\\n The Mayor towards Guildhall hies him in an post.\\r\\n There, at your meet'st advantage of the time,\\r\\n Infer the bastardy of Edward's children.\\r\\n Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen\\r\\n Only for saying he would make his son\\r\\n Heir to the crown-meaning indeed his house,\\r\\n Which by the sign thereof was termed so.\\r\\n Moreover, urge his hateful luxury\\r\\n And bestial appetite in change of lust,\\r\\n Which stretch'd unto their servants, daughters, wives,\\r\\n Even where his raging eye or savage heart\\r\\n Without control lusted to make a prey.\\r\\n Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person:\\r\\n Tell them, when that my mother went with child\\r\\n Of that insatiate Edward, noble York\\r\\n My princely father then had wars in France\\r\\n And, by true computation of the time,\\r\\n Found that the issue was not his begot;\\r\\n Which well appeared in his lineaments,\\r\\n Being nothing like the noble Duke my father.\\r\\n Yet touch this sparingly, as 'twere far off;\\r\\n Because, my lord, you know my mother lives.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Doubt not, my lord, I'll play the orator\\r\\n As if the golden fee for which I plead\\r\\n Were for myself; and so, my lord, adieu.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's\\r\\n Castle;\\r\\n Where you shall find me well accompanied\\r\\n With reverend fathers and well learned bishops.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I go; and towards three or four o'clock\\r\\n Look for the news that the Guildhall affords. Exit\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor Shaw.\\r\\n [To CATESBY] Go thou to Friar Penker. Bid them both\\r\\n Meet me within this hour at Baynard's Castle.\\r\\n Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER\\r\\n Now will I go to take some privy order\\r\\n To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight,\\r\\n And to give order that no manner person\\r\\n Have any time recourse unto the Princes. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 6.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a SCRIVENER\\r\\n\\r\\n SCRIVENER. Here is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings;\\r\\n Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd\\r\\n That it may be to-day read o'er in Paul's.\\r\\n And mark how well the sequel hangs together:\\r\\n Eleven hours I have spent to write it over,\\r\\n For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me;\\r\\n The precedent was full as long a-doing;\\r\\n And yet within these five hours Hastings liv'd,\\r\\n Untainted, unexamin'd, free, at liberty.\\r\\n Here's a good world the while! Who is so gros\\r\\n That cannot see this palpable device?\\r\\n Yet who's so bold but says he sees it not?\\r\\n Bad is the world; and all will come to nought,\\r\\n When such ill dealing must be seen in thought. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 7.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. Baynard's Castle\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM, at several doors\\r\\n\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. How now, how now! What say the citizens?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Now, by the holy Mother of our Lord,\\r\\n The citizens are mum, say not a word.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's\\r\\n children?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I did; with his contract with Lady Lucy,\\r\\n And his contract by deputy in France;\\r\\n Th' insatiate greediness of his desire,\\r\\n And his enforcement of the city wives;\\r\\n His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy,\\r\\n As being got, your father then in France,\\r\\n And his resemblance, being not like the Duke.\\r\\n Withal I did infer your lineaments,\\r\\n Being the right idea of your father,\\r\\n Both in your form and nobleness of mind;\\r\\n Laid open all your victories in Scotland,\\r\\n Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace,\\r\\n Your bounty, virtue, fair humility;\\r\\n Indeed, left nothing fitting for your purpose\\r\\n Untouch'd or slightly handled in discourse.\\r\\n And when mine oratory drew toward end\\r\\n I bid them that did love their country's good\\r\\n Cry 'God save Richard, England's royal King!'\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. And did they so?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. No, so God help me, they spake not a word;\\r\\n But, like dumb statues or breathing stones,\\r\\n Star'd each on other, and look'd deadly pale.\\r\\n Which when I saw, I reprehended them,\\r\\n And ask'd the Mayor what meant this wilfull silence.\\r\\n His answer was, the people were not used\\r\\n To be spoke to but by the Recorder.\\r\\n Then he was urg'd to tell my tale again.\\r\\n 'Thus saith the Duke, thus hath the Duke inferr'd'-\\r\\n But nothing spoke in warrant from himself.\\r\\n When he had done, some followers of mine own\\r\\n At lower end of the hall hurl'd up their caps,\\r\\n And some ten voices cried 'God save King Richard!'\\r\\n And thus I took the vantage of those few-\\r\\n 'Thanks, gentle citizens and friends,' quoth I\\r\\n 'This general applause and cheerful shout\\r\\n Argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard.'\\r\\n And even here brake off and came away.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. What, tongueless blocks were they? Would\\r\\n they not speak?\\r\\n Will not the Mayor then and his brethren come?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. The Mayor is here at hand. Intend some fear;\\r\\n Be not you spoke with but by mighty suit;\\r\\n And look you get a prayer-book in your hand,\\r\\n And stand between two churchmen, good my lord;\\r\\n For on that ground I'll make a holy descant;\\r\\n And be not easily won to our requests.\\r\\n Play the maid's part: still answer nay, and take it.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I go; and if you plead as well for them\\r\\n As I can say nay to thee for myself,\\r\\n No doubt we bring it to a happy issue.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Go, go, up to the leads; the Lord Mayor\\r\\n knocks. Exit GLOUCESTER\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the LORD MAYOR, ALDERMEN, and citizens\\r\\n\\r\\n Welcome, my lord. I dance attendance here;\\r\\n I think the Duke will not be spoke withal.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n Now, Catesby, what says your lord to my request?\\r\\n CATESBY. He doth entreat your Grace, my noble lord,\\r\\n To visit him to-morrow or next day.\\r\\n He is within, with two right reverend fathers,\\r\\n Divinely bent to meditation;\\r\\n And in no worldly suits would he be mov'd,\\r\\n To draw him from his holy exercise.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Return, good Catesby, to the gracious Duke;\\r\\n Tell him, myself, the Mayor and Aldermen,\\r\\n In deep designs, in matter of great moment,\\r\\n No less importing than our general good,\\r\\n Are come to have some conference with his Grace.\\r\\n CATESBY. I'll signify so much unto him straight. Exit\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Ah ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward!\\r\\n He is not lolling on a lewd love-bed,\\r\\n But on his knees at meditation;\\r\\n Not dallying with a brace of courtezans,\\r\\n But meditating with two deep divines;\\r\\n Not sleeping, to engross his idle body,\\r\\n But praying, to enrich his watchful soul.\\r\\n Happy were England would this virtuous prince\\r\\n Take on his Grace the sovereignty thereof;\\r\\n But, sure, I fear we shall not win him to it.\\r\\n MAYOR. Marry, God defend his Grace should say us nay!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I fear he will. Here Catesby comes again.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n Now, Catesby, what says his Grace?\\r\\n CATESBY. My lord,\\r\\n He wonders to what end you have assembled\\r\\n Such troops of citizens to come to him.\\r\\n His Grace not being warn'd thereof before,\\r\\n He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Sorry I am my noble cousin should\\r\\n Suspect me that I mean no good to him.\\r\\n By heaven, we come to him in perfect love;\\r\\n And so once more return and tell his Grace.\\r\\n Exit CATESBY\\r\\n When holy and devout religious men\\r\\n Are at their beads, 'tis much to draw them thence,\\r\\n So sweet is zealous contemplation.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter GLOUCESTER aloft, between two BISHOPS.\\r\\n CATESBY returns\\r\\n\\r\\n MAYOR. See where his Grace stands 'tween two clergymen!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Two props of virtue for a Christian prince,\\r\\n To stay him from the fall of vanity;\\r\\n And, see, a book of prayer in his hand,\\r\\n True ornaments to know a holy man.\\r\\n Famous Plantagenet, most gracious Prince,\\r\\n Lend favourable ear to our requests,\\r\\n And pardon us the interruption\\r\\n Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. My lord, there needs no such apology:\\r\\n I do beseech your Grace to pardon me,\\r\\n Who, earnest in the service of my God,\\r\\n Deferr'd the visitation of my friends.\\r\\n But, leaving this, what is your Grace's pleasure?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above,\\r\\n And all good men of this ungovern'd isle.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I do suspect I have done some offence\\r\\n That seems disgracious in the city's eye,\\r\\n And that you come to reprehend my ignorance.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. You have, my lord. Would it might please\\r\\n your Grace,\\r\\n On our entreaties, to amend your fault!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Know then, it is your fault that you resign\\r\\n The supreme seat, the throne majestical,\\r\\n The scept'red office of your ancestors,\\r\\n Your state of fortune and your due of birth,\\r\\n The lineal glory of your royal house,\\r\\n To the corruption of a blemish'd stock;\\r\\n Whiles in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts,\\r\\n Which here we waken to our country's good,\\r\\n The noble isle doth want her proper limbs;\\r\\n Her face defac'd with scars of infamy,\\r\\n Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants,\\r\\n And almost should'red in the swallowing gulf\\r\\n Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion.\\r\\n Which to recure, we heartily solicit\\r\\n Your gracious self to take on you the charge\\r\\n And kingly government of this your land-\\r\\n Not as protector, steward, substitute,\\r\\n Or lowly factor for another's gain;\\r\\n But as successively, from blood to blood,\\r\\n Your right of birth, your empery, your own.\\r\\n For this, consorted with the citizens,\\r\\n Your very worshipful and loving friends,\\r\\n And by their vehement instigation,\\r\\n In this just cause come I to move your Grace.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. I cannot tell if to depart in silence\\r\\n Or bitterly to speak in your reproof\\r\\n Best fitteth my degree or your condition.\\r\\n If not to answer, you might haply think\\r\\n Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded\\r\\n To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty,\\r\\n Which fondly you would here impose on me;\\r\\n If to reprove you for this suit of yours,\\r\\n So season'd with your faithful love to me,\\r\\n Then, on the other side, I check'd my friends.\\r\\n Therefore-to speak, and to avoid the first,\\r\\n And then, in speaking, not to incur the last-\\r\\n Definitively thus I answer you:\\r\\n Your love deserves my thanks, but my desert\\r\\n Unmeritable shuns your high request.\\r\\n First, if all obstacles were cut away,\\r\\n And that my path were even to the crown,\\r\\n As the ripe revenue and due of birth,\\r\\n Yet so much is my poverty of spirit,\\r\\n So mighty and so many my defects,\\r\\n That I would rather hide me from my greatness-\\r\\n Being a bark to brook no mighty sea-\\r\\n Than in my greatness covet to be hid,\\r\\n And in the vapour of my glory smother'd.\\r\\n But, God be thank'd, there is no need of me-\\r\\n And much I need to help you, were there need.\\r\\n The royal tree hath left us royal fruit\\r\\n Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time,\\r\\n Will well become the seat of majesty\\r\\n And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign.\\r\\n On him I lay that you would lay on me-\\r\\n The right and fortune of his happy stars,\\r\\n Which God defend that I should wring from him.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord, this argues conscience in your\\r\\n Grace;\\r\\n But the respects thereof are nice and trivial,\\r\\n All circumstances well considered.\\r\\n You say that Edward is your brother's son.\\r\\n So say we too, but not by Edward's wife;\\r\\n For first was he contract to Lady Lucy-\\r\\n Your mother lives a witness to his vow-\\r\\n And afterward by substitute betroth'd\\r\\n To Bona, sister to the King of France.\\r\\n These both put off, a poor petitioner,\\r\\n A care-craz'd mother to a many sons,\\r\\n A beauty-waning and distressed widow,\\r\\n Even in the afternoon of her best days,\\r\\n Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye,\\r\\n Seduc'd the pitch and height of his degree\\r\\n To base declension and loath'd bigamy.\\r\\n By her, in his unlawful bed, he got\\r\\n This Edward, whom our manners call the Prince.\\r\\n More bitterly could I expostulate,\\r\\n Save that, for reverence to some alive,\\r\\n I give a sparing limit to my tongue.\\r\\n Then, good my lord, take to your royal self\\r\\n This proffer'd benefit of dignity;\\r\\n If not to bless us and the land withal,\\r\\n Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry\\r\\n From the corruption of abusing times\\r\\n Unto a lineal true-derived course.\\r\\n MAYOR. Do, good my lord; your citizens entreat you.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer'd love.\\r\\n CATESBY. O, make them joyful, grant their lawful suit!\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Alas, why would you heap this care on me?\\r\\n I am unfit for state and majesty.\\r\\n I do beseech you, take it not amiss:\\r\\n I cannot nor I will not yield to you.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. If you refuse it-as, in love and zeal,\\r\\n Loath to depose the child, your brother's son;\\r\\n As well we know your tenderness of heart\\r\\n And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse,\\r\\n Which we have noted in you to your kindred\\r\\n And egally indeed to all estates-\\r\\n Yet know, whe'er you accept our suit or no,\\r\\n Your brother's son shall never reign our king;\\r\\n But we will plant some other in the throne\\r\\n To the disgrace and downfall of your house;\\r\\n And in this resolution here we leave you.\\r\\n Come, citizens. Zounds, I'll entreat no more.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. O, do not swear, my lord of Buckingham.\\r\\n Exeunt BUCKINGHAM, MAYOR, and citizens\\r\\n CATESBY. Call him again, sweet Prince, accept their suit.\\r\\n If you deny them, all the land will rue it.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Will you enforce me to a world of cares?\\r\\n Call them again. I am not made of stones,\\r\\n But penetrable to your kind entreaties,\\r\\n Albeit against my conscience and my soul.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter BUCKINGHAM and the rest\\r\\n\\r\\n Cousin of Buckingham, and sage grave men,\\r\\n Since you will buckle fortune on my back,\\r\\n To bear her burden, whe'er I will or no,\\r\\n I must have patience to endure the load;\\r\\n But if black scandal or foul-fac'd reproach\\r\\n Attend the sequel of your imposition,\\r\\n Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me\\r\\n From all the impure blots and stains thereof;\\r\\n For God doth know, and you may partly see,\\r\\n How far I am from the desire of this.\\r\\n MAYOR. God bless your Grace! We see it, and will say it.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. In saying so, you shall but say the truth.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Then I salute you with this royal title-\\r\\n Long live King Richard, England's worthy King!\\r\\n ALL. Amen.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. To-morrow may it please you to be crown'd?\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. Even when you please, for you will have it so.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. To-morrow, then, we will attend your Grace;\\r\\n And so, most joyfully, we take our leave.\\r\\n GLOUCESTER. [To the BISHOPS] Come, let us to our holy\\r\\n work again.\\r\\n Farewell, my cousin; farewell, gentle friends. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. Before the Tower\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter QUEEN ELIZABETH, DUCHESS of YORK, and MARQUIS of DORSET, at one\\r\\ndoor;\\r\\nANNE, DUCHESS of GLOUCESTER, leading LADY MARGARET PLANTAGENET,\\r\\nCLARENCE's young daughter, at another door\\r\\n\\r\\n DUCHESS. Who meets us here? My niece Plantagenet,\\r\\n Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloucester?\\r\\n Now, for my life, she's wand'ring to the Tower,\\r\\n On pure heart's love, to greet the tender Princes.\\r\\n Daughter, well met.\\r\\n ANNE. God give your Graces both\\r\\n A happy and a joyful time of day!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. As much to you, good sister! Whither\\r\\n away?\\r\\n ANNE. No farther than the Tower; and, as I guess,\\r\\n Upon the like devotion as yourselves,\\r\\n To gratulate the gentle Princes there.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Kind sister, thanks; we'll enter\\r\\n all together.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BRAKENBURY\\r\\n\\r\\n And in good time, here the lieutenant comes.\\r\\n Master Lieutenant, pray you, by your leave,\\r\\n How doth the Prince, and my young son of York?\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. Right well, dear madam. By your patience,\\r\\n I may not suffer you to visit them.\\r\\n The King hath strictly charg'd the contrary.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. The King! Who's that?\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. I mean the Lord Protector.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. The Lord protect him from that kingly\\r\\n title!\\r\\n Hath he set bounds between their love and me?\\r\\n I am their mother; who shall bar me from them?\\r\\n DUCHESS. I am their father's mother; I will see them.\\r\\n ANNE. Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother.\\r\\n Then bring me to their sights; I'll bear thy blame,\\r\\n And take thy office from thee on my peril.\\r\\n BRAKENBURY. No, madam, no. I may not leave it so;\\r\\n I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter STANLEY\\r\\n\\r\\n STANLEY. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence,\\r\\n And I'll salute your Grace of York as mother\\r\\n And reverend looker-on of two fair queens.\\r\\n [To ANNE] Come, madam, you must straight to\\r\\n Westminster,\\r\\n There to be crowned Richard's royal queen.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, cut my lace asunder\\r\\n That my pent heart may have some scope to beat,\\r\\n Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news!\\r\\n ANNE. Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news!\\r\\n DORSET. Be of good cheer; mother, how fares your Grace?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee\\r\\n gone!\\r\\n Death and destruction dogs thee at thy heels;\\r\\n Thy mother's name is ominous to children.\\r\\n If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas,\\r\\n And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell.\\r\\n Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house,\\r\\n Lest thou increase the number of the dead,\\r\\n And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse,\\r\\n Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen.\\r\\n STANLEY. Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam.\\r\\n Take all the swift advantage of the hours;\\r\\n You shall have letters from me to my son\\r\\n In your behalf, to meet you on the way.\\r\\n Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay.\\r\\n DUCHESS. O ill-dispersing wind of misery!\\r\\n O my accursed womb, the bed of death!\\r\\n A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world,\\r\\n Whose unavoided eye is murderous.\\r\\n STANLEY. Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent.\\r\\n ANNE. And I with all unwillingness will go.\\r\\n O, would to God that the inclusive verge\\r\\n Of golden metal that must round my brow\\r\\n Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brains!\\r\\n Anointed let me be with deadly venom,\\r\\n And die ere men can say 'God save the Queen!'\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Go, go, poor soul; I envy not thy glory.\\r\\n To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm.\\r\\n ANNE. No, why? When he that is my husband now\\r\\n Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse;\\r\\n When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his hands\\r\\n Which issued from my other angel husband,\\r\\n And that dear saint which then I weeping follow'd-\\r\\n O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face,\\r\\n This was my wish: 'Be thou' quoth I 'accurs'd\\r\\n For making me, so young, so old a widow;\\r\\n And when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed;\\r\\n And be thy wife, if any be so mad,\\r\\n More miserable by the life of thee\\r\\n Than thou hast made me by my dear lord's death.'\\r\\n Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,\\r\\n Within so small a time, my woman's heart\\r\\n Grossly grew captive to his honey words\\r\\n And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse,\\r\\n Which hitherto hath held my eyes from rest;\\r\\n For never yet one hour in his bed\\r\\n Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep,\\r\\n But with his timorous dreams was still awak'd.\\r\\n Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;\\r\\n And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy complaining.\\r\\n ANNE. No more than with my soul I mourn for yours.\\r\\n DORSET. Farewell, thou woeful welcomer of glory!\\r\\n ANNE. Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave of it!\\r\\n DUCHESS. [To DORSET] Go thou to Richmond, and good\\r\\n fortune guide thee!\\r\\n [To ANNE] Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend\\r\\n thee! [To QUEEN ELIZABETH] Go thou to sanctuary, and good\\r\\n thoughts possess thee!\\r\\n I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me!\\r\\n Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen,\\r\\n And each hour's joy wreck'd with a week of teen.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Stay, yet look back with me unto the\\r\\n Tower.\\r\\n Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes\\r\\n Whom envy hath immur'd within your walls,\\r\\n Rough cradle for such little pretty ones.\\r\\n Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow\\r\\n For tender princes, use my babies well.\\r\\n So foolish sorrows bids your stones farewell. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nSound a sennet. Enter RICHARD, in pomp, as KING; BUCKINGHAM, CATESBY,\\r\\nRATCLIFF, LOVEL, a PAGE, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Stand all apart. Cousin of Buckingham!\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My gracious sovereign?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Give me thy hand.\\r\\n [Here he ascendeth the throne. Sound]\\r\\n Thus high, by thy advice\\r\\n And thy assistance, is King Richard seated.\\r\\n But shall we wear these glories for a day;\\r\\n Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Still live they, and for ever let them last!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the touch,\\r\\n To try if thou be current gold indeed.\\r\\n Young Edward lives-think now what I would speak.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Say on, my loving lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, Buckingham, I say I would be King.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ha! am I King? 'Tis so; but Edward lives.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. True, noble Prince.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O bitter consequence:\\r\\n That Edward still should live-true noble Prince!\\r\\n Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull.\\r\\n Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead.\\r\\n And I would have it suddenly perform'd.\\r\\n What say'st thou now? Speak suddenly, be brief.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Your Grace may do your pleasure.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Tut, tut, thou art all ice; thy kindness freezes.\\r\\n Say, have I thy consent that they shall die?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Give me some little breath, some pause,\\r\\n dear Lord,\\r\\n Before I positively speak in this.\\r\\n I will resolve you herein presently. Exit\\r\\n CATESBY. [Aside to another] The King is angry; see, he\\r\\n gnaws his lip.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I will converse with iron-witted fools\\r\\n [Descends from the throne]\\r\\n And unrespective boys; none are for me\\r\\n That look into me with considerate eyes.\\r\\n High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.\\r\\n Boy!\\r\\n PAGE. My lord?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Know'st thou not any whom corrupting\\r\\n gold\\r\\n Will tempt unto a close exploit of death?\\r\\n PAGE. I know a discontented gentleman\\r\\n Whose humble means match not his haughty spirit.\\r\\n Gold were as good as twenty orators,\\r\\n And will, no doubt, tempt him to anything.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What is his name?\\r\\n PAGE. His name, my lord, is Tyrrel.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I partly know the man. Go, call him hither,\\r\\n boy. Exit PAGE\\r\\n The deep-revolving witty Buckingham\\r\\n No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels.\\r\\n Hath he so long held out with me, untir'd,\\r\\n And stops he now for breath? Well, be it so.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter STANLEY\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, Lord Stanley! What's the news?\\r\\n STANLEY. Know, my loving lord,\\r\\n The Marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled\\r\\n To Richmond, in the parts where he abides. [Stands apart]\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Come hither, Catesby. Rumour it abroad\\r\\n That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick;\\r\\n I will take order for her keeping close.\\r\\n Inquire me out some mean poor gentleman,\\r\\n Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter-\\r\\n The boy is foolish, and I fear not him.\\r\\n Look how thou dream'st! I say again, give out\\r\\n That Anne, my queen, is sick and like to die.\\r\\n About it; for it stands me much upon\\r\\n To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me.\\r\\n Exit CATESBY\\r\\n I must be married to my brother's daughter,\\r\\n Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass.\\r\\n Murder her brothers, and then marry her!\\r\\n Uncertain way of gain! But I am in\\r\\n So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin.\\r\\n Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PAGE, with TYRREL\\r\\n\\r\\n Is thy name Tyrrel?\\r\\n TYRREL. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Art thou, indeed?\\r\\n TYRREL. Prove me, my gracious lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Dar'st'thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?\\r\\n TYRREL. Please you;\\r\\n But I had rather kill two enemies.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, then thou hast it. Two deep enemies,\\r\\n Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers,\\r\\n Are they that I would have thee deal upon.\\r\\n TYRREL, I mean those bastards in the Tower.\\r\\n TYRREL. Let me have open means to come to them,\\r\\n And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come\\r\\n hither, Tyrrel.\\r\\n Go, by this token. Rise, and lend thine ear. [Whispers]\\r\\n There is no more but so: say it is done,\\r\\n And I will love thee and prefer thee for it.\\r\\n TYRREL. I will dispatch it straight. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord, I have consider'd in my mind\\r\\n The late request that you did sound me in.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to\\r\\n Richmond.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I hear the news, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Stanley, he is your wife's son: well, look\\r\\n unto it.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise,\\r\\n For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd:\\r\\n Th' earldom of Hereford and the movables\\r\\n Which you have promised I shall possess.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey\\r\\n Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. What says your Highness to my just request?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I do remember me: Henry the Sixth\\r\\n Did prophesy that Richmond should be King,\\r\\n When Richmond was a little peevish boy.\\r\\n A king!-perhaps-\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. How chance the prophet could not at that\\r\\n time\\r\\n Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord, your promise for the earldom-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Richmond! When last I was at Exeter,\\r\\n The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle\\r\\n And call'd it Rugemount, at which name I started,\\r\\n Because a bard of Ireland told me once\\r\\n I should not live long after I saw Richmond.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. My lord-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, what's o'clock?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. I am thus bold to put your Grace in mind\\r\\n Of what you promis'd me.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Well, but o'clock?\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Upon the stroke of ten.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Well, let it strike.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Why let it strike?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Because that like a Jack thou keep'st the\\r\\n stroke\\r\\n Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.\\r\\n I am not in the giving vein to-day.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. May it please you to resolve me in my suit.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein.\\r\\n Exeunt all but Buckingham\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. And is it thus? Repays he my deep service\\r\\n With such contempt? Made I him King for this?\\r\\n O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone\\r\\n To Brecknock while my fearful head is on! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TYRREL\\r\\n\\r\\n TYRREL. The tyrannous and bloody act is done,\\r\\n The most arch deed of piteous massacre\\r\\n That ever yet this land was guilty of.\\r\\n Dighton and Forrest, who I did suborn\\r\\n To do this piece of ruthless butchery,\\r\\n Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs,\\r\\n Melted with tenderness and mild compassion,\\r\\n Wept like two children in their deaths' sad story.\\r\\n 'O, thus' quoth Dighton 'lay the gentle babes'-\\r\\n 'Thus, thus,' quoth Forrest 'girdling one another\\r\\n Within their alabaster innocent arms.\\r\\n Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,\\r\\n And in their summer beauty kiss'd each other.\\r\\n A book of prayers on their pillow lay;\\r\\n Which once,' quoth Forrest 'almost chang'd my mind;\\r\\n But, O, the devil'-there the villain stopp'd;\\r\\n When Dighton thus told on: 'We smothered\\r\\n The most replenished sweet work of nature\\r\\n That from the prime creation e'er she framed.'\\r\\n Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse\\r\\n They could not speak; and so I left them both,\\r\\n To bear this tidings to the bloody King.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING RICHARD\\r\\n\\r\\n And here he comes. All health, my sovereign lord!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news?\\r\\n TYRREL. If to have done the thing you gave in charge\\r\\n Beget your happiness, be happy then,\\r\\n For it is done.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. But didst thou see them dead?\\r\\n TYRREL. I did, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And buried, gentle Tyrrel?\\r\\n TYRREL. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them;\\r\\n But where, to say the truth, I do not know.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper,\\r\\n When thou shalt tell the process of their death.\\r\\n Meantime, but think how I may do thee good\\r\\n And be inheritor of thy desire.\\r\\n Farewell till then.\\r\\n TYRREL. I humbly take my leave. Exit\\r\\n KING RICHARD. The son of Clarence have I pent up close;\\r\\n His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage;\\r\\n The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom,\\r\\n And Anne my wife hath bid this world good night.\\r\\n Now, for I know the Britaine Richmond aims\\r\\n At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter,\\r\\n And by that knot looks proudly on the crown,\\r\\n To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter RATCLIFF\\r\\n\\r\\n RATCLIFF. My lord!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Good or bad news, that thou com'st in so\\r\\n bluntly?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Bad news, my lord: Morton is fled to Richmond;\\r\\n And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen,\\r\\n Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near\\r\\n Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength.\\r\\n Come, I have learn'd that fearful commenting\\r\\n Is leaden servitor to dull delay;\\r\\n Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary.\\r\\n Then fiery expedition be my wing,\\r\\n Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king!\\r\\n Go, muster men. My counsel is my shield.\\r\\n We must be brief when traitors brave the field. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nLondon. Before the palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter old QUEEN MARGARET\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. So now prosperity begins to mellow\\r\\n And drop into the rotten mouth of death.\\r\\n Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd\\r\\n To watch the waning of mine enemies.\\r\\n A dire induction am I witness to,\\r\\n And will to France, hoping the consequence\\r\\n Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.\\r\\n Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret. Who comes here?\\r\\n [Retires]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and the DUCHESS OF YORK\\r\\n\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, my poor princes! ah, my tender\\r\\n babes!\\r\\n My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets!\\r\\n If yet your gentle souls fly in the air\\r\\n And be not fix'd in doom perpetual,\\r\\n Hover about me with your airy wings\\r\\n And hear your mother's lamentation.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Hover about her; say that right for right\\r\\n Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night.\\r\\n DUCHESS. So many miseries have craz'd my voice\\r\\n That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute.\\r\\n Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet,\\r\\n Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle\\r\\n lambs\\r\\n And throw them in the entrails of the wolf?\\r\\n When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done?\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. When holy Harry died, and my sweet\\r\\n son.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal living ghost,\\r\\n Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life usurp'd,\\r\\n Brief abstract and record of tedious days,\\r\\n Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, [Sitting down]\\r\\n Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, that thou wouldst as soon afford a\\r\\n grave\\r\\n As thou canst yield a melancholy seat!\\r\\n Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here.\\r\\n Ah, who hath any cause to mourn but we?\\r\\n [Sitting down by her]\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. [Coming forward] If ancient sorrow be\\r\\n most reverend,\\r\\n Give mine the benefit of seniory,\\r\\n And let my griefs frown on the upper hand.\\r\\n If sorrow can admit society, [Sitting down with them]\\r\\n Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine.\\r\\n I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;\\r\\n I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him:\\r\\n Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;\\r\\n Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him;\\r\\n I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard\\r\\n kill'd him.\\r\\n From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept\\r\\n A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death.\\r\\n That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes\\r\\n To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood,\\r\\n That foul defacer of God's handiwork,\\r\\n That excellent grand tyrant of the earth\\r\\n That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,\\r\\n Thy womb let loose to chase us to our graves.\\r\\n O upright, just, and true-disposing God,\\r\\n How do I thank thee that this carnal cur\\r\\n Preys on the issue of his mother's body\\r\\n And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan!\\r\\n DUCHESS. O Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes!\\r\\n God witness with me, I have wept for thine.\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge,\\r\\n And now I cloy me with beholding it.\\r\\n Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward;\\r\\n The other Edward dead, to quit my Edward;\\r\\n Young York he is but boot, because both they\\r\\n Match'd not the high perfection of my loss.\\r\\n Thy Clarence he is dead that stabb'd my Edward;\\r\\n And the beholders of this frantic play,\\r\\n Th' adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,\\r\\n Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves.\\r\\n Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer;\\r\\n Only reserv'd their factor to buy souls\\r\\n And send them thither. But at hand, at hand,\\r\\n Ensues his piteous and unpitied end.\\r\\n Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray,\\r\\n To have him suddenly convey'd from hence.\\r\\n Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray,\\r\\n That I may live and say 'The dog is dead.'\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. O, thou didst prophesy the time would\\r\\n come\\r\\n That I should wish for thee to help me curse\\r\\n That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. I Call'd thee then vain flourish of my\\r\\n fortune;\\r\\n I call'd thee then poor shadow, painted queen,\\r\\n The presentation of but what I was,\\r\\n The flattering index of a direful pageant,\\r\\n One heav'd a-high to be hurl'd down below,\\r\\n A mother only mock'd with two fair babes,\\r\\n A dream of what thou wast, a garish flag\\r\\n To be the aim of every dangerous shot,\\r\\n A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble,\\r\\n A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.\\r\\n Where is thy husband now? Where be thy brothers?\\r\\n Where be thy two sons? Wherein dost thou joy?\\r\\n Who sues, and kneels, and says 'God save the Queen'?\\r\\n Where be the bending peers that flattered thee?\\r\\n Where be the thronging troops that followed thee?\\r\\n Decline an this, and see what now thou art:\\r\\n For happy wife, a most distressed widow;\\r\\n For joyful mother, one that wails the name;\\r\\n For one being su'd to, one that humbly sues;\\r\\n For Queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care;\\r\\n For she that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me;\\r\\n For she being fear'd of all, now fearing one;\\r\\n For she commanding all, obey'd of none.\\r\\n Thus hath the course of justice whirl'd about\\r\\n And left thee but a very prey to time,\\r\\n Having no more but thought of what thou wast\\r\\n To torture thee the more, being what thou art.\\r\\n Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not\\r\\n Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow?\\r\\n Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yoke,\\r\\n From which even here I slip my weary head\\r\\n And leave the burden of it all on thee.\\r\\n Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mischance;\\r\\n These English woes shall make me smile in France.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay awhile\\r\\n And teach me how to curse mine enemies!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the\\r\\n days;\\r\\n Compare dead happiness with living woe;\\r\\n Think that thy babes were sweeter than they were,\\r\\n And he that slew them fouler than he is.\\r\\n Bett'ring thy loss makes the bad-causer worse;\\r\\n Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. My words are dull; O, quicken them\\r\\n with thine!\\r\\n QUEEN MARGARET. Thy woes will make them sharp and\\r\\n pierce like mine. Exit\\r\\n DUCHESS. Why should calamity be fun of words?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Windy attorneys to their client woes,\\r\\n Airy succeeders of intestate joys,\\r\\n Poor breathing orators of miseries,\\r\\n Let them have scope; though what they will impart\\r\\n Help nothing else, yet do they case the heart.\\r\\n DUCHESS. If so, then be not tongue-tied. Go with me,\\r\\n And in the breath of bitter words let's smother\\r\\n My damned son that thy two sweet sons smother'd.\\r\\n The trumpet sounds; be copious in exclaims.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter KING RICHARD and his train, marching with\\r\\n drums and trumpets\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Who intercepts me in my expedition?\\r\\n DUCHESS. O, she that might have intercepted thee,\\r\\n By strangling thee in her accursed womb,\\r\\n From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Hidest thou that forehead with a golden\\r\\n crown\\r\\n Where't should be branded, if that right were right,\\r\\n The slaughter of the Prince that ow'd that crown,\\r\\n And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers?\\r\\n Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my children?\\r\\n DUCHESS. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother\\r\\n Clarence?\\r\\n And little Ned Plantagenet, his son?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan,\\r\\n Grey?\\r\\n DUCHESS. Where is kind Hastings?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. A flourish, trumpets! Strike alarum, drums!\\r\\n Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women\\r\\n Rail on the Lord's anointed. Strike, I say!\\r\\n [Flourish. Alarums]\\r\\n Either be patient and entreat me fair,\\r\\n Or with the clamorous report of war\\r\\n Thus will I drown your exclamations.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Art thou my son?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Then patiently hear my impatience.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Madam, I have a touch of your condition\\r\\n That cannot brook the accent of reproof.\\r\\n DUCHESS. O, let me speak!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Do, then; but I'll not hear.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I will be mild and gentle in my words.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And brief, good mother; for I am in haste.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Art thou so hasty? I have stay'd for thee,\\r\\n God knows, in torment and in agony.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And came I not at last to comfort you?\\r\\n DUCHESS. No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well\\r\\n Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell.\\r\\n A grievous burden was thy birth to me;\\r\\n Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;\\r\\n Thy school-days frightful, desp'rate, wild, and furious;\\r\\n Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous;\\r\\n Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody,\\r\\n More mild, but yet more harmful-kind in hatred.\\r\\n What comfortable hour canst thou name\\r\\n That ever grac'd me with thy company?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Faith, none but Humphrey Hour, that call'd\\r\\n your Grace\\r\\n To breakfast once forth of my company.\\r\\n If I be so disgracious in your eye,\\r\\n Let me march on and not offend you, madam.\\r\\n Strike up the drum.\\r\\n DUCHESS. I prithee hear me speak.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. You speak too bitterly.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Hear me a word;\\r\\n For I shall never speak to thee again.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. So.\\r\\n DUCHESS. Either thou wilt die by God's just ordinance\\r\\n Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror;\\r\\n Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish\\r\\n And never more behold thy face again.\\r\\n Therefore take with thee my most grievous curse,\\r\\n Which in the day of battle tire thee more\\r\\n Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st!\\r\\n My prayers on the adverse party fight;\\r\\n And there the little souls of Edward's children\\r\\n Whisper the spirits of thine enemies\\r\\n And promise them success and victory.\\r\\n Bloody thou art; bloody will be thy end.\\r\\n Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend. Exit\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Though far more cause, yet much less\\r\\n spirit to curse\\r\\n Abides in me; I say amen to her.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Stay, madam, I must talk a word with you.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. I have no moe sons of the royal blood\\r\\n For thee to slaughter. For my daughters, Richard,\\r\\n They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens;\\r\\n And therefore level not to hit their lives.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. You have a daughter call'd Elizabeth.\\r\\n Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. And must she die for this? O, let her\\r\\n live,\\r\\n And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty,\\r\\n Slander myself as false to Edward's bed,\\r\\n Throw over her the veil of infamy;\\r\\n So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter,\\r\\n I will confess she was not Edward's daughter.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Wrong not her birth; she is a royal\\r\\n Princess.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. To save her life I'll say she is not so.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Her life is safest only in her birth.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. And only in that safety died her\\r\\n brothers.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Lo, at their birth good stars were opposite.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. No, to their lives ill friends were\\r\\n contrary.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. All unavoided is the doom of destiny.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. True, when avoided grace makes destiny.\\r\\n My babes were destin'd to a fairer death,\\r\\n If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. You speak as if that I had slain my cousins.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle\\r\\n cozen'd\\r\\n Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.\\r\\n Whose hand soever lanc'd their tender hearts,\\r\\n Thy head, an indirectly, gave direction.\\r\\n No doubt the murd'rous knife was dull and blunt\\r\\n Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart\\r\\n To revel in the entrails of my lambs.\\r\\n But that stiff use of grief makes wild grief tame,\\r\\n My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys\\r\\n Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes;\\r\\n And I, in such a desp'rate bay of death,\\r\\n Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft,\\r\\n Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise\\r\\n And dangerous success of bloody wars,\\r\\n As I intend more good to you and yours\\r\\n Than ever you or yours by me were harm'd!\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. What good is cover'd with the face of\\r\\n heaven,\\r\\n To be discover'd, that can do me good?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. advancement of your children, gentle\\r\\n lady.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their\\r\\n heads?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Unto the dignity and height of Fortune,\\r\\n The high imperial type of this earth's glory.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Flatter my sorrow with report of it;\\r\\n Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour,\\r\\n Canst thou demise to any child of mine?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Even all I have-ay, and myself and all\\r\\n Will I withal endow a child of thine;\\r\\n So in the Lethe of thy angry soul\\r\\n Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs\\r\\n Which thou supposest I have done to thee.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Be brief, lest that the process of thy\\r\\n kindness\\r\\n Last longer telling than thy kindness' date.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then know, that from my soul I love thy\\r\\n daughter.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. My daughter's mother thinks it with her\\r\\n soul.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What do you think?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. That thou dost love my daughter from\\r\\n thy soul.\\r\\n So from thy soul's love didst thou love her brothers,\\r\\n And from my heart's love I do thank thee for it.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning.\\r\\n I mean that with my soul I love thy daughter\\r\\n And do intend to make her Queen of England.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Well, then, who dost thou mean shall be\\r\\n her king?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Even he that makes her Queen. Who else\\r\\n should be?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. What, thou?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Even so. How think you of it?\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. How canst thou woo her?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. That would I learn of you,\\r\\n As one being best acquainted with her humour.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. And wilt thou learn of me?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Madam, with all my heart.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Send to her, by the man that slew her\\r\\n brothers,\\r\\n A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave\\r\\n 'Edward' and 'York.' Then haply will she weep;\\r\\n Therefore present to her-as sometimes Margaret\\r\\n Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood-\\r\\n A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain\\r\\n The purple sap from her sweet brother's body,\\r\\n And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal.\\r\\n If this inducement move her not to love,\\r\\n Send her a letter of thy noble deeds;\\r\\n Tell her thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence,\\r\\n Her uncle Rivers; ay, and for her sake\\r\\n Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. You mock me, madam; this is not the way\\r\\n To win your daughter.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. There is no other way;\\r\\n Unless thou couldst put on some other shape\\r\\n And not be Richard that hath done all this.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Say that I did all this for love of her.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but\\r\\n hate thee,\\r\\n Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Look what is done cannot be now amended.\\r\\n Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,\\r\\n Which after-hours gives leisure to repent.\\r\\n If I did take the kingdom from your sons,\\r\\n To make amends I'll give it to your daughter.\\r\\n If I have kill'd the issue of your womb,\\r\\n To quicken your increase I will beget\\r\\n Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter.\\r\\n A grandam's name is little less in love\\r\\n Than is the doating title of a mother;\\r\\n They are as children but one step below,\\r\\n Even of your metal, of your very blood;\\r\\n Of all one pain, save for a night of groans\\r\\n Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like sorrow.\\r\\n Your children were vexation to your youth;\\r\\n But mine shall be a comfort to your age.\\r\\n The loss you have is but a son being King,\\r\\n And by that loss your daughter is made Queen.\\r\\n I cannot make you what amends I would,\\r\\n Therefore accept such kindness as I can.\\r\\n Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul\\r\\n Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,\\r\\n This fair alliance quickly shall can home\\r\\n To high promotions and great dignity.\\r\\n The King, that calls your beauteous daughter wife,\\r\\n Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother;\\r\\n Again shall you be mother to a king,\\r\\n And all the ruins of distressful times\\r\\n Repair'd with double riches of content.\\r\\n What! we have many goodly days to see.\\r\\n The liquid drops of tears that you have shed\\r\\n Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl,\\r\\n Advantaging their loan with interest\\r\\n Of ten times double gain of happiness.\\r\\n Go, then, my mother, to thy daughter go;\\r\\n Make bold her bashful years with your experience;\\r\\n Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale;\\r\\n Put in her tender heart th' aspiring flame\\r\\n Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the Princes\\r\\n With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys.\\r\\n And when this arm of mine hath chastised\\r\\n The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham,\\r\\n Bound with triumphant garlands will I come,\\r\\n And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed;\\r\\n To whom I will retail my conquest won,\\r\\n And she shall be sole victoress, Caesar's Caesar.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. What were I best to say? Her father's\\r\\n brother\\r\\n Would be her lord? Or shall I say her uncle?\\r\\n Or he that slew her brothers and her uncles?\\r\\n Under what title shall I woo for thee\\r\\n That God, the law, my honour, and her love\\r\\n Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Infer fair England's peace by this alliance.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Which she shall purchase with\\r\\n still-lasting war.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Tell her the King, that may command,\\r\\n entreats.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. That at her hands which the King's\\r\\n King forbids.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Say she shall be a high and mighty queen.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. To wail the title, as her mother doth.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Say I will love her everlastingly.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. But how long shall that title 'ever' last?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. But how long fairly shall her sweet life\\r\\n last?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. As long as heaven and nature lengthens it.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. As long as hell and Richard likes of it.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Say I, her sovereign, am her subject low.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. But she, your subject, loathes such\\r\\n sovereignty.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Be eloquent in my behalf to her.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. An honest tale speeds best being plainly\\r\\n told.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then plainly to her tell my loving tale.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. O, no, my reasons are too deep and\\r\\n dead-\\r\\n Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Harp not on that string, madam; that is past.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Harp on it still shall I till heartstrings\\r\\n break.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Now, by my George, my garter, and my\\r\\n crown-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Profan'd, dishonour'd, and the third\\r\\n usurp'd.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I swear-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. By nothing; for this is no oath:\\r\\n Thy George, profan'd, hath lost his lordly honour;\\r\\n Thy garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue;\\r\\n Thy crown, usurp'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory.\\r\\n If something thou wouldst swear to be believ'd,\\r\\n Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then, by my self-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thy self is self-misus'd.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Now, by the world-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. 'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. My father's death-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thy life hath it dishonour'd.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, then, by God-\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. God's wrong is most of all.\\r\\n If thou didst fear to break an oath with Him,\\r\\n The unity the King my husband made\\r\\n Thou hadst not broken, nor my brothers died.\\r\\n If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him,\\r\\n Th' imperial metal, circling now thy head,\\r\\n Had grac'd the tender temples of my child;\\r\\n And both the Princes had been breathing here,\\r\\n Which now, two tender bedfellows for dust,\\r\\n Thy broken faith hath made the prey for worms.\\r\\n What canst thou swear by now?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. The time to come.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. That thou hast wronged in the time\\r\\n o'erpast;\\r\\n For I myself have many tears to wash\\r\\n Hereafter time, for time past wrong'd by thee.\\r\\n The children live whose fathers thou hast slaughter'd,\\r\\n Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age;\\r\\n The parents live whose children thou hast butcheed,\\r\\n Old barren plants, to wail it with their age.\\r\\n Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast\\r\\n Misus'd ere us'd, by times ill-us'd o'erpast.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. As I intend to prosper and repent,\\r\\n So thrive I in my dangerous affairs\\r\\n Of hostile arms! Myself myself confound!\\r\\n Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours!\\r\\n Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest!\\r\\n Be opposite all planets of good luck\\r\\n To my proceeding!-if, with dear heart's love,\\r\\n Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts,\\r\\n I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter.\\r\\n In her consists my happiness and thine;\\r\\n Without her, follows to myself and thee,\\r\\n Herself, the land, and many a Christian soul,\\r\\n Death, desolation, ruin, and decay.\\r\\n It cannot be avoided but by this;\\r\\n It will not be avoided but by this.\\r\\n Therefore, dear mother-I must call you so-\\r\\n Be the attorney of my love to her;\\r\\n Plead what I will be, not what I have been;\\r\\n Not my deserts, but what I will deserve.\\r\\n Urge the necessity and state of times,\\r\\n And be not peevish-fond in great designs.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, if the devil tempt you to do good.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I forget myself to be myself?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, if your self's remembrance wrong\\r\\n yourself.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Yet thou didst kill my children.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. But in your daughter's womb I bury them;\\r\\n Where, in that nest of spicery, they will breed\\r\\n Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. And be a happy mother by the deed.\\r\\n QUEEN ELIZABETH. I go. Write to me very shortly,\\r\\n And you shall understand from me her mind.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Bear her my true love's kiss; and so, farewell.\\r\\n Kissing her. Exit QUEEN ELIZABETH\\r\\n Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter RATCLIFF; CATESBY following\\r\\n\\r\\n How now! what news?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast\\r\\n Rideth a puissant navy; to our shores\\r\\n Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,\\r\\n Unarm'd, and unresolv'd to beat them back.\\r\\n 'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral;\\r\\n And there they hull, expecting but the aid\\r\\n Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of\\r\\n Norfolk.\\r\\n Ratcliff, thyself-or Catesby; where is he?\\r\\n CATESBY. Here, my good lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Catesby, fly to the Duke.\\r\\n CATESBY. I will my lord, with all convenient haste.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ratcliff, come hither. Post to Salisbury;\\r\\n When thou com'st thither- [To CATESBY] Dull,\\r\\n unmindfull villain,\\r\\n Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the Duke?\\r\\n CATESBY. First, mighty liege, tell me your Highness' pleasure,\\r\\n What from your Grace I shall deliver to him.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O, true, good Catesby. Bid him levy straight\\r\\n The greatest strength and power that he can make\\r\\n And meet me suddenly at Salisbury.\\r\\n CATESBY. I go. Exit\\r\\n RATCLIFF. What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, what wouldst thou do there before I\\r\\n go?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Your Highness told me I should post before.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. My mind is chang'd.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LORD STANLEY\\r\\n\\r\\n STANLEY, what news with you?\\r\\n STANLEY. None good, my liege, to please you with\\r\\n the hearing;\\r\\n Nor none so bad but well may be reported.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Hoyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad!\\r\\n What need'st thou run so many miles about,\\r\\n When thou mayest tell thy tale the nearest way?\\r\\n Once more, what news?\\r\\n STANLEY. Richmond is on the seas.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. There let him sink, and be the seas on him!\\r\\n White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there?\\r\\n STANLEY. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Well, as you guess?\\r\\n STANLEY. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton,\\r\\n He makes for England here to claim the crown.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Is the chair empty? Is the sword unsway'd?\\r\\n Is the King dead, the empire unpossess'd?\\r\\n What heir of York is there alive but we?\\r\\n And who is England's King but great York's heir?\\r\\n Then tell me what makes he upon the seas.\\r\\n STANLEY. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Unless for that he comes to be your liege,\\r\\n You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes.\\r\\n Thou wilt revolt and fly to him, I fear.\\r\\n STANLEY. No, my good lord; therefore mistrust me not.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Where is thy power then, to beat him back?\\r\\n Where be thy tenants and thy followers?\\r\\n Are they not now upon the western shore,\\r\\n Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships?\\r\\n STANLEY. No, my good lord, my friends are in the north.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Cold friends to me. What do they in the\\r\\n north,\\r\\n When they should serve their sovereign in the west?\\r\\n STANLEY. They have not been commanded, mighty King.\\r\\n Pleaseth your Majesty to give me leave,\\r\\n I'll muster up my friends and meet your Grace\\r\\n Where and what time your Majesty shall please.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Ay, ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with\\r\\n Richmond;\\r\\n But I'll not trust thee.\\r\\n STANLEY. Most mighty sovereign,\\r\\n You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful.\\r\\n I never was nor never will be false.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Go, then, and muster men. But leave behind\\r\\n Your son, George Stanley. Look your heart be firm,\\r\\n Or else his head's assurance is but frail.\\r\\n STANLEY. So deal with him as I prove true to you. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire,\\r\\n As I by friends am well advertised,\\r\\n Sir Edward Courtney and the haughty prelate,\\r\\n Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother,\\r\\n With many moe confederates, are in arms.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND MESSENGER. In Kent, my liege, the Guilfords are in\\r\\n arms;\\r\\n And every hour more competitors\\r\\n Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n THIRD MESSENGER. My lord, the army of great Buckingham-\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Out on you, owls! Nothing but songs of\\r\\n death? [He strikes him]\\r\\n There, take thou that till thou bring better news.\\r\\n THIRD MESSENGER. The news I have to tell your Majesty\\r\\n Is that by sudden floods and fall of waters\\r\\n Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd;\\r\\n And he himself wand'red away alone,\\r\\n No man knows whither.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I cry thee mercy.\\r\\n There is my purse to cure that blow of thine.\\r\\n Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd\\r\\n Reward to him that brings the traitor in?\\r\\n THIRD MESSENGER. Such proclamation hath been made,\\r\\n my Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n FOURTH MESSENGER. Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Marquis\\r\\n Dorset,\\r\\n 'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms.\\r\\n But this good comfort bring I to your Highness-\\r\\n The Britaine navy is dispers'd by tempest.\\r\\n Richmond in Dorsetshire sent out a boat\\r\\n Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks\\r\\n If they were his assistants, yea or no;\\r\\n Who answer'd him they came from Buckingham\\r\\n Upon his party. He, mistrusting them,\\r\\n Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Britaine.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. March on, march on, since we are up in\\r\\n arms;\\r\\n If not to fight with foreign enemies,\\r\\n Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n CATESBY. My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken-\\r\\n That is the best news. That the Earl of Richmond\\r\\n Is with a mighty power landed at Milford\\r\\n Is colder tidings, yet they must be told.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Away towards Salisbury! While we reason\\r\\n here\\r\\n A royal battle might be won and lost.\\r\\n Some one take order Buckingham be brought\\r\\n To Salisbury; the rest march on with me.\\r\\n Flourish. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD DERBY'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter STANLEY and SIR CHRISTOPHER URSWICK\\r\\n\\r\\n STANLEY. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me:\\r\\n That in the sty of the most deadly boar\\r\\n My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold;\\r\\n If I revolt, off goes young George's head;\\r\\n The fear of that holds off my present aid.\\r\\n So, get thee gone; commend me to thy lord.\\r\\n Withal say that the Queen hath heartily consented\\r\\n He should espouse Elizabeth her daughter.\\r\\n But tell me, where is princely Richmond now?\\r\\n CHRISTOPHER. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford west in Wales.\\r\\n STANLEY. What men of name resort to him?\\r\\n CHRISTOPHER. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier;\\r\\n SIR Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley,\\r\\n OXFORD, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt,\\r\\n And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew;\\r\\n And many other of great name and worth;\\r\\n And towards London do they bend their power,\\r\\n If by the way they be not fought withal.\\r\\n STANLEY. Well, hie thee to thy lord; I kiss his hand;\\r\\n My letter will resolve him of my mind.\\r\\n Farewell. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE 1.\\r\\n\\r\\nSalisbury. An open place\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the SHERIFF and guard, with BUCKINGHAM, led to execution\\r\\n\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Will not King Richard let me speak with\\r\\n him?\\r\\n SHERIFF. No, my good lord; therefore be patient.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Hastings, and Edward's children, Grey, and\\r\\n Rivers,\\r\\n Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward,\\r\\n Vaughan, and all that have miscarried\\r\\n By underhand corrupted foul injustice,\\r\\n If that your moody discontented souls\\r\\n Do through the clouds behold this present hour,\\r\\n Even for revenge mock my destruction!\\r\\n This is All-Souls' day, fellow, is it not?\\r\\n SHERIFF. It is, my lord.\\r\\n BUCKINGHAM. Why, then All-Souls' day is my body's\\r\\n doomsday.\\r\\n This is the day which in King Edward's time\\r\\n I wish'd might fall on me when I was found\\r\\n False to his children and his wife's allies;\\r\\n This is the day wherein I wish'd to fall\\r\\n By the false faith of him whom most I trusted;\\r\\n This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul\\r\\n Is the determin'd respite of my wrongs;\\r\\n That high All-Seer which I dallied with\\r\\n Hath turn'd my feigned prayer on my head\\r\\n And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest.\\r\\n Thus doth He force the swords of wicked men\\r\\n To turn their own points in their masters' bosoms.\\r\\n Thus Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck.\\r\\n 'When he' quoth she 'shall split thy heart with sorrow,\\r\\n Remember Margaret was a prophetess.'\\r\\n Come lead me, officers, to the block of shame;\\r\\n Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2.\\r\\n\\r\\nCamp near Tamworth\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter RICHMOND, OXFORD, SIR JAMES BLUNT, SIR WALTER HERBERT, and\\r\\nothers, with drum and colours\\r\\n\\r\\n RICHMOND. Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends,\\r\\n Bruis'd underneath the yoke of tyranny,\\r\\n Thus far into the bowels of the land\\r\\n Have we march'd on without impediment;\\r\\n And here receive we from our father Stanley\\r\\n Lines of fair comfort and encouragement.\\r\\n The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar,\\r\\n That spoil'd your summer fields and fruitful vines,\\r\\n Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough\\r\\n In your embowell'd bosoms-this foul swine\\r\\n Is now even in the centre of this isle,\\r\\n Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn.\\r\\n From Tamworth thither is but one day's march.\\r\\n In God's name cheerly on, courageous friends,\\r\\n To reap the harvest of perpetual peace\\r\\n By this one bloody trial of sharp war.\\r\\n OXFORD. Every man's conscience is a thousand men,\\r\\n To fight against this guilty homicide.\\r\\n HERBERT. I doubt not but his friends will turn to us.\\r\\n BLUNT. He hath no friends but what are friends for fear,\\r\\n Which in his dearest need will fly from him.\\r\\n RICHMOND. All for our vantage. Then in God's name march.\\r\\n True hope is swift and flies with swallow's wings;\\r\\n Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3.\\r\\n\\r\\nBosworth Field\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter KING RICHARD in arms, with NORFOLK, RATCLIFF, the EARL of SURREYS\\r\\nand others\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Here pitch our tent, even here in Bosworth\\r\\n field.\\r\\n My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad?\\r\\n SURREY. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. My Lord of Norfolk!\\r\\n NORFOLK. Here, most gracious liege.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Norfolk, we must have knocks; ha! must we\\r\\n not?\\r\\n NORFOLK. We must both give and take, my loving lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Up With my tent! Here will I lie to-night;\\r\\n [Soldiers begin to set up the KING'S tent]\\r\\n But where to-morrow? Well, all's one for that.\\r\\n Who hath descried the number of the traitors?\\r\\n NORFOLK. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Why, our battalia trebles that account;\\r\\n Besides, the King's name is a tower of strength,\\r\\n Which they upon the adverse faction want.\\r\\n Up with the tent! Come, noble gentlemen,\\r\\n Let us survey the vantage of the ground.\\r\\n Call for some men of sound direction.\\r\\n Let's lack no discipline, make no delay;\\r\\n For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, on the other side of the field,\\r\\n RICHMOND, SIR WILLIAM BRANDON, OXFORD, DORSET,\\r\\n and others. Some pitch RICHMOND'S tent\\r\\n\\r\\n RICHMOND. The weary sun hath made a golden set,\\r\\n And by the bright tract of his fiery car\\r\\n Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow.\\r\\n Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard.\\r\\n Give me some ink and paper in my tent.\\r\\n I'll draw the form and model of our battle,\\r\\n Limit each leader to his several charge,\\r\\n And part in just proportion our small power.\\r\\n My Lord of Oxford-you, Sir William Brandon-\\r\\n And you, Sir Walter Herbert-stay with me.\\r\\n The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment;\\r\\n Good Captain Blunt, bear my good night to him,\\r\\n And by the second hour in the morning\\r\\n Desire the Earl to see me in my tent.\\r\\n Yet one thing more, good Captain, do for me-\\r\\n Where is Lord Stanley quarter'd, do you know?\\r\\n BLUNT. Unless I have mista'en his colours much-\\r\\n Which well I am assur'd I have not done-\\r\\n His regiment lies half a mile at least\\r\\n South from the mighty power of the King.\\r\\n RICHMOND. If without peril it be possible,\\r\\n Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with him\\r\\n And give him from me this most needful note.\\r\\n BLUNT. Upon my life, my lord, I'll undertake it;\\r\\n And so, God give you quiet rest to-night!\\r\\n RICHMOND. Good night, good Captain Blunt. Come,\\r\\n gentlemen,\\r\\n Let us consult upon to-morrow's business.\\r\\n In to my tent; the dew is raw and cold.\\r\\n [They withdraw into the tent]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, to his-tent, KING RICHARD, NORFOLK,\\r\\n RATCLIFF, and CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What is't o'clock?\\r\\n CATESBY. It's supper-time, my lord;\\r\\n It's nine o'clock.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. I will not sup to-night.\\r\\n Give me some ink and paper.\\r\\n What, is my beaver easier than it was?\\r\\n And all my armour laid into my tent?\\r\\n CATESBY. It is, my liege; and all things are in readiness.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge;\\r\\n Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels.\\r\\n NORFOLK. I go, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Norfolk.\\r\\n NORFOLK. I warrant you, my lord. Exit\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Catesby!\\r\\n CATESBY. My lord?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Send out a pursuivant-at-arms\\r\\n To Stanley's regiment; bid him bring his power\\r\\n Before sunrising, lest his son George fall\\r\\n Into the blind cave of eternal night. Exit CATESBY\\r\\n Fill me a bowl of wine. Give me a watch.\\r\\n Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow.\\r\\n Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy.\\r\\n Ratcliff!\\r\\n RATCLIFF. My lord?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Saw'st thou the melancholy Lord\\r\\n Northumberland?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Thomas the Earl of Surrey and himself,\\r\\n Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop\\r\\n Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. So, I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine.\\r\\n I have not that alacrity of spirit\\r\\n Nor cheer of mind that I was wont to have.\\r\\n Set it down. Is ink and paper ready?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. It is, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Bid my guard watch; leave me.\\r\\n RATCLIFF, about the mid of night come to my tent\\r\\n And help to arm me. Leave me, I say.\\r\\n Exit RATCLIFF. RICHARD sleeps\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DERBY to RICHMOND in his tent;\\r\\n LORDS attending\\r\\n\\r\\n DERBY. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm!\\r\\n RICHMOND. All comfort that the dark night can afford\\r\\n Be to thy person, noble father-in-law!\\r\\n Tell me, how fares our loving mother?\\r\\n DERBY. I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother,\\r\\n Who prays continually for Richmond's good.\\r\\n So much for that. The silent hours steal on,\\r\\n And flaky darkness breaks within the east.\\r\\n In brief, for so the season bids us be,\\r\\n Prepare thy battle early in the morning,\\r\\n And put thy fortune to the arbitrement\\r\\n Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war.\\r\\n I, as I may-that which I would I cannot-\\r\\n With best advantage will deceive the time\\r\\n And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms;\\r\\n But on thy side I may not be too forward,\\r\\n Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George,\\r\\n Be executed in his father's sight.\\r\\n Farewell; the leisure and the fearful time\\r\\n Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love\\r\\n And ample interchange of sweet discourse\\r\\n Which so-long-sund'red friends should dwell upon.\\r\\n God give us leisure for these rites of love!\\r\\n Once more, adieu; be valiant, and speed well!\\r\\n RICHMOND. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment.\\r\\n I'll strive with troubled thoughts to take a nap,\\r\\n Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow\\r\\n When I should mount with wings of victory.\\r\\n Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen.\\r\\n Exeunt all but RICHMOND\\r\\n O Thou, whose captain I account myself,\\r\\n Look on my forces with a gracious eye;\\r\\n Put in their hands Thy bruising irons of wrath,\\r\\n That they may crush down with a heavy fall\\r\\n The usurping helmets of our adversaries!\\r\\n Make us Thy ministers of chastisement,\\r\\n That we may praise Thee in the victory!\\r\\n To Thee I do commend my watchful soul\\r\\n Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes.\\r\\n Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still! [Sleeps]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST Of YOUNG PRINCE EDWARD,\\r\\n son to HENRY THE SIXTH\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] Let me sit heavy on thy soul\\r\\n to-morrow!\\r\\n Think how thou stabb'dst me in my prime of youth\\r\\n At Tewksbury; despair, therefore, and die!\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Be cheerful, Richmond; for the wronged\\r\\n souls\\r\\n Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf.\\r\\n King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST of HENRY THE SIXTH\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] When I was mortal, my anointed\\r\\n body\\r\\n By thee was punched full of deadly holes.\\r\\n Think on the Tower and me. Despair, and die.\\r\\n Harry the Sixth bids thee despair and die.\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror!\\r\\n Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be King,\\r\\n Doth comfort thee in thy sleep. Live and flourish!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST of CLARENCE\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] Let me sit heavy in thy soul\\r\\n to-morrow! I that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine,\\r\\n Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray'd to death!\\r\\n To-morrow in the battle think on me,\\r\\n And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die!\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster,\\r\\n The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee.\\r\\n Good angels guard thy battle! Live and flourish!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOSTS of RIVERS, GREY, and VAUGHAN\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST OF RIVERS. [To RICHARD] Let me sit heavy in thy\\r\\n soul to-morrow,\\r\\n Rivers that died at Pomfret! Despair and die!\\r\\n GHOST OF GREY. [To RICHARD] Think upon Grey, and let\\r\\n thy soul despair!\\r\\n GHOST OF VAUGHAN. [To RICHARD] Think upon Vaughan,\\r\\n and with guilty fear\\r\\n Let fall thy lance. Despair and die!\\r\\n ALL. [To RICHMOND] Awake, and think our wrongs in\\r\\n Richard's bosom\\r\\n Will conquer him. Awake and win the day.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST of HASTINGS\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake,\\r\\n And in a bloody battle end thy days!\\r\\n Think on Lord Hastings. Despair and die.\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake!\\r\\n Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOSTS of the two young PRINCES\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOSTS. [To RICHARD] Dream on thy cousins smothered in\\r\\n the Tower.\\r\\n Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard,\\r\\n And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death!\\r\\n Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair and die.\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and\\r\\n wake in joy;\\r\\n Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy!\\r\\n Live, and beget a happy race of kings!\\r\\n Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST of LADY ANNE, his wife\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] Richard, thy wife, that wretched\\r\\n Anne thy wife\\r\\n That never slept a quiet hour with thee\\r\\n Now fills thy sleep with perturbations.\\r\\n To-morrow in the battle think on me,\\r\\n And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die.\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep;\\r\\n Dream of success and happy victory.\\r\\n Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the GHOST of BUCKINGHAM\\r\\n\\r\\n GHOST. [To RICHARD] The first was I that help'd thee\\r\\n to the crown;\\r\\n The last was I that felt thy tyranny.\\r\\n O, in the battle think on Buckingham,\\r\\n And die in terror of thy guiltiness!\\r\\n Dream on, dream on of bloody deeds and death;\\r\\n Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath!\\r\\n [To RICHMOND] I died for hope ere I could lend thee aid;\\r\\n But cheer thy heart and be thou not dismay'd:\\r\\n God and good angels fight on Richmond's side;\\r\\n And Richard falls in height of all his pride.\\r\\n [The GHOSTS vanish. RICHARD starts out of his dream]\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Give me another horse. Bind up my wounds.\\r\\n Have mercy, Jesu! Soft! I did but dream.\\r\\n O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!\\r\\n The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.\\r\\n Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.\\r\\n What do I fear? Myself? There's none else by.\\r\\n Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.\\r\\n Is there a murderer here? No-yes, I am.\\r\\n Then fly. What, from myself? Great reason why-\\r\\n Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself!\\r\\n Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? For any good\\r\\n That I myself have done unto myself?\\r\\n O, no! Alas, I rather hate myself\\r\\n For hateful deeds committed by myself!\\r\\n I am a villain; yet I lie, I am not.\\r\\n Fool, of thyself speak well. Fool, do not flatter.\\r\\n My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,\\r\\n And every tongue brings in a several tale,\\r\\n And every tale condemns me for a villain.\\r\\n Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree;\\r\\n Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree;\\r\\n All several sins, all us'd in each degree,\\r\\n Throng to the bar, crying all 'Guilty! guilty!'\\r\\n I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;\\r\\n And if I die no soul will pity me:\\r\\n And wherefore should they, since that I myself\\r\\n Find in myself no pity to myself?\\r\\n Methought the souls of all that I had murder'd\\r\\n Came to my tent, and every one did threat\\r\\n To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter RATCLIFF\\r\\n\\r\\n RATCLIFF. My lord!\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Zounds, who is there?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I. The early village-cock\\r\\n Hath twice done salutation to the morn;\\r\\n Your friends are up and buckle on their armour.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fearful dream!\\r\\n What think'st thou-will our friends prove all true?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. No doubt, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. O Ratcliff, I fear, I fear.\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows.\\r\\n KING RICHARD By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night\\r\\n Have stuck more terror to the soul of Richard\\r\\n Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers\\r\\n Armed in proof and led by shallow Richmond.\\r\\n 'Tis not yet near day. Come, go with me;\\r\\n Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper,\\r\\n To see if any mean to shrink from me. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the LORDS to RICHMOND sitting in his tent\\r\\n\\r\\n LORDS. Good morrow, Richmond!\\r\\n RICHMOND. Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen,\\r\\n That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here.\\r\\n LORDS. How have you slept, my lord?\\r\\n RICHMOND. The sweetest sleep and fairest-boding dreams\\r\\n That ever ent'red in a drowsy head\\r\\n Have I since your departure had, my lords.\\r\\n Methought their souls whose bodies Richard murder'd\\r\\n Came to my tent and cried on victory.\\r\\n I promise you my soul is very jocund\\r\\n In the remembrance of so fair a dream.\\r\\n How far into the morning is it, lords?\\r\\n LORDS. Upon the stroke of four.\\r\\n RICHMOND. Why, then 'tis time to arm and give direction.\\r\\n\\r\\n His ORATION to his SOLDIERS\\r\\n\\r\\n More than I have said, loving countrymen,\\r\\n The leisure and enforcement of the time\\r\\n Forbids to dwell upon; yet remember this:\\r\\n God and our good cause fight upon our side;\\r\\n The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls,\\r\\n Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces;\\r\\n Richard except, those whom we fight against\\r\\n Had rather have us win than him they follow.\\r\\n For what is he they follow? Truly, gentlemen,\\r\\n A bloody tyrant and a homicide;\\r\\n One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd;\\r\\n One that made means to come by what he hath,\\r\\n And slaughtered those that were the means to help him;\\r\\n A base foul stone, made precious by the foil\\r\\n Of England's chair, where he is falsely set;\\r\\n One that hath ever been God's enemy.\\r\\n Then if you fight against God's enemy,\\r\\n God will in justice ward you as his soldiers;\\r\\n If you do sweat to put a tyrant down,\\r\\n You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain;\\r\\n If you do fight against your country's foes,\\r\\n Your country's foes shall pay your pains the hire;\\r\\n If you do fight in safeguard of your wives,\\r\\n Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors;\\r\\n If you do free your children from the sword,\\r\\n Your children's children quits it in your age.\\r\\n Then, in the name of God and all these rights,\\r\\n Advance your standards, draw your willing swords.\\r\\n For me, the ransom of my bold attempt\\r\\n Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face;\\r\\n But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt\\r\\n The least of you shall share his part thereof.\\r\\n Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully;\\r\\n God and Saint George! Richmond and victory! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter KING RICHARD, RATCLIFF, attendants,\\r\\n and forces\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. What said Northumberland as touching\\r\\n Richmond?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. That he was never trained up in arms.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. He said the truth; and what said Surrey\\r\\n then?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. He smil'd, and said 'The better for our purpose.'\\r\\n KING He was in the right; and so indeed it is.\\r\\n [Clock strikes]\\r\\n Tell the clock there. Give me a calendar.\\r\\n Who saw the sun to-day?\\r\\n RATCLIFF. Not I, my lord.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Then he disdains to shine; for by the book\\r\\n He should have brav'd the east an hour ago.\\r\\n A black day will it be to somebody.\\r\\n Ratcliff!\\r\\n RATCLIFF. My lord?\\r\\n KING RICHARD. The sun will not be seen to-day;\\r\\n The sky doth frown and lour upon our army.\\r\\n I would these dewy tears were from the ground.\\r\\n Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me\\r\\n More than to Richmond? For the selfsame heaven\\r\\n That frowns on me looks sadly upon him.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NORFOLK\\r\\n\\r\\n NORFOLK. Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Come, bustle, bustle; caparison my horse;\\r\\n Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power.\\r\\n I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain,\\r\\n And thus my battle shall be ordered:\\r\\n My foreward shall be drawn out all in length,\\r\\n Consisting equally of horse and foot;\\r\\n Our archers shall be placed in the midst.\\r\\n John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey,\\r\\n Shall have the leading of this foot and horse.\\r\\n They thus directed, we will follow\\r\\n In the main battle, whose puissance on either side\\r\\n Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse.\\r\\n This, and Saint George to boot! What think'st thou,\\r\\n Norfolk?\\r\\n NORFOLK. A good direction, warlike sovereign.\\r\\n This found I on my tent this morning.\\r\\n [He sheweth him a paper]\\r\\n KING RICHARD. [Reads]\\r\\n 'Jockey of Norfolk, be not so bold,\\r\\n For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.'\\r\\n A thing devised by the enemy.\\r\\n Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge.\\r\\n Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls;\\r\\n Conscience is but a word that cowards use,\\r\\n Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe.\\r\\n Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law.\\r\\n March on, join bravely, let us to it pell-mell;\\r\\n If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.\\r\\n\\r\\n His ORATION to his ARMY\\r\\n\\r\\n What shall I say more than I have inferr'd?\\r\\n Remember whom you are to cope withal-\\r\\n A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways,\\r\\n A scum of Britaines, and base lackey peasants,\\r\\n Whom their o'er-cloyed country vomits forth\\r\\n To desperate adventures and assur'd destruction.\\r\\n You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest;\\r\\n You having lands, and bless'd with beauteous wives,\\r\\n They would restrain the one, distain the other.\\r\\n And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow,\\r\\n Long kept in Britaine at our mother's cost?\\r\\n A milk-sop, one that never in his life\\r\\n Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow?\\r\\n Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again;\\r\\n Lash hence these over-weening rags of France,\\r\\n These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives;\\r\\n Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit,\\r\\n For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd themselves.\\r\\n If we be conquered, let men conquer us,\\r\\n And not these bastard Britaines, whom our fathers\\r\\n Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd,\\r\\n And, in record, left them the heirs of shame.\\r\\n Shall these enjoy our lands? lie with our wives,\\r\\n Ravish our daughters? [Drum afar off] Hark! I hear their\\r\\n drum.\\r\\n Fight, gentlemen of England! Fight, bold yeomen!\\r\\n Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head!\\r\\n Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood;\\r\\n Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n What says Lord Stanley? Will he bring his power?\\r\\n MESSENGER. My lord, he doth deny to come.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Off with his son George's head!\\r\\n NORFOLK. My lord, the enemy is pass'd the marsh.\\r\\n After the battle let George Stanley die.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. A thousand hearts are great within my\\r\\n bosom.\\r\\n Advance our standards, set upon our foes;\\r\\n Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George,\\r\\n Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!\\r\\n Upon them! Victory sits on our helms. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnother part of the field\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum; excursions. Enter NORFOLK and forces; to him CATESBY\\r\\n\\r\\n CATESBY. Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue!\\r\\n The King enacts more wonders than a man,\\r\\n Daring an opposite to every danger.\\r\\n His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights,\\r\\n Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death.\\r\\n Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarums. Enter KING RICHARD\\r\\n\\r\\n KING RICHARD. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!\\r\\n CATESBY. Withdraw, my lord! I'll help you to a horse.\\r\\n KING RICHARD. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast\\r\\n And I Will stand the hazard of the die.\\r\\n I think there be six Richmonds in the field;\\r\\n Five have I slain to-day instead of him.\\r\\n A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnother part of the field\\r\\n\\r\\nAlarum. Enter RICHARD and RICHMOND; they fight; RICHARD is slain.\\r\\nRetreat and flourish. Enter RICHMOND, DERBY bearing the crown, with\\r\\nother LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n RICHMOND. God and your arms be prais'd, victorious friends;\\r\\n The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead.\\r\\n DERBY. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee!\\r\\n Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty\\r\\n From the dead temples of this bloody wretch\\r\\n Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal.\\r\\n Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it.\\r\\n RICHMOND. Great God of heaven, say Amen to all!\\r\\n But, teLL me is young George Stanley living.\\r\\n DERBY. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town,\\r\\n Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us.\\r\\n RICHMOND. What men of name are slain on either side?\\r\\n DERBY. John Duke of Norfolk, Walter Lord Ferrers,\\r\\n Sir Robert Brakenbury, and Sir William Brandon.\\r\\n RICHMOND. Inter their bodies as becomes their births.\\r\\n Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled\\r\\n That in submission will return to us.\\r\\n And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament,\\r\\n We will unite the white rose and the red.\\r\\n Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction,\\r\\n That long have frown'd upon their emnity!\\r\\n What traitor hears me, and says not Amen?\\r\\n England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself;\\r\\n The brother blindly shed the brother's blood,\\r\\n The father rashly slaughter'd his own son,\\r\\n The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire;\\r\\n All this divided York and Lancaster,\\r\\n Divided in their dire division,\\r\\n O, now let Richmond and Elizabeth,\\r\\n The true succeeders of each royal house,\\r\\n By God's fair ordinance conjoin together!\\r\\n And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so,\\r\\n Enrich the time to come with smooth-fac'd peace,\\r\\n With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days!\\r\\n Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord,\\r\\n That would reduce these bloody days again\\r\\n And make poor England weep in streams of blood!\\r\\n Let them not live to taste this land's increase\\r\\n That would with treason wound this fair land's peace!\\r\\n Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again-\\r\\n That she may long live here, God say Amen! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\",\n", + " 'THE TRAGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE PROLOGUE.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. A public place.\\r\\nScene II. A Street.\\r\\nScene III. Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\nScene IV. A Street.\\r\\nScene V. A Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nScene I. An open place adjoining Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\nScene II. Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\nScene III. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\nScene IV. A Street.\\r\\nScene V. Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\nScene VI. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. A public Place.\\r\\nScene II. A Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\nScene III. Friar Lawrence’s cell.\\r\\nScene IV. A Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\nScene V. An open Gallery to Juliet’s Chamber, overlooking the Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\nScene II. Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\nScene III. Juliet’s Chamber.\\r\\nScene IV. Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\nScene V. Juliet’s Chamber; Juliet on the bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Mantua. A Street.\\r\\nScene II. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\nScene III. A churchyard; in it a Monument belonging to the Capulets.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nESCALUS, Prince of Verona.\\r\\nMERCUTIO, kinsman to the Prince, and friend to Romeo.\\r\\nPARIS, a young Nobleman, kinsman to the Prince.\\r\\nPage to Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE, head of a Veronese family at feud with the Capulets.\\r\\nLADY MONTAGUE, wife to Montague.\\r\\nROMEO, son to Montague.\\r\\nBENVOLIO, nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo.\\r\\nABRAM, servant to Montague.\\r\\nBALTHASAR, servant to Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET, head of a Veronese family at feud with the Montagues.\\r\\nLADY CAPULET, wife to Capulet.\\r\\nJULIET, daughter to Capulet.\\r\\nTYBALT, nephew to Lady Capulet.\\r\\nCAPULET’S COUSIN, an old man.\\r\\nNURSE to Juliet.\\r\\nPETER, servant to Juliet’s Nurse.\\r\\nSAMPSON, servant to Capulet.\\r\\nGREGORY, servant to Capulet.\\r\\nServants.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE, a Franciscan.\\r\\nFRIAR JOHN, of the same Order.\\r\\nAn Apothecary.\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nThree Musicians.\\r\\nAn Officer.\\r\\nCitizens of Verona; several Men and Women, relations to both houses;\\r\\nMaskers, Guards, Watchmen and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE. During the greater part of the Play in Verona; once, in the\\r\\nFifth Act, at Mantua.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE PROLOGUE\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nTwo households, both alike in dignity,\\r\\nIn fair Verona, where we lay our scene,\\r\\nFrom ancient grudge break to new mutiny,\\r\\nWhere civil blood makes civil hands unclean.\\r\\nFrom forth the fatal loins of these two foes\\r\\nA pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life;\\r\\nWhose misadventur’d piteous overthrows\\r\\nDoth with their death bury their parents’ strife.\\r\\nThe fearful passage of their death-mark’d love,\\r\\nAnd the continuance of their parents’ rage,\\r\\nWhich, but their children’s end, nought could remove,\\r\\nIs now the two hours’ traffic of our stage;\\r\\nThe which, if you with patient ears attend,\\r\\nWhat here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A public place.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sampson and Gregory armed with swords and bucklers.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nGregory, on my word, we’ll not carry coals.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nNo, for then we should be colliers.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nI mean, if we be in choler, we’ll draw.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nAy, while you live, draw your neck out o’ the collar.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nI strike quickly, being moved.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nBut thou art not quickly moved to strike.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nA dog of the house of Montague moves me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nTo move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if thou\\r\\nart moved, thou runn’st away.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nA dog of that house shall move me to stand.\\r\\nI will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nThat shows thee a weak slave, for the weakest goes to the wall.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nTrue, and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to\\r\\nthe wall: therefore I will push Montague’s men from the wall, and\\r\\nthrust his maids to the wall.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nThe quarrel is between our masters and us their men.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\n’Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the\\r\\nmen I will be civil with the maids, I will cut off their heads.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nThe heads of the maids?\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nAy, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense\\r\\nthou wilt.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nThey must take it in sense that feel it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nMe they shall feel while I am able to stand: and ’tis known I am a\\r\\npretty piece of flesh.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\n’Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John.\\r\\nDraw thy tool; here comes of the house of Montagues.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Abram and Balthasar.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nMy naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nHow? Turn thy back and run?\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nFear me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nNo, marry; I fear thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nLet us take the law of our sides; let them begin.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nI will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nNay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them, which is disgrace to\\r\\nthem if they bear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nABRAM.\\r\\nDo you bite your thumb at us, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nI do bite my thumb, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nABRAM.\\r\\nDo you bite your thumb at us, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nIs the law of our side if I say ay?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nNo sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nDo you quarrel, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nABRAM.\\r\\nQuarrel, sir? No, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nBut if you do, sir, am for you. I serve as good a man as you.\\r\\n\\r\\nABRAM.\\r\\nNo better.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nWell, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREGORY.\\r\\nSay better; here comes one of my master’s kinsmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nYes, better, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nABRAM.\\r\\nYou lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nSAMPSON.\\r\\nDraw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy washing blow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nPart, fools! put up your swords, you know not what you do.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Beats down their swords._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Tybalt.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nWhat, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?\\r\\nTurn thee Benvolio, look upon thy death.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nI do but keep the peace, put up thy sword,\\r\\nOr manage it to part these men with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nWhat, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word\\r\\nAs I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:\\r\\nHave at thee, coward.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter three or four Citizens with clubs.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nClubs, bills and partisans! Strike! Beat them down!\\r\\nDown with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet in his gown, and Lady Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhat noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nA crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a sword?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nMy sword, I say! Old Montague is come,\\r\\nAnd flourishes his blade in spite of me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Montague and his Lady Montague.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nThou villain Capulet! Hold me not, let me go.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MONTAGUE.\\r\\nThou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Prince Escalus, with Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nRebellious subjects, enemies to peace,\\r\\nProfaners of this neighbour-stained steel,—\\r\\nWill they not hear? What, ho! You men, you beasts,\\r\\nThat quench the fire of your pernicious rage\\r\\nWith purple fountains issuing from your veins,\\r\\nOn pain of torture, from those bloody hands\\r\\nThrow your mistemper’d weapons to the ground\\r\\nAnd hear the sentence of your moved prince.\\r\\nThree civil brawls, bred of an airy word,\\r\\nBy thee, old Capulet, and Montague,\\r\\nHave thrice disturb’d the quiet of our streets,\\r\\nAnd made Verona’s ancient citizens\\r\\nCast by their grave beseeming ornaments,\\r\\nTo wield old partisans, in hands as old,\\r\\nCanker’d with peace, to part your canker’d hate.\\r\\nIf ever you disturb our streets again,\\r\\nYour lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.\\r\\nFor this time all the rest depart away:\\r\\nYou, Capulet, shall go along with me,\\r\\nAnd Montague, come you this afternoon,\\r\\nTo know our farther pleasure in this case,\\r\\nTo old Free-town, our common judgement-place.\\r\\nOnce more, on pain of death, all men depart.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Prince and Attendants; Capulet, Lady Capulet, Tybalt,\\r\\n Citizens and Servants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nWho set this ancient quarrel new abroach?\\r\\nSpeak, nephew, were you by when it began?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nHere were the servants of your adversary\\r\\nAnd yours, close fighting ere I did approach.\\r\\nI drew to part them, in the instant came\\r\\nThe fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar’d,\\r\\nWhich, as he breath’d defiance to my ears,\\r\\nHe swung about his head, and cut the winds,\\r\\nWho nothing hurt withal, hiss’d him in scorn.\\r\\nWhile we were interchanging thrusts and blows\\r\\nCame more and more, and fought on part and part,\\r\\nTill the Prince came, who parted either part.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY MONTAGUE.\\r\\nO where is Romeo, saw you him today?\\r\\nRight glad I am he was not at this fray.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nMadam, an hour before the worshipp’d sun\\r\\nPeer’d forth the golden window of the east,\\r\\nA troubled mind drave me to walk abroad,\\r\\nWhere underneath the grove of sycamore\\r\\nThat westward rooteth from this city side,\\r\\nSo early walking did I see your son.\\r\\nTowards him I made, but he was ware of me,\\r\\nAnd stole into the covert of the wood.\\r\\nI, measuring his affections by my own,\\r\\nWhich then most sought where most might not be found,\\r\\nBeing one too many by my weary self,\\r\\nPursu’d my humour, not pursuing his,\\r\\nAnd gladly shunn’d who gladly fled from me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nMany a morning hath he there been seen,\\r\\nWith tears augmenting the fresh morning’s dew,\\r\\nAdding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;\\r\\nBut all so soon as the all-cheering sun\\r\\nShould in the farthest east begin to draw\\r\\nThe shady curtains from Aurora’s bed,\\r\\nAway from light steals home my heavy son,\\r\\nAnd private in his chamber pens himself,\\r\\nShuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out\\r\\nAnd makes himself an artificial night.\\r\\nBlack and portentous must this humour prove,\\r\\nUnless good counsel may the cause remove.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nMy noble uncle, do you know the cause?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nI neither know it nor can learn of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nHave you importun’d him by any means?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nBoth by myself and many other friends;\\r\\nBut he, his own affections’ counsellor,\\r\\nIs to himself—I will not say how true—\\r\\nBut to himself so secret and so close,\\r\\nSo far from sounding and discovery,\\r\\nAs is the bud bit with an envious worm\\r\\nEre he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,\\r\\nOr dedicate his beauty to the sun.\\r\\nCould we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,\\r\\nWe would as willingly give cure as know.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nSee, where he comes. So please you step aside;\\r\\nI’ll know his grievance or be much denied.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nI would thou wert so happy by thy stay\\r\\nTo hear true shrift. Come, madam, let’s away,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Montague and Lady Montague._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nGood morrow, cousin.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIs the day so young?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nBut new struck nine.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAy me, sad hours seem long.\\r\\nWas that my father that went hence so fast?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nIt was. What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNot having that which, having, makes them short.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nIn love?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nOut.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nOf love?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nOut of her favour where I am in love.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAlas that love so gentle in his view,\\r\\nShould be so tyrannous and rough in proof.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAlas that love, whose view is muffled still,\\r\\nShould, without eyes, see pathways to his will!\\r\\nWhere shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?\\r\\nYet tell me not, for I have heard it all.\\r\\nHere’s much to do with hate, but more with love:\\r\\nWhy, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!\\r\\nO anything, of nothing first create!\\r\\nO heavy lightness! serious vanity!\\r\\nMisshapen chaos of well-seeming forms!\\r\\nFeather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!\\r\\nStill-waking sleep, that is not what it is!\\r\\nThis love feel I, that feel no love in this.\\r\\nDost thou not laugh?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nNo coz, I rather weep.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGood heart, at what?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAt thy good heart’s oppression.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhy such is love’s transgression.\\r\\nGriefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,\\r\\nWhich thou wilt propagate to have it prest\\r\\nWith more of thine. This love that thou hast shown\\r\\nDoth add more grief to too much of mine own.\\r\\nLove is a smoke made with the fume of sighs;\\r\\nBeing purg’d, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes;\\r\\nBeing vex’d, a sea nourish’d with lovers’ tears:\\r\\nWhat is it else? A madness most discreet,\\r\\nA choking gall, and a preserving sweet.\\r\\nFarewell, my coz.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Going._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nSoft! I will go along:\\r\\nAnd if you leave me so, you do me wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nTut! I have lost myself; I am not here.\\r\\nThis is not Romeo, he’s some other where.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nTell me in sadness who is that you love?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat, shall I groan and tell thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nGroan! Why, no; but sadly tell me who.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBid a sick man in sadness make his will,\\r\\nA word ill urg’d to one that is so ill.\\r\\nIn sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nI aim’d so near when I suppos’d you lov’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nA right good markman, and she’s fair I love.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nA right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWell, in that hit you miss: she’ll not be hit\\r\\nWith Cupid’s arrow, she hath Dian’s wit;\\r\\nAnd in strong proof of chastity well arm’d,\\r\\nFrom love’s weak childish bow she lives uncharm’d.\\r\\nShe will not stay the siege of loving terms\\r\\nNor bide th’encounter of assailing eyes,\\r\\nNor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:\\r\\nO she’s rich in beauty, only poor\\r\\nThat when she dies, with beauty dies her store.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThen she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nShe hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste;\\r\\nFor beauty starv’d with her severity,\\r\\nCuts beauty off from all posterity.\\r\\nShe is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair,\\r\\nTo merit bliss by making me despair.\\r\\nShe hath forsworn to love, and in that vow\\r\\nDo I live dead, that live to tell it now.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nBe rul’d by me, forget to think of her.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO teach me how I should forget to think.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nBy giving liberty unto thine eyes;\\r\\nExamine other beauties.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\n’Tis the way\\r\\nTo call hers, exquisite, in question more.\\r\\nThese happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows,\\r\\nBeing black, puts us in mind they hide the fair;\\r\\nHe that is strucken blind cannot forget\\r\\nThe precious treasure of his eyesight lost.\\r\\nShow me a mistress that is passing fair,\\r\\nWhat doth her beauty serve but as a note\\r\\nWhere I may read who pass’d that passing fair?\\r\\nFarewell, thou canst not teach me to forget.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nI’ll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet, Paris and Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nBut Montague is bound as well as I,\\r\\nIn penalty alike; and ’tis not hard, I think,\\r\\nFor men so old as we to keep the peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nOf honourable reckoning are you both,\\r\\nAnd pity ’tis you liv’d at odds so long.\\r\\nBut now my lord, what say you to my suit?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nBut saying o’er what I have said before.\\r\\nMy child is yet a stranger in the world,\\r\\nShe hath not seen the change of fourteen years;\\r\\nLet two more summers wither in their pride\\r\\nEre we may think her ripe to be a bride.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nYounger than she are happy mothers made.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nAnd too soon marr’d are those so early made.\\r\\nThe earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she,\\r\\nShe is the hopeful lady of my earth:\\r\\nBut woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,\\r\\nMy will to her consent is but a part;\\r\\nAnd she agree, within her scope of choice\\r\\nLies my consent and fair according voice.\\r\\nThis night I hold an old accustom’d feast,\\r\\nWhereto I have invited many a guest,\\r\\nSuch as I love, and you among the store,\\r\\nOne more, most welcome, makes my number more.\\r\\nAt my poor house look to behold this night\\r\\nEarth-treading stars that make dark heaven light:\\r\\nSuch comfort as do lusty young men feel\\r\\nWhen well apparell’d April on the heel\\r\\nOf limping winter treads, even such delight\\r\\nAmong fresh female buds shall you this night\\r\\nInherit at my house. Hear all, all see,\\r\\nAnd like her most whose merit most shall be:\\r\\nWhich, on more view of many, mine, being one,\\r\\nMay stand in number, though in reckoning none.\\r\\nCome, go with me. Go, sirrah, trudge about\\r\\nThrough fair Verona; find those persons out\\r\\nWhose names are written there, [_gives a paper_] and to them say,\\r\\nMy house and welcome on their pleasure stay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Capulet and Paris._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nFind them out whose names are written here! It is written that the\\r\\nshoemaker should meddle with his yard and the tailor with his last, the\\r\\nfisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to\\r\\nfind those persons whose names are here writ, and can never find what\\r\\nnames the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned. In good\\r\\ntime!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benvolio and Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nTut, man, one fire burns out another’s burning,\\r\\nOne pain is lessen’d by another’s anguish;\\r\\nTurn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;\\r\\nOne desperate grief cures with another’s languish:\\r\\nTake thou some new infection to thy eye,\\r\\nAnd the rank poison of the old will die.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nYour plantain leaf is excellent for that.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nFor what, I pray thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nFor your broken shin.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nWhy, Romeo, art thou mad?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNot mad, but bound more than a madman is:\\r\\nShut up in prison, kept without my food,\\r\\nWhipp’d and tormented and—God-den, good fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nGod gi’ go-den. I pray, sir, can you read?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAy, mine own fortune in my misery.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nPerhaps you have learned it without book.\\r\\nBut I pray, can you read anything you see?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAy, If I know the letters and the language.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nYe say honestly, rest you merry!\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nStay, fellow; I can read.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He reads the letter._]\\r\\n\\r\\n_Signior Martino and his wife and daughters;\\r\\nCounty Anselmo and his beauteous sisters;\\r\\nThe lady widow of Utruvio;\\r\\nSignior Placentio and his lovely nieces;\\r\\nMercutio and his brother Valentine;\\r\\nMine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters;\\r\\nMy fair niece Rosaline and Livia;\\r\\nSignior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt;\\r\\nLucio and the lively Helena. _\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nA fair assembly. [_Gives back the paper_] Whither should they come?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nUp.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhither to supper?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nTo our house.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhose house?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMy master’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIndeed I should have ask’d you that before.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nNow I’ll tell you without asking. My master is the great rich Capulet,\\r\\nand if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray come and crush a\\r\\ncup of wine. Rest you merry.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAt this same ancient feast of Capulet’s\\r\\nSups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lov’st;\\r\\nWith all the admired beauties of Verona.\\r\\nGo thither and with unattainted eye,\\r\\nCompare her face with some that I shall show,\\r\\nAnd I will make thee think thy swan a crow.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhen the devout religion of mine eye\\r\\nMaintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fire;\\r\\nAnd these who, often drown’d, could never die,\\r\\nTransparent heretics, be burnt for liars.\\r\\nOne fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun\\r\\nNe’er saw her match since first the world begun.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nTut, you saw her fair, none else being by,\\r\\nHerself pois’d with herself in either eye:\\r\\nBut in that crystal scales let there be weigh’d\\r\\nYour lady’s love against some other maid\\r\\nThat I will show you shining at this feast,\\r\\nAnd she shall scant show well that now shows best.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI’ll go along, no such sight to be shown,\\r\\nBut to rejoice in splendour of my own.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nNurse, where’s my daughter? Call her forth to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNow, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old,\\r\\nI bade her come. What, lamb! What ladybird!\\r\\nGod forbid! Where’s this girl? What, Juliet!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHow now, who calls?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nYour mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nMadam, I am here. What is your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nThis is the matter. Nurse, give leave awhile,\\r\\nWe must talk in secret. Nurse, come back again,\\r\\nI have remember’d me, thou’s hear our counsel.\\r\\nThou knowest my daughter’s of a pretty age.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nFaith, I can tell her age unto an hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nShe’s not fourteen.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI’ll lay fourteen of my teeth,\\r\\nAnd yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four,\\r\\nShe is not fourteen. How long is it now\\r\\nTo Lammas-tide?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nA fortnight and odd days.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nEven or odd, of all days in the year,\\r\\nCome Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen.\\r\\nSusan and she,—God rest all Christian souls!—\\r\\nWere of an age. Well, Susan is with God;\\r\\nShe was too good for me. But as I said,\\r\\nOn Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen;\\r\\nThat shall she, marry; I remember it well.\\r\\n’Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;\\r\\nAnd she was wean’d,—I never shall forget it—,\\r\\nOf all the days of the year, upon that day:\\r\\nFor I had then laid wormwood to my dug,\\r\\nSitting in the sun under the dovehouse wall;\\r\\nMy lord and you were then at Mantua:\\r\\nNay, I do bear a brain. But as I said,\\r\\nWhen it did taste the wormwood on the nipple\\r\\nOf my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool,\\r\\nTo see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug!\\r\\nShake, quoth the dovehouse: ’twas no need, I trow,\\r\\nTo bid me trudge.\\r\\nAnd since that time it is eleven years;\\r\\nFor then she could stand alone; nay, by th’rood\\r\\nShe could have run and waddled all about;\\r\\nFor even the day before she broke her brow,\\r\\nAnd then my husband,—God be with his soul!\\r\\nA was a merry man,—took up the child:\\r\\n‘Yea,’ quoth he, ‘dost thou fall upon thy face?\\r\\nThou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit;\\r\\nWilt thou not, Jule?’ and, by my holidame,\\r\\nThe pretty wretch left crying, and said ‘Ay’.\\r\\nTo see now how a jest shall come about.\\r\\nI warrant, and I should live a thousand years,\\r\\nI never should forget it. ‘Wilt thou not, Jule?’ quoth he;\\r\\nAnd, pretty fool, it stinted, and said ‘Ay.’\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nEnough of this; I pray thee hold thy peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nYes, madam, yet I cannot choose but laugh,\\r\\nTo think it should leave crying, and say ‘Ay’;\\r\\nAnd yet I warrant it had upon it brow\\r\\nA bump as big as a young cockerel’s stone;\\r\\nA perilous knock, and it cried bitterly.\\r\\n‘Yea,’ quoth my husband, ‘fall’st upon thy face?\\r\\nThou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age;\\r\\nWilt thou not, Jule?’ it stinted, and said ‘Ay’.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAnd stint thou too, I pray thee, Nurse, say I.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nPeace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace\\r\\nThou wast the prettiest babe that e’er I nurs’d:\\r\\nAnd I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nMarry, that marry is the very theme\\r\\nI came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet,\\r\\nHow stands your disposition to be married?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIt is an honour that I dream not of.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAn honour! Were not I thine only nurse,\\r\\nI would say thou hadst suck’d wisdom from thy teat.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWell, think of marriage now: younger than you,\\r\\nHere in Verona, ladies of esteem,\\r\\nAre made already mothers. By my count\\r\\nI was your mother much upon these years\\r\\nThat you are now a maid. Thus, then, in brief;\\r\\nThe valiant Paris seeks you for his love.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nA man, young lady! Lady, such a man\\r\\nAs all the world—why he’s a man of wax.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nVerona’s summer hath not such a flower.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNay, he’s a flower, in faith a very flower.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWhat say you, can you love the gentleman?\\r\\nThis night you shall behold him at our feast;\\r\\nRead o’er the volume of young Paris’ face,\\r\\nAnd find delight writ there with beauty’s pen.\\r\\nExamine every married lineament,\\r\\nAnd see how one another lends content;\\r\\nAnd what obscur’d in this fair volume lies,\\r\\nFind written in the margent of his eyes.\\r\\nThis precious book of love, this unbound lover,\\r\\nTo beautify him, only lacks a cover:\\r\\nThe fish lives in the sea; and ’tis much pride\\r\\nFor fair without the fair within to hide.\\r\\nThat book in many’s eyes doth share the glory,\\r\\nThat in gold clasps locks in the golden story;\\r\\nSo shall you share all that he doth possess,\\r\\nBy having him, making yourself no less.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNo less, nay bigger. Women grow by men.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nSpeak briefly, can you like of Paris’ love?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI’ll look to like, if looking liking move:\\r\\nBut no more deep will I endart mine eye\\r\\nThan your consent gives strength to make it fly.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMadam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called, my young lady\\r\\nasked for, the Nurse cursed in the pantry, and everything in extremity.\\r\\nI must hence to wait, I beseech you follow straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWe follow thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJuliet, the County stays.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nGo, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six Maskers;\\r\\n Torch-bearers and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?\\r\\nOr shall we on without apology?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThe date is out of such prolixity:\\r\\nWe’ll have no Cupid hoodwink’d with a scarf,\\r\\nBearing a Tartar’s painted bow of lath,\\r\\nScaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;\\r\\nNor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke\\r\\nAfter the prompter, for our entrance:\\r\\nBut let them measure us by what they will,\\r\\nWe’ll measure them a measure, and be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGive me a torch, I am not for this ambling;\\r\\nBeing but heavy I will bear the light.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNot I, believe me, you have dancing shoes,\\r\\nWith nimble soles, I have a soul of lead\\r\\nSo stakes me to the ground I cannot move.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nYou are a lover, borrow Cupid’s wings,\\r\\nAnd soar with them above a common bound.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI am too sore enpierced with his shaft\\r\\nTo soar with his light feathers, and so bound,\\r\\nI cannot bound a pitch above dull woe.\\r\\nUnder love’s heavy burden do I sink.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAnd, to sink in it, should you burden love;\\r\\nToo great oppression for a tender thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIs love a tender thing? It is too rough,\\r\\nToo rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nIf love be rough with you, be rough with love;\\r\\nPrick love for pricking, and you beat love down.\\r\\nGive me a case to put my visage in: [_Putting on a mask._]\\r\\nA visor for a visor. What care I\\r\\nWhat curious eye doth quote deformities?\\r\\nHere are the beetle-brows shall blush for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nCome, knock and enter; and no sooner in\\r\\nBut every man betake him to his legs.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nA torch for me: let wantons, light of heart,\\r\\nTickle the senseless rushes with their heels;\\r\\nFor I am proverb’d with a grandsire phrase,\\r\\nI’ll be a candle-holder and look on,\\r\\nThe game was ne’er so fair, and I am done.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nTut, dun’s the mouse, the constable’s own word:\\r\\nIf thou art dun, we’ll draw thee from the mire\\r\\nOr save your reverence love, wherein thou stickest\\r\\nUp to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNay, that’s not so.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nI mean sir, in delay\\r\\nWe waste our lights in vain, light lights by day.\\r\\nTake our good meaning, for our judgment sits\\r\\nFive times in that ere once in our five wits.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd we mean well in going to this mask;\\r\\nBut ’tis no wit to go.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nWhy, may one ask?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI dreamt a dream tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAnd so did I.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWell what was yours?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThat dreamers often lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIn bed asleep, while they do dream things true.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nO, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.\\r\\nShe is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes\\r\\nIn shape no bigger than an agate-stone\\r\\nOn the fore-finger of an alderman,\\r\\nDrawn with a team of little atomies\\r\\nOver men’s noses as they lie asleep:\\r\\nHer waggon-spokes made of long spinners’ legs;\\r\\nThe cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;\\r\\nHer traces, of the smallest spider’s web;\\r\\nThe collars, of the moonshine’s watery beams;\\r\\nHer whip of cricket’s bone; the lash, of film;\\r\\nHer waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat,\\r\\nNot half so big as a round little worm\\r\\nPrick’d from the lazy finger of a maid:\\r\\nHer chariot is an empty hazelnut,\\r\\nMade by the joiner squirrel or old grub,\\r\\nTime out o’ mind the fairies’ coachmakers.\\r\\nAnd in this state she gallops night by night\\r\\nThrough lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love;\\r\\nO’er courtiers’ knees, that dream on curtsies straight;\\r\\nO’er lawyers’ fingers, who straight dream on fees;\\r\\nO’er ladies’ lips, who straight on kisses dream,\\r\\nWhich oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,\\r\\nBecause their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:\\r\\nSometime she gallops o’er a courtier’s nose,\\r\\nAnd then dreams he of smelling out a suit;\\r\\nAnd sometime comes she with a tithe-pig’s tail,\\r\\nTickling a parson’s nose as a lies asleep,\\r\\nThen dreams he of another benefice:\\r\\nSometime she driveth o’er a soldier’s neck,\\r\\nAnd then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,\\r\\nOf breaches, ambuscados, Spanish blades,\\r\\nOf healths five fathom deep; and then anon\\r\\nDrums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes;\\r\\nAnd, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,\\r\\nAnd sleeps again. This is that very Mab\\r\\nThat plats the manes of horses in the night;\\r\\nAnd bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,\\r\\nWhich, once untangled, much misfortune bodes:\\r\\nThis is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,\\r\\nThat presses them, and learns them first to bear,\\r\\nMaking them women of good carriage:\\r\\nThis is she,—\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nPeace, peace, Mercutio, peace,\\r\\nThou talk’st of nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nTrue, I talk of dreams,\\r\\nWhich are the children of an idle brain,\\r\\nBegot of nothing but vain fantasy,\\r\\nWhich is as thin of substance as the air,\\r\\nAnd more inconstant than the wind, who wooes\\r\\nEven now the frozen bosom of the north,\\r\\nAnd, being anger’d, puffs away from thence,\\r\\nTurning his side to the dew-dropping south.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThis wind you talk of blows us from ourselves:\\r\\nSupper is done, and we shall come too late.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI fear too early: for my mind misgives\\r\\nSome consequence yet hanging in the stars,\\r\\nShall bitterly begin his fearful date\\r\\nWith this night’s revels; and expire the term\\r\\nOf a despised life, clos’d in my breast\\r\\nBy some vile forfeit of untimely death.\\r\\nBut he that hath the steerage of my course\\r\\nDirect my suit. On, lusty gentlemen!\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nStrike, drum.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. A Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Musicians waiting. Enter Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nWhere’s Potpan, that he helps not to take away?\\r\\nHe shift a trencher! He scrape a trencher!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nWhen good manners shall lie all in one or two men’s hands, and they\\r\\nunwash’d too, ’tis a foul thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nAway with the join-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the\\r\\nplate. Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and as thou loves me,\\r\\nlet the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. Antony and Potpan!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nAy, boy, ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nYou are looked for and called for, asked for and sought for, in the\\r\\ngreat chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nWe cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys. Be brisk awhile, and\\r\\nthe longer liver take all.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet, &c. with the Guests and Gentlewomen to the Maskers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWelcome, gentlemen, ladies that have their toes\\r\\nUnplagu’d with corns will have a bout with you.\\r\\nAh my mistresses, which of you all\\r\\nWill now deny to dance? She that makes dainty,\\r\\nShe I’ll swear hath corns. Am I come near ye now?\\r\\nWelcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day\\r\\nThat I have worn a visor, and could tell\\r\\nA whispering tale in a fair lady’s ear,\\r\\nSuch as would please; ’tis gone, ’tis gone, ’tis gone,\\r\\nYou are welcome, gentlemen! Come, musicians, play.\\r\\nA hall, a hall, give room! And foot it, girls.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music plays, and they dance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMore light, you knaves; and turn the tables up,\\r\\nAnd quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.\\r\\nAh sirrah, this unlook’d-for sport comes well.\\r\\nNay sit, nay sit, good cousin Capulet,\\r\\nFor you and I are past our dancing days;\\r\\nHow long is’t now since last yourself and I\\r\\nWere in a mask?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET’S COUSIN.\\r\\nBy’r Lady, thirty years.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhat, man, ’tis not so much, ’tis not so much:\\r\\n’Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio,\\r\\nCome Pentecost as quickly as it will,\\r\\nSome five and twenty years; and then we mask’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET’S COUSIN.\\r\\n’Tis more, ’tis more, his son is elder, sir;\\r\\nHis son is thirty.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWill you tell me that?\\r\\nHis son was but a ward two years ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat lady is that, which doth enrich the hand\\r\\nOf yonder knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI know not, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!\\r\\nIt seems she hangs upon the cheek of night\\r\\nAs a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear;\\r\\nBeauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!\\r\\nSo shows a snowy dove trooping with crows\\r\\nAs yonder lady o’er her fellows shows.\\r\\nThe measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand,\\r\\nAnd touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.\\r\\nDid my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight!\\r\\nFor I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nThis by his voice, should be a Montague.\\r\\nFetch me my rapier, boy. What, dares the slave\\r\\nCome hither, cover’d with an antic face,\\r\\nTo fleer and scorn at our solemnity?\\r\\nNow by the stock and honour of my kin,\\r\\nTo strike him dead I hold it not a sin.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhy how now, kinsman!\\r\\nWherefore storm you so?\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nUncle, this is a Montague, our foe;\\r\\nA villain that is hither come in spite,\\r\\nTo scorn at our solemnity this night.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nYoung Romeo, is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\n’Tis he, that villain Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nContent thee, gentle coz, let him alone,\\r\\nA bears him like a portly gentleman;\\r\\nAnd, to say truth, Verona brags of him\\r\\nTo be a virtuous and well-govern’d youth.\\r\\nI would not for the wealth of all the town\\r\\nHere in my house do him disparagement.\\r\\nTherefore be patient, take no note of him,\\r\\nIt is my will; the which if thou respect,\\r\\nShow a fair presence and put off these frowns,\\r\\nAn ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nIt fits when such a villain is a guest:\\r\\nI’ll not endure him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHe shall be endur’d.\\r\\nWhat, goodman boy! I say he shall, go to;\\r\\nAm I the master here, or you? Go to.\\r\\nYou’ll not endure him! God shall mend my soul,\\r\\nYou’ll make a mutiny among my guests!\\r\\nYou will set cock-a-hoop, you’ll be the man!\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nWhy, uncle, ’tis a shame.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nGo to, go to!\\r\\nYou are a saucy boy. Is’t so, indeed?\\r\\nThis trick may chance to scathe you, I know what.\\r\\nYou must contrary me! Marry, ’tis time.\\r\\nWell said, my hearts!—You are a princox; go:\\r\\nBe quiet, or—More light, more light!—For shame!\\r\\nI’ll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nPatience perforce with wilful choler meeting\\r\\nMakes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.\\r\\nI will withdraw: but this intrusion shall,\\r\\nNow seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\n[_To Juliet._] If I profane with my unworthiest hand\\r\\nThis holy shrine, the gentle sin is this,\\r\\nMy lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand\\r\\nTo smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGood pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,\\r\\nWhich mannerly devotion shows in this;\\r\\nFor saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,\\r\\nAnd palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHave not saints lips, and holy palmers too?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAy, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do:\\r\\nThey pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nSaints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThen move not while my prayer’s effect I take.\\r\\nThus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg’d.\\r\\n[_Kissing her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThen have my lips the sin that they have took.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg’d!\\r\\nGive me my sin again.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nYou kiss by the book.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMadam, your mother craves a word with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat is her mother?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMarry, bachelor,\\r\\nHer mother is the lady of the house,\\r\\nAnd a good lady, and a wise and virtuous.\\r\\nI nurs’d her daughter that you talk’d withal.\\r\\nI tell you, he that can lay hold of her\\r\\nShall have the chinks.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIs she a Capulet?\\r\\nO dear account! My life is my foe’s debt.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAway, be gone; the sport is at the best.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAy, so I fear; the more is my unrest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nNay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone,\\r\\nWe have a trifling foolish banquet towards.\\r\\nIs it e’en so? Why then, I thank you all;\\r\\nI thank you, honest gentlemen; good night.\\r\\nMore torches here! Come on then, let’s to bed.\\r\\nAh, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late,\\r\\nI’ll to my rest.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Juliet and Nurse._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nCome hither, Nurse. What is yond gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nThe son and heir of old Tiberio.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat’s he that now is going out of door?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMarry, that I think be young Petruchio.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat’s he that follows here, that would not dance?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI know not.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGo ask his name. If he be married,\\r\\nMy grave is like to be my wedding bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nHis name is Romeo, and a Montague,\\r\\nThe only son of your great enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nMy only love sprung from my only hate!\\r\\nToo early seen unknown, and known too late!\\r\\nProdigious birth of love it is to me,\\r\\nThat I must love a loathed enemy.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWhat’s this? What’s this?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nA rhyme I learn’d even now\\r\\nOf one I danc’d withal.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_One calls within, ‘Juliet’._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAnon, anon!\\r\\nCome let’s away, the strangers all are gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCHORUS.\\r\\nNow old desire doth in his deathbed lie,\\r\\nAnd young affection gapes to be his heir;\\r\\nThat fair for which love groan’d for and would die,\\r\\nWith tender Juliet match’d, is now not fair.\\r\\nNow Romeo is belov’d, and loves again,\\r\\nAlike bewitched by the charm of looks;\\r\\nBut to his foe suppos’d he must complain,\\r\\nAnd she steal love’s sweet bait from fearful hooks:\\r\\nBeing held a foe, he may not have access\\r\\nTo breathe such vows as lovers use to swear;\\r\\nAnd she as much in love, her means much less\\r\\nTo meet her new beloved anywhere.\\r\\nBut passion lends them power, time means, to meet,\\r\\nTempering extremities with extreme sweet.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. An open place adjoining Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nCan I go forward when my heart is here?\\r\\nTurn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He climbs the wall and leaps down within it._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nRomeo! My cousin Romeo! Romeo!\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nHe is wise,\\r\\nAnd on my life hath stol’n him home to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nHe ran this way, and leap’d this orchard wall:\\r\\nCall, good Mercutio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNay, I’ll conjure too.\\r\\nRomeo! Humours! Madman! Passion! Lover!\\r\\nAppear thou in the likeness of a sigh,\\r\\nSpeak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;\\r\\nCry but ‘Ah me!’ Pronounce but Love and dove;\\r\\nSpeak to my gossip Venus one fair word,\\r\\nOne nickname for her purblind son and heir,\\r\\nYoung Abraham Cupid, he that shot so trim\\r\\nWhen King Cophetua lov’d the beggar-maid.\\r\\nHe heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not;\\r\\nThe ape is dead, and I must conjure him.\\r\\nI conjure thee by Rosaline’s bright eyes,\\r\\nBy her high forehead and her scarlet lip,\\r\\nBy her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh,\\r\\nAnd the demesnes that there adjacent lie,\\r\\nThat in thy likeness thou appear to us.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAn if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThis cannot anger him. ’Twould anger him\\r\\nTo raise a spirit in his mistress’ circle,\\r\\nOf some strange nature, letting it there stand\\r\\nTill she had laid it, and conjur’d it down;\\r\\nThat were some spite. My invocation\\r\\nIs fair and honest, and, in his mistress’ name,\\r\\nI conjure only but to raise up him.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nCome, he hath hid himself among these trees\\r\\nTo be consorted with the humorous night.\\r\\nBlind is his love, and best befits the dark.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nIf love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.\\r\\nNow will he sit under a medlar tree,\\r\\nAnd wish his mistress were that kind of fruit\\r\\nAs maids call medlars when they laugh alone.\\r\\nO Romeo, that she were, O that she were\\r\\nAn open-arse and thou a poperin pear!\\r\\nRomeo, good night. I’ll to my truckle-bed.\\r\\nThis field-bed is too cold for me to sleep.\\r\\nCome, shall we go?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nGo then; for ’tis in vain\\r\\nTo seek him here that means not to be found.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHe jests at scars that never felt a wound.\\r\\n\\r\\n Juliet appears above at a window.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut soft, what light through yonder window breaks?\\r\\nIt is the east, and Juliet is the sun!\\r\\nArise fair sun and kill the envious moon,\\r\\nWho is already sick and pale with grief,\\r\\nThat thou her maid art far more fair than she.\\r\\nBe not her maid since she is envious;\\r\\nHer vestal livery is but sick and green,\\r\\nAnd none but fools do wear it; cast it off.\\r\\nIt is my lady, O it is my love!\\r\\nO, that she knew she were!\\r\\nShe speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?\\r\\nHer eye discourses, I will answer it.\\r\\nI am too bold, ’tis not to me she speaks.\\r\\nTwo of the fairest stars in all the heaven,\\r\\nHaving some business, do entreat her eyes\\r\\nTo twinkle in their spheres till they return.\\r\\nWhat if her eyes were there, they in her head?\\r\\nThe brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,\\r\\nAs daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven\\r\\nWould through the airy region stream so bright\\r\\nThat birds would sing and think it were not night.\\r\\nSee how she leans her cheek upon her hand.\\r\\nO that I were a glove upon that hand,\\r\\nThat I might touch that cheek.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAy me.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nShe speaks.\\r\\nO speak again bright angel, for thou art\\r\\nAs glorious to this night, being o’er my head,\\r\\nAs is a winged messenger of heaven\\r\\nUnto the white-upturned wondering eyes\\r\\nOf mortals that fall back to gaze on him\\r\\nWhen he bestrides the lazy-puffing clouds\\r\\nAnd sails upon the bosom of the air.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?\\r\\nDeny thy father and refuse thy name.\\r\\nOr if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,\\r\\nAnd I’ll no longer be a Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\n’Tis but thy name that is my enemy;\\r\\nThou art thyself, though not a Montague.\\r\\nWhat’s Montague? It is nor hand nor foot,\\r\\nNor arm, nor face, nor any other part\\r\\nBelonging to a man. O be some other name.\\r\\nWhat’s in a name? That which we call a rose\\r\\nBy any other name would smell as sweet;\\r\\nSo Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,\\r\\nRetain that dear perfection which he owes\\r\\nWithout that title. Romeo, doff thy name,\\r\\nAnd for thy name, which is no part of thee,\\r\\nTake all myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI take thee at thy word.\\r\\nCall me but love, and I’ll be new baptis’d;\\r\\nHenceforth I never will be Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat man art thou that, thus bescreen’d in night\\r\\nSo stumblest on my counsel?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBy a name\\r\\nI know not how to tell thee who I am:\\r\\nMy name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,\\r\\nBecause it is an enemy to thee.\\r\\nHad I it written, I would tear the word.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nMy ears have yet not drunk a hundred words\\r\\nOf thy tongue’s utterance, yet I know the sound.\\r\\nArt thou not Romeo, and a Montague?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNeither, fair maid, if either thee dislike.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHow cam’st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?\\r\\nThe orchard walls are high and hard to climb,\\r\\nAnd the place death, considering who thou art,\\r\\nIf any of my kinsmen find thee here.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWith love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls,\\r\\nFor stony limits cannot hold love out,\\r\\nAnd what love can do, that dares love attempt:\\r\\nTherefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIf they do see thee, they will murder thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAlack, there lies more peril in thine eye\\r\\nThan twenty of their swords. Look thou but sweet,\\r\\nAnd I am proof against their enmity.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI would not for the world they saw thee here.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI have night’s cloak to hide me from their eyes,\\r\\nAnd but thou love me, let them find me here.\\r\\nMy life were better ended by their hate\\r\\nThan death prorogued, wanting of thy love.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nBy whose direction found’st thou out this place?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBy love, that first did prompt me to enquire;\\r\\nHe lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.\\r\\nI am no pilot; yet wert thou as far\\r\\nAs that vast shore wash’d with the farthest sea,\\r\\nI should adventure for such merchandise.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThou knowest the mask of night is on my face,\\r\\nElse would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek\\r\\nFor that which thou hast heard me speak tonight.\\r\\nFain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny\\r\\nWhat I have spoke; but farewell compliment.\\r\\nDost thou love me? I know thou wilt say Ay,\\r\\nAnd I will take thy word. Yet, if thou swear’st,\\r\\nThou mayst prove false. At lovers’ perjuries,\\r\\nThey say Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,\\r\\nIf thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully.\\r\\nOr if thou thinkest I am too quickly won,\\r\\nI’ll frown and be perverse, and say thee nay,\\r\\nSo thou wilt woo. But else, not for the world.\\r\\nIn truth, fair Montague, I am too fond;\\r\\nAnd therefore thou mayst think my ’haviour light:\\r\\nBut trust me, gentleman, I’ll prove more true\\r\\nThan those that have more cunning to be strange.\\r\\nI should have been more strange, I must confess,\\r\\nBut that thou overheard’st, ere I was ’ware,\\r\\nMy true-love passion; therefore pardon me,\\r\\nAnd not impute this yielding to light love,\\r\\nWhich the dark night hath so discovered.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nLady, by yonder blessed moon I vow,\\r\\nThat tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,—\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO swear not by the moon, th’inconstant moon,\\r\\nThat monthly changes in her circled orb,\\r\\nLest that thy love prove likewise variable.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat shall I swear by?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nDo not swear at all.\\r\\nOr if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,\\r\\nWhich is the god of my idolatry,\\r\\nAnd I’ll believe thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIf my heart’s dear love,—\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWell, do not swear. Although I joy in thee,\\r\\nI have no joy of this contract tonight;\\r\\nIt is too rash, too unadvis’d, too sudden,\\r\\nToo like the lightning, which doth cease to be\\r\\nEre one can say It lightens. Sweet, good night.\\r\\nThis bud of love, by summer’s ripening breath,\\r\\nMay prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.\\r\\nGood night, good night. As sweet repose and rest\\r\\nCome to thy heart as that within my breast.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat satisfaction canst thou have tonight?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nTh’exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI gave thee mine before thou didst request it;\\r\\nAnd yet I would it were to give again.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWould’st thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nBut to be frank and give it thee again.\\r\\nAnd yet I wish but for the thing I have;\\r\\nMy bounty is as boundless as the sea,\\r\\nMy love as deep; the more I give to thee,\\r\\nThe more I have, for both are infinite.\\r\\nI hear some noise within. Dear love, adieu.\\r\\n[_Nurse calls within._]\\r\\nAnon, good Nurse!—Sweet Montague be true.\\r\\nStay but a little, I will come again.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO blessed, blessed night. I am afeard,\\r\\nBeing in night, all this is but a dream,\\r\\nToo flattering sweet to be substantial.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet above.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThree words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.\\r\\nIf that thy bent of love be honourable,\\r\\nThy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow,\\r\\nBy one that I’ll procure to come to thee,\\r\\nWhere and what time thou wilt perform the rite,\\r\\nAnd all my fortunes at thy foot I’ll lay\\r\\nAnd follow thee my lord throughout the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\n[_Within._] Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI come, anon.— But if thou meanest not well,\\r\\nI do beseech thee,—\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\n[_Within._] Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nBy and by I come—\\r\\nTo cease thy strife and leave me to my grief.\\r\\nTomorrow will I send.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSo thrive my soul,—\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nA thousand times good night.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nA thousand times the worse, to want thy light.\\r\\nLove goes toward love as schoolboys from their books,\\r\\nBut love from love, towards school with heavy looks.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Retiring slowly._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Juliet, above.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHist! Romeo, hist! O for a falconer’s voice\\r\\nTo lure this tassel-gentle back again.\\r\\nBondage is hoarse and may not speak aloud,\\r\\nElse would I tear the cave where Echo lies,\\r\\nAnd make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine\\r\\nWith repetition of my Romeo’s name.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIt is my soul that calls upon my name.\\r\\nHow silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night,\\r\\nLike softest music to attending ears.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nRomeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nMy nyas?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat o’clock tomorrow\\r\\nShall I send to thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBy the hour of nine.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI will not fail. ’Tis twenty years till then.\\r\\nI have forgot why I did call thee back.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nLet me stand here till thou remember it.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI shall forget, to have thee still stand there,\\r\\nRemembering how I love thy company.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget,\\r\\nForgetting any other home but this.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\n’Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone,\\r\\nAnd yet no farther than a wanton’s bird,\\r\\nThat lets it hop a little from her hand,\\r\\nLike a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,\\r\\nAnd with a silk thread plucks it back again,\\r\\nSo loving-jealous of his liberty.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI would I were thy bird.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nSweet, so would I:\\r\\nYet I should kill thee with much cherishing.\\r\\nGood night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow\\r\\nThat I shall say good night till it be morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast.\\r\\nWould I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest.\\r\\nThe grey-ey’d morn smiles on the frowning night,\\r\\nChequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light;\\r\\nAnd darkness fleckled like a drunkard reels\\r\\nFrom forth day’s pathway, made by Titan’s wheels\\r\\nHence will I to my ghostly Sire’s cell,\\r\\nHis help to crave and my dear hap to tell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence with a basket.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nNow, ere the sun advance his burning eye,\\r\\nThe day to cheer, and night’s dank dew to dry,\\r\\nI must upfill this osier cage of ours\\r\\nWith baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.\\r\\nThe earth that’s nature’s mother, is her tomb;\\r\\nWhat is her burying grave, that is her womb:\\r\\nAnd from her womb children of divers kind\\r\\nWe sucking on her natural bosom find.\\r\\nMany for many virtues excellent,\\r\\nNone but for some, and yet all different.\\r\\nO, mickle is the powerful grace that lies\\r\\nIn plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities.\\r\\nFor naught so vile that on the earth doth live\\r\\nBut to the earth some special good doth give;\\r\\nNor aught so good but, strain’d from that fair use,\\r\\nRevolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse.\\r\\nVirtue itself turns vice being misapplied,\\r\\nAnd vice sometime’s by action dignified.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nWithin the infant rind of this weak flower\\r\\nPoison hath residence, and medicine power:\\r\\nFor this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;\\r\\nBeing tasted, slays all senses with the heart.\\r\\nTwo such opposed kings encamp them still\\r\\nIn man as well as herbs,—grace and rude will;\\r\\nAnd where the worser is predominant,\\r\\nFull soon the canker death eats up that plant.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGood morrow, father.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nBenedicite!\\r\\nWhat early tongue so sweet saluteth me?\\r\\nYoung son, it argues a distemper’d head\\r\\nSo soon to bid good morrow to thy bed.\\r\\nCare keeps his watch in every old man’s eye,\\r\\nAnd where care lodges sleep will never lie;\\r\\nBut where unbruised youth with unstuff’d brain\\r\\nDoth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.\\r\\nTherefore thy earliness doth me assure\\r\\nThou art uprous’d with some distemperature;\\r\\nOr if not so, then here I hit it right,\\r\\nOur Romeo hath not been in bed tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThat last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nGod pardon sin. Wast thou with Rosaline?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWith Rosaline, my ghostly father? No.\\r\\nI have forgot that name, and that name’s woe.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThat’s my good son. But where hast thou been then?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI’ll tell thee ere thou ask it me again.\\r\\nI have been feasting with mine enemy,\\r\\nWhere on a sudden one hath wounded me\\r\\nThat’s by me wounded. Both our remedies\\r\\nWithin thy help and holy physic lies.\\r\\nI bear no hatred, blessed man; for lo,\\r\\nMy intercession likewise steads my foe.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nBe plain, good son, and homely in thy drift;\\r\\nRiddling confession finds but riddling shrift.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThen plainly know my heart’s dear love is set\\r\\nOn the fair daughter of rich Capulet.\\r\\nAs mine on hers, so hers is set on mine;\\r\\nAnd all combin’d, save what thou must combine\\r\\nBy holy marriage. When, and where, and how\\r\\nWe met, we woo’d, and made exchange of vow,\\r\\nI’ll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,\\r\\nThat thou consent to marry us today.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHoly Saint Francis! What a change is here!\\r\\nIs Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear,\\r\\nSo soon forsaken? Young men’s love then lies\\r\\nNot truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.\\r\\nJesu Maria, what a deal of brine\\r\\nHath wash’d thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!\\r\\nHow much salt water thrown away in waste,\\r\\nTo season love, that of it doth not taste.\\r\\nThe sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,\\r\\nThy old groans yet ring in mine ancient ears.\\r\\nLo here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit\\r\\nOf an old tear that is not wash’d off yet.\\r\\nIf ere thou wast thyself, and these woes thine,\\r\\nThou and these woes were all for Rosaline,\\r\\nAnd art thou chang’d? Pronounce this sentence then,\\r\\nWomen may fall, when there’s no strength in men.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThou chidd’st me oft for loving Rosaline.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nFor doting, not for loving, pupil mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd bad’st me bury love.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nNot in a grave\\r\\nTo lay one in, another out to have.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI pray thee chide me not, her I love now\\r\\nDoth grace for grace and love for love allow.\\r\\nThe other did not so.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nO, she knew well\\r\\nThy love did read by rote, that could not spell.\\r\\nBut come young waverer, come go with me,\\r\\nIn one respect I’ll thy assistant be;\\r\\nFor this alliance may so happy prove,\\r\\nTo turn your households’ rancour to pure love.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nWisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nWhere the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home tonight?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nNot to his father’s; I spoke with his man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nWhy, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline, torments him so\\r\\nthat he will sure run mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nTybalt, the kinsman to old Capulet, hath sent a letter to his father’s\\r\\nhouse.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nA challenge, on my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nRomeo will answer it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAny man that can write may answer a letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nNay, he will answer the letter’s master, how he dares, being dared.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAlas poor Romeo, he is already dead, stabbed with a white wench’s black\\r\\neye; run through the ear with a love song, the very pin of his heart\\r\\ncleft with the blind bow-boy’s butt-shaft. And is he a man to encounter\\r\\nTybalt?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nWhy, what is Tybalt?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nMore than Prince of cats. O, he’s the courageous captain of\\r\\ncompliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance,\\r\\nand proportion. He rests his minim rest, one, two, and the third in\\r\\nyour bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist;\\r\\na gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second cause. Ah,\\r\\nthe immortal passado, the punto reverso, the hay.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThe what?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThe pox of such antic lisping, affecting phantasies; these new tuners\\r\\nof accent. By Jesu, a very good blade, a very tall man, a very good\\r\\nwhore. Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should\\r\\nbe thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers,\\r\\nthese pardon-me’s, who stand so much on the new form that they cannot\\r\\nsit at ease on the old bench? O their bones, their bones!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nHere comes Romeo, here comes Romeo!\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nWithout his roe, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art thou\\r\\nfishified! Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in. Laura, to\\r\\nhis lady, was but a kitchen wench,—marry, she had a better love to\\r\\nberhyme her: Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gypsy; Helen and Hero hildings\\r\\nand harlots; Thisbe a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior\\r\\nRomeo, bonjour! There’s a French salutation to your French slop. You\\r\\ngave us the counterfeit fairly last night.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGood morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThe slip sir, the slip; can you not conceive?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nPardon, good Mercutio, my business was great, and in such a case as\\r\\nmine a man may strain courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThat’s as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow\\r\\nin the hams.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nMeaning, to curtsy.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThou hast most kindly hit it.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nA most courteous exposition.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNay, I am the very pink of courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nPink for flower.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nRight.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhy, then is my pump well flowered.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nSure wit, follow me this jest now, till thou hast worn out thy pump,\\r\\nthat when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain after the\\r\\nwearing, solely singular.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness!\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nCome between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSwits and spurs, swits and spurs; or I’ll cry a match.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I am done. For thou hast\\r\\nmore of the wild-goose in one of thy wits, than I am sure, I have in my\\r\\nwhole five. Was I with you there for the goose?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThou wast never with me for anything, when thou wast not there for the\\r\\ngoose.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nI will bite thee by the ear for that jest.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNay, good goose, bite not.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThy wit is a very bitter sweeting, it is a most sharp sauce.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd is it not then well served in to a sweet goose?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nO here’s a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an\\r\\nell broad.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI stretch it out for that word broad, which added to the goose, proves\\r\\nthee far and wide a broad goose.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nWhy, is not this better now than groaning for love? Now art thou\\r\\nsociable, now art thou Romeo; not art thou what thou art, by art as\\r\\nwell as by nature. For this drivelling love is like a great natural,\\r\\nthat runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nStop there, stop there.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThou wouldst else have made thy tale large.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nO, thou art deceived; I would have made it short, for I was come to the\\r\\nwhole depth of my tale, and meant indeed to occupy the argument no\\r\\nlonger.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse and Peter.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHere’s goodly gear!\\r\\nA sail, a sail!\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nTwo, two; a shirt and a smock.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nPeter!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nAnon.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMy fan, Peter.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nGood Peter, to hide her face; for her fan’s the fairer face.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nGod ye good morrow, gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nGod ye good-den, fair gentlewoman.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nIs it good-den?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\n’Tis no less, I tell ye; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the\\r\\nprick of noon.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nOut upon you! What a man are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nOne, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nBy my troth, it is well said; for himself to mar, quoth a? Gentlemen,\\r\\ncan any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI can tell you: but young Romeo will be older when you have found him\\r\\nthan he was when you sought him. I am the youngest of that name, for\\r\\nfault of a worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nYou say well.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nYea, is the worst well? Very well took, i’faith; wisely, wisely.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nIf you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nShe will endite him to some supper.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nA bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat hast thou found?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNo hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something\\r\\nstale and hoar ere it be spent.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n An old hare hoar,\\r\\n And an old hare hoar,\\r\\n Is very good meat in Lent;\\r\\n But a hare that is hoar\\r\\n Is too much for a score\\r\\n When it hoars ere it be spent.\\r\\nRomeo, will you come to your father’s? We’ll to dinner thither.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI will follow you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nFarewell, ancient lady; farewell, lady, lady, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this that was so full of his\\r\\nropery?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nA gentleman, Nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak\\r\\nmore in a minute than he will stand to in a month.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAnd a speak anything against me, I’ll take him down, and a were lustier\\r\\nthan he is, and twenty such Jacks. And if I cannot, I’ll find those\\r\\nthat shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of\\r\\nhis skains-mates.—And thou must stand by too and suffer every knave to\\r\\nuse me at his pleasure!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nI saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I had, my weapon should\\r\\nquickly have been out. I warrant you, I dare draw as soon as another\\r\\nman, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNow, afore God, I am so vexed that every part about me quivers. Scurvy\\r\\nknave. Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bid me\\r\\nenquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself. But first\\r\\nlet me tell ye, if ye should lead her in a fool’s paradise, as they\\r\\nsay, it were a very gross kind of behaviour, as they say; for the\\r\\ngentlewoman is young. And therefore, if you should deal double with\\r\\nher, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and\\r\\nvery weak dealing.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto\\r\\nthee,—\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nGood heart, and i’faith I will tell her as much. Lord, Lord, she will\\r\\nbe a joyful woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat wilt thou tell her, Nurse? Thou dost not mark me.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI will tell her, sir, that you do protest, which, as I take it, is a\\r\\ngentlemanlike offer.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBid her devise\\r\\nSome means to come to shrift this afternoon,\\r\\nAnd there she shall at Friar Lawrence’ cell\\r\\nBe shriv’d and married. Here is for thy pains.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNo truly, sir; not a penny.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGo to; I say you shall.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nThis afternoon, sir? Well, she shall be there.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd stay, good Nurse, behind the abbey wall.\\r\\nWithin this hour my man shall be with thee,\\r\\nAnd bring thee cords made like a tackled stair,\\r\\nWhich to the high topgallant of my joy\\r\\nMust be my convoy in the secret night.\\r\\nFarewell, be trusty, and I’ll quit thy pains;\\r\\nFarewell; commend me to thy mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nNow God in heaven bless thee. Hark you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat say’st thou, my dear Nurse?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nIs your man secret? Did you ne’er hear say,\\r\\nTwo may keep counsel, putting one away?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI warrant thee my man’s as true as steel.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWell, sir, my mistress is the sweetest lady. Lord, Lord! When ’twas a\\r\\nlittle prating thing,—O, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that\\r\\nwould fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief see a\\r\\ntoad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes, and tell her that\\r\\nParis is the properer man, but I’ll warrant you, when I say so, she\\r\\nlooks as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and\\r\\nRomeo begin both with a letter?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAy, Nurse; what of that? Both with an R.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAh, mocker! That’s the dog’s name. R is for the—no, I know it begins\\r\\nwith some other letter, and she hath the prettiest sententious of it,\\r\\nof you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nCommend me to thy lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAy, a thousand times. Peter!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Romeo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nAnon.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nBefore and apace.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Capulet’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThe clock struck nine when I did send the Nurse,\\r\\nIn half an hour she promised to return.\\r\\nPerchance she cannot meet him. That’s not so.\\r\\nO, she is lame. Love’s heralds should be thoughts,\\r\\nWhich ten times faster glides than the sun’s beams,\\r\\nDriving back shadows over lowering hills:\\r\\nTherefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw love,\\r\\nAnd therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.\\r\\nNow is the sun upon the highmost hill\\r\\nOf this day’s journey, and from nine till twelve\\r\\nIs three long hours, yet she is not come.\\r\\nHad she affections and warm youthful blood,\\r\\nShe’d be as swift in motion as a ball;\\r\\nMy words would bandy her to my sweet love,\\r\\nAnd his to me.\\r\\nBut old folks, many feign as they were dead;\\r\\nUnwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse and Peter.\\r\\n\\r\\nO God, she comes. O honey Nurse, what news?\\r\\nHast thou met with him? Send thy man away.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nPeter, stay at the gate.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Peter._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNow, good sweet Nurse,—O Lord, why look’st thou sad?\\r\\nThough news be sad, yet tell them merrily;\\r\\nIf good, thou sham’st the music of sweet news\\r\\nBy playing it to me with so sour a face.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI am aweary, give me leave awhile;\\r\\nFie, how my bones ache! What a jaunt have I had!\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news:\\r\\nNay come, I pray thee speak; good, good Nurse, speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nJesu, what haste? Can you not stay a while? Do you not see that I am\\r\\nout of breath?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHow art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath\\r\\nTo say to me that thou art out of breath?\\r\\nThe excuse that thou dost make in this delay\\r\\nIs longer than the tale thou dost excuse.\\r\\nIs thy news good or bad? Answer to that;\\r\\nSay either, and I’ll stay the circumstance.\\r\\nLet me be satisfied, is’t good or bad?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWell, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man.\\r\\nRomeo? No, not he. Though his face be better than any man’s, yet his\\r\\nleg excels all men’s, and for a hand and a foot, and a body, though\\r\\nthey be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare. He is not the\\r\\nflower of courtesy, but I’ll warrant him as gentle as a lamb. Go thy\\r\\nways, wench, serve God. What, have you dined at home?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNo, no. But all this did I know before.\\r\\nWhat says he of our marriage? What of that?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nLord, how my head aches! What a head have I!\\r\\nIt beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.\\r\\nMy back o’ t’other side,—O my back, my back!\\r\\nBeshrew your heart for sending me about\\r\\nTo catch my death with jauncing up and down.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI’faith, I am sorry that thou art not well.\\r\\nSweet, sweet, sweet Nurse, tell me, what says my love?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nYour love says like an honest gentleman,\\r\\nAnd a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome,\\r\\nAnd I warrant a virtuous,—Where is your mother?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhere is my mother? Why, she is within.\\r\\nWhere should she be? How oddly thou repliest.\\r\\n‘Your love says, like an honest gentleman,\\r\\n‘Where is your mother?’\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO God’s lady dear,\\r\\nAre you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow.\\r\\nIs this the poultice for my aching bones?\\r\\nHenceforward do your messages yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHere’s such a coil. Come, what says Romeo?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nHave you got leave to go to shrift today?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI have.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nThen hie you hence to Friar Lawrence’ cell;\\r\\nThere stays a husband to make you a wife.\\r\\nNow comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks,\\r\\nThey’ll be in scarlet straight at any news.\\r\\nHie you to church. I must another way,\\r\\nTo fetch a ladder by the which your love\\r\\nMust climb a bird’s nest soon when it is dark.\\r\\nI am the drudge, and toil in your delight;\\r\\nBut you shall bear the burden soon at night.\\r\\nGo. I’ll to dinner; hie you to the cell.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nHie to high fortune! Honest Nurse, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nSo smile the heavens upon this holy act\\r\\nThat after-hours with sorrow chide us not.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAmen, amen, but come what sorrow can,\\r\\nIt cannot countervail the exchange of joy\\r\\nThat one short minute gives me in her sight.\\r\\nDo thou but close our hands with holy words,\\r\\nThen love-devouring death do what he dare,\\r\\nIt is enough I may but call her mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThese violent delights have violent ends,\\r\\nAnd in their triumph die; like fire and powder,\\r\\nWhich as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey\\r\\nIs loathsome in his own deliciousness,\\r\\nAnd in the taste confounds the appetite.\\r\\nTherefore love moderately: long love doth so;\\r\\nToo swift arrives as tardy as too slow.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes the lady. O, so light a foot\\r\\nWill ne’er wear out the everlasting flint.\\r\\nA lover may bestride the gossamers\\r\\nThat idles in the wanton summer air\\r\\nAnd yet not fall; so light is vanity.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGood even to my ghostly confessor.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nRomeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAs much to him, else is his thanks too much.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAh, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy\\r\\nBe heap’d like mine, and that thy skill be more\\r\\nTo blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath\\r\\nThis neighbour air, and let rich music’s tongue\\r\\nUnfold the imagin’d happiness that both\\r\\nReceive in either by this dear encounter.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nConceit more rich in matter than in words,\\r\\nBrags of his substance, not of ornament.\\r\\nThey are but beggars that can count their worth;\\r\\nBut my true love is grown to such excess,\\r\\nI cannot sum up sum of half my wealth.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nCome, come with me, and we will make short work,\\r\\nFor, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone\\r\\nTill holy church incorporate two in one.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A public Place.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, Page and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nI pray thee, good Mercutio, let’s retire:\\r\\nThe day is hot, the Capulets abroad,\\r\\nAnd if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl,\\r\\nFor now these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThou art like one of these fellows that, when he enters the confines of\\r\\na tavern, claps me his sword upon the table, and says ‘God send me no\\r\\nneed of thee!’ and by the operation of the second cup draws him on the\\r\\ndrawer, when indeed there is no need.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAm I like such a fellow?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nCome, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy; and as\\r\\nsoon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAnd what to?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would\\r\\nkill the other. Thou? Why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a\\r\\nhair more or a hair less in his beard than thou hast. Thou wilt quarrel\\r\\nwith a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou\\r\\nhast hazel eyes. What eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel?\\r\\nThy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy\\r\\nhead hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling. Thou hast\\r\\nquarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath\\r\\nwakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall\\r\\nout with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with\\r\\nanother for tying his new shoes with an old riband? And yet thou wilt\\r\\ntutor me from quarrelling!\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nAnd I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee\\r\\nsimple of my life for an hour and a quarter.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nThe fee simple! O simple!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Tybalt and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nBy my head, here comes the Capulets.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nBy my heel, I care not.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nFollow me close, for I will speak to them.\\r\\nGentlemen, good-den: a word with one of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAnd but one word with one of us? Couple it with something; make it a\\r\\nword and a blow.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nYou shall find me apt enough to that, sir, and you will give me\\r\\noccasion.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nCould you not take some occasion without giving?\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nMercutio, thou consortest with Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nConsort? What, dost thou make us minstrels? And thou make minstrels of\\r\\nus, look to hear nothing but discords. Here’s my fiddlestick, here’s\\r\\nthat shall make you dance. Zounds, consort!\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nWe talk here in the public haunt of men.\\r\\nEither withdraw unto some private place,\\r\\nAnd reason coldly of your grievances,\\r\\nOr else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nMen’s eyes were made to look, and let them gaze.\\r\\nI will not budge for no man’s pleasure, I.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nWell, peace be with you, sir, here comes my man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nBut I’ll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery.\\r\\nMarry, go before to field, he’ll be your follower;\\r\\nYour worship in that sense may call him man.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nRomeo, the love I bear thee can afford\\r\\nNo better term than this: Thou art a villain.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nTybalt, the reason that I have to love thee\\r\\nDoth much excuse the appertaining rage\\r\\nTo such a greeting. Villain am I none;\\r\\nTherefore farewell; I see thou know’st me not.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nBoy, this shall not excuse the injuries\\r\\nThat thou hast done me, therefore turn and draw.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI do protest I never injur’d thee,\\r\\nBut love thee better than thou canst devise\\r\\nTill thou shalt know the reason of my love.\\r\\nAnd so good Capulet, which name I tender\\r\\nAs dearly as mine own, be satisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nO calm, dishonourable, vile submission!\\r\\n[_Draws._] Alla stoccata carries it away.\\r\\nTybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nWhat wouldst thou have with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nGood King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives; that I mean to\\r\\nmake bold withal, and, as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest\\r\\nof the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears?\\r\\nMake haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\n[_Drawing._] I am for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nCome, sir, your passado.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nDraw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons.\\r\\nGentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage,\\r\\nTybalt, Mercutio, the Prince expressly hath\\r\\nForbid this bandying in Verona streets.\\r\\nHold, Tybalt! Good Mercutio!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Tybalt with his Partizans._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nI am hurt.\\r\\nA plague o’ both your houses. I am sped.\\r\\nIs he gone, and hath nothing?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nWhat, art thou hurt?\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nAy, ay, a scratch, a scratch. Marry, ’tis enough.\\r\\nWhere is my page? Go villain, fetch a surgeon.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Page._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nCourage, man; the hurt cannot be much.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nNo, ’tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door, but ’tis\\r\\nenough, ’twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a\\r\\ngrave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o’ both\\r\\nyour houses. Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to\\r\\ndeath. A braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of\\r\\narithmetic!—Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your\\r\\narm.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI thought all for the best.\\r\\n\\r\\nMERCUTIO.\\r\\nHelp me into some house, Benvolio,\\r\\nOr I shall faint. A plague o’ both your houses.\\r\\nThey have made worms’ meat of me.\\r\\nI have it, and soundly too. Your houses!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThis gentleman, the Prince’s near ally,\\r\\nMy very friend, hath got his mortal hurt\\r\\nIn my behalf; my reputation stain’d\\r\\nWith Tybalt’s slander,—Tybalt, that an hour\\r\\nHath been my cousin. O sweet Juliet,\\r\\nThy beauty hath made me effeminate\\r\\nAnd in my temper soften’d valour’s steel.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Benvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nO Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio’s dead,\\r\\nThat gallant spirit hath aspir’d the clouds,\\r\\nWhich too untimely here did scorn the earth.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThis day’s black fate on mo days doth depend;\\r\\nThis but begins the woe others must end.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Tybalt.\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nHere comes the furious Tybalt back again.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAgain in triumph, and Mercutio slain?\\r\\nAway to heaven respective lenity,\\r\\nAnd fire-ey’d fury be my conduct now!\\r\\nNow, Tybalt, take the ‘villain’ back again\\r\\nThat late thou gav’st me, for Mercutio’s soul\\r\\nIs but a little way above our heads,\\r\\nStaying for thine to keep him company.\\r\\nEither thou or I, or both, must go with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nTYBALT.\\r\\nThou wretched boy, that didst consort him here,\\r\\nShalt with him hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThis shall determine that.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight; Tybalt falls._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nRomeo, away, be gone!\\r\\nThe citizens are up, and Tybalt slain.\\r\\nStand not amaz’d. The Prince will doom thee death\\r\\nIf thou art taken. Hence, be gone, away!\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO, I am fortune’s fool!\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nWhy dost thou stay?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Romeo._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Citizens.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nWhich way ran he that kill’d Mercutio?\\r\\nTybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nThere lies that Tybalt.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST CITIZEN.\\r\\nUp, sir, go with me.\\r\\nI charge thee in the Prince’s name obey.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Prince, attended; Montague, Capulet, their Wives and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhere are the vile beginners of this fray?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nO noble Prince, I can discover all\\r\\nThe unlucky manage of this fatal brawl.\\r\\nThere lies the man, slain by young Romeo,\\r\\nThat slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nTybalt, my cousin! O my brother’s child!\\r\\nO Prince! O husband! O, the blood is spill’d\\r\\nOf my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true,\\r\\nFor blood of ours shed blood of Montague.\\r\\nO cousin, cousin.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nBenvolio, who began this bloody fray?\\r\\n\\r\\nBENVOLIO.\\r\\nTybalt, here slain, whom Romeo’s hand did slay;\\r\\nRomeo, that spoke him fair, bid him bethink\\r\\nHow nice the quarrel was, and urg’d withal\\r\\nYour high displeasure. All this uttered\\r\\nWith gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow’d\\r\\nCould not take truce with the unruly spleen\\r\\nOf Tybalt, deaf to peace, but that he tilts\\r\\nWith piercing steel at bold Mercutio’s breast,\\r\\nWho, all as hot, turns deadly point to point,\\r\\nAnd, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats\\r\\nCold death aside, and with the other sends\\r\\nIt back to Tybalt, whose dexterity\\r\\nRetorts it. Romeo he cries aloud,\\r\\n‘Hold, friends! Friends, part!’ and swifter than his tongue,\\r\\nHis agile arm beats down their fatal points,\\r\\nAnd ’twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm\\r\\nAn envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life\\r\\nOf stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled.\\r\\nBut by and by comes back to Romeo,\\r\\nWho had but newly entertain’d revenge,\\r\\nAnd to’t they go like lightning; for, ere I\\r\\nCould draw to part them was stout Tybalt slain;\\r\\nAnd as he fell did Romeo turn and fly.\\r\\nThis is the truth, or let Benvolio die.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nHe is a kinsman to the Montague.\\r\\nAffection makes him false, he speaks not true.\\r\\nSome twenty of them fought in this black strife,\\r\\nAnd all those twenty could but kill one life.\\r\\nI beg for justice, which thou, Prince, must give;\\r\\nRomeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nRomeo slew him, he slew Mercutio.\\r\\nWho now the price of his dear blood doth owe?\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nNot Romeo, Prince, he was Mercutio’s friend;\\r\\nHis fault concludes but what the law should end,\\r\\nThe life of Tybalt.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nAnd for that offence\\r\\nImmediately we do exile him hence.\\r\\nI have an interest in your hate’s proceeding,\\r\\nMy blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding.\\r\\nBut I’ll amerce you with so strong a fine\\r\\nThat you shall all repent the loss of mine.\\r\\nI will be deaf to pleading and excuses;\\r\\nNor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses.\\r\\nTherefore use none. Let Romeo hence in haste,\\r\\nElse, when he is found, that hour is his last.\\r\\nBear hence this body, and attend our will.\\r\\nMercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,\\r\\nTowards Phoebus’ lodging. Such a waggoner\\r\\nAs Phaeton would whip you to the west\\r\\nAnd bring in cloudy night immediately.\\r\\nSpread thy close curtain, love-performing night,\\r\\nThat runaway’s eyes may wink, and Romeo\\r\\nLeap to these arms, untalk’d of and unseen.\\r\\nLovers can see to do their amorous rites\\r\\nBy their own beauties: or, if love be blind,\\r\\nIt best agrees with night. Come, civil night,\\r\\nThou sober-suited matron, all in black,\\r\\nAnd learn me how to lose a winning match,\\r\\nPlay’d for a pair of stainless maidenhoods.\\r\\nHood my unmann’d blood, bating in my cheeks,\\r\\nWith thy black mantle, till strange love, grow bold,\\r\\nThink true love acted simple modesty.\\r\\nCome, night, come Romeo; come, thou day in night;\\r\\nFor thou wilt lie upon the wings of night\\r\\nWhiter than new snow upon a raven’s back.\\r\\nCome gentle night, come loving black-brow’d night,\\r\\nGive me my Romeo, and when I shall die,\\r\\nTake him and cut him out in little stars,\\r\\nAnd he will make the face of heaven so fine\\r\\nThat all the world will be in love with night,\\r\\nAnd pay no worship to the garish sun.\\r\\nO, I have bought the mansion of a love,\\r\\nBut not possess’d it; and though I am sold,\\r\\nNot yet enjoy’d. So tedious is this day\\r\\nAs is the night before some festival\\r\\nTo an impatient child that hath new robes\\r\\nAnd may not wear them. O, here comes my Nurse,\\r\\nAnd she brings news, and every tongue that speaks\\r\\nBut Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse, with cords.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, Nurse, what news? What hast thou there?\\r\\nThe cords that Romeo bid thee fetch?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAy, ay, the cords.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Throws them down._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAy me, what news? Why dost thou wring thy hands?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAh, well-a-day, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead!\\r\\nWe are undone, lady, we are undone.\\r\\nAlack the day, he’s gone, he’s kill’d, he’s dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nCan heaven be so envious?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nRomeo can,\\r\\nThough heaven cannot. O Romeo, Romeo.\\r\\nWho ever would have thought it? Romeo!\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat devil art thou, that dost torment me thus?\\r\\nThis torture should be roar’d in dismal hell.\\r\\nHath Romeo slain himself? Say thou but Ay,\\r\\nAnd that bare vowel I shall poison more\\r\\nThan the death-darting eye of cockatrice.\\r\\nI am not I if there be such an I;\\r\\nOr those eyes shut that make thee answer Ay.\\r\\nIf he be slain, say Ay; or if not, No.\\r\\nBrief sounds determine of my weal or woe.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,\\r\\nGod save the mark!—here on his manly breast.\\r\\nA piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;\\r\\nPale, pale as ashes, all bedaub’d in blood,\\r\\nAll in gore-blood. I swounded at the sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO, break, my heart. Poor bankrout, break at once.\\r\\nTo prison, eyes; ne’er look on liberty.\\r\\nVile earth to earth resign; end motion here,\\r\\nAnd thou and Romeo press one heavy bier.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had.\\r\\nO courteous Tybalt, honest gentleman!\\r\\nThat ever I should live to see thee dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat storm is this that blows so contrary?\\r\\nIs Romeo slaughter’d and is Tybalt dead?\\r\\nMy dearest cousin, and my dearer lord?\\r\\nThen dreadful trumpet sound the general doom,\\r\\nFor who is living, if those two are gone?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nTybalt is gone, and Romeo banished,\\r\\nRomeo that kill’d him, he is banished.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO God! Did Romeo’s hand shed Tybalt’s blood?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nIt did, it did; alas the day, it did.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO serpent heart, hid with a flowering face!\\r\\nDid ever dragon keep so fair a cave?\\r\\nBeautiful tyrant, fiend angelical,\\r\\nDove-feather’d raven, wolvish-ravening lamb!\\r\\nDespised substance of divinest show!\\r\\nJust opposite to what thou justly seem’st,\\r\\nA damned saint, an honourable villain!\\r\\nO nature, what hadst thou to do in hell\\r\\nWhen thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend\\r\\nIn mortal paradise of such sweet flesh?\\r\\nWas ever book containing such vile matter\\r\\nSo fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell\\r\\nIn such a gorgeous palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nThere’s no trust,\\r\\nNo faith, no honesty in men. All perjur’d,\\r\\nAll forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.\\r\\nAh, where’s my man? Give me some aqua vitae.\\r\\nThese griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.\\r\\nShame come to Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nBlister’d be thy tongue\\r\\nFor such a wish! He was not born to shame.\\r\\nUpon his brow shame is asham’d to sit;\\r\\nFor ’tis a throne where honour may be crown’d\\r\\nSole monarch of the universal earth.\\r\\nO, what a beast was I to chide at him!\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWill you speak well of him that kill’d your cousin?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nShall I speak ill of him that is my husband?\\r\\nAh, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name,\\r\\nWhen I thy three-hours’ wife have mangled it?\\r\\nBut wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?\\r\\nThat villain cousin would have kill’d my husband.\\r\\nBack, foolish tears, back to your native spring,\\r\\nYour tributary drops belong to woe,\\r\\nWhich you mistaking offer up to joy.\\r\\nMy husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain,\\r\\nAnd Tybalt’s dead, that would have slain my husband.\\r\\nAll this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?\\r\\nSome word there was, worser than Tybalt’s death,\\r\\nThat murder’d me. I would forget it fain,\\r\\nBut O, it presses to my memory\\r\\nLike damned guilty deeds to sinners’ minds.\\r\\nTybalt is dead, and Romeo banished.\\r\\nThat ‘banished,’ that one word ‘banished,’\\r\\nHath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt’s death\\r\\nWas woe enough, if it had ended there.\\r\\nOr if sour woe delights in fellowship,\\r\\nAnd needly will be rank’d with other griefs,\\r\\nWhy follow’d not, when she said Tybalt’s dead,\\r\\nThy father or thy mother, nay or both,\\r\\nWhich modern lamentation might have mov’d?\\r\\nBut with a rear-ward following Tybalt’s death,\\r\\n‘Romeo is banished’—to speak that word\\r\\nIs father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,\\r\\nAll slain, all dead. Romeo is banished,\\r\\nThere is no end, no limit, measure, bound,\\r\\nIn that word’s death, no words can that woe sound.\\r\\nWhere is my father and my mother, Nurse?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWeeping and wailing over Tybalt’s corse.\\r\\nWill you go to them? I will bring you thither.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWash they his wounds with tears. Mine shall be spent,\\r\\nWhen theirs are dry, for Romeo’s banishment.\\r\\nTake up those cords. Poor ropes, you are beguil’d,\\r\\nBoth you and I; for Romeo is exil’d.\\r\\nHe made you for a highway to my bed,\\r\\nBut I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.\\r\\nCome cords, come Nurse, I’ll to my wedding bed,\\r\\nAnd death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nHie to your chamber. I’ll find Romeo\\r\\nTo comfort you. I wot well where he is.\\r\\nHark ye, your Romeo will be here at night.\\r\\nI’ll to him, he is hid at Lawrence’ cell.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO find him, give this ring to my true knight,\\r\\nAnd bid him come to take his last farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Friar Lawrence’s cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nRomeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man.\\r\\nAffliction is enanmour’d of thy parts\\r\\nAnd thou art wedded to calamity.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nFather, what news? What is the Prince’s doom?\\r\\nWhat sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,\\r\\nThat I yet know not?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nToo familiar\\r\\nIs my dear son with such sour company.\\r\\nI bring thee tidings of the Prince’s doom.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWhat less than doomsday is the Prince’s doom?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nA gentler judgment vanish’d from his lips,\\r\\nNot body’s death, but body’s banishment.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHa, banishment? Be merciful, say death;\\r\\nFor exile hath more terror in his look,\\r\\nMuch more than death. Do not say banishment.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHence from Verona art thou banished.\\r\\nBe patient, for the world is broad and wide.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThere is no world without Verona walls,\\r\\nBut purgatory, torture, hell itself.\\r\\nHence banished is banish’d from the world,\\r\\nAnd world’s exile is death. Then banished\\r\\nIs death misterm’d. Calling death banished,\\r\\nThou cutt’st my head off with a golden axe,\\r\\nAnd smilest upon the stroke that murders me.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nO deadly sin, O rude unthankfulness!\\r\\nThy fault our law calls death, but the kind Prince,\\r\\nTaking thy part, hath brush’d aside the law,\\r\\nAnd turn’d that black word death to banishment.\\r\\nThis is dear mercy, and thou see’st it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\n’Tis torture, and not mercy. Heaven is here\\r\\nWhere Juliet lives, and every cat and dog,\\r\\nAnd little mouse, every unworthy thing,\\r\\nLive here in heaven and may look on her,\\r\\nBut Romeo may not. More validity,\\r\\nMore honourable state, more courtship lives\\r\\nIn carrion flies than Romeo. They may seize\\r\\nOn the white wonder of dear Juliet’s hand,\\r\\nAnd steal immortal blessing from her lips,\\r\\nWho, even in pure and vestal modesty\\r\\nStill blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.\\r\\nBut Romeo may not, he is banished.\\r\\nThis may flies do, when I from this must fly.\\r\\nThey are free men but I am banished.\\r\\nAnd say’st thou yet that exile is not death?\\r\\nHadst thou no poison mix’d, no sharp-ground knife,\\r\\nNo sudden mean of death, though ne’er so mean,\\r\\nBut banished to kill me? Banished?\\r\\nO Friar, the damned use that word in hell.\\r\\nHowlings attends it. How hast thou the heart,\\r\\nBeing a divine, a ghostly confessor,\\r\\nA sin-absolver, and my friend profess’d,\\r\\nTo mangle me with that word banished?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThou fond mad man, hear me speak a little,\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nO, thou wilt speak again of banishment.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nI’ll give thee armour to keep off that word,\\r\\nAdversity’s sweet milk, philosophy,\\r\\nTo comfort thee, though thou art banished.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nYet banished? Hang up philosophy.\\r\\nUnless philosophy can make a Juliet,\\r\\nDisplant a town, reverse a Prince’s doom,\\r\\nIt helps not, it prevails not, talk no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nO, then I see that mad men have no ears.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHow should they, when that wise men have no eyes?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nLet me dispute with thee of thy estate.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel.\\r\\nWert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,\\r\\nAn hour but married, Tybalt murdered,\\r\\nDoting like me, and like me banished,\\r\\nThen mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair,\\r\\nAnd fall upon the ground as I do now,\\r\\nTaking the measure of an unmade grave.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knocking within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nArise; one knocks. Good Romeo, hide thyself.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNot I, unless the breath of heartsick groans\\r\\nMist-like infold me from the search of eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knocking._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHark, how they knock!—Who’s there?—Romeo, arise,\\r\\nThou wilt be taken.—Stay awhile.—Stand up.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knocking._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRun to my study.—By-and-by.—God’s will,\\r\\nWhat simpleness is this.—I come, I come.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knocking._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWho knocks so hard? Whence come you, what’s your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\n[_Within._] Let me come in, and you shall know my errand.\\r\\nI come from Lady Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nWelcome then.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO holy Friar, O, tell me, holy Friar,\\r\\nWhere is my lady’s lord, where’s Romeo?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThere on the ground, with his own tears made drunk.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO, he is even in my mistress’ case.\\r\\nJust in her case! O woeful sympathy!\\r\\nPiteous predicament. Even so lies she,\\r\\nBlubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering.\\r\\nStand up, stand up; stand, and you be a man.\\r\\nFor Juliet’s sake, for her sake, rise and stand.\\r\\nWhy should you fall into so deep an O?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAh sir, ah sir, death’s the end of all.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSpakest thou of Juliet? How is it with her?\\r\\nDoth not she think me an old murderer,\\r\\nNow I have stain’d the childhood of our joy\\r\\nWith blood remov’d but little from her own?\\r\\nWhere is she? And how doth she? And what says\\r\\nMy conceal’d lady to our cancell’d love?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps;\\r\\nAnd now falls on her bed, and then starts up,\\r\\nAnd Tybalt calls, and then on Romeo cries,\\r\\nAnd then down falls again.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAs if that name,\\r\\nShot from the deadly level of a gun,\\r\\nDid murder her, as that name’s cursed hand\\r\\nMurder’d her kinsman. O, tell me, Friar, tell me,\\r\\nIn what vile part of this anatomy\\r\\nDoth my name lodge? Tell me, that I may sack\\r\\nThe hateful mansion.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Drawing his sword._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHold thy desperate hand.\\r\\nArt thou a man? Thy form cries out thou art.\\r\\nThy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote\\r\\nThe unreasonable fury of a beast.\\r\\nUnseemly woman in a seeming man,\\r\\nAnd ill-beseeming beast in seeming both!\\r\\nThou hast amaz’d me. By my holy order,\\r\\nI thought thy disposition better temper’d.\\r\\nHast thou slain Tybalt? Wilt thou slay thyself?\\r\\nAnd slay thy lady, that in thy life lives,\\r\\nBy doing damned hate upon thyself?\\r\\nWhy rail’st thou on thy birth, the heaven and earth?\\r\\nSince birth, and heaven and earth, all three do meet\\r\\nIn thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose.\\r\\nFie, fie, thou sham’st thy shape, thy love, thy wit,\\r\\nWhich, like a usurer, abound’st in all,\\r\\nAnd usest none in that true use indeed\\r\\nWhich should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit.\\r\\nThy noble shape is but a form of wax,\\r\\nDigressing from the valour of a man;\\r\\nThy dear love sworn but hollow perjury,\\r\\nKilling that love which thou hast vow’d to cherish;\\r\\nThy wit, that ornament to shape and love,\\r\\nMisshapen in the conduct of them both,\\r\\nLike powder in a skilless soldier’s flask,\\r\\nIs set afire by thine own ignorance,\\r\\nAnd thou dismember’d with thine own defence.\\r\\nWhat, rouse thee, man. Thy Juliet is alive,\\r\\nFor whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead.\\r\\nThere art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee,\\r\\nBut thou slew’st Tybalt; there art thou happy.\\r\\nThe law that threaten’d death becomes thy friend,\\r\\nAnd turns it to exile; there art thou happy.\\r\\nA pack of blessings light upon thy back;\\r\\nHappiness courts thee in her best array;\\r\\nBut like a misshaped and sullen wench,\\r\\nThou putt’st up thy Fortune and thy love.\\r\\nTake heed, take heed, for such die miserable.\\r\\nGo, get thee to thy love as was decreed,\\r\\nAscend her chamber, hence and comfort her.\\r\\nBut look thou stay not till the watch be set,\\r\\nFor then thou canst not pass to Mantua;\\r\\nWhere thou shalt live till we can find a time\\r\\nTo blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,\\r\\nBeg pardon of the Prince, and call thee back\\r\\nWith twenty hundred thousand times more joy\\r\\nThan thou went’st forth in lamentation.\\r\\nGo before, Nurse. Commend me to thy lady,\\r\\nAnd bid her hasten all the house to bed,\\r\\nWhich heavy sorrow makes them apt unto.\\r\\nRomeo is coming.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO Lord, I could have stay’d here all the night\\r\\nTo hear good counsel. O, what learning is!\\r\\nMy lord, I’ll tell my lady you will come.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nDo so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nHere sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir.\\r\\nHie you, make haste, for it grows very late.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nHow well my comfort is reviv’d by this.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nGo hence, good night, and here stands all your state:\\r\\nEither be gone before the watch be set,\\r\\nOr by the break of day disguis’d from hence.\\r\\nSojourn in Mantua. I’ll find out your man,\\r\\nAnd he shall signify from time to time\\r\\nEvery good hap to you that chances here.\\r\\nGive me thy hand; ’tis late; farewell; good night.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nBut that a joy past joy calls out on me,\\r\\nIt were a grief so brief to part with thee.\\r\\nFarewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Room in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet and Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nThings have fallen out, sir, so unluckily\\r\\nThat we have had no time to move our daughter.\\r\\nLook you, she lov’d her kinsman Tybalt dearly,\\r\\nAnd so did I. Well, we were born to die.\\r\\n’Tis very late; she’ll not come down tonight.\\r\\nI promise you, but for your company,\\r\\nI would have been abed an hour ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThese times of woe afford no tune to woo.\\r\\nMadam, good night. Commend me to your daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nI will, and know her mind early tomorrow;\\r\\nTonight she’s mew’d up to her heaviness.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nSir Paris, I will make a desperate tender\\r\\nOf my child’s love. I think she will be rul’d\\r\\nIn all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.\\r\\nWife, go you to her ere you go to bed,\\r\\nAcquaint her here of my son Paris’ love,\\r\\nAnd bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next,\\r\\nBut, soft, what day is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nMonday, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nMonday! Ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon,\\r\\nA Thursday let it be; a Thursday, tell her,\\r\\nShe shall be married to this noble earl.\\r\\nWill you be ready? Do you like this haste?\\r\\nWe’ll keep no great ado,—a friend or two,\\r\\nFor, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,\\r\\nIt may be thought we held him carelessly,\\r\\nBeing our kinsman, if we revel much.\\r\\nTherefore we’ll have some half a dozen friends,\\r\\nAnd there an end. But what say you to Thursday?\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nMy lord, I would that Thursday were tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWell, get you gone. A Thursday be it then.\\r\\nGo you to Juliet ere you go to bed,\\r\\nPrepare her, wife, against this wedding day.\\r\\nFarewell, my lord.—Light to my chamber, ho!\\r\\nAfore me, it is so very very late that we\\r\\nMay call it early by and by. Good night.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. An open Gallery to Juliet’s Chamber, overlooking the Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo and Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day.\\r\\nIt was the nightingale, and not the lark,\\r\\nThat pierc’d the fearful hollow of thine ear;\\r\\nNightly she sings on yond pomegranate tree.\\r\\nBelieve me, love, it was the nightingale.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIt was the lark, the herald of the morn,\\r\\nNo nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks\\r\\nDo lace the severing clouds in yonder east.\\r\\nNight’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day\\r\\nStands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.\\r\\nI must be gone and live, or stay and die.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nYond light is not daylight, I know it, I.\\r\\nIt is some meteor that the sun exhales\\r\\nTo be to thee this night a torchbearer\\r\\nAnd light thee on thy way to Mantua.\\r\\nTherefore stay yet, thou need’st not to be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nLet me be ta’en, let me be put to death,\\r\\nI am content, so thou wilt have it so.\\r\\nI’ll say yon grey is not the morning’s eye,\\r\\n’Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia’s brow.\\r\\nNor that is not the lark whose notes do beat\\r\\nThe vaulty heaven so high above our heads.\\r\\nI have more care to stay than will to go.\\r\\nCome, death, and welcome. Juliet wills it so.\\r\\nHow is’t, my soul? Let’s talk. It is not day.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIt is, it is! Hie hence, be gone, away.\\r\\nIt is the lark that sings so out of tune,\\r\\nStraining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.\\r\\nSome say the lark makes sweet division;\\r\\nThis doth not so, for she divideth us.\\r\\nSome say the lark and loathed toad change eyes.\\r\\nO, now I would they had chang’d voices too,\\r\\nSince arm from arm that voice doth us affray,\\r\\nHunting thee hence with hunt’s-up to the day.\\r\\nO now be gone, more light and light it grows.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nMore light and light, more dark and dark our woes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMadam.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNurse?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nYour lady mother is coming to your chamber.\\r\\nThe day is broke, be wary, look about.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThen, window, let day in, and let life out.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nFarewell, farewell, one kiss, and I’ll descend.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Descends._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nArt thou gone so? Love, lord, ay husband, friend,\\r\\nI must hear from thee every day in the hour,\\r\\nFor in a minute there are many days.\\r\\nO, by this count I shall be much in years\\r\\nEre I again behold my Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nFarewell!\\r\\nI will omit no opportunity\\r\\nThat may convey my greetings, love, to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO thinkest thou we shall ever meet again?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI doubt it not, and all these woes shall serve\\r\\nFor sweet discourses in our time to come.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO God! I have an ill-divining soul!\\r\\nMethinks I see thee, now thou art so low,\\r\\nAs one dead in the bottom of a tomb.\\r\\nEither my eyesight fails, or thou look’st pale.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nAnd trust me, love, in my eye so do you.\\r\\nDry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit below._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO Fortune, Fortune! All men call thee fickle,\\r\\nIf thou art fickle, what dost thou with him\\r\\nThat is renown’d for faith? Be fickle, Fortune;\\r\\nFor then, I hope thou wilt not keep him long\\r\\nBut send him back.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\n[_Within._] Ho, daughter, are you up?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWho is’t that calls? Is it my lady mother?\\r\\nIs she not down so late, or up so early?\\r\\nWhat unaccustom’d cause procures her hither?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWhy, how now, Juliet?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nMadam, I am not well.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nEvermore weeping for your cousin’s death?\\r\\nWhat, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?\\r\\nAnd if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live.\\r\\nTherefore have done: some grief shows much of love,\\r\\nBut much of grief shows still some want of wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nYet let me weep for such a feeling loss.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nSo shall you feel the loss, but not the friend\\r\\nWhich you weep for.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nFeeling so the loss,\\r\\nI cannot choose but ever weep the friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWell, girl, thou weep’st not so much for his death\\r\\nAs that the villain lives which slaughter’d him.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat villain, madam?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nThat same villain Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nVillain and he be many miles asunder.\\r\\nGod pardon him. I do, with all my heart.\\r\\nAnd yet no man like he doth grieve my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nThat is because the traitor murderer lives.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAy madam, from the reach of these my hands.\\r\\nWould none but I might venge my cousin’s death.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWe will have vengeance for it, fear thou not.\\r\\nThen weep no more. I’ll send to one in Mantua,\\r\\nWhere that same banish’d runagate doth live,\\r\\nShall give him such an unaccustom’d dram\\r\\nThat he shall soon keep Tybalt company:\\r\\nAnd then I hope thou wilt be satisfied.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIndeed I never shall be satisfied\\r\\nWith Romeo till I behold him—dead—\\r\\nIs my poor heart so for a kinsman vex’d.\\r\\nMadam, if you could find out but a man\\r\\nTo bear a poison, I would temper it,\\r\\nThat Romeo should upon receipt thereof,\\r\\nSoon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors\\r\\nTo hear him nam’d, and cannot come to him,\\r\\nTo wreak the love I bore my cousin\\r\\nUpon his body that hath slaughter’d him.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nFind thou the means, and I’ll find such a man.\\r\\nBut now I’ll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAnd joy comes well in such a needy time.\\r\\nWhat are they, I beseech your ladyship?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWell, well, thou hast a careful father, child;\\r\\nOne who to put thee from thy heaviness,\\r\\nHath sorted out a sudden day of joy,\\r\\nThat thou expects not, nor I look’d not for.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nMadam, in happy time, what day is that?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nMarry, my child, early next Thursday morn\\r\\nThe gallant, young, and noble gentleman,\\r\\nThe County Paris, at Saint Peter’s Church,\\r\\nShall happily make thee there a joyful bride.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNow by Saint Peter’s Church, and Peter too,\\r\\nHe shall not make me there a joyful bride.\\r\\nI wonder at this haste, that I must wed\\r\\nEre he that should be husband comes to woo.\\r\\nI pray you tell my lord and father, madam,\\r\\nI will not marry yet; and when I do, I swear\\r\\nIt shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,\\r\\nRather than Paris. These are news indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nHere comes your father, tell him so yourself,\\r\\nAnd see how he will take it at your hands.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet and Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhen the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew;\\r\\nBut for the sunset of my brother’s son\\r\\nIt rains downright.\\r\\nHow now? A conduit, girl? What, still in tears?\\r\\nEvermore showering? In one little body\\r\\nThou counterfeits a bark, a sea, a wind.\\r\\nFor still thy eyes, which I may call the sea,\\r\\nDo ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is,\\r\\nSailing in this salt flood, the winds, thy sighs,\\r\\nWho raging with thy tears and they with them,\\r\\nWithout a sudden calm will overset\\r\\nThy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife?\\r\\nHave you deliver’d to her our decree?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nAy, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks.\\r\\nI would the fool were married to her grave.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nSoft. Take me with you, take me with you, wife.\\r\\nHow, will she none? Doth she not give us thanks?\\r\\nIs she not proud? Doth she not count her blest,\\r\\nUnworthy as she is, that we have wrought\\r\\nSo worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNot proud you have, but thankful that you have.\\r\\nProud can I never be of what I hate;\\r\\nBut thankful even for hate that is meant love.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHow now, how now, chopp’d logic? What is this?\\r\\nProud, and, I thank you, and I thank you not;\\r\\nAnd yet not proud. Mistress minion you,\\r\\nThank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,\\r\\nBut fettle your fine joints ’gainst Thursday next\\r\\nTo go with Paris to Saint Peter’s Church,\\r\\nOr I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.\\r\\nOut, you green-sickness carrion! Out, you baggage!\\r\\nYou tallow-face!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nFie, fie! What, are you mad?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGood father, I beseech you on my knees,\\r\\nHear me with patience but to speak a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHang thee young baggage, disobedient wretch!\\r\\nI tell thee what,—get thee to church a Thursday,\\r\\nOr never after look me in the face.\\r\\nSpeak not, reply not, do not answer me.\\r\\nMy fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest\\r\\nThat God had lent us but this only child;\\r\\nBut now I see this one is one too much,\\r\\nAnd that we have a curse in having her.\\r\\nOut on her, hilding.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nGod in heaven bless her.\\r\\nYou are to blame, my lord, to rate her so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nAnd why, my lady wisdom? Hold your tongue,\\r\\nGood prudence; smatter with your gossips, go.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nI speak no treason.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nO God ye good-en!\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMay not one speak?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nPeace, you mumbling fool!\\r\\nUtter your gravity o’er a gossip’s bowl,\\r\\nFor here we need it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nYou are too hot.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nGod’s bread, it makes me mad!\\r\\nDay, night, hour, ride, time, work, play,\\r\\nAlone, in company, still my care hath been\\r\\nTo have her match’d, and having now provided\\r\\nA gentleman of noble parentage,\\r\\nOf fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly allied,\\r\\nStuff’d, as they say, with honourable parts,\\r\\nProportion’d as one’s thought would wish a man,\\r\\nAnd then to have a wretched puling fool,\\r\\nA whining mammet, in her fortune’s tender,\\r\\nTo answer, ‘I’ll not wed, I cannot love,\\r\\nI am too young, I pray you pardon me.’\\r\\nBut, and you will not wed, I’ll pardon you.\\r\\nGraze where you will, you shall not house with me.\\r\\nLook to’t, think on’t, I do not use to jest.\\r\\nThursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise.\\r\\nAnd you be mine, I’ll give you to my friend;\\r\\nAnd you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets,\\r\\nFor by my soul, I’ll ne’er acknowledge thee,\\r\\nNor what is mine shall never do thee good.\\r\\nTrust to’t, bethink you, I’ll not be forsworn.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIs there no pity sitting in the clouds,\\r\\nThat sees into the bottom of my grief?\\r\\nO sweet my mother, cast me not away,\\r\\nDelay this marriage for a month, a week,\\r\\nOr, if you do not, make the bridal bed\\r\\nIn that dim monument where Tybalt lies.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nTalk not to me, for I’ll not speak a word.\\r\\nDo as thou wilt, for I have done with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO God! O Nurse, how shall this be prevented?\\r\\nMy husband is on earth, my faith in heaven.\\r\\nHow shall that faith return again to earth,\\r\\nUnless that husband send it me from heaven\\r\\nBy leaving earth? Comfort me, counsel me.\\r\\nAlack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems\\r\\nUpon so soft a subject as myself.\\r\\nWhat say’st thou? Hast thou not a word of joy?\\r\\nSome comfort, Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nFaith, here it is.\\r\\nRomeo is banished; and all the world to nothing\\r\\nThat he dares ne’er come back to challenge you.\\r\\nOr if he do, it needs must be by stealth.\\r\\nThen, since the case so stands as now it doth,\\r\\nI think it best you married with the County.\\r\\nO, he’s a lovely gentleman.\\r\\nRomeo’s a dishclout to him. An eagle, madam,\\r\\nHath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye\\r\\nAs Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,\\r\\nI think you are happy in this second match,\\r\\nFor it excels your first: or if it did not,\\r\\nYour first is dead, or ’twere as good he were,\\r\\nAs living here and you no use of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nSpeakest thou from thy heart?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAnd from my soul too,\\r\\nOr else beshrew them both.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nWhat?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWell, thou hast comforted me marvellous much.\\r\\nGo in, and tell my lady I am gone,\\r\\nHaving displeas’d my father, to Lawrence’ cell,\\r\\nTo make confession and to be absolv’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMarry, I will; and this is wisely done.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAncient damnation! O most wicked fiend!\\r\\nIs it more sin to wish me thus forsworn,\\r\\nOr to dispraise my lord with that same tongue\\r\\nWhich she hath prais’d him with above compare\\r\\nSo many thousand times? Go, counsellor.\\r\\nThou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain.\\r\\nI’ll to the Friar to know his remedy.\\r\\nIf all else fail, myself have power to die.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nOn Thursday, sir? The time is very short.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nMy father Capulet will have it so;\\r\\nAnd I am nothing slow to slack his haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nYou say you do not know the lady’s mind.\\r\\nUneven is the course; I like it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nImmoderately she weeps for Tybalt’s death,\\r\\nAnd therefore have I little talk’d of love;\\r\\nFor Venus smiles not in a house of tears.\\r\\nNow, sir, her father counts it dangerous\\r\\nThat she do give her sorrow so much sway;\\r\\nAnd in his wisdom, hastes our marriage,\\r\\nTo stop the inundation of her tears,\\r\\nWhich, too much minded by herself alone,\\r\\nMay be put from her by society.\\r\\nNow do you know the reason of this haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I would I knew not why it should be slow’d.—\\r\\nLook, sir, here comes the lady toward my cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHappily met, my lady and my wife!\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThat may be, sir, when I may be a wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThat may be, must be, love, on Thursday next.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhat must be shall be.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThat’s a certain text.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nCome you to make confession to this father?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nTo answer that, I should confess to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nDo not deny to him that you love me.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI will confess to you that I love him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nSo will ye, I am sure, that you love me.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIf I do so, it will be of more price,\\r\\nBeing spoke behind your back than to your face.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nPoor soul, thy face is much abus’d with tears.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThe tears have got small victory by that;\\r\\nFor it was bad enough before their spite.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThou wrong’st it more than tears with that report.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nThat is no slander, sir, which is a truth,\\r\\nAnd what I spake, I spake it to my face.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThy face is mine, and thou hast slander’d it.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nIt may be so, for it is not mine own.\\r\\nAre you at leisure, holy father, now,\\r\\nOr shall I come to you at evening mass?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nMy leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.—\\r\\nMy lord, we must entreat the time alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nGod shield I should disturb devotion!—\\r\\nJuliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye,\\r\\nTill then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO shut the door, and when thou hast done so,\\r\\nCome weep with me, past hope, past cure, past help!\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nO Juliet, I already know thy grief;\\r\\nIt strains me past the compass of my wits.\\r\\nI hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it,\\r\\nOn Thursday next be married to this County.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nTell me not, Friar, that thou hear’st of this,\\r\\nUnless thou tell me how I may prevent it.\\r\\nIf in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help,\\r\\nDo thou but call my resolution wise,\\r\\nAnd with this knife I’ll help it presently.\\r\\nGod join’d my heart and Romeo’s, thou our hands;\\r\\nAnd ere this hand, by thee to Romeo’s seal’d,\\r\\nShall be the label to another deed,\\r\\nOr my true heart with treacherous revolt\\r\\nTurn to another, this shall slay them both.\\r\\nTherefore, out of thy long-experienc’d time,\\r\\nGive me some present counsel, or behold\\r\\n’Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife\\r\\nShall play the empire, arbitrating that\\r\\nWhich the commission of thy years and art\\r\\nCould to no issue of true honour bring.\\r\\nBe not so long to speak. I long to die,\\r\\nIf what thou speak’st speak not of remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHold, daughter. I do spy a kind of hope,\\r\\nWhich craves as desperate an execution\\r\\nAs that is desperate which we would prevent.\\r\\nIf, rather than to marry County Paris\\r\\nThou hast the strength of will to slay thyself,\\r\\nThen is it likely thou wilt undertake\\r\\nA thing like death to chide away this shame,\\r\\nThat cop’st with death himself to scape from it.\\r\\nAnd if thou dar’st, I’ll give thee remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,\\r\\nFrom off the battlements of yonder tower,\\r\\nOr walk in thievish ways, or bid me lurk\\r\\nWhere serpents are. Chain me with roaring bears;\\r\\nOr hide me nightly in a charnel-house,\\r\\nO’er-cover’d quite with dead men’s rattling bones,\\r\\nWith reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls.\\r\\nOr bid me go into a new-made grave,\\r\\nAnd hide me with a dead man in his shroud;\\r\\nThings that, to hear them told, have made me tremble,\\r\\nAnd I will do it without fear or doubt,\\r\\nTo live an unstain’d wife to my sweet love.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHold then. Go home, be merry, give consent\\r\\nTo marry Paris. Wednesday is tomorrow;\\r\\nTomorrow night look that thou lie alone,\\r\\nLet not thy Nurse lie with thee in thy chamber.\\r\\nTake thou this vial, being then in bed,\\r\\nAnd this distilled liquor drink thou off,\\r\\nWhen presently through all thy veins shall run\\r\\nA cold and drowsy humour; for no pulse\\r\\nShall keep his native progress, but surcease.\\r\\nNo warmth, no breath shall testify thou livest,\\r\\nThe roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade\\r\\nTo paly ashes; thy eyes’ windows fall,\\r\\nLike death when he shuts up the day of life.\\r\\nEach part depriv’d of supple government,\\r\\nShall stiff and stark and cold appear like death.\\r\\nAnd in this borrow’d likeness of shrunk death\\r\\nThou shalt continue two and forty hours,\\r\\nAnd then awake as from a pleasant sleep.\\r\\nNow when the bridegroom in the morning comes\\r\\nTo rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead.\\r\\nThen as the manner of our country is,\\r\\nIn thy best robes, uncover’d, on the bier,\\r\\nThou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault\\r\\nWhere all the kindred of the Capulets lie.\\r\\nIn the meantime, against thou shalt awake,\\r\\nShall Romeo by my letters know our drift,\\r\\nAnd hither shall he come, and he and I\\r\\nWill watch thy waking, and that very night\\r\\nShall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua.\\r\\nAnd this shall free thee from this present shame,\\r\\nIf no inconstant toy nor womanish fear\\r\\nAbate thy valour in the acting it.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGive me, give me! O tell not me of fear!\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHold; get you gone, be strong and prosperous\\r\\nIn this resolve. I’ll send a friar with speed\\r\\nTo Mantua, with my letters to thy lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nLove give me strength, and strength shall help afford.\\r\\nFarewell, dear father.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, Nurse and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nSo many guests invite as here are writ.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit first Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nYou shall have none ill, sir; for I’ll try if they can lick their\\r\\nfingers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHow canst thou try them so?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nMarry, sir, ’tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers;\\r\\ntherefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nGo, begone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit second Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWe shall be much unfurnish’d for this time.\\r\\nWhat, is my daughter gone to Friar Lawrence?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nAy, forsooth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWell, he may chance to do some good on her.\\r\\nA peevish self-will’d harlotry it is.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nSee where she comes from shrift with merry look.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHow now, my headstrong. Where have you been gadding?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nWhere I have learnt me to repent the sin\\r\\nOf disobedient opposition\\r\\nTo you and your behests; and am enjoin’d\\r\\nBy holy Lawrence to fall prostrate here,\\r\\nTo beg your pardon. Pardon, I beseech you.\\r\\nHenceforward I am ever rul’d by you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nSend for the County, go tell him of this.\\r\\nI’ll have this knot knit up tomorrow morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nI met the youthful lord at Lawrence’ cell,\\r\\nAnd gave him what becomed love I might,\\r\\nNot stepping o’er the bounds of modesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhy, I am glad on’t. This is well. Stand up.\\r\\nThis is as’t should be. Let me see the County.\\r\\nAy, marry. Go, I say, and fetch him hither.\\r\\nNow afore God, this reverend holy Friar,\\r\\nAll our whole city is much bound to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNurse, will you go with me into my closet,\\r\\nTo help me sort such needful ornaments\\r\\nAs you think fit to furnish me tomorrow?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nNo, not till Thursday. There is time enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nGo, Nurse, go with her. We’ll to church tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Juliet and Nurse._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWe shall be short in our provision,\\r\\n’Tis now near night.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nTush, I will stir about,\\r\\nAnd all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife.\\r\\nGo thou to Juliet, help to deck up her.\\r\\nI’ll not to bed tonight, let me alone.\\r\\nI’ll play the housewife for this once.—What, ho!—\\r\\nThey are all forth: well, I will walk myself\\r\\nTo County Paris, to prepare him up\\r\\nAgainst tomorrow. My heart is wondrous light\\r\\nSince this same wayward girl is so reclaim’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Juliet’s Chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juliet and Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nAy, those attires are best. But, gentle Nurse,\\r\\nI pray thee leave me to myself tonight;\\r\\nFor I have need of many orisons\\r\\nTo move the heavens to smile upon my state,\\r\\nWhich, well thou know’st, is cross and full of sin.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWhat, are you busy, ho? Need you my help?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nNo, madam; we have cull’d such necessaries\\r\\nAs are behoveful for our state tomorrow.\\r\\nSo please you, let me now be left alone,\\r\\nAnd let the nurse this night sit up with you,\\r\\nFor I am sure you have your hands full all\\r\\nIn this so sudden business.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nGood night.\\r\\nGet thee to bed and rest, for thou hast need.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nFarewell. God knows when we shall meet again.\\r\\nI have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins\\r\\nThat almost freezes up the heat of life.\\r\\nI’ll call them back again to comfort me.\\r\\nNurse!—What should she do here?\\r\\nMy dismal scene I needs must act alone.\\r\\nCome, vial.\\r\\nWhat if this mixture do not work at all?\\r\\nShall I be married then tomorrow morning?\\r\\nNo, No! This shall forbid it. Lie thou there.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Laying down her dagger._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat if it be a poison, which the Friar\\r\\nSubtly hath minister’d to have me dead,\\r\\nLest in this marriage he should be dishonour’d,\\r\\nBecause he married me before to Romeo?\\r\\nI fear it is. And yet methinks it should not,\\r\\nFor he hath still been tried a holy man.\\r\\nHow if, when I am laid into the tomb,\\r\\nI wake before the time that Romeo\\r\\nCome to redeem me? There’s a fearful point!\\r\\nShall I not then be stifled in the vault,\\r\\nTo whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,\\r\\nAnd there die strangled ere my Romeo comes?\\r\\nOr, if I live, is it not very like,\\r\\nThe horrible conceit of death and night,\\r\\nTogether with the terror of the place,\\r\\nAs in a vault, an ancient receptacle,\\r\\nWhere for this many hundred years the bones\\r\\nOf all my buried ancestors are pack’d,\\r\\nWhere bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,\\r\\nLies festering in his shroud; where, as they say,\\r\\nAt some hours in the night spirits resort—\\r\\nAlack, alack, is it not like that I,\\r\\nSo early waking, what with loathsome smells,\\r\\nAnd shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth,\\r\\nThat living mortals, hearing them, run mad.\\r\\nO, if I wake, shall I not be distraught,\\r\\nEnvironed with all these hideous fears,\\r\\nAnd madly play with my forefathers’ joints?\\r\\nAnd pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud?\\r\\nAnd, in this rage, with some great kinsman’s bone,\\r\\nAs with a club, dash out my desperate brains?\\r\\nO look, methinks I see my cousin’s ghost\\r\\nSeeking out Romeo that did spit his body\\r\\nUpon a rapier’s point. Stay, Tybalt, stay!\\r\\nRomeo, Romeo, Romeo, here’s drink! I drink to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Throws herself on the bed._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Hall in Capulet’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nHold, take these keys and fetch more spices, Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nThey call for dates and quinces in the pastry.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nCome, stir, stir, stir! The second cock hath crow’d,\\r\\nThe curfew bell hath rung, ’tis three o’clock.\\r\\nLook to the bak’d meats, good Angelica;\\r\\nSpare not for cost.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nGo, you cot-quean, go,\\r\\nGet you to bed; faith, you’ll be sick tomorrow\\r\\nFor this night’s watching.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nNo, not a whit. What! I have watch’d ere now\\r\\nAll night for lesser cause, and ne’er been sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nAy, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time;\\r\\nBut I will watch you from such watching now.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nA jealous-hood, a jealous-hood!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Servants, with spits, logs and baskets.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, fellow, what’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nThings for the cook, sir; but I know not what.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nMake haste, make haste.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit First Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\n—Sirrah, fetch drier logs.\\r\\nCall Peter, he will show thee where they are.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nI have a head, sir, that will find out logs\\r\\nAnd never trouble Peter for the matter.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nMass and well said; a merry whoreson, ha.\\r\\nThou shalt be loggerhead.—Good faith, ’tis day.\\r\\nThe County will be here with music straight,\\r\\nFor so he said he would. I hear him near.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Play music._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNurse! Wife! What, ho! What, Nurse, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nGo waken Juliet, go and trim her up.\\r\\nI’ll go and chat with Paris. Hie, make haste,\\r\\nMake haste; the bridegroom he is come already.\\r\\nMake haste I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Juliet’s Chamber; Juliet on the bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nurse.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nMistress! What, mistress! Juliet! Fast, I warrant her, she.\\r\\nWhy, lamb, why, lady, fie, you slug-abed!\\r\\nWhy, love, I say! Madam! Sweetheart! Why, bride!\\r\\nWhat, not a word? You take your pennyworths now.\\r\\nSleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant,\\r\\nThe County Paris hath set up his rest\\r\\nThat you shall rest but little. God forgive me!\\r\\nMarry and amen. How sound is she asleep!\\r\\nI needs must wake her. Madam, madam, madam!\\r\\nAy, let the County take you in your bed,\\r\\nHe’ll fright you up, i’faith. Will it not be?\\r\\nWhat, dress’d, and in your clothes, and down again?\\r\\nI must needs wake you. Lady! Lady! Lady!\\r\\nAlas, alas! Help, help! My lady’s dead!\\r\\nO, well-a-day that ever I was born.\\r\\nSome aqua vitae, ho! My lord! My lady!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lady Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWhat noise is here?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO lamentable day!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nWhat is the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nLook, look! O heavy day!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nO me, O me! My child, my only life.\\r\\nRevive, look up, or I will die with thee.\\r\\nHelp, help! Call help.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nFor shame, bring Juliet forth, her lord is come.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nShe’s dead, deceas’d, she’s dead; alack the day!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nAlack the day, she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead!\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nHa! Let me see her. Out alas! She’s cold,\\r\\nHer blood is settled and her joints are stiff.\\r\\nLife and these lips have long been separated.\\r\\nDeath lies on her like an untimely frost\\r\\nUpon the sweetest flower of all the field.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO lamentable day!\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nO woful time!\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nDeath, that hath ta’en her hence to make me wail,\\r\\nTies up my tongue and will not let me speak.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris with Musicians.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nCome, is the bride ready to go to church?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nReady to go, but never to return.\\r\\nO son, the night before thy wedding day\\r\\nHath death lain with thy bride. There she lies,\\r\\nFlower as she was, deflowered by him.\\r\\nDeath is my son-in-law, death is my heir;\\r\\nMy daughter he hath wedded. I will die.\\r\\nAnd leave him all; life, living, all is death’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHave I thought long to see this morning’s face,\\r\\nAnd doth it give me such a sight as this?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nAccurs’d, unhappy, wretched, hateful day.\\r\\nMost miserable hour that e’er time saw\\r\\nIn lasting labour of his pilgrimage.\\r\\nBut one, poor one, one poor and loving child,\\r\\nBut one thing to rejoice and solace in,\\r\\nAnd cruel death hath catch’d it from my sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nO woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day.\\r\\nMost lamentable day, most woeful day\\r\\nThat ever, ever, I did yet behold!\\r\\nO day, O day, O day, O hateful day.\\r\\nNever was seen so black a day as this.\\r\\nO woeful day, O woeful day.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nBeguil’d, divorced, wronged, spited, slain.\\r\\nMost detestable death, by thee beguil’d,\\r\\nBy cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown.\\r\\nO love! O life! Not life, but love in death!\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nDespis’d, distressed, hated, martyr’d, kill’d.\\r\\nUncomfortable time, why cam’st thou now\\r\\nTo murder, murder our solemnity?\\r\\nO child! O child! My soul, and not my child,\\r\\nDead art thou. Alack, my child is dead,\\r\\nAnd with my child my joys are buried.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nPeace, ho, for shame. Confusion’s cure lives not\\r\\nIn these confusions. Heaven and yourself\\r\\nHad part in this fair maid, now heaven hath all,\\r\\nAnd all the better is it for the maid.\\r\\nYour part in her you could not keep from death,\\r\\nBut heaven keeps his part in eternal life.\\r\\nThe most you sought was her promotion,\\r\\nFor ’twas your heaven she should be advanc’d,\\r\\nAnd weep ye now, seeing she is advanc’d\\r\\nAbove the clouds, as high as heaven itself?\\r\\nO, in this love, you love your child so ill\\r\\nThat you run mad, seeing that she is well.\\r\\nShe’s not well married that lives married long,\\r\\nBut she’s best married that dies married young.\\r\\nDry up your tears, and stick your rosemary\\r\\nOn this fair corse, and, as the custom is,\\r\\nAnd in her best array bear her to church;\\r\\nFor though fond nature bids us all lament,\\r\\nYet nature’s tears are reason’s merriment.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nAll things that we ordained festival\\r\\nTurn from their office to black funeral:\\r\\nOur instruments to melancholy bells,\\r\\nOur wedding cheer to a sad burial feast;\\r\\nOur solemn hymns to sullen dirges change;\\r\\nOur bridal flowers serve for a buried corse,\\r\\nAnd all things change them to the contrary.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nSir, go you in, and, madam, go with him,\\r\\nAnd go, Sir Paris, everyone prepare\\r\\nTo follow this fair corse unto her grave.\\r\\nThe heavens do lower upon you for some ill;\\r\\nMove them no more by crossing their high will.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris and Friar._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nFaith, we may put up our pipes and be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nNURSE.\\r\\nHonest good fellows, ah, put up, put up,\\r\\nFor well you know this is a pitiful case.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nAy, by my troth, the case may be amended.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Nurse._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Peter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nMusicians, O, musicians, ‘Heart’s ease,’ ‘Heart’s ease’, O, and you\\r\\nwill have me live, play ‘Heart’s ease.’\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWhy ‘Heart’s ease’?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nO musicians, because my heart itself plays ‘My heart is full’. O play\\r\\nme some merry dump to comfort me.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nNot a dump we, ’tis no time to play now.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nYou will not then?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nI will then give it you soundly.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWhat will you give us?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nNo money, on my faith, but the gleek! I will give you the minstrel.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nThen will I give you the serving-creature.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nThen will I lay the serving-creature’s dagger on your pate. I will\\r\\ncarry no crotchets. I’ll re you, I’ll fa you. Do you note me?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nAnd you re us and fa us, you note us.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MUSICIAN.\\r\\nPray you put up your dagger, and put out your wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nThen have at you with my wit. I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and\\r\\nput up my iron dagger. Answer me like men.\\r\\n ‘When griping griefs the heart doth wound,\\r\\n And doleful dumps the mind oppress,\\r\\n Then music with her silver sound’—\\r\\nWhy ‘silver sound’? Why ‘music with her silver sound’? What say you,\\r\\nSimon Catling?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nMarry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nPrates. What say you, Hugh Rebeck?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MUSICIAN.\\r\\nI say ‘silver sound’ because musicians sound for silver.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nPrates too! What say you, James Soundpost?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD MUSICIAN.\\r\\nFaith, I know not what to say.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nO, I cry you mercy, you are the singer. I will say for you. It is\\r\\n‘music with her silver sound’ because musicians have no gold for\\r\\nsounding.\\r\\n ‘Then music with her silver sound\\r\\n With speedy help doth lend redress.’\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST MUSICIAN.\\r\\nWhat a pestilent knave is this same!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND MUSICIAN.\\r\\nHang him, Jack. Come, we’ll in here, tarry for the mourners, and stay\\r\\ndinner.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Mantua. A Street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIf I may trust the flattering eye of sleep,\\r\\nMy dreams presage some joyful news at hand.\\r\\nMy bosom’s lord sits lightly in his throne;\\r\\nAnd all this day an unaccustom’d spirit\\r\\nLifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.\\r\\nI dreamt my lady came and found me dead,—\\r\\nStrange dream, that gives a dead man leave to think!—\\r\\nAnd breath’d such life with kisses in my lips,\\r\\nThat I reviv’d, and was an emperor.\\r\\nAh me, how sweet is love itself possess’d,\\r\\nWhen but love’s shadows are so rich in joy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Balthasar.\\r\\n\\r\\nNews from Verona! How now, Balthasar?\\r\\nDost thou not bring me letters from the Friar?\\r\\nHow doth my lady? Is my father well?\\r\\nHow fares my Juliet? That I ask again;\\r\\nFor nothing can be ill if she be well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nThen she is well, and nothing can be ill.\\r\\nHer body sleeps in Capel’s monument,\\r\\nAnd her immortal part with angels lives.\\r\\nI saw her laid low in her kindred’s vault,\\r\\nAnd presently took post to tell it you.\\r\\nO pardon me for bringing these ill news,\\r\\nSince you did leave it for my office, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIs it even so? Then I defy you, stars!\\r\\nThou know’st my lodging. Get me ink and paper,\\r\\nAnd hire post-horses. I will hence tonight.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nI do beseech you sir, have patience.\\r\\nYour looks are pale and wild, and do import\\r\\nSome misadventure.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nTush, thou art deceiv’d.\\r\\nLeave me, and do the thing I bid thee do.\\r\\nHast thou no letters to me from the Friar?\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nNo, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nNo matter. Get thee gone,\\r\\nAnd hire those horses. I’ll be with thee straight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Balthasar._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWell, Juliet, I will lie with thee tonight.\\r\\nLet’s see for means. O mischief thou art swift\\r\\nTo enter in the thoughts of desperate men.\\r\\nI do remember an apothecary,—\\r\\nAnd hereabouts he dwells,—which late I noted\\r\\nIn tatter’d weeds, with overwhelming brows,\\r\\nCulling of simples, meagre were his looks,\\r\\nSharp misery had worn him to the bones;\\r\\nAnd in his needy shop a tortoise hung,\\r\\nAn alligator stuff’d, and other skins\\r\\nOf ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves\\r\\nA beggarly account of empty boxes,\\r\\nGreen earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,\\r\\nRemnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses\\r\\nWere thinly scatter’d, to make up a show.\\r\\nNoting this penury, to myself I said,\\r\\nAnd if a man did need a poison now,\\r\\nWhose sale is present death in Mantua,\\r\\nHere lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.\\r\\nO, this same thought did but forerun my need,\\r\\nAnd this same needy man must sell it me.\\r\\nAs I remember, this should be the house.\\r\\nBeing holiday, the beggar’s shop is shut.\\r\\nWhat, ho! Apothecary!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Apothecary.\\r\\n\\r\\nAPOTHECARY.\\r\\nWho calls so loud?\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nCome hither, man. I see that thou art poor.\\r\\nHold, there is forty ducats. Let me have\\r\\nA dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear\\r\\nAs will disperse itself through all the veins,\\r\\nThat the life-weary taker may fall dead,\\r\\nAnd that the trunk may be discharg’d of breath\\r\\nAs violently as hasty powder fir’d\\r\\nDoth hurry from the fatal cannon’s womb.\\r\\n\\r\\nAPOTHECARY.\\r\\nSuch mortal drugs I have, but Mantua’s law\\r\\nIs death to any he that utters them.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nArt thou so bare and full of wretchedness,\\r\\nAnd fear’st to die? Famine is in thy cheeks,\\r\\nNeed and oppression starveth in thine eyes,\\r\\nContempt and beggary hangs upon thy back.\\r\\nThe world is not thy friend, nor the world’s law;\\r\\nThe world affords no law to make thee rich;\\r\\nThen be not poor, but break it and take this.\\r\\n\\r\\nAPOTHECARY.\\r\\nMy poverty, but not my will consents.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI pay thy poverty, and not thy will.\\r\\n\\r\\nAPOTHECARY.\\r\\nPut this in any liquid thing you will\\r\\nAnd drink it off; and, if you had the strength\\r\\nOf twenty men, it would despatch you straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThere is thy gold, worse poison to men’s souls,\\r\\nDoing more murder in this loathsome world\\r\\nThan these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.\\r\\nI sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none.\\r\\nFarewell, buy food, and get thyself in flesh.\\r\\nCome, cordial and not poison, go with me\\r\\nTo Juliet’s grave, for there must I use thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar John.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR JOHN.\\r\\nHoly Franciscan Friar! Brother, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Friar Lawrence.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nThis same should be the voice of Friar John.\\r\\nWelcome from Mantua. What says Romeo?\\r\\nOr, if his mind be writ, give me his letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR JOHN.\\r\\nGoing to find a barefoot brother out,\\r\\nOne of our order, to associate me,\\r\\nHere in this city visiting the sick,\\r\\nAnd finding him, the searchers of the town,\\r\\nSuspecting that we both were in a house\\r\\nWhere the infectious pestilence did reign,\\r\\nSeal’d up the doors, and would not let us forth,\\r\\nSo that my speed to Mantua there was stay’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nWho bare my letter then to Romeo?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR JOHN.\\r\\nI could not send it,—here it is again,—\\r\\nNor get a messenger to bring it thee,\\r\\nSo fearful were they of infection.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nUnhappy fortune! By my brotherhood,\\r\\nThe letter was not nice, but full of charge,\\r\\nOf dear import, and the neglecting it\\r\\nMay do much danger. Friar John, go hence,\\r\\nGet me an iron crow and bring it straight\\r\\nUnto my cell.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR JOHN.\\r\\nBrother, I’ll go and bring it thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nNow must I to the monument alone.\\r\\nWithin this three hours will fair Juliet wake.\\r\\nShe will beshrew me much that Romeo\\r\\nHath had no notice of these accidents;\\r\\nBut I will write again to Mantua,\\r\\nAnd keep her at my cell till Romeo come.\\r\\nPoor living corse, clos’d in a dead man’s tomb.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A churchyard; in it a Monument belonging to the Capulets.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paris, and his Page bearing flowers and a torch.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nGive me thy torch, boy. Hence and stand aloof.\\r\\nYet put it out, for I would not be seen.\\r\\nUnder yond yew tree lay thee all along,\\r\\nHolding thy ear close to the hollow ground;\\r\\nSo shall no foot upon the churchyard tread,\\r\\nBeing loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves,\\r\\nBut thou shalt hear it. Whistle then to me,\\r\\nAs signal that thou hear’st something approach.\\r\\nGive me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I am almost afraid to stand alone\\r\\nHere in the churchyard; yet I will adventure.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Retires._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nSweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew.\\r\\nO woe, thy canopy is dust and stones,\\r\\nWhich with sweet water nightly I will dew,\\r\\nOr wanting that, with tears distill’d by moans.\\r\\nThe obsequies that I for thee will keep,\\r\\nNightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_The Page whistles._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe boy gives warning something doth approach.\\r\\nWhat cursed foot wanders this way tonight,\\r\\nTo cross my obsequies and true love’s rite?\\r\\nWhat, with a torch! Muffle me, night, awhile.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Retires._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Romeo and Balthasar with a torch, mattock, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nGive me that mattock and the wrenching iron.\\r\\nHold, take this letter; early in the morning\\r\\nSee thou deliver it to my lord and father.\\r\\nGive me the light; upon thy life I charge thee,\\r\\nWhate’er thou hear’st or seest, stand all aloof\\r\\nAnd do not interrupt me in my course.\\r\\nWhy I descend into this bed of death\\r\\nIs partly to behold my lady’s face,\\r\\nBut chiefly to take thence from her dead finger\\r\\nA precious ring, a ring that I must use\\r\\nIn dear employment. Therefore hence, be gone.\\r\\nBut if thou jealous dost return to pry\\r\\nIn what I further shall intend to do,\\r\\nBy heaven I will tear thee joint by joint,\\r\\nAnd strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs.\\r\\nThe time and my intents are savage-wild;\\r\\nMore fierce and more inexorable far\\r\\nThan empty tigers or the roaring sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nI will be gone, sir, and not trouble you.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nSo shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that.\\r\\nLive, and be prosperous, and farewell, good fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nFor all this same, I’ll hide me hereabout.\\r\\nHis looks I fear, and his intents I doubt.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Retires_]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nThou detestable maw, thou womb of death,\\r\\nGorg’d with the dearest morsel of the earth,\\r\\nThus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open,\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Breaking open the door of the monument._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd in despite, I’ll cram thee with more food.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThis is that banish’d haughty Montague\\r\\nThat murder’d my love’s cousin,—with which grief,\\r\\nIt is supposed, the fair creature died,—\\r\\nAnd here is come to do some villanous shame\\r\\nTo the dead bodies. I will apprehend him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Advances._]\\r\\n\\r\\nStop thy unhallow’d toil, vile Montague.\\r\\nCan vengeance be pursu’d further than death?\\r\\nCondemned villain, I do apprehend thee.\\r\\nObey, and go with me, for thou must die.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nI must indeed; and therefore came I hither.\\r\\nGood gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man.\\r\\nFly hence and leave me. Think upon these gone;\\r\\nLet them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth,\\r\\nPut not another sin upon my head\\r\\nBy urging me to fury. O be gone.\\r\\nBy heaven I love thee better than myself;\\r\\nFor I come hither arm’d against myself.\\r\\nStay not, be gone, live, and hereafter say,\\r\\nA madman’s mercy bid thee run away.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nI do defy thy conjuration,\\r\\nAnd apprehend thee for a felon here.\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nWilt thou provoke me? Then have at thee, boy!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nO lord, they fight! I will go call the watch.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nO, I am slain! [_Falls._] If thou be merciful,\\r\\nOpen the tomb, lay me with Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\nROMEO.\\r\\nIn faith, I will. Let me peruse this face.\\r\\nMercutio’s kinsman, noble County Paris!\\r\\nWhat said my man, when my betossed soul\\r\\nDid not attend him as we rode? I think\\r\\nHe told me Paris should have married Juliet.\\r\\nSaid he not so? Or did I dream it so?\\r\\nOr am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet,\\r\\nTo think it was so? O, give me thy hand,\\r\\nOne writ with me in sour misfortune’s book.\\r\\nI’ll bury thee in a triumphant grave.\\r\\nA grave? O no, a lantern, slaught’red youth,\\r\\nFor here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes\\r\\nThis vault a feasting presence full of light.\\r\\nDeath, lie thou there, by a dead man interr’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Laying Paris in the monument._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow oft when men are at the point of death\\r\\nHave they been merry! Which their keepers call\\r\\nA lightning before death. O, how may I\\r\\nCall this a lightning? O my love, my wife,\\r\\nDeath that hath suck’d the honey of thy breath,\\r\\nHath had no power yet upon thy beauty.\\r\\nThou art not conquer’d. Beauty’s ensign yet\\r\\nIs crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,\\r\\nAnd death’s pale flag is not advanced there.\\r\\nTybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet?\\r\\nO, what more favour can I do to thee\\r\\nThan with that hand that cut thy youth in twain\\r\\nTo sunder his that was thine enemy?\\r\\nForgive me, cousin. Ah, dear Juliet,\\r\\nWhy art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe\\r\\nThat unsubstantial death is amorous;\\r\\nAnd that the lean abhorred monster keeps\\r\\nThee here in dark to be his paramour?\\r\\nFor fear of that I still will stay with thee,\\r\\nAnd never from this palace of dim night\\r\\nDepart again. Here, here will I remain\\r\\nWith worms that are thy chambermaids. O, here\\r\\nWill I set up my everlasting rest;\\r\\nAnd shake the yoke of inauspicious stars\\r\\nFrom this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last.\\r\\nArms, take your last embrace! And, lips, O you\\r\\nThe doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss\\r\\nA dateless bargain to engrossing death.\\r\\nCome, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide.\\r\\nThou desperate pilot, now at once run on\\r\\nThe dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark.\\r\\nHere’s to my love! [_Drinks._] O true apothecary!\\r\\nThy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, at the other end of the Churchyard, Friar Lawrence, with a\\r\\n lantern, crow, and spade.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nSaint Francis be my speed. How oft tonight\\r\\nHave my old feet stumbled at graves? Who’s there?\\r\\nWho is it that consorts, so late, the dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nHere’s one, a friend, and one that knows you well.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nBliss be upon you. Tell me, good my friend,\\r\\nWhat torch is yond that vainly lends his light\\r\\nTo grubs and eyeless skulls? As I discern,\\r\\nIt burneth in the Capels’ monument.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nIt doth so, holy sir, and there’s my master,\\r\\nOne that you love.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nWho is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nRomeo.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nHow long hath he been there?\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nFull half an hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nGo with me to the vault.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nI dare not, sir;\\r\\nMy master knows not but I am gone hence,\\r\\nAnd fearfully did menace me with death\\r\\nIf I did stay to look on his intents.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nStay then, I’ll go alone. Fear comes upon me.\\r\\nO, much I fear some ill unlucky thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nAs I did sleep under this yew tree here,\\r\\nI dreamt my master and another fought,\\r\\nAnd that my master slew him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nRomeo! [_Advances._]\\r\\nAlack, alack, what blood is this which stains\\r\\nThe stony entrance of this sepulchre?\\r\\nWhat mean these masterless and gory swords\\r\\nTo lie discolour’d by this place of peace?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Enters the monument._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRomeo! O, pale! Who else? What, Paris too?\\r\\nAnd steep’d in blood? Ah what an unkind hour\\r\\nIs guilty of this lamentable chance?\\r\\nThe lady stirs.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Juliet wakes and stirs._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nO comfortable Friar, where is my lord?\\r\\nI do remember well where I should be,\\r\\nAnd there I am. Where is my Romeo?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Noise within._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nI hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest\\r\\nOf death, contagion, and unnatural sleep.\\r\\nA greater power than we can contradict\\r\\nHath thwarted our intents. Come, come away.\\r\\nThy husband in thy bosom there lies dead;\\r\\nAnd Paris too. Come, I’ll dispose of thee\\r\\nAmong a sisterhood of holy nuns.\\r\\nStay not to question, for the watch is coming.\\r\\nCome, go, good Juliet. I dare no longer stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nGo, get thee hence, for I will not away.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Friar Lawrence._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat’s here? A cup clos’d in my true love’s hand?\\r\\nPoison, I see, hath been his timeless end.\\r\\nO churl. Drink all, and left no friendly drop\\r\\nTo help me after? I will kiss thy lips.\\r\\nHaply some poison yet doth hang on them,\\r\\nTo make me die with a restorative.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kisses him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThy lips are warm!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\n[_Within._] Lead, boy. Which way?\\r\\n\\r\\nJULIET.\\r\\nYea, noise? Then I’ll be brief. O happy dagger.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Snatching Romeo’s dagger._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThis is thy sheath. [_stabs herself_] There rest, and let me die.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Falls on Romeo’s body and dies._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Watch with the Page of Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nThis is the place. There, where the torch doth burn.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\nThe ground is bloody. Search about the churchyard.\\r\\nGo, some of you, whoe’er you find attach.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt some of the Watch._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPitiful sight! Here lies the County slain,\\r\\nAnd Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead,\\r\\nWho here hath lain this two days buried.\\r\\nGo tell the Prince; run to the Capulets.\\r\\nRaise up the Montagues, some others search.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt others of the Watch._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWe see the ground whereon these woes do lie,\\r\\nBut the true ground of all these piteous woes\\r\\nWe cannot without circumstance descry.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter some of the Watch with Balthasar.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND WATCH.\\r\\nHere’s Romeo’s man. We found him in the churchyard.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\nHold him in safety till the Prince come hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter others of the Watch with Friar Lawrence.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD WATCH. Here is a Friar that trembles, sighs, and weeps.\\r\\nWe took this mattock and this spade from him\\r\\nAs he was coming from this churchyard side.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\nA great suspicion. Stay the Friar too.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the Prince and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhat misadventure is so early up,\\r\\nThat calls our person from our morning’s rest?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nWhat should it be that they so shriek abroad?\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nO the people in the street cry Romeo,\\r\\nSome Juliet, and some Paris, and all run\\r\\nWith open outcry toward our monument.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWhat fear is this which startles in our ears?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\nSovereign, here lies the County Paris slain,\\r\\nAnd Romeo dead, and Juliet, dead before,\\r\\nWarm and new kill’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nSearch, seek, and know how this foul murder comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST WATCH.\\r\\nHere is a Friar, and slaughter’d Romeo’s man,\\r\\nWith instruments upon them fit to open\\r\\nThese dead men’s tombs.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nO heaven! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds!\\r\\nThis dagger hath mista’en, for lo, his house\\r\\nIs empty on the back of Montague,\\r\\nAnd it mis-sheathed in my daughter’s bosom.\\r\\n\\r\\nLADY CAPULET.\\r\\nO me! This sight of death is as a bell\\r\\nThat warns my old age to a sepulchre.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Montague and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nCome, Montague, for thou art early up,\\r\\nTo see thy son and heir more early down.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nAlas, my liege, my wife is dead tonight.\\r\\nGrief of my son’s exile hath stopp’d her breath.\\r\\nWhat further woe conspires against mine age?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nLook, and thou shalt see.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nO thou untaught! What manners is in this,\\r\\nTo press before thy father to a grave?\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nSeal up the mouth of outrage for a while,\\r\\nTill we can clear these ambiguities,\\r\\nAnd know their spring, their head, their true descent,\\r\\nAnd then will I be general of your woes,\\r\\nAnd lead you even to death. Meantime forbear,\\r\\nAnd let mischance be slave to patience.\\r\\nBring forth the parties of suspicion.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nI am the greatest, able to do least,\\r\\nYet most suspected, as the time and place\\r\\nDoth make against me, of this direful murder.\\r\\nAnd here I stand, both to impeach and purge\\r\\nMyself condemned and myself excus’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThen say at once what thou dost know in this.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRIAR LAWRENCE.\\r\\nI will be brief, for my short date of breath\\r\\nIs not so long as is a tedious tale.\\r\\nRomeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet,\\r\\nAnd she, there dead, that Romeo’s faithful wife.\\r\\nI married them; and their stol’n marriage day\\r\\nWas Tybalt’s doomsday, whose untimely death\\r\\nBanish’d the new-made bridegroom from this city;\\r\\nFor whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pin’d.\\r\\nYou, to remove that siege of grief from her,\\r\\nBetroth’d, and would have married her perforce\\r\\nTo County Paris. Then comes she to me,\\r\\nAnd with wild looks, bid me devise some means\\r\\nTo rid her from this second marriage,\\r\\nOr in my cell there would she kill herself.\\r\\nThen gave I her, so tutored by my art,\\r\\nA sleeping potion, which so took effect\\r\\nAs I intended, for it wrought on her\\r\\nThe form of death. Meantime I writ to Romeo\\r\\nThat he should hither come as this dire night\\r\\nTo help to take her from her borrow’d grave,\\r\\nBeing the time the potion’s force should cease.\\r\\nBut he which bore my letter, Friar John,\\r\\nWas stay’d by accident; and yesternight\\r\\nReturn’d my letter back. Then all alone\\r\\nAt the prefixed hour of her waking\\r\\nCame I to take her from her kindred’s vault,\\r\\nMeaning to keep her closely at my cell\\r\\nTill I conveniently could send to Romeo.\\r\\nBut when I came, some minute ere the time\\r\\nOf her awaking, here untimely lay\\r\\nThe noble Paris and true Romeo dead.\\r\\nShe wakes; and I entreated her come forth\\r\\nAnd bear this work of heaven with patience.\\r\\nBut then a noise did scare me from the tomb;\\r\\nAnd she, too desperate, would not go with me,\\r\\nBut, as it seems, did violence on herself.\\r\\nAll this I know; and to the marriage\\r\\nHer Nurse is privy. And if ought in this\\r\\nMiscarried by my fault, let my old life\\r\\nBe sacrific’d, some hour before his time,\\r\\nUnto the rigour of severest law.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nWe still have known thee for a holy man.\\r\\nWhere’s Romeo’s man? What can he say to this?\\r\\n\\r\\nBALTHASAR.\\r\\nI brought my master news of Juliet’s death,\\r\\nAnd then in post he came from Mantua\\r\\nTo this same place, to this same monument.\\r\\nThis letter he early bid me give his father,\\r\\nAnd threaten’d me with death, going in the vault,\\r\\nIf I departed not, and left him there.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nGive me the letter, I will look on it.\\r\\nWhere is the County’s Page that rais’d the watch?\\r\\nSirrah, what made your master in this place?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nHe came with flowers to strew his lady’s grave,\\r\\nAnd bid me stand aloof, and so I did.\\r\\nAnon comes one with light to ope the tomb,\\r\\nAnd by and by my master drew on him,\\r\\nAnd then I ran away to call the watch.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nThis letter doth make good the Friar’s words,\\r\\nTheir course of love, the tidings of her death.\\r\\nAnd here he writes that he did buy a poison\\r\\nOf a poor ’pothecary, and therewithal\\r\\nCame to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet.\\r\\nWhere be these enemies? Capulet, Montague,\\r\\nSee what a scourge is laid upon your hate,\\r\\nThat heaven finds means to kill your joys with love!\\r\\nAnd I, for winking at your discords too,\\r\\nHave lost a brace of kinsmen. All are punish’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nO brother Montague, give me thy hand.\\r\\nThis is my daughter’s jointure, for no more\\r\\nCan I demand.\\r\\n\\r\\nMONTAGUE.\\r\\nBut I can give thee more,\\r\\nFor I will raise her statue in pure gold,\\r\\nThat whiles Verona by that name is known,\\r\\nThere shall no figure at such rate be set\\r\\nAs that of true and faithful Juliet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPULET.\\r\\nAs rich shall Romeo’s by his lady’s lie,\\r\\nPoor sacrifices of our enmity.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRINCE.\\r\\nA glooming peace this morning with it brings;\\r\\nThe sun for sorrow will not show his head.\\r\\nGo hence, to have more talk of these sad things.\\r\\nSome shall be pardon’d, and some punished,\\r\\nFor never was a story of more woe\\r\\nThan this of Juliet and her Romeo.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n',\n", + " 'THE TAMING OF THE SHREW\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nINDUCTION\\r\\nScene I. Before an alehouse on a heath.\\r\\nScene II. A bedchamber in the LORD’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Padua. A public place.\\r\\nScene II. Padua. Before HORTENSIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. Padua. A room in BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Padua. A room in BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\nScene II. The same. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. A hall in PETRUCHIO’S country house.\\r\\nScene II. Padua. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\nScene III. A room in PETRUCHIO’S house.\\r\\nScene IV. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\nScene V. A public road.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Padua. Before LUCENTIO’S house.\\r\\nScene II. A room in LUCENTIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nPersons in the Induction\\r\\nA LORD\\r\\nCHRISTOPHER SLY, a tinker\\r\\nHOSTESS\\r\\nPAGE\\r\\nPLAYERS\\r\\nHUNTSMEN\\r\\nSERVANTS\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA MINOLA, a rich gentleman of Padua\\r\\nVINCENTIO, an old gentleman of Pisa\\r\\nLUCENTIO, son to Vincentio; in love with Bianca\\r\\nPETRUCHIO, a gentleman of Verona; suitor to Katherina\\r\\n\\r\\nSuitors to Bianca\\r\\nGREMIO\\r\\nHORTENSIO\\r\\n\\r\\nServants to Lucentio\\r\\nTRANIO\\r\\nBIONDELLO\\r\\n\\r\\nServants to Petruchio\\r\\nGRUMIO\\r\\nCURTIS\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT, set up to personate Vincentio\\r\\n\\r\\nDaughters to Baptista\\r\\nKATHERINA, the shrew\\r\\nBIANCA\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW\\r\\n\\r\\nTailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Baptista and Petruchio\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Sometimes in Padua, and sometimes in PETRUCHIO’S house in the\\r\\ncountry.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nINDUCTION\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Before an alehouse on a heath.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Hostess and Sly\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nI’ll pheeze you, in faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nA pair of stocks, you rogue!\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nY’are a baggage; the Slys are no rogues; look in the chronicles: we\\r\\ncame in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore, _paucas pallabris_; let the\\r\\nworld slide. Sessa!\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nYou will not pay for the glasses you have burst?\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nNo, not a denier. Go by, Saint Jeronimy, go to thy cold bed and warm\\r\\nthee.\\r\\n\\r\\nHOSTESS.\\r\\nI know my remedy; I must go fetch the third-borough.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit_]\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nThird, or fourth, or fifth borough, I’ll answer him by law. I’ll not\\r\\nbudge an inch, boy: let him come, and kindly.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Lies down on the ground, and falls asleep._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHorns winded. Enter a Lord from hunting, with Huntsmen and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nHuntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds;\\r\\nBrach Merriman, the poor cur is emboss’d,\\r\\nAnd couple Clowder with the deep-mouth’d brach.\\r\\nSaw’st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good\\r\\nAt the hedge-corner, in the coldest fault?\\r\\nI would not lose the dog for twenty pound.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nWhy, Bellman is as good as he, my lord;\\r\\nHe cried upon it at the merest loss,\\r\\nAnd twice today pick’d out the dullest scent;\\r\\nTrust me, I take him for the better dog.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nThou art a fool: if Echo were as fleet,\\r\\nI would esteem him worth a dozen such.\\r\\nBut sup them well, and look unto them all;\\r\\nTomorrow I intend to hunt again.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nI will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\n[ _Sees Sly_.] What’s here? One dead, or drunk?\\r\\nSee, doth he breathe?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nHe breathes, my lord. Were he not warm’d with ale,\\r\\nThis were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nO monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies!\\r\\nGrim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image!\\r\\nSirs, I will practise on this drunken man.\\r\\nWhat think you, if he were convey’d to bed,\\r\\nWrapp’d in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers,\\r\\nA most delicious banquet by his bed,\\r\\nAnd brave attendants near him when he wakes,\\r\\nWould not the beggar then forget himself?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nBelieve me, lord, I think he cannot choose.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nIt would seem strange unto him when he wak’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nEven as a flattering dream or worthless fancy.\\r\\nThen take him up, and manage well the jest.\\r\\nCarry him gently to my fairest chamber,\\r\\nAnd hang it round with all my wanton pictures;\\r\\nBalm his foul head in warm distilled waters,\\r\\nAnd burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet.\\r\\nProcure me music ready when he wakes,\\r\\nTo make a dulcet and a heavenly sound;\\r\\nAnd if he chance to speak, be ready straight,\\r\\nAnd with a low submissive reverence\\r\\nSay ‘What is it your honour will command?’\\r\\nLet one attend him with a silver basin\\r\\nFull of rose-water and bestrew’d with flowers;\\r\\nAnother bear the ewer, the third a diaper,\\r\\nAnd say ‘Will’t please your lordship cool your hands?’\\r\\nSomeone be ready with a costly suit,\\r\\nAnd ask him what apparel he will wear;\\r\\nAnother tell him of his hounds and horse,\\r\\nAnd that his lady mourns at his disease.\\r\\nPersuade him that he hath been lunatic;\\r\\nAnd, when he says he is—say that he dreams,\\r\\nFor he is nothing but a mighty lord.\\r\\nThis do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs;\\r\\nIt will be pastime passing excellent,\\r\\nIf it be husbanded with modesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST HUNTSMAN.\\r\\nMy lord, I warrant you we will play our part,\\r\\nAs he shall think by our true diligence,\\r\\nHe is no less than what we say he is.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nTake him up gently, and to bed with him,\\r\\nAnd each one to his office when he wakes.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Sly _is bourne out. A trumpet sounds._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSirrah, go see what trumpet ’tis that sounds:\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit_ Servant.]\\r\\n\\r\\nBelike some noble gentleman that means,\\r\\nTravelling some journey, to repose him here.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now! who is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nAn it please your honour, players\\r\\nThat offer service to your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nBid them come near.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Players.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, fellows, you are welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYERS.\\r\\nWe thank your honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nDo you intend to stay with me tonight?\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYER.\\r\\nSo please your lordship to accept our duty.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nWith all my heart. This fellow I remember\\r\\nSince once he play’d a farmer’s eldest son;\\r\\n’Twas where you woo’d the gentlewoman so well.\\r\\nI have forgot your name; but, sure, that part\\r\\nWas aptly fitted and naturally perform’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYER.\\r\\nI think ’twas Soto that your honour means.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\n’Tis very true; thou didst it excellent.\\r\\nWell, you are come to me in happy time,\\r\\nThe rather for I have some sport in hand\\r\\nWherein your cunning can assist me much.\\r\\nThere is a lord will hear you play tonight;\\r\\nBut I am doubtful of your modesties,\\r\\nLest, over-eying of his odd behaviour,—\\r\\nFor yet his honour never heard a play,—\\r\\nYou break into some merry passion\\r\\nAnd so offend him; for I tell you, sirs,\\r\\nIf you should smile, he grows impatient.\\r\\n\\r\\nPLAYER.\\r\\nFear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves,\\r\\nWere he the veriest antick in the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nGo, sirrah, take them to the buttery,\\r\\nAnd give them friendly welcome everyone:\\r\\nLet them want nothing that my house affords.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit one with the Players._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSirrah, go you to Barthol’mew my page,\\r\\nAnd see him dress’d in all suits like a lady;\\r\\nThat done, conduct him to the drunkard’s chamber,\\r\\nAnd call him ‘madam,’ do him obeisance.\\r\\nTell him from me—as he will win my love,—\\r\\nHe bear himself with honourable action,\\r\\nSuch as he hath observ’d in noble ladies\\r\\nUnto their lords, by them accomplished;\\r\\nSuch duty to the drunkard let him do,\\r\\nWith soft low tongue and lowly courtesy,\\r\\nAnd say ‘What is’t your honour will command,\\r\\nWherein your lady and your humble wife\\r\\nMay show her duty and make known her love?’\\r\\nAnd then with kind embracements, tempting kisses,\\r\\nAnd with declining head into his bosom,\\r\\nBid him shed tears, as being overjoy’d\\r\\nTo see her noble lord restor’d to health,\\r\\nWho for this seven years hath esteemed him\\r\\nNo better than a poor and loathsome beggar.\\r\\nAnd if the boy have not a woman’s gift\\r\\nTo rain a shower of commanded tears,\\r\\nAn onion will do well for such a shift,\\r\\nWhich, in a napkin being close convey’d,\\r\\nShall in despite enforce a watery eye.\\r\\nSee this dispatch’d with all the haste thou canst;\\r\\nAnon I’ll give thee more instructions.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI know the boy will well usurp the grace,\\r\\nVoice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman;\\r\\nI long to hear him call the drunkard husband;\\r\\nAnd how my men will stay themselves from laughter\\r\\nWhen they do homage to this simple peasant.\\r\\nI’ll in to counsel them; haply my presence\\r\\nMay well abate the over-merry spleen,\\r\\nWhich otherwise would grow into extremes.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A bedchamber in the LORD’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nSly is discovered in a rich nightgown, with Attendants: some with\\r\\napparel, basin, ewer, and other appurtenances; and Lord, dressed like a\\r\\nservant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nFor God’s sake! a pot of small ale.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nWill’t please your lordship drink a cup of sack?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nWill’t please your honour taste of these conserves?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD SERVANT.\\r\\nWhat raiment will your honour wear today?\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nI am Christophero Sly; call not me honour nor lordship. I ne’er drank\\r\\nsack in my life; and if you give me any conserves, give me conserves of\\r\\nbeef. Ne’er ask me what raiment I’ll wear, for I have no more doublets\\r\\nthan backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet:\\r\\nnay, sometime more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look\\r\\nthrough the over-leather.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nHeaven cease this idle humour in your honour!\\r\\nO, that a mighty man of such descent,\\r\\nOf such possessions, and so high esteem,\\r\\nShould be infused with so foul a spirit!\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nWhat! would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly’s son of\\r\\nBurton-heath; by birth a pedlar, by education a cardmaker, by\\r\\ntransmutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker? Ask\\r\\nMarian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she know me not: if she\\r\\nsay I am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up for\\r\\nthe lyingest knave in Christendom. What! I am not bestraught. Here’s—\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD SERVANT.\\r\\nO! this it is that makes your lady mourn.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nO! this is it that makes your servants droop.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nHence comes it that your kindred shuns your house,\\r\\nAs beaten hence by your strange lunacy.\\r\\nO noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth,\\r\\nCall home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,\\r\\nAnd banish hence these abject lowly dreams.\\r\\nLook how thy servants do attend on thee,\\r\\nEach in his office ready at thy beck:\\r\\nWilt thou have music? Hark! Apollo plays,\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd twenty caged nightingales do sing:\\r\\nOr wilt thou sleep? We’ll have thee to a couch\\r\\nSofter and sweeter than the lustful bed\\r\\nOn purpose trimm’d up for Semiramis.\\r\\nSay thou wilt walk: we will bestrew the ground:\\r\\nOr wilt thou ride? Thy horses shall be trapp’d,\\r\\nTheir harness studded all with gold and pearl.\\r\\nDost thou love hawking? Thou hast hawks will soar\\r\\nAbove the morning lark: or wilt thou hunt?\\r\\nThy hounds shall make the welkin answer them\\r\\nAnd fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nSay thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift\\r\\nAs breathed stags; ay, fleeter than the roe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nDost thou love pictures? We will fetch thee straight\\r\\nAdonis painted by a running brook,\\r\\nAnd Cytherea all in sedges hid,\\r\\nWhich seem to move and wanton with her breath\\r\\nEven as the waving sedges play with wind.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nWe’ll show thee Io as she was a maid\\r\\nAnd how she was beguiled and surpris’d,\\r\\nAs lively painted as the deed was done.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD SERVANT.\\r\\nOr Daphne roaming through a thorny wood,\\r\\nScratching her legs, that one shall swear she bleeds\\r\\nAnd at that sight shall sad Apollo weep,\\r\\nSo workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nThou art a lord, and nothing but a lord:\\r\\nThou hast a lady far more beautiful\\r\\nThan any woman in this waning age.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nAnd, till the tears that she hath shed for thee\\r\\nLike envious floods o’er-run her lovely face,\\r\\nShe was the fairest creature in the world;\\r\\nAnd yet she is inferior to none.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nAm I a lord? and have I such a lady?\\r\\nOr do I dream? Or have I dream’d till now?\\r\\nI do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak;\\r\\nI smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things:\\r\\nUpon my life, I am a lord indeed;\\r\\nAnd not a tinker, nor Christophero Sly.\\r\\nWell, bring our lady hither to our sight;\\r\\nAnd once again, a pot o’ the smallest ale.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND SERVANT.\\r\\nWill’t please your mightiness to wash your hands?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Servants present a ewer, basin and napkin._]\\r\\n\\r\\nO, how we joy to see your wit restor’d!\\r\\nO, that once more you knew but what you are!\\r\\nThese fifteen years you have been in a dream,\\r\\nOr, when you wak’d, so wak’d as if you slept.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nThese fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap.\\r\\nBut did I never speak of all that time?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nO! yes, my lord, but very idle words;\\r\\nFor though you lay here in this goodly chamber,\\r\\nYet would you say ye were beaten out of door,\\r\\nAnd rail upon the hostess of the house,\\r\\nAnd say you would present her at the leet,\\r\\nBecause she brought stone jugs and no seal’d quarts.\\r\\nSometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nAy, the woman’s maid of the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD SERVANT.\\r\\nWhy, sir, you know no house nor no such maid,\\r\\nNor no such men as you have reckon’d up,\\r\\nAs Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece,\\r\\nAnd Peter Turph, and Henry Pimpernell;\\r\\nAnd twenty more such names and men as these,\\r\\nWhich never were, nor no man ever saw.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nNow, Lord be thanked for my good amends!\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the Page, as a lady, with Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nI thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nHow fares my noble lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nMarry, I fare well; for here is cheer enough.\\r\\nWhere is my wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nHere, noble lord: what is thy will with her?\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nAre you my wife, and will not call me husband?\\r\\nMy men should call me lord: I am your goodman.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nMy husband and my lord, my lord and husband;\\r\\nI am your wife in all obedience.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nI know it well. What must I call her?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nMadam.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nAlice madam, or Joan madam?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nMadam, and nothing else; so lords call ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nMadam wife, they say that I have dream’d\\r\\nAnd slept above some fifteen year or more.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nAy, and the time seems thirty unto me,\\r\\nBeing all this time abandon’d from your bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\n’Tis much. Servants, leave me and her alone.\\r\\nMadam, undress you, and come now to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nThrice noble lord, let me entreat of you\\r\\nTo pardon me yet for a night or two;\\r\\nOr, if not so, until the sun be set:\\r\\nFor your physicians have expressly charg’d,\\r\\nIn peril to incur your former malady,\\r\\nThat I should yet absent me from your bed:\\r\\nI hope this reason stands for my excuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nAy, it stands so that I may hardly tarry so long; but I would be loath\\r\\nto fall into my dreams again: I will therefore tarry in despite of the\\r\\nflesh and the blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a Messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nYour honour’s players, hearing your amendment,\\r\\nAre come to play a pleasant comedy;\\r\\nFor so your doctors hold it very meet,\\r\\nSeeing too much sadness hath congeal’d your blood,\\r\\nAnd melancholy is the nurse of frenzy:\\r\\nTherefore they thought it good you hear a play,\\r\\nAnd frame your mind to mirth and merriment,\\r\\nWhich bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nMarry, I will; let them play it. Is not a commonty a Christmas gambold\\r\\nor a tumbling-trick?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nNo, my good lord; it is more pleasing stuff.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nWhat! household stuff?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nIt is a kind of history.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nWell, we’ll see’t. Come, madam wife, sit by my side and let the world\\r\\nslip: we shall ne’er be younger.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Padua. A public place.\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter Lucentio and Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTranio, since for the great desire I had\\r\\nTo see fair Padua, nursery of arts,\\r\\nI am arriv’d for fruitful Lombardy,\\r\\nThe pleasant garden of great Italy,\\r\\nAnd by my father’s love and leave am arm’d\\r\\nWith his good will and thy good company,\\r\\nMy trusty servant well approv’d in all,\\r\\nHere let us breathe, and haply institute\\r\\nA course of learning and ingenious studies.\\r\\nPisa, renowned for grave citizens,\\r\\nGave me my being and my father first,\\r\\nA merchant of great traffic through the world,\\r\\nVincentio, come of the Bentivolii.\\r\\nVincentio’s son, brought up in Florence,\\r\\nIt shall become to serve all hopes conceiv’d,\\r\\nTo deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds:\\r\\nAnd therefore, Tranio, for the time I study,\\r\\nVirtue and that part of philosophy\\r\\nWill I apply that treats of happiness\\r\\nBy virtue specially to be achiev’d.\\r\\nTell me thy mind; for I have Pisa left\\r\\nAnd am to Padua come as he that leaves\\r\\nA shallow plash to plunge him in the deep,\\r\\nAnd with satiety seeks to quench his thirst.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n_Mi perdonato_, gentle master mine;\\r\\nI am in all affected as yourself;\\r\\nGlad that you thus continue your resolve\\r\\nTo suck the sweets of sweet philosophy.\\r\\nOnly, good master, while we do admire\\r\\nThis virtue and this moral discipline,\\r\\nLet’s be no stoics nor no stocks, I pray;\\r\\nOr so devote to Aristotle’s checks\\r\\nAs Ovid be an outcast quite abjur’d.\\r\\nBalk logic with acquaintance that you have,\\r\\nAnd practise rhetoric in your common talk;\\r\\nMusic and poesy use to quicken you;\\r\\nThe mathematics and the metaphysics,\\r\\nFall to them as you find your stomach serves you:\\r\\nNo profit grows where is no pleasure ta’en;\\r\\nIn brief, sir, study what you most affect.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nGramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise.\\r\\nIf, Biondello, thou wert come ashore,\\r\\nWe could at once put us in readiness,\\r\\nAnd take a lodging fit to entertain\\r\\nSuch friends as time in Padua shall beget.\\r\\nBut stay awhile; what company is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMaster, some show to welcome us to town.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Lucentio and Tranio stand aside._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Baptista, Katherina, Bianca, Gremio and Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nGentlemen, importune me no farther,\\r\\nFor how I firmly am resolv’d you know;\\r\\nThat is, not to bestow my youngest daughter\\r\\nBefore I have a husband for the elder.\\r\\nIf either of you both love Katherina,\\r\\nBecause I know you well and love you well,\\r\\nLeave shall you have to court her at your pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nTo cart her rather: she’s too rough for me.\\r\\nThere, there, Hortensio, will you any wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\n[_To Baptista_] I pray you, sir, is it your will\\r\\nTo make a stale of me amongst these mates?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMates, maid! How mean you that? No mates for you,\\r\\nUnless you were of gentler, milder mould.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI’ faith, sir, you shall never need to fear;\\r\\nI wis it is not half way to her heart;\\r\\nBut if it were, doubt not her care should be\\r\\nTo comb your noddle with a three-legg’d stool,\\r\\nAnd paint your face, and use you like a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nFrom all such devils, good Lord deliver us!\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAnd me, too, good Lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nHusht, master! Here’s some good pastime toward:\\r\\nThat wench is stark mad or wonderful froward.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nBut in the other’s silence do I see\\r\\nMaid’s mild behaviour and sobriety.\\r\\nPeace, Tranio!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWell said, master; mum! and gaze your fill.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nGentlemen, that I may soon make good\\r\\nWhat I have said,—Bianca, get you in:\\r\\nAnd let it not displease thee, good Bianca,\\r\\nFor I will love thee ne’er the less, my girl.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nA pretty peat! it is best put finger in the eye, and she knew why.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nSister, content you in my discontent.\\r\\nSir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe:\\r\\nMy books and instruments shall be my company,\\r\\nOn them to look, and practise by myself.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nHark, Tranio! thou mayst hear Minerva speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSignior Baptista, will you be so strange?\\r\\nSorry am I that our good will effects\\r\\nBianca’s grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWhy will you mew her up,\\r\\nSignior Baptista, for this fiend of hell,\\r\\nAnd make her bear the penance of her tongue?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nGentlemen, content ye; I am resolv’d.\\r\\nGo in, Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Bianca._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd for I know she taketh most delight\\r\\nIn music, instruments, and poetry,\\r\\nSchoolmasters will I keep within my house\\r\\nFit to instruct her youth. If you, Hortensio,\\r\\nOr, Signior Gremio, you, know any such,\\r\\nPrefer them hither; for to cunning men\\r\\nI will be very kind, and liberal\\r\\nTo mine own children in good bringing up;\\r\\nAnd so, farewell. Katherina, you may stay;\\r\\nFor I have more to commune with Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhy, and I trust I may go too, may I not? What! shall I be appointed\\r\\nhours, as though, belike, I knew not what to take and what to leave?\\r\\nHa!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nYou may go to the devil’s dam: your gifts are so good here’s none will\\r\\nhold you. Their love is not so great, Hortensio, but we may blow our\\r\\nnails together, and fast it fairly out; our cake’s dough on both sides.\\r\\nFarewell: yet, for the love I bear my sweet Bianca, if I can by any\\r\\nmeans light on a fit man to teach her that wherein she delights, I will\\r\\nwish him to her father.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSo will I, Signior Gremio: but a word, I pray. Though the nature of our\\r\\nquarrel yet never brooked parle, know now, upon advice, it toucheth us\\r\\nboth,—that we may yet again have access to our fair mistress, and be\\r\\nhappy rivals in Bianca’s love,—to labour and effect one thing\\r\\nspecially.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWhat’s that, I pray?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMarry, sir, to get a husband for her sister.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nA husband! a devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI say, a husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI say, a devil. Thinkest thou, Hortensio, though her father be very\\r\\nrich, any man is so very a fool to be married to hell?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nTush, Gremio! Though it pass your patience and mine to endure her loud\\r\\nalarums, why, man, there be good fellows in the world, and a man could\\r\\nlight on them, would take her with all faults, and money enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI cannot tell; but I had as lief take her dowry with this condition: to\\r\\nbe whipp’d at the high cross every morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nFaith, as you say, there’s small choice in rotten apples. But come;\\r\\nsince this bar in law makes us friends, it shall be so far forth\\r\\nfriendly maintained, till by helping Baptista’s eldest daughter to a\\r\\nhusband, we set his youngest free for a husband, and then have to’t\\r\\nafresh. Sweet Bianca! Happy man be his dole! He that runs fastest gets\\r\\nthe ring. How say you, Signior Gremio?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI am agreed; and would I had given him the best horse in Padua to begin\\r\\nhis wooing, that would thoroughly woo her, wed her, and bed her, and\\r\\nrid the house of her. Come on.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Gremio and Hortensio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nI pray, sir, tell me, is it possible\\r\\nThat love should of a sudden take such hold?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nO Tranio! till I found it to be true,\\r\\nI never thought it possible or likely;\\r\\nBut see, while idly I stood looking on,\\r\\nI found the effect of love in idleness;\\r\\nAnd now in plainness do confess to thee,\\r\\nThat art to me as secret and as dear\\r\\nAs Anna to the Queen of Carthage was,\\r\\nTranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio,\\r\\nIf I achieve not this young modest girl.\\r\\nCounsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst:\\r\\nAssist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMaster, it is no time to chide you now;\\r\\nAffection is not rated from the heart:\\r\\nIf love have touch’d you, nought remains but so:\\r\\n_Redime te captum quam queas minimo._\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nGramercies, lad; go forward; this contents;\\r\\nThe rest will comfort, for thy counsel’s sound.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMaster, you look’d so longly on the maid.\\r\\nPerhaps you mark’d not what’s the pith of all.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nO, yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face,\\r\\nSuch as the daughter of Agenor had,\\r\\nThat made great Jove to humble him to her hand,\\r\\nWhen with his knees he kiss’d the Cretan strand.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSaw you no more? mark’d you not how her sister\\r\\nBegan to scold and raise up such a storm\\r\\nThat mortal ears might hardly endure the din?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTranio, I saw her coral lips to move,\\r\\nAnd with her breath she did perfume the air;\\r\\nSacred and sweet was all I saw in her.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nNay, then, ’tis time to stir him from his trance.\\r\\nI pray, awake, sir: if you love the maid,\\r\\nBend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it stands:\\r\\nHer elder sister is so curst and shrewd,\\r\\nThat till the father rid his hands of her,\\r\\nMaster, your love must live a maid at home;\\r\\nAnd therefore has he closely mew’d her up,\\r\\nBecause she will not be annoy’d with suitors.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAh, Tranio, what a cruel father’s he!\\r\\nBut art thou not advis’d he took some care\\r\\nTo get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAy, marry, am I, sir, and now ’tis plotted.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI have it, Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMaster, for my hand,\\r\\nBoth our inventions meet and jump in one.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTell me thine first.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nYou will be schoolmaster,\\r\\nAnd undertake the teaching of the maid:\\r\\nThat’s your device.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nIt is: may it be done?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nNot possible; for who shall bear your part\\r\\nAnd be in Padua here Vincentio’s son;\\r\\nKeep house and ply his book, welcome his friends;\\r\\nVisit his countrymen, and banquet them?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\n_Basta_, content thee, for I have it full.\\r\\nWe have not yet been seen in any house,\\r\\nNor can we be distinguish’d by our faces\\r\\nFor man or master: then it follows thus:\\r\\nThou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead,\\r\\nKeep house and port and servants, as I should;\\r\\nI will some other be; some Florentine,\\r\\nSome Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa.\\r\\n’Tis hatch’d, and shall be so: Tranio, at once\\r\\nUncase thee; take my colour’d hat and cloak.\\r\\nWhen Biondello comes, he waits on thee;\\r\\nBut I will charm him first to keep his tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They exchange habits_]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSo had you need.\\r\\nIn brief, sir, sith it your pleasure is,\\r\\nAnd I am tied to be obedient;\\r\\nFor so your father charg’d me at our parting,\\r\\n‘Be serviceable to my son,’ quoth he,\\r\\nAlthough I think ’twas in another sense:\\r\\nI am content to be Lucentio,\\r\\nBecause so well I love Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTranio, be so, because Lucentio loves;\\r\\nAnd let me be a slave, to achieve that maid\\r\\nWhose sudden sight hath thrall’d my wounded eye.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes the rogue. Sirrah, where have you been?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhere have I been? Nay, how now! where are you?\\r\\nMaster, has my fellow Tranio stol’n your clothes?\\r\\nOr you stol’n his? or both? Pray, what’s the news?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nSirrah, come hither: ’tis no time to jest,\\r\\nAnd therefore frame your manners to the time.\\r\\nYour fellow Tranio here, to save my life,\\r\\nPuts my apparel and my count’nance on,\\r\\nAnd I for my escape have put on his;\\r\\nFor in a quarrel since I came ashore\\r\\nI kill’d a man, and fear I was descried.\\r\\nWait you on him, I charge you, as becomes,\\r\\nWhile I make way from hence to save my life.\\r\\nYou understand me?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI, sir! Ne’er a whit.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAnd not a jot of Tranio in your mouth:\\r\\nTranio is changed to Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nThe better for him: would I were so too!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSo could I, faith, boy, to have the next wish after,\\r\\nThat Lucentio indeed had Baptista’s youngest daughter.\\r\\nBut, sirrah, not for my sake but your master’s, I advise\\r\\nYou use your manners discreetly in all kind of companies:\\r\\nWhen I am alone, why, then I am Tranio;\\r\\nBut in all places else your master, Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTranio, let’s go.\\r\\nOne thing more rests, that thyself execute,\\r\\nTo make one among these wooers: if thou ask me why,\\r\\nSufficeth my reasons are both good and weighty.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n[_The Presenters above speak._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nMy lord, you nod; you do not mind the play.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\nYes, by Saint Anne, I do. A good matter, surely: comes there any more\\r\\nof it?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAGE.\\r\\nMy lord, ’tis but begun.\\r\\n\\r\\nSLY.\\r\\n’Tis a very excellent piece of work, madam lady: would ’twere done!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They sit and mark._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Padua. Before HORTENSIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petruchio and his man Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nVerona, for a while I take my leave,\\r\\nTo see my friends in Padua; but of all\\r\\nMy best beloved and approved friend,\\r\\nHortensio; and I trow this is his house.\\r\\nHere, sirrah Grumio, knock, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nKnock, sir? Whom should I knock? Is there any man has rebused your\\r\\nworship?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nVillain, I say, knock me here soundly.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nKnock you here, sir? Why, sir, what am I, sir, that I should knock you\\r\\nhere, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nVillain, I say, knock me at this gate;\\r\\nAnd rap me well, or I’ll knock your knave’s pate.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nMy master is grown quarrelsome. I should knock you first,\\r\\nAnd then I know after who comes by the worst.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWill it not be?\\r\\nFaith, sirrah, and you’ll not knock, I’ll ring it;\\r\\nI’ll try how you can sol, fa, and sing it.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_He wrings Grumio by the ears._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nHelp, masters, help! my master is mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNow, knock when I bid you, sirrah villain!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nHow now! what’s the matter? My old friend Grumio! and my good friend\\r\\nPetruchio! How do you all at Verona?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSignior Hortensio, come you to part the fray?\\r\\n_Con tutto il cuore ben trovato_, may I say.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n_Alla nostra casa ben venuto; molto honorato signor mio Petruchio._\\r\\nRise, Grumio, rise: we will compound this quarrel.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nNay, ’tis no matter, sir, what he ’leges in Latin. If this be not a\\r\\nlawful cause for me to leave his service, look you, sir, he bid me\\r\\nknock him and rap him soundly, sir: well, was it fit for a servant to\\r\\nuse his master so; being, perhaps, for aught I see, two-and-thirty, a\\r\\npip out? Whom would to God I had well knock’d at first, then had not\\r\\nGrumio come by the worst.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA senseless villain! Good Hortensio,\\r\\nI bade the rascal knock upon your gate,\\r\\nAnd could not get him for my heart to do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nKnock at the gate! O heavens! Spake you not these words plain: ‘Sirrah\\r\\nknock me here, rap me here, knock me well, and knock me soundly’? And\\r\\ncome you now with ‘knocking at the gate’?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nPetruchio, patience; I am Grumio’s pledge;\\r\\nWhy, this’s a heavy chance ’twixt him and you,\\r\\nYour ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio.\\r\\nAnd tell me now, sweet friend, what happy gale\\r\\nBlows you to Padua here from old Verona?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSuch wind as scatters young men through the world\\r\\nTo seek their fortunes farther than at home,\\r\\nWhere small experience grows. But in a few,\\r\\nSignior Hortensio, thus it stands with me:\\r\\nAntonio, my father, is deceas’d,\\r\\nAnd I have thrust myself into this maze,\\r\\nHaply to wive and thrive as best I may;\\r\\nCrowns in my purse I have, and goods at home,\\r\\nAnd so am come abroad to see the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nPetruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee\\r\\nAnd wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour’d wife?\\r\\nThou’dst thank me but a little for my counsel;\\r\\nAnd yet I’ll promise thee she shall be rich,\\r\\nAnd very rich: but th’art too much my friend,\\r\\nAnd I’ll not wish thee to her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSignior Hortensio, ’twixt such friends as we\\r\\nFew words suffice; and therefore, if thou know\\r\\nOne rich enough to be Petruchio’s wife,\\r\\nAs wealth is burden of my wooing dance,\\r\\nBe she as foul as was Florentius’ love,\\r\\nAs old as Sibyl, and as curst and shrewd\\r\\nAs Socrates’ Xanthippe or a worse,\\r\\nShe moves me not, or not removes, at least,\\r\\nAffection’s edge in me, were she as rough\\r\\nAs are the swelling Adriatic seas:\\r\\nI come to wive it wealthily in Padua;\\r\\nIf wealthily, then happily in Padua.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nNay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what his mind is: why, give him\\r\\ngold enough and marry him to a puppet or an aglet-baby; or an old trot\\r\\nwith ne’er a tooth in her head, though she have as many diseases as\\r\\ntwo-and-fifty horses: why, nothing comes amiss, so money comes withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nPetruchio, since we are stepp’d thus far in,\\r\\nI will continue that I broach’d in jest.\\r\\nI can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife\\r\\nWith wealth enough, and young and beauteous;\\r\\nBrought up as best becomes a gentlewoman:\\r\\nHer only fault,—and that is faults enough,—\\r\\nIs, that she is intolerable curst,\\r\\nAnd shrewd and froward, so beyond all measure,\\r\\nThat, were my state far worser than it is,\\r\\nI would not wed her for a mine of gold.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHortensio, peace! thou know’st not gold’s effect:\\r\\nTell me her father’s name, and ’tis enough;\\r\\nFor I will board her, though she chide as loud\\r\\nAs thunder when the clouds in autumn crack.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nHer father is Baptista Minola,\\r\\nAn affable and courteous gentleman;\\r\\nHer name is Katherina Minola,\\r\\nRenown’d in Padua for her scolding tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI know her father, though I know not her;\\r\\nAnd he knew my deceased father well.\\r\\nI will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her;\\r\\nAnd therefore let me be thus bold with you,\\r\\nTo give you over at this first encounter,\\r\\nUnless you will accompany me thither.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI pray you, sir, let him go while the humour lasts. O’ my word, and she\\r\\nknew him as well as I do, she would think scolding would do little good\\r\\nupon him. She may perhaps call him half a score knaves or so; why,\\r\\nthat’s nothing; and he begin once, he’ll rail in his rope-tricks. I’ll\\r\\ntell you what, sir, and she stand him but a little, he will throw a\\r\\nfigure in her face, and so disfigure her with it that she shall have no\\r\\nmore eyes to see withal than a cat. You know him not, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nTarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee,\\r\\nFor in Baptista’s keep my treasure is:\\r\\nHe hath the jewel of my life in hold,\\r\\nHis youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca,\\r\\nAnd her withholds from me and other more,\\r\\nSuitors to her and rivals in my love;\\r\\nSupposing it a thing impossible,\\r\\nFor those defects I have before rehears’d,\\r\\nThat ever Katherina will be woo’d:\\r\\nTherefore this order hath Baptista ta’en,\\r\\nThat none shall have access unto Bianca\\r\\nTill Katherine the curst have got a husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nKatherine the curst!\\r\\nA title for a maid of all titles the worst.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nNow shall my friend Petruchio do me grace,\\r\\nAnd offer me disguis’d in sober robes,\\r\\nTo old Baptista as a schoolmaster\\r\\nWell seen in music, to instruct Bianca;\\r\\nThat so I may, by this device at least\\r\\nHave leave and leisure to make love to her,\\r\\nAnd unsuspected court her by herself.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nHere’s no knavery! See, to beguile the old folks, how the young folks\\r\\nlay their heads together!\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Gremio and Lucentio disguised, with books under his arm.\\r\\n\\r\\nMaster, master, look about you: who goes there, ha?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nPeace, Grumio! It is the rival of my love. Petruchio, stand by awhile.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nA proper stripling, and an amorous!\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nO! very well; I have perus’d the note.\\r\\nHark you, sir; I’ll have them very fairly bound:\\r\\nAll books of love, see that at any hand,\\r\\nAnd see you read no other lectures to her.\\r\\nYou understand me. Over and beside\\r\\nSignior Baptista’s liberality,\\r\\nI’ll mend it with a largess. Take your papers too,\\r\\nAnd let me have them very well perfum’d;\\r\\nFor she is sweeter than perfume itself\\r\\nTo whom they go to. What will you read to her?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nWhate’er I read to her, I’ll plead for you,\\r\\nAs for my patron, stand you so assur’d,\\r\\nAs firmly as yourself were still in place;\\r\\nYea, and perhaps with more successful words\\r\\nThan you, unless you were a scholar, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nO! this learning, what a thing it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nO! this woodcock, what an ass it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nPeace, sirrah!\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nGrumio, mum! God save you, Signior Gremio!\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAnd you are well met, Signior Hortensio.\\r\\nTrow you whither I am going? To Baptista Minola.\\r\\nI promis’d to enquire carefully\\r\\nAbout a schoolmaster for the fair Bianca;\\r\\nAnd by good fortune I have lighted well\\r\\nOn this young man; for learning and behaviour\\r\\nFit for her turn, well read in poetry\\r\\nAnd other books, good ones, I warrant ye.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n’Tis well; and I have met a gentleman\\r\\nHath promis’d me to help me to another,\\r\\nA fine musician to instruct our mistress:\\r\\nSo shall I no whit be behind in duty\\r\\nTo fair Bianca, so belov’d of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nBelov’d of me, and that my deeds shall prove.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] And that his bags shall prove.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nGremio, ’tis now no time to vent our love:\\r\\nListen to me, and if you speak me fair,\\r\\nI’ll tell you news indifferent good for either.\\r\\nHere is a gentleman whom by chance I met,\\r\\nUpon agreement from us to his liking,\\r\\nWill undertake to woo curst Katherine;\\r\\nYea, and to marry her, if her dowry please.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nSo said, so done, is well.\\r\\nHortensio, have you told him all her faults?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI know she is an irksome brawling scold;\\r\\nIf that be all, masters, I hear no harm.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nNo, say’st me so, friend? What countryman?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nBorn in Verona, old Antonio’s son.\\r\\nMy father dead, my fortune lives for me;\\r\\nAnd I do hope good days and long to see.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nO sir, such a life, with such a wife, were strange!\\r\\nBut if you have a stomach, to’t a God’s name;\\r\\nYou shall have me assisting you in all.\\r\\nBut will you woo this wild-cat?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWill I live?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWill he woo her? Ay, or I’ll hang her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy came I hither but to that intent?\\r\\nThink you a little din can daunt mine ears?\\r\\nHave I not in my time heard lions roar?\\r\\nHave I not heard the sea, puff’d up with winds,\\r\\nRage like an angry boar chafed with sweat?\\r\\nHave I not heard great ordnance in the field,\\r\\nAnd heaven’s artillery thunder in the skies?\\r\\nHave I not in a pitched battle heard\\r\\nLoud ’larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets’ clang?\\r\\nAnd do you tell me of a woman’s tongue,\\r\\nThat gives not half so great a blow to hear\\r\\nAs will a chestnut in a farmer’s fire?\\r\\nTush, tush! fear boys with bugs.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\n[_Aside_] For he fears none.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nHortensio, hark:\\r\\nThis gentleman is happily arriv’d,\\r\\nMy mind presumes, for his own good and yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI promis’d we would be contributors,\\r\\nAnd bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAnd so we will, provided that he win her.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI would I were as sure of a good dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Tranio brave, and Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nGentlemen, God save you! If I may be bold,\\r\\nTell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way\\r\\nTo the house of Signior Baptista Minola?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nHe that has the two fair daughters; is’t he you mean?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nEven he, Biondello!\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nHark you, sir, you mean not her to—\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nPerhaps him and her, sir; what have you to do?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNot her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nI love no chiders, sir. Biondello, let’s away.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\n[_Aside_] Well begun, Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSir, a word ere you go.\\r\\nAre you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd if I be, sir, is it any offence?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nNo; if without more words you will get you hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhy, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free\\r\\nFor me as for you?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nBut so is not she.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nFor what reason, I beseech you?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nFor this reason, if you’ll know,\\r\\nThat she’s the choice love of Signior Gremio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nThat she’s the chosen of Signior Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSoftly, my masters! If you be gentlemen,\\r\\nDo me this right; hear me with patience.\\r\\nBaptista is a noble gentleman,\\r\\nTo whom my father is not all unknown;\\r\\nAnd were his daughter fairer than she is,\\r\\nShe may more suitors have, and me for one.\\r\\nFair Leda’s daughter had a thousand wooers;\\r\\nThen well one more may fair Bianca have;\\r\\nAnd so she shall: Lucentio shall make one,\\r\\nThough Paris came in hope to speed alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWhat, this gentleman will out-talk us all.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nSir, give him head; I know he’ll prove a jade.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHortensio, to what end are all these words?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSir, let me be so bold as ask you,\\r\\nDid you yet ever see Baptista’s daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nNo, sir, but hear I do that he hath two,\\r\\nThe one as famous for a scolding tongue\\r\\nAs is the other for beauteous modesty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSir, sir, the first’s for me; let her go by.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nYea, leave that labour to great Hercules,\\r\\nAnd let it be more than Alcides’ twelve.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSir, understand you this of me, in sooth:\\r\\nThe youngest daughter, whom you hearken for,\\r\\nHer father keeps from all access of suitors,\\r\\nAnd will not promise her to any man\\r\\nUntil the elder sister first be wed;\\r\\nThe younger then is free, and not before.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nIf it be so, sir, that you are the man\\r\\nMust stead us all, and me amongst the rest;\\r\\nAnd if you break the ice, and do this feat,\\r\\nAchieve the elder, set the younger free\\r\\nFor our access, whose hap shall be to have her\\r\\nWill not so graceless be to be ingrate.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSir, you say well, and well you do conceive;\\r\\nAnd since you do profess to be a suitor,\\r\\nYou must, as we do, gratify this gentleman,\\r\\nTo whom we all rest generally beholding.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSir, I shall not be slack; in sign whereof,\\r\\nPlease ye we may contrive this afternoon,\\r\\nAnd quaff carouses to our mistress’ health;\\r\\nAnd do as adversaries do in law,\\r\\nStrive mightily, but eat and drink as friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO, BIONDELLO.\\r\\nO excellent motion! Fellows, let’s be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nThe motion’s good indeed, and be it so:—\\r\\nPetruchio, I shall be your _ben venuto_.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Padua. A room in BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Katherina and Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nGood sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself,\\r\\nTo make a bondmaid and a slave of me;\\r\\nThat I disdain; but for these other gawds,\\r\\nUnbind my hands, I’ll pull them off myself,\\r\\nYea, all my raiment, to my petticoat;\\r\\nOr what you will command me will I do,\\r\\nSo well I know my duty to my elders.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nOf all thy suitors here I charge thee tell\\r\\nWhom thou lov’st best: see thou dissemble not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nBelieve me, sister, of all the men alive\\r\\nI never yet beheld that special face\\r\\nWhich I could fancy more than any other.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nMinion, thou liest. Is’t not Hortensio?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nIf you affect him, sister, here I swear\\r\\nI’ll plead for you myself but you shall have him.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nO! then, belike, you fancy riches more:\\r\\nYou will have Gremio to keep you fair.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nIs it for him you do envy me so?\\r\\nNay, then you jest; and now I well perceive\\r\\nYou have but jested with me all this while:\\r\\nI prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nIf that be jest, then all the rest was so.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Strikes her._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Baptista.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, how now, dame! Whence grows this insolence?\\r\\nBianca, stand aside. Poor girl! she weeps.\\r\\nGo ply thy needle; meddle not with her.\\r\\nFor shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit,\\r\\nWhy dost thou wrong her that did ne’er wrong thee?\\r\\nWhen did she cross thee with a bitter word?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nHer silence flouts me, and I’ll be reveng’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Flies after Bianca._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhat! in my sight? Bianca, get thee in.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Bianca._]\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhat! will you not suffer me? Nay, now I see\\r\\nShe is your treasure, she must have a husband;\\r\\nI must dance bare-foot on her wedding-day,\\r\\nAnd, for your love to her, lead apes in hell.\\r\\nTalk not to me: I will go sit and weep\\r\\nTill I can find occasion of revenge.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\n Was ever gentleman thus griev’d as I?\\r\\nBut who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Gremio, with Lucentio in the habit of a mean man; Petruchio, with\\r\\nHortensio as a musician; and Tranio, with Biondello bearing a lute and\\r\\nbooks.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nGood morrow, neighbour Baptista.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nGood morrow, neighbour Gremio. God save you, gentlemen!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAnd you, good sir! Pray, have you not a daughter\\r\\nCall’d Katherina, fair and virtuous?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI have a daughter, sir, call’d Katherina.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nYou are too blunt: go to it orderly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nYou wrong me, Signior Gremio: give me leave.\\r\\nI am a gentleman of Verona, sir,\\r\\nThat, hearing of her beauty and her wit,\\r\\nHer affability and bashful modesty,\\r\\nHer wondrous qualities and mild behaviour,\\r\\nAm bold to show myself a forward guest\\r\\nWithin your house, to make mine eye the witness\\r\\nOf that report which I so oft have heard.\\r\\nAnd, for an entrance to my entertainment,\\r\\nI do present you with a man of mine,\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Presenting Hortensio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCunning in music and the mathematics,\\r\\nTo instruct her fully in those sciences,\\r\\nWhereof I know she is not ignorant.\\r\\nAccept of him, or else you do me wrong:\\r\\nHis name is Licio, born in Mantua.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nY’are welcome, sir, and he for your good sake;\\r\\nBut for my daughter Katherine, this I know,\\r\\nShe is not for your turn, the more my grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI see you do not mean to part with her;\\r\\nOr else you like not of my company.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nMistake me not; I speak but as I find.\\r\\nWhence are you, sir? What may I call your name?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nPetruchio is my name, Antonio’s son;\\r\\nA man well known throughout all Italy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI know him well: you are welcome for his sake.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nSaving your tale, Petruchio, I pray,\\r\\nLet us, that are poor petitioners, speak too.\\r\\nBackare! you are marvellous forward.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nO, pardon me, Signior Gremio; I would fain be doing.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your wooing. Neighbour, this is\\r\\na gift very grateful, I am sure of it. To express the like kindness,\\r\\nmyself, that have been more kindly beholding to you than any, freely\\r\\ngive unto you this young scholar,\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Presenting Lucentio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nthat has been long studying at Rheims; as cunning in Greek, Latin, and\\r\\nother languages, as the other in music and mathematics. His name is\\r\\nCambio; pray accept his service.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nA thousand thanks, Signior Gremio; welcome, good Cambio. [_To Tranio._]\\r\\nBut, gentle sir, methinks you walk like a stranger. May I be so bold to\\r\\nknow the cause of your coming?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nPardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own,\\r\\nThat, being a stranger in this city here,\\r\\nDo make myself a suitor to your daughter,\\r\\nUnto Bianca, fair and virtuous.\\r\\nNor is your firm resolve unknown to me,\\r\\nIn the preferment of the eldest sister.\\r\\nThis liberty is all that I request,\\r\\nThat, upon knowledge of my parentage,\\r\\nI may have welcome ’mongst the rest that woo,\\r\\nAnd free access and favour as the rest:\\r\\nAnd, toward the education of your daughters,\\r\\nI here bestow a simple instrument,\\r\\nAnd this small packet of Greek and Latin books:\\r\\nIf you accept them, then their worth is great.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nLucentio is your name, of whence, I pray?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nOf Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nA mighty man of Pisa: by report\\r\\nI know him well: you are very welcome, sir.\\r\\n[_To Hortensio_.] Take you the lute,\\r\\n[_To Lucentio_.] and you the set of books;\\r\\nYou shall go see your pupils presently.\\r\\nHolla, within!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSirrah, lead these gentlemen\\r\\nTo my daughters, and tell them both\\r\\nThese are their tutors: bid them use them well.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Servant with Hortensio, Lucentio and Biondello._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWe will go walk a little in the orchard,\\r\\nAnd then to dinner. You are passing welcome,\\r\\nAnd so I pray you all to think yourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSignior Baptista, my business asketh haste,\\r\\nAnd every day I cannot come to woo.\\r\\nYou knew my father well, and in him me,\\r\\nLeft solely heir to all his lands and goods,\\r\\nWhich I have bettered rather than decreas’d:\\r\\nThen tell me, if I get your daughter’s love,\\r\\nWhat dowry shall I have with her to wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAfter my death, the one half of my lands,\\r\\nAnd in possession twenty thousand crowns.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAnd, for that dowry, I’ll assure her of\\r\\nHer widowhood, be it that she survive me,\\r\\nIn all my lands and leases whatsoever.\\r\\nLet specialities be therefore drawn between us,\\r\\nThat covenants may be kept on either hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAy, when the special thing is well obtain’d,\\r\\nThat is, her love; for that is all in all.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, that is nothing; for I tell you, father,\\r\\nI am as peremptory as she proud-minded;\\r\\nAnd where two raging fires meet together,\\r\\nThey do consume the thing that feeds their fury:\\r\\nThough little fire grows great with little wind,\\r\\nYet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all;\\r\\nSo I to her, and so she yields to me;\\r\\nFor I am rough and woo not like a babe.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWell mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed!\\r\\nBut be thou arm’d for some unhappy words.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAy, to the proof, as mountains are for winds,\\r\\nThat shake not though they blow perpetually.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Hortensio, with his head broke.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nHow now, my friend! Why dost thou look so pale?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nFor fear, I promise you, if I look pale.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhat, will my daughter prove a good musician?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI think she’ll sooner prove a soldier:\\r\\nIron may hold with her, but never lutes.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, then thou canst not break her to the lute?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nWhy, no; for she hath broke the lute to me.\\r\\nI did but tell her she mistook her frets,\\r\\nAnd bow’d her hand to teach her fingering;\\r\\nWhen, with a most impatient devilish spirit,\\r\\n’Frets, call you these?’ quoth she ‘I’ll fume with them’;\\r\\nAnd with that word she struck me on the head,\\r\\nAnd through the instrument my pate made way;\\r\\nAnd there I stood amazed for a while,\\r\\nAs on a pillory, looking through the lute;\\r\\nWhile she did call me rascal fiddler,\\r\\nAnd twangling Jack, with twenty such vile terms,\\r\\nAs had she studied to misuse me so.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNow, by the world, it is a lusty wench!\\r\\nI love her ten times more than e’er I did:\\r\\nO! how I long to have some chat with her!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\n[_To Hortensio_.] Well, go with me, and be not so discomfited;\\r\\nProceed in practice with my younger daughter;\\r\\nShe’s apt to learn, and thankful for good turns.\\r\\nSignior Petruchio, will you go with us,\\r\\nOr shall I send my daughter Kate to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI pray you do.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Baptista, Gremio, Tranio and Hortensio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI will attend her here,\\r\\nAnd woo her with some spirit when she comes.\\r\\nSay that she rail; why, then I’ll tell her plain\\r\\nShe sings as sweetly as a nightingale:\\r\\nSay that she frown; I’ll say she looks as clear\\r\\nAs morning roses newly wash’d with dew:\\r\\nSay she be mute, and will not speak a word;\\r\\nThen I’ll commend her volubility,\\r\\nAnd say she uttereth piercing eloquence:\\r\\nIf she do bid me pack, I’ll give her thanks,\\r\\nAs though she bid me stay by her a week:\\r\\nIf she deny to wed, I’ll crave the day\\r\\nWhen I shall ask the banns, and when be married.\\r\\nBut here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Katherina.\\r\\n\\r\\nGood morrow, Kate; for that’s your name, I hear.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWell have you heard, but something hard of hearing:\\r\\nThey call me Katherine that do talk of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nYou lie, in faith, for you are call’d plain Kate,\\r\\nAnd bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst;\\r\\nBut, Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom,\\r\\nKate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate,\\r\\nFor dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate,\\r\\nTake this of me, Kate of my consolation;\\r\\nHearing thy mildness prais’d in every town,\\r\\nThy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,—\\r\\nYet not so deeply as to thee belongs,—\\r\\nMyself am mov’d to woo thee for my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nMov’d! in good time: let him that mov’d you hither\\r\\nRemove you hence. I knew you at the first,\\r\\nYou were a moveable.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, what’s a moveable?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nA joint-stool.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThou hast hit it: come, sit on me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nAsses are made to bear, and so are you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWomen are made to bear, and so are you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNo such jade as bear you, if me you mean.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAlas! good Kate, I will not burden thee;\\r\\nFor, knowing thee to be but young and light,—\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nToo light for such a swain as you to catch;\\r\\nAnd yet as heavy as my weight should be.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nShould be! should buz!\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWell ta’en, and like a buzzard.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nO, slow-wing’d turtle! shall a buzzard take thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nAy, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome, come, you wasp; i’ faith, you are too angry.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nIf I be waspish, best beware my sting.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nMy remedy is then to pluck it out.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nAy, if the fool could find it where it lies.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWho knows not where a wasp does wear his sting?\\r\\nIn his tail.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nIn his tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhose tongue?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nYours, if you talk of tales; and so farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhat! with my tongue in your tail? Nay, come again,\\r\\nGood Kate; I am a gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThat I’ll try.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Striking him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI swear I’ll cuff you if you strike again.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nSo may you lose your arms:\\r\\nIf you strike me, you are no gentleman;\\r\\nAnd if no gentleman, why then no arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA herald, Kate? O! put me in thy books.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhat is your crest? a coxcomb?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNo cock of mine; you crow too like a craven.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nIt is my fashion when I see a crab.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, here’s no crab, and therefore look not sour.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThere is, there is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThen show it me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nHad I a glass I would.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhat, you mean my face?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWell aim’d of such a young one.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNow, by Saint George, I am too young for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nYet you are wither’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\n’Tis with cares.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI care not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, hear you, Kate: in sooth, you ’scape not so.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI chafe you, if I tarry; let me go.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNo, not a whit; I find you passing gentle.\\r\\n’Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen,\\r\\nAnd now I find report a very liar;\\r\\nFor thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous,\\r\\nBut slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers.\\r\\nThou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance,\\r\\nNor bite the lip, as angry wenches will,\\r\\nNor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk;\\r\\nBut thou with mildness entertain’st thy wooers;\\r\\nWith gentle conference, soft and affable.\\r\\nWhy does the world report that Kate doth limp?\\r\\nO sland’rous world! Kate like the hazel-twig\\r\\nIs straight and slender, and as brown in hue\\r\\nAs hazel-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels.\\r\\nO! let me see thee walk: thou dost not halt.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nGo, fool, and whom thou keep’st command.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nDid ever Dian so become a grove\\r\\nAs Kate this chamber with her princely gait?\\r\\nO! be thou Dian, and let her be Kate,\\r\\nAnd then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful!\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhere did you study all this goodly speech?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nIt is extempore, from my mother-wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nA witty mother! witless else her son.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAm I not wise?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nYes; keep you warm.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nMarry, so I mean, sweet Katherine, in thy bed;\\r\\nAnd therefore, setting all this chat aside,\\r\\nThus in plain terms: your father hath consented\\r\\nThat you shall be my wife your dowry ’greed on;\\r\\nAnd will you, nill you, I will marry you.\\r\\nNow, Kate, I am a husband for your turn;\\r\\nFor, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty,—\\r\\nThy beauty that doth make me like thee well,—\\r\\nThou must be married to no man but me;\\r\\nFor I am he am born to tame you, Kate,\\r\\nAnd bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate\\r\\nConformable as other household Kates.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Baptista, Gremio and Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes your father. Never make denial;\\r\\nI must and will have Katherine to my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNow, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHow but well, sir? how but well?\\r\\nIt were impossible I should speed amiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, how now, daughter Katherine, in your dumps?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nCall you me daughter? Now I promise you\\r\\nYou have show’d a tender fatherly regard\\r\\nTo wish me wed to one half lunatic,\\r\\nA mad-cap ruffian and a swearing Jack,\\r\\nThat thinks with oaths to face the matter out.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nFather, ’tis thus: yourself and all the world\\r\\nThat talk’d of her have talk’d amiss of her:\\r\\nIf she be curst, it is for policy,\\r\\nFor she’s not froward, but modest as the dove;\\r\\nShe is not hot, but temperate as the morn;\\r\\nFor patience she will prove a second Grissel,\\r\\nAnd Roman Lucrece for her chastity;\\r\\nAnd to conclude, we have ’greed so well together\\r\\nThat upon Sunday is the wedding-day.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI’ll see thee hang’d on Sunday first.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nHark, Petruchio; she says she’ll see thee hang’d first.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nIs this your speeding? Nay, then good-night our part!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nBe patient, gentlemen. I choose her for myself;\\r\\nIf she and I be pleas’d, what’s that to you?\\r\\n’Tis bargain’d ’twixt us twain, being alone,\\r\\nThat she shall still be curst in company.\\r\\nI tell you, ’tis incredible to believe\\r\\nHow much she loves me: O! the kindest Kate\\r\\nShe hung about my neck, and kiss on kiss\\r\\nShe vied so fast, protesting oath on oath,\\r\\nThat in a twink she won me to her love.\\r\\nO! you are novices: ’tis a world to see,\\r\\nHow tame, when men and women are alone,\\r\\nA meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew.\\r\\nGive me thy hand, Kate; I will unto Venice,\\r\\nTo buy apparel ’gainst the wedding-day.\\r\\nProvide the feast, father, and bid the guests;\\r\\nI will be sure my Katherine shall be fine.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI know not what to say; but give me your hands.\\r\\nGod send you joy, Petruchio! ’Tis a match.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO, TRANIO.\\r\\nAmen, say we; we will be witnesses.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nFather, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu.\\r\\nI will to Venice; Sunday comes apace;\\r\\nWe will have rings and things, and fine array;\\r\\nAnd kiss me, Kate; we will be married o’ Sunday.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Petruchio and Katherina, severally._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWas ever match clapp’d up so suddenly?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nFaith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant’s part,\\r\\nAnd venture madly on a desperate mart.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n’Twas a commodity lay fretting by you;\\r\\n’Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nThe gain I seek is, quiet in the match.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nNo doubt but he hath got a quiet catch.\\r\\nBut now, Baptista, to your younger daughter:\\r\\nNow is the day we long have looked for;\\r\\nI am your neighbour, and was suitor first.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd I am one that love Bianca more\\r\\nThan words can witness or your thoughts can guess.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nYoungling, thou canst not love so dear as I.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nGreybeard, thy love doth freeze.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nBut thine doth fry.\\r\\nSkipper, stand back; ’tis age that nourisheth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nBut youth in ladies’ eyes that flourisheth.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nContent you, gentlemen; I’ll compound this strife:\\r\\n’Tis deeds must win the prize, and he of both\\r\\nThat can assure my daughter greatest dower\\r\\nShall have my Bianca’s love.\\r\\nSay, Signior Gremio, what can you assure her?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nFirst, as you know, my house within the city\\r\\nIs richly furnished with plate and gold:\\r\\nBasins and ewers to lave her dainty hands;\\r\\nMy hangings all of Tyrian tapestry;\\r\\nIn ivory coffers I have stuff’d my crowns;\\r\\nIn cypress chests my arras counterpoints,\\r\\nCostly apparel, tents, and canopies,\\r\\nFine linen, Turkey cushions boss’d with pearl,\\r\\nValance of Venice gold in needlework;\\r\\nPewter and brass, and all things that belong\\r\\nTo house or housekeeping: then, at my farm\\r\\nI have a hundred milch-kine to the pail,\\r\\nSix score fat oxen standing in my stalls,\\r\\nAnd all things answerable to this portion.\\r\\nMyself am struck in years, I must confess;\\r\\nAnd if I die tomorrow this is hers,\\r\\nIf whilst I live she will be only mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThat ‘only’ came well in. Sir, list to me:\\r\\nI am my father’s heir and only son;\\r\\nIf I may have your daughter to my wife,\\r\\nI’ll leave her houses three or four as good\\r\\nWithin rich Pisa’s walls as anyone\\r\\nOld Signior Gremio has in Padua;\\r\\nBesides two thousand ducats by the year\\r\\nOf fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure.\\r\\nWhat, have I pinch’d you, Signior Gremio?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nTwo thousand ducats by the year of land!\\r\\nMy land amounts not to so much in all:\\r\\nThat she shall have, besides an argosy\\r\\nThat now is lying in Marseilles’ road.\\r\\nWhat, have I chok’d you with an argosy?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nGremio, ’tis known my father hath no less\\r\\nThan three great argosies, besides two galliasses,\\r\\nAnd twelve tight galleys; these I will assure her,\\r\\nAnd twice as much, whate’er thou offer’st next.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nNay, I have offer’d all; I have no more;\\r\\nAnd she can have no more than all I have;\\r\\nIf you like me, she shall have me and mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhy, then the maid is mine from all the world,\\r\\nBy your firm promise; Gremio is out-vied.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI must confess your offer is the best;\\r\\nAnd let your father make her the assurance,\\r\\nShe is your own; else, you must pardon me;\\r\\nIf you should die before him, where’s her dower?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThat’s but a cavil; he is old, I young.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAnd may not young men die as well as old?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWell, gentlemen,\\r\\nI am thus resolv’d. On Sunday next, you know,\\r\\nMy daughter Katherine is to be married;\\r\\nNow, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca\\r\\nBe bride to you, if you make this assurance;\\r\\nIf not, to Signior Gremio.\\r\\nAnd so I take my leave, and thank you both.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAdieu, good neighbour.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Baptista._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, I fear thee not:\\r\\nSirrah young gamester, your father were a fool\\r\\nTo give thee all, and in his waning age\\r\\nSet foot under thy table. Tut! a toy!\\r\\nAn old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nA vengeance on your crafty wither’d hide!\\r\\nYet I have fac’d it with a card of ten.\\r\\n’Tis in my head to do my master good:\\r\\nI see no reason but suppos’d Lucentio\\r\\nMust get a father, call’d suppos’d Vincentio;\\r\\nAnd that’s a wonder: fathers commonly\\r\\nDo get their children; but in this case of wooing\\r\\nA child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Padua. A room in BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Lucentio, Hortensio and Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nFiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir.\\r\\nHave you so soon forgot the entertainment\\r\\nHer sister Katherine welcome’d you withal?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nBut, wrangling pedant, this is\\r\\nThe patroness of heavenly harmony:\\r\\nThen give me leave to have prerogative;\\r\\nAnd when in music we have spent an hour,\\r\\nYour lecture shall have leisure for as much.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nPreposterous ass, that never read so far\\r\\nTo know the cause why music was ordain’d!\\r\\nWas it not to refresh the mind of man\\r\\nAfter his studies or his usual pain?\\r\\nThen give me leave to read philosophy,\\r\\nAnd while I pause serve in your harmony.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhy, gentlemen, you do me double wrong,\\r\\nTo strive for that which resteth in my choice.\\r\\nI am no breeching scholar in the schools,\\r\\nI’ll not be tied to hours nor ’pointed times,\\r\\nBut learn my lessons as I please myself.\\r\\nAnd, to cut off all strife, here sit we down;\\r\\nTake you your instrument, play you the whiles;\\r\\nHis lecture will be done ere you have tun’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nYou’ll leave his lecture when I am in tune?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Retires._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nThat will be never: tune your instrument.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhere left we last?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nHere, madam:—\\r\\n_Hic ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus;\\r\\nHic steterat Priami regia celsa senis._\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nConstrue them.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\n_Hic ibat_, as I told you before, _Simois_, I am Lucentio, _hic est_,\\r\\nson unto Vincentio of Pisa, _Sigeia tellus_, disguised thus to get your\\r\\nlove, _Hic steterat_, and that Lucentio that comes a-wooing, _Priami_,\\r\\nis my man Tranio, _regia_, bearing my port, _celsa senis_, that we\\r\\nmight beguile the old pantaloon.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO. [_Returning._]\\r\\nMadam, my instrument’s in tune.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nLet’s hear.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Hortensio _plays._]\\r\\n\\r\\nO fie! the treble jars.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nSpit in the hole, man, and tune again.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nNow let me see if I can construe it: _Hic ibat Simois_, I know you not;\\r\\n_hic est Sigeia tellus_, I trust you not; _Hic steterat Priami_, take\\r\\nheed he hear us not; _regia_, presume not; _celsa senis_, despair not.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMadam, ’tis now in tune.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAll but the base.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nThe base is right; ’tis the base knave that jars.\\r\\n[_Aside_] How fiery and forward our pedant is!\\r\\nNow, for my life, the knave doth court my love:\\r\\nPedascule, I’ll watch you better yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nIn time I may believe, yet I mistrust.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nMistrust it not; for sure, Æacides\\r\\nWas Ajax, call’d so from his grandfather.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nI must believe my master; else, I promise you,\\r\\nI should be arguing still upon that doubt;\\r\\nBut let it rest. Now, Licio, to you.\\r\\nGood master, take it not unkindly, pray,\\r\\nThat I have been thus pleasant with you both.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n[_To Lucentio_] You may go walk and give me leave a while;\\r\\nMy lessons make no music in three parts.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAre you so formal, sir? Well, I must wait,\\r\\n[_Aside_] And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv’d,\\r\\nOur fine musician groweth amorous.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMadam, before you touch the instrument,\\r\\nTo learn the order of my fingering,\\r\\nI must begin with rudiments of art;\\r\\nTo teach you gamut in a briefer sort,\\r\\nMore pleasant, pithy, and effectual,\\r\\nThan hath been taught by any of my trade:\\r\\nAnd there it is in writing, fairly drawn.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhy, I am past my gamut long ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nYet read the gamut of Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\n _Gamut_ I am, the ground of all accord,\\r\\n _A re_, to plead Hortensio’s passion;\\r\\n _B mi_, Bianca, take him for thy lord,\\r\\n _C fa ut_, that loves with all affection:\\r\\n _D sol re_, one clef, two notes have I\\r\\n _E la mi_, show pity or I die.\\r\\nCall you this gamut? Tut, I like it not:\\r\\nOld fashions please me best; I am not so nice,\\r\\nTo change true rules for odd inventions.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMistress, your father prays you leave your books,\\r\\nAnd help to dress your sister’s chamber up:\\r\\nYou know tomorrow is the wedding-day.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nFarewell, sweet masters, both: I must be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Bianca and Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nFaith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nBut I have cause to pry into this pedant:\\r\\nMethinks he looks as though he were in love.\\r\\nYet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble\\r\\nTo cast thy wand’ring eyes on every stale,\\r\\nSeize thee that list: if once I find thee ranging,\\r\\nHortensio will be quit with thee by changing.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, Katherina, Bianca, Lucentio and\\r\\nAttendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA. [_To Tranio_.]\\r\\nSignior Lucentio, this is the ’pointed day\\r\\nThat Katherine and Petruchio should be married,\\r\\nAnd yet we hear not of our son-in-law.\\r\\nWhat will be said? What mockery will it be\\r\\nTo want the bridegroom when the priest attends\\r\\nTo speak the ceremonial rites of marriage!\\r\\nWhat says Lucentio to this shame of ours?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNo shame but mine; I must, forsooth, be forc’d\\r\\nTo give my hand, oppos’d against my heart,\\r\\nUnto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen;\\r\\nWho woo’d in haste and means to wed at leisure.\\r\\nI told you, I, he was a frantic fool,\\r\\nHiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour;\\r\\nAnd to be noted for a merry man,\\r\\nHe’ll woo a thousand, ’point the day of marriage,\\r\\nMake friends, invite, and proclaim the banns;\\r\\nYet never means to wed where he hath woo’d.\\r\\nNow must the world point at poor Katherine,\\r\\nAnd say ‘Lo! there is mad Petruchio’s wife,\\r\\nIf it would please him come and marry her.’\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nPatience, good Katherine, and Baptista too.\\r\\nUpon my life, Petruchio means but well,\\r\\nWhatever fortune stays him from his word:\\r\\nThough he be blunt, I know him passing wise;\\r\\nThough he be merry, yet withal he’s honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWould Katherine had never seen him though!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit weeping, followed by Bianca and others._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nGo, girl, I cannot blame thee now to weep,\\r\\nFor such an injury would vex a very saint;\\r\\nMuch more a shrew of thy impatient humour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nMaster, master! News! old news, and such news as you never heard of!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nIs it new and old too? How may that be?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhy, is it not news to hear of Petruchio’s coming?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nIs he come?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhy, no, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhat then?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nHe is coming.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhen will he be here?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhen he stands where I am and sees you there.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nBut say, what to thine old news?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhy, Petruchio is coming, in a new hat and an old jerkin; a pair of old\\r\\nbreeches thrice turned; a pair of boots that have been candle-cases,\\r\\none buckled, another laced; an old rusty sword ta’en out of the town\\r\\narmoury, with a broken hilt, and chapeless; with two broken points: his\\r\\nhorse hipped with an old mothy saddle and stirrups of no kindred;\\r\\nbesides, possessed with the glanders and like to mose in the chine;\\r\\ntroubled with the lampass, infected with the fashions, full of\\r\\nwindgalls, sped with spavins, rayed with the yellows, past cure of the\\r\\nfives, stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the bots, swayed\\r\\nin the back and shoulder-shotten; near-legged before, and with a\\r\\nhalf-checked bit, and a head-stall of sheep’s leather, which, being\\r\\nrestrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been often burst, and now\\r\\nrepaired with knots; one girth six times pieced, and a woman’s crupper\\r\\nof velure, which hath two letters for her name fairly set down in\\r\\nstuds, and here and there pieced with pack-thread.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWho comes with him?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nO, sir! his lackey, for all the world caparisoned like the horse; with\\r\\na linen stock on one leg and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered\\r\\nwith a red and blue list; an old hat, and the humour of forty fancies\\r\\nprick’d in’t for a feather: a monster, a very monster in apparel, and\\r\\nnot like a Christian footboy or a gentleman’s lackey.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n’Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion;\\r\\nYet oftentimes lie goes but mean-apparell’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI am glad he’s come, howsoe’er he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhy, sir, he comes not.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nDidst thou not say he comes?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWho? that Petruchio came?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAy, that Petruchio came.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nNo, sir; I say his horse comes, with him on his back.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, that’s all one.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\n Nay, by Saint Jamy,\\r\\n I hold you a penny,\\r\\n A horse and a man\\r\\n Is more than one,\\r\\n And yet not many.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petruchio and Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome, where be these gallants? Who is at home?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nYou are welcome, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAnd yet I come not well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAnd yet you halt not.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nNot so well apparell’d as I wish you were.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWere it better, I should rush in thus.\\r\\nBut where is Kate? Where is my lovely bride?\\r\\nHow does my father? Gentles, methinks you frown;\\r\\nAnd wherefore gaze this goodly company,\\r\\nAs if they saw some wondrous monument,\\r\\nSome comet or unusual prodigy?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, sir, you know this is your wedding-day:\\r\\nFirst were we sad, fearing you would not come;\\r\\nNow sadder, that you come so unprovided.\\r\\nFie! doff this habit, shame to your estate,\\r\\nAn eye-sore to our solemn festival.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd tell us what occasion of import\\r\\nHath all so long detain’d you from your wife,\\r\\nAnd sent you hither so unlike yourself?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nTedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear;\\r\\nSufficeth I am come to keep my word,\\r\\nThough in some part enforced to digress;\\r\\nWhich at more leisure I will so excuse\\r\\nAs you shall well be satisfied withal.\\r\\nBut where is Kate? I stay too long from her;\\r\\nThe morning wears, ’tis time we were at church.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSee not your bride in these unreverent robes;\\r\\nGo to my chamber, put on clothes of mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNot I, believe me: thus I’ll visit her.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nBut thus, I trust, you will not marry her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGood sooth, even thus; therefore ha’ done with words;\\r\\nTo me she’s married, not unto my clothes.\\r\\nCould I repair what she will wear in me\\r\\nAs I can change these poor accoutrements,\\r\\n’Twere well for Kate and better for myself.\\r\\nBut what a fool am I to chat with you\\r\\nWhen I should bid good morrow to my bride,\\r\\nAnd seal the title with a lovely kiss!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Petruchio, Grumio and Biondello._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nHe hath some meaning in his mad attire.\\r\\nWe will persuade him, be it possible,\\r\\nTo put on better ere he go to church.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI’ll after him and see the event of this.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Baptista, Gremio and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nBut, sir, to love concerneth us to add\\r\\nHer father’s liking; which to bring to pass,\\r\\nAs I before imparted to your worship,\\r\\nI am to get a man,—whate’er he be\\r\\nIt skills not much; we’ll fit him to our turn,—\\r\\nAnd he shall be Vincentio of Pisa,\\r\\nAnd make assurance here in Padua,\\r\\nOf greater sums than I have promised.\\r\\nSo shall you quietly enjoy your hope,\\r\\nAnd marry sweet Bianca with consent.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nWere it not that my fellow schoolmaster\\r\\nDoth watch Bianca’s steps so narrowly,\\r\\n’Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage;\\r\\nWhich once perform’d, let all the world say no,\\r\\nI’ll keep mine own despite of all the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThat by degrees we mean to look into,\\r\\nAnd watch our vantage in this business.\\r\\nWe’ll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio,\\r\\nThe narrow-prying father, Minola,\\r\\nThe quaint musician, amorous Licio;\\r\\nAll for my master’s sake, Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Gremio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSignior Gremio, came you from the church?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAs willingly as e’er I came from school.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd is the bride and bridegroom coming home?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nA bridegroom, say you? ’Tis a groom indeed,\\r\\nA grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nCurster than she? Why, ’tis impossible.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWhy, he’s a devil, a devil, a very fiend.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhy, she’s a devil, a devil, the devil’s dam.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nTut! she’s a lamb, a dove, a fool, to him.\\r\\nI’ll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priest\\r\\nShould ask if Katherine should be his wife,\\r\\n’Ay, by gogs-wouns’ quoth he, and swore so loud\\r\\nThat, all amaz’d, the priest let fall the book;\\r\\nAnd as he stoop’d again to take it up,\\r\\nThe mad-brain’d bridegroom took him such a cuff\\r\\nThat down fell priest and book, and book and priest:\\r\\n‘Now take them up,’ quoth he ‘if any list.’\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhat said the wench, when he rose again?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nTrembled and shook, for why, he stamp’d and swore\\r\\nAs if the vicar meant to cozen him.\\r\\nBut after many ceremonies done,\\r\\nHe calls for wine: ‘A health!’ quoth he, as if\\r\\nHe had been abroad, carousing to his mates\\r\\nAfter a storm; quaff’d off the muscadel,\\r\\nAnd threw the sops all in the sexton’s face,\\r\\nHaving no other reason\\r\\nBut that his beard grew thin and hungerly\\r\\nAnd seem’d to ask him sops as he was drinking.\\r\\nThis done, he took the bride about the neck,\\r\\nAnd kiss’d her lips with such a clamorous smack\\r\\nThat at the parting all the church did echo.\\r\\nAnd I, seeing this, came thence for very shame;\\r\\nAnd after me, I know, the rout is coming.\\r\\nSuch a mad marriage never was before.\\r\\nHark, hark! I hear the minstrels play.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Music plays._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petrucio, Katherina, Bianca, Baptista, Hortensio, Grumio and\\r\\nTrain.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains:\\r\\nI know you think to dine with me today,\\r\\nAnd have prepar’d great store of wedding cheer\\r\\nBut so it is, my haste doth call me hence,\\r\\nAnd therefore here I mean to take my leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nIs’t possible you will away tonight?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI must away today before night come.\\r\\nMake it no wonder: if you knew my business,\\r\\nYou would entreat me rather go than stay.\\r\\nAnd, honest company, I thank you all,\\r\\nThat have beheld me give away myself\\r\\nTo this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife.\\r\\nDine with my father, drink a health to me.\\r\\nFor I must hence; and farewell to you all.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nLet us entreat you stay till after dinner.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nIt may not be.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nLet me entreat you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nIt cannot be.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nLet me entreat you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI am content.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nAre you content to stay?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI am content you shall entreat me stay;\\r\\nBut yet not stay, entreat me how you can.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNow, if you love me, stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGrumio, my horse!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nAy, sir, they be ready; the oats have eaten the horses.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNay, then,\\r\\nDo what thou canst, I will not go today;\\r\\nNo, nor tomorrow, not till I please myself.\\r\\nThe door is open, sir; there lies your way;\\r\\nYou may be jogging whiles your boots are green;\\r\\nFor me, I’ll not be gone till I please myself.\\r\\n’Tis like you’ll prove a jolly surly groom\\r\\nThat take it on you at the first so roundly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nO Kate! content thee: prithee be not angry.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI will be angry: what hast thou to do?\\r\\nFather, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAy, marry, sir, now it begins to work.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nGentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner:\\r\\nI see a woman may be made a fool,\\r\\nIf she had not a spirit to resist.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThey shall go forward, Kate, at thy command.\\r\\nObey the bride, you that attend on her;\\r\\nGo to the feast, revel and domineer,\\r\\nCarouse full measure to her maidenhead,\\r\\nBe mad and merry, or go hang yourselves:\\r\\nBut for my bonny Kate, she must with me.\\r\\nNay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret;\\r\\nI will be master of what is mine own.\\r\\nShe is my goods, my chattels; she is my house,\\r\\nMy household stuff, my field, my barn,\\r\\nMy horse, my ox, my ass, my anything;\\r\\nAnd here she stands, touch her whoever dare;\\r\\nI’ll bring mine action on the proudest he\\r\\nThat stops my way in Padua. Grumio,\\r\\nDraw forth thy weapon; we are beset with thieves;\\r\\nRescue thy mistress, if thou be a man.\\r\\nFear not, sweet wench; they shall not touch thee, Kate;\\r\\nI’ll buckler thee against a million.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Petrucio, Katherina and Grumio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nWent they not quickly, I should die with laughing.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nOf all mad matches, never was the like.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nMistress, what’s your opinion of your sister?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nThat, being mad herself, she’s madly mated.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI warrant him, Petruchio is Kated.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNeighbours and friends, though bride and bridegroom wants\\r\\nFor to supply the places at the table,\\r\\nYou know there wants no junkets at the feast.\\r\\nLucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom’s place;\\r\\nAnd let Bianca take her sister’s room.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nShall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nShe shall, Lucentio. Come, gentlemen, let’s go.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. A hall in PETRUCHIO’S country house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nFie, fie on all tired jades, on all mad masters, and all foul ways! Was\\r\\never man so beaten? Was ever man so ray’d? Was ever man so weary? I am\\r\\nsent before to make a fire, and they are coming after to warm them.\\r\\nNow, were not I a little pot and soon hot, my very lips might freeze to\\r\\nmy teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere\\r\\nI should come by a fire to thaw me. But I with blowing the fire shall\\r\\nwarm myself; for, considering the weather, a taller man than I will\\r\\ntake cold. Holla, ho! Curtis!\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Curtis.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nWho is that calls so coldly?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nA piece of ice: if thou doubt it, thou mayst slide from my shoulder to\\r\\nmy heel with no greater a run but my head and my neck. A fire, good\\r\\nCurtis.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nIs my master and his wife coming, Grumio?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nO, ay! Curtis, ay; and therefore fire, fire; cast on no water.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nIs she so hot a shrew as she’s reported?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nShe was, good Curtis, before this frost; but thou knowest winter tames\\r\\nman, woman, and beast; for it hath tamed my old master, and my new\\r\\nmistress, and myself, fellow Curtis.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nAway, you three-inch fool! I am no beast.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nAm I but three inches? Why, thy horn is a foot; and so long am I at the\\r\\nleast. But wilt thou make a fire, or shall I complain on thee to our\\r\\nmistress, whose hand,—she being now at hand,— thou shalt soon feel, to\\r\\nthy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nI prithee, good Grumio, tell me, how goes the world?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nA cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; and therefore fire. Do\\r\\nthy duty, and have thy duty, for my master and mistress are almost\\r\\nfrozen to death.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nThere’s fire ready; and therefore, good Grumio, the news.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhy, ‘Jack boy! ho, boy!’ and as much news as wilt thou.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nCome, you are so full of cony-catching.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhy, therefore, fire; for I have caught extreme cold. Where’s the cook?\\r\\nIs supper ready, the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept, the\\r\\nservingmen in their new fustian, their white stockings, and every\\r\\nofficer his wedding-garment on? Be the Jacks fair within, the Jills\\r\\nfair without, and carpets laid, and everything in order?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nAll ready; and therefore, I pray thee, news.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nFirst, know my horse is tired; my master and mistress fallen out.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nHow?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nOut of their saddles into the dirt; and thereby hangs a tale.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nLet’s ha’t, good Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nLend thine ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nHere.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\n[_Striking him._] There.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nThis ’tis to feel a tale, not to hear a tale.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nAnd therefore ’tis called a sensible tale; and this cuff was but to\\r\\nknock at your ear and beseech listening. Now I begin: _Imprimis_, we\\r\\ncame down a foul hill, my master riding behind my mistress,—\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nBoth of one horse?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhat’s that to thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nWhy, a horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nTell thou the tale: but hadst thou not crossed me, thou shouldst have\\r\\nheard how her horse fell, and she under her horse; thou shouldst have\\r\\nheard in how miry a place, how she was bemoiled; how he left her with\\r\\nthe horse upon her; how he beat me because her horse stumbled; how she\\r\\nwaded through the dirt to pluck him off me: how he swore; how she\\r\\nprayed, that never prayed before; how I cried; how the horses ran away;\\r\\nhow her bridle was burst; how I lost my crupper; with many things of\\r\\nworthy memory, which now shall die in oblivion, and thou return\\r\\nunexperienced to thy grave.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nBy this reckoning he is more shrew than she.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nAy; and that thou and the proudest of you all shall find when he comes\\r\\nhome. But what talk I of this? Call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas,\\r\\nPhilip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest; let their heads be sleekly\\r\\ncombed, their blue coats brush’d and their garters of an indifferent\\r\\nknit; let them curtsy with their left legs, and not presume to touch a\\r\\nhair of my master’s horse-tail till they kiss their hands. Are they all\\r\\nready?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nThey are.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nCall them forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nDo you hear? ho! You must meet my master to countenance my mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhy, she hath a face of her own.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nWho knows not that?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nThou, it seems, that calls for company to countenance her.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nI call them forth to credit her.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhy, she comes to borrow nothing of them.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter four or five Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nNATHANIEL.\\r\\nWelcome home, Grumio!\\r\\n\\r\\nPHILIP.\\r\\nHow now, Grumio!\\r\\n\\r\\nJOSEPH.\\r\\nWhat, Grumio!\\r\\n\\r\\nNICHOLAS.\\r\\nFellow Grumio!\\r\\n\\r\\nNATHANIEL.\\r\\nHow now, old lad!\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWelcome, you; how now, you; what, you; fellow, you; and thus much for\\r\\ngreeting. Now, my spruce companions, is all ready, and all things neat?\\r\\n\\r\\nNATHANIEL.\\r\\nAll things is ready. How near is our master?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nE’en at hand, alighted by this; and therefore be not,—\\r\\nCock’s passion, silence! I hear my master.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petrucio and Katherina.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhere be these knaves? What! no man at door\\r\\nTo hold my stirrup nor to take my horse?\\r\\nWhere is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip?—\\r\\n\\r\\nALL SERVANTS.\\r\\nHere, here, sir; here, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHere, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sir!\\r\\nYou logger-headed and unpolish’d grooms!\\r\\nWhat, no attendance? no regard? no duty?\\r\\nWhere is the foolish knave I sent before?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nHere, sir; as foolish as I was before.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nYou peasant swain! you whoreson malt-horse drudge!\\r\\nDid I not bid thee meet me in the park,\\r\\nAnd bring along these rascal knaves with thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nNathaniel’s coat, sir, was not fully made,\\r\\nAnd Gabriel’s pumps were all unpink’d i’ the heel;\\r\\nThere was no link to colour Peter’s hat,\\r\\nAnd Walter’s dagger was not come from sheathing;\\r\\nThere was none fine but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory;\\r\\nThe rest were ragged, old, and beggarly;\\r\\nYet, as they are, here are they come to meet you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGo, rascals, go and fetch my supper in.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt some of the Servants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhere is the life that late I led?\\r\\n Where are those—? Sit down, Kate, and welcome.\\r\\nFood, food, food, food!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Servants with supper.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhy, when, I say?—Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry.—\\r\\nOff with my boots, you rogues! you villains! when?\\r\\n It was the friar of orders grey,\\r\\n As he forth walked on his way:\\r\\nOut, you rogue! you pluck my foot awry:\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Strikes him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTake that, and mend the plucking off the other.\\r\\nBe merry, Kate. Some water, here; what, ho!\\r\\nWhere’s my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you hence\\r\\nAnd bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither:\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOne, Kate, that you must kiss and be acquainted with.\\r\\nWhere are my slippers? Shall I have some water?\\r\\nCome, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Servant lets the ewer fall. Petruchio strikes him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nYou whoreson villain! will you let it fall?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nPatience, I pray you; ’twas a fault unwilling.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA whoreson, beetle-headed, flap-ear’d knave!\\r\\nCome, Kate, sit down; I know you have a stomach.\\r\\nWill you give thanks, sweet Kate, or else shall I?—\\r\\nWhat’s this? Mutton?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST SERVANT.\\r\\nAy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWho brought it?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nI.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\n’Tis burnt; and so is all the meat.\\r\\nWhat dogs are these! Where is the rascal cook?\\r\\nHow durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser,\\r\\nAnd serve it thus to me that love it not?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Throws the meat, etc., at them._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThere, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all.\\r\\nYou heedless joltheads and unmanner’d slaves!\\r\\nWhat! do you grumble? I’ll be with you straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI pray you, husband, be not so disquiet;\\r\\nThe meat was well, if you were so contented.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI tell thee, Kate, ’twas burnt and dried away,\\r\\nAnd I expressly am forbid to touch it;\\r\\nFor it engenders choler, planteth anger;\\r\\nAnd better ’twere that both of us did fast,\\r\\nSince, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric,\\r\\nThan feed it with such over-roasted flesh.\\r\\nBe patient; tomorrow ’t shall be mended.\\r\\nAnd for this night we’ll fast for company:\\r\\nCome, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Petruchio, Katherina and Curtis._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNATHANIEL.\\r\\nPeter, didst ever see the like?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETER.\\r\\nHe kills her in her own humour.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Curtis.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhere is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURTIS.\\r\\nIn her chamber, making a sermon of continency to her;\\r\\nAnd rails, and swears, and rates, that she, poor soul,\\r\\nKnows not which way to stand, to look, to speak,\\r\\nAnd sits as one new risen from a dream.\\r\\nAway, away! for he is coming hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Petruchio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThus have I politicly begun my reign,\\r\\nAnd ’tis my hope to end successfully.\\r\\nMy falcon now is sharp and passing empty.\\r\\nAnd till she stoop she must not be full-gorg’d,\\r\\nFor then she never looks upon her lure.\\r\\nAnother way I have to man my haggard,\\r\\nTo make her come, and know her keeper’s call,\\r\\nThat is, to watch her, as we watch these kites\\r\\nThat bate and beat, and will not be obedient.\\r\\nShe eat no meat today, nor none shall eat;\\r\\nLast night she slept not, nor tonight she shall not;\\r\\nAs with the meat, some undeserved fault\\r\\nI’ll find about the making of the bed;\\r\\nAnd here I’ll fling the pillow, there the bolster,\\r\\nThis way the coverlet, another way the sheets;\\r\\nAy, and amid this hurly I intend\\r\\nThat all is done in reverend care of her;\\r\\nAnd, in conclusion, she shall watch all night:\\r\\nAnd if she chance to nod I’ll rail and brawl,\\r\\nAnd with the clamour keep her still awake.\\r\\nThis is a way to kill a wife with kindness;\\r\\nAnd thus I’ll curb her mad and headstrong humour.\\r\\nHe that knows better how to tame a shrew,\\r\\nNow let him speak; ’tis charity to show.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Padua. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Tranio and Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nIs ’t possible, friend Licio, that Mistress Bianca\\r\\nDoth fancy any other but Lucentio?\\r\\nI tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSir, to satisfy you in what I have said,\\r\\nStand by and mark the manner of his teaching.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They stand aside._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Bianca and Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nNow, mistress, profit you in what you read?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nWhat, master, read you? First resolve me that.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI read that I profess, _The Art to Love_.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nAnd may you prove, sir, master of your art!\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nWhile you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They retire._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nQuick proceeders, marry! Now tell me, I pray,\\r\\nYou that durst swear that your Mistress Bianca\\r\\nLov’d none in the world so well as Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nO despiteful love! unconstant womankind!\\r\\nI tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMistake no more; I am not Licio.\\r\\nNor a musician as I seem to be;\\r\\nBut one that scorn to live in this disguise\\r\\nFor such a one as leaves a gentleman\\r\\nAnd makes a god of such a cullion:\\r\\nKnow, sir, that I am call’d Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSignior Hortensio, I have often heard\\r\\nOf your entire affection to Bianca;\\r\\nAnd since mine eyes are witness of her lightness,\\r\\nI will with you, if you be so contented,\\r\\nForswear Bianca and her love for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSee, how they kiss and court! Signior Lucentio,\\r\\nHere is my hand, and here I firmly vow\\r\\nNever to woo her more, but do forswear her,\\r\\nAs one unworthy all the former favours\\r\\nThat I have fondly flatter’d her withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd here I take the like unfeigned oath,\\r\\nNever to marry with her though she would entreat;\\r\\nFie on her! See how beastly she doth court him!\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nWould all the world but he had quite forsworn!\\r\\nFor me, that I may surely keep mine oath,\\r\\nI will be married to a wealthy widow\\r\\nEre three days pass, which hath as long lov’d me\\r\\nAs I have lov’d this proud disdainful haggard.\\r\\nAnd so farewell, Signior Lucentio.\\r\\nKindness in women, not their beauteous looks,\\r\\nShall win my love; and so I take my leave,\\r\\nIn resolution as I swore before.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Hortensio. Lucentio and Bianca advance._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMistress Bianca, bless you with such grace\\r\\nAs ’longeth to a lover’s blessed case!\\r\\nNay, I have ta’en you napping, gentle love,\\r\\nAnd have forsworn you with Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nTranio, you jest; but have you both forsworn me?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nMistress, we have.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nThen we are rid of Licio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nI’ faith, he’ll have a lusty widow now,\\r\\nThat shall be woo’d and wedded in a day.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nGod give him joy!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAy, and he’ll tame her.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nHe says so, Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nFaith, he is gone unto the taming-school.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nThe taming-school! What, is there such a place?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAy, mistress; and Petruchio is the master,\\r\\nThat teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long,\\r\\nTo tame a shrew and charm her chattering tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Biondello, running.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nO master, master! I have watch’d so long\\r\\nThat I am dog-weary; but at last I spied\\r\\nAn ancient angel coming down the hill\\r\\nWill serve the turn.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhat is he, Biondello?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nMaster, a mercatante or a pedant,\\r\\nI know not what; but formal in apparel,\\r\\nIn gait and countenance surely like a father.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAnd what of him, Tranio?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nIf he be credulous and trust my tale,\\r\\nI’ll make him glad to seem Vincentio,\\r\\nAnd give assurance to Baptista Minola,\\r\\nAs if he were the right Vincentio.\\r\\nTake in your love, and then let me alone.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Lucentio and Bianca._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a Pedant.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nGod save you, sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAnd you, sir! you are welcome.\\r\\nTravel you far on, or are you at the farthest?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nSir, at the farthest for a week or two;\\r\\nBut then up farther, and as far as Rome;\\r\\nAnd so to Tripoli, if God lend me life.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWhat countryman, I pray?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nOf Mantua.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nOf Mantua, sir? Marry, God forbid,\\r\\nAnd come to Padua, careless of your life!\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nMy life, sir! How, I pray? for that goes hard.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n’Tis death for anyone in Mantua\\r\\nTo come to Padua. Know you not the cause?\\r\\nYour ships are stay’d at Venice; and the Duke,—\\r\\nFor private quarrel ’twixt your Duke and him,—\\r\\nHath publish’d and proclaim’d it openly.\\r\\n’Tis marvel, but that you are but newly come\\r\\nYou might have heard it else proclaim’d about.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nAlas, sir! it is worse for me than so;\\r\\nFor I have bills for money by exchange\\r\\nFrom Florence, and must here deliver them.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nWell, sir, to do you courtesy,\\r\\nThis will I do, and this I will advise you:\\r\\nFirst, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nAy, sir, in Pisa have I often been,\\r\\nPisa renowned for grave citizens.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nAmong them know you one Vincentio?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nI know him not, but I have heard of him,\\r\\nA merchant of incomparable wealth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nHe is my father, sir; and, sooth to say,\\r\\nIn countenance somewhat doth resemble you.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] As much as an apple doth an oyster, and all one.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nTo save your life in this extremity,\\r\\nThis favour will I do you for his sake;\\r\\nAnd think it not the worst of all your fortunes\\r\\nThat you are like to Sir Vincentio.\\r\\nHis name and credit shall you undertake,\\r\\nAnd in my house you shall be friendly lodg’d;\\r\\nLook that you take upon you as you should!\\r\\nYou understand me, sir; so shall you stay\\r\\nTill you have done your business in the city.\\r\\nIf this be courtesy, sir, accept of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nO, sir, I do; and will repute you ever\\r\\nThe patron of my life and liberty.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThen go with me to make the matter good.\\r\\nThis, by the way, I let you understand:\\r\\nMy father is here look’d for every day\\r\\nTo pass assurance of a dower in marriage\\r\\n’Twixt me and one Baptista’s daughter here:\\r\\nIn all these circumstances I’ll instruct you.\\r\\nGo with me to clothe you as becomes you.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A room in PETRUCHIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Katherina and Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nNo, no, forsooth; I dare not for my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThe more my wrong, the more his spite appears.\\r\\nWhat, did he marry me to famish me?\\r\\nBeggars that come unto my father’s door\\r\\nUpon entreaty have a present alms;\\r\\nIf not, elsewhere they meet with charity;\\r\\nBut I, who never knew how to entreat,\\r\\nNor never needed that I should entreat,\\r\\nAm starv’d for meat, giddy for lack of sleep;\\r\\nWith oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed.\\r\\nAnd that which spites me more than all these wants,\\r\\nHe does it under name of perfect love;\\r\\nAs who should say, if I should sleep or eat\\r\\n’Twere deadly sickness, or else present death.\\r\\nI prithee go and get me some repast;\\r\\nI care not what, so it be wholesome food.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhat say you to a neat’s foot?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\n’Tis passing good; I prithee let me have it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI fear it is too choleric a meat.\\r\\nHow say you to a fat tripe finely broil’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI like it well; good Grumio, fetch it me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI cannot tell; I fear ’tis choleric.\\r\\nWhat say you to a piece of beef and mustard?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nA dish that I do love to feed upon.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nAy, but the mustard is too hot a little.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhy then the beef, and let the mustard rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nNay, then I will not: you shall have the mustard,\\r\\nOr else you get no beef of Grumio.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThen both, or one, or anything thou wilt.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nWhy then the mustard without the beef.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nGo, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave,\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Beats him._]\\r\\n\\r\\nThat feed’st me with the very name of meat.\\r\\nSorrow on thee and all the pack of you\\r\\nThat triumph thus upon my misery!\\r\\nGo, get thee gone, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petruchio with a dish of meat; and Hortensio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHow fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMistress, what cheer?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nFaith, as cold as can be.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nPluck up thy spirits; look cheerfully upon me.\\r\\nHere, love; thou seest how diligent I am,\\r\\nTo dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee:\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sets the dish on a table._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks.\\r\\nWhat! not a word? Nay, then thou lov’st it not,\\r\\nAnd all my pains is sorted to no proof.\\r\\nHere, take away this dish.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI pray you, let it stand.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThe poorest service is repaid with thanks;\\r\\nAnd so shall mine, before you touch the meat.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI thank you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSignior Petruchio, fie! you are to blame.\\r\\nCome, Mistress Kate, I’ll bear you company.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lovest me.\\r\\nMuch good do it unto thy gentle heart!\\r\\nKate, eat apace: and now, my honey love,\\r\\nWill we return unto thy father’s house\\r\\nAnd revel it as bravely as the best,\\r\\nWith silken coats and caps, and golden rings,\\r\\nWith ruffs and cuffs and farthingales and things;\\r\\nWith scarfs and fans and double change of bravery,\\r\\nWith amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery.\\r\\nWhat! hast thou din’d? The tailor stays thy leisure,\\r\\nTo deck thy body with his ruffling treasure.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Tailor.\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, tailor, let us see these ornaments;\\r\\nLay forth the gown.—\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Haberdasher.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat news with you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nHABERDASHER.\\r\\nHere is the cap your worship did bespeak.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, this was moulded on a porringer;\\r\\nA velvet dish: fie, fie! ’tis lewd and filthy:\\r\\nWhy, ’tis a cockle or a walnut-shell,\\r\\nA knack, a toy, a trick, a baby’s cap:\\r\\nAway with it! come, let me have a bigger.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI’ll have no bigger; this doth fit the time,\\r\\nAnd gentlewomen wear such caps as these.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhen you are gentle, you shall have one too,\\r\\nAnd not till then.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n[_Aside_] That will not be in haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhy, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak;\\r\\nAnd speak I will. I am no child, no babe.\\r\\nYour betters have endur’d me say my mind,\\r\\nAnd if you cannot, best you stop your ears.\\r\\nMy tongue will tell the anger of my heart,\\r\\nOr else my heart, concealing it, will break;\\r\\nAnd rather than it shall, I will be free\\r\\nEven to the uttermost, as I please, in words.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, thou say’st true; it is a paltry cap,\\r\\nA custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie;\\r\\nI love thee well in that thou lik’st it not.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nLove me or love me not, I like the cap;\\r\\nAnd it I will have, or I will have none.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Haberdasher._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThy gown? Why, ay: come, tailor, let us see’t.\\r\\nO mercy, God! what masquing stuff is here?\\r\\nWhat’s this? A sleeve? ’Tis like a demi-cannon.\\r\\nWhat, up and down, carv’d like an apple tart?\\r\\nHere’s snip and nip and cut and slish and slash,\\r\\nLike to a censer in a barber’s shop.\\r\\nWhy, what i’ devil’s name, tailor, call’st thou this?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n[_Aside_] I see she’s like to have neither cap nor gown.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nYou bid me make it orderly and well,\\r\\nAccording to the fashion and the time.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nMarry, and did; but if you be remember’d,\\r\\nI did not bid you mar it to the time.\\r\\nGo, hop me over every kennel home,\\r\\nFor you shall hop without my custom, sir.\\r\\nI’ll none of it: hence! make your best of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI never saw a better fashion’d gown,\\r\\nMore quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable;\\r\\nBelike you mean to make a puppet of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, true; he means to make a puppet of thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nShe says your worship means to make a puppet of her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nO monstrous arrogance! Thou liest, thou thread,\\r\\nThou thimble,\\r\\nThou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail!\\r\\nThou flea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket thou!\\r\\nBrav’d in mine own house with a skein of thread!\\r\\nAway! thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant,\\r\\nOr I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard\\r\\nAs thou shalt think on prating whilst thou liv’st!\\r\\nI tell thee, I, that thou hast marr’d her gown.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nYour worship is deceiv’d: the gown is made\\r\\nJust as my master had direction.\\r\\nGrumio gave order how it should be done.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI gave him no order; I gave him the stuff.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nBut how did you desire it should be made?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nMarry, sir, with needle and thread.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nBut did you not request to have it cut?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nThou hast faced many things.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nI have.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nFace not me. Thou hast braved many men; brave not me: I will neither be\\r\\nfac’d nor brav’d. I say unto thee, I bid thy master cut out the gown;\\r\\nbut I did not bid him cut it to pieces: ergo, thou liest.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nWhy, here is the note of the fashion to testify.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nRead it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nThe note lies in ’s throat, if he say I said so.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\n’Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown.’\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nMaster, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, sew me in the skirts of it\\r\\nand beat me to death with a bottom of brown thread; I said, a gown.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nProceed.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\n’With a small compassed cape.’\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI confess the cape.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\n’With a trunk sleeve.’\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI confess two sleeves.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\n’The sleeves curiously cut.’\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nAy, there’s the villainy.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nError i’ the bill, sir; error i’ the bill. I commanded the sleeves\\r\\nshould be cut out, and sew’d up again; and that I’ll prove upon thee,\\r\\nthough thy little finger be armed in a thimble.\\r\\n\\r\\nTAILOR.\\r\\nThis is true that I say; and I had thee in place where thou shouldst\\r\\nknow it.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nI am for thee straight; take thou the bill, give me thy mete-yard, and\\r\\nspare not me.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nGod-a-mercy, Grumio! Then he shall have no odds.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWell, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nYou are i’ the right, sir; ’tis for my mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGo, take it up unto thy master’s use.\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nVillain, not for thy life! Take up my mistress’ gown for thy master’s\\r\\nuse!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, sir, what’s your conceit in that?\\r\\n\\r\\nGRUMIO.\\r\\nO, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for.\\r\\nTake up my mistress’ gown to his master’s use!\\r\\nO fie, fie, fie!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\n[_Aside_] Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor paid.\\r\\n[_To Tailor._] Go take it hence; be gone, and say no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Tailor._] Tailor, I’ll pay thee for thy gown tomorrow;\\r\\nTake no unkindness of his hasty words.\\r\\nAway, I say! commend me to thy master.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Tailor._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWell, come, my Kate; we will unto your father’s\\r\\nEven in these honest mean habiliments.\\r\\nOur purses shall be proud, our garments poor\\r\\nFor ’tis the mind that makes the body rich;\\r\\nAnd as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,\\r\\nSo honour peereth in the meanest habit.\\r\\nWhat, is the jay more precious than the lark\\r\\nBecause his feathers are more beautiful?\\r\\nOr is the adder better than the eel\\r\\nBecause his painted skin contents the eye?\\r\\nO no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse\\r\\nFor this poor furniture and mean array.\\r\\nIf thou account’st it shame, lay it on me;\\r\\nAnd therefore frolic; we will hence forthwith,\\r\\nTo feast and sport us at thy father’s house.\\r\\nGo call my men, and let us straight to him;\\r\\nAnd bring our horses unto Long-lane end;\\r\\nThere will we mount, and thither walk on foot.\\r\\nLet’s see; I think ’tis now some seven o’clock,\\r\\nAnd well we may come there by dinner-time.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI dare assure you, sir, ’tis almost two,\\r\\nAnd ’twill be supper-time ere you come there.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nIt shall be seven ere I go to horse.\\r\\nLook what I speak, or do, or think to do,\\r\\nYou are still crossing it. Sirs, let ’t alone:\\r\\nI will not go today; and ere I do,\\r\\nIt shall be what o’clock I say it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nWhy, so this gallant will command the sun.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Padua. Before BAPTISTA’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Tranio and the Pedant dressed like Vincentio\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSir, this is the house; please it you that I call?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nAy, what else? and, but I be deceived,\\r\\nSignior Baptista may remember me,\\r\\nNear twenty years ago in Genoa,\\r\\nWhere we were lodgers at the Pegasus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n’Tis well; and hold your own, in any case,\\r\\nWith such austerity as ’longeth to a father.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nI warrant you. But, sir, here comes your boy;\\r\\n’Twere good he were school’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nFear you not him. Sirrah Biondello,\\r\\nNow do your duty throughly, I advise you.\\r\\nImagine ’twere the right Vincentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nTut! fear not me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nBut hast thou done thy errand to Baptista?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI told him that your father was at Venice,\\r\\nAnd that you look’d for him this day in Padua.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nTh’art a tall fellow; hold thee that to drink.\\r\\nHere comes Baptista. Set your countenance, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Baptista and Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSignior Baptista, you are happily met.\\r\\n[_To the Pedant_] Sir, this is the gentleman I told you of;\\r\\nI pray you stand good father to me now;\\r\\nGive me Bianca for my patrimony.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nSoft, son!\\r\\nSir, by your leave: having come to Padua\\r\\nTo gather in some debts, my son Lucentio\\r\\nMade me acquainted with a weighty cause\\r\\nOf love between your daughter and himself:\\r\\nAnd,—for the good report I hear of you,\\r\\nAnd for the love he beareth to your daughter,\\r\\nAnd she to him,—to stay him not too long,\\r\\nI am content, in a good father’s care,\\r\\nTo have him match’d; and, if you please to like\\r\\nNo worse than I, upon some agreement\\r\\nMe shall you find ready and willing\\r\\nWith one consent to have her so bestow’d;\\r\\nFor curious I cannot be with you,\\r\\nSignior Baptista, of whom I hear so well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nSir, pardon me in what I have to say.\\r\\nYour plainness and your shortness please me well.\\r\\nRight true it is your son Lucentio here\\r\\nDoth love my daughter, and she loveth him,\\r\\nOr both dissemble deeply their affections;\\r\\nAnd therefore, if you say no more than this,\\r\\nThat like a father you will deal with him,\\r\\nAnd pass my daughter a sufficient dower,\\r\\nThe match is made, and all is done:\\r\\nYour son shall have my daughter with consent.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nI thank you, sir. Where then do you know best\\r\\nWe be affied, and such assurance ta’en\\r\\nAs shall with either part’s agreement stand?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNot in my house, Lucentio, for you know\\r\\nPitchers have ears, and I have many servants;\\r\\nBesides, old Gremio is hearkening still,\\r\\nAnd happily we might be interrupted.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThen at my lodging, and it like you:\\r\\nThere doth my father lie; and there this night\\r\\nWe’ll pass the business privately and well.\\r\\nSend for your daughter by your servant here;\\r\\nMy boy shall fetch the scrivener presently.\\r\\nThe worst is this, that at so slender warning\\r\\nYou are like to have a thin and slender pittance.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nIt likes me well. Cambio, hie you home,\\r\\nAnd bid Bianca make her ready straight;\\r\\nAnd, if you will, tell what hath happened:\\r\\nLucentio’s father is arriv’d in Padua,\\r\\nAnd how she’s like to be Lucentio’s wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI pray the gods she may, with all my heart!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nDally not with the gods, but get thee gone.\\r\\nSignior Baptista, shall I lead the way?\\r\\nWelcome! One mess is like to be your cheer;\\r\\nCome, sir; we will better it in Pisa.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nI follow you.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Tranio, Pedant and Baptista._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nCambio!\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nWhat say’st thou, Biondello?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nYou saw my master wink and laugh upon you?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nBiondello, what of that?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nFaith, nothing; but has left me here behind to expound the meaning or\\r\\nmoral of his signs and tokens.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI pray thee moralize them.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nThen thus: Baptista is safe, talking with the deceiving father of a\\r\\ndeceitful son.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAnd what of him?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nHis daughter is to be brought by you to the supper.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAnd then?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nThe old priest at Saint Luke’s church is at your command at all hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAnd what of all this?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI cannot tell, except they are busied about a counterfeit assurance.\\r\\nTake your assurance of her, _cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum_; to\\r\\nthe church! take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient honest\\r\\nwitnesses.\\r\\nIf this be not that you look for, I have more to say,\\r\\nBut bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Going._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nHear’st thou, Biondello?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI cannot tarry: I knew a wench married in an afternoon as she went to\\r\\nthe garden for parsley to stuff a rabbit; and so may you, sir; and so\\r\\nadieu, sir. My master hath appointed me to go to Saint Luke’s to bid\\r\\nthe priest be ready to come against you come with your appendix.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI may, and will, if she be so contented.\\r\\nShe will be pleas’d; then wherefore should I doubt?\\r\\nHap what hap may, I’ll roundly go about her;\\r\\nIt shall go hard if Cambio go without her:\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. A public road.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petruchio, Katherina, Hortensio and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome on, i’ God’s name; once more toward our father’s.\\r\\nGood Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon!\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThe moon! The sun; it is not moonlight now.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI say it is the moon that shines so bright.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI know it is the sun that shines so bright.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNow by my mother’s son, and that’s myself,\\r\\nIt shall be moon, or star, or what I list,\\r\\nOr ere I journey to your father’s house.\\r\\nGo on and fetch our horses back again.\\r\\nEvermore cross’d and cross’d; nothing but cross’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSay as he says, or we shall never go.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nForward, I pray, since we have come so far,\\r\\nAnd be it moon, or sun, or what you please;\\r\\nAnd if you please to call it a rush-candle,\\r\\nHenceforth I vow it shall be so for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI say it is the moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nI know it is the moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, then you lie; it is the blessed sun.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThen, God be bless’d, it is the blessed sun;\\r\\nBut sun it is not when you say it is not,\\r\\nAnd the moon changes even as your mind.\\r\\nWhat you will have it nam’d, even that it is,\\r\\nAnd so it shall be so for Katherine.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nPetruchio, go thy ways; the field is won.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWell, forward, forward! thus the bowl should run,\\r\\nAnd not unluckily against the bias.\\r\\nBut, soft! Company is coming here.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Vincentio, in a travelling dress.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_To Vincentio_] Good morrow, gentle mistress; where away?\\r\\nTell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too,\\r\\nHast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman?\\r\\nSuch war of white and red within her cheeks!\\r\\nWhat stars do spangle heaven with such beauty\\r\\nAs those two eyes become that heavenly face?\\r\\nFair lovely maid, once more good day to thee.\\r\\nSweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty’s sake.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nA will make the man mad, to make a woman of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nYoung budding virgin, fair and fresh and sweet,\\r\\nWhither away, or where is thy abode?\\r\\nHappy the parents of so fair a child;\\r\\nHappier the man whom favourable stars\\r\\nAllot thee for his lovely bedfellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, how now, Kate! I hope thou art not mad:\\r\\nThis is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither’d,\\r\\nAnd not a maiden, as thou sayst he is.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nPardon, old father, my mistaking eyes,\\r\\nThat have been so bedazzled with the sun\\r\\nThat everything I look on seemeth green:\\r\\nNow I perceive thou art a reverend father;\\r\\nPardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nDo, good old grandsire, and withal make known\\r\\nWhich way thou travellest: if along with us,\\r\\nWe shall be joyful of thy company.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nFair sir, and you my merry mistress,\\r\\nThat with your strange encounter much amaz’d me,\\r\\nMy name is called Vincentio; my dwelling Pisa;\\r\\nAnd bound I am to Padua, there to visit\\r\\nA son of mine, which long I have not seen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhat is his name?\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nLucentio, gentle sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHappily met; the happier for thy son.\\r\\nAnd now by law, as well as reverend age,\\r\\nI may entitle thee my loving father:\\r\\nThe sister to my wife, this gentlewoman,\\r\\nThy son by this hath married. Wonder not,\\r\\nNor be not griev’d: she is of good esteem,\\r\\nHer dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth;\\r\\nBeside, so qualified as may beseem\\r\\nThe spouse of any noble gentleman.\\r\\nLet me embrace with old Vincentio;\\r\\nAnd wander we to see thy honest son,\\r\\nWho will of thy arrival be full joyous.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nBut is this true? or is it else your pleasure,\\r\\nLike pleasant travellers, to break a jest\\r\\nUpon the company you overtake?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI do assure thee, father, so it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome, go along, and see the truth hereof;\\r\\nFor our first merriment hath made thee jealous.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt all but Hortensio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nWell, Petruchio, this has put me in heart.\\r\\nHave to my widow! and if she be froward,\\r\\nThen hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Padua. Before LUCENTIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter on one side Biondello, Lucentio and Bianca; Gremio walking on\\r\\nother side.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nSoftly and swiftly, sir, for the priest is ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI fly, Biondello; but they may chance to need thee at home, therefore\\r\\nleave us.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nNay, faith, I’ll see the church o’ your back; and then come back to my\\r\\nmaster’s as soon as I can.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Lucentio, Bianca and Biondello._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nI marvel Cambio comes not all this while.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Petruchio, Katherina, Vincentio and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSir, here’s the door; this is Lucentio’s house:\\r\\nMy father’s bears more toward the market-place;\\r\\nThither must I, and here I leave you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nYou shall not choose but drink before you go.\\r\\nI think I shall command your welcome here,\\r\\nAnd by all likelihood some cheer is toward.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Knocks._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nThey’re busy within; you were best knock louder.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Pedant above, at a window.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nWhat’s he that knocks as he would beat down the gate?\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nIs Signior Lucentio within, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nHe’s within, sir, but not to be spoken withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nWhat if a man bring him a hundred pound or two to make merry withal?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nKeep your hundred pounds to yourself: he shall need none so long as I\\r\\nlive.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, I told you your son was well beloved in Padua. Do you hear, sir?\\r\\nTo leave frivolous circumstances, I pray you tell Signior Lucentio that\\r\\nhis father is come from Pisa, and is here at the door to speak with\\r\\nhim.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nThou liest: his father is come from Padua, and here looking out at the\\r\\nwindow.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nArt thou his father?\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nAy, sir; so his mother says, if I may believe her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\n[_To Vincentio_] Why, how now, gentleman! why, this is flat knavery to\\r\\ntake upon you another man’s name.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nLay hands on the villain: I believe a means to cozen somebody in this\\r\\ncity under my countenance.\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI have seen them in the church together: God send ’em good shipping!\\r\\nBut who is here? Mine old master, Vincentio! Now we are undone and\\r\\nbrought to nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\n[_Seeing Biondello._] Come hither, crack-hemp.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI hope I may choose, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nCome hither, you rogue. What, have you forgot me?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nForgot you! No, sir: I could not forget you, for I never saw you before\\r\\nin all my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nWhat, you notorious villain! didst thou never see thy master’s father,\\r\\nVincentio?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nWhat, my old worshipful old master? Yes, marry, sir; see where he looks\\r\\nout of the window.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nIs’t so, indeed?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_He beats Biondello._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nHelp, help, help! here’s a madman will murder me.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nHelp, son! help, Signior Baptista!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit from the window._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nPrithee, Kate, let’s stand aside and see the end of this controversy.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They retire._]\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Pedant, below; Baptista, Tranio and Servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSir, what are you that offer to beat my servant?\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nWhat am I, sir! nay, what are you, sir? O immortal gods! O fine\\r\\nvillain! A silken doublet, a velvet hose, a scarlet cloak, and a\\r\\ncopatain hat! O, I am undone! I am undone! While I play the good\\r\\nhusband at home, my son and my servant spend all at the university.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nHow now! what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhat, is the man lunatic?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nSir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by your habit, but your words\\r\\nshow you a madman. Why, sir, what ’cerns it you if I wear pearl and\\r\\ngold? I thank my good father, I am able to maintain it.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nThy father! O villain! he is a sailmaker in Bergamo.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nYou mistake, sir; you mistake, sir. Pray, what do you think is his\\r\\nname?\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nHis name! As if I knew not his name! I have brought him up ever since\\r\\nhe was three years old, and his name is Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nAway, away, mad ass! His name is Lucentio; and he is mine only son, and\\r\\nheir to the lands of me, Signior Vincentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nLucentio! O, he hath murdered his master! Lay hold on him, I charge\\r\\nyou, in the Duke’s name. O, my son, my son! Tell me, thou villain,\\r\\nwhere is my son, Lucentio?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nCall forth an officer.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter one with an Officer.\\r\\n\\r\\nCarry this mad knave to the gaol. Father Baptista, I charge you see\\r\\nthat he be forthcoming.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nCarry me to the gaol!\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nStay, officer; he shall not go to prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nTalk not, Signior Gremio; I say he shall go to prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nTake heed, Signior Baptista, lest you be cony-catched in this business;\\r\\nI dare swear this is the right Vincentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPEDANT.\\r\\nSwear if thou darest.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nNay, I dare not swear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nThen thou wert best say that I am not Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nYes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAway with the dotard! to the gaol with him!\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nThus strangers may be haled and abus’d: O monstrous villain!\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Biondello, with Lucentio and Bianca.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nO! we are spoiled; and yonder he is: deny him, forswear him, or else we\\r\\nare all undone.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\n[_Kneeling._] Pardon, sweet father.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nLives my sweetest son?\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Biondello, Tranio and Pedant run out._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\n[_Kneeling._] Pardon, dear father.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nHow hast thou offended?\\r\\nWhere is Lucentio?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nHere’s Lucentio,\\r\\nRight son to the right Vincentio;\\r\\nThat have by marriage made thy daughter mine,\\r\\nWhile counterfeit supposes blear’d thine eyne.\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nHere ’s packing, with a witness, to deceive us all!\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nWhere is that damned villain, Tranio,\\r\\nThat fac’d and brav’d me in this matter so?\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nWhy, tell me, is not this my Cambio?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nCambio is chang’d into Lucentio.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nLove wrought these miracles. Bianca’s love\\r\\nMade me exchange my state with Tranio,\\r\\nWhile he did bear my countenance in the town;\\r\\nAnd happily I have arriv’d at the last\\r\\nUnto the wished haven of my bliss.\\r\\nWhat Tranio did, myself enforc’d him to;\\r\\nThen pardon him, sweet father, for my sake.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nI’ll slit the villain’s nose that would have sent me to the gaol.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\n[_To Lucentio._] But do you hear, sir? Have you married my daughter\\r\\nwithout asking my good will?\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nFear not, Baptista; we will content you, go to: but I will in, to be\\r\\nrevenged for this villainy.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nAnd I to sound the depth of this knavery.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nLook not pale, Bianca; thy father will not frown.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Lucentio and Bianca._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nMy cake is dough, but I’ll in among the rest;\\r\\nOut of hope of all but my share of the feast.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPetruchio and Katherina advance.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nHusband, let’s follow to see the end of this ado.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nFirst kiss me, Kate, and we will.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhat! in the midst of the street?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhat! art thou ashamed of me?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNo, sir; God forbid; but ashamed to kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, then, let’s home again. Come, sirrah, let’s away.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nNay, I will give thee a kiss: now pray thee, love, stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nIs not this well? Come, my sweet Kate:\\r\\nBetter once than never, for never too late.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A room in LUCENTIO’S house.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Baptista, Vincentio, Gremio, the Pedant, Lucentio, Bianca,\\r\\nPetruchio, Katherina, Hortensio and Widow. Tranio, Biondello and Grumio\\r\\nand Others, attending.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nAt last, though long, our jarring notes agree:\\r\\nAnd time it is when raging war is done,\\r\\nTo smile at ’scapes and perils overblown.\\r\\nMy fair Bianca, bid my father welcome,\\r\\nWhile I with self-same kindness welcome thine.\\r\\nBrother Petruchio, sister Katherina,\\r\\nAnd thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow,\\r\\nFeast with the best, and welcome to my house:\\r\\nMy banquet is to close our stomachs up,\\r\\nAfter our great good cheer. Pray you, sit down;\\r\\nFor now we sit to chat as well as eat.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_They sit at table._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat!\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nPadua affords this kindness, son Petruchio.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nPadua affords nothing but what is kind.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nFor both our sakes I would that word were true.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNow, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nThen never trust me if I be afeard.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nYou are very sensible, and yet you miss my sense:\\r\\nI mean Hortensio is afeard of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nHe that is giddy thinks the world turns round.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nRoundly replied.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nMistress, how mean you that?\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nThus I conceive by him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nConceives by me! How likes Hortensio that?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nMy widow says thus she conceives her tale.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nVery well mended. Kiss him for that, good widow.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\n’He that is giddy thinks the world turns round’:\\r\\nI pray you tell me what you meant by that.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nYour husband, being troubled with a shrew,\\r\\nMeasures my husband’s sorrow by his woe;\\r\\nAnd now you know my meaning.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nA very mean meaning.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nRight, I mean you.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nAnd I am mean, indeed, respecting you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nTo her, Kate!\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nTo her, widow!\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA hundred marks, my Kate does put her down.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nThat’s my office.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nSpoke like an officer: ha’ to thee, lad.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Drinks to Hortensio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nHow likes Gremio these quick-witted folks?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nBelieve me, sir, they butt together well.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nHead and butt! An hasty-witted body\\r\\nWould say your head and butt were head and horn.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\nAy, mistress bride, hath that awaken’d you?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nAy, but not frighted me; therefore I’ll sleep again.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, that you shall not; since you have begun,\\r\\nHave at you for a bitter jest or two.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nAm I your bird? I mean to shift my bush,\\r\\nAnd then pursue me as you draw your bow.\\r\\nYou are welcome all.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Bianca, Katherina and Widow._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nShe hath prevented me. Here, Signior Tranio;\\r\\nThis bird you aim’d at, though you hit her not:\\r\\nTherefore a health to all that shot and miss’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\nO, sir! Lucentio slipp’d me like his greyhound,\\r\\nWhich runs himself, and catches for his master.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA good swift simile, but something currish.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRANIO.\\r\\n’Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself:\\r\\n’Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nO ho, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI thank thee for that gird, good Tranio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nConfess, confess; hath he not hit you here?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA has a little gall’d me, I confess;\\r\\nAnd as the jest did glance away from me,\\r\\n’Tis ten to one it maim’d you two outright.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNow, in good sadness, son Petruchio,\\r\\nI think thou hast the veriest shrew of all.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWell, I say no; and therefore, for assurance,\\r\\nLet’s each one send unto his wife,\\r\\nAnd he whose wife is most obedient,\\r\\nTo come at first when he doth send for her,\\r\\nShall win the wager which we will propose.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nContent. What’s the wager?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nTwenty crowns.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nTwenty crowns!\\r\\nI’ll venture so much of my hawk or hound,\\r\\nBut twenty times so much upon my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nA hundred then.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nContent.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nA match! ’tis done.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nWho shall begin?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nThat will I.\\r\\nGo, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nI go.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nSon, I’ll be your half, Bianca comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI’ll have no halves; I’ll bear it all myself.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now! what news?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nSir, my mistress sends you word\\r\\nThat she is busy and she cannot come.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nHow! She’s busy, and she cannot come!\\r\\nIs that an answer?\\r\\n\\r\\nGREMIO.\\r\\nAy, and a kind one too:\\r\\nPray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI hope better.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nSirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife\\r\\nTo come to me forthwith.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Biondello._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nO, ho! entreat her!\\r\\nNay, then she must needs come.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI am afraid, sir,\\r\\nDo what you can, yours will not be entreated.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Biondello.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, where’s my wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nBIONDELLO.\\r\\nShe says you have some goodly jest in hand:\\r\\nShe will not come; she bids you come to her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWorse and worse; she will not come! O vile,\\r\\nIntolerable, not to be endur’d!\\r\\nSirrah Grumio, go to your mistress,\\r\\nSay I command her come to me.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Grumio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nI know her answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhat?\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nShe will not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nThe fouler fortune mine, and there an end.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Katherina.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNow, by my holidame, here comes Katherina!\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nWhat is your will sir, that you send for me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhere is your sister, and Hortensio’s wife?\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nThey sit conferring by the parlour fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nGo fetch them hither; if they deny to come,\\r\\nSwinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands.\\r\\nAway, I say, and bring them hither straight.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exit Katherina._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nHere is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder.\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nAnd so it is. I wonder what it bodes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nMarry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life,\\r\\nAn awful rule, and right supremacy;\\r\\nAnd, to be short, what not that’s sweet and happy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAPTISTA.\\r\\nNow fair befall thee, good Petruchio!\\r\\nThe wager thou hast won; and I will add\\r\\nUnto their losses twenty thousand crowns;\\r\\nAnother dowry to another daughter,\\r\\nFor she is chang’d, as she had never been.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nNay, I will win my wager better yet,\\r\\nAnd show more sign of her obedience,\\r\\nHer new-built virtue and obedience.\\r\\nSee where she comes, and brings your froward wives\\r\\nAs prisoners to her womanly persuasion.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nRe-enter Katherina with Bianca and Widow.\\r\\n\\r\\nKatherine, that cap of yours becomes you not:\\r\\nOff with that bauble, throw it underfoot.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Katherina pulls off her cap and throws it down._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nLord, let me never have a cause to sigh\\r\\nTill I be brought to such a silly pass!\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nFie! what a foolish duty call you this?\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nI would your duty were as foolish too;\\r\\nThe wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca,\\r\\nHath cost me a hundred crowns since supper-time!\\r\\n\\r\\nBIANCA.\\r\\nThe more fool you for laying on my duty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nKatherine, I charge thee, tell these headstrong women\\r\\nWhat duty they do owe their lords and husbands.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nCome, come, you’re mocking; we will have no telling.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome on, I say; and first begin with her.\\r\\n\\r\\nWIDOW.\\r\\nShe shall not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nI say she shall: and first begin with her.\\r\\n\\r\\nKATHERINA.\\r\\nFie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow,\\r\\nAnd dart not scornful glances from those eyes\\r\\nTo wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor:\\r\\nIt blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads,\\r\\nConfounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds,\\r\\nAnd in no sense is meet or amiable.\\r\\nA woman mov’d is like a fountain troubled,\\r\\nMuddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;\\r\\nAnd while it is so, none so dry or thirsty\\r\\nWill deign to sip or touch one drop of it.\\r\\nThy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,\\r\\nThy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee,\\r\\nAnd for thy maintenance commits his body\\r\\nTo painful labour both by sea and land,\\r\\nTo watch the night in storms, the day in cold,\\r\\nWhilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;\\r\\nAnd craves no other tribute at thy hands\\r\\nBut love, fair looks, and true obedience;\\r\\nToo little payment for so great a debt.\\r\\nSuch duty as the subject owes the prince,\\r\\nEven such a woman oweth to her husband;\\r\\nAnd when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour,\\r\\nAnd not obedient to his honest will,\\r\\nWhat is she but a foul contending rebel\\r\\nAnd graceless traitor to her loving lord?—\\r\\nI am asham’d that women are so simple\\r\\nTo offer war where they should kneel for peace,\\r\\nOr seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,\\r\\nWhen they are bound to serve, love, and obey.\\r\\nWhy are our bodies soft and weak and smooth,\\r\\nUnapt to toil and trouble in the world,\\r\\nBut that our soft conditions and our hearts\\r\\nShould well agree with our external parts?\\r\\nCome, come, you froward and unable worms!\\r\\nMy mind hath been as big as one of yours,\\r\\nMy heart as great, my reason haply more,\\r\\nTo bandy word for word and frown for frown;\\r\\nBut now I see our lances are but straws,\\r\\nOur strength as weak, our weakness past compare,\\r\\nThat seeming to be most which we indeed least are.\\r\\nThen vail your stomachs, for it is no boot,\\r\\nAnd place your hands below your husband’s foot:\\r\\nIn token of which duty, if he please,\\r\\nMy hand is ready; may it do him ease.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nWhy, there’s a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nWell, go thy ways, old lad, for thou shalt ha’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nVINCENTIO.\\r\\n’Tis a good hearing when children are toward.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\nBut a harsh hearing when women are froward.\\r\\n\\r\\nPETRUCHIO.\\r\\nCome, Kate, we’ll to bed.\\r\\nWe three are married, but you two are sped.\\r\\n’Twas I won the wager,\\r\\n[_To Lucentio._] though you hit the white;\\r\\nAnd being a winner, God give you good night!\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt Petrucio and Katherina._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHORTENSIO.\\r\\nNow go thy ways; thou hast tam’d a curst shrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCENTIO.\\r\\n’Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tam’d so.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n',\n", + " 'THE TEMPEST\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. On a ship at sea; a tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning\\r\\nheard.\\r\\nScene II. The Island. Before the cell of Prospero.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. Another part of the island.\\r\\nScene II. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Before Prospero’s cell.\\r\\nScene II. Another part of the island.\\r\\nScene III. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Before Prospero’s cell.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Before the cell of Prospero.\\r\\nEpilogue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO, King of Naples\\r\\nSEBASTIAN, his brother\\r\\nPROSPERO, the right Duke of Milan\\r\\nANTONIO, his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan\\r\\nFERDINAND, Son to the King of Naples\\r\\nGONZALO, an honest old counsellor\\r\\nADRIAN, Lord\\r\\nFRANCISCO, Lord\\r\\nCALIBAN, a savage and deformed slave\\r\\nTRINCULO, a jester\\r\\nSTEPHANO, a drunken butler\\r\\nMASTER OF A SHIP\\r\\nBOATSWAIN\\r\\nMARINERS\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA, daughter to Prospero\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL, an airy Spirit\\r\\n\\r\\nIRIS, presented by Spirits\\r\\nCERES, presented by Spirits\\r\\nJUNO, presented by Spirits\\r\\nNYMPHS, presented by Spirits\\r\\nREAPERS, presented by Spirits\\r\\n\\r\\nOther Spirits attending on Prospero\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: The sea, with a Ship; afterwards an Island.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. On a ship at sea; a tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning\\r\\nheard.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Shipmaster and a Boatswain severally.\\r\\n\\r\\nMASTER.\\r\\nBoatswain!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nHere, master: what cheer?\\r\\n\\r\\nMASTER.\\r\\nGood! Speak to the mariners: fall to ’t yarely, or we run ourselves\\r\\naground: bestir, bestir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Mariners.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nHeigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! yare, yare! Take in the\\r\\ntopsail. Tend to th’ master’s whistle. Blow till thou burst thy wind,\\r\\nif room enough.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdinand, Gonzalo and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nGood boatswain, have care. Where’s the master?\\r\\nPlay the men.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nI pray now, keep below.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWhere is the master, boson?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nDo you not hear him? You mar our labour: keep your cabins: you do\\r\\nassist the storm.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nNay, good, be patient.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nWhen the sea is. Hence! What cares these roarers for the name of king?\\r\\nTo cabin! silence! Trouble us not.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nGood, yet remember whom thou hast aboard.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nNone that I more love than myself. You are a counsellor: if you can\\r\\ncommand these elements to silence, and work the peace of the present,\\r\\nwe will not hand a rope more. Use your authority: if you cannot, give\\r\\nthanks you have lived so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin\\r\\nfor the mischance of the hour, if it so hap.—Cheerly, good hearts!—Out\\r\\nof our way, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI have great comfort from this fellow. Methinks he hath no drowning\\r\\nmark upon him. His complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good\\r\\nFate, to his hanging! Make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our\\r\\nown doth little advantage! If he be not born to be hang’d, our case is\\r\\nmiserable.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Boatswain.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nDown with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring her to try wi’ th’\\r\\nmaincourse.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A cry within._]\\r\\n\\r\\n A plague upon this howling! They are louder than the weather or our\\r\\n office.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian, Antonio and Gonzalo.\\r\\n\\r\\nYet again! What do you here? Shall we give o’er, and drown? Have you a\\r\\nmind to sink?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA pox o’ your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nWork you, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHang, cur, hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker! We are less afraid\\r\\nto be drowned than thou art.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI’ll warrant him for drowning, though the ship were no stronger than a\\r\\nnutshell, and as leaky as an unstanched wench.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nLay her a-hold, a-hold! Set her two courses: off to sea again: lay her\\r\\noff.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Mariners, wet.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINERS.\\r\\nAll lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nWhat, must our mouths be cold?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nThe King and Prince at prayers! Let’s assist them,\\r\\nFor our case is as theirs.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI am out of patience.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWe are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards.\\r\\nThis wide-chapp’d rascal—would thou might’st lie drowning\\r\\nThe washing of ten tides!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nHe’ll be hang’d yet,\\r\\nThough every drop of water swear against it,\\r\\nAnd gape at wid’st to glut him.\\r\\n\\r\\n_A confused noise within: _“Mercy on us!”—\\r\\n“We split, we split!”—“Farewell, my wife and children!”—\\r\\n“Farewell, brother!”—“We split, we split, we split!”\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLet’s all sink wi’ th’ King.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nLet’s take leave of him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nNow would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren\\r\\nground. Long heath, brown furze, anything. The wills above be done! but\\r\\nI would fain die a dry death.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The Island. Before the cell of Prospero.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Prospero and Miranda.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nIf by your art, my dearest father, you have\\r\\nPut the wild waters in this roar, allay them.\\r\\nThe sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,\\r\\nBut that the sea, mounting to th’ welkin’s cheek,\\r\\nDashes the fire out. O! I have suffered\\r\\nWith those that I saw suffer! A brave vessel,\\r\\nWho had, no doubt, some noble creature in her,\\r\\nDash’d all to pieces. O, the cry did knock\\r\\nAgainst my very heart. Poor souls, they perish’d.\\r\\nHad I been any god of power, I would\\r\\nHave sunk the sea within the earth, or ere\\r\\nIt should the good ship so have swallow’d and\\r\\nThe fraughting souls within her.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBe collected:\\r\\nNo more amazement: tell your piteous heart\\r\\nThere’s no harm done.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO, woe the day!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNo harm.\\r\\nI have done nothing but in care of thee,\\r\\nOf thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who\\r\\nArt ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing\\r\\nOf whence I am, nor that I am more better\\r\\nThan Prospero, master of a full poor cell,\\r\\nAnd thy no greater father.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nMore to know\\r\\nDid never meddle with my thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n’Tis time\\r\\nI should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand,\\r\\nAnd pluck my magic garment from me.—So:\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Lays down his mantle._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLie there my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.\\r\\nThe direful spectacle of the wrack, which touch’d\\r\\nThe very virtue of compassion in thee,\\r\\nI have with such provision in mine art\\r\\nSo safely ordered that there is no soul—\\r\\nNo, not so much perdition as an hair\\r\\nBetid to any creature in the vessel\\r\\nWhich thou heard’st cry, which thou saw’st sink. Sit down;\\r\\nFor thou must now know farther.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nYou have often\\r\\nBegun to tell me what I am, but stopp’d,\\r\\nAnd left me to a bootless inquisition,\\r\\nConcluding “Stay; not yet.”\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThe hour’s now come,\\r\\nThe very minute bids thee ope thine ear;\\r\\nObey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember\\r\\nA time before we came unto this cell?\\r\\nI do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not\\r\\nOut three years old.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nCertainly, sir, I can.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBy what? By any other house, or person?\\r\\nOf anything the image, tell me, that\\r\\nHath kept with thy remembrance.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\n’Tis far off,\\r\\nAnd rather like a dream than an assurance\\r\\nThat my remembrance warrants. Had I not\\r\\nFour or five women once that tended me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it\\r\\nThat this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else\\r\\nIn the dark backward and abysm of time?\\r\\nIf thou rememb’rest aught ere thou cam’st here,\\r\\nHow thou cam’st here, thou mayst.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nBut that I do not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nTwelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since,\\r\\nThy father was the Duke of Milan, and\\r\\nA prince of power.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nSir, are not you my father?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThy mother was a piece of virtue, and\\r\\nShe said thou wast my daughter. And thy father\\r\\nWas Duke of Milan, and his only heir\\r\\nAnd princess, no worse issued.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO, the heavens!\\r\\nWhat foul play had we that we came from thence?\\r\\nOr blessed was’t we did?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBoth, both, my girl.\\r\\nBy foul play, as thou say’st, were we heav’d thence;\\r\\nBut blessedly holp hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO, my heart bleeds\\r\\nTo think o’ th’ teen that I have turn’d you to,\\r\\nWhich is from my remembrance. Please you, farther.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nMy brother and thy uncle, call’d Antonio—\\r\\nI pray thee, mark me, that a brother should\\r\\nBe so perfidious!—he whom next thyself\\r\\nOf all the world I lov’d, and to him put\\r\\nThe manage of my state; as at that time\\r\\nThrough all the signories it was the first,\\r\\nAnd Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed\\r\\nIn dignity, and for the liberal arts,\\r\\nWithout a parallel: those being all my study,\\r\\nThe government I cast upon my brother,\\r\\nAnd to my state grew stranger, being transported\\r\\nAnd rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle—\\r\\nDost thou attend me?\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nSir, most heedfully.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBeing once perfected how to grant suits,\\r\\nHow to deny them, who t’ advance, and who\\r\\nTo trash for over-topping, new created\\r\\nThe creatures that were mine, I say, or chang’d ’em,\\r\\nOr else new form’d ’em: having both the key\\r\\nOf officer and office, set all hearts i’ th’ state\\r\\nTo what tune pleas’d his ear: that now he was\\r\\nThe ivy which had hid my princely trunk,\\r\\nAnd suck’d my verdure out on ’t. Thou attend’st not.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO, good sir! I do.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nI pray thee, mark me.\\r\\nI, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated\\r\\nTo closeness and the bettering of my mind\\r\\nWith that which, but by being so retir’d,\\r\\nO’er-priz’d all popular rate, in my false brother\\r\\nAwak’d an evil nature; and my trust,\\r\\nLike a good parent, did beget of him\\r\\nA falsehood in its contrary as great\\r\\nAs my trust was; which had indeed no limit,\\r\\nA confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded,\\r\\nNot only with what my revenue yielded,\\r\\nBut what my power might else exact, like one\\r\\nWho having into truth, by telling of it,\\r\\nMade such a sinner of his memory,\\r\\nTo credit his own lie, he did believe\\r\\nHe was indeed the Duke; out o’ the substitution,\\r\\nAnd executing th’ outward face of royalty,\\r\\nWith all prerogative. Hence his ambition growing—\\r\\nDost thou hear?\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nYour tale, sir, would cure deafness.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nTo have no screen between this part he play’d\\r\\nAnd him he play’d it for, he needs will be\\r\\nAbsolute Milan. Me, poor man, my library\\r\\nWas dukedom large enough: of temporal royalties\\r\\nHe thinks me now incapable; confederates,\\r\\nSo dry he was for sway, wi’ th’ King of Naples\\r\\nTo give him annual tribute, do him homage,\\r\\nSubject his coronet to his crown, and bend\\r\\nThe dukedom, yet unbow’d—alas, poor Milan!—\\r\\nTo most ignoble stooping.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO the heavens!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nMark his condition, and the event; then tell me\\r\\nIf this might be a brother.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nI should sin\\r\\nTo think but nobly of my grandmother:\\r\\nGood wombs have borne bad sons.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNow the condition.\\r\\nThis King of Naples, being an enemy\\r\\nTo me inveterate, hearkens my brother’s suit;\\r\\nWhich was, that he, in lieu o’ th’ premises\\r\\nOf homage and I know not how much tribute,\\r\\nShould presently extirpate me and mine\\r\\nOut of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan,\\r\\nWith all the honours on my brother: whereon,\\r\\nA treacherous army levied, one midnight\\r\\nFated to th’ purpose, did Antonio open\\r\\nThe gates of Milan; and, i’ th’ dead of darkness,\\r\\nThe ministers for th’ purpose hurried thence\\r\\nMe and thy crying self.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAlack, for pity!\\r\\nI, not rememb’ring how I cried out then,\\r\\nWill cry it o’er again: it is a hint\\r\\nThat wrings mine eyes to ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHear a little further,\\r\\nAnd then I’ll bring thee to the present business\\r\\nWhich now’s upon us; without the which this story\\r\\nWere most impertinent.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nWherefore did they not\\r\\nThat hour destroy us?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nWell demanded, wench:\\r\\nMy tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not,\\r\\nSo dear the love my people bore me, nor set\\r\\nA mark so bloody on the business; but\\r\\nWith colours fairer painted their foul ends.\\r\\nIn few, they hurried us aboard a bark,\\r\\nBore us some leagues to sea, where they prepared\\r\\nA rotten carcass of a butt, not rigg’d,\\r\\nNor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats\\r\\nInstinctively have quit it. There they hoist us,\\r\\nTo cry to th’ sea, that roar’d to us; to sigh\\r\\nTo th’ winds, whose pity, sighing back again,\\r\\nDid us but loving wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAlack, what trouble\\r\\nWas I then to you!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nO, a cherubin\\r\\nThou wast that did preserve me. Thou didst smile,\\r\\nInfused with a fortitude from heaven,\\r\\nWhen I have deck’d the sea with drops full salt,\\r\\nUnder my burden groan’d: which rais’d in me\\r\\nAn undergoing stomach, to bear up\\r\\nAgainst what should ensue.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nHow came we ashore?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBy Providence divine.\\r\\nSome food we had and some fresh water that\\r\\nA noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,\\r\\nOut of his charity, who being then appointed\\r\\nMaster of this design, did give us, with\\r\\nRich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries,\\r\\nWhich since have steaded much: so, of his gentleness,\\r\\nKnowing I lov’d my books, he furnish’d me\\r\\nFrom mine own library with volumes that\\r\\nI prize above my dukedom.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nWould I might\\r\\nBut ever see that man!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNow I arise.\\r\\nSit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.\\r\\nHere in this island we arriv’d; and here\\r\\nHave I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit\\r\\nThan other princes can, that have more time\\r\\nFor vainer hours, and tutors not so careful.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nHeavens thank you for ’t! And now, I pray you, sir,\\r\\nFor still ’tis beating in my mind, your reason\\r\\nFor raising this sea-storm?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nKnow thus far forth.\\r\\nBy accident most strange, bountiful Fortune,\\r\\nNow my dear lady, hath mine enemies\\r\\nBrought to this shore; and by my prescience\\r\\nI find my zenith doth depend upon\\r\\nA most auspicious star, whose influence\\r\\nIf now I court not but omit, my fortunes\\r\\nWill ever after droop. Here cease more questions;\\r\\nThou art inclin’d to sleep; ’tis a good dulness,\\r\\nAnd give it way. I know thou canst not choose.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Miranda sleeps._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome away, servant, come! I am ready now.\\r\\nApproach, my Ariel. Come!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ariel.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nAll hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come\\r\\nTo answer thy best pleasure; be’t to fly,\\r\\nTo swim, to dive into the fire, to ride\\r\\nOn the curl’d clouds, to thy strong bidding task\\r\\nAriel and all his quality.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHast thou, spirit,\\r\\nPerform’d to point the tempest that I bade thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nTo every article.\\r\\nI boarded the King’s ship; now on the beak,\\r\\nNow in the waist, the deck, in every cabin,\\r\\nI flam’d amazement; sometime I’d divide,\\r\\nAnd burn in many places; on the topmast,\\r\\nThe yards, and boresprit, would I flame distinctly,\\r\\nThen meet and join. Jove’s lightning, the precursors\\r\\nO’ th’ dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary\\r\\nAnd sight-outrunning were not: the fire and cracks\\r\\nOf sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune\\r\\nSeem to besiege and make his bold waves tremble,\\r\\nYea, his dread trident shake.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nMy brave spirit!\\r\\nWho was so firm, so constant, that this coil\\r\\nWould not infect his reason?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nNot a soul\\r\\nBut felt a fever of the mad, and play’d\\r\\nSome tricks of desperation. All but mariners\\r\\nPlunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel,\\r\\nThen all afire with me: the King’s son, Ferdinand,\\r\\nWith hair up-staring—then like reeds, not hair—\\r\\nWas the first man that leapt; cried “Hell is empty,\\r\\nAnd all the devils are here.”\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nWhy, that’s my spirit!\\r\\nBut was not this nigh shore?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nClose by, my master.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBut are they, Ariel, safe?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nNot a hair perish’d;\\r\\nOn their sustaining garments not a blemish,\\r\\nBut fresher than before: and, as thou bad’st me,\\r\\nIn troops I have dispers’d them ’bout the isle.\\r\\nThe King’s son have I landed by himself,\\r\\nWhom I left cooling of the air with sighs\\r\\nIn an odd angle of the isle, and sitting,\\r\\nHis arms in this sad knot.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nOf the King’s ship\\r\\nThe mariners, say how thou hast dispos’d,\\r\\nAnd all the rest o’ th’ fleet?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nSafely in harbour\\r\\nIs the King’s ship; in the deep nook, where once\\r\\nThou call’dst me up at midnight to fetch dew\\r\\nFrom the still-vex’d Bermoothes; there she’s hid:\\r\\nThe mariners all under hatches stowed;\\r\\nWho, with a charm join’d to their suff’red labour,\\r\\nI have left asleep: and for the rest o’ th’ fleet,\\r\\nWhich I dispers’d, they all have met again,\\r\\nAnd are upon the Mediterranean flote\\r\\nBound sadly home for Naples,\\r\\nSupposing that they saw the King’s ship wrack’d,\\r\\nAnd his great person perish.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAriel, thy charge\\r\\nExactly is perform’d; but there’s more work.\\r\\nWhat is the time o’ th’ day?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nPast the mid season.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAt least two glasses. The time ’twixt six and now\\r\\nMust by us both be spent most preciously.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nIs there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains,\\r\\nLet me remember thee what thou hast promis’d,\\r\\nWhich is not yet perform’d me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHow now! moody?\\r\\nWhat is’t thou canst demand?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nMy liberty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBefore the time be out? No more!\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI prithee,\\r\\nRemember I have done thee worthy service;\\r\\nTold thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv’d\\r\\nWithout or grudge or grumblings: thou didst promise\\r\\nTo bate me a full year.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nDost thou forget\\r\\nFrom what a torment I did free thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou dost, and think’st it much to tread the ooze\\r\\nOf the salt deep,\\r\\nTo run upon the sharp wind of the north,\\r\\nTo do me business in the veins o’ th’ earth\\r\\nWhen it is bak’d with frost.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI do not, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot\\r\\nThe foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy\\r\\nWas grown into a hoop? Hast thou forgot her?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nNo, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou hast. Where was she born? Speak; tell me.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nSir, in Argier.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nO, was she so? I must\\r\\nOnce in a month recount what thou hast been,\\r\\nWhich thou forget’st. This damn’d witch Sycorax,\\r\\nFor mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible\\r\\nTo enter human hearing, from Argier,\\r\\nThou know’st, was banish’d: for one thing she did\\r\\nThey would not take her life. Is not this true?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nAy, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThis blue-ey’d hag was hither brought with child,\\r\\nAnd here was left by th’ sailors. Thou, my slave,\\r\\nAs thou report’st thyself, wast then her servant;\\r\\nAnd, for thou wast a spirit too delicate\\r\\nTo act her earthy and abhorr’d commands,\\r\\nRefusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,\\r\\nBy help of her more potent ministers,\\r\\nAnd in her most unmitigable rage,\\r\\nInto a cloven pine; within which rift\\r\\nImprison’d, thou didst painfully remain\\r\\nA dozen years; within which space she died,\\r\\nAnd left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groans\\r\\nAs fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island—\\r\\nSave for the son that she did litter here,\\r\\nA freckl’d whelp, hag-born—not honour’d with\\r\\nA human shape.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nYes, Caliban her son.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nDull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban,\\r\\nWhom now I keep in service. Thou best know’st\\r\\nWhat torment I did find thee in; thy groans\\r\\nDid make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts\\r\\nOf ever-angry bears: it was a torment\\r\\nTo lay upon the damn’d, which Sycorax\\r\\nCould not again undo; it was mine art,\\r\\nWhen I arriv’d and heard thee, that made gape\\r\\nThe pine, and let thee out.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI thank thee, master.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nIf thou more murmur’st, I will rend an oak\\r\\nAnd peg thee in his knotty entrails till\\r\\nThou hast howl’d away twelve winters.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nPardon, master:\\r\\nI will be correspondent to command,\\r\\nAnd do my spriting gently.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nDo so; and after two days\\r\\nI will discharge thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThat’s my noble master!\\r\\nWhat shall I do? Say what? What shall I do?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nGo make thyself like a nymph o’ th’ sea. Be subject\\r\\nTo no sight but thine and mine; invisible\\r\\nTo every eyeball else. Go, take this shape,\\r\\nAnd hither come in ’t. Go, hence with diligence!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Ariel._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAwake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well;\\r\\nAwake!\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\n[_Waking._] The strangeness of your story put\\r\\nHeaviness in me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nShake it off. Come on;\\r\\nWe’ll visit Caliban my slave, who never\\r\\nYields us kind answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\n’Tis a villain, sir,\\r\\nI do not love to look on.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBut as ’tis,\\r\\nWe cannot miss him: he does make our fire,\\r\\nFetch in our wood; and serves in offices\\r\\nThat profit us. What ho! slave! Caliban!\\r\\nThou earth, thou! Speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\n[_Within._] There’s wood enough within.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nCome forth, I say; there’s other business for thee.\\r\\nCome, thou tortoise! when?\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel like a water-nymph.\\r\\n\\r\\nFine apparition! My quaint Ariel,\\r\\nHark in thine ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nMy lord, it shall be done.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself\\r\\nUpon thy wicked dam, come forth!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Caliban.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nAs wicked dew as e’er my mother brush’d\\r\\nWith raven’s feather from unwholesome fen\\r\\nDrop on you both! A south-west blow on ye,\\r\\nAnd blister you all o’er!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nFor this, be sure, tonight thou shalt have cramps,\\r\\nSide-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins\\r\\nShall forth at vast of night that they may work\\r\\nAll exercise on thee. Thou shalt be pinch’d\\r\\nAs thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging\\r\\nThan bees that made them.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI must eat my dinner.\\r\\nThis island’s mine, by Sycorax my mother,\\r\\nWhich thou tak’st from me. When thou cam’st first,\\r\\nThou strok’st me and made much of me; wouldst give me\\r\\nWater with berries in ’t; and teach me how\\r\\nTo name the bigger light, and how the less,\\r\\nThat burn by day and night: and then I lov’d thee,\\r\\nAnd show’d thee all the qualities o’ th’ isle,\\r\\nThe fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place, and fertile.\\r\\nCurs’d be I that did so! All the charms\\r\\nOf Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you!\\r\\nFor I am all the subjects that you have,\\r\\nWhich first was mine own King; and here you sty me\\r\\nIn this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me\\r\\nThe rest o’ th’ island.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou most lying slave,\\r\\nWhom stripes may move, not kindness! I have us’d thee,\\r\\nFilth as thou art, with human care, and lodg’d thee\\r\\nIn mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate\\r\\nThe honour of my child.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nOh ho! Oh ho! Would ’t had been done!\\r\\nThou didst prevent me; I had peopled else\\r\\nThis isle with Calibans.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAbhorred slave,\\r\\nWhich any print of goodness wilt not take,\\r\\nBeing capable of all ill! I pitied thee,\\r\\nTook pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour\\r\\nOne thing or other: when thou didst not, savage,\\r\\nKnow thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like\\r\\nA thing most brutish, I endow’d thy purposes\\r\\nWith words that made them known. But thy vile race,\\r\\nThough thou didst learn, had that in ’t which good natures\\r\\nCould not abide to be with; therefore wast thou\\r\\nDeservedly confin’d into this rock,\\r\\nWho hadst deserv’d more than a prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nYou taught me language, and my profit on ’t\\r\\nIs, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you,\\r\\nFor learning me your language!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHag-seed, hence!\\r\\nFetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou ’rt best,\\r\\nTo answer other business. Shrug’st thou, malice?\\r\\nIf thou neglect’st, or dost unwillingly\\r\\nWhat I command, I’ll rack thee with old cramps,\\r\\nFill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar,\\r\\nThat beasts shall tremble at thy din.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nNo, pray thee.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I must obey. His art is of such power,\\r\\nIt would control my dam’s god, Setebos,\\r\\nAnd make a vassal of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSo, slave, hence!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Caliban._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel, playing and singing; Ferdinand following.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL’S SONG.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n_Come unto these yellow sands,\\r\\n And then take hands:\\r\\nCurtsied when you have, and kiss’d\\r\\n The wild waves whist.\\r\\nFoot it featly here and there,\\r\\n And sweet sprites bear\\r\\nThe burden. Hark, hark!_\\r\\n Burden dispersedly. _Bow-wow.\\r\\nThe watch dogs bark._\\r\\n [Burden dispersedly.] _Bow-wow.\\r\\nHark, hark! I hear\\r\\nThe strain of strutting chanticleer\\r\\n Cry cock-a-diddle-dow._\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nWhere should this music be? i’ th’ air or th’ earth?\\r\\nIt sounds no more; and sure it waits upon\\r\\nSome god o’ th’ island. Sitting on a bank,\\r\\nWeeping again the King my father’s wrack,\\r\\nThis music crept by me upon the waters,\\r\\nAllaying both their fury and my passion\\r\\nWith its sweet air: thence I have follow’d it,\\r\\nOr it hath drawn me rather,—but ’tis gone.\\r\\nNo, it begins again.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n_Full fathom five thy father lies.\\r\\n Of his bones are coral made.\\r\\nThose are pearls that were his eyes.\\r\\n Nothing of him that doth fade\\r\\nBut doth suffer a sea-change\\r\\nInto something rich and strange.\\r\\nSea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:_\\r\\n Burden: _Ding-dong.\\r\\nHark! now I hear them: ding-dong, bell._\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nThe ditty does remember my drown’d father.\\r\\nThis is no mortal business, nor no sound\\r\\nThat the earth owes:—I hear it now above me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThe fringed curtains of thine eye advance,\\r\\nAnd say what thou seest yond.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nWhat is’t? a spirit?\\r\\nLord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir,\\r\\nIt carries a brave form. But ’tis a spirit.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNo, wench; it eats and sleeps and hath such senses\\r\\nAs we have, such. This gallant which thou seest\\r\\nWas in the wrack; and, but he’s something stain’d\\r\\nWith grief,—that’s beauty’s canker,—thou mightst call him\\r\\nA goodly person: he hath lost his fellows\\r\\nAnd strays about to find ’em.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nI might call him\\r\\nA thing divine; for nothing natural\\r\\nI ever saw so noble.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] It goes on, I see,\\r\\nAs my soul prompts it. Spirit, fine spirit! I’ll free thee\\r\\nWithin two days for this.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nMost sure, the goddess\\r\\nOn whom these airs attend! Vouchsafe, my prayer\\r\\nMay know if you remain upon this island;\\r\\nAnd that you will some good instruction give\\r\\nHow I may bear me here: my prime request,\\r\\nWhich I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder!\\r\\nIf you be maid or no?\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nNo wonder, sir;\\r\\nBut certainly a maid.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nMy language! Heavens!\\r\\nI am the best of them that speak this speech,\\r\\nWere I but where ’tis spoken.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHow! the best?\\r\\nWhat wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nA single thing, as I am now, that wonders\\r\\nTo hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me;\\r\\nAnd that he does I weep: myself am Naples,\\r\\nWho with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld\\r\\nThe King my father wrack’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAlack, for mercy!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nYes, faith, and all his lords, the Duke of Milan,\\r\\nAnd his brave son being twain.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] The Duke of Milan\\r\\nAnd his more braver daughter could control thee,\\r\\nIf now ’twere fit to do’t. At the first sight\\r\\nThey have changed eyes. Delicate Ariel,\\r\\nI’ll set thee free for this. [_To Ferdinand._] A word, good sir.\\r\\nI fear you have done yourself some wrong: a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nWhy speaks my father so ungently? This\\r\\nIs the third man that e’er I saw; the first\\r\\nThat e’er I sigh’d for. Pity move my father\\r\\nTo be inclin’d my way!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nO! if a virgin,\\r\\nAnd your affection not gone forth, I’ll make you\\r\\nThe Queen of Naples.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSoft, sir; one word more.\\r\\n[_Aside._] They are both in either’s powers. But this swift business\\r\\nI must uneasy make, lest too light winning\\r\\nMake the prize light. [_To Ferdinand._] One word more. I charge thee\\r\\nThat thou attend me. Thou dost here usurp\\r\\nThe name thou ow’st not; and hast put thyself\\r\\nUpon this island as a spy, to win it\\r\\nFrom me, the lord on ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nNo, as I am a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nThere’s nothing ill can dwell in such a temple:\\r\\nIf the ill spirit have so fair a house,\\r\\nGood things will strive to dwell with ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_To Ferdinand._] Follow me.—\\r\\n[_To Miranda._] Speak not you for him; he’s a traitor.\\r\\n[_To Ferdinand._] Come;\\r\\nI’ll manacle thy neck and feet together:\\r\\nSea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be\\r\\nThe fresh-brook mussels, wither’d roots, and husks\\r\\nWherein the acorn cradled. Follow.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nNo;\\r\\nI will resist such entertainment till\\r\\nMine enemy has more power.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He draws, and is charmed from moving._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO dear father!\\r\\nMake not too rash a trial of him, for\\r\\nHe’s gentle, and not fearful.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nWhat! I say,\\r\\nMy foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor;\\r\\nWho mak’st a show, but dar’st not strike, thy conscience\\r\\nIs so possess’d with guilt: come from thy ward,\\r\\nFor I can here disarm thee with this stick\\r\\nAnd make thy weapon drop.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nBeseech you, father!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHence! Hang not on my garments.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nSir, have pity;\\r\\nI’ll be his surety.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSilence! One word more\\r\\nShall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What!\\r\\nAn advocate for an impostor? hush!\\r\\nThou think’st there is no more such shapes as he,\\r\\nHaving seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench!\\r\\nTo th’ most of men this is a Caliban,\\r\\nAnd they to him are angels.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nMy affections\\r\\nAre then most humble; I have no ambition\\r\\nTo see a goodlier man.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_To Ferdinand._] Come on; obey:\\r\\nThy nerves are in their infancy again,\\r\\nAnd have no vigour in them.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nSo they are:\\r\\nMy spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.\\r\\nMy father’s loss, the weakness which I feel,\\r\\nThe wrack of all my friends, nor this man’s threats,\\r\\nTo whom I am subdued, are but light to me,\\r\\nMight I but through my prison once a day\\r\\nBehold this maid: all corners else o’ th’ earth\\r\\nLet liberty make use of; space enough\\r\\nHave I in such a prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] It works. [_To Ferdinand._] Come on.\\r\\nThou hast done well, fine Ariel! [_To Ferdinand._] Follow me.\\r\\n[_To Ariel._] Hark what thou else shalt do me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nBe of comfort;\\r\\nMy father’s of a better nature, sir,\\r\\nThan he appears by speech: this is unwonted\\r\\nWhich now came from him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou shalt be as free\\r\\nAs mountain winds; but then exactly do\\r\\nAll points of my command.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nTo th’ syllable.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_To Ferdinand._] Come, follow. Speak not for him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, Adrian, Francisco and\\r\\n others.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nBeseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause,\\r\\nSo have we all, of joy; for our escape\\r\\nIs much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe\\r\\nIs common; every day, some sailor’s wife,\\r\\nThe masters of some merchant and the merchant,\\r\\nHave just our theme of woe; but for the miracle,\\r\\nI mean our preservation, few in millions\\r\\nCan speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh\\r\\nOur sorrow with our comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nPrithee, peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHe receives comfort like cold porridge.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe visitor will not give him o’er so.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nLook, he’s winding up the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nSir,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nOne: tell.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWhen every grief is entertain’d that’s offer’d,\\r\\nComes to the entertainer—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA dollar.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nDolour comes to him, indeed: you have spoken truer than you purposed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nYou have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nTherefore, my lord,—\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nFie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI prithee, spare.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWell, I have done: but yet—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHe will be talking.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWhich, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nThe old cock.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe cockerel.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nDone. The wager?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nA laughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA match!\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nThough this island seem to be desert,—\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHa, ha, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nSo. You’re paid.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nUninhabitable, and almost inaccessible,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nYet—\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nYet—\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHe could not miss ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nIt must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temperance.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTemperance was a delicate wench.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAy, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nThe air breathes upon us here most sweetly.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAs if it had lungs, and rotten ones.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nOr, as ’twere perfum’d by a fen.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nHere is everything advantageous to life.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTrue; save means to live.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nOf that there’s none, or little.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nHow lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe ground indeed is tawny.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWith an eye of green in’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHe misses not much.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nNo; he doth but mistake the truth totally.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nBut the rarity of it is,—which is indeed almost beyond credit,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAs many vouch’d rarities are.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nThat our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold\\r\\nnotwithstanding their freshness and glosses, being rather new-dyed than\\r\\nstained with salt water.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIf but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say he lies?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAy, or very falsely pocket up his report.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nMethinks our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in\\r\\nAfric, at the marriage of the King’s fair daughter Claribel to the King\\r\\nof Tunis.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n’Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nTunis was never graced before with such a paragon to their Queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nNot since widow Dido’s time.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWidow! a pox o’ that! How came that widow in? Widow Dido!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhat if he had said, widower Aeneas too?\\r\\nGood Lord, how you take it!\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nWidow Dido said you? You make me study of that; she was of Carthage,\\r\\nnot of Tunis.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nThis Tunis, sir, was Carthage.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nCarthage?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI assure you, Carthage.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHis word is more than the miraculous harp.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHe hath rais’d the wall, and houses too.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWhat impossible matter will he make easy next?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI think he will carry this island home in his pocket, and give it his\\r\\nson for an apple.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nAy.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWhy, in good time.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\n[_To Alonso._] Sir, we were talking that our garments seem now as fresh\\r\\nas when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now\\r\\nQueen.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd the rarest that e’er came there.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nBate, I beseech you, widow Dido.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nO! widow Dido; ay, widow Dido.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nIs not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it? I mean, in\\r\\na sort.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThat sort was well fish’d for.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWhen I wore it at your daughter’s marriage?\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nYou cram these words into mine ears against\\r\\nThe stomach of my sense. Would I had never\\r\\nMarried my daughter there! for, coming thence,\\r\\nMy son is lost; and, in my rate, she too,\\r\\nWho is so far from Italy removed,\\r\\nI ne’er again shall see her. O thou mine heir\\r\\nOf Naples and of Milan, what strange fish\\r\\nHath made his meal on thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCISCO.\\r\\nSir, he may live:\\r\\nI saw him beat the surges under him,\\r\\nAnd ride upon their backs. He trod the water,\\r\\nWhose enmity he flung aside, and breasted\\r\\nThe surge most swoln that met him. His bold head\\r\\n’Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oared\\r\\nHimself with his good arms in lusty stroke\\r\\nTo th’ shore, that o’er his wave-worn basis bowed,\\r\\nAs stooping to relieve him. I not doubt\\r\\nHe came alive to land.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nNo, no, he’s gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nSir, you may thank yourself for this great loss,\\r\\nThat would not bless our Europe with your daughter,\\r\\nBut rather lose her to an African;\\r\\nWhere she, at least, is banish’d from your eye,\\r\\nWho hath cause to wet the grief on ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nPrithee, peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nYou were kneel’d to, and importun’d otherwise\\r\\nBy all of us; and the fair soul herself\\r\\nWeigh’d between loathness and obedience at\\r\\nWhich end o’ th’ beam should bow. We have lost your son,\\r\\nI fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have\\r\\nMore widows in them of this business’ making,\\r\\nThan we bring men to comfort them.\\r\\nThe fault’s your own.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nSo is the dear’st o’ th’ loss.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nMy lord Sebastian,\\r\\nThe truth you speak doth lack some gentleness\\r\\nAnd time to speak it in. You rub the sore,\\r\\nWhen you should bring the plaster.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nVery well.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd most chirurgeonly.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nIt is foul weather in us all, good sir,\\r\\nWhen you are cloudy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nFoul weather?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nVery foul.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nHad I plantation of this isle, my lord,—\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHe’d sow ’t with nettle-seed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nOr docks, or mallows.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nAnd were the King on’t, what would I do?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n’Scape being drunk for want of wine.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI’ th’ commonwealth I would by contraries\\r\\nExecute all things; for no kind of traffic\\r\\nWould I admit; no name of magistrate;\\r\\nLetters should not be known; riches, poverty,\\r\\nAnd use of service, none; contract, succession,\\r\\nBourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;\\r\\nNo use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;\\r\\nNo occupation; all men idle, all;\\r\\nAnd women too, but innocent and pure;\\r\\nNo sovereignty,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nYet he would be King on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nAll things in common nature should produce\\r\\nWithout sweat or endeavour; treason, felony,\\r\\nSword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine,\\r\\nWould I not have; but nature should bring forth,\\r\\nOf it own kind, all foison, all abundance,\\r\\nTo feed my innocent people.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nNo marrying ’mong his subjects?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nNone, man; all idle; whores and knaves.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI would with such perfection govern, sir,\\r\\nT’ excel the Golden Age.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nSave his Majesty!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLong live Gonzalo!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nAnd,—do you mark me, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nPrithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI do well believe your highness; and did it to minister occasion to\\r\\nthese gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs that they\\r\\nalways use to laugh at nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\n’Twas you we laughed at.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWho in this kind of merry fooling am nothing to you. So you may\\r\\ncontinue, and laugh at nothing still.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWhat a blow was there given!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAn it had not fallen flat-long.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nYou are gentlemen of brave mettle. You would lift the moon out of her\\r\\nsphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ariel, invisible, playing solemn music.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWe would so, and then go a-bat-fowling.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nNay, good my lord, be not angry.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nNo, I warrant you; I will not adventure my discretion so weakly. Will\\r\\nyou laugh me asleep, for I am very heavy?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nGo sleep, and hear us.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_All sleep but Alonso, Sebastian and Antonio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nWhat, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes\\r\\nWould, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find\\r\\nThey are inclin’d to do so.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nPlease you, sir,\\r\\nDo not omit the heavy offer of it:\\r\\nIt seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,\\r\\nIt is a comforter.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWe two, my lord,\\r\\nWill guard your person while you take your rest,\\r\\nAnd watch your safety.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nThank you. Wondrous heavy!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alonso sleeps. Exit Ariel._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhat a strange drowsiness possesses them!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIt is the quality o’ th’ climate.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhy\\r\\nDoth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not\\r\\nMyself dispos’d to sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nNor I. My spirits are nimble.\\r\\nThey fell together all, as by consent;\\r\\nThey dropp’d, as by a thunder-stroke. What might,\\r\\nWorthy Sebastian? O, what might?—No more.\\r\\nAnd yet methinks I see it in thy face,\\r\\nWhat thou shouldst be. Th’ occasion speaks thee; and\\r\\nMy strong imagination sees a crown\\r\\nDropping upon thy head.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhat, art thou waking?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nDo you not hear me speak?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI do; and surely\\r\\nIt is a sleepy language, and thou speak’st\\r\\nOut of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say?\\r\\nThis is a strange repose, to be asleep\\r\\nWith eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving,\\r\\nAnd yet so fast asleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nNoble Sebastian,\\r\\nThou let’st thy fortune sleep—die rather; wink’st\\r\\nWhiles thou art waking.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nThou dost snore distinctly:\\r\\nThere’s meaning in thy snores.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI am more serious than my custom; you\\r\\nMust be so too, if heed me; which to do\\r\\nTrebles thee o’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWell, I am standing water.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI’ll teach you how to flow.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nDo so: to ebb,\\r\\nHereditary sloth instructs me.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nO,\\r\\nIf you but knew how you the purpose cherish\\r\\nWhiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it,\\r\\nYou more invest it! Ebbing men indeed,\\r\\nMost often, do so near the bottom run\\r\\nBy their own fear or sloth.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nPrithee, say on:\\r\\nThe setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim\\r\\nA matter from thee, and a birth, indeed\\r\\nWhich throes thee much to yield.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThus, sir:\\r\\nAlthough this lord of weak remembrance, this\\r\\nWho shall be of as little memory\\r\\nWhen he is earth’d, hath here almost persuaded,—\\r\\nFor he’s a spirit of persuasion, only\\r\\nProfesses to persuade,—the King his son’s alive,\\r\\n’Tis as impossible that he’s undrown’d\\r\\nAs he that sleeps here swims.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI have no hope\\r\\nThat he’s undrown’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nO, out of that “no hope”\\r\\nWhat great hope have you! No hope that way is\\r\\nAnother way so high a hope, that even\\r\\nAmbition cannot pierce a wink beyond,\\r\\nBut doubts discovery there. Will you grant with me\\r\\nThat Ferdinand is drown’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHe’s gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThen tell me,\\r\\nWho’s the next heir of Naples?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nClaribel.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nShe that is Queen of Tunis; she that dwells\\r\\nTen leagues beyond man’s life; she that from Naples\\r\\nCan have no note, unless the sun were post—\\r\\nThe Man i’ th’ Moon’s too slow—till newborn chins\\r\\nBe rough and razorable; she that from whom\\r\\nWe all were sea-swallow’d, though some cast again,\\r\\nAnd by that destiny, to perform an act\\r\\nWhereof what’s past is prologue, what to come\\r\\nIn yours and my discharge.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhat stuff is this! How say you?\\r\\n’Tis true, my brother’s daughter’s Queen of Tunis;\\r\\nSo is she heir of Naples; ’twixt which regions\\r\\nThere is some space.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nA space whose ev’ry cubit\\r\\nSeems to cry out “How shall that Claribel\\r\\nMeasure us back to Naples? Keep in Tunis,\\r\\nAnd let Sebastian wake.” Say this were death\\r\\nThat now hath seiz’d them; why, they were no worse\\r\\nThan now they are. There be that can rule Naples\\r\\nAs well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate\\r\\nAs amply and unnecessarily\\r\\nAs this Gonzalo. I myself could make\\r\\nA chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore\\r\\nThe mind that I do! What a sleep were this\\r\\nFor your advancement! Do you understand me?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nMethinks I do.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAnd how does your content\\r\\nTender your own good fortune?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI remember\\r\\nYou did supplant your brother Prospero.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTrue.\\r\\nAnd look how well my garments sit upon me;\\r\\nMuch feater than before; my brother’s servants\\r\\nWere then my fellows; now they are my men.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nBut, for your conscience.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAy, sir; where lies that? If ’twere a kibe,\\r\\n’Twould put me to my slipper: but I feel not\\r\\nThis deity in my bosom: twenty consciences\\r\\nThat stand ’twixt me and Milan, candied be they\\r\\nAnd melt ere they molest! Here lies your brother,\\r\\nNo better than the earth he lies upon,\\r\\nIf he were that which now he’s like, that’s dead;\\r\\nWhom I, with this obedient steel, three inches of it,\\r\\nCan lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus,\\r\\nTo the perpetual wink for aye might put\\r\\nThis ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who\\r\\nShould not upbraid our course. For all the rest,\\r\\nThey’ll take suggestion as a cat laps milk.\\r\\nThey’ll tell the clock to any business that\\r\\nWe say befits the hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nThy case, dear friend,\\r\\nShall be my precedent: as thou got’st Milan,\\r\\nI’ll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one stroke\\r\\nShall free thee from the tribute which thou payest,\\r\\nAnd I the King shall love thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nDraw together,\\r\\nAnd when I rear my hand, do you the like,\\r\\nTo fall it on Gonzalo.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nO, but one word.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They converse apart._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Music. Re-enter Ariel, invisible.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nMy master through his art foresees the danger\\r\\nThat you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth—\\r\\nFor else his project dies—to keep them living.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sings in Gonzalo’s ear._]\\r\\n_While you here do snoring lie,\\r\\nOpen-ey’d conspiracy\\r\\n His time doth take.\\r\\nIf of life you keep a care,\\r\\nShake off slumber, and beware.\\r\\n Awake! awake!_\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThen let us both be sudden.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nNow, good angels\\r\\nPreserve the King!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They wake._]\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nWhy, how now! Ho, awake! Why are you drawn?\\r\\nWherefore this ghastly looking?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhiles we stood here securing your repose,\\r\\nEven now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing\\r\\nLike bulls, or rather lions; did ’t not wake you?\\r\\nIt struck mine ear most terribly.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI heard nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nO! ’twas a din to fright a monster’s ear,\\r\\nTo make an earthquake. Sure, it was the roar\\r\\nOf a whole herd of lions.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nHeard you this, Gonzalo?\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nUpon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming,\\r\\nAnd that a strange one too, which did awake me.\\r\\nI shak’d you, sir, and cried; as mine eyes open’d,\\r\\nI saw their weapons drawn:—there was a noise,\\r\\nThat’s verily. ’Tis best we stand upon our guard,\\r\\nOr that we quit this place: let’s draw our weapons.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nLead off this ground, and let’s make further search\\r\\nFor my poor son.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nHeavens keep him from these beasts!\\r\\nFor he is, sure, i’ th’ island.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nLead away.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with the others._]\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nProspero my lord shall know what I have done:\\r\\nSo, King, go safely on to seek thy son.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Caliban with a burden of wood. A noise of thunder heard.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nAll the infections that the sun sucks up\\r\\nFrom bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him\\r\\nBy inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me,\\r\\nAnd yet I needs must curse. But they’ll nor pinch,\\r\\nFright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i’ the mire,\\r\\nNor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark\\r\\nOut of my way, unless he bid ’em; but\\r\\nFor every trifle are they set upon me,\\r\\nSometime like apes that mow and chatter at me,\\r\\nAnd after bite me; then like hedgehogs which\\r\\nLie tumbling in my barefoot way, and mount\\r\\nTheir pricks at my footfall; sometime am I\\r\\nAll wound with adders, who with cloven tongues\\r\\nDo hiss me into madness.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Trinculo.\\r\\n\\r\\nLo, now, lo!\\r\\nHere comes a spirit of his, and to torment me\\r\\nFor bringing wood in slowly. I’ll fall flat;\\r\\nPerchance he will not mind me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nHere’s neither bush nor shrub to bear off any weather at all, and\\r\\nanother storm brewing; I hear it sing i’ th’ wind. Yond same black\\r\\ncloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul bombard that would shed his\\r\\nliquor. If it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to hide\\r\\nmy head: yond same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. What have\\r\\nwe here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish;\\r\\na very ancient and fish-like smell; a kind of not of the newest\\r\\nPoor-John. A strange fish! Were I in England now, as once I was, and\\r\\nhad but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a\\r\\npiece of silver: there would this monster make a man; any strange beast\\r\\nthere makes a man. When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame\\r\\nbeggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg’d like a man,\\r\\nand his fins like arms! Warm, o’ my troth! I do now let loose my\\r\\nopinion, hold it no longer: this is no fish, but an islander, that hath\\r\\nlately suffered by thunderbolt. [_Thunder._] Alas, the storm is come\\r\\nagain! My best way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no other\\r\\nshelter hereabout: misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows. I\\r\\nwill here shroud till the dregs of the storm be past.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Stephano singing; a bottle in his hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\n_I shall no more to sea, to sea,\\r\\nHere shall I die ashore—_\\r\\n\\r\\nThis is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man’s funeral.\\r\\nWell, here’s my comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Drinks._]\\r\\n\\r\\n_The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I,\\r\\n The gunner, and his mate,\\r\\nLov’d Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,\\r\\n But none of us car’d for Kate:\\r\\n For she had a tongue with a tang,\\r\\n Would cry to a sailor “Go hang!”\\r\\nShe lov’d not the savour of tar nor of pitch,\\r\\nYet a tailor might scratch her where’er she did itch.\\r\\n Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang._\\r\\n\\r\\nThis is a scurvy tune too: but here’s my comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Drinks._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nDo not torment me: O!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter? Have we devils here? Do you put tricks upon ’s with\\r\\nsavages and men of Ind? Ha? I have not scap’d drowning, to be afeard\\r\\nnow of your four legs; for it hath been said, As proper a man as ever\\r\\nwent on four legs cannot make him give ground; and it shall be said so\\r\\nagain, while Stephano breathes at’ nostrils.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThe spirit torments me: O!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThis is some monster of the isle with four legs, who hath got, as I\\r\\ntake it, an ague. Where the devil should he learn our language? I will\\r\\ngive him some relief, if it be but for that. If I can recover him and\\r\\nkeep him tame, and get to Naples with him, he’s a present for any\\r\\nemperor that ever trod on neat’s-leather.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nDo not torment me, prithee; I’ll bring my wood home faster.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHe’s in his fit now, and does not talk after the wisest. He shall taste\\r\\nof my bottle: if he have never drunk wine afore, it will go near to\\r\\nremove his fit. If I can recover him, and keep him tame, I will not\\r\\ntake too much for him. He shall pay for him that hath him, and that\\r\\nsoundly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon,\\r\\nI know it by thy trembling: now Prosper works upon thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nCome on your ways. Open your mouth; here is that which will give\\r\\nlanguage to you, cat. Open your mouth. This will shake your shaking, I\\r\\ncan tell you, and that soundly. [_gives Caliban a drink_] You cannot\\r\\ntell who’s your friend: open your chaps again.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI should know that voice: it should be—but he is drowned; and these are\\r\\ndevils. O, defend me!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nFour legs and two voices; a most delicate monster! His forward voice\\r\\nnow is to speak well of his friend; his backward voice is to utter foul\\r\\nspeeches and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will recover him,\\r\\nI will help his ague. Come. Amen! I will pour some in thy other mouth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nStephano!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nDoth thy other mouth call me? Mercy! mercy!\\r\\nThis is a devil, and no monster: I will leave him; I\\r\\nhave no long spoon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nStephano! If thou beest Stephano, touch me, and speak to me; for I am\\r\\nTrinculo—be not afeared—thy good friend Trinculo.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nIf thou beest Trinculo, come forth. I’ll pull thee by the lesser legs:\\r\\nif any be Trinculo’s legs, these are they. Thou art very Trinculo\\r\\nindeed! How cam’st thou to be the siege of this moon-calf? Can he vent\\r\\nTrinculos?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI took him to be kill’d with a thunderstroke. But art thou not drown’d,\\r\\nStephano? I hope now thou are not drown’d. Is the storm overblown? I\\r\\nhid me under the dead moon-calf’s gaberdine for fear of the storm. And\\r\\nart thou living, Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitans scap’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nPrithee, do not turn me about. My stomach is not constant.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\n[_Aside._] These be fine things, an if they be not sprites.\\r\\nThat’s a brave god, and bears celestial liquor.\\r\\nI will kneel to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHow didst thou scape? How cam’st thou hither? Swear by this bottle how\\r\\nthou cam’st hither—I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors\\r\\nheaved o’erboard, by this bottle! which I made of the bark of a tree\\r\\nwith mine own hands, since I was cast ashore.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI’ll swear upon that bottle to be thy true subject, for the liquor is\\r\\nnot earthly.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHere. Swear then how thou escapedst.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nSwum ashore, man, like a duck: I can swim like a duck, I’ll be sworn.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHere, kiss the book. Though thou canst swim like a duck, thou art made\\r\\nlike a goose.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nO Stephano, hast any more of this?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThe whole butt, man: my cellar is in a rock by th’ seaside, where my\\r\\nwine is hid. How now, moon-calf! How does thine ague?\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nHast thou not dropped from heaven?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nOut o’ the moon, I do assure thee: I was the Man in the Moon, when time\\r\\nwas.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee. My mistress showed me\\r\\nthee, and thy dog, and thy bush.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nCome, swear to that. Kiss the book. I will furnish it anon with new\\r\\ncontents. Swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nBy this good light, this is a very shallow monster. I afeard of him? A\\r\\nvery weak monster. The Man i’ the Moon! A most poor credulous monster!\\r\\nWell drawn, monster, in good sooth!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI’ll show thee every fertile inch o’ the island; and I will kiss thy\\r\\nfoot. I prithee, be my god.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nBy this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster. When ’s god’s\\r\\nasleep, he’ll rob his bottle.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI’ll kiss thy foot. I’ll swear myself thy subject.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nCome on, then; down, and swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed monster. A most\\r\\nscurvy monster! I could find in my heart to beat him,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nCome, kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nBut that the poor monster’s in drink. An abominable monster!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI’ll show thee the best springs; I’ll pluck thee berries;\\r\\nI’ll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough.\\r\\nA plague upon the tyrant that I serve!\\r\\nI’ll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee,\\r\\nThou wondrous man.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nA most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of a poor drunkard!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI prithee, let me bring thee where crabs grow;\\r\\nAnd I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts;\\r\\nShow thee a jay’s nest, and instruct thee how\\r\\nTo snare the nimble marmoset; I’ll bring thee\\r\\nTo clustering filberts, and sometimes I’ll get thee\\r\\nYoung scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nI prithee now, lead the way without any more talking. Trinculo, the\\r\\nKing and all our company else being drowned, we will inherit here.\\r\\nHere, bear my bottle. Fellow Trinculo, we’ll fill him by and by again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\n[_Sings drunkenly._] _Farewell, master; farewell, farewell!_\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nA howling monster, a drunken monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\n_No more dams I’ll make for fish;\\r\\nNor fetch in firing\\r\\nAt requiring,\\r\\nNor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish;\\r\\n’Ban ’Ban, Cacaliban,\\r\\nHas a new master—Get a new man._\\r\\nFreedom, high-day! high-day, freedom! freedom,\\r\\nhigh-day, freedom!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nO brave monster! lead the way.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Before Prospero’s cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ferdinand bearing a log.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nThere be some sports are painful, and their labour\\r\\nDelight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness\\r\\nAre nobly undergone; and most poor matters\\r\\nPoint to rich ends. This my mean task\\r\\nWould be as heavy to me as odious, but\\r\\nThe mistress which I serve quickens what’s dead,\\r\\nAnd makes my labours pleasures: O, she is\\r\\nTen times more gentle than her father’s crabbed,\\r\\nAnd he’s compos’d of harshness. I must remove\\r\\nSome thousands of these logs, and pile them up,\\r\\nUpon a sore injunction: my sweet mistress\\r\\nWeeps when she sees me work, and says such baseness\\r\\nHad never like executor. I forget:\\r\\nBut these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours,\\r\\nMost busy, least when I do it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Miranda and Prospero behind.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAlas now, pray you,\\r\\nWork not so hard: I would the lightning had\\r\\nBurnt up those logs that you are enjoin’d to pile!\\r\\nPray, set it down and rest you. When this burns,\\r\\n’Twill weep for having wearied you. My father\\r\\nIs hard at study; pray, now, rest yourself:\\r\\nHe’s safe for these three hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nO most dear mistress,\\r\\nThe sun will set, before I shall discharge\\r\\nWhat I must strive to do.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nIf you’ll sit down,\\r\\nI’ll bear your logs the while. Pray give me that;\\r\\nI’ll carry it to the pile.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nNo, precious creature;\\r\\nI had rather crack my sinews, break my back,\\r\\nThan you should such dishonour undergo,\\r\\nWhile I sit lazy by.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nIt would become me\\r\\nAs well as it does you: and I should do it\\r\\nWith much more ease; for my good will is to it,\\r\\nAnd yours it is against.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Poor worm! thou art infected.\\r\\nThis visitation shows it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nYou look wearily.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nNo, noble mistress; ’tis fresh morning with me\\r\\nWhen you are by at night. I do beseech you—\\r\\nChiefly that I might set it in my prayers—\\r\\nWhat is your name?\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nMiranda—O my father!\\r\\nI have broke your hest to say so.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nAdmir’d Miranda!\\r\\nIndeed, the top of admiration; worth\\r\\nWhat’s dearest to the world! Full many a lady\\r\\nI have ey’d with best regard, and many a time\\r\\nTh’ harmony of their tongues hath into bondage\\r\\nBrought my too diligent ear: for several virtues\\r\\nHave I lik’d several women; never any\\r\\nWith so full soul but some defect in her\\r\\nDid quarrel with the noblest grace she ow’d,\\r\\nAnd put it to the foil: but you, O you,\\r\\nSo perfect and so peerless, are created\\r\\nOf every creature’s best.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nI do not know\\r\\nOne of my sex; no woman’s face remember,\\r\\nSave, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen\\r\\nMore that I may call men than you, good friend,\\r\\nAnd my dear father: how features are abroad,\\r\\nI am skilless of; but, by my modesty,\\r\\nThe jewel in my dower, I would not wish\\r\\nAny companion in the world but you;\\r\\nNor can imagination form a shape,\\r\\nBesides yourself, to like of. But I prattle\\r\\nSomething too wildly, and my father’s precepts\\r\\nI therein do forget.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nI am, in my condition,\\r\\nA prince, Miranda; I do think, a King;\\r\\nI would not so!—and would no more endure\\r\\nThis wooden slavery than to suffer\\r\\nThe flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak:\\r\\nThe very instant that I saw you, did\\r\\nMy heart fly to your service; there resides,\\r\\nTo make me slave to it; and for your sake\\r\\nAm I this patient log-man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nDo you love me?\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nO heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound,\\r\\nAnd crown what I profess with kind event,\\r\\nIf I speak true; if hollowly, invert\\r\\nWhat best is boded me to mischief! I,\\r\\nBeyond all limit of what else i’ the world,\\r\\nDo love, prize, honour you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nI am a fool\\r\\nTo weep at what I am glad of.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Fair encounter\\r\\nOf two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace\\r\\nOn that which breeds between ’em!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nWherefore weep you?\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAt mine unworthiness, that dare not offer\\r\\nWhat I desire to give; and much less take\\r\\nWhat I shall die to want. But this is trifling;\\r\\nAnd all the more it seeks to hide itself,\\r\\nThe bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning!\\r\\nAnd prompt me, plain and holy innocence!\\r\\nI am your wife if you will marry me;\\r\\nIf not, I’ll die your maid: to be your fellow\\r\\nYou may deny me; but I’ll be your servant,\\r\\nWhether you will or no.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nMy mistress, dearest;\\r\\nAnd I thus humble ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nMy husband, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nAy, with a heart as willing\\r\\nAs bondage e’er of freedom: here’s my hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nAnd mine, with my heart in ’t: and now farewell\\r\\nTill half an hour hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nA thousand thousand!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Ferdinand and Miranda severally._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSo glad of this as they, I cannot be,\\r\\nWho are surpris’d withal; but my rejoicing\\r\\nAt nothing can be more. I’ll to my book;\\r\\nFor yet, ere supper time, must I perform\\r\\nMuch business appertaining.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Caliban with a bottle, Stephano and Trinculo.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nTell not me:—when the butt is out we will drink water; not a drop\\r\\nbefore: therefore bear up, and board ’em. Servant-monster, drink to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nServant-monster! The folly of this island! They say there’s but five\\r\\nupon this isle; we are three of them; if th’ other two be brained like\\r\\nus, the state totters.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nDrink, servant-monster, when I bid thee: thy eyes are almost set in thy\\r\\nhead.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nWhere should they be set else? He were a brave monster indeed, if they\\r\\nwere set in his tail.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMy man-monster hath drown’d his tongue in sack: for my part, the sea\\r\\ncannot drown me; I swam, ere I could recover the shore, five-and-thirty\\r\\nleagues, off and on, by this light. Thou shalt be my lieutenant,\\r\\nmonster, or my standard.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nYour lieutenant, if you list; he’s no standard.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nWe’ll not run, Monsieur monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nNor go neither. But you’ll lie like dogs, and yet say nothing neither.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMoon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest a good moon-calf.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nHow does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe. I’ll not serve him, he is\\r\\nnot valiant.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThou liest, most ignorant monster: I am in case to justle a constable.\\r\\nWhy, thou deboshed fish thou, was there ever man a coward that hath\\r\\ndrunk so much sack as I today? Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being\\r\\nbut half a fish and half a monster?\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nLo, how he mocks me! wilt thou let him, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\n“Lord” quoth he! That a monster should be such a natural!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nLo, lo again! bite him to death, I prithee.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nTrinculo, keep a good tongue in your head: if you prove a mutineer, the\\r\\nnext tree! The poor monster’s my subject, and he shall not suffer\\r\\nindignity.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleas’d to hearken once again to\\r\\nthe suit I made to thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMarry. will I. Kneel and repeat it. I will stand, and so shall\\r\\nTrinculo.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ariel, invisible.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nAs I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant, a sorcerer, that by\\r\\nhis cunning hath cheated me of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThou liest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou;\\r\\nI would my valiant master would destroy thee;\\r\\nI do not lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nTrinculo, if you trouble him any more in his tale, by this hand, I will\\r\\nsupplant some of your teeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nWhy, I said nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMum, then, and no more. Proceed.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI say, by sorcery he got this isle;\\r\\nFrom me he got it. If thy greatness will,\\r\\nRevenge it on him,—for I know thou dar’st;\\r\\nBut this thing dare not,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThat’s most certain.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThou shalt be lord of it and I’ll serve thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHow now shall this be compassed? Canst thou bring me to the party?\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nYea, yea, my lord: I’ll yield him thee asleep,\\r\\nWhere thou mayst knock a nail into his head.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThou liest. Thou canst not.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nWhat a pied ninny’s this! Thou scurvy patch!\\r\\nI do beseech thy greatness, give him blows,\\r\\nAnd take his bottle from him: when that’s gone\\r\\nHe shall drink nought but brine; for I’ll not show him\\r\\nWhere the quick freshes are.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nTrinculo, run into no further danger: interrupt the monster one word\\r\\nfurther, and by this hand, I’ll turn my mercy out o’ doors, and make a\\r\\nstock-fish of thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nWhy, what did I? I did nothing. I’ll go farther off.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nDidst thou not say he lied?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThou liest.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nDo I so? Take thou that.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Strikes Trinculo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAs you like this, give me the lie another time.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI did not give the lie. Out o’ your wits and hearing too? A pox o’ your\\r\\nbottle! this can sack and drinking do. A murrain on your monster, and\\r\\nthe devil take your fingers!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nHa, ha, ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nNow, forward with your tale.—Prithee stand further off.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nBeat him enough: after a little time,\\r\\nI’ll beat him too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nStand farther.—Come, proceed.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nWhy, as I told thee, ’tis a custom with him\\r\\nI’ th’ afternoon to sleep: there thou mayst brain him,\\r\\nHaving first seiz’d his books; or with a log\\r\\nBatter his skull, or paunch him with a stake,\\r\\nOr cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember\\r\\nFirst to possess his books; for without them\\r\\nHe’s but a sot, as I am, nor hath not\\r\\nOne spirit to command: they all do hate him\\r\\nAs rootedly as I. Burn but his books.\\r\\nHe has brave utensils,—for so he calls them,—\\r\\nWhich, when he has a house, he’ll deck withal.\\r\\nAnd that most deeply to consider is\\r\\nThe beauty of his daughter; he himself\\r\\nCalls her a nonpareil: I never saw a woman\\r\\nBut only Sycorax my dam and she;\\r\\nBut she as far surpasseth Sycorax\\r\\nAs great’st does least.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nIs it so brave a lass?\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nAy, lord, she will become thy bed, I warrant,\\r\\nAnd bring thee forth brave brood.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMonster, I will kill this man. His daughter and I will be king and\\r\\nqueen,—save our graces!—and Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys.\\r\\nDost thou like the plot, Trinculo?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nExcellent.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nGive me thy hand: I am sorry I beat thee; but while thou liv’st, keep a\\r\\ngood tongue in thy head.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nWithin this half hour will he be asleep.\\r\\nWilt thou destroy him then?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nAy, on mine honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThis will I tell my master.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThou mak’st me merry. I am full of pleasure.\\r\\nLet us be jocund: will you troll the catch\\r\\nYou taught me but while-ere?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nAt thy request, monster, I will do reason, any reason. Come on,\\r\\nTrinculo, let us sing.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n\\r\\n_Flout ’em and cout ’em,\\r\\nand scout ’em and flout ’em:\\r\\n Thought is free._\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThat’s not the tune.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Ariel plays the tune on a tabor and pipe._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nWhat is this same?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThis is the tune of our catch, played by the picture of Nobody.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nIf thou beest a man, show thyself in thy likeness: if thou beest a\\r\\ndevil, take ’t as thou list.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nO, forgive me my sins!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nHe that dies pays all debts: I defy thee. Mercy upon us!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nArt thou afeard?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nNo, monster, not I.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nBe not afeard. The isle is full of noises,\\r\\nSounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not.\\r\\nSometimes a thousand twangling instruments\\r\\nWill hum about mine ears; and sometimes voices,\\r\\nThat, if I then had wak’d after long sleep,\\r\\nWill make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,\\r\\nThe clouds methought would open and show riches\\r\\nReady to drop upon me; that, when I wak’d,\\r\\nI cried to dream again.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThis will prove a brave kingdom to me, where I shall have my music for\\r\\nnothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nWhen Prospero is destroyed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThat shall be by and by: I remember the story.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThe sound is going away. Let’s follow it, and after do our work.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nLead, monster: we’ll follow. I would I could see this taborer! he lays\\r\\nit on. Wilt come?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI’ll follow, Stephano.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Another part of the island.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo Adrian, Francisco, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nBy ’r lakin, I can go no further, sir;\\r\\nMy old bones ache: here’s a maze trod, indeed,\\r\\nThrough forth-rights and meanders! By your patience,\\r\\nI needs must rest me.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nOld lord, I cannot blame thee,\\r\\nWho am myself attach’d with weariness\\r\\nTo th’ dulling of my spirits: sit down, and rest.\\r\\nEven here I will put off my hope, and keep it\\r\\nNo longer for my flatterer: he is drown’d\\r\\nWhom thus we stray to find; and the sea mocks\\r\\nOur frustrate search on land. Well, let him go.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Sebastian._] I am right glad that he’s\\r\\nso out of hope.\\r\\nDo not, for one repulse, forgo the purpose\\r\\nThat you resolv’d to effect.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n[_Aside to Antonio._] The next advantage\\r\\nWill we take throughly.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Sebastian._] Let it be tonight;\\r\\nFor, now they are oppress’d with travel, they\\r\\nWill not, nor cannot, use such vigilance\\r\\nAs when they are fresh.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n[_Aside to Antonio._] I say, tonight: no more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Solemn and strange music: and Prospero above, invisible. Enter several\\r\\n strange Shapes, bringing in a banquet: they dance about it with gentle\\r\\n actions of salutation; and inviting the King &c., to eat, they depart.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nWhat harmony is this? My good friends, hark!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nMarvellous sweet music!\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nGive us kind keepers, heavens! What were these?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA living drollery. Now I will believe\\r\\nThat there are unicorns; that in Arabia\\r\\nThere is one tree, the phoenix’ throne; one phoenix\\r\\nAt this hour reigning there.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI’ll believe both;\\r\\nAnd what does else want credit, come to me,\\r\\nAnd I’ll be sworn ’tis true: travellers ne’er did lie,\\r\\nThough fools at home condemn them.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nIf in Naples\\r\\nI should report this now, would they believe me?\\r\\nIf I should say, I saw such islanders,—\\r\\nFor, certes, these are people of the island,—\\r\\nWho, though, they are of monstrous shape, yet, note,\\r\\nTheir manners are more gentle, kind, than of\\r\\nOur human generation you shall find\\r\\nMany, nay, almost any.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Honest lord,\\r\\nThou hast said well; for some of you there present\\r\\nAre worse than devils.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI cannot too much muse\\r\\nSuch shapes, such gesture, and such sound, expressing—\\r\\nAlthough they want the use of tongue—a kind\\r\\nOf excellent dumb discourse.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Praise in departing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFRANCISCO.\\r\\nThey vanish’d strangely.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nNo matter, since\\r\\nThey have left their viands behind; for we have stomachs.—\\r\\nWill’t please you taste of what is here?\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nNot I.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nFaith, sir, you need not fear. When we were boys,\\r\\nWho would believe that there were mountaineers\\r\\nDewlapp’d like bulls, whose throats had hanging at ’em\\r\\nWallets of flesh? Or that there were such men\\r\\nWhose heads stood in their breasts? which now we find\\r\\nEach putter-out of five for one will bring us\\r\\nGood warrant of.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI will stand to, and feed,\\r\\nAlthough my last, no matter, since I feel\\r\\nThe best is past. Brother, my lord the duke,\\r\\nStand to, and do as we.\\r\\n\\r\\n Thunder and lightning. Enter Ariel like a Harpy; claps his wings upon\\r\\n the table; and, with a quaint device, the banquet vanishes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nYou are three men of sin, whom Destiny,\\r\\nThat hath to instrument this lower world\\r\\nAnd what is in’t,—the never-surfeited sea\\r\\nHath caused to belch up you; and on this island\\r\\nWhere man doth not inhabit; you ’mongst men\\r\\nBeing most unfit to live. I have made you mad;\\r\\nAnd even with such-like valour men hang and drown\\r\\nTheir proper selves.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Seeing Alonso, Sebastian &c., draw their swords._]\\r\\n\\r\\nYou fools! I and my fellows\\r\\nAre ministers of Fate: the elements\\r\\nOf whom your swords are temper’d may as well\\r\\nWound the loud winds, or with bemock’d-at stabs\\r\\nKill the still-closing waters, as diminish\\r\\nOne dowle that’s in my plume. My fellow-ministers\\r\\nAre like invulnerable. If you could hurt,\\r\\nYour swords are now too massy for your strengths,\\r\\nAnd will not be uplifted. But, remember—\\r\\nFor that’s my business to you,—that you three\\r\\nFrom Milan did supplant good Prospero;\\r\\nExpos’d unto the sea, which hath requit it,\\r\\nHim and his innocent child: for which foul deed\\r\\nThe powers, delaying, not forgetting, have\\r\\nIncens’d the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures,\\r\\nAgainst your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso,\\r\\nThey have bereft; and do pronounce, by me\\r\\nLing’ring perdition,—worse than any death\\r\\nCan be at once,—shall step by step attend\\r\\nYou and your ways; whose wraths to guard you from—\\r\\nWhich here, in this most desolate isle, else falls\\r\\nUpon your heads,—is nothing but heart-sorrow,\\r\\nAnd a clear life ensuing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_He vanishes in thunder: then, to soft music, enter the Shapes again,\\r\\n and dance, with mocks and mows, and carry out the table._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Bravely the figure of this Harpy hast thou\\r\\nPerform’d, my Ariel; a grace it had, devouring.\\r\\nOf my instruction hast thou nothing bated\\r\\nIn what thou hadst to say: so, with good life\\r\\nAnd observation strange, my meaner ministers\\r\\nTheir several kinds have done. My high charms work,\\r\\nAnd these mine enemies are all knit up\\r\\nIn their distractions; they now are in my power;\\r\\nAnd in these fits I leave them, while I visit\\r\\nYoung Ferdinand,—whom they suppose is drown’d,—\\r\\nAnd his and mine lov’d darling.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit above._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI’ the name of something holy, sir, why stand you\\r\\nIn this strange stare?\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nO, it is monstrous! monstrous!\\r\\nMethought the billows spoke, and told me of it;\\r\\nThe winds did sing it to me; and the thunder,\\r\\nThat deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc’d\\r\\nThe name of Prosper: it did bass my trespass.\\r\\nTherefore my son i’ th’ ooze is bedded; and\\r\\nI’ll seek him deeper than e’er plummet sounded,\\r\\nAnd with him there lie mudded.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nBut one fiend at a time,\\r\\nI’ll fight their legions o’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI’ll be thy second.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sebastian and Antonio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nAll three of them are desperate: their great guilt,\\r\\nLike poison given to work a great time after,\\r\\nNow ’gins to bite the spirits. I do beseech you\\r\\nThat are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly\\r\\nAnd hinder them from what this ecstasy\\r\\nMay now provoke them to.\\r\\n\\r\\nADRIAN.\\r\\nFollow, I pray you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Before Prospero’s cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Prospero, Ferdinand and Miranda.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nIf I have too austerely punish’d you,\\r\\nYour compensation makes amends: for I\\r\\nHave given you here a third of mine own life,\\r\\nOr that for which I live; who once again\\r\\nI tender to thy hand: all thy vexations\\r\\nWere but my trials of thy love, and thou\\r\\nHast strangely stood the test: here, afore Heaven,\\r\\nI ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand,\\r\\nDo not smile at me that I boast her off,\\r\\nFor thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise,\\r\\nAnd make it halt behind her.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nI do believe it\\r\\nAgainst an oracle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThen, as my gift and thine own acquisition\\r\\nWorthily purchas’d, take my daughter: but\\r\\nIf thou dost break her virgin knot before\\r\\nAll sanctimonious ceremonies may\\r\\nWith full and holy rite be minister’d,\\r\\nNo sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall\\r\\nTo make this contract grow; but barren hate,\\r\\nSour-ey’d disdain, and discord shall bestrew\\r\\nThe union of your bed with weeds so loathly\\r\\nThat you shall hate it both: therefore take heed,\\r\\nAs Hymen’s lamps shall light you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nAs I hope\\r\\nFor quiet days, fair issue, and long life,\\r\\nWith such love as ’tis now, the murkiest den,\\r\\nThe most opportune place, the strong’st suggestion\\r\\nOur worser genius can, shall never melt\\r\\nMine honour into lust, to take away\\r\\nThe edge of that day’s celebration,\\r\\nWhen I shall think, or Phoebus’ steeds are founder’d,\\r\\nOr Night kept chain’d below.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nFairly spoke:\\r\\nSit, then, and talk with her, she is thine own.\\r\\nWhat, Ariel! my industrious servant, Ariel!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ariel.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nWhat would my potent master? here I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThou and thy meaner fellows your last service\\r\\nDid worthily perform; and I must use you\\r\\nIn such another trick. Go bring the rabble,\\r\\nO’er whom I give thee power, here to this place.\\r\\nIncite them to quick motion; for I must\\r\\nBestow upon the eyes of this young couple\\r\\nSome vanity of mine art: it is my promise,\\r\\nAnd they expect it from me.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nPresently?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAy, with a twink.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nBefore you can say “Come” and “Go,”\\r\\nAnd breathe twice, and cry “so, so,”\\r\\nEach one, tripping on his toe,\\r\\nWill be here with mop and mow.\\r\\nDo you love me, master? no?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nDearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not approach\\r\\nTill thou dost hear me call.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nWell, I conceive.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nLook, thou be true; do not give dalliance\\r\\nToo much the rein: the strongest oaths are straw\\r\\nTo th’ fire i’ the blood: be more abstemious,\\r\\nOr else good night your vow!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nI warrant you, sir;\\r\\nThe white cold virgin snow upon my heart\\r\\nAbates the ardour of my liver.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nWell.\\r\\nNow come, my Ariel! bring a corollary,\\r\\nRather than want a spirit: appear, and pertly.\\r\\nNo tongue! all eyes! be silent.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Soft music._]\\r\\n\\r\\n A Masque. Enter Iris.\\r\\n\\r\\nIRIS.\\r\\nCeres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas\\r\\nOf wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas;\\r\\nThy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,\\r\\nAnd flat meads thatch’d with stover, them to keep;\\r\\nThy banks with pioned and twilled brims,\\r\\nWhich spongy April at thy hest betrims,\\r\\nTo make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom groves,\\r\\nWhose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves,\\r\\nBeing lass-lorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard;\\r\\nAnd thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard,\\r\\nWhere thou thyself dost air: the Queen o’ th’ sky,\\r\\nWhose wat’ry arch and messenger am I,\\r\\nBids thee leave these; and with her sovereign grace,\\r\\nHere on this grass-plot, in this very place,\\r\\nTo come and sport; her peacocks fly amain:\\r\\nApproach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ceres.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERES.\\r\\nHail, many-colour’d messenger, that ne’er\\r\\nDost disobey the wife of Jupiter;\\r\\nWho with thy saffron wings upon my flowers\\r\\nDiffusest honey drops, refreshing showers;\\r\\nAnd with each end of thy blue bow dost crown\\r\\nMy bosky acres and my unshrubb’d down,\\r\\nRich scarf to my proud earth; why hath thy queen\\r\\nSummon’d me hither to this short-grass’d green?\\r\\n\\r\\nIRIS.\\r\\nA contract of true love to celebrate,\\r\\nAnd some donation freely to estate\\r\\nOn the blest lovers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERES.\\r\\nTell me, heavenly bow,\\r\\nIf Venus or her son, as thou dost know,\\r\\nDo now attend the queen? Since they did plot\\r\\nThe means that dusky Dis my daughter got,\\r\\nHer and her blind boy’s scandal’d company\\r\\nI have forsworn.\\r\\n\\r\\nIRIS.\\r\\nOf her society\\r\\nBe not afraid. I met her deity\\r\\nCutting the clouds towards Paphos, and her son\\r\\nDove-drawn with her. Here thought they to have done\\r\\nSome wanton charm upon this man and maid,\\r\\nWhose vows are, that no bed-right shall be paid\\r\\nTill Hymen’s torch be lighted; but in vain.\\r\\nMars’s hot minion is return’d again;\\r\\nHer waspish-headed son has broke his arrows,\\r\\nSwears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows,\\r\\nAnd be a boy right out.\\r\\n\\r\\nCERES.\\r\\nHighest queen of State,\\r\\nGreat Juno comes; I know her by her gait.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Juno.\\r\\n\\r\\nJUNO.\\r\\nHow does my bounteous sister? Go with me\\r\\nTo bless this twain, that they may prosperous be,\\r\\nAnd honour’d in their issue.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They sing._]\\r\\n\\r\\nJUNO.\\r\\n_Honour, riches, marriage-blessing,\\r\\nLong continuance, and increasing,\\r\\nHourly joys be still upon you!\\r\\nJuno sings her blessings on you._\\r\\n\\r\\nCERES.\\r\\n_Earth’s increase, foison plenty,\\r\\nBarns and gamers never empty;\\r\\nVines with clust’ring bunches growing;\\r\\nPlants with goodly burden bowing;\\r\\nSpring come to you at the farthest\\r\\nIn the very end of harvest!\\r\\nScarcity and want shall shun you;\\r\\nCeres’ blessing so is on you._\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nThis is a most majestic vision, and\\r\\nHarmonious charmingly. May I be bold\\r\\nTo think these spirits?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSpirits, which by mine art\\r\\nI have from their confines call’d to enact\\r\\nMy present fancies.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nLet me live here ever.\\r\\nSo rare a wonder’d father and a wise,\\r\\nMakes this place Paradise.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Juno and Ceres whisper, and send Iris on employment._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSweet now, silence!\\r\\nJuno and Ceres whisper seriously,\\r\\nThere’s something else to do: hush, and be mute,\\r\\nOr else our spell is marr’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nIRIS.\\r\\nYou nymphs, call’d Naiads, of the windring brooks,\\r\\nWith your sedg’d crowns and ever-harmless looks,\\r\\nLeave your crisp channels, and on this green land\\r\\nAnswer your summons; Juno does command.\\r\\nCome, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate\\r\\nA contract of true love. Be not too late.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter certain Nymphs.\\r\\n\\r\\nYou sun-burn’d sicklemen, of August weary,\\r\\nCome hither from the furrow, and be merry:\\r\\nMake holiday: your rye-straw hats put on,\\r\\nAnd these fresh nymphs encounter every one\\r\\nIn country footing.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter certain Reapers, properly habited: they join with the Nymphs in\\r\\n a graceful dance; towards the end whereof Prospero starts suddenly,\\r\\n and speaks; after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused noise,\\r\\n they heavily vanish.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I had forgot that foul conspiracy\\r\\nOf the beast Caliban and his confederates\\r\\nAgainst my life: the minute of their plot\\r\\nIs almost come. [_To the Spirits._] Well done! avoid; no\\r\\nmore!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nThis is strange: your father’s in some passion\\r\\nThat works him strongly.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nNever till this day\\r\\nSaw I him touch’d with anger so distemper’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nYou do look, my son, in a mov’d sort,\\r\\nAs if you were dismay’d: be cheerful, sir:\\r\\nOur revels now are ended. These our actors,\\r\\nAs I foretold you, were all spirits and\\r\\nAre melted into air, into thin air:\\r\\nAnd, like the baseless fabric of this vision,\\r\\nThe cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,\\r\\nThe solemn temples, the great globe itself,\\r\\nYea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,\\r\\nAnd, like this insubstantial pageant faded,\\r\\nLeave not a rack behind. We are such stuff\\r\\nAs dreams are made on, and our little life\\r\\nIs rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex’d:\\r\\nBear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled.\\r\\nBe not disturb’d with my infirmity.\\r\\nIf you be pleas’d, retire into my cell\\r\\nAnd there repose: a turn or two I’ll walk,\\r\\nTo still my beating mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND, MIRANDA.\\r\\nWe wish your peace.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nCome, with a thought. I thank thee, Ariel. Come!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ariel.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nThy thoughts I cleave to. What’s thy pleasure?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSpirit,\\r\\nWe must prepare to meet with Caliban.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nAy, my commander. When I presented Ceres,\\r\\nI thought to have told thee of it; but I fear’d\\r\\nLest I might anger thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSay again, where didst thou leave these varlets?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking;\\r\\nSo full of valour that they smote the air\\r\\nFor breathing in their faces; beat the ground\\r\\nFor kissing of their feet; yet always bending\\r\\nTowards their project. Then I beat my tabor;\\r\\nAt which, like unback’d colts, they prick’d their ears,\\r\\nAdvanc’d their eyelids, lifted up their noses\\r\\nAs they smelt music: so I charm’d their ears,\\r\\nThat calf-like they my lowing follow’d through\\r\\nTooth’d briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and thorns,\\r\\nWhich enter’d their frail shins: at last I left them\\r\\nI’ th’ filthy-mantled pool beyond your cell,\\r\\nThere dancing up to th’ chins, that the foul lake\\r\\nO’erstunk their feet.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThis was well done, my bird.\\r\\nThy shape invisible retain thou still:\\r\\nThe trumpery in my house, go bring it hither\\r\\nFor stale to catch these thieves.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI go, I go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nA devil, a born devil, on whose nature\\r\\nNurture can never stick; on whom my pains,\\r\\nHumanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost;\\r\\nAnd as with age his body uglier grows,\\r\\nSo his mind cankers. I will plague them all,\\r\\nEven to roaring.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel, loaden with glistering apparel, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, hang them on this line.\\r\\n\\r\\n Prospero and Ariel remain invisible. Enter Caliban, Stephano and\\r\\n Trinculo all wet.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nPray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not\\r\\nHear a foot fall: we now are near his cell.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMonster, your fairy, which you say is a harmless fairy, has done little\\r\\nbetter than played the Jack with us.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nMonster, I do smell all horse-piss; at which my nose is in great\\r\\nindignation.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nSo is mine. Do you hear, monster? If I should take a displeasure\\r\\nagainst you, look you,—\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThou wert but a lost monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nGood my lord, give me thy favour still.\\r\\nBe patient, for the prize I’ll bring thee to\\r\\nShall hoodwink this mischance: therefore speak softly.\\r\\nAll’s hush’d as midnight yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nAy, but to lose our bottles in the pool!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nThere is not only disgrace and dishonour in that, monster, but an\\r\\ninfinite loss.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThat’s more to me than my wetting: yet this is your harmless fairy,\\r\\nmonster.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nI will fetch off my bottle, though I be o’er ears for my labour.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nPrithee, my King, be quiet. Seest thou here,\\r\\nThis is the mouth o’ th’ cell: no noise, and enter.\\r\\nDo that good mischief which may make this island\\r\\nThine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban,\\r\\nFor aye thy foot-licker.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nGive me thy hand. I do begin to have bloody thoughts.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nO King Stephano! O peer! O worthy Stephano!\\r\\nLook what a wardrobe here is for thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nLet it alone, thou fool; it is but trash.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nO, ho, monster! we know what belongs to a frippery. O King Stephano!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nPut off that gown, Trinculo; by this hand, I’ll have that gown.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nThy Grace shall have it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nThe dropsy drown this fool! What do you mean\\r\\nTo dote thus on such luggage? Let’t alone,\\r\\nAnd do the murder first. If he awake,\\r\\nFrom toe to crown he’ll fill our skins with pinches,\\r\\nMake us strange stuff.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nBe you quiet, monster. Mistress line, is not this my jerkin? Now is the\\r\\njerkin under the line: now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair, and\\r\\nprove a bald jerkin.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nDo, do: we steal by line and level, an’t like your Grace.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nI thank thee for that jest. Here’s a garment for ’t: wit shall not go\\r\\nunrewarded while I am King of this country. “Steal by line and level,”\\r\\nis an excellent pass of pate. There’s another garment for ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nMonster, come, put some lime upon your fingers, and away with the rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI will have none on’t. We shall lose our time,\\r\\nAnd all be turn’d to barnacles, or to apes\\r\\nWith foreheads villainous low.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nMonster, lay-to your fingers: help to bear this away where my hogshead\\r\\nof wine is, or I’ll turn you out of my kingdom. Go to, carry this.\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nAnd this.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nAy, and this.\\r\\n\\r\\n A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits, in shape of dogs and\\r\\n hounds, and hunt them about; Prospero and Ariel setting them on.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHey, Mountain, hey!\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nSilver! there it goes, Silver!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nFury, Fury! There, Tyrant, there! hark, hark!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo are driven out._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGo, charge my goblins that they grind their joints\\r\\nWith dry convulsions; shorten up their sinews\\r\\nWith aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted make them\\r\\nThan pard, or cat o’ mountain.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nHark, they roar.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nLet them be hunted soundly. At this hour\\r\\nLies at my mercy all mine enemies.\\r\\nShortly shall all my labours end, and thou\\r\\nShalt have the air at freedom. For a little\\r\\nFollow, and do me service.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Before the cell of Prospero.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Prospero in his magic robes, and Ariel.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNow does my project gather to a head:\\r\\nMy charms crack not; my spirits obey, and time\\r\\nGoes upright with his carriage. How’s the day?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nOn the sixth hour; at which time, my lord,\\r\\nYou said our work should cease.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nI did say so,\\r\\nWhen first I rais’d the tempest. Say, my spirit,\\r\\nHow fares the King and ’s followers?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nConfin’d together\\r\\nIn the same fashion as you gave in charge,\\r\\nJust as you left them; all prisoners, sir,\\r\\nIn the line-grove which weather-fends your cell;\\r\\nThey cannot budge till your release. The King,\\r\\nHis brother, and yours, abide all three distracted,\\r\\nAnd the remainder mourning over them,\\r\\nBrimful of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly\\r\\nHim you term’d, sir, “the good old lord, Gonzalo”.\\r\\nHis tears run down his beard, like winter’s drops\\r\\nFrom eaves of reeds; your charm so strongly works ’em,\\r\\nThat if you now beheld them, your affections\\r\\nWould become tender.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nDost thou think so, spirit?\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nMine would, sir, were I human.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAnd mine shall.\\r\\nHast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling\\r\\nOf their afflictions, and shall not myself,\\r\\nOne of their kind, that relish all as sharply\\r\\nPassion as they, be kindlier mov’d than thou art?\\r\\nThough with their high wrongs I am struck to th’ quick,\\r\\nYet with my nobler reason ’gainst my fury\\r\\nDo I take part: the rarer action is\\r\\nIn virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent,\\r\\nThe sole drift of my purpose doth extend\\r\\nNot a frown further. Go release them, Ariel.\\r\\nMy charms I’ll break, their senses I’ll restore,\\r\\nAnd they shall be themselves.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI’ll fetch them, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nYe elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and\\r\\ngroves;\\r\\nAnd ye that on the sands with printless foot\\r\\nDo chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him\\r\\nWhen he comes back; you demi-puppets that\\r\\nBy moonshine do the green sour ringlets make,\\r\\nWhereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime\\r\\nIs to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice\\r\\nTo hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid,\\r\\nWeak masters though ye be, I have bedimm’d\\r\\nThe noontide sun, call’d forth the mutinous winds,\\r\\nAnd ’twixt the green sea and the azur’d vault\\r\\nSet roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder\\r\\nHave I given fire, and rifted Jove’s stout oak\\r\\nWith his own bolt; the strong-bas’d promontory\\r\\nHave I made shake, and by the spurs pluck’d up\\r\\nThe pine and cedar: graves at my command\\r\\nHave wak’d their sleepers, op’d, and let ’em forth\\r\\nBy my so potent art. But this rough magic\\r\\nI here abjure; and, when I have requir’d\\r\\nSome heavenly music,—which even now I do,—\\r\\nTo work mine end upon their senses that\\r\\nThis airy charm is for, I’ll break my staff,\\r\\nBury it certain fathoms in the earth,\\r\\nAnd deeper than did ever plummet sound\\r\\nI’ll drown my book.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Solem music._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel: after him, Alonso with a frantic gesture, attended by\\r\\n Gonzalo, Sebastian and Antonio in like manner, attended by Adrian and\\r\\n Francisco: they all enter the circle which Prospero had made, and\\r\\n there stand charmed; which Prospero observing, speaks.\\r\\n\\r\\nA solemn air, and the best comforter\\r\\nTo an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains,\\r\\nNow useless, boil’d within thy skull! There stand,\\r\\nFor you are spell-stopp’d.\\r\\nHoly Gonzalo, honourable man,\\r\\nMine eyes, e’en sociable to the show of thine,\\r\\nFall fellowly drops. The charm dissolves apace;\\r\\nAnd as the morning steals upon the night,\\r\\nMelting the darkness, so their rising senses\\r\\nBegin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle\\r\\nTheir clearer reason. O good Gonzalo!\\r\\nMy true preserver, and a loyal sir\\r\\nTo him thou follow’st, I will pay thy graces\\r\\nHome, both in word and deed. Most cruelly\\r\\nDidst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter:\\r\\nThy brother was a furtherer in the act.\\r\\nThou art pinch’d for ’t now, Sebastian. Flesh and blood,\\r\\nYou, brother mine, that entertain’d ambition,\\r\\nExpell’d remorse and nature, who, with Sebastian,—\\r\\nWhose inward pinches therefore are most strong,\\r\\nWould here have kill’d your King; I do forgive thee,\\r\\nUnnatural though thou art. Their understanding\\r\\nBegins to swell, and the approaching tide\\r\\nWill shortly fill the reasonable shores\\r\\nThat now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them\\r\\nThat yet looks on me, or would know me. Ariel,\\r\\nFetch me the hat and rapier in my cell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Ariel._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI will discase me, and myself present\\r\\nAs I was sometime Milan. Quickly, spirit;\\r\\nThou shalt ere long be free.\\r\\n\\r\\n Ariel re-enters, singing, and helps to attire Prospero.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL\\r\\n_Where the bee sucks, there suck I:\\r\\nIn a cowslip’s bell I lie;\\r\\nThere I couch when owls do cry.\\r\\nOn the bat’s back I do fly\\r\\nAfter summer merrily.\\r\\nMerrily, merrily shall I live now\\r\\nUnder the blossom that hangs on the bough._\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nWhy, that’s my dainty Ariel! I shall miss thee;\\r\\nBut yet thou shalt have freedom; so, so, so.\\r\\nTo the King’s ship, invisible as thou art:\\r\\nThere shalt thou find the mariners asleep\\r\\nUnder the hatches; the master and the boatswain\\r\\nBeing awake, enforce them to this place,\\r\\nAnd presently, I prithee.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\nI drink the air before me, and return\\r\\nOr ere your pulse twice beat.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nAll torment, trouble, wonder and amazement\\r\\nInhabits here. Some heavenly power guide us\\r\\nOut of this fearful country!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nBehold, sir King,\\r\\nThe wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero.\\r\\nFor more assurance that a living prince\\r\\nDoes now speak to thee, I embrace thy body;\\r\\nAnd to thee and thy company I bid\\r\\nA hearty welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nWhe’er thou be’st he or no,\\r\\nOr some enchanted trifle to abuse me,\\r\\nAs late I have been, I not know: thy pulse\\r\\nBeats, as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee,\\r\\nTh’ affliction of my mind amends, with which,\\r\\nI fear, a madness held me: this must crave,\\r\\nAn if this be at all, a most strange story.\\r\\nThy dukedom I resign, and do entreat\\r\\nThou pardon me my wrongs. But how should Prospero\\r\\nBe living and be here?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nFirst, noble friend,\\r\\nLet me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot\\r\\nBe measur’d or confin’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWhether this be\\r\\nOr be not, I’ll not swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nYou do yet taste\\r\\nSome subtleties o’ the isle, that will not let you\\r\\nBelieve things certain. Welcome, my friends all.\\r\\n[_Aside to Sebastian and Antonio._] But you, my brace of lords, were I\\r\\nso minded,\\r\\nI here could pluck his highness’ frown upon you,\\r\\nAnd justify you traitors: at this time\\r\\nI will tell no tales.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n[_Aside._] The devil speaks in him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\nFor you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother\\r\\nWould even infect my mouth, I do forgive\\r\\nThy rankest fault, all of them; and require\\r\\nMy dukedom of thee, which perforce I know\\r\\nThou must restore.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nIf thou beest Prospero,\\r\\nGive us particulars of thy preservation;\\r\\nHow thou hast met us here, whom three hours since\\r\\nWere wrack’d upon this shore; where I have lost,—\\r\\nHow sharp the point of this remembrance is!—\\r\\nMy dear son Ferdinand.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nI am woe for ’t, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nIrreparable is the loss, and patience\\r\\nSays it is past her cure.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nI rather think\\r\\nYou have not sought her help, of whose soft grace,\\r\\nFor the like loss I have her sovereign aid,\\r\\nAnd rest myself content.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nYou the like loss!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nAs great to me, as late; and, supportable\\r\\nTo make the dear loss, have I means much weaker\\r\\nThan you may call to comfort you, for I\\r\\nHave lost my daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nA daughter?\\r\\nO heavens, that they were living both in Naples,\\r\\nThe King and Queen there! That they were, I wish\\r\\nMyself were mudded in that oozy bed\\r\\nWhere my son lies. When did you lose your daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nIn this last tempest. I perceive, these lords\\r\\nAt this encounter do so much admire\\r\\nThat they devour their reason, and scarce think\\r\\nTheir eyes do offices of truth, their words\\r\\nAre natural breath; but, howsoe’er you have\\r\\nBeen justled from your senses, know for certain\\r\\nThat I am Prospero, and that very duke\\r\\nWhich was thrust forth of Milan; who most strangely\\r\\nUpon this shore, where you were wrack’d, was landed\\r\\nTo be the lord on’t. No more yet of this;\\r\\nFor ’tis a chronicle of day by day,\\r\\nNot a relation for a breakfast nor\\r\\nBefitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir.\\r\\nThis cell’s my court: here have I few attendants,\\r\\nAnd subjects none abroad: pray you, look in.\\r\\nMy dukedom since you have given me again,\\r\\nI will requite you with as good a thing;\\r\\nAt least bring forth a wonder, to content ye\\r\\nAs much as me my dukedom.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere Prospero discovers Ferdinand and Miranda playing at chess.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nSweet lord, you play me false.\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nNo, my dearest love,\\r\\nI would not for the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nYes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle,\\r\\nAnd I would call it fair play.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nIf this prove\\r\\nA vision of the island, one dear son\\r\\nShall I twice lose.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA most high miracle!\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nThough the seas threaten, they are merciful.\\r\\nI have curs’d them without cause.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Kneels to Alonso._]\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nNow all the blessings\\r\\nOf a glad father compass thee about!\\r\\nArise, and say how thou cam’st here.\\r\\n\\r\\nMIRANDA.\\r\\nO, wonder!\\r\\nHow many goodly creatures are there here!\\r\\nHow beauteous mankind is! O brave new world\\r\\nThat has such people in ’t!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n’Tis new to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nWhat is this maid, with whom thou wast at play?\\r\\nYour eld’st acquaintance cannot be three hours:\\r\\nIs she the goddess that hath sever’d us,\\r\\nAnd brought us thus together?\\r\\n\\r\\nFERDINAND.\\r\\nSir, she is mortal;\\r\\nBut by immortal Providence she’s mine.\\r\\nI chose her when I could not ask my father\\r\\nFor his advice, nor thought I had one. She\\r\\nIs daughter to this famous Duke of Milan,\\r\\nOf whom so often I have heard renown,\\r\\nBut never saw before; of whom I have\\r\\nReceiv’d a second life; and second father\\r\\nThis lady makes him to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI am hers:\\r\\nBut, O, how oddly will it sound that I\\r\\nMust ask my child forgiveness!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nThere, sir, stop:\\r\\nLet us not burden our remembrances with\\r\\nA heaviness that’s gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nI have inly wept,\\r\\nOr should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods,\\r\\nAnd on this couple drop a blessed crown;\\r\\nFor it is you that have chalk’d forth the way\\r\\nWhich brought us hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI say, Amen, Gonzalo!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nWas Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue\\r\\nShould become Kings of Naples? O, rejoice\\r\\nBeyond a common joy, and set it down\\r\\nWith gold on lasting pillars: in one voyage\\r\\nDid Claribel her husband find at Tunis,\\r\\nAnd Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife\\r\\nWhere he himself was lost; Prospero his dukedom\\r\\nIn a poor isle; and all of us ourselves,\\r\\nWhen no man was his own.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\n[_To Ferdinand and Miranda._] Give me your hands:\\r\\nLet grief and sorrow still embrace his heart\\r\\nThat doth not wish you joy!\\r\\n\\r\\nGONZALO.\\r\\nBe it so. Amen!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel with the Master and Boatswain amazedly following.\\r\\n\\r\\nO look, sir, look, sir! Here are more of us.\\r\\nI prophesied, if a gallows were on land,\\r\\nThis fellow could not drown. Now, blasphemy,\\r\\nThat swear’st grace o’erboard, not an oath on shore?\\r\\nHast thou no mouth by land? What is the news?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nThe best news is that we have safely found\\r\\nOur King and company. The next, our ship,—\\r\\nWhich but three glasses since, we gave out split,\\r\\nIs tight and yare, and bravely rigg’d as when\\r\\nWe first put out to sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\n[_Aside to Prospero._] Sir, all this service\\r\\nHave I done since I went.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Ariel._] My tricksy spirit!\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nThese are not natural events; they strengthen\\r\\nFrom strange to stranger. Say, how came you hither?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOATSWAIN.\\r\\nIf I did think, sir, I were well awake,\\r\\nI’d strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep,\\r\\nAnd,—how, we know not,—all clapp’d under hatches,\\r\\nWhere, but even now, with strange and several noises\\r\\nOf roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains,\\r\\nAnd mo diversity of sounds, all horrible,\\r\\nWe were awak’d; straightway, at liberty:\\r\\nWhere we, in all her trim, freshly beheld\\r\\nOur royal, good, and gallant ship; our master\\r\\nCap’ring to eye her. On a trice, so please you,\\r\\nEven in a dream, were we divided from them,\\r\\nAnd were brought moping hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nARIEL.\\r\\n[_Aside to Prospero._] Was’t well done?\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\n[_Aside to Ariel._] Bravely, my diligence. Thou shalt be free.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nThis is as strange a maze as e’er men trod;\\r\\nAnd there is in this business more than nature\\r\\nWas ever conduct of: some oracle\\r\\nMust rectify our knowledge.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSir, my liege,\\r\\nDo not infest your mind with beating on\\r\\nThe strangeness of this business. At pick’d leisure,\\r\\nWhich shall be shortly, single I’ll resolve you,\\r\\nWhich to you shall seem probable, of every\\r\\nThese happen’d accidents; till when, be cheerful\\r\\nAnd think of each thing well. [_Aside to Ariel._] Come hither, spirit;\\r\\nSet Caliban and his companions free;\\r\\nUntie the spell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Ariel._]\\r\\n\\r\\n How fares my gracious sir?\\r\\nThere are yet missing of your company\\r\\nSome few odd lads that you remember not.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ariel driving in Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo in their\\r\\n stolen apparel.\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nEvery man shift for all the rest, and let no man take care for himself,\\r\\nfor all is but fortune.—Coragio! bully-monster, coragio!\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nIf these be true spies which I wear in my head, here’s a goodly sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nO Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed.\\r\\nHow fine my master is! I am afraid\\r\\nHe will chastise me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHa, ha!\\r\\nWhat things are these, my lord Antonio?\\r\\nWill money buy them?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nVery like; one of them\\r\\nIs a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nMark but the badges of these men, my lords,\\r\\nThen say if they be true. This mis-shapen knave,\\r\\nHis mother was a witch; and one so strong\\r\\nThat could control the moon, make flows and ebbs,\\r\\nAnd deal in her command without her power.\\r\\nThese three have robb’d me; and this demi-devil,\\r\\nFor he’s a bastard one, had plotted with them\\r\\nTo take my life. Two of these fellows you\\r\\nMust know and own; this thing of darkness I\\r\\nAcknowledge mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nI shall be pinch’d to death.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nIs not this Stephano, my drunken butler?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nHe is drunk now: where had he wine?\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nAnd Trinculo is reeling-ripe: where should they\\r\\nFind this grand liquor that hath gilded ’em?\\r\\nHow cam’st thou in this pickle?\\r\\n\\r\\nTRINCULO.\\r\\nI have been in such a pickle since I saw you last that, I fear me, will\\r\\nnever out of my bones. I shall not fear fly-blowing.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhy, how now, Stephano!\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nO! touch me not. I am not Stephano, but a cramp.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nYou’d be King o’ the isle, sirrah?\\r\\n\\r\\nSTEPHANO.\\r\\nI should have been a sore one, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nThis is as strange a thing as e’er I look’d on.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Pointing to Caliban._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nHe is as disproportioned in his manners\\r\\nAs in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell;\\r\\nTake with you your companions. As you look\\r\\nTo have my pardon, trim it handsomely.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALIBAN.\\r\\nAy, that I will; and I’ll be wise hereafter,\\r\\nAnd seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass\\r\\nWas I, to take this drunkard for a god,\\r\\nAnd worship this dull fool!\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nGo to; away!\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nHence, and bestow your luggage where you found it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nOr stole it, rather.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nSir, I invite your Highness and your train\\r\\nTo my poor cell, where you shall take your rest\\r\\nFor this one night; which, part of it, I’ll waste\\r\\nWith such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it\\r\\nGo quick away: the story of my life\\r\\nAnd the particular accidents gone by\\r\\nSince I came to this isle: and in the morn\\r\\nI’ll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples,\\r\\nWhere I have hope to see the nuptial\\r\\nOf these our dear-belov’d solemnized;\\r\\nAnd thence retire me to my Milan, where\\r\\nEvery third thought shall be my grave.\\r\\n\\r\\nALONSO.\\r\\nI long\\r\\nTo hear the story of your life, which must\\r\\nTake the ear strangely.\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nI’ll deliver all;\\r\\nAnd promise you calm seas, auspicious gales,\\r\\nAnd sail so expeditious that shall catch\\r\\nYour royal fleet far off. [_Aside to Ariel._] My Ariel,\\r\\nchick,\\r\\nThat is thy charge: then to the elements\\r\\nBe free, and fare thou well! Please you, draw near.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nEPILOGUE\\r\\n\\r\\nPROSPERO.\\r\\nNow my charms are all o’erthrown,\\r\\nAnd what strength I have’s mine own,\\r\\nWhich is most faint. Now ’tis true,\\r\\nI must be here confin’d by you,\\r\\nOr sent to Naples. Let me not,\\r\\nSince I have my dukedom got,\\r\\nAnd pardon’d the deceiver, dwell\\r\\nIn this bare island by your spell,\\r\\nBut release me from my bands\\r\\nWith the help of your good hands.\\r\\nGentle breath of yours my sails\\r\\nMust fill, or else my project fails,\\r\\nWhich was to please. Now I want\\r\\nSpirits to enforce, art to enchant;\\r\\nAnd my ending is despair,\\r\\nUnless I be reliev’d by prayer,\\r\\nWhich pierces so that it assaults\\r\\nMercy itself, and frees all faults.\\r\\n As you from crimes would pardon’d be,\\r\\n Let your indulgence set me free.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n',\n", + " \"THE LIFE OF TIMON OF ATHENS\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON of Athens\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS\\r\\n LUCULLUS\\r\\n SEMPRONIUS\\r\\n flattering lords\\r\\n\\r\\n VENTIDIUS, one of Timon's false friends\\r\\n ALCIBIADES, an Athenian captain\\r\\n APEMANTUS, a churlish philosopher\\r\\n FLAVIUS, steward to Timon\\r\\n\\r\\n FLAMINIUS\\r\\n LUCILIUS\\r\\n SERVILIUS\\r\\n Timon's servants\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPHIS\\r\\n PHILOTUS\\r\\n TITUS\\r\\n HORTENSIUS\\r\\n servants to Timon's creditors\\r\\n\\r\\n POET PAINTER JEWELLER MERCHANT MERCER AN OLD ATHENIAN THREE\\r\\n STRANGERS A PAGE A FOOL\\r\\n\\r\\n PHRYNIA\\r\\n TIMANDRA\\r\\n mistresses to Alcibiades\\r\\n\\r\\n CUPID\\r\\n AMAZONS\\r\\n in the Masque\\r\\n\\r\\n Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Servants, Thieves, and\\r\\n Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Athens and the neighbouring woods\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. Athens. TIMON'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter POET, PAINTER, JEWELLER, MERCHANT, and MERCER, at several doors\\r\\n\\r\\n POET. Good day, sir.\\r\\n PAINTER. I am glad y'are well.\\r\\n POET. I have not seen you long; how goes the world?\\r\\n PAINTER. It wears, sir, as it grows.\\r\\n POET. Ay, that's well known.\\r\\n But what particular rarity? What strange,\\r\\n Which manifold record not matches? See,\\r\\n Magic of bounty, all these spirits thy power\\r\\n Hath conjur'd to attend! I know the merchant.\\r\\n PAINTER. I know them both; th' other's a jeweller.\\r\\n MERCHANT. O, 'tis a worthy lord!\\r\\n JEWELLER. Nay, that's most fix'd.\\r\\n MERCHANT. A most incomparable man; breath'd, as it were,\\r\\n To an untirable and continuate goodness.\\r\\n He passes.\\r\\n JEWELLER. I have a jewel here-\\r\\n MERCHANT. O, pray let's see't. For the Lord Timon, sir?\\r\\n JEWELLER. If he will touch the estimate. But for that-\\r\\n POET. When we for recompense have prais'd the vile,\\r\\n It stains the glory in that happy verse\\r\\n Which aptly sings the good.\\r\\n MERCHANT. [Looking at the jewel] 'Tis a good form.\\r\\n JEWELLER. And rich. Here is a water, look ye.\\r\\n PAINTER. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication\\r\\n To the great lord.\\r\\n POET. A thing slipp'd idly from me.\\r\\n Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes\\r\\n From whence 'tis nourish'd. The fire i' th' flint\\r\\n Shows not till it be struck: our gentle flame\\r\\n Provokes itself, and like the current flies\\r\\n Each bound it chafes. What have you there?\\r\\n PAINTER. A picture, sir. When comes your book forth?\\r\\n POET. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir.\\r\\n Let's see your piece.\\r\\n PAINTER. 'Tis a good piece.\\r\\n POET. So 'tis; this comes off well and excellent.\\r\\n PAINTER. Indifferent.\\r\\n POET. Admirable. How this grace\\r\\n Speaks his own standing! What a mental power\\r\\n This eye shoots forth! How big imagination\\r\\n Moves in this lip! To th' dumbness of the gesture\\r\\n One might interpret.\\r\\n PAINTER. It is a pretty mocking of the life.\\r\\n Here is a touch; is't good?\\r\\n POET. I will say of it\\r\\n It tutors nature. Artificial strife\\r\\n Lives in these touches, livelier than life.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter certain SENATORS, and pass over\\r\\n\\r\\n PAINTER. How this lord is followed!\\r\\n POET. The senators of Athens- happy man!\\r\\n PAINTER. Look, moe!\\r\\n POET. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors.\\r\\n I have in this rough work shap'd out a man\\r\\n Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug\\r\\n With amplest entertainment. My free drift\\r\\n Halts not particularly, but moves itself\\r\\n In a wide sea of tax. No levell'd malice\\r\\n Infects one comma in the course I hold,\\r\\n But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,\\r\\n Leaving no tract behind.\\r\\n PAINTER. How shall I understand you?\\r\\n POET. I will unbolt to you.\\r\\n You see how all conditions, how all minds-\\r\\n As well of glib and slipp'ry creatures as\\r\\n Of grave and austere quality, tender down\\r\\n Their services to Lord Timon. His large fortune,\\r\\n Upon his good and gracious nature hanging,\\r\\n Subdues and properties to his love and tendance\\r\\n All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-fac'd flatterer\\r\\n To Apemantus, that few things loves better\\r\\n Than to abhor himself; even he drops down\\r\\n The knee before him, and returns in peace\\r\\n Most rich in Timon's nod.\\r\\n PAINTER. I saw them speak together.\\r\\n POET. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill\\r\\n Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd. The base o' th' mount\\r\\n Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures\\r\\n That labour on the bosom of this sphere\\r\\n To propagate their states. Amongst them all\\r\\n Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd\\r\\n One do I personate of Lord Timon's frame,\\r\\n Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her;\\r\\n Whose present grace to present slaves and servants\\r\\n Translates his rivals.\\r\\n PAINTER. 'Tis conceiv'd to scope.\\r\\n This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks,\\r\\n With one man beckon'd from the rest below,\\r\\n Bowing his head against the steepy mount\\r\\n To climb his happiness, would be well express'd\\r\\n In our condition.\\r\\n POET. Nay, sir, but hear me on.\\r\\n All those which were his fellows but of late-\\r\\n Some better than his value- on the moment\\r\\n Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance,\\r\\n Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear,\\r\\n Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him\\r\\n Drink the free air.\\r\\n PAINTER. Ay, marry, what of these?\\r\\n POET. When Fortune in her shift and change of mood\\r\\n Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants,\\r\\n Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top\\r\\n Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down,\\r\\n Not one accompanying his declining foot.\\r\\n PAINTER. 'Tis common.\\r\\n A thousand moral paintings I can show\\r\\n That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's\\r\\n More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well\\r\\n To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen\\r\\n The foot above the head.\\r\\n\\r\\n Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, addressing himself\\r\\n courteously to every suitor, a MESSENGER from\\r\\n VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other\\r\\n servants following\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. Imprison'd is he, say you?\\r\\n MESSENGER. Ay, my good lord. Five talents is his debt;\\r\\n His means most short, his creditors most strait.\\r\\n Your honourable letter he desires\\r\\n To those have shut him up; which failing,\\r\\n Periods his comfort.\\r\\n TIMON. Noble Ventidius! Well.\\r\\n I am not of that feather to shake of\\r\\n My friend when he must need me. I do know him\\r\\n A gentleman that well deserves a help,\\r\\n Which he shall have. I'll pay the debt, and free him.\\r\\n MESSENGER. Your lordship ever binds him.\\r\\n TIMON. Commend me to him; I will send his ransom;\\r\\n And being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me.\\r\\n 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,\\r\\n But to support him after. Fare you well.\\r\\n MESSENGER. All happiness to your honour! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter an OLD ATHENIAN\\r\\n\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Lord Timon, hear me speak.\\r\\n TIMON. Freely, good father.\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Thou hast a servant nam'd Lucilius.\\r\\n TIMON. I have so; what of him?\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee.\\r\\n TIMON. Attends he here, or no? Lucilius!\\r\\n LUCILIUS. Here, at your lordship's service.\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature,\\r\\n By night frequents my house. I am a man\\r\\n That from my first have been inclin'd to thrift,\\r\\n And my estate deserves an heir more rais'd\\r\\n Than one which holds a trencher.\\r\\n TIMON. Well; what further?\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. One only daughter have I, no kin else,\\r\\n On whom I may confer what I have got.\\r\\n The maid is fair, o' th' youngest for a bride,\\r\\n And I have bred her at my dearest cost\\r\\n In qualities of the best. This man of thine\\r\\n Attempts her love; I prithee, noble lord,\\r\\n Join with me to forbid him her resort;\\r\\n Myself have spoke in vain.\\r\\n TIMON. The man is honest.\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Therefore he will be, Timon.\\r\\n His honesty rewards him in itself;\\r\\n It must not bear my daughter.\\r\\n TIMON. Does she love him?\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. She is young and apt:\\r\\n Our own precedent passions do instruct us\\r\\n What levity's in youth.\\r\\n TIMON. Love you the maid?\\r\\n LUCILIUS. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it.\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. If in her marriage my consent be missing,\\r\\n I call the gods to witness I will choose\\r\\n Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world,\\r\\n And dispossess her all.\\r\\n TIMON. How shall she be endow'd,\\r\\n If she be mated with an equal husband?\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Three talents on the present; in future, all.\\r\\n TIMON. This gentleman of mine hath serv'd me long;.\\r\\n To build his fortune I will strain a little,\\r\\n For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter:\\r\\n What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise,\\r\\n And make him weigh with her.\\r\\n OLD ATHENIAN. Most noble lord,\\r\\n Pawn me to this your honour, she is his.\\r\\n TIMON. My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise.\\r\\n LUCILIUS. Humbly I thank your lordship. Never may\\r\\n That state or fortune fall into my keeping\\r\\n Which is not owed to you!\\r\\n Exeunt LUCILIUS and OLD ATHENIAN\\r\\n POET. [Presenting his poem] Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your\\r\\n lordship!\\r\\n TIMON. I thank you; you shall hear from me anon;\\r\\n Go not away. What have you there, my friend?\\r\\n PAINTER. A piece of painting, which I do beseech\\r\\n Your lordship to accept.\\r\\n TIMON. Painting is welcome.\\r\\n The painting is almost the natural man;\\r\\n For since dishonour traffics with man's nature,\\r\\n He is but outside; these pencill'd figures are\\r\\n Even such as they give out. I like your work,\\r\\n And you shall find I like it; wait attendance\\r\\n Till you hear further from me.\\r\\n PAINTER. The gods preserve ye!\\r\\n TIMON. Well fare you, gentleman. Give me your hand;\\r\\n We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel\\r\\n Hath suffered under praise.\\r\\n JEWELLER. What, my lord! Dispraise?\\r\\n TIMON. A mere satiety of commendations;\\r\\n If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd,\\r\\n It would unclew me quite.\\r\\n JEWELLER. My lord, 'tis rated\\r\\n As those which sell would give; but you well know\\r\\n Things of like value, differing in the owners,\\r\\n Are prized by their masters. Believe't, dear lord,\\r\\n You mend the jewel by the wearing it.\\r\\n TIMON. Well mock'd.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter APEMANTUS\\r\\n\\r\\n MERCHANT. No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue,\\r\\n Which all men speak with him.\\r\\n TIMON. Look who comes here; will you be chid?\\r\\n JEWELLER. We'll bear, with your lordship.\\r\\n MERCHANT. He'll spare none.\\r\\n TIMON. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow;\\r\\n When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest.\\r\\n TIMON. Why dost thou call them knaves? Thou know'st them not.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Are they not Athenians?\\r\\n TIMON. Yes.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Then I repent not.\\r\\n JEWELLER. You know me, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou know'st I do; I call'd thee by thy name.\\r\\n TIMON. Thou art proud, Apemantus.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Of nothing so much as that I am not like Timon.\\r\\n TIMON. Whither art going?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. To knock out an honest Athenian's brains.\\r\\n TIMON. That's a deed thou't die for.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Right, if doing nothing be death by th' law.\\r\\n TIMON. How lik'st thou this picture, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. The best, for the innocence.\\r\\n TIMON. Wrought he not well that painted it?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. He wrought better that made the painter; and yet he's\\r\\n but a filthy piece of work.\\r\\n PAINTER. Y'are a dog.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thy mother's of my generation; what's she, if I be a dog?\\r\\n TIMON. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No; I eat not lords.\\r\\n TIMON. An thou shouldst, thou'dst anger ladies.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. O, they eat lords; so they come by great bellies.\\r\\n TIMON. That's a lascivious apprehension.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. So thou apprehend'st it take it for thy labour.\\r\\n TIMON. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Not so well as plain dealing, which will not cost a man\\r\\n a doit.\\r\\n TIMON. What dost thou think 'tis worth?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Not worth my thinking. How now, poet!\\r\\n POET. How now, philosopher!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou liest.\\r\\n POET. Art not one?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Yes.\\r\\n POET. Then I lie not.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Art not a poet?\\r\\n POET. Yes.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Then thou liest. Look in thy last work, where thou hast\\r\\n feign'd him a worthy fellow.\\r\\n POET. That's not feign'd- he is so.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy\\r\\n labour. He that loves to be flattered is worthy o' th' flatterer.\\r\\n Heavens, that I were a lord!\\r\\n TIMON. What wouldst do then, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. E'en as Apemantus does now: hate a lord with my heart.\\r\\n TIMON. What, thyself?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ay.\\r\\n TIMON. Wherefore?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. That I had no angry wit to be a lord.- Art not thou a\\r\\n merchant?\\r\\n MERCHANT. Ay, Apemantus.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not!\\r\\n MERCHANT. If traffic do it, the gods do it.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Traffic's thy god, and thy god confound thee!\\r\\n\\r\\n Trumpet sounds. Enter a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. What trumpet's that?\\r\\n MESSENGER. 'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse,\\r\\n All of companionship.\\r\\n TIMON. Pray entertain them; give them guide to us.\\r\\n Exeunt some attendants\\r\\n You must needs dine with me. Go not you hence\\r\\n Till I have thank'd you. When dinner's done\\r\\n Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ALCIBIADES, with the rest\\r\\n\\r\\n Most welcome, sir! [They salute]\\r\\n APEMANTUS. So, so, there!\\r\\n Aches contract and starve your supple joints!\\r\\n That there should be small love amongst these sweet knaves,\\r\\n And all this courtesy! The strain of man's bred out\\r\\n Into baboon and monkey.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Sir, you have sav'd my longing, and I feed\\r\\n Most hungerly on your sight.\\r\\n TIMON. Right welcome, sir!\\r\\n Ere we depart we'll share a bounteous time\\r\\n In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in.\\r\\n Exeunt all but APEMANTUS\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter two LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST LORD. What time o' day is't, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Time to be honest.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. That time serves still.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. The more accursed thou that still omit'st it.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Thou art going to Lord Timon's feast.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ay; to see meat fill knaves and wine heat fools.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Fare thee well, fare thee well.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Why, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean to give\\r\\n thee none.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Hang thyself.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding; make thy requests\\r\\n to thy friend.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll spurn thee hence.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I will fly, like a dog, the heels o' th' ass. Exit\\r\\n FIRST LORD. He's opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in\\r\\n And taste Lord Timon's bounty? He outgoes\\r\\n The very heart of kindness.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. He pours it out: Plutus, the god of gold,\\r\\n Is but his steward; no meed but he repays\\r\\n Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him\\r\\n But breeds the giver a return exceeding\\r\\n All use of quittance.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. The noblest mind he carries\\r\\n That ever govern'd man.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Long may he live in fortunes! shall we in?\\r\\n FIRST LORD. I'll keep you company. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A room of state in TIMON'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nHautboys playing loud music. A great banquet serv'd in;\\r\\nFLAVIUS and others attending; and then enter LORD TIMON, the states,\\r\\nthe ATHENIAN LORDS, VENTIDIUS, which TIMON redeem'd from prison.\\r\\nThen comes, dropping after all, APEMANTUS, discontentedly, like himself\\r\\n\\r\\n VENTIDIUS. Most honoured Timon,\\r\\n It hath pleas'd the gods to remember my father's age,\\r\\n And call him to long peace.\\r\\n He is gone happy, and has left me rich.\\r\\n Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound\\r\\n To your free heart, I do return those talents,\\r\\n Doubled with thanks and service, from whose help\\r\\n I deriv'd liberty.\\r\\n TIMON. O, by no means,\\r\\n Honest Ventidius! You mistake my love;\\r\\n I gave it freely ever; and there's none\\r\\n Can truly say he gives, if he receives.\\r\\n If our betters play at that game, we must not dare\\r\\n To imitate them: faults that are rich are fair.\\r\\n VENTIDIUS. A noble spirit!\\r\\n TIMON. Nay, my lords, ceremony was but devis'd at first\\r\\n To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes,\\r\\n Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown;\\r\\n But where there is true friendship there needs none.\\r\\n Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes\\r\\n Than my fortunes to me. [They sit]\\r\\n FIRST LORD. My lord, we always have confess'd it.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ho, ho, confess'd it! Hang'd it, have you not?\\r\\n TIMON. O, Apemantus, you are welcome.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No;\\r\\n You shall not make me welcome.\\r\\n I come to have thee thrust me out of doors.\\r\\n TIMON. Fie, th'art a churl; ye have got a humour there\\r\\n Does not become a man; 'tis much to blame.\\r\\n They say, my lords, Ira furor brevis est; but yond man is ever\\r\\n angry. Go, let him have a table by himself; for he does neither\\r\\n affect company nor is he fit for't indeed.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon.\\r\\n I come to observe; I give thee warning on't.\\r\\n TIMON. I take no heed of thee. Th'art an Athenian, therefore\\r\\n welcome. I myself would have no power; prithee let my meat make\\r\\n thee silent.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I scorn thy meat; 't'would choke me, for I should ne'er\\r\\n flatter thee. O you gods, what a number of men eats Timon, and he\\r\\n sees 'em not! It grieves me to see so many dip their meat in one\\r\\n man's blood; and all the madness is, he cheers them up too.\\r\\n I wonder men dare trust themselves with men.\\r\\n Methinks they should invite them without knives:\\r\\n Good for their meat and safer for their lives.\\r\\n There's much example for't; the fellow that sits next him now,\\r\\n parts bread with him, pledges the breath of him in a divided\\r\\n draught, is the readiest man to kill him. 'T has been proved. If\\r\\n I were a huge man I should fear to drink at meals.\\r\\n Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous notes:\\r\\n Great men should drink with harness on their throats.\\r\\n TIMON. My lord, in heart! and let the health go round.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Let it flow this way, my good lord.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Flow this way! A brave fellow! He keeps his tides well.\\r\\n Those healths will make thee and thy state look ill, Timon.\\r\\n Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, which\\r\\n ne'er left man i' th' mire.\\r\\n This and my food are equals; there's no odds.'\\r\\n Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods.\\r\\n\\r\\n APEMANTUS' Grace\\r\\n\\r\\n Immortal gods, I crave no pelf;\\r\\n I pray for no man but myself.\\r\\n Grant I may never prove so fond\\r\\n To trust man on his oath or bond,\\r\\n Or a harlot for her weeping,\\r\\n Or a dog that seems a-sleeping,\\r\\n Or a keeper with my freedom,\\r\\n Or my friends, if I should need 'em.\\r\\n Amen. So fall to't.\\r\\n Rich men sin, and I eat root. [Eats and drinks]\\r\\n\\r\\n Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus!\\r\\n TIMON. Captain Alcibiades, your heart's in the field now.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. My heart is ever at your service, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies than dinner of\\r\\n friends.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. So they were bleeding new, my lord, there's no meat\\r\\n like 'em; I could wish my best friend at such a feast.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Would all those flatterers were thine enemies then, that\\r\\n then thou mightst kill 'em, and bid me to 'em.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you\\r\\n would once use our hearts, whereby we might express some part of\\r\\n our zeals, we should think ourselves for ever perfect.\\r\\n TIMON. O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themselves have\\r\\n provided that I shall have much help from you. How had you been\\r\\n my friends else? Why have you that charitable title from\\r\\n thousands, did not you chiefly belong to my heart? I have told\\r\\n more of you to myself than you can with modesty speak in your own\\r\\n behalf; and thus far I confirm you. O you gods, think I, what\\r\\n need we have any friends if we should ne'er have need of 'em?\\r\\n They were the most needless creatures living, should we ne'er\\r\\n have use for 'em; and would most resemble sweet instruments hung\\r\\n up in cases, that keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have\\r\\n often wish'd myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you. We\\r\\n are born to do benefits; and what better or properer can we call\\r\\n our own than the riches of our friends? O, what a precious\\r\\n comfort 'tis to have so many like brothers commanding one\\r\\n another's fortunes! O, joy's e'en made away ere't can be born!\\r\\n Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks. To forget their\\r\\n faults, I drink to you.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou weep'st to make them drink, Timon.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Joy had the like conception in our eyes,\\r\\n And at that instant like a babe sprung up.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ho, ho! I laugh to think that babe a bastard.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. I promise you, my lord, you mov'd me much.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Much! [Sound tucket]\\r\\n TIMON. What means that trump?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n How now?\\r\\n SERVANT. Please you, my lord, there are certain ladies most\\r\\n desirous of admittance.\\r\\n TIMON. Ladies! What are their wills?\\r\\n SERVANT. There comes with them a forerunner, my lord, which bears\\r\\n that office to signify their pleasures.\\r\\n TIMON. I pray let them be admitted.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CUPID\\r\\n CUPID. Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all\\r\\n That of his bounties taste! The five best Senses\\r\\n Acknowledge thee their patron, and come freely\\r\\n To gratulate thy plenteous bosom. Th' Ear,\\r\\n Taste, Touch, Smell, pleas'd from thy table rise;\\r\\n They only now come but to feast thine eyes.\\r\\n TIMON. They're welcome all; let 'em have kind admittance.\\r\\n Music, make their welcome. Exit CUPID\\r\\n FIRST LORD. You see, my lord, how ample y'are belov'd.\\r\\n\\r\\n Music. Re-enter CUPID, witb a Masque of LADIES as Amazons,\\r\\n with lutes in their hands, dancing and playing\\r\\n\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Hoy-day, what a sweep of vanity comes this way!\\r\\n They dance? They are mad women.\\r\\n Like madness is the glory of this life,\\r\\n As this pomp shows to a little oil and root.\\r\\n We make ourselves fools to disport ourselves,\\r\\n And spend our flatteries to drink those men\\r\\n Upon whose age we void it up again\\r\\n With poisonous spite and envy.\\r\\n Who lives that's not depraved or depraves?\\r\\n Who dies that bears not one spurn to their graves\\r\\n Of their friends' gift?\\r\\n I should fear those that dance before me now\\r\\n Would one day stamp upon me. 'T has been done:\\r\\n Men shut their doors against a setting sun.\\r\\n\\r\\n The LORDS rise from table, with much adoring of\\r\\n TIMON; and to show their loves, each single out an\\r\\n Amazon, and all dance, men witb women, a lofty\\r\\n strain or two to the hautboys, and cease\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. You have done our pleasures much grace, fair ladies,\\r\\n Set a fair fashion on our entertainment,\\r\\n Which was not half so beautiful and kind;\\r\\n You have added worth unto't and lustre,\\r\\n And entertain'd me with mine own device;\\r\\n I am to thank you for't.\\r\\n FIRST LADY. My lord, you take us even at the best.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Faith, for the worst is filthy, and would not hold\\r\\n taking, I doubt me.\\r\\n TIMON. Ladies, there is an idle banquet attends you;\\r\\n Please you to dispose yourselves.\\r\\n ALL LADIES. Most thankfully, my lord.\\r\\n Exeunt CUPID and LADIES\\r\\n TIMON. Flavius!\\r\\n FLAVIUS. My lord?\\r\\n TIMON. The little casket bring me hither.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Yes, my lord. [Aside] More jewels yet!\\r\\n There is no crossing him in's humour,\\r\\n Else I should tell him- well i' faith, I should-\\r\\n When all's spent, he'd be cross'd then, an he could.\\r\\n 'Tis pity bounty had not eyes behind,\\r\\n That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind. Exit\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Where be our men?\\r\\n SERVANT. Here, my lord, in readiness.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Our horses!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter FLAVIUS, with the casket\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. O my friends,\\r\\n I have one word to say to you. Look you, my good lord,\\r\\n I must entreat you honour me so much\\r\\n As to advance this jewel; accept it and wear it,\\r\\n Kind my lord.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. I am so far already in your gifts-\\r\\n ALL. So are we all.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. My lord, there are certain nobles of the Senate newly\\r\\n alighted and come to visit you.\\r\\n TIMON. They are fairly welcome. Exit SERVANT\\r\\n FLAVIUS. I beseech your honour, vouchsafe me a word; it does\\r\\n concern you near.\\r\\n TIMON. Near! Why then, another time I'll hear thee. I prithee let's\\r\\n be provided to show them entertainment.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. [Aside] I scarce know how.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter another SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. May it please vour honour, Lord Lucius, out of his\\r\\n free love, hath presented to you four milk-white horses, trapp'd\\r\\n in silver.\\r\\n TIMON. I shall accept them fairly. Let the presents\\r\\n Be worthily entertain'd. Exit SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a third SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n How now! What news?\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. Please you, my lord, that honourable gentleman, Lord\\r\\n Lucullus, entreats your company to-morrow to hunt with him and\\r\\n has sent your honour two brace of greyhounds.\\r\\n TIMON. I'll hunt with him; and let them be receiv'd,\\r\\n Not without fair reward. Exit SERVANT\\r\\n FLAVIUS. [Aside] What will this come to?\\r\\n He commands us to provide and give great gifts,\\r\\n And all out of an empty coffer;\\r\\n Nor will he know his purse, or yield me this,\\r\\n To show him what a beggar his heart is,\\r\\n Being of no power to make his wishes good.\\r\\n His promises fly so beyond his state\\r\\n That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes\\r\\n For ev'ry word. He is so kind that he now\\r\\n Pays interest for't; his land's put to their books.\\r\\n Well, would I were gently put out of office\\r\\n Before I were forc'd out!\\r\\n Happier is he that has no friend to feed\\r\\n Than such that do e'en enemies exceed.\\r\\n I bleed inwardly for my lord. Exit\\r\\n TIMON. You do yourselves much wrong;\\r\\n You bate too much of your own merits.\\r\\n Here, my lord, a trifle of our love.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. With more than common thanks I will receive it.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. O, he's the very soul of bounty!\\r\\n TIMON. And now I remember, my lord, you gave good words the other\\r\\n day of a bay courser I rode on. 'Tis yours because you lik'd it.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. O, I beseech you pardon me, my lord, in that.\\r\\n TIMON. You may take my word, my lord: I know no man\\r\\n Can justly praise but what he does affect.\\r\\n I weigh my friend's affection with mine own.\\r\\n I'll tell you true; I'll call to you.\\r\\n ALL LORDS. O, none so welcome!\\r\\n TIMON. I take all and your several visitations\\r\\n So kind to heart 'tis not enough to give;\\r\\n Methinks I could deal kingdoms to my friends\\r\\n And ne'er be weary. Alcibiades,\\r\\n Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich.\\r\\n It comes in charity to thee; for all thy living\\r\\n Is 'mongst the dead, and all the lands thou hast\\r\\n Lie in a pitch'd field.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Ay, defil'd land, my lord.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. We are so virtuously bound-\\r\\n TIMON. And so am I to you.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. So infinitely endear'd-\\r\\n TIMON. All to you. Lights, more lights!\\r\\n FIRST LORD. The best of happiness, honour, and fortunes, keep with\\r\\n you, Lord Timon!\\r\\n TIMON. Ready for his friends.\\r\\n Exeunt all but APEMANTUS and TIMON\\r\\n APEMANTUS. What a coil's here!\\r\\n Serving of becks and jutting-out of bums!\\r\\n I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums\\r\\n That are given for 'em. Friendship's full of dregs:\\r\\n Methinks false hearts should never have sound legs.\\r\\n Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on curtsies.\\r\\n TIMON. Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen\\r\\n I would be good to thee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No, I'll nothing; for if I should be brib'd too, there\\r\\n would be none left to rail upon thee, and then thou wouldst sin\\r\\n the faster. Thou giv'st so long, Timon, I fear me thou wilt give\\r\\n away thyself in paper shortly. What needs these feasts, pomps,\\r\\n and vain-glories?\\r\\n TIMON. Nay, an you begin to rail on society once, I am sworn not to\\r\\n give regard to you. Farewell; and come with better music.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n APEMANTUS. So. Thou wilt not hear me now: thou shalt not then. I'll\\r\\n lock thy heaven from thee.\\r\\n O that men's ears should be\\r\\n To counsel deaf, but not to flattery! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. A SENATOR'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter A SENATOR, with papers in his hand\\r\\n\\r\\n SENATOR. And late, five thousand. To Varro and to Isidore\\r\\n He owes nine thousand; besides my former sum,\\r\\n Which makes it five and twenty. Still in motion\\r\\n Of raging waste? It cannot hold; it will not.\\r\\n If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog\\r\\n And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold.\\r\\n If I would sell my horse and buy twenty moe\\r\\n Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon,\\r\\n Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me straight,\\r\\n And able horses. No porter at his gate,\\r\\n But rather one that smiles and still invites\\r\\n All that pass by. It cannot hold; no reason\\r\\n Can sound his state in safety. Caphis, ho!\\r\\n Caphis, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CAPHIS\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPHIS. Here, sir; what is your pleasure?\\r\\n SENATOR. Get on your cloak and haste you to Lord Timon;\\r\\n Importune him for my moneys; be not ceas'd\\r\\n With slight denial, nor then silenc'd when\\r\\n 'Commend me to your master' and the cap\\r\\n Plays in the right hand, thus; but tell him\\r\\n My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn\\r\\n Out of mine own; his days and times are past,\\r\\n And my reliances on his fracted dates\\r\\n Have smit my credit. I love and honour him,\\r\\n But must not break my back to heal his finger.\\r\\n Immediate are my needs, and my relief\\r\\n Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words,\\r\\n But find supply immediate. Get you gone;\\r\\n Put on a most importunate aspect,\\r\\n A visage of demand; for I do fear,\\r\\n When every feather sticks in his own wing,\\r\\n Lord Timon will be left a naked gull,\\r\\n Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone.\\r\\n CAPHIS. I go, sir.\\r\\n SENATOR. Take the bonds along with you,\\r\\n And have the dates in compt.\\r\\n CAPHIS. I will, sir.\\r\\n SENATOR. Go. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Before TIMON'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FLAVIUS, TIMON'S Steward, with many bills in his hand\\r\\n\\r\\n FLAVIUS. No care, no stop! So senseless of expense\\r\\n That he will neither know how to maintain it\\r\\n Nor cease his flow of riot; takes no account\\r\\n How things go from him, nor resumes no care\\r\\n Of what is to continue. Never mind\\r\\n Was to be so unwise to be so kind.\\r\\n What shall be done? He will not hear till feel.\\r\\n I must be round with him. Now he comes from hunting.\\r\\n Fie, fie, fie, fie!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CAPHIS, and the SERVANTS Of ISIDORE and VARRO\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPHIS. Good even, Varro. What, you come for money?\\r\\n VARRO'S SERVANT. Is't not your business too?\\r\\n CAPHIS. It is. And yours too, Isidore?\\r\\n ISIDORE'S SERVANT. It is so.\\r\\n CAPHIS. Would we were all discharg'd!\\r\\n VARRO'S SERVANT. I fear it.\\r\\n CAPHIS. Here comes the lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TIMON and his train, with ALCIBIADES\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. So soon as dinner's done we'll forth again,\\r\\n My Alcibiades.- With me? What is your will?\\r\\n CAPHIS. My lord, here is a note of certain dues.\\r\\n TIMON. Dues! Whence are you?\\r\\n CAPHIS. Of Athens here, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. Go to my steward.\\r\\n CAPHIS. Please it your lordship, he hath put me off\\r\\n To the succession of new days this month.\\r\\n My master is awak'd by great occasion\\r\\n To call upon his own, and humbly prays you\\r\\n That with your other noble parts you'll suit\\r\\n In giving him his right.\\r\\n TIMON. Mine honest friend,\\r\\n I prithee but repair to me next morning.\\r\\n CAPHIS. Nay, good my lord-\\r\\n TIMON. Contain thyself, good friend.\\r\\n VARRO'S SERVANT. One Varro's servant, my good lord-\\r\\n ISIDORE'S SERVANT. From Isidore: he humbly prays your speedy\\r\\n payment-\\r\\n CAPHIS. If you did know, my lord, my master's wants-\\r\\n VARRO'S SERVANT. 'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six weeks and\\r\\n past.\\r\\n ISIDORE'S SERVANT. Your steward puts me off, my lord; and\\r\\n I am sent expressly to your lordship.\\r\\n TIMON. Give me breath.\\r\\n I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on;\\r\\n I'll wait upon you instantly.\\r\\n Exeunt ALCIBIADES and LORDS\\r\\n [To FLAVIUS] Come hither. Pray you,\\r\\n How goes the world that I am thus encount'red\\r\\n With clamorous demands of date-broke bonds\\r\\n And the detention of long-since-due debts,\\r\\n Against my honour?\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Please you, gentlemen,\\r\\n The time is unagreeable to this business.\\r\\n Your importunacy cease till after dinner,\\r\\n That I may make his lordship understand\\r\\n Wherefore you are not paid.\\r\\n TIMON. Do so, my friends.\\r\\n See them well entertain'd. Exit\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Pray draw near. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter APEMANTUS and FOOL\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPHIS. Stay, stay, here comes the fool with Apemantus.\\r\\n Let's ha' some sport with 'em.\\r\\n VARRO'S SERVANT. Hang him, he'll abuse us!\\r\\n ISIDORE'S SERVANT. A plague upon him, dog!\\r\\n VARRO'S SERVANT. How dost, fool?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Dost dialogue with thy shadow?\\r\\n VARRO'S SERVANT. I speak not to thee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No, 'tis to thyself. [To the FOOL] Come away.\\r\\n ISIDORE'S SERVANT. [To VARRO'S SERVANT] There's the fool hangs on\\r\\n your back already.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. No, thou stand'st single; th'art not on him yet.\\r\\n CAPHIS. Where's the fool now?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. He last ask'd the question. Poor rogues and usurers'\\r\\n men! Bawds between gold and want!\\r\\n ALL SERVANTS. What are we, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Asses.\\r\\n ALL SERVANTS. Why?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. That you ask me what you are, and do not know\\r\\n yourselves. Speak to 'em, fool.\\r\\n FOOL. How do you, gentlemen?\\r\\n ALL SERVANTS. Gramercies, good fool. How does your mistress?\\r\\n FOOL. She's e'en setting on water to scald such chickens as you\\r\\n are. Would we could see you at Corinth!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Good! gramercy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PAGE\\r\\n\\r\\n FOOL. Look you, here comes my mistress' page.\\r\\n PAGE. [To the FOOL] Why, how now, Captain? What do you in this wise\\r\\n company? How dost thou, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I might answer thee\\r\\n profitably!\\r\\n PAGE. Prithee, Apemantus, read me the superscription of these\\r\\n letters; I know not which is which.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Canst not read?\\r\\n PAGE. No.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. There will little learning die, then, that day thou art\\r\\n hang'd. This is to Lord Timon; this to Alcibiades. Go; thou wast\\r\\n born a bastard, and thou't die a bawd.\\r\\n PAGE. Thou wast whelp'd a dog, and thou shalt famish dog's death.\\r\\n Answer not: I am gone. Exit PAGE\\r\\n APEMANTUS. E'en so thou outrun'st grace.\\r\\n Fool, I will go with you to Lord Timon's.\\r\\n FOOL. Will you leave me there?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. If Timon stay at home. You three serve three usurers?\\r\\n ALL SERVANTS. Ay; would they serv'd us!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. So would I- as good a trick as ever hangman serv'd\\r\\n thief.\\r\\n FOOL. Are you three usurers' men?\\r\\n ALL SERVANTS. Ay, fool.\\r\\n FOOL. I think no usurer but has a fool to his servant. My mistress\\r\\n is one, and I am her fool. When men come to borrow of your\\r\\n masters, they approach sadly and go away merry; but they enter my\\r\\n mistress' house merrily and go away sadly. The reason of this?\\r\\n VARRO'S SERVANT. I could render one.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Do it then, that we may account thee a whoremaster and a\\r\\n knave; which notwithstanding, thou shalt be no less esteemed.\\r\\n VARRO'S SERVANT. What is a whoremaster, fool?\\r\\n FOOL. A fool in good clothes, and something like thee. 'Tis a\\r\\n spirit. Sometime 't appears like a lord; sometime like a lawyer;\\r\\n sometime like a philosopher, with two stones moe than's\\r\\n artificial one. He is very often like a knight; and, generally,\\r\\n in all shapes that man goes up and down in from fourscore to\\r\\n thirteen, this spirit walks in.\\r\\n VARRO'S SERVANT. Thou art not altogether a fool.\\r\\n FOOL. Nor thou altogether a wise man.\\r\\n As much foolery as I have, so much wit thou lack'st.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. That answer might have become Apemantus.\\r\\n VARRO'S SERVANT. Aside, aside; here comes Lord Timon.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Come with me, fool, come.\\r\\n FOOL. I do not always follow lover, elder brother, and woman;\\r\\n sometime the philosopher.\\r\\n Exeunt APEMANTUS and FOOL\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Pray you walk near; I'll speak with you anon.\\r\\n Exeunt SERVANTS\\r\\n TIMON. You make me marvel wherefore ere this time\\r\\n Had you not fully laid my state before me,\\r\\n That I might so have rated my expense\\r\\n As I had leave of means.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. You would not hear me\\r\\n At many leisures I propos'd.\\r\\n TIMON. Go to;\\r\\n Perchance some single vantages you took\\r\\n When my indisposition put you back,\\r\\n And that unaptness made your minister\\r\\n Thus to excuse yourself.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. O my good lord,\\r\\n At many times I brought in my accounts,\\r\\n Laid them before you; you would throw them off\\r\\n And say you found them in mine honesty.\\r\\n When, for some trifling present, you have bid me\\r\\n Return so much, I have shook my head and wept;\\r\\n Yea, 'gainst th' authority of manners, pray'd you\\r\\n To hold your hand more close. I did endure\\r\\n Not seldom, nor no slight checks, when I have\\r\\n Prompted you in the ebb of your estate\\r\\n And your great flow of debts. My lov'd lord,\\r\\n Though you hear now- too late!- yet now's a time:\\r\\n The greatest of your having lacks a half\\r\\n To pay your present debts.\\r\\n TIMON. Let all my land be sold.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. 'Tis all engag'd, some forfeited and gone;\\r\\n And what remains will hardly stop the mouth\\r\\n Of present dues. The future comes apace;\\r\\n What shall defend the interim? And at length\\r\\n How goes our reck'ning?\\r\\n TIMON. To Lacedaemon did my land extend.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. O my good lord, the world is but a word;\\r\\n Were it all yours to give it in a breath,\\r\\n How quickly were it gone!\\r\\n TIMON. You tell me true.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. If you suspect my husbandry or falsehood,\\r\\n Call me before th' exactest auditors\\r\\n And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me,\\r\\n When all our offices have been oppress'd\\r\\n With riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept\\r\\n With drunken spilth of wine, when every room\\r\\n Hath blaz'd with lights and bray'd with minstrelsy,\\r\\n I have retir'd me to a wasteful cock\\r\\n And set mine eyes at flow.\\r\\n TIMON. Prithee no more.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. 'Heavens,' have I said 'the bounty of this lord!\\r\\n How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants\\r\\n This night englutted! Who is not Lord Timon's?\\r\\n What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is Lord Timon's?\\r\\n Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon!'\\r\\n Ah! when the means are gone that buy this praise,\\r\\n The breath is gone whereof this praise is made.\\r\\n Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter show'rs,\\r\\n These flies are couch'd.\\r\\n TIMON. Come, sermon me no further.\\r\\n No villainous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart;\\r\\n Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given.\\r\\n Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack\\r\\n To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart:\\r\\n If I would broach the vessels of my love,\\r\\n And try the argument of hearts by borrowing,\\r\\n Men and men's fortunes could I frankly use\\r\\n As I can bid thee speak.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Assurance bless your thoughts!\\r\\n TIMON. And, in some sort, these wants of mine are crown'd\\r\\n That I account them blessings; for by these\\r\\n Shall I try friends. You shall perceive how you\\r\\n Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my friends.\\r\\n Within there! Flaminius! Servilius!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FLAMINIUS, SERVILIUS, and another SERVANT\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANTS. My lord! my lord!\\r\\n TIMON. I will dispatch you severally- you to Lord Lucius; to Lord\\r\\n Lucullus you; I hunted with his honour to-day. You to Sempronius.\\r\\n Commend me to their loves; and I am proud, say, that my occasions\\r\\n have found time to use 'em toward a supply of money. Let the\\r\\n request be fifty talents.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. As you have said, my lord. Exeunt SERVANTS\\r\\n FLAVIUS. [Aside] Lord Lucius and Lucullus? Humh!\\r\\n TIMON. Go you, sir, to the senators,\\r\\n Of whom, even to the state's best health, I have\\r\\n Deserv'd this hearing. Bid 'em send o' th' instant\\r\\n A thousand talents to me.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. I have been bold,\\r\\n For that I knew it the most general way,\\r\\n To them to use your signet and your name;\\r\\n But they do shake their heads, and I am here\\r\\n No richer in return.\\r\\n TIMON. Is't true? Can't be?\\r\\n FLAVIUS. They answer, in a joint and corporate voice,\\r\\n That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot\\r\\n Do what they would, are sorry- you are honourable-\\r\\n But yet they could have wish'd- they know not-\\r\\n Something hath been amiss- a noble nature\\r\\n May catch a wrench- would all were well!- 'tis pity-\\r\\n And so, intending other serious matters,\\r\\n After distasteful looks, and these hard fractions,\\r\\n With certain half-caps and cold-moving nods,\\r\\n They froze me into silence.\\r\\n TIMON. You gods, reward them!\\r\\n Prithee, man, look cheerly. These old fellows\\r\\n Have their ingratitude in them hereditary.\\r\\n Their blood is cak'd, 'tis cold, it seldom flows;\\r\\n 'Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind;\\r\\n And nature, as it grows again toward earth,\\r\\n Is fashion'd for the journey dull and heavy.\\r\\n Go to Ventidius. Prithee be not sad,\\r\\n Thou art true and honest; ingeniously I speak,\\r\\n No blame belongs to thee. Ventidius lately\\r\\n Buried his father, by whose death he's stepp'd\\r\\n Into a great estate. When he was poor,\\r\\n Imprison'd, and in scarcity of friends,\\r\\n I clear'd him with five talents. Greet him from me,\\r\\n Bid him suppose some good necessity\\r\\n Touches his friend, which craves to be rememb'red\\r\\n With those five talents. That had, give't these fellows\\r\\n To whom 'tis instant due. Nev'r speak or think\\r\\n That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can sink.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. I would I could not think it.\\r\\n That thought is bounty's foe;\\r\\n Being free itself, it thinks all others so. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. LUCULLUS' house\\r\\n\\r\\nFLAMINIUS waiting to speak with LUCULLUS. Enter SERVANT to him\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. I have told my lord of you; he is coming down to you.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. I thank you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LUCULLUS\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. Here's my lord.\\r\\n LUCULLUS. [Aside] One of Lord Timon's men? A gift, I warrant. Why,\\r\\n this hits right; I dreamt of a silver basin and ewer to-night-\\r\\n Flaminius, honest Flaminius, you are very respectively welcome,\\r\\n sir. Fill me some wine. [Exit SERVANT] And how does that\\r\\n honourable, complete, freehearted gentleman of Athens, thy very\\r\\n bountiful good lord and master?\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. His health is well, sir.\\r\\n LUCULLUS. I am right glad that his health is well, sir. And what\\r\\n hast thou there under thy cloak, pretty Flaminius?\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir, which in my lord's\\r\\n behalf I come to entreat your honour to supply; who, having\\r\\n great and instant occasion to use fifty talents, hath sent to\\r\\n your lordship to furnish him, nothing doubting your present\\r\\n assistance therein.\\r\\n LUCULLIUS. La, la, la, la! 'Nothing doubting' says he? Alas, good\\r\\n lord! a noble gentleman 'tis, if he would not keep so good a\\r\\n house. Many a time and often I ha' din'd with him and told him\\r\\n on't; and come again to supper to him of purpose to have him\\r\\n spend less; and yet he would embrace no counsel, take no warning\\r\\n by my coming. Every man has his fault, and honesty is his. I ha'\\r\\n told him on't, but I could ne'er get him from't.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter SERVANT, with wine\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANT. Please your lordship, here is the wine.\\r\\n LUCULLUS. Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. Here's to thee.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. Your lordship speaks your pleasure.\\r\\n LUCULLUS. I have observed thee always for a towardly prompt spirit,\\r\\n give thee thy due, and one that knows what belongs to reason, and\\r\\n canst use the time well, if the time use thee well. Good parts in\\r\\n thee. [To SERVANT] Get you gone, sirrah. [Exit SERVANT] Draw\\r\\n nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord's a bountiful gentleman; but\\r\\n thou art wise, and thou know'st well enough, although thou com'st\\r\\n to me, that this is no time to lend money, especially upon bare\\r\\n friendship without security. Here's three solidares for thee.\\r\\n Good boy, wink at me, and say thou saw'st me not. Fare thee well.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. Is't possible the world should so much differ,\\r\\n And we alive that liv'd? Fly, damned baseness,\\r\\n To him that worships thee. [Throwing the money back]\\r\\n LUCULLUS. Ha! Now I see thou art a fool, and fit for thy master.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. May these add to the number that may scald thee!\\r\\n Let molten coin be thy damnation,\\r\\n Thou disease of a friend and not himself!\\r\\n Has friendship such a faint and milky heart\\r\\n It turns in less than two nights? O you gods,\\r\\n I feel my master's passion! This slave\\r\\n Unto his honour has my lord's meat in him;\\r\\n Why should it thrive and turn to nutriment\\r\\n When he is turn'd to poison?\\r\\n O, may diseases only work upon't!\\r\\n And when he's sick to death, let not that part of nature\\r\\n Which my lord paid for be of any power\\r\\n To expel sickness, but prolong his hour! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A public place\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Lucius, with three STRANGERS\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS. Who, the Lord Timon? He is my very good friend, and an\\r\\n honourable gentleman.\\r\\n FIRST STRANGER. We know him for no less, though we are but\\r\\n strangers to him. But I can tell you one thing, my lord, and\\r\\n which I hear from common rumours: now Lord Timon's happy hours\\r\\n are done and past, and his estate shrinks from him.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Fie, no: do not believe it; he cannot want for money.\\r\\n SECOND STRANGER. But believe you this, my lord, that not long ago\\r\\n one of his men was with the Lord Lucullus to borrow so many\\r\\n talents; nay, urg'd extremely for't, and showed what necessity\\r\\n belong'd to't, and yet was denied.\\r\\n LUCIUS. How?\\r\\n SECOND STRANGER. I tell you, denied, my lord.\\r\\n LUCIUS. What a strange case was that! Now, before the gods, I am\\r\\n asham'd on't. Denied that honourable man! There was very little\\r\\n honour show'd in't. For my own part, I must needs confess I have\\r\\n received some small kindnesses from him, as money, plate, jewels,\\r\\n and such-like trifles, nothing comparing to his; yet, had he\\r\\n mistook him and sent to me, I should ne'er have denied his\\r\\n occasion so many talents.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SERVILIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVILIUS. See, by good hap, yonder's my lord; I have sweat to see\\r\\n his honour.- My honour'd lord!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Servilius? You are kindly met, sir. Fare thee well; commend\\r\\n me to thy honourable virtuous lord, my very exquisite friend.\\r\\n SERVILIUS. May it please your honour, my lord hath sent-\\r\\n LUCIUS. Ha! What has he sent? I am so much endeared to that lord:\\r\\n he's ever sending. How shall I thank him, think'st thou? And what\\r\\n has he sent now?\\r\\n SERVILIUS. Has only sent his present occasion now, my lord,\\r\\n requesting your lordship to supply his instant use with so many\\r\\n talents.\\r\\n LUCIUS. I know his lordship is but merry with me;\\r\\n He cannot want fifty-five hundred talents.\\r\\n SERVILIUS. But in the mean time he wants less, my lord.\\r\\n If his occasion were not virtuous\\r\\n I should not urge it half so faithfully.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius?\\r\\n SERVILIUS. Upon my soul, 'tis true, sir.\\r\\n LUCIUS. What a wicked beast was I to disfurnish myself against such\\r\\n a good time, when I might ha' shown myself honourable! How\\r\\n unluckily it happ'ned that I should purchase the day before for a\\r\\n little part and undo a great deal of honour! Servilius, now\\r\\n before the gods, I am not able to do- the more beast, I say! I\\r\\n was sending to use Lord Timon myself, these gentlemen can\\r\\n witness; but I would not for the wealth of Athens I had done't\\r\\n now. Commend me bountifully to his good lordship, and I hope his\\r\\n honour will conceive the fairest of me, because I have no power\\r\\n to be kind. And tell him this from me: I count it one of my\\r\\n greatest afflictions, say, that I cannot pleasure such an\\r\\n honourable gentleman. Good Servilius, will you befriend me so far\\r\\n as to use mine own words to him?\\r\\n SERVILIUS. Yes, sir, I shall.\\r\\n LUCIUS. I'll look you out a good turn, Servilius.\\r\\n Exit SERVILIUS\\r\\n True, as you said, Timon is shrunk indeed;\\r\\n And he that's once denied will hardly speed. Exit\\r\\n FIRST STRANGER. Do you observe this, Hostilius?\\r\\n SECOND STRANGER. Ay, too well.\\r\\n FIRST STRANGER. Why, this is the world's soul; and just of the same\\r\\n piece\\r\\n Is every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him his friend\\r\\n That dips in the same dish? For, in my knowing,\\r\\n Timon has been this lord's father,\\r\\n And kept his credit with his purse;\\r\\n Supported his estate; nay, Timon's money\\r\\n Has paid his men their wages. He ne'er drinks\\r\\n But Timon's silver treads upon his lip;\\r\\n And yet- O, see the monstrousness of man\\r\\n When he looks out in an ungrateful shape!-\\r\\n He does deny him, in respect of his,\\r\\n What charitable men afford to beggars.\\r\\n THIRD STRANGER. Religion groans at it.\\r\\n FIRST STRANGER. For mine own part,\\r\\n I never tasted Timon in my life,\\r\\n Nor came any of his bounties over me\\r\\n To mark me for his friend; yet I protest,\\r\\n For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue,\\r\\n And honourable carriage,\\r\\n Had his necessity made use of me,\\r\\n I would have put my wealth into donation,\\r\\n And the best half should have return'd to him,\\r\\n So much I love his heart. But I perceive\\r\\n Men must learn now with pity to dispense;\\r\\n For policy sits above conscience. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. SEMPRONIUS' house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SEMPRONIUS and a SERVANT of TIMON'S\\r\\n\\r\\n SEMPRONIUS. Must he needs trouble me in't? Hum! 'Bove all others?\\r\\n He might have tried Lord Lucius or Lucullus;\\r\\n And now Ventidius is wealthy too,\\r\\n Whom he redeem'd from prison. All these\\r\\n Owe their estates unto him.\\r\\n SERVANT. My lord,\\r\\n They have all been touch'd and found base metal, for\\r\\n They have all denied him.\\r\\n SEMPRONIUS. How! Have they denied him?\\r\\n Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him?\\r\\n And does he send to me? Three? Humh!\\r\\n It shows but little love or judgment in him.\\r\\n Must I be his last refuge? His friends, like physicians,\\r\\n Thrice give him over. Must I take th' cure upon me?\\r\\n Has much disgrac'd me in't; I'm angry at him,\\r\\n That might have known my place. I see no sense for't,\\r\\n But his occasions might have woo'd me first;\\r\\n For, in my conscience, I was the first man\\r\\n That e'er received gift from him.\\r\\n And does he think so backwardly of me now\\r\\n That I'll requite it last? No;\\r\\n So it may prove an argument of laughter\\r\\n To th' rest, and I 'mongst lords be thought a fool.\\r\\n I'd rather than the worth of thrice the sum\\r\\n Had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake;\\r\\n I'd such a courage to do him good. But now return,\\r\\n And with their faint reply this answer join:\\r\\n Who bates mine honour shall not know my coin. Exit\\r\\n SERVANT. Excellent! Your lordship's a goodly villain. The devil\\r\\n knew not what he did when he made man politic- he cross'd himself\\r\\n by't; and I cannot think but, in the end, the villainies of man\\r\\n will set him clear. How fairly this lord strives to appear foul!\\r\\n Takes virtuous copies to be wicked, like those that under hot\\r\\n ardent zeal would set whole realms on fire.\\r\\n Of such a nature is his politic love.\\r\\n This was my lord's best hope; now all are fled,\\r\\n Save only the gods. Now his friends are dead,\\r\\n Doors that were ne'er acquainted with their wards\\r\\n Many a bounteous year must be employ'd\\r\\n Now to guard sure their master.\\r\\n And this is all a liberal course allows:\\r\\n Who cannot keep his wealth must keep his house. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A hall in TIMON'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter two Of VARRO'S MEN, meeting LUCIUS' SERVANT, and others, all\\r\\nbeing servants of TIMON's creditors, to wait for his coming out. Then\\r\\nenter TITUS and HORTENSIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. Well met; good morrow, Titus and Hortensius.\\r\\n TITUS. The like to you, kind Varro.\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. Lucius! What, do we meet together?\\r\\n LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ay, and I think one business does command us all;\\r\\n for mine is money.\\r\\n TITUS. So is theirs and ours.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PHILOTUS\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS' SERVANT. And Sir Philotus too!\\r\\n PHILOTUS. Good day at once.\\r\\n LUCIUS' SERVANT. welcome, good brother, what do you think the hour?\\r\\n PHILOTUS. Labouring for nine.\\r\\n LUCIUS' SERVANT. So much?\\r\\n PHILOTUS. Is not my lord seen yet?\\r\\n LUCIUS' SERVANT. Not yet.\\r\\n PHILOTUS. I wonder on't; he was wont to shine at seven.\\r\\n LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ay, but the days are wax'd shorter with him;\\r\\n You must consider that a prodigal course\\r\\n Is like the sun's, but not like his recoverable.\\r\\n I fear\\r\\n 'Tis deepest winter in Lord Timon's purse;\\r\\n That is, one may reach deep enough and yet\\r\\n Find little.\\r\\n PHILOTUS. I am of your fear for that.\\r\\n TITUS. I'll show you how t' observe a strange event.\\r\\n Your lord sends now for money.\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. Most true, he does.\\r\\n TITUS. And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift,\\r\\n For which I wait for money.\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. It is against my heart.\\r\\n LUCIUS' SERVANT. Mark how strange it shows\\r\\n Timon in this should pay more than he owes;\\r\\n And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels\\r\\n And send for money for 'em.\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. I'm weary of this charge, the gods can witness;\\r\\n I know my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth,\\r\\n And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth.\\r\\n FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. Yes, mine's three thousand crowns; what's\\r\\n yours?\\r\\n LUCIUS' SERVANT. Five thousand mine.\\r\\n FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. 'Tis much deep; and it should seem by th'\\r\\n sum\\r\\n Your master's confidence was above mine,\\r\\n Else surely his had equall'd.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FLAMINIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. One of Lord Timon's men.\\r\\n LUCIUS' SERVANT. Flaminius! Sir, a word. Pray, is my lord ready to\\r\\n come forth?\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. No, indeed, he is not.\\r\\n TITUS. We attend his lordship; pray signify so much.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. I need not tell him that; he knows you are to diligent.\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FLAVIUS, in a cloak, muffled\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ha! Is not that his steward muffled so?\\r\\n He goes away in a cloud. Call him, call him.\\r\\n TITUS. Do you hear, sir?\\r\\n SECOND VARRO'S SERVANT. By your leave, sir.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. What do ye ask of me, my friend?\\r\\n TITUS. We wait for certain money here, sir.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Ay,\\r\\n If money were as certain as your waiting,\\r\\n 'Twere sure enough.\\r\\n Why then preferr'd you not your sums and bills\\r\\n When your false masters eat of my lord's meat?\\r\\n Then they could smile, and fawn upon his debts,\\r\\n And take down th' int'rest into their glutt'nous maws.\\r\\n You do yourselves but wrong to stir me up;\\r\\n Let me pass quietly.\\r\\n Believe't, my lord and I have made an end:\\r\\n I have no more to reckon, he to spend.\\r\\n LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ay, but this answer will not serve.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. If 'twill not serve, 'tis not so base as you,\\r\\n For you serve knaves. Exit\\r\\n FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. How! What does his cashier'd worship mutter?\\r\\n SECOND VARRO'S SERVANT. No matter what; he's poor, and that's\\r\\n revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he that has no house\\r\\n to put his head in? Such may rail against great buildings.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SERVILIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. O, here's Servilius; now we shall know some answer.\\r\\n SERVILIUS. If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to repair some other\\r\\n hour, I should derive much from't; for take't of my soul, my lord\\r\\n leans wondrously to discontent. His comfortable temper has\\r\\n forsook him; he's much out of health and keeps his chamber.\\r\\n LUCIUS' SERVANT. Many do keep their chambers are not sick;\\r\\n And if it be so far beyond his health,\\r\\n Methinks he should the sooner pay his debts,\\r\\n And make a clear way to the gods.\\r\\n SERVILIUS. Good gods!\\r\\n TITUS. We cannot take this for answer, sir.\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. [Within] Servilius, help! My lord! my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TIMON, in a rage, FLAMINIUS following\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. What, are my doors oppos'd against my passage?\\r\\n Have I been ever free, and must my house\\r\\n Be my retentive enemy, my gaol?\\r\\n The place which I have feasted, does it now,\\r\\n Like all mankind, show me an iron heart?\\r\\n LUCIUS' SERVANT. Put in now, Titus.\\r\\n TITUS. My lord, here is my bill.\\r\\n LUCIUS' SERVANT. Here's mine.\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. And mine, my lord.\\r\\n BOTH VARRO'S SERVANTS. And ours, my lord.\\r\\n PHILOTUS. All our bills.\\r\\n TIMON. Knock me down with 'em; cleave me to the girdle.\\r\\n LUCIUS' SERVANT. Alas, my lord-\\r\\n TIMON. Cut my heart in sums.\\r\\n TITUS. Mine, fifty talents.\\r\\n TIMON. Tell out my blood.\\r\\n LUCIUS' SERVANT. Five thousand crowns, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. Five thousand drops pays that. What yours? and yours?\\r\\n FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. My lord-\\r\\n SECOND VARRO'S SERVANT. My lord-\\r\\n TIMON. Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon you! Exit\\r\\n HORTENSIUS. Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their caps at\\r\\n their money. These debts may well be call'd desperate ones, for a\\r\\n madman owes 'em. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. They have e'en put my breath from me, the slaves.\\r\\n Creditors? Devils!\\r\\n FLAVIUS. My dear lord-\\r\\n TIMON. What if it should be so?\\r\\n FLAMINIUS. My lord-\\r\\n TIMON. I'll have it so. My steward!\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Here, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. So fitly? Go, bid all my friends again:\\r\\n Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius- all.\\r\\n I'll once more feast the rascals.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. O my lord,\\r\\n You only speak from your distracted soul;\\r\\n There is not so much left to furnish out\\r\\n A moderate table.\\r\\n TIMON. Be it not in thy care.\\r\\n Go, I charge thee, invite them all; let in the tide\\r\\n Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. The Senate House\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter three SENATORS at one door, ALCIBIADES meeting them, with\\r\\nattendants\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. My lord, you have my voice to't: the fault's bloody.\\r\\n 'Tis necessary he should die:\\r\\n Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. Most true; the law shall bruise him.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Honour, health, and compassion, to the Senate!\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Now, Captain?\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I am an humble suitor to your virtues;\\r\\n For pity is the virtue of the law,\\r\\n And none but tyrants use it cruelly.\\r\\n It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy\\r\\n Upon a friend of mine, who in hot blood\\r\\n Hath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth\\r\\n To those that without heed do plunge into't.\\r\\n He is a man, setting his fate aside,\\r\\n Of comely virtues;\\r\\n Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice-\\r\\n An honour in him which buys out his fault-\\r\\n But with a noble fury and fair spirit,\\r\\n Seeing his reputation touch'd to death,\\r\\n He did oppose his foe;\\r\\n And with such sober and unnoted passion\\r\\n He did behove his anger ere 'twas spent,\\r\\n As if he had but prov'd an argument.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. You undergo too strict a paradox,\\r\\n Striving to make an ugly deed look fair;\\r\\n Your words have took such pains as if they labour'd\\r\\n To bring manslaughter into form and set\\r\\n Quarrelling upon the head of valour; which, indeed,\\r\\n Is valour misbegot, and came into the world\\r\\n When sects and factions were newly born.\\r\\n He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer\\r\\n The worst that man can breathe,\\r\\n And make his wrongs his outsides,\\r\\n To wear them like his raiment, carelessly,\\r\\n And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart,\\r\\n To bring it into danger.\\r\\n If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill,\\r\\n What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. My lord-\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. You cannot make gross sins look clear:\\r\\n To revenge is no valour, but to bear.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. My lords, then, under favour, pardon me\\r\\n If I speak like a captain:\\r\\n Why do fond men expose themselves to battle,\\r\\n And not endure all threats? Sleep upon't,\\r\\n And let the foes quietly cut their throats,\\r\\n Without repugnancy? If there be\\r\\n Such valour in the bearing, what make we\\r\\n Abroad? Why, then, women are more valiant,\\r\\n That stay at home, if bearing carry it;\\r\\n And the ass more captain than the lion; the fellow\\r\\n Loaden with irons wiser than the judge,\\r\\n If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords,\\r\\n As you are great, be pitifully good.\\r\\n Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood?\\r\\n To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust;\\r\\n But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just.\\r\\n To be in anger is impiety;\\r\\n But who is man that is not angry?\\r\\n Weigh but the crime with this.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. You breathe in vain.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. In vain! His service done\\r\\n At Lacedaemon and Byzantium\\r\\n Were a sufficient briber for his life.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. What's that?\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Why, I say, my lords, has done fair service,\\r\\n And slain in fight many of your enemies;\\r\\n How full of valour did he bear himself\\r\\n In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds!\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. He has made too much plenty with 'em.\\r\\n He's a sworn rioter; he has a sin that often\\r\\n Drowns him and takes his valour prisoner.\\r\\n If there were no foes, that were enough\\r\\n To overcome him. In that beastly fury\\r\\n He has been known to commit outrages\\r\\n And cherish factions. 'Tis inferr'd to us\\r\\n His days are foul and his drink dangerous.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. He dies.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Hard fate! He might have died in war.\\r\\n My lords, if not for any parts in him-\\r\\n Though his right arm might purchase his own time,\\r\\n And be in debt to none- yet, more to move you,\\r\\n Take my deserts to his, and join 'em both;\\r\\n And, for I know your reverend ages love\\r\\n Security, I'll pawn my victories, all\\r\\n My honours to you, upon his good returns.\\r\\n If by this crime he owes the law his life,\\r\\n Why, let the war receive't in valiant gore;\\r\\n For law is strict, and war is nothing more.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. We are for law: he dies. Urge it no more\\r\\n On height of our displeasure. Friend or brother,\\r\\n He forfeits his own blood that spills another.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Must it be so? It must not be. My lords,\\r\\n I do beseech you, know me.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. How!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Call me to your remembrances.\\r\\n THIRD SENATOR. What!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I cannot think but your age has forgot me;\\r\\n It could not else be I should prove so base\\r\\n To sue, and be denied such common grace.\\r\\n My wounds ache at you.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Do you dare our anger?\\r\\n 'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect:\\r\\n We banish thee for ever.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Banish me!\\r\\n Banish your dotage! Banish usury\\r\\n That makes the Senate ugly.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. If after two days' shine Athens contain thee,\\r\\n Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell our spirit,\\r\\n He shall be executed presently. Exeunt SENATORS\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Now the gods keep you old enough that you may live\\r\\n Only in bone, that none may look on you!\\r\\n I'm worse than mad; I have kept back their foes,\\r\\n While they have told their money and let out\\r\\n Their coin upon large interest, I myself\\r\\n Rich only in large hurts. All those for this?\\r\\n Is this the balsam that the usuring Senate\\r\\n Pours into captains' wounds? Banishment!\\r\\n It comes not ill; I hate not to be banish'd;\\r\\n It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury,\\r\\n That I may strike at Athens. I'll cheer up\\r\\n My discontented troops, and lay for hearts.\\r\\n 'Tis honour with most lands to be at odds;\\r\\n Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. A banqueting hall in TIMON'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nMusic. Tables set out; servants attending. Enter divers LORDS, friends\\r\\nof TIMON, at several doors\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST LORD. The good time of day to you, sir.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. I also wish it to you. I think this honourable lord\\r\\n did but try us this other day.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Upon that were my thoughts tiring when we encount'red.\\r\\n I hope it is not so low with him as he made it seem in the trial\\r\\n of his several friends.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. It should not be, by the persuasion of his new\\r\\n feasting.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. I should think so. He hath sent me an earnest inviting,\\r\\n which many my near occasions did urge me to put off; but he hath\\r\\n conjur'd me beyond them, and I must needs appear.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. In like manner was I in debt to my importunate\\r\\n business, but he would not hear my excuse. I am sorry, when he\\r\\n sent to borrow of me, that my provision was out.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. I am sick of that grief too, as I understand how all\\r\\n things go.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Every man here's so. What would he have borrowed of\\r\\n you?\\r\\n FIRST LORD. A thousand pieces.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. A thousand pieces!\\r\\n FIRST LORD. What of you?\\r\\n SECOND LORD. He sent to me, sir- here he comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TIMON and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. With all my heart, gentlemen both! And how fare you?\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Ever at the best, hearing well of your lordship.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. The swallow follows not summer more willing than we\\r\\n your lordship.\\r\\n TIMON. [Aside] Nor more willingly leaves winter; such summer-birds\\r\\n are men- Gentlemen, our dinner will not recompense this long\\r\\n stay; feast your ears with the music awhile, if they will fare so\\r\\n harshly o' th' trumpet's sound; we shall to't presently.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. I hope it remains not unkindly with your lordship that\\r\\n I return'd you an empty messenger.\\r\\n TIMON. O sir, let it not trouble you.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. My noble lord-\\r\\n TIMON. Ah, my good friend, what cheer?\\r\\n SECOND LORD. My most honourable lord, I am e'en sick of shame that,\\r\\n when your lordship this other day sent to me, I was so\\r\\n unfortunate a beggar.\\r\\n TIMON. Think not on't, sir.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. If you had sent but two hours before-\\r\\n TIMON. Let it not cumber your better remembrance. [The banquet\\r\\n brought in] Come, bring in all together.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. All cover'd dishes!\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Royal cheer, I warrant you.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. Doubt not that, if money and the season can yield it.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. How do you? What's the news?\\r\\n THIRD LORD. Alcibiades is banish'd. Hear you of it?\\r\\n FIRST AND SECOND LORDS. Alcibiades banish'd!\\r\\n THIRD LORD. 'Tis so, be sure of it.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. How? how?\\r\\n SECOND LORD. I pray you, upon what?\\r\\n TIMON. My worthy friends, will you draw near?\\r\\n THIRD LORD. I'll tell you more anon. Here's a noble feast toward.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. This is the old man still.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. Will't hold? Will't hold?\\r\\n SECOND LORD. It does; but time will- and so-\\r\\n THIRD LORD. I do conceive.\\r\\n TIMON. Each man to his stool with that spur as he would to the lip\\r\\n of his mistress; your diet shall be in all places alike. Make not\\r\\n a city feast of it, to let the meat cool ere we can agree upon\\r\\n the first place. Sit, sit. The gods require our thanks:\\r\\n\\r\\n You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with thankfulness. For\\r\\n your own gifts make yourselves prais'd; but reserve still to give,\\r\\n lest your deities be despised. Lend to each man enough, that one\\r\\n need not lend to another; for were your god-heads to borrow of men,\\r\\n men would forsake the gods. Make the meat be beloved more than the\\r\\n man that gives it. Let no assembly of twenty be without a score of\\r\\n villains. If there sit twelve women at the table, let a dozen of\\r\\n them be- as they are. The rest of your foes, O gods, the senators\\r\\n of Athens, together with the common lag of people, what is amiss in\\r\\n them, you gods, make suitable for destruction. For these my present\\r\\n friends, as they are to me nothing, so in nothing bless them, and\\r\\n to nothing are they welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\n Uncover, dogs, and lap. [The dishes are uncovered and\\r\\n seen to he full of warm water]\\r\\n SOME SPEAK. What does his lordship mean?\\r\\n SOME OTHER. I know not.\\r\\n TIMON. May you a better feast never behold,\\r\\n You knot of mouth-friends! Smoke and lukewarm water\\r\\n Is your perfection. This is Timon's last;\\r\\n Who, stuck and spangled with your flatteries,\\r\\n Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces\\r\\n [Throwing the water in their faces]\\r\\n Your reeking villainy. Live loath'd and long,\\r\\n Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites,\\r\\n Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears,\\r\\n You fools of fortune, trencher friends, time's flies,\\r\\n Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-lacks!\\r\\n Of man and beast the infinite malady\\r\\n Crust you quite o'er! What, dost thou go?\\r\\n Soft, take thy physic first; thou too, and thou.\\r\\n Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none. [Throws the\\r\\n dishes at them, and drives them out]\\r\\n What, all in motion? Henceforth be no feast\\r\\n Whereat a villain's not a welcome guest.\\r\\n Burn house! Sink Athens! Henceforth hated be\\r\\n Of Timon man and all humanity! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter the LORDS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST LORD. How now, my lords!\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Know you the quality of Lord Timon's fury?\\r\\n THIRD LORD. Push! Did you see my cap?\\r\\n FOURTH LORD. I have lost my gown.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. He's but a mad lord, and nought but humours sways him.\\r\\n He gave me a jewel th' other day, and now he has beat it out of\\r\\n my hat. Did you see my jewel?\\r\\n THIRD LORD. Did you see my cap?\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Here 'tis.\\r\\n FOURTH LORD. Here lies my gown.\\r\\n FIRST LORD. Let's make no stay.\\r\\n SECOND LORD. Lord Timon's mad.\\r\\n THIRD LORD. I feel't upon my bones.\\r\\n FOURTH LORD. One day he gives us diamonds, next day stones.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I. Without the walls of Athens\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TIMON\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. Let me look back upon thee. O thou wall\\r\\n That girdles in those wolves, dive in the earth\\r\\n And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent.\\r\\n Obedience, fail in children! Slaves and fools,\\r\\n Pluck the grave wrinkled Senate from the bench\\r\\n And minister in their steads. To general filths\\r\\n Convert, o' th' instant, green virginity.\\r\\n Do't in your parents' eyes. Bankrupts, hold fast;\\r\\n Rather than render back, out with your knives\\r\\n And cut your trusters' throats. Bound servants, steal:\\r\\n Large-handed robbers your grave masters are,\\r\\n And pill by law. Maid, to thy master's bed:\\r\\n Thy mistress is o' th' brothel. Son of sixteen,\\r\\n Pluck the lin'd crutch from thy old limping sire,\\r\\n With it beat out his brains. Piety and fear,\\r\\n Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth,\\r\\n Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood,\\r\\n Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades,\\r\\n Degrees, observances, customs and laws,\\r\\n Decline to your confounding contraries\\r\\n And let confusion live. Plagues incident to men,\\r\\n Your potent and infectious fevers heap\\r\\n On Athens, ripe for stroke. Thou cold sciatica,\\r\\n Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt\\r\\n As lamely as their manners. Lust and liberty,\\r\\n Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth,\\r\\n That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive\\r\\n And drown themselves in riot. Itches, blains,\\r\\n Sow all th' Athenian bosoms, and their crop\\r\\n Be general leprosy! Breath infect breath,\\r\\n That their society, as their friendship, may\\r\\n Be merely poison! Nothing I'll bear from thee\\r\\n But nakedness, thou detestable town!\\r\\n Take thou that too, with multiplying bans.\\r\\n Timon will to the woods, where he shall find\\r\\n Th' unkindest beast more kinder than mankind.\\r\\n The gods confound- hear me, you good gods all-\\r\\n The Athenians both within and out that wall!\\r\\n And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow\\r\\n To the whole race of mankind, high and low!\\r\\n Amen. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Athens. TIMON's house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter FLAVIUS, with two or three SERVANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. Hear you, Master Steward, where's our master?\\r\\n Are we undone, cast off, nothing remaining?\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you?\\r\\n Let me be recorded by the righteous gods,\\r\\n I am as poor as you.\\r\\n FIRST SERVANT. Such a house broke!\\r\\n So noble a master fall'n! All gone, and not\\r\\n One friend to take his fortune by the arm\\r\\n And go along with him?\\r\\n SECOND SERVANT. As we do turn our backs\\r\\n From our companion, thrown into his grave,\\r\\n So his familiars to his buried fortunes\\r\\n Slink all away; leave their false vows with him,\\r\\n Like empty purses pick'd; and his poor self,\\r\\n A dedicated beggar to the air,\\r\\n With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty,\\r\\n Walks, like contempt, alone. More of our fellows.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter other SERVANTS\\r\\n\\r\\n FLAVIUS. All broken implements of a ruin'd house.\\r\\n THIRD SERVANT. Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery;\\r\\n That see I by our faces. We are fellows still,\\r\\n Serving alike in sorrow. Leak'd is our bark;\\r\\n And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck,\\r\\n Hearing the surges threat. We must all part\\r\\n Into this sea of air.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Good fellows all,\\r\\n The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you.\\r\\n Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake,\\r\\n Let's yet be fellows; let's shake our heads and say,\\r\\n As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortune,\\r\\n 'We have seen better days.' Let each take some.\\r\\n [Giving them money]\\r\\n Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more!\\r\\n Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor.\\r\\n [Embrace, and part several ways]\\r\\n O the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us!\\r\\n Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt,\\r\\n Since riches point to misery and contempt?\\r\\n Who would be so mock'd with glory, or to live\\r\\n But in a dream of friendship,\\r\\n To have his pomp, and all what state compounds,\\r\\n But only painted, like his varnish'd friends?\\r\\n Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart,\\r\\n Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood,\\r\\n When man's worst sin is he does too much good!\\r\\n Who then dares to be half so kind again?\\r\\n For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men.\\r\\n My dearest lord- blest to be most accurst,\\r\\n Rich only to be wretched- thy great fortunes\\r\\n Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord!\\r\\n He's flung in rage from this ingrateful seat\\r\\n Of monstrous friends; nor has he with him to\\r\\n Supply his life, or that which can command it.\\r\\n I'll follow and enquire him out.\\r\\n I'll ever serve his mind with my best will;\\r\\n Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The woods near the sea-shore. Before TIMON'S cave\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TIMON in the woods\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth\\r\\n Rotten humidity; below thy sister's orb\\r\\n Infect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one womb-\\r\\n Whose procreation, residence, and birth,\\r\\n Scarce is dividant- touch them with several fortunes:\\r\\n The greater scorns the lesser. Not nature,\\r\\n To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune\\r\\n But by contempt of nature.\\r\\n Raise me this beggar and deny't that lord:\\r\\n The senator shall bear contempt hereditary,\\r\\n The beggar native honour.\\r\\n It is the pasture lards the rother's sides,\\r\\n The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares,\\r\\n In purity of manhood stand upright,\\r\\n And say 'This man's a flatterer'? If one be,\\r\\n So are they all; for every grise of fortune\\r\\n Is smooth'd by that below. The learned pate\\r\\n Ducks to the golden fool. All's oblique;\\r\\n There's nothing level in our cursed natures\\r\\n But direct villainy. Therefore be abhorr'd\\r\\n All feasts, societies, and throngs of men!\\r\\n His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains.\\r\\n Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots.\\r\\n [Digging]\\r\\n Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate\\r\\n With thy most operant poison. What is here?\\r\\n Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods,\\r\\n I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens!\\r\\n Thus much of this will make black white, foul fair,\\r\\n Wrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant.\\r\\n Ha, you gods! why this? What, this, you gods? Why, this\\r\\n Will lug your priests and servants from your sides,\\r\\n Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads-\\r\\n This yellow slave\\r\\n Will knit and break religions, bless th' accurs'd,\\r\\n Make the hoar leprosy ador'd, place thieves\\r\\n And give them title, knee, and approbation,\\r\\n With senators on the bench. This is it\\r\\n That makes the wappen'd widow wed again-\\r\\n She whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores\\r\\n Would cast the gorge at this embalms and spices\\r\\n To th 'April day again. Come, damn'd earth,\\r\\n Thou common whore of mankind, that puts odds\\r\\n Among the rout of nations, I will make thee\\r\\n Do thy right nature. [March afar off]\\r\\n Ha! a drum? Th'art quick,\\r\\n But yet I'll bury thee. Thou't go, strong thief,\\r\\n When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand.\\r\\n Nay, stay thou out for earnest. [Keeping some gold]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter ALCIBIADES, with drum and fife, in warlike\\r\\n manner; and PHRYNIA and TIMANDRA\\r\\n\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. What art thou there? Speak.\\r\\n TIMON. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart\\r\\n For showing me again the eyes of man!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee\\r\\n That art thyself a man?\\r\\n TIMON. I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind.\\r\\n For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog,\\r\\n That I might love thee something.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I know thee well;\\r\\n But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange.\\r\\n TIMON. I know thee too; and more than that I know thee\\r\\n I not desire to know. Follow thy drum;\\r\\n With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules.\\r\\n Religious canons, civil laws, are cruel;\\r\\n Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine\\r\\n Hath in her more destruction than thy sword\\r\\n For all her cherubin look.\\r\\n PHRYNIA. Thy lips rot off!\\r\\n TIMON. I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns\\r\\n To thine own lips again.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. How came the noble Timon to this change?\\r\\n TIMON. As the moon does, by wanting light to give.\\r\\n But then renew I could not, like the moon;\\r\\n There were no suns to borrow of.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Noble Timon,\\r\\n What friendship may I do thee?\\r\\n TIMON. None, but to\\r\\n Maintain my opinion.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. What is it, Timon?\\r\\n TIMON. Promise me friendship, but perform none. If thou wilt not\\r\\n promise, the gods plague thee, for thou art man! If thou dost\\r\\n perform, confound thee, for thou art a man!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries.\\r\\n TIMON. Thou saw'st them when I had prosperity.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I see them now; then was a blessed time.\\r\\n TIMON. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots.\\r\\n TIMANDRA. Is this th' Athenian minion whom the world\\r\\n Voic'd so regardfully?\\r\\n TIMON. Art thou Timandra?\\r\\n TIMANDRA. Yes.\\r\\n TIMON. Be a whore still; they love thee not that use thee.\\r\\n Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust.\\r\\n Make use of thy salt hours. Season the slaves\\r\\n For tubs and baths; bring down rose-cheek'd youth\\r\\n To the tub-fast and the diet.\\r\\n TIMANDRA. Hang thee, monster!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Pardon him, sweet Timandra, for his wits\\r\\n Are drown'd and lost in his calamities.\\r\\n I have but little gold of late, brave Timon,\\r\\n The want whereof doth daily make revolt\\r\\n In my penurious band. I have heard, and griev'd,\\r\\n How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth,\\r\\n Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states,\\r\\n But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them-\\r\\n TIMON. I prithee beat thy drum and get thee gone.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon.\\r\\n TIMON. How dost thou pity him whom thou dost trouble?\\r\\n I had rather be alone.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Why, fare thee well;\\r\\n Here is some gold for thee.\\r\\n TIMON. Keep it: I cannot eat it.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap-\\r\\n TIMON. War'st thou 'gainst Athens?\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Ay, Timon, and have cause.\\r\\n TIMON. The gods confound them all in thy conquest;\\r\\n And thee after, when thou hast conquer'd!\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Why me, Timon?\\r\\n TIMON. That by killing of villains\\r\\n Thou wast born to conquer my country.\\r\\n Put up thy gold. Go on. Here's gold. Go on.\\r\\n Be as a planetary plague, when Jove\\r\\n Will o'er some high-vic'd city hang his poison\\r\\n In the sick air; let not thy sword skip one.\\r\\n Pity not honour'd age for his white beard:\\r\\n He is an usurer. Strike me the counterfeit matron:\\r\\n It is her habit only that is honest,\\r\\n Herself's a bawd. Let not the virgin's cheek\\r\\n Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk paps\\r\\n That through the window bars bore at men's eyes\\r\\n Are not within the leaf of pity writ,\\r\\n But set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe\\r\\n Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy;\\r\\n Think it a bastard whom the oracle\\r\\n Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut,\\r\\n And mince it sans remorse. Swear against abjects;\\r\\n Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes,\\r\\n Whose proof nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,\\r\\n Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding,\\r\\n Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy soldiers.\\r\\n Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent,\\r\\n Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold thou givest me,\\r\\n Not all thy counsel.\\r\\n TIMON. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse upon thee!\\r\\n PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. Give us some gold, good Timon.\\r\\n Hast thou more?\\r\\n TIMON. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade,\\r\\n And to make whores a bawd. Hold up, you sluts,\\r\\n Your aprons mountant; you are not oathable,\\r\\n Although I know you'll swear, terribly swear,\\r\\n Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues,\\r\\n Th' immortal gods that hear you. Spare your oaths;\\r\\n I'll trust to your conditions. Be whores still;\\r\\n And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you-\\r\\n Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up;\\r\\n Let your close fire predominate his smoke,\\r\\n And be no turncoats. Yet may your pains six months\\r\\n Be quite contrary! And thatch your poor thin roofs\\r\\n With burdens of the dead- some that were hang'd,\\r\\n No matter. Wear them, betray with them. Whore still;\\r\\n Paint till a horse may mire upon your face.\\r\\n A pox of wrinkles!\\r\\n PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. Well, more gold. What then?\\r\\n Believe't that we'll do anything for gold.\\r\\n TIMON. Consumptions sow\\r\\n In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins,\\r\\n And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice,\\r\\n That he may never more false title plead,\\r\\n Nor sound his quillets shrilly. Hoar the flamen,\\r\\n That scolds against the quality of flesh\\r\\n And not believes himself. Down with the nose,\\r\\n Down with it flat, take the bridge quite away\\r\\n Of him that, his particular to foresee,\\r\\n Smells from the general weal. Make curl'd-pate ruffians bald,\\r\\n And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war\\r\\n Derive some pain from you. Plague all,\\r\\n That your activity may defeat and quell\\r\\n The source of all erection. There's more gold.\\r\\n Do you damn others, and let this damn you,\\r\\n And ditches grave you all!\\r\\n PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. More counsel with more money, bounteous\\r\\n Timon.\\r\\n TIMON. More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Strike up the drum towards Athens. Farewell, Timon;\\r\\n If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again.\\r\\n TIMON. If I hope well, I'll never see thee more.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. I never did thee harm.\\r\\n TIMON. Yes, thou spok'st well of me.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Call'st thou that harm?\\r\\n TIMON. Men daily find it. Get thee away, and take\\r\\n Thy beagles with thee.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. We but offend him. Strike.\\r\\n Drum beats. Exeunt all but TIMON\\r\\n TIMON. That nature, being sick of man's unkindness,\\r\\n Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou, [Digging]\\r\\n Whose womb unmeasurable and infinite breast\\r\\n Teems and feeds all; whose self-same mettle,\\r\\n Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd,\\r\\n Engenders the black toad and adder blue,\\r\\n The gilded newt and eyeless venom'd worm,\\r\\n With all th' abhorred births below crisp heaven\\r\\n Whereon Hyperion's quick'ning fire doth shine-\\r\\n Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate,\\r\\n From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root!\\r\\n Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb,\\r\\n Let it no more bring out ingrateful man!\\r\\n Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears;\\r\\n Teem with new monsters whom thy upward face\\r\\n Hath to the marbled mansion all above\\r\\n Never presented!- O, a root! Dear thanks!-\\r\\n Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas,\\r\\n Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts\\r\\n And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind,\\r\\n That from it all consideration slips-\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter APEMANTUS\\r\\n\\r\\n More man? Plague, plague!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I was directed hither. Men report\\r\\n Thou dost affect my manners and dost use them.\\r\\n TIMON. 'Tis, then, because thou dost not keep a dog,\\r\\n Whom I would imitate. Consumption catch thee!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. This is in thee a nature but infected,\\r\\n A poor unmanly melancholy sprung\\r\\n From change of fortune. Why this spade, this place?\\r\\n This slave-like habit and these looks of care?\\r\\n Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft,\\r\\n Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot\\r\\n That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods\\r\\n By putting on the cunning of a carper.\\r\\n Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive\\r\\n By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee,\\r\\n And let his very breath whom thou'lt observe\\r\\n Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain,\\r\\n And call it excellent. Thou wast told thus;\\r\\n Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters that bade welcome,\\r\\n To knaves and all approachers. 'Tis most just\\r\\n That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again\\r\\n Rascals should have't. Do not assume my likeness.\\r\\n TIMON. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself;\\r\\n A madman so long, now a fool. What, think'st\\r\\n That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain,\\r\\n Will put thy shirt on warm? Will these moist trees,\\r\\n That have outliv'd the eagle, page thy heels\\r\\n And skip when thou point'st out? Will the cold brook,\\r\\n Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste\\r\\n To cure thy o'ernight's surfeit? Call the creatures\\r\\n Whose naked natures live in all the spite\\r\\n Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks,\\r\\n To the conflicting elements expos'd,\\r\\n Answer mere nature- bid them flatter thee.\\r\\n O, thou shalt find-\\r\\n TIMON. A fool of thee. Depart.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I love thee better now than e'er I did.\\r\\n TIMON. I hate thee worse.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Why?\\r\\n TIMON. Thou flatter'st misery.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I flatter not, but say thou art a caitiff.\\r\\n TIMON. Why dost thou seek me out?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. To vex thee.\\r\\n TIMON. Always a villain's office or a fool's.\\r\\n Dost please thyself in't?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ay.\\r\\n TIMON. What, a knave too?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on\\r\\n To castigate thy pride, 'twere well; but thou\\r\\n Dost it enforcedly. Thou'dst courtier be again\\r\\n Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery\\r\\n Outlives incertain pomp, is crown'd before.\\r\\n The one is filling still, never complete;\\r\\n The other, at high wish. Best state, contentless,\\r\\n Hath a distracted and most wretched being,\\r\\n Worse than the worst, content.\\r\\n Thou should'st desire to die, being miserable.\\r\\n TIMON. Not by his breath that is more miserable.\\r\\n Thou art a slave whom Fortune's tender arm\\r\\n With favour never clasp'd, but bred a dog.\\r\\n Hadst thou, like us from our first swath, proceeded\\r\\n The sweet degrees that this brief world affords\\r\\n To such as may the passive drugs of it\\r\\n Freely command, thou wouldst have plung'd thyself\\r\\n In general riot, melted down thy youth\\r\\n In different beds of lust, and never learn'd\\r\\n The icy precepts of respect, but followed\\r\\n The sug'red game before thee. But myself,\\r\\n Who had the world as my confectionary;\\r\\n The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men\\r\\n At duty, more than I could frame employment;\\r\\n That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves\\r\\n Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush\\r\\n Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare\\r\\n For every storm that blows- I to bear this,\\r\\n That never knew but better, is some burden.\\r\\n Thy nature did commence in sufferance; time\\r\\n Hath made thee hard in't. Why shouldst thou hate men?\\r\\n They never flatter'd thee. What hast thou given?\\r\\n If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag,\\r\\n Must be thy subject; who, in spite, put stuff\\r\\n To some she-beggar and compounded thee\\r\\n Poor rogue hereditary. Hence, be gone.\\r\\n If thou hadst not been born the worst of men,\\r\\n Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Art thou proud yet?\\r\\n TIMON. Ay, that I am not thee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I, that I was\\r\\n No prodigal.\\r\\n TIMON. I, that I am one now.\\r\\n Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee,\\r\\n I'd give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone.\\r\\n That the whole life of Athens were in this!\\r\\n Thus would I eat it. [Eating a root]\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Here! I will mend thy feast.\\r\\n [Offering him food]\\r\\n TIMON. First mend my company: take away thyself.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. So I shall mend mine own by th' lack of thine.\\r\\n TIMON. 'Tis not well mended so; it is but botch'd.\\r\\n If not, I would it were.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. What wouldst thou have to Athens?\\r\\n TIMON. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt,\\r\\n Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Here is no use for gold.\\r\\n TIMON. The best and truest;\\r\\n For here it sleeps and does no hired harm.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Where liest a nights, Timon?\\r\\n TIMON. Under that's above me.\\r\\n Where feed'st thou a days, Apemantus?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Where my stomach. finds meat; or rather, where I eat it.\\r\\n TIMON. Would poison were obedient, and knew my mind!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Where wouldst thou send it?\\r\\n TIMON. To sauce thy dishes.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. The middle of humanity thou never knewest, but the\\r\\n extremity of both ends. When thou wast in thy gilt and thy\\r\\n perfume, they mock'd thee for too much curiosity; in thy rags\\r\\n thou know'st none, but art despis'd for the contrary. There's a\\r\\n medlar for thee; eat it.\\r\\n TIMON. On what I hate I feed not.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Dost hate a medlar?\\r\\n TIMON. Ay, though it look like thee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. An th' hadst hated medlars sooner, thou shouldst have\\r\\n loved thyself better now. What man didst thou ever know unthrift\\r\\n that was beloved after his means?\\r\\n TIMON. Who, without those means thou talk'st of, didst thou ever\\r\\n know belov'd?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Myself.\\r\\n TIMON. I understand thee: thou hadst some means to keep a dog.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. What things in the world canst thou nearest compare to\\r\\n thy flatterers?\\r\\n TIMON. Women nearest; but men, men are the things themselves. What\\r\\n wouldst thou do with the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy\\r\\n power?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men.\\r\\n TIMON. Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the confusion of men, and\\r\\n remain a beast with the beasts?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ay, Timon.\\r\\n TIMON. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee t' attain to!\\r\\n If thou wert the lion, the fox would beguile thee; if thou wert\\r\\n the lamb, the fox would eat thee; if thou wert the fox, the lion\\r\\n would suspect thee, when, peradventure, thou wert accus'd by the\\r\\n ass. If thou wert the ass, thy dulness would torment thee; and\\r\\n still thou liv'dst but as a breakfast to the wolf. If thou wert\\r\\n the wolf, thy greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou\\r\\n shouldst hazard thy life for thy dinner. Wert thou the unicorn,\\r\\n pride and wrath would confound thee, and make thine own self the\\r\\n conquest of thy fury. Wert thou bear, thou wouldst be kill'd by\\r\\n the horse; wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be seiz'd by the\\r\\n leopard; wert thou a leopard, thou wert german to the lion, and\\r\\n the spots of thy kindred were jurors on thy life. All thy safety\\r\\n were remotion, and thy defence absence. What beast couldst thou\\r\\n be that were not subject to a beast? And what beast art thou\\r\\n already, that seest not thy loss in transformation!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. If thou couldst please me with speaking to me, thou\\r\\n mightst have hit upon it here. The commonwealth of Athens is\\r\\n become a forest of beasts.\\r\\n TIMON. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art out of the\\r\\n city?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Yonder comes a poet and a painter. The plague of company\\r\\n light upon thee! I will fear to catch it, and give way. When I\\r\\n know not what else to do, I'll see thee again.\\r\\n TIMON. When there is nothing living but thee, thou shalt be\\r\\n welcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog than Apemantus.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Thou art the cap of all the fools alive.\\r\\n TIMON. Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. A plague on thee! thou art too bad to curse.\\r\\n TIMON. All villains that do stand by thee are pure.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. There is no leprosy but what thou speak'st.\\r\\n TIMON. If I name thee.\\r\\n I'll beat thee- but I should infect my hands.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. I would my tongue could rot them off!\\r\\n TIMON. Away, thou issue of a mangy dog!\\r\\n Choler does kill me that thou art alive;\\r\\n I swoon to see thee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Would thou wouldst burst!\\r\\n TIMON. Away,\\r\\n Thou tedious rogue! I am sorry I shall lose\\r\\n A stone by thee. [Throws a stone at him]\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Beast!\\r\\n TIMON. Slave!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Toad!\\r\\n TIMON. Rogue, rogue, rogue!\\r\\n I am sick of this false world, and will love nought\\r\\n But even the mere necessities upon't.\\r\\n Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave;\\r\\n Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat\\r\\n Thy gravestone daily; make thine epitaph,\\r\\n That death in me at others' lives may laugh.\\r\\n [Looks at the gold] O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce\\r\\n 'Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler\\r\\n Of Hymen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars!\\r\\n Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer,\\r\\n Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow\\r\\n That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god,\\r\\n That sold'rest close impossibilities,\\r\\n And mak'st them kiss! that speak'st with every tongue\\r\\n To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts!\\r\\n Think thy slave man rebels, and by thy virtue\\r\\n Set them into confounding odds, that beasts\\r\\n May have the world in empire!\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Would 'twere so!\\r\\n But not till I am dead. I'll say th' hast gold.\\r\\n Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly.\\r\\n TIMON. Throng'd to?\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Ay.\\r\\n TIMON. Thy back, I prithee.\\r\\n APEMANTUS. Live, and love thy misery!\\r\\n TIMON. Long live so, and so die! [Exit APEMANTUS] I am quit. More\\r\\n things like men? Eat, Timon, and abhor them.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the BANDITTI\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST BANDIT. Where should he have this gold? It is some poor\\r\\n fragment, some slender ort of his remainder. The mere want of\\r\\n gold and the falling-from of his friends drove him into this\\r\\n melancholy.\\r\\n SECOND BANDIT. It is nois'd he hath a mass of treasure.\\r\\n THIRD BANDIT. Let us make the assay upon him; if he care not for't,\\r\\n he will supply us easily; if he covetously reserve it, how\\r\\n shall's get it?\\r\\n SECOND BANDIT. True; for he bears it not about him. 'Tis hid.\\r\\n FIRST BANDIT. Is not this he?\\r\\n BANDITTI. Where?\\r\\n SECOND BANDIT. 'Tis his description.\\r\\n THIRD BANDIT. He; I know him.\\r\\n BANDITTI. Save thee, Timon!\\r\\n TIMON. Now, thieves?\\r\\n BANDITTI. Soldiers, not thieves.\\r\\n TIMON. Both too, and women's sons.\\r\\n BANDITTI. We are not thieves, but men that much do want.\\r\\n TIMON. Your greatest want is, you want much of meat.\\r\\n Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots;\\r\\n Within this mile break forth a hundred springs;\\r\\n The oaks bear mast, the briars scarlet hips;\\r\\n The bounteous housewife Nature on each bush\\r\\n Lays her full mess before you. Want! Why want?\\r\\n FIRST BANDIT. We cannot live on grass, on berries, water,\\r\\n As beasts and birds and fishes.\\r\\n TIMON. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and fishes;\\r\\n You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con\\r\\n That you are thieves profess'd, that you work not\\r\\n In holier shapes; for there is boundless theft\\r\\n In limited professions. Rascal thieves,\\r\\n Here's gold. Go, suck the subtle blood o' th' grape\\r\\n Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth,\\r\\n And so scape hanging. Trust not the physician;\\r\\n His antidotes are poison, and he slays\\r\\n Moe than you rob. Take wealth and lives together;\\r\\n Do villainy, do, since you protest to do't,\\r\\n Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery:\\r\\n The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction\\r\\n Robs the vast sea; the moon's an arrant thief,\\r\\n And her pale fire she snatches from the sun;\\r\\n The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves\\r\\n The moon into salt tears; the earth's a thief,\\r\\n That feeds and breeds by a composture stol'n\\r\\n From gen'ral excrement- each thing's a thief.\\r\\n The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power\\r\\n Has uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves; away,\\r\\n Rob one another. There's more gold. Cut throats;\\r\\n All that you meet are thieves. To Athens go,\\r\\n Break open shops; nothing can you steal\\r\\n But thieves do lose it. Steal not less for this\\r\\n I give you; and gold confound you howsoe'er!\\r\\n Amen.\\r\\n THIRD BANDIT. Has almost charm'd me from my profession by\\r\\n persuading me to it.\\r\\n FIRST BANDIT. 'Tis in the malice of mankind that he thus advises\\r\\n us; not to have us thrive in our mystery.\\r\\n SECOND BANDIT. I'll believe him as an enemy, and give over my\\r\\n trade.\\r\\n FIRST BANDIT. Let us first see peace in Athens. There is no time so\\r\\n miserable but a man may be true. Exeunt THIEVES\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FLAVIUS, to TIMON\\r\\n\\r\\n FLAVIUS. O you gods!\\r\\n Is yond despis'd and ruinous man my lord?\\r\\n Full of decay and failing? O monument\\r\\n And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd!\\r\\n What an alteration of honour\\r\\n Has desp'rate want made!\\r\\n What viler thing upon the earth than friends,\\r\\n Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends!\\r\\n How rarely does it meet with this time's guise,\\r\\n When man was wish'd to love his enemies!\\r\\n Grant I may ever love, and rather woo\\r\\n Those that would mischief me than those that do!\\r\\n Has caught me in his eye; I will present\\r\\n My honest grief unto him, and as my lord\\r\\n Still serve him with my life. My dearest master!\\r\\n TIMON. Away! What art thou?\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Have you forgot me, sir?\\r\\n TIMON. Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men;\\r\\n Then, if thou grant'st th'art a man, I have forgot thee.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. An honest poor servant of yours.\\r\\n TIMON. Then I know thee not.\\r\\n I never had honest man about me, I.\\r\\n All I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. The gods are witness,\\r\\n Nev'r did poor steward wear a truer grief\\r\\n For his undone lord than mine eyes for you.\\r\\n TIMON. What, dost thou weep? Come nearer. Then I love thee\\r\\n Because thou art a woman and disclaim'st\\r\\n Flinty mankind, whose eyes do never give\\r\\n But thorough lust and laughter. Pity's sleeping.\\r\\n Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with weeping!\\r\\n FLAVIUS. I beg of you to know me, good my lord,\\r\\n T' accept my grief, and whilst this poor wealth lasts\\r\\n To entertain me as your steward still.\\r\\n TIMON. Had I a steward\\r\\n So true, so just, and now so comfortable?\\r\\n It almost turns my dangerous nature mild.\\r\\n Let me behold thy face. Surely, this man\\r\\n Was born of woman.\\r\\n Forgive my general and exceptless rashness,\\r\\n You perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim\\r\\n One honest man- mistake me not, but one;\\r\\n No more, I pray- and he's a steward.\\r\\n How fain would I have hated all mankind!\\r\\n And thou redeem'st thyself. But all, save thee,\\r\\n I fell with curses.\\r\\n Methinks thou art more honest now than wise;\\r\\n For by oppressing and betraying me\\r\\n Thou mightst have sooner got another service;\\r\\n For many so arrive at second masters\\r\\n Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true,\\r\\n For I must ever doubt though ne'er so sure,\\r\\n Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous,\\r\\n If not a usuring kindness, and as rich men deal gifts,\\r\\n Expecting in return twenty for one?\\r\\n FLAVIUS. No, my most worthy master, in whose breast\\r\\n Doubt and suspect, alas, are plac'd too late!\\r\\n You should have fear'd false times when you did feast:\\r\\n Suspect still comes where an estate is least.\\r\\n That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love,\\r\\n Duty, and zeal, to your unmatched mind,\\r\\n Care of your food and living; and believe it,\\r\\n My most honour'd lord,\\r\\n For any benefit that points to me,\\r\\n Either in hope or present, I'd exchange\\r\\n For this one wish, that you had power and wealth\\r\\n To requite me by making rich yourself.\\r\\n TIMON. Look thee, 'tis so! Thou singly honest man,\\r\\n Here, take. The gods, out of my misery,\\r\\n Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy,\\r\\n But thus condition'd; thou shalt build from men;\\r\\n Hate all, curse all, show charity to none,\\r\\n But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone\\r\\n Ere thou relieve the beggar. Give to dogs\\r\\n What thou deniest to men; let prisons swallow 'em,\\r\\n Debts wither 'em to nothing. Be men like blasted woods,\\r\\n And may diseases lick up their false bloods!\\r\\n And so, farewell and thrive.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. O, let me stay\\r\\n And comfort you, my master.\\r\\n TIMON. If thou hat'st curses,\\r\\n Stay not; fly whilst thou art blest and free.\\r\\n Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee.\\r\\n Exeunt severally\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. The woods. Before TIMON's cave\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter POET and PAINTER\\r\\n\\r\\n PAINTER. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he\\r\\n abides.\\r\\n POET. to be thought of him? Does the rumour hold for true that he's\\r\\n so full of gold?\\r\\n PAINTER. Certain. Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had\\r\\n gold of him. He likewise enrich'd poor straggling soldiers with\\r\\n great quantity. 'Tis said he gave unto his steward a mighty sum.\\r\\n POET. Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends?\\r\\n PAINTER. Nothing else. You shall see him a palm in Athens again,\\r\\n and flourish with the highest. Therefore 'tis not amiss we tender\\r\\n our loves to him in this suppos'd distress of his; it will show\\r\\n honestly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with what\\r\\n they travail for, if it be just and true report that goes of his\\r\\n having.\\r\\n POET. What have you now to present unto him?\\r\\n PAINTER. Nothing at this time but my visitation; only I will\\r\\n promise him an excellent piece.\\r\\n POET. I must serve him so too, tell him of an intent that's coming\\r\\n toward him.\\r\\n PAINTER. Good as the best. Promising is the very air o' th' time;\\r\\n it opens the eyes of expectation. Performance is ever the duller\\r\\n for his act, and but in the plainer and simpler kind of people\\r\\n the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most\\r\\n courtly and fashionable; performance is a kind of will or\\r\\n testament which argues a great sickness in his judgment that\\r\\n makes it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TIMON from his cave\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. [Aside] Excellent workman! Thou canst not paint a man so bad\\r\\n as is thyself.\\r\\n POET. I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him. It\\r\\n must be a personating of himself; a satire against the softness\\r\\n of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that\\r\\n follow youth and opulency.\\r\\n TIMON. [Aside] Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own\\r\\n work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have\\r\\n gold for thee.\\r\\n POET. Nay, let's seek him;\\r\\n Then do we sin against our own estate\\r\\n When we may profit meet and come too late.\\r\\n PAINTER. True;\\r\\n When the day serves, before black-corner'd night,\\r\\n Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light.\\r\\n Come.\\r\\n TIMON. [Aside] I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold,\\r\\n That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple\\r\\n Than where swine feed!\\r\\n 'Tis thou that rig'st the bark and plough'st the foam,\\r\\n Settlest admired reverence in a slave.\\r\\n To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye\\r\\n Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey!\\r\\n Fit I meet them. [Advancing from his cave]\\r\\n POET. Hail, worthy Timon!\\r\\n PAINTER. Our late noble master!\\r\\n TIMON. Have I once liv'd to see two honest men?\\r\\n POET. Sir,\\r\\n Having often of your open bounty tasted,\\r\\n Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fall'n off,\\r\\n Whose thankless natures- O abhorred spirits!-\\r\\n Not all the whips of heaven are large enough-\\r\\n What! to you,\\r\\n Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence\\r\\n To their whole being! I am rapt, and cannot cover\\r\\n The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude\\r\\n With any size of words.\\r\\n TIMON. Let it go naked: men may see't the better.\\r\\n You that are honest, by being what you are,\\r\\n Make them best seen and known.\\r\\n PAINTER. He and myself\\r\\n Have travail'd in the great show'r of your gifts,\\r\\n And sweetly felt it.\\r\\n TIMON. Ay, you are honest men.\\r\\n PAINTER. We are hither come to offer you our service.\\r\\n TIMON. Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you?\\r\\n Can you eat roots, and drink cold water- No?\\r\\n BOTH. What we can do, we'll do, to do you service.\\r\\n TIMON. Y'are honest men. Y'have heard that I have gold;\\r\\n I am sure you have. Speak truth; y'are honest men.\\r\\n PAINTER. So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore\\r\\n Came not my friend nor I.\\r\\n TIMON. Good honest men! Thou draw'st a counterfeit\\r\\n Best in all Athens. Th'art indeed the best;\\r\\n Thou counterfeit'st most lively.\\r\\n PAINTER. So, so, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. E'en so, sir, as I say. [To To POET] And for thy fiction,\\r\\n Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth\\r\\n That thou art even natural in thine art.\\r\\n But for all this, my honest-natur'd friends,\\r\\n I must needs say you have a little fault.\\r\\n Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you; neither wish I\\r\\n You take much pains to mend.\\r\\n BOTH. Beseech your honour\\r\\n To make it known to us.\\r\\n TIMON. You'll take it ill.\\r\\n BOTH. Most thankfully, my lord.\\r\\n TIMON. Will you indeed?\\r\\n BOTH. Doubt it not, worthy lord.\\r\\n TIMON. There's never a one of you but trusts a knave\\r\\n That mightily deceives you.\\r\\n BOTH. Do we, my lord?\\r\\n TIMON. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble,\\r\\n Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him,\\r\\n Keep in your bosom; yet remain assur'd\\r\\n That he's a made-up villain.\\r\\n PAINTER. I know not such, my lord.\\r\\n POET. Nor I.\\r\\n TIMON. Look you, I love you well; I'll give you gold,\\r\\n Rid me these villains from your companies.\\r\\n Hang them or stab them, drown them in a draught,\\r\\n Confound them by some course, and come to me,\\r\\n I'll give you gold enough.\\r\\n BOTH. Name them, my lord; let's know them.\\r\\n TIMON. You that way, and you this- but two in company;\\r\\n Each man apart, all single and alone,\\r\\n Yet an arch-villain keeps him company.\\r\\n [To the PAINTER] If, where thou art, two villians shall not be,\\r\\n Come not near him. [To the POET] If thou wouldst not reside\\r\\n But where one villain is, then him abandon.-\\r\\n Hence, pack! there's gold; you came for gold, ye slaves.\\r\\n [To the PAINTER] You have work for me; there's payment; hence!\\r\\n [To the POET] You are an alchemist; make gold of that.-\\r\\n Out, rascal dogs! [Beats and drives them out]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter FLAVIUS and two SENATORS\\r\\n\\r\\n FLAVIUS. It is vain that you would speak with Timon;\\r\\n For he is set so only to himself\\r\\n That nothing but himself which looks like man\\r\\n Is friendly with him.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Bring us to his cave.\\r\\n It is our part and promise to th' Athenians\\r\\n To speak with Timon.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. At all times alike\\r\\n Men are not still the same; 'twas time and griefs\\r\\n That fram'd him thus. Time, with his fairer hand,\\r\\n Offering the fortunes of his former days,\\r\\n The former man may make him. Bring us to him,\\r\\n And chance it as it may.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Here is his cave.\\r\\n Peace and content be here! Lord Timon! Timon!\\r\\n Look out, and speak to friends. Th' Athenians\\r\\n By two of their most reverend Senate greet thee.\\r\\n Speak to them, noble Timon.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TIMON out of his cave\\r\\n\\r\\n TIMON. Thou sun that comforts, burn. Speak and be hang'd!\\r\\n For each true word a blister, and each false\\r\\n Be as a cauterizing to the root o' th' tongue,\\r\\n Consuming it with speaking!\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Worthy Timon-\\r\\n TIMON. Of none but such as you, and you of Timon.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon.\\r\\n TIMON. I thank them; and would send them back the plague,\\r\\n Could I but catch it for them.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. O, forget\\r\\n What we are sorry for ourselves in thee.\\r\\n The senators with one consent of love\\r\\n Entreat thee back to Athens, who have thought\\r\\n On special dignities, which vacant lie\\r\\n For thy best use and wearing.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. They confess\\r\\n Toward thee forgetfulness too general, gross;\\r\\n Which now the public body, which doth seldom\\r\\n Play the recanter, feeling in itself\\r\\n A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal\\r\\n Of it own fail, restraining aid to Timon,\\r\\n And send forth us to make their sorrowed render,\\r\\n Together with a recompense more fruitful\\r\\n Than their offence can weigh down by the dram;\\r\\n Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth\\r\\n As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs\\r\\n And write in thee the figures of their love,\\r\\n Ever to read them thine.\\r\\n TIMON. You witch me in it;\\r\\n Surprise me to the very brink of tears.\\r\\n Lend me a fool's heart and a woman's eyes,\\r\\n And I'll beweep these comforts, worthy senators.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Therefore so please thee to return with us,\\r\\n And of our Athens, thine and ours, to take\\r\\n The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks,\\r\\n Allow'd with absolute power, and thy good name\\r\\n Live with authority. So soon we shall drive back\\r\\n Of Alcibiades th' approaches wild,\\r\\n Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up\\r\\n His country's peace.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. And shakes his threat'ning sword\\r\\n Against the walls of Athens.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Therefore, Timon-\\r\\n TIMON. Well, sir, I will. Therefore I will, sir, thus:\\r\\n If Alcibiades kill my countrymen,\\r\\n Let Alcibiades know this of Timon,\\r\\n That Timon cares not. But if he sack fair Athens,\\r\\n And take our goodly aged men by th' beards,\\r\\n Giving our holy virgins to the stain\\r\\n Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war,\\r\\n Then let him know- and tell him Timon speaks it\\r\\n In pity of our aged and our youth-\\r\\n I cannot choose but tell him that I care not,\\r\\n And let him take't at worst; for their knives care not,\\r\\n While you have throats to answer. For myself,\\r\\n There's not a whittle in th' unruly camp\\r\\n But I do prize it at my love before\\r\\n The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you\\r\\n To the protection of the prosperous gods,\\r\\n As thieves to keepers.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Stay not, all's in vain.\\r\\n TIMON. Why, I was writing of my epitaph;\\r\\n It will be seen to-morrow. My long sickness\\r\\n Of health and living now begins to mend,\\r\\n And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still;\\r\\n Be Alcibiades your plague, you his,\\r\\n And last so long enough!\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. We speak in vain.\\r\\n TIMON. But yet I love my country, and am not\\r\\n One that rejoices in the common wreck,\\r\\n As common bruit doth put it.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. That's well spoke.\\r\\n TIMON. Commend me to my loving countrymen-\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. These words become your lips as they pass through\\r\\n them.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. And enter in our ears like great triumphers\\r\\n In their applauding gates.\\r\\n TIMON. Commend me to them,\\r\\n And tell them that, to ease them of their griefs,\\r\\n Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses,\\r\\n Their pangs of love, with other incident throes\\r\\n That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain\\r\\n In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them-\\r\\n I'll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. I like this well; he will return again.\\r\\n TIMON. I have a tree, which grows here in my close,\\r\\n That mine own use invites me to cut down,\\r\\n And shortly must I fell it. Tell my friends,\\r\\n Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree\\r\\n From high to low throughout, that whoso please\\r\\n To stop affliction, let him take his haste,\\r\\n Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe,\\r\\n And hang himself. I pray you do my greeting.\\r\\n FLAVIUS. Trouble him no further; thus you still shall find him.\\r\\n TIMON. Come not to me again; but say to Athens\\r\\n Timon hath made his everlasting mansion\\r\\n Upon the beached verge of the salt flood,\\r\\n Who once a day with his embossed froth\\r\\n The turbulent surge shall cover. Thither come,\\r\\n And let my gravestone be your oracle.\\r\\n Lips, let sour words go by and language end:\\r\\n What is amiss, plague and infection mend!\\r\\n Graves only be men's works and death their gain!\\r\\n Sun, hide thy beams. Timon hath done his reign.\\r\\n Exit TIMON into his cave\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. His discontents are unremovably\\r\\n Coupled to nature.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. Our hope in him is dead. Let us return\\r\\n And strain what other means is left unto us\\r\\n In our dear peril.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. It requires swift foot. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Before the walls of Athens\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter two other SENATORS with a MESSENGER\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Thou hast painfully discover'd; are his files\\r\\n As full as thy report?\\r\\n MESSENGER. I have spoke the least.\\r\\n Besides, his expedition promises\\r\\n Present approach.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. We stand much hazard if they bring not Timon.\\r\\n MESSENGER. I met a courier, one mine ancient friend,\\r\\n Whom, though in general part we were oppos'd,\\r\\n Yet our old love had a particular force,\\r\\n And made us speak like friends. This man was riding\\r\\n From Alcibiades to Timon's cave\\r\\n With letters of entreaty, which imported\\r\\n His fellowship i' th' cause against your city,\\r\\n In part for his sake mov'd.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the other SENATORS, from TIMON\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Here come our brothers.\\r\\n THIRD SENATOR. No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect.\\r\\n The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring\\r\\n Doth choke the air with dust. In, and prepare.\\r\\n Ours is the fall, I fear; our foes the snare. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The TIMON's cave, and a rude tomb seen\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter a SOLDIER in the woods, seeking TIMON\\r\\n\\r\\n SOLDIER. By all description this should be the place.\\r\\n Who's here? Speak, ho! No answer? What is this?\\r\\n Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span.\\r\\n Some beast rear'd this; here does not live a man.\\r\\n Dead, sure; and this his grave. What's on this tomb\\r\\n I cannot read; the character I'll take with wax.\\r\\n Our captain hath in every figure skill,\\r\\n An ag'd interpreter, though young in days;\\r\\n Before proud Athens he's set down by this,\\r\\n Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Before the walls of Athens\\r\\n\\r\\nTrumpets sound. Enter ALCIBIADES with his powers before Athens\\r\\n\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Sound to this coward and lascivious town\\r\\n Our terrible approach.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound a parley. The SENATORS appear upon the walls\\r\\n\\r\\n Till now you have gone on and fill'd the time\\r\\n With all licentious measure, making your wills\\r\\n The scope of justice; till now, myself, and such\\r\\n As slept within the shadow of your power,\\r\\n Have wander'd with our travers'd arms, and breath'd\\r\\n Our sufferance vainly. Now the time is flush,\\r\\n When crouching marrow, in the bearer strong,\\r\\n Cries of itself 'No more!' Now breathless wrong\\r\\n Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease,\\r\\n And pursy insolence shall break his wind\\r\\n With fear and horrid flight.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Noble and young,\\r\\n When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit,\\r\\n Ere thou hadst power or we had cause of fear,\\r\\n We sent to thee, to give thy rages balm,\\r\\n To wipe out our ingratitude with loves\\r\\n Above their quantity.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. So did we woo\\r\\n Transformed Timon to our city's love\\r\\n By humble message and by promis'd means.\\r\\n We were not all unkind, nor all deserve\\r\\n The common stroke of war.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. These walls of ours\\r\\n Were not erected by their hands from whom\\r\\n You have receiv'd your griefs; nor are they such\\r\\n That these great tow'rs, trophies, and schools, should fall\\r\\n For private faults in them.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. Nor are they living\\r\\n Who were the motives that you first went out;\\r\\n Shame, that they wanted cunning, in excess\\r\\n Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord,\\r\\n Into our city with thy banners spread.\\r\\n By decimation and a tithed death-\\r\\n If thy revenges hunger for that food\\r\\n Which nature loathes- take thou the destin'd tenth,\\r\\n And by the hazard of the spotted die\\r\\n Let die the spotted.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. All have not offended;\\r\\n For those that were, it is not square to take,\\r\\n On those that are, revenge: crimes, like lands,\\r\\n Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman,\\r\\n Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage;\\r\\n Spare thy Athenian cradle, and those kin\\r\\n Which, in the bluster of thy wrath, must fall\\r\\n With those that have offended. Like a shepherd\\r\\n Approach the fold and cull th' infected forth,\\r\\n But kill not all together.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. What thou wilt,\\r\\n Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile\\r\\n Than hew to't with thy sword.\\r\\n FIRST SENATOR. Set but thy foot\\r\\n Against our rampir'd gates and they shall ope,\\r\\n So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before\\r\\n To say thou't enter friendly.\\r\\n SECOND SENATOR. Throw thy glove,\\r\\n Or any token of thine honour else,\\r\\n That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress\\r\\n And not as our confusion, all thy powers\\r\\n Shall make their harbour in our town till we\\r\\n Have seal'd thy full desire.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Then there's my glove;\\r\\n Descend, and open your uncharged ports.\\r\\n Those enemies of Timon's and mine own,\\r\\n Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof,\\r\\n Fall, and no more. And, to atone your fears\\r\\n With my more noble meaning, not a man\\r\\n Shall pass his quarter or offend the stream\\r\\n Of regular justice in your city's bounds,\\r\\n But shall be render'd to your public laws\\r\\n At heaviest answer.\\r\\n BOTH. 'Tis most nobly spoken.\\r\\n ALCIBIADES. Descend, and keep your words.\\r\\n [The SENATORS descend and open the gates]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a SOLDIER as a Messenger\\r\\n\\r\\n SOLDIER. My noble General, Timon is dead;\\r\\n Entomb'd upon the very hem o' th' sea;\\r\\n And on his grave-stone this insculpture, which\\r\\n With wax I brought away, whose soft impression\\r\\n Interprets for my poor ignorance.\\r\\n\\r\\n ALCIBIADES reads the Epitaph\\r\\n\\r\\n 'Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft;\\r\\n Seek not my name. A plague consume you wicked caitiffs left!\\r\\n Here lie I, Timon, who alive all living men did hate.\\r\\n Pass by, and curse thy fill; but pass, and stay not here thy\\r\\n gait.'\\r\\n These well express in thee thy latter spirits.\\r\\n Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs,\\r\\n Scorn'dst our brain's flow, and those our droplets which\\r\\n From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit\\r\\n Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye\\r\\n On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead\\r\\n Is noble Timon, of whose memory\\r\\n Hereafter more. Bring me into your city,\\r\\n And I will use the olive, with my sword;\\r\\n Make war breed peace, make peace stint war, make each\\r\\n Prescribe to other, as each other's leech.\\r\\n Let our drums strike. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\",\n", + " \"THE TRAGEDY OF TITUS ANDRONICUS\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personae\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS, son to the late Emperor of Rome, afterwards Emperor\\r\\n BASSIANUS, brother to Saturninus\\r\\n TITUS ANDRONICUS, a noble Roman\\r\\n MARCUS ANDRONICUS, Tribune of the People, and brother to Titus\\r\\n\\r\\n Sons to Titus Andronicus:\\r\\n LUCIUS\\r\\n QUINTUS\\r\\n MARTIUS\\r\\n MUTIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n YOUNG LUCIUS, a boy, son to Lucius\\r\\n PUBLIUS, son to Marcus Andronicus\\r\\n\\r\\n Kinsmen to Titus:\\r\\n SEMPRONIUS\\r\\n CAIUS\\r\\n VALENTINE\\r\\n\\r\\n AEMILIUS, a noble Roman\\r\\n\\r\\n Sons to Tamora:\\r\\n ALARBUS\\r\\n DEMETRIUS\\r\\n CHIRON\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON, a Moor, beloved by Tamora\\r\\n A CAPTAIN\\r\\n A MESSENGER\\r\\n A CLOWN\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA, Queen of the Goths\\r\\n LAVINIA, daughter to Titus Andronicus\\r\\n A NURSE, and a black CHILD\\r\\n\\r\\n Romans and Goths, Senators, Tribunes, Officers, Soldiers, and\\r\\n Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n SCENE: Rome and the neighbourhood\\r\\n\\r\\nACT 1. SCENE I. Rome. Before the Capitol\\r\\n\\r\\nFlourish. Enter the TRIBUNES and SENATORS aloft; and then enter below\\r\\nSATURNINUS and his followers at one door, and BASSIANUS and his\\r\\nfollowers at the other, with drums and trumpets\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Noble patricians, patrons of my right,\\r\\n Defend the justice of my cause with arms;\\r\\n And, countrymen, my loving followers,\\r\\n Plead my successive title with your swords.\\r\\n I am his first born son that was the last\\r\\n That ware the imperial diadem of Rome;\\r\\n Then let my father's honours live in me,\\r\\n Nor wrong mine age with this indignity.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Romans, friends, followers, favourers of my right,\\r\\n If ever Bassianus, Caesar's son,\\r\\n Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome,\\r\\n Keep then this passage to the Capitol;\\r\\n And suffer not dishonour to approach\\r\\n The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate,\\r\\n To justice, continence, and nobility;\\r\\n But let desert in pure election shine;\\r\\n And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS aloft, with the crown\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCUS. Princes, that strive by factions and by friends\\r\\n Ambitiously for rule and empery,\\r\\n Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand\\r\\n A special party, have by common voice\\r\\n In election for the Roman empery\\r\\n Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius\\r\\n For many good and great deserts to Rome.\\r\\n A nobler man, a braver warrior,\\r\\n Lives not this day within the city walls.\\r\\n He by the Senate is accited home,\\r\\n From weary wars against the barbarous Goths,\\r\\n That with his sons, a terror to our foes,\\r\\n Hath yok'd a nation strong, train'd up in arms.\\r\\n Ten years are spent since first he undertook\\r\\n This cause of Rome, and chastised with arms\\r\\n Our enemies' pride; five times he hath return'd\\r\\n Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons\\r\\n In coffins from the field; and at this day\\r\\n To the monument of that Andronici\\r\\n Done sacrifice of expiation,\\r\\n And slain the noblest prisoner of the Goths.\\r\\n And now at last, laden with honour's spoils,\\r\\n Returns the good Andronicus to Rome,\\r\\n Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms.\\r\\n Let us entreat, by honour of his name\\r\\n Whom worthily you would have now succeed,\\r\\n And in the Capitol and Senate's right,\\r\\n Whom you pretend to honour and adore,\\r\\n That you withdraw you and abate your strength,\\r\\n Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should,\\r\\n Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. How fair the Tribune speaks to calm my thoughts.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy\\r\\n In thy uprightness and integrity,\\r\\n And so I love and honour thee and thine,\\r\\n Thy noble brother Titus and his sons,\\r\\n And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all,\\r\\n Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament,\\r\\n That I will here dismiss my loving friends,\\r\\n And to my fortunes and the people's favour\\r\\n Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd.\\r\\n Exeunt the soldiers of BASSIANUS\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Friends, that have been thus forward in my right,\\r\\n I thank you all and here dismiss you all,\\r\\n And to the love and favour of my country\\r\\n Commit myself, my person, and the cause.\\r\\n Exeunt the soldiers of SATURNINUS\\r\\n Rome, be as just and gracious unto me\\r\\n As I am confident and kind to thee.\\r\\n Open the gates and let me in.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor.\\r\\n [Flourish. They go up into the Senate House]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a CAPTAIN\\r\\n\\r\\n CAPTAIN. Romans, make way. The good Andronicus,\\r\\n Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion,\\r\\n Successful in the battles that he fights,\\r\\n With honour and with fortune is return'd\\r\\n From where he circumscribed with his sword\\r\\n And brought to yoke the enemies of Rome.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound drums and trumpets, and then enter MARTIUS and MUTIUS,\\r\\n two of TITUS' sons; and then two men bearing a coffin covered\\r\\n with black; then LUCIUS and QUINTUS, two other sons; then TITUS\\r\\n ANDRONICUS; and then TAMORA the Queen of Goths, with her three\\r\\n sons, ALARBUS, DEMETRIUS, and CHIRON, with AARON the Moor, and\\r\\n others, as many as can be. Then set down the coffin and TITUS\\r\\n speaks\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds!\\r\\n Lo, as the bark that hath discharg'd her fraught\\r\\n Returns with precious lading to the bay\\r\\n From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage,\\r\\n Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs,\\r\\n To re-salute his country with his tears,\\r\\n Tears of true joy for his return to Rome.\\r\\n Thou great defender of this Capitol,\\r\\n Stand gracious to the rites that we intend!\\r\\n Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons,\\r\\n Half of the number that King Priam had,\\r\\n Behold the poor remains, alive and dead!\\r\\n These that survive let Rome reward with love;\\r\\n These that I bring unto their latest home,\\r\\n With burial amongst their ancestors.\\r\\n Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my sword.\\r\\n Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own,\\r\\n Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet,\\r\\n To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx?\\r\\n Make way to lay them by their brethren.\\r\\n [They open the tomb]\\r\\n There greet in silence, as the dead are wont,\\r\\n And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars.\\r\\n O sacred receptacle of my joys,\\r\\n Sweet cell of virtue and nobility,\\r\\n How many sons hast thou of mine in store\\r\\n That thou wilt never render to me more!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths,\\r\\n That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile\\r\\n Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh\\r\\n Before this earthy prison of their bones,\\r\\n That so the shadows be not unappeas'd,\\r\\n Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth.\\r\\n TITUS. I give him you- the noblest that survives,\\r\\n The eldest son of this distressed queen.\\r\\n TAMORA. Stay, Roman brethen! Gracious conqueror,\\r\\n Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed,\\r\\n A mother's tears in passion for her son;\\r\\n And if thy sons were ever dear to thee,\\r\\n O, think my son to be as dear to me!\\r\\n Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome\\r\\n To beautify thy triumphs, and return\\r\\n Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke;\\r\\n But must my sons be slaughtered in the streets\\r\\n For valiant doings in their country's cause?\\r\\n O, if to fight for king and commonweal\\r\\n Were piety in thine, it is in these.\\r\\n Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood.\\r\\n Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods?\\r\\n Draw near them then in being merciful.\\r\\n Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge.\\r\\n Thrice-noble Titus, spare my first-born son.\\r\\n TITUS. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me.\\r\\n These are their brethren, whom your Goths beheld\\r\\n Alive and dead; and for their brethren slain\\r\\n Religiously they ask a sacrifice.\\r\\n To this your son is mark'd, and die he must\\r\\n T' appease their groaning shadows that are gone.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Away with him, and make a fire straight;\\r\\n And with our swords, upon a pile of wood,\\r\\n Let's hew his limbs till they be clean consum'd.\\r\\n Exeunt TITUS' SONS, with ALARBUS\\r\\n TAMORA. O cruel, irreligious piety!\\r\\n CHIRON. Was never Scythia half so barbarous!\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome.\\r\\n Alarbus goes to rest, and we survive\\r\\n To tremble under Titus' threat'ning look.\\r\\n Then, madam, stand resolv'd, but hope withal\\r\\n The self-same gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy\\r\\n With opportunity of sharp revenge\\r\\n Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent\\r\\n May favour Tamora, the Queen of Goths-\\r\\n When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen-\\r\\n To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and\\r\\n MUTIUS, the sons of ANDRONICUS, with their swords bloody\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS. See, lord and father, how we have perform'd\\r\\n Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd,\\r\\n And entrails feed the sacrificing fire,\\r\\n Whose smoke like incense doth perfume the sky.\\r\\n Remaineth nought but to inter our brethren,\\r\\n And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome.\\r\\n TITUS. Let it be so, and let Andronicus\\r\\n Make this his latest farewell to their souls.\\r\\n [Sound trumpets and lay the coffin in the tomb]\\r\\n In peace and honour rest you here, my sons;\\r\\n Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in rest,\\r\\n Secure from worldly chances and mishaps!\\r\\n Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells,\\r\\n Here grow no damned drugs, here are no storms,\\r\\n No noise, but silence and eternal sleep.\\r\\n In peace and honour rest you here, my sons!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter LAVINIA\\r\\n\\r\\n LAVINIA. In peace and honour live Lord Titus long;\\r\\n My noble lord and father, live in fame!\\r\\n Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears\\r\\n I render for my brethren's obsequies;\\r\\n And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy\\r\\n Shed on this earth for thy return to Rome.\\r\\n O, bless me here with thy victorious hand,\\r\\n Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud!\\r\\n TITUS. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserv'd\\r\\n The cordial of mine age to glad my heart!\\r\\n Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days,\\r\\n And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, above, MARCUS ANDRONICUS and TRIBUNES;\\r\\n re-enter SATURNINUS, BASSIANUS, and attendants\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCUS. Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother,\\r\\n Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome!\\r\\n TITUS. Thanks, gentle Tribune, noble brother Marcus.\\r\\n MARCUS. And welcome, nephews, from successful wars,\\r\\n You that survive and you that sleep in fame.\\r\\n Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all\\r\\n That in your country's service drew your swords;\\r\\n But safer triumph is this funeral pomp\\r\\n That hath aspir'd to Solon's happiness\\r\\n And triumphs over chance in honour's bed.\\r\\n Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome,\\r\\n Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been,\\r\\n Send thee by me, their Tribune and their trust,\\r\\n This par]iament of white and spotless hue;\\r\\n And name thee in election for the empire\\r\\n With these our late-deceased Emperor's sons:\\r\\n Be candidatus then, and put it on,\\r\\n And help to set a head on headless Rome.\\r\\n TITUS. A better head her glorious body fits\\r\\n Than his that shakes for age and feebleness.\\r\\n What should I don this robe and trouble you?\\r\\n Be chosen with proclamations to-day,\\r\\n To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life,\\r\\n And set abroad new business for you all?\\r\\n Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years,\\r\\n And led my country's strength successfully,\\r\\n And buried one and twenty valiant sons,\\r\\n Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms,\\r\\n In right and service of their noble country.\\r\\n Give me a staff of honour for mine age,\\r\\n But not a sceptre to control the world.\\r\\n Upright he held it, lords, that held it last.\\r\\n MARCUS. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Proud and ambitious Tribune, canst thou tell?\\r\\n TITUS. Patience, Prince Saturninus.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Romans, do me right.\\r\\n Patricians, draw your swords, and sheathe them not\\r\\n Till Saturninus be Rome's Emperor.\\r\\n Andronicus, would thou were shipp'd to hell\\r\\n Rather than rob me of the people's hearts!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good\\r\\n That noble-minded Titus means to thee!\\r\\n TITUS. Content thee, Prince; I will restore to thee\\r\\n The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee,\\r\\n But honour thee, and will do till I die.\\r\\n My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends,\\r\\n I will most thankful be; and thanks to men\\r\\n Of noble minds is honourable meed.\\r\\n TITUS. People of Rome, and people's Tribunes here,\\r\\n I ask your voices and your suffrages:\\r\\n Will ye bestow them friendly on Andronicus?\\r\\n TRIBUNES. To gratify the good Andronicus,\\r\\n And gratulate his safe return to Rome,\\r\\n The people will accept whom he admits.\\r\\n TITUS. Tribunes, I thank you; and this suit I make,\\r\\n That you create our Emperor's eldest son,\\r\\n Lord Saturnine; whose virtues will, I hope,\\r\\n Reflect on Rome as Titan's rays on earth,\\r\\n And ripen justice in this commonweal.\\r\\n Then, if you will elect by my advice,\\r\\n Crown him, and say 'Long live our Emperor!'\\r\\n MARCUS. With voices and applause of every sort,\\r\\n Patricians and plebeians, we create\\r\\n Lord Saturninus Rome's great Emperor;\\r\\n And say 'Long live our Emperor Saturnine!'\\r\\n [A long flourish till they come down]\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done\\r\\n To us in our election this day\\r\\n I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts,\\r\\n And will with deeds requite thy gentleness;\\r\\n And for an onset, Titus, to advance\\r\\n Thy name and honourable family,\\r\\n Lavinia will I make my emperess,\\r\\n Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart,\\r\\n And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse.\\r\\n Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee?\\r\\n TITUS. It doth, my worthy lord, and in this match\\r\\n I hold me highly honoured of your Grace,\\r\\n And here in sight of Rome, to Saturnine,\\r\\n King and commander of our commonweal,\\r\\n The wide world's Emperor, do I consecrate\\r\\n My sword, my chariot, and my prisoners,\\r\\n Presents well worthy Rome's imperious lord;\\r\\n Receive them then, the tribute that I owe,\\r\\n Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life.\\r\\n How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts\\r\\n Rome shall record; and when I do forget\\r\\n The least of these unspeakable deserts,\\r\\n Romans, forget your fealty to me.\\r\\n TITUS. [To TAMORA] Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor;\\r\\n To him that for your honour and your state\\r\\n Will use you nobly and your followers.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. [Aside] A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue\\r\\n That I would choose, were I to choose anew.-\\r\\n Clear up, fair Queen, that cloudy countenance;\\r\\n Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer,\\r\\n Thou com'st not to be made a scorn in Rome-\\r\\n Princely shall be thy usage every way.\\r\\n Rest on my word, and let not discontent\\r\\n Daunt all your hopes. Madam, he comforts you\\r\\n Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths.\\r\\n Lavinia, you are not displeas'd with this?\\r\\n LAVINIA. Not I, my lord, sith true nobility\\r\\n Warrants these words in princely courtesy.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go.\\r\\n Ransomless here we set our prisoners free.\\r\\n Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum.\\r\\n [Flourish]\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine.\\r\\n [Seizing LAVINIA]\\r\\n TITUS. How, sir! Are you in earnest then, my lord?\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Ay, noble Titus, and resolv'd withal\\r\\n To do myself this reason and this right.\\r\\n MARCUS. Suum cuique is our Roman justice:\\r\\n This prince in justice seizeth but his own.\\r\\n LUCIUS. And that he will and shall, if Lucius live.\\r\\n TITUS. Traitors, avaunt! Where is the Emperor's guard?\\r\\n Treason, my lord- Lavinia is surpris'd!\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Surpris'd! By whom?\\r\\n BASSIANUS. By him that justly may\\r\\n Bear his betroth'd from all the world away.\\r\\n Exeunt BASSIANUS and MARCUS with LAVINIA\\r\\n MUTIUS. Brothers, help to convey her hence away,\\r\\n And with my sword I'll keep this door safe.\\r\\n Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS\\r\\n TITUS. Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back.\\r\\n MUTIUS. My lord, you pass not here.\\r\\n TITUS. What, villain boy!\\r\\n Bar'st me my way in Rome?\\r\\n MUTIUS. Help, Lucius, help!\\r\\n TITUS kills him. During the fray, exeunt SATURNINUS,\\r\\n TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, and AARON\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Lucius\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS. My lord, you are unjust, and more than so:\\r\\n In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son.\\r\\n TITUS. Nor thou nor he are any sons of mine;\\r\\n My sons would never so dishonour me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter aloft the EMPEROR\\r\\n with TAMORA and her two Sons, and AARON the Moor\\r\\n\\r\\n Traitor, restore Lavinia to the Emperor.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife,\\r\\n That is another's lawful promis'd love. Exit\\r\\n SATURNINUS. No, Titus, no; the Emperor needs her not,\\r\\n Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock.\\r\\n I'll trust by leisure him that mocks me once;\\r\\n Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons,\\r\\n Confederates all thus to dishonour me.\\r\\n Was there none else in Rome to make a stale\\r\\n But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus,\\r\\n Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine\\r\\n That saidst I begg'd the empire at thy hands.\\r\\n TITUS. O monstrous! What reproachful words are these?\\r\\n SATURNINUS. But go thy ways; go, give that changing piece\\r\\n To him that flourish'd for her with his sword.\\r\\n A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy;\\r\\n One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons,\\r\\n To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome.\\r\\n TITUS. These words are razors to my wounded heart.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. And therefore, lovely Tamora, Queen of Goths,\\r\\n That, like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs,\\r\\n Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome,\\r\\n If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden choice,\\r\\n Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride\\r\\n And will create thee Emperess of Rome.\\r\\n Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice?\\r\\n And here I swear by all the Roman gods-\\r\\n Sith priest and holy water are so near,\\r\\n And tapers burn so bright, and everything\\r\\n In readiness for Hymenaeus stand-\\r\\n I will not re-salute the streets of Rome,\\r\\n Or climb my palace, till from forth this place\\r\\n I lead espous'd my bride along with me.\\r\\n TAMORA. And here in sight of heaven to Rome I swear,\\r\\n If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths,\\r\\n She will a handmaid be to his desires,\\r\\n A loving nurse, a mother to his youth.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Ascend, fair Queen, Pantheon. Lords, accompany\\r\\n Your noble Emperor and his lovely bride,\\r\\n Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine,\\r\\n Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered;\\r\\n There shall we consummate our spousal rites.\\r\\n Exeunt all but TITUS\\r\\n TITUS. I am not bid to wait upon this bride.\\r\\n TITUS, when wert thou wont to walk alone,\\r\\n Dishonoured thus, and challenged of wrongs?\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter MARCUS,\\r\\n and TITUS' SONS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCUS. O Titus, see, O, see what thou hast done!\\r\\n In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son.\\r\\n TITUS. No, foolish Tribune, no; no son of mine-\\r\\n Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed\\r\\n That hath dishonoured all our family;\\r\\n Unworthy brother and unworthy sons!\\r\\n LUCIUS. But let us give him burial, as becomes;\\r\\n Give Mutius burial with our bretheren.\\r\\n TITUS. Traitors, away! He rests not in this tomb.\\r\\n This monument five hundred years hath stood,\\r\\n Which I have sumptuously re-edified;\\r\\n Here none but soldiers and Rome's servitors\\r\\n Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls.\\r\\n Bury him where you can, he comes not here.\\r\\n MARCUS. My lord, this is impiety in you.\\r\\n My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him;\\r\\n He must be buried with his bretheren.\\r\\n QUINTUS & MARTIUS. And shall, or him we will accompany.\\r\\n TITUS. 'And shall!' What villain was it spake that word?\\r\\n QUINTUS. He that would vouch it in any place but here.\\r\\n TITUS. What, would you bury him in my despite?\\r\\n MARCUS. No, noble Titus, but entreat of thee\\r\\n To pardon Mutius and to bury him.\\r\\n TITUS. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest,\\r\\n And with these boys mine honour thou hast wounded.\\r\\n My foes I do repute you every one;\\r\\n So trouble me no more, but get you gone.\\r\\n MARTIUS. He is not with himself; let us withdraw.\\r\\n QUINTUS. Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried.\\r\\n [The BROTHER and the SONS kneel]\\r\\n MARCUS. Brother, for in that name doth nature plead-\\r\\n QUINTUS. Father, and in that name doth nature speak-\\r\\n TITUS. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed.\\r\\n MARCUS. Renowned Titus, more than half my soul-\\r\\n LUCIUS. Dear father, soul and substance of us all-\\r\\n MARCUS. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter\\r\\n His noble nephew here in virtue's nest,\\r\\n That died in honour and Lavinia's cause.\\r\\n Thou art a Roman- be not barbarous.\\r\\n The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax,\\r\\n That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son\\r\\n Did graciously plead for his funerals.\\r\\n Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy,\\r\\n Be barr'd his entrance here.\\r\\n TITUS. Rise, Marcus, rise;\\r\\n The dismal'st day is this that e'er I saw,\\r\\n To be dishonoured by my sons in Rome!\\r\\n Well, bury him, and bury me the next.\\r\\n [They put MUTIUS in the tomb]\\r\\n LUCIUS. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends,\\r\\n Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb.\\r\\n ALL. [Kneeling] No man shed tears for noble Mutius;\\r\\n He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause.\\r\\n MARCUS. My lord- to step out of these dreary dumps-\\r\\n How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths\\r\\n Is of a sudden thus advanc'd in Rome?\\r\\n TITUS. I know not, Marcus, but I know it is-\\r\\n Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell.\\r\\n Is she not, then, beholding to the man\\r\\n That brought her for this high good turn so far?\\r\\n MARCUS. Yes, and will nobly him remunerate.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Re-enter the EMPEROR, TAMORA\\r\\n and her two SONS, with the MOOR, at one door;\\r\\n at the other door, BASSIANUS and LAVINIA, with others\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS. So, Bassianus, you have play'd your prize:\\r\\n God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride!\\r\\n BASSIANUS. And you of yours, my lord! I say no more,\\r\\n Nor wish no less; and so I take my leave.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Traitor, if Rome have law or we have power,\\r\\n Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own,\\r\\n My true betrothed love, and now my wife?\\r\\n But let the laws of Rome determine all;\\r\\n Meanwhile am I possess'd of that is mine.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. 'Tis good, sir. You are very short with us;\\r\\n But if we live we'll be as sharp with you.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. My lord, what I have done, as best I may,\\r\\n Answer I must, and shall do with my life.\\r\\n Only thus much I give your Grace to know:\\r\\n By all the duties that I owe to Rome,\\r\\n This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here,\\r\\n Is in opinion and in honour wrong'd,\\r\\n That, in the rescue of Lavinia,\\r\\n With his own hand did slay his youngest son,\\r\\n In zeal to you, and highly mov'd to wrath\\r\\n To be controll'd in that he frankly gave.\\r\\n Receive him then to favour, Saturnine,\\r\\n That hath express'd himself in all his deeds\\r\\n A father and a friend to thee and Rome.\\r\\n TITUS. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds.\\r\\n 'Tis thou and those that have dishonoured me.\\r\\n Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge\\r\\n How I have lov'd and honoured Saturnine!\\r\\n TAMORA. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora\\r\\n Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine,\\r\\n Then hear me speak indifferently for all;\\r\\n And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. What, madam! be dishonoured openly,\\r\\n And basely put it up without revenge?\\r\\n TAMORA. Not so, my lord; the gods of Rome forfend\\r\\n I should be author to dishonour you!\\r\\n But on mine honour dare I undertake\\r\\n For good Lord Titus' innocence in all,\\r\\n Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs.\\r\\n Then at my suit look graciously on him;\\r\\n Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose,\\r\\n Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart.\\r\\n [Aside to SATURNINUS] My lord, be rul'd by me,\\r\\n be won at last;\\r\\n Dissemble all your griefs and discontents.\\r\\n You are but newly planted in your throne;\\r\\n Lest, then, the people, and patricians too,\\r\\n Upon a just survey take Titus' part,\\r\\n And so supplant you for ingratitude,\\r\\n Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin,\\r\\n Yield at entreats, and then let me alone:\\r\\n I'll find a day to massacre them all,\\r\\n And raze their faction and their family,\\r\\n The cruel father and his traitorous sons,\\r\\n To whom I sued for my dear son's life;\\r\\n And make them know what 'tis to let a queen\\r\\n Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain.-\\r\\n Come, come, sweet Emperor; come, Andronicus.\\r\\n Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart\\r\\n That dies in tempest of thy angry frown.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Rise, Titus, rise; my Empress hath prevail'd.\\r\\n TITUS. I thank your Majesty and her, my lord;\\r\\n These words, these looks, infuse new life in me.\\r\\n TAMORA. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome,\\r\\n A Roman now adopted happily,\\r\\n And must advise the Emperor for his good.\\r\\n This day all quarrels die, Andronicus;\\r\\n And let it be mine honour, good my lord,\\r\\n That I have reconcil'd your friends and you.\\r\\n For you, Prince Bassianus, I have pass'd\\r\\n My word and promise to the Emperor\\r\\n That you will be more mild and tractable.\\r\\n And fear not, lords- and you, Lavinia.\\r\\n By my advice, all humbled on your knees,\\r\\n You shall ask pardon of his Majesty.\\r\\n LUCIUS. We do, and vow to heaven and to his Highness\\r\\n That what we did was mildly as we might,\\r\\n Tend'ring our sister's honour and our own.\\r\\n MARCUS. That on mine honour here do I protest.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Away, and talk not; trouble us no more.\\r\\n TAMORA. Nay, nay, sweet Emperor, we must all be friends.\\r\\n The Tribune and his nephews kneel for grace.\\r\\n I will not be denied. Sweet heart, look back.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Marcus, for thy sake, and thy brother's here,\\r\\n And at my lovely Tamora's entreats,\\r\\n I do remit these young men's heinous faults.\\r\\n Stand up.\\r\\n Lavinia, though you left me like a churl,\\r\\n I found a friend; and sure as death I swore\\r\\n I would not part a bachelor from the priest.\\r\\n Come, if the Emperor's court can feast two brides,\\r\\n You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends.\\r\\n This day shall be a love-day, Tamora.\\r\\n TITUS. To-morrow, and it please your Majesty\\r\\n To hunt the panther and the hart with me,\\r\\n With horn and hound we'll give your Grace bonjour.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too.\\r\\n Exeunt. Sound trumpets\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. Rome. Before the palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter AARON\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top,\\r\\n Safe out of Fortune's shot, and sits aloft,\\r\\n Secure of thunder's crack or lightning flash,\\r\\n Advanc'd above pale envy's threat'ning reach.\\r\\n As when the golden sun salutes the morn,\\r\\n And, having gilt the ocean with his beams,\\r\\n Gallops the zodiac in his glistening coach\\r\\n And overlooks the highest-peering hills,\\r\\n So Tamora.\\r\\n Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait,\\r\\n And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown.\\r\\n Then, Aaron, arm thy heart and fit thy thoughts\\r\\n To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress,\\r\\n And mount her pitch whom thou in triumph long.\\r\\n Hast prisoner held, fett'red in amorous chains,\\r\\n And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes\\r\\n Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus.\\r\\n Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts!\\r\\n I will be bright and shine in pearl and gold,\\r\\n To wait upon this new-made emperess.\\r\\n To wait, said I? To wanton with this queen,\\r\\n This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph,\\r\\n This siren that will charm Rome's Saturnine,\\r\\n And see his shipwreck and his commonweal's.\\r\\n Hullo! what storm is this?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CHIRON and DEMETRIUS, braving\\r\\n\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Chiron, thy years wants wit, thy wits wants edge\\r\\n And manners, to intrude where I am grac'd,\\r\\n And may, for aught thou knowest, affected be.\\r\\n CHIRON. Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all;\\r\\n And so in this, to bear me down with braves.\\r\\n 'Tis not the difference of a year or two\\r\\n Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate:\\r\\n I am as able and as fit as thou\\r\\n To serve and to deserve my mistress' grace;\\r\\n And that my sword upon thee shall approve,\\r\\n And plead my passions for Lavinia's love.\\r\\n AARON. [Aside] Clubs, clubs! These lovers will not keep the\\r\\n peace.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Why, boy, although our mother, unadvis'd,\\r\\n Gave you a dancing rapier by your side,\\r\\n Are you so desperate grown to threat your friends?\\r\\n Go to; have your lath glued within your sheath\\r\\n Till you know better how to handle it.\\r\\n CHIRON. Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I have,\\r\\n Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Ay, boy, grow ye so brave? [They draw]\\r\\n AARON. [Coming forward] Why, how now, lords!\\r\\n So near the Emperor's palace dare ye draw\\r\\n And maintain such a quarrel openly?\\r\\n Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge:\\r\\n I would not for a million of gold\\r\\n The cause were known to them it most concerns;\\r\\n Nor would your noble mother for much more\\r\\n Be so dishonoured in the court of Rome.\\r\\n For shame, put up.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Not I, till I have sheath'd\\r\\n My rapier in his bosom, and withal\\r\\n Thrust those reproachful speeches down his throat\\r\\n That he hath breath'd in my dishonour here.\\r\\n CHIRON. For that I am prepar'd and full resolv'd,\\r\\n Foul-spoken coward, that thund'rest with thy tongue,\\r\\n And with thy weapon nothing dar'st perform.\\r\\n AARON. Away, I say!\\r\\n Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore,\\r\\n This pretty brabble will undo us all.\\r\\n Why, lords, and think you not how dangerous\\r\\n It is to jet upon a prince's right?\\r\\n What, is Lavinia then become so loose,\\r\\n Or Bassianus so degenerate,\\r\\n That for her love such quarrels may be broach'd\\r\\n Without controlment, justice, or revenge?\\r\\n Young lords, beware; an should the Empress know\\r\\n This discord's ground, the music would not please.\\r\\n CHIRON. I care not, I, knew she and all the world:\\r\\n I love Lavinia more than all the world.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner choice:\\r\\n Lavina is thine elder brother's hope.\\r\\n AARON. Why, are ye mad, or know ye not in Rome\\r\\n How furious and impatient they be,\\r\\n And cannot brook competitors in love?\\r\\n I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths\\r\\n By this device.\\r\\n CHIRON. Aaron, a thousand deaths\\r\\n Would I propose to achieve her whom I love.\\r\\n AARON. To achieve her- how?\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Why mak'st thou it so strange?\\r\\n She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd;\\r\\n She is a woman, therefore may be won;\\r\\n She is Lavinia, therefore must be lov'd.\\r\\n What, man! more water glideth by the mill\\r\\n Than wots the miller of; and easy it is\\r\\n Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know.\\r\\n Though Bassianus be the Emperor's brother,\\r\\n Better than he have worn Vulcan's badge.\\r\\n AARON. [Aside] Ay, and as good as Saturninus may.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Then why should he despair that knows to court it\\r\\n With words, fair looks, and liberality?\\r\\n What, hast not thou full often struck a doe,\\r\\n And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose?\\r\\n AARON. Why, then, it seems some certain snatch or so\\r\\n Would serve your turns.\\r\\n CHIRON. Ay, so the turn were served.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Aaron, thou hast hit it.\\r\\n AARON. Would you had hit it too!\\r\\n Then should not we be tir'd with this ado.\\r\\n Why, hark ye, hark ye! and are you such fools\\r\\n To square for this? Would it offend you, then,\\r\\n That both should speed?\\r\\n CHIRON. Faith, not me.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Nor me, so I were one.\\r\\n AARON. For shame, be friends, and join for that you jar.\\r\\n 'Tis policy and stratagem must do\\r\\n That you affect; and so must you resolve\\r\\n That what you cannot as you would achieve,\\r\\n You must perforce accomplish as you may.\\r\\n Take this of me: Lucrece was not more chaste\\r\\n Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love.\\r\\n A speedier course than ling'ring languishment\\r\\n Must we pursue, and I have found the path.\\r\\n My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand;\\r\\n There will the lovely Roman ladies troop;\\r\\n The forest walks are wide and spacious,\\r\\n And many unfrequented plots there are\\r\\n Fitted by kind for rape and villainy.\\r\\n Single you thither then this dainty doe,\\r\\n And strike her home by force if not by words.\\r\\n This way, or not at all, stand you in hope.\\r\\n Come, come, our Empress, with her sacred wit\\r\\n To villainy and vengeance consecrate,\\r\\n Will we acquaint with all what we intend;\\r\\n And she shall file our engines with advice\\r\\n That will not suffer you to square yourselves,\\r\\n But to your wishes' height advance you both.\\r\\n The Emperor's court is like the house of Fame,\\r\\n The palace full of tongues, of eyes, and ears;\\r\\n The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull.\\r\\n There speak and strike, brave boys, and take your turns;\\r\\n There serve your lust, shadowed from heaven's eye,\\r\\n And revel in Lavinia's treasury.\\r\\n CHIRON. Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream\\r\\n To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits,\\r\\n Per Styga, per manes vehor. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A forest near Rome\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TITUS ANDRONICUS, and his three sons, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS,\\r\\nmaking a noise with hounds and horns; and MARCUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey,\\r\\n The fields are fragrant, and the woods are green.\\r\\n Uncouple here, and let us make a bay,\\r\\n And wake the Emperor and his lovely bride,\\r\\n And rouse the Prince, and ring a hunter's peal,\\r\\n That all the court may echo with the noise.\\r\\n Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours,\\r\\n To attend the Emperor's person carefully.\\r\\n I have been troubled in my sleep this night,\\r\\n But dawning day new comfort hath inspir'd.\\r\\n\\r\\n Here a cry of hounds, and wind horns in a peal.\\r\\n Then enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA, BASSIANUS LAVINIA,\\r\\n CHIRON, DEMETRIUS, and their attendants\\r\\n Many good morrows to your Majesty!\\r\\n Madam, to you as many and as good!\\r\\n I promised your Grace a hunter's peal.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. And you have rung it lustily, my lords-\\r\\n Somewhat too early for new-married ladies.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Lavinia, how say you?\\r\\n LAVINIA. I say no;\\r\\n I have been broad awake two hours and more.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Come on then, horse and chariots let us have,\\r\\n And to our sport. [To TAMORA] Madam, now shall ye see\\r\\n Our Roman hunting.\\r\\n MARCUS. I have dogs, my lord,\\r\\n Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase,\\r\\n And climb the highest promontory top.\\r\\n TITUS. And I have horse will follow where the game\\r\\n Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor hound,\\r\\n But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A lonely part of the forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter AARON alone, with a bag of gold\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON. He that had wit would think that I had none,\\r\\n To bury so much gold under a tree\\r\\n And never after to inherit it.\\r\\n Let him that thinks of me so abjectly\\r\\n Know that this gold must coin a stratagem,\\r\\n Which, cunningly effected, will beget\\r\\n A very excellent piece of villainy.\\r\\n And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest\\r\\n [Hides the gold]\\r\\n That have their alms out of the Empress' chest.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TAMORA alone, to the Moor\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad\\r\\n When everything does make a gleeful boast?\\r\\n The birds chant melody on every bush;\\r\\n The snakes lie rolled in the cheerful sun;\\r\\n The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind\\r\\n And make a chequer'd shadow on the ground;\\r\\n Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit,\\r\\n And while the babbling echo mocks the hounds,\\r\\n Replying shrilly to the well-tun'd horns,\\r\\n As if a double hunt were heard at once,\\r\\n Let us sit down and mark their yellowing noise;\\r\\n And- after conflict such as was suppos'd\\r\\n The wand'ring prince and Dido once enjoyed,\\r\\n When with a happy storm they were surpris'd,\\r\\n And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave-\\r\\n We may, each wreathed in the other's arms,\\r\\n Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber,\\r\\n Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds\\r\\n Be unto us as is a nurse's song\\r\\n Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep.\\r\\n AARON. Madam, though Venus govern your desires,\\r\\n Saturn is dominator over mine.\\r\\n What signifies my deadly-standing eye,\\r\\n My silence and my cloudy melancholy,\\r\\n My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls\\r\\n Even as an adder when she doth unroll\\r\\n To do some fatal execution?\\r\\n No, madam, these are no venereal signs.\\r\\n Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand,\\r\\n Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.\\r\\n Hark, Tamora, the empress of my soul,\\r\\n Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee-\\r\\n This is the day of doom for Bassianus;\\r\\n His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day,\\r\\n Thy sons make pillage of her chastity,\\r\\n And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood.\\r\\n Seest thou this letter? Take it up, I pray thee,\\r\\n And give the King this fatal-plotted scroll.\\r\\n Now question me no more; we are espied.\\r\\n Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty,\\r\\n Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter BASSIANUS and LAVINIA\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA. Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life!\\r\\n AARON. No more, great Empress: Bassianus comes.\\r\\n Be cross with him; and I'll go fetch thy sons\\r\\n To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. Exit\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Who have we here? Rome's royal Emperess,\\r\\n Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop?\\r\\n Or is it Dian, habited like her,\\r\\n Who hath abandoned her holy groves\\r\\n To see the general hunting in this forest?\\r\\n TAMORA. Saucy controller of my private steps!\\r\\n Had I the pow'r that some say Dian had,\\r\\n Thy temples should be planted presently\\r\\n With horns, as was Actaeon's; and the hounds\\r\\n Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs,\\r\\n Unmannerly intruder as thou art!\\r\\n LAVINIA. Under your patience, gentle Emperess,\\r\\n 'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning,\\r\\n And to be doubted that your Moor and you\\r\\n Are singled forth to try thy experiments.\\r\\n Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day!\\r\\n 'Tis pity they should take him for a stag.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. Believe me, Queen, your swarth Cimmerian\\r\\n Doth make your honour of his body's hue,\\r\\n Spotted, detested, and abominable.\\r\\n Why are you sequest'red from all your train,\\r\\n Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed,\\r\\n And wand'red hither to an obscure plot,\\r\\n Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor,\\r\\n If foul desire had not conducted you?\\r\\n LAVINIA. And, being intercepted in your sport,\\r\\n Great reason that my noble lord be rated\\r\\n For sauciness. I pray you let us hence,\\r\\n And let her joy her raven-coloured love;\\r\\n This valley fits the purpose passing well.\\r\\n BASSIANUS. The King my brother shall have notice of this.\\r\\n LAVINIA. Ay, for these slips have made him noted long.\\r\\n Good king, to be so mightily abused!\\r\\n TAMORA. Why, I have patience to endure all this.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CHIRON and DEMETRIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious mother!\\r\\n Why doth your Highness look so pale and wan?\\r\\n TAMORA. Have I not reason, think you, to look pale?\\r\\n These two have 'ticed me hither to this place.\\r\\n A barren detested vale you see it is:\\r\\n The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean,\\r\\n Overcome with moss and baleful mistletoe;\\r\\n Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds,\\r\\n Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven.\\r\\n And when they show'd me this abhorred pit,\\r\\n They told me, here, at dead time of the night,\\r\\n A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes,\\r\\n Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins,\\r\\n Would make such fearful and confused cries\\r\\n As any mortal body hearing it\\r\\n Should straight fall mad or else die suddenly.\\r\\n No sooner had they told this hellish tale\\r\\n But straight they told me they would bind me here\\r\\n Unto the body of a dismal yew,\\r\\n And leave me to this miserable death.\\r\\n And then they call'd me foul adulteress,\\r\\n Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms\\r\\n That ever ear did hear to such effect;\\r\\n And had you not by wondrous fortune come,\\r\\n This vengeance on me had they executed.\\r\\n Revenge it, as you love your mother's life,\\r\\n Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. This is a witness that I am thy son.\\r\\n [Stabs BASSIANUS]\\r\\n CHIRON. And this for me, struck home to show my strength.\\r\\n [Also stabs]\\r\\n LAVINIA. Ay, come, Semiramis- nay, barbarous Tamora,\\r\\n For no name fits thy nature but thy own!\\r\\n TAMORA. Give me the poniard; you shall know, my boys,\\r\\n Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Stay, madam, here is more belongs to her;\\r\\n First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw.\\r\\n This minion stood upon her chastity,\\r\\n Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty,\\r\\n And with that painted hope braves your mightiness;\\r\\n And shall she carry this unto her grave?\\r\\n CHIRON. An if she do, I would I were an eunuch.\\r\\n Drag hence her husband to some secret hole,\\r\\n And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust.\\r\\n TAMORA. But when ye have the honey we desire,\\r\\n Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting.\\r\\n CHIRON. I warrant you, madam, we will make that sure.\\r\\n Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy\\r\\n That nice-preserved honesty of yours.\\r\\n LAVINIA. O Tamora! thou bearest a woman's face-\\r\\n TAMORA. I will not hear her speak; away with her!\\r\\n LAVINIA. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Listen, fair madam: let it be your glory\\r\\n To see her tears; but be your heart to them\\r\\n As unrelenting flint to drops of rain.\\r\\n LAVINIA. When did the tiger's young ones teach the dam?\\r\\n O, do not learn her wrath- she taught it thee;\\r\\n The milk thou suck'dst from her did turn to marble,\\r\\n Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny.\\r\\n Yet every mother breeds not sons alike:\\r\\n [To CHIRON] Do thou entreat her show a woman's pity.\\r\\n CHIRON. What, wouldst thou have me prove myself a bastard?\\r\\n LAVINIA. 'Tis true, the raven doth not hatch a lark.\\r\\n Yet have I heard- O, could I find it now!-\\r\\n The lion, mov'd with pity, did endure\\r\\n To have his princely paws par'd all away.\\r\\n Some say that ravens foster forlorn children,\\r\\n The whilst their own birds famish in their nests;\\r\\n O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no,\\r\\n Nothing so kind, but something pitiful!\\r\\n TAMORA. I know not what it means; away with her!\\r\\n LAVINIA. O, let me teach thee! For my father's sake,\\r\\n That gave thee life when well he might have slain thee,\\r\\n Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears.\\r\\n TAMORA. Hadst thou in person ne'er offended me,\\r\\n Even for his sake am I pitiless.\\r\\n Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain\\r\\n To save your brother from the sacrifice;\\r\\n But fierce Andronicus would not relent.\\r\\n Therefore away with her, and use her as you will;\\r\\n The worse to her the better lov'd of me.\\r\\n LAVINIA. O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen,\\r\\n And with thine own hands kill me in this place!\\r\\n For 'tis not life that I have begg'd so long;\\r\\n Poor I was slain when Bassianus died.\\r\\n TAMORA. What beg'st thou, then? Fond woman, let me go.\\r\\n LAVINIA. 'Tis present death I beg; and one thing more,\\r\\n That womanhood denies my tongue to tell:\\r\\n O, keep me from their worse than killing lust,\\r\\n And tumble me into some loathsome pit,\\r\\n Where never man's eye may behold my body;\\r\\n Do this, and be a charitable murderer.\\r\\n TAMORA. So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee;\\r\\n No, let them satisfy their lust on thee.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Away! for thou hast stay'd us here too long.\\r\\n LAVINIA. No grace? no womanhood? Ah, beastly creature,\\r\\n The blot and enemy to our general name!\\r\\n Confusion fall-\\r\\n CHIRON. Nay, then I'll stop your mouth. Bring thou her husband.\\r\\n This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him.\\r\\n\\r\\n DEMETRIUS throws the body\\r\\n of BASSIANUS into the pit; then exeunt\\r\\n DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, dragging off LAVINIA\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA. Farewell, my sons; see that you make her sure.\\r\\n Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed\\r\\n Till all the Andronici be made away.\\r\\n Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor,\\r\\n And let my spleenful sons this trull deflower. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter AARON, with two\\r\\n of TITUS' sons, QUINTUS and MARTIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON. Come on, my lords, the better foot before;\\r\\n Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit\\r\\n Where I espied the panther fast asleep.\\r\\n QUINTUS. My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes.\\r\\n MARTIUS. And mine, I promise you; were it not for shame,\\r\\n Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile.\\r\\n [Falls into the pit]\\r\\n QUINTUS. What, art thou fallen? What subtle hole is this,\\r\\n Whose mouth is covered with rude-growing briers,\\r\\n Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood\\r\\n As fresh as morning dew distill'd on flowers?\\r\\n A very fatal place it seems to me.\\r\\n Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall?\\r\\n MARTIUS. O brother, with the dismal'st object hurt\\r\\n That ever eye with sight made heart lament!\\r\\n AARON. [Aside] Now will I fetch the King to find them here,\\r\\n That he thereby may have a likely guess\\r\\n How these were they that made away his brother. Exit\\r\\n MARTIUS. Why dost not comfort me, and help me out\\r\\n From this unhallow'd and blood-stained hole?\\r\\n QUINTUS. I am surprised with an uncouth fear;\\r\\n A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints;\\r\\n My heart suspects more than mine eye can see.\\r\\n MARTIUS. To prove thou hast a true divining heart,\\r\\n Aaron and thou look down into this den,\\r\\n And see a fearful sight of blood and death.\\r\\n QUINTUS. Aaron is gone, and my compassionate heart\\r\\n Will not permit mine eyes once to behold\\r\\n The thing whereat it trembles by surmise;\\r\\n O, tell me who it is, for ne'er till now\\r\\n Was I a child to fear I know not what.\\r\\n MARTIUS. Lord Bassianus lies beray'd in blood,\\r\\n All on a heap, like to a slaughtered lamb,\\r\\n In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit.\\r\\n QUINTUS. If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he?\\r\\n MARTIUS. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear\\r\\n A precious ring that lightens all this hole,\\r\\n Which, like a taper in some monument,\\r\\n Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks,\\r\\n And shows the ragged entrails of this pit;\\r\\n So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus\\r\\n When he by night lay bath'd in maiden blood.\\r\\n O brother, help me with thy fainting hand-\\r\\n If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath-\\r\\n Out of this fell devouring receptacle,\\r\\n As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth.\\r\\n QUINTUS. Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out,\\r\\n Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good,\\r\\n I may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb\\r\\n Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave.\\r\\n I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink.\\r\\n MARTIUS. Nor I no strength to climb without thy help.\\r\\n QUINTUS. Thy hand once more; I will not loose again,\\r\\n Till thou art here aloft, or I below.\\r\\n Thou canst not come to me- I come to thee. [Falls in]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the EMPEROR and AARON the Moor\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Along with me! I'll see what hole is here,\\r\\n And what he is that now is leapt into it.\\r\\n Say, who art thou that lately didst descend\\r\\n Into this gaping hollow of the earth?\\r\\n MARTIUS. The unhappy sons of old Andronicus,\\r\\n Brought hither in a most unlucky hour,\\r\\n To find thy brother Bassianus dead.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. My brother dead! I know thou dost but jest:\\r\\n He and his lady both are at the lodge\\r\\n Upon the north side of this pleasant chase;\\r\\n 'Tis not an hour since I left them there.\\r\\n MARTIUS. We know not where you left them all alive;\\r\\n But, out alas! here have we found him dead.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter TAMORA, with\\r\\n attendants; TITUS ANDRONICUS and Lucius\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA. Where is my lord the King?\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Here, Tamora; though griev'd with killing grief.\\r\\n TAMORA. Where is thy brother Bassianus?\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound;\\r\\n Poor Bassianus here lies murdered.\\r\\n TAMORA. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ,\\r\\n The complot of this timeless tragedy;\\r\\n And wonder greatly that man's face can fold\\r\\n In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny.\\r\\n [She giveth SATURNINE a letter]\\r\\n SATURNINUS. [Reads] 'An if we miss to meet him handsomely,\\r\\n Sweet huntsman- Bassianus 'tis we mean-\\r\\n Do thou so much as dig the grave for him.\\r\\n Thou know'st our meaning. Look for thy reward\\r\\n Among the nettles at the elder-tree\\r\\n Which overshades the mouth of that same pit\\r\\n Where we decreed to bury Bassianus.\\r\\n Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.'\\r\\n O Tamora! was ever heard the like?\\r\\n This is the pit and this the elder-tree.\\r\\n Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out\\r\\n That should have murdered Bassianus here.\\r\\n AARON. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. [To TITUS] Two of thy whelps, fell curs of bloody\\r\\n kind,\\r\\n Have here bereft my brother of his life.\\r\\n Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison;\\r\\n There let them bide until we have devis'd\\r\\n Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them.\\r\\n TAMORA. What, are they in this pit? O wondrous thing!\\r\\n How easily murder is discovered!\\r\\n TITUS. High Emperor, upon my feeble knee\\r\\n I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed,\\r\\n That this fell fault of my accursed sons-\\r\\n Accursed if the fault be prov'd in them-\\r\\n SATURNINUS. If it be prov'd! You see it is apparent.\\r\\n Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you?\\r\\n TAMORA. Andronicus himself did take it up.\\r\\n TITUS. I did, my lord, yet let me be their bail;\\r\\n For, by my fathers' reverend tomb, I vow\\r\\n They shall be ready at your Highness' will\\r\\n To answer their suspicion with their lives.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Thou shalt not bail them; see thou follow me.\\r\\n Some bring the murdered body, some the murderers;\\r\\n Let them not speak a word- the guilt is plain;\\r\\n For, by my soul, were there worse end than death,\\r\\n That end upon them should be executed.\\r\\n TAMORA. Andronicus, I will entreat the King.\\r\\n Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough.\\r\\n TITUS. Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Another part of the forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the Empress' sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, with LAVINIA, her hands\\r\\ncut off, and her tongue cut out, and ravish'd\\r\\n\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak,\\r\\n Who 'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish'd thee.\\r\\n CHIRON. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so,\\r\\n An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. See how with signs and tokens she can scrowl.\\r\\n CHIRON. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash;\\r\\n And so let's leave her to her silent walks.\\r\\n CHIRON. An 'twere my cause, I should go hang myself.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord.\\r\\n Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON\\r\\n\\r\\n Wind horns. Enter MARCUS, from hunting\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCUS. Who is this?- my niece, that flies away so fast?\\r\\n Cousin, a word: where is your husband?\\r\\n If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me!\\r\\n If I do wake, some planet strike me down,\\r\\n That I may slumber an eternal sleep!\\r\\n Speak, gentle niece. What stern ungentle hands\\r\\n Hath lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare\\r\\n Of her two branches- those sweet ornaments\\r\\n Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in,\\r\\n And might not gain so great a happiness\\r\\n As half thy love? Why dost not speak to me?\\r\\n Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,\\r\\n Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind,\\r\\n Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips,\\r\\n Coming and going with thy honey breath.\\r\\n But sure some Tereus hath deflowered thee,\\r\\n And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue.\\r\\n Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame!\\r\\n And notwithstanding all this loss of blood-\\r\\n As from a conduit with three issuing spouts-\\r\\n Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face\\r\\n Blushing to be encount'red with a cloud.\\r\\n Shall I speak for thee? Shall I say 'tis so?\\r\\n O, that I knew thy heart, and knew the beast,\\r\\n That I might rail at him to ease my mind!\\r\\n Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd,\\r\\n Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.\\r\\n Fair Philomel, why she but lost her tongue,\\r\\n And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind;\\r\\n But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee.\\r\\n A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met,\\r\\n And he hath cut those pretty fingers off\\r\\n That could have better sew'd than Philomel.\\r\\n O, had the monster seen those lily hands\\r\\n Tremble like aspen leaves upon a lute\\r\\n And make the silken strings delight to kiss them,\\r\\n He would not then have touch'd them for his life!\\r\\n Or had he heard the heavenly harmony\\r\\n Which that sweet tongue hath made,\\r\\n He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep,\\r\\n As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet.\\r\\n Come, let us go, and make thy father blind,\\r\\n For such a sight will blind a father's eye;\\r\\n One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads,\\r\\n What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes?\\r\\n Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee;\\r\\n O, could our mourning case thy misery! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. Rome. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the JUDGES, TRIBUNES, and SENATORS, with TITUS' two sons MARTIUS\\r\\nand QUINTUS bound, passing on the stage to the place of execution, and\\r\\nTITUS going before, pleading\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Hear me, grave fathers; noble Tribunes, stay!\\r\\n For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent\\r\\n In dangerous wars whilst you securely slept;\\r\\n For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed,\\r\\n For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd,\\r\\n And for these bitter tears, which now you see\\r\\n Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks,\\r\\n Be pitiful to my condemned sons,\\r\\n Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought.\\r\\n For two and twenty sons I never wept,\\r\\n Because they died in honour's lofty bed.\\r\\n [ANDRONICUS lieth down, and the judges\\r\\n pass by him with the prisoners, and exeunt]\\r\\n For these, Tribunes, in the dust I write\\r\\n My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears.\\r\\n Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite;\\r\\n My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush.\\r\\n O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain\\r\\n That shall distil from these two ancient urns,\\r\\n Than youthful April shall with all his show'rs.\\r\\n In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still;\\r\\n In winter with warm tears I'll melt the snow\\r\\n And keep eternal spring-time on thy face,\\r\\n So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Lucius with his weapon drawn\\r\\n\\r\\n O reverend Tribunes! O gentle aged men!\\r\\n Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death,\\r\\n And let me say, that never wept before,\\r\\n My tears are now prevailing orators.\\r\\n LUCIUS. O noble father, you lament in vain;\\r\\n The Tribunes hear you not, no man is by,\\r\\n And you recount your sorrows to a stone.\\r\\n TITUS. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead!\\r\\n Grave Tribunes, once more I entreat of you.\\r\\n LUCIUS. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, 'tis no matter, man: if they did hear,\\r\\n They would not mark me; if they did mark,\\r\\n They would not pity me; yet plead I must,\\r\\n And bootless unto them.\\r\\n Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones;\\r\\n Who though they cannot answer my distress,\\r\\n Yet in some sort they are better than the Tribunes,\\r\\n For that they will not intercept my tale.\\r\\n When I do weep, they humbly at my feet\\r\\n Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me;\\r\\n And were they but attired in grave weeds,\\r\\n Rome could afford no tribunes like to these.\\r\\n A stone is soft as wax: tribunes more hard than stones.\\r\\n A stone is silent and offendeth not,\\r\\n And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death.\\r\\n [Rises]\\r\\n But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn?\\r\\n LUCIUS. To rescue my two brothers from their death;\\r\\n For which attempt the judges have pronounc'd\\r\\n My everlasting doom of banishment.\\r\\n TITUS. O happy man! they have befriended thee.\\r\\n Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive\\r\\n That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers?\\r\\n Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey\\r\\n But me and mine; how happy art thou then\\r\\n From these devourers to be banished!\\r\\n But who comes with our brother Marcus here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MARCUS with LAVINIA\\r\\n\\r\\n MARCUS. Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep,\\r\\n Or if not so, thy noble heart to break.\\r\\n I bring consuming sorrow to thine age.\\r\\n TITUS. Will it consume me? Let me see it then.\\r\\n MARCUS. This was thy daughter.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, Marcus, so she is.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Ay me! this object kills me.\\r\\n TITUS. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her.\\r\\n Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand\\r\\n Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight?\\r\\n What fool hath added water to the sea,\\r\\n Or brought a fagot to bright-burning Troy?\\r\\n My grief was at the height before thou cam'st,\\r\\n And now like Nilus it disdaineth bounds.\\r\\n Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too,\\r\\n For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain;\\r\\n And they have nurs'd this woe in feeding life;\\r\\n In bootless prayer have they been held up,\\r\\n And they have serv'd me to effectless use.\\r\\n Now all the service I require of them\\r\\n Is that the one will help to cut the other.\\r\\n 'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands;\\r\\n For hands to do Rome service is but vain.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee?\\r\\n MARCUS. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts\\r\\n That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence\\r\\n Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage,\\r\\n Where like a sweet melodious bird it sung\\r\\n Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear!\\r\\n LUCIUS. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed?\\r\\n MARCUS. O, thus I found her straying in the park,\\r\\n Seeking to hide herself as doth the deer\\r\\n That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound.\\r\\n TITUS. It was my dear, and he that wounded her\\r\\n Hath hurt me more than had he kill'd me dead;\\r\\n For now I stand as one upon a rock,\\r\\n Environ'd with a wilderness of sea,\\r\\n Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave,\\r\\n Expecting ever when some envious surge\\r\\n Will in his brinish bowels swallow him.\\r\\n This way to death my wretched sons are gone;\\r\\n Here stands my other son, a banish'd man,\\r\\n And here my brother, weeping at my woes.\\r\\n But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn\\r\\n Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul.\\r\\n Had I but seen thy picture in this plight,\\r\\n It would have madded me; what shall I do\\r\\n Now I behold thy lively body so?\\r\\n Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears,\\r\\n Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee;\\r\\n Thy husband he is dead, and for his death\\r\\n Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this.\\r\\n Look, Marcus! Ah, son Lucius, look on her!\\r\\n When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears\\r\\n Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey dew\\r\\n Upon a gath'red lily almost withered.\\r\\n MARCUS. Perchance she weeps because they kill'd her husband;\\r\\n Perchance because she knows them innocent.\\r\\n TITUS. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful,\\r\\n Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them.\\r\\n No, no, they would not do so foul a deed;\\r\\n Witness the sorrow that their sister makes.\\r\\n Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips,\\r\\n Or make some sign how I may do thee ease.\\r\\n Shall thy good uncle and thy brother Lucius\\r\\n And thou and I sit round about some fountain,\\r\\n Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks\\r\\n How they are stain'd, like meadows yet not dry\\r\\n With miry slime left on them by a flood?\\r\\n And in the fountain shall we gaze so long,\\r\\n Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness,\\r\\n And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears?\\r\\n Or shall we cut away our hands like thine?\\r\\n Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows\\r\\n Pass the remainder of our hateful days?\\r\\n What shall we do? Let us that have our tongues\\r\\n Plot some device of further misery\\r\\n To make us wonder'd at in time to come.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Sweet father, cease your tears; for at your grief\\r\\n See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps.\\r\\n MARCUS. Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes.\\r\\n TITUS. Ah, Marcus, Marcus! Brother, well I wot\\r\\n Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine,\\r\\n For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks.\\r\\n TITUS. Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs.\\r\\n Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say\\r\\n That to her brother which I said to thee:\\r\\n His napkin, with his true tears all bewet,\\r\\n Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks.\\r\\n O, what a sympathy of woe is this\\r\\n As far from help as Limbo is from bliss!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter AARON the Moor\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON. Titus Andronicus, my lord the Emperor\\r\\n Sends thee this word, that, if thou love thy sons,\\r\\n Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus,\\r\\n Or any one of you, chop off your hand\\r\\n And send it to the King: he for the same\\r\\n Will send thee hither both thy sons alive,\\r\\n And that shall be the ransom for their fault.\\r\\n TITUS. O gracious Emperor! O gentle Aaron!\\r\\n Did ever raven sing so like a lark\\r\\n That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise?\\r\\n With all my heart I'll send the Emperor my hand.\\r\\n Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off?\\r\\n LUCIUS. Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine,\\r\\n That hath thrown down so many enemies,\\r\\n Shall not be sent. My hand will serve the turn,\\r\\n My youth can better spare my blood than you,\\r\\n And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives.\\r\\n MARCUS. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome\\r\\n And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe,\\r\\n Writing destruction on the enemy's castle?\\r\\n O, none of both but are of high desert!\\r\\n My hand hath been but idle; let it serve\\r\\n To ransom my two nephews from their death;\\r\\n Then have I kept it to a worthy end.\\r\\n AARON. Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along,\\r\\n For fear they die before their pardon come.\\r\\n MARCUS. My hand shall go.\\r\\n LUCIUS. By heaven, it shall not go!\\r\\n TITUS. Sirs, strive no more; such with'red herbs as these\\r\\n Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son,\\r\\n Let me redeem my brothers both from death.\\r\\n MARCUS. And for our father's sake and mother's care,\\r\\n Now let me show a brother's love to thee.\\r\\n TITUS. Agree between you; I will spare my hand.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Then I'll go fetch an axe.\\r\\n MARCUS. But I will use the axe.\\r\\n Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS\\r\\n TITUS. Come hither, Aaron, I'll deceive them both;\\r\\n Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.\\r\\n AARON. [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest,\\r\\n And never whilst I live deceive men so;\\r\\n But I'll deceive you in another sort,\\r\\n And that you'll say ere half an hour pass.\\r\\n [He cuts off TITUS' hand]\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Now stay your strife. What shall be is dispatch'd.\\r\\n Good Aaron, give his Majesty my hand;\\r\\n Tell him it was a hand that warded him\\r\\n From thousand dangers; bid him bury it.\\r\\n More hath it merited- that let it have.\\r\\n As for my sons, say I account of them\\r\\n As jewels purchas'd at an easy price;\\r\\n And yet dear too, because I bought mine own.\\r\\n AARON. I go, Andronicus; and for thy hand\\r\\n Look by and by to have thy sons with thee.\\r\\n [Aside] Their heads I mean. O, how this villainy\\r\\n Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it!\\r\\n Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace:\\r\\n Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit\\r\\n TITUS. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven,\\r\\n And bow this feeble ruin to the earth;\\r\\n If any power pities wretched tears,\\r\\n To that I call! [To LAVINIA] What, would'st thou kneel with me?\\r\\n Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers,\\r\\n Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim\\r\\n And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds\\r\\n When they do hug him in their melting bosoms.\\r\\n MARCUS. O brother, speak with possibility,\\r\\n And do not break into these deep extremes.\\r\\n TITUS. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom?\\r\\n Then be my passions bottomless with them.\\r\\n MARCUS. But yet let reason govern thy lament.\\r\\n TITUS. If there were reason for these miseries,\\r\\n Then into limits could I bind my woes.\\r\\n When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow?\\r\\n If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,\\r\\n Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swol'n face?\\r\\n And wilt thou have a reason for this coil?\\r\\n I am the sea; hark how her sighs do blow.\\r\\n She is the weeping welkin, I the earth;\\r\\n Then must my sea be moved with her sighs;\\r\\n Then must my earth with her continual tears\\r\\n Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd;\\r\\n For why my bowels cannot hide her woes,\\r\\n But like a drunkard must I vomit them.\\r\\n Then give me leave; for losers will have leave\\r\\n To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a MESSENGER, with two heads and a hand\\r\\n\\r\\n MESSENGER. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid\\r\\n For that good hand thou sent'st the Emperor.\\r\\n Here are the heads of thy two noble sons;\\r\\n And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back-\\r\\n Thy grief their sports, thy resolution mock'd,\\r\\n That woe is me to think upon thy woes,\\r\\n More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit\\r\\n MARCUS. Now let hot Aetna cool in Sicily,\\r\\n And be my heart an ever-burning hell!\\r\\n These miseries are more than may be borne.\\r\\n To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal,\\r\\n But sorrow flouted at is double death.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound,\\r\\n And yet detested life not shrink thereat!\\r\\n That ever death should let life bear his name,\\r\\n Where life hath no more interest but to breathe!\\r\\n [LAVINIA kisses TITUS]\\r\\n MARCUS. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless\\r\\n As frozen water to a starved snake.\\r\\n TITUS. When will this fearful slumber have an end?\\r\\n MARCUS. Now farewell, flatt'ry; die, Andronicus.\\r\\n Thou dost not slumber: see thy two sons' heads,\\r\\n Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here;\\r\\n Thy other banish'd son with this dear sight\\r\\n Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I,\\r\\n Even like a stony image, cold and numb.\\r\\n Ah! now no more will I control thy griefs.\\r\\n Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand\\r\\n Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight\\r\\n The closing up of our most wretched eyes.\\r\\n Now is a time to storm; why art thou still?\\r\\n TITUS. Ha, ha, ha!\\r\\n MARCUS. Why dost thou laugh? It fits not with this hour.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, I have not another tear to shed;\\r\\n Besides, this sorrow is an enemy,\\r\\n And would usurp upon my wat'ry eyes\\r\\n And make them blind with tributary tears.\\r\\n Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave?\\r\\n For these two heads do seem to speak to me,\\r\\n And threat me I shall never come to bliss\\r\\n Till all these mischiefs be return'd again\\r\\n Even in their throats that have committed them.\\r\\n Come, let me see what task I have to do.\\r\\n You heavy people, circle me about,\\r\\n That I may turn me to each one of you\\r\\n And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs.\\r\\n The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head,\\r\\n And in this hand the other will I bear.\\r\\n And, Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd in this;\\r\\n Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth.\\r\\n As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight;\\r\\n Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay.\\r\\n Hie to the Goths and raise an army there;\\r\\n And if ye love me, as I think you do,\\r\\n Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do.\\r\\n Exeunt all but Lucius\\r\\n LUCIUS. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father,\\r\\n The woefull'st man that ever liv'd in Rome.\\r\\n Farewell, proud Rome; till Lucius come again,\\r\\n He leaves his pledges dearer than his life.\\r\\n Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister;\\r\\n O, would thou wert as thou tofore hast been!\\r\\n But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives\\r\\n But in oblivion and hateful griefs.\\r\\n If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs\\r\\n And make proud Saturnine and his emperess\\r\\n Beg at the gates like Tarquin and his queen.\\r\\n Now will I to the Goths, and raise a pow'r\\r\\n To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Rome. TITUS' house\\r\\n\\r\\nA banquet.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TITUS, MARCUS, LAVINIA, and the boy YOUNG LUCIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. So so, now sit; and look you eat no more\\r\\n Than will preserve just so much strength in us\\r\\n As will revenge these bitter woes of ours.\\r\\n Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot;\\r\\n Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands,\\r\\n And cannot passionate our tenfold grief\\r\\n With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine\\r\\n Is left to tyrannize upon my breast;\\r\\n Who, when my heart, all mad with misery,\\r\\n Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,\\r\\n Then thus I thump it down.\\r\\n [To LAVINIA] Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs!\\r\\n When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating,\\r\\n Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still.\\r\\n Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans;\\r\\n Or get some little knife between thy teeth\\r\\n And just against thy heart make thou a hole,\\r\\n That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall\\r\\n May run into that sink and, soaking in,\\r\\n Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears.\\r\\n MARCUS. Fie, brother, fie! Teach her not thus to lay\\r\\n Such violent hands upon her tender life.\\r\\n TITUS. How now! Has sorrow made thee dote already?\\r\\n Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I.\\r\\n What violent hands can she lay on her life?\\r\\n Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands?\\r\\n To bid Aeneas tell the tale twice o'er\\r\\n How Troy was burnt and he made miserable?\\r\\n O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands,\\r\\n Lest we remember still that we have none.\\r\\n Fie, fie, how franticly I square my talk,\\r\\n As if we should forget we had no hands,\\r\\n If Marcus did not name the word of hands!\\r\\n Come, let's fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this:\\r\\n Here is no drink. Hark, Marcus, what she says-\\r\\n I can interpret all her martyr'd signs;\\r\\n She says she drinks no other drink but tears,\\r\\n Brew'd with her sorrow, mesh'd upon her cheeks.\\r\\n Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought;\\r\\n In thy dumb action will I be as perfect\\r\\n As begging hermits in their holy prayers.\\r\\n Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven,\\r\\n Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign,\\r\\n But I of these will wrest an alphabet,\\r\\n And by still practice learn to know thy meaning.\\r\\n BOY. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments;\\r\\n Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale.\\r\\n MARCUS. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov'd,\\r\\n Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness.\\r\\n TITUS. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears,\\r\\n And tears will quickly melt thy life away.\\r\\n [MARCUS strikes the dish with a knife]\\r\\n What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife?\\r\\n MARCUS. At that that I have kill'd, my lord- a fly.\\r\\n TITUS. Out on thee, murderer, thou kill'st my heart!\\r\\n Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny;\\r\\n A deed of death done on the innocent\\r\\n Becomes not Titus' brother. Get thee gone;\\r\\n I see thou art not for my company.\\r\\n MARCUS. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly.\\r\\n TITUS. 'But!' How if that fly had a father and mother?\\r\\n How would he hang his slender gilded wings\\r\\n And buzz lamenting doings in the air!\\r\\n Poor harmless fly,\\r\\n That with his pretty buzzing melody\\r\\n Came here to make us merry! And thou hast kill'd him.\\r\\n MARCUS. Pardon me, sir; it was a black ill-favour'd fly,\\r\\n Like to the Empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him.\\r\\n TITUS. O, O, O!\\r\\n Then pardon me for reprehending thee,\\r\\n For thou hast done a charitable deed.\\r\\n Give me thy knife, I will insult on him,\\r\\n Flattering myself as if it were the Moor\\r\\n Come hither purposely to poison me.\\r\\n There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora.\\r\\n Ah, sirrah!\\r\\n Yet, I think, we are not brought so low\\r\\n But that between us we can kill a fly\\r\\n That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor.\\r\\n MARCUS. Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought on him,\\r\\n He takes false shadows for true substances.\\r\\n TITUS. Come, take away. Lavinia, go with me;\\r\\n I'll to thy closet, and go read with thee\\r\\n Sad stories chanced in the times of old.\\r\\n Come, boy, and go with me; thy sight is young,\\r\\n And thou shalt read when mine begin to dazzle. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I. Rome. TITUS' garden\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter YOUNG LUCIUS and LAVINIA running after him, and the boy flies\\r\\nfrom her with his books under his arm.\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TITUS and MARCUS\\r\\n\\r\\n BOY. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia\\r\\n Follows me everywhere, I know not why.\\r\\n Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes!\\r\\n Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean.\\r\\n MARCUS. Stand by me, Lucius; do not fear thine aunt.\\r\\n TITUS. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm.\\r\\n BOY. Ay, when my father was in Rome she did.\\r\\n MARCUS. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs?\\r\\n TITUS. Fear her not, Lucius; somewhat doth she mean.\\r\\n See, Lucius, see how much she makes of thee.\\r\\n Somewhither would she have thee go with her.\\r\\n Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care\\r\\n Read to her sons than she hath read to thee\\r\\n Sweet poetry and Tully's Orator.\\r\\n MARCUS. Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus?\\r\\n BOY. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess,\\r\\n Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her;\\r\\n For I have heard my grandsire say full oft\\r\\n Extremity of griefs would make men mad;\\r\\n And I have read that Hecuba of Troy\\r\\n Ran mad for sorrow. That made me to fear;\\r\\n Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt\\r\\n Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did,\\r\\n And would not, but in fury, fright my youth;\\r\\n Which made me down to throw my books, and fly-\\r\\n Causeless, perhaps. But pardon me, sweet aunt;\\r\\n And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go,\\r\\n I will most willingly attend your ladyship.\\r\\n MARCUS. Lucius, I will. [LAVINIA turns over with her\\r\\n stumps the books which Lucius has let fall]\\r\\n TITUS. How now, Lavinia! Marcus, what means this?\\r\\n Some book there is that she desires to see.\\r\\n Which is it, girl, of these?- Open them, boy.-\\r\\n But thou art deeper read and better skill'd;\\r\\n Come and take choice of all my library,\\r\\n And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens\\r\\n Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed.\\r\\n Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus?\\r\\n MARCUS. I think she means that there were more than one\\r\\n Confederate in the fact; ay, more there was,\\r\\n Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge.\\r\\n TITUS. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so?\\r\\n BOY. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphoses;\\r\\n My mother gave it me.\\r\\n MARCUS. For love of her that's gone,\\r\\n Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest.\\r\\n TITUS. Soft! So busily she turns the leaves! Help her.\\r\\n What would she find? Lavinia, shall I read?\\r\\n This is the tragic tale of Philomel\\r\\n And treats of Tereus' treason and his rape;\\r\\n And rape, I fear, was root of thy annoy.\\r\\n MARCUS. See, brother, see! Note how she quotes the leaves.\\r\\n TITUS. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpris'd, sweet girl,\\r\\n Ravish'd and wrong'd as Philomela was,\\r\\n Forc'd in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods?\\r\\n See, see!\\r\\n Ay, such a place there is where we did hunt-\\r\\n O, had we never, never hunted there!-\\r\\n Pattern'd by that the poet here describes,\\r\\n By nature made for murders and for rapes.\\r\\n MARCUS. O, why should nature build so foul a den,\\r\\n Unless the gods delight in tragedies?\\r\\n TITUS. Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none but friends,\\r\\n What Roman lord it was durst do the deed.\\r\\n Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst,\\r\\n That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed?\\r\\n MARCUS. Sit down, sweet niece; brother, sit down by me.\\r\\n Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,\\r\\n Inspire me, that I may this treason find!\\r\\n My lord, look here! Look here, Lavinia!\\r\\n [He writes his name with his\\r\\n staff, and guides it with feet and mouth]\\r\\n This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst,\\r\\n This after me. I have writ my name\\r\\n Without the help of any hand at all.\\r\\n Curs'd be that heart that forc'd us to this shift!\\r\\n Write thou, good niece, and here display at last\\r\\n What God will have discovered for revenge.\\r\\n Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain,\\r\\n That we may know the traitors and the truth!\\r\\n [She takes the staff in her mouth\\r\\n and guides it with stumps, and writes]\\r\\n O, do ye read, my lord, what she hath writ?\\r\\n TITUS. 'Stuprum- Chiron- Demetrius.'\\r\\n MARCUS. What, what! the lustful sons of Tamora\\r\\n Performers of this heinous bloody deed?\\r\\n TITUS. Magni Dominator poli,\\r\\n Tam lentus audis scelera? tam lentus vides?\\r\\n MARCUS. O, calm thee, gentle lord! although I know\\r\\n There is enough written upon this earth\\r\\n To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts,\\r\\n And arm the minds of infants to exclaims.\\r\\n My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel;\\r\\n And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope;\\r\\n And swear with me- as, with the woeful fere\\r\\n And father of that chaste dishonoured dame,\\r\\n Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape-\\r\\n That we will prosecute, by good advice,\\r\\n Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths,\\r\\n And see their blood or die with this reproach.\\r\\n TITUS. 'Tis sure enough, an you knew how;\\r\\n But if you hunt these bear-whelps, then beware:\\r\\n The dam will wake; and if she wind ye once,\\r\\n She's with the lion deeply still in league,\\r\\n And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back,\\r\\n And when he sleeps will she do what she list.\\r\\n You are a young huntsman, Marcus; let alone;\\r\\n And come, I will go get a leaf of brass,\\r\\n And with a gad of steel will write these words,\\r\\n And lay it by. The angry northern wind\\r\\n Will blow these sands like Sibyl's leaves abroad,\\r\\n And where's our lesson, then? Boy, what say you?\\r\\n BOY. I say, my lord, that if I were a man\\r\\n Their mother's bedchamber should not be safe\\r\\n For these base bondmen to the yoke of Rome.\\r\\n MARCUS. Ay, that's my boy! Thy father hath full oft\\r\\n For his ungrateful country done the like.\\r\\n BOY. And, uncle, so will I, an if I live.\\r\\n TITUS. Come, go with me into mine armoury.\\r\\n Lucius, I'll fit thee; and withal my boy\\r\\n Shall carry from me to the Empress' sons\\r\\n Presents that I intend to send them both.\\r\\n Come, come; thou'lt do my message, wilt thou not?\\r\\n BOY. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire.\\r\\n TITUS. No, boy, not so; I'll teach thee another course.\\r\\n Lavinia, come. Marcus, look to my house.\\r\\n Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court;\\r\\n Ay, marry, will we, sir! and we'll be waited on.\\r\\n Exeunt TITUS, LAVINIA, and YOUNG LUCIUS\\r\\n MARCUS. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan\\r\\n And not relent, or not compassion him?\\r\\n Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy,\\r\\n That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart\\r\\n Than foemen's marks upon his batt'red shield,\\r\\n But yet so just that he will not revenge.\\r\\n Revenge the heavens for old Andronicus! Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Rome. The palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter AARON, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, at one door; and at the other door,\\r\\nYOUNG LUCIUS and another with a bundle of weapons, and verses writ upon\\r\\nthem\\r\\n\\r\\n CHIRON. Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius;\\r\\n He hath some message to deliver us.\\r\\n AARON. Ay, some mad message from his mad grandfather.\\r\\n BOY. My lords, with all the humbleness I may,\\r\\n I greet your honours from Andronicus-\\r\\n [Aside] And pray the Roman gods confound you both!\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Gramercy, lovely Lucius. What's the news?\\r\\n BOY. [Aside] That you are both decipher'd, that's the news,\\r\\n For villains mark'd with rape.- May it please you,\\r\\n My grandsire, well advis'd, hath sent by me\\r\\n The goodliest weapons of his armoury\\r\\n To gratify your honourable youth,\\r\\n The hope of Rome; for so he bid me say;\\r\\n And so I do, and with his gifts present\\r\\n Your lordships, that, whenever you have need,\\r\\n You may be armed and appointed well.\\r\\n And so I leave you both- [Aside] like bloody villains.\\r\\n Exeunt YOUNG LUCIUS and attendant\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. What's here? A scroll, and written round about.\\r\\n Let's see:\\r\\n [Reads] 'Integer vitae, scelerisque purus,\\r\\n Non eget Mauri iaculis, nec arcu.'\\r\\n CHIRON. O, 'tis a verse in Horace, I know it well;\\r\\n I read it in the grammar long ago.\\r\\n AARON. Ay, just- a verse in Horace. Right, you have it.\\r\\n [Aside] Now, what a thing it is to be an ass!\\r\\n Here's no sound jest! The old man hath found their guilt,\\r\\n And sends them weapons wrapp'd about with lines\\r\\n That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick.\\r\\n But were our witty Empress well afoot,\\r\\n She would applaud Andronicus' conceit.\\r\\n But let her rest in her unrest awhile-\\r\\n And now, young lords, was't not a happy star\\r\\n Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so,\\r\\n Captives, to be advanced to this height?\\r\\n It did me good before the palace gate\\r\\n To brave the Tribune in his brother's hearing.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. But me more good to see so great a lord\\r\\n Basely insinuate and send us gifts.\\r\\n AARON. Had he not reason, Lord Demetrius?\\r\\n Did you not use his daughter very friendly?\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. I would we had a thousand Roman dames\\r\\n At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust.\\r\\n CHIRON. A charitable wish and full of love.\\r\\n AARON. Here lacks but your mother for to say amen.\\r\\n CHIRON. And that would she for twenty thousand more.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Come, let us go and pray to all the gods\\r\\n For our beloved mother in her pains.\\r\\n AARON. [Aside] Pray to the devils; the gods have given us over.\\r\\n [Trumpets sound]\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Why do the Emperor's trumpets flourish thus?\\r\\n CHIRON. Belike, for joy the Emperor hath a son.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Soft! who comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NURSE, with a blackamoor CHILD\\r\\n\\r\\n NURSE. Good morrow, lords.\\r\\n O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor?\\r\\n AARON. Well, more or less, or ne'er a whit at all,\\r\\n Here Aaron is; and what with Aaron now?\\r\\n NURSE. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone!\\r\\n Now help, or woe betide thee evermore!\\r\\n AARON. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep!\\r\\n What dost thou wrap and fumble in thy arms?\\r\\n NURSE. O, that which I would hide from heaven's eye:\\r\\n Our Empress' shame and stately Rome's disgrace!\\r\\n She is delivered, lord; she is delivered.\\r\\n AARON. To whom?\\r\\n NURSE. I mean she is brought a-bed.\\r\\n AARON. Well, God give her good rest! What hath he sent her?\\r\\n NURSE. A devil.\\r\\n AARON. Why, then she is the devil's dam;\\r\\n A joyful issue.\\r\\n NURSE. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue!\\r\\n Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad\\r\\n Amongst the fair-fac'd breeders of our clime;\\r\\n The Empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal,\\r\\n And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point.\\r\\n AARON. Zounds, ye whore! Is black so base a hue?\\r\\n Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom sure.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Villain, what hast thou done?\\r\\n AARON. That which thou canst not undo.\\r\\n CHIRON. Thou hast undone our mother.\\r\\n AARON. Villain, I have done thy mother.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone her.\\r\\n Woe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choice!\\r\\n Accurs'd the offspring of so foul a fiend!\\r\\n CHIRON. It shall not live.\\r\\n AARON. It shall not die.\\r\\n NURSE. Aaron, it must; the mother wills it so.\\r\\n AARON. What, must it, nurse? Then let no man but I\\r\\n Do execution on my flesh and blood.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. I'll broach the tadpole on my rapier's point.\\r\\n Nurse, give it me; my sword shall soon dispatch it.\\r\\n AARON. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels up.\\r\\n [Takes the CHILD from the NURSE, and draws]\\r\\n Stay, murderous villains, will you kill your brother!\\r\\n Now, by the burning tapers of the sky\\r\\n That shone so brightly when this boy was got,\\r\\n He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point\\r\\n That touches this my first-born son and heir.\\r\\n I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus,\\r\\n With all his threat'ning band of Typhon's brood,\\r\\n Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war,\\r\\n Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands.\\r\\n What, what, ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys!\\r\\n Ye white-lim'd walls! ye alehouse painted signs!\\r\\n Coal-black is better than another hue\\r\\n In that it scorns to bear another hue;\\r\\n For all the water in the ocean\\r\\n Can never turn the swan's black legs to white,\\r\\n Although she lave them hourly in the flood.\\r\\n Tell the Empress from me I am of age\\r\\n To keep mine own- excuse it how she can.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus?\\r\\n AARON. My mistress is my mistress: this my self,\\r\\n The vigour and the picture of my youth.\\r\\n This before all the world do I prefer;\\r\\n This maugre all the world will I keep safe,\\r\\n Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. By this our mother is for ever sham'd.\\r\\n CHIRON. Rome will despise her for this foul escape.\\r\\n NURSE. The Emperor in his rage will doom her death.\\r\\n CHIRON. I blush to think upon this ignomy.\\r\\n AARON. Why, there's the privilege your beauty bears:\\r\\n Fie, treacherous hue, that will betray with blushing\\r\\n The close enacts and counsels of thy heart!\\r\\n Here's a young lad fram'd of another leer.\\r\\n Look how the black slave smiles upon the father,\\r\\n As who should say 'Old lad, I am thine own.'\\r\\n He is your brother, lords, sensibly fed\\r\\n Of that self-blood that first gave life to you;\\r\\n And from your womb where you imprisoned were\\r\\n He is enfranchised and come to light.\\r\\n Nay, he is your brother by the surer side,\\r\\n Although my seal be stamped in his face.\\r\\n NURSE. Aaron, what shall I say unto the Empress?\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done,\\r\\n And we will all subscribe to thy advice.\\r\\n Save thou the child, so we may all be safe.\\r\\n AARON. Then sit we down and let us all consult.\\r\\n My son and I will have the wind of you:\\r\\n Keep there; now talk at pleasure of your safety.\\r\\n [They sit]\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. How many women saw this child of his?\\r\\n AARON. Why, so, brave lords! When we join in league\\r\\n I am a lamb; but if you brave the Moor,\\r\\n The chafed boar, the mountain lioness,\\r\\n The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms.\\r\\n But say, again, how many saw the child?\\r\\n NURSE. Cornelia the midwife and myself;\\r\\n And no one else but the delivered Empress.\\r\\n AARON. The Emperess, the midwife, and yourself.\\r\\n Two may keep counsel when the third's away:\\r\\n Go to the Empress, tell her this I said. [He kills her]\\r\\n Weeke weeke!\\r\\n So cries a pig prepared to the spit.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. What mean'st thou, Aaron? Wherefore didst thou this?\\r\\n AARON. O Lord, sir, 'tis a deed of policy.\\r\\n Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours-\\r\\n A long-tongu'd babbling gossip? No, lords, no.\\r\\n And now be it known to you my full intent:\\r\\n Not far, one Muliteus, my countryman-\\r\\n His wife but yesternight was brought to bed;\\r\\n His child is like to her, fair as you are.\\r\\n Go pack with him, and give the mother gold,\\r\\n And tell them both the circumstance of all,\\r\\n And how by this their child shall be advanc'd,\\r\\n And be received for the Emperor's heir\\r\\n And substituted in the place of mine,\\r\\n To calm this tempest whirling in the court;\\r\\n And let the Emperor dandle him for his own.\\r\\n Hark ye, lords. You see I have given her physic,\\r\\n [Pointing to the NURSE]\\r\\n And you must needs bestow her funeral;\\r\\n The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms.\\r\\n This done, see that you take no longer days,\\r\\n But send the midwife presently to me.\\r\\n The midwife and the nurse well made away,\\r\\n Then let the ladies tattle what they please.\\r\\n CHIRON. Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air\\r\\n With secrets.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. For this care of Tamora,\\r\\n Herself and hers are highly bound to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, bearing off the dead NURSE\\r\\n\\r\\n AARON. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies,\\r\\n There to dispose this treasure in mine arms,\\r\\n And secretly to greet the Empress' friends.\\r\\n Come on, you thick-lipp'd slave, I'll bear you hence;\\r\\n For it is you that puts us to our shifts.\\r\\n I'll make you feed on berries and on roots,\\r\\n And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat,\\r\\n And cabin in a cave, and bring you up\\r\\n To be a warrior and command a camp.\\r\\n Exit with the CHILD\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Rome. A public place\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TITUS, bearing arrows with letters on the ends of them; with him\\r\\nMARCUS, YOUNG LUCIUS, and other gentlemen, PUBLIUS, SEMPRONIUS, and\\r\\nCAIUS, with bows\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Come, Marcus, come; kinsmen, this is the way.\\r\\n Sir boy, let me see your archery;\\r\\n Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight.\\r\\n Terras Astrea reliquit,\\r\\n Be you rememb'red, Marcus; she's gone, she's fled.\\r\\n Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall\\r\\n Go sound the ocean and cast your nets;\\r\\n Happily you may catch her in the sea;\\r\\n Yet there's as little justice as at land.\\r\\n No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it;\\r\\n 'Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade,\\r\\n And pierce the inmost centre of the earth;\\r\\n Then, when you come to Pluto's region,\\r\\n I pray you deliver him this petition.\\r\\n Tell him it is for justice and for aid,\\r\\n And that it comes from old Andronicus,\\r\\n Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome.\\r\\n Ah, Rome! Well, well, I made thee miserable\\r\\n What time I threw the people's suffrages\\r\\n On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me.\\r\\n Go get you gone; and pray be careful all,\\r\\n And leave you not a man-of-war unsearch'd.\\r\\n This wicked Emperor may have shipp'd her hence;\\r\\n And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.\\r\\n MARCUS. O Publius, is not this a heavy case,\\r\\n To see thy noble uncle thus distract?\\r\\n PUBLIUS. Therefore, my lords, it highly us concerns\\r\\n By day and night t' attend him carefully,\\r\\n And feed his humour kindly as we may\\r\\n Till time beget some careful remedy.\\r\\n MARCUS. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy.\\r\\n Join with the Goths, and with revengeful war\\r\\n Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude,\\r\\n And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.\\r\\n TITUS. Publius, how now? How now, my masters?\\r\\n What, have you met with her?\\r\\n PUBLIUS. No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word,\\r\\n If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall.\\r\\n Marry, for Justice, she is so employ'd,\\r\\n He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else,\\r\\n So that perforce you must needs stay a time.\\r\\n TITUS. He doth me wrong to feed me with delays.\\r\\n I'll dive into the burning lake below\\r\\n And pull her out of Acheron by the heels.\\r\\n Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we,\\r\\n No big-bon'd men fram'd of the Cyclops' size;\\r\\n But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back,\\r\\n Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can bear;\\r\\n And, sith there's no justice in earth nor hell,\\r\\n We will solicit heaven, and move the gods\\r\\n To send down justice for to wreak our wrongs.\\r\\n Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus.\\r\\n [He gives them the arrows]\\r\\n 'Ad Jovem' that's for you; here 'Ad Apollinem.'\\r\\n 'Ad Martem' that's for myself.\\r\\n Here, boy, 'To Pallas'; here 'To Mercury.'\\r\\n 'To Saturn,' Caius- not to Saturnine:\\r\\n You were as good to shoot against the wind.\\r\\n To it, boy. Marcus, loose when I bid.\\r\\n Of my word, I have written to effect;\\r\\n There's not a god left unsolicited.\\r\\n MARCUS. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court;\\r\\n We will afflict the Emperor in his pride.\\r\\n TITUS. Now, masters, draw. [They shoot] O, well said, Lucius!\\r\\n Good boy, in Virgo's lap! Give it Pallas.\\r\\n MARCUS. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon;\\r\\n Your letter is with Jupiter by this.\\r\\n TITUS. Ha! ha!\\r\\n Publius, Publius, hast thou done?\\r\\n See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns.\\r\\n MARCUS. This was the sport, my lord: when Publius shot,\\r\\n The Bull, being gall'd, gave Aries such a knock\\r\\n That down fell both the Ram's horns in the court;\\r\\n And who should find them but the Empress' villain?\\r\\n She laugh'd, and told the Moor he should not choose\\r\\n But give them to his master for a present.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, there it goes! God give his lordship joy!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter the CLOWN, with a basket and two pigeons in it\\r\\n\\r\\n News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come.\\r\\n Sirrah, what tidings? Have you any letters?\\r\\n Shall I have justice? What says Jupiter?\\r\\n CLOWN. Ho, the gibbet-maker? He says that he hath taken them down\\r\\n again, for the man must not be hang'd till the next week.\\r\\n TITUS. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee?\\r\\n CLOWN. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank with him in all\\r\\n my life.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?\\r\\n CLOWN. Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, didst thou not come from heaven?\\r\\n CLOWN. From heaven! Alas, sir, I never came there. God forbid I\\r\\n should be so bold to press to heaven in my young days. Why, I am\\r\\n going with my pigeons to the Tribunal Plebs, to take up a matter\\r\\n of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the Emperal's men.\\r\\n MARCUS. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to serve for your\\r\\n oration; and let him deliver the pigeons to the Emperor from you.\\r\\n TITUS. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the Emperor with a\\r\\n grace?\\r\\n CLOWN. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life.\\r\\n TITUS. Sirrah, come hither. Make no more ado,\\r\\n But give your pigeons to the Emperor;\\r\\n By me thou shalt have justice at his hands.\\r\\n Hold, hold! Meanwhile here's money for thy charges.\\r\\n Give me pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver up a\\r\\n supplication?\\r\\n CLOWN. Ay, sir.\\r\\n TITUS. Then here is a supplication for you. And when you come to\\r\\n him, at the first approach you must kneel; then kiss his foot;\\r\\n then deliver up your pigeons; and then look for your reward. I'll\\r\\n be at hand, sir; see you do it bravely.\\r\\n CLOWN. I warrant you, sir; let me alone.\\r\\n TITUS. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come let me see it.\\r\\n Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration;\\r\\n For thou hast made it like a humble suppliant.\\r\\n And when thou hast given it to the Emperor,\\r\\n Knock at my door, and tell me what he says.\\r\\n CLOWN. God be with you, sir; I will.\\r\\n TITUS. Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, follow me. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Rome. Before the palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter the EMPEROR, and the EMPRESS and her two sons, DEMETRIUS and\\r\\nCHIRON; LORDS and others. The EMPEROR brings the arrows in his hand\\r\\nthat TITUS shot at him\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Why, lords, what wrongs are these! Was ever seen\\r\\n An emperor in Rome thus overborne,\\r\\n Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent\\r\\n Of egal justice, us'd in such contempt?\\r\\n My lords, you know, as know the mightful gods,\\r\\n However these disturbers of our peace\\r\\n Buzz in the people's ears, there nought hath pass'd\\r\\n But even with law against the wilful sons\\r\\n Of old Andronicus. And what an if\\r\\n His sorrows have so overwhelm'd his wits,\\r\\n Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks,\\r\\n His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness?\\r\\n And now he writes to heaven for his redress.\\r\\n See, here's 'To Jove' and this 'To Mercury';\\r\\n This 'To Apollo'; this 'To the God of War'-\\r\\n Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome!\\r\\n What's this but libelling against the Senate,\\r\\n And blazoning our unjustice every where?\\r\\n A goodly humour, is it not, my lords?\\r\\n As who would say in Rome no justice were.\\r\\n But if I live, his feigned ecstasies\\r\\n Shall be no shelter to these outrages;\\r\\n But he and his shall know that justice lives\\r\\n In Saturninus' health; whom, if she sleep,\\r\\n He'll so awake as he in fury shall\\r\\n Cut off the proud'st conspirator that lives.\\r\\n TAMORA. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine,\\r\\n Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts,\\r\\n Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age,\\r\\n Th' effects of sorrow for his valiant sons\\r\\n Whose loss hath pierc'd him deep and scarr'd his heart;\\r\\n And rather comfort his distressed plight\\r\\n Than prosecute the meanest or the best\\r\\n For these contempts. [Aside] Why, thus it shall become\\r\\n High-witted Tamora to gloze with all.\\r\\n But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick,\\r\\n Thy life-blood out; if Aaron now be wise,\\r\\n Then is all safe, the anchor in the port.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter CLOWN\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, good fellow! Wouldst thou speak with us?\\r\\n CLOWN. Yes, forsooth, an your mistriship be Emperial.\\r\\n TAMORA. Empress I am, but yonder sits the Emperor.\\r\\n CLOWN. 'Tis he.- God and Saint Stephen give you godden. I have\\r\\n brought you a letter and a couple of pigeons here.\\r\\n [SATURNINUS reads the letter]\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Go take him away, and hang him presently.\\r\\n CLOWN. How much money must I have?\\r\\n TAMORA. Come, sirrah, you must be hang'd.\\r\\n CLOWN. Hang'd! by'r lady, then I have brought up a neck to a fair\\r\\n end. [Exit guarded]\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs!\\r\\n Shall I endure this monstrous villainy?\\r\\n I know from whence this same device proceeds.\\r\\n May this be borne- as if his traitorous sons\\r\\n That died by law for murder of our brother\\r\\n Have by my means been butchered wrongfully?\\r\\n Go drag the villain hither by the hair;\\r\\n Nor age nor honour shall shape privilege.\\r\\n For this proud mock I'll be thy slaughterman,\\r\\n Sly frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me great,\\r\\n In hope thyself should govern Rome and me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter NUNTIUS AEMILIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n What news with thee, Aemilius?\\r\\n AEMILIUS. Arm, my lords! Rome never had more cause.\\r\\n The Goths have gathered head; and with a power\\r\\n Of high resolved men, bent to the spoil,\\r\\n They hither march amain, under conduct\\r\\n Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus;\\r\\n Who threats in course of this revenge to do\\r\\n As much as ever Coriolanus did.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths?\\r\\n These tidings nip me, and I hang the head\\r\\n As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storms.\\r\\n Ay, now begins our sorrows to approach.\\r\\n 'Tis he the common people love so much;\\r\\n Myself hath often heard them say-\\r\\n When I have walked like a private man-\\r\\n That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully,\\r\\n And they have wish'd that Lucius were their emperor.\\r\\n TAMORA. Why should you fear? Is not your city strong?\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius,\\r\\n And will revolt from me to succour him.\\r\\n TAMORA. King, be thy thoughts imperious like thy name!\\r\\n Is the sun dimm'd, that gnats do fly in it?\\r\\n The eagle suffers little birds to sing,\\r\\n And is not careful what they mean thereby,\\r\\n Knowing that with the shadow of his wings\\r\\n He can at pleasure stint their melody;\\r\\n Even so mayest thou the giddy men of Rome.\\r\\n Then cheer thy spirit; for know thou, Emperor,\\r\\n I will enchant the old Andronicus\\r\\n With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous,\\r\\n Than baits to fish or honey-stalks to sheep,\\r\\n When as the one is wounded with the bait,\\r\\n The other rotted with delicious feed.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. But he will not entreat his son for us.\\r\\n TAMORA. If Tamora entreat him, then he will;\\r\\n For I can smooth and fill his aged ears\\r\\n With golden promises, that, were his heart\\r\\n Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf,\\r\\n Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue.\\r\\n [To AEMILIUS] Go thou before to be our ambassador;\\r\\n Say that the Emperor requests a parley\\r\\n Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting\\r\\n Even at his father's house, the old Andronicus.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Aemilius, do this message honourably;\\r\\n And if he stand on hostage for his safety,\\r\\n Bid him demand what pledge will please him best.\\r\\n AEMILIUS. Your bidding shall I do effectually. Exit\\r\\n TAMORA. Now will I to that old Andronicus,\\r\\n And temper him with all the art I have,\\r\\n To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths.\\r\\n And now, sweet Emperor, be blithe again,\\r\\n And bury all thy fear in my devices.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Then go successantly, and plead to him.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. Plains near Rome\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter LUCIUS with an army of GOTHS with drums and colours\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS. Approved warriors and my faithful friends,\\r\\n I have received letters from great Rome\\r\\n Which signifies what hate they bear their Emperor\\r\\n And how desirous of our sight they are.\\r\\n Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness,\\r\\n Imperious and impatient of your wrongs;\\r\\n And wherein Rome hath done you any scath,\\r\\n Let him make treble satisfaction.\\r\\n FIRST GOTH. Brave slip, sprung from the great Andronicus,\\r\\n Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort,\\r\\n Whose high exploits and honourable deeds\\r\\n Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt,\\r\\n Be bold in us: we'll follow where thou lead'st,\\r\\n Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day,\\r\\n Led by their master to the flow'red fields,\\r\\n And be aveng'd on cursed Tamora.\\r\\n ALL THE GOTHS. And as he saith, so say we all with him.\\r\\n LUCIUS. I humbly thank him, and I thank you all.\\r\\n But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a GOTH, leading AARON with his CHILD in his arms\\r\\n\\r\\n SECOND GOTH. Renowned Lucius, from our troops I stray'd\\r\\n To gaze upon a ruinous monastery;\\r\\n And as I earnestly did fix mine eye\\r\\n Upon the wasted building, suddenly\\r\\n I heard a child cry underneath a wall.\\r\\n I made unto the noise, when soon I heard\\r\\n The crying babe controll'd with this discourse:\\r\\n 'Peace, tawny slave, half me and half thy dam!\\r\\n Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art,\\r\\n Had nature lent thee but thy mother's look,\\r\\n Villain, thou mightst have been an emperor;\\r\\n But where the bull and cow are both milk-white,\\r\\n They never do beget a coal-black calf.\\r\\n Peace, villain, peace!'- even thus he rates the babe-\\r\\n 'For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth,\\r\\n Who, when he knows thou art the Empress' babe,\\r\\n Will hold thee dearly for thy mother's sake.'\\r\\n With this, my weapon drawn, I rush'd upon him,\\r\\n Surpris'd him suddenly, and brought him hither\\r\\n To use as you think needful of the man.\\r\\n LUCIUS. O worthy Goth, this is the incarnate devil\\r\\n That robb'd Andronicus of his good hand;\\r\\n This is the pearl that pleas'd your Empress' eye;\\r\\n And here's the base fruit of her burning lust.\\r\\n Say, wall-ey'd slave, whither wouldst thou convey\\r\\n This growing image of thy fiend-like face?\\r\\n Why dost not speak? What, deaf? Not a word?\\r\\n A halter, soldiers! Hang him on this tree,\\r\\n And by his side his fruit of bastardy.\\r\\n AARON. Touch not the boy, he is of royal blood.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Too like the sire for ever being good.\\r\\n First hang the child, that he may see it sprawl-\\r\\n A sight to vex the father's soul withal.\\r\\n Get me a ladder.\\r\\n [A ladder brought, which AARON is made to climb]\\r\\n AARON. Lucius, save the child,\\r\\n And bear it from me to the Emperess.\\r\\n If thou do this, I'll show thee wondrous things\\r\\n That highly may advantage thee to hear;\\r\\n If thou wilt not, befall what may befall,\\r\\n I'll speak no more but 'Vengeance rot you all!'\\r\\n LUCIUS. Say on; an if it please me which thou speak'st,\\r\\n Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourish'd.\\r\\n AARON. An if it please thee! Why, assure thee, Lucius,\\r\\n 'Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak;\\r\\n For I must talk of murders, rapes, and massacres,\\r\\n Acts of black night, abominable deeds,\\r\\n Complots of mischief, treason, villainies,\\r\\n Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perform'd;\\r\\n And this shall all be buried in my death,\\r\\n Unless thou swear to me my child shall live.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Tell on thy mind; I say thy child shall live.\\r\\n AARON. Swear that he shall, and then I will begin.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Who should I swear by? Thou believest no god;\\r\\n That granted, how canst thou believe an oath?\\r\\n AARON. What if I do not? as indeed I do not;\\r\\n Yet, for I know thou art religious\\r\\n And hast a thing within thee called conscience,\\r\\n With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies\\r\\n Which I have seen thee careful to observe,\\r\\n Therefore I urge thy oath. For that I know\\r\\n An idiot holds his bauble for a god,\\r\\n And keeps the oath which by that god he swears,\\r\\n To that I'll urge him. Therefore thou shalt vow\\r\\n By that same god- what god soe'er it be\\r\\n That thou adorest and hast in reverence-\\r\\n To save my boy, to nourish and bring him up;\\r\\n Or else I will discover nought to thee.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Even by my god I swear to thee I will.\\r\\n AARON. First know thou, I begot him on the Empress.\\r\\n LUCIUS. O most insatiate and luxurious woman!\\r\\n AARON. Tut, Lucius, this was but a deed of charity\\r\\n To that which thou shalt hear of me anon.\\r\\n 'Twas her two sons that murdered Bassianus;\\r\\n They cut thy sister's tongue, and ravish'd her,\\r\\n And cut her hands, and trimm'd her as thou sawest.\\r\\n LUCIUS. O detestable villain! Call'st thou that trimming?\\r\\n AARON. Why, she was wash'd, and cut, and trimm'd, and 'twas\\r\\n Trim sport for them which had the doing of it.\\r\\n LUCIUS. O barbarous beastly villains like thyself!\\r\\n AARON. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them.\\r\\n That codding spirit had they from their mother,\\r\\n As sure a card as ever won the set;\\r\\n That bloody mind, I think, they learn'd of me,\\r\\n As true a dog as ever fought at head.\\r\\n Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth.\\r\\n I train'd thy brethren to that guileful hole\\r\\n Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay;\\r\\n I wrote the letter that thy father found,\\r\\n And hid the gold within that letter mention'd,\\r\\n Confederate with the Queen and her two sons;\\r\\n And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue,\\r\\n Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it?\\r\\n I play'd the cheater for thy father's hand,\\r\\n And, when I had it, drew myself apart\\r\\n And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter.\\r\\n I pried me through the crevice of a wall,\\r\\n When, for his hand, he had his two sons' heads;\\r\\n Beheld his tears, and laugh'd so heartily\\r\\n That both mine eyes were rainy like to his;\\r\\n And when I told the Empress of this sport,\\r\\n She swooned almost at my pleasing tale,\\r\\n And for my tidings gave me twenty kisses.\\r\\n GOTH. What, canst thou say all this and never blush?\\r\\n AARON. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds?\\r\\n AARON. Ay, that I had not done a thousand more.\\r\\n Even now I curse the day- and yet, I think,\\r\\n Few come within the compass of my curse-\\r\\n Wherein I did not some notorious ill;\\r\\n As kill a man, or else devise his death;\\r\\n Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it;\\r\\n Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself;\\r\\n Set deadly enmity between two friends;\\r\\n Make poor men's cattle break their necks;\\r\\n Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night,\\r\\n And bid the owners quench them with their tears.\\r\\n Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves,\\r\\n And set them upright at their dear friends' door\\r\\n Even when their sorrows almost was forgot,\\r\\n And on their skins, as on the bark of trees,\\r\\n Have with my knife carved in Roman letters\\r\\n 'Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.'\\r\\n Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things\\r\\n As willingly as one would kill a fly;\\r\\n And nothing grieves me heartily indeed\\r\\n But that I cannot do ten thousand more.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Bring down the devil, for he must not die\\r\\n So sweet a death as hanging presently.\\r\\n AARON. If there be devils, would I were a devil,\\r\\n To live and burn in everlasting fire,\\r\\n So I might have your company in hell\\r\\n But to torment you with my bitter tongue!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak no more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter AEMILIUS\\r\\n\\r\\n GOTH. My lord, there is a messenger from Rome\\r\\n Desires to be admitted to your presence.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Let him come near.\\r\\n Welcome, Aemilius. What's the news from Rome?\\r\\n AEMILIUS. Lord Lucius, and you Princes of the Goths,\\r\\n The Roman Emperor greets you all by me;\\r\\n And, for he understands you are in arms,\\r\\n He craves a parley at your father's house,\\r\\n Willing you to demand your hostages,\\r\\n And they shall be immediately deliver'd.\\r\\n FIRST GOTH. What says our general?\\r\\n LUCIUS. Aemilius, let the Emperor give his pledges\\r\\n Unto my father and my uncle Marcus.\\r\\n And we will come. March away. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Rome. Before TITUS' house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter TAMORA, and her two sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, disguised\\r\\n\\r\\n TAMORA. Thus, in this strange and sad habiliment,\\r\\n I will encounter with Andronicus,\\r\\n And say I am Revenge, sent from below\\r\\n To join with him and right his heinous wrongs.\\r\\n Knock at his study, where they say he keeps\\r\\n To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge;\\r\\n Tell him Revenge is come to join with him,\\r\\n And work confusion on his enemies.\\r\\n\\r\\n They knock and TITUS opens his study door, above\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Who doth molest my contemplation?\\r\\n Is it your trick to make me ope the door,\\r\\n That so my sad decrees may fly away\\r\\n And all my study be to no effect?\\r\\n You are deceiv'd; for what I mean to do\\r\\n See here in bloody lines I have set down;\\r\\n And what is written shall be executed.\\r\\n TAMORA. Titus, I am come to talk with thee.\\r\\n TITUS. No, not a word. How can I grace my talk,\\r\\n Wanting a hand to give it that accord?\\r\\n Thou hast the odds of me; therefore no more.\\r\\n TAMORA. If thou didst know me, thou wouldst talk with me.\\r\\n TITUS. I am not mad, I know thee well enough:\\r\\n Witness this wretched stump, witness these crimson lines;\\r\\n Witness these trenches made by grief and care;\\r\\n Witness the tiring day and heavy night;\\r\\n Witness all sorrow that I know thee well\\r\\n For our proud Empress, mighty Tamora.\\r\\n Is not thy coming for my other hand?\\r\\n TAMORA. Know thou, sad man, I am not Tamora:\\r\\n She is thy enemy and I thy friend.\\r\\n I am Revenge, sent from th' infernal kingdom\\r\\n To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind\\r\\n By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes.\\r\\n Come down and welcome me to this world's light;\\r\\n Confer with me of murder and of death;\\r\\n There's not a hollow cave or lurking-place,\\r\\n No vast obscurity or misty vale,\\r\\n Where bloody murder or detested rape\\r\\n Can couch for fear but I will find them out;\\r\\n And in their ears tell them my dreadful name-\\r\\n Revenge, which makes the foul offender quake.\\r\\n TITUS. Art thou Revenge? and art thou sent to me\\r\\n To be a torment to mine enemies?\\r\\n TAMORA. I am; therefore come down and welcome me.\\r\\n TITUS. Do me some service ere I come to thee.\\r\\n Lo, by thy side where Rape and Murder stands;\\r\\n Now give some surance that thou art Revenge-\\r\\n Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot wheels;\\r\\n And then I'll come and be thy waggoner\\r\\n And whirl along with thee about the globes.\\r\\n Provide thee two proper palfreys, black as jet,\\r\\n To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away,\\r\\n And find out murderers in their guilty caves;\\r\\n And when thy car is loaden with their heads,\\r\\n I will dismount, and by thy waggon wheel\\r\\n Trot, like a servile footman, all day long,\\r\\n Even from Hyperion's rising in the east\\r\\n Until his very downfall in the sea.\\r\\n And day by day I'll do this heavy task,\\r\\n So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there.\\r\\n TAMORA. These are my ministers, and come with me.\\r\\n TITUS. Are they thy ministers? What are they call'd?\\r\\n TAMORA. Rape and Murder; therefore called so\\r\\n 'Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men.\\r\\n TITUS. Good Lord, how like the Empress' sons they are!\\r\\n And you the Empress! But we worldly men\\r\\n Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes.\\r\\n O sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee;\\r\\n And, if one arm's embracement will content thee,\\r\\n I will embrace thee in it by and by.\\r\\n TAMORA. This closing with him fits his lunacy.\\r\\n Whate'er I forge to feed his brain-sick humours,\\r\\n Do you uphold and maintain in your speeches,\\r\\n For now he firmly takes me for Revenge;\\r\\n And, being credulous in this mad thought,\\r\\n I'll make him send for Lucius his son,\\r\\n And whilst I at a banquet hold him sure,\\r\\n I'll find some cunning practice out of hand\\r\\n To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths,\\r\\n Or, at the least, make them his enemies.\\r\\n See, here he comes, and I must ply my theme.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter TITUS, below\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee.\\r\\n Welcome, dread Fury, to my woeful house.\\r\\n Rapine and Murder, you are welcome too.\\r\\n How like the Empress and her sons you are!\\r\\n Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor.\\r\\n Could not all hell afford you such a devil?\\r\\n For well I wot the Empress never wags\\r\\n But in her company there is a Moor;\\r\\n And, would you represent our queen aright,\\r\\n It were convenient you had such a devil.\\r\\n But welcome as you are. What shall we do?\\r\\n TAMORA. What wouldst thou have us do, Andronicus?\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Show me a murderer, I'll deal with him.\\r\\n CHIRON. Show me a villain that hath done a rape,\\r\\n And I am sent to be reveng'd on him.\\r\\n TAMORA. Show me a thousand that hath done thee wrong,\\r\\n And I will be revenged on them all.\\r\\n TITUS. Look round about the wicked streets of Rome,\\r\\n And when thou find'st a man that's like thyself,\\r\\n Good Murder, stab him; he's a murderer.\\r\\n Go thou with him, and when it is thy hap\\r\\n To find another that is like to thee,\\r\\n Good Rapine, stab him; he is a ravisher.\\r\\n Go thou with them; and in the Emperor's court\\r\\n There is a queen, attended by a Moor;\\r\\n Well shalt thou know her by thine own proportion,\\r\\n For up and down she doth resemble thee.\\r\\n I pray thee, do on them some violent death;\\r\\n They have been violent to me and mine.\\r\\n TAMORA. Well hast thou lesson'd us; this shall we do.\\r\\n But would it please thee, good Andronicus,\\r\\n To send for Lucius, thy thrice-valiant son,\\r\\n Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike Goths,\\r\\n And bid him come and banquet at thy house;\\r\\n When he is here, even at thy solemn feast,\\r\\n I will bring in the Empress and her sons,\\r\\n The Emperor himself, and all thy foes;\\r\\n And at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel,\\r\\n And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart.\\r\\n What says Andronicus to this device?\\r\\n TITUS. Marcus, my brother! 'Tis sad Titus calls.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter MARCUS\\r\\n\\r\\n Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius;\\r\\n Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths.\\r\\n Bid him repair to me, and bring with him\\r\\n Some of the chiefest princes of the Goths;\\r\\n Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are.\\r\\n Tell him the Emperor and the Empress too\\r\\n Feast at my house, and he shall feast with them.\\r\\n This do thou for my love; and so let him,\\r\\n As he regards his aged father's life.\\r\\n MARCUS. This will I do, and soon return again. Exit\\r\\n TAMORA. Now will I hence about thy business,\\r\\n And take my ministers along with me.\\r\\n TITUS. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with me,\\r\\n Or else I'll call my brother back again,\\r\\n And cleave to no revenge but Lucius.\\r\\n TAMORA. [Aside to her sons] What say you, boys? Will you abide\\r\\n with him,\\r\\n Whiles I go tell my lord the Emperor\\r\\n How I have govern'd our determin'd jest?\\r\\n Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair,\\r\\n And tarry with him till I turn again.\\r\\n TITUS. [Aside] I knew them all, though they suppos'd me mad,\\r\\n And will o'er reach them in their own devices,\\r\\n A pair of cursed hell-hounds and their dam.\\r\\n DEMETRIUS. Madam, depart at pleasure; leave us here.\\r\\n TAMORA. Farewell, Andronicus, Revenge now goes\\r\\n To lay a complot to betray thy foes.\\r\\n TITUS. I know thou dost; and, sweet Revenge, farewell.\\r\\n Exit TAMORA\\r\\n CHIRON. Tell us, old man, how shall we be employ'd?\\r\\n TITUS. Tut, I have work enough for you to do.\\r\\n Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PUBLIUS, CAIUS, and VALENTINE\\r\\n\\r\\n PUBLIUS. What is your will?\\r\\n TITUS. Know you these two?\\r\\n PUBLIUS. The Empress' sons, I take them: Chiron, Demetrius.\\r\\n TITUS. Fie, Publius, fie! thou art too much deceiv'd.\\r\\n The one is Murder, and Rape is the other's name;\\r\\n And therefore bind them, gentle Publius-\\r\\n Caius and Valentine, lay hands on them.\\r\\n Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour,\\r\\n And now I find it; therefore bind them sure,\\r\\n And stop their mouths if they begin to cry. Exit\\r\\n [They lay hold on CHIRON and DEMETRIUS]\\r\\n CHIRON. Villains, forbear! we are the Empress' sons.\\r\\n PUBLIUS. And therefore do we what we are commanded.\\r\\n Stop close their mouths, let them not speak a word.\\r\\n Is he sure bound? Look that you bind them fast.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter TITUS ANDRONICUS\\r\\n with a knife, and LAVINIA, with a basin\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Come, come, Lavinia; look, thy foes are bound.\\r\\n Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to me;\\r\\n But let them hear what fearful words I utter.\\r\\n O villains, Chiron and Demetrius!\\r\\n Here stands the spring whom you have stain'd with mud;\\r\\n This goodly summer with your winter mix'd.\\r\\n You kill'd her husband; and for that vile fault\\r\\n Two of her brothers were condemn'd to death,\\r\\n My hand cut off and made a merry jest;\\r\\n Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that more dear\\r\\n Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity,\\r\\n Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forc'd.\\r\\n What would you say, if I should let you speak?\\r\\n Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace.\\r\\n Hark, wretches! how I mean to martyr you.\\r\\n This one hand yet is left to cut your throats,\\r\\n Whiles that Lavinia 'tween her stumps doth hold\\r\\n The basin that receives your guilty blood.\\r\\n You know your mother means to feast with me,\\r\\n And calls herself Revenge, and thinks me mad.\\r\\n Hark, villains! I will grind your bones to dust,\\r\\n And with your blood and it I'll make a paste;\\r\\n And of the paste a coffin I will rear,\\r\\n And make two pasties of your shameful heads;\\r\\n And bid that strumpet, your unhallowed dam,\\r\\n Like to the earth, swallow her own increase.\\r\\n This is the feast that I have bid her to,\\r\\n And this the banquet she shall surfeit on;\\r\\n For worse than Philomel you us'd my daughter,\\r\\n And worse than Progne I will be reveng'd.\\r\\n And now prepare your throats. Lavinia, come,\\r\\n Receive the blood; and when that they are dead,\\r\\n Let me go grind their bones to powder small,\\r\\n And with this hateful liquor temper it;\\r\\n And in that paste let their vile heads be bak'd.\\r\\n Come, come, be every one officious\\r\\n To make this banquet, which I wish may prove\\r\\n More stern and bloody than the Centaurs' feast.\\r\\n [He cuts their throats]\\r\\n So.\\r\\n Now bring them in, for I will play the cook,\\r\\n And see them ready against their mother comes.\\r\\n Exeunt, bearing the dead bodies\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The court of TITUS' house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter Lucius, MARCUS, and the GOTHS, with AARON prisoner, and his CHILD\\r\\nin the arms of an attendant\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCIUS. Uncle Marcus, since 'tis my father's mind\\r\\n That I repair to Rome, I am content.\\r\\n FIRST GOTH. And ours with thine, befall what fortune will.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous Moor,\\r\\n This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil;\\r\\n Let him receive no sust'nance, fetter him,\\r\\n Till he be brought unto the Empress' face\\r\\n For testimony of her foul proceedings.\\r\\n And see the ambush of our friends be strong;\\r\\n I fear the Emperor means no good to us.\\r\\n AARON. Some devil whisper curses in my ear,\\r\\n And prompt me that my tongue may utter forth\\r\\n The venomous malice of my swelling heart!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Away, inhuman dog, unhallowed slave!\\r\\n Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in.\\r\\n Exeunt GOTHS with AARON. Flourish within\\r\\n The trumpets show the Emperor is at hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound trumpets. Enter SATURNINUS and\\r\\n TAMORA, with AEMILIUS, TRIBUNES, SENATORS, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n SATURNINUS. What, hath the firmament more suns than one?\\r\\n LUCIUS. What boots it thee to can thyself a sun?\\r\\n MARCUS. Rome's Emperor, and nephew, break the parle;\\r\\n These quarrels must be quietly debated.\\r\\n The feast is ready which the careful Titus\\r\\n Hath ordain'd to an honourable end,\\r\\n For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome.\\r\\n Please you, therefore, draw nigh and take your places.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Marcus, we will.\\r\\n [A table brought in. The company sit down]\\r\\n\\r\\n Trumpets sounding, enter TITUS\\r\\n like a cook, placing the dishes, and LAVINIA\\r\\n with a veil over her face; also YOUNG LUCIUS, and others\\r\\n\\r\\n TITUS. Welcome, my lord; welcome, dread Queen;\\r\\n Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lucius;\\r\\n And welcome all. Although the cheer be poor,\\r\\n 'Twill fill your stomachs; please you eat of it.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Why art thou thus attir'd, Andronicus?\\r\\n TITUS. Because I would be sure to have all well\\r\\n To entertain your Highness and your Empress.\\r\\n TAMORA. We are beholding to you, good Andronicus.\\r\\n TITUS. An if your Highness knew my heart, you were.\\r\\n My lord the Emperor, resolve me this:\\r\\n Was it well done of rash Virginius\\r\\n To slay his daughter with his own right hand,\\r\\n Because she was enforc'd, stain'd, and deflower'd?\\r\\n SATURNINUS. It was, Andronicus.\\r\\n TITUS. Your reason, mighty lord.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Because the girl should not survive her shame,\\r\\n And by her presence still renew his sorrows.\\r\\n TITUS. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual;\\r\\n A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant\\r\\n For me, most wretched, to perform the like.\\r\\n Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee; [He kills her]\\r\\n And with thy shame thy father's sorrow die!\\r\\n SATURNINUS. What hast thou done, unnatural and unkind?\\r\\n TITUS. Kill'd her for whom my tears have made me blind.\\r\\n I am as woeful as Virginius was,\\r\\n And have a thousand times more cause than he\\r\\n To do this outrage; and it now is done.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. What, was she ravish'd? Tell who did the deed.\\r\\n TITUS. Will't please you eat? Will't please your Highness feed?\\r\\n TAMORA. Why hast thou slain thine only daughter thus?\\r\\n TITUS. Not I; 'twas Chiron and Demetrius.\\r\\n They ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue;\\r\\n And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong.\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Go, fetch them hither to us presently.\\r\\n TITUS. Why, there they are, both baked in this pie,\\r\\n Whereof their mother daintily hath fed,\\r\\n Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred.\\r\\n 'Tis true, 'tis true: witness my knife's sharp point.\\r\\n [He stabs the EMPRESS]\\r\\n SATURNINUS. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed!\\r\\n [He stabs TITUS]\\r\\n LUCIUS. Can the son's eye behold his father bleed?\\r\\n There's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed.\\r\\n [He stabs SATURNINUS. A great tumult. LUCIUS,\\r\\n MARCUS, and their friends go up into the balcony]\\r\\n MARCUS. You sad-fac'd men, people and sons of Rome,\\r\\n By uproars sever'd, as a flight of fowl\\r\\n Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts?\\r\\n O, let me teach you how to knit again\\r\\n This scattered corn into one mutual sheaf,\\r\\n These broken limbs again into one body;\\r\\n Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself,\\r\\n And she whom mighty kingdoms curtsy to,\\r\\n Like a forlorn and desperate castaway,\\r\\n Do shameful execution on herself.\\r\\n But if my frosty signs and chaps of age,\\r\\n Grave witnesses of true experience,\\r\\n Cannot induce you to attend my words,\\r\\n [To Lucius] Speak, Rome's dear friend, as erst our ancestor,\\r\\n When with his solemn tongue he did discourse\\r\\n To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear\\r\\n The story of that baleful burning night,\\r\\n When subtle Greeks surpris'd King Priam's Troy.\\r\\n Tell us what Sinon hath bewitch'd our ears,\\r\\n Or who hath brought the fatal engine in\\r\\n That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound.\\r\\n My heart is not compact of flint nor steel;\\r\\n Nor can I utter all our bitter grief,\\r\\n But floods of tears will drown my oratory\\r\\n And break my utt'rance, even in the time\\r\\n When it should move ye to attend me most,\\r\\n And force you to commiseration.\\r\\n Here's Rome's young Captain, let him tell the tale;\\r\\n While I stand by and weep to hear him speak.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Then, gracious auditory, be it known to you\\r\\n That Chiron and the damn'd Demetrius\\r\\n Were they that murd'red our Emperor's brother;\\r\\n And they it were that ravished our sister.\\r\\n For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded,\\r\\n Our father's tears despis'd, and basely cozen'd\\r\\n Of that true hand that fought Rome's quarrel out\\r\\n And sent her enemies unto the grave.\\r\\n Lastly, myself unkindly banished,\\r\\n The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out,\\r\\n To beg relief among Rome's enemies;\\r\\n Who drown'd their enmity in my true tears,\\r\\n And op'd their arms to embrace me as a friend.\\r\\n I am the turned forth, be it known to you,\\r\\n That have preserv'd her welfare in my blood\\r\\n And from her bosom took the enemy's point,\\r\\n Sheathing the steel in my advent'rous body.\\r\\n Alas! you know I am no vaunter, I;\\r\\n My scars can witness, dumb although they are,\\r\\n That my report is just and full of truth.\\r\\n But, soft! methinks I do digress too much,\\r\\n Citing my worthless praise. O, pardon me!\\r\\n For when no friends are by, men praise themselves.\\r\\n MARCUS. Now is my turn to speak. Behold the child.\\r\\n [Pointing to the CHILD in an attendant's arms]\\r\\n Of this was Tamora delivered,\\r\\n The issue of an irreligious Moor,\\r\\n Chief architect and plotter of these woes.\\r\\n The villain is alive in Titus' house,\\r\\n Damn'd as he is, to witness this is true.\\r\\n Now judge what cause had Titus to revenge\\r\\n These wrongs unspeakable, past patience,\\r\\n Or more than any living man could bear.\\r\\n Now have you heard the truth: what say you, Romans?\\r\\n Have we done aught amiss, show us wherein,\\r\\n And, from the place where you behold us pleading,\\r\\n The poor remainder of Andronici\\r\\n Will, hand in hand, all headlong hurl ourselves,\\r\\n And on the ragged stones beat forth our souls,\\r\\n And make a mutual closure of our house.\\r\\n Speak, Romans, speak; and if you say we shall,\\r\\n Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall.\\r\\n AEMILIUS. Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome,\\r\\n And bring our Emperor gently in thy hand,\\r\\n Lucius our Emperor; for well I know\\r\\n The common voice do cry it shall be so.\\r\\n ALL. Lucius, all hail, Rome's royal Emperor!\\r\\n MARCUS. Go, go into old Titus' sorrowful house,\\r\\n And hither hale that misbelieving Moor\\r\\n To be adjudg'd some direful slaught'ring death,\\r\\n As punishment for his most wicked life. Exeunt some\\r\\n attendants. LUCIUS, MARCUS, and the others descend\\r\\n ALL. Lucius, all hail, Rome's gracious governor!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Thanks, gentle Romans! May I govern so\\r\\n To heal Rome's harms and wipe away her woe!\\r\\n But, gentle people, give me aim awhile,\\r\\n For nature puts me to a heavy task.\\r\\n Stand all aloof; but, uncle, draw you near\\r\\n To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk.\\r\\n O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips. [Kisses TITUS]\\r\\n These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain'd face,\\r\\n The last true duties of thy noble son!\\r\\n MARCUS. Tear for tear and loving kiss for kiss\\r\\n Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips.\\r\\n O, were the sum of these that I should pay\\r\\n Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them!\\r\\n LUCIUS. Come hither, boy; come, come, come, and learn of us\\r\\n To melt in showers. Thy grandsire lov'd thee well;\\r\\n Many a time he danc'd thee on his knee,\\r\\n Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow;\\r\\n Many a story hath he told to thee,\\r\\n And bid thee bear his pretty tales in mind\\r\\n And talk of them when he was dead and gone.\\r\\n MARCUS. How many thousand times hath these poor lips,\\r\\n When they were living, warm'd themselves on thine!\\r\\n O, now, sweet boy, give them their latest kiss!\\r\\n Bid him farewell; commit him to the grave;\\r\\n Do them that kindness, and take leave of them.\\r\\n BOY. O grandsire, grandsire! ev'n with all my heart\\r\\n Would I were dead, so you did live again!\\r\\n O Lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping;\\r\\n My tears will choke me, if I ope my mouth.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter attendants with AARON\\r\\n\\r\\n A ROMAN. You sad Andronici, have done with woes;\\r\\n Give sentence on the execrable wretch\\r\\n That hath been breeder of these dire events.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish him;\\r\\n There let him stand and rave and cry for food.\\r\\n If any one relieves or pities him,\\r\\n For the offence he dies. This is our doom.\\r\\n Some stay to see him fast'ned in the earth.\\r\\n AARON. Ah, why should wrath be mute and fury dumb?\\r\\n I am no baby, I, that with base prayers\\r\\n I should repent the evils I have done;\\r\\n Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did\\r\\n Would I perform, if I might have my will.\\r\\n If one good deed in all my life I did,\\r\\n I do repent it from my very soul.\\r\\n LUCIUS. Some loving friends convey the Emperor hence,\\r\\n And give him burial in his father's grave.\\r\\n My father and Lavinia shall forthwith\\r\\n Be closed in our household's monument.\\r\\n As for that ravenous tiger, Tamora,\\r\\n No funeral rite, nor man in mourning weed,\\r\\n No mournful bell shall ring her burial;\\r\\n But throw her forth to beasts and birds to prey.\\r\\n Her life was beastly and devoid of pity,\\r\\n And being dead, let birds on her take pity. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\",\n", + " 'THE HISTORY OF TROILUS AND CRESSIDA\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nPrologue.\\r\\nScene I. Troy. Before PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\nScene II. Troy. A street.\\r\\nScene III. The Grecian camp. Before AGAMEMNON’S tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. The Grecian camp.\\r\\nScene II. Troy. PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\nScene III. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Troy. PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\nScene II. Troy. PANDARUS’ orchard.\\r\\nScene III. The Greek camp.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Troy. A street.\\r\\nScene II. Troy. The court of PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\nScene III. Troy. A street before PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\nScene IV. Troy. PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\nScene V. The Grecian camp. Lists set out.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES.\\r\\nScene II. The Grecian camp. Before CALCHAS’ tent.\\r\\nScene III. Troy. Before PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\nScene IV. The plain between Troy and the Grecian camp.\\r\\nScene V. Another part of the plain.\\r\\nScene VI. Another part of the plain.\\r\\nScene VII. Another part of the plain.\\r\\nScene VIII. Another part of the plain.\\r\\nScene IX. Another part of the plain.\\r\\nScene X. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM, King of Troy\\r\\n\\r\\nHis sons:\\r\\nHECTOR\\r\\nTROILUS\\r\\nPARIS\\r\\nDEIPHOBUS\\r\\nHELENUS\\r\\nMARGARELON, a bastard son of Priam\\r\\n\\r\\nTrojan commanders:\\r\\nAENEAS\\r\\nANTENOR\\r\\n\\r\\nCALCHAS, a Trojan priest, taking part with the Greeks\\r\\nPANDARUS, uncle to Cressida\\r\\nAGAMEMNON, the Greek general\\r\\nMENELAUS, his brother\\r\\n\\r\\nGreek commanders:\\r\\nACHILLES\\r\\nAJAX\\r\\nULYSSES\\r\\nNESTOR\\r\\nDIOMEDES\\r\\nPATROCLUS\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES, a deformed and scurrilous Greek\\r\\nALEXANDER, servant to Cressida\\r\\nSERVANT to Troilus\\r\\nSERVANT to Paris\\r\\nSERVANT to Diomedes\\r\\nHELEN, wife to Menelaus\\r\\nANDROMACHE, wife to Hector\\r\\nCASSANDRA, daughter to Priam, a prophetess\\r\\nCRESSIDA, daughter to Calchas\\r\\n\\r\\nTrojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Troy and the Greek camp before it\\r\\n\\r\\nPROLOGUE\\r\\n\\r\\nIn Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece\\r\\nThe princes orgulous, their high blood chaf’d,\\r\\nHave to the port of Athens sent their ships\\r\\nFraught with the ministers and instruments\\r\\nOf cruel war. Sixty and nine that wore\\r\\nTheir crownets regal from the Athenian bay\\r\\nPut forth toward Phrygia; and their vow is made\\r\\nTo ransack Troy, within whose strong immures\\r\\nThe ravish’d Helen, Menelaus’ queen,\\r\\nWith wanton Paris sleeps—and that’s the quarrel.\\r\\nTo Tenedos they come,\\r\\nAnd the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge\\r\\nTheir war-like fraughtage. Now on Dardan plains\\r\\nThe fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch\\r\\nTheir brave pavilions: Priam’s six-gated city,\\r\\nDardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Troien,\\r\\nAnd Antenorides, with massy staples\\r\\nAnd corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,\\r\\nStir up the sons of Troy.\\r\\nNow expectation, tickling skittish spirits\\r\\nOn one and other side, Trojan and Greek,\\r\\nSets all on hazard. And hither am I come\\r\\nA prologue arm’d, but not in confidence\\r\\nOf author’s pen or actor’s voice, but suited\\r\\nIn like conditions as our argument,\\r\\nTo tell you, fair beholders, that our play\\r\\nLeaps o’er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils,\\r\\nBeginning in the middle; starting thence away,\\r\\nTo what may be digested in a play.\\r\\nLike or find fault; do as your pleasures are;\\r\\nNow good or bad, ’tis but the chance of war.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Troy. Before PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus armed, and Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCall here my varlet; I’ll unarm again.\\r\\nWhy should I war without the walls of Troy\\r\\nThat find such cruel battle here within?\\r\\nEach Trojan that is master of his heart,\\r\\nLet him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWill this gear ne’er be mended?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThe Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength,\\r\\nFierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant;\\r\\nBut I am weaker than a woman’s tear,\\r\\nTamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance,\\r\\nLess valiant than the virgin in the night,\\r\\nAnd skilless as unpractis’d infancy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell, I have told you enough of this; for my part, I’ll not meddle nor\\r\\nmake no farther. He that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry\\r\\nthe grinding.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHave I not tarried?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHave I not tarried?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nStill have I tarried.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, to the leavening; but here’s yet in the word ‘hereafter’ the\\r\\nkneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the\\r\\nbaking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance burn your\\r\\nlips.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nPatience herself, what goddess e’er she be,\\r\\nDoth lesser blench at suff’rance than I do.\\r\\nAt Priam’s royal table do I sit;\\r\\nAnd when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,\\r\\nSo, traitor! ‘when she comes’! when she is thence?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell, she look’d yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any\\r\\nwoman else.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI was about to tell thee: when my heart,\\r\\nAs wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain,\\r\\nLest Hector or my father should perceive me,\\r\\nI have, as when the sun doth light a storm,\\r\\nBuried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile.\\r\\nBut sorrow that is couch’d in seeming gladness\\r\\nIs like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAn her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen’s, well, go to, there\\r\\nwere no more comparison between the women. But, for my part, she is my\\r\\nkinswoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her, but I would\\r\\nsomebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise\\r\\nyour sister Cassandra’s wit; but—\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,\\r\\nWhen I do tell thee there my hopes lie drown’d,\\r\\nReply not in how many fathoms deep\\r\\nThey lie indrench’d. I tell thee I am mad\\r\\nIn Cressid’s love. Thou answer’st ‘She is fair’;\\r\\nPour’st in the open ulcer of my heart\\r\\nHer eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice,\\r\\nHandlest in thy discourse. O! that her hand,\\r\\nIn whose comparison all whites are ink\\r\\nWriting their own reproach; to whose soft seizure\\r\\nThe cygnet’s down is harsh, and spirit of sense\\r\\nHard as the palm of ploughman! This thou tell’st me,\\r\\nAs true thou tell’st me, when I say I love her;\\r\\nBut, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,\\r\\nThou lay’st in every gash that love hath given me\\r\\nThe knife that made it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI speak no more than truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThou dost not speak so much.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFaith, I’ll not meddle in’t. Let her be as she is: if she be fair, ’tis\\r\\nthe better for her; and she be not, she has the mends in her own hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nGood Pandarus! How now, Pandarus!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI have had my labour for my travail, ill thought on of her and ill\\r\\nthought on of you; gone between and between, but small thanks for my\\r\\nlabour.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat! art thou angry, Pandarus? What! with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nBecause she’s kin to me, therefore she’s not so fair as Helen. And she\\r\\nwere not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday as Helen is on\\r\\nSunday. But what care I? I care not and she were a blackamoor; ’tis all\\r\\none to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nSay I she is not fair?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI do not care whether you do or no. She’s a fool to stay behind her\\r\\nfather. Let her to the Greeks; and so I’ll tell her the next time I see\\r\\nher. For my part, I’ll meddle nor make no more i’ the matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nPandarus—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNot I.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nSweet Pandarus—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nPray you, speak no more to me: I will leave all as I found it, and\\r\\nthere an end.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Pandarus. An alarum._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nPeace, you ungracious clamours! Peace, rude sounds!\\r\\nFools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair,\\r\\nWhen with your blood you daily paint her thus.\\r\\nI cannot fight upon this argument;\\r\\nIt is too starv’d a subject for my sword.\\r\\nBut Pandarus, O gods! how do you plague me!\\r\\nI cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar;\\r\\nAnd he’s as tetchy to be woo’d to woo\\r\\nAs she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.\\r\\nTell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne’s love,\\r\\nWhat Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?\\r\\nHer bed is India; there she lies, a pearl;\\r\\nBetween our Ilium and where she resides\\r\\nLet it be call’d the wild and wandering flood;\\r\\nOurself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar\\r\\nOur doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarum. Enter Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHow now, Prince Troilus! Wherefore not afield?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBecause not there. This woman’s answer sorts,\\r\\nFor womanish it is to be from thence.\\r\\nWhat news, Aeneas, from the field today?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nThat Paris is returned home, and hurt.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBy whom, Aeneas?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nTroilus, by Menelaus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nLet Paris bleed: ’tis but a scar to scorn;\\r\\nParis is gor’d with Menelaus’ horn.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alarum._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHark what good sport is out of town today!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBetter at home, if ‘would I might’ were ‘may.’\\r\\nBut to the sport abroad. Are you bound thither?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nIn all swift haste.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCome, go we then together.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Troy. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cressida and her man Alexander.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWho were those went by?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nQueen Hecuba and Helen.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAnd whither go they?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nUp to the eastern tower,\\r\\nWhose height commands as subject all the vale,\\r\\nTo see the battle. Hector, whose patience\\r\\nIs as a virtue fix’d, today was mov’d.\\r\\nHe chid Andromache, and struck his armourer;\\r\\nAnd, like as there were husbandry in war,\\r\\nBefore the sun rose he was harness’d light,\\r\\nAnd to the field goes he; where every flower\\r\\nDid as a prophet weep what it foresaw\\r\\nIn Hector’s wrath.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat was his cause of anger?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nThe noise goes, this: there is among the Greeks\\r\\nA lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector;\\r\\nThey call him Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGood; and what of him?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nThey say he is a very man _per se_\\r\\nAnd stands alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSo do all men, unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs.\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nThis man, lady, hath robb’d many beasts of their particular additions:\\r\\nhe is as valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the\\r\\nelephant—a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours that his valour\\r\\nis crush’d into folly, his folly sauced with discretion. There is no\\r\\nman hath a virtue that he hath not a glimpse of, nor any man an attaint\\r\\nbut he carries some stain of it; he is melancholy without cause and\\r\\nmerry against the hair; he hath the joints of everything; but\\r\\neverything so out of joint that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and\\r\\nno use, or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBut how should this man, that makes me smile, make Hector angry?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nThey say he yesterday cop’d Hector in the battle and struck him down,\\r\\nthe disdain and shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and\\r\\nwaking.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWho comes here?\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nMadam, your uncle Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHector’s a gallant man.\\r\\n\\r\\nALEXANDER.\\r\\nAs may be in the world, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat’s that? What’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGood morrow, uncle Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nGood morrow, cousin Cressid. What do you talk of?—Good morrow,\\r\\nAlexander.—How do you, cousin? When were you at Ilium?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThis morning, uncle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat were you talking of when I came? Was Hector arm’d and gone ere you\\r\\ncame to Ilium? Helen was not up, was she?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHector was gone; but Helen was not up.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nE’en so. Hector was stirring early.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThat were we talking of, and of his anger.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWas he angry?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSo he says here.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nTrue, he was so; I know the cause too; he’ll lay about him today, I can\\r\\ntell them that. And there’s Troilus will not come far behind him; let\\r\\nthem take heed of Troilus, I can tell them that too.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat, is he angry too?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWho, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO Jupiter! there’s no comparison.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a man if you see him?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAy, if I ever saw him before and knew him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell, I say Troilus is Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThen you say as I say, for I am sure he is not Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNo, nor Hector is not Troilus in some degrees.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\n’Tis just to each of them: he is himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHimself! Alas, poor Troilus! I would he were!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSo he is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nCondition I had gone barefoot to India.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHe is not Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHimself! no, he’s not himself. Would a’ were himself! Well, the gods\\r\\nare above; time must friend or end. Well, Troilus, well! I would my\\r\\nheart were in her body! No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nExcuse me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHe is elder.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nPardon me, pardon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nTh’other’s not come to’t; you shall tell me another tale when\\r\\nth’other’s come to’t. Hector shall not have his wit this year.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHe shall not need it if he have his own.\\r\\n\\r\\nANDARUS.\\r\\nNor his qualities.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNo matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNor his beauty.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\n’Twould not become him: his own’s better.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou have no judgement, niece. Helen herself swore th’other day that\\r\\nTroilus, for a brown favour, for so ’tis, I must confess—not brown\\r\\nneither—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNo, but brown.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFaith, to say truth, brown and not brown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nTo say the truth, true and not true.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nShe prais’d his complexion above Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhy, Paris hath colour enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nSo he has.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThen Troilus should have too much. If she prais’d him above, his\\r\\ncomplexion is higher than his; he having colour enough, and the other\\r\\nhigher, is too flaming a praise for a good complexion. I had as lief\\r\\nHelen’s golden tongue had commended Troilus for a copper nose.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI swear to you I think Helen loves him better than Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThen she’s a merry Greek indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNay, I am sure she does. She came to him th’other day into the\\r\\ncompass’d window—and you know he has not past three or four hairs on\\r\\nhis chin—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIndeed a tapster’s arithmetic may soon bring his particulars therein to\\r\\na total.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhy, he is very young, and yet will he within three pound lift as much\\r\\nas his brother Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIs he so young a man and so old a lifter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nBut to prove to you that Helen loves him: she came and puts me her\\r\\nwhite hand to his cloven chin—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nJuno have mercy! How came it cloven?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhy, you know, ’tis dimpled. I think his smiling becomes him better\\r\\nthan any man in all Phrygia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO, he smiles valiantly!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nDoes he not?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO yes, an ’twere a cloud in autumn!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhy, go to, then! But to prove to you that Helen loves Troilus—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nTroilus will stand to the proof, if you’ll prove it so.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nTroilus! Why, he esteems her no more than I esteem an addle egg.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIf you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle head, you would\\r\\neat chickens i’ th’ shell.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI cannot choose but laugh to think how she tickled his chin. Indeed,\\r\\nshe has a marvell’s white hand, I must needs confess.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWithout the rack.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAnd she takes upon her to spy a white hair on his chin.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAlas, poor chin! Many a wart is richer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nBut there was such laughing! Queen Hecuba laugh’d that her eyes ran\\r\\no’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWith millstones.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAnd Cassandra laugh’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBut there was a more temperate fire under the pot of her eyes. Did her\\r\\neyes run o’er too?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAnd Hector laugh’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAt what was all this laughing?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nMarry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus’ chin.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAnd’t had been a green hair I should have laugh’d too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThey laugh’d not so much at the hair as at his pretty answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat was his answer?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nQuoth she ‘Here’s but two and fifty hairs on your chin, and one of them\\r\\nis white.’\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThis is her question.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThat’s true; make no question of that. ‘Two and fifty hairs,’ quoth he\\r\\n‘and one white. That white hair is my father, and all the rest are his\\r\\nsons.’ ‘Jupiter!’ quoth she ‘which of these hairs is Paris my husband?’\\r\\n‘The forked one,’ quoth he, ’pluck’t out and give it him.’ But there\\r\\nwas such laughing! and Helen so blush’d, and Paris so chaf’d; and all\\r\\nthe rest so laugh’d that it pass’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSo let it now; for it has been a great while going by.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; think on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSo I do.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI’ll be sworn ’tis true; he will weep you, and ’twere a man born in\\r\\nApril.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAnd I’ll spring up in his tears, an ’twere a nettle against May.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sound a retreat._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHark! they are coming from the field. Shall we stand up here and see\\r\\nthem as they pass toward Ilium? Good niece, do, sweet niece Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAt your pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHere, here, here’s an excellent place; here we may see most bravely.\\r\\nI’ll tell you them all by their names as they pass by; but mark Troilus\\r\\nabove the rest.\\r\\n\\r\\n [Aeneas _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSpeak not so loud.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThat’s Aeneas. Is not that a brave man? He’s one of the flowers of\\r\\nTroy, I can tell you. But mark Troilus; you shall see anon.\\r\\n\\r\\n [Antenor _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWho’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThat’s Antenor. He has a shrewd wit, I can tell you; and he’s a man\\r\\ngood enough; he’s one o’ th’ soundest judgements in Troy, whosoever,\\r\\nand a proper man of person. When comes Troilus? I’ll show you Troilus\\r\\nanon. If he see me, you shall see him nod at me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWill he give you the nod?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou shall see.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIf he do, the rich shall have more.\\r\\n\\r\\n [Hector _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThat’s Hector, that, that, look you, that; there’s a fellow! Go thy\\r\\nway, Hector! There’s a brave man, niece. O brave Hector! Look how he\\r\\nlooks. There’s a countenance! Is’t not a brave man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO, a brave man!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIs a’ not? It does a man’s heart good. Look you what hacks are on his\\r\\nhelmet! Look you yonder, do you see? Look you there. There’s no\\r\\njesting; there’s laying on; take’t off who will, as they say. There be\\r\\nhacks.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBe those with swords?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nSwords! anything, he cares not; and the devil come to him, it’s all\\r\\none. By God’s lid, it does one’s heart good. Yonder comes Paris, yonder\\r\\ncomes Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\n [Paris _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nLook ye yonder, niece; is’t not a gallant man too, is’t not? Why, this\\r\\nis brave now. Who said he came hurt home today? He’s not hurt. Why,\\r\\nthis will do Helen’s heart good now, ha! Would I could see Troilus now!\\r\\nYou shall see Troilus anon.\\r\\n\\r\\n [Helenus _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWho’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThat’s Helenus. I marvel where Troilus is. That’s\\r\\nHelenus. I think he went not forth today. That’s Helenus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nCan Helenus fight, uncle?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHelenus! no. Yes, he’ll fight indifferent well. I marvel where Troilus\\r\\nis. Hark! do you not hear the people cry ‘Troilus’?—Helenus is a\\r\\npriest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat sneaking fellow comes yonder?\\r\\n\\r\\n [Troilus _passes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhere? yonder? That’s Deiphobus. ’Tis Troilus. There’s a man, niece.\\r\\nHem! Brave Troilus, the prince of chivalry!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nPeace, for shame, peace!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nMark him; note him. O brave Troilus! Look well upon him, niece; look\\r\\nyou how his sword is bloodied, and his helm more hack’d than Hector’s;\\r\\nand how he looks, and how he goes! O admirable youth! he never saw\\r\\nthree and twenty. Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way. Had I a sister were\\r\\na grace or a daughter a goddess, he should take his choice. O admirable\\r\\nman! Paris? Paris is dirt to him; and, I warrant, Helen, to change,\\r\\nwould give an eye to boot.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHere comes more.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Common soldiers pass_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAsses, fools, dolts! chaff and bran, chaff and bran! porridge after\\r\\nmeat! I could live and die in the eyes of Troilus. Ne’er look, ne’er\\r\\nlook; the eagles are gone. Crows and daws, crows and daws! I had rather\\r\\nbe such a man as Troilus than Agamemnon and all Greece.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThere is amongst the Greeks Achilles, a better man than Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAchilles? A drayman, a porter, a very camel!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWell, well.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell, well! Why, have you any discretion? Have you any eyes? Do you\\r\\nknow what a man is? Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse,\\r\\nmanhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality, and such\\r\\nlike, the spice and salt that season a man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAy, a minc’d man; and then to be bak’d with no date in the pie, for\\r\\nthen the man’s date is out.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou are such a woman! A man knows not at what ward you lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nUpon my back, to defend my belly; upon my wit, to defend my wiles; upon\\r\\nmy secrecy, to defend mine honesty; my mask, to defend my beauty; and\\r\\nyou, to defend all these; and at all these wards I lie, at a thousand\\r\\nwatches.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nSay one of your watches.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNay, I’ll watch you for that; and that’s one of the chiefest of them\\r\\ntoo. If I cannot ward what I would not have hit, I can watch you for\\r\\ntelling how I took the blow; unless it swell past hiding, and then it’s\\r\\npast watching.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou are such another!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus\\' Boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nSir, my lord would instantly speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhere?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nAt your own house; there he unarms him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nGood boy, tell him I come. [_Exit_ Boy.] I doubt he be hurt. Fare ye\\r\\nwell, good niece.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAdieu, uncle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI will be with you, niece, by and by.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nTo bring, uncle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, a token from Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Pandarus.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBy the same token, you are a bawd.\\r\\nWords, vows, gifts, tears, and love’s full sacrifice,\\r\\nHe offers in another’s enterprise;\\r\\nBut more in Troilus thousand-fold I see\\r\\nThan in the glass of Pandar’s praise may be,\\r\\nYet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing:\\r\\nThings won are done; joy’s soul lies in the doing.\\r\\nThat she belov’d knows naught that knows not this:\\r\\nMen prize the thing ungain’d more than it is.\\r\\nThat she was never yet that ever knew\\r\\nLove got so sweet as when desire did sue;\\r\\nTherefore this maxim out of love I teach:\\r\\n‘Achievement is command; ungain’d, beseech.’\\r\\nThen though my heart’s content firm love doth bear,\\r\\nNothing of that shall from mine eyes appear.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The Grecian camp. Before AGAMEMNON’S tent.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sennet. Enter Agamemnon, Nestor, Ulysses, Diomedes, Menelaus and\\r\\n others.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nPrinces,\\r\\nWhat grief hath set these jaundies o’er your cheeks?\\r\\nThe ample proposition that hope makes\\r\\nIn all designs begun on earth below\\r\\nFails in the promis’d largeness; checks and disasters\\r\\nGrow in the veins of actions highest rear’d,\\r\\nAs knots, by the conflux of meeting sap,\\r\\nInfects the sound pine, and diverts his grain\\r\\nTortive and errant from his course of growth.\\r\\nNor, princes, is it matter new to us\\r\\nThat we come short of our suppose so far\\r\\nThat after seven years’ siege yet Troy walls stand;\\r\\nSith every action that hath gone before,\\r\\nWhereof we have record, trial did draw\\r\\nBias and thwart, not answering the aim,\\r\\nAnd that unbodied figure of the thought\\r\\nThat gave’t surmised shape. Why then, you princes,\\r\\nDo you with cheeks abash’d behold our works\\r\\nAnd call them shames, which are, indeed, naught else\\r\\nBut the protractive trials of great Jove\\r\\nTo find persistive constancy in men;\\r\\nThe fineness of which metal is not found\\r\\nIn fortune’s love? For then the bold and coward,\\r\\nThe wise and fool, the artist and unread,\\r\\nThe hard and soft, seem all affin’d and kin.\\r\\nBut in the wind and tempest of her frown\\r\\nDistinction, with a broad and powerful fan,\\r\\nPuffing at all, winnows the light away;\\r\\nAnd what hath mass or matter by itself\\r\\nLies rich in virtue and unmingled.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWith due observance of thy godlike seat,\\r\\nGreat Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply\\r\\nThy latest words. In the reproof of chance\\r\\nLies the true proof of men. The sea being smooth,\\r\\nHow many shallow bauble boats dare sail\\r\\nUpon her patient breast, making their way\\r\\nWith those of nobler bulk!\\r\\nBut let the ruffian Boreas once enrage\\r\\nThe gentle Thetis, and anon behold\\r\\nThe strong-ribb’d bark through liquid mountains cut,\\r\\nBounding between the two moist elements\\r\\nLike Perseus’ horse. Where’s then the saucy boat,\\r\\nWhose weak untimber’d sides but even now\\r\\nCo-rivall’d greatness? Either to harbour fled\\r\\nOr made a toast for Neptune. Even so\\r\\nDoth valour’s show and valour’s worth divide\\r\\nIn storms of fortune; for in her ray and brightness\\r\\nThe herd hath more annoyance by the breeze\\r\\nThan by the tiger; but when the splitting wind\\r\\nMakes flexible the knees of knotted oaks,\\r\\nAnd flies fled under shade—why, then the thing of courage,\\r\\nAs rous’d with rage, with rage doth sympathise,\\r\\nAnd with an accent tun’d in self-same key\\r\\nRetorts to chiding fortune.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAgamemnon,\\r\\nThou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece,\\r\\nHeart of our numbers, soul and only spirit\\r\\nIn whom the tempers and the minds of all\\r\\nShould be shut up—hear what Ulysses speaks.\\r\\nBesides th’applause and approbation\\r\\nThe which, [_To Agamemnon_] most mighty, for thy place and sway,\\r\\n[_To Nestor_] And, thou most reverend, for thy stretch’d-out life,\\r\\nI give to both your speeches—which were such\\r\\nAs Agamemnon and the hand of Greece\\r\\nShould hold up high in brass; and such again\\r\\nAs venerable Nestor, hatch’d in silver,\\r\\nShould with a bond of air, strong as the axle-tree\\r\\nOn which heaven rides, knit all the Greekish ears\\r\\nTo his experienc’d tongue—yet let it please both,\\r\\nThou great, and wise, to hear Ulysses speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nSpeak, Prince of Ithaca; and be’t of less expect\\r\\nThat matter needless, of importless burden,\\r\\nDivide thy lips than we are confident,\\r\\nWhen rank Thersites opes his mastic jaws,\\r\\nWe shall hear music, wit, and oracle.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nTroy, yet upon his basis, had been down,\\r\\nAnd the great Hector’s sword had lack’d a master,\\r\\nBut for these instances:\\r\\nThe specialty of rule hath been neglected;\\r\\nAnd look how many Grecian tents do stand\\r\\nHollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions.\\r\\nWhen that the general is not like the hive,\\r\\nTo whom the foragers shall all repair,\\r\\nWhat honey is expected? Degree being vizarded,\\r\\nTh’unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask.\\r\\nThe heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre,\\r\\nObserve degree, priority, and place,\\r\\nInsisture, course, proportion, season, form,\\r\\nOffice, and custom, in all line of order;\\r\\nAnd therefore is the glorious planet Sol\\r\\nIn noble eminence enthron’d and spher’d\\r\\nAmidst the other, whose med’cinable eye\\r\\nCorrects the influence of evil planets,\\r\\nAnd posts, like the commandment of a king,\\r\\nSans check, to good and bad. But when the planets\\r\\nIn evil mixture to disorder wander,\\r\\nWhat plagues and what portents, what mutiny,\\r\\nWhat raging of the sea, shaking of earth,\\r\\nCommotion in the winds! Frights, changes, horrors,\\r\\nDivert and crack, rend and deracinate,\\r\\nThe unity and married calm of states\\r\\nQuite from their fixture! O, when degree is shak’d,\\r\\nWhich is the ladder of all high designs,\\r\\nThe enterprise is sick! How could communities,\\r\\nDegrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities,\\r\\nPeaceful commerce from dividable shores,\\r\\nThe primogenity and due of birth,\\r\\nPrerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels,\\r\\nBut by degree stand in authentic place?\\r\\nTake but degree away, untune that string,\\r\\nAnd hark what discord follows! Each thing melts\\r\\nIn mere oppugnancy: the bounded waters\\r\\nShould lift their bosoms higher than the shores,\\r\\nAnd make a sop of all this solid globe;\\r\\nStrength should be lord of imbecility,\\r\\nAnd the rude son should strike his father dead;\\r\\nForce should be right; or, rather, right and wrong—\\r\\nBetween whose endless jar justice resides—\\r\\nShould lose their names, and so should justice too.\\r\\nThen everything includes itself in power,\\r\\nPower into will, will into appetite;\\r\\nAnd appetite, an universal wolf,\\r\\nSo doubly seconded with will and power,\\r\\nMust make perforce an universal prey,\\r\\nAnd last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon,\\r\\nThis chaos, when degree is suffocate,\\r\\nFollows the choking.\\r\\nAnd this neglection of degree it is\\r\\nThat by a pace goes backward, with a purpose\\r\\nIt hath to climb. The general’s disdain’d\\r\\nBy him one step below, he by the next,\\r\\nThat next by him beneath; so every step,\\r\\nExampl’d by the first pace that is sick\\r\\nOf his superior, grows to an envious fever\\r\\nOf pale and bloodless emulation.\\r\\nAnd ’tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot,\\r\\nNot her own sinews. To end a tale of length,\\r\\nTroy in our weakness stands, not in her strength.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nMost wisely hath Ulysses here discover’d\\r\\nThe fever whereof all our power is sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nThe nature of the sickness found, Ulysses,\\r\\nWhat is the remedy?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThe great Achilles, whom opinion crowns\\r\\nThe sinew and the forehand of our host,\\r\\nHaving his ear full of his airy fame,\\r\\nGrows dainty of his worth, and in his tent\\r\\nLies mocking our designs; with him Patroclus\\r\\nUpon a lazy bed the livelong day\\r\\nBreaks scurril jests;\\r\\nAnd with ridiculous and awkward action—\\r\\nWhich, slanderer, he imitation calls—\\r\\nHe pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon,\\r\\nThy topless deputation he puts on;\\r\\nAnd like a strutting player whose conceit\\r\\nLies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich\\r\\nTo hear the wooden dialogue and sound\\r\\n’Twixt his stretch’d footing and the scaffoldage—\\r\\nSuch to-be-pitied and o’er-wrested seeming\\r\\nHe acts thy greatness in; and when he speaks\\r\\n’Tis like a chime a-mending; with terms unsquar’d,\\r\\nWhich, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp’d,\\r\\nWould seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff\\r\\nThe large Achilles, on his press’d bed lolling,\\r\\nFrom his deep chest laughs out a loud applause;\\r\\nCries ‘Excellent! ’Tis Agamemnon right!\\r\\nNow play me Nestor; hem, and stroke thy beard,\\r\\nAs he being drest to some oration.’\\r\\nThat’s done—as near as the extremest ends\\r\\nOf parallels, as like as Vulcan and his wife;\\r\\nYet god Achilles still cries ‘Excellent!\\r\\n’Tis Nestor right. Now play him me, Patroclus,\\r\\nArming to answer in a night alarm.’\\r\\nAnd then, forsooth, the faint defects of age\\r\\nMust be the scene of mirth: to cough and spit\\r\\nAnd, with a palsy fumbling on his gorget,\\r\\nShake in and out the rivet. And at this sport\\r\\nSir Valour dies; cries ‘O, enough, Patroclus;\\r\\nOr give me ribs of steel! I shall split all\\r\\nIn pleasure of my spleen.’ And in this fashion\\r\\nAll our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes,\\r\\nSeverals and generals of grace exact,\\r\\nAchievements, plots, orders, preventions,\\r\\nExcitements to the field or speech for truce,\\r\\nSuccess or loss, what is or is not, serves\\r\\nAs stuff for these two to make paradoxes.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nAnd in the imitation of these twain—\\r\\nWho, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns\\r\\nWith an imperial voice—many are infect.\\r\\nAjax is grown self-will’d and bears his head\\r\\nIn such a rein, in full as proud a place\\r\\nAs broad Achilles; keeps his tent like him;\\r\\nMakes factious feasts; rails on our state of war\\r\\nBold as an oracle, and sets Thersites,\\r\\nA slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint,\\r\\nTo match us in comparisons with dirt,\\r\\nTo weaken and discredit our exposure,\\r\\nHow rank soever rounded in with danger.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThey tax our policy and call it cowardice,\\r\\nCount wisdom as no member of the war,\\r\\nForestall prescience, and esteem no act\\r\\nBut that of hand. The still and mental parts\\r\\nThat do contrive how many hands shall strike\\r\\nWhen fitness calls them on, and know, by measure\\r\\nOf their observant toil, the enemies’ weight—\\r\\nWhy, this hath not a finger’s dignity:\\r\\nThey call this bed-work, mapp’ry, closet-war;\\r\\nSo that the ram that batters down the wall,\\r\\nFor the great swinge and rudeness of his poise,\\r\\nThey place before his hand that made the engine,\\r\\nOr those that with the fineness of their souls\\r\\nBy reason guide his execution.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nLet this be granted, and Achilles’ horse\\r\\nMakes many Thetis’ sons.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Tucket_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat trumpet? Look, Menelaus.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nFrom Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat would you fore our tent?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nIs this great Agamemnon’s tent, I pray you?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nEven this.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nMay one that is a herald and a prince\\r\\nDo a fair message to his kingly eyes?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWith surety stronger than Achilles’ arm\\r\\nFore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice\\r\\nCall Agamemnon head and general.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nFair leave and large security. How may\\r\\nA stranger to those most imperial looks\\r\\nKnow them from eyes of other mortals?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHow?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nAy;\\r\\nI ask, that I might waken reverence,\\r\\nAnd bid the cheek be ready with a blush\\r\\nModest as morning when she coldly eyes\\r\\nThe youthful Phoebus.\\r\\nWhich is that god in office, guiding men?\\r\\nWhich is the high and mighty Agamemnon?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nThis Trojan scorns us, or the men of Troy\\r\\nAre ceremonious courtiers.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nCourtiers as free, as debonair, unarm’d,\\r\\nAs bending angels; that’s their fame in peace.\\r\\nBut when they would seem soldiers, they have galls,\\r\\nGood arms, strong joints, true swords; and, Jove’s accord,\\r\\nNothing so full of heart. But peace, Aeneas,\\r\\nPeace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips.\\r\\nThe worthiness of praise distains his worth,\\r\\nIf that the prais’d himself bring the praise forth;\\r\\nBut what the repining enemy commends,\\r\\nThat breath fame blows; that praise, sole pure, transcends.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nSir, you of Troy, call you yourself Aeneas?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nAy, Greek, that is my name.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat’s your affairs, I pray you?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nSir, pardon; ’tis for Agamemnon’s ears.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON\\r\\nHe hears naught privately that comes from Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nNor I from Troy come not to whisper with him;\\r\\nI bring a trumpet to awake his ear,\\r\\nTo set his sense on the attentive bent,\\r\\nAnd then to speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nSpeak frankly as the wind;\\r\\nIt is not Agamemnon’s sleeping hour.\\r\\nThat thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake,\\r\\nHe tells thee so himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nTrumpet, blow loud,\\r\\nSend thy brass voice through all these lazy tents;\\r\\nAnd every Greek of mettle, let him know\\r\\nWhat Troy means fairly shall be spoke aloud.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sound trumpet_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nWe have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy\\r\\nA prince called Hector—Priam is his father—\\r\\nWho in this dull and long-continued truce\\r\\nIs resty grown; he bade me take a trumpet\\r\\nAnd to this purpose speak: Kings, princes, lords!\\r\\nIf there be one among the fair’st of Greece\\r\\nThat holds his honour higher than his ease,\\r\\nThat feeds his praise more than he fears his peril,\\r\\nThat knows his valour and knows not his fear,\\r\\nThat loves his mistress more than in confession\\r\\nWith truant vows to her own lips he loves,\\r\\nAnd dare avow her beauty and her worth\\r\\nIn other arms than hers—to him this challenge.\\r\\nHector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks,\\r\\nShall make it good or do his best to do it:\\r\\nHe hath a lady wiser, fairer, truer,\\r\\nThan ever Greek did couple in his arms;\\r\\nAnd will tomorrow with his trumpet call\\r\\nMid-way between your tents and walls of Troy\\r\\nTo rouse a Grecian that is true in love.\\r\\nIf any come, Hector shall honour him;\\r\\nIf none, he’ll say in Troy, when he retires,\\r\\nThe Grecian dames are sunburnt and not worth\\r\\nThe splinter of a lance. Even so much.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nThis shall be told our lovers, Lord Aeneas.\\r\\nIf none of them have soul in such a kind,\\r\\nWe left them all at home. But we are soldiers;\\r\\nAnd may that soldier a mere recreant prove\\r\\nThat means not, hath not, or is not in love.\\r\\nIf then one is, or hath, or means to be,\\r\\nThat one meets Hector; if none else, I am he.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nTell him of Nestor, one that was a man\\r\\nWhen Hector’s grandsire suck’d. He is old now;\\r\\nBut if there be not in our Grecian host\\r\\nA noble man that hath one spark of fire\\r\\nTo answer for his love, tell him from me\\r\\nI’ll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver,\\r\\nAnd in my vambrace put this wither’d brawns,\\r\\nAnd meeting him, will tell him that my lady\\r\\nWas fairer than his grandam, and as chaste\\r\\nAs may be in the world. His youth in flood,\\r\\nI’ll prove this troth with my three drops of blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nNow heavens forfend such scarcity of youth!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nFair Lord Aeneas, let me touch your hand;\\r\\nTo our pavilion shall I lead you, sir.\\r\\nAchilles shall have word of this intent;\\r\\nSo shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent.\\r\\nYourself shall feast with us before you go,\\r\\nAnd find the welcome of a noble foe.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Ulysses and Nestor_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNestor!\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWhat says Ulysses?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI have a young conception in my brain;\\r\\nBe you my time to bring it to some shape.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWhat is’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThis ’tis:\\r\\nBlunt wedges rive hard knots. The seeded pride\\r\\nThat hath to this maturity blown up\\r\\nIn rank Achilles must or now be cropp’d\\r\\nOr, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil\\r\\nTo overbulk us all.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWell, and how?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThis challenge that the gallant Hector sends,\\r\\nHowever it is spread in general name,\\r\\nRelates in purpose only to Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nTrue. The purpose is perspicuous even as substance\\r\\nWhose grossness little characters sum up;\\r\\nAnd, in the publication, make no strain\\r\\nBut that Achilles, were his brain as barren\\r\\nAs banks of Libya—though, Apollo knows,\\r\\n’Tis dry enough—will with great speed of judgement,\\r\\nAy, with celerity, find Hector’s purpose\\r\\nPointing on him.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAnd wake him to the answer, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWhy, ’tis most meet. Who may you else oppose\\r\\nThat can from Hector bring those honours off,\\r\\nIf not Achilles? Though ’t be a sportful combat,\\r\\nYet in this trial much opinion dwells\\r\\nFor here the Trojans taste our dear’st repute\\r\\nWith their fin’st palate; and trust to me, Ulysses,\\r\\nOur imputation shall be oddly pois’d\\r\\nIn this vile action; for the success,\\r\\nAlthough particular, shall give a scantling\\r\\nOf good or bad unto the general;\\r\\nAnd in such indexes, although small pricks\\r\\nTo their subsequent volumes, there is seen\\r\\nThe baby figure of the giant mass\\r\\nOf things to come at large. It is suppos’d\\r\\nHe that meets Hector issues from our choice;\\r\\nAnd choice, being mutual act of all our souls,\\r\\nMakes merit her election, and doth boil,\\r\\nAs ’twere from forth us all, a man distill’d\\r\\nOut of our virtues; who miscarrying,\\r\\nWhat heart receives from hence a conquering part,\\r\\nTo steel a strong opinion to themselves?\\r\\nWhich entertain’d, limbs are his instruments,\\r\\nIn no less working than are swords and bows\\r\\nDirective by the limbs.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nGive pardon to my speech. Therefore ’tis meet\\r\\nAchilles meet not Hector. Let us, like merchants,\\r\\nFirst show foul wares, and think perchance they’ll sell;\\r\\nIf not, the lustre of the better shall exceed\\r\\nBy showing the worse first. Do not consent\\r\\nThat ever Hector and Achilles meet;\\r\\nFor both our honour and our shame in this\\r\\nAre dogg’d with two strange followers.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nI see them not with my old eyes. What are they?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWhat glory our Achilles shares from Hector,\\r\\nWere he not proud, we all should share with him;\\r\\nBut he already is too insolent;\\r\\nAnd it were better parch in Afric sun\\r\\nThan in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,\\r\\nShould he scape Hector fair. If he were foil’d,\\r\\nWhy, then we do our main opinion crush\\r\\nIn taint of our best man. No, make a lott’ry;\\r\\nAnd, by device, let blockish Ajax draw\\r\\nThe sort to fight with Hector. Among ourselves\\r\\nGive him allowance for the better man;\\r\\nFor that will physic the great Myrmidon,\\r\\nWho broils in loud applause, and make him fall\\r\\nHis crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends.\\r\\nIf the dull brainless Ajax come safe off,\\r\\nWe’ll dress him up in voices; if he fail,\\r\\nYet go we under our opinion still\\r\\nThat we have better men. But, hit or miss,\\r\\nOur project’s life this shape of sense assumes—\\r\\nAjax employ’d plucks down Achilles’ plumes.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nNow, Ulysses, I begin to relish thy advice;\\r\\nAnd I will give a taste thereof forthwith\\r\\nTo Agamemnon. Go we to him straight.\\r\\nTwo curs shall tame each other: pride alone\\r\\nMust tarre the mastiffs on, as ’twere their bone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Grecian camp.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ajax and Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThersites!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAgamemnon—how if he had boils, full, all over, generally?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThersites!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAnd those boils did run—say so. Did not the general run then? Were not\\r\\nthat a botchy core?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nDog!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThen there would come some matter from him;\\r\\nI see none now.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThou bitch-wolf’s son, canst thou not hear? Feel, then.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Strikes him_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThe plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nSpeak, then, thou unsalted leaven, speak. I will beat thee into\\r\\nhandsomeness.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness; but I think thy horse\\r\\nwill sooner con an oration than thou learn a prayer without book. Thou\\r\\ncanst strike, canst thou? A red murrain o’ thy jade’s tricks!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nToadstool, learn me the proclamation.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nDost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest me thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThe proclamation!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThou art proclaim’d fool, I think.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nDo not, porpentine, do not; my fingers itch.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI would thou didst itch from head to foot and I had the scratching of\\r\\nthee; I would make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art\\r\\nforth in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI say, the proclamation.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles; and thou art as full\\r\\nof envy at his greatness as Cerberus is at Proserpina’s beauty—ay, that\\r\\nthou bark’st at him.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nMistress Thersites!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThou shouldst strike him.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nCobloaf!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHe would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a sailor breaks a\\r\\nbiscuit.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nYou whoreson cur!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Strikes him_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nDo, do.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThou stool for a witch!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAy, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! Thou hast no more brain than I\\r\\nhave in mine elbows; an asinico may tutor thee. You scurvy valiant ass!\\r\\nThou art here but to thrash Trojans, and thou art bought and sold among\\r\\nthose of any wit like a barbarian slave. If thou use to beat me, I will\\r\\nbegin at thy heel and tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of no\\r\\nbowels, thou!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nYou dog!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nYou scurvy lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nYou cur!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Strikes him_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nMars his idiot! Do, rudeness; do, camel; do, do.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles and Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhy, how now, Ajax! Wherefore do ye thus?\\r\\nHow now, Thersites! What’s the matter, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nYou see him there, do you?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nAy; what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNay, look upon him.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nSo I do. What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNay, but regard him well.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWell! why, so I do.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nBut yet you look not well upon him; for whosomever you take him to be,\\r\\nhe is Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI know that, fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAy, but that fool knows not himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nTherefore I beat thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nLo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! His evasions have ears\\r\\nthus long. I have bobb’d his brain more than he has beat my bones. I\\r\\nwill buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia mater is not worth the\\r\\nninth part of a sparrow. This lord, Achilles—Ajax, who wears his wit in\\r\\nhis belly and his guts in his head—I’ll tell you what I say of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI say this Ajax—\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Ajax offers to strike him_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nNay, good Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHas not so much wit—\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nNay, I must hold you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAs will stop the eye of Helen’s needle, for whom he comes to fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nPeace, fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI would have peace and quietness, but the fool will not— he there; that\\r\\nhe; look you there.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nO thou damned cur! I shall—\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWill you set your wit to a fool’s?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNo, I warrant you, the fool’s will shame it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nGood words, Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat’s the quarrel?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI bade the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the proclamation, and he\\r\\nrails upon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI serve thee not.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWell, go to, go to.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI serve here voluntary.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nYour last service was suff’rance; ’twas not voluntary. No man is beaten\\r\\nvoluntary. Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nE’en so; a great deal of your wit too lies in your sinews, or else\\r\\nthere be liars. Hector shall have a great catch and knock out either of\\r\\nyour brains: a’ were as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat, with me too, Thersites?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThere’s Ulysses and old Nestor—whose wit was mouldy ere your grandsires\\r\\nhad nails on their toes—yoke you like draught oxen, and make you plough\\r\\nup the wars.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat, what?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nYes, good sooth. To Achilles, to Ajax, to—\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI shall cut out your tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\n’Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as thou afterwards.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nNo more words, Thersites; peace!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI will hold my peace when Achilles’ brach bids me, shall I?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nThere’s for you, Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI will see you hang’d like clotpoles ere I come any more to your tents.\\r\\nI will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of\\r\\nfools.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nA good riddance.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nMarry, this, sir, is proclaim’d through all our host,\\r\\nThat Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun,\\r\\nWill with a trumpet ’twixt our tents and Troy,\\r\\nTomorrow morning, call some knight to arms\\r\\nThat hath a stomach; and such a one that dare\\r\\nMaintain I know not what; ’tis trash. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nFarewell. Who shall answer him?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI know not; ’tis put to lott’ry, otherwise,\\r\\nHe knew his man.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nO, meaning you? I will go learn more of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Troy. PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris and Helenus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nAfter so many hours, lives, speeches spent,\\r\\nThus once again says Nestor from the Greeks:\\r\\n‘Deliver Helen, and all damage else—\\r\\nAs honour, loss of time, travail, expense,\\r\\nWounds, friends, and what else dear that is consum’d\\r\\nIn hot digestion of this cormorant war—\\r\\nShall be struck off.’ Hector, what say you to’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nThough no man lesser fears the Greeks than I,\\r\\nAs far as toucheth my particular,\\r\\nYet, dread Priam,\\r\\nThere is no lady of more softer bowels,\\r\\nMore spongy to suck in the sense of fear,\\r\\nMore ready to cry out ‘Who knows what follows?’\\r\\nThan Hector is. The wound of peace is surety,\\r\\nSurety secure; but modest doubt is call’d\\r\\nThe beacon of the wise, the tent that searches\\r\\nTo th’ bottom of the worst. Let Helen go.\\r\\nSince the first sword was drawn about this question,\\r\\nEvery tithe soul ’mongst many thousand dismes\\r\\nHath been as dear as Helen—I mean, of ours.\\r\\nIf we have lost so many tenths of ours\\r\\nTo guard a thing not ours, nor worth to us,\\r\\nHad it our name, the value of one ten,\\r\\nWhat merit’s in that reason which denies\\r\\nThe yielding of her up?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFie, fie, my brother!\\r\\nWeigh you the worth and honour of a king,\\r\\nSo great as our dread father’s, in a scale\\r\\nOf common ounces? Will you with counters sum\\r\\nThe past-proportion of his infinite,\\r\\nAnd buckle in a waist most fathomless\\r\\nWith spans and inches so diminutive\\r\\nAs fears and reasons? Fie, for godly shame!\\r\\n\\r\\nHELENUS.\\r\\nNo marvel though you bite so sharp of reasons,\\r\\nYou are so empty of them. Should not our father\\r\\nBear the great sway of his affairs with reason,\\r\\nBecause your speech hath none that tells him so?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYou are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest;\\r\\nYou fur your gloves with reason. Here are your reasons:\\r\\nYou know an enemy intends you harm;\\r\\nYou know a sword employ’d is perilous,\\r\\nAnd reason flies the object of all harm.\\r\\nWho marvels, then, when Helenus beholds\\r\\nA Grecian and his sword, if he do set\\r\\nThe very wings of reason to his heels\\r\\nAnd fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,\\r\\nOr like a star disorb’d? Nay, if we talk of reason,\\r\\nLet’s shut our gates and sleep. Manhood and honour\\r\\nShould have hare hearts, would they but fat their thoughts\\r\\nWith this cramm’d reason. Reason and respect\\r\\nMake livers pale and lustihood deject.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nBrother, she is not worth what she doth cost the keeping.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat’s aught but as ’tis valued?\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nBut value dwells not in particular will:\\r\\nIt holds his estimate and dignity\\r\\nAs well wherein ’tis precious of itself\\r\\nAs in the prizer. ’Tis mad idolatry\\r\\nTo make the service greater than the god,\\r\\nAnd the will dotes that is attributive\\r\\nTo what infectiously itself affects,\\r\\nWithout some image of th’affected merit.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI take today a wife, and my election\\r\\nIs led on in the conduct of my will;\\r\\nMy will enkindled by mine eyes and ears,\\r\\nTwo traded pilots ’twixt the dangerous shores\\r\\nOf will and judgement: how may I avoid,\\r\\nAlthough my will distaste what it elected,\\r\\nThe wife I chose? There can be no evasion\\r\\nTo blench from this and to stand firm by honour.\\r\\nWe turn not back the silks upon the merchant\\r\\nWhen we have soil’d them; nor the remainder viands\\r\\nWe do not throw in unrespective sieve,\\r\\nBecause we now are full. It was thought meet\\r\\nParis should do some vengeance on the Greeks;\\r\\nYour breath with full consent bellied his sails;\\r\\nThe seas and winds, old wranglers, took a truce,\\r\\nAnd did him service. He touch’d the ports desir’d;\\r\\nAnd for an old aunt whom the Greeks held captive\\r\\nHe brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and freshness\\r\\nWrinkles Apollo’s, and makes stale the morning.\\r\\nWhy keep we her? The Grecians keep our aunt.\\r\\nIs she worth keeping? Why, she is a pearl\\r\\nWhose price hath launch’d above a thousand ships,\\r\\nAnd turn’d crown’d kings to merchants.\\r\\nIf you’ll avouch ’twas wisdom Paris went—\\r\\nAs you must needs, for you all cried ‘Go, go’—\\r\\nIf you’ll confess he brought home worthy prize—\\r\\nAs you must needs, for you all clapp’d your hands,\\r\\nAnd cried ‘Inestimable!’—why do you now\\r\\nThe issue of your proper wisdoms rate,\\r\\nAnd do a deed that never Fortune did—\\r\\nBeggar the estimation which you priz’d\\r\\nRicher than sea and land? O theft most base,\\r\\nThat we have stol’n what we do fear to keep!\\r\\nBut thieves unworthy of a thing so stol’n\\r\\nThat in their country did them that disgrace\\r\\nWe fear to warrant in our native place!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Cry, Trojans, cry.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nWhat noise, what shriek is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\n’Tis our mad sister; I do know her voice.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Cry, Trojans.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nIt is Cassandra.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassandra, raving.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nCry, Trojans, cry. Lend me ten thousand eyes,\\r\\nAnd I will fill them with prophetic tears.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nPeace, sister, peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nVirgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled eld,\\r\\nSoft infancy, that nothing canst but cry,\\r\\nAdd to my clamours. Let us pay betimes\\r\\nA moiety of that mass of moan to come.\\r\\nCry, Trojans, cry. Practise your eyes with tears.\\r\\nTroy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand;\\r\\nOur firebrand brother, Paris, burns us all.\\r\\nCry, Trojans, cry, A Helen and a woe!\\r\\nCry, cry. Troy burns, or else let Helen go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nNow, youthful Troilus, do not these high strains\\r\\nOf divination in our sister work\\r\\nSome touches of remorse? Or is your blood\\r\\nSo madly hot, that no discourse of reason,\\r\\nNor fear of bad success in a bad cause,\\r\\nCan qualify the same?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhy, brother Hector,\\r\\nWe may not think the justness of each act\\r\\nSuch and no other than event doth form it;\\r\\nNor once deject the courage of our minds\\r\\nBecause Cassandra’s mad. Her brain-sick raptures\\r\\nCannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel\\r\\nWhich hath our several honours all engag’d\\r\\nTo make it gracious. For my private part,\\r\\nI am no more touch’d than all Priam’s sons;\\r\\nAnd Jove forbid there should be done amongst us\\r\\nSuch things as might offend the weakest spleen\\r\\nTo fight for and maintain.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nElse might the world convince of levity\\r\\nAs well my undertakings as your counsels;\\r\\nBut I attest the gods, your full consent\\r\\nGave wings to my propension, and cut off\\r\\nAll fears attending on so dire a project.\\r\\nFor what, alas, can these my single arms?\\r\\nWhat propugnation is in one man’s valour\\r\\nTo stand the push and enmity of those\\r\\nThis quarrel would excite? Yet I protest,\\r\\nWere I alone to pass the difficulties,\\r\\nAnd had as ample power as I have will,\\r\\nParis should ne’er retract what he hath done,\\r\\nNor faint in the pursuit.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nParis, you speak\\r\\nLike one besotted on your sweet delights.\\r\\nYou have the honey still, but these the gall;\\r\\nSo to be valiant is no praise at all.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nSir, I propose not merely to myself\\r\\nThe pleasures such a beauty brings with it;\\r\\nBut I would have the soil of her fair rape\\r\\nWip’d off in honourable keeping her.\\r\\nWhat treason were it to the ransack’d queen,\\r\\nDisgrace to your great worths, and shame to me,\\r\\nNow to deliver her possession up\\r\\nOn terms of base compulsion! Can it be,\\r\\nThat so degenerate a strain as this\\r\\nShould once set footing in your generous bosoms?\\r\\nThere’s not the meanest spirit on our party\\r\\nWithout a heart to dare or sword to draw\\r\\nWhen Helen is defended; nor none so noble\\r\\nWhose life were ill bestow’d or death unfam’d,\\r\\nWhere Helen is the subject. Then, I say,\\r\\nWell may we fight for her whom we know well\\r\\nThe world’s large spaces cannot parallel.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nParis and Troilus, you have both said well;\\r\\nAnd on the cause and question now in hand\\r\\nHave gloz’d, but superficially; not much\\r\\nUnlike young men, whom Aristotle thought\\r\\nUnfit to hear moral philosophy.\\r\\nThe reasons you allege do more conduce\\r\\nTo the hot passion of distemp’red blood\\r\\nThan to make up a free determination\\r\\n’Twixt right and wrong; for pleasure and revenge\\r\\nHave ears more deaf than adders to the voice\\r\\nOf any true decision. Nature craves\\r\\nAll dues be rend’red to their owners. Now,\\r\\nWhat nearer debt in all humanity\\r\\nThan wife is to the husband? If this law\\r\\nOf nature be corrupted through affection;\\r\\nAnd that great minds, of partial indulgence\\r\\nTo their benumbed wills, resist the same;\\r\\nThere is a law in each well-order’d nation\\r\\nTo curb those raging appetites that are\\r\\nMost disobedient and refractory.\\r\\nIf Helen, then, be wife to Sparta’s king—\\r\\nAs it is known she is—these moral laws\\r\\nOf nature and of nations speak aloud\\r\\nTo have her back return’d. Thus to persist\\r\\nIn doing wrong extenuates not wrong,\\r\\nBut makes it much more heavy. Hector’s opinion\\r\\nIs this, in way of truth. Yet, ne’ertheless,\\r\\nMy spritely brethren, I propend to you\\r\\nIn resolution to keep Helen still;\\r\\nFor ’tis a cause that hath no mean dependence\\r\\nUpon our joint and several dignities.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhy, there you touch’d the life of our design.\\r\\nWere it not glory that we more affected\\r\\nThan the performance of our heaving spleens,\\r\\nI would not wish a drop of Trojan blood\\r\\nSpent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector,\\r\\nShe is a theme of honour and renown,\\r\\nA spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds,\\r\\nWhose present courage may beat down our foes,\\r\\nAnd fame in time to come canonize us;\\r\\nFor I presume brave Hector would not lose\\r\\nSo rich advantage of a promis’d glory\\r\\nAs smiles upon the forehead of this action\\r\\nFor the wide world’s revenue.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI am yours,\\r\\nYou valiant offspring of great Priamus.\\r\\nI have a roisting challenge sent amongst\\r\\nThe dull and factious nobles of the Greeks\\r\\nWill strike amazement to their drowsy spirits.\\r\\nI was advertis’d their great general slept,\\r\\nWhilst emulation in the army crept.\\r\\nThis, I presume, will wake him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thersites, solus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHow now, Thersites! What, lost in the labyrinth of thy fury? Shall the\\r\\nelephant Ajax carry it thus? He beats me, and I rail at him. O worthy\\r\\nsatisfaction! Would it were otherwise: that I could beat him, whilst he\\r\\nrail’d at me! ‘Sfoot, I’ll learn to conjure and raise devils, but I’ll\\r\\nsee some issue of my spiteful execrations. Then there’s Achilles, a\\r\\nrare engineer! If Troy be not taken till these two undermine it, the\\r\\nwalls will stand till they fall of themselves. O thou great\\r\\nthunder-darter of Olympus, forget that thou art Jove, the king of gods,\\r\\nand, Mercury, lose all the serpentine craft of thy caduceus, if ye take\\r\\nnot that little little less than little wit from them that they have!\\r\\nwhich short-arm’d ignorance itself knows is so abundant scarce, it will\\r\\nnot in circumvention deliver a fly from a spider without drawing their\\r\\nmassy irons and cutting the web. After this, the vengeance on the whole\\r\\ncamp! or, rather, the Neapolitan bone-ache! for that, methinks, is the\\r\\ncurse depending on those that war for a placket. I have said my\\r\\nprayers; and devil Envy say ‘Amen.’ What ho! my Lord Achilles!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWho’s there? Thersites! Good Thersites, come in and rail.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nIf I could a’ rememb’red a gilt counterfeit, thou wouldst not have\\r\\nslipp’d out of my contemplation; but it is no matter; thyself upon\\r\\nthyself! The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in\\r\\ngreat revenue! Heaven bless thee from a tutor, and discipline come not\\r\\nnear thee! Let thy blood be thy direction till thy death. Then if she\\r\\nthat lays thee out says thou art a fair corse, I’ll be sworn and sworn\\r\\nupon’t she never shrouded any but lazars. Amen. Where’s Achilles?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWhat, art thou devout? Wast thou in prayer?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAy, the heavens hear me!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWho’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nThersites, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhere, where? O, where? Art thou come? Why, my cheese, my digestion,\\r\\nwhy hast thou not served thyself in to my table so many meals? Come,\\r\\nwhat’s Agamemnon?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThy commander, Achilles. Then tell me, Patroclus, what’s Achilles?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nThy lord, Thersites. Then tell me, I pray thee, what’s Thersites?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThy knower, Patroclus. Then tell me, Patroclus, what art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nThou must tell that knowest.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nO, tell, tell,\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI’ll decline the whole question. Agamemnon commands Achilles; Achilles\\r\\nis my lord; I am Patroclus’ knower; and Patroclus is a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nYou rascal!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nPeace, fool! I have not done.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nHe is a privileg’d man. Proceed, Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAgamemnon is a fool; Achilles is a fool; Thersites is a fool; and, as\\r\\naforesaid, Patroclus is a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nDerive this; come.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAgamemnon is a fool to offer to command Achilles; Achilles is a fool to\\r\\nbe commanded of Agamemnon; Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool;\\r\\nand this Patroclus is a fool positive.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWhy am I a fool?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nMake that demand of the Creator. It suffices me thou art. Look you, who\\r\\ncomes here?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Diomedes, Ajax and Calchas.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nCome, Patroclus, I’ll speak with nobody. Come in with me, Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHere is such patchery, such juggling, and such knavery. All the\\r\\nargument is a whore and a cuckold—a good quarrel to draw emulous\\r\\nfactions and bleed to death upon. Now the dry serpigo on the subject,\\r\\nand war and lechery confound all!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhere is Achilles?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWithin his tent; but ill-dispos’d, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nLet it be known to him that we are here.\\r\\nHe sate our messengers; and we lay by\\r\\nOur appertainings, visiting of him.\\r\\nLet him be told so; lest, perchance, he think\\r\\nWe dare not move the question of our place\\r\\nOr know not what we are.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nI shall say so to him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWe saw him at the opening of his tent.\\r\\nHe is not sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nYes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart. You may call it melancholy, if you\\r\\nwill favour the man; but, by my head, ’tis pride. But why, why? Let him\\r\\nshow us a cause. A word, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Takes Agamemnon aside_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWhat moves Ajax thus to bay at him?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAchilles hath inveigled his fool from him.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWho, Thersites?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nHe.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nThen will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his argument.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNo; you see he is his argument that has his argument, Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nAll the better; their fraction is more our wish than their faction. But\\r\\nit was a strong composure a fool could disunite!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThe amity that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere comes Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nNo Achilles with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThe elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy; his legs are legs for\\r\\nnecessity, not for flexure.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nAchilles bids me say he is much sorry\\r\\nIf any thing more than your sport and pleasure\\r\\nDid move your greatness and this noble state\\r\\nTo call upon him; he hopes it is no other\\r\\nBut for your health and your digestion sake,\\r\\nAn after-dinner’s breath.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHear you, Patroclus.\\r\\nWe are too well acquainted with these answers;\\r\\nBut his evasion, wing’d thus swift with scorn,\\r\\nCannot outfly our apprehensions.\\r\\nMuch attribute he hath, and much the reason\\r\\nWhy we ascribe it to him. Yet all his virtues,\\r\\nNot virtuously on his own part beheld,\\r\\nDo in our eyes begin to lose their gloss;\\r\\nYea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish,\\r\\nAre like to rot untasted. Go and tell him\\r\\nWe come to speak with him; and you shall not sin\\r\\nIf you do say we think him over-proud\\r\\nAnd under-honest, in self-assumption greater\\r\\nThan in the note of judgement; and worthier than himself\\r\\nHere tend the savage strangeness he puts on,\\r\\nDisguise the holy strength of their command,\\r\\nAnd underwrite in an observing kind\\r\\nHis humorous predominance; yea, watch\\r\\nHis course and time, his ebbs and flows, as if\\r\\nThe passage and whole stream of this commencement\\r\\nRode on his tide. Go tell him this, and add\\r\\nThat if he overhold his price so much\\r\\nWe’ll none of him, but let him, like an engine\\r\\nNot portable, lie under this report:\\r\\nBring action hither; this cannot go to war.\\r\\nA stirring dwarf we do allowance give\\r\\nBefore a sleeping giant. Tell him so.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nI shall, and bring his answer presently.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nIn second voice we’ll not be satisfied;\\r\\nWe come to speak with him. Ulysses, enter you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Ulysses.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWhat is he more than another?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nNo more than what he thinks he is.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nIs he so much? Do you not think he thinks himself a better man than I\\r\\nam?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nNo question.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWill you subscribe his thought and say he is?\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nNo, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as valiant, as wise, no less noble,\\r\\nmuch more gentle, and altogether more tractable.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWhy should a man be proud? How doth pride grow? I know not what pride\\r\\nis.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nYour mind is the clearer, Ajax, and your virtues the fairer. He that is\\r\\nproud eats up himself. Pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own\\r\\nchronicle; and whatever praises itself but in the deed devours the deed\\r\\nin the praise.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Ulysses.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI do hate a proud man as I do hate the engend’ring of toads.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\n[_Aside._] And yet he loves himself: is’t not strange?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAchilles will not to the field tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat’s his excuse?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nHe doth rely on none;\\r\\nBut carries on the stream of his dispose,\\r\\nWithout observance or respect of any,\\r\\nIn will peculiar and in self-admission.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhy will he not, upon our fair request,\\r\\nUntent his person and share th’air with us?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThings small as nothing, for request’s sake only,\\r\\nHe makes important; possess’d he is with greatness,\\r\\nAnd speaks not to himself but with a pride\\r\\nThat quarrels at self-breath. Imagin’d worth\\r\\nHolds in his blood such swol’n and hot discourse\\r\\nThat ’twixt his mental and his active parts\\r\\nKingdom’d Achilles in commotion rages,\\r\\nAnd batters down himself. What should I say?\\r\\nHe is so plaguy proud that the death tokens of it\\r\\nCry ‘No recovery.’\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nLet Ajax go to him.\\r\\nDear lord, go you and greet him in his tent.\\r\\n’Tis said he holds you well; and will be led\\r\\nAt your request a little from himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nO Agamemnon, let it not be so!\\r\\nWe’ll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes\\r\\nWhen they go from Achilles. Shall the proud lord\\r\\nThat bastes his arrogance with his own seam\\r\\nAnd never suffers matter of the world\\r\\nEnter his thoughts, save such as doth revolve\\r\\nAnd ruminate himself—shall he be worshipp’d\\r\\nOf that we hold an idol more than he?\\r\\nNo, this thrice worthy and right valiant lord\\r\\nShall not so stale his palm, nobly acquir’d,\\r\\nNor, by my will, assubjugate his merit,\\r\\nAs amply titled as Achilles is,\\r\\nBy going to Achilles.\\r\\nThat were to enlard his fat-already pride,\\r\\nAnd add more coals to Cancer when he burns\\r\\nWith entertaining great Hyperion.\\r\\nThis lord go to him! Jupiter forbid,\\r\\nAnd say in thunder ‘Achilles go to him.’\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] O, this is well! He rubs the vein of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] And how his silence drinks up this applause!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nIf I go to him, with my armed fist I’ll pash him o’er the face.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nO, no, you shall not go.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nAn a’ be proud with me I’ll pheeze his pride.\\r\\nLet me go to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNot for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nA paltry, insolent fellow!\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] How he describes himself!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nCan he not be sociable?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] The raven chides blackness.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI’ll let his humours blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] He will be the physician that should be the patient.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nAnd all men were o’ my mind—\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] Wit would be out of fashion.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nA’ should not bear it so, a’ should eat’s words first.\\r\\nShall pride carry it?\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] And ’twould, you’d carry half.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] A’ would have ten shares.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI will knead him, I’ll make him supple.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\n[_Aside_.] He’s not yet through warm. Force him with praises; pour in,\\r\\npour in; his ambition is dry.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n[_To Agamemnon_.] My lord, you feed too much on this dislike.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nOur noble general, do not do so.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nYou must prepare to fight without Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWhy ’tis this naming of him does him harm.\\r\\nHere is a man—but ’tis before his face;\\r\\nI will be silent.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWherefore should you so?\\r\\nHe is not emulous, as Achilles is.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nKnow the whole world, he is as valiant.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nA whoreson dog, that shall palter with us thus!\\r\\nWould he were a Trojan!\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWhat a vice were it in Ajax now—\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nIf he were proud.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nOr covetous of praise.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAy, or surly borne.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nOr strange, or self-affected.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet composure\\r\\nPraise him that gat thee, she that gave thee suck;\\r\\nFam’d be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature\\r\\nThrice fam’d beyond, beyond all erudition;\\r\\nBut he that disciplin’d thine arms to fight—\\r\\nLet Mars divide eternity in twain\\r\\nAnd give him half; and, for thy vigour,\\r\\nBull-bearing Milo his addition yield\\r\\nTo sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom,\\r\\nWhich, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines\\r\\nThy spacious and dilated parts. Here’s Nestor,\\r\\nInstructed by the antiquary times—\\r\\nHe must, he is, he cannot but be wise;\\r\\nBut pardon, father Nestor, were your days\\r\\nAs green as Ajax’ and your brain so temper’d,\\r\\nYou should not have the eminence of him,\\r\\nBut be as Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nShall I call you father?\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nAy, my good son.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nBe rul’d by him, Lord Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThere is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles\\r\\nKeeps thicket. Please it our great general\\r\\nTo call together all his state of war;\\r\\nFresh kings are come to Troy. Tomorrow\\r\\nWe must with all our main of power stand fast;\\r\\nAnd here’s a lord—come knights from east to west\\r\\nAnd cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nGo we to council. Let Achilles sleep.\\r\\nLight boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Troy. PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Music sounds within. Enter Pandarus and a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFriend, you—pray you, a word. Do you not follow the young Lord Paris?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nAy, sir, when he goes before me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou depend upon him, I mean?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nSir, I do depend upon the Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou depend upon a notable gentleman; I must needs praise him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThe Lord be praised!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou know me, do you not?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nFaith, sir, superficially.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFriend, know me better: I am the Lord Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI hope I shall know your honour better.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI do desire it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nYou are in the state of grace?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nGrace? Not so, friend; honour and lordship are my titles. What music is\\r\\nthis?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI do but partly know, sir; it is music in parts.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nKnow you the musicians?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nWholly, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWho play they to?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nTo the hearers, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAt whose pleasure, friend?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nAt mine, sir, and theirs that love music.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nCommand, I mean, friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nWho shall I command, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFriend, we understand not one another: I am too courtly, and thou art\\r\\ntoo cunning. At whose request do these men play?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThat’s to’t, indeed, sir. Marry, sir, at the request of Paris my lord,\\r\\nwho is there in person; with him the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of\\r\\nbeauty, love’s invisible soul—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWho, my cousin, Cressida?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nNo, sir, Helen. Could not you find out that by her attributes?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIt should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the Lady Cressida. I\\r\\ncome to speak with Paris from the Prince Troilus; I will make a\\r\\ncomplimental assault upon him, for my business seethes.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nSodden business! There’s a stew’d phrase indeed!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paris and Helen, attended.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair company! Fair desires, in\\r\\nall fair measure, fairly guide them—especially to you, fair queen! Fair\\r\\nthoughts be your fair pillow.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nDear lord, you are full of fair words.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. Fair prince, here is good\\r\\nbroken music.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nYou have broke it, cousin; and by my life, you shall make it whole\\r\\nagain; you shall piece it out with a piece of your performance.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nHe is full of harmony.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nTruly, lady, no.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nO, sir—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nRude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nWell said, my lord. Well, you say so in fits.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI have business to my lord, dear queen. My lord, will you vouchsafe me\\r\\na word?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nNay, this shall not hedge us out. We’ll hear you sing, certainly—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWell sweet queen, you are pleasant with me. But, marry, thus, my lord:\\r\\nmy dear lord and most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus—\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nMy Lord Pandarus, honey-sweet lord—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nGo to, sweet queen, go to—commends himself most affectionately to you—\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nYou shall not bob us out of our melody. If you do, our melancholy upon\\r\\nyour head!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nSweet queen, sweet queen; that’s a sweet queen, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nAnd to make a sweet lady sad is a sour offence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall it not, in truth, la.\\r\\nNay, I care not for such words; no, no.—And, my lord, he desires you\\r\\nthat, if the King call for him at supper, you will make his excuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nMy Lord Pandarus!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat says my sweet queen, my very very sweet queen?\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nWhat exploit’s in hand? Where sups he tonight?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nNay, but, my lord—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat says my sweet queen?—My cousin will fall out with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nYou must not know where he sups.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nI’ll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNo, no, no such matter; you are wide. Come, your disposer is sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nWell, I’ll make’s excuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, good my lord. Why should you say Cressida?\\r\\nNo, your poor disposer’s sick.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nI spy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nYou spy! What do you spy?—Come, give me an instrument. Now, sweet\\r\\nqueen.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nWhy, this is kindly done.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nMy niece is horribly in love with a thing you have, sweet queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nShe shall have it, my lord, if it be not my Lord Paris.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHe? No, she’ll none of him; they two are twain.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nFalling in, after falling out, may make them three.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nCome, come. I’ll hear no more of this; I’ll sing you a song now.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nAy, ay, prithee now. By my troth, sweet lord, thou hast a fine\\r\\nforehead.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, you may, you may.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nLet thy song be love. This love will undo us all. O Cupid, Cupid,\\r\\nCupid!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nLove! Ay, that it shall, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nAy, good now, love, love, nothing but love.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIn good troth, it begins so.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sings_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n _Love, love, nothing but love, still love, still more!\\r\\n For, oh, love’s bow\\r\\n Shoots buck and doe;\\r\\n The shaft confounds\\r\\n Not that it wounds,\\r\\n But tickles still the sore.\\r\\n These lovers cry, O ho, they die!\\r\\n Yet that which seems the wound to kill\\r\\n Doth turn O ho! to ha! ha! he!\\r\\n So dying love lives still.\\r\\n O ho! a while, but ha! ha! ha!\\r\\n O ho! groans out for ha! ha! ha!—hey ho!_\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nIn love, i’ faith, to the very tip of the nose.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHe eats nothing but doves, love; and that breeds hot blood, and hot\\r\\nblood begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot\\r\\ndeeds is love.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIs this the generation of love: hot blood, hot thoughts, and hot deeds?\\r\\nWhy, they are vipers. Is love a generation of vipers? Sweet lord, who’s\\r\\na-field today?\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the gallantry of Troy. I\\r\\nwould fain have arm’d today, but my Nell would not have it so. How\\r\\nchance my brother Troilus went not?\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nHe hangs the lip at something. You know all, Lord Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNot I, honey-sweet queen. I long to hear how they spend today. You’ll\\r\\nremember your brother’s excuse?\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nTo a hair.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nFarewell, sweet queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\nCommend me to your niece.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI will, sweet queen.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit. Sound a retreat_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThey’re come from the field. Let us to Priam’s hall\\r\\nTo greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you\\r\\nTo help unarm our Hector. His stubborn buckles,\\r\\nWith these your white enchanting fingers touch’d,\\r\\nShall more obey than to the edge of steel\\r\\nOr force of Greekish sinews; you shall do more\\r\\nThan all the island kings—disarm great Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHELEN.\\r\\n’Twill make us proud to be his servant, Paris;\\r\\nYea, what he shall receive of us in duty\\r\\nGives us more palm in beauty than we have,\\r\\nYea, overshines ourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nSweet, above thought I love thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Troy. PANDARUS’ orchard.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus and Troilus’ Boy, meeting.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHow now! Where’s thy master? At my cousin Cressida’s?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOY.\\r\\nNo, sir; he stays for you to conduct him thither.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nO, here he comes. How now, how now?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nSirrah, walk off.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Boy.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHave you seen my cousin?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNo, Pandarus. I stalk about her door\\r\\nLike a strange soul upon the Stygian banks\\r\\nStaying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon,\\r\\nAnd give me swift transportance to these fields\\r\\nWhere I may wallow in the lily beds\\r\\nPropos’d for the deserver! O gentle Pandar,\\r\\nfrom Cupid’s shoulder pluck his painted wings,\\r\\nand fly with me to Cressid!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWalk here i’ th’ orchard, I’ll bring her straight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI am giddy; expectation whirls me round.\\r\\nTh’imaginary relish is so sweet\\r\\nThat it enchants my sense; what will it be\\r\\nWhen that the wat’ry palate tastes indeed\\r\\nLove’s thrice-repured nectar? Death, I fear me;\\r\\nSounding destruction; or some joy too fine,\\r\\nToo subtle-potent, tun’d too sharp in sweetness,\\r\\nFor the capacity of my ruder powers.\\r\\nI fear it much; and I do fear besides\\r\\nThat I shall lose distinction in my joys;\\r\\nAs doth a battle, when they charge on heaps\\r\\nThe enemy flying.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nShe’s making her ready, she’ll come straight; you must be witty now.\\r\\nShe does so blush, and fetches her wind so short, as if she were fray’d\\r\\nwith a sprite. I’ll fetch her. It is the prettiest villain; she fetches\\r\\nher breath as short as a new-ta’en sparrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nEven such a passion doth embrace my bosom.\\r\\nMy heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse,\\r\\nAnd all my powers do their bestowing lose,\\r\\nLike vassalage at unawares encount’ring\\r\\nThe eye of majesty.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Pandarus with Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nCome, come, what need you blush? Shame’s a baby. Here she is now; swear\\r\\nthe oaths now to her that you have sworn to me.—What, are you gone\\r\\nagain? You must be watch’d ere you be made tame, must you? Come your\\r\\nways, come your ways; and you draw backward, we’ll put you i’ th’\\r\\nfills. Why do you not speak to her? Come, draw this curtain and let’s\\r\\nsee your picture. Alas the day, how loath you are to offend daylight!\\r\\nAnd ’twere dark, you’d close sooner. So, so; rub on, and kiss the\\r\\nmistress. How now, a kiss in fee-farm! Build there, carpenter; the air\\r\\nis sweet. Nay, you shall fight your hearts out ere I part you. The\\r\\nfalcon as the tercel, for all the ducks i’ th’ river. Go to, go to.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYou have bereft me of all words, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWords pay no debts, give her deeds; but she’ll bereave you o’ th’ deeds\\r\\ntoo, if she call your activity in question. What, billing again? Here’s\\r\\n‘In witness whereof the parties interchangeably.’ Come in, come in;\\r\\nI’ll go get a fire.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWill you walk in, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO Cressid, how often have I wish’d me thus!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWish’d, my lord! The gods grant—O my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat should they grant? What makes this pretty abruption? What too\\r\\ncurious dreg espies my sweet lady in the fountain of our love?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nMore dregs than water, if my fears have eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFears make devils of cherubins; they never see truly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBlind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds safer footing than blind\\r\\nreason stumbling without fear. To fear the worst oft cures the worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO, let my lady apprehend no fear! In all Cupid’s pageant there is\\r\\npresented no monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNor nothing monstrous neither?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNothing, but our undertakings when we vow to weep seas, live in fire,\\r\\neat rocks, tame tigers; thinking it harder for our mistress to devise\\r\\nimposition enough than for us to undergo any difficulty imposed. This\\r\\nis the monstruosity in love, lady, that the will is infinite, and the\\r\\nexecution confin’d; that the desire is boundless, and the act a slave\\r\\nto limit.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThey say all lovers swear more performance than they are able, and yet\\r\\nreserve an ability that they never perform; vowing more than the\\r\\nperfection of ten, and discharging less than the tenth part of one.\\r\\nThey that have the voice of lions and the act of hares, are they not\\r\\nmonsters?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAre there such? Such are not we. Praise us as we are tasted, allow us\\r\\nas we prove; our head shall go bare till merit crown it. No perfection\\r\\nin reversion shall have a praise in present. We will not name desert\\r\\nbefore his birth; and, being born, his addition shall be humble. Few\\r\\nwords to fair faith: Troilus shall be such to Cressid as what envy can\\r\\nsay worst shall be a mock for his truth; and what truth can speak\\r\\ntruest not truer than Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWill you walk in, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat, blushing still? Have you not done talking yet?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWell, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nI thank you for that; if my lord get a boy of you, you’ll give him me.\\r\\nBe true to my lord; if he flinch, chide me for it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYou know now your hostages: your uncle’s word and my firm faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nNay, I’ll give my word for her too: our kindred, though they be long\\r\\nere they are wooed, they are constant being won; they are burs, I can\\r\\ntell you; they’ll stick where they are thrown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBoldness comes to me now and brings me heart.\\r\\nPrince Troilus, I have lov’d you night and day\\r\\nFor many weary months.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhy was my Cressid then so hard to win?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHard to seem won; but I was won, my lord,\\r\\nWith the first glance that ever—pardon me.\\r\\nIf I confess much, you will play the tyrant.\\r\\nI love you now; but till now not so much\\r\\nBut I might master it. In faith, I lie;\\r\\nMy thoughts were like unbridled children, grown\\r\\nToo headstrong for their mother. See, we fools!\\r\\nWhy have I blabb’d? Who shall be true to us,\\r\\nWhen we are so unsecret to ourselves?\\r\\nBut, though I lov’d you well, I woo’d you not;\\r\\nAnd yet, good faith, I wish’d myself a man,\\r\\nOr that we women had men’s privilege\\r\\nOf speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue,\\r\\nFor in this rapture I shall surely speak\\r\\nThe thing I shall repent. See, see, your silence,\\r\\nCunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws\\r\\nMy very soul of counsel. Stop my mouth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAnd shall, albeit sweet music issues thence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nPretty, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nMy lord, I do beseech you, pardon me;\\r\\n’Twas not my purpose thus to beg a kiss.\\r\\nI am asham’d. O heavens! what have I done?\\r\\nFor this time will I take my leave, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYour leave, sweet Cressid!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nLeave! And you take leave till tomorrow morning—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nPray you, content you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat offends you, lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSir, mine own company.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYou cannot shun yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nLet me go and try.\\r\\nI have a kind of self resides with you;\\r\\nBut an unkind self, that itself will leave\\r\\nTo be another’s fool. I would be gone.\\r\\nWhere is my wit? I know not what I speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWell know they what they speak that speak so wisely.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nPerchance, my lord, I show more craft than love;\\r\\nAnd fell so roundly to a large confession\\r\\nTo angle for your thoughts; but you are wise—\\r\\nOr else you love not; for to be wise and love\\r\\nExceeds man’s might; that dwells with gods above.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO that I thought it could be in a woman—\\r\\nAs, if it can, I will presume in you—\\r\\nTo feed for aye her lamp and flames of love;\\r\\nTo keep her constancy in plight and youth,\\r\\nOutliving beauty’s outward, with a mind\\r\\nThat doth renew swifter than blood decays!\\r\\nOr that persuasion could but thus convince me\\r\\nThat my integrity and truth to you\\r\\nMight be affronted with the match and weight\\r\\nOf such a winnowed purity in love.\\r\\nHow were I then uplifted! But, alas,\\r\\nI am as true as truth’s simplicity,\\r\\nAnd simpler than the infancy of truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIn that I’ll war with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO virtuous fight,\\r\\nWhen right with right wars who shall be most right!\\r\\nTrue swains in love shall in the world to come\\r\\nApprove their truth by Troilus, when their rhymes,\\r\\nFull of protest, of oath, and big compare,\\r\\nWant similes, truth tir’d with iteration—\\r\\nAs true as steel, as plantage to the moon,\\r\\nAs sun to day, as turtle to her mate,\\r\\nAs iron to adamant, as earth to th’ centre—\\r\\nYet, after all comparisons of truth,\\r\\nAs truth’s authentic author to be cited,\\r\\n‘As true as Troilus’ shall crown up the verse\\r\\nAnd sanctify the numbers.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nProphet may you be!\\r\\nIf I be false, or swerve a hair from truth,\\r\\nWhen time is old and hath forgot itself,\\r\\nWhen waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy,\\r\\nAnd blind oblivion swallow’d cities up,\\r\\nAnd mighty states characterless are grated\\r\\nTo dusty nothing—yet let memory\\r\\nFrom false to false, among false maids in love,\\r\\nUpbraid my falsehood when th’ have said ‘As false\\r\\nAs air, as water, wind, or sandy earth,\\r\\nAs fox to lamb, or wolf to heifer’s calf,\\r\\nPard to the hind, or stepdame to her son’—\\r\\nYea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood,\\r\\n‘As false as Cressid.’\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nGo to, a bargain made; seal it, seal it; I’ll be the witness. Here I\\r\\nhold your hand; here my cousin’s. If ever you prove false one to\\r\\nanother, since I have taken such pains to bring you together, let all\\r\\npitiful goers-between be call’d to the world’s end after my name—call\\r\\nthem all Pandars; let all constant men be Troiluses, all false women\\r\\nCressids, and all brokers between Pandars. Say ‘Amen.’\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAmen. Whereupon I will show you a chamber and a bed; which bed, because\\r\\nit shall not speak of your pretty encounters, press it to death. Away!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus and Cressida_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here,\\r\\nBed, chamber, pander, to provide this gear!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The Greek camp.\\r\\n\\r\\n Flourish. Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Diomedes, Nestor, Ajax, Menelaus\\r\\n and Calchas.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALCHAS.\\r\\nNow, Princes, for the service I have done,\\r\\nTh’advantage of the time prompts me aloud\\r\\nTo call for recompense. Appear it to your mind\\r\\nThat, through the sight I bear in things to come,\\r\\nI have abandon’d Troy, left my possession,\\r\\nIncurr’d a traitor’s name, expos’d myself\\r\\nFrom certain and possess’d conveniences\\r\\nTo doubtful fortunes, sequest’ring from me all\\r\\nThat time, acquaintance, custom, and condition,\\r\\nMade tame and most familiar to my nature;\\r\\nAnd here, to do you service, am become\\r\\nAs new into the world, strange, unacquainted—\\r\\nI do beseech you, as in way of taste,\\r\\nTo give me now a little benefit\\r\\nOut of those many regist’red in promise,\\r\\nWhich you say live to come in my behalf.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat wouldst thou of us, Trojan? Make demand.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALCHAS.\\r\\nYou have a Trojan prisoner call’d Antenor,\\r\\nYesterday took; Troy holds him very dear.\\r\\nOft have you—often have you thanks therefore—\\r\\nDesir’d my Cressid in right great exchange,\\r\\nWhom Troy hath still denied; but this Antenor,\\r\\nI know, is such a wrest in their affairs\\r\\nThat their negotiations all must slack\\r\\nWanting his manage; and they will almost\\r\\nGive us a prince of blood, a son of Priam,\\r\\nIn change of him. Let him be sent, great Princes,\\r\\nAnd he shall buy my daughter; and her presence\\r\\nShall quite strike off all service I have done\\r\\nIn most accepted pain.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nLet Diomedes bear him,\\r\\nAnd bring us Cressid hither. Calchas shall have\\r\\nWhat he requests of us. Good Diomed,\\r\\nFurnish you fairly for this interchange;\\r\\nWithal, bring word if Hector will tomorrow\\r\\nBe answer’d in his challenge. Ajax is ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nThis shall I undertake; and ’tis a burden\\r\\nWhich I am proud to bear.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Diomedes and Calchas_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Achilles and Patroclus stand in their tent_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAchilles stands i’ th’entrance of his tent.\\r\\nPlease it our general pass strangely by him,\\r\\nAs if he were forgot; and, Princes all,\\r\\nLay negligent and loose regard upon him.\\r\\nI will come last. ’Tis like he’ll question me\\r\\nWhy such unplausive eyes are bent, why turn’d on him.\\r\\nIf so, I have derision med’cinable\\r\\nTo use between your strangeness and his pride,\\r\\nWhich his own will shall have desire to drink.\\r\\nIt may do good. Pride hath no other glass\\r\\nTo show itself but pride; for supple knees\\r\\nFeed arrogance and are the proud man’s fees.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWe’ll execute your purpose, and put on\\r\\nA form of strangeness as we pass along.\\r\\nSo do each lord; and either greet him not,\\r\\nOr else disdainfully, which shall shake him more\\r\\nThan if not look’d on. I will lead the way.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat comes the general to speak with me?\\r\\nYou know my mind. I’ll fight no more ’gainst Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat says Achilles? Would he aught with us?\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nWould you, my lord, aught with the general?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nNothing, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nThe better.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Agamemnon and Nestor_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nGood day, good day.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nHow do you? How do you?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat, does the cuckold scorn me?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nHow now, Patroclus?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nGood morrow, Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nHa?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nGood morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nAy, and good next day too.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat mean these fellows? Know they not Achilles?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nThey pass by strangely. They were us’d to bend,\\r\\nTo send their smiles before them to Achilles,\\r\\nTo come as humbly as they us’d to creep\\r\\nTo holy altars.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat, am I poor of late?\\r\\n’Tis certain, greatness, once fall’n out with fortune,\\r\\nMust fall out with men too. What the declin’d is,\\r\\nHe shall as soon read in the eyes of others\\r\\nAs feel in his own fall; for men, like butterflies,\\r\\nShow not their mealy wings but to the summer;\\r\\nAnd not a man for being simply man\\r\\nHath any honour, but honour for those honours\\r\\nThat are without him, as place, riches, and favour,\\r\\nPrizes of accident, as oft as merit;\\r\\nWhich when they fall, as being slippery standers,\\r\\nThe love that lean’d on them as slippery too,\\r\\nDoth one pluck down another, and together\\r\\nDie in the fall. But ’tis not so with me:\\r\\nFortune and I are friends; I do enjoy\\r\\nAt ample point all that I did possess\\r\\nSave these men’s looks; who do, methinks, find out\\r\\nSomething not worth in me such rich beholding\\r\\nAs they have often given. Here is Ulysses.\\r\\nI’ll interrupt his reading.\\r\\nHow now, Ulysses!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNow, great Thetis’ son!\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat are you reading?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nA strange fellow here\\r\\nWrites me that man—how dearly ever parted,\\r\\nHow much in having, or without or in—\\r\\nCannot make boast to have that which he hath,\\r\\nNor feels not what he owes, but by reflection;\\r\\nAs when his virtues shining upon others\\r\\nHeat them, and they retort that heat again\\r\\nTo the first giver.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nThis is not strange, Ulysses.\\r\\nThe beauty that is borne here in the face\\r\\nThe bearer knows not, but commends itself\\r\\nTo others’ eyes; nor doth the eye itself—\\r\\nThat most pure spirit of sense—behold itself,\\r\\nNot going from itself; but eye to eye opposed\\r\\nSalutes each other with each other’s form;\\r\\nFor speculation turns not to itself\\r\\nTill it hath travell’d, and is mirror’d there\\r\\nWhere it may see itself. This is not strange at all.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI do not strain at the position—\\r\\nIt is familiar—but at the author’s drift;\\r\\nWho, in his circumstance, expressly proves\\r\\nThat no man is the lord of anything,\\r\\nThough in and of him there be much consisting,\\r\\nTill he communicate his parts to others;\\r\\nNor doth he of himself know them for aught\\r\\nTill he behold them formed in the applause\\r\\nWhere th’are extended; who, like an arch, reverb’rate\\r\\nThe voice again; or, like a gate of steel\\r\\nFronting the sun, receives and renders back\\r\\nHis figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this;\\r\\nAnd apprehended here immediately\\r\\nTh’unknown Ajax. Heavens, what a man is there!\\r\\nA very horse that has he knows not what!\\r\\nNature, what things there are\\r\\nMost abject in regard and dear in use!\\r\\nWhat things again most dear in the esteem\\r\\nAnd poor in worth! Now shall we see tomorrow—\\r\\nAn act that very chance doth throw upon him—\\r\\nAjax renown’d. O heavens, what some men do,\\r\\nWhile some men leave to do!\\r\\nHow some men creep in skittish Fortune’s hall,\\r\\nWhiles others play the idiots in her eyes!\\r\\nHow one man eats into another’s pride,\\r\\nWhile pride is fasting in his wantonness!\\r\\nTo see these Grecian lords!—why, even already\\r\\nThey clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder,\\r\\nAs if his foot were on brave Hector’s breast,\\r\\nAnd great Troy shrieking.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI do believe it; for they pass’d by me\\r\\nAs misers do by beggars, neither gave to me\\r\\nGood word nor look. What, are my deeds forgot?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nTime hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,\\r\\nWherein he puts alms for oblivion,\\r\\nA great-siz’d monster of ingratitudes.\\r\\nThose scraps are good deeds past, which are devour’d\\r\\nAs fast as they are made, forgot as soon\\r\\nAs done. Perseverance, dear my lord,\\r\\nKeeps honour bright. To have done is to hang\\r\\nQuite out of fashion, like a rusty mail\\r\\nIn monumental mock’ry. Take the instant way;\\r\\nFor honour travels in a strait so narrow—\\r\\nWhere one but goes abreast. Keep then the path,\\r\\nFor emulation hath a thousand sons\\r\\nThat one by one pursue; if you give way,\\r\\nOr hedge aside from the direct forthright,\\r\\nLike to an ent’red tide they all rush by\\r\\nAnd leave you hindmost;\\r\\nOr, like a gallant horse fall’n in first rank,\\r\\nLie there for pavement to the abject rear,\\r\\nO’er-run and trampled on. Then what they do in present,\\r\\nThough less than yours in past, must o’ertop yours;\\r\\nFor Time is like a fashionable host,\\r\\nThat slightly shakes his parting guest by th’hand;\\r\\nAnd with his arms out-stretch’d, as he would fly,\\r\\nGrasps in the comer. The welcome ever smiles,\\r\\nAnd farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek\\r\\nRemuneration for the thing it was;\\r\\nFor beauty, wit,\\r\\nHigh birth, vigour of bone, desert in service,\\r\\nLove, friendship, charity, are subjects all\\r\\nTo envious and calumniating Time.\\r\\nOne touch of nature makes the whole world kin—\\r\\nThat all with one consent praise new-born gauds,\\r\\nThough they are made and moulded of things past,\\r\\nAnd give to dust that is a little gilt\\r\\nMore laud than gilt o’er-dusted.\\r\\nThe present eye praises the present object.\\r\\nThen marvel not, thou great and complete man,\\r\\nThat all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax,\\r\\nSince things in motion sooner catch the eye\\r\\nThan what stirs not. The cry went once on thee,\\r\\nAnd still it might, and yet it may again,\\r\\nIf thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive\\r\\nAnd case thy reputation in thy tent,\\r\\nWhose glorious deeds but in these fields of late\\r\\nMade emulous missions ’mongst the gods themselves,\\r\\nAnd drave great Mars to faction.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nOf this my privacy\\r\\nI have strong reasons.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nBut ’gainst your privacy\\r\\nThe reasons are more potent and heroical.\\r\\n’Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love\\r\\nWith one of Priam’s daughters.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nHa! known!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nIs that a wonder?\\r\\nThe providence that’s in a watchful state\\r\\nKnows almost every grain of Plutus’ gold;\\r\\nFinds bottom in th’uncomprehensive deeps;\\r\\nKeeps place with thought, and almost, like the gods,\\r\\nDo thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.\\r\\nThere is a mystery—with whom relation\\r\\nDurst never meddle—in the soul of state,\\r\\nWhich hath an operation more divine\\r\\nThan breath or pen can give expressure to.\\r\\nAll the commerce that you have had with Troy\\r\\nAs perfectly is ours as yours, my lord;\\r\\nAnd better would it fit Achilles much\\r\\nTo throw down Hector than Polyxena.\\r\\nBut it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home,\\r\\nWhen fame shall in our island sound her trump,\\r\\nAnd all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing\\r\\n‘Great Hector’s sister did Achilles win;\\r\\nBut our great Ajax bravely beat down him.’\\r\\nFarewell, my lord. I as your lover speak.\\r\\nThe fool slides o’er the ice that you should break.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nTo this effect, Achilles, have I mov’d you.\\r\\nA woman impudent and mannish grown\\r\\nIs not more loath’d than an effeminate man\\r\\nIn time of action. I stand condemn’d for this;\\r\\nThey think my little stomach to the war\\r\\nAnd your great love to me restrains you thus.\\r\\nSweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid\\r\\nShall from your neck unloose his amorous fold,\\r\\nAnd, like a dew-drop from the lion’s mane,\\r\\nBe shook to air.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nShall Ajax fight with Hector?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nAy, and perhaps receive much honour by him.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI see my reputation is at stake;\\r\\nMy fame is shrewdly gor’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nO, then, beware:\\r\\nThose wounds heal ill that men do give themselves;\\r\\nOmission to do what is necessary\\r\\nSeals a commission to a blank of danger;\\r\\nAnd danger, like an ague, subtly taints\\r\\nEven then when they sit idly in the sun.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nGo call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus.\\r\\nI’ll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him\\r\\nT’invite the Trojan lords, after the combat,\\r\\nTo see us here unarm’d. I have a woman’s longing,\\r\\nAn appetite that I am sick withal,\\r\\nTo see great Hector in his weeds of peace;\\r\\nTo talk with him, and to behold his visage,\\r\\nEven to my full of view.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nA labour sav’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nA wonder!\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhat?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAjax goes up and down the field asking for himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nHow so?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHe must fight singly tomorrow with Hector, and is so prophetically\\r\\nproud of an heroical cudgelling that he raves in saying nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nHow can that be?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWhy, a’ stalks up and down like a peacock—a stride and a stand;\\r\\nruminates like an hostess that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set\\r\\ndown her reckoning, bites his lip with a politic regard, as who should\\r\\nsay ‘There were wit in this head, and ’twould out’; and so there is;\\r\\nbut it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not show\\r\\nwithout knocking. The man’s undone for ever; for if Hector break not\\r\\nhis neck i’ th’ combat, he’ll break’t himself in vainglory. He knows\\r\\nnot me. I said ‘Good morrow, Ajax’; and he replies ‘Thanks, Agamemnon.’\\r\\nWhat think you of this man that takes me for the general? He’s grown a\\r\\nvery land fish, languageless, a monster. A plague of opinion! A man may\\r\\nwear it on both sides, like leather jerkin.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nThou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWho, I? Why, he’ll answer nobody; he professes not answering. Speaking\\r\\nis for beggars: he wears his tongue in’s arms. I will put on his\\r\\npresence. Let Patroclus make his demands to me, you shall see the\\r\\npageant of Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nTo him, Patroclus. Tell him I humbly desire the valiant Ajax to invite\\r\\nthe most valorous Hector to come unarm’d to my tent; and to procure\\r\\nsafe conduct for his person of the magnanimous and most illustrious\\r\\nsix-or-seven-times-honour’d Captain General of the Grecian army,\\r\\nAgamemnon. Do this.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nJove bless great Ajax!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHum!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nI come from the worthy Achilles—\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHa!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWho most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his tent—\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHum!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nAnd to procure safe conduct from Agamemnon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAgamemnon?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nAy, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHa!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWhat you say to’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nGod buy you, with all my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nYour answer, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nIf tomorrow be a fair day, by eleven of the clock it will go one way or\\r\\nother. Howsoever, he shall pay for me ere he has me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nYour answer, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nFare ye well, with all my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhy, but he is not in this tune, is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNo, but out of tune thus. What music will be in him when Hector has\\r\\nknock’d out his brains, I know not; but, I am sure, none; unless the\\r\\nfiddler Apollo get his sinews to make catlings on.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nCome, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nLet me bear another to his horse; for that’s the more capable creature.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nMy mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr’d;\\r\\nAnd I myself see not the bottom of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Achilles and Patroclus_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWould the fountain of your mind were clear again, that I might water an\\r\\nass at it. I had rather be a tick in a sheep than such a valiant\\r\\nignorance.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Troy. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter, at one side, Aeneas and servant with a torch; at another Paris,\\r\\n Deiphobus, Antenor, Diomedes the Grecian, and others, with torches.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nSee, ho! Who is that there?\\r\\n\\r\\nDEIPHOBUS.\\r\\nIt is the Lord Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nIs the Prince there in person?\\r\\nHad I so good occasion to lie long\\r\\nAs you, Prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business\\r\\nShould rob my bed-mate of my company.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nThat’s my mind too. Good morrow, Lord Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nA valiant Greek, Aeneas—take his hand:\\r\\nWitness the process of your speech, wherein\\r\\nYou told how Diomed, a whole week by days,\\r\\nDid haunt you in the field.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHealth to you, valiant sir,\\r\\nDuring all question of the gentle truce;\\r\\nBut when I meet you arm’d, as black defiance\\r\\nAs heart can think or courage execute.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nThe one and other Diomed embraces.\\r\\nOur bloods are now in calm; and so long health!\\r\\nBut when contention and occasion meet,\\r\\nBy Jove, I’ll play the hunter for thy life\\r\\nWith all my force, pursuit, and policy.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nAnd thou shalt hunt a lion that will fly\\r\\nWith his face backward. In humane gentleness,\\r\\nWelcome to Troy! Now, by Anchises’ life,\\r\\nWelcome indeed! By Venus’ hand I swear\\r\\nNo man alive can love in such a sort\\r\\nThe thing he means to kill, more excellently.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWe sympathise. Jove let Aeneas live,\\r\\nIf to my sword his fate be not the glory,\\r\\nA thousand complete courses of the sun!\\r\\nBut in mine emulous honour let him die\\r\\nWith every joint a wound, and that tomorrow!\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nWe know each other well.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWe do; and long to know each other worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThis is the most despiteful gentle greeting\\r\\nThe noblest hateful love, that e’er I heard of.\\r\\nWhat business, lord, so early?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nI was sent for to the King; but why, I know not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHis purpose meets you: ’twas to bring this Greek\\r\\nTo Calchas’ house, and there to render him,\\r\\nFor the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid.\\r\\nLet’s have your company; or, if you please,\\r\\nHaste there before us. I constantly believe—\\r\\nOr rather call my thought a certain knowledge—\\r\\nMy brother Troilus lodges there tonight.\\r\\nRouse him and give him note of our approach,\\r\\nWith the whole quality wherefore; I fear\\r\\nWe shall be much unwelcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nThat I assure you:\\r\\nTroilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece\\r\\nThan Cressid borne from Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nThere is no help;\\r\\nThe bitter disposition of the time\\r\\nWill have it so. On, lord; we’ll follow you.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nGood morrow, all.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with servant_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nAnd tell me, noble Diomed, faith, tell me true,\\r\\nEven in the soul of sound good-fellowship,\\r\\nWho in your thoughts deserves fair Helen best,\\r\\nMyself, or Menelaus?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nBoth alike:\\r\\nHe merits well to have her that doth seek her,\\r\\nNot making any scruple of her soilure,\\r\\nWith such a hell of pain and world of charge;\\r\\nAnd you as well to keep her that defend her,\\r\\nNot palating the taste of her dishonour,\\r\\nWith such a costly loss of wealth and friends.\\r\\nHe like a puling cuckold would drink up\\r\\nThe lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece;\\r\\nYou, like a lecher, out of whorish loins\\r\\nAre pleas’d to breed out your inheritors.\\r\\nBoth merits pois’d, each weighs nor less nor more,\\r\\nBut he as he, the heavier for a whore.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nYou are too bitter to your country-woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nShe’s bitter to her country. Hear me, Paris:\\r\\nFor every false drop in her bawdy veins\\r\\nA Grecian’s life hath sunk; for every scruple\\r\\nOf her contaminated carrion weight\\r\\nA Trojan hath been slain. Since she could speak,\\r\\nShe hath not given so many good words breath\\r\\nAs for her Greeks and Trojans suff’red death.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nFair Diomed, you do as chapmen do,\\r\\nDispraise the thing that you desire to buy;\\r\\nBut we in silence hold this virtue well,\\r\\nWe’ll not commend what we intend to sell.\\r\\nHere lies our way.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Troy. The court of PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus and Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nDear, trouble not yourself; the morn is cold.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nThen, sweet my lord, I’ll call mine uncle down;\\r\\nHe shall unbolt the gates.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nTrouble him not;\\r\\nTo bed, to bed! Sleep kill those pretty eyes,\\r\\nAnd give as soft attachment to thy senses\\r\\nAs infants empty of all thought!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGood morrow, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI prithee now, to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAre you aweary of me?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO Cressida! but that the busy day,\\r\\nWak’d by the lark, hath rous’d the ribald crows,\\r\\nAnd dreaming night will hide our joys no longer,\\r\\nI would not from thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNight hath been too brief.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBeshrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays\\r\\nAs tediously as hell, but flies the grasps of love\\r\\nWith wings more momentary-swift than thought.\\r\\nYou will catch cold, and curse me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nPrithee tarry.\\r\\nYou men will never tarry.\\r\\nO foolish Cressid! I might have still held off,\\r\\nAnd then you would have tarried. Hark! there’s one up.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\n[_Within._] What’s all the doors open here?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nIt is your uncle.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nA pestilence on him! Now will he be mocking.\\r\\nI shall have such a life!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHow now, how now! How go maidenheads?\\r\\nHere, you maid! Where’s my cousin Cressid?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGo hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle.\\r\\nYou bring me to do, and then you flout me too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nTo do what? to do what? Let her say what.\\r\\nWhat have I brought you to do?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nCome, come, beshrew your heart! You’ll ne’er be good, nor suffer\\r\\nothers.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHa, ha! Alas, poor wretch! Ah, poor capocchia! Hast not slept tonight?\\r\\nWould he not, a naughty man, let it sleep? A bugbear take him!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nDid not I tell you? Would he were knock’d i’ th’ head!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_One knocks_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nWho’s that at door? Good uncle, go and see.\\r\\nMy lord, come you again into my chamber.\\r\\nYou smile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHa! ha!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nCome, you are deceiv’d, I think of no such thing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Knock_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow earnestly they knock! Pray you come in:\\r\\nI would not for half Troy have you seen here.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus and Cressida_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWho’s there? What’s the matter? Will you beat down the door? How now?\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nGood morrow, lord, good morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWho’s there? My lord Aeneas? By my troth,\\r\\nI knew you not. What news with you so early?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nIs not Prince Troilus here?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHere! What should he do here?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nCome, he is here, my lord; do not deny him.\\r\\nIt doth import him much to speak with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIs he here, say you? It’s more than I know, I’ll be sworn. For my own\\r\\npart, I came in late. What should he do here?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nWho, nay then! Come, come, you’ll do him wrong ere you are ware; you’ll\\r\\nbe so true to him to be false to him. Do not you know of him, but yet\\r\\ngo fetch him hither; go.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHow now! What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nMy lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you,\\r\\nMy matter is so rash. There is at hand\\r\\nParis your brother, and Deiphobus,\\r\\nThe Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor\\r\\nDeliver’d to us; and for him forthwith,\\r\\nEre the first sacrifice, within this hour,\\r\\nWe must give up to Diomedes’ hand\\r\\nThe Lady Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nIs it so concluded?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nBy Priam and the general state of Troy.\\r\\nThey are at hand, and ready to effect it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHow my achievements mock me!\\r\\nI will go meet them; and, my Lord Aeneas,\\r\\nWe met by chance; you did not find me here.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nGood, good, my lord, the secrets of neighbour Pandar\\r\\nHave not more gift in taciturnity.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus and Aeneas_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nIs’t possible? No sooner got but lost? The devil take Antenor! The\\r\\nyoung prince will go mad. A plague upon Antenor! I would they had\\r\\nbroke’s neck.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHow now! What’s the matter? Who was here?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAh, ah!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhy sigh you so profoundly? Where’s my lord? Gone? Tell me, sweet\\r\\nuncle, what’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWould I were as deep under the earth as I am above!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO the gods! What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nPray thee get thee in. Would thou hadst ne’er been born! I knew thou\\r\\nwouldst be his death! O, poor gentleman! A plague upon Antenor!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGood uncle, I beseech you, on my knees I beseech you, what’s the\\r\\nmatter?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone; thou art chang’d for\\r\\nAntenor; thou must to thy father, and be gone from Troilus. ’Twill be\\r\\nhis death; ’twill be his bane; he cannot bear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO you immortal gods! I will not go.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nThou must.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI will not, uncle. I have forgot my father;\\r\\nI know no touch of consanguinity,\\r\\nNo kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me\\r\\nAs the sweet Troilus. O you gods divine,\\r\\nMake Cressid’s name the very crown of falsehood,\\r\\nIf ever she leave Troilus! Time, force, and death,\\r\\nDo to this body what extremes you can,\\r\\nBut the strong base and building of my love\\r\\nIs as the very centre of the earth,\\r\\nDrawing all things to it. I’ll go in and weep—\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nDo, do.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nTear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks,\\r\\nCrack my clear voice with sobs and break my heart,\\r\\nWith sounding ‘Troilus.’ I will not go from Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Troy. A street before PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paris, Troilus, Aeneas, Deiphobus, Antenor and Diomedes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nIt is great morning; and the hour prefix’d\\r\\nFor her delivery to this valiant Greek\\r\\nComes fast upon. Good my brother Troilus,\\r\\nTell you the lady what she is to do\\r\\nAnd haste her to the purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWalk into her house.\\r\\nI’ll bring her to the Grecian presently;\\r\\nAnd to his hand when I deliver her,\\r\\nThink it an altar, and thy brother Troilus\\r\\nA priest, there off’ring to it his own heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nI know what ’tis to love,\\r\\nAnd would, as I shall pity, I could help!\\r\\nPlease you walk in, my lords?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Troy. PANDARUS’ house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus and Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nBe moderate, be moderate.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhy tell you me of moderation?\\r\\nThe grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste,\\r\\nAnd violenteth in a sense as strong\\r\\nAs that which causeth it. How can I moderate it?\\r\\nIf I could temporize with my affections\\r\\nOr brew it to a weak and colder palate,\\r\\nThe like allayment could I give my grief.\\r\\nMy love admits no qualifying dross;\\r\\nNo more my grief, in such a precious loss.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHere, here, here he comes. Ah, sweet ducks!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\n[_Embracing him_.] O Troilus! Troilus!\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhat a pair of spectacles is here! Let me embrace too. ‘O heart,’ as\\r\\nthe goodly saying is,—\\r\\n\\r\\n O heart, heavy heart,\\r\\n Why sigh’st thou without breaking?\\r\\n\\r\\nwhere he answers again\\r\\n\\r\\n Because thou canst not ease thy smart\\r\\n By friendship nor by speaking.\\r\\n\\r\\nThere was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast away nothing, for we may\\r\\nlive to have need of such a verse. We see it, we see it. How now,\\r\\nlambs!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCressid, I love thee in so strain’d a purity\\r\\nThat the bless’d gods, as angry with my fancy,\\r\\nMore bright in zeal than the devotion which\\r\\nCold lips blow to their deities, take thee from me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHave the gods envy?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nAy, ay, ay, ay; ’tis too plain a case.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAnd is it true that I must go from Troy?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nA hateful truth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat! and from Troilus too?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFrom Troy and Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAnd suddenly; where injury of chance\\r\\nPuts back leave-taking, justles roughly by\\r\\nAll time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips\\r\\nOf all rejoindure, forcibly prevents\\r\\nOur lock’d embrasures, strangles our dear vows\\r\\nEven in the birth of our own labouring breath.\\r\\nWe two, that with so many thousand sighs\\r\\nDid buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves\\r\\nWith the rude brevity and discharge of one.\\r\\nInjurious time now with a robber’s haste\\r\\nCrams his rich thiev’ry up, he knows not how.\\r\\nAs many farewells as be stars in heaven,\\r\\nWith distinct breath and consign’d kisses to them,\\r\\nHe fumbles up into a loose adieu,\\r\\nAnd scants us with a single famish’d kiss,\\r\\nDistasted with the salt of broken tears.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] My lord, is the lady ready?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHark! you are call’d. Some say the Genius\\r\\nCries so to him that instantly must die.\\r\\nBid them have patience; she shall come anon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nWhere are my tears? Rain, to lay this wind, or my heart will be blown\\r\\nup by my throat!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI must then to the Grecians?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNo remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nA woeful Cressid ’mongst the merry Greeks!\\r\\nWhen shall we see again?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHear me, my love. Be thou but true of heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI true? How now! What wicked deem is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNay, we must use expostulation kindly,\\r\\nFor it is parting from us.\\r\\nI speak not ‘Be thou true’ as fearing thee,\\r\\nFor I will throw my glove to Death himself\\r\\nThat there’s no maculation in thy heart;\\r\\nBut ‘Be thou true’ say I to fashion in\\r\\nMy sequent protestation: be thou true,\\r\\nAnd I will see thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO! you shall be expos’d, my lord, to dangers\\r\\nAs infinite as imminent! But I’ll be true.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAnd I’ll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAnd you this glove. When shall I see you?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI will corrupt the Grecian sentinels\\r\\nTo give thee nightly visitation.\\r\\nBut yet be true.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO heavens! ‘Be true’ again!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHear why I speak it, love.\\r\\nThe Grecian youths are full of quality;\\r\\nThey’re loving, well compos’d, with gifts of nature,\\r\\nFlowing and swelling o’er with arts and exercise.\\r\\nHow novelty may move, and parts with person,\\r\\nAlas, a kind of godly jealousy,\\r\\nWhich, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin,\\r\\nMakes me afear’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO heavens! you love me not!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nDie I a villain then!\\r\\nIn this I do not call your faith in question\\r\\nSo mainly as my merit. I cannot sing,\\r\\nNor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk,\\r\\nNor play at subtle games; fair virtues all,\\r\\nTo which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant;\\r\\nBut I can tell that in each grace of these\\r\\nThere lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil\\r\\nThat tempts most cunningly. But be not tempted.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nDo you think I will?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\nBut something may be done that we will not;\\r\\nAnd sometimes we are devils to ourselves,\\r\\nWhen we will tempt the frailty of our powers,\\r\\nPresuming on their changeful potency.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Nay, good my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCome, kiss; and let us part.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Brother Troilus!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nGood brother, come you hither;\\r\\nAnd bring Aeneas and the Grecian with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nMy lord, will you be true?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWho, I? Alas, it is my vice, my fault!\\r\\nWhiles others fish with craft for great opinion,\\r\\nI with great truth catch mere simplicity;\\r\\nWhilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns,\\r\\nWith truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.\\r\\nFear not my truth: the moral of my wit\\r\\nIs plain and true; there’s all the reach of it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Aeneas, Paris, Antenor, Deiphobus and Diomedes.\\r\\n\\r\\nWelcome, Sir Diomed! Here is the lady\\r\\nWhich for Antenor we deliver you;\\r\\nAt the port, lord, I’ll give her to thy hand,\\r\\nAnd by the way possess thee what she is.\\r\\nEntreat her fair; and, by my soul, fair Greek,\\r\\nIf e’er thou stand at mercy of my sword,\\r\\nName Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe\\r\\nAs Priam is in Ilion.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nFair Lady Cressid,\\r\\nSo please you, save the thanks this prince expects.\\r\\nThe lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek,\\r\\nPleads your fair usage; and to Diomed\\r\\nYou shall be mistress, and command him wholly.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nGrecian, thou dost not use me courteously\\r\\nTo shame the zeal of my petition to thee\\r\\nIn praising her. I tell thee, lord of Greece,\\r\\nShe is as far high-soaring o’er thy praises\\r\\nAs thou unworthy to be call’d her servant.\\r\\nI charge thee use her well, even for my charge;\\r\\nFor, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not,\\r\\nThough the great bulk Achilles be thy guard,\\r\\nI’ll cut thy throat.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nO, be not mov’d, Prince Troilus.\\r\\nLet me be privileg’d by my place and message\\r\\nTo be a speaker free: when I am hence\\r\\nI’ll answer to my lust. And know you, lord,\\r\\nI’ll nothing do on charge: to her own worth\\r\\nShe shall be priz’d. But that you say ‘Be’t so,’\\r\\nI speak it in my spirit and honour, ‘No.’\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCome, to the port. I’ll tell thee, Diomed,\\r\\nThis brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head.\\r\\nLady, give me your hand; and, as we walk,\\r\\nTo our own selves bend we our needful talk.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus, Cressida and Diomedes_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sound trumpet_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\nHark! Hector’s trumpet.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHow have we spent this morning!\\r\\nThe Prince must think me tardy and remiss,\\r\\nThat swore to ride before him to the field.\\r\\n\\r\\nPARIS.\\r\\n’Tis Troilus’ fault. Come, come to field with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDEIPHOBUS.\\r\\nLet us make ready straight.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nYea, with a bridegroom’s fresh alacrity\\r\\nLet us address to tend on Hector’s heels.\\r\\nThe glory of our Troy doth this day lie\\r\\nOn his fair worth and single chivalry.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. The Grecian camp. Lists set out.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ajax, armed; Agamemnon, Achilles, Patroclus, Menelaus, Ulysses,\\r\\n Nestor and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHere art thou in appointment fresh and fair,\\r\\nAnticipating time with starting courage.\\r\\nGive with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy,\\r\\nThou dreadful Ajax, that the appalled air\\r\\nMay pierce the head of the great combatant,\\r\\nAnd hale him hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nThou, trumpet, there’s my purse.\\r\\nNow crack thy lungs and split thy brazen pipe;\\r\\nBlow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek\\r\\nOut-swell the colic of puff’d Aquilon.\\r\\nCome, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood:\\r\\nThou blowest for Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Trumpet sounds_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNo trumpet answers.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\n’Tis but early days.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nIs not yond Diomed, with Calchas’ daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n’Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait:\\r\\nHe rises on the toe. That spirit of his\\r\\nIn aspiration lifts him from the earth.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Diomedes and Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nIs this the Lady Cressid?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nEven she.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nMost dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nOur general doth salute you with a kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYet is the kindness but particular;\\r\\n’Twere better she were kiss’d in general.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nAnd very courtly counsel: I’ll begin.\\r\\nSo much for Nestor.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI’ll take that winter from your lips, fair lady.\\r\\nAchilles bids you welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nI had good argument for kissing once.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nBut that’s no argument for kissing now;\\r\\nFor thus popp’d Paris in his hardiment,\\r\\nAnd parted thus you and your argument.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nO deadly gall, and theme of all our scorns!\\r\\nFor which we lose our heads to gild his horns.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nThe first was Menelaus’ kiss; this, mine:\\r\\nPatroclus kisses you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nO, this is trim!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nParis and I kiss evermore for him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nI’ll have my kiss, sir. Lady, by your leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIn kissing, do you render or receive?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nBoth take and give.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI’ll make my match to live,\\r\\nThe kiss you take is better than you give;\\r\\nTherefore no kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nI’ll give you boot; I’ll give you three for one.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nYou are an odd man; give even or give none.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nAn odd man, lady! Every man is odd.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNo, Paris is not; for you know ’tis true\\r\\nThat you are odd, and he is even with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nYou fillip me o’ th’head.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNo, I’ll be sworn.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nIt were no match, your nail against his horn.\\r\\nMay I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nYou may.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI do desire it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhy, beg then.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWhy then, for Venus’ sake give me a kiss\\r\\nWhen Helen is a maid again, and his.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI am your debtor; claim it when ’tis due.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNever’s my day, and then a kiss of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nLady, a word. I’ll bring you to your father.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with_ Cressida.]\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nA woman of quick sense.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nFie, fie upon her!\\r\\nThere’s language in her eye, her cheek, her lip,\\r\\nNay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out\\r\\nAt every joint and motive of her body.\\r\\nO! these encounterers so glib of tongue\\r\\nThat give a coasting welcome ere it comes,\\r\\nAnd wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts\\r\\nTo every tickling reader! Set them down\\r\\nFor sluttish spoils of opportunity,\\r\\nAnd daughters of the game.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Trumpet within_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nThe Trojans’ trumpet.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nYonder comes the troop.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector, armed; Aeneas, Troilus, Paris, Deiphobus and other\\r\\nTrojans, with attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHail, all you state of Greece! What shall be done\\r\\nTo him that victory commands? Or do you purpose\\r\\nA victor shall be known? Will you the knights\\r\\nShall to the edge of all extremity\\r\\nPursue each other, or shall be divided\\r\\nBy any voice or order of the field?\\r\\nHector bade ask.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhich way would Hector have it?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nHe cares not; he’ll obey conditions.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\n’Tis done like Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nBut securely done,\\r\\nA little proudly, and great deal misprising\\r\\nThe knight oppos’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nIf not Achilles, sir,\\r\\nWhat is your name?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nIf not Achilles, nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nTherefore Achilles. But whate’er, know this:\\r\\nIn the extremity of great and little\\r\\nValour and pride excel themselves in Hector;\\r\\nThe one almost as infinite as all,\\r\\nThe other blank as nothing. Weigh him well,\\r\\nAnd that which looks like pride is courtesy.\\r\\nThis Ajax is half made of Hector’s blood;\\r\\nIn love whereof half Hector stays at home;\\r\\nHalf heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek\\r\\nThis blended knight, half Trojan and half Greek.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nA maiden battle then? O! I perceive you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Diomedes.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHere is Sir Diomed. Go, gentle knight,\\r\\nStand by our Ajax. As you and Lord Aeneas\\r\\nConsent upon the order of their fight,\\r\\nSo be it; either to the uttermost,\\r\\nOr else a breath. The combatants being kin\\r\\nHalf stints their strife before their strokes begin.\\r\\n\\r\\nAjax and Hector enter the lists.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThey are oppos’d already.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWhat Trojan is that same that looks so heavy?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nThe youngest son of Priam, a true knight;\\r\\nNot yet mature, yet matchless; firm of word;\\r\\nSpeaking in deeds and deedless in his tongue;\\r\\nNot soon provok’d, nor being provok’d soon calm’d;\\r\\nHis heart and hand both open and both free;\\r\\nFor what he has he gives, what thinks he shows,\\r\\nYet gives he not till judgement guide his bounty,\\r\\nNor dignifies an impure thought with breath;\\r\\nManly as Hector, but more dangerous;\\r\\nFor Hector in his blaze of wrath subscribes\\r\\nTo tender objects, but he in heat of action\\r\\nIs more vindicative than jealous love.\\r\\nThey call him Troilus, and on him erect\\r\\nA second hope as fairly built as Hector.\\r\\nThus says Aeneas, one that knows the youth\\r\\nEven to his inches, and, with private soul,\\r\\nDid in great Ilion thus translate him to me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Alarum. Hector and Ajax fight._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nThey are in action.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nNow, Ajax, hold thine own!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHector, thou sleep’st; awake thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHis blows are well dispos’d. There, Ajax!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Trumpets cease_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nYou must no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nPrinces, enough, so please you.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI am not warm yet; let us fight again.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nAs Hector pleases.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWhy, then will I no more.\\r\\nThou art, great lord, my father’s sister’s son,\\r\\nA cousin-german to great Priam’s seed;\\r\\nThe obligation of our blood forbids\\r\\nA gory emulation ’twixt us twain:\\r\\nWere thy commixtion Greek and Trojan so\\r\\nThat thou could’st say ‘This hand is Grecian all,\\r\\nAnd this is Trojan; the sinews of this leg\\r\\nAll Greek, and this all Troy; my mother’s blood\\r\\nRuns on the dexter cheek, and this sinister\\r\\nBounds in my father’s; by Jove multipotent,\\r\\nThou shouldst not bear from me a Greekish member\\r\\nWherein my sword had not impressure made\\r\\nOf our rank feud; but the just gods gainsay\\r\\nThat any drop thou borrow’dst from thy mother,\\r\\nMy sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword\\r\\nBe drained! Let me embrace thee, Ajax.\\r\\nBy him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms;\\r\\nHector would have them fall upon him thus.\\r\\nCousin, all honour to thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI thank thee, Hector.\\r\\nThou art too gentle and too free a man.\\r\\nI came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence\\r\\nA great addition earned in thy death.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nNot Neoptolemus so mirable,\\r\\nOn whose bright crest Fame with her loud’st Oyes\\r\\nCries ‘This is he!’ could promise to himself\\r\\nA thought of added honour torn from Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nThere is expectance here from both the sides\\r\\nWhat further you will do.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWe’ll answer it:\\r\\nThe issue is embracement. Ajax, farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nIf I might in entreaties find success,\\r\\nAs seld’ I have the chance, I would desire\\r\\nMy famous cousin to our Grecian tents.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\n’Tis Agamemnon’s wish; and great Achilles\\r\\nDoth long to see unarm’d the valiant Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nAeneas, call my brother Troilus to me,\\r\\nAnd signify this loving interview\\r\\nTo the expecters of our Trojan part;\\r\\nDesire them home. Give me thy hand, my cousin;\\r\\nI will go eat with thee, and see your knights.\\r\\n\\r\\nAgamemnon and the rest of the Greeks come forward.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nGreat Agamemnon comes to meet us here.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nThe worthiest of them tell me name by name;\\r\\nBut for Achilles, my own searching eyes\\r\\nShall find him by his large and portly size.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWorthy all arms! as welcome as to one\\r\\nThat would be rid of such an enemy.\\r\\nBut that’s no welcome. Understand more clear,\\r\\nWhat’s past and what’s to come is strew’d with husks\\r\\nAnd formless ruin of oblivion;\\r\\nBut in this extant moment, faith and troth,\\r\\nStrain’d purely from all hollow bias-drawing,\\r\\nBids thee with most divine integrity,\\r\\nFrom heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI thank thee, most imperious Agamemnon.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\n[_To Troilus._] My well-fam’d lord of Troy, no less to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nLet me confirm my princely brother’s greeting.\\r\\nYou brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWho must we answer?\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nThe noble Menelaus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nO you, my lord? By Mars his gauntlet, thanks!\\r\\nMock not that I affect the untraded oath;\\r\\nYour quondam wife swears still by Venus’ glove.\\r\\nShe’s well, but bade me not commend her to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nName her not now, sir; she’s a deadly theme.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nO, pardon; I offend.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nI have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft,\\r\\nLabouring for destiny, make cruel way\\r\\nThrough ranks of Greekish youth; and I have seen thee,\\r\\nAs hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed,\\r\\nDespising many forfeits and subduements,\\r\\nWhen thou hast hung thy advanced sword i’ th’air,\\r\\nNot letting it decline on the declined;\\r\\nThat I have said to some my standers-by\\r\\n‘Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!’\\r\\nAnd I have seen thee pause and take thy breath,\\r\\nWhen that a ring of Greeks have shrap’d thee in,\\r\\nLike an Olympian wrestling. This have I seen;\\r\\nBut this thy countenance, still lock’d in steel,\\r\\nI never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire,\\r\\nAnd once fought with him. He was a soldier good,\\r\\nBut, by great Mars, the captain of us all,\\r\\nNever like thee. O, let an old man embrace thee;\\r\\nAnd, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\n’Tis the old Nestor.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nLet me embrace thee, good old chronicle,\\r\\nThat hast so long walk’d hand in hand with time.\\r\\nMost reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nI would my arms could match thee in contention\\r\\nAs they contend with thee in courtesy.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI would they could.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nHa!\\r\\nBy this white beard, I’d fight with thee tomorrow.\\r\\nWell, welcome, welcome! I have seen the time.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI wonder now how yonder city stands,\\r\\nWhen we have here her base and pillar by us.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI know your favour, Lord Ulysses, well.\\r\\nAh, sir, there’s many a Greek and Trojan dead,\\r\\nSince first I saw yourself and Diomed\\r\\nIn Ilion on your Greekish embassy.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nSir, I foretold you then what would ensue.\\r\\nMy prophecy is but half his journey yet;\\r\\nFor yonder walls, that pertly front your town,\\r\\nYon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds,\\r\\nMust kiss their own feet.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI must not believe you.\\r\\nThere they stand yet; and modestly I think\\r\\nThe fall of every Phrygian stone will cost\\r\\nA drop of Grecian blood. The end crowns all;\\r\\nAnd that old common arbitrator, Time,\\r\\nWill one day end it.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nSo to him we leave it.\\r\\nMost gentle and most valiant Hector, welcome.\\r\\nAfter the General, I beseech you next\\r\\nTo feast with me and see me at my tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI shall forestall thee, Lord Ulysses, thou!\\r\\nNow, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee;\\r\\nI have with exact view perus’d thee, Hector,\\r\\nAnd quoted joint by joint.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nIs this Achilles?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI am Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nStand fair, I pray thee; let me look on thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nBehold thy fill.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nNay, I have done already.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nThou art too brief. I will the second time,\\r\\nAs I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nO, like a book of sport thou’lt read me o’er;\\r\\nBut there’s more in me than thou understand’st.\\r\\nWhy dost thou so oppress me with thine eye?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nTell me, you heavens, in which part of his body\\r\\nShall I destroy him? Whether there, or there, or there?\\r\\nThat I may give the local wound a name,\\r\\nAnd make distinct the very breach whereout\\r\\nHector’s great spirit flew. Answer me, heavens.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nIt would discredit the blest gods, proud man,\\r\\nTo answer such a question. Stand again.\\r\\nThink’st thou to catch my life so pleasantly\\r\\nAs to prenominate in nice conjecture\\r\\nWhere thou wilt hit me dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI tell thee yea.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWert thou an oracle to tell me so,\\r\\nI’d not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well;\\r\\nFor I’ll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there;\\r\\nBut, by the forge that stithied Mars his helm,\\r\\nI’ll kill thee everywhere, yea, o’er and o’er.\\r\\nYou wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag.\\r\\nHis insolence draws folly from my lips;\\r\\nBut I’ll endeavour deeds to match these words,\\r\\nOr may I never—\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nDo not chafe thee, cousin;\\r\\nAnd you, Achilles, let these threats alone\\r\\nTill accident or purpose bring you to’t.\\r\\nYou may have every day enough of Hector,\\r\\nIf you have stomach. The general state, I fear,\\r\\nCan scarce entreat you to be odd with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI pray you let us see you in the field;\\r\\nWe have had pelting wars since you refus’d\\r\\nThe Grecians’ cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nDost thou entreat me, Hector?\\r\\nTomorrow do I meet thee, fell as death;\\r\\nTonight all friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nThy hand upon that match.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nFirst, all you peers of Greece, go to my tent;\\r\\nThere in the full convive we; afterwards,\\r\\nAs Hector’s leisure and your bounties shall\\r\\nConcur together, severally entreat him.\\r\\nBeat loud the tambourines, let the trumpets blow,\\r\\nThat this great soldier may his welcome know.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but Troilus and Ulysses_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nMy Lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you,\\r\\nIn what place of the field doth Calchas keep?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAt Menelaus’ tent, most princely Troilus.\\r\\nThere Diomed doth feast with him tonight,\\r\\nWho neither looks upon the heaven nor earth,\\r\\nBut gives all gaze and bent of amorous view\\r\\nOn the fair Cressid.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nShall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so much,\\r\\nAfter we part from Agamemnon’s tent,\\r\\nTo bring me thither?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYou shall command me, sir.\\r\\nAs gentle tell me of what honour was\\r\\nThis Cressida in Troy? Had she no lover there\\r\\nThat wails her absence?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO, sir, to such as boasting show their scars\\r\\nA mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord?\\r\\nShe was belov’d, she lov’d; she is, and doth;\\r\\nBut still sweet love is food for fortune’s tooth.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles and Patroclus.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI’ll heat his blood with Greekish wine tonight,\\r\\nWhich with my scimitar I’ll cool tomorrow.\\r\\nPatroclus, let us feast him to the height.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nHere comes Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nHow now, thou core of envy!\\r\\nThou crusty batch of nature, what’s the news?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWhy, thou picture of what thou seemest, and idol of idiot worshippers,\\r\\nhere’s a letter for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nFrom whence, fragment?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWhy, thou full dish of fool, from Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWho keeps the tent now?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThe surgeon’s box or the patient’s wound.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWell said, adversity! And what needs these tricks?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nPrithee, be silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk; thou art said to be\\r\\nAchilles’ male varlet.\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nMale varlet, you rogue! What’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWhy, his masculine whore. Now, the rotten diseases of the south, the\\r\\nguts-griping ruptures, catarrhs, loads o’ gravel in the back,\\r\\nlethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs,\\r\\nbladders full of imposthume, sciaticas, lime-kilns i’ th’ palm,\\r\\nincurable bone-ache, and the rivelled fee-simple of the tetter, take\\r\\nand take again such preposterous discoveries!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWhy, thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest thou to curse thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nDo I curse thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nWhy, no, you ruinous butt; you whoreson indistinguishable cur, no.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNo! Why art thou, then, exasperate, thou idle immaterial skein of\\r\\nsleave silk, thou green sarcenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a\\r\\nprodigal’s purse, thou? Ah, how the poor world is pestered with such\\r\\nwater-flies, diminutives of nature!\\r\\n\\r\\nPATROCLUS.\\r\\nOut, gall!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nFinch egg!\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nMy sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite\\r\\nFrom my great purpose in tomorrow’s battle.\\r\\nHere is a letter from Queen Hecuba,\\r\\nA token from her daughter, my fair love,\\r\\nBoth taxing me and gaging me to keep\\r\\nAn oath that I have sworn. I will not break it.\\r\\nFall Greeks; fail fame; honour or go or stay;\\r\\nMy major vow lies here, this I’ll obey.\\r\\nCome, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent;\\r\\nThis night in banqueting must all be spent.\\r\\nAway, Patroclus!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with_ Patroclus.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWith too much blood and too little brain these two may run mad; but, if\\r\\nwith too much brain and too little blood they do, I’ll be a curer of\\r\\nmadmen. Here’s Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough, and one that loves\\r\\nquails, but he has not so much brain as ear-wax; and the goodly\\r\\ntransformation of Jupiter there, his brother, the bull, the primitive\\r\\nstatue and oblique memorial of cuckolds, a thrifty shoeing-horn in a\\r\\nchain at his brother’s leg, to what form but that he is, should wit\\r\\nlarded with malice, and malice forced with wit, turn him to? To an ass,\\r\\nwere nothing: he is both ass and ox. To an ox, were nothing: he is both\\r\\nox and ass. To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchook, a toad, a lizard,\\r\\nan owl, a puttock, or a herring without a roe, I would not care; but to\\r\\nbe Menelaus, I would conspire against destiny. Ask me not what I would\\r\\nbe, if I were not Thersites; for I care not to be the louse of a lazar,\\r\\nso I were not Menelaus. Hey-day! sprites and fires!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajax, Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Menelaus and\\r\\n Diomedes with lights.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nWe go wrong, we go wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nNo, yonder ’tis;\\r\\nThere, where we see the lights.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI trouble you.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nNo, not a whit.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nHere comes himself to guide you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWelcome, brave Hector; welcome, Princes all.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nSo now, fair Prince of Troy, I bid good night;\\r\\nAjax commands the guard to tend on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nThanks, and good night to the Greeks’ general.\\r\\n\\r\\nMENELAUS.\\r\\nGood night, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nGood night, sweet Lord Menelaus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nSweet draught! ‘Sweet’ quoth a’!\\r\\nSweet sink, sweet sewer!\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nGood night and welcome, both at once, to those\\r\\nThat go or tarry.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nGood night.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Agamemnon and Menelaus_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nOld Nestor tarries; and you too, Diomed,\\r\\nKeep Hector company an hour or two.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI cannot, lord; I have important business,\\r\\nThe tide whereof is now. Good night, great Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nGive me your hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\n[_Aside to Troilus._] Follow his torch; he goes to\\r\\nCalchas’ tent; I’ll keep you company.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nSweet sir, you honour me.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nAnd so, good night.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Diomedes, Ulysses and Troilus following._]\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nCome, come, enter my tent.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but_ Thersites.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThat same Diomed’s a false-hearted rogue, a most unjust knave; I will\\r\\nno more trust him when he leers than I will a serpent when he hisses.\\r\\nHe will spend his mouth and promise, like Brabbler the hound; but when\\r\\nhe performs, astronomers foretell it: it is prodigious, there will come\\r\\nsome change; the sun borrows of the moon when Diomed keeps his word. I\\r\\nwill rather leave to see Hector than not to dog him. They say he keeps\\r\\na Trojan drab, and uses the traitor Calchas’ tent. I’ll after. Nothing\\r\\nbut lechery! All incontinent varlets!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The Grecian camp. Before CALCHAS’ tent.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Diomedes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhat, are you up here, ho! Speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nCALCHAS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Who calls?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nDiomed. Calchas, I think. Where’s your daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nCALCHAS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] She comes to you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus and Ulysses, at a distance; after them Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nStand where the torch may not discover us.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCressid comes forth to him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nHow now, my charge!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNow, my sweet guardian! Hark, a word with you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Whispers_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYea, so familiar?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nShe will sing any man at first sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nAnd any man may sing her, if he can take her cliff; she’s noted.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWill you remember?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nRemember! Yes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nNay, but do, then;\\r\\nAnd let your mind be coupled with your words.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat should she remember?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nList!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nSweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to folly.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nRoguery!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nNay, then—\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI’ll tell you what—\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nFo, fo! come, tell a pin; you are a forsworn.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIn faith, I cannot. What would you have me do?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nA juggling trick, to be secretly open.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhat did you swear you would bestow on me?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI prithee, do not hold me to mine oath;\\r\\nBid me do anything but that, sweet Greek.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nGood night.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHold, patience!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nHow now, Trojan!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nDiomed!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nNo, no, good night; I’ll be your fool no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThy better must.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHark! a word in your ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO plague and madness!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYou are moved, Prince; let us depart, I pray,\\r\\nLest your displeasure should enlarge itself\\r\\nTo wrathful terms. This place is dangerous;\\r\\nThe time right deadly; I beseech you, go.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBehold, I pray you.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNay, good my lord, go off;\\r\\nYou flow to great distraction; come, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI pray thee stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYou have not patience; come.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI pray you, stay; by hell and all hell’s torments,\\r\\nI will not speak a word.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nAnd so, good night.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nNay, but you part in anger.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nDoth that grieve thee? O withered truth!\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nHow now, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBy Jove, I will be patient.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGuardian! Why, Greek!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nFo, fo! adieu! you palter.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIn faith, I do not. Come hither once again.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYou shake, my lord, at something; will you go?\\r\\nYou will break out.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nShe strokes his cheek.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nCome, come.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a word:\\r\\nThere is between my will and all offences\\r\\nA guard of patience. Stay a little while.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHow the devil Luxury, with his fat rump and potato finger, tickles\\r\\nthese together! Fry, lechery, fry!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nBut will you, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIn faith, I will, la; never trust me else.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nGive me some token for the surety of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nI’ll fetch you one.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nYou have sworn patience.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFear me not, my lord;\\r\\nI will not be myself, nor have cognition\\r\\nOf what I feel. I am all patience.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Cressida.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNow the pledge; now, now, now!\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nHere, Diomed, keep this sleeve.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO beauty! where is thy faith?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nMy lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI will be patient; outwardly I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nYou look upon that sleeve; behold it well.\\r\\nHe lov’d me—O false wench!—Give’t me again.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhose was’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIt is no matter, now I have’t again.\\r\\nI will not meet with you tomorrow night.\\r\\nI prithee, Diomed, visit me no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNow she sharpens. Well said, whetstone.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI shall have it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWhat, this?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nAy, that.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nO all you gods! O pretty, pretty pledge!\\r\\nThy master now lies thinking on his bed\\r\\nOf thee and me, and sighs, and takes my glove,\\r\\nAnd gives memorial dainty kisses to it,\\r\\nAs I kiss thee. Nay, do not snatch it from me;\\r\\nHe that takes that doth take my heart withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI had your heart before; this follows it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nI did swear patience.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nYou shall not have it, Diomed; faith, you shall not;\\r\\nI’ll give you something else.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI will have this. Whose was it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nIt is no matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nCome, tell me whose it was.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\n’Twas one’s that lov’d me better than you will.\\r\\nBut, now you have it, take it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhose was it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nBy all Diana’s waiting women yond,\\r\\nAnd by herself, I will not tell you whose.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nTomorrow will I wear it on my helm,\\r\\nAnd grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWert thou the devil and wor’st it on thy horn,\\r\\nIt should be challeng’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nWell, well, ’tis done, ’tis past; and yet it is not;\\r\\nI will not keep my word.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhy, then farewell;\\r\\nThou never shalt mock Diomed again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nYou shall not go. One cannot speak a word\\r\\nBut it straight starts you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI do not like this fooling.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNor I, by Pluto; but that that likes not you\\r\\nPleases me best.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nWhat, shall I come? The hour?\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nAy, come; O Jove! Do come. I shall be plagu’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nFarewell till then.\\r\\n\\r\\nCRESSIDA.\\r\\nGood night. I prithee come.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Diomedes.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTroilus, farewell! One eye yet looks on thee;\\r\\nBut with my heart the other eye doth see.\\r\\nAh, poor our sex! this fault in us I find,\\r\\nThe error of our eye directs our mind.\\r\\nWhat error leads must err; O, then conclude,\\r\\nMinds sway’d by eyes are full of turpitude.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nA proof of strength she could not publish more,\\r\\nUnless she said ‘My mind is now turn’d whore.’\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nAll’s done, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nIt is.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWhy stay we, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nTo make a recordation to my soul\\r\\nOf every syllable that here was spoke.\\r\\nBut if I tell how these two did co-act,\\r\\nShall I not lie in publishing a truth?\\r\\nSith yet there is a credence in my heart,\\r\\nAn esperance so obstinately strong,\\r\\nThat doth invert th’attest of eyes and ears;\\r\\nAs if those organs had deceptious functions\\r\\nCreated only to calumniate.\\r\\nWas Cressid here?\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI cannot conjure, Trojan.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nShe was not, sure.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nMost sure she was.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhy, my negation hath no taste of madness.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nNor mine, my lord. Cressid was here but now.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nLet it not be believ’d for womanhood.\\r\\nThink, we had mothers; do not give advantage\\r\\nTo stubborn critics, apt, without a theme,\\r\\nFor depravation, to square the general sex\\r\\nBy Cressid’s rule. Rather think this not Cressid.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nWhat hath she done, Prince, that can soil our mothers?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nNothing at all, unless that this were she.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWill he swagger himself out on’s own eyes?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThis she? No; this is Diomed’s Cressida.\\r\\nIf beauty have a soul, this is not she;\\r\\nIf souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimonies,\\r\\nIf sanctimony be the god’s delight,\\r\\nIf there be rule in unity itself,\\r\\nThis was not she. O madness of discourse,\\r\\nThat cause sets up with and against itself!\\r\\nBi-fold authority! where reason can revolt\\r\\nWithout perdition, and loss assume all reason\\r\\nWithout revolt: this is, and is not, Cressid.\\r\\nWithin my soul there doth conduce a fight\\r\\nOf this strange nature, that a thing inseparate\\r\\nDivides more wider than the sky and earth;\\r\\nAnd yet the spacious breadth of this division\\r\\nAdmits no orifice for a point as subtle\\r\\nAs Ariachne’s broken woof to enter.\\r\\nInstance, O instance! strong as Pluto’s gates:\\r\\nCressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven.\\r\\nInstance, O instance! strong as heaven itself:\\r\\nThe bonds of heaven are slipp’d, dissolv’d, and loos’d;\\r\\nAnd with another knot, five-finger-tied,\\r\\nThe fractions of her faith, orts of her love,\\r\\nThe fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy relics\\r\\nOf her o’er-eaten faith, are given to Diomed.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nMay worthy Troilus be half attach’d\\r\\nWith that which here his passion doth express?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAy, Greek; and that shall be divulged well\\r\\nIn characters as red as Mars his heart\\r\\nInflam’d with Venus. Never did young man fancy\\r\\nWith so eternal and so fix’d a soul.\\r\\nHark, Greek: as much as I do Cressid love,\\r\\nSo much by weight hate I her Diomed.\\r\\nThat sleeve is mine that he’ll bear on his helm;\\r\\nWere it a casque compos’d by Vulcan’s skill\\r\\nMy sword should bite it. Not the dreadful spout\\r\\nWhich shipmen do the hurricano call,\\r\\nConstring’d in mass by the almighty sun,\\r\\nShall dizzy with more clamour Neptune’s ear\\r\\nIn his descent than shall my prompted sword\\r\\nFalling on Diomed.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHe’ll tickle it for his concupy.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO Cressid! O false Cressid! false, false, false!\\r\\nLet all untruths stand by thy stained name,\\r\\nAnd they’ll seem glorious.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nO, contain yourself;\\r\\nYour passion draws ears hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Aeneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nI have been seeking you this hour, my lord.\\r\\nHector, by this, is arming him in Troy;\\r\\nAjax, your guard, stays to conduct you home.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHave with you, Prince. My courteous lord, adieu.\\r\\nFairwell, revolted fair! and, Diomed,\\r\\nStand fast, and wear a castle on thy head.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nI’ll bring you to the gates.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAccept distracted thanks.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus, Aeneas and Ulysses_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES. Would I could meet that rogue Diomed! I would croak like a\\r\\nraven; I would bode, I would bode. Patroclus will give me anything for\\r\\nthe intelligence of this whore; the parrot will not do more for an\\r\\nalmond than he for a commodious drab. Lechery, lechery! Still wars and\\r\\nlechery! Nothing else holds fashion. A burning devil take them!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Troy. Before PRIAM’S palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector and Andromache.\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nWhen was my lord so much ungently temper’d\\r\\nTo stop his ears against admonishment?\\r\\nUnarm, unarm, and do not fight today.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nYou train me to offend you; get you in.\\r\\nBy all the everlasting gods, I’ll go.\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nMy dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the day.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nNo more, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cassandra.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nWhere is my brother Hector?\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nHere, sister, arm’d, and bloody in intent.\\r\\nConsort with me in loud and dear petition,\\r\\nPursue we him on knees; for I have dreamt\\r\\nOf bloody turbulence, and this whole night\\r\\nHath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nO, ’tis true!\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nHo! bid my trumpet sound.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nNo notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet brother!\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nBe gone, I say. The gods have heard me swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nThe gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows;\\r\\nThey are polluted off’rings, more abhorr’d\\r\\nThan spotted livers in the sacrifice.\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nO, be persuaded! Do not count it holy\\r\\nTo hurt by being just. It is as lawful,\\r\\nFor we would give much, to use violent thefts\\r\\nAnd rob in the behalf of charity.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nIt is the purpose that makes strong the vow;\\r\\nBut vows to every purpose must not hold.\\r\\nUnarm, sweet Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nHold you still, I say.\\r\\nMine honour keeps the weather of my fate.\\r\\nLife every man holds dear; but the dear man\\r\\nHolds honour far more precious dear than life.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, young man! Mean’st thou to fight today?\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nCassandra, call my father to persuade.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Cassandra.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nNo, faith, young Troilus; doff thy harness, youth;\\r\\nI am today i’ th’vein of chivalry.\\r\\nLet grow thy sinews till their knots be strong,\\r\\nAnd tempt not yet the brushes of the war.\\r\\nUnarm thee, go; and doubt thou not, brave boy,\\r\\nI’ll stand today for thee and me and Troy.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nBrother, you have a vice of mercy in you,\\r\\nWhich better fits a lion than a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWhat vice is that? Good Troilus, chide me for it.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhen many times the captive Grecian falls,\\r\\nEven in the fan and wind of your fair sword,\\r\\nYou bid them rise and live.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nO, ’tis fair play!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFool’s play, by heaven, Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nHow now? how now?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFor th’ love of all the gods,\\r\\nLet’s leave the hermit Pity with our mother;\\r\\nAnd when we have our armours buckled on,\\r\\nThe venom’d vengeance ride upon our swords,\\r\\nSpur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth!\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nFie, savage, fie!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHector, then ’tis wars.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nTroilus, I would not have you fight today.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWho should withhold me?\\r\\nNot fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars\\r\\nBeckoning with fiery truncheon my retire;\\r\\nNot Priamus and Hecuba on knees,\\r\\nTheir eyes o’er-galled with recourse of tears;\\r\\nNor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn,\\r\\nOppos’d to hinder me, should stop my way,\\r\\nBut by my ruin.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Cassandra with Priam.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nLay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast;\\r\\nHe is thy crutch; now if thou lose thy stay,\\r\\nThou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee,\\r\\nFall all together.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nCome, Hector, come, go back.\\r\\nThy wife hath dreamt; thy mother hath had visions;\\r\\nCassandra doth foresee; and I myself\\r\\nAm like a prophet suddenly enrapt\\r\\nTo tell thee that this day is ominous.\\r\\nTherefore, come back.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nAeneas is a-field;\\r\\nAnd I do stand engag’d to many Greeks,\\r\\nEven in the faith of valour, to appear\\r\\nThis morning to them.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nAy, but thou shalt not go.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI must not break my faith.\\r\\nYou know me dutiful; therefore, dear sir,\\r\\nLet me not shame respect; but give me leave\\r\\nTo take that course by your consent and voice\\r\\nWhich you do here forbid me, royal Priam.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nO Priam, yield not to him!\\r\\n\\r\\nANDROMACHE.\\r\\nDo not, dear father.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nAndromache, I am offended with you.\\r\\nUpon the love you bear me, get you in.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_ Andromache.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThis foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl\\r\\nMakes all these bodements.\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nO, farewell, dear Hector!\\r\\nLook how thou diest. Look how thy eye turns pale.\\r\\nLook how thy wounds do bleed at many vents.\\r\\nHark how Troy roars; how Hecuba cries out;\\r\\nHow poor Andromache shrills her dolours forth;\\r\\nBehold distraction, frenzy, and amazement,\\r\\nLike witless antics, one another meet,\\r\\nAnd all cry, ‘Hector! Hector’s dead! O Hector!’\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAway, away!\\r\\n\\r\\nCASSANDRA.\\r\\nFarewell! yet, soft! Hector, I take my leave.\\r\\nThou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nYou are amaz’d, my liege, at her exclaim.\\r\\nGo in, and cheer the town; we’ll forth, and fight,\\r\\nDo deeds worth praise and tell you them at night.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIAM.\\r\\nFarewell. The gods with safety stand about thee!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt severally Priam and Hector. Alarums._]\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nThey are at it, hark! Proud Diomed, believe,\\r\\nI come to lose my arm or win my sleeve.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nDo you hear, my lord? Do you hear?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWhat now?\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nHere’s a letter come from yond poor girl.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nLet me read.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nA whoreson tisick, a whoreson rascally tisick, so troubles me, and the\\r\\nfoolish fortune of this girl, and what one thing, what another, that I\\r\\nshall leave you one o’ these days; and I have a rheum in mine eyes too,\\r\\nand such an ache in my bones that unless a man were curs’d I cannot\\r\\ntell what to think on’t. What says she there?\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nWords, words, mere words, no matter from the heart;\\r\\nTh’effect doth operate another way.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Tearing the letter_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nGo, wind, to wind, there turn and change together.\\r\\nMy love with words and errors still she feeds,\\r\\nBut edifies another with her deeds.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt severally_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The plain between Troy and the Grecian camp.\\r\\n\\r\\n Alarums. Excursions. Enter Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNow they are clapper-clawing one another; I’ll go look on. That\\r\\ndissembling abominable varlet, Diomed, has got that same scurvy doting\\r\\nfoolish young knave’s sleeve of Troy there in his helm. I would fain\\r\\nsee them meet, that that same young Trojan ass that loves the whore\\r\\nthere might send that Greekish whoremasterly villain with the sleeve\\r\\nback to the dissembling luxurious drab of a sleeve-less errand. O’ the\\r\\nother side, the policy of those crafty swearing rascals that stale old\\r\\nmouse-eaten dry cheese, Nestor, and that same dog-fox, Ulysses, is not\\r\\nprov’d worth a blackberry. They set me up, in policy, that mongrel cur,\\r\\nAjax, against that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles; and now is the cur,\\r\\nAjax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not arm today; whereupon\\r\\nthe Grecians begin to proclaim barbarism, and policy grows into an ill\\r\\nopinion.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Diomedes, Troilus following.\\r\\n\\r\\nSoft! here comes sleeve, and t’other.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nFly not; for shouldst thou take the river Styx, I would swim after.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nThou dost miscall retire.\\r\\nI do not fly; but advantageous care\\r\\nWithdrew me from the odds of multitude.\\r\\nHave at thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nHold thy whore, Grecian; now for thy whore,\\r\\nTrojan! now the sleeve, now the sleeve!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Troilus and Diomedes fighting_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nWhat art thou, Greek? Art thou for Hector’s match?\\r\\nArt thou of blood and honour?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nNo, no I am a rascal; a scurvy railing knave; a very filthy rogue.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI do believe thee. Live.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nGod-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; but a plague break thy neck for\\r\\nfrighting me! What’s become of the wenching rogues? I think they have\\r\\nswallowed one another. I would laugh at that miracle. Yet, in a sort,\\r\\nlechery eats itself. I’ll seek them.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Diomedes and a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nGo, go, my servant, take thou Troilus’ horse;\\r\\nPresent the fair steed to my lady Cressid.\\r\\nFellow, commend my service to her beauty;\\r\\nTell her I have chastis’d the amorous Trojan,\\r\\nAnd am her knight by proof.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nI go, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Agamemnon.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nRenew, renew! The fierce Polydamas\\r\\nHath beat down Menon; bastard Margarelon\\r\\nHath Doreus prisoner,\\r\\nAnd stands colossus-wise, waving his beam,\\r\\nUpon the pashed corses of the kings\\r\\nEpistrophus and Cedius. Polixenes is slain;\\r\\nAmphimacus and Thoas deadly hurt;\\r\\nPatroclus ta’en, or slain; and Palamedes\\r\\nSore hurt and bruis’d. The dreadful Sagittary\\r\\nAppals our numbers. Haste we, Diomed,\\r\\nTo reinforcement, or we perish all.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Nestor.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nGo, bear Patroclus’ body to Achilles,\\r\\nAnd bid the snail-pac’d Ajax arm for shame.\\r\\nThere is a thousand Hectors in the field;\\r\\nNow here he fights on Galathe his horse,\\r\\nAnd there lacks work; anon he’s there afoot,\\r\\nAnd there they fly or die, like scaled sculls\\r\\nBefore the belching whale; then is he yonder,\\r\\nAnd there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge,\\r\\nFall down before him like the mower’s swath.\\r\\nHere, there, and everywhere, he leaves and takes;\\r\\nDexterity so obeying appetite\\r\\nThat what he will he does, and does so much\\r\\nThat proof is call’d impossibility.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ulysses.\\r\\n\\r\\nULYSSES.\\r\\nO, courage, courage, courage, Princes! Great Achilles\\r\\nIs arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance.\\r\\nPatroclus’ wounds have rous’d his drowsy blood,\\r\\nTogether with his mangled Myrmidons,\\r\\nThat noseless, handless, hack’d and chipp’d, come to him,\\r\\nCrying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend\\r\\nAnd foams at mouth, and he is arm’d and at it,\\r\\nRoaring for Troilus; who hath done today\\r\\nMad and fantastic execution,\\r\\nEngaging and redeeming of himself\\r\\nWith such a careless force and forceless care\\r\\nAs if that lust, in very spite of cunning,\\r\\nBade him win all.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nTroilus! thou coward Troilus!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nAy, there, there.\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nSo, so, we draw together.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nWhere is this Hector?\\r\\nCome, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face;\\r\\nKnow what it is to meet Achilles angry.\\r\\nHector! where’s Hector? I will none but Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Ajax.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nTroilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy head.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Diomedes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nTroilus, I say! Where’s Troilus?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWhat wouldst thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nI would correct him.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nWere I the general, thou shouldst have my office\\r\\nEre that correction. Troilus, I say! What, Troilus!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nO traitor Diomed! Turn thy false face, thou traitor,\\r\\nAnd pay thy life thou owest me for my horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nHa! art thou there?\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nI’ll fight with him alone. Stand, Diomed.\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nHe is my prize. I will not look upon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nCome, both, you cogging Greeks; have at you both!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt fighting_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nYea, Troilus? O, well fought, my youngest brother!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nNow do I see thee. Ha! have at thee, Hector!\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nPause, if thou wilt.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nI do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan.\\r\\nBe happy that my arms are out of use;\\r\\nMy rest and negligence befriend thee now,\\r\\nBut thou anon shalt hear of me again;\\r\\nTill when, go seek thy fortune.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nFare thee well.\\r\\nI would have been much more a fresher man,\\r\\nHad I expected thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, my brother!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nAjax hath ta’en Aeneas. Shall it be?\\r\\nNo, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven,\\r\\nHe shall not carry him; I’ll be ta’en too,\\r\\nOr bring him off. Fate, hear me what I say:\\r\\nI reck not though thou end my life today.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter one in armour.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nStand, stand, thou Greek; thou art a goodly mark.\\r\\nNo? wilt thou not? I like thy armour well;\\r\\nI’ll frush it and unlock the rivets all\\r\\nBut I’ll be master of it. Wilt thou not, beast, abide?\\r\\nWhy then, fly on; I’ll hunt thee for thy hide.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles with Myrmidons.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nCome here about me, you my Myrmidons;\\r\\nMark what I say. Attend me where I wheel;\\r\\nStrike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath;\\r\\nAnd when I have the bloody Hector found,\\r\\nEmpale him with your weapons round about;\\r\\nIn fellest manner execute your arms.\\r\\nFollow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye.\\r\\nIt is decreed Hector the great must die.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Menelaus and Paris, fighting; then Thersites.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nThe cuckold and the cuckold-maker are at it. Now, bull! Now, dog! ’Loo,\\r\\nParis, ’loo! now my double-hen’d Spartan! ’loo, Paris, ’loo! The bull\\r\\nhas the game. ’Ware horns, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Paris and Menelaus_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Margarelon.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARGARELON.\\r\\nTurn, slave, and fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nWhat art thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARGARELON.\\r\\nA bastard son of Priam’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHERSITES.\\r\\nI am a bastard too; I love bastards. I am a bastard begot, bastard\\r\\ninstructed, bastard in mind, bastard in valour, in everything\\r\\nillegitimate. One bear will not bite another, and wherefore should one\\r\\nbastard? Take heed, the quarrel’s most ominous to us: if the son of a\\r\\nwhore fight for a whore, he tempts judgement. Farewell, bastard.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMARGARELON.\\r\\nThe devil take thee, coward!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VIII. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hector.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nMost putrified core so fair without,\\r\\nThy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life.\\r\\nNow is my day’s work done; I’ll take my breath:\\r\\nRest, sword; thou hast thy fill of blood and death!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Disarms_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Achilles and Myrmidons.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nLook, Hector, how the sun begins to set,\\r\\nHow ugly night comes breathing at his heels;\\r\\nEven with the vail and dark’ning of the sun,\\r\\nTo close the day up, Hector’s life is done.\\r\\n\\r\\nHECTOR.\\r\\nI am unarm’d; forego this vantage, Greek.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nStrike, fellows, strike; this is the man I seek.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Hector falls_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSo, Ilion, fall thou next! Now, Troy, sink down;\\r\\nHere lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone.\\r\\nOn, Myrmidons, and cry you all amain\\r\\n‘Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.’\\r\\n\\r\\n [_A retreat sounded_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHark! a retire upon our Grecian part.\\r\\n\\r\\nMYRMIDON.\\r\\nThe Trojan trumpets sound the like, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nACHILLES.\\r\\nThe dragon wing of night o’erspreads the earth\\r\\nAnd, stickler-like, the armies separates.\\r\\nMy half-supp’d sword, that frankly would have fed,\\r\\nPleas’d with this dainty bait, thus goes to bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Sheathes his sword_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome, tie his body to my horse’s tail;\\r\\nAlong the field I will the Trojan trail.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IX. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Sound retreat. Shout. Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Nestor,\\r\\n Diomedes and the rest, marching.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nHark! hark! what shout is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nNESTOR.\\r\\nPeace, drums!\\r\\n\\r\\nSOLDIERS.\\r\\n[_Within_.] Achilles! Achilles! Hector’s slain. Achilles!\\r\\n\\r\\nDIOMEDES.\\r\\nThe bruit is, Hector’s slain, and by Achilles.\\r\\n\\r\\nAJAX.\\r\\nIf it be so, yet bragless let it be;\\r\\nGreat Hector was as good a man as he.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGAMEMNON.\\r\\nMarch patiently along. Let one be sent\\r\\nTo pray Achilles see us at our tent.\\r\\nIf in his death the gods have us befriended;\\r\\nGreat Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt_.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE X. Another part of the plain.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Aeneas, Paris, Antenor and Deiphobus.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nStand, ho! yet are we masters of the field.\\r\\nNever go home; here starve we out the night.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Troilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHector is slain.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nHector! The gods forbid!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHe’s dead, and at the murderer’s horse’s tail,\\r\\nIn beastly sort, dragg’d through the shameful field.\\r\\nFrown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed.\\r\\nSit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy.\\r\\nI say at once let your brief plagues be mercy,\\r\\nAnd linger not our sure destructions on.\\r\\n\\r\\nAENEAS.\\r\\nMy lord, you do discomfort all the host.\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nYou understand me not that tell me so.\\r\\nI do not speak of flight, of fear of death,\\r\\nBut dare all imminence that gods and men\\r\\nAddress their dangers in. Hector is gone.\\r\\nWho shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba?\\r\\nLet him that will a screech-owl aye be call’d\\r\\nGo in to Troy, and say there ‘Hector’s dead.’\\r\\nThere is a word will Priam turn to stone;\\r\\nMake wells and Niobes of the maids and wives,\\r\\nCold statues of the youth; and, in a word,\\r\\nScare Troy out of itself. But, march away;\\r\\nHector is dead; there is no more to say.\\r\\nStay yet. You vile abominable tents,\\r\\nThus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains,\\r\\nLet Titan rise as early as he dare,\\r\\nI’ll through and through you. And, thou great-siz’d coward,\\r\\nNo space of earth shall sunder our two hates;\\r\\nI’ll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still,\\r\\nThat mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy’s thoughts.\\r\\nStrike a free march to Troy. With comfort go;\\r\\nHope of revenge shall hide our inward woe.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Pandarus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nBut hear you, hear you!\\r\\n\\r\\nTROILUS.\\r\\nHence, broker-lackey. Ignominy and shame\\r\\nPursue thy life, and live aye with thy name!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt all but_ Pandarus.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPANDARUS.\\r\\nA goodly medicine for my aching bones! O world! world! Thus is the poor\\r\\nagent despis’d! O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a-work,\\r\\nand how ill requited! Why should our endeavour be so lov’d, and the\\r\\nperformance so loathed? What verse for it? What instance for it? Let me\\r\\nsee—\\r\\n\\r\\n Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing\\r\\n Till he hath lost his honey and his sting;\\r\\n And being once subdu’d in armed trail,\\r\\n Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail.\\r\\n\\r\\nGood traders in the flesh, set this in your painted cloths.\\r\\nAs many as be here of Pandar’s hall,\\r\\nYour eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar’s fall;\\r\\nOr, if you cannot weep, yet give some groans,\\r\\nThough not for me, yet for your aching bones.\\r\\nBrethren and sisters of the hold-door trade,\\r\\nSome two months hence my will shall here be made.\\r\\nIt should be now, but that my fear is this,\\r\\nSome galled goose of Winchester would hiss.\\r\\nTill then I’ll sweat and seek about for eases,\\r\\nAnd at that time bequeath you my diseases.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit_.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. An Apartment in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\nScene II. The sea-coast.\\r\\nScene III. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\nScene V. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. The sea-coast.\\r\\nScene II. A street.\\r\\nScene III. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\nScene V. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\nScene II. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene III. A street.\\r\\nScene IV. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. The Street before Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene II. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene III. Olivia’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. The Street before Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nORSINO, Duke of Illyria.\\r\\nVALENTINE, Gentleman attending on the Duke\\r\\nCURIO, Gentleman attending on the Duke\\r\\nVIOLA, in love with the Duke.\\r\\nSEBASTIAN, a young Gentleman, twin brother to Viola.\\r\\nA SEA CAPTAIN, friend to Viola\\r\\nANTONIO, a Sea Captain, friend to Sebastian.\\r\\nOLIVIA, a rich Countess.\\r\\nMARIA, Olivia’s Woman.\\r\\nSIR TOBY BELCH, Uncle of Olivia.\\r\\nSIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.\\r\\nMALVOLIO, Steward to Olivia.\\r\\nFABIAN, Servant to Olivia.\\r\\nCLOWN, Servant to Olivia.\\r\\nPRIEST\\r\\nLords, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and other Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: A City in Illyria; and the Sea-coast near it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. An Apartment in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Orsino, Duke of Illyria, Curio, and other Lords; Musicians\\r\\n attending.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nIf music be the food of love, play on,\\r\\nGive me excess of it; that, surfeiting,\\r\\nThe appetite may sicken and so die.\\r\\nThat strain again, it had a dying fall;\\r\\nO, it came o’er my ear like the sweet sound\\r\\nThat breathes upon a bank of violets,\\r\\nStealing and giving odour. Enough; no more;\\r\\n’Tis not so sweet now as it was before.\\r\\nO spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou,\\r\\nThat notwithstanding thy capacity\\r\\nReceiveth as the sea, nought enters there,\\r\\nOf what validity and pitch soever,\\r\\nBut falls into abatement and low price\\r\\nEven in a minute! So full of shapes is fancy,\\r\\nThat it alone is high fantastical.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURIO.\\r\\nWill you go hunt, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat, Curio?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURIO.\\r\\nThe hart.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhy so I do, the noblest that I have.\\r\\nO, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,\\r\\nMethought she purg’d the air of pestilence;\\r\\nThat instant was I turn’d into a hart,\\r\\nAnd my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,\\r\\nE’er since pursue me. How now? what news from her?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Valentine.\\r\\n\\r\\nVALENTINE.\\r\\nSo please my lord, I might not be admitted,\\r\\nBut from her handmaid do return this answer:\\r\\nThe element itself, till seven years’ heat,\\r\\nShall not behold her face at ample view;\\r\\nBut like a cloistress she will veiled walk,\\r\\nAnd water once a day her chamber round\\r\\nWith eye-offending brine: all this to season\\r\\nA brother’s dead love, which she would keep fresh\\r\\nAnd lasting in her sad remembrance.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO, she that hath a heart of that fine frame\\r\\nTo pay this debt of love but to a brother,\\r\\nHow will she love, when the rich golden shaft\\r\\nHath kill’d the flock of all affections else\\r\\nThat live in her; when liver, brain, and heart,\\r\\nThese sovereign thrones, are all supplied and fill’d\\r\\nHer sweet perfections with one self king!\\r\\nAway before me to sweet beds of flowers,\\r\\nLove-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The sea-coast.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Viola, a Captain and Sailors.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhat country, friends, is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nThis is Illyria, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd what should I do in Illyria?\\r\\nMy brother he is in Elysium.\\r\\nPerchance he is not drown’d. What think you, sailors?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nIt is perchance that you yourself were sav’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nO my poor brother! and so perchance may he be.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nTrue, madam; and to comfort you with chance,\\r\\nAssure yourself, after our ship did split,\\r\\nWhen you, and those poor number sav’d with you,\\r\\nHung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,\\r\\nMost provident in peril, bind himself,\\r\\n(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice)\\r\\nTo a strong mast that liv’d upon the sea;\\r\\nWhere, like Arion on the dolphin’s back,\\r\\nI saw him hold acquaintance with the waves\\r\\nSo long as I could see.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nFor saying so, there’s gold!\\r\\nMine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,\\r\\nWhereto thy speech serves for authority,\\r\\nThe like of him. Know’st thou this country?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nAy, madam, well, for I was bred and born\\r\\nNot three hours’ travel from this very place.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWho governs here?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nA noble duke, in nature as in name.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhat is his name?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nOrsino.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nOrsino! I have heard my father name him.\\r\\nHe was a bachelor then.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nAnd so is now, or was so very late;\\r\\nFor but a month ago I went from hence,\\r\\nAnd then ’twas fresh in murmur, (as, you know,\\r\\nWhat great ones do, the less will prattle of)\\r\\nThat he did seek the love of fair Olivia.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhat’s she?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nA virtuous maid, the daughter of a count\\r\\nThat died some twelvemonth since; then leaving her\\r\\nIn the protection of his son, her brother,\\r\\nWho shortly also died; for whose dear love\\r\\nThey say, she hath abjur’d the company\\r\\nAnd sight of men.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nO that I served that lady,\\r\\nAnd might not be delivered to the world,\\r\\nTill I had made mine own occasion mellow,\\r\\nWhat my estate is.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nThat were hard to compass,\\r\\nBecause she will admit no kind of suit,\\r\\nNo, not the Duke’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThere is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain;\\r\\nAnd though that nature with a beauteous wall\\r\\nDoth oft close in pollution, yet of thee\\r\\nI will believe thou hast a mind that suits\\r\\nWith this thy fair and outward character.\\r\\nI pray thee, and I’ll pay thee bounteously,\\r\\nConceal me what I am, and be my aid\\r\\nFor such disguise as haply shall become\\r\\nThe form of my intent. I’ll serve this duke;\\r\\nThou shalt present me as an eunuch to him.\\r\\nIt may be worth thy pains; for I can sing,\\r\\nAnd speak to him in many sorts of music,\\r\\nThat will allow me very worth his service.\\r\\nWhat else may hap, to time I will commit;\\r\\nOnly shape thou thy silence to my wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nBe you his eunuch and your mute I’ll be;\\r\\nWhen my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI thank thee. Lead me on.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat a plague means my niece to take the death of her brother thus? I\\r\\nam sure care’s an enemy to life.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nBy my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o’ nights; your cousin,\\r\\nmy lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, let her except, before excepted.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAy, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nConfine? I’ll confine myself no finer than I am. These clothes are good\\r\\nenough to drink in, and so be these boots too; and they be not, let\\r\\nthem hang themselves in their own straps.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThat quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard my lady talk of it\\r\\nyesterday; and of a foolish knight that you brought in one night here\\r\\nto be her wooer.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWho? Sir Andrew Aguecheek?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAy, he.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHe’s as tall a man as any’s in Illyria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nWhat’s that to th’ purpose?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, he has three thousand ducats a year.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAy, but he’ll have but a year in all these ducats. He’s a very fool,\\r\\nand a prodigal.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nFie, that you’ll say so! he plays o’ the viol-de-gamboys, and speaks\\r\\nthree or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the\\r\\ngood gifts of nature.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nHe hath indeed, almost natural: for, besides that he’s a fool, he’s a\\r\\ngreat quarreller; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay\\r\\nthe gust he hath in quarrelling, ’tis thought among the prudent he\\r\\nwould quickly have the gift of a grave.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nBy this hand, they are scoundrels and substractors that say so of him.\\r\\nWho are they?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThey that add, moreover, he’s drunk nightly in your company.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWith drinking healths to my niece; I’ll drink to her as long as there\\r\\nis a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria. He’s a coward and a\\r\\ncoystril that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o’ the\\r\\ntoe like a parish top. What, wench! _Castiliano vulgo:_ for here comes\\r\\nSir Andrew Agueface.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGUECHEEK.\\r\\nSir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nSweet Sir Andrew!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBless you, fair shrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAnd you too, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAccost, Sir Andrew, accost.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhat’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMy niece’s chamber-maid.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nGood Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMy name is Mary, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nGood Mistress Mary Accost,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nYou mistake, knight: accost is front her, board her, woo her, assail\\r\\nher.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBy my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the\\r\\nmeaning of accost?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nFare you well, gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never draw sword\\r\\nagain.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair\\r\\nlady, do you think you have fools in hand?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nSir, I have not you by the hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nMarry, but you shall have, and here’s my hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNow, sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring your hand to th’ buttery\\r\\nbar and let it drink.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWherefore, sweetheart? What’s your metaphor?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nIt’s dry, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhy, I think so; I am not such an ass but I can keep my hand dry. But\\r\\nwhat’s your jest?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nA dry jest, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAre you full of them?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAy, sir, I have them at my fingers’ ends: marry, now I let go your\\r\\nhand, I am barren.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nO knight, thou lack’st a cup of canary: When did I see thee so put\\r\\ndown?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNever in your life, I think, unless you see canary put me down.\\r\\nMethinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary\\r\\nman has; but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm\\r\\nto my wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nNo question.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd I thought that, I’d forswear it. I’ll ride home tomorrow, Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Pourquoy_, my dear knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhat is _pourquoy?_ Do, or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in\\r\\nthe tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting. O, had I\\r\\nbut followed the arts!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThen hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhy, would that have mended my hair?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPast question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBut it becomes me well enough, does’t not?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nExcellent, it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I hope to see a\\r\\nhouswife take thee between her legs, and spin it off.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFaith, I’ll home tomorrow, Sir Toby; your niece will not be seen, or if\\r\\nshe be, it’s four to one she’ll none of me; the Count himself here hard\\r\\nby woos her.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nShe’ll none o’ the Count; she’ll not match above her degree, neither in\\r\\nestate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear’t. Tut, there’s life\\r\\nin’t, man.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI’ll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o’ the strangest mind i’ the\\r\\nworld; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nArt thou good at these kick-shawses, knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAs any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my\\r\\nbetters; and yet I will not compare with an old man.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFaith, I can cut a caper.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd I can cut the mutton to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in\\r\\nIllyria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWherefore are these things hid? Wherefore have these gifts a curtain\\r\\nbefore ’em? Are they like to take dust, like Mistress Mall’s picture?\\r\\nWhy dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a\\r\\ncoranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not so much as make\\r\\nwater but in a sink-a-pace. What dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide\\r\\nvirtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it\\r\\nwas formed under the star of a galliard.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAy, ’tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a dam’d-colour’d\\r\\nstock. Shall we set about some revels?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat shall we do else? Were we not born under Taurus?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nTaurus? That’s sides and heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nNo, sir, it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper. Ha, higher: ha,\\r\\nha, excellent!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Valentine and Viola in man’s attire.\\r\\n\\r\\nVALENTINE.\\r\\nIf the duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like\\r\\nto be much advanced; he hath known you but three days, and already you\\r\\nare no stranger.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nYou either fear his humour or my negligence, that you call in question\\r\\nthe continuance of his love. Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours?\\r\\n\\r\\nVALENTINE.\\r\\nNo, believe me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Duke, Curio and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI thank you. Here comes the Count.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWho saw Cesario, ho?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nOn your attendance, my lord, here.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nStand you awhile aloof.—Cesario,\\r\\nThou know’st no less but all; I have unclasp’d\\r\\nTo thee the book even of my secret soul.\\r\\nTherefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her,\\r\\nBe not denied access, stand at her doors,\\r\\nAnd tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow\\r\\nTill thou have audience.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSure, my noble lord,\\r\\nIf she be so abandon’d to her sorrow\\r\\nAs it is spoke, she never will admit me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBe clamorous and leap all civil bounds,\\r\\nRather than make unprofited return.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSay I do speak with her, my lord, what then?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO then unfold the passion of my love,\\r\\nSurprise her with discourse of my dear faith;\\r\\nIt shall become thee well to act my woes;\\r\\nShe will attend it better in thy youth,\\r\\nThan in a nuncio’s of more grave aspect.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI think not so, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nDear lad, believe it;\\r\\nFor they shall yet belie thy happy years,\\r\\nThat say thou art a man: Diana’s lip\\r\\nIs not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe\\r\\nIs as the maiden’s organ, shrill and sound,\\r\\nAnd all is semblative a woman’s part.\\r\\nI know thy constellation is right apt\\r\\nFor this affair. Some four or five attend him:\\r\\nAll, if you will; for I myself am best\\r\\nWhen least in company. Prosper well in this,\\r\\nAnd thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,\\r\\nTo call his fortunes thine.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI’ll do my best\\r\\nTo woo your lady. [_Aside._] Yet, a barful strife!\\r\\nWhoe’er I woo, myself would be his wife.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay; either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips so\\r\\nwide as a bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse: my lady will hang\\r\\nthee for thy absence.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLet her hang me: he that is well hanged in this world needs to fear no\\r\\ncolours.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMake that good.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe shall see none to fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nA good lenten answer. I can tell thee where that saying was born, of I\\r\\nfear no colours.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhere, good Mistress Mary?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nIn the wars, and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWell, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let\\r\\nthem use their talents.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nYet you will be hanged for being so long absent; or to be turned away;\\r\\nis not that as good as a hanging to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMany a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and for turning away, let\\r\\nsummer bear it out.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nYou are resolute then?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot so, neither, but I am resolved on two points.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThat if one break, the other will hold; or if both break, your gaskins\\r\\nfall.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nApt, in good faith, very apt! Well, go thy way; if Sir Toby would leave\\r\\ndrinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve’s flesh as any in Illyria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nPeace, you rogue, no more o’ that. Here comes my lady: make your excuse\\r\\nwisely, you were best.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia with Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWit, and’t be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits that think\\r\\nthey have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I that am sure I lack\\r\\nthee, may pass for a wise man. For what says Quinapalus? Better a witty\\r\\nfool than a foolish wit. God bless thee, lady!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nTake the fool away.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nDo you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGo to, y’are a dry fool; I’ll no more of you. Besides, you grow\\r\\ndishonest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTwo faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend: for give\\r\\nthe dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest man\\r\\nmend himself, if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let\\r\\nthe botcher mend him. Anything that’s mended is but patched; virtue\\r\\nthat transgresses is but patched with sin, and sin that amends is but\\r\\npatched with virtue. If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if\\r\\nit will not, what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so\\r\\nbeauty’s a flower. The lady bade take away the fool, therefore, I say\\r\\nagain, take her away.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSir, I bade them take away you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMisprision in the highest degree! Lady, _cucullus non facit monachum:_\\r\\nthat’s as much to say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna,\\r\\ngive me leave to prove you a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nCan you do it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nDexteriously, good madonna.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nMake your proof.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI must catechize you for it, madonna. Good my mouse of virtue, answer\\r\\nme.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWell sir, for want of other idleness, I’ll ’bide your proof.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGood madonna, why mourn’st thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGood fool, for my brother’s death.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI think his soul is in hell, madonna.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI know his soul is in heaven, fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThe more fool you, madonna, to mourn for your brother’s soul being in\\r\\nheaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nYes; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him. Infirmity, that\\r\\ndecays the wise, doth ever make the better fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGod send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your\\r\\nfolly! Sir Toby will be sworn that I am no fox; but he will not pass\\r\\nhis word for twopence that you are no fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHow say you to that, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal; I saw him\\r\\nput down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain\\r\\nthan a stone. Look you now, he’s out of his guard already; unless you\\r\\nlaugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest I take\\r\\nthese wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than\\r\\nthe fools’ zanies.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered\\r\\nappetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to\\r\\ntake those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon bullets. There is\\r\\nno slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no\\r\\nrailing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNow Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speak’st well of fools!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMadam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much desires to speak\\r\\nwith you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nFrom the Count Orsino, is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nI know not, madam; ’tis a fair young man, and well attended.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWho of my people hold him in delay?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nSir Toby, madam, your kinsman.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nFetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman. Fie on him!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGo you, Malvolio. If it be a suit from the Count, I am sick, or not at\\r\\nhome. What you will, to dismiss it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Malvolio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool:\\r\\nwhose skull Jove cram with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin\\r\\nhas a most weak _pia mater_.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nBy mine honour, half drunk. What is he at the gate, cousin?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nA gentleman? What gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n’Tis a gentleman here. A plague o’ these pickle-herrings! How now, sot?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGood Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nCousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLechery! I defy lechery. There’s one at the gate.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAy, marry, what is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLet him be the devil an he will, I care not: give me faith, say I.\\r\\nWell, it’s all one.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat’s a drunken man like, fool?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLike a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes\\r\\nhim a fool, the second mads him, and a third drowns him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGo thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit o’ my coz; for he’s in\\r\\nthe third degree of drink; he’s drowned. Go, look after him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look to the madman.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMadam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you\\r\\nwere sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes\\r\\nto speak with you. I told him you were asleep; he seems to have a\\r\\nforeknowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What\\r\\nis to be said to him, lady? He’s fortified against any denial.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nTell him, he shall not speak with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nHas been told so; and he says he’ll stand at your door like a sheriff’s\\r\\npost, and be the supporter of a bench, but he’ll speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat kind o’ man is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nWhy, of mankind.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat manner of man?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nOf very ill manner; he’ll speak with you, will you or no.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nOf what personage and years is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nNot yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash\\r\\nis before ’tis a peascod, or a codling, when ’tis almost an apple. ’Tis\\r\\nwith him in standing water, between boy and man. He is very\\r\\nwell-favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly. One would think his\\r\\nmother’s milk were scarce out of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nLet him approach. Call in my gentlewoman.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGentlewoman, my lady calls.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGive me my veil; come, throw it o’er my face.\\r\\nWe’ll once more hear Orsino’s embassy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Viola.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThe honourable lady of the house, which is she?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSpeak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMost radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty,—I pray you, tell me if\\r\\nthis be the lady of the house, for I never saw her. I would be loath to\\r\\ncast away my speech; for besides that it is excellently well penned, I\\r\\nhave taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no\\r\\nscorn; I am very comptible, even to the least sinister usage.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhence came you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI can say little more than I have studied, and that question’s out of\\r\\nmy part. Good gentle one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady\\r\\nof the house, that I may proceed in my speech.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAre you a comedian?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNo, my profound heart: and yet, by the very fangs of malice I swear, I\\r\\nam not that I play. Are you the lady of the house?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIf I do not usurp myself, I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMost certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what is yours\\r\\nto bestow is not yours to reserve. But this is from my commission. I\\r\\nwill on with my speech in your praise, and then show you the heart of\\r\\nmy message.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nCome to what is important in’t: I forgive you the praise.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAlas, I took great pains to study it, and ’tis poetical.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIt is the more like to be feigned; I pray you keep it in. I heard you\\r\\nwere saucy at my gates; and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at\\r\\nyou than to hear you. If you be mad, be gone; if you have reason, be\\r\\nbrief: ’tis not that time of moon with me to make one in so skipping a\\r\\ndialogue.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nWill you hoist sail, sir? Here lies your way.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNo, good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification\\r\\nfor your giant, sweet lady. Tell me your mind. I am a messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it\\r\\nis so fearful. Speak your office.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIt alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of\\r\\nhomage; I hold the olive in my hand: my words are as full of peace as\\r\\nmatter.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nYet you began rudely. What are you? What would you?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThe rudeness that hath appeared in me have I learned from my\\r\\nentertainment. What I am and what I would are as secret as maidenhead:\\r\\nto your ears, divinity; to any other’s, profanation.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGive us the place alone: we will hear this divinity.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, sir, what is your text?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMost sweet lady—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nA comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your\\r\\ntext?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIn Orsino’s bosom.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIn his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nTo answer by the method, in the first of his heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nGood madam, let me see your face.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHave you any commission from your lord to negotiate with my face? You\\r\\nare now out of your text: but we will draw the curtain and show you the\\r\\npicture. [_Unveiling._] Look you, sir, such a one I was this present.\\r\\nIs’t not well done?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nExcellently done, if God did all.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\n’Tis in grain, sir; ’twill endure wind and weather.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n’Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white\\r\\nNature’s own sweet and cunning hand laid on.\\r\\nLady, you are the cruel’st she alive\\r\\nIf you will lead these graces to the grave,\\r\\nAnd leave the world no copy.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give out divers schedules\\r\\nof my beauty. It shall be inventoried and every particle and utensil\\r\\nlabelled to my will: as, item, two lips indifferent red; item, two grey\\r\\neyes with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were\\r\\nyou sent hither to praise me?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI see you what you are, you are too proud;\\r\\nBut, if you were the devil, you are fair.\\r\\nMy lord and master loves you. O, such love\\r\\nCould be but recompens’d though you were crown’d\\r\\nThe nonpareil of beauty!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHow does he love me?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWith adorations, fertile tears,\\r\\nWith groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nYour lord does know my mind, I cannot love him:\\r\\nYet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,\\r\\nOf great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;\\r\\nIn voices well divulg’d, free, learn’d, and valiant,\\r\\nAnd in dimension and the shape of nature,\\r\\nA gracious person. But yet I cannot love him.\\r\\nHe might have took his answer long ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIf I did love you in my master’s flame,\\r\\nWith such a suff’ring, such a deadly life,\\r\\nIn your denial I would find no sense,\\r\\nI would not understand it.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy, what would you?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMake me a willow cabin at your gate,\\r\\nAnd call upon my soul within the house;\\r\\nWrite loyal cantons of contemned love,\\r\\nAnd sing them loud even in the dead of night;\\r\\nHallow your name to the reverberate hills,\\r\\nAnd make the babbling gossip of the air\\r\\nCry out Olivia! O, you should not rest\\r\\nBetween the elements of air and earth,\\r\\nBut you should pity me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nYou might do much.\\r\\nWhat is your parentage?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAbove my fortunes, yet my state is well:\\r\\nI am a gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGet you to your lord;\\r\\nI cannot love him: let him send no more,\\r\\nUnless, perchance, you come to me again,\\r\\nTo tell me how he takes it. Fare you well:\\r\\nI thank you for your pains: spend this for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI am no fee’d post, lady; keep your purse;\\r\\nMy master, not myself, lacks recompense.\\r\\nLove make his heart of flint that you shall love,\\r\\nAnd let your fervour like my master’s be\\r\\nPlac’d in contempt. Farewell, fair cruelty.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat is your parentage?\\r\\n‘Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:\\r\\nI am a gentleman.’ I’ll be sworn thou art;\\r\\nThy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,\\r\\nDo give thee five-fold blazon. Not too fast: soft, soft!\\r\\nUnless the master were the man. How now?\\r\\nEven so quickly may one catch the plague?\\r\\nMethinks I feel this youth’s perfections\\r\\nWith an invisible and subtle stealth\\r\\nTo creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.\\r\\nWhat ho, Malvolio!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nHere, madam, at your service.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nRun after that same peevish messenger\\r\\nThe County’s man: he left this ring behind him,\\r\\nWould I or not; tell him, I’ll none of it.\\r\\nDesire him not to flatter with his lord,\\r\\nNor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him.\\r\\nIf that the youth will come this way tomorrow,\\r\\nI’ll give him reasons for’t. Hie thee, Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMadam, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI do I know not what, and fear to find\\r\\nMine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.\\r\\nFate, show thy force, ourselves we do not owe.\\r\\nWhat is decreed must be; and be this so!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The sea-coast.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio and Sebastian.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWill you stay no longer? Nor will you not that I go with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nBy your patience, no; my stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of\\r\\nmy fate might perhaps distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you\\r\\nyour leave that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompense for\\r\\nyour love, to lay any of them on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLet me know of you whither you are bound.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nNo, sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I\\r\\nperceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not\\r\\nextort from me what I am willing to keep in. Therefore it charges me in\\r\\nmanners the rather to express myself. You must know of me then,\\r\\nAntonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Roderigo; my father was\\r\\nthat Sebastian of Messaline whom I know you have heard of. He left\\r\\nbehind him myself and a sister, both born in an hour. If the heavens\\r\\nhad been pleased, would we had so ended! But you, sir, altered that,\\r\\nfor some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea was my\\r\\nsister drowned.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAlas the day!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many\\r\\naccounted beautiful. But though I could not with such estimable wonder\\r\\noverfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore\\r\\na mind that envy could not but call fair. She is drowned already, sir,\\r\\nwith salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with\\r\\nmore.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nPardon me, sir, your bad entertainment.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nO good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIf you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nIf you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you\\r\\nhave recovered, desire it not. Fare ye well at once; my bosom is full\\r\\nof kindness, and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that upon\\r\\nthe least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to\\r\\nthe Count Orsino’s court: farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe gentleness of all the gods go with thee!\\r\\nI have many enemies in Orsino’s court,\\r\\nElse would I very shortly see thee there:\\r\\nBut come what may, I do adore thee so,\\r\\nThat danger shall seem sport, and I will go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Viola; Malvolio at several doors.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nWere you not even now with the Countess Olivia?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nEven now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nShe returns this ring to you, sir; you might have saved me my pains, to\\r\\nhave taken it away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you should put\\r\\nyour lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him. And one\\r\\nthing more, that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs,\\r\\nunless it be to report your lord’s taking of this. Receive it so.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nShe took the ring of me: I’ll none of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nCome sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is it should be\\r\\nso returned. If it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if\\r\\nnot, be it his that finds it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI left no ring with her; what means this lady?\\r\\nFortune forbid my outside have not charm’d her!\\r\\nShe made good view of me, indeed, so much,\\r\\nThat methought her eyes had lost her tongue,\\r\\nFor she did speak in starts distractedly.\\r\\nShe loves me, sure, the cunning of her passion\\r\\nInvites me in this churlish messenger.\\r\\nNone of my lord’s ring? Why, he sent her none.\\r\\nI am the man; if it be so, as ’tis,\\r\\nPoor lady, she were better love a dream.\\r\\nDisguise, I see thou art a wickedness\\r\\nWherein the pregnant enemy does much.\\r\\nHow easy is it for the proper false\\r\\nIn women’s waxen hearts to set their forms!\\r\\nAlas, our frailty is the cause, not we,\\r\\nFor such as we are made of, such we be.\\r\\nHow will this fadge? My master loves her dearly,\\r\\nAnd I, poor monster, fond as much on him,\\r\\nAnd she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.\\r\\nWhat will become of this? As I am man,\\r\\nMy state is desperate for my master’s love;\\r\\nAs I am woman (now alas the day!)\\r\\nWhat thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe!\\r\\nO time, thou must untangle this, not I,\\r\\nIt is too hard a knot for me t’untie!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nApproach, Sir Andrew; not to be abed after midnight, is to be up\\r\\nbetimes; and _diluculo surgere_, thou know’st.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNay, by my troth, I know not; but I know to be up late is to be up\\r\\nlate.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA false conclusion; I hate it as an unfilled can. To be up after\\r\\nmidnight, and to go to bed then is early: so that to go to bed after\\r\\nmidnight is to go to bed betimes. Does not our lives consist of the\\r\\nfour elements?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFaith, so they say, but I think it rather consists of eating and\\r\\ndrinking.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTh’art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.\\r\\nMarian, I say! a stoup of wine.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nHere comes the fool, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHow now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of “we three”?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWelcome, ass. Now let’s have a catch.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBy my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty\\r\\nshillings I had such a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool\\r\\nhas. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night when thou\\r\\nspok’st of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of\\r\\nQueubus; ’twas very good, i’ faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman.\\r\\nHadst it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio’s nose is no whipstock. My\\r\\nlady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nExcellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a\\r\\nsong.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome on, there is sixpence for you. Let’s have a song.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nThere’s a testril of me too: if one knight give a—\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWould you have a love-song, or a song of good life?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA love-song, a love-song.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAy, ay. I care not for good life.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN. [_sings._]\\r\\n _O mistress mine, where are you roaming?\\r\\n O stay and hear, your true love’s coming,\\r\\n That can sing both high and low.\\r\\n Trip no further, pretty sweeting.\\r\\n Journeys end in lovers meeting,\\r\\n Every wise man’s son doth know._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nExcellent good, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGood, good.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n _What is love? ’Tis not hereafter,\\r\\n Present mirth hath present laughter.\\r\\n What’s to come is still unsure.\\r\\n In delay there lies no plenty,\\r\\n Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty.\\r\\n Youth’s a stuff will not endure._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nA mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA contagious breath.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nVery sweet and contagious, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the\\r\\nwelkin dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch that will\\r\\ndraw three souls out of one weaver? Shall we do that?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd you love me, let’s do’t: I am dog at a catch.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBy’r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nMost certain. Let our catch be, “Thou knave.”\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n“Hold thy peace, thou knave” knight? I shall be constrain’d in’t to\\r\\ncall thee knave, knight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call me knave. Begin,\\r\\nfool; it begins “Hold thy peace.”\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI shall never begin if I hold my peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nGood, i’ faith! Come, begin.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Catch sung._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nWhat a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not called up her\\r\\nsteward Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMy lady’s a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio’s a Peg-a-Ramsey, and\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Three merry men be we._ Am not I consanguineous? Am I not\\r\\nof her blood? Tilly-vally! “Lady”! _There dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady,\\r\\nLady._\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBeshrew me, the knight’s in admirable fooling.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAy, he does well enough if he be disposed, and so do I too; he does it\\r\\nwith a better grace, but I do it more natural.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _O’ the twelfth day of December—_\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nFor the love o’ God, peace!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMy masters, are you mad? Or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor\\r\\nhonesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make\\r\\nan ale-house of my lady’s house, that ye squeak out your coziers’\\r\\ncatches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect\\r\\nof place, persons, nor time, in you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWe did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you that,\\r\\nthough she harbours you as her kinsman she’s nothing allied to your\\r\\ndisorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanours, you are\\r\\nwelcome to the house; if not, and it would please you to take leave of\\r\\nher, she is very willing to bid you farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone._\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay, good Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _His eyes do show his days are almost done._\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nIs’t even so?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _But I will never die._\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Sir Toby, there you lie._\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nThis is much credit to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Shall I bid him go?_\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _What and if you do?_\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Shall I bid him go, and spare not?_\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _O, no, no, no, no, you dare not._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nOut o’ tune? sir, ye lie. Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think,\\r\\nbecause thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i’ the mouth too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTh’art i’ the right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs. A stoup of\\r\\nwine, Maria!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMistress Mary, if you prized my lady’s favour at anything more than\\r\\ncontempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule; she shall\\r\\nknow of it, by this hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nGo shake your ears.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man’s a-hungry, to challenge\\r\\nhim the field, and then to break promise with him and make a fool of\\r\\nhim.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nDo’t, knight. I’ll write thee a challenge; or I’ll deliver thy\\r\\nindignation to him by word of mouth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nSweet Sir Toby, be patient for tonight. Since the youth of the Count’s\\r\\nwas today with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur\\r\\nMalvolio, let me alone with him. If I do not gull him into a nayword,\\r\\nand make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie\\r\\nstraight in my bed. I know I can do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPossess us, possess us, tell us something of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMarry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nO, if I thought that, I’d beat him like a dog.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat, for being a Puritan? Thy exquisite reason, dear knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI have no exquisite reason for’t, but I have reason good enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThe devil a Puritan that he is, or anything constantly but a\\r\\ntime-pleaser, an affectioned ass that cons state without book and\\r\\nutters it by great swarths; the best persuaded of himself, so crammed\\r\\n(as he thinks) with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith that\\r\\nall that look on him love him. And on that vice in him will my revenge\\r\\nfind notable cause to work.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat wilt thou do?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nI will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love, wherein by the\\r\\ncolour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the\\r\\nexpressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself\\r\\nmost feelingly personated. I can write very like my lady your niece; on\\r\\na forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nExcellent! I smell a device.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI have’t in my nose too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHe shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from\\r\\nmy niece, and that she is in love with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMy purpose is indeed a horse of that colour.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd your horse now would make him an ass.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAss, I doubt not.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nO ’twill be admirable!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nSport royal, I warrant you. I know my physic will work with him. I will\\r\\nplant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the\\r\\nletter. Observe his construction of it. For this night, to bed, and\\r\\ndream on the event. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGood night, Penthesilea.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBefore me, she’s a good wench.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nShe’s a beagle true bred, and one that adores me. What o’ that?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI was adored once too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLet’s to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for more money.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nIf I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nSend for money, knight; if thou hast her not i’ th’ end, call me cut.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nIf I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, come, I’ll go burn some sack, ’tis too late to go to bed now.\\r\\nCome, knight, come, knight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Duke, Viola, Curio and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGive me some music. Now, good morrow, friends.\\r\\nNow, good Cesario, but that piece of song,\\r\\nThat old and antique song we heard last night;\\r\\nMethought it did relieve my passion much,\\r\\nMore than light airs and recollected terms\\r\\nOf these most brisk and giddy-paced times.\\r\\nCome, but one verse.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURIO.\\r\\nHe is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWho was it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURIO.\\r\\nFeste, the jester, my lord, a fool that the Lady Olivia’s father took\\r\\nmuch delight in. He is about the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nSeek him out, and play the tune the while.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Curio. Music plays._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome hither, boy. If ever thou shalt love,\\r\\nIn the sweet pangs of it remember me:\\r\\nFor such as I am, all true lovers are,\\r\\nUnstaid and skittish in all motions else,\\r\\nSave in the constant image of the creature\\r\\nThat is belov’d. How dost thou like this tune?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIt gives a very echo to the seat\\r\\nWhere love is throned.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThou dost speak masterly.\\r\\nMy life upon’t, young though thou art, thine eye\\r\\nHath stayed upon some favour that it loves.\\r\\nHath it not, boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nA little, by your favour.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat kind of woman is’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nOf your complexion.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nShe is not worth thee, then. What years, i’ faith?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAbout your years, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nToo old, by heaven! Let still the woman take\\r\\nAn elder than herself; so wears she to him,\\r\\nSo sways she level in her husband’s heart.\\r\\nFor, boy, however we do praise ourselves,\\r\\nOur fancies are more giddy and unfirm,\\r\\nMore longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,\\r\\nThan women’s are.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI think it well, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThen let thy love be younger than thyself,\\r\\nOr thy affection cannot hold the bent:\\r\\nFor women are as roses, whose fair flower\\r\\nBeing once display’d, doth fall that very hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd so they are: alas, that they are so;\\r\\nTo die, even when they to perfection grow!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Curio and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO, fellow, come, the song we had last night.\\r\\nMark it, Cesario, it is old and plain;\\r\\nThe spinsters and the knitters in the sun,\\r\\nAnd the free maids, that weave their thread with bones\\r\\nDo use to chant it: it is silly sooth,\\r\\nAnd dallies with the innocence of love\\r\\nLike the old age.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAre you ready, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAy; prithee, sing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\n The Clown’s song.\\r\\n\\r\\n_ Come away, come away, death.\\r\\n And in sad cypress let me be laid.\\r\\n Fly away, fly away, breath;\\r\\n I am slain by a fair cruel maid.\\r\\n My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,\\r\\n O, prepare it!\\r\\n My part of death no one so true\\r\\n Did share it._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ Not a flower, not a flower sweet,\\r\\n On my black coffin let there be strown:\\r\\n Not a friend, not a friend greet\\r\\n My poor corpse where my bones shall be thrown:\\r\\n A thousand thousand sighs to save,\\r\\n Lay me, O, where\\r\\n Sad true lover never find my grave,\\r\\n To weep there._\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThere’s for thy pains.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI’ll pay thy pleasure, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTruly sir, and pleasure will be paid one time or another.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGive me now leave to leave thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNow the melancholy god protect thee, and the tailor make thy doublet of\\r\\nchangeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal. I would have men of\\r\\nsuch constancy put to sea, that their business might be everything, and\\r\\ntheir intent everywhere, for that’s it that always makes a good voyage\\r\\nof nothing. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nLet all the rest give place.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Curio and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOnce more, Cesario,\\r\\nGet thee to yond same sovereign cruelty.\\r\\nTell her my love, more noble than the world,\\r\\nPrizes not quantity of dirty lands;\\r\\nThe parts that fortune hath bestow’d upon her,\\r\\nTell her I hold as giddily as fortune;\\r\\nBut ’tis that miracle and queen of gems\\r\\nThat nature pranks her in attracts my soul.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nBut if she cannot love you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI cannot be so answer’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSooth, but you must.\\r\\nSay that some lady, as perhaps there is,\\r\\nHath for your love as great a pang of heart\\r\\nAs you have for Olivia: you cannot love her;\\r\\nYou tell her so. Must she not then be answer’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThere is no woman’s sides\\r\\nCan bide the beating of so strong a passion\\r\\nAs love doth give my heart: no woman’s heart\\r\\nSo big, to hold so much; they lack retention.\\r\\nAlas, their love may be called appetite,\\r\\nNo motion of the liver, but the palate,\\r\\nThat suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt;\\r\\nBut mine is all as hungry as the sea,\\r\\nAnd can digest as much. Make no compare\\r\\nBetween that love a woman can bear me\\r\\nAnd that I owe Olivia.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAy, but I know—\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat dost thou know?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nToo well what love women to men may owe.\\r\\nIn faith, they are as true of heart as we.\\r\\nMy father had a daughter loved a man,\\r\\nAs it might be perhaps, were I a woman,\\r\\nI should your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAnd what’s her history?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nA blank, my lord. She never told her love,\\r\\nBut let concealment, like a worm i’ th’ bud,\\r\\nFeed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought,\\r\\nAnd with a green and yellow melancholy\\r\\nShe sat like patience on a monument,\\r\\nSmiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed?\\r\\nWe men may say more, swear more, but indeed,\\r\\nOur shows are more than will; for still we prove\\r\\nMuch in our vows, but little in our love.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBut died thy sister of her love, my boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI am all the daughters of my father’s house,\\r\\nAnd all the brothers too: and yet I know not.\\r\\nSir, shall I to this lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAy, that’s the theme.\\r\\nTo her in haste. Give her this jewel; say\\r\\nMy love can give no place, bide no denay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome thy ways, Signior Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNay, I’ll come. If I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boiled to\\r\\ndeath with melancholy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter\\r\\ncome by some notable shame?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nI would exult, man. You know he brought me out o’ favour with my lady\\r\\nabout a bear-baiting here.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo anger him we’ll have the bear again, and we will fool him black and\\r\\nblue, shall we not, Sir Andrew?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd we do not, it is pity of our lives.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHere comes the little villain. How now, my metal of India?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nGet ye all three into the box-tree. Malvolio’s coming down this walk;\\r\\nhe has been yonder i’ the sun practising behaviour to his own shadow\\r\\nthis half hour: observe him, for the love of mockery; for I know this\\r\\nletter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of\\r\\njesting! [_The men hide themselves._] Lie thou there; [_Throws down a\\r\\nletter_] for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n’Tis but fortune, all is fortune. Maria once told me she did affect me,\\r\\nand I have heard herself come thus near, that should she fancy, it\\r\\nshould be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more\\r\\nexalted respect than anyone else that follows her. What should I think\\r\\non’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHere’s an overweening rogue!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets\\r\\nunder his advanced plumes!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Slight, I could so beat the rogue!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPeace, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nTo be Count Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAh, rogue!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nPistol him, pistol him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPeace, peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nThere is example for’t. The lady of the Strachy married the yeoman of\\r\\nthe wardrobe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFie on him, Jezebel!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO, peace! now he’s deeply in; look how imagination blows him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nHaving been three months married to her, sitting in my state—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nO for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nCalling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown; having come\\r\\nfrom a day-bed, where I have left Olivia sleeping.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nFire and brimstone!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO, peace, peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAnd then to have the humour of state; and after a demure travel of\\r\\nregard, telling them I know my place as I would they should do theirs,\\r\\nto ask for my kinsman Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nBolts and shackles!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO, peace, peace, peace! Now, now.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSeven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him. I frown\\r\\nthe while, and perchance wind up my watch, or play with some rich\\r\\njewel. Toby approaches; curtsies there to me—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nShall this fellow live?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThough our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an\\r\\naustere regard of control—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd does not Toby take you a blow o’ the lips then?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSaying ‘Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me\\r\\nthis prerogative of speech—’\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat, what?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘You must amend your drunkenness.’\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nOut, scab!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight—’\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nThat’s me, I warrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘One Sir Andrew.’\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI knew ’twas I, for many do call me fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n[_Taking up the letter._] What employment have we here?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNow is the woodcock near the gin.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nO, peace! And the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nBy my life, this is my lady’s hand: these be her very C’s, her U’s, and\\r\\nher T’s, and thus makes she her great P’s. It is in contempt of\\r\\nquestion, her hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nHer C’s, her U’s, and her T’s. Why that?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n[_Reads._] _To the unknown beloved, this, and my good wishes._ Her very\\r\\nphrases! By your leave, wax. Soft! and the impressure her Lucrece, with\\r\\nwhich she uses to seal: ’tis my lady. To whom should this be?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThis wins him, liver and all.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n[_Reads._]\\r\\n_ Jove knows I love,\\r\\n But who?\\r\\n Lips, do not move,\\r\\n No man must know._\\r\\n\\r\\n‘No man must know.’ What follows? The numbers alter’d! ‘No man must\\r\\nknow.’—If this should be thee, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMarry, hang thee, brock!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n_ I may command where I adore,\\r\\n But silence, like a Lucrece knife,\\r\\n With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore;\\r\\n M.O.A.I. doth sway my life._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nA fustian riddle!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nExcellent wench, say I.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘M.O.A.I. doth sway my life.’—Nay, but first let me see, let me see,\\r\\nlet me see.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nWhat dish o’ poison has she dressed him!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd with what wing the staniel checks at it!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘I may command where I adore.’ Why, she may command me: I serve her,\\r\\nshe is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There is\\r\\nno obstruction in this. And the end—what should that alphabetical\\r\\nposition portend? If I could make that resemble something in me!\\r\\nSoftly! ‘M.O.A.I.’—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nO, ay, make up that:—he is now at a cold scent.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nSowter will cry upon’t for all this, though it be as rank as a fox.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘M’—Malvolio; ‘M!’ Why, that begins my name!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nDid not I say he would work it out? The cur is excellent at faults.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘M’—But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that suffers under\\r\\nprobation: ‘A’ should follow, but ‘O’ does.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nAnd ‘O’ shall end, I hope.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAy, or I’ll cudgel him, and make him cry ‘O!’\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAnd then ‘I’ comes behind.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nAy, and you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at\\r\\nyour heels than fortunes before you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘M.O.A.I.’ This simulation is not as the former: and yet, to crush this\\r\\na little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my\\r\\nname. Soft, here follows prose.\\r\\n[_Reads._] _If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above\\r\\nthee, but be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve\\r\\ngreatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ’em. Thy fates open\\r\\ntheir hands, let thy blood and spirit embrace them. And, to inure\\r\\nthyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough and appear\\r\\nfresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants. Let thy tongue\\r\\ntang arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity. She\\r\\nthus advises thee that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy\\r\\nyellow stockings, and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered. I say,\\r\\nremember. Go to, thou art made, if thou desir’st to be so. If not, let\\r\\nme see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to\\r\\ntouch Fortune’s fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with\\r\\nthee,\\r\\n The Fortunate Unhappy._\\r\\n\\r\\nDaylight and champian discovers not more! This is open. I will be\\r\\nproud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash\\r\\noff gross acquaintance, I will be point-device, the very man. I do not\\r\\nnow fool myself, to let imagination jade me; for every reason excites\\r\\nto this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of\\r\\nlate, she did praise my leg being cross-gartered, and in this she\\r\\nmanifests herself to my love, and with a kind of injunction, drives me\\r\\nto these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be\\r\\nstrange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even with the\\r\\nswiftness of putting on. Jove and my stars be praised!—Here is yet a\\r\\npostscript. [_Reads._] _Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If\\r\\nthou entertain’st my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles\\r\\nbecome thee well. Therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet,\\r\\nI prithee._ Jove, I thank thee. I will smile, I will do everything that\\r\\nthou wilt have me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nI will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be\\r\\npaid from the Sophy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI could marry this wench for this device.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nSo could I too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd ask no other dowry with her but such another jest.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNor I neither.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nHere comes my noble gull-catcher.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWilt thou set thy foot o’ my neck?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nOr o’ mine either?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nShall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy bond-slave?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI’ faith, or I either?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, thou hast put him in such a dream, that when the image of it\\r\\nleaves him he must run mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay, but say true, does it work upon him?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLike aqua-vitae with a midwife.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nIf you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach\\r\\nbefore my lady: he will come to her in yellow stockings, and ’tis a\\r\\ncolour she abhors, and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests; and he\\r\\nwill smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her\\r\\ndisposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot\\r\\nbut turn him into a notable contempt. If you will see it, follow me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI’ll make one too.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Viola and Clown with a tabor.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSave thee, friend, and thy music. Dost thou live by thy tabor?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, sir, I live by the church.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nArt thou a churchman?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo such matter, sir. I do live by the church, for I do live at my\\r\\nhouse, and my house doth stand by the church.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSo thou mayst say the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near\\r\\nhim; or the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the\\r\\nchurch.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYou have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is but a chev’ril glove\\r\\nto a good wit. How quickly the wrong side may be turned outward!\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNay, that’s certain; they that dally nicely with words may quickly make\\r\\nthem wanton.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI would, therefore, my sister had had no name, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhy, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, sir, her name’s a word; and to dally with that word might make my\\r\\nsister wanton. But indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds\\r\\ndisgraced them.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThy reason, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTroth, sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so\\r\\nfalse, I am loath to prove reason with them.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI warrant thou art a merry fellow, and car’st for nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot so, sir, I do care for something. But in my conscience, sir, I do\\r\\nnot care for you. If that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would\\r\\nmake you invisible.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nArt not thou the Lady Olivia’s fool?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly. She will keep no fool,\\r\\nsir, till she be married, and fools are as like husbands as pilchards\\r\\nare to herrings, the husband’s the bigger. I am indeed not her fool,\\r\\nbut her corrupter of words.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI saw thee late at the Count Orsino’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nFoolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines\\r\\neverywhere. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with\\r\\nyour master as with my mistress. I think I saw your wisdom there.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNay, and thou pass upon me, I’ll no more with thee. Hold, there’s\\r\\nexpenses for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNow Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nBy my troth, I’ll tell thee, I am almost sick for one, though I would\\r\\nnot have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWould not a pair of these have bred, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nYes, being kept together, and put to use.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this\\r\\nTroilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI understand you, sir; ’tis well begged.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThe matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar: Cressida\\r\\nwas a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will conster to them whence you\\r\\ncome; who you are and what you would are out of my welkin. I might say\\r\\n“element”, but the word is overworn.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThis fellow is wise enough to play the fool,\\r\\nAnd to do that well, craves a kind of wit:\\r\\nHe must observe their mood on whom he jests,\\r\\nThe quality of persons, and the time,\\r\\nAnd like the haggard, check at every feather\\r\\nThat comes before his eye. This is a practice\\r\\nAs full of labour as a wise man’s art:\\r\\nFor folly, that he wisely shows, is fit;\\r\\nBut wise men, folly-fall’n, quite taint their wit.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nSave you, gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n_Dieu vous garde, monsieur._\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n_Et vous aussi; votre serviteur._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI hope, sir, you are, and I am yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWill you encounter the house? My niece is desirous you should enter, if\\r\\nyour trade be to her.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI am bound to your niece, sir, I mean, she is the list of my voyage.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTaste your legs, sir, put them to motion.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean\\r\\nby bidding me taste my legs.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI mean, to go, sir, to enter.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI will answer you with gait and entrance: but we are prevented.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMost excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odours on you!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nThat youth’s a rare courtier. ‘Rain odours,’ well.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and\\r\\nvouchsafed car.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n‘Odours,’ ‘pregnant,’ and ‘vouchsafed.’—I’ll get ’em all three ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nLet the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGive me your hand, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy duty, madam, and most humble service.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat is your name?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nCesario is your servant’s name, fair princess.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nMy servant, sir! ’Twas never merry world,\\r\\nSince lowly feigning was call’d compliment:\\r\\nY’are servant to the Count Orsino, youth.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd he is yours, and his must needs be yours.\\r\\nYour servant’s servant is your servant, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nFor him, I think not on him: for his thoughts,\\r\\nWould they were blanks rather than fill’d with me!\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMadam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts\\r\\nOn his behalf.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, by your leave, I pray you.\\r\\nI bade you never speak again of him.\\r\\nBut would you undertake another suit,\\r\\nI had rather hear you to solicit that\\r\\nThan music from the spheres.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nDear lady—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGive me leave, beseech you. I did send,\\r\\nAfter the last enchantment you did here,\\r\\nA ring in chase of you. So did I abuse\\r\\nMyself, my servant, and, I fear me, you.\\r\\nUnder your hard construction must I sit;\\r\\nTo force that on you in a shameful cunning,\\r\\nWhich you knew none of yours. What might you think?\\r\\nHave you not set mine honour at the stake,\\r\\nAnd baited it with all th’ unmuzzled thoughts\\r\\nThat tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving\\r\\nEnough is shown. A cypress, not a bosom,\\r\\nHides my heart: so let me hear you speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI pity you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nThat’s a degree to love.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNo, not a grize; for ’tis a vulgar proof\\r\\nThat very oft we pity enemies.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy then methinks ’tis time to smile again.\\r\\nO world, how apt the poor are to be proud!\\r\\nIf one should be a prey, how much the better\\r\\nTo fall before the lion than the wolf! [_Clock strikes._]\\r\\nThe clock upbraids me with the waste of time.\\r\\nBe not afraid, good youth, I will not have you.\\r\\nAnd yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest,\\r\\nYour wife is like to reap a proper man.\\r\\nThere lies your way, due west.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThen westward ho!\\r\\nGrace and good disposition attend your ladyship!\\r\\nYou’ll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nStay:\\r\\nI prithee tell me what thou think’st of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThat you do think you are not what you are.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIf I think so, I think the same of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThen think you right; I am not what I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI would you were as I would have you be.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWould it be better, madam, than I am?\\r\\nI wish it might, for now I am your fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO what a deal of scorn looks beautiful\\r\\nIn the contempt and anger of his lip!\\r\\nA murd’rous guilt shows not itself more soon\\r\\nThan love that would seem hid. Love’s night is noon.\\r\\nCesario, by the roses of the spring,\\r\\nBy maidhood, honour, truth, and everything,\\r\\nI love thee so, that maugre all thy pride,\\r\\nNor wit nor reason can my passion hide.\\r\\nDo not extort thy reasons from this clause,\\r\\nFor that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause;\\r\\nBut rather reason thus with reason fetter:\\r\\nLove sought is good, but given unsought is better.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nBy innocence I swear, and by my youth,\\r\\nI have one heart, one bosom, and one truth,\\r\\nAnd that no woman has; nor never none\\r\\nShall mistress be of it, save I alone.\\r\\nAnd so adieu, good madam; never more\\r\\nWill I my master’s tears to you deplore.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nYet come again: for thou perhaps mayst move\\r\\nThat heart, which now abhors, to like his love.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNo, faith, I’ll not stay a jot longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nYou must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nMarry, I saw your niece do more favours to the Count’s servingman than\\r\\never she bestowed upon me; I saw’t i’ th’ orchard.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nDid she see thee the while, old boy? Tell me that.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAs plain as I see you now.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThis was a great argument of love in her toward you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Slight! will you make an ass o’ me?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nI will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment and reason.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd they have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a sailor.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nShe did show favour to the youth in your sight only to exasperate you,\\r\\nto awake your dormouse valour, to put fire in your heart and brimstone\\r\\nin your liver. You should then have accosted her, and with some\\r\\nexcellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have banged the\\r\\nyouth into dumbness. This was looked for at your hand, and this was\\r\\nbalked: the double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash off, and\\r\\nyou are now sailed into the north of my lady’s opinion; where you will\\r\\nhang like an icicle on Dutchman’s beard, unless you do redeem it by\\r\\nsome laudable attempt, either of valour or policy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd’t be any way, it must be with valour, for policy I hate; I had as\\r\\nlief be a Brownist as a politician.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valour. Challenge me\\r\\nthe Count’s youth to fight with him. Hurt him in eleven places; my\\r\\nniece shall take note of it, and assure thyself there is no love-broker\\r\\nin the world can more prevail in man’s commendation with woman than\\r\\nreport of valour.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThere is no way but this, Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWill either of you bear me a challenge to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGo, write it in a martial hand, be curst and brief; it is no matter how\\r\\nwitty, so it be eloquent and full of invention. Taunt him with the\\r\\nlicence of ink. If thou ‘thou’st’ him some thrice, it shall not be\\r\\namiss, and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of paper, although the\\r\\nsheet were big enough for the bed of Ware in England, set ’em down. Go\\r\\nabout it. Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou write with a\\r\\ngoose-pen, no matter. About it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhere shall I find you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWe’ll call thee at the cubiculo. Go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Sir Andrew._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThis is a dear manikin to you, Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI have been dear to him, lad, some two thousand strong, or so.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nWe shall have a rare letter from him; but you’ll not deliver it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nNever trust me then. And by all means stir on the youth to an answer. I\\r\\nthink oxen and wainropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he\\r\\nwere opened and you find so much blood in his liver as will clog the\\r\\nfoot of a flea, I’ll eat the rest of th’ anatomy.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nAnd his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage of\\r\\ncruelty.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLook where the youngest wren of nine comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nIf you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches,\\r\\nfollow me. Yond gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very renegado; for\\r\\nthere is no Christian that means to be saved by believing rightly can\\r\\never believe such impossible passages of grossness. He’s in yellow\\r\\nstockings.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd cross-gartered?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMost villainously; like a pedant that keeps a school i’ th’ church. I\\r\\nhave dogged him like his murderer. He does obey every point of the\\r\\nletter that I dropped to betray him. He does smile his face into more\\r\\nlines than is in the new map with the augmentation of the Indies. You\\r\\nhave not seen such a thing as ’tis. I can hardly forbear hurling\\r\\nthings at him. I know my lady will strike him. If she do, he’ll smile\\r\\nand take’t for a great favour.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, bring us, bring us where he is.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian and Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI would not by my will have troubled you,\\r\\nBut since you make your pleasure of your pains,\\r\\nI will no further chide you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI could not stay behind you: my desire,\\r\\nMore sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth;\\r\\nAnd not all love to see you, though so much,\\r\\nAs might have drawn one to a longer voyage,\\r\\nBut jealousy what might befall your travel,\\r\\nBeing skilless in these parts; which to a stranger,\\r\\nUnguided and unfriended, often prove\\r\\nRough and unhospitable. My willing love,\\r\\nThe rather by these arguments of fear,\\r\\nSet forth in your pursuit.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nMy kind Antonio,\\r\\nI can no other answer make but thanks,\\r\\nAnd thanks, and ever thanks; and oft good turns\\r\\nAre shuffled off with such uncurrent pay.\\r\\nBut were my worth, as is my conscience, firm,\\r\\nYou should find better dealing. What’s to do?\\r\\nShall we go see the relics of this town?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTomorrow, sir; best first go see your lodging.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI am not weary, and ’tis long to night;\\r\\nI pray you, let us satisfy our eyes\\r\\nWith the memorials and the things of fame\\r\\nThat do renown this city.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWould you’d pardon me.\\r\\nI do not without danger walk these streets.\\r\\nOnce in a sea-fight, ’gainst the Count his galleys,\\r\\nI did some service, of such note indeed,\\r\\nThat were I ta’en here, it would scarce be answer’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nBelike you slew great number of his people.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTh’ offence is not of such a bloody nature,\\r\\nAlbeit the quality of the time and quarrel\\r\\nMight well have given us bloody argument.\\r\\nIt might have since been answered in repaying\\r\\nWhat we took from them, which for traffic’s sake,\\r\\nMost of our city did. Only myself stood out,\\r\\nFor which, if I be lapsed in this place,\\r\\nI shall pay dear.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nDo not then walk too open.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIt doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here’s my purse.\\r\\nIn the south suburbs, at the Elephant,\\r\\nIs best to lodge. I will bespeak our diet\\r\\nWhiles you beguile the time and feed your knowledge\\r\\nWith viewing of the town. There shall you have me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhy I your purse?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHaply your eye shall light upon some toy\\r\\nYou have desire to purchase; and your store,\\r\\nI think, is not for idle markets, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI’ll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for an hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTo th’ Elephant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI do remember.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI have sent after him. He says he’ll come;\\r\\nHow shall I feast him? What bestow of him?\\r\\nFor youth is bought more oft than begg’d or borrow’d.\\r\\nI speak too loud.—\\r\\nWhere’s Malvolio?—He is sad and civil,\\r\\nAnd suits well for a servant with my fortunes;\\r\\nWhere is Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nHe’s coming, madam:\\r\\nBut in very strange manner. He is sure possessed, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy, what’s the matter? Does he rave?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNo, madam, he does nothing but smile: your ladyship were best to have\\r\\nsome guard about you if he come, for sure the man is tainted in ’s\\r\\nwits.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGo call him hither. I’m as mad as he,\\r\\nIf sad and merry madness equal be.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSweet lady, ho, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSmil’st thou? I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSad, lady? I could be sad: this does make some obstruction in the\\r\\nblood, this cross-gartering. But what of that? If it please the eye of\\r\\none, it is with me as the very true sonnet is: ‘Please one and please\\r\\nall.’\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy, how dost thou, man? What is the matter with thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nNot black in my mind, though yellow in my legs. It did come to his\\r\\nhands, and commands shall be executed. I think we do know the sweet\\r\\nRoman hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nTo bed? Ay, sweetheart, and I’ll come to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGod comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand so oft?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nHow do you, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAt your request? Yes, nightingales answer daws!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nWhy appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Be not afraid of greatness.’ ’Twas well writ.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat mean’st thou by that, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Some are born great’—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHa?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Some achieve greatness’—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat say’st thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘And some have greatness thrust upon them.’\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHeaven restore thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Remember who commended thy yellow stockings’—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nThy yellow stockings?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘And wished to see thee cross-gartered.’\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nCross-gartered?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Go to: thou art made, if thou desir’st to be so:’—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAm I made?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘If not, let me see thee a servant still.’\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy, this is very midsummer madness.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMadam, the young gentleman of the Count Orsino’s is returned; I could\\r\\nhardly entreat him back. He attends your ladyship’s pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI’ll come to him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGood Maria, let this fellow be looked to. Where’s my cousin Toby? Let\\r\\nsome of my people have a special care of him; I would not have him\\r\\nmiscarry for the half of my dowry.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Olivia and Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nO ho, do you come near me now? No worse man than Sir Toby to look to\\r\\nme. This concurs directly with the letter: she sends him on purpose,\\r\\nthat I may appear stubborn to him; for she incites me to that in the\\r\\nletter. ‘Cast thy humble slough,’ says she; ‘be opposite with a\\r\\nkinsman, surly with servants, let thy tongue tang with arguments of\\r\\nstate, put thyself into the trick of singularity,’ and consequently,\\r\\nsets down the manner how: as, a sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow\\r\\ntongue, in the habit of some sir of note, and so forth. I have limed\\r\\nher, but it is Jove’s doing, and Jove make me thankful! And when she\\r\\nwent away now, ‘Let this fellow be looked to;’ ‘Fellow!’ not\\r\\n‘Malvolio’, nor after my degree, but ‘fellow’. Why, everything adheres\\r\\ntogether, that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no\\r\\nobstacle, no incredulous or unsafe circumstance. What can be said?\\r\\nNothing that can be can come between me and the full prospect of my\\r\\nhopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby, Fabian and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhich way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all the devils of hell be\\r\\ndrawn in little, and Legion himself possessed him, yet I’ll speak to\\r\\nhim.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nHere he is, here he is. How is’t with you, sir? How is’t with you, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGo off, I discard you. Let me enjoy my private. Go off.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nLo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! Did not I tell you? Sir\\r\\nToby, my lady prays you to have a care of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAh, ha! does she so?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGo to, go to; peace, peace, we must deal gently with him. Let me alone.\\r\\nHow do you, Malvolio? How is’t with you? What, man! defy the devil!\\r\\nConsider, he’s an enemy to mankind.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nDo you know what you say?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nLa you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at heart! Pray\\r\\nGod he be not bewitched.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nCarry his water to th’ wise woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMarry, and it shall be done tomorrow morning, if I live. My lady would\\r\\nnot lose him for more than I’ll say.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nHow now, mistress!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nO Lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPrithee hold thy peace, this is not the way. Do you not see you move\\r\\nhim? Let me alone with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNo way but gentleness, gently, gently. The fiend is rough, and will not\\r\\nbe roughly used.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, how now, my bawcock? How dost thou, chuck?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAy, biddy, come with me. What, man, ’tis not for gravity to play at\\r\\ncherry-pit with Satan. Hang him, foul collier!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nGet him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, get him to pray.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMy prayers, minx?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNo, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGo, hang yourselves all! You are idle, shallow things. I am not of your\\r\\nelement. You shall know more hereafter.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nIf this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an\\r\\nimprobable fiction.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHis very genius hath taken the infection of the device, man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay, pursue him now, lest the device take air and taint.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nWhy, we shall make him mad indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThe house will be the quieter.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, we’ll have him in a dark room and bound. My niece is already in\\r\\nthe belief that he’s mad. We may carry it thus for our pleasure, and\\r\\nhis penance, till our very pastime, tired out of breath, prompt us to\\r\\nhave mercy on him, at which time we will bring the device to the bar,\\r\\nand crown thee for a finder of madmen. But see, but see!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nMore matter for a May morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nHere’s the challenge, read it. I warrant there’s vinegar and pepper\\r\\nin’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nIs’t so saucy?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAy, is’t, I warrant him. Do but read.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGive me. [_Reads._] _Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art but a scurvy\\r\\nfellow._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nGood, and valiant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, why I do call thee so, for I\\r\\nwill show thee no reason for’t._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nA good note, that keeps you from the blow of the law.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Thou comest to the Lady Olivia, and in my sight she uses thee kindly:\\r\\nbut thou liest in thy throat; that is not the matter I challenge thee\\r\\nfor._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nVery brief, and to exceeding good sense—less.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_I will waylay thee going home; where if it be thy chance to kill me—_\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nGood.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Thou kill’st me like a rogue and a villain._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nStill you keep o’ th’ windy side of the law. Good.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Fare thee well, and God have mercy upon one of our souls! He may have\\r\\nmercy upon mine, but my hope is better, and so look to thyself. Thy\\r\\nfriend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy,\\r\\n Andrew Aguecheek._\\r\\nIf this letter move him not, his legs cannot. I’ll give’t him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nYou may have very fit occasion for’t. He is now in some commerce with\\r\\nmy lady, and will by and by depart.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGo, Sir Andrew. Scout me for him at the corner of the orchard, like a\\r\\nbum-baily. So soon as ever thou seest him, draw, and as thou draw’st,\\r\\nswear horrible, for it comes to pass oft that a terrible oath, with a\\r\\nswaggering accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood more approbation\\r\\nthan ever proof itself would have earned him. Away.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNay, let me alone for swearing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nNow will not I deliver his letter, for the behaviour of the young\\r\\ngentleman gives him out to be of good capacity and breeding; his\\r\\nemployment between his lord and my niece confirms no less. Therefore\\r\\nthis letter, being so excellently ignorant, will breed no terror in the\\r\\nyouth. He will find it comes from a clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver\\r\\nhis challenge by word of mouth, set upon Aguecheek notable report of\\r\\nvalour, and drive the gentleman (as I know his youth will aptly receive\\r\\nit) into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and\\r\\nimpetuosity. This will so fright them both that they will kill one\\r\\nanother by the look, like cockatrices.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and Viola.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nHere he comes with your niece; give them way till he take leave, and\\r\\npresently after him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI will meditate the while upon some horrid message for a challenge.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sir Toby, Fabian and Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI have said too much unto a heart of stone,\\r\\nAnd laid mine honour too unchary on’t:\\r\\nThere’s something in me that reproves my fault:\\r\\nBut such a headstrong potent fault it is,\\r\\nThat it but mocks reproof.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWith the same ’haviour that your passion bears\\r\\nGoes on my master’s griefs.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHere, wear this jewel for me, ’tis my picture.\\r\\nRefuse it not, it hath no tongue to vex you.\\r\\nAnd I beseech you come again tomorrow.\\r\\nWhat shall you ask of me that I’ll deny,\\r\\nThat honour sav’d, may upon asking give?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNothing but this, your true love for my master.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHow with mine honour may I give him that\\r\\nWhich I have given to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI will acquit you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWell, come again tomorrow. Fare thee well;\\r\\nA fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGentleman, God save thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThat defence thou hast, betake thee to’t. Of what nature the wrongs are\\r\\nthou hast done him, I know not, but thy intercepter, full of despite,\\r\\nbloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard end. Dismount thy\\r\\ntuck, be yare in thy preparation, for thy assailant is quick, skilful,\\r\\nand deadly.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nYou mistake, sir; I am sure no man hath any quarrel to me. My\\r\\nremembrance is very free and clear from any image of offence done to\\r\\nany man.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nYou’ll find it otherwise, I assure you. Therefore, if you hold your\\r\\nlife at any price, betake you to your guard, for your opposite hath in\\r\\nhim what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can furnish man withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI pray you, sir, what is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHe is knight, dubbed with unhatched rapier, and on carpet\\r\\nconsideration, but he is a devil in private brawl. Souls and bodies\\r\\nhath he divorced three, and his incensement at this moment is so\\r\\nimplacable that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of death and\\r\\nsepulchre. Hob, nob is his word; give’t or take’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI will return again into the house and desire some conduct of the lady.\\r\\nI am no fighter. I have heard of some kind of men that put quarrels\\r\\npurposely on others to taste their valour: belike this is a man of that\\r\\nquirk.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nSir, no. His indignation derives itself out of a very competent injury;\\r\\ntherefore, get you on and give him his desire. Back you shall not to\\r\\nthe house, unless you undertake that with me which with as much safety\\r\\nyou might answer him. Therefore on, or strip your sword stark naked,\\r\\nfor meddle you must, that’s certain, or forswear to wear iron about\\r\\nyou.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThis is as uncivil as strange. I beseech you, do me this courteous\\r\\noffice, as to know of the knight what my offence to him is. It is\\r\\nsomething of my negligence, nothing of my purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you by this gentleman till my\\r\\nreturn.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Sir Toby._]\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nPray you, sir, do you know of this matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nI know the knight is incensed against you, even to a mortal\\r\\narbitrement, but nothing of the circumstance more.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI beseech you, what manner of man is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNothing of that wonderful promise, to read him by his form, as you are\\r\\nlike to find him in the proof of his valour. He is indeed, sir, the\\r\\nmost skilful, bloody, and fatal opposite that you could possibly have\\r\\nfound in any part of Illyria. Will you walk towards him? I will make\\r\\nyour peace with him if I can.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI shall be much bound to you for’t. I am one that had rather go with\\r\\nsir priest than sir knight: I care not who knows so much of my mettle.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, man, he’s a very devil. I have not seen such a firago. I had a\\r\\npass with him, rapier, scabbard, and all, and he gives me the stuck-in\\r\\nwith such a mortal motion that it is inevitable; and on the answer, he\\r\\npays you as surely as your feet hits the ground they step on. They say\\r\\nhe has been fencer to the Sophy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nPox on’t, I’ll not meddle with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAy, but he will not now be pacified: Fabian can scarce hold him yonder.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nPlague on’t, an I thought he had been valiant, and so cunning in fence,\\r\\nI’d have seen him damned ere I’d have challenged him. Let him let the\\r\\nmatter slip, and I’ll give him my horse, grey Capilet.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI’ll make the motion. Stand here, make a good show on’t. This shall end\\r\\nwithout the perdition of souls. [_Aside._] Marry, I’ll ride your horse\\r\\nas well as I ride you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fabian and Viola.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_To Fabian._] I have his horse to take up the quarrel. I have\\r\\npersuaded him the youth’s a devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nHe is as horribly conceited of him, and pants and looks pale, as if a\\r\\nbear were at his heels.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThere’s no remedy, sir, he will fight with you for’s oath sake. Marry,\\r\\nhe hath better bethought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now\\r\\nscarce to be worth talking of. Therefore, draw for the supportance of\\r\\nhis vow; he protests he will not hurt you.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Pray God defend me! A little thing would make me tell them\\r\\nhow much I lack of a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nGive ground if you see him furious.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, Sir Andrew, there’s no remedy, the gentleman will for his\\r\\nhonour’s sake have one bout with you. He cannot by the duello avoid it;\\r\\nbut he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier, he will not\\r\\nhurt you. Come on: to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n[_Draws._] Pray God he keep his oath!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n[_Draws._] I do assure you ’tis against my will.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nPut up your sword. If this young gentleman\\r\\nHave done offence, I take the fault on me.\\r\\nIf you offend him, I for him defy you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nYou, sir? Why, what are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\n[_Draws._] One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more\\r\\nThan you have heard him brag to you he will.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Draws._] Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Officers.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO good Sir Toby, hold! Here come the officers.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_To Antonio._] I’ll be with you anon.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n[_To Sir Andrew._] Pray, sir, put your sword up, if you please.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nMarry, will I, sir; and for that I promised you, I’ll be as good as my\\r\\nword. He will bear you easily, and reins well.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nThis is the man; do thy office.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND OFFICER.\\r\\nAntonio, I arrest thee at the suit\\r\\nOf Count Orsino.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nYou do mistake me, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nNo, sir, no jot. I know your favour well,\\r\\nThough now you have no sea-cap on your head.—\\r\\nTake him away, he knows I know him well.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI must obey. This comes with seeking you;\\r\\nBut there’s no remedy, I shall answer it.\\r\\nWhat will you do? Now my necessity\\r\\nMakes me to ask you for my purse. It grieves me\\r\\nMuch more for what I cannot do for you,\\r\\nThan what befalls myself. You stand amaz’d,\\r\\nBut be of comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND OFFICER.\\r\\nCome, sir, away.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI must entreat of you some of that money.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhat money, sir?\\r\\nFor the fair kindness you have show’d me here,\\r\\nAnd part being prompted by your present trouble,\\r\\nOut of my lean and low ability\\r\\nI’ll lend you something. My having is not much;\\r\\nI’ll make division of my present with you.\\r\\nHold, there’s half my coffer.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWill you deny me now?\\r\\nIs’t possible that my deserts to you\\r\\nCan lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery,\\r\\nLest that it make me so unsound a man\\r\\nAs to upbraid you with those kindnesses\\r\\nThat I have done for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI know of none,\\r\\nNor know I you by voice or any feature.\\r\\nI hate ingratitude more in a man\\r\\nThan lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness,\\r\\nOr any taint of vice whose strong corruption\\r\\nInhabits our frail blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nO heavens themselves!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND OFFICER.\\r\\nCome, sir, I pray you go.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLet me speak a little. This youth that you see here\\r\\nI snatch’d one half out of the jaws of death,\\r\\nReliev’d him with such sanctity of love;\\r\\nAnd to his image, which methought did promise\\r\\nMost venerable worth, did I devotion.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nWhat’s that to us? The time goes by. Away!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nBut O how vile an idol proves this god!\\r\\nThou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame.\\r\\nIn nature there’s no blemish but the mind;\\r\\nNone can be call’d deform’d but the unkind.\\r\\nVirtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil\\r\\nAre empty trunks, o’erflourished by the devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nThe man grows mad, away with him. Come, come, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLead me on.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Officers with Antonio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMethinks his words do from such passion fly\\r\\nThat he believes himself; so do not I.\\r\\nProve true, imagination, O prove true,\\r\\nThat I, dear brother, be now ta’en for you!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome hither, knight; come hither, Fabian. We’ll whisper o’er a couplet\\r\\nor two of most sage saws.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nHe nam’d Sebastian. I my brother know\\r\\nYet living in my glass; even such and so\\r\\nIn favour was my brother, and he went\\r\\nStill in this fashion, colour, ornament,\\r\\nFor him I imitate. O if it prove,\\r\\nTempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward than a hare. His\\r\\ndishonesty appears in leaving his friend here in necessity, and denying\\r\\nhim; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nA coward, a most devout coward, religious in it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Slid, I’ll after him again and beat him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nDo, cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd I do not—\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nCome, let’s see the event.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI dare lay any money ’twill be nothing yet.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Street before Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWill you make me believe that I am not sent for you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nGo to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow.\\r\\nLet me be clear of thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWell held out, i’ faith! No, I do not know you, nor I am not sent to\\r\\nyou by my lady, to bid you come speak with her; nor your name is not\\r\\nMaster Cesario; nor this is not my nose neither. Nothing that is so, is\\r\\nso.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI prithee vent thy folly somewhere else,\\r\\nThou know’st not me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nVent my folly! He has heard that word of some great man, and now\\r\\napplies it to a fool. Vent my folly! I am afraid this great lubber, the\\r\\nworld, will prove a cockney. I prithee now, ungird thy strangeness, and\\r\\ntell me what I shall vent to my lady. Shall I vent to her that thou art\\r\\ncoming?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me.\\r\\nThere’s money for thee; if you tarry longer\\r\\nI shall give worse payment.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBy my troth, thou hast an open hand. These wise men that give fools\\r\\nmoney get themselves a good report—after fourteen years’ purchase.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNow sir, have I met you again? There’s for you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Striking Sebastian._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhy, there’s for thee, and there, and there.\\r\\nAre all the people mad?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Beating Sir Andrew._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHold, sir, or I’ll throw your dagger o’er the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThis will I tell my lady straight. I would not be in some of your coats\\r\\nfor twopence.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome on, sir, hold!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNay, let him alone, I’ll go another way to work with him. I’ll have an\\r\\naction of battery against him, if there be any law in Illyria. Though I\\r\\nstruck him first, yet it’s no matter for that.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nLet go thy hand!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my young soldier, put up your\\r\\niron: you are well fleshed. Come on.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI will be free from thee. What wouldst thou now?\\r\\nIf thou dar’st tempt me further, draw thy sword.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Draws._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat, what? Nay, then, I must have an ounce or two of this malapert\\r\\nblood from you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Draws._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHold, Toby! On thy life I charge thee hold!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMadam.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWill it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch,\\r\\nFit for the mountains and the barbarous caves,\\r\\nWhere manners ne’er were preach’d! Out of my sight!\\r\\nBe not offended, dear Cesario.\\r\\nRudesby, be gone!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Fabian._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI prithee, gentle friend,\\r\\nLet thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway\\r\\nIn this uncivil and unjust extent\\r\\nAgainst thy peace. Go with me to my house,\\r\\nAnd hear thou there how many fruitless pranks\\r\\nThis ruffian hath botch’d up, that thou thereby\\r\\nMayst smile at this. Thou shalt not choose but go.\\r\\nDo not deny. Beshrew his soul for me,\\r\\nHe started one poor heart of mine, in thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhat relish is in this? How runs the stream?\\r\\nOr I am mad, or else this is a dream.\\r\\nLet fancy still my sense in Lethe steep;\\r\\nIf it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nNay, come, I prithee. Would thou’dst be ruled by me!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nMadam, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, say so, and so be!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay, I prithee, put on this gown and this beard; make him believe thou\\r\\nart Sir Topas the curate. Do it quickly. I’ll call Sir Toby the whilst.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWell, I’ll put it on, and I will dissemble myself in’t, and I would I\\r\\nwere the first that ever dissembled in such a gown. I am not tall\\r\\nenough to become the function well, nor lean enough to be thought a\\r\\ngood student, but to be said, an honest man and a good housekeeper goes\\r\\nas fairly as to say, a careful man and a great scholar. The competitors\\r\\nenter.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nJove bless thee, Master Parson.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n_Bonos dies_, Sir Toby: for as the old hermit of Prague, that never saw\\r\\npen and ink, very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, ‘That that\\r\\nis, is’: so I, being Master Parson, am Master Parson; for what is\\r\\n‘that’ but ‘that’? and ‘is’ but ‘is’?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo him, Sir Topas.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat ho, I say! Peace in this prison!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThe knave counterfeits well. A good knave.\\r\\n\\r\\nMalvolio within.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nWho calls there?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nSir Topas the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio the lunatic.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go to my lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nOut, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest thou this man? Talkest thou nothing\\r\\nbut of ladies?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWell said, Master Parson.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Topas, never was man thus wronged. Good Sir Topas, do not think I\\r\\nam mad. They have laid me here in hideous darkness.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nFie, thou dishonest Satan! I call thee by the most modest terms, for I\\r\\nam one of those gentle ones that will use the devil himself with\\r\\ncourtesy. Say’st thou that house is dark?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAs hell, Sir Topas.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, it hath bay windows transparent as barricadoes, and the\\r\\nclerestories toward the south-north are as lustrous as ebony; and yet\\r\\ncomplainest thou of obstruction?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI am not mad, Sir Topas. I say to you this house is dark.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMadman, thou errest. I say there is no darkness but ignorance, in which\\r\\nthou art more puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI say this house is as dark as ignorance, though ignorance were as dark\\r\\nas hell; and I say there was never man thus abused. I am no more mad\\r\\nthan you are. Make the trial of it in any constant question.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning wildfowl?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nThat the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat think’st thou of his opinion?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI think nobly of the soul, and no way approve his opinion.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nFare thee well. Remain thou still in darkness. Thou shalt hold the\\r\\nopinion of Pythagoras ere I will allow of thy wits, and fear to kill a\\r\\nwoodcock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee well.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Topas, Sir Topas!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMy most exquisite Sir Topas!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNay, I am for all waters.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThou mightst have done this without thy beard and gown. He sees thee\\r\\nnot.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo him in thine own voice, and bring me word how thou find’st him. I\\r\\nwould we were well rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently\\r\\ndelivered, I would he were, for I am now so far in offence with my\\r\\nniece that I cannot pursue with any safety this sport to the upshot.\\r\\nCome by and by to my chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sir Toby and Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Singing._]\\r\\n _Hey, Robin, jolly Robin,\\r\\n Tell me how thy lady does._\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n _My lady is unkind, perdy._\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n _Alas, why is she so?_\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n _She loves another_—\\r\\nWho calls, ha?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGood fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at my hand, help me to a\\r\\ncandle, and pen, ink, and paper. As I am a gentleman, I will live to be\\r\\nthankful to thee for’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMaster Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAy, good fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool, there was never man so notoriously abused. I am as well in my\\r\\nwits, fool, as thou art.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBut as well? Then you are mad indeed, if you be no better in your wits\\r\\nthan a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nThey have here propertied me; keep me in darkness, send ministers to\\r\\nme, asses, and do all they can to face me out of my wits.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAdvise you what you say: the minister is here. [_As Sir Topas_]\\r\\nMalvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens restore. Endeavour thyself to\\r\\nsleep, and leave thy vain bibble-babble.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Topas!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_As Sir Topas_] Maintain no words with him, good fellow. [_As\\r\\nhimself_] Who, I, sir? not I, sir. God buy you, good Sir Topas. [_As\\r\\nSir Topas_] Marry, amen. [_As himself_] I will sir, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool, fool, fool, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? I am shent for speaking to\\r\\nyou.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGood fool, help me to some light and some paper. I tell thee I am as\\r\\nwell in my wits as any man in Illyria.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWell-a-day that you were, sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nBy this hand, I am. Good fool, some ink, paper, and light, and convey\\r\\nwhat I will set down to my lady. It shall advantage thee more than ever\\r\\nthe bearing of letter did.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI will help you to’t. But tell me true, are you not mad indeed? or do\\r\\nyou but counterfeit?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nBelieve me, I am not. I tell thee true.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNay, I’ll ne’er believe a madman till I see his brains. I will fetch\\r\\nyou light, and paper, and ink.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool, I’ll requite it in the highest degree: I prithee be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Singing._]\\r\\n _I am gone, sir, and anon, sir,\\r\\n I’ll be with you again,\\r\\n In a trice, like to the old Vice,\\r\\n Your need to sustain;\\r\\n Who with dagger of lath, in his rage and his wrath,\\r\\n Cries ‘ah, ha!’ to the devil:\\r\\n Like a mad lad, ‘Pare thy nails, dad.\\r\\n Adieu, goodman devil.’_\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Olivia’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nThis is the air; that is the glorious sun,\\r\\nThis pearl she gave me, I do feel’t and see’t,\\r\\nAnd though ’tis wonder that enwraps me thus,\\r\\nYet ’tis not madness. Where’s Antonio, then?\\r\\nI could not find him at the Elephant,\\r\\nYet there he was, and there I found this credit,\\r\\nThat he did range the town to seek me out.\\r\\nHis counsel now might do me golden service.\\r\\nFor though my soul disputes well with my sense\\r\\nThat this may be some error, but no madness,\\r\\nYet doth this accident and flood of fortune\\r\\nSo far exceed all instance, all discourse,\\r\\nThat I am ready to distrust mine eyes\\r\\nAnd wrangle with my reason that persuades me\\r\\nTo any other trust but that I am mad,\\r\\nOr else the lady’s mad; yet if ’twere so,\\r\\nShe could not sway her house, command her followers,\\r\\nTake and give back affairs and their dispatch,\\r\\nWith such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing\\r\\nAs I perceive she does. There’s something in’t\\r\\nThat is deceivable. But here the lady comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and a Priest.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nBlame not this haste of mine. If you mean well,\\r\\nNow go with me and with this holy man\\r\\nInto the chantry by: there, before him\\r\\nAnd underneath that consecrated roof,\\r\\nPlight me the full assurance of your faith,\\r\\nThat my most jealous and too doubtful soul\\r\\nMay live at peace. He shall conceal it\\r\\nWhiles you are willing it shall come to note,\\r\\nWhat time we will our celebration keep\\r\\nAccording to my birth. What do you say?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI’ll follow this good man, and go with you,\\r\\nAnd having sworn truth, ever will be true.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nThen lead the way, good father, and heavens so shine,\\r\\nThat they may fairly note this act of mine!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Street before Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNow, as thou lov’st me, let me see his letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGood Master Fabian, grant me another request.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nAnything.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nDo not desire to see this letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThis is to give a dog, and in recompense desire my dog again.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Duke, Viola, Curio and Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBelong you to the Lady Olivia, friends?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy, sir, we are some of her trappings.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI know thee well. How dost thou, my good fellow?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTruly, sir, the better for my foes, and the worse for my friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nJust the contrary; the better for thy friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, sir, the worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHow can that be?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMarry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass of me. Now my foes tell me\\r\\nplainly I am an ass: so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge\\r\\nof myself, and by my friends I am abused. So that, conclusions to be as\\r\\nkisses, if your four negatives make your two affirmatives, why then,\\r\\nthe worse for my friends, and the better for my foes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhy, this is excellent.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBy my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be one of my friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThou shalt not be the worse for me; there’s gold.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBut that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would you could make it\\r\\nanother.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO, you give me ill counsel.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nPut your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once, and let your flesh\\r\\nand blood obey it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWell, I will be so much a sinner to be a double-dealer: there’s\\r\\nanother.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n_Primo, secundo, tertio_, is a good play, and the old saying is, the\\r\\nthird pays for all; the triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure; or\\r\\nthe bells of Saint Bennet, sir, may put you in mind—one, two, three.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nYou can fool no more money out of me at this throw. If you will let\\r\\nyour lady know I am here to speak with her, and bring her along with\\r\\nyou, it may awake my bounty further.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMarry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come again. I go, sir, but I\\r\\nwould not have you to think that my desire of having is the sin of\\r\\ncovetousness: but as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap, I will\\r\\nawake it anon.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio and Officers.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nHere comes the man, sir, that did rescue me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThat face of his I do remember well.\\r\\nYet when I saw it last it was besmear’d\\r\\nAs black as Vulcan, in the smoke of war.\\r\\nA baubling vessel was he captain of,\\r\\nFor shallow draught and bulk unprizable,\\r\\nWith which such scathful grapple did he make\\r\\nWith the most noble bottom of our fleet,\\r\\nThat very envy and the tongue of loss\\r\\nCried fame and honour on him. What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nOrsino, this is that Antonio\\r\\nThat took the _Phoenix_ and her fraught from Candy,\\r\\nAnd this is he that did the _Tiger_ board\\r\\nWhen your young nephew Titus lost his leg.\\r\\nHere in the streets, desperate of shame and state,\\r\\nIn private brabble did we apprehend him.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nHe did me kindness, sir; drew on my side,\\r\\nBut in conclusion, put strange speech upon me.\\r\\nI know not what ’twas, but distraction.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nNotable pirate, thou salt-water thief,\\r\\nWhat foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies,\\r\\nWhom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear,\\r\\nHast made thine enemies?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nOrsino, noble sir,\\r\\nBe pleased that I shake off these names you give me:\\r\\nAntonio never yet was thief or pirate,\\r\\nThough, I confess, on base and ground enough,\\r\\nOrsino’s enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither:\\r\\nThat most ingrateful boy there by your side\\r\\nFrom the rude sea’s enraged and foamy mouth\\r\\nDid I redeem; a wreck past hope he was.\\r\\nHis life I gave him, and did thereto add\\r\\nMy love, without retention or restraint,\\r\\nAll his in dedication. For his sake\\r\\nDid I expose myself, pure for his love,\\r\\nInto the danger of this adverse town;\\r\\nDrew to defend him when he was beset;\\r\\nWhere being apprehended, his false cunning\\r\\n(Not meaning to partake with me in danger)\\r\\nTaught him to face me out of his acquaintance,\\r\\nAnd grew a twenty years’ removed thing\\r\\nWhile one would wink; denied me mine own purse,\\r\\nWhich I had recommended to his use\\r\\nNot half an hour before.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nHow can this be?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhen came he to this town?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nToday, my lord; and for three months before,\\r\\nNo int’rim, not a minute’s vacancy,\\r\\nBoth day and night did we keep company.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHere comes the Countess, now heaven walks on earth.\\r\\nBut for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness.\\r\\nThree months this youth hath tended upon me;\\r\\nBut more of that anon. Take him aside.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat would my lord, but that he may not have,\\r\\nWherein Olivia may seem serviceable?\\r\\nCesario, you do not keep promise with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMadam?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGracious Olivia—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat do you say, Cesario? Good my lord—\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy lord would speak, my duty hushes me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIf it be aught to the old tune, my lord,\\r\\nIt is as fat and fulsome to mine ear\\r\\nAs howling after music.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nStill so cruel?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nStill so constant, lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat, to perverseness? You uncivil lady,\\r\\nTo whose ingrate and unauspicious altars\\r\\nMy soul the faithfull’st off’rings hath breathed out\\r\\nThat e’er devotion tender’d! What shall I do?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nEven what it please my lord that shall become him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhy should I not, had I the heart to do it,\\r\\nLike to the Egyptian thief at point of death,\\r\\nKill what I love?—a savage jealousy\\r\\nThat sometime savours nobly. But hear me this:\\r\\nSince you to non-regardance cast my faith,\\r\\nAnd that I partly know the instrument\\r\\nThat screws me from my true place in your favour,\\r\\nLive you the marble-breasted tyrant still.\\r\\nBut this your minion, whom I know you love,\\r\\nAnd whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly,\\r\\nHim will I tear out of that cruel eye\\r\\nWhere he sits crowned in his master’s spite.—\\r\\nCome, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief:\\r\\nI’ll sacrifice the lamb that I do love,\\r\\nTo spite a raven’s heart within a dove.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd I, most jocund, apt, and willingly,\\r\\nTo do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhere goes Cesario?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAfter him I love\\r\\nMore than I love these eyes, more than my life,\\r\\nMore, by all mores, than e’er I shall love wife.\\r\\nIf I do feign, you witnesses above\\r\\nPunish my life for tainting of my love.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAh me, detested! how am I beguil’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWho does beguile you? Who does do you wrong?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long?\\r\\nCall forth the holy father.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit an Attendant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\n[_To Viola._] Come, away!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHusband?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAy, husband. Can he that deny?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHer husband, sirrah?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNo, my lord, not I.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAlas, it is the baseness of thy fear\\r\\nThat makes thee strangle thy propriety.\\r\\nFear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up.\\r\\nBe that thou know’st thou art, and then thou art\\r\\nAs great as that thou fear’st.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Priest.\\r\\n\\r\\nO, welcome, father!\\r\\nFather, I charge thee, by thy reverence\\r\\nHere to unfold—though lately we intended\\r\\nTo keep in darkness what occasion now\\r\\nReveals before ’tis ripe—what thou dost know\\r\\nHath newly passed between this youth and me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIEST.\\r\\nA contract of eternal bond of love,\\r\\nConfirmed by mutual joinder of your hands,\\r\\nAttested by the holy close of lips,\\r\\nStrengthen’d by interchangement of your rings,\\r\\nAnd all the ceremony of this compact\\r\\nSealed in my function, by my testimony;\\r\\nSince when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave,\\r\\nI have travelled but two hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO thou dissembling cub! What wilt thou be\\r\\nWhen time hath sowed a grizzle on thy case?\\r\\nOr will not else thy craft so quickly grow\\r\\nThat thine own trip shall be thine overthrow?\\r\\nFarewell, and take her; but direct thy feet\\r\\nWhere thou and I henceforth may never meet.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy lord, I do protest—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, do not swear.\\r\\nHold little faith, though thou has too much fear.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFor the love of God, a surgeon! Send one presently to Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Has broke my head across, and has given Sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too.\\r\\nFor the love of God, your help! I had rather than forty pound I were at\\r\\nhome.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWho has done this, Sir Andrew?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nThe Count’s gentleman, one Cesario. We took him for a coward, but he’s\\r\\nthe very devil incardinate.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nMy gentleman, Cesario?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Od’s lifelings, here he is!—You broke my head for nothing; and that\\r\\nthat I did, I was set on to do’t by Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhy do you speak to me? I never hurt you:\\r\\nYou drew your sword upon me without cause,\\r\\nBut I bespake you fair and hurt you not.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby, drunk, led by the Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nIf a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me. I think you set\\r\\nnothing by a bloody coxcomb. Here comes Sir Toby halting, you shall\\r\\nhear more: but if he had not been in drink, he would have tickled you\\r\\nothergates than he did.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHow now, gentleman? How is’t with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThat’s all one; ’has hurt me, and there’s th’ end on’t. Sot, didst see\\r\\nDick Surgeon, sot?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nO, he’s drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes were set at eight i’\\r\\nth’ morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThen he’s a rogue, and a passy measures pavin. I hate a drunken rogue.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAway with him. Who hath made this havoc with them?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI’ll help you, Sir Toby, because we’ll be dressed together.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWill you help? An ass-head, and a coxcomb, and a knave, a thin-faced\\r\\nknave, a gull?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGet him to bed, and let his hurt be looked to.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Clown, Fabian, Sir Toby and Sir Andrew._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman;\\r\\nBut had it been the brother of my blood,\\r\\nI must have done no less with wit and safety.\\r\\nYou throw a strange regard upon me, and by that\\r\\nI do perceive it hath offended you.\\r\\nPardon me, sweet one, even for the vows\\r\\nWe made each other but so late ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nOne face, one voice, one habit, and two persons!\\r\\nA natural perspective, that is, and is not!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAntonio, O my dear Antonio!\\r\\nHow have the hours rack’d and tortur’d me\\r\\nSince I have lost thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nSebastian are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nFear’st thou that, Antonio?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHow have you made division of yourself?\\r\\nAn apple cleft in two is not more twin\\r\\nThan these two creatures. Which is Sebastian?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nMost wonderful!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nDo I stand there? I never had a brother:\\r\\nNor can there be that deity in my nature\\r\\nOf here and everywhere. I had a sister,\\r\\nWhom the blind waves and surges have devoured.\\r\\nOf charity, what kin are you to me?\\r\\nWhat countryman? What name? What parentage?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nOf Messaline: Sebastian was my father;\\r\\nSuch a Sebastian was my brother too:\\r\\nSo went he suited to his watery tomb.\\r\\nIf spirits can assume both form and suit,\\r\\nYou come to fright us.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA spirit I am indeed,\\r\\nBut am in that dimension grossly clad,\\r\\nWhich from the womb I did participate.\\r\\nWere you a woman, as the rest goes even,\\r\\nI should my tears let fall upon your cheek,\\r\\nAnd say, ‘Thrice welcome, drowned Viola.’\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy father had a mole upon his brow.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAnd so had mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd died that day when Viola from her birth\\r\\nHad numbered thirteen years.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nO, that record is lively in my soul!\\r\\nHe finished indeed his mortal act\\r\\nThat day that made my sister thirteen years.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIf nothing lets to make us happy both\\r\\nBut this my masculine usurp’d attire,\\r\\nDo not embrace me till each circumstance\\r\\nOf place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump\\r\\nThat I am Viola; which to confirm,\\r\\nI’ll bring you to a captain in this town,\\r\\nWhere lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help\\r\\nI was preserv’d to serve this noble count.\\r\\nAll the occurrence of my fortune since\\r\\nHath been between this lady and this lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n[_To Olivia._] So comes it, lady, you have been mistook.\\r\\nBut nature to her bias drew in that.\\r\\nYou would have been contracted to a maid;\\r\\nNor are you therein, by my life, deceived:\\r\\nYou are betroth’d both to a maid and man.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBe not amazed; right noble is his blood.\\r\\nIf this be so, as yet the glass seems true,\\r\\nI shall have share in this most happy wreck.\\r\\n[_To Viola._] Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times\\r\\nThou never shouldst love woman like to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd all those sayings will I over-swear,\\r\\nAnd all those swearings keep as true in soul\\r\\nAs doth that orbed continent the fire\\r\\nThat severs day from night.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGive me thy hand,\\r\\nAnd let me see thee in thy woman’s weeds.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThe captain that did bring me first on shore\\r\\nHath my maid’s garments. He, upon some action,\\r\\nIs now in durance, at Malvolio’s suit,\\r\\nA gentleman and follower of my lady’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHe shall enlarge him. Fetch Malvolio hither.\\r\\nAnd yet, alas, now I remember me,\\r\\nThey say, poor gentleman, he’s much distract.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown, with a letter and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nA most extracting frenzy of mine own\\r\\nFrom my remembrance clearly banished his.\\r\\nHow does he, sirrah?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTruly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the stave’s end as well as a man in\\r\\nhis case may do. Has here writ a letter to you. I should have given it\\r\\nyou today morning, but as a madman’s epistles are no gospels, so it\\r\\nskills not much when they are delivered.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nOpen ’t, and read it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLook then to be well edified, when the fool delivers the madman. _By\\r\\nthe Lord, madam,—_\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHow now, art thou mad?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, madam, I do but read madness: an your ladyship will have it as it\\r\\nought to be, you must allow _vox_.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nPrithee, read i’ thy right wits.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nSo I do, madonna. But to read his right wits is to read thus; therefore\\r\\nperpend, my princess, and give ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\n[_To Fabian._] Read it you, sirrah.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\n[_Reads._] _By the Lord, madam, you wrong me, and the world shall know\\r\\nit. Though you have put me into darkness and given your drunken cousin\\r\\nrule over me, yet have I the benefit of my senses as well as your\\r\\nladyship. I have your own letter that induced me to the semblance I put\\r\\non; with the which I doubt not but to do myself much right or you much\\r\\nshame. Think of me as you please. I leave my duty a little unthought\\r\\nof, and speak out of my injury.\\r\\n The madly-used Malvolio._\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nDid he write this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThis savours not much of distraction.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSee him delivered, Fabian, bring him hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Fabian._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMy lord, so please you, these things further thought on,\\r\\nTo think me as well a sister, as a wife,\\r\\nOne day shall crown th’ alliance on’t, so please you,\\r\\nHere at my house, and at my proper cost.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nMadam, I am most apt t’ embrace your offer.\\r\\n[_To Viola._] Your master quits you; and for your service done him,\\r\\nSo much against the mettle of your sex,\\r\\nSo far beneath your soft and tender breeding,\\r\\nAnd since you call’d me master for so long,\\r\\nHere is my hand; you shall from this time be\\r\\nYou master’s mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nA sister? You are she.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fabian and Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nIs this the madman?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAy, my lord, this same.\\r\\nHow now, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMadam, you have done me wrong,\\r\\nNotorious wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHave I, Malvolio? No.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nLady, you have. Pray you peruse that letter.\\r\\nYou must not now deny it is your hand,\\r\\nWrite from it, if you can, in hand, or phrase,\\r\\nOr say ’tis not your seal, not your invention:\\r\\nYou can say none of this. Well, grant it then,\\r\\nAnd tell me, in the modesty of honour,\\r\\nWhy you have given me such clear lights of favour,\\r\\nBade me come smiling and cross-garter’d to you,\\r\\nTo put on yellow stockings, and to frown\\r\\nUpon Sir Toby, and the lighter people;\\r\\nAnd acting this in an obedient hope,\\r\\nWhy have you suffer’d me to be imprison’d,\\r\\nKept in a dark house, visited by the priest,\\r\\nAnd made the most notorious geck and gull\\r\\nThat e’er invention played on? Tell me why?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAlas, Malvolio, this is not my writing,\\r\\nThough I confess, much like the character:\\r\\nBut out of question, ’tis Maria’s hand.\\r\\nAnd now I do bethink me, it was she\\r\\nFirst told me thou wast mad; then cam’st in smiling,\\r\\nAnd in such forms which here were presuppos’d\\r\\nUpon thee in the letter. Prithee, be content.\\r\\nThis practice hath most shrewdly pass’d upon thee.\\r\\nBut when we know the grounds and authors of it,\\r\\nThou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge\\r\\nOf thine own cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nGood madam, hear me speak,\\r\\nAnd let no quarrel, nor no brawl to come,\\r\\nTaint the condition of this present hour,\\r\\nWhich I have wonder’d at. In hope it shall not,\\r\\nMost freely I confess, myself and Toby\\r\\nSet this device against Malvolio here,\\r\\nUpon some stubborn and uncourteous parts\\r\\nWe had conceiv’d against him. Maria writ\\r\\nThe letter, at Sir Toby’s great importance,\\r\\nIn recompense whereof he hath married her.\\r\\nHow with a sportful malice it was follow’d\\r\\nMay rather pluck on laughter than revenge,\\r\\nIf that the injuries be justly weigh’d\\r\\nThat have on both sides passed.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAlas, poor fool, how have they baffled thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, ‘some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have\\r\\ngreatness thrown upon them.’ I was one, sir, in this interlude, one Sir\\r\\nTopas, sir, but that’s all one. ‘By the Lord, fool, I am not mad.’ But\\r\\ndo you remember? ‘Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal? And you\\r\\nsmile not, he’s gagged’? And thus the whirligig of time brings in his\\r\\nrevenges.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI’ll be revenged on the whole pack of you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHe hath been most notoriously abus’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nPursue him, and entreat him to a peace:\\r\\nHe hath not told us of the captain yet.\\r\\nWhen that is known, and golden time convents,\\r\\nA solemn combination shall be made\\r\\nOf our dear souls.—Meantime, sweet sister,\\r\\nWe will not part from hence.—Cesario, come:\\r\\nFor so you shall be while you are a man;\\r\\nBut when in other habits you are seen,\\r\\nOrsino’s mistress, and his fancy’s queen.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Clown sings.\\r\\n\\r\\n_ When that I was and a little tiny boy,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n A foolish thing was but a toy,\\r\\n For the rain it raineth every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ But when I came to man’s estate,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n ’Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,\\r\\n For the rain it raineth every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ But when I came, alas, to wive,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n By swaggering could I never thrive,\\r\\n For the rain it raineth every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ But when I came unto my beds,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n With toss-pots still had drunken heads,\\r\\n For the rain it raineth every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ A great while ago the world begun,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n But that’s all one, our play is done,\\r\\n And we’ll strive to please you every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE OF MILAN, father to Silvia\\r\\n VALENTINE, one of the two gentlemen\\r\\n PROTEUS, \" \" \" \" \"\\r\\n ANTONIO, father to Proteus\\r\\n THURIO, a foolish rival to Valentine\\r\\n EGLAMOUR, agent for Silvia in her escape\\r\\n SPEED, a clownish servant to Valentine\\r\\n LAUNCE, the like to Proteus\\r\\n PANTHINO, servant to Antonio\\r\\n HOST, where Julia lodges in Milan\\r\\n OUTLAWS, with Valentine\\r\\n\\r\\n JULIA, a lady of Verona, beloved of Proteus\\r\\n SILVIA, the Duke\\'s daughter, beloved of Valentine\\r\\n LUCETTA, waiting-woman to Julia\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANTS MUSICIANS\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Verona; Milan; the frontiers of Mantua\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. Verona. An open place\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter VALENTINE and PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n VALENTINE. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus:\\r\\n Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.\\r\\n Were\\'t not affection chains thy tender days\\r\\n To the sweet glances of thy honour\\'d love,\\r\\n I rather would entreat thy company\\r\\n To see the wonders of the world abroad,\\r\\n Than, living dully sluggardiz\\'d at home,\\r\\n Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.\\r\\n But since thou lov\\'st, love still, and thrive therein,\\r\\n Even as I would, when I to love begin.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu!\\r\\n Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest\\r\\n Some rare noteworthy object in thy travel.\\r\\n Wish me partaker in thy happiness\\r\\n When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger,\\r\\n If ever danger do environ thee,\\r\\n Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,\\r\\n For I will be thy headsman, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. And on a love-book pray for my success?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Upon some book I love I\\'ll pray for thee.\\r\\n VALENTINE. That\\'s on some shallow story of deep love:\\r\\n How young Leander cross\\'d the Hellespont.\\r\\n PROTEUS. That\\'s a deep story of a deeper love;\\r\\n For he was more than over shoes in love.\\r\\n VALENTINE. \\'Tis true; for you are over boots in love,\\r\\n And yet you never swum the Hellespont.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Over the boots! Nay, give me not the boots.\\r\\n VALENTINE. No, I will not, for it boots thee not.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What?\\r\\n VALENTINE. To be in love- where scorn is bought with groans,\\r\\n Coy looks with heart-sore sighs, one fading moment\\'s mirth\\r\\n With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights;\\r\\n If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain;\\r\\n If lost, why then a grievous labour won;\\r\\n However, but a folly bought with wit,\\r\\n Or else a wit by folly vanquished.\\r\\n PROTEUS. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.\\r\\n VALENTINE. So, by your circumstance, I fear you\\'ll prove.\\r\\n PROTEUS. \\'Tis love you cavil at; I am not Love.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Love is your master, for he masters you;\\r\\n And he that is so yoked by a fool,\\r\\n Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud\\r\\n The eating canker dwells, so eating love\\r\\n Inhabits in the finest wits of all.\\r\\n VALENTINE. And writers say, as the most forward bud\\r\\n Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,\\r\\n Even so by love the young and tender wit\\r\\n Is turn\\'d to folly, blasting in the bud,\\r\\n Losing his verdure even in the prime,\\r\\n And all the fair effects of future hopes.\\r\\n But wherefore waste I time to counsel the\\r\\n That art a votary to fond desire?\\r\\n Once more adieu. My father at the road\\r\\n Expects my coming, there to see me shipp\\'d.\\r\\n PROTEUS. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave.\\r\\n To Milan let me hear from thee by letters\\r\\n Of thy success in love, and what news else\\r\\n Betideth here in absence of thy friend;\\r\\n And I likewise will visit thee with mine.\\r\\n PROTEUS. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan!\\r\\n VALENTINE. As much to you at home; and so farewell!\\r\\n Exit VALENTINE\\r\\n PROTEUS. He after honour hunts, I after love;\\r\\n He leaves his friends to dignify them more:\\r\\n I leave myself, my friends, and all for love.\\r\\n Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphis\\'d me,\\r\\n Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,\\r\\n War with good counsel, set the world at nought;\\r\\n Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n SPEED. Sir Proteus, save you! Saw you my master?\\r\\n PROTEUS. But now he parted hence to embark for Milan.\\r\\n SPEED. Twenty to one then he is shipp\\'d already,\\r\\n And I have play\\'d the sheep in losing him.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray,\\r\\n An if the shepherd be awhile away.\\r\\n SPEED. You conclude that my master is a shepherd then, and\\r\\n I a sheep?\\r\\n PROTEUS. I do.\\r\\n SPEED. Why then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep.\\r\\n PROTEUS. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep.\\r\\n SPEED. This proves me still a sheep.\\r\\n PROTEUS. True; and thy master a shepherd.\\r\\n SPEED. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.\\r\\n PROTEUS. It shall go hard but I\\'ll prove it by another.\\r\\n SPEED. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the\\r\\n shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me;\\r\\n therefore, I am no sheep.\\r\\n PROTEUS. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd; the shepherd for\\r\\n food follows not the sheep: thou for wages followest thy master;\\r\\n thy master for wages follows not thee. Therefore, thou art a\\r\\n sheep.\\r\\n SPEED. Such another proof will make me cry \\'baa.\\'\\r\\n PROTEUS. But dost thou hear? Gav\\'st thou my letter to Julia?\\r\\n SPEED. Ay, sir; I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her, a lac\\'d\\r\\n mutton; and she, a lac\\'d mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing\\r\\n for my labour.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Here\\'s too small a pasture for such store of muttons.\\r\\n SPEED. If the ground be overcharg\\'d, you were best stick her.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Nay, in that you are astray: \\'twere best pound you.\\r\\n SPEED. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your\\r\\n letter.\\r\\n PROTEUS. You mistake; I mean the pound- a pinfold.\\r\\n SPEED. From a pound to a pin? Fold it over and over,\\r\\n \\'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But what said she?\\r\\n SPEED. [Nodding] Ay.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Nod- ay. Why, that\\'s \\'noddy.\\'\\r\\n SPEED. You mistook, sir; I say she did nod; and you ask me if she\\r\\n did nod; and I say \\'Ay.\\'\\r\\n PROTEUS. And that set together is \\'noddy.\\'\\r\\n SPEED. Now you have taken the pains to set it together, take it for\\r\\n your pains.\\r\\n PROTEUS. No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter.\\r\\n SPEED. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, sir, how do you bear with me?\\r\\n SPEED. Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly; having nothing but the\\r\\n word \\'noddy\\' for my pains.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.\\r\\n SPEED. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Come, come, open the matter; in brief, what said she?\\r\\n SPEED. Open your purse, that the money and the matter may be both\\r\\n at once delivered.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she?\\r\\n SPEED. Truly, sir, I think you\\'ll hardly win her.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her?\\r\\n SPEED. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; no, not so\\r\\n much as a ducat for delivering your letter; and being so hard to\\r\\n me that brought your mind, I fear she\\'ll prove as hard to you in\\r\\n telling your mind. Give her no token but stones, for she\\'s as\\r\\n hard as steel.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What said she? Nothing?\\r\\n SPEED. No, not so much as \\'Take this for thy pains.\\' To testify\\r\\n your bounty, I thank you, you have testern\\'d me; in requital\\r\\n whereof, henceforth carry your letters yourself; and so, sir,\\r\\n I\\'ll commend you to my master.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck,\\r\\n Which cannot perish, having thee aboard,\\r\\n Being destin\\'d to a drier death on shore. Exit SPEED\\r\\n I must go send some better messenger.\\r\\n I fear my Julia would not deign my lines,\\r\\n Receiving them from such a worthless post. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Verona. The garden Of JULIA\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter JULIA and LUCETTA\\r\\n\\r\\n JULIA. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone,\\r\\n Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Ay, madam; so you stumble not unheedfully.\\r\\n JULIA. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen\\r\\n That every day with parle encounter me,\\r\\n In thy opinion which is worthiest love?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Please you, repeat their names; I\\'ll show my mind\\r\\n According to my shallow simple skill.\\r\\n JULIA. What think\\'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?\\r\\n LUCETTA. As of a knight well-spoken, neat, and fine;\\r\\n But, were I you, he never should be mine.\\r\\n JULIA. What think\\'st thou of the rich Mercatio?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Well of his wealth; but of himself, so so.\\r\\n JULIA. What think\\'st thou of the gentle Proteus?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Lord, Lord! to see what folly reigns in us!\\r\\n JULIA. How now! what means this passion at his name?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Pardon, dear madam; \\'tis a passing shame\\r\\n That I, unworthy body as I am,\\r\\n Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen.\\r\\n JULIA. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Then thus: of many good I think him best.\\r\\n JULIA. Your reason?\\r\\n LUCETTA. I have no other but a woman\\'s reason:\\r\\n I think him so, because I think him so.\\r\\n JULIA. And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away.\\r\\n JULIA. Why, he, of all the rest, hath never mov\\'d me.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye.\\r\\n JULIA. His little speaking shows his love but small.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Fire that\\'s closest kept burns most of all.\\r\\n JULIA. They do not love that do not show their love.\\r\\n LUCETTA. O, they love least that let men know their love.\\r\\n JULIA. I would I knew his mind.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Peruse this paper, madam.\\r\\n JULIA. \\'To Julia\\'- Say, from whom?\\r\\n LUCETTA. That the contents will show.\\r\\n JULIA. Say, say, who gave it thee?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Sir Valentine\\'s page; and sent, I think, from Proteus.\\r\\n He would have given it you; but I, being in the way,\\r\\n Did in your name receive it; pardon the fault, I pray.\\r\\n JULIA. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker!\\r\\n Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines?\\r\\n To whisper and conspire against my youth?\\r\\n Now, trust me, \\'tis an office of great worth,\\r\\n And you an officer fit for the place.\\r\\n There, take the paper; see it be return\\'d;\\r\\n Or else return no more into my sight.\\r\\n LUCETTA. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate.\\r\\n JULIA. Will ye be gone?\\r\\n LUCETTA. That you may ruminate. Exit\\r\\n JULIA. And yet, I would I had o\\'erlook\\'d the letter.\\r\\n It were a shame to call her back again,\\r\\n And pray her to a fault for which I chid her.\\r\\n What fool is she, that knows I am a maid\\r\\n And would not force the letter to my view!\\r\\n Since maids, in modesty, say \\'No\\' to that\\r\\n Which they would have the profferer construe \\'Ay.\\'\\r\\n Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love,\\r\\n That like a testy babe will scratch the nurse,\\r\\n And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod!\\r\\n How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence,\\r\\n When willingly I would have had her here!\\r\\n How angerly I taught my brow to frown,\\r\\n When inward joy enforc\\'d my heart to smile!\\r\\n My penance is to call Lucetta back\\r\\n And ask remission for my folly past.\\r\\n What ho! Lucetta!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter LUCETTA\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCETTA. What would your ladyship?\\r\\n JULIA. Is\\'t near dinner time?\\r\\n LUCETTA. I would it were,\\r\\n That you might kill your stomach on your meat\\r\\n And not upon your maid.\\r\\n JULIA. What is\\'t that you took up so gingerly?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Nothing.\\r\\n JULIA. Why didst thou stoop then?\\r\\n LUCETTA. To take a paper up that I let fall.\\r\\n JULIA. And is that paper nothing?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Nothing concerning me.\\r\\n JULIA. Then let it lie for those that it concerns.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns,\\r\\n Unless it have a false interpreter.\\r\\n JULIA. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme.\\r\\n LUCETTA. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune.\\r\\n Give me a note; your ladyship can set.\\r\\n JULIA. As little by such toys as may be possible.\\r\\n Best sing it to the tune of \\'Light o\\' Love.\\'\\r\\n LUCETTA. It is too heavy for so light a tune.\\r\\n JULIA. Heavy! belike it hath some burden then.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Ay; and melodious were it, would you sing it.\\r\\n JULIA. And why not you?\\r\\n LUCETTA. I cannot reach so high.\\r\\n JULIA. Let\\'s see your song. [LUCETTA withholds the letter]\\r\\n How now, minion!\\r\\n LUCETTA. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out.\\r\\n And yet methinks I do not like this tune.\\r\\n JULIA. You do not!\\r\\n LUCETTA. No, madam; \\'tis too sharp.\\r\\n JULIA. You, minion, are too saucy.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Nay, now you are too flat\\r\\n And mar the concord with too harsh a descant;\\r\\n There wanteth but a mean to fill your song.\\r\\n JULIA. The mean is drown\\'d with your unruly bass.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus.\\r\\n JULIA. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me.\\r\\n Here is a coil with protestation! [Tears the letter]\\r\\n Go, get you gone; and let the papers lie.\\r\\n You would be fing\\'ring them, to anger me.\\r\\n LUCETTA. She makes it strange; but she would be best pleas\\'d\\r\\n To be so ang\\'red with another letter. Exit\\r\\n JULIA. Nay, would I were so ang\\'red with the same!\\r\\n O hateful hands, to tear such loving words!\\r\\n Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey\\r\\n And kill the bees that yield it with your stings!\\r\\n I\\'ll kiss each several paper for amends.\\r\\n Look, here is writ \\'kind Julia.\\' Unkind Julia,\\r\\n As in revenge of thy ingratitude,\\r\\n I throw thy name against the bruising stones,\\r\\n Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain.\\r\\n And here is writ \\'love-wounded Proteus.\\'\\r\\n Poor wounded name! my bosom,,as a bed,\\r\\n Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly heal\\'d;\\r\\n And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss.\\r\\n But twice or thrice was \\'Proteus\\' written down.\\r\\n Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away\\r\\n Till I have found each letter in the letter-\\r\\n Except mine own name; that some whirlwind bear\\r\\n Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock,\\r\\n And throw it thence into the raging sea.\\r\\n Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ:\\r\\n \\'Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus,\\r\\n To the sweet Julia.\\' That I\\'ll tear away;\\r\\n And yet I will not, sith so prettily\\r\\n He couples it to his complaining names.\\r\\n Thus will I fold them one upon another;\\r\\n Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter LUCETTA\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCETTA. Madam,\\r\\n Dinner is ready, and your father stays.\\r\\n JULIA. Well, let us go.\\r\\n LUCETTA. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here?\\r\\n JULIA. If you respect them, best to take them up.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down;\\r\\n Yet here they shall not lie for catching cold.\\r\\n JULIA. I see you have a month\\'s mind to them.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see;\\r\\n I see things too, although you judge I wink.\\r\\n JULIA. Come, come; will\\'t please you go? Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Verona. ANTONIO\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ANTONIO and PANTHINO\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that\\r\\n Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?\\r\\n PANTHINO. \\'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Why, what of him?\\r\\n PANTHINO. He wond\\'red that your lordship\\r\\n Would suffer him to spend his youth at home,\\r\\n While other men, of slender reputation,\\r\\n Put forth their sons to seek preferment out:\\r\\n Some to the wars, to try their fortune there;\\r\\n Some to discover islands far away;\\r\\n Some to the studious universities.\\r\\n For any, or for all these exercises,\\r\\n He said that Proteus, your son, was meet;\\r\\n And did request me to importune you\\r\\n To let him spend his time no more at home,\\r\\n Which would be great impeachment to his age,\\r\\n In having known no travel in his youth.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Nor need\\'st thou much importune me to that\\r\\n Whereon this month I have been hammering.\\r\\n I have consider\\'d well his loss of time,\\r\\n And how he cannot be a perfect man,\\r\\n Not being tried and tutor\\'d in the world:\\r\\n Experience is by industry achiev\\'d,\\r\\n And perfected by the swift course of time.\\r\\n Then tell me whither were I best to send him.\\r\\n PANTHINO. I think your lordship is not ignorant\\r\\n How his companion, youthful Valentine,\\r\\n Attends the Emperor in his royal court.\\r\\n ANTONIO. I know it well.\\r\\n PANTHINO. \\'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither:\\r\\n There shall he practise tilts and tournaments,\\r\\n Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen,\\r\\n And be in eye of every exercise\\r\\n Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth.\\r\\n ANTONIO. I like thy counsel; well hast thou advis\\'d;\\r\\n And that thou mayst perceive how well I like it,\\r\\n The execution of it shall make known:\\r\\n Even with the speediest expedition\\r\\n I will dispatch him to the Emperor\\'s court.\\r\\n PANTHINO. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso\\r\\n With other gentlemen of good esteem\\r\\n Are journeying to salute the Emperor,\\r\\n And to commend their service to his will.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Good company; with them shall Proteus go.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n And- in good time!- now will we break with him.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life!\\r\\n Here is her hand, the agent of her heart;\\r\\n Here is her oath for love, her honour\\'s pawn.\\r\\n O that our fathers would applaud our loves,\\r\\n To seal our happiness with their consents!\\r\\n O heavenly Julia!\\r\\n ANTONIO. How now! What letter are you reading there?\\r\\n PROTEUS. May\\'t please your lordship, \\'tis a word or two\\r\\n Of commendations sent from Valentine,\\r\\n Deliver\\'d by a friend that came from him.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Lend me the letter; let me see what news.\\r\\n PROTEUS. There is no news, my lord; but that he writes\\r\\n How happily he lives, how well-belov\\'d\\r\\n And daily graced by the Emperor;\\r\\n Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune.\\r\\n ANTONIO. And how stand you affected to his wish?\\r\\n PROTEUS. As one relying on your lordship\\'s will,\\r\\n And not depending on his friendly wish.\\r\\n ANTONIO. My will is something sorted with his wish.\\r\\n Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed;\\r\\n For what I will, I will, and there an end.\\r\\n I am resolv\\'d that thou shalt spend some time\\r\\n With Valentinus in the Emperor\\'s court;\\r\\n What maintenance he from his friends receives,\\r\\n Like exhibition thou shalt have from me.\\r\\n To-morrow be in readiness to go-\\r\\n Excuse it not, for I am peremptory.\\r\\n PROTEUS. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided;\\r\\n Please you, deliberate a day or two.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Look what thou want\\'st shall be sent after thee.\\r\\n No more of stay; to-morrow thou must go.\\r\\n Come on, Panthino; you shall be employ\\'d\\r\\n To hasten on his expedition.\\r\\n Exeunt ANTONIO and PANTHINO\\r\\n PROTEUS. Thus have I shunn\\'d the fire for fear of burning,\\r\\n And drench\\'d me in the sea, where I am drown\\'d.\\r\\n I fear\\'d to show my father Julia\\'s letter,\\r\\n Lest he should take exceptions to my love;\\r\\n And with the vantage of mine own excuse\\r\\n Hath he excepted most against my love.\\r\\n O, how this spring of love resembleth\\r\\n The uncertain glory of an April day,\\r\\n Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,\\r\\n And by an by a cloud takes all away!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PANTHINO\\r\\n\\r\\n PANTHINO. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you;\\r\\n He is in haste; therefore, I pray you, go.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, this it is: my heart accords thereto;\\r\\n And yet a thousand times it answers \\'No.\\' Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter VALENTINE and SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n SPEED. Sir, your glove.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Not mine: my gloves are on.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, then, this may be yours; for this is but one.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ha! let me see; ay, give it me, it\\'s mine;\\r\\n Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine!\\r\\n Ah, Silvia! Silvia!\\r\\n SPEED. [Calling] Madam Silvia! Madam Silvia!\\r\\n VALENTINE. How now, sirrah?\\r\\n SPEED. She is not within hearing, sir.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, sir, who bade you call her?\\r\\n SPEED. Your worship, sir; or else I mistook.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Well, you\\'ll still be too forward.\\r\\n SPEED. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Go to, sir; tell me, do you know Madam Silvia?\\r\\n SPEED. She that your worship loves?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, how know you that I am in love?\\r\\n SPEED. Marry, by these special marks: first, you have learn\\'d, like\\r\\n Sir Proteus, to wreath your arms like a malcontent; to relish a\\r\\n love-song, like a robin redbreast; to walk alone, like one that\\r\\n had the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had lost his\\r\\n A B C; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her grandam;\\r\\n to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, like one that fears\\r\\n robbing; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were\\r\\n wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you walk\\'d, to\\r\\n walk like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently\\r\\n after dinner; when you look\\'d sadly, it was for want of money.\\r\\n And now you are metamorphis\\'d with a mistress, that, when I look\\r\\n on you, I can hardly think you my master.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Are all these things perceiv\\'d in me?\\r\\n SPEED. They are all perceiv\\'d without ye.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Without me? They cannot.\\r\\n SPEED. Without you! Nay, that\\'s certain; for, without you were so\\r\\n simple, none else would; but you are so without these follies\\r\\n that these follies are within you, and shine through you like the\\r\\n water in an urinal, that not an eye that sees you but is a\\r\\n physician to comment on your malady.\\r\\n VALENTINE. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia?\\r\\n SPEED. She that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Hast thou observ\\'d that? Even she, I mean.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, sir, I know her not.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet know\\'st\\r\\n her not?\\r\\n SPEED. Is she not hard-favour\\'d, sir?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Not so fair, boy, as well-favour\\'d.\\r\\n SPEED. Sir, I know that well enough.\\r\\n VALENTINE. What dost thou know?\\r\\n SPEED. That she is not so fair as, of you, well-favour\\'d.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I mean that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour\\r\\n infinite.\\r\\n SPEED. That\\'s because the one is painted, and the other out of all\\r\\n count.\\r\\n VALENTINE. How painted? and how out of count?\\r\\n SPEED. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, that no man counts\\r\\n of her beauty.\\r\\n VALENTINE. How esteem\\'st thou me? I account of her beauty.\\r\\n SPEED. You never saw her since she was deform\\'d.\\r\\n VALENTINE. How long hath she been deform\\'d?\\r\\n SPEED. Ever since you lov\\'d her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I have lov\\'d her ever since I saw her, and still\\r\\n I see her beautiful.\\r\\n SPEED. If you love her, you cannot see her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why?\\r\\n SPEED. Because Love is blind. O that you had mine eyes; or your own\\r\\n eyes had the lights they were wont to have when you chid at Sir\\r\\n Proteus for going ungarter\\'d!\\r\\n VALENTINE. What should I see then?\\r\\n SPEED. Your own present folly and her passing deformity; for he,\\r\\n being in love, could not see to garter his hose; and you, being\\r\\n in love, cannot see to put on your hose.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last morning you\\r\\n could not see to wipe my shoes.\\r\\n SPEED. True, sir; I was in love with my bed. I thank you, you\\r\\n swing\\'d me for my love, which makes me the bolder to chide you\\r\\n for yours.\\r\\n VALENTINE. In conclusion, I stand affected to her.\\r\\n SPEED. I would you were set, so your affection would cease.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Last night she enjoin\\'d me to write some lines to one\\r\\n she loves.\\r\\n SPEED. And have you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I have.\\r\\n SPEED. Are they not lamely writ?\\r\\n VALENTINE. No, boy, but as well as I can do them.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA\\r\\n\\r\\n Peace! here she comes.\\r\\n SPEED. [Aside] O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet!\\r\\n Now will he interpret to her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Madam and mistress, a thousand good morrows.\\r\\n SPEED. [Aside] O, give ye good ev\\'n!\\r\\n Here\\'s a million of manners.\\r\\n SILVIA. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand.\\r\\n SPEED. [Aside] He should give her interest, and she gives it him.\\r\\n VALENTINE. As you enjoin\\'d me, I have writ your letter\\r\\n Unto the secret nameless friend of yours;\\r\\n Which I was much unwilling to proceed in,\\r\\n But for my duty to your ladyship.\\r\\n SILVIA. I thank you, gentle servant. \\'Tis very clerkly done.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off;\\r\\n For, being ignorant to whom it goes,\\r\\n I writ at random, very doubtfully.\\r\\n SILVIA. Perchance you think too much of so much pains?\\r\\n VALENTINE. No, madam; so it stead you, I will write,\\r\\n Please you command, a thousand times as much;\\r\\n And yet-\\r\\n SILVIA. A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel;\\r\\n And yet I will not name it- and yet I care not.\\r\\n And yet take this again- and yet I thank you-\\r\\n Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.\\r\\n SPEED. [Aside] And yet you will; and yet another\\' yet.\\'\\r\\n VALENTINE. What means your ladyship? Do you not like it?\\r\\n SILVIA. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ;\\r\\n But, since unwillingly, take them again.\\r\\n Nay, take them. [Gives hack the letter]\\r\\n VALENTINE. Madam, they are for you.\\r\\n SILVIA. Ay, ay, you writ them, sir, at my request;\\r\\n But I will none of them; they are for you:\\r\\n I would have had them writ more movingly.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Please you, I\\'ll write your ladyship another.\\r\\n SILVIA. And when it\\'s writ, for my sake read it over;\\r\\n And if it please you, so; if not, why, so.\\r\\n VALENTINE. If it please me, madam, what then?\\r\\n SILVIA. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour.\\r\\n And so good morrow, servant. Exit SILVIA\\r\\n SPEED. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible,\\r\\n As a nose on a man\\'s face, or a weathercock on a steeple!\\r\\n My master sues to her; and she hath taught her suitor,\\r\\n He being her pupil, to become her tutor.\\r\\n O excellent device! Was there ever heard a better,\\r\\n That my master, being scribe, to himself should write the letter?\\r\\n VALENTINE. How now, sir! What are you reasoning with yourself?\\r\\n SPEED. Nay, I was rhyming: \\'tis you that have the reason.\\r\\n VALENTINE. To do what?\\r\\n SPEED. To be a spokesman from Madam Silvia?\\r\\n VALENTINE. To whom?\\r\\n SPEED. To yourself; why, she woos you by a figure.\\r\\n VALENTINE. What figure?\\r\\n SPEED. By a letter, I should say.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, she hath not writ to me.\\r\\n SPEED. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself?\\r\\n Why, do you not perceive the jest?\\r\\n VALENTINE. No, believe me.\\r\\n SPEED. No believing you indeed, sir. But did you perceive her\\r\\n earnest?\\r\\n VALENTINE. She gave me none except an angry word.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, she hath given you a letter.\\r\\n VALENTINE. That\\'s the letter I writ to her friend.\\r\\n SPEED. And that letter hath she deliver\\'d, and there an end.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I would it were no worse.\\r\\n SPEED. I\\'ll warrant you \\'tis as well.\\r\\n \\'For often have you writ to her; and she, in modesty,\\r\\n Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply;\\r\\n Or fearing else some messenger that might her mind discover,\\r\\n Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.\\'\\r\\n All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. Why muse you,\\r\\n sir? \\'Tis dinner time.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I have din\\'d.\\r\\n SPEED. Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can feed on\\r\\n the air, I am one that am nourish\\'d by my victuals, and would\\r\\n fain have meat. O, be not like your mistress! Be moved, be moved.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Verona. JULIA\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PROTEUS and JULIA\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Have patience, gentle Julia.\\r\\n JULIA. I must, where is no remedy.\\r\\n PROTEUS. When possibly I can, I will return.\\r\\n JULIA. If you turn not, you will return the sooner.\\r\\n Keep this remembrance for thy Julia\\'s sake.\\r\\n [Giving a ring]\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, then, we\\'ll make exchange. Here, take you this.\\r\\n JULIA. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Here is my hand for my true constancy;\\r\\n And when that hour o\\'erslips me in the day\\r\\n Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake,\\r\\n The next ensuing hour some foul mischance\\r\\n Torment me for my love\\'s forgetfulness!\\r\\n My father stays my coming; answer not;\\r\\n The tide is now- nay, not thy tide of tears:\\r\\n That tide will stay me longer than I should.\\r\\n Julia, farewell! Exit JULIA\\r\\n What, gone without a word?\\r\\n Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak;\\r\\n For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PANTHINO\\r\\n\\r\\n PANTHINO. Sir Proteus, you are stay\\'d for.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go; I come, I come.\\r\\n Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Verona. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter LAUNCE, leading a dog\\r\\n\\r\\n LAUNCE. Nay, \\'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping; all the\\r\\n kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have receiv\\'d my\\r\\n proportion, like the Prodigious Son, and am going with Sir Proteus to\\r\\n the Imperial\\'s court. I think Crab my dog be the sourest-natured dog\\r\\n that lives: my mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying,\\r\\n our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a\\r\\n great perplexity; yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear.\\r\\n He is a stone, a very pebble stone, and has no more pity in him than\\r\\n a dog. A Jew would have wept to have seen our parting; why, my\\r\\n grandam having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting.\\r\\n Nay, I\\'ll show you the manner of it. This shoe is my father; no, this\\r\\n left shoe is my father; no, no, left shoe is my mother; nay, that\\r\\n cannot be so neither; yes, it is so, it is so, it hath the worser\\r\\n sole. This shoe with the hole in it is my mother, and this my father.\\r\\n A vengeance on \\'t! There \\'tis. Now, sir, this staff is my sister,\\r\\n for, look you, she is as white as a lily and as small as a wand; this\\r\\n hat is Nan our maid; I am the dog; no, the dog is himself, and I am\\r\\n the dog- O, the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so, so. Now come I to\\r\\n my father: \\'Father, your blessing.\\' Now should not the shoe speak a\\r\\n word for weeping; now should I kiss my father; well, he weeps on. Now\\r\\n come I to my mother. O that she could speak now like a wood woman!\\r\\n Well, I kiss her- why there \\'tis; here\\'s my mother\\'s breath up and\\r\\n down. Now come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes. Now the dog\\r\\n all this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word; but see how I lay\\r\\n the dust with my tears.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PANTHINO\\r\\n\\r\\n PANTHINO. Launce, away, away, aboard! Thy master is shipp\\'d, and\\r\\n thou art to post after with oars. What\\'s the matter? Why weep\\'st\\r\\n thou, man? Away, ass! You\\'ll lose the tide if you tarry any\\r\\n longer.\\r\\n LAUNCE. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the\\r\\n unkindest tied that ever any man tied.\\r\\n PANTHINO. What\\'s the unkindest tide?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, he that\\'s tied here, Crab, my dog.\\r\\n PANTHINO. Tut, man, I mean thou\\'lt lose the flood, and, in losing\\r\\n the flood, lose thy voyage, and, in losing thy voyage, lose thy\\r\\n master, and, in losing thy master, lose thy service, and, in\\r\\n losing thy service- Why dost thou stop my mouth?\\r\\n LAUNCE. For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue.\\r\\n PANTHINO. Where should I lose my tongue?\\r\\n LAUNCE. In thy tale.\\r\\n PANTHINO. In thy tail!\\r\\n LAUNCE. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the\\r\\n service, and the tied! Why, man, if the river were dry, I am able\\r\\n to fill it with my tears; if the wind were down, I could drive\\r\\n the boat with my sighs.\\r\\n PANTHINO. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Sir, call me what thou dar\\'st.\\r\\n PANTHINO. Will thou go?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Well, I will go. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SILVIA, VALENTINE, THURIO, and SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n SILVIA. Servant!\\r\\n VALENTINE. Mistress?\\r\\n SPEED. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, boy, it\\'s for love.\\r\\n SPEED. Not of you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Of my mistress, then.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Twere good you knock\\'d him. Exit\\r\\n SILVIA. Servant, you are sad.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Indeed, madam, I seem so.\\r\\n THURIO. Seem you that you are not?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Haply I do.\\r\\n THURIO. So do counterfeits.\\r\\n VALENTINE. So do you.\\r\\n THURIO. What seem I that I am not?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Wise.\\r\\n THURIO. What instance of the contrary?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Your folly.\\r\\n THURIO. And how quote you my folly?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I quote it in your jerkin.\\r\\n THURIO. My jerkin is a doublet.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Well, then, I\\'ll double your folly.\\r\\n THURIO. How?\\r\\n SILVIA. What, angry, Sir Thurio! Do you change colour?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of chameleon.\\r\\n THURIO. That hath more mind to feed on your blood than live in your\\r\\n air.\\r\\n VALENTINE. You have said, sir.\\r\\n THURIO. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin.\\r\\n SILVIA. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off.\\r\\n VALENTINE. \\'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver.\\r\\n SILVIA. Who is that, servant?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire. Sir Thurio\\r\\n borrows his wit from your ladyship\\'s looks, and spends what he\\r\\n borrows kindly in your company.\\r\\n THURIO. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your\\r\\n wit bankrupt.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I know it well, sir; you have an exchequer of words,\\r\\n and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers; for it\\r\\n appears by their bare liveries that they live by your bare words.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUKE\\r\\n\\r\\n SILVIA. No more, gentlemen, no more. Here comes my father.\\r\\n DUKE. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset.\\r\\n Sir Valentine, your father is in good health.\\r\\n What say you to a letter from your friends\\r\\n Of much good news?\\r\\n VALENTINE. My lord, I will be thankful\\r\\n To any happy messenger from thence.\\r\\n DUKE. Know ye Don Antonio, your countryman?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman\\r\\n To be of worth and worthy estimation,\\r\\n And not without desert so well reputed.\\r\\n DUKE. Hath he not a son?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord; a son that well deserves\\r\\n The honour and regard of such a father.\\r\\n DUKE. You know him well?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I knew him as myself; for from our infancy\\r\\n We have convers\\'d and spent our hours together;\\r\\n And though myself have been an idle truant,\\r\\n Omitting the sweet benefit of time\\r\\n To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection,\\r\\n Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that\\'s his name,\\r\\n Made use and fair advantage of his days:\\r\\n His years but young, but his experience old;\\r\\n His head unmellowed, but his judgment ripe;\\r\\n And, in a word, for far behind his worth\\r\\n Comes all the praises that I now bestow,\\r\\n He is complete in feature and in mind,\\r\\n With all good grace to grace a gentleman.\\r\\n DUKE. Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good,\\r\\n He is as worthy for an empress\\' love\\r\\n As meet to be an emperor\\'s counsellor.\\r\\n Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me\\r\\n With commendation from great potentates,\\r\\n And here he means to spend his time awhile.\\r\\n I think \\'tis no unwelcome news to you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Should I have wish\\'d a thing, it had been he.\\r\\n DUKE. Welcome him, then, according to his worth-\\r\\n Silvia, I speak to you, and you, Sir Thurio;\\r\\n For Valentine, I need not cite him to it.\\r\\n I will send him hither to you presently. Exit DUKE\\r\\n VALENTINE. This is the gentleman I told your ladyship\\r\\n Had come along with me but that his mistresss\\r\\n Did hold his eyes lock\\'d in her crystal looks.\\r\\n SILVIA. Belike that now she hath enfranchis\\'d them\\r\\n Upon some other pawn for fealty.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still.\\r\\n SILVIA. Nay, then, he should be blind; and, being blind,\\r\\n How could he see his way to seek out you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes.\\r\\n THURIO. They say that Love hath not an eye at all.\\r\\n VALENTINE. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself;\\r\\n Upon a homely object Love can wink. Exit THURIO\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n SILVIA. Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Welcome, dear Proteus! Mistress, I beseech you\\r\\n Confirm his welcome with some special favour.\\r\\n SILVIA. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither,\\r\\n If this be he you oft have wish\\'d to hear from.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Mistress, it is; sweet lady, entertain him\\r\\n To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship.\\r\\n SILVIA. Too low a mistress for so high a servant.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant\\r\\n To have a look of such a worthy mistress.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Leave off discourse of disability;\\r\\n Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.\\r\\n PROTEUS. My duty will I boast of, nothing else.\\r\\n SILVIA. And duty never yet did want his meed.\\r\\n Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress.\\r\\n PROTEUS. I\\'ll die on him that says so but yourself.\\r\\n SILVIA. That you are welcome?\\r\\n PROTEUS. That you are worthless.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter THURIO\\r\\n\\r\\n THURIO. Madam, my lord your father would speak with you.\\r\\n SILVIA. I wait upon his pleasure. Come, Sir Thurio,\\r\\n Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome.\\r\\n I\\'ll leave you to confer of home affairs;\\r\\n When you have done we look to hear from you.\\r\\n PROTEUS. We\\'ll both attend upon your ladyship.\\r\\n Exeunt SILVIA and THURIO\\r\\n VALENTINE. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Your friends are well, and have them much commended.\\r\\n VALENTINE. And how do yours?\\r\\n PROTEUS. I left them all in health.\\r\\n VALENTINE. How does your lady, and how thrives your love?\\r\\n PROTEUS. My tales of love were wont to weary you;\\r\\n I know you joy not in a love-discourse.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter\\'d now;\\r\\n I have done penance for contemning Love,\\r\\n Whose high imperious thoughts have punish\\'d me\\r\\n With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,\\r\\n With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs;\\r\\n For, in revenge of my contempt of love,\\r\\n Love hath chas\\'d sleep from my enthralled eyes\\r\\n And made them watchers of mine own heart\\'s sorrow.\\r\\n O gentle Proteus, Love\\'s a mighty lord,\\r\\n And hath so humbled me as I confess\\r\\n There is no woe to his correction,\\r\\n Nor to his service no such joy on earth.\\r\\n Now no discourse, except it be of love;\\r\\n Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep,\\r\\n Upon the very naked name of love.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye.\\r\\n Was this the idol that you worship so?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint?\\r\\n PROTEUS. No; but she is an earthly paragon.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Call her divine.\\r\\n PROTEUS. I will not flatter her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. O, flatter me; for love delights in praises!\\r\\n PROTEUS. When I was sick you gave me bitter pills,\\r\\n And I must minister the like to you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Then speak the truth by her; if not divine,\\r\\n Yet let her be a principality,\\r\\n Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Except my mistress.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Sweet, except not any;\\r\\n Except thou wilt except against my love.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Have I not reason to prefer mine own?\\r\\n VALENTINE. And I will help thee to prefer her too:\\r\\n She shall be dignified with this high honour-\\r\\n To bear my lady\\'s train, lest the base earth\\r\\n Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss\\r\\n And, of so great a favour growing proud,\\r\\n Disdain to root the summer-swelling flow\\'r\\r\\n And make rough winter everlastingly.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Pardon me, Proteus; all I can is nothing\\r\\n To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing;\\r\\n She is alone.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Then let her alone.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Not for the world! Why, man, she is mine own;\\r\\n And I as rich in having such a jewel\\r\\n As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,\\r\\n The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.\\r\\n Forgive me that I do not dream on thee,\\r\\n Because thou seest me dote upon my love.\\r\\n My foolish rival, that her father likes\\r\\n Only for his possessions are so huge,\\r\\n Is gone with her along; and I must after,\\r\\n For love, thou know\\'st, is full of jealousy.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But she loves you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, and we are betroth\\'d; nay more, our marriage-hour,\\r\\n With all the cunning manner of our flight,\\r\\n Determin\\'d of- how I must climb her window,\\r\\n The ladder made of cords, and all the means\\r\\n Plotted and \\'greed on for my happiness.\\r\\n Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber,\\r\\n In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go on before; I shall enquire you forth;\\r\\n I must unto the road to disembark\\r\\n Some necessaries that I needs must use;\\r\\n And then I\\'ll presently attend you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Will you make haste?\\r\\n PROTEUS. I will. Exit VALENTINE\\r\\n Even as one heat another heat expels\\r\\n Or as one nail by strength drives out another,\\r\\n So the remembrance of my former love\\r\\n Is by a newer object quite forgotten.\\r\\n Is it my mind, or Valentinus\\' praise,\\r\\n Her true perfection, or my false transgression,\\r\\n That makes me reasonless to reason thus?\\r\\n She is fair; and so is Julia that I love-\\r\\n That I did love, for now my love is thaw\\'d;\\r\\n Which like a waxen image \\'gainst a fire\\r\\n Bears no impression of the thing it was.\\r\\n Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold,\\r\\n And that I love him not as I was wont.\\r\\n O! but I love his lady too too much,\\r\\n And that\\'s the reason I love him so little.\\r\\n How shall I dote on her with more advice\\r\\n That thus without advice begin to love her!\\r\\n \\'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,\\r\\n And that hath dazzled my reason\\'s light;\\r\\n But when I look on her perfections,\\r\\n There is no reason but I shall be blind.\\r\\n If I can check my erring love, I will;\\r\\n If not, to compass her I\\'ll use my skill. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Milan. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SPEED and LAUNCE severally\\r\\n\\r\\n SPEED. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Padua.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not welcome. I\\r\\n reckon this always, that a man is never undone till he be hang\\'d,\\r\\n nor never welcome to a place till some certain shot be paid, and\\r\\n the hostess say \\'Welcome!\\'\\r\\n SPEED. Come on, you madcap; I\\'ll to the alehouse with you\\r\\n presently; where, for one shot of five pence, thou shalt have\\r\\n five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part with\\r\\n Madam Julia?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Marry, after they clos\\'d in earnest, they parted very\\r\\n fairly in jest.\\r\\n SPEED. But shall she marry him?\\r\\n LAUNCE. No.\\r\\n SPEED. How then? Shall he marry her?\\r\\n LAUNCE. No, neither.\\r\\n SPEED. What, are they broken?\\r\\n LAUNCE. No, they are both as whole as a fish.\\r\\n SPEED. Why then, how stands the matter with them?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Marry, thus: when it stands well with him, it stands well\\r\\n with her.\\r\\n SPEED. What an ass art thou! I understand thee not.\\r\\n LAUNCE. What a block art thou that thou canst not! My staff\\r\\n understands me.\\r\\n SPEED. What thou say\\'st?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Ay, and what I do too; look thee, I\\'ll but lean, and my\\r\\n staff understands me.\\r\\n SPEED. It stands under thee, indeed.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one.\\r\\n SPEED. But tell me true, will\\'t be a match?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Ask my dog. If he say ay, it will; if he say no, it will;\\r\\n if he shake his tail and say nothing, it will.\\r\\n SPEED. The conclusion is, then, that it will.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but by a\\r\\n parable.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how say\\'st thou\\r\\n that my master is become a notable lover?\\r\\n LAUNCE. I never knew him otherwise.\\r\\n SPEED. Than how?\\r\\n LAUNCE. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistak\\'st me.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, fool, I meant not thee, I meant thy master.\\r\\n SPEED. I tell thee my master is become a hot lover.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, I tell thee I care not though he burn himself in love.\\r\\n If thou wilt, go with me to the alehouse; if not, thou art an\\r\\n Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian.\\r\\n SPEED. Why?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Because thou hast not so much charity in thee as to go to\\r\\n the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go?\\r\\n SPEED. At thy service. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Milan. The DUKE\\'s palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn;\\r\\n To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn;\\r\\n To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn;\\r\\n And ev\\'n that pow\\'r which gave me first my oath\\r\\n Provokes me to this threefold perjury:\\r\\n Love bade me swear, and Love bids me forswear.\\r\\n O sweet-suggesting Love, if thou hast sinn\\'d,\\r\\n Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it!\\r\\n At first I did adore a twinkling star,\\r\\n But now I worship a celestial sun.\\r\\n Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken;\\r\\n And he wants wit that wants resolved will\\r\\n To learn his wit t\\' exchange the bad for better.\\r\\n Fie, fie, unreverend tongue, to call her bad\\r\\n Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr\\'d\\r\\n With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths!\\r\\n I cannot leave to love, and yet I do;\\r\\n But there I leave to love where I should love.\\r\\n Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose;\\r\\n If I keep them, I needs must lose myself;\\r\\n If I lose them, thus find I by their loss:\\r\\n For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia.\\r\\n I to myself am dearer than a friend;\\r\\n For love is still most precious in itself;\\r\\n And Silvia- witness heaven, that made her fair!-\\r\\n Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.\\r\\n I will forget that Julia is alive,\\r\\n Rememb\\'ring that my love to her is dead;\\r\\n And Valentine I\\'ll hold an enemy,\\r\\n Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend.\\r\\n I cannot now prove constant to myself\\r\\n Without some treachery us\\'d to Valentine.\\r\\n This night he meaneth with a corded ladder\\r\\n To climb celestial Silvia\\'s chamber window,\\r\\n Myself in counsel, his competitor.\\r\\n Now presently I\\'ll give her father notice\\r\\n Of their disguising and pretended flight,\\r\\n Who, all enrag\\'d, will banish Valentine,\\r\\n For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter;\\r\\n But, Valentine being gone, I\\'ll quickly cross\\r\\n By some sly trick blunt Thurio\\'s dull proceeding.\\r\\n Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift,\\r\\n As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. Verona. JULIA\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter JULIA and LUCETTA\\r\\n\\r\\n JULIA. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me;\\r\\n And, ev\\'n in kind love, I do conjure thee,\\r\\n Who art the table wherein all my thoughts\\r\\n Are visibly character\\'d and engrav\\'d,\\r\\n To lesson me and tell me some good mean\\r\\n How, with my honour, I may undertake\\r\\n A journey to my loving Proteus.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Alas, the way is wearisome and long!\\r\\n JULIA. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary\\r\\n To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps;\\r\\n Much less shall she that hath Love\\'s wings to fly,\\r\\n And when the flight is made to one so dear,\\r\\n Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Better forbear till Proteus make return.\\r\\n JULIA. O, know\\'st thou not his looks are my soul\\'s food?\\r\\n Pity the dearth that I have pined in\\r\\n By longing for that food so long a time.\\r\\n Didst thou but know the inly touch of love.\\r\\n Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow\\r\\n As seek to quench the fire of love with words.\\r\\n LUCETTA. I do not seek to quench your love\\'s hot fire,\\r\\n But qualify the fire\\'s extreme rage,\\r\\n Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.\\r\\n JULIA. The more thou dam\\'st it up, the more it burns.\\r\\n The current that with gentle murmur glides,\\r\\n Thou know\\'st, being stopp\\'d, impatiently doth rage;\\r\\n But when his fair course is not hindered,\\r\\n He makes sweet music with th\\' enamell\\'d stones,\\r\\n Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge\\r\\n He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;\\r\\n And so by many winding nooks he strays,\\r\\n With willing sport, to the wild ocean.\\r\\n Then let me go, and hinder not my course.\\r\\n I\\'ll be as patient as a gentle stream,\\r\\n And make a pastime of each weary step,\\r\\n Till the last step have brought me to my love;\\r\\n And there I\\'ll rest as, after much turmoil,\\r\\n A blessed soul doth in Elysium.\\r\\n LUCETTA. But in what habit will you go along?\\r\\n JULIA. Not like a woman, for I would prevent\\r\\n The loose encounters of lascivious men;\\r\\n Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds\\r\\n As may beseem some well-reputed page.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Why then, your ladyship must cut your hair.\\r\\n JULIA. No, girl; I\\'ll knit it up in silken strings\\r\\n With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots-\\r\\n To be fantastic may become a youth\\r\\n Of greater time than I shall show to be.\\r\\n LUCETTA. What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches?\\r\\n JULIA. That fits as well as \\'Tell me, good my lord,\\r\\n What compass will you wear your farthingale.\\'\\r\\n Why ev\\'n what fashion thou best likes, Lucetta.\\r\\n LUCETTA. You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam.\\r\\n JULIA. Out, out, Lucetta, that will be ill-favour\\'d.\\r\\n LUCETTA. A round hose, madam, now\\'s not worth a pin,\\r\\n Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on.\\r\\n JULIA. Lucetta, as thou lov\\'st me, let me have\\r\\n What thou think\\'st meet, and is most mannerly.\\r\\n But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me\\r\\n For undertaking so unstaid a journey?\\r\\n I fear me it will make me scandaliz\\'d.\\r\\n LUCETTA. If you think so, then stay at home and go not.\\r\\n JULIA. Nay, that I will not.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Then never dream on infamy, but go.\\r\\n If Proteus like your journey when you come,\\r\\n No matter who\\'s displeas\\'d when you are gone.\\r\\n I fear me he will scarce be pleas\\'d withal.\\r\\n JULIA. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear:\\r\\n A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears,\\r\\n And instances of infinite of love,\\r\\n Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.\\r\\n LUCETTA. All these are servants to deceitful men.\\r\\n JULIA. Base men that use them to so base effect!\\r\\n But truer stars did govern Proteus\\' birth;\\r\\n His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles,\\r\\n His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate,\\r\\n His tears pure messengers sent from his heart,\\r\\n His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Pray heav\\'n he prove so when you come to him.\\r\\n JULIA. Now, as thou lov\\'st me, do him not that wrong\\r\\n To bear a hard opinion of his truth;\\r\\n Only deserve my love by loving him.\\r\\n And presently go with me to my chamber,\\r\\n To take a note of what I stand in need of\\r\\n To furnish me upon my longing journey.\\r\\n All that is mine I leave at thy dispose,\\r\\n My goods, my lands, my reputation;\\r\\n Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence.\\r\\n Come, answer not, but to it presently;\\r\\n I am impatient of my tarriance. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile;\\r\\n We have some secrets to confer about. Exit THURIO\\r\\n Now tell me, Proteus, what\\'s your will with me?\\r\\n PROTEUS. My gracious lord, that which I would discover\\r\\n The law of friendship bids me to conceal;\\r\\n But, when I call to mind your gracious favours\\r\\n Done to me, undeserving as I am,\\r\\n My duty pricks me on to utter that\\r\\n Which else no worldly good should draw from me.\\r\\n Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend,\\r\\n This night intends to steal away your daughter;\\r\\n Myself am one made privy to the plot.\\r\\n I know you have determin\\'d to bestow her\\r\\n On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;\\r\\n And should she thus be stol\\'n away from you,\\r\\n It would be much vexation to your age.\\r\\n Thus, for my duty\\'s sake, I rather chose\\r\\n To cross my friend in his intended drift\\r\\n Than, by concealing it, heap on your head\\r\\n A pack of sorrows which would press you down,\\r\\n Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.\\r\\n DUKE. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care,\\r\\n Which to requite, command me while I live.\\r\\n This love of theirs myself have often seen,\\r\\n Haply when they have judg\\'d me fast asleep,\\r\\n And oftentimes have purpos\\'d to forbid\\r\\n Sir Valentine her company and my court;\\r\\n But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err\\r\\n And so, unworthily, disgrace the man,\\r\\n A rashness that I ever yet have shunn\\'d,\\r\\n I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find\\r\\n That which thyself hast now disclos\\'d to me.\\r\\n And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this,\\r\\n Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,\\r\\n I nightly lodge her in an upper tow\\'r,\\r\\n The key whereof myself have ever kept;\\r\\n And thence she cannot be convey\\'d away.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Know, noble lord, they have devis\\'d a mean\\r\\n How he her chamber window will ascend\\r\\n And with a corded ladder fetch her down;\\r\\n For which the youthful lover now is gone,\\r\\n And this way comes he with it presently;\\r\\n Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.\\r\\n But, good my lord, do it so cunningly\\r\\n That my discovery be not aimed at;\\r\\n For love of you, not hate unto my friend,\\r\\n Hath made me publisher of this pretence.\\r\\n DUKE. Upon mine honour, he shall never know\\r\\n That I had any light from thee of this.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Adieu, my lord; Sir Valentine is coming. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter VALENTINE\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Please it your Grace, there is a messenger\\r\\n That stays to bear my letters to my friends,\\r\\n And I am going to deliver them.\\r\\n DUKE. Be they of much import?\\r\\n VALENTINE. The tenour of them doth but signify\\r\\n My health and happy being at your court.\\r\\n DUKE. Nay then, no matter; stay with me awhile;\\r\\n I am to break with thee of some affairs\\r\\n That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret.\\r\\n \\'Tis not unknown to thee that I have sought\\r\\n To match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the match\\r\\n Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman\\r\\n Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities\\r\\n Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter.\\r\\n Cannot your grace win her to fancy him?\\r\\n DUKE. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward,\\r\\n Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty;\\r\\n Neither regarding that she is my child\\r\\n Nor fearing me as if I were her father;\\r\\n And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers,\\r\\n Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her;\\r\\n And, where I thought the remnant of mine age\\r\\n Should have been cherish\\'d by her childlike duty,\\r\\n I now am full resolv\\'d to take a wife\\r\\n And turn her out to who will take her in.\\r\\n Then let her beauty be her wedding-dow\\'r;\\r\\n For me and my possessions she esteems not.\\r\\n VALENTINE. What would your Grace have me to do in this?\\r\\n DUKE. There is a lady, in Verona here,\\r\\n Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy,\\r\\n And nought esteems my aged eloquence.\\r\\n Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor-\\r\\n For long agone I have forgot to court;\\r\\n Besides, the fashion of the time is chang\\'d-\\r\\n How and which way I may bestow myself\\r\\n To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words:\\r\\n Dumb jewels often in their silent kind\\r\\n More than quick words do move a woman\\'s mind.\\r\\n DUKE. But she did scorn a present that I sent her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. A woman sometime scorns what best contents her.\\r\\n Send her another; never give her o\\'er,\\r\\n For scorn at first makes after-love the more.\\r\\n If she do frown, \\'tis not in hate of you,\\r\\n But rather to beget more love in you;\\r\\n If she do chide, \\'tis not to have you gone,\\r\\n For why, the fools are mad if left alone.\\r\\n Take no repulse, whatever she doth say;\\r\\n For \\'Get you gone\\' she doth not mean \\'Away!\\'\\r\\n Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces;\\r\\n Though ne\\'er so black, say they have angels\\' faces.\\r\\n That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man,\\r\\n If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.\\r\\n DUKE. But she I mean is promis\\'d by her friends\\r\\n Unto a youthful gentleman of worth;\\r\\n And kept severely from resort of men,\\r\\n That no man hath access by day to her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why then I would resort to her by night.\\r\\n DUKE. Ay, but the doors be lock\\'d and keys kept safe,\\r\\n That no man hath recourse to her by night.\\r\\n VALENTINE. What lets but one may enter at her window?\\r\\n DUKE. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground,\\r\\n And built so shelving that one cannot climb it\\r\\n Without apparent hazard of his life.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why then a ladder, quaintly made of cords,\\r\\n To cast up with a pair of anchoring hooks,\\r\\n Would serve to scale another Hero\\'s tow\\'r,\\r\\n So bold Leander would adventure it.\\r\\n DUKE. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood,\\r\\n Advise me where I may have such a ladder.\\r\\n VALENTINE. When would you use it? Pray, sir, tell me that.\\r\\n DUKE. This very night; for Love is like a child,\\r\\n That longs for everything that he can come by.\\r\\n VALENTINE. By seven o\\'clock I\\'ll get you such a ladder.\\r\\n DUKE. But, hark thee; I will go to her alone;\\r\\n How shall I best convey the ladder thither?\\r\\n VALENTINE. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it\\r\\n Under a cloak that is of any length.\\r\\n DUKE. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Then let me see thy cloak.\\r\\n I\\'ll get me one of such another length.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?\\r\\n I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.\\r\\n What letter is this same? What\\'s here? \\'To Silvia\\'!\\r\\n And here an engine fit for my proceeding!\\r\\n I\\'ll be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads]\\r\\n \\'My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly,\\r\\n And slaves they are to me, that send them flying.\\r\\n O, could their master come and go as lightly,\\r\\n Himself would lodge where, senseless, they are lying!\\r\\n My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them,\\r\\n While I, their king, that thither them importune,\\r\\n Do curse the grace that with such grace hath blest them,\\r\\n Because myself do want my servants\\' fortune.\\r\\n I curse myself, for they are sent by me,\\r\\n That they should harbour where their lord should be.\\'\\r\\n What\\'s here?\\r\\n \\'Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee.\\'\\r\\n \\'Tis so; and here\\'s the ladder for the purpose.\\r\\n Why, Phaethon- for thou art Merops\\' son-\\r\\n Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car,\\r\\n And with thy daring folly burn the world?\\r\\n Wilt thou reach stars because they shine on thee?\\r\\n Go, base intruder, over-weening slave,\\r\\n Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates;\\r\\n And think my patience, more than thy desert,\\r\\n Is privilege for thy departure hence.\\r\\n Thank me for this more than for all the favours\\r\\n Which, all too much, I have bestow\\'d on thee.\\r\\n But if thou linger in my territories\\r\\n Longer than swiftest expedition\\r\\n Will give thee time to leave our royal court,\\r\\n By heaven! my wrath shall far exceed the love\\r\\n I ever bore my daughter or thyself.\\r\\n Be gone; I will not hear thy vain excuse,\\r\\n But, as thou lov\\'st thy life, make speed from hence. Exit\\r\\n VALENTINE. And why not death rather than living torment?\\r\\n To die is to be banish\\'d from myself,\\r\\n And Silvia is myself; banish\\'d from her\\r\\n Is self from self, a deadly banishment.\\r\\n What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?\\r\\n What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by?\\r\\n Unless it be to think that she is by,\\r\\n And feed upon the shadow of perfection.\\r\\n Except I be by Silvia in the night,\\r\\n There is no music in the nightingale;\\r\\n Unless I look on Silvia in the day,\\r\\n There is no day for me to look upon.\\r\\n She is my essence, and I leave to be\\r\\n If I be not by her fair influence\\r\\n Foster\\'d, illumin\\'d, cherish\\'d, kept alive.\\r\\n I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom:\\r\\n Tarry I here, I but attend on death;\\r\\n But fly I hence, I fly away from life.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Run, boy, run, run, seek him out.\\r\\n LAUNCE. So-ho, so-ho!\\r\\n PROTEUS. What seest thou?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Him we go to find: there\\'s not a hair on \\'s head but \\'tis a\\r\\n Valentine.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Valentine?\\r\\n VALENTINE. No.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Who then? his spirit?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Neither.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What then?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Nothing.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Who wouldst thou strike?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Nothing.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Villain, forbear.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, sir, I\\'ll strike nothing. I pray you-\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, a word.\\r\\n VALENTINE. My ears are stopp\\'d and cannot hear good news,\\r\\n So much of bad already hath possess\\'d them.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine,\\r\\n For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Is Silvia dead?\\r\\n PROTEUS. No, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia.\\r\\n Hath she forsworn me?\\r\\n PROTEUS. No, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me.\\r\\n What is your news?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished.\\r\\n PROTEUS. That thou art banished- O, that\\'s the news!-\\r\\n From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend.\\r\\n VALENTINE. O, I have fed upon this woe already,\\r\\n And now excess of it will make me surfeit.\\r\\n Doth Silvia know that I am banished?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ay, ay; and she hath offered to the doom-\\r\\n Which, unrevers\\'d, stands in effectual force-\\r\\n A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears;\\r\\n Those at her father\\'s churlish feet she tender\\'d;\\r\\n With them, upon her knees, her humble self,\\r\\n Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them\\r\\n As if but now they waxed pale for woe.\\r\\n But neither bended knees, pure hands held up,\\r\\n Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears,\\r\\n Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire-\\r\\n But Valentine, if he be ta\\'en, must die.\\r\\n Besides, her intercession chaf\\'d him so,\\r\\n When she for thy repeal was suppliant,\\r\\n That to close prison he commanded her,\\r\\n With many bitter threats of biding there.\\r\\n VALENTINE. No more; unless the next word that thou speak\\'st\\r\\n Have some malignant power upon my life:\\r\\n If so, I pray thee breathe it in mine ear,\\r\\n As ending anthem of my endless dolour.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help,\\r\\n And study help for that which thou lament\\'st.\\r\\n Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.\\r\\n Here if thou stay thou canst not see thy love;\\r\\n Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life.\\r\\n Hope is a lover\\'s staff; walk hence with that,\\r\\n And manage it against despairing thoughts.\\r\\n Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence,\\r\\n Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver\\'d\\r\\n Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love.\\r\\n The time now serves not to expostulate.\\r\\n Come, I\\'ll convey thee through the city gate;\\r\\n And, ere I part with thee, confer at large\\r\\n Of all that may concern thy love affairs.\\r\\n As thou lov\\'st Silvia, though not for thyself,\\r\\n Regard thy danger, and along with me.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy,\\r\\n Bid him make haste and meet me at the Northgate.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. O my dear Silvia! Hapless Valentine!\\r\\n Exeunt VALENTINE and PROTEUS\\r\\n LAUNCE. I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have the wit to think\\r\\n my master is a kind of a knave; but that\\'s all one if he be but\\r\\n one knave. He lives not now that knows me to be in love; yet I am\\r\\n in love; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me; nor\\r\\n who \\'tis I love; and yet \\'tis a woman; but what woman I will not\\r\\n tell myself; and yet \\'tis a milkmaid; yet \\'tis not a maid, for\\r\\n she hath had gossips; yet \\'tis a maid, for she is her master\\'s\\r\\n maid and serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a\\r\\n water-spaniel- which is much in a bare Christian. Here is the\\r\\n cate-log [Pulling out a paper] of her condition. \\'Inprimis: She\\r\\n can fetch and carry.\\' Why, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse\\r\\n cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore is she better than a\\r\\n jade. \\'Item: She can milk.\\' Look you, a sweet virtue in a maid\\r\\n with clean hands.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n SPEED. How now, Signior Launce! What news with your mastership?\\r\\n LAUNCE. With my master\\'s ship? Why, it is at sea.\\r\\n SPEED. Well, your old vice still: mistake the word. What news,\\r\\n then, in your paper?\\r\\n LAUNCE. The black\\'st news that ever thou heard\\'st.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, man? how black?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, as black as ink.\\r\\n SPEED. Let me read them.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Fie on thee, jolt-head; thou canst not read.\\r\\n SPEED. Thou liest; I can.\\r\\n LAUNCE. I will try thee. Tell me this: Who begot thee?\\r\\n SPEED. Marry, the son of my grandfather.\\r\\n LAUNCE. O illiterate loiterer. It was the son of thy grandmother.\\r\\n This proves that thou canst not read.\\r\\n SPEED. Come, fool, come; try me in thy paper.\\r\\n LAUNCE. [Handing over the paper] There; and Saint Nicholas be thy\\r\\n speed.\\r\\n SPEED. [Reads] \\'Inprimis: She can milk.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Ay, that she can.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She brews good ale.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. And thereof comes the proverb: Blessing of your heart, you\\r\\n brew good ale.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She can sew.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. That\\'s as much as to say \\'Can she so?\\'\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She can knit.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when she can\\r\\n knit him a stock.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She can wash and scour.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. A special virtue; for then she need not be wash\\'d and\\r\\n scour\\'d.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She can spin.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can spin for\\r\\n her living.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath many nameless virtues.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. That\\'s as much as to say \\'bastard virtues\\'; that indeed\\r\\n know not their fathers, and therefore have no names.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Here follow her vices.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Close at the heels of her virtues.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is not to be kiss\\'d fasting, in respect of her\\r\\n breath.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast.\\r\\n Read on.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath a sweet mouth.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. That makes amends for her sour breath.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She doth talk in her sleep.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. It\\'s no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is slow in words.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. O villain, that set this down among her vices! To be slow\\r\\n in words is a woman\\'s only virtue. I pray thee, out with\\'t; and\\r\\n place it for her chief virtue.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is proud.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Out with that too; it was Eve\\'s legacy, and cannot be ta\\'en\\r\\n from her.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath no teeth.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. I care not for that neither, because I love crusts.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is curst.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She will often praise her liquor.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. If her liquor be good, she shall; if she will not, I will;\\r\\n for good things should be praised.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is too liberal.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Of her tongue she cannot, for that\\'s writ down she is slow\\r\\n of; of her purse she shall not, for that I\\'ll keep shut. Now of\\r\\n another thing she may, and that cannot I help. Well, proceed.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath more hair than wit, and more faults\\r\\n than hairs, and more wealth than faults.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Stop there; I\\'ll have her; she was mine, and not mine,\\r\\n twice or thrice in that last article. Rehearse that once more.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath more hair than wit\\'-\\r\\n LAUNCE. More hair than wit. It may be; I\\'ll prove it: the cover of\\r\\n the salt hides the salt, and therefore it is more than the salt;\\r\\n the hair that covers the wit is more than the wit, for the\\r\\n greater hides the less. What\\'s next?\\r\\n SPEED. \\'And more faults than hairs\\'-\\r\\n LAUNCE. That\\'s monstrous. O that that were out!\\r\\n SPEED. \\'And more wealth than faults.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well, I\\'ll have\\r\\n her; an if it be a match, as nothing is impossible-\\r\\n SPEED. What then?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, then will I tell thee- that thy master stays for thee\\r\\n at the Northgate.\\r\\n SPEED. For me?\\r\\n LAUNCE. For thee! ay, who art thou? He hath stay\\'d for a better man\\r\\n than thee.\\r\\n SPEED. And must I go to him?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Thou must run to him, for thou hast stay\\'d so long that\\r\\n going will scarce serve the turn.\\r\\n SPEED. Why didst not tell me sooner? Pox of your love letters!\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n LAUNCE. Now will he be swing\\'d for reading my letter. An unmannerly\\r\\n slave that will thrust himself into secrets! I\\'ll after, to\\r\\n rejoice in the boy\\'s correction. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE and THURIO\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you\\r\\n Now Valentine is banish\\'d from her sight.\\r\\n THURIO. Since his exile she hath despis\\'d me most,\\r\\n Forsworn my company and rail\\'d at me,\\r\\n That I am desperate of obtaining her.\\r\\n DUKE. This weak impress of love is as a figure\\r\\n Trenched in ice, which with an hour\\'s heat\\r\\n Dissolves to water and doth lose his form.\\r\\n A little time will melt her frozen thoughts,\\r\\n And worthless Valentine shall be forgot.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, Sir Proteus! Is your countryman,\\r\\n According to our proclamation, gone?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Gone, my good lord.\\r\\n DUKE. My daughter takes his going grievously.\\r\\n PROTEUS. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief.\\r\\n DUKE. So I believe; but Thurio thinks not so.\\r\\n Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee-\\r\\n For thou hast shown some sign of good desert-\\r\\n Makes me the better to confer with thee.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Longer than I prove loyal to your Grace\\r\\n Let me not live to look upon your Grace.\\r\\n DUKE. Thou know\\'st how willingly I would effect\\r\\n The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter.\\r\\n PROTEUS. I do, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant\\r\\n How she opposes her against my will.\\r\\n PROTEUS. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here.\\r\\n DUKE. Ay, and perversely she persevers so.\\r\\n What might we do to make the girl forget\\r\\n The love of Valentine, and love Sir Thurio?\\r\\n PROTEUS. The best way is to slander Valentine\\r\\n With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent-\\r\\n Three things that women highly hold in hate.\\r\\n DUKE. Ay, but she\\'ll think that it is spoke in hate.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ay, if his enemy deliver it;\\r\\n Therefore it must with circumstance be spoken\\r\\n By one whom she esteemeth as his friend.\\r\\n DUKE. Then you must undertake to slander him.\\r\\n PROTEUS. And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do:\\r\\n \\'Tis an ill office for a gentleman,\\r\\n Especially against his very friend.\\r\\n DUKE. Where your good word cannot advantage him,\\r\\n Your slander never can endamage him;\\r\\n Therefore the office is indifferent,\\r\\n Being entreated to it by your friend.\\r\\n PROTEUS. You have prevail\\'d, my lord; if I can do it\\r\\n By aught that I can speak in his dispraise,\\r\\n She shall not long continue love to him.\\r\\n But say this weed her love from Valentine,\\r\\n It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio.\\r\\n THURIO. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him,\\r\\n Lest it should ravel and be good to none,\\r\\n You must provide to bottom it on me;\\r\\n Which must be done by praising me as much\\r\\n As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine.\\r\\n DUKE. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind,\\r\\n Because we know, on Valentine\\'s report,\\r\\n You are already Love\\'s firm votary\\r\\n And cannot soon revolt and change your mind.\\r\\n Upon this warrant shall you have access\\r\\n Where you with Silvia may confer at large-\\r\\n For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy,\\r\\n And, for your friend\\'s sake, will be glad of you-\\r\\n Where you may temper her by your persuasion\\r\\n To hate young Valentine and love my friend.\\r\\n PROTEUS. As much as I can do I will effect.\\r\\n But you, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough;\\r\\n You must lay lime to tangle her desires\\r\\n By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes\\r\\n Should be full-fraught with serviceable vows.\\r\\n DUKE. Ay,\\r\\n Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Say that upon the altar of her beauty\\r\\n You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart;\\r\\n Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears\\r\\n Moist it again, and frame some feeling line\\r\\n That may discover such integrity;\\r\\n For Orpheus\\' lute was strung with poets\\' sinews,\\r\\n Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,\\r\\n Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans\\r\\n Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.\\r\\n After your dire-lamenting elegies,\\r\\n Visit by night your lady\\'s chamber window\\r\\n With some sweet consort; to their instruments\\r\\n Tune a deploring dump- the night\\'s dead silence\\r\\n Will well become such sweet-complaining grievance.\\r\\n This, or else nothing, will inherit her.\\r\\n DUKE. This discipline shows thou hast been in love.\\r\\n THURIO. And thy advice this night I\\'ll put in practice;\\r\\n Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver,\\r\\n Let us into the city presently\\r\\n To sort some gentlemen well skill\\'d in music.\\r\\n I have a sonnet that will serve the turn\\r\\n To give the onset to thy good advice.\\r\\n DUKE. About it, gentlemen!\\r\\n PROTEUS. We\\'ll wait upon your Grace till after supper,\\r\\n And afterward determine our proceedings.\\r\\n DUKE. Even now about it! I will pardon you. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I. The frontiers of Mantua. A forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter certain OUTLAWS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Fellows, stand fast; I see a passenger.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter VALENTINE and SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about ye;\\r\\n If not, we\\'ll make you sit, and rifle you.\\r\\n SPEED. Sir, we are undone; these are the villains\\r\\n That all the travellers do fear so much.\\r\\n VALENTINE. My friends-\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. That\\'s not so, sir; we are your enemies.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Peace! we\\'ll hear him.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. Ay, by my beard, will we; for he is a proper man.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Then know that I have little wealth to lose;\\r\\n A man I am cross\\'d with adversity;\\r\\n My riches are these poor habiliments,\\r\\n Of which if you should here disfurnish me,\\r\\n You take the sum and substance that I have.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Whither travel you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. To Verona.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Whence came you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. From Milan.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. Have you long sojourn\\'d there?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Some sixteen months, and longer might have stay\\'d,\\r\\n If crooked fortune had not thwarted me.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. What, were you banish\\'d thence?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I was.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. For what offence?\\r\\n VALENTINE. For that which now torments me to rehearse:\\r\\n I kill\\'d a man, whose death I much repent;\\r\\n But yet I slew him manfully in fight,\\r\\n Without false vantage or base treachery.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Why, ne\\'er repent it, if it were done so.\\r\\n But were you banish\\'d for so small a fault?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I was, and held me glad of such a doom.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Have you the tongues?\\r\\n VALENTINE. My youthful travel therein made me happy,\\r\\n Or else I often had been miserable.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood\\'s fat friar,\\r\\n This fellow were a king for our wild faction!\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. We\\'ll have him. Sirs, a word.\\r\\n SPEED. Master, be one of them; it\\'s an honourable kind of thievery.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Peace, villain!\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Tell us this: have you anything to take to?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Nothing but my fortune.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. Know, then, that some of us are gentlemen,\\r\\n Such as the fury of ungovern\\'d youth\\r\\n Thrust from the company of awful men;\\r\\n Myself was from Verona banished\\r\\n For practising to steal away a lady,\\r\\n An heir, and near allied unto the Duke.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman\\r\\n Who, in my mood, I stabb\\'d unto the heart.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. And I for such-like petty crimes as these.\\r\\n But to the purpose- for we cite our faults\\r\\n That they may hold excus\\'d our lawless lives;\\r\\n And, partly, seeing you are beautified\\r\\n With goodly shape, and by your own report\\r\\n A linguist, and a man of such perfection\\r\\n As we do in our quality much want-\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Indeed, because you are a banish\\'d man,\\r\\n Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you.\\r\\n Are you content to be our general-\\r\\n To make a virtue of necessity,\\r\\n And live as we do in this wilderness?\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. What say\\'st thou? Wilt thou be of our consort?\\r\\n Say \\'ay\\' and be the captain of us all.\\r\\n We\\'ll do thee homage, and be rul\\'d by thee,\\r\\n Love thee as our commander and our king.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. But if thou scorn our courtesy thou diest.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offer\\'d.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I take your offer, and will live with you,\\r\\n Provided that you do no outrages\\r\\n On silly women or poor passengers.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. No, we detest such vile base practices.\\r\\n Come, go with us; we\\'ll bring thee to our crews,\\r\\n And show thee all the treasure we have got;\\r\\n Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Milan. Outside the DUKE\\'S palace, under SILVIA\\'S window\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Already have I been false to Valentine,\\r\\n And now I must be as unjust to Thurio.\\r\\n Under the colour of commending him\\r\\n I have access my own love to prefer;\\r\\n But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy,\\r\\n To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.\\r\\n When I protest true loyalty to her,\\r\\n She twits me with my falsehood to my friend;\\r\\n When to her beauty I commend my vows,\\r\\n She bids me think how I have been forsworn\\r\\n In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov\\'d;\\r\\n And notwithstanding all her sudden quips,\\r\\n The least whereof would quell a lover\\'s hope,\\r\\n Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love\\r\\n The more it grows and fawneth on her still.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter THURIO and MUSICIANS\\r\\n\\r\\n But here comes Thurio. Now must we to her window,\\r\\n And give some evening music to her ear.\\r\\n THURIO. How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept before us?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ay, gentle Thurio; for you know that love\\r\\n Will creep in service where it cannot go.\\r\\n THURIO. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence.\\r\\n THURIO. Who? Silvia?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ay, Silvia- for your sake.\\r\\n THURIO. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen,\\r\\n Let\\'s tune, and to it lustily awhile.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter at a distance, HOST, and JULIA in boy\\'s clothes\\r\\n\\r\\n HOST. Now, my young guest, methinks you\\'re allycholly; I pray you,\\r\\n why is it?\\r\\n JULIA. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry.\\r\\n HOST. Come, we\\'ll have you merry; I\\'ll bring you where you shall\\r\\n hear music, and see the gentleman that you ask\\'d for.\\r\\n JULIA. But shall I hear him speak?\\r\\n HOST. Ay, that you shall. [Music plays]\\r\\n JULIA. That will be music.\\r\\n HOST. Hark, hark!\\r\\n JULIA. Is he among these?\\r\\n HOST. Ay; but peace! let\\'s hear \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\n SONG\\r\\n Who is Silvia? What is she,\\r\\n That all our swains commend her?\\r\\n Holy, fair, and wise is she;\\r\\n The heaven such grace did lend her,\\r\\n That she might admired be.\\r\\n\\r\\n Is she kind as she is fair?\\r\\n For beauty lives with kindness.\\r\\n Love doth to her eyes repair,\\r\\n To help him of his blindness;\\r\\n And, being help\\'d, inhabits there.\\r\\n\\r\\n Then to Silvia let us sing\\r\\n That Silvia is excelling;\\r\\n She excels each mortal thing\\r\\n Upon the dull earth dwelling.\\r\\n \\'To her let us garlands bring.\\r\\n\\r\\n HOST. How now, are you sadder than you were before?\\r\\n How do you, man? The music likes you not.\\r\\n JULIA. You mistake; the musician likes me not.\\r\\n HOST. Why, my pretty youth?\\r\\n JULIA. He plays false, father.\\r\\n HOST. How, out of tune on the strings?\\r\\n JULIA. Not so; but yet so false that he grieves my very\\r\\n heart-strings.\\r\\n HOST. You have a quick ear.\\r\\n JULIA. Ay, I would I were deaf; it makes me have a slow heart.\\r\\n HOST. I perceive you delight not in music.\\r\\n JULIA. Not a whit, when it jars so.\\r\\n HOST. Hark, what fine change is in the music!\\r\\n JULIA. Ay, that change is the spite.\\r\\n HOST. You would have them always play but one thing?\\r\\n JULIA. I would always have one play but one thing.\\r\\n But, Host, doth this Sir Proteus, that we talk on,\\r\\n Often resort unto this gentlewoman?\\r\\n HOST. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me: he lov\\'d her out of\\r\\n all nick.\\r\\n JULIA. Where is Launce?\\r\\n HOST. Gone to seek his dog, which to-morrow, by his master\\'s\\r\\n command, he must carry for a present to his lady.\\r\\n JULIA. Peace, stand aside; the company parts.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sir Thurio, fear not you; I will so plead\\r\\n That you shall say my cunning drift excels.\\r\\n THURIO. Where meet we?\\r\\n PROTEUS. At Saint Gregory\\'s well.\\r\\n THURIO. Farewell. Exeunt THURIO and MUSICIANS\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA above, at her window\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Madam, good ev\\'n to your ladyship.\\r\\n SILVIA. I thank you for your music, gentlemen.\\r\\n Who is that that spake?\\r\\n PROTEUS. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart\\'s truth,\\r\\n You would quickly learn to know him by his voice.\\r\\n SILVIA. Sir Proteus, as I take it.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant.\\r\\n SILVIA. What\\'s your will?\\r\\n PROTEUS. That I may compass yours.\\r\\n SILVIA. You have your wish; my will is even this,\\r\\n That presently you hie you home to bed.\\r\\n Thou subtle, perjur\\'d, false, disloyal man,\\r\\n Think\\'st thou I am so shallow, so conceitless,\\r\\n To be seduced by thy flattery\\r\\n That hast deceiv\\'d so many with thy vows?\\r\\n Return, return, and make thy love amends.\\r\\n For me, by this pale queen of night I swear,\\r\\n I am so far from granting thy request\\r\\n That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit,\\r\\n And by and by intend to chide myself\\r\\n Even for this time I spend in talking to thee.\\r\\n PROTEUS. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady;\\r\\n But she is dead.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] \\'Twere false, if I should speak it;\\r\\n For I am sure she is not buried.\\r\\n SILVIA. Say that she be; yet Valentine, thy friend,\\r\\n Survives, to whom, thyself art witness,\\r\\n I am betroth\\'d; and art thou not asham\\'d\\r\\n To wrong him with thy importunacy?\\r\\n PROTEUS. I likewise hear that Valentine is dead.\\r\\n SILVIA. And so suppose am I; for in his grave\\r\\n Assure thyself my love is buried.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth.\\r\\n SILVIA. Go to thy lady\\'s grave, and call hers thence;\\r\\n Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] He heard not that.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate,\\r\\n Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love,\\r\\n The picture that is hanging in your chamber;\\r\\n To that I\\'ll speak, to that I\\'ll sigh and weep;\\r\\n For, since the substance of your perfect self\\r\\n Is else devoted, I am but a shadow;\\r\\n And to your shadow will I make true love.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] If \\'twere a substance, you would, sure, deceive it\\r\\n And make it but a shadow, as I am.\\r\\n SILVIA. I am very loath to be your idol, sir;\\r\\n But since your falsehood shall become you well\\r\\n To worship shadows and adore false shapes,\\r\\n Send to me in the morning, and I\\'ll send it;\\r\\n And so, good rest.\\r\\n PROTEUS. As wretches have o\\'ernight\\r\\n That wait for execution in the morn.\\r\\n Exeunt PROTEUS and SILVIA\\r\\n JULIA. Host, will you go?\\r\\n HOST. By my halidom, I was fast asleep.\\r\\n JULIA. Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus?\\r\\n HOST. Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think \\'tis almost day.\\r\\n JULIA. Not so; but it hath been the longest night\\r\\n That e\\'er I watch\\'d, and the most heaviest. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Under SILVIA\\'S window\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter EGLAMOUR\\r\\n\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. This is the hour that Madam Silvia\\r\\n Entreated me to call and know her mind;\\r\\n There\\'s some great matter she\\'d employ me in.\\r\\n Madam, madam!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA above, at her window\\r\\n\\r\\n SILVIA. Who calls?\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. Your servant and your friend;\\r\\n One that attends your ladyship\\'s command.\\r\\n SILVIA. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow!\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. As many, worthy lady, to yourself!\\r\\n According to your ladyship\\'s impose,\\r\\n I am thus early come to know what service\\r\\n It is your pleasure to command me in.\\r\\n SILVIA. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman-\\r\\n Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not-\\r\\n Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplish\\'d.\\r\\n Thou art not ignorant what dear good will\\r\\n I bear unto the banish\\'d Valentine;\\r\\n Nor how my father would enforce me marry\\r\\n Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhors.\\r\\n Thyself hast lov\\'d; and I have heard thee say\\r\\n No grief did ever come so near thy heart\\r\\n As when thy lady and thy true love died,\\r\\n Upon whose grave thou vow\\'dst pure chastity.\\r\\n Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine,\\r\\n To Mantua, where I hear he makes abode;\\r\\n And, for the ways are dangerous to pass,\\r\\n I do desire thy worthy company,\\r\\n Upon whose faith and honour I repose.\\r\\n Urge not my father\\'s anger, Eglamour,\\r\\n But think upon my grief, a lady\\'s grief,\\r\\n And on the justice of my flying hence\\r\\n To keep me from a most unholy match,\\r\\n Which heaven and fortune still rewards with plagues.\\r\\n I do desire thee, even from a heart\\r\\n As full of sorrows as the sea of sands,\\r\\n To bear me company and go with me;\\r\\n If not, to hide what I have said to thee,\\r\\n That I may venture to depart alone.\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. Madam, I pity much your grievances;\\r\\n Which since I know they virtuously are plac\\'d,\\r\\n I give consent to go along with you,\\r\\n Recking as little what betideth me\\r\\n As much I wish all good befortune you.\\r\\n When will you go?\\r\\n SILVIA. This evening coming.\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. Where shall I meet you?\\r\\n SILVIA. At Friar Patrick\\'s cell,\\r\\n Where I intend holy confession.\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. I will not fail your ladyship. Good morrow, gentle lady.\\r\\n SILVIA. Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Under SILVIA\\'S Window\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter LAUNCE with his dog\\r\\n\\r\\n LAUNCE. When a man\\'s servant shall play the cur with him, look you,\\r\\n it goes hard- one that I brought up of a puppy; one that I sav\\'d from\\r\\n drowning, when three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went\\r\\n to it. I have taught him, even as one would say precisely \\'Thus I\\r\\n would teach a dog.\\' I was sent to deliver him as a present to\\r\\n Mistress Silvia from my master; and I came no sooner into the\\r\\n dining-chamber, but he steps me to her trencher and steals her\\r\\n capon\\'s leg. O, \\'tis a foul thing when a cur cannot keep himself in\\r\\n all companies! I would have, as one should say, one that takes upon\\r\\n him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all things. If I\\r\\n had not had more wit than he, to take a fault upon me that he did, I\\r\\n think verily he had been hang\\'d for\\'t; sure as I live, he had\\r\\n suffer\\'d for\\'t. You shall judge. He thrusts me himself into the\\r\\n company of three or four gentleman-like dogs under the Duke\\'s table;\\r\\n he had not been there, bless the mark, a pissing while but all the\\r\\n chamber smelt him. \\'Out with the dog\\' says one; \\'What cur is that?\\'\\r\\n says another; \\'Whip him out\\' says the third; \\'Hang him up\\' says the\\r\\n Duke. I, having been acquainted with the smell before, knew it was\\r\\n Crab, and goes me to the fellow that whips the dogs. \\'Friend,\\' quoth\\r\\n I \\'you mean to whip the dog.\\' \\'Ay, marry do I\\' quoth he. \\'You do him\\r\\n the more wrong,\\' quoth I; \"twas I did the thing you wot of.\\' He makes\\r\\n me no more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. How many masters\\r\\n would do this for his servant? Nay, I\\'ll be sworn, I have sat in the\\r\\n stock for puddings he hath stol\\'n, otherwise he had been executed; I\\r\\n have stood on the pillory for geese he hath kill\\'d, otherwise he had\\r\\n suffer\\'d for\\'t. Thou think\\'st not of this now. Nay, I remember the\\r\\n trick you serv\\'d me when I took my leave of Madam Silvia. Did not I\\r\\n bid thee still mark me and do as I do? When didst thou see me heave\\r\\n up my leg and make water against a gentlewoman\\'s farthingale? Didst\\r\\n thou ever see me do such a trick?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS, and JULIA in boy\\'s clothes\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well,\\r\\n And will employ thee in some service presently.\\r\\n JULIA. In what you please; I\\'ll do what I can.\\r\\n PROTEUS..I hope thou wilt. [To LAUNCE] How now, you whoreson\\r\\n peasant!\\r\\n Where have you been these two days loitering?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia the dog you bade me.\\r\\n PROTEUS. And what says she to my little jewel?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Marry, she says your dog was a cur, and tells you currish\\r\\n thanks is good enough for such a present.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But she receiv\\'d my dog?\\r\\n LAUNCE. No, indeed, did she not; here have I brought him back\\r\\n again.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What, didst thou offer her this from me?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Ay, sir; the other squirrel was stol\\'n from me by the\\r\\n hangman\\'s boys in the market-place; and then I offer\\'d her mine\\r\\n own, who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift\\r\\n the greater.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go, get thee hence and find my dog again,\\r\\n Or ne\\'er return again into my sight.\\r\\n Away, I say. Stayest thou to vex me here? Exit LAUNCE\\r\\n A slave that still an end turns me to shame!\\r\\n Sebastian, I have entertained thee\\r\\n Partly that I have need of such a youth\\r\\n That can with some discretion do my business,\\r\\n For \\'tis no trusting to yond foolish lout,\\r\\n But chiefly for thy face and thy behaviour,\\r\\n Which, if my augury deceive me not,\\r\\n Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth;\\r\\n Therefore, know thou, for this I entertain thee.\\r\\n Go presently, and take this ring with thee,\\r\\n Deliver it to Madam Silvia-\\r\\n She lov\\'d me well deliver\\'d it to me.\\r\\n JULIA. It seems you lov\\'d not her, to leave her token.\\r\\n She is dead, belike?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Not so; I think she lives.\\r\\n JULIA. Alas!\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why dost thou cry \\'Alas\\'?\\r\\n JULIA. I cannot choose\\r\\n But pity her.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Wherefore shouldst thou pity her?\\r\\n JULIA. Because methinks that she lov\\'d you as well\\r\\n As you do love your lady Silvia.\\r\\n She dreams on him that has forgot her love:\\r\\n You dote on her that cares not for your love.\\r\\n \\'Tis pity love should be so contrary;\\r\\n And thinking on it makes me cry \\'Alas!\\'\\r\\n PROTEUS. Well, give her that ring, and therewithal\\r\\n This letter. That\\'s her chamber. Tell my lady\\r\\n I claim the promise for her heavenly picture.\\r\\n Your message done, hie home unto my chamber,\\r\\n Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary. Exit PROTEUS\\r\\n JULIA. How many women would do such a message?\\r\\n Alas, poor Proteus, thou hast entertain\\'d\\r\\n A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs.\\r\\n Alas, poor fool, why do I pity him\\r\\n That with his very heart despiseth me?\\r\\n Because he loves her, he despiseth me;\\r\\n Because I love him, I must pity him.\\r\\n This ring I gave him, when he parted from me,\\r\\n To bind him to remember my good will;\\r\\n And now am I, unhappy messenger,\\r\\n To plead for that which I would not obtain,\\r\\n To carry that which I would have refus\\'d,\\r\\n To praise his faith, which I would have disprais\\'d.\\r\\n I am my master\\'s true confirmed love,\\r\\n But cannot be true servant to my master\\r\\n Unless I prove false traitor to myself.\\r\\n Yet will I woo for him, but yet so coldly\\r\\n As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA, attended\\r\\n\\r\\n Gentlewoman, good day! I pray you be my mean\\r\\n To bring me where to speak with Madam Silvia.\\r\\n SILVIA. What would you with her, if that I be she?\\r\\n JULIA. If you be she, I do entreat your patience\\r\\n To hear me speak the message I am sent on.\\r\\n SILVIA. From whom?\\r\\n JULIA. From my master, Sir Proteus, madam.\\r\\n SILVIA. O, he sends you for a picture?\\r\\n JULIA. Ay, madam.\\r\\n SILVIA. Ursula, bring my picture there.\\r\\n Go, give your master this. Tell him from me,\\r\\n One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget,\\r\\n Would better fit his chamber than this shadow.\\r\\n JULIA. Madam, please you peruse this letter.\\r\\n Pardon me, madam; I have unadvis\\'d\\r\\n Deliver\\'d you a paper that I should not.\\r\\n This is the letter to your ladyship.\\r\\n SILVIA. I pray thee let me look on that again.\\r\\n JULIA. It may not be; good madam, pardon me.\\r\\n SILVIA. There, hold!\\r\\n I will not look upon your master\\'s lines.\\r\\n I know they are stuff\\'d with protestations,\\r\\n And full of new-found oaths, which he wul break\\r\\n As easily as I do tear his paper.\\r\\n JULIA. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring.\\r\\n SILVIA. The more shame for him that he sends it me;\\r\\n For I have heard him say a thousand times\\r\\n His Julia gave it him at his departure.\\r\\n Though his false finger have profan\\'d the ring,\\r\\n Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong.\\r\\n JULIA. She thanks you.\\r\\n SILVIA. What say\\'st thou?\\r\\n JULIA. I thank you, madam, that you tender her.\\r\\n Poor gentlewoman, my master wrongs her much.\\r\\n SILVIA. Dost thou know her?\\r\\n JULIA. Almost as well as I do know myself.\\r\\n To think upon her woes, I do protest\\r\\n That I have wept a hundred several times.\\r\\n SILVIA. Belike she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her.\\r\\n JULIA. I think she doth, and that\\'s her cause of sorrow.\\r\\n SILVIA. Is she not passing fair?\\r\\n JULIA. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is.\\r\\n When she did think my master lov\\'d her well,\\r\\n She, in my judgment, was as fair as you;\\r\\n But since she did neglect her looking-glass\\r\\n And threw her sun-expelling mask away,\\r\\n The air hath starv\\'d the roses in her cheeks\\r\\n And pinch\\'d the lily-tincture of her face,\\r\\n That now she is become as black as I.\\r\\n SILVIA. How tall was she?\\r\\n JULIA. About my stature; for at Pentecost,\\r\\n When all our pageants of delight were play\\'d,\\r\\n Our youth got me to play the woman\\'s part,\\r\\n And I was trimm\\'d in Madam Julia\\'s gown;\\r\\n Which served me as fit, by all men\\'s judgments,\\r\\n As if the garment had been made for me;\\r\\n Therefore I know she is about my height.\\r\\n And at that time I made her weep a good,\\r\\n For I did play a lamentable part.\\r\\n Madam, \\'twas Ariadne passioning\\r\\n For Theseus\\' perjury and unjust flight;\\r\\n Which I so lively acted with my tears\\r\\n That my poor mistress, moved therewithal,\\r\\n Wept bitterly; and would I might be dead\\r\\n If I in thought felt not her very sorrow.\\r\\n SILVIA. She is beholding to thee, gentle youth.\\r\\n Alas, poor lady, desolate and left!\\r\\n I weep myself, to think upon thy words.\\r\\n Here, youth, there is my purse; I give thee this\\r\\n For thy sweet mistress\\' sake, because thou lov\\'st her.\\r\\n Farewell. Exit SILVIA with ATTENDANTS\\r\\n JULIA. And she shall thank you for\\'t, if e\\'er you know her.\\r\\n A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful!\\r\\n I hope my master\\'s suit will be but cold,\\r\\n Since she respects my mistress\\' love so much.\\r\\n Alas, how love can trifle with itself!\\r\\n Here is her picture; let me see. I think,\\r\\n If I had such a tire, this face of mine\\r\\n Were full as lovely as is this of hers;\\r\\n And yet the painter flatter\\'d her a little,\\r\\n Unless I flatter with myself too much.\\r\\n Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow;\\r\\n If that be all the difference in his love,\\r\\n I\\'ll get me such a colour\\'d periwig.\\r\\n Her eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine;\\r\\n Ay, but her forehead\\'s low, and mine\\'s as high.\\r\\n What should it be that he respects in her\\r\\n But I can make respective in myself,\\r\\n If this fond Love were not a blinded god?\\r\\n Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up,\\r\\n For \\'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form,\\r\\n Thou shalt be worshipp\\'d, kiss\\'d, lov\\'d, and ador\\'d!\\r\\n And were there sense in his idolatry\\r\\n My substance should be statue in thy stead.\\r\\n I\\'ll use thee kindly for thy mistress\\' sake,\\r\\n That us\\'d me so; or else, by Jove I vow,\\r\\n I should have scratch\\'d out your unseeing eyes,\\r\\n To make my master out of love with thee. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. Milan. An abbey\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter EGLAMOUR\\r\\n\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. The sun begins to gild the western sky,\\r\\n And now it is about the very hour\\r\\n That Silvia at Friar Patrick\\'s cell should meet me.\\r\\n She will not fail, for lovers break not hours\\r\\n Unless it be to come before their time,\\r\\n So much they spur their expedition.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA\\r\\n\\r\\n See where she comes. Lady, a happy evening!\\r\\n SILVIA. Amen, amen! Go on, good Eglamour,\\r\\n Out at the postern by the abbey wall;\\r\\n I fear I am attended by some spies.\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. Fear not. The forest is not three leagues off;\\r\\n If we recover that, we are sure enough. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter THURIO, PROTEUS, and JULIA as SEBASTIAN\\r\\n\\r\\n THURIO. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit?\\r\\n PROTEUS. O, sir, I find her milder than she was;\\r\\n And yet she takes exceptions at your person.\\r\\n THURIO. What, that my leg is too long?\\r\\n PROTEUS. No; that it is too little.\\r\\n THURIO. I\\'ll wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] But love will not be spurr\\'d to what it loathes.\\r\\n THURIO. What says she to my face?\\r\\n PROTEUS. She says it is a fair one.\\r\\n THURIO. Nay, then, the wanton lies; my face is black.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But pearls are fair; and the old saying is:\\r\\n Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies\\' eyes.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] \\'Tis true, such pearls as put out ladies\\' eyes;\\r\\n For I had rather wink than look on them.\\r\\n THURIO. How likes she my discourse?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ill, when you talk of war.\\r\\n THURIO. But well when I discourse of love and peace?\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] But better, indeed, when you hold your peace.\\r\\n THURIO. What says she to my valour?\\r\\n PROTEUS. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] She needs not, when she knows it cowardice.\\r\\n THURIO. What says she to my birth?\\r\\n PROTEUS. That you are well deriv\\'d.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] True; from a gentleman to a fool.\\r\\n THURIO. Considers she my possessions?\\r\\n PROTEUS. O, ay; and pities them.\\r\\n THURIO. Wherefore?\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] That such an ass should owe them.\\r\\n PROTEUS. That they are out by lease.\\r\\n JULIA. Here comes the Duke.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUKE\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. How now, Sir Proteus! how now, Thurio!\\r\\n Which of you saw Sir Eglamour of late?\\r\\n THURIO. Not I.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Nor I.\\r\\n DUKE. Saw you my daughter?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Neither.\\r\\n DUKE. Why then,\\r\\n She\\'s fled unto that peasant Valentine;\\r\\n And Eglamour is in her company.\\r\\n \\'Tis true; for Friar Lawrence met them both\\r\\n As he in penance wander\\'d through the forest;\\r\\n Him he knew well, and guess\\'d that it was she,\\r\\n But, being mask\\'d, he was not sure of it;\\r\\n Besides, she did intend confession\\r\\n At Patrick\\'s cell this even; and there she was not.\\r\\n These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence;\\r\\n Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse,\\r\\n But mount you presently, and meet with me\\r\\n Upon the rising of the mountain foot\\r\\n That leads toward Mantua, whither they are fled.\\r\\n Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. Exit\\r\\n THURIO. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl\\r\\n That flies her fortune when it follows her.\\r\\n I\\'ll after, more to be reveng\\'d on Eglamour\\r\\n Than for the love of reckless Silvia. Exit\\r\\n PROTEUS. And I will follow, more for Silvia\\'s love\\r\\n Than hate of Eglamour, that goes with her. Exit\\r\\n JULIA. And I will follow, more to cross that love\\r\\n Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The frontiers of Mantua. The forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter OUTLAWS with SILVA\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Come, come.\\r\\n Be patient; we must bring you to our captain.\\r\\n SILVIA. A thousand more mischances than this one\\r\\n Have learn\\'d me how to brook this patiently.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Come, bring her away.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Where is the gentleman that was with her?\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Being nimble-footed, he hath outrun us,\\r\\n But Moyses and Valerius follow him.\\r\\n Go thou with her to the west end of the wood;\\r\\n There is our captain; we\\'ll follow him that\\'s fled.\\r\\n The thicket is beset; he cannot \\'scape.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Come, I must bring you to our captain\\'s cave;\\r\\n Fear not; he bears an honourable mind,\\r\\n And will not use a woman lawlessly.\\r\\n SILVIA. O Valentine, this I endure for thee! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Another part of the forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter VALENTINE\\r\\n\\r\\n VALENTINE. How use doth breed a habit in a man!\\r\\n This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,\\r\\n I better brook than flourishing peopled towns.\\r\\n Here can I sit alone, unseen of any,\\r\\n And to the nightingale\\'s complaining notes\\r\\n Tune my distresses and record my woes.\\r\\n O thou that dost inhabit in my breast,\\r\\n Leave not the mansion so long tenantless,\\r\\n Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall\\r\\n And leave no memory of what it was!\\r\\n Repair me with thy presence, Silvia:\\r\\n Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain.\\r\\n What halloing and what stir is this to-day?\\r\\n These are my mates, that make their wills their law,\\r\\n Have some unhappy passenger in chase.\\r\\n They love me well; yet I have much to do\\r\\n To keep them from uncivil outrages.\\r\\n Withdraw thee, Valentine. Who\\'s this comes here?\\r\\n [Steps aside]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS, SILVIA, and JULIA as Sebastian\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Madam, this service I have done for you,\\r\\n Though you respect not aught your servant doth,\\r\\n To hazard life, and rescue you from him\\r\\n That would have forc\\'d your honour and your love.\\r\\n Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look;\\r\\n A smaller boon than this I cannot beg,\\r\\n And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give.\\r\\n VALENTINE. [Aside] How like a dream is this I see and hear!\\r\\n Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile.\\r\\n SILVIA. O miserable, unhappy that I am!\\r\\n PROTEUS. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came;\\r\\n But by my coming I have made you happy.\\r\\n SILVIA. By thy approach thou mak\\'st me most unhappy.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] And me, when he approacheth to your presence.\\r\\n SILVIA. Had I been seized by a hungry lion,\\r\\n I would have been a breakfast to the beast\\r\\n Rather than have false Proteus rescue me.\\r\\n O, heaven be judge how I love Valentine,\\r\\n Whose life\\'s as tender to me as my soul!\\r\\n And full as much, for more there cannot be,\\r\\n I do detest false, perjur\\'d Proteus.\\r\\n Therefore be gone; solicit me no more.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What dangerous action, stood it next to death,\\r\\n Would I not undergo for one calm look?\\r\\n O, \\'tis the curse in love, and still approv\\'d,\\r\\n When women cannot love where they\\'re belov\\'d!\\r\\n SILVIA. When Proteus cannot love where he\\'s belov\\'d!\\r\\n Read over Julia\\'s heart, thy first best love,\\r\\n For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith\\r\\n Into a thousand oaths; and all those oaths\\r\\n Descended into perjury, to love me.\\r\\n Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou\\'dst two,\\r\\n And that\\'s far worse than none; better have none\\r\\n Than plural faith, which is too much by one.\\r\\n Thou counterfeit to thy true friend!\\r\\n PROTEUS. In love,\\r\\n Who respects friend?\\r\\n SILVIA. All men but Proteus.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words\\r\\n Can no way change you to a milder form,\\r\\n I\\'ll woo you like a soldier, at arms\\' end,\\r\\n And love you \\'gainst the nature of love- force ye.\\r\\n SILVIA. O heaven!\\r\\n PROTEUS. I\\'ll force thee yield to my desire.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ruffian! let go that rude uncivil touch;\\r\\n Thou friend of an ill fashion!\\r\\n PROTEUS. Valentine!\\r\\n VALENTINE. Thou common friend, that\\'s without faith or love-\\r\\n For such is a friend now; treacherous man,\\r\\n Thou hast beguil\\'d my hopes; nought but mine eye\\r\\n Could have persuaded me. Now I dare not say\\r\\n I have one friend alive: thou wouldst disprove me.\\r\\n Who should be trusted, when one\\'s own right hand\\r\\n Is perjured to the bosom? Proteus,\\r\\n I am sorry I must never trust thee more,\\r\\n But count the world a stranger for thy sake.\\r\\n The private wound is deepest. O time most accurst!\\r\\n \\'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst!\\r\\n PROTEUS. My shame and guilt confounds me.\\r\\n Forgive me, Valentine; if hearty sorrow\\r\\n Be a sufficient ransom for offence,\\r\\n I tender \\'t here; I do as truly suffer\\r\\n As e\\'er I did commit.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Then I am paid;\\r\\n And once again I do receive thee honest.\\r\\n Who by repentance is not satisfied\\r\\n Is nor of heaven nor earth, for these are pleas\\'d;\\r\\n By penitence th\\' Eternal\\'s wrath\\'s appeas\\'d.\\r\\n And, that my love may appear plain and free,\\r\\n All that was mine in Silvia I give thee.\\r\\n JULIA. O me unhappy! [Swoons]\\r\\n PROTEUS. Look to the boy.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, boy! why, wag! how now!\\r\\n What\\'s the matter? Look up; speak.\\r\\n JULIA. O good sir, my master charg\\'d me to deliver a ring to Madam\\r\\n Silvia, which, out of my neglect, was never done.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Where is that ring, boy?\\r\\n JULIA. Here \\'tis; this is it.\\r\\n PROTEUS. How! let me see. Why, this is the ring I gave to Julia.\\r\\n JULIA. O, cry you mercy, sir, I have mistook;\\r\\n This is the ring you sent to Silvia.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But how cam\\'st thou by this ring?\\r\\n At my depart I gave this unto Julia.\\r\\n JULIA. And Julia herself did give it me;\\r\\n And Julia herself have brought it hither.\\r\\n PROTEUS. How! Julia!\\r\\n JULIA. Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths,\\r\\n And entertain\\'d \\'em deeply in her heart.\\r\\n How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root!\\r\\n O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush!\\r\\n Be thou asham\\'d that I have took upon me\\r\\n Such an immodest raiment- if shame live\\r\\n In a disguise of love.\\r\\n It is the lesser blot, modesty finds,\\r\\n Women to change their shapes than men their minds.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Than men their minds! \\'tis true. O heaven, were man\\r\\n But constant, he were perfect! That one error\\r\\n Fills him with faults; makes him run through all th\\' sins:\\r\\n Inconstancy falls off ere it begins.\\r\\n What is in Silvia\\'s face but I may spy\\r\\n More fresh in Julia\\'s with a constant eye?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Come, come, a hand from either.\\r\\n Let me be blest to make this happy close;\\r\\n \\'Twere pity two such friends should be long foes.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish for ever.\\r\\n JULIA. And I mine.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter OUTLAWS, with DUKE and THURIO\\r\\n\\r\\n OUTLAW. A prize, a prize, a prize!\\r\\n VALENTINE. Forbear, forbear, I say; it is my lord the Duke.\\r\\n Your Grace is welcome to a man disgrac\\'d,\\r\\n Banished Valentine.\\r\\n DUKE. Sir Valentine!\\r\\n THURIO. Yonder is Silvia; and Silvia\\'s mine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death;\\r\\n Come not within the measure of my wrath;\\r\\n Do not name Silvia thine; if once again,\\r\\n Verona shall not hold thee. Here she stands\\r\\n Take but possession of her with a touch-\\r\\n I dare thee but to breathe upon my love.\\r\\n THURIO. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I;\\r\\n I hold him but a fool that will endanger\\r\\n His body for a girl that loves him not.\\r\\n I claim her not, and therefore she is thine.\\r\\n DUKE. The more degenerate and base art thou\\r\\n To make such means for her as thou hast done\\r\\n And leave her on such slight conditions.\\r\\n Now, by the honour of my ancestry,\\r\\n I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine,\\r\\n And think thee worthy of an empress\\' love.\\r\\n Know then, I here forget all former griefs,\\r\\n Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again,\\r\\n Plead a new state in thy unrivall\\'d merit,\\r\\n To which I thus subscribe: Sir Valentine,\\r\\n Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv\\'d;\\r\\n Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv\\'d her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I thank your Grace; the gift hath made me happy.\\r\\n I now beseech you, for your daughter\\'s sake,\\r\\n To grant one boon that I shall ask of you.\\r\\n DUKE. I grant it for thine own, whate\\'er it be.\\r\\n VALENTINE. These banish\\'d men, that I have kept withal,\\r\\n Are men endu\\'d with worthy qualities;\\r\\n Forgive them what they have committed here,\\r\\n And let them be recall\\'d from their exile:\\r\\n They are reformed, civil, full of good,\\r\\n And fit for great employment, worthy lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Thou hast prevail\\'d; I pardon them, and thee;\\r\\n Dispose of them as thou know\\'st their deserts.\\r\\n Come, let us go; we will include all jars\\r\\n With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity.\\r\\n VALENTINE. And, as we walk along, I dare be bold\\r\\n With our discourse to make your Grace to smile.\\r\\n What think you of this page, my lord?\\r\\n DUKE. I think the boy hath grace in him; he blushes.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I warrant you, my lord- more grace than boy.\\r\\n DUKE. What mean you by that saying?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Please you, I\\'ll tell you as we pass along,\\r\\n That you will wonder what hath fortuned.\\r\\n Come, Proteus, \\'tis your penance but to hear\\r\\n The story of your loves discovered.\\r\\n That done, our day of marriage shall be yours;\\r\\n One feast, one house, one mutual happiness! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN:\\r\\n\\r\\nPresented at the Blackfriers by the Kings Maiesties servants, with\\r\\ngreat applause:\\r\\n\\r\\nWritten by the memorable Worthies of their time;\\r\\n\\r\\nMr John Fletcher, Gent., and\\r\\nMr William Shakspeare, Gent.\\r\\n\\r\\nPrinted at London by Tho. Cotes, for John Waterson: and are to be sold\\r\\nat the signe of the Crowne in Pauls Church-yard. 1634.\\r\\n\\r\\n(The Persons represented in the Play.\\r\\n\\r\\nHymen,\\r\\nTheseus,\\r\\nHippolita, Bride to Theseus\\r\\nEmelia, Sister to Theseus\\r\\n[Emelia\\'s Woman],\\r\\nNymphs,\\r\\nThree Queens,\\r\\nThree valiant Knights,\\r\\nPalamon, and\\r\\nArcite, The two Noble Kinsmen, in love with fair Emelia\\r\\n[Valerius],\\r\\nPerithous,\\r\\n[A Herald],\\r\\n[A Gentleman],\\r\\n[A Messenger],\\r\\n[A Servant],\\r\\n[Wooer],\\r\\n[Keeper],\\r\\nJaylor,\\r\\nHis Daughter, in love with Palamon\\r\\n[His brother],\\r\\n[A Doctor],\\r\\n[4] Countreymen,\\r\\n[2 Friends of the Jaylor],\\r\\n[3 Knights],\\r\\n[Nel, and other]\\r\\nWenches,\\r\\nA Taborer,\\r\\nGerrold, A Schoolmaster.)\\r\\n\\r\\nPROLOGUE.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\nNew Playes, and Maydenheads, are neare a kin,\\r\\nMuch follow\\'d both, for both much mony g\\'yn,\\r\\nIf they stand sound, and well: And a good Play\\r\\n(Whose modest Sceanes blush on his marriage day,\\r\\nAnd shake to loose his honour) is like hir\\r\\nThat after holy Tye and first nights stir\\r\\nYet still is Modestie, and still retaines\\r\\nMore of the maid to sight, than Husbands paines;\\r\\nWe pray our Play may be so; For I am sure\\r\\nIt has a noble Breeder, and a pure,\\r\\nA learned, and a Poet never went\\r\\nMore famous yet twixt Po and silver Trent:\\r\\nChaucer (of all admir\\'d) the Story gives,\\r\\nThere constant to Eternity it lives.\\r\\nIf we let fall the Noblenesse of this,\\r\\nAnd the first sound this child heare, be a hisse,\\r\\nHow will it shake the bones of that good man,\\r\\nAnd make him cry from under ground, \\'O fan\\r\\nFrom me the witles chaffe of such a wrighter\\r\\nThat blastes my Bayes, and my fam\\'d workes makes lighter\\r\\nThen Robin Hood!\\' This is the feare we bring;\\r\\nFor to say Truth, it were an endlesse thing,\\r\\nAnd too ambitious, to aspire to him,\\r\\nWeake as we are, and almost breathlesse swim\\r\\nIn this deepe water. Do but you hold out\\r\\nYour helping hands, and we shall take about,\\r\\nAnd something doe to save us: You shall heare\\r\\nSceanes, though below his Art, may yet appeare\\r\\nWorth two houres travell. To his bones sweet sleepe:\\r\\nContent to you. If this play doe not keepe\\r\\nA little dull time from us, we perceave\\r\\nOur losses fall so thicke, we must needs leave. [Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (Athens. Before a temple.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Hymen with a Torch burning: a Boy, in a white Robe before\\r\\n singing, and strewing Flowres: After Hymen, a Nimph, encompast\\r\\nin\\r\\n her Tresses, bearing a wheaten Garland. Then Theseus betweene\\r\\n two other Nimphs with wheaten Chaplets on their heades. Then\\r\\n Hipolita the Bride, lead by Pirithous, and another holding a\\r\\n Garland over her head (her Tresses likewise hanging.) After\\r\\n her Emilia holding up her Traine. (Artesius and Attendants.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Song, [Musike.]\\r\\n\\r\\nRoses their sharpe spines being gon,\\r\\nNot royall in their smels alone,\\r\\nBut in their hew.\\r\\nMaiden Pinckes, of odour faint,\\r\\nDazies smel-lesse, yet most quaint\\r\\nAnd sweet Time true.\\r\\n\\r\\nPrim-rose first borne child of Ver,\\r\\nMerry Spring times Herbinger,\\r\\nWith her bels dimme.\\r\\nOxlips, in their Cradles growing,\\r\\nMary-golds, on death beds blowing,\\r\\nLarkes-heeles trymme.\\r\\n\\r\\nAll deere natures children sweete,\\r\\nLy fore Bride and Bridegroomes feete, [Strew Flowers.]\\r\\nBlessing their sence.\\r\\nNot an angle of the aire,\\r\\nBird melodious, or bird faire,\\r\\nIs absent hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Crow, the slaundrous Cuckoe, nor\\r\\nThe boding Raven, nor Chough hore\\r\\nNor chattring Pie,\\r\\nMay on our Bridehouse pearch or sing,\\r\\nOr with them any discord bring,\\r\\nBut from it fly.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter 3. Queenes in Blacke, with vailes staind, with imperiall\\r\\n Crownes. The 1. Queene fals downe at the foote of Theseus; The\\r\\n 2. fals downe at the foote of Hypolita. The 3. before Emilia.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nFor pitties sake and true gentilities,\\r\\nHeare, and respect me.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nFor your Mothers sake,\\r\\nAnd as you wish your womb may thrive with faire ones,\\r\\nHeare and respect me.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN\\r\\nNow for the love of him whom Iove hath markd\\r\\nThe honour of your Bed, and for the sake\\r\\nOf cleere virginity, be Advocate\\r\\nFor us, and our distresses. This good deede\\r\\nShall raze you out o\\'th Booke of Trespasses\\r\\nAll you are set downe there.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSad Lady, rise.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nStand up.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNo knees to me.\\r\\nWhat woman I may steed that is distrest,\\r\\nDoes bind me to her.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat\\'s your request? Deliver you for all.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nWe are 3. Queenes, whose Soveraignes fel before\\r\\nThe wrath of cruell Creon; who endured\\r\\nThe Beakes of Ravens, Tallents of the Kights,\\r\\nAnd pecks of Crowes, in the fowle feilds of Thebs.\\r\\nHe will not suffer us to burne their bones,\\r\\nTo urne their ashes, nor to take th\\' offence\\r\\nOf mortall loathsomenes from the blest eye\\r\\nOf holy Phoebus, but infects the windes\\r\\nWith stench of our slaine Lords. O pitty, Duke:\\r\\nThou purger of the earth, draw thy feard Sword\\r\\nThat does good turnes to\\'th world; give us the Bones\\r\\nOf our dead Kings, that we may Chappell them;\\r\\nAnd of thy boundles goodnes take some note\\r\\nThat for our crowned heades we have no roofe,\\r\\nSave this which is the Lyons, and the Beares,\\r\\nAnd vault to every thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nPray you, kneele not:\\r\\nI was transported with your Speech, and suffer\\'d\\r\\nYour knees to wrong themselves; I have heard the fortunes\\r\\nOf your dead Lords, which gives me such lamenting\\r\\nAs wakes my vengeance, and revenge for\\'em,\\r\\nKing Capaneus was your Lord: the day\\r\\nThat he should marry you, at such a season,\\r\\nAs now it is with me, I met your Groome,\\r\\nBy Marsis Altar; you were that time faire,\\r\\nNot Iunos Mantle fairer then your Tresses,\\r\\nNor in more bounty spread her. Your wheaten wreathe\\r\\nWas then nor threashd, nor blasted; Fortune at you\\r\\nDimpled her Cheeke with smiles: Hercules our kinesman\\r\\n(Then weaker than your eies) laide by his Club,\\r\\nHe tumbled downe upon his Nemean hide\\r\\nAnd swore his sinews thawd: O greife, and time,\\r\\nFearefull consumers, you will all devoure.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nO, I hope some God,\\r\\nSome God hath put his mercy in your manhood\\r\\nWhereto heel infuse powre, and presse you forth\\r\\nOur undertaker.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nO no knees, none, Widdow,\\r\\nVnto the Helmeted Belona use them,\\r\\nAnd pray for me your Souldier.\\r\\nTroubled I am. [turnes away.]\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nHonoured Hypolita,\\r\\nMost dreaded Amazonian, that hast slaine\\r\\nThe Sith-tuskd Bore; that with thy Arme as strong\\r\\nAs it is white, wast neere to make the male\\r\\nTo thy Sex captive, but that this thy Lord,\\r\\nBorne to uphold Creation in that honour\\r\\nFirst nature stilde it in, shrunke thee into\\r\\nThe bownd thou wast ore-flowing, at once subduing\\r\\nThy force, and thy affection: Soldiresse\\r\\nThat equally canst poize sternenes with pitty,\\r\\nWhom now I know hast much more power on him\\r\\nThen ever he had on thee, who ow\\'st his strength\\r\\nAnd his Love too, who is a Servant for\\r\\nThe Tenour of thy Speech: Deere Glasse of Ladies,\\r\\nBid him that we, whom flaming war doth scortch,\\r\\nVnder the shaddow of his Sword may coole us:\\r\\nRequire him he advance it ore our heades;\\r\\nSpeak\\'t in a womans key: like such a woman\\r\\nAs any of us three; weepe ere you faile;\\r\\nLend us a knee;\\r\\nBut touch the ground for us no longer time\\r\\nThen a Doves motion, when the head\\'s pluckt off:\\r\\nTell him if he i\\'th blood cizd field lay swolne,\\r\\nShowing the Sun his Teeth, grinning at the Moone,\\r\\nWhat you would doe.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nPoore Lady, say no more:\\r\\nI had as leife trace this good action with you\\r\\nAs that whereto I am going, and never yet\\r\\nWent I so willing way. My Lord is taken\\r\\nHart deepe with your distresse: Let him consider:\\r\\nIle speake anon.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nO my petition was [kneele to Emilia.]\\r\\nSet downe in yce, which by hot greefe uncandied\\r\\nMelts into drops, so sorrow, wanting forme,\\r\\nIs prest with deeper matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPray stand up,\\r\\nYour greefe is written in your cheeke.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nO woe,\\r\\nYou cannot reade it there, there through my teares—\\r\\nLike wrinckled peobles in a glassie streame\\r\\nYou may behold \\'em. Lady, Lady, alacke,\\r\\nHe that will all the Treasure know o\\'th earth\\r\\nMust know the Center too; he that will fish\\r\\nFor my least minnow, let him lead his line\\r\\nTo catch one at my heart. O pardon me:\\r\\nExtremity, that sharpens sundry wits,\\r\\nMakes me a Foole.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPray you say nothing, pray you:\\r\\nWho cannot feele nor see the raine, being in\\'t,\\r\\nKnowes neither wet nor dry: if that you were\\r\\nThe ground-peece of some Painter, I would buy you\\r\\nT\\'instruct me gainst a Capitall greefe indeed—\\r\\nSuch heart peirc\\'d demonstration; but, alas,\\r\\nBeing a naturall Sifter of our Sex\\r\\nYour sorrow beates so ardently upon me,\\r\\nThat it shall make a counter reflect gainst\\r\\nMy Brothers heart, and warme it to some pitty,\\r\\nThough it were made of stone: pray, have good comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nForward to\\'th Temple, leave not out a Iot\\r\\nO\\'th sacred Ceremony.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nO, This Celebration\\r\\nWill long last, and be more costly then\\r\\nYour Suppliants war: Remember that your Fame\\r\\nKnowles in the eare o\\'th world: what you doe quickly\\r\\nIs not done rashly; your first thought is more\\r\\nThen others laboured meditance: your premeditating\\r\\nMore then their actions: But, oh Iove! your actions,\\r\\nSoone as they mooves, as Asprayes doe the fish,\\r\\nSubdue before they touch: thinke, deere Duke, thinke\\r\\nWhat beds our slaine Kings have.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nWhat greifes our beds,\\r\\nThat our deere Lords have none.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nNone fit for \\'th dead:\\r\\nThose that with Cordes, Knives, drams precipitance,\\r\\nWeary of this worlds light, have to themselves\\r\\nBeene deathes most horrid Agents, humaine grace\\r\\nAffords them dust and shaddow.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nBut our Lords\\r\\nLy blistring fore the visitating Sunne,\\r\\nAnd were good Kings, when living.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nIt is true, and I will give you comfort,\\r\\nTo give your dead Lords graves: the which to doe,\\r\\nMust make some worke with Creon.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nAnd that worke presents it selfe to\\'th doing:\\r\\nNow twill take forme, the heates are gone to morrow.\\r\\nThen, booteles toyle must recompence it selfe\\r\\nWith it\\'s owne sweat; Now he\\'s secure,\\r\\nNot dreames we stand before your puissance\\r\\nWrinching our holy begging in our eyes\\r\\nTo make petition cleere.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nNow you may take him, drunke with his victory.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nAnd his Army full of Bread, and sloth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nArtesius, that best knowest\\r\\nHow to draw out fit to this enterprise\\r\\nThe prim\\'st for this proceeding, and the number\\r\\nTo carry such a businesse, forth and levy\\r\\nOur worthiest Instruments, whilst we despatch\\r\\nThis grand act of our life, this daring deede\\r\\nOf Fate in wedlocke.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nDowagers, take hands;\\r\\nLet us be Widdowes to our woes: delay\\r\\nCommends us to a famishing hope.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nFarewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nWe come unseasonably: But when could greefe\\r\\nCull forth, as unpanged judgement can, fit\\'st time\\r\\nFor best solicitation.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhy, good Ladies,\\r\\nThis is a service, whereto I am going,\\r\\nGreater then any was; it more imports me\\r\\nThen all the actions that I have foregone,\\r\\nOr futurely can cope.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nThe more proclaiming\\r\\nOur suit shall be neglected: when her Armes\\r\\nAble to locke Iove from a Synod, shall\\r\\nBy warranting Moone-light corslet thee, oh, when\\r\\nHer twyning Cherries shall their sweetnes fall\\r\\nVpon thy tastefull lips, what wilt thou thinke\\r\\nOf rotten Kings or blubberd Queenes, what care\\r\\nFor what thou feelst not? what thou feelst being able\\r\\nTo make Mars spurne his Drom. O, if thou couch\\r\\nBut one night with her, every howre in\\'t will\\r\\nTake hostage of thee for a hundred, and\\r\\nThou shalt remember nothing more then what\\r\\nThat Banket bids thee too.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nThough much unlike [Kneeling.]\\r\\nYou should be so transported, as much sorry\\r\\nI should be such a Suitour; yet I thinke,\\r\\nDid I not by th\\'abstayning of my joy,\\r\\nWhich breeds a deeper longing, cure their surfeit\\r\\nThat craves a present medcine, I should plucke\\r\\nAll Ladies scandall on me. Therefore, Sir,\\r\\nAs I shall here make tryall of my prayres,\\r\\nEither presuming them to have some force,\\r\\nOr sentencing for ay their vigour dombe:\\r\\nProrogue this busines we are going about, and hang\\r\\nYour Sheild afore your Heart, about that necke\\r\\nWhich is my ffee, and which I freely lend\\r\\nTo doe these poore Queenes service.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL QUEENS.\\r\\nOh helpe now,\\r\\nOur Cause cries for your knee.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIf you grant not [Kneeling.]\\r\\nMy Sister her petition in that force,\\r\\nWith that Celerity and nature, which\\r\\nShee makes it in, from henceforth ile not dare\\r\\nTo aske you any thing, nor be so hardy\\r\\nEver to take a Husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nPray stand up.\\r\\nI am entreating of my selfe to doe\\r\\nThat which you kneele to have me. Pyrithous,\\r\\nLeade on the Bride; get you and pray the Gods\\r\\nFor successe, and returne; omit not any thing\\r\\nIn the pretended Celebration. Queenes,\\r\\nFollow your Soldier. As before, hence you [to Artesius]\\r\\nAnd at the banckes of Aulis meete us with\\r\\nThe forces you can raise, where we shall finde\\r\\nThe moytie of a number, for a busines\\r\\nMore bigger look\\'t. Since that our Theame is haste,\\r\\nI stamp this kisse upon thy currant lippe;\\r\\nSweete, keepe it as my Token. Set you forward,\\r\\nFor I will see you gone. [Exeunt towards the Temple.]\\r\\nFarewell, my beauteous Sister: Pyrithous,\\r\\nKeepe the feast full, bate not an howre on\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nSir,\\r\\nIle follow you at heeles; The Feasts solempnity\\r\\nShall want till your returne.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nCosen, I charge you\\r\\nBoudge not from Athens; We shall be returning\\r\\nEre you can end this Feast, of which, I pray you,\\r\\nMake no abatement; once more, farewell all.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nThus do\\'st thou still make good the tongue o\\'th world.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nAnd earnst a Deity equal with Mars.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nIf not above him, for\\r\\nThou being but mortall makest affections bend\\r\\nTo Godlike honours; they themselves, some say,\\r\\nGrone under such a Mastry.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAs we are men,\\r\\nThus should we doe; being sensually subdude,\\r\\nWe loose our humane tytle. Good cheere, Ladies. [Florish.]\\r\\nNow turne we towards your Comforts. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (Thebs).\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon, and Arcite.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDeere Palamon, deerer in love then Blood\\r\\nAnd our prime Cosen, yet unhardned in\\r\\nThe Crimes of nature; Let us leave the Citty\\r\\nThebs, and the temptings in\\'t, before we further\\r\\nSully our glosse of youth:\\r\\nAnd here to keepe in abstinence we shame\\r\\nAs in Incontinence; for not to swim\\r\\nI\\'th aide o\\'th Current were almost to sincke,\\r\\nAt least to frustrate striving, and to follow\\r\\nThe common Streame, twold bring us to an Edy\\r\\nWhere we should turne or drowne; if labour through,\\r\\nOur gaine but life, and weakenes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYour advice\\r\\nIs cride up with example: what strange ruins\\r\\nSince first we went to Schoole, may we perceive\\r\\nWalking in Thebs? Skars, and bare weedes\\r\\nThe gaine o\\'th Martialist, who did propound\\r\\nTo his bold ends honour, and golden Ingots,\\r\\nWhich though he won, he had not, and now flurted\\r\\nBy peace for whom he fought: who then shall offer\\r\\nTo Marsis so scornd Altar? I doe bleede\\r\\nWhen such I meete, and wish great Iuno would\\r\\nResume her ancient fit of Ielouzie\\r\\nTo get the Soldier worke, that peace might purge\\r\\nFor her repletion, and retaine anew\\r\\nHer charitable heart now hard, and harsher\\r\\nThen strife or war could be.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nAre you not out?\\r\\nMeete you no ruine but the Soldier in\\r\\nThe Cranckes and turnes of Thebs? you did begin\\r\\nAs if you met decaies of many kindes:\\r\\nPerceive you none, that doe arowse your pitty\\r\\nBut th\\'un-considerd Soldier?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes, I pitty\\r\\nDecaies where ere I finde them, but such most\\r\\nThat, sweating in an honourable Toyle,\\r\\nAre paide with yce to coole \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTis not this\\r\\nI did begin to speake of: This is vertue\\r\\nOf no respect in Thebs; I spake of Thebs\\r\\nHow dangerous if we will keepe our Honours,\\r\\nIt is for our resyding, where every evill\\r\\nHath a good cullor; where eve\\'ry seeming good\\'s\\r\\nA certaine evill, where not to be ev\\'n Iumpe\\r\\nAs they are, here were to be strangers, and\\r\\nSuch things to be, meere Monsters.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTis in our power,\\r\\n(Vnlesse we feare that Apes can Tutor\\'s) to\\r\\nBe Masters of our manners: what neede I\\r\\nAffect anothers gate, which is not catching\\r\\nWhere there is faith, or to be fond upon\\r\\nAnothers way of speech, when by mine owne\\r\\nI may be reasonably conceiv\\'d; sav\\'d too,\\r\\nSpeaking it truly? why am I bound\\r\\nBy any generous bond to follow him\\r\\nFollowes his Taylor, haply so long untill\\r\\nThe follow\\'d make pursuit? or let me know,\\r\\nWhy mine owne Barber is unblest, with him\\r\\nMy poore Chinne too, for tis not Cizard iust\\r\\nTo such a Favorites glasse: What Cannon is there\\r\\nThat does command my Rapier from my hip\\r\\nTo dangle\\'t in my hand, or to go tip toe\\r\\nBefore the streete be foule? Either I am\\r\\nThe fore-horse in the Teame, or I am none\\r\\nThat draw i\\'th sequent trace: these poore sleight sores\\r\\nNeede not a plantin; That which rips my bosome\\r\\nAlmost to\\'th heart\\'s—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nOur Vncle Creon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHe,\\r\\nA most unbounded Tyrant, whose successes\\r\\nMakes heaven unfeard, and villany assured\\r\\nBeyond its power there\\'s nothing, almost puts\\r\\nFaith in a feavour, and deifies alone\\r\\nVoluble chance; who onely attributes\\r\\nThe faculties of other Instruments\\r\\nTo his owne Nerves and act; Commands men service,\\r\\nAnd what they winne in\\'t, boot and glory; on(e)\\r\\nThat feares not to do harm; good, dares not; Let\\r\\nThe blood of mine that\\'s sibbe to him be suckt\\r\\nFrom me with Leeches; Let them breake and fall\\r\\nOff me with that corruption.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nCleere spirited Cozen,\\r\\nLets leave his Court, that we may nothing share\\r\\nOf his lowd infamy: for our milke\\r\\nWill relish of the pasture, and we must\\r\\nBe vile or disobedient, not his kinesmen\\r\\nIn blood, unlesse in quality.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNothing truer:\\r\\nI thinke the Ecchoes of his shames have dea\\'ft\\r\\nThe eares of heav\\'nly Iustice: widdows cryes\\r\\nDescend againe into their throates, and have not\\r\\n\\r\\n[enter Valerius.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDue audience of the Gods.—Valerius!\\r\\n\\r\\nVALERIUS.\\r\\nThe King cals for you; yet be leaden footed,\\r\\nTill his great rage be off him. Phebus, when\\r\\nHe broke his whipstocke and exclaimd against\\r\\nThe Horses of the Sun, but whisperd too\\r\\nThe lowdenesse of his Fury.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nSmall windes shake him:\\r\\nBut whats the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nVALERIUS.\\r\\nTheseus (who where he threates appals,) hath sent\\r\\nDeadly defyance to him, and pronounces\\r\\nRuine to Thebs; who is at hand to seale\\r\\nThe promise of his wrath.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nLet him approach;\\r\\nBut that we feare the Gods in him, he brings not\\r\\nA jot of terrour to us; Yet what man\\r\\nThirds his owne worth (the case is each of ours)\\r\\nWhen that his actions dregd with minde assurd\\r\\nTis bad he goes about?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nLeave that unreasond.\\r\\nOur services stand now for Thebs, not Creon,\\r\\nYet to be neutrall to him were dishonour;\\r\\nRebellious to oppose: therefore we must\\r\\nWith him stand to the mercy of our Fate,\\r\\nWho hath bounded our last minute.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSo we must.\\r\\nIst sed this warres a foote? or it shall be,\\r\\nOn faile of some condition?\\r\\n\\r\\nVALERIUS.\\r\\nTis in motion\\r\\nThe intelligence of state came in the instant\\r\\nWith the defier.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nLets to the king, who, were he\\r\\nA quarter carrier of that honour which\\r\\nHis Enemy come in, the blood we venture\\r\\nShould be as for our health, which were not spent,\\r\\nRather laide out for purchase: but, alas,\\r\\nOur hands advanc\\'d before our hearts, what will\\r\\nThe fall o\\'th stroke doe damage?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nLet th\\'event,\\r\\nThat never erring Arbitratour, tell us\\r\\nWhen we know all our selves, and let us follow\\r\\nThe becking of our chance. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (Before the gates of Athens.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Pirithous, Hipolita, Emilia.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nNo further.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nSir, farewell; repeat my wishes\\r\\nTo our great Lord, of whose succes I dare not\\r\\nMake any timerous question; yet I wish him\\r\\nExces and overflow of power, and\\'t might be,\\r\\nTo dure ill-dealing fortune: speede to him,\\r\\nStore never hurtes good Gouernours.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThough I know\\r\\nHis Ocean needes not my poore drops, yet they\\r\\nMust yeild their tribute there. My precious Maide,\\r\\nThose best affections, that the heavens infuse\\r\\nIn their best temperd peices, keepe enthroand\\r\\nIn your deare heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThanckes, Sir. Remember me\\r\\nTo our all royall Brother, for whose speede\\r\\nThe great Bellona ile sollicite; and\\r\\nSince in our terrene State petitions are not\\r\\nWithout giftes understood, Ile offer to her\\r\\nWhat I shall be advised she likes: our hearts\\r\\nAre in his Army, in his Tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nIn\\'s bosome:\\r\\nWe have bin Soldiers, and wee cannot weepe\\r\\nWhen our Friends don their helmes, or put to sea,\\r\\nOr tell of Babes broachd on the Launce, or women\\r\\nThat have sod their Infants in (and after eate them)\\r\\nThe brine, they wept at killing \\'em; Then if\\r\\nYou stay to see of us such Spincsters, we\\r\\nShould hold you here for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nPeace be to you,\\r\\nAs I pursue this war, which shall be then\\r\\nBeyond further requiring. [Exit Pir.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHow his longing\\r\\nFollowes his Friend! since his depart, his sportes\\r\\nThough craving seriousnes, and skill, past slightly\\r\\nHis careles execution, where nor gaine\\r\\nMade him regard, or losse consider; but\\r\\nPlaying one busines in his hand, another\\r\\nDirecting in his head, his minde, nurse equall\\r\\nTo these so diffring Twyns—have you observ\\'d him,\\r\\nSince our great Lord departed?\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nWith much labour,\\r\\nAnd I did love him fort: they two have Cabind\\r\\nIn many as dangerous, as poore a Corner,\\r\\nPerill and want contending; they have skift\\r\\nTorrents whose roring tyranny and power\\r\\nI\\'th least of these was dreadfull, and they have\\r\\nFought out together, where Deaths-selfe was lodgd,\\r\\nYet fate hath brought them off: Their knot of love,\\r\\nTide, weau\\'d, intangled, with so true, so long,\\r\\nAnd with a finger of so deepe a cunning,\\r\\nMay be outworne, never undone. I thinke\\r\\nTheseus cannot be umpire to himselfe,\\r\\nCleaving his conscience into twaine and doing\\r\\nEach side like Iustice, which he loves best.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nDoubtlesse\\r\\nThere is a best, and reason has no manners\\r\\nTo say it is not you: I was acquainted\\r\\nOnce with a time, when I enjoyd a Play-fellow;\\r\\nYou were at wars, when she the grave enrichd,\\r\\nWho made too proud the Bed, tooke leave o th Moone\\r\\n(Which then lookt pale at parting) when our count\\r\\nWas each eleven.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nTwas Flaui(n)a.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\nYou talke of Pirithous and Theseus love;\\r\\nTheirs has more ground, is more maturely seasond,\\r\\nMore buckled with strong Iudgement and their needes\\r\\nThe one of th\\'other may be said to water [2. Hearses ready\\r\\n with Palamon: and Arcite: the 3. Queenes. Theseus: and his\\r\\n Lordes ready.]\\r\\nTheir intertangled rootes of love; but I\\r\\nAnd shee I sigh and spoke of were things innocent,\\r\\nLou\\'d for we did, and like the Elements\\r\\nThat know not what, nor why, yet doe effect\\r\\nRare issues by their operance, our soules\\r\\nDid so to one another; what she lik\\'d,\\r\\nWas then of me approov\\'d, what not, condemd,\\r\\nNo more arraignment; the flowre that I would plucke\\r\\nAnd put betweene my breasts (then but beginning\\r\\nTo swell about the blossome) oh, she would long\\r\\nTill shee had such another, and commit it\\r\\nTo the like innocent Cradle, where Phenix like\\r\\nThey dide in perfume: on my head no toy\\r\\nBut was her patterne; her affections (pretty,\\r\\nThough, happely, her careles were) I followed\\r\\nFor my most serious decking; had mine eare\\r\\nStolne some new aire, or at adventure humd on\\r\\nFrom musicall Coynadge, why it was a note\\r\\nWhereon her spirits would sojourne (rather dwell on)\\r\\nAnd sing it in her slumbers. This rehearsall\\r\\n(Which ev\\'ry innocent wots well comes in\\r\\nLike old importments bastard) has this end,\\r\\nThat the true love tweene Mayde, and mayde, may be\\r\\nMore then in sex idividuall.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nY\\'are out of breath\\r\\nAnd this high speeded pace, is but to say\\r\\nThat you shall never like the Maide Flavina\\r\\nLove any that\\'s calld Man.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI am sure I shall not.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nNow, alacke, weake Sister,\\r\\nI must no more beleeve thee in this point\\r\\n(Though in\\'t I know thou dost beleeve thy selfe,)\\r\\nThen I will trust a sickely appetite,\\r\\nThat loathes even as it longs; but, sure, my Sister,\\r\\nIf I were ripe for your perswasion, you\\r\\nHave saide enough to shake me from the Arme\\r\\nOf the all noble Theseus, for whose fortunes\\r\\nI will now in, and kneele with great assurance,\\r\\nThat we, more then his Pirothous, possesse\\r\\nThe high throne in his heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI am not\\r\\nAgainst your faith; yet I continew mine. [Exeunt. Cornets.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. (A field before Thebes. Dead bodies lying on the ground.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[A Battaile strooke within: Then a Retrait: Florish. Then\\r\\n Enter Theseus (victor), (Herald and Attendants:) the three\\r\\n Queenes meete him, and fall on their faces before him.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nTo thee no starre be darke.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nBoth heaven and earth\\r\\nFriend thee for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nAll the good that may\\r\\nBe wishd upon thy head, I cry Amen too\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nTh\\'imparciall Gods, who from the mounted heavens\\r\\nView us their mortall Heard, behold who erre,\\r\\nAnd in their time chastice: goe and finde out\\r\\nThe bones of your dead Lords, and honour them\\r\\nWith treble Ceremonie; rather then a gap\\r\\nShould be in their deere rights, we would supply\\'t.\\r\\nBut those we will depute, which shall invest\\r\\nYou in your dignities, and even each thing\\r\\nOur hast does leave imperfect: So, adiew,\\r\\nAnd heavens good eyes looke on you. What are those? [Exeunt\\r\\nQueenes.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nMen of great quality, as may be judgd\\r\\nBy their appointment; Sone of Thebs have told\\'s\\r\\nThey are Sisters children, Nephewes to the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nBy\\'th Helme of Mars, I saw them in the war,\\r\\nLike to a paire of Lions, smeard with prey,\\r\\nMake lanes in troopes agast. I fixt my note\\r\\nConstantly on them; for they were a marke\\r\\nWorth a god\\'s view: what prisoner was\\'t that told me\\r\\nWhen I enquired their names?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nWi\\'leave, they\\'r called Arcite and Palamon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nTis right: those, those. They are not dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nNor in a state of life: had they bin taken,\\r\\nWhen their last hurts were given, twas possible [3. Hearses\\r\\nready.]\\r\\nThey might have bin recovered; Yet they breathe\\r\\nAnd haue the name of men.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThen like men use \\'em.\\r\\nThe very lees of such (millions of rates)\\r\\nExceede the wine of others: all our Surgions\\r\\nConvent in their behoofe; our richest balmes\\r\\nRather then niggard, waft: their lives concerne us\\r\\nMuch more then Thebs is worth: rather then have \\'em\\r\\nFreed of this plight, and in their morning state\\r\\n(Sound and at liberty) I would \\'em dead;\\r\\nBut forty thousand fold we had rather have \\'em\\r\\nPrisoners to us then death. Beare \\'em speedily\\r\\nFrom our kinde aire, to them unkinde, and minister\\r\\nWhat man to man may doe—for our sake more,\\r\\nSince I have knowne frights, fury, friends beheastes,\\r\\nLoves provocations, zeale, a mistris Taske,\\r\\nDesire of liberty, a feavour, madnes,\\r\\nHath set a marke which nature could not reach too\\r\\nWithout some imposition: sicknes in will\\r\\nOr wrastling strength in reason. For our Love\\r\\nAnd great Appollos mercy, all our best\\r\\nTheir best skill tender. Leade into the Citty,\\r\\nWhere having bound things scatterd, we will post [Florish.]\\r\\nTo Athens for(e) our Army [Exeunt. Musicke.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5. (Another part of the same.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter the Queenes with the Hearses of their Knightes, in a\\r\\n Funerall Solempnity, &c.]\\r\\n\\r\\nVrnes and odours bring away,\\r\\nVapours, sighes, darken the day;\\r\\nOur dole more deadly lookes than dying;\\r\\nBalmes, and Gummes, and heavy cheeres,\\r\\nSacred vials fill\\'d with teares,\\r\\nAnd clamors through the wild ayre flying.\\r\\n\\r\\nCome all sad and solempne Showes,\\r\\nThat are quick-eyd pleasures foes;\\r\\nWe convent nought else but woes.\\r\\nWe convent, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nThis funeral path brings to your housholds grave:\\r\\nIoy ceaze on you againe: peace sleepe with him.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nAnd this to yours.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nYours this way: Heavens lend\\r\\nA thousand differing waies to one sure end.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nThis world\\'s a Citty full of straying Streetes, And Death\\'s the market\\r\\nplace, where each one meetes. [Exeunt severally.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (Athens. A garden, with a prison in the background.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iailor, and Wooer.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI may depart with little, while I live; some thing I may cast to you,\\r\\nnot much: Alas, the Prison I keepe, though it be for great ones, yet\\r\\nthey seldome come; Before one Salmon, you shall take a number of\\r\\nMinnowes. I am given out to be better lyn\\'d then it can appeare to me\\r\\nreport is a true Speaker: I would I were really that I am deliverd to\\r\\nbe. Marry, what I have (be it what it will) I will assure upon my\\r\\ndaughter at the day of my death.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nSir, I demaund no more then your owne offer, and I will estate\\r\\nyour\\r\\nDaughter in what I have promised.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWel, we will talke more of this, when the solemnity is past. But have\\r\\nyou a full promise of her? When that shall be seene, I tender my\\r\\nconsent.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Daughter.]\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI have Sir; here shee comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYour Friend and I have chanced to name you here, upon the old busines:\\r\\nBut no more of that now; so soone as the Court hurry is over, we will\\r\\nhave an end of it: I\\'th meane time looke tenderly to the two Prisoners.\\r\\n I can tell you they are princes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nThese strewings are for their Chamber; tis pitty they are in prison,\\r\\nand twer pitty they should be out: I doe thinke they have patience to\\r\\nmake any adversity asham\\'d; the prison it selfe is proud of \\'em; and\\r\\nthey have all the world in their Chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThey are fam\\'d to be a paire of absolute men.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nBy my troth, I think Fame but stammers \\'em; they stand a greise above\\r\\nthe reach of report.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI heard them reported in the Battaile to be the only doers.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nNay, most likely, for they are noble suffrers; I mervaile how they\\r\\nwould have lookd had they beene Victors, that with such a constant\\r\\nNobility enforce a freedome out of Bondage, making misery their Mirth,\\r\\nand affliction a toy to jest at.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nDoe they so?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIt seemes to me they have no more sence of their Captivity, then I of\\r\\nruling Athens: they eate well, looke merrily, discourse of many things,\\r\\nbut nothing of their owne restraint, and disasters: yet sometime a\\r\\ndevided sigh, martyrd as \\'twer i\\'th deliverance, will breake from one\\r\\nof them; when the other presently gives it so sweete a rebuke, that I\\r\\ncould wish my selfe a Sigh to be so chid, or at least a Sigher to be\\r\\ncomforted.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI never saw \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThe Duke himselfe came privately in the night,\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon, and Arcite, above.]\\r\\n\\r\\nand so did they: what the reason of it is, I know not: Looke, yonder\\r\\nthey are! that\\'s Arcite lookes out.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nNo, Sir, no, that\\'s Palamon: Arcite is the lower of the twaine; you may\\r\\nperceive a part of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nGoe too, leave your pointing; they would not make us their object; out\\r\\nof their sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIt is a holliday to looke on them: Lord, the diffrence of men!\\r\\n [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (The prison)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon, and Arcite in prison.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHow doe you, Noble Cosen?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHow doe you, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhy strong inough to laugh at misery,\\r\\nAnd beare the chance of warre, yet we are prisoners,\\r\\nI feare, for ever, Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI beleeve it,\\r\\nAnd to that destiny have patiently\\r\\nLaide up my houre to come.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO Cosen Arcite,\\r\\nWhere is Thebs now? where is our noble Country?\\r\\nWhere are our friends, and kindreds? never more\\r\\nMust we behold those comforts, never see\\r\\nThe hardy youthes strive for the Games of honour\\r\\n(Hung with the painted favours of their Ladies,\\r\\nLike tall Ships under saile) then start among\\'st \\'em\\r\\nAnd as an Eastwind leave \\'en all behinde us,\\r\\nLike lazy Clowdes, whilst Palamon and Arcite,\\r\\nEven in the wagging of a wanton leg\\r\\nOut-stript the peoples praises, won the Garlands,\\r\\nEre they have time to wish \\'em ours. O never\\r\\nShall we two exercise, like Twyns of honour,\\r\\nOur Armes againe, and feele our fyry horses\\r\\nLike proud Seas under us: our good Swords now\\r\\n(Better the red-eyd god of war nev\\'r wore)\\r\\nRavishd our sides, like age must run to rust,\\r\\nAnd decke the Temples of those gods that hate us:\\r\\nThese hands shall never draw\\'em out like lightning,\\r\\nTo blast whole Armies more.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNo, Palamon,\\r\\nThose hopes are Prisoners with us; here we are\\r\\nAnd here the graces of our youthes must wither\\r\\nLike a too-timely Spring; here age must finde us,\\r\\nAnd, which is heaviest, Palamon, unmarried;\\r\\nThe sweete embraces of a loving wife,\\r\\nLoden with kisses, armd with thousand Cupids\\r\\nShall never claspe our neckes, no issue know us,\\r\\nNo figures of our selves shall we ev\\'r see,\\r\\nTo glad our age, and like young Eagles teach \\'em\\r\\nBoldly to gaze against bright armes, and say:\\r\\n\\'Remember what your fathers were, and conquer.\\'\\r\\nThe faire-eyd Maides, shall weepe our Banishments,\\r\\nAnd in their Songs, curse ever-blinded fortune,\\r\\nTill shee for shame see what a wrong she has done\\r\\nTo youth and nature. This is all our world;\\r\\nWe shall know nothing here but one another,\\r\\nHeare nothing but the Clocke that tels our woes.\\r\\nThe Vine shall grow, but we shall never see it:\\r\\nSommer shall come, and with her all delights;\\r\\nBut dead-cold winter must inhabite here still.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTis too true, Arcite. To our Theban houndes,\\r\\nThat shooke the aged Forrest with their ecchoes,\\r\\nNo more now must we halloa, no more shake\\r\\nOur pointed Iavelyns, whilst the angry Swine\\r\\nFlyes like a parthian quiver from our rages,\\r\\nStrucke with our well-steeld Darts: All valiant uses\\r\\n(The foode, and nourishment of noble mindes,)\\r\\nIn us two here shall perish; we shall die\\r\\n(Which is the curse of honour) lastly\\r\\nChildren of greife, and Ignorance.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYet, Cosen,\\r\\nEven from the bottom of these miseries,\\r\\nFrom all that fortune can inflict upon us,\\r\\nI see two comforts rysing, two meere blessings,\\r\\nIf the gods please: to hold here a brave patience,\\r\\nAnd the enjoying of our greefes together.\\r\\nWhilst Palamon is with me, let me perish\\r\\nIf I thinke this our prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nCerteinly,\\r\\nTis a maine goodnes, Cosen, that our fortunes\\r\\nWere twyn\\'d together; tis most true, two soules\\r\\nPut in two noble Bodies—let \\'em suffer\\r\\nThe gaule of hazard, so they grow together—\\r\\nWill never sincke; they must not, say they could:\\r\\nA willing man dies sleeping, and all\\'s done.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nShall we make worthy uses of this place\\r\\nThat all men hate so much?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHow, gentle Cosen?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nLet\\'s thinke this prison holy sanctuary,\\r\\nTo keepe us from corruption of worse men.\\r\\nWe are young and yet desire the waies of honour,\\r\\nThat liberty and common Conversation,\\r\\nThe poyson of pure spirits, might like women\\r\\nWooe us to wander from. What worthy blessing\\r\\nCan be but our Imaginations\\r\\nMay make it ours? And heere being thus together,\\r\\nWe are an endles mine to one another;\\r\\nWe are one anothers wife, ever begetting\\r\\nNew birthes of love; we are father, friends, acquaintance;\\r\\nWe are, in one another, Families,\\r\\nI am your heire, and you are mine: This place\\r\\nIs our Inheritance, no hard Oppressour\\r\\nDare take this from us; here, with a little patience,\\r\\nWe shall live long, and loving: No surfeits seeke us:\\r\\nThe hand of war hurts none here, nor the Seas\\r\\nSwallow their youth: were we at liberty,\\r\\nA wife might part us lawfully, or busines;\\r\\nQuarrels consume us, Envy of ill men\\r\\nGrave our acquaintance; I might sicken, Cosen,\\r\\nWhere you should never know it, and so perish\\r\\nWithout your noble hand to close mine eies,\\r\\nOr praiers to the gods: a thousand chaunces,\\r\\nWere we from hence, would seaver us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou have made me\\r\\n(I thanke you, Cosen Arcite) almost wanton\\r\\nWith my Captivity: what a misery\\r\\nIt is to live abroade, and every where!\\r\\nTis like a Beast, me thinkes: I finde the Court here—\\r\\nI am sure, a more content; and all those pleasures\\r\\nThat wooe the wils of men to vanity,\\r\\nI see through now, and am sufficient\\r\\nTo tell the world, tis but a gaudy shaddow,\\r\\nThat old Time, as he passes by, takes with him.\\r\\nWhat had we bin, old in the Court of Creon,\\r\\nWhere sin is Iustice, lust and ignorance\\r\\nThe vertues of the great ones! Cosen Arcite,\\r\\nHad not the loving gods found this place for us,\\r\\nWe had died as they doe, ill old men, unwept,\\r\\nAnd had their Epitaphes, the peoples Curses:\\r\\nShall I say more?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI would heare you still.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYe shall.\\r\\nIs there record of any two that lov\\'d\\r\\nBetter then we doe, Arcite?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSure, there cannot.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI doe not thinke it possible our friendship\\r\\nShould ever leave us.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTill our deathes it cannot;\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Emilia and her woman (below).]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd after death our spirits shall be led\\r\\nTo those that love eternally. Speake on, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThis garden has a world of pleasures in\\'t.\\r\\nWhat Flowre is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nTis calld Narcissus, Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat was a faire Boy, certaine, but a foole,\\r\\nTo love himselfe; were there not maides enough?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nPray forward.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nOr were they all hard hearted?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nThey could not be to one so faire.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThou wouldst not.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nI thinke I should not, Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat\\'s a good wench:\\r\\nBut take heede to your kindnes though.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nWhy, Madam?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMen are mad things.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWill ye goe forward, Cosen?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nCanst not thou worke such flowers in silke, wench?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIle have a gowne full of \\'em, and of these;\\r\\nThis is a pretty colour, wilt not doe\\r\\nRarely upon a Skirt, wench?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nDeinty, Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nCosen, Cosen, how doe you, Sir? Why, Palamon?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNever till now I was in prison, Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWhy whats the matter, Man?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBehold, and wonder.\\r\\nBy heaven, shee is a Goddesse.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHa.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDoe reverence. She is a Goddesse, Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nOf all Flowres, me thinkes a Rose is best.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nWhy, gentle Madam?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIt is the very Embleme of a Maide.\\r\\nFor when the west wind courts her gently,\\r\\nHow modestly she blowes, and paints the Sun,\\r\\nWith her chaste blushes! When the North comes neere her,\\r\\nRude and impatient, then, like Chastity,\\r\\nShee lockes her beauties in her bud againe,\\r\\nAnd leaves him to base briers.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nYet, good Madam,\\r\\nSometimes her modesty will blow so far\\r\\nShe fals for\\'t: a Mayde,\\r\\nIf shee have any honour, would be loth\\r\\nTo take example by her.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThou art wanton.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nShe is wondrous faire.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nShe is beauty extant.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThe Sun grows high, lets walk in: keep these flowers;\\r\\nWeele see how neere Art can come neere their colours.\\r\\nI am wondrous merry hearted, I could laugh now.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nI could lie downe, I am sure.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAnd take one with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nThat\\'s as we bargaine, Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWell, agree then. [Exeunt Emilia and woman.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhat thinke you of this beauty?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTis a rare one.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIs\\'t but a rare one?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, a matchles beauty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMight not a man well lose himselfe and love her?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI cannot tell what you have done, I have;\\r\\nBeshrew mine eyes for\\'t: now I feele my Shackles.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou love her, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWho would not?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAnd desire her?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBefore my liberty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI saw her first.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat\\'s nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBut it shall be.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI saw her too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes, but you must not love her.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI will not as you doe, to worship her,\\r\\nAs she is heavenly, and a blessed Goddes;\\r\\nI love her as a woman, to enjoy her:\\r\\nSo both may love.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou shall not love at all.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNot love at all!\\r\\nWho shall deny me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI, that first saw her; I, that tooke possession\\r\\nFirst with mine eyes of all those beauties\\r\\nIn her reveald to mankinde: if thou lou\\'st her,\\r\\nOr entertain\\'st a hope to blast my wishes,\\r\\nThou art a Traytour, Arcite, and a fellow\\r\\nFalse as thy Title to her: friendship, blood,\\r\\nAnd all the tyes betweene us I disclaime,\\r\\nIf thou once thinke upon her.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, I love her,\\r\\nAnd if the lives of all my name lay on it,\\r\\nI must doe so; I love her with my soule:\\r\\nIf that will lose ye, farewell, Palamon;\\r\\nI say againe, I love, and in loving her maintaine\\r\\nI am as worthy and as free a lover,\\r\\nAnd have as just a title to her beauty\\r\\nAs any Palamon or any living\\r\\nThat is a mans Sonne.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHave I cald thee friend?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, and have found me so; why are you mov\\'d thus?\\r\\nLet me deale coldly with you: am not I\\r\\nPart of your blood, part of your soule? you have told me\\r\\nThat I was Palamon, and you were Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nAm not I liable to those affections,\\r\\nThose joyes, greifes, angers, feares, my friend shall suffer?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYe may be.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWhy, then, would you deale so cunningly,\\r\\nSo strangely, so vnlike a noble kinesman,\\r\\nTo love alone? speake truely: doe you thinke me\\r\\nVnworthy of her sight?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNo; but unjust,\\r\\nIf thou pursue that sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBecause an other\\r\\nFirst sees the Enemy, shall I stand still\\r\\nAnd let mine honour downe, and never charge?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes, if he be but one.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBut say that one\\r\\nHad rather combat me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nLet that one say so,\\r\\nAnd use thy freedome; els if thou pursuest her,\\r\\nBe as that cursed man that hates his Country,\\r\\nA branded villaine.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou are mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI must be,\\r\\nTill thou art worthy, Arcite; it concernes me,\\r\\nAnd in this madnes, if I hazard thee\\r\\nAnd take thy life, I deale but truely.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nFie, Sir,\\r\\nYou play the Childe extreamely: I will love her,\\r\\nI must, I ought to doe so, and I dare;\\r\\nAnd all this justly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO that now, that now\\r\\nThy false-selfe and thy friend had but this fortune,\\r\\nTo be one howre at liberty, and graspe\\r\\nOur good Swords in our hands! I would quickly teach thee\\r\\nWhat \\'twer to filch affection from another:\\r\\nThou art baser in it then a Cutpurse;\\r\\nPut but thy head out of this window more,\\r\\nAnd as I have a soule, Ile naile thy life too\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThou dar\\'st not, foole, thou canst not, thou art feeble.\\r\\nPut my head out? Ile throw my Body out,\\r\\nAnd leape the garden, when I see her next\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Keeper.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd pitch between her armes to anger thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNo more; the keeper\\'s comming; I shall live\\r\\nTo knocke thy braines out with my Shackles.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDoe.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nBy your leave, Gentlemen—\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNow, honest keeper?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nLord Arcite, you must presently to\\'th Duke;\\r\\nThe cause I know not yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am ready, keeper.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nPrince Palamon, I must awhile bereave you\\r\\nOf your faire Cosens Company. [Exeunt Arcite, and Keeper.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAnd me too,\\r\\nEven when you please, of life. Why is he sent for?\\r\\nIt may be he shall marry her; he\\'s goodly,\\r\\nAnd like enough the Duke hath taken notice\\r\\nBoth of his blood and body: But his falsehood!\\r\\nWhy should a friend be treacherous? If that\\r\\nGet him a wife so noble, and so faire,\\r\\nLet honest men ne\\'re love againe. Once more\\r\\nI would but see this faire One. Blessed Garden,\\r\\nAnd fruite, and flowers more blessed, that still blossom\\r\\nAs her bright eies shine on ye! would I were,\\r\\nFor all the fortune of my life hereafter,\\r\\nYon little Tree, yon blooming Apricocke;\\r\\nHow I would spread, and fling my wanton armes\\r\\nIn at her window; I would bring her fruite\\r\\nFit for the Gods to feed on: youth and pleasure\\r\\nStill as she tasted should be doubled on her,\\r\\nAnd if she be not heavenly, I would make her\\r\\nSo neere the Gods in nature, they should feare her,\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Keeper.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd then I am sure she would love me. How now, keeper.\\r\\nWher\\'s Arcite?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nBanishd: Prince Pirithous\\r\\nObtained his liberty; but never more\\r\\nVpon his oth and life must he set foote\\r\\nVpon this Kingdome.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHees a blessed man!\\r\\nHe shall see Thebs againe, and call to Armes\\r\\nThe bold yong men, that, when he bids \\'em charge,\\r\\nFall on like fire: Arcite shall have a Fortune,\\r\\nIf he dare make himselfe a worthy Lover,\\r\\nYet in the Feild to strike a battle for her;\\r\\nAnd if he lose her then, he\\'s a cold Coward;\\r\\nHow bravely may he beare himselfe to win her\\r\\nIf he be noble Arcite—thousand waies.\\r\\nWere I at liberty, I would doe things\\r\\nOf such a vertuous greatnes, that this Lady,\\r\\nThis blushing virgine, should take manhood to her\\r\\nAnd seeke to ravish me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nMy Lord for you\\r\\nI have this charge too—\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTo discharge my life?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nNo, but from this place to remoove your Lordship:\\r\\nThe windowes are too open.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDevils take \\'em,\\r\\nThat are so envious to me! pre\\'thee kill me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nAnd hang for\\'t afterward.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBy this good light,\\r\\nHad I a sword I would kill thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nWhy, my Lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThou bringst such pelting scuruy news continually\\r\\nThou art not worthy life. I will not goe.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nIndeede, you must, my Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMay I see the garden?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nNoe.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThen I am resolud, I will not goe.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nI must constraine you then: and for you are dangerous,\\r\\nIle clap more yrons on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDoe, good keeper.\\r\\nIle shake \\'em so, ye shall not sleepe;\\r\\nIle make ye a new Morrisse: must I goe?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nThere is no remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nFarewell, kinde window.\\r\\nMay rude winde never hurt thee. O, my Lady,\\r\\nIf ever thou hast felt what sorrow was,\\r\\nDreame how I suffer. Come; now bury me. [Exeunt Palamon, and\\r\\nKeeper.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (The country near Athens.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Arcite.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBanishd the kingdome? tis a benefit,\\r\\nA mercy I must thanke \\'em for, but banishd\\r\\nThe free enjoying of that face I die for,\\r\\nOh twas a studdied punishment, a death\\r\\nBeyond Imagination: Such a vengeance\\r\\nThat, were I old and wicked, all my sins\\r\\nCould never plucke upon me. Palamon,\\r\\nThou ha\\'st the Start now, thou shalt stay and see\\r\\nHer bright eyes breake each morning gainst thy window,\\r\\nAnd let in life into thee; thou shalt feede\\r\\nVpon the sweetenes of a noble beauty,\\r\\nThat nature nev\\'r exceeded, nor nev\\'r shall:\\r\\nGood gods! what happines has Palamon!\\r\\nTwenty to one, hee\\'le come to speake to her,\\r\\nAnd if she be as gentle as she\\'s faire,\\r\\nI know she\\'s his; he has a Tongue will tame\\r\\nTempests, and make the wild Rockes wanton.\\r\\nCome what can come,\\r\\nThe worst is death; I will not leave the Kingdome.\\r\\nI know mine owne is but a heape of ruins,\\r\\nAnd no redresse there; if I goe, he has her.\\r\\nI am resolu\\'d an other shape shall make me,\\r\\nOr end my fortunes. Either way, I am happy:\\r\\nIle see her, and be neere her, or no more.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter 4. Country people, & one with a garlond before them.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nMy Masters, ile be there, that\\'s certaine\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nAnd Ile be there.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nAnd I.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWhy, then, have with ye, Boyes; Tis but a chiding.\\r\\nLet the plough play to day, ile tick\\'lt out\\r\\nOf the Iades tailes to morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nI am sure\\r\\nTo have my wife as jealous as a Turkey:\\r\\nBut that\\'s all one; ile goe through, let her mumble.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nClap her aboard to morrow night, and stoa her,\\r\\nAnd all\\'s made up againe.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nI, doe but put a feskue in her fist, and you shall see her\\r\\nTake a new lesson out, and be a good wench.\\r\\nDoe we all hold against the Maying?\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nHold? what should aile us?\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nArcas will be there.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nAnd Sennois.\\r\\nAnd Rycas, and 3. better lads nev\\'r dancd\\r\\nUnder green Tree. And yee know what wenches: ha?\\r\\nBut will the dainty Domine, the Schoolemaster,\\r\\nKeep touch, doe you thinke? for he do\\'s all, ye know.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nHee\\'l eate a hornebooke ere he faile: goe too, the matter\\'s too farre\\r\\ndriven betweene him and the Tanners daughter, to let slip now, and she\\r\\nmust see the Duke, and she must daunce too.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nShall we be lusty?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nAll the Boyes in Athens blow wind i\\'th breech on\\'s, and heere ile be\\r\\nand there ile be, for our Towne, and here againe, and there againe: ha,\\r\\nBoyes, heigh for the weavers.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nThis must be done i\\'th woods.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nO, pardon me.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nBy any meanes, our thing of learning saies so:\\r\\nWhere he himselfe will edifie the Duke\\r\\nMost parlously in our behalfes: hees excellent i\\'th woods;\\r\\nBring him to\\'th plaines, his learning makes no cry.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWeele see the sports, then; every man to\\'s Tackle:\\r\\nAnd, Sweete Companions, lets rehearse by any meanes,\\r\\nBefore the Ladies see us, and doe sweetly,\\r\\nAnd God knows what May come on\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nContent; the sports once ended, wee\\'l performe.\\r\\nAway, Boyes and hold.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBy your leaves, honest friends: pray you, whither goe you?\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWhither? why, what a question\\'s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, tis a question, to me that know not.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nTo the Games, my Friend.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWhere were you bred, you know it not?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNot farre, Sir,\\r\\nAre there such Games to day?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nYes, marry, are there:\\r\\nAnd such as you neuer saw; The Duke himselfe\\r\\nWill be in person there.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWhat pastimes are they?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWrastling, and Running.—Tis a pretty Fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nThou wilt not goe along?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNot yet, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWell, Sir,\\r\\nTake your owne time: come, Boyes.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nMy minde misgives me;\\r\\nThis fellow has a veng\\'ance tricke o\\'th hip:\\r\\nMarke how his Bodi\\'s made for\\'t\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nIle be hangd, though,\\r\\nIf he dare venture; hang him, plumb porredge,\\r\\nHe wrastle? he rost eggs! Come, lets be gon, Lads. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThis is an offerd oportunity\\r\\nI durst not wish for. Well I could have wrestled,\\r\\nThe best men calld it excellent, and run—\\r\\nSwifter the winde upon a feild of Corne\\r\\n(Curling the wealthy eares) never flew: Ile venture,\\r\\nAnd in some poore disguize be there; who knowes\\r\\nWhether my browes may not be girt with garlands?\\r\\nAnd happines preferre me to a place,\\r\\nWhere I may ever dwell in sight of her. [Exit Arcite.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. (Athens. A room in the prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iailors Daughter alone.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWhy should I love this Gentleman? Tis odds\\r\\nHe never will affect me; I am base,\\r\\nMy Father the meane Keeper of his Prison,\\r\\nAnd he a prince: To marry him is hopelesse;\\r\\nTo be his whore is witles. Out upon\\'t,\\r\\nWhat pushes are we wenches driven to,\\r\\nWhen fifteene once has found us! First, I saw him;\\r\\nI (seeing) thought he was a goodly man;\\r\\nHe has as much to please a woman in him,\\r\\n(If he please to bestow it so) as ever\\r\\nThese eyes yet lookt on. Next, I pittied him,\\r\\nAnd so would any young wench, o\\' my Conscience,\\r\\nThat ever dream\\'d, or vow\\'d her Maydenhead\\r\\nTo a yong hansom Man; Then I lov\\'d him,\\r\\nExtreamely lov\\'d him, infinitely lov\\'d him;\\r\\nAnd yet he had a Cosen, faire as he too.\\r\\nBut in my heart was Palamon, and there,\\r\\nLord, what a coyle he keepes! To heare him\\r\\nSing in an evening, what a heaven it is!\\r\\nAnd yet his Songs are sad ones. Fairer spoken\\r\\nWas never Gentleman. When I come in\\r\\nTo bring him water in a morning, first\\r\\nHe bowes his noble body, then salutes me, thus:\\r\\n\\'Faire, gentle Mayde, good morrow; may thy goodnes\\r\\nGet thee a happy husband.\\' Once he kist me.\\r\\nI lov\\'d my lips the better ten daies after.\\r\\nWould he would doe so ev\\'ry day! He greives much,\\r\\nAnd me as much to see his misery.\\r\\nWhat should I doe, to make him know I love him?\\r\\nFor I would faine enjoy him. Say I ventur\\'d\\r\\nTo set him free? what saies the law then? Thus much\\r\\nFor Law, or kindred! I will doe it,\\r\\nAnd this night, or to morrow, he shall love me. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5. (An open place in Athens.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Pirithous, Emilia: Arcite with a\\r\\nGarland, &c.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[This short florish of Cornets and Showtes within.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou have done worthily; I have not seene,\\r\\nSince Hercules, a man of tougher synewes;\\r\\nWhat ere you are, you run the best, and wrastle,\\r\\nThat these times can allow.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am proud to please you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat Countrie bred you?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThis; but far off, Prince.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAre you a Gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nMy father said so;\\r\\nAnd to those gentle uses gave me life.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAre you his heire?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHis yongest, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYour Father\\r\\nSure is a happy Sire then: what prooves you?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nA little of all noble Quallities:\\r\\nI could have kept a Hawke, and well have holloa\\'d\\r\\nTo a deepe crie of Dogges; I dare not praise\\r\\nMy feat in horsemanship, yet they that knew me\\r\\nWould say it was my best peece: last, and greatest,\\r\\nI would be thought a Souldier.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou are perfect.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nVpon my soule, a proper man.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHe is so.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nHow doe you like him, Ladie?\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nI admire him;\\r\\nI have not seene so yong a man so noble\\r\\n(If he say true,) of his sort.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBeleeve,\\r\\nHis mother was a wondrous handsome woman;\\r\\nHis face, me thinkes, goes that way.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nBut his Body\\r\\nAnd firie minde illustrate a brave Father.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nMarke how his vertue, like a hidden Sun,\\r\\nBreakes through his baser garments.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nHee\\'s well got, sure.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat made you seeke this place, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNoble Theseus,\\r\\nTo purchase name, and doe my ablest service\\r\\nTo such a well-found wonder as thy worth,\\r\\nFor onely in thy Court, of all the world,\\r\\nDwells faire-eyd honor.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nAll his words are worthy.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSir, we are much endebted to your travell,\\r\\nNor shall you loose your wish: Perithous,\\r\\nDispose of this faire Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThankes, Theseus.\\r\\nWhat ere you are y\\'ar mine, and I shall give you\\r\\nTo a most noble service, to this Lady,\\r\\nThis bright yong Virgin; pray, observe her goodnesse;\\r\\nYou have honourd hir faire birth-day with your vertues,\\r\\nAnd as your due y\\'ar hirs: kisse her faire hand, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSir, y\\'ar a noble Giver: dearest Bewtie,\\r\\nThus let me seale my vowd faith: when your Servant\\r\\n(Your most unworthie Creature) but offends you,\\r\\nCommand him die, he shall.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat were too cruell.\\r\\nIf you deserve well, Sir, I shall soone see\\'t:\\r\\nY\\'ar mine, and somewhat better than your rancke\\r\\nIle use you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nIle see you furnish\\'d, and because you say\\r\\nYou are a horseman, I must needs intreat you\\r\\nThis after noone to ride, but tis a rough one.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI like him better, Prince, I shall not then\\r\\nFreeze in my Saddle.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSweet, you must be readie,\\r\\nAnd you, Emilia, and you, Friend, and all,\\r\\nTo morrow by the Sun, to doe observance\\r\\nTo flowry May, in Dians wood: waite well, Sir,\\r\\nVpon your Mistris. Emely, I hope\\r\\nHe shall not goe a foote.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat were a shame, Sir,\\r\\nWhile I have horses: take your choice, and what\\r\\nYou want at any time, let me but know it;\\r\\nIf you serve faithfully, I dare assure you\\r\\nYou\\'l finde a loving Mistris.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf I doe not,\\r\\nLet me finde that my Father ever hated,\\r\\nDisgrace and blowes.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nGo, leade the way; you have won it:\\r\\nIt shall be so; you shall receave all dues\\r\\nFit for the honour you have won; Twer wrong else.\\r\\nSister, beshrew my heart, you have a Servant,\\r\\nThat, if I were a woman, would be Master,\\r\\nBut you are wise. [Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI hope too wise for that, Sir. [Exeunt omnes.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 6. (Before the prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylors Daughter alone.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nLet all the Dukes, and all the divells rore,\\r\\nHe is at liberty: I have venturd for him,\\r\\nAnd out I have brought him to a little wood\\r\\nA mile hence. I have sent him, where a Cedar,\\r\\nHigher than all the rest, spreads like a plane\\r\\nFast by a Brooke, and there he shall keepe close,\\r\\nTill I provide him Fyles and foode, for yet\\r\\nHis yron bracelets are not off. O Love,\\r\\nWhat a stout hearted child thou art! My Father\\r\\nDurst better have indur\\'d cold yron, than done it:\\r\\nI love him beyond love and beyond reason,\\r\\nOr wit, or safetie: I have made him know it.\\r\\nI care not, I am desperate; If the law\\r\\nFinde me, and then condemne me for\\'t, some wenches,\\r\\nSome honest harted Maides, will sing my Dirge,\\r\\nAnd tell to memory my death was noble,\\r\\nDying almost a Martyr: That way he takes,\\r\\nI purpose is my way too: Sure he cannot\\r\\nBe so unmanly, as to leave me here;\\r\\nIf he doe, Maides will not so easily\\r\\nTrust men againe: And yet he has not thank\\'d me\\r\\nFor what I have done: no not so much as kist me,\\r\\nAnd that (me thinkes) is not so well; nor scarcely\\r\\nCould I perswade him to become a Freeman,\\r\\nHe made such scruples of the wrong he did\\r\\nTo me, and to my Father. Yet I hope,\\r\\nWhen he considers more, this love of mine\\r\\nWill take more root within him: Let him doe\\r\\nWhat he will with me, so he use me kindly;\\r\\nFor use me so he shall, or ile proclaime him,\\r\\nAnd to his face, no man. Ile presently\\r\\nProvide him necessaries, and packe my cloathes up,\\r\\nAnd where there is a patch of ground Ile venture,\\r\\nSo hee be with me; By him, like a shadow,\\r\\nIle ever dwell; within this houre the whoobub\\r\\nWill be all ore the prison: I am then\\r\\nKissing the man they looke for: farewell, Father;\\r\\nGet many more such prisoners and such daughters,\\r\\nAnd shortly you may keepe your selfe. Now to him!\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (A forest near Athens.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Cornets in sundry places. Noise and hallowing as people a\\r\\nMaying.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Arcite alone.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThe Duke has lost Hypolita; each tooke\\r\\nA severall land. This is a solemne Right\\r\\nThey owe bloomd May, and the Athenians pay it\\r\\nTo\\'th heart of Ceremony. O Queene Emilia,\\r\\nFresher then May, sweeter\\r\\nThen hir gold Buttons on the bowes, or all\\r\\nTh\\'enamelld knackes o\\'th Meade or garden: yea,\\r\\nWe challenge too the bancke of any Nymph\\r\\nThat makes the streame seeme flowers; thou, o Iewell\\r\\nO\\'th wood, o\\'th world, hast likewise blest a place\\r\\nWith thy sole presence: in thy rumination\\r\\nThat I, poore man, might eftsoones come betweene\\r\\nAnd chop on some cold thought! thrice blessed chance,\\r\\nTo drop on such a Mistris, expectation\\r\\nMost giltlesse on\\'t! tell me, O Lady Fortune,\\r\\n(Next after Emely my Soveraigne) how far\\r\\nI may be prowd. She takes strong note of me,\\r\\nHath made me neere her; and this beuteous Morne\\r\\n(The prim\\'st of all the yeare) presents me with\\r\\nA brace of horses: two such Steeds might well\\r\\nBe by a paire of Kings backt, in a Field\\r\\nThat their crownes titles tride. Alas, alas,\\r\\nPoore Cosen Palamon, poore prisoner, thou\\r\\nSo little dream\\'st upon my fortune, that\\r\\nThou thinkst thy selfe the happier thing, to be\\r\\nSo neare Emilia; me thou deem\\'st at Thebs,\\r\\nAnd therein wretched, although free. But if\\r\\nThou knew\\'st my Mistris breathd on me, and that\\r\\nI ear\\'d her language, livde in her eye, O Coz,\\r\\nWhat passion would enclose thee!\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon as out of a Bush, with his Shackles: bends his fist at\\r\\nArcite.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTraytor kinesman,\\r\\nThou shouldst perceive my passion, if these signes\\r\\nOf prisonment were off me, and this hand\\r\\nBut owner of a Sword: By all othes in one,\\r\\nI and the iustice of my love would make thee\\r\\nA confest Traytor. O thou most perfidious\\r\\nThat ever gently lookd; the voydest of honour,\\r\\nThat eu\\'r bore gentle Token; falsest Cosen\\r\\nThat ever blood made kin, call\\'st thou hir thine?\\r\\nIle prove it in my Shackles, with these hands,\\r\\nVoid of appointment, that thou ly\\'st, and art\\r\\nA very theefe in love, a Chaffy Lord,\\r\\nNor worth the name of villaine: had I a Sword\\r\\nAnd these house clogges away—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDeere Cosin Palamon—\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nCosoner Arcite, give me language such\\r\\nAs thou hast shewd me feate.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNot finding in\\r\\nThe circuit of my breast any grosse stuffe\\r\\nTo forme me like your blazon, holds me to\\r\\nThis gentlenesse of answer; tis your passion\\r\\nThat thus mistakes, the which to you being enemy,\\r\\nCannot to me be kind: honor, and honestie\\r\\nI cherish, and depend on, how so ev\\'r\\r\\nYou skip them in me, and with them, faire Coz,\\r\\nIle maintaine my proceedings; pray, be pleas\\'d\\r\\nTo shew in generous termes your griefes, since that\\r\\nYour question\\'s with your equall, who professes\\r\\nTo cleare his owne way with the minde and Sword\\r\\nOf a true Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThat thou durst, Arcite!\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nMy Coz, my Coz, you have beene well advertis\\'d\\r\\nHow much I dare, y\\'ave seene me use my Sword\\r\\nAgainst th\\'advice of feare: sure, of another\\r\\nYou would not heare me doubted, but your silence\\r\\nShould breake out, though i\\'th Sanctuary.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nSir,\\r\\nI have seene you move in such a place, which well\\r\\nMight justifie your manhood; you were calld\\r\\nA good knight and a bold; But the whole weeke\\'s not faire,\\r\\nIf any day it rayne: Their valiant temper\\r\\nMen loose when they encline to trecherie,\\r\\nAnd then they fight like coupelld Beares, would fly\\r\\nWere they not tyde.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nKinsman, you might as well\\r\\nSpeake this and act it in your Glasse, as to\\r\\nHis eare which now disdaines you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nCome up to me,\\r\\nQuit me of these cold Gyves, give me a Sword,\\r\\nThough it be rustie, and the charity\\r\\nOf one meale lend me; Come before me then,\\r\\nA good Sword in thy hand, and doe but say\\r\\nThat Emily is thine: I will forgive\\r\\nThe trespasse thou hast done me, yea, my life,\\r\\nIf then thou carry\\'t, and brave soules in shades\\r\\nThat have dyde manly, which will seeke of me\\r\\nSome newes from earth, they shall get none but this,\\r\\nThat thou art brave and noble.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBe content:\\r\\nAgaine betake you to your hawthorne house;\\r\\nWith counsaile of the night, I will be here\\r\\nWith wholesome viands; these impediments\\r\\nWill I file off; you shall have garments and\\r\\nPerfumes to kill the smell o\\'th prison; after,\\r\\nWhen you shall stretch your selfe and say but, \\'Arcite,\\r\\nI am in plight,\\' there shall be at your choyce\\r\\nBoth Sword and Armour.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nOh you heavens, dares any\\r\\nSo noble beare a guilty busines! none\\r\\nBut onely Arcite, therefore none but Arcite\\r\\nIn this kinde is so bold.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSweete Palamon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI doe embrace you and your offer,—for\\r\\nYour offer doo\\'t I onely, Sir; your person,\\r\\nWithout hipocrisy I may not wish [Winde hornes of Cornets.]\\r\\nMore then my Swords edge ont.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou heare the Hornes;\\r\\nEnter your Musite least this match between\\'s\\r\\nBe crost, er met: give me your hand; farewell.\\r\\nIle bring you every needfull thing: I pray you,\\r\\nTake comfort and be strong.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nPray hold your promise;\\r\\nAnd doe the deede with a bent brow: most certaine\\r\\nYou love me not, be rough with me, and powre\\r\\nThis oile out of your language; by this ayre,\\r\\nI could for each word give a Cuffe, my stomach\\r\\nNot reconcild by reason.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nPlainely spoken,\\r\\nYet pardon me hard language: when I spur [Winde hornes.]\\r\\nMy horse, I chide him not; content and anger\\r\\nIn me have but one face. Harke, Sir, they call\\r\\nThe scatterd to the Banket; you must guesse\\r\\nI have an office there.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nSir, your attendance\\r\\nCannot please heaven, and I know your office\\r\\nVnjustly is atcheev\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf a good title,\\r\\nI am perswaded this question sicke between\\'s\\r\\nBy bleeding must be cur\\'d. I am a Suitour,\\r\\nThat to your Sword you will bequeath this plea\\r\\nAnd talke of it no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBut this one word:\\r\\nYou are going now to gaze upon my Mistris,\\r\\nFor note you, mine she is—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNay, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNay, pray you,\\r\\nYou talke of feeding me to breed me strength:\\r\\nYou are going now to looke upon a Sun\\r\\nThat strengthens what it lookes on; there\\r\\nYou have a vantage ore me, but enjoy\\'t till\\r\\nI may enforce my remedy. Farewell. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (Another Part of the forest.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylors daughter alone.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nHe has mistooke the Brake I meant, is gone\\r\\nAfter his fancy. Tis now welnigh morning;\\r\\nNo matter, would it were perpetuall night,\\r\\nAnd darkenes Lord o\\'th world. Harke, tis a woolfe:\\r\\nIn me hath greife slaine feare, and but for one thing\\r\\nI care for nothing, and that\\'s Palamon.\\r\\nI wreake not if the wolves would jaw me, so\\r\\nHe had this File: what if I hallowd for him?\\r\\nI cannot hallow: if I whoop\\'d, what then?\\r\\nIf he not answeard, I should call a wolfe,\\r\\nAnd doe him but that service. I have heard\\r\\nStrange howles this live-long night, why may\\'t not be\\r\\nThey have made prey of him? he has no weapons,\\r\\nHe cannot run, the Iengling of his Gives\\r\\nMight call fell things to listen, who have in them\\r\\nA sence to know a man unarmd, and can\\r\\nSmell where resistance is. Ile set it downe\\r\\nHe\\'s torne to peeces; they howld many together\\r\\nAnd then they fed on him: So much for that,\\r\\nBe bold to ring the Bell; how stand I then?\\r\\nAll\\'s char\\'d when he is gone. No, no, I lye,\\r\\nMy Father\\'s to be hang\\'d for his escape;\\r\\nMy selfe to beg, if I prizd life so much\\r\\nAs to deny my act, but that I would not,\\r\\nShould I try death by dussons.—I am mop\\'t,\\r\\nFood tooke I none these two daies,\\r\\nSipt some water. I have not closd mine eyes\\r\\nSave when my lids scowrd off their brine; alas,\\r\\nDissolue my life, Let not my sence unsettle,\\r\\nLeast I should drowne, or stab or hang my selfe.\\r\\nO state of Nature, faile together in me,\\r\\nSince thy best props are warpt! So, which way now?\\r\\nThe best way is the next way to a grave:\\r\\nEach errant step beside is torment. Loe,\\r\\nThe Moone is down, the Cryckets chirpe, the Schreichowle\\r\\nCalls in the dawne; all offices are done\\r\\nSave what I faile in: But the point is this,\\r\\nAn end, and that is all. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (Same as Scene I.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Arcite, with Meate, Wine, and Files.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI should be neere the place: hoa, Cosen Palamon. [Enter\\r\\nPalamon.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nArcite?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThe same: I have brought you foode and files.\\r\\nCome forth and feare not, here\\'s no Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNor none so honest, Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat\\'s no matter,\\r\\nWee\\'l argue that hereafter: Come, take courage;\\r\\nYou shall not dye thus beastly: here, Sir, drinke;\\r\\nI know you are faint: then ile talke further with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nArcite, thou mightst now poyson me.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI might,\\r\\nBut I must feare you first: Sit downe, and, good, now\\r\\nNo more of these vaine parlies; let us not,\\r\\nHaving our ancient reputation with us,\\r\\nMake talke for Fooles and Cowards. To your health, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDoe.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nPray, sit downe then; and let me entreate you,\\r\\nBy all the honesty and honour in you,\\r\\nNo mention of this woman: t\\'will disturbe us;\\r\\nWe shall have time enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWell, Sir, Ile pledge you.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDrinke a good hearty draught; it breeds good blood, man.\\r\\nDoe not you feele it thaw you?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nStay, Ile tell you after a draught or two more.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSpare it not, the Duke has more, Cuz: Eate now.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am glad you have so good a stomach.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI am gladder I have so good meate too\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIs\\'t not mad lodging here in the wild woods, Cosen?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes, for them that have wilde Consciences.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHow tasts your vittails? your hunger needs no sawce, I see.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNot much;\\r\\nBut if it did, yours is too tart, sweete Cosen: what is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nVenison.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTis a lusty meate:\\r\\nGiue me more wine; here, Arcite, to the wenches\\r\\nWe have known in our daies. The Lord Stewards daughter,\\r\\nDoe you remember her?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nAfter you, Cuz.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nShe lov\\'d a black-haird man.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nShe did so; well, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAnd I have heard some call him Arcite, and—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nOut with\\'t, faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nShe met him in an Arbour:\\r\\nWhat did she there, Cuz? play o\\'th virginals?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSomething she did, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMade her groane a moneth for\\'t, or 2. or 3. or 10.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThe Marshals Sister\\r\\nHad her share too, as I remember, Cosen,\\r\\nElse there be tales abroade; you\\'l pledge her?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nA pretty broune wench t\\'is. There was a time\\r\\nWhen yong men went a hunting, and a wood,\\r\\nAnd a broade Beech: and thereby hangs a tale:—heigh ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nFor Emily, upon my life! Foole,\\r\\nAway with this straind mirth; I say againe,\\r\\nThat sigh was breathd for Emily; base Cosen,\\r\\nDar\\'st thou breake first?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou are wide.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBy heaven and earth, ther\\'s nothing in thee honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThen Ile leave you: you are a Beast now.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAs thou makst me, Traytour.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTher\\'s all things needfull, files and shirts, and perfumes:\\r\\nIle come againe some two howres hence, and bring\\r\\nThat that shall quiet all,\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nA Sword and Armour?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nFeare me not; you are now too fowle; farewell.\\r\\nGet off your Trinkets; you shall want nought.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nSir, ha—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIle heare no more. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIf he keepe touch, he dies for\\'t. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. (Another part of the forest.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylors daughter.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI am very cold, and all the Stars are out too,\\r\\nThe little Stars, and all, that looke like aglets:\\r\\nThe Sun has seene my Folly. Palamon!\\r\\nAlas no; hees in heaven. Where am I now?\\r\\nYonder\\'s the sea, and ther\\'s a Ship; how\\'t tumbles!\\r\\nAnd ther\\'s a Rocke lies watching under water;\\r\\nNow, now, it beates upon it; now, now, now,\\r\\nTher\\'s a leak sprung, a sound one, how they cry!\\r\\nSpoon her before the winde, you\\'l loose all els:\\r\\nVp with a course or two, and take about, Boyes.\\r\\nGood night, good night, y\\'ar gone.—I am very hungry.\\r\\nWould I could finde a fine Frog; he would tell me\\r\\nNewes from all parts o\\'th world, then would I make\\r\\nA Carecke of a Cockle shell, and sayle\\r\\nBy east and North East to the King of Pigmes,\\r\\nFor he tels fortunes rarely. Now my Father,\\r\\nTwenty to one, is trust up in a trice\\r\\nTo morrow morning; Ile say never a word.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Sing.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFor ile cut my greene coat a foote above my knee, And ile clip my\\r\\nyellow lockes an inch below mine eie. hey, nonny, nonny, nonny, He\\'s\\r\\nbuy me a white Cut, forth for to ride And ile goe seeke him, throw the\\r\\nworld that is so wide hey nonny, nonny, nonny.\\r\\n\\r\\nO for a pricke now like a Nightingale,\\r\\nTo put my breast against. I shall sleepe like a Top else.\\r\\n[Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5. (Another part of the forest.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter a Schoole master, 4. Countrymen, and Bavian. 2. or 3. wenches,\\r\\nwith a Taborer.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nFy, fy, what tediosity, & disensanity is here among ye? have my\\r\\nRudiments bin labourd so long with ye? milkd unto ye, and by a figure\\r\\neven the very plumbroth & marrow of my understanding laid upon ye? and\\r\\ndo you still cry: where, and how, & wherfore? you most course freeze\\r\\ncapacities, ye jane Iudgements, have I saide: thus let be, and there\\r\\nlet be, and then let be, and no man understand mee? Proh deum, medius\\r\\nfidius, ye are all dunces! For why, here stand I, Here the Duke comes,\\r\\nthere are you close in the Thicket; the Duke appeares, I meete him and\\r\\nunto him I utter learned things and many figures; he heares, and nods,\\r\\nand hums, and then cries: rare, and I goe forward; at length I fling my\\r\\nCap up; marke there; then do you, as once did Meleager and the Bore,\\r\\nbreak comly out before him: like true lovers, cast your selves in a\\r\\nBody decently, and sweetly, by a figure trace and turne, Boyes.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nAnd sweetly we will doe it Master Gerrold.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nDraw up the Company. Where\\'s the Taborour?\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nWhy, Timothy!\\r\\n\\r\\nTABORER.\\r\\nHere, my mad boyes, have at ye.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nBut I say, where\\'s their women?\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nHere\\'s Friz and Maudline.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nAnd little Luce with the white legs, and bouncing Barbery.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nAnd freckeled Nel, that never faild her Master.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nWher be your Ribands, maids? swym with your Bodies\\r\\nAnd carry it sweetly, and deliverly\\r\\nAnd now and then a fauour, and a friske.\\r\\n\\r\\nNEL.\\r\\nLet us alone, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nWher\\'s the rest o\\'th Musicke?\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nDispersd as you commanded.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nCouple, then,\\r\\nAnd see what\\'s wanting; wher\\'s the Bavian?\\r\\nMy friend, carry your taile without offence\\r\\nOr scandall to the Ladies; and be sure\\r\\nYou tumble with audacity and manhood;\\r\\nAnd when you barke, doe it with judgement.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAVIAN.\\r\\nYes, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nQuo usque tandem? Here is a woman wanting.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nWe may goe whistle: all the fat\\'s i\\'th fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nWe have,\\r\\nAs learned Authours utter, washd a Tile,\\r\\nWe have beene FATUUS, and laboured vainely.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nThis is that scornefull peece, that scurvy hilding,\\r\\nThat gave her promise faithfully, she would be here,\\r\\nCicely the Sempsters daughter:\\r\\nThe next gloves that I give her shall be dog skin;\\r\\nNay and she faile me once—you can tell, Arcas,\\r\\nShe swore by wine and bread, she would not breake.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nAn Eele and woman,\\r\\nA learned Poet sayes, unles by\\'th taile\\r\\nAnd with thy teeth thou hold, will either faile.\\r\\nIn manners this was false position\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nA fire ill take her; do\\'s she flinch now?\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nWhat\\r\\nShall we determine, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nNothing.\\r\\nOur busines is become a nullity;\\r\\nYea, and a woefull, and a pittious nullity.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nNow when the credite of our Towne lay on it,\\r\\nNow to be frampall, now to pisse o\\'th nettle!\\r\\nGoe thy waies; ile remember thee, ile fit thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylors daughter.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\n[Sings.]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe George alow came from the South,\\r\\nFrom the coast of Barbary a.\\r\\nAnd there he met with brave gallants of war\\r\\nBy one, by two, by three, a.\\r\\n\\r\\nWell haild, well haild, you jolly gallants,\\r\\nAnd whither now are you bound a?\\r\\nO let me have your company [Chaire and stooles out.]\\r\\nTill (I) come to the sound a.\\r\\n\\r\\nThere was three fooles, fell out about an howlet:\\r\\nThe one sed it was an owle,\\r\\nThe other he sed nay,\\r\\nThe third he sed it was a hawke,\\r\\nAnd her bels wer cut away.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nTher\\'s a dainty mad woman M(aiste)r\\r\\nComes i\\'th Nick, as mad as a march hare:\\r\\nIf wee can get her daunce, wee are made againe:\\r\\nI warrant her, shee\\'l doe the rarest gambols.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nA mad woman? we are made, Boyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nAnd are you mad, good woman?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI would be sorry else;\\r\\nGive me your hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nWhy?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI can tell your fortune.\\r\\nYou are a foole: tell ten. I have pozd him: Buz!\\r\\nFriend you must eate no whitebread; if you doe,\\r\\nYour teeth will bleede extreamely. Shall we dance, ho?\\r\\nI know you, y\\'ar a Tinker: Sirha Tinker,\\r\\nStop no more holes, but what you should.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nDij boni. A Tinker, Damzell?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nOr a Conjurer:\\r\\nRaise me a devill now, and let him play\\r\\nQuipassa o\\'th bels and bones.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nGoe, take her,\\r\\nAnd fluently perswade her to a peace:\\r\\nEt opus exegi, quod nec Iouis ira, nec ignis.\\r\\nStrike up, and leade her in.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nCome, Lasse, lets trip it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIle leade. [Winde Hornes.]\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nDoe, doe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nPerswasively, and cunningly: away, boyes, [Ex. all but\\r\\nSchoolemaster.]\\r\\nI heare the hornes: give me some meditation,\\r\\nAnd marke your Cue.—Pallas inspire me.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Thes. Pir. Hip. Emil. Arcite, and traine.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThis way the Stag tooke.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nStay, and edifie.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat have we here?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nSome Countrey sport, upon my life, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWell, Sir, goe forward, we will edifie.\\r\\nLadies, sit downe, wee\\'l stay it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nThou, doughtie Duke, all haile: all haile, sweet Ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThis is a cold beginning.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nIf you but favour, our Country pastime made is.\\r\\nWe are a few of those collected here,\\r\\nThat ruder Tongues distinguish villager;\\r\\nAnd to say veritie, and not to fable,\\r\\nWe are a merry rout, or else a rable,\\r\\nOr company, or, by a figure, Choris,\\r\\nThat fore thy dignitie will dance a Morris.\\r\\nAnd I, that am the rectifier of all,\\r\\nBy title Pedagogus, that let fall\\r\\nThe Birch upon the breeches of the small ones,\\r\\nAnd humble with a Ferula the tall ones,\\r\\nDoe here present this Machine, or this frame:\\r\\nAnd daintie Duke, whose doughtie dismall fame\\r\\nFrom Dis to Dedalus, from post to pillar,\\r\\nIs blowne abroad, helpe me thy poore well willer,\\r\\nAnd with thy twinckling eyes looke right and straight\\r\\nVpon this mighty MORR—of mickle waight;\\r\\nIS now comes in, which being glewd together,\\r\\nMakes MORRIS, and the cause that we came hether.\\r\\nThe body of our sport, of no small study,\\r\\nI first appeare, though rude, and raw, and muddy,\\r\\nTo speake before thy noble grace this tenner:\\r\\nAt whose great feete I offer up my penner.\\r\\nThe next the Lord of May and Lady bright,\\r\\nThe Chambermaid and Servingman by night\\r\\nThat seeke out silent hanging: Then mine Host\\r\\nAnd his fat Spowse, that welcomes to their cost\\r\\nThe gauled Traveller, and with a beckning\\r\\nInformes the Tapster to inflame the reckning:\\r\\nThen the beast eating Clowne, and next the foole,\\r\\nThe Bavian, with long tayle and eke long toole,\\r\\nCum multis alijs that make a dance:\\r\\nSay \\'I,\\' and all shall presently advance.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI, I, by any meanes, deere Domine.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nProduce.\\r\\n\\r\\n(SCHOOLMASTER.)\\r\\nIntrate, filij; Come forth, and foot it.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Musicke, Dance. Knocke for Schoole.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter the Dance.]\\r\\n\\r\\nLadies, if we have beene merry,\\r\\nAnd have pleasd yee with a derry,\\r\\nAnd a derry, and a downe,\\r\\nSay the Schoolemaster\\'s no Clowne:\\r\\nDuke, if we have pleasd thee too,\\r\\nAnd have done as good Boyes should doe,\\r\\nGive us but a tree or twaine\\r\\nFor a Maypole, and againe,\\r\\nEre another yeare run out,\\r\\nWee\\'l make thee laugh and all this rout.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nTake 20., Domine; how does my sweet heart?\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nNever so pleasd, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nTwas an excellent dance, and for a preface\\r\\nI never heard a better.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSchoolemaster, I thanke you.—One see\\'em all rewarded.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nAnd heer\\'s something to paint your Pole withall.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNow to our sports againe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nMay the Stag thou huntst stand long,\\r\\nAnd thy dogs be swift and strong:\\r\\nMay they kill him without lets,\\r\\nAnd the Ladies eate his dowsets!\\r\\nCome, we are all made. [Winde Hornes.]\\r\\nDij Deoeq(ue) omnes, ye have danc\\'d rarely, wenches. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 6. (Same as Scene III.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon from the Bush.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAbout this houre my Cosen gave his faith\\r\\nTo visit me againe, and with him bring\\r\\nTwo Swords, and two good Armors; if he faile,\\r\\nHe\\'s neither man nor Souldier. When he left me,\\r\\nI did not thinke a weeke could have restord\\r\\nMy lost strength to me, I was growne so low,\\r\\nAnd Crest-falne with my wants: I thanke thee, Arcite,\\r\\nThou art yet a faire Foe; and I feele my selfe\\r\\nWith this refreshing, able once againe\\r\\nTo out dure danger: To delay it longer\\r\\nWould make the world think, when it comes to hearing,\\r\\nThat I lay fatting like a Swine to fight,\\r\\nAnd not a Souldier: Therefore, this blest morning\\r\\nShall be the last; and that Sword he refuses,\\r\\nIf it but hold, I kill him with; tis Iustice:\\r\\nSo love, and Fortune for me!—O, good morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Arcite with Armors and Swords.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nGood morrow, noble kinesman.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI have put you to too much paines, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat too much, faire Cosen,\\r\\nIs but a debt to honour, and my duty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWould you were so in all, Sir; I could wish ye\\r\\nAs kinde a kinsman, as you force me finde\\r\\nA beneficiall foe, that my embraces\\r\\nMight thanke ye, not my blowes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI shall thinke either, well done,\\r\\nA noble recompence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThen I shall quit you.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDefy me in these faire termes, and you show\\r\\nMore then a Mistris to me, no more anger\\r\\nAs you love any thing that\\'s honourable:\\r\\nWe were not bred to talke, man; when we are arm\\'d\\r\\nAnd both upon our guards, then let our fury,\\r\\nLike meeting of two tides, fly strongly from us,\\r\\nAnd then to whom the birthright of this Beauty\\r\\nTruely pertaines (without obbraidings, scornes,\\r\\nDispisings of our persons, and such powtings,\\r\\nFitter for Girles and Schooleboyes) will be seene\\r\\nAnd quickly, yours, or mine: wilt please you arme, Sir,\\r\\nOr if you feele your selfe not fitting yet\\r\\nAnd furnishd with your old strength, ile stay, Cosen,\\r\\nAnd ev\\'ry day discourse you into health,\\r\\nAs I am spard: your person I am friends with,\\r\\nAnd I could wish I had not saide I lov\\'d her,\\r\\nThough I had dide; But loving such a Lady\\r\\nAnd justifying my Love, I must not fly from\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nArcite, thou art so brave an enemy,\\r\\nThat no man but thy Cosen\\'s fit to kill thee:\\r\\nI am well and lusty, choose your Armes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nChoose you, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWilt thou exceede in all, or do\\'st thou doe it\\r\\nTo make me spare thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf you thinke so, Cosen,\\r\\nYou are deceived, for as I am a Soldier,\\r\\nI will not spare you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThat\\'s well said.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou\\'l finde it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThen, as I am an honest man and love\\r\\nWith all the justice of affection,\\r\\nIle pay thee soundly. This ile take.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat\\'s mine, then;\\r\\nIle arme you first.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDo: pray thee, tell me, Cosen,\\r\\nWhere gotst thou this good Armour?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTis the Dukes,\\r\\nAnd to say true, I stole it; doe I pinch you?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNoe.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIs\\'t not too heavie?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI have worne a lighter,\\r\\nBut I shall make it serve.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIle buckl\\'t close.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBy any meanes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou care not for a Grand guard?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNo, no; wee\\'l use no horses: I perceave\\r\\nYou would faine be at that Fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am indifferent.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nFaith, so am I: good Cosen, thrust the buckle\\r\\nThrough far enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI warrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMy Caske now.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWill you fight bare-armd?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWe shall be the nimbler.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBut use your Gauntlets though; those are o\\'th least,\\r\\nPrethee take mine, good Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThanke you, Arcite.\\r\\nHow doe I looke? am I falne much away?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nFaith, very little; love has usd you kindly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIle warrant thee, Ile strike home.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDoe, and spare not;\\r\\nIle give you cause, sweet Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNow to you, Sir:\\r\\nMe thinkes this Armor\\'s very like that, Arcite,\\r\\nThou wor\\'st the day the 3. Kings fell, but lighter.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat was a very good one; and that day,\\r\\nI well remember, you outdid me, Cosen.\\r\\nI never saw such valour: when you chargd\\r\\nVpon the left wing of the Enemie,\\r\\nI spurd hard to come up, and under me\\r\\nI had a right good horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou had indeede; a bright Bay, I remember.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, but all\\r\\nWas vainely labour\\'d in me; you outwent me,\\r\\nNor could my wishes reach you; yet a little\\r\\nI did by imitation.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMore by vertue;\\r\\nYou are modest, Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWhen I saw you charge first,\\r\\nMe thought I heard a dreadfull clap of Thunder\\r\\nBreake from the Troope.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBut still before that flew\\r\\nThe lightning of your valour. Stay a little,\\r\\nIs not this peece too streight?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNo, no, tis well.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI would have nothing hurt thee but my Sword,\\r\\nA bruise would be dishonour.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNow I am perfect.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nStand off, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTake my Sword, I hold it better.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI thanke ye: No, keepe it; your life lyes on it.\\r\\nHere\\'s one; if it but hold, I aske no more\\r\\nFor all my hopes: My Cause and honour guard me! [They bow\\r\\n severall wayes: then advance and stand.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nAnd me my love! Is there ought else to say?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThis onely, and no more: Thou art mine Aunts Son,\\r\\nAnd that blood we desire to shed is mutuall;\\r\\nIn me, thine, and in thee, mine. My Sword\\r\\nIs in my hand, and if thou killst me,\\r\\nThe gods and I forgive thee; If there be\\r\\nA place prepar\\'d for those that sleepe in honour,\\r\\nI wish his wearie soule that falls may win it:\\r\\nFight bravely, Cosen; give me thy noble hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHere, Palamon: This hand shall never more\\r\\nCome neare thee with such friendship.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI commend thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf I fall, curse me, and say I was a coward,\\r\\nFor none but such dare die in these just Tryalls.\\r\\nOnce more farewell, my Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nFarewell, Arcite. [Fight.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Hornes within: they stand.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nLoe, Cosen, loe, our Folly has undon us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhy?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThis is the Duke, a hunting as I told you.\\r\\nIf we be found, we are wretched. O retire\\r\\nFor honours sake, and safety presently\\r\\nInto your Bush agen; Sir, we shall finde\\r\\nToo many howres to dye in: gentle Cosen,\\r\\nIf you be seene you perish instantly\\r\\nFor breaking prison, and I, if you reveale me,\\r\\nFor my contempt. Then all the world will scorne us,\\r\\nAnd say we had a noble difference,\\r\\nBut base disposers of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNo, no, Cosen,\\r\\nI will no more be hidden, nor put off\\r\\nThis great adventure to a second Tryall:\\r\\nI know your cunning, and I know your cause;\\r\\nHe that faints now, shame take him: put thy selfe\\r\\nVpon thy present guard—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou are not mad?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nOr I will make th\\'advantage of this howre\\r\\nMine owne, and what to come shall threaten me,\\r\\nI feare lesse then my fortune: know, weake Cosen,\\r\\nI love Emilia, and in that ile bury\\r\\nThee, and all crosses else.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThen, come what can come,\\r\\nThou shalt know, Palamon, I dare as well\\r\\nDie, as discourse, or sleepe: Onely this feares me,\\r\\nThe law will have the honour of our ends.\\r\\nHave at thy life.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nLooke to thine owne well, Arcite. [Fight againe. Hornes.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Perithous and traine.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat ignorant and mad malicious Traitors,\\r\\nAre you, That gainst the tenor of my Lawes\\r\\nAre making Battaile, thus like Knights appointed,\\r\\nWithout my leave, and Officers of Armes?\\r\\nBy Castor, both shall dye.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHold thy word, Theseus.\\r\\nWe are certainly both Traitors, both despisers\\r\\nOf thee and of thy goodnesse: I am Palamon,\\r\\nThat cannot love thee, he that broke thy Prison;\\r\\nThinke well what that deserves: and this is Arcite,\\r\\nA bolder Traytor never trod thy ground,\\r\\nA Falser neu\\'r seem\\'d friend: This is the man\\r\\nWas begd and banish\\'d; this is he contemnes thee\\r\\nAnd what thou dar\\'st doe, and in this disguise\\r\\nAgainst thy owne Edict followes thy Sister,\\r\\nThat fortunate bright Star, the faire Emilia,\\r\\nWhose servant, (if there be a right in seeing,\\r\\nAnd first bequeathing of the soule to) justly\\r\\nI am, and, which is more, dares thinke her his.\\r\\nThis treacherie, like a most trusty Lover,\\r\\nI call\\'d him now to answer; if thou bee\\'st,\\r\\nAs thou art spoken, great and vertuous,\\r\\nThe true descider of all injuries,\\r\\nSay, \\'Fight againe,\\' and thou shalt see me, Theseus,\\r\\nDoe such a Iustice, thou thy selfe wilt envie.\\r\\nThen take my life; Ile wooe thee too\\'t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nO heaven,\\r\\nWhat more then man is this!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI have sworne.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWe seeke not\\r\\nThy breath of mercy, Theseus. Tis to me\\r\\nA thing as soone to dye, as thee to say it,\\r\\nAnd no more mov\\'d: where this man calls me Traitor,\\r\\nLet me say thus much: if in love be Treason,\\r\\nIn service of so excellent a Beutie,\\r\\nAs I love most, and in that faith will perish,\\r\\nAs I have brought my life here to confirme it,\\r\\nAs I have serv\\'d her truest, worthiest,\\r\\nAs I dare kill this Cosen, that denies it,\\r\\nSo let me be most Traitor, and ye please me.\\r\\nFor scorning thy Edict, Duke, aske that Lady\\r\\nWhy she is faire, and why her eyes command me\\r\\nStay here to love her; and if she say \\'Traytor,\\'\\r\\nI am a villaine fit to lye unburied.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThou shalt have pitty of us both, o Theseus,\\r\\nIf unto neither thou shew mercy; stop\\r\\n(As thou art just) thy noble eare against us.\\r\\nAs thou art valiant, for thy Cosens soule\\r\\nWhose 12. strong labours crowne his memory,\\r\\nLets die together, at one instant, Duke,\\r\\nOnely a little let him fall before me,\\r\\nThat I may tell my Soule he shall not have her.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI grant your wish, for, to say true, your Cosen\\r\\nHas ten times more offended; for I gave him\\r\\nMore mercy then you found, Sir, your offenses\\r\\nBeing no more then his. None here speake for \\'em,\\r\\nFor, ere the Sun set, both shall sleepe for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nAlas the pitty! now or never, Sister,\\r\\nSpeake, not to be denide; That face of yours\\r\\nWill beare the curses else of after ages\\r\\nFor these lost Cosens.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIn my face, deare Sister,\\r\\nI finde no anger to \\'em, nor no ruyn;\\r\\nThe misadventure of their owne eyes kill \\'em;\\r\\nYet that I will be woman, and have pitty,\\r\\nMy knees shall grow to\\'th ground but Ile get mercie.\\r\\nHelpe me, deare Sister; in a deede so vertuous\\r\\nThe powers of all women will be with us.\\r\\nMost royall Brother—\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nSir, by our tye of Marriage—\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBy your owne spotlesse honour—\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nBy that faith,\\r\\nThat faire hand, and that honest heart you gave me.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBy that you would have pitty in another,\\r\\nBy your owne vertues infinite.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nBy valour,\\r\\nBy all the chaste nights I have ever pleasd you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThese are strange Conjurings.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nNay, then, Ile in too:\\r\\nBy all our friendship, Sir, by all our dangers,\\r\\nBy all you love most: warres and this sweet Lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBy that you would have trembled to deny,\\r\\nA blushing Maide.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nBy your owne eyes: By strength,\\r\\nIn which you swore I went beyond all women,\\r\\nAlmost all men, and yet I yeelded, Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nTo crowne all this: By your most noble soule,\\r\\nWhich cannot want due mercie, I beg first.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nNext, heare my prayers.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nLast, let me intreate, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nFor mercy.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nMercy.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMercy on these Princes.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYe make my faith reele: Say I felt\\r\\nCompassion to\\'em both, how would you place it?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nVpon their lives: But with their banishments.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou are a right woman, Sister; you have pitty,\\r\\nBut want the vnderstanding where to use it.\\r\\nIf you desire their lives, invent a way\\r\\nSafer then banishment: Can these two live\\r\\nAnd have the agony of love about \\'em,\\r\\nAnd not kill one another? Every day\\r\\nThey\\'ld fight about you; howrely bring your honour\\r\\nIn publique question with their Swords. Be wise, then,\\r\\nAnd here forget \\'em; it concernes your credit\\r\\nAnd my oth equally: I have said they die;\\r\\nBetter they fall by\\'th law, then one another.\\r\\nBow not my honor.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO my noble Brother,\\r\\nThat oth was rashly made, and in your anger,\\r\\nYour reason will not hold it; if such vowes\\r\\nStand for expresse will, all the world must perish.\\r\\nBeside, I have another oth gainst yours,\\r\\nOf more authority, I am sure more love,\\r\\nNot made in passion neither, but good heede.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat is it, Sister?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nVrge it home, brave Lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat you would nev\\'r deny me any thing\\r\\nFit for my modest suit, and your free granting:\\r\\nI tye you to your word now; if ye fall in\\'t,\\r\\nThinke how you maime your honour,\\r\\n(For now I am set a begging, Sir, I am deafe\\r\\nTo all but your compassion.) How, their lives\\r\\nMight breed the ruine of my name, Opinion!\\r\\nShall any thing that loves me perish for me?\\r\\nThat were a cruell wisedome; doe men proyne\\r\\nThe straight yong Bowes that blush with thousand Blossoms,\\r\\nBecause they may be rotten? O Duke Theseus,\\r\\nThe goodly Mothers that have groand for these,\\r\\nAnd all the longing Maides that ever lov\\'d,\\r\\nIf your vow stand, shall curse me and my Beauty,\\r\\nAnd in their funerall songs for these two Cosens\\r\\nDespise my crueltie, and cry woe worth me,\\r\\nTill I am nothing but the scorne of women;\\r\\nFor heavens sake save their lives, and banish \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nOn what conditions?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nSweare\\'em never more\\r\\nTo make me their Contention, or to know me,\\r\\nTo tread upon thy Dukedome; and to be,\\r\\nWhere ever they shall travel, ever strangers\\r\\nTo one another.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIle be cut a peeces\\r\\nBefore I take this oth: forget I love her?\\r\\nO all ye gods dispise me, then! Thy Banishment\\r\\nI not mislike, so we may fairely carry\\r\\nOur Swords and cause along: else, never trifle,\\r\\nBut take our lives, Duke: I must love and will,\\r\\nAnd for that love must and dare kill this Cosen\\r\\nOn any peece the earth has.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWill you, Arcite,\\r\\nTake these conditions?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHe\\'s a villaine, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThese are men.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNo, never, Duke: Tis worse to me than begging\\r\\nTo take my life so basely; though I thinke\\r\\nI never shall enjoy her, yet ile preserve\\r\\nThe honour of affection, and dye for her,\\r\\nMake death a Devill.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat may be done? for now I feele compassion.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nLet it not fall agen, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSay, Emilia,\\r\\nIf one of them were dead, as one must, are you\\r\\nContent to take th\\'other to your husband?\\r\\nThey cannot both enjoy you; They are Princes\\r\\nAs goodly as your owne eyes, and as noble\\r\\nAs ever fame yet spoke of; looke upon \\'em,\\r\\nAnd if you can love, end this difference.\\r\\nI give consent; are you content too, Princes?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTH.\\r\\nWith all our soules.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nHe that she refuses\\r\\nMust dye, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTH.\\r\\nAny death thou canst invent, Duke.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIf I fall from that mouth, I fall with favour,\\r\\nAnd Lovers yet unborne shall blesse my ashes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf she refuse me, yet my grave will wed me,\\r\\nAnd Souldiers sing my Epitaph.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nMake choice, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI cannot, Sir, they are both too excellent:\\r\\nFor me, a hayre shall never fall of these men.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nWhat will become of \\'em?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThus I ordaine it;\\r\\nAnd by mine honor, once againe, it stands,\\r\\nOr both shall dye:—You shall both to your Countrey,\\r\\nAnd each within this moneth, accompanied\\r\\nWith three faire Knights, appeare againe in this place,\\r\\nIn which Ile plant a Pyramid; and whether,\\r\\nBefore us that are here, can force his Cosen\\r\\nBy fayre and knightly strength to touch the Pillar,\\r\\nHe shall enjoy her: the other loose his head,\\r\\nAnd all his friends; Nor shall he grudge to fall,\\r\\nNor thinke he dies with interest in this Lady:\\r\\nWill this content yee?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes: here, Cosen Arcite,\\r\\nI am friends againe, till that howre.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI embrace ye.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAre you content, Sister?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYes, I must, Sir,\\r\\nEls both miscarry.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nCome, shake hands againe, then;\\r\\nAnd take heede, as you are Gentlemen, this Quarrell\\r\\nSleepe till the howre prefixt; and hold your course.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWe dare not faile thee, Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nCome, Ile give ye\\r\\nNow usage like to Princes, and to Friends:\\r\\nWhen ye returne, who wins, Ile settle heere;\\r\\nWho looses, yet Ile weepe upon his Beere. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (Athens. A room in the prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iailor and his friend.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHeare you no more? was nothing saide of me\\r\\nConcerning the escape of Palamon?\\r\\nGood Sir, remember.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nNothing that I heard,\\r\\nFor I came home before the busines\\r\\nWas fully ended: Yet I might perceive,\\r\\nEre I departed, a great likelihood\\r\\nOf both their pardons: For Hipolita,\\r\\nAnd faire-eyd Emilie, upon their knees\\r\\nBegd with such hansom pitty, that the Duke\\r\\nMe thought stood staggering, whether he should follow\\r\\nHis rash oth, or the sweet compassion\\r\\nOf those two Ladies; and to second them,\\r\\nThat truely noble Prince Perithous,\\r\\nHalfe his owne heart, set in too, that I hope\\r\\nAll shall be well: Neither heard I one question\\r\\nOf your name or his scape.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter 2. Friend.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nPray heaven it hold so.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nBe of good comfort, man; I bring you newes,\\r\\nGood newes.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThey are welcome,\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nPalamon has cleerd you,\\r\\nAnd got your pardon, and discoverd how\\r\\nAnd by whose meanes he escapt, which was your Daughters,\\r\\nWhose pardon is procurd too; and the Prisoner,\\r\\nNot to be held ungratefull to her goodnes,\\r\\nHas given a summe of money to her Marriage,\\r\\nA large one, ile assure you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYe are a good man\\r\\nAnd ever bring good newes.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nHow was it ended?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nWhy, as it should be; they that nev\\'r begd\\r\\nBut they prevaild, had their suites fairely granted,\\r\\nThe prisoners have their lives.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nI knew t\\'would be so.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nBut there be new conditions, which you\\'l heare of\\r\\nAt better time.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI hope they are good.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nThey are honourable,\\r\\nHow good they\\'l prove, I know not.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Wooer.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nT\\'will be knowne.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nAlas, Sir, wher\\'s your Daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWhy doe you aske?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nO, Sir, when did you see her?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nHow he lookes?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThis morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nWas she well? was she in health, Sir?\\r\\nWhen did she sleepe?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nThese are strange Questions.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI doe not thinke she was very well, for now\\r\\nYou make me minde her, but this very day\\r\\nI ask\\'d her questions, and she answered me\\r\\nSo farre from what she was, so childishly,\\r\\nSo sillily, as if she were a foole,\\r\\nAn Inocent, and I was very angry.\\r\\nBut what of her, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nNothing but my pitty;\\r\\nBut you must know it, and as good by me\\r\\nAs by an other that lesse loves her—\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWell, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nNot right?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nNot well?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nNo, Sir, not well.\\r\\nTis too true, she is mad.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nIt cannot be.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nBeleeve, you\\'l finde it so.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI halfe suspected\\r\\nWhat you (have) told me: the gods comfort her:\\r\\nEither this was her love to Palamon,\\r\\nOr feare of my miscarrying on his scape,\\r\\nOr both.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nTis likely.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nBut why all this haste, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nIle tell you quickly. As I late was angling\\r\\nIn the great Lake that lies behind the Pallace,\\r\\nFrom the far shore, thicke set with reedes and Sedges,\\r\\nAs patiently I was attending sport,\\r\\nI heard a voyce, a shrill one, and attentive\\r\\nI gave my eare, when I might well perceive\\r\\nT\\'was one that sung, and by the smallnesse of it\\r\\nA boy or woman. I then left my angle\\r\\nTo his owne skill, came neere, but yet perceivd not\\r\\nWho made the sound, the rushes and the Reeds\\r\\nHad so encompast it: I laide me downe\\r\\nAnd listned to the words she sung, for then,\\r\\nThrough a small glade cut by the Fisher men,\\r\\nI saw it was your Daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nPray, goe on, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nShe sung much, but no sence; onely I heard her\\r\\nRepeat this often: \\'Palamon is gone,\\r\\nIs gone to\\'th wood to gather Mulberies;\\r\\nIle finde him out to morrow.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nPretty soule.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\n\\'His shackles will betray him, hee\\'l be taken,\\r\\nAnd what shall I doe then? Ile bring a beavy,\\r\\nA hundred blacke eyd Maides, that love as I doe,\\r\\nWith Chaplets on their heads of Daffadillies,\\r\\nWith cherry-lips, and cheekes of Damaske Roses,\\r\\nAnd all wee\\'l daunce an Antique fore the Duke,\\r\\nAnd beg his pardon.\\' Then she talk\\'d of you, Sir;\\r\\nThat you must loose your head to morrow morning,\\r\\nAnd she must gather flowers to bury you,\\r\\nAnd see the house made handsome: then she sung\\r\\nNothing but \\'Willow, willow, willow,\\' and betweene\\r\\nEver was, \\'Palamon, faire Palamon,\\'\\r\\nAnd \\'Palamon was a tall yong man.\\' The place\\r\\nWas knee deepe where she sat; her careles Tresses\\r\\nA wreathe of bull-rush rounded; about her stucke\\r\\nThousand fresh water flowers of severall cullors,\\r\\nThat me thought she appeard like the faire Nimph\\r\\nThat feedes the lake with waters, or as Iris\\r\\nNewly dropt downe from heaven; Rings she made\\r\\nOf rushes that grew by, and to \\'em spoke\\r\\nThe prettiest posies: \\'Thus our true love\\'s tide,\\'\\r\\n\\'This you may loose, not me,\\' and many a one:\\r\\nAnd then she wept, and sung againe, and sigh\\'d,\\r\\nAnd with the same breath smil\\'d, and kist her hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nAlas, what pitty it is!\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI made in to her.\\r\\nShe saw me, and straight sought the flood; I sav\\'d her,\\r\\nAnd set her safe to land: when presently\\r\\nShe slipt away, and to the Citty made,\\r\\nWith such a cry and swiftnes, that, beleeve me,\\r\\nShee left me farre behinde her; three or foure\\r\\nI saw from farre off crosse her, one of \\'em\\r\\nI knew to be your brother; where she staid,\\r\\nAnd fell, scarce to be got away: I left them with her, [Enter\\r\\n Brother, Daughter, and others.]\\r\\nAnd hether came to tell you. Here they are.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER. [sings.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMay you never more enjoy the light, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nIs not this a fine Song?\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nO, a very fine one.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI can sing twenty more.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nI thinke you can.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYes, truely, can I; I can sing the Broome,\\r\\nAnd Bony Robin. Are not you a tailour?\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWher\\'s my wedding Gowne?\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nIle bring it to morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nDoe, very rarely; I must be abroad else\\r\\nTo call the Maides, and pay the Minstrels,\\r\\nFor I must loose my Maydenhead by cock-light;\\r\\nTwill never thrive else.\\r\\n[Singes.] O faire, oh sweete, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nYou must ev\\'n take it patiently.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nTis true.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nGood ev\\'n, good men; pray, did you ever heare\\r\\nOf one yong Palamon?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYes, wench, we know him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIs\\'t not a fine yong Gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nTis Love.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nBy no meane crosse her; she is then distemperd\\r\\nFar worse then now she showes.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nYes, he\\'s a fine man.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nO, is he so? you have a Sister?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nBut she shall never have him, tell her so,\\r\\nFor a tricke that I know; y\\'had best looke to her,\\r\\nFor if she see him once, she\\'s gone, she\\'s done,\\r\\nAnd undon in an howre. All the young Maydes\\r\\nOf our Towne are in love with him, but I laugh at \\'em\\r\\nAnd let \\'em all alone; Is\\'t not a wise course?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nThere is at least two hundred now with child by him—\\r\\nThere must be fowre; yet I keepe close for all this,\\r\\nClose as a Cockle; and all these must be Boyes,\\r\\nHe has the tricke on\\'t, and at ten yeares old\\r\\nThey must be all gelt for Musitians,\\r\\nAnd sing the wars of Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nThis is strange.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAs ever you heard, but say nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nThey come from all parts of the Dukedome to him;\\r\\nIle warrant ye, he had not so few last night\\r\\nAs twenty to dispatch: hee\\'l tickl\\'t up\\r\\nIn two howres, if his hand be in.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nShe\\'s lost\\r\\nPast all cure.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nHeaven forbid, man.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nCome hither, you are a wise man.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nDo\\'s she know him?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nNo, would she did.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYou are master of a Ship?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWher\\'s your Compasse?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHeere.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nSet it too\\'th North.\\r\\nAnd now direct your course to\\'th wood, wher Palamon\\r\\nLyes longing for me; For the Tackling\\r\\nLet me alone; Come, waygh, my hearts, cheerely!\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nOwgh, owgh, owgh, tis up, the wind\\'s faire,\\r\\nTop the Bowling, out with the maine saile;\\r\\nWher\\'s your Whistle, Master?\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nLets get her in.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nVp to the top, Boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nWher\\'s the Pilot?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nHeere.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWhat ken\\'st thou?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nA faire wood.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nBeare for it, master: take about! [Singes.]\\r\\nWhen Cinthia with her borrowed light, &c. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (A Room in the Palace.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Emilia alone, with 2. Pictures.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYet I may binde those wounds up, that must open\\r\\nAnd bleed to death for my sake else; Ile choose,\\r\\nAnd end their strife: Two such yong hansom men\\r\\nShall never fall for me, their weeping Mothers,\\r\\nFollowing the dead cold ashes of their Sonnes,\\r\\nShall never curse my cruelty. Good heaven,\\r\\nWhat a sweet face has Arcite! if wise nature,\\r\\nWith all her best endowments, all those beuties\\r\\nShe sowes into the birthes of noble bodies,\\r\\nWere here a mortall woman, and had in her\\r\\nThe coy denialls of yong Maydes, yet doubtles,\\r\\nShe would run mad for this man: what an eye,\\r\\nOf what a fyry sparkle, and quick sweetnes,\\r\\nHas this yong Prince! Here Love himselfe sits smyling,\\r\\nIust such another wanton Ganimead\\r\\nSet Jove a fire with, and enforcd the god\\r\\nSnatch up the goodly Boy, and set him by him\\r\\nA shining constellation: What a brow,\\r\\nOf what a spacious Majesty, he carries!\\r\\nArch\\'d like the great eyd Iuno\\'s, but far sweeter,\\r\\nSmoother then Pelops Shoulder! Fame and honour,\\r\\nMe thinks, from hence, as from a Promontory\\r\\nPointed in heaven, should clap their wings, and sing\\r\\nTo all the under world the Loves and Fights\\r\\nOf gods, and such men neere \\'em. Palamon\\r\\nIs but his foyle, to him a meere dull shadow:\\r\\nHee\\'s swarth and meagre, of an eye as heavy\\r\\nAs if he had lost his mother; a still temper,\\r\\nNo stirring in him, no alacrity,\\r\\nOf all this sprightly sharpenes not a smile;\\r\\nYet these that we count errours may become him:\\r\\nNarcissus was a sad Boy, but a heavenly:—\\r\\nOh who can finde the bent of womans fancy?\\r\\nI am a Foole, my reason is lost in me;\\r\\nI have no choice, and I have ly\\'d so lewdly\\r\\nThat women ought to beate me. On my knees\\r\\nI aske thy pardon, Palamon; thou art alone,\\r\\nAnd only beutifull, and these the eyes,\\r\\nThese the bright lamps of beauty, that command\\r\\nAnd threaten Love, and what yong Mayd dare crosse \\'em?\\r\\nWhat a bold gravity, and yet inviting,\\r\\nHas this browne manly face! O Love, this only\\r\\nFrom this howre is Complexion: Lye there, Arcite,\\r\\nThou art a changling to him, a meere Gipsey,\\r\\nAnd this the noble Bodie. I am sotted,\\r\\nVtterly lost: My Virgins faith has fled me;\\r\\nFor if my brother but even now had ask\\'d me\\r\\nWhether I lov\\'d, I had run mad for Arcite;\\r\\nNow, if my Sister, More for Palamon.\\r\\nStand both together: Now, come aske me, Brother.—\\r\\nAlas, I know not! Aske me now, sweet Sister;—\\r\\nI may goe looke. What a meere child is Fancie,\\r\\nThat, having two faire gawdes of equall sweetnesse,\\r\\nCannot distinguish, but must crie for both.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter (a) Gent(leman.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHow now, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nFrom the Noble Duke your Brother,\\r\\nMadam, I bring you newes: The Knights are come.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nTo end the quarrell?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWould I might end first:\\r\\nWhat sinnes have I committed, chast Diana,\\r\\nThat my unspotted youth must now be soyld\\r\\nWith blood of Princes? and my Chastitie\\r\\nBe made the Altar, where the lives of Lovers\\r\\n(Two greater and two better never yet\\r\\nMade mothers joy) must be the sacrifice\\r\\nTo my unhappy Beautie?\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Perithous and attendants.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nBring \\'em in\\r\\nQuickly, By any meanes; I long to see \\'em.—\\r\\nYour two contending Lovers are return\\'d,\\r\\nAnd with them their faire Knights: Now, my faire Sister,\\r\\nYou must love one of them.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI had rather both,\\r\\nSo neither for my sake should fall untimely.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Messenger. (Curtis.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWho saw \\'em?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nI, a while.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nAnd I.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nFrom whence come you, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nFrom the Knights.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nPray, speake,\\r\\nYou that have seene them, what they are.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nI will, Sir,\\r\\nAnd truly what I thinke: Six braver spirits\\r\\nThen these they have brought, (if we judge by the outside)\\r\\nI never saw, nor read of. He that stands\\r\\nIn the first place with Arcite, by his seeming,\\r\\nShould be a stout man, by his face a Prince,\\r\\n(His very lookes so say him) his complexion,\\r\\nNearer a browne, than blacke, sterne, and yet noble,\\r\\nWhich shewes him hardy, fearelesse, proud of dangers:\\r\\nThe circles of his eyes show fire within him,\\r\\nAnd as a heated Lyon, so he lookes;\\r\\nHis haire hangs long behind him, blacke and shining\\r\\nLike Ravens wings: his shoulders broad and strong,\\r\\nArmd long and round, and on his Thigh a Sword\\r\\nHung by a curious Bauldricke, when he frownes\\r\\nTo seale his will with: better, o\\'my conscience\\r\\nWas never Souldiers friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThou ha\\'st well describde him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nYet a great deale short,\\r\\nMe thinkes, of him that\\'s first with Palamon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nPray, speake him, friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nI ghesse he is a Prince too,\\r\\nAnd, if it may be, greater; for his show\\r\\nHas all the ornament of honour in\\'t:\\r\\nHee\\'s somewhat bigger, then the Knight he spoke of,\\r\\nBut of a face far sweeter; His complexion\\r\\nIs (as a ripe grape) ruddy: he has felt,\\r\\nWithout doubt, what he fights for, and so apter\\r\\nTo make this cause his owne: In\\'s face appeares\\r\\nAll the faire hopes of what he undertakes,\\r\\nAnd when he\\'s angry, then a setled valour\\r\\n(Not tainted with extreames) runs through his body,\\r\\nAnd guides his arme to brave things: Feare he cannot,\\r\\nHe shewes no such soft temper; his head\\'s yellow,\\r\\nHard hayr\\'d, and curld, thicke twind like Ivy tods,\\r\\nNot to undoe with thunder; In his face\\r\\nThe liverie of the warlike Maide appeares,\\r\\nPure red, and white, for yet no beard has blest him.\\r\\nAnd in his rowling eyes sits victory,\\r\\nAs if she ever ment to court his valour:\\r\\nHis Nose stands high, a Character of honour.\\r\\nHis red lips, after fights, are fit for Ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMust these men die too?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nWhen he speakes, his tongue\\r\\nSounds like a Trumpet; All his lyneaments\\r\\nAre as a man would wish \\'em, strong and cleane,\\r\\nHe weares a well-steeld Axe, the staffe of gold;\\r\\nHis age some five and twenty.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nTher\\'s another,\\r\\nA little man, but of a tough soule, seeming\\r\\nAs great as any: fairer promises\\r\\nIn such a Body yet I never look\\'d on.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nO, he that\\'s freckle fac\\'d?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThe same, my Lord;\\r\\nAre they not sweet ones?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nYes, they are well.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nMe thinkes,\\r\\nBeing so few, and well disposd, they show\\r\\nGreat, and fine art in nature: he\\'s white hair\\'d,\\r\\nNot wanton white, but such a manly colour\\r\\nNext to an aborne; tough, and nimble set,\\r\\nWhich showes an active soule; his armes are brawny,\\r\\nLinde with strong sinewes: To the shoulder peece\\r\\nGently they swell, like women new conceav\\'d,\\r\\nWhich speakes him prone to labour, never fainting\\r\\nVnder the waight of Armes; stout harted, still,\\r\\nBut when he stirs, a Tiger; he\\'s gray eyd,\\r\\nWhich yeelds compassion where he conquers: sharpe\\r\\nTo spy advantages, and where he finds \\'em,\\r\\nHe\\'s swift to make \\'em his: He do\\'s no wrongs,\\r\\nNor takes none; he\\'s round fac\\'d, and when he smiles\\r\\nHe showes a Lover, when he frownes, a Souldier:\\r\\nAbout his head he weares the winners oke,\\r\\nAnd in it stucke the favour of his Lady:\\r\\nHis age, some six and thirtie. In his hand\\r\\nHe beares a charging Staffe, embost with silver.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAre they all thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThey are all the sonnes of honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNow, as I have a soule, I long to see\\'em.\\r\\nLady, you shall see men fight now.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nI wish it,\\r\\nBut not the cause, my Lord; They would show\\r\\nBravely about the Titles of two Kingdomes;\\r\\nTis pitty Love should be so tyrannous:\\r\\nO my soft harted Sister, what thinke you?\\r\\nWeepe not, till they weepe blood, Wench; it must be.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou have steel\\'d \\'em with your Beautie.—Honord Friend,\\r\\nTo you I give the Feild; pray, order it\\r\\nFitting the persons that must use it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nYes, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nCome, Ile goe visit \\'em: I cannot stay,\\r\\nTheir fame has fir\\'d me so; Till they appeare.\\r\\nGood Friend, be royall.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThere shall want no bravery.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPoore wench, goe weepe, for whosoever wins,\\r\\nLooses a noble Cosen for thy sins. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (A room in the prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iailor, Wooer, Doctor.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHer distraction is more at some time of the Moone, then at other some,\\r\\nis it not?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nShe is continually in a harmelesse distemper, sleepes little,\\r\\naltogether without appetite, save often drinking, dreaming of another\\r\\nworld, and a better; and what broken peece of matter so\\'ere she\\'s\\r\\nabout, the name Palamon lardes it, that she farces ev\\'ry busines\\r\\nwithall, fyts it to every question.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Daughter.]\\r\\n\\r\\nLooke where shee comes, you shall perceive her behaviour.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI have forgot it quite; The burden on\\'t, was DOWNE A, DOWNE A, and pend\\r\\nby no worse man, then Giraldo, Emilias Schoolemaster; he\\'s as\\r\\nFantasticall too, as ever he may goe upon\\'s legs,—for in the next world\\r\\nwill Dido see Palamon, and then will she be out of love with Eneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWhat stuff\\'s here? pore soule!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nEv\\'n thus all day long.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nNow for this Charme, that I told you of: you must bring a peece of\\r\\nsilver on the tip of your tongue, or no ferry: then, if it be your\\r\\nchance to come where the blessed spirits, as ther\\'s a sight now—we\\r\\nmaids that have our Lyvers perish\\'d, crakt to peeces with Love, we\\r\\nshall come there, and doe nothing all day long but picke flowers with\\r\\nProserpine; then will I make Palamon a Nosegay; then let him marke\\r\\nme,—then—\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHow prettily she\\'s amisse? note her a little further.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nFaith, ile tell you, sometime we goe to Barly breake, we of the\\r\\nblessed; alas, tis a sore life they have i\\'th other place, such\\r\\nburning, frying, boyling, hissing, howling, chattring, cursing, oh they\\r\\nhave shrowd measure! take heede; if one be mad, or hang or drowne\\r\\nthemselves, thither they goe, Iupiter blesse vs, and there shall we be\\r\\nput in a Caldron of lead, and Vsurers grease, amongst a whole million\\r\\nof cutpurses, and there boyle like a Gamon of Bacon that will never be\\r\\nenough. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHow her braine coynes!\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nLords and Courtiers, that have got maids with Child, they are in this\\r\\nplace: they shall stand in fire up to the Nav\\'le, and in yce up to\\'th\\r\\nhart, and there th\\'offending part burnes, and the deceaving part\\r\\nfreezes; in troth, a very greevous punishment, as one would thinke, for\\r\\nsuch a Trifle; beleve me, one would marry a leaprous witch, to be rid\\r\\non\\'t, Ile assure you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHow she continues this fancie! Tis not an engraffed Madnesse, but a\\r\\nmost thicke, and profound mellencholly.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nTo heare there a proud Lady, and a proud Citty wiffe, howle together! I\\r\\nwere a beast and il\\'d call it good sport: one cries, \\'O this smoake!\\'\\r\\nanother, \\'this fire!\\' One cries, \\'O, that ever I did it behind the\\r\\narras!\\' and then howles; th\\'other curses a suing fellow and her garden\\r\\nhouse. [Sings] I will be true, my stars, my fate, &c. [Exit Daugh.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWhat thinke you of her, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nI thinke she has a perturbed minde, which I cannot minister to.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nAlas, what then?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nVnderstand you, she ever affected any man, ere she beheld\\r\\nPalamon?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI was once, Sir, in great hope she had fixd her liking on this\\r\\ngentleman, my friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI did thinke so too, and would account I had a great pen-worth on\\'t, to\\r\\ngive halfe my state, that both she and I at this present stood\\r\\nunfainedly on the same tearmes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nThat intemprat surfeit of her eye hath distemperd the other sences:\\r\\nthey may returne and settle againe to execute their preordaind\\r\\nfaculties, but they are now in a most extravagant vagary. This you\\r\\nmust doe: Confine her to a place, where the light may rather seeme to\\r\\nsteale in, then be permitted; take vpon you (yong Sir, her friend) the\\r\\nname of Palamon; say you come to eate with her, and to commune of Love;\\r\\nthis will catch her attention, for this her minde beates upon; other\\r\\nobjects that are inserted tweene her minde and eye become the prankes\\r\\nand friskins of her madnes; Sing to her such greene songs of Love, as\\r\\nshe sayes Palamon hath sung in prison; Come to her, stucke in as sweet\\r\\nflowers as the season is mistres of, and thereto make an addition of\\r\\nsom other compounded odours, which are grateful to the sence: all this\\r\\nshall become Palamon, for Palamon can sing, and Palamon is sweet, and\\r\\nev\\'ry good thing: desire to eate with her, carve her, drinke to her,\\r\\nand still among, intermingle your petition of grace and acceptance into\\r\\nher favour: Learne what Maides have beene her companions and\\r\\nplay-pheeres, and let them repaire to her with Palamon in their\\r\\nmouthes, and appeare with tokens, as if they suggested for him. It is a\\r\\nfalsehood she is in, which is with falsehood to be combated. This may\\r\\nbring her to eate, to sleepe, and reduce what\\'s now out of square in\\r\\nher, into their former law, and regiment; I have seene it approved, how\\r\\nmany times I know not, but to make the number more, I have great hope\\r\\nin this. I will, betweene the passages of this project, come in with\\r\\nmy applyance: Let us put it in execution, and hasten the successe,\\r\\nwhich, doubt not, will bring forth comfort. [Florish. Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (Before the Temples of Mars, Venus, and Diana.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Thesius, Perithous, Hipolita, attendants.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNow let\\'em enter, and before the gods\\r\\nTender their holy prayers: Let the Temples\\r\\nBurne bright with sacred fires, and the Altars\\r\\nIn hallowed clouds commend their swelling Incense\\r\\nTo those above us: Let no due be wanting; [Florish of Cornets.]\\r\\nThey have a noble worke in hand, will honour\\r\\nThe very powers that love \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon and Arcite, and their Knights.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nSir, they enter.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou valiant and strong harted Enemies,\\r\\nYou royall German foes, that this day come\\r\\nTo blow that furnesse out that flames betweene ye:\\r\\nLay by your anger for an houre, and dove-like,\\r\\nBefore the holy Altars of your helpers,\\r\\n(The all feard gods) bow downe your stubborne bodies.\\r\\nYour ire is more than mortall; So your helpe be,\\r\\nAnd as the gods regard ye, fight with Iustice;\\r\\nIle leave you to your prayers, and betwixt ye\\r\\nI part my wishes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nHonour crowne the worthiest. [Exit Theseus, and his traine.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThe glasse is running now that cannot finish\\r\\nTill one of us expire: Thinke you but thus,\\r\\nThat were there ought in me which strove to show\\r\\nMine enemy in this businesse, wer\\'t one eye\\r\\nAgainst another, Arme opprest by Arme,\\r\\nI would destroy th\\'offender, Coz, I would,\\r\\nThough parcell of my selfe: Then from this gather\\r\\nHow I should tender you.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am in labour\\r\\nTo push your name, your auncient love, our kindred\\r\\nOut of my memory; and i\\'th selfe same place\\r\\nTo seate something I would confound: So hoyst we\\r\\nThe sayles, that must these vessells port even where\\r\\nThe heavenly Lymiter pleases.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou speake well;\\r\\nBefore I turne, Let me embrace thee, Cosen:\\r\\nThis I shall never doe agen.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nOne farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhy, let it be so: Farewell, Coz. [Exeunt Palamon and his\\r\\nKnights.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nFarewell, Sir.—\\r\\nKnights, Kinsemen, Lovers, yea, my Sacrifices,\\r\\nTrue worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in you\\r\\nExpells the seedes of feare, and th\\'apprehension\\r\\nWhich still is farther off it, Goe with me\\r\\nBefore the god of our profession: There\\r\\nRequire of him the hearts of Lyons, and\\r\\nThe breath of Tigers, yea, the fearcenesse too,\\r\\nYea, the speed also,—to goe on, I meane,\\r\\nElse wish we to be Snayles: you know my prize\\r\\nMust be drag\\'d out of blood; force and great feate\\r\\nMust put my Garland on, where she stickes\\r\\nThe Queene of Flowers: our intercession then\\r\\nMust be to him that makes the Campe a Cestron\\r\\nBrymd with the blood of men: give me your aide\\r\\nAnd bend your spirits towards him. [They kneele.]\\r\\nThou mighty one, that with thy power hast turnd\\r\\nGreene Neptune into purple, (whose Approach)\\r\\nComets prewarne, whose havocke in vaste Feild\\r\\nVnearthed skulls proclaime, whose breath blowes downe,\\r\\nThe teeming Ceres foyzon, who doth plucke\\r\\nWith hand armypotent from forth blew clowdes\\r\\nThe masond Turrets, that both mak\\'st and break\\'st\\r\\nThe stony girthes of Citties: me thy puple,\\r\\nYongest follower of thy Drom, instruct this day\\r\\nWith military skill, that to thy lawde\\r\\nI may advance my Streamer, and by thee,\\r\\nBe stil\\'d the Lord o\\'th day: give me, great Mars,\\r\\nSome token of thy pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Here they fall on their faces as formerly, and there is heard\\r\\n clanging of Armor, with a short Thunder as the burst of a\\r\\nBattaile,\\r\\n whereupon they all rise and bow to the Altar.]\\r\\n\\r\\nO Great Corrector of enormous times,\\r\\nShaker of ore-rank States, thou grand decider\\r\\nOf dustie and old tytles, that healst with blood\\r\\nThe earth when it is sicke, and curst the world\\r\\nO\\'th pluresie of people; I doe take\\r\\nThy signes auspiciously, and in thy name\\r\\nTo my designe march boldly. Let us goe. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon and his Knights, with the former observance.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nOur stars must glister with new fire, or be\\r\\nTo daie extinct; our argument is love,\\r\\nWhich if the goddesse of it grant, she gives\\r\\nVictory too: then blend your spirits with mine,\\r\\nYou, whose free noblenesse doe make my cause\\r\\nYour personall hazard; to the goddesse Venus\\r\\nCommend we our proceeding, and implore\\r\\nHer power unto our partie. [Here they kneele as formerly.]\\r\\nHaile, Soveraigne Queene of secrets, who hast power\\r\\nTo call the feircest Tyrant from his rage,\\r\\nAnd weepe unto a Girle; that ha\\'st the might,\\r\\nEven with an ey-glance, to choke Marsis Drom\\r\\nAnd turne th\\'allarme to whispers; that canst make\\r\\nA Criple florish with his Crutch, and cure him\\r\\nBefore Apollo; that may\\'st force the King\\r\\nTo be his subjects vassaile, and induce\\r\\nStale gravitie to daunce; the pould Bachelour—\\r\\nWhose youth, like wonton Boyes through Bonfyres,\\r\\nHave skipt thy flame—at seaventy thou canst catch\\r\\nAnd make him, to the scorne of his hoarse throate,\\r\\nAbuse yong laies of love: what godlike power\\r\\nHast thou not power upon? To Phoebus thou\\r\\nAdd\\'st flames hotter then his; the heavenly fyres\\r\\nDid scortch his mortall Son, thine him; the huntresse\\r\\nAll moyst and cold, some say, began to throw\\r\\nHer Bow away, and sigh. Take to thy grace\\r\\nMe, thy vowd Souldier, who doe beare thy yoke\\r\\nAs t\\'wer a wreath of Roses, yet is heavier\\r\\nThen Lead it selfe, stings more than Nettles.\\r\\nI have never beene foule mouthd against thy law,\\r\\nNev\\'r reveald secret, for I knew none—would not,\\r\\nHad I kend all that were; I never practised\\r\\nVpon mans wife, nor would the Libells reade\\r\\nOf liberall wits; I never at great feastes\\r\\nSought to betray a Beautie, but have blush\\'d\\r\\nAt simpring Sirs that did; I have beene harsh\\r\\nTo large Confessors, and have hotly ask\\'d them\\r\\nIf they had Mothers: I had one, a woman,\\r\\nAnd women t\\'wer they wrong\\'d. I knew a man\\r\\nOf eightie winters, this I told them, who\\r\\nA Lasse of foureteene brided; twas thy power\\r\\nTo put life into dust; the aged Crampe\\r\\nHad screw\\'d his square foote round,\\r\\nThe Gout had knit his fingers into knots,\\r\\nTorturing Convulsions from his globie eyes,\\r\\nHad almost drawne their spheeres, that what was life\\r\\nIn him seem\\'d torture: this Anatomie\\r\\nHad by his yong faire pheare a Boy, and I\\r\\nBeleev\\'d it was him, for she swore it was,\\r\\nAnd who would not beleeve her? briefe, I am\\r\\nTo those that prate and have done no Companion;\\r\\nTo those that boast and have not a defyer;\\r\\nTo those that would and cannot a Rejoycer.\\r\\nYea, him I doe not love, that tells close offices\\r\\nThe fowlest way, nor names concealements in\\r\\nThe boldest language: such a one I am,\\r\\nAnd vow that lover never yet made sigh\\r\\nTruer then I. O, then, most soft, sweet goddesse,\\r\\nGive me the victory of this question, which\\r\\nIs true loves merit, and blesse me with a signe\\r\\nOf thy great pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Here Musicke is heard, Doves are seene to flutter; they fall\\r\\n againe upon their faces, then on their knees.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO thou, that from eleven to ninetie raign\\'st\\r\\nIn mortall bosomes, whose chase is this world,\\r\\nAnd we in heards thy game: I give thee thankes\\r\\nFor this faire Token, which, being layd unto\\r\\nMine innocent true heart, armes in assurance [They bow.]\\r\\nMy body to this businesse. Let us rise\\r\\nAnd bow before the goddesse: Time comes on. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Still Musicke of Records.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Emilia in white, her haire about her shoulders, (wearing) a\\r\\nwheaten wreath: One in white holding up her traine, her haire stucke\\r\\nwith flowers: One before her carrying a silver Hynde, in which is\\r\\nconveyd Incense and sweet odours, which being set upon the Altar (of\\r\\nDiana) her maides standing a loofe, she sets fire to it; then they\\r\\ncurtsey and kneele.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO sacred, shadowie, cold and constant Queene,\\r\\nAbandoner of Revells, mute, contemplative,\\r\\nSweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure\\r\\nAs windefand Snow, who to thy femall knights\\r\\nAlow\\'st no more blood than will make a blush,\\r\\nWhich is their orders robe: I heere, thy Priest,\\r\\nAm humbled fore thine Altar; O vouchsafe,\\r\\nWith that thy rare greene eye, which never yet\\r\\nBeheld thing maculate, looke on thy virgin;\\r\\nAnd, sacred silver Mistris, lend thine eare\\r\\n(Which nev\\'r heard scurrill terme, into whose port\\r\\nNe\\'re entred wanton found,) to my petition\\r\\nSeasond with holy feare: This is my last\\r\\nOf vestall office; I am bride habited,\\r\\nBut mayden harted, a husband I have pointed,\\r\\nBut doe not know him; out of two I should\\r\\nChoose one and pray for his successe, but I\\r\\nAm guiltlesse of election: of mine eyes,\\r\\nWere I to loose one, they are equall precious,\\r\\nI could doombe neither, that which perish\\'d should\\r\\nGoe too\\'t unsentenc\\'d: Therefore, most modest Queene,\\r\\nHe of the two Pretenders, that best loves me\\r\\nAnd has the truest title in\\'t, Let him\\r\\nTake off my wheaten Gerland, or else grant\\r\\nThe fyle and qualitie I hold, I may\\r\\nContinue in thy Band.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Here the Hynde vanishes under the Altar: and in the place ascends\\r\\n a Rose Tree, having one Rose upon it.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSee what our Generall of Ebbs and Flowes\\r\\nOut from the bowells of her holy Altar\\r\\nWith sacred act advances! But one Rose:\\r\\nIf well inspird, this Battaile shal confound\\r\\nBoth these brave Knights, and I, a virgin flowre\\r\\nMust grow alone unpluck\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Here is heard a sodaine twang of Instruments, and the Rose fals\\\\\\r\\n from the Tree (which vanishes under the altar.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe flowre is falne, the Tree descends: O, Mistris,\\r\\nThou here dischargest me; I shall be gather\\'d:\\r\\nI thinke so, but I know not thine owne will;\\r\\nVnclaspe thy Misterie.—I hope she\\'s pleas\\'d,\\r\\nHer Signes were gratious. [They curtsey and Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (A darkened Room in the Prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Doctor, Iaylor and Wooer, in habite of Palamon.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHas this advice I told you, done any good upon her?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nO very much; The maids that kept her company\\r\\nHave halfe perswaded her that I am Palamon;\\r\\nWithin this halfe houre she came smiling to me,\\r\\nAnd asked me what I would eate, and when I would kisse her:\\r\\nI told her presently, and kist her twice.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nTwas well done; twentie times had bin far better,\\r\\nFor there the cure lies mainely.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nThen she told me\\r\\nShe would watch with me to night, for well she knew\\r\\nWhat houre my fit would take me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nLet her doe so,\\r\\nAnd when your fit comes, fit her home,\\r\\nAnd presently.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nShe would have me sing.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYou did so?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nTwas very ill done, then;\\r\\nYou should observe her ev\\'ry way.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nAlas,\\r\\nI have no voice, Sir, to confirme her that way.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nThat\\'s all one, if yee make a noyse;\\r\\nIf she intreate againe, doe any thing,—\\r\\nLye with her, if she aske you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHoa, there, Doctor!\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYes, in the waie of cure.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nBut first, by your leave,\\r\\nI\\'th way of honestie.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nThat\\'s but a nicenesse,\\r\\nNev\\'r cast your child away for honestie;\\r\\nCure her first this way, then if shee will be honest,\\r\\nShe has the path before her.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThanke yee, Doctor.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nPray, bring her in,\\r\\nAnd let\\'s see how shee is.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI will, and tell her\\r\\nHer Palamon staies for her: But, Doctor,\\r\\nMe thinkes you are i\\'th wrong still. [Exit Iaylor.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nGoe, goe:\\r\\nYou Fathers are fine Fooles: her honesty?\\r\\nAnd we should give her physicke till we finde that—\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nWhy, doe you thinke she is not honest, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHow old is she?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nShe\\'s eighteene.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nShe may be,\\r\\nBut that\\'s all one; tis nothing to our purpose.\\r\\nWhat ere her Father saies, if you perceave\\r\\nHer moode inclining that way that I spoke of,\\r\\nVidelicet, the way of flesh—you have me?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nYet, very well, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nPlease her appetite,\\r\\nAnd doe it home; it cures her, ipso facto,\\r\\nThe mellencholly humour that infects her.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI am of your minde, Doctor.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylor, Daughter, Maide.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYou\\'l finde it so; she comes, pray humour her.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nCome, your Love Palamon staies for you, childe,\\r\\nAnd has done this long houre, to visite you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI thanke him for his gentle patience;\\r\\nHe\\'s a kind Gentleman, and I am much bound to him.\\r\\nDid you nev\\'r see the horse he gave me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nHow doe you like him?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHe\\'s a very faire one.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYou never saw him dance?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI have often.\\r\\nHe daunces very finely, very comely,\\r\\nAnd for a Iigge, come cut and long taile to him,\\r\\nHe turnes ye like a Top.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThat\\'s fine, indeede.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nHee\\'l dance the Morris twenty mile an houre,\\r\\nAnd that will founder the best hobby-horse\\r\\n(If I have any skill) in all the parish,\\r\\nAnd gallops to the turne of LIGHT A\\' LOVE:\\r\\nWhat thinke you of this horse?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHaving these vertues,\\r\\nI thinke he might be broght to play at Tennis.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAlas, that\\'s nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nCan he write and reade too?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nA very faire hand, and casts himselfe th\\'accounts\\r\\nOf all his hay and provender: That Hostler\\r\\nMust rise betime that cozens him. You know\\r\\nThe Chestnut Mare the Duke has?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nVery well.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nShe is horribly in love with him, poore beast,\\r\\nBut he is like his master, coy and scornefull.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWhat dowry has she?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nSome two hundred Bottles,\\r\\nAnd twenty strike of Oates; but hee\\'l ne\\'re have her;\\r\\nHe lispes in\\'s neighing, able to entice\\r\\nA Millars Mare: Hee\\'l be the death of her.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWhat stuffe she utters!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nMake curtsie; here your love comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nPretty soule,\\r\\nHow doe ye? that\\'s a fine maide, ther\\'s a curtsie!\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYours to command ith way of honestie.\\r\\nHow far is\\'t now to\\'th end o\\'th world, my Masters?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWhy, a daies Iorney, wench.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWill you goe with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nWhat shall we doe there, wench?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWhy, play at stoole ball:\\r\\nWhat is there else to doe?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI am content,\\r\\nIf we shall keepe our wedding there.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nTis true:\\r\\nFor there, I will assure you, we shall finde\\r\\nSome blind Priest for the purpose, that will venture\\r\\nTo marry us, for here they are nice, and foolish;\\r\\nBesides, my father must be hang\\'d to morrow\\r\\nAnd that would be a blot i\\'th businesse.\\r\\nAre not you Palamon?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nDoe not you know me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYes, but you care not for me; I have nothing\\r\\nBut this pore petticoate, and too corse Smockes.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nThat\\'s all one; I will have you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWill you surely?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nYes, by this faire hand, will I.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWee\\'l to bed, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nEv\\'n when you will. [Kisses her.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nO Sir, you would faine be nibling.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nWhy doe you rub my kisse off?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nTis a sweet one,\\r\\nAnd will perfume me finely against the wedding.\\r\\nIs not this your Cosen Arcite?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYes, sweet heart,\\r\\nAnd I am glad my Cosen Palamon\\r\\nHas made so faire a choice.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nDoe you thinke hee\\'l have me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYes, without doubt.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nDoe you thinke so too?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWe shall have many children:—Lord, how y\\'ar growne!\\r\\nMy Palamon, I hope, will grow, too, finely,\\r\\nNow he\\'s at liberty: Alas, poore Chicken,\\r\\nHe was kept downe with hard meate and ill lodging,\\r\\nBut ile kisse him up againe.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Emter a Messenger.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nWhat doe you here? you\\'l loose the noblest sight\\r\\nThat ev\\'r was seene.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nAre they i\\'th Field?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThey are.\\r\\nYou beare a charge there too.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nIle away straight.\\r\\nI must ev\\'n leave you here.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nNay, wee\\'l goe with you;\\r\\nI will not loose the Fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHow did you like her?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nIle warrant you, within these 3. or 4. daies\\r\\nIle make her right againe. You must not from her,\\r\\nBut still preserve her in this way.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI will.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nLets get her in.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nCome, sweete, wee\\'l goe to dinner;\\r\\nAnd then weele play at Cardes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAnd shall we kisse too?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nA hundred times.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAnd twenty.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI, and twenty.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAnd then wee\\'l sleepe together.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nTake her offer.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nYes, marry, will we.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nBut you shall not hurt me.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI will not, sweete.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIf you doe, Love, ile cry. [Florish. Exeunt]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (A Place near the Lists.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Perithous: and some Attendants,\\r\\n (T. Tucke: Curtis.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIle no step further.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nWill you loose this sight?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI had rather see a wren hawke at a fly\\r\\nThen this decision; ev\\'ry blow that falls\\r\\nThreats a brave life, each stroake laments\\r\\nThe place whereon it fals, and sounds more like\\r\\nA Bell then blade: I will stay here;\\r\\nIt is enough my hearing shall be punishd\\r\\nWith what shall happen—gainst the which there is\\r\\nNo deaffing, but to heare—not taint mine eye\\r\\nWith dread sights, it may shun.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nSir, my good Lord,\\r\\nYour Sister will no further.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nOh, she must.\\r\\nShe shall see deeds of honour in their kinde,\\r\\nWhich sometime show well, pencild. Nature now\\r\\nShall make and act the Story, the beleife\\r\\nBoth seald with eye and eare; you must be present,\\r\\nYou are the victours meede, the price, and garlond\\r\\nTo crowne the Questions title.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPardon me;\\r\\nIf I were there, I\\'ld winke.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou must be there;\\r\\nThis Tryall is as t\\'wer i\\'th night, and you\\r\\nThe onely star to shine.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI am extinct;\\r\\nThere is but envy in that light, which showes\\r\\nThe one the other: darkenes, which ever was\\r\\nThe dam of horrour, who do\\'s stand accurst\\r\\nOf many mortall Millions, may even now,\\r\\nBy casting her blacke mantle over both,\\r\\nThat neither coulde finde other, get her selfe\\r\\nSome part of a good name, and many a murther\\r\\nSet off wherto she\\'s guilty.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nYou must goe.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIn faith, I will not.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhy, the knights must kindle\\r\\nTheir valour at your eye: know, of this war\\r\\nYou are the Treasure, and must needes be by\\r\\nTo give the Service pay.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nSir, pardon me;\\r\\nThe tytle of a kingdome may be tride\\r\\nOut of it selfe.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWell, well, then, at your pleasure;\\r\\nThose that remaine with you could wish their office\\r\\nTo any of their Enemies.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nFarewell, Sister;\\r\\nI am like to know your husband fore your selfe\\r\\nBy some small start of time: he whom the gods\\r\\nDoe of the two know best, I pray them he\\r\\nBe made your Lot.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt Theseus, Hipolita, Perithous, &c.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nArcite is gently visagd; yet his eye\\r\\nIs like an Engyn bent, or a sharpe weapon\\r\\nIn a soft sheath; mercy and manly courage\\r\\nAre bedfellowes in his visage. Palamon\\r\\nHas a most menacing aspect: his brow\\r\\nIs grav\\'d, and seemes to bury what it frownes on;\\r\\nYet sometime tis not so, but alters to\\r\\nThe quallity of his thoughts; long time his eye\\r\\nWill dwell upon his object. Mellencholly\\r\\nBecomes him nobly; So do\\'s Arcites mirth,\\r\\nBut Palamons sadnes is a kinde of mirth,\\r\\nSo mingled, as if mirth did make him sad,\\r\\nAnd sadnes, merry; those darker humours that\\r\\nSticke misbecomingly on others, on them\\r\\nLive in faire dwelling. [Cornets. Trompets sound as to a\\r\\ncharge.]\\r\\nHarke, how yon spurs to spirit doe incite\\r\\nThe Princes to their proofe! Arcite may win me,\\r\\nAnd yet may Palamon wound Arcite to\\r\\nThe spoyling of his figure. O, what pitty\\r\\nEnough for such a chance; if I were by,\\r\\nI might doe hurt, for they would glance their eies\\r\\nToward my Seat, and in that motion might\\r\\nOmit a ward, or forfeit an offence\\r\\nWhich crav\\'d that very time: it is much better\\r\\nI am not there; oh better never borne\\r\\nThen minister to such harme. [Cornets. A great cry and noice within,\\r\\n crying \\'a Palamon\\'.] What is the chance?\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Servant.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThe Crie\\'s \\'a Palamon\\'.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThen he has won! Twas ever likely;\\r\\nHe lookd all grace and successe, and he is\\r\\nDoubtlesse the prim\\'st of men: I pre\\'thee, run\\r\\nAnd tell me how it goes. [Showt, and Cornets: Crying, \\'a\\r\\nPalamon.\\']\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nStill Palamon.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nRun and enquire. Poore Servant, thou hast lost;\\r\\nVpon my right side still I wore thy picture,\\r\\nPalamons on the left: why so, I know not;\\r\\nI had no end in\\'t else, chance would have it so.\\r\\nOn the sinister side the heart lyes; Palamon\\r\\nHad the best boding chance. [Another cry, and showt within, and\\r\\n Cornets.] This burst of clamour\\r\\nIs sure th\\'end o\\'th Combat.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Servant.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThey saide that Palamon had Arcites body\\r\\nWithin an inch o\\'th Pyramid, that the cry\\r\\nWas generall \\'a Palamon\\': But, anon,\\r\\nTh\\'Assistants made a brave redemption, and\\r\\nThe two bold Tytlers, at this instant are\\r\\nHand to hand at it.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWere they metamorphisd\\r\\nBoth into one! oh why? there were no woman\\r\\nWorth so composd a Man: their single share,\\r\\nTheir noblenes peculier to them, gives\\r\\nThe prejudice of disparity, values shortnes, [Cornets. Cry within,\\r\\n Arcite, Arcite.]\\r\\nTo any Lady breathing—More exulting?\\r\\nPalamon still?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nNay, now the sound is Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI pre\\'thee, lay attention to the Cry, [Cornets. A great showt and\\r\\ncry, \\'Arcite, victory!\\'] Set both thine eares to\\'th busines.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThe cry is\\r\\n\\'Arcite\\', and \\'victory\\', harke: \\'Arcite, victory!\\'\\r\\nThe Combats consummation is proclaim\\'d\\r\\nBy the wind Instruments.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHalfe sights saw\\r\\nThat Arcite was no babe; god\\'s lyd, his richnes\\r\\nAnd costlines of spirit look\\'t through him, it could\\r\\nNo more be hid in him then fire in flax,\\r\\nThen humble banckes can goe to law with waters,\\r\\nThat drift windes force to raging: I did thinke\\r\\nGood Palamon would miscarry; yet I knew not\\r\\nWhy I did thinke so; Our reasons are not prophets,\\r\\nWhen oft our fancies are. They are comming off:\\r\\nAlas, poore Palamon! [Cornets.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Pirithous, Arcite as victor, and\\r\\n attendants, &c.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nLo, where our Sister is in expectation,\\r\\nYet quaking, and unsetled.—Fairest Emily,\\r\\nThe gods by their divine arbitrament\\r\\nHave given you this Knight; he is a good one\\r\\nAs ever strooke at head. Give me your hands;\\r\\nReceive you her, you him; be plighted with\\r\\nA love that growes, as you decay.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nEmily,\\r\\nTo buy you, I have lost what\\'s deerest to me,\\r\\nSave what is bought, and yet I purchase cheapely,\\r\\nAs I doe rate your value.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nO loved Sister,\\r\\nHe speakes now of as brave a Knight as ere\\r\\nDid spur a noble Steed: Surely, the gods\\r\\nWould have him die a Batchelour, least his race\\r\\nShould shew i\\'th world too godlike: His behaviour\\r\\nSo charmed me, that me thought Alcides was\\r\\nTo him a sow of lead: if I could praise\\r\\nEach part of him to\\'th all I have spoke, your Arcite\\r\\nDid not loose by\\'t; For he that was thus good\\r\\nEncountred yet his Better. I have heard\\r\\nTwo emulous Philomels beate the eare o\\'th night\\r\\nWith their contentious throates, now one the higher,\\r\\nAnon the other, then againe the first,\\r\\nAnd by and by out breasted, that the sence\\r\\nCould not be judge betweene \\'em: So it far\\'d\\r\\nGood space betweene these kinesmen; till heavens did\\r\\nMake hardly one the winner. Weare the Girlond\\r\\nWith joy that you have won: For the subdude,\\r\\nGive them our present Iustice, since I know\\r\\nTheir lives but pinch \\'em; Let it here be done.\\r\\nThe Sceane\\'s not for our seeing, goe we hence,\\r\\nRight joyfull, with some sorrow.—Arme your prize,\\r\\nI know you will not loose her.—Hipolita,\\r\\nI see one eye of yours conceives a teare\\r\\nThe which it will deliver. [Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIs this wynning?\\r\\nOh all you heavenly powers, where is your mercy?\\r\\nBut that your wils have saide it must be so,\\r\\nAnd charge me live to comfort this unfriended,\\r\\nThis miserable Prince, that cuts away\\r\\nA life more worthy from him then all women,\\r\\nI should, and would, die too.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nInfinite pitty,\\r\\nThat fowre such eies should be so fixd on one\\r\\nThat two must needes be blinde fort.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSo it is. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. (The same; a Block prepared.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon and his Knightes pyniond: Iaylor, Executioner, &c.\\r\\nGard.]\\r\\n\\r\\n(PALAMON.)\\r\\nTher\\'s many a man alive that hath out liv\\'d\\r\\nThe love o\\'th people; yea, i\\'th selfesame state\\r\\nStands many a Father with his childe; some comfort\\r\\nWe have by so considering: we expire\\r\\nAnd not without mens pitty. To live still,\\r\\nHave their good wishes; we prevent\\r\\nThe loathsome misery of age, beguile\\r\\nThe Gowt and Rheume, that in lag howres attend\\r\\nFor grey approachers; we come towards the gods\\r\\nYong and unwapper\\'d, not halting under Crymes\\r\\nMany and stale: that sure shall please the gods,\\r\\nSooner than such, to give us Nectar with \\'em,\\r\\nFor we are more cleare Spirits. My deare kinesmen,\\r\\nWhose lives (for this poore comfort) are laid downe,\\r\\nYou have sould \\'em too too cheape.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. KNIGHT.\\r\\nWhat ending could be\\r\\nOf more content? ore us the victors have\\r\\nFortune, whose title is as momentary,\\r\\nAs to us death is certaine: A graine of honour\\r\\nThey not ore\\'-weigh us.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. KNIGHT.\\r\\nLet us bid farewell;\\r\\nAnd with our patience anger tottring Fortune,\\r\\nWho at her certain\\'st reeles.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. KNIGHT.\\r\\nCome; who begins?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nEv\\'n he that led you to this Banket shall\\r\\nTaste to you all.—Ah ha, my Friend, my Friend,\\r\\nYour gentle daughter gave me freedome once;\\r\\nYou\\'l see\\'t done now for ever: pray, how do\\'es she?\\r\\nI heard she was not well; her kind of ill\\r\\nGave me some sorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nSir, she\\'s well restor\\'d,\\r\\nAnd to be marryed shortly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBy my short life,\\r\\nI am most glad on\\'t; Tis the latest thing\\r\\nI shall be glad of; pre\\'thee tell her so:\\r\\nCommend me to her, and to peece her portion,\\r\\nTender her this. [Gives purse.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. KNIGHT.\\r\\nNay lets be offerers all.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. KNIGHT.\\r\\nIs it a maide?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nVerily, I thinke so,\\r\\nA right good creature, more to me deserving\\r\\nThen I can quight or speake of.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL KNIGHTS.\\r\\nCommend us to her. [They give their purses.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThe gods requight you all,\\r\\nAnd make her thankefull.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAdiew; and let my life be now as short,\\r\\nAs my leave taking. [Lies on the Blocke.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. KNIGHT.\\r\\nLeade, couragious Cosin.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. KNIGHT.\\r\\nWee\\'l follow cheerefully. [A great noise within crying, \\'run, save,\\r\\nhold!\\']\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter in hast a Messenger.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nHold, hold! O hold, hold, hold!\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Pirithous in haste.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nHold! hoa! It is a cursed hast you made,\\r\\nIf you have done so quickly. Noble Palamon,\\r\\nThe gods will shew their glory in a life,\\r\\nThat thou art yet to leade.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nCan that be,\\r\\nWhen Venus, I have said, is false? How doe things fare?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nArise, great Sir, and give the tydings eare\\r\\nThat are most dearly sweet and bitter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhat\\r\\nHath wakt us from our dreame?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nList then: your Cosen,\\r\\nMounted upon a Steed that Emily\\r\\nDid first bestow on him, a blacke one, owing\\r\\nNot a hayre worth of white—which some will say\\r\\nWeakens his price, and many will not buy\\r\\nHis goodnesse with this note: Which superstition\\r\\nHeere findes allowance—On this horse is Arcite\\r\\nTrotting the stones of Athens, which the Calkins\\r\\nDid rather tell then trample; for the horse\\r\\nWould make his length a mile, if\\'t pleas\\'d his Rider\\r\\nTo put pride in him: as he thus went counting\\r\\nThe flinty pavement, dancing, as t\\'wer, to\\'th Musicke\\r\\nHis owne hoofes made; (for as they say from iron\\r\\nCame Musickes origen) what envious Flint,\\r\\nCold as old Saturne, and like him possest\\r\\nWith fire malevolent, darted a Sparke,\\r\\nOr what feirce sulphur else, to this end made,\\r\\nI comment not;—the hot horse, hot as fire,\\r\\nTooke Toy at this, and fell to what disorder\\r\\nHis power could give his will; bounds, comes on end,\\r\\nForgets schoole dooing, being therein traind,\\r\\nAnd of kind mannadge; pig-like he whines\\r\\nAt the sharpe Rowell, which he freats at rather\\r\\nThen any jot obaies; seekes all foule meanes\\r\\nOf boystrous and rough Iadrie, to dis-seate\\r\\nHis Lord, that kept it bravely: when nought serv\\'d,\\r\\nWhen neither Curb would cracke, girth breake nor diffring plunges\\r\\nDis-roote his Rider whence he grew, but that\\r\\nHe kept him tweene his legges, on his hind hoofes on end he stands,\\r\\nThat Arcites leggs, being higher then his head,\\r\\nSeem\\'d with strange art to hand: His victors wreath\\r\\nEven then fell off his head: and presently\\r\\nBackeward the Iade comes ore, and his full poyze\\r\\nBecomes the Riders loade: yet is he living,\\r\\nBut such a vessell tis, that floates but for\\r\\nThe surge that next approaches: he much desires\\r\\nTo have some speech with you: Loe he appeares.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Arcite in a chaire.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO miserable end of our alliance!\\r\\nThe gods are mightie, Arcite: if thy heart,\\r\\nThy worthie, manly heart, be yet unbroken,\\r\\nGive me thy last words; I am Palamon,\\r\\nOne that yet loves thee dying.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTake Emilia\\r\\nAnd with her all the worlds joy: Reach thy hand:\\r\\nFarewell: I have told my last houre. I was false,\\r\\nYet never treacherous: Forgive me, Cosen:—\\r\\nOne kisse from faire Emilia: Tis done:\\r\\nTake her: I die.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThy brave soule seeke Elizium.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIle close thine eyes, Prince; blessed soules be with thee!\\r\\nThou art a right good man, and while I live,\\r\\nThis day I give to teares.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAnd I to honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nIn this place first you fought: ev\\'n very here\\r\\nI sundred you: acknowledge to the gods\\r\\nOur thankes that you are living.\\r\\nHis part is playd, and though it were too short,\\r\\nHe did it well: your day is lengthned, and\\r\\nThe blissefull dew of heaven do\\'s arowze you.\\r\\nThe powerfull Venus well hath grac\\'d her Altar,\\r\\nAnd given you your love: Our Master Mars\\r\\nHath vouch\\'d his Oracle, and to Arcite gave\\r\\nThe grace of the Contention: So the Deities\\r\\nHave shewd due justice: Beare this hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO Cosen,\\r\\nThat we should things desire, which doe cost us\\r\\nThe losse of our desire! That nought could buy\\r\\nDeare love, but losse of deare love!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNever Fortune\\r\\nDid play a subtler Game: The conquerd triumphes,\\r\\nThe victor has the Losse: yet in the passage\\r\\nThe gods have beene most equall: Palamon,\\r\\nYour kinseman hath confest the right o\\'th Lady\\r\\nDid lye in you, for you first saw her, and\\r\\nEven then proclaimd your fancie: He restord her\\r\\nAs your stolne Iewell, and desir\\'d your spirit\\r\\nTo send him hence forgiven; The gods my justice\\r\\nTake from my hand, and they themselves become\\r\\nThe Executioners: Leade your Lady off;\\r\\nAnd call your Lovers from the stage of death,\\r\\nWhom I adopt my Frinds. A day or two\\r\\nLet us looke sadly, and give grace unto\\r\\nThe Funerall of Arcite; in whose end\\r\\nThe visages of Bridegroomes weele put on\\r\\nAnd smile with Palamon; for whom an houre,\\r\\nBut one houre, since, I was as dearely sorry,\\r\\nAs glad of Arcite: and am now as glad,\\r\\nAs for him sorry. O you heavenly Charmers,\\r\\nWhat things you make of us! For what we lacke\\r\\nWe laugh, for what we have, are sorry: still\\r\\nAre children in some kind. Let us be thankefull\\r\\nFor that which is, and with you leave dispute\\r\\nThat are above our question. Let\\'s goe off,\\r\\nAnd beare us like the time. [Florish. Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEPILOGUE\\r\\n\\r\\nI would now aske ye how ye like the Play,\\r\\nBut, as it is with Schoole Boyes, cannot say,\\r\\nI am cruell fearefull: pray, yet stay a while,\\r\\nAnd let me looke upon ye: No man smile?\\r\\nThen it goes hard, I see; He that has\\r\\nLov\\'d a yong hansome wench, then, show his face—\\r\\nTis strange if none be heere—and if he will\\r\\nAgainst his Conscience, let him hisse, and kill\\r\\nOur Market: Tis in vaine, I see, to stay yee;\\r\\nHave at the worst can come, then! Now what say ye?\\r\\nAnd yet mistake me not: I am not bold;\\r\\nWe have no such cause. If the tale we have told\\r\\n(For tis no other) any way content ye\\r\\n(For to that honest purpose it was ment ye)\\r\\nWe have our end; and ye shall have ere long,\\r\\nI dare say, many a better, to prolong\\r\\nYour old loves to us: we, and all our might\\r\\nRest at your service. Gentlemen, good night. [Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE WINTER’S TALE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Sicilia. An Antechamber in Leontes’ Palace.\\r\\nScene II. The same. A Room of State in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. Sicilia. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\nScene II. The same. The outer Room of a Prison.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Sicilia. A Street in some Town.\\r\\nScene II. The same. A Court of Justice.\\r\\nScene III. Bohemia. A desert Country near the Sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Prologue.\\r\\nScene II. Bohemia. A Room in the palace of Polixenes.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A Road near the Shepherd’s cottage.\\r\\nScene IV. The same. A Shepherd’s Cottage.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Sicilia. A Room in the palace of Leontes.\\r\\nScene II. The same. Before the Palace.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A Room in Paulina’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES, King of Sicilia\\r\\nMAMILLIUS, his son\\r\\nCAMILLO, Sicilian Lord\\r\\nANTIGONUS, Sicilian Lord\\r\\nCLEOMENES, Sicilian Lord\\r\\nDION, Sicilian Lord\\r\\nPOLIXENES, King of Bohemia\\r\\nFLORIZEL, his son\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS, a Bohemian Lord\\r\\nAn Old Shepherd, reputed father of Perdita\\r\\nCLOWN, his son\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS, a rogue\\r\\nA Mariner\\r\\nA Gaoler\\r\\nServant to the Old Shepherd\\r\\nOther Sicilian Lords\\r\\nSicilian Gentlemen\\r\\nOfficers of a Court of Judicature\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE, Queen to Leontes\\r\\nPERDITA, daughter to Leontes and Hermione\\r\\nPAULINA, wife to Antigonus\\r\\nEMILIA, a lady attending on the Queen\\r\\nMOPSA, shepherdess\\r\\nDORCAS, shepherdess\\r\\nOther Ladies, attending on the Queen\\r\\n\\r\\nLords, Ladies, and Attendants; Satyrs for a Dance; Shepherds,\\r\\nShepherdesses, Guards, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nTIME, as Chorus\\r\\n\\r\\nScene: Sometimes in Sicilia; sometimes in Bohemia.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Sicilia. An Antechamber in Leontes’ Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Camillo and Archidamus.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nIf you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on the like occasion\\r\\nwhereon my services are now on foot, you shall see, as I have said,\\r\\ngreat difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI think this coming summer the King of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the\\r\\nvisitation which he justly owes him.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nWherein our entertainment shall shame us; we will be justified in our\\r\\nloves. For indeed,—\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBeseech you—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nVerily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge. We cannot with such\\r\\nmagnificence—in so rare—I know not what to say. We will give you sleepy\\r\\ndrinks, that your senses, unintelligent of our insufficience, may,\\r\\nthough they cannot praise us, as little accuse us.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nYou pay a great deal too dear for what’s given freely.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nBelieve me, I speak as my understanding instructs me and as mine\\r\\nhonesty puts it to utterance.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bohemia. They were trained\\r\\ntogether in their childhoods, and there rooted betwixt them then such\\r\\nan affection which cannot choose but branch now. Since their more\\r\\nmature dignities and royal necessities made separation of their\\r\\nsociety, their encounters, though not personal, have been royally\\r\\nattorneyed with interchange of gifts, letters, loving embassies, that\\r\\nthey have seemed to be together, though absent; shook hands, as over a\\r\\nvast; and embraced as it were from the ends of opposed winds. The\\r\\nheavens continue their loves!\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nI think there is not in the world either malice or matter to alter it.\\r\\nYou have an unspeakable comfort of your young Prince Mamillius. It is a\\r\\ngentleman of the greatest promise that ever came into my note.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI very well agree with you in the hopes of him. It is a gallant child;\\r\\none that indeed physics the subject, makes old hearts fresh. They that\\r\\nwent on crutches ere he was born desire yet their life to see him a\\r\\nman.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nWould they else be content to die?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nYes, if there were no other excuse why they should desire to live.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nIf the king had no son, they would desire to live on crutches till he\\r\\nhad one.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. A Room of State in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Hermione, Mamillius, Camillo and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nNine changes of the watery star hath been\\r\\nThe shepherd’s note since we have left our throne\\r\\nWithout a burden. Time as long again\\r\\nWould be fill’d up, my brother, with our thanks;\\r\\nAnd yet we should, for perpetuity,\\r\\nGo hence in debt: and therefore, like a cipher,\\r\\nYet standing in rich place, I multiply\\r\\nWith one “we thank you” many thousands more\\r\\nThat go before it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nStay your thanks a while,\\r\\nAnd pay them when you part.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nSir, that’s tomorrow.\\r\\nI am question’d by my fears, of what may chance\\r\\nOr breed upon our absence; that may blow\\r\\nNo sneaping winds at home, to make us say\\r\\n“This is put forth too truly.” Besides, I have stay’d\\r\\nTo tire your royalty.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWe are tougher, brother,\\r\\nThan you can put us to ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nNo longer stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nOne seve’night longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nVery sooth, tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWe’ll part the time between ’s then: and in that\\r\\nI’ll no gainsaying.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nPress me not, beseech you, so,\\r\\nThere is no tongue that moves, none, none i’ th’ world,\\r\\nSo soon as yours, could win me: so it should now,\\r\\nWere there necessity in your request, although\\r\\n’Twere needful I denied it. My affairs\\r\\nDo even drag me homeward: which to hinder\\r\\nWere, in your love a whip to me; my stay\\r\\nTo you a charge and trouble: to save both,\\r\\nFarewell, our brother.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTongue-tied, our queen? Speak you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nI had thought, sir, to have held my peace until\\r\\nYou had drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir,\\r\\nCharge him too coldly. Tell him you are sure\\r\\nAll in Bohemia’s well: this satisfaction\\r\\nThe by-gone day proclaimed. Say this to him,\\r\\nHe’s beat from his best ward.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWell said, Hermione.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nTo tell he longs to see his son were strong.\\r\\nBut let him say so then, and let him go;\\r\\nBut let him swear so, and he shall not stay,\\r\\nWe’ll thwack him hence with distaffs.\\r\\n[_To Polixenes._] Yet of your royal presence I’ll adventure\\r\\nThe borrow of a week. When at Bohemia\\r\\nYou take my lord, I’ll give him my commission\\r\\nTo let him there a month behind the gest\\r\\nPrefix’d for’s parting:—yet, good deed, Leontes,\\r\\nI love thee not a jar of th’ clock behind\\r\\nWhat lady she her lord. You’ll stay?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nNo, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNay, but you will?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI may not, verily.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nVerily!\\r\\nYou put me off with limber vows; but I,\\r\\nThough you would seek t’ unsphere the stars with oaths,\\r\\nShould yet say “Sir, no going.” Verily,\\r\\nYou shall not go. A lady’s verily is\\r\\nAs potent as a lord’s. Will go yet?\\r\\nForce me to keep you as a prisoner,\\r\\nNot like a guest: so you shall pay your fees\\r\\nWhen you depart, and save your thanks. How say you?\\r\\nMy prisoner or my guest? By your dread “verily,”\\r\\nOne of them you shall be.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nYour guest, then, madam.\\r\\nTo be your prisoner should import offending;\\r\\nWhich is for me less easy to commit\\r\\nThan you to punish.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNot your gaoler then,\\r\\nBut your kind hostess. Come, I’ll question you\\r\\nOf my lord’s tricks and yours when you were boys.\\r\\nYou were pretty lordings then.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWe were, fair queen,\\r\\nTwo lads that thought there was no more behind\\r\\nBut such a day tomorrow as today,\\r\\nAnd to be boy eternal.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWas not my lord\\r\\nThe verier wag o’ th’ two?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWe were as twinn’d lambs that did frisk i’ th’ sun\\r\\nAnd bleat the one at th’ other. What we chang’d\\r\\nWas innocence for innocence; we knew not\\r\\nThe doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream’d\\r\\nThat any did. Had we pursu’d that life,\\r\\nAnd our weak spirits ne’er been higher rear’d\\r\\nWith stronger blood, we should have answer’d heaven\\r\\nBoldly “Not guilty,” the imposition clear’d\\r\\nHereditary ours.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nBy this we gather\\r\\nYou have tripp’d since.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nO my most sacred lady,\\r\\nTemptations have since then been born to ’s! for\\r\\nIn those unfledg’d days was my wife a girl;\\r\\nYour precious self had then not cross’d the eyes\\r\\nOf my young play-fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nGrace to boot!\\r\\nOf this make no conclusion, lest you say\\r\\nYour queen and I are devils. Yet go on;\\r\\nTh’ offences we have made you do we’ll answer,\\r\\nIf you first sinn’d with us, and that with us\\r\\nYou did continue fault, and that you slipp’d not\\r\\nWith any but with us.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nIs he won yet?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nHe’ll stay, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nAt my request he would not.\\r\\nHermione, my dearest, thou never spok’st\\r\\nTo better purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNever?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNever but once.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWhat! have I twice said well? when was’t before?\\r\\nI prithee tell me. Cram ’s with praise, and make ’s\\r\\nAs fat as tame things: one good deed dying tongueless\\r\\nSlaughters a thousand waiting upon that.\\r\\nOur praises are our wages. You may ride ’s\\r\\nWith one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere\\r\\nWith spur we heat an acre. But to th’ goal:\\r\\nMy last good deed was to entreat his stay.\\r\\nWhat was my first? It has an elder sister,\\r\\nOr I mistake you: O, would her name were Grace!\\r\\nBut once before I spoke to the purpose—when?\\r\\nNay, let me have’t; I long.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhy, that was when\\r\\nThree crabbed months had sour’d themselves to death,\\r\\nEre I could make thee open thy white hand\\r\\nAnd clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter\\r\\n“I am yours for ever.”\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\n’Tis Grace indeed.\\r\\nWhy, lo you now, I have spoke to th’ purpose twice.\\r\\nThe one for ever earn’d a royal husband;\\r\\nTh’ other for some while a friend.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Giving her hand to Polixenes._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Too hot, too hot!\\r\\nTo mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.\\r\\nI have _tremor cordis_ on me. My heart dances,\\r\\nBut not for joy,—not joy. This entertainment\\r\\nMay a free face put on, derive a liberty\\r\\nFrom heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom,\\r\\nAnd well become the agent: ’t may, I grant:\\r\\nBut to be paddling palms and pinching fingers,\\r\\nAs now they are, and making practis’d smiles\\r\\nAs in a looking-glass; and then to sigh, as ’twere\\r\\nThe mort o’ th’ deer. O, that is entertainment\\r\\nMy bosom likes not, nor my brows. Mamillius,\\r\\nArt thou my boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nAy, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI’ fecks!\\r\\nWhy, that’s my bawcock. What! hast smutch’d thy nose?\\r\\nThey say it is a copy out of mine. Come, captain,\\r\\nWe must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain:\\r\\nAnd yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf\\r\\nAre all call’d neat.—Still virginalling\\r\\nUpon his palm?—How now, you wanton calf!\\r\\nArt thou my calf?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nYes, if you will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou want’st a rough pash and the shoots that I have\\r\\nTo be full like me:—yet they say we are\\r\\nAlmost as like as eggs; women say so,\\r\\nThat will say anything. But were they false\\r\\nAs o’er-dy’d blacks, as wind, as waters, false\\r\\nAs dice are to be wish’d by one that fixes\\r\\nNo bourn ’twixt his and mine, yet were it true\\r\\nTo say this boy were like me. Come, sir page,\\r\\nLook on me with your welkin eye: sweet villain!\\r\\nMost dear’st! my collop! Can thy dam?—may’t be?\\r\\nAffection! thy intention stabs the centre:\\r\\nThou dost make possible things not so held,\\r\\nCommunicat’st with dreams;—how can this be?—\\r\\nWith what’s unreal thou coactive art,\\r\\nAnd fellow’st nothing: then ’tis very credent\\r\\nThou may’st co-join with something; and thou dost,\\r\\nAnd that beyond commission, and I find it,\\r\\nAnd that to the infection of my brains\\r\\nAnd hardening of my brows.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWhat means Sicilia?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nHe something seems unsettled.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nHow, my lord?\\r\\nWhat cheer? How is’t with you, best brother?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nYou look\\r\\nAs if you held a brow of much distraction:\\r\\nAre you mov’d, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNo, in good earnest.\\r\\nHow sometimes nature will betray its folly,\\r\\nIts tenderness, and make itself a pastime\\r\\nTo harder bosoms! Looking on the lines\\r\\nOf my boy’s face, methoughts I did recoil\\r\\nTwenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech’d,\\r\\nIn my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzled\\r\\nLest it should bite its master, and so prove,\\r\\nAs ornaments oft do, too dangerous.\\r\\nHow like, methought, I then was to this kernel,\\r\\nThis squash, this gentleman. Mine honest friend,\\r\\nWill you take eggs for money?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nNo, my lord, I’ll fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou will? Why, happy man be ’s dole! My brother,\\r\\nAre you so fond of your young prince as we\\r\\nDo seem to be of ours?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nIf at home, sir,\\r\\nHe’s all my exercise, my mirth, my matter:\\r\\nNow my sworn friend, and then mine enemy;\\r\\nMy parasite, my soldier, statesman, all.\\r\\nHe makes a July’s day short as December;\\r\\nAnd with his varying childness cures in me\\r\\nThoughts that would thick my blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nSo stands this squire\\r\\nOffic’d with me. We two will walk, my lord,\\r\\nAnd leave you to your graver steps. Hermione,\\r\\nHow thou lov’st us show in our brother’s welcome;\\r\\nLet what is dear in Sicily be cheap:\\r\\nNext to thyself and my young rover, he’s\\r\\nApparent to my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nIf you would seek us,\\r\\nWe are yours i’ the garden. Shall ’s attend you there?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTo your own bents dispose you: you’ll be found,\\r\\nBe you beneath the sky. [_Aside._] I am angling now,\\r\\nThough you perceive me not how I give line.\\r\\nGo to, go to!\\r\\nHow she holds up the neb, the bill to him!\\r\\nAnd arms her with the boldness of a wife\\r\\nTo her allowing husband!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Polixenes, Hermione and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGone already!\\r\\nInch-thick, knee-deep, o’er head and ears a fork’d one!—\\r\\nGo, play, boy, play. Thy mother plays, and I\\r\\nPlay too; but so disgrac’d a part, whose issue\\r\\nWill hiss me to my grave: contempt and clamour\\r\\nWill be my knell. Go, play, boy, play. There have been,\\r\\nOr I am much deceiv’d, cuckolds ere now;\\r\\nAnd many a man there is, even at this present,\\r\\nNow while I speak this, holds his wife by th’ arm,\\r\\nThat little thinks she has been sluic’d in ’s absence,\\r\\nAnd his pond fish’d by his next neighbour, by\\r\\nSir Smile, his neighbour. Nay, there’s comfort in ’t,\\r\\nWhiles other men have gates, and those gates open’d,\\r\\nAs mine, against their will. Should all despair\\r\\nThat hath revolted wives, the tenth of mankind\\r\\nWould hang themselves. Physic for’t there’s none;\\r\\nIt is a bawdy planet, that will strike\\r\\nWhere ’tis predominant; and ’tis powerful, think it,\\r\\nFrom east, west, north, and south. Be it concluded,\\r\\nNo barricado for a belly. Know’t;\\r\\nIt will let in and out the enemy\\r\\nWith bag and baggage. Many thousand of us\\r\\nHave the disease, and feel’t not.—How now, boy!\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nI am like you, they say.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhy, that’s some comfort.\\r\\nWhat! Camillo there?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nAy, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGo play, Mamillius; thou’rt an honest man.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Mamillius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCamillo, this great sir will yet stay longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nYou had much ado to make his anchor hold:\\r\\nWhen you cast out, it still came home.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nDidst note it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHe would not stay at your petitions; made\\r\\nHis business more material.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nDidst perceive it?\\r\\n[_Aside._] They’re here with me already; whisp’ring, rounding,\\r\\n“Sicilia is a so-forth.” ’Tis far gone\\r\\nWhen I shall gust it last.—How came’t, Camillo,\\r\\nThat he did stay?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nAt the good queen’s entreaty.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nAt the queen’s be’t: “good” should be pertinent,\\r\\nBut so it is, it is not. Was this taken\\r\\nBy any understanding pate but thine?\\r\\nFor thy conceit is soaking, will draw in\\r\\nMore than the common blocks. Not noted, is’t,\\r\\nBut of the finer natures? by some severals\\r\\nOf head-piece extraordinary? lower messes\\r\\nPerchance are to this business purblind? say.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBusiness, my lord? I think most understand\\r\\nBohemia stays here longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHa?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nStays here longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nAy, but why?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nTo satisfy your highness, and the entreaties\\r\\nOf our most gracious mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nSatisfy?\\r\\nTh’ entreaties of your mistress? Satisfy?\\r\\nLet that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo,\\r\\nWith all the nearest things to my heart, as well\\r\\nMy chamber-counsels, wherein, priest-like, thou\\r\\nHast cleans’d my bosom; I from thee departed\\r\\nThy penitent reform’d. But we have been\\r\\nDeceiv’d in thy integrity, deceiv’d\\r\\nIn that which seems so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBe it forbid, my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTo bide upon’t: thou art not honest; or,\\r\\nIf thou inclin’st that way, thou art a coward,\\r\\nWhich hoxes honesty behind, restraining\\r\\nFrom course requir’d; or else thou must be counted\\r\\nA servant grafted in my serious trust,\\r\\nAnd therein negligent; or else a fool\\r\\nThat seest a game play’d home, the rich stake drawn,\\r\\nAnd tak’st it all for jest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nMy gracious lord,\\r\\nI may be negligent, foolish, and fearful;\\r\\nIn every one of these no man is free,\\r\\nBut that his negligence, his folly, fear,\\r\\nAmong the infinite doings of the world,\\r\\nSometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord,\\r\\nIf ever I were wilful-negligent,\\r\\nIt was my folly; if industriously\\r\\nI play’d the fool, it was my negligence,\\r\\nNot weighing well the end; if ever fearful\\r\\nTo do a thing, where I the issue doubted,\\r\\nWhereof the execution did cry out\\r\\nAgainst the non-performance, ’twas a fear\\r\\nWhich oft affects the wisest: these, my lord,\\r\\nAre such allow’d infirmities that honesty\\r\\nIs never free of. But, beseech your Grace,\\r\\nBe plainer with me; let me know my trespass\\r\\nBy its own visage: if I then deny it,\\r\\n’Tis none of mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHa’ not you seen, Camillo?\\r\\n(But that’s past doubt: you have, or your eye-glass\\r\\nIs thicker than a cuckold’s horn) or heard?\\r\\n(For, to a vision so apparent, rumour\\r\\nCannot be mute) or thought? (for cogitation\\r\\nResides not in that man that does not think)\\r\\nMy wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess,\\r\\nOr else be impudently negative,\\r\\nTo have nor eyes nor ears nor thought, then say\\r\\nMy wife’s a hobby-horse, deserves a name\\r\\nAs rank as any flax-wench that puts to\\r\\nBefore her troth-plight: say’t and justify’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI would not be a stander-by to hear\\r\\nMy sovereign mistress clouded so, without\\r\\nMy present vengeance taken: ’shrew my heart,\\r\\nYou never spoke what did become you less\\r\\nThan this; which to reiterate were sin\\r\\nAs deep as that, though true.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nIs whispering nothing?\\r\\nIs leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses?\\r\\nKissing with inside lip? Stopping the career\\r\\nOf laughter with a sigh?—a note infallible\\r\\nOf breaking honesty?—horsing foot on foot?\\r\\nSkulking in corners? Wishing clocks more swift?\\r\\nHours, minutes? Noon, midnight? and all eyes\\r\\nBlind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only,\\r\\nThat would unseen be wicked? Is this nothing?\\r\\nWhy, then the world and all that’s in’t is nothing,\\r\\nThe covering sky is nothing, Bohemia nothing,\\r\\nMy wife is nothing, nor nothing have these nothings,\\r\\nIf this be nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nGood my lord, be cur’d\\r\\nOf this diseas’d opinion, and betimes,\\r\\nFor ’tis most dangerous.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nSay it be, ’tis true.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNo, no, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nIt is; you lie, you lie:\\r\\nI say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee,\\r\\nPronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave,\\r\\nOr else a hovering temporizer that\\r\\nCanst with thine eyes at once see good and evil,\\r\\nInclining to them both. Were my wife’s liver\\r\\nInfected as her life, she would not live\\r\\nThe running of one glass.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nWho does infect her?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhy, he that wears her like her medal, hanging\\r\\nAbout his neck, Bohemia: who, if I\\r\\nHad servants true about me, that bare eyes\\r\\nTo see alike mine honour as their profits,\\r\\nTheir own particular thrifts, they would do that\\r\\nWhich should undo more doing: ay, and thou,\\r\\nHis cupbearer,—whom I from meaner form\\r\\nHave bench’d and rear’d to worship, who mayst see\\r\\nPlainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees heaven,\\r\\nHow I am galled,—mightst bespice a cup,\\r\\nTo give mine enemy a lasting wink;\\r\\nWhich draught to me were cordial.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSir, my lord,\\r\\nI could do this, and that with no rash potion,\\r\\nBut with a ling’ring dram, that should not work\\r\\nMaliciously like poison. But I cannot\\r\\nBelieve this crack to be in my dread mistress,\\r\\nSo sovereignly being honourable.\\r\\nI have lov’d thee,—\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nMake that thy question, and go rot!\\r\\nDost think I am so muddy, so unsettled,\\r\\nTo appoint myself in this vexation; sully\\r\\nThe purity and whiteness of my sheets,\\r\\n(Which to preserve is sleep, which being spotted\\r\\nIs goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps)\\r\\nGive scandal to the blood o’ th’ prince, my son,\\r\\n(Who I do think is mine, and love as mine)\\r\\nWithout ripe moving to’t? Would I do this?\\r\\nCould man so blench?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI must believe you, sir:\\r\\nI do; and will fetch off Bohemia for’t;\\r\\nProvided that, when he’s remov’d, your highness\\r\\nWill take again your queen as yours at first,\\r\\nEven for your son’s sake, and thereby for sealing\\r\\nThe injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms\\r\\nKnown and allied to yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou dost advise me\\r\\nEven so as I mine own course have set down:\\r\\nI’ll give no blemish to her honour, none.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nMy lord,\\r\\nGo then; and with a countenance as clear\\r\\nAs friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia\\r\\nAnd with your queen. I am his cupbearer.\\r\\nIf from me he have wholesome beverage,\\r\\nAccount me not your servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThis is all:\\r\\nDo’t, and thou hast the one half of my heart;\\r\\nDo’t not, thou splitt’st thine own.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI’ll do’t, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI will seem friendly, as thou hast advis’d me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nO miserable lady! But, for me,\\r\\nWhat case stand I in? I must be the poisoner\\r\\nOf good Polixenes, and my ground to do’t\\r\\nIs the obedience to a master; one\\r\\nWho, in rebellion with himself, will have\\r\\nAll that are his so too. To do this deed,\\r\\nPromotion follows. If I could find example\\r\\nOf thousands that had struck anointed kings\\r\\nAnd flourish’d after, I’d not do’t. But since\\r\\nNor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one,\\r\\nLet villainy itself forswear’t. I must\\r\\nForsake the court: to do’t, or no, is certain\\r\\nTo me a break-neck. Happy star reign now!\\r\\nHere comes Bohemia.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Polixenes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThis is strange. Methinks\\r\\nMy favour here begins to warp. Not speak?\\r\\nGood day, Camillo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHail, most royal sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWhat is the news i’ th’ court?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNone rare, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThe king hath on him such a countenance\\r\\nAs he had lost some province, and a region\\r\\nLov’d as he loves himself. Even now I met him\\r\\nWith customary compliment, when he,\\r\\nWafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling\\r\\nA lip of much contempt, speeds from me, and\\r\\nSo leaves me to consider what is breeding\\r\\nThat changes thus his manners.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI dare not know, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nHow, dare not? Do not? Do you know, and dare not?\\r\\nBe intelligent to me? ’Tis thereabouts;\\r\\nFor, to yourself, what you do know, you must,\\r\\nAnd cannot say you dare not. Good Camillo,\\r\\nYour chang’d complexions are to me a mirror\\r\\nWhich shows me mine chang’d too; for I must be\\r\\nA party in this alteration, finding\\r\\nMyself thus alter’d with’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThere is a sickness\\r\\nWhich puts some of us in distemper, but\\r\\nI cannot name the disease, and it is caught\\r\\nOf you that yet are well.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nHow caught of me?\\r\\nMake me not sighted like the basilisk.\\r\\nI have look’d on thousands who have sped the better\\r\\nBy my regard, but kill’d none so. Camillo,—\\r\\nAs you are certainly a gentleman, thereto\\r\\nClerk-like, experienc’d, which no less adorns\\r\\nOur gentry than our parents’ noble names,\\r\\nIn whose success we are gentle,—I beseech you,\\r\\nIf you know aught which does behove my knowledge\\r\\nThereof to be inform’d, imprison’t not\\r\\nIn ignorant concealment.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI may not answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nA sickness caught of me, and yet I well?\\r\\nI must be answer’d. Dost thou hear, Camillo,\\r\\nI conjure thee, by all the parts of man\\r\\nWhich honour does acknowledge, whereof the least\\r\\nIs not this suit of mine, that thou declare\\r\\nWhat incidency thou dost guess of harm\\r\\nIs creeping toward me; how far off, how near;\\r\\nWhich way to be prevented, if to be;\\r\\nIf not, how best to bear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSir, I will tell you;\\r\\nSince I am charg’d in honour, and by him\\r\\nThat I think honourable. Therefore mark my counsel,\\r\\nWhich must be ev’n as swiftly follow’d as\\r\\nI mean to utter it, or both yourself and me\\r\\nCry lost, and so goodnight!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nOn, good Camillo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI am appointed him to murder you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nBy whom, Camillo?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBy the king.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nFor what?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHe thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears,\\r\\nAs he had seen’t or been an instrument\\r\\nTo vice you to’t, that you have touch’d his queen\\r\\nForbiddenly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nO, then my best blood turn\\r\\nTo an infected jelly, and my name\\r\\nBe yok’d with his that did betray the Best!\\r\\nTurn then my freshest reputation to\\r\\nA savour that may strike the dullest nostril\\r\\nWhere I arrive, and my approach be shunn’d,\\r\\nNay, hated too, worse than the great’st infection\\r\\nThat e’er was heard or read!\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSwear his thought over\\r\\nBy each particular star in heaven and\\r\\nBy all their influences, you may as well\\r\\nForbid the sea for to obey the moon\\r\\nAs or by oath remove or counsel shake\\r\\nThe fabric of his folly, whose foundation\\r\\nIs pil’d upon his faith, and will continue\\r\\nThe standing of his body.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nHow should this grow?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI know not: but I am sure ’tis safer to\\r\\nAvoid what’s grown than question how ’tis born.\\r\\nIf therefore you dare trust my honesty,\\r\\nThat lies enclosed in this trunk, which you\\r\\nShall bear along impawn’d, away tonight.\\r\\nYour followers I will whisper to the business,\\r\\nAnd will by twos and threes, at several posterns,\\r\\nClear them o’ th’ city. For myself, I’ll put\\r\\nMy fortunes to your service, which are here\\r\\nBy this discovery lost. Be not uncertain,\\r\\nFor, by the honour of my parents, I\\r\\nHave utter’d truth: which if you seek to prove,\\r\\nI dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer\\r\\nThan one condemned by the king’s own mouth,\\r\\nThereon his execution sworn.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI do believe thee.\\r\\nI saw his heart in ’s face. Give me thy hand,\\r\\nBe pilot to me, and thy places shall\\r\\nStill neighbour mine. My ships are ready, and\\r\\nMy people did expect my hence departure\\r\\nTwo days ago. This jealousy\\r\\nIs for a precious creature: as she’s rare,\\r\\nMust it be great; and, as his person’s mighty,\\r\\nMust it be violent; and as he does conceive\\r\\nHe is dishonour’d by a man which ever\\r\\nProfess’d to him, why, his revenges must\\r\\nIn that be made more bitter. Fear o’ershades me.\\r\\nGood expedition be my friend, and comfort\\r\\nThe gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing\\r\\nOf his ill-ta’en suspicion! Come, Camillo,\\r\\nI will respect thee as a father if\\r\\nThou bear’st my life off hence. Let us avoid.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nIt is in mine authority to command\\r\\nThe keys of all the posterns: please your highness\\r\\nTo take the urgent hour. Come, sir, away.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Sicilia. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hermione, Mamillius and Ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nTake the boy to you: he so troubles me,\\r\\n’Tis past enduring.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LADY.\\r\\nCome, my gracious lord,\\r\\nShall I be your playfellow?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nNo, I’ll none of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LADY.\\r\\nWhy, my sweet lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nYou’ll kiss me hard, and speak to me as if\\r\\nI were a baby still. I love you better.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LADY.\\r\\nAnd why so, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nNot for because\\r\\nYour brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say,\\r\\nBecome some women best, so that there be not\\r\\nToo much hair there, but in a semicircle\\r\\nOr a half-moon made with a pen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LADY.\\r\\nWho taught this?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nI learn’d it out of women’s faces. Pray now,\\r\\nWhat colour are your eyebrows?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LADY.\\r\\nBlue, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nNay, that’s a mock. I have seen a lady’s nose\\r\\nThat has been blue, but not her eyebrows.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LADY.\\r\\nHark ye,\\r\\nThe queen your mother rounds apace. We shall\\r\\nPresent our services to a fine new prince\\r\\nOne of these days, and then you’d wanton with us,\\r\\nIf we would have you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LADY.\\r\\nShe is spread of late\\r\\nInto a goodly bulk: good time encounter her!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWhat wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now\\r\\nI am for you again. Pray you sit by us,\\r\\nAnd tell ’s a tale.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nMerry or sad shall’t be?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nAs merry as you will.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nA sad tale’s best for winter. I have one\\r\\nOf sprites and goblins.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nLet’s have that, good sir.\\r\\nCome on, sit down. Come on, and do your best\\r\\nTo fright me with your sprites: you’re powerful at it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nThere was a man,—\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNay, come, sit down, then on.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nDwelt by a churchyard. I will tell it softly,\\r\\nYond crickets shall not hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nCome on then,\\r\\nAnd give’t me in mine ear.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords and Guards.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWas he met there? his train? Camillo with him?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nBehind the tuft of pines I met them, never\\r\\nSaw I men scour so on their way: I ey’d them\\r\\nEven to their ships.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow blest am I\\r\\nIn my just censure, in my true opinion!\\r\\nAlack, for lesser knowledge! How accurs’d\\r\\nIn being so blest! There may be in the cup\\r\\nA spider steep’d, and one may drink, depart,\\r\\nAnd yet partake no venom, for his knowledge\\r\\nIs not infected; but if one present\\r\\nTh’ abhorr’d ingredient to his eye, make known\\r\\nHow he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides,\\r\\nWith violent hefts. I have drunk, and seen the spider.\\r\\nCamillo was his help in this, his pander.\\r\\nThere is a plot against my life, my crown;\\r\\nAll’s true that is mistrusted. That false villain\\r\\nWhom I employ’d, was pre-employ’d by him.\\r\\nHe has discover’d my design, and I\\r\\nRemain a pinch’d thing; yea, a very trick\\r\\nFor them to play at will. How came the posterns\\r\\nSo easily open?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nBy his great authority,\\r\\nWhich often hath no less prevail’d than so\\r\\nOn your command.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI know’t too well.\\r\\nGive me the boy. I am glad you did not nurse him.\\r\\nThough he does bear some signs of me, yet you\\r\\nHave too much blood in him.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWhat is this? sport?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nBear the boy hence, he shall not come about her,\\r\\nAway with him, and let her sport herself\\r\\nWith that she’s big with; for ’tis Polixenes\\r\\nHas made thee swell thus.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Mamillius with some of the Guards._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nBut I’d say he had not,\\r\\nAnd I’ll be sworn you would believe my saying,\\r\\nHowe’er you learn th’ nayward.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou, my lords,\\r\\nLook on her, mark her well. Be but about\\r\\nTo say, “she is a goodly lady,” and\\r\\nThe justice of your hearts will thereto add\\r\\n“’Tis pity she’s not honest, honourable”:\\r\\nPraise her but for this her without-door form,\\r\\nWhich on my faith deserves high speech, and straight\\r\\nThe shrug, the hum or ha, these petty brands\\r\\nThat calumny doth use—O, I am out,\\r\\nThat mercy does; for calumny will sear\\r\\nVirtue itself—these shrugs, these hum’s, and ha’s,\\r\\nWhen you have said “she’s goodly,” come between,\\r\\nEre you can say “she’s honest”: but be it known,\\r\\nFrom him that has most cause to grieve it should be,\\r\\nShe’s an adultress!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nShould a villain say so,\\r\\nThe most replenish’d villain in the world,\\r\\nHe were as much more villain: you, my lord,\\r\\nDo but mistake.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou have mistook, my lady,\\r\\nPolixenes for Leontes O thou thing,\\r\\nWhich I’ll not call a creature of thy place,\\r\\nLest barbarism, making me the precedent,\\r\\nShould a like language use to all degrees,\\r\\nAnd mannerly distinguishment leave out\\r\\nBetwixt the prince and beggar. I have said\\r\\nShe’s an adultress; I have said with whom:\\r\\nMore, she’s a traitor, and Camillo is\\r\\nA federary with her; and one that knows\\r\\nWhat she should shame to know herself\\r\\nBut with her most vile principal, that she’s\\r\\nA bed-swerver, even as bad as those\\r\\nThat vulgars give bold’st titles; ay, and privy\\r\\nTo this their late escape.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNo, by my life,\\r\\nPrivy to none of this. How will this grieve you,\\r\\nWhen you shall come to clearer knowledge, that\\r\\nYou thus have publish’d me! Gentle my lord,\\r\\nYou scarce can right me throughly then, to say\\r\\nYou did mistake.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNo. If I mistake\\r\\nIn those foundations which I build upon,\\r\\nThe centre is not big enough to bear\\r\\nA school-boy’s top. Away with her to prison!\\r\\nHe who shall speak for her is afar off guilty\\r\\nBut that he speaks.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nThere’s some ill planet reigns:\\r\\nI must be patient till the heavens look\\r\\nWith an aspect more favourable. Good my lords,\\r\\nI am not prone to weeping, as our sex\\r\\nCommonly are; the want of which vain dew\\r\\nPerchance shall dry your pities. But I have\\r\\nThat honourable grief lodg’d here which burns\\r\\nWorse than tears drown: beseech you all, my lords,\\r\\nWith thoughts so qualified as your charities\\r\\nShall best instruct you, measure me; and so\\r\\nThe king’s will be perform’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nShall I be heard?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWho is’t that goes with me? Beseech your highness\\r\\nMy women may be with me, for you see\\r\\nMy plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools;\\r\\nThere is no cause: when you shall know your mistress\\r\\nHas deserv’d prison, then abound in tears\\r\\nAs I come out: this action I now go on\\r\\nIs for my better grace. Adieu, my lord:\\r\\nI never wish’d to see you sorry; now\\r\\nI trust I shall. My women, come; you have leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGo, do our bidding. Hence!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Queen and Ladies with Guards._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nBeseech your highness, call the queen again.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nBe certain what you do, sir, lest your justice\\r\\nProve violence, in the which three great ones suffer,\\r\\nYourself, your queen, your son.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nFor her, my lord,\\r\\nI dare my life lay down, and will do’t, sir,\\r\\nPlease you to accept it, that the queen is spotless\\r\\nI’ th’ eyes of heaven and to you—I mean\\r\\nIn this which you accuse her.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nIf it prove\\r\\nShe’s otherwise, I’ll keep my stables where\\r\\nI lodge my wife; I’ll go in couples with her;\\r\\nThan when I feel and see her no further trust her.\\r\\nFor every inch of woman in the world,\\r\\nAy, every dram of woman’s flesh, is false,\\r\\nIf she be.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHold your peaces.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nGood my lord,—\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nIt is for you we speak, not for ourselves:\\r\\nYou are abus’d, and by some putter-on\\r\\nThat will be damn’d for’t: would I knew the villain,\\r\\nI would land-damn him. Be she honour-flaw’d,\\r\\nI have three daughters; the eldest is eleven;\\r\\nThe second and the third, nine and some five;\\r\\nIf this prove true, they’ll pay for’t. By mine honour,\\r\\nI’ll geld ’em all; fourteen they shall not see,\\r\\nTo bring false generations: they are co-heirs,\\r\\nAnd I had rather glib myself than they\\r\\nShould not produce fair issue.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nCease; no more.\\r\\nYou smell this business with a sense as cold\\r\\nAs is a dead man’s nose: but I do see’t and feel’t,\\r\\nAs you feel doing thus; and see withal\\r\\nThe instruments that feel.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nIf it be so,\\r\\nWe need no grave to bury honesty.\\r\\nThere’s not a grain of it the face to sweeten\\r\\nOf the whole dungy earth.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat! Lack I credit?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nI had rather you did lack than I, my lord,\\r\\nUpon this ground: and more it would content me\\r\\nTo have her honour true than your suspicion,\\r\\nBe blam’d for’t how you might.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhy, what need we\\r\\nCommune with you of this, but rather follow\\r\\nOur forceful instigation? Our prerogative\\r\\nCalls not your counsels, but our natural goodness\\r\\nImparts this; which, if you, or stupified\\r\\nOr seeming so in skill, cannot or will not\\r\\nRelish a truth, like us, inform yourselves\\r\\nWe need no more of your advice: the matter,\\r\\nThe loss, the gain, the ord’ring on’t, is all\\r\\nProperly ours.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nAnd I wish, my liege,\\r\\nYou had only in your silent judgement tried it,\\r\\nWithout more overture.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow could that be?\\r\\nEither thou art most ignorant by age,\\r\\nOr thou wert born a fool. Camillo’s flight,\\r\\nAdded to their familiarity,\\r\\n(Which was as gross as ever touch’d conjecture,\\r\\nThat lack’d sight only, nought for approbation\\r\\nBut only seeing, all other circumstances\\r\\nMade up to th’ deed) doth push on this proceeding.\\r\\nYet, for a greater confirmation\\r\\n(For in an act of this importance, ’twere\\r\\nMost piteous to be wild), I have dispatch’d in post\\r\\nTo sacred Delphos, to Apollo’s temple,\\r\\nCleomenes and Dion, whom you know\\r\\nOf stuff’d sufficiency: now from the oracle\\r\\nThey will bring all, whose spiritual counsel had,\\r\\nShall stop or spur me. Have I done well?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nWell done, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThough I am satisfied, and need no more\\r\\nThan what I know, yet shall the oracle\\r\\nGive rest to the minds of others, such as he\\r\\nWhose ignorant credulity will not\\r\\nCome up to th’ truth. So have we thought it good\\r\\nFrom our free person she should be confin’d,\\r\\nLest that the treachery of the two fled hence\\r\\nBe left her to perform. Come, follow us;\\r\\nWe are to speak in public; for this business\\r\\nWill raise us all.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] To laughter, as I take it,\\r\\nIf the good truth were known.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. The outer Room of a Prison.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paulina a Gentleman and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThe keeper of the prison, call to him;\\r\\nLet him have knowledge who I am.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit the Gentleman._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGood lady!\\r\\nNo court in Europe is too good for thee;\\r\\nWhat dost thou then in prison?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gentleman with the Gaoler.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, good sir,\\r\\nYou know me, do you not?\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nFor a worthy lady\\r\\nAnd one who much I honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nPray you then,\\r\\nConduct me to the queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nI may not, madam.\\r\\nTo the contrary I have express commandment.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nHere’s ado, to lock up honesty and honour from\\r\\nTh’ access of gentle visitors! Is’t lawful, pray you,\\r\\nTo see her women? any of them? Emilia?\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nSo please you, madam,\\r\\nTo put apart these your attendants, I\\r\\nShall bring Emilia forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI pray now, call her.\\r\\nWithdraw yourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Gentleman and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nAnd, madam,\\r\\nI must be present at your conference.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWell, be’t so, prithee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Gaoler._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHere’s such ado to make no stain a stain\\r\\nAs passes colouring.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Gaoler with Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nDear gentlewoman,\\r\\nHow fares our gracious lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAs well as one so great and so forlorn\\r\\nMay hold together: on her frights and griefs,\\r\\n(Which never tender lady hath borne greater)\\r\\nShe is, something before her time, deliver’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nA boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nA daughter; and a goodly babe,\\r\\nLusty, and like to live: the queen receives\\r\\nMuch comfort in ’t; says “My poor prisoner,\\r\\nI am as innocent as you.”\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI dare be sworn.\\r\\nThese dangerous unsafe lunes i’ th’ king, beshrew them!\\r\\nHe must be told on’t, and he shall: the office\\r\\nBecomes a woman best. I’ll take’t upon me.\\r\\nIf I prove honey-mouth’d, let my tongue blister,\\r\\nAnd never to my red-look’d anger be\\r\\nThe trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia,\\r\\nCommend my best obedience to the queen.\\r\\nIf she dares trust me with her little babe,\\r\\nI’ll show’t the king, and undertake to be\\r\\nHer advocate to th’ loud’st. We do not know\\r\\nHow he may soften at the sight o’ th’ child:\\r\\nThe silence often of pure innocence\\r\\nPersuades, when speaking fails.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMost worthy madam,\\r\\nYour honour and your goodness is so evident,\\r\\nThat your free undertaking cannot miss\\r\\nA thriving issue: there is no lady living\\r\\nSo meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship\\r\\nTo visit the next room, I’ll presently\\r\\nAcquaint the queen of your most noble offer,\\r\\nWho but today hammer’d of this design,\\r\\nBut durst not tempt a minister of honour,\\r\\nLest she should be denied.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nTell her, Emilia,\\r\\nI’ll use that tongue I have: if wit flow from ’t\\r\\nAs boldness from my bosom, let’t not be doubted\\r\\nI shall do good.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNow be you blest for it!\\r\\nI’ll to the queen: please you come something nearer.\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nMadam, if ’t please the queen to send the babe,\\r\\nI know not what I shall incur to pass it,\\r\\nHaving no warrant.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nYou need not fear it, sir:\\r\\nThis child was prisoner to the womb, and is,\\r\\nBy law and process of great nature thence\\r\\nFreed and enfranchis’d: not a party to\\r\\nThe anger of the king, nor guilty of,\\r\\nIf any be, the trespass of the queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nI do believe it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nDo not you fear: upon mine honour, I\\r\\nWill stand betwixt you and danger.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords and other Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNor night nor day no rest: it is but weakness\\r\\nTo bear the matter thus, mere weakness. If\\r\\nThe cause were not in being,—part o’ th’ cause,\\r\\nShe th’ adultress; for the harlot king\\r\\nIs quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank\\r\\nAnd level of my brain, plot-proof. But she\\r\\nI can hook to me. Say that she were gone,\\r\\nGiven to the fire, a moiety of my rest\\r\\nMight come to me again. Who’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST ATTENDANT.\\r\\nMy lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow does the boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST ATTENDANT.\\r\\nHe took good rest tonight;\\r\\n’Tis hop’d his sickness is discharg’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTo see his nobleness,\\r\\nConceiving the dishonour of his mother.\\r\\nHe straight declin’d, droop’d, took it deeply,\\r\\nFasten’d and fix’d the shame on’t in himself,\\r\\nThrew off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep,\\r\\nAnd downright languish’d. Leave me solely: go,\\r\\nSee how he fares.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit First Attendant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFie, fie! no thought of him.\\r\\nThe very thought of my revenges that way\\r\\nRecoil upon me: in himself too mighty,\\r\\nAnd in his parties, his alliance. Let him be,\\r\\nUntil a time may serve. For present vengeance,\\r\\nTake it on her. Camillo and Polixenes\\r\\nLaugh at me; make their pastime at my sorrow:\\r\\nThey should not laugh if I could reach them, nor\\r\\nShall she, within my power.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paulina carrying a baby, with Antigonus, lords and servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nYou must not enter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNay, rather, good my lords, be second to me:\\r\\nFear you his tyrannous passion more, alas,\\r\\nThan the queen’s life? a gracious innocent soul,\\r\\nMore free than he is jealous.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nThat’s enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMadam, he hath not slept tonight; commanded\\r\\nNone should come at him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNot so hot, good sir;\\r\\nI come to bring him sleep. ’Tis such as you,\\r\\nThat creep like shadows by him, and do sigh\\r\\nAt each his needless heavings,—such as you\\r\\nNourish the cause of his awaking. I\\r\\nDo come with words as med’cinal as true,\\r\\nHonest as either, to purge him of that humour\\r\\nThat presses him from sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat noise there, ho?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNo noise, my lord; but needful conference\\r\\nAbout some gossips for your highness.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow!\\r\\nAway with that audacious lady! Antigonus,\\r\\nI charg’d thee that she should not come about me.\\r\\nI knew she would.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI told her so, my lord,\\r\\nOn your displeasure’s peril and on mine,\\r\\nShe should not visit you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat, canst not rule her?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nFrom all dishonesty he can. In this,\\r\\nUnless he take the course that you have done,\\r\\nCommit me for committing honour—trust it,\\r\\nHe shall not rule me.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nLa you now, you hear.\\r\\nWhen she will take the rein I let her run;\\r\\nBut she’ll not stumble.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nGood my liege, I come,—\\r\\nAnd, I beseech you hear me, who professes\\r\\nMyself your loyal servant, your physician,\\r\\nYour most obedient counsellor, yet that dares\\r\\nLess appear so, in comforting your evils,\\r\\nThan such as most seem yours—I say I come\\r\\nFrom your good queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGood queen!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nGood queen, my lord, good queen: I say, good queen,\\r\\nAnd would by combat make her good, so were I\\r\\nA man, the worst about you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nForce her hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nLet him that makes but trifles of his eyes\\r\\nFirst hand me: on mine own accord I’ll off;\\r\\nBut first I’ll do my errand. The good queen,\\r\\n(For she is good) hath brought you forth a daughter;\\r\\nHere ’tis; commends it to your blessing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Laying down the child._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nOut!\\r\\nA mankind witch! Hence with her, out o’ door:\\r\\nA most intelligencing bawd!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNot so.\\r\\nI am as ignorant in that as you\\r\\nIn so entitling me; and no less honest\\r\\nThan you are mad; which is enough, I’ll warrant,\\r\\nAs this world goes, to pass for honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTraitors!\\r\\nWill you not push her out? [_To Antigonus._] Give her the bastard,\\r\\nThou dotard! Thou art woman-tir’d, unroosted\\r\\nBy thy Dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard,\\r\\nTake’t up, I say; give’t to thy crone.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nFor ever\\r\\nUnvenerable be thy hands, if thou\\r\\nTak’st up the princess by that forced baseness\\r\\nWhich he has put upon ’t!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHe dreads his wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nSo I would you did; then ’twere past all doubt\\r\\nYou’d call your children yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nA nest of traitors!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI am none, by this good light.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNor I; nor any\\r\\nBut one that’s here, and that’s himself. For he\\r\\nThe sacred honour of himself, his queen’s,\\r\\nHis hopeful son’s, his babe’s, betrays to slander,\\r\\nWhose sting is sharper than the sword’s; and will not,\\r\\n(For, as the case now stands, it is a curse\\r\\nHe cannot be compell’d to’t) once remove\\r\\nThe root of his opinion, which is rotten\\r\\nAs ever oak or stone was sound.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nA callat\\r\\nOf boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband,\\r\\nAnd now baits me! This brat is none of mine;\\r\\nIt is the issue of Polixenes.\\r\\nHence with it, and together with the dam\\r\\nCommit them to the fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nIt is yours;\\r\\nAnd, might we lay th’ old proverb to your charge,\\r\\nSo like you ’tis the worse. Behold, my lords,\\r\\nAlthough the print be little, the whole matter\\r\\nAnd copy of the father: eye, nose, lip,\\r\\nThe trick of ’s frown, his forehead; nay, the valley,\\r\\nThe pretty dimples of his chin and cheek; his smiles;\\r\\nThe very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger:\\r\\nAnd thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it\\r\\nSo like to him that got it, if thou hast\\r\\nThe ordering of the mind too, ’mongst all colours\\r\\nNo yellow in ’t, lest she suspect, as he does,\\r\\nHer children not her husband’s!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nA gross hag!\\r\\nAnd, losel, thou art worthy to be hang’d\\r\\nThat wilt not stay her tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nHang all the husbands\\r\\nThat cannot do that feat, you’ll leave yourself\\r\\nHardly one subject.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nOnce more, take her hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nA most unworthy and unnatural lord\\r\\nCan do no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI’ll have thee burnt.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI care not.\\r\\nIt is an heretic that makes the fire,\\r\\nNot she which burns in ’t. I’ll not call you tyrant;\\r\\nBut this most cruel usage of your queen,\\r\\nNot able to produce more accusation\\r\\nThan your own weak-hing’d fancy, something savours\\r\\nOf tyranny, and will ignoble make you,\\r\\nYea, scandalous to the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nOn your allegiance,\\r\\nOut of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant,\\r\\nWhere were her life? She durst not call me so,\\r\\nIf she did know me one. Away with her!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI pray you, do not push me; I’ll be gone.\\r\\nLook to your babe, my lord; ’tis yours: Jove send her\\r\\nA better guiding spirit! What needs these hands?\\r\\nYou that are thus so tender o’er his follies,\\r\\nWill never do him good, not one of you.\\r\\nSo, so. Farewell; we are gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.\\r\\nMy child? Away with’t. Even thou, that hast\\r\\nA heart so tender o’er it, take it hence,\\r\\nAnd see it instantly consum’d with fire;\\r\\nEven thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight:\\r\\nWithin this hour bring me word ’tis done,\\r\\nAnd by good testimony, or I’ll seize thy life,\\r\\nWith that thou else call’st thine. If thou refuse\\r\\nAnd wilt encounter with my wrath, say so;\\r\\nThe bastard brains with these my proper hands\\r\\nShall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire;\\r\\nFor thou set’st on thy wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI did not, sir:\\r\\nThese lords, my noble fellows, if they please,\\r\\nCan clear me in ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORDS\\r\\nWe can: my royal liege,\\r\\nHe is not guilty of her coming hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou’re liars all.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nBeseech your highness, give us better credit:\\r\\nWe have always truly serv’d you; and beseech\\r\\nSo to esteem of us. And on our knees we beg,\\r\\nAs recompense of our dear services\\r\\nPast and to come, that you do change this purpose,\\r\\nWhich being so horrible, so bloody, must\\r\\nLead on to some foul issue. We all kneel.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI am a feather for each wind that blows.\\r\\nShall I live on to see this bastard kneel\\r\\nAnd call me father? better burn it now\\r\\nThan curse it then. But be it; let it live.\\r\\nIt shall not neither. [_To Antigonus._] You, sir, come you hither,\\r\\nYou that have been so tenderly officious\\r\\nWith Lady Margery, your midwife, there,\\r\\nTo save this bastard’s life—for ’tis a bastard,\\r\\nSo sure as this beard’s grey. What will you adventure\\r\\nTo save this brat’s life?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nAnything, my lord,\\r\\nThat my ability may undergo,\\r\\nAnd nobleness impose: at least thus much:\\r\\nI’ll pawn the little blood which I have left\\r\\nTo save the innocent. Anything possible.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nIt shall be possible. Swear by this sword\\r\\nThou wilt perform my bidding.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nMark, and perform it, seest thou? for the fail\\r\\nOf any point in’t shall not only be\\r\\nDeath to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongu’d wife,\\r\\nWhom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee,\\r\\nAs thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry\\r\\nThis female bastard hence, and that thou bear it\\r\\nTo some remote and desert place, quite out\\r\\nOf our dominions; and that there thou leave it,\\r\\nWithout more mercy, to it own protection\\r\\nAnd favour of the climate. As by strange fortune\\r\\nIt came to us, I do in justice charge thee,\\r\\nOn thy soul’s peril and thy body’s torture,\\r\\nThat thou commend it strangely to some place\\r\\nWhere chance may nurse or end it. Take it up.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI swear to do this, though a present death\\r\\nHad been more merciful. Come on, poor babe:\\r\\nSome powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens\\r\\nTo be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say,\\r\\nCasting their savageness aside, have done\\r\\nLike offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous\\r\\nIn more than this deed does require! And blessing\\r\\nAgainst this cruelty, fight on thy side,\\r\\nPoor thing, condemn’d to loss!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with the child._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNo, I’ll not rear\\r\\nAnother’s issue.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nPlease your highness, posts\\r\\nFrom those you sent to th’ oracle are come\\r\\nAn hour since: Cleomenes and Dion,\\r\\nBeing well arriv’d from Delphos, are both landed,\\r\\nHasting to th’ court.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nSo please you, sir, their speed\\r\\nHath been beyond account.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTwenty-three days\\r\\nThey have been absent: ’tis good speed; foretells\\r\\nThe great Apollo suddenly will have\\r\\nThe truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords;\\r\\nSummon a session, that we may arraign\\r\\nOur most disloyal lady; for, as she hath\\r\\nBeen publicly accus’d, so shall she have\\r\\nA just and open trial. While she lives,\\r\\nMy heart will be a burden to me. Leave me,\\r\\nAnd think upon my bidding.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Sicilia. A Street in some Town.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cleomenes and Dion.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nThe climate’s delicate; the air most sweet,\\r\\nFertile the isle, the temple much surpassing\\r\\nThe common praise it bears.\\r\\n\\r\\nDION.\\r\\nI shall report,\\r\\nFor most it caught me, the celestial habits\\r\\n(Methinks I so should term them) and the reverence\\r\\nOf the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice!\\r\\nHow ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly,\\r\\nIt was i’ th’ offering!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nBut of all, the burst\\r\\nAnd the ear-deaf’ning voice o’ th’ oracle,\\r\\nKin to Jove’s thunder, so surprised my sense\\r\\nThat I was nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nDION.\\r\\nIf the event o’ th’ journey\\r\\nProve as successful to the queen,—O, be’t so!—\\r\\nAs it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy,\\r\\nThe time is worth the use on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nGreat Apollo\\r\\nTurn all to th’ best! These proclamations,\\r\\nSo forcing faults upon Hermione,\\r\\nI little like.\\r\\n\\r\\nDION.\\r\\nThe violent carriage of it\\r\\nWill clear or end the business: when the oracle,\\r\\n(Thus by Apollo’s great divine seal’d up)\\r\\nShall the contents discover, something rare\\r\\nEven then will rush to knowledge. Go. Fresh horses!\\r\\nAnd gracious be the issue!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. A Court of Justice.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Lords and Officers appear, properly seated.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThis sessions (to our great grief we pronounce)\\r\\nEven pushes ’gainst our heart: the party tried\\r\\nThe daughter of a king, our wife, and one\\r\\nOf us too much belov’d. Let us be clear’d\\r\\nOf being tyrannous, since we so openly\\r\\nProceed in justice, which shall have due course,\\r\\nEven to the guilt or the purgation.\\r\\nProduce the prisoner.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nIt is his highness’ pleasure that the queen\\r\\nAppear in person here in court. Silence!\\r\\n\\r\\n Hermione is brought in guarded; Paulina and Ladies attending.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nRead the indictment.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\n[_Reads._] “Hermione, queen to the worthy Leontes, king of Sicilia,\\r\\nthou art here accused and arraigned of high treason, in committing\\r\\nadultery with Polixenes, king of Bohemia; and conspiring with Camillo\\r\\nto take away the life of our sovereign lord the king, thy royal\\r\\nhusband: the pretence whereof being by circumstances partly laid open,\\r\\nthou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance of a true subject,\\r\\ndidst counsel and aid them, for their better safety, to fly away by\\r\\nnight.”\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nSince what I am to say must be but that\\r\\nWhich contradicts my accusation, and\\r\\nThe testimony on my part no other\\r\\nBut what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me\\r\\nTo say “Not guilty”. Mine integrity,\\r\\nBeing counted falsehood, shall, as I express it,\\r\\nBe so receiv’d. But thus, if powers divine\\r\\nBehold our human actions, as they do,\\r\\nI doubt not, then, but innocence shall make\\r\\nFalse accusation blush, and tyranny\\r\\nTremble at patience. You, my lord, best know,\\r\\nWho least will seem to do so, my past life\\r\\nHath been as continent, as chaste, as true,\\r\\nAs I am now unhappy; which is more\\r\\nThan history can pattern, though devis’d\\r\\nAnd play’d to take spectators. For behold me,\\r\\nA fellow of the royal bed, which owe\\r\\nA moiety of the throne, a great king’s daughter,\\r\\nThe mother to a hopeful prince, here standing\\r\\nTo prate and talk for life and honour ’fore\\r\\nWho please to come and hear. For life, I prize it\\r\\nAs I weigh grief, which I would spare. For honour,\\r\\n’Tis a derivative from me to mine,\\r\\nAnd only that I stand for. I appeal\\r\\nTo your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes\\r\\nCame to your court, how I was in your grace,\\r\\nHow merited to be so; since he came,\\r\\nWith what encounter so uncurrent I\\r\\nHave strain’d t’ appear thus: if one jot beyond\\r\\nThe bound of honour, or in act or will\\r\\nThat way inclining, harden’d be the hearts\\r\\nOf all that hear me, and my near’st of kin\\r\\nCry fie upon my grave!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI ne’er heard yet\\r\\nThat any of these bolder vices wanted\\r\\nLess impudence to gainsay what they did\\r\\nThan to perform it first.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nThat’s true enough;\\r\\nThough ’tis a saying, sir, not due to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou will not own it.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nMore than mistress of\\r\\nWhich comes to me in name of fault, I must not\\r\\nAt all acknowledge. For Polixenes,\\r\\nWith whom I am accus’d, I do confess\\r\\nI lov’d him as in honour he requir’d,\\r\\nWith such a kind of love as might become\\r\\nA lady like me; with a love even such,\\r\\nSo and no other, as yourself commanded:\\r\\nWhich not to have done, I think had been in me\\r\\nBoth disobedience and ingratitude\\r\\nTo you and toward your friend, whose love had spoke,\\r\\nEver since it could speak, from an infant, freely,\\r\\nThat it was yours. Now, for conspiracy,\\r\\nI know not how it tastes, though it be dish’d\\r\\nFor me to try how: all I know of it\\r\\nIs that Camillo was an honest man;\\r\\nAnd why he left your court, the gods themselves,\\r\\nWotting no more than I, are ignorant.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou knew of his departure, as you know\\r\\nWhat you have underta’en to do in ’s absence.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nSir,\\r\\nYou speak a language that I understand not:\\r\\nMy life stands in the level of your dreams,\\r\\nWhich I’ll lay down.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYour actions are my dreams.\\r\\nYou had a bastard by Polixenes,\\r\\nAnd I but dream’d it. As you were past all shame\\r\\n(Those of your fact are so) so past all truth,\\r\\nWhich to deny concerns more than avails; for as\\r\\nThy brat hath been cast out, like to itself,\\r\\nNo father owning it (which is, indeed,\\r\\nMore criminal in thee than it), so thou\\r\\nShalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage\\r\\nLook for no less than death.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nSir, spare your threats:\\r\\nThe bug which you would fright me with, I seek.\\r\\nTo me can life be no commodity.\\r\\nThe crown and comfort of my life, your favour,\\r\\nI do give lost, for I do feel it gone,\\r\\nBut know not how it went. My second joy,\\r\\nAnd first-fruits of my body, from his presence\\r\\nI am barr’d, like one infectious. My third comfort,\\r\\nStarr’d most unluckily, is from my breast,\\r\\n(The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth)\\r\\nHal’d out to murder; myself on every post\\r\\nProclaim’d a strumpet; with immodest hatred\\r\\nThe child-bed privilege denied, which ’longs\\r\\nTo women of all fashion; lastly, hurried\\r\\nHere to this place, i’ th’ open air, before\\r\\nI have got strength of limit. Now, my liege,\\r\\nTell me what blessings I have here alive,\\r\\nThat I should fear to die. Therefore proceed.\\r\\nBut yet hear this: mistake me not: no life,\\r\\nI prize it not a straw, but for mine honour,\\r\\nWhich I would free, if I shall be condemn’d\\r\\nUpon surmises, all proofs sleeping else\\r\\nBut what your jealousies awake I tell you\\r\\n’Tis rigour, and not law. Your honours all,\\r\\nI do refer me to the oracle:\\r\\nApollo be my judge!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nThis your request\\r\\nIs altogether just: therefore bring forth,\\r\\nAnd in Apollo’s name, his oracle:\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt certain Officers._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nThe Emperor of Russia was my father.\\r\\nO that he were alive, and here beholding\\r\\nHis daughter’s trial! that he did but see\\r\\nThe flatness of my misery; yet with eyes\\r\\nOf pity, not revenge!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Officers with Cleomenes and Dion.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nYou here shall swear upon this sword of justice,\\r\\nThat you, Cleomenes and Dion, have\\r\\nBeen both at Delphos, and from thence have brought\\r\\nThis seal’d-up oracle, by the hand deliver’d\\r\\nOf great Apollo’s priest; and that since then\\r\\nYou have not dared to break the holy seal,\\r\\nNor read the secrets in’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES, DION.\\r\\nAll this we swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nBreak up the seals and read.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\n[_Reads._] “Hermione is chaste; Polixenes blameless; Camillo a true\\r\\nsubject; Leontes a jealous tyrant; his innocent babe truly begotten;\\r\\nand the king shall live without an heir, if that which is lost be not\\r\\nfound.”\\r\\n\\r\\nLORDS\\r\\nNow blessed be the great Apollo!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nPraised!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHast thou read truth?\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nAy, my lord, even so\\r\\nAs it is here set down.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThere is no truth at all i’ th’ oracle:\\r\\nThe sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant hastily.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMy lord the king, the king!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat is the business?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nO sir, I shall be hated to report it.\\r\\nThe prince your son, with mere conceit and fear\\r\\nOf the queen’s speed, is gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow! gone?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nIs dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nApollo’s angry, and the heavens themselves\\r\\nDo strike at my injustice.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Hermione faints._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now there?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThis news is mortal to the queen. Look down\\r\\nAnd see what death is doing.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTake her hence:\\r\\nHer heart is but o’ercharg’d; she will recover.\\r\\nI have too much believ’d mine own suspicion.\\r\\nBeseech you tenderly apply to her\\r\\nSome remedies for life.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Paulina and Ladies with Hermione._]\\r\\n\\r\\nApollo, pardon\\r\\nMy great profaneness ’gainst thine oracle!\\r\\nI’ll reconcile me to Polixenes,\\r\\nNew woo my queen,\\t recall the good Camillo,\\r\\nWhom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy;\\r\\nFor, being transported by my jealousies\\r\\nTo bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose\\r\\nCamillo for the minister to poison\\r\\nMy friend Polixenes: which had been done,\\r\\nBut that the good mind of Camillo tardied\\r\\nMy swift command, though I with death and with\\r\\nReward did threaten and encourage him,\\r\\nNot doing it and being done. He, most humane\\r\\nAnd fill’d with honour, to my kingly guest\\r\\nUnclasp’d my practice, quit his fortunes here,\\r\\nWhich you knew great, and to the certain hazard\\r\\nOf all incertainties himself commended,\\r\\nNo richer than his honour. How he glisters\\r\\nThorough my rust! And how his piety\\r\\nDoes my deeds make the blacker!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paulina.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWoe the while!\\r\\nO, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,\\r\\nBreak too!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nWhat fit is this, good lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWhat studied torments, tyrant, hast for me?\\r\\nWhat wheels? racks? fires? what flaying? boiling\\r\\nIn leads or oils? What old or newer torture\\r\\nMust I receive, whose every word deserves\\r\\nTo taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny,\\r\\nTogether working with thy jealousies,\\r\\nFancies too weak for boys, too green and idle\\r\\nFor girls of nine. O, think what they have done,\\r\\nAnd then run mad indeed, stark mad! for all\\r\\nThy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.\\r\\nThat thou betray’dst Polixenes, ’twas nothing;\\r\\nThat did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant\\r\\nAnd damnable ingrateful; nor was’t much\\r\\nThou wouldst have poison’d good Camillo’s honour,\\r\\nTo have him kill a king; poor trespasses,\\r\\nMore monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon\\r\\nThe casting forth to crows thy baby daughter,\\r\\nTo be or none or little, though a devil\\r\\nWould have shed water out of fire ere done’t,\\r\\nNor is’t directly laid to thee the death\\r\\nOf the young prince, whose honourable thoughts,\\r\\nThoughts high for one so tender, cleft the heart\\r\\nThat could conceive a gross and foolish sire\\r\\nBlemish’d his gracious dam: this is not, no,\\r\\nLaid to thy answer: but the last—O lords,\\r\\nWhen I have said, cry Woe!—the queen, the queen,\\r\\nThe sweet’st, dear’st creature’s dead, and vengeance for’t\\r\\nNot dropp’d down yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nThe higher powers forbid!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI say she’s dead: I’ll swear’t. If word nor oath\\r\\nPrevail not, go and see: if you can bring\\r\\nTincture, or lustre, in her lip, her eye,\\r\\nHeat outwardly or breath within, I’ll serve you\\r\\nAs I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant!\\r\\nDo not repent these things, for they are heavier\\r\\nThan all thy woes can stir. Therefore betake thee\\r\\nTo nothing but despair. A thousand knees\\r\\nTen thousand years together, naked, fasting,\\r\\nUpon a barren mountain, and still winter\\r\\nIn storm perpetual, could not move the gods\\r\\nTo look that way thou wert.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGo on, go on:\\r\\nThou canst not speak too much; I have deserv’d\\r\\nAll tongues to talk their bitterest.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nSay no more:\\r\\nHowe’er the business goes, you have made fault\\r\\nI’ th’ boldness of your speech.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI am sorry for ’t:\\r\\nAll faults I make, when I shall come to know them,\\r\\nI do repent. Alas, I have show’d too much\\r\\nThe rashness of a woman: he is touch’d\\r\\nTo th’ noble heart. What’s gone and what’s past help,\\r\\nShould be past grief. Do not receive affliction\\r\\nAt my petition; I beseech you, rather\\r\\nLet me be punish’d, that have minded you\\r\\nOf what you should forget. Now, good my liege,\\r\\nSir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman:\\r\\nThe love I bore your queen—lo, fool again!\\r\\nI’ll speak of her no more, nor of your children.\\r\\nI’ll not remember you of my own lord,\\r\\nWho is lost too. Take your patience to you,\\r\\nAnd I’ll say nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou didst speak but well\\r\\nWhen most the truth, which I receive much better\\r\\nThan to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me\\r\\nTo the dead bodies of my queen and son:\\r\\nOne grave shall be for both. Upon them shall\\r\\nThe causes of their death appear, unto\\r\\nOur shame perpetual. Once a day I’ll visit\\r\\nThe chapel where they lie, and tears shed there\\r\\nShall be my recreation. So long as nature\\r\\nWill bear up with this exercise, so long\\r\\nI daily vow to use it. Come, and lead me\\r\\nTo these sorrows.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Bohemia. A desert Country near the Sea.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antigonus with the Child and a Mariner.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nThou art perfect, then, our ship hath touch’d upon\\r\\nThe deserts of Bohemia?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINER.\\r\\nAy, my lord, and fear\\r\\nWe have landed in ill time: the skies look grimly,\\r\\nAnd threaten present blusters. In my conscience,\\r\\nThe heavens with that we have in hand are angry,\\r\\nAnd frown upon ’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nTheir sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard;\\r\\nLook to thy bark: I’ll not be long before\\r\\nI call upon thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINER.\\r\\nMake your best haste, and go not\\r\\nToo far i’ th’ land: ’tis like to be loud weather;\\r\\nBesides, this place is famous for the creatures\\r\\nOf prey that keep upon ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nGo thou away:\\r\\nI’ll follow instantly.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINER.\\r\\nI am glad at heart\\r\\nTo be so rid o’ th’ business.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nCome, poor babe.\\r\\nI have heard, but not believ’d, the spirits of the dead\\r\\nMay walk again: if such thing be, thy mother\\r\\nAppear’d to me last night; for ne’er was dream\\r\\nSo like a waking. To me comes a creature,\\r\\nSometimes her head on one side, some another.\\r\\nI never saw a vessel of like sorrow,\\r\\nSo fill’d and so becoming: in pure white robes,\\r\\nLike very sanctity, she did approach\\r\\nMy cabin where I lay: thrice bow’d before me,\\r\\nAnd, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes\\r\\nBecame two spouts. The fury spent, anon\\r\\nDid this break from her: “Good Antigonus,\\r\\nSince fate, against thy better disposition,\\r\\nHath made thy person for the thrower-out\\r\\nOf my poor babe, according to thine oath,\\r\\nPlaces remote enough are in Bohemia,\\r\\nThere weep, and leave it crying. And, for the babe\\r\\nIs counted lost for ever, Perdita\\r\\nI prithee call’t. For this ungentle business,\\r\\nPut on thee by my lord, thou ne’er shalt see\\r\\nThy wife Paulina more.” And so, with shrieks,\\r\\nShe melted into air. Affrighted much,\\r\\nI did in time collect myself and thought\\r\\nThis was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys,\\r\\nYet for this once, yea, superstitiously,\\r\\nI will be squar’d by this. I do believe\\r\\nHermione hath suffer’d death, and that\\r\\nApollo would, this being indeed the issue\\r\\nOf King Polixenes, it should here be laid,\\r\\nEither for life or death, upon the earth\\r\\nOf its right father. Blossom, speed thee well! There lie; and there thy\\r\\ncharacter: there these;\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Laying down the child and a bundle._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich may if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,\\r\\nAnd still rest thine. The storm begins: poor wretch,\\r\\nThat for thy mother’s fault art thus expos’d\\r\\nTo loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot,\\r\\nBut my heart bleeds, and most accurs’d am I\\r\\nTo be by oath enjoin’d to this. Farewell!\\r\\nThe day frowns more and more. Thou’rt like to have\\r\\nA lullaby too rough. I never saw\\r\\nThe heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour!\\r\\nWell may I get aboard! This is the chase:\\r\\nI am gone for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit, pursued by a bear._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter an old Shepherd.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nI would there were no age between ten and three-and-twenty, or that\\r\\nyouth would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the between but\\r\\ngetting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing,\\r\\nfighting—Hark you now! Would any but these boiled brains of nineteen\\r\\nand two-and-twenty hunt this weather? They have scared away two of my\\r\\nbest sheep, which I fear the wolf will sooner find than the master: if\\r\\nanywhere I have them, ’tis by the sea-side, browsing of ivy. Good luck,\\r\\nan ’t be thy will, what have we here?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Taking up the child._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Mercy on ’s, a bairn! A very pretty bairn! A boy or a child, I wonder?\\r\\n A pretty one; a very pretty one. Sure, some scape. Though I am not\\r\\n bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This has\\r\\n been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work. They\\r\\n were warmer that got this than the poor thing is here. I’ll take it up\\r\\n for pity: yet I’ll tarry till my son come; he halloed but even now.\\r\\n Whoa-ho-hoa!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHilloa, loa!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWhat, art so near? If thou’lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead\\r\\nand rotten, come hither. What ail’st thou, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI have seen two such sights, by sea and by land! But I am not to say it\\r\\nis a sea, for it is now the sky: betwixt the firmament and it, you\\r\\ncannot thrust a bodkin’s point.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWhy, boy, how is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up\\r\\nthe shore! But that’s not to the point. O, the most piteous cry of the\\r\\npoor souls! sometimes to see ’em, and not to see ’em. Now the ship\\r\\nboring the moon with her mainmast, and anon swallowed with yest and\\r\\nfroth, as you’d thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land\\r\\nservice, to see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone, how he cried\\r\\nto me for help, and said his name was Antigonus, a nobleman. But to\\r\\nmake an end of the ship, to see how the sea flap-dragon’d it: but\\r\\nfirst, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them, and how the\\r\\npoor gentleman roared, and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder\\r\\nthan the sea or weather.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nName of mercy, when was this, boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNow, now. I have not winked since I saw these sights: the men are not\\r\\nyet cold under water, nor the bear half dined on the gentleman. He’s at\\r\\nit now.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWould I had been by to have helped the old man!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI would you had been by the ship side, to have helped her: there your\\r\\ncharity would have lacked footing.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nHeavy matters, heavy matters! But look thee here, boy. Now bless\\r\\nthyself: thou met’st with things dying, I with things new-born. Here’s\\r\\na sight for thee. Look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire’s child! Look\\r\\nthee here; take up, take up, boy; open’t. So, let’s see. It was told me\\r\\nI should be rich by the fairies. This is some changeling: open’t.\\r\\nWhat’s within, boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYou’re a made old man. If the sins of your youth are forgiven you,\\r\\nyou’re well to live. Gold! all gold!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nThis is fairy gold, boy, and ’twill prove so. Up with it, keep it\\r\\nclose: home, home, the next way. We are lucky, boy, and to be so still\\r\\nrequires nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep go: come, good boy, the next\\r\\nway home.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGo you the next way with your findings. I’ll go see if the bear be gone\\r\\nfrom the gentleman, and how much he hath eaten. They are never curst\\r\\nbut when they are hungry: if there be any of him left, I’ll bury it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nThat’s a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that which is left of him\\r\\nwhat he is, fetch me to th’ sight of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMarry, will I; and you shall help to put him i’ th’ ground.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\n’Tis a lucky day, boy, and we’ll do good deeds on ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Time, the Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTIME.\\r\\nI that please some, try all: both joy and terror\\r\\nOf good and bad, that makes and unfolds error,\\r\\nNow take upon me, in the name of Time,\\r\\nTo use my wings. Impute it not a crime\\r\\nTo me or my swift passage, that I slide\\r\\nO’er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried\\r\\nOf that wide gap, since it is in my power\\r\\nTo o’erthrow law, and in one self-born hour\\r\\nTo plant and o’erwhelm custom. Let me pass\\r\\nThe same I am, ere ancient’st order was\\r\\nOr what is now received. I witness to\\r\\nThe times that brought them in; so shall I do\\r\\nTo th’ freshest things now reigning, and make stale\\r\\nThe glistering of this present, as my tale\\r\\nNow seems to it. Your patience this allowing,\\r\\nI turn my glass, and give my scene such growing\\r\\nAs you had slept between. Leontes leaving\\r\\nTh’ effects of his fond jealousies, so grieving\\r\\nThat he shuts up himself, imagine me,\\r\\nGentle spectators, that I now may be\\r\\nIn fair Bohemia, and remember well,\\r\\nI mentioned a son o’ th’ king’s, which Florizel\\r\\nI now name to you; and with speed so pace\\r\\nTo speak of Perdita, now grown in grace\\r\\nEqual with wondering. What of her ensues\\r\\nI list not prophesy; but let Time’s news\\r\\nBe known when ’tis brought forth. A shepherd’s daughter,\\r\\nAnd what to her adheres, which follows after,\\r\\nIs th’ argument of Time. Of this allow,\\r\\nIf ever you have spent time worse ere now;\\r\\nIf never, yet that Time himself doth say\\r\\nHe wishes earnestly you never may.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Bohemia. A Room in the palace of Polixenes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Polixenes and Camillo.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: ’tis a sickness\\r\\ndenying thee anything; a death to grant this.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nIt is fifteen years since I saw my country. Though I have for the most\\r\\npart been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the\\r\\npenitent king, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling sorrows I\\r\\nmight be some allay, or I o’erween to think so,—which is another spur\\r\\nto my departure.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nAs thou lov’st me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services by\\r\\nleaving me now: the need I have of thee, thine own goodness hath made;\\r\\nbetter not to have had thee than thus to want thee. Thou, having made\\r\\nme businesses which none without thee can sufficiently manage, must\\r\\neither stay to execute them thyself, or take away with thee the very\\r\\nservices thou hast done, which if I have not enough considered (as too\\r\\nmuch I cannot) to be more thankful to thee shall be my study; and my\\r\\nprofit therein the heaping friendships. Of that fatal country Sicilia,\\r\\nprithee speak no more; whose very naming punishes me with the\\r\\nremembrance of that penitent, as thou call’st him, and reconciled king,\\r\\nmy brother; whose loss of his most precious queen and children are even\\r\\nnow to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when sawest thou the Prince\\r\\nFlorizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not being\\r\\ngracious, than they are in losing them when they have approved their\\r\\nvirtues.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSir, it is three days since I saw the prince. What his happier affairs\\r\\nmay be, are to me unknown, but I have missingly noted he is of late\\r\\nmuch retired from court, and is less frequent to his princely exercises\\r\\nthan formerly he hath appeared.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care; so far that I\\r\\nhave eyes under my service which look upon his removedness; from whom I\\r\\nhave this intelligence, that he is seldom from the house of a most\\r\\nhomely shepherd, a man, they say, that from very nothing, and beyond\\r\\nthe imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of most rare\\r\\nnote: the report of her is extended more than can be thought to begin\\r\\nfrom such a cottage.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThat’s likewise part of my intelligence: but, I fear, the angle that\\r\\nplucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the place, where we\\r\\nwill, not appearing what we are, have some question with the shepherd;\\r\\nfrom whose simplicity I think it not uneasy to get the cause of my\\r\\nson’s resort thither. Prithee, be my present partner in this business,\\r\\nand lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI willingly obey your command.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nMy best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A Road near the Shepherd’s cottage.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Autolycus, singing.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_When daffodils begin to peer,\\r\\n With, hey! the doxy over the dale,\\r\\nWhy, then comes in the sweet o’ the year,\\r\\n For the red blood reigns in the winter’s pale._\\r\\n\\r\\n_The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,\\r\\n With, hey! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!\\r\\nDoth set my pugging tooth on edge;\\r\\n For a quart of ale is a dish for a king._\\r\\n\\r\\n_The lark, that tirra-lirra chants,\\r\\n With, hey! with, hey! the thrush and the jay,\\r\\nAre summer songs for me and my aunts,\\r\\n While we lie tumbling in the hay._\\r\\n\\r\\nI have served Prince Florizel, and in my time wore three-pile, but now\\r\\nI am out of service.\\r\\n\\r\\n_But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?\\r\\n The pale moon shines by night:\\r\\nAnd when I wander here and there,\\r\\n I then do most go right._\\r\\n\\r\\n_If tinkers may have leave to live,\\r\\n And bear the sow-skin budget,\\r\\nThen my account I well may give\\r\\n And in the stocks avouch it._\\r\\n\\r\\nMy traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen. My\\r\\nfather named me Autolycus; who being, I as am, littered under Mercury,\\r\\nwas likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and drab I\\r\\npurchased this caparison, and my revenue is the silly cheat. Gallows\\r\\nand knock are too powerful on the highway. Beating and hanging are\\r\\nterrors to me. For the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. A\\r\\nprize! a prize!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLet me see: every ’leven wether tods; every tod yields pound and odd\\r\\nshilling; fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool to?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] If the springe hold, the cock’s mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI cannot do’t without counters. Let me see; what am I to buy for our\\r\\nsheep-shearing feast? “Three pound of sugar, five pound of currants,\\r\\nrice”—what will this sister of mine do with rice? But my father hath\\r\\nmade her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She hath made me\\r\\nfour-and-twenty nosegays for the shearers, three-man song-men all, and\\r\\nvery good ones; but they are most of them means and basses, but one\\r\\npuritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have\\r\\nsaffron to colour the warden pies; “mace; dates”, none, that’s out of\\r\\nmy note; “nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger”, but that I may beg;\\r\\n“four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o’ th’ sun.”\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Grovelling on the ground._] O that ever I was born!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI’ th’ name of me!\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO, help me, help me! Pluck but off these rags; and then, death, death!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather\\r\\nthan have these off.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more than the stripes I\\r\\nhave received, which are mighty ones and millions.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta’en from me, and\\r\\nthese detestable things put upon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat, by a horseman or a footman?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nA footman, sweet sir, a footman.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIndeed, he should be a footman by the garments he has left with thee:\\r\\nif this be a horseman’s coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me\\r\\nthy hand, I’ll help thee: come, lend me thy hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Helping him up._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO, good sir, tenderly, O!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlas, poor soul!\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO, good sir, softly, good sir. I fear, sir, my shoulder blade is out.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHow now! canst stand?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nSoftly, dear sir! [_Picks his pocket._] good sir, softly. You ha’ done\\r\\nme a charitable office.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nDost lack any money? I have a little money for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nNo, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: I have a kinsman not past\\r\\nthree-quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going. I shall there\\r\\nhave money or anything I want. Offer me no money, I pray you; that\\r\\nkills my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat manner of fellow was he that robbed you?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nA fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-my-dames. I\\r\\nknew him once a servant of the prince; I cannot tell, good sir, for\\r\\nwhich of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the\\r\\ncourt.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHis vices, you would say; there’s no virtue whipped out of the court.\\r\\nThey cherish it to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but\\r\\nabide.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nVices, I would say, sir. I know this man well. He hath been since an\\r\\nape-bearer, then a process-server, a bailiff. Then he compassed a\\r\\nmotion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker’s wife within a mile\\r\\nwhere my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish\\r\\nprofessions, he settled only in rogue. Some call him Autolycus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nOut upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he haunts wakes, fairs, and\\r\\nbear-baitings.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nVery true, sir; he, sir, he; that’s the rogue that put me into this\\r\\napparel.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia. If you had but looked big and\\r\\nspit at him, he’d have run.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter. I am false of heart that\\r\\nway; and that he knew, I warrant him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHow do you now?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nSweet sir, much better than I was. I can stand and walk: I will even\\r\\ntake my leave of you and pace softly towards my kinsman’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nShall I bring thee on the way?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nNo, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThen fare thee well. I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nProsper you, sweet sir!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I’ll be with you\\r\\n at your sheep-shearing too. If I make not this cheat bring out\\r\\n another, and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled, and my name\\r\\n put in the book of virtue!\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n_Jog on, jog on, the footpath way,\\r\\n And merrily hent the stile-a:\\r\\nA merry heart goes all the day,\\r\\n Your sad tires in a mile-a._\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The same. A Shepherd’s Cottage.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Florizel and Perdita.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nThese your unusual weeds to each part of you\\r\\nDo give a life, no shepherdess, but Flora\\r\\nPeering in April’s front. This your sheep-shearing\\r\\nIs as a meeting of the petty gods,\\r\\nAnd you the queen on ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nSir, my gracious lord,\\r\\nTo chide at your extremes it not becomes me;\\r\\nO, pardon that I name them! Your high self,\\r\\nThe gracious mark o’ th’ land, you have obscur’d\\r\\nWith a swain’s wearing, and me, poor lowly maid,\\r\\nMost goddess-like prank’d up. But that our feasts\\r\\nIn every mess have folly, and the feeders\\r\\nDigest it with a custom, I should blush\\r\\nTo see you so attir’d; swoon, I think,\\r\\nTo show myself a glass.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI bless the time\\r\\nWhen my good falcon made her flight across\\r\\nThy father’s ground.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nNow Jove afford you cause!\\r\\nTo me the difference forges dread. Your greatness\\r\\nHath not been us’d to fear. Even now I tremble\\r\\nTo think your father, by some accident,\\r\\nShould pass this way, as you did. O, the Fates!\\r\\nHow would he look to see his work, so noble,\\r\\nVilely bound up? What would he say? Or how\\r\\nShould I, in these my borrow’d flaunts, behold\\r\\nThe sternness of his presence?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nApprehend\\r\\nNothing but jollity. The gods themselves,\\r\\nHumbling their deities to love, have taken\\r\\nThe shapes of beasts upon them. Jupiter\\r\\nBecame a bull and bellow’d; the green Neptune\\r\\nA ram and bleated; and the fire-rob’d god,\\r\\nGolden Apollo, a poor humble swain,\\r\\nAs I seem now. Their transformations\\r\\nWere never for a piece of beauty rarer,\\r\\nNor in a way so chaste, since my desires\\r\\nRun not before mine honour, nor my lusts\\r\\nBurn hotter than my faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nO, but, sir,\\r\\nYour resolution cannot hold when ’tis\\r\\nOppos’d, as it must be, by the power of the king:\\r\\nOne of these two must be necessities,\\r\\nWhich then will speak, that you must change this purpose,\\r\\nOr I my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nThou dearest Perdita,\\r\\nWith these forc’d thoughts, I prithee, darken not\\r\\nThe mirth o’ th’ feast. Or I’ll be thine, my fair,\\r\\nOr not my father’s. For I cannot be\\r\\nMine own, nor anything to any, if\\r\\nI be not thine. To this I am most constant,\\r\\nThough destiny say no. Be merry, gentle.\\r\\nStrangle such thoughts as these with anything\\r\\nThat you behold the while. Your guests are coming:\\r\\nLift up your countenance, as it were the day\\r\\nOf celebration of that nuptial which\\r\\nWe two have sworn shall come.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nO lady Fortune,\\r\\nStand you auspicious!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nSee, your guests approach:\\r\\nAddress yourself to entertain them sprightly,\\r\\nAnd let’s be red with mirth.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Shepherd with Polixenes and Camillo, disguised; Clown, Mopsa,\\r\\n Dorcas with others.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nFie, daughter! When my old wife liv’d, upon\\r\\nThis day she was both pantler, butler, cook,\\r\\nBoth dame and servant; welcom’d all; serv’d all;\\r\\nWould sing her song and dance her turn; now here\\r\\nAt upper end o’ th’ table, now i’ th’ middle;\\r\\nOn his shoulder, and his; her face o’ fire\\r\\nWith labour, and the thing she took to quench it\\r\\nShe would to each one sip. You are retired,\\r\\nAs if you were a feasted one, and not\\r\\nThe hostess of the meeting: pray you, bid\\r\\nThese unknown friends to ’s welcome, for it is\\r\\nA way to make us better friends, more known.\\r\\nCome, quench your blushes, and present yourself\\r\\nThat which you are, mistress o’ th’ feast. Come on,\\r\\nAnd bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,\\r\\nAs your good flock shall prosper.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\n[_To Polixenes._] Sir, welcome.\\r\\nIt is my father’s will I should take on me\\r\\nThe hostess-ship o’ the day.\\r\\n[_To Camillo._] You’re welcome, sir.\\r\\nGive me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs,\\r\\nFor you there’s rosemary and rue; these keep\\r\\nSeeming and savour all the winter long.\\r\\nGrace and remembrance be to you both!\\r\\nAnd welcome to our shearing!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nShepherdess—\\r\\nA fair one are you—well you fit our ages\\r\\nWith flowers of winter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nSir, the year growing ancient,\\r\\nNot yet on summer’s death nor on the birth\\r\\nOf trembling winter, the fairest flowers o’ th’ season\\r\\nAre our carnations and streak’d gillyvors,\\r\\nWhich some call nature’s bastards: of that kind\\r\\nOur rustic garden’s barren; and I care not\\r\\nTo get slips of them.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWherefore, gentle maiden,\\r\\nDo you neglect them?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nFor I have heard it said\\r\\nThere is an art which, in their piedness, shares\\r\\nWith great creating nature.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nSay there be;\\r\\nYet nature is made better by no mean\\r\\nBut nature makes that mean. So, over that art\\r\\nWhich you say adds to nature, is an art\\r\\nThat nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry\\r\\nA gentler scion to the wildest stock,\\r\\nAnd make conceive a bark of baser kind\\r\\nBy bud of nobler race. This is an art\\r\\nWhich does mend nature, change it rather, but\\r\\nThe art itself is nature.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nSo it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThen make your garden rich in gillyvors,\\r\\nAnd do not call them bastards.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nI’ll not put\\r\\nThe dibble in earth to set one slip of them;\\r\\nNo more than, were I painted, I would wish\\r\\nThis youth should say ’twere well, and only therefore\\r\\nDesire to breed by me. Here’s flowers for you:\\r\\nHot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram,\\r\\nThe marigold, that goes to bed with th’ sun\\r\\nAnd with him rises weeping. These are flowers\\r\\nOf middle summer, and I think they are given\\r\\nTo men of middle age. You’re very welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI should leave grazing, were I of your flock,\\r\\nAnd only live by gazing.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nOut, alas!\\r\\nYou’d be so lean that blasts of January\\r\\nWould blow you through and through. [_To Florizel_] Now, my fair’st\\r\\nfriend,\\r\\nI would I had some flowers o’ th’ spring, that might\\r\\nBecome your time of day; and yours, and yours,\\r\\nThat wear upon your virgin branches yet\\r\\nYour maidenheads growing. O Proserpina,\\r\\nFrom the flowers now that, frighted, thou let’st fall\\r\\nFrom Dis’s waggon! daffodils,\\r\\nThat come before the swallow dares, and take\\r\\nThe winds of March with beauty; violets dim,\\r\\nBut sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes\\r\\nOr Cytherea’s breath; pale primroses,\\r\\nThat die unmarried ere they can behold\\r\\nBright Phoebus in his strength (a malady\\r\\nMost incident to maids); bold oxlips and\\r\\nThe crown imperial; lilies of all kinds,\\r\\nThe flower-de-luce being one. O, these I lack,\\r\\nTo make you garlands of; and my sweet friend,\\r\\nTo strew him o’er and o’er!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWhat, like a corse?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nNo, like a bank for love to lie and play on;\\r\\nNot like a corse; or if, not to be buried,\\r\\nBut quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers.\\r\\nMethinks I play as I have seen them do\\r\\nIn Whitsun pastorals. Sure this robe of mine\\r\\nDoes change my disposition.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWhat you do\\r\\nStill betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,\\r\\nI’d have you do it ever. When you sing,\\r\\nI’d have you buy and sell so, so give alms,\\r\\nPray so; and, for the ord’ring your affairs,\\r\\nTo sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you\\r\\nA wave o’ th’ sea, that you might ever do\\r\\nNothing but that, move still, still so,\\r\\nAnd own no other function. Each your doing,\\r\\nSo singular in each particular,\\r\\nCrowns what you are doing in the present deeds,\\r\\nThat all your acts are queens.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nO Doricles,\\r\\nYour praises are too large. But that your youth,\\r\\nAnd the true blood which peeps fairly through ’t,\\r\\nDo plainly give you out an unstained shepherd,\\r\\nWith wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,\\r\\nYou woo’d me the false way.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI think you have\\r\\nAs little skill to fear as I have purpose\\r\\nTo put you to ’t. But, come; our dance, I pray.\\r\\nYour hand, my Perdita. So turtles pair\\r\\nThat never mean to part.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nI’ll swear for ’em.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThis is the prettiest low-born lass that ever\\r\\nRan on the green-sward. Nothing she does or seems\\r\\nBut smacks of something greater than herself,\\r\\nToo noble for this place.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHe tells her something\\r\\nThat makes her blood look out. Good sooth, she is\\r\\nThe queen of curds and cream.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nCome on, strike up.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nMopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic, to mend her kissing with!\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nNow, in good time!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.\\r\\nCome, strike up.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music. Here a dance Of Shepherds and Shepherdesses._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nPray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this\\r\\nWhich dances with your daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nThey call him Doricles; and boasts himself\\r\\nTo have a worthy feeding. But I have it\\r\\nUpon his own report, and I believe it.\\r\\nHe looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter.\\r\\nI think so too; for never gaz’d the moon\\r\\nUpon the water as he’ll stand and read,\\r\\nAs ’twere, my daughter’s eyes. And, to be plain,\\r\\nI think there is not half a kiss to choose\\r\\nWho loves another best.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nShe dances featly.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nSo she does anything, though I report it\\r\\nThat should be silent. If young Doricles\\r\\nDo light upon her, she shall bring him that\\r\\nWhich he not dreams of.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nO master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never\\r\\ndance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you.\\r\\nHe sings several tunes faster than you’ll tell money. He utters them as\\r\\nhe had eaten ballads, and all men’s ears grew to his tunes.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe could never come better: he shall come in. I love a ballad but even\\r\\ntoo well, if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant\\r\\nthing indeed and sung lamentably.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nHe hath songs for man or woman of all sizes. No milliner can so fit his\\r\\ncustomers with gloves. He has the prettiest love-songs for maids, so\\r\\nwithout bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burdens of dildos\\r\\nand fadings, “jump her and thump her”; and where some stretch-mouthed\\r\\nrascal would, as it were, mean mischief and break a foul gap into the\\r\\nmatter, he makes the maid to answer “Whoop, do me no harm, good man”;\\r\\nputs him off, slights him, with “Whoop, do me no harm, good man.”\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThis is a brave fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBelieve me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. Has he any\\r\\nunbraided wares?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nHe hath ribbons of all the colours i’ th’ rainbow; points, more than\\r\\nall the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to\\r\\nhim by th’ gross; inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns; why he sings ’em\\r\\nover as they were gods or goddesses; you would think a smock were a\\r\\nshe-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand and the work about the\\r\\nsquare on ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nPrithee bring him in; and let him approach singing.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nForewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in ’s tunes.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYou have of these pedlars that have more in them than you’d think,\\r\\nsister.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nAy, good brother, or go about to think.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Autolycus, singing.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_Lawn as white as driven snow,\\r\\nCypress black as e’er was crow,\\r\\nGloves as sweet as damask roses,\\r\\nMasks for faces and for noses,\\r\\nBugle-bracelet, necklace amber,\\r\\nPerfume for a lady’s chamber,\\r\\nGolden quoifs and stomachers\\r\\nFor my lads to give their dears,\\r\\nPins and poking-sticks of steel,\\r\\nWhat maids lack from head to heel.\\r\\nCome buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;\\r\\nBuy, lads, or else your lasses cry.\\r\\nCome, buy._\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIf I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no money of me;\\r\\nbut being enthralled as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain\\r\\nribbons and gloves.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nI was promised them against the feast; but they come not too late now.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nHe hath promised you more than that, or there be liars.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nHe hath paid you all he promised you. Maybe he has paid you more, which\\r\\nwill shame you to give him again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIs there no manners left among maids? Will they wear their plackets\\r\\nwhere they should bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you\\r\\nare going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle of these secrets, but you\\r\\nmust be tittle-tattling before all our guests? ’Tis well they are\\r\\nwhispering. Clamour your tongues, and not a word more.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nI have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry lace and a pair of sweet\\r\\ngloves.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHave I not told thee how I was cozened by the way and lost all my\\r\\nmoney?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAnd indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to\\r\\nbe wary.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nFear not thou, man. Thou shalt lose nothing here.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat hast here? Ballads?\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nPray now, buy some. I love a ballad in print alife, for then we are\\r\\nsure they are true.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHere’s one to a very doleful tune. How a usurer’s wife was brought to\\r\\nbed of twenty money-bags at a burden, and how she longed to eat adders’\\r\\nheads and toads carbonadoed.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nIs it true, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nVery true, and but a month old.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nBless me from marrying a usurer!\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHere’s the midwife’s name to’t, one Mistress Taleporter, and five or\\r\\nsix honest wives that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad?\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nPray you now, buy it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nCome on, lay it by; and let’s first see more ballads. We’ll buy the\\r\\nother things anon.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHere’s another ballad, of a fish that appeared upon the coast on\\r\\nWednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water,\\r\\nand sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids. It was thought\\r\\nshe was a woman, and was turned into a cold fish for she would not\\r\\nexchange flesh with one that loved her. The ballad is very pitiful, and\\r\\nas true.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nIs it true too, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nFive justices’ hands at it, and witnesses more than my pack will hold.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLay it by too: another.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nThis is a merry ballad; but a very pretty one.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nLet’s have some merry ones.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nWhy, this is a passing merry one and goes to the tune of “Two maids\\r\\nwooing a man.” There’s scarce a maid westward but she sings it. ’Tis in\\r\\nrequest, I can tell you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nWe can both sing it: if thou’lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; ’tis in\\r\\nthree parts.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nWe had the tune on ’t a month ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI can bear my part; you must know ’tis my occupation: have at it with\\r\\nyou.\\r\\n\\r\\nSONG.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_Get you hence, for I must go\\r\\nWhere it fits not you to know._\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_Whither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\n_O, whither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_Whither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\n_It becomes thy oath full well\\r\\nThou to me thy secrets tell._\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_Me too! Let me go thither._\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nOr thou goest to th’ grange or mill.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_If to either, thou dost ill._\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_Neither._\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_What, neither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_Neither._\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_Thou hast sworn my love to be._\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\n_Thou hast sworn it more to me.\\r\\nThen whither goest? Say, whither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWe’ll have this song out anon by ourselves. My father and the gentlemen\\r\\nare in sad talk, and we’ll not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack\\r\\nafter me. Wenches, I’ll buy for you both. Pedlar, let’s have the first\\r\\nchoice. Follow me, girls.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with Dorcas and Mopsa._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] And you shall pay well for ’em.\\r\\n\\r\\nSONG.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n _Will you buy any tape,\\r\\n Or lace for your cape,\\r\\nMy dainty duck, my dear-a?\\r\\n Any silk, any thread,\\r\\n Any toys for your head,\\r\\nOf the new’st and fin’st, fin’st wear-a?\\r\\n Come to the pedlar;\\r\\n Money’s a meddler\\r\\nThat doth utter all men’s ware-a._\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMaster, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds,\\r\\nthree swine-herds, that have made themselves all men of hair. They call\\r\\nthemselves saltiers, and they have dance which the wenches say is a\\r\\ngallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in ’t; but they themselves\\r\\nare o’ the mind (if it be not too rough for some that know little but\\r\\nbowling) it will please plentifully.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAway! we’ll none on ’t. Here has been too much homely foolery already.\\r\\nI know, sir, we weary you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nYou weary those that refresh us: pray, let’s see these four threes of\\r\\nherdsmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nOne three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danced before the\\r\\nking; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half\\r\\nby th’ square.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nLeave your prating: since these good men are pleased, let them come in;\\r\\nbut quickly now.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nWhy, they stay at door, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Twelve Rustics, habited like Satyrs. They dance, and then\\r\\n exeunt.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nO, father, you’ll know more of that hereafter.\\r\\n[_To Camillo._] Is it not too far gone? ’Tis time to part them.\\r\\nHe’s simple and tells much. [_To Florizel._] How now, fair shepherd!\\r\\nYour heart is full of something that does take\\r\\nYour mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young\\r\\nAnd handed love, as you do, I was wont\\r\\nTo load my she with knacks: I would have ransack’d\\r\\nThe pedlar’s silken treasury and have pour’d it\\r\\nTo her acceptance. You have let him go,\\r\\nAnd nothing marted with him. If your lass\\r\\nInterpretation should abuse, and call this\\r\\nYour lack of love or bounty, you were straited\\r\\nFor a reply, at least if you make a care\\r\\nOf happy holding her.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nOld sir, I know\\r\\nShe prizes not such trifles as these are:\\r\\nThe gifts she looks from me are pack’d and lock’d\\r\\nUp in my heart, which I have given already,\\r\\nBut not deliver’d. O, hear me breathe my life\\r\\nBefore this ancient sir, who, it should seem,\\r\\nHath sometime lov’d. I take thy hand! this hand,\\r\\nAs soft as dove’s down and as white as it,\\r\\nOr Ethiopian’s tooth, or the fann’d snow that’s bolted\\r\\nBy th’ northern blasts twice o’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWhat follows this?\\r\\nHow prettily the young swain seems to wash\\r\\nThe hand was fair before! I have put you out.\\r\\nBut to your protestation. Let me hear\\r\\nWhat you profess.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nDo, and be witness to ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nAnd this my neighbour, too?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nAnd he, and more\\r\\nThan he, and men, the earth, the heavens, and all:\\r\\nThat were I crown’d the most imperial monarch,\\r\\nThereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth\\r\\nThat ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge\\r\\nMore than was ever man’s, I would not prize them\\r\\nWithout her love; for her employ them all;\\r\\nCommend them and condemn them to her service,\\r\\nOr to their own perdition.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nFairly offer’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThis shows a sound affection.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nBut my daughter,\\r\\nSay you the like to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nI cannot speak\\r\\nSo well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better:\\r\\nBy th’ pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out\\r\\nThe purity of his.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nTake hands, a bargain!\\r\\nAnd, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to’t.\\r\\nI give my daughter to him, and will make\\r\\nHer portion equal his.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nO, that must be\\r\\nI’ th’ virtue of your daughter: one being dead,\\r\\nI shall have more than you can dream of yet;\\r\\nEnough then for your wonder. But come on,\\r\\nContract us ’fore these witnesses.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nCome, your hand;\\r\\nAnd, daughter, yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nSoft, swain, awhile, beseech you;\\r\\nHave you a father?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI have; but what of him?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nKnows he of this?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nHe neither does nor shall.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nMethinks a father\\r\\nIs at the nuptial of his son a guest\\r\\nThat best becomes the table. Pray you once more,\\r\\nIs not your father grown incapable\\r\\nOf reasonable affairs? is he not stupid\\r\\nWith age and alt’ring rheums? can he speak? hear?\\r\\nKnow man from man? dispute his own estate?\\r\\nLies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing\\r\\nBut what he did being childish?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nNo, good sir;\\r\\nHe has his health, and ampler strength indeed\\r\\nThan most have of his age.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nBy my white beard,\\r\\nYou offer him, if this be so, a wrong\\r\\nSomething unfilial: reason my son\\r\\nShould choose himself a wife, but as good reason\\r\\nThe father, all whose joy is nothing else\\r\\nBut fair posterity, should hold some counsel\\r\\nIn such a business.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI yield all this;\\r\\nBut for some other reasons, my grave sir,\\r\\nWhich ’tis not fit you know, I not acquaint\\r\\nMy father of this business.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nLet him know ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nHe shall not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nPrithee let him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nNo, he must not.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nLet him, my son: he shall not need to grieve\\r\\nAt knowing of thy choice.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nCome, come, he must not.\\r\\nMark our contract.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\n[_Discovering himself._] Mark your divorce, young sir,\\r\\nWhom son I dare not call; thou art too base\\r\\nTo be acknowledged: thou a sceptre’s heir,\\r\\nThat thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou, old traitor,\\r\\nI am sorry that, by hanging thee, I can\\r\\nBut shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece\\r\\nOf excellent witchcraft, whom of force must know\\r\\nThe royal fool thou cop’st with,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nO, my heart!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI’ll have thy beauty scratch’d with briers and made\\r\\nMore homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy,\\r\\nIf I may ever know thou dost but sigh\\r\\nThat thou no more shalt see this knack (as never\\r\\nI mean thou shalt), we’ll bar thee from succession;\\r\\nNot hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,\\r\\nFar than Deucalion off. Mark thou my words.\\r\\nFollow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time,\\r\\nThough full of our displeasure, yet we free thee\\r\\nFrom the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment,\\r\\nWorthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too\\r\\nThat makes himself, but for our honour therein,\\r\\nUnworthy thee. If ever henceforth thou\\r\\nThese rural latches to his entrance open,\\r\\nOr hoop his body more with thy embraces,\\r\\nI will devise a death as cruel for thee\\r\\nAs thou art tender to ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nEven here undone.\\r\\nI was not much afeard, for once or twice\\r\\nI was about to speak, and tell him plainly\\r\\nThe selfsame sun that shines upon his court\\r\\nHides not his visage from our cottage, but\\r\\nLooks on alike. [_To Florizel._] Will’t please you, sir, be gone?\\r\\nI told you what would come of this. Beseech you,\\r\\nOf your own state take care. This dream of mine—\\r\\nBeing now awake, I’ll queen it no inch farther,\\r\\nBut milk my ewes, and weep.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nWhy, how now, father!\\r\\nSpeak ere thou diest.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nI cannot speak, nor think,\\r\\nNor dare to know that which I know. O sir,\\r\\nYou have undone a man of fourscore three,\\r\\nThat thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea,\\r\\nTo die upon the bed my father died,\\r\\nTo lie close by his honest bones; but now\\r\\nSome hangman must put on my shroud and lay me\\r\\nWhere no priest shovels in dust. O cursed wretch,\\r\\nThat knew’st this was the prince, and wouldst adventure\\r\\nTo mingle faith with him! Undone, undone!\\r\\nIf I might die within this hour, I have liv’d\\r\\nTo die when I desire.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWhy look you so upon me?\\r\\nI am but sorry, not afeard; delay’d,\\r\\nBut nothing alt’red: what I was, I am:\\r\\nMore straining on for plucking back; not following\\r\\nMy leash unwillingly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nGracious my lord,\\r\\nYou know your father’s temper: at this time\\r\\nHe will allow no speech (which I do guess\\r\\nYou do not purpose to him) and as hardly\\r\\nWill he endure your sight as yet, I fear:\\r\\nThen, till the fury of his highness settle,\\r\\nCome not before him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI not purpose it.\\r\\nI think Camillo?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nEven he, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nHow often have I told you ’twould be thus!\\r\\nHow often said my dignity would last\\r\\nBut till ’twere known!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nIt cannot fail but by\\r\\nThe violation of my faith; and then\\r\\nLet nature crush the sides o’ th’ earth together\\r\\nAnd mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks.\\r\\nFrom my succession wipe me, father; I\\r\\nAm heir to my affection.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBe advis’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI am, and by my fancy. If my reason\\r\\nWill thereto be obedient, I have reason;\\r\\nIf not, my senses, better pleas’d with madness,\\r\\nDo bid it welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThis is desperate, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nSo call it: but it does fulfil my vow.\\r\\nI needs must think it honesty. Camillo,\\r\\nNot for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may\\r\\nBe thereat glean’d; for all the sun sees or\\r\\nThe close earth wombs, or the profound seas hides\\r\\nIn unknown fathoms, will I break my oath\\r\\nTo this my fair belov’d. Therefore, I pray you,\\r\\nAs you have ever been my father’s honour’d friend,\\r\\nWhen he shall miss me,—as, in faith, I mean not\\r\\nTo see him any more,—cast your good counsels\\r\\nUpon his passion: let myself and fortune\\r\\nTug for the time to come. This you may know,\\r\\nAnd so deliver, I am put to sea\\r\\nWith her whom here I cannot hold on shore;\\r\\nAnd, most opportune to her need, I have\\r\\nA vessel rides fast by, but not prepar’d\\r\\nFor this design. What course I mean to hold\\r\\nShall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor\\r\\nConcern me the reporting.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nO my lord,\\r\\nI would your spirit were easier for advice,\\r\\nOr stronger for your need.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nHark, Perdita. [_Takes her aside._]\\r\\n[_To Camillo._] I’ll hear you by and by.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHe’s irremovable,\\r\\nResolv’d for flight. Now were I happy if\\r\\nHis going I could frame to serve my turn,\\r\\nSave him from danger, do him love and honour,\\r\\nPurchase the sight again of dear Sicilia\\r\\nAnd that unhappy king, my master, whom\\r\\nI so much thirst to see.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nNow, good Camillo,\\r\\nI am so fraught with curious business that\\r\\nI leave out ceremony.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSir, I think\\r\\nYou have heard of my poor services, i’ th’ love\\r\\nThat I have borne your father?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nVery nobly\\r\\nHave you deserv’d: it is my father’s music\\r\\nTo speak your deeds, not little of his care\\r\\nTo have them recompens’d as thought on.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nWell, my lord,\\r\\nIf you may please to think I love the king,\\r\\nAnd, through him, what’s nearest to him, which is\\r\\nYour gracious self, embrace but my direction,\\r\\nIf your more ponderous and settled project\\r\\nMay suffer alteration. On mine honour,\\r\\nI’ll point you where you shall have such receiving\\r\\nAs shall become your highness; where you may\\r\\nEnjoy your mistress; from the whom, I see,\\r\\nThere’s no disjunction to be made, but by,\\r\\nAs heavens forfend, your ruin. Marry her,\\r\\nAnd with my best endeavours in your absence\\r\\nYour discontenting father strive to qualify\\r\\nAnd bring him up to liking.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nHow, Camillo,\\r\\nMay this, almost a miracle, be done?\\r\\nThat I may call thee something more than man,\\r\\nAnd after that trust to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHave you thought on\\r\\nA place whereto you’ll go?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nNot any yet.\\r\\nBut as th’ unthought-on accident is guilty\\r\\nTo what we wildly do, so we profess\\r\\nOurselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies\\r\\nOf every wind that blows.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThen list to me:\\r\\nThis follows, if you will not change your purpose,\\r\\nBut undergo this flight, make for Sicilia,\\r\\nAnd there present yourself and your fair princess,\\r\\nFor so, I see, she must be, ’fore Leontes:\\r\\nShe shall be habited as it becomes\\r\\nThe partner of your bed. Methinks I see\\r\\nLeontes opening his free arms and weeping\\r\\nHis welcomes forth; asks thee, the son, forgiveness,\\r\\nAs ’twere i’ th’ father’s person; kisses the hands\\r\\nOf your fresh princess; o’er and o’er divides him\\r\\n’Twixt his unkindness and his kindness. Th’ one\\r\\nHe chides to hell, and bids the other grow\\r\\nFaster than thought or time.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWorthy Camillo,\\r\\nWhat colour for my visitation shall I\\r\\nHold up before him?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSent by the king your father\\r\\nTo greet him and to give him comforts. Sir,\\r\\nThe manner of your bearing towards him, with\\r\\nWhat you (as from your father) shall deliver,\\r\\nThings known betwixt us three, I’ll write you down,\\r\\nThe which shall point you forth at every sitting\\r\\nWhat you must say; that he shall not perceive\\r\\nBut that you have your father’s bosom there\\r\\nAnd speak his very heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI am bound to you:\\r\\nThere is some sap in this.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nA course more promising\\r\\nThan a wild dedication of yourselves\\r\\nTo unpath’d waters, undream’d shores, most certain\\r\\nTo miseries enough: no hope to help you,\\r\\nBut as you shake off one to take another:\\r\\nNothing so certain as your anchors, who\\r\\nDo their best office if they can but stay you\\r\\nWhere you’ll be loath to be. Besides, you know\\r\\nProsperity’s the very bond of love,\\r\\nWhose fresh complexion and whose heart together\\r\\nAffliction alters.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nOne of these is true:\\r\\nI think affliction may subdue the cheek,\\r\\nBut not take in the mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nYea, say you so?\\r\\nThere shall not at your father’s house, these seven years\\r\\nBe born another such.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nMy good Camillo,\\r\\nShe is as forward of her breeding as\\r\\nShe is i’ th’ rear our birth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI cannot say ’tis pity\\r\\nShe lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress\\r\\nTo most that teach.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nYour pardon, sir; for this\\r\\nI’ll blush you thanks.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nMy prettiest Perdita!\\r\\nBut, O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo,\\r\\nPreserver of my father, now of me,\\r\\nThe medicine of our house, how shall we do?\\r\\nWe are not furnish’d like Bohemia’s son,\\r\\nNor shall appear in Sicilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nMy lord,\\r\\nFear none of this. I think you know my fortunes\\r\\nDo all lie there: it shall be so my care\\r\\nTo have you royally appointed as if\\r\\nThe scene you play were mine. For instance, sir,\\r\\nThat you may know you shall not want,—one word.\\r\\n[_They talk aside._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Autolycus.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHa, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn brother, a very\\r\\nsimple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery. Not a counterfeit stone,\\r\\nnot a ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape,\\r\\nglove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting.\\r\\nThey throng who should buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallowed\\r\\nand brought a benediction to the buyer: by which means I saw whose\\r\\npurse was best in picture; and what I saw, to my good use I remembered.\\r\\nMy clown (who wants but something to be a reasonable man) grew so in\\r\\nlove with the wenches’ song that he would not stir his pettitoes till\\r\\nhe had both tune and words; which so drew the rest of the herd to me\\r\\nthat all their other senses stuck in ears: you might have pinched a\\r\\nplacket, it was senseless; ’twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse;\\r\\nI would have filed keys off that hung in chains: no hearing, no\\r\\nfeeling, but my sir’s song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that in\\r\\nthis time of lethargy I picked and cut most of their festival purses;\\r\\nand had not the old man come in with a whoobub against his daughter and\\r\\nthe king’s son, and scared my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a\\r\\npurse alive in the whole army.\\r\\n\\r\\n Camillo, Florizel and Perdita come forward.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNay, but my letters, by this means being there\\r\\nSo soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nAnd those that you’ll procure from king Leontes?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nShall satisfy your father.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nHappy be you!\\r\\nAll that you speak shows fair.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\n[_Seeing Autolycus._] Who have we here?\\r\\nWe’ll make an instrument of this; omit\\r\\nNothing may give us aid.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] If they have overheard me now,—why, hanging.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHow now, good fellow! why shakest thou so? Fear not, man; here’s no\\r\\nharm intended to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI am a poor fellow, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nWhy, be so still; here’s nobody will steal that from thee: yet, for the\\r\\noutside of thy poverty we must make an exchange; therefore discase thee\\r\\ninstantly,—thou must think there’s a necessity in’t—and change garments\\r\\nwith this gentleman: though the pennyworth on his side be the worst,\\r\\nyet hold thee, there’s some boot.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Giving money._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI am a poor fellow, sir: [_Aside._] I know ye well enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNay, prithee dispatch: the gentleman is half flayed already.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAre you in earnest, sir? [_Aside._] I smell the trick on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nDispatch, I prithee.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nIndeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot with conscience take it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nUnbuckle, unbuckle.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Florizel and Autolycus exchange garments._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFortunate mistress,—let my prophecy\\r\\nCome home to you!—you must retire yourself\\r\\nInto some covert. Take your sweetheart’s hat\\r\\nAnd pluck it o’er your brows, muffle your face,\\r\\nDismantle you; and, as you can, disliken\\r\\nThe truth of your own seeming; that you may\\r\\n(For I do fear eyes over) to shipboard\\r\\nGet undescried.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nI see the play so lies\\r\\nThat I must bear a part.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNo remedy.\\r\\nHave you done there?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nShould I now meet my father,\\r\\nHe would not call me son.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNay, you shall have no hat. [_Giving it to Perdita._]\\r\\nCome, lady, come. Farewell, my friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAdieu, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nO Perdita, what have we twain forgot?\\r\\nPray you a word.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They converse apart._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] What I do next, shall be to tell the king\\r\\nOf this escape, and whither they are bound;\\r\\nWherein my hope is I shall so prevail\\r\\nTo force him after: in whose company\\r\\nI shall re-view Sicilia; for whose sight\\r\\nI have a woman’s longing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nFortune speed us!\\r\\nThus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThe swifter speed the better.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Florizel, Perdita and Camillo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI understand the business, I hear it. To have an open ear, a quick eye,\\r\\nand a nimble hand, is necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is\\r\\nrequisite also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see this is\\r\\nthe time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an exchange had this\\r\\nbeen without boot! What a boot is here with this exchange! Sure the\\r\\ngods do this year connive at us, and we may do anything extempore. The\\r\\nprince himself is about a piece of iniquity, stealing away from his\\r\\nfather with his clog at his heels: if I thought it were a piece of\\r\\nhonesty to acquaint the king withal, I would not do’t: I hold it the\\r\\nmore knavery to conceal it; and therein am I constant to my profession.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown and Shepherd.\\r\\n\\r\\nAside, aside; here is more matter for a hot brain: every lane’s end,\\r\\nevery shop, church, session, hanging, yields a careful man work.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nSee, see; what a man you are now! There is no other way but to tell the\\r\\nking she’s a changeling, and none of your flesh and blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nNay, but hear me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNay, but hear me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nGo to, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nShe being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood has not\\r\\noffended the king; and so your flesh and blood is not to be punished by\\r\\nhim. Show those things you found about her, those secret things, all\\r\\nbut what she has with her: this being done, let the law go whistle, I\\r\\nwarrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nI will tell the king all, every word, yea, and his son’s pranks too;\\r\\nwho, I may say, is no honest man neither to his father nor to me, to go\\r\\nabout to make me the king’s brother-in-law.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIndeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you could have been to him,\\r\\nand then your blood had been the dearer by I know how much an ounce.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Very wisely, puppies!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWell, let us to the king: there is that in this fardel will make him\\r\\nscratch his beard.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I know not what impediment this complaint may be to the\\r\\nflight of my master.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nPray heartily he be at’ palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by\\r\\nchance. Let me pocket up my pedlar’s excrement. [_Takes off his false\\r\\nbeard._] How now, rustics! whither are you bound?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nTo the palace, an it like your worship.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nYour affairs there, what, with whom, the condition of that fardel, the\\r\\nplace of your dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having,\\r\\nbreeding, and anything that is fitting to be known? discover!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWe are but plain fellows, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nA lie; you are rough and hairy. Let me have no lying. It becomes none\\r\\nbut tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the lie; but we pay them\\r\\nfor it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore they do not\\r\\ngive us the lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYour worship had like to have given us one, if you had not taken\\r\\nyourself with the manner.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAre you a courtier, an ’t like you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nWhether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest thou not the air of\\r\\nthe court in these enfoldings? hath not my gait in it the measure of\\r\\nthe court? receives not thy nose court-odour from me? reflect I not on\\r\\nthy baseness court-contempt? Think’st thou, for that I insinuate, or\\r\\ntoaze from thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier? I am courtier\\r\\n_cap-a-pe_, and one that will either push on or pluck back thy business\\r\\nthere. Whereupon I command thee to open thy affair.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nMy business, sir, is to the king.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nWhat advocate hast thou to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nI know not, an ’t like you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAdvocate’s the court-word for a pheasant. Say you have none.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nNone, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHow bless’d are we that are not simple men!\\r\\nYet nature might have made me as these are,\\r\\nTherefore I will not disdain.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThis cannot be but a great courtier.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nHis garments are rich, but he wears them not handsomely.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe seems to be the more noble in being fantastical: a great man, I’ll\\r\\nwarrant; I know by the picking on’s teeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nThe fardel there? What’s i’ th’ fardel? Wherefore that box?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nSir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box which none must\\r\\nknow but the king; and which he shall know within this hour, if I may\\r\\ncome to th’ speech of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAge, thou hast lost thy labour.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWhy, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nThe king is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a new ship to purge\\r\\nmelancholy and air himself: for, if thou beest capable of things\\r\\nserious, thou must know the king is full of grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nSo ’tis said, sir; about his son, that should have married a shepherd’s\\r\\ndaughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nIf that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly. The curses he shall\\r\\nhave, the tortures he shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart\\r\\nof monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThink you so, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nNot he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy and vengeance bitter;\\r\\nbut those that are germane to him, though removed fifty times, shall\\r\\nall come under the hangman: which, though it be great pity, yet it is\\r\\nnecessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have\\r\\nhis daughter come into grace! Some say he shall be stoned; but that\\r\\ndeath is too soft for him, say I. Draw our throne into a sheepcote! All\\r\\ndeaths are too few, the sharpest too easy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHas the old man e’er a son, sir, do you hear, an ’t like you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHe has a son, who shall be flayed alive; then ’nointed over with honey,\\r\\nset on the head of a wasp’s nest; then stand till he be three quarters\\r\\nand a dram dead; then recovered again with aqua-vitæ or some other hot\\r\\ninfusion; then, raw as he is, and in the hottest day prognostication\\r\\nproclaims, shall he be set against a brick wall, the sun looking with a\\r\\nsouthward eye upon him, where he is to behold him with flies blown to\\r\\ndeath. But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are\\r\\nto be smiled at, their offences being so capital? Tell me (for you seem\\r\\nto be honest plain men) what you have to the king. Being something\\r\\ngently considered, I’ll bring you where he is aboard, tender your\\r\\npersons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfs; and if it be in\\r\\nman besides the king to effect your suits, here is man shall do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe seems to be of great authority: close with him, give him gold; and\\r\\nthough authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with\\r\\ngold: show the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand, and no\\r\\nmore ado. Remember: “ston’d” and “flayed alive”.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAn ’t please you, sir, to undertake the business for us, here is that\\r\\ngold I have. I’ll make it as much more, and leave this young man in\\r\\npawn till I bring it you.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAfter I have done what I promised?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAy, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nWell, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this business?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIn some sort, sir: but though my case be a pitiful one, I hope I shall\\r\\nnot be flayed out of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO, that’s the case of the shepherd’s son. Hang him, he’ll be made an\\r\\nexample.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nComfort, good comfort! We must to the king and show our strange sights.\\r\\nHe must know ’tis none of your daughter nor my sister; we are gone\\r\\nelse. Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does when the\\r\\nbusiness is performed, and remain, as he says, your pawn till it be\\r\\nbrought you.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side; go on the\\r\\nright-hand. I will but look upon the hedge, and follow you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWe are blessed in this man, as I may say, even blessed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nLet’s before, as he bids us. He was provided to do us good.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Shepherd and Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nIf I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would not suffer me: she\\r\\ndrops booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion:\\r\\ngold, and a means to do the prince my master good; which who knows how\\r\\nthat may turn back to my advancement? I will bring these two moles,\\r\\nthese blind ones, aboard him. If he think it fit to shore them again\\r\\nand that the complaint they have to the king concerns him nothing, let\\r\\nhim call me rogue for being so far officious; for I am proof against\\r\\nthat title and what shame else belongs to ’t. To him will I present\\r\\nthem. There may be matter in it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Sicilia. A Room in the palace of Leontes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Cleomenes, Dion, Paulina and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nSir, you have done enough, and have perform’d\\r\\nA saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make\\r\\nWhich you have not redeem’d; indeed, paid down\\r\\nMore penitence than done trespass: at the last,\\r\\nDo as the heavens have done, forget your evil;\\r\\nWith them, forgive yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhilst I remember\\r\\nHer and her virtues, I cannot forget\\r\\nMy blemishes in them; and so still think of\\r\\nThe wrong I did myself: which was so much\\r\\nThat heirless it hath made my kingdom, and\\r\\nDestroy’d the sweet’st companion that e’er man\\r\\nBred his hopes out of.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nTrue, too true, my lord.\\r\\nIf, one by one, you wedded all the world,\\r\\nOr from the all that are took something good,\\r\\nTo make a perfect woman, she you kill’d\\r\\nWould be unparallel’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI think so. Kill’d!\\r\\nShe I kill’d! I did so: but thou strik’st me\\r\\nSorely, to say I did: it is as bitter\\r\\nUpon thy tongue as in my thought. Now, good now,\\r\\nSay so but seldom.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nNot at all, good lady.\\r\\nYou might have spoken a thousand things that would\\r\\nHave done the time more benefit and grac’d\\r\\nYour kindness better.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nYou are one of those\\r\\nWould have him wed again.\\r\\n\\r\\nDION.\\r\\nIf you would not so,\\r\\nYou pity not the state, nor the remembrance\\r\\nOf his most sovereign name; consider little\\r\\nWhat dangers, by his highness’ fail of issue,\\r\\nMay drop upon his kingdom, and devour\\r\\nIncertain lookers-on. What were more holy\\r\\nThan to rejoice the former queen is well?\\r\\nWhat holier than, for royalty’s repair,\\r\\nFor present comfort, and for future good,\\r\\nTo bless the bed of majesty again\\r\\nWith a sweet fellow to ’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThere is none worthy,\\r\\nRespecting her that’s gone. Besides, the gods\\r\\nWill have fulfill’d their secret purposes;\\r\\nFor has not the divine Apollo said,\\r\\nIs ’t not the tenor of his oracle,\\r\\nThat king Leontes shall not have an heir\\r\\nTill his lost child be found? Which that it shall,\\r\\nIs all as monstrous to our human reason\\r\\nAs my Antigonus to break his grave\\r\\nAnd come again to me; who, on my life,\\r\\nDid perish with the infant. ’Tis your counsel\\r\\nMy lord should to the heavens be contrary,\\r\\nOppose against their wills. [_To Leontes._] Care not for issue;\\r\\nThe crown will find an heir. Great Alexander\\r\\nLeft his to th’ worthiest; so his successor\\r\\nWas like to be the best.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGood Paulina,\\r\\nWho hast the memory of Hermione,\\r\\nI know, in honour, O that ever I\\r\\nHad squar’d me to thy counsel! Then, even now,\\r\\nI might have look’d upon my queen’s full eyes,\\r\\nHave taken treasure from her lips,—\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nAnd left them\\r\\nMore rich for what they yielded.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou speak’st truth.\\r\\nNo more such wives; therefore, no wife: one worse,\\r\\nAnd better us’d, would make her sainted spirit\\r\\nAgain possess her corpse, and on this stage,\\r\\n(Where we offenders now appear) soul-vexed,\\r\\nAnd begin “Why to me?”\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nHad she such power,\\r\\nShe had just cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nShe had; and would incense me\\r\\nTo murder her I married.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI should so.\\r\\nWere I the ghost that walk’d, I’d bid you mark\\r\\nHer eye, and tell me for what dull part in ’t\\r\\nYou chose her: then I’d shriek, that even your ears\\r\\nShould rift to hear me; and the words that follow’d\\r\\nShould be “Remember mine.”\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nStars, stars,\\r\\nAnd all eyes else dead coals! Fear thou no wife;\\r\\nI’ll have no wife, Paulina.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWill you swear\\r\\nNever to marry but by my free leave?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNever, Paulina; so be bless’d my spirit!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThen, good my lords, bear witness to his oath.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nYou tempt him over-much.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nUnless another,\\r\\nAs like Hermione as is her picture,\\r\\nAffront his eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nGood madam,—\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI have done.\\r\\nYet, if my lord will marry,—if you will, sir,\\r\\nNo remedy but you will,—give me the office\\r\\nTo choose you a queen: she shall not be so young\\r\\nAs was your former, but she shall be such\\r\\nAs, walk’d your first queen’s ghost, it should take joy\\r\\nTo see her in your arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nMy true Paulina,\\r\\nWe shall not marry till thou bid’st us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThat\\r\\nShall be when your first queen’s again in breath;\\r\\nNever till then.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nOne that gives out himself Prince Florizel,\\r\\nSon of Polixenes, with his princess (she\\r\\nThe fairest I have yet beheld) desires access\\r\\nTo your high presence.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat with him? he comes not\\r\\nLike to his father’s greatness: his approach,\\r\\nSo out of circumstance and sudden, tells us\\r\\n’Tis not a visitation fram’d, but forc’d\\r\\nBy need and accident. What train?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nBut few,\\r\\nAnd those but mean.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHis princess, say you, with him?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nAy, the most peerless piece of earth, I think,\\r\\nThat e’er the sun shone bright on.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nO Hermione,\\r\\nAs every present time doth boast itself\\r\\nAbove a better gone, so must thy grave\\r\\nGive way to what’s seen now! Sir, you yourself\\r\\nHave said and writ so,—but your writing now\\r\\nIs colder than that theme,—‘She had not been,\\r\\nNor was not to be equall’d’; thus your verse\\r\\nFlow’d with her beauty once; ’tis shrewdly ebb’d,\\r\\nTo say you have seen a better.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nPardon, madam:\\r\\nThe one I have almost forgot,—your pardon;—\\r\\nThe other, when she has obtain’d your eye,\\r\\nWill have your tongue too. This is a creature,\\r\\nWould she begin a sect, might quench the zeal\\r\\nOf all professors else; make proselytes\\r\\nOf who she but bid follow.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nHow! not women?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nWomen will love her that she is a woman\\r\\nMore worth than any man; men, that she is\\r\\nThe rarest of all women.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGo, Cleomenes;\\r\\nYourself, assisted with your honour’d friends,\\r\\nBring them to our embracement.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Cleomenes and others._]\\r\\n\\r\\nStill, ’tis strange\\r\\nHe thus should steal upon us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nHad our prince,\\r\\nJewel of children, seen this hour, he had pair’d\\r\\nWell with this lord. There was not full a month\\r\\nBetween their births.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nPrithee no more; cease; Thou know’st\\r\\nHe dies to me again when talk’d of: sure,\\r\\nWhen I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches\\r\\nWill bring me to consider that which may\\r\\nUnfurnish me of reason. They are come.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Florizel, Perdita, Cleomenes and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nYour mother was most true to wedlock, prince;\\r\\nFor she did print your royal father off,\\r\\nConceiving you. Were I but twenty-one,\\r\\nYour father’s image is so hit in you,\\r\\nHis very air, that I should call you brother,\\r\\nAs I did him, and speak of something wildly\\r\\nBy us perform’d before. Most dearly welcome!\\r\\nAnd your fair princess,—goddess! O, alas!\\r\\nI lost a couple that ’twixt heaven and earth\\r\\nMight thus have stood, begetting wonder, as\\r\\nYou, gracious couple, do! And then I lost,—\\r\\nAll mine own folly,—the society,\\r\\nAmity too, of your brave father, whom,\\r\\nThough bearing misery, I desire my life\\r\\nOnce more to look on him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nBy his command\\r\\nHave I here touch’d Sicilia, and from him\\r\\nGive you all greetings that a king, at friend,\\r\\nCan send his brother: and, but infirmity,\\r\\nWhich waits upon worn times, hath something seiz’d\\r\\nHis wish’d ability, he had himself\\r\\nThe lands and waters ’twixt your throne and his\\r\\nMeasur’d, to look upon you; whom he loves,\\r\\nHe bade me say so,—more than all the sceptres\\r\\nAnd those that bear them living.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO my brother,—\\r\\nGood gentleman!—the wrongs I have done thee stir\\r\\nAfresh within me; and these thy offices,\\r\\nSo rarely kind, are as interpreters\\r\\nOf my behind-hand slackness! Welcome hither,\\r\\nAs is the spring to the earth. And hath he too\\r\\nExpos’d this paragon to the fearful usage,\\r\\nAt least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune,\\r\\nTo greet a man not worth her pains, much less\\r\\nTh’ adventure of her person?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nGood, my lord,\\r\\nShe came from Libya.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhere the warlike Smalus,\\r\\nThat noble honour’d lord, is fear’d and lov’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nMost royal sir, from thence; from him, whose daughter\\r\\nHis tears proclaim’d his, parting with her: thence,\\r\\nA prosperous south-wind friendly, we have cross’d,\\r\\nTo execute the charge my father gave me\\r\\nFor visiting your highness: my best train\\r\\nI have from your Sicilian shores dismiss’d;\\r\\nWho for Bohemia bend, to signify\\r\\nNot only my success in Libya, sir,\\r\\nBut my arrival, and my wife’s, in safety\\r\\nHere, where we are.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThe blessed gods\\r\\nPurge all infection from our air whilst you\\r\\nDo climate here! You have a holy father,\\r\\nA graceful gentleman; against whose person,\\r\\nSo sacred as it is, I have done sin,\\r\\nFor which the heavens, taking angry note,\\r\\nHave left me issueless. And your father’s bless’d,\\r\\nAs he from heaven merits it, with you,\\r\\nWorthy his goodness. What might I have been,\\r\\nMight I a son and daughter now have look’d on,\\r\\nSuch goodly things as you!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nMost noble sir,\\r\\nThat which I shall report will bear no credit,\\r\\nWere not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir,\\r\\nBohemia greets you from himself by me;\\r\\nDesires you to attach his son, who has—\\r\\nHis dignity and duty both cast off—\\r\\nFled from his father, from his hopes, and with\\r\\nA shepherd’s daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhere’s Bohemia? speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nHere in your city; I now came from him.\\r\\nI speak amazedly, and it becomes\\r\\nMy marvel and my message. To your court\\r\\nWhiles he was hast’ning—in the chase, it seems,\\r\\nOf this fair couple—meets he on the way\\r\\nThe father of this seeming lady and\\r\\nHer brother, having both their country quitted\\r\\nWith this young prince.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nCamillo has betray’d me;\\r\\nWhose honour and whose honesty till now,\\r\\nEndur’d all weathers.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nLay ’t so to his charge.\\r\\nHe’s with the king your father.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWho? Camillo?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nCamillo, sir; I spake with him; who now\\r\\nHas these poor men in question. Never saw I\\r\\nWretches so quake: they kneel, they kiss the earth;\\r\\nForswear themselves as often as they speak.\\r\\nBohemia stops his ears, and threatens them\\r\\nWith divers deaths in death.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nO my poor father!\\r\\nThe heaven sets spies upon us, will not have\\r\\nOur contract celebrated.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou are married?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWe are not, sir, nor are we like to be.\\r\\nThe stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first.\\r\\nThe odds for high and low’s alike.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nMy lord,\\r\\nIs this the daughter of a king?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nShe is,\\r\\nWhen once she is my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThat “once”, I see by your good father’s speed,\\r\\nWill come on very slowly. I am sorry,\\r\\nMost sorry, you have broken from his liking,\\r\\nWhere you were tied in duty; and as sorry\\r\\nYour choice is not so rich in worth as beauty,\\r\\nThat you might well enjoy her.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nDear, look up:\\r\\nThough Fortune, visible an enemy,\\r\\nShould chase us with my father, power no jot\\r\\nHath she to change our loves. Beseech you, sir,\\r\\nRemember since you ow’d no more to time\\r\\nThan I do now: with thought of such affections,\\r\\nStep forth mine advocate. At your request\\r\\nMy father will grant precious things as trifles.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWould he do so, I’d beg your precious mistress,\\r\\nWhich he counts but a trifle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nSir, my liege,\\r\\nYour eye hath too much youth in ’t: not a month\\r\\n’Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes\\r\\nThan what you look on now.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI thought of her\\r\\nEven in these looks I made. [_To Florizel._] But your petition\\r\\nIs yet unanswer’d. I will to your father.\\r\\nYour honour not o’erthrown by your desires,\\r\\nI am friend to them and you: upon which errand\\r\\nI now go toward him; therefore follow me,\\r\\nAnd mark what way I make. Come, good my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. Before the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Autolycus and a Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nBeseech you, sir, were you present at this relation?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI was by at the opening of the fardel, heard the old shepherd deliver\\r\\nthe manner how he found it: whereupon, after a little amazedness, we\\r\\nwere all commanded out of the chamber; only this, methought I heard the\\r\\nshepherd say he found the child.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI would most gladly know the issue of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI make a broken delivery of the business; but the changes I perceived\\r\\nin the king and Camillo were very notes of admiration. They seemed\\r\\nalmost, with staring on one another, to tear the cases of their eyes.\\r\\nThere was speech in their dumbness, language in their very gesture;\\r\\nthey looked as they had heard of a world ransomed, or one destroyed. A\\r\\nnotable passion of wonder appeared in them; but the wisest beholder,\\r\\nthat knew no more but seeing could not say if th’ importance were joy\\r\\nor sorrow; but in the extremity of the one, it must needs be. Here\\r\\ncomes a gentleman that happily knows more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe news, Rogero?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNothing but bonfires: the oracle is fulfilled: the king’s daughter is\\r\\nfound: such a deal of wonder is broken out within this hour that\\r\\nballad-makers cannot be able to express it. Here comes the Lady\\r\\nPaulina’s steward: he can deliver you more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a third Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\n How goes it now, sir? This news, which is called true, is so like an\\r\\n old tale that the verity of it is in strong suspicion. Has the king\\r\\n found his heir?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nMost true, if ever truth were pregnant by circumstance. That which you\\r\\nhear you’ll swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The\\r\\nmantle of Queen Hermione’s, her jewel about the neck of it, the letters\\r\\nof Antigonus found with it, which they know to be his character; the\\r\\nmajesty of the creature in resemblance of the mother, the affection of\\r\\nnobleness which nature shows above her breeding, and many other\\r\\nevidences proclaim her with all certainty to be the king’s daughter.\\r\\nDid you see the meeting of the two kings?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThen you have lost a sight which was to be seen, cannot be spoken of.\\r\\nThere might you have beheld one joy crown another, so and in such\\r\\nmanner that it seemed sorrow wept to take leave of them, for their joy\\r\\nwaded in tears. There was casting up of eyes, holding up of hands, with\\r\\ncountenance of such distraction that they were to be known by garment,\\r\\nnot by favour. Our king, being ready to leap out of himself for joy of\\r\\nhis found daughter, as if that joy were now become a loss, cries “O,\\r\\nthy mother, thy mother!” then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces\\r\\nhis son-in-law; then again worries he his daughter with clipping her;\\r\\nnow he thanks the old shepherd, which stands by like a weather-bitten\\r\\nconduit of many kings’ reigns. I never heard of such another encounter,\\r\\nwhich lames report to follow it, and undoes description to do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWhat, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried hence the child?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nLike an old tale still, which will have matter to rehearse, though\\r\\ncredit be asleep and not an ear open. He was torn to pieces with a\\r\\nbear: this avouches the shepherd’s son, who has not only his innocence,\\r\\nwhich seems much, to justify him, but a handkerchief and rings of his\\r\\nthat Paulina knows.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWhat became of his bark and his followers?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWrecked the same instant of their master’s death, and in the view of\\r\\nthe shepherd: so that all the instruments which aided to expose the\\r\\nchild were even then lost when it was found. But O, the noble combat\\r\\nthat ’twixt joy and sorrow was fought in Paulina! She had one eye\\r\\ndeclined for the loss of her husband, another elevated that the oracle\\r\\nwas fulfilled. She lifted the princess from the earth, and so locks her\\r\\nin embracing, as if she would pin her to her heart, that she might no\\r\\nmore be in danger of losing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThe dignity of this act was worth the audience of kings and princes;\\r\\nfor by such was it acted.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nOne of the prettiest touches of all, and that which angled for mine\\r\\neyes (caught the water, though not the fish) was, when at the relation\\r\\nof the queen’s death (with the manner how she came to it bravely\\r\\nconfessed and lamented by the king) how attentivenes wounded his\\r\\ndaughter; till, from one sign of dolour to another, she did, with an\\r\\n“Alas,” I would fain say, bleed tears, for I am sure my heart wept\\r\\nblood. Who was most marble there changed colour; some swooned, all\\r\\nsorrowed: if all the world could have seen it, the woe had been\\r\\nuniversal.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nAre they returned to the court?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNo: the princess hearing of her mother’s statue, which is in the\\r\\nkeeping of Paulina,—a piece many years in doing and now newly performed\\r\\nby that rare Italian master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself\\r\\neternity, and could put breath into his work, would beguile Nature of\\r\\nher custom, so perfectly he is her ape: he so near to Hermione hath\\r\\ndone Hermione that they say one would speak to her and stand in hope of\\r\\nanswer. Thither with all greediness of affection are they gone, and\\r\\nthere they intend to sup.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI thought she had some great matter there in hand; for she hath\\r\\nprivately twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione,\\r\\nvisited that removed house. Shall we thither, and with our company\\r\\npiece the rejoicing?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWho would be thence that has the benefit of access? Every wink of an\\r\\neye some new grace will be born. Our absence makes us unthrifty to our\\r\\nknowledge. Let’s along.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Gentlemen._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nNow, had I not the dash of my former life in me, would preferment drop\\r\\non my head. I brought the old man and his son aboard the prince; told\\r\\nhim I heard them talk of a fardel and I know not what. But he at that\\r\\ntime over-fond of the shepherd’s daughter (so he then took her to be),\\r\\nwho began to be much sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity of\\r\\nweather continuing, this mystery remained undiscover’d. But ’tis all\\r\\none to me; for had I been the finder-out of this secret, it would not\\r\\nhave relish’d among my other discredits.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Shepherd and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere come those I have done good to against my will, and already\\r\\nappearing in the blossoms of their fortune.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nCome, boy; I am past more children, but thy sons and daughters will be\\r\\nall gentlemen born.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYou are well met, sir. You denied to fight with me this other day,\\r\\nbecause I was no gentleman born. See you these clothes? Say you see\\r\\nthem not and think me still no gentleman born: you were best say these\\r\\nrobes are not gentlemen born. Give me the lie, do; and try whether I am\\r\\nnot now a gentleman born.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI know you are now, sir, a gentleman born.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy, and have been so any time these four hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAnd so have I, boy!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nSo you have: but I was a gentleman born before my father; for the\\r\\nking’s son took me by the hand and called me brother; and then the two\\r\\nkings called my father brother; and then the prince, my brother, and\\r\\nthe princess, my sister, called my father father; and so we wept; and\\r\\nthere was the first gentleman-like tears that ever we shed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWe may live, son, to shed many more.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy; or else ’twere hard luck, being in so preposterous estate as we\\r\\nare.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the faults I have committed\\r\\nto your worship, and to give me your good report to the prince my\\r\\nmaster.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nPrithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThou wilt amend thy life?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAy, an it like your good worship.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGive me thy hand: I will swear to the prince thou art as honest a true\\r\\nfellow as any is in Bohemia.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nYou may say it, but not swear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and franklins say it,\\r\\nI’ll swear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nHow if it be false, son?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIf it be ne’er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in the behalf of\\r\\nhis friend. And I’ll swear to the prince thou art a tall fellow of thy\\r\\nhands and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art no tall\\r\\nfellow of thy hands and that thou wilt be drunk: but I’ll swear it; and\\r\\nI would thou wouldst be a tall fellow of thy hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI will prove so, sir, to my power.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy, by any means, prove a tall fellow: if I do not wonder how thou\\r\\ndar’st venture to be drunk, not being a tall fellow, trust me not.\\r\\nHark! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see the\\r\\nqueen’s picture. Come, follow us: we’ll be thy good masters.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A Room in Paulina’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Florizel, Perdita, Camillo, Paulina, Lords\\r\\n and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO grave and good Paulina, the great comfort\\r\\nThat I have had of thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWhat, sovereign sir,\\r\\nI did not well, I meant well. All my services\\r\\nYou have paid home: but that you have vouchsaf’d,\\r\\nWith your crown’d brother and these your contracted\\r\\nHeirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit,\\r\\nIt is a surplus of your grace which never\\r\\nMy life may last to answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO Paulina,\\r\\nWe honour you with trouble. But we came\\r\\nTo see the statue of our queen: your gallery\\r\\nHave we pass’d through, not without much content\\r\\nIn many singularities; but we saw not\\r\\nThat which my daughter came to look upon,\\r\\nThe statue of her mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nAs she liv’d peerless,\\r\\nSo her dead likeness, I do well believe,\\r\\nExcels whatever yet you look’d upon\\r\\nOr hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it\\r\\nLonely, apart. But here it is: prepare\\r\\nTo see the life as lively mock’d as ever\\r\\nStill sleep mock’d death. Behold, and say ’tis well.\\r\\n\\r\\n Paulina undraws a curtain, and discovers Hermione standing as a\\r\\n statue.\\r\\n\\r\\nI like your silence, it the more shows off\\r\\nYour wonder: but yet speak. First you, my liege.\\r\\nComes it not something near?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHer natural posture!\\r\\nChide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed\\r\\nThou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she\\r\\nIn thy not chiding; for she was as tender\\r\\nAs infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina,\\r\\nHermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing\\r\\nSo aged as this seems.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nO, not by much!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nSo much the more our carver’s excellence,\\r\\nWhich lets go by some sixteen years and makes her\\r\\nAs she liv’d now.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nAs now she might have done,\\r\\nSo much to my good comfort as it is\\r\\nNow piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood,\\r\\nEven with such life of majesty, warm life,\\r\\nAs now it coldly stands, when first I woo’d her!\\r\\nI am asham’d: does not the stone rebuke me\\r\\nFor being more stone than it? O royal piece,\\r\\nThere’s magic in thy majesty, which has\\r\\nMy evils conjur’d to remembrance and\\r\\nFrom thy admiring daughter took the spirits,\\r\\nStanding like stone with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nAnd give me leave,\\r\\nAnd do not say ’tis superstition, that\\r\\nI kneel, and then implore her blessing. Lady,\\r\\nDear queen, that ended when I but began,\\r\\nGive me that hand of yours to kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nO, patience!\\r\\nThe statue is but newly fix’d, the colour’s\\r\\nNot dry.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nMy lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on,\\r\\nWhich sixteen winters cannot blow away,\\r\\nSo many summers dry. Scarce any joy\\r\\nDid ever so long live; no sorrow\\r\\nBut kill’d itself much sooner.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nDear my brother,\\r\\nLet him that was the cause of this have power\\r\\nTo take off so much grief from you as he\\r\\nWill piece up in himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nIndeed, my lord,\\r\\nIf I had thought the sight of my poor image\\r\\nWould thus have wrought you—for the stone is mine—\\r\\nI’d not have show’d it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nDo not draw the curtain.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNo longer shall you gaze on’t, lest your fancy\\r\\nMay think anon it moves.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nLet be, let be.\\r\\nWould I were dead, but that methinks already—\\r\\nWhat was he that did make it? See, my lord,\\r\\nWould you not deem it breath’d? And that those veins\\r\\nDid verily bear blood?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nMasterly done:\\r\\nThe very life seems warm upon her lip.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThe fixture of her eye has motion in ’t,\\r\\nAs we are mock’d with art.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI’ll draw the curtain:\\r\\nMy lord’s almost so far transported that\\r\\nHe’ll think anon it lives.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO sweet Paulina,\\r\\nMake me to think so twenty years together!\\r\\nNo settled senses of the world can match\\r\\nThe pleasure of that madness. Let ’t alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr’d you: but\\r\\nI could afflict you further.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nDo, Paulina;\\r\\nFor this affliction has a taste as sweet\\r\\nAs any cordial comfort. Still methinks\\r\\nThere is an air comes from her. What fine chisel\\r\\nCould ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me,\\r\\nFor I will kiss her!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nGood my lord, forbear:\\r\\nThe ruddiness upon her lip is wet;\\r\\nYou’ll mar it if you kiss it, stain your own\\r\\nWith oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNo, not these twenty years.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nSo long could I\\r\\nStand by, a looker on.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nEither forbear,\\r\\nQuit presently the chapel, or resolve you\\r\\nFor more amazement. If you can behold it,\\r\\nI’ll make the statue move indeed, descend,\\r\\nAnd take you by the hand. But then you’ll think\\r\\n(Which I protest against) I am assisted\\r\\nBy wicked powers.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat you can make her do\\r\\nI am content to look on: what to speak,\\r\\nI am content to hear; for ’tis as easy\\r\\nTo make her speak as move.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nIt is requir’d\\r\\nYou do awake your faith. Then all stand still;\\r\\nOr those that think it is unlawful business\\r\\nI am about, let them depart.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nProceed:\\r\\nNo foot shall stir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nMusic, awake her: strike! [_Music._]\\r\\n’Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach;\\r\\nStrike all that look upon with marvel. Come;\\r\\nI’ll fill your grave up: stir; nay, come away.\\r\\nBequeath to death your numbness, for from him\\r\\nDear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs.\\r\\n\\r\\n Hermione comes down from the pedestal.\\r\\n\\r\\nStart not; her actions shall be holy as\\r\\nYou hear my spell is lawful. Do not shun her\\r\\nUntil you see her die again; for then\\r\\nYou kill her double. Nay, present your hand:\\r\\nWhen she was young you woo’d her; now in age\\r\\nIs she become the suitor?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\n[_Embracing her._] O, she’s warm!\\r\\nIf this be magic, let it be an art\\r\\nLawful as eating.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nShe embraces him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nShe hangs about his neck.\\r\\nIf she pertain to life, let her speak too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nAy, and make it manifest where she has liv’d,\\r\\nOr how stol’n from the dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThat she is living,\\r\\nWere it but told you, should be hooted at\\r\\nLike an old tale; but it appears she lives,\\r\\nThough yet she speak not. Mark a little while.\\r\\nPlease you to interpose, fair madam. Kneel\\r\\nAnd pray your mother’s blessing. Turn, good lady,\\r\\nOur Perdita is found.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Presenting Perdita who kneels to Hermione._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nYou gods, look down,\\r\\nAnd from your sacred vials pour your graces\\r\\nUpon my daughter’s head! Tell me, mine own,\\r\\nWhere hast thou been preserv’d? where liv’d? how found\\r\\nThy father’s court? for thou shalt hear that I,\\r\\nKnowing by Paulina that the oracle\\r\\nGave hope thou wast in being, have preserv’d\\r\\nMyself to see the issue.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThere’s time enough for that;\\r\\nLest they desire upon this push to trouble\\r\\nYour joys with like relation. Go together,\\r\\nYou precious winners all; your exultation\\r\\nPartake to everyone. I, an old turtle,\\r\\nWill wing me to some wither’d bough, and there\\r\\nMy mate, that’s never to be found again,\\r\\nLament till I am lost.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO peace, Paulina!\\r\\nThou shouldst a husband take by my consent,\\r\\nAs I by thine a wife: this is a match,\\r\\nAnd made between ’s by vows. Thou hast found mine;\\r\\nBut how, is to be question’d; for I saw her,\\r\\nAs I thought, dead; and have in vain said many\\r\\nA prayer upon her grave. I’ll not seek far—\\r\\nFor him, I partly know his mind—to find thee\\r\\nAn honourable husband. Come, Camillo,\\r\\nAnd take her by the hand, whose worth and honesty\\r\\nIs richly noted, and here justified\\r\\nBy us, a pair of kings. Let’s from this place.\\r\\nWhat! look upon my brother: both your pardons,\\r\\nThat e’er I put between your holy looks\\r\\nMy ill suspicion. This your son-in-law,\\r\\nAnd son unto the king, whom heavens directing,\\r\\nIs troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina,\\r\\nLead us from hence; where we may leisurely\\r\\nEach one demand, and answer to his part\\r\\nPerform’d in this wide gap of time, since first\\r\\nWe were dissever’d. Hastily lead away!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nA LOVER’S COMPLAINT\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nFrom off a hill whose concave womb reworded\\r\\nA plaintful story from a sist’ring vale,\\r\\nMy spirits t’attend this double voice accorded,\\r\\nAnd down I laid to list the sad-tun’d tale;\\r\\nEre long espied a fickle maid full pale,\\r\\nTearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,\\r\\nStorming her world with sorrow’s wind and rain.\\r\\n\\r\\nUpon her head a platted hive of straw,\\r\\nWhich fortified her visage from the sun,\\r\\nWhereon the thought might think sometime it saw\\r\\nThe carcass of a beauty spent and done;\\r\\nTime had not scythed all that youth begun,\\r\\nNor youth all quit, but spite of heaven’s fell rage\\r\\nSome beauty peeped through lattice of sear’d age.\\r\\n\\r\\nOft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,\\r\\nWhich on it had conceited characters,\\r\\nLaund’ring the silken figures in the brine\\r\\nThat seasoned woe had pelleted in tears,\\r\\nAnd often reading what contents it bears;\\r\\nAs often shrieking undistinguish’d woe,\\r\\nIn clamours of all size, both high and low.\\r\\n\\r\\nSometimes her levell’d eyes their carriage ride,\\r\\nAs they did batt’ry to the spheres intend;\\r\\nSometime diverted their poor balls are tied\\r\\nTo th’orbed earth; sometimes they do extend\\r\\nTheir view right on; anon their gazes lend\\r\\nTo every place at once, and nowhere fix’d,\\r\\nThe mind and sight distractedly commix’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,\\r\\nProclaim’d in her a careless hand of pride;\\r\\nFor some untuck’d descended her sheav’d hat,\\r\\nHanging her pale and pined cheek beside;\\r\\nSome in her threaden fillet still did bide,\\r\\nAnd, true to bondage, would not break from thence,\\r\\nThough slackly braided in loose negligence.\\r\\n\\r\\nA thousand favours from a maund she drew,\\r\\nOf amber, crystal, and of beaded jet,\\r\\nWhich one by one she in a river threw,\\r\\nUpon whose weeping margent she was set,\\r\\nLike usury applying wet to wet,\\r\\nOr monarchs’ hands, that lets not bounty fall\\r\\nWhere want cries ‘some,’ but where excess begs ‘all’.\\r\\n\\r\\nOf folded schedules had she many a one,\\r\\nWhich she perus’d, sigh’d, tore and gave the flood;\\r\\nCrack’d many a ring of posied gold and bone,\\r\\nBidding them find their sepulchres in mud;\\r\\nFound yet mo letters sadly penn’d in blood,\\r\\nWith sleided silk, feat and affectedly\\r\\nEnswath’d, and seal’d to curious secrecy.\\r\\n\\r\\nThese often bath’d she in her fluxive eyes,\\r\\nAnd often kiss’d, and often gave to tear;\\r\\nCried, ‘O false blood, thou register of lies,\\r\\nWhat unapproved witness dost thou bear!\\r\\nInk would have seem’d more black and damned here!’\\r\\nThis said, in top of rage the lines she rents,\\r\\nBig discontent so breaking their contents.\\r\\n\\r\\nA reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh,\\r\\nSometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew\\r\\nOf court, of city, and had let go by\\r\\nThe swiftest hours observed as they flew,\\r\\nTowards this afflicted fancy fastly drew;\\r\\nAnd, privileg’d by age, desires to know\\r\\nIn brief the grounds and motives of her woe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo slides he down upon his grained bat,\\r\\nAnd comely distant sits he by her side,\\r\\nWhen he again desires her, being sat,\\r\\nHer grievance with his hearing to divide:\\r\\nIf that from him there may be aught applied\\r\\nWhich may her suffering ecstasy assuage,\\r\\n’Tis promised in the charity of age.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Father,’ she says, ‘though in me you behold\\r\\nThe injury of many a blasting hour,\\r\\nLet it not tell your judgement I am old,\\r\\nNot age, but sorrow, over me hath power.\\r\\nI might as yet have been a spreading flower,\\r\\nFresh to myself, if I had self-applied\\r\\nLove to myself, and to no love beside.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘But woe is me! Too early I attended\\r\\nA youthful suit; it was to gain my grace;\\r\\nO one by nature’s outwards so commended,\\r\\nThat maiden’s eyes stuck over all his face,\\r\\nLove lack’d a dwelling and made him her place;\\r\\nAnd when in his fair parts she did abide,\\r\\nShe was new lodg’d and newly deified.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘His browny locks did hang in crooked curls,\\r\\nAnd every light occasion of the wind\\r\\nUpon his lips their silken parcels hurls,\\r\\nWhat’s sweet to do, to do will aptly find,\\r\\nEach eye that saw him did enchant the mind:\\r\\nFor on his visage was in little drawn,\\r\\nWhat largeness thinks in paradise was sawn.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Small show of man was yet upon his chin;\\r\\nHis phoenix down began but to appear,\\r\\nLike unshorn velvet, on that termless skin,\\r\\nWhose bare out-bragg’d the web it seemed to wear.\\r\\nYet show’d his visage by that cost more dear,\\r\\nAnd nice affections wavering stood in doubt\\r\\nIf best were as it was, or best without.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘His qualities were beauteous as his form,\\r\\nFor maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free;\\r\\nYet if men mov’d him, was he such a storm\\r\\nAs oft ’twixt May and April is to see,\\r\\nWhen winds breathe sweet, unruly though they be.\\r\\nHis rudeness so with his authoriz’d youth\\r\\nDid livery falseness in a pride of truth.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Well could he ride, and often men would say\\r\\nThat horse his mettle from his rider takes,\\r\\nProud of subjection, noble by the sway,\\r\\nWhat rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes!\\r\\nAnd controversy hence a question takes,\\r\\nWhether the horse by him became his deed,\\r\\nOr he his manage by th’ well-doing steed.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘But quickly on this side the verdict went,\\r\\nHis real habitude gave life and grace\\r\\nTo appertainings and to ornament,\\r\\nAccomplish’d in himself, not in his case;\\r\\nAll aids, themselves made fairer by their place,\\r\\nCame for additions; yet their purpos’d trim\\r\\nPiec’d not his grace, but were all grac’d by him.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘So on the tip of his subduing tongue\\r\\nAll kind of arguments and question deep,\\r\\nAll replication prompt, and reason strong,\\r\\nFor his advantage still did wake and sleep,\\r\\nTo make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep:\\r\\nHe had the dialect and different skill,\\r\\nCatching all passions in his craft of will.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘That he did in the general bosom reign\\r\\nOf young, of old, and sexes both enchanted,\\r\\nTo dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain\\r\\nIn personal duty, following where he haunted,\\r\\nConsent’s bewitch’d, ere he desire, have granted,\\r\\nAnd dialogued for him what he would say,\\r\\nAsk’d their own wills, and made their wills obey.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Many there were that did his picture get\\r\\nTo serve their eyes, and in it put their mind,\\r\\nLike fools that in th’ imagination set\\r\\nThe goodly objects which abroad they find\\r\\nOf lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign’d,\\r\\nAnd labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them,\\r\\nThan the true gouty landlord which doth owe them.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘So many have, that never touch’d his hand,\\r\\nSweetly suppos’d them mistress of his heart.\\r\\nMy woeful self that did in freedom stand,\\r\\nAnd was my own fee-simple (not in part)\\r\\nWhat with his art in youth, and youth in art,\\r\\nThrew my affections in his charmed power,\\r\\nReserv’d the stalk and gave him all my flower.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Yet did I not, as some my equals did,\\r\\nDemand of him, nor being desired yielded,\\r\\nFinding myself in honour so forbid,\\r\\nWith safest distance I mine honour shielded.\\r\\nExperience for me many bulwarks builded\\r\\nOf proofs new-bleeding, which remain’d the foil\\r\\nOf this false jewel, and his amorous spoil.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘But ah! Who ever shunn’d by precedent\\r\\nThe destin’d ill she must herself assay,\\r\\nOr force’d examples ’gainst her own content,\\r\\nTo put the by-pass’d perils in her way?\\r\\nCounsel may stop a while what will not stay:\\r\\nFor when we rage, advice is often seen\\r\\nBy blunting us to make our wills more keen.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood,\\r\\nThat we must curb it upon others’ proof,\\r\\nTo be forbode the sweets that seems so good,\\r\\nFor fear of harms that preach in our behoof.\\r\\nO appetite, from judgement stand aloof!\\r\\nThe one a palate hath that needs will taste,\\r\\nThough reason weep and cry, “It is thy last.”\\r\\n\\r\\n‘For further I could say, “This man’s untrue”,\\r\\nAnd knew the patterns of his foul beguiling;\\r\\nHeard where his plants in others’ orchards grew,\\r\\nSaw how deceits were gilded in his smiling;\\r\\nKnew vows were ever brokers to defiling;\\r\\nThought characters and words merely but art,\\r\\nAnd bastards of his foul adulterate heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘And long upon these terms I held my city,\\r\\nTill thus he ’gan besiege me: “Gentle maid,\\r\\nHave of my suffering youth some feeling pity,\\r\\nAnd be not of my holy vows afraid:\\r\\nThat’s to ye sworn, to none was ever said,\\r\\nFor feasts of love I have been call’d unto,\\r\\nTill now did ne’er invite, nor never woo.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“All my offences that abroad you see\\r\\nAre errors of the blood, none of the mind:\\r\\nLove made them not; with acture they may be,\\r\\nWhere neither party is nor true nor kind,\\r\\nThey sought their shame that so their shame did find,\\r\\nAnd so much less of shame in me remains,\\r\\nBy how much of me their reproach contains.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Among the many that mine eyes have seen,\\r\\nNot one whose flame my heart so much as warmed,\\r\\nOr my affection put to th’ smallest teen,\\r\\nOr any of my leisures ever charmed:\\r\\nHarm have I done to them, but ne’er was harmed;\\r\\nKept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free,\\r\\nAnd reign’d commanding in his monarchy.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Look here what tributes wounded fancies sent me,\\r\\nOf pallid pearls and rubies red as blood,\\r\\nFiguring that they their passions likewise lent me\\r\\nOf grief and blushes, aptly understood\\r\\nIn bloodless white and the encrimson’d mood;\\r\\nEffects of terror and dear modesty,\\r\\nEncamp’d in hearts, but fighting outwardly.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“And, lo! behold these talents of their hair,\\r\\nWith twisted metal amorously empleach’d,\\r\\nI have receiv’d from many a several fair,\\r\\nTheir kind acceptance weepingly beseech’d,\\r\\nWith th’ annexions of fair gems enrich’d,\\r\\nAnd deep-brain’d sonnets that did amplify\\r\\nEach stone’s dear nature, worth and quality.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“The diamond, why ’twas beautiful and hard,\\r\\nWhereto his invis’d properties did tend,\\r\\nThe deep green emerald, in whose fresh regard\\r\\nWeak sights their sickly radiance do amend;\\r\\nThe heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend\\r\\nWith objects manifold; each several stone,\\r\\nWith wit well blazon’d smil’d, or made some moan.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Lo, all these trophies of affections hot,\\r\\nOf pensiv’d and subdued desires the tender,\\r\\nNature hath charg’d me that I hoard them not,\\r\\nBut yield them up where I myself must render,\\r\\nThat is, to you, my origin and ender:\\r\\nFor these of force must your oblations be,\\r\\nSince I their altar, you empatron me.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“O then advance of yours that phraseless hand,\\r\\nWhose white weighs down the airy scale of praise;\\r\\nTake all these similes to your own command,\\r\\nHallowed with sighs that burning lungs did raise:\\r\\nWhat me, your minister for you, obeys,\\r\\nWorks under you; and to your audit comes\\r\\nTheir distract parcels in combined sums.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Lo, this device was sent me from a nun,\\r\\nOr sister sanctified of holiest note,\\r\\nWhich late her noble suit in court did shun,\\r\\nWhose rarest havings made the blossoms dote;\\r\\nFor she was sought by spirits of richest coat,\\r\\nBut kept cold distance, and did thence remove\\r\\nTo spend her living in eternal love.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“But O, my sweet, what labour is’t to leave\\r\\nThe thing we have not, mast’ring what not strives,\\r\\nPlaning the place which did no form receive,\\r\\nPlaying patient sports in unconstrained gyves,\\r\\nShe that her fame so to herself contrives,\\r\\nThe scars of battle ’scapeth by the flight,\\r\\nAnd makes her absence valiant, not her might.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“O pardon me, in that my boast is true,\\r\\nThe accident which brought me to her eye,\\r\\nUpon the moment did her force subdue,\\r\\nAnd now she would the caged cloister fly:\\r\\nReligious love put out religion’s eye:\\r\\nNot to be tempted would she be immur’d,\\r\\nAnd now to tempt all, liberty procur’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“How mighty then you are, O hear me tell!\\r\\nThe broken bosoms that to me belong\\r\\nHave emptied all their fountains in my well,\\r\\nAnd mine I pour your ocean all among:\\r\\nI strong o’er them, and you o’er me being strong,\\r\\nMust for your victory us all congest,\\r\\nAs compound love to physic your cold breast.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“My parts had pow’r to charm a sacred nun,\\r\\nWho, disciplin’d and dieted in grace,\\r\\nBeliev’d her eyes when they t’assail begun,\\r\\nAll vows and consecrations giving place.\\r\\nO most potential love! Vow, bond, nor space,\\r\\nIn thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine,\\r\\nFor thou art all and all things else are thine.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“When thou impressest, what are precepts worth\\r\\nOf stale example? When thou wilt inflame,\\r\\nHow coldly those impediments stand forth,\\r\\nOf wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame!\\r\\nLove’s arms are peace, ’gainst rule, ’gainst sense, ’gainst shame,\\r\\nAnd sweetens, in the suff’ring pangs it bears,\\r\\nThe aloes of all forces, shocks and fears.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Now all these hearts that do on mine depend,\\r\\nFeeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine,\\r\\nAnd supplicant their sighs to your extend,\\r\\nTo leave the batt’ry that you make ’gainst mine,\\r\\nLending soft audience to my sweet design,\\r\\nAnd credent soul to that strong-bonded oath,\\r\\nThat shall prefer and undertake my troth.”\\r\\n\\r\\n‘This said, his wat’ry eyes he did dismount,\\r\\nWhose sights till then were levell’d on my face;\\r\\nEach cheek a river running from a fount\\r\\nWith brinish current downward flowed apace.\\r\\nO how the channel to the stream gave grace!\\r\\nWho, glaz’d with crystal gate the glowing roses\\r\\nThat flame through water which their hue encloses.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies\\r\\nIn the small orb of one particular tear!\\r\\nBut with the inundation of the eyes\\r\\nWhat rocky heart to water will not wear?\\r\\nWhat breast so cold that is not warmed here?\\r\\nO cleft effect! Cold modesty, hot wrath,\\r\\nBoth fire from hence and chill extincture hath.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘For lo, his passion, but an art of craft,\\r\\nEven there resolv’d my reason into tears;\\r\\nThere my white stole of chastity I daff’d,\\r\\nShook off my sober guards, and civil fears,\\r\\nAppear to him as he to me appears,\\r\\nAll melting, though our drops this diff’rence bore:\\r\\nHis poison’d me, and mine did him restore.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘In him a plenitude of subtle matter,\\r\\nApplied to cautels, all strange forms receives,\\r\\nOf burning blushes, or of weeping water,\\r\\nOr swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves,\\r\\nIn either’s aptness, as it best deceives,\\r\\nTo blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes,\\r\\nOr to turn white and swoon at tragic shows.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘That not a heart which in his level came\\r\\nCould ’scape the hail of his all-hurting aim,\\r\\nShowing fair nature is both kind and tame;\\r\\nAnd veil’d in them, did win whom he would maim.\\r\\nAgainst the thing he sought he would exclaim;\\r\\nWhen he most burned in heart-wish’d luxury,\\r\\nHe preach’d pure maid, and prais’d cold chastity.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Thus merely with the garment of a grace,\\r\\nThe naked and concealed fiend he cover’d,\\r\\nThat th’unexperient gave the tempter place,\\r\\nWhich, like a cherubin, above them hover’d.\\r\\nWho, young and simple, would not be so lover’d?\\r\\nAy me! I fell, and yet do question make\\r\\nWhat I should do again for such a sake.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘O, that infected moisture of his eye,\\r\\nO, that false fire which in his cheek so glow’d!\\r\\nO, that forc’d thunder from his heart did fly,\\r\\nO, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestow’d,\\r\\nO, all that borrowed motion, seeming owed,\\r\\nWould yet again betray the fore-betrayed,\\r\\nAnd new pervert a reconciled maid.’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE PASSIONATE PILGRIM\\r\\n\\r\\nI.\\r\\n\\r\\nDid not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,\\r\\n\\'Gainst whom the world could not hold argument,\\r\\nPersuade my heart to this false perjury?\\r\\nVows for thee broke deserve not punishment.\\r\\nA woman I forswore; but I will prove,\\r\\nThou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:\\r\\nMy vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;\\r\\nThy grace being gain\\'d cures all disgrace in me.\\r\\nMy vow was breath, and breath a vapour is;\\r\\nThen, thou fair sun, that on this earth doth shine,\\r\\nExhale this vapour vow; in thee it is:\\r\\nIf broken, then it is no fault of mine.\\r\\n If by me broke, what fool is not so wise\\r\\n To break an oath, to win a paradise?\\r\\n\\r\\nII.\\r\\n\\r\\nSweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook\\r\\nWith young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green,\\r\\nDid court the lad with many a lovely look,\\r\\nSuch looks as none could look but beauty\\'s queen.\\r\\nShe told him stories to delight his ear;\\r\\nShe show\\'d him favours to allure his eye;\\r\\nTo win his heart, she touch\\'d him here and there:\\r\\nTouches so soft still conquer chastity.\\r\\nBut whether unripe years did want conceit,\\r\\nOr he refus\\'d to take her figur\\'d proffer,\\r\\nThe tender nibbler would not touch the bait,\\r\\nBut smile and jest at every gentle offer:\\r\\n Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward;\\r\\n He rose and ran away; ah, fool too froward!\\r\\n\\r\\nIII.\\r\\n\\r\\nIf love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?\\r\\nO never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow\\'d:\\r\\nThough to myself forsworn, to thee I\\'ll constant prove;\\r\\nThose thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like osiers bow\\'d.\\r\\nStudy his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes,\\r\\nWhere all those pleasures live that art can comprehend.\\r\\nIf knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;\\r\\nWell learned is that tongue that well can thee commend;\\r\\nAll ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;\\r\\nWhich is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire:\\r\\nThy eye Jove\\'s lightning seems, thy voice his dreadful thunder,\\r\\nWhich (not to anger bent) is music and sweet fire.\\r\\n Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong,\\r\\n To sing heavens\\' praise with such an earthly tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nIV.\\r\\n\\r\\nScarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn,\\r\\nAnd scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade,\\r\\nWhen Cytherea, all in love forlorn,\\r\\nA longing tarriance for Adonis made,\\r\\nUnder an osier growing by a brook,\\r\\nA brook where Adon used to cool his spleen.\\r\\nHot was the day; she hotter that did look\\r\\nFor his approach, that often there had been.\\r\\nAnon he comes, and throws his mantle by,\\r\\nAnd stood stark naked on the brook\\'s green brim;\\r\\nThe sun look\\'d on the world with glorious eye,\\r\\nYet not so wistly as this queen on him:\\r\\n He, spying her, bounc\\'d in, whereas he stood;\\r\\n O Jove, quoth she, why was not I a flood?\\r\\n\\r\\nV.\\r\\n\\r\\nFair is my love, but not so fair as fickle;\\r\\nMild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty;\\r\\nBrighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle;\\r\\nSofter than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty:\\r\\n A lily pale, with damask die to grace her,\\r\\n None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer lips to mine how often hath she join\\'d,\\r\\nBetween each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!\\r\\nHow many tales to please me hath she coin\\'d,\\r\\nDreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing!\\r\\n Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings,\\r\\n Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe burn\\'d with love, as straw with fire flameth;\\r\\nShe burn\\'d out love, as soon as straw outburneth;\\r\\nShe fram\\'d the love, and yet she foil\\'d the framing;\\r\\nShe bade love last, and yet she fell a turning.\\r\\n Was this a lover, or a lecher whether?\\r\\n Bad in the best, though excellent in neither.\\r\\n\\r\\nVI.\\r\\n\\r\\nIf music and sweet poetry agree,\\r\\nAs they must needs, the sister and the brother,\\r\\nThen must the love be great \\'twixt thee and me,\\r\\nBecause thou lovest the one, and I the other.\\r\\nDowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch\\r\\nUpon the lute doth ravish human sense;\\r\\nSpenser to me, whose deep conceit is such\\r\\nAs, passing all conceit, needs no defence.\\r\\nThou lov\\'st to hear the sweet melodious sound\\r\\nThat Phoebus\\' lute, the queen of music, makes;\\r\\nAnd I in deep delight am chiefly drown\\'d\\r\\nWhenas himself to singing he betakes.\\r\\n One god is god of both, as poets feign;\\r\\n One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.\\r\\n\\r\\nVII.\\r\\n\\r\\nFair was the morn when the fair queen of love,\\r\\n * * * * * *\\r\\nPaler for sorrow than her milk-white dove,\\r\\nFor Adon\\'s sake, a youngster proud and wild;\\r\\nHer stand she takes upon a steep-up hill:\\r\\nAnon Adonis comes with horn and hounds;\\r\\nShe, silly queen, with more than love\\'s good will,\\r\\nForbade the boy he should not pass those grounds;\\r\\nOnce, quoth she, did I see a fair sweet youth\\r\\nHere in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar,\\r\\nDeep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth!\\r\\nSee, in my thigh, quoth she, here was the sore.\\r\\n She showed hers: he saw more wounds than one,\\r\\n And blushing fled, and left her all alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIII.\\r\\n\\r\\nSweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck\\'d, soon vaded,\\r\\nPluck\\'d in the bud, and vaded in the spring!\\r\\nBright orient pearl, alack! too timely shaded!\\r\\nFair creature, kill\\'d too soon by death\\'s sharp sting!\\r\\n Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree,\\r\\n And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.\\r\\n\\r\\nI weep for thee, and yet no cause I have;\\r\\nFor why? thou left\\'st me nothing in thy will:\\r\\nAnd yet thou left\\'st me more than I did crave;\\r\\nFor why? I craved nothing of thee still:\\r\\n O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee,\\r\\n Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIX.\\r\\n\\r\\nVenus, with young Adonis sitting by her,\\r\\nUnder a myrtle shade, began to woo him:\\r\\nShe told the youngling how god Mars did try her,\\r\\nAnd as he fell to her, so fell she to him.\\r\\nEven thus, quoth she, the warlike god embrac\\'d me,\\r\\nAnd then she clipp\\'d Adonis in her arms;\\r\\nEven thus, quoth she, the warlike god unlaced me;\\r\\nAs if the boy should use like loving charms;\\r\\nEven thus, quoth she, he seized on my lips,\\r\\nAnd with her lips on his did act the seizure;\\r\\nAnd as she fetched breath, away he skips,\\r\\nAnd would not take her meaning nor her pleasure.\\r\\n Ah! that I had my lady at this bay,\\r\\n To kiss and clip me till I run away!\\r\\n\\r\\nX.\\r\\n\\r\\n Crabbed age and youth\\r\\n Cannot live together\\r\\n Youth is full of pleasance,\\r\\n Age is full of care;\\r\\n Youth like summer morn,\\r\\n Age like winter weather;\\r\\n Youth like summer brave,\\r\\n Age like winter bare;\\r\\n Youth is full of sport,\\r\\n Age\\'s breath is short;\\r\\n Youth is nimble, age is lame;\\r\\n Youth is hot and bold,\\r\\n Age is weak and cold;\\r\\n Youth is wild, and age is tame.\\r\\n Age, I do abhor thee;\\r\\n Youth, I do adore thee;\\r\\n O, my love, my love is young!\\r\\n Age, I do defy thee;\\r\\n O, sweet shepherd, hie thee,\\r\\n For methinks thou stay\\'st too long.\\r\\n\\r\\nXI.\\r\\n\\r\\nBeauty is but a vain and doubtful good,\\r\\nA shining gloss that vadeth suddenly;\\r\\nA flower that dies when first it \\'gins to bud;\\r\\nA brittle glass, that\\'s broken presently:\\r\\n A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,\\r\\n Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd as goods lost are seld or never found,\\r\\nAs vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh,\\r\\nAs flowers dead lie wither\\'d on the ground,\\r\\nAs broken glass no cement can redress,\\r\\n So beauty blemish\\'d once, for ever\\'s lost,\\r\\n In spite of physic, painting, pain and cost.\\r\\n\\r\\nXII.\\r\\n\\r\\nGood night, good rest. Ah! neither be my share:\\r\\nShe bade good night that kept my rest away;\\r\\nAnd daff\\'d me to a cabin hang\\'d with care,\\r\\nTo descant on the doubts of my decay.\\r\\n Farewell, quoth she, and come again tomorrow:\\r\\n Fare well I could not, for I supp\\'d with sorrow;\\r\\n\\r\\nYet at my parting sweetly did she smile,\\r\\nIn scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether:\\r\\n\\'T may be, she joy\\'d to jest at my exile,\\r\\n\\'T may be, again to make me wander thither:\\r\\n \\'Wander,\\' a word for shadows like myself,\\r\\n As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.\\r\\n\\r\\nXIII.\\r\\n\\r\\nLord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east!\\r\\nMy heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise\\r\\nDoth cite each moving sense from idle rest.\\r\\nNot daring trust the office of mine eyes,\\r\\n While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,\\r\\n And wish her lays were tuned like the lark;\\r\\n\\r\\nFor she doth welcome daylight with her ditty,\\r\\nAnd drives away dark dismal-dreaming night:\\r\\nThe night so pack\\'d, I post unto my pretty;\\r\\nHeart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight;\\r\\n Sorrow chang\\'d to solace, solace mix\\'d with sorrow;\\r\\n For why, she sigh\\'d and bade me come tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nWere I with her, the night would post too soon;\\r\\nBut now are minutes added to the hours;\\r\\nTo spite me now, each minute seems a moon;\\r\\nYet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers!\\r\\n Pack night, peep day; good day, of night now borrow:\\r\\n Short, night, to-night, and length thyself to-morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nLet the bird of loudest lay,\\r\\nOn the sole Arabian tree,\\r\\nHerald sad and trumpet be,\\r\\nTo whose sound chaste wings obey.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut thou shrieking harbinger,\\r\\nFoul precurrer of the fiend,\\r\\nAugur of the fever’s end,\\r\\nTo this troop come thou not near.\\r\\n\\r\\nFrom this session interdict\\r\\nEvery fowl of tyrant wing,\\r\\nSave the eagle, feather’d king;\\r\\nKeep the obsequy so strict.\\r\\n\\r\\nLet the priest in surplice white,\\r\\nThat defunctive music can,\\r\\nBe the death-divining swan,\\r\\nLest the requiem lack his right.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd thou treble-dated crow,\\r\\nThat thy sable gender mak’st\\r\\nWith the breath thou giv’st and tak’st,\\r\\n’Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere the anthem doth commence:\\r\\nLove and constancy is dead;\\r\\nPhoenix and the turtle fled\\r\\nIn a mutual flame from hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo they lov’d, as love in twain\\r\\nHad the essence but in one;\\r\\nTwo distincts, division none:\\r\\nNumber there in love was slain.\\r\\n\\r\\nHearts remote, yet not asunder;\\r\\nDistance and no space was seen\\r\\n’Twixt this turtle and his queen;\\r\\nBut in them it were a wonder.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo between them love did shine,\\r\\nThat the turtle saw his right\\r\\nFlaming in the phoenix’ sight;\\r\\nEither was the other’s mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nProperty was thus appalled,\\r\\nThat the self was not the same;\\r\\nSingle nature’s double name\\r\\nNeither two nor one was called.\\r\\n\\r\\nReason, in itself confounded,\\r\\nSaw division grow together;\\r\\nTo themselves yet either neither,\\r\\nSimple were so well compounded.\\r\\n\\r\\nThat it cried, How true a twain\\r\\nSeemeth this concordant one!\\r\\nLove hath reason, reason none,\\r\\nIf what parts can so remain.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhereupon it made this threne\\r\\nTo the phoenix and the dove,\\r\\nCo-supremes and stars of love,\\r\\nAs chorus to their tragic scene.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n THRENOS\\r\\n\\r\\nBeauty, truth, and rarity.\\r\\nGrace in all simplicity,\\r\\nHere enclos’d in cinders lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nDeath is now the phoenix’ nest;\\r\\nAnd the turtle’s loyal breast\\r\\nTo eternity doth rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nLeaving no posterity:—\\r\\n’Twas not their infirmity,\\r\\nIt was married chastity.\\r\\n\\r\\nTruth may seem, but cannot be;\\r\\nBeauty brag, but ’tis not she;\\r\\nTruth and beauty buried be.\\r\\n\\r\\nTo this urn let those repair\\r\\nThat are either true or fair;\\r\\nFor these dead birds sigh a prayer.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE RAPE OF LUCRECE\\r\\n\\r\\n TO THE\\r\\n\\r\\n RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,\\r\\n\\r\\n EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TITCHFIELD.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE love I dedicate to your Lordship is without end; whereof this\\r\\npamphlet, without beginning, is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant\\r\\nI have of your honourable disposition, not the worth of my untutored\\r\\nlines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours; what\\r\\nI have to do is yours; being part in all I have, devoted yours. Were\\r\\nmy worth greater, my duty would show greater; meantime, as it is, it is\\r\\nbound to your Lordship, to whom I wish long life, still lengthened with\\r\\nall happiness.\\r\\n\\r\\n Your Lordship\\'s in all duty,\\r\\n WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.\\r\\n\\r\\n THE ARGUMENT.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS TARQUINIUS (for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus), after he\\r\\nhad caused his own father-in-law, Servius Tullius, to be cruelly\\r\\nmurdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not requiring or\\r\\nstaying for the people\\'s suffrages, had possessed himself of the\\r\\nkingdom, went, accompanied with his sons and other noblemen of Rome, to\\r\\nbesiege Ardea. During which siege the principal men of the army\\r\\nmeeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquinius, the king\\'s son,\\r\\nin their discourses after supper, every one commended the virtues of\\r\\nhis own wife; among whom Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity\\r\\nof his wife Lucretia. In that pleasant humour they all posted to Rome;\\r\\nand intending, by their secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of\\r\\nthat which every one had before avouched, only Collatinus finds his\\r\\nwife, though it were late in the night, spinning amongst her maids: the\\r\\nother ladies were all found dancing and revelling, or in several\\r\\ndisports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus the victory, and\\r\\nhis wife the fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius being inflamed with\\r\\nLucrece\\'s beauty, yet smothering his passions for the present, departed\\r\\nwith the rest back to the camp; from whence he shortly after privily\\r\\nwithdrew himself, and was (according to his estate) royally entertained\\r\\nand lodged by Lucrece at Collatium. The same night he treacherously\\r\\nstealeth into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the\\r\\nmorning speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight, hastily\\r\\ndispatched messengers, one to Rome for her father, another to the camp\\r\\nfor Collatine. They came, the one accompanied with Junius Brutus, the\\r\\nother with Publius Valerius; and finding Lucrece attired in mourning\\r\\nhabit, demanded the cause of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of\\r\\nthem for her revenge, revealed the actor, and whole manner of his\\r\\ndealing, and withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one\\r\\nconsent they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the\\r\\nTarquins; and bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted the\\r\\npeople with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a bitter\\r\\ninvective against the tyranny of the king; wherewith the people were so\\r\\nmoved, that with one consent and a general acclamation the Tarquins\\r\\nwere all exiled, and the state government changed from kings to\\r\\nconsuls.\\r\\n\\r\\n_______________________________________________________________\\r\\n\\r\\nFrom the besieged Ardea all in post,\\r\\nBorne by the trustless wings of false desire,\\r\\nLust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host,\\r\\nAnd to Collatium bears the lightless fire\\r\\nWhich, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire\\r\\n And girdle with embracing flames the waist\\r\\n Of Collatine\\'s fair love, Lucrece the chaste.\\r\\n\\r\\nHaply that name of chaste unhapp\\'ly set\\r\\nThis bateless edge on his keen appetite;\\r\\nWhen Collatine unwisely did not let\\r\\nTo praise the clear unmatched red and white\\r\\nWhich triumph\\'d in that sky of his delight,\\r\\n Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven\\'s beauties,\\r\\n With pure aspects did him peculiar duties.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor he the night before, in Tarquin\\'s tent,\\r\\nUnlock\\'d the treasure of his happy state;\\r\\nWhat priceless wealth the heavens had him lent\\r\\nIn the possession of his beauteous mate;\\r\\nReckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate,\\r\\n That kings might be espoused to more fame,\\r\\n But king nor peer to such a peerless dame.\\r\\n\\r\\nO happiness enjoy\\'d but of a few!\\r\\nAnd, if possess\\'d, as soon decay\\'d and done\\r\\nAs is the morning\\'s silver-melting dew\\r\\nAgainst the golden splendour of the sun!\\r\\nAn expir\\'d date, cancell\\'d ere well begun:\\r\\n Honour and beauty, in the owner\\'s arms,\\r\\n Are weakly fortress\\'d from a world of harms.\\r\\n\\r\\nBeauty itself doth of itself persuade\\r\\nThe eyes of men without an orator;\\r\\nWhat needeth then apologies be made,\\r\\nTo set forth that which is so singular?\\r\\nOr why is Collatine the publisher\\r\\n Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown\\r\\n From thievish ears, because it is his own?\\r\\n\\r\\nPerchance his boast of Lucrece\\' sovereignty\\r\\nSuggested this proud issue of a king;\\r\\nFor by our ears our hearts oft tainted be:\\r\\nPerchance that envy of so rich a thing,\\r\\nBraving compare, disdainfully did sting\\r\\n His high-pitch\\'d thoughts, that meaner men should vaunt\\r\\n That golden hap which their superiors want.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut some untimely thought did instigate\\r\\nHis all-too-timeless speed, if none of those;\\r\\nHis honour, his affairs, his friends, his state,\\r\\nNeglected all, with swift intent he goes\\r\\nTo quench the coal which in his liver glows.\\r\\n O rash false heat, wrapp\\'d in repentant cold,\\r\\n Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne\\'er grows old!\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen at Collatium this false lord arriv\\'d,\\r\\nWell was he welcom\\'d by the Roman dame,\\r\\nWithin whose face beauty and virtue striv\\'d\\r\\nWhich of them both should underprop her fame:\\r\\nWhen virtue bragg\\'d, beauty would blush for shame;\\r\\n When beauty boasted blushes, in despite\\r\\n Virtue would stain that or with silver white.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut beauty, in that white intituled,\\r\\nFrom Venus\\' doves doth challenge that fair field:\\r\\nThen virtue claims from beauty beauty\\'s red,\\r\\nWhich virtue gave the golden age, to gild\\r\\nTheir silver cheeks, and call\\'d it then their shield;\\r\\n Teaching them thus to use it in the fight,—\\r\\n When shame assail\\'d, the red should fence the white.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis heraldry in Lucrece\\' face was seen,\\r\\nArgued by beauty\\'s red, and virtue\\'s white:\\r\\nOf either\\'s colour was the other queen,\\r\\nProving from world\\'s minority their right:\\r\\nYet their ambition makes them still to fight;\\r\\n The sovereignty of either being so great,\\r\\n That oft they interchange each other\\'s seat.\\r\\n\\r\\nTheir silent war of lilies and of roses,\\r\\nWhich Tarquin view\\'d in her fair face\\'s field,\\r\\nIn their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses;\\r\\nWhere, lest between them both it should be kill\\'d,\\r\\nThe coward captive vanquish\\'d doth yield\\r\\n To those two armies that would let him go,\\r\\n Rather than triumph in so false a foe.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow thinks he that her husband\\'s shallow tongue,\\r\\n(The niggard prodigal that prais\\'d her so)\\r\\nIn that high task hath done her beauty wrong,\\r\\nWhich far exceeds his barren skill to show:\\r\\nTherefore that praise which Collatine doth owe\\r\\n Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise,\\r\\n In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis earthly saint, adored by this devil,\\r\\nLittle suspecteth the false worshipper;\\r\\nFor unstain\\'d thoughts do seldom dream on evil;\\r\\nBirds never lim\\'d no secret bushes fear:\\r\\nSo guiltless she securely gives good cheer\\r\\n And reverend welcome to her princely guest,\\r\\n Whose inward ill no outward harm express\\'d:\\r\\n\\r\\nFor that he colour\\'d with his high estate,\\r\\nHiding base sin in plaits of majesty;\\r\\nThat nothing in him seem\\'d inordinate,\\r\\nSave sometime too much wonder of his eye,\\r\\nWhich, having all, all could not satisfy;\\r\\n But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store,\\r\\n That, cloy\\'d with much, he pineth still for more.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut she, that never cop\\'d with stranger eyes,\\r\\nCould pick no meaning from their parling looks,\\r\\nNor read the subtle-shining secrecies\\r\\nWrit in the glassy margents of such books;\\r\\nShe touch\\'d no unknown baits, nor fear\\'d no hooks;\\r\\n Nor could she moralize his wanton sight,\\r\\n More than his eyes were open\\'d to the light.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe stories to her ears her husband\\'s fame,\\r\\nWon in the fields of fruitful Italy;\\r\\nAnd decks with praises Collatine\\'s high name,\\r\\nMade glorious by his manly chivalry\\r\\nWith bruised arms and wreaths of victory:\\r\\n Her joy with heav\\'d-up hand she doth express,\\r\\n And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success.\\r\\n\\r\\nFar from the purpose of his coming hither,\\r\\nHe makes excuses for his being there.\\r\\nNo cloudy show of stormy blustering weather\\r\\nDoth yet in his fair welkin once appear;\\r\\nTill sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear,\\r\\n Upon the world dim darkness doth display,\\r\\n And in her vaulty prison stows the day.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor then is Tarquin brought unto his bed,\\r\\nIntending weariness with heavy spright;\\r\\nFor, after supper, long he questioned\\r\\nWith modest Lucrece, and wore out the night:\\r\\nNow leaden slumber with life\\'s strength doth fight;\\r\\n And every one to rest themselves betake,\\r\\n Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds, that wake.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving\\r\\nThe sundry dangers of his will\\'s obtaining;\\r\\nYet ever to obtain his will resolving,\\r\\nThough weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining:\\r\\nDespair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining;\\r\\n And when great treasure is the meed propos\\'d,\\r\\n Though death be adjunct, there\\'s no death suppos\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nThose that much covet are with gain so fond,\\r\\nFor what they have not, that which they possess\\r\\nThey scatter and unloose it from their bond,\\r\\nAnd so, by hoping more, they have but less;\\r\\nOr, gaining more, the profit of excess\\r\\n Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain,\\r\\n That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe aim of all is but to nurse the life\\r\\nWith honour, wealth, and ease, in waning age;\\r\\nAnd in this aim there is such thwarting strife,\\r\\nThat one for all, or all for one we gage;\\r\\nAs life for honour in fell battles\\' rage;\\r\\n Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost\\r\\n The death of all, and all together lost.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo that in vent\\'ring ill we leave to be\\r\\nThe things we are, for that which we expect;\\r\\nAnd this ambitious foul infirmity,\\r\\nIn having much, torments us with defect\\r\\nOf that we have: so then we do neglect\\r\\n The thing we have; and, all for want of wit,\\r\\n Make something nothing, by augmenting it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSuch hazard now must doting Tarquin make,\\r\\nPawning his honour to obtain his lust;\\r\\nAnd for himself himself he must forsake:\\r\\nThen where is truth, if there be no self-trust?\\r\\nWhen shall he think to find a stranger just,\\r\\n When he himself himself confounds, betrays\\r\\n To slanderous tongues and wretched hateful days?\\r\\n\\r\\nNow stole upon the time the dead of night,\\r\\nWhen heavy sleep had closed up mortal eyes:\\r\\nNo comfortable star did lend his light,\\r\\nNo noise but owls\\' and wolves\\' death-boding cries;\\r\\nNow serves the season that they may surprise\\r\\n The silly lambs; pure thoughts are dead and still,\\r\\n While lust and murder wake to stain and kill.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd now this lustful lord leap\\'d from his bed,\\r\\nThrowing his mantle rudely o\\'er his arm;\\r\\nIs madly toss\\'d between desire and dread;\\r\\nTh\\' one sweetly flatters, th\\' other feareth harm;\\r\\nBut honest Fear, bewitch\\'d with lust\\'s foul charm,\\r\\n Doth too too oft betake him to retire,\\r\\n Beaten away by brain-sick rude Desire.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis falchion on a flint he softly smiteth,\\r\\nThat from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly;\\r\\nWhereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth,\\r\\nWhich must be lode-star to his lustful eye;\\r\\nAnd to the flame thus speaks advisedly:\\r\\n \\'As from this cold flint I enforced this fire,\\r\\n So Lucrece must I force to my desire.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere pale with fear he doth premeditate\\r\\nThe dangers of his loathsome enterprise,\\r\\nAnd in his inward mind he doth debate\\r\\nWhat following sorrow may on this arise;\\r\\nThen looking scornfully, he doth despise\\r\\n His naked armour of still-slaughter\\'d lust,\\r\\n And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not\\r\\nTo darken her whose light excelleth thine:\\r\\nAnd die, unhallow\\'d thoughts, before you blot\\r\\nWith your uncleanness that which is divine!\\r\\nOffer pure incense to so pure a shrine:\\r\\n Let fair humanity abhor the deed\\r\\n That spots and stains love\\'s modest snow-white weed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O shame to knighthood and to shining arms!\\r\\nO foul dishonour to my household\\'s grave!\\r\\nO impious act, including all foul harms!\\r\\nA martial man to be soft fancy\\'s slave!\\r\\nTrue valour still a true respect should have;\\r\\n Then my digression is so vile, so base,\\r\\n That it will live engraven in my face.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive,\\r\\nAnd be an eye-sore in my golden coat;\\r\\nSome loathsome dash the herald will contrive,\\r\\nTo cipher me how fondly I did dote;\\r\\nThat my posterity, sham\\'d with the note,\\r\\n Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin\\r\\n To wish that I their father had not been.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'What win I, if I gain the thing I seek?\\r\\nA dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy:\\r\\nWho buys a minute\\'s mirth to wail a week?\\r\\nOr sells eternity to get a toy?\\r\\nFor one sweet grape who will the vine destroy?\\r\\n Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown,\\r\\n Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'If Collatinus dream of my intent,\\r\\nWill he not wake, and in a desperate rage\\r\\nPost hither, this vile purpose to prevent?\\r\\nThis siege that hath engirt his marriage,\\r\\nThis blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage,\\r\\n This dying virtue, this surviving shame,\\r\\n Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O, what excuse can my invention make\\r\\nWhen thou shalt charge me with so black a deed?\\r\\nWill not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake?\\r\\nMine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed?\\r\\nThe guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed;\\r\\n And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly,\\r\\n But, coward-like, with trembling terror die.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Had Collatinus kill\\'d my son or sire,\\r\\nOr lain in ambush to betray my life,\\r\\nOr were he not my dear friend, this desire\\r\\nMight have excuse to work upon his wife;\\r\\nAs in revenge or quittal of such strife:\\r\\n But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend,\\r\\n The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Shameful it is;—ay, if the fact be known:\\r\\nHateful it is:— there is no hate in loving;\\r\\nI\\'ll beg her love;—but she is not her own;\\r\\nThe worst is but denial and reproving:\\r\\nMy will is strong, past reason\\'s weak removing.\\r\\n Who fears a sentence or an old man\\'s saw\\r\\n Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThus, graceless, holds he disputation\\r\\n\\'Tween frozen conscience and hot-burning will,\\r\\nAnd with good thoughts makes dispensation,\\r\\nUrging the worser sense for vantage still;\\r\\nWhich in a moment doth confound and kill\\r\\n All pure effects, and doth so far proceed,\\r\\n That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed.\\r\\n\\r\\nQuoth he, \\'She took me kindly by the hand,\\r\\nAnd gaz\\'d for tidings in my eager eyes,\\r\\nFearing some hard news from the warlike band,\\r\\nWhere her beloved Collatinus lies.\\r\\nO how her fear did make her colour rise!\\r\\n First red as roses that on lawn we lay,\\r\\n Then white as lawn, the roses took away.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And how her hand, in my hand being lock\\'d,\\r\\nForc\\'d it to tremble with her loyal fear;\\r\\nWhich struck her sad, and then it faster rock\\'d,\\r\\nUntil her husband\\'s welfare she did hear;\\r\\nWhereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer,\\r\\n That had Narcissus seen her as she stood,\\r\\n Self-love had never drown\\'d him in the flood.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why hunt I then for colour or excuses?\\r\\nAll orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth;\\r\\nPoor wretches have remorse in poor abuses;\\r\\nLove thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth:\\r\\nAffection is my captain, and he leadeth;\\r\\n And when his gaudy banner is display\\'d,\\r\\n The coward fights and will not be dismay\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Then, childish fear, avaunt! debating, die!\\r\\nRespect and reason wait on wrinkled age!\\r\\nMy heart shall never countermand mine eye;\\r\\nSad pause and deep regard beseem the sage;\\r\\nMy part is youth, and beats these from the stage:\\r\\n Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize;\\r\\n Then who fears sinking where such treasure lies?\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nAs corn o\\'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear\\r\\nIs almost chok\\'d by unresisted lust.\\r\\nAway he steals with opening, listening ear,\\r\\nFull of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust;\\r\\nBoth which, as servitors to the unjust,\\r\\n So cross him with their opposite persuasion,\\r\\n That now he vows a league, and now invasion.\\r\\n\\r\\nWithin his thought her heavenly image sits,\\r\\nAnd in the self-same seat sits Collatine:\\r\\nThat eye which looks on her confounds his wits;\\r\\nThat eye which him beholds, as more divine,\\r\\nUnto a view so false will not incline;\\r\\n But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart,\\r\\n Which once corrupted takes the worser part;\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd therein heartens up his servile powers,\\r\\nWho, flatter\\'d by their leader\\'s jocund show,\\r\\nStuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours;\\r\\nAnd as their captain, so their pride doth grow.\\r\\nPaying more slavish tribute than they owe.\\r\\n By reprobate desire thus madly led,\\r\\n The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece\\' bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe locks between her chamber and his will,\\r\\nEach one by him enforc\\'d retires his ward;\\r\\nBut, as they open they all rate his ill,\\r\\nWhich drives the creeping thief to some regard,\\r\\nThe threshold grates the door to have him heard;\\r\\n Night-wand\\'ring weasels shriek to see him there;\\r\\n They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs each unwilling portal yields him way,\\r\\nThrough little vents and crannies of the place\\r\\nThe wind wars with his torch, to make him stay,\\r\\nAnd blows the smoke of it into his face,\\r\\nExtinguishing his conduct in this case;\\r\\n But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch,\\r\\n Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch:\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd being lighted, by the light he spies\\r\\nLucretia\\'s glove, wherein her needle sticks;\\r\\nHe takes it from the rushes where it lies,\\r\\nAnd griping it, the neeld his finger pricks:\\r\\nAs who should say this glove to wanton tricks\\r\\n Is not inur\\'d: return again in haste;\\r\\n Thou see\\'st our mistress\\' ornaments are chaste.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut all these poor forbiddings could not stay him;\\r\\nHe in the worst sense construes their denial:\\r\\nThe doors, the wind, the glove that did delay him,\\r\\nHe takes for accidental things of trial;\\r\\nOr as those bars which stop the hourly dial,\\r\\n Who with a lingering stay his course doth let,\\r\\n Till every minute pays the hour his debt.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So, so,\\' quoth he, \\'these lets attend the time,\\r\\nLike little frosts that sometime threat the spring.\\r\\nTo add a more rejoicing to the prime,\\r\\nAnd give the sneaped birds more cause to sing.\\r\\nPain pays the income of each precious thing;\\r\\n Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves and sands,\\r\\n The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nNow is he come unto the chamber door,\\r\\nThat shuts him from the heaven of his thought,\\r\\nWhich with a yielding latch, and with no more,\\r\\nHath barr\\'d him from the blessed thing he sought.\\r\\nSo from himself impiety hath wrought,\\r\\n That for his prey to pray he doth begin,\\r\\n As if the heavens should countenance his sin.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut in the midst of his unfruitful prayer,\\r\\nHaving solicited the eternal power,\\r\\nThat his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair,\\r\\nAnd they would stand auspicious to the hour,\\r\\nEven there he starts:—quoth he, \\'I must de-flower;\\r\\n The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact,\\r\\n How can they then assist me in the act?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide!\\r\\nMy will is back\\'d with resolution:\\r\\nThoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried,\\r\\nThe blackest sin is clear\\'d with absolution;\\r\\nAgainst love\\'s fire fear\\'s frost hath dissolution.\\r\\n The eye of heaven is out, and misty night\\r\\n Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, his guilty hand pluck\\'d up the latch,\\r\\nAnd with his knee the door he opens wide:\\r\\nThe dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch;\\r\\nThus treason works ere traitors be espied.\\r\\nWho sees the lurking serpent steps aside;\\r\\n But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing,\\r\\n Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting.\\r\\n\\r\\nInto the chamber wickedly he stalks,\\r\\nAnd gazeth on her yet unstained bed.\\r\\nThe curtains being close, about he walks,\\r\\nRolling his greedy eyeballs in his head:\\r\\nBy their high treason is his heart misled;\\r\\n Which gives the watch-word to his hand full soon\\r\\n To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook, as the fair and fiery-pointed sun,\\r\\nRushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight;\\r\\nEven so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun\\r\\nTo wink, being blinded with a greater light:\\r\\nWhether it is that she reflects so bright,\\r\\n That dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed;\\r\\n But blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed.\\r\\n\\r\\nO, had they in that darksome prison died,\\r\\nThen had they seen the period of their ill!\\r\\nThen Collatine again by Lucrece\\' side\\r\\nIn his clear bed might have reposed still:\\r\\nBut they must ope, this blessed league to kill;\\r\\n And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight\\r\\n Must sell her joy, her life, her world\\'s delight.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer lily hand her rosy cheek lies under,\\r\\nCozening the pillow of a lawful kiss;\\r\\nWho, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder,\\r\\nSwelling on either side to want his bliss;\\r\\nBetween whose hills her head entombed is:\\r\\n Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies,\\r\\n To be admir\\'d of lewd unhallow\\'d eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nWithout the bed her other fair hand was,\\r\\nOn the green coverlet; whose perfect white\\r\\nShow\\'d like an April daisy on the grass,\\r\\nWith pearly sweat, resembling dew of night,\\r\\nHer eyes, like marigolds, had sheath\\'d their light,\\r\\n And canopied in darkness sweetly lay,\\r\\n Till they might open to adorn the day.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer hair, like golden threads, play\\'d with her breath;\\r\\nO modest wantons! wanton modesty!\\r\\nShowing life\\'s triumph in the map of death,\\r\\nAnd death\\'s dim look in life\\'s mortality:\\r\\nEach in her sleep themselves so beautify,\\r\\n As if between them twain there were no strife,\\r\\n But that life liv\\'d in death, and death in life.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue,\\r\\nA pair of maiden worlds unconquered,\\r\\nSave of their lord no bearing yoke they knew,\\r\\nAnd him by oath they truly honoured.\\r\\nThese worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred:\\r\\n Who, like a foul usurper, went about\\r\\n From this fair throne to heave the owner out.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat could he see but mightily he noted?\\r\\nWhat did he note but strongly he desir\\'d?\\r\\nWhat he beheld, on that he firmly doted,\\r\\nAnd in his will his wilful eye he tir\\'d.\\r\\nWith more than admiration he admir\\'d\\r\\n Her azure veins, her alabaster skin,\\r\\n Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs the grim lion fawneth o\\'er his prey,\\r\\nSharp hunger by the conquest satisfied,\\r\\nSo o\\'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay,\\r\\nHis rage of lust by grazing qualified;\\r\\nSlack\\'d, not suppress\\'d; for standing by her side,\\r\\n His eye, which late this mutiny restrains,\\r\\n Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins:\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting,\\r\\nObdurate vassals. fell exploits effecting,\\r\\nIn bloody death and ravishment delighting,\\r\\nNor children\\'s tears nor mothers\\' groans respecting,\\r\\nSwell in their pride, the onset still expecting:\\r\\n Anon his beating heart, alarum striking,\\r\\n Gives the hot charge and bids them do their liking.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis drumming heart cheers up his burning eye,\\r\\nHis eye commends the leading to his hand;\\r\\nHis hand, as proud of such a dignity,\\r\\nSmoking with pride, march\\'d on to make his stand\\r\\nOn her bare breast, the heart of all her land;\\r\\n Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale,\\r\\n Left their round turrets destitute and pale.\\r\\n\\r\\nThey, mustering to the quiet cabinet\\r\\nWhere their dear governess and lady lies,\\r\\nDo tell her she is dreadfully beset,\\r\\nAnd fright her with confusion of their cries:\\r\\nShe, much amaz\\'d, breaks ope her lock\\'d-up eyes,\\r\\n Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold,\\r\\n Are by his flaming torch dimm\\'d and controll\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nImagine her as one in dead of night\\r\\nFrom forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking,\\r\\nThat thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite,\\r\\nWhose grim aspect sets every joint a shaking:\\r\\nWhat terror \\'tis! but she, in worser taking,\\r\\n From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view\\r\\n The sight which makes supposed terror true.\\r\\n\\r\\nWrapp\\'d and confounded in a thousand fears,\\r\\nLike to a new-kill\\'d bird she trembling lies;\\r\\nShe dares not look; yet, winking, there appears\\r\\nQuick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes:\\r\\nSuch shadows are the weak brain\\'s forgeries:\\r\\n Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights,\\r\\n In darkness daunts them with more dreadful sights.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis hand, that yet remains upon her breast,\\r\\n(Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall!)\\r\\nMay feel her heart, poor citizen, distress\\'d,\\r\\nWounding itself to death, rise up and fall,\\r\\nBeating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal.\\r\\n This moves in him more rage, and lesser pity,\\r\\n To make the breach, and enter this sweet city.\\r\\n\\r\\nFirst, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin\\r\\nTo sound a parley to his heartless foe,\\r\\nWho o\\'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin,\\r\\nThe reason of this rash alarm to know,\\r\\nWhich he by dumb demeanour seeks to show;\\r\\n But she with vehement prayers urgeth still\\r\\n Under what colour he commits this ill.\\r\\n\\r\\nThus he replies: \\'The colour in thy face,\\r\\n(That even for anger makes the lily pale,\\r\\nAnd the red rose blush at her own disgrace)\\r\\nShall plead for me and tell my loving tale:\\r\\nUnder that colour am I come to scale\\r\\n Thy never-conquer\\'d fort: the fault is thine,\\r\\n For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide:\\r\\nThy beauty hath ensnared thee to this night,\\r\\nWhere thou with patience must my will abide,\\r\\nMy will that marks thee for my earth\\'s delight,\\r\\nWhich I to conquer sought with all my might;\\r\\n But as reproof and reason beat it dead,\\r\\n By thy bright beauty was it newly bred.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'I see what crosses my attempt will bring;\\r\\nI know what thorns the growing rose defends;\\r\\nI think the honey guarded with a sting;\\r\\nAll this, beforehand, counsel comprehends:\\r\\nBut will is deaf, and hears no heedful friends;\\r\\n Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty,\\r\\n And dotes on what he looks, \\'gainst law or duty.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'I have debated, even in my soul,\\r\\nWhat wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall breed;\\r\\nBut nothing can Affection\\'s course control,\\r\\nOr stop the headlong fury of his speed.\\r\\nI know repentant tears ensue the deed,\\r\\n Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity;\\r\\n Yet strike I to embrace mine infamy.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade,\\r\\nWhich, like a falcon towering in the skies,\\r\\nCoucheth the fowl below with his wings\\' shade,\\r\\nWhose crooked beak threats if he mount he dies:\\r\\nSo under his insulting falchion lies\\r\\n Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells\\r\\n With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon\\'s bells.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Lucrece,\\' quoth he, \\'this night I must enjoy thee:\\r\\nIf thou deny, then force must work my way,\\r\\nFor in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee;\\r\\nThat done, some worthless slave of thine I\\'ll slay.\\r\\nTo kill thine honour with thy life\\'s decay;\\r\\n And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him,\\r\\n Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So thy surviving husband shall remain\\r\\nThe scornful mark of every open eye;\\r\\nThy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain,\\r\\nThy issue blurr\\'d with nameless bastardy:\\r\\nAnd thou, the author of their obloquy,\\r\\n Shalt have thy trespass cited up in rhymes,\\r\\n And sung by children in succeeding times.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend:\\r\\nThe fault unknown is as a thought unacted;\\r\\nA little harm, done to a great good end,\\r\\nFor lawful policy remains enacted.\\r\\nThe poisonous simple sometimes is compacted\\r\\n In a pure compound; being so applied,\\r\\n His venom in effect is purified.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Then, for thy husband and thy children\\'s sake,\\r\\nTender my suit: bequeath not to their lot\\r\\nThe shame that from them no device can take,\\r\\nThe blemish that will never be forgot;\\r\\nWorse than a slavish wipe, or birth-hour\\'s blot:\\r\\n For marks descried in men\\'s nativity\\r\\n Are nature\\'s faults, not their own infamy.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere with a cockatrice\\' dead-killing eye\\r\\nHe rouseth up himself and makes a pause;\\r\\nWhile she, the picture of pure piety,\\r\\nLike a white hind under the grype\\'s sharp claws,\\r\\nPleads in a wilderness where are no laws,\\r\\n To the rough beast that knows no gentle right,\\r\\n Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut when a black-fac\\'d cloud the world doth threat,\\r\\nIn his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding,\\r\\nFrom earth\\'s dark womb some gentle gust doth get,\\r\\nWhich blows these pitchy vapours from their biding,\\r\\nHindering their present fall by this dividing;\\r\\n So his unhallow\\'d haste her words delays,\\r\\n And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays.\\r\\n\\r\\nYet, foul night-working cat, he doth but dally,\\r\\nWhile in his hold-fast foot the weak mouse panteth;\\r\\nHer sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly,\\r\\nA swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth:\\r\\nHis ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth\\r\\n No penetrable entrance to her plaining:\\r\\n Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer pity-pleading eyes are sadly fix\\'d\\r\\nIn the remorseless wrinkles of his face;\\r\\nHer modest eloquence with sighs is mix\\'d,\\r\\nWhich to her oratory adds more grace.\\r\\nShe puts the period often from his place,\\r\\n And midst the sentence so her accent breaks,\\r\\n That twice she doth begin ere once she speaks.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe conjures him by high almighty Jove,\\r\\nBy knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship\\'s oath,\\r\\nBy her untimely tears, her husband\\'s love,\\r\\nBy holy human law, and common troth,\\r\\nBy heaven and earth, and all the power of both,\\r\\n That to his borrow\\'d bed he make retire,\\r\\n And stoop to honour, not to foul desire.\\r\\n\\r\\nQuoth she, \\'Reward not hospitality\\r\\nWith such black payment as thou hast pretended;\\r\\nMud not the fountain that gave drink to thee;\\r\\nMar not the thing that cannot be amended;\\r\\nEnd thy ill aim before the shoot be ended:\\r\\n He is no woodman that doth bend his bow\\r\\n To strike a poor unseasonable doe.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'My husband is thy friend; for his sake spare me;\\r\\nThyself art mighty; for thine own sake leave me;\\r\\nMyself a weakling, do not then ensnare me;\\r\\nThou look\\'st not like deceit; do not deceive me;\\r\\nMy sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave thee.\\r\\n If ever man were mov\\'d with woman\\'s moans,\\r\\n Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'All which together, like a troubled ocean,\\r\\nBeat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening heart;\\r\\nTo soften it with their continual motion;\\r\\nFor stones dissolv\\'d to water do convert.\\r\\nO, if no harder than a stone thou art,\\r\\n Melt at my tears, and be compassionate!\\r\\n Soft pity enters at an iron gate.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'In Tarquin\\'s likeness I did entertain thee;\\r\\nHast thou put on his shape to do him shame?\\r\\nTo all the host of heaven I complain me,\\r\\nThou wrong\\'st his honour, wound\\'st his princely name.\\r\\nThou art not what thou seem\\'st; and if the same,\\r\\n Thou seem\\'st not what thou art, a god, a king;\\r\\n For kings like gods should govern every thing.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'How will thy shame be seeded in thine age,\\r\\nWhen thus thy vices bud before thy spring!\\r\\nIf in thy hope thou dar\\'st do such outrage,\\r\\nWhat dar\\'st thou not when once thou art a king!\\r\\nO, be remember\\'d, no outrageous thing\\r\\n From vassal actors can he wip\\'d away;\\r\\n Then kings\\' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'This deed will make thee only lov\\'d for fear,\\r\\nBut happy monarchs still are fear\\'d for love:\\r\\nWith foul offenders thou perforce must bear,\\r\\nWhen they in thee the like offences prove:\\r\\nIf but for fear of this, thy will remove;\\r\\n For princes are the glass, the school, the book,\\r\\n Where subjects eyes do learn, do read, do look.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall learn?\\r\\nMust he in thee read lectures of such shame:\\r\\nWilt thou be glass, wherein it shall discern\\r\\nAuthority for sin, warrant for blame,\\r\\nTo privilege dishonour in thy name?\\r\\n Thou back\\'st reproach against long-living laud,\\r\\n And mak\\'st fair reputation but a bawd.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Hast thou command? by him that gave it thee,\\r\\nFrom a pure heart command thy rebel will:\\r\\nDraw not thy sword to guard iniquity,\\r\\nFor it was lent thee all that brood to kill.\\r\\nThy princely office how canst thou fulfill,\\r\\n When, pattern\\'d by thy fault, foul Sin may say\\r\\n He learn\\'d to sin, and thou didst teach the way?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Think but how vile a spectacle it were\\r\\nTo view thy present trespass in another.\\r\\nMen\\'s faults do seldom to themselves appear;\\r\\nTheir own transgressions partially they smother:\\r\\nThis guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother.\\r\\n O how are they wrapp\\'d in with infamies\\r\\n That from their own misdeeds askaunce their eyes!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'To thee, to thee, my heav\\'d-up hands appeal,\\r\\nNot to seducing lust, thy rash relier;\\r\\nI sue for exil\\'d majesty\\'s repeal;\\r\\nLet him return, and flattering thoughts retire:\\r\\nHis true respect will \\'prison false desire,\\r\\n And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne,\\r\\n That thou shalt see thy state, and pity mine.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Have done,\\' quoth he: \\'my uncontrolled tide\\r\\nTurns not, but swells the higher by this let.\\r\\nSmall lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide,\\r\\nAnd with the wind in greater fury fret:\\r\\nThe petty streams that pay a daily debt\\r\\n To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls\\' haste,\\r\\n Add to his flow, but alter not his taste.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thou art,\\' quoth she, \\'a sea, a sovereign king;\\r\\nAnd, lo, there falls into thy boundless flood\\r\\nBlack lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning,\\r\\nWho seek to stain the ocean of thy blood.\\r\\nIf all these petty ills shall change thy good,\\r\\n Thy sea within a puddle\\'s womb is hears\\'d,\\r\\n And not the puddle in thy sea dispers\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So shall these slaves be king, and thou their slave;\\r\\nThou nobly base, they basely dignified;\\r\\nThou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave;\\r\\nThou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride:\\r\\nThe lesser thing should not the greater hide;\\r\\n The cedar stoops not to the base shrub\\'s foot,\\r\\n But low shrubs whither at the cedar\\'s root.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state\\'—\\r\\n\\'No more,\\' quoth he; \\'by heaven, I will not hear thee:\\r\\nYield to my love; if not, enforced hate,\\r\\nInstead of love\\'s coy touch, shall rudely tear thee;\\r\\nThat done, despitefully I mean to bear thee\\r\\n Unto the base bed of some rascal groom,\\r\\n To be thy partner in this shameful doom.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, he sets his foot upon the light,\\r\\nFor light and lust are deadly enemies;\\r\\nShame folded up in blind concealing night,\\r\\nWhen most unseen, then most doth tyrannize.\\r\\nThe wolf hath seiz\\'d his prey, the poor lamb cries;\\r\\n Till with her own white fleece her voice controll\\'d\\r\\n Entombs her outcry in her lips\\' sweet fold:\\r\\n\\r\\nFor with the nightly linen that she wears\\r\\nHe pens her piteous clamours in her head;\\r\\nCooling his hot face in the chastest tears\\r\\nThat ever modest eyes with sorrow shed.\\r\\nO, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed!\\r\\n The spots whereof could weeping purify,\\r\\n Her tears should drop on them perpetually.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut she hath lost a dearer thing than life,\\r\\nAnd he hath won what he would lose again.\\r\\nThis forced league doth force a further strife;\\r\\nThis momentary joy breeds months of pain,\\r\\nThis hot desire converts to cold disdain:\\r\\n Pure Chastity is rifled of her store,\\r\\n And Lust, the thief, far poorer than before.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook, as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk,\\r\\nUnapt for tender smell or speedy flight,\\r\\nMake slow pursuit, or altogether balk\\r\\nThe prey wherein by nature they delight;\\r\\nSo surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night:\\r\\n His taste delicious, in digestion souring,\\r\\n Devours his will, that liv\\'d by foul devouring.\\r\\n\\r\\nO deeper sin than bottomless conceit\\r\\nCan comprehend in still imagination!\\r\\nDrunken desire must vomit his receipt,\\r\\nEre he can see his own abomination.\\r\\nWhile lust is in his pride no exclamation\\r\\n Can curb his heat, or rein his rash desire,\\r\\n Till, like a jade, self-will himself doth tire.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd then with lank and lean discolour\\'d cheek,\\r\\nWith heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace,\\r\\nFeeble desire, all recreant, poor, and meek,\\r\\nLike to a bankrupt beggar wails his case:\\r\\nThe flesh being proud, desire doth fight with Grace,\\r\\n For there it revels; and when that decays,\\r\\n The guilty rebel for remission prays.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo fares it with this faultful lord of Rome,\\r\\nWho this accomplishment so hotly chas\\'d;\\r\\nFor now against himself he sounds this doom,\\r\\nThat through the length of times he stands disgrac\\'d:\\r\\nBesides, his soul\\'s fair temple is defac\\'d;\\r\\n To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares,\\r\\n To ask the spotted princess how she fares.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe says, her subjects with foul insurrection\\r\\nHave batter\\'d down her consecrated wall,\\r\\nAnd by their mortal fault brought in subjection\\r\\nHer immortality, and made her thrall\\r\\nTo living death, and pain perpetual;\\r\\n Which in her prescience she controlled still,\\r\\n But her foresight could not forestall their will.\\r\\n\\r\\nEven in this thought through the dark night he stealeth,\\r\\nA captive victor that hath lost in gain;\\r\\nBearing away the wound that nothing healeth,\\r\\nThe scar that will, despite of cure, remain;\\r\\nLeaving his spoil perplex\\'d in greater pain.\\r\\n She hears the load of lust he left behind,\\r\\n And he the burthen of a guilty mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe like a thievish dog creeps sadly thence;\\r\\nShe like a wearied lamb lies panting there;\\r\\nHe scowls, and hates himself for his offence;\\r\\nShe, desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear;\\r\\nHe faintly flies, sweating with guilty fear;\\r\\n She stays, exclaiming on the direful night;\\r\\n He runs, and chides his vanish\\'d, loath\\'d delight.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe thence departs a heavy convertite;\\r\\nShe there remains a hopeless castaway:\\r\\nHe in his speed looks for the morning light;\\r\\nShe prays she never may behold the day;\\r\\n\\'For day,\\' quoth she, \\'night\\'s scapes doth open lay;\\r\\n And my true eyes have never practis\\'d how\\r\\n To cloak offences with a cunning brow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'They think not but that every eye can see\\r\\nThe same disgrace which they themselves behold;\\r\\nAnd therefore would they still in darkness be,\\r\\nTo have their unseen sin remain untold;\\r\\nFor they their guilt with weeping will unfold,\\r\\n And grave, like water that doth eat in steel,\\r\\n Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere she exclaims against repose and rest,\\r\\nAnd bids her eyes hereafter still be blind.\\r\\nShe wakes her heart by beating on her breast,\\r\\nAnd bids it leap from thence, where it may find\\r\\nSome purer chest, to close so pure a mind.\\r\\n Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite\\r\\n Against the unseen secrecy of night:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O comfort-killing night, image of hell!\\r\\nDim register and notary of shame!\\r\\nBlack stage for tragedies and murders fell!\\r\\nVast sin-concealing chaos! nurse of blame!\\r\\nBlind muffled bawd! dark harbour for defame!\\r\\n Grim cave of death, whispering conspirator\\r\\n With close-tongued treason and the ravisher!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O hateful, vaporous, and foggy night!\\r\\nSince thou art guilty of my cureless crime,\\r\\nMuster thy mists to meet the eastern light,\\r\\nMake war against proportion\\'d course of time!\\r\\nOr if thou wilt permit the sun to climb\\r\\n His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed,\\r\\n Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'With rotten damps ravish the morning air;\\r\\nLet their exhal\\'d unwholesome breaths make sick\\r\\nThe life of purity, the supreme fair,\\r\\nEre he arrive his weary noontide prick;\\r\\nAnd let thy misty vapours march so thick,\\r\\n That in their smoky ranks his smother\\'d light\\r\\n May set at noon and make perpetual night.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Were Tarquin night (as he is but night\\'s child),\\r\\nThe silver-shining queen he would distain;\\r\\nHer twinkling handmaids too, by him defil\\'d,\\r\\nThrough Night\\'s black bosom should not peep again:\\r\\nSo should I have co-partners in my pain:\\r\\n And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage,\\r\\n As palmers\\' chat makes short their pilgrimage.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Where now I have no one to blush with me,\\r\\nTo cross their arms and hang their heads with mine,\\r\\nTo mask their brows, and hide their infamy;\\r\\nBut I alone alone must sit and pine,\\r\\nSeasoning the earth with showers of silver brine,\\r\\n Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans,\\r\\n Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke,\\r\\nLet not the jealous day behold that face\\r\\nWhich underneath thy black all-hiding cloak\\r\\nImmodesty lies martyr\\'d with disgrace!\\r\\nKeep still possession of thy gloomy place,\\r\\n That all the faults which in thy reign are made,\\r\\n May likewise be sepulchred in thy shade!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Make me not object to the tell-tale day!\\r\\nThe light will show, character\\'d in my brow,\\r\\nThe story of sweet chastity\\'s decay,\\r\\nThe impious breach of holy wedlock vow:\\r\\nYea, the illiterate, that know not how\\r\\n To cipher what is writ in learned books,\\r\\n Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story\\r\\nAnd fright her crying babe with Tarquin\\'s name;\\r\\nThe orator, to deck his oratory,\\r\\nWill couple my reproach to Tarquin\\'s shame:\\r\\nFeast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame,\\r\\n Will tie the hearers to attend each line,\\r\\n How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Let my good name, that senseless reputation,\\r\\nFor Collatine\\'s dear love be kept unspotted:\\r\\nIf that be made a theme for disputation,\\r\\nThe branches of another root are rotted,\\r\\nAnd undeserved reproach to him allotted,\\r\\n That is as clear from this attaint of mine\\r\\n As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O unseen shame! invisible disgrace!\\r\\nO unfelt sore! crest-wounding, private scar!\\r\\nReproach is stamp\\'d in Collatinus\\' face,\\r\\nAnd Tarquin\\'s eye may read the mot afar,\\r\\nHow he in peace is wounded, not in war.\\r\\n Alas, how many bear such shameful blows,\\r\\n Which not themselves, but he that gives them knows!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me,\\r\\nFrom me by strong assault it is bereft.\\r\\nMy honey lost, and I, a drone-like bee,\\r\\nHave no perfection of my summer left,\\r\\nBut robb\\'d and ransack\\'d by injurious theft:\\r\\n In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept,\\r\\n And suck\\'d the honey which thy chaste bee kept.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Yet am I guilty of thy honour\\'s wrack;—\\r\\nYet for thy honour did I entertain him;\\r\\nComing from thee, I could not put him back,\\r\\nFor it had been dishonour to disdain him:\\r\\nBesides, of weariness he did complain him,\\r\\n And talk\\'d of virtue:—O unlook\\'d-for evil,\\r\\n When virtue is profan\\'d in such a devil!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud?\\r\\nOr hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows\\' nests?\\r\\nOr toads infect fair founts with venom mud?\\r\\nOr tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts?\\r\\nOr kings be breakers of their own behests?\\r\\n But no perfection is so absolute,\\r\\n That some impurity doth not pollute.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'The aged man that coffers up his gold\\r\\nIs plagued with cramps, and gouts, and painful fits;\\r\\nAnd scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold,\\r\\nBut like still-pining Tantalus he sits,\\r\\nAnd useless barns the harvest of his wits;\\r\\n Having no other pleasure of his gain\\r\\n But torment that it cannot cure his pain.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So then he hath it when he cannot use it,\\r\\nAnd leaves it to be master\\'d by his young;\\r\\nWho in their pride do presently abuse it:\\r\\nTheir father was too weak, and they too strong,\\r\\nTo hold their cursed-blessed fortune long.\\r\\n The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours,\\r\\n Even in the moment that we call them ours.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring;\\r\\nUnwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers;\\r\\nThe adder hisses where the sweet birds sing;\\r\\nWhat virtue breeds iniquity devours:\\r\\nWe have no good that we can say is ours,\\r\\n But ill-annexed Opportunity\\r\\n Or kills his life or else his quality.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O Opportunity, thy guilt is great:\\r\\n\\'Tis thou that executest the traitor\\'s treason;\\r\\nThou set\\'st the wolf where he the lamb may get;\\r\\nWhoever plots the sin, thou \\'point\\'st the season;\\r\\n\\'Tis thou that spurn\\'st at right, at law, at reason;\\r\\n And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him,\\r\\n Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thou mak\\'st the vestal violate her oath;\\r\\nThou blow\\'st the fire when temperance is thaw\\'d;\\r\\nThou smother\\'st honesty, thou murther\\'st troth;\\r\\nThou foul abettor! thou notorious bawd!\\r\\nThou plantest scandal and displacest laud:\\r\\n Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief,\\r\\n Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame,\\r\\nThy private feasting to a public fast;\\r\\nThy smoothing titles to a ragged name,\\r\\nThy sugar\\'d tongue to bitter wormwood taste:\\r\\nThy violent vanities can never last.\\r\\n How comes it then, vile Opportunity,\\r\\n Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'When wilt thou be the humble suppliant\\'s friend,\\r\\nAnd bring him where his suit may be obtain\\'d?\\r\\nWhen wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end?\\r\\nOr free that soul which wretchedness hath chain\\'d?\\r\\nGive physic to the sick, ease to the pain\\'d?\\r\\n The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee;\\r\\n But they ne\\'er meet with Opportunity.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'The patient dies while the physician sleeps;\\r\\nThe orphan pines while the oppressor feeds;\\r\\nJustice is feasting while the widow weeps;\\r\\nAdvice is sporting while infection breeds;\\r\\nThou grant\\'st no time for charitable deeds:\\r\\n Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder\\'s rages,\\r\\n Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'When truth and virtue have to do with thee,\\r\\nA thousand crosses keep them from thy aid;\\r\\nThey buy thy help; but Sin ne\\'er gives a fee,\\r\\nHe gratis comes; and thou art well appay\\'d\\r\\nAs well to hear as grant what he hath said.\\r\\n My Collatine would else have come to me\\r\\n When Tarquin did, but he was stay\\'d by thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Guilty thou art of murder and of theft;\\r\\nGuilty of perjury and subornation;\\r\\nGuilty of treason, forgery, and shift;\\r\\nGuilty of incest, that abomination:\\r\\nAn accessory by thine inclination\\r\\n To all sins past, and all that are to come,\\r\\n From the creation to the general doom.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Mis-shapen Time, copesmate of ugly night,\\r\\nSwift subtle post, carrier of grisly care,\\r\\nEater of youth, false slave to false delight,\\r\\nBase watch of woes, sin\\'s pack-horse, virtue\\'s snare;\\r\\nThou nursest all and murtherest all that are:\\r\\n O hear me then, injurious, shifting Time!\\r\\n Be guilty of my death, since of my crime.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why hath thy servant, Opportunity,\\r\\nBetray\\'d the hours thou gav\\'st me to repose?\\r\\nCancell\\'d my fortunes, and enchained me\\r\\nTo endless date of never-ending woes?\\r\\nTime\\'s office is to fine the hate of foes;\\r\\n To eat up errors by opinion bred,\\r\\n Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Time\\'s glory is to calm contending kings,\\r\\nTo unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light,\\r\\nTo stamp the seal of time in aged things,\\r\\nTo wake the morn, and sentinel the night,\\r\\nTo wrong the wronger till he render right;\\r\\n To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours,\\r\\n And smear with dust their glittering golden towers:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'To fill with worm-holes stately monuments,\\r\\nTo feed oblivion with decay of things,\\r\\nTo blot old books and alter their contents,\\r\\nTo pluck the quills from ancient ravens\\' wings,\\r\\nTo dry the old oak\\'s sap and cherish springs;\\r\\n To spoil antiquities of hammer\\'d steel,\\r\\n And turn the giddy round of Fortune\\'s wheel;\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'To show the beldame daughters of her daughter,\\r\\nTo make the child a man, the man a child,\\r\\nTo slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter,\\r\\nTo tame the unicorn and lion wild,\\r\\nTo mock the subtle, in themselves beguil\\'d;\\r\\n To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops,\\r\\n And waste huge stones with little water-drops.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why work\\'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage,\\r\\nUnless thou couldst return to make amends?\\r\\nOne poor retiring minute in an age\\r\\nWould purchase thee a thousand thousand friends,\\r\\nLending him wit that to bad debtors lends:\\r\\n O, this dread night, wouldst thou one hour come back,\\r\\n I could prevent this storm, and shun thy wrack!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thou cease!ess lackey to eternity,\\r\\nWith some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight:\\r\\nDevise extremes beyond extremity,\\r\\nTo make him curse this cursed crimeful night:\\r\\nLet ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright;\\r\\n And the dire thought of his committed evil\\r\\n Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances,\\r\\nAfflict him in his bed with bedrid groans;\\r\\nLet there bechance him pitiful mischances,\\r\\nTo make him moan; but pity not his moans:\\r\\nStone him with harden\\'d hearts, harder than stones;\\r\\n And let mild women to him lose their mildness,\\r\\n Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Let him have time to tear his curled hair,\\r\\nLet him have time against himself to rave,\\r\\nLet him have time of Time\\'s help to despair,\\r\\nLet him have time to live a loathed slave,\\r\\nLet him have time a beggar\\'s orts to crave;\\r\\n And time to see one that by alms doth live\\r\\n Disdain to him disdained scraps to give.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Let him have time to see his friends his foes,\\r\\nAnd merry fools to mock at him resort;\\r\\nLet him have time to mark how slow time goes\\r\\nIn time of sorrow, and how swift and short\\r\\nHis time of folly and his time of sport:\\r\\n And ever let his unrecalling crime\\r\\n Have time to wail the abusing of his time.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad,\\r\\nTeach me to curse him that thou taught\\'st this ill!\\r\\nAt his own shadow let the thief run mad!\\r\\nHimself himself seek every hour to kill!\\r\\nSuch wretched hands such wretched blood should spill:\\r\\n For who so base would such an office have\\r\\n As slanderous deathsman to so base a slave?\\r\\n\\r\\nThe baser is he, coming from a king,\\r\\nTo shame his hope with deeds degenerate.\\r\\nThe mightier man, the mightier is the thing\\r\\nThat makes him honour\\'d, or begets him hate;\\r\\nFor greatest scandal waits on greatest state.\\r\\n The moon being clouded presently is miss\\'d,\\r\\n But little stars may hide them when they list.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire,\\r\\nAnd unperceived fly with the filth away;\\r\\nBut if the like the snow-white swan desire,\\r\\nThe stain upon his silver down will stay.\\r\\nPoor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day:\\r\\n Gnats are unnoted wheresoe\\'er they fly,\\r\\n But eagles gazed upon with every eye.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Out, idle words, servants to shallow fools!\\r\\nUnprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators!\\r\\nBusy yourselves in skill-contending schools;\\r\\nDebate where leisure serves with dull debaters;\\r\\nTo trembling clients be you mediators:\\r\\n For me, I force not argument a straw,\\r\\n Since that my case is past the help of law.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'In vain I rail at Opportunity,\\r\\nAt Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful night;\\r\\nIn vain I cavil with mine infamy,\\r\\nIn vain I spurn at my confirm\\'d despite:\\r\\nThis helpless smoke of words doth me no right.\\r\\n The remedy indeed to do me good\\r\\n Is to let forth my foul-defil\\'d blood.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Poor hand, why quiver\\'st thou at this decree?\\r\\nHonour thyself to rid me of this shame;\\r\\nFor if I die, my honour lives in thee;\\r\\nBut if I live, thou livest in my defame:\\r\\nSince thou couldst not defend thy loyal dame,\\r\\n And wast afear\\'d to scratch her wicked foe,\\r\\n Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, from her be-tumbled couch she starteth,\\r\\nTo find some desperate instrument of death:\\r\\nBut this no slaughter-house no tool imparteth,\\r\\nTo make more vent for passage of her breath;\\r\\nWhich, thronging through her lips, so vanisheth\\r\\n As smoke from Aetna, that in air consumes,\\r\\n Or that which from discharged cannon fumes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'In vain,\\' quoth she, \\'I live, and seek in vain\\r\\nSome happy mean to end a hapless life.\\r\\nI fear\\'d by Tarquin\\'s falchion to be slain,\\r\\nYet for the self-same purpose seek a knife:\\r\\nBut when I fear\\'d I was a loyal wife:\\r\\n So am I now:—O no, that cannot be;\\r\\n Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O! that is gone for which I sought to live,\\r\\nAnd therefore now I need not fear to die.\\r\\nTo clear this spot by death, at least I give\\r\\nA badge of fame to slander\\'s livery;\\r\\nA dying life to living infamy;\\r\\n Poor helpless help, the treasure stolen away,\\r\\n To burn the guiltless casket where it lay!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know\\r\\nThe stained taste of violated troth;\\r\\nI will not wrong thy true affection so,\\r\\nTo flatter thee with an infringed oath;\\r\\nThis bastard graff shall never come to growth:\\r\\n He shall not boast who did thy stock pollute\\r\\n That thou art doting father of his fruit.\\r\\n\\r\\nNor shall he smile at thee in secret thought,\\r\\nNor laugh with his companions at thy state;\\r\\nBut thou shalt know thy interest was not bought\\r\\nBasely with gold, but stolen from forth thy gate.\\r\\nFor me, I am the mistress of my fate,\\r\\n And with my trespass never will dispense,\\r\\n Till life to death acquit my forced offence.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'I will not poison thee with my attaint,\\r\\nNor fold my fault in cleanly-coin\\'d excuses;\\r\\nMy sable ground of sin I will not paint,\\r\\nTo hide the truth of this false night\\'s abuses;\\r\\nMy tongue shall utter all; mine eyes, like sluices,\\r\\n As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale,\\r\\n Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this; lamenting Philomel had ended\\r\\nThe well-tun\\'d warble of her nightly sorrow,\\r\\nAnd solemn night with slow-sad gait descended\\r\\nTo ugly hell; when, lo, the blushing morrow\\r\\nLends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow:\\r\\n But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see,\\r\\n And therefore still in night would cloister\\'d be.\\r\\n\\r\\nRevealing day through every cranny spies,\\r\\nAnd seems to point her out where she sits weeping,\\r\\nTo whom she sobbing speaks: \\'O eye of eyes,\\r\\nWhy pryest thou through my window? leave thy peeping;\\r\\nMock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleeping:\\r\\n Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light,\\r\\n For day hath nought to do what\\'s done by night.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThus cavils she with every thing she sees:\\r\\nTrue grief is fond and testy as a child,\\r\\nWho wayward once, his mood with nought agrees.\\r\\nOld woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild;\\r\\nContinuance tames the one: the other wild,\\r\\n Like an unpractis\\'d swimmer plunging still\\r\\n With too much labour drowns for want of skill.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo she, deep-drenched in a sea of care,\\r\\nHolds disputation with each thing she views,\\r\\nAnd to herself all sorrow doth compare;\\r\\nNo object but her passion\\'s strength renews;\\r\\nAnd as one shifts, another straight ensues:\\r\\n Sometime her grief is dumb and hath no words;\\r\\n Sometime \\'tis mad, and too much talk affords.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe little birds that tune their morning\\'s joy\\r\\nMake her moans mad with their sweet melody.\\r\\nFor mirth doth search the bottom of annoy;\\r\\nSad souls are slain in merry company:\\r\\nGrief best is pleas\\'d with grief\\'s society:\\r\\n True sorrow then is feelingly suffic\\'d\\r\\n When with like semblance it is sympathiz\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Tis double death to drown in ken of shore;\\r\\nHe ten times pines that pines beholding food;\\r\\nTo see the salve doth make the wound ache more;\\r\\nGreat grief grieves most at that would do it good;\\r\\nDeep woes roll forward like a gentle flood;\\r\\n Who, being stopp\\'d, the bounding banks o\\'erflows;\\r\\n Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'You mocking birds,\\' quoth she, \\'your tunes entomb\\r\\nWithin your hollow-swelling feather\\'d breasts,\\r\\nAnd in my hearing be you mute and dumb!\\r\\n(My restless discord loves no stops nor rests;\\r\\nA woeful hostess brooks not merry guests:)\\r\\n Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears;\\r\\n Distress likes dumps when time is kept with tears.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Come, Philomel, that sing\\'st of ravishment,\\r\\nMake thy sad grove in my dishevell\\'d hair:\\r\\nAs the dank earth weeps at thy languishment,\\r\\nSo I at each sad strain will strain a tear,\\r\\nAnd with deep groans the diapason bear:\\r\\n For burthen-wise I\\'ll hum on Tarquin still,\\r\\n While thou on Tereus descant\\'st better skill.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And whiles against a thorn thou bear\\'st thy part,\\r\\nTo keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I,\\r\\nTo imitate thee well, against my heart\\r\\nWill fix a sharp knife, to affright mine eye;\\r\\nWho, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die.\\r\\n These means, as frets upon an instrument,\\r\\n Shall tune our heart-strings to true languishment.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And for, poor bird, thou sing\\'st not in the day,\\r\\nAs shaming any eye should thee behold,\\r\\nSome dark deep desert, seated from the way,\\r\\nThat knows not parching heat nor freezing cold,\\r\\nWill we find out; and there we will unfold\\r\\n To creatures stern sad tunes, to change their kinds:\\r\\n Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nAs the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze,\\r\\nWildly determining which way to fly,\\r\\nOr one encompass\\'d with a winding maze,\\r\\nThat cannot tread the way out readily;\\r\\nSo with herself is she in mutiny,\\r\\n To live or die which of the twain were better,\\r\\n When life is sham\\'d, and Death reproach\\'s debtor.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'To kill myself,\\' quoth she, \\'alack! what were it,\\r\\nBut with my body my poor soul\\'s pollution?\\r\\nThey that lose half with greater patience bear it\\r\\nThan they whose whole is swallow\\'d in confusion.\\r\\nThat mother tries a merciless conclusion\\r\\n Who, having two sweet babes, when death takes one,\\r\\n Will slay the other, and be nurse to none.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'My body or my soul, which was the dearer,\\r\\nWhen the one pure, the other made divine?\\r\\nWhose love of either to myself was nearer?\\r\\nWhen both were kept for heaven and Collatine?\\r\\nAh, me! the bark peel\\'d from the lofty pine,\\r\\n His leaves will wither, and his sap decay;\\r\\n So must my soul, her bark being peel\\'d away.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Her house is sack\\'d, her quiet interrupted,\\r\\nHer mansion batter\\'d by the enemy;\\r\\nHer sacred temple spotted, spoil\\'d, corrupted,\\r\\nGrossly engirt with daring infamy:\\r\\nThen let it not be call\\'d impiety,\\r\\n If in this blemish\\'d fort I make some hole\\r\\n Through which I may convey this troubled soul.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Yet die I will not till my Collatine\\r\\nHave heard the cause of my untimely death;\\r\\nThat he may vow, in that sad hour of mine,\\r\\nRevenge on him that made me stop my breath.\\r\\nMy stained blood to Tarquin I\\'ll bequeath,\\r\\n Which by him tainted shall for him be spent,\\r\\n And as his due writ in my testament.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'My honour I\\'ll bequeath unto the knife\\r\\nThat wounds my body so dishonoured.\\r\\n\\'Tis honour to deprive dishonour\\'d life;\\r\\nThe one will live, the other being dead:\\r\\nSo of shame\\'s ashes shall my fame be bred;\\r\\n For in my death I murther shameful scorn:\\r\\n My shame so dead, mine honour is new-born.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost,\\r\\nWhat legacy shall I bequeath to thee?\\r\\nMy resolution, Love, shall be thy boast,\\r\\nBy whose example thou reveng\\'d mayst be.\\r\\nHow Tarquin must be used, read it in me:\\r\\n Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe,\\r\\n And, for my sake, serve thou false Tarquin so.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'This brief abridgement of my will I make:\\r\\nMy soul and body to the skies and ground;\\r\\nMy resolution, husband, do thou take;\\r\\nMine honour be the knife\\'s that makes my wound;\\r\\nMy shame be his that did my fame confound;\\r\\n And all my fame that lives disburs\\'d be\\r\\n To those that live, and think no shame of me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee this will;\\r\\nHow was I overseen that thou shalt see it!\\r\\nMy blood shall wash the slander of mine ill;\\r\\nMy life\\'s foul deed my life\\'s fair end shall free it.\\r\\nFaint not, faint heart, but stoutly say \"so be it:\"\\r\\n Yield to my hand; my hand shall conquer thee;\\r\\n Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis plot of death when sadly she had laid,\\r\\nAnd wip\\'d the brinish pearl from her bright eyes,\\r\\nWith untun\\'d tongue she hoarsely call\\'d her maid,\\r\\nWhose swift obedience to her mistress hies;\\r\\nFor fleet-wing\\'d duty with thought\\'s feathers flies.\\r\\n Poor Lucrece\\' cheeks unto her maid seem so\\r\\n As winter meads when sun doth melt their snow.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer mistress she doth give demure good-morrow,\\r\\nWith soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty,\\r\\nAnd sorts a sad look to her lady\\'s sorrow,\\r\\n(For why her face wore sorrow\\'s livery,)\\r\\nBut durst not ask of her audaciously\\r\\n Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so,\\r\\n Nor why her fair cheeks over-wash\\'d with woe.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut as the earth doth weep, the sun being set,\\r\\nEach flower moisten\\'d like a melting eye;\\r\\nEven so the maid with swelling drops \\'gan wet\\r\\nHer circled eyne, enforc\\'d by sympathy\\r\\nOf those fair suns, set in her mistress\\' sky,\\r\\n Who in a salt-wav\\'d ocean quench their light,\\r\\n Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night.\\r\\n\\r\\nA pretty while these pretty creatures stand,\\r\\nLike ivory conduits coral cisterns filling:\\r\\nOne justly weeps; the other takes in hand\\r\\nNo cause, but company, of her drops spilling:\\r\\nTheir gentle sex to weep are often willing:\\r\\n Grieving themselves to guess at others\\' smarts,\\r\\n And then they drown their eyes or break their hearts.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor men have marble, women waxen minds,\\r\\nAnd therefore are they form\\'d as marble will;\\r\\nThe weak oppress\\'d, the impression of strange kinds\\r\\nIs form\\'d in them by force, by fraud, or skill:\\r\\nThen call them not the authors of their ill,\\r\\n No more than wax shall be accounted evil,\\r\\n Wherein is stamp\\'d the semblance of a devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nTheir smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain,\\r\\nLays open all the little worms that creep;\\r\\nIn men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain\\r\\nCave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep:\\r\\nThrough crystal walls each little mote will peep:\\r\\n Though men can cover crimes with bold stern looks,\\r\\n Poor women\\'s faces are their own faults\\' books.\\r\\n\\r\\nNo man inveigb against the wither\\'d flower,\\r\\nBut chide rough winter that the flower hath kill\\'d!\\r\\nNot that devour\\'d, but that which doth devour,\\r\\nIs worthy blame. O, let it not be hild\\r\\nPoor women\\'s faults, that they are so fulfill\\'d\\r\\n With men\\'s abuses! those proud lords, to blame,\\r\\n Make weak-made women tenants to their shame.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe precedent whereof in Lucrece view,\\r\\nAssail\\'d by night with circumstances strong\\r\\nOf present death, and shame that might ensue\\r\\nBy that her death, to do her husband wrong:\\r\\nSuch danger to resistance did belong;\\r\\n The dying fear through all her body spread;\\r\\n And who cannot abuse a body dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this, mild Patience bid fair Lucrece speak\\r\\nTo the poor counterfeit of her complaining:\\r\\n\\'My girl,\\' quoth she, \\'on what occasion break\\r\\nThose tears from thee, that down thy cheeks are raining?\\r\\nIf thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining,\\r\\n Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood:\\r\\n If tears could help, mine own would do me good.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'But tell me, girl, when went\\'—(and there she stay\\'d\\r\\nTill after a deep groan) \\'Tarquin from, hence?\\'\\r\\n\\'Madam, ere I was up,\\' replied the maid,\\r\\n\\'The more to blame my sluggard negligence:\\r\\nYet with the fault I thus far can dispense;\\r\\n Myself was stirring ere the break of day,\\r\\n And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'But, lady, if your maid may be so bold,\\r\\nShe would request to know your heaviness.\\'\\r\\n\\'O peace!\\' quoth Lucrece: \\'if it should be told,\\r\\nThe repetition cannot make it less;\\r\\nFor more it is than I can well express:\\r\\n And that deep torture may be call\\'d a hell,\\r\\n When more is felt than one hath power to tell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen—\\r\\nYet save that labour, for I have them here.\\r\\nWhat should I say?—One of my husband\\'s men\\r\\nBid thou be ready, by and by, to bear\\r\\nA letter to my lord, my love, my dear;\\r\\n Bid him with speed prepare to carry it;\\r\\n The cause craves haste, and it will soon be writ.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHer maid is gone, and she prepares to write,\\r\\nFirst hovering o\\'er the paper with her quill:\\r\\nConceit and grief an eager combat fight;\\r\\nWhat wit sets down is blotted straight with will;\\r\\nThis is too curious-good, this blunt and ill:\\r\\n Much like a press of people at a door,\\r\\n Throng her inventions, which shall go before.\\r\\n\\r\\nAt last she thus begins:—\\'Thou worthy lord\\r\\nOf that unworthy wife that greeteth thee,\\r\\nHealth to thy person! next vouchsafe to afford\\r\\n(If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see)\\r\\nSome present speed to come and visit me:\\r\\n So, I commend me from our house in grief:\\r\\n My woes are tedious, though my words are brief.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere folds she up the tenor of her woe,\\r\\nHer certain sorrow writ uncertainly.\\r\\nBy this short schedule Collatine may know\\r\\nHer grief, but not her grief\\'s true quality;\\r\\nShe dares not thereof make discovery,\\r\\n Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse,\\r\\n Ere she with blood had stain\\'d her stain\\'d excuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nBesides, the life and feeling of her passion\\r\\nShe hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her;\\r\\nWhen sighs, and groans, and tears may grace the fashion\\r\\nOf her disgrace, the better so to clear her\\r\\nFrom that suspicion which the world my might bear her.\\r\\n To shun this blot, she would not blot the letter\\r\\n With words, till action might become them better.\\r\\n\\r\\nTo see sad sights moves more than hear them told;\\r\\nFor then the eye interprets to the ear\\r\\nThe heavy motion that it doth behold,\\r\\nWhen every part a part of woe doth bear.\\r\\n\\'Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear:\\r\\n Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow fords,\\r\\n And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of words.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer letter now is seal\\'d, and on it writ\\r\\n\\'At Ardea to my lord with more than haste;\\'\\r\\nThe post attends, and she delivers it,\\r\\nCharging the sour-fac\\'d groom to hie as fast\\r\\nAs lagging fowls before the northern blast.\\r\\n Speed more than speed but dull and slow she deems:\\r\\n Extremely still urgeth such extremes.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe homely villain court\\'sies to her low;\\r\\nAnd, blushing on her, with a steadfast eye\\r\\nReceives the scroll, without or yea or no,\\r\\nAnd forth with bashful innocence doth hie.\\r\\nBut they whose guilt within their bosoms lie\\r\\n Imagine every eye beholds their blame;\\r\\n For Lucrece thought he blush\\'d to see her shame:\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen, silly groom! God wot, it was defect\\r\\nOf spirit, life, and bold audacity.\\r\\nSuch harmless creatures have a true respect\\r\\nTo talk in deeds, while others saucily\\r\\nPromise more speed, but do it leisurely:\\r\\n Even so this pattern of the worn-out age\\r\\n Pawn\\'d honest looks, but laid no words to gage.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis kindled duty kindled her mistrust,\\r\\nThat two red fires in both their faces blaz\\'d;\\r\\nShe thought he blush\\'d, as knowing Tarquin\\'s lust,\\r\\nAnd, blushing with him, wistly on him gaz\\'d;\\r\\nHer earnest eye did make him more amaz\\'d:\\r\\n The more saw the blood his cheeks replenish,\\r\\n The more she thought he spied in her some blemish.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut long she thinks till he return again,\\r\\nAnd yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone.\\r\\nThe weary time she cannot entertain,\\r\\nFor now \\'tis stale to sigh, to weep, to groan:\\r\\nSo woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan,\\r\\n That she her plaints a little while doth stay,\\r\\n Pausing for means to mourn some newer way.\\r\\n\\r\\nAt last she calls to mind where hangs a piece\\r\\nOf skilful painting, made for Priam\\'s Troy;\\r\\nBefore the which is drawn the power of Greece,\\r\\nFor Helen\\'s rape the city to destroy,\\r\\nThreat\\'ning cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy;\\r\\n Which the conceited painter drew so proud,\\r\\n As heaven (it seem\\'d) to kiss the turrets bow\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nA thousand lamentable objects there,\\r\\nIn scorn of Nature, Art gave lifeless life:\\r\\nMany a dry drop seem\\'d a weeping tear,\\r\\nShed for the slaughter\\'d husband by the wife:\\r\\nThe red blood reek\\'d, to show the painter\\'s strife;\\r\\n The dying eyes gleam\\'d forth their ashy lights,\\r\\n Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights.\\r\\n\\r\\nThere might you see the labouring pioner\\r\\nBegrim\\'d with sweat, and smeared all with dust;\\r\\nAnd from the towers of Troy there would appear\\r\\nThe very eyes of men through loopholes thrust,\\r\\nGazing upon the Greeks with little lust:\\r\\n Such sweet observance in this work was had,\\r\\n That one might see those far-off eyes look sad.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn great commanders grace and majesty\\r\\nYou might behold, triumphing in their faces;\\r\\nIn youth, quick bearing and dexterity;\\r\\nAnd here and there the painter interlaces\\r\\nPale cowards, marching on with trembling paces;\\r\\n Which heartless peasants did so well resemble,\\r\\n That one would swear he saw them quake and tremble.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn Ajax and Ulysses, O, what art\\r\\nOf physiognomy might one behold!\\r\\nThe face of either \\'cipher\\'d either\\'s heart;\\r\\nTheir face their manners most expressly told:\\r\\nIn Ajax\\' eyes blunt rage and rigour roll\\'d;\\r\\n But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent\\r\\n Show\\'d deep regard and smiling government.\\r\\n\\r\\nThere pleading might you see grave Nestor stand,\\r\\nAs\\'t were encouraging the Greeks to fight;\\r\\nMaking such sober action with his hand\\r\\nThat it beguiled attention, charm\\'d the sight:\\r\\nIn speech, it seem\\'d, his beard, all silver white,\\r\\n Wagg\\'d up and down, and from his lips did fly\\r\\n Thin winding breath, which purl\\'d up to the sky.\\r\\n\\r\\nAbout him were a press of gaping faces,\\r\\nWhich seem\\'d to swallow up his sound advice;\\r\\nAll jointly listening, but with several graces,\\r\\nAs if some mermaid did their ears entice;\\r\\nSome high, some low, the painter was so nice:\\r\\n The scalps of many, almost hid behind,\\r\\n To jump up higher seem\\'d to mock the mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere one man\\'s hand lean\\'d on another\\'s head,\\r\\nHis nose being shadow\\'d by his neighbour\\'s ear;\\r\\nHere one being throng\\'d bears back, all boll\\'n and red;\\r\\nAnother smother\\'d seems to pelt and swear;\\r\\nAnd in their rage such signs of rage they bear,\\r\\n As, but for loss of Nestor\\'s golden words,\\r\\n It seem\\'d they would debate with angry swords.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor much imaginary work was there;\\r\\nConceit deceitful, so compact, so kind,\\r\\nThat for Achilles\\' image stood his spear,\\r\\nGrip\\'d in an armed hand; himself, behind,\\r\\nWas left unseen, save to the eye of mind:\\r\\n A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head,\\r\\n Stood for the whole to be imagined,\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd from the walls of strong-besieged Troy\\r\\nWhen their brave hope, bold Hector, march\\'d to field,\\r\\nStood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy\\r\\nTo see their youthful sons bright weapons wield;\\r\\nAnd to their hope they such odd action yield,\\r\\n That through their light joy seemed to appear,\\r\\n (Like bright things stain\\'d) a kind of heavy fear,\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd, from the strond of Dardan, where they fought,\\r\\nTo Simois\\' reedy banks, the red blood ran,\\r\\nWhose waves to imitate the battle sought\\r\\nWith swelling ridges; and their ranks began\\r\\nTo break upon the galled shore, and than\\r\\n Retire again, till, meeting greater ranks,\\r\\n They join, and shoot their foam at Simois\\' banks.\\r\\n\\r\\nTo this well-painted piece is Lucrece come,\\r\\nTo find a face where all distress is stell\\'d.\\r\\nMany she sees where cares have carved some,\\r\\nBut none where all distress and dolour dwell\\'d,\\r\\nTill she despairing Hecuba beheld,\\r\\n Staring on Priam\\'s wounds with her old eyes,\\r\\n Which bleeding under Pyrrhus\\' proud foot lies.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn her the painter had anatomiz\\'d\\r\\nTime\\'s ruin, beauty\\'s wrack, and grim care\\'s reign:\\r\\nHer cheeks with chops and wrinkles were disguis\\'d;\\r\\nOf what she was no semblance did remain:\\r\\nHer blue blood, chang\\'d to black in every vein,\\r\\n Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had fed,\\r\\n Show\\'d life imprison\\'d in a body dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nOn this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes,\\r\\nAnd shapes her sorrow to the beldame\\'s woes,\\r\\nWho nothing wants to answer her but cries,\\r\\nAnd bitter words to ban her cruel foes:\\r\\nThe painter was no god to lend her those;\\r\\n And therefore Lucrece swears he did her wrong,\\r\\n To give her so much grief, and not a tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Poor instrument,\\' quoth she, \\'without a sound,\\r\\nI\\'ll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue;\\r\\nAnd drop sweet balm in Priam\\'s painted wound,\\r\\nAnd rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong,\\r\\nAnd with my tears quench Troy that burns so long;\\r\\n And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes\\r\\n Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Show me the strumpet that began this stir,\\r\\nThat with my nails her beauty I may tear.\\r\\nThy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur\\r\\nThis load of wrath that burning Troy doth bear;\\r\\nThy eye kindled the fire that burneth here:\\r\\n And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye,\\r\\n The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter die.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why should the private pleasure of some one\\r\\nBecome the public plague of many mo?\\r\\nLet sin, alone committed, light alone\\r\\nUpon his head that hath transgressed so.\\r\\nLet guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe:\\r\\n For one\\'s offence why should so many fall,\\r\\n To plague a private sin in general?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Lo, here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies,\\r\\nHere manly Hector faints, here Troilus swounds;\\r\\nHere friend by friend in bloody channel lies,\\r\\nAnd friend to friend gives unadvised wounds,\\r\\nAnd one man\\'s lust these many lives confounds:\\r\\n Had doting Priam check\\'d his son\\'s desire,\\r\\n Troy had been bright with fame and not with fire.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere feelingly she weeps Troy\\'s painted woes:\\r\\nFor sorrow, like a heavy-hanging bell,\\r\\nOnce set on ringing, with his own weight goes;\\r\\nThen little strength rings out the doleful knell:\\r\\nSo Lucrece set a-work sad tales doth tell\\r\\n To pencill\\'d pensiveness and colour\\'d sorrow;\\r\\n She lends them words, and she their looks doth borrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe throws her eyes about the painting round,\\r\\nAnd whom she finds forlorn she doth lament:\\r\\nAt last she sees a wretched image bound,\\r\\nThat piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent:\\r\\nHis face, though full of cares, yet show\\'d content;\\r\\n Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes,\\r\\n So mild, that Patience seem\\'d to scorn his woes.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn him the painter labour\\'d with his skill\\r\\nTo hide deceit, and give the harmless show\\r\\nAn humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still,\\r\\nA brow unbent, that seem\\'d to welcome woe;\\r\\nCheeks neither red nor pale, but mingled so\\r\\n That blushing red no guilty instance gave,\\r\\n Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut, like a constant and confirmed devil,\\r\\nHe entertain\\'d a show so seeming just,\\r\\nAnd therein so ensconc\\'d his secret evil,\\r\\nThat jealousy itself cold not mistrust\\r\\nFalse-creeping craft and perjury should thrust\\r\\n Into so bright a day such black-fac\\'d storms,\\r\\n Or blot with hell-born sin such saint-like forms.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe well-skill\\'d workman this mild image drew\\r\\nFor perjur\\'d Sinon, whose enchanting story\\r\\nThe credulous Old Priam after slew;\\r\\nWhose words, like wildfire, burnt the shining glory\\r\\nOf rich-built Ilion, that the skies were sorry,\\r\\n And little stars shot from their fixed places,\\r\\n When their glass fell wherein they view\\'d their faces.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis picture she advisedly perus\\'d,\\r\\nAnd chid the painter for his wondrous skill;\\r\\nSaying, some shape in Sinon\\'s was abus\\'d;\\r\\nSo fair a form lodged not a mind so ill:\\r\\nAnd still on him she gaz\\'d; and gazing still,\\r\\n Such signs of truth in his plain face she spied,\\r\\n That she concludes the picture was belied.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'It cannot be,\\' quoth she, \\'that so much guile\\'—\\r\\n(She would have said) \\'can lurk in such a look;\\'\\r\\nBut Tarquin\\'s shape came in her mind the while,\\r\\nAnd from her tongue \\'can lurk\\' from \\'cannot\\' took;\\r\\n\\'It cannot be\\' she in that sense forsook,\\r\\n And turn\\'d it thus: \\'It cannot be, I find,\\r\\n But such a face should bear a wicked mind:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'For even as subtle Sinon here is painted,\\r\\nSo sober-sad, so weary, and so mild,\\r\\n(As if with grief or travail he had fainted,)\\r\\nTo me came Tarquin armed; so beguil\\'d\\r\\nWith outward honesty, but yet defil\\'d\\r\\n With inward vice: as Priam him did cherish,\\r\\n So did I Tarquin; so my Troy did perish.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes,\\r\\nTo see those borrow\\'d tears that Sinon sheds.\\r\\nPriam, why art thou old and yet not wise?\\r\\nFor every tear he falls a Trojan bleeds;\\r\\nHis eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds;\\r\\n Those round clear pearls of his that move thy pity,\\r\\n Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Such devils steal effects from lightless hell;\\r\\nFor Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold,\\r\\nAnd in that cold hot-burning fire doth dwell;\\r\\nThese contraries such unity do hold,\\r\\nOnly to flatter fools, and make them bold;\\r\\n So Priam\\'s trust false Sinon\\'s tears doth flatter,\\r\\n That he finds means to burn his Troy with water.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere, all enrag\\'d, such passion her assails,\\r\\nThat patience is quite beaten from her breast.\\r\\nShe tears the senseless Sinon with her nails,\\r\\nComparing him to that unhappy guest\\r\\nWhose deed hath made herself herself detest;\\r\\n At last she smilingly with this gives o\\'er;\\r\\n \\'Fool, fool!\\' quoth she, \\'his wounds will not be sore.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow,\\r\\nAnd time doth weary time with her complaining.\\r\\nShe looks for night, and then she longs for morrow,\\r\\nAnd both she thinks too long with her remaining:\\r\\nShort time seems long in sorrow\\'s sharp sustaining.\\r\\n Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps;\\r\\n And they that watch see time how slow it creeps.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich all this time hath overslipp\\'d her thought,\\r\\nThat she with painted images hath spent;\\r\\nBeing from the feeling of her own grief brought\\r\\nBy deep surmise of others\\' detriment:\\r\\nLosing her woes in shows of discontent.\\r\\n It easeth some, though none it ever cur\\'d,\\r\\n To think their dolour others have endur\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut now the mindful messenger, come back,\\r\\nBrings home his lord and other company;\\r\\nWho finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black:\\r\\nAnd round about her tear-distained eye\\r\\nBlue circles stream\\'d, like rainbows in the sky.\\r\\n These water-galls in her dim element\\r\\n Foretell new storms to those already spent.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich when her sad-beholding husband saw,\\r\\nAmazedly in her sad face he stares:\\r\\nHer eyes, though sod in tears, look\\'d red and raw,\\r\\nHer lively colour kill\\'d with deadly cares.\\r\\nHe hath no power to ask her how she fares,\\r\\n Both stood, like old acquaintance in a trance,\\r\\n Met far from home, wondering each other\\'s chance.\\r\\n\\r\\nAt last he takes her by the bloodless hand,\\r\\nAnd thus begins: \\'What uncouth ill event\\r\\nHath thee befall\\'n, that thou dost trembling stand?\\r\\nSweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spent?\\r\\nWhy art thou thus attir\\'d in discontent?\\r\\n Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness,\\r\\n And tell thy grief, that we may give redress.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThree times with sighs she gives her sorrow fire,\\r\\nEre once she can discharge one word of woe:\\r\\nAt length address\\'d to answer his desire,\\r\\nShe modestly prepares to let them know\\r\\nHer honour is ta\\'en prisoner by the foe;\\r\\n While Collatine and his consorted lords\\r\\n With sad attention long to hear her words.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd now this pale swan in her watery nest\\r\\nBegins the sad dirge of her certain ending:\\r\\n\\'Few words,\\' quoth she, \\'shall fit the trespass best,\\r\\nWhere no excuse can give the fault amending:\\r\\nIn me more woes than words are now depending;\\r\\n And my laments would be drawn out too long,\\r\\n To tell them all with one poor tired tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Then be this all the task it hath to say:—\\r\\nDear husband, in the interest of thy bed\\r\\nA stranger came, and on that pillow lay\\r\\nWhere thou wast wont to rest thy weary head;\\r\\nAnd what wrong else may be imagined\\r\\n By foul enforcement might be done to me,\\r\\n From that, alas! thy Lucrece is not free.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight,\\r\\nWith shining falchion in my chamber came\\r\\nA creeping creature, with a flaming light,\\r\\nAnd softly cried Awake, thou Roman dame,\\r\\nAnd entertain my love; else lasting shame\\r\\n On thee and thine this night I will inflict,\\r\\n If thou my love\\'s desire do contradict.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'For some hard-favour\\'d groom of thine, quoth he,\\r\\nUnless thou yoke thy liking to my will,\\r\\nI\\'ll murder straight, and then I\\'ll slaughter thee\\r\\nAnd swear I found you where you did fulfil\\r\\nThe loathsome act of lust, and so did kill\\r\\n The lechers in their deed: this act will be\\r\\n My fame and thy perpetual infamy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'With this, I did begin to start and cry,\\r\\nAnd then against my heart he sets his sword,\\r\\nSwearing, unless I took all patiently,\\r\\nI should not live to speak another word;\\r\\nSo should my shame still rest upon record,\\r\\n And never be forgot in mighty Rome\\r\\n The adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak,\\r\\nAnd far the weaker with so strong a fear:\\r\\nMy bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak;\\r\\nNo rightful plea might plead for justice there:\\r\\nHis scarlet lust came evidence to swear\\r\\n That my poor beauty had purloin\\'d his eyes;\\r\\n And when the judge is robb\\'d the prisoner dies.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O, teach me how to make mine own excuse!\\r\\nOr at the least this refuge let me find;\\r\\nThough my gross blood be stain\\'d with this abuse,\\r\\nImmaculate and spotless is my mind;\\r\\nThat was not forc\\'d; that never was inclin\\'d\\r\\n To accessary yieldings, but still pure\\r\\n Doth in her poison\\'d closet yet endure.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nLo, here, the hopeless merchant of this loss,\\r\\nWith head declin\\'d, and voice damm\\'d up with woe,\\r\\nWith sad set eyes, and wretched arms across,\\r\\nFrom lips new-waxen pale begins to blow\\r\\nThe grief away that stops his answer so:\\r\\n But wretched as he is he strives in vain;\\r\\n What he breathes out his breath drinks up again.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs through an arch the violent roaring tide\\r\\nOutruns the eye that doth behold his haste;\\r\\nYet in the eddy boundeth in his pride\\r\\nBack to the strait that forc\\'d him on so fast;\\r\\nIn rage sent out, recall\\'d in rage, being past:\\r\\n Even so his sighs, his sorrows make a saw.\\r\\n To push grief on, and back the same grief draw.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich speechless woe of his poor she attendeth,\\r\\nAnd his untimely frenzy thus awaketh:\\r\\n\\'Dear Lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth\\r\\nAnother power; no flood by raining slaketh.\\r\\nMy woe too sensible thy passion maketh\\r\\n More feeling-painful: let it then suffice\\r\\n To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And for my sake, when I might charm thee so,\\r\\nFor she that was thy Lucrece,—now attend me;\\r\\nBe suddenly revenged on my foe,\\r\\nThine, mine, his own: suppose thou dost defend me\\r\\nFrom what is past: the help that thou shalt lend me\\r\\n Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die;\\r\\n For sparing justice feeds iniquity.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'But ere I name him, you fair lords,\\' quoth she,\\r\\n(Speaking to those that came with Collatine)\\r\\n\\'Shall plight your honourable faiths to me,\\r\\nWith swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine;\\r\\nFor \\'tis a meritorious fair design\\r\\n To chase injustice with revengeful arms:\\r\\n Knights, by their oaths, should right poor ladies\\' harms.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nAt this request, with noble disposition\\r\\nEach present lord began to promise aid,\\r\\nAs bound in knighthood to her imposition,\\r\\nLonging to hear the hateful foe bewray\\'d.\\r\\nBut she, that yet her sad task hath not said,\\r\\n The protestation stops. \\'O, speak,\\' quoth she,\\r\\n \\'How may this forced stain be wip\\'d from me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'What is the quality of mine offence,\\r\\nBeing constrain\\'d with dreadful circumstance?\\r\\nMay my pure mind with the foul act dispense,\\r\\nMy low-declined honour to advance?\\r\\nMay any terms acquit me from this chance?\\r\\n The poison\\'d fountain clears itself again;\\r\\n And why not I from this compelled stain?\\r\\n\\r\\nWith this, they all at once began to say,\\r\\nHer body\\'s stain her mind untainted clears;\\r\\nWhile with a joyless smile she turns away\\r\\nThe face, that map which deep impression bears\\r\\nOf hard misfortune, carv\\'d in it with tears.\\r\\n \\'No, no,\\' quoth she, \\'no dame, hereafter living,\\r\\n By my excuse shall claim excuse\\'s giving.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere with a sigh, as if her heart would break,\\r\\nShe throws forth Tarquin\\'s name: \\'He, he,\\' she says,\\r\\nBut more than \\'he\\' her poor tongue could not speak;\\r\\nTill after many accents and delays,\\r\\nUntimely breathings, sick and short assays,\\r\\n She utters this: \\'He, he, fair lords, \\'tis he,\\r\\n That guides this hand to give this wound to me.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nEven here she sheathed in her harmless breast\\r\\nA harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheath\\'d:\\r\\nThat blow did bail it from the deep unrest\\r\\nOf that polluted prison where it breath\\'d:\\r\\nHer contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeath\\'d\\r\\n Her winged sprite, and through her wounds doth fly\\r\\n Life\\'s lasting date from cancell\\'d destiny.\\r\\n\\r\\nStone-still, astonish\\'d with this deadly deed,\\r\\nStood Collatine and all his lordly crew;\\r\\nTill Lucrece\\' father that beholds her bleed,\\r\\nHimself on her self-slaughter\\'d body threw;\\r\\nAnd from the purple fountain Brutus drew\\r\\n The murderous knife, and, as it left the place,\\r\\n Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase;\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd bubbling from her breast, it doth divide\\r\\nIn two slow rivers, that the crimson blood\\r\\nCircles her body in on every side,\\r\\nWho, like a late-sack\\'d island, vastly stood\\r\\nBare and unpeopled, in this fearful flood.\\r\\n Some of her blood still pure and red remain\\'d,\\r\\n And some look\\'d black, and that false Tarquin stain\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nAbout the mourning and congealed face\\r\\nOf that black blood a watery rigol goes,\\r\\nWhich seems to weep upon the tainted place:\\r\\nAnd ever since, as pitying Lucrece\\' woes,\\r\\nCorrupted blood some watery token shows;\\r\\n And blood untainted still doth red abide,\\r\\n Blushing at that which is so putrified.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Daughter, dear daughter,\\' old Lucretius cries,\\r\\n\\'That life was mine which thou hast here depriv\\'d.\\r\\nIf in the child the father\\'s image lies,\\r\\nWhere shall I live now Lucrece is unliv\\'d?\\r\\nThou wast not to this end from me deriv\\'d\\r\\n If children pre-decease progenitors,\\r\\n We are their offspring, and they none of ours.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Poor broken glass, I often did behold\\r\\nIn thy sweet semblance my old age new born;\\r\\nBut now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old,\\r\\nShows me a bare-bon\\'d death by time outworn;\\r\\nO, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn!\\r\\n And shiver\\'d all the beauty of my glass,\\r\\n That I no more can see what once I was!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O time, cease thou thy course and last no longer,\\r\\nIf they surcease to be that should survive.\\r\\nShall rotten death make conquest of the stronger,\\r\\nAnd leave the faltering feeble souls alive?\\r\\nThe old bees die, the young possess their hive:\\r\\n Then live, sweet Lucrece, live again, and see\\r\\n Thy father die, and not thy father thee!\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this starts Collatine as from a dream,\\r\\nAnd bids Lucretius give his sorrow place;\\r\\nAnd then in key-cold Lucrece\\' bleeding stream\\r\\nHe falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face,\\r\\nAnd counterfeits to die with her a space;\\r\\n Till manly shame bids him possess his breath,\\r\\n And live, to be revenged on her death.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe deep vexation of his inward soul\\r\\nHath serv\\'d a dumb arrest upon his tongue;\\r\\nWho, mad that sorrow should his use control,\\r\\nOr keep him from heart-easing words so long,\\r\\nBegins to talk; but through his lips do throng\\r\\n Weak words, so thick come in his poor heart\\'s aid,\\r\\n That no man could distinguish what he said.\\r\\n\\r\\nYet sometime \\'Tarquin\\' was pronounced plain,\\r\\nBut through his teeth, as if the name he tore.\\r\\nThis windy tempest, till it blow up rain,\\r\\nHeld back his sorrow\\'s tide, to make it more;\\r\\nAt last it rains, and busy winds give o\\'er:\\r\\n Then son and father weep with equal strife,\\r\\n Who should weep most, for daughter or for wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe one doth call her his, the other his,\\r\\nYet neither may possess the claim they lay,\\r\\nThe father says \\'She\\'s mine,\\' \\'O, mine she is,\\'\\r\\nReplies her husband: \\'do not take away\\r\\nMy sorrow\\'s interest; let no mourner say\\r\\n He weeps for her, for she was only mine,\\r\\n And only must be wail\\'d by Collatine.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O,\\' quoth Lucretius, \\'I did give that life\\r\\nWhich she too early and too late hath spill\\'d.\\'\\r\\n\\'Woe, woe,\\' quoth Collatine, \\'she was my wife,\\r\\nI owed her, and \\'tis mine that she hath kill\\'d.\\'\\r\\n\\'My daughter\\' and \\'my wife\\' with clamours fill\\'d\\r\\n The dispers\\'d air, who, holding Lucrece\\' life,\\r\\n Answer\\'d their cries, \\'My daughter!\\' and \\'My wife!\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nBrutus, who pluck\\'d the knife from Lucrece\\' side,\\r\\nSeeing such emulation in their woe,\\r\\nBegan to clothe his wit in state and pride,\\r\\nBurying in Lucrece\\' wound his folly\\'s show.\\r\\nHe with the Romans was esteemed so\\r\\n As silly-jeering idiots are with kings,\\r\\n For sportive words, and uttering foolish things:\\r\\n\\r\\nBut now he throws that shallow habit by,\\r\\nWherein deep policy did him disguise;\\r\\nAnd arm\\'d his long-hid wits advisedly,\\r\\nTo check the tears in Collatinus\\' eyes.\\r\\n\\'Thou wronged lord of Rome,\\' quoth he, \\'arise;\\r\\n Let my unsounded self, suppos\\'d a fool,\\r\\n Now set thy long-experienc\\'d wit to school.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe?\\r\\nDo wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous deeds?\\r\\nIs it revenge to give thyself a blow,\\r\\nFor his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds?\\r\\nSuch childish humour from weak minds proceeds:\\r\\n Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so,\\r\\n To slay herself, that should have slain her foe.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart\\r\\nIn such relenting dew of lamentations,\\r\\nBut kneel with me, and help to bear thy part,\\r\\nTo rouse our Roman gods with invocations,\\r\\nThat they will suffer these abominations,\\r\\n (Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgrac\\'d,)\\r\\n By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chas\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Now, by the Capitol that we adore,\\r\\nAnd by this chaste blood so unjustly stain\\'d,\\r\\nBy heaven\\'s fair sun that breeds the fat earth\\'s store,\\r\\nBy all our country rights in Rome maintain\\'d,\\r\\nAnd by chaste Lucrece\\' soul that late complain\\'d\\r\\n Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife,\\r\\n We will revenge the death of this true wife.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, he struck his hand upon his breast,\\r\\nAnd kiss\\'d the fatal knife, to end his vow;\\r\\nAnd to his protestation urg\\'d the rest,\\r\\nWho, wondering at him, did his words allow;\\r\\nThen jointly to the ground their knees they bow;\\r\\n And that deep vow, which Brutus made before,\\r\\n He doth again repeat, and that they swore.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen they had sworn to this advised doom,\\r\\nThey did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence;\\r\\nTo show her bleeding body thorough Rome,\\r\\nAnd so to publish Tarquin\\'s foul offence:\\r\\nWhich being done with speedy diligence,\\r\\n The Romans plausibly did give consent\\r\\n To Tarquin\\'s everlasting banishment.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VENUS AND ADONIS\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n _Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo\\r\\n Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua._\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE\\r\\nHENRY WRIOTHESLEY, EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON,\\r\\nand Baron of Titchfield.\\r\\n\\r\\nRight Honourable, I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my\\r\\nunpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will censure me\\r\\nfor choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burthen: only, if\\r\\nyour honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow\\r\\nto take advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some\\r\\ngraver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I\\r\\nshall be sorry it had so noble a godfather, and never after ear so\\r\\nbarren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it\\r\\nto your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart’s content;\\r\\nwhich I wish may always answer your own wish and the world’s hopeful\\r\\nexpectation.\\r\\n\\r\\nYour honour’s in all duty,\\r\\nWILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VENUS AND ADONIS\\r\\n\\r\\nEven as the sun with purple-colour’d face\\r\\nHad ta’en his last leave of the weeping morn,\\r\\nRose-cheek’d Adonis tried him to the chase;\\r\\nHunting he lov’d, but love he laugh’d to scorn; 4\\r\\n Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,\\r\\n And like a bold-fac’d suitor ’gins to woo him.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Thrice fairer than myself,” thus she began,\\r\\n“The field’s chief flower, sweet above compare, 8\\r\\nStain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,\\r\\nMore white and red than doves or roses are:\\r\\n Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,\\r\\n Saith that the world hath ending with thy life. 12\\r\\n\\r\\n“Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,\\r\\nAnd rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;\\r\\nIf thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed\\r\\nA thousand honey secrets shalt thou know: 16\\r\\n Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,\\r\\n And being set, I’ll smother thee with kisses.\\r\\n\\r\\n“And yet not cloy thy lips with loath’d satiety,\\r\\nBut rather famish them amid their plenty, 20\\r\\nMaking them red, and pale, with fresh variety:\\r\\nTen kisses short as one, one long as twenty:\\r\\n A summer’s day will seem an hour but short,\\r\\n Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.” 24\\r\\n\\r\\nWith this she seizeth on his sweating palm,\\r\\nThe precedent of pith and livelihood,\\r\\nAnd trembling in her passion, calls it balm,\\r\\nEarth’s sovereign salve to do a goddess good: 28\\r\\n Being so enrag’d, desire doth lend her force\\r\\n Courageously to pluck him from his horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nOver one arm the lusty courser’s rein,\\r\\nUnder her other was the tender boy, 32\\r\\nWho blush’d and pouted in a dull disdain,\\r\\nWith leaden appetite, unapt to toy;\\r\\n She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,\\r\\n He red for shame, but frosty in desire. 36\\r\\n\\r\\nThe studded bridle on a ragged bough\\r\\nNimbly she fastens;—O! how quick is love!—\\r\\nThe steed is stalled up, and even now\\r\\nTo tie the rider she begins to prove: 40\\r\\n Backward she push’d him, as she would be thrust,\\r\\n And govern’d him in strength, though not in lust.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo soon was she along, as he was down,\\r\\nEach leaning on their elbows and their hips: 44\\r\\nNow doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,\\r\\nAnd ’gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips,\\r\\n And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,\\r\\n “If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.” 48\\r\\n\\r\\nHe burns with bashful shame, she with her tears\\r\\nDoth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;\\r\\nThen with her windy sighs and golden hairs\\r\\nTo fan and blow them dry again she seeks. 52\\r\\n He saith she is immodest, blames her miss;\\r\\n What follows more, she murders with a kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nEven as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,\\r\\nTires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone, 56\\r\\nShaking her wings, devouring all in haste,\\r\\nTill either gorge be stuff’d or prey be gone:\\r\\n Even so she kiss’d his brow, his cheek, his chin,\\r\\n And where she ends she doth anew begin. 60\\r\\n\\r\\nForc’d to content, but never to obey,\\r\\nPanting he lies, and breatheth in her face.\\r\\nShe feedeth on the steam, as on a prey,\\r\\nAnd calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace, 64\\r\\n Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers\\r\\n So they were dew’d with such distilling showers.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook how a bird lies tangled in a net,\\r\\nSo fasten’d in her arms Adonis lies; 68\\r\\nPure shame and aw’d resistance made him fret,\\r\\nWhich bred more beauty in his angry eyes:\\r\\n Rain added to a river that is rank\\r\\n Perforce will force it overflow the bank. 72\\r\\n\\r\\nStill she entreats, and prettily entreats,\\r\\nFor to a pretty ear she tunes her tale.\\r\\nStill is he sullen, still he lours and frets,\\r\\n’Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy pale; 76\\r\\n Being red she loves him best, and being white,\\r\\n Her best is better’d with a more delight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook how he can, she cannot choose but love;\\r\\nAnd by her fair immortal hand she swears, 80\\r\\nFrom his soft bosom never to remove,\\r\\nTill he take truce with her contending tears,\\r\\n Which long have rain’d, making her cheeks all wet;\\r\\n And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.\\r\\n\\r\\nUpon this promise did he raise his chin, 85\\r\\nLike a dive-dapper peering through a wave,\\r\\nWho, being look’d on, ducks as quickly in;\\r\\nSo offers he to give what she did crave, 88\\r\\n But when her lips were ready for his pay,\\r\\n He winks, and turns his lips another way.\\r\\n\\r\\nNever did passenger in summer’s heat\\r\\nMore thirst for drink than she for this good turn. 92\\r\\nHer help she sees, but help she cannot get;\\r\\nShe bathes in water, yet her fire must burn:\\r\\n “O! pity,” ’gan she cry, “flint-hearted boy,\\r\\n ’Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy? 96\\r\\n\\r\\n“I have been woo’d as I entreat thee now,\\r\\nEven by the stern and direful god of war,\\r\\nWhose sinewy neck in battle ne’er did bow,\\r\\nWho conquers where he comes in every jar; 100\\r\\n Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,\\r\\n And begg’d for that which thou unask’d shalt have.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Over my altars hath he hung his lance,\\r\\nHis batter’d shield, his uncontrolled crest, 104\\r\\nAnd for my sake hath learn’d to sport and dance,\\r\\nTo toy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest;\\r\\n Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red\\r\\n Making my arms his field, his tent my bed. 108\\r\\n\\r\\n“Thus he that overrul’d I oversway’d,\\r\\nLeading him prisoner in a red rose chain:\\r\\nStrong-temper’d steel his stronger strength obey’d,\\r\\nYet was he servile to my coy disdain. 112\\r\\n Oh be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,\\r\\n For mast’ring her that foil’d the god of fight.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine,\\r\\nThough mine be not so fair, yet are they red, 116\\r\\nThe kiss shall be thine own as well as mine:\\r\\nWhat see’st thou in the ground? hold up thy head,\\r\\n Look in mine eyeballs, there thy beauty lies;\\r\\n Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes? 120\\r\\n\\r\\n“Art thou asham’d to kiss? then wink again,\\r\\nAnd I will wink; so shall the day seem night.\\r\\nLove keeps his revels where there are but twain;\\r\\nBe bold to play, our sport is not in sight, 124\\r\\n These blue-vein’d violets whereon we lean\\r\\n Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.\\r\\n\\r\\n“The tender spring upon thy tempting lip 127\\r\\nShows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted,\\r\\nMake use of time, let not advantage slip;\\r\\nBeauty within itself should not be wasted,\\r\\n Fair flowers that are not gather’d in their prime\\r\\n Rot, and consume themselves in little time. 132\\r\\n\\r\\n“Were I hard-favour’d, foul, or wrinkled old,\\r\\nIll-nurtur’d, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,\\r\\nO’erworn, despised, rheumatic, and cold,\\r\\nThick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice, 136\\r\\n Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee;\\r\\n But having no defects, why dost abhor me?\\r\\n\\r\\n“Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow, 139\\r\\nMine eyes are grey and bright, and quick in turning;\\r\\nMy beauty as the spring doth yearly grow,\\r\\nMy flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning,\\r\\n My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt,\\r\\n Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt. 144\\r\\n\\r\\n“Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,\\r\\nOr like a fairy, trip upon the green,\\r\\nOr like a nymph, with long dishevell’d hair,\\r\\nDance on the sands, and yet no footing seen. 148\\r\\n Love is a spirit all compact of fire,\\r\\n Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie: 151\\r\\nThese forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me;\\r\\nTwo strengthless doves will draw me through the sky,\\r\\nFrom morn till night, even where I list to sport me.\\r\\n Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be\\r\\n That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee? 156\\r\\n\\r\\n“Is thine own heart to thine own face affected?\\r\\nCan thy right hand seize love upon thy left?\\r\\nThen woo thyself, be of thyself rejected,\\r\\nSteal thine own freedom, and complain on theft. 160\\r\\n Narcissus so himself himself forsook,\\r\\n And died to kiss his shadow in the brook.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Torches are made to light, jewels to wear,\\r\\nDainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use, 164\\r\\nHerbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear;\\r\\nThings growing to themselves are growth’s abuse,\\r\\n Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth beauty;\\r\\n Thou wast begot; to get it is thy duty. 168\\r\\n\\r\\n“Upon the earth’s increase why shouldst thou feed,\\r\\nUnless the earth with thy increase be fed?\\r\\nBy law of nature thou art bound to breed,\\r\\nThat thine may live when thou thyself art dead; 172\\r\\n And so in spite of death thou dost survive,\\r\\n In that thy likeness still is left alive.”\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this the love-sick queen began to sweat,\\r\\nFor where they lay the shadow had forsook them, 176\\r\\nAnd Titan, tired in the midday heat,\\r\\nWith burning eye did hotly overlook them,\\r\\n Wishing Adonis had his team to guide,\\r\\n So he were like him and by Venus’ side. 180\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd now Adonis with a lazy spright,\\r\\nAnd with a heavy, dark, disliking eye,\\r\\nHis louring brows o’erwhelming his fair sight,\\r\\nLike misty vapours when they blot the sky, 184\\r\\n Souring his cheeks, cries, “Fie, no more of love:\\r\\n The sun doth burn my face; I must remove.”\\r\\n\\r\\n“Ay me,” quoth Venus, “young, and so unkind!\\r\\nWhat bare excuses mak’st thou to be gone! 188\\r\\nI’ll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind\\r\\nShall cool the heat of this descending sun:\\r\\n I’ll make a shadow for thee of my hairs;\\r\\n If they burn too, I’ll quench them with my tears. 192\\r\\n\\r\\n“The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm,\\r\\nAnd lo I lie between that sun and thee:\\r\\nThe heat I have from thence doth little harm,\\r\\nThine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me; 196\\r\\n And were I not immortal, life were done,\\r\\n Between this heavenly and earthly sun.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel?\\r\\nNay more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth: 200\\r\\nArt thou a woman’s son and canst not feel\\r\\nWhat ’tis to love, how want of love tormenteth?\\r\\n O had thy mother borne so hard a mind,\\r\\n She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind. 204\\r\\n\\r\\n“What am I that thou shouldst contemn me this?\\r\\nOr what great danger dwells upon my suit?\\r\\nWhat were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss?\\r\\nSpeak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute: 208\\r\\n Give me one kiss, I’ll give it thee again,\\r\\n And one for int’rest, if thou wilt have twain.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,\\r\\nWell-painted idol, image dull and dead, 212\\r\\nStatue contenting but the eye alone,\\r\\nThing like a man, but of no woman bred:\\r\\n Thou art no man, though of a man’s complexion,\\r\\n For men will kiss even by their own direction.” 216\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue,\\r\\nAnd swelling passion doth provoke a pause;\\r\\nRed cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong;\\r\\nBeing judge in love, she cannot right her cause. 220\\r\\n And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak,\\r\\n And now her sobs do her intendments break.\\r\\n\\r\\nSometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand,\\r\\nNow gazeth she on him, now on the ground; 224\\r\\nSometimes her arms infold him like a band:\\r\\nShe would, he will not in her arms be bound;\\r\\n And when from thence he struggles to be gone,\\r\\n She locks her lily fingers one in one. 228\\r\\n\\r\\n“Fondling,” she saith, “since I have hemm’d thee here\\r\\nWithin the circuit of this ivory pale,\\r\\nI’ll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer;\\r\\nFeed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale: 232\\r\\n Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry,\\r\\n Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Within this limit is relief enough,\\r\\nSweet bottom grass and high delightful plain, 236\\r\\nRound rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough,\\r\\nTo shelter thee from tempest and from rain:\\r\\n Then be my deer, since I am such a park, 239\\r\\n No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark.”\\r\\n\\r\\nAt this Adonis smiles as in disdain,\\r\\nThat in each cheek appears a pretty dimple;\\r\\nLove made those hollows, if himself were slain,\\r\\nHe might be buried in a tomb so simple; 244\\r\\n Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie,\\r\\n Why there love liv’d, and there he could not die.\\r\\n\\r\\nThese lovely caves, these round enchanting pits,\\r\\nOpen’d their mouths to swallow Venus’ liking. 248\\r\\nBeing mad before, how doth she now for wits?\\r\\nStruck dead at first, what needs a second striking?\\r\\n Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn,\\r\\n To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn! 252\\r\\n\\r\\nNow which way shall she turn? what shall she say?\\r\\nHer words are done, her woes the more increasing;\\r\\nThe time is spent, her object will away,\\r\\nAnd from her twining arms doth urge releasing: 256\\r\\n “Pity,” she cries; “some favour, some remorse!”\\r\\n Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut lo from forth a copse that neighbours by,\\r\\nA breeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud, 260\\r\\nAdonis’ tramping courser doth espy,\\r\\nAnd forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud:\\r\\n The strong-neck’d steed, being tied unto a tree,\\r\\n Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he. 264\\r\\n\\r\\nImperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,\\r\\nAnd now his woven girths he breaks asunder;\\r\\nThe bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,\\r\\nWhose hollow womb resounds like heaven’s thunder;\\r\\n The iron bit he crusheth ’tween his teeth, 269\\r\\n Controlling what he was controlled with.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis ears up-prick’d; his braided hanging mane\\r\\nUpon his compass’d crest now stand on end; 272\\r\\nHis nostrils drink the air, and forth again,\\r\\nAs from a furnace, vapours doth he send:\\r\\n His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire,\\r\\n Shows his hot courage and his high desire. 276\\r\\n\\r\\nSometime he trots, as if he told the steps,\\r\\nWith gentle majesty and modest pride;\\r\\nAnon he rears upright, curvets and leaps,\\r\\nAs who should say, “Lo thus my strength is tried;\\r\\n And this I do to captivate the eye 281\\r\\n Of the fair breeder that is standing by.”\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat recketh he his rider’s angry stir,\\r\\nHis flattering “Holla”, or his “Stand, I say”? 284\\r\\nWhat cares he now for curb or pricking spur?\\r\\nFor rich caparisons or trappings gay?\\r\\n He sees his love, and nothing else he sees,\\r\\n Nor nothing else with his proud sight agrees. 288\\r\\n\\r\\nLook when a painter would surpass the life,\\r\\nIn limning out a well-proportion’d steed,\\r\\nHis art with nature’s workmanship at strife,\\r\\nAs if the dead the living should exceed: 292\\r\\n So did this horse excel a common one,\\r\\n In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone.\\r\\n\\r\\nRound-hoof’d, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long,\\r\\nBroad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril wide,\\r\\nHigh crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong,\\r\\nThin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide:\\r\\n Look, what a horse should have he did not lack,\\r\\n Save a proud rider on so proud a back. 300\\r\\n\\r\\nSometimes he scuds far off, and there he stares;\\r\\nAnon he starts at stirring of a feather:\\r\\nTo bid the wind a base he now prepares,\\r\\nAnd where he run or fly they know not whether; 304\\r\\n For through his mane and tail the high wind sings,\\r\\n Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather’d wings.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe looks upon his love, and neighs unto her;\\r\\nShe answers him as if she knew his mind, 308\\r\\nBeing proud, as females are, to see him woo her,\\r\\nShe puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind,\\r\\n Spurns at his love and scorns the heat he feels,\\r\\n Beating his kind embracements with her heels. 312\\r\\n\\r\\nThen like a melancholy malcontent,\\r\\nHe vails his tail that like a falling plume,\\r\\nCool shadow to his melting buttock lent:\\r\\nHe stamps, and bites the poor flies in his fume. 316\\r\\n His love, perceiving how he was enrag’d,\\r\\n Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis testy master goeth about to take him,\\r\\nWhen lo the unback’d breeder, full of fear, 320\\r\\nJealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him,\\r\\nWith her the horse, and left Adonis there:\\r\\n As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them,\\r\\n Outstripping crows that strive to overfly them. 324\\r\\n\\r\\nAll swoln with chafing, down Adonis sits,\\r\\nBanning his boisterous and unruly beast;\\r\\nAnd now the happy season once more fits\\r\\nThat love-sick love by pleading may be blest; 328\\r\\n For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong,\\r\\n When it is barr’d the aidance of the tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nAn oven that is stopp’d, or river stay’d,\\r\\nBurneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage: 332\\r\\nSo of concealed sorrow may be said,\\r\\nFree vent of words love’s fire doth assuage;\\r\\n But when the heart’s attorney once is mute,\\r\\n The client breaks, as desperate in his suit. 336\\r\\n\\r\\nHe sees her coming, and begins to glow,\\r\\nEven as a dying coal revives with wind,\\r\\nAnd with his bonnet hides his angry brow,\\r\\nLooks on the dull earth with disturbed mind, 340\\r\\n Taking no notice that she is so nigh,\\r\\n For all askance he holds her in his eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nO what a sight it was, wistly to view\\r\\nHow she came stealing to the wayward boy, 344\\r\\nTo note the fighting conflict of her hue,\\r\\nHow white and red each other did destroy:\\r\\n But now her cheek was pale, and by and by\\r\\n It flash’d forth fire, as lightning from the sky. 348\\r\\n\\r\\nNow was she just before him as he sat,\\r\\nAnd like a lowly lover down she kneels;\\r\\nWith one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,\\r\\nHer other tender hand his fair cheek feels: 352\\r\\n His tend’rer cheek receives her soft hand’s print,\\r\\n As apt as new-fall’n snow takes any dint.\\r\\n\\r\\nOh what a war of looks was then between them,\\r\\nHer eyes petitioners to his eyes suing, 356\\r\\nHis eyes saw her eyes, as they had not seen them,\\r\\nHer eyes woo’d still, his eyes disdain’d the wooing:\\r\\n And all this dumb play had his acts made plain\\r\\n With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain.\\r\\n\\r\\nFull gently now she takes him by the hand, 361\\r\\nA lily prison’d in a gaol of snow,\\r\\nOr ivory in an alabaster band,\\r\\nSo white a friend engirts so white a foe: 364\\r\\n This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling,\\r\\n Show’d like two silver doves that sit a-billing.\\r\\n\\r\\nOnce more the engine of her thoughts began:\\r\\n“O fairest mover on this mortal round, 368\\r\\nWould thou wert as I am, and I a man,\\r\\nMy heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound,\\r\\n For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee,\\r\\n Though nothing but my body’s bane would cure thee.”\\r\\n\\r\\n“Give me my hand,” saith he, “why dost thou feel it?”\\r\\n“Give me my heart,” saith she, “and thou shalt have it.\\r\\nO give it me lest thy hard heart do steel it,\\r\\nAnd being steel’d, soft sighs can never grave it. 376\\r\\n Then love’s deep groans I never shall regard,\\r\\n Because Adonis’ heart hath made mine hard.”\\r\\n\\r\\n“For shame,” he cries, “let go, and let me go,\\r\\nMy day’s delight is past, my horse is gone, 380\\r\\nAnd ’tis your fault I am bereft him so,\\r\\nI pray you hence, and leave me here alone,\\r\\n For all my mind, my thought, my busy care,\\r\\n Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.” 384\\r\\n\\r\\nThus she replies: “Thy palfrey as he should,\\r\\nWelcomes the warm approach of sweet desire,\\r\\nAffection is a coal that must be cool’d;\\r\\nElse, suffer’d, it will set the heart on fire, 388\\r\\n The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none;\\r\\n Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n“How like a jade he stood tied to the tree,\\r\\nServilely master’d with a leathern rein! 392\\r\\nBut when he saw his love, his youth’s fair fee,\\r\\nHe held such petty bondage in disdain;\\r\\n Throwing the base thong from his bending crest,\\r\\n Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast. 396\\r\\n\\r\\n“Who sees his true-love in her naked bed,\\r\\nTeaching the sheets a whiter hue than white,\\r\\nBut when his glutton eye so full hath fed,\\r\\nHis other agents aim at like delight? 400\\r\\n Who is so faint that dare not be so bold\\r\\n To touch the fire, the weather being cold?\\r\\n\\r\\n“Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy,\\r\\nAnd learn of him, I heartily beseech thee, 404\\r\\nTo take advantage on presented joy,\\r\\nThough I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee.\\r\\n O learn to love, the lesson is but plain,\\r\\n And once made perfect, never lost again.” 408\\r\\n\\r\\n“I know not love,” quoth he, “nor will not know it,\\r\\nUnless it be a boar, and then I chase it;\\r\\n’Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it;\\r\\nMy love to love is love but to disgrace it; 412\\r\\n For I have heard, it is a life in death,\\r\\n That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish’d?\\r\\nWho plucks the bud before one leaf put forth? 416\\r\\nIf springing things be any jot diminish’d,\\r\\nThey wither in their prime, prove nothing worth;\\r\\n The colt that’s back’d and burden’d being young,\\r\\n Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong. 420\\r\\n\\r\\n“You hurt my hand with wringing. Let us part,\\r\\nAnd leave this idle theme, this bootless chat:\\r\\nRemove your siege from my unyielding heart,\\r\\nTo love’s alarms it will not ope the gate: 424\\r\\n Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flatt’ry;\\r\\n For where a heart is hard they make no batt’ry.”\\r\\n\\r\\n“What! canst thou talk?” quoth she, “hast thou a tongue?\\r\\nO would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing; 428\\r\\nThy mermaid’s voice hath done me double wrong;\\r\\nI had my load before, now press’d with bearing:\\r\\n Melodious discord, heavenly tune, harsh-sounding,\\r\\n Ear’s deep sweet music, and heart’s deep sore wounding.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love 433\\r\\nThat inward beauty and invisible;\\r\\nOr were I deaf, thy outward parts would move\\r\\nEach part in me that were but sensible: 436\\r\\n Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see,\\r\\n Yet should I be in love by touching thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Say that the sense of feeling were bereft me,\\r\\nAnd that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch, 440\\r\\nAnd nothing but the very smell were left me,\\r\\nYet would my love to thee be still as much;\\r\\n For from the stillitory of thy face excelling\\r\\n Comes breath perfum’d, that breedeth love by smelling.\\r\\n\\r\\n“But oh what banquet wert thou to the taste, 445\\r\\nBeing nurse and feeder of the other four;\\r\\nWould they not wish the feast might ever last,\\r\\nAnd bid suspicion double-lock the door,\\r\\n Lest jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest,\\r\\n Should by his stealing in disturb the feast?” 448\\r\\n\\r\\nOnce more the ruby-colour’d portal open’d,\\r\\nWhich to his speech did honey passage yield, 452\\r\\nLike a red morn that ever yet betoken’d\\r\\nWrack to the seaman, tempest to the field,\\r\\n Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds,\\r\\n Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds. 456\\r\\n\\r\\nThis ill presage advisedly she marketh:\\r\\nEven as the wind is hush’d before it raineth,\\r\\nOr as the wolf doth grin before he barketh,\\r\\nOr as the berry breaks before it staineth, 460\\r\\n Or like the deadly bullet of a gun,\\r\\n His meaning struck her ere his words begun.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd at his look she flatly falleth down\\r\\nFor looks kill love, and love by looks reviveth; 464\\r\\nA smile recures the wounding of a frown;\\r\\nBut blessed bankrout, that by love so thriveth!\\r\\n The silly boy, believing she is dead,\\r\\n Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red. 468\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd all amaz’d brake off his late intent,\\r\\nFor sharply he did think to reprehend her,\\r\\nWhich cunning love did wittily prevent:\\r\\nFair fall the wit that can so well defend her! 472\\r\\n For on the grass she lies as she were slain,\\r\\n Till his breath breatheth life in her again.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks,\\r\\nHe bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard, 476\\r\\nHe chafes her lips; a thousand ways he seeks\\r\\nTo mend the hurt that his unkindness marr’d:\\r\\n He kisses her; and she, by her good will,\\r\\n Will never rise, so he will kiss her still. 480\\r\\n\\r\\nThe night of sorrow now is turn’d to day:\\r\\nHer two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth,\\r\\nLike the fair sun when in his fresh array\\r\\nHe cheers the morn, and all the world relieveth: 484\\r\\n And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,\\r\\n So is her face illumin’d with her eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhose beams upon his hairless face are fix’d,\\r\\nAs if from thence they borrow’d all their shine. 488\\r\\nWere never four such lamps together mix’d,\\r\\nHad not his clouded with his brow’s repine;\\r\\n But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light\\r\\n Shone like the moon in water seen by night. 492\\r\\n\\r\\n“O where am I?” quoth she, “in earth or heaven?\\r\\nOr in the ocean drench’d, or in the fire?\\r\\nWhat hour is this? or morn or weary even?\\r\\nDo I delight to die, or life desire? 496\\r\\n But now I liv’d, and life was death’s annoy;\\r\\n But now I died, and death was lively joy.\\r\\n\\r\\n“O thou didst kill me; kill me once again:\\r\\nThy eyes’ shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine, 500\\r\\nHath taught them scornful tricks, and such disdain,\\r\\nThat they have murder’d this poor heart of mine;\\r\\n And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen,\\r\\n But for thy piteous lips no more had seen. 504\\r\\n\\r\\n“Long may they kiss each other for this cure!\\r\\nOh never let their crimson liveries wear,\\r\\nAnd as they last, their verdure still endure,\\r\\nTo drive infection from the dangerous year: 508\\r\\n That the star-gazers, having writ on death,\\r\\n May say, the plague is banish’d by thy breath.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted,\\r\\nWhat bargains may I make, still to be sealing? 512\\r\\nTo sell myself I can be well contented,\\r\\nSo thou wilt buy, and pay, and use good dealing;\\r\\n Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips,\\r\\n Set thy seal manual on my wax-red lips. 516\\r\\n\\r\\n“A thousand kisses buys my heart from me;\\r\\nAnd pay them at thy leisure, one by one,\\r\\nWhat is ten hundred touches unto thee?\\r\\nAre they not quickly told and quickly gone? 520\\r\\n Say, for non-payment that the debt should double,\\r\\n Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?”\\r\\n\\r\\n“Fair queen,” quoth he, “if any love you owe me,\\r\\nMeasure my strangeness with my unripe years: 524\\r\\nBefore I know myself, seek not to know me;\\r\\nNo fisher but the ungrown fry forbears:\\r\\n The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast,\\r\\n Or being early pluck’d, is sour to taste. 528\\r\\n\\r\\n“Look the world’s comforter, with weary gait\\r\\nHis day’s hot task hath ended in the west;\\r\\nThe owl, night’s herald, shrieks, ’tis very late;\\r\\nThe sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest, 532\\r\\n And coal-black clouds that shadow heaven’s light\\r\\n Do summon us to part, and bid good night.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Now let me say good night, and so say you;\\r\\nIf you will say so, you shall have a kiss.” 536\\r\\n“Good night,” quoth she; and ere he says adieu,\\r\\nThe honey fee of parting tender’d is:\\r\\n Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace;\\r\\n Incorporate then they seem, face grows to face. 540\\r\\n\\r\\nTill breathless he disjoin’d, and backward drew\\r\\nThe heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth,\\r\\nWhose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew,\\r\\nWhereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth, 544\\r\\n He with her plenty press’d, she faint with dearth,\\r\\n Their lips together glued, fall to the earth.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow quick desire hath caught the yielding prey,\\r\\nAnd glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth; 548\\r\\nHer lips are conquerors, his lips obey,\\r\\nPaying what ransom the insulter willeth;\\r\\n Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high,\\r\\n That she will draw his lips’ rich treasure dry. 552\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd having felt the sweetness of the spoil,\\r\\nWith blindfold fury she begins to forage;\\r\\nHer face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil,\\r\\nAnd careless lust stirs up a desperate courage, 556\\r\\n Planting oblivion, beating reason back,\\r\\n Forgetting shame’s pure blush and honour’s wrack.\\r\\n\\r\\nHot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing,\\r\\nLike a wild bird being tam’d with too much handling,\\r\\nOr as the fleet-foot roe that’s tir’d with chasing, 561\\r\\nOr like the froward infant still’d with dandling:\\r\\n He now obeys, and now no more resisteth,\\r\\n While she takes all she can, not all she listeth. 564\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat wax so frozen but dissolves with temp’ring,\\r\\nAnd yields at last to every light impression?\\r\\nThings out of hope are compass’d oft with vent’ring,\\r\\nChiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission: 568\\r\\n Affection faints not like a pale-fac’d coward,\\r\\n But then woos best when most his choice is froward.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen he did frown, O had she then gave over,\\r\\nSuch nectar from his lips she had not suck’d. 572\\r\\nFoul words and frowns must not repel a lover;\\r\\nWhat though the rose have prickles, yet ’tis pluck’d.\\r\\n Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast,\\r\\n Yet love breaks through, and picks them all at last.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor pity now she can no more detain him; 577\\r\\nThe poor fool prays her that he may depart:\\r\\nShe is resolv’d no longer to restrain him,\\r\\nBids him farewell, and look well to her heart, 580\\r\\n The which by Cupid’s bow she doth protest,\\r\\n He carries thence encaged in his breast.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Sweet boy,” she says, “this night I’ll waste in sorrow,\\r\\nFor my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch. 584\\r\\nTell me, love’s master, shall we meet tomorrow\\r\\nSay, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match?”\\r\\n He tells her no, tomorrow he intends\\r\\n To hunt the boar with certain of his friends. 588\\r\\n\\r\\n“The boar!” quoth she; whereat a sudden pale,\\r\\nLike lawn being spread upon the blushing rose,\\r\\nUsurps her cheek, she trembles at his tale,\\r\\nAnd on his neck her yoking arms she throws. 592\\r\\n She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck,\\r\\n He on her belly falls, she on her back.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow is she in the very lists of love,\\r\\nHer champion mounted for the hot encounter: 596\\r\\nAll is imaginary she doth prove,\\r\\nHe will not manage her, although he mount her;\\r\\n That worse than Tantalus’ is her annoy,\\r\\n To clip Elysium and to lack her joy. 600\\r\\n\\r\\nEven as poor birds, deceiv’d with painted grapes,\\r\\nDo surfeit by the eye and pine the maw:\\r\\nEven so she languisheth in her mishaps,\\r\\nAs those poor birds that helpless berries saw. 604\\r\\n The warm effects which she in him finds missing,\\r\\n She seeks to kindle with continual kissing.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut all in vain, good queen, it will not be,\\r\\nShe hath assay’d as much as may be prov’d; 608\\r\\nHer pleading hath deserv’d a greater fee;\\r\\nShe’s love, she loves, and yet she is not lov’d.\\r\\n “Fie, fie,” he says, “you crush me; let me go;\\r\\n You have no reason to withhold me so.” 612\\r\\n\\r\\n“Thou hadst been gone,” quoth she, “sweet boy, ere this,\\r\\nBut that thou told’st me thou wouldst hunt the boar.\\r\\nOh be advis’d; thou know’st not what it is,\\r\\nWith javelin’s point a churlish swine to gore, 616\\r\\n Whose tushes never sheath’d he whetteth still,\\r\\n Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill.\\r\\n\\r\\n“On his bow-back he hath a battle set\\r\\nOf bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes; 620\\r\\nHis eyes like glow-worms shine when he doth fret;\\r\\nHis snout digs sepulchres where’er he goes;\\r\\n Being mov’d, he strikes whate’er is in his way,\\r\\n And whom he strikes his crooked tushes slay. 624\\r\\n\\r\\n“His brawny sides, with hairy bristles armed,\\r\\nAre better proof than thy spear’s point can enter;\\r\\nHis short thick neck cannot be easily harmed;\\r\\nBeing ireful, on the lion he will venture: 628\\r\\n The thorny brambles and embracing bushes,\\r\\n As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Alas! he naught esteems that face of thine,\\r\\nTo which love’s eyes pay tributary gazes; 632\\r\\nNor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne,\\r\\nWhose full perfection all the world amazes;\\r\\n But having thee at vantage, wondrous dread!\\r\\n Would root these beauties as he roots the mead.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Oh let him keep his loathsome cabin still, 637\\r\\nBeauty hath naught to do with such foul fiends:\\r\\nCome not within his danger by thy will;\\r\\nThey that thrive well, take counsel of their friends.\\r\\n When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble,\\r\\n I fear’d thy fortune, and my joints did tremble.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Didst thou not mark my face, was it not white?\\r\\nSaw’st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye? 644\\r\\nGrew I not faint, and fell I not downright?\\r\\nWithin my bosom, whereon thou dost lie,\\r\\n My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest,\\r\\n But like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast.\\r\\n\\r\\n“For where love reigns, disturbing jealousy 649\\r\\nDoth call himself affection’s sentinel;\\r\\nGives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny,\\r\\nAnd in a peaceful hour doth cry “Kill, kill!” 652\\r\\n Distemp’ring gentle love in his desire,\\r\\n As air and water do abate the fire.\\r\\n\\r\\n“This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy,\\r\\nThis canker that eats up love’s tender spring, 656\\r\\nThis carry-tale, dissentious jealousy,\\r\\nThat sometime true news, sometime false doth bring,\\r\\n Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear,\\r\\n That if I love thee, I thy death should fear. 660\\r\\n\\r\\n“And more than so, presenteth to mine eye\\r\\nThe picture of an angry chafing boar,\\r\\nUnder whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie\\r\\nAn image like thyself, all stain’d with gore; 664\\r\\n Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed,\\r\\n Doth make them droop with grief and hang the head.\\r\\n\\r\\n“What should I do, seeing thee so indeed,\\r\\nThat tremble at th’imagination? 668\\r\\nThe thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed,\\r\\nAnd fear doth teach it divination:\\r\\n I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow,\\r\\n If thou encounter with the boar tomorrow. 672\\r\\n\\r\\n“But if thou needs wilt hunt, be rul’d by me;\\r\\nUncouple at the timorous flying hare,\\r\\nOr at the fox which lives by subtilty,\\r\\nOr at the roe which no encounter dare: 676\\r\\n Pursue these fearful creatures o’er the downs,\\r\\n And on thy well-breath’d horse keep with thy hounds.\\r\\n\\r\\n“And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare,\\r\\nMark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles 680\\r\\nHow he outruns the wind, and with what care\\r\\nHe cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles:\\r\\n The many musits through the which he goes\\r\\n Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes. 684\\r\\n\\r\\n“Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep,\\r\\nTo make the cunning hounds mistake their smell,\\r\\nAnd sometime where earth-delving conies keep,\\r\\nTo stop the loud pursuers in their yell, 688\\r\\n And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer;\\r\\n Danger deviseth shifts, wit waits on fear.\\r\\n\\r\\n“For there his smell with others being mingled, 691\\r\\nThe hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt,\\r\\nCeasing their clamorous cry, till they have singled\\r\\nWith much ado the cold fault cleanly out;\\r\\n Then do they spend their mouths: echo replies,\\r\\n As if another chase were in the skies. 696\\r\\n\\r\\n“By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill,\\r\\nStands on his hinder legs with list’ning ear,\\r\\nTo hearken if his foes pursue him still.\\r\\nAnon their loud alarums he doth hear; 700\\r\\n And now his grief may be compared well\\r\\n To one sore sick that hears the passing bell.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch\\r\\nTurn, and return, indenting with the way, 704\\r\\nEach envious briar his weary legs do scratch,\\r\\nEach shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay:\\r\\n For misery is trodden on by many,\\r\\n And being low never reliev’d by any. 708\\r\\n\\r\\n“Lie quietly, and hear a little more;\\r\\nNay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise:\\r\\nTo make thee hate the hunting of the boar,\\r\\nUnlike myself thou hear’st me moralize, 712\\r\\n Applying this to that, and so to so,\\r\\n For love can comment upon every woe.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Where did I leave?” “No matter where,” quoth he\\r\\n“Leave me, and then the story aptly ends: 716\\r\\nThe night is spent.” “Why, what of that?” quoth she.\\r\\n“I am,” quoth he, “expected of my friends;\\r\\n And now ’tis dark, and going I shall fall.”\\r\\n “In night,” quoth she, “desire sees best of all.” 720\\r\\n\\r\\nBut if thou fall, oh then imagine this,\\r\\nThe earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips,\\r\\nAnd all is but to rob thee of a kiss. 723\\r\\nRich preys make true men thieves; so do thy lips\\r\\n Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn,\\r\\n Lest she should steal a kiss and die forsworn.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Now of this dark night I perceive the reason:\\r\\nCynthia for shame obscures her silver shine 728\\r\\nTill forging nature be condemn’d of treason,\\r\\nFor stealing moulds from heaven, that were divine;\\r\\n Wherein she fram’d thee, in high heaven’s despite,\\r\\n To shame the sun by day and her by night. 732\\r\\n\\r\\n“And therefore hath she brib’d the destinies,\\r\\nTo cross the curious workmanship of nature,\\r\\nTo mingle beauty with infirmities,\\r\\nAnd pure perfection with impure defeature, 736\\r\\n Making it subject to the tyranny\\r\\n Of mad mischances and much misery.\\r\\n\\r\\n“As burning fevers, agues pale and faint,\\r\\nLife-poisoning pestilence and frenzies wood, 740\\r\\nThe marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint\\r\\nDisorder breeds by heating of the blood;\\r\\n Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn’d despair,\\r\\n Swear nature’s death, for framing thee so fair. 744\\r\\n\\r\\n“And not the least of all these maladies\\r\\nBut in one minute’s fight brings beauty under:\\r\\nBoth favour, savour, hue and qualities,\\r\\nWhereat th’impartial gazer late did wonder, 748\\r\\n Are on the sudden wasted, thaw’d and done,\\r\\n As mountain snow melts with the midday sun.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Therefore despite of fruitless chastity,\\r\\nLove-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns, 752\\r\\nThat on the earth would breed a scarcity\\r\\nAnd barren dearth of daughters and of sons,\\r\\n Be prodigal: the lamp that burns by night\\r\\n Dries up his oil to lend the world his light. 756\\r\\n\\r\\n“What is thy body but a swallowing grave,\\r\\nSeeming to bury that posterity,\\r\\nWhich by the rights of time thou needs must have,\\r\\nIf thou destroy them not in dark obscurity? 760\\r\\n If so, the world will hold thee in disdain,\\r\\n Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.\\r\\n\\r\\n“So in thyself thyself art made away;\\r\\nA mischief worse than civil home-bred strife, 764\\r\\nOr theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay,\\r\\nOr butcher sire that reeves his son of life.\\r\\n Foul cank’ring rust the hidden treasure frets,\\r\\n But gold that’s put to use more gold begets.” 768\\r\\n\\r\\n“Nay then,” quoth Adon, “you will fall again\\r\\nInto your idle over-handled theme;\\r\\nThe kiss I gave you is bestow’d in vain,\\r\\nAnd all in vain you strive against the stream; 772\\r\\n For by this black-fac’d night, desire’s foul nurse,\\r\\n Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse.\\r\\n\\r\\n“If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues,\\r\\nAnd every tongue more moving than your own, 776\\r\\nBewitching like the wanton mermaid’s songs,\\r\\nYet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown;\\r\\n For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear,\\r\\n And will not let a false sound enter there. 780\\r\\n\\r\\n“Lest the deceiving harmony should run\\r\\nInto the quiet closure of my breast,\\r\\nAnd then my little heart were quite undone,\\r\\nIn his bedchamber to be barr’d of rest. 784\\r\\n No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan,\\r\\n But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.\\r\\n\\r\\n“What have you urg’d that I cannot reprove?\\r\\nThe path is smooth that leadeth on to danger; 790\\r\\nI hate not love, but your device in love\\r\\nThat lends embracements unto every stranger.\\r\\n You do it for increase: O strange excuse!\\r\\n When reason is the bawd to lust’s abuse. 792\\r\\n\\r\\n“Call it not, love, for love to heaven is fled,\\r\\nSince sweating lust on earth usurp’d his name;\\r\\nUnder whose simple semblance he hath fed\\r\\nUpon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame; 796\\r\\n Which the hot tyrant stains and soon bereaves,\\r\\n As caterpillars do the tender leaves.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Love comforteth like sunshine after rain,\\r\\nBut lust’s effect is tempest after sun; 800\\r\\nLove’s gentle spring doth always fresh remain,\\r\\nLust’s winter comes ere summer half be done.\\r\\n Love surfeits not, lust like a glutton dies;\\r\\n Love is all truth, lust full of forged lies. 804\\r\\n\\r\\n“More I could tell, but more I dare not say;\\r\\nThe text is old, the orator too green.\\r\\nTherefore, in sadness, now I will away;\\r\\nMy face is full of shame, my heart of teen, 808\\r\\n Mine ears, that to your wanton talk attended\\r\\n Do burn themselves for having so offended.”\\r\\n\\r\\nWith this he breaketh from the sweet embrace 811\\r\\nOf those fair arms which bound him to her breast,\\r\\nAnd homeward through the dark laund runs apace;\\r\\nLeaves love upon her back deeply distress’d.\\r\\n Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky,\\r\\n So glides he in the night from Venus’ eye. 816\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich after him she darts, as one on shore\\r\\nGazing upon a late embarked friend,\\r\\nTill the wild waves will have him seen no more,\\r\\nWhose ridges with the meeting clouds contend: 820\\r\\n So did the merciless and pitchy night\\r\\n Fold in the object that did feed her sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhereat amaz’d, as one that unaware\\r\\nHath dropp’d a precious jewel in the flood, 824\\r\\nOr ’stonish’d as night-wanderers often are,\\r\\nTheir light blown out in some mistrustful wood;\\r\\n Even so confounded in the dark she lay,\\r\\n Having lost the fair discovery of her way. 828\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd now she beats her heart, whereat it groans,\\r\\nThat all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled,\\r\\nMake verbal repetition of her moans;\\r\\nPassion on passion deeply is redoubled: 832\\r\\n “Ay me!” she cries, and twenty times, “Woe, woe!”\\r\\n And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe marking them, begins a wailing note,\\r\\nAnd sings extemporally a woeful ditty; 836\\r\\nHow love makes young men thrall, and old men dote,\\r\\nHow love is wise in folly foolish witty:\\r\\n Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe,\\r\\n And still the choir of echoes answer so. 840\\r\\n\\r\\nHer song was tedious, and outwore the night,\\r\\nFor lovers’ hours are long, though seeming short,\\r\\nIf pleas’d themselves, others they think, delight\\r\\nIn such like circumstance, with such like sport: 844\\r\\n Their copious stories oftentimes begun,\\r\\n End without audience, and are never done.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor who hath she to spend the night withal,\\r\\nBut idle sounds resembling parasites; 848\\r\\nLike shrill-tongu’d tapsters answering every call,\\r\\nSoothing the humour of fantastic wits?\\r\\n She says, “’Tis so:” they answer all, “’Tis so;”\\r\\n And would say after her, if she said “No.” 852\\r\\n\\r\\nLo here the gentle lark, weary of rest,\\r\\nFrom his moist cabinet mounts up on high,\\r\\nAnd wakes the morning, from whose silver breast\\r\\nThe sun ariseth in his majesty; 856\\r\\n Who doth the world so gloriously behold,\\r\\n That cedar tops and hills seem burnish’d gold.\\r\\n\\r\\nVenus salutes him with this fair good morrow:\\r\\n“Oh thou clear god, and patron of all light, 860\\r\\nFrom whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow\\r\\nThe beauteous influence that makes him bright,\\r\\n There lives a son that suck’d an earthly mother,\\r\\n May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.”\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove, 865\\r\\nMusing the morning is so much o’erworn,\\r\\nAnd yet she hears no tidings of her love;\\r\\nShe hearkens for his hounds and for his horn. 868\\r\\n Anon she hears them chant it lustily,\\r\\n And all in haste she coasteth to the cry.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd as she runs, the bushes in the way\\r\\nSome catch her by the neck, some kiss her face, 872\\r\\nSome twine about her thigh to make her stay:\\r\\nShe wildly breaketh from their strict embrace,\\r\\n Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache,\\r\\n Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake. 876\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this she hears the hounds are at a bay,\\r\\nWhereat she starts like one that spies an adder\\r\\nWreath’d up in fatal folds just in his way,\\r\\nThe fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder; 880\\r\\n Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds\\r\\n Appals her senses, and her spirit confounds.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor now she knows it is no gentle chase,\\r\\nBut the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud, 884\\r\\nBecause the cry remaineth in one place,\\r\\nWhere fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud,\\r\\n Finding their enemy to be so curst,\\r\\n They all strain court’sy who shall cope him first. 888\\r\\n\\r\\nThis dismal cry rings sadly in her ear,\\r\\nThrough which it enters to surprise her heart;\\r\\nWho overcome by doubt and bloodless fear,\\r\\nWith cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part; 892\\r\\n Like soldiers when their captain once doth yield,\\r\\n They basely fly and dare not stay the field.\\r\\n\\r\\nThus stands she in a trembling ecstasy,\\r\\nTill cheering up her senses sore dismay’d, 896\\r\\nShe tells them ’tis a causeless fantasy,\\r\\nAnd childish error, that they are afraid;\\r\\n Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more:\\r\\n And with that word, she spied the hunted boar. 900\\r\\n\\r\\nWhose frothy mouth bepainted all with red,\\r\\nLike milk and blood being mingled both together,\\r\\nA second fear through all her sinews spread,\\r\\nWhich madly hurries her she knows not whither: 904\\r\\n This way she runs, and now she will no further,\\r\\n But back retires, to rate the boar for murther.\\r\\n\\r\\nA thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways,\\r\\nShe treads the path that she untreads again; 908\\r\\nHer more than haste is mated with delays,\\r\\nLike the proceedings of a drunken brain,\\r\\n Full of respects, yet naught at all respecting,\\r\\n In hand with all things, naught at all effecting.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere kennel’d in a brake she finds a hound, 913\\r\\nAnd asks the weary caitiff for his master,\\r\\nAnd there another licking of his wound,\\r\\n’Gainst venom’d sores the only sovereign plaster. 916\\r\\n And here she meets another sadly scowling,\\r\\n To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen he hath ceas’d his ill-resounding noise,\\r\\nAnother flap-mouth’d mourner, black and grim, 920\\r\\nAgainst the welkin volleys out his voice;\\r\\nAnother and another answer him,\\r\\n Clapping their proud tails to the ground below,\\r\\n Shaking their scratch’d ears, bleeding as they go.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook how the world’s poor people are amazed 925\\r\\nAt apparitions, signs, and prodigies,\\r\\nWhereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed,\\r\\nInfusing them with dreadful prophecies; 928\\r\\n So she at these sad sighs draws up her breath,\\r\\n And sighing it again, exclaims on death.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Hard-favour’d tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean, 931\\r\\nHateful divorce of love,” thus chides she death,\\r\\n“Grim-grinning ghost, earth’s worm, what dost thou mean?\\r\\nTo stifle beauty and to steal his breath,\\r\\n Who when he liv’d, his breath and beauty set\\r\\n Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet. 936\\r\\n\\r\\n“If he be dead, O no, it cannot be,\\r\\nSeeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it,\\r\\nO yes, it may, thou hast no eyes to see,\\r\\nBut hatefully at random dost thou hit. 940\\r\\n Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart\\r\\n Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant’s heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke,\\r\\nAnd hearing him, thy power had lost his power. 944\\r\\nThe destinies will curse thee for this stroke;\\r\\nThey bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck’st a flower.\\r\\n Love’s golden arrow at him should have fled,\\r\\n And not death’s ebon dart to strike him dead. 948\\r\\n\\r\\n“Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok’st such weeping?\\r\\nWhat may a heavy groan advantage thee?\\r\\nWhy hast thou cast into eternal sleeping\\r\\nThose eyes that taught all other eyes to see? 952\\r\\n Now nature cares not for thy mortal vigour,\\r\\n Since her best work is ruin’d with thy rigour.”\\r\\n\\r\\nHere overcome, as one full of despair,\\r\\nShe vail’d her eyelids, who like sluices stopp’d 956\\r\\nThe crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair\\r\\nIn the sweet channel of her bosom dropp’d\\r\\n But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain,\\r\\n And with his strong course opens them again. 960\\r\\n\\r\\nO how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow;\\r\\nHer eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye;\\r\\nBoth crystals, where they view’d each other’s sorrow,\\r\\nSorrow that friendly sighs sought still to dry; 964\\r\\n But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain,\\r\\n Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.\\r\\n\\r\\nVariable passions throng her constant woe,\\r\\nAs striving who should best become her grief; 968\\r\\nAll entertain’d, each passion labours so,\\r\\nThat every present sorrow seemeth chief,\\r\\n But none is best, then join they all together,\\r\\n Like many clouds consulting for foul weather. 972\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this, far off she hears some huntsman holla;\\r\\nA nurse’s song ne’er pleas’d her babe so well:\\r\\nThe dire imagination she did follow\\r\\nThis sound of hope doth labour to expel; 976\\r\\n For now reviving joy bids her rejoice,\\r\\n And flatters her it is Adonis’ voice.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhereat her tears began to turn their tide,\\r\\nBeing prison’d in her eye, like pearls in glass; 980\\r\\nYet sometimes falls an orient drop beside,\\r\\nWhich her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass\\r\\n To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground,\\r\\n Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nO hard-believing love, how strange it seems 985\\r\\nNot to believe, and yet too credulous;\\r\\nThy weal and woe are both of them extremes;\\r\\nDespair and hope make thee ridiculous, 988\\r\\n The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,\\r\\n In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow she unweaves the web that she hath wrought,\\r\\nAdonis lives, and death is not to blame; 992\\r\\nIt was not she that call’d him all to naught;\\r\\nNow she adds honours to his hateful name.\\r\\n She clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings,\\r\\n Imperious supreme of all mortal things. 996\\r\\n\\r\\n“No, no,” quoth she, “sweet death, I did but jest;\\r\\nYet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear\\r\\nWhenas I met the boar, that bloody beast,\\r\\nWhich knows no pity, but is still severe; 1000\\r\\n Then, gentle shadow,—truth I must confess—\\r\\n I rail’d on thee, fearing my love’s decease.\\r\\n\\r\\n“’Tis not my fault, the boar provok’d my tongue;\\r\\nBe wreak’d on him, invisible commander; 1004\\r\\n’Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong;\\r\\nI did but act, he’s author of my slander.\\r\\n Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet,\\r\\n Could rule them both, without ten women’s wit.”\\r\\n\\r\\nThus hoping that Adonis is alive, 1009\\r\\nHer rash suspect she doth extenuate;\\r\\nAnd that his beauty may the better thrive,\\r\\nWith death she humbly doth insinuate; 1012\\r\\n Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs and stories\\r\\n His victories, his triumphs and his glories.\\r\\n\\r\\n“O love!” quoth she, “how much a fool was I,\\r\\nTo be of such a weak and silly mind, 1016\\r\\nTo wail his death who lives, and must not die\\r\\nTill mutual overthrow of mortal kind;\\r\\n For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,\\r\\n And beauty dead, black Chaos comes again. 1020\\r\\n\\r\\n“Fie, fie, fond love, thou art as full of fear\\r\\nAs one with treasure laden, hemm’d with thieves,\\r\\nTrifles unwitnessed with eye or ear,\\r\\nThy coward heart with false bethinking grieves.” 1024\\r\\n Even at this word she hears a merry horn,\\r\\n Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs falcon to the lure, away she flies;\\r\\nThe grass stoops not, she treads on it so light, 1028\\r\\nAnd in her haste unfortunately spies\\r\\nThe foul boar’s conquest on her fair delight;\\r\\n Which seen, her eyes, as murder’d with the view,\\r\\n Like stars asham’d of day, themselves withdrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nOr as the snail, whose tender horns being hit, 1033\\r\\nShrinks backwards in his shelly cave with pain,\\r\\nAnd there all smother’d up, in shade doth sit,\\r\\nLong after fearing to creep forth again: 1036\\r\\n So at his bloody view her eyes are fled\\r\\n Into the deep dark cabins of her head.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhere they resign their office and their light\\r\\nTo the disposing of her troubled brain, 1040\\r\\nWho bids them still consort with ugly night,\\r\\nAnd never wound the heart with looks again;\\r\\n Who like a king perplexed in his throne,\\r\\n By their suggestion gives a deadly groan. 1044\\r\\n\\r\\nWhereat each tributary subject quakes,\\r\\nAs when the wind imprison’d in the ground,\\r\\nStruggling for passage, earth’s foundation shakes,\\r\\nWhich with cold terror doth men’s minds confound.\\r\\n This mutiny each part doth so surprise 1049\\r\\n That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd being open’d, threw unwilling light\\r\\nUpon the wide wound that the boar had trench’d\\r\\nIn his soft flank, whose wonted lily white 1053\\r\\nWith purple tears that his wound wept, was drench’d.\\r\\n No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf or weed,\\r\\n But stole his blood and seem’d with him to bleed.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth, 1057\\r\\nOver one shoulder doth she hang her head,\\r\\nDumbly she passions, franticly she doteth;\\r\\nShe thinks he could not die, he is not dead: 1060\\r\\n Her voice is stopp’d, her joints forget to bow,\\r\\n Her eyes are mad, that they have wept till now.\\r\\n\\r\\nUpon his hurt she looks so steadfastly,\\r\\nThat her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three;\\r\\nAnd then she reprehends her mangling eye, 1065\\r\\nThat makes more gashes, where no breach should be:\\r\\n His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled,\\r\\n For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled.\\r\\n\\r\\n“My tongue cannot express my grief for one, 1069\\r\\nAnd yet,” quoth she, “behold two Adons dead!\\r\\nMy sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone,\\r\\nMine eyes are turn’d to fire, my heart to lead: 1072\\r\\n Heavy heart’s lead, melt at mine eyes’ red fire!\\r\\n So shall I die by drops of hot desire.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Alas poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!\\r\\nWhat face remains alive that’s worth the viewing?\\r\\nWhose tongue is music now? what canst thou boast\\r\\nOf things long since, or anything ensuing? 1078\\r\\n The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim,\\r\\n But true sweet beauty liv’d and died with him.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear! 1081\\r\\nNor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you:\\r\\nHaving no fair to lose, you need not fear;\\r\\nThe sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss you.\\r\\n But when Adonis liv’d, sun and sharp air 1085\\r\\n Lurk’d like two thieves, to rob him of his fair.\\r\\n\\r\\n“And therefore would he put his bonnet on,\\r\\nUnder whose brim the gaudy sun would peep; 1088\\r\\nThe wind would blow it off, and being gone,\\r\\nPlay with his locks; then would Adonis weep;\\r\\n And straight, in pity of his tender years,\\r\\n They both would strive who first should dry his tears.\\r\\n\\r\\n“To see his face the lion walk’d along 1093\\r\\nBehind some hedge, because he would not fear him;\\r\\nTo recreate himself when he hath sung,\\r\\nThe tiger would be tame and gently hear him. 1096\\r\\n If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey,\\r\\n And never fright the silly lamb that day.\\r\\n\\r\\n“When he beheld his shadow in the brook,\\r\\nThe fishes spread on it their golden gills; 1100\\r\\nWhen he was by, the birds such pleasure took,\\r\\nThat some would sing, some other in their bills\\r\\n Would bring him mulberries and ripe-red cherries,\\r\\n He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.\\r\\n\\r\\n“But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar, 1105\\r\\nWhose downward eye still looketh for a grave,\\r\\nNe’er saw the beauteous livery that he wore;\\r\\nWitness the entertainment that he gave. 1108\\r\\n If he did see his face, why then I know\\r\\n He thought to kiss him, and hath kill’d him so.\\r\\n\\r\\n“’Tis true, ’tis true; thus was Adonis slain:\\r\\nHe ran upon the boar with his sharp spear, 1112\\r\\nWho did not whet his teeth at him again,\\r\\nBut by a kiss thought to persuade him there;\\r\\n And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine\\r\\n Sheath’d unaware the tusk in his soft groin. 1116\\r\\n\\r\\n“Had I been tooth’d like him, I must confess,\\r\\nWith kissing him I should have kill’d him first;\\r\\nBut he is dead, and never did he bless\\r\\nMy youth with his; the more am I accurst.” 1120\\r\\n With this she falleth in the place she stood,\\r\\n And stains her face with his congealed blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe looks upon his lips, and they are pale;\\r\\nShe takes him by the hand, and that is cold, 1124\\r\\nShe whispers in his ears a heavy tale,\\r\\nAs if they heard the woeful words she told;\\r\\nShe lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes,\\r\\nWhere lo, two lamps burnt out in darkness lies.\\r\\n\\r\\nTwo glasses where herself herself beheld 1129\\r\\nA thousand times, and now no more reflect;\\r\\nTheir virtue lost, wherein they late excell’d,\\r\\nAnd every beauty robb’d of his effect. 1132\\r\\n “Wonder of time,” quoth she, “this is my spite,\\r\\n That thou being dead, the day should yet be light.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Since thou art dead, lo here I prophesy,\\r\\nSorrow on love hereafter shall attend: 1136\\r\\nIt shall be waited on with jealousy,\\r\\nFind sweet beginning, but unsavoury end;\\r\\n Ne’er settled equally, but high or low,\\r\\n That all love’s pleasure shall not match his woe.\\r\\n\\r\\n“It shall be fickle, false and full of fraud, 1141\\r\\nBud, and be blasted in a breathing while;\\r\\nThe bottom poison, and the top o’erstraw’d\\r\\nWith sweets that shall the truest sight beguile. 1144\\r\\n The strongest body shall it make most weak,\\r\\n Strike the wise dumb, and teach the fool to speak.\\r\\n\\r\\n“It shall be sparing, and too full of riot,\\r\\nTeaching decrepit age to tread the measures; 1148\\r\\nThe staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet,\\r\\nPluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures;\\r\\n It shall be raging mad, and silly mild,\\r\\n Make the young old, the old become a child. 1152\\r\\n\\r\\n“It shall suspect where is no cause of fear,\\r\\nIt shall not fear where it should most mistrust;\\r\\nIt shall be merciful, and too severe,\\r\\nAnd most deceiving when it seems most just; 1156\\r\\n Perverse it shall be, where it shows most toward,\\r\\n Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.\\r\\n\\r\\n“It shall be cause of war and dire events,\\r\\nAnd set dissension ’twixt the son and sire; 1160\\r\\nSubject and servile to all discontents,\\r\\nAs dry combustious matter is to fire,\\r\\n Sith in his prime death doth my love destroy,\\r\\n They that love best their love shall not enjoy.” 1164\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this the boy that by her side lay kill’d\\r\\nWas melted like a vapour from her sight,\\r\\nAnd in his blood that on the ground lay spill’d,\\r\\nA purple flower sprung up, chequer’d with white, 1168\\r\\n Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood\\r\\n Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell,\\r\\nComparing it to her Adonis’ breath; 1172\\r\\nAnd says within her bosom it shall dwell,\\r\\nSince he himself is reft from her by death;\\r\\n She drops the stalk, and in the breach appears\\r\\n Green-dropping sap, which she compares to tears.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Poor flower,” quoth she, “this was thy father’s guise,\\r\\nSweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire,\\r\\nFor every little grief to wet his eyes,\\r\\nTo grow unto himself was his desire, 1180\\r\\n And so ’tis thine; but know, it is as good\\r\\n To wither in my breast as in his blood.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Here was thy father’s bed, here in my breast;\\r\\nThou art the next of blood, and ’tis thy right: 1184\\r\\nLo in this hollow cradle take thy rest,\\r\\nMy throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night:\\r\\n There shall not be one minute in an hour\\r\\n Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love’s flower.”\\r\\n\\r\\nThus weary of the world, away she hies, 1189\\r\\nAnd yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid\\r\\nTheir mistress mounted through the empty skies,\\r\\nIn her light chariot quickly is convey’d; 1192\\r\\n Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen\\r\\n Means to immure herself and not be seen.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FINIS\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n* CONTENT NOTE (added in 2017) *\\r\\n\\r\\nThis Project Gutenberg eBook was originally marked as having a copyright.\\r\\nHowever, Project Gutenberg now believes that the eBook\\'s contents does\\r\\nnot actually have a copyright.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis is based on current understanding of copyright law, in which\\r\\n\"authorship\" is required to obtain a copyright. 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Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm\\r\\n\\r\\nProject Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of\\r\\nelectronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers',\n", + " '',\n", + " 'TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. An Apartment in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\nScene II. The sea-coast.\\r\\nScene III. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\nScene V. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. The sea-coast.\\r\\nScene II. A street.\\r\\nScene III. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\nScene V. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\nScene II. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene III. A street.\\r\\nScene IV. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. The Street before Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene II. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\nScene III. Olivia’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. The Street before Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n Dramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nORSINO, Duke of Illyria.\\r\\nVALENTINE, Gentleman attending on the Duke\\r\\nCURIO, Gentleman attending on the Duke\\r\\nVIOLA, in love with the Duke.\\r\\nSEBASTIAN, a young Gentleman, twin brother to Viola.\\r\\nA SEA CAPTAIN, friend to Viola\\r\\nANTONIO, a Sea Captain, friend to Sebastian.\\r\\nOLIVIA, a rich Countess.\\r\\nMARIA, Olivia’s Woman.\\r\\nSIR TOBY BELCH, Uncle of Olivia.\\r\\nSIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.\\r\\nMALVOLIO, Steward to Olivia.\\r\\nFABIAN, Servant to Olivia.\\r\\nCLOWN, Servant to Olivia.\\r\\nPRIEST\\r\\nLords, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and other Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: A City in Illyria; and the Sea-coast near it.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. An Apartment in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Orsino, Duke of Illyria, Curio, and other Lords; Musicians\\r\\n attending.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nIf music be the food of love, play on,\\r\\nGive me excess of it; that, surfeiting,\\r\\nThe appetite may sicken and so die.\\r\\nThat strain again, it had a dying fall;\\r\\nO, it came o’er my ear like the sweet sound\\r\\nThat breathes upon a bank of violets,\\r\\nStealing and giving odour. Enough; no more;\\r\\n’Tis not so sweet now as it was before.\\r\\nO spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou,\\r\\nThat notwithstanding thy capacity\\r\\nReceiveth as the sea, nought enters there,\\r\\nOf what validity and pitch soever,\\r\\nBut falls into abatement and low price\\r\\nEven in a minute! So full of shapes is fancy,\\r\\nThat it alone is high fantastical.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURIO.\\r\\nWill you go hunt, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat, Curio?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURIO.\\r\\nThe hart.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhy so I do, the noblest that I have.\\r\\nO, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,\\r\\nMethought she purg’d the air of pestilence;\\r\\nThat instant was I turn’d into a hart,\\r\\nAnd my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,\\r\\nE’er since pursue me. How now? what news from her?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Valentine.\\r\\n\\r\\nVALENTINE.\\r\\nSo please my lord, I might not be admitted,\\r\\nBut from her handmaid do return this answer:\\r\\nThe element itself, till seven years’ heat,\\r\\nShall not behold her face at ample view;\\r\\nBut like a cloistress she will veiled walk,\\r\\nAnd water once a day her chamber round\\r\\nWith eye-offending brine: all this to season\\r\\nA brother’s dead love, which she would keep fresh\\r\\nAnd lasting in her sad remembrance.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO, she that hath a heart of that fine frame\\r\\nTo pay this debt of love but to a brother,\\r\\nHow will she love, when the rich golden shaft\\r\\nHath kill’d the flock of all affections else\\r\\nThat live in her; when liver, brain, and heart,\\r\\nThese sovereign thrones, are all supplied and fill’d\\r\\nHer sweet perfections with one self king!\\r\\nAway before me to sweet beds of flowers,\\r\\nLove-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The sea-coast.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Viola, a Captain and Sailors.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhat country, friends, is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nThis is Illyria, lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd what should I do in Illyria?\\r\\nMy brother he is in Elysium.\\r\\nPerchance he is not drown’d. What think you, sailors?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nIt is perchance that you yourself were sav’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nO my poor brother! and so perchance may he be.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nTrue, madam; and to comfort you with chance,\\r\\nAssure yourself, after our ship did split,\\r\\nWhen you, and those poor number sav’d with you,\\r\\nHung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,\\r\\nMost provident in peril, bind himself,\\r\\n(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice)\\r\\nTo a strong mast that liv’d upon the sea;\\r\\nWhere, like Arion on the dolphin’s back,\\r\\nI saw him hold acquaintance with the waves\\r\\nSo long as I could see.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nFor saying so, there’s gold!\\r\\nMine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,\\r\\nWhereto thy speech serves for authority,\\r\\nThe like of him. Know’st thou this country?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nAy, madam, well, for I was bred and born\\r\\nNot three hours’ travel from this very place.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWho governs here?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nA noble duke, in nature as in name.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhat is his name?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nOrsino.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nOrsino! I have heard my father name him.\\r\\nHe was a bachelor then.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nAnd so is now, or was so very late;\\r\\nFor but a month ago I went from hence,\\r\\nAnd then ’twas fresh in murmur, (as, you know,\\r\\nWhat great ones do, the less will prattle of)\\r\\nThat he did seek the love of fair Olivia.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhat’s she?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nA virtuous maid, the daughter of a count\\r\\nThat died some twelvemonth since; then leaving her\\r\\nIn the protection of his son, her brother,\\r\\nWho shortly also died; for whose dear love\\r\\nThey say, she hath abjur’d the company\\r\\nAnd sight of men.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nO that I served that lady,\\r\\nAnd might not be delivered to the world,\\r\\nTill I had made mine own occasion mellow,\\r\\nWhat my estate is.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nThat were hard to compass,\\r\\nBecause she will admit no kind of suit,\\r\\nNo, not the Duke’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThere is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain;\\r\\nAnd though that nature with a beauteous wall\\r\\nDoth oft close in pollution, yet of thee\\r\\nI will believe thou hast a mind that suits\\r\\nWith this thy fair and outward character.\\r\\nI pray thee, and I’ll pay thee bounteously,\\r\\nConceal me what I am, and be my aid\\r\\nFor such disguise as haply shall become\\r\\nThe form of my intent. I’ll serve this duke;\\r\\nThou shalt present me as an eunuch to him.\\r\\nIt may be worth thy pains; for I can sing,\\r\\nAnd speak to him in many sorts of music,\\r\\nThat will allow me very worth his service.\\r\\nWhat else may hap, to time I will commit;\\r\\nOnly shape thou thy silence to my wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAPTAIN.\\r\\nBe you his eunuch and your mute I’ll be;\\r\\nWhen my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI thank thee. Lead me on.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat a plague means my niece to take the death of her brother thus? I\\r\\nam sure care’s an enemy to life.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nBy my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o’ nights; your cousin,\\r\\nmy lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, let her except, before excepted.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAy, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nConfine? I’ll confine myself no finer than I am. These clothes are good\\r\\nenough to drink in, and so be these boots too; and they be not, let\\r\\nthem hang themselves in their own straps.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThat quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard my lady talk of it\\r\\nyesterday; and of a foolish knight that you brought in one night here\\r\\nto be her wooer.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWho? Sir Andrew Aguecheek?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAy, he.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHe’s as tall a man as any’s in Illyria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nWhat’s that to th’ purpose?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, he has three thousand ducats a year.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAy, but he’ll have but a year in all these ducats. He’s a very fool,\\r\\nand a prodigal.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nFie, that you’ll say so! he plays o’ the viol-de-gamboys, and speaks\\r\\nthree or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the\\r\\ngood gifts of nature.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nHe hath indeed, almost natural: for, besides that he’s a fool, he’s a\\r\\ngreat quarreller; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay\\r\\nthe gust he hath in quarrelling, ’tis thought among the prudent he\\r\\nwould quickly have the gift of a grave.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nBy this hand, they are scoundrels and substractors that say so of him.\\r\\nWho are they?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThey that add, moreover, he’s drunk nightly in your company.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWith drinking healths to my niece; I’ll drink to her as long as there\\r\\nis a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria. He’s a coward and a\\r\\ncoystril that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o’ the\\r\\ntoe like a parish top. What, wench! _Castiliano vulgo:_ for here comes\\r\\nSir Andrew Agueface.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nAGUECHEEK.\\r\\nSir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nSweet Sir Andrew!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBless you, fair shrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAnd you too, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAccost, Sir Andrew, accost.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhat’s that?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMy niece’s chamber-maid.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nGood Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMy name is Mary, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nGood Mistress Mary Accost,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nYou mistake, knight: accost is front her, board her, woo her, assail\\r\\nher.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBy my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the\\r\\nmeaning of accost?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nFare you well, gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never draw sword\\r\\nagain.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair\\r\\nlady, do you think you have fools in hand?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nSir, I have not you by the hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nMarry, but you shall have, and here’s my hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNow, sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring your hand to th’ buttery\\r\\nbar and let it drink.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWherefore, sweetheart? What’s your metaphor?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nIt’s dry, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhy, I think so; I am not such an ass but I can keep my hand dry. But\\r\\nwhat’s your jest?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nA dry jest, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAre you full of them?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAy, sir, I have them at my fingers’ ends: marry, now I let go your\\r\\nhand, I am barren.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nO knight, thou lack’st a cup of canary: When did I see thee so put\\r\\ndown?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNever in your life, I think, unless you see canary put me down.\\r\\nMethinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary\\r\\nman has; but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm\\r\\nto my wit.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nNo question.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd I thought that, I’d forswear it. I’ll ride home tomorrow, Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Pourquoy_, my dear knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhat is _pourquoy?_ Do, or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in\\r\\nthe tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting. O, had I\\r\\nbut followed the arts!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThen hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhy, would that have mended my hair?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPast question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBut it becomes me well enough, does’t not?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nExcellent, it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I hope to see a\\r\\nhouswife take thee between her legs, and spin it off.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFaith, I’ll home tomorrow, Sir Toby; your niece will not be seen, or if\\r\\nshe be, it’s four to one she’ll none of me; the Count himself here hard\\r\\nby woos her.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nShe’ll none o’ the Count; she’ll not match above her degree, neither in\\r\\nestate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear’t. Tut, there’s life\\r\\nin’t, man.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI’ll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o’ the strangest mind i’ the\\r\\nworld; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nArt thou good at these kick-shawses, knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAs any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my\\r\\nbetters; and yet I will not compare with an old man.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFaith, I can cut a caper.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd I can cut the mutton to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in\\r\\nIllyria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWherefore are these things hid? Wherefore have these gifts a curtain\\r\\nbefore ’em? Are they like to take dust, like Mistress Mall’s picture?\\r\\nWhy dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a\\r\\ncoranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not so much as make\\r\\nwater but in a sink-a-pace. What dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide\\r\\nvirtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it\\r\\nwas formed under the star of a galliard.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAy, ’tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a dam’d-colour’d\\r\\nstock. Shall we set about some revels?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat shall we do else? Were we not born under Taurus?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nTaurus? That’s sides and heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nNo, sir, it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper. Ha, higher: ha,\\r\\nha, excellent!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Valentine and Viola in man’s attire.\\r\\n\\r\\nVALENTINE.\\r\\nIf the duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like\\r\\nto be much advanced; he hath known you but three days, and already you\\r\\nare no stranger.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nYou either fear his humour or my negligence, that you call in question\\r\\nthe continuance of his love. Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours?\\r\\n\\r\\nVALENTINE.\\r\\nNo, believe me.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Duke, Curio and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI thank you. Here comes the Count.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWho saw Cesario, ho?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nOn your attendance, my lord, here.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nStand you awhile aloof.—Cesario,\\r\\nThou know’st no less but all; I have unclasp’d\\r\\nTo thee the book even of my secret soul.\\r\\nTherefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her,\\r\\nBe not denied access, stand at her doors,\\r\\nAnd tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow\\r\\nTill thou have audience.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSure, my noble lord,\\r\\nIf she be so abandon’d to her sorrow\\r\\nAs it is spoke, she never will admit me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBe clamorous and leap all civil bounds,\\r\\nRather than make unprofited return.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSay I do speak with her, my lord, what then?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO then unfold the passion of my love,\\r\\nSurprise her with discourse of my dear faith;\\r\\nIt shall become thee well to act my woes;\\r\\nShe will attend it better in thy youth,\\r\\nThan in a nuncio’s of more grave aspect.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI think not so, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nDear lad, believe it;\\r\\nFor they shall yet belie thy happy years,\\r\\nThat say thou art a man: Diana’s lip\\r\\nIs not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe\\r\\nIs as the maiden’s organ, shrill and sound,\\r\\nAnd all is semblative a woman’s part.\\r\\nI know thy constellation is right apt\\r\\nFor this affair. Some four or five attend him:\\r\\nAll, if you will; for I myself am best\\r\\nWhen least in company. Prosper well in this,\\r\\nAnd thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,\\r\\nTo call his fortunes thine.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI’ll do my best\\r\\nTo woo your lady. [_Aside._] Yet, a barful strife!\\r\\nWhoe’er I woo, myself would be his wife.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay; either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips so\\r\\nwide as a bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse: my lady will hang\\r\\nthee for thy absence.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLet her hang me: he that is well hanged in this world needs to fear no\\r\\ncolours.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMake that good.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe shall see none to fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nA good lenten answer. I can tell thee where that saying was born, of I\\r\\nfear no colours.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhere, good Mistress Mary?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nIn the wars, and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWell, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let\\r\\nthem use their talents.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nYet you will be hanged for being so long absent; or to be turned away;\\r\\nis not that as good as a hanging to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMany a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and for turning away, let\\r\\nsummer bear it out.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nYou are resolute then?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot so, neither, but I am resolved on two points.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThat if one break, the other will hold; or if both break, your gaskins\\r\\nfall.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nApt, in good faith, very apt! Well, go thy way; if Sir Toby would leave\\r\\ndrinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve’s flesh as any in Illyria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nPeace, you rogue, no more o’ that. Here comes my lady: make your excuse\\r\\nwisely, you were best.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia with Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWit, and’t be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits that think\\r\\nthey have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I that am sure I lack\\r\\nthee, may pass for a wise man. For what says Quinapalus? Better a witty\\r\\nfool than a foolish wit. God bless thee, lady!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nTake the fool away.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nDo you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGo to, y’are a dry fool; I’ll no more of you. Besides, you grow\\r\\ndishonest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTwo faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend: for give\\r\\nthe dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest man\\r\\nmend himself, if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let\\r\\nthe botcher mend him. Anything that’s mended is but patched; virtue\\r\\nthat transgresses is but patched with sin, and sin that amends is but\\r\\npatched with virtue. If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if\\r\\nit will not, what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so\\r\\nbeauty’s a flower. The lady bade take away the fool, therefore, I say\\r\\nagain, take her away.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSir, I bade them take away you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMisprision in the highest degree! Lady, _cucullus non facit monachum:_\\r\\nthat’s as much to say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna,\\r\\ngive me leave to prove you a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nCan you do it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nDexteriously, good madonna.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nMake your proof.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI must catechize you for it, madonna. Good my mouse of virtue, answer\\r\\nme.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWell sir, for want of other idleness, I’ll ’bide your proof.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGood madonna, why mourn’st thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGood fool, for my brother’s death.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI think his soul is in hell, madonna.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI know his soul is in heaven, fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThe more fool you, madonna, to mourn for your brother’s soul being in\\r\\nheaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nYes; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him. Infirmity, that\\r\\ndecays the wise, doth ever make the better fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGod send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your\\r\\nfolly! Sir Toby will be sworn that I am no fox; but he will not pass\\r\\nhis word for twopence that you are no fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHow say you to that, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal; I saw him\\r\\nput down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain\\r\\nthan a stone. Look you now, he’s out of his guard already; unless you\\r\\nlaugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest I take\\r\\nthese wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than\\r\\nthe fools’ zanies.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered\\r\\nappetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to\\r\\ntake those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon bullets. There is\\r\\nno slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no\\r\\nrailing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNow Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speak’st well of fools!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMadam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much desires to speak\\r\\nwith you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nFrom the Count Orsino, is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nI know not, madam; ’tis a fair young man, and well attended.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWho of my people hold him in delay?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nSir Toby, madam, your kinsman.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nFetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman. Fie on him!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGo you, Malvolio. If it be a suit from the Count, I am sick, or not at\\r\\nhome. What you will, to dismiss it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Malvolio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool:\\r\\nwhose skull Jove cram with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin\\r\\nhas a most weak _pia mater_.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nBy mine honour, half drunk. What is he at the gate, cousin?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nA gentleman? What gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n’Tis a gentleman here. A plague o’ these pickle-herrings! How now, sot?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGood Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nCousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLechery! I defy lechery. There’s one at the gate.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAy, marry, what is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLet him be the devil an he will, I care not: give me faith, say I.\\r\\nWell, it’s all one.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat’s a drunken man like, fool?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLike a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes\\r\\nhim a fool, the second mads him, and a third drowns him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGo thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit o’ my coz; for he’s in\\r\\nthe third degree of drink; he’s drowned. Go, look after him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look to the madman.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMadam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you\\r\\nwere sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes\\r\\nto speak with you. I told him you were asleep; he seems to have a\\r\\nforeknowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What\\r\\nis to be said to him, lady? He’s fortified against any denial.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nTell him, he shall not speak with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nHas been told so; and he says he’ll stand at your door like a sheriff’s\\r\\npost, and be the supporter of a bench, but he’ll speak with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat kind o’ man is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nWhy, of mankind.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat manner of man?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nOf very ill manner; he’ll speak with you, will you or no.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nOf what personage and years is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nNot yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash\\r\\nis before ’tis a peascod, or a codling, when ’tis almost an apple. ’Tis\\r\\nwith him in standing water, between boy and man. He is very\\r\\nwell-favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly. One would think his\\r\\nmother’s milk were scarce out of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nLet him approach. Call in my gentlewoman.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGentlewoman, my lady calls.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGive me my veil; come, throw it o’er my face.\\r\\nWe’ll once more hear Orsino’s embassy.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Viola.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThe honourable lady of the house, which is she?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSpeak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMost radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty,—I pray you, tell me if\\r\\nthis be the lady of the house, for I never saw her. I would be loath to\\r\\ncast away my speech; for besides that it is excellently well penned, I\\r\\nhave taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no\\r\\nscorn; I am very comptible, even to the least sinister usage.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhence came you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI can say little more than I have studied, and that question’s out of\\r\\nmy part. Good gentle one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady\\r\\nof the house, that I may proceed in my speech.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAre you a comedian?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNo, my profound heart: and yet, by the very fangs of malice I swear, I\\r\\nam not that I play. Are you the lady of the house?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIf I do not usurp myself, I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMost certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what is yours\\r\\nto bestow is not yours to reserve. But this is from my commission. I\\r\\nwill on with my speech in your praise, and then show you the heart of\\r\\nmy message.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nCome to what is important in’t: I forgive you the praise.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAlas, I took great pains to study it, and ’tis poetical.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIt is the more like to be feigned; I pray you keep it in. I heard you\\r\\nwere saucy at my gates; and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at\\r\\nyou than to hear you. If you be mad, be gone; if you have reason, be\\r\\nbrief: ’tis not that time of moon with me to make one in so skipping a\\r\\ndialogue.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nWill you hoist sail, sir? Here lies your way.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNo, good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification\\r\\nfor your giant, sweet lady. Tell me your mind. I am a messenger.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it\\r\\nis so fearful. Speak your office.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIt alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of\\r\\nhomage; I hold the olive in my hand: my words are as full of peace as\\r\\nmatter.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nYet you began rudely. What are you? What would you?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThe rudeness that hath appeared in me have I learned from my\\r\\nentertainment. What I am and what I would are as secret as maidenhead:\\r\\nto your ears, divinity; to any other’s, profanation.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGive us the place alone: we will hear this divinity.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, sir, what is your text?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMost sweet lady—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nA comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your\\r\\ntext?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIn Orsino’s bosom.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIn his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nTo answer by the method, in the first of his heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nGood madam, let me see your face.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHave you any commission from your lord to negotiate with my face? You\\r\\nare now out of your text: but we will draw the curtain and show you the\\r\\npicture. [_Unveiling._] Look you, sir, such a one I was this present.\\r\\nIs’t not well done?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nExcellently done, if God did all.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\n’Tis in grain, sir; ’twill endure wind and weather.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n’Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white\\r\\nNature’s own sweet and cunning hand laid on.\\r\\nLady, you are the cruel’st she alive\\r\\nIf you will lead these graces to the grave,\\r\\nAnd leave the world no copy.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give out divers schedules\\r\\nof my beauty. It shall be inventoried and every particle and utensil\\r\\nlabelled to my will: as, item, two lips indifferent red; item, two grey\\r\\neyes with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were\\r\\nyou sent hither to praise me?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI see you what you are, you are too proud;\\r\\nBut, if you were the devil, you are fair.\\r\\nMy lord and master loves you. O, such love\\r\\nCould be but recompens’d though you were crown’d\\r\\nThe nonpareil of beauty!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHow does he love me?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWith adorations, fertile tears,\\r\\nWith groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nYour lord does know my mind, I cannot love him:\\r\\nYet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,\\r\\nOf great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;\\r\\nIn voices well divulg’d, free, learn’d, and valiant,\\r\\nAnd in dimension and the shape of nature,\\r\\nA gracious person. But yet I cannot love him.\\r\\nHe might have took his answer long ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIf I did love you in my master’s flame,\\r\\nWith such a suff’ring, such a deadly life,\\r\\nIn your denial I would find no sense,\\r\\nI would not understand it.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy, what would you?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMake me a willow cabin at your gate,\\r\\nAnd call upon my soul within the house;\\r\\nWrite loyal cantons of contemned love,\\r\\nAnd sing them loud even in the dead of night;\\r\\nHallow your name to the reverberate hills,\\r\\nAnd make the babbling gossip of the air\\r\\nCry out Olivia! O, you should not rest\\r\\nBetween the elements of air and earth,\\r\\nBut you should pity me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nYou might do much.\\r\\nWhat is your parentage?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAbove my fortunes, yet my state is well:\\r\\nI am a gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGet you to your lord;\\r\\nI cannot love him: let him send no more,\\r\\nUnless, perchance, you come to me again,\\r\\nTo tell me how he takes it. Fare you well:\\r\\nI thank you for your pains: spend this for me.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI am no fee’d post, lady; keep your purse;\\r\\nMy master, not myself, lacks recompense.\\r\\nLove make his heart of flint that you shall love,\\r\\nAnd let your fervour like my master’s be\\r\\nPlac’d in contempt. Farewell, fair cruelty.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat is your parentage?\\r\\n‘Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:\\r\\nI am a gentleman.’ I’ll be sworn thou art;\\r\\nThy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,\\r\\nDo give thee five-fold blazon. Not too fast: soft, soft!\\r\\nUnless the master were the man. How now?\\r\\nEven so quickly may one catch the plague?\\r\\nMethinks I feel this youth’s perfections\\r\\nWith an invisible and subtle stealth\\r\\nTo creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.\\r\\nWhat ho, Malvolio!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nHere, madam, at your service.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nRun after that same peevish messenger\\r\\nThe County’s man: he left this ring behind him,\\r\\nWould I or not; tell him, I’ll none of it.\\r\\nDesire him not to flatter with his lord,\\r\\nNor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him.\\r\\nIf that the youth will come this way tomorrow,\\r\\nI’ll give him reasons for’t. Hie thee, Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMadam, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI do I know not what, and fear to find\\r\\nMine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.\\r\\nFate, show thy force, ourselves we do not owe.\\r\\nWhat is decreed must be; and be this so!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The sea-coast.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio and Sebastian.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWill you stay no longer? Nor will you not that I go with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nBy your patience, no; my stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of\\r\\nmy fate might perhaps distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you\\r\\nyour leave that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompense for\\r\\nyour love, to lay any of them on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLet me know of you whither you are bound.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nNo, sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I\\r\\nperceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not\\r\\nextort from me what I am willing to keep in. Therefore it charges me in\\r\\nmanners the rather to express myself. You must know of me then,\\r\\nAntonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Roderigo; my father was\\r\\nthat Sebastian of Messaline whom I know you have heard of. He left\\r\\nbehind him myself and a sister, both born in an hour. If the heavens\\r\\nhad been pleased, would we had so ended! But you, sir, altered that,\\r\\nfor some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea was my\\r\\nsister drowned.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nAlas the day!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many\\r\\naccounted beautiful. But though I could not with such estimable wonder\\r\\noverfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore\\r\\na mind that envy could not but call fair. She is drowned already, sir,\\r\\nwith salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with\\r\\nmore.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nPardon me, sir, your bad entertainment.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nO good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIf you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nIf you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you\\r\\nhave recovered, desire it not. Fare ye well at once; my bosom is full\\r\\nof kindness, and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that upon\\r\\nthe least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to\\r\\nthe Count Orsino’s court: farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nThe gentleness of all the gods go with thee!\\r\\nI have many enemies in Orsino’s court,\\r\\nElse would I very shortly see thee there:\\r\\nBut come what may, I do adore thee so,\\r\\nThat danger shall seem sport, and I will go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Viola; Malvolio at several doors.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nWere you not even now with the Countess Olivia?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nEven now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nShe returns this ring to you, sir; you might have saved me my pains, to\\r\\nhave taken it away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you should put\\r\\nyour lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him. And one\\r\\nthing more, that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs,\\r\\nunless it be to report your lord’s taking of this. Receive it so.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nShe took the ring of me: I’ll none of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nCome sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is it should be\\r\\nso returned. If it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if\\r\\nnot, be it his that finds it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI left no ring with her; what means this lady?\\r\\nFortune forbid my outside have not charm’d her!\\r\\nShe made good view of me, indeed, so much,\\r\\nThat methought her eyes had lost her tongue,\\r\\nFor she did speak in starts distractedly.\\r\\nShe loves me, sure, the cunning of her passion\\r\\nInvites me in this churlish messenger.\\r\\nNone of my lord’s ring? Why, he sent her none.\\r\\nI am the man; if it be so, as ’tis,\\r\\nPoor lady, she were better love a dream.\\r\\nDisguise, I see thou art a wickedness\\r\\nWherein the pregnant enemy does much.\\r\\nHow easy is it for the proper false\\r\\nIn women’s waxen hearts to set their forms!\\r\\nAlas, our frailty is the cause, not we,\\r\\nFor such as we are made of, such we be.\\r\\nHow will this fadge? My master loves her dearly,\\r\\nAnd I, poor monster, fond as much on him,\\r\\nAnd she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.\\r\\nWhat will become of this? As I am man,\\r\\nMy state is desperate for my master’s love;\\r\\nAs I am woman (now alas the day!)\\r\\nWhat thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe!\\r\\nO time, thou must untangle this, not I,\\r\\nIt is too hard a knot for me t’untie!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nApproach, Sir Andrew; not to be abed after midnight, is to be up\\r\\nbetimes; and _diluculo surgere_, thou know’st.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNay, by my troth, I know not; but I know to be up late is to be up\\r\\nlate.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA false conclusion; I hate it as an unfilled can. To be up after\\r\\nmidnight, and to go to bed then is early: so that to go to bed after\\r\\nmidnight is to go to bed betimes. Does not our lives consist of the\\r\\nfour elements?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFaith, so they say, but I think it rather consists of eating and\\r\\ndrinking.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTh’art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.\\r\\nMarian, I say! a stoup of wine.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nHere comes the fool, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHow now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of “we three”?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWelcome, ass. Now let’s have a catch.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBy my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty\\r\\nshillings I had such a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool\\r\\nhas. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night when thou\\r\\nspok’st of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of\\r\\nQueubus; ’twas very good, i’ faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman.\\r\\nHadst it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio’s nose is no whipstock. My\\r\\nlady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nExcellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a\\r\\nsong.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome on, there is sixpence for you. Let’s have a song.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nThere’s a testril of me too: if one knight give a—\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWould you have a love-song, or a song of good life?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA love-song, a love-song.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAy, ay. I care not for good life.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN. [_sings._]\\r\\n _O mistress mine, where are you roaming?\\r\\n O stay and hear, your true love’s coming,\\r\\n That can sing both high and low.\\r\\n Trip no further, pretty sweeting.\\r\\n Journeys end in lovers meeting,\\r\\n Every wise man’s son doth know._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nExcellent good, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGood, good.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n _What is love? ’Tis not hereafter,\\r\\n Present mirth hath present laughter.\\r\\n What’s to come is still unsure.\\r\\n In delay there lies no plenty,\\r\\n Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty.\\r\\n Youth’s a stuff will not endure._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nA mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA contagious breath.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nVery sweet and contagious, i’ faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the\\r\\nwelkin dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch that will\\r\\ndraw three souls out of one weaver? Shall we do that?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd you love me, let’s do’t: I am dog at a catch.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBy’r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nMost certain. Let our catch be, “Thou knave.”\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n“Hold thy peace, thou knave” knight? I shall be constrain’d in’t to\\r\\ncall thee knave, knight.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call me knave. Begin,\\r\\nfool; it begins “Hold thy peace.”\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI shall never begin if I hold my peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nGood, i’ faith! Come, begin.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Catch sung._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nWhat a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not called up her\\r\\nsteward Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMy lady’s a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio’s a Peg-a-Ramsey, and\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Three merry men be we._ Am not I consanguineous? Am I not\\r\\nof her blood? Tilly-vally! “Lady”! _There dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady,\\r\\nLady._\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBeshrew me, the knight’s in admirable fooling.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAy, he does well enough if he be disposed, and so do I too; he does it\\r\\nwith a better grace, but I do it more natural.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _O’ the twelfth day of December—_\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nFor the love o’ God, peace!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMy masters, are you mad? Or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor\\r\\nhonesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make\\r\\nan ale-house of my lady’s house, that ye squeak out your coziers’\\r\\ncatches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect\\r\\nof place, persons, nor time, in you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWe did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you that,\\r\\nthough she harbours you as her kinsman she’s nothing allied to your\\r\\ndisorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanours, you are\\r\\nwelcome to the house; if not, and it would please you to take leave of\\r\\nher, she is very willing to bid you farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone._\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay, good Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _His eyes do show his days are almost done._\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nIs’t even so?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _But I will never die._\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Sir Toby, there you lie._\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nThis is much credit to you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Shall I bid him go?_\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _What and if you do?_\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _Shall I bid him go, and spare not?_\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Sings._] _O, no, no, no, no, you dare not._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nOut o’ tune? sir, ye lie. Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think,\\r\\nbecause thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i’ the mouth too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTh’art i’ the right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs. A stoup of\\r\\nwine, Maria!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMistress Mary, if you prized my lady’s favour at anything more than\\r\\ncontempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule; she shall\\r\\nknow of it, by this hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nGo shake your ears.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man’s a-hungry, to challenge\\r\\nhim the field, and then to break promise with him and make a fool of\\r\\nhim.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nDo’t, knight. I’ll write thee a challenge; or I’ll deliver thy\\r\\nindignation to him by word of mouth.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nSweet Sir Toby, be patient for tonight. Since the youth of the Count’s\\r\\nwas today with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur\\r\\nMalvolio, let me alone with him. If I do not gull him into a nayword,\\r\\nand make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie\\r\\nstraight in my bed. I know I can do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPossess us, possess us, tell us something of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMarry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nO, if I thought that, I’d beat him like a dog.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat, for being a Puritan? Thy exquisite reason, dear knight?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI have no exquisite reason for’t, but I have reason good enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThe devil a Puritan that he is, or anything constantly but a\\r\\ntime-pleaser, an affectioned ass that cons state without book and\\r\\nutters it by great swarths; the best persuaded of himself, so crammed\\r\\n(as he thinks) with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith that\\r\\nall that look on him love him. And on that vice in him will my revenge\\r\\nfind notable cause to work.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat wilt thou do?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nI will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love, wherein by the\\r\\ncolour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the\\r\\nexpressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself\\r\\nmost feelingly personated. I can write very like my lady your niece; on\\r\\na forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nExcellent! I smell a device.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI have’t in my nose too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHe shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from\\r\\nmy niece, and that she is in love with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMy purpose is indeed a horse of that colour.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd your horse now would make him an ass.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nAss, I doubt not.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nO ’twill be admirable!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nSport royal, I warrant you. I know my physic will work with him. I will\\r\\nplant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the\\r\\nletter. Observe his construction of it. For this night, to bed, and\\r\\ndream on the event. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGood night, Penthesilea.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nBefore me, she’s a good wench.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nShe’s a beagle true bred, and one that adores me. What o’ that?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI was adored once too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLet’s to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for more money.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nIf I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nSend for money, knight; if thou hast her not i’ th’ end, call me cut.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nIf I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, come, I’ll go burn some sack, ’tis too late to go to bed now.\\r\\nCome, knight, come, knight.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Duke, Viola, Curio and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGive me some music. Now, good morrow, friends.\\r\\nNow, good Cesario, but that piece of song,\\r\\nThat old and antique song we heard last night;\\r\\nMethought it did relieve my passion much,\\r\\nMore than light airs and recollected terms\\r\\nOf these most brisk and giddy-paced times.\\r\\nCome, but one verse.\\r\\n\\r\\nCURIO.\\r\\nHe is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWho was it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCURIO.\\r\\nFeste, the jester, my lord, a fool that the Lady Olivia’s father took\\r\\nmuch delight in. He is about the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nSeek him out, and play the tune the while.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Curio. Music plays._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCome hither, boy. If ever thou shalt love,\\r\\nIn the sweet pangs of it remember me:\\r\\nFor such as I am, all true lovers are,\\r\\nUnstaid and skittish in all motions else,\\r\\nSave in the constant image of the creature\\r\\nThat is belov’d. How dost thou like this tune?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIt gives a very echo to the seat\\r\\nWhere love is throned.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThou dost speak masterly.\\r\\nMy life upon’t, young though thou art, thine eye\\r\\nHath stayed upon some favour that it loves.\\r\\nHath it not, boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nA little, by your favour.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat kind of woman is’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nOf your complexion.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nShe is not worth thee, then. What years, i’ faith?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAbout your years, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nToo old, by heaven! Let still the woman take\\r\\nAn elder than herself; so wears she to him,\\r\\nSo sways she level in her husband’s heart.\\r\\nFor, boy, however we do praise ourselves,\\r\\nOur fancies are more giddy and unfirm,\\r\\nMore longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,\\r\\nThan women’s are.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI think it well, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThen let thy love be younger than thyself,\\r\\nOr thy affection cannot hold the bent:\\r\\nFor women are as roses, whose fair flower\\r\\nBeing once display’d, doth fall that very hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd so they are: alas, that they are so;\\r\\nTo die, even when they to perfection grow!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Curio and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO, fellow, come, the song we had last night.\\r\\nMark it, Cesario, it is old and plain;\\r\\nThe spinsters and the knitters in the sun,\\r\\nAnd the free maids, that weave their thread with bones\\r\\nDo use to chant it: it is silly sooth,\\r\\nAnd dallies with the innocence of love\\r\\nLike the old age.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAre you ready, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAy; prithee, sing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music._]\\r\\n\\r\\n The Clown’s song.\\r\\n\\r\\n_ Come away, come away, death.\\r\\n And in sad cypress let me be laid.\\r\\n Fly away, fly away, breath;\\r\\n I am slain by a fair cruel maid.\\r\\n My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,\\r\\n O, prepare it!\\r\\n My part of death no one so true\\r\\n Did share it._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ Not a flower, not a flower sweet,\\r\\n On my black coffin let there be strown:\\r\\n Not a friend, not a friend greet\\r\\n My poor corpse where my bones shall be thrown:\\r\\n A thousand thousand sighs to save,\\r\\n Lay me, O, where\\r\\n Sad true lover never find my grave,\\r\\n To weep there._\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThere’s for thy pains.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI’ll pay thy pleasure, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTruly sir, and pleasure will be paid one time or another.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGive me now leave to leave thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNow the melancholy god protect thee, and the tailor make thy doublet of\\r\\nchangeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal. I would have men of\\r\\nsuch constancy put to sea, that their business might be everything, and\\r\\ntheir intent everywhere, for that’s it that always makes a good voyage\\r\\nof nothing. Farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nLet all the rest give place.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Curio and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOnce more, Cesario,\\r\\nGet thee to yond same sovereign cruelty.\\r\\nTell her my love, more noble than the world,\\r\\nPrizes not quantity of dirty lands;\\r\\nThe parts that fortune hath bestow’d upon her,\\r\\nTell her I hold as giddily as fortune;\\r\\nBut ’tis that miracle and queen of gems\\r\\nThat nature pranks her in attracts my soul.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nBut if she cannot love you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI cannot be so answer’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSooth, but you must.\\r\\nSay that some lady, as perhaps there is,\\r\\nHath for your love as great a pang of heart\\r\\nAs you have for Olivia: you cannot love her;\\r\\nYou tell her so. Must she not then be answer’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThere is no woman’s sides\\r\\nCan bide the beating of so strong a passion\\r\\nAs love doth give my heart: no woman’s heart\\r\\nSo big, to hold so much; they lack retention.\\r\\nAlas, their love may be called appetite,\\r\\nNo motion of the liver, but the palate,\\r\\nThat suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt;\\r\\nBut mine is all as hungry as the sea,\\r\\nAnd can digest as much. Make no compare\\r\\nBetween that love a woman can bear me\\r\\nAnd that I owe Olivia.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAy, but I know—\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat dost thou know?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nToo well what love women to men may owe.\\r\\nIn faith, they are as true of heart as we.\\r\\nMy father had a daughter loved a man,\\r\\nAs it might be perhaps, were I a woman,\\r\\nI should your lordship.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAnd what’s her history?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nA blank, my lord. She never told her love,\\r\\nBut let concealment, like a worm i’ th’ bud,\\r\\nFeed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought,\\r\\nAnd with a green and yellow melancholy\\r\\nShe sat like patience on a monument,\\r\\nSmiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed?\\r\\nWe men may say more, swear more, but indeed,\\r\\nOur shows are more than will; for still we prove\\r\\nMuch in our vows, but little in our love.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBut died thy sister of her love, my boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI am all the daughters of my father’s house,\\r\\nAnd all the brothers too: and yet I know not.\\r\\nSir, shall I to this lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nAy, that’s the theme.\\r\\nTo her in haste. Give her this jewel; say\\r\\nMy love can give no place, bide no denay.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome thy ways, Signior Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNay, I’ll come. If I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boiled to\\r\\ndeath with melancholy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter\\r\\ncome by some notable shame?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nI would exult, man. You know he brought me out o’ favour with my lady\\r\\nabout a bear-baiting here.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo anger him we’ll have the bear again, and we will fool him black and\\r\\nblue, shall we not, Sir Andrew?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd we do not, it is pity of our lives.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHere comes the little villain. How now, my metal of India?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nGet ye all three into the box-tree. Malvolio’s coming down this walk;\\r\\nhe has been yonder i’ the sun practising behaviour to his own shadow\\r\\nthis half hour: observe him, for the love of mockery; for I know this\\r\\nletter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of\\r\\njesting! [_The men hide themselves._] Lie thou there; [_Throws down a\\r\\nletter_] for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n’Tis but fortune, all is fortune. Maria once told me she did affect me,\\r\\nand I have heard herself come thus near, that should she fancy, it\\r\\nshould be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more\\r\\nexalted respect than anyone else that follows her. What should I think\\r\\non’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHere’s an overweening rogue!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets\\r\\nunder his advanced plumes!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Slight, I could so beat the rogue!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPeace, I say.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nTo be Count Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAh, rogue!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nPistol him, pistol him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPeace, peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nThere is example for’t. The lady of the Strachy married the yeoman of\\r\\nthe wardrobe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFie on him, Jezebel!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO, peace! now he’s deeply in; look how imagination blows him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nHaving been three months married to her, sitting in my state—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nO for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nCalling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown; having come\\r\\nfrom a day-bed, where I have left Olivia sleeping.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nFire and brimstone!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO, peace, peace.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAnd then to have the humour of state; and after a demure travel of\\r\\nregard, telling them I know my place as I would they should do theirs,\\r\\nto ask for my kinsman Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nBolts and shackles!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO, peace, peace, peace! Now, now.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSeven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him. I frown\\r\\nthe while, and perchance wind up my watch, or play with some rich\\r\\njewel. Toby approaches; curtsies there to me—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nShall this fellow live?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThough our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an\\r\\naustere regard of control—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd does not Toby take you a blow o’ the lips then?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSaying ‘Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me\\r\\nthis prerogative of speech—’\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat, what?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘You must amend your drunkenness.’\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nOut, scab!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight—’\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nThat’s me, I warrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘One Sir Andrew.’\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI knew ’twas I, for many do call me fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n[_Taking up the letter._] What employment have we here?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNow is the woodcock near the gin.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nO, peace! And the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nBy my life, this is my lady’s hand: these be her very C’s, her U’s, and\\r\\nher T’s, and thus makes she her great P’s. It is in contempt of\\r\\nquestion, her hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nHer C’s, her U’s, and her T’s. Why that?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n[_Reads._] _To the unknown beloved, this, and my good wishes._ Her very\\r\\nphrases! By your leave, wax. Soft! and the impressure her Lucrece, with\\r\\nwhich she uses to seal: ’tis my lady. To whom should this be?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThis wins him, liver and all.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n[_Reads._]\\r\\n_ Jove knows I love,\\r\\n But who?\\r\\n Lips, do not move,\\r\\n No man must know._\\r\\n\\r\\n‘No man must know.’ What follows? The numbers alter’d! ‘No man must\\r\\nknow.’—If this should be thee, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMarry, hang thee, brock!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n_ I may command where I adore,\\r\\n But silence, like a Lucrece knife,\\r\\n With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore;\\r\\n M.O.A.I. doth sway my life._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nA fustian riddle!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nExcellent wench, say I.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘M.O.A.I. doth sway my life.’—Nay, but first let me see, let me see,\\r\\nlet me see.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nWhat dish o’ poison has she dressed him!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd with what wing the staniel checks at it!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘I may command where I adore.’ Why, she may command me: I serve her,\\r\\nshe is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There is\\r\\nno obstruction in this. And the end—what should that alphabetical\\r\\nposition portend? If I could make that resemble something in me!\\r\\nSoftly! ‘M.O.A.I.’—\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nO, ay, make up that:—he is now at a cold scent.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nSowter will cry upon’t for all this, though it be as rank as a fox.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘M’—Malvolio; ‘M!’ Why, that begins my name!\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nDid not I say he would work it out? The cur is excellent at faults.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘M’—But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that suffers under\\r\\nprobation: ‘A’ should follow, but ‘O’ does.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nAnd ‘O’ shall end, I hope.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAy, or I’ll cudgel him, and make him cry ‘O!’\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAnd then ‘I’ comes behind.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nAy, and you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at\\r\\nyour heels than fortunes before you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘M.O.A.I.’ This simulation is not as the former: and yet, to crush this\\r\\na little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my\\r\\nname. Soft, here follows prose.\\r\\n[_Reads._] _If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above\\r\\nthee, but be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve\\r\\ngreatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ’em. Thy fates open\\r\\ntheir hands, let thy blood and spirit embrace them. And, to inure\\r\\nthyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough and appear\\r\\nfresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants. Let thy tongue\\r\\ntang arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity. She\\r\\nthus advises thee that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy\\r\\nyellow stockings, and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered. I say,\\r\\nremember. Go to, thou art made, if thou desir’st to be so. If not, let\\r\\nme see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to\\r\\ntouch Fortune’s fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with\\r\\nthee,\\r\\n The Fortunate Unhappy._\\r\\n\\r\\nDaylight and champian discovers not more! This is open. I will be\\r\\nproud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash\\r\\noff gross acquaintance, I will be point-device, the very man. I do not\\r\\nnow fool myself, to let imagination jade me; for every reason excites\\r\\nto this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of\\r\\nlate, she did praise my leg being cross-gartered, and in this she\\r\\nmanifests herself to my love, and with a kind of injunction, drives me\\r\\nto these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be\\r\\nstrange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even with the\\r\\nswiftness of putting on. Jove and my stars be praised!—Here is yet a\\r\\npostscript. [_Reads._] _Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If\\r\\nthou entertain’st my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles\\r\\nbecome thee well. Therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet,\\r\\nI prithee._ Jove, I thank thee. I will smile, I will do everything that\\r\\nthou wilt have me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nI will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be\\r\\npaid from the Sophy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI could marry this wench for this device.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nSo could I too.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd ask no other dowry with her but such another jest.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNor I neither.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nHere comes my noble gull-catcher.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWilt thou set thy foot o’ my neck?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nOr o’ mine either?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nShall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy bond-slave?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI’ faith, or I either?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, thou hast put him in such a dream, that when the image of it\\r\\nleaves him he must run mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay, but say true, does it work upon him?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLike aqua-vitae with a midwife.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nIf you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach\\r\\nbefore my lady: he will come to her in yellow stockings, and ’tis a\\r\\ncolour she abhors, and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests; and he\\r\\nwill smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her\\r\\ndisposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot\\r\\nbut turn him into a notable contempt. If you will see it, follow me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI’ll make one too.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Viola and Clown with a tabor.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSave thee, friend, and thy music. Dost thou live by thy tabor?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, sir, I live by the church.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nArt thou a churchman?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo such matter, sir. I do live by the church, for I do live at my\\r\\nhouse, and my house doth stand by the church.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nSo thou mayst say the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near\\r\\nhim; or the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the\\r\\nchurch.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYou have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is but a chev’ril glove\\r\\nto a good wit. How quickly the wrong side may be turned outward!\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNay, that’s certain; they that dally nicely with words may quickly make\\r\\nthem wanton.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI would, therefore, my sister had had no name, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhy, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, sir, her name’s a word; and to dally with that word might make my\\r\\nsister wanton. But indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds\\r\\ndisgraced them.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThy reason, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTroth, sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so\\r\\nfalse, I am loath to prove reason with them.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI warrant thou art a merry fellow, and car’st for nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot so, sir, I do care for something. But in my conscience, sir, I do\\r\\nnot care for you. If that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would\\r\\nmake you invisible.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nArt not thou the Lady Olivia’s fool?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly. She will keep no fool,\\r\\nsir, till she be married, and fools are as like husbands as pilchards\\r\\nare to herrings, the husband’s the bigger. I am indeed not her fool,\\r\\nbut her corrupter of words.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI saw thee late at the Count Orsino’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nFoolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines\\r\\neverywhere. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with\\r\\nyour master as with my mistress. I think I saw your wisdom there.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNay, and thou pass upon me, I’ll no more with thee. Hold, there’s\\r\\nexpenses for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNow Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nBy my troth, I’ll tell thee, I am almost sick for one, though I would\\r\\nnot have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWould not a pair of these have bred, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nYes, being kept together, and put to use.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this\\r\\nTroilus.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI understand you, sir; ’tis well begged.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThe matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar: Cressida\\r\\nwas a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will conster to them whence you\\r\\ncome; who you are and what you would are out of my welkin. I might say\\r\\n“element”, but the word is overworn.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThis fellow is wise enough to play the fool,\\r\\nAnd to do that well, craves a kind of wit:\\r\\nHe must observe their mood on whom he jests,\\r\\nThe quality of persons, and the time,\\r\\nAnd like the haggard, check at every feather\\r\\nThat comes before his eye. This is a practice\\r\\nAs full of labour as a wise man’s art:\\r\\nFor folly, that he wisely shows, is fit;\\r\\nBut wise men, folly-fall’n, quite taint their wit.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nSave you, gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n_Dieu vous garde, monsieur._\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n_Et vous aussi; votre serviteur._\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI hope, sir, you are, and I am yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWill you encounter the house? My niece is desirous you should enter, if\\r\\nyour trade be to her.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI am bound to your niece, sir, I mean, she is the list of my voyage.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTaste your legs, sir, put them to motion.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean\\r\\nby bidding me taste my legs.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI mean, to go, sir, to enter.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI will answer you with gait and entrance: but we are prevented.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nMost excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odours on you!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nThat youth’s a rare courtier. ‘Rain odours,’ well.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and\\r\\nvouchsafed car.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n‘Odours,’ ‘pregnant,’ and ‘vouchsafed.’—I’ll get ’em all three ready.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nLet the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGive me your hand, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy duty, madam, and most humble service.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat is your name?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nCesario is your servant’s name, fair princess.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nMy servant, sir! ’Twas never merry world,\\r\\nSince lowly feigning was call’d compliment:\\r\\nY’are servant to the Count Orsino, youth.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd he is yours, and his must needs be yours.\\r\\nYour servant’s servant is your servant, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nFor him, I think not on him: for his thoughts,\\r\\nWould they were blanks rather than fill’d with me!\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMadam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts\\r\\nOn his behalf.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, by your leave, I pray you.\\r\\nI bade you never speak again of him.\\r\\nBut would you undertake another suit,\\r\\nI had rather hear you to solicit that\\r\\nThan music from the spheres.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nDear lady—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGive me leave, beseech you. I did send,\\r\\nAfter the last enchantment you did here,\\r\\nA ring in chase of you. So did I abuse\\r\\nMyself, my servant, and, I fear me, you.\\r\\nUnder your hard construction must I sit;\\r\\nTo force that on you in a shameful cunning,\\r\\nWhich you knew none of yours. What might you think?\\r\\nHave you not set mine honour at the stake,\\r\\nAnd baited it with all th’ unmuzzled thoughts\\r\\nThat tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving\\r\\nEnough is shown. A cypress, not a bosom,\\r\\nHides my heart: so let me hear you speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI pity you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nThat’s a degree to love.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNo, not a grize; for ’tis a vulgar proof\\r\\nThat very oft we pity enemies.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy then methinks ’tis time to smile again.\\r\\nO world, how apt the poor are to be proud!\\r\\nIf one should be a prey, how much the better\\r\\nTo fall before the lion than the wolf! [_Clock strikes._]\\r\\nThe clock upbraids me with the waste of time.\\r\\nBe not afraid, good youth, I will not have you.\\r\\nAnd yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest,\\r\\nYour wife is like to reap a proper man.\\r\\nThere lies your way, due west.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThen westward ho!\\r\\nGrace and good disposition attend your ladyship!\\r\\nYou’ll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nStay:\\r\\nI prithee tell me what thou think’st of me.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThat you do think you are not what you are.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIf I think so, I think the same of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThen think you right; I am not what I am.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI would you were as I would have you be.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWould it be better, madam, than I am?\\r\\nI wish it might, for now I am your fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO what a deal of scorn looks beautiful\\r\\nIn the contempt and anger of his lip!\\r\\nA murd’rous guilt shows not itself more soon\\r\\nThan love that would seem hid. Love’s night is noon.\\r\\nCesario, by the roses of the spring,\\r\\nBy maidhood, honour, truth, and everything,\\r\\nI love thee so, that maugre all thy pride,\\r\\nNor wit nor reason can my passion hide.\\r\\nDo not extort thy reasons from this clause,\\r\\nFor that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause;\\r\\nBut rather reason thus with reason fetter:\\r\\nLove sought is good, but given unsought is better.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nBy innocence I swear, and by my youth,\\r\\nI have one heart, one bosom, and one truth,\\r\\nAnd that no woman has; nor never none\\r\\nShall mistress be of it, save I alone.\\r\\nAnd so adieu, good madam; never more\\r\\nWill I my master’s tears to you deplore.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nYet come again: for thou perhaps mayst move\\r\\nThat heart, which now abhors, to like his love.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNo, faith, I’ll not stay a jot longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nYou must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nMarry, I saw your niece do more favours to the Count’s servingman than\\r\\never she bestowed upon me; I saw’t i’ th’ orchard.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nDid she see thee the while, old boy? Tell me that.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAs plain as I see you now.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThis was a great argument of love in her toward you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Slight! will you make an ass o’ me?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nI will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment and reason.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd they have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a sailor.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nShe did show favour to the youth in your sight only to exasperate you,\\r\\nto awake your dormouse valour, to put fire in your heart and brimstone\\r\\nin your liver. You should then have accosted her, and with some\\r\\nexcellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have banged the\\r\\nyouth into dumbness. This was looked for at your hand, and this was\\r\\nbalked: the double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash off, and\\r\\nyou are now sailed into the north of my lady’s opinion; where you will\\r\\nhang like an icicle on Dutchman’s beard, unless you do redeem it by\\r\\nsome laudable attempt, either of valour or policy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd’t be any way, it must be with valour, for policy I hate; I had as\\r\\nlief be a Brownist as a politician.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valour. Challenge me\\r\\nthe Count’s youth to fight with him. Hurt him in eleven places; my\\r\\nniece shall take note of it, and assure thyself there is no love-broker\\r\\nin the world can more prevail in man’s commendation with woman than\\r\\nreport of valour.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThere is no way but this, Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWill either of you bear me a challenge to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGo, write it in a martial hand, be curst and brief; it is no matter how\\r\\nwitty, so it be eloquent and full of invention. Taunt him with the\\r\\nlicence of ink. If thou ‘thou’st’ him some thrice, it shall not be\\r\\namiss, and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of paper, although the\\r\\nsheet were big enough for the bed of Ware in England, set ’em down. Go\\r\\nabout it. Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou write with a\\r\\ngoose-pen, no matter. About it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nWhere shall I find you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWe’ll call thee at the cubiculo. Go.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Sir Andrew._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThis is a dear manikin to you, Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI have been dear to him, lad, some two thousand strong, or so.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nWe shall have a rare letter from him; but you’ll not deliver it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nNever trust me then. And by all means stir on the youth to an answer. I\\r\\nthink oxen and wainropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he\\r\\nwere opened and you find so much blood in his liver as will clog the\\r\\nfoot of a flea, I’ll eat the rest of th’ anatomy.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nAnd his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage of\\r\\ncruelty.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nLook where the youngest wren of nine comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nIf you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches,\\r\\nfollow me. Yond gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very renegado; for\\r\\nthere is no Christian that means to be saved by believing rightly can\\r\\never believe such impossible passages of grossness. He’s in yellow\\r\\nstockings.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAnd cross-gartered?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMost villainously; like a pedant that keeps a school i’ th’ church. I\\r\\nhave dogged him like his murderer. He does obey every point of the\\r\\nletter that I dropped to betray him. He does smile his face into more\\r\\nlines than is in the new map with the augmentation of the Indies. You\\r\\nhave not seen such a thing as ’tis. I can hardly forbear hurling\\r\\nthings at him. I know my lady will strike him. If she do, he’ll smile\\r\\nand take’t for a great favour.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, bring us, bring us where he is.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. A street.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian and Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI would not by my will have troubled you,\\r\\nBut since you make your pleasure of your pains,\\r\\nI will no further chide you.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI could not stay behind you: my desire,\\r\\nMore sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth;\\r\\nAnd not all love to see you, though so much,\\r\\nAs might have drawn one to a longer voyage,\\r\\nBut jealousy what might befall your travel,\\r\\nBeing skilless in these parts; which to a stranger,\\r\\nUnguided and unfriended, often prove\\r\\nRough and unhospitable. My willing love,\\r\\nThe rather by these arguments of fear,\\r\\nSet forth in your pursuit.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nMy kind Antonio,\\r\\nI can no other answer make but thanks,\\r\\nAnd thanks, and ever thanks; and oft good turns\\r\\nAre shuffled off with such uncurrent pay.\\r\\nBut were my worth, as is my conscience, firm,\\r\\nYou should find better dealing. What’s to do?\\r\\nShall we go see the relics of this town?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTomorrow, sir; best first go see your lodging.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI am not weary, and ’tis long to night;\\r\\nI pray you, let us satisfy our eyes\\r\\nWith the memorials and the things of fame\\r\\nThat do renown this city.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWould you’d pardon me.\\r\\nI do not without danger walk these streets.\\r\\nOnce in a sea-fight, ’gainst the Count his galleys,\\r\\nI did some service, of such note indeed,\\r\\nThat were I ta’en here, it would scarce be answer’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nBelike you slew great number of his people.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTh’ offence is not of such a bloody nature,\\r\\nAlbeit the quality of the time and quarrel\\r\\nMight well have given us bloody argument.\\r\\nIt might have since been answered in repaying\\r\\nWhat we took from them, which for traffic’s sake,\\r\\nMost of our city did. Only myself stood out,\\r\\nFor which, if I be lapsed in this place,\\r\\nI shall pay dear.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nDo not then walk too open.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nIt doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here’s my purse.\\r\\nIn the south suburbs, at the Elephant,\\r\\nIs best to lodge. I will bespeak our diet\\r\\nWhiles you beguile the time and feed your knowledge\\r\\nWith viewing of the town. There shall you have me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhy I your purse?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHaply your eye shall light upon some toy\\r\\nYou have desire to purchase; and your store,\\r\\nI think, is not for idle markets, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI’ll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for an hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nTo th’ Elephant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI do remember.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Olivia’s garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI have sent after him. He says he’ll come;\\r\\nHow shall I feast him? What bestow of him?\\r\\nFor youth is bought more oft than begg’d or borrow’d.\\r\\nI speak too loud.—\\r\\nWhere’s Malvolio?—He is sad and civil,\\r\\nAnd suits well for a servant with my fortunes;\\r\\nWhere is Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nHe’s coming, madam:\\r\\nBut in very strange manner. He is sure possessed, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy, what’s the matter? Does he rave?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNo, madam, he does nothing but smile: your ladyship were best to have\\r\\nsome guard about you if he come, for sure the man is tainted in ’s\\r\\nwits.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGo call him hither. I’m as mad as he,\\r\\nIf sad and merry madness equal be.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSweet lady, ho, ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSmil’st thou? I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSad, lady? I could be sad: this does make some obstruction in the\\r\\nblood, this cross-gartering. But what of that? If it please the eye of\\r\\none, it is with me as the very true sonnet is: ‘Please one and please\\r\\nall.’\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy, how dost thou, man? What is the matter with thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nNot black in my mind, though yellow in my legs. It did come to his\\r\\nhands, and commands shall be executed. I think we do know the sweet\\r\\nRoman hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nTo bed? Ay, sweetheart, and I’ll come to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGod comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand so oft?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nHow do you, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAt your request? Yes, nightingales answer daws!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nWhy appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Be not afraid of greatness.’ ’Twas well writ.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat mean’st thou by that, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Some are born great’—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHa?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Some achieve greatness’—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat say’st thou?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘And some have greatness thrust upon them.’\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHeaven restore thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Remember who commended thy yellow stockings’—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nThy yellow stockings?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘And wished to see thee cross-gartered.’\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nCross-gartered?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘Go to: thou art made, if thou desir’st to be so:’—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAm I made?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\n‘If not, let me see thee a servant still.’\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhy, this is very midsummer madness.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMadam, the young gentleman of the Count Orsino’s is returned; I could\\r\\nhardly entreat him back. He attends your ladyship’s pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI’ll come to him.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGood Maria, let this fellow be looked to. Where’s my cousin Toby? Let\\r\\nsome of my people have a special care of him; I would not have him\\r\\nmiscarry for the half of my dowry.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Olivia and Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nO ho, do you come near me now? No worse man than Sir Toby to look to\\r\\nme. This concurs directly with the letter: she sends him on purpose,\\r\\nthat I may appear stubborn to him; for she incites me to that in the\\r\\nletter. ‘Cast thy humble slough,’ says she; ‘be opposite with a\\r\\nkinsman, surly with servants, let thy tongue tang with arguments of\\r\\nstate, put thyself into the trick of singularity,’ and consequently,\\r\\nsets down the manner how: as, a sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow\\r\\ntongue, in the habit of some sir of note, and so forth. I have limed\\r\\nher, but it is Jove’s doing, and Jove make me thankful! And when she\\r\\nwent away now, ‘Let this fellow be looked to;’ ‘Fellow!’ not\\r\\n‘Malvolio’, nor after my degree, but ‘fellow’. Why, everything adheres\\r\\ntogether, that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no\\r\\nobstacle, no incredulous or unsafe circumstance. What can be said?\\r\\nNothing that can be can come between me and the full prospect of my\\r\\nhopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby, Fabian and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhich way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all the devils of hell be\\r\\ndrawn in little, and Legion himself possessed him, yet I’ll speak to\\r\\nhim.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nHere he is, here he is. How is’t with you, sir? How is’t with you, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGo off, I discard you. Let me enjoy my private. Go off.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nLo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! Did not I tell you? Sir\\r\\nToby, my lady prays you to have a care of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAh, ha! does she so?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGo to, go to; peace, peace, we must deal gently with him. Let me alone.\\r\\nHow do you, Malvolio? How is’t with you? What, man! defy the devil!\\r\\nConsider, he’s an enemy to mankind.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nDo you know what you say?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nLa you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at heart! Pray\\r\\nGod he be not bewitched.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nCarry his water to th’ wise woman.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nMarry, and it shall be done tomorrow morning, if I live. My lady would\\r\\nnot lose him for more than I’ll say.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nHow now, mistress!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nO Lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nPrithee hold thy peace, this is not the way. Do you not see you move\\r\\nhim? Let me alone with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNo way but gentleness, gently, gently. The fiend is rough, and will not\\r\\nbe roughly used.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, how now, my bawcock? How dost thou, chuck?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAy, biddy, come with me. What, man, ’tis not for gravity to play at\\r\\ncherry-pit with Satan. Hang him, foul collier!\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nGet him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, get him to pray.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMy prayers, minx?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNo, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGo, hang yourselves all! You are idle, shallow things. I am not of your\\r\\nelement. You shall know more hereafter.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nIs’t possible?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nIf this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an\\r\\nimprobable fiction.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHis very genius hath taken the infection of the device, man.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay, pursue him now, lest the device take air and taint.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nWhy, we shall make him mad indeed.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThe house will be the quieter.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, we’ll have him in a dark room and bound. My niece is already in\\r\\nthe belief that he’s mad. We may carry it thus for our pleasure, and\\r\\nhis penance, till our very pastime, tired out of breath, prompt us to\\r\\nhave mercy on him, at which time we will bring the device to the bar,\\r\\nand crown thee for a finder of madmen. But see, but see!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nMore matter for a May morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nHere’s the challenge, read it. I warrant there’s vinegar and pepper\\r\\nin’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nIs’t so saucy?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAy, is’t, I warrant him. Do but read.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGive me. [_Reads._] _Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art but a scurvy\\r\\nfellow._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nGood, and valiant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, why I do call thee so, for I\\r\\nwill show thee no reason for’t._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nA good note, that keeps you from the blow of the law.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Thou comest to the Lady Olivia, and in my sight she uses thee kindly:\\r\\nbut thou liest in thy throat; that is not the matter I challenge thee\\r\\nfor._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nVery brief, and to exceeding good sense—less.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_I will waylay thee going home; where if it be thy chance to kill me—_\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nGood.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Thou kill’st me like a rogue and a villain._\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nStill you keep o’ th’ windy side of the law. Good.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n_Fare thee well, and God have mercy upon one of our souls! He may have\\r\\nmercy upon mine, but my hope is better, and so look to thyself. Thy\\r\\nfriend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy,\\r\\n Andrew Aguecheek._\\r\\nIf this letter move him not, his legs cannot. I’ll give’t him.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nYou may have very fit occasion for’t. He is now in some commerce with\\r\\nmy lady, and will by and by depart.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGo, Sir Andrew. Scout me for him at the corner of the orchard, like a\\r\\nbum-baily. So soon as ever thou seest him, draw, and as thou draw’st,\\r\\nswear horrible, for it comes to pass oft that a terrible oath, with a\\r\\nswaggering accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood more approbation\\r\\nthan ever proof itself would have earned him. Away.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNay, let me alone for swearing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nNow will not I deliver his letter, for the behaviour of the young\\r\\ngentleman gives him out to be of good capacity and breeding; his\\r\\nemployment between his lord and my niece confirms no less. Therefore\\r\\nthis letter, being so excellently ignorant, will breed no terror in the\\r\\nyouth. He will find it comes from a clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver\\r\\nhis challenge by word of mouth, set upon Aguecheek notable report of\\r\\nvalour, and drive the gentleman (as I know his youth will aptly receive\\r\\nit) into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and\\r\\nimpetuosity. This will so fright them both that they will kill one\\r\\nanother by the look, like cockatrices.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and Viola.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nHere he comes with your niece; give them way till he take leave, and\\r\\npresently after him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI will meditate the while upon some horrid message for a challenge.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sir Toby, Fabian and Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nI have said too much unto a heart of stone,\\r\\nAnd laid mine honour too unchary on’t:\\r\\nThere’s something in me that reproves my fault:\\r\\nBut such a headstrong potent fault it is,\\r\\nThat it but mocks reproof.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWith the same ’haviour that your passion bears\\r\\nGoes on my master’s griefs.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHere, wear this jewel for me, ’tis my picture.\\r\\nRefuse it not, it hath no tongue to vex you.\\r\\nAnd I beseech you come again tomorrow.\\r\\nWhat shall you ask of me that I’ll deny,\\r\\nThat honour sav’d, may upon asking give?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNothing but this, your true love for my master.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHow with mine honour may I give him that\\r\\nWhich I have given to you?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI will acquit you.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWell, come again tomorrow. Fare thee well;\\r\\nA fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nGentleman, God save thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd you, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThat defence thou hast, betake thee to’t. Of what nature the wrongs are\\r\\nthou hast done him, I know not, but thy intercepter, full of despite,\\r\\nbloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard end. Dismount thy\\r\\ntuck, be yare in thy preparation, for thy assailant is quick, skilful,\\r\\nand deadly.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nYou mistake, sir; I am sure no man hath any quarrel to me. My\\r\\nremembrance is very free and clear from any image of offence done to\\r\\nany man.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nYou’ll find it otherwise, I assure you. Therefore, if you hold your\\r\\nlife at any price, betake you to your guard, for your opposite hath in\\r\\nhim what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can furnish man withal.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI pray you, sir, what is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHe is knight, dubbed with unhatched rapier, and on carpet\\r\\nconsideration, but he is a devil in private brawl. Souls and bodies\\r\\nhath he divorced three, and his incensement at this moment is so\\r\\nimplacable that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of death and\\r\\nsepulchre. Hob, nob is his word; give’t or take’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI will return again into the house and desire some conduct of the lady.\\r\\nI am no fighter. I have heard of some kind of men that put quarrels\\r\\npurposely on others to taste their valour: belike this is a man of that\\r\\nquirk.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nSir, no. His indignation derives itself out of a very competent injury;\\r\\ntherefore, get you on and give him his desire. Back you shall not to\\r\\nthe house, unless you undertake that with me which with as much safety\\r\\nyou might answer him. Therefore on, or strip your sword stark naked,\\r\\nfor meddle you must, that’s certain, or forswear to wear iron about\\r\\nyou.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThis is as uncivil as strange. I beseech you, do me this courteous\\r\\noffice, as to know of the knight what my offence to him is. It is\\r\\nsomething of my negligence, nothing of my purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you by this gentleman till my\\r\\nreturn.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Sir Toby._]\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nPray you, sir, do you know of this matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nI know the knight is incensed against you, even to a mortal\\r\\narbitrement, but nothing of the circumstance more.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI beseech you, what manner of man is he?\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNothing of that wonderful promise, to read him by his form, as you are\\r\\nlike to find him in the proof of his valour. He is indeed, sir, the\\r\\nmost skilful, bloody, and fatal opposite that you could possibly have\\r\\nfound in any part of Illyria. Will you walk towards him? I will make\\r\\nyour peace with him if I can.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI shall be much bound to you for’t. I am one that had rather go with\\r\\nsir priest than sir knight: I care not who knows so much of my mettle.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhy, man, he’s a very devil. I have not seen such a firago. I had a\\r\\npass with him, rapier, scabbard, and all, and he gives me the stuck-in\\r\\nwith such a mortal motion that it is inevitable; and on the answer, he\\r\\npays you as surely as your feet hits the ground they step on. They say\\r\\nhe has been fencer to the Sophy.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nPox on’t, I’ll not meddle with him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nAy, but he will not now be pacified: Fabian can scarce hold him yonder.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nPlague on’t, an I thought he had been valiant, and so cunning in fence,\\r\\nI’d have seen him damned ere I’d have challenged him. Let him let the\\r\\nmatter slip, and I’ll give him my horse, grey Capilet.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI’ll make the motion. Stand here, make a good show on’t. This shall end\\r\\nwithout the perdition of souls. [_Aside._] Marry, I’ll ride your horse\\r\\nas well as I ride you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fabian and Viola.\\r\\n\\r\\n[_To Fabian._] I have his horse to take up the quarrel. I have\\r\\npersuaded him the youth’s a devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nHe is as horribly conceited of him, and pants and looks pale, as if a\\r\\nbear were at his heels.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThere’s no remedy, sir, he will fight with you for’s oath sake. Marry,\\r\\nhe hath better bethought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now\\r\\nscarce to be worth talking of. Therefore, draw for the supportance of\\r\\nhis vow; he protests he will not hurt you.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Pray God defend me! A little thing would make me tell them\\r\\nhow much I lack of a man.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nGive ground if you see him furious.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, Sir Andrew, there’s no remedy, the gentleman will for his\\r\\nhonour’s sake have one bout with you. He cannot by the duello avoid it;\\r\\nbut he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier, he will not\\r\\nhurt you. Come on: to’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n[_Draws._] Pray God he keep his oath!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n[_Draws._] I do assure you ’tis against my will.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nPut up your sword. If this young gentleman\\r\\nHave done offence, I take the fault on me.\\r\\nIf you offend him, I for him defy you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nYou, sir? Why, what are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\n[_Draws._] One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more\\r\\nThan you have heard him brag to you he will.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_Draws._] Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Officers.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nO good Sir Toby, hold! Here come the officers.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\n[_To Antonio._] I’ll be with you anon.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\n[_To Sir Andrew._] Pray, sir, put your sword up, if you please.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nMarry, will I, sir; and for that I promised you, I’ll be as good as my\\r\\nword. He will bear you easily, and reins well.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nThis is the man; do thy office.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND OFFICER.\\r\\nAntonio, I arrest thee at the suit\\r\\nOf Count Orsino.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nYou do mistake me, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nNo, sir, no jot. I know your favour well,\\r\\nThough now you have no sea-cap on your head.—\\r\\nTake him away, he knows I know him well.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI must obey. This comes with seeking you;\\r\\nBut there’s no remedy, I shall answer it.\\r\\nWhat will you do? Now my necessity\\r\\nMakes me to ask you for my purse. It grieves me\\r\\nMuch more for what I cannot do for you,\\r\\nThan what befalls myself. You stand amaz’d,\\r\\nBut be of comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND OFFICER.\\r\\nCome, sir, away.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nI must entreat of you some of that money.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhat money, sir?\\r\\nFor the fair kindness you have show’d me here,\\r\\nAnd part being prompted by your present trouble,\\r\\nOut of my lean and low ability\\r\\nI’ll lend you something. My having is not much;\\r\\nI’ll make division of my present with you.\\r\\nHold, there’s half my coffer.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nWill you deny me now?\\r\\nIs’t possible that my deserts to you\\r\\nCan lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery,\\r\\nLest that it make me so unsound a man\\r\\nAs to upbraid you with those kindnesses\\r\\nThat I have done for you.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nI know of none,\\r\\nNor know I you by voice or any feature.\\r\\nI hate ingratitude more in a man\\r\\nThan lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness,\\r\\nOr any taint of vice whose strong corruption\\r\\nInhabits our frail blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nO heavens themselves!\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND OFFICER.\\r\\nCome, sir, I pray you go.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLet me speak a little. This youth that you see here\\r\\nI snatch’d one half out of the jaws of death,\\r\\nReliev’d him with such sanctity of love;\\r\\nAnd to his image, which methought did promise\\r\\nMost venerable worth, did I devotion.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nWhat’s that to us? The time goes by. Away!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nBut O how vile an idol proves this god!\\r\\nThou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame.\\r\\nIn nature there’s no blemish but the mind;\\r\\nNone can be call’d deform’d but the unkind.\\r\\nVirtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil\\r\\nAre empty trunks, o’erflourished by the devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nThe man grows mad, away with him. Come, come, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nLead me on.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Officers with Antonio._]\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMethinks his words do from such passion fly\\r\\nThat he believes himself; so do not I.\\r\\nProve true, imagination, O prove true,\\r\\nThat I, dear brother, be now ta’en for you!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome hither, knight; come hither, Fabian. We’ll whisper o’er a couplet\\r\\nor two of most sage saws.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nHe nam’d Sebastian. I my brother know\\r\\nYet living in my glass; even such and so\\r\\nIn favour was my brother, and he went\\r\\nStill in this fashion, colour, ornament,\\r\\nFor him I imitate. O if it prove,\\r\\nTempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nA very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward than a hare. His\\r\\ndishonesty appears in leaving his friend here in necessity, and denying\\r\\nhim; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nA coward, a most devout coward, religious in it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Slid, I’ll after him again and beat him.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nDo, cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nAnd I do not—\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nCome, let’s see the event.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nI dare lay any money ’twill be nothing yet.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Street before Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWill you make me believe that I am not sent for you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nGo to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow.\\r\\nLet me be clear of thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWell held out, i’ faith! No, I do not know you, nor I am not sent to\\r\\nyou by my lady, to bid you come speak with her; nor your name is not\\r\\nMaster Cesario; nor this is not my nose neither. Nothing that is so, is\\r\\nso.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI prithee vent thy folly somewhere else,\\r\\nThou know’st not me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nVent my folly! He has heard that word of some great man, and now\\r\\napplies it to a fool. Vent my folly! I am afraid this great lubber, the\\r\\nworld, will prove a cockney. I prithee now, ungird thy strangeness, and\\r\\ntell me what I shall vent to my lady. Shall I vent to her that thou art\\r\\ncoming?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me.\\r\\nThere’s money for thee; if you tarry longer\\r\\nI shall give worse payment.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBy my troth, thou hast an open hand. These wise men that give fools\\r\\nmoney get themselves a good report—after fourteen years’ purchase.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNow sir, have I met you again? There’s for you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Striking Sebastian._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhy, there’s for thee, and there, and there.\\r\\nAre all the people mad?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Beating Sir Andrew._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nHold, sir, or I’ll throw your dagger o’er the house.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThis will I tell my lady straight. I would not be in some of your coats\\r\\nfor twopence.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome on, sir, hold!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nNay, let him alone, I’ll go another way to work with him. I’ll have an\\r\\naction of battery against him, if there be any law in Illyria. Though I\\r\\nstruck him first, yet it’s no matter for that.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nLet go thy hand!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nCome, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my young soldier, put up your\\r\\niron: you are well fleshed. Come on.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI will be free from thee. What wouldst thou now?\\r\\nIf thou dar’st tempt me further, draw thy sword.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Draws._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWhat, what? Nay, then, I must have an ounce or two of this malapert\\r\\nblood from you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Draws._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHold, Toby! On thy life I charge thee hold!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMadam.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWill it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch,\\r\\nFit for the mountains and the barbarous caves,\\r\\nWhere manners ne’er were preach’d! Out of my sight!\\r\\nBe not offended, dear Cesario.\\r\\nRudesby, be gone!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Fabian._]\\r\\n\\r\\nI prithee, gentle friend,\\r\\nLet thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway\\r\\nIn this uncivil and unjust extent\\r\\nAgainst thy peace. Go with me to my house,\\r\\nAnd hear thou there how many fruitless pranks\\r\\nThis ruffian hath botch’d up, that thou thereby\\r\\nMayst smile at this. Thou shalt not choose but go.\\r\\nDo not deny. Beshrew his soul for me,\\r\\nHe started one poor heart of mine, in thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nWhat relish is in this? How runs the stream?\\r\\nOr I am mad, or else this is a dream.\\r\\nLet fancy still my sense in Lethe steep;\\r\\nIf it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nNay, come, I prithee. Would thou’dst be ruled by me!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nMadam, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, say so, and so be!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. A Room in Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Maria and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nNay, I prithee, put on this gown and this beard; make him believe thou\\r\\nart Sir Topas the curate. Do it quickly. I’ll call Sir Toby the whilst.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWell, I’ll put it on, and I will dissemble myself in’t, and I would I\\r\\nwere the first that ever dissembled in such a gown. I am not tall\\r\\nenough to become the function well, nor lean enough to be thought a\\r\\ngood student, but to be said, an honest man and a good housekeeper goes\\r\\nas fairly as to say, a careful man and a great scholar. The competitors\\r\\nenter.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby and Maria.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nJove bless thee, Master Parson.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n_Bonos dies_, Sir Toby: for as the old hermit of Prague, that never saw\\r\\npen and ink, very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, ‘That that\\r\\nis, is’: so I, being Master Parson, am Master Parson; for what is\\r\\n‘that’ but ‘that’? and ‘is’ but ‘is’?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo him, Sir Topas.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat ho, I say! Peace in this prison!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThe knave counterfeits well. A good knave.\\r\\n\\r\\nMalvolio within.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nWho calls there?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nSir Topas the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio the lunatic.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go to my lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nOut, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest thou this man? Talkest thou nothing\\r\\nbut of ladies?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWell said, Master Parson.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Topas, never was man thus wronged. Good Sir Topas, do not think I\\r\\nam mad. They have laid me here in hideous darkness.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nFie, thou dishonest Satan! I call thee by the most modest terms, for I\\r\\nam one of those gentle ones that will use the devil himself with\\r\\ncourtesy. Say’st thou that house is dark?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAs hell, Sir Topas.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, it hath bay windows transparent as barricadoes, and the\\r\\nclerestories toward the south-north are as lustrous as ebony; and yet\\r\\ncomplainest thou of obstruction?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI am not mad, Sir Topas. I say to you this house is dark.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMadman, thou errest. I say there is no darkness but ignorance, in which\\r\\nthou art more puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI say this house is as dark as ignorance, though ignorance were as dark\\r\\nas hell; and I say there was never man thus abused. I am no more mad\\r\\nthan you are. Make the trial of it in any constant question.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning wildfowl?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nThat the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat think’st thou of his opinion?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI think nobly of the soul, and no way approve his opinion.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nFare thee well. Remain thou still in darkness. Thou shalt hold the\\r\\nopinion of Pythagoras ere I will allow of thy wits, and fear to kill a\\r\\nwoodcock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee well.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Topas, Sir Topas!\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nMy most exquisite Sir Topas!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNay, I am for all waters.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARIA.\\r\\nThou mightst have done this without thy beard and gown. He sees thee\\r\\nnot.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nTo him in thine own voice, and bring me word how thou find’st him. I\\r\\nwould we were well rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently\\r\\ndelivered, I would he were, for I am now so far in offence with my\\r\\nniece that I cannot pursue with any safety this sport to the upshot.\\r\\nCome by and by to my chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Sir Toby and Maria._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Singing._]\\r\\n _Hey, Robin, jolly Robin,\\r\\n Tell me how thy lady does._\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n _My lady is unkind, perdy._\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n _Alas, why is she so?_\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n _She loves another_—\\r\\nWho calls, ha?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGood fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at my hand, help me to a\\r\\ncandle, and pen, ink, and paper. As I am a gentleman, I will live to be\\r\\nthankful to thee for’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMaster Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nAy, good fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool, there was never man so notoriously abused. I am as well in my\\r\\nwits, fool, as thou art.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBut as well? Then you are mad indeed, if you be no better in your wits\\r\\nthan a fool.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nThey have here propertied me; keep me in darkness, send ministers to\\r\\nme, asses, and do all they can to face me out of my wits.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAdvise you what you say: the minister is here. [_As Sir Topas_]\\r\\nMalvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens restore. Endeavour thyself to\\r\\nsleep, and leave thy vain bibble-babble.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nSir Topas!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_As Sir Topas_] Maintain no words with him, good fellow. [_As\\r\\nhimself_] Who, I, sir? not I, sir. God buy you, good Sir Topas. [_As\\r\\nSir Topas_] Marry, amen. [_As himself_] I will sir, I will.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool, fool, fool, I say!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? I am shent for speaking to\\r\\nyou.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nGood fool, help me to some light and some paper. I tell thee I am as\\r\\nwell in my wits as any man in Illyria.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWell-a-day that you were, sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nBy this hand, I am. Good fool, some ink, paper, and light, and convey\\r\\nwhat I will set down to my lady. It shall advantage thee more than ever\\r\\nthe bearing of letter did.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI will help you to’t. But tell me true, are you not mad indeed? or do\\r\\nyou but counterfeit?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nBelieve me, I am not. I tell thee true.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNay, I’ll ne’er believe a madman till I see his brains. I will fetch\\r\\nyou light, and paper, and ink.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nFool, I’ll requite it in the highest degree: I prithee be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n[_Singing._]\\r\\n _I am gone, sir, and anon, sir,\\r\\n I’ll be with you again,\\r\\n In a trice, like to the old Vice,\\r\\n Your need to sustain;\\r\\n Who with dagger of lath, in his rage and his wrath,\\r\\n Cries ‘ah, ha!’ to the devil:\\r\\n Like a mad lad, ‘Pare thy nails, dad.\\r\\n Adieu, goodman devil.’_\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Olivia’s Garden.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nThis is the air; that is the glorious sun,\\r\\nThis pearl she gave me, I do feel’t and see’t,\\r\\nAnd though ’tis wonder that enwraps me thus,\\r\\nYet ’tis not madness. Where’s Antonio, then?\\r\\nI could not find him at the Elephant,\\r\\nYet there he was, and there I found this credit,\\r\\nThat he did range the town to seek me out.\\r\\nHis counsel now might do me golden service.\\r\\nFor though my soul disputes well with my sense\\r\\nThat this may be some error, but no madness,\\r\\nYet doth this accident and flood of fortune\\r\\nSo far exceed all instance, all discourse,\\r\\nThat I am ready to distrust mine eyes\\r\\nAnd wrangle with my reason that persuades me\\r\\nTo any other trust but that I am mad,\\r\\nOr else the lady’s mad; yet if ’twere so,\\r\\nShe could not sway her house, command her followers,\\r\\nTake and give back affairs and their dispatch,\\r\\nWith such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing\\r\\nAs I perceive she does. There’s something in’t\\r\\nThat is deceivable. But here the lady comes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and a Priest.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nBlame not this haste of mine. If you mean well,\\r\\nNow go with me and with this holy man\\r\\nInto the chantry by: there, before him\\r\\nAnd underneath that consecrated roof,\\r\\nPlight me the full assurance of your faith,\\r\\nThat my most jealous and too doubtful soul\\r\\nMay live at peace. He shall conceal it\\r\\nWhiles you are willing it shall come to note,\\r\\nWhat time we will our celebration keep\\r\\nAccording to my birth. What do you say?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI’ll follow this good man, and go with you,\\r\\nAnd having sworn truth, ever will be true.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nThen lead the way, good father, and heavens so shine,\\r\\nThat they may fairly note this act of mine!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. The Street before Olivia’s House.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nNow, as thou lov’st me, let me see his letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGood Master Fabian, grant me another request.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nAnything.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nDo not desire to see this letter.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nThis is to give a dog, and in recompense desire my dog again.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Duke, Viola, Curio and Lords.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBelong you to the Lady Olivia, friends?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy, sir, we are some of her trappings.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nI know thee well. How dost thou, my good fellow?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTruly, sir, the better for my foes, and the worse for my friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nJust the contrary; the better for thy friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, sir, the worse.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHow can that be?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMarry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass of me. Now my foes tell me\\r\\nplainly I am an ass: so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge\\r\\nof myself, and by my friends I am abused. So that, conclusions to be as\\r\\nkisses, if your four negatives make your two affirmatives, why then,\\r\\nthe worse for my friends, and the better for my foes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhy, this is excellent.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBy my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be one of my friends.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThou shalt not be the worse for me; there’s gold.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBut that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would you could make it\\r\\nanother.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO, you give me ill counsel.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nPut your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once, and let your flesh\\r\\nand blood obey it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWell, I will be so much a sinner to be a double-dealer: there’s\\r\\nanother.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\n_Primo, secundo, tertio_, is a good play, and the old saying is, the\\r\\nthird pays for all; the triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure; or\\r\\nthe bells of Saint Bennet, sir, may put you in mind—one, two, three.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nYou can fool no more money out of me at this throw. If you will let\\r\\nyour lady know I am here to speak with her, and bring her along with\\r\\nyou, it may awake my bounty further.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMarry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come again. I go, sir, but I\\r\\nwould not have you to think that my desire of having is the sin of\\r\\ncovetousness: but as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap, I will\\r\\nawake it anon.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antonio and Officers.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nHere comes the man, sir, that did rescue me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThat face of his I do remember well.\\r\\nYet when I saw it last it was besmear’d\\r\\nAs black as Vulcan, in the smoke of war.\\r\\nA baubling vessel was he captain of,\\r\\nFor shallow draught and bulk unprizable,\\r\\nWith which such scathful grapple did he make\\r\\nWith the most noble bottom of our fleet,\\r\\nThat very envy and the tongue of loss\\r\\nCried fame and honour on him. What’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST OFFICER.\\r\\nOrsino, this is that Antonio\\r\\nThat took the _Phoenix_ and her fraught from Candy,\\r\\nAnd this is he that did the _Tiger_ board\\r\\nWhen your young nephew Titus lost his leg.\\r\\nHere in the streets, desperate of shame and state,\\r\\nIn private brabble did we apprehend him.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nHe did me kindness, sir; drew on my side,\\r\\nBut in conclusion, put strange speech upon me.\\r\\nI know not what ’twas, but distraction.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nNotable pirate, thou salt-water thief,\\r\\nWhat foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies,\\r\\nWhom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear,\\r\\nHast made thine enemies?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nOrsino, noble sir,\\r\\nBe pleased that I shake off these names you give me:\\r\\nAntonio never yet was thief or pirate,\\r\\nThough, I confess, on base and ground enough,\\r\\nOrsino’s enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither:\\r\\nThat most ingrateful boy there by your side\\r\\nFrom the rude sea’s enraged and foamy mouth\\r\\nDid I redeem; a wreck past hope he was.\\r\\nHis life I gave him, and did thereto add\\r\\nMy love, without retention or restraint,\\r\\nAll his in dedication. For his sake\\r\\nDid I expose myself, pure for his love,\\r\\nInto the danger of this adverse town;\\r\\nDrew to defend him when he was beset;\\r\\nWhere being apprehended, his false cunning\\r\\n(Not meaning to partake with me in danger)\\r\\nTaught him to face me out of his acquaintance,\\r\\nAnd grew a twenty years’ removed thing\\r\\nWhile one would wink; denied me mine own purse,\\r\\nWhich I had recommended to his use\\r\\nNot half an hour before.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nHow can this be?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhen came he to this town?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nToday, my lord; and for three months before,\\r\\nNo int’rim, not a minute’s vacancy,\\r\\nBoth day and night did we keep company.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Olivia and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHere comes the Countess, now heaven walks on earth.\\r\\nBut for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness.\\r\\nThree months this youth hath tended upon me;\\r\\nBut more of that anon. Take him aside.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat would my lord, but that he may not have,\\r\\nWherein Olivia may seem serviceable?\\r\\nCesario, you do not keep promise with me.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMadam?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGracious Olivia—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat do you say, Cesario? Good my lord—\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy lord would speak, my duty hushes me.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nIf it be aught to the old tune, my lord,\\r\\nIt is as fat and fulsome to mine ear\\r\\nAs howling after music.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nStill so cruel?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nStill so constant, lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhat, to perverseness? You uncivil lady,\\r\\nTo whose ingrate and unauspicious altars\\r\\nMy soul the faithfull’st off’rings hath breathed out\\r\\nThat e’er devotion tender’d! What shall I do?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nEven what it please my lord that shall become him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nWhy should I not, had I the heart to do it,\\r\\nLike to the Egyptian thief at point of death,\\r\\nKill what I love?—a savage jealousy\\r\\nThat sometime savours nobly. But hear me this:\\r\\nSince you to non-regardance cast my faith,\\r\\nAnd that I partly know the instrument\\r\\nThat screws me from my true place in your favour,\\r\\nLive you the marble-breasted tyrant still.\\r\\nBut this your minion, whom I know you love,\\r\\nAnd whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly,\\r\\nHim will I tear out of that cruel eye\\r\\nWhere he sits crowned in his master’s spite.—\\r\\nCome, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief:\\r\\nI’ll sacrifice the lamb that I do love,\\r\\nTo spite a raven’s heart within a dove.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd I, most jocund, apt, and willingly,\\r\\nTo do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhere goes Cesario?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAfter him I love\\r\\nMore than I love these eyes, more than my life,\\r\\nMore, by all mores, than e’er I shall love wife.\\r\\nIf I do feign, you witnesses above\\r\\nPunish my life for tainting of my love.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAh me, detested! how am I beguil’d!\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWho does beguile you? Who does do you wrong?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long?\\r\\nCall forth the holy father.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit an Attendant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\n[_To Viola._] Come, away!\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHusband?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAy, husband. Can he that deny?\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHer husband, sirrah?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nNo, my lord, not I.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAlas, it is the baseness of thy fear\\r\\nThat makes thee strangle thy propriety.\\r\\nFear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up.\\r\\nBe that thou know’st thou art, and then thou art\\r\\nAs great as that thou fear’st.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Priest.\\r\\n\\r\\nO, welcome, father!\\r\\nFather, I charge thee, by thy reverence\\r\\nHere to unfold—though lately we intended\\r\\nTo keep in darkness what occasion now\\r\\nReveals before ’tis ripe—what thou dost know\\r\\nHath newly passed between this youth and me.\\r\\n\\r\\nPRIEST.\\r\\nA contract of eternal bond of love,\\r\\nConfirmed by mutual joinder of your hands,\\r\\nAttested by the holy close of lips,\\r\\nStrengthen’d by interchangement of your rings,\\r\\nAnd all the ceremony of this compact\\r\\nSealed in my function, by my testimony;\\r\\nSince when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave,\\r\\nI have travelled but two hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nO thou dissembling cub! What wilt thou be\\r\\nWhen time hath sowed a grizzle on thy case?\\r\\nOr will not else thy craft so quickly grow\\r\\nThat thine own trip shall be thine overthrow?\\r\\nFarewell, and take her; but direct thy feet\\r\\nWhere thou and I henceforth may never meet.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy lord, I do protest—\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nO, do not swear.\\r\\nHold little faith, though thou has too much fear.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Andrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nFor the love of God, a surgeon! Send one presently to Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWhat’s the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Has broke my head across, and has given Sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too.\\r\\nFor the love of God, your help! I had rather than forty pound I were at\\r\\nhome.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nWho has done this, Sir Andrew?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nThe Count’s gentleman, one Cesario. We took him for a coward, but he’s\\r\\nthe very devil incardinate.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nMy gentleman, Cesario?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\n’Od’s lifelings, here he is!—You broke my head for nothing; and that\\r\\nthat I did, I was set on to do’t by Sir Toby.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nWhy do you speak to me? I never hurt you:\\r\\nYou drew your sword upon me without cause,\\r\\nBut I bespake you fair and hurt you not.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sir Toby, drunk, led by the Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nIf a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me. I think you set\\r\\nnothing by a bloody coxcomb. Here comes Sir Toby halting, you shall\\r\\nhear more: but if he had not been in drink, he would have tickled you\\r\\nothergates than he did.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nHow now, gentleman? How is’t with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThat’s all one; ’has hurt me, and there’s th’ end on’t. Sot, didst see\\r\\nDick Surgeon, sot?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nO, he’s drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes were set at eight i’\\r\\nth’ morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nThen he’s a rogue, and a passy measures pavin. I hate a drunken rogue.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAway with him. Who hath made this havoc with them?\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR ANDREW.\\r\\nI’ll help you, Sir Toby, because we’ll be dressed together.\\r\\n\\r\\nSIR TOBY.\\r\\nWill you help? An ass-head, and a coxcomb, and a knave, a thin-faced\\r\\nknave, a gull?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nGet him to bed, and let his hurt be looked to.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Clown, Fabian, Sir Toby and Sir Andrew._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Sebastian.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nI am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman;\\r\\nBut had it been the brother of my blood,\\r\\nI must have done no less with wit and safety.\\r\\nYou throw a strange regard upon me, and by that\\r\\nI do perceive it hath offended you.\\r\\nPardon me, sweet one, even for the vows\\r\\nWe made each other but so late ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nOne face, one voice, one habit, and two persons!\\r\\nA natural perspective, that is, and is not!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAntonio, O my dear Antonio!\\r\\nHow have the hours rack’d and tortur’d me\\r\\nSince I have lost thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nSebastian are you?\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nFear’st thou that, Antonio?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTONIO.\\r\\nHow have you made division of yourself?\\r\\nAn apple cleft in two is not more twin\\r\\nThan these two creatures. Which is Sebastian?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nMost wonderful!\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nDo I stand there? I never had a brother:\\r\\nNor can there be that deity in my nature\\r\\nOf here and everywhere. I had a sister,\\r\\nWhom the blind waves and surges have devoured.\\r\\nOf charity, what kin are you to me?\\r\\nWhat countryman? What name? What parentage?\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nOf Messaline: Sebastian was my father;\\r\\nSuch a Sebastian was my brother too:\\r\\nSo went he suited to his watery tomb.\\r\\nIf spirits can assume both form and suit,\\r\\nYou come to fright us.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nA spirit I am indeed,\\r\\nBut am in that dimension grossly clad,\\r\\nWhich from the womb I did participate.\\r\\nWere you a woman, as the rest goes even,\\r\\nI should my tears let fall upon your cheek,\\r\\nAnd say, ‘Thrice welcome, drowned Viola.’\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nMy father had a mole upon his brow.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nAnd so had mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd died that day when Viola from her birth\\r\\nHad numbered thirteen years.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\nO, that record is lively in my soul!\\r\\nHe finished indeed his mortal act\\r\\nThat day that made my sister thirteen years.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nIf nothing lets to make us happy both\\r\\nBut this my masculine usurp’d attire,\\r\\nDo not embrace me till each circumstance\\r\\nOf place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump\\r\\nThat I am Viola; which to confirm,\\r\\nI’ll bring you to a captain in this town,\\r\\nWhere lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help\\r\\nI was preserv’d to serve this noble count.\\r\\nAll the occurrence of my fortune since\\r\\nHath been between this lady and this lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nSEBASTIAN.\\r\\n[_To Olivia._] So comes it, lady, you have been mistook.\\r\\nBut nature to her bias drew in that.\\r\\nYou would have been contracted to a maid;\\r\\nNor are you therein, by my life, deceived:\\r\\nYou are betroth’d both to a maid and man.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nBe not amazed; right noble is his blood.\\r\\nIf this be so, as yet the glass seems true,\\r\\nI shall have share in this most happy wreck.\\r\\n[_To Viola._] Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times\\r\\nThou never shouldst love woman like to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nAnd all those sayings will I over-swear,\\r\\nAnd all those swearings keep as true in soul\\r\\nAs doth that orbed continent the fire\\r\\nThat severs day from night.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nGive me thy hand,\\r\\nAnd let me see thee in thy woman’s weeds.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIOLA.\\r\\nThe captain that did bring me first on shore\\r\\nHath my maid’s garments. He, upon some action,\\r\\nIs now in durance, at Malvolio’s suit,\\r\\nA gentleman and follower of my lady’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHe shall enlarge him. Fetch Malvolio hither.\\r\\nAnd yet, alas, now I remember me,\\r\\nThey say, poor gentleman, he’s much distract.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown, with a letter and Fabian.\\r\\n\\r\\nA most extracting frenzy of mine own\\r\\nFrom my remembrance clearly banished his.\\r\\nHow does he, sirrah?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nTruly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the stave’s end as well as a man in\\r\\nhis case may do. Has here writ a letter to you. I should have given it\\r\\nyou today morning, but as a madman’s epistles are no gospels, so it\\r\\nskills not much when they are delivered.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nOpen ’t, and read it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLook then to be well edified, when the fool delivers the madman. _By\\r\\nthe Lord, madam,—_\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHow now, art thou mad?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNo, madam, I do but read madness: an your ladyship will have it as it\\r\\nought to be, you must allow _vox_.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nPrithee, read i’ thy right wits.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nSo I do, madonna. But to read his right wits is to read thus; therefore\\r\\nperpend, my princess, and give ear.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\n[_To Fabian._] Read it you, sirrah.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\n[_Reads._] _By the Lord, madam, you wrong me, and the world shall know\\r\\nit. Though you have put me into darkness and given your drunken cousin\\r\\nrule over me, yet have I the benefit of my senses as well as your\\r\\nladyship. I have your own letter that induced me to the semblance I put\\r\\non; with the which I doubt not but to do myself much right or you much\\r\\nshame. Think of me as you please. I leave my duty a little unthought\\r\\nof, and speak out of my injury.\\r\\n The madly-used Malvolio._\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nDid he write this?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nThis savours not much of distraction.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nSee him delivered, Fabian, bring him hither.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Fabian._]\\r\\n\\r\\nMy lord, so please you, these things further thought on,\\r\\nTo think me as well a sister, as a wife,\\r\\nOne day shall crown th’ alliance on’t, so please you,\\r\\nHere at my house, and at my proper cost.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nMadam, I am most apt t’ embrace your offer.\\r\\n[_To Viola._] Your master quits you; and for your service done him,\\r\\nSo much against the mettle of your sex,\\r\\nSo far beneath your soft and tender breeding,\\r\\nAnd since you call’d me master for so long,\\r\\nHere is my hand; you shall from this time be\\r\\nYou master’s mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nA sister? You are she.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Fabian and Malvolio.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nIs this the madman?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAy, my lord, this same.\\r\\nHow now, Malvolio?\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nMadam, you have done me wrong,\\r\\nNotorious wrong.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHave I, Malvolio? No.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nLady, you have. Pray you peruse that letter.\\r\\nYou must not now deny it is your hand,\\r\\nWrite from it, if you can, in hand, or phrase,\\r\\nOr say ’tis not your seal, not your invention:\\r\\nYou can say none of this. Well, grant it then,\\r\\nAnd tell me, in the modesty of honour,\\r\\nWhy you have given me such clear lights of favour,\\r\\nBade me come smiling and cross-garter’d to you,\\r\\nTo put on yellow stockings, and to frown\\r\\nUpon Sir Toby, and the lighter people;\\r\\nAnd acting this in an obedient hope,\\r\\nWhy have you suffer’d me to be imprison’d,\\r\\nKept in a dark house, visited by the priest,\\r\\nAnd made the most notorious geck and gull\\r\\nThat e’er invention played on? Tell me why?\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAlas, Malvolio, this is not my writing,\\r\\nThough I confess, much like the character:\\r\\nBut out of question, ’tis Maria’s hand.\\r\\nAnd now I do bethink me, it was she\\r\\nFirst told me thou wast mad; then cam’st in smiling,\\r\\nAnd in such forms which here were presuppos’d\\r\\nUpon thee in the letter. Prithee, be content.\\r\\nThis practice hath most shrewdly pass’d upon thee.\\r\\nBut when we know the grounds and authors of it,\\r\\nThou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge\\r\\nOf thine own cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nFABIAN.\\r\\nGood madam, hear me speak,\\r\\nAnd let no quarrel, nor no brawl to come,\\r\\nTaint the condition of this present hour,\\r\\nWhich I have wonder’d at. In hope it shall not,\\r\\nMost freely I confess, myself and Toby\\r\\nSet this device against Malvolio here,\\r\\nUpon some stubborn and uncourteous parts\\r\\nWe had conceiv’d against him. Maria writ\\r\\nThe letter, at Sir Toby’s great importance,\\r\\nIn recompense whereof he hath married her.\\r\\nHow with a sportful malice it was follow’d\\r\\nMay rather pluck on laughter than revenge,\\r\\nIf that the injuries be justly weigh’d\\r\\nThat have on both sides passed.\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nAlas, poor fool, how have they baffled thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhy, ‘some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have\\r\\ngreatness thrown upon them.’ I was one, sir, in this interlude, one Sir\\r\\nTopas, sir, but that’s all one. ‘By the Lord, fool, I am not mad.’ But\\r\\ndo you remember? ‘Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal? And you\\r\\nsmile not, he’s gagged’? And thus the whirligig of time brings in his\\r\\nrevenges.\\r\\n\\r\\nMALVOLIO.\\r\\nI’ll be revenged on the whole pack of you.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nOLIVIA.\\r\\nHe hath been most notoriously abus’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nDUKE.\\r\\nPursue him, and entreat him to a peace:\\r\\nHe hath not told us of the captain yet.\\r\\nWhen that is known, and golden time convents,\\r\\nA solemn combination shall be made\\r\\nOf our dear souls.—Meantime, sweet sister,\\r\\nWe will not part from hence.—Cesario, come:\\r\\nFor so you shall be while you are a man;\\r\\nBut when in other habits you are seen,\\r\\nOrsino’s mistress, and his fancy’s queen.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Clown sings.\\r\\n\\r\\n_ When that I was and a little tiny boy,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n A foolish thing was but a toy,\\r\\n For the rain it raineth every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ But when I came to man’s estate,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n ’Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,\\r\\n For the rain it raineth every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ But when I came, alas, to wive,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n By swaggering could I never thrive,\\r\\n For the rain it raineth every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ But when I came unto my beds,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n With toss-pots still had drunken heads,\\r\\n For the rain it raineth every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n_ A great while ago the world begun,\\r\\n With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,\\r\\n But that’s all one, our play is done,\\r\\n And we’ll strive to please you every day._\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA\\r\\n\\r\\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE OF MILAN, father to Silvia\\r\\n VALENTINE, one of the two gentlemen\\r\\n PROTEUS, \" \" \" \" \"\\r\\n ANTONIO, father to Proteus\\r\\n THURIO, a foolish rival to Valentine\\r\\n EGLAMOUR, agent for Silvia in her escape\\r\\n SPEED, a clownish servant to Valentine\\r\\n LAUNCE, the like to Proteus\\r\\n PANTHINO, servant to Antonio\\r\\n HOST, where Julia lodges in Milan\\r\\n OUTLAWS, with Valentine\\r\\n\\r\\n JULIA, a lady of Verona, beloved of Proteus\\r\\n SILVIA, the Duke\\'s daughter, beloved of Valentine\\r\\n LUCETTA, waiting-woman to Julia\\r\\n\\r\\n SERVANTS MUSICIANS\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE: Verona; Milan; the frontiers of Mantua\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I. SCENE I. Verona. An open place\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter VALENTINE and PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n VALENTINE. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus:\\r\\n Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.\\r\\n Were\\'t not affection chains thy tender days\\r\\n To the sweet glances of thy honour\\'d love,\\r\\n I rather would entreat thy company\\r\\n To see the wonders of the world abroad,\\r\\n Than, living dully sluggardiz\\'d at home,\\r\\n Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.\\r\\n But since thou lov\\'st, love still, and thrive therein,\\r\\n Even as I would, when I to love begin.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu!\\r\\n Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest\\r\\n Some rare noteworthy object in thy travel.\\r\\n Wish me partaker in thy happiness\\r\\n When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger,\\r\\n If ever danger do environ thee,\\r\\n Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,\\r\\n For I will be thy headsman, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. And on a love-book pray for my success?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Upon some book I love I\\'ll pray for thee.\\r\\n VALENTINE. That\\'s on some shallow story of deep love:\\r\\n How young Leander cross\\'d the Hellespont.\\r\\n PROTEUS. That\\'s a deep story of a deeper love;\\r\\n For he was more than over shoes in love.\\r\\n VALENTINE. \\'Tis true; for you are over boots in love,\\r\\n And yet you never swum the Hellespont.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Over the boots! Nay, give me not the boots.\\r\\n VALENTINE. No, I will not, for it boots thee not.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What?\\r\\n VALENTINE. To be in love- where scorn is bought with groans,\\r\\n Coy looks with heart-sore sighs, one fading moment\\'s mirth\\r\\n With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights;\\r\\n If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain;\\r\\n If lost, why then a grievous labour won;\\r\\n However, but a folly bought with wit,\\r\\n Or else a wit by folly vanquished.\\r\\n PROTEUS. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.\\r\\n VALENTINE. So, by your circumstance, I fear you\\'ll prove.\\r\\n PROTEUS. \\'Tis love you cavil at; I am not Love.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Love is your master, for he masters you;\\r\\n And he that is so yoked by a fool,\\r\\n Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud\\r\\n The eating canker dwells, so eating love\\r\\n Inhabits in the finest wits of all.\\r\\n VALENTINE. And writers say, as the most forward bud\\r\\n Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,\\r\\n Even so by love the young and tender wit\\r\\n Is turn\\'d to folly, blasting in the bud,\\r\\n Losing his verdure even in the prime,\\r\\n And all the fair effects of future hopes.\\r\\n But wherefore waste I time to counsel the\\r\\n That art a votary to fond desire?\\r\\n Once more adieu. My father at the road\\r\\n Expects my coming, there to see me shipp\\'d.\\r\\n PROTEUS. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave.\\r\\n To Milan let me hear from thee by letters\\r\\n Of thy success in love, and what news else\\r\\n Betideth here in absence of thy friend;\\r\\n And I likewise will visit thee with mine.\\r\\n PROTEUS. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan!\\r\\n VALENTINE. As much to you at home; and so farewell!\\r\\n Exit VALENTINE\\r\\n PROTEUS. He after honour hunts, I after love;\\r\\n He leaves his friends to dignify them more:\\r\\n I leave myself, my friends, and all for love.\\r\\n Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphis\\'d me,\\r\\n Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,\\r\\n War with good counsel, set the world at nought;\\r\\n Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n SPEED. Sir Proteus, save you! Saw you my master?\\r\\n PROTEUS. But now he parted hence to embark for Milan.\\r\\n SPEED. Twenty to one then he is shipp\\'d already,\\r\\n And I have play\\'d the sheep in losing him.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray,\\r\\n An if the shepherd be awhile away.\\r\\n SPEED. You conclude that my master is a shepherd then, and\\r\\n I a sheep?\\r\\n PROTEUS. I do.\\r\\n SPEED. Why then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep.\\r\\n PROTEUS. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep.\\r\\n SPEED. This proves me still a sheep.\\r\\n PROTEUS. True; and thy master a shepherd.\\r\\n SPEED. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.\\r\\n PROTEUS. It shall go hard but I\\'ll prove it by another.\\r\\n SPEED. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the\\r\\n shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me;\\r\\n therefore, I am no sheep.\\r\\n PROTEUS. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd; the shepherd for\\r\\n food follows not the sheep: thou for wages followest thy master;\\r\\n thy master for wages follows not thee. Therefore, thou art a\\r\\n sheep.\\r\\n SPEED. Such another proof will make me cry \\'baa.\\'\\r\\n PROTEUS. But dost thou hear? Gav\\'st thou my letter to Julia?\\r\\n SPEED. Ay, sir; I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her, a lac\\'d\\r\\n mutton; and she, a lac\\'d mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing\\r\\n for my labour.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Here\\'s too small a pasture for such store of muttons.\\r\\n SPEED. If the ground be overcharg\\'d, you were best stick her.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Nay, in that you are astray: \\'twere best pound you.\\r\\n SPEED. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your\\r\\n letter.\\r\\n PROTEUS. You mistake; I mean the pound- a pinfold.\\r\\n SPEED. From a pound to a pin? Fold it over and over,\\r\\n \\'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But what said she?\\r\\n SPEED. [Nodding] Ay.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Nod- ay. Why, that\\'s \\'noddy.\\'\\r\\n SPEED. You mistook, sir; I say she did nod; and you ask me if she\\r\\n did nod; and I say \\'Ay.\\'\\r\\n PROTEUS. And that set together is \\'noddy.\\'\\r\\n SPEED. Now you have taken the pains to set it together, take it for\\r\\n your pains.\\r\\n PROTEUS. No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter.\\r\\n SPEED. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, sir, how do you bear with me?\\r\\n SPEED. Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly; having nothing but the\\r\\n word \\'noddy\\' for my pains.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.\\r\\n SPEED. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Come, come, open the matter; in brief, what said she?\\r\\n SPEED. Open your purse, that the money and the matter may be both\\r\\n at once delivered.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she?\\r\\n SPEED. Truly, sir, I think you\\'ll hardly win her.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her?\\r\\n SPEED. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; no, not so\\r\\n much as a ducat for delivering your letter; and being so hard to\\r\\n me that brought your mind, I fear she\\'ll prove as hard to you in\\r\\n telling your mind. Give her no token but stones, for she\\'s as\\r\\n hard as steel.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What said she? Nothing?\\r\\n SPEED. No, not so much as \\'Take this for thy pains.\\' To testify\\r\\n your bounty, I thank you, you have testern\\'d me; in requital\\r\\n whereof, henceforth carry your letters yourself; and so, sir,\\r\\n I\\'ll commend you to my master.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck,\\r\\n Which cannot perish, having thee aboard,\\r\\n Being destin\\'d to a drier death on shore. Exit SPEED\\r\\n I must go send some better messenger.\\r\\n I fear my Julia would not deign my lines,\\r\\n Receiving them from such a worthless post. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Verona. The garden Of JULIA\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter JULIA and LUCETTA\\r\\n\\r\\n JULIA. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone,\\r\\n Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Ay, madam; so you stumble not unheedfully.\\r\\n JULIA. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen\\r\\n That every day with parle encounter me,\\r\\n In thy opinion which is worthiest love?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Please you, repeat their names; I\\'ll show my mind\\r\\n According to my shallow simple skill.\\r\\n JULIA. What think\\'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?\\r\\n LUCETTA. As of a knight well-spoken, neat, and fine;\\r\\n But, were I you, he never should be mine.\\r\\n JULIA. What think\\'st thou of the rich Mercatio?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Well of his wealth; but of himself, so so.\\r\\n JULIA. What think\\'st thou of the gentle Proteus?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Lord, Lord! to see what folly reigns in us!\\r\\n JULIA. How now! what means this passion at his name?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Pardon, dear madam; \\'tis a passing shame\\r\\n That I, unworthy body as I am,\\r\\n Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen.\\r\\n JULIA. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Then thus: of many good I think him best.\\r\\n JULIA. Your reason?\\r\\n LUCETTA. I have no other but a woman\\'s reason:\\r\\n I think him so, because I think him so.\\r\\n JULIA. And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away.\\r\\n JULIA. Why, he, of all the rest, hath never mov\\'d me.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye.\\r\\n JULIA. His little speaking shows his love but small.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Fire that\\'s closest kept burns most of all.\\r\\n JULIA. They do not love that do not show their love.\\r\\n LUCETTA. O, they love least that let men know their love.\\r\\n JULIA. I would I knew his mind.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Peruse this paper, madam.\\r\\n JULIA. \\'To Julia\\'- Say, from whom?\\r\\n LUCETTA. That the contents will show.\\r\\n JULIA. Say, say, who gave it thee?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Sir Valentine\\'s page; and sent, I think, from Proteus.\\r\\n He would have given it you; but I, being in the way,\\r\\n Did in your name receive it; pardon the fault, I pray.\\r\\n JULIA. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker!\\r\\n Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines?\\r\\n To whisper and conspire against my youth?\\r\\n Now, trust me, \\'tis an office of great worth,\\r\\n And you an officer fit for the place.\\r\\n There, take the paper; see it be return\\'d;\\r\\n Or else return no more into my sight.\\r\\n LUCETTA. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate.\\r\\n JULIA. Will ye be gone?\\r\\n LUCETTA. That you may ruminate. Exit\\r\\n JULIA. And yet, I would I had o\\'erlook\\'d the letter.\\r\\n It were a shame to call her back again,\\r\\n And pray her to a fault for which I chid her.\\r\\n What fool is she, that knows I am a maid\\r\\n And would not force the letter to my view!\\r\\n Since maids, in modesty, say \\'No\\' to that\\r\\n Which they would have the profferer construe \\'Ay.\\'\\r\\n Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love,\\r\\n That like a testy babe will scratch the nurse,\\r\\n And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod!\\r\\n How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence,\\r\\n When willingly I would have had her here!\\r\\n How angerly I taught my brow to frown,\\r\\n When inward joy enforc\\'d my heart to smile!\\r\\n My penance is to call Lucetta back\\r\\n And ask remission for my folly past.\\r\\n What ho! Lucetta!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter LUCETTA\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCETTA. What would your ladyship?\\r\\n JULIA. Is\\'t near dinner time?\\r\\n LUCETTA. I would it were,\\r\\n That you might kill your stomach on your meat\\r\\n And not upon your maid.\\r\\n JULIA. What is\\'t that you took up so gingerly?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Nothing.\\r\\n JULIA. Why didst thou stoop then?\\r\\n LUCETTA. To take a paper up that I let fall.\\r\\n JULIA. And is that paper nothing?\\r\\n LUCETTA. Nothing concerning me.\\r\\n JULIA. Then let it lie for those that it concerns.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns,\\r\\n Unless it have a false interpreter.\\r\\n JULIA. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme.\\r\\n LUCETTA. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune.\\r\\n Give me a note; your ladyship can set.\\r\\n JULIA. As little by such toys as may be possible.\\r\\n Best sing it to the tune of \\'Light o\\' Love.\\'\\r\\n LUCETTA. It is too heavy for so light a tune.\\r\\n JULIA. Heavy! belike it hath some burden then.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Ay; and melodious were it, would you sing it.\\r\\n JULIA. And why not you?\\r\\n LUCETTA. I cannot reach so high.\\r\\n JULIA. Let\\'s see your song. [LUCETTA withholds the letter]\\r\\n How now, minion!\\r\\n LUCETTA. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out.\\r\\n And yet methinks I do not like this tune.\\r\\n JULIA. You do not!\\r\\n LUCETTA. No, madam; \\'tis too sharp.\\r\\n JULIA. You, minion, are too saucy.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Nay, now you are too flat\\r\\n And mar the concord with too harsh a descant;\\r\\n There wanteth but a mean to fill your song.\\r\\n JULIA. The mean is drown\\'d with your unruly bass.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus.\\r\\n JULIA. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me.\\r\\n Here is a coil with protestation! [Tears the letter]\\r\\n Go, get you gone; and let the papers lie.\\r\\n You would be fing\\'ring them, to anger me.\\r\\n LUCETTA. She makes it strange; but she would be best pleas\\'d\\r\\n To be so ang\\'red with another letter. Exit\\r\\n JULIA. Nay, would I were so ang\\'red with the same!\\r\\n O hateful hands, to tear such loving words!\\r\\n Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey\\r\\n And kill the bees that yield it with your stings!\\r\\n I\\'ll kiss each several paper for amends.\\r\\n Look, here is writ \\'kind Julia.\\' Unkind Julia,\\r\\n As in revenge of thy ingratitude,\\r\\n I throw thy name against the bruising stones,\\r\\n Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain.\\r\\n And here is writ \\'love-wounded Proteus.\\'\\r\\n Poor wounded name! my bosom,,as a bed,\\r\\n Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly heal\\'d;\\r\\n And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss.\\r\\n But twice or thrice was \\'Proteus\\' written down.\\r\\n Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away\\r\\n Till I have found each letter in the letter-\\r\\n Except mine own name; that some whirlwind bear\\r\\n Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock,\\r\\n And throw it thence into the raging sea.\\r\\n Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ:\\r\\n \\'Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus,\\r\\n To the sweet Julia.\\' That I\\'ll tear away;\\r\\n And yet I will not, sith so prettily\\r\\n He couples it to his complaining names.\\r\\n Thus will I fold them one upon another;\\r\\n Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter LUCETTA\\r\\n\\r\\n LUCETTA. Madam,\\r\\n Dinner is ready, and your father stays.\\r\\n JULIA. Well, let us go.\\r\\n LUCETTA. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here?\\r\\n JULIA. If you respect them, best to take them up.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down;\\r\\n Yet here they shall not lie for catching cold.\\r\\n JULIA. I see you have a month\\'s mind to them.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see;\\r\\n I see things too, although you judge I wink.\\r\\n JULIA. Come, come; will\\'t please you go? Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Verona. ANTONIO\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter ANTONIO and PANTHINO\\r\\n\\r\\n ANTONIO. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that\\r\\n Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?\\r\\n PANTHINO. \\'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Why, what of him?\\r\\n PANTHINO. He wond\\'red that your lordship\\r\\n Would suffer him to spend his youth at home,\\r\\n While other men, of slender reputation,\\r\\n Put forth their sons to seek preferment out:\\r\\n Some to the wars, to try their fortune there;\\r\\n Some to discover islands far away;\\r\\n Some to the studious universities.\\r\\n For any, or for all these exercises,\\r\\n He said that Proteus, your son, was meet;\\r\\n And did request me to importune you\\r\\n To let him spend his time no more at home,\\r\\n Which would be great impeachment to his age,\\r\\n In having known no travel in his youth.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Nor need\\'st thou much importune me to that\\r\\n Whereon this month I have been hammering.\\r\\n I have consider\\'d well his loss of time,\\r\\n And how he cannot be a perfect man,\\r\\n Not being tried and tutor\\'d in the world:\\r\\n Experience is by industry achiev\\'d,\\r\\n And perfected by the swift course of time.\\r\\n Then tell me whither were I best to send him.\\r\\n PANTHINO. I think your lordship is not ignorant\\r\\n How his companion, youthful Valentine,\\r\\n Attends the Emperor in his royal court.\\r\\n ANTONIO. I know it well.\\r\\n PANTHINO. \\'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither:\\r\\n There shall he practise tilts and tournaments,\\r\\n Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen,\\r\\n And be in eye of every exercise\\r\\n Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth.\\r\\n ANTONIO. I like thy counsel; well hast thou advis\\'d;\\r\\n And that thou mayst perceive how well I like it,\\r\\n The execution of it shall make known:\\r\\n Even with the speediest expedition\\r\\n I will dispatch him to the Emperor\\'s court.\\r\\n PANTHINO. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso\\r\\n With other gentlemen of good esteem\\r\\n Are journeying to salute the Emperor,\\r\\n And to commend their service to his will.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Good company; with them shall Proteus go.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n And- in good time!- now will we break with him.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life!\\r\\n Here is her hand, the agent of her heart;\\r\\n Here is her oath for love, her honour\\'s pawn.\\r\\n O that our fathers would applaud our loves,\\r\\n To seal our happiness with their consents!\\r\\n O heavenly Julia!\\r\\n ANTONIO. How now! What letter are you reading there?\\r\\n PROTEUS. May\\'t please your lordship, \\'tis a word or two\\r\\n Of commendations sent from Valentine,\\r\\n Deliver\\'d by a friend that came from him.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Lend me the letter; let me see what news.\\r\\n PROTEUS. There is no news, my lord; but that he writes\\r\\n How happily he lives, how well-belov\\'d\\r\\n And daily graced by the Emperor;\\r\\n Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune.\\r\\n ANTONIO. And how stand you affected to his wish?\\r\\n PROTEUS. As one relying on your lordship\\'s will,\\r\\n And not depending on his friendly wish.\\r\\n ANTONIO. My will is something sorted with his wish.\\r\\n Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed;\\r\\n For what I will, I will, and there an end.\\r\\n I am resolv\\'d that thou shalt spend some time\\r\\n With Valentinus in the Emperor\\'s court;\\r\\n What maintenance he from his friends receives,\\r\\n Like exhibition thou shalt have from me.\\r\\n To-morrow be in readiness to go-\\r\\n Excuse it not, for I am peremptory.\\r\\n PROTEUS. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided;\\r\\n Please you, deliberate a day or two.\\r\\n ANTONIO. Look what thou want\\'st shall be sent after thee.\\r\\n No more of stay; to-morrow thou must go.\\r\\n Come on, Panthino; you shall be employ\\'d\\r\\n To hasten on his expedition.\\r\\n Exeunt ANTONIO and PANTHINO\\r\\n PROTEUS. Thus have I shunn\\'d the fire for fear of burning,\\r\\n And drench\\'d me in the sea, where I am drown\\'d.\\r\\n I fear\\'d to show my father Julia\\'s letter,\\r\\n Lest he should take exceptions to my love;\\r\\n And with the vantage of mine own excuse\\r\\n Hath he excepted most against my love.\\r\\n O, how this spring of love resembleth\\r\\n The uncertain glory of an April day,\\r\\n Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,\\r\\n And by an by a cloud takes all away!\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter PANTHINO\\r\\n\\r\\n PANTHINO. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you;\\r\\n He is in haste; therefore, I pray you, go.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, this it is: my heart accords thereto;\\r\\n And yet a thousand times it answers \\'No.\\' Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II. SCENE I. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter VALENTINE and SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n SPEED. Sir, your glove.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Not mine: my gloves are on.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, then, this may be yours; for this is but one.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ha! let me see; ay, give it me, it\\'s mine;\\r\\n Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine!\\r\\n Ah, Silvia! Silvia!\\r\\n SPEED. [Calling] Madam Silvia! Madam Silvia!\\r\\n VALENTINE. How now, sirrah?\\r\\n SPEED. She is not within hearing, sir.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, sir, who bade you call her?\\r\\n SPEED. Your worship, sir; or else I mistook.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Well, you\\'ll still be too forward.\\r\\n SPEED. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Go to, sir; tell me, do you know Madam Silvia?\\r\\n SPEED. She that your worship loves?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, how know you that I am in love?\\r\\n SPEED. Marry, by these special marks: first, you have learn\\'d, like\\r\\n Sir Proteus, to wreath your arms like a malcontent; to relish a\\r\\n love-song, like a robin redbreast; to walk alone, like one that\\r\\n had the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had lost his\\r\\n A B C; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her grandam;\\r\\n to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, like one that fears\\r\\n robbing; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were\\r\\n wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you walk\\'d, to\\r\\n walk like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently\\r\\n after dinner; when you look\\'d sadly, it was for want of money.\\r\\n And now you are metamorphis\\'d with a mistress, that, when I look\\r\\n on you, I can hardly think you my master.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Are all these things perceiv\\'d in me?\\r\\n SPEED. They are all perceiv\\'d without ye.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Without me? They cannot.\\r\\n SPEED. Without you! Nay, that\\'s certain; for, without you were so\\r\\n simple, none else would; but you are so without these follies\\r\\n that these follies are within you, and shine through you like the\\r\\n water in an urinal, that not an eye that sees you but is a\\r\\n physician to comment on your malady.\\r\\n VALENTINE. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia?\\r\\n SPEED. She that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Hast thou observ\\'d that? Even she, I mean.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, sir, I know her not.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet know\\'st\\r\\n her not?\\r\\n SPEED. Is she not hard-favour\\'d, sir?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Not so fair, boy, as well-favour\\'d.\\r\\n SPEED. Sir, I know that well enough.\\r\\n VALENTINE. What dost thou know?\\r\\n SPEED. That she is not so fair as, of you, well-favour\\'d.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I mean that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour\\r\\n infinite.\\r\\n SPEED. That\\'s because the one is painted, and the other out of all\\r\\n count.\\r\\n VALENTINE. How painted? and how out of count?\\r\\n SPEED. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, that no man counts\\r\\n of her beauty.\\r\\n VALENTINE. How esteem\\'st thou me? I account of her beauty.\\r\\n SPEED. You never saw her since she was deform\\'d.\\r\\n VALENTINE. How long hath she been deform\\'d?\\r\\n SPEED. Ever since you lov\\'d her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I have lov\\'d her ever since I saw her, and still\\r\\n I see her beautiful.\\r\\n SPEED. If you love her, you cannot see her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why?\\r\\n SPEED. Because Love is blind. O that you had mine eyes; or your own\\r\\n eyes had the lights they were wont to have when you chid at Sir\\r\\n Proteus for going ungarter\\'d!\\r\\n VALENTINE. What should I see then?\\r\\n SPEED. Your own present folly and her passing deformity; for he,\\r\\n being in love, could not see to garter his hose; and you, being\\r\\n in love, cannot see to put on your hose.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last morning you\\r\\n could not see to wipe my shoes.\\r\\n SPEED. True, sir; I was in love with my bed. I thank you, you\\r\\n swing\\'d me for my love, which makes me the bolder to chide you\\r\\n for yours.\\r\\n VALENTINE. In conclusion, I stand affected to her.\\r\\n SPEED. I would you were set, so your affection would cease.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Last night she enjoin\\'d me to write some lines to one\\r\\n she loves.\\r\\n SPEED. And have you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I have.\\r\\n SPEED. Are they not lamely writ?\\r\\n VALENTINE. No, boy, but as well as I can do them.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA\\r\\n\\r\\n Peace! here she comes.\\r\\n SPEED. [Aside] O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet!\\r\\n Now will he interpret to her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Madam and mistress, a thousand good morrows.\\r\\n SPEED. [Aside] O, give ye good ev\\'n!\\r\\n Here\\'s a million of manners.\\r\\n SILVIA. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand.\\r\\n SPEED. [Aside] He should give her interest, and she gives it him.\\r\\n VALENTINE. As you enjoin\\'d me, I have writ your letter\\r\\n Unto the secret nameless friend of yours;\\r\\n Which I was much unwilling to proceed in,\\r\\n But for my duty to your ladyship.\\r\\n SILVIA. I thank you, gentle servant. \\'Tis very clerkly done.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off;\\r\\n For, being ignorant to whom it goes,\\r\\n I writ at random, very doubtfully.\\r\\n SILVIA. Perchance you think too much of so much pains?\\r\\n VALENTINE. No, madam; so it stead you, I will write,\\r\\n Please you command, a thousand times as much;\\r\\n And yet-\\r\\n SILVIA. A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel;\\r\\n And yet I will not name it- and yet I care not.\\r\\n And yet take this again- and yet I thank you-\\r\\n Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.\\r\\n SPEED. [Aside] And yet you will; and yet another\\' yet.\\'\\r\\n VALENTINE. What means your ladyship? Do you not like it?\\r\\n SILVIA. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ;\\r\\n But, since unwillingly, take them again.\\r\\n Nay, take them. [Gives hack the letter]\\r\\n VALENTINE. Madam, they are for you.\\r\\n SILVIA. Ay, ay, you writ them, sir, at my request;\\r\\n But I will none of them; they are for you:\\r\\n I would have had them writ more movingly.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Please you, I\\'ll write your ladyship another.\\r\\n SILVIA. And when it\\'s writ, for my sake read it over;\\r\\n And if it please you, so; if not, why, so.\\r\\n VALENTINE. If it please me, madam, what then?\\r\\n SILVIA. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour.\\r\\n And so good morrow, servant. Exit SILVIA\\r\\n SPEED. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible,\\r\\n As a nose on a man\\'s face, or a weathercock on a steeple!\\r\\n My master sues to her; and she hath taught her suitor,\\r\\n He being her pupil, to become her tutor.\\r\\n O excellent device! Was there ever heard a better,\\r\\n That my master, being scribe, to himself should write the letter?\\r\\n VALENTINE. How now, sir! What are you reasoning with yourself?\\r\\n SPEED. Nay, I was rhyming: \\'tis you that have the reason.\\r\\n VALENTINE. To do what?\\r\\n SPEED. To be a spokesman from Madam Silvia?\\r\\n VALENTINE. To whom?\\r\\n SPEED. To yourself; why, she woos you by a figure.\\r\\n VALENTINE. What figure?\\r\\n SPEED. By a letter, I should say.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, she hath not writ to me.\\r\\n SPEED. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself?\\r\\n Why, do you not perceive the jest?\\r\\n VALENTINE. No, believe me.\\r\\n SPEED. No believing you indeed, sir. But did you perceive her\\r\\n earnest?\\r\\n VALENTINE. She gave me none except an angry word.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, she hath given you a letter.\\r\\n VALENTINE. That\\'s the letter I writ to her friend.\\r\\n SPEED. And that letter hath she deliver\\'d, and there an end.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I would it were no worse.\\r\\n SPEED. I\\'ll warrant you \\'tis as well.\\r\\n \\'For often have you writ to her; and she, in modesty,\\r\\n Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply;\\r\\n Or fearing else some messenger that might her mind discover,\\r\\n Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.\\'\\r\\n All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. Why muse you,\\r\\n sir? \\'Tis dinner time.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I have din\\'d.\\r\\n SPEED. Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can feed on\\r\\n the air, I am one that am nourish\\'d by my victuals, and would\\r\\n fain have meat. O, be not like your mistress! Be moved, be moved.\\r\\n Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Verona. JULIA\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PROTEUS and JULIA\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Have patience, gentle Julia.\\r\\n JULIA. I must, where is no remedy.\\r\\n PROTEUS. When possibly I can, I will return.\\r\\n JULIA. If you turn not, you will return the sooner.\\r\\n Keep this remembrance for thy Julia\\'s sake.\\r\\n [Giving a ring]\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, then, we\\'ll make exchange. Here, take you this.\\r\\n JULIA. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Here is my hand for my true constancy;\\r\\n And when that hour o\\'erslips me in the day\\r\\n Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake,\\r\\n The next ensuing hour some foul mischance\\r\\n Torment me for my love\\'s forgetfulness!\\r\\n My father stays my coming; answer not;\\r\\n The tide is now- nay, not thy tide of tears:\\r\\n That tide will stay me longer than I should.\\r\\n Julia, farewell! Exit JULIA\\r\\n What, gone without a word?\\r\\n Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak;\\r\\n For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PANTHINO\\r\\n\\r\\n PANTHINO. Sir Proteus, you are stay\\'d for.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go; I come, I come.\\r\\n Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Verona. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter LAUNCE, leading a dog\\r\\n\\r\\n LAUNCE. Nay, \\'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping; all the\\r\\n kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have receiv\\'d my\\r\\n proportion, like the Prodigious Son, and am going with Sir Proteus to\\r\\n the Imperial\\'s court. I think Crab my dog be the sourest-natured dog\\r\\n that lives: my mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying,\\r\\n our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a\\r\\n great perplexity; yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear.\\r\\n He is a stone, a very pebble stone, and has no more pity in him than\\r\\n a dog. A Jew would have wept to have seen our parting; why, my\\r\\n grandam having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting.\\r\\n Nay, I\\'ll show you the manner of it. This shoe is my father; no, this\\r\\n left shoe is my father; no, no, left shoe is my mother; nay, that\\r\\n cannot be so neither; yes, it is so, it is so, it hath the worser\\r\\n sole. This shoe with the hole in it is my mother, and this my father.\\r\\n A vengeance on \\'t! There \\'tis. Now, sir, this staff is my sister,\\r\\n for, look you, she is as white as a lily and as small as a wand; this\\r\\n hat is Nan our maid; I am the dog; no, the dog is himself, and I am\\r\\n the dog- O, the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so, so. Now come I to\\r\\n my father: \\'Father, your blessing.\\' Now should not the shoe speak a\\r\\n word for weeping; now should I kiss my father; well, he weeps on. Now\\r\\n come I to my mother. O that she could speak now like a wood woman!\\r\\n Well, I kiss her- why there \\'tis; here\\'s my mother\\'s breath up and\\r\\n down. Now come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes. Now the dog\\r\\n all this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word; but see how I lay\\r\\n the dust with my tears.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PANTHINO\\r\\n\\r\\n PANTHINO. Launce, away, away, aboard! Thy master is shipp\\'d, and\\r\\n thou art to post after with oars. What\\'s the matter? Why weep\\'st\\r\\n thou, man? Away, ass! You\\'ll lose the tide if you tarry any\\r\\n longer.\\r\\n LAUNCE. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the\\r\\n unkindest tied that ever any man tied.\\r\\n PANTHINO. What\\'s the unkindest tide?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, he that\\'s tied here, Crab, my dog.\\r\\n PANTHINO. Tut, man, I mean thou\\'lt lose the flood, and, in losing\\r\\n the flood, lose thy voyage, and, in losing thy voyage, lose thy\\r\\n master, and, in losing thy master, lose thy service, and, in\\r\\n losing thy service- Why dost thou stop my mouth?\\r\\n LAUNCE. For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue.\\r\\n PANTHINO. Where should I lose my tongue?\\r\\n LAUNCE. In thy tale.\\r\\n PANTHINO. In thy tail!\\r\\n LAUNCE. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the\\r\\n service, and the tied! Why, man, if the river were dry, I am able\\r\\n to fill it with my tears; if the wind were down, I could drive\\r\\n the boat with my sighs.\\r\\n PANTHINO. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Sir, call me what thou dar\\'st.\\r\\n PANTHINO. Will thou go?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Well, I will go. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SILVIA, VALENTINE, THURIO, and SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n SILVIA. Servant!\\r\\n VALENTINE. Mistress?\\r\\n SPEED. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, boy, it\\'s for love.\\r\\n SPEED. Not of you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Of my mistress, then.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Twere good you knock\\'d him. Exit\\r\\n SILVIA. Servant, you are sad.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Indeed, madam, I seem so.\\r\\n THURIO. Seem you that you are not?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Haply I do.\\r\\n THURIO. So do counterfeits.\\r\\n VALENTINE. So do you.\\r\\n THURIO. What seem I that I am not?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Wise.\\r\\n THURIO. What instance of the contrary?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Your folly.\\r\\n THURIO. And how quote you my folly?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I quote it in your jerkin.\\r\\n THURIO. My jerkin is a doublet.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Well, then, I\\'ll double your folly.\\r\\n THURIO. How?\\r\\n SILVIA. What, angry, Sir Thurio! Do you change colour?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of chameleon.\\r\\n THURIO. That hath more mind to feed on your blood than live in your\\r\\n air.\\r\\n VALENTINE. You have said, sir.\\r\\n THURIO. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin.\\r\\n SILVIA. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off.\\r\\n VALENTINE. \\'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver.\\r\\n SILVIA. Who is that, servant?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire. Sir Thurio\\r\\n borrows his wit from your ladyship\\'s looks, and spends what he\\r\\n borrows kindly in your company.\\r\\n THURIO. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your\\r\\n wit bankrupt.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I know it well, sir; you have an exchequer of words,\\r\\n and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers; for it\\r\\n appears by their bare liveries that they live by your bare words.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUKE\\r\\n\\r\\n SILVIA. No more, gentlemen, no more. Here comes my father.\\r\\n DUKE. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset.\\r\\n Sir Valentine, your father is in good health.\\r\\n What say you to a letter from your friends\\r\\n Of much good news?\\r\\n VALENTINE. My lord, I will be thankful\\r\\n To any happy messenger from thence.\\r\\n DUKE. Know ye Don Antonio, your countryman?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman\\r\\n To be of worth and worthy estimation,\\r\\n And not without desert so well reputed.\\r\\n DUKE. Hath he not a son?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord; a son that well deserves\\r\\n The honour and regard of such a father.\\r\\n DUKE. You know him well?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I knew him as myself; for from our infancy\\r\\n We have convers\\'d and spent our hours together;\\r\\n And though myself have been an idle truant,\\r\\n Omitting the sweet benefit of time\\r\\n To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection,\\r\\n Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that\\'s his name,\\r\\n Made use and fair advantage of his days:\\r\\n His years but young, but his experience old;\\r\\n His head unmellowed, but his judgment ripe;\\r\\n And, in a word, for far behind his worth\\r\\n Comes all the praises that I now bestow,\\r\\n He is complete in feature and in mind,\\r\\n With all good grace to grace a gentleman.\\r\\n DUKE. Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good,\\r\\n He is as worthy for an empress\\' love\\r\\n As meet to be an emperor\\'s counsellor.\\r\\n Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me\\r\\n With commendation from great potentates,\\r\\n And here he means to spend his time awhile.\\r\\n I think \\'tis no unwelcome news to you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Should I have wish\\'d a thing, it had been he.\\r\\n DUKE. Welcome him, then, according to his worth-\\r\\n Silvia, I speak to you, and you, Sir Thurio;\\r\\n For Valentine, I need not cite him to it.\\r\\n I will send him hither to you presently. Exit DUKE\\r\\n VALENTINE. This is the gentleman I told your ladyship\\r\\n Had come along with me but that his mistresss\\r\\n Did hold his eyes lock\\'d in her crystal looks.\\r\\n SILVIA. Belike that now she hath enfranchis\\'d them\\r\\n Upon some other pawn for fealty.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still.\\r\\n SILVIA. Nay, then, he should be blind; and, being blind,\\r\\n How could he see his way to seek out you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes.\\r\\n THURIO. They say that Love hath not an eye at all.\\r\\n VALENTINE. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself;\\r\\n Upon a homely object Love can wink. Exit THURIO\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n SILVIA. Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Welcome, dear Proteus! Mistress, I beseech you\\r\\n Confirm his welcome with some special favour.\\r\\n SILVIA. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither,\\r\\n If this be he you oft have wish\\'d to hear from.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Mistress, it is; sweet lady, entertain him\\r\\n To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship.\\r\\n SILVIA. Too low a mistress for so high a servant.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant\\r\\n To have a look of such a worthy mistress.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Leave off discourse of disability;\\r\\n Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.\\r\\n PROTEUS. My duty will I boast of, nothing else.\\r\\n SILVIA. And duty never yet did want his meed.\\r\\n Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress.\\r\\n PROTEUS. I\\'ll die on him that says so but yourself.\\r\\n SILVIA. That you are welcome?\\r\\n PROTEUS. That you are worthless.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter THURIO\\r\\n\\r\\n THURIO. Madam, my lord your father would speak with you.\\r\\n SILVIA. I wait upon his pleasure. Come, Sir Thurio,\\r\\n Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome.\\r\\n I\\'ll leave you to confer of home affairs;\\r\\n When you have done we look to hear from you.\\r\\n PROTEUS. We\\'ll both attend upon your ladyship.\\r\\n Exeunt SILVIA and THURIO\\r\\n VALENTINE. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Your friends are well, and have them much commended.\\r\\n VALENTINE. And how do yours?\\r\\n PROTEUS. I left them all in health.\\r\\n VALENTINE. How does your lady, and how thrives your love?\\r\\n PROTEUS. My tales of love were wont to weary you;\\r\\n I know you joy not in a love-discourse.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter\\'d now;\\r\\n I have done penance for contemning Love,\\r\\n Whose high imperious thoughts have punish\\'d me\\r\\n With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,\\r\\n With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs;\\r\\n For, in revenge of my contempt of love,\\r\\n Love hath chas\\'d sleep from my enthralled eyes\\r\\n And made them watchers of mine own heart\\'s sorrow.\\r\\n O gentle Proteus, Love\\'s a mighty lord,\\r\\n And hath so humbled me as I confess\\r\\n There is no woe to his correction,\\r\\n Nor to his service no such joy on earth.\\r\\n Now no discourse, except it be of love;\\r\\n Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep,\\r\\n Upon the very naked name of love.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye.\\r\\n Was this the idol that you worship so?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint?\\r\\n PROTEUS. No; but she is an earthly paragon.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Call her divine.\\r\\n PROTEUS. I will not flatter her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. O, flatter me; for love delights in praises!\\r\\n PROTEUS. When I was sick you gave me bitter pills,\\r\\n And I must minister the like to you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Then speak the truth by her; if not divine,\\r\\n Yet let her be a principality,\\r\\n Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Except my mistress.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Sweet, except not any;\\r\\n Except thou wilt except against my love.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Have I not reason to prefer mine own?\\r\\n VALENTINE. And I will help thee to prefer her too:\\r\\n She shall be dignified with this high honour-\\r\\n To bear my lady\\'s train, lest the base earth\\r\\n Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss\\r\\n And, of so great a favour growing proud,\\r\\n Disdain to root the summer-swelling flow\\'r\\r\\n And make rough winter everlastingly.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Pardon me, Proteus; all I can is nothing\\r\\n To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing;\\r\\n She is alone.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Then let her alone.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Not for the world! Why, man, she is mine own;\\r\\n And I as rich in having such a jewel\\r\\n As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,\\r\\n The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.\\r\\n Forgive me that I do not dream on thee,\\r\\n Because thou seest me dote upon my love.\\r\\n My foolish rival, that her father likes\\r\\n Only for his possessions are so huge,\\r\\n Is gone with her along; and I must after,\\r\\n For love, thou know\\'st, is full of jealousy.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But she loves you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, and we are betroth\\'d; nay more, our marriage-hour,\\r\\n With all the cunning manner of our flight,\\r\\n Determin\\'d of- how I must climb her window,\\r\\n The ladder made of cords, and all the means\\r\\n Plotted and \\'greed on for my happiness.\\r\\n Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber,\\r\\n In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go on before; I shall enquire you forth;\\r\\n I must unto the road to disembark\\r\\n Some necessaries that I needs must use;\\r\\n And then I\\'ll presently attend you.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Will you make haste?\\r\\n PROTEUS. I will. Exit VALENTINE\\r\\n Even as one heat another heat expels\\r\\n Or as one nail by strength drives out another,\\r\\n So the remembrance of my former love\\r\\n Is by a newer object quite forgotten.\\r\\n Is it my mind, or Valentinus\\' praise,\\r\\n Her true perfection, or my false transgression,\\r\\n That makes me reasonless to reason thus?\\r\\n She is fair; and so is Julia that I love-\\r\\n That I did love, for now my love is thaw\\'d;\\r\\n Which like a waxen image \\'gainst a fire\\r\\n Bears no impression of the thing it was.\\r\\n Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold,\\r\\n And that I love him not as I was wont.\\r\\n O! but I love his lady too too much,\\r\\n And that\\'s the reason I love him so little.\\r\\n How shall I dote on her with more advice\\r\\n That thus without advice begin to love her!\\r\\n \\'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,\\r\\n And that hath dazzled my reason\\'s light;\\r\\n But when I look on her perfections,\\r\\n There is no reason but I shall be blind.\\r\\n If I can check my erring love, I will;\\r\\n If not, to compass her I\\'ll use my skill. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE V. Milan. A street\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter SPEED and LAUNCE severally\\r\\n\\r\\n SPEED. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Padua.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not welcome. I\\r\\n reckon this always, that a man is never undone till he be hang\\'d,\\r\\n nor never welcome to a place till some certain shot be paid, and\\r\\n the hostess say \\'Welcome!\\'\\r\\n SPEED. Come on, you madcap; I\\'ll to the alehouse with you\\r\\n presently; where, for one shot of five pence, thou shalt have\\r\\n five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part with\\r\\n Madam Julia?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Marry, after they clos\\'d in earnest, they parted very\\r\\n fairly in jest.\\r\\n SPEED. But shall she marry him?\\r\\n LAUNCE. No.\\r\\n SPEED. How then? Shall he marry her?\\r\\n LAUNCE. No, neither.\\r\\n SPEED. What, are they broken?\\r\\n LAUNCE. No, they are both as whole as a fish.\\r\\n SPEED. Why then, how stands the matter with them?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Marry, thus: when it stands well with him, it stands well\\r\\n with her.\\r\\n SPEED. What an ass art thou! I understand thee not.\\r\\n LAUNCE. What a block art thou that thou canst not! My staff\\r\\n understands me.\\r\\n SPEED. What thou say\\'st?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Ay, and what I do too; look thee, I\\'ll but lean, and my\\r\\n staff understands me.\\r\\n SPEED. It stands under thee, indeed.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one.\\r\\n SPEED. But tell me true, will\\'t be a match?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Ask my dog. If he say ay, it will; if he say no, it will;\\r\\n if he shake his tail and say nothing, it will.\\r\\n SPEED. The conclusion is, then, that it will.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but by a\\r\\n parable.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how say\\'st thou\\r\\n that my master is become a notable lover?\\r\\n LAUNCE. I never knew him otherwise.\\r\\n SPEED. Than how?\\r\\n LAUNCE. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistak\\'st me.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, fool, I meant not thee, I meant thy master.\\r\\n SPEED. I tell thee my master is become a hot lover.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, I tell thee I care not though he burn himself in love.\\r\\n If thou wilt, go with me to the alehouse; if not, thou art an\\r\\n Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian.\\r\\n SPEED. Why?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Because thou hast not so much charity in thee as to go to\\r\\n the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go?\\r\\n SPEED. At thy service. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VI. Milan. The DUKE\\'s palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn;\\r\\n To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn;\\r\\n To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn;\\r\\n And ev\\'n that pow\\'r which gave me first my oath\\r\\n Provokes me to this threefold perjury:\\r\\n Love bade me swear, and Love bids me forswear.\\r\\n O sweet-suggesting Love, if thou hast sinn\\'d,\\r\\n Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it!\\r\\n At first I did adore a twinkling star,\\r\\n But now I worship a celestial sun.\\r\\n Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken;\\r\\n And he wants wit that wants resolved will\\r\\n To learn his wit t\\' exchange the bad for better.\\r\\n Fie, fie, unreverend tongue, to call her bad\\r\\n Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr\\'d\\r\\n With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths!\\r\\n I cannot leave to love, and yet I do;\\r\\n But there I leave to love where I should love.\\r\\n Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose;\\r\\n If I keep them, I needs must lose myself;\\r\\n If I lose them, thus find I by their loss:\\r\\n For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia.\\r\\n I to myself am dearer than a friend;\\r\\n For love is still most precious in itself;\\r\\n And Silvia- witness heaven, that made her fair!-\\r\\n Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.\\r\\n I will forget that Julia is alive,\\r\\n Rememb\\'ring that my love to her is dead;\\r\\n And Valentine I\\'ll hold an enemy,\\r\\n Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend.\\r\\n I cannot now prove constant to myself\\r\\n Without some treachery us\\'d to Valentine.\\r\\n This night he meaneth with a corded ladder\\r\\n To climb celestial Silvia\\'s chamber window,\\r\\n Myself in counsel, his competitor.\\r\\n Now presently I\\'ll give her father notice\\r\\n Of their disguising and pretended flight,\\r\\n Who, all enrag\\'d, will banish Valentine,\\r\\n For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter;\\r\\n But, Valentine being gone, I\\'ll quickly cross\\r\\n By some sly trick blunt Thurio\\'s dull proceeding.\\r\\n Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift,\\r\\n As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE VII. Verona. JULIA\\'S house\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter JULIA and LUCETTA\\r\\n\\r\\n JULIA. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me;\\r\\n And, ev\\'n in kind love, I do conjure thee,\\r\\n Who art the table wherein all my thoughts\\r\\n Are visibly character\\'d and engrav\\'d,\\r\\n To lesson me and tell me some good mean\\r\\n How, with my honour, I may undertake\\r\\n A journey to my loving Proteus.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Alas, the way is wearisome and long!\\r\\n JULIA. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary\\r\\n To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps;\\r\\n Much less shall she that hath Love\\'s wings to fly,\\r\\n And when the flight is made to one so dear,\\r\\n Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Better forbear till Proteus make return.\\r\\n JULIA. O, know\\'st thou not his looks are my soul\\'s food?\\r\\n Pity the dearth that I have pined in\\r\\n By longing for that food so long a time.\\r\\n Didst thou but know the inly touch of love.\\r\\n Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow\\r\\n As seek to quench the fire of love with words.\\r\\n LUCETTA. I do not seek to quench your love\\'s hot fire,\\r\\n But qualify the fire\\'s extreme rage,\\r\\n Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.\\r\\n JULIA. The more thou dam\\'st it up, the more it burns.\\r\\n The current that with gentle murmur glides,\\r\\n Thou know\\'st, being stopp\\'d, impatiently doth rage;\\r\\n But when his fair course is not hindered,\\r\\n He makes sweet music with th\\' enamell\\'d stones,\\r\\n Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge\\r\\n He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;\\r\\n And so by many winding nooks he strays,\\r\\n With willing sport, to the wild ocean.\\r\\n Then let me go, and hinder not my course.\\r\\n I\\'ll be as patient as a gentle stream,\\r\\n And make a pastime of each weary step,\\r\\n Till the last step have brought me to my love;\\r\\n And there I\\'ll rest as, after much turmoil,\\r\\n A blessed soul doth in Elysium.\\r\\n LUCETTA. But in what habit will you go along?\\r\\n JULIA. Not like a woman, for I would prevent\\r\\n The loose encounters of lascivious men;\\r\\n Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds\\r\\n As may beseem some well-reputed page.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Why then, your ladyship must cut your hair.\\r\\n JULIA. No, girl; I\\'ll knit it up in silken strings\\r\\n With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots-\\r\\n To be fantastic may become a youth\\r\\n Of greater time than I shall show to be.\\r\\n LUCETTA. What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches?\\r\\n JULIA. That fits as well as \\'Tell me, good my lord,\\r\\n What compass will you wear your farthingale.\\'\\r\\n Why ev\\'n what fashion thou best likes, Lucetta.\\r\\n LUCETTA. You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam.\\r\\n JULIA. Out, out, Lucetta, that will be ill-favour\\'d.\\r\\n LUCETTA. A round hose, madam, now\\'s not worth a pin,\\r\\n Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on.\\r\\n JULIA. Lucetta, as thou lov\\'st me, let me have\\r\\n What thou think\\'st meet, and is most mannerly.\\r\\n But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me\\r\\n For undertaking so unstaid a journey?\\r\\n I fear me it will make me scandaliz\\'d.\\r\\n LUCETTA. If you think so, then stay at home and go not.\\r\\n JULIA. Nay, that I will not.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Then never dream on infamy, but go.\\r\\n If Proteus like your journey when you come,\\r\\n No matter who\\'s displeas\\'d when you are gone.\\r\\n I fear me he will scarce be pleas\\'d withal.\\r\\n JULIA. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear:\\r\\n A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears,\\r\\n And instances of infinite of love,\\r\\n Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.\\r\\n LUCETTA. All these are servants to deceitful men.\\r\\n JULIA. Base men that use them to so base effect!\\r\\n But truer stars did govern Proteus\\' birth;\\r\\n His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles,\\r\\n His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate,\\r\\n His tears pure messengers sent from his heart,\\r\\n His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.\\r\\n LUCETTA. Pray heav\\'n he prove so when you come to him.\\r\\n JULIA. Now, as thou lov\\'st me, do him not that wrong\\r\\n To bear a hard opinion of his truth;\\r\\n Only deserve my love by loving him.\\r\\n And presently go with me to my chamber,\\r\\n To take a note of what I stand in need of\\r\\n To furnish me upon my longing journey.\\r\\n All that is mine I leave at thy dispose,\\r\\n My goods, my lands, my reputation;\\r\\n Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence.\\r\\n Come, answer not, but to it presently;\\r\\n I am impatient of my tarriance. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III. SCENE I. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile;\\r\\n We have some secrets to confer about. Exit THURIO\\r\\n Now tell me, Proteus, what\\'s your will with me?\\r\\n PROTEUS. My gracious lord, that which I would discover\\r\\n The law of friendship bids me to conceal;\\r\\n But, when I call to mind your gracious favours\\r\\n Done to me, undeserving as I am,\\r\\n My duty pricks me on to utter that\\r\\n Which else no worldly good should draw from me.\\r\\n Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend,\\r\\n This night intends to steal away your daughter;\\r\\n Myself am one made privy to the plot.\\r\\n I know you have determin\\'d to bestow her\\r\\n On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;\\r\\n And should she thus be stol\\'n away from you,\\r\\n It would be much vexation to your age.\\r\\n Thus, for my duty\\'s sake, I rather chose\\r\\n To cross my friend in his intended drift\\r\\n Than, by concealing it, heap on your head\\r\\n A pack of sorrows which would press you down,\\r\\n Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.\\r\\n DUKE. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care,\\r\\n Which to requite, command me while I live.\\r\\n This love of theirs myself have often seen,\\r\\n Haply when they have judg\\'d me fast asleep,\\r\\n And oftentimes have purpos\\'d to forbid\\r\\n Sir Valentine her company and my court;\\r\\n But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err\\r\\n And so, unworthily, disgrace the man,\\r\\n A rashness that I ever yet have shunn\\'d,\\r\\n I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find\\r\\n That which thyself hast now disclos\\'d to me.\\r\\n And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this,\\r\\n Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,\\r\\n I nightly lodge her in an upper tow\\'r,\\r\\n The key whereof myself have ever kept;\\r\\n And thence she cannot be convey\\'d away.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Know, noble lord, they have devis\\'d a mean\\r\\n How he her chamber window will ascend\\r\\n And with a corded ladder fetch her down;\\r\\n For which the youthful lover now is gone,\\r\\n And this way comes he with it presently;\\r\\n Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.\\r\\n But, good my lord, do it so cunningly\\r\\n That my discovery be not aimed at;\\r\\n For love of you, not hate unto my friend,\\r\\n Hath made me publisher of this pretence.\\r\\n DUKE. Upon mine honour, he shall never know\\r\\n That I had any light from thee of this.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Adieu, my lord; Sir Valentine is coming. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter VALENTINE\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Please it your Grace, there is a messenger\\r\\n That stays to bear my letters to my friends,\\r\\n And I am going to deliver them.\\r\\n DUKE. Be they of much import?\\r\\n VALENTINE. The tenour of them doth but signify\\r\\n My health and happy being at your court.\\r\\n DUKE. Nay then, no matter; stay with me awhile;\\r\\n I am to break with thee of some affairs\\r\\n That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret.\\r\\n \\'Tis not unknown to thee that I have sought\\r\\n To match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the match\\r\\n Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman\\r\\n Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities\\r\\n Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter.\\r\\n Cannot your grace win her to fancy him?\\r\\n DUKE. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward,\\r\\n Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty;\\r\\n Neither regarding that she is my child\\r\\n Nor fearing me as if I were her father;\\r\\n And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers,\\r\\n Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her;\\r\\n And, where I thought the remnant of mine age\\r\\n Should have been cherish\\'d by her childlike duty,\\r\\n I now am full resolv\\'d to take a wife\\r\\n And turn her out to who will take her in.\\r\\n Then let her beauty be her wedding-dow\\'r;\\r\\n For me and my possessions she esteems not.\\r\\n VALENTINE. What would your Grace have me to do in this?\\r\\n DUKE. There is a lady, in Verona here,\\r\\n Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy,\\r\\n And nought esteems my aged eloquence.\\r\\n Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor-\\r\\n For long agone I have forgot to court;\\r\\n Besides, the fashion of the time is chang\\'d-\\r\\n How and which way I may bestow myself\\r\\n To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words:\\r\\n Dumb jewels often in their silent kind\\r\\n More than quick words do move a woman\\'s mind.\\r\\n DUKE. But she did scorn a present that I sent her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. A woman sometime scorns what best contents her.\\r\\n Send her another; never give her o\\'er,\\r\\n For scorn at first makes after-love the more.\\r\\n If she do frown, \\'tis not in hate of you,\\r\\n But rather to beget more love in you;\\r\\n If she do chide, \\'tis not to have you gone,\\r\\n For why, the fools are mad if left alone.\\r\\n Take no repulse, whatever she doth say;\\r\\n For \\'Get you gone\\' she doth not mean \\'Away!\\'\\r\\n Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces;\\r\\n Though ne\\'er so black, say they have angels\\' faces.\\r\\n That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man,\\r\\n If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.\\r\\n DUKE. But she I mean is promis\\'d by her friends\\r\\n Unto a youthful gentleman of worth;\\r\\n And kept severely from resort of men,\\r\\n That no man hath access by day to her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why then I would resort to her by night.\\r\\n DUKE. Ay, but the doors be lock\\'d and keys kept safe,\\r\\n That no man hath recourse to her by night.\\r\\n VALENTINE. What lets but one may enter at her window?\\r\\n DUKE. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground,\\r\\n And built so shelving that one cannot climb it\\r\\n Without apparent hazard of his life.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why then a ladder, quaintly made of cords,\\r\\n To cast up with a pair of anchoring hooks,\\r\\n Would serve to scale another Hero\\'s tow\\'r,\\r\\n So bold Leander would adventure it.\\r\\n DUKE. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood,\\r\\n Advise me where I may have such a ladder.\\r\\n VALENTINE. When would you use it? Pray, sir, tell me that.\\r\\n DUKE. This very night; for Love is like a child,\\r\\n That longs for everything that he can come by.\\r\\n VALENTINE. By seven o\\'clock I\\'ll get you such a ladder.\\r\\n DUKE. But, hark thee; I will go to her alone;\\r\\n How shall I best convey the ladder thither?\\r\\n VALENTINE. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it\\r\\n Under a cloak that is of any length.\\r\\n DUKE. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Then let me see thy cloak.\\r\\n I\\'ll get me one of such another length.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?\\r\\n I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.\\r\\n What letter is this same? What\\'s here? \\'To Silvia\\'!\\r\\n And here an engine fit for my proceeding!\\r\\n I\\'ll be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads]\\r\\n \\'My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly,\\r\\n And slaves they are to me, that send them flying.\\r\\n O, could their master come and go as lightly,\\r\\n Himself would lodge where, senseless, they are lying!\\r\\n My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them,\\r\\n While I, their king, that thither them importune,\\r\\n Do curse the grace that with such grace hath blest them,\\r\\n Because myself do want my servants\\' fortune.\\r\\n I curse myself, for they are sent by me,\\r\\n That they should harbour where their lord should be.\\'\\r\\n What\\'s here?\\r\\n \\'Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee.\\'\\r\\n \\'Tis so; and here\\'s the ladder for the purpose.\\r\\n Why, Phaethon- for thou art Merops\\' son-\\r\\n Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car,\\r\\n And with thy daring folly burn the world?\\r\\n Wilt thou reach stars because they shine on thee?\\r\\n Go, base intruder, over-weening slave,\\r\\n Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates;\\r\\n And think my patience, more than thy desert,\\r\\n Is privilege for thy departure hence.\\r\\n Thank me for this more than for all the favours\\r\\n Which, all too much, I have bestow\\'d on thee.\\r\\n But if thou linger in my territories\\r\\n Longer than swiftest expedition\\r\\n Will give thee time to leave our royal court,\\r\\n By heaven! my wrath shall far exceed the love\\r\\n I ever bore my daughter or thyself.\\r\\n Be gone; I will not hear thy vain excuse,\\r\\n But, as thou lov\\'st thy life, make speed from hence. Exit\\r\\n VALENTINE. And why not death rather than living torment?\\r\\n To die is to be banish\\'d from myself,\\r\\n And Silvia is myself; banish\\'d from her\\r\\n Is self from self, a deadly banishment.\\r\\n What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?\\r\\n What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by?\\r\\n Unless it be to think that she is by,\\r\\n And feed upon the shadow of perfection.\\r\\n Except I be by Silvia in the night,\\r\\n There is no music in the nightingale;\\r\\n Unless I look on Silvia in the day,\\r\\n There is no day for me to look upon.\\r\\n She is my essence, and I leave to be\\r\\n If I be not by her fair influence\\r\\n Foster\\'d, illumin\\'d, cherish\\'d, kept alive.\\r\\n I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom:\\r\\n Tarry I here, I but attend on death;\\r\\n But fly I hence, I fly away from life.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Run, boy, run, run, seek him out.\\r\\n LAUNCE. So-ho, so-ho!\\r\\n PROTEUS. What seest thou?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Him we go to find: there\\'s not a hair on \\'s head but \\'tis a\\r\\n Valentine.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Valentine?\\r\\n VALENTINE. No.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Who then? his spirit?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Neither.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What then?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Nothing.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Who wouldst thou strike?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Nothing.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Villain, forbear.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, sir, I\\'ll strike nothing. I pray you-\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, a word.\\r\\n VALENTINE. My ears are stopp\\'d and cannot hear good news,\\r\\n So much of bad already hath possess\\'d them.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine,\\r\\n For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Is Silvia dead?\\r\\n PROTEUS. No, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia.\\r\\n Hath she forsworn me?\\r\\n PROTEUS. No, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me.\\r\\n What is your news?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished.\\r\\n PROTEUS. That thou art banished- O, that\\'s the news!-\\r\\n From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend.\\r\\n VALENTINE. O, I have fed upon this woe already,\\r\\n And now excess of it will make me surfeit.\\r\\n Doth Silvia know that I am banished?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ay, ay; and she hath offered to the doom-\\r\\n Which, unrevers\\'d, stands in effectual force-\\r\\n A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears;\\r\\n Those at her father\\'s churlish feet she tender\\'d;\\r\\n With them, upon her knees, her humble self,\\r\\n Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them\\r\\n As if but now they waxed pale for woe.\\r\\n But neither bended knees, pure hands held up,\\r\\n Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears,\\r\\n Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire-\\r\\n But Valentine, if he be ta\\'en, must die.\\r\\n Besides, her intercession chaf\\'d him so,\\r\\n When she for thy repeal was suppliant,\\r\\n That to close prison he commanded her,\\r\\n With many bitter threats of biding there.\\r\\n VALENTINE. No more; unless the next word that thou speak\\'st\\r\\n Have some malignant power upon my life:\\r\\n If so, I pray thee breathe it in mine ear,\\r\\n As ending anthem of my endless dolour.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help,\\r\\n And study help for that which thou lament\\'st.\\r\\n Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.\\r\\n Here if thou stay thou canst not see thy love;\\r\\n Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life.\\r\\n Hope is a lover\\'s staff; walk hence with that,\\r\\n And manage it against despairing thoughts.\\r\\n Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence,\\r\\n Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver\\'d\\r\\n Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love.\\r\\n The time now serves not to expostulate.\\r\\n Come, I\\'ll convey thee through the city gate;\\r\\n And, ere I part with thee, confer at large\\r\\n Of all that may concern thy love affairs.\\r\\n As thou lov\\'st Silvia, though not for thyself,\\r\\n Regard thy danger, and along with me.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy,\\r\\n Bid him make haste and meet me at the Northgate.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. O my dear Silvia! Hapless Valentine!\\r\\n Exeunt VALENTINE and PROTEUS\\r\\n LAUNCE. I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have the wit to think\\r\\n my master is a kind of a knave; but that\\'s all one if he be but\\r\\n one knave. He lives not now that knows me to be in love; yet I am\\r\\n in love; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me; nor\\r\\n who \\'tis I love; and yet \\'tis a woman; but what woman I will not\\r\\n tell myself; and yet \\'tis a milkmaid; yet \\'tis not a maid, for\\r\\n she hath had gossips; yet \\'tis a maid, for she is her master\\'s\\r\\n maid and serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a\\r\\n water-spaniel- which is much in a bare Christian. Here is the\\r\\n cate-log [Pulling out a paper] of her condition. \\'Inprimis: She\\r\\n can fetch and carry.\\' Why, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse\\r\\n cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore is she better than a\\r\\n jade. \\'Item: She can milk.\\' Look you, a sweet virtue in a maid\\r\\n with clean hands.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n SPEED. How now, Signior Launce! What news with your mastership?\\r\\n LAUNCE. With my master\\'s ship? Why, it is at sea.\\r\\n SPEED. Well, your old vice still: mistake the word. What news,\\r\\n then, in your paper?\\r\\n LAUNCE. The black\\'st news that ever thou heard\\'st.\\r\\n SPEED. Why, man? how black?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, as black as ink.\\r\\n SPEED. Let me read them.\\r\\n LAUNCE. Fie on thee, jolt-head; thou canst not read.\\r\\n SPEED. Thou liest; I can.\\r\\n LAUNCE. I will try thee. Tell me this: Who begot thee?\\r\\n SPEED. Marry, the son of my grandfather.\\r\\n LAUNCE. O illiterate loiterer. It was the son of thy grandmother.\\r\\n This proves that thou canst not read.\\r\\n SPEED. Come, fool, come; try me in thy paper.\\r\\n LAUNCE. [Handing over the paper] There; and Saint Nicholas be thy\\r\\n speed.\\r\\n SPEED. [Reads] \\'Inprimis: She can milk.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Ay, that she can.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She brews good ale.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. And thereof comes the proverb: Blessing of your heart, you\\r\\n brew good ale.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She can sew.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. That\\'s as much as to say \\'Can she so?\\'\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She can knit.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when she can\\r\\n knit him a stock.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She can wash and scour.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. A special virtue; for then she need not be wash\\'d and\\r\\n scour\\'d.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She can spin.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can spin for\\r\\n her living.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath many nameless virtues.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. That\\'s as much as to say \\'bastard virtues\\'; that indeed\\r\\n know not their fathers, and therefore have no names.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Here follow her vices.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Close at the heels of her virtues.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is not to be kiss\\'d fasting, in respect of her\\r\\n breath.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast.\\r\\n Read on.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath a sweet mouth.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. That makes amends for her sour breath.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She doth talk in her sleep.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. It\\'s no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is slow in words.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. O villain, that set this down among her vices! To be slow\\r\\n in words is a woman\\'s only virtue. I pray thee, out with\\'t; and\\r\\n place it for her chief virtue.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is proud.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Out with that too; it was Eve\\'s legacy, and cannot be ta\\'en\\r\\n from her.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath no teeth.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. I care not for that neither, because I love crusts.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is curst.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She will often praise her liquor.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. If her liquor be good, she shall; if she will not, I will;\\r\\n for good things should be praised.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She is too liberal.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Of her tongue she cannot, for that\\'s writ down she is slow\\r\\n of; of her purse she shall not, for that I\\'ll keep shut. Now of\\r\\n another thing she may, and that cannot I help. Well, proceed.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath more hair than wit, and more faults\\r\\n than hairs, and more wealth than faults.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Stop there; I\\'ll have her; she was mine, and not mine,\\r\\n twice or thrice in that last article. Rehearse that once more.\\r\\n SPEED. \\'Item: She hath more hair than wit\\'-\\r\\n LAUNCE. More hair than wit. It may be; I\\'ll prove it: the cover of\\r\\n the salt hides the salt, and therefore it is more than the salt;\\r\\n the hair that covers the wit is more than the wit, for the\\r\\n greater hides the less. What\\'s next?\\r\\n SPEED. \\'And more faults than hairs\\'-\\r\\n LAUNCE. That\\'s monstrous. O that that were out!\\r\\n SPEED. \\'And more wealth than faults.\\'\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well, I\\'ll have\\r\\n her; an if it be a match, as nothing is impossible-\\r\\n SPEED. What then?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Why, then will I tell thee- that thy master stays for thee\\r\\n at the Northgate.\\r\\n SPEED. For me?\\r\\n LAUNCE. For thee! ay, who art thou? He hath stay\\'d for a better man\\r\\n than thee.\\r\\n SPEED. And must I go to him?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Thou must run to him, for thou hast stay\\'d so long that\\r\\n going will scarce serve the turn.\\r\\n SPEED. Why didst not tell me sooner? Pox of your love letters!\\r\\n Exit\\r\\n LAUNCE. Now will he be swing\\'d for reading my letter. An unmannerly\\r\\n slave that will thrust himself into secrets! I\\'ll after, to\\r\\n rejoice in the boy\\'s correction. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter DUKE and THURIO\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you\\r\\n Now Valentine is banish\\'d from her sight.\\r\\n THURIO. Since his exile she hath despis\\'d me most,\\r\\n Forsworn my company and rail\\'d at me,\\r\\n That I am desperate of obtaining her.\\r\\n DUKE. This weak impress of love is as a figure\\r\\n Trenched in ice, which with an hour\\'s heat\\r\\n Dissolves to water and doth lose his form.\\r\\n A little time will melt her frozen thoughts,\\r\\n And worthless Valentine shall be forgot.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n How now, Sir Proteus! Is your countryman,\\r\\n According to our proclamation, gone?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Gone, my good lord.\\r\\n DUKE. My daughter takes his going grievously.\\r\\n PROTEUS. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief.\\r\\n DUKE. So I believe; but Thurio thinks not so.\\r\\n Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee-\\r\\n For thou hast shown some sign of good desert-\\r\\n Makes me the better to confer with thee.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Longer than I prove loyal to your Grace\\r\\n Let me not live to look upon your Grace.\\r\\n DUKE. Thou know\\'st how willingly I would effect\\r\\n The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter.\\r\\n PROTEUS. I do, my lord.\\r\\n DUKE. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant\\r\\n How she opposes her against my will.\\r\\n PROTEUS. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here.\\r\\n DUKE. Ay, and perversely she persevers so.\\r\\n What might we do to make the girl forget\\r\\n The love of Valentine, and love Sir Thurio?\\r\\n PROTEUS. The best way is to slander Valentine\\r\\n With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent-\\r\\n Three things that women highly hold in hate.\\r\\n DUKE. Ay, but she\\'ll think that it is spoke in hate.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ay, if his enemy deliver it;\\r\\n Therefore it must with circumstance be spoken\\r\\n By one whom she esteemeth as his friend.\\r\\n DUKE. Then you must undertake to slander him.\\r\\n PROTEUS. And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do:\\r\\n \\'Tis an ill office for a gentleman,\\r\\n Especially against his very friend.\\r\\n DUKE. Where your good word cannot advantage him,\\r\\n Your slander never can endamage him;\\r\\n Therefore the office is indifferent,\\r\\n Being entreated to it by your friend.\\r\\n PROTEUS. You have prevail\\'d, my lord; if I can do it\\r\\n By aught that I can speak in his dispraise,\\r\\n She shall not long continue love to him.\\r\\n But say this weed her love from Valentine,\\r\\n It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio.\\r\\n THURIO. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him,\\r\\n Lest it should ravel and be good to none,\\r\\n You must provide to bottom it on me;\\r\\n Which must be done by praising me as much\\r\\n As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine.\\r\\n DUKE. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind,\\r\\n Because we know, on Valentine\\'s report,\\r\\n You are already Love\\'s firm votary\\r\\n And cannot soon revolt and change your mind.\\r\\n Upon this warrant shall you have access\\r\\n Where you with Silvia may confer at large-\\r\\n For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy,\\r\\n And, for your friend\\'s sake, will be glad of you-\\r\\n Where you may temper her by your persuasion\\r\\n To hate young Valentine and love my friend.\\r\\n PROTEUS. As much as I can do I will effect.\\r\\n But you, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough;\\r\\n You must lay lime to tangle her desires\\r\\n By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes\\r\\n Should be full-fraught with serviceable vows.\\r\\n DUKE. Ay,\\r\\n Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Say that upon the altar of her beauty\\r\\n You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart;\\r\\n Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears\\r\\n Moist it again, and frame some feeling line\\r\\n That may discover such integrity;\\r\\n For Orpheus\\' lute was strung with poets\\' sinews,\\r\\n Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,\\r\\n Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans\\r\\n Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.\\r\\n After your dire-lamenting elegies,\\r\\n Visit by night your lady\\'s chamber window\\r\\n With some sweet consort; to their instruments\\r\\n Tune a deploring dump- the night\\'s dead silence\\r\\n Will well become such sweet-complaining grievance.\\r\\n This, or else nothing, will inherit her.\\r\\n DUKE. This discipline shows thou hast been in love.\\r\\n THURIO. And thy advice this night I\\'ll put in practice;\\r\\n Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver,\\r\\n Let us into the city presently\\r\\n To sort some gentlemen well skill\\'d in music.\\r\\n I have a sonnet that will serve the turn\\r\\n To give the onset to thy good advice.\\r\\n DUKE. About it, gentlemen!\\r\\n PROTEUS. We\\'ll wait upon your Grace till after supper,\\r\\n And afterward determine our proceedings.\\r\\n DUKE. Even now about it! I will pardon you. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV. SCENE I. The frontiers of Mantua. A forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter certain OUTLAWS\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Fellows, stand fast; I see a passenger.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter VALENTINE and SPEED\\r\\n\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about ye;\\r\\n If not, we\\'ll make you sit, and rifle you.\\r\\n SPEED. Sir, we are undone; these are the villains\\r\\n That all the travellers do fear so much.\\r\\n VALENTINE. My friends-\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. That\\'s not so, sir; we are your enemies.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Peace! we\\'ll hear him.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. Ay, by my beard, will we; for he is a proper man.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Then know that I have little wealth to lose;\\r\\n A man I am cross\\'d with adversity;\\r\\n My riches are these poor habiliments,\\r\\n Of which if you should here disfurnish me,\\r\\n You take the sum and substance that I have.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Whither travel you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. To Verona.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Whence came you?\\r\\n VALENTINE. From Milan.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. Have you long sojourn\\'d there?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Some sixteen months, and longer might have stay\\'d,\\r\\n If crooked fortune had not thwarted me.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. What, were you banish\\'d thence?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I was.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. For what offence?\\r\\n VALENTINE. For that which now torments me to rehearse:\\r\\n I kill\\'d a man, whose death I much repent;\\r\\n But yet I slew him manfully in fight,\\r\\n Without false vantage or base treachery.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Why, ne\\'er repent it, if it were done so.\\r\\n But were you banish\\'d for so small a fault?\\r\\n VALENTINE. I was, and held me glad of such a doom.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Have you the tongues?\\r\\n VALENTINE. My youthful travel therein made me happy,\\r\\n Or else I often had been miserable.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood\\'s fat friar,\\r\\n This fellow were a king for our wild faction!\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. We\\'ll have him. Sirs, a word.\\r\\n SPEED. Master, be one of them; it\\'s an honourable kind of thievery.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Peace, villain!\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Tell us this: have you anything to take to?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Nothing but my fortune.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. Know, then, that some of us are gentlemen,\\r\\n Such as the fury of ungovern\\'d youth\\r\\n Thrust from the company of awful men;\\r\\n Myself was from Verona banished\\r\\n For practising to steal away a lady,\\r\\n An heir, and near allied unto the Duke.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman\\r\\n Who, in my mood, I stabb\\'d unto the heart.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. And I for such-like petty crimes as these.\\r\\n But to the purpose- for we cite our faults\\r\\n That they may hold excus\\'d our lawless lives;\\r\\n And, partly, seeing you are beautified\\r\\n With goodly shape, and by your own report\\r\\n A linguist, and a man of such perfection\\r\\n As we do in our quality much want-\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Indeed, because you are a banish\\'d man,\\r\\n Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you.\\r\\n Are you content to be our general-\\r\\n To make a virtue of necessity,\\r\\n And live as we do in this wilderness?\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. What say\\'st thou? Wilt thou be of our consort?\\r\\n Say \\'ay\\' and be the captain of us all.\\r\\n We\\'ll do thee homage, and be rul\\'d by thee,\\r\\n Love thee as our commander and our king.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. But if thou scorn our courtesy thou diest.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offer\\'d.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I take your offer, and will live with you,\\r\\n Provided that you do no outrages\\r\\n On silly women or poor passengers.\\r\\n THIRD OUTLAW. No, we detest such vile base practices.\\r\\n Come, go with us; we\\'ll bring thee to our crews,\\r\\n And show thee all the treasure we have got;\\r\\n Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Milan. Outside the DUKE\\'S palace, under SILVIA\\'S window\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter PROTEUS\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Already have I been false to Valentine,\\r\\n And now I must be as unjust to Thurio.\\r\\n Under the colour of commending him\\r\\n I have access my own love to prefer;\\r\\n But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy,\\r\\n To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.\\r\\n When I protest true loyalty to her,\\r\\n She twits me with my falsehood to my friend;\\r\\n When to her beauty I commend my vows,\\r\\n She bids me think how I have been forsworn\\r\\n In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov\\'d;\\r\\n And notwithstanding all her sudden quips,\\r\\n The least whereof would quell a lover\\'s hope,\\r\\n Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love\\r\\n The more it grows and fawneth on her still.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter THURIO and MUSICIANS\\r\\n\\r\\n But here comes Thurio. Now must we to her window,\\r\\n And give some evening music to her ear.\\r\\n THURIO. How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept before us?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ay, gentle Thurio; for you know that love\\r\\n Will creep in service where it cannot go.\\r\\n THURIO. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence.\\r\\n THURIO. Who? Silvia?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ay, Silvia- for your sake.\\r\\n THURIO. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen,\\r\\n Let\\'s tune, and to it lustily awhile.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter at a distance, HOST, and JULIA in boy\\'s clothes\\r\\n\\r\\n HOST. Now, my young guest, methinks you\\'re allycholly; I pray you,\\r\\n why is it?\\r\\n JULIA. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry.\\r\\n HOST. Come, we\\'ll have you merry; I\\'ll bring you where you shall\\r\\n hear music, and see the gentleman that you ask\\'d for.\\r\\n JULIA. But shall I hear him speak?\\r\\n HOST. Ay, that you shall. [Music plays]\\r\\n JULIA. That will be music.\\r\\n HOST. Hark, hark!\\r\\n JULIA. Is he among these?\\r\\n HOST. Ay; but peace! let\\'s hear \\'em.\\r\\n\\r\\n SONG\\r\\n Who is Silvia? What is she,\\r\\n That all our swains commend her?\\r\\n Holy, fair, and wise is she;\\r\\n The heaven such grace did lend her,\\r\\n That she might admired be.\\r\\n\\r\\n Is she kind as she is fair?\\r\\n For beauty lives with kindness.\\r\\n Love doth to her eyes repair,\\r\\n To help him of his blindness;\\r\\n And, being help\\'d, inhabits there.\\r\\n\\r\\n Then to Silvia let us sing\\r\\n That Silvia is excelling;\\r\\n She excels each mortal thing\\r\\n Upon the dull earth dwelling.\\r\\n \\'To her let us garlands bring.\\r\\n\\r\\n HOST. How now, are you sadder than you were before?\\r\\n How do you, man? The music likes you not.\\r\\n JULIA. You mistake; the musician likes me not.\\r\\n HOST. Why, my pretty youth?\\r\\n JULIA. He plays false, father.\\r\\n HOST. How, out of tune on the strings?\\r\\n JULIA. Not so; but yet so false that he grieves my very\\r\\n heart-strings.\\r\\n HOST. You have a quick ear.\\r\\n JULIA. Ay, I would I were deaf; it makes me have a slow heart.\\r\\n HOST. I perceive you delight not in music.\\r\\n JULIA. Not a whit, when it jars so.\\r\\n HOST. Hark, what fine change is in the music!\\r\\n JULIA. Ay, that change is the spite.\\r\\n HOST. You would have them always play but one thing?\\r\\n JULIA. I would always have one play but one thing.\\r\\n But, Host, doth this Sir Proteus, that we talk on,\\r\\n Often resort unto this gentlewoman?\\r\\n HOST. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me: he lov\\'d her out of\\r\\n all nick.\\r\\n JULIA. Where is Launce?\\r\\n HOST. Gone to seek his dog, which to-morrow, by his master\\'s\\r\\n command, he must carry for a present to his lady.\\r\\n JULIA. Peace, stand aside; the company parts.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sir Thurio, fear not you; I will so plead\\r\\n That you shall say my cunning drift excels.\\r\\n THURIO. Where meet we?\\r\\n PROTEUS. At Saint Gregory\\'s well.\\r\\n THURIO. Farewell. Exeunt THURIO and MUSICIANS\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA above, at her window\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Madam, good ev\\'n to your ladyship.\\r\\n SILVIA. I thank you for your music, gentlemen.\\r\\n Who is that that spake?\\r\\n PROTEUS. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart\\'s truth,\\r\\n You would quickly learn to know him by his voice.\\r\\n SILVIA. Sir Proteus, as I take it.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant.\\r\\n SILVIA. What\\'s your will?\\r\\n PROTEUS. That I may compass yours.\\r\\n SILVIA. You have your wish; my will is even this,\\r\\n That presently you hie you home to bed.\\r\\n Thou subtle, perjur\\'d, false, disloyal man,\\r\\n Think\\'st thou I am so shallow, so conceitless,\\r\\n To be seduced by thy flattery\\r\\n That hast deceiv\\'d so many with thy vows?\\r\\n Return, return, and make thy love amends.\\r\\n For me, by this pale queen of night I swear,\\r\\n I am so far from granting thy request\\r\\n That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit,\\r\\n And by and by intend to chide myself\\r\\n Even for this time I spend in talking to thee.\\r\\n PROTEUS. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady;\\r\\n But she is dead.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] \\'Twere false, if I should speak it;\\r\\n For I am sure she is not buried.\\r\\n SILVIA. Say that she be; yet Valentine, thy friend,\\r\\n Survives, to whom, thyself art witness,\\r\\n I am betroth\\'d; and art thou not asham\\'d\\r\\n To wrong him with thy importunacy?\\r\\n PROTEUS. I likewise hear that Valentine is dead.\\r\\n SILVIA. And so suppose am I; for in his grave\\r\\n Assure thyself my love is buried.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth.\\r\\n SILVIA. Go to thy lady\\'s grave, and call hers thence;\\r\\n Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] He heard not that.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate,\\r\\n Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love,\\r\\n The picture that is hanging in your chamber;\\r\\n To that I\\'ll speak, to that I\\'ll sigh and weep;\\r\\n For, since the substance of your perfect self\\r\\n Is else devoted, I am but a shadow;\\r\\n And to your shadow will I make true love.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] If \\'twere a substance, you would, sure, deceive it\\r\\n And make it but a shadow, as I am.\\r\\n SILVIA. I am very loath to be your idol, sir;\\r\\n But since your falsehood shall become you well\\r\\n To worship shadows and adore false shapes,\\r\\n Send to me in the morning, and I\\'ll send it;\\r\\n And so, good rest.\\r\\n PROTEUS. As wretches have o\\'ernight\\r\\n That wait for execution in the morn.\\r\\n Exeunt PROTEUS and SILVIA\\r\\n JULIA. Host, will you go?\\r\\n HOST. By my halidom, I was fast asleep.\\r\\n JULIA. Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus?\\r\\n HOST. Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think \\'tis almost day.\\r\\n JULIA. Not so; but it hath been the longest night\\r\\n That e\\'er I watch\\'d, and the most heaviest. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Under SILVIA\\'S window\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter EGLAMOUR\\r\\n\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. This is the hour that Madam Silvia\\r\\n Entreated me to call and know her mind;\\r\\n There\\'s some great matter she\\'d employ me in.\\r\\n Madam, madam!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA above, at her window\\r\\n\\r\\n SILVIA. Who calls?\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. Your servant and your friend;\\r\\n One that attends your ladyship\\'s command.\\r\\n SILVIA. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow!\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. As many, worthy lady, to yourself!\\r\\n According to your ladyship\\'s impose,\\r\\n I am thus early come to know what service\\r\\n It is your pleasure to command me in.\\r\\n SILVIA. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman-\\r\\n Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not-\\r\\n Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplish\\'d.\\r\\n Thou art not ignorant what dear good will\\r\\n I bear unto the banish\\'d Valentine;\\r\\n Nor how my father would enforce me marry\\r\\n Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhors.\\r\\n Thyself hast lov\\'d; and I have heard thee say\\r\\n No grief did ever come so near thy heart\\r\\n As when thy lady and thy true love died,\\r\\n Upon whose grave thou vow\\'dst pure chastity.\\r\\n Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine,\\r\\n To Mantua, where I hear he makes abode;\\r\\n And, for the ways are dangerous to pass,\\r\\n I do desire thy worthy company,\\r\\n Upon whose faith and honour I repose.\\r\\n Urge not my father\\'s anger, Eglamour,\\r\\n But think upon my grief, a lady\\'s grief,\\r\\n And on the justice of my flying hence\\r\\n To keep me from a most unholy match,\\r\\n Which heaven and fortune still rewards with plagues.\\r\\n I do desire thee, even from a heart\\r\\n As full of sorrows as the sea of sands,\\r\\n To bear me company and go with me;\\r\\n If not, to hide what I have said to thee,\\r\\n That I may venture to depart alone.\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. Madam, I pity much your grievances;\\r\\n Which since I know they virtuously are plac\\'d,\\r\\n I give consent to go along with you,\\r\\n Recking as little what betideth me\\r\\n As much I wish all good befortune you.\\r\\n When will you go?\\r\\n SILVIA. This evening coming.\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. Where shall I meet you?\\r\\n SILVIA. At Friar Patrick\\'s cell,\\r\\n Where I intend holy confession.\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. I will not fail your ladyship. Good morrow, gentle lady.\\r\\n SILVIA. Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Under SILVIA\\'S Window\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter LAUNCE with his dog\\r\\n\\r\\n LAUNCE. When a man\\'s servant shall play the cur with him, look you,\\r\\n it goes hard- one that I brought up of a puppy; one that I sav\\'d from\\r\\n drowning, when three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went\\r\\n to it. I have taught him, even as one would say precisely \\'Thus I\\r\\n would teach a dog.\\' I was sent to deliver him as a present to\\r\\n Mistress Silvia from my master; and I came no sooner into the\\r\\n dining-chamber, but he steps me to her trencher and steals her\\r\\n capon\\'s leg. O, \\'tis a foul thing when a cur cannot keep himself in\\r\\n all companies! I would have, as one should say, one that takes upon\\r\\n him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all things. If I\\r\\n had not had more wit than he, to take a fault upon me that he did, I\\r\\n think verily he had been hang\\'d for\\'t; sure as I live, he had\\r\\n suffer\\'d for\\'t. You shall judge. He thrusts me himself into the\\r\\n company of three or four gentleman-like dogs under the Duke\\'s table;\\r\\n he had not been there, bless the mark, a pissing while but all the\\r\\n chamber smelt him. \\'Out with the dog\\' says one; \\'What cur is that?\\'\\r\\n says another; \\'Whip him out\\' says the third; \\'Hang him up\\' says the\\r\\n Duke. I, having been acquainted with the smell before, knew it was\\r\\n Crab, and goes me to the fellow that whips the dogs. \\'Friend,\\' quoth\\r\\n I \\'you mean to whip the dog.\\' \\'Ay, marry do I\\' quoth he. \\'You do him\\r\\n the more wrong,\\' quoth I; \"twas I did the thing you wot of.\\' He makes\\r\\n me no more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. How many masters\\r\\n would do this for his servant? Nay, I\\'ll be sworn, I have sat in the\\r\\n stock for puddings he hath stol\\'n, otherwise he had been executed; I\\r\\n have stood on the pillory for geese he hath kill\\'d, otherwise he had\\r\\n suffer\\'d for\\'t. Thou think\\'st not of this now. Nay, I remember the\\r\\n trick you serv\\'d me when I took my leave of Madam Silvia. Did not I\\r\\n bid thee still mark me and do as I do? When didst thou see me heave\\r\\n up my leg and make water against a gentlewoman\\'s farthingale? Didst\\r\\n thou ever see me do such a trick?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS, and JULIA in boy\\'s clothes\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well,\\r\\n And will employ thee in some service presently.\\r\\n JULIA. In what you please; I\\'ll do what I can.\\r\\n PROTEUS..I hope thou wilt. [To LAUNCE] How now, you whoreson\\r\\n peasant!\\r\\n Where have you been these two days loitering?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia the dog you bade me.\\r\\n PROTEUS. And what says she to my little jewel?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Marry, she says your dog was a cur, and tells you currish\\r\\n thanks is good enough for such a present.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But she receiv\\'d my dog?\\r\\n LAUNCE. No, indeed, did she not; here have I brought him back\\r\\n again.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What, didst thou offer her this from me?\\r\\n LAUNCE. Ay, sir; the other squirrel was stol\\'n from me by the\\r\\n hangman\\'s boys in the market-place; and then I offer\\'d her mine\\r\\n own, who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift\\r\\n the greater.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Go, get thee hence and find my dog again,\\r\\n Or ne\\'er return again into my sight.\\r\\n Away, I say. Stayest thou to vex me here? Exit LAUNCE\\r\\n A slave that still an end turns me to shame!\\r\\n Sebastian, I have entertained thee\\r\\n Partly that I have need of such a youth\\r\\n That can with some discretion do my business,\\r\\n For \\'tis no trusting to yond foolish lout,\\r\\n But chiefly for thy face and thy behaviour,\\r\\n Which, if my augury deceive me not,\\r\\n Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth;\\r\\n Therefore, know thou, for this I entertain thee.\\r\\n Go presently, and take this ring with thee,\\r\\n Deliver it to Madam Silvia-\\r\\n She lov\\'d me well deliver\\'d it to me.\\r\\n JULIA. It seems you lov\\'d not her, to leave her token.\\r\\n She is dead, belike?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Not so; I think she lives.\\r\\n JULIA. Alas!\\r\\n PROTEUS. Why dost thou cry \\'Alas\\'?\\r\\n JULIA. I cannot choose\\r\\n But pity her.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Wherefore shouldst thou pity her?\\r\\n JULIA. Because methinks that she lov\\'d you as well\\r\\n As you do love your lady Silvia.\\r\\n She dreams on him that has forgot her love:\\r\\n You dote on her that cares not for your love.\\r\\n \\'Tis pity love should be so contrary;\\r\\n And thinking on it makes me cry \\'Alas!\\'\\r\\n PROTEUS. Well, give her that ring, and therewithal\\r\\n This letter. That\\'s her chamber. Tell my lady\\r\\n I claim the promise for her heavenly picture.\\r\\n Your message done, hie home unto my chamber,\\r\\n Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary. Exit PROTEUS\\r\\n JULIA. How many women would do such a message?\\r\\n Alas, poor Proteus, thou hast entertain\\'d\\r\\n A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs.\\r\\n Alas, poor fool, why do I pity him\\r\\n That with his very heart despiseth me?\\r\\n Because he loves her, he despiseth me;\\r\\n Because I love him, I must pity him.\\r\\n This ring I gave him, when he parted from me,\\r\\n To bind him to remember my good will;\\r\\n And now am I, unhappy messenger,\\r\\n To plead for that which I would not obtain,\\r\\n To carry that which I would have refus\\'d,\\r\\n To praise his faith, which I would have disprais\\'d.\\r\\n I am my master\\'s true confirmed love,\\r\\n But cannot be true servant to my master\\r\\n Unless I prove false traitor to myself.\\r\\n Yet will I woo for him, but yet so coldly\\r\\n As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA, attended\\r\\n\\r\\n Gentlewoman, good day! I pray you be my mean\\r\\n To bring me where to speak with Madam Silvia.\\r\\n SILVIA. What would you with her, if that I be she?\\r\\n JULIA. If you be she, I do entreat your patience\\r\\n To hear me speak the message I am sent on.\\r\\n SILVIA. From whom?\\r\\n JULIA. From my master, Sir Proteus, madam.\\r\\n SILVIA. O, he sends you for a picture?\\r\\n JULIA. Ay, madam.\\r\\n SILVIA. Ursula, bring my picture there.\\r\\n Go, give your master this. Tell him from me,\\r\\n One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget,\\r\\n Would better fit his chamber than this shadow.\\r\\n JULIA. Madam, please you peruse this letter.\\r\\n Pardon me, madam; I have unadvis\\'d\\r\\n Deliver\\'d you a paper that I should not.\\r\\n This is the letter to your ladyship.\\r\\n SILVIA. I pray thee let me look on that again.\\r\\n JULIA. It may not be; good madam, pardon me.\\r\\n SILVIA. There, hold!\\r\\n I will not look upon your master\\'s lines.\\r\\n I know they are stuff\\'d with protestations,\\r\\n And full of new-found oaths, which he wul break\\r\\n As easily as I do tear his paper.\\r\\n JULIA. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring.\\r\\n SILVIA. The more shame for him that he sends it me;\\r\\n For I have heard him say a thousand times\\r\\n His Julia gave it him at his departure.\\r\\n Though his false finger have profan\\'d the ring,\\r\\n Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong.\\r\\n JULIA. She thanks you.\\r\\n SILVIA. What say\\'st thou?\\r\\n JULIA. I thank you, madam, that you tender her.\\r\\n Poor gentlewoman, my master wrongs her much.\\r\\n SILVIA. Dost thou know her?\\r\\n JULIA. Almost as well as I do know myself.\\r\\n To think upon her woes, I do protest\\r\\n That I have wept a hundred several times.\\r\\n SILVIA. Belike she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her.\\r\\n JULIA. I think she doth, and that\\'s her cause of sorrow.\\r\\n SILVIA. Is she not passing fair?\\r\\n JULIA. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is.\\r\\n When she did think my master lov\\'d her well,\\r\\n She, in my judgment, was as fair as you;\\r\\n But since she did neglect her looking-glass\\r\\n And threw her sun-expelling mask away,\\r\\n The air hath starv\\'d the roses in her cheeks\\r\\n And pinch\\'d the lily-tincture of her face,\\r\\n That now she is become as black as I.\\r\\n SILVIA. How tall was she?\\r\\n JULIA. About my stature; for at Pentecost,\\r\\n When all our pageants of delight were play\\'d,\\r\\n Our youth got me to play the woman\\'s part,\\r\\n And I was trimm\\'d in Madam Julia\\'s gown;\\r\\n Which served me as fit, by all men\\'s judgments,\\r\\n As if the garment had been made for me;\\r\\n Therefore I know she is about my height.\\r\\n And at that time I made her weep a good,\\r\\n For I did play a lamentable part.\\r\\n Madam, \\'twas Ariadne passioning\\r\\n For Theseus\\' perjury and unjust flight;\\r\\n Which I so lively acted with my tears\\r\\n That my poor mistress, moved therewithal,\\r\\n Wept bitterly; and would I might be dead\\r\\n If I in thought felt not her very sorrow.\\r\\n SILVIA. She is beholding to thee, gentle youth.\\r\\n Alas, poor lady, desolate and left!\\r\\n I weep myself, to think upon thy words.\\r\\n Here, youth, there is my purse; I give thee this\\r\\n For thy sweet mistress\\' sake, because thou lov\\'st her.\\r\\n Farewell. Exit SILVIA with ATTENDANTS\\r\\n JULIA. And she shall thank you for\\'t, if e\\'er you know her.\\r\\n A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful!\\r\\n I hope my master\\'s suit will be but cold,\\r\\n Since she respects my mistress\\' love so much.\\r\\n Alas, how love can trifle with itself!\\r\\n Here is her picture; let me see. I think,\\r\\n If I had such a tire, this face of mine\\r\\n Were full as lovely as is this of hers;\\r\\n And yet the painter flatter\\'d her a little,\\r\\n Unless I flatter with myself too much.\\r\\n Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow;\\r\\n If that be all the difference in his love,\\r\\n I\\'ll get me such a colour\\'d periwig.\\r\\n Her eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine;\\r\\n Ay, but her forehead\\'s low, and mine\\'s as high.\\r\\n What should it be that he respects in her\\r\\n But I can make respective in myself,\\r\\n If this fond Love were not a blinded god?\\r\\n Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up,\\r\\n For \\'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form,\\r\\n Thou shalt be worshipp\\'d, kiss\\'d, lov\\'d, and ador\\'d!\\r\\n And were there sense in his idolatry\\r\\n My substance should be statue in thy stead.\\r\\n I\\'ll use thee kindly for thy mistress\\' sake,\\r\\n That us\\'d me so; or else, by Jove I vow,\\r\\n I should have scratch\\'d out your unseeing eyes,\\r\\n To make my master out of love with thee. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V. SCENE I. Milan. An abbey\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter EGLAMOUR\\r\\n\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. The sun begins to gild the western sky,\\r\\n And now it is about the very hour\\r\\n That Silvia at Friar Patrick\\'s cell should meet me.\\r\\n She will not fail, for lovers break not hours\\r\\n Unless it be to come before their time,\\r\\n So much they spur their expedition.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter SILVIA\\r\\n\\r\\n See where she comes. Lady, a happy evening!\\r\\n SILVIA. Amen, amen! Go on, good Eglamour,\\r\\n Out at the postern by the abbey wall;\\r\\n I fear I am attended by some spies.\\r\\n EGLAMOUR. Fear not. The forest is not three leagues off;\\r\\n If we recover that, we are sure enough. Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Milan. The DUKE\\'S palace\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter THURIO, PROTEUS, and JULIA as SEBASTIAN\\r\\n\\r\\n THURIO. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit?\\r\\n PROTEUS. O, sir, I find her milder than she was;\\r\\n And yet she takes exceptions at your person.\\r\\n THURIO. What, that my leg is too long?\\r\\n PROTEUS. No; that it is too little.\\r\\n THURIO. I\\'ll wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] But love will not be spurr\\'d to what it loathes.\\r\\n THURIO. What says she to my face?\\r\\n PROTEUS. She says it is a fair one.\\r\\n THURIO. Nay, then, the wanton lies; my face is black.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But pearls are fair; and the old saying is:\\r\\n Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies\\' eyes.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] \\'Tis true, such pearls as put out ladies\\' eyes;\\r\\n For I had rather wink than look on them.\\r\\n THURIO. How likes she my discourse?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Ill, when you talk of war.\\r\\n THURIO. But well when I discourse of love and peace?\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] But better, indeed, when you hold your peace.\\r\\n THURIO. What says she to my valour?\\r\\n PROTEUS. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] She needs not, when she knows it cowardice.\\r\\n THURIO. What says she to my birth?\\r\\n PROTEUS. That you are well deriv\\'d.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] True; from a gentleman to a fool.\\r\\n THURIO. Considers she my possessions?\\r\\n PROTEUS. O, ay; and pities them.\\r\\n THURIO. Wherefore?\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] That such an ass should owe them.\\r\\n PROTEUS. That they are out by lease.\\r\\n JULIA. Here comes the Duke.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter DUKE\\r\\n\\r\\n DUKE. How now, Sir Proteus! how now, Thurio!\\r\\n Which of you saw Sir Eglamour of late?\\r\\n THURIO. Not I.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Nor I.\\r\\n DUKE. Saw you my daughter?\\r\\n PROTEUS. Neither.\\r\\n DUKE. Why then,\\r\\n She\\'s fled unto that peasant Valentine;\\r\\n And Eglamour is in her company.\\r\\n \\'Tis true; for Friar Lawrence met them both\\r\\n As he in penance wander\\'d through the forest;\\r\\n Him he knew well, and guess\\'d that it was she,\\r\\n But, being mask\\'d, he was not sure of it;\\r\\n Besides, she did intend confession\\r\\n At Patrick\\'s cell this even; and there she was not.\\r\\n These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence;\\r\\n Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse,\\r\\n But mount you presently, and meet with me\\r\\n Upon the rising of the mountain foot\\r\\n That leads toward Mantua, whither they are fled.\\r\\n Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. Exit\\r\\n THURIO. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl\\r\\n That flies her fortune when it follows her.\\r\\n I\\'ll after, more to be reveng\\'d on Eglamour\\r\\n Than for the love of reckless Silvia. Exit\\r\\n PROTEUS. And I will follow, more for Silvia\\'s love\\r\\n Than hate of Eglamour, that goes with her. Exit\\r\\n JULIA. And I will follow, more to cross that love\\r\\n Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. Exit\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The frontiers of Mantua. The forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter OUTLAWS with SILVA\\r\\n\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Come, come.\\r\\n Be patient; we must bring you to our captain.\\r\\n SILVIA. A thousand more mischances than this one\\r\\n Have learn\\'d me how to brook this patiently.\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Come, bring her away.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Where is the gentleman that was with her?\\r\\n SECOND OUTLAW. Being nimble-footed, he hath outrun us,\\r\\n But Moyses and Valerius follow him.\\r\\n Go thou with her to the west end of the wood;\\r\\n There is our captain; we\\'ll follow him that\\'s fled.\\r\\n The thicket is beset; he cannot \\'scape.\\r\\n FIRST OUTLAW. Come, I must bring you to our captain\\'s cave;\\r\\n Fear not; he bears an honourable mind,\\r\\n And will not use a woman lawlessly.\\r\\n SILVIA. O Valentine, this I endure for thee! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. Another part of the forest\\r\\n\\r\\nEnter VALENTINE\\r\\n\\r\\n VALENTINE. How use doth breed a habit in a man!\\r\\n This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,\\r\\n I better brook than flourishing peopled towns.\\r\\n Here can I sit alone, unseen of any,\\r\\n And to the nightingale\\'s complaining notes\\r\\n Tune my distresses and record my woes.\\r\\n O thou that dost inhabit in my breast,\\r\\n Leave not the mansion so long tenantless,\\r\\n Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall\\r\\n And leave no memory of what it was!\\r\\n Repair me with thy presence, Silvia:\\r\\n Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain.\\r\\n What halloing and what stir is this to-day?\\r\\n These are my mates, that make their wills their law,\\r\\n Have some unhappy passenger in chase.\\r\\n They love me well; yet I have much to do\\r\\n To keep them from uncivil outrages.\\r\\n Withdraw thee, Valentine. Who\\'s this comes here?\\r\\n [Steps aside]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter PROTEUS, SILVIA, and JULIA as Sebastian\\r\\n\\r\\n PROTEUS. Madam, this service I have done for you,\\r\\n Though you respect not aught your servant doth,\\r\\n To hazard life, and rescue you from him\\r\\n That would have forc\\'d your honour and your love.\\r\\n Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look;\\r\\n A smaller boon than this I cannot beg,\\r\\n And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give.\\r\\n VALENTINE. [Aside] How like a dream is this I see and hear!\\r\\n Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile.\\r\\n SILVIA. O miserable, unhappy that I am!\\r\\n PROTEUS. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came;\\r\\n But by my coming I have made you happy.\\r\\n SILVIA. By thy approach thou mak\\'st me most unhappy.\\r\\n JULIA. [Aside] And me, when he approacheth to your presence.\\r\\n SILVIA. Had I been seized by a hungry lion,\\r\\n I would have been a breakfast to the beast\\r\\n Rather than have false Proteus rescue me.\\r\\n O, heaven be judge how I love Valentine,\\r\\n Whose life\\'s as tender to me as my soul!\\r\\n And full as much, for more there cannot be,\\r\\n I do detest false, perjur\\'d Proteus.\\r\\n Therefore be gone; solicit me no more.\\r\\n PROTEUS. What dangerous action, stood it next to death,\\r\\n Would I not undergo for one calm look?\\r\\n O, \\'tis the curse in love, and still approv\\'d,\\r\\n When women cannot love where they\\'re belov\\'d!\\r\\n SILVIA. When Proteus cannot love where he\\'s belov\\'d!\\r\\n Read over Julia\\'s heart, thy first best love,\\r\\n For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith\\r\\n Into a thousand oaths; and all those oaths\\r\\n Descended into perjury, to love me.\\r\\n Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou\\'dst two,\\r\\n And that\\'s far worse than none; better have none\\r\\n Than plural faith, which is too much by one.\\r\\n Thou counterfeit to thy true friend!\\r\\n PROTEUS. In love,\\r\\n Who respects friend?\\r\\n SILVIA. All men but Proteus.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words\\r\\n Can no way change you to a milder form,\\r\\n I\\'ll woo you like a soldier, at arms\\' end,\\r\\n And love you \\'gainst the nature of love- force ye.\\r\\n SILVIA. O heaven!\\r\\n PROTEUS. I\\'ll force thee yield to my desire.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Ruffian! let go that rude uncivil touch;\\r\\n Thou friend of an ill fashion!\\r\\n PROTEUS. Valentine!\\r\\n VALENTINE. Thou common friend, that\\'s without faith or love-\\r\\n For such is a friend now; treacherous man,\\r\\n Thou hast beguil\\'d my hopes; nought but mine eye\\r\\n Could have persuaded me. Now I dare not say\\r\\n I have one friend alive: thou wouldst disprove me.\\r\\n Who should be trusted, when one\\'s own right hand\\r\\n Is perjured to the bosom? Proteus,\\r\\n I am sorry I must never trust thee more,\\r\\n But count the world a stranger for thy sake.\\r\\n The private wound is deepest. O time most accurst!\\r\\n \\'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst!\\r\\n PROTEUS. My shame and guilt confounds me.\\r\\n Forgive me, Valentine; if hearty sorrow\\r\\n Be a sufficient ransom for offence,\\r\\n I tender \\'t here; I do as truly suffer\\r\\n As e\\'er I did commit.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Then I am paid;\\r\\n And once again I do receive thee honest.\\r\\n Who by repentance is not satisfied\\r\\n Is nor of heaven nor earth, for these are pleas\\'d;\\r\\n By penitence th\\' Eternal\\'s wrath\\'s appeas\\'d.\\r\\n And, that my love may appear plain and free,\\r\\n All that was mine in Silvia I give thee.\\r\\n JULIA. O me unhappy! [Swoons]\\r\\n PROTEUS. Look to the boy.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Why, boy! why, wag! how now!\\r\\n What\\'s the matter? Look up; speak.\\r\\n JULIA. O good sir, my master charg\\'d me to deliver a ring to Madam\\r\\n Silvia, which, out of my neglect, was never done.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Where is that ring, boy?\\r\\n JULIA. Here \\'tis; this is it.\\r\\n PROTEUS. How! let me see. Why, this is the ring I gave to Julia.\\r\\n JULIA. O, cry you mercy, sir, I have mistook;\\r\\n This is the ring you sent to Silvia.\\r\\n PROTEUS. But how cam\\'st thou by this ring?\\r\\n At my depart I gave this unto Julia.\\r\\n JULIA. And Julia herself did give it me;\\r\\n And Julia herself have brought it hither.\\r\\n PROTEUS. How! Julia!\\r\\n JULIA. Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths,\\r\\n And entertain\\'d \\'em deeply in her heart.\\r\\n How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root!\\r\\n O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush!\\r\\n Be thou asham\\'d that I have took upon me\\r\\n Such an immodest raiment- if shame live\\r\\n In a disguise of love.\\r\\n It is the lesser blot, modesty finds,\\r\\n Women to change their shapes than men their minds.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Than men their minds! \\'tis true. O heaven, were man\\r\\n But constant, he were perfect! That one error\\r\\n Fills him with faults; makes him run through all th\\' sins:\\r\\n Inconstancy falls off ere it begins.\\r\\n What is in Silvia\\'s face but I may spy\\r\\n More fresh in Julia\\'s with a constant eye?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Come, come, a hand from either.\\r\\n Let me be blest to make this happy close;\\r\\n \\'Twere pity two such friends should be long foes.\\r\\n PROTEUS. Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish for ever.\\r\\n JULIA. And I mine.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter OUTLAWS, with DUKE and THURIO\\r\\n\\r\\n OUTLAW. A prize, a prize, a prize!\\r\\n VALENTINE. Forbear, forbear, I say; it is my lord the Duke.\\r\\n Your Grace is welcome to a man disgrac\\'d,\\r\\n Banished Valentine.\\r\\n DUKE. Sir Valentine!\\r\\n THURIO. Yonder is Silvia; and Silvia\\'s mine.\\r\\n VALENTINE. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death;\\r\\n Come not within the measure of my wrath;\\r\\n Do not name Silvia thine; if once again,\\r\\n Verona shall not hold thee. Here she stands\\r\\n Take but possession of her with a touch-\\r\\n I dare thee but to breathe upon my love.\\r\\n THURIO. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I;\\r\\n I hold him but a fool that will endanger\\r\\n His body for a girl that loves him not.\\r\\n I claim her not, and therefore she is thine.\\r\\n DUKE. The more degenerate and base art thou\\r\\n To make such means for her as thou hast done\\r\\n And leave her on such slight conditions.\\r\\n Now, by the honour of my ancestry,\\r\\n I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine,\\r\\n And think thee worthy of an empress\\' love.\\r\\n Know then, I here forget all former griefs,\\r\\n Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again,\\r\\n Plead a new state in thy unrivall\\'d merit,\\r\\n To which I thus subscribe: Sir Valentine,\\r\\n Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv\\'d;\\r\\n Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv\\'d her.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I thank your Grace; the gift hath made me happy.\\r\\n I now beseech you, for your daughter\\'s sake,\\r\\n To grant one boon that I shall ask of you.\\r\\n DUKE. I grant it for thine own, whate\\'er it be.\\r\\n VALENTINE. These banish\\'d men, that I have kept withal,\\r\\n Are men endu\\'d with worthy qualities;\\r\\n Forgive them what they have committed here,\\r\\n And let them be recall\\'d from their exile:\\r\\n They are reformed, civil, full of good,\\r\\n And fit for great employment, worthy lord.\\r\\n DUKE. Thou hast prevail\\'d; I pardon them, and thee;\\r\\n Dispose of them as thou know\\'st their deserts.\\r\\n Come, let us go; we will include all jars\\r\\n With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity.\\r\\n VALENTINE. And, as we walk along, I dare be bold\\r\\n With our discourse to make your Grace to smile.\\r\\n What think you of this page, my lord?\\r\\n DUKE. I think the boy hath grace in him; he blushes.\\r\\n VALENTINE. I warrant you, my lord- more grace than boy.\\r\\n DUKE. What mean you by that saying?\\r\\n VALENTINE. Please you, I\\'ll tell you as we pass along,\\r\\n That you will wonder what hath fortuned.\\r\\n Come, Proteus, \\'tis your penance but to hear\\r\\n The story of your loves discovered.\\r\\n That done, our day of marriage shall be yours;\\r\\n One feast, one house, one mutual happiness! Exeunt\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n',\n", + " \"THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN:\\r\\n\\r\\nPresented at the Blackfriers by the Kings Maiesties servants, with\\r\\ngreat applause:\\r\\n\\r\\nWritten by the memorable Worthies of their time;\\r\\n\\r\\nMr John Fletcher, Gent., and\\r\\nMr William Shakspeare, Gent.\\r\\n\\r\\nPrinted at London by Tho. Cotes, for John Waterson: and are to be sold\\r\\nat the signe of the Crowne in Pauls Church-yard. 1634.\\r\\n\\r\\n(The Persons represented in the Play.\\r\\n\\r\\nHymen,\\r\\nTheseus,\\r\\nHippolita, Bride to Theseus\\r\\nEmelia, Sister to Theseus\\r\\n[Emelia's Woman],\\r\\nNymphs,\\r\\nThree Queens,\\r\\nThree valiant Knights,\\r\\nPalamon, and\\r\\nArcite, The two Noble Kinsmen, in love with fair Emelia\\r\\n[Valerius],\\r\\nPerithous,\\r\\n[A Herald],\\r\\n[A Gentleman],\\r\\n[A Messenger],\\r\\n[A Servant],\\r\\n[Wooer],\\r\\n[Keeper],\\r\\nJaylor,\\r\\nHis Daughter, in love with Palamon\\r\\n[His brother],\\r\\n[A Doctor],\\r\\n[4] Countreymen,\\r\\n[2 Friends of the Jaylor],\\r\\n[3 Knights],\\r\\n[Nel, and other]\\r\\nWenches,\\r\\nA Taborer,\\r\\nGerrold, A Schoolmaster.)\\r\\n\\r\\nPROLOGUE.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\nNew Playes, and Maydenheads, are neare a kin,\\r\\nMuch follow'd both, for both much mony g'yn,\\r\\nIf they stand sound, and well: And a good Play\\r\\n(Whose modest Sceanes blush on his marriage day,\\r\\nAnd shake to loose his honour) is like hir\\r\\nThat after holy Tye and first nights stir\\r\\nYet still is Modestie, and still retaines\\r\\nMore of the maid to sight, than Husbands paines;\\r\\nWe pray our Play may be so; For I am sure\\r\\nIt has a noble Breeder, and a pure,\\r\\nA learned, and a Poet never went\\r\\nMore famous yet twixt Po and silver Trent:\\r\\nChaucer (of all admir'd) the Story gives,\\r\\nThere constant to Eternity it lives.\\r\\nIf we let fall the Noblenesse of this,\\r\\nAnd the first sound this child heare, be a hisse,\\r\\nHow will it shake the bones of that good man,\\r\\nAnd make him cry from under ground, 'O fan\\r\\nFrom me the witles chaffe of such a wrighter\\r\\nThat blastes my Bayes, and my fam'd workes makes lighter\\r\\nThen Robin Hood!' This is the feare we bring;\\r\\nFor to say Truth, it were an endlesse thing,\\r\\nAnd too ambitious, to aspire to him,\\r\\nWeake as we are, and almost breathlesse swim\\r\\nIn this deepe water. Do but you hold out\\r\\nYour helping hands, and we shall take about,\\r\\nAnd something doe to save us: You shall heare\\r\\nSceanes, though below his Art, may yet appeare\\r\\nWorth two houres travell. To his bones sweet sleepe:\\r\\nContent to you. If this play doe not keepe\\r\\nA little dull time from us, we perceave\\r\\nOur losses fall so thicke, we must needs leave. [Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (Athens. Before a temple.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Hymen with a Torch burning: a Boy, in a white Robe before\\r\\n singing, and strewing Flowres: After Hymen, a Nimph, encompast\\r\\nin\\r\\n her Tresses, bearing a wheaten Garland. Then Theseus betweene\\r\\n two other Nimphs with wheaten Chaplets on their heades. Then\\r\\n Hipolita the Bride, lead by Pirithous, and another holding a\\r\\n Garland over her head (her Tresses likewise hanging.) After\\r\\n her Emilia holding up her Traine. (Artesius and Attendants.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Song, [Musike.]\\r\\n\\r\\nRoses their sharpe spines being gon,\\r\\nNot royall in their smels alone,\\r\\nBut in their hew.\\r\\nMaiden Pinckes, of odour faint,\\r\\nDazies smel-lesse, yet most quaint\\r\\nAnd sweet Time true.\\r\\n\\r\\nPrim-rose first borne child of Ver,\\r\\nMerry Spring times Herbinger,\\r\\nWith her bels dimme.\\r\\nOxlips, in their Cradles growing,\\r\\nMary-golds, on death beds blowing,\\r\\nLarkes-heeles trymme.\\r\\n\\r\\nAll deere natures children sweete,\\r\\nLy fore Bride and Bridegroomes feete, [Strew Flowers.]\\r\\nBlessing their sence.\\r\\nNot an angle of the aire,\\r\\nBird melodious, or bird faire,\\r\\nIs absent hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe Crow, the slaundrous Cuckoe, nor\\r\\nThe boding Raven, nor Chough hore\\r\\nNor chattring Pie,\\r\\nMay on our Bridehouse pearch or sing,\\r\\nOr with them any discord bring,\\r\\nBut from it fly.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter 3. Queenes in Blacke, with vailes staind, with imperiall\\r\\n Crownes. The 1. Queene fals downe at the foote of Theseus; The\\r\\n 2. fals downe at the foote of Hypolita. The 3. before Emilia.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nFor pitties sake and true gentilities,\\r\\nHeare, and respect me.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nFor your Mothers sake,\\r\\nAnd as you wish your womb may thrive with faire ones,\\r\\nHeare and respect me.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN\\r\\nNow for the love of him whom Iove hath markd\\r\\nThe honour of your Bed, and for the sake\\r\\nOf cleere virginity, be Advocate\\r\\nFor us, and our distresses. This good deede\\r\\nShall raze you out o'th Booke of Trespasses\\r\\nAll you are set downe there.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSad Lady, rise.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nStand up.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNo knees to me.\\r\\nWhat woman I may steed that is distrest,\\r\\nDoes bind me to her.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat's your request? Deliver you for all.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nWe are 3. Queenes, whose Soveraignes fel before\\r\\nThe wrath of cruell Creon; who endured\\r\\nThe Beakes of Ravens, Tallents of the Kights,\\r\\nAnd pecks of Crowes, in the fowle feilds of Thebs.\\r\\nHe will not suffer us to burne their bones,\\r\\nTo urne their ashes, nor to take th' offence\\r\\nOf mortall loathsomenes from the blest eye\\r\\nOf holy Phoebus, but infects the windes\\r\\nWith stench of our slaine Lords. O pitty, Duke:\\r\\nThou purger of the earth, draw thy feard Sword\\r\\nThat does good turnes to'th world; give us the Bones\\r\\nOf our dead Kings, that we may Chappell them;\\r\\nAnd of thy boundles goodnes take some note\\r\\nThat for our crowned heades we have no roofe,\\r\\nSave this which is the Lyons, and the Beares,\\r\\nAnd vault to every thing.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nPray you, kneele not:\\r\\nI was transported with your Speech, and suffer'd\\r\\nYour knees to wrong themselves; I have heard the fortunes\\r\\nOf your dead Lords, which gives me such lamenting\\r\\nAs wakes my vengeance, and revenge for'em,\\r\\nKing Capaneus was your Lord: the day\\r\\nThat he should marry you, at such a season,\\r\\nAs now it is with me, I met your Groome,\\r\\nBy Marsis Altar; you were that time faire,\\r\\nNot Iunos Mantle fairer then your Tresses,\\r\\nNor in more bounty spread her. Your wheaten wreathe\\r\\nWas then nor threashd, nor blasted; Fortune at you\\r\\nDimpled her Cheeke with smiles: Hercules our kinesman\\r\\n(Then weaker than your eies) laide by his Club,\\r\\nHe tumbled downe upon his Nemean hide\\r\\nAnd swore his sinews thawd: O greife, and time,\\r\\nFearefull consumers, you will all devoure.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nO, I hope some God,\\r\\nSome God hath put his mercy in your manhood\\r\\nWhereto heel infuse powre, and presse you forth\\r\\nOur undertaker.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nO no knees, none, Widdow,\\r\\nVnto the Helmeted Belona use them,\\r\\nAnd pray for me your Souldier.\\r\\nTroubled I am. [turnes away.]\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nHonoured Hypolita,\\r\\nMost dreaded Amazonian, that hast slaine\\r\\nThe Sith-tuskd Bore; that with thy Arme as strong\\r\\nAs it is white, wast neere to make the male\\r\\nTo thy Sex captive, but that this thy Lord,\\r\\nBorne to uphold Creation in that honour\\r\\nFirst nature stilde it in, shrunke thee into\\r\\nThe bownd thou wast ore-flowing, at once subduing\\r\\nThy force, and thy affection: Soldiresse\\r\\nThat equally canst poize sternenes with pitty,\\r\\nWhom now I know hast much more power on him\\r\\nThen ever he had on thee, who ow'st his strength\\r\\nAnd his Love too, who is a Servant for\\r\\nThe Tenour of thy Speech: Deere Glasse of Ladies,\\r\\nBid him that we, whom flaming war doth scortch,\\r\\nVnder the shaddow of his Sword may coole us:\\r\\nRequire him he advance it ore our heades;\\r\\nSpeak't in a womans key: like such a woman\\r\\nAs any of us three; weepe ere you faile;\\r\\nLend us a knee;\\r\\nBut touch the ground for us no longer time\\r\\nThen a Doves motion, when the head's pluckt off:\\r\\nTell him if he i'th blood cizd field lay swolne,\\r\\nShowing the Sun his Teeth, grinning at the Moone,\\r\\nWhat you would doe.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nPoore Lady, say no more:\\r\\nI had as leife trace this good action with you\\r\\nAs that whereto I am going, and never yet\\r\\nWent I so willing way. My Lord is taken\\r\\nHart deepe with your distresse: Let him consider:\\r\\nIle speake anon.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nO my petition was [kneele to Emilia.]\\r\\nSet downe in yce, which by hot greefe uncandied\\r\\nMelts into drops, so sorrow, wanting forme,\\r\\nIs prest with deeper matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPray stand up,\\r\\nYour greefe is written in your cheeke.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nO woe,\\r\\nYou cannot reade it there, there through my teares—\\r\\nLike wrinckled peobles in a glassie streame\\r\\nYou may behold 'em. Lady, Lady, alacke,\\r\\nHe that will all the Treasure know o'th earth\\r\\nMust know the Center too; he that will fish\\r\\nFor my least minnow, let him lead his line\\r\\nTo catch one at my heart. O pardon me:\\r\\nExtremity, that sharpens sundry wits,\\r\\nMakes me a Foole.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPray you say nothing, pray you:\\r\\nWho cannot feele nor see the raine, being in't,\\r\\nKnowes neither wet nor dry: if that you were\\r\\nThe ground-peece of some Painter, I would buy you\\r\\nT'instruct me gainst a Capitall greefe indeed—\\r\\nSuch heart peirc'd demonstration; but, alas,\\r\\nBeing a naturall Sifter of our Sex\\r\\nYour sorrow beates so ardently upon me,\\r\\nThat it shall make a counter reflect gainst\\r\\nMy Brothers heart, and warme it to some pitty,\\r\\nThough it were made of stone: pray, have good comfort.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nForward to'th Temple, leave not out a Iot\\r\\nO'th sacred Ceremony.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nO, This Celebration\\r\\nWill long last, and be more costly then\\r\\nYour Suppliants war: Remember that your Fame\\r\\nKnowles in the eare o'th world: what you doe quickly\\r\\nIs not done rashly; your first thought is more\\r\\nThen others laboured meditance: your premeditating\\r\\nMore then their actions: But, oh Iove! your actions,\\r\\nSoone as they mooves, as Asprayes doe the fish,\\r\\nSubdue before they touch: thinke, deere Duke, thinke\\r\\nWhat beds our slaine Kings have.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nWhat greifes our beds,\\r\\nThat our deere Lords have none.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nNone fit for 'th dead:\\r\\nThose that with Cordes, Knives, drams precipitance,\\r\\nWeary of this worlds light, have to themselves\\r\\nBeene deathes most horrid Agents, humaine grace\\r\\nAffords them dust and shaddow.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nBut our Lords\\r\\nLy blistring fore the visitating Sunne,\\r\\nAnd were good Kings, when living.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nIt is true, and I will give you comfort,\\r\\nTo give your dead Lords graves: the which to doe,\\r\\nMust make some worke with Creon.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nAnd that worke presents it selfe to'th doing:\\r\\nNow twill take forme, the heates are gone to morrow.\\r\\nThen, booteles toyle must recompence it selfe\\r\\nWith it's owne sweat; Now he's secure,\\r\\nNot dreames we stand before your puissance\\r\\nWrinching our holy begging in our eyes\\r\\nTo make petition cleere.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nNow you may take him, drunke with his victory.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nAnd his Army full of Bread, and sloth.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nArtesius, that best knowest\\r\\nHow to draw out fit to this enterprise\\r\\nThe prim'st for this proceeding, and the number\\r\\nTo carry such a businesse, forth and levy\\r\\nOur worthiest Instruments, whilst we despatch\\r\\nThis grand act of our life, this daring deede\\r\\nOf Fate in wedlocke.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nDowagers, take hands;\\r\\nLet us be Widdowes to our woes: delay\\r\\nCommends us to a famishing hope.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nFarewell.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nWe come unseasonably: But when could greefe\\r\\nCull forth, as unpanged judgement can, fit'st time\\r\\nFor best solicitation.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhy, good Ladies,\\r\\nThis is a service, whereto I am going,\\r\\nGreater then any was; it more imports me\\r\\nThen all the actions that I have foregone,\\r\\nOr futurely can cope.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nThe more proclaiming\\r\\nOur suit shall be neglected: when her Armes\\r\\nAble to locke Iove from a Synod, shall\\r\\nBy warranting Moone-light corslet thee, oh, when\\r\\nHer twyning Cherries shall their sweetnes fall\\r\\nVpon thy tastefull lips, what wilt thou thinke\\r\\nOf rotten Kings or blubberd Queenes, what care\\r\\nFor what thou feelst not? what thou feelst being able\\r\\nTo make Mars spurne his Drom. O, if thou couch\\r\\nBut one night with her, every howre in't will\\r\\nTake hostage of thee for a hundred, and\\r\\nThou shalt remember nothing more then what\\r\\nThat Banket bids thee too.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nThough much unlike [Kneeling.]\\r\\nYou should be so transported, as much sorry\\r\\nI should be such a Suitour; yet I thinke,\\r\\nDid I not by th'abstayning of my joy,\\r\\nWhich breeds a deeper longing, cure their surfeit\\r\\nThat craves a present medcine, I should plucke\\r\\nAll Ladies scandall on me. Therefore, Sir,\\r\\nAs I shall here make tryall of my prayres,\\r\\nEither presuming them to have some force,\\r\\nOr sentencing for ay their vigour dombe:\\r\\nProrogue this busines we are going about, and hang\\r\\nYour Sheild afore your Heart, about that necke\\r\\nWhich is my ffee, and which I freely lend\\r\\nTo doe these poore Queenes service.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL QUEENS.\\r\\nOh helpe now,\\r\\nOur Cause cries for your knee.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIf you grant not [Kneeling.]\\r\\nMy Sister her petition in that force,\\r\\nWith that Celerity and nature, which\\r\\nShee makes it in, from henceforth ile not dare\\r\\nTo aske you any thing, nor be so hardy\\r\\nEver to take a Husband.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nPray stand up.\\r\\nI am entreating of my selfe to doe\\r\\nThat which you kneele to have me. Pyrithous,\\r\\nLeade on the Bride; get you and pray the Gods\\r\\nFor successe, and returne; omit not any thing\\r\\nIn the pretended Celebration. Queenes,\\r\\nFollow your Soldier. As before, hence you [to Artesius]\\r\\nAnd at the banckes of Aulis meete us with\\r\\nThe forces you can raise, where we shall finde\\r\\nThe moytie of a number, for a busines\\r\\nMore bigger look't. Since that our Theame is haste,\\r\\nI stamp this kisse upon thy currant lippe;\\r\\nSweete, keepe it as my Token. Set you forward,\\r\\nFor I will see you gone. [Exeunt towards the Temple.]\\r\\nFarewell, my beauteous Sister: Pyrithous,\\r\\nKeepe the feast full, bate not an howre on't.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nSir,\\r\\nIle follow you at heeles; The Feasts solempnity\\r\\nShall want till your returne.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nCosen, I charge you\\r\\nBoudge not from Athens; We shall be returning\\r\\nEre you can end this Feast, of which, I pray you,\\r\\nMake no abatement; once more, farewell all.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nThus do'st thou still make good the tongue o'th world.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nAnd earnst a Deity equal with Mars.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nIf not above him, for\\r\\nThou being but mortall makest affections bend\\r\\nTo Godlike honours; they themselves, some say,\\r\\nGrone under such a Mastry.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAs we are men,\\r\\nThus should we doe; being sensually subdude,\\r\\nWe loose our humane tytle. Good cheere, Ladies. [Florish.]\\r\\nNow turne we towards your Comforts. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (Thebs).\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon, and Arcite.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDeere Palamon, deerer in love then Blood\\r\\nAnd our prime Cosen, yet unhardned in\\r\\nThe Crimes of nature; Let us leave the Citty\\r\\nThebs, and the temptings in't, before we further\\r\\nSully our glosse of youth:\\r\\nAnd here to keepe in abstinence we shame\\r\\nAs in Incontinence; for not to swim\\r\\nI'th aide o'th Current were almost to sincke,\\r\\nAt least to frustrate striving, and to follow\\r\\nThe common Streame, twold bring us to an Edy\\r\\nWhere we should turne or drowne; if labour through,\\r\\nOur gaine but life, and weakenes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYour advice\\r\\nIs cride up with example: what strange ruins\\r\\nSince first we went to Schoole, may we perceive\\r\\nWalking in Thebs? Skars, and bare weedes\\r\\nThe gaine o'th Martialist, who did propound\\r\\nTo his bold ends honour, and golden Ingots,\\r\\nWhich though he won, he had not, and now flurted\\r\\nBy peace for whom he fought: who then shall offer\\r\\nTo Marsis so scornd Altar? I doe bleede\\r\\nWhen such I meete, and wish great Iuno would\\r\\nResume her ancient fit of Ielouzie\\r\\nTo get the Soldier worke, that peace might purge\\r\\nFor her repletion, and retaine anew\\r\\nHer charitable heart now hard, and harsher\\r\\nThen strife or war could be.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nAre you not out?\\r\\nMeete you no ruine but the Soldier in\\r\\nThe Cranckes and turnes of Thebs? you did begin\\r\\nAs if you met decaies of many kindes:\\r\\nPerceive you none, that doe arowse your pitty\\r\\nBut th'un-considerd Soldier?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes, I pitty\\r\\nDecaies where ere I finde them, but such most\\r\\nThat, sweating in an honourable Toyle,\\r\\nAre paide with yce to coole 'em.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTis not this\\r\\nI did begin to speake of: This is vertue\\r\\nOf no respect in Thebs; I spake of Thebs\\r\\nHow dangerous if we will keepe our Honours,\\r\\nIt is for our resyding, where every evill\\r\\nHath a good cullor; where eve'ry seeming good's\\r\\nA certaine evill, where not to be ev'n Iumpe\\r\\nAs they are, here were to be strangers, and\\r\\nSuch things to be, meere Monsters.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTis in our power,\\r\\n(Vnlesse we feare that Apes can Tutor's) to\\r\\nBe Masters of our manners: what neede I\\r\\nAffect anothers gate, which is not catching\\r\\nWhere there is faith, or to be fond upon\\r\\nAnothers way of speech, when by mine owne\\r\\nI may be reasonably conceiv'd; sav'd too,\\r\\nSpeaking it truly? why am I bound\\r\\nBy any generous bond to follow him\\r\\nFollowes his Taylor, haply so long untill\\r\\nThe follow'd make pursuit? or let me know,\\r\\nWhy mine owne Barber is unblest, with him\\r\\nMy poore Chinne too, for tis not Cizard iust\\r\\nTo such a Favorites glasse: What Cannon is there\\r\\nThat does command my Rapier from my hip\\r\\nTo dangle't in my hand, or to go tip toe\\r\\nBefore the streete be foule? Either I am\\r\\nThe fore-horse in the Teame, or I am none\\r\\nThat draw i'th sequent trace: these poore sleight sores\\r\\nNeede not a plantin; That which rips my bosome\\r\\nAlmost to'th heart's—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nOur Vncle Creon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHe,\\r\\nA most unbounded Tyrant, whose successes\\r\\nMakes heaven unfeard, and villany assured\\r\\nBeyond its power there's nothing, almost puts\\r\\nFaith in a feavour, and deifies alone\\r\\nVoluble chance; who onely attributes\\r\\nThe faculties of other Instruments\\r\\nTo his owne Nerves and act; Commands men service,\\r\\nAnd what they winne in't, boot and glory; on(e)\\r\\nThat feares not to do harm; good, dares not; Let\\r\\nThe blood of mine that's sibbe to him be suckt\\r\\nFrom me with Leeches; Let them breake and fall\\r\\nOff me with that corruption.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nCleere spirited Cozen,\\r\\nLets leave his Court, that we may nothing share\\r\\nOf his lowd infamy: for our milke\\r\\nWill relish of the pasture, and we must\\r\\nBe vile or disobedient, not his kinesmen\\r\\nIn blood, unlesse in quality.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNothing truer:\\r\\nI thinke the Ecchoes of his shames have dea'ft\\r\\nThe eares of heav'nly Iustice: widdows cryes\\r\\nDescend againe into their throates, and have not\\r\\n\\r\\n[enter Valerius.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDue audience of the Gods.—Valerius!\\r\\n\\r\\nVALERIUS.\\r\\nThe King cals for you; yet be leaden footed,\\r\\nTill his great rage be off him. Phebus, when\\r\\nHe broke his whipstocke and exclaimd against\\r\\nThe Horses of the Sun, but whisperd too\\r\\nThe lowdenesse of his Fury.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nSmall windes shake him:\\r\\nBut whats the matter?\\r\\n\\r\\nVALERIUS.\\r\\nTheseus (who where he threates appals,) hath sent\\r\\nDeadly defyance to him, and pronounces\\r\\nRuine to Thebs; who is at hand to seale\\r\\nThe promise of his wrath.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nLet him approach;\\r\\nBut that we feare the Gods in him, he brings not\\r\\nA jot of terrour to us; Yet what man\\r\\nThirds his owne worth (the case is each of ours)\\r\\nWhen that his actions dregd with minde assurd\\r\\nTis bad he goes about?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nLeave that unreasond.\\r\\nOur services stand now for Thebs, not Creon,\\r\\nYet to be neutrall to him were dishonour;\\r\\nRebellious to oppose: therefore we must\\r\\nWith him stand to the mercy of our Fate,\\r\\nWho hath bounded our last minute.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSo we must.\\r\\nIst sed this warres a foote? or it shall be,\\r\\nOn faile of some condition?\\r\\n\\r\\nVALERIUS.\\r\\nTis in motion\\r\\nThe intelligence of state came in the instant\\r\\nWith the defier.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nLets to the king, who, were he\\r\\nA quarter carrier of that honour which\\r\\nHis Enemy come in, the blood we venture\\r\\nShould be as for our health, which were not spent,\\r\\nRather laide out for purchase: but, alas,\\r\\nOur hands advanc'd before our hearts, what will\\r\\nThe fall o'th stroke doe damage?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nLet th'event,\\r\\nThat never erring Arbitratour, tell us\\r\\nWhen we know all our selves, and let us follow\\r\\nThe becking of our chance. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (Before the gates of Athens.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Pirithous, Hipolita, Emilia.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nNo further.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nSir, farewell; repeat my wishes\\r\\nTo our great Lord, of whose succes I dare not\\r\\nMake any timerous question; yet I wish him\\r\\nExces and overflow of power, and't might be,\\r\\nTo dure ill-dealing fortune: speede to him,\\r\\nStore never hurtes good Gouernours.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThough I know\\r\\nHis Ocean needes not my poore drops, yet they\\r\\nMust yeild their tribute there. My precious Maide,\\r\\nThose best affections, that the heavens infuse\\r\\nIn their best temperd peices, keepe enthroand\\r\\nIn your deare heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThanckes, Sir. Remember me\\r\\nTo our all royall Brother, for whose speede\\r\\nThe great Bellona ile sollicite; and\\r\\nSince in our terrene State petitions are not\\r\\nWithout giftes understood, Ile offer to her\\r\\nWhat I shall be advised she likes: our hearts\\r\\nAre in his Army, in his Tent.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nIn's bosome:\\r\\nWe have bin Soldiers, and wee cannot weepe\\r\\nWhen our Friends don their helmes, or put to sea,\\r\\nOr tell of Babes broachd on the Launce, or women\\r\\nThat have sod their Infants in (and after eate them)\\r\\nThe brine, they wept at killing 'em; Then if\\r\\nYou stay to see of us such Spincsters, we\\r\\nShould hold you here for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nPeace be to you,\\r\\nAs I pursue this war, which shall be then\\r\\nBeyond further requiring. [Exit Pir.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHow his longing\\r\\nFollowes his Friend! since his depart, his sportes\\r\\nThough craving seriousnes, and skill, past slightly\\r\\nHis careles execution, where nor gaine\\r\\nMade him regard, or losse consider; but\\r\\nPlaying one busines in his hand, another\\r\\nDirecting in his head, his minde, nurse equall\\r\\nTo these so diffring Twyns—have you observ'd him,\\r\\nSince our great Lord departed?\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nWith much labour,\\r\\nAnd I did love him fort: they two have Cabind\\r\\nIn many as dangerous, as poore a Corner,\\r\\nPerill and want contending; they have skift\\r\\nTorrents whose roring tyranny and power\\r\\nI'th least of these was dreadfull, and they have\\r\\nFought out together, where Deaths-selfe was lodgd,\\r\\nYet fate hath brought them off: Their knot of love,\\r\\nTide, weau'd, intangled, with so true, so long,\\r\\nAnd with a finger of so deepe a cunning,\\r\\nMay be outworne, never undone. I thinke\\r\\nTheseus cannot be umpire to himselfe,\\r\\nCleaving his conscience into twaine and doing\\r\\nEach side like Iustice, which he loves best.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nDoubtlesse\\r\\nThere is a best, and reason has no manners\\r\\nTo say it is not you: I was acquainted\\r\\nOnce with a time, when I enjoyd a Play-fellow;\\r\\nYou were at wars, when she the grave enrichd,\\r\\nWho made too proud the Bed, tooke leave o th Moone\\r\\n(Which then lookt pale at parting) when our count\\r\\nWas each eleven.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nTwas Flaui(n)a.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\nYou talke of Pirithous and Theseus love;\\r\\nTheirs has more ground, is more maturely seasond,\\r\\nMore buckled with strong Iudgement and their needes\\r\\nThe one of th'other may be said to water [2. Hearses ready\\r\\n with Palamon: and Arcite: the 3. Queenes. Theseus: and his\\r\\n Lordes ready.]\\r\\nTheir intertangled rootes of love; but I\\r\\nAnd shee I sigh and spoke of were things innocent,\\r\\nLou'd for we did, and like the Elements\\r\\nThat know not what, nor why, yet doe effect\\r\\nRare issues by their operance, our soules\\r\\nDid so to one another; what she lik'd,\\r\\nWas then of me approov'd, what not, condemd,\\r\\nNo more arraignment; the flowre that I would plucke\\r\\nAnd put betweene my breasts (then but beginning\\r\\nTo swell about the blossome) oh, she would long\\r\\nTill shee had such another, and commit it\\r\\nTo the like innocent Cradle, where Phenix like\\r\\nThey dide in perfume: on my head no toy\\r\\nBut was her patterne; her affections (pretty,\\r\\nThough, happely, her careles were) I followed\\r\\nFor my most serious decking; had mine eare\\r\\nStolne some new aire, or at adventure humd on\\r\\nFrom musicall Coynadge, why it was a note\\r\\nWhereon her spirits would sojourne (rather dwell on)\\r\\nAnd sing it in her slumbers. This rehearsall\\r\\n(Which ev'ry innocent wots well comes in\\r\\nLike old importments bastard) has this end,\\r\\nThat the true love tweene Mayde, and mayde, may be\\r\\nMore then in sex idividuall.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nY'are out of breath\\r\\nAnd this high speeded pace, is but to say\\r\\nThat you shall never like the Maide Flavina\\r\\nLove any that's calld Man.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI am sure I shall not.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nNow, alacke, weake Sister,\\r\\nI must no more beleeve thee in this point\\r\\n(Though in't I know thou dost beleeve thy selfe,)\\r\\nThen I will trust a sickely appetite,\\r\\nThat loathes even as it longs; but, sure, my Sister,\\r\\nIf I were ripe for your perswasion, you\\r\\nHave saide enough to shake me from the Arme\\r\\nOf the all noble Theseus, for whose fortunes\\r\\nI will now in, and kneele with great assurance,\\r\\nThat we, more then his Pirothous, possesse\\r\\nThe high throne in his heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI am not\\r\\nAgainst your faith; yet I continew mine. [Exeunt. Cornets.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. (A field before Thebes. Dead bodies lying on the ground.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[A Battaile strooke within: Then a Retrait: Florish. Then\\r\\n Enter Theseus (victor), (Herald and Attendants:) the three\\r\\n Queenes meete him, and fall on their faces before him.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nTo thee no starre be darke.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nBoth heaven and earth\\r\\nFriend thee for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nAll the good that may\\r\\nBe wishd upon thy head, I cry Amen too't.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nTh'imparciall Gods, who from the mounted heavens\\r\\nView us their mortall Heard, behold who erre,\\r\\nAnd in their time chastice: goe and finde out\\r\\nThe bones of your dead Lords, and honour them\\r\\nWith treble Ceremonie; rather then a gap\\r\\nShould be in their deere rights, we would supply't.\\r\\nBut those we will depute, which shall invest\\r\\nYou in your dignities, and even each thing\\r\\nOur hast does leave imperfect: So, adiew,\\r\\nAnd heavens good eyes looke on you. What are those? [Exeunt\\r\\nQueenes.]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nMen of great quality, as may be judgd\\r\\nBy their appointment; Sone of Thebs have told's\\r\\nThey are Sisters children, Nephewes to the King.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nBy'th Helme of Mars, I saw them in the war,\\r\\nLike to a paire of Lions, smeard with prey,\\r\\nMake lanes in troopes agast. I fixt my note\\r\\nConstantly on them; for they were a marke\\r\\nWorth a god's view: what prisoner was't that told me\\r\\nWhen I enquired their names?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nWi'leave, they'r called Arcite and Palamon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nTis right: those, those. They are not dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERALD.\\r\\nNor in a state of life: had they bin taken,\\r\\nWhen their last hurts were given, twas possible [3. Hearses\\r\\nready.]\\r\\nThey might have bin recovered; Yet they breathe\\r\\nAnd haue the name of men.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThen like men use 'em.\\r\\nThe very lees of such (millions of rates)\\r\\nExceede the wine of others: all our Surgions\\r\\nConvent in their behoofe; our richest balmes\\r\\nRather then niggard, waft: their lives concerne us\\r\\nMuch more then Thebs is worth: rather then have 'em\\r\\nFreed of this plight, and in their morning state\\r\\n(Sound and at liberty) I would 'em dead;\\r\\nBut forty thousand fold we had rather have 'em\\r\\nPrisoners to us then death. Beare 'em speedily\\r\\nFrom our kinde aire, to them unkinde, and minister\\r\\nWhat man to man may doe—for our sake more,\\r\\nSince I have knowne frights, fury, friends beheastes,\\r\\nLoves provocations, zeale, a mistris Taske,\\r\\nDesire of liberty, a feavour, madnes,\\r\\nHath set a marke which nature could not reach too\\r\\nWithout some imposition: sicknes in will\\r\\nOr wrastling strength in reason. For our Love\\r\\nAnd great Appollos mercy, all our best\\r\\nTheir best skill tender. Leade into the Citty,\\r\\nWhere having bound things scatterd, we will post [Florish.]\\r\\nTo Athens for(e) our Army [Exeunt. Musicke.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5. (Another part of the same.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter the Queenes with the Hearses of their Knightes, in a\\r\\n Funerall Solempnity, &c.]\\r\\n\\r\\nVrnes and odours bring away,\\r\\nVapours, sighes, darken the day;\\r\\nOur dole more deadly lookes than dying;\\r\\nBalmes, and Gummes, and heavy cheeres,\\r\\nSacred vials fill'd with teares,\\r\\nAnd clamors through the wild ayre flying.\\r\\n\\r\\nCome all sad and solempne Showes,\\r\\nThat are quick-eyd pleasures foes;\\r\\nWe convent nought else but woes.\\r\\nWe convent, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nThis funeral path brings to your housholds grave:\\r\\nIoy ceaze on you againe: peace sleepe with him.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. QUEEN.\\r\\nAnd this to yours.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. QUEEN.\\r\\nYours this way: Heavens lend\\r\\nA thousand differing waies to one sure end.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. QUEEN.\\r\\nThis world's a Citty full of straying Streetes, And Death's the market\\r\\nplace, where each one meetes. [Exeunt severally.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (Athens. A garden, with a prison in the background.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iailor, and Wooer.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI may depart with little, while I live; some thing I may cast to you,\\r\\nnot much: Alas, the Prison I keepe, though it be for great ones, yet\\r\\nthey seldome come; Before one Salmon, you shall take a number of\\r\\nMinnowes. I am given out to be better lyn'd then it can appeare to me\\r\\nreport is a true Speaker: I would I were really that I am deliverd to\\r\\nbe. Marry, what I have (be it what it will) I will assure upon my\\r\\ndaughter at the day of my death.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nSir, I demaund no more then your owne offer, and I will estate\\r\\nyour\\r\\nDaughter in what I have promised.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWel, we will talke more of this, when the solemnity is past. But have\\r\\nyou a full promise of her? When that shall be seene, I tender my\\r\\nconsent.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Daughter.]\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI have Sir; here shee comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYour Friend and I have chanced to name you here, upon the old busines:\\r\\nBut no more of that now; so soone as the Court hurry is over, we will\\r\\nhave an end of it: I'th meane time looke tenderly to the two Prisoners.\\r\\n I can tell you they are princes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nThese strewings are for their Chamber; tis pitty they are in prison,\\r\\nand twer pitty they should be out: I doe thinke they have patience to\\r\\nmake any adversity asham'd; the prison it selfe is proud of 'em; and\\r\\nthey have all the world in their Chamber.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThey are fam'd to be a paire of absolute men.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nBy my troth, I think Fame but stammers 'em; they stand a greise above\\r\\nthe reach of report.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI heard them reported in the Battaile to be the only doers.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nNay, most likely, for they are noble suffrers; I mervaile how they\\r\\nwould have lookd had they beene Victors, that with such a constant\\r\\nNobility enforce a freedome out of Bondage, making misery their Mirth,\\r\\nand affliction a toy to jest at.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nDoe they so?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIt seemes to me they have no more sence of their Captivity, then I of\\r\\nruling Athens: they eate well, looke merrily, discourse of many things,\\r\\nbut nothing of their owne restraint, and disasters: yet sometime a\\r\\ndevided sigh, martyrd as 'twer i'th deliverance, will breake from one\\r\\nof them; when the other presently gives it so sweete a rebuke, that I\\r\\ncould wish my selfe a Sigh to be so chid, or at least a Sigher to be\\r\\ncomforted.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI never saw 'em.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThe Duke himselfe came privately in the night,\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon, and Arcite, above.]\\r\\n\\r\\nand so did they: what the reason of it is, I know not: Looke, yonder\\r\\nthey are! that's Arcite lookes out.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nNo, Sir, no, that's Palamon: Arcite is the lower of the twaine; you may\\r\\nperceive a part of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nGoe too, leave your pointing; they would not make us their object; out\\r\\nof their sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIt is a holliday to looke on them: Lord, the diffrence of men!\\r\\n [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (The prison)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon, and Arcite in prison.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHow doe you, Noble Cosen?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHow doe you, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhy strong inough to laugh at misery,\\r\\nAnd beare the chance of warre, yet we are prisoners,\\r\\nI feare, for ever, Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI beleeve it,\\r\\nAnd to that destiny have patiently\\r\\nLaide up my houre to come.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO Cosen Arcite,\\r\\nWhere is Thebs now? where is our noble Country?\\r\\nWhere are our friends, and kindreds? never more\\r\\nMust we behold those comforts, never see\\r\\nThe hardy youthes strive for the Games of honour\\r\\n(Hung with the painted favours of their Ladies,\\r\\nLike tall Ships under saile) then start among'st 'em\\r\\nAnd as an Eastwind leave 'en all behinde us,\\r\\nLike lazy Clowdes, whilst Palamon and Arcite,\\r\\nEven in the wagging of a wanton leg\\r\\nOut-stript the peoples praises, won the Garlands,\\r\\nEre they have time to wish 'em ours. O never\\r\\nShall we two exercise, like Twyns of honour,\\r\\nOur Armes againe, and feele our fyry horses\\r\\nLike proud Seas under us: our good Swords now\\r\\n(Better the red-eyd god of war nev'r wore)\\r\\nRavishd our sides, like age must run to rust,\\r\\nAnd decke the Temples of those gods that hate us:\\r\\nThese hands shall never draw'em out like lightning,\\r\\nTo blast whole Armies more.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNo, Palamon,\\r\\nThose hopes are Prisoners with us; here we are\\r\\nAnd here the graces of our youthes must wither\\r\\nLike a too-timely Spring; here age must finde us,\\r\\nAnd, which is heaviest, Palamon, unmarried;\\r\\nThe sweete embraces of a loving wife,\\r\\nLoden with kisses, armd with thousand Cupids\\r\\nShall never claspe our neckes, no issue know us,\\r\\nNo figures of our selves shall we ev'r see,\\r\\nTo glad our age, and like young Eagles teach 'em\\r\\nBoldly to gaze against bright armes, and say:\\r\\n'Remember what your fathers were, and conquer.'\\r\\nThe faire-eyd Maides, shall weepe our Banishments,\\r\\nAnd in their Songs, curse ever-blinded fortune,\\r\\nTill shee for shame see what a wrong she has done\\r\\nTo youth and nature. This is all our world;\\r\\nWe shall know nothing here but one another,\\r\\nHeare nothing but the Clocke that tels our woes.\\r\\nThe Vine shall grow, but we shall never see it:\\r\\nSommer shall come, and with her all delights;\\r\\nBut dead-cold winter must inhabite here still.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTis too true, Arcite. To our Theban houndes,\\r\\nThat shooke the aged Forrest with their ecchoes,\\r\\nNo more now must we halloa, no more shake\\r\\nOur pointed Iavelyns, whilst the angry Swine\\r\\nFlyes like a parthian quiver from our rages,\\r\\nStrucke with our well-steeld Darts: All valiant uses\\r\\n(The foode, and nourishment of noble mindes,)\\r\\nIn us two here shall perish; we shall die\\r\\n(Which is the curse of honour) lastly\\r\\nChildren of greife, and Ignorance.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYet, Cosen,\\r\\nEven from the bottom of these miseries,\\r\\nFrom all that fortune can inflict upon us,\\r\\nI see two comforts rysing, two meere blessings,\\r\\nIf the gods please: to hold here a brave patience,\\r\\nAnd the enjoying of our greefes together.\\r\\nWhilst Palamon is with me, let me perish\\r\\nIf I thinke this our prison.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nCerteinly,\\r\\nTis a maine goodnes, Cosen, that our fortunes\\r\\nWere twyn'd together; tis most true, two soules\\r\\nPut in two noble Bodies—let 'em suffer\\r\\nThe gaule of hazard, so they grow together—\\r\\nWill never sincke; they must not, say they could:\\r\\nA willing man dies sleeping, and all's done.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nShall we make worthy uses of this place\\r\\nThat all men hate so much?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHow, gentle Cosen?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nLet's thinke this prison holy sanctuary,\\r\\nTo keepe us from corruption of worse men.\\r\\nWe are young and yet desire the waies of honour,\\r\\nThat liberty and common Conversation,\\r\\nThe poyson of pure spirits, might like women\\r\\nWooe us to wander from. What worthy blessing\\r\\nCan be but our Imaginations\\r\\nMay make it ours? And heere being thus together,\\r\\nWe are an endles mine to one another;\\r\\nWe are one anothers wife, ever begetting\\r\\nNew birthes of love; we are father, friends, acquaintance;\\r\\nWe are, in one another, Families,\\r\\nI am your heire, and you are mine: This place\\r\\nIs our Inheritance, no hard Oppressour\\r\\nDare take this from us; here, with a little patience,\\r\\nWe shall live long, and loving: No surfeits seeke us:\\r\\nThe hand of war hurts none here, nor the Seas\\r\\nSwallow their youth: were we at liberty,\\r\\nA wife might part us lawfully, or busines;\\r\\nQuarrels consume us, Envy of ill men\\r\\nGrave our acquaintance; I might sicken, Cosen,\\r\\nWhere you should never know it, and so perish\\r\\nWithout your noble hand to close mine eies,\\r\\nOr praiers to the gods: a thousand chaunces,\\r\\nWere we from hence, would seaver us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou have made me\\r\\n(I thanke you, Cosen Arcite) almost wanton\\r\\nWith my Captivity: what a misery\\r\\nIt is to live abroade, and every where!\\r\\nTis like a Beast, me thinkes: I finde the Court here—\\r\\nI am sure, a more content; and all those pleasures\\r\\nThat wooe the wils of men to vanity,\\r\\nI see through now, and am sufficient\\r\\nTo tell the world, tis but a gaudy shaddow,\\r\\nThat old Time, as he passes by, takes with him.\\r\\nWhat had we bin, old in the Court of Creon,\\r\\nWhere sin is Iustice, lust and ignorance\\r\\nThe vertues of the great ones! Cosen Arcite,\\r\\nHad not the loving gods found this place for us,\\r\\nWe had died as they doe, ill old men, unwept,\\r\\nAnd had their Epitaphes, the peoples Curses:\\r\\nShall I say more?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI would heare you still.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYe shall.\\r\\nIs there record of any two that lov'd\\r\\nBetter then we doe, Arcite?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSure, there cannot.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI doe not thinke it possible our friendship\\r\\nShould ever leave us.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTill our deathes it cannot;\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Emilia and her woman (below).]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd after death our spirits shall be led\\r\\nTo those that love eternally. Speake on, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThis garden has a world of pleasures in't.\\r\\nWhat Flowre is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nTis calld Narcissus, Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat was a faire Boy, certaine, but a foole,\\r\\nTo love himselfe; were there not maides enough?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nPray forward.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nOr were they all hard hearted?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nThey could not be to one so faire.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThou wouldst not.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nI thinke I should not, Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat's a good wench:\\r\\nBut take heede to your kindnes though.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nWhy, Madam?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMen are mad things.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWill ye goe forward, Cosen?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nCanst not thou worke such flowers in silke, wench?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIle have a gowne full of 'em, and of these;\\r\\nThis is a pretty colour, wilt not doe\\r\\nRarely upon a Skirt, wench?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nDeinty, Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nCosen, Cosen, how doe you, Sir? Why, Palamon?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNever till now I was in prison, Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWhy whats the matter, Man?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBehold, and wonder.\\r\\nBy heaven, shee is a Goddesse.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHa.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDoe reverence. She is a Goddesse, Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nOf all Flowres, me thinkes a Rose is best.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nWhy, gentle Madam?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIt is the very Embleme of a Maide.\\r\\nFor when the west wind courts her gently,\\r\\nHow modestly she blowes, and paints the Sun,\\r\\nWith her chaste blushes! When the North comes neere her,\\r\\nRude and impatient, then, like Chastity,\\r\\nShee lockes her beauties in her bud againe,\\r\\nAnd leaves him to base briers.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nYet, good Madam,\\r\\nSometimes her modesty will blow so far\\r\\nShe fals for't: a Mayde,\\r\\nIf shee have any honour, would be loth\\r\\nTo take example by her.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThou art wanton.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nShe is wondrous faire.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nShe is beauty extant.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThe Sun grows high, lets walk in: keep these flowers;\\r\\nWeele see how neere Art can come neere their colours.\\r\\nI am wondrous merry hearted, I could laugh now.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nI could lie downe, I am sure.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAnd take one with you?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOMAN.\\r\\nThat's as we bargaine, Madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWell, agree then. [Exeunt Emilia and woman.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhat thinke you of this beauty?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTis a rare one.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIs't but a rare one?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, a matchles beauty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMight not a man well lose himselfe and love her?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI cannot tell what you have done, I have;\\r\\nBeshrew mine eyes for't: now I feele my Shackles.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou love her, then?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWho would not?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAnd desire her?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBefore my liberty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI saw her first.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat's nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBut it shall be.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI saw her too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes, but you must not love her.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI will not as you doe, to worship her,\\r\\nAs she is heavenly, and a blessed Goddes;\\r\\nI love her as a woman, to enjoy her:\\r\\nSo both may love.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou shall not love at all.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNot love at all!\\r\\nWho shall deny me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI, that first saw her; I, that tooke possession\\r\\nFirst with mine eyes of all those beauties\\r\\nIn her reveald to mankinde: if thou lou'st her,\\r\\nOr entertain'st a hope to blast my wishes,\\r\\nThou art a Traytour, Arcite, and a fellow\\r\\nFalse as thy Title to her: friendship, blood,\\r\\nAnd all the tyes betweene us I disclaime,\\r\\nIf thou once thinke upon her.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, I love her,\\r\\nAnd if the lives of all my name lay on it,\\r\\nI must doe so; I love her with my soule:\\r\\nIf that will lose ye, farewell, Palamon;\\r\\nI say againe, I love, and in loving her maintaine\\r\\nI am as worthy and as free a lover,\\r\\nAnd have as just a title to her beauty\\r\\nAs any Palamon or any living\\r\\nThat is a mans Sonne.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHave I cald thee friend?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, and have found me so; why are you mov'd thus?\\r\\nLet me deale coldly with you: am not I\\r\\nPart of your blood, part of your soule? you have told me\\r\\nThat I was Palamon, and you were Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nAm not I liable to those affections,\\r\\nThose joyes, greifes, angers, feares, my friend shall suffer?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYe may be.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWhy, then, would you deale so cunningly,\\r\\nSo strangely, so vnlike a noble kinesman,\\r\\nTo love alone? speake truely: doe you thinke me\\r\\nVnworthy of her sight?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNo; but unjust,\\r\\nIf thou pursue that sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBecause an other\\r\\nFirst sees the Enemy, shall I stand still\\r\\nAnd let mine honour downe, and never charge?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes, if he be but one.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBut say that one\\r\\nHad rather combat me?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nLet that one say so,\\r\\nAnd use thy freedome; els if thou pursuest her,\\r\\nBe as that cursed man that hates his Country,\\r\\nA branded villaine.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou are mad.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI must be,\\r\\nTill thou art worthy, Arcite; it concernes me,\\r\\nAnd in this madnes, if I hazard thee\\r\\nAnd take thy life, I deale but truely.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nFie, Sir,\\r\\nYou play the Childe extreamely: I will love her,\\r\\nI must, I ought to doe so, and I dare;\\r\\nAnd all this justly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO that now, that now\\r\\nThy false-selfe and thy friend had but this fortune,\\r\\nTo be one howre at liberty, and graspe\\r\\nOur good Swords in our hands! I would quickly teach thee\\r\\nWhat 'twer to filch affection from another:\\r\\nThou art baser in it then a Cutpurse;\\r\\nPut but thy head out of this window more,\\r\\nAnd as I have a soule, Ile naile thy life too't.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThou dar'st not, foole, thou canst not, thou art feeble.\\r\\nPut my head out? Ile throw my Body out,\\r\\nAnd leape the garden, when I see her next\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Keeper.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd pitch between her armes to anger thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNo more; the keeper's comming; I shall live\\r\\nTo knocke thy braines out with my Shackles.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDoe.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nBy your leave, Gentlemen—\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNow, honest keeper?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nLord Arcite, you must presently to'th Duke;\\r\\nThe cause I know not yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am ready, keeper.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nPrince Palamon, I must awhile bereave you\\r\\nOf your faire Cosens Company. [Exeunt Arcite, and Keeper.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAnd me too,\\r\\nEven when you please, of life. Why is he sent for?\\r\\nIt may be he shall marry her; he's goodly,\\r\\nAnd like enough the Duke hath taken notice\\r\\nBoth of his blood and body: But his falsehood!\\r\\nWhy should a friend be treacherous? If that\\r\\nGet him a wife so noble, and so faire,\\r\\nLet honest men ne're love againe. Once more\\r\\nI would but see this faire One. Blessed Garden,\\r\\nAnd fruite, and flowers more blessed, that still blossom\\r\\nAs her bright eies shine on ye! would I were,\\r\\nFor all the fortune of my life hereafter,\\r\\nYon little Tree, yon blooming Apricocke;\\r\\nHow I would spread, and fling my wanton armes\\r\\nIn at her window; I would bring her fruite\\r\\nFit for the Gods to feed on: youth and pleasure\\r\\nStill as she tasted should be doubled on her,\\r\\nAnd if she be not heavenly, I would make her\\r\\nSo neere the Gods in nature, they should feare her,\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Keeper.]\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd then I am sure she would love me. How now, keeper.\\r\\nWher's Arcite?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nBanishd: Prince Pirithous\\r\\nObtained his liberty; but never more\\r\\nVpon his oth and life must he set foote\\r\\nVpon this Kingdome.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHees a blessed man!\\r\\nHe shall see Thebs againe, and call to Armes\\r\\nThe bold yong men, that, when he bids 'em charge,\\r\\nFall on like fire: Arcite shall have a Fortune,\\r\\nIf he dare make himselfe a worthy Lover,\\r\\nYet in the Feild to strike a battle for her;\\r\\nAnd if he lose her then, he's a cold Coward;\\r\\nHow bravely may he beare himselfe to win her\\r\\nIf he be noble Arcite—thousand waies.\\r\\nWere I at liberty, I would doe things\\r\\nOf such a vertuous greatnes, that this Lady,\\r\\nThis blushing virgine, should take manhood to her\\r\\nAnd seeke to ravish me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nMy Lord for you\\r\\nI have this charge too—\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTo discharge my life?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nNo, but from this place to remoove your Lordship:\\r\\nThe windowes are too open.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDevils take 'em,\\r\\nThat are so envious to me! pre'thee kill me.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nAnd hang for't afterward.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBy this good light,\\r\\nHad I a sword I would kill thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nWhy, my Lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThou bringst such pelting scuruy news continually\\r\\nThou art not worthy life. I will not goe.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nIndeede, you must, my Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMay I see the garden?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nNoe.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThen I am resolud, I will not goe.\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nI must constraine you then: and for you are dangerous,\\r\\nIle clap more yrons on you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDoe, good keeper.\\r\\nIle shake 'em so, ye shall not sleepe;\\r\\nIle make ye a new Morrisse: must I goe?\\r\\n\\r\\nKEEPER.\\r\\nThere is no remedy.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nFarewell, kinde window.\\r\\nMay rude winde never hurt thee. O, my Lady,\\r\\nIf ever thou hast felt what sorrow was,\\r\\nDreame how I suffer. Come; now bury me. [Exeunt Palamon, and\\r\\nKeeper.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (The country near Athens.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Arcite.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBanishd the kingdome? tis a benefit,\\r\\nA mercy I must thanke 'em for, but banishd\\r\\nThe free enjoying of that face I die for,\\r\\nOh twas a studdied punishment, a death\\r\\nBeyond Imagination: Such a vengeance\\r\\nThat, were I old and wicked, all my sins\\r\\nCould never plucke upon me. Palamon,\\r\\nThou ha'st the Start now, thou shalt stay and see\\r\\nHer bright eyes breake each morning gainst thy window,\\r\\nAnd let in life into thee; thou shalt feede\\r\\nVpon the sweetenes of a noble beauty,\\r\\nThat nature nev'r exceeded, nor nev'r shall:\\r\\nGood gods! what happines has Palamon!\\r\\nTwenty to one, hee'le come to speake to her,\\r\\nAnd if she be as gentle as she's faire,\\r\\nI know she's his; he has a Tongue will tame\\r\\nTempests, and make the wild Rockes wanton.\\r\\nCome what can come,\\r\\nThe worst is death; I will not leave the Kingdome.\\r\\nI know mine owne is but a heape of ruins,\\r\\nAnd no redresse there; if I goe, he has her.\\r\\nI am resolu'd an other shape shall make me,\\r\\nOr end my fortunes. Either way, I am happy:\\r\\nIle see her, and be neere her, or no more.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter 4. Country people, & one with a garlond before them.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nMy Masters, ile be there, that's certaine\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nAnd Ile be there.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nAnd I.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWhy, then, have with ye, Boyes; Tis but a chiding.\\r\\nLet the plough play to day, ile tick'lt out\\r\\nOf the Iades tailes to morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nI am sure\\r\\nTo have my wife as jealous as a Turkey:\\r\\nBut that's all one; ile goe through, let her mumble.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nClap her aboard to morrow night, and stoa her,\\r\\nAnd all's made up againe.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nI, doe but put a feskue in her fist, and you shall see her\\r\\nTake a new lesson out, and be a good wench.\\r\\nDoe we all hold against the Maying?\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nHold? what should aile us?\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nArcas will be there.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nAnd Sennois.\\r\\nAnd Rycas, and 3. better lads nev'r dancd\\r\\nUnder green Tree. And yee know what wenches: ha?\\r\\nBut will the dainty Domine, the Schoolemaster,\\r\\nKeep touch, doe you thinke? for he do's all, ye know.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nHee'l eate a hornebooke ere he faile: goe too, the matter's too farre\\r\\ndriven betweene him and the Tanners daughter, to let slip now, and she\\r\\nmust see the Duke, and she must daunce too.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nShall we be lusty?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nAll the Boyes in Athens blow wind i'th breech on's, and heere ile be\\r\\nand there ile be, for our Towne, and here againe, and there againe: ha,\\r\\nBoyes, heigh for the weavers.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nThis must be done i'th woods.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nO, pardon me.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nBy any meanes, our thing of learning saies so:\\r\\nWhere he himselfe will edifie the Duke\\r\\nMost parlously in our behalfes: hees excellent i'th woods;\\r\\nBring him to'th plaines, his learning makes no cry.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWeele see the sports, then; every man to's Tackle:\\r\\nAnd, Sweete Companions, lets rehearse by any meanes,\\r\\nBefore the Ladies see us, and doe sweetly,\\r\\nAnd God knows what May come on't.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nContent; the sports once ended, wee'l performe.\\r\\nAway, Boyes and hold.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBy your leaves, honest friends: pray you, whither goe you?\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWhither? why, what a question's that?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, tis a question, to me that know not.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nTo the Games, my Friend.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWhere were you bred, you know it not?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNot farre, Sir,\\r\\nAre there such Games to day?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nYes, marry, are there:\\r\\nAnd such as you neuer saw; The Duke himselfe\\r\\nWill be in person there.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWhat pastimes are they?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWrastling, and Running.—Tis a pretty Fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nThou wilt not goe along?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNot yet, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nWell, Sir,\\r\\nTake your owne time: come, Boyes.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nMy minde misgives me;\\r\\nThis fellow has a veng'ance tricke o'th hip:\\r\\nMarke how his Bodi's made for't\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN\\r\\nIle be hangd, though,\\r\\nIf he dare venture; hang him, plumb porredge,\\r\\nHe wrastle? he rost eggs! Come, lets be gon, Lads. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThis is an offerd oportunity\\r\\nI durst not wish for. Well I could have wrestled,\\r\\nThe best men calld it excellent, and run—\\r\\nSwifter the winde upon a feild of Corne\\r\\n(Curling the wealthy eares) never flew: Ile venture,\\r\\nAnd in some poore disguize be there; who knowes\\r\\nWhether my browes may not be girt with garlands?\\r\\nAnd happines preferre me to a place,\\r\\nWhere I may ever dwell in sight of her. [Exit Arcite.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. (Athens. A room in the prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iailors Daughter alone.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWhy should I love this Gentleman? Tis odds\\r\\nHe never will affect me; I am base,\\r\\nMy Father the meane Keeper of his Prison,\\r\\nAnd he a prince: To marry him is hopelesse;\\r\\nTo be his whore is witles. Out upon't,\\r\\nWhat pushes are we wenches driven to,\\r\\nWhen fifteene once has found us! First, I saw him;\\r\\nI (seeing) thought he was a goodly man;\\r\\nHe has as much to please a woman in him,\\r\\n(If he please to bestow it so) as ever\\r\\nThese eyes yet lookt on. Next, I pittied him,\\r\\nAnd so would any young wench, o' my Conscience,\\r\\nThat ever dream'd, or vow'd her Maydenhead\\r\\nTo a yong hansom Man; Then I lov'd him,\\r\\nExtreamely lov'd him, infinitely lov'd him;\\r\\nAnd yet he had a Cosen, faire as he too.\\r\\nBut in my heart was Palamon, and there,\\r\\nLord, what a coyle he keepes! To heare him\\r\\nSing in an evening, what a heaven it is!\\r\\nAnd yet his Songs are sad ones. Fairer spoken\\r\\nWas never Gentleman. When I come in\\r\\nTo bring him water in a morning, first\\r\\nHe bowes his noble body, then salutes me, thus:\\r\\n'Faire, gentle Mayde, good morrow; may thy goodnes\\r\\nGet thee a happy husband.' Once he kist me.\\r\\nI lov'd my lips the better ten daies after.\\r\\nWould he would doe so ev'ry day! He greives much,\\r\\nAnd me as much to see his misery.\\r\\nWhat should I doe, to make him know I love him?\\r\\nFor I would faine enjoy him. Say I ventur'd\\r\\nTo set him free? what saies the law then? Thus much\\r\\nFor Law, or kindred! I will doe it,\\r\\nAnd this night, or to morrow, he shall love me. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5. (An open place in Athens.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Pirithous, Emilia: Arcite with a\\r\\nGarland, &c.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[This short florish of Cornets and Showtes within.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou have done worthily; I have not seene,\\r\\nSince Hercules, a man of tougher synewes;\\r\\nWhat ere you are, you run the best, and wrastle,\\r\\nThat these times can allow.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am proud to please you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat Countrie bred you?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThis; but far off, Prince.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAre you a Gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nMy father said so;\\r\\nAnd to those gentle uses gave me life.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAre you his heire?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHis yongest, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYour Father\\r\\nSure is a happy Sire then: what prooves you?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nA little of all noble Quallities:\\r\\nI could have kept a Hawke, and well have holloa'd\\r\\nTo a deepe crie of Dogges; I dare not praise\\r\\nMy feat in horsemanship, yet they that knew me\\r\\nWould say it was my best peece: last, and greatest,\\r\\nI would be thought a Souldier.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou are perfect.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nVpon my soule, a proper man.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHe is so.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nHow doe you like him, Ladie?\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nI admire him;\\r\\nI have not seene so yong a man so noble\\r\\n(If he say true,) of his sort.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBeleeve,\\r\\nHis mother was a wondrous handsome woman;\\r\\nHis face, me thinkes, goes that way.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nBut his Body\\r\\nAnd firie minde illustrate a brave Father.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nMarke how his vertue, like a hidden Sun,\\r\\nBreakes through his baser garments.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nHee's well got, sure.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat made you seeke this place, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNoble Theseus,\\r\\nTo purchase name, and doe my ablest service\\r\\nTo such a well-found wonder as thy worth,\\r\\nFor onely in thy Court, of all the world,\\r\\nDwells faire-eyd honor.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nAll his words are worthy.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSir, we are much endebted to your travell,\\r\\nNor shall you loose your wish: Perithous,\\r\\nDispose of this faire Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThankes, Theseus.\\r\\nWhat ere you are y'ar mine, and I shall give you\\r\\nTo a most noble service, to this Lady,\\r\\nThis bright yong Virgin; pray, observe her goodnesse;\\r\\nYou have honourd hir faire birth-day with your vertues,\\r\\nAnd as your due y'ar hirs: kisse her faire hand, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSir, y'ar a noble Giver: dearest Bewtie,\\r\\nThus let me seale my vowd faith: when your Servant\\r\\n(Your most unworthie Creature) but offends you,\\r\\nCommand him die, he shall.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat were too cruell.\\r\\nIf you deserve well, Sir, I shall soone see't:\\r\\nY'ar mine, and somewhat better than your rancke\\r\\nIle use you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nIle see you furnish'd, and because you say\\r\\nYou are a horseman, I must needs intreat you\\r\\nThis after noone to ride, but tis a rough one.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI like him better, Prince, I shall not then\\r\\nFreeze in my Saddle.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSweet, you must be readie,\\r\\nAnd you, Emilia, and you, Friend, and all,\\r\\nTo morrow by the Sun, to doe observance\\r\\nTo flowry May, in Dians wood: waite well, Sir,\\r\\nVpon your Mistris. Emely, I hope\\r\\nHe shall not goe a foote.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat were a shame, Sir,\\r\\nWhile I have horses: take your choice, and what\\r\\nYou want at any time, let me but know it;\\r\\nIf you serve faithfully, I dare assure you\\r\\nYou'l finde a loving Mistris.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf I doe not,\\r\\nLet me finde that my Father ever hated,\\r\\nDisgrace and blowes.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nGo, leade the way; you have won it:\\r\\nIt shall be so; you shall receave all dues\\r\\nFit for the honour you have won; Twer wrong else.\\r\\nSister, beshrew my heart, you have a Servant,\\r\\nThat, if I were a woman, would be Master,\\r\\nBut you are wise. [Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI hope too wise for that, Sir. [Exeunt omnes.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 6. (Before the prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylors Daughter alone.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nLet all the Dukes, and all the divells rore,\\r\\nHe is at liberty: I have venturd for him,\\r\\nAnd out I have brought him to a little wood\\r\\nA mile hence. I have sent him, where a Cedar,\\r\\nHigher than all the rest, spreads like a plane\\r\\nFast by a Brooke, and there he shall keepe close,\\r\\nTill I provide him Fyles and foode, for yet\\r\\nHis yron bracelets are not off. O Love,\\r\\nWhat a stout hearted child thou art! My Father\\r\\nDurst better have indur'd cold yron, than done it:\\r\\nI love him beyond love and beyond reason,\\r\\nOr wit, or safetie: I have made him know it.\\r\\nI care not, I am desperate; If the law\\r\\nFinde me, and then condemne me for't, some wenches,\\r\\nSome honest harted Maides, will sing my Dirge,\\r\\nAnd tell to memory my death was noble,\\r\\nDying almost a Martyr: That way he takes,\\r\\nI purpose is my way too: Sure he cannot\\r\\nBe so unmanly, as to leave me here;\\r\\nIf he doe, Maides will not so easily\\r\\nTrust men againe: And yet he has not thank'd me\\r\\nFor what I have done: no not so much as kist me,\\r\\nAnd that (me thinkes) is not so well; nor scarcely\\r\\nCould I perswade him to become a Freeman,\\r\\nHe made such scruples of the wrong he did\\r\\nTo me, and to my Father. Yet I hope,\\r\\nWhen he considers more, this love of mine\\r\\nWill take more root within him: Let him doe\\r\\nWhat he will with me, so he use me kindly;\\r\\nFor use me so he shall, or ile proclaime him,\\r\\nAnd to his face, no man. Ile presently\\r\\nProvide him necessaries, and packe my cloathes up,\\r\\nAnd where there is a patch of ground Ile venture,\\r\\nSo hee be with me; By him, like a shadow,\\r\\nIle ever dwell; within this houre the whoobub\\r\\nWill be all ore the prison: I am then\\r\\nKissing the man they looke for: farewell, Father;\\r\\nGet many more such prisoners and such daughters,\\r\\nAnd shortly you may keepe your selfe. Now to him!\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (A forest near Athens.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Cornets in sundry places. Noise and hallowing as people a\\r\\nMaying.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Arcite alone.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThe Duke has lost Hypolita; each tooke\\r\\nA severall land. This is a solemne Right\\r\\nThey owe bloomd May, and the Athenians pay it\\r\\nTo'th heart of Ceremony. O Queene Emilia,\\r\\nFresher then May, sweeter\\r\\nThen hir gold Buttons on the bowes, or all\\r\\nTh'enamelld knackes o'th Meade or garden: yea,\\r\\nWe challenge too the bancke of any Nymph\\r\\nThat makes the streame seeme flowers; thou, o Iewell\\r\\nO'th wood, o'th world, hast likewise blest a place\\r\\nWith thy sole presence: in thy rumination\\r\\nThat I, poore man, might eftsoones come betweene\\r\\nAnd chop on some cold thought! thrice blessed chance,\\r\\nTo drop on such a Mistris, expectation\\r\\nMost giltlesse on't! tell me, O Lady Fortune,\\r\\n(Next after Emely my Soveraigne) how far\\r\\nI may be prowd. She takes strong note of me,\\r\\nHath made me neere her; and this beuteous Morne\\r\\n(The prim'st of all the yeare) presents me with\\r\\nA brace of horses: two such Steeds might well\\r\\nBe by a paire of Kings backt, in a Field\\r\\nThat their crownes titles tride. Alas, alas,\\r\\nPoore Cosen Palamon, poore prisoner, thou\\r\\nSo little dream'st upon my fortune, that\\r\\nThou thinkst thy selfe the happier thing, to be\\r\\nSo neare Emilia; me thou deem'st at Thebs,\\r\\nAnd therein wretched, although free. But if\\r\\nThou knew'st my Mistris breathd on me, and that\\r\\nI ear'd her language, livde in her eye, O Coz,\\r\\nWhat passion would enclose thee!\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon as out of a Bush, with his Shackles: bends his fist at\\r\\nArcite.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTraytor kinesman,\\r\\nThou shouldst perceive my passion, if these signes\\r\\nOf prisonment were off me, and this hand\\r\\nBut owner of a Sword: By all othes in one,\\r\\nI and the iustice of my love would make thee\\r\\nA confest Traytor. O thou most perfidious\\r\\nThat ever gently lookd; the voydest of honour,\\r\\nThat eu'r bore gentle Token; falsest Cosen\\r\\nThat ever blood made kin, call'st thou hir thine?\\r\\nIle prove it in my Shackles, with these hands,\\r\\nVoid of appointment, that thou ly'st, and art\\r\\nA very theefe in love, a Chaffy Lord,\\r\\nNor worth the name of villaine: had I a Sword\\r\\nAnd these house clogges away—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDeere Cosin Palamon—\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nCosoner Arcite, give me language such\\r\\nAs thou hast shewd me feate.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNot finding in\\r\\nThe circuit of my breast any grosse stuffe\\r\\nTo forme me like your blazon, holds me to\\r\\nThis gentlenesse of answer; tis your passion\\r\\nThat thus mistakes, the which to you being enemy,\\r\\nCannot to me be kind: honor, and honestie\\r\\nI cherish, and depend on, how so ev'r\\r\\nYou skip them in me, and with them, faire Coz,\\r\\nIle maintaine my proceedings; pray, be pleas'd\\r\\nTo shew in generous termes your griefes, since that\\r\\nYour question's with your equall, who professes\\r\\nTo cleare his owne way with the minde and Sword\\r\\nOf a true Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThat thou durst, Arcite!\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nMy Coz, my Coz, you have beene well advertis'd\\r\\nHow much I dare, y'ave seene me use my Sword\\r\\nAgainst th'advice of feare: sure, of another\\r\\nYou would not heare me doubted, but your silence\\r\\nShould breake out, though i'th Sanctuary.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nSir,\\r\\nI have seene you move in such a place, which well\\r\\nMight justifie your manhood; you were calld\\r\\nA good knight and a bold; But the whole weeke's not faire,\\r\\nIf any day it rayne: Their valiant temper\\r\\nMen loose when they encline to trecherie,\\r\\nAnd then they fight like coupelld Beares, would fly\\r\\nWere they not tyde.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nKinsman, you might as well\\r\\nSpeake this and act it in your Glasse, as to\\r\\nHis eare which now disdaines you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nCome up to me,\\r\\nQuit me of these cold Gyves, give me a Sword,\\r\\nThough it be rustie, and the charity\\r\\nOf one meale lend me; Come before me then,\\r\\nA good Sword in thy hand, and doe but say\\r\\nThat Emily is thine: I will forgive\\r\\nThe trespasse thou hast done me, yea, my life,\\r\\nIf then thou carry't, and brave soules in shades\\r\\nThat have dyde manly, which will seeke of me\\r\\nSome newes from earth, they shall get none but this,\\r\\nThat thou art brave and noble.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBe content:\\r\\nAgaine betake you to your hawthorne house;\\r\\nWith counsaile of the night, I will be here\\r\\nWith wholesome viands; these impediments\\r\\nWill I file off; you shall have garments and\\r\\nPerfumes to kill the smell o'th prison; after,\\r\\nWhen you shall stretch your selfe and say but, 'Arcite,\\r\\nI am in plight,' there shall be at your choyce\\r\\nBoth Sword and Armour.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nOh you heavens, dares any\\r\\nSo noble beare a guilty busines! none\\r\\nBut onely Arcite, therefore none but Arcite\\r\\nIn this kinde is so bold.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSweete Palamon.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI doe embrace you and your offer,—for\\r\\nYour offer doo't I onely, Sir; your person,\\r\\nWithout hipocrisy I may not wish [Winde hornes of Cornets.]\\r\\nMore then my Swords edge ont.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou heare the Hornes;\\r\\nEnter your Musite least this match between's\\r\\nBe crost, er met: give me your hand; farewell.\\r\\nIle bring you every needfull thing: I pray you,\\r\\nTake comfort and be strong.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nPray hold your promise;\\r\\nAnd doe the deede with a bent brow: most certaine\\r\\nYou love me not, be rough with me, and powre\\r\\nThis oile out of your language; by this ayre,\\r\\nI could for each word give a Cuffe, my stomach\\r\\nNot reconcild by reason.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nPlainely spoken,\\r\\nYet pardon me hard language: when I spur [Winde hornes.]\\r\\nMy horse, I chide him not; content and anger\\r\\nIn me have but one face. Harke, Sir, they call\\r\\nThe scatterd to the Banket; you must guesse\\r\\nI have an office there.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nSir, your attendance\\r\\nCannot please heaven, and I know your office\\r\\nVnjustly is atcheev'd.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf a good title,\\r\\nI am perswaded this question sicke between's\\r\\nBy bleeding must be cur'd. I am a Suitour,\\r\\nThat to your Sword you will bequeath this plea\\r\\nAnd talke of it no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBut this one word:\\r\\nYou are going now to gaze upon my Mistris,\\r\\nFor note you, mine she is—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNay, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNay, pray you,\\r\\nYou talke of feeding me to breed me strength:\\r\\nYou are going now to looke upon a Sun\\r\\nThat strengthens what it lookes on; there\\r\\nYou have a vantage ore me, but enjoy't till\\r\\nI may enforce my remedy. Farewell. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (Another Part of the forest.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylors daughter alone.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nHe has mistooke the Brake I meant, is gone\\r\\nAfter his fancy. Tis now welnigh morning;\\r\\nNo matter, would it were perpetuall night,\\r\\nAnd darkenes Lord o'th world. Harke, tis a woolfe:\\r\\nIn me hath greife slaine feare, and but for one thing\\r\\nI care for nothing, and that's Palamon.\\r\\nI wreake not if the wolves would jaw me, so\\r\\nHe had this File: what if I hallowd for him?\\r\\nI cannot hallow: if I whoop'd, what then?\\r\\nIf he not answeard, I should call a wolfe,\\r\\nAnd doe him but that service. I have heard\\r\\nStrange howles this live-long night, why may't not be\\r\\nThey have made prey of him? he has no weapons,\\r\\nHe cannot run, the Iengling of his Gives\\r\\nMight call fell things to listen, who have in them\\r\\nA sence to know a man unarmd, and can\\r\\nSmell where resistance is. Ile set it downe\\r\\nHe's torne to peeces; they howld many together\\r\\nAnd then they fed on him: So much for that,\\r\\nBe bold to ring the Bell; how stand I then?\\r\\nAll's char'd when he is gone. No, no, I lye,\\r\\nMy Father's to be hang'd for his escape;\\r\\nMy selfe to beg, if I prizd life so much\\r\\nAs to deny my act, but that I would not,\\r\\nShould I try death by dussons.—I am mop't,\\r\\nFood tooke I none these two daies,\\r\\nSipt some water. I have not closd mine eyes\\r\\nSave when my lids scowrd off their brine; alas,\\r\\nDissolue my life, Let not my sence unsettle,\\r\\nLeast I should drowne, or stab or hang my selfe.\\r\\nO state of Nature, faile together in me,\\r\\nSince thy best props are warpt! So, which way now?\\r\\nThe best way is the next way to a grave:\\r\\nEach errant step beside is torment. Loe,\\r\\nThe Moone is down, the Cryckets chirpe, the Schreichowle\\r\\nCalls in the dawne; all offices are done\\r\\nSave what I faile in: But the point is this,\\r\\nAn end, and that is all. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (Same as Scene I.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Arcite, with Meate, Wine, and Files.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI should be neere the place: hoa, Cosen Palamon. [Enter\\r\\nPalamon.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nArcite?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThe same: I have brought you foode and files.\\r\\nCome forth and feare not, here's no Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNor none so honest, Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat's no matter,\\r\\nWee'l argue that hereafter: Come, take courage;\\r\\nYou shall not dye thus beastly: here, Sir, drinke;\\r\\nI know you are faint: then ile talke further with you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nArcite, thou mightst now poyson me.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI might,\\r\\nBut I must feare you first: Sit downe, and, good, now\\r\\nNo more of these vaine parlies; let us not,\\r\\nHaving our ancient reputation with us,\\r\\nMake talke for Fooles and Cowards. To your health, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDoe.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nPray, sit downe then; and let me entreate you,\\r\\nBy all the honesty and honour in you,\\r\\nNo mention of this woman: t'will disturbe us;\\r\\nWe shall have time enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWell, Sir, Ile pledge you.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDrinke a good hearty draught; it breeds good blood, man.\\r\\nDoe not you feele it thaw you?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nStay, Ile tell you after a draught or two more.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSpare it not, the Duke has more, Cuz: Eate now.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am glad you have so good a stomach.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI am gladder I have so good meate too't.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIs't not mad lodging here in the wild woods, Cosen?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes, for them that have wilde Consciences.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHow tasts your vittails? your hunger needs no sawce, I see.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNot much;\\r\\nBut if it did, yours is too tart, sweete Cosen: what is this?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nVenison.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nTis a lusty meate:\\r\\nGiue me more wine; here, Arcite, to the wenches\\r\\nWe have known in our daies. The Lord Stewards daughter,\\r\\nDoe you remember her?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nAfter you, Cuz.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nShe lov'd a black-haird man.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nShe did so; well, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAnd I have heard some call him Arcite, and—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nOut with't, faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nShe met him in an Arbour:\\r\\nWhat did she there, Cuz? play o'th virginals?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nSomething she did, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMade her groane a moneth for't, or 2. or 3. or 10.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThe Marshals Sister\\r\\nHad her share too, as I remember, Cosen,\\r\\nElse there be tales abroade; you'l pledge her?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nA pretty broune wench t'is. There was a time\\r\\nWhen yong men went a hunting, and a wood,\\r\\nAnd a broade Beech: and thereby hangs a tale:—heigh ho!\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nFor Emily, upon my life! Foole,\\r\\nAway with this straind mirth; I say againe,\\r\\nThat sigh was breathd for Emily; base Cosen,\\r\\nDar'st thou breake first?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou are wide.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBy heaven and earth, ther's nothing in thee honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThen Ile leave you: you are a Beast now.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAs thou makst me, Traytour.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTher's all things needfull, files and shirts, and perfumes:\\r\\nIle come againe some two howres hence, and bring\\r\\nThat that shall quiet all,\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nA Sword and Armour?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nFeare me not; you are now too fowle; farewell.\\r\\nGet off your Trinkets; you shall want nought.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nSir, ha—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIle heare no more. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIf he keepe touch, he dies for't. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. (Another part of the forest.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylors daughter.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI am very cold, and all the Stars are out too,\\r\\nThe little Stars, and all, that looke like aglets:\\r\\nThe Sun has seene my Folly. Palamon!\\r\\nAlas no; hees in heaven. Where am I now?\\r\\nYonder's the sea, and ther's a Ship; how't tumbles!\\r\\nAnd ther's a Rocke lies watching under water;\\r\\nNow, now, it beates upon it; now, now, now,\\r\\nTher's a leak sprung, a sound one, how they cry!\\r\\nSpoon her before the winde, you'l loose all els:\\r\\nVp with a course or two, and take about, Boyes.\\r\\nGood night, good night, y'ar gone.—I am very hungry.\\r\\nWould I could finde a fine Frog; he would tell me\\r\\nNewes from all parts o'th world, then would I make\\r\\nA Carecke of a Cockle shell, and sayle\\r\\nBy east and North East to the King of Pigmes,\\r\\nFor he tels fortunes rarely. Now my Father,\\r\\nTwenty to one, is trust up in a trice\\r\\nTo morrow morning; Ile say never a word.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Sing.]\\r\\n\\r\\nFor ile cut my greene coat a foote above my knee, And ile clip my\\r\\nyellow lockes an inch below mine eie. hey, nonny, nonny, nonny, He's\\r\\nbuy me a white Cut, forth for to ride And ile goe seeke him, throw the\\r\\nworld that is so wide hey nonny, nonny, nonny.\\r\\n\\r\\nO for a pricke now like a Nightingale,\\r\\nTo put my breast against. I shall sleepe like a Top else.\\r\\n[Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 5. (Another part of the forest.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter a Schoole master, 4. Countrymen, and Bavian. 2. or 3. wenches,\\r\\nwith a Taborer.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nFy, fy, what tediosity, & disensanity is here among ye? have my\\r\\nRudiments bin labourd so long with ye? milkd unto ye, and by a figure\\r\\neven the very plumbroth & marrow of my understanding laid upon ye? and\\r\\ndo you still cry: where, and how, & wherfore? you most course freeze\\r\\ncapacities, ye jane Iudgements, have I saide: thus let be, and there\\r\\nlet be, and then let be, and no man understand mee? Proh deum, medius\\r\\nfidius, ye are all dunces! For why, here stand I, Here the Duke comes,\\r\\nthere are you close in the Thicket; the Duke appeares, I meete him and\\r\\nunto him I utter learned things and many figures; he heares, and nods,\\r\\nand hums, and then cries: rare, and I goe forward; at length I fling my\\r\\nCap up; marke there; then do you, as once did Meleager and the Bore,\\r\\nbreak comly out before him: like true lovers, cast your selves in a\\r\\nBody decently, and sweetly, by a figure trace and turne, Boyes.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nAnd sweetly we will doe it Master Gerrold.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nDraw up the Company. Where's the Taborour?\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nWhy, Timothy!\\r\\n\\r\\nTABORER.\\r\\nHere, my mad boyes, have at ye.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nBut I say, where's their women?\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nHere's Friz and Maudline.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nAnd little Luce with the white legs, and bouncing Barbery.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nAnd freckeled Nel, that never faild her Master.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nWher be your Ribands, maids? swym with your Bodies\\r\\nAnd carry it sweetly, and deliverly\\r\\nAnd now and then a fauour, and a friske.\\r\\n\\r\\nNEL.\\r\\nLet us alone, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nWher's the rest o'th Musicke?\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nDispersd as you commanded.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nCouple, then,\\r\\nAnd see what's wanting; wher's the Bavian?\\r\\nMy friend, carry your taile without offence\\r\\nOr scandall to the Ladies; and be sure\\r\\nYou tumble with audacity and manhood;\\r\\nAnd when you barke, doe it with judgement.\\r\\n\\r\\nBAVIAN.\\r\\nYes, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nQuo usque tandem? Here is a woman wanting.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nWe may goe whistle: all the fat's i'th fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nWe have,\\r\\nAs learned Authours utter, washd a Tile,\\r\\nWe have beene FATUUS, and laboured vainely.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nThis is that scornefull peece, that scurvy hilding,\\r\\nThat gave her promise faithfully, she would be here,\\r\\nCicely the Sempsters daughter:\\r\\nThe next gloves that I give her shall be dog skin;\\r\\nNay and she faile me once—you can tell, Arcas,\\r\\nShe swore by wine and bread, she would not breake.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nAn Eele and woman,\\r\\nA learned Poet sayes, unles by'th taile\\r\\nAnd with thy teeth thou hold, will either faile.\\r\\nIn manners this was false position\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nA fire ill take her; do's she flinch now?\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nWhat\\r\\nShall we determine, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nNothing.\\r\\nOur busines is become a nullity;\\r\\nYea, and a woefull, and a pittious nullity.\\r\\n\\r\\n4. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nNow when the credite of our Towne lay on it,\\r\\nNow to be frampall, now to pisse o'th nettle!\\r\\nGoe thy waies; ile remember thee, ile fit thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylors daughter.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\n[Sings.]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe George alow came from the South,\\r\\nFrom the coast of Barbary a.\\r\\nAnd there he met with brave gallants of war\\r\\nBy one, by two, by three, a.\\r\\n\\r\\nWell haild, well haild, you jolly gallants,\\r\\nAnd whither now are you bound a?\\r\\nO let me have your company [Chaire and stooles out.]\\r\\nTill (I) come to the sound a.\\r\\n\\r\\nThere was three fooles, fell out about an howlet:\\r\\nThe one sed it was an owle,\\r\\nThe other he sed nay,\\r\\nThe third he sed it was a hawke,\\r\\nAnd her bels wer cut away.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nTher's a dainty mad woman M(aiste)r\\r\\nComes i'th Nick, as mad as a march hare:\\r\\nIf wee can get her daunce, wee are made againe:\\r\\nI warrant her, shee'l doe the rarest gambols.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nA mad woman? we are made, Boyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nAnd are you mad, good woman?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI would be sorry else;\\r\\nGive me your hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nWhy?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI can tell your fortune.\\r\\nYou are a foole: tell ten. I have pozd him: Buz!\\r\\nFriend you must eate no whitebread; if you doe,\\r\\nYour teeth will bleede extreamely. Shall we dance, ho?\\r\\nI know you, y'ar a Tinker: Sirha Tinker,\\r\\nStop no more holes, but what you should.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nDij boni. A Tinker, Damzell?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nOr a Conjurer:\\r\\nRaise me a devill now, and let him play\\r\\nQuipassa o'th bels and bones.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nGoe, take her,\\r\\nAnd fluently perswade her to a peace:\\r\\nEt opus exegi, quod nec Iouis ira, nec ignis.\\r\\nStrike up, and leade her in.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nCome, Lasse, lets trip it.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIle leade. [Winde Hornes.]\\r\\n\\r\\n3. COUNTREYMAN.\\r\\nDoe, doe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nPerswasively, and cunningly: away, boyes, [Ex. all but\\r\\nSchoolemaster.]\\r\\nI heare the hornes: give me some meditation,\\r\\nAnd marke your Cue.—Pallas inspire me.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Thes. Pir. Hip. Emil. Arcite, and traine.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThis way the Stag tooke.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nStay, and edifie.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat have we here?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nSome Countrey sport, upon my life, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWell, Sir, goe forward, we will edifie.\\r\\nLadies, sit downe, wee'l stay it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nThou, doughtie Duke, all haile: all haile, sweet Ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThis is a cold beginning.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nIf you but favour, our Country pastime made is.\\r\\nWe are a few of those collected here,\\r\\nThat ruder Tongues distinguish villager;\\r\\nAnd to say veritie, and not to fable,\\r\\nWe are a merry rout, or else a rable,\\r\\nOr company, or, by a figure, Choris,\\r\\nThat fore thy dignitie will dance a Morris.\\r\\nAnd I, that am the rectifier of all,\\r\\nBy title Pedagogus, that let fall\\r\\nThe Birch upon the breeches of the small ones,\\r\\nAnd humble with a Ferula the tall ones,\\r\\nDoe here present this Machine, or this frame:\\r\\nAnd daintie Duke, whose doughtie dismall fame\\r\\nFrom Dis to Dedalus, from post to pillar,\\r\\nIs blowne abroad, helpe me thy poore well willer,\\r\\nAnd with thy twinckling eyes looke right and straight\\r\\nVpon this mighty MORR—of mickle waight;\\r\\nIS now comes in, which being glewd together,\\r\\nMakes MORRIS, and the cause that we came hether.\\r\\nThe body of our sport, of no small study,\\r\\nI first appeare, though rude, and raw, and muddy,\\r\\nTo speake before thy noble grace this tenner:\\r\\nAt whose great feete I offer up my penner.\\r\\nThe next the Lord of May and Lady bright,\\r\\nThe Chambermaid and Servingman by night\\r\\nThat seeke out silent hanging: Then mine Host\\r\\nAnd his fat Spowse, that welcomes to their cost\\r\\nThe gauled Traveller, and with a beckning\\r\\nInformes the Tapster to inflame the reckning:\\r\\nThen the beast eating Clowne, and next the foole,\\r\\nThe Bavian, with long tayle and eke long toole,\\r\\nCum multis alijs that make a dance:\\r\\nSay 'I,' and all shall presently advance.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI, I, by any meanes, deere Domine.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nProduce.\\r\\n\\r\\n(SCHOOLMASTER.)\\r\\nIntrate, filij; Come forth, and foot it.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Musicke, Dance. Knocke for Schoole.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter the Dance.]\\r\\n\\r\\nLadies, if we have beene merry,\\r\\nAnd have pleasd yee with a derry,\\r\\nAnd a derry, and a downe,\\r\\nSay the Schoolemaster's no Clowne:\\r\\nDuke, if we have pleasd thee too,\\r\\nAnd have done as good Boyes should doe,\\r\\nGive us but a tree or twaine\\r\\nFor a Maypole, and againe,\\r\\nEre another yeare run out,\\r\\nWee'l make thee laugh and all this rout.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nTake 20., Domine; how does my sweet heart?\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nNever so pleasd, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nTwas an excellent dance, and for a preface\\r\\nI never heard a better.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSchoolemaster, I thanke you.—One see'em all rewarded.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nAnd heer's something to paint your Pole withall.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNow to our sports againe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSCHOOLMASTER.\\r\\nMay the Stag thou huntst stand long,\\r\\nAnd thy dogs be swift and strong:\\r\\nMay they kill him without lets,\\r\\nAnd the Ladies eate his dowsets!\\r\\nCome, we are all made. [Winde Hornes.]\\r\\nDij Deoeq(ue) omnes, ye have danc'd rarely, wenches. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 6. (Same as Scene III.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon from the Bush.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAbout this houre my Cosen gave his faith\\r\\nTo visit me againe, and with him bring\\r\\nTwo Swords, and two good Armors; if he faile,\\r\\nHe's neither man nor Souldier. When he left me,\\r\\nI did not thinke a weeke could have restord\\r\\nMy lost strength to me, I was growne so low,\\r\\nAnd Crest-falne with my wants: I thanke thee, Arcite,\\r\\nThou art yet a faire Foe; and I feele my selfe\\r\\nWith this refreshing, able once againe\\r\\nTo out dure danger: To delay it longer\\r\\nWould make the world think, when it comes to hearing,\\r\\nThat I lay fatting like a Swine to fight,\\r\\nAnd not a Souldier: Therefore, this blest morning\\r\\nShall be the last; and that Sword he refuses,\\r\\nIf it but hold, I kill him with; tis Iustice:\\r\\nSo love, and Fortune for me!—O, good morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Arcite with Armors and Swords.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nGood morrow, noble kinesman.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI have put you to too much paines, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat too much, faire Cosen,\\r\\nIs but a debt to honour, and my duty.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWould you were so in all, Sir; I could wish ye\\r\\nAs kinde a kinsman, as you force me finde\\r\\nA beneficiall foe, that my embraces\\r\\nMight thanke ye, not my blowes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI shall thinke either, well done,\\r\\nA noble recompence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThen I shall quit you.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDefy me in these faire termes, and you show\\r\\nMore then a Mistris to me, no more anger\\r\\nAs you love any thing that's honourable:\\r\\nWe were not bred to talke, man; when we are arm'd\\r\\nAnd both upon our guards, then let our fury,\\r\\nLike meeting of two tides, fly strongly from us,\\r\\nAnd then to whom the birthright of this Beauty\\r\\nTruely pertaines (without obbraidings, scornes,\\r\\nDispisings of our persons, and such powtings,\\r\\nFitter for Girles and Schooleboyes) will be seene\\r\\nAnd quickly, yours, or mine: wilt please you arme, Sir,\\r\\nOr if you feele your selfe not fitting yet\\r\\nAnd furnishd with your old strength, ile stay, Cosen,\\r\\nAnd ev'ry day discourse you into health,\\r\\nAs I am spard: your person I am friends with,\\r\\nAnd I could wish I had not saide I lov'd her,\\r\\nThough I had dide; But loving such a Lady\\r\\nAnd justifying my Love, I must not fly from't.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nArcite, thou art so brave an enemy,\\r\\nThat no man but thy Cosen's fit to kill thee:\\r\\nI am well and lusty, choose your Armes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nChoose you, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWilt thou exceede in all, or do'st thou doe it\\r\\nTo make me spare thee?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf you thinke so, Cosen,\\r\\nYou are deceived, for as I am a Soldier,\\r\\nI will not spare you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThat's well said.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou'l finde it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThen, as I am an honest man and love\\r\\nWith all the justice of affection,\\r\\nIle pay thee soundly. This ile take.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat's mine, then;\\r\\nIle arme you first.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nDo: pray thee, tell me, Cosen,\\r\\nWhere gotst thou this good Armour?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTis the Dukes,\\r\\nAnd to say true, I stole it; doe I pinch you?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNoe.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIs't not too heavie?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI have worne a lighter,\\r\\nBut I shall make it serve.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIle buckl't close.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBy any meanes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou care not for a Grand guard?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNo, no; wee'l use no horses: I perceave\\r\\nYou would faine be at that Fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am indifferent.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nFaith, so am I: good Cosen, thrust the buckle\\r\\nThrough far enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI warrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMy Caske now.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWill you fight bare-armd?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWe shall be the nimbler.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nBut use your Gauntlets though; those are o'th least,\\r\\nPrethee take mine, good Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThanke you, Arcite.\\r\\nHow doe I looke? am I falne much away?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nFaith, very little; love has usd you kindly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIle warrant thee, Ile strike home.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nDoe, and spare not;\\r\\nIle give you cause, sweet Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNow to you, Sir:\\r\\nMe thinkes this Armor's very like that, Arcite,\\r\\nThou wor'st the day the 3. Kings fell, but lighter.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThat was a very good one; and that day,\\r\\nI well remember, you outdid me, Cosen.\\r\\nI never saw such valour: when you chargd\\r\\nVpon the left wing of the Enemie,\\r\\nI spurd hard to come up, and under me\\r\\nI had a right good horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou had indeede; a bright Bay, I remember.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYes, but all\\r\\nWas vainely labour'd in me; you outwent me,\\r\\nNor could my wishes reach you; yet a little\\r\\nI did by imitation.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nMore by vertue;\\r\\nYou are modest, Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWhen I saw you charge first,\\r\\nMe thought I heard a dreadfull clap of Thunder\\r\\nBreake from the Troope.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBut still before that flew\\r\\nThe lightning of your valour. Stay a little,\\r\\nIs not this peece too streight?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNo, no, tis well.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI would have nothing hurt thee but my Sword,\\r\\nA bruise would be dishonour.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNow I am perfect.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nStand off, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTake my Sword, I hold it better.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI thanke ye: No, keepe it; your life lyes on it.\\r\\nHere's one; if it but hold, I aske no more\\r\\nFor all my hopes: My Cause and honour guard me! [They bow\\r\\n severall wayes: then advance and stand.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nAnd me my love! Is there ought else to say?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThis onely, and no more: Thou art mine Aunts Son,\\r\\nAnd that blood we desire to shed is mutuall;\\r\\nIn me, thine, and in thee, mine. My Sword\\r\\nIs in my hand, and if thou killst me,\\r\\nThe gods and I forgive thee; If there be\\r\\nA place prepar'd for those that sleepe in honour,\\r\\nI wish his wearie soule that falls may win it:\\r\\nFight bravely, Cosen; give me thy noble hand.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nHere, Palamon: This hand shall never more\\r\\nCome neare thee with such friendship.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nI commend thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf I fall, curse me, and say I was a coward,\\r\\nFor none but such dare die in these just Tryalls.\\r\\nOnce more farewell, my Cosen.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nFarewell, Arcite. [Fight.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Hornes within: they stand.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nLoe, Cosen, loe, our Folly has undon us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhy?\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThis is the Duke, a hunting as I told you.\\r\\nIf we be found, we are wretched. O retire\\r\\nFor honours sake, and safety presently\\r\\nInto your Bush agen; Sir, we shall finde\\r\\nToo many howres to dye in: gentle Cosen,\\r\\nIf you be seene you perish instantly\\r\\nFor breaking prison, and I, if you reveale me,\\r\\nFor my contempt. Then all the world will scorne us,\\r\\nAnd say we had a noble difference,\\r\\nBut base disposers of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nNo, no, Cosen,\\r\\nI will no more be hidden, nor put off\\r\\nThis great adventure to a second Tryall:\\r\\nI know your cunning, and I know your cause;\\r\\nHe that faints now, shame take him: put thy selfe\\r\\nVpon thy present guard—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nYou are not mad?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nOr I will make th'advantage of this howre\\r\\nMine owne, and what to come shall threaten me,\\r\\nI feare lesse then my fortune: know, weake Cosen,\\r\\nI love Emilia, and in that ile bury\\r\\nThee, and all crosses else.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nThen, come what can come,\\r\\nThou shalt know, Palamon, I dare as well\\r\\nDie, as discourse, or sleepe: Onely this feares me,\\r\\nThe law will have the honour of our ends.\\r\\nHave at thy life.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nLooke to thine owne well, Arcite. [Fight againe. Hornes.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Perithous and traine.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat ignorant and mad malicious Traitors,\\r\\nAre you, That gainst the tenor of my Lawes\\r\\nAre making Battaile, thus like Knights appointed,\\r\\nWithout my leave, and Officers of Armes?\\r\\nBy Castor, both shall dye.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHold thy word, Theseus.\\r\\nWe are certainly both Traitors, both despisers\\r\\nOf thee and of thy goodnesse: I am Palamon,\\r\\nThat cannot love thee, he that broke thy Prison;\\r\\nThinke well what that deserves: and this is Arcite,\\r\\nA bolder Traytor never trod thy ground,\\r\\nA Falser neu'r seem'd friend: This is the man\\r\\nWas begd and banish'd; this is he contemnes thee\\r\\nAnd what thou dar'st doe, and in this disguise\\r\\nAgainst thy owne Edict followes thy Sister,\\r\\nThat fortunate bright Star, the faire Emilia,\\r\\nWhose servant, (if there be a right in seeing,\\r\\nAnd first bequeathing of the soule to) justly\\r\\nI am, and, which is more, dares thinke her his.\\r\\nThis treacherie, like a most trusty Lover,\\r\\nI call'd him now to answer; if thou bee'st,\\r\\nAs thou art spoken, great and vertuous,\\r\\nThe true descider of all injuries,\\r\\nSay, 'Fight againe,' and thou shalt see me, Theseus,\\r\\nDoe such a Iustice, thou thy selfe wilt envie.\\r\\nThen take my life; Ile wooe thee too't.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nO heaven,\\r\\nWhat more then man is this!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI have sworne.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nWe seeke not\\r\\nThy breath of mercy, Theseus. Tis to me\\r\\nA thing as soone to dye, as thee to say it,\\r\\nAnd no more mov'd: where this man calls me Traitor,\\r\\nLet me say thus much: if in love be Treason,\\r\\nIn service of so excellent a Beutie,\\r\\nAs I love most, and in that faith will perish,\\r\\nAs I have brought my life here to confirme it,\\r\\nAs I have serv'd her truest, worthiest,\\r\\nAs I dare kill this Cosen, that denies it,\\r\\nSo let me be most Traitor, and ye please me.\\r\\nFor scorning thy Edict, Duke, aske that Lady\\r\\nWhy she is faire, and why her eyes command me\\r\\nStay here to love her; and if she say 'Traytor,'\\r\\nI am a villaine fit to lye unburied.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThou shalt have pitty of us both, o Theseus,\\r\\nIf unto neither thou shew mercy; stop\\r\\n(As thou art just) thy noble eare against us.\\r\\nAs thou art valiant, for thy Cosens soule\\r\\nWhose 12. strong labours crowne his memory,\\r\\nLets die together, at one instant, Duke,\\r\\nOnely a little let him fall before me,\\r\\nThat I may tell my Soule he shall not have her.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nI grant your wish, for, to say true, your Cosen\\r\\nHas ten times more offended; for I gave him\\r\\nMore mercy then you found, Sir, your offenses\\r\\nBeing no more then his. None here speake for 'em,\\r\\nFor, ere the Sun set, both shall sleepe for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nAlas the pitty! now or never, Sister,\\r\\nSpeake, not to be denide; That face of yours\\r\\nWill beare the curses else of after ages\\r\\nFor these lost Cosens.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIn my face, deare Sister,\\r\\nI finde no anger to 'em, nor no ruyn;\\r\\nThe misadventure of their owne eyes kill 'em;\\r\\nYet that I will be woman, and have pitty,\\r\\nMy knees shall grow to'th ground but Ile get mercie.\\r\\nHelpe me, deare Sister; in a deede so vertuous\\r\\nThe powers of all women will be with us.\\r\\nMost royall Brother—\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nSir, by our tye of Marriage—\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBy your owne spotlesse honour—\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nBy that faith,\\r\\nThat faire hand, and that honest heart you gave me.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBy that you would have pitty in another,\\r\\nBy your owne vertues infinite.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nBy valour,\\r\\nBy all the chaste nights I have ever pleasd you.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThese are strange Conjurings.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nNay, then, Ile in too:\\r\\nBy all our friendship, Sir, by all our dangers,\\r\\nBy all you love most: warres and this sweet Lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nBy that you would have trembled to deny,\\r\\nA blushing Maide.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nBy your owne eyes: By strength,\\r\\nIn which you swore I went beyond all women,\\r\\nAlmost all men, and yet I yeelded, Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nTo crowne all this: By your most noble soule,\\r\\nWhich cannot want due mercie, I beg first.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nNext, heare my prayers.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nLast, let me intreate, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nFor mercy.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nMercy.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMercy on these Princes.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYe make my faith reele: Say I felt\\r\\nCompassion to'em both, how would you place it?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nVpon their lives: But with their banishments.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou are a right woman, Sister; you have pitty,\\r\\nBut want the vnderstanding where to use it.\\r\\nIf you desire their lives, invent a way\\r\\nSafer then banishment: Can these two live\\r\\nAnd have the agony of love about 'em,\\r\\nAnd not kill one another? Every day\\r\\nThey'ld fight about you; howrely bring your honour\\r\\nIn publique question with their Swords. Be wise, then,\\r\\nAnd here forget 'em; it concernes your credit\\r\\nAnd my oth equally: I have said they die;\\r\\nBetter they fall by'th law, then one another.\\r\\nBow not my honor.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO my noble Brother,\\r\\nThat oth was rashly made, and in your anger,\\r\\nYour reason will not hold it; if such vowes\\r\\nStand for expresse will, all the world must perish.\\r\\nBeside, I have another oth gainst yours,\\r\\nOf more authority, I am sure more love,\\r\\nNot made in passion neither, but good heede.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat is it, Sister?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nVrge it home, brave Lady.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThat you would nev'r deny me any thing\\r\\nFit for my modest suit, and your free granting:\\r\\nI tye you to your word now; if ye fall in't,\\r\\nThinke how you maime your honour,\\r\\n(For now I am set a begging, Sir, I am deafe\\r\\nTo all but your compassion.) How, their lives\\r\\nMight breed the ruine of my name, Opinion!\\r\\nShall any thing that loves me perish for me?\\r\\nThat were a cruell wisedome; doe men proyne\\r\\nThe straight yong Bowes that blush with thousand Blossoms,\\r\\nBecause they may be rotten? O Duke Theseus,\\r\\nThe goodly Mothers that have groand for these,\\r\\nAnd all the longing Maides that ever lov'd,\\r\\nIf your vow stand, shall curse me and my Beauty,\\r\\nAnd in their funerall songs for these two Cosens\\r\\nDespise my crueltie, and cry woe worth me,\\r\\nTill I am nothing but the scorne of women;\\r\\nFor heavens sake save their lives, and banish 'em.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nOn what conditions?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nSweare'em never more\\r\\nTo make me their Contention, or to know me,\\r\\nTo tread upon thy Dukedome; and to be,\\r\\nWhere ever they shall travel, ever strangers\\r\\nTo one another.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIle be cut a peeces\\r\\nBefore I take this oth: forget I love her?\\r\\nO all ye gods dispise me, then! Thy Banishment\\r\\nI not mislike, so we may fairely carry\\r\\nOur Swords and cause along: else, never trifle,\\r\\nBut take our lives, Duke: I must love and will,\\r\\nAnd for that love must and dare kill this Cosen\\r\\nOn any peece the earth has.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWill you, Arcite,\\r\\nTake these conditions?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nHe's a villaine, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThese are men.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nNo, never, Duke: Tis worse to me than begging\\r\\nTo take my life so basely; though I thinke\\r\\nI never shall enjoy her, yet ile preserve\\r\\nThe honour of affection, and dye for her,\\r\\nMake death a Devill.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhat may be done? for now I feele compassion.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nLet it not fall agen, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSay, Emilia,\\r\\nIf one of them were dead, as one must, are you\\r\\nContent to take th'other to your husband?\\r\\nThey cannot both enjoy you; They are Princes\\r\\nAs goodly as your owne eyes, and as noble\\r\\nAs ever fame yet spoke of; looke upon 'em,\\r\\nAnd if you can love, end this difference.\\r\\nI give consent; are you content too, Princes?\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTH.\\r\\nWith all our soules.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nHe that she refuses\\r\\nMust dye, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nBOTH.\\r\\nAny death thou canst invent, Duke.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nIf I fall from that mouth, I fall with favour,\\r\\nAnd Lovers yet unborne shall blesse my ashes.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nIf she refuse me, yet my grave will wed me,\\r\\nAnd Souldiers sing my Epitaph.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nMake choice, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI cannot, Sir, they are both too excellent:\\r\\nFor me, a hayre shall never fall of these men.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nWhat will become of 'em?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThus I ordaine it;\\r\\nAnd by mine honor, once againe, it stands,\\r\\nOr both shall dye:—You shall both to your Countrey,\\r\\nAnd each within this moneth, accompanied\\r\\nWith three faire Knights, appeare againe in this place,\\r\\nIn which Ile plant a Pyramid; and whether,\\r\\nBefore us that are here, can force his Cosen\\r\\nBy fayre and knightly strength to touch the Pillar,\\r\\nHe shall enjoy her: the other loose his head,\\r\\nAnd all his friends; Nor shall he grudge to fall,\\r\\nNor thinke he dies with interest in this Lady:\\r\\nWill this content yee?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYes: here, Cosen Arcite,\\r\\nI am friends againe, till that howre.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI embrace ye.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAre you content, Sister?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYes, I must, Sir,\\r\\nEls both miscarry.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nCome, shake hands againe, then;\\r\\nAnd take heede, as you are Gentlemen, this Quarrell\\r\\nSleepe till the howre prefixt; and hold your course.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWe dare not faile thee, Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nCome, Ile give ye\\r\\nNow usage like to Princes, and to Friends:\\r\\nWhen ye returne, who wins, Ile settle heere;\\r\\nWho looses, yet Ile weepe upon his Beere. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (Athens. A room in the prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iailor and his friend.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHeare you no more? was nothing saide of me\\r\\nConcerning the escape of Palamon?\\r\\nGood Sir, remember.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nNothing that I heard,\\r\\nFor I came home before the busines\\r\\nWas fully ended: Yet I might perceive,\\r\\nEre I departed, a great likelihood\\r\\nOf both their pardons: For Hipolita,\\r\\nAnd faire-eyd Emilie, upon their knees\\r\\nBegd with such hansom pitty, that the Duke\\r\\nMe thought stood staggering, whether he should follow\\r\\nHis rash oth, or the sweet compassion\\r\\nOf those two Ladies; and to second them,\\r\\nThat truely noble Prince Perithous,\\r\\nHalfe his owne heart, set in too, that I hope\\r\\nAll shall be well: Neither heard I one question\\r\\nOf your name or his scape.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter 2. Friend.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nPray heaven it hold so.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nBe of good comfort, man; I bring you newes,\\r\\nGood newes.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThey are welcome,\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nPalamon has cleerd you,\\r\\nAnd got your pardon, and discoverd how\\r\\nAnd by whose meanes he escapt, which was your Daughters,\\r\\nWhose pardon is procurd too; and the Prisoner,\\r\\nNot to be held ungratefull to her goodnes,\\r\\nHas given a summe of money to her Marriage,\\r\\nA large one, ile assure you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYe are a good man\\r\\nAnd ever bring good newes.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nHow was it ended?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nWhy, as it should be; they that nev'r begd\\r\\nBut they prevaild, had their suites fairely granted,\\r\\nThe prisoners have their lives.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nI knew t'would be so.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nBut there be new conditions, which you'l heare of\\r\\nAt better time.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI hope they are good.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nThey are honourable,\\r\\nHow good they'l prove, I know not.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Wooer.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nT'will be knowne.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nAlas, Sir, wher's your Daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWhy doe you aske?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nO, Sir, when did you see her?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nHow he lookes?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThis morning.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nWas she well? was she in health, Sir?\\r\\nWhen did she sleepe?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nThese are strange Questions.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI doe not thinke she was very well, for now\\r\\nYou make me minde her, but this very day\\r\\nI ask'd her questions, and she answered me\\r\\nSo farre from what she was, so childishly,\\r\\nSo sillily, as if she were a foole,\\r\\nAn Inocent, and I was very angry.\\r\\nBut what of her, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nNothing but my pitty;\\r\\nBut you must know it, and as good by me\\r\\nAs by an other that lesse loves her—\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWell, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nNot right?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nNot well?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nNo, Sir, not well.\\r\\nTis too true, she is mad.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nIt cannot be.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nBeleeve, you'l finde it so.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI halfe suspected\\r\\nWhat you (have) told me: the gods comfort her:\\r\\nEither this was her love to Palamon,\\r\\nOr feare of my miscarrying on his scape,\\r\\nOr both.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nTis likely.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nBut why all this haste, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nIle tell you quickly. As I late was angling\\r\\nIn the great Lake that lies behind the Pallace,\\r\\nFrom the far shore, thicke set with reedes and Sedges,\\r\\nAs patiently I was attending sport,\\r\\nI heard a voyce, a shrill one, and attentive\\r\\nI gave my eare, when I might well perceive\\r\\nT'was one that sung, and by the smallnesse of it\\r\\nA boy or woman. I then left my angle\\r\\nTo his owne skill, came neere, but yet perceivd not\\r\\nWho made the sound, the rushes and the Reeds\\r\\nHad so encompast it: I laide me downe\\r\\nAnd listned to the words she sung, for then,\\r\\nThrough a small glade cut by the Fisher men,\\r\\nI saw it was your Daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nPray, goe on, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nShe sung much, but no sence; onely I heard her\\r\\nRepeat this often: 'Palamon is gone,\\r\\nIs gone to'th wood to gather Mulberies;\\r\\nIle finde him out to morrow.'\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nPretty soule.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\n'His shackles will betray him, hee'l be taken,\\r\\nAnd what shall I doe then? Ile bring a beavy,\\r\\nA hundred blacke eyd Maides, that love as I doe,\\r\\nWith Chaplets on their heads of Daffadillies,\\r\\nWith cherry-lips, and cheekes of Damaske Roses,\\r\\nAnd all wee'l daunce an Antique fore the Duke,\\r\\nAnd beg his pardon.' Then she talk'd of you, Sir;\\r\\nThat you must loose your head to morrow morning,\\r\\nAnd she must gather flowers to bury you,\\r\\nAnd see the house made handsome: then she sung\\r\\nNothing but 'Willow, willow, willow,' and betweene\\r\\nEver was, 'Palamon, faire Palamon,'\\r\\nAnd 'Palamon was a tall yong man.' The place\\r\\nWas knee deepe where she sat; her careles Tresses\\r\\nA wreathe of bull-rush rounded; about her stucke\\r\\nThousand fresh water flowers of severall cullors,\\r\\nThat me thought she appeard like the faire Nimph\\r\\nThat feedes the lake with waters, or as Iris\\r\\nNewly dropt downe from heaven; Rings she made\\r\\nOf rushes that grew by, and to 'em spoke\\r\\nThe prettiest posies: 'Thus our true love's tide,'\\r\\n'This you may loose, not me,' and many a one:\\r\\nAnd then she wept, and sung againe, and sigh'd,\\r\\nAnd with the same breath smil'd, and kist her hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nAlas, what pitty it is!\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI made in to her.\\r\\nShe saw me, and straight sought the flood; I sav'd her,\\r\\nAnd set her safe to land: when presently\\r\\nShe slipt away, and to the Citty made,\\r\\nWith such a cry and swiftnes, that, beleeve me,\\r\\nShee left me farre behinde her; three or foure\\r\\nI saw from farre off crosse her, one of 'em\\r\\nI knew to be your brother; where she staid,\\r\\nAnd fell, scarce to be got away: I left them with her, [Enter\\r\\n Brother, Daughter, and others.]\\r\\nAnd hether came to tell you. Here they are.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER. [sings.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMay you never more enjoy the light, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nIs not this a fine Song?\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nO, a very fine one.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI can sing twenty more.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nI thinke you can.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYes, truely, can I; I can sing the Broome,\\r\\nAnd Bony Robin. Are not you a tailour?\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWher's my wedding Gowne?\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nIle bring it to morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nDoe, very rarely; I must be abroad else\\r\\nTo call the Maides, and pay the Minstrels,\\r\\nFor I must loose my Maydenhead by cock-light;\\r\\nTwill never thrive else.\\r\\n[Singes.] O faire, oh sweete, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nYou must ev'n take it patiently.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nTis true.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nGood ev'n, good men; pray, did you ever heare\\r\\nOf one yong Palamon?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYes, wench, we know him.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIs't not a fine yong Gentleman?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nTis Love.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nBy no meane crosse her; she is then distemperd\\r\\nFar worse then now she showes.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nYes, he's a fine man.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nO, is he so? you have a Sister?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nBut she shall never have him, tell her so,\\r\\nFor a tricke that I know; y'had best looke to her,\\r\\nFor if she see him once, she's gone, she's done,\\r\\nAnd undon in an howre. All the young Maydes\\r\\nOf our Towne are in love with him, but I laugh at 'em\\r\\nAnd let 'em all alone; Is't not a wise course?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nThere is at least two hundred now with child by him—\\r\\nThere must be fowre; yet I keepe close for all this,\\r\\nClose as a Cockle; and all these must be Boyes,\\r\\nHe has the tricke on't, and at ten yeares old\\r\\nThey must be all gelt for Musitians,\\r\\nAnd sing the wars of Theseus.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nThis is strange.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAs ever you heard, but say nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nThey come from all parts of the Dukedome to him;\\r\\nIle warrant ye, he had not so few last night\\r\\nAs twenty to dispatch: hee'l tickl't up\\r\\nIn two howres, if his hand be in.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nShe's lost\\r\\nPast all cure.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nHeaven forbid, man.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nCome hither, you are a wise man.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nDo's she know him?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nNo, would she did.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYou are master of a Ship?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWher's your Compasse?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHeere.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nSet it too'th North.\\r\\nAnd now direct your course to'th wood, wher Palamon\\r\\nLyes longing for me; For the Tackling\\r\\nLet me alone; Come, waygh, my hearts, cheerely!\\r\\n\\r\\nALL.\\r\\nOwgh, owgh, owgh, tis up, the wind's faire,\\r\\nTop the Bowling, out with the maine saile;\\r\\nWher's your Whistle, Master?\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nLets get her in.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nVp to the top, Boy.\\r\\n\\r\\nBROTHER.\\r\\nWher's the Pilot?\\r\\n\\r\\n1. FRIEND.\\r\\nHeere.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWhat ken'st thou?\\r\\n\\r\\n2. FRIEND.\\r\\nA faire wood.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nBeare for it, master: take about! [Singes.]\\r\\nWhen Cinthia with her borrowed light, &c. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (A Room in the Palace.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Emilia alone, with 2. Pictures.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nYet I may binde those wounds up, that must open\\r\\nAnd bleed to death for my sake else; Ile choose,\\r\\nAnd end their strife: Two such yong hansom men\\r\\nShall never fall for me, their weeping Mothers,\\r\\nFollowing the dead cold ashes of their Sonnes,\\r\\nShall never curse my cruelty. Good heaven,\\r\\nWhat a sweet face has Arcite! if wise nature,\\r\\nWith all her best endowments, all those beuties\\r\\nShe sowes into the birthes of noble bodies,\\r\\nWere here a mortall woman, and had in her\\r\\nThe coy denialls of yong Maydes, yet doubtles,\\r\\nShe would run mad for this man: what an eye,\\r\\nOf what a fyry sparkle, and quick sweetnes,\\r\\nHas this yong Prince! Here Love himselfe sits smyling,\\r\\nIust such another wanton Ganimead\\r\\nSet Jove a fire with, and enforcd the god\\r\\nSnatch up the goodly Boy, and set him by him\\r\\nA shining constellation: What a brow,\\r\\nOf what a spacious Majesty, he carries!\\r\\nArch'd like the great eyd Iuno's, but far sweeter,\\r\\nSmoother then Pelops Shoulder! Fame and honour,\\r\\nMe thinks, from hence, as from a Promontory\\r\\nPointed in heaven, should clap their wings, and sing\\r\\nTo all the under world the Loves and Fights\\r\\nOf gods, and such men neere 'em. Palamon\\r\\nIs but his foyle, to him a meere dull shadow:\\r\\nHee's swarth and meagre, of an eye as heavy\\r\\nAs if he had lost his mother; a still temper,\\r\\nNo stirring in him, no alacrity,\\r\\nOf all this sprightly sharpenes not a smile;\\r\\nYet these that we count errours may become him:\\r\\nNarcissus was a sad Boy, but a heavenly:—\\r\\nOh who can finde the bent of womans fancy?\\r\\nI am a Foole, my reason is lost in me;\\r\\nI have no choice, and I have ly'd so lewdly\\r\\nThat women ought to beate me. On my knees\\r\\nI aske thy pardon, Palamon; thou art alone,\\r\\nAnd only beutifull, and these the eyes,\\r\\nThese the bright lamps of beauty, that command\\r\\nAnd threaten Love, and what yong Mayd dare crosse 'em?\\r\\nWhat a bold gravity, and yet inviting,\\r\\nHas this browne manly face! O Love, this only\\r\\nFrom this howre is Complexion: Lye there, Arcite,\\r\\nThou art a changling to him, a meere Gipsey,\\r\\nAnd this the noble Bodie. I am sotted,\\r\\nVtterly lost: My Virgins faith has fled me;\\r\\nFor if my brother but even now had ask'd me\\r\\nWhether I lov'd, I had run mad for Arcite;\\r\\nNow, if my Sister, More for Palamon.\\r\\nStand both together: Now, come aske me, Brother.—\\r\\nAlas, I know not! Aske me now, sweet Sister;—\\r\\nI may goe looke. What a meere child is Fancie,\\r\\nThat, having two faire gawdes of equall sweetnesse,\\r\\nCannot distinguish, but must crie for both.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter (a) Gent(leman.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHow now, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nFrom the Noble Duke your Brother,\\r\\nMadam, I bring you newes: The Knights are come.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nTo end the quarrell?\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWould I might end first:\\r\\nWhat sinnes have I committed, chast Diana,\\r\\nThat my unspotted youth must now be soyld\\r\\nWith blood of Princes? and my Chastitie\\r\\nBe made the Altar, where the lives of Lovers\\r\\n(Two greater and two better never yet\\r\\nMade mothers joy) must be the sacrifice\\r\\nTo my unhappy Beautie?\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Perithous and attendants.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nBring 'em in\\r\\nQuickly, By any meanes; I long to see 'em.—\\r\\nYour two contending Lovers are return'd,\\r\\nAnd with them their faire Knights: Now, my faire Sister,\\r\\nYou must love one of them.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI had rather both,\\r\\nSo neither for my sake should fall untimely.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Messenger. (Curtis.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWho saw 'em?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nI, a while.\\r\\n\\r\\nGENTLEMAN.\\r\\nAnd I.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nFrom whence come you, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nFrom the Knights.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nPray, speake,\\r\\nYou that have seene them, what they are.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nI will, Sir,\\r\\nAnd truly what I thinke: Six braver spirits\\r\\nThen these they have brought, (if we judge by the outside)\\r\\nI never saw, nor read of. He that stands\\r\\nIn the first place with Arcite, by his seeming,\\r\\nShould be a stout man, by his face a Prince,\\r\\n(His very lookes so say him) his complexion,\\r\\nNearer a browne, than blacke, sterne, and yet noble,\\r\\nWhich shewes him hardy, fearelesse, proud of dangers:\\r\\nThe circles of his eyes show fire within him,\\r\\nAnd as a heated Lyon, so he lookes;\\r\\nHis haire hangs long behind him, blacke and shining\\r\\nLike Ravens wings: his shoulders broad and strong,\\r\\nArmd long and round, and on his Thigh a Sword\\r\\nHung by a curious Bauldricke, when he frownes\\r\\nTo seale his will with: better, o'my conscience\\r\\nWas never Souldiers friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nThou ha'st well describde him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nYet a great deale short,\\r\\nMe thinkes, of him that's first with Palamon.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nPray, speake him, friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nI ghesse he is a Prince too,\\r\\nAnd, if it may be, greater; for his show\\r\\nHas all the ornament of honour in't:\\r\\nHee's somewhat bigger, then the Knight he spoke of,\\r\\nBut of a face far sweeter; His complexion\\r\\nIs (as a ripe grape) ruddy: he has felt,\\r\\nWithout doubt, what he fights for, and so apter\\r\\nTo make this cause his owne: In's face appeares\\r\\nAll the faire hopes of what he undertakes,\\r\\nAnd when he's angry, then a setled valour\\r\\n(Not tainted with extreames) runs through his body,\\r\\nAnd guides his arme to brave things: Feare he cannot,\\r\\nHe shewes no such soft temper; his head's yellow,\\r\\nHard hayr'd, and curld, thicke twind like Ivy tods,\\r\\nNot to undoe with thunder; In his face\\r\\nThe liverie of the warlike Maide appeares,\\r\\nPure red, and white, for yet no beard has blest him.\\r\\nAnd in his rowling eyes sits victory,\\r\\nAs if she ever ment to court his valour:\\r\\nHis Nose stands high, a Character of honour.\\r\\nHis red lips, after fights, are fit for Ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMust these men die too?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nWhen he speakes, his tongue\\r\\nSounds like a Trumpet; All his lyneaments\\r\\nAre as a man would wish 'em, strong and cleane,\\r\\nHe weares a well-steeld Axe, the staffe of gold;\\r\\nHis age some five and twenty.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nTher's another,\\r\\nA little man, but of a tough soule, seeming\\r\\nAs great as any: fairer promises\\r\\nIn such a Body yet I never look'd on.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nO, he that's freckle fac'd?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThe same, my Lord;\\r\\nAre they not sweet ones?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nYes, they are well.\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nMe thinkes,\\r\\nBeing so few, and well disposd, they show\\r\\nGreat, and fine art in nature: he's white hair'd,\\r\\nNot wanton white, but such a manly colour\\r\\nNext to an aborne; tough, and nimble set,\\r\\nWhich showes an active soule; his armes are brawny,\\r\\nLinde with strong sinewes: To the shoulder peece\\r\\nGently they swell, like women new conceav'd,\\r\\nWhich speakes him prone to labour, never fainting\\r\\nVnder the waight of Armes; stout harted, still,\\r\\nBut when he stirs, a Tiger; he's gray eyd,\\r\\nWhich yeelds compassion where he conquers: sharpe\\r\\nTo spy advantages, and where he finds 'em,\\r\\nHe's swift to make 'em his: He do's no wrongs,\\r\\nNor takes none; he's round fac'd, and when he smiles\\r\\nHe showes a Lover, when he frownes, a Souldier:\\r\\nAbout his head he weares the winners oke,\\r\\nAnd in it stucke the favour of his Lady:\\r\\nHis age, some six and thirtie. In his hand\\r\\nHe beares a charging Staffe, embost with silver.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nAre they all thus?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThey are all the sonnes of honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNow, as I have a soule, I long to see'em.\\r\\nLady, you shall see men fight now.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nI wish it,\\r\\nBut not the cause, my Lord; They would show\\r\\nBravely about the Titles of two Kingdomes;\\r\\nTis pitty Love should be so tyrannous:\\r\\nO my soft harted Sister, what thinke you?\\r\\nWeepe not, till they weepe blood, Wench; it must be.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou have steel'd 'em with your Beautie.—Honord Friend,\\r\\nTo you I give the Feild; pray, order it\\r\\nFitting the persons that must use it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nYes, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nCome, Ile goe visit 'em: I cannot stay,\\r\\nTheir fame has fir'd me so; Till they appeare.\\r\\nGood Friend, be royall.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nThere shall want no bravery.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPoore wench, goe weepe, for whosoever wins,\\r\\nLooses a noble Cosen for thy sins. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (A room in the prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iailor, Wooer, Doctor.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHer distraction is more at some time of the Moone, then at other some,\\r\\nis it not?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nShe is continually in a harmelesse distemper, sleepes little,\\r\\naltogether without appetite, save often drinking, dreaming of another\\r\\nworld, and a better; and what broken peece of matter so'ere she's\\r\\nabout, the name Palamon lardes it, that she farces ev'ry busines\\r\\nwithall, fyts it to every question.—\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Daughter.]\\r\\n\\r\\nLooke where shee comes, you shall perceive her behaviour.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI have forgot it quite; The burden on't, was DOWNE A, DOWNE A, and pend\\r\\nby no worse man, then Giraldo, Emilias Schoolemaster; he's as\\r\\nFantasticall too, as ever he may goe upon's legs,—for in the next world\\r\\nwill Dido see Palamon, and then will she be out of love with Eneas.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWhat stuff's here? pore soule!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nEv'n thus all day long.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nNow for this Charme, that I told you of: you must bring a peece of\\r\\nsilver on the tip of your tongue, or no ferry: then, if it be your\\r\\nchance to come where the blessed spirits, as ther's a sight now—we\\r\\nmaids that have our Lyvers perish'd, crakt to peeces with Love, we\\r\\nshall come there, and doe nothing all day long but picke flowers with\\r\\nProserpine; then will I make Palamon a Nosegay; then let him marke\\r\\nme,—then—\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHow prettily she's amisse? note her a little further.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nFaith, ile tell you, sometime we goe to Barly breake, we of the\\r\\nblessed; alas, tis a sore life they have i'th other place, such\\r\\nburning, frying, boyling, hissing, howling, chattring, cursing, oh they\\r\\nhave shrowd measure! take heede; if one be mad, or hang or drowne\\r\\nthemselves, thither they goe, Iupiter blesse vs, and there shall we be\\r\\nput in a Caldron of lead, and Vsurers grease, amongst a whole million\\r\\nof cutpurses, and there boyle like a Gamon of Bacon that will never be\\r\\nenough. [Exit.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHow her braine coynes!\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nLords and Courtiers, that have got maids with Child, they are in this\\r\\nplace: they shall stand in fire up to the Nav'le, and in yce up to'th\\r\\nhart, and there th'offending part burnes, and the deceaving part\\r\\nfreezes; in troth, a very greevous punishment, as one would thinke, for\\r\\nsuch a Trifle; beleve me, one would marry a leaprous witch, to be rid\\r\\non't, Ile assure you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHow she continues this fancie! Tis not an engraffed Madnesse, but a\\r\\nmost thicke, and profound mellencholly.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nTo heare there a proud Lady, and a proud Citty wiffe, howle together! I\\r\\nwere a beast and il'd call it good sport: one cries, 'O this smoake!'\\r\\nanother, 'this fire!' One cries, 'O, that ever I did it behind the\\r\\narras!' and then howles; th'other curses a suing fellow and her garden\\r\\nhouse. [Sings] I will be true, my stars, my fate, &c. [Exit Daugh.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWhat thinke you of her, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nI thinke she has a perturbed minde, which I cannot minister to.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nAlas, what then?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nVnderstand you, she ever affected any man, ere she beheld\\r\\nPalamon?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI was once, Sir, in great hope she had fixd her liking on this\\r\\ngentleman, my friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI did thinke so too, and would account I had a great pen-worth on't, to\\r\\ngive halfe my state, that both she and I at this present stood\\r\\nunfainedly on the same tearmes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nThat intemprat surfeit of her eye hath distemperd the other sences:\\r\\nthey may returne and settle againe to execute their preordaind\\r\\nfaculties, but they are now in a most extravagant vagary. This you\\r\\nmust doe: Confine her to a place, where the light may rather seeme to\\r\\nsteale in, then be permitted; take vpon you (yong Sir, her friend) the\\r\\nname of Palamon; say you come to eate with her, and to commune of Love;\\r\\nthis will catch her attention, for this her minde beates upon; other\\r\\nobjects that are inserted tweene her minde and eye become the prankes\\r\\nand friskins of her madnes; Sing to her such greene songs of Love, as\\r\\nshe sayes Palamon hath sung in prison; Come to her, stucke in as sweet\\r\\nflowers as the season is mistres of, and thereto make an addition of\\r\\nsom other compounded odours, which are grateful to the sence: all this\\r\\nshall become Palamon, for Palamon can sing, and Palamon is sweet, and\\r\\nev'ry good thing: desire to eate with her, carve her, drinke to her,\\r\\nand still among, intermingle your petition of grace and acceptance into\\r\\nher favour: Learne what Maides have beene her companions and\\r\\nplay-pheeres, and let them repaire to her with Palamon in their\\r\\nmouthes, and appeare with tokens, as if they suggested for him. It is a\\r\\nfalsehood she is in, which is with falsehood to be combated. This may\\r\\nbring her to eate, to sleepe, and reduce what's now out of square in\\r\\nher, into their former law, and regiment; I have seene it approved, how\\r\\nmany times I know not, but to make the number more, I have great hope\\r\\nin this. I will, betweene the passages of this project, come in with\\r\\nmy applyance: Let us put it in execution, and hasten the successe,\\r\\nwhich, doubt not, will bring forth comfort. [Florish. Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 1. (Before the Temples of Mars, Venus, and Diana.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Thesius, Perithous, Hipolita, attendants.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNow let'em enter, and before the gods\\r\\nTender their holy prayers: Let the Temples\\r\\nBurne bright with sacred fires, and the Altars\\r\\nIn hallowed clouds commend their swelling Incense\\r\\nTo those above us: Let no due be wanting; [Florish of Cornets.]\\r\\nThey have a noble worke in hand, will honour\\r\\nThe very powers that love 'em.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon and Arcite, and their Knights.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nSir, they enter.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou valiant and strong harted Enemies,\\r\\nYou royall German foes, that this day come\\r\\nTo blow that furnesse out that flames betweene ye:\\r\\nLay by your anger for an houre, and dove-like,\\r\\nBefore the holy Altars of your helpers,\\r\\n(The all feard gods) bow downe your stubborne bodies.\\r\\nYour ire is more than mortall; So your helpe be,\\r\\nAnd as the gods regard ye, fight with Iustice;\\r\\nIle leave you to your prayers, and betwixt ye\\r\\nI part my wishes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nHonour crowne the worthiest. [Exit Theseus, and his traine.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThe glasse is running now that cannot finish\\r\\nTill one of us expire: Thinke you but thus,\\r\\nThat were there ought in me which strove to show\\r\\nMine enemy in this businesse, wer't one eye\\r\\nAgainst another, Arme opprest by Arme,\\r\\nI would destroy th'offender, Coz, I would,\\r\\nThough parcell of my selfe: Then from this gather\\r\\nHow I should tender you.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nI am in labour\\r\\nTo push your name, your auncient love, our kindred\\r\\nOut of my memory; and i'th selfe same place\\r\\nTo seate something I would confound: So hoyst we\\r\\nThe sayles, that must these vessells port even where\\r\\nThe heavenly Lymiter pleases.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nYou speake well;\\r\\nBefore I turne, Let me embrace thee, Cosen:\\r\\nThis I shall never doe agen.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nOne farewell.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhy, let it be so: Farewell, Coz. [Exeunt Palamon and his\\r\\nKnights.]\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nFarewell, Sir.—\\r\\nKnights, Kinsemen, Lovers, yea, my Sacrifices,\\r\\nTrue worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in you\\r\\nExpells the seedes of feare, and th'apprehension\\r\\nWhich still is farther off it, Goe with me\\r\\nBefore the god of our profession: There\\r\\nRequire of him the hearts of Lyons, and\\r\\nThe breath of Tigers, yea, the fearcenesse too,\\r\\nYea, the speed also,—to goe on, I meane,\\r\\nElse wish we to be Snayles: you know my prize\\r\\nMust be drag'd out of blood; force and great feate\\r\\nMust put my Garland on, where she stickes\\r\\nThe Queene of Flowers: our intercession then\\r\\nMust be to him that makes the Campe a Cestron\\r\\nBrymd with the blood of men: give me your aide\\r\\nAnd bend your spirits towards him. [They kneele.]\\r\\nThou mighty one, that with thy power hast turnd\\r\\nGreene Neptune into purple, (whose Approach)\\r\\nComets prewarne, whose havocke in vaste Feild\\r\\nVnearthed skulls proclaime, whose breath blowes downe,\\r\\nThe teeming Ceres foyzon, who doth plucke\\r\\nWith hand armypotent from forth blew clowdes\\r\\nThe masond Turrets, that both mak'st and break'st\\r\\nThe stony girthes of Citties: me thy puple,\\r\\nYongest follower of thy Drom, instruct this day\\r\\nWith military skill, that to thy lawde\\r\\nI may advance my Streamer, and by thee,\\r\\nBe stil'd the Lord o'th day: give me, great Mars,\\r\\nSome token of thy pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Here they fall on their faces as formerly, and there is heard\\r\\n clanging of Armor, with a short Thunder as the burst of a\\r\\nBattaile,\\r\\n whereupon they all rise and bow to the Altar.]\\r\\n\\r\\nO Great Corrector of enormous times,\\r\\nShaker of ore-rank States, thou grand decider\\r\\nOf dustie and old tytles, that healst with blood\\r\\nThe earth when it is sicke, and curst the world\\r\\nO'th pluresie of people; I doe take\\r\\nThy signes auspiciously, and in thy name\\r\\nTo my designe march boldly. Let us goe. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon and his Knights, with the former observance.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nOur stars must glister with new fire, or be\\r\\nTo daie extinct; our argument is love,\\r\\nWhich if the goddesse of it grant, she gives\\r\\nVictory too: then blend your spirits with mine,\\r\\nYou, whose free noblenesse doe make my cause\\r\\nYour personall hazard; to the goddesse Venus\\r\\nCommend we our proceeding, and implore\\r\\nHer power unto our partie. [Here they kneele as formerly.]\\r\\nHaile, Soveraigne Queene of secrets, who hast power\\r\\nTo call the feircest Tyrant from his rage,\\r\\nAnd weepe unto a Girle; that ha'st the might,\\r\\nEven with an ey-glance, to choke Marsis Drom\\r\\nAnd turne th'allarme to whispers; that canst make\\r\\nA Criple florish with his Crutch, and cure him\\r\\nBefore Apollo; that may'st force the King\\r\\nTo be his subjects vassaile, and induce\\r\\nStale gravitie to daunce; the pould Bachelour—\\r\\nWhose youth, like wonton Boyes through Bonfyres,\\r\\nHave skipt thy flame—at seaventy thou canst catch\\r\\nAnd make him, to the scorne of his hoarse throate,\\r\\nAbuse yong laies of love: what godlike power\\r\\nHast thou not power upon? To Phoebus thou\\r\\nAdd'st flames hotter then his; the heavenly fyres\\r\\nDid scortch his mortall Son, thine him; the huntresse\\r\\nAll moyst and cold, some say, began to throw\\r\\nHer Bow away, and sigh. Take to thy grace\\r\\nMe, thy vowd Souldier, who doe beare thy yoke\\r\\nAs t'wer a wreath of Roses, yet is heavier\\r\\nThen Lead it selfe, stings more than Nettles.\\r\\nI have never beene foule mouthd against thy law,\\r\\nNev'r reveald secret, for I knew none—would not,\\r\\nHad I kend all that were; I never practised\\r\\nVpon mans wife, nor would the Libells reade\\r\\nOf liberall wits; I never at great feastes\\r\\nSought to betray a Beautie, but have blush'd\\r\\nAt simpring Sirs that did; I have beene harsh\\r\\nTo large Confessors, and have hotly ask'd them\\r\\nIf they had Mothers: I had one, a woman,\\r\\nAnd women t'wer they wrong'd. I knew a man\\r\\nOf eightie winters, this I told them, who\\r\\nA Lasse of foureteene brided; twas thy power\\r\\nTo put life into dust; the aged Crampe\\r\\nHad screw'd his square foote round,\\r\\nThe Gout had knit his fingers into knots,\\r\\nTorturing Convulsions from his globie eyes,\\r\\nHad almost drawne their spheeres, that what was life\\r\\nIn him seem'd torture: this Anatomie\\r\\nHad by his yong faire pheare a Boy, and I\\r\\nBeleev'd it was him, for she swore it was,\\r\\nAnd who would not beleeve her? briefe, I am\\r\\nTo those that prate and have done no Companion;\\r\\nTo those that boast and have not a defyer;\\r\\nTo those that would and cannot a Rejoycer.\\r\\nYea, him I doe not love, that tells close offices\\r\\nThe fowlest way, nor names concealements in\\r\\nThe boldest language: such a one I am,\\r\\nAnd vow that lover never yet made sigh\\r\\nTruer then I. O, then, most soft, sweet goddesse,\\r\\nGive me the victory of this question, which\\r\\nIs true loves merit, and blesse me with a signe\\r\\nOf thy great pleasure.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Here Musicke is heard, Doves are seene to flutter; they fall\\r\\n againe upon their faces, then on their knees.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO thou, that from eleven to ninetie raign'st\\r\\nIn mortall bosomes, whose chase is this world,\\r\\nAnd we in heards thy game: I give thee thankes\\r\\nFor this faire Token, which, being layd unto\\r\\nMine innocent true heart, armes in assurance [They bow.]\\r\\nMy body to this businesse. Let us rise\\r\\nAnd bow before the goddesse: Time comes on. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Still Musicke of Records.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Emilia in white, her haire about her shoulders, (wearing) a\\r\\nwheaten wreath: One in white holding up her traine, her haire stucke\\r\\nwith flowers: One before her carrying a silver Hynde, in which is\\r\\nconveyd Incense and sweet odours, which being set upon the Altar (of\\r\\nDiana) her maides standing a loofe, she sets fire to it; then they\\r\\ncurtsey and kneele.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nO sacred, shadowie, cold and constant Queene,\\r\\nAbandoner of Revells, mute, contemplative,\\r\\nSweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure\\r\\nAs windefand Snow, who to thy femall knights\\r\\nAlow'st no more blood than will make a blush,\\r\\nWhich is their orders robe: I heere, thy Priest,\\r\\nAm humbled fore thine Altar; O vouchsafe,\\r\\nWith that thy rare greene eye, which never yet\\r\\nBeheld thing maculate, looke on thy virgin;\\r\\nAnd, sacred silver Mistris, lend thine eare\\r\\n(Which nev'r heard scurrill terme, into whose port\\r\\nNe're entred wanton found,) to my petition\\r\\nSeasond with holy feare: This is my last\\r\\nOf vestall office; I am bride habited,\\r\\nBut mayden harted, a husband I have pointed,\\r\\nBut doe not know him; out of two I should\\r\\nChoose one and pray for his successe, but I\\r\\nAm guiltlesse of election: of mine eyes,\\r\\nWere I to loose one, they are equall precious,\\r\\nI could doombe neither, that which perish'd should\\r\\nGoe too't unsentenc'd: Therefore, most modest Queene,\\r\\nHe of the two Pretenders, that best loves me\\r\\nAnd has the truest title in't, Let him\\r\\nTake off my wheaten Gerland, or else grant\\r\\nThe fyle and qualitie I hold, I may\\r\\nContinue in thy Band.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Here the Hynde vanishes under the Altar: and in the place ascends\\r\\n a Rose Tree, having one Rose upon it.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSee what our Generall of Ebbs and Flowes\\r\\nOut from the bowells of her holy Altar\\r\\nWith sacred act advances! But one Rose:\\r\\nIf well inspird, this Battaile shal confound\\r\\nBoth these brave Knights, and I, a virgin flowre\\r\\nMust grow alone unpluck'd.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Here is heard a sodaine twang of Instruments, and the Rose fals\\\\\\r\\n from the Tree (which vanishes under the altar.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nThe flowre is falne, the Tree descends: O, Mistris,\\r\\nThou here dischargest me; I shall be gather'd:\\r\\nI thinke so, but I know not thine owne will;\\r\\nVnclaspe thy Misterie.—I hope she's pleas'd,\\r\\nHer Signes were gratious. [They curtsey and Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 2. (A darkened Room in the Prison.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Doctor, Iaylor and Wooer, in habite of Palamon.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHas this advice I told you, done any good upon her?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nO very much; The maids that kept her company\\r\\nHave halfe perswaded her that I am Palamon;\\r\\nWithin this halfe houre she came smiling to me,\\r\\nAnd asked me what I would eate, and when I would kisse her:\\r\\nI told her presently, and kist her twice.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nTwas well done; twentie times had bin far better,\\r\\nFor there the cure lies mainely.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nThen she told me\\r\\nShe would watch with me to night, for well she knew\\r\\nWhat houre my fit would take me.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nLet her doe so,\\r\\nAnd when your fit comes, fit her home,\\r\\nAnd presently.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nShe would have me sing.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYou did so?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nTwas very ill done, then;\\r\\nYou should observe her ev'ry way.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nAlas,\\r\\nI have no voice, Sir, to confirme her that way.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nThat's all one, if yee make a noyse;\\r\\nIf she intreate againe, doe any thing,—\\r\\nLye with her, if she aske you.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHoa, there, Doctor!\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYes, in the waie of cure.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nBut first, by your leave,\\r\\nI'th way of honestie.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nThat's but a nicenesse,\\r\\nNev'r cast your child away for honestie;\\r\\nCure her first this way, then if shee will be honest,\\r\\nShe has the path before her.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThanke yee, Doctor.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nPray, bring her in,\\r\\nAnd let's see how shee is.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nI will, and tell her\\r\\nHer Palamon staies for her: But, Doctor,\\r\\nMe thinkes you are i'th wrong still. [Exit Iaylor.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nGoe, goe:\\r\\nYou Fathers are fine Fooles: her honesty?\\r\\nAnd we should give her physicke till we finde that—\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nWhy, doe you thinke she is not honest, Sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nHow old is she?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nShe's eighteene.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nShe may be,\\r\\nBut that's all one; tis nothing to our purpose.\\r\\nWhat ere her Father saies, if you perceave\\r\\nHer moode inclining that way that I spoke of,\\r\\nVidelicet, the way of flesh—you have me?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nYet, very well, Sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nPlease her appetite,\\r\\nAnd doe it home; it cures her, ipso facto,\\r\\nThe mellencholly humour that infects her.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI am of your minde, Doctor.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Iaylor, Daughter, Maide.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYou'l finde it so; she comes, pray humour her.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nCome, your Love Palamon staies for you, childe,\\r\\nAnd has done this long houre, to visite you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI thanke him for his gentle patience;\\r\\nHe's a kind Gentleman, and I am much bound to him.\\r\\nDid you nev'r see the horse he gave me?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nHow doe you like him?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHe's a very faire one.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYou never saw him dance?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nI have often.\\r\\nHe daunces very finely, very comely,\\r\\nAnd for a Iigge, come cut and long taile to him,\\r\\nHe turnes ye like a Top.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThat's fine, indeede.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nHee'l dance the Morris twenty mile an houre,\\r\\nAnd that will founder the best hobby-horse\\r\\n(If I have any skill) in all the parish,\\r\\nAnd gallops to the turne of LIGHT A' LOVE:\\r\\nWhat thinke you of this horse?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHaving these vertues,\\r\\nI thinke he might be broght to play at Tennis.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAlas, that's nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nCan he write and reade too?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nA very faire hand, and casts himselfe th'accounts\\r\\nOf all his hay and provender: That Hostler\\r\\nMust rise betime that cozens him. You know\\r\\nThe Chestnut Mare the Duke has?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nVery well.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nShe is horribly in love with him, poore beast,\\r\\nBut he is like his master, coy and scornefull.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nWhat dowry has she?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nSome two hundred Bottles,\\r\\nAnd twenty strike of Oates; but hee'l ne're have her;\\r\\nHe lispes in's neighing, able to entice\\r\\nA Millars Mare: Hee'l be the death of her.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWhat stuffe she utters!\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nMake curtsie; here your love comes.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nPretty soule,\\r\\nHow doe ye? that's a fine maide, ther's a curtsie!\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYours to command ith way of honestie.\\r\\nHow far is't now to'th end o'th world, my Masters?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nWhy, a daies Iorney, wench.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWill you goe with me?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nWhat shall we doe there, wench?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWhy, play at stoole ball:\\r\\nWhat is there else to doe?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI am content,\\r\\nIf we shall keepe our wedding there.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nTis true:\\r\\nFor there, I will assure you, we shall finde\\r\\nSome blind Priest for the purpose, that will venture\\r\\nTo marry us, for here they are nice, and foolish;\\r\\nBesides, my father must be hang'd to morrow\\r\\nAnd that would be a blot i'th businesse.\\r\\nAre not you Palamon?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nDoe not you know me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nYes, but you care not for me; I have nothing\\r\\nBut this pore petticoate, and too corse Smockes.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nThat's all one; I will have you.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWill you surely?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nYes, by this faire hand, will I.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWee'l to bed, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nEv'n when you will. [Kisses her.]\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nO Sir, you would faine be nibling.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nWhy doe you rub my kisse off?\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nTis a sweet one,\\r\\nAnd will perfume me finely against the wedding.\\r\\nIs not this your Cosen Arcite?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYes, sweet heart,\\r\\nAnd I am glad my Cosen Palamon\\r\\nHas made so faire a choice.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nDoe you thinke hee'l have me?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nYes, without doubt.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nDoe you thinke so too?\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nYes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nWe shall have many children:—Lord, how y'ar growne!\\r\\nMy Palamon, I hope, will grow, too, finely,\\r\\nNow he's at liberty: Alas, poore Chicken,\\r\\nHe was kept downe with hard meate and ill lodging,\\r\\nBut ile kisse him up againe.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Emter a Messenger.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nWhat doe you here? you'l loose the noblest sight\\r\\nThat ev'r was seene.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nAre they i'th Field?\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nThey are.\\r\\nYou beare a charge there too.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nIle away straight.\\r\\nI must ev'n leave you here.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nNay, wee'l goe with you;\\r\\nI will not loose the Fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nHow did you like her?\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nIle warrant you, within these 3. or 4. daies\\r\\nIle make her right againe. You must not from her,\\r\\nBut still preserve her in this way.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI will.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nLets get her in.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nCome, sweete, wee'l goe to dinner;\\r\\nAnd then weele play at Cardes.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAnd shall we kisse too?\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nA hundred times.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAnd twenty.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI, and twenty.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nAnd then wee'l sleepe together.\\r\\n\\r\\nDOCTOR.\\r\\nTake her offer.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nYes, marry, will we.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nBut you shall not hurt me.\\r\\n\\r\\nWOOER.\\r\\nI will not, sweete.\\r\\n\\r\\nDAUGHTER.\\r\\nIf you doe, Love, ile cry. [Florish. Exeunt]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 3. (A Place near the Lists.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Perithous: and some Attendants,\\r\\n (T. Tucke: Curtis.)]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIle no step further.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nWill you loose this sight?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI had rather see a wren hawke at a fly\\r\\nThen this decision; ev'ry blow that falls\\r\\nThreats a brave life, each stroake laments\\r\\nThe place whereon it fals, and sounds more like\\r\\nA Bell then blade: I will stay here;\\r\\nIt is enough my hearing shall be punishd\\r\\nWith what shall happen—gainst the which there is\\r\\nNo deaffing, but to heare—not taint mine eye\\r\\nWith dread sights, it may shun.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nSir, my good Lord,\\r\\nYour Sister will no further.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nOh, she must.\\r\\nShe shall see deeds of honour in their kinde,\\r\\nWhich sometime show well, pencild. Nature now\\r\\nShall make and act the Story, the beleife\\r\\nBoth seald with eye and eare; you must be present,\\r\\nYou are the victours meede, the price, and garlond\\r\\nTo crowne the Questions title.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nPardon me;\\r\\nIf I were there, I'ld winke.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nYou must be there;\\r\\nThis Tryall is as t'wer i'th night, and you\\r\\nThe onely star to shine.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI am extinct;\\r\\nThere is but envy in that light, which showes\\r\\nThe one the other: darkenes, which ever was\\r\\nThe dam of horrour, who do's stand accurst\\r\\nOf many mortall Millions, may even now,\\r\\nBy casting her blacke mantle over both,\\r\\nThat neither coulde finde other, get her selfe\\r\\nSome part of a good name, and many a murther\\r\\nSet off wherto she's guilty.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nYou must goe.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIn faith, I will not.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWhy, the knights must kindle\\r\\nTheir valour at your eye: know, of this war\\r\\nYou are the Treasure, and must needes be by\\r\\nTo give the Service pay.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nSir, pardon me;\\r\\nThe tytle of a kingdome may be tride\\r\\nOut of it selfe.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nWell, well, then, at your pleasure;\\r\\nThose that remaine with you could wish their office\\r\\nTo any of their Enemies.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nFarewell, Sister;\\r\\nI am like to know your husband fore your selfe\\r\\nBy some small start of time: he whom the gods\\r\\nDoe of the two know best, I pray them he\\r\\nBe made your Lot.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Exeunt Theseus, Hipolita, Perithous, &c.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nArcite is gently visagd; yet his eye\\r\\nIs like an Engyn bent, or a sharpe weapon\\r\\nIn a soft sheath; mercy and manly courage\\r\\nAre bedfellowes in his visage. Palamon\\r\\nHas a most menacing aspect: his brow\\r\\nIs grav'd, and seemes to bury what it frownes on;\\r\\nYet sometime tis not so, but alters to\\r\\nThe quallity of his thoughts; long time his eye\\r\\nWill dwell upon his object. Mellencholly\\r\\nBecomes him nobly; So do's Arcites mirth,\\r\\nBut Palamons sadnes is a kinde of mirth,\\r\\nSo mingled, as if mirth did make him sad,\\r\\nAnd sadnes, merry; those darker humours that\\r\\nSticke misbecomingly on others, on them\\r\\nLive in faire dwelling. [Cornets. Trompets sound as to a\\r\\ncharge.]\\r\\nHarke, how yon spurs to spirit doe incite\\r\\nThe Princes to their proofe! Arcite may win me,\\r\\nAnd yet may Palamon wound Arcite to\\r\\nThe spoyling of his figure. O, what pitty\\r\\nEnough for such a chance; if I were by,\\r\\nI might doe hurt, for they would glance their eies\\r\\nToward my Seat, and in that motion might\\r\\nOmit a ward, or forfeit an offence\\r\\nWhich crav'd that very time: it is much better\\r\\nI am not there; oh better never borne\\r\\nThen minister to such harme. [Cornets. A great cry and noice within,\\r\\n crying 'a Palamon'.] What is the chance?\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Servant.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThe Crie's 'a Palamon'.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nThen he has won! Twas ever likely;\\r\\nHe lookd all grace and successe, and he is\\r\\nDoubtlesse the prim'st of men: I pre'thee, run\\r\\nAnd tell me how it goes. [Showt, and Cornets: Crying, 'a\\r\\nPalamon.']\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nStill Palamon.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nRun and enquire. Poore Servant, thou hast lost;\\r\\nVpon my right side still I wore thy picture,\\r\\nPalamons on the left: why so, I know not;\\r\\nI had no end in't else, chance would have it so.\\r\\nOn the sinister side the heart lyes; Palamon\\r\\nHad the best boding chance. [Another cry, and showt within, and\\r\\n Cornets.] This burst of clamour\\r\\nIs sure th'end o'th Combat.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Servant.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThey saide that Palamon had Arcites body\\r\\nWithin an inch o'th Pyramid, that the cry\\r\\nWas generall 'a Palamon': But, anon,\\r\\nTh'Assistants made a brave redemption, and\\r\\nThe two bold Tytlers, at this instant are\\r\\nHand to hand at it.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nWere they metamorphisd\\r\\nBoth into one! oh why? there were no woman\\r\\nWorth so composd a Man: their single share,\\r\\nTheir noblenes peculier to them, gives\\r\\nThe prejudice of disparity, values shortnes, [Cornets. Cry within,\\r\\n Arcite, Arcite.]\\r\\nTo any Lady breathing—More exulting?\\r\\nPalamon still?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nNay, now the sound is Arcite.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nI pre'thee, lay attention to the Cry, [Cornets. A great showt and\\r\\ncry, 'Arcite, victory!'] Set both thine eares to'th busines.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nThe cry is\\r\\n'Arcite', and 'victory', harke: 'Arcite, victory!'\\r\\nThe Combats consummation is proclaim'd\\r\\nBy the wind Instruments.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nHalfe sights saw\\r\\nThat Arcite was no babe; god's lyd, his richnes\\r\\nAnd costlines of spirit look't through him, it could\\r\\nNo more be hid in him then fire in flax,\\r\\nThen humble banckes can goe to law with waters,\\r\\nThat drift windes force to raging: I did thinke\\r\\nGood Palamon would miscarry; yet I knew not\\r\\nWhy I did thinke so; Our reasons are not prophets,\\r\\nWhen oft our fancies are. They are comming off:\\r\\nAlas, poore Palamon! [Cornets.]\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Pirithous, Arcite as victor, and\\r\\n attendants, &c.]\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nLo, where our Sister is in expectation,\\r\\nYet quaking, and unsetled.—Fairest Emily,\\r\\nThe gods by their divine arbitrament\\r\\nHave given you this Knight; he is a good one\\r\\nAs ever strooke at head. Give me your hands;\\r\\nReceive you her, you him; be plighted with\\r\\nA love that growes, as you decay.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nEmily,\\r\\nTo buy you, I have lost what's deerest to me,\\r\\nSave what is bought, and yet I purchase cheapely,\\r\\nAs I doe rate your value.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nO loved Sister,\\r\\nHe speakes now of as brave a Knight as ere\\r\\nDid spur a noble Steed: Surely, the gods\\r\\nWould have him die a Batchelour, least his race\\r\\nShould shew i'th world too godlike: His behaviour\\r\\nSo charmed me, that me thought Alcides was\\r\\nTo him a sow of lead: if I could praise\\r\\nEach part of him to'th all I have spoke, your Arcite\\r\\nDid not loose by't; For he that was thus good\\r\\nEncountred yet his Better. I have heard\\r\\nTwo emulous Philomels beate the eare o'th night\\r\\nWith their contentious throates, now one the higher,\\r\\nAnon the other, then againe the first,\\r\\nAnd by and by out breasted, that the sence\\r\\nCould not be judge betweene 'em: So it far'd\\r\\nGood space betweene these kinesmen; till heavens did\\r\\nMake hardly one the winner. Weare the Girlond\\r\\nWith joy that you have won: For the subdude,\\r\\nGive them our present Iustice, since I know\\r\\nTheir lives but pinch 'em; Let it here be done.\\r\\nThe Sceane's not for our seeing, goe we hence,\\r\\nRight joyfull, with some sorrow.—Arme your prize,\\r\\nI know you will not loose her.—Hipolita,\\r\\nI see one eye of yours conceives a teare\\r\\nThe which it will deliver. [Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIs this wynning?\\r\\nOh all you heavenly powers, where is your mercy?\\r\\nBut that your wils have saide it must be so,\\r\\nAnd charge me live to comfort this unfriended,\\r\\nThis miserable Prince, that cuts away\\r\\nA life more worthy from him then all women,\\r\\nI should, and would, die too.\\r\\n\\r\\nHIPPOLITA.\\r\\nInfinite pitty,\\r\\nThat fowre such eies should be so fixd on one\\r\\nThat two must needes be blinde fort.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nSo it is. [Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE 4. (The same; a Block prepared.)\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Palamon and his Knightes pyniond: Iaylor, Executioner, &c.\\r\\nGard.]\\r\\n\\r\\n(PALAMON.)\\r\\nTher's many a man alive that hath out liv'd\\r\\nThe love o'th people; yea, i'th selfesame state\\r\\nStands many a Father with his childe; some comfort\\r\\nWe have by so considering: we expire\\r\\nAnd not without mens pitty. To live still,\\r\\nHave their good wishes; we prevent\\r\\nThe loathsome misery of age, beguile\\r\\nThe Gowt and Rheume, that in lag howres attend\\r\\nFor grey approachers; we come towards the gods\\r\\nYong and unwapper'd, not halting under Crymes\\r\\nMany and stale: that sure shall please the gods,\\r\\nSooner than such, to give us Nectar with 'em,\\r\\nFor we are more cleare Spirits. My deare kinesmen,\\r\\nWhose lives (for this poore comfort) are laid downe,\\r\\nYou have sould 'em too too cheape.\\r\\n\\r\\n1. KNIGHT.\\r\\nWhat ending could be\\r\\nOf more content? ore us the victors have\\r\\nFortune, whose title is as momentary,\\r\\nAs to us death is certaine: A graine of honour\\r\\nThey not ore'-weigh us.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. KNIGHT.\\r\\nLet us bid farewell;\\r\\nAnd with our patience anger tottring Fortune,\\r\\nWho at her certain'st reeles.\\r\\n\\r\\n3. KNIGHT.\\r\\nCome; who begins?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nEv'n he that led you to this Banket shall\\r\\nTaste to you all.—Ah ha, my Friend, my Friend,\\r\\nYour gentle daughter gave me freedome once;\\r\\nYou'l see't done now for ever: pray, how do'es she?\\r\\nI heard she was not well; her kind of ill\\r\\nGave me some sorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nSir, she's well restor'd,\\r\\nAnd to be marryed shortly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nBy my short life,\\r\\nI am most glad on't; Tis the latest thing\\r\\nI shall be glad of; pre'thee tell her so:\\r\\nCommend me to her, and to peece her portion,\\r\\nTender her this. [Gives purse.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. KNIGHT.\\r\\nNay lets be offerers all.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. KNIGHT.\\r\\nIs it a maide?\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nVerily, I thinke so,\\r\\nA right good creature, more to me deserving\\r\\nThen I can quight or speake of.\\r\\n\\r\\nALL KNIGHTS.\\r\\nCommend us to her. [They give their purses.]\\r\\n\\r\\nIAILOR.\\r\\nThe gods requight you all,\\r\\nAnd make her thankefull.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAdiew; and let my life be now as short,\\r\\nAs my leave taking. [Lies on the Blocke.]\\r\\n\\r\\n1. KNIGHT.\\r\\nLeade, couragious Cosin.\\r\\n\\r\\n2. KNIGHT.\\r\\nWee'l follow cheerefully. [A great noise within crying, 'run, save,\\r\\nhold!']\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter in hast a Messenger.]\\r\\n\\r\\nMESSENGER.\\r\\nHold, hold! O hold, hold, hold!\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Pirithous in haste.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nHold! hoa! It is a cursed hast you made,\\r\\nIf you have done so quickly. Noble Palamon,\\r\\nThe gods will shew their glory in a life,\\r\\nThat thou art yet to leade.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nCan that be,\\r\\nWhen Venus, I have said, is false? How doe things fare?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nArise, great Sir, and give the tydings eare\\r\\nThat are most dearly sweet and bitter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nWhat\\r\\nHath wakt us from our dreame?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERITHOUS.\\r\\nList then: your Cosen,\\r\\nMounted upon a Steed that Emily\\r\\nDid first bestow on him, a blacke one, owing\\r\\nNot a hayre worth of white—which some will say\\r\\nWeakens his price, and many will not buy\\r\\nHis goodnesse with this note: Which superstition\\r\\nHeere findes allowance—On this horse is Arcite\\r\\nTrotting the stones of Athens, which the Calkins\\r\\nDid rather tell then trample; for the horse\\r\\nWould make his length a mile, if't pleas'd his Rider\\r\\nTo put pride in him: as he thus went counting\\r\\nThe flinty pavement, dancing, as t'wer, to'th Musicke\\r\\nHis owne hoofes made; (for as they say from iron\\r\\nCame Musickes origen) what envious Flint,\\r\\nCold as old Saturne, and like him possest\\r\\nWith fire malevolent, darted a Sparke,\\r\\nOr what feirce sulphur else, to this end made,\\r\\nI comment not;—the hot horse, hot as fire,\\r\\nTooke Toy at this, and fell to what disorder\\r\\nHis power could give his will; bounds, comes on end,\\r\\nForgets schoole dooing, being therein traind,\\r\\nAnd of kind mannadge; pig-like he whines\\r\\nAt the sharpe Rowell, which he freats at rather\\r\\nThen any jot obaies; seekes all foule meanes\\r\\nOf boystrous and rough Iadrie, to dis-seate\\r\\nHis Lord, that kept it bravely: when nought serv'd,\\r\\nWhen neither Curb would cracke, girth breake nor diffring plunges\\r\\nDis-roote his Rider whence he grew, but that\\r\\nHe kept him tweene his legges, on his hind hoofes on end he stands,\\r\\nThat Arcites leggs, being higher then his head,\\r\\nSeem'd with strange art to hand: His victors wreath\\r\\nEven then fell off his head: and presently\\r\\nBackeward the Iade comes ore, and his full poyze\\r\\nBecomes the Riders loade: yet is he living,\\r\\nBut such a vessell tis, that floates but for\\r\\nThe surge that next approaches: he much desires\\r\\nTo have some speech with you: Loe he appeares.\\r\\n\\r\\n[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Arcite in a chaire.]\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO miserable end of our alliance!\\r\\nThe gods are mightie, Arcite: if thy heart,\\r\\nThy worthie, manly heart, be yet unbroken,\\r\\nGive me thy last words; I am Palamon,\\r\\nOne that yet loves thee dying.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCITE.\\r\\nTake Emilia\\r\\nAnd with her all the worlds joy: Reach thy hand:\\r\\nFarewell: I have told my last houre. I was false,\\r\\nYet never treacherous: Forgive me, Cosen:—\\r\\nOne kisse from faire Emilia: Tis done:\\r\\nTake her: I die.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nThy brave soule seeke Elizium.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nIle close thine eyes, Prince; blessed soules be with thee!\\r\\nThou art a right good man, and while I live,\\r\\nThis day I give to teares.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nAnd I to honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nIn this place first you fought: ev'n very here\\r\\nI sundred you: acknowledge to the gods\\r\\nOur thankes that you are living.\\r\\nHis part is playd, and though it were too short,\\r\\nHe did it well: your day is lengthned, and\\r\\nThe blissefull dew of heaven do's arowze you.\\r\\nThe powerfull Venus well hath grac'd her Altar,\\r\\nAnd given you your love: Our Master Mars\\r\\nHath vouch'd his Oracle, and to Arcite gave\\r\\nThe grace of the Contention: So the Deities\\r\\nHave shewd due justice: Beare this hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPALAMON.\\r\\nO Cosen,\\r\\nThat we should things desire, which doe cost us\\r\\nThe losse of our desire! That nought could buy\\r\\nDeare love, but losse of deare love!\\r\\n\\r\\nTHESEUS.\\r\\nNever Fortune\\r\\nDid play a subtler Game: The conquerd triumphes,\\r\\nThe victor has the Losse: yet in the passage\\r\\nThe gods have beene most equall: Palamon,\\r\\nYour kinseman hath confest the right o'th Lady\\r\\nDid lye in you, for you first saw her, and\\r\\nEven then proclaimd your fancie: He restord her\\r\\nAs your stolne Iewell, and desir'd your spirit\\r\\nTo send him hence forgiven; The gods my justice\\r\\nTake from my hand, and they themselves become\\r\\nThe Executioners: Leade your Lady off;\\r\\nAnd call your Lovers from the stage of death,\\r\\nWhom I adopt my Frinds. A day or two\\r\\nLet us looke sadly, and give grace unto\\r\\nThe Funerall of Arcite; in whose end\\r\\nThe visages of Bridegroomes weele put on\\r\\nAnd smile with Palamon; for whom an houre,\\r\\nBut one houre, since, I was as dearely sorry,\\r\\nAs glad of Arcite: and am now as glad,\\r\\nAs for him sorry. O you heavenly Charmers,\\r\\nWhat things you make of us! For what we lacke\\r\\nWe laugh, for what we have, are sorry: still\\r\\nAre children in some kind. Let us be thankefull\\r\\nFor that which is, and with you leave dispute\\r\\nThat are above our question. Let's goe off,\\r\\nAnd beare us like the time. [Florish. Exeunt.]\\r\\n\\r\\nEPILOGUE\\r\\n\\r\\nI would now aske ye how ye like the Play,\\r\\nBut, as it is with Schoole Boyes, cannot say,\\r\\nI am cruell fearefull: pray, yet stay a while,\\r\\nAnd let me looke upon ye: No man smile?\\r\\nThen it goes hard, I see; He that has\\r\\nLov'd a yong hansome wench, then, show his face—\\r\\nTis strange if none be heere—and if he will\\r\\nAgainst his Conscience, let him hisse, and kill\\r\\nOur Market: Tis in vaine, I see, to stay yee;\\r\\nHave at the worst can come, then! Now what say ye?\\r\\nAnd yet mistake me not: I am not bold;\\r\\nWe have no such cause. If the tale we have told\\r\\n(For tis no other) any way content ye\\r\\n(For to that honest purpose it was ment ye)\\r\\nWe have our end; and ye shall have ere long,\\r\\nI dare say, many a better, to prolong\\r\\nYour old loves to us: we, and all our might\\r\\nRest at your service. Gentlemen, good night. [Florish.]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\",\n", + " 'THE WINTER’S TALE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nContents\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\nScene I. Sicilia. An Antechamber in Leontes’ Palace.\\r\\nScene II. The same. A Room of State in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\nScene I. Sicilia. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\nScene II. The same. The outer Room of a Prison.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\nScene I. Sicilia. A Street in some Town.\\r\\nScene II. The same. A Court of Justice.\\r\\nScene III. Bohemia. A desert Country near the Sea.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\nScene I. Prologue.\\r\\nScene II. Bohemia. A Room in the palace of Polixenes.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A Road near the Shepherd’s cottage.\\r\\nScene IV. The same. A Shepherd’s Cottage.\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\nScene I. Sicilia. A Room in the palace of Leontes.\\r\\nScene II. The same. Before the Palace.\\r\\nScene III. The same. A Room in Paulina’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\nDramatis Personæ\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES, King of Sicilia\\r\\nMAMILLIUS, his son\\r\\nCAMILLO, Sicilian Lord\\r\\nANTIGONUS, Sicilian Lord\\r\\nCLEOMENES, Sicilian Lord\\r\\nDION, Sicilian Lord\\r\\nPOLIXENES, King of Bohemia\\r\\nFLORIZEL, his son\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS, a Bohemian Lord\\r\\nAn Old Shepherd, reputed father of Perdita\\r\\nCLOWN, his son\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS, a rogue\\r\\nA Mariner\\r\\nA Gaoler\\r\\nServant to the Old Shepherd\\r\\nOther Sicilian Lords\\r\\nSicilian Gentlemen\\r\\nOfficers of a Court of Judicature\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE, Queen to Leontes\\r\\nPERDITA, daughter to Leontes and Hermione\\r\\nPAULINA, wife to Antigonus\\r\\nEMILIA, a lady attending on the Queen\\r\\nMOPSA, shepherdess\\r\\nDORCAS, shepherdess\\r\\nOther Ladies, attending on the Queen\\r\\n\\r\\nLords, Ladies, and Attendants; Satyrs for a Dance; Shepherds,\\r\\nShepherdesses, Guards, &c.\\r\\n\\r\\nTIME, as Chorus\\r\\n\\r\\nScene: Sometimes in Sicilia; sometimes in Bohemia.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT I\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Sicilia. An Antechamber in Leontes’ Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Camillo and Archidamus.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nIf you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on the like occasion\\r\\nwhereon my services are now on foot, you shall see, as I have said,\\r\\ngreat difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI think this coming summer the King of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the\\r\\nvisitation which he justly owes him.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nWherein our entertainment shall shame us; we will be justified in our\\r\\nloves. For indeed,—\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBeseech you—\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nVerily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge. We cannot with such\\r\\nmagnificence—in so rare—I know not what to say. We will give you sleepy\\r\\ndrinks, that your senses, unintelligent of our insufficience, may,\\r\\nthough they cannot praise us, as little accuse us.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nYou pay a great deal too dear for what’s given freely.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nBelieve me, I speak as my understanding instructs me and as mine\\r\\nhonesty puts it to utterance.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bohemia. They were trained\\r\\ntogether in their childhoods, and there rooted betwixt them then such\\r\\nan affection which cannot choose but branch now. Since their more\\r\\nmature dignities and royal necessities made separation of their\\r\\nsociety, their encounters, though not personal, have been royally\\r\\nattorneyed with interchange of gifts, letters, loving embassies, that\\r\\nthey have seemed to be together, though absent; shook hands, as over a\\r\\nvast; and embraced as it were from the ends of opposed winds. The\\r\\nheavens continue their loves!\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nI think there is not in the world either malice or matter to alter it.\\r\\nYou have an unspeakable comfort of your young Prince Mamillius. It is a\\r\\ngentleman of the greatest promise that ever came into my note.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI very well agree with you in the hopes of him. It is a gallant child;\\r\\none that indeed physics the subject, makes old hearts fresh. They that\\r\\nwent on crutches ere he was born desire yet their life to see him a\\r\\nman.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nWould they else be content to die?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nYes, if there were no other excuse why they should desire to live.\\r\\n\\r\\nARCHIDAMUS.\\r\\nIf the king had no son, they would desire to live on crutches till he\\r\\nhad one.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. A Room of State in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Hermione, Mamillius, Camillo and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nNine changes of the watery star hath been\\r\\nThe shepherd’s note since we have left our throne\\r\\nWithout a burden. Time as long again\\r\\nWould be fill’d up, my brother, with our thanks;\\r\\nAnd yet we should, for perpetuity,\\r\\nGo hence in debt: and therefore, like a cipher,\\r\\nYet standing in rich place, I multiply\\r\\nWith one “we thank you” many thousands more\\r\\nThat go before it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nStay your thanks a while,\\r\\nAnd pay them when you part.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nSir, that’s tomorrow.\\r\\nI am question’d by my fears, of what may chance\\r\\nOr breed upon our absence; that may blow\\r\\nNo sneaping winds at home, to make us say\\r\\n“This is put forth too truly.” Besides, I have stay’d\\r\\nTo tire your royalty.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWe are tougher, brother,\\r\\nThan you can put us to ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nNo longer stay.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nOne seve’night longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nVery sooth, tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWe’ll part the time between ’s then: and in that\\r\\nI’ll no gainsaying.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nPress me not, beseech you, so,\\r\\nThere is no tongue that moves, none, none i’ th’ world,\\r\\nSo soon as yours, could win me: so it should now,\\r\\nWere there necessity in your request, although\\r\\n’Twere needful I denied it. My affairs\\r\\nDo even drag me homeward: which to hinder\\r\\nWere, in your love a whip to me; my stay\\r\\nTo you a charge and trouble: to save both,\\r\\nFarewell, our brother.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTongue-tied, our queen? Speak you.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nI had thought, sir, to have held my peace until\\r\\nYou had drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir,\\r\\nCharge him too coldly. Tell him you are sure\\r\\nAll in Bohemia’s well: this satisfaction\\r\\nThe by-gone day proclaimed. Say this to him,\\r\\nHe’s beat from his best ward.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWell said, Hermione.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nTo tell he longs to see his son were strong.\\r\\nBut let him say so then, and let him go;\\r\\nBut let him swear so, and he shall not stay,\\r\\nWe’ll thwack him hence with distaffs.\\r\\n[_To Polixenes._] Yet of your royal presence I’ll adventure\\r\\nThe borrow of a week. When at Bohemia\\r\\nYou take my lord, I’ll give him my commission\\r\\nTo let him there a month behind the gest\\r\\nPrefix’d for’s parting:—yet, good deed, Leontes,\\r\\nI love thee not a jar of th’ clock behind\\r\\nWhat lady she her lord. You’ll stay?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nNo, madam.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNay, but you will?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI may not, verily.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nVerily!\\r\\nYou put me off with limber vows; but I,\\r\\nThough you would seek t’ unsphere the stars with oaths,\\r\\nShould yet say “Sir, no going.” Verily,\\r\\nYou shall not go. A lady’s verily is\\r\\nAs potent as a lord’s. Will go yet?\\r\\nForce me to keep you as a prisoner,\\r\\nNot like a guest: so you shall pay your fees\\r\\nWhen you depart, and save your thanks. How say you?\\r\\nMy prisoner or my guest? By your dread “verily,”\\r\\nOne of them you shall be.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nYour guest, then, madam.\\r\\nTo be your prisoner should import offending;\\r\\nWhich is for me less easy to commit\\r\\nThan you to punish.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNot your gaoler then,\\r\\nBut your kind hostess. Come, I’ll question you\\r\\nOf my lord’s tricks and yours when you were boys.\\r\\nYou were pretty lordings then.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWe were, fair queen,\\r\\nTwo lads that thought there was no more behind\\r\\nBut such a day tomorrow as today,\\r\\nAnd to be boy eternal.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWas not my lord\\r\\nThe verier wag o’ th’ two?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWe were as twinn’d lambs that did frisk i’ th’ sun\\r\\nAnd bleat the one at th’ other. What we chang’d\\r\\nWas innocence for innocence; we knew not\\r\\nThe doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream’d\\r\\nThat any did. Had we pursu’d that life,\\r\\nAnd our weak spirits ne’er been higher rear’d\\r\\nWith stronger blood, we should have answer’d heaven\\r\\nBoldly “Not guilty,” the imposition clear’d\\r\\nHereditary ours.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nBy this we gather\\r\\nYou have tripp’d since.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nO my most sacred lady,\\r\\nTemptations have since then been born to ’s! for\\r\\nIn those unfledg’d days was my wife a girl;\\r\\nYour precious self had then not cross’d the eyes\\r\\nOf my young play-fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nGrace to boot!\\r\\nOf this make no conclusion, lest you say\\r\\nYour queen and I are devils. Yet go on;\\r\\nTh’ offences we have made you do we’ll answer,\\r\\nIf you first sinn’d with us, and that with us\\r\\nYou did continue fault, and that you slipp’d not\\r\\nWith any but with us.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nIs he won yet?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nHe’ll stay, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nAt my request he would not.\\r\\nHermione, my dearest, thou never spok’st\\r\\nTo better purpose.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNever?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNever but once.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWhat! have I twice said well? when was’t before?\\r\\nI prithee tell me. Cram ’s with praise, and make ’s\\r\\nAs fat as tame things: one good deed dying tongueless\\r\\nSlaughters a thousand waiting upon that.\\r\\nOur praises are our wages. You may ride ’s\\r\\nWith one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere\\r\\nWith spur we heat an acre. But to th’ goal:\\r\\nMy last good deed was to entreat his stay.\\r\\nWhat was my first? It has an elder sister,\\r\\nOr I mistake you: O, would her name were Grace!\\r\\nBut once before I spoke to the purpose—when?\\r\\nNay, let me have’t; I long.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhy, that was when\\r\\nThree crabbed months had sour’d themselves to death,\\r\\nEre I could make thee open thy white hand\\r\\nAnd clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter\\r\\n“I am yours for ever.”\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\n’Tis Grace indeed.\\r\\nWhy, lo you now, I have spoke to th’ purpose twice.\\r\\nThe one for ever earn’d a royal husband;\\r\\nTh’ other for some while a friend.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Giving her hand to Polixenes._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Too hot, too hot!\\r\\nTo mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.\\r\\nI have _tremor cordis_ on me. My heart dances,\\r\\nBut not for joy,—not joy. This entertainment\\r\\nMay a free face put on, derive a liberty\\r\\nFrom heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom,\\r\\nAnd well become the agent: ’t may, I grant:\\r\\nBut to be paddling palms and pinching fingers,\\r\\nAs now they are, and making practis’d smiles\\r\\nAs in a looking-glass; and then to sigh, as ’twere\\r\\nThe mort o’ th’ deer. O, that is entertainment\\r\\nMy bosom likes not, nor my brows. Mamillius,\\r\\nArt thou my boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nAy, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI’ fecks!\\r\\nWhy, that’s my bawcock. What! hast smutch’d thy nose?\\r\\nThey say it is a copy out of mine. Come, captain,\\r\\nWe must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain:\\r\\nAnd yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf\\r\\nAre all call’d neat.—Still virginalling\\r\\nUpon his palm?—How now, you wanton calf!\\r\\nArt thou my calf?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nYes, if you will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou want’st a rough pash and the shoots that I have\\r\\nTo be full like me:—yet they say we are\\r\\nAlmost as like as eggs; women say so,\\r\\nThat will say anything. But were they false\\r\\nAs o’er-dy’d blacks, as wind, as waters, false\\r\\nAs dice are to be wish’d by one that fixes\\r\\nNo bourn ’twixt his and mine, yet were it true\\r\\nTo say this boy were like me. Come, sir page,\\r\\nLook on me with your welkin eye: sweet villain!\\r\\nMost dear’st! my collop! Can thy dam?—may’t be?\\r\\nAffection! thy intention stabs the centre:\\r\\nThou dost make possible things not so held,\\r\\nCommunicat’st with dreams;—how can this be?—\\r\\nWith what’s unreal thou coactive art,\\r\\nAnd fellow’st nothing: then ’tis very credent\\r\\nThou may’st co-join with something; and thou dost,\\r\\nAnd that beyond commission, and I find it,\\r\\nAnd that to the infection of my brains\\r\\nAnd hardening of my brows.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWhat means Sicilia?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nHe something seems unsettled.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nHow, my lord?\\r\\nWhat cheer? How is’t with you, best brother?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nYou look\\r\\nAs if you held a brow of much distraction:\\r\\nAre you mov’d, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNo, in good earnest.\\r\\nHow sometimes nature will betray its folly,\\r\\nIts tenderness, and make itself a pastime\\r\\nTo harder bosoms! Looking on the lines\\r\\nOf my boy’s face, methoughts I did recoil\\r\\nTwenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech’d,\\r\\nIn my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzled\\r\\nLest it should bite its master, and so prove,\\r\\nAs ornaments oft do, too dangerous.\\r\\nHow like, methought, I then was to this kernel,\\r\\nThis squash, this gentleman. Mine honest friend,\\r\\nWill you take eggs for money?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nNo, my lord, I’ll fight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou will? Why, happy man be ’s dole! My brother,\\r\\nAre you so fond of your young prince as we\\r\\nDo seem to be of ours?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nIf at home, sir,\\r\\nHe’s all my exercise, my mirth, my matter:\\r\\nNow my sworn friend, and then mine enemy;\\r\\nMy parasite, my soldier, statesman, all.\\r\\nHe makes a July’s day short as December;\\r\\nAnd with his varying childness cures in me\\r\\nThoughts that would thick my blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nSo stands this squire\\r\\nOffic’d with me. We two will walk, my lord,\\r\\nAnd leave you to your graver steps. Hermione,\\r\\nHow thou lov’st us show in our brother’s welcome;\\r\\nLet what is dear in Sicily be cheap:\\r\\nNext to thyself and my young rover, he’s\\r\\nApparent to my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nIf you would seek us,\\r\\nWe are yours i’ the garden. Shall ’s attend you there?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTo your own bents dispose you: you’ll be found,\\r\\nBe you beneath the sky. [_Aside._] I am angling now,\\r\\nThough you perceive me not how I give line.\\r\\nGo to, go to!\\r\\nHow she holds up the neb, the bill to him!\\r\\nAnd arms her with the boldness of a wife\\r\\nTo her allowing husband!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Polixenes, Hermione and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGone already!\\r\\nInch-thick, knee-deep, o’er head and ears a fork’d one!—\\r\\nGo, play, boy, play. Thy mother plays, and I\\r\\nPlay too; but so disgrac’d a part, whose issue\\r\\nWill hiss me to my grave: contempt and clamour\\r\\nWill be my knell. Go, play, boy, play. There have been,\\r\\nOr I am much deceiv’d, cuckolds ere now;\\r\\nAnd many a man there is, even at this present,\\r\\nNow while I speak this, holds his wife by th’ arm,\\r\\nThat little thinks she has been sluic’d in ’s absence,\\r\\nAnd his pond fish’d by his next neighbour, by\\r\\nSir Smile, his neighbour. Nay, there’s comfort in ’t,\\r\\nWhiles other men have gates, and those gates open’d,\\r\\nAs mine, against their will. Should all despair\\r\\nThat hath revolted wives, the tenth of mankind\\r\\nWould hang themselves. Physic for’t there’s none;\\r\\nIt is a bawdy planet, that will strike\\r\\nWhere ’tis predominant; and ’tis powerful, think it,\\r\\nFrom east, west, north, and south. Be it concluded,\\r\\nNo barricado for a belly. Know’t;\\r\\nIt will let in and out the enemy\\r\\nWith bag and baggage. Many thousand of us\\r\\nHave the disease, and feel’t not.—How now, boy!\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nI am like you, they say.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhy, that’s some comfort.\\r\\nWhat! Camillo there?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nAy, my good lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGo play, Mamillius; thou’rt an honest man.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Mamillius._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCamillo, this great sir will yet stay longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nYou had much ado to make his anchor hold:\\r\\nWhen you cast out, it still came home.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nDidst note it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHe would not stay at your petitions; made\\r\\nHis business more material.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nDidst perceive it?\\r\\n[_Aside._] They’re here with me already; whisp’ring, rounding,\\r\\n“Sicilia is a so-forth.” ’Tis far gone\\r\\nWhen I shall gust it last.—How came’t, Camillo,\\r\\nThat he did stay?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nAt the good queen’s entreaty.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nAt the queen’s be’t: “good” should be pertinent,\\r\\nBut so it is, it is not. Was this taken\\r\\nBy any understanding pate but thine?\\r\\nFor thy conceit is soaking, will draw in\\r\\nMore than the common blocks. Not noted, is’t,\\r\\nBut of the finer natures? by some severals\\r\\nOf head-piece extraordinary? lower messes\\r\\nPerchance are to this business purblind? say.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBusiness, my lord? I think most understand\\r\\nBohemia stays here longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHa?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nStays here longer.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nAy, but why?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nTo satisfy your highness, and the entreaties\\r\\nOf our most gracious mistress.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nSatisfy?\\r\\nTh’ entreaties of your mistress? Satisfy?\\r\\nLet that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo,\\r\\nWith all the nearest things to my heart, as well\\r\\nMy chamber-counsels, wherein, priest-like, thou\\r\\nHast cleans’d my bosom; I from thee departed\\r\\nThy penitent reform’d. But we have been\\r\\nDeceiv’d in thy integrity, deceiv’d\\r\\nIn that which seems so.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBe it forbid, my lord!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTo bide upon’t: thou art not honest; or,\\r\\nIf thou inclin’st that way, thou art a coward,\\r\\nWhich hoxes honesty behind, restraining\\r\\nFrom course requir’d; or else thou must be counted\\r\\nA servant grafted in my serious trust,\\r\\nAnd therein negligent; or else a fool\\r\\nThat seest a game play’d home, the rich stake drawn,\\r\\nAnd tak’st it all for jest.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nMy gracious lord,\\r\\nI may be negligent, foolish, and fearful;\\r\\nIn every one of these no man is free,\\r\\nBut that his negligence, his folly, fear,\\r\\nAmong the infinite doings of the world,\\r\\nSometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord,\\r\\nIf ever I were wilful-negligent,\\r\\nIt was my folly; if industriously\\r\\nI play’d the fool, it was my negligence,\\r\\nNot weighing well the end; if ever fearful\\r\\nTo do a thing, where I the issue doubted,\\r\\nWhereof the execution did cry out\\r\\nAgainst the non-performance, ’twas a fear\\r\\nWhich oft affects the wisest: these, my lord,\\r\\nAre such allow’d infirmities that honesty\\r\\nIs never free of. But, beseech your Grace,\\r\\nBe plainer with me; let me know my trespass\\r\\nBy its own visage: if I then deny it,\\r\\n’Tis none of mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHa’ not you seen, Camillo?\\r\\n(But that’s past doubt: you have, or your eye-glass\\r\\nIs thicker than a cuckold’s horn) or heard?\\r\\n(For, to a vision so apparent, rumour\\r\\nCannot be mute) or thought? (for cogitation\\r\\nResides not in that man that does not think)\\r\\nMy wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess,\\r\\nOr else be impudently negative,\\r\\nTo have nor eyes nor ears nor thought, then say\\r\\nMy wife’s a hobby-horse, deserves a name\\r\\nAs rank as any flax-wench that puts to\\r\\nBefore her troth-plight: say’t and justify’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI would not be a stander-by to hear\\r\\nMy sovereign mistress clouded so, without\\r\\nMy present vengeance taken: ’shrew my heart,\\r\\nYou never spoke what did become you less\\r\\nThan this; which to reiterate were sin\\r\\nAs deep as that, though true.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nIs whispering nothing?\\r\\nIs leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses?\\r\\nKissing with inside lip? Stopping the career\\r\\nOf laughter with a sigh?—a note infallible\\r\\nOf breaking honesty?—horsing foot on foot?\\r\\nSkulking in corners? Wishing clocks more swift?\\r\\nHours, minutes? Noon, midnight? and all eyes\\r\\nBlind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only,\\r\\nThat would unseen be wicked? Is this nothing?\\r\\nWhy, then the world and all that’s in’t is nothing,\\r\\nThe covering sky is nothing, Bohemia nothing,\\r\\nMy wife is nothing, nor nothing have these nothings,\\r\\nIf this be nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nGood my lord, be cur’d\\r\\nOf this diseas’d opinion, and betimes,\\r\\nFor ’tis most dangerous.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nSay it be, ’tis true.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNo, no, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nIt is; you lie, you lie:\\r\\nI say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee,\\r\\nPronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave,\\r\\nOr else a hovering temporizer that\\r\\nCanst with thine eyes at once see good and evil,\\r\\nInclining to them both. Were my wife’s liver\\r\\nInfected as her life, she would not live\\r\\nThe running of one glass.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nWho does infect her?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhy, he that wears her like her medal, hanging\\r\\nAbout his neck, Bohemia: who, if I\\r\\nHad servants true about me, that bare eyes\\r\\nTo see alike mine honour as their profits,\\r\\nTheir own particular thrifts, they would do that\\r\\nWhich should undo more doing: ay, and thou,\\r\\nHis cupbearer,—whom I from meaner form\\r\\nHave bench’d and rear’d to worship, who mayst see\\r\\nPlainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees heaven,\\r\\nHow I am galled,—mightst bespice a cup,\\r\\nTo give mine enemy a lasting wink;\\r\\nWhich draught to me were cordial.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSir, my lord,\\r\\nI could do this, and that with no rash potion,\\r\\nBut with a ling’ring dram, that should not work\\r\\nMaliciously like poison. But I cannot\\r\\nBelieve this crack to be in my dread mistress,\\r\\nSo sovereignly being honourable.\\r\\nI have lov’d thee,—\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nMake that thy question, and go rot!\\r\\nDost think I am so muddy, so unsettled,\\r\\nTo appoint myself in this vexation; sully\\r\\nThe purity and whiteness of my sheets,\\r\\n(Which to preserve is sleep, which being spotted\\r\\nIs goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps)\\r\\nGive scandal to the blood o’ th’ prince, my son,\\r\\n(Who I do think is mine, and love as mine)\\r\\nWithout ripe moving to’t? Would I do this?\\r\\nCould man so blench?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI must believe you, sir:\\r\\nI do; and will fetch off Bohemia for’t;\\r\\nProvided that, when he’s remov’d, your highness\\r\\nWill take again your queen as yours at first,\\r\\nEven for your son’s sake, and thereby for sealing\\r\\nThe injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms\\r\\nKnown and allied to yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou dost advise me\\r\\nEven so as I mine own course have set down:\\r\\nI’ll give no blemish to her honour, none.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nMy lord,\\r\\nGo then; and with a countenance as clear\\r\\nAs friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia\\r\\nAnd with your queen. I am his cupbearer.\\r\\nIf from me he have wholesome beverage,\\r\\nAccount me not your servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThis is all:\\r\\nDo’t, and thou hast the one half of my heart;\\r\\nDo’t not, thou splitt’st thine own.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI’ll do’t, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI will seem friendly, as thou hast advis’d me.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nO miserable lady! But, for me,\\r\\nWhat case stand I in? I must be the poisoner\\r\\nOf good Polixenes, and my ground to do’t\\r\\nIs the obedience to a master; one\\r\\nWho, in rebellion with himself, will have\\r\\nAll that are his so too. To do this deed,\\r\\nPromotion follows. If I could find example\\r\\nOf thousands that had struck anointed kings\\r\\nAnd flourish’d after, I’d not do’t. But since\\r\\nNor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one,\\r\\nLet villainy itself forswear’t. I must\\r\\nForsake the court: to do’t, or no, is certain\\r\\nTo me a break-neck. Happy star reign now!\\r\\nHere comes Bohemia.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Polixenes.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThis is strange. Methinks\\r\\nMy favour here begins to warp. Not speak?\\r\\nGood day, Camillo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHail, most royal sir!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWhat is the news i’ th’ court?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNone rare, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThe king hath on him such a countenance\\r\\nAs he had lost some province, and a region\\r\\nLov’d as he loves himself. Even now I met him\\r\\nWith customary compliment, when he,\\r\\nWafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling\\r\\nA lip of much contempt, speeds from me, and\\r\\nSo leaves me to consider what is breeding\\r\\nThat changes thus his manners.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI dare not know, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nHow, dare not? Do not? Do you know, and dare not?\\r\\nBe intelligent to me? ’Tis thereabouts;\\r\\nFor, to yourself, what you do know, you must,\\r\\nAnd cannot say you dare not. Good Camillo,\\r\\nYour chang’d complexions are to me a mirror\\r\\nWhich shows me mine chang’d too; for I must be\\r\\nA party in this alteration, finding\\r\\nMyself thus alter’d with’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThere is a sickness\\r\\nWhich puts some of us in distemper, but\\r\\nI cannot name the disease, and it is caught\\r\\nOf you that yet are well.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nHow caught of me?\\r\\nMake me not sighted like the basilisk.\\r\\nI have look’d on thousands who have sped the better\\r\\nBy my regard, but kill’d none so. Camillo,—\\r\\nAs you are certainly a gentleman, thereto\\r\\nClerk-like, experienc’d, which no less adorns\\r\\nOur gentry than our parents’ noble names,\\r\\nIn whose success we are gentle,—I beseech you,\\r\\nIf you know aught which does behove my knowledge\\r\\nThereof to be inform’d, imprison’t not\\r\\nIn ignorant concealment.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI may not answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nA sickness caught of me, and yet I well?\\r\\nI must be answer’d. Dost thou hear, Camillo,\\r\\nI conjure thee, by all the parts of man\\r\\nWhich honour does acknowledge, whereof the least\\r\\nIs not this suit of mine, that thou declare\\r\\nWhat incidency thou dost guess of harm\\r\\nIs creeping toward me; how far off, how near;\\r\\nWhich way to be prevented, if to be;\\r\\nIf not, how best to bear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSir, I will tell you;\\r\\nSince I am charg’d in honour, and by him\\r\\nThat I think honourable. Therefore mark my counsel,\\r\\nWhich must be ev’n as swiftly follow’d as\\r\\nI mean to utter it, or both yourself and me\\r\\nCry lost, and so goodnight!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nOn, good Camillo.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI am appointed him to murder you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nBy whom, Camillo?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBy the king.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nFor what?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHe thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears,\\r\\nAs he had seen’t or been an instrument\\r\\nTo vice you to’t, that you have touch’d his queen\\r\\nForbiddenly.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nO, then my best blood turn\\r\\nTo an infected jelly, and my name\\r\\nBe yok’d with his that did betray the Best!\\r\\nTurn then my freshest reputation to\\r\\nA savour that may strike the dullest nostril\\r\\nWhere I arrive, and my approach be shunn’d,\\r\\nNay, hated too, worse than the great’st infection\\r\\nThat e’er was heard or read!\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSwear his thought over\\r\\nBy each particular star in heaven and\\r\\nBy all their influences, you may as well\\r\\nForbid the sea for to obey the moon\\r\\nAs or by oath remove or counsel shake\\r\\nThe fabric of his folly, whose foundation\\r\\nIs pil’d upon his faith, and will continue\\r\\nThe standing of his body.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nHow should this grow?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI know not: but I am sure ’tis safer to\\r\\nAvoid what’s grown than question how ’tis born.\\r\\nIf therefore you dare trust my honesty,\\r\\nThat lies enclosed in this trunk, which you\\r\\nShall bear along impawn’d, away tonight.\\r\\nYour followers I will whisper to the business,\\r\\nAnd will by twos and threes, at several posterns,\\r\\nClear them o’ th’ city. For myself, I’ll put\\r\\nMy fortunes to your service, which are here\\r\\nBy this discovery lost. Be not uncertain,\\r\\nFor, by the honour of my parents, I\\r\\nHave utter’d truth: which if you seek to prove,\\r\\nI dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer\\r\\nThan one condemned by the king’s own mouth,\\r\\nThereon his execution sworn.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI do believe thee.\\r\\nI saw his heart in ’s face. Give me thy hand,\\r\\nBe pilot to me, and thy places shall\\r\\nStill neighbour mine. My ships are ready, and\\r\\nMy people did expect my hence departure\\r\\nTwo days ago. This jealousy\\r\\nIs for a precious creature: as she’s rare,\\r\\nMust it be great; and, as his person’s mighty,\\r\\nMust it be violent; and as he does conceive\\r\\nHe is dishonour’d by a man which ever\\r\\nProfess’d to him, why, his revenges must\\r\\nIn that be made more bitter. Fear o’ershades me.\\r\\nGood expedition be my friend, and comfort\\r\\nThe gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing\\r\\nOf his ill-ta’en suspicion! Come, Camillo,\\r\\nI will respect thee as a father if\\r\\nThou bear’st my life off hence. Let us avoid.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nIt is in mine authority to command\\r\\nThe keys of all the posterns: please your highness\\r\\nTo take the urgent hour. Come, sir, away.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT II\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Sicilia. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Hermione, Mamillius and Ladies.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nTake the boy to you: he so troubles me,\\r\\n’Tis past enduring.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LADY.\\r\\nCome, my gracious lord,\\r\\nShall I be your playfellow?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nNo, I’ll none of you.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LADY.\\r\\nWhy, my sweet lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nYou’ll kiss me hard, and speak to me as if\\r\\nI were a baby still. I love you better.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LADY.\\r\\nAnd why so, my lord?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nNot for because\\r\\nYour brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say,\\r\\nBecome some women best, so that there be not\\r\\nToo much hair there, but in a semicircle\\r\\nOr a half-moon made with a pen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LADY.\\r\\nWho taught this?\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nI learn’d it out of women’s faces. Pray now,\\r\\nWhat colour are your eyebrows?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LADY.\\r\\nBlue, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nNay, that’s a mock. I have seen a lady’s nose\\r\\nThat has been blue, but not her eyebrows.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LADY.\\r\\nHark ye,\\r\\nThe queen your mother rounds apace. We shall\\r\\nPresent our services to a fine new prince\\r\\nOne of these days, and then you’d wanton with us,\\r\\nIf we would have you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND LADY.\\r\\nShe is spread of late\\r\\nInto a goodly bulk: good time encounter her!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWhat wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now\\r\\nI am for you again. Pray you sit by us,\\r\\nAnd tell ’s a tale.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nMerry or sad shall’t be?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nAs merry as you will.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nA sad tale’s best for winter. I have one\\r\\nOf sprites and goblins.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nLet’s have that, good sir.\\r\\nCome on, sit down. Come on, and do your best\\r\\nTo fright me with your sprites: you’re powerful at it.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nThere was a man,—\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNay, come, sit down, then on.\\r\\n\\r\\nMAMILLIUS.\\r\\nDwelt by a churchyard. I will tell it softly,\\r\\nYond crickets shall not hear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nCome on then,\\r\\nAnd give’t me in mine ear.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords and Guards.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWas he met there? his train? Camillo with him?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nBehind the tuft of pines I met them, never\\r\\nSaw I men scour so on their way: I ey’d them\\r\\nEven to their ships.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow blest am I\\r\\nIn my just censure, in my true opinion!\\r\\nAlack, for lesser knowledge! How accurs’d\\r\\nIn being so blest! There may be in the cup\\r\\nA spider steep’d, and one may drink, depart,\\r\\nAnd yet partake no venom, for his knowledge\\r\\nIs not infected; but if one present\\r\\nTh’ abhorr’d ingredient to his eye, make known\\r\\nHow he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides,\\r\\nWith violent hefts. I have drunk, and seen the spider.\\r\\nCamillo was his help in this, his pander.\\r\\nThere is a plot against my life, my crown;\\r\\nAll’s true that is mistrusted. That false villain\\r\\nWhom I employ’d, was pre-employ’d by him.\\r\\nHe has discover’d my design, and I\\r\\nRemain a pinch’d thing; yea, a very trick\\r\\nFor them to play at will. How came the posterns\\r\\nSo easily open?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nBy his great authority,\\r\\nWhich often hath no less prevail’d than so\\r\\nOn your command.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI know’t too well.\\r\\nGive me the boy. I am glad you did not nurse him.\\r\\nThough he does bear some signs of me, yet you\\r\\nHave too much blood in him.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWhat is this? sport?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nBear the boy hence, he shall not come about her,\\r\\nAway with him, and let her sport herself\\r\\nWith that she’s big with; for ’tis Polixenes\\r\\nHas made thee swell thus.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Mamillius with some of the Guards._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nBut I’d say he had not,\\r\\nAnd I’ll be sworn you would believe my saying,\\r\\nHowe’er you learn th’ nayward.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou, my lords,\\r\\nLook on her, mark her well. Be but about\\r\\nTo say, “she is a goodly lady,” and\\r\\nThe justice of your hearts will thereto add\\r\\n“’Tis pity she’s not honest, honourable”:\\r\\nPraise her but for this her without-door form,\\r\\nWhich on my faith deserves high speech, and straight\\r\\nThe shrug, the hum or ha, these petty brands\\r\\nThat calumny doth use—O, I am out,\\r\\nThat mercy does; for calumny will sear\\r\\nVirtue itself—these shrugs, these hum’s, and ha’s,\\r\\nWhen you have said “she’s goodly,” come between,\\r\\nEre you can say “she’s honest”: but be it known,\\r\\nFrom him that has most cause to grieve it should be,\\r\\nShe’s an adultress!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nShould a villain say so,\\r\\nThe most replenish’d villain in the world,\\r\\nHe were as much more villain: you, my lord,\\r\\nDo but mistake.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou have mistook, my lady,\\r\\nPolixenes for Leontes O thou thing,\\r\\nWhich I’ll not call a creature of thy place,\\r\\nLest barbarism, making me the precedent,\\r\\nShould a like language use to all degrees,\\r\\nAnd mannerly distinguishment leave out\\r\\nBetwixt the prince and beggar. I have said\\r\\nShe’s an adultress; I have said with whom:\\r\\nMore, she’s a traitor, and Camillo is\\r\\nA federary with her; and one that knows\\r\\nWhat she should shame to know herself\\r\\nBut with her most vile principal, that she’s\\r\\nA bed-swerver, even as bad as those\\r\\nThat vulgars give bold’st titles; ay, and privy\\r\\nTo this their late escape.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nNo, by my life,\\r\\nPrivy to none of this. How will this grieve you,\\r\\nWhen you shall come to clearer knowledge, that\\r\\nYou thus have publish’d me! Gentle my lord,\\r\\nYou scarce can right me throughly then, to say\\r\\nYou did mistake.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNo. If I mistake\\r\\nIn those foundations which I build upon,\\r\\nThe centre is not big enough to bear\\r\\nA school-boy’s top. Away with her to prison!\\r\\nHe who shall speak for her is afar off guilty\\r\\nBut that he speaks.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nThere’s some ill planet reigns:\\r\\nI must be patient till the heavens look\\r\\nWith an aspect more favourable. Good my lords,\\r\\nI am not prone to weeping, as our sex\\r\\nCommonly are; the want of which vain dew\\r\\nPerchance shall dry your pities. But I have\\r\\nThat honourable grief lodg’d here which burns\\r\\nWorse than tears drown: beseech you all, my lords,\\r\\nWith thoughts so qualified as your charities\\r\\nShall best instruct you, measure me; and so\\r\\nThe king’s will be perform’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nShall I be heard?\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nWho is’t that goes with me? Beseech your highness\\r\\nMy women may be with me, for you see\\r\\nMy plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools;\\r\\nThere is no cause: when you shall know your mistress\\r\\nHas deserv’d prison, then abound in tears\\r\\nAs I come out: this action I now go on\\r\\nIs for my better grace. Adieu, my lord:\\r\\nI never wish’d to see you sorry; now\\r\\nI trust I shall. My women, come; you have leave.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGo, do our bidding. Hence!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Queen and Ladies with Guards._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nBeseech your highness, call the queen again.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nBe certain what you do, sir, lest your justice\\r\\nProve violence, in the which three great ones suffer,\\r\\nYourself, your queen, your son.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nFor her, my lord,\\r\\nI dare my life lay down, and will do’t, sir,\\r\\nPlease you to accept it, that the queen is spotless\\r\\nI’ th’ eyes of heaven and to you—I mean\\r\\nIn this which you accuse her.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nIf it prove\\r\\nShe’s otherwise, I’ll keep my stables where\\r\\nI lodge my wife; I’ll go in couples with her;\\r\\nThan when I feel and see her no further trust her.\\r\\nFor every inch of woman in the world,\\r\\nAy, every dram of woman’s flesh, is false,\\r\\nIf she be.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHold your peaces.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nGood my lord,—\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nIt is for you we speak, not for ourselves:\\r\\nYou are abus’d, and by some putter-on\\r\\nThat will be damn’d for’t: would I knew the villain,\\r\\nI would land-damn him. Be she honour-flaw’d,\\r\\nI have three daughters; the eldest is eleven;\\r\\nThe second and the third, nine and some five;\\r\\nIf this prove true, they’ll pay for’t. By mine honour,\\r\\nI’ll geld ’em all; fourteen they shall not see,\\r\\nTo bring false generations: they are co-heirs,\\r\\nAnd I had rather glib myself than they\\r\\nShould not produce fair issue.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nCease; no more.\\r\\nYou smell this business with a sense as cold\\r\\nAs is a dead man’s nose: but I do see’t and feel’t,\\r\\nAs you feel doing thus; and see withal\\r\\nThe instruments that feel.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nIf it be so,\\r\\nWe need no grave to bury honesty.\\r\\nThere’s not a grain of it the face to sweeten\\r\\nOf the whole dungy earth.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat! Lack I credit?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nI had rather you did lack than I, my lord,\\r\\nUpon this ground: and more it would content me\\r\\nTo have her honour true than your suspicion,\\r\\nBe blam’d for’t how you might.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhy, what need we\\r\\nCommune with you of this, but rather follow\\r\\nOur forceful instigation? Our prerogative\\r\\nCalls not your counsels, but our natural goodness\\r\\nImparts this; which, if you, or stupified\\r\\nOr seeming so in skill, cannot or will not\\r\\nRelish a truth, like us, inform yourselves\\r\\nWe need no more of your advice: the matter,\\r\\nThe loss, the gain, the ord’ring on’t, is all\\r\\nProperly ours.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nAnd I wish, my liege,\\r\\nYou had only in your silent judgement tried it,\\r\\nWithout more overture.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow could that be?\\r\\nEither thou art most ignorant by age,\\r\\nOr thou wert born a fool. Camillo’s flight,\\r\\nAdded to their familiarity,\\r\\n(Which was as gross as ever touch’d conjecture,\\r\\nThat lack’d sight only, nought for approbation\\r\\nBut only seeing, all other circumstances\\r\\nMade up to th’ deed) doth push on this proceeding.\\r\\nYet, for a greater confirmation\\r\\n(For in an act of this importance, ’twere\\r\\nMost piteous to be wild), I have dispatch’d in post\\r\\nTo sacred Delphos, to Apollo’s temple,\\r\\nCleomenes and Dion, whom you know\\r\\nOf stuff’d sufficiency: now from the oracle\\r\\nThey will bring all, whose spiritual counsel had,\\r\\nShall stop or spur me. Have I done well?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nWell done, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThough I am satisfied, and need no more\\r\\nThan what I know, yet shall the oracle\\r\\nGive rest to the minds of others, such as he\\r\\nWhose ignorant credulity will not\\r\\nCome up to th’ truth. So have we thought it good\\r\\nFrom our free person she should be confin’d,\\r\\nLest that the treachery of the two fled hence\\r\\nBe left her to perform. Come, follow us;\\r\\nWe are to speak in public; for this business\\r\\nWill raise us all.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] To laughter, as I take it,\\r\\nIf the good truth were known.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. The outer Room of a Prison.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paulina a Gentleman and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThe keeper of the prison, call to him;\\r\\nLet him have knowledge who I am.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit the Gentleman._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGood lady!\\r\\nNo court in Europe is too good for thee;\\r\\nWhat dost thou then in prison?\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Gentleman with the Gaoler.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow, good sir,\\r\\nYou know me, do you not?\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nFor a worthy lady\\r\\nAnd one who much I honour.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nPray you then,\\r\\nConduct me to the queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nI may not, madam.\\r\\nTo the contrary I have express commandment.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nHere’s ado, to lock up honesty and honour from\\r\\nTh’ access of gentle visitors! Is’t lawful, pray you,\\r\\nTo see her women? any of them? Emilia?\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nSo please you, madam,\\r\\nTo put apart these your attendants, I\\r\\nShall bring Emilia forth.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI pray now, call her.\\r\\nWithdraw yourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Gentleman and Attendants._]\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nAnd, madam,\\r\\nI must be present at your conference.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWell, be’t so, prithee.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Gaoler._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHere’s such ado to make no stain a stain\\r\\nAs passes colouring.\\r\\n\\r\\n Re-enter Gaoler with Emilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nDear gentlewoman,\\r\\nHow fares our gracious lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nAs well as one so great and so forlorn\\r\\nMay hold together: on her frights and griefs,\\r\\n(Which never tender lady hath borne greater)\\r\\nShe is, something before her time, deliver’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nA boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nA daughter; and a goodly babe,\\r\\nLusty, and like to live: the queen receives\\r\\nMuch comfort in ’t; says “My poor prisoner,\\r\\nI am as innocent as you.”\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI dare be sworn.\\r\\nThese dangerous unsafe lunes i’ th’ king, beshrew them!\\r\\nHe must be told on’t, and he shall: the office\\r\\nBecomes a woman best. I’ll take’t upon me.\\r\\nIf I prove honey-mouth’d, let my tongue blister,\\r\\nAnd never to my red-look’d anger be\\r\\nThe trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia,\\r\\nCommend my best obedience to the queen.\\r\\nIf she dares trust me with her little babe,\\r\\nI’ll show’t the king, and undertake to be\\r\\nHer advocate to th’ loud’st. We do not know\\r\\nHow he may soften at the sight o’ th’ child:\\r\\nThe silence often of pure innocence\\r\\nPersuades, when speaking fails.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nMost worthy madam,\\r\\nYour honour and your goodness is so evident,\\r\\nThat your free undertaking cannot miss\\r\\nA thriving issue: there is no lady living\\r\\nSo meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship\\r\\nTo visit the next room, I’ll presently\\r\\nAcquaint the queen of your most noble offer,\\r\\nWho but today hammer’d of this design,\\r\\nBut durst not tempt a minister of honour,\\r\\nLest she should be denied.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nTell her, Emilia,\\r\\nI’ll use that tongue I have: if wit flow from ’t\\r\\nAs boldness from my bosom, let’t not be doubted\\r\\nI shall do good.\\r\\n\\r\\nEMILIA.\\r\\nNow be you blest for it!\\r\\nI’ll to the queen: please you come something nearer.\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nMadam, if ’t please the queen to send the babe,\\r\\nI know not what I shall incur to pass it,\\r\\nHaving no warrant.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nYou need not fear it, sir:\\r\\nThis child was prisoner to the womb, and is,\\r\\nBy law and process of great nature thence\\r\\nFreed and enfranchis’d: not a party to\\r\\nThe anger of the king, nor guilty of,\\r\\nIf any be, the trespass of the queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nGAOLER.\\r\\nI do believe it.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nDo not you fear: upon mine honour, I\\r\\nWill stand betwixt you and danger.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A Room in the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords and other Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNor night nor day no rest: it is but weakness\\r\\nTo bear the matter thus, mere weakness. If\\r\\nThe cause were not in being,—part o’ th’ cause,\\r\\nShe th’ adultress; for the harlot king\\r\\nIs quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank\\r\\nAnd level of my brain, plot-proof. But she\\r\\nI can hook to me. Say that she were gone,\\r\\nGiven to the fire, a moiety of my rest\\r\\nMight come to me again. Who’s there?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST ATTENDANT.\\r\\nMy lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow does the boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST ATTENDANT.\\r\\nHe took good rest tonight;\\r\\n’Tis hop’d his sickness is discharg’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTo see his nobleness,\\r\\nConceiving the dishonour of his mother.\\r\\nHe straight declin’d, droop’d, took it deeply,\\r\\nFasten’d and fix’d the shame on’t in himself,\\r\\nThrew off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep,\\r\\nAnd downright languish’d. Leave me solely: go,\\r\\nSee how he fares.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit First Attendant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFie, fie! no thought of him.\\r\\nThe very thought of my revenges that way\\r\\nRecoil upon me: in himself too mighty,\\r\\nAnd in his parties, his alliance. Let him be,\\r\\nUntil a time may serve. For present vengeance,\\r\\nTake it on her. Camillo and Polixenes\\r\\nLaugh at me; make their pastime at my sorrow:\\r\\nThey should not laugh if I could reach them, nor\\r\\nShall she, within my power.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paulina carrying a baby, with Antigonus, lords and servants.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nYou must not enter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNay, rather, good my lords, be second to me:\\r\\nFear you his tyrannous passion more, alas,\\r\\nThan the queen’s life? a gracious innocent soul,\\r\\nMore free than he is jealous.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nThat’s enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMadam, he hath not slept tonight; commanded\\r\\nNone should come at him.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNot so hot, good sir;\\r\\nI come to bring him sleep. ’Tis such as you,\\r\\nThat creep like shadows by him, and do sigh\\r\\nAt each his needless heavings,—such as you\\r\\nNourish the cause of his awaking. I\\r\\nDo come with words as med’cinal as true,\\r\\nHonest as either, to purge him of that humour\\r\\nThat presses him from sleep.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat noise there, ho?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNo noise, my lord; but needful conference\\r\\nAbout some gossips for your highness.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow!\\r\\nAway with that audacious lady! Antigonus,\\r\\nI charg’d thee that she should not come about me.\\r\\nI knew she would.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI told her so, my lord,\\r\\nOn your displeasure’s peril and on mine,\\r\\nShe should not visit you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat, canst not rule her?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nFrom all dishonesty he can. In this,\\r\\nUnless he take the course that you have done,\\r\\nCommit me for committing honour—trust it,\\r\\nHe shall not rule me.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nLa you now, you hear.\\r\\nWhen she will take the rein I let her run;\\r\\nBut she’ll not stumble.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nGood my liege, I come,—\\r\\nAnd, I beseech you hear me, who professes\\r\\nMyself your loyal servant, your physician,\\r\\nYour most obedient counsellor, yet that dares\\r\\nLess appear so, in comforting your evils,\\r\\nThan such as most seem yours—I say I come\\r\\nFrom your good queen.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGood queen!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nGood queen, my lord, good queen: I say, good queen,\\r\\nAnd would by combat make her good, so were I\\r\\nA man, the worst about you.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nForce her hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nLet him that makes but trifles of his eyes\\r\\nFirst hand me: on mine own accord I’ll off;\\r\\nBut first I’ll do my errand. The good queen,\\r\\n(For she is good) hath brought you forth a daughter;\\r\\nHere ’tis; commends it to your blessing.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Laying down the child._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nOut!\\r\\nA mankind witch! Hence with her, out o’ door:\\r\\nA most intelligencing bawd!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNot so.\\r\\nI am as ignorant in that as you\\r\\nIn so entitling me; and no less honest\\r\\nThan you are mad; which is enough, I’ll warrant,\\r\\nAs this world goes, to pass for honest.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTraitors!\\r\\nWill you not push her out? [_To Antigonus._] Give her the bastard,\\r\\nThou dotard! Thou art woman-tir’d, unroosted\\r\\nBy thy Dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard,\\r\\nTake’t up, I say; give’t to thy crone.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nFor ever\\r\\nUnvenerable be thy hands, if thou\\r\\nTak’st up the princess by that forced baseness\\r\\nWhich he has put upon ’t!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHe dreads his wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nSo I would you did; then ’twere past all doubt\\r\\nYou’d call your children yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nA nest of traitors!\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI am none, by this good light.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNor I; nor any\\r\\nBut one that’s here, and that’s himself. For he\\r\\nThe sacred honour of himself, his queen’s,\\r\\nHis hopeful son’s, his babe’s, betrays to slander,\\r\\nWhose sting is sharper than the sword’s; and will not,\\r\\n(For, as the case now stands, it is a curse\\r\\nHe cannot be compell’d to’t) once remove\\r\\nThe root of his opinion, which is rotten\\r\\nAs ever oak or stone was sound.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nA callat\\r\\nOf boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband,\\r\\nAnd now baits me! This brat is none of mine;\\r\\nIt is the issue of Polixenes.\\r\\nHence with it, and together with the dam\\r\\nCommit them to the fire.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nIt is yours;\\r\\nAnd, might we lay th’ old proverb to your charge,\\r\\nSo like you ’tis the worse. Behold, my lords,\\r\\nAlthough the print be little, the whole matter\\r\\nAnd copy of the father: eye, nose, lip,\\r\\nThe trick of ’s frown, his forehead; nay, the valley,\\r\\nThe pretty dimples of his chin and cheek; his smiles;\\r\\nThe very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger:\\r\\nAnd thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it\\r\\nSo like to him that got it, if thou hast\\r\\nThe ordering of the mind too, ’mongst all colours\\r\\nNo yellow in ’t, lest she suspect, as he does,\\r\\nHer children not her husband’s!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nA gross hag!\\r\\nAnd, losel, thou art worthy to be hang’d\\r\\nThat wilt not stay her tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nHang all the husbands\\r\\nThat cannot do that feat, you’ll leave yourself\\r\\nHardly one subject.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nOnce more, take her hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nA most unworthy and unnatural lord\\r\\nCan do no more.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI’ll have thee burnt.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI care not.\\r\\nIt is an heretic that makes the fire,\\r\\nNot she which burns in ’t. I’ll not call you tyrant;\\r\\nBut this most cruel usage of your queen,\\r\\nNot able to produce more accusation\\r\\nThan your own weak-hing’d fancy, something savours\\r\\nOf tyranny, and will ignoble make you,\\r\\nYea, scandalous to the world.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nOn your allegiance,\\r\\nOut of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant,\\r\\nWhere were her life? She durst not call me so,\\r\\nIf she did know me one. Away with her!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI pray you, do not push me; I’ll be gone.\\r\\nLook to your babe, my lord; ’tis yours: Jove send her\\r\\nA better guiding spirit! What needs these hands?\\r\\nYou that are thus so tender o’er his follies,\\r\\nWill never do him good, not one of you.\\r\\nSo, so. Farewell; we are gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.\\r\\nMy child? Away with’t. Even thou, that hast\\r\\nA heart so tender o’er it, take it hence,\\r\\nAnd see it instantly consum’d with fire;\\r\\nEven thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight:\\r\\nWithin this hour bring me word ’tis done,\\r\\nAnd by good testimony, or I’ll seize thy life,\\r\\nWith that thou else call’st thine. If thou refuse\\r\\nAnd wilt encounter with my wrath, say so;\\r\\nThe bastard brains with these my proper hands\\r\\nShall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire;\\r\\nFor thou set’st on thy wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI did not, sir:\\r\\nThese lords, my noble fellows, if they please,\\r\\nCan clear me in ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORDS\\r\\nWe can: my royal liege,\\r\\nHe is not guilty of her coming hither.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou’re liars all.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nBeseech your highness, give us better credit:\\r\\nWe have always truly serv’d you; and beseech\\r\\nSo to esteem of us. And on our knees we beg,\\r\\nAs recompense of our dear services\\r\\nPast and to come, that you do change this purpose,\\r\\nWhich being so horrible, so bloody, must\\r\\nLead on to some foul issue. We all kneel.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI am a feather for each wind that blows.\\r\\nShall I live on to see this bastard kneel\\r\\nAnd call me father? better burn it now\\r\\nThan curse it then. But be it; let it live.\\r\\nIt shall not neither. [_To Antigonus._] You, sir, come you hither,\\r\\nYou that have been so tenderly officious\\r\\nWith Lady Margery, your midwife, there,\\r\\nTo save this bastard’s life—for ’tis a bastard,\\r\\nSo sure as this beard’s grey. What will you adventure\\r\\nTo save this brat’s life?\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nAnything, my lord,\\r\\nThat my ability may undergo,\\r\\nAnd nobleness impose: at least thus much:\\r\\nI’ll pawn the little blood which I have left\\r\\nTo save the innocent. Anything possible.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nIt shall be possible. Swear by this sword\\r\\nThou wilt perform my bidding.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI will, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nMark, and perform it, seest thou? for the fail\\r\\nOf any point in’t shall not only be\\r\\nDeath to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongu’d wife,\\r\\nWhom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee,\\r\\nAs thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry\\r\\nThis female bastard hence, and that thou bear it\\r\\nTo some remote and desert place, quite out\\r\\nOf our dominions; and that there thou leave it,\\r\\nWithout more mercy, to it own protection\\r\\nAnd favour of the climate. As by strange fortune\\r\\nIt came to us, I do in justice charge thee,\\r\\nOn thy soul’s peril and thy body’s torture,\\r\\nThat thou commend it strangely to some place\\r\\nWhere chance may nurse or end it. Take it up.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nI swear to do this, though a present death\\r\\nHad been more merciful. Come on, poor babe:\\r\\nSome powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens\\r\\nTo be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say,\\r\\nCasting their savageness aside, have done\\r\\nLike offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous\\r\\nIn more than this deed does require! And blessing\\r\\nAgainst this cruelty, fight on thy side,\\r\\nPoor thing, condemn’d to loss!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with the child._]\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNo, I’ll not rear\\r\\nAnother’s issue.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nPlease your highness, posts\\r\\nFrom those you sent to th’ oracle are come\\r\\nAn hour since: Cleomenes and Dion,\\r\\nBeing well arriv’d from Delphos, are both landed,\\r\\nHasting to th’ court.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nSo please you, sir, their speed\\r\\nHath been beyond account.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTwenty-three days\\r\\nThey have been absent: ’tis good speed; foretells\\r\\nThe great Apollo suddenly will have\\r\\nThe truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords;\\r\\nSummon a session, that we may arraign\\r\\nOur most disloyal lady; for, as she hath\\r\\nBeen publicly accus’d, so shall she have\\r\\nA just and open trial. While she lives,\\r\\nMy heart will be a burden to me. Leave me,\\r\\nAnd think upon my bidding.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT III\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Sicilia. A Street in some Town.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Cleomenes and Dion.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nThe climate’s delicate; the air most sweet,\\r\\nFertile the isle, the temple much surpassing\\r\\nThe common praise it bears.\\r\\n\\r\\nDION.\\r\\nI shall report,\\r\\nFor most it caught me, the celestial habits\\r\\n(Methinks I so should term them) and the reverence\\r\\nOf the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice!\\r\\nHow ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly,\\r\\nIt was i’ th’ offering!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nBut of all, the burst\\r\\nAnd the ear-deaf’ning voice o’ th’ oracle,\\r\\nKin to Jove’s thunder, so surprised my sense\\r\\nThat I was nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nDION.\\r\\nIf the event o’ th’ journey\\r\\nProve as successful to the queen,—O, be’t so!—\\r\\nAs it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy,\\r\\nThe time is worth the use on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nGreat Apollo\\r\\nTurn all to th’ best! These proclamations,\\r\\nSo forcing faults upon Hermione,\\r\\nI little like.\\r\\n\\r\\nDION.\\r\\nThe violent carriage of it\\r\\nWill clear or end the business: when the oracle,\\r\\n(Thus by Apollo’s great divine seal’d up)\\r\\nShall the contents discover, something rare\\r\\nEven then will rush to knowledge. Go. Fresh horses!\\r\\nAnd gracious be the issue!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. A Court of Justice.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Lords and Officers appear, properly seated.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThis sessions (to our great grief we pronounce)\\r\\nEven pushes ’gainst our heart: the party tried\\r\\nThe daughter of a king, our wife, and one\\r\\nOf us too much belov’d. Let us be clear’d\\r\\nOf being tyrannous, since we so openly\\r\\nProceed in justice, which shall have due course,\\r\\nEven to the guilt or the purgation.\\r\\nProduce the prisoner.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nIt is his highness’ pleasure that the queen\\r\\nAppear in person here in court. Silence!\\r\\n\\r\\n Hermione is brought in guarded; Paulina and Ladies attending.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nRead the indictment.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\n[_Reads._] “Hermione, queen to the worthy Leontes, king of Sicilia,\\r\\nthou art here accused and arraigned of high treason, in committing\\r\\nadultery with Polixenes, king of Bohemia; and conspiring with Camillo\\r\\nto take away the life of our sovereign lord the king, thy royal\\r\\nhusband: the pretence whereof being by circumstances partly laid open,\\r\\nthou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance of a true subject,\\r\\ndidst counsel and aid them, for their better safety, to fly away by\\r\\nnight.”\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nSince what I am to say must be but that\\r\\nWhich contradicts my accusation, and\\r\\nThe testimony on my part no other\\r\\nBut what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me\\r\\nTo say “Not guilty”. Mine integrity,\\r\\nBeing counted falsehood, shall, as I express it,\\r\\nBe so receiv’d. But thus, if powers divine\\r\\nBehold our human actions, as they do,\\r\\nI doubt not, then, but innocence shall make\\r\\nFalse accusation blush, and tyranny\\r\\nTremble at patience. You, my lord, best know,\\r\\nWho least will seem to do so, my past life\\r\\nHath been as continent, as chaste, as true,\\r\\nAs I am now unhappy; which is more\\r\\nThan history can pattern, though devis’d\\r\\nAnd play’d to take spectators. For behold me,\\r\\nA fellow of the royal bed, which owe\\r\\nA moiety of the throne, a great king’s daughter,\\r\\nThe mother to a hopeful prince, here standing\\r\\nTo prate and talk for life and honour ’fore\\r\\nWho please to come and hear. For life, I prize it\\r\\nAs I weigh grief, which I would spare. For honour,\\r\\n’Tis a derivative from me to mine,\\r\\nAnd only that I stand for. I appeal\\r\\nTo your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes\\r\\nCame to your court, how I was in your grace,\\r\\nHow merited to be so; since he came,\\r\\nWith what encounter so uncurrent I\\r\\nHave strain’d t’ appear thus: if one jot beyond\\r\\nThe bound of honour, or in act or will\\r\\nThat way inclining, harden’d be the hearts\\r\\nOf all that hear me, and my near’st of kin\\r\\nCry fie upon my grave!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI ne’er heard yet\\r\\nThat any of these bolder vices wanted\\r\\nLess impudence to gainsay what they did\\r\\nThan to perform it first.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nThat’s true enough;\\r\\nThough ’tis a saying, sir, not due to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou will not own it.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nMore than mistress of\\r\\nWhich comes to me in name of fault, I must not\\r\\nAt all acknowledge. For Polixenes,\\r\\nWith whom I am accus’d, I do confess\\r\\nI lov’d him as in honour he requir’d,\\r\\nWith such a kind of love as might become\\r\\nA lady like me; with a love even such,\\r\\nSo and no other, as yourself commanded:\\r\\nWhich not to have done, I think had been in me\\r\\nBoth disobedience and ingratitude\\r\\nTo you and toward your friend, whose love had spoke,\\r\\nEver since it could speak, from an infant, freely,\\r\\nThat it was yours. Now, for conspiracy,\\r\\nI know not how it tastes, though it be dish’d\\r\\nFor me to try how: all I know of it\\r\\nIs that Camillo was an honest man;\\r\\nAnd why he left your court, the gods themselves,\\r\\nWotting no more than I, are ignorant.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou knew of his departure, as you know\\r\\nWhat you have underta’en to do in ’s absence.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nSir,\\r\\nYou speak a language that I understand not:\\r\\nMy life stands in the level of your dreams,\\r\\nWhich I’ll lay down.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYour actions are my dreams.\\r\\nYou had a bastard by Polixenes,\\r\\nAnd I but dream’d it. As you were past all shame\\r\\n(Those of your fact are so) so past all truth,\\r\\nWhich to deny concerns more than avails; for as\\r\\nThy brat hath been cast out, like to itself,\\r\\nNo father owning it (which is, indeed,\\r\\nMore criminal in thee than it), so thou\\r\\nShalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage\\r\\nLook for no less than death.\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nSir, spare your threats:\\r\\nThe bug which you would fright me with, I seek.\\r\\nTo me can life be no commodity.\\r\\nThe crown and comfort of my life, your favour,\\r\\nI do give lost, for I do feel it gone,\\r\\nBut know not how it went. My second joy,\\r\\nAnd first-fruits of my body, from his presence\\r\\nI am barr’d, like one infectious. My third comfort,\\r\\nStarr’d most unluckily, is from my breast,\\r\\n(The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth)\\r\\nHal’d out to murder; myself on every post\\r\\nProclaim’d a strumpet; with immodest hatred\\r\\nThe child-bed privilege denied, which ’longs\\r\\nTo women of all fashion; lastly, hurried\\r\\nHere to this place, i’ th’ open air, before\\r\\nI have got strength of limit. Now, my liege,\\r\\nTell me what blessings I have here alive,\\r\\nThat I should fear to die. Therefore proceed.\\r\\nBut yet hear this: mistake me not: no life,\\r\\nI prize it not a straw, but for mine honour,\\r\\nWhich I would free, if I shall be condemn’d\\r\\nUpon surmises, all proofs sleeping else\\r\\nBut what your jealousies awake I tell you\\r\\n’Tis rigour, and not law. Your honours all,\\r\\nI do refer me to the oracle:\\r\\nApollo be my judge!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nThis your request\\r\\nIs altogether just: therefore bring forth,\\r\\nAnd in Apollo’s name, his oracle:\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt certain Officers._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nThe Emperor of Russia was my father.\\r\\nO that he were alive, and here beholding\\r\\nHis daughter’s trial! that he did but see\\r\\nThe flatness of my misery; yet with eyes\\r\\nOf pity, not revenge!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Officers with Cleomenes and Dion.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nYou here shall swear upon this sword of justice,\\r\\nThat you, Cleomenes and Dion, have\\r\\nBeen both at Delphos, and from thence have brought\\r\\nThis seal’d-up oracle, by the hand deliver’d\\r\\nOf great Apollo’s priest; and that since then\\r\\nYou have not dared to break the holy seal,\\r\\nNor read the secrets in’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES, DION.\\r\\nAll this we swear.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nBreak up the seals and read.\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\n[_Reads._] “Hermione is chaste; Polixenes blameless; Camillo a true\\r\\nsubject; Leontes a jealous tyrant; his innocent babe truly begotten;\\r\\nand the king shall live without an heir, if that which is lost be not\\r\\nfound.”\\r\\n\\r\\nLORDS\\r\\nNow blessed be the great Apollo!\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nPraised!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHast thou read truth?\\r\\n\\r\\nOFFICER.\\r\\nAy, my lord, even so\\r\\nAs it is here set down.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThere is no truth at all i’ th’ oracle:\\r\\nThe sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant hastily.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMy lord the king, the king!\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat is the business?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nO sir, I shall be hated to report it.\\r\\nThe prince your son, with mere conceit and fear\\r\\nOf the queen’s speed, is gone.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHow! gone?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nIs dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nApollo’s angry, and the heavens themselves\\r\\nDo strike at my injustice.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Hermione faints._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHow now there?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThis news is mortal to the queen. Look down\\r\\nAnd see what death is doing.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nTake her hence:\\r\\nHer heart is but o’ercharg’d; she will recover.\\r\\nI have too much believ’d mine own suspicion.\\r\\nBeseech you tenderly apply to her\\r\\nSome remedies for life.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Paulina and Ladies with Hermione._]\\r\\n\\r\\nApollo, pardon\\r\\nMy great profaneness ’gainst thine oracle!\\r\\nI’ll reconcile me to Polixenes,\\r\\nNew woo my queen,\\t recall the good Camillo,\\r\\nWhom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy;\\r\\nFor, being transported by my jealousies\\r\\nTo bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose\\r\\nCamillo for the minister to poison\\r\\nMy friend Polixenes: which had been done,\\r\\nBut that the good mind of Camillo tardied\\r\\nMy swift command, though I with death and with\\r\\nReward did threaten and encourage him,\\r\\nNot doing it and being done. He, most humane\\r\\nAnd fill’d with honour, to my kingly guest\\r\\nUnclasp’d my practice, quit his fortunes here,\\r\\nWhich you knew great, and to the certain hazard\\r\\nOf all incertainties himself commended,\\r\\nNo richer than his honour. How he glisters\\r\\nThorough my rust! And how his piety\\r\\nDoes my deeds make the blacker!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Paulina.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWoe the while!\\r\\nO, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,\\r\\nBreak too!\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nWhat fit is this, good lady?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWhat studied torments, tyrant, hast for me?\\r\\nWhat wheels? racks? fires? what flaying? boiling\\r\\nIn leads or oils? What old or newer torture\\r\\nMust I receive, whose every word deserves\\r\\nTo taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny,\\r\\nTogether working with thy jealousies,\\r\\nFancies too weak for boys, too green and idle\\r\\nFor girls of nine. O, think what they have done,\\r\\nAnd then run mad indeed, stark mad! for all\\r\\nThy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.\\r\\nThat thou betray’dst Polixenes, ’twas nothing;\\r\\nThat did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant\\r\\nAnd damnable ingrateful; nor was’t much\\r\\nThou wouldst have poison’d good Camillo’s honour,\\r\\nTo have him kill a king; poor trespasses,\\r\\nMore monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon\\r\\nThe casting forth to crows thy baby daughter,\\r\\nTo be or none or little, though a devil\\r\\nWould have shed water out of fire ere done’t,\\r\\nNor is’t directly laid to thee the death\\r\\nOf the young prince, whose honourable thoughts,\\r\\nThoughts high for one so tender, cleft the heart\\r\\nThat could conceive a gross and foolish sire\\r\\nBlemish’d his gracious dam: this is not, no,\\r\\nLaid to thy answer: but the last—O lords,\\r\\nWhen I have said, cry Woe!—the queen, the queen,\\r\\nThe sweet’st, dear’st creature’s dead, and vengeance for’t\\r\\nNot dropp’d down yet.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nThe higher powers forbid!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI say she’s dead: I’ll swear’t. If word nor oath\\r\\nPrevail not, go and see: if you can bring\\r\\nTincture, or lustre, in her lip, her eye,\\r\\nHeat outwardly or breath within, I’ll serve you\\r\\nAs I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant!\\r\\nDo not repent these things, for they are heavier\\r\\nThan all thy woes can stir. Therefore betake thee\\r\\nTo nothing but despair. A thousand knees\\r\\nTen thousand years together, naked, fasting,\\r\\nUpon a barren mountain, and still winter\\r\\nIn storm perpetual, could not move the gods\\r\\nTo look that way thou wert.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGo on, go on:\\r\\nThou canst not speak too much; I have deserv’d\\r\\nAll tongues to talk their bitterest.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST LORD.\\r\\nSay no more:\\r\\nHowe’er the business goes, you have made fault\\r\\nI’ th’ boldness of your speech.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI am sorry for ’t:\\r\\nAll faults I make, when I shall come to know them,\\r\\nI do repent. Alas, I have show’d too much\\r\\nThe rashness of a woman: he is touch’d\\r\\nTo th’ noble heart. What’s gone and what’s past help,\\r\\nShould be past grief. Do not receive affliction\\r\\nAt my petition; I beseech you, rather\\r\\nLet me be punish’d, that have minded you\\r\\nOf what you should forget. Now, good my liege,\\r\\nSir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman:\\r\\nThe love I bore your queen—lo, fool again!\\r\\nI’ll speak of her no more, nor of your children.\\r\\nI’ll not remember you of my own lord,\\r\\nWho is lost too. Take your patience to you,\\r\\nAnd I’ll say nothing.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou didst speak but well\\r\\nWhen most the truth, which I receive much better\\r\\nThan to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me\\r\\nTo the dead bodies of my queen and son:\\r\\nOne grave shall be for both. Upon them shall\\r\\nThe causes of their death appear, unto\\r\\nOur shame perpetual. Once a day I’ll visit\\r\\nThe chapel where they lie, and tears shed there\\r\\nShall be my recreation. So long as nature\\r\\nWill bear up with this exercise, so long\\r\\nI daily vow to use it. Come, and lead me\\r\\nTo these sorrows.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. Bohemia. A desert Country near the Sea.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Antigonus with the Child and a Mariner.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nThou art perfect, then, our ship hath touch’d upon\\r\\nThe deserts of Bohemia?\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINER.\\r\\nAy, my lord, and fear\\r\\nWe have landed in ill time: the skies look grimly,\\r\\nAnd threaten present blusters. In my conscience,\\r\\nThe heavens with that we have in hand are angry,\\r\\nAnd frown upon ’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nTheir sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard;\\r\\nLook to thy bark: I’ll not be long before\\r\\nI call upon thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINER.\\r\\nMake your best haste, and go not\\r\\nToo far i’ th’ land: ’tis like to be loud weather;\\r\\nBesides, this place is famous for the creatures\\r\\nOf prey that keep upon ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nGo thou away:\\r\\nI’ll follow instantly.\\r\\n\\r\\nMARINER.\\r\\nI am glad at heart\\r\\nTo be so rid o’ th’ business.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nANTIGONUS.\\r\\nCome, poor babe.\\r\\nI have heard, but not believ’d, the spirits of the dead\\r\\nMay walk again: if such thing be, thy mother\\r\\nAppear’d to me last night; for ne’er was dream\\r\\nSo like a waking. To me comes a creature,\\r\\nSometimes her head on one side, some another.\\r\\nI never saw a vessel of like sorrow,\\r\\nSo fill’d and so becoming: in pure white robes,\\r\\nLike very sanctity, she did approach\\r\\nMy cabin where I lay: thrice bow’d before me,\\r\\nAnd, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes\\r\\nBecame two spouts. The fury spent, anon\\r\\nDid this break from her: “Good Antigonus,\\r\\nSince fate, against thy better disposition,\\r\\nHath made thy person for the thrower-out\\r\\nOf my poor babe, according to thine oath,\\r\\nPlaces remote enough are in Bohemia,\\r\\nThere weep, and leave it crying. And, for the babe\\r\\nIs counted lost for ever, Perdita\\r\\nI prithee call’t. For this ungentle business,\\r\\nPut on thee by my lord, thou ne’er shalt see\\r\\nThy wife Paulina more.” And so, with shrieks,\\r\\nShe melted into air. Affrighted much,\\r\\nI did in time collect myself and thought\\r\\nThis was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys,\\r\\nYet for this once, yea, superstitiously,\\r\\nI will be squar’d by this. I do believe\\r\\nHermione hath suffer’d death, and that\\r\\nApollo would, this being indeed the issue\\r\\nOf King Polixenes, it should here be laid,\\r\\nEither for life or death, upon the earth\\r\\nOf its right father. Blossom, speed thee well! There lie; and there thy\\r\\ncharacter: there these;\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Laying down the child and a bundle._]\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich may if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,\\r\\nAnd still rest thine. The storm begins: poor wretch,\\r\\nThat for thy mother’s fault art thus expos’d\\r\\nTo loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot,\\r\\nBut my heart bleeds, and most accurs’d am I\\r\\nTo be by oath enjoin’d to this. Farewell!\\r\\nThe day frowns more and more. Thou’rt like to have\\r\\nA lullaby too rough. I never saw\\r\\nThe heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour!\\r\\nWell may I get aboard! This is the chase:\\r\\nI am gone for ever.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit, pursued by a bear._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter an old Shepherd.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nI would there were no age between ten and three-and-twenty, or that\\r\\nyouth would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the between but\\r\\ngetting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing,\\r\\nfighting—Hark you now! Would any but these boiled brains of nineteen\\r\\nand two-and-twenty hunt this weather? They have scared away two of my\\r\\nbest sheep, which I fear the wolf will sooner find than the master: if\\r\\nanywhere I have them, ’tis by the sea-side, browsing of ivy. Good luck,\\r\\nan ’t be thy will, what have we here?\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Taking up the child._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Mercy on ’s, a bairn! A very pretty bairn! A boy or a child, I wonder?\\r\\n A pretty one; a very pretty one. Sure, some scape. Though I am not\\r\\n bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This has\\r\\n been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work. They\\r\\n were warmer that got this than the poor thing is here. I’ll take it up\\r\\n for pity: yet I’ll tarry till my son come; he halloed but even now.\\r\\n Whoa-ho-hoa!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHilloa, loa!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWhat, art so near? If thou’lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead\\r\\nand rotten, come hither. What ail’st thou, man?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI have seen two such sights, by sea and by land! But I am not to say it\\r\\nis a sea, for it is now the sky: betwixt the firmament and it, you\\r\\ncannot thrust a bodkin’s point.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWhy, boy, how is it?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up\\r\\nthe shore! But that’s not to the point. O, the most piteous cry of the\\r\\npoor souls! sometimes to see ’em, and not to see ’em. Now the ship\\r\\nboring the moon with her mainmast, and anon swallowed with yest and\\r\\nfroth, as you’d thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land\\r\\nservice, to see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone, how he cried\\r\\nto me for help, and said his name was Antigonus, a nobleman. But to\\r\\nmake an end of the ship, to see how the sea flap-dragon’d it: but\\r\\nfirst, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them, and how the\\r\\npoor gentleman roared, and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder\\r\\nthan the sea or weather.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nName of mercy, when was this, boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNow, now. I have not winked since I saw these sights: the men are not\\r\\nyet cold under water, nor the bear half dined on the gentleman. He’s at\\r\\nit now.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWould I had been by to have helped the old man!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI would you had been by the ship side, to have helped her: there your\\r\\ncharity would have lacked footing.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nHeavy matters, heavy matters! But look thee here, boy. Now bless\\r\\nthyself: thou met’st with things dying, I with things new-born. Here’s\\r\\na sight for thee. Look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire’s child! Look\\r\\nthee here; take up, take up, boy; open’t. So, let’s see. It was told me\\r\\nI should be rich by the fairies. This is some changeling: open’t.\\r\\nWhat’s within, boy?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYou’re a made old man. If the sins of your youth are forgiven you,\\r\\nyou’re well to live. Gold! all gold!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nThis is fairy gold, boy, and ’twill prove so. Up with it, keep it\\r\\nclose: home, home, the next way. We are lucky, boy, and to be so still\\r\\nrequires nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep go: come, good boy, the next\\r\\nway home.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGo you the next way with your findings. I’ll go see if the bear be gone\\r\\nfrom the gentleman, and how much he hath eaten. They are never curst\\r\\nbut when they are hungry: if there be any of him left, I’ll bury it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nThat’s a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that which is left of him\\r\\nwhat he is, fetch me to th’ sight of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nMarry, will I; and you shall help to put him i’ th’ ground.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\n’Tis a lucky day, boy, and we’ll do good deeds on ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT IV\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Time, the Chorus.\\r\\n\\r\\nTIME.\\r\\nI that please some, try all: both joy and terror\\r\\nOf good and bad, that makes and unfolds error,\\r\\nNow take upon me, in the name of Time,\\r\\nTo use my wings. Impute it not a crime\\r\\nTo me or my swift passage, that I slide\\r\\nO’er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried\\r\\nOf that wide gap, since it is in my power\\r\\nTo o’erthrow law, and in one self-born hour\\r\\nTo plant and o’erwhelm custom. Let me pass\\r\\nThe same I am, ere ancient’st order was\\r\\nOr what is now received. I witness to\\r\\nThe times that brought them in; so shall I do\\r\\nTo th’ freshest things now reigning, and make stale\\r\\nThe glistering of this present, as my tale\\r\\nNow seems to it. Your patience this allowing,\\r\\nI turn my glass, and give my scene such growing\\r\\nAs you had slept between. Leontes leaving\\r\\nTh’ effects of his fond jealousies, so grieving\\r\\nThat he shuts up himself, imagine me,\\r\\nGentle spectators, that I now may be\\r\\nIn fair Bohemia, and remember well,\\r\\nI mentioned a son o’ th’ king’s, which Florizel\\r\\nI now name to you; and with speed so pace\\r\\nTo speak of Perdita, now grown in grace\\r\\nEqual with wondering. What of her ensues\\r\\nI list not prophesy; but let Time’s news\\r\\nBe known when ’tis brought forth. A shepherd’s daughter,\\r\\nAnd what to her adheres, which follows after,\\r\\nIs th’ argument of Time. Of this allow,\\r\\nIf ever you have spent time worse ere now;\\r\\nIf never, yet that Time himself doth say\\r\\nHe wishes earnestly you never may.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. Bohemia. A Room in the palace of Polixenes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Polixenes and Camillo.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: ’tis a sickness\\r\\ndenying thee anything; a death to grant this.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nIt is fifteen years since I saw my country. Though I have for the most\\r\\npart been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the\\r\\npenitent king, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling sorrows I\\r\\nmight be some allay, or I o’erween to think so,—which is another spur\\r\\nto my departure.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nAs thou lov’st me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services by\\r\\nleaving me now: the need I have of thee, thine own goodness hath made;\\r\\nbetter not to have had thee than thus to want thee. Thou, having made\\r\\nme businesses which none without thee can sufficiently manage, must\\r\\neither stay to execute them thyself, or take away with thee the very\\r\\nservices thou hast done, which if I have not enough considered (as too\\r\\nmuch I cannot) to be more thankful to thee shall be my study; and my\\r\\nprofit therein the heaping friendships. Of that fatal country Sicilia,\\r\\nprithee speak no more; whose very naming punishes me with the\\r\\nremembrance of that penitent, as thou call’st him, and reconciled king,\\r\\nmy brother; whose loss of his most precious queen and children are even\\r\\nnow to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when sawest thou the Prince\\r\\nFlorizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not being\\r\\ngracious, than they are in losing them when they have approved their\\r\\nvirtues.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSir, it is three days since I saw the prince. What his happier affairs\\r\\nmay be, are to me unknown, but I have missingly noted he is of late\\r\\nmuch retired from court, and is less frequent to his princely exercises\\r\\nthan formerly he hath appeared.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care; so far that I\\r\\nhave eyes under my service which look upon his removedness; from whom I\\r\\nhave this intelligence, that he is seldom from the house of a most\\r\\nhomely shepherd, a man, they say, that from very nothing, and beyond\\r\\nthe imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of most rare\\r\\nnote: the report of her is extended more than can be thought to begin\\r\\nfrom such a cottage.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThat’s likewise part of my intelligence: but, I fear, the angle that\\r\\nplucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the place, where we\\r\\nwill, not appearing what we are, have some question with the shepherd;\\r\\nfrom whose simplicity I think it not uneasy to get the cause of my\\r\\nson’s resort thither. Prithee, be my present partner in this business,\\r\\nand lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI willingly obey your command.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nMy best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A Road near the Shepherd’s cottage.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Autolycus, singing.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_When daffodils begin to peer,\\r\\n With, hey! the doxy over the dale,\\r\\nWhy, then comes in the sweet o’ the year,\\r\\n For the red blood reigns in the winter’s pale._\\r\\n\\r\\n_The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,\\r\\n With, hey! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!\\r\\nDoth set my pugging tooth on edge;\\r\\n For a quart of ale is a dish for a king._\\r\\n\\r\\n_The lark, that tirra-lirra chants,\\r\\n With, hey! with, hey! the thrush and the jay,\\r\\nAre summer songs for me and my aunts,\\r\\n While we lie tumbling in the hay._\\r\\n\\r\\nI have served Prince Florizel, and in my time wore three-pile, but now\\r\\nI am out of service.\\r\\n\\r\\n_But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?\\r\\n The pale moon shines by night:\\r\\nAnd when I wander here and there,\\r\\n I then do most go right._\\r\\n\\r\\n_If tinkers may have leave to live,\\r\\n And bear the sow-skin budget,\\r\\nThen my account I well may give\\r\\n And in the stocks avouch it._\\r\\n\\r\\nMy traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen. My\\r\\nfather named me Autolycus; who being, I as am, littered under Mercury,\\r\\nwas likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and drab I\\r\\npurchased this caparison, and my revenue is the silly cheat. Gallows\\r\\nand knock are too powerful on the highway. Beating and hanging are\\r\\nterrors to me. For the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. A\\r\\nprize! a prize!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLet me see: every ’leven wether tods; every tod yields pound and odd\\r\\nshilling; fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool to?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] If the springe hold, the cock’s mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI cannot do’t without counters. Let me see; what am I to buy for our\\r\\nsheep-shearing feast? “Three pound of sugar, five pound of currants,\\r\\nrice”—what will this sister of mine do with rice? But my father hath\\r\\nmade her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She hath made me\\r\\nfour-and-twenty nosegays for the shearers, three-man song-men all, and\\r\\nvery good ones; but they are most of them means and basses, but one\\r\\npuritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have\\r\\nsaffron to colour the warden pies; “mace; dates”, none, that’s out of\\r\\nmy note; “nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger”, but that I may beg;\\r\\n“four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o’ th’ sun.”\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Grovelling on the ground._] O that ever I was born!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nI’ th’ name of me!\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO, help me, help me! Pluck but off these rags; and then, death, death!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather\\r\\nthan have these off.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more than the stripes I\\r\\nhave received, which are mighty ones and millions.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta’en from me, and\\r\\nthese detestable things put upon me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat, by a horseman or a footman?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nA footman, sweet sir, a footman.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIndeed, he should be a footman by the garments he has left with thee:\\r\\nif this be a horseman’s coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me\\r\\nthy hand, I’ll help thee: come, lend me thy hand.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Helping him up._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO, good sir, tenderly, O!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAlas, poor soul!\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO, good sir, softly, good sir. I fear, sir, my shoulder blade is out.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHow now! canst stand?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nSoftly, dear sir! [_Picks his pocket._] good sir, softly. You ha’ done\\r\\nme a charitable office.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nDost lack any money? I have a little money for thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nNo, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: I have a kinsman not past\\r\\nthree-quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going. I shall there\\r\\nhave money or anything I want. Offer me no money, I pray you; that\\r\\nkills my heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat manner of fellow was he that robbed you?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nA fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-my-dames. I\\r\\nknew him once a servant of the prince; I cannot tell, good sir, for\\r\\nwhich of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the\\r\\ncourt.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHis vices, you would say; there’s no virtue whipped out of the court.\\r\\nThey cherish it to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but\\r\\nabide.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nVices, I would say, sir. I know this man well. He hath been since an\\r\\nape-bearer, then a process-server, a bailiff. Then he compassed a\\r\\nmotion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker’s wife within a mile\\r\\nwhere my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish\\r\\nprofessions, he settled only in rogue. Some call him Autolycus.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nOut upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he haunts wakes, fairs, and\\r\\nbear-baitings.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nVery true, sir; he, sir, he; that’s the rogue that put me into this\\r\\napparel.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia. If you had but looked big and\\r\\nspit at him, he’d have run.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter. I am false of heart that\\r\\nway; and that he knew, I warrant him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHow do you now?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nSweet sir, much better than I was. I can stand and walk: I will even\\r\\ntake my leave of you and pace softly towards my kinsman’s.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nShall I bring thee on the way?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nNo, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThen fare thee well. I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nProsper you, sweet sir!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I’ll be with you\\r\\n at your sheep-shearing too. If I make not this cheat bring out\\r\\n another, and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled, and my name\\r\\n put in the book of virtue!\\r\\n[_Sings._]\\r\\n_Jog on, jog on, the footpath way,\\r\\n And merrily hent the stile-a:\\r\\nA merry heart goes all the day,\\r\\n Your sad tires in a mile-a._\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE IV. The same. A Shepherd’s Cottage.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Florizel and Perdita.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nThese your unusual weeds to each part of you\\r\\nDo give a life, no shepherdess, but Flora\\r\\nPeering in April’s front. This your sheep-shearing\\r\\nIs as a meeting of the petty gods,\\r\\nAnd you the queen on ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nSir, my gracious lord,\\r\\nTo chide at your extremes it not becomes me;\\r\\nO, pardon that I name them! Your high self,\\r\\nThe gracious mark o’ th’ land, you have obscur’d\\r\\nWith a swain’s wearing, and me, poor lowly maid,\\r\\nMost goddess-like prank’d up. But that our feasts\\r\\nIn every mess have folly, and the feeders\\r\\nDigest it with a custom, I should blush\\r\\nTo see you so attir’d; swoon, I think,\\r\\nTo show myself a glass.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI bless the time\\r\\nWhen my good falcon made her flight across\\r\\nThy father’s ground.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nNow Jove afford you cause!\\r\\nTo me the difference forges dread. Your greatness\\r\\nHath not been us’d to fear. Even now I tremble\\r\\nTo think your father, by some accident,\\r\\nShould pass this way, as you did. O, the Fates!\\r\\nHow would he look to see his work, so noble,\\r\\nVilely bound up? What would he say? Or how\\r\\nShould I, in these my borrow’d flaunts, behold\\r\\nThe sternness of his presence?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nApprehend\\r\\nNothing but jollity. The gods themselves,\\r\\nHumbling their deities to love, have taken\\r\\nThe shapes of beasts upon them. Jupiter\\r\\nBecame a bull and bellow’d; the green Neptune\\r\\nA ram and bleated; and the fire-rob’d god,\\r\\nGolden Apollo, a poor humble swain,\\r\\nAs I seem now. Their transformations\\r\\nWere never for a piece of beauty rarer,\\r\\nNor in a way so chaste, since my desires\\r\\nRun not before mine honour, nor my lusts\\r\\nBurn hotter than my faith.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nO, but, sir,\\r\\nYour resolution cannot hold when ’tis\\r\\nOppos’d, as it must be, by the power of the king:\\r\\nOne of these two must be necessities,\\r\\nWhich then will speak, that you must change this purpose,\\r\\nOr I my life.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nThou dearest Perdita,\\r\\nWith these forc’d thoughts, I prithee, darken not\\r\\nThe mirth o’ th’ feast. Or I’ll be thine, my fair,\\r\\nOr not my father’s. For I cannot be\\r\\nMine own, nor anything to any, if\\r\\nI be not thine. To this I am most constant,\\r\\nThough destiny say no. Be merry, gentle.\\r\\nStrangle such thoughts as these with anything\\r\\nThat you behold the while. Your guests are coming:\\r\\nLift up your countenance, as it were the day\\r\\nOf celebration of that nuptial which\\r\\nWe two have sworn shall come.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nO lady Fortune,\\r\\nStand you auspicious!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nSee, your guests approach:\\r\\nAddress yourself to entertain them sprightly,\\r\\nAnd let’s be red with mirth.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Shepherd with Polixenes and Camillo, disguised; Clown, Mopsa,\\r\\n Dorcas with others.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nFie, daughter! When my old wife liv’d, upon\\r\\nThis day she was both pantler, butler, cook,\\r\\nBoth dame and servant; welcom’d all; serv’d all;\\r\\nWould sing her song and dance her turn; now here\\r\\nAt upper end o’ th’ table, now i’ th’ middle;\\r\\nOn his shoulder, and his; her face o’ fire\\r\\nWith labour, and the thing she took to quench it\\r\\nShe would to each one sip. You are retired,\\r\\nAs if you were a feasted one, and not\\r\\nThe hostess of the meeting: pray you, bid\\r\\nThese unknown friends to ’s welcome, for it is\\r\\nA way to make us better friends, more known.\\r\\nCome, quench your blushes, and present yourself\\r\\nThat which you are, mistress o’ th’ feast. Come on,\\r\\nAnd bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,\\r\\nAs your good flock shall prosper.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\n[_To Polixenes._] Sir, welcome.\\r\\nIt is my father’s will I should take on me\\r\\nThe hostess-ship o’ the day.\\r\\n[_To Camillo._] You’re welcome, sir.\\r\\nGive me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs,\\r\\nFor you there’s rosemary and rue; these keep\\r\\nSeeming and savour all the winter long.\\r\\nGrace and remembrance be to you both!\\r\\nAnd welcome to our shearing!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nShepherdess—\\r\\nA fair one are you—well you fit our ages\\r\\nWith flowers of winter.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nSir, the year growing ancient,\\r\\nNot yet on summer’s death nor on the birth\\r\\nOf trembling winter, the fairest flowers o’ th’ season\\r\\nAre our carnations and streak’d gillyvors,\\r\\nWhich some call nature’s bastards: of that kind\\r\\nOur rustic garden’s barren; and I care not\\r\\nTo get slips of them.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWherefore, gentle maiden,\\r\\nDo you neglect them?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nFor I have heard it said\\r\\nThere is an art which, in their piedness, shares\\r\\nWith great creating nature.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nSay there be;\\r\\nYet nature is made better by no mean\\r\\nBut nature makes that mean. So, over that art\\r\\nWhich you say adds to nature, is an art\\r\\nThat nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry\\r\\nA gentler scion to the wildest stock,\\r\\nAnd make conceive a bark of baser kind\\r\\nBy bud of nobler race. This is an art\\r\\nWhich does mend nature, change it rather, but\\r\\nThe art itself is nature.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nSo it is.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThen make your garden rich in gillyvors,\\r\\nAnd do not call them bastards.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nI’ll not put\\r\\nThe dibble in earth to set one slip of them;\\r\\nNo more than, were I painted, I would wish\\r\\nThis youth should say ’twere well, and only therefore\\r\\nDesire to breed by me. Here’s flowers for you:\\r\\nHot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram,\\r\\nThe marigold, that goes to bed with th’ sun\\r\\nAnd with him rises weeping. These are flowers\\r\\nOf middle summer, and I think they are given\\r\\nTo men of middle age. You’re very welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI should leave grazing, were I of your flock,\\r\\nAnd only live by gazing.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nOut, alas!\\r\\nYou’d be so lean that blasts of January\\r\\nWould blow you through and through. [_To Florizel_] Now, my fair’st\\r\\nfriend,\\r\\nI would I had some flowers o’ th’ spring, that might\\r\\nBecome your time of day; and yours, and yours,\\r\\nThat wear upon your virgin branches yet\\r\\nYour maidenheads growing. O Proserpina,\\r\\nFrom the flowers now that, frighted, thou let’st fall\\r\\nFrom Dis’s waggon! daffodils,\\r\\nThat come before the swallow dares, and take\\r\\nThe winds of March with beauty; violets dim,\\r\\nBut sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes\\r\\nOr Cytherea’s breath; pale primroses,\\r\\nThat die unmarried ere they can behold\\r\\nBright Phoebus in his strength (a malady\\r\\nMost incident to maids); bold oxlips and\\r\\nThe crown imperial; lilies of all kinds,\\r\\nThe flower-de-luce being one. O, these I lack,\\r\\nTo make you garlands of; and my sweet friend,\\r\\nTo strew him o’er and o’er!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWhat, like a corse?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nNo, like a bank for love to lie and play on;\\r\\nNot like a corse; or if, not to be buried,\\r\\nBut quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers.\\r\\nMethinks I play as I have seen them do\\r\\nIn Whitsun pastorals. Sure this robe of mine\\r\\nDoes change my disposition.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWhat you do\\r\\nStill betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,\\r\\nI’d have you do it ever. When you sing,\\r\\nI’d have you buy and sell so, so give alms,\\r\\nPray so; and, for the ord’ring your affairs,\\r\\nTo sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you\\r\\nA wave o’ th’ sea, that you might ever do\\r\\nNothing but that, move still, still so,\\r\\nAnd own no other function. Each your doing,\\r\\nSo singular in each particular,\\r\\nCrowns what you are doing in the present deeds,\\r\\nThat all your acts are queens.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nO Doricles,\\r\\nYour praises are too large. But that your youth,\\r\\nAnd the true blood which peeps fairly through ’t,\\r\\nDo plainly give you out an unstained shepherd,\\r\\nWith wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,\\r\\nYou woo’d me the false way.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI think you have\\r\\nAs little skill to fear as I have purpose\\r\\nTo put you to ’t. But, come; our dance, I pray.\\r\\nYour hand, my Perdita. So turtles pair\\r\\nThat never mean to part.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nI’ll swear for ’em.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThis is the prettiest low-born lass that ever\\r\\nRan on the green-sward. Nothing she does or seems\\r\\nBut smacks of something greater than herself,\\r\\nToo noble for this place.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHe tells her something\\r\\nThat makes her blood look out. Good sooth, she is\\r\\nThe queen of curds and cream.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nCome on, strike up.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nMopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic, to mend her kissing with!\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nNow, in good time!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.\\r\\nCome, strike up.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Music. Here a dance Of Shepherds and Shepherdesses._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nPray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this\\r\\nWhich dances with your daughter?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nThey call him Doricles; and boasts himself\\r\\nTo have a worthy feeding. But I have it\\r\\nUpon his own report, and I believe it.\\r\\nHe looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter.\\r\\nI think so too; for never gaz’d the moon\\r\\nUpon the water as he’ll stand and read,\\r\\nAs ’twere, my daughter’s eyes. And, to be plain,\\r\\nI think there is not half a kiss to choose\\r\\nWho loves another best.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nShe dances featly.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nSo she does anything, though I report it\\r\\nThat should be silent. If young Doricles\\r\\nDo light upon her, she shall bring him that\\r\\nWhich he not dreams of.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nO master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never\\r\\ndance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you.\\r\\nHe sings several tunes faster than you’ll tell money. He utters them as\\r\\nhe had eaten ballads, and all men’s ears grew to his tunes.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe could never come better: he shall come in. I love a ballad but even\\r\\ntoo well, if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant\\r\\nthing indeed and sung lamentably.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nHe hath songs for man or woman of all sizes. No milliner can so fit his\\r\\ncustomers with gloves. He has the prettiest love-songs for maids, so\\r\\nwithout bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burdens of dildos\\r\\nand fadings, “jump her and thump her”; and where some stretch-mouthed\\r\\nrascal would, as it were, mean mischief and break a foul gap into the\\r\\nmatter, he makes the maid to answer “Whoop, do me no harm, good man”;\\r\\nputs him off, slights him, with “Whoop, do me no harm, good man.”\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nThis is a brave fellow.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nBelieve me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. Has he any\\r\\nunbraided wares?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nHe hath ribbons of all the colours i’ th’ rainbow; points, more than\\r\\nall the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to\\r\\nhim by th’ gross; inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns; why he sings ’em\\r\\nover as they were gods or goddesses; you would think a smock were a\\r\\nshe-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand and the work about the\\r\\nsquare on ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nPrithee bring him in; and let him approach singing.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nForewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in ’s tunes.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit Servant._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYou have of these pedlars that have more in them than you’d think,\\r\\nsister.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nAy, good brother, or go about to think.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Autolycus, singing.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_Lawn as white as driven snow,\\r\\nCypress black as e’er was crow,\\r\\nGloves as sweet as damask roses,\\r\\nMasks for faces and for noses,\\r\\nBugle-bracelet, necklace amber,\\r\\nPerfume for a lady’s chamber,\\r\\nGolden quoifs and stomachers\\r\\nFor my lads to give their dears,\\r\\nPins and poking-sticks of steel,\\r\\nWhat maids lack from head to heel.\\r\\nCome buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;\\r\\nBuy, lads, or else your lasses cry.\\r\\nCome, buy._\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIf I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no money of me;\\r\\nbut being enthralled as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain\\r\\nribbons and gloves.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nI was promised them against the feast; but they come not too late now.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nHe hath promised you more than that, or there be liars.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nHe hath paid you all he promised you. Maybe he has paid you more, which\\r\\nwill shame you to give him again.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIs there no manners left among maids? Will they wear their plackets\\r\\nwhere they should bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you\\r\\nare going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle of these secrets, but you\\r\\nmust be tittle-tattling before all our guests? ’Tis well they are\\r\\nwhispering. Clamour your tongues, and not a word more.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nI have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry lace and a pair of sweet\\r\\ngloves.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHave I not told thee how I was cozened by the way and lost all my\\r\\nmoney?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAnd indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to\\r\\nbe wary.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nFear not thou, man. Thou shalt lose nothing here.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWhat hast here? Ballads?\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nPray now, buy some. I love a ballad in print alife, for then we are\\r\\nsure they are true.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHere’s one to a very doleful tune. How a usurer’s wife was brought to\\r\\nbed of twenty money-bags at a burden, and how she longed to eat adders’\\r\\nheads and toads carbonadoed.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nIs it true, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nVery true, and but a month old.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nBless me from marrying a usurer!\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHere’s the midwife’s name to’t, one Mistress Taleporter, and five or\\r\\nsix honest wives that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad?\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nPray you now, buy it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nCome on, lay it by; and let’s first see more ballads. We’ll buy the\\r\\nother things anon.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHere’s another ballad, of a fish that appeared upon the coast on\\r\\nWednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water,\\r\\nand sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids. It was thought\\r\\nshe was a woman, and was turned into a cold fish for she would not\\r\\nexchange flesh with one that loved her. The ballad is very pitiful, and\\r\\nas true.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nIs it true too, think you?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nFive justices’ hands at it, and witnesses more than my pack will hold.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nLay it by too: another.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nThis is a merry ballad; but a very pretty one.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nLet’s have some merry ones.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nWhy, this is a passing merry one and goes to the tune of “Two maids\\r\\nwooing a man.” There’s scarce a maid westward but she sings it. ’Tis in\\r\\nrequest, I can tell you.\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nWe can both sing it: if thou’lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; ’tis in\\r\\nthree parts.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\nWe had the tune on ’t a month ago.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI can bear my part; you must know ’tis my occupation: have at it with\\r\\nyou.\\r\\n\\r\\nSONG.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_Get you hence, for I must go\\r\\nWhere it fits not you to know._\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_Whither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\n_O, whither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_Whither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\n_It becomes thy oath full well\\r\\nThou to me thy secrets tell._\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_Me too! Let me go thither._\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\nOr thou goest to th’ grange or mill.\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_If to either, thou dost ill._\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_Neither._\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_What, neither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n_Neither._\\r\\n\\r\\nDORCAS.\\r\\n_Thou hast sworn my love to be._\\r\\n\\r\\nMOPSA.\\r\\n_Thou hast sworn it more to me.\\r\\nThen whither goest? Say, whither?_\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWe’ll have this song out anon by ourselves. My father and the gentlemen\\r\\nare in sad talk, and we’ll not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack\\r\\nafter me. Wenches, I’ll buy for you both. Pedlar, let’s have the first\\r\\nchoice. Follow me, girls.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit with Dorcas and Mopsa._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] And you shall pay well for ’em.\\r\\n\\r\\nSONG.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n _Will you buy any tape,\\r\\n Or lace for your cape,\\r\\nMy dainty duck, my dear-a?\\r\\n Any silk, any thread,\\r\\n Any toys for your head,\\r\\nOf the new’st and fin’st, fin’st wear-a?\\r\\n Come to the pedlar;\\r\\n Money’s a meddler\\r\\nThat doth utter all men’s ware-a._\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nMaster, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds,\\r\\nthree swine-herds, that have made themselves all men of hair. They call\\r\\nthemselves saltiers, and they have dance which the wenches say is a\\r\\ngallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in ’t; but they themselves\\r\\nare o’ the mind (if it be not too rough for some that know little but\\r\\nbowling) it will please plentifully.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAway! we’ll none on ’t. Here has been too much homely foolery already.\\r\\nI know, sir, we weary you.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nYou weary those that refresh us: pray, let’s see these four threes of\\r\\nherdsmen.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nOne three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danced before the\\r\\nking; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half\\r\\nby th’ square.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nLeave your prating: since these good men are pleased, let them come in;\\r\\nbut quickly now.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nWhy, they stay at door, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Twelve Rustics, habited like Satyrs. They dance, and then\\r\\n exeunt.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nO, father, you’ll know more of that hereafter.\\r\\n[_To Camillo._] Is it not too far gone? ’Tis time to part them.\\r\\nHe’s simple and tells much. [_To Florizel._] How now, fair shepherd!\\r\\nYour heart is full of something that does take\\r\\nYour mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young\\r\\nAnd handed love, as you do, I was wont\\r\\nTo load my she with knacks: I would have ransack’d\\r\\nThe pedlar’s silken treasury and have pour’d it\\r\\nTo her acceptance. You have let him go,\\r\\nAnd nothing marted with him. If your lass\\r\\nInterpretation should abuse, and call this\\r\\nYour lack of love or bounty, you were straited\\r\\nFor a reply, at least if you make a care\\r\\nOf happy holding her.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nOld sir, I know\\r\\nShe prizes not such trifles as these are:\\r\\nThe gifts she looks from me are pack’d and lock’d\\r\\nUp in my heart, which I have given already,\\r\\nBut not deliver’d. O, hear me breathe my life\\r\\nBefore this ancient sir, who, it should seem,\\r\\nHath sometime lov’d. I take thy hand! this hand,\\r\\nAs soft as dove’s down and as white as it,\\r\\nOr Ethiopian’s tooth, or the fann’d snow that’s bolted\\r\\nBy th’ northern blasts twice o’er.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nWhat follows this?\\r\\nHow prettily the young swain seems to wash\\r\\nThe hand was fair before! I have put you out.\\r\\nBut to your protestation. Let me hear\\r\\nWhat you profess.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nDo, and be witness to ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nAnd this my neighbour, too?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nAnd he, and more\\r\\nThan he, and men, the earth, the heavens, and all:\\r\\nThat were I crown’d the most imperial monarch,\\r\\nThereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth\\r\\nThat ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge\\r\\nMore than was ever man’s, I would not prize them\\r\\nWithout her love; for her employ them all;\\r\\nCommend them and condemn them to her service,\\r\\nOr to their own perdition.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nFairly offer’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThis shows a sound affection.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nBut my daughter,\\r\\nSay you the like to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nI cannot speak\\r\\nSo well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better:\\r\\nBy th’ pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out\\r\\nThe purity of his.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nTake hands, a bargain!\\r\\nAnd, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to’t.\\r\\nI give my daughter to him, and will make\\r\\nHer portion equal his.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nO, that must be\\r\\nI’ th’ virtue of your daughter: one being dead,\\r\\nI shall have more than you can dream of yet;\\r\\nEnough then for your wonder. But come on,\\r\\nContract us ’fore these witnesses.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nCome, your hand;\\r\\nAnd, daughter, yours.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nSoft, swain, awhile, beseech you;\\r\\nHave you a father?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI have; but what of him?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nKnows he of this?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nHe neither does nor shall.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nMethinks a father\\r\\nIs at the nuptial of his son a guest\\r\\nThat best becomes the table. Pray you once more,\\r\\nIs not your father grown incapable\\r\\nOf reasonable affairs? is he not stupid\\r\\nWith age and alt’ring rheums? can he speak? hear?\\r\\nKnow man from man? dispute his own estate?\\r\\nLies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing\\r\\nBut what he did being childish?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nNo, good sir;\\r\\nHe has his health, and ampler strength indeed\\r\\nThan most have of his age.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nBy my white beard,\\r\\nYou offer him, if this be so, a wrong\\r\\nSomething unfilial: reason my son\\r\\nShould choose himself a wife, but as good reason\\r\\nThe father, all whose joy is nothing else\\r\\nBut fair posterity, should hold some counsel\\r\\nIn such a business.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI yield all this;\\r\\nBut for some other reasons, my grave sir,\\r\\nWhich ’tis not fit you know, I not acquaint\\r\\nMy father of this business.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nLet him know ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nHe shall not.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nPrithee let him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nNo, he must not.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nLet him, my son: he shall not need to grieve\\r\\nAt knowing of thy choice.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nCome, come, he must not.\\r\\nMark our contract.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\n[_Discovering himself._] Mark your divorce, young sir,\\r\\nWhom son I dare not call; thou art too base\\r\\nTo be acknowledged: thou a sceptre’s heir,\\r\\nThat thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou, old traitor,\\r\\nI am sorry that, by hanging thee, I can\\r\\nBut shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece\\r\\nOf excellent witchcraft, whom of force must know\\r\\nThe royal fool thou cop’st with,—\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nO, my heart!\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nI’ll have thy beauty scratch’d with briers and made\\r\\nMore homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy,\\r\\nIf I may ever know thou dost but sigh\\r\\nThat thou no more shalt see this knack (as never\\r\\nI mean thou shalt), we’ll bar thee from succession;\\r\\nNot hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,\\r\\nFar than Deucalion off. Mark thou my words.\\r\\nFollow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time,\\r\\nThough full of our displeasure, yet we free thee\\r\\nFrom the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment,\\r\\nWorthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too\\r\\nThat makes himself, but for our honour therein,\\r\\nUnworthy thee. If ever henceforth thou\\r\\nThese rural latches to his entrance open,\\r\\nOr hoop his body more with thy embraces,\\r\\nI will devise a death as cruel for thee\\r\\nAs thou art tender to ’t.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nEven here undone.\\r\\nI was not much afeard, for once or twice\\r\\nI was about to speak, and tell him plainly\\r\\nThe selfsame sun that shines upon his court\\r\\nHides not his visage from our cottage, but\\r\\nLooks on alike. [_To Florizel._] Will’t please you, sir, be gone?\\r\\nI told you what would come of this. Beseech you,\\r\\nOf your own state take care. This dream of mine—\\r\\nBeing now awake, I’ll queen it no inch farther,\\r\\nBut milk my ewes, and weep.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nWhy, how now, father!\\r\\nSpeak ere thou diest.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nI cannot speak, nor think,\\r\\nNor dare to know that which I know. O sir,\\r\\nYou have undone a man of fourscore three,\\r\\nThat thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea,\\r\\nTo die upon the bed my father died,\\r\\nTo lie close by his honest bones; but now\\r\\nSome hangman must put on my shroud and lay me\\r\\nWhere no priest shovels in dust. O cursed wretch,\\r\\nThat knew’st this was the prince, and wouldst adventure\\r\\nTo mingle faith with him! Undone, undone!\\r\\nIf I might die within this hour, I have liv’d\\r\\nTo die when I desire.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWhy look you so upon me?\\r\\nI am but sorry, not afeard; delay’d,\\r\\nBut nothing alt’red: what I was, I am:\\r\\nMore straining on for plucking back; not following\\r\\nMy leash unwillingly.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nGracious my lord,\\r\\nYou know your father’s temper: at this time\\r\\nHe will allow no speech (which I do guess\\r\\nYou do not purpose to him) and as hardly\\r\\nWill he endure your sight as yet, I fear:\\r\\nThen, till the fury of his highness settle,\\r\\nCome not before him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI not purpose it.\\r\\nI think Camillo?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nEven he, my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nHow often have I told you ’twould be thus!\\r\\nHow often said my dignity would last\\r\\nBut till ’twere known!\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nIt cannot fail but by\\r\\nThe violation of my faith; and then\\r\\nLet nature crush the sides o’ th’ earth together\\r\\nAnd mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks.\\r\\nFrom my succession wipe me, father; I\\r\\nAm heir to my affection.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nBe advis’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI am, and by my fancy. If my reason\\r\\nWill thereto be obedient, I have reason;\\r\\nIf not, my senses, better pleas’d with madness,\\r\\nDo bid it welcome.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThis is desperate, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nSo call it: but it does fulfil my vow.\\r\\nI needs must think it honesty. Camillo,\\r\\nNot for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may\\r\\nBe thereat glean’d; for all the sun sees or\\r\\nThe close earth wombs, or the profound seas hides\\r\\nIn unknown fathoms, will I break my oath\\r\\nTo this my fair belov’d. Therefore, I pray you,\\r\\nAs you have ever been my father’s honour’d friend,\\r\\nWhen he shall miss me,—as, in faith, I mean not\\r\\nTo see him any more,—cast your good counsels\\r\\nUpon his passion: let myself and fortune\\r\\nTug for the time to come. This you may know,\\r\\nAnd so deliver, I am put to sea\\r\\nWith her whom here I cannot hold on shore;\\r\\nAnd, most opportune to her need, I have\\r\\nA vessel rides fast by, but not prepar’d\\r\\nFor this design. What course I mean to hold\\r\\nShall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor\\r\\nConcern me the reporting.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nO my lord,\\r\\nI would your spirit were easier for advice,\\r\\nOr stronger for your need.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nHark, Perdita. [_Takes her aside._]\\r\\n[_To Camillo._] I’ll hear you by and by.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHe’s irremovable,\\r\\nResolv’d for flight. Now were I happy if\\r\\nHis going I could frame to serve my turn,\\r\\nSave him from danger, do him love and honour,\\r\\nPurchase the sight again of dear Sicilia\\r\\nAnd that unhappy king, my master, whom\\r\\nI so much thirst to see.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nNow, good Camillo,\\r\\nI am so fraught with curious business that\\r\\nI leave out ceremony.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSir, I think\\r\\nYou have heard of my poor services, i’ th’ love\\r\\nThat I have borne your father?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nVery nobly\\r\\nHave you deserv’d: it is my father’s music\\r\\nTo speak your deeds, not little of his care\\r\\nTo have them recompens’d as thought on.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nWell, my lord,\\r\\nIf you may please to think I love the king,\\r\\nAnd, through him, what’s nearest to him, which is\\r\\nYour gracious self, embrace but my direction,\\r\\nIf your more ponderous and settled project\\r\\nMay suffer alteration. On mine honour,\\r\\nI’ll point you where you shall have such receiving\\r\\nAs shall become your highness; where you may\\r\\nEnjoy your mistress; from the whom, I see,\\r\\nThere’s no disjunction to be made, but by,\\r\\nAs heavens forfend, your ruin. Marry her,\\r\\nAnd with my best endeavours in your absence\\r\\nYour discontenting father strive to qualify\\r\\nAnd bring him up to liking.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nHow, Camillo,\\r\\nMay this, almost a miracle, be done?\\r\\nThat I may call thee something more than man,\\r\\nAnd after that trust to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHave you thought on\\r\\nA place whereto you’ll go?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nNot any yet.\\r\\nBut as th’ unthought-on accident is guilty\\r\\nTo what we wildly do, so we profess\\r\\nOurselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies\\r\\nOf every wind that blows.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThen list to me:\\r\\nThis follows, if you will not change your purpose,\\r\\nBut undergo this flight, make for Sicilia,\\r\\nAnd there present yourself and your fair princess,\\r\\nFor so, I see, she must be, ’fore Leontes:\\r\\nShe shall be habited as it becomes\\r\\nThe partner of your bed. Methinks I see\\r\\nLeontes opening his free arms and weeping\\r\\nHis welcomes forth; asks thee, the son, forgiveness,\\r\\nAs ’twere i’ th’ father’s person; kisses the hands\\r\\nOf your fresh princess; o’er and o’er divides him\\r\\n’Twixt his unkindness and his kindness. Th’ one\\r\\nHe chides to hell, and bids the other grow\\r\\nFaster than thought or time.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWorthy Camillo,\\r\\nWhat colour for my visitation shall I\\r\\nHold up before him?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nSent by the king your father\\r\\nTo greet him and to give him comforts. Sir,\\r\\nThe manner of your bearing towards him, with\\r\\nWhat you (as from your father) shall deliver,\\r\\nThings known betwixt us three, I’ll write you down,\\r\\nThe which shall point you forth at every sitting\\r\\nWhat you must say; that he shall not perceive\\r\\nBut that you have your father’s bosom there\\r\\nAnd speak his very heart.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nI am bound to you:\\r\\nThere is some sap in this.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nA course more promising\\r\\nThan a wild dedication of yourselves\\r\\nTo unpath’d waters, undream’d shores, most certain\\r\\nTo miseries enough: no hope to help you,\\r\\nBut as you shake off one to take another:\\r\\nNothing so certain as your anchors, who\\r\\nDo their best office if they can but stay you\\r\\nWhere you’ll be loath to be. Besides, you know\\r\\nProsperity’s the very bond of love,\\r\\nWhose fresh complexion and whose heart together\\r\\nAffliction alters.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nOne of these is true:\\r\\nI think affliction may subdue the cheek,\\r\\nBut not take in the mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nYea, say you so?\\r\\nThere shall not at your father’s house, these seven years\\r\\nBe born another such.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nMy good Camillo,\\r\\nShe is as forward of her breeding as\\r\\nShe is i’ th’ rear our birth.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nI cannot say ’tis pity\\r\\nShe lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress\\r\\nTo most that teach.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nYour pardon, sir; for this\\r\\nI’ll blush you thanks.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nMy prettiest Perdita!\\r\\nBut, O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo,\\r\\nPreserver of my father, now of me,\\r\\nThe medicine of our house, how shall we do?\\r\\nWe are not furnish’d like Bohemia’s son,\\r\\nNor shall appear in Sicilia.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nMy lord,\\r\\nFear none of this. I think you know my fortunes\\r\\nDo all lie there: it shall be so my care\\r\\nTo have you royally appointed as if\\r\\nThe scene you play were mine. For instance, sir,\\r\\nThat you may know you shall not want,—one word.\\r\\n[_They talk aside._]\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Autolycus.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHa, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn brother, a very\\r\\nsimple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery. Not a counterfeit stone,\\r\\nnot a ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape,\\r\\nglove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting.\\r\\nThey throng who should buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallowed\\r\\nand brought a benediction to the buyer: by which means I saw whose\\r\\npurse was best in picture; and what I saw, to my good use I remembered.\\r\\nMy clown (who wants but something to be a reasonable man) grew so in\\r\\nlove with the wenches’ song that he would not stir his pettitoes till\\r\\nhe had both tune and words; which so drew the rest of the herd to me\\r\\nthat all their other senses stuck in ears: you might have pinched a\\r\\nplacket, it was senseless; ’twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse;\\r\\nI would have filed keys off that hung in chains: no hearing, no\\r\\nfeeling, but my sir’s song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that in\\r\\nthis time of lethargy I picked and cut most of their festival purses;\\r\\nand had not the old man come in with a whoobub against his daughter and\\r\\nthe king’s son, and scared my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a\\r\\npurse alive in the whole army.\\r\\n\\r\\n Camillo, Florizel and Perdita come forward.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNay, but my letters, by this means being there\\r\\nSo soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nAnd those that you’ll procure from king Leontes?\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nShall satisfy your father.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nHappy be you!\\r\\nAll that you speak shows fair.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\n[_Seeing Autolycus._] Who have we here?\\r\\nWe’ll make an instrument of this; omit\\r\\nNothing may give us aid.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] If they have overheard me now,—why, hanging.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nHow now, good fellow! why shakest thou so? Fear not, man; here’s no\\r\\nharm intended to thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI am a poor fellow, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nWhy, be so still; here’s nobody will steal that from thee: yet, for the\\r\\noutside of thy poverty we must make an exchange; therefore discase thee\\r\\ninstantly,—thou must think there’s a necessity in’t—and change garments\\r\\nwith this gentleman: though the pennyworth on his side be the worst,\\r\\nyet hold thee, there’s some boot.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Giving money._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI am a poor fellow, sir: [_Aside._] I know ye well enough.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNay, prithee dispatch: the gentleman is half flayed already.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAre you in earnest, sir? [_Aside._] I smell the trick on’t.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nDispatch, I prithee.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nIndeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot with conscience take it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nUnbuckle, unbuckle.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Florizel and Autolycus exchange garments._]\\r\\n\\r\\nFortunate mistress,—let my prophecy\\r\\nCome home to you!—you must retire yourself\\r\\nInto some covert. Take your sweetheart’s hat\\r\\nAnd pluck it o’er your brows, muffle your face,\\r\\nDismantle you; and, as you can, disliken\\r\\nThe truth of your own seeming; that you may\\r\\n(For I do fear eyes over) to shipboard\\r\\nGet undescried.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nI see the play so lies\\r\\nThat I must bear a part.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNo remedy.\\r\\nHave you done there?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nShould I now meet my father,\\r\\nHe would not call me son.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nNay, you shall have no hat. [_Giving it to Perdita._]\\r\\nCome, lady, come. Farewell, my friend.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAdieu, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nO Perdita, what have we twain forgot?\\r\\nPray you a word.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_They converse apart._]\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\n[_Aside._] What I do next, shall be to tell the king\\r\\nOf this escape, and whither they are bound;\\r\\nWherein my hope is I shall so prevail\\r\\nTo force him after: in whose company\\r\\nI shall re-view Sicilia; for whose sight\\r\\nI have a woman’s longing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nFortune speed us!\\r\\nThus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nThe swifter speed the better.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Florizel, Perdita and Camillo._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI understand the business, I hear it. To have an open ear, a quick eye,\\r\\nand a nimble hand, is necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is\\r\\nrequisite also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see this is\\r\\nthe time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an exchange had this\\r\\nbeen without boot! What a boot is here with this exchange! Sure the\\r\\ngods do this year connive at us, and we may do anything extempore. The\\r\\nprince himself is about a piece of iniquity, stealing away from his\\r\\nfather with his clog at his heels: if I thought it were a piece of\\r\\nhonesty to acquaint the king withal, I would not do’t: I hold it the\\r\\nmore knavery to conceal it; and therein am I constant to my profession.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Clown and Shepherd.\\r\\n\\r\\nAside, aside; here is more matter for a hot brain: every lane’s end,\\r\\nevery shop, church, session, hanging, yields a careful man work.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nSee, see; what a man you are now! There is no other way but to tell the\\r\\nking she’s a changeling, and none of your flesh and blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nNay, but hear me.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNay, but hear me.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nGo to, then.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nShe being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood has not\\r\\noffended the king; and so your flesh and blood is not to be punished by\\r\\nhim. Show those things you found about her, those secret things, all\\r\\nbut what she has with her: this being done, let the law go whistle, I\\r\\nwarrant you.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nI will tell the king all, every word, yea, and his son’s pranks too;\\r\\nwho, I may say, is no honest man neither to his father nor to me, to go\\r\\nabout to make me the king’s brother-in-law.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIndeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you could have been to him,\\r\\nand then your blood had been the dearer by I know how much an ounce.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Very wisely, puppies!\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWell, let us to the king: there is that in this fardel will make him\\r\\nscratch his beard.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] I know not what impediment this complaint may be to the\\r\\nflight of my master.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nPray heartily he be at’ palace.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\n[_Aside._] Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by\\r\\nchance. Let me pocket up my pedlar’s excrement. [_Takes off his false\\r\\nbeard._] How now, rustics! whither are you bound?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nTo the palace, an it like your worship.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nYour affairs there, what, with whom, the condition of that fardel, the\\r\\nplace of your dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having,\\r\\nbreeding, and anything that is fitting to be known? discover!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWe are but plain fellows, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nA lie; you are rough and hairy. Let me have no lying. It becomes none\\r\\nbut tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the lie; but we pay them\\r\\nfor it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore they do not\\r\\ngive us the lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYour worship had like to have given us one, if you had not taken\\r\\nyourself with the manner.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAre you a courtier, an ’t like you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nWhether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest thou not the air of\\r\\nthe court in these enfoldings? hath not my gait in it the measure of\\r\\nthe court? receives not thy nose court-odour from me? reflect I not on\\r\\nthy baseness court-contempt? Think’st thou, for that I insinuate, or\\r\\ntoaze from thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier? I am courtier\\r\\n_cap-a-pe_, and one that will either push on or pluck back thy business\\r\\nthere. Whereupon I command thee to open thy affair.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nMy business, sir, is to the king.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nWhat advocate hast thou to him?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nI know not, an ’t like you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAdvocate’s the court-word for a pheasant. Say you have none.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nNone, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHow bless’d are we that are not simple men!\\r\\nYet nature might have made me as these are,\\r\\nTherefore I will not disdain.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThis cannot be but a great courtier.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nHis garments are rich, but he wears them not handsomely.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe seems to be the more noble in being fantastical: a great man, I’ll\\r\\nwarrant; I know by the picking on’s teeth.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nThe fardel there? What’s i’ th’ fardel? Wherefore that box?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nSir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box which none must\\r\\nknow but the king; and which he shall know within this hour, if I may\\r\\ncome to th’ speech of him.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAge, thou hast lost thy labour.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWhy, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nThe king is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a new ship to purge\\r\\nmelancholy and air himself: for, if thou beest capable of things\\r\\nserious, thou must know the king is full of grief.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nSo ’tis said, sir; about his son, that should have married a shepherd’s\\r\\ndaughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nIf that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly. The curses he shall\\r\\nhave, the tortures he shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart\\r\\nof monster.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThink you so, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nNot he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy and vengeance bitter;\\r\\nbut those that are germane to him, though removed fifty times, shall\\r\\nall come under the hangman: which, though it be great pity, yet it is\\r\\nnecessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have\\r\\nhis daughter come into grace! Some say he shall be stoned; but that\\r\\ndeath is too soft for him, say I. Draw our throne into a sheepcote! All\\r\\ndeaths are too few, the sharpest too easy.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHas the old man e’er a son, sir, do you hear, an ’t like you, sir?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nHe has a son, who shall be flayed alive; then ’nointed over with honey,\\r\\nset on the head of a wasp’s nest; then stand till he be three quarters\\r\\nand a dram dead; then recovered again with aqua-vitæ or some other hot\\r\\ninfusion; then, raw as he is, and in the hottest day prognostication\\r\\nproclaims, shall he be set against a brick wall, the sun looking with a\\r\\nsouthward eye upon him, where he is to behold him with flies blown to\\r\\ndeath. But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are\\r\\nto be smiled at, their offences being so capital? Tell me (for you seem\\r\\nto be honest plain men) what you have to the king. Being something\\r\\ngently considered, I’ll bring you where he is aboard, tender your\\r\\npersons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfs; and if it be in\\r\\nman besides the king to effect your suits, here is man shall do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nHe seems to be of great authority: close with him, give him gold; and\\r\\nthough authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with\\r\\ngold: show the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand, and no\\r\\nmore ado. Remember: “ston’d” and “flayed alive”.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAn ’t please you, sir, to undertake the business for us, here is that\\r\\ngold I have. I’ll make it as much more, and leave this young man in\\r\\npawn till I bring it you.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAfter I have done what I promised?\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAy, sir.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nWell, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this business?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIn some sort, sir: but though my case be a pitiful one, I hope I shall\\r\\nnot be flayed out of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nO, that’s the case of the shepherd’s son. Hang him, he’ll be made an\\r\\nexample.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nComfort, good comfort! We must to the king and show our strange sights.\\r\\nHe must know ’tis none of your daughter nor my sister; we are gone\\r\\nelse. Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does when the\\r\\nbusiness is performed, and remain, as he says, your pawn till it be\\r\\nbrought you.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side; go on the\\r\\nright-hand. I will but look upon the hedge, and follow you.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nWe are blessed in this man, as I may say, even blessed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nLet’s before, as he bids us. He was provided to do us good.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Shepherd and Clown._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nIf I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would not suffer me: she\\r\\ndrops booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion:\\r\\ngold, and a means to do the prince my master good; which who knows how\\r\\nthat may turn back to my advancement? I will bring these two moles,\\r\\nthese blind ones, aboard him. If he think it fit to shore them again\\r\\nand that the complaint they have to the king concerns him nothing, let\\r\\nhim call me rogue for being so far officious; for I am proof against\\r\\nthat title and what shame else belongs to ’t. To him will I present\\r\\nthem. There may be matter in it.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exit._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nACT V\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE I. Sicilia. A Room in the palace of Leontes.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Cleomenes, Dion, Paulina and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nSir, you have done enough, and have perform’d\\r\\nA saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make\\r\\nWhich you have not redeem’d; indeed, paid down\\r\\nMore penitence than done trespass: at the last,\\r\\nDo as the heavens have done, forget your evil;\\r\\nWith them, forgive yourself.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhilst I remember\\r\\nHer and her virtues, I cannot forget\\r\\nMy blemishes in them; and so still think of\\r\\nThe wrong I did myself: which was so much\\r\\nThat heirless it hath made my kingdom, and\\r\\nDestroy’d the sweet’st companion that e’er man\\r\\nBred his hopes out of.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nTrue, too true, my lord.\\r\\nIf, one by one, you wedded all the world,\\r\\nOr from the all that are took something good,\\r\\nTo make a perfect woman, she you kill’d\\r\\nWould be unparallel’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI think so. Kill’d!\\r\\nShe I kill’d! I did so: but thou strik’st me\\r\\nSorely, to say I did: it is as bitter\\r\\nUpon thy tongue as in my thought. Now, good now,\\r\\nSay so but seldom.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nNot at all, good lady.\\r\\nYou might have spoken a thousand things that would\\r\\nHave done the time more benefit and grac’d\\r\\nYour kindness better.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nYou are one of those\\r\\nWould have him wed again.\\r\\n\\r\\nDION.\\r\\nIf you would not so,\\r\\nYou pity not the state, nor the remembrance\\r\\nOf his most sovereign name; consider little\\r\\nWhat dangers, by his highness’ fail of issue,\\r\\nMay drop upon his kingdom, and devour\\r\\nIncertain lookers-on. What were more holy\\r\\nThan to rejoice the former queen is well?\\r\\nWhat holier than, for royalty’s repair,\\r\\nFor present comfort, and for future good,\\r\\nTo bless the bed of majesty again\\r\\nWith a sweet fellow to ’t?\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThere is none worthy,\\r\\nRespecting her that’s gone. Besides, the gods\\r\\nWill have fulfill’d their secret purposes;\\r\\nFor has not the divine Apollo said,\\r\\nIs ’t not the tenor of his oracle,\\r\\nThat king Leontes shall not have an heir\\r\\nTill his lost child be found? Which that it shall,\\r\\nIs all as monstrous to our human reason\\r\\nAs my Antigonus to break his grave\\r\\nAnd come again to me; who, on my life,\\r\\nDid perish with the infant. ’Tis your counsel\\r\\nMy lord should to the heavens be contrary,\\r\\nOppose against their wills. [_To Leontes._] Care not for issue;\\r\\nThe crown will find an heir. Great Alexander\\r\\nLeft his to th’ worthiest; so his successor\\r\\nWas like to be the best.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGood Paulina,\\r\\nWho hast the memory of Hermione,\\r\\nI know, in honour, O that ever I\\r\\nHad squar’d me to thy counsel! Then, even now,\\r\\nI might have look’d upon my queen’s full eyes,\\r\\nHave taken treasure from her lips,—\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nAnd left them\\r\\nMore rich for what they yielded.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThou speak’st truth.\\r\\nNo more such wives; therefore, no wife: one worse,\\r\\nAnd better us’d, would make her sainted spirit\\r\\nAgain possess her corpse, and on this stage,\\r\\n(Where we offenders now appear) soul-vexed,\\r\\nAnd begin “Why to me?”\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nHad she such power,\\r\\nShe had just cause.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nShe had; and would incense me\\r\\nTo murder her I married.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI should so.\\r\\nWere I the ghost that walk’d, I’d bid you mark\\r\\nHer eye, and tell me for what dull part in ’t\\r\\nYou chose her: then I’d shriek, that even your ears\\r\\nShould rift to hear me; and the words that follow’d\\r\\nShould be “Remember mine.”\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nStars, stars,\\r\\nAnd all eyes else dead coals! Fear thou no wife;\\r\\nI’ll have no wife, Paulina.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWill you swear\\r\\nNever to marry but by my free leave?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNever, Paulina; so be bless’d my spirit!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThen, good my lords, bear witness to his oath.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nYou tempt him over-much.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nUnless another,\\r\\nAs like Hermione as is her picture,\\r\\nAffront his eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLEOMENES\\r\\nGood madam,—\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI have done.\\r\\nYet, if my lord will marry,—if you will, sir,\\r\\nNo remedy but you will,—give me the office\\r\\nTo choose you a queen: she shall not be so young\\r\\nAs was your former, but she shall be such\\r\\nAs, walk’d your first queen’s ghost, it should take joy\\r\\nTo see her in your arms.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nMy true Paulina,\\r\\nWe shall not marry till thou bid’st us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThat\\r\\nShall be when your first queen’s again in breath;\\r\\nNever till then.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Servant.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nOne that gives out himself Prince Florizel,\\r\\nSon of Polixenes, with his princess (she\\r\\nThe fairest I have yet beheld) desires access\\r\\nTo your high presence.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat with him? he comes not\\r\\nLike to his father’s greatness: his approach,\\r\\nSo out of circumstance and sudden, tells us\\r\\n’Tis not a visitation fram’d, but forc’d\\r\\nBy need and accident. What train?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nBut few,\\r\\nAnd those but mean.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHis princess, say you, with him?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nAy, the most peerless piece of earth, I think,\\r\\nThat e’er the sun shone bright on.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nO Hermione,\\r\\nAs every present time doth boast itself\\r\\nAbove a better gone, so must thy grave\\r\\nGive way to what’s seen now! Sir, you yourself\\r\\nHave said and writ so,—but your writing now\\r\\nIs colder than that theme,—‘She had not been,\\r\\nNor was not to be equall’d’; thus your verse\\r\\nFlow’d with her beauty once; ’tis shrewdly ebb’d,\\r\\nTo say you have seen a better.\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nPardon, madam:\\r\\nThe one I have almost forgot,—your pardon;—\\r\\nThe other, when she has obtain’d your eye,\\r\\nWill have your tongue too. This is a creature,\\r\\nWould she begin a sect, might quench the zeal\\r\\nOf all professors else; make proselytes\\r\\nOf who she but bid follow.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nHow! not women?\\r\\n\\r\\nSERVANT.\\r\\nWomen will love her that she is a woman\\r\\nMore worth than any man; men, that she is\\r\\nThe rarest of all women.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nGo, Cleomenes;\\r\\nYourself, assisted with your honour’d friends,\\r\\nBring them to our embracement.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Cleomenes and others._]\\r\\n\\r\\nStill, ’tis strange\\r\\nHe thus should steal upon us.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nHad our prince,\\r\\nJewel of children, seen this hour, he had pair’d\\r\\nWell with this lord. There was not full a month\\r\\nBetween their births.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nPrithee no more; cease; Thou know’st\\r\\nHe dies to me again when talk’d of: sure,\\r\\nWhen I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches\\r\\nWill bring me to consider that which may\\r\\nUnfurnish me of reason. They are come.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Florizel, Perdita, Cleomenes and others.\\r\\n\\r\\nYour mother was most true to wedlock, prince;\\r\\nFor she did print your royal father off,\\r\\nConceiving you. Were I but twenty-one,\\r\\nYour father’s image is so hit in you,\\r\\nHis very air, that I should call you brother,\\r\\nAs I did him, and speak of something wildly\\r\\nBy us perform’d before. Most dearly welcome!\\r\\nAnd your fair princess,—goddess! O, alas!\\r\\nI lost a couple that ’twixt heaven and earth\\r\\nMight thus have stood, begetting wonder, as\\r\\nYou, gracious couple, do! And then I lost,—\\r\\nAll mine own folly,—the society,\\r\\nAmity too, of your brave father, whom,\\r\\nThough bearing misery, I desire my life\\r\\nOnce more to look on him.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nBy his command\\r\\nHave I here touch’d Sicilia, and from him\\r\\nGive you all greetings that a king, at friend,\\r\\nCan send his brother: and, but infirmity,\\r\\nWhich waits upon worn times, hath something seiz’d\\r\\nHis wish’d ability, he had himself\\r\\nThe lands and waters ’twixt your throne and his\\r\\nMeasur’d, to look upon you; whom he loves,\\r\\nHe bade me say so,—more than all the sceptres\\r\\nAnd those that bear them living.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO my brother,—\\r\\nGood gentleman!—the wrongs I have done thee stir\\r\\nAfresh within me; and these thy offices,\\r\\nSo rarely kind, are as interpreters\\r\\nOf my behind-hand slackness! Welcome hither,\\r\\nAs is the spring to the earth. And hath he too\\r\\nExpos’d this paragon to the fearful usage,\\r\\nAt least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune,\\r\\nTo greet a man not worth her pains, much less\\r\\nTh’ adventure of her person?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nGood, my lord,\\r\\nShe came from Libya.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhere the warlike Smalus,\\r\\nThat noble honour’d lord, is fear’d and lov’d?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nMost royal sir, from thence; from him, whose daughter\\r\\nHis tears proclaim’d his, parting with her: thence,\\r\\nA prosperous south-wind friendly, we have cross’d,\\r\\nTo execute the charge my father gave me\\r\\nFor visiting your highness: my best train\\r\\nI have from your Sicilian shores dismiss’d;\\r\\nWho for Bohemia bend, to signify\\r\\nNot only my success in Libya, sir,\\r\\nBut my arrival, and my wife’s, in safety\\r\\nHere, where we are.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThe blessed gods\\r\\nPurge all infection from our air whilst you\\r\\nDo climate here! You have a holy father,\\r\\nA graceful gentleman; against whose person,\\r\\nSo sacred as it is, I have done sin,\\r\\nFor which the heavens, taking angry note,\\r\\nHave left me issueless. And your father’s bless’d,\\r\\nAs he from heaven merits it, with you,\\r\\nWorthy his goodness. What might I have been,\\r\\nMight I a son and daughter now have look’d on,\\r\\nSuch goodly things as you!\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Lord.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nMost noble sir,\\r\\nThat which I shall report will bear no credit,\\r\\nWere not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir,\\r\\nBohemia greets you from himself by me;\\r\\nDesires you to attach his son, who has—\\r\\nHis dignity and duty both cast off—\\r\\nFled from his father, from his hopes, and with\\r\\nA shepherd’s daughter.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhere’s Bohemia? speak.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nHere in your city; I now came from him.\\r\\nI speak amazedly, and it becomes\\r\\nMy marvel and my message. To your court\\r\\nWhiles he was hast’ning—in the chase, it seems,\\r\\nOf this fair couple—meets he on the way\\r\\nThe father of this seeming lady and\\r\\nHer brother, having both their country quitted\\r\\nWith this young prince.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nCamillo has betray’d me;\\r\\nWhose honour and whose honesty till now,\\r\\nEndur’d all weathers.\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nLay ’t so to his charge.\\r\\nHe’s with the king your father.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWho? Camillo?\\r\\n\\r\\nLORD.\\r\\nCamillo, sir; I spake with him; who now\\r\\nHas these poor men in question. Never saw I\\r\\nWretches so quake: they kneel, they kiss the earth;\\r\\nForswear themselves as often as they speak.\\r\\nBohemia stops his ears, and threatens them\\r\\nWith divers deaths in death.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nO my poor father!\\r\\nThe heaven sets spies upon us, will not have\\r\\nOur contract celebrated.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nYou are married?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nWe are not, sir, nor are we like to be.\\r\\nThe stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first.\\r\\nThe odds for high and low’s alike.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nMy lord,\\r\\nIs this the daughter of a king?\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nShe is,\\r\\nWhen once she is my wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThat “once”, I see by your good father’s speed,\\r\\nWill come on very slowly. I am sorry,\\r\\nMost sorry, you have broken from his liking,\\r\\nWhere you were tied in duty; and as sorry\\r\\nYour choice is not so rich in worth as beauty,\\r\\nThat you might well enjoy her.\\r\\n\\r\\nFLORIZEL.\\r\\nDear, look up:\\r\\nThough Fortune, visible an enemy,\\r\\nShould chase us with my father, power no jot\\r\\nHath she to change our loves. Beseech you, sir,\\r\\nRemember since you ow’d no more to time\\r\\nThan I do now: with thought of such affections,\\r\\nStep forth mine advocate. At your request\\r\\nMy father will grant precious things as trifles.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWould he do so, I’d beg your precious mistress,\\r\\nWhich he counts but a trifle.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nSir, my liege,\\r\\nYour eye hath too much youth in ’t: not a month\\r\\n’Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes\\r\\nThan what you look on now.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nI thought of her\\r\\nEven in these looks I made. [_To Florizel._] But your petition\\r\\nIs yet unanswer’d. I will to your father.\\r\\nYour honour not o’erthrown by your desires,\\r\\nI am friend to them and you: upon which errand\\r\\nI now go toward him; therefore follow me,\\r\\nAnd mark what way I make. Come, good my lord.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE II. The same. Before the Palace.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Autolycus and a Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nBeseech you, sir, were you present at this relation?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI was by at the opening of the fardel, heard the old shepherd deliver\\r\\nthe manner how he found it: whereupon, after a little amazedness, we\\r\\nwere all commanded out of the chamber; only this, methought I heard the\\r\\nshepherd say he found the child.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI would most gladly know the issue of it.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI make a broken delivery of the business; but the changes I perceived\\r\\nin the king and Camillo were very notes of admiration. They seemed\\r\\nalmost, with staring on one another, to tear the cases of their eyes.\\r\\nThere was speech in their dumbness, language in their very gesture;\\r\\nthey looked as they had heard of a world ransomed, or one destroyed. A\\r\\nnotable passion of wonder appeared in them; but the wisest beholder,\\r\\nthat knew no more but seeing could not say if th’ importance were joy\\r\\nor sorrow; but in the extremity of the one, it must needs be. Here\\r\\ncomes a gentleman that happily knows more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe news, Rogero?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNothing but bonfires: the oracle is fulfilled: the king’s daughter is\\r\\nfound: such a deal of wonder is broken out within this hour that\\r\\nballad-makers cannot be able to express it. Here comes the Lady\\r\\nPaulina’s steward: he can deliver you more.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter a third Gentleman.\\r\\n\\r\\n How goes it now, sir? This news, which is called true, is so like an\\r\\n old tale that the verity of it is in strong suspicion. Has the king\\r\\n found his heir?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nMost true, if ever truth were pregnant by circumstance. That which you\\r\\nhear you’ll swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The\\r\\nmantle of Queen Hermione’s, her jewel about the neck of it, the letters\\r\\nof Antigonus found with it, which they know to be his character; the\\r\\nmajesty of the creature in resemblance of the mother, the affection of\\r\\nnobleness which nature shows above her breeding, and many other\\r\\nevidences proclaim her with all certainty to be the king’s daughter.\\r\\nDid you see the meeting of the two kings?\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNo.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThen you have lost a sight which was to be seen, cannot be spoken of.\\r\\nThere might you have beheld one joy crown another, so and in such\\r\\nmanner that it seemed sorrow wept to take leave of them, for their joy\\r\\nwaded in tears. There was casting up of eyes, holding up of hands, with\\r\\ncountenance of such distraction that they were to be known by garment,\\r\\nnot by favour. Our king, being ready to leap out of himself for joy of\\r\\nhis found daughter, as if that joy were now become a loss, cries “O,\\r\\nthy mother, thy mother!” then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces\\r\\nhis son-in-law; then again worries he his daughter with clipping her;\\r\\nnow he thanks the old shepherd, which stands by like a weather-bitten\\r\\nconduit of many kings’ reigns. I never heard of such another encounter,\\r\\nwhich lames report to follow it, and undoes description to do it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWhat, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried hence the child?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nLike an old tale still, which will have matter to rehearse, though\\r\\ncredit be asleep and not an ear open. He was torn to pieces with a\\r\\nbear: this avouches the shepherd’s son, who has not only his innocence,\\r\\nwhich seems much, to justify him, but a handkerchief and rings of his\\r\\nthat Paulina knows.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWhat became of his bark and his followers?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWrecked the same instant of their master’s death, and in the view of\\r\\nthe shepherd: so that all the instruments which aided to expose the\\r\\nchild were even then lost when it was found. But O, the noble combat\\r\\nthat ’twixt joy and sorrow was fought in Paulina! She had one eye\\r\\ndeclined for the loss of her husband, another elevated that the oracle\\r\\nwas fulfilled. She lifted the princess from the earth, and so locks her\\r\\nin embracing, as if she would pin her to her heart, that she might no\\r\\nmore be in danger of losing.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nThe dignity of this act was worth the audience of kings and princes;\\r\\nfor by such was it acted.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nOne of the prettiest touches of all, and that which angled for mine\\r\\neyes (caught the water, though not the fish) was, when at the relation\\r\\nof the queen’s death (with the manner how she came to it bravely\\r\\nconfessed and lamented by the king) how attentivenes wounded his\\r\\ndaughter; till, from one sign of dolour to another, she did, with an\\r\\n“Alas,” I would fain say, bleed tears, for I am sure my heart wept\\r\\nblood. Who was most marble there changed colour; some swooned, all\\r\\nsorrowed: if all the world could have seen it, the woe had been\\r\\nuniversal.\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nAre they returned to the court?\\r\\n\\r\\nTHIRD GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nNo: the princess hearing of her mother’s statue, which is in the\\r\\nkeeping of Paulina,—a piece many years in doing and now newly performed\\r\\nby that rare Italian master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself\\r\\neternity, and could put breath into his work, would beguile Nature of\\r\\nher custom, so perfectly he is her ape: he so near to Hermione hath\\r\\ndone Hermione that they say one would speak to her and stand in hope of\\r\\nanswer. Thither with all greediness of affection are they gone, and\\r\\nthere they intend to sup.\\r\\n\\r\\nSECOND GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nI thought she had some great matter there in hand; for she hath\\r\\nprivately twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione,\\r\\nvisited that removed house. Shall we thither, and with our company\\r\\npiece the rejoicing?\\r\\n\\r\\nFIRST GENTLEMAN.\\r\\nWho would be thence that has the benefit of access? Every wink of an\\r\\neye some new grace will be born. Our absence makes us unthrifty to our\\r\\nknowledge. Let’s along.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt Gentlemen._]\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nNow, had I not the dash of my former life in me, would preferment drop\\r\\non my head. I brought the old man and his son aboard the prince; told\\r\\nhim I heard them talk of a fardel and I know not what. But he at that\\r\\ntime over-fond of the shepherd’s daughter (so he then took her to be),\\r\\nwho began to be much sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity of\\r\\nweather continuing, this mystery remained undiscover’d. But ’tis all\\r\\none to me; for had I been the finder-out of this secret, it would not\\r\\nhave relish’d among my other discredits.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Shepherd and Clown.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere come those I have done good to against my will, and already\\r\\nappearing in the blossoms of their fortune.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nCome, boy; I am past more children, but thy sons and daughters will be\\r\\nall gentlemen born.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nYou are well met, sir. You denied to fight with me this other day,\\r\\nbecause I was no gentleman born. See you these clothes? Say you see\\r\\nthem not and think me still no gentleman born: you were best say these\\r\\nrobes are not gentlemen born. Give me the lie, do; and try whether I am\\r\\nnot now a gentleman born.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI know you are now, sir, a gentleman born.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy, and have been so any time these four hours.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nAnd so have I, boy!\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nSo you have: but I was a gentleman born before my father; for the\\r\\nking’s son took me by the hand and called me brother; and then the two\\r\\nkings called my father brother; and then the prince, my brother, and\\r\\nthe princess, my sister, called my father father; and so we wept; and\\r\\nthere was the first gentleman-like tears that ever we shed.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nWe may live, son, to shed many more.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy; or else ’twere hard luck, being in so preposterous estate as we\\r\\nare.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the faults I have committed\\r\\nto your worship, and to give me your good report to the prince my\\r\\nmaster.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nPrithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are gentlemen.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nThou wilt amend thy life?\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nAy, an it like your good worship.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nGive me thy hand: I will swear to the prince thou art as honest a true\\r\\nfellow as any is in Bohemia.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nYou may say it, but not swear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nNot swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and franklins say it,\\r\\nI’ll swear it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSHEPHERD.\\r\\nHow if it be false, son?\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nIf it be ne’er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in the behalf of\\r\\nhis friend. And I’ll swear to the prince thou art a tall fellow of thy\\r\\nhands and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art no tall\\r\\nfellow of thy hands and that thou wilt be drunk: but I’ll swear it; and\\r\\nI would thou wouldst be a tall fellow of thy hands.\\r\\n\\r\\nAUTOLYCUS.\\r\\nI will prove so, sir, to my power.\\r\\n\\r\\nCLOWN.\\r\\nAy, by any means, prove a tall fellow: if I do not wonder how thou\\r\\ndar’st venture to be drunk, not being a tall fellow, trust me not.\\r\\nHark! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see the\\r\\nqueen’s picture. Come, follow us: we’ll be thy good masters.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\nSCENE III. The same. A Room in Paulina’s house.\\r\\n\\r\\n Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Florizel, Perdita, Camillo, Paulina, Lords\\r\\n and Attendants.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO grave and good Paulina, the great comfort\\r\\nThat I have had of thee!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nWhat, sovereign sir,\\r\\nI did not well, I meant well. All my services\\r\\nYou have paid home: but that you have vouchsaf’d,\\r\\nWith your crown’d brother and these your contracted\\r\\nHeirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit,\\r\\nIt is a surplus of your grace which never\\r\\nMy life may last to answer.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO Paulina,\\r\\nWe honour you with trouble. But we came\\r\\nTo see the statue of our queen: your gallery\\r\\nHave we pass’d through, not without much content\\r\\nIn many singularities; but we saw not\\r\\nThat which my daughter came to look upon,\\r\\nThe statue of her mother.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nAs she liv’d peerless,\\r\\nSo her dead likeness, I do well believe,\\r\\nExcels whatever yet you look’d upon\\r\\nOr hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it\\r\\nLonely, apart. But here it is: prepare\\r\\nTo see the life as lively mock’d as ever\\r\\nStill sleep mock’d death. Behold, and say ’tis well.\\r\\n\\r\\n Paulina undraws a curtain, and discovers Hermione standing as a\\r\\n statue.\\r\\n\\r\\nI like your silence, it the more shows off\\r\\nYour wonder: but yet speak. First you, my liege.\\r\\nComes it not something near?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nHer natural posture!\\r\\nChide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed\\r\\nThou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she\\r\\nIn thy not chiding; for she was as tender\\r\\nAs infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina,\\r\\nHermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing\\r\\nSo aged as this seems.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nO, not by much!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nSo much the more our carver’s excellence,\\r\\nWhich lets go by some sixteen years and makes her\\r\\nAs she liv’d now.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nAs now she might have done,\\r\\nSo much to my good comfort as it is\\r\\nNow piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood,\\r\\nEven with such life of majesty, warm life,\\r\\nAs now it coldly stands, when first I woo’d her!\\r\\nI am asham’d: does not the stone rebuke me\\r\\nFor being more stone than it? O royal piece,\\r\\nThere’s magic in thy majesty, which has\\r\\nMy evils conjur’d to remembrance and\\r\\nFrom thy admiring daughter took the spirits,\\r\\nStanding like stone with thee.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nAnd give me leave,\\r\\nAnd do not say ’tis superstition, that\\r\\nI kneel, and then implore her blessing. Lady,\\r\\nDear queen, that ended when I but began,\\r\\nGive me that hand of yours to kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nO, patience!\\r\\nThe statue is but newly fix’d, the colour’s\\r\\nNot dry.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nMy lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on,\\r\\nWhich sixteen winters cannot blow away,\\r\\nSo many summers dry. Scarce any joy\\r\\nDid ever so long live; no sorrow\\r\\nBut kill’d itself much sooner.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nDear my brother,\\r\\nLet him that was the cause of this have power\\r\\nTo take off so much grief from you as he\\r\\nWill piece up in himself.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nIndeed, my lord,\\r\\nIf I had thought the sight of my poor image\\r\\nWould thus have wrought you—for the stone is mine—\\r\\nI’d not have show’d it.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nDo not draw the curtain.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nNo longer shall you gaze on’t, lest your fancy\\r\\nMay think anon it moves.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nLet be, let be.\\r\\nWould I were dead, but that methinks already—\\r\\nWhat was he that did make it? See, my lord,\\r\\nWould you not deem it breath’d? And that those veins\\r\\nDid verily bear blood?\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nMasterly done:\\r\\nThe very life seems warm upon her lip.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nThe fixture of her eye has motion in ’t,\\r\\nAs we are mock’d with art.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI’ll draw the curtain:\\r\\nMy lord’s almost so far transported that\\r\\nHe’ll think anon it lives.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO sweet Paulina,\\r\\nMake me to think so twenty years together!\\r\\nNo settled senses of the world can match\\r\\nThe pleasure of that madness. Let ’t alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nI am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr’d you: but\\r\\nI could afflict you further.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nDo, Paulina;\\r\\nFor this affliction has a taste as sweet\\r\\nAs any cordial comfort. Still methinks\\r\\nThere is an air comes from her. What fine chisel\\r\\nCould ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me,\\r\\nFor I will kiss her!\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nGood my lord, forbear:\\r\\nThe ruddiness upon her lip is wet;\\r\\nYou’ll mar it if you kiss it, stain your own\\r\\nWith oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nNo, not these twenty years.\\r\\n\\r\\nPERDITA.\\r\\nSo long could I\\r\\nStand by, a looker on.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nEither forbear,\\r\\nQuit presently the chapel, or resolve you\\r\\nFor more amazement. If you can behold it,\\r\\nI’ll make the statue move indeed, descend,\\r\\nAnd take you by the hand. But then you’ll think\\r\\n(Which I protest against) I am assisted\\r\\nBy wicked powers.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nWhat you can make her do\\r\\nI am content to look on: what to speak,\\r\\nI am content to hear; for ’tis as easy\\r\\nTo make her speak as move.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nIt is requir’d\\r\\nYou do awake your faith. Then all stand still;\\r\\nOr those that think it is unlawful business\\r\\nI am about, let them depart.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nProceed:\\r\\nNo foot shall stir.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nMusic, awake her: strike! [_Music._]\\r\\n’Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach;\\r\\nStrike all that look upon with marvel. Come;\\r\\nI’ll fill your grave up: stir; nay, come away.\\r\\nBequeath to death your numbness, for from him\\r\\nDear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs.\\r\\n\\r\\n Hermione comes down from the pedestal.\\r\\n\\r\\nStart not; her actions shall be holy as\\r\\nYou hear my spell is lawful. Do not shun her\\r\\nUntil you see her die again; for then\\r\\nYou kill her double. Nay, present your hand:\\r\\nWhen she was young you woo’d her; now in age\\r\\nIs she become the suitor?\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\n[_Embracing her._] O, she’s warm!\\r\\nIf this be magic, let it be an art\\r\\nLawful as eating.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nShe embraces him.\\r\\n\\r\\nCAMILLO.\\r\\nShe hangs about his neck.\\r\\nIf she pertain to life, let her speak too.\\r\\n\\r\\nPOLIXENES.\\r\\nAy, and make it manifest where she has liv’d,\\r\\nOr how stol’n from the dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThat she is living,\\r\\nWere it but told you, should be hooted at\\r\\nLike an old tale; but it appears she lives,\\r\\nThough yet she speak not. Mark a little while.\\r\\nPlease you to interpose, fair madam. Kneel\\r\\nAnd pray your mother’s blessing. Turn, good lady,\\r\\nOur Perdita is found.\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Presenting Perdita who kneels to Hermione._]\\r\\n\\r\\nHERMIONE.\\r\\nYou gods, look down,\\r\\nAnd from your sacred vials pour your graces\\r\\nUpon my daughter’s head! Tell me, mine own,\\r\\nWhere hast thou been preserv’d? where liv’d? how found\\r\\nThy father’s court? for thou shalt hear that I,\\r\\nKnowing by Paulina that the oracle\\r\\nGave hope thou wast in being, have preserv’d\\r\\nMyself to see the issue.\\r\\n\\r\\nPAULINA.\\r\\nThere’s time enough for that;\\r\\nLest they desire upon this push to trouble\\r\\nYour joys with like relation. Go together,\\r\\nYou precious winners all; your exultation\\r\\nPartake to everyone. I, an old turtle,\\r\\nWill wing me to some wither’d bough, and there\\r\\nMy mate, that’s never to be found again,\\r\\nLament till I am lost.\\r\\n\\r\\nLEONTES.\\r\\nO peace, Paulina!\\r\\nThou shouldst a husband take by my consent,\\r\\nAs I by thine a wife: this is a match,\\r\\nAnd made between ’s by vows. Thou hast found mine;\\r\\nBut how, is to be question’d; for I saw her,\\r\\nAs I thought, dead; and have in vain said many\\r\\nA prayer upon her grave. I’ll not seek far—\\r\\nFor him, I partly know his mind—to find thee\\r\\nAn honourable husband. Come, Camillo,\\r\\nAnd take her by the hand, whose worth and honesty\\r\\nIs richly noted, and here justified\\r\\nBy us, a pair of kings. Let’s from this place.\\r\\nWhat! look upon my brother: both your pardons,\\r\\nThat e’er I put between your holy looks\\r\\nMy ill suspicion. This your son-in-law,\\r\\nAnd son unto the king, whom heavens directing,\\r\\nIs troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina,\\r\\nLead us from hence; where we may leisurely\\r\\nEach one demand, and answer to his part\\r\\nPerform’d in this wide gap of time, since first\\r\\nWe were dissever’d. Hastily lead away!\\r\\n\\r\\n [_Exeunt._]\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n',\n", + " 'A LOVER’S COMPLAINT\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nFrom off a hill whose concave womb reworded\\r\\nA plaintful story from a sist’ring vale,\\r\\nMy spirits t’attend this double voice accorded,\\r\\nAnd down I laid to list the sad-tun’d tale;\\r\\nEre long espied a fickle maid full pale,\\r\\nTearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,\\r\\nStorming her world with sorrow’s wind and rain.\\r\\n\\r\\nUpon her head a platted hive of straw,\\r\\nWhich fortified her visage from the sun,\\r\\nWhereon the thought might think sometime it saw\\r\\nThe carcass of a beauty spent and done;\\r\\nTime had not scythed all that youth begun,\\r\\nNor youth all quit, but spite of heaven’s fell rage\\r\\nSome beauty peeped through lattice of sear’d age.\\r\\n\\r\\nOft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,\\r\\nWhich on it had conceited characters,\\r\\nLaund’ring the silken figures in the brine\\r\\nThat seasoned woe had pelleted in tears,\\r\\nAnd often reading what contents it bears;\\r\\nAs often shrieking undistinguish’d woe,\\r\\nIn clamours of all size, both high and low.\\r\\n\\r\\nSometimes her levell’d eyes their carriage ride,\\r\\nAs they did batt’ry to the spheres intend;\\r\\nSometime diverted their poor balls are tied\\r\\nTo th’orbed earth; sometimes they do extend\\r\\nTheir view right on; anon their gazes lend\\r\\nTo every place at once, and nowhere fix’d,\\r\\nThe mind and sight distractedly commix’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,\\r\\nProclaim’d in her a careless hand of pride;\\r\\nFor some untuck’d descended her sheav’d hat,\\r\\nHanging her pale and pined cheek beside;\\r\\nSome in her threaden fillet still did bide,\\r\\nAnd, true to bondage, would not break from thence,\\r\\nThough slackly braided in loose negligence.\\r\\n\\r\\nA thousand favours from a maund she drew,\\r\\nOf amber, crystal, and of beaded jet,\\r\\nWhich one by one she in a river threw,\\r\\nUpon whose weeping margent she was set,\\r\\nLike usury applying wet to wet,\\r\\nOr monarchs’ hands, that lets not bounty fall\\r\\nWhere want cries ‘some,’ but where excess begs ‘all’.\\r\\n\\r\\nOf folded schedules had she many a one,\\r\\nWhich she perus’d, sigh’d, tore and gave the flood;\\r\\nCrack’d many a ring of posied gold and bone,\\r\\nBidding them find their sepulchres in mud;\\r\\nFound yet mo letters sadly penn’d in blood,\\r\\nWith sleided silk, feat and affectedly\\r\\nEnswath’d, and seal’d to curious secrecy.\\r\\n\\r\\nThese often bath’d she in her fluxive eyes,\\r\\nAnd often kiss’d, and often gave to tear;\\r\\nCried, ‘O false blood, thou register of lies,\\r\\nWhat unapproved witness dost thou bear!\\r\\nInk would have seem’d more black and damned here!’\\r\\nThis said, in top of rage the lines she rents,\\r\\nBig discontent so breaking their contents.\\r\\n\\r\\nA reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh,\\r\\nSometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew\\r\\nOf court, of city, and had let go by\\r\\nThe swiftest hours observed as they flew,\\r\\nTowards this afflicted fancy fastly drew;\\r\\nAnd, privileg’d by age, desires to know\\r\\nIn brief the grounds and motives of her woe.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo slides he down upon his grained bat,\\r\\nAnd comely distant sits he by her side,\\r\\nWhen he again desires her, being sat,\\r\\nHer grievance with his hearing to divide:\\r\\nIf that from him there may be aught applied\\r\\nWhich may her suffering ecstasy assuage,\\r\\n’Tis promised in the charity of age.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Father,’ she says, ‘though in me you behold\\r\\nThe injury of many a blasting hour,\\r\\nLet it not tell your judgement I am old,\\r\\nNot age, but sorrow, over me hath power.\\r\\nI might as yet have been a spreading flower,\\r\\nFresh to myself, if I had self-applied\\r\\nLove to myself, and to no love beside.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘But woe is me! Too early I attended\\r\\nA youthful suit; it was to gain my grace;\\r\\nO one by nature’s outwards so commended,\\r\\nThat maiden’s eyes stuck over all his face,\\r\\nLove lack’d a dwelling and made him her place;\\r\\nAnd when in his fair parts she did abide,\\r\\nShe was new lodg’d and newly deified.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘His browny locks did hang in crooked curls,\\r\\nAnd every light occasion of the wind\\r\\nUpon his lips their silken parcels hurls,\\r\\nWhat’s sweet to do, to do will aptly find,\\r\\nEach eye that saw him did enchant the mind:\\r\\nFor on his visage was in little drawn,\\r\\nWhat largeness thinks in paradise was sawn.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Small show of man was yet upon his chin;\\r\\nHis phoenix down began but to appear,\\r\\nLike unshorn velvet, on that termless skin,\\r\\nWhose bare out-bragg’d the web it seemed to wear.\\r\\nYet show’d his visage by that cost more dear,\\r\\nAnd nice affections wavering stood in doubt\\r\\nIf best were as it was, or best without.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘His qualities were beauteous as his form,\\r\\nFor maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free;\\r\\nYet if men mov’d him, was he such a storm\\r\\nAs oft ’twixt May and April is to see,\\r\\nWhen winds breathe sweet, unruly though they be.\\r\\nHis rudeness so with his authoriz’d youth\\r\\nDid livery falseness in a pride of truth.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Well could he ride, and often men would say\\r\\nThat horse his mettle from his rider takes,\\r\\nProud of subjection, noble by the sway,\\r\\nWhat rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes!\\r\\nAnd controversy hence a question takes,\\r\\nWhether the horse by him became his deed,\\r\\nOr he his manage by th’ well-doing steed.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘But quickly on this side the verdict went,\\r\\nHis real habitude gave life and grace\\r\\nTo appertainings and to ornament,\\r\\nAccomplish’d in himself, not in his case;\\r\\nAll aids, themselves made fairer by their place,\\r\\nCame for additions; yet their purpos’d trim\\r\\nPiec’d not his grace, but were all grac’d by him.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘So on the tip of his subduing tongue\\r\\nAll kind of arguments and question deep,\\r\\nAll replication prompt, and reason strong,\\r\\nFor his advantage still did wake and sleep,\\r\\nTo make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep:\\r\\nHe had the dialect and different skill,\\r\\nCatching all passions in his craft of will.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘That he did in the general bosom reign\\r\\nOf young, of old, and sexes both enchanted,\\r\\nTo dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain\\r\\nIn personal duty, following where he haunted,\\r\\nConsent’s bewitch’d, ere he desire, have granted,\\r\\nAnd dialogued for him what he would say,\\r\\nAsk’d their own wills, and made their wills obey.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Many there were that did his picture get\\r\\nTo serve their eyes, and in it put their mind,\\r\\nLike fools that in th’ imagination set\\r\\nThe goodly objects which abroad they find\\r\\nOf lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign’d,\\r\\nAnd labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them,\\r\\nThan the true gouty landlord which doth owe them.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘So many have, that never touch’d his hand,\\r\\nSweetly suppos’d them mistress of his heart.\\r\\nMy woeful self that did in freedom stand,\\r\\nAnd was my own fee-simple (not in part)\\r\\nWhat with his art in youth, and youth in art,\\r\\nThrew my affections in his charmed power,\\r\\nReserv’d the stalk and gave him all my flower.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Yet did I not, as some my equals did,\\r\\nDemand of him, nor being desired yielded,\\r\\nFinding myself in honour so forbid,\\r\\nWith safest distance I mine honour shielded.\\r\\nExperience for me many bulwarks builded\\r\\nOf proofs new-bleeding, which remain’d the foil\\r\\nOf this false jewel, and his amorous spoil.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘But ah! Who ever shunn’d by precedent\\r\\nThe destin’d ill she must herself assay,\\r\\nOr force’d examples ’gainst her own content,\\r\\nTo put the by-pass’d perils in her way?\\r\\nCounsel may stop a while what will not stay:\\r\\nFor when we rage, advice is often seen\\r\\nBy blunting us to make our wills more keen.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood,\\r\\nThat we must curb it upon others’ proof,\\r\\nTo be forbode the sweets that seems so good,\\r\\nFor fear of harms that preach in our behoof.\\r\\nO appetite, from judgement stand aloof!\\r\\nThe one a palate hath that needs will taste,\\r\\nThough reason weep and cry, “It is thy last.”\\r\\n\\r\\n‘For further I could say, “This man’s untrue”,\\r\\nAnd knew the patterns of his foul beguiling;\\r\\nHeard where his plants in others’ orchards grew,\\r\\nSaw how deceits were gilded in his smiling;\\r\\nKnew vows were ever brokers to defiling;\\r\\nThought characters and words merely but art,\\r\\nAnd bastards of his foul adulterate heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘And long upon these terms I held my city,\\r\\nTill thus he ’gan besiege me: “Gentle maid,\\r\\nHave of my suffering youth some feeling pity,\\r\\nAnd be not of my holy vows afraid:\\r\\nThat’s to ye sworn, to none was ever said,\\r\\nFor feasts of love I have been call’d unto,\\r\\nTill now did ne’er invite, nor never woo.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“All my offences that abroad you see\\r\\nAre errors of the blood, none of the mind:\\r\\nLove made them not; with acture they may be,\\r\\nWhere neither party is nor true nor kind,\\r\\nThey sought their shame that so their shame did find,\\r\\nAnd so much less of shame in me remains,\\r\\nBy how much of me their reproach contains.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Among the many that mine eyes have seen,\\r\\nNot one whose flame my heart so much as warmed,\\r\\nOr my affection put to th’ smallest teen,\\r\\nOr any of my leisures ever charmed:\\r\\nHarm have I done to them, but ne’er was harmed;\\r\\nKept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free,\\r\\nAnd reign’d commanding in his monarchy.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Look here what tributes wounded fancies sent me,\\r\\nOf pallid pearls and rubies red as blood,\\r\\nFiguring that they their passions likewise lent me\\r\\nOf grief and blushes, aptly understood\\r\\nIn bloodless white and the encrimson’d mood;\\r\\nEffects of terror and dear modesty,\\r\\nEncamp’d in hearts, but fighting outwardly.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“And, lo! behold these talents of their hair,\\r\\nWith twisted metal amorously empleach’d,\\r\\nI have receiv’d from many a several fair,\\r\\nTheir kind acceptance weepingly beseech’d,\\r\\nWith th’ annexions of fair gems enrich’d,\\r\\nAnd deep-brain’d sonnets that did amplify\\r\\nEach stone’s dear nature, worth and quality.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“The diamond, why ’twas beautiful and hard,\\r\\nWhereto his invis’d properties did tend,\\r\\nThe deep green emerald, in whose fresh regard\\r\\nWeak sights their sickly radiance do amend;\\r\\nThe heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend\\r\\nWith objects manifold; each several stone,\\r\\nWith wit well blazon’d smil’d, or made some moan.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Lo, all these trophies of affections hot,\\r\\nOf pensiv’d and subdued desires the tender,\\r\\nNature hath charg’d me that I hoard them not,\\r\\nBut yield them up where I myself must render,\\r\\nThat is, to you, my origin and ender:\\r\\nFor these of force must your oblations be,\\r\\nSince I their altar, you empatron me.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“O then advance of yours that phraseless hand,\\r\\nWhose white weighs down the airy scale of praise;\\r\\nTake all these similes to your own command,\\r\\nHallowed with sighs that burning lungs did raise:\\r\\nWhat me, your minister for you, obeys,\\r\\nWorks under you; and to your audit comes\\r\\nTheir distract parcels in combined sums.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Lo, this device was sent me from a nun,\\r\\nOr sister sanctified of holiest note,\\r\\nWhich late her noble suit in court did shun,\\r\\nWhose rarest havings made the blossoms dote;\\r\\nFor she was sought by spirits of richest coat,\\r\\nBut kept cold distance, and did thence remove\\r\\nTo spend her living in eternal love.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“But O, my sweet, what labour is’t to leave\\r\\nThe thing we have not, mast’ring what not strives,\\r\\nPlaning the place which did no form receive,\\r\\nPlaying patient sports in unconstrained gyves,\\r\\nShe that her fame so to herself contrives,\\r\\nThe scars of battle ’scapeth by the flight,\\r\\nAnd makes her absence valiant, not her might.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“O pardon me, in that my boast is true,\\r\\nThe accident which brought me to her eye,\\r\\nUpon the moment did her force subdue,\\r\\nAnd now she would the caged cloister fly:\\r\\nReligious love put out religion’s eye:\\r\\nNot to be tempted would she be immur’d,\\r\\nAnd now to tempt all, liberty procur’d.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“How mighty then you are, O hear me tell!\\r\\nThe broken bosoms that to me belong\\r\\nHave emptied all their fountains in my well,\\r\\nAnd mine I pour your ocean all among:\\r\\nI strong o’er them, and you o’er me being strong,\\r\\nMust for your victory us all congest,\\r\\nAs compound love to physic your cold breast.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“My parts had pow’r to charm a sacred nun,\\r\\nWho, disciplin’d and dieted in grace,\\r\\nBeliev’d her eyes when they t’assail begun,\\r\\nAll vows and consecrations giving place.\\r\\nO most potential love! Vow, bond, nor space,\\r\\nIn thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine,\\r\\nFor thou art all and all things else are thine.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“When thou impressest, what are precepts worth\\r\\nOf stale example? When thou wilt inflame,\\r\\nHow coldly those impediments stand forth,\\r\\nOf wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame!\\r\\nLove’s arms are peace, ’gainst rule, ’gainst sense, ’gainst shame,\\r\\nAnd sweetens, in the suff’ring pangs it bears,\\r\\nThe aloes of all forces, shocks and fears.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘“Now all these hearts that do on mine depend,\\r\\nFeeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine,\\r\\nAnd supplicant their sighs to your extend,\\r\\nTo leave the batt’ry that you make ’gainst mine,\\r\\nLending soft audience to my sweet design,\\r\\nAnd credent soul to that strong-bonded oath,\\r\\nThat shall prefer and undertake my troth.”\\r\\n\\r\\n‘This said, his wat’ry eyes he did dismount,\\r\\nWhose sights till then were levell’d on my face;\\r\\nEach cheek a river running from a fount\\r\\nWith brinish current downward flowed apace.\\r\\nO how the channel to the stream gave grace!\\r\\nWho, glaz’d with crystal gate the glowing roses\\r\\nThat flame through water which their hue encloses.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies\\r\\nIn the small orb of one particular tear!\\r\\nBut with the inundation of the eyes\\r\\nWhat rocky heart to water will not wear?\\r\\nWhat breast so cold that is not warmed here?\\r\\nO cleft effect! Cold modesty, hot wrath,\\r\\nBoth fire from hence and chill extincture hath.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘For lo, his passion, but an art of craft,\\r\\nEven there resolv’d my reason into tears;\\r\\nThere my white stole of chastity I daff’d,\\r\\nShook off my sober guards, and civil fears,\\r\\nAppear to him as he to me appears,\\r\\nAll melting, though our drops this diff’rence bore:\\r\\nHis poison’d me, and mine did him restore.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘In him a plenitude of subtle matter,\\r\\nApplied to cautels, all strange forms receives,\\r\\nOf burning blushes, or of weeping water,\\r\\nOr swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves,\\r\\nIn either’s aptness, as it best deceives,\\r\\nTo blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes,\\r\\nOr to turn white and swoon at tragic shows.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘That not a heart which in his level came\\r\\nCould ’scape the hail of his all-hurting aim,\\r\\nShowing fair nature is both kind and tame;\\r\\nAnd veil’d in them, did win whom he would maim.\\r\\nAgainst the thing he sought he would exclaim;\\r\\nWhen he most burned in heart-wish’d luxury,\\r\\nHe preach’d pure maid, and prais’d cold chastity.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘Thus merely with the garment of a grace,\\r\\nThe naked and concealed fiend he cover’d,\\r\\nThat th’unexperient gave the tempter place,\\r\\nWhich, like a cherubin, above them hover’d.\\r\\nWho, young and simple, would not be so lover’d?\\r\\nAy me! I fell, and yet do question make\\r\\nWhat I should do again for such a sake.\\r\\n\\r\\n‘O, that infected moisture of his eye,\\r\\nO, that false fire which in his cheek so glow’d!\\r\\nO, that forc’d thunder from his heart did fly,\\r\\nO, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestow’d,\\r\\nO, all that borrowed motion, seeming owed,\\r\\nWould yet again betray the fore-betrayed,\\r\\nAnd new pervert a reconciled maid.’\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n',\n", + " \"THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM\\r\\n\\r\\nI.\\r\\n\\r\\nDid not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,\\r\\n'Gainst whom the world could not hold argument,\\r\\nPersuade my heart to this false perjury?\\r\\nVows for thee broke deserve not punishment.\\r\\nA woman I forswore; but I will prove,\\r\\nThou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:\\r\\nMy vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;\\r\\nThy grace being gain'd cures all disgrace in me.\\r\\nMy vow was breath, and breath a vapour is;\\r\\nThen, thou fair sun, that on this earth doth shine,\\r\\nExhale this vapour vow; in thee it is:\\r\\nIf broken, then it is no fault of mine.\\r\\n If by me broke, what fool is not so wise\\r\\n To break an oath, to win a paradise?\\r\\n\\r\\nII.\\r\\n\\r\\nSweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook\\r\\nWith young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green,\\r\\nDid court the lad with many a lovely look,\\r\\nSuch looks as none could look but beauty's queen.\\r\\nShe told him stories to delight his ear;\\r\\nShe show'd him favours to allure his eye;\\r\\nTo win his heart, she touch'd him here and there:\\r\\nTouches so soft still conquer chastity.\\r\\nBut whether unripe years did want conceit,\\r\\nOr he refus'd to take her figur'd proffer,\\r\\nThe tender nibbler would not touch the bait,\\r\\nBut smile and jest at every gentle offer:\\r\\n Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward;\\r\\n He rose and ran away; ah, fool too froward!\\r\\n\\r\\nIII.\\r\\n\\r\\nIf love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?\\r\\nO never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd:\\r\\nThough to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant prove;\\r\\nThose thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like osiers bow'd.\\r\\nStudy his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes,\\r\\nWhere all those pleasures live that art can comprehend.\\r\\nIf knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;\\r\\nWell learned is that tongue that well can thee commend;\\r\\nAll ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;\\r\\nWhich is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire:\\r\\nThy eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his dreadful thunder,\\r\\nWhich (not to anger bent) is music and sweet fire.\\r\\n Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong,\\r\\n To sing heavens' praise with such an earthly tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nIV.\\r\\n\\r\\nScarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn,\\r\\nAnd scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade,\\r\\nWhen Cytherea, all in love forlorn,\\r\\nA longing tarriance for Adonis made,\\r\\nUnder an osier growing by a brook,\\r\\nA brook where Adon used to cool his spleen.\\r\\nHot was the day; she hotter that did look\\r\\nFor his approach, that often there had been.\\r\\nAnon he comes, and throws his mantle by,\\r\\nAnd stood stark naked on the brook's green brim;\\r\\nThe sun look'd on the world with glorious eye,\\r\\nYet not so wistly as this queen on him:\\r\\n He, spying her, bounc'd in, whereas he stood;\\r\\n O Jove, quoth she, why was not I a flood?\\r\\n\\r\\nV.\\r\\n\\r\\nFair is my love, but not so fair as fickle;\\r\\nMild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty;\\r\\nBrighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle;\\r\\nSofter than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty:\\r\\n A lily pale, with damask die to grace her,\\r\\n None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer lips to mine how often hath she join'd,\\r\\nBetween each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!\\r\\nHow many tales to please me hath she coin'd,\\r\\nDreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing!\\r\\n Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings,\\r\\n Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe burn'd with love, as straw with fire flameth;\\r\\nShe burn'd out love, as soon as straw outburneth;\\r\\nShe fram'd the love, and yet she foil'd the framing;\\r\\nShe bade love last, and yet she fell a turning.\\r\\n Was this a lover, or a lecher whether?\\r\\n Bad in the best, though excellent in neither.\\r\\n\\r\\nVI.\\r\\n\\r\\nIf music and sweet poetry agree,\\r\\nAs they must needs, the sister and the brother,\\r\\nThen must the love be great 'twixt thee and me,\\r\\nBecause thou lovest the one, and I the other.\\r\\nDowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch\\r\\nUpon the lute doth ravish human sense;\\r\\nSpenser to me, whose deep conceit is such\\r\\nAs, passing all conceit, needs no defence.\\r\\nThou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound\\r\\nThat Phoebus' lute, the queen of music, makes;\\r\\nAnd I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd\\r\\nWhenas himself to singing he betakes.\\r\\n One god is god of both, as poets feign;\\r\\n One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.\\r\\n\\r\\nVII.\\r\\n\\r\\nFair was the morn when the fair queen of love,\\r\\n * * * * * *\\r\\nPaler for sorrow than her milk-white dove,\\r\\nFor Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild;\\r\\nHer stand she takes upon a steep-up hill:\\r\\nAnon Adonis comes with horn and hounds;\\r\\nShe, silly queen, with more than love's good will,\\r\\nForbade the boy he should not pass those grounds;\\r\\nOnce, quoth she, did I see a fair sweet youth\\r\\nHere in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar,\\r\\nDeep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth!\\r\\nSee, in my thigh, quoth she, here was the sore.\\r\\n She showed hers: he saw more wounds than one,\\r\\n And blushing fled, and left her all alone.\\r\\n\\r\\nVIII.\\r\\n\\r\\nSweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon vaded,\\r\\nPluck'd in the bud, and vaded in the spring!\\r\\nBright orient pearl, alack! too timely shaded!\\r\\nFair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp sting!\\r\\n Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree,\\r\\n And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.\\r\\n\\r\\nI weep for thee, and yet no cause I have;\\r\\nFor why? thou left'st me nothing in thy will:\\r\\nAnd yet thou left'st me more than I did crave;\\r\\nFor why? I craved nothing of thee still:\\r\\n O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee,\\r\\n Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.\\r\\n\\r\\nIX.\\r\\n\\r\\nVenus, with young Adonis sitting by her,\\r\\nUnder a myrtle shade, began to woo him:\\r\\nShe told the youngling how god Mars did try her,\\r\\nAnd as he fell to her, so fell she to him.\\r\\nEven thus, quoth she, the warlike god embrac'd me,\\r\\nAnd then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms;\\r\\nEven thus, quoth she, the warlike god unlaced me;\\r\\nAs if the boy should use like loving charms;\\r\\nEven thus, quoth she, he seized on my lips,\\r\\nAnd with her lips on his did act the seizure;\\r\\nAnd as she fetched breath, away he skips,\\r\\nAnd would not take her meaning nor her pleasure.\\r\\n Ah! that I had my lady at this bay,\\r\\n To kiss and clip me till I run away!\\r\\n\\r\\nX.\\r\\n\\r\\n Crabbed age and youth\\r\\n Cannot live together\\r\\n Youth is full of pleasance,\\r\\n Age is full of care;\\r\\n Youth like summer morn,\\r\\n Age like winter weather;\\r\\n Youth like summer brave,\\r\\n Age like winter bare;\\r\\n Youth is full of sport,\\r\\n Age's breath is short;\\r\\n Youth is nimble, age is lame;\\r\\n Youth is hot and bold,\\r\\n Age is weak and cold;\\r\\n Youth is wild, and age is tame.\\r\\n Age, I do abhor thee;\\r\\n Youth, I do adore thee;\\r\\n O, my love, my love is young!\\r\\n Age, I do defy thee;\\r\\n O, sweet shepherd, hie thee,\\r\\n For methinks thou stay'st too long.\\r\\n\\r\\nXI.\\r\\n\\r\\nBeauty is but a vain and doubtful good,\\r\\nA shining gloss that vadeth suddenly;\\r\\nA flower that dies when first it 'gins to bud;\\r\\nA brittle glass, that's broken presently:\\r\\n A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,\\r\\n Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd as goods lost are seld or never found,\\r\\nAs vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh,\\r\\nAs flowers dead lie wither'd on the ground,\\r\\nAs broken glass no cement can redress,\\r\\n So beauty blemish'd once, for ever's lost,\\r\\n In spite of physic, painting, pain and cost.\\r\\n\\r\\nXII.\\r\\n\\r\\nGood night, good rest. Ah! neither be my share:\\r\\nShe bade good night that kept my rest away;\\r\\nAnd daff'd me to a cabin hang'd with care,\\r\\nTo descant on the doubts of my decay.\\r\\n Farewell, quoth she, and come again tomorrow:\\r\\n Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow;\\r\\n\\r\\nYet at my parting sweetly did she smile,\\r\\nIn scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether:\\r\\n'T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile,\\r\\n'T may be, again to make me wander thither:\\r\\n 'Wander,' a word for shadows like myself,\\r\\n As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.\\r\\n\\r\\nXIII.\\r\\n\\r\\nLord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east!\\r\\nMy heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise\\r\\nDoth cite each moving sense from idle rest.\\r\\nNot daring trust the office of mine eyes,\\r\\n While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,\\r\\n And wish her lays were tuned like the lark;\\r\\n\\r\\nFor she doth welcome daylight with her ditty,\\r\\nAnd drives away dark dismal-dreaming night:\\r\\nThe night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty;\\r\\nHeart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight;\\r\\n Sorrow chang'd to solace, solace mix'd with sorrow;\\r\\n For why, she sigh'd and bade me come tomorrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nWere I with her, the night would post too soon;\\r\\nBut now are minutes added to the hours;\\r\\nTo spite me now, each minute seems a moon;\\r\\nYet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers!\\r\\n Pack night, peep day; good day, of night now borrow:\\r\\n Short, night, to-night, and length thyself to-morrow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\",\n", + " 'THE PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nLet the bird of loudest lay,\\r\\nOn the sole Arabian tree,\\r\\nHerald sad and trumpet be,\\r\\nTo whose sound chaste wings obey.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut thou shrieking harbinger,\\r\\nFoul precurrer of the fiend,\\r\\nAugur of the fever’s end,\\r\\nTo this troop come thou not near.\\r\\n\\r\\nFrom this session interdict\\r\\nEvery fowl of tyrant wing,\\r\\nSave the eagle, feather’d king;\\r\\nKeep the obsequy so strict.\\r\\n\\r\\nLet the priest in surplice white,\\r\\nThat defunctive music can,\\r\\nBe the death-divining swan,\\r\\nLest the requiem lack his right.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd thou treble-dated crow,\\r\\nThat thy sable gender mak’st\\r\\nWith the breath thou giv’st and tak’st,\\r\\n’Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere the anthem doth commence:\\r\\nLove and constancy is dead;\\r\\nPhoenix and the turtle fled\\r\\nIn a mutual flame from hence.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo they lov’d, as love in twain\\r\\nHad the essence but in one;\\r\\nTwo distincts, division none:\\r\\nNumber there in love was slain.\\r\\n\\r\\nHearts remote, yet not asunder;\\r\\nDistance and no space was seen\\r\\n’Twixt this turtle and his queen;\\r\\nBut in them it were a wonder.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo between them love did shine,\\r\\nThat the turtle saw his right\\r\\nFlaming in the phoenix’ sight;\\r\\nEither was the other’s mine.\\r\\n\\r\\nProperty was thus appalled,\\r\\nThat the self was not the same;\\r\\nSingle nature’s double name\\r\\nNeither two nor one was called.\\r\\n\\r\\nReason, in itself confounded,\\r\\nSaw division grow together;\\r\\nTo themselves yet either neither,\\r\\nSimple were so well compounded.\\r\\n\\r\\nThat it cried, How true a twain\\r\\nSeemeth this concordant one!\\r\\nLove hath reason, reason none,\\r\\nIf what parts can so remain.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhereupon it made this threne\\r\\nTo the phoenix and the dove,\\r\\nCo-supremes and stars of love,\\r\\nAs chorus to their tragic scene.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n THRENOS\\r\\n\\r\\nBeauty, truth, and rarity.\\r\\nGrace in all simplicity,\\r\\nHere enclos’d in cinders lie.\\r\\n\\r\\nDeath is now the phoenix’ nest;\\r\\nAnd the turtle’s loyal breast\\r\\nTo eternity doth rest.\\r\\n\\r\\nLeaving no posterity:—\\r\\n’Twas not their infirmity,\\r\\nIt was married chastity.\\r\\n\\r\\nTruth may seem, but cannot be;\\r\\nBeauty brag, but ’tis not she;\\r\\nTruth and beauty buried be.\\r\\n\\r\\nTo this urn let those repair\\r\\nThat are either true or fair;\\r\\nFor these dead birds sigh a prayer.\\r\\n\\r\\n',\n", + " 'THE RAPE OF LUCRECE\\r\\n\\r\\n TO THE\\r\\n\\r\\n RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,\\r\\n\\r\\n EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TITCHFIELD.\\r\\n\\r\\nTHE love I dedicate to your Lordship is without end; whereof this\\r\\npamphlet, without beginning, is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant\\r\\nI have of your honourable disposition, not the worth of my untutored\\r\\nlines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours; what\\r\\nI have to do is yours; being part in all I have, devoted yours. Were\\r\\nmy worth greater, my duty would show greater; meantime, as it is, it is\\r\\nbound to your Lordship, to whom I wish long life, still lengthened with\\r\\nall happiness.\\r\\n\\r\\n Your Lordship\\'s in all duty,\\r\\n WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.\\r\\n\\r\\n THE ARGUMENT.\\r\\n\\r\\nLUCIUS TARQUINIUS (for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus), after he\\r\\nhad caused his own father-in-law, Servius Tullius, to be cruelly\\r\\nmurdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not requiring or\\r\\nstaying for the people\\'s suffrages, had possessed himself of the\\r\\nkingdom, went, accompanied with his sons and other noblemen of Rome, to\\r\\nbesiege Ardea. During which siege the principal men of the army\\r\\nmeeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquinius, the king\\'s son,\\r\\nin their discourses after supper, every one commended the virtues of\\r\\nhis own wife; among whom Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity\\r\\nof his wife Lucretia. In that pleasant humour they all posted to Rome;\\r\\nand intending, by their secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of\\r\\nthat which every one had before avouched, only Collatinus finds his\\r\\nwife, though it were late in the night, spinning amongst her maids: the\\r\\nother ladies were all found dancing and revelling, or in several\\r\\ndisports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus the victory, and\\r\\nhis wife the fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius being inflamed with\\r\\nLucrece\\'s beauty, yet smothering his passions for the present, departed\\r\\nwith the rest back to the camp; from whence he shortly after privily\\r\\nwithdrew himself, and was (according to his estate) royally entertained\\r\\nand lodged by Lucrece at Collatium. The same night he treacherously\\r\\nstealeth into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the\\r\\nmorning speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight, hastily\\r\\ndispatched messengers, one to Rome for her father, another to the camp\\r\\nfor Collatine. They came, the one accompanied with Junius Brutus, the\\r\\nother with Publius Valerius; and finding Lucrece attired in mourning\\r\\nhabit, demanded the cause of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of\\r\\nthem for her revenge, revealed the actor, and whole manner of his\\r\\ndealing, and withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one\\r\\nconsent they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the\\r\\nTarquins; and bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted the\\r\\npeople with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a bitter\\r\\ninvective against the tyranny of the king; wherewith the people were so\\r\\nmoved, that with one consent and a general acclamation the Tarquins\\r\\nwere all exiled, and the state government changed from kings to\\r\\nconsuls.\\r\\n\\r\\n_______________________________________________________________\\r\\n\\r\\nFrom the besieged Ardea all in post,\\r\\nBorne by the trustless wings of false desire,\\r\\nLust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host,\\r\\nAnd to Collatium bears the lightless fire\\r\\nWhich, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire\\r\\n And girdle with embracing flames the waist\\r\\n Of Collatine\\'s fair love, Lucrece the chaste.\\r\\n\\r\\nHaply that name of chaste unhapp\\'ly set\\r\\nThis bateless edge on his keen appetite;\\r\\nWhen Collatine unwisely did not let\\r\\nTo praise the clear unmatched red and white\\r\\nWhich triumph\\'d in that sky of his delight,\\r\\n Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven\\'s beauties,\\r\\n With pure aspects did him peculiar duties.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor he the night before, in Tarquin\\'s tent,\\r\\nUnlock\\'d the treasure of his happy state;\\r\\nWhat priceless wealth the heavens had him lent\\r\\nIn the possession of his beauteous mate;\\r\\nReckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate,\\r\\n That kings might be espoused to more fame,\\r\\n But king nor peer to such a peerless dame.\\r\\n\\r\\nO happiness enjoy\\'d but of a few!\\r\\nAnd, if possess\\'d, as soon decay\\'d and done\\r\\nAs is the morning\\'s silver-melting dew\\r\\nAgainst the golden splendour of the sun!\\r\\nAn expir\\'d date, cancell\\'d ere well begun:\\r\\n Honour and beauty, in the owner\\'s arms,\\r\\n Are weakly fortress\\'d from a world of harms.\\r\\n\\r\\nBeauty itself doth of itself persuade\\r\\nThe eyes of men without an orator;\\r\\nWhat needeth then apologies be made,\\r\\nTo set forth that which is so singular?\\r\\nOr why is Collatine the publisher\\r\\n Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown\\r\\n From thievish ears, because it is his own?\\r\\n\\r\\nPerchance his boast of Lucrece\\' sovereignty\\r\\nSuggested this proud issue of a king;\\r\\nFor by our ears our hearts oft tainted be:\\r\\nPerchance that envy of so rich a thing,\\r\\nBraving compare, disdainfully did sting\\r\\n His high-pitch\\'d thoughts, that meaner men should vaunt\\r\\n That golden hap which their superiors want.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut some untimely thought did instigate\\r\\nHis all-too-timeless speed, if none of those;\\r\\nHis honour, his affairs, his friends, his state,\\r\\nNeglected all, with swift intent he goes\\r\\nTo quench the coal which in his liver glows.\\r\\n O rash false heat, wrapp\\'d in repentant cold,\\r\\n Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne\\'er grows old!\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen at Collatium this false lord arriv\\'d,\\r\\nWell was he welcom\\'d by the Roman dame,\\r\\nWithin whose face beauty and virtue striv\\'d\\r\\nWhich of them both should underprop her fame:\\r\\nWhen virtue bragg\\'d, beauty would blush for shame;\\r\\n When beauty boasted blushes, in despite\\r\\n Virtue would stain that or with silver white.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut beauty, in that white intituled,\\r\\nFrom Venus\\' doves doth challenge that fair field:\\r\\nThen virtue claims from beauty beauty\\'s red,\\r\\nWhich virtue gave the golden age, to gild\\r\\nTheir silver cheeks, and call\\'d it then their shield;\\r\\n Teaching them thus to use it in the fight,—\\r\\n When shame assail\\'d, the red should fence the white.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis heraldry in Lucrece\\' face was seen,\\r\\nArgued by beauty\\'s red, and virtue\\'s white:\\r\\nOf either\\'s colour was the other queen,\\r\\nProving from world\\'s minority their right:\\r\\nYet their ambition makes them still to fight;\\r\\n The sovereignty of either being so great,\\r\\n That oft they interchange each other\\'s seat.\\r\\n\\r\\nTheir silent war of lilies and of roses,\\r\\nWhich Tarquin view\\'d in her fair face\\'s field,\\r\\nIn their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses;\\r\\nWhere, lest between them both it should be kill\\'d,\\r\\nThe coward captive vanquish\\'d doth yield\\r\\n To those two armies that would let him go,\\r\\n Rather than triumph in so false a foe.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow thinks he that her husband\\'s shallow tongue,\\r\\n(The niggard prodigal that prais\\'d her so)\\r\\nIn that high task hath done her beauty wrong,\\r\\nWhich far exceeds his barren skill to show:\\r\\nTherefore that praise which Collatine doth owe\\r\\n Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise,\\r\\n In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis earthly saint, adored by this devil,\\r\\nLittle suspecteth the false worshipper;\\r\\nFor unstain\\'d thoughts do seldom dream on evil;\\r\\nBirds never lim\\'d no secret bushes fear:\\r\\nSo guiltless she securely gives good cheer\\r\\n And reverend welcome to her princely guest,\\r\\n Whose inward ill no outward harm express\\'d:\\r\\n\\r\\nFor that he colour\\'d with his high estate,\\r\\nHiding base sin in plaits of majesty;\\r\\nThat nothing in him seem\\'d inordinate,\\r\\nSave sometime too much wonder of his eye,\\r\\nWhich, having all, all could not satisfy;\\r\\n But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store,\\r\\n That, cloy\\'d with much, he pineth still for more.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut she, that never cop\\'d with stranger eyes,\\r\\nCould pick no meaning from their parling looks,\\r\\nNor read the subtle-shining secrecies\\r\\nWrit in the glassy margents of such books;\\r\\nShe touch\\'d no unknown baits, nor fear\\'d no hooks;\\r\\n Nor could she moralize his wanton sight,\\r\\n More than his eyes were open\\'d to the light.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe stories to her ears her husband\\'s fame,\\r\\nWon in the fields of fruitful Italy;\\r\\nAnd decks with praises Collatine\\'s high name,\\r\\nMade glorious by his manly chivalry\\r\\nWith bruised arms and wreaths of victory:\\r\\n Her joy with heav\\'d-up hand she doth express,\\r\\n And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success.\\r\\n\\r\\nFar from the purpose of his coming hither,\\r\\nHe makes excuses for his being there.\\r\\nNo cloudy show of stormy blustering weather\\r\\nDoth yet in his fair welkin once appear;\\r\\nTill sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear,\\r\\n Upon the world dim darkness doth display,\\r\\n And in her vaulty prison stows the day.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor then is Tarquin brought unto his bed,\\r\\nIntending weariness with heavy spright;\\r\\nFor, after supper, long he questioned\\r\\nWith modest Lucrece, and wore out the night:\\r\\nNow leaden slumber with life\\'s strength doth fight;\\r\\n And every one to rest themselves betake,\\r\\n Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds, that wake.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving\\r\\nThe sundry dangers of his will\\'s obtaining;\\r\\nYet ever to obtain his will resolving,\\r\\nThough weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining:\\r\\nDespair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining;\\r\\n And when great treasure is the meed propos\\'d,\\r\\n Though death be adjunct, there\\'s no death suppos\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nThose that much covet are with gain so fond,\\r\\nFor what they have not, that which they possess\\r\\nThey scatter and unloose it from their bond,\\r\\nAnd so, by hoping more, they have but less;\\r\\nOr, gaining more, the profit of excess\\r\\n Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain,\\r\\n That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe aim of all is but to nurse the life\\r\\nWith honour, wealth, and ease, in waning age;\\r\\nAnd in this aim there is such thwarting strife,\\r\\nThat one for all, or all for one we gage;\\r\\nAs life for honour in fell battles\\' rage;\\r\\n Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost\\r\\n The death of all, and all together lost.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo that in vent\\'ring ill we leave to be\\r\\nThe things we are, for that which we expect;\\r\\nAnd this ambitious foul infirmity,\\r\\nIn having much, torments us with defect\\r\\nOf that we have: so then we do neglect\\r\\n The thing we have; and, all for want of wit,\\r\\n Make something nothing, by augmenting it.\\r\\n\\r\\nSuch hazard now must doting Tarquin make,\\r\\nPawning his honour to obtain his lust;\\r\\nAnd for himself himself he must forsake:\\r\\nThen where is truth, if there be no self-trust?\\r\\nWhen shall he think to find a stranger just,\\r\\n When he himself himself confounds, betrays\\r\\n To slanderous tongues and wretched hateful days?\\r\\n\\r\\nNow stole upon the time the dead of night,\\r\\nWhen heavy sleep had closed up mortal eyes:\\r\\nNo comfortable star did lend his light,\\r\\nNo noise but owls\\' and wolves\\' death-boding cries;\\r\\nNow serves the season that they may surprise\\r\\n The silly lambs; pure thoughts are dead and still,\\r\\n While lust and murder wake to stain and kill.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd now this lustful lord leap\\'d from his bed,\\r\\nThrowing his mantle rudely o\\'er his arm;\\r\\nIs madly toss\\'d between desire and dread;\\r\\nTh\\' one sweetly flatters, th\\' other feareth harm;\\r\\nBut honest Fear, bewitch\\'d with lust\\'s foul charm,\\r\\n Doth too too oft betake him to retire,\\r\\n Beaten away by brain-sick rude Desire.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis falchion on a flint he softly smiteth,\\r\\nThat from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly;\\r\\nWhereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth,\\r\\nWhich must be lode-star to his lustful eye;\\r\\nAnd to the flame thus speaks advisedly:\\r\\n \\'As from this cold flint I enforced this fire,\\r\\n So Lucrece must I force to my desire.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere pale with fear he doth premeditate\\r\\nThe dangers of his loathsome enterprise,\\r\\nAnd in his inward mind he doth debate\\r\\nWhat following sorrow may on this arise;\\r\\nThen looking scornfully, he doth despise\\r\\n His naked armour of still-slaughter\\'d lust,\\r\\n And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not\\r\\nTo darken her whose light excelleth thine:\\r\\nAnd die, unhallow\\'d thoughts, before you blot\\r\\nWith your uncleanness that which is divine!\\r\\nOffer pure incense to so pure a shrine:\\r\\n Let fair humanity abhor the deed\\r\\n That spots and stains love\\'s modest snow-white weed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O shame to knighthood and to shining arms!\\r\\nO foul dishonour to my household\\'s grave!\\r\\nO impious act, including all foul harms!\\r\\nA martial man to be soft fancy\\'s slave!\\r\\nTrue valour still a true respect should have;\\r\\n Then my digression is so vile, so base,\\r\\n That it will live engraven in my face.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive,\\r\\nAnd be an eye-sore in my golden coat;\\r\\nSome loathsome dash the herald will contrive,\\r\\nTo cipher me how fondly I did dote;\\r\\nThat my posterity, sham\\'d with the note,\\r\\n Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin\\r\\n To wish that I their father had not been.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'What win I, if I gain the thing I seek?\\r\\nA dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy:\\r\\nWho buys a minute\\'s mirth to wail a week?\\r\\nOr sells eternity to get a toy?\\r\\nFor one sweet grape who will the vine destroy?\\r\\n Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown,\\r\\n Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'If Collatinus dream of my intent,\\r\\nWill he not wake, and in a desperate rage\\r\\nPost hither, this vile purpose to prevent?\\r\\nThis siege that hath engirt his marriage,\\r\\nThis blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage,\\r\\n This dying virtue, this surviving shame,\\r\\n Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O, what excuse can my invention make\\r\\nWhen thou shalt charge me with so black a deed?\\r\\nWill not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake?\\r\\nMine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed?\\r\\nThe guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed;\\r\\n And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly,\\r\\n But, coward-like, with trembling terror die.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Had Collatinus kill\\'d my son or sire,\\r\\nOr lain in ambush to betray my life,\\r\\nOr were he not my dear friend, this desire\\r\\nMight have excuse to work upon his wife;\\r\\nAs in revenge or quittal of such strife:\\r\\n But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend,\\r\\n The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Shameful it is;—ay, if the fact be known:\\r\\nHateful it is:— there is no hate in loving;\\r\\nI\\'ll beg her love;—but she is not her own;\\r\\nThe worst is but denial and reproving:\\r\\nMy will is strong, past reason\\'s weak removing.\\r\\n Who fears a sentence or an old man\\'s saw\\r\\n Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThus, graceless, holds he disputation\\r\\n\\'Tween frozen conscience and hot-burning will,\\r\\nAnd with good thoughts makes dispensation,\\r\\nUrging the worser sense for vantage still;\\r\\nWhich in a moment doth confound and kill\\r\\n All pure effects, and doth so far proceed,\\r\\n That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed.\\r\\n\\r\\nQuoth he, \\'She took me kindly by the hand,\\r\\nAnd gaz\\'d for tidings in my eager eyes,\\r\\nFearing some hard news from the warlike band,\\r\\nWhere her beloved Collatinus lies.\\r\\nO how her fear did make her colour rise!\\r\\n First red as roses that on lawn we lay,\\r\\n Then white as lawn, the roses took away.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And how her hand, in my hand being lock\\'d,\\r\\nForc\\'d it to tremble with her loyal fear;\\r\\nWhich struck her sad, and then it faster rock\\'d,\\r\\nUntil her husband\\'s welfare she did hear;\\r\\nWhereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer,\\r\\n That had Narcissus seen her as she stood,\\r\\n Self-love had never drown\\'d him in the flood.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why hunt I then for colour or excuses?\\r\\nAll orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth;\\r\\nPoor wretches have remorse in poor abuses;\\r\\nLove thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth:\\r\\nAffection is my captain, and he leadeth;\\r\\n And when his gaudy banner is display\\'d,\\r\\n The coward fights and will not be dismay\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Then, childish fear, avaunt! debating, die!\\r\\nRespect and reason wait on wrinkled age!\\r\\nMy heart shall never countermand mine eye;\\r\\nSad pause and deep regard beseem the sage;\\r\\nMy part is youth, and beats these from the stage:\\r\\n Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize;\\r\\n Then who fears sinking where such treasure lies?\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nAs corn o\\'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear\\r\\nIs almost chok\\'d by unresisted lust.\\r\\nAway he steals with opening, listening ear,\\r\\nFull of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust;\\r\\nBoth which, as servitors to the unjust,\\r\\n So cross him with their opposite persuasion,\\r\\n That now he vows a league, and now invasion.\\r\\n\\r\\nWithin his thought her heavenly image sits,\\r\\nAnd in the self-same seat sits Collatine:\\r\\nThat eye which looks on her confounds his wits;\\r\\nThat eye which him beholds, as more divine,\\r\\nUnto a view so false will not incline;\\r\\n But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart,\\r\\n Which once corrupted takes the worser part;\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd therein heartens up his servile powers,\\r\\nWho, flatter\\'d by their leader\\'s jocund show,\\r\\nStuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours;\\r\\nAnd as their captain, so their pride doth grow.\\r\\nPaying more slavish tribute than they owe.\\r\\n By reprobate desire thus madly led,\\r\\n The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece\\' bed.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe locks between her chamber and his will,\\r\\nEach one by him enforc\\'d retires his ward;\\r\\nBut, as they open they all rate his ill,\\r\\nWhich drives the creeping thief to some regard,\\r\\nThe threshold grates the door to have him heard;\\r\\n Night-wand\\'ring weasels shriek to see him there;\\r\\n They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs each unwilling portal yields him way,\\r\\nThrough little vents and crannies of the place\\r\\nThe wind wars with his torch, to make him stay,\\r\\nAnd blows the smoke of it into his face,\\r\\nExtinguishing his conduct in this case;\\r\\n But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch,\\r\\n Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch:\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd being lighted, by the light he spies\\r\\nLucretia\\'s glove, wherein her needle sticks;\\r\\nHe takes it from the rushes where it lies,\\r\\nAnd griping it, the neeld his finger pricks:\\r\\nAs who should say this glove to wanton tricks\\r\\n Is not inur\\'d: return again in haste;\\r\\n Thou see\\'st our mistress\\' ornaments are chaste.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut all these poor forbiddings could not stay him;\\r\\nHe in the worst sense construes their denial:\\r\\nThe doors, the wind, the glove that did delay him,\\r\\nHe takes for accidental things of trial;\\r\\nOr as those bars which stop the hourly dial,\\r\\n Who with a lingering stay his course doth let,\\r\\n Till every minute pays the hour his debt.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So, so,\\' quoth he, \\'these lets attend the time,\\r\\nLike little frosts that sometime threat the spring.\\r\\nTo add a more rejoicing to the prime,\\r\\nAnd give the sneaped birds more cause to sing.\\r\\nPain pays the income of each precious thing;\\r\\n Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves and sands,\\r\\n The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nNow is he come unto the chamber door,\\r\\nThat shuts him from the heaven of his thought,\\r\\nWhich with a yielding latch, and with no more,\\r\\nHath barr\\'d him from the blessed thing he sought.\\r\\nSo from himself impiety hath wrought,\\r\\n That for his prey to pray he doth begin,\\r\\n As if the heavens should countenance his sin.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut in the midst of his unfruitful prayer,\\r\\nHaving solicited the eternal power,\\r\\nThat his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair,\\r\\nAnd they would stand auspicious to the hour,\\r\\nEven there he starts:—quoth he, \\'I must de-flower;\\r\\n The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact,\\r\\n How can they then assist me in the act?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide!\\r\\nMy will is back\\'d with resolution:\\r\\nThoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried,\\r\\nThe blackest sin is clear\\'d with absolution;\\r\\nAgainst love\\'s fire fear\\'s frost hath dissolution.\\r\\n The eye of heaven is out, and misty night\\r\\n Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, his guilty hand pluck\\'d up the latch,\\r\\nAnd with his knee the door he opens wide:\\r\\nThe dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch;\\r\\nThus treason works ere traitors be espied.\\r\\nWho sees the lurking serpent steps aside;\\r\\n But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing,\\r\\n Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting.\\r\\n\\r\\nInto the chamber wickedly he stalks,\\r\\nAnd gazeth on her yet unstained bed.\\r\\nThe curtains being close, about he walks,\\r\\nRolling his greedy eyeballs in his head:\\r\\nBy their high treason is his heart misled;\\r\\n Which gives the watch-word to his hand full soon\\r\\n To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook, as the fair and fiery-pointed sun,\\r\\nRushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight;\\r\\nEven so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun\\r\\nTo wink, being blinded with a greater light:\\r\\nWhether it is that she reflects so bright,\\r\\n That dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed;\\r\\n But blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed.\\r\\n\\r\\nO, had they in that darksome prison died,\\r\\nThen had they seen the period of their ill!\\r\\nThen Collatine again by Lucrece\\' side\\r\\nIn his clear bed might have reposed still:\\r\\nBut they must ope, this blessed league to kill;\\r\\n And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight\\r\\n Must sell her joy, her life, her world\\'s delight.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer lily hand her rosy cheek lies under,\\r\\nCozening the pillow of a lawful kiss;\\r\\nWho, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder,\\r\\nSwelling on either side to want his bliss;\\r\\nBetween whose hills her head entombed is:\\r\\n Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies,\\r\\n To be admir\\'d of lewd unhallow\\'d eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nWithout the bed her other fair hand was,\\r\\nOn the green coverlet; whose perfect white\\r\\nShow\\'d like an April daisy on the grass,\\r\\nWith pearly sweat, resembling dew of night,\\r\\nHer eyes, like marigolds, had sheath\\'d their light,\\r\\n And canopied in darkness sweetly lay,\\r\\n Till they might open to adorn the day.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer hair, like golden threads, play\\'d with her breath;\\r\\nO modest wantons! wanton modesty!\\r\\nShowing life\\'s triumph in the map of death,\\r\\nAnd death\\'s dim look in life\\'s mortality:\\r\\nEach in her sleep themselves so beautify,\\r\\n As if between them twain there were no strife,\\r\\n But that life liv\\'d in death, and death in life.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue,\\r\\nA pair of maiden worlds unconquered,\\r\\nSave of their lord no bearing yoke they knew,\\r\\nAnd him by oath they truly honoured.\\r\\nThese worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred:\\r\\n Who, like a foul usurper, went about\\r\\n From this fair throne to heave the owner out.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat could he see but mightily he noted?\\r\\nWhat did he note but strongly he desir\\'d?\\r\\nWhat he beheld, on that he firmly doted,\\r\\nAnd in his will his wilful eye he tir\\'d.\\r\\nWith more than admiration he admir\\'d\\r\\n Her azure veins, her alabaster skin,\\r\\n Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs the grim lion fawneth o\\'er his prey,\\r\\nSharp hunger by the conquest satisfied,\\r\\nSo o\\'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay,\\r\\nHis rage of lust by grazing qualified;\\r\\nSlack\\'d, not suppress\\'d; for standing by her side,\\r\\n His eye, which late this mutiny restrains,\\r\\n Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins:\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting,\\r\\nObdurate vassals. fell exploits effecting,\\r\\nIn bloody death and ravishment delighting,\\r\\nNor children\\'s tears nor mothers\\' groans respecting,\\r\\nSwell in their pride, the onset still expecting:\\r\\n Anon his beating heart, alarum striking,\\r\\n Gives the hot charge and bids them do their liking.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis drumming heart cheers up his burning eye,\\r\\nHis eye commends the leading to his hand;\\r\\nHis hand, as proud of such a dignity,\\r\\nSmoking with pride, march\\'d on to make his stand\\r\\nOn her bare breast, the heart of all her land;\\r\\n Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale,\\r\\n Left their round turrets destitute and pale.\\r\\n\\r\\nThey, mustering to the quiet cabinet\\r\\nWhere their dear governess and lady lies,\\r\\nDo tell her she is dreadfully beset,\\r\\nAnd fright her with confusion of their cries:\\r\\nShe, much amaz\\'d, breaks ope her lock\\'d-up eyes,\\r\\n Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold,\\r\\n Are by his flaming torch dimm\\'d and controll\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nImagine her as one in dead of night\\r\\nFrom forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking,\\r\\nThat thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite,\\r\\nWhose grim aspect sets every joint a shaking:\\r\\nWhat terror \\'tis! but she, in worser taking,\\r\\n From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view\\r\\n The sight which makes supposed terror true.\\r\\n\\r\\nWrapp\\'d and confounded in a thousand fears,\\r\\nLike to a new-kill\\'d bird she trembling lies;\\r\\nShe dares not look; yet, winking, there appears\\r\\nQuick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes:\\r\\nSuch shadows are the weak brain\\'s forgeries:\\r\\n Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights,\\r\\n In darkness daunts them with more dreadful sights.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis hand, that yet remains upon her breast,\\r\\n(Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall!)\\r\\nMay feel her heart, poor citizen, distress\\'d,\\r\\nWounding itself to death, rise up and fall,\\r\\nBeating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal.\\r\\n This moves in him more rage, and lesser pity,\\r\\n To make the breach, and enter this sweet city.\\r\\n\\r\\nFirst, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin\\r\\nTo sound a parley to his heartless foe,\\r\\nWho o\\'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin,\\r\\nThe reason of this rash alarm to know,\\r\\nWhich he by dumb demeanour seeks to show;\\r\\n But she with vehement prayers urgeth still\\r\\n Under what colour he commits this ill.\\r\\n\\r\\nThus he replies: \\'The colour in thy face,\\r\\n(That even for anger makes the lily pale,\\r\\nAnd the red rose blush at her own disgrace)\\r\\nShall plead for me and tell my loving tale:\\r\\nUnder that colour am I come to scale\\r\\n Thy never-conquer\\'d fort: the fault is thine,\\r\\n For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide:\\r\\nThy beauty hath ensnared thee to this night,\\r\\nWhere thou with patience must my will abide,\\r\\nMy will that marks thee for my earth\\'s delight,\\r\\nWhich I to conquer sought with all my might;\\r\\n But as reproof and reason beat it dead,\\r\\n By thy bright beauty was it newly bred.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'I see what crosses my attempt will bring;\\r\\nI know what thorns the growing rose defends;\\r\\nI think the honey guarded with a sting;\\r\\nAll this, beforehand, counsel comprehends:\\r\\nBut will is deaf, and hears no heedful friends;\\r\\n Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty,\\r\\n And dotes on what he looks, \\'gainst law or duty.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'I have debated, even in my soul,\\r\\nWhat wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall breed;\\r\\nBut nothing can Affection\\'s course control,\\r\\nOr stop the headlong fury of his speed.\\r\\nI know repentant tears ensue the deed,\\r\\n Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity;\\r\\n Yet strike I to embrace mine infamy.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade,\\r\\nWhich, like a falcon towering in the skies,\\r\\nCoucheth the fowl below with his wings\\' shade,\\r\\nWhose crooked beak threats if he mount he dies:\\r\\nSo under his insulting falchion lies\\r\\n Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells\\r\\n With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon\\'s bells.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Lucrece,\\' quoth he, \\'this night I must enjoy thee:\\r\\nIf thou deny, then force must work my way,\\r\\nFor in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee;\\r\\nThat done, some worthless slave of thine I\\'ll slay.\\r\\nTo kill thine honour with thy life\\'s decay;\\r\\n And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him,\\r\\n Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So thy surviving husband shall remain\\r\\nThe scornful mark of every open eye;\\r\\nThy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain,\\r\\nThy issue blurr\\'d with nameless bastardy:\\r\\nAnd thou, the author of their obloquy,\\r\\n Shalt have thy trespass cited up in rhymes,\\r\\n And sung by children in succeeding times.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend:\\r\\nThe fault unknown is as a thought unacted;\\r\\nA little harm, done to a great good end,\\r\\nFor lawful policy remains enacted.\\r\\nThe poisonous simple sometimes is compacted\\r\\n In a pure compound; being so applied,\\r\\n His venom in effect is purified.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Then, for thy husband and thy children\\'s sake,\\r\\nTender my suit: bequeath not to their lot\\r\\nThe shame that from them no device can take,\\r\\nThe blemish that will never be forgot;\\r\\nWorse than a slavish wipe, or birth-hour\\'s blot:\\r\\n For marks descried in men\\'s nativity\\r\\n Are nature\\'s faults, not their own infamy.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere with a cockatrice\\' dead-killing eye\\r\\nHe rouseth up himself and makes a pause;\\r\\nWhile she, the picture of pure piety,\\r\\nLike a white hind under the grype\\'s sharp claws,\\r\\nPleads in a wilderness where are no laws,\\r\\n To the rough beast that knows no gentle right,\\r\\n Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut when a black-fac\\'d cloud the world doth threat,\\r\\nIn his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding,\\r\\nFrom earth\\'s dark womb some gentle gust doth get,\\r\\nWhich blows these pitchy vapours from their biding,\\r\\nHindering their present fall by this dividing;\\r\\n So his unhallow\\'d haste her words delays,\\r\\n And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays.\\r\\n\\r\\nYet, foul night-working cat, he doth but dally,\\r\\nWhile in his hold-fast foot the weak mouse panteth;\\r\\nHer sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly,\\r\\nA swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth:\\r\\nHis ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth\\r\\n No penetrable entrance to her plaining:\\r\\n Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer pity-pleading eyes are sadly fix\\'d\\r\\nIn the remorseless wrinkles of his face;\\r\\nHer modest eloquence with sighs is mix\\'d,\\r\\nWhich to her oratory adds more grace.\\r\\nShe puts the period often from his place,\\r\\n And midst the sentence so her accent breaks,\\r\\n That twice she doth begin ere once she speaks.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe conjures him by high almighty Jove,\\r\\nBy knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship\\'s oath,\\r\\nBy her untimely tears, her husband\\'s love,\\r\\nBy holy human law, and common troth,\\r\\nBy heaven and earth, and all the power of both,\\r\\n That to his borrow\\'d bed he make retire,\\r\\n And stoop to honour, not to foul desire.\\r\\n\\r\\nQuoth she, \\'Reward not hospitality\\r\\nWith such black payment as thou hast pretended;\\r\\nMud not the fountain that gave drink to thee;\\r\\nMar not the thing that cannot be amended;\\r\\nEnd thy ill aim before the shoot be ended:\\r\\n He is no woodman that doth bend his bow\\r\\n To strike a poor unseasonable doe.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'My husband is thy friend; for his sake spare me;\\r\\nThyself art mighty; for thine own sake leave me;\\r\\nMyself a weakling, do not then ensnare me;\\r\\nThou look\\'st not like deceit; do not deceive me;\\r\\nMy sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave thee.\\r\\n If ever man were mov\\'d with woman\\'s moans,\\r\\n Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'All which together, like a troubled ocean,\\r\\nBeat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening heart;\\r\\nTo soften it with their continual motion;\\r\\nFor stones dissolv\\'d to water do convert.\\r\\nO, if no harder than a stone thou art,\\r\\n Melt at my tears, and be compassionate!\\r\\n Soft pity enters at an iron gate.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'In Tarquin\\'s likeness I did entertain thee;\\r\\nHast thou put on his shape to do him shame?\\r\\nTo all the host of heaven I complain me,\\r\\nThou wrong\\'st his honour, wound\\'st his princely name.\\r\\nThou art not what thou seem\\'st; and if the same,\\r\\n Thou seem\\'st not what thou art, a god, a king;\\r\\n For kings like gods should govern every thing.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'How will thy shame be seeded in thine age,\\r\\nWhen thus thy vices bud before thy spring!\\r\\nIf in thy hope thou dar\\'st do such outrage,\\r\\nWhat dar\\'st thou not when once thou art a king!\\r\\nO, be remember\\'d, no outrageous thing\\r\\n From vassal actors can he wip\\'d away;\\r\\n Then kings\\' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'This deed will make thee only lov\\'d for fear,\\r\\nBut happy monarchs still are fear\\'d for love:\\r\\nWith foul offenders thou perforce must bear,\\r\\nWhen they in thee the like offences prove:\\r\\nIf but for fear of this, thy will remove;\\r\\n For princes are the glass, the school, the book,\\r\\n Where subjects eyes do learn, do read, do look.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall learn?\\r\\nMust he in thee read lectures of such shame:\\r\\nWilt thou be glass, wherein it shall discern\\r\\nAuthority for sin, warrant for blame,\\r\\nTo privilege dishonour in thy name?\\r\\n Thou back\\'st reproach against long-living laud,\\r\\n And mak\\'st fair reputation but a bawd.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Hast thou command? by him that gave it thee,\\r\\nFrom a pure heart command thy rebel will:\\r\\nDraw not thy sword to guard iniquity,\\r\\nFor it was lent thee all that brood to kill.\\r\\nThy princely office how canst thou fulfill,\\r\\n When, pattern\\'d by thy fault, foul Sin may say\\r\\n He learn\\'d to sin, and thou didst teach the way?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Think but how vile a spectacle it were\\r\\nTo view thy present trespass in another.\\r\\nMen\\'s faults do seldom to themselves appear;\\r\\nTheir own transgressions partially they smother:\\r\\nThis guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother.\\r\\n O how are they wrapp\\'d in with infamies\\r\\n That from their own misdeeds askaunce their eyes!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'To thee, to thee, my heav\\'d-up hands appeal,\\r\\nNot to seducing lust, thy rash relier;\\r\\nI sue for exil\\'d majesty\\'s repeal;\\r\\nLet him return, and flattering thoughts retire:\\r\\nHis true respect will \\'prison false desire,\\r\\n And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne,\\r\\n That thou shalt see thy state, and pity mine.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Have done,\\' quoth he: \\'my uncontrolled tide\\r\\nTurns not, but swells the higher by this let.\\r\\nSmall lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide,\\r\\nAnd with the wind in greater fury fret:\\r\\nThe petty streams that pay a daily debt\\r\\n To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls\\' haste,\\r\\n Add to his flow, but alter not his taste.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thou art,\\' quoth she, \\'a sea, a sovereign king;\\r\\nAnd, lo, there falls into thy boundless flood\\r\\nBlack lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning,\\r\\nWho seek to stain the ocean of thy blood.\\r\\nIf all these petty ills shall change thy good,\\r\\n Thy sea within a puddle\\'s womb is hears\\'d,\\r\\n And not the puddle in thy sea dispers\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So shall these slaves be king, and thou their slave;\\r\\nThou nobly base, they basely dignified;\\r\\nThou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave;\\r\\nThou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride:\\r\\nThe lesser thing should not the greater hide;\\r\\n The cedar stoops not to the base shrub\\'s foot,\\r\\n But low shrubs whither at the cedar\\'s root.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state\\'—\\r\\n\\'No more,\\' quoth he; \\'by heaven, I will not hear thee:\\r\\nYield to my love; if not, enforced hate,\\r\\nInstead of love\\'s coy touch, shall rudely tear thee;\\r\\nThat done, despitefully I mean to bear thee\\r\\n Unto the base bed of some rascal groom,\\r\\n To be thy partner in this shameful doom.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, he sets his foot upon the light,\\r\\nFor light and lust are deadly enemies;\\r\\nShame folded up in blind concealing night,\\r\\nWhen most unseen, then most doth tyrannize.\\r\\nThe wolf hath seiz\\'d his prey, the poor lamb cries;\\r\\n Till with her own white fleece her voice controll\\'d\\r\\n Entombs her outcry in her lips\\' sweet fold:\\r\\n\\r\\nFor with the nightly linen that she wears\\r\\nHe pens her piteous clamours in her head;\\r\\nCooling his hot face in the chastest tears\\r\\nThat ever modest eyes with sorrow shed.\\r\\nO, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed!\\r\\n The spots whereof could weeping purify,\\r\\n Her tears should drop on them perpetually.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut she hath lost a dearer thing than life,\\r\\nAnd he hath won what he would lose again.\\r\\nThis forced league doth force a further strife;\\r\\nThis momentary joy breeds months of pain,\\r\\nThis hot desire converts to cold disdain:\\r\\n Pure Chastity is rifled of her store,\\r\\n And Lust, the thief, far poorer than before.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook, as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk,\\r\\nUnapt for tender smell or speedy flight,\\r\\nMake slow pursuit, or altogether balk\\r\\nThe prey wherein by nature they delight;\\r\\nSo surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night:\\r\\n His taste delicious, in digestion souring,\\r\\n Devours his will, that liv\\'d by foul devouring.\\r\\n\\r\\nO deeper sin than bottomless conceit\\r\\nCan comprehend in still imagination!\\r\\nDrunken desire must vomit his receipt,\\r\\nEre he can see his own abomination.\\r\\nWhile lust is in his pride no exclamation\\r\\n Can curb his heat, or rein his rash desire,\\r\\n Till, like a jade, self-will himself doth tire.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd then with lank and lean discolour\\'d cheek,\\r\\nWith heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace,\\r\\nFeeble desire, all recreant, poor, and meek,\\r\\nLike to a bankrupt beggar wails his case:\\r\\nThe flesh being proud, desire doth fight with Grace,\\r\\n For there it revels; and when that decays,\\r\\n The guilty rebel for remission prays.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo fares it with this faultful lord of Rome,\\r\\nWho this accomplishment so hotly chas\\'d;\\r\\nFor now against himself he sounds this doom,\\r\\nThat through the length of times he stands disgrac\\'d:\\r\\nBesides, his soul\\'s fair temple is defac\\'d;\\r\\n To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares,\\r\\n To ask the spotted princess how she fares.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe says, her subjects with foul insurrection\\r\\nHave batter\\'d down her consecrated wall,\\r\\nAnd by their mortal fault brought in subjection\\r\\nHer immortality, and made her thrall\\r\\nTo living death, and pain perpetual;\\r\\n Which in her prescience she controlled still,\\r\\n But her foresight could not forestall their will.\\r\\n\\r\\nEven in this thought through the dark night he stealeth,\\r\\nA captive victor that hath lost in gain;\\r\\nBearing away the wound that nothing healeth,\\r\\nThe scar that will, despite of cure, remain;\\r\\nLeaving his spoil perplex\\'d in greater pain.\\r\\n She hears the load of lust he left behind,\\r\\n And he the burthen of a guilty mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe like a thievish dog creeps sadly thence;\\r\\nShe like a wearied lamb lies panting there;\\r\\nHe scowls, and hates himself for his offence;\\r\\nShe, desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear;\\r\\nHe faintly flies, sweating with guilty fear;\\r\\n She stays, exclaiming on the direful night;\\r\\n He runs, and chides his vanish\\'d, loath\\'d delight.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe thence departs a heavy convertite;\\r\\nShe there remains a hopeless castaway:\\r\\nHe in his speed looks for the morning light;\\r\\nShe prays she never may behold the day;\\r\\n\\'For day,\\' quoth she, \\'night\\'s scapes doth open lay;\\r\\n And my true eyes have never practis\\'d how\\r\\n To cloak offences with a cunning brow.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'They think not but that every eye can see\\r\\nThe same disgrace which they themselves behold;\\r\\nAnd therefore would they still in darkness be,\\r\\nTo have their unseen sin remain untold;\\r\\nFor they their guilt with weeping will unfold,\\r\\n And grave, like water that doth eat in steel,\\r\\n Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere she exclaims against repose and rest,\\r\\nAnd bids her eyes hereafter still be blind.\\r\\nShe wakes her heart by beating on her breast,\\r\\nAnd bids it leap from thence, where it may find\\r\\nSome purer chest, to close so pure a mind.\\r\\n Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite\\r\\n Against the unseen secrecy of night:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O comfort-killing night, image of hell!\\r\\nDim register and notary of shame!\\r\\nBlack stage for tragedies and murders fell!\\r\\nVast sin-concealing chaos! nurse of blame!\\r\\nBlind muffled bawd! dark harbour for defame!\\r\\n Grim cave of death, whispering conspirator\\r\\n With close-tongued treason and the ravisher!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O hateful, vaporous, and foggy night!\\r\\nSince thou art guilty of my cureless crime,\\r\\nMuster thy mists to meet the eastern light,\\r\\nMake war against proportion\\'d course of time!\\r\\nOr if thou wilt permit the sun to climb\\r\\n His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed,\\r\\n Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'With rotten damps ravish the morning air;\\r\\nLet their exhal\\'d unwholesome breaths make sick\\r\\nThe life of purity, the supreme fair,\\r\\nEre he arrive his weary noontide prick;\\r\\nAnd let thy misty vapours march so thick,\\r\\n That in their smoky ranks his smother\\'d light\\r\\n May set at noon and make perpetual night.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Were Tarquin night (as he is but night\\'s child),\\r\\nThe silver-shining queen he would distain;\\r\\nHer twinkling handmaids too, by him defil\\'d,\\r\\nThrough Night\\'s black bosom should not peep again:\\r\\nSo should I have co-partners in my pain:\\r\\n And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage,\\r\\n As palmers\\' chat makes short their pilgrimage.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Where now I have no one to blush with me,\\r\\nTo cross their arms and hang their heads with mine,\\r\\nTo mask their brows, and hide their infamy;\\r\\nBut I alone alone must sit and pine,\\r\\nSeasoning the earth with showers of silver brine,\\r\\n Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans,\\r\\n Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke,\\r\\nLet not the jealous day behold that face\\r\\nWhich underneath thy black all-hiding cloak\\r\\nImmodesty lies martyr\\'d with disgrace!\\r\\nKeep still possession of thy gloomy place,\\r\\n That all the faults which in thy reign are made,\\r\\n May likewise be sepulchred in thy shade!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Make me not object to the tell-tale day!\\r\\nThe light will show, character\\'d in my brow,\\r\\nThe story of sweet chastity\\'s decay,\\r\\nThe impious breach of holy wedlock vow:\\r\\nYea, the illiterate, that know not how\\r\\n To cipher what is writ in learned books,\\r\\n Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story\\r\\nAnd fright her crying babe with Tarquin\\'s name;\\r\\nThe orator, to deck his oratory,\\r\\nWill couple my reproach to Tarquin\\'s shame:\\r\\nFeast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame,\\r\\n Will tie the hearers to attend each line,\\r\\n How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Let my good name, that senseless reputation,\\r\\nFor Collatine\\'s dear love be kept unspotted:\\r\\nIf that be made a theme for disputation,\\r\\nThe branches of another root are rotted,\\r\\nAnd undeserved reproach to him allotted,\\r\\n That is as clear from this attaint of mine\\r\\n As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O unseen shame! invisible disgrace!\\r\\nO unfelt sore! crest-wounding, private scar!\\r\\nReproach is stamp\\'d in Collatinus\\' face,\\r\\nAnd Tarquin\\'s eye may read the mot afar,\\r\\nHow he in peace is wounded, not in war.\\r\\n Alas, how many bear such shameful blows,\\r\\n Which not themselves, but he that gives them knows!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me,\\r\\nFrom me by strong assault it is bereft.\\r\\nMy honey lost, and I, a drone-like bee,\\r\\nHave no perfection of my summer left,\\r\\nBut robb\\'d and ransack\\'d by injurious theft:\\r\\n In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept,\\r\\n And suck\\'d the honey which thy chaste bee kept.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Yet am I guilty of thy honour\\'s wrack;—\\r\\nYet for thy honour did I entertain him;\\r\\nComing from thee, I could not put him back,\\r\\nFor it had been dishonour to disdain him:\\r\\nBesides, of weariness he did complain him,\\r\\n And talk\\'d of virtue:—O unlook\\'d-for evil,\\r\\n When virtue is profan\\'d in such a devil!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud?\\r\\nOr hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows\\' nests?\\r\\nOr toads infect fair founts with venom mud?\\r\\nOr tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts?\\r\\nOr kings be breakers of their own behests?\\r\\n But no perfection is so absolute,\\r\\n That some impurity doth not pollute.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'The aged man that coffers up his gold\\r\\nIs plagued with cramps, and gouts, and painful fits;\\r\\nAnd scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold,\\r\\nBut like still-pining Tantalus he sits,\\r\\nAnd useless barns the harvest of his wits;\\r\\n Having no other pleasure of his gain\\r\\n But torment that it cannot cure his pain.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'So then he hath it when he cannot use it,\\r\\nAnd leaves it to be master\\'d by his young;\\r\\nWho in their pride do presently abuse it:\\r\\nTheir father was too weak, and they too strong,\\r\\nTo hold their cursed-blessed fortune long.\\r\\n The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours,\\r\\n Even in the moment that we call them ours.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring;\\r\\nUnwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers;\\r\\nThe adder hisses where the sweet birds sing;\\r\\nWhat virtue breeds iniquity devours:\\r\\nWe have no good that we can say is ours,\\r\\n But ill-annexed Opportunity\\r\\n Or kills his life or else his quality.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O Opportunity, thy guilt is great:\\r\\n\\'Tis thou that executest the traitor\\'s treason;\\r\\nThou set\\'st the wolf where he the lamb may get;\\r\\nWhoever plots the sin, thou \\'point\\'st the season;\\r\\n\\'Tis thou that spurn\\'st at right, at law, at reason;\\r\\n And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him,\\r\\n Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thou mak\\'st the vestal violate her oath;\\r\\nThou blow\\'st the fire when temperance is thaw\\'d;\\r\\nThou smother\\'st honesty, thou murther\\'st troth;\\r\\nThou foul abettor! thou notorious bawd!\\r\\nThou plantest scandal and displacest laud:\\r\\n Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief,\\r\\n Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame,\\r\\nThy private feasting to a public fast;\\r\\nThy smoothing titles to a ragged name,\\r\\nThy sugar\\'d tongue to bitter wormwood taste:\\r\\nThy violent vanities can never last.\\r\\n How comes it then, vile Opportunity,\\r\\n Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'When wilt thou be the humble suppliant\\'s friend,\\r\\nAnd bring him where his suit may be obtain\\'d?\\r\\nWhen wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end?\\r\\nOr free that soul which wretchedness hath chain\\'d?\\r\\nGive physic to the sick, ease to the pain\\'d?\\r\\n The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee;\\r\\n But they ne\\'er meet with Opportunity.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'The patient dies while the physician sleeps;\\r\\nThe orphan pines while the oppressor feeds;\\r\\nJustice is feasting while the widow weeps;\\r\\nAdvice is sporting while infection breeds;\\r\\nThou grant\\'st no time for charitable deeds:\\r\\n Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder\\'s rages,\\r\\n Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'When truth and virtue have to do with thee,\\r\\nA thousand crosses keep them from thy aid;\\r\\nThey buy thy help; but Sin ne\\'er gives a fee,\\r\\nHe gratis comes; and thou art well appay\\'d\\r\\nAs well to hear as grant what he hath said.\\r\\n My Collatine would else have come to me\\r\\n When Tarquin did, but he was stay\\'d by thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Guilty thou art of murder and of theft;\\r\\nGuilty of perjury and subornation;\\r\\nGuilty of treason, forgery, and shift;\\r\\nGuilty of incest, that abomination:\\r\\nAn accessory by thine inclination\\r\\n To all sins past, and all that are to come,\\r\\n From the creation to the general doom.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Mis-shapen Time, copesmate of ugly night,\\r\\nSwift subtle post, carrier of grisly care,\\r\\nEater of youth, false slave to false delight,\\r\\nBase watch of woes, sin\\'s pack-horse, virtue\\'s snare;\\r\\nThou nursest all and murtherest all that are:\\r\\n O hear me then, injurious, shifting Time!\\r\\n Be guilty of my death, since of my crime.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why hath thy servant, Opportunity,\\r\\nBetray\\'d the hours thou gav\\'st me to repose?\\r\\nCancell\\'d my fortunes, and enchained me\\r\\nTo endless date of never-ending woes?\\r\\nTime\\'s office is to fine the hate of foes;\\r\\n To eat up errors by opinion bred,\\r\\n Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Time\\'s glory is to calm contending kings,\\r\\nTo unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light,\\r\\nTo stamp the seal of time in aged things,\\r\\nTo wake the morn, and sentinel the night,\\r\\nTo wrong the wronger till he render right;\\r\\n To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours,\\r\\n And smear with dust their glittering golden towers:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'To fill with worm-holes stately monuments,\\r\\nTo feed oblivion with decay of things,\\r\\nTo blot old books and alter their contents,\\r\\nTo pluck the quills from ancient ravens\\' wings,\\r\\nTo dry the old oak\\'s sap and cherish springs;\\r\\n To spoil antiquities of hammer\\'d steel,\\r\\n And turn the giddy round of Fortune\\'s wheel;\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'To show the beldame daughters of her daughter,\\r\\nTo make the child a man, the man a child,\\r\\nTo slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter,\\r\\nTo tame the unicorn and lion wild,\\r\\nTo mock the subtle, in themselves beguil\\'d;\\r\\n To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops,\\r\\n And waste huge stones with little water-drops.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why work\\'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage,\\r\\nUnless thou couldst return to make amends?\\r\\nOne poor retiring minute in an age\\r\\nWould purchase thee a thousand thousand friends,\\r\\nLending him wit that to bad debtors lends:\\r\\n O, this dread night, wouldst thou one hour come back,\\r\\n I could prevent this storm, and shun thy wrack!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thou cease!ess lackey to eternity,\\r\\nWith some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight:\\r\\nDevise extremes beyond extremity,\\r\\nTo make him curse this cursed crimeful night:\\r\\nLet ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright;\\r\\n And the dire thought of his committed evil\\r\\n Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances,\\r\\nAfflict him in his bed with bedrid groans;\\r\\nLet there bechance him pitiful mischances,\\r\\nTo make him moan; but pity not his moans:\\r\\nStone him with harden\\'d hearts, harder than stones;\\r\\n And let mild women to him lose their mildness,\\r\\n Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Let him have time to tear his curled hair,\\r\\nLet him have time against himself to rave,\\r\\nLet him have time of Time\\'s help to despair,\\r\\nLet him have time to live a loathed slave,\\r\\nLet him have time a beggar\\'s orts to crave;\\r\\n And time to see one that by alms doth live\\r\\n Disdain to him disdained scraps to give.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Let him have time to see his friends his foes,\\r\\nAnd merry fools to mock at him resort;\\r\\nLet him have time to mark how slow time goes\\r\\nIn time of sorrow, and how swift and short\\r\\nHis time of folly and his time of sport:\\r\\n And ever let his unrecalling crime\\r\\n Have time to wail the abusing of his time.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad,\\r\\nTeach me to curse him that thou taught\\'st this ill!\\r\\nAt his own shadow let the thief run mad!\\r\\nHimself himself seek every hour to kill!\\r\\nSuch wretched hands such wretched blood should spill:\\r\\n For who so base would such an office have\\r\\n As slanderous deathsman to so base a slave?\\r\\n\\r\\nThe baser is he, coming from a king,\\r\\nTo shame his hope with deeds degenerate.\\r\\nThe mightier man, the mightier is the thing\\r\\nThat makes him honour\\'d, or begets him hate;\\r\\nFor greatest scandal waits on greatest state.\\r\\n The moon being clouded presently is miss\\'d,\\r\\n But little stars may hide them when they list.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire,\\r\\nAnd unperceived fly with the filth away;\\r\\nBut if the like the snow-white swan desire,\\r\\nThe stain upon his silver down will stay.\\r\\nPoor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day:\\r\\n Gnats are unnoted wheresoe\\'er they fly,\\r\\n But eagles gazed upon with every eye.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Out, idle words, servants to shallow fools!\\r\\nUnprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators!\\r\\nBusy yourselves in skill-contending schools;\\r\\nDebate where leisure serves with dull debaters;\\r\\nTo trembling clients be you mediators:\\r\\n For me, I force not argument a straw,\\r\\n Since that my case is past the help of law.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'In vain I rail at Opportunity,\\r\\nAt Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful night;\\r\\nIn vain I cavil with mine infamy,\\r\\nIn vain I spurn at my confirm\\'d despite:\\r\\nThis helpless smoke of words doth me no right.\\r\\n The remedy indeed to do me good\\r\\n Is to let forth my foul-defil\\'d blood.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Poor hand, why quiver\\'st thou at this decree?\\r\\nHonour thyself to rid me of this shame;\\r\\nFor if I die, my honour lives in thee;\\r\\nBut if I live, thou livest in my defame:\\r\\nSince thou couldst not defend thy loyal dame,\\r\\n And wast afear\\'d to scratch her wicked foe,\\r\\n Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, from her be-tumbled couch she starteth,\\r\\nTo find some desperate instrument of death:\\r\\nBut this no slaughter-house no tool imparteth,\\r\\nTo make more vent for passage of her breath;\\r\\nWhich, thronging through her lips, so vanisheth\\r\\n As smoke from Aetna, that in air consumes,\\r\\n Or that which from discharged cannon fumes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'In vain,\\' quoth she, \\'I live, and seek in vain\\r\\nSome happy mean to end a hapless life.\\r\\nI fear\\'d by Tarquin\\'s falchion to be slain,\\r\\nYet for the self-same purpose seek a knife:\\r\\nBut when I fear\\'d I was a loyal wife:\\r\\n So am I now:—O no, that cannot be;\\r\\n Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O! that is gone for which I sought to live,\\r\\nAnd therefore now I need not fear to die.\\r\\nTo clear this spot by death, at least I give\\r\\nA badge of fame to slander\\'s livery;\\r\\nA dying life to living infamy;\\r\\n Poor helpless help, the treasure stolen away,\\r\\n To burn the guiltless casket where it lay!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know\\r\\nThe stained taste of violated troth;\\r\\nI will not wrong thy true affection so,\\r\\nTo flatter thee with an infringed oath;\\r\\nThis bastard graff shall never come to growth:\\r\\n He shall not boast who did thy stock pollute\\r\\n That thou art doting father of his fruit.\\r\\n\\r\\nNor shall he smile at thee in secret thought,\\r\\nNor laugh with his companions at thy state;\\r\\nBut thou shalt know thy interest was not bought\\r\\nBasely with gold, but stolen from forth thy gate.\\r\\nFor me, I am the mistress of my fate,\\r\\n And with my trespass never will dispense,\\r\\n Till life to death acquit my forced offence.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'I will not poison thee with my attaint,\\r\\nNor fold my fault in cleanly-coin\\'d excuses;\\r\\nMy sable ground of sin I will not paint,\\r\\nTo hide the truth of this false night\\'s abuses;\\r\\nMy tongue shall utter all; mine eyes, like sluices,\\r\\n As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale,\\r\\n Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this; lamenting Philomel had ended\\r\\nThe well-tun\\'d warble of her nightly sorrow,\\r\\nAnd solemn night with slow-sad gait descended\\r\\nTo ugly hell; when, lo, the blushing morrow\\r\\nLends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow:\\r\\n But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see,\\r\\n And therefore still in night would cloister\\'d be.\\r\\n\\r\\nRevealing day through every cranny spies,\\r\\nAnd seems to point her out where she sits weeping,\\r\\nTo whom she sobbing speaks: \\'O eye of eyes,\\r\\nWhy pryest thou through my window? leave thy peeping;\\r\\nMock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleeping:\\r\\n Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light,\\r\\n For day hath nought to do what\\'s done by night.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThus cavils she with every thing she sees:\\r\\nTrue grief is fond and testy as a child,\\r\\nWho wayward once, his mood with nought agrees.\\r\\nOld woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild;\\r\\nContinuance tames the one: the other wild,\\r\\n Like an unpractis\\'d swimmer plunging still\\r\\n With too much labour drowns for want of skill.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo she, deep-drenched in a sea of care,\\r\\nHolds disputation with each thing she views,\\r\\nAnd to herself all sorrow doth compare;\\r\\nNo object but her passion\\'s strength renews;\\r\\nAnd as one shifts, another straight ensues:\\r\\n Sometime her grief is dumb and hath no words;\\r\\n Sometime \\'tis mad, and too much talk affords.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe little birds that tune their morning\\'s joy\\r\\nMake her moans mad with their sweet melody.\\r\\nFor mirth doth search the bottom of annoy;\\r\\nSad souls are slain in merry company:\\r\\nGrief best is pleas\\'d with grief\\'s society:\\r\\n True sorrow then is feelingly suffic\\'d\\r\\n When with like semblance it is sympathiz\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Tis double death to drown in ken of shore;\\r\\nHe ten times pines that pines beholding food;\\r\\nTo see the salve doth make the wound ache more;\\r\\nGreat grief grieves most at that would do it good;\\r\\nDeep woes roll forward like a gentle flood;\\r\\n Who, being stopp\\'d, the bounding banks o\\'erflows;\\r\\n Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'You mocking birds,\\' quoth she, \\'your tunes entomb\\r\\nWithin your hollow-swelling feather\\'d breasts,\\r\\nAnd in my hearing be you mute and dumb!\\r\\n(My restless discord loves no stops nor rests;\\r\\nA woeful hostess brooks not merry guests:)\\r\\n Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears;\\r\\n Distress likes dumps when time is kept with tears.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Come, Philomel, that sing\\'st of ravishment,\\r\\nMake thy sad grove in my dishevell\\'d hair:\\r\\nAs the dank earth weeps at thy languishment,\\r\\nSo I at each sad strain will strain a tear,\\r\\nAnd with deep groans the diapason bear:\\r\\n For burthen-wise I\\'ll hum on Tarquin still,\\r\\n While thou on Tereus descant\\'st better skill.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And whiles against a thorn thou bear\\'st thy part,\\r\\nTo keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I,\\r\\nTo imitate thee well, against my heart\\r\\nWill fix a sharp knife, to affright mine eye;\\r\\nWho, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die.\\r\\n These means, as frets upon an instrument,\\r\\n Shall tune our heart-strings to true languishment.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And for, poor bird, thou sing\\'st not in the day,\\r\\nAs shaming any eye should thee behold,\\r\\nSome dark deep desert, seated from the way,\\r\\nThat knows not parching heat nor freezing cold,\\r\\nWill we find out; and there we will unfold\\r\\n To creatures stern sad tunes, to change their kinds:\\r\\n Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nAs the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze,\\r\\nWildly determining which way to fly,\\r\\nOr one encompass\\'d with a winding maze,\\r\\nThat cannot tread the way out readily;\\r\\nSo with herself is she in mutiny,\\r\\n To live or die which of the twain were better,\\r\\n When life is sham\\'d, and Death reproach\\'s debtor.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'To kill myself,\\' quoth she, \\'alack! what were it,\\r\\nBut with my body my poor soul\\'s pollution?\\r\\nThey that lose half with greater patience bear it\\r\\nThan they whose whole is swallow\\'d in confusion.\\r\\nThat mother tries a merciless conclusion\\r\\n Who, having two sweet babes, when death takes one,\\r\\n Will slay the other, and be nurse to none.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'My body or my soul, which was the dearer,\\r\\nWhen the one pure, the other made divine?\\r\\nWhose love of either to myself was nearer?\\r\\nWhen both were kept for heaven and Collatine?\\r\\nAh, me! the bark peel\\'d from the lofty pine,\\r\\n His leaves will wither, and his sap decay;\\r\\n So must my soul, her bark being peel\\'d away.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Her house is sack\\'d, her quiet interrupted,\\r\\nHer mansion batter\\'d by the enemy;\\r\\nHer sacred temple spotted, spoil\\'d, corrupted,\\r\\nGrossly engirt with daring infamy:\\r\\nThen let it not be call\\'d impiety,\\r\\n If in this blemish\\'d fort I make some hole\\r\\n Through which I may convey this troubled soul.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Yet die I will not till my Collatine\\r\\nHave heard the cause of my untimely death;\\r\\nThat he may vow, in that sad hour of mine,\\r\\nRevenge on him that made me stop my breath.\\r\\nMy stained blood to Tarquin I\\'ll bequeath,\\r\\n Which by him tainted shall for him be spent,\\r\\n And as his due writ in my testament.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'My honour I\\'ll bequeath unto the knife\\r\\nThat wounds my body so dishonoured.\\r\\n\\'Tis honour to deprive dishonour\\'d life;\\r\\nThe one will live, the other being dead:\\r\\nSo of shame\\'s ashes shall my fame be bred;\\r\\n For in my death I murther shameful scorn:\\r\\n My shame so dead, mine honour is new-born.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost,\\r\\nWhat legacy shall I bequeath to thee?\\r\\nMy resolution, Love, shall be thy boast,\\r\\nBy whose example thou reveng\\'d mayst be.\\r\\nHow Tarquin must be used, read it in me:\\r\\n Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe,\\r\\n And, for my sake, serve thou false Tarquin so.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'This brief abridgement of my will I make:\\r\\nMy soul and body to the skies and ground;\\r\\nMy resolution, husband, do thou take;\\r\\nMine honour be the knife\\'s that makes my wound;\\r\\nMy shame be his that did my fame confound;\\r\\n And all my fame that lives disburs\\'d be\\r\\n To those that live, and think no shame of me.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee this will;\\r\\nHow was I overseen that thou shalt see it!\\r\\nMy blood shall wash the slander of mine ill;\\r\\nMy life\\'s foul deed my life\\'s fair end shall free it.\\r\\nFaint not, faint heart, but stoutly say \"so be it:\"\\r\\n Yield to my hand; my hand shall conquer thee;\\r\\n Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis plot of death when sadly she had laid,\\r\\nAnd wip\\'d the brinish pearl from her bright eyes,\\r\\nWith untun\\'d tongue she hoarsely call\\'d her maid,\\r\\nWhose swift obedience to her mistress hies;\\r\\nFor fleet-wing\\'d duty with thought\\'s feathers flies.\\r\\n Poor Lucrece\\' cheeks unto her maid seem so\\r\\n As winter meads when sun doth melt their snow.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer mistress she doth give demure good-morrow,\\r\\nWith soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty,\\r\\nAnd sorts a sad look to her lady\\'s sorrow,\\r\\n(For why her face wore sorrow\\'s livery,)\\r\\nBut durst not ask of her audaciously\\r\\n Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so,\\r\\n Nor why her fair cheeks over-wash\\'d with woe.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut as the earth doth weep, the sun being set,\\r\\nEach flower moisten\\'d like a melting eye;\\r\\nEven so the maid with swelling drops \\'gan wet\\r\\nHer circled eyne, enforc\\'d by sympathy\\r\\nOf those fair suns, set in her mistress\\' sky,\\r\\n Who in a salt-wav\\'d ocean quench their light,\\r\\n Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night.\\r\\n\\r\\nA pretty while these pretty creatures stand,\\r\\nLike ivory conduits coral cisterns filling:\\r\\nOne justly weeps; the other takes in hand\\r\\nNo cause, but company, of her drops spilling:\\r\\nTheir gentle sex to weep are often willing:\\r\\n Grieving themselves to guess at others\\' smarts,\\r\\n And then they drown their eyes or break their hearts.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor men have marble, women waxen minds,\\r\\nAnd therefore are they form\\'d as marble will;\\r\\nThe weak oppress\\'d, the impression of strange kinds\\r\\nIs form\\'d in them by force, by fraud, or skill:\\r\\nThen call them not the authors of their ill,\\r\\n No more than wax shall be accounted evil,\\r\\n Wherein is stamp\\'d the semblance of a devil.\\r\\n\\r\\nTheir smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain,\\r\\nLays open all the little worms that creep;\\r\\nIn men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain\\r\\nCave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep:\\r\\nThrough crystal walls each little mote will peep:\\r\\n Though men can cover crimes with bold stern looks,\\r\\n Poor women\\'s faces are their own faults\\' books.\\r\\n\\r\\nNo man inveigb against the wither\\'d flower,\\r\\nBut chide rough winter that the flower hath kill\\'d!\\r\\nNot that devour\\'d, but that which doth devour,\\r\\nIs worthy blame. O, let it not be hild\\r\\nPoor women\\'s faults, that they are so fulfill\\'d\\r\\n With men\\'s abuses! those proud lords, to blame,\\r\\n Make weak-made women tenants to their shame.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe precedent whereof in Lucrece view,\\r\\nAssail\\'d by night with circumstances strong\\r\\nOf present death, and shame that might ensue\\r\\nBy that her death, to do her husband wrong:\\r\\nSuch danger to resistance did belong;\\r\\n The dying fear through all her body spread;\\r\\n And who cannot abuse a body dead?\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this, mild Patience bid fair Lucrece speak\\r\\nTo the poor counterfeit of her complaining:\\r\\n\\'My girl,\\' quoth she, \\'on what occasion break\\r\\nThose tears from thee, that down thy cheeks are raining?\\r\\nIf thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining,\\r\\n Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood:\\r\\n If tears could help, mine own would do me good.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'But tell me, girl, when went\\'—(and there she stay\\'d\\r\\nTill after a deep groan) \\'Tarquin from, hence?\\'\\r\\n\\'Madam, ere I was up,\\' replied the maid,\\r\\n\\'The more to blame my sluggard negligence:\\r\\nYet with the fault I thus far can dispense;\\r\\n Myself was stirring ere the break of day,\\r\\n And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'But, lady, if your maid may be so bold,\\r\\nShe would request to know your heaviness.\\'\\r\\n\\'O peace!\\' quoth Lucrece: \\'if it should be told,\\r\\nThe repetition cannot make it less;\\r\\nFor more it is than I can well express:\\r\\n And that deep torture may be call\\'d a hell,\\r\\n When more is felt than one hath power to tell.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen—\\r\\nYet save that labour, for I have them here.\\r\\nWhat should I say?—One of my husband\\'s men\\r\\nBid thou be ready, by and by, to bear\\r\\nA letter to my lord, my love, my dear;\\r\\n Bid him with speed prepare to carry it;\\r\\n The cause craves haste, and it will soon be writ.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHer maid is gone, and she prepares to write,\\r\\nFirst hovering o\\'er the paper with her quill:\\r\\nConceit and grief an eager combat fight;\\r\\nWhat wit sets down is blotted straight with will;\\r\\nThis is too curious-good, this blunt and ill:\\r\\n Much like a press of people at a door,\\r\\n Throng her inventions, which shall go before.\\r\\n\\r\\nAt last she thus begins:—\\'Thou worthy lord\\r\\nOf that unworthy wife that greeteth thee,\\r\\nHealth to thy person! next vouchsafe to afford\\r\\n(If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see)\\r\\nSome present speed to come and visit me:\\r\\n So, I commend me from our house in grief:\\r\\n My woes are tedious, though my words are brief.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere folds she up the tenor of her woe,\\r\\nHer certain sorrow writ uncertainly.\\r\\nBy this short schedule Collatine may know\\r\\nHer grief, but not her grief\\'s true quality;\\r\\nShe dares not thereof make discovery,\\r\\n Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse,\\r\\n Ere she with blood had stain\\'d her stain\\'d excuse.\\r\\n\\r\\nBesides, the life and feeling of her passion\\r\\nShe hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her;\\r\\nWhen sighs, and groans, and tears may grace the fashion\\r\\nOf her disgrace, the better so to clear her\\r\\nFrom that suspicion which the world my might bear her.\\r\\n To shun this blot, she would not blot the letter\\r\\n With words, till action might become them better.\\r\\n\\r\\nTo see sad sights moves more than hear them told;\\r\\nFor then the eye interprets to the ear\\r\\nThe heavy motion that it doth behold,\\r\\nWhen every part a part of woe doth bear.\\r\\n\\'Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear:\\r\\n Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow fords,\\r\\n And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of words.\\r\\n\\r\\nHer letter now is seal\\'d, and on it writ\\r\\n\\'At Ardea to my lord with more than haste;\\'\\r\\nThe post attends, and she delivers it,\\r\\nCharging the sour-fac\\'d groom to hie as fast\\r\\nAs lagging fowls before the northern blast.\\r\\n Speed more than speed but dull and slow she deems:\\r\\n Extremely still urgeth such extremes.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe homely villain court\\'sies to her low;\\r\\nAnd, blushing on her, with a steadfast eye\\r\\nReceives the scroll, without or yea or no,\\r\\nAnd forth with bashful innocence doth hie.\\r\\nBut they whose guilt within their bosoms lie\\r\\n Imagine every eye beholds their blame;\\r\\n For Lucrece thought he blush\\'d to see her shame:\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen, silly groom! God wot, it was defect\\r\\nOf spirit, life, and bold audacity.\\r\\nSuch harmless creatures have a true respect\\r\\nTo talk in deeds, while others saucily\\r\\nPromise more speed, but do it leisurely:\\r\\n Even so this pattern of the worn-out age\\r\\n Pawn\\'d honest looks, but laid no words to gage.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis kindled duty kindled her mistrust,\\r\\nThat two red fires in both their faces blaz\\'d;\\r\\nShe thought he blush\\'d, as knowing Tarquin\\'s lust,\\r\\nAnd, blushing with him, wistly on him gaz\\'d;\\r\\nHer earnest eye did make him more amaz\\'d:\\r\\n The more saw the blood his cheeks replenish,\\r\\n The more she thought he spied in her some blemish.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut long she thinks till he return again,\\r\\nAnd yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone.\\r\\nThe weary time she cannot entertain,\\r\\nFor now \\'tis stale to sigh, to weep, to groan:\\r\\nSo woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan,\\r\\n That she her plaints a little while doth stay,\\r\\n Pausing for means to mourn some newer way.\\r\\n\\r\\nAt last she calls to mind where hangs a piece\\r\\nOf skilful painting, made for Priam\\'s Troy;\\r\\nBefore the which is drawn the power of Greece,\\r\\nFor Helen\\'s rape the city to destroy,\\r\\nThreat\\'ning cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy;\\r\\n Which the conceited painter drew so proud,\\r\\n As heaven (it seem\\'d) to kiss the turrets bow\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nA thousand lamentable objects there,\\r\\nIn scorn of Nature, Art gave lifeless life:\\r\\nMany a dry drop seem\\'d a weeping tear,\\r\\nShed for the slaughter\\'d husband by the wife:\\r\\nThe red blood reek\\'d, to show the painter\\'s strife;\\r\\n The dying eyes gleam\\'d forth their ashy lights,\\r\\n Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights.\\r\\n\\r\\nThere might you see the labouring pioner\\r\\nBegrim\\'d with sweat, and smeared all with dust;\\r\\nAnd from the towers of Troy there would appear\\r\\nThe very eyes of men through loopholes thrust,\\r\\nGazing upon the Greeks with little lust:\\r\\n Such sweet observance in this work was had,\\r\\n That one might see those far-off eyes look sad.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn great commanders grace and majesty\\r\\nYou might behold, triumphing in their faces;\\r\\nIn youth, quick bearing and dexterity;\\r\\nAnd here and there the painter interlaces\\r\\nPale cowards, marching on with trembling paces;\\r\\n Which heartless peasants did so well resemble,\\r\\n That one would swear he saw them quake and tremble.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn Ajax and Ulysses, O, what art\\r\\nOf physiognomy might one behold!\\r\\nThe face of either \\'cipher\\'d either\\'s heart;\\r\\nTheir face their manners most expressly told:\\r\\nIn Ajax\\' eyes blunt rage and rigour roll\\'d;\\r\\n But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent\\r\\n Show\\'d deep regard and smiling government.\\r\\n\\r\\nThere pleading might you see grave Nestor stand,\\r\\nAs\\'t were encouraging the Greeks to fight;\\r\\nMaking such sober action with his hand\\r\\nThat it beguiled attention, charm\\'d the sight:\\r\\nIn speech, it seem\\'d, his beard, all silver white,\\r\\n Wagg\\'d up and down, and from his lips did fly\\r\\n Thin winding breath, which purl\\'d up to the sky.\\r\\n\\r\\nAbout him were a press of gaping faces,\\r\\nWhich seem\\'d to swallow up his sound advice;\\r\\nAll jointly listening, but with several graces,\\r\\nAs if some mermaid did their ears entice;\\r\\nSome high, some low, the painter was so nice:\\r\\n The scalps of many, almost hid behind,\\r\\n To jump up higher seem\\'d to mock the mind.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere one man\\'s hand lean\\'d on another\\'s head,\\r\\nHis nose being shadow\\'d by his neighbour\\'s ear;\\r\\nHere one being throng\\'d bears back, all boll\\'n and red;\\r\\nAnother smother\\'d seems to pelt and swear;\\r\\nAnd in their rage such signs of rage they bear,\\r\\n As, but for loss of Nestor\\'s golden words,\\r\\n It seem\\'d they would debate with angry swords.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor much imaginary work was there;\\r\\nConceit deceitful, so compact, so kind,\\r\\nThat for Achilles\\' image stood his spear,\\r\\nGrip\\'d in an armed hand; himself, behind,\\r\\nWas left unseen, save to the eye of mind:\\r\\n A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head,\\r\\n Stood for the whole to be imagined,\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd from the walls of strong-besieged Troy\\r\\nWhen their brave hope, bold Hector, march\\'d to field,\\r\\nStood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy\\r\\nTo see their youthful sons bright weapons wield;\\r\\nAnd to their hope they such odd action yield,\\r\\n That through their light joy seemed to appear,\\r\\n (Like bright things stain\\'d) a kind of heavy fear,\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd, from the strond of Dardan, where they fought,\\r\\nTo Simois\\' reedy banks, the red blood ran,\\r\\nWhose waves to imitate the battle sought\\r\\nWith swelling ridges; and their ranks began\\r\\nTo break upon the galled shore, and than\\r\\n Retire again, till, meeting greater ranks,\\r\\n They join, and shoot their foam at Simois\\' banks.\\r\\n\\r\\nTo this well-painted piece is Lucrece come,\\r\\nTo find a face where all distress is stell\\'d.\\r\\nMany she sees where cares have carved some,\\r\\nBut none where all distress and dolour dwell\\'d,\\r\\nTill she despairing Hecuba beheld,\\r\\n Staring on Priam\\'s wounds with her old eyes,\\r\\n Which bleeding under Pyrrhus\\' proud foot lies.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn her the painter had anatomiz\\'d\\r\\nTime\\'s ruin, beauty\\'s wrack, and grim care\\'s reign:\\r\\nHer cheeks with chops and wrinkles were disguis\\'d;\\r\\nOf what she was no semblance did remain:\\r\\nHer blue blood, chang\\'d to black in every vein,\\r\\n Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had fed,\\r\\n Show\\'d life imprison\\'d in a body dead.\\r\\n\\r\\nOn this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes,\\r\\nAnd shapes her sorrow to the beldame\\'s woes,\\r\\nWho nothing wants to answer her but cries,\\r\\nAnd bitter words to ban her cruel foes:\\r\\nThe painter was no god to lend her those;\\r\\n And therefore Lucrece swears he did her wrong,\\r\\n To give her so much grief, and not a tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Poor instrument,\\' quoth she, \\'without a sound,\\r\\nI\\'ll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue;\\r\\nAnd drop sweet balm in Priam\\'s painted wound,\\r\\nAnd rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong,\\r\\nAnd with my tears quench Troy that burns so long;\\r\\n And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes\\r\\n Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Show me the strumpet that began this stir,\\r\\nThat with my nails her beauty I may tear.\\r\\nThy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur\\r\\nThis load of wrath that burning Troy doth bear;\\r\\nThy eye kindled the fire that burneth here:\\r\\n And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye,\\r\\n The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter die.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why should the private pleasure of some one\\r\\nBecome the public plague of many mo?\\r\\nLet sin, alone committed, light alone\\r\\nUpon his head that hath transgressed so.\\r\\nLet guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe:\\r\\n For one\\'s offence why should so many fall,\\r\\n To plague a private sin in general?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Lo, here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies,\\r\\nHere manly Hector faints, here Troilus swounds;\\r\\nHere friend by friend in bloody channel lies,\\r\\nAnd friend to friend gives unadvised wounds,\\r\\nAnd one man\\'s lust these many lives confounds:\\r\\n Had doting Priam check\\'d his son\\'s desire,\\r\\n Troy had been bright with fame and not with fire.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere feelingly she weeps Troy\\'s painted woes:\\r\\nFor sorrow, like a heavy-hanging bell,\\r\\nOnce set on ringing, with his own weight goes;\\r\\nThen little strength rings out the doleful knell:\\r\\nSo Lucrece set a-work sad tales doth tell\\r\\n To pencill\\'d pensiveness and colour\\'d sorrow;\\r\\n She lends them words, and she their looks doth borrow.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe throws her eyes about the painting round,\\r\\nAnd whom she finds forlorn she doth lament:\\r\\nAt last she sees a wretched image bound,\\r\\nThat piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent:\\r\\nHis face, though full of cares, yet show\\'d content;\\r\\n Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes,\\r\\n So mild, that Patience seem\\'d to scorn his woes.\\r\\n\\r\\nIn him the painter labour\\'d with his skill\\r\\nTo hide deceit, and give the harmless show\\r\\nAn humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still,\\r\\nA brow unbent, that seem\\'d to welcome woe;\\r\\nCheeks neither red nor pale, but mingled so\\r\\n That blushing red no guilty instance gave,\\r\\n Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut, like a constant and confirmed devil,\\r\\nHe entertain\\'d a show so seeming just,\\r\\nAnd therein so ensconc\\'d his secret evil,\\r\\nThat jealousy itself cold not mistrust\\r\\nFalse-creeping craft and perjury should thrust\\r\\n Into so bright a day such black-fac\\'d storms,\\r\\n Or blot with hell-born sin such saint-like forms.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe well-skill\\'d workman this mild image drew\\r\\nFor perjur\\'d Sinon, whose enchanting story\\r\\nThe credulous Old Priam after slew;\\r\\nWhose words, like wildfire, burnt the shining glory\\r\\nOf rich-built Ilion, that the skies were sorry,\\r\\n And little stars shot from their fixed places,\\r\\n When their glass fell wherein they view\\'d their faces.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis picture she advisedly perus\\'d,\\r\\nAnd chid the painter for his wondrous skill;\\r\\nSaying, some shape in Sinon\\'s was abus\\'d;\\r\\nSo fair a form lodged not a mind so ill:\\r\\nAnd still on him she gaz\\'d; and gazing still,\\r\\n Such signs of truth in his plain face she spied,\\r\\n That she concludes the picture was belied.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'It cannot be,\\' quoth she, \\'that so much guile\\'—\\r\\n(She would have said) \\'can lurk in such a look;\\'\\r\\nBut Tarquin\\'s shape came in her mind the while,\\r\\nAnd from her tongue \\'can lurk\\' from \\'cannot\\' took;\\r\\n\\'It cannot be\\' she in that sense forsook,\\r\\n And turn\\'d it thus: \\'It cannot be, I find,\\r\\n But such a face should bear a wicked mind:\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'For even as subtle Sinon here is painted,\\r\\nSo sober-sad, so weary, and so mild,\\r\\n(As if with grief or travail he had fainted,)\\r\\nTo me came Tarquin armed; so beguil\\'d\\r\\nWith outward honesty, but yet defil\\'d\\r\\n With inward vice: as Priam him did cherish,\\r\\n So did I Tarquin; so my Troy did perish.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes,\\r\\nTo see those borrow\\'d tears that Sinon sheds.\\r\\nPriam, why art thou old and yet not wise?\\r\\nFor every tear he falls a Trojan bleeds;\\r\\nHis eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds;\\r\\n Those round clear pearls of his that move thy pity,\\r\\n Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Such devils steal effects from lightless hell;\\r\\nFor Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold,\\r\\nAnd in that cold hot-burning fire doth dwell;\\r\\nThese contraries such unity do hold,\\r\\nOnly to flatter fools, and make them bold;\\r\\n So Priam\\'s trust false Sinon\\'s tears doth flatter,\\r\\n That he finds means to burn his Troy with water.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nHere, all enrag\\'d, such passion her assails,\\r\\nThat patience is quite beaten from her breast.\\r\\nShe tears the senseless Sinon with her nails,\\r\\nComparing him to that unhappy guest\\r\\nWhose deed hath made herself herself detest;\\r\\n At last she smilingly with this gives o\\'er;\\r\\n \\'Fool, fool!\\' quoth she, \\'his wounds will not be sore.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow,\\r\\nAnd time doth weary time with her complaining.\\r\\nShe looks for night, and then she longs for morrow,\\r\\nAnd both she thinks too long with her remaining:\\r\\nShort time seems long in sorrow\\'s sharp sustaining.\\r\\n Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps;\\r\\n And they that watch see time how slow it creeps.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich all this time hath overslipp\\'d her thought,\\r\\nThat she with painted images hath spent;\\r\\nBeing from the feeling of her own grief brought\\r\\nBy deep surmise of others\\' detriment:\\r\\nLosing her woes in shows of discontent.\\r\\n It easeth some, though none it ever cur\\'d,\\r\\n To think their dolour others have endur\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut now the mindful messenger, come back,\\r\\nBrings home his lord and other company;\\r\\nWho finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black:\\r\\nAnd round about her tear-distained eye\\r\\nBlue circles stream\\'d, like rainbows in the sky.\\r\\n These water-galls in her dim element\\r\\n Foretell new storms to those already spent.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich when her sad-beholding husband saw,\\r\\nAmazedly in her sad face he stares:\\r\\nHer eyes, though sod in tears, look\\'d red and raw,\\r\\nHer lively colour kill\\'d with deadly cares.\\r\\nHe hath no power to ask her how she fares,\\r\\n Both stood, like old acquaintance in a trance,\\r\\n Met far from home, wondering each other\\'s chance.\\r\\n\\r\\nAt last he takes her by the bloodless hand,\\r\\nAnd thus begins: \\'What uncouth ill event\\r\\nHath thee befall\\'n, that thou dost trembling stand?\\r\\nSweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spent?\\r\\nWhy art thou thus attir\\'d in discontent?\\r\\n Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness,\\r\\n And tell thy grief, that we may give redress.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThree times with sighs she gives her sorrow fire,\\r\\nEre once she can discharge one word of woe:\\r\\nAt length address\\'d to answer his desire,\\r\\nShe modestly prepares to let them know\\r\\nHer honour is ta\\'en prisoner by the foe;\\r\\n While Collatine and his consorted lords\\r\\n With sad attention long to hear her words.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd now this pale swan in her watery nest\\r\\nBegins the sad dirge of her certain ending:\\r\\n\\'Few words,\\' quoth she, \\'shall fit the trespass best,\\r\\nWhere no excuse can give the fault amending:\\r\\nIn me more woes than words are now depending;\\r\\n And my laments would be drawn out too long,\\r\\n To tell them all with one poor tired tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Then be this all the task it hath to say:—\\r\\nDear husband, in the interest of thy bed\\r\\nA stranger came, and on that pillow lay\\r\\nWhere thou wast wont to rest thy weary head;\\r\\nAnd what wrong else may be imagined\\r\\n By foul enforcement might be done to me,\\r\\n From that, alas! thy Lucrece is not free.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight,\\r\\nWith shining falchion in my chamber came\\r\\nA creeping creature, with a flaming light,\\r\\nAnd softly cried Awake, thou Roman dame,\\r\\nAnd entertain my love; else lasting shame\\r\\n On thee and thine this night I will inflict,\\r\\n If thou my love\\'s desire do contradict.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'For some hard-favour\\'d groom of thine, quoth he,\\r\\nUnless thou yoke thy liking to my will,\\r\\nI\\'ll murder straight, and then I\\'ll slaughter thee\\r\\nAnd swear I found you where you did fulfil\\r\\nThe loathsome act of lust, and so did kill\\r\\n The lechers in their deed: this act will be\\r\\n My fame and thy perpetual infamy.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'With this, I did begin to start and cry,\\r\\nAnd then against my heart he sets his sword,\\r\\nSwearing, unless I took all patiently,\\r\\nI should not live to speak another word;\\r\\nSo should my shame still rest upon record,\\r\\n And never be forgot in mighty Rome\\r\\n The adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak,\\r\\nAnd far the weaker with so strong a fear:\\r\\nMy bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak;\\r\\nNo rightful plea might plead for justice there:\\r\\nHis scarlet lust came evidence to swear\\r\\n That my poor beauty had purloin\\'d his eyes;\\r\\n And when the judge is robb\\'d the prisoner dies.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O, teach me how to make mine own excuse!\\r\\nOr at the least this refuge let me find;\\r\\nThough my gross blood be stain\\'d with this abuse,\\r\\nImmaculate and spotless is my mind;\\r\\nThat was not forc\\'d; that never was inclin\\'d\\r\\n To accessary yieldings, but still pure\\r\\n Doth in her poison\\'d closet yet endure.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nLo, here, the hopeless merchant of this loss,\\r\\nWith head declin\\'d, and voice damm\\'d up with woe,\\r\\nWith sad set eyes, and wretched arms across,\\r\\nFrom lips new-waxen pale begins to blow\\r\\nThe grief away that stops his answer so:\\r\\n But wretched as he is he strives in vain;\\r\\n What he breathes out his breath drinks up again.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs through an arch the violent roaring tide\\r\\nOutruns the eye that doth behold his haste;\\r\\nYet in the eddy boundeth in his pride\\r\\nBack to the strait that forc\\'d him on so fast;\\r\\nIn rage sent out, recall\\'d in rage, being past:\\r\\n Even so his sighs, his sorrows make a saw.\\r\\n To push grief on, and back the same grief draw.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich speechless woe of his poor she attendeth,\\r\\nAnd his untimely frenzy thus awaketh:\\r\\n\\'Dear Lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth\\r\\nAnother power; no flood by raining slaketh.\\r\\nMy woe too sensible thy passion maketh\\r\\n More feeling-painful: let it then suffice\\r\\n To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'And for my sake, when I might charm thee so,\\r\\nFor she that was thy Lucrece,—now attend me;\\r\\nBe suddenly revenged on my foe,\\r\\nThine, mine, his own: suppose thou dost defend me\\r\\nFrom what is past: the help that thou shalt lend me\\r\\n Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die;\\r\\n For sparing justice feeds iniquity.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'But ere I name him, you fair lords,\\' quoth she,\\r\\n(Speaking to those that came with Collatine)\\r\\n\\'Shall plight your honourable faiths to me,\\r\\nWith swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine;\\r\\nFor \\'tis a meritorious fair design\\r\\n To chase injustice with revengeful arms:\\r\\n Knights, by their oaths, should right poor ladies\\' harms.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nAt this request, with noble disposition\\r\\nEach present lord began to promise aid,\\r\\nAs bound in knighthood to her imposition,\\r\\nLonging to hear the hateful foe bewray\\'d.\\r\\nBut she, that yet her sad task hath not said,\\r\\n The protestation stops. \\'O, speak,\\' quoth she,\\r\\n \\'How may this forced stain be wip\\'d from me?\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'What is the quality of mine offence,\\r\\nBeing constrain\\'d with dreadful circumstance?\\r\\nMay my pure mind with the foul act dispense,\\r\\nMy low-declined honour to advance?\\r\\nMay any terms acquit me from this chance?\\r\\n The poison\\'d fountain clears itself again;\\r\\n And why not I from this compelled stain?\\r\\n\\r\\nWith this, they all at once began to say,\\r\\nHer body\\'s stain her mind untainted clears;\\r\\nWhile with a joyless smile she turns away\\r\\nThe face, that map which deep impression bears\\r\\nOf hard misfortune, carv\\'d in it with tears.\\r\\n \\'No, no,\\' quoth she, \\'no dame, hereafter living,\\r\\n By my excuse shall claim excuse\\'s giving.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere with a sigh, as if her heart would break,\\r\\nShe throws forth Tarquin\\'s name: \\'He, he,\\' she says,\\r\\nBut more than \\'he\\' her poor tongue could not speak;\\r\\nTill after many accents and delays,\\r\\nUntimely breathings, sick and short assays,\\r\\n She utters this: \\'He, he, fair lords, \\'tis he,\\r\\n That guides this hand to give this wound to me.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nEven here she sheathed in her harmless breast\\r\\nA harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheath\\'d:\\r\\nThat blow did bail it from the deep unrest\\r\\nOf that polluted prison where it breath\\'d:\\r\\nHer contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeath\\'d\\r\\n Her winged sprite, and through her wounds doth fly\\r\\n Life\\'s lasting date from cancell\\'d destiny.\\r\\n\\r\\nStone-still, astonish\\'d with this deadly deed,\\r\\nStood Collatine and all his lordly crew;\\r\\nTill Lucrece\\' father that beholds her bleed,\\r\\nHimself on her self-slaughter\\'d body threw;\\r\\nAnd from the purple fountain Brutus drew\\r\\n The murderous knife, and, as it left the place,\\r\\n Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase;\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd bubbling from her breast, it doth divide\\r\\nIn two slow rivers, that the crimson blood\\r\\nCircles her body in on every side,\\r\\nWho, like a late-sack\\'d island, vastly stood\\r\\nBare and unpeopled, in this fearful flood.\\r\\n Some of her blood still pure and red remain\\'d,\\r\\n And some look\\'d black, and that false Tarquin stain\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\nAbout the mourning and congealed face\\r\\nOf that black blood a watery rigol goes,\\r\\nWhich seems to weep upon the tainted place:\\r\\nAnd ever since, as pitying Lucrece\\' woes,\\r\\nCorrupted blood some watery token shows;\\r\\n And blood untainted still doth red abide,\\r\\n Blushing at that which is so putrified.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Daughter, dear daughter,\\' old Lucretius cries,\\r\\n\\'That life was mine which thou hast here depriv\\'d.\\r\\nIf in the child the father\\'s image lies,\\r\\nWhere shall I live now Lucrece is unliv\\'d?\\r\\nThou wast not to this end from me deriv\\'d\\r\\n If children pre-decease progenitors,\\r\\n We are their offspring, and they none of ours.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Poor broken glass, I often did behold\\r\\nIn thy sweet semblance my old age new born;\\r\\nBut now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old,\\r\\nShows me a bare-bon\\'d death by time outworn;\\r\\nO, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn!\\r\\n And shiver\\'d all the beauty of my glass,\\r\\n That I no more can see what once I was!\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O time, cease thou thy course and last no longer,\\r\\nIf they surcease to be that should survive.\\r\\nShall rotten death make conquest of the stronger,\\r\\nAnd leave the faltering feeble souls alive?\\r\\nThe old bees die, the young possess their hive:\\r\\n Then live, sweet Lucrece, live again, and see\\r\\n Thy father die, and not thy father thee!\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this starts Collatine as from a dream,\\r\\nAnd bids Lucretius give his sorrow place;\\r\\nAnd then in key-cold Lucrece\\' bleeding stream\\r\\nHe falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face,\\r\\nAnd counterfeits to die with her a space;\\r\\n Till manly shame bids him possess his breath,\\r\\n And live, to be revenged on her death.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe deep vexation of his inward soul\\r\\nHath serv\\'d a dumb arrest upon his tongue;\\r\\nWho, mad that sorrow should his use control,\\r\\nOr keep him from heart-easing words so long,\\r\\nBegins to talk; but through his lips do throng\\r\\n Weak words, so thick come in his poor heart\\'s aid,\\r\\n That no man could distinguish what he said.\\r\\n\\r\\nYet sometime \\'Tarquin\\' was pronounced plain,\\r\\nBut through his teeth, as if the name he tore.\\r\\nThis windy tempest, till it blow up rain,\\r\\nHeld back his sorrow\\'s tide, to make it more;\\r\\nAt last it rains, and busy winds give o\\'er:\\r\\n Then son and father weep with equal strife,\\r\\n Who should weep most, for daughter or for wife.\\r\\n\\r\\nThe one doth call her his, the other his,\\r\\nYet neither may possess the claim they lay,\\r\\nThe father says \\'She\\'s mine,\\' \\'O, mine she is,\\'\\r\\nReplies her husband: \\'do not take away\\r\\nMy sorrow\\'s interest; let no mourner say\\r\\n He weeps for her, for she was only mine,\\r\\n And only must be wail\\'d by Collatine.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'O,\\' quoth Lucretius, \\'I did give that life\\r\\nWhich she too early and too late hath spill\\'d.\\'\\r\\n\\'Woe, woe,\\' quoth Collatine, \\'she was my wife,\\r\\nI owed her, and \\'tis mine that she hath kill\\'d.\\'\\r\\n\\'My daughter\\' and \\'my wife\\' with clamours fill\\'d\\r\\n The dispers\\'d air, who, holding Lucrece\\' life,\\r\\n Answer\\'d their cries, \\'My daughter!\\' and \\'My wife!\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nBrutus, who pluck\\'d the knife from Lucrece\\' side,\\r\\nSeeing such emulation in their woe,\\r\\nBegan to clothe his wit in state and pride,\\r\\nBurying in Lucrece\\' wound his folly\\'s show.\\r\\nHe with the Romans was esteemed so\\r\\n As silly-jeering idiots are with kings,\\r\\n For sportive words, and uttering foolish things:\\r\\n\\r\\nBut now he throws that shallow habit by,\\r\\nWherein deep policy did him disguise;\\r\\nAnd arm\\'d his long-hid wits advisedly,\\r\\nTo check the tears in Collatinus\\' eyes.\\r\\n\\'Thou wronged lord of Rome,\\' quoth he, \\'arise;\\r\\n Let my unsounded self, suppos\\'d a fool,\\r\\n Now set thy long-experienc\\'d wit to school.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe?\\r\\nDo wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous deeds?\\r\\nIs it revenge to give thyself a blow,\\r\\nFor his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds?\\r\\nSuch childish humour from weak minds proceeds:\\r\\n Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so,\\r\\n To slay herself, that should have slain her foe.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart\\r\\nIn such relenting dew of lamentations,\\r\\nBut kneel with me, and help to bear thy part,\\r\\nTo rouse our Roman gods with invocations,\\r\\nThat they will suffer these abominations,\\r\\n (Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgrac\\'d,)\\r\\n By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chas\\'d.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\'Now, by the Capitol that we adore,\\r\\nAnd by this chaste blood so unjustly stain\\'d,\\r\\nBy heaven\\'s fair sun that breeds the fat earth\\'s store,\\r\\nBy all our country rights in Rome maintain\\'d,\\r\\nAnd by chaste Lucrece\\' soul that late complain\\'d\\r\\n Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife,\\r\\n We will revenge the death of this true wife.\\'\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, he struck his hand upon his breast,\\r\\nAnd kiss\\'d the fatal knife, to end his vow;\\r\\nAnd to his protestation urg\\'d the rest,\\r\\nWho, wondering at him, did his words allow;\\r\\nThen jointly to the ground their knees they bow;\\r\\n And that deep vow, which Brutus made before,\\r\\n He doth again repeat, and that they swore.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen they had sworn to this advised doom,\\r\\nThey did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence;\\r\\nTo show her bleeding body thorough Rome,\\r\\nAnd so to publish Tarquin\\'s foul offence:\\r\\nWhich being done with speedy diligence,\\r\\n The Romans plausibly did give consent\\r\\n To Tarquin\\'s everlasting banishment.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n VENUS AND ADONIS\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n _Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo\\r\\n Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua._\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\nTO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE\\r\\nHENRY WRIOTHESLEY, EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON,\\r\\nand Baron of Titchfield.\\r\\n\\r\\nRight Honourable, I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my\\r\\nunpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will censure me\\r\\nfor choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burthen: only, if\\r\\nyour honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow\\r\\nto take advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some\\r\\ngraver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I\\r\\nshall be sorry it had so noble a godfather, and never after ear so\\r\\nbarren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it\\r\\nto your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart’s content;\\r\\nwhich I wish may always answer your own wish and the world’s hopeful\\r\\nexpectation.\\r\\n\\r\\nYour honour’s in all duty,\\r\\nWILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n',\n", + " ' VENUS AND ADONIS\\r\\n\\r\\nEven as the sun with purple-colour’d face\\r\\nHad ta’en his last leave of the weeping morn,\\r\\nRose-cheek’d Adonis tried him to the chase;\\r\\nHunting he lov’d, but love he laugh’d to scorn; 4\\r\\n Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,\\r\\n And like a bold-fac’d suitor ’gins to woo him.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Thrice fairer than myself,” thus she began,\\r\\n“The field’s chief flower, sweet above compare, 8\\r\\nStain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,\\r\\nMore white and red than doves or roses are:\\r\\n Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,\\r\\n Saith that the world hath ending with thy life. 12\\r\\n\\r\\n“Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,\\r\\nAnd rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;\\r\\nIf thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed\\r\\nA thousand honey secrets shalt thou know: 16\\r\\n Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,\\r\\n And being set, I’ll smother thee with kisses.\\r\\n\\r\\n“And yet not cloy thy lips with loath’d satiety,\\r\\nBut rather famish them amid their plenty, 20\\r\\nMaking them red, and pale, with fresh variety:\\r\\nTen kisses short as one, one long as twenty:\\r\\n A summer’s day will seem an hour but short,\\r\\n Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.” 24\\r\\n\\r\\nWith this she seizeth on his sweating palm,\\r\\nThe precedent of pith and livelihood,\\r\\nAnd trembling in her passion, calls it balm,\\r\\nEarth’s sovereign salve to do a goddess good: 28\\r\\n Being so enrag’d, desire doth lend her force\\r\\n Courageously to pluck him from his horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nOver one arm the lusty courser’s rein,\\r\\nUnder her other was the tender boy, 32\\r\\nWho blush’d and pouted in a dull disdain,\\r\\nWith leaden appetite, unapt to toy;\\r\\n She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,\\r\\n He red for shame, but frosty in desire. 36\\r\\n\\r\\nThe studded bridle on a ragged bough\\r\\nNimbly she fastens;—O! how quick is love!—\\r\\nThe steed is stalled up, and even now\\r\\nTo tie the rider she begins to prove: 40\\r\\n Backward she push’d him, as she would be thrust,\\r\\n And govern’d him in strength, though not in lust.\\r\\n\\r\\nSo soon was she along, as he was down,\\r\\nEach leaning on their elbows and their hips: 44\\r\\nNow doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,\\r\\nAnd ’gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips,\\r\\n And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,\\r\\n “If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.” 48\\r\\n\\r\\nHe burns with bashful shame, she with her tears\\r\\nDoth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;\\r\\nThen with her windy sighs and golden hairs\\r\\nTo fan and blow them dry again she seeks. 52\\r\\n He saith she is immodest, blames her miss;\\r\\n What follows more, she murders with a kiss.\\r\\n\\r\\nEven as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,\\r\\nTires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone, 56\\r\\nShaking her wings, devouring all in haste,\\r\\nTill either gorge be stuff’d or prey be gone:\\r\\n Even so she kiss’d his brow, his cheek, his chin,\\r\\n And where she ends she doth anew begin. 60\\r\\n\\r\\nForc’d to content, but never to obey,\\r\\nPanting he lies, and breatheth in her face.\\r\\nShe feedeth on the steam, as on a prey,\\r\\nAnd calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace, 64\\r\\n Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers\\r\\n So they were dew’d with such distilling showers.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook how a bird lies tangled in a net,\\r\\nSo fasten’d in her arms Adonis lies; 68\\r\\nPure shame and aw’d resistance made him fret,\\r\\nWhich bred more beauty in his angry eyes:\\r\\n Rain added to a river that is rank\\r\\n Perforce will force it overflow the bank. 72\\r\\n\\r\\nStill she entreats, and prettily entreats,\\r\\nFor to a pretty ear she tunes her tale.\\r\\nStill is he sullen, still he lours and frets,\\r\\n’Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy pale; 76\\r\\n Being red she loves him best, and being white,\\r\\n Her best is better’d with a more delight.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook how he can, she cannot choose but love;\\r\\nAnd by her fair immortal hand she swears, 80\\r\\nFrom his soft bosom never to remove,\\r\\nTill he take truce with her contending tears,\\r\\n Which long have rain’d, making her cheeks all wet;\\r\\n And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.\\r\\n\\r\\nUpon this promise did he raise his chin, 85\\r\\nLike a dive-dapper peering through a wave,\\r\\nWho, being look’d on, ducks as quickly in;\\r\\nSo offers he to give what she did crave, 88\\r\\n But when her lips were ready for his pay,\\r\\n He winks, and turns his lips another way.\\r\\n\\r\\nNever did passenger in summer’s heat\\r\\nMore thirst for drink than she for this good turn. 92\\r\\nHer help she sees, but help she cannot get;\\r\\nShe bathes in water, yet her fire must burn:\\r\\n “O! pity,” ’gan she cry, “flint-hearted boy,\\r\\n ’Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy? 96\\r\\n\\r\\n“I have been woo’d as I entreat thee now,\\r\\nEven by the stern and direful god of war,\\r\\nWhose sinewy neck in battle ne’er did bow,\\r\\nWho conquers where he comes in every jar; 100\\r\\n Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,\\r\\n And begg’d for that which thou unask’d shalt have.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Over my altars hath he hung his lance,\\r\\nHis batter’d shield, his uncontrolled crest, 104\\r\\nAnd for my sake hath learn’d to sport and dance,\\r\\nTo toy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest;\\r\\n Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red\\r\\n Making my arms his field, his tent my bed. 108\\r\\n\\r\\n“Thus he that overrul’d I oversway’d,\\r\\nLeading him prisoner in a red rose chain:\\r\\nStrong-temper’d steel his stronger strength obey’d,\\r\\nYet was he servile to my coy disdain. 112\\r\\n Oh be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,\\r\\n For mast’ring her that foil’d the god of fight.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine,\\r\\nThough mine be not so fair, yet are they red, 116\\r\\nThe kiss shall be thine own as well as mine:\\r\\nWhat see’st thou in the ground? hold up thy head,\\r\\n Look in mine eyeballs, there thy beauty lies;\\r\\n Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes? 120\\r\\n\\r\\n“Art thou asham’d to kiss? then wink again,\\r\\nAnd I will wink; so shall the day seem night.\\r\\nLove keeps his revels where there are but twain;\\r\\nBe bold to play, our sport is not in sight, 124\\r\\n These blue-vein’d violets whereon we lean\\r\\n Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.\\r\\n\\r\\n“The tender spring upon thy tempting lip 127\\r\\nShows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted,\\r\\nMake use of time, let not advantage slip;\\r\\nBeauty within itself should not be wasted,\\r\\n Fair flowers that are not gather’d in their prime\\r\\n Rot, and consume themselves in little time. 132\\r\\n\\r\\n“Were I hard-favour’d, foul, or wrinkled old,\\r\\nIll-nurtur’d, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,\\r\\nO’erworn, despised, rheumatic, and cold,\\r\\nThick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice, 136\\r\\n Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee;\\r\\n But having no defects, why dost abhor me?\\r\\n\\r\\n“Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow, 139\\r\\nMine eyes are grey and bright, and quick in turning;\\r\\nMy beauty as the spring doth yearly grow,\\r\\nMy flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning,\\r\\n My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt,\\r\\n Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt. 144\\r\\n\\r\\n“Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,\\r\\nOr like a fairy, trip upon the green,\\r\\nOr like a nymph, with long dishevell’d hair,\\r\\nDance on the sands, and yet no footing seen. 148\\r\\n Love is a spirit all compact of fire,\\r\\n Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie: 151\\r\\nThese forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me;\\r\\nTwo strengthless doves will draw me through the sky,\\r\\nFrom morn till night, even where I list to sport me.\\r\\n Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be\\r\\n That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee? 156\\r\\n\\r\\n“Is thine own heart to thine own face affected?\\r\\nCan thy right hand seize love upon thy left?\\r\\nThen woo thyself, be of thyself rejected,\\r\\nSteal thine own freedom, and complain on theft. 160\\r\\n Narcissus so himself himself forsook,\\r\\n And died to kiss his shadow in the brook.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Torches are made to light, jewels to wear,\\r\\nDainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use, 164\\r\\nHerbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear;\\r\\nThings growing to themselves are growth’s abuse,\\r\\n Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth beauty;\\r\\n Thou wast begot; to get it is thy duty. 168\\r\\n\\r\\n“Upon the earth’s increase why shouldst thou feed,\\r\\nUnless the earth with thy increase be fed?\\r\\nBy law of nature thou art bound to breed,\\r\\nThat thine may live when thou thyself art dead; 172\\r\\n And so in spite of death thou dost survive,\\r\\n In that thy likeness still is left alive.”\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this the love-sick queen began to sweat,\\r\\nFor where they lay the shadow had forsook them, 176\\r\\nAnd Titan, tired in the midday heat,\\r\\nWith burning eye did hotly overlook them,\\r\\n Wishing Adonis had his team to guide,\\r\\n So he were like him and by Venus’ side. 180\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd now Adonis with a lazy spright,\\r\\nAnd with a heavy, dark, disliking eye,\\r\\nHis louring brows o’erwhelming his fair sight,\\r\\nLike misty vapours when they blot the sky, 184\\r\\n Souring his cheeks, cries, “Fie, no more of love:\\r\\n The sun doth burn my face; I must remove.”\\r\\n\\r\\n“Ay me,” quoth Venus, “young, and so unkind!\\r\\nWhat bare excuses mak’st thou to be gone! 188\\r\\nI’ll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind\\r\\nShall cool the heat of this descending sun:\\r\\n I’ll make a shadow for thee of my hairs;\\r\\n If they burn too, I’ll quench them with my tears. 192\\r\\n\\r\\n“The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm,\\r\\nAnd lo I lie between that sun and thee:\\r\\nThe heat I have from thence doth little harm,\\r\\nThine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me; 196\\r\\n And were I not immortal, life were done,\\r\\n Between this heavenly and earthly sun.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel?\\r\\nNay more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth: 200\\r\\nArt thou a woman’s son and canst not feel\\r\\nWhat ’tis to love, how want of love tormenteth?\\r\\n O had thy mother borne so hard a mind,\\r\\n She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind. 204\\r\\n\\r\\n“What am I that thou shouldst contemn me this?\\r\\nOr what great danger dwells upon my suit?\\r\\nWhat were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss?\\r\\nSpeak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute: 208\\r\\n Give me one kiss, I’ll give it thee again,\\r\\n And one for int’rest, if thou wilt have twain.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,\\r\\nWell-painted idol, image dull and dead, 212\\r\\nStatue contenting but the eye alone,\\r\\nThing like a man, but of no woman bred:\\r\\n Thou art no man, though of a man’s complexion,\\r\\n For men will kiss even by their own direction.” 216\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue,\\r\\nAnd swelling passion doth provoke a pause;\\r\\nRed cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong;\\r\\nBeing judge in love, she cannot right her cause. 220\\r\\n And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak,\\r\\n And now her sobs do her intendments break.\\r\\n\\r\\nSometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand,\\r\\nNow gazeth she on him, now on the ground; 224\\r\\nSometimes her arms infold him like a band:\\r\\nShe would, he will not in her arms be bound;\\r\\n And when from thence he struggles to be gone,\\r\\n She locks her lily fingers one in one. 228\\r\\n\\r\\n“Fondling,” she saith, “since I have hemm’d thee here\\r\\nWithin the circuit of this ivory pale,\\r\\nI’ll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer;\\r\\nFeed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale: 232\\r\\n Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry,\\r\\n Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Within this limit is relief enough,\\r\\nSweet bottom grass and high delightful plain, 236\\r\\nRound rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough,\\r\\nTo shelter thee from tempest and from rain:\\r\\n Then be my deer, since I am such a park, 239\\r\\n No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark.”\\r\\n\\r\\nAt this Adonis smiles as in disdain,\\r\\nThat in each cheek appears a pretty dimple;\\r\\nLove made those hollows, if himself were slain,\\r\\nHe might be buried in a tomb so simple; 244\\r\\n Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie,\\r\\n Why there love liv’d, and there he could not die.\\r\\n\\r\\nThese lovely caves, these round enchanting pits,\\r\\nOpen’d their mouths to swallow Venus’ liking. 248\\r\\nBeing mad before, how doth she now for wits?\\r\\nStruck dead at first, what needs a second striking?\\r\\n Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn,\\r\\n To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn! 252\\r\\n\\r\\nNow which way shall she turn? what shall she say?\\r\\nHer words are done, her woes the more increasing;\\r\\nThe time is spent, her object will away,\\r\\nAnd from her twining arms doth urge releasing: 256\\r\\n “Pity,” she cries; “some favour, some remorse!”\\r\\n Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut lo from forth a copse that neighbours by,\\r\\nA breeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud, 260\\r\\nAdonis’ tramping courser doth espy,\\r\\nAnd forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud:\\r\\n The strong-neck’d steed, being tied unto a tree,\\r\\n Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he. 264\\r\\n\\r\\nImperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,\\r\\nAnd now his woven girths he breaks asunder;\\r\\nThe bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,\\r\\nWhose hollow womb resounds like heaven’s thunder;\\r\\n The iron bit he crusheth ’tween his teeth, 269\\r\\n Controlling what he was controlled with.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis ears up-prick’d; his braided hanging mane\\r\\nUpon his compass’d crest now stand on end; 272\\r\\nHis nostrils drink the air, and forth again,\\r\\nAs from a furnace, vapours doth he send:\\r\\n His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire,\\r\\n Shows his hot courage and his high desire. 276\\r\\n\\r\\nSometime he trots, as if he told the steps,\\r\\nWith gentle majesty and modest pride;\\r\\nAnon he rears upright, curvets and leaps,\\r\\nAs who should say, “Lo thus my strength is tried;\\r\\n And this I do to captivate the eye 281\\r\\n Of the fair breeder that is standing by.”\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat recketh he his rider’s angry stir,\\r\\nHis flattering “Holla”, or his “Stand, I say”? 284\\r\\nWhat cares he now for curb or pricking spur?\\r\\nFor rich caparisons or trappings gay?\\r\\n He sees his love, and nothing else he sees,\\r\\n Nor nothing else with his proud sight agrees. 288\\r\\n\\r\\nLook when a painter would surpass the life,\\r\\nIn limning out a well-proportion’d steed,\\r\\nHis art with nature’s workmanship at strife,\\r\\nAs if the dead the living should exceed: 292\\r\\n So did this horse excel a common one,\\r\\n In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone.\\r\\n\\r\\nRound-hoof’d, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long,\\r\\nBroad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril wide,\\r\\nHigh crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong,\\r\\nThin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide:\\r\\n Look, what a horse should have he did not lack,\\r\\n Save a proud rider on so proud a back. 300\\r\\n\\r\\nSometimes he scuds far off, and there he stares;\\r\\nAnon he starts at stirring of a feather:\\r\\nTo bid the wind a base he now prepares,\\r\\nAnd where he run or fly they know not whether; 304\\r\\n For through his mane and tail the high wind sings,\\r\\n Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather’d wings.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe looks upon his love, and neighs unto her;\\r\\nShe answers him as if she knew his mind, 308\\r\\nBeing proud, as females are, to see him woo her,\\r\\nShe puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind,\\r\\n Spurns at his love and scorns the heat he feels,\\r\\n Beating his kind embracements with her heels. 312\\r\\n\\r\\nThen like a melancholy malcontent,\\r\\nHe vails his tail that like a falling plume,\\r\\nCool shadow to his melting buttock lent:\\r\\nHe stamps, and bites the poor flies in his fume. 316\\r\\n His love, perceiving how he was enrag’d,\\r\\n Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nHis testy master goeth about to take him,\\r\\nWhen lo the unback’d breeder, full of fear, 320\\r\\nJealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him,\\r\\nWith her the horse, and left Adonis there:\\r\\n As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them,\\r\\n Outstripping crows that strive to overfly them. 324\\r\\n\\r\\nAll swoln with chafing, down Adonis sits,\\r\\nBanning his boisterous and unruly beast;\\r\\nAnd now the happy season once more fits\\r\\nThat love-sick love by pleading may be blest; 328\\r\\n For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong,\\r\\n When it is barr’d the aidance of the tongue.\\r\\n\\r\\nAn oven that is stopp’d, or river stay’d,\\r\\nBurneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage: 332\\r\\nSo of concealed sorrow may be said,\\r\\nFree vent of words love’s fire doth assuage;\\r\\n But when the heart’s attorney once is mute,\\r\\n The client breaks, as desperate in his suit. 336\\r\\n\\r\\nHe sees her coming, and begins to glow,\\r\\nEven as a dying coal revives with wind,\\r\\nAnd with his bonnet hides his angry brow,\\r\\nLooks on the dull earth with disturbed mind, 340\\r\\n Taking no notice that she is so nigh,\\r\\n For all askance he holds her in his eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nO what a sight it was, wistly to view\\r\\nHow she came stealing to the wayward boy, 344\\r\\nTo note the fighting conflict of her hue,\\r\\nHow white and red each other did destroy:\\r\\n But now her cheek was pale, and by and by\\r\\n It flash’d forth fire, as lightning from the sky. 348\\r\\n\\r\\nNow was she just before him as he sat,\\r\\nAnd like a lowly lover down she kneels;\\r\\nWith one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,\\r\\nHer other tender hand his fair cheek feels: 352\\r\\n His tend’rer cheek receives her soft hand’s print,\\r\\n As apt as new-fall’n snow takes any dint.\\r\\n\\r\\nOh what a war of looks was then between them,\\r\\nHer eyes petitioners to his eyes suing, 356\\r\\nHis eyes saw her eyes, as they had not seen them,\\r\\nHer eyes woo’d still, his eyes disdain’d the wooing:\\r\\n And all this dumb play had his acts made plain\\r\\n With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain.\\r\\n\\r\\nFull gently now she takes him by the hand, 361\\r\\nA lily prison’d in a gaol of snow,\\r\\nOr ivory in an alabaster band,\\r\\nSo white a friend engirts so white a foe: 364\\r\\n This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling,\\r\\n Show’d like two silver doves that sit a-billing.\\r\\n\\r\\nOnce more the engine of her thoughts began:\\r\\n“O fairest mover on this mortal round, 368\\r\\nWould thou wert as I am, and I a man,\\r\\nMy heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound,\\r\\n For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee,\\r\\n Though nothing but my body’s bane would cure thee.”\\r\\n\\r\\n“Give me my hand,” saith he, “why dost thou feel it?”\\r\\n“Give me my heart,” saith she, “and thou shalt have it.\\r\\nO give it me lest thy hard heart do steel it,\\r\\nAnd being steel’d, soft sighs can never grave it. 376\\r\\n Then love’s deep groans I never shall regard,\\r\\n Because Adonis’ heart hath made mine hard.”\\r\\n\\r\\n“For shame,” he cries, “let go, and let me go,\\r\\nMy day’s delight is past, my horse is gone, 380\\r\\nAnd ’tis your fault I am bereft him so,\\r\\nI pray you hence, and leave me here alone,\\r\\n For all my mind, my thought, my busy care,\\r\\n Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.” 384\\r\\n\\r\\nThus she replies: “Thy palfrey as he should,\\r\\nWelcomes the warm approach of sweet desire,\\r\\nAffection is a coal that must be cool’d;\\r\\nElse, suffer’d, it will set the heart on fire, 388\\r\\n The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none;\\r\\n Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone.\\r\\n\\r\\n“How like a jade he stood tied to the tree,\\r\\nServilely master’d with a leathern rein! 392\\r\\nBut when he saw his love, his youth’s fair fee,\\r\\nHe held such petty bondage in disdain;\\r\\n Throwing the base thong from his bending crest,\\r\\n Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast. 396\\r\\n\\r\\n“Who sees his true-love in her naked bed,\\r\\nTeaching the sheets a whiter hue than white,\\r\\nBut when his glutton eye so full hath fed,\\r\\nHis other agents aim at like delight? 400\\r\\n Who is so faint that dare not be so bold\\r\\n To touch the fire, the weather being cold?\\r\\n\\r\\n“Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy,\\r\\nAnd learn of him, I heartily beseech thee, 404\\r\\nTo take advantage on presented joy,\\r\\nThough I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee.\\r\\n O learn to love, the lesson is but plain,\\r\\n And once made perfect, never lost again.” 408\\r\\n\\r\\n“I know not love,” quoth he, “nor will not know it,\\r\\nUnless it be a boar, and then I chase it;\\r\\n’Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it;\\r\\nMy love to love is love but to disgrace it; 412\\r\\n For I have heard, it is a life in death,\\r\\n That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish’d?\\r\\nWho plucks the bud before one leaf put forth? 416\\r\\nIf springing things be any jot diminish’d,\\r\\nThey wither in their prime, prove nothing worth;\\r\\n The colt that’s back’d and burden’d being young,\\r\\n Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong. 420\\r\\n\\r\\n“You hurt my hand with wringing. Let us part,\\r\\nAnd leave this idle theme, this bootless chat:\\r\\nRemove your siege from my unyielding heart,\\r\\nTo love’s alarms it will not ope the gate: 424\\r\\n Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flatt’ry;\\r\\n For where a heart is hard they make no batt’ry.”\\r\\n\\r\\n“What! canst thou talk?” quoth she, “hast thou a tongue?\\r\\nO would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing; 428\\r\\nThy mermaid’s voice hath done me double wrong;\\r\\nI had my load before, now press’d with bearing:\\r\\n Melodious discord, heavenly tune, harsh-sounding,\\r\\n Ear’s deep sweet music, and heart’s deep sore wounding.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love 433\\r\\nThat inward beauty and invisible;\\r\\nOr were I deaf, thy outward parts would move\\r\\nEach part in me that were but sensible: 436\\r\\n Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see,\\r\\n Yet should I be in love by touching thee.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Say that the sense of feeling were bereft me,\\r\\nAnd that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch, 440\\r\\nAnd nothing but the very smell were left me,\\r\\nYet would my love to thee be still as much;\\r\\n For from the stillitory of thy face excelling\\r\\n Comes breath perfum’d, that breedeth love by smelling.\\r\\n\\r\\n“But oh what banquet wert thou to the taste, 445\\r\\nBeing nurse and feeder of the other four;\\r\\nWould they not wish the feast might ever last,\\r\\nAnd bid suspicion double-lock the door,\\r\\n Lest jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest,\\r\\n Should by his stealing in disturb the feast?” 448\\r\\n\\r\\nOnce more the ruby-colour’d portal open’d,\\r\\nWhich to his speech did honey passage yield, 452\\r\\nLike a red morn that ever yet betoken’d\\r\\nWrack to the seaman, tempest to the field,\\r\\n Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds,\\r\\n Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds. 456\\r\\n\\r\\nThis ill presage advisedly she marketh:\\r\\nEven as the wind is hush’d before it raineth,\\r\\nOr as the wolf doth grin before he barketh,\\r\\nOr as the berry breaks before it staineth, 460\\r\\n Or like the deadly bullet of a gun,\\r\\n His meaning struck her ere his words begun.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd at his look she flatly falleth down\\r\\nFor looks kill love, and love by looks reviveth; 464\\r\\nA smile recures the wounding of a frown;\\r\\nBut blessed bankrout, that by love so thriveth!\\r\\n The silly boy, believing she is dead,\\r\\n Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red. 468\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd all amaz’d brake off his late intent,\\r\\nFor sharply he did think to reprehend her,\\r\\nWhich cunning love did wittily prevent:\\r\\nFair fall the wit that can so well defend her! 472\\r\\n For on the grass she lies as she were slain,\\r\\n Till his breath breatheth life in her again.\\r\\n\\r\\nHe wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks,\\r\\nHe bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard, 476\\r\\nHe chafes her lips; a thousand ways he seeks\\r\\nTo mend the hurt that his unkindness marr’d:\\r\\n He kisses her; and she, by her good will,\\r\\n Will never rise, so he will kiss her still. 480\\r\\n\\r\\nThe night of sorrow now is turn’d to day:\\r\\nHer two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth,\\r\\nLike the fair sun when in his fresh array\\r\\nHe cheers the morn, and all the world relieveth: 484\\r\\n And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,\\r\\n So is her face illumin’d with her eye.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhose beams upon his hairless face are fix’d,\\r\\nAs if from thence they borrow’d all their shine. 488\\r\\nWere never four such lamps together mix’d,\\r\\nHad not his clouded with his brow’s repine;\\r\\n But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light\\r\\n Shone like the moon in water seen by night. 492\\r\\n\\r\\n“O where am I?” quoth she, “in earth or heaven?\\r\\nOr in the ocean drench’d, or in the fire?\\r\\nWhat hour is this? or morn or weary even?\\r\\nDo I delight to die, or life desire? 496\\r\\n But now I liv’d, and life was death’s annoy;\\r\\n But now I died, and death was lively joy.\\r\\n\\r\\n“O thou didst kill me; kill me once again:\\r\\nThy eyes’ shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine, 500\\r\\nHath taught them scornful tricks, and such disdain,\\r\\nThat they have murder’d this poor heart of mine;\\r\\n And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen,\\r\\n But for thy piteous lips no more had seen. 504\\r\\n\\r\\n“Long may they kiss each other for this cure!\\r\\nOh never let their crimson liveries wear,\\r\\nAnd as they last, their verdure still endure,\\r\\nTo drive infection from the dangerous year: 508\\r\\n That the star-gazers, having writ on death,\\r\\n May say, the plague is banish’d by thy breath.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted,\\r\\nWhat bargains may I make, still to be sealing? 512\\r\\nTo sell myself I can be well contented,\\r\\nSo thou wilt buy, and pay, and use good dealing;\\r\\n Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips,\\r\\n Set thy seal manual on my wax-red lips. 516\\r\\n\\r\\n“A thousand kisses buys my heart from me;\\r\\nAnd pay them at thy leisure, one by one,\\r\\nWhat is ten hundred touches unto thee?\\r\\nAre they not quickly told and quickly gone? 520\\r\\n Say, for non-payment that the debt should double,\\r\\n Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?”\\r\\n\\r\\n“Fair queen,” quoth he, “if any love you owe me,\\r\\nMeasure my strangeness with my unripe years: 524\\r\\nBefore I know myself, seek not to know me;\\r\\nNo fisher but the ungrown fry forbears:\\r\\n The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast,\\r\\n Or being early pluck’d, is sour to taste. 528\\r\\n\\r\\n“Look the world’s comforter, with weary gait\\r\\nHis day’s hot task hath ended in the west;\\r\\nThe owl, night’s herald, shrieks, ’tis very late;\\r\\nThe sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest, 532\\r\\n And coal-black clouds that shadow heaven’s light\\r\\n Do summon us to part, and bid good night.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Now let me say good night, and so say you;\\r\\nIf you will say so, you shall have a kiss.” 536\\r\\n“Good night,” quoth she; and ere he says adieu,\\r\\nThe honey fee of parting tender’d is:\\r\\n Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace;\\r\\n Incorporate then they seem, face grows to face. 540\\r\\n\\r\\nTill breathless he disjoin’d, and backward drew\\r\\nThe heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth,\\r\\nWhose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew,\\r\\nWhereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth, 544\\r\\n He with her plenty press’d, she faint with dearth,\\r\\n Their lips together glued, fall to the earth.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow quick desire hath caught the yielding prey,\\r\\nAnd glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth; 548\\r\\nHer lips are conquerors, his lips obey,\\r\\nPaying what ransom the insulter willeth;\\r\\n Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high,\\r\\n That she will draw his lips’ rich treasure dry. 552\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd having felt the sweetness of the spoil,\\r\\nWith blindfold fury she begins to forage;\\r\\nHer face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil,\\r\\nAnd careless lust stirs up a desperate courage, 556\\r\\n Planting oblivion, beating reason back,\\r\\n Forgetting shame’s pure blush and honour’s wrack.\\r\\n\\r\\nHot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing,\\r\\nLike a wild bird being tam’d with too much handling,\\r\\nOr as the fleet-foot roe that’s tir’d with chasing, 561\\r\\nOr like the froward infant still’d with dandling:\\r\\n He now obeys, and now no more resisteth,\\r\\n While she takes all she can, not all she listeth. 564\\r\\n\\r\\nWhat wax so frozen but dissolves with temp’ring,\\r\\nAnd yields at last to every light impression?\\r\\nThings out of hope are compass’d oft with vent’ring,\\r\\nChiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission: 568\\r\\n Affection faints not like a pale-fac’d coward,\\r\\n But then woos best when most his choice is froward.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen he did frown, O had she then gave over,\\r\\nSuch nectar from his lips she had not suck’d. 572\\r\\nFoul words and frowns must not repel a lover;\\r\\nWhat though the rose have prickles, yet ’tis pluck’d.\\r\\n Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast,\\r\\n Yet love breaks through, and picks them all at last.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor pity now she can no more detain him; 577\\r\\nThe poor fool prays her that he may depart:\\r\\nShe is resolv’d no longer to restrain him,\\r\\nBids him farewell, and look well to her heart, 580\\r\\n The which by Cupid’s bow she doth protest,\\r\\n He carries thence encaged in his breast.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Sweet boy,” she says, “this night I’ll waste in sorrow,\\r\\nFor my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch. 584\\r\\nTell me, love’s master, shall we meet tomorrow\\r\\nSay, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match?”\\r\\n He tells her no, tomorrow he intends\\r\\n To hunt the boar with certain of his friends. 588\\r\\n\\r\\n“The boar!” quoth she; whereat a sudden pale,\\r\\nLike lawn being spread upon the blushing rose,\\r\\nUsurps her cheek, she trembles at his tale,\\r\\nAnd on his neck her yoking arms she throws. 592\\r\\n She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck,\\r\\n He on her belly falls, she on her back.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow is she in the very lists of love,\\r\\nHer champion mounted for the hot encounter: 596\\r\\nAll is imaginary she doth prove,\\r\\nHe will not manage her, although he mount her;\\r\\n That worse than Tantalus’ is her annoy,\\r\\n To clip Elysium and to lack her joy. 600\\r\\n\\r\\nEven as poor birds, deceiv’d with painted grapes,\\r\\nDo surfeit by the eye and pine the maw:\\r\\nEven so she languisheth in her mishaps,\\r\\nAs those poor birds that helpless berries saw. 604\\r\\n The warm effects which she in him finds missing,\\r\\n She seeks to kindle with continual kissing.\\r\\n\\r\\nBut all in vain, good queen, it will not be,\\r\\nShe hath assay’d as much as may be prov’d; 608\\r\\nHer pleading hath deserv’d a greater fee;\\r\\nShe’s love, she loves, and yet she is not lov’d.\\r\\n “Fie, fie,” he says, “you crush me; let me go;\\r\\n You have no reason to withhold me so.” 612\\r\\n\\r\\n“Thou hadst been gone,” quoth she, “sweet boy, ere this,\\r\\nBut that thou told’st me thou wouldst hunt the boar.\\r\\nOh be advis’d; thou know’st not what it is,\\r\\nWith javelin’s point a churlish swine to gore, 616\\r\\n Whose tushes never sheath’d he whetteth still,\\r\\n Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill.\\r\\n\\r\\n“On his bow-back he hath a battle set\\r\\nOf bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes; 620\\r\\nHis eyes like glow-worms shine when he doth fret;\\r\\nHis snout digs sepulchres where’er he goes;\\r\\n Being mov’d, he strikes whate’er is in his way,\\r\\n And whom he strikes his crooked tushes slay. 624\\r\\n\\r\\n“His brawny sides, with hairy bristles armed,\\r\\nAre better proof than thy spear’s point can enter;\\r\\nHis short thick neck cannot be easily harmed;\\r\\nBeing ireful, on the lion he will venture: 628\\r\\n The thorny brambles and embracing bushes,\\r\\n As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Alas! he naught esteems that face of thine,\\r\\nTo which love’s eyes pay tributary gazes; 632\\r\\nNor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne,\\r\\nWhose full perfection all the world amazes;\\r\\n But having thee at vantage, wondrous dread!\\r\\n Would root these beauties as he roots the mead.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Oh let him keep his loathsome cabin still, 637\\r\\nBeauty hath naught to do with such foul fiends:\\r\\nCome not within his danger by thy will;\\r\\nThey that thrive well, take counsel of their friends.\\r\\n When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble,\\r\\n I fear’d thy fortune, and my joints did tremble.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Didst thou not mark my face, was it not white?\\r\\nSaw’st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye? 644\\r\\nGrew I not faint, and fell I not downright?\\r\\nWithin my bosom, whereon thou dost lie,\\r\\n My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest,\\r\\n But like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast.\\r\\n\\r\\n“For where love reigns, disturbing jealousy 649\\r\\nDoth call himself affection’s sentinel;\\r\\nGives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny,\\r\\nAnd in a peaceful hour doth cry “Kill, kill!” 652\\r\\n Distemp’ring gentle love in his desire,\\r\\n As air and water do abate the fire.\\r\\n\\r\\n“This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy,\\r\\nThis canker that eats up love’s tender spring, 656\\r\\nThis carry-tale, dissentious jealousy,\\r\\nThat sometime true news, sometime false doth bring,\\r\\n Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear,\\r\\n That if I love thee, I thy death should fear. 660\\r\\n\\r\\n“And more than so, presenteth to mine eye\\r\\nThe picture of an angry chafing boar,\\r\\nUnder whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie\\r\\nAn image like thyself, all stain’d with gore; 664\\r\\n Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed,\\r\\n Doth make them droop with grief and hang the head.\\r\\n\\r\\n“What should I do, seeing thee so indeed,\\r\\nThat tremble at th’imagination? 668\\r\\nThe thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed,\\r\\nAnd fear doth teach it divination:\\r\\n I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow,\\r\\n If thou encounter with the boar tomorrow. 672\\r\\n\\r\\n“But if thou needs wilt hunt, be rul’d by me;\\r\\nUncouple at the timorous flying hare,\\r\\nOr at the fox which lives by subtilty,\\r\\nOr at the roe which no encounter dare: 676\\r\\n Pursue these fearful creatures o’er the downs,\\r\\n And on thy well-breath’d horse keep with thy hounds.\\r\\n\\r\\n“And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare,\\r\\nMark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles 680\\r\\nHow he outruns the wind, and with what care\\r\\nHe cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles:\\r\\n The many musits through the which he goes\\r\\n Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes. 684\\r\\n\\r\\n“Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep,\\r\\nTo make the cunning hounds mistake their smell,\\r\\nAnd sometime where earth-delving conies keep,\\r\\nTo stop the loud pursuers in their yell, 688\\r\\n And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer;\\r\\n Danger deviseth shifts, wit waits on fear.\\r\\n\\r\\n“For there his smell with others being mingled, 691\\r\\nThe hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt,\\r\\nCeasing their clamorous cry, till they have singled\\r\\nWith much ado the cold fault cleanly out;\\r\\n Then do they spend their mouths: echo replies,\\r\\n As if another chase were in the skies. 696\\r\\n\\r\\n“By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill,\\r\\nStands on his hinder legs with list’ning ear,\\r\\nTo hearken if his foes pursue him still.\\r\\nAnon their loud alarums he doth hear; 700\\r\\n And now his grief may be compared well\\r\\n To one sore sick that hears the passing bell.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch\\r\\nTurn, and return, indenting with the way, 704\\r\\nEach envious briar his weary legs do scratch,\\r\\nEach shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay:\\r\\n For misery is trodden on by many,\\r\\n And being low never reliev’d by any. 708\\r\\n\\r\\n“Lie quietly, and hear a little more;\\r\\nNay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise:\\r\\nTo make thee hate the hunting of the boar,\\r\\nUnlike myself thou hear’st me moralize, 712\\r\\n Applying this to that, and so to so,\\r\\n For love can comment upon every woe.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Where did I leave?” “No matter where,” quoth he\\r\\n“Leave me, and then the story aptly ends: 716\\r\\nThe night is spent.” “Why, what of that?” quoth she.\\r\\n“I am,” quoth he, “expected of my friends;\\r\\n And now ’tis dark, and going I shall fall.”\\r\\n “In night,” quoth she, “desire sees best of all.” 720\\r\\n\\r\\nBut if thou fall, oh then imagine this,\\r\\nThe earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips,\\r\\nAnd all is but to rob thee of a kiss. 723\\r\\nRich preys make true men thieves; so do thy lips\\r\\n Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn,\\r\\n Lest she should steal a kiss and die forsworn.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Now of this dark night I perceive the reason:\\r\\nCynthia for shame obscures her silver shine 728\\r\\nTill forging nature be condemn’d of treason,\\r\\nFor stealing moulds from heaven, that were divine;\\r\\n Wherein she fram’d thee, in high heaven’s despite,\\r\\n To shame the sun by day and her by night. 732\\r\\n\\r\\n“And therefore hath she brib’d the destinies,\\r\\nTo cross the curious workmanship of nature,\\r\\nTo mingle beauty with infirmities,\\r\\nAnd pure perfection with impure defeature, 736\\r\\n Making it subject to the tyranny\\r\\n Of mad mischances and much misery.\\r\\n\\r\\n“As burning fevers, agues pale and faint,\\r\\nLife-poisoning pestilence and frenzies wood, 740\\r\\nThe marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint\\r\\nDisorder breeds by heating of the blood;\\r\\n Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn’d despair,\\r\\n Swear nature’s death, for framing thee so fair. 744\\r\\n\\r\\n“And not the least of all these maladies\\r\\nBut in one minute’s fight brings beauty under:\\r\\nBoth favour, savour, hue and qualities,\\r\\nWhereat th’impartial gazer late did wonder, 748\\r\\n Are on the sudden wasted, thaw’d and done,\\r\\n As mountain snow melts with the midday sun.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Therefore despite of fruitless chastity,\\r\\nLove-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns, 752\\r\\nThat on the earth would breed a scarcity\\r\\nAnd barren dearth of daughters and of sons,\\r\\n Be prodigal: the lamp that burns by night\\r\\n Dries up his oil to lend the world his light. 756\\r\\n\\r\\n“What is thy body but a swallowing grave,\\r\\nSeeming to bury that posterity,\\r\\nWhich by the rights of time thou needs must have,\\r\\nIf thou destroy them not in dark obscurity? 760\\r\\n If so, the world will hold thee in disdain,\\r\\n Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.\\r\\n\\r\\n“So in thyself thyself art made away;\\r\\nA mischief worse than civil home-bred strife, 764\\r\\nOr theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay,\\r\\nOr butcher sire that reeves his son of life.\\r\\n Foul cank’ring rust the hidden treasure frets,\\r\\n But gold that’s put to use more gold begets.” 768\\r\\n\\r\\n“Nay then,” quoth Adon, “you will fall again\\r\\nInto your idle over-handled theme;\\r\\nThe kiss I gave you is bestow’d in vain,\\r\\nAnd all in vain you strive against the stream; 772\\r\\n For by this black-fac’d night, desire’s foul nurse,\\r\\n Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse.\\r\\n\\r\\n“If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues,\\r\\nAnd every tongue more moving than your own, 776\\r\\nBewitching like the wanton mermaid’s songs,\\r\\nYet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown;\\r\\n For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear,\\r\\n And will not let a false sound enter there. 780\\r\\n\\r\\n“Lest the deceiving harmony should run\\r\\nInto the quiet closure of my breast,\\r\\nAnd then my little heart were quite undone,\\r\\nIn his bedchamber to be barr’d of rest. 784\\r\\n No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan,\\r\\n But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.\\r\\n\\r\\n“What have you urg’d that I cannot reprove?\\r\\nThe path is smooth that leadeth on to danger; 790\\r\\nI hate not love, but your device in love\\r\\nThat lends embracements unto every stranger.\\r\\n You do it for increase: O strange excuse!\\r\\n When reason is the bawd to lust’s abuse. 792\\r\\n\\r\\n“Call it not, love, for love to heaven is fled,\\r\\nSince sweating lust on earth usurp’d his name;\\r\\nUnder whose simple semblance he hath fed\\r\\nUpon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame; 796\\r\\n Which the hot tyrant stains and soon bereaves,\\r\\n As caterpillars do the tender leaves.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Love comforteth like sunshine after rain,\\r\\nBut lust’s effect is tempest after sun; 800\\r\\nLove’s gentle spring doth always fresh remain,\\r\\nLust’s winter comes ere summer half be done.\\r\\n Love surfeits not, lust like a glutton dies;\\r\\n Love is all truth, lust full of forged lies. 804\\r\\n\\r\\n“More I could tell, but more I dare not say;\\r\\nThe text is old, the orator too green.\\r\\nTherefore, in sadness, now I will away;\\r\\nMy face is full of shame, my heart of teen, 808\\r\\n Mine ears, that to your wanton talk attended\\r\\n Do burn themselves for having so offended.”\\r\\n\\r\\nWith this he breaketh from the sweet embrace 811\\r\\nOf those fair arms which bound him to her breast,\\r\\nAnd homeward through the dark laund runs apace;\\r\\nLeaves love upon her back deeply distress’d.\\r\\n Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky,\\r\\n So glides he in the night from Venus’ eye. 816\\r\\n\\r\\nWhich after him she darts, as one on shore\\r\\nGazing upon a late embarked friend,\\r\\nTill the wild waves will have him seen no more,\\r\\nWhose ridges with the meeting clouds contend: 820\\r\\n So did the merciless and pitchy night\\r\\n Fold in the object that did feed her sight.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhereat amaz’d, as one that unaware\\r\\nHath dropp’d a precious jewel in the flood, 824\\r\\nOr ’stonish’d as night-wanderers often are,\\r\\nTheir light blown out in some mistrustful wood;\\r\\n Even so confounded in the dark she lay,\\r\\n Having lost the fair discovery of her way. 828\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd now she beats her heart, whereat it groans,\\r\\nThat all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled,\\r\\nMake verbal repetition of her moans;\\r\\nPassion on passion deeply is redoubled: 832\\r\\n “Ay me!” she cries, and twenty times, “Woe, woe!”\\r\\n And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe marking them, begins a wailing note,\\r\\nAnd sings extemporally a woeful ditty; 836\\r\\nHow love makes young men thrall, and old men dote,\\r\\nHow love is wise in folly foolish witty:\\r\\n Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe,\\r\\n And still the choir of echoes answer so. 840\\r\\n\\r\\nHer song was tedious, and outwore the night,\\r\\nFor lovers’ hours are long, though seeming short,\\r\\nIf pleas’d themselves, others they think, delight\\r\\nIn such like circumstance, with such like sport: 844\\r\\n Their copious stories oftentimes begun,\\r\\n End without audience, and are never done.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor who hath she to spend the night withal,\\r\\nBut idle sounds resembling parasites; 848\\r\\nLike shrill-tongu’d tapsters answering every call,\\r\\nSoothing the humour of fantastic wits?\\r\\n She says, “’Tis so:” they answer all, “’Tis so;”\\r\\n And would say after her, if she said “No.” 852\\r\\n\\r\\nLo here the gentle lark, weary of rest,\\r\\nFrom his moist cabinet mounts up on high,\\r\\nAnd wakes the morning, from whose silver breast\\r\\nThe sun ariseth in his majesty; 856\\r\\n Who doth the world so gloriously behold,\\r\\n That cedar tops and hills seem burnish’d gold.\\r\\n\\r\\nVenus salutes him with this fair good morrow:\\r\\n“Oh thou clear god, and patron of all light, 860\\r\\nFrom whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow\\r\\nThe beauteous influence that makes him bright,\\r\\n There lives a son that suck’d an earthly mother,\\r\\n May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.”\\r\\n\\r\\nThis said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove, 865\\r\\nMusing the morning is so much o’erworn,\\r\\nAnd yet she hears no tidings of her love;\\r\\nShe hearkens for his hounds and for his horn. 868\\r\\n Anon she hears them chant it lustily,\\r\\n And all in haste she coasteth to the cry.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd as she runs, the bushes in the way\\r\\nSome catch her by the neck, some kiss her face, 872\\r\\nSome twine about her thigh to make her stay:\\r\\nShe wildly breaketh from their strict embrace,\\r\\n Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache,\\r\\n Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake. 876\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this she hears the hounds are at a bay,\\r\\nWhereat she starts like one that spies an adder\\r\\nWreath’d up in fatal folds just in his way,\\r\\nThe fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder; 880\\r\\n Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds\\r\\n Appals her senses, and her spirit confounds.\\r\\n\\r\\nFor now she knows it is no gentle chase,\\r\\nBut the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud, 884\\r\\nBecause the cry remaineth in one place,\\r\\nWhere fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud,\\r\\n Finding their enemy to be so curst,\\r\\n They all strain court’sy who shall cope him first. 888\\r\\n\\r\\nThis dismal cry rings sadly in her ear,\\r\\nThrough which it enters to surprise her heart;\\r\\nWho overcome by doubt and bloodless fear,\\r\\nWith cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part; 892\\r\\n Like soldiers when their captain once doth yield,\\r\\n They basely fly and dare not stay the field.\\r\\n\\r\\nThus stands she in a trembling ecstasy,\\r\\nTill cheering up her senses sore dismay’d, 896\\r\\nShe tells them ’tis a causeless fantasy,\\r\\nAnd childish error, that they are afraid;\\r\\n Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more:\\r\\n And with that word, she spied the hunted boar. 900\\r\\n\\r\\nWhose frothy mouth bepainted all with red,\\r\\nLike milk and blood being mingled both together,\\r\\nA second fear through all her sinews spread,\\r\\nWhich madly hurries her she knows not whither: 904\\r\\n This way she runs, and now she will no further,\\r\\n But back retires, to rate the boar for murther.\\r\\n\\r\\nA thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways,\\r\\nShe treads the path that she untreads again; 908\\r\\nHer more than haste is mated with delays,\\r\\nLike the proceedings of a drunken brain,\\r\\n Full of respects, yet naught at all respecting,\\r\\n In hand with all things, naught at all effecting.\\r\\n\\r\\nHere kennel’d in a brake she finds a hound, 913\\r\\nAnd asks the weary caitiff for his master,\\r\\nAnd there another licking of his wound,\\r\\n’Gainst venom’d sores the only sovereign plaster. 916\\r\\n And here she meets another sadly scowling,\\r\\n To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhen he hath ceas’d his ill-resounding noise,\\r\\nAnother flap-mouth’d mourner, black and grim, 920\\r\\nAgainst the welkin volleys out his voice;\\r\\nAnother and another answer him,\\r\\n Clapping their proud tails to the ground below,\\r\\n Shaking their scratch’d ears, bleeding as they go.\\r\\n\\r\\nLook how the world’s poor people are amazed 925\\r\\nAt apparitions, signs, and prodigies,\\r\\nWhereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed,\\r\\nInfusing them with dreadful prophecies; 928\\r\\n So she at these sad sighs draws up her breath,\\r\\n And sighing it again, exclaims on death.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Hard-favour’d tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean, 931\\r\\nHateful divorce of love,” thus chides she death,\\r\\n“Grim-grinning ghost, earth’s worm, what dost thou mean?\\r\\nTo stifle beauty and to steal his breath,\\r\\n Who when he liv’d, his breath and beauty set\\r\\n Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet. 936\\r\\n\\r\\n“If he be dead, O no, it cannot be,\\r\\nSeeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it,\\r\\nO yes, it may, thou hast no eyes to see,\\r\\nBut hatefully at random dost thou hit. 940\\r\\n Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart\\r\\n Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant’s heart.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke,\\r\\nAnd hearing him, thy power had lost his power. 944\\r\\nThe destinies will curse thee for this stroke;\\r\\nThey bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck’st a flower.\\r\\n Love’s golden arrow at him should have fled,\\r\\n And not death’s ebon dart to strike him dead. 948\\r\\n\\r\\n“Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok’st such weeping?\\r\\nWhat may a heavy groan advantage thee?\\r\\nWhy hast thou cast into eternal sleeping\\r\\nThose eyes that taught all other eyes to see? 952\\r\\n Now nature cares not for thy mortal vigour,\\r\\n Since her best work is ruin’d with thy rigour.”\\r\\n\\r\\nHere overcome, as one full of despair,\\r\\nShe vail’d her eyelids, who like sluices stopp’d 956\\r\\nThe crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair\\r\\nIn the sweet channel of her bosom dropp’d\\r\\n But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain,\\r\\n And with his strong course opens them again. 960\\r\\n\\r\\nO how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow;\\r\\nHer eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye;\\r\\nBoth crystals, where they view’d each other’s sorrow,\\r\\nSorrow that friendly sighs sought still to dry; 964\\r\\n But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain,\\r\\n Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.\\r\\n\\r\\nVariable passions throng her constant woe,\\r\\nAs striving who should best become her grief; 968\\r\\nAll entertain’d, each passion labours so,\\r\\nThat every present sorrow seemeth chief,\\r\\n But none is best, then join they all together,\\r\\n Like many clouds consulting for foul weather. 972\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this, far off she hears some huntsman holla;\\r\\nA nurse’s song ne’er pleas’d her babe so well:\\r\\nThe dire imagination she did follow\\r\\nThis sound of hope doth labour to expel; 976\\r\\n For now reviving joy bids her rejoice,\\r\\n And flatters her it is Adonis’ voice.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhereat her tears began to turn their tide,\\r\\nBeing prison’d in her eye, like pearls in glass; 980\\r\\nYet sometimes falls an orient drop beside,\\r\\nWhich her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass\\r\\n To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground,\\r\\n Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown’d.\\r\\n\\r\\nO hard-believing love, how strange it seems 985\\r\\nNot to believe, and yet too credulous;\\r\\nThy weal and woe are both of them extremes;\\r\\nDespair and hope make thee ridiculous, 988\\r\\n The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,\\r\\n In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly.\\r\\n\\r\\nNow she unweaves the web that she hath wrought,\\r\\nAdonis lives, and death is not to blame; 992\\r\\nIt was not she that call’d him all to naught;\\r\\nNow she adds honours to his hateful name.\\r\\n She clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings,\\r\\n Imperious supreme of all mortal things. 996\\r\\n\\r\\n“No, no,” quoth she, “sweet death, I did but jest;\\r\\nYet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear\\r\\nWhenas I met the boar, that bloody beast,\\r\\nWhich knows no pity, but is still severe; 1000\\r\\n Then, gentle shadow,—truth I must confess—\\r\\n I rail’d on thee, fearing my love’s decease.\\r\\n\\r\\n“’Tis not my fault, the boar provok’d my tongue;\\r\\nBe wreak’d on him, invisible commander; 1004\\r\\n’Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong;\\r\\nI did but act, he’s author of my slander.\\r\\n Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet,\\r\\n Could rule them both, without ten women’s wit.”\\r\\n\\r\\nThus hoping that Adonis is alive, 1009\\r\\nHer rash suspect she doth extenuate;\\r\\nAnd that his beauty may the better thrive,\\r\\nWith death she humbly doth insinuate; 1012\\r\\n Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs and stories\\r\\n His victories, his triumphs and his glories.\\r\\n\\r\\n“O love!” quoth she, “how much a fool was I,\\r\\nTo be of such a weak and silly mind, 1016\\r\\nTo wail his death who lives, and must not die\\r\\nTill mutual overthrow of mortal kind;\\r\\n For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,\\r\\n And beauty dead, black Chaos comes again. 1020\\r\\n\\r\\n“Fie, fie, fond love, thou art as full of fear\\r\\nAs one with treasure laden, hemm’d with thieves,\\r\\nTrifles unwitnessed with eye or ear,\\r\\nThy coward heart with false bethinking grieves.” 1024\\r\\n Even at this word she hears a merry horn,\\r\\n Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn.\\r\\n\\r\\nAs falcon to the lure, away she flies;\\r\\nThe grass stoops not, she treads on it so light, 1028\\r\\nAnd in her haste unfortunately spies\\r\\nThe foul boar’s conquest on her fair delight;\\r\\n Which seen, her eyes, as murder’d with the view,\\r\\n Like stars asham’d of day, themselves withdrew.\\r\\n\\r\\nOr as the snail, whose tender horns being hit, 1033\\r\\nShrinks backwards in his shelly cave with pain,\\r\\nAnd there all smother’d up, in shade doth sit,\\r\\nLong after fearing to creep forth again: 1036\\r\\n So at his bloody view her eyes are fled\\r\\n Into the deep dark cabins of her head.\\r\\n\\r\\nWhere they resign their office and their light\\r\\nTo the disposing of her troubled brain, 1040\\r\\nWho bids them still consort with ugly night,\\r\\nAnd never wound the heart with looks again;\\r\\n Who like a king perplexed in his throne,\\r\\n By their suggestion gives a deadly groan. 1044\\r\\n\\r\\nWhereat each tributary subject quakes,\\r\\nAs when the wind imprison’d in the ground,\\r\\nStruggling for passage, earth’s foundation shakes,\\r\\nWhich with cold terror doth men’s minds confound.\\r\\n This mutiny each part doth so surprise 1049\\r\\n That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes.\\r\\n\\r\\nAnd being open’d, threw unwilling light\\r\\nUpon the wide wound that the boar had trench’d\\r\\nIn his soft flank, whose wonted lily white 1053\\r\\nWith purple tears that his wound wept, was drench’d.\\r\\n No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf or weed,\\r\\n But stole his blood and seem’d with him to bleed.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth, 1057\\r\\nOver one shoulder doth she hang her head,\\r\\nDumbly she passions, franticly she doteth;\\r\\nShe thinks he could not die, he is not dead: 1060\\r\\n Her voice is stopp’d, her joints forget to bow,\\r\\n Her eyes are mad, that they have wept till now.\\r\\n\\r\\nUpon his hurt she looks so steadfastly,\\r\\nThat her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three;\\r\\nAnd then she reprehends her mangling eye, 1065\\r\\nThat makes more gashes, where no breach should be:\\r\\n His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled,\\r\\n For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled.\\r\\n\\r\\n“My tongue cannot express my grief for one, 1069\\r\\nAnd yet,” quoth she, “behold two Adons dead!\\r\\nMy sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone,\\r\\nMine eyes are turn’d to fire, my heart to lead: 1072\\r\\n Heavy heart’s lead, melt at mine eyes’ red fire!\\r\\n So shall I die by drops of hot desire.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Alas poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!\\r\\nWhat face remains alive that’s worth the viewing?\\r\\nWhose tongue is music now? what canst thou boast\\r\\nOf things long since, or anything ensuing? 1078\\r\\n The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim,\\r\\n But true sweet beauty liv’d and died with him.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear! 1081\\r\\nNor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you:\\r\\nHaving no fair to lose, you need not fear;\\r\\nThe sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss you.\\r\\n But when Adonis liv’d, sun and sharp air 1085\\r\\n Lurk’d like two thieves, to rob him of his fair.\\r\\n\\r\\n“And therefore would he put his bonnet on,\\r\\nUnder whose brim the gaudy sun would peep; 1088\\r\\nThe wind would blow it off, and being gone,\\r\\nPlay with his locks; then would Adonis weep;\\r\\n And straight, in pity of his tender years,\\r\\n They both would strive who first should dry his tears.\\r\\n\\r\\n“To see his face the lion walk’d along 1093\\r\\nBehind some hedge, because he would not fear him;\\r\\nTo recreate himself when he hath sung,\\r\\nThe tiger would be tame and gently hear him. 1096\\r\\n If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey,\\r\\n And never fright the silly lamb that day.\\r\\n\\r\\n“When he beheld his shadow in the brook,\\r\\nThe fishes spread on it their golden gills; 1100\\r\\nWhen he was by, the birds such pleasure took,\\r\\nThat some would sing, some other in their bills\\r\\n Would bring him mulberries and ripe-red cherries,\\r\\n He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.\\r\\n\\r\\n“But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar, 1105\\r\\nWhose downward eye still looketh for a grave,\\r\\nNe’er saw the beauteous livery that he wore;\\r\\nWitness the entertainment that he gave. 1108\\r\\n If he did see his face, why then I know\\r\\n He thought to kiss him, and hath kill’d him so.\\r\\n\\r\\n“’Tis true, ’tis true; thus was Adonis slain:\\r\\nHe ran upon the boar with his sharp spear, 1112\\r\\nWho did not whet his teeth at him again,\\r\\nBut by a kiss thought to persuade him there;\\r\\n And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine\\r\\n Sheath’d unaware the tusk in his soft groin. 1116\\r\\n\\r\\n“Had I been tooth’d like him, I must confess,\\r\\nWith kissing him I should have kill’d him first;\\r\\nBut he is dead, and never did he bless\\r\\nMy youth with his; the more am I accurst.” 1120\\r\\n With this she falleth in the place she stood,\\r\\n And stains her face with his congealed blood.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe looks upon his lips, and they are pale;\\r\\nShe takes him by the hand, and that is cold, 1124\\r\\nShe whispers in his ears a heavy tale,\\r\\nAs if they heard the woeful words she told;\\r\\nShe lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes,\\r\\nWhere lo, two lamps burnt out in darkness lies.\\r\\n\\r\\nTwo glasses where herself herself beheld 1129\\r\\nA thousand times, and now no more reflect;\\r\\nTheir virtue lost, wherein they late excell’d,\\r\\nAnd every beauty robb’d of his effect. 1132\\r\\n “Wonder of time,” quoth she, “this is my spite,\\r\\n That thou being dead, the day should yet be light.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Since thou art dead, lo here I prophesy,\\r\\nSorrow on love hereafter shall attend: 1136\\r\\nIt shall be waited on with jealousy,\\r\\nFind sweet beginning, but unsavoury end;\\r\\n Ne’er settled equally, but high or low,\\r\\n That all love’s pleasure shall not match his woe.\\r\\n\\r\\n“It shall be fickle, false and full of fraud, 1141\\r\\nBud, and be blasted in a breathing while;\\r\\nThe bottom poison, and the top o’erstraw’d\\r\\nWith sweets that shall the truest sight beguile. 1144\\r\\n The strongest body shall it make most weak,\\r\\n Strike the wise dumb, and teach the fool to speak.\\r\\n\\r\\n“It shall be sparing, and too full of riot,\\r\\nTeaching decrepit age to tread the measures; 1148\\r\\nThe staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet,\\r\\nPluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures;\\r\\n It shall be raging mad, and silly mild,\\r\\n Make the young old, the old become a child. 1152\\r\\n\\r\\n“It shall suspect where is no cause of fear,\\r\\nIt shall not fear where it should most mistrust;\\r\\nIt shall be merciful, and too severe,\\r\\nAnd most deceiving when it seems most just; 1156\\r\\n Perverse it shall be, where it shows most toward,\\r\\n Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.\\r\\n\\r\\n“It shall be cause of war and dire events,\\r\\nAnd set dissension ’twixt the son and sire; 1160\\r\\nSubject and servile to all discontents,\\r\\nAs dry combustious matter is to fire,\\r\\n Sith in his prime death doth my love destroy,\\r\\n They that love best their love shall not enjoy.” 1164\\r\\n\\r\\nBy this the boy that by her side lay kill’d\\r\\nWas melted like a vapour from her sight,\\r\\nAnd in his blood that on the ground lay spill’d,\\r\\nA purple flower sprung up, chequer’d with white, 1168\\r\\n Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood\\r\\n Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood.\\r\\n\\r\\nShe bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell,\\r\\nComparing it to her Adonis’ breath; 1172\\r\\nAnd says within her bosom it shall dwell,\\r\\nSince he himself is reft from her by death;\\r\\n She drops the stalk, and in the breach appears\\r\\n Green-dropping sap, which she compares to tears.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Poor flower,” quoth she, “this was thy father’s guise,\\r\\nSweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire,\\r\\nFor every little grief to wet his eyes,\\r\\nTo grow unto himself was his desire, 1180\\r\\n And so ’tis thine; but know, it is as good\\r\\n To wither in my breast as in his blood.\\r\\n\\r\\n“Here was thy father’s bed, here in my breast;\\r\\nThou art the next of blood, and ’tis thy right: 1184\\r\\nLo in this hollow cradle take thy rest,\\r\\nMy throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night:\\r\\n There shall not be one minute in an hour\\r\\n Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love’s flower.”\\r\\n\\r\\nThus weary of the world, away she hies, 1189\\r\\nAnd yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid\\r\\nTheir mistress mounted through the empty skies,\\r\\nIn her light chariot quickly is convey’d; 1192\\r\\n Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen\\r\\n Means to immure herself and not be seen.\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n FINIS\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n\\r\\n* CONTENT NOTE (added in 2017) *\\r\\n\\r\\nThis Project Gutenberg eBook was originally marked as having a copyright.\\r\\nHowever, Project Gutenberg now believes that the eBook\\'s contents does\\r\\nnot actually have a copyright.\\r\\n\\r\\nThis is based on current understanding of copyright law, in which\\r\\n\"authorship\" is required to obtain a copyright. 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Converts to dictionary\n", + "print(char_to_int)\n", + "print(\"-------------------------------------------------------------------\\n\")\n", + "print(\"Integer to Character:\\n\")\n", + "int_to_char = dict((i, c) for i, c in enumerate(chars))\n", + "# \"enumerate\" returns index and value. Converts to dictionary\n", + "print(int_to_char)\n", + "print(\"-------------------------------------------------------------------\\n\")\n", + "print(\"Integer Encode Input Data:\\n\")\n", + "# integer encode input data\n", + "integer_encoded = [char_to_int[i] for i in text]\n", + "# \"integer_encoded\" is a list which has a sequence converted from an original data to integers.\n", + "print(integer_encoded)\n", + "print(\"-------------------------------------------------------------------\\n\")\n", + "print(\"Data Length : \", len(integer_encoded))" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "maxlen = 40\n", + "step = 5\n", + "\n", + "sequences = [] # Each element is 40 chars long\n", + "next_char = [] # One element for each sequence\n", + "\n", + "for i in range(0, len(encoded) - maxlen, step):\n", + " \n", + " sequences.append(encoded[i : i + maxlen])\n", + " next_char.append(encoded[i + maxlen])\n", + " \n", + "print('sequences: ', len(sequences))" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [], + "source": [] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "zE4a4O7Bp5x1" + }, + "source": [ + "# Resources and Stretch Goals" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "uT3UV3gap9H6" + }, + "source": [ + "## Stretch goals:\n", + "- Refine the training and generation of text to be able to ask for different genres/styles of Shakespearean text (e.g. plays versus sonnets)\n", + "- Train a classification model that takes text and returns which work of Shakespeare it is most likely to be from\n", + "- Make it more performant! Many possible routes here - lean on Keras, optimize the code, and/or use more resources (AWS, etc.)\n", + "- Revisit the news example from class, and improve it - use categories or tags to refine the model/generation, or train a news classifier\n", + "- Run on bigger, better data\n", + "\n", + "## Resources:\n", + "- [The Unreasonable Effectiveness of Recurrent Neural Networks](https://karpathy.github.io/2015/05/21/rnn-effectiveness/) - a seminal writeup demonstrating a simple but effective character-level NLP RNN\n", + "- [Simple NumPy implementation of RNN](https://github.com/JY-Yoon/RNN-Implementation-using-NumPy/blob/master/RNN%20Implementation%20using%20NumPy.ipynb) - Python 3 version of the code from \"Unreasonable Effectiveness\"\n", + "- [TensorFlow RNN Tutorial](https://github.com/tensorflow/models/tree/master/tutorials/rnn) - code for training a RNN on the Penn Tree Bank language dataset\n", + "- [4 part tutorial on RNN](http://www.wildml.com/2015/09/recurrent-neural-networks-tutorial-part-1-introduction-to-rnns/) - relates RNN to the vanishing gradient problem, and provides example implementation\n", + "- [RNN training tips and tricks](https://github.com/karpathy/char-rnn#tips-and-tricks) - some rules of thumb for parameterizing and training your RNN" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [], + "source": [] + } + ], + "metadata": { + "kernelspec": { + "display_name": "Python 3", + "language": "python", + "name": "python3" + }, + "language_info": { + "codemirror_mode": { + "name": "ipython", + "version": 3 + }, + "file_extension": ".py", + "mimetype": "text/x-python", + "name": "python", + "nbconvert_exporter": "python", + "pygments_lexer": "ipython3", + "version": "3.6.9" + }, + "latex_envs": { + "LaTeX_envs_menu_present": true, + "autoclose": true, + "autocomplete": true, + "bibliofile": "biblio.bib", + "cite_by": "apalike", + "current_citInitial": 1, + "eqLabelWithNumbers": true, + "eqNumInitial": 1, + "hotkeys": { + "equation": "Ctrl-E", + "itemize": "Ctrl-I" + }, + "labels_anchors": false, + "latex_user_defs": false, + "report_style_numbering": false, + "user_envs_cfg": false + }, + "nteract": { + "version": "0.23.3" + }, + "varInspector": { + "cols": { + "lenName": 16, + "lenType": 16, + "lenVar": 40 + }, + "kernels_config": { + "python": { + "delete_cmd_postfix": "", + "delete_cmd_prefix": "del ", + "library": "var_list.py", + "varRefreshCmd": "print(var_dic_list())" + }, + "r": { + "delete_cmd_postfix": ") ", + "delete_cmd_prefix": "rm(", + "library": "var_list.r", + "varRefreshCmd": "cat(var_dic_list()) " + } + }, + "types_to_exclude": [ + "module", + "function", + "builtin_function_or_method", + "instance", + "_Feature" + ], + "window_display": false + } + }, + "nbformat": 4, + "nbformat_minor": 4 +} diff --git a/module1-rnn-and-lstm/LS_DS_431_RNN_and_LSTM_Lecture.ipynb b/module1_RNN_and_LSTM/LS_DS_431_RNN_and_LSTM_Lecture.ipynb similarity index 86% rename from module1-rnn-and-lstm/LS_DS_431_RNN_and_LSTM_Lecture.ipynb rename to module1_RNN_and_LSTM/LS_DS_431_RNN_and_LSTM_Lecture.ipynb index f664da74..2e63b3b8 100644 --- a/module1-rnn-and-lstm/LS_DS_431_RNN_and_LSTM_Lecture.ipynb +++ b/module1_RNN_and_LSTM/LS_DS_431_RNN_and_LSTM_Lecture.ipynb @@ -124,7 +124,7 @@ }, { "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, + "execution_count": 1, "metadata": { "colab": { "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", @@ -134,7 +134,19 @@ "id": "Ti23G0gRe3kr", "outputId": "bba9ae40-a286-49ed-d87b-b2946fb60ddf" }, - "outputs": [], + "outputs": [ + { + "ename": "ModuleNotFoundError", + "evalue": "No module named 'tensorflow'", + "output_type": "error", + "traceback": [ + "\u001b[0;31m---------------------------------------------------------------------------\u001b[0m", + "\u001b[0;31mModuleNotFoundError\u001b[0m Traceback (most recent call last)", + "\u001b[0;32m\u001b[0m in \u001b[0;36m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 12\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mfrom\u001b[0m \u001b[0m__future__\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mimport\u001b[0m \u001b[0mprint_function\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 13\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0;32m---> 14\u001b[0;31m \u001b[0;32mfrom\u001b[0m \u001b[0mtensorflow\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mkeras\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mpreprocessing\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mimport\u001b[0m \u001b[0msequence\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0m\u001b[1;32m 15\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mfrom\u001b[0m \u001b[0mtensorflow\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mkeras\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mmodels\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mimport\u001b[0m \u001b[0mSequential\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 16\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mfrom\u001b[0m \u001b[0mtensorflow\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mkeras\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mlayers\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mimport\u001b[0m \u001b[0mDense\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m \u001b[0mEmbedding\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n", + "\u001b[0;31mModuleNotFoundError\u001b[0m: No module named 'tensorflow'" + ] + } + ], "source": [ "'''\n", "#Trains an LSTM model on the IMDB sentiment classification task.\n", @@ -564,9 +576,9 @@ "version": "0.3.2" }, "kernelspec": { - "display_name": "U4-S2-NNF-DS10", + "display_name": "Python 3", "language": "python", - "name": "u4-s2-nnf-ds10" + "name": "python3" }, "language_info": { "codemirror_mode": { @@ -578,7 +590,54 @@ "name": "python", "nbconvert_exporter": "python", "pygments_lexer": "ipython3", - "version": "3.7.6" + "version": "3.6.9" + }, + "latex_envs": { + "LaTeX_envs_menu_present": true, + "autoclose": true, + "autocomplete": true, + "bibliofile": "biblio.bib", + "cite_by": "apalike", + "current_citInitial": 1, + "eqLabelWithNumbers": true, + "eqNumInitial": 1, + "hotkeys": { + "equation": "Ctrl-E", + "itemize": "Ctrl-I" + }, + "labels_anchors": false, + "latex_user_defs": false, + "report_style_numbering": false, + "user_envs_cfg": false + }, + "varInspector": { + "cols": { + "lenName": 16, + "lenType": 16, + "lenVar": 40 + }, + "kernels_config": { + "python": { + "delete_cmd_postfix": "", + "delete_cmd_prefix": "del ", + "library": "var_list.py", + "varRefreshCmd": "print(var_dic_list())" + }, + "r": { + "delete_cmd_postfix": ") ", + "delete_cmd_prefix": "rm(", + "library": "var_list.r", + "varRefreshCmd": "cat(var_dic_list()) " + } + }, + "types_to_exclude": [ + "module", + "function", + "builtin_function_or_method", + "instance", + "_Feature" + ], + "window_display": false } }, "nbformat": 4, diff --git a/module1-rnn-and-lstm/articles/0.txt b/module1_RNN_and_LSTM/articles/0.txt similarity index 100% rename from module1-rnn-and-lstm/articles/0.txt rename to 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a/module2-convolutional-neural-networks/LS_DS_432_Convolution_Neural_Networks_Assignment.ipynb b/module2-convolutional-neural-networks/LS_DS_432_Convolution_Neural_Networks_Assignment.ipynb deleted file mode 100644 index a6562692..00000000 --- a/module2-convolutional-neural-networks/LS_DS_432_Convolution_Neural_Networks_Assignment.ipynb +++ /dev/null @@ -1,513 +0,0 @@ -{ - "nbformat": 4, - "nbformat_minor": 0, - "metadata": { - "kernelspec": { - "display_name": "U4-S2-NNF-DS10", - "language": "python", - "name": "u4-s2-nnf-ds10" - }, - "language_info": { - "codemirror_mode": { - "name": "ipython", - "version": 3 - }, - "file_extension": ".py", - "mimetype": "text/x-python", - "name": "python", - "nbconvert_exporter": "python", - "pygments_lexer": "ipython3", - "version": "3.7.6" - }, - "nteract": { - "version": "0.23.1" - }, - "colab": { - "name": "LS_DS_432_Convolution_Neural_Networks_Assignment.ipynb", - "provenance": [] - } - }, - "cells": [ - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": { - "id": "fc4yMj7mtCAZ", - "colab_type": "text" - }, - "source": [ - "\n", - "

\n", - "

\n", - "\n", - "## *Data Science Unit 4 Sprint 3 Assignment 2*\n", - "# Convolutional Neural Networks (CNNs)" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": { - "colab_type": "text", - "id": "0lfZdD_cp1t5" - }, - "source": [ - "# Assignment\n", - "\n", - "- Part 1: Pre-Trained Model\n", - "- Part 2: Custom CNN Model\n", - "- Part 3: CNN with Data Augmentation\n", - "\n", - "\n", - "You will apply three different CNN models to a binary image classification model using Keras. Classify images of Mountains (`./data/train/mountain/*`) and images of forests (`./data/train/forest/*`). Treat mountains as the positive class (1) and the forest images as the negative (zero). \n", - "\n", - "|Mountain (+)|Forest (-)|\n", - "|---|---|\n", - "|![](https://github.com/LambdaSchool/DS-Unit-4-Sprint-3-Deep-Learning/blob/main/module2-convolutional-neural-networks/data/train/mountain/art1131.jpg?raw=1)|![](https://github.com/LambdaSchool/DS-Unit-4-Sprint-3-Deep-Learning/blob/main/module2-convolutional-neural-networks/data/validation/forest/cdmc317.jpg?raw=1)|\n", - "\n", - "The problem is relatively difficult given that the sample is tiny: there are about 350 observations per class. This sample size might be something that you can expect with prototyping an image classification problem/solution at work. Get accustomed to evaluating several different possible models." - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": { - "colab_type": "text", - "id": "1eawBP-otCAb" - }, - "source": [ - "# Pre - Trained Model\n", - "\n", - "\n", - "Load a pretrained network from Keras, [ResNet50](https://tfhub.dev/google/imagenet/resnet_v1_50/classification/1) - a 50 layer deep network trained to recognize [1000 objects](https://storage.googleapis.com/download.tensorflow.org/data/ImageNetLabels.txt). Starting usage:\n", - "\n", - "```python\n", - "import numpy as np\n", - "\n", - "from tensorflow.keras.applications.resnet50 import ResNet50\n", - "from tensorflow.keras.preprocessing import image\n", - "from tensorflow.keras.applications.resnet50 import preprocess_input, decode_predictions\n", - "\n", - "from tensorflow.keras.layers import Dense, GlobalAveragePooling2D\n", - "from tensorflow.keras.models import Model # This is the functional API\n", - "\n", - "resnet = ResNet50(weights='imagenet', include_top=False)\n", - "\n", - "```\n", - "\n", - "The `include_top` parameter in `ResNet50` will remove the full connected layers from the ResNet model. The next step is to turn off the training of the ResNet layers. We want to use the learned parameters without updating them in future training passes. \n", - "\n", - "```python\n", - "for layer in resnet.layers:\n", - " layer.trainable = False\n", - "```\n", - "\n", - "Using the Keras functional API, we will need to additional additional full connected layers to our model. We we removed the top layers, we removed all preivous fully connected layers. In other words, we kept only the feature processing portions of our network. You can expert with additional layers beyond what's listed here. The `GlobalAveragePooling2D` layer functions as a really fancy flatten function by taking the average of each of the last convolutional layer outputs (which is two dimensional still). \n", - "\n", - "```python\n", - "x = resnet.output\n", - "x = GlobalAveragePooling2D()(x) # This layer is a really fancy flatten\n", - "x = Dense(1024, activation='relu')(x)\n", - "predictions = Dense(1, activation='sigmoid')(x)\n", - "model = Model(resnet.input, predictions)\n", - "```\n", - "\n", - "Your assignment is to apply the transfer learning above to classify images of Mountains (`./data/train/mountain/*`) and images of forests (`./data/train/forest/*`). Treat mountains as the positive class (1) and the forest images as the negative (zero). \n", - "\n", - "Steps to complete assignment: \n", - "1. Load in Image Data into numpy arrays (`X`) \n", - "2. Create a `y` for the labels\n", - "3. Train your model with pre-trained layers from resnet\n", - "4. Report your model's accuracy" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": { - "id": "CLdGdXCatCAb", - "colab_type": "text" - }, - "source": [ - "## Load in Data\n", - "\n", - "This surprisingly more difficult than it seems, because you are working with directories of images instead of a single file. This boiler plate will help you download a zipped version of the directory of images. The directory is organized into \"train\" and \"validation\" which you can use inside an `ImageGenerator` class to stream batches of images thru your model. \n" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": { - "id": "moRVuHUqtCAc", - "colab_type": "text" - }, - "source": [ - "### Download & Summarize the Data\n", - "\n", - "This step is completed for you. Just run the cells and review the results. " - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "metadata": { - "id": "AR66H8o9tCAc", - "colab_type": "code", - "colab": { - "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", - "height": 72 - }, - "outputId": "b7c293db-28c1-4b0b-f5ae-25be00f11ec5" - }, - "source": [ - "import tensorflow as tf\n", - "import os\n", - "\n", - "_URL = 'https://github.com/LambdaSchool/DS-Unit-4-Sprint-3-Deep-Learning/blob/main/module2-convolutional-neural-networks/data.zip?raw=true'\n", - "\n", - "path_to_zip = tf.keras.utils.get_file('./data.zip', origin=_URL, extract=True)\n", - "PATH = os.path.join(os.path.dirname(path_to_zip), 'data')" - ], - "execution_count": 1, - "outputs": [ - { - "output_type": "stream", - "text": [ - "Downloading data from https://github.com/LambdaSchool/DS-Unit-4-Sprint-3-Deep-Learning/blob/main/module2-convolutional-neural-networks/data.zip?raw=true\n", - "42172416/42170838 [==============================] - 1s 0us/step\n" - ], - "name": "stdout" - } - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "metadata": { - "id": "MNFsIu_KtCAg", - "colab_type": "code", - "colab": {} - }, - "source": [ - "train_dir = os.path.join(PATH, 'train')\n", - "validation_dir = os.path.join(PATH, 'validation')" - ], - "execution_count": 2, - "outputs": [] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "metadata": { - "id": "OsI9BQLotCAj", - "colab_type": "code", - "colab": {} - }, - "source": [ - "train_mountain_dir = os.path.join(train_dir, 'mountain') # directory with our training cat pictures\n", - "train_forest_dir = os.path.join(train_dir, 'forest') # directory with our training dog pictures\n", - "validation_mountain_dir = os.path.join(validation_dir, 'mountain') # directory with our validation cat pictures\n", - "validation_forest_dir = os.path.join(validation_dir, 'forest') # directory with our validation dog pictures" - ], - "execution_count": 3, - "outputs": [] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "metadata": { - "id": "NUs1e5-XtCAl", - "colab_type": "code", - "colab": {} - }, - "source": [ - "num_mountain_tr = len(os.listdir(train_mountain_dir))\n", - "num_forest_tr = len(os.listdir(train_forest_dir))\n", - "\n", - "num_mountain_val = len(os.listdir(validation_mountain_dir))\n", - "num_forest_val = len(os.listdir(validation_forest_dir))\n", - "\n", - "total_train = num_mountain_tr + num_forest_tr\n", - "total_val = num_mountain_val + num_forest_val" - ], - "execution_count": 4, - "outputs": [] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "metadata": { - "id": "ZmklbgSMtCAn", - "colab_type": "code", - "colab": { - "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", - "height": 138 - }, - "outputId": "be5b9d52-d9f5-4b1e-878e-eb5f87d0c6bd" - }, - "source": [ - "print('total training mountain images:', num_mountain_tr)\n", - "print('total training forest images:', num_forest_tr)\n", - "\n", - "print('total validation mountain images:', num_mountain_val)\n", - "print('total validation forest images:', num_forest_val)\n", - "print(\"--\")\n", - "print(\"Total training images:\", total_train)\n", - "print(\"Total validation images:\", total_val)" - ], - "execution_count": 5, - "outputs": [ - { - "output_type": "stream", - "text": [ - "total training mountain images: 254\n", - "total training forest images: 270\n", - "total validation mountain images: 125\n", - "total validation forest images: 62\n", - "--\n", - "Total training images: 524\n", - "Total validation images: 187\n" - ], - "name": "stdout" - } - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": { - "id": "dQ4ag4ultCAq", - "colab_type": "text" - }, - "source": [ - "### Keras `ImageGenerator` to Process the Data\n", - "\n", - "This step is completed for you, but please review the code. The `ImageGenerator` class reads in batches of data from a directory and pass them to the model one batch at a time. Just like large text files, this method is advantageous, because it stifles the need to load a bunch of images into memory. \n", - "\n", - "Check out the documentation for this class method: [Keras `ImageGenerator` Class](https://keras.io/preprocessing/image/#imagedatagenerator-class). You'll expand it's use in the third assignment objective." - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "metadata": { - "id": "67i9IW49tCAq", - "colab_type": "code", - "colab": {} - }, - "source": [ - "batch_size = 16\n", - "epochs = 50\n", - "IMG_HEIGHT = 224\n", - "IMG_WIDTH = 224" - ], - "execution_count": 6, - "outputs": [] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "metadata": { - "id": "B1wNKMo1tCAt", - "colab_type": "code", - "colab": {} - }, - "source": [ - "from tensorflow.keras.preprocessing.image import ImageDataGenerator\n", - "\n", - "train_image_generator = ImageDataGenerator(rescale=1./255) # Generator for our training data\n", - "validation_image_generator = ImageDataGenerator(rescale=1./255) # Generator for our validation data" - ], - "execution_count": 7, - "outputs": [] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "metadata": { - "id": "ndsuM4L9tCAv", - "colab_type": "code", - "colab": { - "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", - "height": 35 - }, - "outputId": "68bd83da-a370-4f6a-a257-d8c6782e1e1e" - }, - "source": [ - "train_data_gen = train_image_generator.flow_from_directory(batch_size=batch_size,\n", - " directory=train_dir,\n", - " shuffle=True,\n", - " target_size=(IMG_HEIGHT, IMG_WIDTH),\n", - " class_mode='binary')" - ], - "execution_count": 8, - "outputs": [ - { - "output_type": "stream", - "text": [ - "Found 533 images belonging to 2 classes.\n" - ], - "name": "stdout" - } - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "metadata": { - "id": "9kxlk3optCAy", - "colab_type": "code", - "colab": {} - }, - "source": [ - "val_data_gen = validation_image_generator.flow_from_directory(batch_size=batch_size,\n", - " directory=validation_dir,\n", - " target_size=(IMG_HEIGHT, IMG_WIDTH),\n", - " class_mode='binary')" - ], - "execution_count": null, - "outputs": [] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": { - "id": "2l7ue6NutCA0", - "colab_type": "text" - }, - "source": [ - "## Instatiate Model" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "metadata": { - "id": "mKNIYOEItCA0", - "colab_type": "code", - "colab": {} - }, - "source": [ - "" - ], - "execution_count": null, - "outputs": [] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": { - "id": "BVPBWYG7tCA2", - "colab_type": "text" - }, - "source": [ - "## Fit Model" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "metadata": { - "id": "H4XdvWA5tCA3", - "colab_type": "code", - "colab": {} - }, - "source": [ - "history = model.fit(\n", - " train_data_gen,\n", - " steps_per_epoch=total_train // batch_size,\n", - " epochs=epochs,\n", - " validation_data=val_data_gen,\n", - " validation_steps=total_val // batch_size\n", - ")" - ], - "execution_count": null, - "outputs": [] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": { - "id": "UPzsgS94tCA5", - "colab_type": "text" - }, - "source": [ - "# Custom CNN Model\n", - "\n", - "In this step, write and train your own convolutional neural network using Keras. You can use any architecture that suits you as long as it has at least one convolutional and one pooling layer at the beginning of the network - you can add more if you want. " - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "metadata": { - "id": "hnbJJie3tCA5", - "colab_type": "code", - "colab": {} - }, - "source": [ - "# Define the Model\n" - ], - "execution_count": null, - "outputs": [] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "metadata": { - "id": "1P_mRtoutCA9", - "colab_type": "code", - "colab": {} - }, - "source": [ - "# Compile Model" - ], - "execution_count": null, - "outputs": [] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "metadata": { - "id": "CwM4GsaetCA_", - "colab_type": "code", - "colab": {} - }, - "source": [ - "# Fit Model" - ], - "execution_count": null, - "outputs": [] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": { - "id": "FNTHjUddtCBB", - "colab_type": "text" - }, - "source": [ - "# Custom CNN Model with Image Manipulations\n", - "\n", - "To simulate an increase in a sample of image, you can apply image manipulation techniques: cropping, rotation, stretching, etc. Luckily Keras has some handy functions for us to apply these techniques to our mountain and forest example. Simply, you should be able to modify our image generator for the problem. Check out these resources to help you get started: \n", - "\n", - "1. [Keras `ImageGenerator` Class](https://keras.io/preprocessing/image/#imagedatagenerator-class)\n", - "2. [Building a powerful image classifier with very little data](https://blog.keras.io/building-powerful-image-classification-models-using-very-little-data.html)\n", - " " - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "metadata": { - "id": "XKioBv3WtCBB", - "colab_type": "code", - "colab": {} - }, - "source": [ - "" - ], - "execution_count": null, - "outputs": [] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": { - "colab_type": "text", - "id": "uT3UV3gap9H6" - }, - "source": [ - "# Resources and Stretch Goals\n", - "\n", - "Stretch goals\n", - "- Enhance your code to use classes/functions and accept terms to search and classes to look for in recognizing the downloaded images (e.g. download images of parties, recognize all that contain balloons)\n", - "- Check out [other available pretrained networks](https://tfhub.dev), try some and compare\n", - "- Image recognition/classification is somewhat solved, but *relationships* between entities and describing an image is not - check out some of the extended resources (e.g. [Visual Genome](https://visualgenome.org/)) on the topic\n", - "- Transfer learning - using images you source yourself, [retrain a classifier](https://www.tensorflow.org/hub/tutorials/image_retraining) with a new category\n", - "- (Not CNN related) Use [piexif](https://pypi.org/project/piexif/) to check out the metadata of images passed in to your system - see if they're from a national park! (Note - many images lack GPS metadata, so this won't work in most cases, but still cool)\n", - "\n", - "Resources\n", - "- [Deep Residual Learning for Image Recognition](https://arxiv.org/abs/1512.03385) - influential paper (introduced ResNet)\n", - "- [YOLO: Real-Time Object Detection](https://pjreddie.com/darknet/yolo/) - an influential convolution based object detection system, focused on inference speed (for applications to e.g. self driving vehicles)\n", - "- [R-CNN, Fast R-CNN, Faster R-CNN, YOLO](https://towardsdatascience.com/r-cnn-fast-r-cnn-faster-r-cnn-yolo-object-detection-algorithms-36d53571365e) - comparison of object detection systems\n", - "- [Common Objects in Context](http://cocodataset.org/) - a large-scale object detection, segmentation, and captioning dataset\n", - "- [Visual Genome](https://visualgenome.org/) - a dataset, a knowledge base, an ongoing effort to connect structured image concepts to language" - ] - } - ] -} \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/module2_Convolutional_Neural_Networks/LS_DS_432_Convolution_Neural_Networks_Assignment.ipynb b/module2_Convolutional_Neural_Networks/LS_DS_432_Convolution_Neural_Networks_Assignment.ipynb new file mode 100644 index 00000000..59b33170 --- /dev/null +++ b/module2_Convolutional_Neural_Networks/LS_DS_432_Convolution_Neural_Networks_Assignment.ipynb @@ -0,0 +1,1275 @@ +{ + "cells": [ + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "fc4yMj7mtCAZ" + }, + "source": [ + "\n", + "

\n", + "

\n", + "\n", + "## *Data Science Unit 4 Sprint 3 Assignment 2*\n", + "# Convolutional Neural Networks (CNNs)" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "0lfZdD_cp1t5" + }, + "source": [ + "# Assignment\n", + "\n", + "- Part 1: Pre-Trained Model\n", + "- Part 2: Custom CNN Model\n", + "- Part 3: CNN with Data Augmentation\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "You will apply three different CNN models to a binary image classification model using Keras. Classify images of Mountains (`./data/train/mountain/*`) and images of forests (`./data/train/forest/*`). Treat mountains as the positive class (1) and the forest images as the negative (zero). \n", + "\n", + "|Mountain (+)|Forest (-)|\n", + "|---|---|\n", + "|![](https://github.com/LambdaSchool/DS-Unit-4-Sprint-3-Deep-Learning/blob/main/module2-convolutional-neural-networks/data/train/mountain/art1131.jpg?raw=1)|![](https://github.com/LambdaSchool/DS-Unit-4-Sprint-3-Deep-Learning/blob/main/module2-convolutional-neural-networks/data/validation/forest/cdmc317.jpg?raw=1)|\n", + "\n", + "The problem is relatively difficult given that the sample is tiny: there are about 350 observations per class. This sample size might be something that you can expect with prototyping an image classification problem/solution at work. Get accustomed to evaluating several different possible models." + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "1eawBP-otCAb" + }, + "source": [ + "# Pre - Trained Model\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "Load a pretrained network from Keras, [ResNet50](https://tfhub.dev/google/imagenet/resnet_v1_50/classification/1) - a 50 layer deep network trained to recognize [1000 objects](https://storage.googleapis.com/download.tensorflow.org/data/ImageNetLabels.txt). Starting usage:\n", + "\n", + "```python\n", + "import numpy as np\n", + "\n", + "from tensorflow.keras.applications.resnet50 import ResNet50\n", + "from tensorflow.keras.preprocessing import image\n", + "from tensorflow.keras.applications.resnet50 import preprocess_input, decode_predictions\n", + "\n", + "from tensorflow.keras.layers import Dense, GlobalAveragePooling2D\n", + "from tensorflow.keras.models import Model # This is the functional API\n", + "\n", + "resnet = ResNet50(weights='imagenet', include_top=False)\n", + "\n", + "```\n", + "\n", + "The `include_top` parameter in `ResNet50` will remove the full connected layers from the ResNet model. The next step is to turn off the training of the ResNet layers. We want to use the learned parameters without updating them in future training passes. \n", + "\n", + "```python\n", + "for layer in resnet.layers:\n", + " layer.trainable = False\n", + "```\n", + "\n", + "Using the Keras functional API, we will need to additional additional full connected layers to our model. When we removed the top layers, we removed all previous fully connected layers. In other words, we kept only the feature processing portions of our network. You can experiment with additional layers beyond what's listed here. The `GlobalAveragePooling2D` layer functions as a really fancy flatten function by taking the average of each of the last convolutional layer outputs (which is two dimensional still). \n", + "\n", + "```python\n", + "x = resnet.output\n", + "x = GlobalAveragePooling2D()(x) # This layer is a really fancy flatten\n", + "x = Dense(1024, activation='relu')(x)\n", + "predictions = Dense(1, activation='sigmoid')(x)\n", + "model = Model(resnet.input, predictions)\n", + "```\n", + "\n", + "Your assignment is to apply the transfer learning above to classify images of Mountains (`./data/train/mountain/*`) and images of forests (`./data/train/forest/*`). Treat mountains as the positive class (1) and the forest images as the negative (zero). \n", + "\n", + "Steps to complete assignment: \n", + "1. Load in Image Data into numpy arrays (`X`) \n", + "2. Create a `y` for the labels\n", + "3. Train your model with pre-trained layers from resnet\n", + "4. Report your model's accuracy" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "CLdGdXCatCAb" + }, + "source": [ + "## Load in Data\n", + "\n", + "This surprisingly more difficult than it seems, because you are working with directories of images instead of a single file. This boiler plate will help you download a zipped version of the directory of images. The directory is organized into \"train\" and \"validation\" which you can use inside an `ImageGenerator` class to stream batches of images thru your model. \n" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 4, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "import numpy as np\n", + "\n", + "import tensorflow as tf\n", + "from tensorflow.keras.applications.resnet50 import ResNet50\n", + "from tensorflow.keras.preprocessing import image\n", + "from tensorflow.keras.applications.resnet50 import preprocess_input, decode_predictions\n", + "from tensorflow.keras.layers import Dense, GlobalAveragePooling2D, Dropout\n", + "from tensorflow.keras.models import Model # This is the functional API\n", + "\n", + "import os\n", + "import warnings" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [], + "source": [] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "moRVuHUqtCAc" + }, + "source": [ + "### Download & Summarize the Data\n", + "\n", + "This step is completed for you. Just run the cells and review the results. " + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 11, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "MNFsIu_KtCAg" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "/home/dondreojordan/.keras/datasets/./data/train/mountain \n", + " /home/dondreojordan/.keras/datasets/./data/train/forest \n", + " /home/dondreojordan/.keras/datasets/./data/validation/mountain \n", + " /home/dondreojordan/.keras/datasets/./data/validation/forest\n" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "def path_to_zip(pathname):\n", + " \n", + " _URL = 'https://github.com/LambdaSchool/DS-Unit-4-Sprint-3-Deep-Learning/blob/main/module2-convolutional-neural-networks/data.zip?raw=true'\n", + "\n", + " path_to_zip = tf.keras.utils.get_file('./data.zip', origin=_URL, extract=True)\n", + " PATH = os.path.join(os.path.dirname(path_to_zip), 'data')\n", + " \n", + " train_dir = os.path.join(PATH, 'train')\n", + " validation_dir = os.path.join(PATH, 'validation')\n", + " \n", + " train_mountain_dir = os.path.join(train_dir, 'mountain') # directory with our training mountain pictures\n", + " train_forest_dir = os.path.join(train_dir, 'forest') # directory with our training forest pictures\n", + " validation_mountain_dir = os.path.join(validation_dir, 'mountain') # directory with our validation mountain pictures\n", + " validation_forest_dir = os.path.join(validation_dir, 'forest') # directory with our validation forest pictures\n", + " \n", + " return train_mountain_dir, train_forest_dir, validation_mountain_dir, validation_forest_dir\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "train_mountain_dir, train_forest_dir, validation_mountain_dir, validation_forest_dir = path_to_zip('./data.zip')\n", + "\n", + "print(train_mountain_dir, '\\n', \n", + " train_forest_dir, '\\n',\n", + " validation_mountain_dir, '\\n', \n", + " validation_forest_dir)" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": {}, + "source": [ + "train/validation paths to jpeg image files containing forests and mountains" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 21, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "NUs1e5-XtCAl" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "254 training mountain images out of 524 total training images.\n", + "270 training forest images out of 524 total training images.\n", + "--\n", + "125 validation mountain images out of 187 total training images.\n", + "62 validation forest images out of 187 total training images.\n", + "--\n" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "# Informative Cell\n", + "num_mountain_tr = len(os.listdir(train_mountain_dir))\n", + "num_forest_tr = len(os.listdir(train_forest_dir))\n", + "total_train = num_mountain_tr + num_forest_tr\n", + "print(f'{num_mountain_tr} training mountain images out of {total_train} total training images.')\n", + "print(f'{num_forest_tr} training forest images out of {total_train} total training images.')\n", + "print(\"--\")\n", + "\n", + "num_mountain_val = len(os.listdir(validation_mountain_dir))\n", + "num_forest_val = len(os.listdir(validation_forest_dir))\n", + "total_val = num_mountain_val + num_forest_val\n", + "print(f'{num_mountain_val} validation mountain images out of {total_val} total training images.')\n", + "print(f'{num_forest_val} validation forest images out of {total_val} total training images.')\n", + "print(\"--\")" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [], + "source": [] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "dQ4ag4ultCAq" + }, + "source": [ + "### Keras `ImageGenerator` to Process the Data\n", + "\n", + "This step is completed for you, but please review the code. The `ImageGenerator` class reads in batches of data from a directory and pass them to the model one batch at a time. Just like large text files, this method is advantageous, because it stifles the need to load a bunch of images into memory. \n", + "\n", + "Check out the documentation for this class method: [Keras `ImageGenerator` Class](https://keras.io/preprocessing/image/#imagedatagenerator-class). You'll expand it's use in the third assignment objective." + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 12, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "67i9IW49tCAq" + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "batch_size = 16\n", + "epochs = 10\n", + "IMG_HEIGHT = 224\n", + "IMG_WIDTH = 224" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 13, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "B1wNKMo1tCAt" + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "from tensorflow.keras.preprocessing.image import ImageDataGenerator\n", + "\n", + "train_image_generator = ImageDataGenerator(rescale=1./255) # Generator for our training data\n", + "validation_image_generator = ImageDataGenerator(rescale=1./255) # Generator for our validation data" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 14, + "metadata": { + "colab": { + "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", + "height": 35 + }, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "ndsuM4L9tCAv", + "outputId": "68bd83da-a370-4f6a-a257-d8c6782e1e1e" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "Found 533 images belonging to 2 classes.\n" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "train_data_gen = train_image_generator.flow_from_directory(batch_size=batch_size,\n", + " directory=train_dir,\n", + " shuffle=True,\n", + " target_size=(IMG_HEIGHT, IMG_WIDTH),\n", + " class_mode='binary')" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": {}, + "source": [ + "The train data generator is using the Keras API Image Data Generator to rescale images from a specified directory. " + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 15, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "9kxlk3optCAy" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "Found 195 images belonging to 2 classes.\n" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "val_data_gen = validation_image_generator.flow_from_directory(batch_size=batch_size,\n", + " directory=validation_dir,\n", + " target_size=(IMG_HEIGHT, IMG_WIDTH),\n", + " class_mode='binary')" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": {}, + "source": [ + "The validation data generator is using the Keras API Image Data Generator to rescale images from a specified directory." + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "2l7ue6NutCA0" + }, + "source": [ + "## Instatiate Model" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 16, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stderr", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "/home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/keras_applications/resnet50.py:265: UserWarning: The output shape of `ResNet50(include_top=False)` has been changed since Keras 2.2.0.\n", + " warnings.warn('The output shape of `ResNet50(include_top=False)` '\n" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "# include_top parameter in ResNet50 will remove the full connected layers from the ResNet model\n", + "resnet = ResNet50(weights='imagenet', include_top=False)\n", + "\n", + "# Turn off the training of the ResNet layers \n", + "# Use the learned parameters w/o updating them in future training passes.\n", + "for layer in resnet.layers:\n", + " layer.trainable = False\n", + "\n", + "x = resnet.output\n", + "x = GlobalAveragePooling2D()(x) # This layer is a really fancy flatten\n", + "x = Dense(1024, activation='relu')(x)\n", + "predictions = Dense(1, activation='sigmoid')(x)\n", + "model = Model(resnet.input, predictions)" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 17, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "# dir(model)" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": {}, + "source": [ + "Once the model is created, you can *config the model* with losses and metrics with **model.compile()**, OR *train the model* with **model.fit()**, OR *use the model to do a prediction* with **model.predict()**." + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 18, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "# Compile Model\n", + "model.compile(optimizer='adam', loss='binary_crossentropy', metrics=['accuracy'])" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [], + "source": [] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": {}, + "source": [ + "## Model Summary" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": {}, + "source": [ + "-Input Layer: It represent input image data. It will reshape image into single diminsion array. Example your image is 64x64 = 4096, it will convert to (4096,1) array.\n", + "\n", + "-Conv Layer: This layer will extract features from image.\n", + "\n", + "-Pooling Layer: This layerreduce the spatial volume of input image after convolution.\n", + "\n", + "-Fully Connected Layer: It connect the network from a layer to another layer\n", + "\n", + "-Output Layer: It is the predicted values layer." + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 19, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "Model: \"model\"\n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "Layer (type) Output Shape Param # Connected to \n", + "==================================================================================================\n", + "input_1 (InputLayer) [(None, None, None, 0 \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "conv1_pad (ZeroPadding2D) (None, None, None, 3 0 input_1[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "conv1 (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 6 9472 conv1_pad[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn_conv1 (BatchNormalization) (None, None, None, 6 256 conv1[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation (Activation) (None, None, None, 6 0 bn_conv1[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "pool1_pad (ZeroPadding2D) (None, None, None, 6 0 activation[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "max_pooling2d (MaxPooling2D) (None, None, None, 6 0 pool1_pad[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res2a_branch2a (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 6 4160 max_pooling2d[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn2a_branch2a (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 6 256 res2a_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_1 (Activation) (None, None, None, 6 0 bn2a_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res2a_branch2b (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 6 36928 activation_1[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn2a_branch2b (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 6 256 res2a_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_2 (Activation) (None, None, None, 6 0 bn2a_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res2a_branch2c (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 2 16640 activation_2[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res2a_branch1 (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 2 16640 max_pooling2d[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn2a_branch2c (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 2 1024 res2a_branch2c[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn2a_branch1 (BatchNormalizatio (None, None, None, 2 1024 res2a_branch1[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "add (Add) (None, None, None, 2 0 bn2a_branch2c[0][0] \n", + " bn2a_branch1[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_3 (Activation) (None, None, None, 2 0 add[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res2b_branch2a (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 6 16448 activation_3[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn2b_branch2a (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 6 256 res2b_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_4 (Activation) (None, None, None, 6 0 bn2b_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res2b_branch2b (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 6 36928 activation_4[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn2b_branch2b (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 6 256 res2b_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_5 (Activation) (None, None, None, 6 0 bn2b_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res2b_branch2c (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 2 16640 activation_5[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn2b_branch2c (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 2 1024 res2b_branch2c[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "add_1 (Add) (None, None, None, 2 0 bn2b_branch2c[0][0] \n", + " activation_3[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_6 (Activation) (None, None, None, 2 0 add_1[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res2c_branch2a (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 6 16448 activation_6[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn2c_branch2a (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 6 256 res2c_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_7 (Activation) (None, None, None, 6 0 bn2c_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res2c_branch2b (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 6 36928 activation_7[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn2c_branch2b (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 6 256 res2c_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_8 (Activation) (None, None, None, 6 0 bn2c_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res2c_branch2c (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 2 16640 activation_8[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn2c_branch2c (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 2 1024 res2c_branch2c[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "add_2 (Add) (None, None, None, 2 0 bn2c_branch2c[0][0] \n", + " activation_6[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_9 (Activation) (None, None, None, 2 0 add_2[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res3a_branch2a (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 1 32896 activation_9[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn3a_branch2a (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 1 512 res3a_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_10 (Activation) (None, None, None, 1 0 bn3a_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res3a_branch2b (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 1 147584 activation_10[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn3a_branch2b (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 1 512 res3a_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_11 (Activation) (None, None, None, 1 0 bn3a_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res3a_branch2c (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 5 66048 activation_11[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res3a_branch1 (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 5 131584 activation_9[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn3a_branch2c (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 5 2048 res3a_branch2c[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn3a_branch1 (BatchNormalizatio (None, None, None, 5 2048 res3a_branch1[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "add_3 (Add) (None, None, None, 5 0 bn3a_branch2c[0][0] \n", + " bn3a_branch1[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_12 (Activation) (None, None, None, 5 0 add_3[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res3b_branch2a (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 1 65664 activation_12[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn3b_branch2a (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 1 512 res3b_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_13 (Activation) (None, None, None, 1 0 bn3b_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res3b_branch2b (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 1 147584 activation_13[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn3b_branch2b (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 1 512 res3b_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_14 (Activation) (None, None, None, 1 0 bn3b_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res3b_branch2c (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 5 66048 activation_14[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn3b_branch2c (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 5 2048 res3b_branch2c[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "add_4 (Add) (None, None, None, 5 0 bn3b_branch2c[0][0] \n", + " activation_12[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_15 (Activation) (None, None, None, 5 0 add_4[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res3c_branch2a (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 1 65664 activation_15[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn3c_branch2a (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 1 512 res3c_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_16 (Activation) (None, None, None, 1 0 bn3c_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res3c_branch2b (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 1 147584 activation_16[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn3c_branch2b (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 1 512 res3c_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_17 (Activation) (None, None, None, 1 0 bn3c_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res3c_branch2c (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 5 66048 activation_17[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn3c_branch2c (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 5 2048 res3c_branch2c[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "add_5 (Add) (None, None, None, 5 0 bn3c_branch2c[0][0] \n", + " activation_15[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_18 (Activation) (None, None, None, 5 0 add_5[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res3d_branch2a (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 1 65664 activation_18[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn3d_branch2a (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 1 512 res3d_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_19 (Activation) (None, None, None, 1 0 bn3d_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res3d_branch2b (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 1 147584 activation_19[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn3d_branch2b (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 1 512 res3d_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_20 (Activation) (None, None, None, 1 0 bn3d_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res3d_branch2c (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 5 66048 activation_20[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn3d_branch2c (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 5 2048 res3d_branch2c[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "add_6 (Add) (None, None, None, 5 0 bn3d_branch2c[0][0] \n", + " activation_18[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_21 (Activation) (None, None, None, 5 0 add_6[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res4a_branch2a (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 2 131328 activation_21[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn4a_branch2a (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 2 1024 res4a_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_22 (Activation) (None, None, None, 2 0 bn4a_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res4a_branch2b (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 2 590080 activation_22[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn4a_branch2b (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 2 1024 res4a_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_23 (Activation) (None, None, None, 2 0 bn4a_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res4a_branch2c (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 1 263168 activation_23[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res4a_branch1 (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 1 525312 activation_21[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn4a_branch2c (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 1 4096 res4a_branch2c[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn4a_branch1 (BatchNormalizatio (None, None, None, 1 4096 res4a_branch1[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "add_7 (Add) (None, None, None, 1 0 bn4a_branch2c[0][0] \n", + " bn4a_branch1[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_24 (Activation) (None, None, None, 1 0 add_7[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res4b_branch2a (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 2 262400 activation_24[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn4b_branch2a (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 2 1024 res4b_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_25 (Activation) (None, None, None, 2 0 bn4b_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res4b_branch2b (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 2 590080 activation_25[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn4b_branch2b (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 2 1024 res4b_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_26 (Activation) (None, None, None, 2 0 bn4b_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res4b_branch2c (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 1 263168 activation_26[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn4b_branch2c (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 1 4096 res4b_branch2c[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "add_8 (Add) (None, None, None, 1 0 bn4b_branch2c[0][0] \n", + " activation_24[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_27 (Activation) (None, None, None, 1 0 add_8[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res4c_branch2a (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 2 262400 activation_27[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn4c_branch2a (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 2 1024 res4c_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_28 (Activation) (None, None, None, 2 0 bn4c_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res4c_branch2b (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 2 590080 activation_28[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn4c_branch2b (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 2 1024 res4c_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_29 (Activation) (None, None, None, 2 0 bn4c_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res4c_branch2c (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 1 263168 activation_29[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn4c_branch2c (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 1 4096 res4c_branch2c[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "add_9 (Add) (None, None, None, 1 0 bn4c_branch2c[0][0] \n", + " activation_27[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_30 (Activation) (None, None, None, 1 0 add_9[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res4d_branch2a (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 2 262400 activation_30[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn4d_branch2a (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 2 1024 res4d_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_31 (Activation) (None, None, None, 2 0 bn4d_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res4d_branch2b (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 2 590080 activation_31[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn4d_branch2b (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 2 1024 res4d_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_32 (Activation) (None, None, None, 2 0 bn4d_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res4d_branch2c (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 1 263168 activation_32[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn4d_branch2c (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 1 4096 res4d_branch2c[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "add_10 (Add) (None, None, None, 1 0 bn4d_branch2c[0][0] \n", + " activation_30[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_33 (Activation) (None, None, None, 1 0 add_10[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res4e_branch2a (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 2 262400 activation_33[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn4e_branch2a (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 2 1024 res4e_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_34 (Activation) (None, None, None, 2 0 bn4e_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res4e_branch2b (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 2 590080 activation_34[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn4e_branch2b (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 2 1024 res4e_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_35 (Activation) (None, None, None, 2 0 bn4e_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res4e_branch2c (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 1 263168 activation_35[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn4e_branch2c (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 1 4096 res4e_branch2c[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "add_11 (Add) (None, None, None, 1 0 bn4e_branch2c[0][0] \n", + " activation_33[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_36 (Activation) (None, None, None, 1 0 add_11[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res4f_branch2a (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 2 262400 activation_36[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn4f_branch2a (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 2 1024 res4f_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_37 (Activation) (None, None, None, 2 0 bn4f_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res4f_branch2b (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 2 590080 activation_37[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn4f_branch2b (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 2 1024 res4f_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_38 (Activation) (None, None, None, 2 0 bn4f_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res4f_branch2c (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 1 263168 activation_38[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn4f_branch2c (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 1 4096 res4f_branch2c[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "add_12 (Add) (None, None, None, 1 0 bn4f_branch2c[0][0] \n", + " activation_36[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_39 (Activation) (None, None, None, 1 0 add_12[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res5a_branch2a (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 5 524800 activation_39[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn5a_branch2a (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 5 2048 res5a_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_40 (Activation) (None, None, None, 5 0 bn5a_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res5a_branch2b (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 5 2359808 activation_40[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn5a_branch2b (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 5 2048 res5a_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_41 (Activation) (None, None, None, 5 0 bn5a_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res5a_branch2c (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 2 1050624 activation_41[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res5a_branch1 (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 2 2099200 activation_39[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn5a_branch2c (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 2 8192 res5a_branch2c[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn5a_branch1 (BatchNormalizatio (None, None, None, 2 8192 res5a_branch1[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "add_13 (Add) (None, None, None, 2 0 bn5a_branch2c[0][0] \n", + " bn5a_branch1[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_42 (Activation) (None, None, None, 2 0 add_13[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res5b_branch2a (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 5 1049088 activation_42[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn5b_branch2a (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 5 2048 res5b_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_43 (Activation) (None, None, None, 5 0 bn5b_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res5b_branch2b (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 5 2359808 activation_43[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn5b_branch2b (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 5 2048 res5b_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_44 (Activation) (None, None, None, 5 0 bn5b_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res5b_branch2c (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 2 1050624 activation_44[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn5b_branch2c (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 2 8192 res5b_branch2c[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "add_14 (Add) (None, None, None, 2 0 bn5b_branch2c[0][0] \n", + " activation_42[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_45 (Activation) (None, None, None, 2 0 add_14[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res5c_branch2a (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 5 1049088 activation_45[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn5c_branch2a (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 5 2048 res5c_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_46 (Activation) (None, None, None, 5 0 bn5c_branch2a[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res5c_branch2b (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 5 2359808 activation_46[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn5c_branch2b (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 5 2048 res5c_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_47 (Activation) (None, None, None, 5 0 bn5c_branch2b[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "res5c_branch2c (Conv2D) (None, None, None, 2 1050624 activation_47[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "bn5c_branch2c (BatchNormalizati (None, None, None, 2 8192 res5c_branch2c[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "add_15 (Add) (None, None, None, 2 0 bn5c_branch2c[0][0] \n", + " activation_45[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "activation_48 (Activation) (None, None, None, 2 0 add_15[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "global_average_pooling2d (Globa (None, 2048) 0 activation_48[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "dense (Dense) (None, 1024) 2098176 global_average_pooling2d[0][0] \n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n", + "dense_1 (Dense) (None, 1) 1025 dense[0][0] \n", + "==================================================================================================\n", + "Total params: 25,686,913\n", + "Trainable params: 2,099,201\n", + "Non-trainable params: 23,587,712\n", + "__________________________________________________________________________________________________\n" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "model.summary()" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "BVPBWYG7tCA2" + }, + "source": [ + "## Fit Model" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 22, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "H4XdvWA5tCA3" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "Epoch 1/10\n", + "WARNING:tensorflow:From /home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorflow/python/ops/math_grad.py:1250: add_dispatch_support..wrapper (from tensorflow.python.ops.array_ops) is deprecated and will be removed in a future version.\n", + "Instructions for updating:\n", + "Use tf.where in 2.0, which has the same broadcast rule as np.where\n", + "32/32 [==============================] - 91s 3s/step - loss: 0.2849 - accuracy: 0.9042 - val_loss: 0.6452 - val_accuracy: 0.6591\n", + "Epoch 2/10\n", + "32/32 [==============================] - 84s 3s/step - loss: 0.0300 - accuracy: 0.9900 - val_loss: 0.6478 - val_accuracy: 0.6591\n", + "Epoch 3/10\n", + "32/32 [==============================] - 92s 3s/step - loss: 0.0262 - accuracy: 0.9883 - val_loss: 0.6697 - val_accuracy: 0.6591\n", + "Epoch 4/10\n", + "32/32 [==============================] - 88s 3s/step - loss: 0.3445 - accuracy: 0.9306 - val_loss: 0.6684 - val_accuracy: 0.6420\n", + "Epoch 5/10\n", + "32/32 [==============================] - 87s 3s/step - loss: 0.0354 - accuracy: 0.9880 - val_loss: 0.8274 - val_accuracy: 0.6591\n", + "Epoch 6/10\n", + "32/32 [==============================] - 84s 3s/step - loss: 0.0742 - accuracy: 0.9800 - val_loss: 0.6857 - val_accuracy: 0.6591\n", + "Epoch 7/10\n", + "32/32 [==============================] - 85s 3s/step - loss: 0.0066 - accuracy: 0.9960 - val_loss: 0.6768 - val_accuracy: 0.6591\n", + "Epoch 8/10\n", + "32/32 [==============================] - 97s 3s/step - loss: 0.0107 - accuracy: 0.9960 - val_loss: 0.7340 - val_accuracy: 0.6591\n", + "Epoch 9/10\n", + "32/32 [==============================] - 96s 3s/step - loss: 0.0231 - accuracy: 0.9902 - val_loss: 0.7047 - val_accuracy: 0.6591\n", + "Epoch 10/10\n", + "32/32 [==============================] - 94s 3s/step - loss: 0.0757 - accuracy: 0.9721 - val_loss: 0.8617 - val_accuracy: 0.6591\n" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "history = model.fit(\n", + " train_data_gen,\n", + " steps_per_epoch=total_train // batch_size,\n", + " epochs=epochs,\n", + " validation_data=val_data_gen,\n", + " validation_steps=total_val // batch_size\n", + ")" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "UPzsgS94tCA5" + }, + "source": [ + "# Custom CNN Model\n", + "\n", + "In this step, write and train your own convolutional neural network using Keras. You can use any architecture that suits you as long as it has at least one convolutional and one pooling layer at the beginning of the network - you can add more if you want. " + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 25, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "Requirement already satisfied: tensorflow in /home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages\n", + "Requirement already satisfied: tf-estimator-nightly<1.14.0.dev2019060502,>=1.14.0.dev2019060501 in /home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages (from tensorflow)\n", + "Requirement already satisfied: absl-py>=0.7.0 in /home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages (from tensorflow)\n", + "Requirement already satisfied: wheel>=0.26 in /home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages (from tensorflow)\n", + "Requirement already satisfied: astor>=0.6.0 in /home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages (from tensorflow)\n", + "Requirement already satisfied: gast>=0.2.0 in /home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages (from tensorflow)\n", + "Requirement already satisfied: six>=1.10.0 in /home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages (from tensorflow)\n", + "Requirement already satisfied: wrapt>=1.11.1 in /home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages (from tensorflow)\n", + "Requirement already satisfied: google-pasta>=0.1.6 in /home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages (from tensorflow)\n", + "Requirement already satisfied: protobuf>=3.6.1 in /home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages (from tensorflow)\n", + "Requirement already satisfied: termcolor>=1.1.0 in /home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages (from tensorflow)\n", + "Requirement already satisfied: numpy<2.0,>=1.14.5 in /home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages (from tensorflow)\n", + "Requirement already satisfied: tb-nightly<1.14.0a20190604,>=1.14.0a20190603 in /home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages (from tensorflow)\n", + "Requirement already satisfied: keras-preprocessing>=1.0.5 in /home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages (from tensorflow)\n", + "Requirement already satisfied: grpcio>=1.8.6 in /home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages (from tensorflow)\n", + "Requirement already satisfied: keras-applications>=1.0.6 in /home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages (from tensorflow)\n", + "Requirement already satisfied: setuptools in /home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages (from protobuf>=3.6.1->tensorflow)\n", + "Requirement already satisfied: markdown>=2.6.8 in /home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages (from tb-nightly<1.14.0a20190604,>=1.14.0a20190603->tensorflow)\n", + "Requirement already satisfied: werkzeug>=0.11.15 in /home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages (from tb-nightly<1.14.0a20190604,>=1.14.0a20190603->tensorflow)\n", + "Requirement already satisfied: h5py in /home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages (from keras-applications>=1.0.6->tensorflow)\n", + "Requirement already satisfied: importlib-metadata; python_version < \"3.8\" in /home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages (from markdown>=2.6.8->tb-nightly<1.14.0a20190604,>=1.14.0a20190603->tensorflow)\n", + "Requirement already satisfied: zipp>=0.5 in /home/dondreojordan/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages (from importlib-metadata; python_version < \"3.8\"->markdown>=2.6.8->tb-nightly<1.14.0a20190604,>=1.14.0a20190603->tensorflow)\n" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "!pip install tensorflow" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 26, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "hnbJJie3tCA5" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "ename": "ImportError", + "evalue": "Keras requires TensorFlow 2.2 or higher. Install TensorFlow via `pip install tensorflow`", + "output_type": "error", + "traceback": [ + "\u001b[0;31m---------------------------------------------------------------------------\u001b[0m", + "\u001b[0;31mModuleNotFoundError\u001b[0m Traceback (most recent call last)", + "\u001b[0;32m~/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/keras/__init__.py\u001b[0m in \u001b[0;36m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 2\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mtry\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m:\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0;32m----> 3\u001b[0;31m \u001b[0;32mfrom\u001b[0m \u001b[0mtensorflow\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mkeras\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mlayers\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mexperimental\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mpreprocessing\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mimport\u001b[0m \u001b[0mRandomRotation\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0m\u001b[1;32m 4\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mexcept\u001b[0m \u001b[0mImportError\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m:\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n", + "\u001b[0;31mModuleNotFoundError\u001b[0m: No module named 'tensorflow.keras.layers.experimental.preprocessing'", + "\nDuring handling of the above exception, another exception occurred:\n", + "\u001b[0;31mImportError\u001b[0m Traceback (most recent call last)", + "\u001b[0;32m\u001b[0m in \u001b[0;36m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 1\u001b[0m \u001b[0;31m# Define the Model\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0;32m----> 2\u001b[0;31m \u001b[0;32mfrom\u001b[0m \u001b[0mkeras\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mlayers\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mconvolutional\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mimport\u001b[0m \u001b[0mConvolution2D\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m \u001b[0mMaxPooling2D\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0m\u001b[1;32m 3\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mfrom\u001b[0m \u001b[0mtensorflow\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mkeras\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mmodels\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mimport\u001b[0m \u001b[0mSequential\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 4\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 5\u001b[0m \u001b[0mmodel\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m \u001b[0mSequential\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n", + "\u001b[0;32m~/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/keras/__init__.py\u001b[0m in \u001b[0;36m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 4\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mexcept\u001b[0m \u001b[0mImportError\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m:\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 5\u001b[0m raise ImportError(\n\u001b[0;32m----> 6\u001b[0;31m \u001b[0;34m'Keras requires TensorFlow 2.2 or higher. '\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0m\u001b[1;32m 7\u001b[0m 'Install TensorFlow via `pip install tensorflow`')\n\u001b[1;32m 8\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n", + "\u001b[0;31mImportError\u001b[0m: Keras requires TensorFlow 2.2 or higher. Install TensorFlow via `pip install tensorflow`" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "# Define the Model\n", + "from keras.layers.convolutional import Convolution2D, MaxPooling2D\n", + "from tensorflow.keras.models import Sequential\n", + "\n", + "model = Sequential()\n", + "\n", + "model.add(Conv2D(64, (3,3), activation='relu', input_shape=(224, 224, 3)))\n", + "model.add(BatchNormalization())\n", + "model.add(Conv2D(32, (3,3), activation='relu'))\n", + "model.add(BatchNormalization())\n", + "model.add(MaxPool2D(strides=(2,2)))\n", + "model.add(Dropout(0.25))\n", + "\n", + "model.add(Conv2D(16, (3,3), activation='relu'))\n", + "model.add(BatchNormalization())\n", + "model.add(Conv2D(8, (3,3), activation='relu'))\n", + "model.add(BatchNormalization())\n", + "model.add(MaxPool2D(strides=(2,2)))\n", + "model.add(Dropout(0.25))\n", + "\n", + "# model.add(Conv2D(4, (3,3), activation='relu', input_shape=(224, 224, 3)))\n", + "# model.add(MaxPooling2D((2,2)))\n", + "\n", + "model.add(Flatten())\n", + "model.add(Dense(128, activation='relu'))\n", + "model.add(Dropout(0.2))\n", + "model.add(Dense(128, activation='relu'))\n", + "model.add(Dropout(0.5))\n", + "model.add(Dense(1, activation='sigmoid'))\n", + "\n", + "model.summary()" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "1P_mRtoutCA9" + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "# Compile Model\n", + "model.compile(optimizer='adam', loss='binary_crossentropy', metrics=['accuracy'])" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "CwM4GsaetCA_" + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "# Fit Model\n", + "from tensorflow.keras.callbacks import EarlyStopping\n", + "\n", + "stop = EarlyStopping(monitor='val_accuracy', min_delta=0.02, patience=3)\n", + "custom_cnn_model = model.fit(\n", + " train_data_gen,\n", + " steps_per_epoch=total_train // batch_size,\n", + " epochs=epochs,\n", + " validation_data=val_data_gen,\n", + " validation_steps=total_val // batch_size\n", + " )" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "FNTHjUddtCBB" + }, + "source": [ + "# Custom CNN Model with Image Manipulations\n", + "\n", + "To simulate an increase in a sample of image, you can apply image manipulation techniques: cropping, rotation, stretching, etc. Luckily Keras has some handy functions for us to apply these techniques to our mountain and forest example. Simply, you should be able to modify our image generator for the problem. Check out these resources to help you get started: \n", + "\n", + "1. [Keras `ImageGenerator` Class](https://keras.io/preprocessing/image/#imagedatagenerator-class)\n", + "2. [Building a powerful image classifier with very little data](https://blog.keras.io/building-powerful-image-classification-models-using-very-little-data.html)\n", + " " + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": {}, + "source": [ + "**All you need to do is pass in arguemnts(as listed below) to the ImageDataGenerator during instantiation**" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": 117, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "Found 533 images belonging to 2 classes.\n", + "Found 195 images belonging to 2 classes.\n", + "Epoch 1/10\n", + " 2/32 [>.............................] - ETA: 39s - loss: 0.6931 - accuracy: 0.5000" + ] + }, + { + "ename": "KeyboardInterrupt", + "evalue": "", + "output_type": "error", + "traceback": [ + "\u001b[0;31m---------------------------------------------------------------------------\u001b[0m", + "\u001b[0;31mKeyboardInterrupt\u001b[0m Traceback (most recent call last)", + "\u001b[0;32m\u001b[0m in \u001b[0;36m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 36\u001b[0m \u001b[0mepochs\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m\u001b[0mepochs\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 37\u001b[0m \u001b[0mvalidation_data\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m\u001b[0mvalidation_generator\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0;32m---> 38\u001b[0;31m \u001b[0mvalidation_steps\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m\u001b[0mtotal_val\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m//\u001b[0m \u001b[0mbatch_size\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0m\u001b[1;32m 39\u001b[0m )\n", + "\u001b[0;32m~/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorflow/python/keras/engine/training.py\u001b[0m in \u001b[0;36mfit\u001b[0;34m(self, x, y, batch_size, epochs, verbose, callbacks, validation_split, validation_data, shuffle, class_weight, sample_weight, initial_epoch, steps_per_epoch, validation_steps, validation_freq, max_queue_size, workers, use_multiprocessing, **kwargs)\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 641\u001b[0m \u001b[0mmax_queue_size\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m\u001b[0mmax_queue_size\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 642\u001b[0m \u001b[0mworkers\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m\u001b[0mworkers\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0;32m--> 643\u001b[0;31m use_multiprocessing=use_multiprocessing)\n\u001b[0m\u001b[1;32m 644\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 645\u001b[0m def evaluate(self,\n", + "\u001b[0;32m~/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorflow/python/keras/engine/training_generator.py\u001b[0m in \u001b[0;36mfit\u001b[0;34m(self, model, x, y, batch_size, epochs, verbose, callbacks, validation_split, validation_data, shuffle, class_weight, sample_weight, initial_epoch, steps_per_epoch, validation_steps, validation_freq, max_queue_size, workers, use_multiprocessing)\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 602\u001b[0m \u001b[0mshuffle\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m\u001b[0mshuffle\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 603\u001b[0m \u001b[0minitial_epoch\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m\u001b[0minitial_epoch\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0;32m--> 604\u001b[0;31m steps_name='steps_per_epoch')\n\u001b[0m\u001b[1;32m 605\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 606\u001b[0m def evaluate(self,\n", + "\u001b[0;32m~/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorflow/python/keras/engine/training_generator.py\u001b[0m in \u001b[0;36mmodel_iteration\u001b[0;34m(model, data, steps_per_epoch, epochs, verbose, callbacks, validation_data, validation_steps, validation_freq, class_weight, max_queue_size, workers, use_multiprocessing, shuffle, initial_epoch, mode, batch_size, steps_name, **kwargs)\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 262\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 263\u001b[0m \u001b[0mis_deferred\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mnot\u001b[0m \u001b[0mmodel\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0m_is_compiled\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0;32m--> 264\u001b[0;31m \u001b[0mbatch_outs\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m \u001b[0mbatch_function\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m*\u001b[0m\u001b[0mbatch_data\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0m\u001b[1;32m 265\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mif\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mnot\u001b[0m \u001b[0misinstance\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0mbatch_outs\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m \u001b[0mlist\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m:\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 266\u001b[0m \u001b[0mbatch_outs\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m 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"\u001b[0;32m~/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorflow/python/eager/function.py\u001b[0m in \u001b[0;36m__call__\u001b[0;34m(self, *args, **kwargs)\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 570\u001b[0m raise TypeError(\"Keyword arguments {} unknown. Expected {}.\".format(\n\u001b[1;32m 571\u001b[0m list(kwargs.keys()), list(self._arg_keywords)))\n\u001b[0;32m--> 572\u001b[0;31m \u001b[0;32mreturn\u001b[0m \u001b[0mself\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0m_call_flat\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0margs\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0m\u001b[1;32m 573\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 574\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mdef\u001b[0m \u001b[0m_filtered_call\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0mself\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m \u001b[0margs\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m \u001b[0mkwargs\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m:\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n", + "\u001b[0;32m~/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorflow/python/eager/function.py\u001b[0m in \u001b[0;36m_call_flat\u001b[0;34m(self, args)\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 669\u001b[0m \u001b[0;31m# Only need to override the gradient in graph mode and when we have outputs.\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 670\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mif\u001b[0m \u001b[0mcontext\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mexecuting_eagerly\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mor\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mnot\u001b[0m \u001b[0mself\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0moutputs\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m:\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0;32m--> 671\u001b[0;31m \u001b[0moutputs\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m \u001b[0mself\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0m_inference_function\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mcall\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0mctx\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m \u001b[0margs\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0m\u001b[1;32m 672\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32melse\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m:\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 673\u001b[0m \u001b[0mself\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0m_register_gradient\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n", + "\u001b[0;32m~/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorflow/python/eager/function.py\u001b[0m in \u001b[0;36mcall\u001b[0;34m(self, ctx, args)\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 443\u001b[0m attrs=(\"executor_type\", executor_type,\n\u001b[1;32m 444\u001b[0m \"config_proto\", config),\n\u001b[0;32m--> 445\u001b[0;31m ctx=ctx)\n\u001b[0m\u001b[1;32m 446\u001b[0m \u001b[0;31m# Replace empty list with None\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 447\u001b[0m \u001b[0moutputs\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m \u001b[0moutputs\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mor\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mNone\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n", + "\u001b[0;32m~/Lambda/Unit4/Sprint3/Sprint3/lib/python3.6/site-packages/tensorflow/python/eager/execute.py\u001b[0m in \u001b[0;36mquick_execute\u001b[0;34m(op_name, num_outputs, inputs, attrs, ctx, name)\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 59\u001b[0m tensors = pywrap_tensorflow.TFE_Py_Execute(ctx._handle, device_name,\n\u001b[1;32m 60\u001b[0m \u001b[0mop_name\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m \u001b[0minputs\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m \u001b[0mattrs\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0;32m---> 61\u001b[0;31m num_outputs)\n\u001b[0m\u001b[1;32m 62\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mexcept\u001b[0m \u001b[0mcore\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0m_NotOkStatusException\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mas\u001b[0m \u001b[0me\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m:\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 63\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mif\u001b[0m \u001b[0mname\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mis\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mnot\u001b[0m \u001b[0;32mNone\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m:\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n", + "\u001b[0;31mKeyboardInterrupt\u001b[0m: " + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "batch_size = 16\n", + "epochs = 10\n", + "IMG_HEIGHT = 224\n", + "IMG_WIDTH = 224\n", + "\n", + "# prepare data augmentation configuration\n", + "train_datagen = ImageDataGenerator(\n", + " rescale=1./255,\n", + " shear_range=0.2,\n", + " zoom_range=0.2,\n", + " horizontal_flip=True)\n", + "\n", + "validation_datagen = ImageDataGenerator(\n", + " rescale=1./255,\n", + " shear_range=0.2,\n", + " zoom_range=0.2,\n", + " horizontal_flip=True)\n", + "\n", + "# Generator for our training data\n", + "train_generator = train_datagen.flow_from_directory(\n", + " train_dir,\n", + " target_size=(IMG_HEIGHT, IMG_WIDTH),\n", + " batch_size=batch_size,\n", + " class_mode='binary')\n", + "\n", + "# Generator for our validation data\n", + "validation_generator = validation_datagen.flow_from_directory(\n", + " validation_dir,\n", + " target_size=(IMG_HEIGHT, IMG_WIDTH),\n", + " batch_size=batch_size,\n", + " class_mode='binary')\n", + "\n", + "# fine-tune the model\n", + "model.fit(train_generator,\n", + " steps_per_epoch=total_train // batch_size,\n", + " epochs=epochs,\n", + " validation_data=validation_generator,\n", + " validation_steps=total_val // batch_size\n", + " )" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [], + "source": [] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [], + "source": [] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": {}, + "outputs": [], + "source": [] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "uT3UV3gap9H6" + }, + "source": [ + "# Resources and Stretch Goals\n", + "\n", + "Stretch goals\n", + "- Enhance your code to use classes/functions and accept terms to search and classes to look for in recognizing the downloaded images (e.g. download images of parties, recognize all that contain balloons)\n", + "- Check out [other available pretrained networks](https://tfhub.dev), try some and compare\n", + "- Image recognition/classification is somewhat solved, but *relationships* between entities and describing an image is not - check out some of the extended resources (e.g. [Visual Genome](https://visualgenome.org/)) on the topic\n", + "- Transfer learning - using images you source yourself, [retrain a classifier](https://www.tensorflow.org/hub/tutorials/image_retraining) with a new category\n", + "- (Not CNN related) Use [piexif](https://pypi.org/project/piexif/) to check out the metadata of images passed in to your system - see if they're from a national park! (Note - many images lack GPS metadata, so this won't work in most cases, but still cool)\n", + "\n", + "Resources\n", + "- [Deep Residual Learning for Image Recognition](https://arxiv.org/abs/1512.03385) - influential paper (introduced ResNet)\n", + "- [YOLO: Real-Time Object Detection](https://pjreddie.com/darknet/yolo/) - an influential convolution based object detection system, focused on inference speed (for applications to e.g. self driving vehicles)\n", + "- [R-CNN, Fast R-CNN, Faster R-CNN, YOLO](https://towardsdatascience.com/r-cnn-fast-r-cnn-faster-r-cnn-yolo-object-detection-algorithms-36d53571365e) - comparison of object detection systems\n", + "- [Common Objects in Context](http://cocodataset.org/) - a large-scale object detection, segmentation, and captioning dataset\n", + "- [Visual Genome](https://visualgenome.org/) - a dataset, a knowledge base, an ongoing effort to connect structured image concepts to language" + ] + } + ], + "metadata": { + "colab": { + "name": 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a/module2-convolutional-neural-networks/LS_DS_432_Convolutional_Neural_Networks_Lecture.ipynb +++ b/module2_Convolutional_Neural_Networks/LS_DS_432_Convolutional_Neural_Networks_Lecture.ipynb @@ -1018,9 +1018,9 @@ ], "metadata": { "kernelspec": { - "display_name": "U4-S2-NNF-DS10", + "display_name": "Python 3", "language": "python", - "name": "u4-s2-nnf-ds10" + "name": "python3" }, "language_info": { "codemirror_mode": { @@ -1032,7 +1032,54 @@ "name": "python", "nbconvert_exporter": "python", "pygments_lexer": "ipython3", - "version": "3.7.6" + "version": "3.6.9" + }, + "latex_envs": { + "LaTeX_envs_menu_present": true, + "autoclose": true, + "autocomplete": true, + "bibliofile": "biblio.bib", + "cite_by": "apalike", + "current_citInitial": 1, + "eqLabelWithNumbers": true, + "eqNumInitial": 1, + "hotkeys": { + "equation": "Ctrl-E", + "itemize": "Ctrl-I" + }, + "labels_anchors": false, + "latex_user_defs": false, + "report_style_numbering": false, + "user_envs_cfg": false + }, + 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b/module3-autoencoders/LS_DS_433_Autoencoders_Lecture.ipynb deleted file mode 100644 index b16279bb..00000000 --- a/module3-autoencoders/LS_DS_433_Autoencoders_Lecture.ipynb +++ /dev/null @@ -1,599 +0,0 @@ -{ - "cells": [ - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": {}, - "source": [ - "Lambda School Data Science\n", - "\n", - "*Unit 4, Sprint 3, Module 3*\n", - "\n", - "---" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": {}, - "source": [ - "# Autoencoders\n", - "\n", - "> An autoencoder is a type of artificial neural network used to learn efficient data codings in an unsupervised manner.[1][2] The aim of an autoencoder is to learn a representation (encoding) for a set of data, typically for dimensionality reduction, by training the network to ignore signal “noise”. Along with the reduction side, a reconstructing side is learnt, where the autoencoder tries to generate from the reduced encoding a representation as close as possible to its original input, hence its name. " - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": {}, - "source": [ - "## Learning Objectives\n", - "*At the end of the lecture you should be to*:\n", - "* Part 1: Describe the componenets of an autoencoder\n", - "* Part 2: Train an autoencoder\n", - "* Part 3: Apply an autoenocder to a basic information retrieval problem\n", - "\n", - "__Problem:__ Is it possible to automatically represent an image as a fixed-sized vector even if it isn’t labeled?\n", - "\n", - "__Solution:__ Use an autoencoder\n", - "\n", - "Why do we need to represent an image as a fixed-sized vector do you ask? \n", - "\n", - "* __Information Retrieval__\n", - " - [Reverse Image Search](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reverse_image_search)\n", - " - [Recommendation Systems - Content Based Filtering](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Recommender_system#Content-based_filtering)\n", - "* __Dimensionality Reduction__\n", - " - [Feature Extraction](https://www.kaggle.com/c/vsb-power-line-fault-detection/discussion/78285)\n", - " - [Manifold Learning](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nonlinear_dimensionality_reduction)\n", - "\n", - "We've already seen *representation learning* when we talked about word embedding modelings during our NLP week. Today we're going to achieve a similiar goal on images using *autoencoders*. An autoencoder is a neural network that is trained to attempt to copy its input to its output. Usually they are restricted in ways that allow them to copy only approximately. The model often learns useful properties of the data, because it is forced to prioritize which aspecs of the input should be copied. The properties of autoencoders have made them an important part of modern generative modeling approaches. Consider autoencoders a special case of feed-forward networks (the kind we've been studying); backpropagation and gradient descent still work. " - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": {}, - "source": [ - "# Autoencoder Architecture (Learn)\n", - "" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": {}, - "source": [ - "## Overview\n", - "\n", - "The *encoder* compresses the input data and the *decoder* does the reverse to produce the uncompressed version of the data to create a reconstruction of the input as accurately as possible:\n", - "\n", - "\n", - "\n", - "The learning process gis described simply as minimizing a loss function: \n", - "$ L(x, g(f(x))) $\n", - "\n", - "- $L$ is a loss function penalizing $g(f(x))$ for being dissimiliar from $x$ (such as mean squared error)\n", - "- $f$ is the encoder function\n", - "- $g$ is the decoder function" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": {}, - "source": [ - "## Follow Along\n", - "### Extremely Simple Autoencoder" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "# Colab Only Cell\n", - "# Remember to Switch to GPU Runtime\n", - "%tensorflow__version 2.x" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "%load_ext tensorboard" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "from tensorflow.keras.layers import Input, Dense\n", - "from tensorflow.keras.models import Model\n", - "from tensorflow.keras.callbacks import EarlyStopping, TensorBoard\n", - "\n", - "# this is the size of our encoded representations\n", - "encoding_dim = 32 # 32 floats -> compression of factor 24.5, assuming the input is 784 floats\n", - "\n", - "# this is our input placeholder\n", - "\n", - "# \"encoded\" is the encoded representation of the input\n", - "\n", - "# \"decoded\" is the lossy reconstruction of the input\n", - "\n", - "\n", - "# this model maps an input to its reconstruction\n" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "# this model maps an input to its encoded representation\n" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "# create a placeholder for an encoded (32-dimensional) input\n", - "\n", - "# retrieve the last layer of the autoencoder model\n", - "\n", - "# create the decoder model\n" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "autoencoder.compile(optimizer='adadelta', loss='binary_crossentropy')" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "from tensorflow.keras.datasets import mnist\n", - "import numpy as np\n", - "(x_train, _), (x_test, _) = mnist.load_data()" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "x_train = x_train.astype('float32') / 255.\n", - "x_test = x_test.astype('float32') / 255.\n", - "x_train = x_train.reshape((len(x_train), np.prod(x_train.shape[1:])))\n", - "x_test = x_test.reshape((len(x_test), np.prod(x_test.shape[1:])))\n", - "print(x_train.shape)\n", - "print(x_test.shape)" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "import os\n", - "import datatime\n", - "\n", - "stop = EarlyStopping(monitor=..., min_delta=0.001, patience=2)\n", - "\n", - "logdir = os.path.join(\"logs\", datetime.datetime.now().strftime(\"%Y%m%d-%H%M%S\"))\n", - "tensorboard = Tensorboard(log_dir=logdir)\n", - "\n", - "autoencoder.fit(..., ...,\n", - " epochs=10000,\n", - " batch_size=64,\n", - " shuffle=True,\n", - " validation_data=(..., ...),\n", - " verbose = False,\n", - " callbacks=...)" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "tensorboard --log_dir='./logs'" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "# encode and decode some digits\n", - "# note that we take them from the *test* set\n" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "# use Matplotlib (don't ask)\n", - "import matplotlib.pyplot as plt\n", - "\n", - "n = 10 # how many digits we will display\n", - "plt.figure(figsize=(20, 4))\n", - "for i in range(n):\n", - " # display original\n", - " ax = plt.subplot(2, n, i + 1)\n", - " plt.imshow(x_test[i].reshape(28, 28))\n", - " plt.gray()\n", - " ax.get_xaxis().set_visible(False)\n", - " ax.get_yaxis().set_visible(False)\n", - "\n", - " # display reconstruction\n", - " ax = plt.subplot(2, n, i + 1 + n)\n", - " plt.imshow(decoded_imgs[i].reshape(28, 28))\n", - " plt.gray()\n", - " ax.get_xaxis().set_visible(False)\n", - " ax.get_yaxis().set_visible(False)\n", - "plt.show()" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": {}, - "source": [ - "## Challenge\n", - "\n", - "Expected to talk about the components of autoencoder and their purpose. " - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": {}, - "source": [ - "# Train an Autoencoder (Learn)\n", - "" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": {}, - "source": [ - "## Overview\n", - "\n", - "As long as our architecture maintains an hourglass shape, we can continue to add layers and create a deeper network. " - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": { - "toc-hr-collapsed": true - }, - "source": [ - "## Follow Along" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": {}, - "source": [ - "### Deep Autoencoder" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "input_img = Input(shape=(784,))\n" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "# compile & fit model" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "# use Matplotlib (don't ask)\n", - "import matplotlib.pyplot as plt\n", - "\n", - "n = 10 # how many digits we will display\n", - "plt.figure(figsize=(20, 4))\n", - "for i in range(n):\n", - " # display original\n", - " ax = plt.subplot(2, n, i + 1)\n", - " plt.imshow(x_test[i].reshape(28, 28))\n", - " plt.gray()\n", - " ax.get_xaxis().set_visible(False)\n", - " ax.get_yaxis().set_visible(False)\n", - "\n", - " # display reconstruction\n", - " ax = plt.subplot(2, n, i + 1 + n)\n", - " plt.imshow(decoded_imgs[i].reshape(28, 28))\n", - " plt.gray()\n", - " ax.get_xaxis().set_visible(False)\n", - " ax.get_yaxis().set_visible(False)\n", - "plt.show()" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": { - "toc-hr-collapsed": true - }, - "source": [ - "### Convolutional autoencoder\n", - "\n", - "> Since our inputs are images, it makes sense to use convolutional neural networks (convnets) as encoders and decoders. In practical settings, autoencoders applied to images are always convolutional autoencoders --they simply perform much better.\n", - "\n", - "> Let's implement one. The encoder will consist in a stack of Conv2D and MaxPooling2D layers (max pooling being used for spatial down-sampling), while the decoder will consist in a stack of Conv2D and UpSampling2D layers." - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "from keras.layers import Input, Dense, Conv2D, MaxPooling2D, UpSampling2D\n", - "from keras.models import Model\n", - "from keras import backend as K\n", - "\n", - "# Create Model \n", - "\n", - "autoencoder.compile(optimizer='adadelta', loss='binary_crossentropy')" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "from keras.datasets import mnist\n", - "import numpy as np\n", - "\n", - "(x_train, _), (x_test, _) = mnist.load_data()\n", - "\n", - "x_train = x_train.astype('float32') / 255.\n", - "x_test = x_test.astype('float32') / 255.\n", - "x_train = np.reshape(x_train, (len(x_train), 28, 28, 1)) # adapt this if using `channels_first` image data format\n", - "x_test = np.reshape(x_test, (len(x_test), 28, 28, 1)) # adapt this if using `channels_first` image data format" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "import os\n", - "import datatime\n", - "\n", - "stop = EarlyStopping(monitor=..., min_delta=0.001, patience=2)\n", - "\n", - "logdir = os.path.join(\"logs\", datetime.datetime.now().strftime(\"%Y%m%d-%H%M%S\"))\n", - "tensorboard = Tensorboard(log_dir=logdir)\n", - "\n", - "autoencoder.fit(..., ...,\n", - " epochs=10000,\n", - " batch_size=64,\n", - " shuffle=True,\n", - " validation_data=(..., ...),\n", - " verbose = False,\n", - " callbacks=...)" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "decoded_imgs = autoencoder.predict(x_test)\n", - "\n", - "n = 10\n", - "plt.figure(figsize=(20, 4))\n", - "for i in range(n):\n", - " # display original\n", - " ax = plt.subplot(2, n, i)\n", - " plt.imshow(x_test[i].reshape(28, 28))\n", - " plt.gray()\n", - " ax.get_xaxis().set_visible(False)\n", - " ax.get_yaxis().set_visible(False)\n", - "\n", - " # display reconstruction\n", - " ax = plt.subplot(2, n, i + n)\n", - " plt.imshow(decoded_imgs[i].reshape(28, 28))\n", - " plt.gray()\n", - " ax.get_xaxis().set_visible(False)\n", - " ax.get_yaxis().set_visible(False)\n", - "plt.show()" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": {}, - "source": [ - "#### Visualization of the Representations" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "encoder = Model(input_img, encoded)\n", - "encoder.predict(x_train)\n", - "\n", - "n = 10\n", - "plt.figure(figsize=(20, 8))\n", - "for i in range(n):\n", - " ax = plt.subplot(1, n, i)\n", - " plt.imshow(encoded_imgs[i].reshape(4, 4 * 8).T)\n", - " plt.gray()\n", - " ax.get_xaxis().set_visible(False)\n", - " ax.get_yaxis().set_visible(False)\n", - "plt.show()" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": {}, - "source": [ - "## Challenge\n", - "\n", - "You will train an autoencoder at some point in the near future. " - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": {}, - "source": [ - "# Information Retrieval with Autoencoders (Learn)\n", - "" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": {}, - "source": [ - "## Overview\n", - "\n", - "A common usecase for autoencoders is for reverse image search. Let's try to draw an image and see what's most similiar in our dataset. \n", - "\n", - "To accomplish this we will need to slice our autoendoer in half to extract our reduced features. :) " - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": {}, - "source": [ - "## Follow Along" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "encoder = Model(input_img, encoded)\n", - "encoded_imgs = encoder.predict(x_train)" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "encoded_imgs[0].T" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "from sklearn.neighbors import NearestNeighbors\n", - "\n", - "nn = NearestNeighbors(n_neighbors=10, algorithm='ball_tree')\n", - "nn.fit(encoded_imgs)" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "code", - "execution_count": null, - "metadata": {}, - "outputs": [], - "source": [ - "nn.kneighbors(...)" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": {}, - "source": [ - "## Challenge\n", - "\n", - "You should already be familiar with KNN and similarity queries, so the key component of this section is know what to 'slice' from your autoencoder (the encoder) to extract features from your data. " - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": {}, - "source": [ - "# Review\n", - "\n", - "* Part 1: Describe the componenets of an autoencoder\n", - " - Enocder\n", - " - Decoder\n", - "* Part 2: Train an autoencoder\n", - " - Can do in Keras Easily\n", - " - Can use a variety of architectures\n", - " - Architectures must follow hourglass shape\n", - "* Part 3: Apply an autoenocder to a basic information retrieval problem\n", - " - Extract just the encoder to use for various tasks\n", - " - AE ares good for dimensionality reduction, reverse image search, and may more things. \n" - ] - }, - { - "cell_type": "markdown", - "metadata": {}, - "source": [ - "# Sources\n", - "\n", - "__References__\n", - "- [Building Autoencoders in Keras](https://blog.keras.io/building-autoencoders-in-keras.html)\n", - "- [Deep Learning Cookbook](http://shop.oreilly.com/product/0636920097471.do)\n", - "\n", - "__Additional Material__" - ] - } - ], - "metadata": { - "kernelspec": { - "display_name": "U4-S3-DNN (Python 3.7)", - "language": "python", - "name": "u4-s3-dnn" - }, - "language_info": { - "codemirror_mode": { - "name": "ipython", - "version": 3 - }, - "file_extension": ".py", - "mimetype": "text/x-python", - "name": "python", - "nbconvert_exporter": "python", - "pygments_lexer": "ipython3", - "version": "3.7.3" - } - }, - "nbformat": 4, - "nbformat_minor": 4 -} diff --git a/module3_AutoEncoders_and_Recommendation_Systems/LS_DS17_433_Autoencoders_Lecture.ipynb b/module3_AutoEncoders_and_Recommendation_Systems/LS_DS17_433_Autoencoders_Lecture.ipynb new file mode 100644 index 00000000..15063f52 --- /dev/null +++ b/module3_AutoEncoders_and_Recommendation_Systems/LS_DS17_433_Autoencoders_Lecture.ipynb @@ -0,0 +1,1531 @@ +{ + "cells": [ + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "c5SIhtssk92F" + }, + "source": [ + "Lambda School Data Science\n", + "\n", + "*Unit 4, Sprint 3, Module 3*\n", + "\n", + "---" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "fGSqOJHBk92G" + }, + "source": [ + "# Autoencoders\n", + "\n", + "> An autoencoder is a type of artificial neural network used to learn efficient data codings in an unsupervised manner.[1][2] The aim of an autoencoder is to learn a representation (encoding) for a set of data, typically for dimensionality reduction, by training the network to ignore signal “noise”. Along with the reduction side, a reconstructing side is learnt, where the autoencoder tries to generate from the reduced encoding a representation as close as possible to its original input, hence its name. " + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "Vo7_aKBLk92I" + }, + "source": [ + "## Learning Objectives\n", + "*At the end of the lecture you should be to*:\n", + "* Part 1: Describe the componenets of an autoencoder\n", + "* Part 2: Train an autoencoder\n", + "* Part 3: Apply an autoenocder to a basic information retrieval problem\n", + "\n", + "__Problem:__ Is it possible to automatically represent an image as a fixed-sized vector even if it isn’t labeled?\n", + "\n", + "__Solution:__ Use an autoencoder\n", + "\n", + "Why do we need to represent an image as a fixed-sized vector do you ask? \n", + "\n", + "* __Information Retrieval__\n", + " - [Reverse Image Search](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reverse_image_search)\n", + " - [Recommendation Systems - Content Based Filtering](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Recommender_system#Content-based_filtering)\n", + "* __Dimensionality Reduction__\n", + " - [Feature Extraction](https://www.kaggle.com/c/vsb-power-line-fault-detection/discussion/78285)\n", + " - [Manifold Learning](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nonlinear_dimensionality_reduction)\n", + "\n", + "We've already seen *representation learning* when we talked about word embedding modelings during our NLP week. Today we're going to achieve a similiar goal on images using *autoencoders*. An autoencoder is a neural network that is trained to attempt to copy its input to its output. Usually they are restricted in ways that allow them to copy only approximately. The model often learns useful properties of the data, because it is forced to prioritize which aspecs of the input should be copied. The properties of autoencoders have made them an important part of modern generative modeling approaches. Consider autoencoders a special case of feed-forward networks (the kind we've been studying); backpropagation and gradient descent still work. " + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "5F3S_LdYk92L" + }, + "source": [ + "# Autoencoder Architecture (Learn)\n", + "" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "3DZvCPxjk92N" + }, + "source": [ + "## Overview\n", + "\n", + "The *encoder* compresses the input data and the *decoder* does the reverse to produce the uncompressed version of the data to create a reconstruction of the input as accurately as possible:\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "The learning process gis described simply as minimizing a loss function: \n", + "$ L(x, g(f(x))) $\n", + "\n", + "- $L$ is a loss function penalizing $g(f(x))$ for being dissimiliar from $x$ (such as mean squared error)\n", + "- $f$ is the encoder function\n", + "- $g$ is the decoder function" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "spvSGKkIk92P" + }, + "source": [ + "## Follow Along\n", + "### Extremely Simple Autoencoder" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "QEGhbtEgk92a" + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "%load_ext tensorboard" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": { + "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", + "height": 104 + }, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "Dnm5A3Cc0dVI", + "outputId": "977ef465-870a-4cf8-f208-70f5723d81de" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "`%tensorflow_version` only switches the major version: 1.x or 2.x.\n", + "You set: `2.X`. This will be interpreted as: `2.x`.\n", + "\n", + "\n", + "TensorFlow 2.x selected.\n" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "%tensorflow_version 2.X" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": { + "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", + "height": 72 + }, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "y2lhSRbV0Y45", + "outputId": "3d0ccdfe-55c7-418a-a989-f5e03576703d" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "Downloading data from https://github.com/LambdaSchool/DS-Unit-4-Sprint-2-Neural-Networks/blob/main/quickdraw10.npz?raw=true\n", + "25427968/25421363 [==============================] - 0s 0us/step\n" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "import tensorflow as tf\n", + "import numpy as np\n", + "import os\n", + "\n", + "URL_ = \"https://github.com/LambdaSchool/DS-Unit-4-Sprint-2-Neural-Networks/blob/main/quickdraw10.npz?raw=true\"\n", + "\n", + "path_to_zip = tf.keras.utils.get_file('./quickdraw10.npz', origin=URL_, extract=False)" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": { + "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", + "height": 52 + }, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "OlWZLc9j0468", + "outputId": "0b33642d-8061-4586-b449-8fd8ddd54302" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "(100000, 784)\n", + "(100000,)\n" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "data = np.load(path_to_zip)\n", + "\n", + "x_train = data['arr_0']\n", + "y_train = data['arr_1']\n", + "\n", + "print(x_train.shape)\n", + "print(y_train.shape)" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": { + "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", + "height": 34 + }, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "7w22WhSA1Hp1", + "outputId": "bcc3b163-0023-4a50-ce7f-03f3b83036b1" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "data": { + "text/plain": [ + "784" + ] + }, + "execution_count": 7, + "metadata": { + "tags": [] + }, + "output_type": "execute_result" + } + ], + "source": [ + "# Each image was originally 28x28\n", + "28 * 28" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": { + "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", + "height": 289 + }, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "JOkDc3ZG1MS4", + "outputId": "8496a9a7-eea3-444d-a25c-2f19651b99bc" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "data": { + "image/png": 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d9SK1VapUcXK9e/e2caNGjZycnrn/iy++cHJ6W8+YHW+qBb1oJgC0b9/exnpBYACYN2+ejf3PE91lwZ+Rm7M4R6evFT1TOOA2dzZs2NDG/qLXxYoVs3H37t2dnH6P+dOX6KHvmWrm8vHODxEREYUKKz9EREQUKqz8EBERUagk3efHXzla89sTM0mvAO0vZ3H66afndnEKFL/flx4uqZcuSAd/+Lpe9XnAgAFObu3atTauVq2ak9PbtWvXdnJ66v38xB/Gql166aXOtj5nfl8XPSy+VatWTk4Pcz3yyCOdnO4zoIe4AsCrr75qY932r8sBuH08pk6d6uSGDRtm40T7+ByIvxxEflSoUCEb6yVGAOCCCy6w8Q033ODkLrnkEhsfe+yxTq5du3Y2vvzyy52cfg7dl8xf7qRixYo29qda0N8jd955p5ObMGGCjf3pU3T/Jk5Zso9efuLFF190crovpN9fU9N9wL7//nsnp6eSWLJkiZPTywr5n7NTpkyxsX5PZRLv/BAREVGosPJDREREoZJ0s5c/LFY75ZRTkj1sSugZP/UQzIsvvtjZT98mpuzzV4fW0t1k5A+XHDdunI31bNKAOxuxvzq0Vr58eWf7u+++s3HZsmWTKmcm6CYOAOjZs6eN9SrdgNtkcNJJJzk53XTpNxlrnTt3drb17fBPP/3UyelmsM2bN9vYb45bsGCBjUeNGuXk/CY4OrDTTjvNxnrVbsBtXnr99ded3GOPPWZjPfMv4K4wr4fP658D7oy+/uzSekX5I444wsk99dRTNvav6bw003Ze8sknn9jYb/bS1q9f72yXKVPGxroJ029W1ts9evRwcpMmTbKxvxq833yWF/DODxEREYUKKz9EREQUKqz8EBERUagk3ecnXt+JTLfHfvzxxzZes2aNjf0hnpQzetijL7ffA7qfi7+isH6v6tW7AbdvyZVXXunkdD8ivZpxXuf3h/JXX06Fd955x8b+0hcPPfSQjf0h5LqvwUUXXWRjv0+A7ofi99WjnPGHm7du3TpqDACbNm2y8Zw5c5zcokWLbLxixYqEntsfAq2X0/CX1vDLSQeml4zx+/e99NJLNvaXINHD22+99daEnkv31wKAtm3b2lhPnwDsP/1BXsA7P0RERBQqrPwQERFRqCTd7FW8ePGYOf+Wmp59NzfoWWT17LP6NjvlnD8jsh4i6a8AncnX/uCD973N/dvuRx99tI395iJ/Busw84co33jjjTY+++yznZweWu8/TjeDbd261cZ6Blggb80SH2Z6agK/KcPfprzF/wzWs3frJktg/ybHRFx//fXO9sCBA2385ZdfOjk9LYo/k3yFChWy/dypwDs/REREFCqs/BAREVGosPJDREREoZJ0nx+9crPPX/E9VSsvxzJ37lxne+zYsTZ+4IEHbMzlLFKrRIkSzvbpp59uY39Zg3hLTKxatcrGP/74o5PbsGGDjeMNrdf9zPzj6+n1dT8Tf1vvB+y/WnnY7N6928bXXXedk9P9o958800np19T/9rfsWOHjadNm2bjTC+JQ1QQ6Ovrq6++cnL6O7tkyZJOzl/aJhF+H8m+ffvauGnTpjEfp/vkAvsvk5FbeOeHiIiIQoWVHyIiIgqVpJu9GjRo4GzrVbxfeOEFJ5eOZi99S96ffbdq1ao2vvfee1P+3BTdUUcdZeMxY8Y4uZo1a9p45cqVTm7Pnj1pLZdWrFgxZ1tPw9CyZUsn528XdNu2bXO29e/vD5vVMzCXL1/eyenZtv2h7lOnTrUxm7ooTPzrS18LekoBwB2WXqlSpYSfQw8x9z9XddcA//tbTwcSj57+Q3dJANxuA34z2g8//GDjxx9/3MktXbrUxnpGcf/51q5d6+Q2b95s41deecXJ+TOVR8M7P0RERBQqrPwQERFRqLDyQ0RERKGSdJ8ff8VdPZT5zjvvdHJ6NdlOnTol9Xx79+51tvUK7V9//bWTmzRpko394diUPro/jd+mXKNGDRvr1X8B4LjjjrNx9erVnVy5cuVsfNhhh8V8br2KvD+Mk2Jbs2aNjf3lCr755hsb+1PZV6lSxcbXXnutk9P9g8aPH+/k4k2RQVSQ6SlYgPjfhXoYeYsWLZycnlLE76szY8YMGx90kHtvQ/dv/PPPP51c3bp1baz78mzcuNHZz59GJBm7du1ytj/88EMb6+8CAKhYsaKN69Sp4+SOOOIIGyezPAfv/BAREVGosPJDREREoZJ0s5evS5cuNv7oo4+cnB6KPnHiRCd3xRVX2FivsA0A69evt/GgQYOcnB7SN2TIECeX7hmlKbqXX34500WgbNJDRHUzl8+fxVlv+7fe9fXYvHnznBaRqEDo2LGjs3322WfbWH/XAe4w+GHDhjk5vyk5Ft3MBbjDyP3pKfT0MLpc/n66GUo3O/n7+s+tm6V0ExsAPPPMMzbWTXrpxjs/REREFCqs/BAREVGosPJDREREoZKyPj96xXS/X0+/fv1s/Pzzzzu59957L6Hjn3jiic72qFGjbNymTZuEy0lE+9x///029oeza3q1aABYuHChjc866ywnV61atdQUjqgA8Yee6yV/dAwATZo0sfGDDz4Y85h6mSfAXWLCn44mkz744AMb+317M/V5wTs/REREFCqs/BAREVGopKzZS/Nv73Xv3j1qDLgrfPsruurbdv4qsXoGTCJKjh6mrleSPpDatWunozhElA1FihTJdBEScs4552S6CPvhnR8iIiIKFVZ+iIiIKFRY+SEiIqJQSUufn+zQw9w4RJaIiIjSjXd+iIiIKFRY+SEiIqJQET0j5AF3FvkNwKr0FYcO4GhjTPkD73ZgPJcZl7JzCfB85gG8NgsOnsuCJer5zFblh4iIiCi/Y7MXERERhQorP0RERBQqoa/8iEgHERmU6XJQ6ojIIyJyfhBPFZH6mS5TWIjIhyJyaDYf85qIXJ2uMlFiRKSaiCzOdDnCRkQOF5GFwb/1IrImiLeKyLc5OG4HEflNHXuhiNQSkUoiMlbtN1JEvhaRbiJyQrDfAhE5Ls6xV4pIOe9nXwaP/dl73mrJ/g7plPF5fohSzRjzYKbLEFbGmEv9n0lkIT4xxvyTgSIR5WnGmE0A6gKAiPQC8Icx5umg0vB+Dg8/2hhze5SfXx083xEAGhhjqgfb9wEYa4x5LLtPZIw5PThGBwD1YzxvyojIwcaYv5N9fL6+8yMi74rIfBFZIiI3Bz/7Q0T6Bz/7RETKBz+fKiLPBjXRxSLSMMrxyovIOBGZG/xrnNu/U9jFOaePi8giEZktIhVFpIyIrBKRg4J9SojILyJSmHcSckeMc7VSRMoFdxGWicgIAIsBVIl1bXrHfDC49haLyNCg4pR1/T4lInNEZLmInB38vJCI9A0e87WI3JKbr0EBdLCIvCkiS0VkrIgUT+KcVBOR6SLyVfDvzODnTYPHjBWR74LnyTpW1OcgFBKRYcE185GIFAMAETlORCYF1990ETkh0QOKe4fvIwCVg+/FhwDcBeA2Efks2PeG4PwuFJEXRaRQdgovInWDz+yvRWS8iBwmIhVEZH6QryMiRkSqBts/Bu+5qN/FItJLRF4XkZkAXs9OWXz5uvID4N/GmNMA1AfQVUQOB1ACwDxjzEkApgF4SO1f3BhTF0BnAK9EOd6zAPobYxoAuArAS2ktPUUT65zONsbUAfA5gJuMMdsALASQtVzw5QAmG2P2ZKLQIRXtXGk1AAw2xpxkjFmF+NdmlkHGmAbGmNoAiiFyXrMcbIxpiMgHdNZjbwSwLbhmGwC4SUSOSdUvGELHI3LOTgSwHZHPyuyek18BXGCMqQegDYCBav9Tg31rATgWQNYfmPGeI8xqAHg+uGa2IvK9BABDAdwRXH/dAQyO8fg24jZ7FfPyzQH8aIypa4x5GMALiHwHnisiJyJy/hoH35t7AVyfzfKPANDDGHMKgG8APGSM+RVAUREpDeBsAPMAnC0iRwP41RizA/G/i2sBON8Yc202y+LI781eXUWkZRBXQeSN8g+A0cHP3gDwjtp/JAAYYz4XkdKyf9+E8wHUUn90lBaRksaYP9JSeoom2jndjX23f+cDuCCIRyNycX4G4BrE/gCg9Ih2rrRVxpjZajvetZnlXBG5F0BxAGUBLAHwXpDL2n8+gGpBfCGAU9SdvjJBOVZk+7chAPjFGDMziN8A0BXAimyek8IABolI1hdmTXX8OcaY1QAgIguDx8xA/PMeZiuMMQuDeD6AaiJSEsCZAMao76pDYjx+v2avbNxUOw/AaQDmBo8phkjFNiEiUgbAocaYacGPhgMYE8RfIFLxbQLgCQAXAxAA04N81O/iIJ5ojPkr0XLEkm8rPyLSFJEXqJExZoeITAVQNMquJkYcbfsgAGcYY3amqpyUuDjndI/ZNyHVXux7304E8ISIlEXkIv00d0scXglef38e4DDO9SciRRGpwNY3xvwikf4P+pi7gv/1e0AQ+Qt4cnZ/B4oq2mdkds9JNwAbANRB5DN1Z5T97WMSOO9h5r9exRB5TbcGd2PSSQAMN8bcn4Zjf47IXZ+jAUwA0AOR99oHQT7qd3FQGTrQ50pC8nOzVxkAW4IP3hMAnBH8/CAEnbkAXIfIXxVZ2gCAiJyFyK3ybd4xPwJwR9ZG8JcL5Z5Y5zSq4I7cXERukb5vjNmbC2WkiGydq0C8axPY94W3MfgrL5F+W5MR6aNQGABEpKaIlEjgcRRdVRFpFMT6HGXnnJQBsC7o4N4WwIH6iSRz3kPLGLMdkbtxrYDIgAIRqZOGp/oEwNUiUiF4nrJB01Si5dwGYEtWXzBE3gtZd4GmA7gBwPfB+2QzgEux7/2W9u/ifHvnB8AkALeKyFIAywBk3V7/E0BDEXkAkVt0bdRjdorIAkRuy/47yjG7AnheRL5G5LX5HMCtaSo/7S/WOY1nNCK3UpumsVy0v2TOVbxrE8aYrSIyDJEO0usRqdgeyEuINJ18FXSS/Q1Ai0R/CdrPMgBdROQVAN8CGALgMGTvnAwGME5E2iHyPon7l3qS5z3srgcwJLiWCgMYBWBRlP3aBH/sZ+kMYG0iT2CM+TY4/kcSGViyB0AXZG+5jvYAXhCR4gB+AtAxOPbK4Hr9PNhvBoCjjDFbgu20fxcXuOUtROQPY0zJKD+fCqC7MWZe7peKiGJdm0REuS0/N3sRERERZVuBu/NDREREFA/v/BAREVGosPJDREREocLKDxEREYUKKz9EREQUKqz8EBERUaiw8kNEREShwsoPERERhQorP0RERBQqrPwQERFRqLDyQ0RERKHCyg8RERGFCis/REREFCqs/BAREVGosPJDREREocLKDxEREYUKKz9EREQUKqz8EBERUaiw8kNEREShwsoPERERhQorP0RERBQqrPwQERFRqLDyQ0RERKHCyg8RERGFCis/REREFCqs/BAREVGosPJDREREocLKDxEREYUKKz9EREQUKqz8EBERUaiw8kNEREShwsoPERERhQorP0RERBQqrPwQERFRqLDyQ0RERKHCyg8RERGFCis/REREFCqs/BAREVGoHJydncuVK2eqVauWpqLQgaxcuRIbN26UVByL5zKzUnkuAZ7PTOO1WXDwXBYs8+fP32iMKe//PFuVn2rVqmHevHmpKxVlS/369VN2LJ7LzErluQR4PjON12bBwXNZsIjIqmg/z1blJ6/au3evsz1t2jQbL1682Mb16tVz9tNv8qJFi6apdET5gzHG2d64caONS5cu7eQOOeSQXCnTgfzzzz/O9ltvvWXjNWvWODld5uLFizu5qlWr2viiiy5yciIpu0FHFHrbt293tkeOHGnjtm3bOjn/Ok0l9vkhIiKiUGHlh4iIiEKFlR8iIiIKlTzd52fnzp02njJlipN75513bDxhwgQnt3nz5oSOX7hwYRv7/YEefPBBG1966aUJHY8ovxkxYoSN77nnHif366+/2lhfKwDwyiuv2PiGG25IU+miW7RokY1vuukmJzd37twcH79du3bO9vDhw3N8TKIwmzhxoo27dOni5FavXm3jU0891ck1bNgwbWXinR8iIiIKFVZ+iIiIKFRyvdnLH5aum6/GjRvn5D788EMb//77706uXLlyNm7RooWTu+qqqzOhvmIAAB9VSURBVGysh7MvWLDA2W/27Nk2Hj9+vJO77LLLbPzoo486uQceeABE+ZEeVgoAHTt2tPG//vUvJ3fllVfa2G9a1o8rUaKEk2vZsmWOyxnPzTffbOMNGzY4ueeff97GuowAsGfPHhv7n0O9evWy8ZAhQ5zcM888Y2P9uUMUZpMnT465XaRIESf31FNPxTyOngSyTp06qSlcAnjnh4iIiEKFlR8iIiIKFVZ+iIiIKFRyvc/Pbbfd5mwPGzbMxkcddZST69Chg439fgTHHnusjd9++20np6e8/+WXX2zsT8nfunVrG//3v/91cp07d7Zxz549nZxul2zWrBmI8rJJkybZ2B/GrZdyePfdd52cbrfX1yIAXHzxxTGPqYeulilTxsnpvjafffaZjfV1CgA///yzjf1+Pddee62Nr7vuOidXo0YNG7/66qtOTv9+lStXdnL6eh84cKCT0/0B/aH1RGGyfv16G/tTXOjlcHz6c2Dbtm1OTvfTy81lc3jnh4iIiEKFlR8iIiIKlVxp9nruuedsrJu5AHcY+f/93/85Ob2a8pYtW5ycnpF55cqVOS5j3bp1nW09w/PSpUudnL7NP3/+fCenm+OI8oLPP//cxv4Qb70Kuj88VStWrJiz3bhx46jHB9wh5v6K6NOnT7fxb7/9FvP59IzSZcuWdXK6GaxPnz5OTs9SrYeoA0CjRo1s7M8ErYfb+rZu3RozRxQmutk3XjPXv//9b2d7zJgxNtbdTYDMraDAOz9EREQUKqz8EBERUaiw8kNEREShkpY+P3qoOQD069fPxnqILJD4UhFvvvmms637+QwYMMDJ6SHzeoid36dh+fLlNh48eLCTu/rqq218wQUXODk9Tb5eSgMAZs2aZeOiRYuCKNOaNm1q4yeffNLJLVy4MOp+Pn86CT1dvb/iux4aXrVqVSenr6vy5cvbWA9fB4CaNWva+KCD3L/R5s2bZ2N/hWjdV09/7gDuZ03Xrl2dXO/evRGLPyyeKCxWrFjhbL///vsx99V984455hgnp5en0v11M4l3foiIiChUWPkhIiKiUElLs9e0adOcbd1E5Q8/TZQ/pFwPTb3zzjud3K5du2ysh9NWqFDB2U/fmmvbtq2T07fh9erygLuy89dff+3k9BC/119/3ckVKlQIlD/t2LHD2dbvMX8YeF5r7jzrrLNs7Df96pWY/WavUaNG2fj66693cvo4pUqVcnJ6VXS9Mjyw/9D3ZNSvX9/Geug8AFxyySU2vv/++51cp06dbDxo0CAnF2816UqVKiVVzkxatmyZs62b4/3ZuoliKV68eMzcCSec4GzrqWr8biRar169nG39/Z2bn52880NEREShwsoPERERhQorP0RERBQqaenzM3z4cGdbD4G7/PLLkzqm7mMB7N/PQNNLZuiy+P169KrP69atc3Jjx461sT8cXw/z9YfT3nXXXTb+66+/nNzIkSNtnNf6hYSVXjbF76Olp2SfOXOmkzPGxDymXs7l9ttvz2kRc0y32/tTM+i+L37flrvvvtvGfl+h0qVL29gfuqqnr2/QoIGTW7t2rY31NdawYcPYv0Acfrn0MPtzzjnHyb3xxhs29pez6d+/f8zniLf0RV7l91Ps3r27jZs3b+7k/OVDiLJMnDgxZu700093tvUq7x9//LGT033O9BI0QOa+C3nnh4iIiEKFlR8iIiIKlZQ1e+lmAP+Wq77VHm/l6FT5888/bXz22WfbeP369c5+zZo1i3kMPatsjRo1nJyewbpVq1ZOTjcH3HzzzU7uoosusrF/O1HPRE3po5uyAHemX//9oZti9MzBgHur1h9SvX379hyXM138qSbeffddG/uzHuupIH755Rcnp6/xzp07Ozl9faxatcrJ6Rmejz322ESLnTB9/fmz0daqVcvGehZ4ALjxxhtt7DcDZbLZy/8ddDP7e++95+RKlChhY/+11efEP5ds9iJt6tSpNvab7fXw9m7dujk53cVkxIgRTk43hf/3v/9NRTFzjHd+iIiIKFRY+SEiIqJQYeWHiIiIQiVlfX6+//57G+slJQC3301uiDdsNRk//vijs33wwfteNr+9vGPHjjY+/PDDnVybNm1s7A/596fpp+StWbPG2dYrf0+YMMHJNWrUyMb+8MzatWvHfA7dh8Lv8+OvQp6XHHnkkc62fm38JWT0MjX+EjKnnXaajX/99Vcnp4e3z50718npvih6mZh08Fdj11NW3HvvvU5Ob+f251U8RxxxhLOtz4n/vhs4cKCN/c8sLTt9rb799lsb62WKAGDz5s021kv3NGnSxNnPPw+U9+jz3LJlSxufdNJJzn6ff/65jR955BEnp/vUvf32205O9/VLxRI3qZB3P6WJiIiI0oCVHyIiIgqVlDV7ffHFFzFzjRs3zvHxS5Ys6Wz//PPPNr7pppucXJUqVWy8ePFiG59//vnOfnq4sl75GnCbB4YNG+bkWrRoEfUYPn8mVT1M1R8erJsN/aH1edXWrVudbX0b3B+6r7d1s2Gy/KYWvYrwgAEDnJxuotKzLwPuecjLzVXp0rdvXxs/9thjTk43xT788MMxj6HPO+CuAH/yySc7uf/85z821u/zZGd+zw7ddDd06FAnp2ez9pvqMkmvYA+4s+P26dPHyelmB78ZXX+e+bPj//777zbW5wfY/7MvGZ06dbKxf/3F+/zUU0b4Q6cnT55sY7+ZWzcV3nHHHU7u4osvtnFeaX7JBL9rip72RU+Z4E/Jos+f/uwA3HPkTwGTF4Xv056IiIhCjZUfIiIiChVWfoiIiChUUtbnZ/ny5Tb223FTMY29vwqzboveuHGjk9Pt5Lpd0l/aQOvQoYOzrdvI/f4l/jDZRPl9jrR58+bZONN9fvSwR7//zIwZM2y8dOnSpI5frFgxZ1v3Bzr00EOdnF6uQLdF61WCAeDvv/+2sR5WCbh9I3R/sJzQ/YP8PhR+e3p+oft+AG4/O/931F566SVnW6/2XKFCBSen31t6FejZs2c7++lp9FNFL63Ts2dPJ9e+fXsb+0P+9bD+TOvVq5eNdT83ALjttttiPk5fV3q4MuB+9q1evTrm811xxRVOTk/zoZcUevPNN539nnzySRv7n6V66gl/WaRrr73Wxv6SMfr7wF9+ZNGiRTa+9NJLnZxepiZeP7aCrl27ds72pk2bbKw/4/3+VHq6CD2tCwC0bds2lUVMO975ISIiolBh5YeIiIhCJWXNXpUqVbLxzp07ndyWLVtsfNhhhyV1fD07MuDOTLts2TInN378eBvr1Zr92/o7duyw8dq1a53cGWecYWN/aLY//DRRe/bsiZkrXrx4UsdMBf9WtB4GPGnSJCenf3c9hBVwm5T0OQeAbdu22di/ha1zOvb31bE/VYBekfzoo49GbvLfD3PmzMnV508VPUsvEP/9qmVnWKu+NvXr9u9//9vZb+bMmTZOx5DkK6+80tnW76c33njDyeWlZi/dpcBvPtbNwv4wZD0diH/t6KYNf8qSZD7r/CkT9OfCrbfe6uR0M9RTTz3l5OrVq2djf8h9orOv+807ugn8oYcecnIFfaqLcePG2dj/XNef+fq11VMDAG53kOeffz7VRcxVBftsExEREXlY+SEiIqJQSVmzV/Xq1WPm9CJ7yTYZ+YuE6lup/qgj3SNdj1bwm9z0rMqtW7d2cnoEkt+Es2HDBhv7Cw/G4zf3aHpUU27Tt0MBd4HEdevWObmKFSvmSpnyE91ECrgL6/pNR4ULF86VMiXDfy/rETx+k3G80V+JPsfTTz9tYz2yBwBGjRoVMxeP/izwR/ro2Wn9GaX1rO1vvfWWk9NNSKmYnTxV/BnW9ezM/qjJXbt22XjJkiVOTn8uJvv5HM/NN99s4+7duzu5Rx99NObj9KjBeM1cPt185X8v6S4ZunnMf1xB9MQTT9jYHz2tu4fokZd6Jm3A/W7wm13zm4J9tomIiIg8rPwQERFRqLDyQ0RERKGSsgbs4447LmYuFX1+fHq2UX+G2ccff9zGr7/+uo13797t7Ld+/Xob16xZ08np/gi6PRQAfvrpJxtnp8+PHlrvy2RfkHPPPdfZNsbY+IMPPnBy/pBkcvsmAG6/gsWLFzu5U089NVfKlIx472V9rQDJ9/nRrrnmGhsPGTLEyekh0XqmacBdgdqn+wIeddRRTk5/Zuh+WYA79N2foVjPSn3KKafEfO7c5r/vdN8kv/+K7pd28sknOzk9jPy8885zcrovlN/fKdZM9H6fok8//dTGf/zxh5PT0yToPpgA8OKLL9pYf+YC7nvA/1zVs7+/++67Tu6iiy6ycV7qv5UOetUAAPjqq69s7H9n6ukk7rvvPhtXrlzZ2U9PmZDf8c4PERERhQorP0RERBQqKbvvp2fV9W+56mavVKlVq5aN/Rml9TDZsWPH2rh8+fLOfieeeKKN/UXa/OHtmh4afuaZZyZYYvd2s/8aTZ061cZnnXVWwsdMBX8RSX07+7333nNybPbaX8OGDWPm/NmeC0qzV6oX3/VnUdaLb/ozSOvmMn/hVL3Ypj8rvG7OvfPOO51cvOH0usklLzV7jR492tl++eWXbezPWK8XF/WnLXjllVdsrBe1BNwmq2TpJhX/dddNdX7zVbdu3Wz86quvOjn/cykWf7Z3fxqDgkw3GwLu9C36GgLcGZ6nTZtmY91tBNh/0fL8jHd+iIiIKFRY+SEiIqJQYeWHiIiIQiVlfX70MHJ/dei9e/em6mksvRK5P0z86quvtrHf7p8oPbz2tttuc3L9+vWz8SGHHOLk9BTiPt3n6JxzznFy77zzjo318hyZcP7559tYl4ui0ysdA8Ajjzxi4+z0Ccu0eH1+/D4kqeb3uXv77bdt7C8Lo/uh+P1X/CUfYvFXih85cmTMff1h1nmF/75L9HPDXyH977//tvGCBQucnD4v/nIGerkQzV82Qk+l4Z8f/dmt+6QAbn8gv8+P7sN0xx13ODm92niPHj2cnP7ddZ8iAChSpAjyO309+H3C2rdvb2P/POjh7ZdddpmNb7jhhlQXMc/gnR8iIiIKFVZ+iIiIKFRS1uw1ffp0G/srWftNPKmwbNkyG/szufrNbjmlb6MCblOXvv0KuLd8e/fuHfOYDRo0cLb1armZppvntm3blsGS5E89e/bMdBGScswxxzjbemVwPRUDkHxzciz+rMOrV69O6jj6+vOHr+umtOOPP97J6aaThx9+2MmtWrUqqbLkVWPGjHG29azH/mrfulmqYsWKTs6fniAW3aTiXxu33HKLjRs1auTk9Grz/tQgK1eutHGJEiWc3O23327juXPnxiyLPj7grj6fXw0fPtzGfpOw/v06d+7s5PR188ILL6SpdHkL7/wQERFRqLDyQ0RERKHCyg8RERGFSsr6/EyZMsXG/pBIf/XhZKxbt87Z1kOw/fbLVPOHxeoVof1hnX369LFx69atnVy9evVsrFeKBoDatWvnuJypopcuKFeuXAZLQrnJnzJCr5ztr4797LPP2jgvDRHWfUP8/iW6X0+8JWT8Pj9+f5P8zh/q7i8Roun+m8kubXDPPffYWK8sDrjD7H36ddd9gwB36YbHHnvMyenPLL9/0/Lly23sL31REOglTho3buzk9Gs/ceJEJ6ffE34f2oKqYF3VRERERAfAyg8RERGFSsqavfSsq02aNHFy/izIydArqQPArl27bHzXXXfl+PjJ8md01rdZ/RlXx48fb2N/9eR4q0rnNj2rZ0Ge4ZPiu/HGG23sr+48ZMgQG/srdecVyTYl+zNK+zMP53fZWZn+oYcesnG8GcDj0Z//yc4YP3jw4Jjlyk7TfM2aNZN6/rzqiy++cLYXLlxoY38Gbj2jtZ51G3Cv9bDgnR8iIiIKFVZ+iIiIKFRY+SEiIqJQSbrPj79Su25r9NuG9fBvv29LlSpVEno+f5ryatWq2bhq1aoJHSMd/KnVzzjjDBuvWLHCyU2ePNnG/qq6eiV6orxAL0vTvHlzJ6eHg19zzTVOzl8GIT/4888/bbxz504nV7p06dwuTp7RokWLTBchqvz4HksHPeQfcJek0dPPAO772p/uwJ/OJQx454eIiIhChZUfIiIiCpWkm738WU91U5cehg64K+nqGHBvrfvDqi+88EIbz54928np2ZLzEj2DqL9S9ciRI23sryi8du3a9BaMKAd00zUA1K9f38b+6t6jRo2ycbyZlPOSRx99NGYuv/wOFA66y4Q/g/V5551n4wkTJji5gQMH2vi4445LU+nyD975ISIiolBh5YeIiIhChZUfIiIiCpWk+/z4Q+M++eQTG2/evNnJ6WHput8LALzxxhs27tSpU8LPr5/jhRdecHK33nprwsfJKX/I/9KlS228Zs0aJ+cPb9f0CtRcUoLymuOPP97ZnjNnjo1btWrl5PTU+Y8//riT0yt85/bwWn09+iu+v/rqqzbu0qWLk2vYsGF6C0aUDfq9+tdffzm5mTNn2tjvq+a/r8OOd36IiIgoVFj5ISIiolBJ2arutWrVSmg/fdvb3168eLGTGzp0qI03btzo5EqVKmVj3ayW2/xZnP/55x8b+00F5cuXt3G7du2cXF6dSZUomhNPPNHGugkMADp37mzjHj16OLnp06fb+MEHH7Rx9erVnf30Sur+jMvr1q2LGgPAjBkzbDx+/Hgnp8vpN7k98cQTNvan4yDKS/T3ov4e9L322mvOtj89Tdjx1SAiIqJQYeWHiIiIQoWVHyIiIgqVlPX5SYXatWs723o67rzqxx9/jJkbMmSIs33qqaemuzhEua548eLOtu5roJevAdzhtu+//37Ky6L7NTRu3NjJ9evXz8YtW7Z0cpnsN0gUz/z5853t7777zsZ+37XJkyfbmEtYxMc7P0RERBQqrPwQERFRqOSpZq/86Mwzz3S2hw0bZuM6derkdnGI8pSOHTs6282bN7fxrFmzbLx27Vpnvy1btti4aNGiTk5PGVG5cmUnp4fgV6hQIYkSE+Ut+j0NAH379rVxgwYNnJzfzEyx8c4PERERhQorP0RERBQqrPwQERFRqLDPTw7504tnZ2V6orA5/PDDbXz55ZdnsCRE+YM/lUT37t0zVJKChXd+iIiIKFRY+SEiIqJQEWNM4juL/AZgVfqKQwdwtDGm/IF3OzCey4xL2bkEeD7zAF6bBQfPZcES9Xxmq/JDRERElN+x2YuIiIhChZUfIiIiChVWfoiIiChU0lr5EZHDRWRh8G+9iKwJ4q0i8m0OjttBRIyInK9+1iL42dWpKX3U560mIouj/PwRXZZMSdfrHRz7YhGZIyLfBcccLSJVU1TuFiJSK8rPDxWRTSIiwXaj4BwfFWyXEZHNIhL1fazPl4g0FZH3s1mukSLytYh0i5JrJyKLReQbEVkgIt2Dn08VkfpR9q8vIgOz8/x5kYisFJFyGXru15K5voPPi0HpKBMlJtY1TpQpaa38GGM2GWPqGmPqAngBQP8grgvgnxwe/hsA16jtawEsyuExk2KMedAYMyUTz+2VIy2vt4jUBvAcgPbGmBOCY74JoFqUfZOZOLMFgP0+GI0xWwGsA5C1st+ZABYE/wPAGQDmGGNy+l7aj4gcAaCBMeYUY0x/L3cJgLsAXGiMOTkox7Z4xzPGzDPGdE11OfM6ESmU6TJQnhD1Gqe8L8nP9Dwvk81ehURkmIgsEZGPRKQYAIjIcSIySUTmi8h0ETkhxuOnA2goIoVFpCSA6gAWZiVF5LzgL/JvROQVETkk+PlKEXlYRL4KcicEP28oIrOCx3whIscn+ovov0hFpLeIfBvcMXg6+FkzEfkyOPYUEamYzAuWQzl5vXsAeMIYszTrB8aYicaYz4NjTBWRASIyD8CdInKaiEwLjjlZRI4M9rtJROaKyCIRGScixUXkTADNAfQN7igd5z33F9hX2TkTQH9ve2Zwh2d6cE6/Co6ZEBEpKiKvqjs45wapjwBUDsp0tvew+wF0N8asDV6LXcaYYSrfKrhLtjzrsfrOk4j0Ct6TU0XkJxGxlSIReTd43ZaIyM2J/h6plkg5Yu0jIn+IyDMisghAo2C7b7DflOBay/rdm8c4do/gnCwSkd5R8rGu7wbB9bsoOAelvMddFlznGbl7VZBEO//BuX48eP1ni0jFBK5xSpJ/DkSkUPB9lHVXuluw31QReTZ4/ReLSMPg51G/9yRyt3SiiHwK4BMRKSkin8i+780rVBl6isgyEZkhkbvl+90FF5FyIrIyiE8Krs2FEvmerJG7r1rAGJMr/wD0QuQLA4jcMfgbQN1g+20ANwTxJwBqBPHpAD6NcqwOAAYB6AfgcgDXA3gIwGsArgZQFMAvAGoG+48AcFcQrwRwRxB3BvBSEJcGcHAQnw9gXJTnrQZgcZSfZz3v4QCWYd8UAocG/x+mftYJwDP57PX+CkCdOM81FcDgIC6MSIWlfLDdBsArQXy4esxj6jy8BuDqGMdurx6/IDi3M4LtjwGcB6A4gKLBz2oAmOefLwBNAbwf5fj/Ucc/AcDPwXNEPdfBfpsBlInzWjwTxJcCmOI/f3BuvgBwCIByADYBKBzkygb/FwOwWL9mufkvVjkQuX7KHWAfA6C1OpYBcEkQj0ekYlkYQB0AC6M89yXB61Pce57XEOf6BlAEwE+I3LEDgmsa+z4vWiLyR9NhmXhNC9q/aOc/ONfNgp/3AfCAPneZLnNB+xflHJwG4GOVz/oOmgpgWBA3wb7Pxajfe8E1s1od/2AApYO4HIAfAAiABojcdCgKoBSA77Hve2cqgPrqMSuD+DkA1wdxEQDFMvHaZfJ21gpjTNadmvkAqknkDs6ZAMZIpJsHEPmCiGUUgK4AyiDyJfbf4OfHB8dfHmwPB9AFwIBg+x31vFcGcRkAw4NaqEHkwzm7tgHYCeDl4K/8rD4mRwEYLZE7IEUArEji2DmVitcbInI4IhWm4gCGGmOeDlKjg/+PB1AbwMfBMQsh0nQFALVF5DEAhwIoCWByAuX+AsD9InIMIhfPTokoiciF/iUi52qQiNQFsBdAzQSOm+UsRC5GGGO+E5FVweO3Z+MYPv3+qhZjnw+MMbsA7BKRXwFUROTDpquItAz2qYJIZW5TDsqSrETKEWufvQDGqf12A5gUxN8A2GWM2SMi3yD663M+gFeNMTsAwBiz2cvHur4/AbDOGDM3eNx2AAjeh/8CUB+RpsqcnFvaJ9r53419n3vzAVyQiYKFiH8OigA4VkSeA/ABIn9oZBkJAMaYz0WktIgcikiFJdb33sfq2hMAT4hIE0S6UFRG5DOrMYAJxpidAHaKyHsJlHkWgP+TSN/Nd4wx32f/1865TDZ77VLxXkRqlgcB2GqCfivBvxOjPxwwxswBcDIif4kuj7VfnOfOel4AeBTAZ8aY2gCaIVKTzRZjzN8AGgIYi8gdqawP/OcADDKR/iG3JHPsFMjJ670EQD1gX78iAEMRqcBk+TP4XwAsUcc72RhzYZB7DcDtwevwMBJ4HYIL41BEzsms4MfzAXREpDL0B4BuADYgciehPiIfAOm0BJGKVyzR3l+x9rH7iUhTRL74Gxlj6mDfna5clUg5DrDPTmPMXrX7HhP8mYfIB+cuADCRvlq59QfYj4h80GenYkwxxDn/+lzHe/9TDsU4B4cg8jk4FcCtAF5SD/FnNDaI/733p4qvB1AewGnB5/8GHPiz6W/sq2PYfY0xbyHSDPoXgA9F5F8HOE5a5Kmh7sFfZCtEpBUABH/h1znAw+7Dvjs+WZYhcmejerDdFsC0AxynDIA1Qdwh4UIrwd2IMsaYDxH5Qs4quz52+2SOnQ7ZeL37IFJT1xWj4lH2AyKvfXkRaRQcs7CInBTkSgFYJyKFEbmYsvwe5GKZDeBO7Kv8zEKkmWNmsF0Gkb/4/0HkXGenk+30rLKISE0AVYPfIZ4nEem/cETwuCIi0ikbzxlLGQBbjDE7JNL36owUHDNd5UhnWT8G0FFEigOAiJT18rGu72UAjhSRBsHjSsm+zpqrAFwFYIR6P1Lysnv+D3SNU/ZFOwflABxkjBkH4AEEf7QG2gCAiJwFYJsxZhsS/94rA+DX4I7tuQCODn4+E0AzifSdLInIH/1ZVmLfH4l2lKaIHAvgJ2PMQAATAJySrd86RfJU5SdwPYAbJdJZcgmAK+LtbIz5nzHmM+9nOxG5MzAmuLX+DyKjn+LpA+BJEVmA+H+tHC8iq9W/VipXCsD7IvI1gBkA7g5+3isoy3wAGw9Qjtx2wNfbGPMNIpWPEUHHtpmIjMB6K8q+uxF5oz8VHHMh9nVQ7olIM9VMAN+ph40CcE/Q6S5aZ8iZiNzSnRdszwJwLCJNYgAwGED74PlOgPsXy4EMBnBQ8D4ZDaBD0BwVU1C5HQRgiogsQaRPVOlsPGcskxC5A7QUQG9EKn2ZkEg50lZWY8wkABMBzBORhQC6e/mo13fw3msD4LngvfAx3L84v0Pk/T4mxvuMEpfd83+ga5yyL9o5qAxganDdvIHI4IwsO4PvtxcA3Bj8LNHvvTcB1A+ut3YIPr+DJuaJAL4G8D9EmrWzRr4+DeC24Nh6gEFrAIuDMtZGpM9eruPaXkRERAWYiExFpCPyvAPtm8SxSxpj/gju1H4O4GZjzFepfp5UY3ssERERJWuoRCawLApgeH6o+AC880NEREQhkxf7/BARERGlDSs/REREFCqs/BAREVGosPJDREREocLKDxEREYXK/wMvRGC0uwmE7AAAAABJRU5ErkJggg==\n", + "text/plain": [ + "
" + ] + }, + "metadata": { + "tags": [] + }, + "output_type": "display_data" + } + ], + "source": [ + "class_names = ['apple',\n", + " 'anvil',\n", + " 'airplane',\n", + " 'banana',\n", + " 'The Eiffel Tower',\n", + " 'The Mona Lisa',\n", + " 'The Great Wall of China',\n", + " 'alarm clock',\n", + " 'ant',\n", + " 'asparagus']\n", + "\n", + "import matplotlib.pyplot as plt\n", + "plt.figure(figsize=(10,5))\n", + "start = 0\n", + "\n", + "for num, name in enumerate(class_names):\n", + " plt.subplot(2,5, num+1)\n", + " plt.xticks([])\n", + " plt.yticks([])\n", + " plt.grid(False)\n", + " plt.imshow(x_train[start].reshape(28,28), cmap=plt.cm.binary)\n", + " plt.xlabel(name)\n", + " start += 10000\n", + "plt.show()" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "TmCCSiO-1Z7-" + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "from sklearn.utils import shuffle\n", + "x_train, y_train = shuffle(x_train, y_train)" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "yCAp-KDgk92g" + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "from tensorflow.keras.layers import Input, Dense\n", + "from tensorflow.keras.models import Model\n", + "from tensorflow.keras.callbacks import EarlyStopping, TensorBoard\n", + "\n", + "# this is the size of our encoded representations\n", + "encoding_dim = 32 # 32 floats -> compression of factor 24.5, assuming the input is 784 floats\n", + "\n", + "# this is our input placeholder\n", + "input_img = Input(shape=(784,))\n", + "\n", + "# \"encoded\" is the encoded representation of the input\n", + "encoded = Dense(encoding_dim, activation='relu')(input_img)\n", + "\n", + "# \"decoded\" is the lossy reconstruction of the input\n", + "decoded = Dense(784, activation='sigmoid')(encoded)\n", + "\n", + "# this model maps an input to its reconstruction\n", + "autoencoder = Model(input_img, decoded)" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": { + "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", + "height": 34 + }, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "sUit56Wi3FLg", + "outputId": "119a2b02-e0a8-4fe1-de9f-7aea3cb7e33b" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "data": { + "text/plain": [ + "24.5" + ] + }, + "execution_count": 12, + "metadata": { + "tags": [] + }, + "output_type": "execute_result" + } + ], + "source": [ + "784 / 32 # Compression factor = input size / encoding dimension" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "vb-QDbJxk92l" + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "# this model maps an input to its encoded representation\n", + "encoder = Model(input_img, encoded)" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "nlxVh6Gwk92r" + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "# create a placeholder for an encoded (32-dimensional) input\n", + "\n", + "# retrieve the last layer of the autoencoder model\n", + "\n", + "# create the decoder model\n" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "ZNQMgtZ6k92z" + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "autoencoder.compile(optimizer='nadam', loss='binary_crossentropy')" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": { + "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", + "height": 34 + }, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "XhXP_Jzt5UWj", + "outputId": "5149bf9c-b172-4739-da17-35a08f6178cf" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "(100000, 784)\n" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "x_train = x_train.astype('float32') / 255.\n", + "print(x_train.shape)" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": { + "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", + "height": 211 + }, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "st9aKr_W3iH7", + "outputId": "309ac9c5-8267-4075-8aa3-a0276d2e1229" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "Epoch 1/20\n", + " 2/1250 [..............................] - ETA: 35s - loss: 0.6667WARNING:tensorflow:Callbacks method `on_train_batch_end` is slow compared to the batch time (batch time: 0.0081s vs `on_train_batch_end` time: 0.0485s). Check your callbacks.\n", + "1250/1250 [==============================] - 5s 4ms/step - loss: 0.1097 - val_loss: 0.0042\n", + "Epoch 2/20\n", + "1250/1250 [==============================] - 5s 4ms/step - loss: 0.0019 - val_loss: 8.4386e-04\n", + "Epoch 3/20\n", + "1250/1250 [==============================] - 5s 4ms/step - loss: 5.1605e-04 - val_loss: 3.0583e-04\n", + "Epoch 4/20\n", + "1250/1250 [==============================] - 5s 4ms/step - loss: 2.1061e-04 - val_loss: 1.4268e-04\n" + ] + }, + { + "data": { + "text/plain": [ + "" + ] + }, + "execution_count": 35, + "metadata": { + "tags": [] + }, + "output_type": "execute_result" + } + ], + "source": [ + "import os\n", + "import datetime\n", + "\n", + "from tensorflow.keras.callbacks import TensorBoard\n", + "\n", + "stop = EarlyStopping(monitor='val_loss', min_delta=0.001, patience=2)\n", + "now = datetime.datetime.now().strftime(\"%Y%m%d-%H%M%S\")\n", + "\n", + "logdir = os.path.join(\"logs\", f\"SimpleAutoencoder-{now}\")\n", + "tensorboard = TensorBoard(log_dir=logdir)\n", + "\n", + "autoencoder.fit(x_train, x_train, # Unsupervised! No labels\n", + " epochs=20,\n", + " batch_size=64,\n", + " shuffle=True,\n", + " validation_split=.2,\n", + " verbose = True,\n", + " callbacks=[stop, tensorboard])" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "2PZF_coY5pxQ" + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "# We can now decode based on the autoencoder\n", + "decoded_imgs = autoencoder(x_train)" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": { + "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", + "height": 174 + }, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "aF0PUqJs5wAL", + "outputId": "0778244e-6493-4b5c-b7d1-31f9b34a00b4" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "data": { + "image/png": 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+ "text/plain": [ + "
" + ] + }, + "metadata": { + "needs_background": "light", + "tags": [] + }, + "output_type": "display_data" + } + ], + "source": [ + "import matplotlib.pyplot as plt\n", + "\n", + "n = 10\n", + "plt.figure(figsize=(20, 4))\n", + "for i in range(n):\n", + " # Original picture\n", + " ax = plt.subplot(2, n, i + 1)\n", + " plt.imshow(x_train[i].reshape(28, 28))\n", + " plt.gray()\n", + " ax.get_xaxis().set_visible(False)\n", + " ax.get_yaxis().set_visible(False)\n", + "\n", + " # Reconstruction from autoencoder\n", + " ax = plt.subplot(2, n, i + 1 + n)\n", + " plt.imshow(decoded_imgs[i].numpy().reshape(28, 28))\n", + " plt.gray()\n", + " ax.get_xaxis().set_visible(False)\n", + " ax.get_yaxis().set_visible(False)\n", + "plt.show()" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "b-ajJRvh8dpS" + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "# TODO - anybody who sees why above is different than other ref\n", + "# https://colab.research.google.com/drive/1vtqdSH3jkBy0FScu0tVn1JoQjh1G4Atl?usp=sharing#scrollTo=8SUHJ0fWcXaq\n", + "# Please share!" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": { + "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", + "height": 52 + }, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "A7DAYwEqk924", + "outputId": "2cc28872-b36e-469c-add0-70ea60e39b1c" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "Downloading data from https://storage.googleapis.com/tensorflow/tf-keras-datasets/mnist.npz\n", + "11493376/11490434 [==============================] - 0s 0us/step\n" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "# For your reference - another example w/MNIST\n", + "from tensorflow.keras.datasets import mnist\n", + "import numpy as np\n", + "(x_train, _), (x_test, _) = mnist.load_data()" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": { + "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", + "height": 52 + }, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "bbAv3Ypmk926", + "outputId": "22c5b597-691e-46d5-877d-280cb3ce2488" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "(60000, 784)\n", + "(10000, 784)\n" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "x_train = x_train.astype('float32') / 255.\n", + "x_test = x_test.astype('float32') / 255.\n", + "x_train = x_train.reshape((len(x_train), np.prod(x_train.shape[1:])))\n", + "x_test = x_test.reshape((len(x_test), np.prod(x_test.shape[1:])))\n", + "print(x_train.shape)\n", + "print(x_test.shape)" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": { + "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", + "height": 34 + }, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "nLiB9opGk93A", + "outputId": "1f0b9234-fc12-4e25-bc6b-a76d4ba5b476" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "data": { + "text/plain": [ + "" + ] + }, + "execution_count": 42, + "metadata": { + "tags": [] + }, + "output_type": "execute_result" + } + ], + "source": [ + "import os\n", + "import datetime\n", + "\n", + "stop = EarlyStopping(monitor='val_loss', min_delta=0.001, patience=2)\n", + "\n", + "logdir = os.path.join(\"logs\", datetime.datetime.now().strftime(\"%Y%m%d-%H%M%S\"))\n", + "#tensorboard = Tensorboard(log_dir=logdir)\n", + "\n", + "autoencoder.fit(x_train, x_train,\n", + " epochs=10000,\n", + " batch_size=64,\n", + " shuffle=True,\n", + " validation_data=(x_test, x_test),\n", + " verbose = False,\n", + " callbacks=[stop])" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "iVr-XI-Gk93F" + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "tensorboard --log_dir='./logs'" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "jnBxCcoQk93K" + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "# encode and decode some digits\n", + "# note that we take them from the *test* set\n" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": { + "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", + "height": 498 + }, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "K709HJuYk93O", + "outputId": "a1854946-97ae-4f0f-de9a-146a46beaef9" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "ename": "AttributeError", + "evalue": "ignored", + "output_type": "error", + "traceback": [ + "\u001b[0;31m---------------------------------------------------------------------------\u001b[0m", + "\u001b[0;31mAttributeError\u001b[0m Traceback (most recent call last)", + "\u001b[0;32m\u001b[0m in \u001b[0;36m\u001b[0;34m()\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 14\u001b[0m \u001b[0;31m# display reconstruction\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 15\u001b[0m \u001b[0max\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m=\u001b[0m \u001b[0mplt\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0msubplot\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0;36m2\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m \u001b[0mn\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m \u001b[0mi\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m+\u001b[0m \u001b[0;36m1\u001b[0m \u001b[0;34m+\u001b[0m \u001b[0mn\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0;32m---> 16\u001b[0;31m \u001b[0mplt\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mimshow\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0mdecoded_imgs\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m[\u001b[0m\u001b[0mi\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m]\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mreshape\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0;36m28\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m,\u001b[0m \u001b[0;36m28\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[0m\u001b[1;32m 17\u001b[0m \u001b[0mplt\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mgray\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n\u001b[1;32m 18\u001b[0m \u001b[0max\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mget_xaxis\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m.\u001b[0m\u001b[0mset_visible\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m(\u001b[0m\u001b[0;32mFalse\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m)\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0;34m\u001b[0m\u001b[0m\n", + "\u001b[0;31mAttributeError\u001b[0m: 'tensorflow.python.framework.ops.EagerTensor' object has no attribute 'reshape'" + ] + }, + { + "data": { + "image/png": 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+ "text/plain": [ + "
" + ] + }, + "metadata": { + "needs_background": "light", + "tags": [] + }, + "output_type": "display_data" + } + ], + "source": [ + "# use Matplotlib (don't ask)\n", + "import matplotlib.pyplot as plt\n", + "\n", + "n = 10 # how many digits we will display\n", + "plt.figure(figsize=(20, 4))\n", + "for i in range(n):\n", + " # display original\n", + " ax = plt.subplot(2, n, i + 1)\n", + " plt.imshow(x_test[i].reshape(28, 28))\n", + " plt.gray()\n", + " ax.get_xaxis().set_visible(False)\n", + " ax.get_yaxis().set_visible(False)\n", + "\n", + " # display reconstruction\n", + " ax = plt.subplot(2, n, i + 1 + n)\n", + " plt.imshow(decoded_imgs[i].reshape(28, 28))\n", + " plt.gray()\n", + " ax.get_xaxis().set_visible(False)\n", + " ax.get_yaxis().set_visible(False)\n", + "plt.show()" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "Ct7LN_36k93T" + }, + "source": [ + "## Challenge\n", + "\n", + "Expected to talk about the components of autoencoder and their purpose. " + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "9UYpn794k93U" + }, + "source": [ + "# Train an Autoencoder (Learn)\n", + "" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "yOPUTiLQk93V" + }, + "source": [ + "## Overview\n", + "\n", + "As long as our architecture maintains an hourglass shape, we can continue to add layers and create a deeper network. " + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "dZTMBoWhk93W", + "toc-hr-collapsed": true + }, + "source": [ + "## Follow Along" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "zTFusAZmk93W" + }, + "source": [ + "### Deep Autoencoder" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "aZNVgmcik93b" + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "# compile & fit model (just means more layers)\n", + "# 784 (input), 128, 64, 32 (encoding) -> 64, 128, 784\n", + "\n", + "input_img = Input(shape=(784,))\n", + "\n", + "# Not exactly best practice (overwriting references), but good illustration\n", + "encoded = Dense(128, activation='relu')(input_img)\n", + "encoded = Dense(64, activation='relu')(encoded) # Take prior encoded, \"shrink\"\n", + "encoded = Dense(32, activation='relu')(encoded) # etc. - our smallest encoding\n", + "decoded = Dense(64, activation='relu')(encoded) # Getting bigger again\n", + "decoded = Dense(128, activation='relu')(decoded)\n", + "decoded = Dense(784, activation='sigmoid')(decoded) # Final output (reproduction)\n", + "\n", + "autoencoder = Model(input_img, decoded)" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": { + "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", + "height": 69 + }, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "2ABZyft2_Qf-", + "outputId": "19915472-5b4b-436f-8234-49c792ea24c3" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "(100000, 784)\n", + "(100000,)\n", + "(100000, 784)\n" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "# Run on quickdraw data\n", + "URL_ = \"https://github.com/LambdaSchool/DS-Unit-4-Sprint-2-Neural-Networks/blob/main/quickdraw10.npz?raw=true\"\n", + "\n", + "path_to_zip = tf.keras.utils.get_file('./quickdraw10.npz', origin=URL_, extract=False)\n", + "\n", + "data = np.load(path_to_zip)\n", + "\n", + "x_train = data['arr_0']\n", + "y_train = data['arr_1']\n", + "\n", + "print(x_train.shape)\n", + "print(y_train.shape)\n", + "\n", + "x_train = x_train.astype('float32') / 255.\n", + "print(x_train.shape)" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": { + "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", + "height": 208 + }, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "jkvt8Blj-5oA", + "outputId": "b0be359a-f99b-4db3-a7d5-c989bec28cf4" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "Epoch 1/5\n", + "1250/1250 [==============================] - 8s 6ms/step - loss: 0.2368 - val_loss: 0.1948\n", + "Epoch 2/5\n", + "1250/1250 [==============================] - 8s 6ms/step - loss: 0.2281 - val_loss: 0.1901\n", + "Epoch 3/5\n", + "1250/1250 [==============================] - 8s 6ms/step - loss: 0.2212 - val_loss: 0.1912\n", + "Epoch 4/5\n", + "1250/1250 [==============================] - 8s 6ms/step - loss: 0.2160 - val_loss: 0.1856\n", + "Epoch 5/5\n", + "1250/1250 [==============================] - 8s 6ms/step - loss: 0.2122 - val_loss: 0.1828\n" + ] + }, + { + "data": { + "text/plain": [ + "" + ] + }, + "execution_count": 50, + "metadata": { + "tags": [] + }, + "output_type": "execute_result" + } + ], + "source": [ + "# Compile and fit\n", + "autoencoder.compile(optimizer='nadam', loss='binary_crossentropy')\n", + "\n", + "stop = EarlyStopping(monitor='val_loss', min_delta=0.001, patience=5)\n", + "\n", + "autoencoder.fit(x_train, x_train,\n", + " epochs=5,\n", + " batch_size=64,\n", + " shuffle=True,\n", + " validation_split=.2,\n", + " verbose=True,\n", + " callbacks=[stop])" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "T97nI8rLAN7m" + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "decoded_imgs = autoencoder.predict(x_train) # The missing link!\n", + "# TODO - fix/rerun the above nondeep example as well, and compare" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": { + "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", + "height": 174 + }, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "N7AsmopWk93g", + "outputId": "a84a7e44-a92d-459d-afdb-ec0a8d600a4c" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "data": { + "image/png": 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+ "text/plain": [ + "
" + ] + }, + "metadata": { + "needs_background": "light", + "tags": [] + }, + "output_type": "display_data" + } + ], + "source": [ + "import matplotlib.pyplot as plt\n", + "\n", + "n = 10\n", + "plt.figure(figsize=(20, 4))\n", + "for i in range(n):\n", + " # Original picture\n", + " ax = plt.subplot(2, n, i + 1)\n", + " plt.imshow(x_train[i].reshape(28, 28))\n", + " plt.gray()\n", + " ax.get_xaxis().set_visible(False)\n", + " ax.get_yaxis().set_visible(False)\n", + "\n", + " # Reconstruction from autoencoder\n", + " ax = plt.subplot(2, n, i + 1 + n)\n", + " plt.imshow(decoded_imgs[i].reshape(28, 28))\n", + " plt.gray()\n", + " ax.get_xaxis().set_visible(False)\n", + " ax.get_yaxis().set_visible(False)\n", + "plt.show()" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "aNGV46M6k93j", + "toc-hr-collapsed": true + }, + "source": [ + "### Convolutional autoencoder\n", + "\n", + "> Since our inputs are images, it makes sense to use convolutional neural networks (convnets) as encoders and decoders. In practical settings, autoencoders applied to images are always convolutional autoencoders --they simply perform much better.\n", + "\n", + "> Let's implement one. The encoder will consist in a stack of Conv2D and MaxPooling2D layers (max pooling being used for spatial down-sampling), while the decoder will consist in a stack of Conv2D and UpSampling2D layers." + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": { + "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", + "height": 642 + }, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "N825iW6Tk93j", + "outputId": "907ab47f-caf5-4c12-8277-5077d520562f" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "Model: \"functional_11\"\n", + "_________________________________________________________________\n", + "Layer (type) Output Shape Param # \n", + "=================================================================\n", + "input_4 (InputLayer) [(None, 28, 28, 1)] 0 \n", + "_________________________________________________________________\n", + "conv2d (Conv2D) (None, 28, 28, 16) 160 \n", + "_________________________________________________________________\n", + "max_pooling2d (MaxPooling2D) (None, 14, 14, 16) 0 \n", + "_________________________________________________________________\n", + "conv2d_1 (Conv2D) (None, 14, 14, 8) 1160 \n", + "_________________________________________________________________\n", + "max_pooling2d_1 (MaxPooling2 (None, 7, 7, 8) 0 \n", + "_________________________________________________________________\n", + "conv2d_2 (Conv2D) (None, 7, 7, 8) 584 \n", + "_________________________________________________________________\n", + "max_pooling2d_2 (MaxPooling2 (None, 4, 4, 8) 0 \n", + "_________________________________________________________________\n", + "conv2d_3 (Conv2D) (None, 4, 4, 8) 584 \n", + "_________________________________________________________________\n", + "up_sampling2d (UpSampling2D) (None, 8, 8, 8) 0 \n", + "_________________________________________________________________\n", + "conv2d_4 (Conv2D) (None, 8, 8, 8) 584 \n", + "_________________________________________________________________\n", + "up_sampling2d_1 (UpSampling2 (None, 16, 16, 8) 0 \n", + "_________________________________________________________________\n", + "conv2d_5 (Conv2D) (None, 14, 14, 16) 1168 \n", + "_________________________________________________________________\n", + "up_sampling2d_2 (UpSampling2 (None, 28, 28, 16) 0 \n", + "_________________________________________________________________\n", + "conv2d_6 (Conv2D) (None, 28, 28, 1) 145 \n", + "=================================================================\n", + "Total params: 4,385\n", + "Trainable params: 4,385\n", + "Non-trainable params: 0\n", + "_________________________________________________________________\n" + ] + } + ], + "source": [ + "from keras.layers import Input, Dense, Conv2D, MaxPooling2D, UpSampling2D\n", + "from keras.models import Model\n", + "from keras import backend as K\n", + "\n", + "# Create Model \n", + "input_img = Input(shape=(28, 28, 1))\n", + "\n", + "encoded = Conv2D(16, (3,3), activation='relu', padding='same')(input_img)\n", + "encoded = MaxPooling2D((2,2), padding='same')(encoded)\n", + "encoded = Conv2D(8, (3,3), activation='relu', padding='same')(encoded)\n", + "encoded = MaxPooling2D((2,2), padding='same')(encoded)\n", + "encoded = Conv2D(8, (3,3), activation='relu', padding='same')(encoded)\n", + "encoded = MaxPooling2D((2,2), padding='same')(encoded) # => Our representation\n", + "# (4,4,8) i.e. 128 dimensional representation of each quickdraw image\n", + "decoded = Conv2D(8, (3,3), activation='relu', padding='same')(encoded)\n", + "decoded = UpSampling2D((2,2))(decoded)\n", + "decoded = Conv2D(8, (3, 3), activation='relu', padding='same')(decoded)\n", + "decoded = UpSampling2D((2, 2))(decoded)\n", + "decoded = Conv2D(16, (3, 3), activation='relu')(decoded)\n", + "decoded = UpSampling2D((2, 2))(decoded)\n", + "decoded = Conv2D(1, (3, 3), activation='sigmoid', padding='same')(decoded)\n", + "\n", + "autoencoder = Model(input_img, decoded)\n", + "\n", + "autoencoder.summary()\n", + "\n", + "autoencoder.compile(optimizer='adadelta', loss='binary_crossentropy')" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "D0W4ms1Kk93n" + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "from keras.datasets import mnist\n", + "import numpy as np\n", + "\n", + "(x_train, _), (x_test, _) = mnist.load_data()\n", + "\n", + "x_train = x_train.astype('float32') / 255.\n", + "x_test = x_test.astype('float32') / 255.\n", + "x_train = np.reshape(x_train, (len(x_train), 28, 28, 1)) # adapt this if using `channels_first` image data format\n", + "x_test = np.reshape(x_test, (len(x_test), 28, 28, 1)) # adapt this if using `channels_first` image data format" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": { + "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", + "height": 729 + }, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "WDrzOQrCk93s", + "outputId": "84015662-c5de-4900-d570-63123d3cfc67" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "name": "stdout", + "output_type": "stream", + "text": [ + "Epoch 1/20\n", + "938/938 [==============================] - 9s 9ms/step - loss: 0.2627 - val_loss: 0.2593\n", + "Epoch 2/20\n", + "938/938 [==============================] - 8s 9ms/step - loss: 0.2559 - val_loss: 0.2534\n", + "Epoch 3/20\n", + "938/938 [==============================] - 8s 9ms/step - loss: 0.2507 - val_loss: 0.2488\n", + "Epoch 4/20\n", + "938/938 [==============================] - 8s 9ms/step - loss: 0.2466 - val_loss: 0.2449\n", + "Epoch 5/20\n", + "938/938 [==============================] - 8s 9ms/step - loss: 0.2430 - val_loss: 0.2415\n", + "Epoch 6/20\n", + "938/938 [==============================] - 8s 9ms/step - loss: 0.2398 - val_loss: 0.2385\n", + "Epoch 7/20\n", + "938/938 [==============================] - 8s 9ms/step - loss: 0.2370 - val_loss: 0.2358\n", + "Epoch 8/20\n", + "938/938 [==============================] - 8s 9ms/step - loss: 0.2345 - val_loss: 0.2334\n", + "Epoch 9/20\n", + "938/938 [==============================] - 8s 9ms/step - loss: 0.2323 - val_loss: 0.2313\n", + "Epoch 10/20\n", + "938/938 [==============================] - 8s 9ms/step - loss: 0.2303 - val_loss: 0.2293\n", + "Epoch 11/20\n", + "938/938 [==============================] - 8s 9ms/step - loss: 0.2285 - val_loss: 0.2276\n", + "Epoch 12/20\n", + "938/938 [==============================] - 8s 9ms/step - loss: 0.2269 - val_loss: 0.2260\n", + "Epoch 13/20\n", + "938/938 [==============================] - 8s 9ms/step - loss: 0.2254 - val_loss: 0.2246\n", + "Epoch 14/20\n", + "938/938 [==============================] - 8s 9ms/step - loss: 0.2241 - val_loss: 0.2232\n", + "Epoch 15/20\n", + "938/938 [==============================] - 8s 9ms/step - loss: 0.2228 - val_loss: 0.2220\n", + "Epoch 16/20\n", + "938/938 [==============================] - 8s 9ms/step - loss: 0.2216 - val_loss: 0.2209\n", + "Epoch 17/20\n", + "938/938 [==============================] - 8s 9ms/step - loss: 0.2205 - val_loss: 0.2198\n", + "Epoch 18/20\n", + "938/938 [==============================] - 8s 9ms/step - loss: 0.2195 - val_loss: 0.2188\n", + "Epoch 19/20\n", + "938/938 [==============================] - 8s 9ms/step - loss: 0.2185 - val_loss: 0.2178\n", + "Epoch 20/20\n", + "938/938 [==============================] - 8s 9ms/step - loss: 0.2175 - val_loss: 0.2169\n" + ] + }, + { + "data": { + "text/plain": [ + "" + ] + }, + "execution_count": 66, + "metadata": { + "tags": [] + }, + "output_type": "execute_result" + } + ], + "source": [ + "import os\n", + "\n", + "stop = EarlyStopping(monitor='val_loss', min_delta=0.001, patience=2)\n", + "\n", + "#logdir = os.path.join(\"logs\", datetime.datetime.now().strftime(\"%Y%m%d-%H%M%S\"))\n", + "#tensorboard = Tensorboard(log_dir=logdir)\n", + "\n", + "autoencoder.fit(x_train, x_train,\n", + " epochs=20,\n", + " batch_size=64,\n", + " shuffle=True,\n", + " validation_data=(x_test, x_test),\n", + " verbose=True,\n", + " callbacks=[stop])" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": { + "base_uri": "https://localhost:8080/", + "height": 174 + }, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "DJH030D1k93w", + "outputId": "ec8aeaf7-8b03-427a-e99a-fad686e899b4" + }, + "outputs": [ + { + "data": { + "image/png": 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hJUP3R9vKHz9tO5/+oM+UgwYN6nTbZmZDhgzpdB98O2qb+PNJf3eubG4q/cPvV7Ulk8tE/4Zc2eTc80bq+cMfu9Tx8uvlUrqLHv9Wl0vxzX1f1GulT2NJpbv4tKfcM43SdvT9VD/rdfOll16K1tMUqAcffDBaNmvWrBDnrjG5Z5+Oc7ds/VWPcS4dUb+PmKXbwx+TavbDnwf6u3Wf9L2DWXxd999H9b6h126/v7nvrUWuA4y0AQAAAAAAKCFe2gAAAAAAAJQQL20AAAAAAABKqC5z2uTmO9C5M/w8C9tss02It91222jZZpttFuJc2diipU11Gz7/f8cdd+x033WOCLM4h92Xf0zNz1BJfnjH39ZM5VVz8whpW2l+qratmdnQoUM7XebzEDVv2f8uzWPO5RC2ulxpOy1L6ttAczf9fDepkt25fq/Lcrn1nvad3Hw3ug2fc6zzASxdujTEfs6OZpkrJZW77/dR5+Py+eAvv/xyiPV4aQlas+JzhOVou2m/1Pxv/9nPQ6CfKfn9jlTOfy4XW+er8n1Z72O+9Kzmaes9qRWPa0ouB12vM/4ap9ea+fPnR8v0uULz6f0zkN4X9ZnFP7/onEX+mqntq7HPuy9aZrhV2j51/8gdv1wpaX229c+NI0aMCLE+a3p6zvj20XNIf6+fZyE3d2Pqb861qV/WcZ53xZwsuXkM9Xjp8fHrFS25mzsmufnccnOm6Gd9NvZzCOo1PreNVumL+jfp+evnvtQ5vnLPqEXnrcnRc8b3o0WLFoVYvxPed9990Xrjx48P8eOPPx4t02uJ3mcrKQndlfMi5Z79c3Nn6vxeOn+pWfzMp8+yfl4cnadNj50/VrqP/jqp34V0P0aNGhWtt+WWW3b6M2bxXES5uQGZ0wYAAAAAAKAF8dIGAAAAAACghBqeHqXD731Zby217ZfpcKai5WVzQ410G36olJba1GFOOqzVLD/MXId26dA3P7QuN8y8Y5vVDunran6/dVibDgH1w+L0sw6ty5Wz9G2tx59yiu/QY6alnn1/036aK8WXS5lJpUT5vlI07UnbMdcn/HBETVvQoZQ+PafIsPCyDUHODdvV46B/t1l8TDQlw6cl6faLpkf5Y5Qque73N5XSaNaaKRlF5VILU9fUvn37RuvpZx2K76+pemx9/9B7YdE+2+r0b82lXWhf9H1M21TTOnyqoravpnn6tsil96TSRnKpM92pPc3yf3su1V1Tp7S9p0yZEq2nx73oPc2nyOv1XJflrg+5vp77m3N9veP3leEZVfc7d5+p9b1Et5crDe7PF20P/Q7i0x01RSh3nFslVSqVNuafQ/X7l1+mz5gaV/uMmmtHTX/UtPPJkydH602dOjXEev02S39fadZ21GOp7aTfOczilF/9/u+3MWfOnBD7NtSUNE1Vy33v8ymI+rs1tXyrrbaK1tN3A7npP/Sa7O/3uWttkfZmpA0AAAAAAEAJ8dIGAAAAAACghBqSHqXDhrRKjQ6NMourR2m1C7N4CH9q+Jz/rEPcKpmlWWclzw1H1Bn8x40bFy3TYcgzZ84MsU9T0OFcfhhVx9/ih6mXSS4Vzg8x1DbUod865MzMbPDgwSHWoXV+mG4qBc0sHoKcqjzT2edWk+uLmhLl+5sOY/Qzvvt0wg5+aHAqjdEfcx1K6M/11DK/nrb/008/HS17/vnnQ6wzvOtM82blrR6V25dcGqAO2/VDxCdNmhRivQb5in7ah3XYqB9qn6poZRZf8/R3zZ07N1pPKwT4aina3q0wfDin6BBus/iaqmmlw4cPj9bTa6oODfbb02usv1dpm3TX6lFeKj3KS1VQM4v7ZtHUNW1P32f1eu37faripU+/yVUTavX2zj0b5tpb+4v2Fd8G8+bNC7FeA/3zkp4L/jl3yZIlIfb3MZWqLmcW/y16HfB/VypF2f9co+VS1zRNxafO6PcMv//67K/Lcs82RdOS/Hmgx7mailZeq/RLPZ6581c/633QLL7Hab/y50Lq+4q/B+szjX82ee6550I8YcKEED/11FPRepri41P4a5GO2pXtX7RKvzV1sAAADVtJREFUrd63zOLqecOGDYuW6X1Mr3daccosfm6cNm1aiH1/02dI/x1G9ys3bYQeY73GmJlNnz49xNrWuu9mVI8CAAAAAABoSby0AQAAAAAAKCFe2gAAAAAAAJRQXea08TTfTcvZ5XKxfe6h5vTm5rTRHEhd5nPFcqUWdW4AzY30+Wea++ZzFLWkm8634fOFNd8tNz9MmRQtO5grP6k5hb78WmrOlFz5Up/XrfmLubkGuptUvrDPp0+VTPQ/p3J539rffHvk5rTReaO0j/l8Up2r4e9//3u0bNasWSHWUtd+HoecMuWL677kyvvqdcdf/zT3V/uOzznWXHEti+ivuzk6h4Pm+mpsFucm+3lxcnNstIJqr6ma16/3TF8uWu+7ubbT4+zvado3W709qpHLRy8674VuQ69VZvEcVTofjf+9eh3wef36XKLb9/PstPq8UdXKHYvUvCR+bii972j7+L6t/dn3Wd2+bi8354zfRuqa4/9dz43cfFuNlpvTRu/5/r6oc9r4Z01fdjj1u1TqOee9aLvp/c5fd3Pz1pW9b3acH9Xup7Zpbr5Df51TuTmZiu6XXm91Xj6zeO4andNGn3vM4nZt9XnCtE/os0ffvn2j9XQOKZ37xix+FtXven6OTb0v6nd3f77oev5463ccPZd0PlpPn6HN4jlt9Hu9f5YtOmdaSjnfCgAAAAAAAHRzvLQBAAAAAAAooYakR1VTss4PFU2VY8ulbuSGleeGKOmQc92eH+ak29dyuP7ndDiXT+NJlQ5sFpWUp9Vjosv80EY9zjqc2w8b1XQKjf02GMrfOe0Dvg1yx6zocODUEG4/bFGHm+oQRrO4NLUOM584cWK0ng5F1RKMZnGf03MoV9q0WWg75cpU+vbV4eM6lNMPX9Vjstlmm4XYl9/Uvu2P64svvhhiHVLqh5dqGxZNj6qkzZqlfXNpsv6aqikPmmZaNOXUnxfaV3x6jrYJKaeVKXrO6jVT0xvN4muj3u98mqe2k0970mutbt+fB5WkeVSjWfpiJVJt7Nsnlb6W69u5aQByqf66TX8N0HU19ueM7r9vt46fK8Ozqx5XTb31/eixxx4LsU9d03QNfW7XqRDM0uev7zfavv64an/WNHB/3dVnlmZLj6qG/k16LfPHRZ8XfFq3HrPcFBepUvf+OOsz0tSpU6NlzzzzTIhfeumlEPvvet31e0gqhdt/9ss01UmfS31590GDBoVY+6z/vqjPvPq90izuf3pNmD17drSetqk/D/TequeL/76TexYgPQoAAAAAAKBJ8dIGAAAAAACghHhpAwAAAAAAUEJ1mdPG52VpfmAuZ16X+TkNqpkXp+jP+2Wa26ixz0nN5aumytHlcsdzx61Mqs1fTuVy+/NAy+ulSj6bxXmDPm9Zt1/W49gIuXNKy+j546fH2ueapo5nrtyo9gf9vWZx+W7NOzWL567RXNPnn38+Wk/PBX8+pUqiNut8KEX3JTfviLaBbs+XqdRcYm0nn1esecv+92ruvpZm93nFuTlTynT8u5K/9ur5rMfMz6ORulf5fGs9L/z1Npfzj+qlzm3/rKBtqtdrPxdKbn6SonO90d9qJ3cPzs1JlurbZvGcNkX+3ezd8z+m5h8sw/w0ReTO2Vx55RkzZoTYz802cuTIEGsJYn+/y82rqXLXWn1O0dg/H+k2ukM/Tc0H5eeI0Xm95s6dGy3T58FevXqF2M/rlCoH7q+9Ol+Jzpfk90OfUbvzM0zR46qfc8+ruj3f33S+r9S8qWZx//Pfd/S5VPub/rv/Of1uahafn/X8/slIGwAAAAAAgBLipQ0AAAAAAEAJNSQ9SocKzZw5M8Q+jUGHEQ0ZMiRapikzOqRxo402itbzpRE7+GHCOlTKD9nSoXU65Gn69OnRerr/vnyt/pymfPgSgzr8zw8P69jnsg2r0/3xQ2l1mf97/HD7DhMmTIg+p4ag+Z/XFBk9r8ziNvSpAt2JP3f0WEyZMiXEerzM4nb15RS1b2rf8e2jQ/E1tcaX9R4/fnyI/dBT7Tu6774faf/2fT1VYq9s/aoaub8hl86i1ye9Fuo5YRZf43QbfpixfvbXU92m9mff1jos3G+j1dqtEkWvqTqUd9KkSdF6qfK+vh9pOVy/DU1nyw3ZR2WKpkdp/9DrqQ7dN4tL3PqUDE1/zA3lR+3k0qO0H/lnqVz6vaYI6M/59KhUaXCzdLnjSq69HZ/LcA1IpUf5PjB58uQQ+3uQXuMGDhwY4jFjxkTraZlhLU3s20n7pu+n999/f4g1ZcunZGi/b8WS30Wn0/DH9tlnnw2xT3dRmuLtv1emrpX+efjRRx8N8XPPPRcte/HFF0Pc3cqzd8hNMaL3HH9M9Lufb0P9/qDP/vouwCy+j2nJdf9+Qb+j+76o1wE9D3wKvy7zaYyp63UlKY2U/AYAAAAAAGhSvLQBAAAAAAAoobqkR3k6VEpn2vZDj3Qo3NSpU6NlOgRNh7T17t07Wk+Hg+pwJV+NSodi5dKjdLibHzKn2/TDzHWbuWH/uQoOHcetzMPqckO//FC4VHUYHdJmFg9/0yFtfnikDiP1x1/bLXeMW53/e/UY6nH3VYO0Lw4YMCBapsOGdXs+7Un7mKav5WZu9/1UP+eqaRQZwl1GHUPba7GPlWwjNbu9H3qaWs/PzJ+qFGYWt2+uYhnVbP6lkmtqqkqKDh03i++1mlrjr5uaOuArcqSuqaidXFtrv9I+5atpaF/090w9D3Sod3fub41WtMKppj3lUkh0PX/O5KqzpLbv12uWCqe6b7mqXHrN888bTz75ZIg33HDDEM+ePTtaT5+JtMqU354+V/nvD5o2rPdCXyVJ26M79Ev9G/X65c81vT/lUlW0epQ+u5rF3yX1vPDPspoS5VNrtL26W1ul6HHQdvLPfHqv8n1Mv59ov9J3CGZxGpR+z/DTNWi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" + ] + }, + "metadata": { + "needs_background": "light", + "tags": [] + }, + "output_type": "display_data" + } + ], + "source": [ + "decoded_imgs = autoencoder.predict(x_test)\n", + "\n", + "n = 10\n", + "plt.figure(figsize=(20, 4))\n", + "for i in range(1, n + 1):\n", + " # display original\n", + " ax = plt.subplot(2, n, i)\n", + " plt.imshow(x_test[i].reshape(28, 28))\n", + " plt.gray()\n", + " ax.get_xaxis().set_visible(False)\n", + " ax.get_yaxis().set_visible(False)\n", + "\n", + " # display reconstruction\n", + " ax = plt.subplot(2, n, i + n)\n", + " plt.imshow(decoded_imgs[i].reshape(28, 28))\n", + " plt.gray()\n", + " ax.get_xaxis().set_visible(False)\n", + " ax.get_yaxis().set_visible(False)\n", + "plt.show()" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "laTeTm03k93z" + }, + "source": [ + "#### Visualization of the Representations" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "dju3ADI5k930" + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "encoder = Model(input_img, encoded)\n", + "encoder.predict(x_train)\n", + "\n", + "n = 10\n", + "plt.figure(figsize=(20, 8))\n", + "for i in range(n):\n", + " ax = plt.subplot(1, n, i)\n", + " plt.imshow(encoded_imgs[i].reshape(4, 4 * 8).T)\n", + " plt.gray()\n", + " ax.get_xaxis().set_visible(False)\n", + " ax.get_yaxis().set_visible(False)\n", + "plt.show()" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "XYAIiit5k933" + }, + "source": [ + "## Challenge\n", + "\n", + "You will train an autoencoder at some point in the near future. " + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "6aWPo2CTk934" + }, + "source": [ + "# Information Retrieval with Autoencoders (Learn)\n", + "" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "tHz5l8rjk935" + }, + "source": [ + "## Overview\n", + "\n", + "A common usecase for autoencoders is for reverse image search. Let's try to draw an image and see what's most similiar in our dataset. \n", + "\n", + "To accomplish this we will need to slice our autoendoer in half to extract our reduced features. :) " + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "T2u6d96hk935" + }, + "source": [ + "## Follow Along" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "YxZAR9Ebk936" + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "encoder = Model(input_img, encoded)\n", + "encoded_imgs = encoder.predict(x_train)" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "I5YQvnlck94A" + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "encoded_imgs[0].T" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "HxbukuSVk94D" + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "from sklearn.neighbors import NearestNeighbors\n", + "\n", + "nn = NearestNeighbors(n_neighbors=10, algorithm='ball_tree')\n", + "nn.fit(encoded_imgs)" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "code", + "execution_count": null, + "metadata": { + "colab": {}, + "colab_type": "code", + "id": "yM9J8y59k94I" + }, + "outputs": [], + "source": [ + "nn.kneighbors(...)" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "sh1a6-Z7k94K" + }, + "source": [ + "## Challenge\n", + "\n", + "You should already be familiar with KNN and similarity queries, so the key component of this section is know what to 'slice' from your autoencoder (the encoder) to extract features from your data. " + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "yFTGuvlSk94K" + }, + "source": [ + "# Review\n", + "\n", + "* Part 1: Describe the componenets of an autoencoder\n", + " - Enocder\n", + " - Decoder\n", + "* Part 2: Train an autoencoder\n", + " - Can do in Keras Easily\n", + " - Can use a variety of architectures\n", + " - Architectures must follow hourglass shape\n", + "* Part 3: Apply an autoenocder to a basic information retrieval problem\n", + " - Extract just the encoder to use for various tasks\n", + " - AE ares good for dimensionality reduction, reverse image search, and may more things. \n" + ] + }, + { + "cell_type": "markdown", + "metadata": { + "colab_type": "text", + "id": "fItBQYX4k94M" + }, + "source": [ + "# Sources\n", + "\n", + "__References__\n", + "- [Building Autoencoders in Keras](https://blog.keras.io/building-autoencoders-in-keras.html)\n", + "- [Deep Learning Cookbook](http://shop.oreilly.com/product/0636920097471.do)\n", + "\n", + "__Additional Material__" + ] + } + ], + "metadata": { + "accelerator": "GPU", + "colab": { + "collapsed_sections": [], + "name": "LS_DS17_433_Autoencoders_Lecture.ipynb", + "provenance": [] + }, + "kernelspec": { + "display_name": "Python 3", + "language": "python", + "name": "python3" + }, + "language_info": { + "codemirror_mode": { + "name": "ipython", + "version": 3 + }, + "file_extension": ".py", + "mimetype": "text/x-python", + "name": "python", + "nbconvert_exporter": "python", + "pygments_lexer": "ipython3", + "version": "3.6.9" + }, + "latex_envs": { + "LaTeX_envs_menu_present": true, + "autoclose": true, + "autocomplete": true, + "bibliofile": "biblio.bib", + "cite_by": "apalike", + "current_citInitial": 1, + "eqLabelWithNumbers": true, + "eqNumInitial": 1, + "hotkeys": { + "equation": "Ctrl-E", + "itemize": "Ctrl-I" + }, + "labels_anchors": false, + "latex_user_defs": false, + "report_style_numbering": false, + "user_envs_cfg": false + }, + "varInspector": { + "cols": { + "lenName": 16, + "lenType": 16, + "lenVar": 40 + }, + "kernels_config": { + "python": { + "delete_cmd_postfix": "", + "delete_cmd_prefix": "del ", + "library": "var_list.py", + "varRefreshCmd": "print(var_dic_list())" + }, + "r": { + "delete_cmd_postfix": ") ", + "delete_cmd_prefix": "rm(", + "library": "var_list.r", + "varRefreshCmd": "cat(var_dic_list()) " + } + }, + "types_to_exclude": [ + "module", + "function", + "builtin_function_or_method", + "instance", + "_Feature" + ], + "window_display": false + } + }, + "nbformat": 4, + "nbformat_minor": 1 +} diff --git a/module3-autoencoders/LS_DS_433_Autoencoders_Assignment.md b/module3_AutoEncoders_and_Recommendation_Systems/LS_DS_433_Autoencoders_Assignment.md similarity index 62% rename from module3-autoencoders/LS_DS_433_Autoencoders_Assignment.md rename to module3_AutoEncoders_and_Recommendation_Systems/LS_DS_433_Autoencoders_Assignment.md index 7c61861f..30a3e9a6 100644 --- a/module3-autoencoders/LS_DS_433_Autoencoders_Assignment.md +++ b/module3_AutoEncoders_and_Recommendation_Systems/LS_DS_433_Autoencoders_Assignment.md @@ -11,3 +11,10 @@ Read About the History of General Artificial Intelligence Research, the future o * [Yann LeCunn Interview](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SGSOCuByo24) Enjoy!  :coffee: + +BBC +IS the next arms race for AI weapons? In 2016, the Us military trialled the use of swarms of weaponedised drones released from fighter jets. I find thins to be dangerous as autonomy creates a new enviroment for mass destruction. + +OpenLearn +https://www.open.edu/openlearn/science-maths-technology/computing-and-ict/computing/artificial-intelligence +With the growing population with gaming and its relationship with AI and machine learning, what do you think of the possible learning capabilities a machine could develop from minimking human-like behaviors for its own understandings? Simply put, could gaming be the next experimental realm for AI development for war or "typical" social behaviors? \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/requirements.txt b/requirements.txt index a3d6e2d8..d3f809f6 100644 --- a/requirements.txt +++ b/requirements.txt @@ -1,4 +1,4 @@ -tensorflow>=2.0.0 +tensorflow>=2.0.0a0 ipykernel pandas scikit-learn